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wittlesissyb4by · 9 hours

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Chapter 3

Max hasn’t said anything today. I was up when he was getting ready for work, which is weird because I’m usually never up this early. But I guess I…wanted something to happen. I’m not exactly sure what I wanted. Last night seemed like it was a dream.

Did I dream that?

No. It was definitely real. I remember the taste of his cock, the taste of his cum. No dream is that vivid. No dream can make me that turned on. So I don’t know what I expected when I got up this morning, but I guess I was just hopeful for …something. Words of affirmation, a hug, a chance to suck his cock again…

Honestly just an acknowledgment of my presence would have been nice. But he didn’t even do that, just sipped his coffee while scrolling through his phone at the table.

“Can I get you anything?” I want to say, but bite my tongue, not wanting to sound like some sort of desperate housewife. I want to address the elephant in the room, to talk about yesterday, whether or not we’re square. Did the blowjob I gave him really justify a whole month’s rent? Does he want more? Do I want more? How weird will our relationship be if we were to start some sort of strange sexual dynamic? What if it stops? What if it continues?

“Well, I’m off to work.” he says, pushing back his chair, gathering up his things and heading out the door without so much as a glance my way.

“Okay by–” but it doesn’t even get all the way out of my mouth before the door slams shut.

Maybe he’s mad. Maybe he regrets what happened. I mean, it was his doing. He initiated it all and I just…let it happen.

Helped it happen.

I wasn’t exactly a helpless victim. It was me that was bobbing up and down on his big juicy cock by my own accord. God it tasted good. It felt good. Something I've denied myself for so long.

I’m not gay. At least, I don’t think I am. I’ve always had an affinity for women. They are majestic, beautiful creatures. I love seeing their eyes and smiles brighten up a room. The way they laugh and can have fun and dance like no one is watching. The curve of their hips, their breasts. Their supple movements, the way they casually tuck their hair behind their ear, and bat their eyelashes. There is no doubt that they are by far the more attractive sex.

But I've always been plagued with a feeling of inferiority. Not being the biggest in the penis department has left me with anxiety that I won’t be able to perform or please them the way ‘real’ men can. I have lingering visions of women standing around, laughing at me because I have a shy bladder and can’t pee in a toilet in a timely manner. Or I take off a beautiful woman’s clothes and she laughs at the size of my dick, or is disappointed when it's not able to get hard due to my underlying fear and shame.

The combination of these phobias has most likely caused my brain to warp them into a series of fetishes. It sexualized my short-comings. I get turned on by a woman insulting the size of my penis. I get hard to the idea of them laughing at me, degrading me, humiliating me.

My timidity when it comes to peeing in a toilet must have spawned the retention of such. ‘Since you can’t even use the toilet properly, maybe your teeny wieny is better suited for diapers instead!’ I imagine those laughing girls saying.

All of this culminates into this whirlpool of self-doubt, and leaves me feeling like less of a man than others. Thus, I guess, is where the sissy stuff came from. Perhaps it was society’s fault. In our culture, anyone not befitting of a masculine, alpha, macho-man persona is unabashedly called a ‘sissy’. I figured out pretty early that I belonged in that category, and must have accepted it from an early age.

Years of watching and reading porn only exacerbated my ‘problems’. I quickly learned what kind of things I enjoyed, and even found things I didn’t know I would enjoy. I was always attracted to diapers, but I didn’t know they could be combo’d with skirts and dresses. That was new. Two of my favorite things merged together in a perfect amalgamation. Combo that with a superior woman speaking to me in a humiliating, patronizing manner? Gold. Solid gold.

Then one day I found a video of a woman calling me a ‘wittle sissy baby’ and telling me she had a bottle for me. But this wasn’t just any bottle. It was a special bottle. And that’s when she brought in the giant dick that was waiting off screen.

I’ve never been attracted to men. Honestly. I’ve never looked at a man and found myself sexually attracted to them. Well, other than Ryan Reynolds, but that doesn’t count. I’m comfortable enough to tell when a man is good-looking, and can acknowledge it, but that’s usually as far as it goes. The idea of kissing, dating, or being romantic with a man does nothing for me. But the cock? Well…that’s a different story.

I guess the inferiority complex I have with women carried over to men as well. I’m not naive enough to think I’m anything above the bottom of the totem pole. I consider myself the bottom of the societal barrel. A subservient. A willing participant to what others desire. A submissive. To anyone, regardless of sex or gender. And so, I guess my brain can’t differentiate between who it is that I’m serving. But porn quickly told me that, if you’re a sissy, you’re going to spend a lot of time serving men.

I’m not sure if it’s a deep desire I’ve held all along, or if I unknowingly Pavlov’d myself into it, but eventually the idea of being dressed up like a little diaperslut and sucking some dick became a very big fantasy of mine.

And so we circle back to Max. We’ve lived together for almost 2 years, and in that time I’ve never imagined myself with him. He’s a big, burly, ‘alpha’ male, but not even once did I fantasize about being on my knees in front of him, sucking and worshiping his cock.

So now I’m conflicted. Did I enjoy what happened? I don’t think there’s any denying that. But I’m still hesitant. Caught in this weird limbo of right and wrong. I just got a little carried away, that’s all. I only did it because he told me to. Because I needed a place to live. If I didn’t do it, I was going to have to live on the streets. I was doing it for survival. Right?

He doesn’t say anything when he gets back from work. Just sighs in that exasperated way one does when they come home after a long day. He grabs a beer from the fridge, plops down on the couch, and turns on SportsCenter.

I sit in the chair several feet away and act like I'm interested. “So the Bruins had the best record in the regular season?” I ask, parroting what the news anchors are saying, “and the most points in franchise history? And they still lost in the first round of the playoffs?”

He just nods absentmindedly, lounging on the couch and putting his hat over his head.

Assuming he’s about to take a nap, I stand up to leave. Heading out of the living room.

“Where are you going?” he asks abruptly beneath his cap.

“I was going to go play some games.” I reply, a bit disconcerted.

“No you’re not.” He says simply.

“I’m not?”

“No.”

I don’t say anything for a bit, just have my mouth hanging open in confusion, so he continues.

“You’re going to put on an outfit for me.” He says, “The schoolgirl outfit will do.” He doesn’t need to clarify, but he does anyway: “The slutty one.”

My stomach drops. From fear or excitement I'm not exactly sure. “I…wh-what do–”

“Get made up for me.” He says, still talking beneath his hat, “I want you to look your best.”

******

My hands shake as I apply the last bit of mascara to my lashes. I’m not sure if I'm giddy with excitement or fear. Is this really happening?

I usually revel in the idea of dressing up like a little slut, but no one has actually seen the finished product. What is he going to do when he sees me like this? Will he humiliate me? Laugh at me? Tease me? Fuck me?

My mind swims with the possibilities. I stand up and check myself in the mirror. I definitely look passable, maybe even fuckable. After readjusting the ‘breasts’ of my stuffed shirt, I take a little turn, watching my mini-skirt lift as I twirl. I feel…pretty. Desirable. I just hope he agrees. There’s butterflies in my stomach and I don’t even know what’s about to happen. Maybe it’s the thrill of the unknown, but I feel ready for any possibility.

The only thing left is to figure out what to put beneath my skirt. Should I wear a diaper? It certainly would be my first choice, but would it be his? A pair of pampers doesn’t exactly scream ‘slutty’, and I don’t want to turn him off or scare him away from whatever might take place. So I decided on a pair of skimpy boy-shorts. It only just hits me how ironic that term is. I didn’t feel like much of a boy when I wrapped them around my parts. If anything, it was like putting the final nail in the coffin that made me feel like a girl.

One last glimpse in the mirror before I saunter off into the unknown. I open my door with trepidation, it seems to creak louder than usual. I creep through the hall, the house is eerily quiet. At first I think he’s left, some kind of cruel joke. Or maybe he’s just napping. Should I wake him if he is? How awkward would that be? Hey Max, wake up, time to see your roommate dressed like a cheap whore.

But when I turn the corner, he’s sitting on the couch, bolt upright, a big smile on his face.

I scrunch up as I walk in front of him, suddenly very self-conscious. Does my hair look okay? What do I say? What do I do? Luckily, he helps me.

“Turn around.”

I do, legs quivering.

“All the way.”

A complete twirl. My arms stiff at my sides.

“Relax. Give me a little curtsy.”

I feel myself loosen a bit as I grab the hem of my tiny skirt, jut my leg out, and dip shakily.

I can feel his eyes panning me over. I feel like an object, a painting on the wall for him to admire, and I don’t exactly hate the feeling.

“Face away from me.” He growls. His voice is a little shaky, is he nervous too? Or is it…something else?

I tiptoe around, facing the TV. It’s off, so I can see my face reflecting in the black screen. I can see him too, he’s smiling, and his hand is rubbing over the front of his pants.

“Bend over.”

I do, hinging at the waist. I can feel the breeze hit the bottom of my cheeks as my skirt lifts, exposing my panties.

“You have such a nice ass.”

It’s such a strange comment. Not creepy, just…something he’s never said to me before. It makes me warm inside, to be complimented in such a way.

“Th-thank you…” I squeak awkwardly.

“Come here.” He says.

I turn, moseying up to him, perhaps a little too eagerly.

“Knees.”

I drop again, the same position I was in last night.

He’s still rubbing his pants. I can see his bulge, I can see his cock in my mind, my mouth subconsciously starts to water.

“I’m going to be honest.” He says. “I spent all weekend masturbating to the thought of you in this outfit.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, but it was oddly enticing. Someone imagining me? Using me as the object of their desires, and actually jerking off to it? I never knew that would be such a confidence boost.

“But seeing you now, it’s even better.”

I can’t help but smile.

“Do you like wearing it?” He asks, “Things like this?”

I look down at myself, covered from head to toe in feminine attire. The way it accentuates my curves and gives me this overwhelming feeling of joy is indescribable. But I only give a sheepish nod. “Mhmm”

“Good.” He smiles, “Because you will be dressed like this very often. If you want me to pay your rent, you are going to be my personal…what word would you like me to use? ‘Slave’? ‘Slut’? ‘Pet’? ‘Bitch’? ‘Whore’?”

“Yes.” I say, indicating I wanted to be all of them. Any word he used to describe me would suffice.

He nods in understanding. “Every day you will do what I say, when I say. Is that understood?”

“Yes.”

“Yes sir.” He corrects.

“Yes sir.” I repeat.

He reaches a gruff hand out, cupping my chin, rubbing a rough thumb over my cheek. It makes me feel small, subservient, obedient. Like a puppy getting patted. He slips his thumb between my glossy lips. Without even thinking, I start to suck on it.

“How do you want to do this?” He asks, “do you want me to be gentle? Or do you prefer me to be rough and mean?”

It doesn’t take me long to think of the answer. “Rough.” I say around his thumb, then resume sucking.

“You’re sure?” He says, eyebrows raised. “I can be quite harsh.”

I nod, bobbing my head over his thumb like it’s a cock, wishing it were a cock. “Yes sir.”

“Okay.” He shrugs, plopping his thumb from my mouth. “Our safe word will be ‘Roomie’. Use it whenever you feel I’ve gone too far.”

I nod, doubting I would ever need to do so .

He smiles, sitting back, then taps his leg. “Up.”

I’m a bit taken aback, not sure about the order, so he repeats.

“Up. Over my leg. Let’s go.”

Now I understand. I whimper as I crawl over his lap, I’m not sure if I’m just playing a part or am genuinely scared. Perhaps a bit of both. I can feel his cock pulsing in his pants as I put my own almost directly on top of it.

“Someone’s a little excited already.” He chuckles, reaching beneath my skirt to tickle my throbbing boner. He doesn’t pay it much mind though. I can feel him lifting my skirt so that my cheeks are exposed. “Look at your pretty panties.” He muses. I don’t even have time to thank him before I feel a sharp swat on my ass.

“Nnghh!” I yelp.

“You like that?” He asks sternly.

I bite my lip, ass still stinging, but nod. “Yes sir.” My voice is higher pitched, as if falling into submission has caused it to raise an octave.

Five sharp swats, one on each cheek. I whimper with each one. I’ve never gotten a spanking before, I didn’t imagine it would hurt quite so bad. Max doesn’t seem to be holding back, but I trust him. I know this isn’t his first time. I’ve heard the same smacks and yelps coming from his room when he’s brought home a girl–or even a guy sometimes. He seems to be no stranger to a D/s relationship.

Twenty more smacks in quick succession. My ass is on fire now. Where I was embellishing a bit before, my cries of pain have become much more genuine. I grip the cushions of the couch as he shows no signs of stopping.

By 40…or is it 50? I’ve lost count. But I’m having to bite my bottom lip to keep from screaming. Finally, he stops. I can feel the heat radiating from my butt. But my reprieve is short lived, he just needed time to yank my panties down. I give some pitiful plea of “no no no, please!” as he raises his hand to begin the onslaught again.

At around 60 or 70, I’m in literal tears.

“Do you remember your word?”

I nod, sniffling.

“Do you want to use it?”

I clench my eyes closed at what I’m about to say, shaking my head “no sir…”

I can feel him smiling down at me. “Okay then…”

My arms are flailing and legs are kicking with every smack now. He grips the former with his non-spanking hand, and throws his leg over my floundering thighs.

I regret every second of not using the safeword. I still consider using it, but I want to be strong. I want to impress him, as silly as it sounds. I bite my knuckle to keep myself from screaming loud enough to wake the neighbors.The leather of the couch is slick from my tears and snot. His blows aren’t as fast anymore, but they're stronger and more pronounced. Each one makes me squeal and sob pathetically. Whatever respect he had for me before has probably evaporated long ago.

After what seems like forever, the swats finally stop. I’m bawling into the cushions of the couch, and my ass feels like it’s black and blue. It’s a good thing I don’t have a job at the moment, because I doubt I would be able to sit at a desk tomorrow.

“You okay?” he asks softly. His voice has dropped that rough, hardness from before. I nod, not sure whether or not I’m lying.

I feel him fumble for something in his pants. I hear the click of a cap, then a squirt. A cooling sensation coats my buttcheeks as he runs his hand over them with some type of lotion. Did he have that in his pocket this whole time?

Whatever it is, it feels good against my burning bum. He rubs it sensually, taking his time, being gentle despite the damage he inflicted before.

“This is what will happen if you disobey me,” He says. I believe him, and it’s enough to make me not want to ever think about acting up.

He squirts another dollop of lotion, but this time it’s between my cheeks. I can feel his fingers coaxing my crack open. Tracing, searching for my little button.

“I like that you shave your pussy,” He says, “I want it to stay this way.”

I whimper, twitching as he pokes and prods at my hole. I can feel his dick stiffening in my lap as he presses his finger into me. The most pathetic moan escapes my lips before I can stop it. He plunges his finger deeper and deeper into me. I welcome every single knuckle, even press my hips backwards, hungry for more.

He chuckles again, “Such a little slut you are.”

I’m panting, like a bitch in heat. The combination of his finger and his words are driving me crazy. I’m humping backwards against his finger desperately as he presses down on my prostate. Mixed with the now dull throb of my blistered cheeks, it’s almost too much to handle. I’ve always enjoyed my pleasure spiked with pain.

He raises my hips up so that he can have access to my dangling dick underneath. “Such a teeny weeny clitty” he teases, wrapping two fingers around it. He works his hand up and down on my cock while driving his finger in me from behind. Before I know it, I feel that familiar tingle.

“Ask permission to cum.” he growls.

“Can I cum, sir?” I moan, not even bothering to try to make myself sound the least bit masculine. It’s pitchy and pathetic and desperate.

“Not yet.” He continues to work me with his masterful hands. I groan into the couch, grabbing at the cushions, his burly legs, a pillow, anything.

“Please!” I shout, “Sir! Can I cum?! PLEASE!”

I can’t hold out any longer. It’s by some small miracle that he says “You may,” just before I explode all over his lap. A second later and it would have happened without his say-so. What would he have done if I were to cum without his permission? I loathe to find out. He shoves me down on the floor in a heap, gasping for breath. It takes me a couple minutes to collect myself. When I do, he’s still smiling down at me in a victorious sort of way.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” he asks.

“Y-yes…sir…” I say between breaths.

“Good.” he says, “Because you have a mess to attend to.”

He points down at the gooey, white puddle I made on the crotch of his pants.

“Every load you make ends up in your mouth.” He growls, “Do you understand?”

“Yes sir…”

“Clean me up then.”

I don’t have the same eagerness as I did before. I’m a bit repulsed as I crawl between his legs and start lapping up my loser goo. But as my tongue runs over his pants I can feel the outlines of his hardening cock. I suck and slurp the mess off the hem of his pants, running my tongue through the flap of the zipper, making sure I get every last drop. He’s damp by the time I’m done, but he doesn’t seem to care.

He stands up. Again, it’s almost like nothing just happened. He goes to the cabinet, pulls out a glass, fills it up with water and takes a long swig. “Ahhh…” he exhales, looking off into the distance, then eventually back at me. “Go to my room.” He says, “I want you on my bed. Face down. Ass up.”

******

“This is my asshole now!” Max grunts, slapping my tender cheeks while he pumps his cock in and out of my rectum. “Tell me whose ass this is!”

The pillow is moist from me biting and drooling on it to keep from screaming. His dick feels amazing, but I’m not used to being pounded like this. There was only so much training I could do with my dildo…

“It’s your ass, sir!” I squeak louder than the springs of the mattress.

“Daddy.” He growls. “Call me Daddy.”

“It’s your asshole, Daddy! It’s your asshole!”

“I own you,” he groans, “Do you understand??”

“Yes Daddy!” I really gotta get my voice under control. It gets so whiny and wimpy when I’m getting fucked.

I can feel his dick swelling, getting even stiffer than I thought possible. “I’m going to cum!” He tells me, “Where do you want me to cum?”

“In my asshole, Daddy!”

“Whose asshole?!”

“Your asshole!!” I correct.

I can hear him laughing between the grunts, I wonder if we’ll joke about this later. It’s amazing what people say in the heat of the moment.

“I’m gonna breed you like a little bitch!”

“Cum inside me Daddy!”

“You’re fucking miiiine!!” an exasperated groan, a warmth filling my insides, I can feel him convulse behind me as he deposits his load in my rectum. He removes his member and collapses on the bed shortly after.

I don’t know what to do at this point. What do you say to someone that just came inside of you? ‘Thanks’? I wait for him to come to, still in the doggy-style position.

He peeks an eye open. “Go to your room.” He says. “You’re not sleeping here.”

I wonder if, now that he’s lost his lust, he’s no longer interested in me. Is this how girls feel all the time? Constantly wondering whether or not they’re good enough? Worrying if they’ve done something wrong?

I climb off the bed and take the (luckily short) walk of shame back to my room, his cum leaking down my leg.

When I enter through my door, there’s a buzzing coming from my desk. Did I leave one of my vibrating toys on?

No…it’s just my phone, but it shows you where my head has been all day. The light stings my eyes as I look at it. My stomach drops a bit when I see who’s calling.

I tap the little green button.“Hello?”

“You know, Jake…” Zoey’s sweet voice says, “Part of having a girlfriend means you have to actually talk to her on the phone every once in a while!”

To Be Continued

If you're liking where this is going, and would like to read more, head on over to SubStar! My subscribers are currently reading Chapter 7!

#roomies

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fated-normal-767 · 1 month

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I don’t think you ever elaborated on Iris stabbing Python in the thigh with a screw driver, care to change that ?

hm. I think I do care to change that (read more because I wrote a whole damn paragraph about that freak❗️)

well initially a damaging impact to a central part of a computer system would be like stabbing an ice pick into someone’s brain, so it’d cause almost all typical signs of a seizure; sudden muscle movement, collapsing, inability to respond coherently to input, and possible inability to breathe. Python designed himself to have extremely human responses and biological systems, so despite a lack of real lungs or muscles, all of those are still entirely possible visible symptoms. In terms of actually being stabbed, it’d have the same feeling of pain as being stabbed while the impact was just in pythons ‘flesh’ but impact with an actual motherboard component would cause an override of initial programmed reactions (in which he’d normally feel a human amount of pain and react as if physically injured due to the stimuli created, even if no key components are damaged at all) and start causing responses and stimuli more in line with a program trying to desperately diagnose, redirect, and reassign errors. In order to figure out what solutions should take place, an error diagnosis would require increased awareness of both the sensation of the stabbing, and all the created error input, probably causing signal and awareness of other stimuli to become temporarily impaired, and an appearance of either collapsing entirely or going into shock. The pain of the stabbing would probably come back at this point, after being dulled by error inputs. For a redirecting of necessary functions, he’d probably lose feeling entirely in the site of the injury, and gain an increased awareness of sensation at any other sites of key components, which then are assigned any recovery processes, and at which point, shock and seizure symptoms would wear off, but python would remain unconscious for a short period of time till all errors were repressed or dealt with to a limited extent- if he remained unconscious till entirely repaired, he’d be incredibly vulnerable to more injuries with absolutely 0 ways to defend himself. Shortly after regaining consciousness he would feel nauseous, or some similar experience, and would probably be much more vulnerable to sensory overstimulation and overload considering he has less capacity to process stimuli.

#whether this is my medical knowledge programming knowledge or strange freakish behaviours talking I do not know.#but. hm. I mean it reads like a medical report but it can also be easily read as about gay sex (unintentional but not surprising)#this is the basic medical perspective on what must’ve happened #but be aware that iris was there too and he was freaking the fuck out #most likely trying to help but with extremely limited knowledge of how #so probably just providing more ‘unwanted’ stimuli for the already overwhelming seizure type shit #and unwanted is in quotation marks for whatever reasons you think it should be ❗️#maybe this can’t be read as like gay sex at all and there’s just something wrong with #my perceptions of medical situations and analysis. but it’#it’s Whatever.#theproject.

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ohcaptains · 1 year

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abby love spell

pairing. abby anderson x f!reader

synopsis. abby’s been handsy all damn day. can’t even take her hands off of you on patrol, where she should be focusing on something far more important...like staying alive. naively, you think watching a movie will distract her. it’s no use, really.

an. anyway slay. this is based off of this request that someone sent years, nay, millennia ago. what can i say, i was busy procrastinating writing and focusing on playing the game. again. pls enjoy, comment and reblog, etc. it makes the gay thoughts stronger<3 (not showing in tags so reblogs appreciated)

warnings. 18+. please do not read or interact with my blog if you’re a minor. do not copy my shit, i’ll find out. hand on throat (no choking), house wife kink, f!receiving penetration, strap on sex, lots of description of spit because i’m insane. references to oral, but no description. soz. maybe next time champ.

Something was up with Abby.

She’d always been an affectionate girlfriend, but today, she was stuck to you like glue. The pair of you, alongside Manny and Nora, had left for patrol in the morning. You had been busy making sure the truck was stocked, while Abby was busy trying to find a way to keep her hands on you at all times.

You were bent over the crates, checking and re-checking the contents, when her hands had slid onto your hips, thumbs looping into the belt buckles.

You went to flinch, hand coming out to grab hers, but you felt the familiar scabs on her knuckles. The familiar bumps of her veins – the map you knew off by heart.

“Hi Abby,” you sang, patting the back of her hand. Her chest pushed against your back, chin coming to rest on your shoulder. “Whatcha doing?” she asked, fully aware of what you were doing.

You answered her though – anything to keep her locked against you like this. There were a couple of layers of fabric between you, but you could still feel the heat radiating off of her.

“Packing the guns.”

Abby hummed, then grabbed at your hip, using it to twist you to face her. You grunted an oft! grabbing the lapels of her jacket to stabilise yourself.

“Shit – Abby,” you scorned, but she ignored you. Instead, she flexed her arms, and you couldn’t see the lines of muscles due to her jacket, but the bulge of her biceps was there all the same.

“Already got 'em, look,” she grinned, wiggling her brows, and you patted her chest, an amused frown on your face.

“What is with you?” you asked, smoothing out her jacket. “Ben put a little something extra in your porridge this morning?”

“I’m just my regular, goofy ol’ self – what do you mean?”

Her blue gaze flicked to your top, visible from underneath your open jacket.

“That’s my top,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Oh yeah – sorry,” you quickly spoke, glancing down at it, and thus not noticing the tick in Abby’s jaw. She always loved you in her clothes. Loved the way they draped over you – especially the jagged arm holes she cut into them.

The fabric would always hang loose at your sides, and she’d spend all day glimpsing at the drag of it over your chest. “Lights went out in the East block when you were at the gym. Had to get dressed in the dark—” you’re cut off, the surprise of Abby’s head dropping against your chest rendering your vocabulary to just one word, "Abby!”

“Mm,” she hummed, pushing her forehead between your breasts, “smells like me.” “Abby—” you said again, a giggle cracking at your lips. Your hands fumbled for her shoulders, shoving her away, or at least trying to – Abby was dead weight. You admired her strength. Loved it, but it was times like this when it was a hindrance to your mental stability. Finally, she stretched back to her height, shit eating grin on her face.

You were too busy transfixed on her features, that you didn’t notice her hands coming out to the bottom of your coat. Suddenly, she pulled the zip up to the top, and she knocked your chin up with her knuckle, leaning down to give you a deep kiss.

You went somewhere else for a second, the drag of her tongue knocking reality out of the way. Melted, succumb to her sudden overwhelming taste -- but she pulled away too soon.

“Cold out,” she grinned, hands rubbing at the length of your now-covered chest, and you were too dazed to respond.

It was like that all. Damn. Day.

She never once stopped playing around with you.

She’d boost you up walls, hands sliding under your thighs in an attempt to push you up. Hand at the bottom of your back to signal you to walk faster, hands on your hips to pull you out of the way.

Pulling you around like a damn rag doll.

Nice shot, she’d say, when it was actually pretty average.

Good girl, she casually praised, after you’d jumped and grabbed her arm, letting her pull you up onto a roof. That one had got you -- had to take a second to gather yourself as she spoke to Manny about which direction you were going.

Got to an abandoned warehouse and she pulled you to the side, sparing a few minutes to kiss you against a stack of boxes.

What’re you doing? You’d asked, and all she said was, kissing my girlfriend.

Now, you’re trying to watch a movie together.

Or at least, you’re trying to watch a movie – she’s too busy touching you to focus on the plot.

You’re comfy on your shared bed, resting on her broad chest as you sit between her muscular thighs, and she’s keeping you there by the arm she’s got slung around your front – bicep on your shoulder – as she lazily kisses at your neck.

It’s distracting, to say the least.

“’um trying to watch,” you whisper, eyes fluttering closed for a brief second. The movie buzzes at you – an 80’s flick, all electronic beams, and bright colours. It’s about robots, and when Mel had brandished the disk in front of you last month, you’d been eager to have a watch.

Now, the direction Abby’s mouth is taking is far more interesting.

She scatters lazy, wet smooches over your neck, pausing before she places another as if she’s painting a picture. The drag of it makes you lethargic — makes you comfy and loose in Abby’s grip.

You want nothing more than to give into her touch. You’ve spent the whole day trying to shove down the overwhelming feeling of desire that she’d been pulling out of you. But you’ve been meaning to watch this movie for months.

No, you tell yourself. Focus. You breathe in, and shake your head, snapping back to the screen.

Abby hums. She’s so warm and soft -- her muscular chest surprisingly comfortable – that it’s lulling you into a sense of submission. You rest back against her, enveloped in her arms. Enveloped in the soft brush of her lips against your throat.

Focus, you repeat to yourself.

Got to give this movie back to Mel tomorrow, she’s been asking for it for weeks. “You can watch,” Abby whispers, brushing her mouth over your ear. The wetness of her lips forces a shiver down your spine. You try and run from it, shuffling in her grip, but Abby keeps you steady – lazily locked against you with her arm slung over your shoulder. “Just let me kiss you,” she breathes, placing a soft, delicate one on your ear lobe. Your eyes flutter again. She smells fresh from the shower. Smells clean, like her soap – pine and mint. Her hair is down too – you love it when her hair is down – and it hangs long, smelling like…strawberries? Your shampoo. Fuck fuck fuck. You shake your head, “can’t focus on the movie when you’re kissing me like that.” Abby smiles against your neck, and you feel it – feel it curve against your skin. “Sounds like a you problem.” “You’re an asshole,” you whisper, and she laughs.

“Just be quiet and watch the movie,” she orders, wide palm rubbing your bare thigh. “Quit whining.”

You grumble, mumbling something under your breath, but you do go quiet, and thankfully, she does slow her kissing. Resorts to nuzzling your neck instead, while her left hand continues to rub at your thigh.

It is nice, and you manage a couple of minutes of this, relaxing and watching the movie before you feel her hand sliding upwards.

You inhale sharply. Breathe in her scent. Wait for her to slow down. Wait for her to stop. Yet she never does.

Her long, thick fingers leisurely flutter over your bare skin as her hand inches to where you suddenly want it – God, do you – tantalisingly close to the boxers you’re wearing. Hers.

Your whole outfit is hers and you swear she’s going to touch you, or at least brush her fingers against you, but she pulls back. Slides her hand away, wide palm retreating to your knee.

Disappointment twangs.

You try not to think about it, but the buzz she’d sparked settles low in your belly.

The film continues with its garish colours and cheesy dialogue. Buzzes and crackles, its movie star taking up the screen for an up-close shot. You swallow down the fluttering of your heart.

She’s still kissing you.

Her lips are wet, exploring. Nose cold as it nuzzles against your ear lobe, breath warm as she breathes, and her tongue darts out, skimming over your throat before she kisses the spit away. You hum, hips pushing again, and Abby palms at your inner thigh.

“Shhh, baby. Can’t hear the movie with all your whimpering.” The breath of her whisper flutters over your neck, forcing goosebumps to rise to the surface. You roll your eyes back and try and convince yourself that it’s from annoyance rather than pleasure.

Her hand starts again, faster now, smoothing over your skin, not giving you enough time as she just brushes the tips of her fingers over your underwear, and your hand jolts out.

“Abby,” you warn, grabbing it. You intertwine your fingers with hers, stopping it in its tracks — clutching it on your lap, and Abby hums a laugh into your neck.

“Not gonna let me touch you there?” she teases, using the hand you’re holding to rub at your groin.

You’re betrayed by your own knuckles, the touch forcing your thighs to clench together, and hips to jolt up at the sensation. You hate it. Love it, really. She’s winding you up like a toy. “Abby,” you whisper, conflicted. The tv hisses its dialogue, music singing – a car crashes into a wall, and the antagonist cackles in delight. Who’s the villain again? Abby hums a pleased, “Hm?” into your ear. You don’t know. Just have to spit her name out. Get it out of you, before it’s back, brimming at your lips like an omission of truth.

She pushes her hand into yours, forcing your knuckles to rut against your crotch again, and fuck, your legs widen an inch, welcoming the feeling and silently begging for more.

She’s smiling, sickly sweet – you know it. Know her. Know she’s grinning from the gradual win.

You keep a hold of her hand as she rubs it into you, coaxing something warm and tingly to build between your thighs. Your face goes hot.

You suddenly can’t remember the plot of this movie. Try to come up with something convincing to Mel for when she asks for your review, but your temporal lobe has stopped working.

All you can think about is the sensation between your thighs, the comforting tickle on your chest from Abby’s hair, and the smell of her – familiar, all-consuming. She runs the tips of her teeth over the flesh of your throat, and “Abs,” you gasp, free hand grabbing onto her forearm.

Her tongue comes out, soothing the scratch from her teeth and you shift, shocked, hips bucking back against her, legs falling open, and she takes advantage – drops your hand and flattens her palm between your thighs, cupping your clothed pussy.

“Shit,” you gasp, clutching her strong forearm with both hands in surprise.

You can’t believe you’ve let her win.

She’s not even moving, just holding you, but the pressure is enough to force your thighs together, pussy clenching around nothing.

“Um’ gonna break up with you,” you quickly rush, eyes clenching closed. Abby cackles. Says, “Yeah?” “Mm,” you hum, nodding, fidgeting, trying to get her to fucking move. “Okay –“she breathes, stuffing her fingers low, thick of them pressing against you. Your mind goes fizzy. She talks. “--After I make you come though, right?” Your face clenches together, your mouth falling open. “You’re the worst,” you brandish, lying through your teeth. Meaning it wholeheartedly.

She hushes you, “Shhh, I know,” and watches your facial expressions change – watches you try to self-soothe.

“The worst,” you repeat, voice cracking. Somehow, Abby’s lips get closer to your ear.

“I know baby, but I’ll make it good, promise.”

Her admission forces your eyes open, and you look down at where she’s got you – thick fingers barely pushing against your clothed slit, and God, you have to – have to grind your cunt against her. One slight roll of your hips, up and up, then down, and you huff, curse under your breath because Jesus Christ.

“Or you’ll do it for me.” “Shut up.” “No – do it again.”

You do. With your hands holding the forearm she’s got buckled against your collarbones, you hitch your hips up, and she keeps her hand tense, making it good for you. Makes sure the ball of her palm pushes into your clit, and you sigh. A tremor shoots through your belly.

“Keep doing that,” she mutters, mouth close enough that her words echo through your brain. “I wanna see.” She grabs a fistful of your shirt and drags it up. The cool air hits the soft skin of your belly, but Abby warms you as her arm flattens against it, hefty and comforting.

You watch her strong arm transfixed. Watch the muscles tick as her hand flexes, the scars on her skin white and shiny in the dull buzz of the TV screen.

Her fingers rub at your pussy, and your hips move, back arches, grinding against her palm, your breathing hitching and catching.

She’s barely touching your clit, just brushing it, and the sensation slowly builds, pushing, making you reach down and fumble for her hand, pushing it deeper into you.

“Abs,” you choke, and she groans. Nods against your neck and admits, “wanted to fuck you all day.”

Heat rushes over you, forces you to clench together and pathetically whimper. “Been obsessed with me all day,” you breathe.

In your cloudy vision, you catch sight of the TV screen, the movie playing out to two people who couldn’t care less. Yet you try and focus, but it’s hard to multitask with her hand between your thighs.

The antagonist is being arrested, and you have no fucking clue as to why. Probably something to do with the car explosion – or was it a truck? Abby carries on kissing you, sucking at the soft skin, bruising you with her sweet lips and tongue, “m’ always obsessed with you,” she purrs, the hand she’s got strapped across your collarbones soothing the skin of your shoulder. “Mm, yeah – but something --” she rubs the ball of her palm over your clit, pushes it, this time, and your sentence catches. “Shit —” you hiss, eyes rolling back. A shiver runs down your spine as your brain short circuits. Desperately, you try to keep a hold of reality, try not to fall into the dizziness of it all.

Sometimes that happened with Abby. You didn’t mind, but you wanted to hold on to your consciousness for a little while longer. You huff, shake your head – try to remember your next sentence. “Something different about today.”

“Had a dream that I fucked you last night.”

Oh, you think, that’ll do it. You can’t help but grin -- delighted that you’ve managed to weave your way into her subconscious.

“Things were different, normal,” she explains, still taunting you with her hand. She’s pushing up, grinding up and down your clothed slit with an intrinsic kind of determination, using just enough pressure to make you delirious.

As she pushes her fingers low, your clit throbs. Your pussy clenches, tight and sore. You were never good at this bit. Never good at waiting. You clutch her hand, tense and fidgety, gut tightening as her fingers slowly push you to some metaphorical edge.

“Don’t laugh,” she adds, and you do, but not at her, more so at the situation. Your big, controlling Abby, asking you not to laugh at her. “M’ not gonna laugh at you Abs,” you pant, grinding slowly, breathing deep, trying to calm yourself down for this admission she’s so ashamed of.

She leans in close, mouth against your ear as if the TV can hear. All it does is add to the pressure, her voice so close, it’s like it’s in your own head.

“I dreamt that you were my housewife,” she whispers, and fuck, that’s not what you expected. That’s not what you expected at all. “That I came home,” she continues, sliding her fingers up and down, up, and down, and you’re wet against her. Soaked through the cotton, her fingers damp with your slick. Jesus Christ, she’s only been playing.

Hadn’t felt like she’d been trying all that hard, really, and here you are, making her hand all wet. You both watch her play with you – draw it out, fingers dragging, your hips trying to match her rhythm. “’n’ you were making me dinner, dressed up all pretty – heals on, nothing underneath.” “Y-Yeah?” you breathe, quick and short, the only sound you can make besides the quiet moans you’re mumbling. “And you waltzed up to me, said, honey, you’re home. N’ undid my tie.”

You’re wet enough that she can see the outline of your pussy through her boxers. Gently, she relaxes her palm and slides her middle finger through your slit, your legs widening, watching her, knowing what she’s doing before she does it.

“That’s it,” she mutters, finger pushing against your clit. “So fucking wet, s’so fucking hot,” she breathes into your ear, teeth on your earlobe and fuck, you nearly come.

Nearly burst, white-hot heat jolting through you, eyes clenching together, pussy clenching – want her inside of you, feels like you’ve never wanted her more than you do now.

She carries on, languidly rolling your clit around, tenderly pushing at the nerve.

“Then you dropped to your knees,” she coos into your ear, and fuck, in your haze you didn’t see her move. Didn’t feel her slide her hand over your throat, holding you still. You swallow against her palm.

“and unlaced my boots. Took them off for me, so good. So helpful.”

She keeps the pace steady. Hits the nerve at such an angle that you can’t run from pressure. Your pussy gushes, and words fail you.

Abby kisses your cheek, “You okay baby? Gone quiet on me.”

“I think um gonna come,” you quickly admit, voice cracking. You’re clenched so tight that it hurts. Just begging for something, anything, to fill the need she’s building. Your thighs twitch and you feel her smile on your cheek, curved cheekily. She ignores you. Carries on.

“Dinner on the table for me, my favourite. Dessert in the fridge, beer on ice. Your pretty little face so excited that I was back.”

Your small voice shatters through her spiel -- “Did you fuck me against the table?” you whimper, imagining it. “With my dress and heels still on?”

Abby groans. Her fingers break their rhythm for a second, go sloppy – get distracted. You think about her bending you over the kitchen table, your hair in her fist and her strap in her hand.

She gets her rhythm back and picks up speed. Rubs your clit in tight, controlled circles, and you feel yourself get closer. There’s a familiar ache at the bottom of your belly.

“Yeah baby, I did,” she breathes. “Treated you like a lady. Made you come on my cock so quick that my dinner was still warm.”

“Abby,” you burst, cutting her off. Fuck, you hear it – hear how desperate you are. “You don’t wanna watch your movie?” she teases, using the hand on your throat to push your chin to her. She looks at you pitifully, blue eyes blown wide. “No,” you whine, teeth chewing at your bottom lip, making it swollen. You manage to shake your head, and she pulls your lip from your teeth, using her thumb to slide your spit over your chin. “Don’t wanna see how it ends?” she further taunts. “N-No,” you sob, nearly crying. Actually, no, you are crying. Yeah, your cheeks are definitely damp with something.

You sniff, and Abby goes soft. For a fleeting second, she switches -- kisses away your tears, and says, “shh, okay. I know sweetheart, I know.”

She pushes her forehead against yours, and you’re lulled into a false sense of security before she pulls her fingers away.

You shatter, gasp “No!”, and Abby kisses you, shuts you up, hands tugging your boxers down, quickly pulling them over your knees and discarding them onto the floor somewhere.

She tugs your thighs open, too, fully exposing you, and the cool air hits your damp pussy just as she stuffs her fingers back, sliding her thick middle finger through your slick before pushing it into your swollen, aching hole.

The world tips on its axis. For a brief, cataclysmic moment, you go somewhere else. Mouth open, eyes clenched close. The obscene pressure is overwhelming, and you clench around her finger, so tight that she groans into your mouth.

“Jesus,” she curses, “ease up baby, lemme make you feel good.”

It takes all of your willpower to loosen up, to relax. When you do, she slides out, then in, gently, slowly fingering you, warming you up, before she adds another finger, wet enough for the stretch, and you go blank.

You don’t say anything – can’t, no words, only sounds, loud and against her mouth. Cursing her out, moaning her name – garbled and sloppy, hands clutching her forearm, nails digging into her skin -- all sensation.

You can hear how wet you are, hear your pussy squelching around her fingers.

“'m gonna come,” you gasp, and Abby nods, kisses you, tastes your spit and coaches you through it, “That’s it, baby, just let it all out.”

Seconds later, it rushes over you.

Sucks you under and spits you out, your hips bucking against Abby’s quick-moving fingers as you come, wet and hot, spilling over and soaking the sheets. “m’ my god, my god,” you whine, the white-hot feeling never-ending.

Legs shaking, and Abby watches, praises you, says, “oh fuck, look at that,” and you can’t, it’d be too much. Instead, you whine against her cheek, back arching, body shuddering, her name spilling from your lips like spit.

“Abby,” you babble, “Abby, feels so fuckin’ good, you make it so good,” you drool, words sloppy, pussy clenching tight.

The sensation continues. You breathe her name again, Abby Abby Abby – a prayer on your swollen lips. Please, you whisper — please what?

Abby won’t let you come down. Your sensitivity spirals, but Abby doesn’t stop. Drags her thick fingers through your clenched walls, and you gasp, hands grasping out to grab hers.

You clutch her wet hand in your limp grip, whimpering, please, against her mouth.

“Okay,” she breathes, barely there. “Okay, I’ll stop.”

She pulls her fingers out of you slowly, kissing your forehead as you make a soft humming sound. You’re still so sensitive.

The heat has cooled, but the feeling still lingers, and Abby kisses your forehead again, quieting the dull ache that’s washing over you. Gently, she pulls her hand away from yours, bringing her slick fingers up to her lips.

You watch through half-lidded lids as she runs her mouth over them, humming in contentment. Pink tongue darting over the digits – you flush, your own tongue licking at your bottom lip as you study her.

You curl your legs together, thighs wet, feeling the pressure that’s still there. Abby sees you wince. She studies your features -- notes that your eyes haven’t lost their glaze, and now they’re edged with something wild, as if you’ve gotten a taste, but not enough to scratch the itch.

There’s a familiar softness to you, too. Almost lethargic, as you run your nail over her forearm, eyes flicking over her strong jaw and flushed cheeks.

“You were messing with me all day.”

It’s a whisper, words tentative. Abby licks her lips, noting how your glassy eyes follow the movement. “Messing?” she repeats, inching forward, and pressing her forehead against yours. You close your eyes, a small, contented smile on your lips, then lick them, teeth coming out to chew. “Hm.” “You like when I mess with you?” she teases, and you hum again. The smile you’re donning builds, bubbling into a nod.

She can’t help but reach out, and gently run her thumb over the pillow of your bottom lip, tugging it free from your teeth. You sigh, body leaning into her touch. “You’re very distracting…” She slides her wide palm over your cheek, dragging it to the back of your neck, then holds you there, inching her head to the left and brushing her mouth over yours – a small hint of you on her lips. “…S ’almost dangerous.” “’ m sorry,” you quickly breathe, come drunk. Drunk on Abby fucking Anderson. In your hazy and small headspace, you suddenly feel bad. She must know because she shakes her head, “don’t be.”

Her breath flutters over your lips, hand flexes at the back of your neck. That pressure that she’d subsided, is back. Feels suddenly critical.

“s’my fault for thinking I have any self-control.”

You want to kiss her. The desire sweeps over you, crashing like a wave. You go to move, but she whispers, “wanted to fuck you in that abandoned warehouse,” and all you can do is ask, “Why didn’t you?” A laugh rattles through her.

“nearly did.”

You think about the blood on her hands, think about the smear of it as she pulled your hips against hers, mouth hot and desperate. She’d sucked a quick bruise under your earlobe, and you’d melted.

Electric had shot through your belly, warming between your thighs.

Abby, you’d moaned, and she’d just about growled. Teeth had nipped at your tender skin, just this side of mean, and your brain had short-circuited.

You forgot about the impending danger around the corner — all you could think about was Abby, with her wandering hands and soft lips. The way she licked away the scratch and kissed you again, said, we gotta get this thing over with so I can take you to bed.

“Would have, too, if I wasn’t so damn responsible.”

She tuts at herself, annoyed at her regiment. She licks the spit off of her lip and you pout, I wanted to do that, you think.

“I like the responsible Abby,” you manage to mutter, bumping your mouth against hers, “She keeps me safe.”

Abby hums. Her eyes close as if she’s bathing in your omission. Abby does keep you safe. She’s strong, capable — a brilliant teammate and when she needs to be, a leader. She quiets the anxious thumping of your heart, and when she’s got you like this — floaty and soft — quiets it completely.

“Please kiss me,” you suddenly breathe, overwhelmed with the desire to have your mouth on her. “I’ve been waiting patiently.”

At the back of your neck, you feel her hand flex. She brushes her mouth against yours again, gently teasing, “You have, haven’t you?” her brows raise – followed by a sickly sweet smirk.

There’s something about this space you’re in that makes even the smallest of mockeries big and meaningful.

“I have,” you just about plead, and Abby’s smirk twists, a flash of longing bleating over her features, before she catches your lips, kissing you deep and long -- your resulting moan cracking through the bedroom.

Her tongue comes in, wet and warm, forcing you closer — forcing you to just about clamber into her lap, damp inner thighs sliding against her sweatpants.

Abby pulls away, eyes dark and cloudy as she whispers, “Want me to get the strap?” and the only answer you find is, yes.

You watch as Abby drags the leather straps up her thighs, then crawls onto the bed, buckling up one side as she moves. Immediately, with an instinct she’s drilled into you, you get onto your knees to do the other, hands fumbling around the leather.

You’ve done this countless times before. Know what notch she likes it on. Knows she likes it tight, likes when the leather stretches over her thighs, marring them red. She lubes it up as you buckle her up tightly.

“So helpful – such a good girl, you know that, huh?”

She moves to kiss you, and you giggle into her mouth, catching the back of her head as she pushes you into the bed. Her strap brushes over you, and you sigh, humming at the sudden wet sensation.

She tastes like you. Tastes like musk and mint and Abby. You tongue your way into her mouth, suddenly wanting more. Wanting her, carnally. Spent all day with her -- you spend most days with her, but it’ll never be enough.

You break away from her, slowly blinking, watching a trail of spit connect the two of you. She’s propped up on one elbow, watching you.

Her eyes are navy blue under the shadow of the light, the freckles on her nose hidden, but you know they’re there. Know how they sprinkle out evenly as if they were painted there before she was handed off to her mother.

“I like being helpful,” you admit. Something flashes in her eyes. Her features shift, once playful, now soft, and her hand comes out, brushing your hair away from your forehead.

Instinctively, you move into her palm. It’s warm – calloused, familiar. You move to nuzzle your nose into it.

“I like that you let me come along on patrols,” you whisper.

You don’t see it, but Abby’s face twitches, “I don’t let you do anything – I want you there.”

There’s a beat before you respond, too busy running your nose over her palm. When you turn to her, you flash her a cheeky smile, “So you can mess around with me.”

Abby sniffs a laugh, but she shakes her head, “So you can save my ass when I eventually fuck up.”

“s ’never happened. I don’t remember.”

“Selective memory.”

Her fingers move, forefinger resting under your chin and thumb coming up to slip over your bottom lip. Abby swears she sees your eyes glaze over again. She loves this. Loves when you get like this. It lets her know that you trust her, trust her to do what’s best.

“You with me?” she just about purrs. You hum. She watches as your body goes limp like she’s pressed a hidden button. You shift, your legs open wide, and your breasts bounce with the movement. If you were watching, you’d see eyes shift over your body – hungry and desperate.

You breathe in a sigh, and it rattles in your chest. “Yeah—” you whisper, “---think so. You make me feel so dizzy, Abby.”

Your eyes flutter closed, tongue coming out to catch her thumb. Your teeth go over it, and the hood of her nail drags over your gums, your bottom teeth pushing at the soft flesh. The sensation goes directly between Abby’s thighs. Still, she shows her usual concern. She cocks her head to the side.

“You’ll let me know if it’s too much, yeah?” “Yeah Abby,” you whisper around her finger, “s’never too much though. You know me.” “Promise?” she asks, ignoring you. “Promise,” you repeat, then, “I can still taste myself on you.”

Your tongue closes around her finger, wetting it – warm and soft. Abby briefly thinks: this is what she feels like inside. She goes red at the thought. An ache builds – she suddenly wants to be nestled deep, watching you come undone again.

You suck her finger further, eyes still closed, lost in the motion. The intoxication makes you grab a hold of her wrist, keeping her steady as spit pools under your lips, dripping towards your chin.

“Is this what I did in your dream?” you suddenly ask, blinking up at her. You catch her dark eyes, and she notes the spit that’s drooling over your tits.

“When I was on my hands and knees for you?”

All of the willpower Abby had left snaps in two. She suddenly shifts, moving you by shoving her big, strong hands under your thighs and spreading you open.

“Lemme fuck you,” she babbles, hitching your hips up. You watch her try to gather her nerve, but she talks and talks as she shuffles you around – “I gotta fuck you baby. Gotta – gotta make it good, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper, nodding, seeing her lose her cool. “I gotta.” “Okay,” you whisper again. You reach over with your hand, smoothing it over her cheek, begging her to look at you, but she just takes the hand and tries to get you situated. Moves the pillow, and makes sure your hips are pushed wide enough. “Yeah – I just, fuck. Yeah, fuck. Lemme – please?” she suddenly stops, like she’s caught herself before she falls off the ledge completely. The soft skin of your thumb smoothes over her cheek, and you nod, flexing your hips up, “fuck me, Abby.”

The roles shift and ripple. When Abby gets so turned on, she gets desperate — pleads and begs instead of tells.

But when she’s got the strap stuffed against your wet hole, the roles snap back.

“Oh fuck,” you whimper, suddenly overwhelmed. You’re still a little sensitive, and now lightheaded and dizzy with delirium, all you can do is pout against her pretty mouth, eyes glazed and wide. “Shhh, baby. Shh shh shh,” she punctuates. She looks down at where you connect, and slides the strap across your sopping folds, listening for your reaction. You huff, whispering her name – then jolt up when she brushes it against your clit, hands coming for the back of her head again.

“Abs,” you gasp, scuffed knees pressing on her hips.

“Um gonna make it good, okay?” she soothes, “don’t I always make it good for you?”

She does. Abby knows you like the back of her palm. Knows all your buttons, knows when to push them – how. Knows when it’s too much, or when it’s not enough. Her eyes flash open, blue and alive, and she kisses you as she stuffs the head against your hole, slowly sinking in, burying deep.

“Oh my fucking God,” you sob against her mouth, clenching, so fucking full that you have to arch your back. Your breath hitches, letting Abby know that you’re filled up tight.

“Abby,” you whine, hands reaching for your tits. You squeeze them, fidgeting, going a little frantic at the sensation. Abby watches – sees.

“Shhh, shhh, shh,” she hushes, brushing her lips against yours, kissing you sweetly. The tenderness makes you sob, the taste of her tongue intoxicating. It lulls you, quiets you, and she pulls away, ordering, “Hands in my hair, baby, know you like em’ there.”

You do as she says, sniffling, trying to calm yourself down. She’s dragged this out slowly, though. You hadn’t realised how much you wanted her until she stopped.

She reaches over you, grabs a pillow, ordering, “Hips up, high, sweetheart – that’s it,” before she stuffs it under you, the movement jostling her cock, but when you relax back, legs high on her back, Abby stuffs you again, the new position forcing the strap to hit something devastating.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck – “you curse, eyes flashing white. “‘um gonna come so fast, Abs.” “S’okay baby,” she soothes, slowly pulling out of you. She brushes her mouth against yours as she whispers, “I’ll just fuck you until you can’t anymore.”

God, it must take minutes.

Must be minutes – maybe even seconds – of her slowly fucking up into you, splitting you open on her cock, before you’re feeling the familiar swell flood your pussy.

You’ve got your fingers laced in her long, blonde strands, and you’re pretty sure you’re scraping your nails against her scalp, but Abby’s too busy murmuring how pretty you are to notice.

In your almost drunken haze, you notice how pink her lips are – all swollen from her teeth and wet with spit – and you can’t keep your eyes off of them. They spill compliments all over you.

Bathe you, before pressing them to your mouth, swallowing your desperate cries.

Abby’s got one hand at the nape of your neck, and the other is clutched around your left knee, keeping it locked up against her upper back. The position means you can’t run from her.

She’s an all-consuming presence, and it’s almost too much. She moves her hand, but you don’t dare move your knee. It’s locked there, and the position she’s put you in makes you delirious. Then she doubles the pressure with her thick fingers against her clit.

“Jesus – fuck, Abby,” you curse, eyes rolling back, the world going dark. You’re so wet that she can’t catch a grip, and her fingers swirl sloppily over your clit as her face clenches together, as if she’s doing it to herself.

“So fuckin’ wet,” she grunts against your lips, her face a snarl. You don’t see it, but she shakes her head. Shakes her head and then speeds up, fueled by the desire to make you wetter. Make it worse better for you.

The change in speed forces your eyes open. You grab onto her shoulder, hiccuping a sob, wet, hot heat pulsating between your legs.

Your eyes roll back again, mouth comes open, fingers clench tight and Abby sees it. Knows you’re about to come so hard that she’ll feel it. “Abby,” you gasp, and she nods. Presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips and soothes you with, “I know.” “S’gonna be – b-big, fuck. M’ clenching so fuckin’ tight.”

Abby feels your back arch into her, your tits pushing against her chest. She keeps at her steady rhythm – tilts your pelvis and bucks her hips with an unrelenting tempo, catching the sight of the strap, white from you.

Your orgasm blindsides you.

You’re silent as you come. Mouth open against hers, clenching so tense and tight around her cock that it almost hurts. Then, Abby sees you release, gushing over her cock as your hips stutter and legs shake, your orgasm washing over you, knocking you for a loop.

She groans at her sight, then hears you sob, strangled, followed by, oh my god Abby, oh my fuckin’ – then it’s all whimpers, your pussy still pulsating around her strap.

Abby slows her pace.

She ignores the pressure between her own thighs, and instead, kisses the drool off of your lips, shakingly saying, never seen you come so hard like that twice, s’gotta be a record, and you’re so fucked out that you don’t even laugh.

Your eyes are glazed over, sweat pooling at your hairline, and your mouth is still hanging open as if you’re trying to find something to say. Abby kisses it shut. Tries, again, to ignore the throbbing of her clit. Tries to ignore the desire to fuck you into the mattress and make herself come.

You’re still shaking for fucks sake, but Abby can’t stop. She’s already pushing it by slowing, humming against your mouth, the sounds almost a whimper.

Her face is snarled together, jaw clenched, and she sees your brow furrow. Feels you clench your fists to her chest, wondering why she’s still fucking you. When she drops her head into your neck, you understand.

“I’m sorry—” she sobs, wide palms dragging under your shoulders and latching onto them. “I’m – fuck – feels so good.”

You snap out of your delirium. Or it twists at least. You spread your legs, ignoring the pressure behind your clit – the sensitivity that never had a chance to subside. Now, you’re here for Abby.

“S’okay baby,” you drawl, voice trembling, but fuck, your girlfriend is desperate. You hitch your hips up and press against her tight, so she has to grind against you to fuck you, and Abby loses it.

The added pressure against her clit forces her to moan, the sound muffled by your throat.

“Use me, okay?” you whisper against the shell of her ear, hands in her hair, clutching her to you. “use me to come.”

“S-shit, okay,” she whimpers. “Okay okay okay—” lost to her pleasure, Abby sloppily rocks into you. She picks up the speed, sinking into your wet and swollen hole, splitting you open and moaning your name so loud that it rattles through you.

“I’m gonna come,” she whimpers, then, “holy fuck, um gonna come.”

Heat rushes over you, overwhelming. All consuming. You’re suddenly filled with the urge to kiss her.

Taste her on your tongue, and just this side of mean, you use her hair to move her, dragging your mouth against hers, letting you see her red, sweaty face and fucked out eyes.

“That’s it, baby,” you whisper, nodding, meeting her thrusts as she fucks you. “You gonna come inside of me?” you whisper, pouting, “You gonna fill me up?”

Realistically, you know she can’t. So does she, but that doesn’t stop her from nodding, hips rocking against yours. Going, “Jesus – fuck. Fuckin’ dirty.”

She hides her red face in your shoulder again, as if she’s almost embarrassed by how desperate she is.

“My fuckin’ dirty girl,” and grunts, and she punctuates it with a snap of her hips, knocking the sensitivity up tenfold.

It feels so good, and if she carries on this way, you’re likely to come again, but by the clutch of her fingers and drag of her breathing, you know she’s not going to last long enough.

Know that it’s not about you, though. Know that she’ll likely catch her breath for a second and begin all over again. Abby was like that. One was never enough.

Her high-pitched, shaky breathing brings you back. It’s there – even if you can’t see her face, you know it.

“Gonna come for me Abby?” you whisper. Then, with your wet mouth against her ear, you whimper, please baby, please come for me.

She does. You feel her body clench against you, a strangled gasp muffled against your neck, and then she’s shaking, orgasm washing over her and taking her under.

You soothe her through it. Rub her muscular back, drag your nails over her spine, and kiss the side of her head. When the aftershocks cool off, she laughs. The sound rumbles against your neck, shocked and alive.

“Holy shit,” she curses, giving your neck a sloppy kiss. Your skin is still electric, but it slowly sparks out, bottoming to a dull delicious numbness. A slow, lazy smile pulls at your lips.

Your head is still a little fuzzy.

Abby hands slide out from under your shoulders, and she presses them besides you, pushing herself up, long blonde hair falling around your head like a curtain. Her cheeks are blushed red, eyes wiry and alive.

You feel yourself staring at her. Abby stares back. She shifts idly, cocking her head to the side and leaning to kiss you. With her tongue in your mouth, she whispers, “’m gonna move.”

Gently, she slips out of you, kissing away the scrunch of your brows and pout to your lips. She quickly unbuckles the strap, pushing it to the side before leaning down again, wide palms pushing your thighs apart to try and distill the pressure there.

“Okay?” she breathes, putting all of her weight onto her elbows.

“Mm,” you hum dreamily, leaning up to give her a messy kiss, “That was really hot.” Abby kisses back, humming in agreement, “Feel like I just found out the meaning of life.” “What?” you laugh, scrunching your face at her.

You raise your brows, laughing, “the meaning of life is coming while fucking me?” “Yep,” she grins, bumping her nose to yours. She turns to the TV, the credits rolling.

“Should we start the movie again?” she asks sincerely, but you shake your head, fingers tightening in her hair.

Lazily, you slip your tongue into her mouth, wrapping your legs around her lower back and using your feet to push her ass into you. She groans, trying to catch up, but you pull away just when she matches your rhythm.

You lick your lips and lean back, your mouth curling into a delicious grin. Abby watches you reach out, your thumb running over her bottom lip, and she catches it in her mouth just as you say, “Still wanna taste you.”

more abby smut

#abby anderson x reader smut #abby anderson #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson imagine #abby anderson tlou #abby anderson tlou2 #the last of us #the last of us hbo #abby anderson the last of us #tlou #tlou2 #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson the last of us 2 #abby anderson fan fic #tlou2 abby anderson

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uhohdad · 9 months

Text

EXPERIMENTAL - Konig Fic Pt 3

Summary: Konig helps Researcher!Reader with a new technology they’ve been developing.

Warnings: Sexual Content, NSFW, bondage, DOM!Konig, size kink, light spanking, unprotected sex, possessive!konig, praise kink, the mask stays on 😈, Reader x Konig, injury, needle torture, PTSD, talk of standard war stuff, Non-con Voyeurism. No use of y/n,

Reader gender/sex is incomprehensible cause I do it for the girls, the gays, and the theys

Word Count: 10,2k

(tbh you probably don’t need to read the first two parts so if you just wanna read this slutty chapter it should be fine lol but if you do i’ll link them)

AO3

PART ONE

PART TWO

NSFW under the cut

You’re praying that he’s getting this.

There’s a million things that could go wrong - Konig not being near his device and you’re just streaming into an empty room. Or Ghost’s device wasn’t the one that was synced with Konig’s, maybe one of the matching copies or an earlier prototype. Or worse - Konig found out about the video and leaves you to your demise as he rightfully should.

You swallow as you watch Mohawk put the his phone away in his pocket, hoping his screen wasn’t exposed to the feed’s camera, “Thanks for making me have that on my phone, by the way. Do you know how many times I was forced to watch this?”

Stop talking about it!

“What else do you want to know?” You’re more willing to give out top-secret government intel than let Konig find about that fucking video.

Ghost senses you’ve been holding back on him, and he tilts his head down to look at you from above the projection, “What’s it do?”

“Everything.” You answer, “Anything I tell it to. It’s like VR.” There’s a bit of a slur to your words. You’re still aware enough to manage the long-con, but your eyelids are getting heavier. Just have to hold out awhile longer, juggle a few things at the same time. Don’t let Konig find out about how you ended up here, but make sure he knows you’re here. Don’t let skull boy and stupid-haircut find about the transmission, but don’t let them lose enough interest to turn the device off. Don’t give away too many government secrets, but don’t give out too little to keep the soldiers from doing anymore permanent damage to your brain.

And manage all of that while coping with the current level of brain damage you have.

They look at each other, trying to figure out if they’re satisfied with your answer.

That’s good. Just keep stalling.

Everything was threatening to crash down around you, but there’s a glimmer of hope so minuscule, you think you could actually pull it off if all the pieces fall together.

You’re no longer giving up.

We can fix this. Fix all of it. Fix your mess.

You’re going to give it a fair shot, you decide, and you’ll leave it up to the universe.

Ghost cocks his head, those intimidating eyes boring into you, “And what things do you tell it to do?” You can tell he’s irritated with the meaningless answer. You steer in the opposite direction.

You give a drawn out hum, “Identify the bad guys. Heat map, heart beats ‘n all that.” You’re trying to keep your thoughts together, but there’s too many to keep up with, and the concussion still has you in its hazy clutches.

Another idea, a back up plan, you’ll call it. You can’t tell if it’s a stupid idea or not, but you’re slipping and fast, “Can I get a smoke? I’m feening.” You give a smile, the residual of the painkillers making it easy to appear unassuming.

“No. What else does it do?” Ghost is straight to the point, and it reminds you of Konig, and you wish Ghost would stop doing that because you’re trying to do something here.

Another drunken hum, “What’d’ya want it to do? I can do it.” You wave your hand at him, casually flashing your restraints so Konig would get a clear view.

Ghost steps towards you and grabs the front of your gown, yanking your face inches from his, “What does it fucking do?”

A proud smile crosses your face, “Not your mom, ‘cause I got that covered myself.”

Mohawk puts a hand of warning on Ghost’s shoulder, reminding him not to get too violent with you.

Ghost ignores the warning, his fist connecting with your temple before you had a chance to brace yourself.

Skull boy packs quite a punch.

You’re reset for a moment, blinded by a bright white and the ring in your ears makes a blaring encore.

You can tell by the warm and wet feeling under your bandages that the gash from Ghost’s gun had split open.

You don’t know how long it takes you to get your bearings, but once you do you’re almost thankful Ghost had rocked you.

You’re hoping Konig can see the urgency of the situation and your injured brain being rattled around your skull gives you an excuse to lie motionless, hindering interrogation. They know you’re not useful to them when you incapable of coherency. It’s why Stupid-Haircut is trying so hard to keep Ghost from injuring you to bad. It’s why they went through the trouble of nursing an enemy back to health. If Ghost turns your brain to soup like you’re so clearly provoking him to do, you won’t be able to tell them what they want to know.

Okay, painful change of plans.

Instead of forcing yourself to stay clear enough to manage all the details through the fog of the concussion, you’re going to force yourself into ignorance by weaponizing Ghost’s temperament against him. It’s in their best interest to keep you cognizant, and it’s in your best interest to get Ghost irritated enough to torture you until you’re unable to speak.

It’s going to be brutal, but you’ve been feeling nothing but pain at the hands of him, and you don’t think you’re far off from the cozy clutches of unconsciousness as it is - that it won’t be long until you’re unable to feel anything.

Always the masochist.

You can’t help but smile, even though it all. A genuine one, toothy and face-wrinkling, one that wasn’t for anyone else in the room, but didn’t care if they saw. It wasn’t a desperate attempt to relieve your discomfort. Not a waste of your precious energy lulling strangers into their sense of comfort. Not a weak effort to influence the opinion of you belonging to whoever happens to be in your vicinity.

You feel like you’re watching yourself descend into madness, powerless against the euphoric feeling that floods through you. Warmth coasting through your veins. You could tell it wasn’t the drugs, the concussion and the growing list of other injuries, or even the idea Konig may be rushing to your rescue any minute now.

It was because in this moment, despite everything that has happened, you can’t help but be enamored with yourself.

You?

Of course. Of course it took these conditions to pull it out of you.

It’s always the hard way with you, wasn’t it?

“If you can’t restrain yourself maybe you should let me handle it.”

“Back down, Johnny.” Ghost warns in that low, cautionary tone that can’t help leave the receiver wondering just what horrible punishment would occur if they pushed. He doesn’t even have to look at Johnny to hammer the intimidation into him. It’s only accompanied by a low extend of arm vaguely in his direction.

Neither you or Ghost noticed the way Johnny’s eye twitched or lip snarled, but he heeds Ghost’s warning.

Ghost’s eyes lock on you, and you think everyone in the room has caught on to the predicament they’re in.

Johnny, who’s been up to speed since the start, walking the tightrope of being respectful to his superior without letting him damage the value of his informant.

Ghost, who’s long lost his respect for you before he even laid eyes on you, and since meeting you has only been sinking deeper into his hatred of you. He’s used to getting information from soldiers. Out of powerful individuals that could handle a hit and that stay conscious during an interrogation session. The ones smart enough not to antagonize and beg for the brutality. Ones that grit their teeth an at least try and suck it up to maintain a scrap of dignity. Not you. He knows he needs your brain but he’d be happy to put an end to all of it, right now. Pull the plug on your project the manual way. If they can’t have it, no one can. Maybe he’d get what he wants along the way if you’re coherent enough to squeak it out, but that’d just be a bonus in his eyes.

And you. Wonderfully brilliant, even if occasionally misguided, and as much as you hate to believe it sometimes, incredibly lovable, even if Ghost is looking at you like he wants to put your head on a stick. But you don’t care about that dummy. No, you’re not even looking at him or his Johnny. Even if he takes your life from you right now, you think you could accept that. Not for any necessarily suicidal reasons, even though the concussion has definitely knocked some dark feelings loose.

You close your eyes, and the smile still hasn’t left your face, even if your sore muscles were pulling on the edges of your headache.

“Too much morphine.” Ghost says, to no one in particular, not hesitating as he forcefully grabs your forearm and digs his thumb into the skin encasing your IV needle.

You immediately hiss through gritted teeth, but he doesn’t hesitate as he takes the beginning of the needle with his other hand, roughly poking around in your arm.

You try to pull away but he’s got a grip tight enough to force your arm extended. You’re sure his fingertips will leave bruises.

He removes the needle entirely before puncturing you in a different spot on your inner elbow, shaking the needle violently beneath your flesh. You gasp, pulling against his iron grip with what little strength you have.

“Where’d your smile go?” Ghost asks in a neutral tone, his eyes dead of emotion as he removes the needle before stabbing another hole in your arm.

You let out a yelp, eyes screwed shut as your other hand jerks against the restraints. You’re too focused on the sickening feeling of skewered veins to make up a good comeback.

He does it again, and your fists clench and a high grunt escapes through gritted teeth.

“I’ve always wanted to learn how to set an IV.” Ghost says dryly, his eyes cold behind the mask as he thrashes the needle.

“Keep practicing.” You hiss, pitch warbling through the pain.

And he does.

It’s brutal, Ghost flaying the crease of your arm repeatedly. It’s been less than a minute but you’re sure the torture started a lifetime ago. You just have to take it, it’s all you can do. Your verbal stalling wasn’t cutting it, so you’re just going to have to opt for this instead and hope you can piss him off enough to get just a little too violent with you.

When he’s done, he jams the needle back where it was, managing to lay it back in your vein. “There we go.”

You study each other for a brief moment, before he leans in close, so close his projection becomes obscured through your head. You’re eye to eye now, nothing between you two but the mask your nose is almost brushing up against.

He grabs your face, his gloved fingers digging into your jaw with the same force he had held your forearm. He holds your head still and all you can do is look at him, brows pinched in fury as your nails dig into your palms, fists fight the restraints.

His eyes twitch as they flicker between each of yours.

“I am going to ruin you.”

You shake your head in an attempt to free your jaw from his clutches, but his grip is strong and he makes a point of forcing your head still, looking down his mask at you.

“You can give me all the information you like. I’m not stopping until it’s finished.”

Ghost finally lets you go with a rough shove. He takes the device from his ear and his wrist, discarding them both over his shoulder. Johnny catches the ear piece with a slight fumble, and the wrist remote hits the ground with a ting, rattling obnoxiously as it rolls to a stop. Johnny’s got his hands full as he yells but you you don’t bother listening to what he’s saying.

You’re too busy relaxing into the attack as you let Ghost carry you to death’s door.

———————————————————-

Even wincing is painful.

You're finally stirred awake by the feeling of a gloved hand on the back of your neck.

It’s hard to open your eyes, and when you finally do you see him, from the chest up, he looks just like a just a blurry figure. Two of them, actually, doubled vision multiplying the lone man that stood before you.

Even with your damaged vision you can tell it’s Konig, making out the telling shapes of his gear and those biceps you’ve studied so close you could pick them out of a lineup.

The hood that always intimidated you, but now fills you with a comfort like no other. You can see the light of your projection shielding his eyes.

A blinding bright light surrounds him, haloing your vision and it hurts, but you can help but keep your weary gaze fixed on him inbetween slow blinks.

You’re sure you’re dead. That you’re passing over and this is your brain manifesting some hallucination to comfort you as you transition.

You reach out to touch his hood, just to see if you can. You wanted to see if you could feel him, the researcher in you testing the potentials of your delusions. The restraints cut you short for a final time, before Konig quickly cuts your hands free with a knife. He takes your weak extended hand in his and you can feel it.

It engulfs yours, the scratchy feel of his glove wrapped around your hand, and he feels real.

His other hand retracts from your neck and reaches up to turn his projection off to get a clearer look at you. His hand comes back from under his hood and moves carefully to the side of your face, his thumb tracing a bruise on your cheek. His can’t believe what he’s seeing, his eyes darting around to the various injuries plastered on you.

“Meine liebe…”

He says, and you’re not sure if he’s speaking a different language or if your Ghost gave you dyphasia.

“Who did this?” He asks, horrified as he realizes there’s anyone out there cruel enough to do this to you.

You thought his stares were scary before, but the way his eyes glaze and turn cold as they follow the swells and bruises marking your face appears animalistic. It shoots a feeling in your gut so unnerving it confirms that you’re definitely not experiencing some euphoric deathbed hallucination.

When you don’t answer, your eyes just flicking around his features as you adjust, he asks again.

“Who did this?!”

His voice strikes an urgent and menacing tone the second time. On your recording he had been able to see Ghost’s point of view, but not Ghost. A front row seat to watch you get brutally attacked but not being able to identify the aggressor himself.

Always determined.

You reach up with your other hand to your saving grace, and place it on his upper arm, “Don’t leave.”

He hears how delicate your voice is, how you barely have the power to speak. How your hand quivered as you reached out to him, how you had squeezed his arm with what little might you had to encourage him to stay, to join you in a world where your aggressors and injuries didn’t matter, none of it mattered.

And how can he say no to you?

His eyes soften again and you can’t help but smile at the man behind the hood. You’re smile immediately turns to a wince as it forces an uncomfortable tug on your fresh injuries.

“Come here.” He says softly and he picks you out of the hospital bed with little effort. He’s got one arm secured around your back and the other is under the crease of your knees like he’s carrying you from the alter. He tilts you gently so your head can rest on his chest while he carries you to safety.

You’re wondering if you really are dead after all. It’s too good to be true, your plan working and Konig carrying you from the danger like he’s a fireman rescuing you from a burning building. You can discern the capabilities of his muscles as he holds you tight. You’re not even slowing him down, he’s still able to hurry through the hallways, guided to the exit by your device without fault.

The jostling hurts, but he’s doing his best to hold you steady, and being in his arms, resting the less injured side of your forehead against him, makes the pain all worth it.

You can hear the sounds of gunshots in the distance, not even your impaired hearing could muffle the loud pops. They must have had a full team come out to do an extraction. You thought it was a lot of to-do for little ol’ you.

Konig gets you to nearest exit, carefully managing the door as he opens it to ensure it didn’t hit you, and carries you out to the getaway vehicle, setting you down across the backseat like you’re made of glass.

“Liebe, they need me.” He looks back to the building, “Can you stay here?”

You give a weak nod, and he gives your hand a squeeze.

“I’ll be back, I promise.”

And you have his word.

He rushes back into the building while you try and rest in the backseat.

————————————-

The safe house was incredibly depressing. A rundown little two-room shack in the country, decorated with outdated appliances and furniture. The wall paper is peeling from the ceiling and you’re not sure if it was originally a drab yellow or if it had been stained from years of abuse. You can tell no one’s been around to take care of the water damage, judging from the large brown stains spotting the ceiling. There’s a kitchenette in the corner with an oven, a fridge that hums too loudly, and a microwave that appears never to have been cleaned. A worn beige couch outfitted with two dusty orange cushions that sag with age. A few generic paintings on the wall that hardly comfort you. No internet and no cell service, but there is a small box-shaped TV that you’re sure is from the 50s, the picture warped and cloudy.

Base placed you here temporarily until you relocate, your apartment now too dangerous to live in as your address was in enemy hands.

Judging by the way your supervisor spoke to you when discussing the transition, they must be in the dark on what caused the breach.

Your secret is safe for now, but there’s no telling when it’s going to get discovered. Waiting for the truth to come out has left a weight in your chest that sticks around from the moment you wake up to the moment you fall asleep.

They had assigned you a counselor to visit you and help process the trauma of the event, but you don’t trust them enough to give them the full truth. You just tell them about the violence Ghost inflicted, walking through the nightmares that result from it. You haven’t gotten a goodnight’s rest since it all went down, often waking up in the middle of the night kicking and screaming at the vivid night terrors of Ghost at the side of your bed.

Other than your counselor, the base associate that brings grocery to restock the noisy fridge on Thursdays, and the occasional check-up from your supervisor, you’ve been totally isolated from the outside world.

You don’t care about most.

Just Konig.

He had held you in his arms and carried you to safety at the risk of his own life. You knew you didn’t deserve it after what you did, but you can’t help but daydream.

Thinking about the way it felt to have your head on his chest, the cotton of his mask brushing your bruised cheek, his arms grasping you tight - protecting you - it definitely helps distract from the uncomfortable feeling lingering by your heart.

You wondered if he knew, if he had seen himself on Johnny’s copy of the recording, but still was kind enough to do such a favor for you.

Then you really wouldn’t deserve him.

You spend all your time thinking about Konig, bouncing between the depth of your guilt and the highs of the fantasy, just as you have been since you met him.

When he visits for the first time, it nearly triggered a panic attack. You had not been expecting visitors, and you were still haunted by the precious unexpected visitors you had. You’re delightfully surprised when you peek out the window and see Konig, looking nervously at the landscape behind him when you don’t answer right away. Your eyebrows spring up in shock and you let out a verbal exclamation at the sight.

You quickly run your fingers through your hair as a last ditch effort to appear somewhat put together before opening the door, forced to tilt your head back to look at him. His eyes widen at the sight of you, and he moves, almost like he’s about to step closer but stops himself.

You force yourself to contain your excitement at his visit, “Konig, It’s good to see you.” You look down at your clothes, still donned in loungewear, “Sorry about the jammies. Come in.” You open the door for him so he can step in before shutting the door behind him. He takes a few steps into the room before stilling, taking a moment to look around.

“Sorry for stopping by unannounced.” He says, followed by a clearing his throat. His eyes linger on the old beige couch before meeting your eyes again. “I‘ve been worried about you.”

You knew you were unreachable, he couldn’t have gotten in contact any other way, “Don’t apologize, you really have no idea how good it is to see you. I’ve been thinking about how to say thank you, for what you did, but I’m not sure there’s enough words between our languages to cover it.” You put your hand to back of your neck, looking to the floor for a moment before meeting his gaze again. You give a nervous laugh, “So I guess I owe you a bottle of wine, huh?”

You can tell he smiles under the mask by the way his eyes crinkle, “Just doing my job.”

You glance down at the arms that had held you so tight and wished they were wrapped around you again.

“Thank you, Konig. Really. I owe you my life.”

“It was my pleasure.” He says as he gives his head a little shake. His gaze shifts a bit higher, “You’re healing nicely.”

You touch a hand to the gash Ghost had left from his gun. You were most likely going to have a scar, but it had closed and the swelling had gone down significantly, the previous inflamed red now a medium pink. “Ah, well thanks for noticing. You know I made those skin cells myself?”

Huh?!

He tilts his head, “That’s good, I hear store-bought isn’t what it used to be.”

You giggle and roll on your heels a bit, not necessarily at the joke but at the fact that such a normally rigid and imitating man is now being cheeky with you, and it feels so nice to break the tension a bit.

“How are you holding up?” He says, and it reminds of the way your therapist inquires, with that gentle tone that clearly eludes to the incident without directly referring to the incident.

“Uh,” You trail off a bit, touching the nasty bruise on your inner arm, large from the spread of the internal bleeding, but now faded to a healing yellow. “Y’know? It’s actually been,” You let out another nervous laugh, “awful, actually. But that’s alright. Uhm, I think it’ll get easier with time.”

He nods and his eyes dart down to the bruise you’ve been mindlessly tracing with your finger. Something dark flickers behind his eyes but quickly subsides.

“If it’s worth anything, it does.”

You give him a weak smile and you have no way to confirm but you think he does the same.

A silence falls on you both for awhile, both of you picking a random point in the room to unfocus your vision on. The silence doesn’t feel awkward, more like you both were grieving for a minute - or maybe just lost in thought. Even if neither knew what to say to the other, you were still bonding over your traumatic experiences in your own quiet way.

You’re the one who breaks the silence, your voice a bit cracked from your dry throat, “What do you do about the nightmares?”

His eyes leave you for a moment as he considers it. “I leave a book by my nightstand. For some it’s TV, others crossword puzzles. There’s no stopping it. You just have to find what calms you down after.”

You give a nod. You knew there wouldn’t be a magic cure but you still have to take a moment to process that you’ll have to be dealing with it for the foreseeable future.

There’s a long pause before he speaks again, “You dream of him?”

You swallow again, trying to make it easier for you to speak but bail, instead slowly nodding your head.

Another silence falls over you both. A longer, more drawn out one. You both get lost in thought for awhile.

When you interrupt the silence again, the words spill out of you fast, coming out in a jumble and before you can stop yourself. He had that effect on you, making you feel so vulnerable and exposed, ready to spill your guts. Deep down you knew that it’s time to rip the bandaid off. Free yourself from the guilt and the constant fear your world is going to come crashing down around you.

“Do you know what I did?”

He studies you, tilting his head, “What do you mean? About your SOS?”

His response tells you that he truly doesn’t know. If he knew what you did, he’d have known exactly what you’d meant. Regardless, you still make a futile attempt to jog his memory, hoping you won’t have to explain yourself, “How I ended up there? What caused the breach?”

His eyes squint in confusion, “I was told we didn’t know how they received your information.”

Your head tilts down in shame, and you have to look away from him.

You take a deep breath and rest your palms flat on your thighs.

“Okay, look, I’ve done something horrible. I have not been very good to you, and… that sucks! Because I really thought we could have been,” You hesitate for a moment, “friends.” You close your eyes and take another breath, “At first I thought I could keep it a secret from you, even if I believe you have every right to know, but the truth is I just can’t handle the guilt anymore. I’m exhausted waiting for the other shoe to drop, okay?”

Konig’s whole body is tense now, standing at attention as he waits for your words. You’re worrying him.

“The day we met,” You’re choking up now, the adrenaline coursing through you, causing you to shake and perspire, mouth dry, “After our day in the shoot house, I forgot to disconnect your feed.”

Your tone shifts from serious to a bit desperate, “It was an accident, I swear, Konig.” You look at him, pleading eyes begging him to believe you, “And I should have just disconnected the feed when I found it, I know,” You’re getting exasperated, “But I’m sick and curious and to be honest I just couldn’t help myself when I saw you.”

He shifts uncomfortably in his spot, and swallows hard. He knows what you mean, but he has to confirm it with you to believe it, “What did you see?”

You look away from him and to the floor. It takes you a moment to work up the courage, “I saw you getting off.” You say it so quietly, ashamed to admit it.

“I shouldn’t have watched Konig, I shouldn’t have. It was wrong and I know it doesn’t mean anything now but I truly am sorry. But I did watch and I heard my name and I’ve been wracked with guilt ever since.“

He stands still, his breathing escalating slightly. He doesn’t say anything and the silence drapes over you both for awhile.

This silence was definitely awkward.

His eyes tell you nothing and his expression is masked by the hood.

You swallow, knowing you owe him the full truth as you force yourself to continue. If he’s already disgusted with you under that hood, this will really put you over the edge.

Your fist clenches, “In a moment of pure stupidity, I kept the video.” You break eye contact for a brief moment before returning your gaze to him. “I sent it to myself.”

“Okay?” You spit, angry at yourself, “I kept it and I’ve watched it so many times because I am just addicted to the way you moan my name, Konig. I’m sorry. I heard it and I needed more. It made me feel so good, and so so terrible at the same time.”

You’re on a roll now, rambling like you’re talking about your research.

“And I have not been able to stop thinking about you!” You laugh a bit, “And I understand how serious this is. So if you want to go straight to head of command and have me discharged, I won’t hold it against you. In fact, if you don’t even feel like filing the report, I’ll pack up my things and leave now, and you won’t hear from me ever again.”

You pause, and he doesn’t fill the silence, so you keep going, the words coming out like vomit, “But there’s something else you deserve to know. When I sent the video to my phone - for personal reasons only, okay?! I was not planning on showing anyone, if that helps. When I sent the video, it opened a vulnerable point of entry for TF-141 to hack in. They… have your video. I’m so sorry, it was a major lapse of judgement, and I overlooked so many protocols, and I put our intel at risk. I put your private moment at risk. I put us all at risk. I-“

You cut yourself off, tears starting to well in your eyes. It was relieving to get it off your chest, but you knew what was about to happen. You knew you were lighting a fuse with one hand and holding dynamite with another.

“I’m so sorry, Konig.”

The tears start flowing and you’re powerless to stop them. You hoped it wasn’t coming off as a desperate attempt to gain sympathy.

For awhile you stand there, eyes fixed at the floor as you wait for his response.

Konig hasn’t moved, hasn’t said anything, just stands in his spot, staring.

When you finally look at him, eyes full of heartbreak, he maintains eye contact for a few moments, expression unreadable.

After a moments to process, he uncrosses his arms to dig into his pocket, pulling out the device you had given him on that very first day. His boots slowly cross the linoleum floor and he gently sets your device on the dinky table behind you before removing the wristband and setting it down next to the earpiece without making a sound.

He doesn’t even look back at you before he turns his back and walking out the safe house door, shutting it with a soft click.

——————————————————————

It’s been three days since Konig left you alone in the safe house.

You’re wondering if you should cut your losses and leave. Change your name & get started with a new life.

You’ve already preemptively packed up your things to make it less painful on yourself when your supervisor comes to kick you to the curb.

Even as your life is dissolved and scattered to the wind, you actually feel a lot better than you have in months. Almost like the worrying was worse than the actual consequences. At least now you can live honestly.

Nonetheless, it was still pretty painful. Your latest infatuation finding out how you so deeply betrayed them. Watching him walk out on you had left you sobbing face down in the dusty orange couch pillows to muffle your cries.

It’s late at night on that third day, and you had managed to find some respite with a surprisingly warm shower and losing yourself in blurry reruns of a game show when you hear the light ting of metals.

At first you think it’s the ringing in your ears returning, it had been on and off ever since Ghost concussed you, but you quickly realized by the uneven rattles it had been coming from within the safe house.

Your eyes scan the room after switching the TV off, first starting with the fridge that hums too loud, but quickly dart your attention over to the movement of the safe house’s doorknob jiggling.

Not again.

You try and suppress the flashbacks enough to find somewhere to hide, but the safe house is one big open room with a small obscured bedroom that was more bed than room, and you don’t think the bed is high enough off the floor to crawl under.

So instead you freeze on the dingy couch, your heartbeat deafening in your ears as you watch your doorknob wiggle in its loose hold.

There’s a distinct click and then a long pause. You don’t even see the doorknob rotate because the door gets flung open with such speed and force it slams against the wall and bounces back.

“Konig?” You fear melds with confusion as you make sense of the figure rushing in.

He’s already closed most of the gap between you when you manage to squeak out a more alarmed, “Konig!”

It’s scary to have such a large man charge you, especially one you’re so used to being docile around you, one that usually stands hesitantly by the door until invited closer.

You don’t have a lot of time to think about it. Konig grabs you by the crest of the back of your neck with one hand, his other hand lifting up his mask to kiss you without room for arguing.

You let out a surprised gasp that was muffled by the kiss, and he takes that opportunity to have his tongue greet yours. His grip is tight on the back of your neck, his fingers digging in slightly to stake his claim. The stubble on his chin brushes roughly against your skin as he takes what’s his.

Once you catch up, you close your eyes and try to match his intensity but it’s difficult to keep up.

He finally pulls away, out of breath and letting his hood fall back over his mouth, his now free hand moving to the side of your face, “I’m sorry I left you, mein schatz.” He pulls away from your face slightly with a breath, “I needed to think.”

Your wide eyes flicker between his, mouth slightly parted as you nod. “Yeah,” your voice is breathy, the shock of the kiss having knocked the wind out you, “That’s uh, understandable.”

He brings his face closer to you. His eyes shift, and you see that dark flicker again.

“You have to understand, liebe, your deed will not go unpunished.”

Your brows retract as you swallow at the threat, looking up at him with concern in your eyes and your thighs pressed together.

You’ve been nervous around Konig before, maybe even scared, but you’ve never feared for your safety. Quite the opposite, actually. Such a large, strong soldier on your team gives you a shield of comfort - he made you feel safe.

But the way his voice had lowered and his eyes tinted with something primal shoots a tingle down your spine and raises the hairs on your neck. You’re not sure what he means, but your brain is coming up with ideas faster than you can sink your teeth into the details.

You’re almost ashamed at the warm feeling of arousal that sinks to your lower abdomen.

He kisses you again, this time closed and softer. When he pulls away his face stays dangerously close to yours, “You’ve done a very bad thing, liebe. You understand?”

His voice is low and husked but holds incredible authority. You can’t help but feel like a child being scolded in the principal’s office. You nod slowly, lips pursed and eyes still rounded in suspense.

He brings his finger up to your chin, his face close enough your noses are brushing, “I can’t hear a nod.”

The knot in your stomach doubles and your breath hitches a bit, shaking as you speak, “Yes, Konig, I understand.”

His thumb strokes your cheek, but it doesn’t soothe the mixture of fear and arousal flushing your skin.

“Would you like to right your wrong?”

You take a deep breath. You’re not sure what you’re agreeing to, but you’ve been desperate to fix what you’ve done since the moment you committed it. “Yes, Konig.” You nod your head, “I’d do anything.”

A pleased hum comes from him, and you're close enough to feel the vibration. You swallow nervously, gaze hesitantly watching his animalistic eyes stare down at you like you’re his prey.

“Stay.” He orders, pulling away from you and letting his hand linger on your face for an extra moment before turning away from you.

You obey, both fear of consequence and desperation to please not allowing an ounce of will to defy him. Your eyes are still locked on him as he steps to the dinky little table he had set the device on three days ago.

You had left it untouched, making it easier to swallow by still thinking of the device as his. As if Konig had just left it behind by mistake instead of intentionally returning your property to you.

He took both carefully in his hand before returning to you, boots asserting themselves as they slowly and confidently traverse the linoleum. He holds the devices out for you to take. “Feed on. Projection off.”

And you follow his instructions, what choice do you have? When his voice is strict and he’s standing over you, intimidating stature making you feel so small and defenseless. The shake of your hands causes your fingers to fumble as you struggle with the remote, his hand held out impatiently as you stumble with fluster.

When you finally get it, you place both devices in his palm, staring up with your eyes begging for his approval.

He gives you nothing, as usual, placing the earpiece under his hood and setting the wrist piece down simultaneously.

“You stepped out of line, liebe.” Konig takes closer to small gap between you you, “You humiliated me.”

His eyes are half-lidded now, boring into you with menace.

“And now I’m going to humiliate you.”

He touches your face with his thumb again. You can’t help but flinch at the gentle touch, on edge from unease and excitement.

He gives another light huff, reveling in his ability to intimidate you.

“On your knees.” He commands, finger pointing at the floor as he slides back to make room for you.

He huffs in satisfaction at the dumbfounded look on your face. Your mouth slightly agape and stuttering - it’s dawning on you now; exactly what you have to do to right your wrongs.

He squints at you, voice leaving no room for error, “Did I stutter, Schatz?”

That sinister glint in his eye returns again, and just the sight is enough to get you to slide quickly to the floor, assuming your position on both knees, neck slowly tilting back to take him in as he towers over you.

He leans in to to cup your face again, giving it a soft yet firm pat, “Good.”

Your heart flutters at the praise, even if simply articulated.

That’s all you want to hear. That you’re good. You want to be so good for him.

You’re dripping now, Konig already having you ache for his touch.

His strong hands slide down your face, four fingers cupping your jaw as his thumb brushes your bottom lip gently. When your lips part he slides his thumb in your mouth and you oblige, obediently sucking and showing him what you can do with your tongue.

He gives a low pleased hum before removing his thumb and reaching for his belt, the buckle jingling as he unlatches it and removes it from his waist in one swift pull.

Your stare follows the belt as he folds it in half, and he muses at your worried look. He likes the way your mind wanders, always running with the possibilities. It’s what drew you to him in the first place.

He doesn’t hit you, though, just taps it against the bottom of your chin to get you to fix your gaze back on him. Once he’s got your attention, he discards the belt and reaches down to pop the button on his pants, yanking each end to get the zipper down in one smooth move.

He slides his thumbs behind both waistbands, pulling them down just enough to expose his cock. It’s rock hard and practically springs from his pants, and you can’t help but let out a small squeak and just how big it is.

You’ve seen it before, studied it endlessly, imagined it so many times.

It did nothing to prepare you for kneeling before it. Just like the rest of him, his cock intimidated you, at full attention and already leaking precum.

“Wrap your hands around it, schatz.”

You follow his orders, softly gripping his cock. You’ve studied the video of him jerking off so many times, you know exactly how to please him. You start with a loose grip, your hand sliding from base to tip at a slow pace, as your other hand cups his balls.

At first he watches, enjoying how your hands looked so small around him. He can’t help but close his eyes and tilt his head back as he lets out a soft moan.

It sounds so much better in person, and your pace picks up, desperate to elicit more from him.

He tilts his head forward to get a better view of you.

“Suck.” He commands, and you hesitate for a brief moment, worried about the logistics, before ditching your fears and giving it your best shot.

You keep your hand steady on his shaft as you guide the tip to your tongue, a slow lick clearing the bead of pre-cum that had formed.

He lets out another low moan that makes you quiver.

You press your lips to him, slowing working the tip into your mouth as you tease with your tongue.

As you work steadily down his shaft, you have to fully unhinge your jaw to fit him in to avoid teeth, and even then it’s a close call. You’re continue carefully and he seems willing to be patient with you as you get used to his size.

You manage to somewhat comfortably fit half of him in your mouth, using your free hand to squeeze the base of his shaft. You start to move back and forth, pressing your tongue against him.

He watches in awe as you take him in, not holding back in his pleaded hums and groans.

“So good, Schatz.”

Warmth pools in your chest at the praise.

You look at him with a doe eyes and a full mouth, bobbing on his cock as you slick it up.

He moans at the sight, placing a hand on the back of your head. He follows it up with another order.

“Deeper. I want to see you choke on it.”

You’re not in a position to argue, so you oblige, letting his cock slide as deep as you can, but he’s not pleased with your attempt. He tightens his grip on the back of your head, fingers laced between strands of hair, and slowly forces his cock in until you’re squeaking out noises involuntarily, eyes welling with tears.

He starts to fuck your mouth, slowly at first, but picks up the pace. He doesn’t wait for you to get your bearings or catch your breath, savoring the lengths you’ll go to please him.

“There you go, schatz, so good for me.”

The tears are steaming now as he triggers your gag reflex, and your underwear is stained with your arousal in response to being praised and used.

He pulls out of your mouth, his cock still wet with your spit, and takes a step back to admire you. Your breath quickening to catch up, the flushed look of your face, the disheveled hair. He relished in the mess he was making of the intelligent professional he had come to know.

He gives a pleased hum at how you wait so patiently for his next order.

“Up. Clothes off.”

Your breath hitched, cheeks flushing a shade deeper. You wipe the spit from your mouth and slowly stand, hands shaking with nerves.

Your fingers dig into the hem of your shirt, desperate to grip onto something, and you hesitate at his command, nervous to let him see you even more exposed.

You ignore your nerves, too willing to please Konig, and pull your shirt over your disheveled hair and discard it on the couch. Your fingers fumble with the waistband on your lounge pants, sheepishly pulling them down your thighs and stepping carefully out of them.

You stand before him in your underwear, and you can’t help but cross one arm over yourself. The way he’s staring at you, not shy about his gaze mapping your newly uncovered features. He steps forward again, close enough his hard cock brushes against your warm skin.

He gives a low hum of approval and steps closer, his hands gently running along your sides until they find your waist, staking their claim with a firm grip. He leans in and you feel the drape of his hood caress your shoulder as he brushes his head against yours, lips in your ear.

“You’re so beautiful, meine schatz.”

You close your eyes as he plants a kiss though his hood on your neck, and you can feel his breath through the soft cotton.

It’s not fair that you’re naked while he’s still fully covered. You feel so vulnerable and exposed.

You quickly understand that’s exactly what you had done to him and let out a soft whimper at the realization that this is intentional, that he’s issuing this power play as part of your punishment. You’ve had your time to admire his body, now it’s his turn.

“Bedroom, now.” The softness leaves his voice with the demand and he pulls away from you once again to get a better view of you.

The knot is your lower abdomen doubles as you turn and head to the bedroom, giving him a good long look at the back of you.

You stand at the narrow space between the end of the bed and the wall, looking up at him when he enters, waiting for his next order. You can’t help but notice the jingle of his belt as he carried it with him. He sets it on the bed and takes his time committing your image to memory.

“On your back, liebe.” The pet name doesn’t soften the domineering tone, warning you not to dare rebel against him.

You follow his order, getting up on the bed and laying down for him, your upper half propped up by your elbows.

Konig follows, crawling over top of you slowly, his massive frame engulfing you beneath him as you lean into the bed. He appears even more menacing over top of you, strong arms and legs trapping you beneath him. You can’t help the nervous expression on your face as you stare up at those hungry eyes.

He brings a hand up to touch your face, leaning forward to plant another kiss on your lips, lifting up his mask as he does so. It annoys you that whenever he pulls away the hood falls, and you can’t even get a peek at what you assume is a strong jaw.

The hand on your face slides down your neck, fingers traversing the bumps of your collarbones before he shifts down to your chest, stopping for a moment to tease your nipples to attention. You suck in a breath and arch into the touch.

He hums again, low and devious.

Your hands reach up to touch his arms, but he doesn’t let you, removing his hands from your chest and grabbing your wrists firmly. He passes one off so he can hold both of your arms in one strong grip, and you’re amazed he’s able to subdue both of your wrists with just one of his massive hands. He leans back and uses his free hand to reach for the belt at the foot of the bed, before wrapping it around your wrists and fastening the buckle tightly.

He leans in close to your face as he places your restrained hands back above your head. He takes in the way your breath quickens through parted lips, eyes wide and cheeks flush with excitement and worry. He likes making you falter, likes watching you breakdown underneath his power.

“You’re all mine.” He reminds you, one hand keeping your bound wrists firmly above your head.

You nod, and when you speak your voice comes out quiet and broken, “All yours, Konig.”

It gratifies him, judging by his self-assured laugh and the way his cock twitches against your stomach. “That’s it, liebe.”

He removes his grip on your forearm with a firm squeeze to remind you to stay, and he scoots himself back so that either leg is straddling your thighs instead of your waist. His gaze shifts down, soaking in every inch as he cups you over your underwear, his careful touch taking advantage of your sensitivity.

You can’t help but grind your hips into his teasing, already leaking for him.

“Mm, I can tell you’re enjoying this. Such a dirty little pervert you are.”

You close your eyes and let out a whine at the teasing, both verbal and physical.

“Don’t worry, liebe, I’m getting impatient as well.”

He slips his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, sliding his fingers along your hips to tease you a bit before sliding them down, having to readjust himself as he takes them off. He repositions himself between your legs this time, letting either of your ankles at his sides.

His hands slide up your quivering thighs, spreading you open and getting a good look at you. You try and fight the embarrassment under the heat of his stare, resisting the urge to bring your bound wrists down to cover yourself.

He takes his time slicking himself up with lube - he came prepared, you noticed. Premeditated passion. Guess he has to when he’s got such a large cock.

You’re worried about the logistics, but you get the feeling Konig wouldn’t dare hurt you in this way.

Once he’s nice and slicked, he lines the tip against your aching warmth, and leans down close to you.

“Are you ready, meine liebe?”

“Please, Konig.” You whine, rutting your hips to grind against him.

He closes his eyes as he slowly works himself into you. Your suspicions are confirmed as he stops just after the tip, opening his eyes again to confirm the level of comfort displayed on your features.

Your teeth are grit, but you nod your head in approval.

He’s continues, pace so careful as he pushes himself further into you. It’s been so long since you’ve got any action, especially action from someone so well endowed, you’re incredibly tight around him. He’s studying you, searching for signs of being pushed over the limit as he takes his time stretching you out.

You can’t help let out a soft moan when he’s halfway in, just at the feeling of being filled. Your eyes flutter shut, giving yourself the ability to concentrate on the cock working into you.

It takes awhile, it does. You’re so small and he’s so big, but he doesn’t seem to mind, enjoying using you as his cockwarmer, walls so cozy and tight around him. He thinks it’s so goddamn arousing that he’s so huge you have to push yourself to take him. He likes that he’s a challenge for you. He wants to train you and shape you in every sense of the word.

But for now, he allows you take the lead from underneath him, letting yourself grind your hips down on to him at your own pace as he lets low moans escape him.

When you’re finally at the point of desperately rutting your hips against him, you give him all he needs to hear.

“Fuck me, Konig, please fuck me.”

He obliges, unable to say no to your eager and breathy tone. His fingers grip onto your outer thighs as he thrusts into you. His pace is quick, but he’s still cautious not to force himself too deep inside you. He’s a disciplined man, after all.

Even without being all the way inside you, he’s still deep enough to hit the spot, forcing moans to escape from parted lips.

“Look at me, liebe.”

You oblige, and his cock twitches inside of you at the sight of your half-lidded eyes glazed in pleasure. He grunts, his pace picking up as he ventures deeper inside of you.

You can’t help the mutters and moans spilling from you. Your hands mindlessly move from above your head to his chest, tugging on the fabric of his shirt.

“You feel so good. So good for me, schatz.”

You moan in response, and he decides he’s worked you open enough to push all the way in.

You’re cockdrunk now. Breathy moans escaping without thought, eyes unfocused and body limp to his desires.

When he suddenly pulls out you whine. “Koni- please.”

“On your front.” He commands as he sits back on his knees, towering over you.

You’re flush and out of breath as you do as he says, positioning yourself the best you can with your hands bound. On all fours, head down towards the pillows as you arch your back.

The bed shifts under him as he scoots close before giving your ass a firm smack, the gasp leaving your mouth more out of surprise than pain. He gives you a few more, alternating between your cheeks. Just enough to leave handprints behind, marking you as his own.

He lines up with you again, pressing into you without hesitation.

You both let out moans at the return of warmth. He’s less gentle now, pounding into you hard enough the sound of flesh crashing together fills the room. The creaky bed is slamming against the dingy walls and your thighs are rippling on impact. You can’t help but quiver as the pleasure washes through you.

He’s got such a rhythmic pace, slamming into you while he grips your hips tight to keep you still.

“All mine.” He growls between breathy groans.

You can't even respond, practically drooling into the pillows as Konig fucks you senseless. A string of broken praises fall from your lips, mostly nonsense. Konig leans in and leaves little kisses down your back, without breaking his pace.

“Koni, I’m gon’na- fuck, Konig.”

“Come for me, meine liebe.”

Your eyes pinch shut and a broken moan leaves your lips as you ride the waves of intense pleasure washing through you. It’s enough to make your entire body clench, your walls gripping onto Konig.

He doesn’t let up, forcing your thighs open as he mercilessly pounds you through orgasm.

He gives your ass another firm smack, and your fingers are clawing desperately at the pillows, searching for any sort of stability but you’re powerless to Konig and his forceful cock.

You’re on cloud nine, feeling so far away from your body as you’re washed up on the shores of pleasure. Konig’s strength is the only thing holding you steady.

“I’m going to come, schatz.” He warns, moaning your name just like he did on the video before he fills you up and stakes his claim deep inside you.

His fingers dig into your thighs as his muscles tense under his clothes, his thrusts and moans becoming uneven as he loses himself to the euphoric gratification.

He pauses for a few moments after he slows to a stop, taking a moment to catch his breath as he lets his cock warm inside you.

He pulls out of you with a low grunt, watching the come that spills out of you. When he releases his grip on you, you’re too weak to support yourself, sliding limp on your front and basking in the afterglow of your orgasm.

He takes pleasure in knowing he marked you, completely broke you down and disheveled you. Made you feel so good you have to collect yourself afterwards.

He steps out for a moment before quickly returning with something to clean you both up with.

He’s gentle with the clean-up, wiping away the mixture of lube and come from you while minding your sensitivity, not wanting to disturb your bliss. He removes the belt from your wrists as well.

“Konig? Cuddle.” You mutter, arm stretching across the bedspread.

You don’t see the smile underneath his hood, but after he wipes himself off he joins you back on the bed, the mattress creaking for a final time as he pulls you in a spoon. You feel so safe and small, pressed into him like this. His strong arms wrapped around you. His chest on your back. You let out a pleased hum.

“That’s going to make a nice video.” He says, removing his earpiece and turning it off as he sets it on the bed.

“You can have the real thing anytime.” You say, eyes closed with a warm smile on your face.

He hums low in your ear and gives you a kiss on the cheek, “You’re forgiven, Schatz.”

“Thank you Koni.”

You both drift off, tired out from your intense finishes.

You stay close throughout the night, but having him pressed into you unfortunately didn’t stop the nightmares. When you wake up in a panic, kicking and screaming at the latest renditioning of your mind’s unresolved trauma, Konig’s there to press his hand to your heart, telling you that everything’s okay, it was just a nightmare.

Your breath is still rapid and your heart is still pounding as you steady yourself, transitioning yourself back to reality after the night terror.

He hugs you so tight, reminding you about how he’ll always be there to protect you, that no one will ever hurt you again, he will not let anything happen to you.

You steady yourself, and he knows well enough how hard it is to calm yourself after such an immersive terrifying experience.

“I brought something for that, Schatz.”

When he leaves the room you think he’s going to bring you a book, a puzzle, something to do to distract yourself.

What he brings back makes you tense, your eyes widening at the gift. He sets it down for you, getting back into the bed and resuming his position wrapped around you, protecting you. But your eyes are glued to the gift, the full implications sinking in.

Konig had set down Ghost’s mask.

“No one will find out about your secret. I took care of it.”

You don’t need him to explain further. You know Ghost will never have the opportunity to hurt you again.

“Thank you, Konig.”

He kisses your shoulder through his hood, “My pleasure, meine liebe. Sleep tight.”

And you do.

———————————————————————-

More by uhohdad:

Meine Perle: Reader is tasked with feeding enemy prisoner Octo!Konig

HIS: Konig has an unhealthy obsession with you.

Original Works Masterlist

#konig #konig cod #konig call of duty #konig modern warfare #konig mw2 #call of duty #cod #modern warefare ii #modern warefare 2 #konig x reader #smut #konig x you #x reader #fic #experimental #uhohwriting

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red-might-be-dead · 28 days

Text

hello hi here to force strange thoughts into your brain once again, this time about jrwi (wow who could’ve guessed)

been thinking about this for a little but it’s basically what i think some campaigns would be if not podcasts, i haven’t listened to some of the older ones so i’m sorry they’re not on here :(( if you have any ideas feel free to add them btw :DD

RIPTIDE!!!!! - really long animated series

not an anime though, no matter how much grizzly wants it, it would be an animation style where the characters could have very clearly different nose, face and body shapes, really pushing my riptide nose agenda here sorry, each episode would be like 20-40 minutes long and instead of coming out in seasons there would be massive gaps in between episodes, from 2-6 months long, to leave time for writers and animators to get stuff done (massive team of animators btw, i feel like it would be pretty successful)

PRIME DEFENDERS!! - comics

literally nothing else they could be, just really well made, well performing comics (i’ve already talked about this before you can stalk my talk tag if you really want to find it lmao), the comic company making them would be keeping well away from movies n shit btw

APOTHEOSIS!!! - i wasn’t really sure about this one to be honest

i had to ask my friend and she said anime which i don’t agree with but i can see it, i think maybe a short book series where each book is 150 - 300 pages and is about a different god they have to kill/a different episode, i think that works but if anyone has any better ideas please tell me :D!!

BLOOD IN THE BAYOU!!! - i hate to say it, i really do…

bitb would be a really long really good 80s horror book with strong homoerotic undertones, a satisfied fanbase and lots of active members in the community making fan comics, films, writing, theories and art ect… until well after the book came out……….. and then it would be made into the most egregious and awful live action movie you have ever seen, the most awful casting (like chris pratt as officer dudes….. throws up) and even worse sfx, oh yeah and the characters would be ruined and the story would become so butchered it wouldn’t make sense, they would do some shit like cut out becky so kian just kisses some random lady (removing both a really good and well written character and a layer of kian’s character that i think is super important) and make rolan really be an evil bug spy the whole time so rand has to kill him to save the town also add in a whole new sub plot that never existed like the rand family is secretly a long line of bug alien hunters or something fucking stupid like that and the entire fanbase would murder whoever thought re-writing the story was a good idea (ahaha can you tell ive been through something like this before ahahaha, character morals and motives being removed and whatnot ahahahhahahaha.)

anyways………

THE SUCKENING!!! - live action series

it would be well made though, unlike the bitb movie it would be its own original thing, have great makeup and effects also be well casted and well shot, well written, ect ect, it would bloody and gory and not suitable for people who can’t handle showing bones and organs all over everywhere, lots of shitty rip off merch would be made though and the fandom would be 99% gay little freaks (normal suckening enjoyers) and 1% homophobic straight white men who get mad whenever they see soda and emizel having gay sex on screen or whatever fag shit that biting thing was

again feel free to add your thoughts and ideas and shit in the reblogs it would be nice to read them :DD!!

#red rambles relentlessly #jrwi show #jrwi pd #the suckening #jrwi riptide #jrwi apotheosis #jrwi bitb #jrwi spoilers #jrwi the suckening #jrwi prime defenders #bitb spoilers #suckening spoilers #i think i wrote some shit that could be considered spoilers in those two sections #definitely the bitb one #which i definitely didn’t base around a certain netflix adaptation of one of my old favourite books cough cough #I HATE THAT FILM SO MUCH WHY DID YOU DO THAT TO SOPHIES CHARACTER SHE IS SUPPOSED TO BE A BITCH STOP TRYING TO MAKE HER NICE #anyways like maybe one person who sees this post will know what that’s referencing #and i will admit the books weren’t perfect but at least the characterisation made sense

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here2bbtstrash · 2 years

Text

heartless (explicit)

genre: pwp, smut, exes hooking up - a part of the jeju shore collab !

pairing: jungkook x reader

summary: after a wild summer at the shore where he made more than a few mistakes, jungkook is ready to remind you why you always take him back.

word count: 7.4k

other works in this collab: You DTF? by @haliiimede and Himbo Hours by @gimmethatagustd

contains: explicit sexual content!!! set in 2009, member POV, established relationship (exes), mentions of infidelity, mentions of alcohol and drug use, jk blows a stranger (definitely not anyone we know 👀) in a bar bathroom, some good ol' fashioned 2009 biphobia lmao, EXCESSIVE use of petnames (kookie and jagi) like it's really too much, cunnilingus, fingering, a lot of pussy appreciation bc of who i am as a person, they make a sex tape 🎥 (reader films jk going down on her), hot tub sex, jk makes reader come with a hot tub jet, unprotected sex (smh 😔), nothing in this fic is sexually healthy pls do not replicate, multiple orgasms/overstim, a lil bit of marking, jk is toxic and i kind of love him oops, don't fight me for the ending

A/N: it's here it's here it's here!!!!! happy jeju shore day 🥰 i'm so excited to share this one with y'all, it really was supposed to be a joke thing like ~sammi and ron vibes~ yknow and then idk.... this fic ran away with me,, like tell me why i ship kookie and jagi lowkey 🥺 over here like maybe one day they'll work it out 🥺 ANYWAY uhhh heed the warnings, this one's a doozy, have fun, stay hydrated 💦 and make sure you check out jai and hali's fics toooooo for your full ~weekend at the shore~ !!!! love you babes, thank you as always for reading 😘💜

read on AO3 !

“Shit, gonna come.”

Thank god, Jungkook thinks to himself. This guy has some impressive stamina, which he’d normally appreciate, but he’s in a bad mood tonight. Getting his throat fucked hasn’t helped like he thought it might.

Even though the guy is cute, with a big body and a sweet set of dimples, Jungkook is just going through the motions. He’s annoyed by the way the bathroom floor is digging into his knees, the way his jaw is starting to lock up with how long he’s been at this.

He shuts his eyes, remembers to breathe through his nose, and then a hand presses hard to the back of his head and his mouth starts to fill, bitter and heady. Careful not to spill a drop, Jungkook keeps his suction tight through the cock-twitches of this guy’s— he didn’t get his name, because he really doesn’t care to know it— orgasm, until he finally feels the fingers in his hair release.

Jungkook gets to his feet and stumbles to the sink, gripping the porcelain edge while he spits out the glossy strings of a stranger’s load. He’s not a swallower, because he’s not gay. He’s just good at sucking dick— and Jungkook likes doing things he’s good at.

“Appreciate it!” The stranger’s voice echoes over his shoulder, followed by the sound of the bathroom door swinging on its hinges and slamming shut, leaving him alone with a sink full of cum.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

Jungkook stares himself down in the mirror, runs a hand over his hair to make sure it didn’t get fucked up from that guy’s truly obscenely large hand. Thankfully his extra-hold gel seems to be doing its job.

At the realization that his teeth are grinding together, he presses a knuckle into the hinge of his jaw, trying to encourage it to relax. He’s been clenching all night, and he’s not sure if he should blame the six redbull vodkas he’s thrown back or the keybumps of something he did off the bar: it was either coke or molly.

Coke, he thinks. He’s on edge.

He can’t shake this feeling, like he’s a wild animal trapped in a cage, as he pushes the bathroom door open and presses his way back into the mass of bodies in the club. He’s gone out every night this week looking for something, but he can’t find it. It’s not at the bottom of a bottle or in white powder snorted through a rolled-up hundred. And it’s certainly not in any of the random strangers he’s taken in the bathroom or the back alley or on the hood of his car in the parking lot.

He misses you.

It’s been almost three weeks since you last came around, and even then, it was only to scream at him while you dug your clothes out of his dresser and threw your spare toothbrush in the trash can. All because someone left you that stupid fucking note detailing the night Jungkook went blackout, where the last thing he remembers is Jimin convincing him to switch to Malibu.

If what Jungkook’s been told is the truth, he apparently started a bar fight and had a foursome that night— just, unfortunately, with three people who weren’t you. He kind of wishes he could remember at least one of those.

Fuck this, he thinks to himself, surrounded by trashed club-goers on all sides, bodies slick with sweat and tanning oil, the floor sticky from spilled drinks and probably a few other things. Jungkook knows exactly where he wants to be, and it’s between your thighs, not at one of the seven shitty clubs he and his hyungs have been rotating through all summer.

Figuring Taehyung and Jimin are fine to handle their own shit, he shoves through the crowd a little more aggressively than he needs to, and definitely knocks one drunk girl flat on her ass without bothering to look back.

The slight chill in the air when he steps outside is a welcome relief from the stale heat of the club. It’s the last weekend before everyone packs up and heads for the mainland, which means he’s running out of chances to see you, to try and convince you to get the fuck over this latest bump in the road and take him back.

Jungkook knows he loves you, he’s sure of it. He wants to marry you someday, get a little house in the suburbs, pop out a few kids, all that shit. But right now he’s young, and he just wants to party and have fun. He doesn’t understand why you care so much.

Driving home with the windows down, going a cool 80 in a 40, he grips the wheel with one hand while the other digs his Razr phone out of the pocket of his ripped jeans. He hits the first speed dial where your number is saved and has to call three times before you finally answer. The fact that you picked up at all means he has a chance tonight.

“What, Kookie?!”

Probably the greeting he should’ve anticipated, but his stomach still flips at the nickname. You’re the only one allowed to use it: he’s strictly Jungkook to most, JK to his hyungs.

He fidgets absentmindedly with the car lights, the AC, the button for the windows. This is always the hard part, talking about feelings and shit. But it’s what you want, so he’ll do it for you.

“Wanna see you,” he murmurs into the phone, as if he needs to keep his voice down so he won’t get caught being soft.

“Fuck off,” you snap instantly, but you don’t hang up.

Jungkook’s played this game enough times to know what it means: he’s got a rapidly shrinking window of opportunity to say the right thing. He clicks his tongue against his teeth, trying to buy himself some time. “Come on, don’t be like that.”

“Like what?” You huff.

Stopped at a red light, Jungkook tips his head back against the car seat and shuts his eyes for a second, trying to keep up with the rapid pace of his thoughts. “Don’t be mean to me. I already told you I’m sorry, it’s not fair for you to hold this shit over my head.”

“I’m not holding anything over your head, Kookie, you fucking cheated—“

His grip on the steering wheel tightens, and he has to hold himself back from stomping too hard on the gas pedal when the light changes. “Yeah, I fucking know, okay? But it’s the last weekend. Is this really how you want to leave it?”

The silence on the other end of the line is more than enough to answer his question.

“Just… come over. Let me see you. Please?” Jungkook grimaces, embarrassed to be begging. He wouldn’t do it for anybody else.

Gravel crunches under the tires of his car as he pulls into the driveway, and he’s only sure the call didn’t disconnect when he hears the way you sigh softly on the other end. It’s a sigh he knows well.

“Fine.”

You don’t say anything else, and neither does Jungkook. He doesn’t know what else there is to say, or why any of this has to be such a big fucking deal. But he waits, until finally you hang up, and then he flips his phone shut. Girls.

Once inside, he makes quick work of getting everything together: sweeping the empty beer cans on the kitchen counter into the trash, spraying on a little more Hugo Boss, a mouthwash rinse to rid himself of the lingering taste of cum. The place you rented for the summer is just down the road, so it’s as he’s spitting in the sink for the second time tonight that he hears you bang loudly on the front door.

Time to turn on the charm, Jungkook thinks to himself, and then he exits the bathroom and reaches a hand between his shoulder-blades to pull his shirt off over his head. He drops it to the floor of his bedroom before heading down the hallway to let you in.

Jungkook swings the door wide and leans one arm on the frame as he takes you in. You’re standing on his stoop, arms crossed angrily over your pink crop top, belly button piercing glinting in the porch light. He smiles fondly, remembering the summer you got it done, the way you squeezed his hand so tight when the needle went through that he nearly lost feeling.

It was nice then, the way you acted like you really needed him. You used to be so sweet. He wonders when that changed.

It’s been too long. “Hi, jagi,” he says, and it comes out softer than he would’ve liked. It makes him sound weak.

“Fuck off. Answering the fucking door shirtless. You did that on purpose.” You roll your eyes as you brush past him to walk inside.

He turns sideways, purposefully taking up most of the doorway so you have to squeeze through, and when you do, his fingers hook in the belt-loops of your jeans to pull you closer.

“Just like you wore these?” There’s no way you don’t know what those white low-rise jeans do to him. Jungkook always tells you they make your ass look so fat, and even though you complain every time, he means it as an honest compliment.

Clearly still trying to act pissed off, you pop your gum at him, but he knows better than to believe that you’re really mad. If you were, you wouldn’t have come here. And you certainly wouldn’t be looping your arms around his neck and tilting your head up like that, moving so close that he can feel the heat of your breath ghosting over him.

“Maybe. What are you gonna do about it?” You purr, like you don’t already know the answer.

Jungkook’s lips find yours at the same time his hands slide around your hips, fingers sinking into the denim stretched tight over your ass. You squeak a little at how hard he grabs, and he takes the opportunity to swipe his tongue into your mouth, deftly retrieving the wad of gum from between your teeth. He pulls back with a cocky grin and spits it halfway across the yard.

“How about you come inside and find out?”

“Jesus.” You make a face when you step in first, leaving your Gucci flip flops in the front hall, and Jungkook turns back to shut the door behind him as he follows you. “You guys trashed this fuckin’ place.”

He frowns at your utter disregard for his cleaning efforts, but he follows your gaze and, well, you’re not wrong. He probably could’ve done something about all the half-empty liquor bottles, the overflowing ashtrays, the sink full of dishes. But right now he really doesn’t give a shit.

Jungkook closes the distance between you again, arms slipping around your waist from behind, head ducking down to nuzzle in the crook of your neck, to make you squirm the way he likes. “This is the bachelor life. We need a woman’s touch,” he murmurs against your skin, and you scoff a laugh.

“I’m serious,” Jungkook protests. He pauses to suck a mark into your skin, only stopping when he manages to coax a soft whimper out of you. “Why don’t you and I get a place together next summer? I’ll tell Jimin and Tae they’re on their own.”

You hum softly, in the way that tells him you want that, too. But you’re still playing coy, even as your hands slide over his arms locked tight around you. “That’s very presumptuous of you.”

“Maybe I should do some convincing,” Jungkook’s lips brush over the shell of your ear, and you wriggle out of his grasp, crossing into the living room and tossing your purse on the couch before dropping down unceremoniously next to it.

The wild animal feeling hasn’t dissipated— when he follows after you, Jungkook can’t help but feel like a predator stalking his prey.

It’s probably fucked up, but he likes the chase.

Leaning back on your hands, you gaze up at him, jeans sunk low enough for Jungkook to see the pink straps of your thong that peek out over the curve of your hip. The visual makes his own pants start to feel tight.

You tilt your head expectantly. “I’m listening.”

“I wasn’t gonna talk,” he admits with a smirk, standing over you, one leg teasing your thighs apart.

You reach forward to trail a hand down the defined lines of his stomach— the gym has been good to him this summer— and blink your long lashes innocently. “Will you at least use your mouth?”

“Well, now I know what you came over for,” Jungkook growls. His hands drop to brace on the back of the couch behind you, arm muscles flexing as he cages you in, and he leans down to capture you in a heady kiss. He missed it all: the way you smell, how soft your lips are, the way you still taste like spearmint. Your needy little noises when he licks his tongue into your mouth and the way you suck so diligently on it. You’re always so good for him, always so pretty when you come back.

“Take your pants off, jagi,” he breathes into your mouth, shifting to grip your neck with one hand as he kisses you again. He can feel a soft whine in your throat under his palm when you do as you’re told.

Jungkook pulls back once your jeans are kicked all the way off, knees digging into the carpet as he settles between your legs. His biceps wrap under your thighs and he tugs your bare ass to the edge of the couch, pausing to slip a finger under the thin string of your thong and gently snap it against your skin.

You spread your legs wider for him, leaning back against the cushion. “Don’t tease,” you huff. The desperation in your voice just turns him on more.

“Impatient,” Jungkook notes with a smirk. “And I haven’t even told you what I want yet.”

“What you want?” Your attempt at sass is undercut by the moan Jungkook works out of you when he sucks another hickey into the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He pulls back with a final lick over the mark that sends a shiver rippling through you, makes your nipples stiffen against the thin fabric of your crop top and your hips tilt up instinctively for more.

His eyes find yours again. “Let’s make a movie.”

“Kookie,” you whine, and Jungkook cups a hand over the front of your panties, rubbing circles into the thin material, then gently squeezing your pussy lips together to help argue his case. He can feel the muscles in your thighs twitch in response— always so sensitive.

“Come on,” he murmurs, pushy. “I know you have that camera in your bag.” You take your Sony digital camera with you everywhere, like it’s a third limb, like you believe nothing really happens unless it’s documented on Facebook.

Jungkook reaches for the strap of your Coach purse and drops it between your spread thighs. “I want you to film me while I go down on you. That way you can watch it back when you need to remember why you keep me around.” He punctuates the request with a wink, because he knows you can’t say no to him. That fact is made evident by how quickly you dig in to retrieve the little pink camera before tossing your bag aside again.

“I don’t watch porn, Kookie,” you scoff, already turning it on and fiddling with the settings. “I’m not nasty like you.”

“You’ll watch this one,” Jungkook corrects, hands pressing on your thighs to encourage them to spread further. Your skin is smooth and warm under his touch as he slides his fingertips back up to the line of your panties. “Now shhh. The only thing I wanna hear talk is this pussy.”

When the telltale beep indicates you’ve started recording, Jungkook stares pointedly into the camera with a cocky smirk. “Missed you, jagi,” he says, both to the you on the other side of the camera and the you who will watch this in the future, when you inevitably get mad about some dumb shit and break up with him again. As if you could ever really stay away.

His eye contact doesn’t falter as he licks a long, slow stripe up the front of your panties, taking his time, tongue laid flat to fully soak through the fabric. When he leans back, one hand snakes between your thighs to tug the damp material to the side, tattooed fingers pressing into a V to spread your folds apart. It always makes you squirm, but he loves to admire you like this. He’s not ashamed to like pussy.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, reaching the hand that isn’t parting your pussy lips up to beckon for the camera. “Let me film. Won’t get your face in it.”

You hand it over silently, clearly already too turned on to make a big show of protesting. Jungkook turns the lens on your pussy, holds it up close as he traces two fingers over your folds, keeping the pressure light enough that you squirm and flutter cutely beneath it.

“Fuck, look at you,” he murmurs when he teases his touch down to your entrance. There’s already enough slickness there to earn him an audible wet noise as he goes, his pattern a slow, lazy circle. He presses a finger in just to drag it back out, and a thin, glossy string of arousal comes with it. “Your pussy loves me too much. That’s why you can’t stay mad.”

Jungkook paints the wetness he pulled out of you up to stroke over the hood of your clit, and it’s enough to edge your breathing with shy sounds. You bring your palm up to your mouth, clearly trying to keep quiet, and it only encourages him to dip back in for more. He uses two fingers this time, slipping past your entrance into the tight velvet heat of your cunt, always so warm and willing for him.

You sigh at the loss when he pulls back, more arousal drooling out of you to chase after his fingers. Jungkook loves to play with you like this: you squeak when he squishes the whole of your cunt up in his hand, reveling in the noise of your slick folds pressing together, in the way your pussy’s gone needy for him. All swollen and puffy, all soft, dripping juice like ripe fruit.

He works up some saliva in his mouth and lets it dribble down over your slit between his fingers, then follows it with another pass of his tongue.

“Oh my fucking god,” you whimper.

“You know I’ll always treat it right, jagiya.” Jungkook purrs, releasing his grip on your pussy lips to pinch at your clit while he passes the camera back. “But let me show you in case you forget.”

He firmly tugs your panties down your thighs and leaves them to dangle off one ankle before guiding your legs to hook over his shoulders. After a final glance up to make sure you’re still filming, he leans in to properly trace his tongue through your slick folds, lapping at the arousal pooled at your entrance while his thumb brushes over your clit to work up more.

Jungkook’s brows pinch together and he grunts in appreciation of your taste, thick and familiar; he’s gone too long without it. He’s eating properly now, alternating between dragging his tongue flat and flicking it gently over your clit in the way that makes you gasp and shove your hips up towards his mouth, rough and wild, no good-girl pretense left in you.

His arm locks across your stomach to keep you where he wants you, and he pulls back with a smack of his lips and a cheeky smile for the camera.

“Relax. I’ve got you.”

This is the part he loves: when you start to come undone, worked up enough to be responsive to every little touch. Jungkook licks broad, showy stripes up to your clit, eyes fixed on you through the lens, enjoying the way your soft sighs blossom into full-out moans, matching pace to the steady rhythm of his tongue.

“Kookie,” you groan, “nnh, fuck— f-feels so good.”

He hums a laugh against your folds, and the vibrations make you cry out so he does it some more, lips closing to suck firmly at your clit while his mouth buzzes sweet, low notes around it. You arch up beneath him and your moan scrapes rough against the back of your throat, desperate.

It was a stroke of genius to have you film it, Jungkook thinks absentmindedly to himself. Documented proof that nobody else could ever do you this good.

“Fuck.” Your voice brings him back to attention as he continues to pulse suction against your clit, tongue fluttering out again to lap at the sensitive bud. The sounds you make are slightly muffled by the manicured hand you’ve clapped over your mouth, but you’re so loud now that he can still hear every word. “Oh god, Kookie— I-I’m gonna come, oh fuck, ohhhh—”

Your hips tilt up as your orgasm overtakes you and he shoves them back down, practically growling as he forces you to stay there and take it. He can feel your legs shake, the way your bare heels kick listlessly against his back as he sucks and licks you through the peak of your climax. Your pussy throbs in his mouth and drips down his chin like honey, with a taste so good he doesn’t want to stop.

“God fucking dammit,” you moan, and he keeps going until you bring one foot up to press into his shoulder to push him away. “Kookie, p-please, it’s too much.”

With a final swipe of his tongue, Jungkook pulls back, wiping at his chin with one hand. “You’re sensitive, jagi, I know.”

But there’s a reason you haven’t stopped filming, and it’s one you both know well. It was back when you first started dating, when you could never keep your clothes on around each other and barely left his room, that Jungkook learned your body expertly enough to figure it out: after you come once, your pussy gets so sensitive that he can easily work you up to a second orgasm, even from just the curl of his fingers against your g-spot.

He hopes no one else will ever get the chance to know you like this.

You barely manage to stifle another sob and almost drop the camera when he slips two fingers into your cunt, pressing to the hilt to feel how swollen-tender you are inside. Your walls squeeze so tight around him that his cock twitches in his pants with jealousy.

Sliding one of your legs off his shoulder, he presses your thigh firmly into the couch and groans a little at the way you spread wide for him, glossed folds all flushed and pretty. It gives him a head rush to watch his hand work you open, to see the thick white cream of your arousal paint his fingers each time he pulls back just to thrust in again.

You’re wet enough now that the sound is obscene, a juicy squelch every time he fucks into you, and Jungkook can’t help but smile. He glances up. “You’re dripping on my couch, jagiya.”

You can only whimper in response.

“You want to come again?”

You nod desperately until you manage to find the word. “Please.”

“Anything for you.” Jungkook winks for the camera as he starts to flex his fingers to pet over the ridges of your front wall. You keen as he puts more weight into his strokes, your free hand reaching to cling to him and dig your nails into his bicep. He’s too keyed up to feel it, can’t focus on anything that isn’t your pussy squeezing him like a fucking vice grip, tight and hot and soft inside.

You’re past the point of being able to talk, reduced to breathless moans— “ah, ah, nnh”— because Jungkook knows exactly what to do to take you apart all over again.

This time he makes no move to stop you when your hips buck up. Instead he lets you let go, lets you fuck yourself on his hand, fluttering around his fingers and trembling all over as you start to come.

Jungkook goes a little slack-jawed watching you and momentarily forgets about the video, looking over the camera to see the expression on your face as he works you through your second peak. He loves the way you grip tight to him with your nails and your pussy, like he’s special, like you need him.

Your knees reflexively pull towards each other as your cunt-pulses slow and you finally start to come down, thighs clamping in around Jungkook’s wrist to still the motions of his hand. When he hears the whir of the camera shutter retracting and sees you toss it aside on the couch, he finally relents. You open yourself up enough that he can slip his fingers out to suck the excess off.

“What the fuck,” you finally manage as you collapse against the couch cushions, sounding beyond dazed.

Jungkook presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek, trying to hide his smug smirk, and gets to his feet. As he watches your head tip back and your eyes flutter closed, he can’t help but wonder if you got what you came for. If this is the last he’ll see of you until god knows when.

Fuck that. He’s not letting you go that easy.

In one swift move Jungkook leans forward, slipping an arm between your back and the couch and sweeping the other under your knees. He tosses you over his shoulder— completely naked from the waist down— like it’s nothing at all, delivering a swift slap to your ass with the hand that isn’t wrapped around your hips.

“Kookie!” You try to sound mad but the laugh that bubbles up gives it away. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Come on,” Jungkook replies as he carries you across the living room, impervious to the way your hands claw at his back. “It’s a perfect night for the hot tub.”

“I didn’t bring a fucking bikini,” you sputter, feet kicking softly in the air. “Put me down.”

“That’s okay,” he reassures you as his free hand easily slides the back door open and he takes you over the threshold. “Tae and Jimin won’t be back for a while. It’s just us.”

Tae and Jimin have also already seen you naked… probably dozens of times at this point, if Jungkook had to estimate, but he doesn’t mention that part. Not when he’s trying to get his girl back.

Instead he crosses the yard to set you down on the hot tub deck, your legs dangling over the side, and makes quick work of stripping out of his jeans and boxers, half-hard cock hanging heavy between his legs. He hopes it might give you some incentive to stay a little longer.

When he turns back to face you, your bottom lip is jutting out in a bratty little pout as your feet swing aimlessly off the deck. It makes him want to fucking ruin you.

Jungkook steps forward to close the distance, thumb running down your mouth to pet over your lip. “Put this back in your mouth and take your top off, jagi.” His voice is low, his mouth ghosting over yours.

Your bare foot knocks into his shin, but it only hurts a little. “Make me.”

He can’t help but smirk at your attitude. It’s cute. He likes you feisty. “That’s a lot of sass for someone who was just screaming my name.”

You smack a hand against his chest with a play-scowl. “Shut up.”

He sweeps your arms behind your back before you can do it again, easily enclosing both of your wrists in one of his hands. “Why are you always so mean to me, huh?”

“Oh, I’m mean?” You look like you’re going to say more, but he pushes your crop top up with his free hand and watches the way it makes you shiver, your nipples tightening in the cool night air.

“You are,” Jungkook says softly. “And I’m just trying to love you.”

The same hand cups one of your breasts, and he ducks down to suck the stiff peak of it into his mouth, enjoying the airy little moan he coaxes out of you and the way you arch up into him. His grip on your wrists doesn’t falter as he pulls off, switching to roll your other nipple under the pad of his thumb.

“You should get these pierced,” he remarks, gaze shifting between your tits as he imagines silver barbells studded through the buds of them. “I’ll get one too. We can go together. Next summer.” His eyes find yours in time to watch your expression soften, just barely. It’s enough.

“Yeah, sure,” you deadpan, wiggling a little in his grasp. “Until you decide to stick your dick in some strange and fuck everything up again.”

Jungkook sighs. You’re fucking relentless. “I don’t want to talk about that. Can’t it just be us?”

Your reaction isn’t what he expects: he’s surprised to see the fight go out of you, to see how defeated you look as you lean in and press your forehead against his chest. Even your wrists go slack in his hand, and he releases his grip.

“That’s what I’m saying, Kookie,” you murmur. “That’s all I want.”

Jungkook’s fingers sweep under the line of your jaw. “I know.”

He tilts your head up for a kiss, and your hands come to cup his face, as if to pull him closer— to hold him in place so he can’t run away.

It’s the way it always is: he’s not going to promise he’ll change, and he knows you’re not dumb enough to ask him to. He can’t be anything but what he is, but he can hope you’ll love him anyway.

Your thumb strokes over Jungkook’s cheek as he pulls back, and he smiles a little. “Will you please get in the hot tub?”

Jungkook settles into the water first, sighing dramatically loud at the welcome warmth, and you giggle as you peel your top off before following after. When you slip in politely across from him, he grabs you by the ankle with a growl, and you don’t fight as he pulls you close again.

His hands guide your thighs apart to straddle him, so your knees rest on either side of the ledge he’s seated on. Between the heat of the water and your body on top of him, he’s dizzyingly hard in seconds.

The two of you make out like teenagers, more tongue than anything else, doing your best to hump and grind against each other despite the water slightly inhibiting your motions. Jungkook can’t stop touching your tits, obsessed with the weight of them in his hands. His fingers pinch and tug at your nipples to make you whine into his open mouth again and again, and his cock twitches in response every time.

“K-Kookie,” you finally manage to groan, nails dragging down his back as he presses sloppy kisses, all tongue and teeth, to the slope of your neck. “Need it, please. Your cock.”

His mouth finds yours again, and he bites down on your bottom lip with a smile before pulling back to answer. “You’ll get it, jagi. Wanna try something first.”

You whine a little and he gives a teasing pinch to your inner thigh, shifting you off his lap so he can stand up.

“Come here.”

Jungkook’s hands slide to your waist when you get to your feet, and the added weightlessness from the water makes it even easier for him to move you where he wants you. He guides you to spin so your back is flush with his chest, then encourages you to kneel on the ledge again, pushing your legs further apart.

“Can you stay like this for me?” He murmurs in your ear. You look up at him over your shoulder with wide, shining eyes, reflecting back the blue glow of the mood lights filtered through the water, and you nod.

As he ducks down to kiss you, Jungkook’s hand fumbles blindly against the edge of the tub until he finds the button he’s looking for. When he presses it once, the jets roar to life, including the one positioned right between your spread thighs.

You gasp into his mouth, and Jungkook wraps his arms tight around you to keep you in place, letting you collapse back into him as the jet pulses onto your pussy. “Oh my god, oh fuck, Kookie.”

“Feels good?” He murmurs in your ear, and you can only whimper and nod, hips circling against the stream of water, stimulated past the point of coherency. Your eyes practically roll back in your head. “Yeah, you look good like this.”

Jungkook can’t help himself now— his cock aches from lack of attention, and he starts to grind into you from behind, rutting himself against the small of your back, the curve of your ass. His hands grab at the soft skin of your thighs for leverage, and he can feel the way you’re shaking, already close, your breathing going ragged.

“K-Kookie—” you whimper. “I’m— fuck, g-gonna—”

“Want you to come for me,” he groans, tongue darting out to trace the shell of your ear. “Come for me like this so I can fuck another one out of you.”

Your arms scramble back behind you for something to keep you grounded, nails scratching and digging into Jungkook’s shoulders as your orgasm starts to crest.

He keeps rocking his hips into you, which only serves to move you closer to the jet and make the pressure that much stronger. You’re moaning loud enough for the neighbors to hear, and Jungkook has to grip your hips to keep them still as you come fast and hard, shaking apart in his arms.

“That’s it, that’s it.” Jungkook talks you through it, petting broad strokes down your thighs that make you jolt under his touch. “How was that, jagiya?”

“Fuuuuuck.” Your answer is a soft whine, and he can feel the aftershocks still rolling through your body. You shift to pull your thighs together, shivering all-over, and Jungkook releases his grip on them, hands moving up to squeeze at your tits while you recover. He can feel the way your heart is racing beneath his palm.

Your eyes slowly blink open, heavy-lidded, and you start to untangle your arms from around Jungkook’s shoulders. His back stings a little— he’s sure he’ll have pretty pink scratch marks to remember you by.

He presses a kiss to your temple, chaste in spite of how fucking hard and horny he is. “Love you. Stand up for me?”

Your legs are still shaking, so Jungkook helps haul you to your feet. Taehyung is always telling him he shouldn’t actually be penetrating girls in the water, something about vaginal health, so he has you bend at the waist to lean over the edge of the hot tub. The arch in your back when you press your ass up towards him makes his cock start to leak against his stomach.

Your head lolls forward to drop down on your forearms, and he laughs a little at how fucked out you already are as he gives your ass a firm slap. “Stay just like that. Face down ass up.”

You wait patiently as he climbs out of the water to search the deck. It only takes a few seconds for him to spot what he’s looking for: the bottle of lube Jimin’s always leaving out “just in case”. Jungkook makes a mental note to buy him a thank-you shot.

“God damn,” he murmurs appreciatively when he returns to you, rubbing three fingers slicked in thick silicone lube along your puffed-up slit before pushing them into the velvet heat of your pussy. “Wanna come in you so bad.”

“Please, Kookie,” you whimper.

Jungkook withdraws his hand to squirt more lube into his palm and fist it over his length, hissing a little at the sensation and the squelching noise his hand makes when he fucks into it. Tossing the bottle over the edge, his hands come to frame your hips, and he can’t help but moan as he starts to grind the head of his dick against your folds. “Fuck.”

You push your hips back on him, all wrecked and needy, your voice wrung-out. “Fuck me, Kookie, please— wanna take your cock, wanna feel it.”

It’s so hot when you beg for him. With another soft noise, Jungkook lines himself up to your entrance and gives you what you need: the whole of his thick cock sliding into your grip-tight pussy, slow for the delicious stretch of it, so you can feel every inch until he’s pressed in to the hilt.

It feels the way it always does. You were made to fit together.

You whine into the crook of your elbow, your walls already fluttering, split open and filled up and so sensitive. Jungkook leans forward, hands bracing the edge of the tub on either side of you, until his chest is flush with your back and the tip of his cock presses into your g-spot.

“Oh shit, right there, Kookie,” you gasp, like he doesn’t already know.

Jungkook grunts, nipping at the skin of your shoulder, and he starts to grind his hips against you, rubbing his cock into your g-spot over and over, until your legs threaten to give out.

Your pussy feels so good, the little moans you’re making in time with his motions are so pretty, it’s like he can’t get enough of you. He brings a hand up to run over every inch of your skin he can reach, all of it smooth and gorgeous under his fingertips— he really can’t stop touching you.

Maybe those bumps he did back at the bar were molly, he thinks absentmindedly.

“So fucking sexy,” he groans as he strokes a little harder, hips rolling fluidly. “So fucking beautiful.”

“F-fuck, Kookie,” you whimper, pushing your ass back to meet his thrusts, and you let out a choked moan when he starts to pound more firmly in response. “Ah, fuck— don’t fucking stop, oh god—”

Jungkook hooks his arm across your chest, and his hand gripped tight to your shoulder gives him more leverage to hit deeper. Being squeezed so close by your walls is nearly overwhelming, your pussy all hot and wet inside, it’s like he can barely fit. “God, you’re so fucking tight, jagi.”

“F-feels so guh— good, nnh,” you can hardly get the words out, and Jungkook can feel the way your whole body is starting to shake.

He can’t stop himself now, not when it’s this good. “Missed you so much, jagiya. Wanna marry you, wanna put a baby in you.” His cock twitches hard, enough that you whimper a little, and he knows he’s not going to last much longer.

“Come with me, jagi,” he grunts. “I want to feel you come again.”

“C-can’t,” you gasp, but he knows you can, can tell by the way you’re gripping around him that you’re already close.

The clapping of skin on skin echoes out as Jungkook fucks deliberately into your g-spot, no longer holding back, and you cling to the edge of the tub for dear life as your muscles start to contract. “Oh fuck, Kookie, fuck, fuck, I’m coming, I—”

With a loud cry, you collapse forward, knees nearly buckling as your orgasm hits you. Jungkook is helpless to the way your pussy pulses around him, like it was made to milk his cock. He tips his head back with a throaty groan as he comes with you, comes for what feels like an eternity, thick white ropes spilling into your cunt with every dick-twitch of his orgasm.

“Oh my god,” he groans, working the last of it out with a few shallow strokes, his breathing harsh and ragged. “So fucking good.”

You whimper softly with your head dropped down into your arms, your pussy still shuddering around him.

Jungkook squeezes at the curve of your ass as he pulls out with a hiss of oversensitivity. Deciding not to bother with the mess running down your thighs, he takes a second to catch his breath, then climbs over the edge of the hot tub, wiping absentmindedly at the beads of sweat dotting his temples.

You’re clearly too fucked out to walk now, so he scoops you up to carry you across the deck and back inside through the open sliding door, bridal-style this time, cradled in his arms. He smiles at the way you’re still trembling a little, your face now buried in his chest.

He deposits you onto the couch, then stretches out next to you to prop up on one arm, admiring how your hair fans out beneath you as you curl into him with a small sigh.

It takes you a while to come to, lashes fluttering prettily over your cheeks, and when your eyes finally blink open, you sit up rather abruptly.

Jungkook brings a hand to your low back to rub gentle circles. “Hi, jagi.”

There’s a look on your face, like you’ve just realized where you are.

“Fuck, I should go,” you murmur, looking around until your gaze lands on your purse. You lean over to retrieve it and dig through the contents until you finally find your phone and slide it open. “My roommate is gonna figure it out if I don’t come back, and she’ll fucking kill me.”

“Stay with me,” Jungkook says softly.

“No, Jungkook,” you snap, and he can tell by the way you’ve dropped the nickname that he’s lost you for the night. “I shouldn’t have even fucking come here.”

He should probably take this more seriously, but he can’t help his instinctive reaction, or the smirk that pulls up the corner of his mouth. “But you did come. Four times, if my memory is correct.”

“Fuck off,” you grunt, already up and starting to pull on your clothes that are scattered across the floor of the living room. You briefly disappear outside to retrieve your shirt.

“Does this mean we’re not back together?” Jungkook tries when you slip in the door again.

You shoot him a look he’s all-too-familiar with. “Not at all.”

“Will you at least unblock me on Facebook?” He asks sweetly, and it’s a joke, but he can see from the way you roll your eyes that you’re clearly too pissed off to have any more fun tonight.

“Facebook?! That’s seriously what you care about right now?! You are so fucking shallow, Jungkook.” You grab your purse in a huff and storm off down the hallway.

Jungkook knows he should get up and fight for you, at the very least stop being horizontal on the couch— but honestly, he’s fucking tired. That’s the thing about your hot and cold shit: he knows you’ll be back eventually, whether he makes any effort right now or not. And it’s so much easier not to.

So he says nothing, hands folded behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling, and waits until he finally hears the front door slam behind you.

Whatever, he thinks to himself with a heavy exhale.

After a minute, he gets up and heads into the bathroom, turning the shower on extra-hot. It’s still early. He can rinse off, get dressed, go see what Tae and Jimin are up to. Maybe he can jump on a grenade for one of them and take his mind off things for a bit.

He unlocks his iPod, docked on the speaker he keeps on the bathroom shelf— can’t shower without a good playlist— and spins the wheel until he gets to one of his favorites, simply titled fuck bitches. The opening 808s of Kanye West kick on like a heartbeat as Jungkook steps under the spray of the shower-head.

#jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #bts smut #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts collab #jeju shore

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inner-viper · 1 year

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What are their kinks? Their sexual intimacy? An overview of their sex life FS (18+ ONLY) PILE 1!

ORIGINAL POST HERE

Hello, my name is Viper and I am an intutive seer/oralce tarot reader. I am well versed in finding information through divination and using my intuition~ Today I wanted to do a spicy topic because its so fun. I haven't started explaining some piles and I already feel the heat. Damn, a lot of passion and fiery enegy in this reading.. Its making me horny LMFAO. THIS TOOK ME 2 DAYS AND I WAS NOT EXPECTING FOR IT TO TAKE THIS LONG. All three of these piles wanted me to do MORE DETAILS. My channeling DRAINED ME. That’s why I took so long because afterwards THEY SUCKED MY ENERGY. (Do not worry, I just received loads of messages. It gets overwhelming). Anyways, remember nothing is set in stone. This is for entertainment purposes only. NO MINORS. 18+ ONLY.

TW: MENTIONS OF KNIFE PLAY, and CHOKING. SEXUAL CONTENT!!

CHECK OUT MY SHOP AT: https://innerviper.etsy.com

I’ll be adding cheaper options in the future. I will be updating descriptions too, so SHOP WILL HAVE A NEW LOOK🔥.

Classical Tarot Deck: Seven of Swords (in reverse), Eight of Cups, Strength, Knight of Wands (in reverse), Nine of Swords, Queen of Cups (in reverse), King of Pentacles, Queen of Swords

Oracle Deck: Seventh Chakra/Archangel Uriel, The Thinking Man, Second Chakra/Archanhel Ariel, Angel of Strength, Door To Personal Healing and Happiness, Angel of Balance (in reverse), Walking Away, All Tied Up

Ok, this person is the dominant. If you aren't the submisive one then this might not be for you. This person is hot asf in bed. LIKE DAMN they bringing this heat towards the bedroom. Also, STRENGTH SHOWED UP TWICE IN THIS READING. They got STRONG STAMINA. They can go for multiple rounds, they are expreienced. Some of them are not that experienced but they know exactly what to do (This applies to a VERY small minortiy). They aren't emotional when it comes to hdoing the act. I see that they like to let loose and an almost animalistic side of them comes out.. LIKE DAMN. Going back to doing multiple rounds, they definitely like to take their time. They like to dominate bratty submissive people. They like to see you being fucked by them. Not to say they can’t make love but they are just into fucking you. They definitely like receiving head as well. They like to push their partner down on them or take control of their hair. I see that they definitely like to let their partners let loose as well. They love it when their partners are in the moment instead of wondering off in thoughts.. They take their time too, they don’t like feeling rush and they have a thing for dirty talk as well. They are nasty asf bruh(💀). They like bondage and are into BDSM. Some of them might be into some power play here. Like an older man with a mature beautiful partner. What I mean is they like to see power dynamics but it’s not weird (Like not in a creepy way😂). They want to see their partner in lingerie. They want to type them up in specific rope, red rope? They like to be teased by their partner. They want their partner to try to seduce them. Try to make them fall for you as you tease them in a public setting. They definitely like your legs, specially your thighs. They love to see you reveal your thighs with thigh highs? This can apply to all genders. I’m seeing the bottom wearing thigh highs for gay men. If you are gay, they are into femboys.. 🫣 They also like to make their partner moan out their name. They know how to talk in bed. Watch out this person will seriously have you blushing and you won’t be able to think of something fast enough to reply. A real charmer! They will fuck you into you no longer think of anyone but them. Until you can no longer say any words or slurring out words, only moaning their names loudly. Saying that your attempts of seducing them are cute. They like to see their partners on edge. They like to do it in private area with semi-public areas too. Like maybe getting fucked by the window that’s tinted. 🔥 They like to test yours and their discipline. One of their secret fantasy is to dominate someone into submission and to fuck them hard. They like to kiss deeply rather than lightly though. They also seem to have a nice body. They watch a lot of porn. Some of them are into anal and using a toy in the bedroom on you. Yeah, they are very horny individuals. LMFAO

They like to connect with their partners on a deeper level too. They like to do acts with partners that they can connect to. They prefer doing the act with partners they know rather than hookups. During hook-ups, they aren’t as caring and not much love making. They still like to be pleasure at their own pace though. They love switching to multiple positions. They switch positions before they come to bring their partners' pleasure as well. They can come fast if they really focus on themselves, but they won’t do that. They also like missionary, froggy position and seated oral! They like it when their chest is being touched too, it’s a sensitive area in their nipples. Watch out for that tongue, they know how to give very well. “How cute is it to watch you squirm underneath me? What? You can no longer say anything? Haha, let me continue” SO COCKY-

Aftercare: They are very attentive and nice. They will like to clean up and go to sleep because you will be tired. They view sex as healing and very relaxing. They want to make sure to bring that towards you feel like they do.

Thank you for reading. Send suggestions in the ask box!~

#pac

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atlafan · 1 year

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Carnal Attraction - Part One

a/n: sexology professor!harry is here!! Just a reminder, this is the only part being posted on here. The rest will be on Patreon. I can’t wait to know what you all think so far. This is going to be a good one, I think.

Warnings: talk of sexual acts, mentions of sexual misconduct

Words: 4.7K

Tumblr Masterlist I Patreon Masterlist

The world of academia is astounding. People stay in higher education for so many different reasons. Some go off to become medical doctors, others become doctors in specific fields like psychology or literature or philosophy. Some choose to stay in academia because they don’t want to sell their souls to industry work. Mavis always loved school. She was one of those kids that did well no matter what the subject was. She studied hard, wanting to take in more and more information. She was naturally gifted in the art of time management. Everything clicked for her. If something was puzzling, she’d figure it out.

There isn’t much she can’t figure out. Which is why she’s grown increasingly aggravated with her sexology professor. She can’t figure him out. She swears he hates her. He’s short with her, and less personable with her than he is with the other students. She’s never struggled like this with someone before. And he wasn’t even supposed to be the one teaching her courses!

When Mavis tells people she’s in graduate school for a master’s in sexology, they look at her funny. Furrowed eyebrows, puzzled facial expressions, etc. No one can ever piece together why someone would get an advanced degree in a subject like this. That’s because people can’t get their minds out of the gutter. In undergrad, Mavis majored in psychology, and minored in gender and sexuality studies. She eventually wants to produce literature and perform psychoanalysis on sexual behavior and sexual issues. She thought she wanted to be a psychiatrist, but that involves medical school. And as smart as she is, she’s rather squeamish when it comes to blood. So, then she thought maybe being a psychologist, some type of sex therapist would be good, but she honestly has a tough time speaking aloud about the various subjects. And sex therapy isn’t just for helping couples have better sex, a lot of it is helping people with history of sexual abuse recover and find ways to heal. Mavis doesn’t have the stomach for that. She cried too many times reading case studies about it in undergrad.

All that being said, she eventually wants to get her doctorate in psychology with a concentration in sexology, so when she found a graduate program to help get her started on that journey, she went for it. She could write about sexual disorders and the like all day. When she’s writing and researching, she’s quite helpful to others. She enjoys learning about sexual history, those were always her favorite courses. Learning about how trans people in the 1800’s used binders to hide their breasts, learning about how two opposite sex couples would get married, go in on a duplex together, and use the basement to sneak over to sleep with their same sex partner, learning about different gay and lesbian liberation movements, the HIV/AIDS epidemic, and so much more was where her interest was. It all just fascinated her, it all astounded her, and a lot of it just made her downright upset. Tears would litter her textbooks as she read about people being beaten senseless until they were left for dead in the streets. She’d cry because all of it was happening not too long ago. She cried because it still happens today.

She’s quite empathetic, and almost too much to a fault. But she can’t help that she cares! She enjoys studying the psychology side of things, how the brain functions of these people work, how the brains of bigots function, if there’s a disparity between the two on scans or octopuses. All Mavis wants to do is hunker down in her own academic sanctuary and research and read and write and publish.

Mavis had been assigned an advisor over the summer, one whom she emailed with frequently to make sure she was taking the correct courses in the correct sequence. Her advisor recommended courses with one specific professor, Professor Amaro. Apparently, her classes were top tier, and she was a favorite amongst the other graduate students. No brainer – sign up for Amaro’s courses.

Except when Mavis showed up for her first day of Human Sexuality, a co-requisite for her Sexual Pleasure Education course, there was a man standing at the podium, hooking his laptop up to the HDMI cable so he could project onto the screen up front. At first, she thought maybe he was a TA just setting up for Professor Amaro. She paid it no mind. She found a seat in the middle front, and got her own things set up. It’s syllabus week, so there won’t be much to go over, but Mavis still likes to take handwritten notes. She pulled her agenda, a notebook, and her copy of the syllabus out, and set them on her desk. The classroom is small, only meant to hold about twenty-five people. Mavis prefers small classrooms. She’s not a fan of lecture halls with stadium-style seating.

“Is anyone sitting here?” A woman’s voice took over Mavis’ attention. The desks are set up for two people to sit at. “If it is, I can sit somewhere else.”

“Oh! No, go right ahead.” Mavis smiled. “I’m Mavis.”

“Thanks.” The woman says with relief as she sits down. “I’m Taraji, I use she/they pronouns.”

“Nice to meet you. I use she/her. Thanks for letting me know yours.”

“Nice to meet you too, and no problem. It’s something new I’m trying out. I don’t…I don’t always feel like a she, you know?”

“Totally get that.”

“Sorry, I hope that wasn’t too much info too soon.”

“No worries.” Mavis waves her off. “We’re going to be talking about some real shit in this class, it’s best to just be open and honest.”

“Agreed.” Taraji takes out her own agenda and notebook. “I hate that we have to take this course in conjunction with the sexual pleasure class. I feel like I’ve taken a million human sexuality courses at this point.”

“I know, it seems a little odd, but I figure there must be more high level stuff to discuss since this is at the grad level. And review isn’t always a bad thing, I like refreshers.”

“Well, aren’t you full of silver linings?” Taraji smiles. “We need more people like that in this world.”

The girls continue to chat while the class fills in. At 10:30, the man at the front closes the door and turns the projector on, revealing his screen. Mavis’ stomach drops when she sees Human Sexuality – Professor Styles – M/W 10:30-12:00 in big bold letters.

“What happened to Professor Amaro?” She whispers to Taraji.

“Beats me.” Taraji shrugs. “Maybe we signed up for the wrong section?”

“That can’t be it, this is the only section being offered.”

The man, Professor Styles, clears his throat to get everyone’s attention. He’s wearing a button up, but it’s not buttoned up all the way. You can see his undershirt. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing quite a few tattoos. Round glasses are on the bridge of his nose, and his hair is pushed back with a couple of curls falling forward on his forehead. He looks young. Who the fuck is this guy?

“Morning, everyone.” His deep voice fills the room as he rounds the podium to stand in front of the desk attached to it. He leans back against it, gripping the edge behind him. “I’m Professor Harry Styles, I prefer to be called professor, so please try to remember that. I’m sure you’re very confused as to why I’m standing here and not Professor Amara.” He pauses to take a sip of water from his Nalgene. “I quite literally found out the other day that I would be taking over her courses. To be transparent with all of you, Professor Amaro is under investigation for sexual misconduct with her patients. As many of you know, a lot of the professors in the psychology department have their own practices outside of academia. Summer is when Professor Amaro picks up new patients. There was someone undercover seeing her for therapy, and she was caught taking advantage. It’s extremely disappointing. So, not only will she be losing her licensure, but she has been let go from the institution as well. We do not condone the abuse of patients. We also do not want someone so unethical being the one to teach our future therapists. How many of you are in here as part of the clinical licensure program?” More than half of the class raises their hands. “Right, I thought so. I usually teach undergraduate courses, but I’m fully prepared to teach at the graduate level just the same. I know many of you have already taken different iterations of Human Sexuality, but this course is integral for you so you can fully get what’s needed out of the Sexual Pleasure Education course. It says 10:30 to noon up here, but I’ll typically only be keeping you for about an hour, if that. Many of you have research and other time consuming things to do, and I want to be cognizant of that. I am also working towards my PhD, I’m about two years into my program and research.” He pauses again, knowing he just word vomited. The class is stunned with the bomb he just dropped about Professor Amaro, and they’re whiplashed going from that to the basic information about the course. “Any questions so far?”

“I have one.” A brave soul in the back raises their hand. “Which undergraduate courses do you teach? Will you need any TA’s since your load just got bigger?”

“Great question, thank you for asking. I will end up needing TA’s, but I have to wait to meet with the department chair to see what our budget is. I teach the undergraduate intro to gender and sexuality studies, and I also teach some of the higher level special topics courses. This semester I’m teaching the history of feminism, which is one of my favorites to teach, and I’m also teaching the film history course that focuses on how sex has been depicted in film since its start to the present.”

“You’re teaching a course about feminism?” Another person asks.

“Yes.” Professor Styles smirks. “It’s one of my main focuses of study. I may not be a woman, but I am a man that believes in equity and equality. Plus, I’m a huge history buff, so I enjoy teaching about how the movement began and how feminism has transformed over the years, both the good and the bad of it.”

Mavis swallows thickly. She’s a history buff too. Maybe she could be a TA for one of his classes. The extra money would be nice, and so would the bit of teaching experience if she were allowed to give a lecture or two.

“Let’s focus on this class. We’ll be going over a number of topics, and at times you may feel the need to giggle because of nerves. We’re going to discuss endorsement, communication, fantasy, masturbation, homosexuality, bisexuality, desensitization and resensitization, female and male sexuality, sexual enrichment, special problems, therapy, and cultural expression. So, this gives us a base for what we’ll be discussing in the co-requisite course. Now, I’m going to do something that I do with my undergrads, I’m going to say a ton of words and phrases that you’ll feel the need to giggle about as we discuss certain topics. This is your only chance to laugh. If you do it throughout the semester, then we’re going to have a problem. If you become a sex therapist, you can’t laugh at your patients. We’ll get into why these words make us feel nervous, and why we feel the need to laugh when we hear them.” He grabs the remote for the projector and clicks it. Everyone gasps and starts laughing when they see many words and phrases appear. “Alright: penis, vagina, pussy, cunt, cock, dick, mutual masturbation, anal, penetration, fingering, eating out, going down, blow job, hand job, sucking someone off, breasts, boobs, nipples, fetish, BDSM, whips, chains, handcuffs, threesomes, orgies, condoms, contraceptives, birth control pills, IUD, sex toys, dildo, vibrator, cock ring, lube, dirty talk, dominant, submissive, daddy, baby talk, douching, porn, clit, clitoris, prostate, prostate orgasm, orgasm, vaginal orgasm, stimulation, fucking, fisting, getting wet, wet, come, precome, squirt, squirting, ejaculation, and sex.”

The entire class is snickering and giggling and laughing, even Mavis. Hearing all of those things back to back and watching the words dance on the screen in an animated fashion is hilarious. What a fun approach to getting people more comfortable with these terms.

“There are many more words and phrases, obviously, but these will be the ones we use more often.” Professor Styles explains, smiling fondly to the class. “If you’d like to be considered for a TA position, please come up to me after you’re dismissed. “Any questions?” No one raises their hand. “Great, then you’re dismissed. Enjoy the nice weather.”

Mavis and Taraji exchange contact info, and agree to meet for coffee tomorrow morning before their sexual pleasure course. A few people go up to Professor Styles to tell him they’d like to be a TA, and he takes down their information. Mavis is the last in line, the last student in the classroom with Professor Styles.

“Name?” He asks, not looking up at her.

“Mavis Ashford.”

“Alright.” He looks up at her now, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Do you have a preference?”

“I’d love to help out in the feminism course or the film history course. I like the historical side of things when it comes to studying this content.”

“Great, those are usually the ones I have trouble finding help for.”

“Really? I’m surprised.”

“Since a lot of you are here to become licensed therapists or psychologists, not a lot of people are interested in the theoretical aspect of things.”

“Well, I definitely do not want to be a therapist. I want to do research, eventually get my PhD, like you, I suppose. I’m sad about Professor Amaro, I heard so many good things about her.”

“None of us knew about any of it. She hid what she was doing well. She had been doing it for years, supposedly.” He sighs and takes his glasses off, putting them into their case. Mavis catches how green his eyes are, almost like sage. “Did you have any other questions? I need to get across campus to my office so I can take some time to edit the Canvas courses a little more.”

“Oh! No, sorry. Guess I was just curious to know how long you’ve been teaching for. You mentioned you were in your second year of your doctoral program, so-“

“There’s a bio page for me. My listing lives under the Psychology department. I’ll keep you in mind for my special topics courses. See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.” Mavis watches the very flustered, unorganized man leave the room in a rush. His papers were all over the place, and he just shoved all his things in his bag. How chaotic. Maybe if she’s able to become his TA, she could help him with that.

Since Monday went so well, including Mavis’ other courses, she’s excited for Tuesday. She meets Taraji for coffee, as planned, and then they head to class. A course about Sexual Pleasure Education at 9AM is wild, but if coffee doesn’t wake the class up, the content of the course sure will. Harry is at the podium, connecting his computer, just as he did yesterday. Mavis and Taraji sit at the same table they did yesterday. The class eventually fills in, and Harry turns the projector on.

“Let’s see, did I scare anyone off since yesterday?” He asks out loud, but it’s more for himself, as he checks off names on his attendance sheet. “Great, you’re all here.” He smiles. “I know you’re probably thinking how I could have possibly memorized all your names already, but I haven’t. I just have your student ID pictures next to your names on my sheet.” He leans back against the table, gripping the edge of it, same as he did yesterday, and scans over the class. “Welcome to Sexual Pleasure Education. In this class, we will discuss strategies for improved sex life, sex aids, sexual approaches, and male and female pleasuring. We will also be stressing the value of various body work techniques for persons intending to work in the field of sex therapy and counseling. Lastly, we will discuss sexological exploration of objects which have been created in response to sexual desire and experience.” He pauses to take a sip of water. “Basically, this is sex ed on crack.”

“Professor Styles?” A girl in the back raises her hand, and he nods for her to continue. “So, are there going to be, like, demonstrations in class?”

“Yes. Most people learn best by doing. And it’s important for you to know what you’re talking about if you end up becoming the type of therapist that has to make recommendations for couples. The conversations we’re going to have in this class are going to feel awkward and taboo. There are going to be days where we look at various sex toys and how to use them, and why people use them.”

“I sort of meant, like, is anything going to be demonstrated on an actual person?” The same girl asks.

“Considering that this isn’t a tantric sex workshop, no.” He smirks. “We’ll look at various anatomical diagrams to go over specific areas where people find pleasure and how best to get them to feel it in those areas.”

“Professor Styles?” A boy in the front raises his hand, and Harry nods for him to continue. “I know this isn’t technically a psychology course, but are we going to get into kinks and why some people have specific ones or like using specific objects?”

“Yes and no. We’ll discuss the psychology behind kinks in our Human Sexuality course. What we do on Mondays and Wednesdays will be more theoretical, and what we do on Tuesdays and Thursdays will be more practical. Great questions so far. Anyone have anything else?”

“Will there be trigger warnings?” Taraji asks. “For both classes?”

“Yes, when we get into some of the heavier topics, there will be trigger warnings. I’m working on updating the syllabus so you’ll all know when to expect those. If the topic is so heavy that you don’t feel as though you can come to class, please let me know so we can have a one-on-one session so we can go over the material. I can meet in-person or on zoom.”

“Thank you.” Taraji smiles softly.

“Are we going to be talking about our own personal sex lives in class?” Another girl asks.

“That depends on how comfortable you feel. We may share anecdotes, and we may not. If you become a therapist, remember that what might work for you, might not work for others. However, your patients will ask you about your personal experience with some of the things you recommend to them. I’m not saying you need to shove a butt plug up your ass in order to have a frame of reference, but sometimes it helps for your patient to know you’re a real person. Just don’t cross any hard boundaries. We all know that many patients tend to experience romantic feelings towards their therapists. That can happen twice as much with sex therapy. You need to make it clear right from the start that even though it’s a safe space for them, things will still be professional. No one is to ever take their clothes off during an appointment. That’s what leads to things like what happened with Professor Amaro to happen. Respect will be integral to this course, as well as not kink-shaming. You may find something weird that someone else may love, and vice versa. You don’t have to agree, but please be mindful of how you speak to and about others.” He drums his fingers behind him as he takes another pause. “All of that being said, if we do discuss personal sexual experiences, you need to speak about them educationally. I don’t want to hear things like, ‘this one time I was fucking this dude and he,’ blah blah blah. Okay?”

The class makes a collective noise of agreement that makes Harry very happy.

“I’m hoping to have the courses updated to my liking by next Monday. I should also know by then about TA positions for my undergraduate courses. Do we have any other questions right now?” No one answers. “Excellent. For tomorrow’s Human Sexuality class, I’d like you all to fill out these surveys.” He starts handing out papers row by row. “They’re to give me a pulse check on what you already know a lot about, and the areas you need a bit more information on. It’ll help for Thursday’s lesson in here as well.” Once all of the papers are passed out, Harry goes back to the front of the room. “If no one else has any questions, you’re all free to go.”

Everyone begins packing up their things. Mavis is stuck looking over the survey questions. Her cheeks are beat red, she just knows it.

“You coming?” Taraji asks her.

“Um, yeah.” Mavis blinks and starts packing up her things. “I just have a few questions for Professor Styles. Wanna get lunch later?”

“I’d love to. Text me later.”

Mavis nods to her new friend, and goes to the back of the line of students that have questions for Harry. Just like yesterday, it’s the two of them alone in the room. He doesn’t look at her as he stuffs his papers into his bag.

“Have you ever thought to use an accordion folder for all of that?” She asks him.

“You waited in line just to ask me that?” He looks up at her, taking his glasses off and putting them into their case.

“No.” She laughs sheepishly. “I just had a few questions about this survey.”

“Alright, shoot.” He tells her, crossing his arms over his chest loosely.

“The first question says to list five common sex toys that I know of.”

“Correct.”

“Then the second questions says to explain the function of each of the toys.”

“Also correct.”

“What if you’re not familiar with well-known sex toys? Is it okay to look up the functionality?”

“No, just give your best guess as to why someone would use it.” He looks at her, studies her. He has a question of his own to ask, but it could come off as inappropriate. “I’m going to try to phrase this in the most professional way possible…do you not have much, um, first-hand experience with sex toys?”

Mavis’ eyes widen. All she can do is shake her head no. Harry nods in understanding, not being the least bit judgmental.

“It’s not that I haven’t wanted to know more about them, like, I know a lot about the history of them, the…the theoretical side of things, as you mentioned before. But in practice…I guess that’s where I need to learn more.”

“That’s fine, you can just say that on the survey. You can keep it anonymous too. I didn’t leave a space for your names at the top.”

“So, it’s not a big deal if I haven’t personally done some of the things we’re going to discuss.” She says for clarification.

“Perfectly fine. You could be a virgin for all I care. You just need to be able to discuss and write about these things knowledgably and eloquently.”

“Well, I’m not a vi-“ She’s about to scoff, but he raises his hand to halt her from finishing her sentence.

“I don’t need to know the particulars of what you have and haven’t done, Miss Ashford.”

“You just said we need to be able to discuss these things, though.”

“Yes, as a class, when other people are around. Not when you’re in here alone with me. Someone could get the wrong idea about why we’re having this very conversation.” He slings his bag over his shoulder. “Don’t over think it, it’s just a pulse check.”

He leaves her there, sweating. Did he think she was coming on to him? Did he think she was flirting? She wasn’t! She would never do something like that with a professor.

The rest of the week goes by smoothly. Mavis makes sure not to ask Harry any questions after class. In the second session of Human Sexuality, they went through all the changes Harry made to the course Canvas page and to the syllabus. They did the same for the second session of Sexual Pleasure Education. Pretty easy stuff that the students are thankful for. The other courses Mavis is taking are research methods and a high-level sociology course. So starting off on the slower side is a major bonus. Harry lets them know that he’ll post a paper on his office door on Friday with who has been selected as TA’s.

Around noon on Friday, after a work out and a hearty breakfast, Mavis makes her way to the building Harry’s office is in. She takes her headphones out as she gets inside, and makes her way upstairs and down a hallway until she gets to the psych department office suite. His door is closed, so the paper is easy to read. Her eyes scan over it, and she’s taken aback when she doesn’t see her name. Four students were chosen: Eric, Alyssa, Mohamed, and Liza. Mavis frowns deeply. How could she not have been chosen? She spoke to Harry directly about helping with his higher level courses. What made these students better choices than her?

She hears the squeak of a sneaker skidding, and turns her head in its direction. There Professor Styles is. He looks rigid, almost like he had stopped short and was about to turn around. He sighs heavily and makes his way down the hall.

“Miss Ashford.” He nods and unlocks his office door. “I would have thought you would have been here first thing this morning.”

“Why didn’t you just email the students that got selected instead of making all of us come down here?”

“Because I didn’t make my decision until very late last night.” He tells her, opening his door and setting his things down on his desk. His office looks like a tornado hit it.

“Still, you could have emailed-“

“Miss Ashford, what is it that you need? I don’t have office hours today and I’m very busy.”

“I want to know why I wasn’t selected. I told you how much I love the history courses, I could have been a major help.”

“I’m sure that’s true, but I didn’t think you were the right fit for what I needed.”

“You came to that conclusion from only a week of knowing me?”

“I know the four students I selected better. I had them in my courses as undergrad students. They already know my teaching style and the learning outcomes of the courses.”

“Again, if you knew-“

“You need to go now.” He tells her, taking a dominant step forward, making her take a step back. “Don’t take it personally.”

“How can I not when you just told me I wasn’t the right fit?” She pouts, and she swears Harry’s eyes flicker down to her mouth, only for a millisecond.

“Mavis, I don’t feel comfortable with us being alone like this. There’s no one else in the office right now, I’m one of the few instructors that actually utilizes their space on Fridays.”

“But if you had office hours, I’d be alone with you.”

“Yes, with the door open, while other people are around.”

“Are you afraid of someone accusing you of doing what Professor Amaro did? I feel like you’re being overly cautious…with me.”

“You ask a lot of questions, and it’s annoying. You’re annoying. That’s why I didn’t select you. I don’t have any desire to be around you more than I’m already obligated to.”

“Are…are you allowed to speak to me like this?”

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “Or maybe not. Who’s to say? It’s your word against mine, right? No one else is here. Are you picking up what I’m putting down? I already told you I felt uncomfortable, now please go before I have to call campus police to escort you out.”

Mavis is stunned, and about ready to cry. Harry rolls his eyes when she doesn’t budge, so he goes into his office and slams the door in her face. What the fuck is his problem?!

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rodolfoparras · 6 months

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Price and Soap have such a chokehold on me right now 😫😫 Like both of them are so hot but they would treat their s/o so differently (imo)

Soap would be so touchy and sweet. Whenever you’re together, he always needs to be touching you. Whether it’s a hand on your thigh while sitting with the rest of 141, or him laying his head in your lap while y’all watch a movie. I hc Soap at like early to mid 20’s. He has such a high sex drive. He’s always up to fuck when you’re alone. It’s basically like rabbit mating season if you’re both horny. He’s also just very needy. Maybe he wants you to ruin, at least, one of his holes, or he just wants his boyfriend to hold him after he comes back from a mission.

Price on the other hand, not the complete opposite, but different. Price has more experience because of his age (mid to late 30’s), so he’s not as touchy or needy as Soap, but if he’s deprived of you because of work or something, this man devolves and becomes the most desperate man. Price won’t beg, it isn’t in his nature, but he’ll definitely make his intentions and wants known. Putting on the cologne he knows you can’t resist. Purposely bending over to show off his ass. Wearing less and less clothes around the house. He’ll always deny that he wants you, but once you give it to him, he’s chanting your name like a prayer.

I’m sorry for ranting. These men make me realize how gay I am and I’m so downbad for them (can I be 🤠 anon?)

First of all pls don’t apologize for ranting I absolutely loved reading and you can def be 🤠 anon that’s a cute one🥹

Second of all I absolutely loved this bc I love talking about how different price is compared to the rest of the boys when in a relationship

Bc for example soap can be touchy and kissy and need ppl to know that you’re his and he isn’t sharing while price rarely gets jealous someone has to literally be like I want to take you out on a date for him to react and even then he’d stand off to the side rocking on his heel and pretend he isn’t listening in

I also think that soap and price are equally touchy but in different ways soap is like a toddler who’s enamored with a baby kitten he wants to hug and squeeze you and sneak up behind you wrap his arms around your waist etc

Now price id def would say he isn’t touchy but that was until I saw a compilation of him somehow always fist bumping the boys or giving them a friendly pat so let’s say you’re heading out for a mission price is giving your hand a firm squeeze you’re coming back alive and well on the heli he’s giving you the biggest bear hug to exist when in company he’s got a hand on your thigh but no one else can see from the table that’s blocking the view always makes sure to sit next to you in the car he doesn’t touch you or anything it’s just nice to feel your body heat next to him. Also I absolutely agree that price won’t beg hes been in the game long enough to know how to play his cards right he knows how to rile you up what to wear what to do but also what to say you know usually when he speaks to you and you’re in public its very low pda being shown in the conversation but when you’re alone and he’s horny you can be like “are you hungry?” And he’s like depends are you on the menu?

#alec answers #🤠 anon

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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year

Text

fic rec friday 13

welcome the the tenth fic rec friday! where, on friday, i rec five of my favourite fics.

1. i was always yours (even before you knew it) by paladarns

Lance thought Keith was just an asshole. Lance has always thought of Keith as an asshole, all throughout traveling into space in a large mechanical lion, all throughout bonding moments. All throughout becoming closer as teammates and friends.

Even now, with his hands pinned above his head and Keith’s thighs straddling his waist, Lance thinks Keith is an asshole.

Lance had always thought he could see right through people, but now he’s starting to think he has a bad judgement of people.

---------- a fic in which keith is obvious and lance is a bit of a gay nervous wreck

takes place as if season 1 is the only season to exist but its now years later

so many things to love about this fic. so so many. so i am going to list them. a) secret relationship bc i love that shit and eat it up every time, b) ‘takes place as if season 1 is the only season to exist but its now years later’ -- paladarns my love thank you for this truly excellent description of where i write my fics like 80% of the time. c) keith has game, and d) HE WAS ALWAYS KEITHS EVEN BEFORE HE KNEW IT IM SOBBING BEST TROPE BEST TROPE

2. Wake Up, Sleephyhead! by @transbakugou

Keith has never loved someone like he loves Lance. Lance is his sun, his stars, his happiness. Their hands fit together like they were created to do nothing but hold each other, and he fits perfectly inside of Lance's arms. But he can never let anyone find out how much he loves this boy, how wholly and endlessly. Who knows what the Galra would do with that kind of information?

One morning, the lie comes crashing down around them.

Maybe it won't be as bad as they feared.

i love gay whipped klance and truly every single fic that has ever been written based on a vine is truly amazing, this fic is no exception. also secret relationship lol i am a sucker

3. Something Secret by @kingswriting

It was funny at first. Their arguments became more banter than actual disagreements, yet the entire team continued to assume they were at each other’s throats.

And Lance knows they’re not. He is fully aware that every sharp word, every sly smirk, every heavy handed push, and everything in between is anything but malicious.

But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss the softer side of things.

Or, Lance and Keith are in a secret relationship, but honestly want to omit the 'secret' part.

okay u can always tell what tag im following obsessively at certain times lol. for yall i present yet another secret relationship fic. ahem. this one is cute! banter and flirting and misleading and kisses and GOD its so sweet

4. Things Held Sacred by yarrie

So maybe, just maybe, Pidge was right. Maybe, just maybe, Keith had shot himself in the foot with his first attempt at resolving the blanket-hogging situation, because now Lance seemed to think it was a game and the rules were: steal the blankets, get sex.

To be fair, Keith hadn't exactly been...dissuading him very well.

okay so heres how this works. every fic rec friday so far has been from a specific collection of mine called ‘rereadables’, which was literally started because of this fic. i dont even know what specific part of this fic gets to me so hard, but you know when you read something that makes your stomach go all swoopy? and you can’t stop smiling? thats this fic! i remember i finished it for the first time and then i scrolled right back up to the top and read it again, then again, and again. like i cannot get over this fic. it gives me butterflies every time

5. Communication is key, they say by @ellana17

They already had communication issues before… Or: a malfunction with a healing pod leaves Lance able to speak only Spanish for a few days.

the idea of lance getting stuck in spanish and then almost immediately using that to flirt with keith without him knowing. like. i love that SO much that is quite possibly one of the funniest concepts to exist

that’s it for today!! i’ll see y’all back next friday for the next fic rec post!!!

#secret relationship focused bc i am annoying #fic rec #fic rec friday #vld #voltron #lance #lance mcclain #keith #keith kogane #klance #secret relationship #cuban lance #longpost #queue

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uh-mxtx · 8 months

Text

Modern MDZS au where WWX gets in a debate with college professor LQR about LGBTQA+ stuff, probably bc WWX is “corrupting” LWJ with the gay agenda. And stealing all of LWJ’s turtlenecks, for some odd reason! The boy clearly can’t take care of his own clothes, they’re all tattered and his hair is a birds nest.

Anyways, LWR is going on about how the homos are lecherous filth that have fallen to temptation or smth while covering up their transgressions by naming themselves odd things. Really, LQR asks, “what even is a pan-sexual?” (Or some other such thing that shows he doesn’t actually know anything anout being queer)

“Oh, you don’t know?” WWX asks, eyes wide and innocent and CLEARLY up to Some Shit. “Professor Lan, Professor Lan, Professor ‘show your sources do your research’ LAN. Do you not know what we’re debating about?”

LQR huffs and starts saying something about family values and continuing on bloodlines, but WWX is grinning like the cat that caught the canary.

“Professor, have you ever actually researched this? Or are you just wasting my time?” (An actual LQR quote from earlier in the semester)

LQR puffs up, and he’s all “of course I haven’t-“

“Well then, Sir,” WWX interrupts, manic joy written all over his expression, “may I just say that you have the audacity of a white man insisting that Mandarin is just a type of orange.”

The bell rings before LQR can get a word in, and WWX grabs his bag and books it to the door.

“I’ll send you some reading, Professor Lan! Let’s do this again when you know what you’re talking about!”

And with that he’s gone.

Now, WWX is only a little bit of a hypocrite, bc he definitely thought he was straight and only just managed his Revelation of “oh heck Lan Zhan is so pretty he turned me gay?” *research montage bc he actually has resources (and NHS definitely helped.) “Oh maybe girls are just pretty and I’m demisexual.”

However, the fact that he only JUST did this, means his ADHD self still has all the tabs open. And, like, he did say he’d send stuff, and this is Lan Zhan’s uncle. So, he compiles a helpful list of sites and articles, includes a link to a place where you can ask questions to the Queer Council, and sends it off.

LQR is initially going to ignore it, but then his scholar brain gets the better of him. WWX had made a point, he was woefully unprepared, and so with the intention of finding points to throw in that little brat’s face, he braces himself for horrible outlandish untraditional family-breaking nastiness, plus whatever else WWX might have put in there (ancestors if that horrid boy sent him PORN he’ll have him expelled) and opens the links.

He finds a bunch of actual helpful websites.

Definitions for all the names, labels, flags. Helpful tips for understanding yourself. Pictures of couples holding hands, smiling happily.

“Love isn’t just for procreation.”

Resources for kids who’s parents kicked them out. Survival tips. Unsafe areas.

And, because I’m personally a big fan of Demisexual WWX, a whole bunch of websites on the Asexual spectrum. You know, where people say, “oh yeah, apparently other people actually DO feel that urge to have sex with people. The songs aren’t making stuff up y’all. We’re just built different.”

LQR: nani tf?

Thus begins a confused deep dive into asexuality, what it means, allosexuals and all that jazz. LQR actually does end up asking a question on one of the sites, something like:

“I always believed that people who allowed themselves to be lustful and fall into bed with others were simply unrestrained. Is it true that some people feel an actual need for this? I have felt attraction for a woman before, but I never felt the need that some popular media attests to.”

There’s a bunch of replies, but one sticks out to LQR:

“Gonna be crude for a sec, excuse me- did you actually want to bang her? Or were you friends and heteronormative society insisted that boys and girls gotta want to fuck?”

LQR, who as a young man looked at CSSR and thought “If I have to marry, I wouldn’t mind her”: 🤯🤯🤯

Oh no.

He has to face that smirking little brat WWX.

#lan qiren #wei wuixan #wangxian #ace lan qiren #demisexual wangxian #mdzs fanfiction #mdzs prompt #modern mdzs

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setsugekka · 1 year

Text

『paradise lost』 ; 05.5

❝ the pros and cons of breathing ❞

↳ a couple of years into art school, hongjoong doesn’t understand a lot of things; how to get paint out of his clothes, how people are so willing to talk about the way they feel, how they understand the way they feel on any one thing at all, really.

then he meets psych student wooyoung, and one thing wooyoung is going to do, is talk.

⎯ ୨series mlist୧ ⎯

『 pairing 』 : kim hongjoong x jung wooyoung

『 genre 』 : romance, best friends, sexuality exploration/discovery, explicit sexual content.

『 rating 』 : mature

『 word count 』 : 12k

『 warnings 』 : college-typical experience type stuff like parties, drinking, boys kissing boys. gay sex!! anal, oral, etc. first times, a lot of consent and safety talk and talking through things in general.

╰┈➤ a/n: hi. i know a lot of yall don’t read mxm content so i’m going to add a 🍬🍬🍬 line for easy smut scene searching if you want to read this for paradise lost continuity purposes but not really partake in the smut. I DO THINK YOU SHOULD AT LEAST SCAN THE SMUT because there’s a lot of talking and character development that takes place within and because of it, but...i can’t make you so here you go lol.

Halfway into Hongjoong's second year of college, he realizes that he's spent an absolutely unfathomable amount of time in the living rooms of people he's never met before.

And tonight is no different.

Shipped off to a fancy art college much to the vocal-but-not-disallowing disapproval of his parents, he gives it a moment of thought — how precisely where he was right now, in this moment, was almost surely the exact reason in which they did not want him to be there to begin with. A four hour drive one way for them to come and check up on him, and not something they were able to do often with the adult world still spinning all the same back home as if he had never left at all.

Perhaps it was for the best, though. No sudden check-ups only to find a hungover son with paint splatter in the carpet that they would ultimately be the ones paying the cost to remove.

Unfortunately, the paint thing had already happened — Hongjoong simply thinking the scenario over again from experience.

With his red solo cup in hand, half-empty and tapping the ring on his ring finger over the plastic idly as he thinks, the boy with the simple, brown hair — pulled back and off of his forehead — ultimately comes to the conclusion that he is bored. Maybe the party scene had lost its luster already.

Fitted, gray-wash jeans and a plain, black t-shirt, Hongjoong mulls over whether it's time to leave. Eyes darting around him in an attempt to locate any device that will inform him of the time of night without digging out his own phone from his pocket, his vision lands on the stove across the way — nearly obstructed by the kitchen island — but not just.

9:36pm.

He frowns briefly, looking down into his cup to consider refilling and remaining at the dull, lifeless excuse for a party before looking up and scanning the room again. Music low enough to comfortably converse over, the murmur of just that filling his ears without intent to eavesdrop — it being a side effect of alertness all the same, however — his attention draws to two people just to his right in the slightly more darkened hallway, making out heavily, and quite surely only moments away from making their way to one of the empty bedrooms upstairs via the staircase only just next to them.

He frowns again.

“Why the long face?”

The voice is unfamiliar, drawing his attention up and to the opposite side of him immediately (as well as just about frightening him out of his skin) — there resides someone he's sure he's never seen before, but makes every effort to cycle through the rolodex of names and faces he's encountered over the last however many months of college as to not be rude.

Because who would just walk up to him out of the blue like this?

Hongjoong's eyes — still wide and staring intently at whoever it is to his left — medium-length, lavender purple hair and tanned skin; fitted jeans, but designer, as well as a nicely fitting sweater with the sleeves rolled halfway up his arms — also designer.

Hongjoong pays enough attention to fashion to knows money when he sees it. He also pays enough attention around campus to know that despite the appearance in hair, this man does not go to his school.

He would remember.

“Sorry, have we met?”

“No, well—“ the stranger starts then pauses, tossing his head to the side and looking up towards the ceiling. “—depends how pedantic you want to be, I suppose. No, not before, but we have now,” he smiles, turning his attention back down to Hongjoong. “I'm Wooyoung.”

“Okay...” Hongjoong replies, too quickly to realize how absolutely awkward that response is to the scenario in question. “Of course, uh, I'm Hongjoong.”

“You know anyone here?” Wooyoung asks just as quickly, without missing a beat, and Hongjoong shakes his head slowly in response. “Yeah, I can kinda tell. Little awkward, yeah?”

“Not usually,” he says with a chuckle. “I don't typically talk to random people at random parties, though.”

“What year are you?” The boy with the lavender hair then switches the topic just as abruptly as he had shown up.

Hongjoong feels like he's experiencing whiplash in just a minute of conversation.

“Going on my third.”

“Oh,” Wooyoung answers playfully. “Older than me. First year.”

Finally it clicks for Hongjoong, why he's never seen Wooyoung around on campus — with him being first year, not much time to have seen him around. He nods as he explains as much, only for Wooyoung to protest all the same.

“Oh no,” he says, shaking his head. “We don't go to the same school.”

But the older boy squints at him, as if the entire conversation growing entirely absurd to him in real time. “How could you possibly know that?”

And as Wooyoung looks him up and down, Hongjoong finds himself to feel completely and totally seen in a way he thinks perhaps he's never experienced before. Was he being...checked out?

“Trust me,” he says, fingers pulling through lavender strands before bringing his cup up and to his lips. “I can tell just by looking at you that you do not go to the same school that I do.”

And logically, Hongjoong knows that where they are presently — a house among numerous other houses all sectioned for student housing — is smack dab right in between two different college campuses; one, being the art school that he goes to, and the other being the fancy-schmancy private school that presumably, now, this guy goes to.

He knows it's not meant to come off any kind of way — any kind of pretentious way, but it still sort of does. Hongjoong realizes that he's also not sure why he's sure it's not meant to come off that way...because he doesn't actually know this guy at all.

Vibes, he supposes.

“That obvious, huh?” Hongjoong chuckles into the rim of his own cup, eyes wandering back into the openness of the party for ample people-watching with his new acquaintance.

“To be fair, you have paint on your jeans,” Wooyoung says, looking down at the spot that he's referring to, just before bringing his gaze back up at towards Hongjoong's head. “And in your hair, I think.”

“Fuck, really?”

“Lighting's bad, hard to tell, but your response tells me it's certainly not an impossibility.”

“Things get a little wild in the studio, what can I tell you?”

“More about that studio, for one.”

The comment comes out so easily, so comfortably to the younger guy just next to Hongjoong — while he nearly chokes on the drink he attempts to swallow down in the meantime, but without making a scene.

Flustered might be an understatement.

As Hongjoong attempts to gather enough coherent thought for a reply, the assumed-host steps into the living room to turn the music up, much louder than before and not granting as much ability for discussion — the two men look at each other with knowing approval before Wooyoung nods towards the hallway that leads into the dining room and eventually the backyard patio.

Much fewer people adorning the cement (and far less drunk, as well), the two pull up some lawn chairs next to the small fireplace to keep warm in the cooler, nighttime air.

“So, what are you into?”

The question, albeit innocently enough posed, sends a somewhat knowing shiver down Hongjoong's spine. No stranger to getting hit on, it's not an entirely unknown question to have heard in his life.

But from a man, a new level of diceyness he's not nearly as vetted in.

It takes him a few seconds of pause and looking aimlessly into the cup in his lap to muster up the ability to answer the man sitting just next to him — eyes locked to the side of his head the entire time.

“I—I don't—“

“Okay, let me be more clear,” Wooyoung amends with a grin, leaning over the arm of the chair and closer towards Hongjoong. “Do you fuck men?”

Genuinely, Hongjoong appreciates the forwardness — a yes or no question, easy enough to answer in almost all circumstances. The age old question in almost every college experience since the dawn of time: are you having sex, or aren't you?

And if you are, then with who?

Alongside that all being true, he still feels as though his stomach has made its way straight up and into his throat.

The problem likely lying in the fact that Hongjoong isn't sure — one way 'yes' or another 'no'. Not really.

But in times like this, perhaps it's best to fall back on what you know, what history has presented us as our tale to tell.

“No,” he says, after what feels like years of mulling the question over in his head. Eyes pulling up and towards Wooyoung still watching from beside him, the two make eye contact only briefly before he has to pull his eyes back away once again — seating them comfortably into the empty cup between his thighs just as before.

Ears feeling so hot he's certain Wooyoung can see the shade of red even in the incredibly dim lighting, he considers it also perhaps entirely pointless in ones journey not to tell the truth when given opportunities for growth, for new, for different.

For what could inevitably become ones new normal.

“I don't know.”

But Wooyoung only snorts at the shakiness of the older boy's reply, gently pulling himself away and out of Hongjoong's space, as if knowing it the precisely right time to back off and give him his own.

Tone gentle and eyes gazing out and into the sky, the corners of Wooyoung's lips curl just ever so slightly — so slight that one might have missed it if not looking directly towards him.

“We're gonna figure that out.”

Mixing bowl in hand, earnestly curating the exact shade of blue that he wishes to achieve to sprawl across the canvas that currently lies in the middle of the floor in his dorm room, it's the gentle hum of his phone vibrating that pulls his thoughts out of their artistic space and back into the present moment.

Because who could possibly be texting him at nearly 10pm on a Tuesday?

But when he picks up his phone and illuminates the screen to find the ever telling notification pop up, even based on their little interaction thus far, he's not all that surprised.

>Wooyoung: come out with me tonight, there's a thing.

Hongjoong mulls over in his head what on earth 'a thing' could be, and even in spite of the curiosity, decides on the good school boy approach.

>Hongjoong: can't. have a project due. what's “a thing” anyways?

Well, he already turned it down, might as well satiate the curiosity anyways. He's only human, after all.

>Wooyoung: you're in art school, bro. just tell them you needed an extra day to get the artistic juices flowing or whatever weirdo shit you art guys say. just come.

He rolls his eyes, both at the dismissiveness of his academia, and at himself — for sort of wanting to cave in and go to whatever the mystery is that Wooyoung so obviously chose not to disclose on purpose.

>Hongjoong: I barely know you and now you're trying to whisk me off to who knows where...ever heard of “stranger danger”?

Plopping himself down and onto the couch as he awaits a reply from the younger of them, Hongjoong looks down at the barely touched canvas of work that is definitely due in two days and sighs to himself. One, for being kinda irresponsible about it, and two, for being so easily swayed by the guy he met at a party with a dye-job far too shitty for how much money he has.

Just then, another message.

>Wooyoung: i'll make sure you get home safe and sound <3

Once again equal parts annoyed at the man in question for being the way he is and also at himself for sort of being interested in the game, he rolls his eyes at himself for the text of affirmation he then sends through to the other end.

An address comes through just as quickly, as if queued up and ready to go long before Hongjoong's will crumbles.

When they meet outside of the building — tall and beautifully crafted, Hongjoong recalls that they're actually rather far out on the other side of town. Not typically where he would find himself, but upon further thought, likely closer to where Wooyoung himself stayed. Shopping, living and staying for the upper-end of middle class and higher, Hongjoong's eyes shift from the building and down towards the man standing just beside him — this time dressed a tad bit more to-do, nice dark jeans and an incredibly fitted deep v-neck shirt, he watches as Wooyoung pulls his phone from his pocket and scrolls through something on it briefly — presumably the building code, once he stops and presses the four digits into the electronic pad on the front of the door and granted access with a beep.

Wooyoung looks over at a much less confident and quite evidently unsure Hongjoong, now a step below him and looking even smaller to the man a step above.

It's not even that there was much of a size difference between the two of them, but rather, the weight of the confidence that rode right alone with the boy with the purple hair — as if the world was his oyster, already figured out and just living in it. Enjoying it.

Perhaps something Hongjoong not only envied, but was perpetually drawn to from the start.

What they step into, however, is not what Hongjoong had in mind.

Eyes wide and eyebrows pressed to the sky, Hongjoong nearly stumbles at the first sights his eyes lay upon once the door closes behind them. It's not nudity — not outright, and nothing entirely explicit, but the overarching feeling of erotic energy he finds to not be easily ignored. Men happily walked along the corridors on leash and collar by their suitors, people as far as the simple eye can see adorning whips and chains and lingerie as they chat casually about work of domestic home life with their children's schools and exchanging stories of the recent kindergarten play one mans son just did — a retelling of Cinderella, in which the son in question got to play the traditionally female lead — and much to his delight, able to adorn the dress and all. Hongjoong finds the story he happens to overhear as he's gently pulled through marble hallways delightful, if not bizarrely touching given the juxtaposition of the situation he's now found himself in tonight.

Maybe he should have just stayed home and painted his fucking pictures.

“Umm, Wooyoung?” he stutters out, a hand tightly around his wrist, bobbing and weaving the both of them through the traffic of other passerby. He knows that his voice is small — matching how he feels in the moment exactly, and that over the sights and sounds of the party — likely goes unheard. Gathering the strength to assert himself (and some of it being rooted in fright), Hongjoong pulls back and against Wooyoung's forward momentum.

Feeling the tug, Wooyoung quickly darts his head back to look — terror unbecoming of Hongjoong's features. He stops immediately and turns to him.

“What? What's wrong?”

“You kind of should have told me where you were taking me.”

Wooyoung sighs in defeat, knowing as much. “Okay yes, but I knew you wouldn't come if I told you.”

“I should be allowed to not go!”

“I know! You are!” Admitting his defeat, Wooyoung huffs in the acceptance of his wrongdoing. “We can go if you want to, I'm sorry. I thought it would be fun, something to loosen you up a bit since you're a little—“

“Uptight?” Hongjoong asserts, but Wooyoung only tilts his head and grins halfway.

“Questioning, doofus,” he finishes the thought, and Hongjoong sighs in relief at the fact that he was wrong in his assumption. “We can go, seriously. If you want to go we should.”

Hongjoong can tell from the gentleness in his tone that he means it. Young and experienced and into...God knows what; yes, Wooyoung fucked up, and he was ready and willing to admit as much.

Figure, the both of them were already there, what could giving it a spin really hurt, after all?

“No—no,” Hongjoong stutters out, shaking off the last bit of visible nerves he had gripping his chest. “It's fine, I just...wasn't expecting this, is all. It's kind of a lot without a primer.”

“A primer,” Wooyoung snorts, grabbing Hongjoong by the wrist once again and pulling him — this time right along side instead of behind him.

“What? That's a thing people say it's not just like...an art thing, god.”

“I know, but coming from you it's just so especially...Art-Ho.”

“Says the guy with the shitty, washed out ten-dollar kool-aid dye job,” the older of the two bites back for the first time in their friendship. “It's cool, I used to dye my hair the same way when I was twelve.”

Hongjoong watches the features on Wooyoung's face change in a way they never have before; eyes widening in surprise and eyebrows raising in ways that Hongjoong knows the man just next to him used to seeing on his face instead. The turning of the tables feels pretty damn good, though.

“Careful baby,” Wooyoung snorts, tone obviously playful in response. “Get mouthy with me and I'll throw the art-twink to the wolves.”

Hongjoong wishes then and there that he could pinpoint the origin of the way his heart beats in particular at the liberal use of the pet name directed his way.

Without any time to think it over, Wooyoung raises his free hand to wave towards a woman standing in the kitchen with a silver, mirrored platter — atop it residing four, long-stemmed, glasses filled with a golden, bubbling liquid that would surely be an alcoholic beverage of some sort.

“Baby!”

The woman in question calling it out towards Wooyoung, Hongjoong figures it just a word casually thrown about, after all.

He also ignores that odd sinking in his chest at the realization.

“You didn't come last time I didn't know if you would be here tonight!”

Hongjoong watches on as the woman dotes on Wooyoung — fingers in his hair and hands on his face as if a woman fawning over a favorite niece or nephew — it's sort of charming and innocent, Hongjoong thinks to himself. Another absolutely bizarre oddity given their surroundings.

Suppose kinky people are just people, though. A concept often unspoken and long forgotten.

“Yeah, I had a big test I had to cram for so I couldn't take time out.”

“Good,” the woman coos, playfully switching her demeanor to stern just after with a finger pointed up and towards his face. “School's more important, prioritize that.”

“Yes, mother,” Wooyoung responds coyly.

Smiling again, the woman turns her attention to Hongjoong. “Who's your friend? I think this is the first time you've ever used your plus-one.”

“Friend I met last week at a house party, we hit it off so I kidnapped him and smuggled him into a crazy sex party so he knows exactly what he's getting into when becoming friends with me.”

Eyes wide at the words, Hongjoong slowly turns his head to look at Wooyoung, a million questions bouncing violently around in his brain before the shrill pleasantry of the woman cuts through and interrupts the words he was likely never to get out of his mouth to begin with.

“Awww, that's so lovely!” she says, as if nothing strange had been said by Wooyoung at all. “As long as he knows the rules: two drink maximum, condoms are a must at all times, be kind, safe and respectful! You're cute but we absolutely will remove you and blacklist you in a five hundred mile radius if we must.”

The boy with the brown hair can hear the kindness in the woman's voice, but mixed with it the absolute seriousness in her words. He knows that she means business, and that these sorts of things — when managed and hosted properly, are not to play around with. Safety is everyone's number one priority — as it should be, and anyone who becomes a threat to that is not welcomed. Not then, and not ever. He appreciates the sentiment, but—

“We're not going to be getting into anything tonight,” Wooyoung cuts in with the same thought that Hongjoong is having that very same second. “I just wanted to show him around, you know, what's a little sex party hopping between pals?”

Content in the fact that he and his younger keeper remain on the same page in the scenario, Hongjoong takes it upon himself to bow out of the conversation slightly — taking a few steps behind and back where they came from in order to get a glance of his surroundings better. With the initial horror having largely worn off, he finds it within himself to enjoy the sights, sounds and scents of the goings on; at the end of the day, it's really just people enjoying themselves. People being happy. People being safe.

“You new?”

The words coming in so deep and heavy, Hongjoong finds himself not only startled but unsure whether or not they're intended for him — turning to his left and peaking into the corridor to find another man — arms crossed and leaned against the marble walling, Hongjoong looks around himself if for no reason other than to confirm that it couldn't possibly be anyone but him that had been addressed.

“Um, yeah, with a friend,” he answers, attempting to sound more confident in the interaction than he feels.

“You bottom? You look like you bottom.”

Not a question Hongjoong has put much thought into, and not necessarily one he cares to put thought into right this moment, he feels the shrill tingle of discomfort and alarm shoot down his spine at the inquiry. Not good. Very bad thing, actually. Too much, and way too fast.

“I—I don't—“

And with the man shuffling slowly towards Hongjoong, he takes his first step backwards, only to be met by the firm chest of another person at his shoulder.

Not at all comforting, given the situation, until he cocks his head up and to the side to find that all too familiar and in this case — extremely comforting, horrendous dye job.

“Back off, man.”

The words sound stern from Wooyoung in a way that Hongjoong can't place. Perhaps in a way that he's never quite heard before, either. Hands in his pockets, standing strong and in place as he looks past Hongjoong and out towards the man in question.

“He yours, then?”

“He's not yours,” Wooyoung amends. “And make no mistake, Lady Arcus will be hearing about this.”

Hongjoong watches the man scoff, rolling his eyes at the gesture. “I didn't even do anything, why the fuck is he here if he's not going to play?”

“Yeah, alright, you're gone.”

Before Hongjoong can even really follow the goings on, especially in accordance to the rules of an establishment and sub-culture so foreign to him, Wooyoung is shouting into the kitchen for the woman he had just been conversing with.

“We're gonna go,” Wooyoung whispers down towards Hongjoong's ear. “Just give me a second to let her know what happened.”

“O-okay—“

Just as quickly as the scenario begins, it ends. The woman known as Lady Arcus swiftly sorting through the identifying information of the man in question to pass along and through the kink circuits for other people to be wary of — the two men air kiss her twice before heading out and on their way — a slew of weary apologies and warming send offs showered on Hongjoong by her and other caring onlookers as Wooyoung delicately leads Hongjoong out of the building and down the three, concrete steps towards the street.

Hands on his hips, he pauses in place — removing one hand from his side in order to card it through his pale hair.

“Man, I'm so fuckin' sorry, dude,” he begins, the disappointment heavy in his voice. “I feel so bad, I've been to so many of these things and nothing like that has ever happened.”

Hongjoong can hear the guilt so laden in his voice. It certainly was disappointment, but more than anything, disappointment in himself.

“It's fine, really,” Hongjoong insists, chuckling lightly. “Not the first time I've been aggressively hit on, I'll survive.”

“Yeah I'm sure, it's just—“ and Wooyoung pauses to collect his thoughts, frowning as he does in the cool nights breeze. “I fucked up. Big time. I shouldn't have brought you here to begin with and I'm sorry.”

‘I'm sorry.’

And in the moment, Hongjoong doesn't know what comes over him. A combination of the adrenaline of the scenario just before mixed with the intoxicating, encompassing feeling of being seen and heard by someone — he thinks that despite all of this being new, everything about this situation being new, completely uncharted waters, that the one thing he knows right here, right now, is this.

That sometimes there is nothing more beautiful in a moment than romanticizing everything ugly and decaying about it — give it a new life, remember it by the way that it's reborn by your own doing.

One slow step towards Wooyoung, then the second much quicker, Hongjoong reaches out and for the mans wrist — grasping it into his hand and closing the distance between the two of them in an instant. It's not the height difference that brings Hongjoong to his tip toes, maybe the nerves and necessity within to feel bigger, stronger, more confident in the decision as he attempts to pull Wooyoung against him and just as messily — their mouths.

And Hongjoong almost manages it in time before Wooyoung catches on and meets the other with just enough resistance to send him reeling.

“Okay, wait, wait—“ Wooyoung starts, wanting to clear the air just as quickly as he surely has muddled it. “Look, first of all, I'm not against that.”

He's making his best effort to actually hear the words coming out of Wooyoung's mouth — through the humiliation of the drowning feeling of rejection, especially in such a raw moment — he promises himself that he won't cry. Not now, not tonight, and not over a man he's barely known for a week.

“Are you listening to me?”

Snapping out of his daze, all of the worst thoughts and feelings festering and making themselves home in his head and heart, Hongjoong nods along — looking forward to getting home and never having to see this man again thereafter.

“I know this feels shitty right now, I know it does,” Wooyoung insists, grabbing at Hongjoong's hands and attempting to lace fingers together with no help from the other party, he sighs at the response. “Just...slow down, okay? Tonight's been kind of crazy.”

Silence takes them, another couple happily giggling to one another as they exit the building and walk past the two boys on the sidewalk. Wooyoung can see the pain in Hongjoong's features — the disappointment, the weakness.

“Let me take you home, sleep this off, and everything will be fine tomorrow. Look, I know it feels so shitty right now I know it does but I swear to god I'll make out with you for an hour when you're not traumatized from going to a sex party you never wanted to be at to begin with, okay?”

Hongjoong has to give it to the man, he certainly has a way with words. Not being able to fight the smile that cracks through his lips, Wooyoung's also breaks in response, a sigh of relief following shortly after.

“Okay? Can I take you home?”

“Yeah, okay.”

In the months that follow, Hongjoong finds that much to his surprise, Wooyoung seemingly has every intention of staying true to his word. Having a text to wake up to from the rich boy with the awful dye-job despite the previous nights activities, Hongjoong feels relief wash over him as he sets his phone back down on the night stand and rolls back over and onto his stomach.

The grin is embarrassing, he's thankful that he lives alone.

And every morning there after comes texts from Wooyoung. Be it just a thought he has from the night previous or a picture of a new restaurant that's opening around his side of town that he hopes for the two of them to try some time in the near future — Hongjoong feels a sense of belonging, a sense of inclusion that he's not sure he's ever really felt any time before then.

It's late one random evening on a school night, that Hongjoong has himself sat on the couch in the living room with his current project being sewn with nimble fingers that he comes to terms with things for the first time ever, really.

A 90s romcom playing on the television before him, the lights dancing along his features and the white walls of his student housing that he sighs to himself and finally feels ready to think the words without question: 'I have a crush on him.'

Naturally, navigating the uncertainty of ones sexuality always comes with its own set of questions and unknowing. Hongjoong accepts that he's well aware that his crush on Wooyoung could be a culmination of so many things, not even necessarily a romantic interest.

The truth of the matter is that Jung Wooyoung is an attractive man, who is attracted to men, and shows an interest in Hongjoong. For a boy just inching himself out of the proverbial closet, nothing sounds better, more inviting — easier.

And over the months, Wooyoung only lends himself to being more and more attached to Hongjoong's side.

When Hongjoong finds out that Wooyoung's major in school is Psych, it clicks a little bit more — a deeper understanding of why it is that the man may have been drawn to such a closet-case as the oldest of them seemed to be — deeply repressed and unsure and insecure, truly a cocktail of discovery for a budding student all too happy to pick apart someone's brain to learn a thing or two.

He was sure it was part of it, but Wooyoung was respectful enough, caring enough — to not make Hongjoong feel like his own sort of school project. A science experiment that someday Wooyoung would write his thesis on and that's all that Hongjoong would ever really be to him.

The irony in and of the fact that for those so unsure of themselves and of those around them, firsts and seconds often end up being nothing more than romanticized teenaged tales we tell when we're older; our first love, childish and wild and special in its own right, but ultimately — unimportant and inconsequential.

Perhaps Wooyoung knew that the likelihood of him ending up fitted into such a box in Hongjoong's future was high.

“This party blows,” Wooyoung sighs into his plastic cup, back up against the fake marble counter top in the kitchen of someone that, as usual, neither of them had ever met before. “Why did we come out here?”

“It was your idea,” Hongjoong chuckles, tossing a pretzel into his mouth as he settles himself the same next to his friend. “Nothing better to do on a Tuesday night.”

“Homework.”

“Awww, so studious,” Hongjoong mocks, elbowing the boy next to him and causing him to flinch.

“Give it a rest, would you. This place is a drag, I'm about to go make out with someone's girlfriend just to feel something.”

“Now that I would like to see.”

“Ew, look at you, voyeur.”

“Says the guy that took me to a fucking kink party on our first date.” Hongjoong giggles, shoving more pretzels into his mouth.

“That!” Wooyoung begins, finger in the air as if intending to make a point. “—was a mistake, and I have apologized profusely for it, how long must I be punished for it,” he finishes, sulking into the last few words playfully.

“Not punishing you, but you have to admit it's a hilarious story to tell.”

“Indeed, we'll tell our partners a few years down the line over drinks and a threesome, I'm sure.”

“Okay I take back what I previously said, that is what I'd really like to see,” Hongjoong says, leaning over and to the side towards an open bottle of some sort of liquor as he takes it and pours a bit into his cup. “Imagine how crazy that would be.”

“Professional Super Special Guest Star! That's what my business cards will say,” Wooyoung chuckles, taking another swig of his drink before handing the cup to Hongjoong for him to fill as well.

Taking it, Hongjoong shakes loose, brown strands of hair out of his face gently in order to pour the liquid, smile wide at the make believe scenario they've concocted as a result of their boredom.

“So, professional threesome guy? Not counting on the Psych stuff working out?”

“Au contraire, mi amor,” Wooyoung begins, a devilish grin replacing his once playful one and leaning his face in closer towards Hongjoong's. “I very much intend on doing both.”

Turning his head only enough to allow the corners of his eyes to meet Wooyoung's, Hongjoong responds with a roll of them — snorting through his nose at the thought, but mostly because he knows that Wooyoung is being extremely honest about that fact.

Pulling back, Wooyoung takes another sip of his drink, fingers running through freshly dyed but still not great looking purple hair. “You know,” he starts, slightly more serious sounding than just moments before. “You've gotten so much more used to my antics now, I don't even make you the slightest bit uncomfortable when I get into your space! Look at the baby, all grown up!”

“I'm older than you,” Hongjoong replies, looking at him with a pressed eyebrow as if not appreciating the tone. “And yes, suppose eventually anyone could get used to—“ pausing, Hongjoong waves a hand in and around the younger mans general vicinity next to him. “—all of this.”

It's a silent response, just a smile and a nod from the man — as if admiring some artwork of his own. Eyes falling over the confident man that Hongjoong had become just before his very own — well-spoken and aware of himself and more accepting of himself, at that. Wooyoung, of course, wouldn't be himself if he didn't accept some credit for it, for the obvious influence he had on him.

He's thankful that it's been positive, and more than anything, he's thankful that he gets to see it and experience it. A Kim Hongjoong that's smart, talented, creative, open, thoughtful, understanding; and more than anything else, willing. Willing to listen, willing to bend, willing to give.

“Can I kiss you?”

The words throw him through a loop a bit, if he's honest. Earnest features on Hongjoong's face as he asks the question — comfortable and confident. Two of the things the man never was when they met.

Oh, how time flies.

Hongjoong watches as Wooyoung scans his face over, presumably attempting to find any tell, any reason at all that he should advise against such a thing. One side of his mouth curling upwards and into a slight grin, Wooyoung glances around them at their surroundings — a few strangers, empty cups with spilled alcohol all over the counter tops and a broken glass in the sink — before landing back on Hongjoong.

“Here? In the middle of the kitchen?”

Hongjoong laughs, the coyness in Wooyoung's voice answer enough to his inquiry but unable to give a straight on answer unless it suits him — or he absolutely has to. In his mind, he worries for the future clientele of the man that would be having to deal with him, and how thankful he is that he may never end up on that couch looking for advice in the future.

That doesn't mean he's not going to fucking kiss him, though, because he's been waiting too long and he absolutely is.

Despite Hongjoong leaning in first, asking for permission first; it's a daunting, new, first experience — not only kissing another man, but doing so in public. Safety not a concern and for that he is thankful, but he is also thankful for the subtle guidance of Wooyoung in the moment as he also steps forward to match him — a gentle hand reaching up and towards Hongjoong's face to delicately hold him as their lips finally meet for the first time. Not the first time either of them have kissed another person — romantically or sexually, but Wooyoung can feel the tremble from Hongjoong all the same. The sensation of newness, of unsureness.

Sometimes, the kiss is all it takes to know where you stand on the matter. The more experienced one of the two knowing better than anyone that this may be the first and the last time that Hongjoong kisses a man.

But it also might not be.

Standing outside of Wooyoung's apartment, keys in hand, he smiles gently at the man just before him — it's a conversation that he knows should happen, and truthfully, he's not too attached that the rejection will torment him all that much — but rejection is such all the same, and never feels good no matter how inviting of it you may have been.

“So,” he starts, carefully untying his scarf with intent to walk inside shortly after. “How was it? How do you feel about it?”

Hongjoong looks at him wide-eyed, a look that Wooyoung thinks he hasn't seen on him in so long now. Taken aback, caught off guard — as if Hongjoong had never even considered the fact that he should think about what had taken place back there in that kitchen.

“Good,” is all he manages out at first before realizing that the man in question may require more. “It felt good, but weird.”

“New weird or straight weird?” he asks, a gust of wind blowing lavender hair into his hair at just the very same moment.

But without skipping a beat, Hongjoong replies immediately. Confidently. Without any question lacing his tone — setting Wooyoung's nerves to rest for the night in accomplished bliss.

“New weird.”

Upon entering Wooyoung's apartment, Hongjoong finds himself to be a bit shocked at what he finds. He supposes, that in some way, he expected more. Wooyoung — the eccentric type that he was — a kinkster at that, perhaps with harnesses and whips and chains adorning his abode. Looking back on whatever subconscious, preconceived notion he may have had prior to entering, it was a bit far-fetched. Unlikely for a guy barely in his twenties to effectively be residing inside of a sex shop, Hongjoong chuckles to himself under his breath as he takes the sights in for the first time: dark blue wallpapering and black couches, colorful, abstract paintings hanging from a handful of different places — so meticulously and deliberately decorated in such a high class, sensual sort of way that now that he's experiencing it, is so much more fitting of the man in question than anything else he may have previously had in mind.

The faint scent of musk and wood over taking Hongjoong's senses just then at the thought, his eyes landing on the large, three-wicked handle that it surely had been coming from even in spite of not having been lit at that moment — he finds comfort in it. In his surroundings.

In Wooyoung.

“Want something to drink?” the man offers from the kitchen, already pulling open the large, stainless steel door to the refrigerator. Hongjoong declines however, settling himself down at one of the stools in front of the kitchen island. Black marbling with white accenting — only a lone, silver, paper towel holder sitting atop it before the glass of water that Wooyoung pours himself finds itself set down there as well, the man seating himself shortly after.

“Wow, this is the first time you've been here, isn't it?”

Hongjoong nods, eyes still wandering and taking it all in.

“Like what you see?”

It's a joke, Hongjoong knows that. A coy, play on the typical pick up line. Not that he'd be all that opposed, regardless. He thinks. He's pretty sure, anyways.

“Can I ask you something?” Hongjoong finally says, eyes settling themselves onto Wooyoung's across from him.

“Shoot.”

He pauses, mulling over the words before allowing for their exit.

“What are you gonna do with the whole...lifestyle thing? Ya know, when you graduate and land in your career. Can't imagine most people would be so open-minded about what their therapist likes to do in his off time.”

One corner of his lip curling upward, Wooyoung takes a sip of his drink, only to shrug with the utmost nonchalance. “Keep doing what I do. I'm not going to stop.”

The answer is both shocking an quintessentially Jung Wooyoung simultaneously.

“The thing is,” he begins again, leaning forward to press an elbow into the marble as his chin sits atop his hand. “Can't stop being me and living my life. Not for my family, not for a partner, and definitely not for a job. Part of the reason I even wanted to get into this line of work was to specialize in that sort of thing anyways.”

“The sex?”

“The talking about sex, yeah.”

In listening to him, it makes sense. Hongjoong smiles delicately at the man across the marble. “Have you been psychoanalyzing me our entire friendship?”

It's a joke, but not really.

“Of course, it's not really something I can just turn off, but I'm not your therapist — or even a therapist, yet, so it's not really my place to diagnose you, if that's what you're asking.”

Reaching across and to Wooyoung's glass, Hongjoong slides it towards himself to take a sip before responding. “I guess, kind of.”

“Therapy isn't a punishment,” Wooyoung begins again, almost out of the blue, from how Hongjoong hears it. And it sounds pointed. “We all have stuff.”

“Enlighten me,” Hongjoong says, looking up and over the rim of the glass as he sips from it again.

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. It's obvious that Hongjoong is fishing for the kind of thing that he doesn't necessarily want to give him, but in the spirit of not wanting to leave him hanging — plays along. A little.

“What? Like how you still haven't confessed your little crush to me?”

Choking on a third sip, Wooyoung can't help but giggle at the reaction as Hongjoong pulls one of his long sleeves even further forward to wipe the liquid from his chin.

“That obvious, huh?”

“You kissed me.”

“Then why do I have to say it!”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes again. “Non-verbal communication is communication, but being able to verbalize it is a skill. One you desperately need to work at. Actions speak louder than words but we are still a verbal society at large.”

Hongjoong pauses to take the words in. He knows that there's truth in them, however difficult it may be for him to parse. A young man having spent the majority of his life growing up in, reflecting through, feeling through art — numerous methods of non-verbally expressing himself — Wooyoung was correct in saying that it was a skill, and one that Hongjoong had long since left by the wayside.

“I don't know if I have a crush, really—“ he finally responds, reluctantly making eye contact through the sort-of confession. “I think I'm terrified of saying things and them not being true.”

“And you never feel confident enough in anything you feel to say it.”

“Basically.”

Standing up, Wooyoung pulls the now empty glass from Hongjoong's nervous, busy fingers — turning towards the sink and placing it within before turning again and leaning against that very spot.

“It's okay to be wrong. You're going to be wrong. That's a part of life.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“What do you think is going to happen if you tell someone you have a crush on them, then you wake up the next day and don't anymore?” Wooyoung asks, shrugging and waving his hands about into the air around him. “Like, it's fine. That's your truth, you should live it. Experience it.”

“I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings if I don't have to, so I want to be sure, I guess.”

Huffing through his nose and cocking his head to the side, Wooyoung gazes upon Hongjoong with the utmost gentleness — it's a look that says 'oh, you sweet darling.' Hongjoong understands that in a way, it's somewhat condescending. Probably not purposefully, but it comes off as such.

Not that he really blames the man, though.

“You'll never be sure,” Wooyoung says, stepping towards Hongjoong and motioning him with a nod towards his bedroom. “Whatever sign you're looking for? It doesn't exist—“

And as he stands, Wooyoung tosses an arm around his shoulders, pressing a kiss to the fluffy, brown hair that he's grown to adore so much over their relatively short friendship.

“—You can just live. Just live.”

As they settle into bed together, Hongjoong accepts that it's a decision he's made long before that night — climbing into soft, dark sheets as the television in front of the bed flickers over them. Wooyoung asks if he needs anything before they settling in for the night, Hongjoong shakes his head, slowed by the vision of Wooyoung pulling his t-shirt up and over his head and flinging it across the room into the general direction of the laundry hamper. Making eye contact with the man, he can feel his ears redden at his being found out, pulling the sheets up only that much more in a pathetic attempt to hide from a man he's about to be sharing a bed with.

But Wooyoung only chuckles under his breath. “Do you want me to put something on? I don't mind, seriously. I hadn't really thought about it, is all.”

And Hongjoong knows that however he answers is much more telling than the actual words that come out of his mouth, but figure after tonight — after everything — may as well begin that whole communication thing that everyone seems to be on about these days.

“No, it's fine.”

Disheveled, lavender hair bouncing as he makes his own way into the comfort of his sheets, Hongjoong eyes him from his peripheral. It's not the first time he's shared a bed with a man, nor is it the first time he's shared a bed with someone that he...is sexually attracted to?

It's the first time that both of those things have been taking place at the same time, though.

Wooyoung — not particularly toned or built, but thick, sturdy, with heavenly tanned skin and despite how god fucking awful that dye-job may be, the contrast of it sure does only make his skin glow just that much more.

He watches Wooyoung idly stare forward and into the television, attempting to find a suitable viewing experience whilst Hongjoong has already found his.

The unfortunate tenting in his sweats much more telling than he was going to be verbally willing for a long time.

Inhaling deeply, Hongjoong thinks over all of the ways he's ever made a move on a woman he's slept with, and why this feels any different. Sure, it's a region of sex previously unexplored — but he's no virgin — so why this. Why is he being like this?

He makes a decision though, and hastily at that — inching his way over to Wooyoung and pressing himself against the man's side, head resting on his shoulder — only briefly taken aback, Wooyoung adjusts his arm to create space where Hongjoong wishes to reside next to him, but not without a knowing grin across his lips; which the older boy catches visual of, of course.

“You a cuddler?”

Hongjoong thinks it over for a second before responding — suddenly feeling like every experience brand new to him regardless of previous exploration.

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Cute.”

“Wooyoung—“

“Yeah?”

But what's awaiting Wooyoung when he looks down towards Hongjoong isn't a man with a question, or with a comment of any kind. It's beady, expectant eyes looking back up at him — eyes full of anticipation, full of interest, and desire.

He's happy to oblige.

Pulling up and from under Hongjoong to readjust — a necessity in order to carry through with what's being asked of him — Wooyoung pauses seated for just a second as the other man lies back comfortably, as if to give him time to back out, to reassess the situation, but with no such argument made, he continues his follow through, leaning over and then down atop Hongjoong's torso and gently pressing plush, warm, lips to his. It's so light, barely felt at all at first — a testing of the waters, but it's Hongjoong that's the first to press in further, teeth grazing the bottom of Wooyoung's lip as he deepens the kiss. Pastel, purple hair cascading down around the two of them, Wooyoung's happy to meet him halfway in his intensity — teeth accidentally clashing together in one particularly fervent moment, and Hongjoong finds the situation to be escalating perhaps a bit faster than he had originally anticipated, if the hardness on him, and the one against his thigh were to be any indication.

Wooyoung pulls back momentarily, half-lidded eyes of his own looking down at another brown pair matching — readjusting his positioning again to have all of his weight on one side and freeing up his other hand, he makes no movement with it. Not before asking.

🍬🍬🍬

“Do you want me to touch you?”

The question sends a shiver down Hongjoong's spine — anticipation, anxiety, want, but not without that pang of horror — as if once a man touches his dick there's no going back, everything is forever changed.

As if it even matters.

He nods. Wooyoung shakes his head but still allows his hand to begin the slow descent beneath the sheets between them.

“Say it. What'd we talk about?”

“Oh my God,” Hongjoong huffs, sure that the man can feel the way his heart nearly beats straight through his chest on the way down, but feeling set ablaze by the touch all the same. “Yes, God you're so annoying.”

Fingers deftly dipping into the waistband of his sweatpants, the breath in Hongjoong's throat hitches as Wooyoung's lips curl expertly along the edge of his ear.

“God, but you like it so much.”

In the very moment, Hongjoong tries not to focus on how humiliating it would be to bust right then and there. Quickly trying to recall a moment where he's been talked dirty to before: and failing.

Anything like that: and failing.

A desperate attempt to get his mind off of the way Wooyoung's fingers curl around his length at that very moment — so foreign and warm despite having his dick touched before, by other people, something about it feeling so new.

And scary.

And it's in that moment that the sudden realization of what comes after this dawns on him. Kissing and touching, the easy stuff. It's all fun and games. Boys experimenting and having a laugh in college because they're horny and just want to try something out.

But if he is willing to suck dick? Tonight? Is he willing to take dick tonight, at that?

The thoughts are a little all-consuming and all of a sudden, taking him out of the moment in an instant and stiffening under Wooyoung's touch; he notices it immediately — stilling for a second, only to pull his hand back and face away from Hongjoong altogether.

This was always a possibility. There's always the chance that they land on the side of “no.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just—“ he inhales deeply, closing his eyes to center himself again before opening them and looking at Wooyoung. “I'm fine. It's a lot. New.”

“We don't have to do anything.”

“I know,” Hongjoong replies immediately, worried that Wooyoung may think that he feels pressured. Pushed. Rushed. “I know that. It's me, not you.”

Wooyoung smiles gently at the response, relieved at having not crossed any boundaries before settling back into bed, but not before leaning in and kissing Hongjoong on his fluffy, brown head just as he had previously.

“Let's get some sleep, I'll touch your dick tomorrow if you want.”

“God, such a romantic.”

Wooyoung can't say he's all that surprised when he wakes up to the feeling of a strange hand gently inching it's way across his abdomen. Not expected, but not surprised, either.

Fingertips ghosting across the skin beneath the covers, barely conscious, he turns his head towards the guest in his bed, eyes seemingly equally sleepy but lucid all the same — he smiles softly at the experimental touches, only barely dipping under the elastic band of his pants — little intent behind it and almost certainly not bold enough to make any real moves towards anything more defining, he allows the movements to continue at Hongjoong's pace...slow, unsure, but interested all the same.

Then, hand driven further down, one lone fingertip grazing the length of Wooyoung's cock — standing tall by morning and attention it's receiving — he inhales sharply at the touch with eye contact maintained.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

And with brown hair messy and strewn across his face, Hongjoong nods, the words of affirmation following shortly after and without more prompting.

“Yes.”

Upon Wooyoung's insistence, they find themselves in the shower together — the first time they've seen the other bare, but more than that, with physical intent behind it. Hongjoong is surprised by how comfortable it feels to have Wooyoung's eyes and hands on him — stepping behind to scrub Hongjoong's back and gently pressing kisses to the juncture between his neck and his shoulder, he closes his eyes and takes it in.

Acceptance, maybe. The moment in which he finally, truly comes to terms with himself and all that comes with that.

Settling back into the sheets from which they came, Hongjoong lies back, head against the pillow as Wooyoung settles between his legs — a pile of potential essentials off and to the side of the bed, he attempts to put it out of his mind for the time being.

Enjoy the moment. Enjoy the journey.

“If it gets to be too much just let me know,” Wooyoung insists as he pushes the covers to the bedding off of the edge to make room for himself to lie on his stomach. “We can always stop, any time. You don't have to do anything just because we've started.”

“Yeah, I know,” Hongjoong huffs out, eyes rolling up and towards the ceiling as Wooyoung brings a familiar hand up and curls fingers around his dick again. One, slow, pump — then a second, and Hongjoong feels Wooyoung adjusting his positioning again before the warm, wetness of a mouth takes him. Familiar, not the first time, not really.

Bringing a hand down and into Wooyoung's hair, he makes it a point to force his focus down, as well. To truly take the moment in. It's not a scenario in which he wants to pretend that it's anything other than what it is: you don't have to disassociate. You don't have to pretend it's not a man — not Wooyoung — it is, and that's okay, because it's what you want.

Wooyoung hollows his cheeks, taking Hongjoong further back, and fingers gripping into pastel hair, he inhales sharply, back of his head pressing hard into the pillow just beneath it.

“God, good,” he exhales, Wooyoung hums in response. “I think I'm gonna come soon, though.”

Huffing through his nostrils as he pulls off of the man beneath him, Wooyoung grins as he meets eyes with Hongjoong once again. “Already? Man, you're an easy sell. You don't want to come?”

“Not yet,” Hongjoong answers, thinking it over after having already given an answer but wanting to be sure. “Yeah, not yet.”

Wooyoung shrugs, so casual about the whole ordeal it's almost as if nothing sexual is going on at all. Hongjoong can't help but admit that he finds his nonchalance comforting, in a way.

That Wooyoung is going to be Wooyoung no matter what, and at all costs.

A pause between the two of them before Hongjoong speaks up again. “Do you want me...to...”

Cocking his head to the side, confusion lacing his features for just a split second before realizing what it is that his friend is on about, he laughs. “Oh, you mean suck my dick? I mean, if you want, you don't have to.”

“I feel like I should—“

But Wooyoung stops him dead in the sentence. “Don't do anything because you feel like you should. The fundamental rules of being a good lover: GGG. Good, Giving, and Game.”

“What...is that?” Hongjoong asks, unsurprised by the fact that this has somehow turned into Wooyoung's kinky educational hour. It always was going to be that to some degree, after all.

“Good in bed, Giving of equal time and pleasure, and Game for anything...within reason,” he explains, “always, always the within reason, part. If you're not ready, you're not ready.”

Hongjoong watches his face for a moment, truly taking the concept in despite having just mocked the concept in his mind (all in good fun, of course), and nods once.

“I think...I want to wait.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Wooyoung acknowledges, leaning over and to the side to grab the small pile of items that had previously been discarded that way. “Do you still want to...do this?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

“Cool, see? No worries, I'll cum anyways, doesn't matter.”

And Hongjoong likes how normal Wooyoung is about the whole thing, making the situation feel so much less big than maybe it is to him. Everything is whatever and doesn't matter or no big deal and it's consoling, in a strange way.

He also notices the tingle up his spine at hearing the way Wooyoung just so casually talks about coming...as a result of him.

“Have you ever done this before?” Wooyoung asks, popping open the cap of the translucent bottle but pausing before expelling any of the liquid onto his fingers.

“You know I haven't,” he replies, briefly pulling his head up and off the pillow to look at the man between his legs like he's an insane person.

“I mean, by yourself,” Wooyoung amends, playfully slapping the inside of one of Hongjoong's thighs. “Or, I guess with a woman. You ever been pegged?”

Hongjoong can feel the familiar heat of humiliation burning up inside of his ears already.

“No...no to both questions.”

Humming at the response first, Wooyoung bites hit bottom lip as if to be thinking. “Okay, well, we'll take it very slow. Also you should let your girlfriend peg you, ya know, when you have one. Assuming this goes as well as we'd hope, anyways.”

“You talk so much,” Hongjoong whines as Wooyoung coats two fingers with lubricant, setting the bottle back to the side and out of the way.

“Yeah but you kinda like it, right? Kind of a hard sell to say you don't when you want me to fuck you in the as—“

“Can you not!?” Hongjoong groans out loudly now, upper body pulling off of the bed completely to look up at Wooyoung — knelt steadily between his legs and hand only just an inch off from their intended goal. The two men make eye contact, pause, then laugh — Hongjoong settling right back down into place.

“Okay, okay,” the more experienced of the two begins. “Gonna be honest with you, this first bit isn't gonna feel that great, but let me know if it gets to be too much, if you want me out just say 'out'”

“Yeah, I've heard, alright.”

With his middle finger sufficiently lubed, Wooyoung begins his slow press inside of Hongjoong — immediately met with anticipated resistance, he turns his attention up and onto the face of the boy in which he's penetrating — scanning his features for any sense of needing to remove himself at once, Hongjoong only winces slightly at the intrusion. One knuckle in, Wooyoung pauses, asking him how he feels, and Hongjoong nods to signify that it's okay to continue.

Second knuckle, Wooyoung pauses again, this time noticing visibly more discomfort splashed across the features of the man beneath him.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you feel?”

Hongjoong pauses before answering, inhaling shallowly. “Uncomfortable. Not unbearable, though. God, how many fingers do you have in me right now?”

Wooyoung chuckles at the innocence of the question. “One, dude.”

“One!?” Hongjoong shouts, absolute disbelief in his tone in a way that Wooyoung isn't sure he's ever heard from his friend before, as if the idea of there not being an entire fist inside of him right now be so impossibly foreign that he hadn't even considered it to be the case. “Jesus Christ.”

“It gets easier, first time can be a little rough.”

“How are we—“ Hongjoong stops mid sentence, choosing his words over again. “You're...big.”

“Yeah, uh—“ Wooyoung snorts, a single finger still lodged within Hongjoong as the conversation carries on. “Pros of dealing with me is I know what I'm doing and I'll do my best to take care of you, cons being...well, it's gonna be a snug fit.”

“Arguably not even physically possible.”

“I don't have to fuck you, I won't be disappointed.”

“I know, it's not that, just—“ Hongjoong's thoughts interrupted by Wooyoung pulling from him gently and pressing back in. “Have you ever bottomed?”

“Of course,” Wooyoung happily admits, delicately finger fucking Hongjoong as the conversation carries on. “I like sex, I'll try just about anything.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yeah, I'm the one that told you to get pegged, remember?”

“God, that conversation feels like it happened so long ago already,” Hongjoong huffs out, slinging an arm over his face as he attempts to get used to the feeling of being penetrated.

“I'm gonna add another finger.”

Pulling from him, pairing his ring finger with his middle, and adding a bit more lube, Wooyoung presses forward again into the small amount of progress he's made on Hongjoong, this time receiving an audible wince at the considerably thicker intrusion — fingers gripping into the sheets beneath him, Hongjoong bites into his bottom lip, screwing his eyes shut in spite of them being obstructed by his arm.

He thinks it feels as though he's being torn open, not that he particularly wants to tell Wooyoung that.

“How does it feel?”

Breathy and quick, Hongjoong can only huff out an “okay.”

Two knuckles deep again, Wooyoung stills inside of him to allow him time to adjust. “Let me know when you want me to move.”

“Is this really better than just going straight in with dick?” Hongjoong questions, ignoring Wooyoung's sentiment entirely for his own. Flustered, horny, and uncomfortable, he writhes under Wooyoung's touch. “It feels...torturous.”

“I know, but I promise it's better to take it slow. It'll get easier the more you do it,” he insists. “You should have experimented more on your own. I feel like men have usually shoved something up their ass experimentally by the time they're twenty-three.”

“I missed the memo.”

“So it seems. I'm going to move.”

It's a dull ache, uncomfortable pull when Wooyoung drags his fingers out of Hongjoong and presses them back in. Once, twice, three times, before he stills inside again — deeper this time, Hongjoong can tell.

“I'm going to try something, let me know if anything feels different.”

“What do you mean different?”

“Like, good different. You'll know.”

Hongjoong waits for a few moments, only barely being able to feel the way that Wooyoung is allegedly fishing around inside of him, until a split second hits where his nerves light up like fireworks, muscles in his abdomen tensing violently at the touch.

“Jesus, that— what was that?”

“Ah, found it, good. I'm gonna suck your dick again, try not to come immediately since you said you didn't want to yet.”

Barely able to get the words of compliance out before it feels as though life itself gets stuck in his throat, Hongjoong feels that particular, sudden, explosion of nerves in his fingertips all over again as Wooyoung presses deep and takes him into his mouth again. He knows what it is, he's knowledgeable enough to be aware.

But fuck, he did not know it was going to be that fucking good.

And as good as it is, he's embarrassed by how quick it gets him there, only three or four bobs of Wooyoung's head down on his cock before Hongjoong is urging him over and over again to stop, that he's close, and Wooyoung just giggles again as he pulls off.

“God, you have no stamina, I hope you're better with pussy.”

“Well I wasn't the first time.”

“Fair enough. Do you want to try?”

‘Do you want to try?’

Famous last words.

Hongjoong exhales heavily, as if accepting a fate he hadn't already accepted long before they had even gotten to this point. The faint, comforting scent of pine sweeping through his senses just in that moment. As if to tell him he's in good hands. A sign.

A sign from the higher powers that be: have that man fuck you in the ass.

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

So casual about the whole thing.

Reaching over again and grabbing the metallic packaging, for some reason Hongjoong finds it surprising as he hears the tearing — moving his arm to look down at the scene between his legs. Wooyoung catches the subtle shock on his features and questions him about it. “What? You didn't think I'd wear a condom? After where I've been?”

“No, I don't know. I don't really know what to expect in any of this, I don't think.”

“Do you want me to not wear one?”

Hongjoong thinks on it for a second. “I think? Kind of?”

But Wooyoung frowns at the response, carrying on with the unpackaging of the rubber. “Bad answer. You should always use protection, unless you know.”

“Yeah, I know. I think it's the intimacy?”

Leaning forward as he rolls the condom down and onto himself, Wooyoung plants a kiss atop one of Hongjoong's knees. “It's still intimate. If this goes well we can get tested together and then I'll fuck you raw, how about that for romantics?”

Hongjoong attempts to ignore the way the words make his dick twitch, perhaps a little too interested in the idea of being fucked open and raw by Wooyoung — instead, he opts for a simple nod, and allowing his arm to fall over his face once again.

Lubed up fingers inside of him again, gently prying him open for what's to come, he inhales deeply as he feels Wooyoung adjust between his legs, lining himself up at his entrance with the exit of the digits and ever so delicately pressing forward with his hips.

Only a few centimeters in, Wooyoung stills, watching the features of Hongjoong's that he's able to see. “Are you okay?”

Hongjoong hums in response. Not Wooyoung's ideal reply, but it'll do, given the circumstances. continuing his drive forward, Wooyoung reaches down, hand along Hongjoong's waist to keep him in place as he slowly sinks in. Eyes locked on bitten lips and messy brown hair the whole time until fully encompassed by his body, Wooyoung stills again, swallowing down hard the primal, gut, desire to fuck the boy dumb at the stupefying, warm, tightness.

But he has to be better than that. It's his job, after all.

“How's it feel?”

Throat dry, Hongjoong finally takes a deep breath before answering. “A lot.”

“Yeah, I know. I won't move until you tell me to.”

“I think you should.”

“Are you sure?” Wooyoung questions, tone worrying and unsure.

“Yes, but can you—“ and Hongjoong pulls his arm away from his face, using the same hand to motion for the man inside of him to close the distance between the two. Wooyoung smiles at the gesture, gently readjusting and leaning in so that he lies atop Hongjoong completely.

“Better?”

“I don't know, please move. Do that thing again.”

Wooyoung scoffs, rolling his eyes playfully. “Bottoms are always so demanding, yes baby, as you wish.”

Hongjoong opts to ignore the pet name (a little bit) in favor of focusing on the sensation, and the sensation that he hopes to follow soon once Wooyoung finds the angle with his cock that he had just earlier found by hand, but he's thankful that it doesn't take long at all — and perhaps these are some of the joys of a first time with someone more experienced — that four, five gentle presses into Hongjoong and he's seeing stars all over again as the tip of Wooyoung's length meets that particular bundle of nerves. Toes curling and fingers dancing up and into Wooyoung's hair at the sensation, all he can manage is a breathy “fuck” in response to it.

“Good, right?” Wooyoung toys with him, lips dragging across the hot skin of Hongjoong's neck and jaw as he continues short, shallow thrusts to keep up the feeling that the man beneath him desires so much. “Don't forget to breathe.”

A bit of a funny reminder, Hongjoong finds, once he realizes that he had, in fact, been holding his breath for who knows how long. Wooyoung experimentally withdrawing just a bit further than he had been before driving back in — with it, the first full, resounding moan falling from Hongjoong's mouth.

Wooyoung thinks maybe he shouldn't have made fun of Hongjoong's inability to last just earlier in the morning.

“Do you want me to stroke your cock?” Wooyoung mumbles against skin, already reaching down and between them, and Hongjoong can barely find the breath much less the words to response anything coherent.

“I—I'll—“ is all he can whimper out between faster, fuller drives of Wooyoung into him. Wooyoung knows that he's attempting to say that he'll come, and not wanting to give away the fact that he's not too far from the same, simply nudges him even more towards that inevitability.

“So? you can come,” Wooyoung whispers between kisses and feathery nips into the flesh of his ear and jaw, his own high fast approaching and fingers gripping tight around Hongjoong's slick, pre-cum soaked cock. “You've been so good, take me so good, you can come.”

“Fuck, don't—“ but before he can make a plea, the rush of pleasure is already washing over him, ripping through his body like an orgasm never before experienced in his life — fingers gripping tight into lilac hair and back arching as repeated, whispered expletives drip from his mouth and ropes of cum cover otherwise tan, talented fingers. But Wooyoung is relieved at the sights and sounds, allowing himself the three or four hard, full pumps into the man beneath him before he buries himself in as deep as he can manage and empties himself into the condom with gritted teeth and a loud groan.

Chests heaving, first out of sync but eventually falling into unison, Wooyoung quickly pulls himself together enough to gently pull himself from Hongjoong and roll off of him, removing and tying off the condom before tossing it into the bedside waste bin.

Flopping onto the bed once again to enjoy the post-sex bliss, Wooyoung hesitantly turns his head to look at a weary, sleepy, and fucked out Hongjoong — arm tossed across his face once again and a seemingly unstoppable upward curve of his lips taking his features as he desperately attempts to collect his breath.

“Yeah,” Hongjoong sighs heavily, pulling his arm from his face only to turn his head to meet Wooyoung's gaze.

“I definitely like men.”

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.

#hongjoong smut #hongjoong fanfic #hongjoong scenarios #hongjoong imagines #wooyoung smut #wooyoung fanfic #wooyoung scenarios #wooyoung imagines #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines

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littlexscarletxwitch · 1 year

Note

Florence pregnant is such a cute idea and I loved your fic about the baby talk! Can I request a fic on Florence being pregnant and the baby being born? WLW couple, first baby and they are so excited!

── ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎ 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗱𝗮𝗶𝘀𝘆

paring: mum!florence pugh x fem!reader

tag(s): fluff, smut (or at least I tried), established relationship, pregnancy

warning(s): grammatical errors, unedited, not proofread, language, smut, wlw sex, oral sex (r receiving), fingering (r receiving)

word count: 2,504

note: Thank you for requesting this, I had so much fun writing it. I hope you don't mind I added the smut part, it just sort of happened. I really hope you like it. Also guys, (not sure if anyone actually reads this part) in two days I'm going on holidays, so i don't think I will be able to post anything, maybe some Florence's pictures/videos from time to time. But I can't make any promises. I'll tried to work on more fics tho, so once I'm back I'd just post them. I only have one request left for the moment, so I will try to post that before leaving. Also I was thinking of writing for Wanda and maybe some other Marvel characters. What do you guys think? I'm not a native english speaker, so please let me know about any sort of mistake. Hope you enjoy! <3

note 2: Since this is sort of my universe, I decided that a woman can get another woman pregnant so this would be Y/n and Florence's biological child. Yeah, I don't want men around Florence, even if they are fictional and technically created by me. Flo is for the girls, the gays and the theys.

requests are open! + check my rules here <3

It was raining outside when Florence told you the best news ever.

You were looking out the window, admiring the rain. There was something so peaceful about the rain that just calmed you down, as though it was washing away all your worries. Billie sat next to you, cuddling in your thighs. She would stir when hearing thunder and get closer to you, as if looking for your protection.

You were lost in your thoughts that didn’t realise Florence kneeling in front of you until she taped your knee, demanding your attention.

“What is it?” you asked, you couldn’t read what she was feeling but knew she needed you to know something.

“Do you remember me being sick the last couple of days?”

“Yeah, what about it? Are you sick again?”

“No, not quite,” Florence looked at Billie, trying to find some comfort and reassurance in her dog. She was scared of your reaction. “I, um, I realised why I was feeling sick.”

“What was it, baby?” you grabbed her hands and squeezed them softly, letting her know you were listening carefully to every word she was saying. She then looked at you, took a big breath and just spilled the words out of her mouth.

“I’m pregnant,” she mumbled quickly, as if not actually wanting to tell you.

It took you a whole second to understand her words, your eyes lighted up, a small smile forming on your lips. “You are? One hundred percent sure?”

“Yes, I took three tests. All positive,” her eyes were starting to get watery.

You hugged her at the confirmation, tears forming in your eyes. But they weren't sad tears. Florence let out all the breath she had been holding since she saw the results of her tests once she felt your warmth.

“Oh my god. We are going to be mums. I’m so happy. I love you so much, Flo. So so much,” you kissed all her face.

Billie started to bark at the two of you, almost as if she knew that soon there was going to be a little human keeping her company as well.

“You’re not mad?” Florence said, tears now running down her cheeks.

“Why would I be mad? This is the best news ever. I’m going to call my mum, she’s going to love this. I can’t believe this. This is the greatest day of my life,” you kissed her lips and quickly grabbed your phone to tell all your acquaintances about the news.

Florence could only look at you in wonder. She couldn't believe that just minutes ago she was afraid to tell you about this. How silly of her.

[...]

You guys were waiting for the doctor to call you in. Florence was now three months in. Her belly was showing a bit, but not enough to tell if it was a pregnant belly or a beer belly. You thought that it looked good on her, sometimes even hot.

Minutes later you guys were called for the check up. This would be the first time you would look at the screen and see some kind of human resemblance.

Florence was lying in the stretcher, her hand in yours giving you a squeeze. She was so excited to see her baby.

“How are you guys doing?”

“Everything’s just fine, Doc,” she answered.

“Glad to hear that. Okay, let’s take a look at the baby, shall we?” you only squeezed Florence's hand even harder.

A few minutes later, when the doctor was done setting everything up, the screen lit up. At first you couldn’t understand what your eyes were looking at. The doctor said that she was taking measurements of the baby's head, hence the big circle taking up the whole screen. She then moved the instruments further down Florence belly and said that she was now taking measurements of the baby's femur. She did a few more examinations and then said:

“Okay, everything seems good. Now, let’s listen to the baby’s heart beat.” The three of you went silent and then, a second later, the room was filled by a loud thumping noise. “Wow, that’s a strong healthy heart, guys,” you could only smile at Florence, your eyes getting watery in just a second. “Okay, we’re done with the check ups. Let me show what you want,” she moved the instrument along Flo’s belly, and a second later a baby-like image showed on the screen.

“Oh, god,” that was all you could say, mesmerised by the simple image in front of you. They were tiny, and all you could see was just their silhouette, but you knew they were perfect already.

You looked at Florence, tears in the corner of her eyes as well, pecked her lips, and whispered in her ear how much you love her.

[...]

“What about Rafaela?”

“We are not naming the baby after you, Raffie,” the youngest pugh rolled her eyes pretending she was mad at her sister’s response.

You and Florence were having dinner with her family, and the baby’s name came up as a topic for conversations.

“Raffie, I’m sorry. But they are naming the kid after me. Y/n told me earlier, but she didn’t want to upset you,” Toby teased her little sister. You could only roll your eyes at the two of them, trying to hold your smile at Raffie’s clearly now upset face.

“Toby, stop bothering your sister,” Deborah scolded him.

“I actually like the name Toby,” Florence added, just to annoy her sister even further.

“Oh, come on, Flo. We can name our child after your brother of all people,” you winked at Raffie.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Toby asked in disbelief.

You looked at Raffie and the both of you just burst in laughter.

[...]

Florence was now seven months in. Now everyone could tell that you knocked her up.

You guys were watching a marvel movie. Your arm around Florence while your other hand was trailing small circles in her belly, hoping to get the baby moving.

“I always liked the name Natasha,” Florence squinted her eyes at you, trying to tell if you were being serious or not.

“We are not naming our kid after one of your favourite marvel superheroes.”

“Pff, that’s not why I–,” she raised her eyebrow at you. “Okay, fine you got me. What about Natalia?” you tried again.

“Y/n.”

“Okay, fine. You’re boring.”

“Oh, yeah?” a grin forming on her face. “Am I boring when I do this?” she moved her mouth to your neck, her breath instantly making you shiver but then it turned into a burning feeling once she gently kissed your sensitive skin.

“You are a bit less boring now,” you tried to suppress a whimper escaping from your mouth.

“What if I do this?” her hand moved down your shirt to find your breast, you silently thanked god that you weren’t wearing a bra.

As soon as her hand touched your sensitive nipple a moan escaped from your mouth, but was quickly cut off with Florence’s lips. Her tongue exploring the inside of your mouth, more moans falling from your mouth but muffled by Florence’s lips. Her hands trailing circles and pinching your nipple.

Once you guys pulled apart to take a breath, she took off your shirt, your whole chest now on display and for her to touch as she wanted. Her right hand went straight to your left breast while her mouth went straight for your right nipple. Her tongue circling it, sometimes even biting it.

She then moved her lips further down your body, leaving love bites all over your abdomen. Once she reached your shorts, you helped her take them off of you. Panties included. Now you were all hers. She kissed the insides of your tights, getting closer to your core, where you needed her the most.

“Flo…” you trailed off, not being able to say much, your mind too foggy to think of anything else but her.

She licked up your slit, earning a moan from you. A grin on her face knowing you were all hers, in that moment and for the rest of your life. She put her mouth and tongue to work, sucking and licking as much as she could. She tasted your wetness on her lips making her aroused.

“Stop teasing,” you begged her.

“What do you need, baby?” her hot breath caused goosebumps. Florence knew what you needed —what you wanted. But she needed to hear from you first. Being pregnant made Florence even hornier than when she wasn’t. She blamed it on the hormones. But truth be told, she had always been this horny, but only for you. There was something about you that made her knees go weak everytime she got a glimpse of your body.

“Your fingers,” a whimper escaped from your lips once she bit your core. “I need your fingers, Flo.”

Without wasting another second Florence pushed two fingers inside you, a small cry came out of your mouth.

“Look at you, taking my fingers so well,” you said before getting her tongue back to work.

She curled her fingers inside you and stared a small pace, out and in of you, while her tongue attacked your clit. You were a mess under her. Your knuckles were turning white from your thigh grip on the bed sheets, your back arching at her touch, your legs spreading wide open for her to have more access to you.

She started to thrust her fingers in you faster once she noticed you were close to your realise. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Florence moved her head up just a bit so she could see your face. Your lips were apart, moans coming out of them, your brows were furrowed, she enjoyed that view. Especially you moaning out her name over and over again.

You felt the knot in your stomach tightening, you knew you were about to finish. “Flo…” you whispered.

“Let go, baby,” and as if on cue, you felt the knot disappear, your hand moved to her head, pushing her even closer to you, her tongue making you scream her name. A soft moan escaped from Florence lips while trying to suck all of your juices.

She guided you while coming out of your high, her fingers slowly moving out of you. She then sucked at her fingers, wanting to get as much of you as she could. You already missed her fingers inside of you.

“So sweet,” she said tasting you on her fingers. Then lied next to you, kissing your forehead.

“I love you,” you muttered, already getting sleepy.

“I love you more,” she replied, covering both of your bodies with the bedsheets.

[...]

About three months later, you and Florence were doing some gardening when Florence felt her legs get wet.

“Um, Y/n, I think my water just broke.”

“Oh, shit. Holy fuck. Oh my god is happening, oh my god,” you rushed inside to get the bag you and Florence had packed a few days ago, knowing the baby would come any day. “Holy shit, Flo, we have everything right? Did you…?

“Y/n, calm down. It’s going to be fine,” she squeezed your shoulder.

“I think I’m going to faint, baby,” you eyes rolled back for a second, Florence shaking you body so it would work properly.

“Don’t you dare pass out on me, Y/n. I’m the one about to pull a baby out of me, okay? Keep it together,” she suppressed the need to slap some sense into you.

[...]

You couldn’t stop looking at her, mesmerised by her entirely.

You had been waiting for 9 months and now there she was. You thought the greatest day of your life was when Florence told you she was pregnant, but now this was the greatest day of your life. The day that your daughter had been born.

Florence had given birth to your beautiful daughter just an hour ago. Once your ears were filled by her loud crying, tears forming in your eyes as well as in Florence’s. This was the moment the both of you had been waiting for the last 9 months —meeting her. And god, she was perfect. The first thing you recognized in your daughter was Florence’s little nose, you chuckled at the similarity.

Not only was she healthy but she was breathtaking. You knew all born babies were ugly, that was the rule of life. But it seemed that for some reason the rule didn’t apply to your babygirl. Because she was the most beautiful person you had ever seen, as beautiful and mesmerising as your Florence. You couldn't be more proud of her, for growing this little human inside of her.

“I love her so much already,” you whispered to Florence, trying not to disturbed the baby in her arms.

“She’s as perfect as you are,” a smile plastered on her face once she looked at you.

“Oh, come on, those are your genes. Just look at her,” you kissed Florence’s forehead. She giggled at your words.

“You want to hold her?” she was already giving the tiny human to you.

Once she was in your arms, you felt completed. Not that anything was missing, but it was as if things should have always been this way. With Florence right by your side. The baby stirred under your hands, getting used to your warmth and touch, but it was af she could tell that it was her mama holding her and stop moving around, falling back into her sleep. You poked her hand with your pinky finger, trying your best to not disturb her but you wanted to touch her, as though you were making sure she was real. You gasped once her tiny hand opened and grabbed your pinky finger.

Florence was looking at the both of you with watery eyes. She couldn’t believe that her daughter was finally there with her, you holding her close to your chest. She didn’t know she could love someone as much as she loved you, and there it was, right in front of her. She couldn't wait for everyone to meet her. She knew she would be loved by everyone, but loved the most by the two of you.

“What about Daisy?” you whispered to Florence.

“Are you sure it’s not a marvel character?” she teased you.

You looked at her, trying to find an answer, the truth was that it was a marvel character’s name, but you had always loved that name regardless of that.

“I, um…” she chuckled at your missing words.

“It’s perfect. Little Daisy,” your eyes lit up at her words.

“Little Daisy,” you repeated, it did sound perfect.

[...]

Bonus scene (moments before driving Florence to the hospital):

911 operator: 911, what’s your emergency?

Y/n: Yeah, my wife is going into labour *trying to not freak out*

911 operator: Is this her first child?

Florence: DON’T YOU DARE.

Y/n: No, this is her wife.

(I thought this would be funny)

Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated! <3

-M

#florence pugh #florence pugh x reader #florence pugh x you #mum florence pugh x reader #florence pugh x y/n #florence pugh x fem reader #mum florence pugh #florence pugh imagine #florence pugh smut #florence pugh fluff #littlexscarletxwitch's fic #requests by lovely anons ‘๑’#your fav florence pugh blog <3

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