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rowarn · 5 months

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PLEASE, LOVE ME. PT2

simon riley / reader

FIND PART ONE || read the full thing on ao3

tags: childhood friends, friends2lovers, virgin!reader, soft!simon, protective!simon, afab!reader, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, MDNI

cw: reader is over 20, pining, masturbation (reader), loss of virginity, explicit workplace sexual harassment/assault, so much crying, one-sided love, not-really-unrequited love, vomiting, panic attacks, depression, crying, sex related shame, PTSD (reader), codependency but cute, self-deprecating thoughts, slut shaming, wet dream, dry humping, simon fucks up tho, reference to suicide & suicidal ideation, really nasty argument, reader hits simon sorry, apologizes tho!!!, reader struggles to orgasm, drinking, fooling around while drunk (no sex), breast play, fingering, orgasm denial, simon's a tease, p-in-v, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, creampie, mating press, missionary, simon's dirty mouth, dirty talk, wet&messy, big cock, uncut simon bc i said so, reassurance & encouragement, some pain upon penetration, clit spanking, post-coital crying!!!!!!, aftercare, briefly edited so apologies for any lingering mistakes

note: this is part two and contains the gratuitous smut portion ur all looking forward to <3

you've loved him since you were children. after a confession when you were 14 went rejected, you vowed to never let your feelings be known again. but after an incident that left you hurt and fragile, you find it hard to keep that promise.

PART 2: 17.9k total: 35.8k

Things seem to get much better between you. Your anger and resentment towards Simon diminishes significantly and you can finally say you feel comfortable around him again. You wouldn’t say you’ve forgotten everything that happened, you fear that the entire ordeal has left its scar on you.

But you finally feel ready to truly begin to work on yourself and get to a better place mentally.

You’re humming to yourself as you dust the surfaces in your living room, cringing in disgust when you see how dusty a particular shelf was.

Just as you go to give it another swipe, your front door opens and Simon stumbles in, huffing from effort as he carries two armfuls of groceries.

“Simon!” you cry out, watching with wide eyes from the stepstool you stood on as he ungracefully dropped them on the floor, “Why did you bring them all up here like that?”

“Didn’t wanna make another trip,” he explained lamely, flexing his hands as he looked over all the bags.

“Okay, I guess,” you chuckle softly.

Simon finally looks up at you, “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning,” you shrug, waving the duster at him, “I haven’t felt like doing it until now so might as well get it done when I feel like it!”

He’s quiet for a moment before he steps over the bags of groceries.His boots thunk heavily on the floor as he approaches you. Suddenly, he wraps an arm around your middle. You squeak in surprise when he very carefully and gently pulls you off of the stool and places you back onto your feet.

Then he walks away like nothing happened, snatching up a couple groceries up from the floor to take to the kitchen.

You decide not to comment on his behavior and simply choose to grab a couple of bags and help him out. When you get inside the kitchen, he’s already stuffing things into the refrigerator. You place the bags down and go back to pick some more up, transferring all the bags of groceries near him so he can easily put them away.

You notice one of the bags has some piping, lightbulbs, wires, and other things you can’t identify.

“What’s all this?” you ask, holding the bag out to him when he turns to look.

He grunts, closing the fridge, “Gonna fix some shit around here.”

“Why?” you ask, scrunching your nose up as you place the bag on the counter.

“Shithole needs it,” he mumbles, moving to start opening the cabinets, “Since you refuse to let me move you out of this place, I’m gonna make sure it at least functions.”

You hum and nod your head. Simon had attempted to convince you to move out and into an apartment of his own choosing but you flat out refused. He was already paying the rent on this place, you weren’t going to let him spend more money for a different place – because you know Simon would choose somewhere that would cost a lot more than your current flat.

But you couldn’t deny, the idea of Simon doing a little manual labor around the apartment made your heart flutter in your chest. The way he took care of you and was willing to get his hands dirty just to make sure you were comfortable. The little domestic tasks you could imagine him doing.

It almost felt like something a husband would do.

You felt your cheeks flush immediately at the train of thought. How embarrassing and juvenile to think something like that

“I can cook dinner!” you mumble after clearing your throat.

Simon actually has the audacity to laugh. You frown as he shakes his head, closing the cabinet before turning to you.

“Absolutely not,” he says.

Your jaw drops, “Why?!”

“Because,” he steps closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before breezing past you, “You’re a terrible cook, love.”

You open your mouth to retort but can only huff. Because he’s right. The last time you tried to make dinner for the two of you, you had confused cayenne with cinnamon and made the most diabolical stew known to man. He vowed to never let you cook anything that required more than boiling water since.

You pout your way back to the living room, mumbling a petulant, “Fine…” as you went.

You didn’t catch the broad grin on Simon’s face as he watched you sulk away. He was just happy to see your vibrance returning before his very eyes.

True to his word, however, he began to do some random odd jobs around the apartment. He changed that damn leaky faucet in the kitchen first. He would never admit it but it was beginning to drive him completely mad. He swore he could hear it dripping into the metal sink basin in his dreams.

Then he fixed the piping in the bathroom so they would stop all that god-awful clanking that practically woke up the entire complex. But after that, he figured he might as well fix the piping under the sinks as well.

That’s when you saw him. On his back, big body sprawled out as he worked underneath the cabinet, wrench in hand and soft grunts of effort coming from him. His t-shirt rose up just a bit, exposing a small stretch of tummy and his happy trail. Every once in a while, you could see his muscles flex and it made your mouth go completely dry.

You felt like a Victorian man seeing his first ankle on a woman. Ridiculous.

Sure, you’d seen Simon shirtless countless times – hell, you walked in on him completely naked once or twice. But there was something particularly…delicious about him like this. Unaware, casual, just doing work.

It made a swell of heat settle in your abdomen. You squeezed your thighs together as you watched him. His biceps flexed and bulged, making the sleeve of his t-shirt grow taut around his skin. His muscles moved underneath the tattoos inked into his skin.

You dragged your eyes down his body, past his pecs, past the sliver of tummy. You imagined yourself crawling between those thick thighs and unbuckling his belt, tugging at the button of his jeans. You imagined getting to see his cock chub up inside his boxers before you would pull it out and wrap your lips around the leaking tip.

Salty, you imagine. You’ve always heard that men’s cum and pre-cum would be salty. Would Simon’s taste as bad as some of your friends had told you back in highschool? You hoped not. You couldn’t imagine not enjoying every part of him – even his cum.

You wanted him to shoot in your mouth, let you taste it. You wanted to milk it out of him, give him no choice but to cum down your throat.

“Are you just going to stand there or do you need something?” his voice startled you out of your thoughts.

Wide eyed, you looked to meet his gaze but you found he wasn’t even looking at you, still staring at the piped overhead.

“Um,” you cleared your throat, floundering for an excuse as to why you were ogling him like a piece of meat, “I didn’t want to interrupt you. I-I was just wanting to make sure the shower was okay to use?”

He grunts, letting out a soft sigh before pushing himself out from under the sink, closing the cabinet before wiping his brow with the back of his hand, “Yeah, go ahead and shower, love.”

You give him a tight-lipped smile, casting one last glance to see that his t-shirt had fallen back into place. Disappointing.

You trudge out of the kitchen and into the bathroom. Softly, you close the door and turn on the shower. The pipes don’t clang when the water shoots through them. It brings a smile to your face.

Once you’re stripped and standing under the warm spray, you let your hands wander your body. First, you cup your breasts, watching your nipples harden under your own touch before you slide one hand between your thighs. There’s a slickness between your folds that's distinctly different from the water, it’s slippery and sticky. But it makes your touch against your clit easy.

You bite your lips to keep quiet, scared to death that Simon could hear you from under the sound of the water. You make quick, tight little circles against your clit. The bud is hard and twitches under your fingers. It makes the breath stutter out of your chest.

You need more room, you realize, hiking your foot up onto a shelf. It spreads you open just a little more, gives you a little more access for your fingers to play. You sigh, head tipping forward to watch as you circle your own clit.

But the more you touch yourself, the faster that tingling, warm sensation dissipates. You huff through your clenched teeth, frustrated.

Usually, you could at least feel the beginning of that peak forming but this time…not even close. So you shamefully close your legs and go about your shower as if nothing happened, taking care to wash the slick from between your thighs especially.

As you lay in bed that night, Simon breathing deeply beside you as he slept, you were lost in thought.

Surely, you were in the wrong for thinking about Simon like that – for getting wet at the sight of him. And then sleeping soundly next to him as if you weren’t some kind of pervert. Maybe you should just confess and apologize to him.

No. You quickly admonish that thought, glancing over at his prone form. You couldn’t bear to see him be disgusted by you. He’d already rejected you years ago, finalized it and put the nail in the coffin so you would never be dumb enough to do it again.

What would he do if he found out about your…attraction to him? He practically lived with you now, after everything happened. He was in your flat more than he was on base now. It was only a matter of time before he caught you with your hands dancing in your pants.

Your cheeks flushed at the idea. Part of you thought it hot – for him to find you needy like that, desperately playing with your clit as you try to make yourself cum.

But on the other hand, you could see the wrinkle of disgust in his brow and sneer on his face as he walked away. That outcome was not worth it, you decided.

With a sigh, you rolled over so your back faced Simon and closed your eyes for the night.

You both should have known better that the fragile peacefulness between the two of you was just that – fragile, balancing on a delicate precipice that could shatter at any moment.

The ring of his phone was the break.

“Answer that for me, love!” he called from the kitchen where he was busy preparing dinner.

You leaned forward to check the number. It wasn’t in his contacts but Simon never got calls from people unless he knew them. So you slowly slid the button over and accepted the call.

“Hello?” you mumbled into the phone.

There was a beat of silence before a woman’s voice responded in kind, “Hello?”

“Um…” you swallowed down the apprehension that settled in your chest, casting a glance towards Simon’s back as he stood over the stove, “Who may I ask is calling?”

“I’m looking for Simon,” she said, sounding much more coy than a second ago. She knew his real name and that irked you. People from work always referred to him as Ghost, only those he considered trustworthy or friends were privy to calling him Simon.

“Um, he’s busy at the moment, can I take a message?” you ask, loud enough for Simon to hear in the kitchen if he was interested in intervening. But he didn’t move.

“Sure!” she giggled, “Tell him that Victoria really wants to see him again and to call me so we can!”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat, “Y-Yeah, sure. I’ll let him know…”

“Thank you,” she cooed in a sultry tone, “Oh! And tell him I really had a great time last time we were together and that I’m looking forward to a repeat performance.”

“Yeah. I’ll do that,” you assured, hoping you didn’t sound as tense as you felt.

She giggled before the call disconnected and you were left glaring at his stupid stock phone wallpaper.

“Who was it?” Simon comes to the archway of the kitchen, leaning against the wall. You can’t hear anything cooking anymore so you assume he’s finished dinner.

“Victoria,” you spit the name out like it’s poisonous, “Says she wants to see you again and she had a fantastic time with you last time.”

Simon shifts where he stands, looking down at his feet before looking back up to you, “Alright. I’ll call her back later.”

That sends knives straight through your heart. It aches so badly that you want to bite your own tongue off to make it stop.

Jealousy, you realize. You’re fucking jealous. Some girl calls and asks for his dick and he just says okay?

He’s not yours, you tell yourself. He can fuck whoever he wants.

But that does nothing to quell the inferno raging inside you.

There’s other feelings brewing inside you; rejection, fear, loss.

You feel bitter that you’re right there and he would still never choose you. He’ll always choose someone else because he doesn’t see you like that. It feels like he’s throwing it in your face, just spitting at you to show you that he doesn’t love you like you love him. He never has and he never will. You’ll never be an option to him because he doesn’t want you.

Then you’re scared he’s going to leave you. He’s going to go to this Victoria chick and leave you all alone so he can get his dick wet again. Just like last time. Maybe he’ll like it so much he wants to stay with her. Maybe he’s going to leave you behind so he can start a new, happy life without having to worry about the dead weight that’s been dragging him down since he was 8. You. His responsibility. His problem.

You’re so scared that he’s going to be ripped from your grasp. That you’re going to lose him to someone else and it’s going to be you and your pathetic one-sided love for the rest of your life. Fuck, you’ve loved him since you were 4. You’ve loved him for so long that it makes you nauseous to think about. How many people loved one person for this long?

Please, you wanted to cry to him, please love me.

Please, just love me back.

“So you’re gonna go then?’ you finally find your voice, bitterness and resentment thick in your tone, “You’re gonna leave me to go to a booty call again?”

He stands up straight at that. Arms cross over his chest, he watches that way you glare at him, heated and teary-eyed. Hurt.

He knew you still weren’t over the way he left you that time – when you needed him the most. You’d been ignoring the residual hurt that lingered, intent on pretending that everything was fine. He had been doing his best to make up for it but it always felt like one step forward and two steps back with you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assures softly, “I’ll call her back to tell her that it won’t happen.”

He tries his best to remain level-headed and soft, to be reassuring like he knows you need. But your expression doesn’t change. You continue to glare at him with that furious, hurt look in your eyes.

Suddenly, you stand.

“I don’t believe you,” you hiss, turning your back to him, storming down the hallway.

He almost winces when he hears how hard you slam the bedroom door. He thinks about going back there to talk to you but decides against it. You need some space to calm yourself down.

He eats the dinner he made for both of you alone, putting your half in the fridge for later. He goes about the apartment, locking the door and turning out all the lights. Then he gets to the bedroom door and goes to turn the knob and it doesn’t budge.

Despite himself, he laughs. He jiggles the knob, jerks the door a little harder like it’ll open with a bit of force. And it might, it’s a flimsy ass door if he’s being honest – he’s forced bigger and heavier doors open before.

He snaps your name, humor gone from his voice. You don’t answer.

“Open the damn door,” he snaps, trying the knob again. He gets silence in return so he slams his fist against the surface. The sound is loud enough that it makes his own ears ring, “I said open the door. I’m not playin’ this game with you, sweetheart.”

“Sleep on the couch, Simon!” he hears your wobbly voice call back. Of course you’re in there crying, he thinks.

“I’m not sleepin’ on the fuckin’ couch,” he hisses, leaning his forearm against the door, resting his head against it with a sigh, “Open the door and let’s talk.”

“Don’t wanna talk to you,” you whine, bratty as all hell. He would have laughed if he wasn’t so damn pissed, “Why don’t you go sleep with Victoria since you like her so much.”

You don’t know why you say that last part. You don’t want him to go to her, you don’t want him to go anywhere. The thought of it brings more tears to your eyes.

Simon is silent on the other side of the door for a long while. You almost think he walked away and succumbed to the couch. You wouldn’t actually let him sleep on that awful thing, of course. You just…you don’t know what the end goal here is, if you’re honest.

“Fine,” he finally spits, “If that’s what you want, I’ll fuck off and find Victoria.”

You hear the floorboards creak under his weight as he walks away. You sit up straight in bed at that, eyes wide as you listen to him stalk through the house. You swear you hear the jingle of his keys and that’s what has you lurching out of bed in a panic.

You almost trip over the sheets as they tangle around your legs but you manage to free yourself and wrench the door open.

“Simon!” you practically shriek, rounding the corner of the hallway to find him standing with his back to you, facing the door.

He’s got his hoodie and mask on, boots firmly on his feet and keys in hand. He stands still, back straight as his shoulders rise and fall with his breathing. But he waits.

“Don’t go,” you find yourself whimpering, “‘M sorry. Come to bed, okay?”

He doesn’t move and that makes your heart pound in your chest. You know he’s pissed, can see it in the way his fists stay clenched at his sides. His fingers twitch and he makes a move for the doorknob and you surge forward, wrapping yourself around his other arm, yanking him away from the door as hard as you can.

He lets your weight knock him off balance, lets you drag him away from the door. He lets you tug him down the hallway, sniffling and crying as you do.

“J-Just…” you find yourself frantically tugging his mask off, tossing it away before you rip the hem of his hoodie up. He doesn’t help you or fight you as you try to take it off of him. He just stares blankly at you, like he’s assessing you. You hate it. “G-Get ready for bed, okay? Just…we can go to sleep.”

“Why do you make this so fuckin’ hard for me?” he finally breaks his silence, the question cold and calculating. Like he’s tired. Exhausted, “I keep tryin’ to make it up to you. But every time something goes wrong, you throw everything back in my face and you act like you hate me again. I can’t keep…” he trails off, shaking his head before he sits at the foot of the bed, hands clasped together and head hanging between his shoulders.

“I love you,” you blurt out, a sob breaking out of your lips as you do. Simon doesn’t move. Your hands cover your eyes, as if being blind to his reaction will make the rejection hurt less, “I love you and i-it just keeps messing me up inside. I’m sorry.”

“You love me?” he asks, still no emotion in his voice.

When you peek at him, he’s in the same position as before, hands clasped, elbows on his knees, head bowed. You have no idea what expression he’s wearing and you’re scared to find out.

“Yes,” you hiccup, sniffling softly, “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” he asks softly, almost solemnly.

“I promised,” you cry, another choked sob escaping you.

“Promised..?” he doesn’t sound cold anymore, just confused, “The fuck’re you talkin’ about?”

“W-When I was 14,” you whimper, shame filling you as you recall your now-broken promise, “I-I told you I liked you and you said you didn’t feel the same. You told me to never bring it up again and I promised I wouldn’t. B-But…” you sobbed again, stopping yourself from finishing the sentence.

“Fuckin’ hell…” he breathes, bringing his hands to his face, scrubbing them up and down vigorously in a way that looks like it hurts. Then he laughs.

He fucking laughs.

It’s like your worst fears come to light. He’s laughing at you, at your confession. At your feelings. A fresh wave of tears fill your eyes and fall down your cheeks. You bite your lips to keep from making your sobs audible anymore. You didn’t want him to laugh at that too. You hang your head, wringing your hands together behind your back anxiously as Simon quiets down.

“Shit,” he breathes, getting to his feet. He stands before you, cupping your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. He frowns when he sees the utter despair on your face, the heartbreak in your eyes, “No, baby. No, no. I wasn’t laughin’ at you.”

Baby. You catch onto it. He’s never called you that before.

You dash the spark of hope that it causes.

He rubs his thumbs under your eyes, wiping the tears away.

Then, he leans forward and slots his lips against yours.

It’s like fireworks explode in your chest. Your heart races so fast that you feel lightheaded. You can’t even respond to the kiss in time before he pulls away, your mind is moving too fast for you to process any meaningful thought. But he kissed you.

Simon kissed you.

“What?” you finally manage to whisper, looking up with wide, shocked eyes, “Why did you..?”

He looks confused for a second, still cupping your cheeks as he looks into your watery eyes, “You really have no idea?” Your brows furrow immediately and you shake your head, “How I feel about you?”

“You feel..?” you dumbly repeat.

He smiles softly, thumb rubbing softly over your cheekbone, “You really think I don’t feel the same?”

“B-But when…when we were kids I…” you stumble over your words, the truth you’ve believed this entire time seemingly false, “You s-said you didn’t feel the same.”

“Jesus, love,” he huffs softly in disbelief, “You were fourteen. I was seventeen. You were way too fuckin’ young for me, it wouldn’t have been right.”

“B-But then…” you stutter, reaching up to wipe your cheek, “When did you..?”

He shrugs, “Not sure exactly. Suppose sometime after you turned 20 was when I realized I felt somethin’ for you.”

“So you really…” you whisper, snagging your hands into his hoodie to pull him close, “You really…I mean…”

“Love you?” he smiles softly, “Of course I do.”

You lean forward and press your lips to his. He hums, wrapping one strong arm around your middle to pull you even closer. His lips work magically over yours, taking control of the kiss with ease. You easily melt into it, following his lead. It’s not as easy as you thought it would be and you hope Simon doesn’t notice.

But he does, of course he does.

He pulls away and smooths the palm of his hand down your cheek before it comes to rest on your jaw. His thumb slides over your bottom lip and he hums.

“You ever kissed before?” he asks, voice calm and level with no teasing to it at all.

Still, heat explodes all over your face. Embarrassment overrides the euphoria of your requited feelings. You try to pull away but Simon’s much stronger and he won’t let go unless he wants to.

“Hey, don’t run,” he coos softly, turning your face to look back up at him, “I was just askin’.”

“No,” you mumble, still burning with embarrassment, “I-I’ve only ever liked you so…”

“Fuckin’ hell…” he whispers, letting you step back just a bit so he can look over you, “Is that right?”

“You should know that,” you mumble, feeling small under his scrutiny, “You know everything about me.”

“Didn’t think datin’ history was somethin’ you felt like sharin’,” he shrugged off.

“Well, now you know,” you mutter, your gaze glued to the floor.

“That I do,” he hums in agreement, reaching out to brush a hand down the length of your arm.

A soft, quietness falls over the two of you. You’re not sure what to do and it seems he’s content where he is. He’s watching you, tracking every little shift and fidget you make until he finally seems to take pity on you.

“Let’s get to bed,” he says softly, giving you a soft nudge towards the bed.

You take the opportunity to dive into bed, yanking the blanket over you as Simon strips himself out of his boots and hoodie. You go to look away as he yanks his belt free with practiced hands but you can’t seem to. He slips the belt out of the loops and drops it on the dresser before unbuttoning his jeans and slipping them off.

Your mouth waters at the sight of him in a tight pair of navy boxer-briefs slung low on his hips. You can make out the shape of his–

“Enjoyin’ the view?” he mumbles half-heartedly as he turns to root through the dresser to find some sweatpants.

“Sorry…” you mutter shamefully at being caught.

He chuckles under his breath, pulling the sweats on before he rounds to his side of the bed and drops onto the mattress, “Nothin’ to be sorry about.”

He leans over you and turns out the tableside lamp. Then he settles into his pillow with a soft sigh.

“Si..?” you whisper.

“Yeah?” you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Are we um…” you clear your throat, “I mean like…are we…together now..?”

You feel him roll over and toss his arms around you. You squeak when he tugs you towards him roughly, securing you against his chest before he kisses the top of your head.

“Do you want to be together?” he asks, muffled by his lips pressed against you.

“Yes,” you whisper quickly, wrapping yourself around him almost possessively.

He tilts your head up and carefully slots his mouth over yours again. You sigh happily at the feeling.

You notice that he keeps it a lot slower than he had before, moving his lips carefully against yours. Like he’s trying to make it easier for you to keep up. It makes your cheeks flush again but you sink into the pillow and let him kiss all he wants as you do your best to match his movements.

His body shifts, torso hovering over you as he rests his weight on his elbows on either side of your head. Your hands rest against his shoulders and simply get lost in the kiss.

After a moment, he deepens the kiss, sinking into you with his chest pressed against yours. You whimper and wrap your arms around his neck, carding your fingers through his cropped hair.

One of his hands moves, coming to grip your waist, fingers sliding up the hem of your shirt. It’s like a dream come true. Literally.

All those nights you spent with your hand between your thighs, thinking of him. Thinking of him touching you like this – with his hand sliding your shirt up a little further every second. You even feel that familiar wetness soaking your panties.

Then why was your heart racing from anxiety instead of excitement? Why did you feel a fearful tremble setting in your thighs, as if your knees would be knocking together if you were standing. Why were you scared?

Before you can stop yourself, you’re shoving your hands against his chest with a weak, “No!”

Simon is off of you in seconds but you can feel his gaze on you in the darkness. You struggle to catch your breath as you lay there, heart pounding in your ears. Your head hurts, you realize with a wince.

“Um…” you find yourself attempting to appease him, “I-I don’t…I’m sorry, I…”

“It’s alright,” he whispers sincerely, settling down into bed with a content hum, “Nothin’ to worry about, love.”

You scoot closer to him and hesitantly place your head on his chest. Simon’s arm wraps around your back and tucks you even more snug against him. You close your eyes and will yourself to relax and sleep as you feel Simon’s comforting hand rubbing your back.

Neither of you talk about it in the morning. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. You don’t bring it up, even though you want to, and Simon doesn’t try touching you like that again. Part of you wants him to, you’ve been dreaming about his touch for years but once you finally get it, you freak out?

You can’t stop beating yourself up over it.

But then you think about the anxiety that it had caused. The apprehension. How uncomfortable it felt – how you wanted his hands off of you.

You sighed, flopping onto your side on the couch where you sat. Your mind was buzzing annoyingly from your thoughts.

Regardless of your problems, you were happier than ever with him. He was finally yours. Wholly and truly yours. It was bliss.

“Got a call,” Simon says, snapping you out of your daze, “Gotta leave.”

That makes you sit up, “Leave?”

You finally notice that he’s got his bag packed – the one he only takes when he’s getting deployed. You’re on your feet in seconds, following him to the door. He’s wearing his skull balaclava so all you can see are his eyes – sad, apologetic.

“H-How long?” you ask, unable to ignore the ache in your chest as you watch him.

“Few weeks, probably,” he mutters, placing the bag down so he can tuck his feet into his boots.

He straightens up with a grunt before turning to you. He sighs, gloved hands cupping your cheeks when he sees how sad you look – like a kicked puppy. You wish you could feel his bare hands on you but can’t find it in you to ask.

“I don’t want you to go,” you find yourself mumbling.

It’s selfish and even a bit cruel of you to voice that desire. Simon’s thumb strokes your cheek in that sweet way he always does and you melt into him. He lets you thump your head against his chest as you suppress your cries, biting your lip so you can keep your tears at bay.

“I know,” he softly whispers, stroking your back as you cling to him, “I know, but I have to.”

“I know,” you mumble, finally looking up at him. You know your eyes are glassy and you make sure to blink back the tears so they never overflow, “Just be safe and come home, okay?”

He lifts his mask up just enough to expose his lips before he leans down to kiss you. It’s a whole body experience this time. He clutches you against him like his life depends on it, gloved hands fiercely gripping the back of your t-shirt. His lips move smoothly against yours, hand coming up to cup your jaw so he can tilt your head and pull you even deeper into his kiss. He pulls away when he needs to breathe, smiling when he sees the dazed, lovesick expression on your face. He tugs his mask down and lets you go but you stay as close to him as possible.

“Make sure you stay warm,” he coos, “Gonna start gettin’ real cold in a couple days.”

“I will, Si,” you assure him.

“Left some cash for you to do your shoppin’,” he adds, “I know you’re a shit cook but I left a list of some easy recipes. Don’t burn the flat down.”

You snort and playfully smack his shoulder, “I’ll just buy some cup noodles in that case.”

He rolls his eyes, pinching your side to make you gasp from the ticklish feeling, “Don’t even think about it.”

Your grin falters when his phone makes that obnoxious beeping noise that lets you know it’s something urgent. He sighs, the tranquil happiness between you two broken immediately. He kisses your forehead through his mask and pulls the front door open.

“Keep this locked,” he mutters, stepping past the threshold, “I’ll be home soon.”

He closes the door and you’re left with an emptiness that overcomes you. You’ve always been scared for him when he has to go off on missions – you know that his job is extremely dangerous and he could lose his life at any moment. That thought alone makes a nauseous pit settle in your stomach. You push down the feeling of bile rising in the back of your throat and click the lock on the door with a sigh before you go about your day, trying your best to keep your mind off of him and where he might be in the world.

True to his word, however, the temperature drops bitterly cold within 2 days after he leaves. There had already been a chill in the air that drove you to turn the heating on just a bit but now it was full blast. But now, it was dipping to freezing and you were anticipating the arrival of snow soon enough as well.

You wake up one morning, however, and your apartment is bitterly cold. You sit up, confused before climbing out of bed. Your feet are immediately freezing as you step onto the floor. You hiss, wrapping your arms around yourself as you stumble over to the radiator in your room. You touch it and find absolutely no heat emanating from it.

All the radiators are the same. Absolutely no heat.

You curse, realizing you have no idea what you’re supposed to do. You curl up on the couch under a heavy throw blanket as you type with bitterly cold fingers into Google, looking for anything that can help you. But it’s to no avail. You can’t understand a thing.

Your next thought is to call the building manager but you know that’s pointless. The useless man never actually helps with any work for his tenants.

There’s no way in hell that you can afford to call someone to come and fix the problem. You have money for groceries but if you spent that you wouldn’t have anything to eat. You sigh, resolving yourself to bundling up and trying to stay as warm as you can.

You pile all the blankets you have into bed and pick out only your thickest, warmest sweaters.

This is going to be miserable, you think.

The snow comes just a short week later and it feels even colder. You venture out of your flat to go to the grocery store, picking up ingredients for the dishes Simon wrote down for you and also some cans of soup that you can cook to stay warm. You also throw some boxes of tea and some hot chocolate in with it, figuring why not. Warm drinks will help.

It’s almost 3 weeks of living like that. It’s miserable and makes your bones ache from how stiff the cold makes you feel. You make sure to eat nice, hot food to keep yourself warm and make frequent cups of warm drinks so you can keep your hands warm for as long as you can. You do your best.

The worst is showers, though. When you’re standing under the blisteringly hot spray, it’s bliss. But the second you step out and your wet body is hit with the freezing air, you couldn’t have felt more miserable.

The night Simon walks through the door, he finds you bundled up on the couch sipping a cup of hot chocolate.

“Simon!” you gasp excitedly, tossing the blankets off to take a running leap at him.

He huffs contentedly when he catches you in his arms, letting you embrace him for as long as you need. He strips his mask off and brings you in for a delicate kiss.

“Let me wash up,” he mumbles, stalking through the apartment.

“Um, before you do, Si,” you catch him at the entrance to the hallway. He turns to you and looks at you with a brow raised, “The um…heating is broken so…just letting you know when you come out of the shower it’s gonna suck.”

“Ain’t nothin’ I haven’t dealt with before,” he mutters and pauses, “The fuck you mean it’s broken?”

“Heating cut off a few weeks ago…” you shrug, wrapping your arms around yourself as you start to feel the cold creep in again.

“A few weeks ago?” he hisses, running a stressed hand through his hair, “Fuckin’ hell. You didn’t call someone to fix it?”

You pout as he raises his voice, clearly frustrated, “I couldn’t afford it, Si! I had the money you gave me for food but I wasn’t gonna spend that to get the heating fixed. You know the building manager is a piece of shit, not like he was gonna call someone.”

He sighs, crossing his arms over his chest, seemingly thinking something over. Then he turns on his heel and storms into the bathroom, slamming the door.

“I’m sorry, Simon!” you call through the door, “I didn’t know what else to do! Please, don’t be mad.”

The shower turns on and all you can do is look up and sigh in exasperation. The second he’s home and he’s already pissed at you.

You sulk over to the couch and flop down, tossing your blankets over you as you grab your mug. The hot chocolate is still warm but not as hot as it was. It’ll have to do.

Simon comes out of the shower, gets dressed warmly, and joins you in the living room. He doesn’t even look at you as he makes a move for his bag that he left by the door. You almost think he’s going to scoop the bag up and storm out the door. You sit up, ready to stop him but instead, he stoops down and zips it open. He pulls out his wallet and approaches you.

“What are you doing?” you mumble, watching him flip the thing open.

It’s old and worn, a simple black leather wallet. He’s had it for as long as you could remember and you’ve put the poor thing through the washer and dryer so many times that you’re shocked it's still intact.

He pulls out a bank card and promptly hands it to you. Your brain stutters to a stop as you look at it.

“Take it, fuck sake,” he mutters. He sounds annoyed but the way he looks away and his ears turn pink you can tell he’s…shy.

Simon Riley is fucking shy right now.

You take the bank card out of his hand and look at it, flipping over in your hands, “Why are you giving this to me?”

“So you can use it,” he mumbles, slamming his wallet shut and tossing it onto the table, “That way, in case anything happens you can withdraw from my account for what you need. If an emergency happens and I’m not around, use it.”

“Simon…” you mumble, looking up at him, “Are you sure..?”

“Course I’m sure,” he scoffs, taking a seat beside you before softly rattling off four digits.

“Huh?” you dumbly ask.

“It’s my pin,” he responds, grabbing one of the blankets you have piled on the couch and tossing it on his lap.

“That’s my birthday…” you say softly as you repeat the numbers over and over in your head, “Your bank pin is my birthday?”

He snatches the remote up from the table and turns the TV on without another word. But you can see how pink the tips of his ears are. It makes you beam and before you know it, you’re curling snugly into his side.

“Love you, Si,” you whisper, earning a kiss to the top of your head in response.

Simon calls the next morning to have someone come by and fix the damn heating. You listen to the man rattle off some information to Simon about what the problem was but it makes virtually no sense to you so you resolve yourself to sitting on the couch and waiting until it’s warm again.

But even when it’s nice and toasty inside, you still plaster yourself to Simon’s side, snuggling as close to him as you possibly can.

“I want you to meet my team,” Simon says one morning while he’s making some eggs.

You’re standing by the toaster, waiting for it to pop up but his words make you turn to him, “You mean 141?”

“Who else?” he huffs, flipping one of the eggs. It sizzles loudly in the pan, “They wanted me to go out with them tonight. Thought you could join us.”

“Really?” you realize how incredulous you sound and then try again, “I mean really? That’s okay with you?”

He nods, plating the eggs, “I think it’s time they met you.”

“I-I’d love to,” you say, unable to hide the excitement you feel.

You catch a slip of a smile on Simon’s face before the toast pops up and distracts you.

You have to dig into your closet that evening, after a shower, to find something nice to wear. You figure an occasion like this calls for something a little nicer than just jeans and a t-shirt like you usually wear. But you can’t find much of anything.

“What’re you huffin’ about in here?” Simon asks when he walks in, towel wrapped around his waist. He’s still dripping wet from the shower and you can feel the way your mouth fills with saliva at the sight.

“I uh…don’t know what to wear…” you respond, turning your back to him just as he slips the towel off. Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire, imagining Simon completely naked behind you.

“Wear those nice jeans you got,” he mumbles, grunting as he gets himself dressed, “And that little blue top you got.”

“The cropped one?” you ask incredulously, a brow raised as you turn to him. He’s got some jeans on now and he’s meticulously unfolding a black t-shirt so he can put it on, “I haven’t worn that in a while, how’d you even remember it?”

He shrugs, the muscles in his back rippling with his movement before he tosses the shirt over his head and pulls it down, covering his skin once again, “It’s cute. We’re just goin’ to the pub, love.”

“Okay,” you mumble, reaching into the back of your closet to pull the little shirt out, “If you’re sure this will be okay.”

“I’m sure,” he chuckles softly, grabbing his balaclava off the dresser. But he doesn’t put it on yet. Instead, he sits on the bed and watches you change.

You’re acutely aware of his eyes on you as you strip your shirt off. You keep your back to him, trying to ignore your racing heart. You don’t feel uncomfortable at all, instead you feel…excited.

Your mind runs wild, imagining him stepping up behind you, kissing your neck and cupping your bare breasts in his big hands. They’re a little rough from his line of work and you wonder what they’d feel like against the sensitive skin of your tits, thumbing your nipples and pinching them a little meanly.

“C-Can you hand me a bra?” you find yourself asking.

He grunts in acknowledgement and the bed creaks when his weight moves off it. He opens one of the drawers and is behind you in a second. His body heat permeates through his shirt as he presses his chest against your back.

He slings your bra over your shoulder, holding it with one finger by the strap. You can’t help but tilt your head back to look up at him. He’s towering over you, pretty, brown eyes looking down his nose at you.

You realize in this position, he could clearly see your breasts but he keeps his eyes on yours. You take the bra from him and he lets you, simply staring into your eyes with that stern silence he has about him.

“T-Thanks…” you find yourself whispering, mouth feeling particularly dry.

He grunts, lips quirked up just a bit before he turns his back and walks back to the bed. You let out a quiet, slow breath, willing your heart rate to go back to normal.

Simon was so exhilarating. Just being around him sets your heart racing and fingers trembling.

You put your bra on and slip your top over your head, ignoring the sticky feeling in your panties as you do.

“I don’t know, Si,” you mutter, turning to face him, “I-It’s a little tight on me now.”

The fabric once hugged you nicely but now it was snug. It molded around your breasts, even showing the lines of your bra. The neckline was low, giving a good show of cleavage – it didn’t help that Simon picked one of your more well padded bras.

Simon looks up, his eyes immediately falling to your breasts. He sucks in a quick breath and looks away, licking his lips.

“Looks fine,” he mutters, standing to pull one of the drawers open again. He searches for a second, brows furrowed until he pulls out the jeans he was talking about. The ‘nice jeans’ as he called them, were just some low rise jeans you’d only worn about 4 times.

You look dumbly at them as he drops them into your hands.

“These?” you scoff, “Simon, I can’t–”

He quiets you with a kiss to your forehead, “Trust me, love.”

He steps out of the room after that, leaving you to your own devices. You’re thankful that you can change your panties without him seeing how saturated and sticky they’ve become because of him. You bury them in the laundry basket and remind yourself that you should do the laundry before he does because you’d be mortified if he found them.

You don’t even look at yourself in the mirror, afraid you’ll feel too self-conscious if you see what you look like. But you trust Simon’s judgment on what he thinks would look good on you – and you can’t deny that dressing up how he likes feels nice.

You step into the living room, intent on pulling your shoes on when Simon catches you with an arm around your waist. You gasp as he turns you to face him.

“You look lovely,” he whispers, smoothing his hands up your sides, thumbs slipping under the hem of your shirt to stroke your skin.

You swallow thickly as your heart starts racing in your chest again. He leans down and pecks your lips but pulls back before you have the chance to kiss back.

“Let’s go,” is all he adds before walking away, leaving you no choice but to follow like the lovesick puppy you are.

Walking into the bar, your heart pounds painfully in your chest from pure anxiety. Your hand is clasped tightly in Simon’s as he easily moves through the crowd. You suppose his height makes it easy to see over people.

“You alright?” he asks, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“Haven’t been in a bar since I worked at…” you trail off, giving him a half-hearted shrug.

“If you wanna leave, just say the word,” he mutters, giving your hand a squeeze.

“N-No,” you shake your head, shooting him a wobbly smile,”I wanna meet your team at least.”

He smiles reassuringly and gives your hand a tug to encourage you to follow him. He leads you right to a table situated in a corner, three men laughing and drinking.

“There he is!” the one with the mohawk cheeks, holding up his pint in celebration.

“Shut up, Soap,” Simon grumbles petulantly as he pulls out a chair for you.

Soap, you note to yourself. You know them by name but you’ve never actually seen the faces to put to them. Soap looks like you imagined, a broad grin and pretty, bright eyes – you imagined them green but they’re blue.

“And who is this lovely companion of yours, Simon?” an older man with a hat and mutton chops asks with a kind smile, eyes on you.

Simon says your name before he sits down with a grunt beside you.

“Price,” your boyfriend supplies when you look curiously at him.

The man in question holds out a hand which you take and softly shake, “Nice to meet you.”

“Had no idea Lt. had someone waitin’ for him at home,” Soap says, a teasing lilt in his voice.

So you’ve met Soap, Price, and that leaves; your eyes land on the quiet guy sitting back in his chair, a cool smile on his lips. He meets your gaze and his smile broadens – not teasing like Soap’s but purely kind.

“You can call me Kyle,” he gives you a polite nod.

“Gaz, then?” you question, tilting your head to the side. Kyle looks surprised, eyes flicking to Simon who shifts uncomfortably in his chair, “He’s talked about all of you before. I only know your call signs though.”

“John will do fine if you’d like,” Price says, tipping his beer back to take a chug.

“Simon calls me Johnny,” Soap adds, “You’re welcome to as well. Anyone important to the Lieutenant is important to us.”

Out of the corner of your eye you see Simon roll his eyes. It makes you smile. He leans over, nudging you with his knee, “You want anything to drink? I need one.”

“No thank you, Si,” you reply, intent on having a clear head for the night. You’ve never been much of a drinker anyway.

When Simon’s gone from the table, you suddenly feel incredibly out of place. Price and Kyle have the decency to not stare you down but Soap seems keen on keeping his baby blue’s right on you and a goofy little smile on his face.

“Um…” you shift uncomfortably as you look back at him.

“We’ve never gotten to meet anyone from Ghost’s private life before,” Soap says, saving you from having to think of what to say, “Just shocked s’all.”

“You’re gonna start giving the poor thing the creeps with your ugly mug,” Kyle chuckles which also makes Soap laugh.

“Sorry about that,” Soap lifts his glass and cheers to you before tipping it back.

He grimaces slightly as it goes down before slamming his glass back on the table.

“It’s alright,” you respond, “Si’s not really the open book kind. So I understand.”

“How long have the two of you known each other?” Kyle asks.

You find yourself wondering where the hell Simon even is but answer regardless, “Since we were kids. Um, we lived next door. His mom and mine were friends, I guess.”

Soap nods his head, elbows on the table as he gives you his full attention, “You guess?”

You hum, “I’m 3 years younger than Simon. The way it was told to me by my mom is that…his mom came over and,” you couldn’t fight back the smile as you recalled the story.

“Oh this has got to be good,” Soap nudged Kyle excitedly at your grin.

“Told my mom that Simon didn’t have any friends and that he was a…soft-hearted boy and she wanted him to have some friends,” you giggle, holding a hand in front of your face to hide your laughter, “So she wanted to set up playdates with me even though I was still a baby. My mom didn’t have the heart to tell her no.”

Soap tosses his head back and laughs, “No fuckin’ way.”

“I’m shocked to say it but that actually makes him sound cute,” Kyle adds, unable to hide the laughter in his voice either.

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Price says, but there’s a smile on his face, “Simon’ll knock you out cold on this table.”

“So you and Simon have been together since?” Kyle asks, glass cupped in both hands.

You nod, “Only time we’ve been apart is when he enlisted and had to go off for a few years to train.”

Soap opens his mouth to say something but a large figure finally drops down into the seat next to you. Simon has a glass of bourbon and a glass that he slides over to Soap who catches it with ease.

“Thanks, Lt,” he nods, taking a sip before making that disgusted face again.

“What are you lot talkin’ about?” Simon asks, drumming his fingers against his glass.

“We were discussin’ all your dirty secrets,” Kyle teases with a charming grin.

“Nothin’ too damning I hope,” Simon huffs before he takes a large gulp of his drink.

The other three men all hide their grins behind their glasses.

The anxiety you had felt at the beginning of the night is long gone. The task force is full of jokes and laughs and even Simon seems like a different person.

With you, he’s kind and even soft. He’s by no means gentle or patient.

But this side of Simon is so jovial and comfortable that it warms your heart to see. He drinks a few glasses and by the end of the night, he’s got a relaxed, lidded look in his eyes that lets you know he’s got a bit of a buzz going on.

“It was lovely to meet you,” Price says when you all walk out of the bar.

“I really enjoyed meeting all of you as well,” you smile, letting Simon tuck you into his side with an arm wrapped around your waist.

“Get him home safe,” Soap teases, your smile only widening when you hear Simon huff in annoyance.

You bid goodbye to the three of them and make your way to the car with Simon, plucking his keys out of his hand and forcing him into the passenger seat despite his grumbled protests of how ‘he’s not that drunk’.

When the two of you finally get into your apartment, you let him lock up and turn out the lights while you go to the bedroom and get ready for bed.

“You looked really nice tonight,” Simon mutters when he finally walks in as you crawl into bed, “I’m glad you liked them.”

“I’m glad they liked me,” you huff, leaning back into the pillows, “They were all really nice guys.”

“Yeah,” Simon hums, tugging his shirt off of his head, taking his mask with it, “They’re good people.”

You nod your head and tuck your knees to your chest while he gets undressed. He slips on a plaid pair of pajama pants and shoves the drawer closed with his hip before yanking the blanket back to make room for his large body.

You bounce a little on the bed when he drops his weight onto it. He smacks his pillow a couple times before he lays back and sighs. It’s clear he’s still a little buzzed from the way he fights to keep his eyes open.

“Simon?” you ask, turning to face him.

That makes his eyes open back up before he looks at you, “What?”

“Can I kiss you?” you ask.

He snorts and it makes you smile. He reaches out and wraps his hand around the back of your head. You let him tug you down, pressing your hands against his firm chest as you kiss him.

His hand travels down your back as he sighs into your mouth. You pull away briefly to look into his eyes before you kiss him again, this time deepening it as much as you’re able. Simon sighs contentedly, his other hand coming up to caress your arm.

“I like kissin’ you…” you find yourself whispering against his lips.

He groans at that, the sound going straight to your core. You feel yourself clench around nothing, already starting to leak into your panties.

“Yeah?” he coos, cupping your cheek, thumbing over your lips, “You can kiss me all you want, love.”

You whimper, surging down to kiss him again. His hands grip your waist, intermittently squeezing you, like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Suddenly, you feel the warm, slick slide of his tongue against your lips. You whimper and pull back, brows furrowed.

“Shh, love,” he coos, pulling you close again, “Jus’ relax and let me…”

You huff, struggling to catch your breath as he urges you to meet his lips again. You feel his tongue again and eagerly open your mouth, letting him taste the inside of your mouth. You shyly meet his tongue with yours and feel his grip on your waist tighten as he groans in his throat.

You’re sure you’ve soaked well through your panties by now. There’s an ache in your clit that you long to reach down and relieve – or better yet, have Simon relieve.

You bet his fingers would feel so damn good against you. You find yourself whimpering into the kiss at the thought alone. Simon lets out a husky laugh into your mouth before pulling away.

A string of spit connects your lips before it breaks and vanishes.

With a surge of confidence, you toss your leg over his waist. He grunts when your weight settles on his hips, on his cock. It’s chubbed up against his thigh from kissing you and he knows you can feel it.

“What’re you doin’, baby?” he huffs, unable to stop his hands from traveling up the front of your body.

You grab his wrist and boldly slide it under the hem of your shirt. He bites his lip to keep from moaning when he feels your bare breast fill his palm. You see the way his eyes start to roll back before he looks at you again. It makes you throb in your panties and you can’t resist grinding against him a little before he grabs your waist and stops you.

“Si…” you whimper, pressing your hands against his chest, “‘S wrong?”

“Can’t,” he clears his throat and sinks into the bed, “Can’t do this, love.”

“Why not?” you ask, feeling a pit of disappointment in your gut, “You don’t want to? I just thought…”

You feel your face burn with humiliation as you slide off of his lap. Simon lets you, simply laying there on his back, eyes closed and a knit between his brows, as he evens his breathing out. You fight back tears as you sit there, biting the inside of your lip anxiously.

“Not…not tonight, sweetheart,” he finally says, reaching over to pet your hair, “Been drinkin’ ‘nd I want to be sober for it, yeah?”

It would have been a solid excuse if it didn’t sound so flimsy coming from his lips. Like he doesn’t even believe it himself.

“Yeah…” you offer, giving him a wobbly smile before turning out the light.

You’re too embarrassed to cuddle into him that night.

“Can I ask you something?” you find yourself muttering as you relax on the couch with him, watching some old movie he picked out, “As long as you promise not to get mad.”

He snorts, taking a sip of his tea, “Won’t get mad.”

“I just want to know…” you clear your throat and sit up straight a little more, going over the question in your head, “Why did you leave that night…leave like that, just to have sex?”

He tenses up immediately, you can feel it. He shifts where he sits, spreading his legs just a little wider so he can sink deeper into the couch, “We already talked about this.”

You wince at his clipped tone, knowing you’re stepping into dangerous territory, “I know but…I want to know the real reason.”

He catches his bottom lip between his teeth and sighs, keeping his eyes trained on the TV, “You think I was lyin’ to you?”

Now he sounds mad. You quickly shake your head, “No, Si. I-I’m not trying to start a fight, I swear. I don’t think you were lying. I just think you…weren’t telling me everything.”

He sighs. You can see the way his jaw ticks when he clenches it, “Is that right?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, scooting a little closer to him, placing your hands on his chest, smoothing his shirt down a bit, “It was just…out of character for you, Si. I was really upset and you knew that. It wasn’t like you to just…leave. Just to get laid.”

He finally looks at you, just out of the corner of his eye. You meet the look, offering him an encouraging smile to show that you’re not upset or anything.

“All night,” he finally mutters, “You’d been kickin’ in your sleep. Kept wakin’ me up.”

You nodded, a look of confusion on your face. You had no idea where this was going.

“You started sayin’ my name,'' he continued, “Moanin’ my name. Fuck, it was drivin’ me crazy.”

Your face flushes hot when you hear that. It all suddenly comes rushing back to you – what you’d been dreaming about.

“You threw your leg over mine and I could–” he cuts himself off, his throat moving with how hard he swallows.

“Could what?” your voice comes out shockingly breathy.

He catches it, looking at you. You can see the way his pupils widen immediately when he meets your gaze. It’s like he can see right through you, see the fact you’re dripping into your panties again. Just from this conversation alone.

“I could feel how fuckin’ wet you were,” he brings a shaky hand up and runs it through his hair before he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “Couldn’t fuckin’ deal with it. I had to…let it out somehow.”

“So you knew that I wanted you…like that?” you find yourself asking.

He scoffs and shakes his head, “Didn’t think about it like that. Figured it was just a dream and that’s all it was.”

“Wasn’t just a dream,” you assure, scooting closer to him.

Simon’s breath catches in his throat when you lean over him, resting your hand on the arm rest on his other side, letting it support your weight. You stand on your knees, making you just a little taller than him before you lean down and kiss him.

He remains completely still, like he’s processing. His hands flounder in the air for a second before he’s carefully pushing you to sit back down. You slump against your heels and look at him, perturbed.

“Why..?”

“I need to make dinner,” he says lamely.

“Simon…” you admonish, knowing he’s lying.

He gets up, knees cracking as he does. He winces a little bit before he bends down to pick up the blanket that fell to the floor when he stood. You kept your eyes on him, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. You almost let him go but before you can stop him, you grab his arm.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Simon,” you mutter, “I keep trying to make things go further with you but I just keep making a fool of myself and I–”

“‘S not you,” he assures softly, taking your hand in his, “‘S all me, baby.”

“So why…” you frown, “I want you.”

He shakes his head, “Night you told me how you felt. You sounded scared.”

You remember, the way his touch had made anxiety fill you. You had wanted him, of course, but for some reason it had just been so damn awful at the same time. You hadn’t really dwelled on why that was.

“It wasn’t ‘cause of you, Si,” you assured, shifting so your feet were on the floor rather than under you, “I promise. I-I was just nervous, I think. That’s all.”

“I don’t want…” he licks his lips, seemingly thinking over his next words carefully before he says them slowly, “I don’t to hear you sound like that with me again. ‘S why I’ve been avoidin’ it. ‘Cause I don’t want you to get scared again.”

You shake your head, rising to your feet, stepping in front of him. You take his hands in yours and squeeze them, “I don’t want to make a fool of myself with you, Simon.”

He frowns, “You know I would never think poorly of you.”

You smile and shrug, “I know that. I think…that time was just…too soon. After that night at the bar and everything that happened. And then the fact I’m so inexperienced that it’s laughable. I think…I just wasn’t ready for it. I needed to go at my own pace and I have been.”

“I don’t want you to push yourself,” he hums, “I know that night at the bar was terrifying,” he brings a hand up to brush over your cheek, “I understand if you’re not goin’ to be ready for a long time. It’s normal to not be ready after what happened to you.”

You huff, “I’ve been trying to show you that I’ve been ready for a while now, Si. I was anxious at first, yes. But now it’s…like a good kind of nervous.”

“A good kind of nervous?” he mutters, hands moving to your hips to pull you closer. Your breath hitches in your throat and you nod dumbly, “Tell me all about it.”

“L-Like my heart races,” you breathe, “And I feel scared that I’m gonna do something silly and embarrassing but like I want to learn and…and I want to do good for you.”

“Fuck,” Simon groans, dropping his head to rest on your shoulder, “Can’t say shit like that to a man like me, love.”

“Why not?” you whimper, feeling your knees tremble in excitement when you feel his hands start to wander.

“‘Cause…” he whispers, running his hands up your sides, “Makes me think some nasty shit, sweetheart.”

You swallow thickly at the promise in his voice, “Simon…”

You sound so wrecked already and it makes him moan softly in your ear, “Tell me about it, baby.”

Just like that, you’re spilling your guts to him, “Get so wet for you, Si, all the time. I want you so bad that it hurts.”

“Yeah?” he breathes, finally pulling his head from where he was hiding in your shoulder, tilting your chin up, “Where’s it hurt, baby? Hm? Right in that needy little cunt?”

You whimper immediately, looking up at him with wide, hazy eyes and nod, “T-Tried to touch myself. Thinkin’ about you made it hurt so I couldn’t help myself. Thought about you when I did.”

He hums as you babble to him but his mind latches onto one particular word, “Tried, baby? What do you mean "tried?”

Your cheeks burn hot at the slip up. Would he think you were silly for it?

“C-Can’t do it right,” you confess softly, hoping he doesn’t see how embarrassed you are, “Try so hard but n-nothin’ ever happens.”

Simon moans at that. Loud and unbridled, “What’re you sayin’, baby? That you can’t make yourself cum, s’that it?” You shake your head bashfully, “Fuckin’ hell. That’s adorable.”

“D-Don’t tease me, Si,” you whimper but the seat of your panties is so fucking wet that it’s sticking to you.

He hums, a predatory smile spreads across his face, “Am I bein’ mean, love?” You nod your head, tearfully staring up at him. It only makes his smile widen, canines popping out, “‘M sorry. Can’t help myself when you tell me ‘bout how you touch your pretty little pussy and just can’t make yourself cum like you need. Think I can do it for you, hm? Want me to try and make you cum?”

You vigorously nod your head, uncaring how fucking needy you look to him. He’s offering to give you what you’ve wanted for years – to give you a real, honest to God orgasm. And you weren’t going to let this chance slip away.

“Want you on the bed,” he suddenly whispers, “On your back, lose the pants but keep everything else on.”

With a jerk of his head in the direction of the bedroom, you take off. You hear him chuckle behind you at your excitement. He makes sure the door is locked before he heads back to the bedroom.

You’re there just like he asked, pants pooled on the floor, leaving you in nothing but an old t-shirt of his and a pair of the cutest little lilac colored panties he’s seen. You’ve got your knees pinned together, clenching your thighs but laying perfectly still in waiting for him.

“So fuckin’ good for me,” he praises, grinning when you whimper and tremble at his words, “Oh, sweet thing likes to be praised, huh?”

You nod your head, “Wanna be good for you, Si.”

“That’s sweet, baby,” he coos, reaching to the back of his collar so he can tug his shirt off of his head.

Your heart hammers away in your chest when he crawls onto the bed, hands on either side of your head. He looks so big like this, on top of you, completely blocking any view you had of your ceiling and instead filling your viewline with just him. He leans down and kisses you, humming contentedly when you eagerly kiss back. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders as he uses one hand to tug your legs open so he can slot himself between them.

You cry out when he presses himself against your core. He’s wearing nothing but his jeans but you can feel the heat radiating through the thick material.

“Shit, look at that,” he whispers, leaning back on his heels to admire the nice little wet patch that has stained your panties, “You already this wet, baby?”

“Kissin’ you always makes me this wet, Si,” you sweetly confess and oh, you are just so precious.

His hands slide up your stomach, moving your t-shirt up and up until it sits crumpled under your chin. Your tits are bare and move with every gasping breath that you take.

Simon’s hands are just as rough and warm as you’d expect them to be. His thumbs come up and glide over your nipples until they harden into stiff little peaks for him.

Then his mouth is wrapping around one, swirling his tongue around it before pulling off with a lewd pop. His hand pinches the other nipple, rolling it between his fingers as he listens to you whimper and sigh.

“Please, Si,” you whine, “I-It hurts, please.”

“It hurts?” he hums, leaving a fleeting kiss against the nipple his tongue was torturing just a moment ago, “Where? Hm?”

His hand travels down your body, cupping your cunt through your panties. You gasp, arching your hips just a bit to grind against his palm. He lets you, before he meanly pins your hips down with his other hand.

“Where, love?” he smooths the pad of his thumb over the seam of your cunt through your panties. The fabric is saturated with your slick, letting him see every part of you through shape alone. His thumb finds your clit, the little bud poking out through the fabric from how hard and swollen it's become, “Here? ‘S it your pretty clit that hurts, love?”

You nod, eyes rolling back in your head when he presses his thumb against the bud, trapping it under his finger so he can roll mean little circles over it. You’d be mindlessly rutting your hips by now if he didn’t have his other arm slung over your hips to keep you pinned nice and still like he wants.

It already feels so different than when you touched yourself. Maybe because it’s him or maybe because he’s so experienced.

That thought makes you equal parts jealous and equal parts turned on. He’d slept with plenty of people but now he was using that expertise to make you feel good.

“Can you take them off, please?” you whine, pitchy and sweet from arousal.

“Asked so sweetly for me,” he coos, hitching his thumbs into the band of your panties before giving them a firm tug.

You quickly lift your hips, letting him tug them down and off of your feet. You expect him to toss them away but instead he holds them up, thumbing over the slickness in the crotch. You watch him with wide eyes as he analyzes it. Your breath hitches when he suddenly brings them towards his face and licks a wide stripe of the fabric, moaning when he gets a good laste of your syrupy sweet slick.

“Simon!” you gasp – admonish, leaning up to snatch them out of his grasp.

His eyes open, he hadn’t even realized he’d closed them, to look at you. He licks his lips like a dog licking its chops when it tastes something real delicious.

He doesn’t even comment on what he just did or the pure embarrassment that is written all over your face. Instead, he grips underneath your knees and yanks you down the bed towards him so your hips are situated in his lap.

“Jus’ let me touch you, love,” he whispers, “I’ll work a nice little orgasm out of you in no time, yeah?”

You nod your head because you trust him. You know he’s going to be able to give you what you need so badly. You don’t even question it – especially when you feel how good it feels when he uses his thumbs to spread your folds open for him. He groans when he sees the sticky strings of slick that display just how turned on you are.

Pretty little hole clenching sporadically around nothing, dribbling more creamy arousal that makes his tongue feel like lead in his mouth. A pretty clit that twitches and throbs under his scrutinizing gaze. But you make no move to cover yourself and hide from his gaze.

He finally touches the bud directly and it’s like electricity strikes through you. You lose control of your body as your back arches and your thighs violently twitch. Your cheeks burn when you hear him chuckle softly at your reaction.

“Sensitive,” he huffs, a crooked little grin on his face as he brushes his thumb over your clit again, garnering the same reaction as before from you, “Fuck, can’t believe you’re this sensitive and can’t make yourself cum.”

“‘S cause it’s you, Si,” you sweetly confess.

And it’s true. Having him touch you like this directly – feeling his callused skin over the most sensitive little part of you is euphoric. It doesn’t feel anything like when you touch yourself at all. It feels magnified, you feel like a live wire and everything feels like too much. But you don’t do anything to impede him because you trust him more than anything – especially like this, with your body.

He replaced his thumb with his middle finger, prodding at your entrance. You almost think he’s going to press inside you but he doesn’t – instead, he gathers your slick up on his finger and drags it up to your clit. He softly circles the bud, cock kicking against his thigh when you sigh and croon so sweetly for him.

Your cunt makes sticky noises as he continues doing this, gathering your arousal and lathering your precious bud up with it so he can so softly play with it. His touches aren’t enough to actually work you to the edge, it’s much too slow and soft but it feels good. He waits for you to relax against the bed, lashes fluttering as you whimper and twitch on the bed for him.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he whispers, leaning forward to press a kiss against your trembling thigh, “Relax f’me. Want you nice and soft for me so I can get my fingers in this tight little cunt.”

You gasp at that, partly in excitement and also in apprehension. You’ve never actually put anything inside yourself before – except once, you put your finger in and it burned so you never tried it again.

“D-Dont…” you find yourself muttering, making him freeze. He thinks you’ve changed your mind, anxiety getting the better of you and he’s fully prepared to propel himself away from you at a moment's notice, “Be gentle, okay?”

His gaze softens when he looks at you, “Won’t hurt you, love. I promise.”

You remain relaxed for him when he carefully prods you with his middle finger. He keeps his thumb pressed against your clit, not rubbing it or anything, just keeping a nice pressure that keeps you sagged against the pillows.

It doesn’t feel anything like when you tried that one time with yourself. Everything is so much wetter and more pliant. It’s like your walls just suck the digit in, even though it’s so much bigger than your own finger.

You sigh softly when you finally have something to clench around. Simon gives you a sweet kiss to the spot right underneath your belly button in silent praise. He keeps his lidded, brown eyes on your face, watching every little expression you make with rapt attention.

He slowly and carefully fucks his middle finger into you, feeling the way you slowly relax around him, soaking his skin with your arousal. He smooths his free hand up the length of your body, abandoning your clit to wrap his palm around your breast. You place your own hand over his, encouraging him to squeeze harder.

“How’s that feel, love?” he asks, still sliding his finger in and out of you.

“Okay…” you reply, keeping your hand over his on your chest, “But it…um…”

“What?” he urges, “Tell me what you feel.”

“I-It feels nice but…” you trail off and he hums, nodding his head.

“Doesn’t feel good?” he finishes for you. You nod your head and he laughs softly, “I know, baby. Jus’ tryin’ to get you used to the feeling and then I’ll make it feel real good, alright?”

“Okay,” you whisper but he can tell you’re not too convinced that it’s going to feel much better.

You’re worried that the same thing is going to happen – it’ll feel really good and then you’re never going to be able to climb over that wall. You hate to imagine disappointing him, failing to get off. You’d hate for him to put all this work in and you just can’t cum in the end.

“Hey,” he coos, “Get out of your head, pretty. Don’t worry about a thing, alright?”

You take a deep breath and slowly let it out, allowing yourself to relax against the bed again. Simon waits for you to be nice and pliant around his finger before he starts to fit his ring finger alongside it. He catches sight of the furrow in your brow when he stretches you around two of his fingers. It burns but when Simon brings his thumb back to your clit, tapping against the bud, it vanishes. Your thighs twitch and you whimper, walls clenching in time with the little taps until the burning vanishes completely.

“There we are,” he praises, “Knew you could do it, sweetheart.”

“A-Are you gonna add another?” you find yourself asking.

“Later,” he responds, scissoring the two fingers he has snug inside your cunt, “‘M a big man, love. Gonna need you nice and stretched for me.”

You whimper at that, walls clenching around his fingers as he slowly begins to fuck them in and out of you. Your cheeks burn when you hear the loud, squishing noises your hole makes every time he stuffs them back inside.

After a moment of just getting you used to being stretched on two of his thick digits, he suddenly crooks them up and hits something inside you that makes your back arch. It causes a tingling feeling that you’ve never experienced to heat your tummy every time he touches it.

“Simon!” you squeal, trying to clench your thighs closed but his broad shoulders keep them open, “Th-That feels-!”

“I know, baby,” he coos cockily, grinding his fingertips against that little spot that makes you so gooey and creamy around his fingers, “Feels real good right there, I know.”

Your back arches and your jaw drops. You can’t do anything but moan and cry out as he fucks against that spot. He’s urged on by your sounds of pure pleasure, eyes flicking between where he’s got your pretty cunt spread open and the euphoric expressions you can’t do anything to hide.

It’s so precious, seeing you so open and loud for him. You don’t do anything to hide your sounds of pleasure nor do you even think of faking any of them for his sake. Every little thing you’re feeling, you express, and you can’t help yourself because it’s all so new and so much.

That hot, tingling feeling in your core only intensifies with every experienced stroke of his fingers. Your eyes are rolling back every time he touches that magnificent spot inside you, abusing it with his fingers until your walls are soft and malleable for him again.

And then he brings his index finger into it. He’s even more slow and careful as he fits it in beside the other two fingers. It doesn’t burn like when he had given you his second finger but it’s a certain stretch that simply feels strange.

He gets you stuffed open on his three fingers, up to the third knuckle. You’re spread so wide and squeeze his fingers so tight that it makes him moan when he thinks about what it will feel like around his cock.

If you’re this tight around just his fingers then you’re going to feel positively euphoric around him.

“Simon…” you coo, reaching down to card your fingers through his hair.

He grunts in acknowledgement, but is unwilling to part his gaze from the sight of the creamy mess you’ve begun to leave on his fingers. Your pretty clit is twitching and so swollen, glistening from your juices and he suddenly has the inescapable desire to wrap his mouth around it.

You’re not even looking when he decides to do it. It’s like he can’t stop himself.

All you feel is something wet and hot wrap around the little bud. You practically wail at the feeling of his tongue sliding against it. Your feet kick aimlessly, hitting his back and shoulders as you flail beneath his body.

You sob his name, yanking harshly on his hair in a way that hurts but he’s not going to stop you. He knows it’s mean to do this, not even warning you or easing you into the feeling before he’s suckling your clit. His tongue slips in circles around it, flicking it with the tip of his tongue. His ears practically ring from how loud you’re crying out for him.

His three fingers remain buried inside you but he’s hardly able to move them from how tight you’re squeezing them. All he can do is grind his fingers against your g-spot but it only makes your pretty body more twitchy and makes you squirm even more beneath him. He has to hold you down so you can’t get away.

He doesn’t want your precious pussy to be ripped away from him, your juices are making his taste buds tingle – you taste so damn good.

That familiar heat begins to grow in your core – one you’ve experienced many times before by yourself. You cry and wail for him, sobbing his name and gripping his hair.

“S-Si, don’t stop, please, please, please–” you choke on your own cries, slamming your head into the pillows as your back arches painfully hard.

He grunts lowly, blonde lashes fluttering as he watches your body’s pure, unfiltered reactions to this pleasure. He knows you’re getting close, can feel you clenching around him and your clit pulsing on his tongue in time with your heartbeat.

You feel yourself reaching that wall, the one you can never overcome. But it feels different this time, the pleasure isn’t slowing. It’s not fading like it always does when you’ve got your own fingers on your bud.

It always seems to slip out of your grasp by this point.

This is it, you think. You’re going to cum. You’re finally going to fucking cum.

Then everything stops.

His tongue is gone from your clit and his fingers are nowhere to be found. Simon’s shoulders rise and fall as he watches your face flicker through a range of emotions before your eyes fill with tears and you look at him – utterly pitiful and hopeless.

“Wh-Why…” you finally whisper, tongue feeling heavy in your mouth.

Your cunt pulses and throbs around nothing, the heat of your orgasm quickly dissipating, leaving that horribly empty and unsatisfying feeling in its wake.

“Sorry, baby,” he coos, genuine and soft as he leans up to kiss your face, “That was mean, huh? ‘M sorry. Jus’ want you to have your first orgasm on a cock, love.”

That doesn’t do anything to quell your disappointment but you nod anyway, wiping away some stray tears that trickle from your eyes.

“Please,” you breathlessly whisper, “Please, Simon. Want your cock, please. I-I was so close. It felt so good,” you start babbling, eyes falling to the hard outline of his cock in his jeans, “I wanna cum so bad, Si. Y-You promised. Please, just give me your cock. Please? Please? Simon!”

Simon’s mouth goes dry as he hears your babbled begging. Fuck, you’re absolutely aching for it. All you can think about is cumming. He never thought he’d get to hear you beg for him like this, so pathetically. You should be embarrassed, begging for cock like this when you’ve only just now gotten your first taste of being stretched open. Yet here you are fuckin’ crying for it.

His cock drools pre down his thigh, he can feel how wet his boxers have become from how much he’s leaking it. He’s aching in his jeans – he can’t pretend he doesn’t want it just as badly as you do.

“Shit, alright!” he snarls, wrapping a hand around your throat to force you to look at him. You gasp at the rough treatment, “Jus’ shut up and I’ll give it to you, yeah?”

You obediently nod your head, still staring up at him with those wide, teary eyes. He tries to act like his hands aren’t fucking trembling when he yanks his belt off. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this needy – this excited to get his cock inside a pussy.

But it’s you. You’re special.

He loves you. This isn’t like the one night stands and hookups he’s had in the past. This is different.

He feels like a fumbling teenager the way he clumsily yanks his belt out of the loops and shoves his jeans down his thighs along with his underwear. His cock, big and heavy, hangs under its own weight – it never slaps up against his stomach. He wasn’t just chatting shit when he said he was a big guy.

He wrapped his hand around himself, giving it a few, firm tugs. He feels your eyes on him, watching the way he touches himself and it sends heat through him. He scoots closer to you again, pulling back his foreskin to show the fat, leaky head that he meanly taps against your clit.

You gasp a cute little ‘ah!’ when he does that brings a smile to his face. He can’t say he’s the best lay for a virgin because he’s so big and he’s a brute – it’s in his nature. But he’s trying his best for you.

“Alright, baby,” he coos, leaning on one forearm above your head, draping his big body over yours. He easily manhandles you into position, caging your knees against your chest and wrapping himself around you, “Just relax for me, hm? Can you do that f’me?”

You nod your head and shakily put your hands on his shoulders, cupping his jaw to bring him down to kiss you. He sighs into your lips, using his free hang to grip the base of his cock, prodding against your hole. You’re so slippery that it slides out of you and slips up your clit. You whimper at the feeling, thighs twitching at the stimulation.

When he finally starts to press inside, your nails bite into his shoulders. It stings – it hurts. He’s so big, making your poor little cunt burn the deeper he presses himself. The head pops in and your hips jump at the feeling, his cock slipping back out.

He huffs, dropping his forehead against your shoulder, “Fuck, sit still.”

“S-Sorry!” you whimper, “I’m sorry!”

“Shh,” he sighs, kissing your cheek, “‘S okay, baby. Hurts, huh?”

“A little,” you whimper, trying to downplay it so he won’t stop.

He hums and presses a kiss against the corner of your mouth. He knows that working an orgasm out of you before making you take his cock would be the nice thing to do but he’s selfish. He wants to feel your orgasm around his cock – where you deserve to have it.

It’s your very first orgasm after all. It needs to be good and he knows he can make it real good once he can get you speared on his cock.

So he grips himself again, sitting up for just a moment to lewdly spit on your pussy. It hits your clit and trickles down where he catches it with the head of his cock. He leans over your body and starts to push in again. This time he tucks his arms under your shoulders and pins you impossibly against him, leaving you with nowhere to run when he starts to press into you.

You whimper, feet kicking against his back when he pushes deeper than before – past the head. He knows it hurts, you’re stretched beyond your limit and he waits with bated breath for you to say the word and tell him to stop.

But you don’t.

You just grapple your arms around his waist and dig your nails in. His skin is sweaty by now and it makes getting any purchase on him difficult. You let out a watery little whimper that has him freezing. You’re speared on half his cock when he finally looks at you.

Your eyes are teary and they slowly drip down your cheeks.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks, brushing some away with his thumb.

You immediately shake your head, no hesitation, “No! K-Keep goin’, Si.”

“Don’t cry, pretty,” he shushes, keeping his grip under your shoulders and his hips pinned firmly against yours so you can’t squirm when he starts pressing in again. Your mouth opens in a silent gasp, eyes fluttering from the ache that settles where he’s stretching you wide, “‘S okay, just take a deep breath. ‘M almost in, love, you’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me. Takin’ all of my cock so deep, just like you deserve. Hear me? This cock s’all yours now, yeah? Can have it whenever you need it.”

Your walls spasm around his cock as he talks, making him groan low in his chest. He’s almost there, can feel his balls starting to tap against you the deeper he gets until finally, his hips meet yours and you wail.

He prods painfully against your cervix and he knows that it’s uncomfortable but he’s not willing to pull back just yet. He needs you to get used to being stretched and stuffed full of every inch of him. He takes care to do slow, gentle grinds, his pelvis catching your clit that eventually makes you relax.

“That’s it,” he praises, “Just relax and let me make you feel good.”

He finally eases off of you, balancing his weight on his forearms on either side of your head, hovering over you. He slowly pulls his hips back, watching you slump against the bed when he finally stops pressing on your cervix.

He finally starts fucking you, sliding his cock out just a bit before rolling his hips forward again. It's slow and soft, just testing the waters and getting you used to this new stimulation.

It feels entirely different from his fingers. His cock is bigger, fills you so much more, touches deeper.

His cock reaches spots deep inside you that his fingers didn’t even reach. But he’s permanently pressing against that spot his fingers were torturing. It feels so fucking good.

Simon can see the way your eyes roll back as he carefully fucks you. Your first cock and you’re taking it so damn well. It makes him want to see how much more you can take but he knows he needs to ease you into it, he doesn't want to overwhelm you.

“Si…” you sigh softly, blinking as you struggle not to float off and become drunk with pleasure.

“I know, pretty,” he coos, kissing your cheek before leaning back on his heels, fastening the thrusts of his hips.

You can’t keep quiet now, mouth falling open to let out the most precious sounds of pure pleasure. You’re staring at him with wide eyes, like he’s hung the moon and stars in the sky just for you. His cock fucking throbs at the look of wonder that crosses your face. He knows you’re getting close, can feel how tight you’re clamping around him and he can see how much you’re creaming around him – making a mess at the base of his cock and in the thatch of curls there.

“You gonna cum?” he coos, grinning when you shake your head, “Of course you are. I can fuckin’ feel it, baby. Know you got one for me, go ahead. Cum on my cock real nice, c’mon.”

“C-Can’t,” you whimper. It’s too much. You’re so wet. It’s fucking messy but you feel yourself at that damn wall, hanging on a thread and waiting for euphoria to come but it doesn’t, “Please! Simon! Please, I-I can’t! Please, please, please…”

“Fuck,” his hisses when he hears you begging to cum on his cock, “Come on then, baby. You can do it. Just let it go, let me fuck it outta you.”

You toss your head back into the pillows as a sob is ripped from your chest. As if he can sense how much you’re struggling, he brings his thumb down to press against your clit. Your eyes fucking roll, only the whites of them visible. You clench down around him like a vice and it only takes a couple little swipes of his thumb for you to tumble over the edge.

It feels unlike anything you could have ever imagined. Pleasure soars through you and your hearing cuts out. It feels like you lose control of your body, unable to do anything but thrash and twitch as he fucks you through it. You’re not sure if you would prefer him to stop or keep going because it’s all so fucking much that it hurts.

You’re gushing around him, drenching his cock in sticky, creamy cum that drips in thick strings down his balls. Holy fuck.

It feels like hours that you’re speared on his cock, cumming and cumming before it finally leaves you and you collapse against the bed. You’re still twitching, entire body shivering until he finally slows his thrusts to soft little rolls of his hips. He takes his thumb off of your clit and you’re thankful because it was starting to become unpleasant.

You swallow despite how dry your mouth is, eyes finally focusing on him. His brows are furrowed and his bottom lip is tucked into his mouth. Pretty, brown eyes are locked on you and you suddenly feel shy.

Had he been watching you the whole time? You hoped you didn’t make any ugly faces or embarrassing noises.

“Fuck,” he coos, seemingly sensing your shame, “That was a fuckin’ orgasm, love.”

You’re panting, you realize. And you’re tired. You’ve never felt more relaxed in your life.

All you can think is that you’ve been missing out on that your whole life? Now you’re not sure you’ll be able to even live without it ever again.

Simon’s hands cup under your knees and pin them to your chest. You gasp as he bends you as he sees fit. You’re limp, so completely drunk on the pleasure you just experienced that you simply let him.

But you realize he’s even deeper like this – and it doesn’t hurt like it did before. He’s pressing against your back wall and it actually feels good. You feel so sensitive inside, like you can feel every twitch of his cock.

He’s still languidly dragging his cock in and out of you. It’s a fucking mess between your legs, you’ve cum so fucking much that it’s everywhere. He’s never been covered like this before and it’s fucking hot.

Your cum sticks between the two of you in little strings that break and reform every time his hips meet and leave yours. Your little clit is puffy and swollen from your orgasm and he wants to press his thumb against it again but he knows the poor little thing is much too sensitive still.

Your legs flop uselessly as he fucks you, eases you past overstimulation until you’re sweetly cooing for him again. He takes that chance to fuck you properly again, intent on finding his own orgasm deep in your cunt.

His heavy balls slap against your ass. He wants to cum. He plans to make himself cum like this, just using your pretty pussy. But then he sees your eyes widen again and your lips part almost curiously and his eyes narrow.

“You feel it again, huh, sweetheart?” he goads, shifting his weight on his knees so his hips are pressed even closer to yours.

“C-Can’t,” you whisper, the same thing you had before. But it’s different now, “W-Won’t be able to, Si.”

“S that a challenge, love?” he teases, a crooked little smile on his face. You sleepily shake your head, “Hmm, I think I can fuck another one out of you. One orgasm won’t be enough, two is a good number for now. Until I train this little cunt to cum for me all night long.”

You whimper, reaching out the claw at his forearms where he pins your knees to your chest. You’re held so uselessly open, cunt completely vulnerable to his fat cock stuffing you full. His pelvis hits your clit in a way that makes the little bud tingle and your cunt clenches pathetically around him with every thrust he gives you.

Sweet little ‘ah, ah, ah’s’ are punched from your lungs every time he sinks completely inside. He’s gripping your knees harshly, squeezing where he has a grip as his own orgasm starts to creep up on him but he’s going to give you another orgasm. He has to make you cum again, to see you lost in pleasure like that once more. He knows that will push him over the edge, give him what he needs. He wants to cum with you, fill you up while you’re in the throes of pure pleasure that only he has ever given you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he gasps, fighting the feeling of his own eyes rolling back in favor of watching you.

He loves the way you wear everything you feel on your face. From the looks of wonder when it feels really good to the little rolls of your eyes when he makes it hurt just a bit. It’s so cute.

Makes him want to play around with that little part of you – be a little mean to you.

“Cum,” he growls, fighting his own orgasm down, “Fuckin’ cum right now.”

“I can’t!” you wail, kicking against his hold on your knees, pressing down to spread you open even further.

His hips slam against yours, loud slaps and slick noises of your gooey cunt filling his ears, “You can. You will. Cum, sweetheart. You better fuckin’ cum.”

But you shake your head. It’s so close, you can feel it. It’s creeping up on you and you want it so bad. You want to feel that pleasure again. But you’re not even sure you’re going to be able to cum again, it feels so much more sensitive than before. It’s too much.

Simon bares his teeth, letting go of one of your legs to drift between your thighs. Your eyes widen, you think he’s going to rub it again – it’s so sensitive that you’re not sure you’ll be able to take it.

But instead, he does something else.

You hear it before you feel it, a soft little slap followed by the feeling of being electrocuted. Simon watches you with lidded eyes to see how you react. Just like he expected, you wail and your body gives a mean twitch at the impact.

So he does it again.

And again.

Not too hard, just enough for it to hurt a little bit. A sting against a terribly sensitive little bud. It’s mean – he’s mean. But he can’t fucking help it.

He needs you to cum for him again.

“Cum,” he snarls, giving your clit another slap.

As if on command, it sends you over the edge. Your legs kick out and he has to abandon your clit to hold you down, pinning you harshly to the bed as he uses all his weight to fuck down into your spasming little cunt. You’re cumming so hard around him that you stop breathing. He hears the hitch of breath and doesn’t hear the exhale. All you do is lay there, cry for him and cum.

He finds his end just as violently, tossing his head back to moan into the room as cum erupts from his cock. His thrusts grow sloppy as he milks the orgasm out of himself, voice breaking as he whimpers from how fucking good it feels.

Like no orgasm he’s ever experienced. It’s like he can’t stop cumming, filling you up so much that it oozes out from around his cock.

You’re trembling underneath him when he finally comes down, tearfully gazing up at him with your mouth agape, struggling to catch your breath.

“N-No more,” you pathetically whimper, legs twitching from the aftershocks, “C-Can’t take anymore, Si.”

“Shh,” he shushes, letting your legs go so you can relax comfortably as he pulls his cock from your pussy.

It’s twitching and clenching sporadically, still coming down from your orgasm. It makes his cum drip out of your cunt, a mess that spreads to the already messy sheets. Your cum and his mix together to make a sticky, gooey mess that makes his mouth water. He wants to eat it up, stuff his tongue into your tight little hole and swallow it all down.

But he can’t. Maybe next time, he vows.

His cock gives a valiant kick at the thought of getting to do this again. He sits on his heels, gazing at his messy cock as if softens. He feels dazed, almost drunk.

Then he hears the softest little sniffle from you and his eyes snap up to your face to find your crumpled expression and tears falling down your face. You cover your face with your hands and earnestly begin to cry.

“Hey, it’s alright, love,” he coos, laying beside you to tuck you into his chest.

“I-I don’t know why I’m crying,” you sob, wrapping your arms around his waist as you cry into him.

“It happens,” he assures, “It was a lot and you’re just a little overwhelmed s’all. Just let it out, baby.”

And you do, weakly sobbing into his chest until it feels like you can’t cry anymore. He holds you through it all, rubbing your back and cooing sweet nothings in your ear until you grow silent.

“Alright, love?” he asks.

“S-Sorry, Si,” you sniffle, finally pulling out of the spot in his arms you were hiding in, “I-I don’t want you to think I didn’t want it or that it was bad. I just…”

He gives you a soft smile, leaning forward to kiss you. It’s short and sweet, “I don’t think that. Like I said, it happens. Sometimes people just cry after sex, nothin’ to worry about.”

“Are you sure?” you sniffle, wiping your cheeks dry when the tears finally stop.

“Positive,” he sits up, “Let’s get cleaned up, alright? We need to change the damn sheets, fuckin’ hell.”

You giggle as you look down at the sheets where a very visible dark spot is sitting where you once laid. You don’t even have time to be embarrassed before he’s swooping you off of the bed and escorting you to the bathroom.

It’s too small for both of you to fit but you make it work. He wipes you down with a warm cloth before hopping into the shower to rinse and clean himself before he gets out and lets you do the same. While you do that, he changes the bedding completely and replaces it with new sheets and blankets for the two of you to sleep in together.

When you finally stumble into the bedroom, he wraps his arms around you and urges you onto the bed. You giggle as you flop onto the bed before he crawls in after you and covers the both of you up, wrapping himself around you until you’re tucked securely against him.

“I take it you liked it?” he finally whispers.

You shyly nod, “I-It was um…fun.”

“Felt real good, huh?” he teases, grinning wolfishly when you whimper.

“Y-Yeah,” you whisper, “It felt really good. I already want to do it again.”

Simon groans, hugging you tightly before shaking his head, “You’re gonna be insatiable. Gonna give my cock a run for its money.”

You giggle, affectionately petting his hair before he looks at you with the softest expression you’ve ever seen. It’s like his eyes are sparkling in the low light of the bedroom. He leans forward and ever so softly kisses your forehead, then your nose, before he reaches your lips. He pecks them softly, pulling back for just a second before he kisses you again.

“I love you,” he whispers, so soft that you almost miss it.

And your heart begins to race. You almost struggle to find the words to reciprocate. But when you do, he smiles and tucks you against him again, big arms wrapped around you like a bear hug.

It’s almost surreal. You can’t believe you’re here after everything – with him.

Like you’ve dreamed your whole life, he loves you just like you love him.

PART ONE.

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#simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost smut #ghost x reader #cod smut #cod x reader

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lokischocolatefountain · 2 months

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Warning || Men Like Me

Masterlist

Fandom: The Last of Us Pairing: Joel Miller x Virgin!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: girth age gap, virgin!reader, eventual loss of virginity (not in this chapter), gratuitous descriptions of Joel Miller's body, somewhat creepy!Joel, fetishization of youth, dom!Joel, breaking and entering, playboy magazine, objectification, fingering, sexual discoveries. Word count: 6.2k Summary: Joel's warnings about what men like him would do to girls like you only makes you want him more. A/N: Back in the depths of hell again, you guys. Now this isn't the most depraved thing I've written by any means but it's up there. Come say hi in my chat or inbox, I'd love to talk. Keep a look out for follow up parts and pleeeeease give me comments. I am very very desperate.

Joel Miller was a bad man. That much he knew.

Even as he fixed taps and renovated houses that were falling apart, he could see the blood on his hands. The very hands that packed lunches for Ellie snapped necks, pistol whipped men, stole from a starving child so he could feed his grown brother. But there were lows even he didn’t stoop down to.

Not that he didn’t have the opportunity. Men always did. And in this world, opportunities had only tripled. Even the Boston QZ, as strict as it was, had an underground brothel. He knew Tess to frequent it and never asked questions. Sometimes she needed to bury her face between a good pair of thighs and wrap her lips around a pretty pussy, and this wasn’t something he could give her. There was a lot he couldn’t give her.

Being in Jackson should’ve civilized him. It did in many ways. He’d reverted to the southern gentleman with table manners. ‘Yes, Ma’am’ spilled out of his lips effortlessly when he spoke to women. He held the door for anyone walking in after him. He even went to Church– sorry, the multifaith house of worship–to help renovate.

That was where his troubles began.

There was no point in him going where people prayed. Being back in civilization did not erase his decades of disbelief in a cruel God who would take his baby and keep him on this accursed Earth. But he did because he was back to being a contractor and Tommy asked him to go fix up the pews instead of him. He didn’t have much time, being a new dad and all.

He was on his knees checking out the rotting wood and evaluating how much wood he’d need for building new ones when he was confronted by a pair of legs and a sweet voice. Yours.

“Lemonade, Mister Miller?”

He looked up, his eyes traveling up your legs, bare until he got to your knees where the hem of your flowery skirt sat. Pure, unblemished knees, never taken a fall, didn’t fucking creak, and never knelt before anyone but God. You looked down sweetly, eyes wide and innocent like a newborn cow. Everyone had a kind of darkness about them in this world. Everyone except the kids who didn’t know a world outside the insular walls of Jackson. And you, it turned out, even though you weren’t a kid.

He wiped his sweat off with the greasy rag he carried and looked up at you once again. You had a pitcher and an empty glass in your hands. A sweet smile on your lips and hair falling down your shoulders and reaching your breasts. A yellow ribbon sat in a bow where your neckline dipped between your breasts, adding to the innocence of your look.

“Yes please, Ma’am. Thank you,” he said, giving you a nod. Your pretty plush lips curled up, a giggle escaping them as you poured him a glass of lemonade.

His hand brushed against yours as he accepted the glass, his hand too large to curl around it without making contact with you. You giggled again before retracting your hand and occupying it with adjusting your hair.

“I’m younger than you, you know? Don’t have to call me Ma’am.”

“Just being polite. Ma’am.” He took the glass to his lips, mindful to take only a small sip instead of downing it in desperation. Another adjustment to make when food was no longer a scarcity. Sweet, sour, and salty danced on his tongue before it glided down his throat. Just a sip refreshed him. And the sight of a nice girl didn’t hurt the cause either.

It’d been so long since he had a nice refreshing glass of lemonade. Summers meant worse infestations of infected, not the barbecues, lemonades, and swimming of past. When surviving each hour was under threat, small luxuries like this became out of reach of even one’s dreams.

“Well, guess I should call you Sir then,” you said, leaning against the wall. You held the pitcher up to your chest and the tails of the ribbon on your chest dipped into it, the soft shiny yellow turning dark, tainted.

His mouth watered and fucking hell, it wasn’t the lemonade you just gave him. He took a sip of the drink and licked his lips, imagining how you’d taste if he wrapped his large hand around your neck and pressed his chapped lips to your plush ones. Better yet, if he held your legs apart and devoured you other pair of lips until you were leaking down his mouth. Would you call him Sir then? His cock twitched in his jeans as he pictured you bent over one of these pews, your skirt pushed up and his hand in your hair as he slid his cock in your hole.

Jesus fucking Christ! What the fuck was wrong with him?

“Made the lemonade yourself?” He asked, groaning as he managed to get himself back up on his feet. His knees creaked like the floorboards of the houses he renovated, but ultimately supported him as he stood. He towered over you, making you appear smaller, more fragile.

“Depends. Do you like it?”

“It’s wonderful, of course. Hot summer day like this…I really needed it,” he said, raising the glass up a little before taking another sip.

“Well then yes, I did make it.”

He chuckled, feeling himself pulled in by your easy charisma. It was nice to have normal conversations like this once again. No agenda, no need for establishing himself as someone who wouldn’t hesitate to beat someone up if even mildly threatened. It was just…normal.

“It’s very sweet, Ma’am. Like you I assume,” he added, mentally dusting off the part of his brain where he stored skills for conversing with pretty girls.

You laughed, holding your free hand up to your mouth to cover your lips that widened and revealed your teeth.

“Is that the southern charm that I hear our townspeople talk about?”

“They talk about my charm? I didn’t hear.”

“Oh yes, they do… Joel Miller, charming pants off of everyone in town.”

“Pants? Well that’s disappointing. I was hoping I’d charmed some pretty skirts off.”

“Lots of experience with that, Mister Miller?” you asked, sliding your hand over the soft fabric of the skirt of your dress. Such delicate fabric. He could fist the hem and give it one tug and it’d rip right off.

“More ‘n what you got for sure,” he said, loath to hint at how infrequent his encounters had become in the recent past. Tess died, he did a cross country hike with an annoying kid, he needed to maintain a good reputation in his new town. One buried after the other. Enough to leave a man with nothing but his fist and his imagination. He would kill for a fucking Playboy magazine. Literally. He’d killed for less.

“What do you know about how experienced I am?”

“Been experiencing longer than you’ve been alive, Ma’am.”

“Oh well. Nothing I can’t learn.”

He laughed nervously and stuck his hand in his jeans pocket. Surely you couldn’t be flirting… Why would a young thing like this flirt with him? He was in his late fifties looking like mid sixties and you were… He didn’t know. Young.

“If you could teach me, Mister Miller. Give a girl some experience?”

“I’m sure you can find someone else.”

“Oh. Not your type, am I?” you asked, and he deluded himself thinking you sounded disappointed. No chance.

He didn’t have a type. Long time since he thought of frivolous shit like that. But you shouldn’t be his type.

“There’s much more eligible men in town is what I’m saying,” he said, suddenly hesitant to lie. Lying had never been an issue for him. The right thing was to lie, say you weren’t his type so he wouldn’t cross lines. It’d been a long time since he did the right thing.

“I’ll be the decider of that,” you said with a shrug of your shoulder before taking the empty glass from him. “Have a good rest of the work day, Mister Miller.”

Later that night, he wrapped his fist around his cock in the privacy of his room. His mind flooded with images of you spread out for him, sweet lips and a sweeter pussy milking him. He couldn’t even recall the last time he was with a woman. It was Tess, of course. Sometime before she got thrown in FEDRA jail for the last time. Too fucking long ago.

Surely it was only because it’d been a long time since he got his dick wet. He’d never, in his entire life, pictured a woman so much younger spreading her legs for him. Sucking his cock. Crying out his name. How old was she even? Not past mid twenties for sure.

It was wrong, he knew, as white hot spend spurted out of his cock and covered his hand. A sour tang took over his mouth as the fog of unadulterated lust cleared up to reveal the ugliness in his head. He shuddered, feeling like something had crawled under his flesh. He hadn’t felt guilt like this in so long.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

You weren’t even as old as his kid would be had she been alive.

He’d known men like that back in the day. Grays in their hair and skin like old leather, but pretty young things old enough to be their daughter hanging off their arm. It was obvious that none of them kept these girls around for love or for their personality. It was always sex and the feeling of self-importance when a sweet young thing paid attention to balding heads, beer bellies and limp dicks that needed a blue pill to get up.

Fucking disgusting.

He began avoiding you whenever you happened to be in the same space. At the house of worship, the town clinic where you interned, trading days when people exchanged what they had for what they wanted. His eyes never met yours and he always quickly looked away when they stared too long at your uh…feminine features– pretty legs, cute ass, round tits. Where the fuck did you get sundresses anyway? Who kept that shit around in this world?

He didn’t know that when he avoided you, you took note of him. When he took glances of your features, you memorized his for later in the night when you buried your head in your pillow and pushed your fingers inside your pussy to simulate what it must be like to be with a man.

He was older. That much you knew from his grey hair, sun-damaged skin, and gait that exuded bone-deep weariness. You knew Tommy had just turned fifty. Hard to miss occasions that meant a free slice of cake from the canteen. Joel had to be in his mid-fifties at the very least. At first glance, he wasn’t what you’d consider handsome. There were younger men in town. Fit and muscular. Didn’t groan and scrunch up their faces when they got up. Didn’t have lines on their foreheads. No bags under their eyes.

Yet there was something about Joel that was more entrancing.

After your first meeting when you offered him lemonade, you made sure to visit under the guise of worship. You didn’t know much about religion and were conflicted about embracing a god. The only faith you had rested in your medical instruments and the medicines the town’s chemist concocted. But it was a nice place to meet people, to check on healing patients.

The visits were worth it for a glimpse of Joel’s large hands wrapped around his carpentry tools. When the sun was the hottest, he sometimes stripped down to his tank top, giving you a show better than any film played in the community theater. His broad back looked masculine enough in his flannel shirts. But you didn’t know desire like the first time you saw him in a white tank, showing off his muscular arms as sweat dripped down his tan skin.

When you pleasured yourself in your room, it took time, imagination, your fingers, and a lot of effort to make slick pool in your pussy. That day, all it took was the sight of Joel Miller working. You sat with your thighs pressed together, rubbing them against each other in the most inconspicuous little movements.

Could it be blasphemy if the God who was supposedly orchestrating everything made this man take his shirt off in front of you?

It made no fucking sense. Joel was old. He looked like he woke up on the wrong side of the bed every goddamn day. He had been chewed up and spat out by whatever the fuck was outside Jackson these days. Hardened expressions, graying patchy beard, hands calloused from carpentry and decades of using weaponry. Features that only indicated a long life lived, not attractiveness.

You were supposed to be attracted to the soft, sweet ones like the guys in the worn out copies of romance stories that the previous inhabitant of your house stashed in the basement. Even his little brother would be a more reasonable target for your lust. Younger, taller, softer, head full of dark, silky hair with few grays. But you wanted Joel Miller with his rough graying beard that would prick your skin were you to cup his cheek like the women on the novel covers.

Something about him just screamed Man. Something that none of the other guys in town had. There was nothing wrong with any of the other Jackson men, but none of them made you want to take the plunge and lose your virginity. It wasn’t the lack of offers, per se. You’d gotten looks from many eligible Jackson bachelors. You had drinks with a few of them. Dinner with fewer and shared a kiss with more than one. Alright, two. But anything beyond that had you trembling in anxiety.

It wasn’t anything precious to you, virginity. But you’d waited so long. Focused so long only on survival and then helping to build this town and now training to become a doctor. Whatever passed for doctor these days. With all your life dedicated to everything but your love life, you simply had no experience. What if you messed up and they laughed? You knew anatomy, but that didn’t translate to practical stuff. What if you couldn’t make them feel good? You’d have to see the guy all the damn time in the small town. There would be no escaping the awkwardness.

Sure it was counterintuitive to keep pushing away sexual encounters because you had no experience. But you didn’t know what else to do. You were too old already to not have done anything. But each day that passed with you rejecting perfectly nice men meant you were getting even older for your first time.

You didn’t know where Joel fit into your need for exploring your sexuality, but it didn’t hurt to stare. God knew everyone else in Jackson did.

So you stared. Work with his carpentry tools. Riding on horseback into Jackson after patrol. Helping with the fucking sheep. Walking around with Tommy. Carrying his nephew around town. It should be inappropriate to be fantasizing about a man when he was doing something as innocent as carrying a baby. But seeing his large hand cradling the baby’s little head made you want to scream into your pillow and kick your legs.

“You alright, sweetheart?”

Your heart fluttered and you let out a nervous laugh at being caught. You smoothed out the wrinkles on your clothes just to make it look like you were alright. Unfortunately you were wearing a pair of fucking jeans. You didn’t even want to know how awkward you looked.

“‘m alright, Mister Miller.”

“Joel’s fine,” he said, rocking his nephew in his arms.

Oh fuck, his fucking arms!

“Oh I don’t know,” you said, fidgeting with a belt loop on your jeans. “Wouldn’t want to be impolite addressing you by your first name like that.”

He smiled, recalling your conversation from the house of worship when you called him Sir and had him fucking himself in the shower to the memory. “Ah. ‘cause I’m an old man,” he said, more as a reminder to himself to fucking behave.

“You’re not that old…” you trailed, looking him over in a way that set fire to every inch of skin that you laid eyes on.

Behave, Miller. You’re out with your nephew.

“That so?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

“Mhmm. You don’t look a day over seventy.”

He snorted, making Miles stir in his arms just a little. That stung a little. It shouldn’t. Your estimation of his age, whether you were serious or not, was reminder enough that he was too old to be lusting after you.

“Thanks. I’m actually eighty-two.”

You giggled your pretty little giggle, lowering your gaze to the ground and looking back up only when it had turned into a wide grin. “How old are you actually?”

“Old. Fifty six.”

“Fifty-six isn’t that old…” you trailed as you brought a hand up to his bicep. Joel gulped, praying to the non-existent God that you would stop before praying to the same God that you would keep your hand right there. God answered his second prayer. You squeezed, licked your lips and looked up at him with your doe eyes.

“Checking if the hardware is still working, Doctor?”

“I’m not a doctor yet.”

“When do you become one then? Ain’t no Harvard handing out medical degrees in this town.”

“Howard?” you asked, squinting at him. Ah, of course you didn’t know. Harvard didn’t mean the same thing to you. Now it was just like every other building in Boston. Run over by infected. These ones were just the nerdy kind with glasses on.

“That was a thing, too. But I said Harvard. They were big universities back then.”

“Ah. Did you go there?” You asked, with no malice or bite. Oh, bless your heart. No one expected a dummy like him to have gone to university at all, much less Harvard. No one in his family had gone. Sarah was meant to be the first.

“Yeah. Traded some oxy and threw molotovs at clickers in the campus.”

You rewarded him with a giggle and that was incentive enough for him to keep going. “Guys like me didn’t get into Harvard. Or Howard. Didn’t even go to community college. I finished high school and got a job in construction.”

“You didn’t go to uh…construction college?” You asked, cocking your head and raising an eyebrow as though testing out the term.

“No such thing. Well, there were civil engineering programs, but I just learned on the job.”

“Like me.”

“Guess so. I see you reading from all those fat medical books. But there’s no need to study any books in construction. ‘cept if you wanna be an engineer or architect or something, which I’m not.”

“Maybe you should write one. We could all do with some knowledge from before. It’s important to document it, pass it on to Ellie and little Miles over there.”

“I ain’t writing books, sweetheart. Don’t think I even remember how to write much. I’ll just keep to fixing things up in this town. So, if you need some help with your place…I’m happy to help.” It was the least he could do. Maybe as some kind of penance for having impure thoughts about you. Or as a fucked up trade for starring in the mental images he conjured to jack off in the shower.

“There is something, actually. But I don’t have anything to trade for, so I’ll wait until I do,” you said, clasping your hands behind your back and swaying in place in an endearing manner.

“Nonsense. You patched me up just last week. You’ve done enough for the town’s health to not have to trade for anything ever again.”

“Well, no. That’s not how it should be… It’s people’s health. Can’t put a price on that.”

“Believe it or not, health had a steep price back in the day. Cost four thousand something just to give birth. Double that if they had to cut you open.” And that was just how much it cost when Sarah was born. He was sure it had only gone up by 2003. If he hadn’t worked his ass off, there was no way he could’ve escaped debt. It helped that his Ma and his then wife’s parents helped with childcare. Would’ve been even more expensive without that.

“Damn. I don’t know how much that is, since…y’know we don’t have money now. But that sounds like a big number. It shouldn’t cost anything just to be born.”

“Tell me about it,” he said, shaking his head. “But listen. Anything you want fixed, I’ll help out. You can give me something later if you’re worried. I know Ellie’s always on the look for new books to read and you seem to have a lot of them.”

“Nothing Ellie would like. Not like the special limited edition of Savage Starlight or anything. Just medical textbooks and romance novels.”

“We could trade for the lemonade from that afternoon,” he insisted, desperate to do something for you. Take care of you as you took care of everyone who walked into the clinic be it papercuts or a fucking knife in their abdomen.

“Alright. Trade for the lemonade it is then,” you said, giving in to his pressure.

“Now tell me. What d’ya need fixed?”

⌘⌘⌘

It had been a few days since Joel promised to fix your shower for you. Each time he came by and rang your doorbell, you hid somewhere away from your windows. When he caught sight of you in public, you quickly walked away or engaged in conversation with someone else. You didn’t need shit fixed. Everything in your house was perfectly alright. Tommy and his guys had given the place a complete makeover just a couple months before Joel and Ellie arrived.

You were no paragon of honesty, but you didn’t make lying a habit. There were a few white lies here and there and this was meant to be one of them. It just didn’t fucking hit you that if you lied to a contractor that your shower was broken, he would eventually come over to fucking fix it. All your desperate sex starved brain wanted that day was for Joel Miller to come use his tools in your room and flex those muscles while at it.

So invested were you in that particular fantasy that as you unwound after a long shift at the clinic, it was with Joel’s beefy arms in mind. You stood in front of your mirror, taking in your reflection. One of the magazines you’d found in a box under your bed laid open on the dressing table. Playboy. Entertainment for Men. Each had a scantily clad woman on the cover. And many more inside.

You made comparisons to yourself and the woman in the center page of the issue.

She stood in front of a dressing table too, but much different from how you stood. Her legs were on either side of her dressing table chair and her hands on the top of it. Between her arms were breasts, big and round and with smooth skin. They didn’t have any marks on them like yours. No moles, no stretch marks. Just plain. And she just stood there, soft brown hair down, tickling the top of her breasts and her lips parted as she gazed at you. No, at the men she was meant to entertain in this men’s entertainment magazine. All she had on was panties that went high up to her flat belly that connected to high transparent socks.

You reached behind your back and unclasped your bra, wishing that you had something nicer like the woman on the cover of another one of the magazines. Bright red and showing off her breasts wonderfully, but pulled down to reveal almost everything. What was the point of a bra then if it didn’t cover or support anything? Entertainment, you decided. Men seemed to be very entertained by breasts.

Many a man had stared at yours even though you had them behind layers of fabric unlike the naked women of the magazines. Many had conversations with them instead of your face. Some brushed up against them ‘accidentally’. Joel thought he was being covert, but you felt his brown eyes rove all over them. You thought maybe that he too would brush up against it sometime, but he never did. Maybe entertainment stopped at just looking, as in the magazines.

You wondered if Joel sought out men’s entertainment magazines like this. He was from before everything went to shit, so it was very possible that he did. Did he like the women in these pages, sticking their asses out and looking through the pages at him? Would he be entertained if he saw you like this?

You didn’t know that if you turned your head to your bedroom door, you would have your answer. Joel’s cock strained against his already tight jeans as he stood awestruck by your figure. He swallowed as you held on to the top of the chair and lifted your knees, one after the other and placed them on the plush seat. You arched your back, a little too much at first before reducing the curve. Your ass stuck out enticingly and he didn’t know whether to grab, squeeze, slap, or spread your cheeks apart and fuck your ass.

He should leave.

It was stupid of him to walk into your house with a box of plumbing tools to fix your shower when you hadn’t yet given him a date or time for it. Plus you were avoiding him. Running away with your little friends and picking up stuff to hide your face from his view. He was plenty sure that when he’d rung your doorbell, you weren’t always away from home.

He should leave.

Fixing the shower could wait. He could confront you some other day.

But you were putting on such a pretty little show in nothing but your panties and he was only a man. A bad one.

His boots stayed put on your hardwood floors as you enjoyed yourself in front of the mirror. You spread your knees and let your fingers between your thighs, eyes closed, lips parted and low whines escaping your lips in just a few minutes. He palmed his growing erection over his jeans, consequences of being caught be damned. He was a foul beast already. What bad was another sin on the list? Besides, you were the one who’d left the fucking door open.

Your soft whimpers grew into moans as you brought yourself closer and he forced his feet to stay put despite their urge to walk up to you and give you something to really moan about.

“Fuu– mmm Joel, pleeease.”

He let out a gasp, all his restraint flying out the window as soon as he heard his name from your lips. You couldn’t actually be doing this… There had to be another Joel in town. Younger, better looking, smarter.

Your voice grew needy and the pitch higher as you kept at it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Gimme it, Sir.”

No, it couldn’t be anyone else.

Joel toed his boots off and took quiet steps towards you, emboldened by the filth that spilled from your lips. If this old man was what you wanted, he wouldn’t stop himself from reaping the benefits. He wasn’t a goddamn saint. Never was.

He stopped in front of you, surprised you still hadn’t sensed his presence. As though the universe heard his thoughts, it had you open your eyes. You gasped as soon as you saw him and buckled off the chair, but Joel caught you. You shuddered, unable to cope with the sudden touch.

“J-Joel?”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he said, touching your cheek with the back of his hand. You whined, your body molding itself against his chest. You brought a hand to his arm, feeling the rock hard muscles underneath his sleeves and your other hand worked between your legs.

Your fingers no longer felt adequate as you felt his large fingers on your cheek. “Want you, please,” you whined, desperate to return to the edge where you had been right before you saw him.

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me…” he spoke dangerously, soft brown eyes clouded with a kind of desire you had longed to see in him for weeks.

“Want you…want you to be with me,” you repeated stupidly, your desperation clouding your senses too much for you to say anything else. While in the past you only wanted to get rid of your virginity, your goals had become more specific with his arrival. You wanted him. You wanted his big hands and broad shoulders, to hold on to them as you rode him. To watch his grumpy expressions turn to ecstasy under you.

“Tell me not to touch you,” he said, his tone low and almost threatening. Any other threat from him, you would’ve heeded. But not this one.

“Touch me!”

It was as though something in him snapped at your words. While darkness only loomed over him before, it now completely took over.The hand that previously only caressed your cheek now wrapped itself around your neck. Before you could completely process the move, his other hand slapped yours away. He replaced two of your puny fingers with his middle finger, eliciting a strained moan from you.

“Touching yourself to a Playboy magazine, huh?”

You only nodded, unable to form words now that a fantasy of yours had finally come to life.

“Dirty little thing…Thought you were a nice girl and all. Helpin’ out at the clinic, head buried in books all the time. Turns out you actually got your head in dirty magazines.”

You whined, your pussy clenching and gushing around his finger at the way he was speaking to you. The same man who insisted on calling you Ma’am despite your protests was calling you a dirty girl now. The veil of respectability seemed to have floated away at the sight of you naked and pleasuring yourself. Had you known that this was all you needed to get Joel Miller to touch you, you would’ve done it much sooner.

He added another finger, the girth of him enough to stretch you more than you had done for yourself. You brought a hand up to his shoulder and fisted his shirt, needing something to anchor yourself to.

“You ever been taken by a man, sweetheart?” He asked, his tone too cool and casual for what he was doing to you. You shuddered, partly from his phrasing– taken, he said. Taken. Like you were a thing. Like the women in the magazines positioned so uncomfortably just so their breasts could look a certain way for the picture. Printed on the cover page with the words Entertainment for Men written on top. You shook your head, feeling small as you confessed it for the first time.

“Any man?”

“N-no,” you managed to breathe out, whimpering at the way the bulge beneath his jeans twitched at your simple answer. He took a step to position himself behind you, letting you lean your back against his chest. The angle at which he touched your pussy changed, opening your world up to a wonderful new kind of pleasure.

“A virgin. Pretty young things like you ain’t for men like me,” he whispered in your neck, making you shiver. His thumb roamed between your legs as far as they could reach, caressed you gently, his softness with you contradicting his warning about men like him. The hand around your neck slithered down your torso, cold air forcing you to face your new desire of having your breath kept hostage.

He took your left breast in hand, squeezing the flesh like someone starved would hold on to a piece of bread. It felt more like a punctuation to the warning he issued than a part of sex. Just then, his thumb between your legs stopped its search, stopping a little above the fingers inside you.

A moan you didn’t recognize as yours at first filled the room and you buckled forward. Blunt nails sunk into the flesh of your breast as he saved you before you could fall. He hauled you back up, making you collide against his chest.

You gasped and quickly grabbed the hand between your legs, the sensation too intense for you to know what to do with. His thumb kept on, rolling over something there that set your person on fire.

“Fuuuck! Joel– I– I– hnnng–”

“I know, sweetheart,” he crooned, keeping at whatever the hell he was doing to make you feel this way.

“Please… I don’t– what was that?”

You felt his chest rumble before you heard his laughter. Heat rose to your face and your throat felt strained though there was no hand around it anymore.

“Never touched your clit? Do you even know what that is?” He mocked, the cruelty somehow not repelling you from him. He forced you to look up at him. Your heart lurched at how close you were to his face. You could see every gray hair, every minute blemish and line.

“Don’t know your own fucking body but you want a man? You don’t know what you’re handing me on a silver platter. I ain’t like the other guys in town. I walked across the fucking country and lemme tell ya, there’s no pretty things like you out there. I’m starved.”

“Take me, then,” you begged, using his own words from earlier. “Please. Whatever you– a-aaah!”

He ramped up the pressure on that spot– your clit– and with it, took your ability to speak coherently. It was as though he’d done it on purpose. You hated it. To be so bereft of control. To be a puppet in someone’s hand. For someone to acquaint themselves with parts of you that you didn’t know of. But it was too much to fight, so you let go. Let him play with you. Take you. Like a thing.

You renounced control of your lips too, his name slipping out effortlessly like it did when he caught you. Then you renounced what was left of your dignity and began begging relentlessly. For what, you didn’t know. In his hand, you’d gone from woman to pupper, your strings pulled by a man, your voice now his. Sounds that would be indiscernible from that of a wounded animal emanated from somewhere deep within you.

Perhaps none of this was real. Why else did your own voice grow so distant from you? Why did your vision become blurry? Your thighs shook uncontrollably and your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest. Your eyes clenched shut, depriving you of your blurred vision. Your toes curled. You wanted to shrink into yourself, shrink away from all this goodness. You went higher and higher, soaring like a bird. Every nerve ending in your body felt electrified, awoken like one switch turned on every light on last winter’s Christmas tree.

You let out a loud cry, the soaring bird in you reaching its peak before beginning its fall to the ground. You could hear your breaths again, labored but doing everything to stabilize itself. Your thighs still shook. Your chest rose and fell. A hand caressed your hand. Behind you, something strong supported your back. Kept you from falling backward.

“Joel…”

“I know, I know…” he whispered into your head. You opened your eyes and looked up at him, surprised to see a softer visage. He picked you up off the chair like you’d seen him lift giant logs before. With ease. You didn’t protest as he carried you. Didn’t protest when he laid you out on your bed.

He bent down and picked something up. No questions, no instructions. He simply spread your leg away from the other. Cold air touched the gushing mess dripping out of you and you shivered, feeling a sudden need to cover yourself but unable to defy him. His hand was on your pussy again. His hardened, calloused fingers behind a soft fabric this time. He wiped upwards, collecting the mess he made out of you. When he lifted the fabric up, you realized it was your panties.

He tucked it into the pocket of his jeans and then looked back at your face, the intensity of his gaze making you want to run. Problem was your weak legs wouldn’t take you anywhere. You didn’t screw your eyes shut. You didn’t pull your blanket to conceal yourself. You looked back at him, defiant. Like you were trying to prove something. I can handle a man like you.

“Be a good girl from now.”

That and a condescending pat on your pussy and he was gone.

⌘

Part 2

#joel miller #joel tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x oc #joel miller x original character #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller age gap #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #all that i've inflicted on the world

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aemondsbabe · 6 months

Text

Gevie

summary: you finally agree to go for a ride on sunfyre and your betrothed certainly makes it worth your while

pairing: aegon ii targaryen x reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, aegon being sickeningly sweet, oral (m receiving), fingering (f receiving), breast/nipple play, dirty talk, doin' it on a dragon, gratuitous use of valyrian

word count: 4.5k

a/n: finally proving to myself that i can remain semi-tame with the word count, i bet y'all thought i couldn't do it!! they're fucking around on a dragon. he gets road head, except it's on sunfyre. they're very cute.

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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A high-pitched yelp rips its way from your throat as you feel Sunfyre move beneath you, stirring up dirt and dust from the floor of the Dragonpit as he beats his wings. Behind you, Aegon laughs, tightening his thighs around yours on the saddle and letting out an excited whoop as the dragon finally pushes off the ground.

“Seven protect me!” You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut as soon as you see the world fall away beneath you as Sunfyre rises higher and higher into the air.

“Eglikta, Sunfyre! Sȳz!” Aegon calls out, pulling at the reins on the dragon's saddle as he guides him up and out of the Dragonpit. “You need not be so worried,” he soothes you, his voice loud and clear behind you as he speaks over the air whipping around the two of you, “You are with a highly skilled rider, my lady.” He reminds you sarcastically. (Higher, Sunfyre! Good!)

You gasp loudly as Sunfyre tilts upward, making you lean heavily on Aegon, your back to his chest as the dragon flies higher into the air. “It is not the rider I am worried about!” You call over the rushing wind, not daring to open your eyes as you grasp onto the sturdy leather straps of the saddle, white knuckling the material.

“Sunfyre is a part of me,” Aegon explains for the thousandth time, smiling as he steadies himself on the saddle, wide eyes flicking in every direction as he scans the skies, “I trust him with my life, and I trust him with you.”

This was a familiar argument, one you’d heard many times before over the previous months as Aegon tried time and time again to convince you to go riding with him; it was one of the first things he’d asked of you as soon as the courtship had been arranged nearly a year ago.

You’d finally relented, much to the prince’s delight, when news of your marriage was officially announced. “Consider it an early wedding present, your grace,” you’d told him at the time.

Oh, how you had come to regret those words now that your heart felt like it was in your throat, your hair whipping wildly in the air behind you as Sunfyre climbed ever higher. “M-My love,” you stuttered, trying your damnedest to keep your voice level, “Could we not stay closer to the ground?”

Aegon chuckled, his chest rumbling against your back even through the various layers you both wore to guard yourselves from the cold air. “Bē konīr, gaomagon jāre!” The prince spoke, Sunfyre grumbled beneath you in response. Although you did not understand the command, and certainly not the beast's response, you could feel the bond between your betrothed and his dragon — some invisible current connecting one to the other. (Almost there, keep going!)

“You should trust me more than this!” Aegon laughs, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to the side of your head, “You seemed to have plenty of it the night of the banquet last week,” he began in that brash, cocky tone you’d grown accustomed to, “When you let me shove my head up your dress in the gardens onc—"

“Aegon!” You chided, one hand abandoning the leather straps long enough to playfully swat him on the thigh.

“What?” He asks, no doubt smirking deviously, “Surely there is no one to overhear us up here!”

Suddenly, Sunfyre tilts forward, righting you in the saddle once again and making you let out an embarrassing squeal. “Gīda, Sunfyre! Dohaeris!” Some small amount of happiness at recognizing one of the words, dohaeris, manages to cut through the fear you feel, making you let out a small giggle. “Almost there, sweetling,” Aegon smiles, one of his hands abandoning the reins to wind around your waist instead, holding you securely to him, “You’ll love this.” (Calm, Sunfyre! Obey!)

Still squeezing your eyes shut, you nod wordlessly, tightly gripping onto his forearm, your thighs trembling around Sunfyre’s saddle. “Are we up very high?” You ask, your voice sounding small, even to your own ears.

Aegon chuckles again, eyes scanning the horizon as the golden dragon finally breeches the clouds, “We’re just as high as we need to be, hush.” The vague answer makes you uneasy, but you do feel slightly calmer as you notice a change in the air. It’s calmer now, breezing around you like a soothing song, making your hair flutter about gently rather than whip at your face. It’s quieter too, you cannot even hear birdsong nor the rushing of air anymore, as if the two of you have entered a void.

“Sȳz, Sunfyre. Gaomagon gīda.” Again, Sunfyre grumbles, his agreement to whatever Aegon commanded vibrating through your body. A moment later, the prince runs a hand through your hair, tenderly brushing it away from your face as he presses another light kiss to your cheek, one arm still holding onto you tightly. “Open your eyes, my love.” He says softly, resting his chin on your shoulder. (Good Sunfyre, keep steady.)

Cautiously, you do as he asks and slowly open your eyes. At first, you cannot see much, blinking to dispel the tears brought on by bright sunlight, but once your eyes finally adjust, you gasp. You can feel your eyes widen to the sight before you, one unlike any you’ve seen before. Aegon had brought you up above the clouds, the dreary grey skies that had once been above you now spread out below you like an endless pale sea. Up here, everything was so bright, slightly pink tinted from the sun, and so stunningly still and calm, the only movement coming from Sunfyre gliding through the air.

“Gods,” you breathe, your grip finally loosening somewhat on Aegon’s arm as you scan the skies before you, “Aegon, it’s…” You trail off, mouth hanging open at a loss for words.

“Beautiful,” he finishes, though when you turn your head to him, his gaze is already fixed on you, the corners of his lips turned up into a barely there smile.

You can feel your face heat up at his attention, suddenly all too aware of how much of your bodies are pressed together on the saddle, of how his arm is still wrapped so securely around you. Despite being so far up in the cool atmosphere, you can feel a blush creeping onto your cheeks, your heart beating faster as a pleasant, familiar coil starts spiraling in your stomach – your thighs tightening around the firm leather of the saddle in an attempt to press together.

“You were right,” you smile contentedly at Aegon over your shoulder, “It is magical up here, my love. And so calm and quiet…” You let your voice trail off as you relax into his chest, his warmth encompassing you as Sunfyre continues gliding above the clouds, his beautiful golden scales gleaming in the early evening sunlight.

Every once in a while, pockets in the thick cloud floor open up, giving you glimpses of green farmer’s fields, the blue water of lakes, or the dusty browns of the roads that litter Westeros. The pockets seem to zip by as quickly as they come, leaving you unsure of exactly where you are above the kingdoms. “I feel so far away from everything.” You conclude finally, a strange sense of calmness threading its way through the unease that still blankets your belly.

“Precisely,” Aegon answers, a far-away look taking hold in his dark violet eyes, one you had grown used to seeing over the course of your courtship with the prince.

Now it seemed as if it was your turn to gaze at him instead of the view, letting him have a moment to himself as you admired him, eyes trailing over the gentle slope of his nose, the pout of his pink lips, the alabaster column of his neck. You couldn’t help but squeeze his forearm tighter, trying to ground him you suppose — ironic as it was — to save him from whatever snare he had been trapped in in his mind.

All at once, whatever melancholy had taken hold of him seems to wash away with a small gasp as he comes back to himself, centering you with a calm smile, though to you it may as well be as dazzling as the sparkle of Sunfyre’s scales.

“We are indeed far away up here, sweetling,” he drawls, the familiar smooth, cocky cadence back in his voice sending a shiver up your spine, butterflies erupting in your belly. “Away from court, away from guards,” he continues, trailing light kisses down the slope of your neck and onto your shoulder, relishing the way you sigh and go ever more limp against him, “Away from any prying eyes at all, really.” He finishes, raising his eyebrows in sarcastic surprise as he shrugs.

You can’t help but laugh at his tone, morphing into an uncontained moan as his teeth lightly graze your shoulder, the hair on the back of your neck standing on end as your head tilts back against him. “Up here?” You ask, your voice already breathy.

He chuckles against you, low and dirty, “What better place is there, sweet girl?” He asks, rutting against you atop the saddle, making you gasp as you feel his hard length pressing against the small of your back, “There’s no one up here to stop us, no one to see us…” he husks, pressing wet kisses against your neck as his hand, the one not currently wrapped around you, abandons Sunfyre’s reins, coming instead to press against your breasts – his touch, even through your layers of clothing, making your nipples harden, the coil in your belly winding ever tighter.

You whine as he touches you, unable to resist him even after all this time. “Aegon, please,” you whimper, gasping as you feel him unbuttoning your overcoat, sending a chill down your spine from the cold air against your skin. You’re unable to find it within yourself to care when you feel his warm hand, encased in a smooth leather glove, encompass your breast, lithe fingers immediately seeking out your nipple and teasing it relentlessly, “Oh, my love!” You gasp, grinding your hips down against the leather of Sunfyre’s saddle.

He shushes you gently, teeth grazing against the side of your neck once more before you feel his lips curl into a smirk. Slowly, he removes his hand from where it’s nestled beneath your overcoat and dress, chuckling when you whine; quickly, he pulls off one of his riding gloves, tucking it securely into a coat pocket. “Suck,” he says simply, pressing his fingers against your lips. You do as he says without complaint, running your tongue over the digits before properly sucking at them, moaning unabashedly when he presses them further against your tongue. “Gods,” he groans, voice deep and gravelly, “I love being in your sweet little mouth,” he murmurs, letting you suck contentedly for a moment longer, “Such a good girl, drooling around my fingers.”

His praise makes you moan, garbled around his fingers, as your eyes roll back in your head, your head bobbing as you suck, drool pooling at the corners of your lips as you lathe your tongue over his fingers.

All too soon, he pulls them away, making you whine at the loss. However, that quickly turns into a loud, punched out moan when he resumes teasing your nipple, your spit instantly cooling in the air, which only serves to make the bud somehow harder. He groans with you as he spreads the slick around your breast, rutting his hard length against you.

“Sweetling,” he begins, a hint of taunting laughter in his voice, “Do you remember what we did during the last hunt? Hm? Hidden away in one of my tents?”

You whimper, nodding as the memory floods back to you – the two of you sneaking away together during the final night of a large, week long, hunt, leaving everyone else feasting and dancing at the campfires. You were both giggling like children, half-drunk on Dornish wine, when you’d stumbled into one of Aegon’s tents, lips crashing together haphazardly in the dark. It had ended with you on your knees, taking the prince into your mouth as he leaned back against a storage chest, his hands tangled in your hair as your lips and tongue skirted up and down his length.

The memory still floods you with arousal; it hadn’t been your first time pleasuring Aegon in that way, but it had been by far the most daring. “I have not felt your mouth on me in some time, my love,” he teases, moving you back against his length, still trapped in the confines of his trousers, “And we’re so hidden up here, no one to walk in and catch us, it would be a shame not to use the chance while we have it…”

Despite the circumstances, his offer is tempting; you love bringing him pleasure, love hearing the little gasps and moans he makes escape his lips. “How would we?” you ask, turning your head to look at him over your shoulder, his violet eyes full of desire, “All the way up here, I mean.”

“You trust me?” Aegon asks, placing both of his hands on your hips.

You nod instantly, not even needing to give his question a second of thought, “Of course, you know I do.” You answer truthfully.

Smiling, he slowly moves his hands until they come to rest at your hips. “Gīda, Sunfyre. Rȳbagon naejot nyke,” he commands the dragon before once again looking at you. “Okay, my love,” he taps one of your thighs, “Just bring this leg up and over the saddle, yeah? Like on a horse.” (Steady, Sunfyre. Listen to me.)

“Oh, definitely, just like on a horse,” you say sarcastically, an attempt to keep your nervousness at bay, which makes Aegon chuckle behind you. Slowly, you do as he says, leaning back onto him for support as you swing your leg up and over Sunfyre’s massive saddle, coming to sit side-saddle atop the beast.

“Okay, good,” Aegon smiles, keeping his hands tight on your waist, “Now just turn…” He murmurs in concentration, patiently helping you turn your torso to face him, and sighing happily when you do. “And the other leg,” he commands, steadying you as you bring your opposite leg back over the saddle, “Perfect.” He praises you as you right yourself again, now facing him.

You give yourself a moment to breathe, getting used to facing the opposite direction. As soon as you look at the prince, though, that coil of arousal that was winding itself tight in your belly starts moving once again when you notice his eyes scanning over your chest, a sliver of your skin exposed from where your overcoat remains unbuttoned, your own underneath pulled to the side.

His eyes meet yours, and he smirks when he notices your own arousal. All at once, the two of you crash together once again – lips colliding together as you moan into each other's mouths, hands grasping onto whatever parts of the prince you can reach; you bite his lip teasingly, making Aegon growl.

“Little minx,” he breathes against your neck as he kisses down your jaw, “Wanting to suck my cock so badly you’d risk life and limb on a dragon.” He teases, smirking when your hands shoot out to undo the ties and buttons at the top of his trousers.

Rolling your eyes, you finally manage to free his length, making him let out a relieved groan. You languidly stroke him for a moment, savoring the broken, choked off moans he breathes into your mouth, the flushed tip of his cock already leaking onto your hand.

“Gods,” he groans lowly, his hips already fucking up into your hand, “Your mouth, my love, please!” He asks, his eyes squeezed shut.

Smirking, you kiss your way down his jaw before carefully leaning forward, pressing yourself against the firm leather saddle until your face is level with him. You give a quick kiss to the underside of the tip, right where you know a little sensitive ball of nerves lies, before you softly run your tongue over the head; you’re a goner as soon as the salty taste of him hits your tongue, losing yourself in the task as always. With a whimper, you begin bobbing your head up and down along his cock, one of your hands coming up to stroke the small bit at the base that you can’t fit in your mouth.

One of Aegon’s hands comes up and wraps itself in your hair, pulling it back and away from your face as he grinds up into the heat of your mouth. “Fuck,” he moans, long and low as he tilts his head back, “So good, so good, fuck.” He repeats, already lost in the way you feel, in how dutifully you pleasure him – just like a good little wife should, and he knows you will be the best wife for him.

You close your eyes, head spinning with adrenaline as you continue pleasuring him, the hand at the base of his cock moving lower to cup his stones and gently roll them in your palm, just the way you know he adores. The effect is instantaneous, a punched-out groan wrenching itself from his throat as his abdomen contracts, making him jerk in your hold. You chuckle around him, drool slipping out of the corners of your mouth as you smile around his length, pleased to have reduced him to such a state already.

The noises he’s making, along with the feel of him in your mouth, hot and heavy on your tongue, make you clench around nothing, whining onto his length, which catches his attention. You hear him chuckle above you, laughter turning to a pleasured hiss when you suck him deeper into your mouth, “Is having my cock in your mouth getting to you, sweetling?” He questions in the same cocky tone you’ve come to know so well, “Making your little bud ache?”

You nod around him as best you can, moaning around him when the hand in your hair clutches the strands tightly, leading you in the exact rhythm he wants as he ruts in and out of your mouth. He lets out a pleased hum, “I’ll take care of you, my love,” he promises, pressing you lower on his length, his eyes rolling back when he feels you spit and gag around him, “Fuck, just as soon as I finish down this pretty throat.”

At that, you redouble your efforts, moaning around his cock as you suck him down eagerly. He starts grumbling in Valyrian under his breath, a sure sign that he’s close, as if the way he was fisting your hair and panting into the cool air wasn’t enough of an indication. Right when he lets out a deep moan of your name, almost sounding in pain, you move the fist around his base faster and press your tongue to the sensitive underside of his head as you suckle on it, one of your hands tugging at his stones in just the right manner.

“Fuck!” He spits out, his body tensing up as he presses you further down onto his cock, a deep, resonating growl leaving him at the same second that his hot seed spurts directly down your throat as his length pulses and twitches in your grasp. You moan at the familiar taste of him, your eyes slipping shut as you allow him to use your throat, swallowing down the last few drops of his seed while he whispers your name again and again in reverence.

Finally, his hips stop twitching and the hand in your hair falls limp, allowing you to pull away from him. You sit up, moaning in surprise when he immediately tangles his hands in your hair again and pulls your face to his, uncaring that you’d swallowed down his spend mere seconds before as he bites your lip and tangles your tongue with his.

You press yourself against him, sighing when you feel the warmth of his chest against yours, his body somehow hot despite the temperature, as if lit from within like Sunfyre. “Such a good wife,” he sighs against your lips, “How have I come to deserve you?”

“We are not yet married!” you laugh, shaking your head as you marvel at him, taking in the way his cheeks are still lightly flushed.

“A moon's time is close enough,” he shrugs, violet eyes gazing at you with adoration, though growing darker when he catches the sliver of your chest still exposed where your coat is open, “Turn back around.” He whispers suddenly, his voice husky.

You don’t bother questioning him, simply nodding, although his hands are already back on your waist, helping you turn back around on the dragon’s saddle.

“Need to touch you,” he explains anyway, contently humming, low in his chest, when you’re pressed against him once more, “Need to make you feel good – you deserve to feel good.” He babbles, mostly talking to himself as he skirts his hands over your body. “Lenton sir, Sunfyre. Soves!” He commands, grabbing at the reins with his still-gloved hand, coaxing the large beast into a slow, smooth turn, although he still held you tightly to him until the dragon was once again gliding – his huge, rosy wings slicing through the air with practiced ease. (Home now, Sunfyre. Go!)

“Where –”

“Home,” Aegon huffs, fingers desperately tugging open the remaining buttons on your coat, frantically pushing the fabric out of the way as soon as the last one is pulled undone, eager to get his hands on your soft skin.

“But –” You start, only to be cut off as he groans impatiently, practically ripping the skirts of your dress in an effort to push them to the side, exposing your smallclothes.

“We’ll have time, sweetling,” he breathes, pushing a hand into the thin fabric, groaning when he feels how wet your slick folds are, so warm against his skin, “It’s not like it takes me long to bring you pleasure.” You can hear the boastful pride dripping from his low voice as he speaks against the side of your neck, his warm breath sending a shiver up your spine as your back arches against him.

“Oh!” You gasp as you feel his fingers finally touching you, immediately zeroing in on your aching, swollen bud with a practiced ease, sending electricity zipping up your spine.

“Ooh, someone’s sensitive,” he teases, rubbing tight, wet circles against you as his gloved hand finds its way into your coat again, yanking down the fabric of your dress before he cups your breast, kneading the delicate skin in time with the ministrations to your cunt, “Do you enjoy my fingers, sweetling?”

You nod, already panting heavily in his grasp, your body going from rigid to pliant as you moan unabashedly in the air, not needing to be mindful of your volume all the way up here – Sunfyre as your only witness seems wholly uninterested. He chuckles against your neck as he bites at the sensitive skin, the small pinpricks of pain only adding to the pleasure radiating from your core.

You buck up against him as you feel two of his fingers venture lower, prodding at the opening of your slick heat, gathering some of the wetness there before roughly pushing them into you. You grunt out a curse as you feel them enter you completely, Aegon not bothering to tease them into you as he usually does and instead pressing incessantly against that rough spot within you that makes you see stars.

“Aegon, my love,” you whimper, grinding your hips against his hand, his thumb catching against your bud as his fingers continue tormenting your center, scissoring and curling within you, “I’m–” You cut yourself off, unable to finish a thought with the way he’s handling you.

“I know you’re close,” he grunts, his hands moving frantically against you as you shake against his chest, one hand plucking and pinching at your nipple as the other fucks into your squelching wet heat, “I can feel this lovely cunt squeezing me.”

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck!” You cry in time with the thrusts of his hand, your head tilting back onto his shoulder as you feel your high creeping ever closer, the fire in your belly growing to a blazing, roaring inferno.

He laughs lowly as he mouths at the spot just below your ear, never tiring of being able to reduce you to such a base state, moaning and writhing in his arms. “Go on, sweetling,” he coaxes you, fingers rubbing up against that rough patch within you ceaselessly as his thumb circles your bud in the same rhythm, “Let yourself have it – you’re so close, let yourself feel good, my good girl, my love.” He begs between love bites, panting against your neck as you fuck yourself against his fingers.

“Aegon!” You cry, your eyes squeezing shut as your entire body tenses with a sob, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as wave after wave of pleasure crashes into you. Your walls grip desperately at his fingers, coating his hand in your sweet juices as stars explode behind your eyelids, a vicious, loud moan punching out of your chest at the intensity of your high.

Eventually, the waves begin to subside, leaving you whimpering pathetically against him as he continues gently pleasuring you, helping you ride out your peak for as long as your body will allow. After a moment though, his fingers finally come to a stop when he hears your small whimpers and whines, indicating that his touches are bordering on overstimulating you.

He coos lovingly, soothing you with soft touches and kisses against your cheek as he licks your spend from the hand that had been fucking you, savoring your taste with drawn out, dirty moans, taking pleasure in the way it made you blush and squirm like you were still the innocent maiden everyone believes you to be.

“Ñuha gevie ābrazȳrys,” Aegon murmurs after a moment, violet eyes studying you as he peeks from over your shoulder, “Nyke daor umbagon naejot dīnagon ao.” (My beautiful wife, I cannot wait to marry you.)

You don’t know what the words mean but they sound so beautiful coming from his pouty lips that you cannot help the blush that blooms on your cheeks, the sight making him chuckle.

“Look,” he says, pointing into the distance, “You’ll love this.”

Following the tip of his finger, you narrow your eyes, not seeing anything for a second. Just as you’re about to inquire as to what exactly you’re supposed to be looking at, you gasp, watching with wide eyes as the tallest tower of the Red Keep emerges from behind a cloud.

“Seven,” you whisper, watching as the rest of the large fortress is slowly revealed, followed by the large domes of the Dragonpit and the Sept of Baelor, “Oh, Aegon…it’s beautiful.” You whisper, eyes sweeping over the entirety of King’s Landing, from the waves of the shores of Blackwater Bay all the way to small houses of farmers that lie beyond the city walls, all bathed in the golden, pinky lighting of the setting sun.

“Gevie,” he breathes, gaze entirely fixed on you, on the way you hands grasp his, “Gevie ābrazȳrys.” (Beautiful, beautiful wife)

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @avalyaaa @fan-goddess @hopelesswritergall @toms-cherry-trees @aemshaircare @cuddlejeongin @imaegontatgaryenwife0 @valeskafics @beautbuck @watercolorskyy @marysucks-blog

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii targaryen smut #aegon targaryen smut #aegon smut #house of the dragon #hotd #house of the dragon smut #hotd smut #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fanfic #aegon fanfic #smut #fanfic #my writing

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 2 months

Text

V ║Raw Edge

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Part IV: Notch | Behind the Seams: Part V | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E, a proper E!

Summary: One lazy afternoon, Joel tests your patience.

Warnings: Sexual tension, some language, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, flirting, fingering, explicit grinding, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!domestic!Joel, no use of Y/N

Word count: 2k

Notes: It's been a long and winding road y'all, but I'm finally back with an update on the main series. It is a short one, more of an interlude, but it will get us where we need to go for the next chapter. Thank you for your patience, I don't take you guys' understanding and love for granted for even a second. Releasing this during the Seams sleepover, more drabbles coming your way for the remaining month of March!

Raw edge - the raw, raveling, and unfinished, cut edge of the fabric.

It’s fitting that Joel is a patient man. He’s built for it, after all.

Those broad shoulders, the sturdy thighs, his sure hands - he’s steadfast as the mountains that loom over Jackson.

As the sun shifts over the ridges and valleys of the sierra through the seasons, bringing shadows into light, so does Jackson on Joel, and you learn that he’s many kinds of patient.

On lookout duty, even in the depths of winter, he becomes one with the stillness of the night, patiently watching over the safety of the town in the loneliest hours.

When townsfolk stop him on the high street for neighbourly chit chat, he obliges with polite patience, never rushing, but careful not to encourage conversation that is longer than necessary.

With Ellie, when she prattles on with a long-winded story from school, he listens with amused patience, letting her run her half-full mouth over dinner with half-hearted admonishment.

And with you - he is agonisingly patient with you, and yet, never in a way that leaves any doubt of his want for you.

You cannot be more grateful.

And in turn, you’re patient with him. As the green of summer softens with the tail end of the season, you pick up bits and pieces. You hear whispers of names. Tess. Bill. You glimpse ghosts of his past. Sarah. Frank.

You don’t expect him to, but you have the audacity to hope, that one day, if he finds it in him to let you in, you have shoulders to spare.

When the heat fades and the brisk autumnal chill starts to linger in the morning mist, you start to find that you like it when he’s not patient.

Not necessarily for the lack of patience thereof, but the fact that it’s worn thin by something else.

The way heat bleeds into his eyes when Lucy holds you up after your shift ends, fingers twitching, as if the caveman in him wants to grab you and drag you home, where you have planned on dinner - and more.

When you’re two bodies tangled in your sheets, breath short as he kisses his way down your neck and nips the underside of your breasts, bra cups pushed up only halfway because you’re still too shy to take it off completely. You feel him shudder, nails digging into your skin, nostrils flaring like he’s holding back from ripping the scant fabric off of you.

And late one evening, when you ask him for it, in heated whispers and your lower lip caught in your teeth, he oh so patiently works his fingers inside your wet heat -

One, then two;

Slow, then fast;

Tender, then frantic -

Until he feels you clench tight around the crook of his fingers for the first time, watch you arch clean off the bed, he bares his teeth and lets out a primal growl at the cry of his name on your swollen lips.

You find the thrill in getting under Joel Miller’s skin.

As the fall deepens, and trees start to shed in golden surrender, you’re caught off guard when he turns the table on you.

You don’t see it coming, your desperation, that lazy afternoon. It’s just another Saturday when Ellie is on her shift at the Outfitter with Lucy, and Joel is spending those free hours with you.

You’re not sure what got him into the mood, but the man is relentlessly teasing that afternoon, almost bratty in the way he toys with you. His hands go everywhere while you’re cooking, squeezing the swell of your ass then going north to cup your breasts, and stopping off everywhere in between.

Tips of your ears burning, you smack the back of his hands - so big and mapped with veins - just so you can get drain the pasta. Joel chuckles and kisses the corner of your mouth. ‘I like it when you’re bossy, sweetheart.’

He insists on eating on the sofa, with you between his legs, and you can feel him already hard and straining through his jeans. Neither of you really make a real go at the rapidly cooling marinara, and the plates are quickly pushed to the side as them meal degenerates into a full-blown make out session.

Not yet ready to let him strip you bare or for him to disrobe him completely, clothes hang half unbuttoned and unzipped on you both. The part of your brain that still has enough blood to reason likes it though - the demure flashes of skin under creased fabric, blindly touching and feeling where you can’t see.

Your jeans are pushed halfway down your thighs, bra pushed down under your breasts, the elastic straps digging into your shoulders. His shirt is open down to the second last button, bare chest rubbing against your nipples, the contact making you whine. His belt hangs open and his jeans are unzipped, but before you can reach down, his fingers slide inside your panties, twisted and sticky, teasing your wet folds.

‘Joel,’ you whimper as he pushes two thick fingers inside you to the knuckle, your pussy slickly opening around him.

‘Does that feel good, sweetheart?’ he asks, mouthing at your collarbone.

‘More,’ you gasp.

‘I got two in you already -’

Your voice cracks in a sob, your nails digging into his back. ‘Joel, I want more. Please.’

He glances at the clock ticking away on the wall and hesitates. The rational part of him knows that he has to leave in less than twenty minutes to pick up Ellie. But feeling you leak onto his fingers, pushing your hips against him to get his fingers even deeper, his cock twitches painfully hard in his pants.

He breathes through his nose to steady himself. ‘Sweetheart, we don’t have time -‘

‘Joel!’ you whine, almost petulantly.

He stares down at you, eyes wide at your desperation. He’s never seen you like this before, and fuck, he wants to give it to you. Wants to give you what you want, what he wants. What he’s wanted for long fucking months, woken up hard and throbbing dreaming about. But he steels himself - no, not when he’s on the clock, he won’t rush it. He will give you what you deserve, and not an ounce less.

So he kisses you, long and deep, and bargains with you. ‘Listen, sweetheart, we can’t right now - but if you want to, we can try something new.’

‘Ok,’ you reply without hesitation.

A sharp breath catches in your throat when he eases his fingers out of you, and he brings them up to his mouth to lick them clean, his brow furrowing at your taste, thick on his tongue. Then you watch, transfixed, as he pushes his unzipped jeans down with his boxers, kicking them off his ankles - and his hard cock springs free of its confines.

It’s taken you many months to drum up the bravery to map his body with your touch, and you’ve mostly done so in the safety of darkness, your shyness holding you back. To see all of him, jutting hard and thick in the stark afternoon light, you don’t even hear yourself whimper at the sight.

Joel holds your gaze as he slowly wraps his fingers around the swollen length and strokes himself, lips parted, watching you watch him. ‘You trust me, sweetheart?’

‘Yes.’

‘Gonna make you feel good, ok?’

His words make you squirm beneath him. ‘Ok.’

Grabbing the base of his cock, Joel shifts, looming over you and pushing your thighs apart so they’re bent at the knees to accommodate him. Then with a delicate finger, he traces under the seat of your panties and pulls them to one side, baring your spread pussy to his eyes.

Your jaw goes slack the same time Joel bites out a filthy fuck. You know this is the first time he’s laying eyes on you there - you’ve been demure about that, preferring to be nose-to-nose with him while he buries his fingers inside you. But now, watching his eyes go black, nostrils flaring, an inexplicable high goes to your head, and you feel yourself clench around nothing.

His eyes fly to yours, and your lips part. Did he see that?

Before you can find out, Joel moves, and you hold your breath when he bows his head right where your legs are splayed open. Distracted by the beautiful chisel of his nose from this angle, you would’ve jumped right off the couch if not for his hands holding you in place when he dribbles spit onto your clit.

You cry out wordlessly, not understanding the visceral reaction of your body to the unexpectedly lewd act.

‘You’re plenty wet for me sweetheart, but this will feel even better,’ he says, spitting again, lower this time, and you tremble at the unfamiliar sensation of the wetness trailing down your folds.

Tracing a thumb over you, Joel makes a low noise of satisfaction in his chest when it glides over your lips, frictionless. Taking a hold of the base of his cock, he positions the underside of his length in the seam of your folds - and thrusts.

‘Joel!’ you whimper as the full length of him glides over the lips of your spit-wet pussy, from entrance to clit. He braces himself over you, and you hang onto his impossibly broad shoulders as he carefully rolls his hips, again and again. Rubbing along you just so, making sure you feel all of him despite not being inside you - that will have to wait.

You can feel your panties getting wetter, sticking to your skin, and Joel jolts a gasp from you when he roughly tugs the fabric hard to the side, baring more of you to his drunken gaze, witnessing the mess he’s making of you.

‘Listen t’ you,’ he slurs through gritted teeth, the lewd, wet slide of skin filling his ears. ‘Gonna sound even sweeter when I make you mine, sweetheart.’

With a whine, you arch off the couch, as if chasing the possessiveness in his words. Joel finds a rhythm that has the swollen head of his cock grinding against your clit with every thrust, and above you, he smears open-mouthed kisses over the secret spots he’s patiently unearthed by trial and error, until you’re shaking all over. It’s just what you needed, what you wanted - the elusive more that you didn’t know how to articulate. More than his fingers, but not yet ready to take everything that he can give you.

‘You’re close,’ Joel says, a quiet confidence to his verdict that coaxes a whine out of you. Holding a thumb over his cock, it presses even harder against your clit. His hips quicken in pace, and you know he’s chasing his own release as much as yours.

‘It’s ok sweetheart, you can let go, let me feel you cum for me, let me feel that pretty pussy -’

And then you’re gone. Any illusion of control over your body is just that, an illusion, when the bubble bursts. White hot pleasure burns through your bloodstream, tendrils of heat blooming and swelling from deep inside you, spilling out your fingertips twisted tightly into his graying curls.

Over the rush of blood in your ears, you hear Joel stutter fuck, fuck, fuck! before warm cum gushes over you, pooling in your belly button, spilling down your pussy and streaking your thighs.

Limbs heavy and eyelids drooping, it’s hard to care when the cum stains your panties or the couch below. Not when Joel wraps his arms around you, lips brushing the nape of your neck softly as he brackets you from behind.

Clinging onto the last vestiges of consciousness, you murmur, ‘You have to pick up Ellie soon.’

He grunts. ‘The little punk can wait.’

You smile, struggling to feel apologetic that the teenager might be waiting a while as Joel’s breathing slows, whistling softly by your ear.

In the quiet aftermath, his words echo in your head.

When I make you mine.

Little does he know, he doesn’t have to - you’re already his.

Notes: Time has really flown by since the last main series update. I've gone through so many ups and downs since, and I really need to thank you guys for giving me the time to figure things out in terms of my writing and how this story will go!

As I mentioned in Behind the Seams: Part V, I have 2 more full length chapters planned for the main series. I don't know if there will be any more after that, but at the very least, I hope that I will be adding to the Seams universe through drabbles and oneshots. I wouldn't write off the possibility of more chapters to add to the main series if I find the inspiration.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter ❤️

#fuckyeahseams #seams v #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine

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mochimooon · 5 months

Text

Slow Burn - gojo satoru x reader 18+

pairing: Gojo Satoru x afab! Reader summary: It's been a while since you've been intimate with anyone, and thankfully Satoru is patient (eager) to indulge you. word count: 4k+ notes: Newly established relationship, reader and Gojo have yet to do the deed. Not much plot here, other than gratuitous smut and fluff, featuring soft! Gojo. A more sensual smut piece. no-curses AU warnings: smut, explicit content, explicit language, vaginal fingering, oral sex (f! receiving), vaginal sex

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+ !!

Kisses scattered along your jaw, skin prickling with goosebumps. Shadows of heat on your neck spurred a sensation within every nerve of your body—a phantom feeling reborn.

Satoru’s ministrations grew hungrier, kissing every inch of skin along your neck and jaw as though you’d disappear before he got a chance to leave his mark anywhere. Your hands on his shirtfront tightened to keep him close, your mind was slowly entering a path towards bliss.

Your jaw was captured by Satoru’s hand, craning your head to meet his lips with yours.

He pressed a smile to your lips again. “Don’t get away from me. I’ve been wanting you all to myself.”

Dazed eyes peeled open, lost in the bright blue, you surrendered.

Satoru’s smile widened, giving you another kiss. “That’s it. Not so hard, huh? Just be good for me.” His tongue probed your mouth for entry.

Feeling the stroke of his tongue along yours, he’s infected you with the same vigor. You tugged his shirt at first, only to loosen your grip in favor of carding your fingers through the back of his hair.

You swallowed his moan, digging your nails into his scalp to steal more.

Satoru’s pace quickened like a spark turning into a flame. The weight of his body pressed onto yours, the bulge between his legs sent a shudder down your spine. There was a rough squeeze of your breast through your blouse and a swipe at your nipple.

Arching your back to chase the sensation, Satoru released your mouth for air, latching onto your neck seconds later as his free hand found the fly of your jeans.

The button came apart, a finger ghosting just above the waistband of your panties. You snapped out of the pleasure, reaching down to wrap your fingers around his wrist.

“Wait.”

Satoru swallowed, hair at a disarray, and you fought the urge to ravish him in that moment. He pressed himself up, easing his weight on your body. “Everything okay?”

Biting your lip, you nodded. He looked dubious. The tightness between your lower bodies was dizzying. He cleared his throat, concern hanging like a shadow over his eyes. “Are you sure?”

Again, you nodded, albeit hesitantly.

Satoru tilted his head. “I don’t think that’s true…” At your silence, Satoru grinned, “Should I take a guess?” His hand reached to cup your face, stealing a kiss. “What’ll you give me if I guess right?”

You savored his delicate touch and playful demeanor, both confirming how much you wanted him right then. You were a little nervous, however.

“It’s been a long time,” you preempted, heat rising to your face. “Since I’ve…had any action.”

Satoru blinked, lips pursing together.

A few months of dating, you had failed to tell Satoru about your dry spell. When you two had met, there was no mad rush to hop into the sheets despite Satoru’s incessant flirting. To your surprise, he was fine taking things slow at your request. But you never divulged that it was because you hadn’t had sex in well over a year now.

“I want to—” You rushed to add, fiddling with the collar of his shirt again. “I’m just out of practice…” Your face blazed, you struggled to hold Satoru’s stare.

While you had plenty of sessions alone, you couldn’t fathom what it felt like anymore to be intimate with someone. To have a body pressed against your own. Fantasies could only do so much, and they could never compare to the real thing.

Silence crawled by, so slow, you sank into the mattress in hopes that it would help you disappear.

But Satoru was not someone to let you escape. His thumb stroked your cheek, his warm breath fanning over your forehead, leaving you dumbstruck.

“We don’t have to do anything,” he said. “We can keep waiting. I can wait.”

Your throat went tight, biting back a whine. Waiting was the last thing you wanted to do. You’ve done enough of it, holding off until you connected with someone you trusted. And you continued to deprive yourself when you met Satoru despite the desire to have this very moment with him.

It was the longest streak you’ve been on. After your last break-up, it was only meant to be temporary. But the longer you went without it, the more clarity you unlocked, and you were content as is. Then Satoru came into the picture. Finally, you were ready, but you were scared.

“No,” you said. “I want to right now—” You added at Satoru’s furrowed expression. “I’m a little nervous. I want it to feel good for both of us.”

“I want you to feel good,” Satoru said. “If that means waiting, then I’ll keep doing it. I’m creative, I can always make you feel good in other ways.” To prove his point, he took your hand, kissing the knuckles with a tenderness behind his blue eyes.

Having known Satoru for a while, you knew everything he said was always sincere. You didn’t know how you got so lucky to finally meet someone with integrity. A man who was confident with every right to be. Someone who had the charisma to be both quick-witted and soft. A man who listened to you when you were silent, who was patient with you when you weren’t sure you deserved it at times. A man that you trusted. A man that was yours.

Some of the worries faded away, outstripped with the fluttering of butterflies in your stomach.

Caressing Satoru’s face, he watched you with a patience that everyone else had noticed was only ever offered to you. His eyes flit shut for a moment, unable to resist the drag of your fingers in the back of his hair.

You pushed yourself up to surprise him with a kiss to his lips.

He responded in favor, allowing you take the lead, genuine in that he wanted to go at your pace. But tonight, you would surrender, and let Satoru take the reins.

Your question met his lips. “Can you make me feel good?” Another question kissed Satoru back to life. “Will you touch me?”

Satoru’s expression brightened. He deepened the kiss, guiding you to rest your head back onto the mattress, pinning you there.

He released a breathy laugh, voice coming out like smoke. “That’s what I’m here for. To spoil you.” He kissed you again. “To take care of you. And…” He pulled back, meeting your eyes, a playful glimmer in his. “To worship you.”

Satoru crouched lower, his mouth slithering away from yours to nip at your jaw.

The flush you felt in your body was nothing compared to Satoru’s warmth creeping along your skin.

“Where should I start?” Lips pressed below your ear. “I’m not sure where to grab and touch you first.”

He was at your neck. Your pulse throbbed at the light sting of his teeth grazing that area.

“Maybe your waist…” Satoru’s hand roamed between your bodies, fingers pushing into the flesh of your waist, trailing his touch upwards. “Or should I start with your pretty tummy?”

You breathed in sharply as Satoru’s fingertips trace the bare skin of your stomach beneath your blouse, snaking its way up.

“There’s also this.” He palmed your breast over your bra, face hovering over yours again, grinning into your lips. “Two of them to be exact.”

He squeezed, catching your whimper in the kiss.

“Should I let my hands explore and decide? I don't know if I can stop at one. I might have to touch you everywhere. When it comes to you, I just want to be greedy.”

Another squeeze of your breast and you moaned, giving Satoru reentry into your mouth.

The pace of his tongue was perfect—unhurried, but enough to stoke the fire sparking in your lower belly. Nothing can stop you from moaning freely and clutching onto his shirtfront.

“Fucking adorable, the way you respond to me,” he husked. “Might have to take extra time with you, just to indulge myself.”

Your body had gotten so feverish just from the playful taunting. It was so in character of him to be snarky with charm wrapped around it like a silk tie. You don’t know how you managed to withhold yourself for so long when Satoru entered your life. His smile, his voice, everything about him tested your willpower daily.

True to his word, Satoru’s hand roamed various parts of your body, wandering, groping, like he needed to commit every inch of you to muscle memory. And every stroke, every firm squeeze, you were like a firefly brought to life from his touch, hips lifting to buck against his front.

Satoru pulled back from your lips, a surprised chuckle pouring out. “Oh…I feel the exact same way. I’m sure you’ve already caught on.” He sank lower, nudging you with the bulge in his jeans.

The pressure sent you into orbit. To be this close, after a while of being untouched.

“Oh, Satoru…”

He hummed his appreciation, peppering kisses along your neck while his hands crept into your shirt, slinking past your bra.

He’s smooth when taking it off, letting it fold slowly up your arms. When it slipped off, Satoru’s weight disappeared.

You blinked, confused. Not even the grasp of his hands on your hips gave you a clue until he pulled you up and brought you to his lap.

He groaned at your weight, and you felt the tightness in his jeans, stealing a glimpse at the outline of his cock beneath denim.

“Did you want me to…?” You pressed on his belt's buckle, pausing when Satoru shook his head.

“Not yet, gorgeous.” He leveled you with his gaze, half-lidded, caught between desire. His hands ran up your back, holding you securely as he placed his forehead against yours, breathing your name. “Fuck…I love holding you.”

Heart racing, you stroked his nape. Despite the tension between your bodies, you liked being held like this. It was a place you were content with. And you’re grateful once again to have waited for Satoru to find you.

“Oh…” he moaned, reeling you in for an embrace, hot breath on your shoulder. “Can’t be selfish. As greedy as I want to be…” Lithe hands undid the clasp of your bra. “This isn’t about me. It’s about you. It’ll always be about you.”

Pulling you back, the straps fell away from your shoulders, and Satoru waited, meeting your eyes.

You nodded and he peeled away your bra whilst holding your stare that for a second you forgot you were topless on his lap.

After a beat, blue eyes lowered, a blissful sigh rushing out.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, tracing his fingers experimentally along the flesh of your breasts. “I bet this’ll feel good when I do this?”

Your chest pumped closer, nipples hard and chasing after Satoru’s featherlight touch.

“Yeah?” Satoru taunted playfully, rubbing your nipple with his thumb a little faster.

Your head draped backwards, pushing your chest out, arching your back. Satoru’s other hand kept you from falling, and your hips grinded on his lap.

Satoru rasped your name, his breath humid against your other nipple. “Oh baby, you should see yourself. Back arched, tits too pretty to ignore. The most beautiful thing I've ever seen.”

You hissed, bucking into him roughly as his lips sucked on your breast. You couldn’t help yourself, your back arched deeper, but you didn’t have to worry about falling.

Satoru anchored both hands behind your back, fingers splayed out like a net to prevent your escape, while seizing the opportunity to spoil your chest with his attention.

Nipping, sucking, biting, a cocktail of pleasure sprouting marks on your skin that after tonight, you’ll be reminded of this moment thereafter.

When Satoru was satisfied, he licked between your breasts in a slow drag of his tongue. Up, then down, planting a kiss on your stomach and then to your ribcage.

Despite the stiff denim, there was a twitch in Satoru’s lap, reeling you back up and enfolding your arms around his neck.

It was the first time that night that you’ve taken more control, holding him so close, refusing to take a breath, content to pass out from the passionate kiss.

Satoru’s hands roamed your back freely, squeezing the muscle and skin that you didn’t mind the pinch of his nails when he held too tight.

But it was him that broke away and together you pulled his shirt off, leaving a split-second to be apart before reconnecting like magnets.

Making out with him was natural, something you had done enough times, hesitation was nowhere to be seen. And as the passion ramped up, testing your limits, everything continued to feel right with Satoru. The slide of his tongue, the nibble of his teeth on your lip. You wanted more, scratching along his shoulders to convey that.

“You gonna mark me, baby?” Satoru said between kisses. “You want everyone to know I’m yours? Mark me, scratch me, whatever you want, I’ll always be yours.”

A shaky gasp pulled from your throat, the ember in your stomach crackling at the statement. And so, your nails dug into his flesh, raking down the backs of his shoulders, your ownership carved into strong muscle.

He hissed, moving to your neck, chuckling as his hands swept along your back. “That’s it, make me yours. Because I’m going to make you mine.” Teeth sank into your neck, tongue swirling along the skin, feeling the rush of blood gather there.

You scraped his back again, your own teeth biting into his shoulder, an exchange of primal possession.

Satoru’s mouth left your neck with a pop! as he stood up. It wasn’t even a matter of effort to carry you, so graceful within the few steps he took before he seated you on a different spot along the bed.

Your back hit the headrest, knees bent and spread as Satoru kissed you again. You were quick to catch him before he pulled away, cupping his face to continue kissing him.

Satoru breathed a laugh, letting you steal as many kisses as you desired until you needed some air. “I’m here,” he said, staring at you with pure adoration. Had you been on your feet, you would have swooned.

Fingers hooked into the top of your jeans.

Satoru stilled, eyes on you. “These are coming off.” Although it was a command, you knew it was permissive. While Satoru had the reins, you had the power to take them back at any time.

You wouldn’t dream of it. Goosebumps scattered all over your bare skin, hardening your nipples in anticipation. You nodded your consent.

Like with the removal of your bra, Satoru kept his stare locked with yours, never flitting away as he dragged your jeans and panties off your legs.

You shivered again to be naked, the first time in front of Satoru, and as he held your gaze, and leaned closer to kiss you, every drop of blood warmed back up.

Finally, Satoru pushed off, gaze dipping at the center of your thighs.

Even on the bed, on his knees, you felt so small compared to him. You watched his expression darken slowly like the phase of the moon and silent as night.

His hands took your knees and pulled you apart wide, spreading you out for his attention.

You were so wet, you averted your gaze, something Satoru was quick to notice.

“Ah-ah. Don’t get shy on me,” he teased. “Don’t you want to watch me ravish your beautiful pussy?”

Always charismatic, the vulgarity dripped like honey in Satoru’s voice. He could say the filthiest thing to you and you’re sure it’d fill you up like a mouthful of sugar.

Satoru’s lips curved like a fiend, and he could tell that you liked him talking dirty. “I’ve dreamt of this moment for so long.” He lowered his face. “And I knew when you’d let me, that your pussy would be so wet and ready for me taste.”

You had envisioned this moment yourself, in various scenarios. But nothing compared to the sight between your spread thighs, held in a strong grip. Blue eyes swallowed in lust and Satoru’s beautiful face leveled with your pussy.

On instinct, you spread yourself more open with Satoru’s aid.

“Can this be mine?” A tender kiss to your clit had you nodding your head quickly.

“Yes,” you stuttered. “Yes, Satoru, it’s yours, I’m yours.”

He smiled, kissing you there again and again until you whined, sliding down the headrest, pussy chasing after his mouth.

Satoru lifted you back up by your spread legs. He kissed your forehead and then was back between your thighs, arms holding you open and diving his tongue deep into you.

A sharp hiss slipped past gritted teeth. Satoru’s tongue moved and stretched you open.

“Look at me,” he growled.

You hadn’t realized your eyes were closed, reeling from the initial contact. And the look on Satoru’s face had you spellbound.

Moisture shining on his lips, split by an impish smirk.

“Don’t look away from me,” he said. “Just keep these pretty legs spread open so I can make you gush on my mouth.”

You’re not given a moment to respond, bucking your hips and moaning to be reunited with Satoru’s mouth.

Your hands flew to his hair, tugging him closer as he greedily ate you out. “Satoru—ah!”

He pulled you wider apart, a pleasant strain in your inner thighs bloomed. You didn’t care if you cramped up, you’d gladly stay like this.

His mouth moved to suck on your clit, pinning you with his stare, sharp enough to prick your resolve.

“Satoru, I’m gonna—”

He didn’t falter, didn’t stop, didn’t hurry, kept the pace at the perfect languid flow that had your thighs quiver, a gasp rising from your chest, and your release spilling onto Satoru’s mouth.

A dark moan was heard from between your legs, and as you blinked away the stars from your vision. Satoru’s eyes had rolled back, slurping up your mess, a potion meant for him.

The muscles in your thighs had numbed at some point, and the blood slowly trickled back when Satoru set them to rest on the bed.

You had sank deeper, head and shoulders on the headrest, and your back now dipped into the mattress.

A delicate hand brushed along your jaw, and Satoru’s shadow spilled over you.

“Delicious,” he said into your lips. “So, fucking delicious.”

You let him take the lead, still recovering from your orgasm, the muscles in your thighs still asleep.

“Do you want to stop here?”

This brought you back to life and you blinked up at him with wide eyes.

Satoru chuckled, kissing your hairline. “Aren’t you cute? One orgasm isn’t enough for you, huh?”

You swallowed, shaking your head, and then pulled him in for another heated kiss.

Satoru obliged, spoiling your lips, your jaw, and neck, talking and teasing through it all. He breathed your name. “Tell me. What else baby? Because I have an idea.”

You smiled, humming to feel his fingers play with your wet heat.

“It involves this pretty thing again.” Satoru slapped your folds, flicking your clit. “Do you know what I’m thinking?”

You bucked your hips up in answer.

“Should I make you guess?”

Another buck of your hips and another light smack to your pussy.

“I fucking love the way you respond to me,” Satoru said, rewarding you with a finger slipping inside of you. “The pretty sounds you make.”

You released a long hum, filling Satoru’s ear with your appreciation. “Another Satoru, please.”

“Of course, baby,” he said, another finger joining the other. “I’ll give you anything you want. I could never deny you.” He pumped his fingers, drowning them in your slick. “You feel amazing like this. So wet and ready for me.”

You whined, nodding again, desperate, and needy. You’ve been starved for too long, you had never felt more ready than you do now.

“Are you sure?” Satoru husked.

“Yes, yes.” Licking your lips, you found your voice. “I want you, Satoru.”

And your heart warmed to see his eyes light up behind the dark lust, a voltage sparking with the familiar tenderness.

He lifted off a little, to undo his belt and remove his jeans. He dragged everything off, including his boxers and your mouth fell open in a low moan.

Erect, endowed, thick, with a beautiful vein dipping along the shaft. Your pussy fluttered, aching to be filled.

Satoru took your hips, pulling you lower so that your head laid flat on the bed. “I’ll go slow. Tell me if anything feels uncomfortable.”

You nodded as he fell forward, the tip of his dick nudging your entrance. Even that felt big, but you refused to deny yourself of the chance to have him fill you up.

Satoru brought your hands above your head, lacing his fingers with yours, blue eyes pouring into your gaze. You understood and nodded once more. His lips kissed you the same moment his dick pushed forward.

Together you hummed, delirious from the contact.

“You’re…perfect,” Satoru breathed, slowly sinking deeper.

“Oh…” The stretch was addictive. “Satoru…you feel so good.”

“If you like that,” Satoru said, playful. “There’s more of me waiting.”

Inch by inch, Satoru buried deeper, and you don’t know how much more there’d be. But you didn’t care. You’d accommodate all of him, the man that you waited so long for. You could survive waiting a little more.

Thankfully, there was no need because his hips met yours and a moment past like that, connected like two puzzle pieces that finally found each other.

“Are you alright?” Satoru asked, squeezing your hands.

“I am. Are you?”

He grinned. “I don’t even have the words to describe how amazing I feel right now.” He kissed you, hungry, his restraint withering by the second.

Like how he refused to deny you, you weren’t going to deny him.

“Satoru, please, move.” You laughed.

The slide of his dick as it pulled out had you whimpering from the sudden emptiness. It was short-lived because Satoru pushed back in, moving in a pace that matched a sunrise, a slow burn, but every second worthwhile.

“Keep your eyes on me.” Satoru thrusted a little faster. “Let me be greedy like that, yeah?” He strained a laugh. “You okay, baby?”

You gasped. “Yes.”

His rhythm quickened, punctuated with a kiss to your lips. “I’m yours, okay? And you’re mine.”

“Yes, Satoru.” You held onto his hands tighter, reveling in him doing the same, crushing them into the mattress.

His thrusts were needy, fast, urgent. “I love the way you feel,” he grunted around a smile. “Every part of you is perfect.”

He released your hand to rub your clit, reigniting every sensitive nerve.

You whimpered, bringing your free hand to hold onto his, rubbing your clit together as stars burst into your sights again.

“That’s it.” Satoru pumped faster now, you could feel his dick pulsing with urgency, and his words clipped. “Knew you’d need a second orgasm. That’s—what I’m here for. To spoil you, and to worship this—beautiful soul of yours. I—”

A low groan cut Satoru’s ramblings, echoing in the room, filling the air with his release, and a warmth spreading along your walls.

“Fuck…” Satoru breathed deeply, blue eyes glossed over, and a lopsided grin spread on his face before he kissed you like he had done a million times already. “Oh baby—that was—phenomenal—you’re—fucking—perfect.”

The affirmations were strewn along your face and neck with such enthusiasm, the tickle of his lips had you squirming and laughing.

He pulled back with the same grin and dived back to your neck to pepper more kisses there, stealing more laughs.

“Satoru!” You wriggled underneath him.

“Hm? You don’t want me kissing you anymore?” he teased, nosing your neck. “I’m not done spoiling you yet.”

Eventually, he relented, opting to roll you over so that you were lying on his chest. His hand trailed up your back, fingertip spinning lazy circles onto your shoulder.

“How’d you feel?” Satoru filled the silence as he always did.

Relieved, satisfied, happy. It had been a long personal journey for you. The initial jitters had melted away, and it was all thanks to the patient man that held you close to his heart.

“I feel good.” You craned your head to look at him.

He smiled, taking the back of your head, and pulling you in for a long, heated kiss, foreshadowing what he said next. “Good, because I’m not finished with you yet.” ☻

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo x you #gojo saturo x you #jjk smut #gojo smut #satoru gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfiction #mochi-writings

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yeyinde · 1 year

Note

‼️imagine riding price while he’s smoking a cigar‼️ that just popped inside my head and now i’m horny

⇾warnings: unfettered filth, gratuitous smut; gendered!female reader, female anatomy; very slight possessive!Price; very heavy dom!Price; choking?? kinda???

⇾notes: damn, op. me, too. also, has anyone seen bodies bodies bodies? you know that moment when Pete Davidson says I just look like I fuck? that's this. that's Price.

With his head tilted back on the bed, lit cigar dangling from between his teeth, he looks almost attainable in the gloam. Touchable. Like a man you reach out, and have. It's so different from his usual countenance that it jars something inside of you, pricking that soft, sensitive place between your thundering heart and ribs.

Shadows cut under his eyes, his nose, the jut of his lip, illuminated only by the flushed, yellow light of the lamp beside the bed.

Cot, really. Barely enough space in it to fit a single person, much less two. How he manages to squeeze inside the tiny slip of a mattress makes you question everything you know about physics and spatial mathematics.

Though—

"That's it, mm," he rasps, words slurred and muffled around the cigar in his mouth. His hands are firebrands on your breasts, where they settle hot and firm, rough palm grazing your hard nipples. "Just like that, dove. Take me in—all of it, yeah? Want to feel your cunt around all of me."

—there really isn't any room in your head for complex queries when you're sat on your captain's cock, pussy pulsing around him all the way to the root.

He knocks all logic from your head with a soft flex of his hips, cockhead nudging something inside of you that has you reeling through samsara.

You can't stop the whine from spilling out—high-pitched and breathless—when he shifts like that, grinding his fat cock against your gummy walls.

"C—captain—," you mewl, nails digging into the coarse auburn covering his chest. Your hips gyrate over his groin, seeking more of that delicious stretch, that blistering press of him splitting you apart.

"Shush, shush," he coos, his hand falling away from your swaying chest to wrap around the body of the cigar. The tip burns red; the heavy scent of sex and tobacco permeate the tense atmosphere between you.

His other hand stays, and slides down until your nipple is caught between his thumb and forefinger. A pinch of his fingers sends a ripple of pleasure-pain shuddering down to your core. You keen at the sting, the bliss.

"Gotta be quiet, love. Want them to come in, and see you like this? Bouncin' on your captain's cock like you're desperate for it? And you are, aren't you? So fuckin' greedy for it."

"Fuck, sir—"

His groan is filthy around the butt of the cigar when your cunt flutters at the notion. The idea of being watched while your aching cunt takes him to the base.

"What a slut you are," he teases, slurred and gruff, words thinning out around a pull of smoke. "Want them to see how pretty you look on top of me, eh?"

He bites down on the end of the cigar, his hand falling away to reach behind you. Your mouth opens—pleas, apologies on your tongue; but it's stifled by a loud whine when the flat of his palm slaps across the meat of your ass. The sharp crack of his hand hitting you sends a gyre of pleasure roiling through your core.

Your belly flutters; molten heat spumes at the sting. It's too much, it hurts, and—

You want more.

"Please—;" the word is choked, bitten off when he slides his hand up, fingers dancing between each knob of your spine. The other tugs on your nipple until your back arches for him.

"Come on, pretty thing." He purrs, eyes lidded and burning. A veil of smoke congeals in the air between you when he breathes out. "Like I'd let anyone see you like this. This—;" his teeth dig into the cigar, hips canting up into your pussy. "—is all mine, love."

You don't know how he expects you to last with his thumb brushing over your nipple, his cock battering the plug of your womb with each fervid grind of your hips. Each soft bounce sends you spiralling closer and closer to the edge, to that white-hot haze of euphoria that splits your head down the centre until all you can feel is the swell of his cock in your cunt; his full, heavy balls slapping against your ass each time you sit fully on him, taking him to the base where he's the thickest, where he throbs like a heartbeat. It's too much, too much—

He hums low in his chest. The noise ripples through your palms, desperately scrambling for purchase on his slick, broad chest. It should have been a warning, but you're too far gone, too blissed from the way his liquid sapphire gaze threatens to flay you alive; the wide arsenic white of his eyes boring into you, watching you fall apart at the seams with each plunge of him inside of your pussy.

"Fuck—oh, fuck—captain—I'm… I'm gonna cum—"

Heat sears into your throat. Your tremulous words are cut in the middle when his hand slides up, palm pressed flat against your jugular. His thumb strokes your jaw gently, a dizzying contrast to the unyielding, solid grip he has on your neck. His thick, tobacco-stained fingers wrap taut around the delicate, fragile, curve of your throat, nearly spanning the entirety of it. If he wanted to, you think, a touch delirious, hysterical: he might be able to touch his index and thumb at the base of your skull.

Your inhale is shaky; a quivering gasp that edges on instability. You feel yourself being pulled deeper and deeper into those pits that sear into you.

A burning ache throbs inside of your belly; a coil pulling tighter and tighter with each press of your groins, his cock filling you deeper than you'd thought possible, the unruly auburn hair around the base of his cock grazing your clit. Your core tenses. Cunt spasming around him when he squeezes his hand, the air choked from your esophagus.

"Look at you," he drawls, nearly slurring the words around the end of his cigar. He pulls in another mouthful of smoke, eyes gleaming aquamarine in the dim light. "Such a pretty fuckin' sight you make, don't you, love."

All you can see is liquid blue. A spark of ochre from the end of his cigar. Your vision fades, blurring around the edges. He's not choking you, just holding steady, firm, but it's everything: his voice, his touch, that stupid cigar wrapped around those lips—

"C—captain—"

"Go on, then." He settles back into the pillow, hand still wrapped around your throat. His eyes bore into yours; a whirlpool cuts through the sea—dark and dizzying. "I want this pretty little cunt to cum around my cock, mm." He rumbles. His hand flexes, shifts, until his thumb is pressed to the seam of your lips. His eyes darken. "And then when you're finished, I want you on your hands and knees. I'm gonna fill you up, nice and proper, yeah?"

All you can do is whimper his name, and try not to slip inside those frothing waters that threaten to drag you under. A swirling vortex of want; pleasure. You burn under his heavy gaze. Feel the heat of his cigar scorching your skin.

“Oh,” he adds, blowing out a plume of white against your skin when you shudder on top of him, nails biting into his skin. Smoke rings curl around his words. His voice is hushed. Quiet. The lilt an unbreakable command. “Better not make me drop my cigar, love. Or there will be trouble.”

#captain john price x reader #john price x you #captain john price #john price x reader #john price #captain john price x you #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #this man is singlehandedly ruining my life

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yujification · 3 months

Text

press your number — hwang yeji

desc: It’s lewd and messy when Yeji finally slides it all the way in. Soft squelching sounds, that of which derived from the silicone stretching her pretty cunt out. You moan, a sharp whine coming from the back of your throat as she sits on your waist, biting your lip gingerly. “Fuck,” You swallow. “Good girl. Just like that.” You give her ass a nice hearty smack. She swats your hand away. You were only being kind, after all.

cw: strap sex, strap sucking, praise, unnie kink, cunnilingus, lowkey manipulative!yeji, gratuitous smut, kind of pwp

wc: 2.4k

note: i got crazy writers block halfway through…. um this is super half-assed…. my bad! + i pulled out the proper punctuation for this one plz dont ask why ….. i was feeling diplomatic

Groupmates doesn’t always equal teammates. In fact, your relationship with Hwang Yeji was more like something akin to a rivalry— always at each other’s throats with knives and blades (and tongues) waiting to slash (or lick).

It hurt. It hurt your heart how much she hated you and hurt your head even more.

“I have needs,” Yeji whispers, licking a stripe up the valley of your breasts, tasting of pure, unsaturated skin and flesh. Of salt. Of innocence. “And… when your unnies have needs, you need to help, yeah? I would’ve helped you. Do you need me to help you? Help you learn?”

It felt wrong, almost. Chanting her name, almost like a prayer, begging and pleading for release while Yeji buried her face between your thighs. You wondered if she cared. If she gave a shit how wrong it was.

It was mostly you doing the dirty work anyway, using Yeji’s thick, jet black 7-inch of silicone and thrusting into her rhythmically, drool loosely hanging off your lips and dribbling into her mouth and hair. You felt like it was a part of you. Like the strap-on was your own, like you could almost feel her tight, virginal cunt clenching around it. Neither of you had ever been with anyone else before. Being an idol meant limited social interactions, let alone time with normal civilians long enough to fuck them. You had to help each other, is what Yeji always said, but as far as you were aware, the others didn’t have late-night meetings like this. Yuna had admitted that she had kissed Chaeryeong before, years ago, but it meant nothing. This wasn’t kissing. This was raw. Felt real. Maybe too real.

“Feels good, unnie,” you whisper, burying the cock deeper, and letting Yeji adjust to it’s size.

Yeji grunts. It’s low and throaty and leaves you dripping. You shouldn’t enjoy this as much as you do, but it wasn’t like she would know anyway. “Is that a question or a statement?”

A statement. You play it off. “It was a question,”

“Sorry. Do you feel… good? Unnie?” There are awkward pauses between your words.

“Y-Yeah. Feels fine.”

Just fine.

You can feel it. You can feel when she comes, and not even in some bullshit spiritual way. You feel it. You don’t remember Yeji being a squirter, but suddenly she is, her juices leaking all over the silicone. You pull out, and almost want to take the strap off and lick everything off of it. You imagine it tastes good. Clean and salty.

You don’t. It’s too many boundaries to cross in one night.

“Another?” you ask, letting the one word speak for itself while your fingers hover over the clasps of the toy.

“Quality over quantity,” Yeji says, a little too blunt for comfort. You want to be offended, but you aren’t.

“Am I getting better?”

“You’re regressing,” But you know she’s lying.

You scoff. “You came in two minutes,” and it’s truer than ever. Maybe even less than that. You’d always had good waist control, and maybe that’s what made you such a good dancer. “I’m obviously not getting worse. That was quicker than last time.”

“Freak. You’re counting?”

“It’s only an estimate.”

Yeji adjusts herself. “Fine. Fuck me again, then.”

“Quality over quantity.”

Touché. Always witty, never afraid.

Any other girl would pout. Beg like a dirty whore and get on their knees. Anyone would kill for a chance to be with someone as high profile as you. Yeji, however, couldn’t care less about how much money you have or how many fangirls you have lined up just waiting to suck your strap clean.

“I want quantity. I said, fuck me again. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You won’t. You’ll obey, but not as easily as usual. Not as much as Yeji wants.

“Ride me, then. I want you on top, this time.”

Yeji meets your request with a bitchy eye roll. “Fuck, yeah, okay,”

And it’s always that easy.

You settle on your back and Yeji straddles you. She’s wetter than normal. Her folds shine in the light, nearly glistening with heat. They’re swollen too. Puffy and needy.

She lines the silicone up with her entrance and sinks, and the words come out embarrassingly fast, “God, you make unnie feel so fucking good,” and she doesn’t stop them, pushing nearly half of the length into her before stopping, taking a breath.

“You can do it,” you encourage, hands firmly on her waist,

“Stop talking.”

It’s lewd and messy when Yeji finally slides it all the way in. Soft squelching sounds, that of which derived from the silicone stretching her pretty cunt out. You moan, a sharp whine coming from the back of your throat as she sits on your waist, biting your lip gingerly. “Fuck,” You swallow. “Good girl. Just like that.” You give her ass a nice hearty smack. She swats your hand away. You were only being kind, after all.

At the very least, it isn’t an attempt to be romantic. She hates corny shit, and this isn’t corny. Well, maybe it is— but not in that way. It isn’t cheesy. It isn’t stomach-churningly cute, or soft, or sweet. You’re fucking your leader with a huge piece of silicone and praising her for her good work. God knows she needs it. It might inflate her ego, and she might use this moment against you, but sacrifices have to be made for a good time. And this? This is a good ass time. For you, at least. With her reactions, you’re not certain if it’s reciprocal.

“I feel full,” Yeji notes, breath shaky, slowly quickening her pace, rolling her hips onto the strap as it slides in and out of her. “Think I’m gonna come,” She huffs.

“Already?” You want to laugh, but you don’t. It’s ironic how cruel she is to you, how ruthless and mean and intense your work relationship is, but how easy it is to break her. How quickly you can make her lose it. How you can ruin her and she wouldn’t even mind.

Yeji moans. It’s loud and rough and Ryujin is sleeping just one thin wall away, and if that doesn’t wake her up, you don’t know what will. Nothing will get Yeji to shut up, not even you, but you make an attempt anyway.

“Shush, unnie,” you urge, brows furrowed in frustration as you impulsively and autonomously buck your hips up into her.

It only doubles her reactions.

“You only, fuck, you only make it harder when you do shit like that,” She hums, rocking on you, breath coming out in short gasps.

Finally coming down, Yeji climbs off of you and stands. Her knees shudder under her weight, understandably. Her cunt aches.

“I’m gonna go piss and get dressed. We have practice in thirty. Be ready.”

Another order. She’s good at giving those, evidently.

The next time it happens is a little less planned. Fuck it— not even that. It’s not prepared at all. It started off innocent, at least. If you get arrested for indecent exposure and get kicked out of your agency, you have an excuse. It’s her fault. It’s always her fault. Hwang Yeji is always to blame. She makes you like this, a horrific mess and a trainwreck of an idol.

“I could lose my job,” you say. “My life would be over,” you say. “All your fucking fault,” you say. You say, all while spilling your saliva all over her lips, messily pressing your lips to hers while you brush her wet and wispy red hairs away from where they stick on her cheek. You’re in full hair and makeup and wouldn’t like to ruin it, but maybe it’s a little necessary. Such an irresponsible leader, letting you ruin yourself in the bathroom of a music show. She doesn’t even seem phased with her clit against your skin.

Lucky for you, Yeji’s stylist wasn’t quite finished yet. Her makeup wasn’t finished below her nose and she was still wearing the clothes she came in — well, only half of them, anyway. Her skirt was splattered across the tile and her panties dangled off of one knee as she sat on your now bare thigh, A fistful of orange hair was left tangled in your hands, spilling out of your palms as she rides against your thigh. You always want to praise her. Tell her that she’s a good girl for letting you fuck her so close to showtime, but it almost aggravates you how careless she is. You could get caught. Not just by a groupmate— that wasn’t your concern. Sure, it’d be awkward for someone to catch you in such a… compromised… position, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. They’d keep it a secret, you were sure of it. Worst case scenario was your manager. God forbid he walk in. You were confined to a stall, sure, but it didn’t even matter when you were cursing and whining into Yeji’s slutty mouth, nearly begging her to keep going. Freak. How were you even getting off on this? She wasn’t even doing anything to turn you on, and somehow, some way, you were turned on anyway. Women tend to have that effect on you.

Yeji stopped rather abruptly, words still hesitating to come out. Your fingers duck down and push generously against her clit.

You aren’t trying to embarrass her, of course not. But, it feels a little good to make her shy, shuddering needily against your thigh. “Good fucking god, unnie,” you breathe, licking hotly up her neck, damp with sweat. “So fucking wet, all for me?”

She covers your mouth with the palm of her hand, eyebrows threading together in a twisted furrow while she lazily humps against you.

When she comes, it soaks your thigh, thick wetness dribbling down your leg and dripping onto the floor. “You made such a mess, unnie.”

You aren’t trying to embarrass her.

Of course not.

Yeji hates it when you sleep in her bed. She doesn’t think you’re unhygienic, or anything. You’re fairly certain she would let you sleep in her bed after you fuck her if it weren’t for the fact that you kick. When you’re asleep, you destroy her just as bad as you do when you’re awake. Roughly slamming your heels into her knees, elbowing her in the jaw. The rule is no marks. No bruises, no hickeys, no bites. Even if they’re done deep in slumber. Nothing.

You’re both a little distracted. You feel a teensy bit gross, too. The strap is on Yeji this time, and she isn’t even really doing much— because she never really wants to do much.

Goddamned pillow princess.

(You don’t mind.)

The silicone comes out of your mouth with a sharp pop, saliva pooling on the corner of your lip. You can’t even get mad at Yeji, because she’s unbelievably nice when you take her down your throat. She knows it isn’t the most comfortable.

“You’re so cute,” she whispers, scratching at your chin softly like you’re an animal. Something about it is a little domestic, really. You’re like her pet, in a way. Always ready to obey her even if it means discomfort or displeasure. Who are you kidding? Fucking your leader could never bring you any sort of displeasure.

Is she even getting off on this?

“What’s the point? Of this? Of all this sucking? You can’t feel it. I can’t really feel it.”

“Preparation. Tolerance building. You’ll never be able to handle something bigger if you don’t get used to this first.” Yeji claims, hands smoothly tousling your hair.

A brow of yours shoots up. “I’m the one who fucks you, usually, though.”

“Not always. Can you just take it like a good girl and be quiet? Open wide, please? For unnie?”

The conversation ends with an eye roll, your mouth open, and Yeji’s hand on your jaw while she slides it past your tongue. It’s wet and warm in your mouth. And still, a little gross feeling. Who were you to object?

“You’re something else,” Yeji whispers. “So obedient. I used to wonder why you never reject, but I understand now. You have a crush on me, don’t you?”

You gag a little. Not from the dick halfway down your throat. More from the downright ridiculous words coming out of Yeji’s mouth.

“Don’t be crazy, unnie,” you whisper as you pull back, a string of saliva between your top lip and the silicone.

She scoffs.

“Okay,” and she pats your thigh and lifts you onto the bed.

“Unnie, I can’t take all of that. Not down there.”

Yeji cocks her head. “Sure you can.”

“I can’t.”

“Do you…?”

Yeah. You do. You’re not sure what it is that you do, but you do.

“Okay,” Yeji unclips the strap from her waist and lays it gently in the drawer it came from. A little too gently. Like she gives a fuck about it, or you, or this.

Her tongue feels good on you. All over you, in fact. While it drags down your body, from your collarbones to your stomach, tender strokes of the muscle, flexing around the softness of your skin and down to your sweet cunt. Her tongue glides between your folds, lapping up your juices like a crazed animal that had been without water for months. She hadn’t done this before— but you felt a tightness in your stomach that wasn’t unfamiliar, but wasn’t something you were used to.

Her mouth alternates between sucking at your clit and fucking her tongue into your hole, sending you onto a frenzy of flexing your abs and thighs, back arching against the bed as you writhe. A cold hand settles on your waist and the other situates on your thigh, holding your leg over Yeji’s shoulder. It’s new. Fresh, and soaking, and so, so good.

“You taste so good,” Yeji mumbles into your pussy, mouth burrowed between your legs. She’s better at this than you thought, and it almost makes you wonder if she makes other girls’ thighs shake like this. If other girls experience her tongue on them like this. Whether you’re the only one doesn’t bother you— you’re just curious. You don’t question it.

And when you come, everything feels like levitating. Some sort of telekinetic force lifting everything from the floor. It’s ridiculous, maybe. Oh, well. Looking up at you as your stomach and chest rise and fall like a tidal wave, Yeji smiles, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

She’s something else.

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eschergirls · 1 month

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Nighttime Apparition submitted:

"Hero Wars, still"

Given the still they used for the video preview, they definitely knew what they were doing. Being stuck with your breasts hanging out is relatively mild for this blog, but I think the "sexualized in defeat" tag definitely applies.

What a strange ad. I assume the actual game, as usual, has nothing to do with any of this. But what do I know, maybe Hero Wars involve a lot of snowballs and banana sucking.

(Ad for Hero Wars, Nexters Global)

[Description for screen readers: a video depicting a blonde princess stuck in a cracked wall just under her breasts, she is reaching for a banana when a little man runs up and stomps on the banana shooting it into her mouth before jumping on her head and away, she now has a banana sticking out of her mouth as the next man runs up and throws a snowball on to her face and jumps away so she has white liquid dripping off her face, then the next guy lassos the crown off her head as she cries.]

#Hero Wars #advertising #promotional material #videos #sexualized in defeat #gratuitous breasts #submission #video games

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taintandviolent · 7 months

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feed my Frankenstein ; Frankenkyle x reader

summary: stripper!reader decides to dress up like a zombie for Halloween, and when the girls bring Kyle to the strip club…. He makes the decision for himself that he’s going to be with his kind. w a r n i n g s: 5k words! stripper!reader, female reader, cunnilingus, rough sex, violence, mentions of blood, biting, graphic descriptions. kyle being a big, horny zombie who doesn't understand his strength. a/n: [🎃 part of lizzie's halloween fics! 🎃] probably some errors, whoops. I didn't want to label this as dead dove don't eat, but Kyle literally tries to eat reader, so be warned, I guess??? also my ending is very... cliff-hangery. don't come for me, this fic took on a life of its own very quickly. thank you for reading if you did!!! full fic & taglist under cut!↓ / ao3 link here! / ♪ recommended playlist here! ♪

You dab a stippling sponge against your neck, hiding an edge with a speckle of grey makeup. You’d put a lot of effort into your silly little zombie look - but it was Halloween after all, and hardly any of the other girls had dressed up. Sure, they’d started out in low-effort costumes of Dorothy Gale and Snow White, but as soon as those came off, they were just their normal selves again. You… not so much. You went the extra mile. You’d spent hours applying prosthetics on your limbs, and painting your flesh to mimic the rotting corpses seen in cult classic horror films. Specks of blood around your perfectly lined lips, uneven skin, stitches from your neck down the front of your body.

It wouldn’t be everyone’s cup of tea, you knew. Some of them would lose their boners at the sight. It was time for your first shift. The club was rowdy, you heard it from behind the door. You lean against it, gulp down the last of your water, and fluff your hair before spinning on your red, patent leather heels and pulling open the door.

“I don’t know if this is such a good idea, Madison…” Zoe confesses, nervously. She holds onto Kyle’s arm tightly, guiding him around a booth like an elderly man. He was already entranced by the vibrant lights that swept back and forth in shades of orange and green. It reminded him of his show. Colours….

“Oh, please.” With a roll of her eyes, Madison flips her blonde hair over her shoulder. “This is the best place to put a braindead man… look, they’re everywhere.”

Men cluster around the stage, watching hungrily as women take their clothes off, gyrating their hips close enough to their faces that they could reach out and take bites out of their full asses. The bouncer in the corner makes sure that doesn’t happen, though.

Over the PA, a loud voice says: “Alright! Put your hands together for our resident nerdy girl, our very own reanimated sexpot…”

As though it was on hinges, Kyle’s head swings heavily to face the stage. H

“Look, he’s already fitting in.” Madison nips.

You prance forward, reaching for the pole in the centre of the stage. Men holler your name, the few regulars that came every night you were working. You’d earned yourself a reputation as the nerdy girl because of your penchant for dressing up on the themed nights. Your hips roll to the beat of the song, coming daringly close to the hands that hold dollar bills. When they don’t get the chance to slip them into your outfit, they flutter at your feet, decorating the stage. You undo the tie of your shirt, revealing white bikini with gratuitous blood spatter. You’d done that yourself.

You wrap one leg around the pole, latching onto it. As it spins, you reach behind your back, undoing the tie of your top. Your breasts fall free, nipples hardening in the air conditioning. You hold the bra out proudly, smiling as the hoots and cheers fill the room.

“C’mon,” she starts, taking hold of Kyle’s thick wrist. His skin is always slightly cooler than everyone else’s. She remembers how cold the inside of his mouth was when they first — She blinks away the thoughts, actually disgusted by the idea. After all, she’d never really wanted to fuck a dead guy…

“Hey!” “Watch it, sweetheart!” “Get outta’ the way, you’re blockin’ the view, toots!”

Madison ignores the heckling, and continues to the front, pressing her bony hips against the lip of the stage.

“Hey! Dead bitch!”

Her voice is loud enough that it carries over the music, and you furrow your brow. She wasn’t wrong, but the bitch part seemed unnecessary. Still, you make your way over to the cluster of them, and bend at the waist to hear her.

“Yeah - what?” You ask, still swaying to the song.

“This is our little zombie — ”

“His name is Kyle,” The other girl interrupts pointedly. Madison throws a look towards the other girl, who nods with a fake smile. Truly, she didn’t care what you called him. As long as she didn't have to deal with him, she was happy.

“Kyle — and he needs a babysitter. He’s a little…” she makes a face, stretching her mouth out in a sneer. You knit your brows together again, unsure what that means.

Kyle, you think to yourself. What a frat boy name. In fact, he looks like a frat boy with really really good makeup. Full head of curly blonde hair, dark eyes, strong but soft features… looks like he can absolutely devour a keg.

He’s wearing an open black shirt and jeans, and beneath the black shirt, you can see raised flesh, scars like he was put back together. Funny that you’d chosen to do a dance number to Feed my Frankenstein.

“Do your job and keep him entertained, okay?” She pulls the peeking string of your thong far enough out to freely press a one hundred dollar bill against your hip and lets go. It snaps back against your skin, hard enough to sting. You wince.

Before you have time to protest, the girls are walking back towards the entrance without their little zombie in tow. One of them casts a woeful glance over her shoulder, and you’re left wondering why if she cares so much, why was she still walking away? You fill your lungs with air, exhale and lower yourself down onto your haunches.

“Hey baby,” you coo, wrapping a single blonde curl around your index finger. It’s angel-soft, and bounces back as you let go, straightening up. He seems to melt towards your touch, starved for it. “I like your costume.”

He watches as your ample cleavage sways with the gentle motion of your body. He repeats the word back to you, laboriously. “Cos…tume….”

“That’s right,” you say, running your hands over your thighs as you stand upright. The long heels of the shoes elongate your legs, making you tower over the club’s patrons. “I like it, it’s cute.”

Kyle watches wordlessly as your hands glide over your body, carefully skipping over the stitches at your knees, along your stomach, and finally up to the long stitch around your neck, which to him is holding your head on. Kyle’s eyes blink repeatedly with recognition.

You dip down, reaching for his hand. The crowd woooo’s as you hand him the string of your skirt. He grips it hard before looking at it deeply. You take one step back, flashing a coy expression to the men in the front row. Another step, and the tie begins to slip through the bow, unravelling. Another step and the skirt falls to your feet. A cacophony of approval fills your ears.

You’re in nothing but the blood-spattered bikini bottoms now, and you sink to your knees again, flashing Kyle a bright smile. He blinks, your skirt awkwardly hanging from his hand by the string.

On all fours, you crawl towards him, popping your ass to the beat of the song. Dollar bills shower the stage, and when you slide your knees out to the sides, allowing men a delicious view of your backside, someone tucks another $100 in your bikini.

Kyle is watching you, but his hands drop to his groin where he makes a fist, and rubs it awkwardly over his now-throbbing erection. You immediately notice this, and your eyes widen. That’s a sure fire way to get kicked out, and for whatever reason, you’ve clocked him as too innocent to let that happen. There’s either a) something wrong with him, or b) he’s really committed to acting like a clueless, braindead boy. Both options require action.

“Okay, okay,” you murmur, guiding him to the side of the stage. There’s an empty chair, and with a heel, you push him back into it. Sit. Stay. He does. Good boy.

He never takes his eyes off you though, and every time you’re looking at him, his jaw hangs slack, staring at you with half-lidded eyes. He keeps trying to get up, and you have to slowly shake your head at him, teasingly. He seems to understand that gesture, and stays put.

As you dance, you find yourself watching him, too. Inexplicably drawn to him, for whatever reason. You don’t usually take guys to the back, but $100 is a pretty good tip. Besides, you didn’t want to run into that girl again, and especially not angry.

As your routine comes to an end, Kyle gets up out of his chair, knocking into the edge of the stage. A few guys turn their heads, trying to figure out what this guy’s deal is. You’re too busy picking up your tips, and gathering your clothes to notice. With arms full, you race to the back, throw on a t-shirt and bolt back to the front, praying that Kyle is still where you left him.

He is. He may be trying to climb up on the stage, head craning in the direction of where you exited, but he's still there. You heave a relieved sigh, and saunter up to him, softening your expression.

“Hi, Kyle…” you murmur sweetly. You slip your arm underneath his, linking it with yours and softly pulling him down into a normal standing position again. There’s a small moment of processing and trust before he looks at you and smiles very weakly.

Destinee is next, and while she’s a nice girl, you absolutely loathe her taste in lighting. You enjoy a good rave, sure, but this is like the Electric Daisy Carnival in a much, much smaller space.

You learn very quickly that Kyle doesn’t like it either. At all. In fact, he might dislike it more than you. As soon as the beat is thumping and the bright red and orange lights are washing over the establishment, Kyle wrenches away from you, covering his ears. A low groan starts in his throat, bubbling up through his lips until he’s practically screaming.

“Shhh, shh it’s okay!” You try desperately to console him, but he can’t seem to hear you. Glancing nervously at the guests around you who are starting to take notice of him now, you smile apologetically. “Kyle, it’s okay!”

There’s only one solution - the private dance rooms. They’re quiet, secluded and a perfect spot to store a stressed out zombie boy for a few hours. You looked towards the spiral staircase that led upstairs, and hesitated. You were a dancer who rarely used the private rooms. You had been hard pressed to avoid being alone with any man, especially one that had paid you and felt entitled to whatever he wanted to take. Kyle, however, didn’t seem like the type to… well, do that. Or even articulate that he wanted to do that — did he even understand that you’d been paid to babysit him? Likely not.

You force his hand down as gently as possible, interlacing your fingers with his. “Kyle,” you say. “Kyle, look at me.”

His head moves sluggishly, and his eyes gradually follow. He looks at you with big, black eyes, the surrounding skin darkened and mottled. In the changing lights, he looks so lost, and your heart throbs desperately. Shucking the worries of whispers aside, you lead him through the club towards the wrought iron staircase.

“Hey Lance,” you say. “Private room open?”

“They sure are…” he replies with a large grin, his heavy accent coming through. Lance was one of the bouncers and rotated positions, so you had gotten semi-close with him. He enjoyed your presence and penchant for the strange. “Last door on da’ left.”

With Kyle in tow, you head down the long, red hallway. Each of the doors were painted black, with gold trim. Kyle’s gaze travels from each door, picking up on the various sounds that seeped from behind them.

“Okay…” You say, your voice a touch softer than before as you push open the last door, praying that it’s been cleaned adequately. You cock your head to the side, urging him inside. His concerned eyes swept from you to the door and back to you before he finally decided that it was safe enough for him to enter. “Look, no strobe lights. No loud music. Just you and me.”

“You… and me….” He grumbles. The door clicks shut behind you. His words are painfully slow and slurred, but you can’t help be charmed by the innocence of them. “You…. You’re…. l-like me.”

“That’s right, baby… I’m like you.” In a quiet, joking whisper, you say: “Raaaaauuuuggghhhhhh…. Brains.”

Kyle seems to like this. The tiniest of smiles forms on his mouth. His chest heaves, and without warning, he lunges for you. His strong arms wrap around you in a steely grip that at first terrifies you; your arms are pinned at your sides, locked into place. His tongue slips over your collarbone, wet and cool like he’s just finished eating ice cream. It slips over your neck, along your jawline, and up behind your ear. He’s licking you, devouring you with such pressure that he has to have eaten some of the makeup by this point. You wince as he nips at your ear lobe, his teeth grinding down on the flesh. With some inhuman gurgle, he descends, covering your chest in his saliva.

You were used to men being hungry for you, acting like rabid dogs the second that they caught a glimpse of your plump tits or your juicy ass. It was part of the gig, came with the territory. But not this. This guy was on something. Had to be. Without warning, he yanks your cropped shirt up, and his jaws clamp down on the meat of your exposed breast. You yelp, pushing him off. He looks hurt or confused, or maybe both. Immediately, you scramble, feeling like you’ve just taken candy from a child.

“Hey no.. it’s okay. You can bite me… I like being bit. But not too hard, honey… that hurt.”

He doesn’t understand. Or he doesn’t look like he understands. His brows knit together sadly, while the dark, ink pools he has for eyes glaze over.

“….biiiiiiiiiiiiiite….” He says.

“Softly,” you finished, with your cutest zombie voice. “Biiiiite soft…ly….”

He cranes forward, mouth finding your flesh again. His teeth continue to graze your skin, slightly softer than before though, so maybe he does understand. His tongue lolls out sloppily to taste every inch. He nears the jumbled up mess of liquid latex on your elbow, and you expect him to stop, or skip over it — but he doesn’t. He feels uneven, soft flesh and his front teeth clamp down on it with a guttural sound. He rears his head back far enough for the liquid latex to streeeetch, and snap.

This gorgeous, blonde boy has a chunk of faux flesh hanging from between his teeth. Fake blood dots his pale lips, and he’s looking at you with the most confused expression you’ve ever seen on a man. It’s a grisly sight, really, but it fits the theme of the night. He’s committed to the zombie act, you’ll give him that.

“Hey, hey, take it easy, spit that out…” You reach up, rubbing the fake blood off his bottom lip. flatten your slender fingers on his broad chest, skin smooth like stone except for the deep scars. These are really good prosthetics. You can’t even see the seam. Because there aren’t any…

Like a dog, he drops the wrinkly skin-toned mass from his mouth and frowns. He looks genuinely disappointed, like he expected blood and guts. “B-bad… th-that… didn’t taste….. gooood…” he stammers. "Hun..gry…..”

For a moment, you’re frozen. Your realization clicks into place painfully slowly, slower than his brain seems to move. He’s really too good at the whole zombie act, and a panicked thought writhes its way into your mind, penetrating it the way that a tissue absorbs blood. Just sucks it in, becomes a part of it. No, no way.

Heavily masking the nerves in your voice, you clear your throat and reach for his shoulder. You stroke the smooth roundness of it, raking your nails against his skin. “You want something that tastes good, baby?”

That ‘something good' is your cunt. You’ll let him eat you out so you can think. You assume he’ll eat you out like most men do — boringly — and you can process the realisation that this poor creature in front of you is actually really badly scarred, and possibly, a victim of head trauma, or something. Because there’s no way you’re meeting an actual zombie. Even on Halloween in New Orleans. That’s insane. So, you’re going to let him eat you out while you sort this out in your mind.

That was the plan, anyway.

Except the second you sink into the vinyl chair, he’s on his knees, looking at your pretty cunt with hungry eyes and the visual wipes your brain clean. It was like you put a plate of food in front of a starving man. His mouth opens. You untie both sides of your underwear, letting them fall to the floor. His eyes drop heavily, watching every move.

At first, his tongue juts out, curiously tasting what you’ve put in front of him. It presses between your folds, pauses, before wiggling around. Your eyelids flutter; you were ready to zone out, but Kyle’s inexperience, his curiosity feels so good.

“Good,” he growls, the word vibrating your cunt. His cool breath washes over your core, sending a chill up your spine. He delves deeper, tasting more of you.

His tongue flicks at your clit, flipping the swollen bundle of nerves mercilessly. Your whole body is trembling, and you feel the first of your orgasms rushing towards your centre. Carefully, not wanting to scare him, you grip his angel curls and ride his mouth slightly. Shit. Almost instantly, the throbbing starts and you make a mess of his poor boy’s face, squirting over his lips and chin.

“You like that?” You ask, through uneven pants. The first of the night always feels sooo good.

He nods heavily on your cunt, still lapping up the juices that leak from your slick hole. Your legs start to quiver and a fire burns deep within your cunt. You try to pat his shoulders, wordlessly telling him to stop. His tongue delves in, and he freezes.

“Kyle?” You ask nervously. Unconsciously, you clench around his tongue. He snaps to life, like someone flipped a switch in his brain. His strong arms wrap around the front of your thighs, tightly. Very tightly. He starts to pull you off the chair, lifting you up into his arms. Your ass cheeks are pressed against his chest and the back of your head is on the chair’s cushion now. He’s holding you tightly, upside down, still swallowing mouthfuls of your sopping wet cunt. He can’t seem to hear your desperate, pleading cries to stop.

You blink back tears, your vision throbs. You don’t know if it’s because the blood is very obviously rushing to your head, or because you’re coming again so quickly, but he’s drilling his tongue into your cunt like there’s a cream centre. If there is, he’s found it.

A scream fills your lungs and your body lunges upwards, trying to find leverage — something, anything to hold onto. She clenches again, pulsating around his cold, slippery tongue. Kyle’s practically drinking you with each clench. The overstimulation is crippling, and you can’t help but scream out.

“KYLE! STOP!”

At the shrill sound, he immediately drops you and your body hits the ground with a heavy thud. Your ass aches a little from the fall, but it’s nothing that’s going to ruin the night.

He’s frowning at you, his lips and chin glazed with your cum.

“S-sorry…” he grumbles. “Sorry. Bad.”

“No, no… not bad. Accident. Accident. Kyle?”

You call his name and he’s looking at you with those big, hopeful, dark eyes of his. You can tell — he isn’t sure if you’re going to scold him, or praise him and the uncertainty terrifies him. You get to your knees, crawling towards the sofa. Once you’re up on it, you pat the spot next to you three times.

“Can I see?” You gesture to your own body, tracing the remaining prosthetics with a single finger before pointing to him. He looks down, his bottom lip jutting out. He nods after a few seconds and lumbers over to you, sitting down heavily.

Your fingers dance over his skin. He was literally pieced back together. His head, his arms, his legs, the lower half of his torso… he was sewn back together like Frankenstein. Different parts connected as one. You’re sitting next to an actual zombie.

And then it dawns on you. Those girls. You’d seen them before. You knew their faces. They lived in the massive mansion on Jackson Avenue. They were witches. Witches were a dime a dozen in New Orleans — in fact, it was weirder if you didn’t practice some kind of craft. But zombies… you’d only ever heard stories. You’d never seen one, let alone be eaten out by one.

You stroke Kyle’s broad chest. For being a zombie, he’s surprisingly soft. You’d always imagined them as dried out, crusty creatures, but he only had a few patches of dry skin. In fact, he had more patches where you could see dark blue pooling underneath his skin, where blood had settled after death. He is cold however, and that’s the most jarring part.

You ease him back on the leather sofa, making sure his head goes down softly onto the arm rest.

“It’s okay, Kyle…. I like your body.”

“Costume….” He says. You shake your head.

“Body. Body.”

His hips give the tiniest little buck, and it slips between your ass cheeks. He whimpers, trying to get a visual of what he’s feeling. Gradually, his thrusts increase in pressure, and you adjust for your own pleasure.

When you adjust, forcing his cock to slide in between your cunt instead, he feels the slick warmth, and his feral nature returns, stronger than before. His thrusts pick up, and he seems to realise that you are a living thing, with pulsing blood and a throbbing heartbeat. Something else is throbbing again, too.

You whine and match his thrusts, letting your head loll back.

Kyle has a different idea, and before you can stop him, he has your forearm in his mouth, teeth clamped down on the soft, warm flesh. It only takes a few seconds for you to feel the stinging ache consuming your arm. It hurts… bad. The muscles in your fingers contract, twitching limply. He aggressively shakes his head, and your heart drops. The terror sets in, and you’re suddenly running cold.

“Kyle, no- OW! KYLE!”

He shakes his head again, biting down harder and digging his the ridges of his teeth deeper into your skin. You don’t necessarily feel the flesh tear, somewhere near the top, but you certainly feel the warm flow of blood that drips down your arm, dribbling onto his chest. Your pupils dilate. The blood keeps flowing, and you feel him start to rear his head back. Something pulls back with him. The ache is replaced by a searing burn, and you realise that if he pulls back any further, he’s going to pull off skin. You’re panicking now, and don’t know what else to do but try again. This time though, you roar at him, bringing back your zombie voice. It’s not so cute this time. “Raaaaaaaaauhhhhhh, KYLE. KYLE STOP. STOP!”

You try to rip your arm away from his mouth, while pushing his head. Thankfully, his powerful jaw goes slack and your arm slides out, strings of spit stretching from his lips. Your blood is smeared across his chin and bottom lip, and collects in the corners of his mouth.

With your vision bouncing thanks to Kyle’s furious thrusting, you look at your arm, watching the bright crimson well up in the indentations of the bite mark. Amidst the rest of your makeup, the bite doesn’t look out of place. You hold your arm out further, trying to come up with a story for this one. Maybe the makeup had stained in an absolutely mind-blowing way. And you had a reaction to it, hence the bizarre swelling and scabbing. That sounds good, sounds believable.

“Want… more…” He says, and your stomach drops, praying that he doesn’t mean more flesh. You’re not sure you can handle another one. Mid-thrust, Kyle’s thick, veiny cock angles just right and slips into your cunt. She swallows him easily, still wet from being eaten — a mixture of cum and Kyle’s viscid, slimy saliva. You plant both hands on his chest, letting out a breathy, melodic moan. He feels good enough to make you forget about the bite, and as you begin to ride him, it seems that he forgets too.

You’re taking control, grinding on top of him, using his cock like your own personal toy. It’s hitting every spot you want it to, pressing into your walls with its girth, and you can’t help but whine about it. Pausing to smear your blood across Kyle’s chest with your middle finger, you leave deep, red streaks across pale skin. You shouldn't find that hot, but you do.

Kyle wraps both hands around your waist, pulling you down onto his cock relentlessly, each thrust feeling harder than the last. You lean forward, pressing your tits against his almost bare chest, and allowing him to take control, thrusting his cock up into you. The slightly bent positioning of his cock, head grinding against your spongy insides is enough to make you cum right then. You don’t though, holding back, clenching your pussy as tight as you can.

“You like it, Kyle?” You ask, through shaky pants. “You like that?”

Kyle nods, heavily, his darkened eyes watching the way that your body quivers on top of him, wordlessly marvelling at the way your thigh muscles contract and shake on top of him every time he slips out, and buries himself inside your dripping pussy again. He loves how it feels, even if he can’t articulate it the way he wants to, the sensations are everything he wants. Everything.

He grips you harder, lifting you off his cock and slamming you back down, repeating this violent display of strength over and over again. Your cunt shudders, unable to hold back your orgasm any longer. Kyle feels it first, and the sudden tightness has him growling, snarling and pushing his length into you as deep as he can. Kyle digs his heels into the sofa, lifting his legs. You feel the pressure against your cervix as he bottoms out, and press against his cock, forcing his cock deeper into you, until you feel the ache. You ride out the waves of your own orgasm, feeling his as it comes in thick, sticky ropes.

There’s a gentle knock at the door, and you quickly get to your feet, pulling your shirt over your head. You scramble, trying to find the bikini bottoms and once they’re tied, you throw open the door. It’s Lance, who is looking very concerned. Your legs are pressed tightly together, in fear that Kyle’s load is going to start dripping down your thighs and onto the floor.

“Miss Y/N. The club is closing… are you alright in there?”

Closing? What? It was bareley eleven when you brought him into the room. The seedy, slick realisation that you’d been fucking this zombie for almost four hours made your cheeks blossom with heat. You immediately tuck your bitten arm behind the door, flashing Lance a charming smile.

“Yes! Fine! Just uh, finishing up a dance. Hey - Lance… did two girls ever come back, asking for this blonde guy in here?”

He pauses, thinking. After a few moments, he shakes his head and apologises.

Okay, guess he’s coming home with me, then. “Thank you, Lance. I’ll be down in just a second.”

You shut the door and lean against it, looking at the zombie on the sofa. He’s staring up at the ceiling, a small smile on his face. “Kyle, do you live on Jackson Street? Where do you live?”

He sits up abruptly, turning his head to face you. “Uhm…” He murmurs. “Big…… white.”

“Big white house?” You repeat, making a house shape with your hands. He nods.

“You wanna’ go home?”

After throwing on a pair of dolphin shorts, collecting your duffel bag and giving Lance a generous tip, you have Kyle in tow, fingers laced tightly with his. Jackson Street was maybe a twenty minute walk, something you both could handle.

Despite it going on 3 AM, the streets were still filled with partiers, people in masks, and drinks in their hands. You and Kyle blend in as you walk, heading down the busy roads. Once you arrived at the Mansion, the gates were open, a fine mist spilling into the sprawling yard.

The woman who answers the door is beautiful, graceful and composed. She wears all black, her honey blonde hair cascading graceful over her shoulders.

“Good Evening,” she says.

“Good Evening. Um.. this is going to sound strange, even for Halloween, but, um…” You want to continue. Desperately, but for some reason, you already know the answer. He does belong here. As though she’d said it to you, plain as day, he belonged here, this is where he stayed.

Zoe and Madison must’ve forgotten him.

Your brows furrow, indignantly. How could they?

Cordelia’s plump lips flatten into a knowing smile. You swallow, suddenly feeling uneasy. You scratch at the liquid latex on your neck, fiddling uncomfortably with one of the edges of the prosthetic.

“Well, Kyle… here you go. Go with…?”

“Cordelia.”

“Cordelia. Go with Cordelia, you’re home now.”

Kyle seems somewhat hesitant, but when Cordelia holds out a hand, he obeys and lumbers inside, looking over his shoulder at you one last time.

“Thank you for bringing him home,” she says, softly. “Would you like to come inside?”

You consider that for a second. Deep within the wetness of your bones, and the warmth of your blood, you feel like you should. There’s something extremely comforting about this place, but… “No, no thank you. I should be getting home. It’s Halloween. Weird things happen on Halloween.”

She smiles again. “That’s quite a bite you have on your arm… did Kyle do that?”

“Oh, uh… yeah. He got a little excited earlier, I’m a dancer, and uh, y’know. Men.”

“I have something for that.”

You look down at your bite again, it looks nastier than before. You clear your throat, ready to reject and explain that your older sister is a nurse and she’ll help, but instead, and you’re not quite sure how that happened, you’re walking through the doors. Kyle is delighted to see you again, pausing on the grand staircase to look at you.

Cordelia’s hands end up being very, very soft.

t a g l i s t : @kaismanwich / @redwoodghost / @elsamars / @silverzoomies / @kaissweetlamb / @thewolveswithin / @80strashbag / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @stucktothetwo / @evansb1tch / @enchanting-evan / @petersevans / @yesdevineruler / @enchanting-evan / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @violetharmonscupcake/ @my-own-walker / @kai-slut / @evanpetersfansblog / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @nova-kayne67 / @dewberryobssesed / @the-goblin1 / @dirtyfairy97 / @jellyluvr / @strangerthings420 / @kai-anderson-whore / @piecesofcain / @lilthbunny / @quickandsilvers / @tatelangdonsweater / @ifeeltoofuckingmuch / @howtobesasha / @randodummy / @throwinginmythai / @hyperharlz

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pretty-toru · 9 months

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Prettyyyyy, have you got some (more?) Gojo nsfw hcs? Love ya lots <3

✧ ⎯⎯ 18+ minors dni. love you too nonnie 🤍 these particular ones have been consuming my mind for so long it's time i finally put them into words.

☁️ Satoru adores seeing you in lingerie. So much that he loves spending thousands of dollars on your collection, and enjoys the sensual confidence and playful attitude when you dress up for him. He'll check you out and appreciatively touch you, and instead of unwrapping his lovely present it stays on the entire time he's making love to you.

The embroidered mesh panties get pulled to the side as he teases you with shallow thrusts, your breasts spilling from the cups of the delicate bra when he gently tugs them down to pinch and roll your nipples. You're a delicious sight as you're sprawled beautifully under him that's begging to be worshiped and admired, especially when you're wearing his colors of baby blues and angelic whites.

☁️ He's a bit obsessed with seeing his thick, white cum anywhere on your body. As much as Satoru loves sharing many beautiful and intimate moments from climaxing deep inside you, he switches things up by pulling out and creating a mess on your pussy as he spills his contents along your folds and clit with the heavy drag of his tip to spread it. He thinks it's one of the hottest parts of sex, like a sense of ownership and marking his territory.

He also loves cumming in your mouth with the visual of your parted lips and seeing it shoot on your tongue while taking in your cute expression. Some other personal faves are on your lovely tits and your stomach because you do that thing where you'd collect a taste of him on your fingers just to lick them clean.

☁️ When Satoru upgraded the private automobile that Ijichi drove him around, the assistant manager wondered if his hard work had been recognized or there must be another reason for this gesture. He quickly received his answer when you were accompanying Satoru to a formal social gathering, and to make it more bearable for your lover (because he thinks these events are boring) he'd instruct Ijichi to raise the privacy screen out of respect for your comfort as you're placing gratuitous kisses along his neck.

Even though the view is obscured, there's no secret the clan leader is receiving a blowjob in the backseat of the car from the way his breathing picks up and expressive moans slipping past his lips and he's praising you for being his 'good girl' and to 'keep sucking just like that.' Satoru would have loved seeing you swallow, but he imagines the evening would be much more amusing knowing that his cum's slowly seeping out of you and onto your panties.

☁️ When you return home from a girls' night out, clearly still in an inebriated daze as Satoru makes his way to the front door at the sound of you stumbling in (and acts like he hadn't been waiting for you the entire time). He doesn't mind helping you out of your dress for his comfy t-shirt and getting you ready for bed by washing your makeup off and brushing your teeth for you as you loosely hug his torso because your mind feels like it's swaying back and forth.

Then comes the usual goodnight kisses after he tucks you in, but your lips are soft and lingering as there’s an ache between your legs that only Satoru can fulfill. You're grinding your heat on his thigh, feeling yourself become a little more whiny and needy and bratty when he doesn't immediately fuck you and makes you use your words to tell him exactly how he can help you. Teases you even, because he can't figure out between the two of you who is being taken advantage of tonight. But with you begging so sweetly, he can’t help but give his pretty baby what she wants.

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru imagines #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo satoru #jjk imagines #jjk x reader

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lotusbxtch · 21 days

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SoCal to NorCal - Chapter 1: Malibu

Series Masterlist Series Pairing: husband!Joel Miller x afab!Reader x boyfriend!Frankie Morales Series Summary: Joel is your rock, and Frankie is your ocean. So what happens when you bring the three of you together?

- or -

you and Frankie roadtrip up from Southern California to Northern California so he can meet Joel. A polyamory fic. This series exists in the Triple Frontier universe and is a Joel Miller AU/Triple Frontier AU. Series Rating: Explicit, 18+ only, MDNI

Chapter 1: Malibu

Chapter Pairing: Frankie Morales x afab!Reader x Santiago Garcia

Chapter Summary: You & Frankie visit your friend Santi at his Malibu mansion to kick off your roadtrip north, and you let desires guide the night.

Word Count: 6.9k

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only, MDNI

Chapter Warnings/Tags: polyamory, threesome, multiple partners, MMF dynamics, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected P in V (wrap it up pls!), DVP, multiple creampies, explicit talk about cum (is a cum kink a thing? a tag I should use? Pls comment with your thoughts lol), spitting, alcohol consumption, mentions of food, gratuitous descriptions of male and female anatomy, heavy use of Spanish pet names/nicknames, Santi being a menace is his own warning, Frankie the PEK, Frankie has a big dick and so does Santi, Reader is AFAB and uses she/her pronouns, Reader is able-bodied, has breasts, and has hair that can be pulled, otherwise no description of Reader's skin color, size, body shape, hair color, eye color, or ethnicity, no use of y/n a/n: This is my very first series fic! I plan to have 3 chapters including this one. This one was meant to be a fun spicy little intro into the fic, but of course Santi being an absolute menace meant that this is absolute smutty filth and I'm sorry (not sorry). MASSIVE thank you to my sweet @for-a-longlongtime, who not only gave me the iconic Santiago line "guava goes better with pussy and mezcal," but beta read for me, bounced ideas around, and encouraged me when I wasn't sure that I could do this. Without Adi's help, this fic wouldn't be in existence! Dividers by the amazing @saradika-graphics, thank you! (Please note that the chapter graphic is NOT meant to be accurate to Reader — vibes only!)

If you enjoy my writing, please leave a comment, feedback or reblog! It would mean the world to me. Thank you!

“I think that should be everything,” you murmur, closing the back of the forest green Jeep. You card a hand through your hair while going over a mental pack list for the third time this afternoon. Behind you, you feel a soft kiss on your shoulder and warm, strong hands envelop your waist.

“You ready to ride then, sweetness?” asks your boyfriend, Frankie. You smile and lean back into his embrace. “Yeah, I’m really looking forward to this trip,” you say, turning to plant a kiss to his aquiline nose, and then another to his plush lips. You both hop into the car; Frankie navigates towards the coast, while small butterflies dance in the pit of your stomach as you think about how the two of you got here.

You and Frankie Morales met six months ago at the Santa Monica airport. In a bid to encourage team bonding, upper management at your job booked a helicopter tour of the Los Angeles skyline. Frankie was the pilot for your chopper. He charmed your group with his charismatic yet humble demeanor and fun factoids about LA, especially you – your coworkers insisted that he kept staring at you when you weren’t looking. But Frankie ultimately beat you to the punch and asked you out for drinks the following night. You accepted, and the rest is history. The attraction was palpable from the get-go, and Frankie’s go-with-the-flow attitude complimented your fiery personality to a T. You adored how detail-oriented he was in all aspects of his life – memorizing your favorite teas, asking about how your projects were going, knowing exactly how to make you see stars in bed with his fingers, his cock, and especially his tongue. You couldn’t deny that Frankie was the perfect addition to your life, and you to his.

Through those first few weeks, you both divulged the more challenging bits of your lives. Frankie told you about his daughter, Isabella, and how his struggle with cocaine almost ruined his life. His relationship with his ex-wife was strained because of it, but they co-parented well - it was their main goal to ensure that Isabella was never put in the middle of their struggles, that she always felt supported and loved by both of her parents. Frankie had lost his pilot’s license after he failed a random drug test, and he took that as a sign to do the work to fix what was broken. He was now two years sober, and back to flying.

You, in turn, revealed to Frankie that he wasn’t the only man in your life. For the last decade, you’ve been with Joel Miller, your husband of seven years. Joel was the steady compass of your soul, the man whose roots intertwined deeply with those of your heart. You’d loved Joel almost your entire life, having grown up in the same neighborhood, although your crush on him was secretive during your childhood. He was your older brother’s best friend from college, a transplant from Texas whose parents moved to the Bay Area when he was a teenager. You ran into him after getting your master’s degree and moving back to the suburbs of San Francisco, and something sparked between the two of you. Since then, you’d been inseparable. When your work requested that you spend a year going between NorCal and SoCal to establish the new Los Angeles area office, you knew it would be a challenge for your relationship. As it turns out, it was only really a challenge for one reason — your sex drive was incredibly high, and sometimes you were apart from Joel for weeks at a time. Phone and video sex worked as well as it could, but it couldn’t beat the real thing. One night, after a particularly frustrating video sex session — all of your toys ran out of juice and you’d left your charger at home, among other things — Joel surprised you by suggesting that you didn’t need to stay monogamous.

“Are you sure, Joel?” you asked incredulously. “You’ve never been one to particularly like sharing.”

Joel huffed a laugh. “Yes, darlin’,” he replied. “Lord knows the new office ended up bein’ more work than either of us thought it’d be. I know how much ‘gettin’ yours’ can be de-stressin’ for ya, and I don’t wanna be the reason you can’t seek it. It’s not like you’d be askin’ someone to move in with us. If it helps you, it makes me happy. And it sure would give my phone battery and hands some relief.” He chuckled as you scoffed in mock indignation. “You don’t have to tell me anythin’ you don’t want to about whoever you get involved with. As long as you’re stayin’ safe and they’re treatin’ you as well as I do, then I’m okay with it.”

You sighed in consideration. “Let me think about it some more,” you said, picking at your rental’s bedspread. “It’s not something I’m going to take lightly.”

And then two weeks later, you met Frankie. Frankie was surprisingly relaxed when you told him about Joel, albeit surprised. He’d hesitated to continue things until you got on the phone with Joel and had him tell Frankie himself. After all, you’d checked with Joel within a few days of meeting Frankie just to make sure Joel was still okay with you being with another man.

You made sure to tell Joel when you’d be seeing Frankie, and Frankie didn’t contact you when you were back home with Joel. It wasn’t that either man wanted to pretend the other didn’t exist; rather, they each wanted to respect the other man’s time with you. Frankie wasn’t seeking marriage or starting a family; he wanted to continue using his time and energy on Isabella and getting his career back on track. And Joel was confident in and comfortable with your marriage in a way that didn’t allow for unseemly jealousy to crop up.

Gradually you told each of them bits about the other one, until one day Joel suggested that the two of them meet. You were game, but wanted to run it by Frankie first.

“He wants to meet me?” Frankie asked, wringing his hands a bit and looking mildly surprised. The two of you had just finished dinner at one of your favorite taco trucks in LA, and you licked the tips of your fingers as you finished your last al pastor taco, the warm, savory spices dancing on your tongue. Frankie took a sip from his Mexican Coke, his plush lips wrapping around the cool aqua glass of the bottle.

You nod your head in affirmation. “Just for a couple of days. We could make a vacation out of it. Joel suggested maybe we road trip up the coast.”

Frankie looked pensive. You don’t blame him, especially when the two men had made a concerted effort to keep their relationships with you separate. “You’re sure you want to do this?” Frankie asked, searching your eyes for any hesitation. You studied those dark chocolate irises, so similar to Joel’s.

“Yes, Francisco,” you confirmed, reaching out across the plastic picnic table to touch his hand. The sounds of the city wrapped around you as the two of you gazed at each other. “Joel has my heart, but so do you. And I want both parts of my heart, my favorites, to be with me at the same time for once.”

“Ok, mi amor, let’s go then,” Frankie said resolutely, bringing up your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your skin.

Your thoughts bring you back to the present, with Frankie’s one-hand grip on the steering wheel and the warm coastal sun beaming through the windshield. The windows are down, allowing the salty sea air to filter through the Jeep. He flips on his turn signal and begins driving through a particularly posh part of Malibu. Giant mansions dwarf the street, pristine lawns and modern, open-glass architecture rolling by as you continue on. You let out a low whistle.

“Jesus Christ, what the hell does Santi do again to afford this?” you ask Frankie, eyes flicking to and from each house you pass by.

“Nothing,” Frankie chuckles. “When we got the money from that final mission that Santi and I went on, he invested the entirety of his share into the stock market. Well, almost everything.” He snorts at the champagne Range Rover in Santi’s driveway as the two of you pull up. Frankie, on the other hand, put the majority of his earnings into a trust fund for Isabella. The rest he used to set himself up comfortably but modestly. “Santi still does some consultant work for private security firms, but he just keeps reinvesting the money and using it to buy property and fund charity work,” Frankie explains.

“Can’t say I blame him, it’s a pretty solid strategy,” you respond, taking in the splendor of Santi’s Malibu abode as Frankie parks his Jeep. The three-story home is minimalist and modern on the exterior, with a combination of cool beige stone and warm wood paneling. No other houses are on either side of the building, so the property was ulta-private, and even had its own beach. As the two of you unpack your bags from the car, you hear a wolf whistle shriek from somewhere around the corner. Jumping slightly, you turn and then smile as Santiago Garcia strolls barefoot out of the house, his pale linen slacks and caramel vintage ribbed polo shirt fluttering lightly against his muscular frame in the sea breeze.

“Hey pendejo, you finally made it!” Santi yells to Frankie, then turns to you with a “hi, hermosa,” and a kiss to your cheek. You wrap your arms around Santi’s torso, inhaling his sandalwood and cinnamon scent and giggling a hello. Frankie walks up, bags in hand, and tries to ruffle Santi’s perfectly coiffed curls. Santi dodges him and then goes in for a bear hug; Frankie smiles broadly as they rock side to side before clapping each other on the back.

“Good to see you, hermano, and thanks for letting us stay with you,” Frankie says warmly as he picks up your luggage and the three of you head towards the house.

“Not a problem, I’m in town for a consulting gig and figured it’d been awhile since we’d gotten together,” Santi responds ahead of you. You and Frankie follow him into the open-concept common area, admiring the sleek countertops, stainless steel fixtures, and plush yet subdued furniture. Light neutrals rule the color palette, with plenty of floor-to-ceiling windows to allow natural light in. You run your hand over the back of a velvet lounger, indulging in the texture against your fingertips. Frankie goes to the bedroom to drop off your luggage, while Santi starts pulling things out in the kitchen for dinner prep. Continuing towards the back of the house, you push open the sliding glass doors, letting fresh air in while you admire the view from the balcony. Below, the azure waves caress the sand gently, and the sound of the ocean encourages you to release all the stress from the last workweek.

The boys get going on dinner as you slip on a silky emerald green dress - opting to go braless and barefoot - and dab on some rosy lip stain. The dress drapes lushly over your body, making it both comfortable and beautiful. After spritzing on some of your favorite perfume and putting on thin gold hoop earrings, you emerge from the guest bedroom you and Frankie are sharing for the weekend. Santi looks up and hums in approval.

“Damn, bebita, you look delicious,” he purrs as he finishes seasoning the steaks. “Do you always dress up for dinner with this chump or did you get pretty just for me? It’s okay, you can tell the truth.”

You roll your eyes at his cockiness and chuckle as you squeeze his bicep in passing. “Santi, don’t flatter yourself,” you retort, “I did it for myself. I don’t need to dress up for him to want to devour me.” You cross the kitchen to Frankie, who’s working on the caprese salad. Frankie huffs a laugh and puts down the kitchen knife, wiping his hands on a towel before to circling his hands around your waist. You lean into him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

“That’s right,” he shoots back to Santi without looking over, “she doesn’t need extra dressing up; she’s stunning enough as she is.” He kisses your forehead softly as you gaze up at him lovingly.

“You’re right.” Santi lets his gaze scan over you approvingly. “She probably looks even better with nothing on.”

“Santiago!” you laugh. “You’re such an insufferable flirt.” You walk back over to the opposite side of the kitchen island from him, fixing him with a smoldering smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know, hmm?” Santi has always been relentlessly flirtatious with every attractive woman he meets, including you. Frankie’s never bothered by his antics, but you see his eyes flick towards the two of you, anticipating his response.

“Don’t tease me with promises you won’t keep, sweetheart,” Santi warns you, voice like rich caramel, sweet and smooth. You hold each other’s gazes for a moment before you break away, laughing softly and successfully ruffling his hair like Frankie wanted to earlier. That distracts Santi from the moment, as he huffs and runs his fingers through his curls to fix them.

A few hours later, the three of you are relaxing on the balcony by the fire pit after dinner, drinking mezcal margaritas and catching up on life. You sit with your legs across the cream patio sofa, your back against Frankie’s side like you often do with him. His arm is draped possessively across your torso while his thumb rubs absentmindedly back and forth across your shoulder. Santi goes inside to fetch the mezcal bottle from the kitchen, having switched to just the liquor, and you stand from the couch to observe the beach at the balcony’s railing. The darkness of night has settled over the landscape, lending deep navies and turquoise hues to the water, and everything feels more hushed.

As you inhale the coastal breeze, you feel Frankie’s warm body press into you from behind, and then his soft lips pressing a trail of kisses over your shoulder and neck. You hum happily, smelling his rosemary cedar soap on his skin, and press yourself further into him, lightly grinding against his hips. Frankie lets out a quiet groan and presses right back into you, letting you feel his hardening length against your ass. He begins to cup your breasts through the silken fabric of your dress, easily pebbling your nipples with no bra between his fingers and your tits. The heat of arousal starts to pool low in your belly as Frankie slides his hands down to your hips, grinding on you until he’s fully hard beneath his pants. You tilt your head back, closing your eyes, and turn to the side to catch his lips, biting on his lower one and eliciting a louder groan from him.

“Sweetness, I need you so badly,” Frankie whispers into your ear. When you quietly moan in response, you can feel Frankie’s hands slip down the silk over your ass and hear him shuffle behind you. Spinning around and opening your eyes, you see him on his knees, hat next to him on the floor, starting to ruck up your dress.

“Frankie,” you hiss, grabbing his hands, desperate for more but concerned. “What if Santi sees?”

“What if I want to watch?” you hear suddenly over Frankie’s shoulder, and you gasp when you look behind him and realize Santi is leaning against the open balcony door, sipping mezcal straight from the bottle. A fire ripples from the base of your spine upwards, and your gaze drops to Frankie, whose eyes have gone nearly black with desire but remain on you. Your lips pop open slightly, and you freeze.

“Well, querida, answer the man,” Frankie rasps. “Either you let him watch or make him go back inside, but either way, I’m eating this sweet pussy.” His hands slowly drag up your legs until he’s cupping your ass, squeezing the soft flesh, which rips a moan from your throat. As Frankie’s lips trail up and down your legs, you look back up at Santi, trying to read his expression. Gone is the molten chocolate of his irises; instead, you see glimmering adamant, dark and deep like the desire painted over every line of his face. But that heated gaze is still respectful – you know Santi would never cross your boundaries. If you truly didn’t want him to watch, he’d go inside the house, no questions asked.

It’s for that exact reason that your desire thrums through you like a bass line, and you bite your lip. “Frankie, I need your mouth on me right now. I think Santi needs to see how hard you make me come.”

Frankie responds with a groan, while Santi lets out a deep purring sound. He moves to the couch, sitting with his legs spread, and takes another swig of mezcal as he takes in the sight before him. Frankie immediately yanks your soft lace panties down your thighs, and growls at the gossamer-thin string of arousal that connects your weeping center with your underwear.

“Fuuuuck, querida, you’re fucking soaked,” Frankie moans, inhaling the intoxicating scent near your glossy slit. You step out of your panties, and he grabs them, tossing them to Santi. The man on the couch catches them with one hand, bringing them immediately to his nose and sniffing deeply.

“Goddamn,” Santi grits out, “she smells so fucking good, hermano.” He brings the gusset of the lace garment to his mouth, gingerly licking the slick off, groaning at the taste. You gasp at the sight, a wave of wetness trickling down your channel. “Tastes amazing too,” he adds, leaning back into the couch cushions and stuffing your panties into his pocket.

Frankie pushes your dress up to your waist and moves your left thigh to rest on his shoulder, spreading you open. He splays your lips open with his thumbs, staring at your pussy glistening in the fire’s light, on display for both him and Santi. He licks a steady strip from the bottom to the top, swirling around your clit at the end. You moan loudly, leaning back against the railing for support.

“Oh bebita, listen to those sweet sounds you’re making for Frankie,” Santi croons from the couch. “He must be making that pussy feel so good.”

“Yes, Santi,” you gasp, swallowing thickly as your eyes close in pleasure. “He’s so fucking good with his tongue.” You hear Santi rumble deep in his chest in response.

Frankie begins licking, sucking, and tapping on your clit exactly like he knows you like it, gripping your cheeks with both hands and massaging them. You writhe against his face, rocketing faster towards your impending orgasm. When you look up, you see Santi palming his cock through his pants, the bulge straining against the linen. Your cunt clenches at the image before you. Frankie can tell you’re close, so he slips two of his fingers into his mouth momentarily to slick them up and then plunges them into your warm cunt. You throw your head back, nearly screaming in ecstasy. Your grip tightens on the railing.

“I know you’re close, querida,” Frankie growls. “Let Santi see how pretty you look when you come.” Frankie then hooks his fingers just right inside of you and hits that soft spot that sends you into orbit, squealing. You feel everything tighten and then release, your orgasm rippling through your core and into your extremities. Frankie and Santi both moan at the sights and sounds of you reaching your peak, Frankie lapping up every drop of release from you.

“Good fucking girl, mamacita,” Santi says, getting up from the couch and stalking towards the both of you. Frankie gets off of his knees, easing your leg off his shoulder while wiping a hand across his drenched mouth. He knows exactly what Santi wants, so he moves back a couple of steps. You almost stumble, legs like jelly, and Santi catches your waist.

He tilts your chin up to meet his eyes, and his assessing gaze breaks through the post-orgasm haze you’re in. “I really want to taste that perfect cunt, baby,” Santi whispers. “Can I do that for you?” You look at him, hesitating for a moment only because this is a line you’ve not crossed with Santi before. You nod clearly at him. Santi shakes his head. “Words, sweetheart.”

“Yes, Santi,” you breathe. “Please put your mouth on me.” Santi groans in anticipation and starts walking backwards, pulling you with him. When you look at him in slight confusion, a sheepish smile passes briefly over his lips.

“Bad knees,” he reminds you, and you laugh. “Kneeling on concrete would kill me.” He tilts his chin to Frankie. “Fish, open the door to the bedroom. I’m gonna lay her down. And bring the bottle.” Frankie obliges, sliding open the other glass door to the expansive bedroom and grabbing the mezcal bottle.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers. You sigh a yes, and Santi kisses you softly at first, then deeper. He tastes like cinnamon, tropical fruits, and smoky liquor. Moaning quietly, you start to lose yourself in his kiss as he moves the both of you backwards into the bedroom.

The California king size bed is draped in soft taupes and creams, the bedding a gauzy cotton that feels incredible on your skin as Santi gently lays you on it. He pulls your dress up your body, and you arch your back to help him remove it over your head. As your bare body is exposed to him, glowing in the low light, he sucks in a breath. Frankie places the mezcal bottle on the bedside table, then strips out of everything except his black boxer briefs, his length fully hard against his left thigh, and sits down on a sleek chaise lounger in the corner, watching you and Santi.

Santi strips off his shirt and then climbs onto the bed over you, slowly sliding his hands over your soft skin as he goes. You shift on the bed at his touch, back arching a bit and thighs rubbing together. He keeps his eyes locked with yours as he reaches your head, forearms bracketing either side of your face. His body is so close to yours yet not touching.

Moaning, you tangle your fingers in his salt and pepper curls and pull briefly. Santi bites your lower lip in response with a small growl. Sitting up, he grabs the mezcal off the bedside table.

“Open,” he commands, taking a swig from the glass bottle. You obey, and Santi leans over your open mouth and fucking spits the mezcal into it. You swallow, moaning at the taste, the alcohol and him. He kisses you roughly, licking into your mouth, and you whimper, your legs dropping open of their own accord.

Santi notices and chuckles darkly. “Oh, you liked that, huh?” he purrs. “Dirty girl.” He kisses and nips along your ear and neck, across your collarbone, and down your chest. Reaching your nipples, he swirls his tongue around and then gently nips each of them. You feel slick pooling at your entrance, starting to drip down your inner thighs. Santi traces his tongue down your belly and to the curls above your pussy, inhaling deeply. He pushes your thighs open further and groans at the sight.

“Goddamn, you’re drenched,” he grits out, shuffling down to put his face at your center. You glance over at Frankie in the corner, and notice he has his cock out, slowly stroking the length. You whimper at the sight and Frankie licks his lips. You feel a sudden pinch at your inner thigh and whip your head back to the man between your legs.

“Eyes on me, hermosa,” Santi orders. “I want you to look right at me when I eat this pretty pussy.” And with that, he dives in.

Santi is a messier lover than Frankie, who usually eats you out with absolute precision, priding himself with knowing exactly how to make you come as fast as possible, and repeat the process until you’re crying out from overstimulation. Santi, however, is licking at you like he wants to drown himself in your cunt. His tongue is everywhere, licking broad stripes across your slit, sucking on your lips and clit, biting at your thighs, shoving his tongue deep into your channel.

“So fucking sweet,” Santi pants out in a daze, separating his mouth from your sopping cunt for just a moment, and then goes back in for more. You mewl and grip the bed sheets as he continues to ravage you.

Your moans of pleasure stir something in Frankie, who gets up from his seat and walks over to the bed, his need to touch you nearly insatiable.

“Frankie,” you whine as you see him, your eyes hazy with lust, reaching out to him.

“I’m right here, querida,” he reassures you, then gets onto the bed, placing himself behind you. You scooch up the bed so that you’re sitting in between his spread legs, your back to his bare chest. You can feel his hard length against you, silken and hot, his precum smearing slick against your skin. Frankie kisses your forehead, then leans forward and grabs your legs behind the knees, pulling back and spreading you impossibly wider for Santi. The man between your thighs groans, slipping two fingers into you, making your back arch even more.

“Does our little slut like to be spread out? Do you like Frankie holding your legs open for me, bebita?” Santi growls, pumping his fingers in and out of you. You cry out at his words, throwing your head back against Frankie’s shoulder. One of your hands grabs Frankie’s thigh, and the other one grips Santi’s hair once again.

“Yes,” you respond, pushing his head back towards your dripping slit. “Lick my pussy like you mean it, Santi.” He groans deep in his chest and dives back in, and you feel Frankie bite the junction between your neck and shoulder in arousal. Santi continues pumping his fingers into you as he sucks your clit between his lips, swirling his tongue over it in tiny circles. You feel your orgasm begin to rise in your lower belly, intensifying with each thrust and lick. Santi feels your slick walls bear down on his fingers.

“That’s it, honey, I know you want to come for me,” Santi says.

“Give it to us,” Frankie whispers in your ear. “Come for me and Santi.”

Frankie’s command is all it takes to snap the tether in your core, shattering you into pieces as the pleasure courses hot through your body. You scream their names as your pussy gushes wave after wave of slick, running down your thighs and Santi’s fingers, into his waiting mouth, licking and slurping obscenely, his fingers continuing to press into your g-spot to prolong your high.

“God, I need to be inside you right fucking now,” Santi grits out, pussydrunk. He stands up and hurriedly shoves his pants and boxers down his legs, his thick cock springing free and bobbing slightly. You feel your mouth water; his dick is just as gorgeous as Frankie’s.

Santi meets your eyes once again. “Do you want me to fuck you while Frankie holds you open, sweetheart?” Santi asks you. You pause, your pleasure-addled mind narrowing in on one idea – having them both.

“I want you both,” you moan. Santi’s eyes widen a bit and then dart to Frankie. They share a smirk and then Frankie turns to you in his lap.

“Querida, how do you want us?” Frankie inquires. “One at a time or at the same time?”

“At the same time,” you whimper. “I want you both in my pussy.”

Santi and Frankie groan in unison. Santi smiles wickedly, looking at Frankie. “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, eh?”

“Just like we used to,” Frankie chuckles darkly, and your fuzzy mind tucks away their exchange for later. “We have to get her ready, then.” He slowly releases your knees and turns to you, kissing the side of your face and lightly nibbling your ear. He grabs your chin gently with his fingers, turning your head sideways to meet his eyes. “We’re going to work you open first, okay, baby?” he intones softly. You nod your head yes. Santi and Frankie’s eyes meet, and Santi opens the bedside table drawer, grabbing a bottle of lube and tossing it to Frankie.

He catches it, reading the label. “Guava?” Frankie asks quizzically. “What happened to the mango-pineapple one?”

Santi shrugs. “I still have it,” he explains, “but guava goes better with pussy and mezcal.” You huff a laugh and Frankie smiles, kissing your forehead again and sweeping your hair out of your face.

“Guess we have an edible lube connoisseur here,” jokes Frankie, opening the cap and pouring some of the slick liquid onto his thick digits.

The sweet, juicy fruit scent wafts through the air, and Santi grabs the bottle from him, doing the same while shaking his head incredulously.“It’s not my fault that you have no sense of refinement,” he retorts. Frankie just rolls his eyes and turns back to you.

“Are you ready, sweetness?” Frankie murmurs. You nod your head and breathe out a “yes, baby”. Frankie reaches in front of himself and slips his two lubed fingers into you, and you whimper softly. Santi follows suit, slipping two of his fingers into you next, kneeling between your legs. You feel stretched full but so turned on. They allow you a few moments to adjust, and when you nod your head, they begin swirling their fingers in opposite directions. A moan rips from your throat and you grab at the bedsheets. They continue swirling and pressing their fingers in and out, and the sight of your pussy filled with their fingers gets the both of them rock hard.

The cloud of euphoria in your head is all-consuming as they continue, your arousal reaching an almost painful peak. Suddenly you grab their wrists and both men stop immediately, concern crossing their faces. “Are you okay, bebita?” Frankie asks, his brows furrowing.

You nod your head rapidly, and then bleat out, “I need you both inside me right now.” Santi and Frankie grin at your fucked out expression, looking at each other conspiratorially.

“Well, you heard the lady, Pope,” Frankie says. “Let’s give her what she wants.” He shifts you forward as he moves to the side, pulling his underwear all the way off. He lays on his back on the bed, his hard cock against his stomach dripping pre-cum. “I want you to ride me, hermosa, and then Santi is going to enter you from behind as you lean forward,” Frankie explains.

You nod your head in understanding and straddle his thighs, facing him. Frankie hands you the lube bottle. You dribble a stream onto his waiting thickness, and he hisses as the cool liquid hits his hot velvet skin. Grabbing his slick length, you shuffle forward and guide him into your channel, whining when he bottoms out easily. Frankie reaches up and grips your hips, guiding you to ride him.

After a minute, he looks over your shoulder at Santi, who is slowly stroking his dick. “I think she’s ready, Fish,” Santi says, and Frankie nods once. Santi gets on the bed, coming to his knees behind you and grabbing your hips. Frankie slides his hands to your back, gently pulling you towards him until you’re leaning forward, laying chest to chest, your pussy on full display for Santi, stuffed with Frankie’s cock. You hear Santi groan behind you at the sight.

“I can’t believe you’re letting me do this, bebita,” Santi admits as he slicks up his hardness with the lube. “Been thinking about being inside this pussy for months.”

“Well, now’s your chance,” you tease, looking back at him. “Better hurry before the offer expires.” Santi smirks at you as he places his hands on your hips.

The moment you feel the head of Santi’s cock slide into your pussy, you gasp as the sting of the stretch hits you. You hear Santi behind you grit out a quiet “fuck”. Slowly he continues sinking into your hot, wet heat. Reaching forward, he circles your throbbing clit softly, making you whine but relax, allowing him to slip deeper into you, inch by inch. Your pussy twitches and both Santi and Frankie choke on moans.

When he fills you as far as you can take both of them, the three of you hold still. As the seconds pass, the sting gives way as you adjust to being this full. The result is rolling waves of lightning sparking through your veins with each minute movement inside of you. You let out a high-pitched whine as a knot of white-hot pleasure tightens in your core.

“Mierda, bebita,” Frankie moaned, “are you gonna come just from both of us being in you?”

“God, she feels so fucking good,” Santi murmurs, almost to himself. Both of them are gripping you tightly as you continue to whimper and whine, your high quickly building. Your breathing intensifies, and you start to shake.

It’s so much, being so full of them physically, and the thought of them both in you - two of the most attractive, sexy men you know - is nearly making you lose your mind. But you don’t want to come before your boys have even gotten to move. It almost feels like a weakness, being this fucked out for them.

“It’s ok, sweetness, let go,” says Frankie softly, realizing you’re holding off for them. He presses a kiss to your neck and it’s your undoing.

The brush of his lips against that sensitive spot right under your ear pushes you off the edge and you wail, your pleasure cresting as you jerk under their firm grips. They moan loudly, your pleasure stoking theirs. The three of you catch your breaths as you come down from your high.

Frankie looks up at you, eyes pitch black, swimming with devotion for you. Santi strokes your hips gently, his strong hands shaking slightly.

“How are you feeling?” Frankie asks you sweetly, rubbing his hands across your back, his thighs clenching from holding back.

You take a shaky breath. “So fucking full,” you respond, and then giggle softly at your obvious observation. The boys laugh too, and then moan slightly as your bodies shift. Santi squeezes your hips and asks, “Are you ready for us to move, hermosa?” Your head is swimming in endorphins as you whimper out, “Yes, Santi. I need both of you to fuck me now.”

With that, the two men lock eyes and nod, beginning an apparently practiced dance of their cocks. As Frankie slides himself out, Santi pushes in, and then they reverse roles. You cry out in ecstasy. It’s so much more than you could have ever imagined.

Frankie and Santi start off with slow, shallow thrusts in and out, gradually stretching you around their lengths. When Frankie hits a particularly sweet spot, you moan fervently and more slick coats them, making them both moan back in response. The friction between their cocks and your walls is delicious.

“Fuck, bebita, you look incredible taking the both of us,” Santi says, gripping your hips harder, a sheen of sweat glimmering across his body.

Frankie hums in agreement. “You’re doing so well, baby,” he praises. You preen at their words, arching your back to change the angle. Santi whimpers and kisses along your spine, worshiping your body. The room is thick with the smell of sex, guava, and mezcal, the squelching sounds of your pussy weaving between all three of your moans and cries of pleasure.

The boys begin to speed up the wetter you get, starting to fuck into you with vigor. You feel like your whole body is vibrating. Leaning down to kiss Frankie changes the angle once again, and Santi lets out yet another whimper as you slide your tongue along Frankie’s.

“Fuck, baby, just like that, that’s perfect,” he gasps, getting even harder inside of you. He starts to rub your clit in tight circles, making you yelp. “I want you to come one more time for us before we fill you up,” he continues. “Gonna make your pussy milk our cocks. C’mon, honey, you’ve got one more in you, I can feel it.”

“I don’t know,” you whimper. “I - it’s so much…”

Frankie lets out a growl. “Oh, querida, I know you can come for us one more time,” he says. “Just think about how full of cock you are right now.”

He’s right. The psychological thrill of having both men inside of you is the push you need. You start to shake again, everything tensing up. Both men moan as your channel pulls tight.

Santi leans down to your ear, still thumbing your clit. “Fucking come for us. That’s an order.”

You scream so loudly when your fourth orgasm hits you, that you’re grateful that Santi has no neighbors - because they definitely would have called the cops by now. Tears leak down your face from the intensity, and Santi whimpers loudly as he thrusts in and comes deep in you, his hot seed coating your walls. The tightness of your pussy and Santi shoving deep end up pushing Frankie’s cock out, but he couldn’t care less.

When Santi’s strokes slow and then stop, indicating he’s finished, Frankie pushes him off of you, and roughly flips you over onto your back. He shoves your legs apart, and pushes his dick harshly into you. Boneless, you lay there, moaning and taking it, unable to say anything coherent except for Frankie’s name. Your boyfriend presses your legs even further towards your shoulders, nearly bending you in half as he fucks into you hard and fast, Santi’s cum forced out of you with every snap of Frankie’s hips.

“God, you look like such a goddess right now,” Frankie babbles, nearly snarling, “so full of cum. You like that? You want me to fill you up good? You’re gonna be leaking our cum for days, querida.”

“Yes, Frankie, yes,” you moan, “please fill me up. I love your cum in me. I wanna be so full of both of you.”

With a shout, Frankie bares his teeth and comes, getting as deep as possible and filling up your cunt just like he promised. You feel his cum thick and hot in you, triggering another moan.

Frankie drops your knees back down to the bed, nearly collapsing down against your chest while the two of you pant heavily, trying to catch your breaths. Looking over, you spot Santi sitting up at the corner of the bed, looking disheveled but utterly sated, his now-soft cock still shiny with lube and your combined releases.

You reach your hand out to him, and he crawls towards you, slotting himself next to one side, while Frankie hisses as he pulls out of you and lays next to you on your other side. He smothers your neck and face with kisses, and you giggle, feeling Santi pepper kisses across the top of your head and stroking the underside of your breast affectionately with his thumb.

You let out a contented sigh. “Wow, that was…”

Frankie hums out an “incredible” at the exact same time Santi rumbles a “so fucking good” to complete your statement, which makes the three of you laugh. Giggles subsiding, something they said in the heat of the moment suddenly pops into your mind.

“Wait a second,” you say as you sit up. Both men lazily look up at you, faces blissed out, waiting for your question. “Frankie, you said, ‘just like old times’... How many times have you double teamed with Santi?”

The two of them look at each other with nearly identical smirks. Santi pipes up first. “Well, back in our Army grunt days,” he explains, “when we’d go on leave together, we kind of had this habit of teaming up to pick up women.” Your jaw drops slightly, and Santi looks amused at your shock.

“It was a fairly effective strategy,” Frankie continues. “Trying to land a girl alone was a crapshoot. But with the both of us offering her a night to remember?” Frankie huffs. “It seemed like fantasy fulfillment for almost every woman we fucked together.”

Your eyes rake over the two of them, gloriously naked and handsome as ever, in bed with you. Yeah, you can see the appeal.

“Okay, but who came up with the idea?” You ask, then immediately put up a hand into the air. “WAIT, no, I know exactly who… Santi, you slut!”

Frankie lets out a loud bark of a laugh as Santi rolls his eyes, folding his arms over his chest, annoyed.

“Hey, don’t act like you didn’t benefit from it, idiota!” Santi grumbles. Frankie reaches over, finally successfully ruffling Santi’s hair. Santi flinches and bats Frankie’s hand away, making you shake with laughter as you lounge in the post-coital haze with your boyfriend and his best friend. You don’t blame those women they slept with one bit. This was a night you will surely remember.

No pressure tags: @mermaidgirl30 @legendary-pink-dot @nerdieforpedro @mountainsandmayhem @arcanefox207 @campingwiththecharmings @exquisit3corpse @gutsby @honeyedmiller @lavendertales @lu62 @luxurychristmaspudding @ozarkthedog @qveerthe0ry @swiftispunk @sheepdogchick3 @thatshortgirlwithglasses @wannab-urs @musings-of-a-rose

#joel miller #frankie morales #santiago garcia #pedro pascal #oscar isaac #joel miller x f!reader x frankie morales #joel miller x f!reader x santiago garcia #joel miller smut #frankie morales smut #santiago garcia smut #triple frontier fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller au #joel miller fanfiction #frankie morales fanfiction #santiago garcia fanfiction

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anonimusunnoaniswriting · 17 days

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ℭ𝔲𝔯𝔰𝔢𝔡!𝔗𝔬𝔧𝔦 𝔵 ℭ𝔲𝔯𝔰𝔢 𝔘𝔰𝔢𝔯!ℜ𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯

𝑴𝑫𝑵𝑰 🎀Age in bio or blocked🎀

Summary: When Toji is contracted to kill you, he doesn't expect this to be how the situation turns out. He really should have read your file before the hunt...

Warnings: gratuitous smut, no real plot, porn without plot, toji is whipped for reader, mentions of murder, toji is contracted to kill reader.

A/N: In the words of the great poetess Megan Thee Stallion, "Men are objects to me."

Thank you to @ominouslywritinginmyhead for doing such a quick job of proofing this.

As always likes and reblogs are appreciated 🩷

Toji couldn’t remember how many times he had come close to the edge only to be harshly pulled back from it again.

He had been chased by a curse while trying to hunt you down. A curse that zapped him of his strength and rendered him unable to move. Unable to use his weapons to, not only defend himself but also to attack and kill you.

You, more beautiful than he’d expected – the pictures shown to him didn’t do you justice. You, more dangerous than he’d expected – the file he hadn’t read about you not properly disclosing your abilities. You.

Now you sat above him, skirt bunched around your waist, pumping your swollen pussy onto him, over and over as he pleaded and whimpered.

“Please doll, don’t. Please let me come this time…Fuck–”

But all you did was smirk at him and continue, slowly drawing out each movement, each slow thrust.

“Didn’t you say you wanted me to do whatever I liked with you, Toji?” you quipped back.

Toji felt lost. You had both his arms pinned above his head with just one of yours. Your cursed technique that had made him kneel in front of you and beg for his life hadn’t done this. No, this was all you. Your scent, your eyes, your gorgeous body. Toji felt like he had never seen a woman so alluring. And here you were, on top of him. Doing exactly what he’d begged you to.

Your full plump lips parted and he watched as they formed words that he couldn’t understand, his ears instead, filled with the sound of his rushing blood. “You promise, right? You won't come after me again if I let you finish?”

“Fuck—please doll, I need you…”

But you pouted and stilled your hips. “I need to hear you, Toji...I need you to promise.” Toji desperately bucked his hips up, trying to create any stimulation that would help him reach his climax, but you were too strong, slamming him down with your own thrust. “Promise me, Toji.”

“Fuck, woman – you’re killing me.” But all the man could do was moan under you, tiny tears squeezing out of his closed eyes. Your small hands pinned him down with ease. You kissed his forehead, deliberately pushing your breasts into his face and driving him wild.

“Tojiiii…” You drawled. “I’m not fucking you properly until you promise me…” As if to make your point, you leaned forward on his chest, just about rubbing your clit against the base of his dick.

Toji could have cried. His arms didn’t work anymore, so no matter how much he wanted to lift you and slam you onto his cock, he couldn’t. His legs felt so wobbly that even if he wanted to pin you against a wall and take you like a virgin, he was convinced they would give out. “Fuck you, demon woman! Fine. I promise…I’m not going to kill you! I don’t care how much they offer me, just please help me cum!”

Your pussy was wet and weeping now. The stimulation from just rubbing your clit against him had done wonders for you. You raised your torso off him with a giggle and said, “See, now that wasn’t so hard!” Toji could only grunt in reply before you pumped his cock, pussy holding him in a vice-like grip despite the ample lubrication dripping from it.

“’M gonna come, doll,” he groaned, hips thrusting up to meet yours in a wet slap.

Your hand cupped his cheek. “I think I’m close too. Will you come with me, Toji?” He nodded. “Fuck– just a little more, Toji… Good boy. Fuck– come with me!”

“Shit, baby, I’m coming. Fuck, take my cock like that-god.” His release painted your insides as he came with a cry. You collapsed onto his torso, the two of you slowly riding out your highs, both coming down gently, feather-like.

When you looked up, Toji was smiling at you half dazed. His chest lifted you with each deep breath. You quickly pulled yourself off him, leaving a little kiss on the scar at the edge of his mouth. Your panties were ruined…he’d torn them apart when he’d initially thrust into you, so you smoothened out your skirt and turned to him – still lying on the forest floor where you had first caught him – and said, “Well, I’ll be off then! See you around Toji – or better yet, not!”

“Wait!” he yelled, “At least undo the fucking curse you put on me, you minx! I can’t move!”

“Oh, that?” You giggled, “The effects of my curse only last for about five minutes, Toji.”

AN: I just wanna make mean man cry ok. :)

#jjk #fanfiction #anonimuswritings #anonimusunnoan #jjk toji #toji fushiguro #fushiguro toji #toji x reader #toji smut #toji zenin #toji x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen toji

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sixhours · 1 month

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One Day at a Time - Chapter 8 - Beginning

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel Miller x f!OFC, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, SMUT, gratuitous smut, dubious consent (drunk sex), unplanned pregnancy, fluff, references to past miscarriages, angst, hurt/comfort, romance, age gap (~21 years), childbirth, fluffy baby stuff, I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

The midwife is the first to notice that Anna’s startle reflex is inconsistent. When she suggests the baby might be deaf, Joel wants to write it off as the woman’s usual dour attitude, but as the weeks pass, it becomes clear that something is different. It’s impossible to make enough noise to wake her, she doesn’t turn her head toward their voices, and she’s inconsolable when they’re out of her limited line of sight. They spend several sleepless nights worrying, making loud noises and watching Anna intently for responses that usually don’t come.

There’s nothing to do about it, though, except wait and see…like her pregnancy all over again. One day at a time.

Anna is most content when she’s tucked into the soft cloth wrap, held tight against someone’s chest, where she can feel the soothing purr of speech against her tiny body. They get adept at going about their daily routines with the baby strapped to them like a marsupial in a makeshift pouch. She especially seems to like Joel’s soft flannel shirts and his deep, rumbly voice–he’s the best at getting her to nap.

Or, as Ellie puts it, boring her to sleep .

Ellie spends more time with them, enamored with her baby sister in a way Joel couldn’t have predicted. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised, having watched her with Sam all those months ago, but her fierce devotion to this brand-new person in their lives makes him light-headed with pride.

Baby things showed up at their house out of the blue in the days after Anna was born; an antique cradle, bottles, more diapers, and a breast pump contraption that Charlie says makes her feel like a dairy cow. There are enough clothes to outfit a small army and mystery casseroles lining their freezer for weeks.

Tonight he takes one of the casseroles out and sniffs at it warily.

“Not sure about this one, kid,” he says to Anna, strapped to his chest. “Can’t be worse than that tuna surprise thing, though. House smelled for a week.”

The baby makes a soft cooing noise and sticks out her tongue in response.

“Yeah? Well, you didn’t have to eat it,” he mutters, turning on the oven.

“Talking to yourself again?” Charlie murmurs from the couch, snuggled under a throw.

“I’m havin’ a conversation with my daughter,” he says, stroking the baby’s head. “And you’re s’posed to be napping.”

She sits up, bleary-eyed and wan. “Can’t sleep. I miss her.”

“Hear that?” he murmurs. “Mama misses you. Maybe you should wake her up more often. Five times last night wasn’t enough.”

Joel wanders over to the couch and unearths the baby from her wrap to hand her to Charlie, who takes her with a smile and a soft hi sweet girl . Warmth blooms in his chest, followed by sadness; the two often go hand in hand.

Sarah never had this, he thinks, and he mourns what he couldn’t give her; the love of a mother, the delight of a new sibling.

But Anna has it all, in this family cobbled together from spare parts and broken pieces. Like the beginning of a bad joke— a widow, an orphan, and a childless father walk into a bar –where she is the most beautiful punchline he’s ever heard.

~*~

Joel comes home to find Ellie on the couch with the baby in her lap and a book on the cushion next to her, frowning in concentration as she flips through the pages. Anna is nine weeks old and more alert than ever, bright eyes taking in everything, and at the moment she’s fascinated by her big sister’s hands, moving in slow, measured gestures in front of her face.

“Where’s Charlie?”

“Your girlfriend is taking a nap,” Ellie says without looking up from her book.

“She’s not–”

He catches himself before he can finish his sentence and Ellie smirks.

“Caught ya.”

Joel sighs. “What’re you doin’?”

She flips to the book cover to show him; An Introduction to American Sign Language .

“Sam taught me some, but I found this at the library. I figured it can’t hurt to start early.”

His throat tightens and he blinks back tears. God, his kids have turned him into a walking fucking water fountain.

“That’s…a great idea, kiddo,” he says, squeezing her shoulder.

“I know,” she says. “Besides, you can use it, too, when your hearing eventually goes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. He bends down to boop Anna’s nose. “Your sister is somethin’ else, kid. I’m gonna check on your mo–I mean my–our–”

He growls as Ellie looks up at him expectantly, a wry little smirk on her face.

“I’m gonna check on Charlie,” he sighs. “Call me if you need me.”

He hears a whisper at his back.

“What’s the sign for ‘They are so fucked’?”

Ellie’s laughter and Anna’s quiet coos follow him upstairs.

They still haven’t talked about them . They share a bed, they care for Anna, and…that’s about it. The midwife mentioned something about “resuming sexual activities” and “birth control” and maybe even a vasectomy at their final appointment, and it had taken all Joel had not to laugh in her face. He hasn’t had so much as a hard-on since the kid was born, and Charlie is permanently attached to her when she’s not sleeping or eating.

It might have bothered him if he weren’t so sleep-deprived.

In the bedroom, Charlie is buried under the blankets. He doesn’t mean to wake her, but she startles when the door creaks open.

“Anna?”

“Ellie’s got her, it’s just me,” Joel whispers. “Sorry.”

Charlie sits up, rubbing at her eyes, holding her breasts as if testing their weight. “S’okay. She needs to eat soon.”

He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, smiles at Charlie’s mussed hair. He’s watched her closely over the last few weeks, hyper-alert for signs of depression, for the grief that he knows will never completely subside. A horrible little voice in the back of his mind insists that it’s only a matter of time before she leaves them.

Sarah’s mom made it four months.

But Charlie seems content if exhausted. They’re both exhausted, even with help. With Sarah he’d had the advantage of youth; with Anna, Joel feels every single one of his fifty-eight years…mostly in his back.

“Did you know Ellie’s teachin’ the baby sign language?” he asks.

“Mmm, she mentioned something about that,” Charlie yawns. “She’s smart, your kid. We’re raising geniuses.”

Joel ducks his head to hide a blush of pride. “They’re gonna leave us in their dust someday.”

We. Us.

He reaches out to cup Charlie’s face in one hand, rubbing his thumb along her cheekbone. He could say it was all lust until now, but watching her with Anna makes him feel like a lovesick teenager. Charlie leans into his touch, meets his eyes, and his stomach clenches with a kind of pleasant ache he hasn’t felt in weeks.

Maybe he’s going to need to look into that vasectomy after all.

The moment is rudely interrupted by a wail, followed by Ellie’s voice drifting up the stairs.

“Hey, lovebirds! Your spawn needs a diaper change.”

~*~

Joel and Ellie are sprawled on the couch, her tucked into one corner and him on the opposite side, slouched down with Anna on his chest, a movie playing in the background. The baby won’t sleep in the beautiful hand-carved cradle for more than fifteen minutes at a time, preferring instead to slumber on a warm body.

There was a time in Joel’s life when he would have said they were spoiling her, but now, acutely aware of his limited years in a way he’s never been before, he’s decided Anna can fall asleep in his arms until she’s thirty if she wants. There is no such thing as spoiling her as far as he’s concerned.

He’s half asleep, trying to wait out the next hour and a half to let Charlie get some rest, when Ellie’s voice drifts into his consciousness.

“I think I get it now.”

“Get what?” he murmurs, barely able to open his eyes.

“Why you lied to me.”

He’s awake now. His head snaps up to face her. Ellie is curled in a ball with her arms around her knees, watching the baby rise and fall with the rhythm of his breath.

“If it were her…I’d do anything to keep her safe,” she says softly.

Oh.

His first instinct is to lie again, but something about Ellie’s expression and the way she’s watching Anna gives him pause. Between the two of them, they’ve cracked him open. He’s too tired and old to hold secrets.

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” he rasps. “I shouldn’t’ve done that. It was wrong.”

He meets her eyes, waits until he’s sure that she sees him, because she can’t just hear it–she needs to know it with her whole being, to believe it as deeply as he does.

“But I’m not sorry–I’ll never be sorry–for what I did. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat for you…or her.”

Ellie nods, but she frowns, her voice going small and tight.

“What if she was bit?”

The question drops from her lips like a bomb and Joel instinctively tightens his grip around Anna at the thought.

“Wouldn’t you hate me?” she whispers. “For not…for not being able to save her?”

“Never,” he says roughly. “I could never hate you, Ellie.”

“But…what if she could grow up in a better world? A world where you never had to worry about her…or Charlie…or anyone…getting infected,” Ellie asks softly.

He wants to tell her that none of this would have been possible if she weren’t here–their life in Jackson, Charlie, or Anna. He wants to tell her that she is the catalyst for everything he’s done right in his sorry life.

His girl, who wanted to save the world, had saved him instead.

But words are failing so he swallows his tears and puts an arm out. Ellie slides over, curling into his side, and he’s momentarily stunned by her solidity against him. She’s grown in the months since they returned from Salt Lake City. She’s taller, her face thinning out, more like a young woman than a child.

It happens too damn fast, he thinks, looking down at the sleeping infant on his chest.

He whispers the words into Ellie’s hair when his throat finally unlocks, watery and thick.

“She’s growin' up in a better world because you’re in it.”

~*~

“She’s finally out,” Charlie whispers, backing away from the cradle and collapsing onto the bed on her stomach with a groan. “I don’t know how one tiny human can eat so much.”

“I’ll take her tonight,” he says. “She can have a bottle.”

“You have patrol in the morning.”

“Can’t sleep for shit anyway,” he shrugs. “Did you eat? Caf’s still open, I can grab you something.”

“Mmm. Maybe later. I need about ten hours of sleep and a big glass of wine,” she mutters into the pillow.

“I can offer you six hours of sleep and a beer.”

“I’ll take it,” she yawns, then brightens. “Oh! I found something at the post today.”

She rolls over, digs in the nightstand drawer, then unearths a small black box and tosses it into his lap.

He blinks down at it, unsure if it’s the suggestion or the fatigue that slows his tongue. His heart quickens.

“Are these…?”

“Condoms,” she grins. Then she’s crawling toward him and straddling his lap, much the way she did the first time, and she glances over at the silent cradle. “We have a couple hours…should we see if they’re any good?”

“God yes please,” he breathes, all tiredness suddenly forgotten as her mouth finds his, open and wanting.

There’s laundry scattered around the floor, empty bottles and water glasses on the nightstand, used burp cloths draped over the furniture, and the faint smell of sour milk lingers in the air.

And all of it ceases to matter because she’s holding his face in her hands and kissing him, really kissing him for the first time in weeks. Not a peck on the cheek or a nuzzled brush of her lips to his forehead when she thinks he’s still sleeping, but an honest-to-god kiss with tongue and teeth and bite.

Soon she’s rolled underneath him and he’s supping long, languid kisses from her lips, eliciting sweet little moans and breathy gasps that have him thrusting his aching cock into her bare stomach, seeking relief in friction. Even with the condom to dull the sensations, this will be over before it’s begun if he doesn’t get a fucking grip, so he pulls reluctantly away to explore the rest of her body.

Breastmilk gathers in little pearls on the peaks of her nipples, sweet and thick on his tongue as he teases and sucks his way down her chest. He traces the silvery lines on her lower stomach with his nose, the places where she’s been permanently marked because of their daughter, because of him . The sight of her gently swollen belly and the velvety softness of the stretched skin only makes him want her more.

She whimpers when he tastes her, moans when he sucks at her swollen clit and laps at her folds until she’s writhing and coming. Then she’s pulling on his hair with an urgency he understands and he’s rolling one of the condoms on and sinking into her delicious heat. She’s so close like this, pinned by his hips and chest, pressed underneath him like a flower.

He can’t pull himself away from her mouth, can’t stop kissing her and tasting her and swallowing her cries. Her arms enfold him, rubbing languid strokes up and down the slope of his back, pressing into his ass, urging him deeper. He reaches for her hand and rests their entwined fingers above her head.

Mine , he thinks with every thrust, heat coiling in his gut, crawling up his spine. Mine, mine, mine.

“Yours,” she sighs, arching into him, answering the words he didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud. He presses his forehead against hers and stills, breathing hard.

“Yeah?”

His voice is ragged with emotion. Her palms come up to cup his face.

“All yours,” she whispers, then she kisses him and kisses him and he prays the condom does its damn job because he’s falling over the edge.

~*~

He’s still softening inside her, luxuriating in the feel of her mouth against his, when the baby wails from her cradle.

Charlie groans underneath him. “Already?”

“Well…we got fifteen minutes,” he mumbles, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

“Give yourself credit, it was at least twenty.”

“It’s like a sixth sense,” he mutters, pulling out with a groan. “Surprised Ellie’s not at the damn door, too.”

Charlie snorts a laugh, sitting up and pulling the sheet to her chest.

“I’m comin’, baby girl,” he says. “Hold on, I know…m’right here.”

But Anna can’t hear him, of course. He pokes his head over the cradle and she quiets. “I’ll be right back.”

She protests loudly when he leaves her line of sight again, totally abandoned. He disposes of the condom and washes his hands…now where the hell are his boxers? The din of Anna’s crying in the background has him stumbling over his feet.

Finally, he plucks her up out of the cradle and puts her against his chest.

“Hey, kid, you’re fine,” he rumbles against her.

She growls in response, all attitude, one tiny fist stuffed into her mouth.

“Think she’s hungry,” he murmurs, nuzzling the top of her head. “Want me to get her a bottle so you can sleep?”

“No,” Charlie says, two wet spots blooming on the bedsheet. “You primed the pump. I’m leaking all over myself.”

“Lucky kid,” he grins. “You get the real deal.”

“You just ate, sweet girl,” Charlie sighs as the baby latches. “Where does it all go?”

“Based on the laundry I folded today, I have an idea,” Joel mutters, crawling back into bed. He sits up against the headboard and pulls Charlie into his arms so she’s propped against him. She burrows into his shoulder and closes her eyes as the baby makes greedy little suckling noises. His free arm wraps around them, cupping Anna’s head, feeling the pulse of her heartbeat in his palm.

Maybe it’s the sex that loosens his tongue, or maybe he’s just too tired to worry over the fallout. He takes a deep breath.

“So I know we said…you’d stay until the kid is born…and that was, uh, ten weeks ago.”

“You kicking me out?” Charlie murmurs, playing with the baby’s tiny fingers as she nurses.

“No,” he says quickly. “You can stay as long as you want. I just…don’t want you to feel like you have to…or like we’re expected to be, uh…something we’re–”

“Joel,” she says, soft but firm. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Heat blooms in his chest.

“Yeah?”

She tilts her head up to look at him, silver eyes shining, and answers him with a long, sweet, lingering kiss that reignites the fire in his lower belly.

He’s definitely gonna need that vasectomy.

#fanfic #fic recs #joel miller #the last of us hbo #the last of us #pregnancy #babyfic

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honeyhotteoks · 1 year

Text

a little more love to give (j.yh + p.sh)

summary: fifth and final installment in the husbands series; it's been years, and you life with them has grown, you just don't expect your second baby to be a surprise. part one: room for three || part two: and if i stay || part three: their gift || part four: hold fast together

note: 18+ content, minors DNI. // i'm back.... with the final installment of the husbands series. it's essentially all fluff and tender smut, definitely less hard than previous chapters but you know, they're parents now lol

warnings: non idol!yunho, non idol!seonghwa, fem!reader, married!yunhwa, established yunhwa x reader relationship, mmf, brief mention of trouble conceiving, pregnancy, discussion of early pregnancy symptoms like nausea, headaches, dizzy/fainting spells, nervous!yunhwa, some physical body descriptions relating to body change with pregnancy including weight/physicality, but on a fun note...... praise, degredation/humilitation, body worship, so much fucking oil, vaginal and anal fingering, oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), cumshots, mention of sir kink but not used, lots of verbal instruction, lots of breast and nipple play, nipple clamps, light pain play, gratuitous use of good girl, sweet girl, pretty girl, etc., essentially if you don't want to read pregnant!reader sex, don't read this but honestly they're pretty in love and i thought it was cute - please let me know if i missed any.

pairings: yunho x seonghwa x reader

genre: smut, fluff, domestic / slice of life

word count: 11.4K

my masterlist || read it on AO3

special note - their daughter's name is dasom, which literally translates to love in korean. seonghwa calls her 'nae sarang' which also translates to 'my love'. i think after all the trouble they had getting pregnant, there's nothing else they would want to call her but love. i just thought that additional context might be nice for some readers. please enjoy, and thanks for sticking with this one. x

You’re tucked away in the dim light of your bedroom nursing a headache when you hear the front door of your apartment swing open. Checking your phone for the time, you wince at the bright light and press the lock button again quickly to dim the screen. You have unanswered messages and notifications, but you can’t even think about that with the way your head is aching, you’re just glad it’s not as bad as it was a few hours ago.

With a sigh you stay settled under the covers and opt to listen, your husbands getting home from their respective days downstairs.

“Oh,” You hear Seonghwa say first, “hey, Nari,”

Your best friend’s voice is bright and clear, echoing up the stairs and you know she’s in the entryway to greet them, “Hi, Seonghwa,” and then a beat later, “baby, look who’s home!” Her voice lilts up, playful and fun.

Your daughter makes a joyful, bubbly sound, “Appa!”

“Come here, nae sarang,” He’s hauling her up into a hug, you just know it.

You duck your head up out of the blankets to listen more closely despite the throb behind your temples.

“She’s getting so big,” Nari says.

“Mhm,” Yunho’s low voice murmurs, “a proper little princess now,”

Your daughter giggles, and you smile.

“Where’s y/n?” Seonghwa finally asks.

You had all but begged her to keep your secret, but Nari is a terrible liar and all she can do is stumble over her words, “She’s, well, you know her, she’s,”

“Nari?” Yunho asks, a laugh in his voice still.

“Princess,” Seonghwa coos to your baby girl, “where did your mommy run off to?”

There’s a long pause, and you can almost picture your baby’s teary face, round cheeks pink and wet with fat tears. It took so long to get her to stop crying in the first place. “Eomma,” she wails, and you grit your teeth.

“Oh, aegiya don’t do that,” Nari soothes, “it’s okay,”

“Shh,” Seonghwa croons, and you know he’s rocking her from side to side.

“What’s going on?” Seonghwa sounds confused.

“Ah. I just got her calmed down,” Nari sighs.

“E-Eomma!” She wails again and this time Yunho’s voice isn’t so casual.

“What’s going on, sweetheart?” He maintains a light tone for her, but you can hear the anxiety in it, “Where’s mommy?”

“She,” Nari starts to say. but your daughter’s bubbling wail cuts her off.

“Eomma f-fell down!” Another pointed sob.

“What?” Alarm is laced through Seonghwa’s voice, “Is she alright? Why didn’t someone call us?”

“She’s completely fine,” Nari assures, “she just called me to come watch Dasom after,”

“After what?” Yunho presses.

“Hush, baby, it’s okay,” Seonghwa croons, trying to even out your baby’s cries.

“Where is she?” Yunho asks insistently, trying to keep calm in front of Dasom.

“She’s not hurt, she didn’t even hit her head, she’s just,” Nari back tracks, “sorry, okay, she’s in your room,”

You hear jogging, footsteps hurrying up the steps, and Dasom wails again, Nari’s soothing tone humming as she takes your daughter back in her arms.

The door pushes open wide, Yunho’s eyes searching and nervous, “Hey,”

“Hey,” You murmur, groaning a little at the harsh hallway light, “oh, please shut the door, the light,”

Seonghwa pushes the door shut as Yunho crosses the room, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking you over, “What’s going on?”

“I’m okay, don’t worry,” You reach for his hand and give him a squeeze, “Dasom just got scared because I’m not feeling well, and I asked Nari to come over so I could get some rest,”

Seonghwa eases onto the opposite side of the bed, scooting over until he’s sitting up against the headboard by your side, “she said you fell? Fell how?

You sigh into your pillow, “I was making her lunch, and I got dizzy,”

Yunho’s eyes flick to his husband’s, then back to yours, “Okay,”

You know they’ll panic when you say it but they’ll find out no matter what, “I fainted, which I think just seemed scary to Dasom,”

“Did you hit your head?” Yunho reaches for you, fingertips soft on your jaw, “Should we go to the hospital?”

You shake your head, “No, no, I caught myself fine,”

“I still think a doctor,” Seonghwa sounds nervous, “you fainted out of nowhere? I saw you eat this morning,”

Your mind flicks back to when you threw it all up in the hallway bathroom while Dasom was down for her nap, how you pulled yourself up and rallied to make her a little lunch and then found yourself stumbling in the kitchen, your daughter’s nervous voice in your ear.

“I don’t need a doctor,” You assure him, “I just need a little rest,”

“Come here,” Yunho slides closer and lays his hand across your forehead, “you don’t feel warm,”

“It’s not a fever,” You murmur, taking his hand and pressing a kiss to his palm before letting him pull away.

“If you felt bad enough that you needed to call Nari,” Seonghwa shakes his head, “that you couldn’t keep an eye on Dasom, I think it’s serious enough that we should see a doctor, jagiya,”

You wanted to tell them later, to confirm things with a blood test first, to make sure everything was going well before you announced the news, but you suppose there are enough signs that you’re sure. Little things you had been brushing off for weeks, not to mention the positive test from the pharmacy. The same exact symptoms that you had with Dasom, down to the sudden migraines.

“It’s okay,” You take his hand, “I promise. It was scary for Dasom, but she’s three,”

“Then why did you call Nari?” Yunho presses, “You should have called us, I could have come home early,”

You’re hardly ever sick, and you forgot how fussy they get anytime you so much as sneeze.

Your head throbs again and you sigh. You had wanted to make it special, to make it more romantic than this, but there’s no keeping it from them now. You shake your head, “I called Nari so she could watch Dasom while I rested, and so she could pick me up a pregnancy test on her way,”

Yunho’s face goes slack, “A what?”

“I’ve been getting sick again,” You push yourself up in the bed to sit against the soft headboard, “everyday at lunchtime just like before. I didn’t think anything of it, of any of the signs because we haven’t been trying,”

“You’re kidding,” Yunho leans away, glancing between you and Seonghwa, “you… why didn’t you tell us you were sick?”

You open your mouth to explain, to find something to say, but Seonghwa finally speaks up.

“You’re pregnant?” He stammers, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sick everyday, dizzy, my headaches are back, I’ve been crying at fucking everything,” Your eyes sting at the thought, “I’m so late, I didn’t even realize it, we’ve been busy… but I’m so, so late,”

“Oh my god,” Yunho’s face lights up, and he presses a hand over his mouth.

“There’s a positive test in the trash,” You nod towards the bathroom, “I was going to go to the doctor tomorrow, confirm everything with a blood test and then tell you… so much better than this, but, yeah, yes, I’m pregnant,”

“Jagi,” Seonghwa breathes, and you realize now his eyes are full of unshed tears.

Yunho tugs you into his arms and you start with a squeak. His arms wrap around you, his face ducked into your neck, and he takes a watery breath, “I can’t believe it,”

“I don’t know when it happened,” You lean your cheek on his chest, “but if my symptoms are lining up on the same timeline as Dasom, I’m at least twelve weeks,”

“The lake trip,” Seonghwa says after a moment, and you flip back in your mental calendar to three, almost four months ago when Yunho’s parents had taken care of Dasom for a long weekend and the three of you slipped away for a much needed vacation together.

Yunho nods into your neck, his hand coasting up and down your back.

He’s not letting you go, and Seonghwa hasn’t said anything more, and your stomach flips. “This is good news, isn’t it? I mean, I know we haven’t talked about it recently, but it’s,”

Yunho laughs sharply, pulling away and cupping your cheeks, “Of course it is,” His cheeks are wet, eyes sparkling, and he surges forwards to kiss you, his breath shaky on your lips.

“Oh, thank god,” You mumble against his mouth.

A light knock on the door catches your attention and you hear the door squeak open, “Hey, y/n,”

Yunho pulls away, but he can’t quite pull his eyes away from you as you lean past him, “Yeah?”

“Dasom’s getting a little ancy,” She murmurs, “how about I take her tonight? A little sleepover with her auntie to give you three some time?”

You exhale and nod immediately, “You - Nari, that would be such a help,”

“Did you,” She looks at you pointedly and gestures between the two men on either side of you.

“Yeah,” You can’t stop the grin on your face.

Yunho wipes away the tears threatening to spill over and pushes himself off the edge of the bed, “Let me help you get her things together, is she still crying?”

“No,” Nari shakes her head, “she’s upset, but I got her to calm down for now,”

“I’ll talk to her,” He squeezes your hand and takes a steadying breath, trying to calm down his sudden swell of emotion.

“Don’t tell her yet,” You interject, “please,”

“No,” He agrees, “not yet,”

“Congratulations,” Nari says quietly, “all of you,”

Yunho grins wide, nodding and Seonghwa murmurs a quiet thank you. You’ll have to do something nice for Nari, something special for taking care of Dasom today and giving you time with your husbands tonight.

You had always talked about having more children, but the timing was never quite right. Dasom alone was a handful, plus the demands of all of your jobs growing stronger. It just became something you might do soon, but not now. Always not now.

You watch Yunho take a deep breath before he follows Nari back downstairs to tend to your daughter, and then you’re alone again with Seonghwa.

“Hey,” You murmur, shifting to meet his eyes.

“Hi, darling,” He smiles warmly, eyes still shining.

“How are you?” You gently prod his thigh.

“I can barely believe it,” He admits, “but darling, you know me, I’ve always wanted another baby,”

“You’re happy?”

“So happy,” He reaches for you, shuffling closer on the bed until you’re pressed together, forehead to forehead, “I love you,”

Tears bubble up again in your eyes and you nod against him, “I love you too, Hwa,”

“I love our little life together,” He murmurs softly, “every second,”

Your breath hitches a little, and you let your eyes slip closed, breathing together in time with him in the center of your bed. A light commotion downstairs breaks you both apart and you grin, “We should get up,”

“You should be resting,” He shakes his head, “how’s your headache?” His fingertips smooth along your hairline as he looks you over.

“Better than before, but still,” You sigh, “you remember what they were like,”

“I do,” He gives you a soft, sympathetic smile, “which is why I’m saying go back to bed,”

“I will when Dasom leaves,” You lean forward and kiss him gently, “but I don’t want her to be scared tonight, I should let her see me before she leaves,”

There’s no argument there, so Seonghwa takes a deep breath and climbs out of the bed to offer you a hand, “I’ll go with you.”

“Let me clean up second,” You blink hard when you get to your feet, the equilibrium of the room and the light from the hall a little jarring still, but you are feeling better than before, so you smooth your hair back and turn towards your vanity. You don’t bother to try and look completely normal, Dasom’s smart enough to see right through that, but you still run a brush through your hair and try to perk up just a bit to avoid looking dead on your feet.

Seonghwa stands behind you, watching in the mirror with a smile on his face.

“What?” You smile back at him, the joy in the room infectious now.

“You’re a beautiful mother,” He says softly, “and I love you,”

Pink tinges your cheeks at his words and your eyes flick down, “I love you too,”

“My pretty wife,” He wraps his arms around you again, nuzzling your cheek and peppering soft kisses across your cheek.

“Oh, stop,” You twist to kiss his soft lips, “come on, let’s go down,”

“Mmhm,” He kisses you again before he lets you go and leads the way out of their bedroom and towards the stairs.

As you enter into the light you wince a little, but it’s not so harsh that you can’t manage.

He lays a hand on your lower back and moves to see your face, “Is it too much?”

“Not yet,” You assure him, “I’ll be fine for a few minutes,”

The voices downstairs start to shift, and you realize that Yunho is walking back towards the foyer at the bottom of the steps by the front door.

“People cry for happy things too, baby,” Yunho murmurs, and from the top of the stairs you watch him walking back and forth with Dasom in his arms, her tiny face pressed into his chest.

She says something to him you can’t quite hear, muffled into his shirt.

He smiles, rubbing her back, “I can’t tell you yet,”

Her head pops up, and she rubs at her face with her little hand, “Why not?”

“Mm,” Yunho narrows his eyes at her playfully, “because it’s a surprise,”

Seonghwa wraps his arms around you from behind, listening with you.

“I want a surprise,” She nods and Nari’s laugh echoes from the next room.

“I know,” Yunho shrugs, keeping the energy light so she relaxes more, “but I promise when you come home from Nari’s we’ll have the surprise ready,”

She sighs, and Seonghwa chuckles behind you.

“Are you ready, baby?” Nari holds up Dasom’s coat and little backpack.

“Can we watch Ariel?” Dasom perks up, scrambling to get out of Yunho’s arms.

“Mhm,” Nari drops down to her height to help her put the coat on, “but I don’t remember all the words to the songs, so you’ll have to teach me,”

“I know all the words,” She says and you watch Yunho’s face light up.

Seonghwa squeezes you, “I want to see her before she leaves,”

“Me too,” You brush off your cheeks, and despite your headache you get yourself together enough to go downstairs, “do I look like I’ve been crying?”

“Not too bad,” Seonghwa assures you, “me?”

You shake your head, “Only a little,”

“Yunho’s the crier anyways,” Seonghwa grins, and then starts down the steps.

You follow him, and at the first creak of the stairs, Yunho looks up and Dasom whips right around, “Eomma!”

“Hey,” You smile, “I heard you’re having a sleepover,”

Yunho’s watching you like a hawk, his body tense like you might faint again at any moment but you give him an easy smile and shake your head a little. Seonghwa’s hand presses into the center of your back, and the minute you hit the landing, your daughter collides with your legs.

“Hey, hey,” You smooth back her hair, “what’s this?”

“Are you sick?” She mumbles into your leggings.

You share a quick smile with your husbands, and then reach down for her. When you hoist her up, both of them take a sudden step towards you, Seonghwa’s hands around Dasom’s waist to help lift her and take any weight off, but you settle her on your hip anyways.

“I’m not sick,” You assure her, “you know how mommy gets headaches sometimes?”

She nods.

“Just a headache,” You smile, “I’m sorry I made you worry, baby,”

“It’s okay,” Her words run together, and then she twists in your arms to find Yunho, “Appa has a surprise,”

“Oh, he does, does he?” You smile, her attention back on you, and when you look up Yunho’s holding up his hands and mouthing an apology.

“I want it now,” She kicks her little legs and you smile.

“Mm,” You consider her words, and she watches your face carefully as you pretend to think, “I don’t know, my love, patience is important.”

She frowns, and at the first quiver of her bottom lip you shake your head, she stills.

“The surprise isn’t ready yet,” You tell her honestly, “but when you get home, it will be. So if you can be a big girl, and be very patient, your present will be here when you get home from your sleepover,”

“But,” She starts, but Seonghwa is quick to intervene.

“Dasom,” He says, voice soft but just a little more firm than before, “mommy’s not feeling very well, don’t argue, please.”

Her mouth snaps shut, and she still looks sad, but she nods. Every day you feel her growing up in your arms and learning little by little and your heart clenches. A sudden image of her teaching your new baby flickers through your mind and you feel overwhelmingly tender, soft like you might cry.

Seonghwa picks up on the change immediately, “Come here, nae sarang,”

She’s out of your arms and held in his a moment later. Yunho’s wide palm smooths up and down your back and you take a steadying breath.

“Can you put your jacket on for auntie, please?” Seonghwa asks, turning her away from you and nuzzling her with his nose, pressing a kiss to her soft cheek.

“Yep,” She says as she drops to the floor and stretches her arms up and wide for Nari to slide her arms through the sleeves of the puffy coat.

“God, she’s cute,” You murmur under your breath and Yunho chuckles at your side.

“Let’s go, babe,” Nari zips her up and grabs her backpack from the floor.

Yunho steps forward and snags it, “I’ll walk you down,”

“Thanks,” Nari nods, patting Dasom’s back.

Dasom says goodbye to you over her shoulder, focused on whatever Yunho’s saying to her, the stress of the day forgotten now that she’s seen you up and walking around. Yunho keeps her attention with ease and her little hand locks on Nari’s. You watch her go and despite your headache, your heart aches worse.

“Alright,” Seonghwa murmurs as soon as they’re out of sight, “back to bed,”

“Yes, please,” You admit, sighing and leaning against his chest.

“I’ll come with you,” He kisses your hair.

“It’s early,”

“So, I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” He pushes you gently towards the stairs, “just relax and let me take care of you,”

It’s easy to do, you’ve been letting him care for you for years. He takes you to bed and helps you slip into sleep. By the time Yunho gets back upstairs you’re out like a light and the two of them are left to marvel in the news by themselves.

It’s hours and hours before your headache breaks and you wake to the warm feeling of your husbands bodies pressed close to you. Someone’s arm is wrapped around your middle, someone’s thigh pressed between yours, lips on your shoulder, a hand on your backside, feet tangled together under the comforter. Morning light bleeds into the room, pale yellow and warm, one of the first times you’ve woken up by your own internal clock in what feels like months.

You’re pressed into Seonghwa’s chest, and you kiss his bare skin softly, eliciting a contented sigh from his lips. His hand slips down from its place on the small of your back and under the waistband of your sleep pants, coasting over your skin and squeezing you in all the right places.

“Mm, Hwa,” You pull him closer.

“How’s your head?” He asks softly, checking before he takes his hand any further.

“Better,” You nod, your lips traveling up his throat, “come kiss me,”

Yunho rolls closer behind you, groaning as he wakes, the familiar feeling of his morning hardness connecting with your thigh. “We haven’t slept in,” He sighs, “in so long,”

“It’s seven-thirty,” You laugh against Seonghwa’s lips.

“Exactly,” Yunho tugs you both closer, “our six am human alarm isn’t jumping on us,”

“Oh, you miss her,” Seonghwa laughs, “I know you do,”

“So much,” He smiles against your shoulder.

“Well,” You murmur, pressing your hips back into Yunho’s to feel him just a little closer, “I think our sleep is about to get worse, not better in the next few months,”

“True,” Seonghwa shifts down in the bed to kiss you properly, his fingers tangling with Yunho’s above your head.

“Mm, but I think,” Yunho reaches around and smooths his hand over your stomach, and then stills completely.

“What?” You mumble, shifting back from Seonghwa’s lips and looking over your shoulder to try and find your other husband’s eyes.

“You’re already showing,” His hand moves across you again, this time from top to bottom of your belly to trace the soft swell, “how did we not notice?”

“It’s not that much,” You shake your head, but Seonghwa is already sliding his hand out of your sleep pants to curl around your front and feel for himself.

“Yes, it is,” Seonghwa grins, backing up to look down at you, “oh my god,”

“Come here,” Yunho tugs you back onto your back gently and Seonghwa pushes the comforter down until it’s settled low around all of your hips.

“Look,” Seonghwa slides your sleepshirt up until it’s tucked just under your breasts and he smooths a hand across your belly, “that’s a bump,”

Shifting in the covers you look down at yourself, “You’re right,” you murmur softly, eyes still studying yourself.

It’s still small, not the pronounced curve of a clearly pregnant person’s body, but they know you and every inch of your skin well, and to them it’s plain as day. Your body has been so different since Dasom, softer in so many ways and even to you this little change is easy to miss until you’re really looking. To anyone else the subtle swell would be nothing, but to you it’s everything. To them, it’s your words made real.

“Look, look,” Yunho grins, sliding his hand down your side until he cups under your stomach, his hand clearly folding into the slightest curve at the change in your body, “you really are pregnant,”

“Yeah,” Your voice is small.

Yunho moves low in the sheets suddenly, pressing his lips to your stomach and smiling, “Hi, baby,”

You stroke his hair softly, “You’re so cute,”

“We’ve missed months,” Yunho says without looking back up, stroking your skin again, “we started talking to Dasom when she was the size of a pea, we’ll have to catch up with this little one,”

“God, I really do love you both,” You sigh.

“Mhm,” Yunho kisses your stomach again, “and we love you, and this new bean,”

You could cry, you really could.

“Boy or girl?” Seonghwa murmurs, propping his head up on one hand.

“Sister or brother, is the real question,” You offer, “Dasom would lose her little mind if it’s a girl,”

“Should we find out early?” Yunho asks, pulling his attention away from your stomach and looking up at you both.

With Dasom you did, you were all being too cautious and careful about the pregnancy since it had taken so long to get there that you had every health screening and pregnancy checkup known to man, so the mystery of your baby’s sex wasn’t easy to keep when you went through as many ultrasounds and doctors visits as you did.

“Maybe,” Seonghwa says, “it might be nice to know early to help prepare Dasom, they always say it’s hard for kids to adjust from only child to older sibling. Maybe if she knows sister or brother she can start to think about it early,”

You nod, chewing your lip and absent mindedly running your fingers through Yunho’s dark hair.

“She could help us decorate,” Yunho offers, “it might help keep her involved so it’s an exciting thing, not a scary thing,”

“It’s a good idea,” You agree, “but let me get a check-up first,”

“Sure,” He says, “but it’s still nice to plan for, she’s going to be so excited,”

“I hope so,”

Seonghwa snuggles into your one side, kissing you warmly and wrapping an arm around your middle, “How are you feeling so far today?”

“Normal, I think?” You smile.

“Yeah?” Seonghwa brushes your hair back, “Nausea? Headache?”

You shake your head softly and then take a moment to feel your body, taking stock of all the little things. You stretch against the mattress, arching your back a little to shift out of your sleeping position, and find yourself in a deep yawn.

Yunho’s hand smooths over your stomach as you stretch long, his fingers spread wide and grin across his face, “I really can’t believe it, I thought we’d have to try again,”

“Me too,” You admit, threading your fingers with his.

“Last time was…” Yunho trails off, and he doesn’t have to say it, you all remember.

“Let’s not think about it,” Seonghwa surprises you, reaching across to brush Yunho’s cheek, “let’s just be happy about this little one,”

Yunho swallows and clears his throat, pushing away whatever momentary emotion had flooded up inside him. It was hard for all of you, and when Dasom finally came all of those hard, bad things were easy to forget, at least for a little while.

“There’s a lot to be happy for,” You smile, pushing past those memories and focusing on the present, “for one… we’re alone,”

“That is a very good point,” Seonghwa kisses your head.

“Alone for a while,” You add, “hours, even,”

“Oh, you are feeling better,” Yunho laughs, dropping a kiss to your belly and sighing warmly against your skin.

“We’ve been so busy,” You relax between them, letting your shirt ride up a little, “don’t you miss me?”

“Don’t even joke,” Seonghwa huffs, picking up on your queues with ease and slipping the shirt up and off your head.

Yunho pulls the tie of your sleep pants open with one firm tug and slides them off in a hurry.

They crowd you on either side, lips dropping on your skin and hands smoothing over you until Seonghwa stills, cupping the beginnings of your bump and Yunho falls still beside him.

“What?” You reach for Seonghwa, trying to tug him back down to your mouth.

“Nothing,” He shakes his head, “I just keep remembering that you're pregnant again.” He smooths his hand down further, looking for your thigh.

“Mm,” You stretch, letting Seonghwa shift your leg open wide, “does this mean you’re both going to start fussing over me again?”

“Who’s fussing?” Yunho smirks, easing down the bed and pressing kisses across your belly until he’s settled between your open thighs.

“You,” You smile, “treating me like glass,”

“To be fair,” Seonghwa’s lips travel across your shoulder, teeth nipping at your collarbones, “we were all nervous last time,”

“And now?” You sigh.

“I think we know how to take care of you,” Seonghwa chuckles.

Yunho’s hands coast up and down your thighs, “And there’s nothing wrong with being gentle,”

You start to smile, but your breath catches in your throat as he runs the back of his knuckle down your slit, the fabric of your panties tickling your sensitive nub.

“Taking it slow,” Seonghwa offers, his mouth dancing closer to your nipple but conveniently never touching.

“I like slow,” You breathe, letting your eyes fall closed.

“Mm,” Seonghwa shakes his head, “no,”

Yunho chuckles.

“You like hard,” Seonghwa nips at your breast with his teeth, “and fast,”

Your breath thins as you feel your body start to respond.

“And rough,” Seonghwa adds, the pad of his thumb pressing down over your nipple, “and sometimes mean,”

“Fuck,” You hiss as he flicks your nipple hard before pinching it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Slow,” Seonghwa adds, “just makes you whine and beg for hard and fast,”

“So?” Your hand on his back tightens.

“Sometimes we want just want to take our time darling,” Seonghwa’s tongue finally, finally flicks across your other nipple, “especially when we know how sensitive you must be,”

Yunho presses a kiss to your clit through your panties, sighing through the fabric, “Are you sore, sweetheart? Aching?”

“Does this hurt?” Seonghwa cups your breast, kneading it with a little more pressure than before and you gasp.

“N-no,” You breathe.

“Do you want it to?” Seonghwa squeezes you again.

Your hips buck softly, pressing your cunt harder against Yunho’s face and he smiles, flicking the firm muscle of his tongue over your clit, dragging the cotton fabric across it enough that you rock your hips again.

“This is too slow,” You let your head fall back against the bed, “and you know it,”

Seonghwa lifts his head, kissing your lips before brushing his fingers along your jaw, “Just for now,” he murmurs.

“Okay,” You crane your neck up to kiss him back, “but you remember what things were like with Dasom, you won’t hurt us,”

Seonghwa smiles, and Yunho lifts his mouth away to slip his fingers under the edges of your panties and drag them down your thighs. “Us,” Yunho repeats, his voice content and soft.

“I have an idea,” Seonghwa sighs, “how about you lie back and trust me, jagi,”

“You know I do,” You didn’t mean to upset him, and of course there’s nothing wrong with him taking his time, but you’ve been gifted with time alone and you really, really want to use it.

“Just hush,” He shakes his head, “close your eyes.”

You snap them closed immediately, “Yes, sir,”

“Mm,” Seonghwa makes a soft, negative noise as he shifts off the bed, “not today, okay? Just be with us,”

You nod, feeling Yunho’s hands slide up over your hips to warmly ground you.

The sound of a drawer opening perks you up though and you lift your head to try and hear better.

“Baby,” Seonghwa says to Yunho, “how’s this?”

“Perfect,” Yunho agrees, and you feel him shift on the mattress, his hands leaving your hips, “and get me the - yes, those,”

“What are you two doing?” You finally ask, desperately eager and wanting to open your eyes.

“My darling,” Seonghwa says, “we’re going to show you how much we love you,”

“For as long as you can take,” Yunho adds, “as fast or slow as we want.”

Your body melts into the mattress, you know that tone of voice. You love that tone of voice.

“Tell us if something doesn’t feel good,” Seonghwa’s voice is back at your side.

“I will,” You promise, and you can’t help the smile on your face.

“Alright beautiful,” Seonghwa kneels by your side, “lift up, eyes stay closed.”

Yunho’s hand on your hip clarifies your other husband's words and you press up to lift your hips high. They’re prepping something, communicating silently with each other, and it leaves you wanting. You’re a second away from pleading with them to tell you their plans.

“There we go,” Yunho says, “you can relax,”

When you ease back down the sensation under you is different, a soft towel underneath your hips and you’re about to open your mouth and try to guess their plan, but your husbands push your thighs open wide and something warm and wet and slippery drips over your bare mound.

You sigh out a soft moan as the warming oil slides down between your thighs, and then you feel it again. Warm oil spreads again, this time across your belly and breasts and you suddenly realize what they mean to do to you. It’s not often that you have the time for this kind of foreplay anymore, let alone the patience for it. Seonghwa isn’t necessarily wrong either, you love them when they’re bossy and firm and taunting, so room for this kind of slow worship is narrow. Except something about Yunho’s thumb gliding the oil down over your cunt is making you dizzy, so you let them give you what they want.

“You’re beautiful,” Seonghwa murmurs into your ear as he smooths the oil up your chest and spreads it across your skin, “always, jagiya, but something about this,”

“Mhm,” Yunho hums, his fingers slowly massaging your skin, close to your slit but never parting your folds, “so perfect,”

“Please touch me,” Your voice is breathy, “please,”

“We are touching you,” Yunho says and you can hear the teasing smile in his voice.

“You know what I think?” Seonghwa sighs, sliding his hand over your breast again and massaging.

“Tell me,” You arch into his touch, opening your legs wider for Yunho.

“I think,” He squeezes your nipple a little harder than before, “we clearly haven’t been taking care of our darling properly if we didn’t even notice this.” He massages the oil down your chest over the soft, small swell of your stomach.

You twitch beneath him, breath quickening.

“We need to make it up to you, my love,” Yunho’s voice is low, husky as he stays focused on his task. Every warm rub of his fingers anywhere near your dripping slit has your hips jerking.

“Oh, god,” You sigh.

“Mm,” Seonghwa massages your chest again, “I think these are fuller, we missed that too, love,”

“Oh,” You moan sharply as he pinches your nipples again.

“You’re being so patient, sweetheart,” Yunho murmurs, the tips of his two fingers dipping inside you for just a moment.

“G-God, do that again,” You press your body forward, begging for just a little more.

“Yunho,” Seonghwa says, his voice firm, “hands off,”

Suddenly no one’s touching you, and you’re a breath away from screaming. Your body’s pulsating with need, not just the extended, slow foreplay bringing you up but the sheer amount of hormones coursing through your body that make you want to come so hard you hear colors.

Still, you know better than to open your eyes.

Seonghwa descends over you with ease, his mouth hot at your ear, and his words have you arching in the sheets. With a nip at your soft earlobe he says low, “Can we play with you, baby?”

All you can manage is a stammering yes.

“Let us play with your pretty body, baby,” He kisses your throat and a warm hand fully cups your sex.

“A-anything, anything,” You’re almost embarrassed by how much of a puddle you already are, but it was exactly the same last time you were pregnant and you’re sure they’re loving every second.

“Good, good girl,” Seonghwa murmurs, his voice tender, “I love you so much,”

Blush floods your cheeks and you feel warm pinpricks behind your eyes, “I love you too, Hwa,”

He kisses your cheek, your jaw, your throat, and then pulls back slightly before you feel the bed move, “Would you like clamps, or are you too sensitive?”

Your eyes fly open and you immediately see Seonghwa above you, in his hand a familiar silver chain. You nod immediately, “Yes please,”

“Are you sure?” He smiles, a little teasing as he palms one of your breasts and starts to lovingly tweak your nipple into a hardened peak.

Warm pleasure sparks through you at his ministrations and you whimper, “Yes,”

He preps you easily, making sure you’re ready to take the clamps and your skin there is dry enough that they won’t slide off. Your eyes flick to Yunho who watches with rapt attention, his lips parting as Seonghwa secures one nipple clamp and then the other.

“How’s that?” Seonghwa checks as he sets the second one.

You’ve been sensitive lately, he’s certainly not wrong about that. Your breasts aching with the changes of your body, and you’ve been hyper aware of anything brushing along your nipples at all, let alone the sensation of a clamp, and if you're being honest it hurts. You hiss sharply as he releases the pressure of his hand and lets the clamp close, and he doesn’t rush to remove it but his eyes flick to yours.

The initial pain fades to a kind of numbing warmth and you exhale slow and steady, “I’m okay, it feels good,”

“And this?” He draws the chain tighter in his hand, just enough that the clamp pulls at your nipple.

A shock of pleasure runs through your breast down your back, “Oh fuck, Hwa,”

“Good,” He smiles, dropping the chain on your chest, “sit up a minute, would you?”

“Sure,” You push yourself up and Yunho takes your hand to draw you up into a seated position on the towels. Seonghwa spreads another towel down behind you before shucking off his boxers and sliding behind you. As he situates, you realize what’s on the bed next to you. Next to the bottle of warming oil are two vibrators and a dildo. Yunho smiles as he sees your expression.

“Come here,” Seonghwa says from behind you as he scoots closer, one leg on either side of you now, “lay back,”

Yunho eases you back down onto your husband’s bare chest, “Comfortable?”

“Mhm,” You assure him, “but I know you’re planning something, I know that look,”

Yunho laughs and shakes his head, “If spending the morning making my wife come is planning something, then sure,”

Your muscles clench around nothing at his words and you can’t help but wet your lips.

“Now,” Yunho smiles, “just relax for us,”

You nod, and Seonghwa pushes your hair back as you lay on his chest. His hands settle on your slick skin, massaging the oil into every part of you that he can touch, his hands never quite coming back to touch the clamps or their chain. With a sigh, you let your muscles relax fully and your legs fall open and slack against Seonghwa’s thighs.

Yunho pushes off his knees and settles down next to you, sitting almost hip to hip with you, before uncapping the bottle of oil and pouring a little more out in his hand.

You exhale low and slow, “Should I close my eyes?”

Yunho glances back at you, “Do you want to?”

“Do you want me to?” You clarify.

He shakes his head, “We want what you want,”

You swallow hard, your body lighting up at just the sight of his hands glistening and ready to please you, “I want to watch,”

“Good girl,” Seonghwa chuckles, nipping at your ear and pressing kisses anywhere he can.

“Now, please,” You sigh, widening your legs a little more, “Yunho, please,”

“Shush,” He shakes his head, and you’re about to protest, but then he’s touching you and your mind is singing.

Yunho slides his hand down and parts your slick folds with ease, his middle finger teasing your entrance repeatedly until he sinks it inside. You moan, tilting your hips up a little more.

Seonghwa hums behind you as he watches, his cock stiff and aching behind you, but it hardly matters because right now their attention is laser focused on you and you alone. One of his hands travels up to cup your breast and slowly he starts kneading your soft flesh.

“You’re so wet,” Yunho murmurs, almost to himself as he starts to rock his hand in a slow massaging rhythm, dragging his fingers down and back up your swelling clit before dipping inside you each and every time, “and tighter,”

The feeling of his hand is already too much, applying perfect pressure and speed to knot your body up with need but never push you anywhere close to the edge of anything. He’s taking his sweet time, savoring you and your body, and you’d be embarrassed by the intensity and intimacy if it were anyone in the world but them.

Seonghwa’s plush lips start to work over your throat, sucking at your pulse points and placing tender bites along the column of your neck. Your breath is thinner, thready and you can’t help the little whimper that bubbles out of you.

Your eyes almost flutter shut, but Yunho’s other hand dips under your raised thigh and he glances back at you with warm eyes.

“W-what,” You start to ask what that face is for, what he means to do, why he won’t speed up, but then his fingers press down on the tight ring of muscle between your cheeks and your voice cuts off in a tight moan.

“Does it feel that good, baby?” Yunho presses his fingers inside, pumping them slow and deep.

“Yun,” You moan, “more,”

For the first time all morning, he listens.

Yunho slides one hand to your clit, setting a firm pace of massaging circles while his other steadily pumps two fingers in and out of your ass, curled in just the right way to apply pressure where you need it while the slick pad of his middle finger stimulates your aching bud.

“Oh, baby,” Seonghwa smiles against your throat, “is he making you feel good?”

You nod, your face crinkling up as the edge of your orgasm starts to curl up and over you.

“Tell us how good,” Seonghwa directs, and his hand slides down your sternum and takes the chain.

“I’m,” Your breath catches and you roll your hips, “it feels so, so good,”

“Good enough to come?” Seonghwa pulls the chain and you arch with it, the pull of the clamps against your prone nipples combined with the steady pulse of hands inside you making you keen.

“Yes, fuck,” You choke.

Yunho chuckles and his hand speeds up.

“God, oh god,” You pant.

Seonghwa massages your body with his free hand, deft fingers pressing in all the right ways over the soft, plush curves of your sides, your stomach, your thighs. His opposite hand pulls the chain with the slightest bit more force.

You cry out, voice dying in your throat and your eyes clamp shut, body arching up in their hands.

“Color, darling,” Seonghwa asks quickly, “you alright?”

“Green,” You shake your head, “don’t you dare fucking stop,”

“Come,” Yunho commands, doubling his efforts on your clit, “I know you need it,”

“F-fuck,” Your body flushes with heat, slick wetness everywhere, and you can’t really get purchase on anything, but you try, your oiled hands gripping Yunho’s back and Seonghwa’s thigh.

“Come on,” He bids again, “let go,”

Seonghwa tugs the clamps again and your vision whites, your legs snapping shut and body curling as you crack open, nothing but a stuttering mess of moans and shivering limbs.

“No,” Yunho wrenches your legs back open, “I’m not done with you,”

Your mind doesn’t make sense of it until you feel the silicone nub of the suction vibrator. He works quickly, locating your clit with ease and closing the mouth of the toy over it before clicking it on. The sensation is immediate and it takes both of them holding your legs open wide to keep you from closing down on yourself and riding out the sensation.

“Good, baby, yes,” Seonghwa’s fingers are tight on your skin, “what a fucking mess you are,”

It takes all but thirty seconds of the sucking toy and Yunho’s fingers working your ass open for the familiar tight bubble to build again, only this time the pressure is all encompassing and you only have a second of conscious thought before the sound that leaves your lips is desperate and feral.

“I’m gonna fucking come,” You scramble in Seonghwa’s arms and he tugs the clamps again, “I’m- I’m gonna,”

Yunho rocks the toy, circling with the suction, and you swear you lose time.

You come so impossibly hard you think you just might bring back your migraine, but it would be worth it for this. Clear fluid pulses out of you as you release and Yunho’s saying something encouraging as he coaxes you to come more with his fingers moving fast across your slick folds, but you can’t hear him.

When your body starts to pull away from him and your moans turn to little overstimulated sobs, he pulls back and clicks off the toy, and drops low to press hungry kisses across your skin. He sighs against your inner thighs, nips at your soft belly, and can’t help himself when he takes a long, slow lap of your cunt.

“I need you right now,” He confesses, “H-Hwa move,”

“Slow down,” Seonghwa tries to bring him back down to earth, “take a breath,”

Yunho’s hands tighten on your thighs.

“Seonghwa,” You shake your head, “please,”

“Alright,” He murmurs, dropping the chain, “I got you.”

He slides out from behind you, and then Yunho’s above you, wasting no time at all. He finds your entrance with ease, rocking his hips slowly until his cockhead catches inside you, and then with a slow press forward of his hips he fully seats himself inside.

The stretch is delicious, dizzying and deep, and you moan, biting down on his shoulder.

“Am-am I hurting you?” He asks, breathless.

You shake your head, “No, you feel so perfect,”

He drops his head against yours and sighs into your hair, “God, you’re so tight, I can’t,”

Your muscles clench around him, pulsing wet and warm around his cock and he chokes, his hips dropping lower.

“Jesus, fuck,” He breathes low through his nose, “I’m trying really hard not to fuck the life out of you,”

“Mm,” You rock yourself up against his pelvis, “why don’t you,”

“Because,” He shifts back enough that he can see your face, “I said slow,”

He draws his hips back, dragging his hot length almost all the way out of your channel, before pushing in again just as torturously slowly. You moan, hard and arch in his hands, “Again, please, again,”

He does, just as slowly. He repeats himself, and then his eyes flick over your body, softening at the sight of you below him. Yunho sighs, dropping over you so that your bodies are flush together, still careful to keep the bulk of his weight off you. His mouth closes on yours, tongue dipping into your mouth, sharing one single warm breath between you as he starts to roll his hips. You taste yourself on his skin, the sharpness heady and hot between you.

You moan against his mouth, your skin slick with sweat and oil. He cups your cheek, drags his hand down your side, slipping a little and his head bumps softly against yours. You grin against his mouth and he laughs and suddenly you realize, this is your life. Held beautifully between these two men who love you like no one else has ever loved you, their child inside you, not a single second of it a dream.

Your breath hitches softly and you can’t stop staring up at him grinning.

“What?” He asks softly, studying your face.

You kiss him soft, “I love you,”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” He breathes, “so much, I can’t… I don’t even know how to say how much,”

“Show me then,” You cup his cheek, drawing him closer, “please,”

He slides his hands up the back of your arms, drawing them above you, “Hwa,”

Seonghwa catches your wrists with ease, holding them to the mattress as he moves closer to watch you both and have his hands on you. Yunho turns his head and kisses his shoulder, the closest part of Seonghwa’s skin he can reach, before snaking his way down your chest.

“Use me,” He cups your hip, drawing you tight to his body, “I don’t want to hurt you,”

“You won’t,” You assure him, threading your fingers into his hair.

He shakes his head, “Use me anyways,” he says, bearing down his hips so that your clit is pressed up hard against his pubic bone, “please,”

You draw him close, finding purchase with your heels on the mattress, and slowly you start to rock, grinding your body up into his. You sigh, the pleasant feeling of it spreading through you already, and he smiles against your chest.

Yunho’s kisses grow hotter, little bites across as your skin and his hot breath across your nipples, but you moan when his teeth close over the chain and he draws back his head, pulling it taught.

“Oh,” You shake, your hips stuttering to a stop, “oh, god,”

Yunho nods, tapping your hip with his hand and begging you to start moving again. He holds your gaze as he pulls back, and suddenly you’re straining against the lead, the clamps pulling you perfectly and striking a hot stroke of need through your entire body.

“Don’t stop,” Seonghwa offers, filling in where his husband can’t given his full mouth.

“I can’t,” You whine, almost too tired and raw to work yourself against him like he wants.

“Give her more,” Seonghwa instructs, and with just the slightest adjustment of Yunho’s head, the clamps pull harder.

You’re crumbling. Desperate need strikes in your belly and you roll up into him, your muscles are aching but if you just keep going, just a little more, you’ll give him what he wants and what you know your body needs.

His hips drop a fraction more and he hisses through his teeth, your cunt pulsing and aching as you build up, close to the edge and ready to tip over it.

“Please,” You babble, even though you don’t know what you’re begging for.

Yunho groans as you shift, his cock inside you bumping again and again into a velvet spot.

“Beautiful,” Seonghwa sighs, his hands squeezing your wrists, “look at how well you take Yunho’s cock, hmm?”

Your eyes roll, thighs starting to shake.

“Is he deep in your pretty cunt, sweet girl?” He drops his lips to your ear, pushing you closer and closer, “Do you love it?”

“Y-yes,” You work yourself against him harder, the rolling pressure of his firm body against your sensitive clit bringing you closer and closer to release.

“You do love our cocks, don’t you?” Seonghwa smiles, reaching between you and taking the chain from between Yunho’s teeth.

“God, yes,” Your legs wrap around Yunho’s hips and hold him steady as you jut against him.

“Are you close?” Yunho asks, voice broken and tight.

“L-let me go,” Your wrists jerk against Seonghwa’s hands and he releases you immediately. Your hands fly forwards, bracing on Yunho’s shoulder and side, nails digging in as you hold onto him, “please, Yunho, move, please,”

He sighs heavily, his hips jerking against yours and finally, finally he can’t resist it.

You can feel how much control he’s using, trying his best to not thrust too hard or hold you too tightly, but it doesn’t matter. The rhythmic drag of his cock over your g-spot over and over sends you up, and when Seonghwa pulls down on the chain between your bodies, it all crashes into you again.

Yunho groans at the feeling of your release, pulling back and out of you suddenly and Seonghwa switches focus. The chain drops on your chest as he moves and when your eyes open, you nearly come again just from the sight.

Yunho still has one hand braced on your hip, but leans against Seonghwa, their lips crashed together. Seonghwa’s hand works fast over Yunho’s slick cock, and with a shuddering groan Yunho comes hard, his nails digging into your skin as he paints your body with ropes of hot, white cum.

“Oh my god,” You breathe, your body still trembling.

Yunho’s chest is heaving, bright pink with blush and shining with sweat, and Seonghwa brushes his fingers through his hair, pressing kisses across his face as he releases Yunho’s now softening cock. It takes him a moment to recover, but when he does, Yunho’s eyes find yours immediately, “Okay?”

You nod, emotion flooding you as your mind finally starts to reconnect after the haze of orgasm after orgasm. Now your body is aching. You wince a little at the taut clamps, reaching for them to remove them yourself but Yunho moves more quickly.

“I got it,” He soothes you, “Does it hurt?”

“Not too much,” You ease him, sighing pleasantly as he unclips them.

“Here, love,” Seonghwa uses a towel to clean you off, and it’s no replacement for a shower but it’ll let you relax here for a little bit longer until you can trust your legs.

Yunho drops the clamps onto the side table along with the other toys, any of the ones unused forgotten in a minute. He hadn’t meant to fuck you, that wasn’t in the plan necessarily, but logic and reason left his brain the minute he saw you falling apart on his fingers.

You’re blushing hard and recovering, limbs still a little shaky, when Seonghwa clears away the towels and pulls the sheet up over your body. He tosses the towels in the hamper and clears away the clothes off the floor, and he’s heading for the shower when your brain starts firing on all cylinders.

“Seonghwa,” You call into the bathroom, listening as he starts the water.

“Hmm?” He calls.

You trade a quick smile with Yunho who’s still collapsed at your side before you call back, “Baby, I’m not done with you,”

The look on his face when slips back into the bedroom is priceless, one brow raised and his shaggy black hair a mess of slight curls, “You need more?”

“No,” You sigh, stretching and rolling onto your side, “you do,”

His eyes flick over you, “You really don’t have to,”

Yunho huffs behind you, “Just come back to bed,”

“I know I don’t have to,” You sigh, pushing yourself up to a kneeling position on the bed, “but I want to,”

Since getting up, Seonghwa had thrown a towel around his hips but you can still see the hard line of his cock beneath it, pushing against the thick fabric and begging to be touched. You wonder if he was going to try to quickly take care of things in the shower, try not to bother you with his needs, and that thought makes you want him even more.

“Hwa,” You repeat, “come over here,”

The corner of his mouth tips up in a smile and he makes his way back to the edge of the bed, “Yeah?”

Your hands slide over his chest and find the top knotted corner of the towel, “Yeah,” you breathe, pulling the towel apart and letting it drop to the floor, “Yunho, can you help?”

“What do you need, baby?” Yunho shuffles across the bed to be at your side.

“Do you think Seonghwa would like my mouth? Or yours?” You ask, feigning innocence.

“Yours,” Seonghwa interrupts, cupping your cheek, not waiting for flirty banter.

Yunho laughs softly and nods, “There’s your answer,”

“Sorry,” Seonghwa sighs, “I didn’t mean to answer that fast,”

Yunho shakes his head, “I’d pick her too,” he stands, “but maybe I can still help, hmm?”

You feel Seonghwa’s fingers twitch along your jaw as he waits for what’s next, and you take the moment to reposition. You slide down onto your front, propped up on a pillow and using your leg for leverage, and then when you look back up you’re perfectly eye to eye with his pink, aching cock.

A hand closes around it and Seonghwa moans, and your eyes flick up to see Yunho pressed flush behind Seonghwa and reaching around him. The smile on Yunho’s face is wolfish and hungry, his lips at his husband’s ear, “Do you like when I touch you?”

Seonghwa sighs heavily and melts back into him, “Yes,”

“Do you like when our baby touches you too?” Yunho pumps his hand and meets your eyes, nodding for you to get involved.

You let saliva gather in your mouth, and slowly rake your nails down Seonghwa’s bare thigh, then back up to dance close to the base of his cock, down again so your fingers can slide over his balls.

“y/n,” He chokes, “Jesus,”

“Shh,” You murmur, and with your hands braced on his hips, you let the gathered saliva drip from your tongue over his cockhead.

His cock jumps at the sensation, and Yunho’s hand sweeps up to take your saliva and work it down Seonghwa’s shaft as lubricant. You spit again, and once again Yunho catches it and pumps his hand up and down.

“Baby,” You say softly, almost lazily, pressing a featherlight kiss to his velvet tip, “can I have a taste?”

He fights the urge to jerk his hips and he nods.

You lean forward, and Yunho slides his hand away so you can work your mouth deeply over him. Seonghwa might want to take it slow with you, but you don’t want to take it slow with him. You know they’re just being careful with you, considerate and lovely given the baby, but there’s nothing you want less than to take it slow right now.

You surge forward, taking him down your throat in one move, your tongue dragging along the underside of his shaft until you’re pressed against his pubic bone and steadying your breathing.

Seonghwa’s cock jumps in your mouth and he curses, hand tight in your hair now.

“Oh, she’s hungry,” Yunho teases, “look at her,”

“I’m looking,” Seonghwa’s voice is breathy, “God, darling, warn me next time,”

You make a negative noise, and he groans at the vibration. You don’t warn him, when you draw back and sink forward again and then set a pace, your wet lips tight on his cock, tongue flicking at his length, hollowing out your cheeks to draw that suction you know makes him crumble.

“Fuck,” His hand locks onto your scalp and you moan around him.

“Does that feel good?” Yunho’s voice is husky above you, “I can give you more,”

You suck hard and Seonghwa groans and you know whatever combination of your mouth on his cock and Yunho’s hands doing something has Seonghwa ready to melt.

“Mess,” Yunho groans, “you and your pretty fucking mouth,”

Seonghwa shudders.

You pull back, taking a heaving breath and clearing your throat before you find your voice, “Fuck my face,”

Seonghwa moans and you look up to see the way that Yunho’s teeth are attached to his husband’s throat, fingers expertly tweaking at his nipples and helping make the man a shaky mess. At you words, Yunho lifts up and moves right back to Seonghwa’s ear, “Don’t make her wait,”

There’s a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, and you’re about to tell him that being pregnant does not in fact make you a virginal saint and he can and should come down your throat, but he reaches the same conclusion a second later and tugs you forward by the hand in your hair.

“I didn’t say stop,” He says gruffly, pushing your head back towards him.

You open your mouth wide and accept him with a deeply genuine sigh.

“Your mouth,” Seonghwa thrusts forwards, knocking his hips against your lips and forcing your throat open, “is almost better than your pretty pussy,”

You whine, breathing slow through your nose and opening up the back of your throat more for him.

“Almost as tight,” His hips find a rhythm, “almost as warm,”

“Almost as wet,” You feel another hand in your hair, Yunho brushing the hair from your eyes.

“But I only get to hear you like this when I’m down your throat,” Seonghwa pants, bucking his hips as he holds you perfectly still to accept him, “I’m in love with this sound,”

You choke a whine, trying again to regain your breath, and you’re dizzy but he’s so, so close.

Yunho’s hand finds yours and he gives you a squeeze, an offered lifeline if it gets to be too much, but you don’t need it. You brush your thumb along his knuckles to let him know you’re more than fine, despite the heady, wet noises in the room.

“Oh, fuck,” Seonghwa curses as his pace stammers a moment, and you double down with the suction, “fuck, darling,”

“Fill her pretty mouth,” Yunho urges him, “come,”

It takes two more thrusts before he groans, locking your head to his pelvis and spilling himself deeply down the back of your throat, so far you barely taste him.

You give him a moment, but when you’re sure he’s done and just holding you in the afterglow you squeeze Yunho’s hand.

“Come here,” Yunho must indicate something to Seonghwa, because he pulls out of your mouth slowly and takes a step back. Yunho drops into your eyeline and finds your gaze, “okay?”

You swallow hard, clearing your throat and nodding, “Mhm,”

“That was,” Seonghwa trails off, no words really enough to justify the orgasm he just had but he leans against the side table and exhales heavily.

“Really hot?” You offer.

He chuckles, “Yeah,”

As you steady you see immediately that Yunho is rock hard again and you smile, “Are we ever going to get out of this bed?”

“I have a better idea,” Yunho grins, and he moves forwards and wraps his arms around you.

“What-” You start to ask, but then he’s hauling you up over his shoulder and you’re falling apart into hysterical laughter, “Where are we going? Put me down!”

“Nope,” He says, “I’ve got more plans for you,”

Seonghwa follows you both, and then you realize the shower was never turned off. The bathroom is full of hot steam, enveloping all of you the minute Seonghwa shuts the door.

“We’re multitasking,” Yunho slides you off his shoulder to the floor, kissing your cheek as he does and reaching in to check the temperature.

Seonghwa wraps his arms around you, hand closing over your belly as he nuzzles your head, “Good, because I have plans too,”

They have you again in the shower, Seonghwa on his knees between your thighs, and then once more braced against the glass doors. It’s insatiable, your need for each other, even after all these years. You’ve shared everything with them, every inch of your body and desires. Not a single moment of it worth trading away.

It takes time to come out of your hazy morning, every time you think of pulling away something brings you back. Their lips, hands, tongues, cocks. Every part and piece of them.

But eventually, after what feels like hours, you’re clean and dry and changing the sheets.

You only have a little more time before Dasom comes home and your life changes once again forever, so you slip back into bed with them for just a little while longer.

Seonghwa strokes your stomach slowly, lips on your cheek as he does and kissing the corner of your mouth, “I think it’s a girl,”

“Yeah?” You murmur, Yunho curling closer behind your back so that you’re all tighter together.

“Mhm,” Seonghwa smiles, “I have a feeling.”

“You thought Dasom was a boy,” You point out softly.

“No,” He shakes his head, “I know it this time,”

“Do you want another girl?” You murmur.

“I think so,” He confesses, “it just feels right,”

“You know,” Yunho kisses your shoulder softly, “I think you’re right, I think it’s a girl,”

“I don’t want you to be disappointed if it’s a boy,” You find his hand between you, threading your fingers together.

“Nothing about our baby could disappoint me,” His brows knit together as he shakes his head, “girl, boy, Yunho’s… mine, it… none of it matters, it’s just a feeling,”

“You really mean that,” You smile softly.

“I really do,” He nods, “no matter what, they’ll be so loved,”

Yunho’s breath catches in your ear, and you can’t quite see his face but he reaches past you and cups Seonghwa’s face, his thumb stroking along his husband’s cheek, “Oh, yeobo,” he sighs, “of course they will.”

You duck into Seonghwa’s chest, pressing a kiss to his skin, “You have so much love to give, Hwa,”

His warm hand on your belly is a comforting weight, grounding and sure and he nods against your hair.

“Dasom will be home soon,” Yunho murmurs, and you can hear his voice is tight and shaky, “we probably shouldn’t be crying messes when she gets here,”

“I’m not crying,” You grin against Seonghwa’s chest.

“Me either,”

“Right,” Yunho takes a deep breath, “fine, I can’t be crying when she gets home then.”

“Aw,” You twist in his arms to face him, cupping his cheek, “baby,”

“Don’t,” He scrubs at his eyes, “you know I cry at everything,”

Seonghwa laughs, snuggling closer, “We know,”

“I’m just,” He sighs, “fuck, I’m really happy,”

“Me too,” You kiss him softly.

Seonghwa nods, “Me too,”

“Sometimes I think about the night we met,” Yunho smiles, pushing your hair behind your ear and glancing over your shoulder at Seonghwa who makes a soft humming noise of recognition.

“Yeah?” You cup his cheek.

“We almost left you there,” Yunho confesses, “did I ever tell you that?”

“No,” You study his eyes.

“We were watching you for a little while,” He strokes your neck softly, “and I said we shouldn’t bother you. You looked ready for a date, I was sure whoever the guy was was just running late. You looked… beautiful, I thought there was no way someone would let you just sit there all night.”

“You’ve never told me that,” You shake your head, “are you serious?”

“Mhm,” He nods, and then his eyes travel up to Seonghwa, “but then he said, ‘What’s the worst that happens? We buy a pretty girl a drink and go home?’”

The idea that they would have left, there at the end of the bar one second and gone the next. Interesting strangers and a passing thought in your whole life.

“So you changed your mind?” You manage.

“It would have been the worst mistake of my life,” Yunho says.

“Our lives,” Seonghwa corrects.

“Mine too,” You tug them closer, wrapping them tight around you, “and I wouldn’t have even known it,”

Your phone buzzes on the side table and you smile, it’s probably close to that time. Dasom would be ancy to come home and at the end of Nari’s good graces. You shift to get up, but they tug you right back down.

“Five more minutes,” Yunho shakes his head.

“But,” You start to say.

“Just five,” He repeats.

For a little longer, it’s just the three of you. Tucked between them, you imagine the life you might have had without them. You would have found someone, you might have had children with them. You might have bought a house or moved out of Seoul. You would probably be happy, in that other life in that other place, you might be happy it’s not impossible. But it wouldn’t be this. Full, complete, whole. You might in some other life be a wife, but not their wife. You might in some other life have a child, but not Dasom. Not this new life. You can’t conceive of it. You’re sure you would have figured it out, but you can’t really imagine how without them.

Your phone rings again on the nightstand, and slowly you unfold yourself from their arms to pick it up. Yunho slips his hand under the hem of your shirt while you talk to Nari, Seonghwa presses warm kisses across your neck. Not long now.

The day stretches into itself until the afternoon sun warms your sheets and your skin. The door downstairs opens and you hear your daughter's fast footfalls on the stairs. Your stomach turns with nervous butterflies, but your husbands hold you close and the wing beats calm to a subtle flutter. You think maybe they’re not butterflies, maybe they’re something more. In an excited rush Dasom pushes through the door and throws herself up on the bed. Strong arms catch her and bring her in to cuddle close. She’s home, and now you all are too, together always.

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