⋆☕︎˖ yang jeongin x reader
⋆☕︎˖ 1,054 words
⋆☕︎˖ soft dom, nsfw, fluff, slight degradation, angst
The apartment was quiet except for the rain tapping against the window, and the soft blue glow of the TV neither of you was really watching. It was past midnight. Jeongin had shown up unannounced, hoodie soaked, hair dripping, jaw set in a way you had learned meant trouble.
"You could've texted," you said, pulling him inside anyway, grabbing a towel from the bathroom.
"I didn't want to think. I just wanted to be somewhere nobody was watching me like I might break something."
You knew immediately what this was about. The interview earlier that week — the hosts cooing over him like he was still seventeen, the other members laughing along, ruffling his hair on camera like it was cute. Jeongin, twenty-five years old, youngest of eight, still introduced as "the baby of the group" like it was a permanent title stitched into his name.
"They didn't mean anything by it," you offered carefully, sitting beside him on the couch.
"That's what everyone says." His voice was tight. "You too. You still cut my food at dinner last week like I can't hold a knife."
"That was one time, and it was steak, and you were talking with your hands—"
"That's not the point, Y/N." He turned to face you, and there was something rawer in his expression than you’d seen before, something that had been building for years. "I write half our songs. I choreograph sections nobody else wants to touch. I've been doing this exact job as everyone else, and I still get treated like I need someone checking if I've eaten today."
You were quiet for a moment, because he wasn't wrong, and because you realised, uncomfortably, that you’d done it too — worried over him, watched him a little too closely, always the first to reach for him in a crowd.
"I do it because I care about you," you said softly. "Not because I think you're incapable."
"I know that." He dragged a hand through his damp hair. "But I need you, of all people, to see me as someone who could actually stand next to you. Not someone you're managing."
The words hung there, more honest than either of them had allowed in the two years they'd circled each other — late-night calls, comfortable silences, the way you always saved him a seat without thinking.
"Jeongin." You reached for his hand, quiet certainty in your voice. "I've never once thought you were less than the rest of them. I get scared for you because I care what happens to you. That's different from not believing in you."
He searched your face like he was looking for a lie and didn't find one. "Then why does it still feel like I have to prove myself? Even to you?"
"Maybe," you said carefully, "because some part of you already knows I don't just care about you like the others do."
His breath caught. "Y/N—"
"I'm tired of pretending I don't watch you the way I do," you admitted, the confession slipping out before you could stop it. "You're not a kid to me, Jeongin. You never have been."
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then he leaned in, slow enough that you could've stopped him, and didn't. The kiss was gentle at first, almost disbelieving, like he needed to be sure this was real before he let himself have it. When you broke apart, his forehead rested against yours, rain still ticking softly against the glass.
"I don't need anyone else to see it," he murmured. "Just you."
"Then let them keep underestimating you," you whispered, smiling. "I know exactly who you are."
He kissed her again, harder and more aggressive. He pulled you onto his lap, letting his hands roam all over your lower back and ass, and yours over his chest, pulling his hoodie off for him as you temporarily broke the kiss.
“No tank under, hm? You planned this, didn’t you?” you teased, slightly grinding in his lap as you suck small kisses under the sensitive part of his ear.
“Ohh, darling… don’t do that to me. I can’t handle it.” he moaned, his bulge growing bigger the more you spur him on.
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“Come on, baby. I can’t hear you. Let it all out for me. I want the neighbours to come knocking”
You moaned louder and louder each time he pistoned his dick into you, driving it deeper into your cervix.
“Look at me. I wanna see you fall apart on my cock, stuffed full of me.”
You looked up at him, eyes so close to releasing all the tears it tried to contain. Your thighs threatening to close and back arching off the bed, until Jeongin pushed you down by your shoulder and held one of your thighs open.
“Why are you closing on me, darling? Aren’t you having fun? Feeling me messing up your insides?”
All you could do was moan, moan three times louder than you’d have the TV volume at. At the moment, all you could feel was the pulsing of Jeongin’s cock in your tight walls.
You were so close, you barely had a second to tell Jeongin before you came all over his cock. Back arched and hands tangled on his hair, pulling every strand as he groaned into your neck, releasing all his cum inside you.
“Oh, my — darling, you did so well. Lemme grab a towel, okay? Just wait here for me.”
Jeongin was cleaning you up, being careful to not be too rough and overstimulate any more than you are.
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You both were laying on the couch under the blanket, laying your head on his chest as you slowly started to drift off.
“Y/N, I know that the order’s all messed up, but… I really want to take you out. On a date. I know I don’t have to prove anything to you, but I wanna be a good partner to you. For you. I wanna be someone you can rely on and be open too. I don’t know, maybe I’m rambling, but I really wanna be good to you.”
When you don’t answer, or move for that matter, he checks your face to see you completely knocked out.
“Okay, I’ll try again tomorrow,” he laughed to himself, trying not to wake you up.
⋆☕︎˖ a/n: im finally done with writing a fluff and smut(ish) for each member. i won't be writing regularly, and if you have any requests, PLEASE send them my way and i'll work on it (refer to pinned post for details 😉)
Felix is the type of guy to beg you to put on a horror movie despite his well-known poor tolerance for them. He'll be convincing, smooth voice promising that he won't back out midway, pecking off the skeptical frown that creases your face.
Felix is the type of guy who uses his cowardice as the perfect excuse to slip under the covers while you're distracted. heart beating faster, you barely notice his disappearance until a warm palm slides down your legs, soothing the arising goosebumps.
Felix who'd ignore the confused questions that leaves your mouth, answering them through his actions by pressing a kiss to the expanse of your thigh.
Felix is the type to hush you, telling you to focus back onto the movie. but it's just impossible when he's rucking your shirt up your stomach, planting slow kisses to your tummy and below your belly-button. nibbling onto the meat of your thighs. the movie fades into white noises.
Felix who kisses you over your panties. a tease before licking a strip of the damp fabric, groaning at the faint taste that hits him. soon growing sick of his own antics, pushing the fabric aside to his meal.
Felix who wastes no time in enveloping his puffy lips around your clit, sucking lightly before laying his tongue flat against your folds. licking a fat stripe off your arousal.
Felix whose confidence spikes with how you grip the covers above him, arm sliding underneath the sheets to take a hold of his hair. the fact that you can't see him turns him on the most.
He'll feel you getting closer, bridging over as he eases you through it with slow, loving, movements of his mouth against you. well, that's how he views it. for truth, he's spreading your folds apart, tongue diving and making out with your cunt. low groans vibrating through your clit as he sucks on it. taking in your shakiness, he'll let you cum all over his face, happily slurping the fluids that leaks out of you.
Felix is the type to heave back up jolly. cute smile adorning his expression while his mouth glistens under the dim lighting of the movie. Pecking your lips while assuring you that you did good. however, he brings your wrist to his bulge, palming the fabric of his pants. relationships are give and take, right? he's scared too, please take care of him.
—
other member ver: bangchan lee know changbin hyunjin han felix seungmin i.n
𝛏 semiu tells you about an aphrodisiac she tried with her girlfriend and, well… you just have to try it on your man.
𓈒݂݂၇ fem reader, yeah they don’t know about it at first but its all fun and games nobody gets hurt and it’s all consensual sex, pet names, enjin saying off the wall shit, tamsy being a lil freak, and zanka being a brat.
m.list
★ tamsy
Tamsy trusts you.
Thinks nothing of it when you casually offer him a treat. You’d never do anything remotely unsavory to him, right? Because he’s obsessed with you and you can do no wrong in his eyes.
Now, as he has you stretched open in his bed, fingers laced with yours and pinned to the mattress, he wonders if you’ve done this to him.
That it’s your fault he’s thrusting even after his thighs start burning. Cock achy and sensitive while he chases his third orgasm, pussy stuffed full.
“Angel,” he moans. Tamsy’s lids lower further, cheeks flushed bright pink. Drool drips from parted lips, splattering on your collarbone. “You gave me something.”
You shake your head furiously, back arching as he fucks you faster. His name falls from your mouth over and over as your pleasure rips through you.
Tamsy squeezes his eyes shut. His cock throbs. He cums again, a low, wrecked moan sticking in his throat.
His hips don’t stop.
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m sorry!”
“Your apology is weak.” He dips down kissing your jaw, your throat. “If truly want to show you’re sorry,” he murmurs. “You’ll cry for me, pretty little angel.”
Tamsy fucks you so long you fall asleep right after, sore and with dried tears on your cheeks.
You smack the chocolate from his hand the next time he’s offered any.
★ enjin
No man’s land makes Enjin want to rip his hair out. Each time he gets assigned out there he smokes ten cigarettes in a row.
In the jeep on the ride over, you offer Enjin a treat. Holding it in your open palm from the passenger seat. You tell him it’s a pick me up— an… energizer of sorts.
He asks you to feed it to him, of course. Enjin murmurs, “Thanks, sweetheart. You always know just what I need,” in that low teasing tone, and Rudo tells the two of you to stop being so fucking gross from the backseat.
Enjin’s cock is hard enough to cut diamonds in the middle of destroying a trash beast.
He octoshreds the monster and simultaneously pictures your tight wet pussy. Revisits the memory of folding you in half like a lawn chair last night and fucking you until you drenched his pelvis.
Enjin watches you fight from the top of a “sand” heap. Leers at your body as you twist and jump and murder trash beasts with fierce grace.
There’s a couple monsters left, but he leaves them for the others. His cock throbs and sticks to his underwear as he finds you, drags you by the wrist to his jeep.
“Enjin— wait! W— What about the others?”
“Don’t fucking care. I need that sweet pussy right now or I’ll hump a trash beast like a dog. You don’t want to see that, right?”
Enjin manhandles you around the opposite side of the jeep, out of sight, and swings open the door. He bends you over the backseat and yanks your pants under your ass.
You wail, his thick cock splitting you open, pushing your hips back into him.
“Enjin!”
“Christ. You’re tighter than a fucking nun,” he groans through his teeth. Enjin smacks your ass. “Now bounce that ass, baby.”
It’s okay, the chaotic fighting covers your screaming.
★ zanka
Zanka is pissed.
He’s spent the last hour fighting a boner during dinner.
You gave him some beautifully wrapped sweet chocolate right before you’d scampered off with some lame excuse about training.
Zanka prides himself on not being a dumbass. He knows, without a doubt, you’re the reason he had to escape to the bathroom and point his dick upwards to hide it behind his waistband.
The door to your dorm almost flies off the hinges. Zanka stands in the frame, eyes glowing like he’s about to use his jinki.
“What the fuck did you give me!”
You lower your magazine, sitting up in bed, blinking innocently. “What ever do you mean?”
Zanka practically vibrates. He slams your door shut and stomps over to your bed. Roughly, Zanka catches your hand and presses it to his cock. It pulses under your hand.
“This,” he hisses, presses his cock harder against your palm. “Why did I eat that sweet and then think about you on your knees and playing with your pussy for an hour?”
“Oh. Well. Semiu told me about this aphrodisiac chocolate and I wanted to try it.” Zanka doesn’t stop you from sliding your hand under the hem of his pants, skin on skin. “Did it work?”
Zanka is blushing. Flustered. Pouts lightly as his lashes flutter.
“Fuck. Fine. Get on your knees, then.”
“Say the magic word, baby,” you tease, thumbing the head.
I hate the mischaracterisation of Dennis Whitaker.
Dennis Whitaker isn’t a fragile baby. That man is such a secret dom. Friendly and sweet to everyone else. Yet, to you he is authoritative and demanding. In a sense that he knows what he wants.
He’s so domestic and would also do anything for you. Cooking, cleaning, handywork. You don’t even have to lift a finger when he is around. When he isn’t, it painfully frustrates him that you have to ‘get your hands dirty’
He loves bringing you everywhere he is. You both have that kind of love where you are best friends too. Both of you are suckers for a routine. You listen to all his farm stories and watch multiple animal documentaries together. Multiple exchanged baby animal TikToks.
“Awe den look at this one!” You squeal
He looks and it’s a small kitten falling into milk crying. He smiles. You frown staring at the screen. You quickly look at him then back to the whining kitten. “Kind of looks like you! I’m sending this to Trin”
His coworkers adore you and always want you around for work parties and get togethers. You constantly hear new stories of Dennis on shift. You smile knowing you have the most perfect and caring boyfriend.
Dennis Whitaker is a munch. He loves going down on you. Kissing your stomach and trailing love bites up your inner thighs. His tongue focuses on your clit while he listens to how you react to each lick, suck and nibble he takes. Gently, he circles your clit with his thumb. Pushing his tongue into you and fucking you like that. He loves tasting you.
Often he picks you up and throws you around into any position he wants you in. Making sure to leave gentle kisses on your body and caress your curves. As he wraps his hand around your throat - “sweetheart, you are so pretty”
That midwestern charm brings you to your climax every-time. Dennis Whitaker, your strong dominant farm boy.
a/n: i've been getting a lot of jimin requests in my DMs and i am so thrilled about it, here's a love letter to my favourite retired crashout Ი︵𐑼 also 'omg why are u so active this week?' I am basically still in an Advil x penicillin-induced haze and all I can do is watch k-dramas and write
concept requested by anon, thank u for letting out the slutty sub that I am ౨ৎ
pairing: bf park jimin x fem!reader
wc: 5.4k, 21 min
themes: smut, public hook up, Busan satoori babyyyy, bratty reader x dom!jimin, choking, fingering, orgasm denial, u better get on your knees for him!!! face fucking, exhibitionism!!! facepainting/facial, pissing him off enough until he snaps at you in an elevator aka everything i've ever wanted .ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ
════════
"Jimin."
It was the third time you called his name, not particularly for any reason, but just for him to look at you and give you the attention you've been wanting for the entire night. He responded with the same thing: a small smile in your direction and a faint little pat on your leg as he continued his conversation, letting you know that he saw you, that he felt you there. But he was busy.
You couldn't help but sulk a little. Not good enough.
It wasn't his fault: you knew what you were signing up for when he invited you to join him for dinner with his team. A light-hearted, professional meal surrounded by people who were more than acquaintances but less than friends.
You took another sip of your martini, letting the burn of the liquor fizzle out in the back of your throat, hitting you where it made your eyes almost water.
The restaurant was pretty: dimmed lights cast hazy shadows over the white tablecloths, with little tea candles set neatly on every table. The conversation was light, discussing Jimin's schedule while he was back in town, before he would be in Spain for the next stop of the tour.
"Well, since you fly out next week, we'll have you stop at Dior for a fitting and some press photos for them before you leave. Can we make that your Monday plans?"
You tried not to frown. You already had very limited time with him back in Seoul, and even though you knew that he would fly you out to see him at any given moment, it bothered you that he couldn't just give you all of him while he was back.
And maybe you were selfish for that.
"Monday is good for me," Jimin nodded, his hand lifting off your leg to take another sip of his drink. The part of your leg that he was just holding suddenly felt too cold.
In another weak attempt to steal his attention, you leaned into him a little further, letting the ends of your hair tickle against his shoulder. Jimin turned to you briefly with a sweet little smile.
"You're doing okay?"
"Guess so." You gave him a reluctant nod, and he pecked your nose before turning his attention back to the rest of the table.
In a moment of defeat, you lifted your head off his shoulder, turning your attention to the rest of the dining room for a moment. You absentmindedly brushed your hand down his arm, landing it on his upper thigh. You felt his muscles tense under your touch, even though his head was still turned away from you.
That wasn't nothing.
You glanced down at his reaction, letting your hand lie there, as if scanning for another movement, checking that it wasn't just in your head. You brushed your hand against his trousers again, dragging one manicured nail up towards his waistband curiously. Another flex of his muscle. This time, Jimin turned to look at you.
"All good?" he gave you a little smile, a hint of curiosity behind it.
"Mhm," you nodded, before letting him return to his conversation.
Maybe this was a bad idea. He was technically working. And yet, the drinks were feeling just good enough, in that sweet spot that made anything you thought now feel like a good idea.
Especially if it meant making him mad.
A little smile grew on your face as the idea came into your head, fully formed and eager.
You dropped both hands from the table, tucking them under the tablecloth innocently. First, one hand on his knee, the other hanging dangerously close to the hem of your dress. You lifted your hand up onto your fingertips, letting each of your nails drag slowly, purposefully up the length of his thigh. Jimin's eyes widened a little as he listened to his manager chat with him, before his hand disappeared under the tablecloth, his hand covering yours, pinning it still.
Just as you thought.
Your free hand crept up over his lap, tugging innocently on his belt loop, just enough to let him know you were there. No reaction.
You tested the waters, stepping your fingers over to the clasp of his trousers, just fiddling with it enough to make him nervous.
"Baby," he murmured to you, his tone shifting ever so slightly in only a way that you knew to notice. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing," you said innocently. Jimin looked at you, his eyes still warm on the outside, but a flicker of annoyance definitely shone through if you really took the time to look.
Below the edge of the table, he took your hand and gently plucked it off of his zipper fly, before returning it to your domain. And this time, it felt final.
The dinner briefly returned to normal, your own frustration at bay for a few minutes, until a fantastically evil idea popped into your head when one of the gentlemen at the table suggested another round of drinks. As soon as the server arrived to take orders, you requested another martini, to which Jimin gave you a light squeeze on your leg.
“You sure you haven’t had too much to drink, my love?” His voice was sweet, the lingering tone of annoyance just barely detectable on his tongue. What a gentleman.
But you wanted to be anything but ladylike with him right now.
“I’m doing just fine, Jimin-ssi,” you said with a little smirk.
His jaw ticked, just a little at that nickname. Jimin hated it when you talked to him like you were just pals. He was your boyfriend, and you were his woman, and he liked keeping it in that tone. The way you talked to him, like he was just another classmate, got under his skin, and you knew it very well.
As soon as the server left, your hands were back to trying to explore his lap. Jimin couldn’t fight you this time; he was trying so hard not to fight you at the table because he was such a professional. All of that went out the window when you got bolder and dropped your hand right over the crotch of his pants. Not moving, but just letting the weight of your palm burn through the material of his trousers, heavy and present.
And this time, his reaction was definitely not nothing.
Jimin wasn’t very good at hiding his expressions, and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself at the little ‘O’ that formed with his mouth at your touch before he leaned forward against the table. And unfortunately for him, both his hands were busy as he tried to cut another piece of his meal with his fork and knife. You took the opportunity to palm him a little more properly now, nothing too vulgar, but just enough to knead him comfortably through his trousers, feel the blood and stiffness start to build up under your fingertips. Your smile grew a little wider before you caught yourself, poking your tongue in your cheek so as not to raise suspicion. He caught a glance of your expression, your cheekiness making him all the more bothered.
Jimin looked properly irritated now, the tension manifesting itself on his face. His one hand dropped to his lap, landing on your wrist before holding it steady.
The conversation eventually drifted from Jimin to between two other staff members, and he finally turned to face you.
“Whatever you’re trying to do, baby, stop it,” he warned in a low whisper. “Not here.” His hand held your wrist steady, freezing your hand in its tracks.
You gave him a playful pout before leaning in to whisper in his ear.
“Unlucky for you, I have two hands,” you purred, before letting your other hand resume what the first was doing, massaging and palming him over his trousers just under the tablecloth.
Jimin’s eyes fluttered for a second, almost like he was about to let out a groan, before they widened and he remembered exactly where he was. His stern look returned to his face, but his eyes seemed a little wider, as if silently begging you to obey him.
And of course, you weren’t going to.
As soon as the server returned with the drinks, you decided to perform your grand finale. An innocent reach over the table to collect your drink became a careless knock of your wrist, just enough to tip Jimin’s own half-full water glass all over the table…and his lap.
“Shit,” he muttered as he hopped up a little in his seat, the cool water soaking into the top layer of his clothing.
“Oh no,” his manager said with a small frown. “Jimin, you’re okay?”
Jimin nodded up at him, still a little flustered, his irritation growing increasingly apparent on his face.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, honey. Here, let me,” you cooed.
You took your napkin off the table and pressed it innocently against his lap, but hidden beneath the white fabric square, you dragged your full palm and fingers up the outline of his hardened length. Jimin visibly jolted in his seat as you continued stroking him through the cloth, applying just enough pressure to make him squirm. Jimin looked at you in disbelief as you dragged your hand up from base to tip in one firm motion, your eyes batting innocently up at him, your teeth buried sweetly into your lower lip, giving him a look that you knew he understood.
“We can ask the server for another napkin,” another staff member offered before putting her hand up to call the server over.
“Oh, that’s a good idea, thank you,” you cooed, still palming him under the guise of drying him. He knocked his head back a little with a frustrated, furrowed brow as you continued sizing him up in the middle of the restaurant.
“Mmph,” Jimin let out a muffled groan before coughing. But for some miraculous reason, his hands never came up to stop yours.
“I’m so sorry, honey; I didn’t mean to,” you said, drawling out your words ever so slightly. You leaned up into his ear, pressing your lips directly against his ear before whispering, “Please forgive me, Jimin.”
Jimin looked like he was going to snap.
“It’s okay,” he says through gritted teeth before desperately shoving your hand off him, leaving the very evident tent in his pants abandoned under the tablecloth.
You took a satisfied sip of your drink, the cocky smile unable to hide on your expression. Jimin noticed your look, and it made him a little more irritated. You didn’t even look one bit sorry.
After a few painfully long minutes of Jimin shuffling uncomfortably in his seat, stiff in his pants, with your eyeing him like he was your favourite dessert, the dinner finally came to its well-deserved end.
“It’s getting late,” one of the gentlemen says with a quick scan of his watch. “And Mr. Park’s in need of an outfit change, so maybe we should call it a night,” he says with a chuckle.
Jimin was a gentleman; he would always stay until the bill was settled and walk everyone out. But tonight was different. He hurriedly stood up before collecting his bag and helping you out of your chair.
“Thank you for tonight,” he said with a small, rushed bow to the table, his hand conveniently covering his crotch. “I’m just feeling a bit tired now, so if you don’t mind, Y/N and I are going to go.” You gave a little bow together with him, before waving at the rest of the team.
The walk back to the car was quiet. Jimin’s hand held yours in a way that made it feel like you were in trouble, and you could already feel the stir building up in your belly. You leaned against the wall sweetly as Jimin hit the elevator button for the underground lot.
“Jimin-ah,” you cooed, your head cocked a little extra as you let your hair cascade off your shoulders. “Aren’t you going to talk to me?” Jimin glared at you, jaw ticking, and said nothing.
The elevator arrived with a muted ding, and the two of you stepped inside.
“Listen,” you turned your head to lean against his shoulder again, letting out a breathy exhale just as a cherry on top. “I’m sorry about the wat–”
His hand suddenly came forward, pressing the emergency stop button with a forceful smack of his hand.
You dropped your act for a moment.
“Jimin, what are y–”
You were cut off by his mouth driving into yours, harsh and angry, and you almost couldn’t tell if he wanted to kiss you or just shut you the fuck up. You let out an involuntary whine at his aggression, your hands finding themselves in his long blonde hair immediately.
“Is this what you wanted? Screwing with me at dinner until I lost my composure? Huh?” Jimin growled into your mouth, and you couldn’t help but let out a satisfied giggle back.
His hands immediately consumed your body, gripping your waist and pulling you closer to him, every inch of your body being pinned against his. Even through his dress shirt, you could feel the hard ridges of his toned abdomen underneath, the flex of his torso making you smile deeper into the kiss. Jimin continued kissing you, his teeth nibbling and snapping at your lower lip as he practically ate you alive. Your teeth were knocking together, messy and furious, his brows furrowed as he kissed you with all the anger that he had been desperately hiding throughout dinner.
“You’re a little fucking brat sometimes, my love,” he hissed, pulling away just enough to speak against your mouth. You grinned back.
“I wasn’t doing anything, Jimin.” Your eyes were wide and mischievous, looking up at him like you loved being where you were.
“Yeah, and you looking at me like that and practically purring like a cat wasn’t anything either, huh?”
You felt your stomach flutter: Jimin and you were mostly a very agreeable couple, no fights, no disagreements. He was just too sweet for that. But when he did get annoyed, his Busan accent would come right back up, trickling through every sentence he spoke. Compared to his everyday intonation, his hometown dialect came out harsh and scary, and it drove you absolutely insane. And that alone had you picking fights with him whenever you were feeling extra needy.
You gave him an innocent little smile, “My mistake.”
Jimin let out a scoff, his eyes dark and dangerous now.
“A mistake, yah?”
He sank his teeth into the flesh above your collarbone, and you let out a little yelp.
“Jimin–” you whined, bringing your body closer to his instinctively, before your hand came up to push him off, the realization that you were still just in an elevator suddenly making you feel flustered.
“What, now you’re shy, hm?” Jimin’s satoori bled thick in every word, the anger poisoning his tone. “What, you only like to be a slut when you’re hidden under a tablecloth, huh?”
Jimin continued devouring your neck, sucking and nibbling until you were certain that there was a fresh, red, purple bruise, marking you as his own. You whined in response, the slight snap of your skin from being released by his jaw making you flinch.
“Now that this,” Jimin’s hand came up to grip your neck firmly, his thumb pressing into the bruise he had just left, “is on full display on your pretty body, you want to hide away from me?”
You shied away from his gaze, turning your face away to the side, your cheeks already flushed at the way he handled you. With his hand still on your neck, he lifted his finger to force your chin back towards him, his eyes still piercing through you.
“Look at me when I talk to you.”
Jimin’s hand was still wrapped tightly around your throat, pressing into the sides of the column just enough for you to see stars. You couldn’t help but let out a whiny breath as he pulled you into him like a ragdoll, smashing his lips against yours feverishly once again. He consumed you through your mouth, drawing the air from your lungs and replacing it with only him. Once you were gasping for breath, he pulled you off of him by the neck, pinning you so easily with his one hand.
He took a step towards you, guiding you back like a couple’s dance until your back hit the wall of the elevator, the little handrail pressing coldly into the thin fabric of your dress just above your bum. You let out a soft whimper at his roughness with you, and his eyes danced across your face hungrily before bringing you back to his mouth. His other hand tugged on the hem of your dress, before it disappeared under the black fabric of your dress.
Your eyes widened as his fingers roamed over the fabric of your underwear, already clinging desperately against your warm, wet heat.
“Oh, you’re already a mess.”
Jimin smiled, his eyes crinkling into half moons as he laughed at you. Suddenly, you felt embarrassed in the tiny enclosed space of the elevator with him. Jimin continued to massage his middle and ring fingers against your core, letting the fabric cling to your skin, parting your folds with each bend of his wrist.
“Jimin,” you whispered, your hand coming up to grip his wrist as he moved his fingers against your wet underwear.
“What? This isn’t what you wanted? Then what was all that back at the restaurant for, hm? Don’t tell me you’re backing out now.” Jimin snickered at you, his voice low and gravelly as he mused at how desperate you already were for him.
His slender finger looped into the stretch of your fabric before tugging it aside. The cool air of the elevator suddenly reminded you how very much in public you two were. Your hand came up against to tug on his wrist, a weak attempt at getting him to stop. Jimin smacked your hand away with a scoff before slipping his middle and ring fingers into the depths of your aching heat.
“Oh–” you whimpered at the curl of his fingers against your desperate walls. He kept your head dropped forward, the intensity of his touch already stirring up a storm in your core as he beckoned you closer to him with each curl of his fingers inside you.
“Yeah, you like being touched like this in an elevator, dirty girl?” he chuckled, his eyes still smiling and cocky as he watched you start to lose any semblance of self-control under his spell.
“Ye-yeah,” you moaned, bucking your hips into his hand, encouraging him to continue. “Whatever you want, baby.”
“That’s right,” he groaned into your lips. “Whatever I want.”
He continued curling his fingers into you, pumping and knocking your sensitive spot with every beck and call. He kept your legs pinned open with his knee, slotted between your thighs, holding you open as your dress only barely hid what was happening.
No, that was too generous. The way Jimin had you falling apart in his hands, the whimpers and yelps that fell from your lips: everyone with eyes and ears could look at you two and know exactly what was going on.
“Ji-min–” you trembled, your walls starting to flutter uncontrollably at how well he was working you. “I–I want to–cum on your fingers. Please.”
He let out a low snicker.
“So horny and desperate already, honey? You’re so easy.”
He added his thumb into the equation, using the pad of his thumb to gently stimulate your clit as he kept his other two fingers buried inside your dripping cunt. He kept his forehead pressed against yours, not kissing you, not touching you, but just watching how well his fingers made you react, the moans he was milking out of you with every torturous thrust of his hand against you.
“Pl-please,” you stuttered, your orgasm peeking over the horizon already as your boyfriend held you open on his thigh against the wall.
Jimin kept his tongue poking in his cheek, the cocky grin permanently affixed to his pretty face as you were a trembling, pouting mess. You could tell he was laughing at you.
“Such a dirty girl, hm, my love?” he whispered against your mouth. “Begging for an orgasm while–” he turned his head away from you and nodded up towards the blinking red light of the security camera in the corner. “–You’re on perfect display.”
Your eyes widened at the realization that you were being recorded, that somewhere, in this complex, there was at least one security guard watching you fall apart on your famous boyfriend’s hand. Your cheeks burned intensely, your head falling forward against Jimin’s chest. He laughed at your reaction, his hand still not relenting.
“You didn’t think we were doing this in perfect privacy, were you?” He sneered. “Not after that trick you tried to pull in the restaurant, baby. You don’t deserve to be hidden away tonight.”
The coil in your stomach was impossibly tight, the buildup making every limb go rigid at how desperately you were craving release. Jimin sensed how close you were and pressed his lips firmly against yours, letting his tongue explore the inside of your mouth, muffling every pathetic whimper that fell from your mouth.
“You wanna cum on my fingers, is that it, jagiya?” he murmured into your mouth, smiling between wet, sloppy kisses as he gave you a moment each time to breathe. “Wanna make a mess on your boyfriend’s hand while the security team watches you?”
You nodded your head fervently, bucking your hips up into his hand, his thumb still pressed perfectly into your clit as he rubbed firm circles against you, stimulating you in a way that made you want to cry. You were a goner now: the pleasure invading your thoughts and wiping out any remaining sense of logic.
Jimin watched you with intense eyes as you arched your back, your mouth fell open into an ‘O’, and your eyes began to flutter shut. You were on edge. He kissed you one more time before pulling away with a wet, loud pop. He came impossibly close to your ear, his warm breath hammering against your eardrum.
“Too bad it isn’t up to you tonight.”
And with that, suddenly, all your stimulation and touch disappeared. He pulled his fingers out of you in one swift motion, the teetering of your climax suddenly crashing down, the pulsing twitch of your clit left abandoned in the cool metal room.
“No–no–please,” you sobbed, the tension in your stomach still very uncomfortably present. You reached up to grip his hand and pull him closer, your lips flushed and swollen. “Jimin, please, I’m sorry–”
“Far too late for that.” Jimin caught your hand before you could pull him closer, pinning your wrist against the cold metal wall.
“Please, baby, I want–fuck–I’m so close,” you cried, your eyes wide and begging as your boyfriend smiled at his own satisfaction of seeing you fall apart at his touch. He ignored you with a smirk, licking and sucking his own fingers clean.
“Such a delicious little slut for me,” he hummed as he relished in your taste that dripped from his digits, his eyes closing for a moment as he drank you off his own hand.
He took a step away from you, his body disconnecting itself from yours entirely, before he ran a hand through his hair, pushing his blonde bangs out of his eyes.
“Get on your knees.”
You blinked at him before glancing back up to the camera in the corner.
“Jimin…the ca–”
“I said get on your fucking knees, Y/N.” His tone was sharp, demanding, and immediately, you understood what you had gotten yourself into. The pierce of his tone went immediately to your core, and your pussy clenched desperately at the nothingness inside.
With a low whine, you slowly dropped yourself to your knees, still staring at the camera lens in the corner. The floor of the elevator was cold against your bare knees, and you leaned yourself back onto your heels, your head leaning against the elevator wall. Jimin took a step towards you, unbuckling his belt with one hand as he kept his other hand on top of your head, petting your hair and holding you down as if you were his very own pet.
“Hands on the railing.” His eyes were dark and blown out impossibly wide now, the edges of his iris almost completely hidden by his lust, by his intense pleasure in being in control, owning you like this.
You obeyed him with a nod and reached up above your head to grip the handrail with both hands like you were lifting a bar at the gym. You let your arms dangle as you held the handrail, hungry for Jimin to do to you what he wanted. He unzipped his trousers, the clasp falling open with the force of his hard-on threatening to poke through the fabric.
Jimin took himself in his hand now, pumping himself slowly at your eye level as you watched him with wide, gleaming eyes. His tip was glistening in the dim fluorescent light, his precum dripping out of his flushed slit like he had been holding himself back for a while. You felt your mouth water as he poked the tip of his cock against your lips, tapping his flushed, warm head gently but possessively against your face as he smirked at you.
“You begged for my attention all fucking night, now you got it.” And then he parted your lips forcefully, splitting your mouth open with his heavy, thick cock.
You gasped, letting him slide all the way into your mouth until he hit the back of your throat, the fullness of your mouth almost making you choke. He stayed there for a moment, his eyes peering down at you. His smile was completely gone from his face and replaced by his dark, lustful glare. He owned you now, and he wanted you to know it.
With one hand behind your head, he brought his other hand to your jaw, holding your mouth open for him as he began to fuck your mouth. The push of his cock against your throat made you gag, the contraction of your throat around him coaxing a low groan out of his mouth.
“Fuck, baby, that’s it,” he hissed as he rutted his hips into your face. “Let me fuck this pretty face as she deserves.”
Your hands were still wrapped around the railing over your head, obeying him so sweetly as he rocked his cock deeper into your throat, fucking your hole like you were only his to use. His V-line peeked out from under his untucked dress shirt, flexing with every thrust. The sight of him above you like this was driving you crazy, and you felt your own arousal start to drip down your leg. Your core was still desperate for release, but you were too drunk off what was happening to you to notice that now.
You felt yourself start to choke on his length as he sheathed himself completely inside your throat, and your hand released from the handrail to nudge him off of you, begging for air. Within a second, Jimin caught your wrist, bringing it back to the handrail.
“Did I fucking say you could let go? Keep your hands up before I do something about it,” he hissed. His voice was husky, rough with his own arousal as he forced you to grab the handrail again.
Your hands returned to their rightful spot on the handrail, and Jimin’s hand returned to the back of your head, using the force of his hand and his hips to drive his cock deeper and more forcefully into your mouth. Your eyes were streaming with tears now, every whimper that fell from your mouth getting drowned out and muffled against his length.
He caught a glimpse of how prettily you were crying, and Jimin smirked, tongue in his cheek, before nodding his head back towards the corner.
"Look at you," he growled. “Getting your face fucking ruined in an elevator on camera.”
Fat tears rolled down your face now, your cheeks flushed at the thought of someone else seeing you like this. Jimin continued holding you open for him, your mouth full of saliva and his own fluids, nearly drowning you with the mess in your mouth. Your knuckles were white as you held on for dear life to the handrail, balancing yourself as your boyfriend had you pinned between the wall and his groin.
“Fuck, you’re going to make me cum with this pretty mouth,” he hissed. “You wanna take my load, don’t you, baby?”
You nodded the best that you could with how firmly he gripped you, trapping you against the wall. Jimin licked his lower lip, his mouth falling open into a panting smile, before he gave you a wink.
His cock knocked back into your throat a few more times before he suddenly pulled himself out. You spluttered for air, gasping as he continued jerking himself off at your eye level. You leaned your head back towards him with an open mouth, begging to taste him again.
“Jimin, baby, let me swallow–”
But Jimin’s hand came down to grip you by the neck again, pinning you in place, and you silenced yourself immediately.
“Only good girls get what they want.”
He took a step away from your begging mouth, pumping himself a few times before he released onto your skin. His other hand held you roughly by the jaw as he painted his climax across your nose, lips, cheeks, and chin, every erotic spurt of his seed on your face running down your face so lewdly.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he groaned as he milked himself through his high. “Take it all over your pretty face. Show the world who owns you.”
You blinked up at him, your cheeks wet from tears and saliva, so ruined and on your knees at your boyfriend’s feet. His chest was heaving rapidly as he took you in, before tilting your head to face the camera, as if showing off his prize.
“All mine,” he tutted as he showed you off to the lens. You squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment, your face messy and wet, and Jimin released your jaw with a lazy fling of his fingers.
“Stand up,” he commanded, his eyes still clouded. You slowly climbed to your feet with the help of his hand, his eyes still piercing through you unchanged. The evidence of his pleasure was still dripping off your chin and lips, his ownership signed on your face in white ink.
Jimin reached into his inside jacket pocket, tugging out a little packet of tissues. With one hand gripped firmly on your jaw, he held you possessively as he wiped your face clean, a small cocky smile burning into his face.
“My pretty girl,” he hummed as he cleaned you up like you were his precious little girl, before balling up the tissue and shoving it in his pocket.
Without another thought, he pressed the open button on the wall, the doors sliding open on the parking level with an inconspicuous ding. You trailed behind him as he tugged you forward, his hand over yours as you walked back to the car.
“I’ll think about giving you an orgasm of your own if you’re a good girl until we get home,” he hummed as he ran a hand through his hair, his elegant, public persona briefly returning as he guided you through the parking lot.
“Jimin, what if–the security footage,” you whispered, concern in your tone.
“Don’t worry about it. Jungkook’s pulled something like this before. Legal team had the whole thing shut down before anyone ever found out. We’re good,” He murmured.
As you two approached the car, he gave you a little smack on the bum before whispering in your ear.
“But a part of you would like that footage to get leaked, wouldn’t you, baby?”
════════
i know that crazy attitude and temper is still in there somewhere
╰┈➤ WARNINGS: HEAVY smut(18+), NSFW, unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms, creampie/stuffing, cockwarming, oral sex(fem receiving), finger sucking, fingering, praise, mock sympathy, degradation, teasing, overstimulation/sensitivity, pain, sexual frustration, smoking
౨ৎ all characters aged up, marauders era AU :: dom!boyfriend!sirius x fem!reader
༄ second person POV :: you/yours
⭑ word count: 1.5k+
enjoy <3
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
“ hungry ”
“Sirius- we need to get up now for work.” You said, pushing him off your chest. He was too busy kissing your collarbones.
“Few more minutes,” he responded, muffled as his lips pressed against your delicate skin. You sighed, putting the lit cigarette in your mouth.
Once you inhaled, Sirius placed his open mouth closely above yours. You exhaled the smoke in through his parted lips.
“Fuck, you’re so hot.” Sirius grinned, kissing you passionately. You groaned into the kiss, slowly sliding a hand into his hair.
He bit your lip hard, earning a moan from the deep point of your throat.
Sliding his tongue in, you uncontrollably rolled your hips up, heat building in the core of your stomach.
Sirius’s lips left yours, eyes misty. With a smirk, he whispered, “So horny.”
You furrowed your brows with a pout. “Tease.”
Sirius laughed darkly. “You said we needed to get up, no?” He stood up, picked up a black shirt from the floor, and put it on. You sat up, back pressed against the headboard.
You were naked, white and black blankets curled up around your body.
“Clothes, please?” You asked quietly, smushing the burnt cigarette in the glass ashtray on your nightstand. Sirius looked around the floor, searching for your clothes.
Opening a drawer, he tossed you a loose Metallica shirt. No shorts or underwear—just a shirt.
“Babe.” You raised an eyebrow.
“Hm?”
“Actual clothes.”
He stayed quiet for a moment.
“Not until I decide if I need to fuck you.”
Your stomach twisted, blinking as you stared blankly at his back. He turned around, facing you with a grin.
“Nasty.” You muttered, sliding your bare legs off the bed. You ran your fingers through your hair, then slipped the shirt on—it was two sizes too large. As you stayed seated on the mattress, the shirt was covering half of your thighs.
“But you like it.” Sirius walked over, standing directly in front of you. You looked up with big eyes.
Tilting your head, you teased, “Maybe.”
He cupped the side of your face with a cold hand. His silver rings pressed against your warm skin as he rubbed his thumb over your bottom lip. “You’re such a slut."
You smiled mischievously, slowly opening your mouth and sucking his thumb. You flicked your tongue against his finger, maintaining eye contact.
Normally, it was hard to read Sirius’s face.
Now, you could tell how turned on he was.
Your eyes flickered down, watching his dick get harder by the second.
That made your stomach squirm.
With a subtle pop, you removed your mouth from his thumb, leaving a string of warm saliva. Shuffling further onto the bed, you propped yourself up on your elbows,
“Have you decided yet…?” You grinned, biting your lip.
“Now that you’re like this, I have.” Sirius breathed, slipping off his pants and kneeling on the bed. You laid flat on your back as he towered over you, kissing your lips, then the fabric over your sternum.
Your nipples hardened under the shirt as chills ran down your spine. He cupped one of your breasts, slowly massaging it. You tilted your head backward, as Sirius’ messy kisses trailed down your stomach.
“So soft,” Sirius murmured, both of his hands sliding down to your thighs and spreading them apart.
Your bare pussy convulsed emptily with need. Sirius planted quick pecks on the insides of your smooth thighs, and an unexpected one on the middle of your wet cunt.
You squeezed your thighs, pressing them against Sirius’ sides of his head. With a hollow laugh, he joked, “I haven’t even started yet baby.”
Sirius’ hands were planted on your thighs, roughly gripping the flesh, definitely leaving some mark. He went fully in like he was starved—tongue flicking your clit, kissing your entrance, and licking your folds.
Your moaning was uncontrollable. It echoed off the walls and filled Sirius’s ears—yet all you heard was pure static, fully engulfed in pleasure.
You gripped his dark hair, tugging it as your core tightening and your legs trembled.
“Keep doing that,” Sirius groaned, voice raspy yet smooth like velvet. He bit down on your clit, causing you to jolt and forcefully pull his hair.
“Fuck- Sirius,” You whined aloud. Your orgasm was almost there, the knot in your stomach ready to rip.
You could feel the smile on his face as he hummed against your dripping cunt. His nose bumped against your clit as he sucked your entrance.
Squeezing your eyes, you used all your restraint to not cum, to savor the moment—
Until Sirius pushed away.
You opened your eyes, breathing heavily, and looked at him.
“You’re not funny.”
“Not trying to be,” he replied. Wiping his mouth from your fluids, the corners of his lips twitched up. “Had other plans.”
He traced two fingers down your pulsing pussy, then shoved them inside your hole. You arched your back with a sharp hiss.
His fingers curled against your walls in a slow, steady motion. Tears stung your eyes from the sudden intrusion and building pressure. He hit the spongy, sensitive part, causing you to squirm.
With his other hand, Sirius pressed your puffy clit hard, occasionally pinching it.
“Babe- fuck!” You cried, gripping the blanket beneath you.
That was when the tension was too high to hold.
You came—loudly, body shaking as your legs trembled in pleasure. Your breathing came in a hitched pattern.
Sirius pulled his fingers out slowly as your climax began to end. They were covered in your clear cum. Your pussy convulsed weakly around nothing, the warmth from Sirius’ fingers fading away.
“Open your mouth,” Sirius ordered. You obeyed, parting your lips. He slipped his sticky fingers in your mouth, and you sucked off the fluid, tasting yourself. He pulled his hand back. “How do you taste, sweetheart?”
“G-good.” Your mind wasn’t clear—you felt like a train had ran you over. Sirius smirked at your lame response.
You watched as he pulled down his black boxers. His dick was hard, slightly curling towards his stomach; precum leaked from his tip.
He traced down your folds with the tip of his cock, teasing your hole. The touch on your sensitive pussy made you flinch. Sirius noticed, licking his lips.
“My poor baby, so sore already?” Sirius mocked, pouting. Before you could bite back, he thrusted in so roughly, you screamed. He tilted his head back in half laughter and half pleasure.
You were seeing stars at this point. Your breathing came in sharp inhales as tears threatened to fall.
Sirius snapped his hips in a continuous motion, every second of it being painful.
“Sl-slower-!” You begged, the grip on the blankets beneath you tightening as he pounded into you mercilessly.
“No, take it, bitch,” Sirius barked, his thrusts becoming more passionate and quicker. You heard the slap of skin against skin and his heavy breathing.
Your walls clenched, signaling your orgasm. His pace quickened, which meant he was going to cum as well.
“Oh god-” Sirius groaned, his movement stuttering. His body stiffened as you felt his seed leak inside your pussy.
This made you go over the edge as well.
You were a moaning mess—your cheeks were flushed and your entire body was sore. As you closed your eyes, they rolled back in pleasure.
But instead of stopping, Sirius thrusted once again.
“Sirius!” You whined, your cunt numb and walls irritated.
“I know you can take a little more, baby,” Sirius grunted, shoving in deeper.
The sound of wet skin smacking against each other filled the warm room, along with your rip of a moan and Sirius’ words.
“Look at me when I fuck you, slut,” Sirius demanded as you felt the knot twist once again. Your lips were parted, tears spilling out from your eyes.
For the second time, you arched your back as you reached your high, your pussy sharply convulsing. White lights flashed in your eyes every time you blinked.
With a guttural groan, Sirius slouched and his thrusts staggered.
After a few seconds of stuffing you with his cum, he carefully pulled out, making you wince. His liquid, which was mixed with yours, leaked out of your pussy, spilling messily onto the bed.
Then, he collapsed on top of you. He tucked his face into the crook of your neck, both of your skin covered in sweat.
Your breathing pattern matched his—rapidly rising and falling. You tangled your hand in his hair, smelling his dark musky scent.
“That was…holy shit,” Sirius breathed after a moment. You smiled, playing with his damp hair.
“It felt good though, right?” You mumbled, cheeks still a bit red.
Sirius propped himself up on one elbow, looking at you with lovestruck eyes. “Of course it felt good, baby.” He leaned in to kiss your lips, then pecked your cheek. “You’re mine. Forever.”
You smiled, lifting your head up to kiss his lips again. “I love you too.” Glancing at the clock on your nightstand: about 30 minutes had passed. “Shit.”
“Hm?”
“I’m late for work now. We are.”
Sirius slowly sat up, running a hand through his hair. “Okay,” He dragged out the word, then looked at you with a smirk. “Round three?”
imagine yoongi slipping into bed after a concert, still riding that post-show adrenaline, body tired but wired, hair messy and skin warm from the stage lights.
imagine you’re already fast asleep, curled up on your side. he slides in behind you without a word, pressing his chest flush to your back and wrapping a strong arm around your waist, pulling you tight against him.
imagine his hips starting to move slow, grinding his growing bulge against your ass. the steady pressure stirring you awake, groggy and sleepy, eyelids barely lifting.
imagine him whispering low and raspy in your ear, lips brushing your skin, “shh, just relax, baby.”
imagine his hand slipping down, tugging your bottoms and panties down your thighs just enough. his cool fingers finding your pussy, caressing gently, circling your clit and dipping inside until you’re slick and wet, your breath catching in sleepy little whimpers.
imagine him pushing his pants down, freeing his cock, and rubbing the thick head along your folds, teasing and coating himself in your wetness. you squirming back against him, soft needy sounds slipping out as sleep still clouds your mind.
imagine yoongi lining up and slowly pushing inside you, stretching you deep in one smooth glide. “fuck…” he moans quietly against your neck, hips rocking in that lazy, deep rhythm, savoring every inch.
imagine you’re all fucked up from sleep and the feel of his cock, eyes half-closed, a little drool at the corner of your mouth as pleasure builds in hazy waves. him fucking you slow and steady, one hand gripping your hip, low groans vibrating in your ear with every thrust.
imagine you both cumming in quiet, shuddering waves, bodies trembling. him staying buried deep inside you, arm still wrapped tight around your waist, and you both drifting back to sleep like that, warm and close.
spencer shares details of a case with you - with a hands-on learning approach
who? spencer reid x fem!reader
category: smut (18+ mdni)
content warnings: case information from 10x17 "breath play", erotic asphyxiation, choking, fingering, praise kink, aftercare, explicit consent, softdom!spencer, sub!reader, dacryphilia (ish), established relationship dl;dr.
word count: 1.74k
a/n: im no longer afraid of being perceived on the internet (lie) and will begin writing whatever i want (truth). including this.
“How was work?” You asked hesitantly, looking across the couch to where Spencer was sitting. He was lost in thought, although, you supposed if you had just returned from Wisconsin, you’d feel relatively similar.
Spencer hummed absentmindedly in response while flipping through the pages of the file he brought home with him. “The UnSub certainly had a unique signature,” he answered, dragging his thumb across his lower lip in thought.
You tilted your head to the side in curiosity, “Oh, yeah?” It wasn’t often that Spencer shared details of cases with you, usually because the information he’d be divulging was privileged, but you shuffled over a cushion in hopes that he’d share with you. “What was it?”
He reached over and ruffled your hair affectionately, “He had a particular affinity for erotic asphyxiation. Each of his victims had read this book, Bare Reflections, and that’s how he found them – through sexual fantasies.”
Furrowing your brows, you rested your face in your hand, “So like… sex choking?”
“Yes, love. Like sex choking,” Spencer said, not without humor, before getting up and going to the kitchen, asking you if you needed anything as he did.
When he returned, sitting down on the couch and flipping the file back open, you leaned to the side and said, “I never got the whole choking thing. Not being able to breathe never seemed very sexy to me.”
At that, Spencer closed the file he was scribbling in and set it on the coffee table, “It’s not meant to fully restrict your breathing. At least, not if you’re doing it properly.”
“And you know how to do it properly?” You challenged, raising a single brow at your boyfriend.
He laughed breathily at your test, “I know human anatomy well enough to know not to press on your trachea.”
You fail to hide the way your eyes widen when he speaks to you, his use of the words ‘your trachea’ implying that he is now thinking about choking you. “Cool,” you responded, your brain spinning as you began to think about Spencer’s hand on your throat.
“Come here,” Spencer spoke up, already grabbing your waist and sliding you across the worn leather of the couch. He carefully guided your body over his own until you’re straddling him – one knee on either side of his hips. “You’re a kinesthetic learner, you’ll do better with a hands-on approach.”
Letting a shuddered breath loose, you met Spencer’s eyes, “Hi,” you whispered, keeping your voice low as if you were sharing a secret in a crowded room. Without waiting for him to move, you ducked your head and pressed your lips to his. Quickly, Spencer’s lips coaxed yours open, allowing for his tongue to slip into your mouth.
Spencer’s arms wrapped tightly around you, pressing your chest to his so that you could feel the buttons of his work shirt through the thin cotton of your t-shirt. You were severely underdressed compared to him, lounging in just a t-shirt and underwear while he was wearing his work attire – it just added to the power dynamic you were navigating.
Gently, Spencer tugged at your lower lip, taking the flesh between his teeth before pulling away from the kiss. “Do you trust me?” He asked, loosening his hold on you, and instead running his hands down your arms in a soothing manner.
Straightening up, you nodded, “Yes,” you responded, reaching a hand up and grabbing a fistful of his shirt.
Lifting his dominant hand to your neck, your breathing faltered as he put his hand at the front of your neck, the thumb on one side and the remainder of his fingers on the opposite. “Is this alright?” He murmured, using his free hand to trace small circles on your inner thigh, leaving you wishing you could press your legs together in a desperate attempt for friction.
“Yes,” you repeated yourself, taking the inside of your cheek between your molars and sighing when he moved his hand from your leg.
Nodding assuredly, Spencer brushed your hair from your face, his dominant hand never straying from its newfound home on your throat. “Good, I’m going to keep asking because we’ve never talked about this before,” he informed you. “I won’t fully restrict your airway. If you need me to stop at any point, just tap my arm three times.”
His words led you to relax. The two of you left almost everything on the table, and you were usually good about discussing things ahead of time. You were sure he’d start doing things he knows you like in order to put you at ease. “Thank you,” you whispered, studying his golden irises.
“Such good manners for me, angel,” he praised you, noting the way your back straightens up when he does so. “When I squeeze the sides of your throat like this,” he said, keeping his voice gentle as his hand tightened around your neck, “I’m stopping some of the air from getting to your brain, which makes you feel lightheaded, and when I let go,” he released his firm hold, “You feel a release of dopamine, serotonin, and endorphins that make your head spin.”
As Spencer guided you through the process, you felt yourself getting needier. Humming lowly as you came down from the high, you noticed Spencer’s hand back between your thighs – you couldn’t tell when he had moved his hand, you were too preoccupied.
You held your breath as his hand slipped into your panties, “Hey,” he chided, snapping you out of your anticipation. “Don’t hold your breath,” he says sternly, “I won’t touch you if you hold your breath.”
Pointedly taking a deep breath, it took all of your focus to maintain your breathing as he gently slid a finger between your folds, the wet noise only muffled by the fabric of your underwear. Tentatively, Spencer slipped his finger inside you, swirling it around your inner walls before pulling it out and pushing it back in, squeezing the sides of your throat as he started fingering you at a steady pace.
“Do you feel that?” He asked, continuing the pace he had set, keeping his voice low as he spoke to you. “How when I squeeze your throat your cunt tightens around my finger?”
Reaching a hand up, you gripped his forearm and placed your other hand on his shoulder, trying to steady yourself and desperately needing something to do with your hands. You let out a soft moan as he easily added another finger to his ministrations, your volume growing louder as he released your throat. Your skin flushed as you bit your bottom lip and looked up to the ceiling.
Quickly squeezing your neck, Spencer brought your attention back down to him, “Keep your eyes on me, love.”
You nodded almost imperceptibly in response, blinking rapidly, but leaving your head where Spencer held it – gently forcing you to maintain eye contact with him as he started curling his fingers inside of you, pushing his fingertips against your inner walls. “Spence,” you whispered, letting out a low whine as you feel your orgasm beginning to build in your lower belly.
“Did you wanna cum? Make a mess all over my hand?” Spencer asked tantalizingly, resuming pressure on your throat before you even had a chance to respond to him. He was enjoying this just as much as you were.
As you maintained eye contact with Spencer, he began to press the heel of his palm against your clit, the pressure only adding to your lightheadedness. With his hand on your neck, your moans come out garbled, forcing their way through your body. “Fuck,” the word came out as a hiss as tears gathered in your lower lash line. Between the pressure on your clit and throat and the continuing ministrations of his digits, your orgasm built up quickly.
In-kind with the pressure on your throat, you squeezed firmly at Spencer’s forearm, and he watched carefully to make sure that you weren’t trying to tap on his arm.
Your tears flooded over the edge, slowly streaming down your cheeks. You blinked to clear your eyes, but you didn’t let your eye contact with Spencer waver.
A small whimper escaped your throat, and Spencer hummed, “There you go, angel.” He said, nodding as his fingers continued working you to your peak, “I know,” he cajoled when you whined again. “I know. Let it go for me,” he murmured, watching as your body shuddered.
Once your orgasm hits its zenith, Spencer released his hold on your neck, moving his hand to your shoulder to keep you upright while your pussy spasmed around his still-thrusting fingers. Endorphins flooded your mind, prolonging your orgasm for god knows how long until he finally withdrew his fingers from your underwear.
While you remembered how to breathe, Spencer moved his hand from your shoulder to your back, gently pressing on your spine and letting your body fall forward. “I knew you’d like that,” he whispered mischievously, and if you had the energy, you would have rolled your eyes. “How are you feeling?”
Groaning, you buried your face in the crook of Spencer’s neck, “Jell-O,” you responded simply.
Your eyes were barely open as Spencer reached over for a tissue box, wiping your slick off of his hand before slipping his hand beneath the waistband of your panties. You whined and tried to push his hand away, “I know, baby. I just want to wipe you up a bit.” He told you before gathering your wetness on the tissue, wrapping it up and placing it on the end table.
“Toss it,” you mumbled sleepily, ignorant of the fact that you’re still in his lap.
Wrapping an arm around you tightly, Spencer pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, “When you feel like moving, I’ll clean up.” He reached over for a glass of water from the end table, grabbing it from its coaster and trying to hand it to you, “Come on, you need water.”
Sighing, you forced your eyes open, “’m tired,” you told him, reaching a shaky hand up for the glass.
Spencer kept a hand on the glass as you drank from it, setting it back down when you were done and smiling softly at your sleepy nature. “Rehydrating is a nonnegotiable,” he whispered gently, but you were already asleep - or close enough to it that you didn’t respond.
Jacaerys Velaryon x wife!reader - House of the Dragon (spoilers for s3 ep1!!)
Summary: Jacaerys survives the Gullet, so naturally the maesters have opinions about what he should and should not be doing during his recovery. Unfortunately for them, Jace has opinions too.
A/N: this works as a standalone or sequel to Saltwater, except this fic is significantly less angsty and significantly more "what if jace spent a month trying to argue with medical professionals." :) must admit i cracked myself up a lil writing this and also PLEASE send in reqs im running out of ideas
MASTERLIST - REQUESTS (open) - WC: 4.0k
A month after the Gullet, the castle still smells faintly of medicines, as though the sea itself has followed Jacaerys home and settled in the stone with him.
You have grown so accustomed to it that you hardly notice anymore.
A month ago, you would have given anything to smell it. A month ago, there had been blood. So much blood. But now there are only maesters, all the time.
Three of them stand gathered around the table right now near the window, speaking in low, serious voices while Jace sits in a carved chair looking increasingly irritated with every minute.
Sunlight spills through the narrow panes behind him, catching in his dark curls and turning the edges of them gold, softening him in a way that makes him seem almost boyish despite everything he has endured in the last couple weeks.
His injuries have faded from terrifying to merely alarming. The worst of the bruising is gone, the cuts have begun to heal, and colour has returned to his face, though not yet enough for you to relax.
Unfortunately for everyone else, so has his stubbornness.
You stand beside him with one hand resting lightly on the back of his chair, partly affection but mostly precaution if you're being honest with yourself, because the prince has developed an unfortunate habit of forgetting that nearly dying is supposed to slow a person down.
"Your Grace is recovering admirably," Grand Maester Gerardys says at last.
Jace straightens immediately, as if the words themselves have restored him. Gerardys clears his throat with the patient air of a man who has spent his life delivering unwelcome truths to the powerful. "Recovering admirably, however, does not mean recovered."
Jace slumps back with all the theatrical suffering of a man condemned to the Wall. Gerardys continues as though he has not noticed the prince's offence.
"Your ribs are still mending. The wound to your side has not fully healed. The fever has passed, but weakness remains. Any unnecessary strain could set back his recovery considerably."
Jace folds his arms. "What strain?"
The three maesters exchange a glance, and you immediately become suspicious. Jace notices it too, his brows drawing together. "What strain?" he repeats, sharper this time.
Nobody answers.
The silence stretches, and stretches, and then stretches a little further, until finally the old maester clears his throat again, looking faintly pained. "This includes physical exertion."
Jace nods at once. "Yes, I gathered that, obviously."
"Excessive physical exertion."
"Yes."
"Particularly..." Gerardys pauses, and one of the younger maesters suddenly finds the floor fascinating. "...marital exertion."
The room falls completely silent.
For a single moment Jace simply stares at them. Then his face changes all at once, horror and outrage arriving together.
"I beg your pardon?"
You turn away quickly because you can already feel laughter rising in your throat and you know if you let it out now you will never stop. Beside you, Jace looks scandalised beyond measure. "What do you mean?"
"My Prince-"
"No." The word echoes off the stone walls. "Absolutely not. This is absurd and I refuse to accept it."
Gerardys remains maddeningly calm. "It is only temporary."
"Temporary?" Jace sounds personally betrayed. "You are forbidding me from bedding my own wife."
The younger maester goes slightly red. You stare very intently at the tapestry across the room, because if you look at Jace now you will lose whatever dignity you have left. He points an accusing finger at the entire collection of healers. "I survived a naval battle."
"Indeed."
"I was shot."
"Yes."
"I nearly drowned."
"Correct."
"And your conclusion is that my greatest threat is my wife?"
The maesters look vaguely embarrassed. Jace looks outraged. And suddenly, despite the lingering ache that still lives in your chest whenever you remember the sight of him bleeding on a bed, you feel lighter, because this is familiar. This is your Jace. He's alive enough to argue and complain. Alive enough to glare dramatically at innocent old men and be stubborn.
Your hand slips from the chair to his shoulder, and immediately he covers it with his own. Gerardys notices, and his expression gentles. "My Prince," he says, "the restriction is not punishment."
Jace groans. "I would beg to differ."
A few of the maesters smile despite themselves. Gerardys gathers his papers, "It is only another month."
Jace nearly chokes. "A whole month?"
"Perhaps less, if recovery continues."
"A month."
"You survived the Gullet. Surely you can survive a few more weeks."
Jace mutters something deeply disrespectful under his breath, and you squeeze his shoulder in warning and affection both. His fingers immediately tighten around yours as he looks up at you, exhaustion and frustration playing on his features.
You smile at him, and his expression softens immediately.
Then Gerardys speaks again, and the spell breaks at once. "And separate beds may also be advisable."
Jace's head snaps around, "No."
Silence settles over the chamber. Jace's hand remains wrapped around yours, firm and warm and immovable. "I nearly died, so I am not sleeping without my wife."
They exchange glances and then, wisely, surrender. "Very well."
You lower your head to hide your smile, because truly, there are battles even the maesters cannot win.
That evening the matter should have been settled, at least in theory.
The maesters had spoken, their instructions delivered and their warnings had been repeated no fewer than six times over supper, as though saying them often enough might somehow make Jace more inclined to obey.
Instead, he is attempting to negotiate, which is perhaps exactly what you should have expected from him and yet still feels faintly absurd when he is sitting there shirtless on the edge of the bed, looking incredibly offended by the very concept of restraint.
You sit beside him with a fresh roll of linen in your lap while he holds one arm lifted so you can reach the wound along his side.
The chamber is quiet except for the crackle of the fire and the distant, steady sound of waves striking the cliffs below; night has fully settled beyond the windows, leaving only darkness on the other side of the glass and the warm gold of candlelight within.
Carefully, you peel away the old bandage, and he hisses through his teeth at the movement. You glance up at once. “You are being dramatic.”
"Three arrows pierced my body.”
“A month ago.”
“It still counts.”
You make a skeptical sound and reach for the ointment, though you cannot quite keep the corner of your mouth from twitching. For a few moments silence settles between you. You smooth the salve across healing skin, studying the angry scar that is beginning to form there, the sight still makes something twist painfully in your chest.
There are moments when you look at him and see only Jace; your husband, your best friend, the boy who once raced you through castle corridors and stole lemon cakes from the kitchens with the shameless confidence of someone who had never once been told no in his life.
Then there are moments like this, when memory comes back all at once and with it the blood, the fever, the endless waiting, the terrible certainty, however brief, that you might lose him. Your fingers pause before you can stop them.
Immediately, his hand settles over yours.
He notices. Of course he does.
You lift your eyes, and his expression softens at once. “I am all right,” he says quietly.
“Mm.”
His thumb brushes slowly across your knuckles.
Then, because Jacaerys Velaryon possesses the survival instincts of an overconfident golden retriever, he says, “I still think the maesters are being unreasonable.”
You close your eyes for a brief, weary moment. You had been wondering how long it would take.
“You are recovering from grievous injuries.”
“I am recovering exceptionally well.”
“You still tire walking up stairs.”
“Well, I dislike those stairs.”
You begin wrapping the fresh bandage around his ribs. “They are not unusual stairs, Jace.”
"They are steeper than other stairs."
Despite yourself, you laugh, and his grin appears immediately. He tilts his head, thoughtful in the way that always makes you suspicious.
“What exactly constitutes marital exertion?”
You nearly drop the bandage. “Jacaerys.”
“It is a reasonable question.”
You finish tying the linen perhaps just a little tighter than necessary, and he winces. You feel no guilt whatsoever.
“They were quite vague,” he says after a moment.
“They were not vague. They were, in fact, extraordinarily clear.”
Jace considers this with the air of a man weighing evidence in a trial he has already decided to win. “Perhaps to you.”
“To everyone.”
“Not to me.” His smile widens, and you are suddenly struck by the realisation that the maesters should perhaps have prescribed confinement in separate castles.
“They said strain,” he says, as though he's continuing a perfectly sensible conversation.
“Yes.”
“And exertion.”
“Yes.”
“So theoretically-”
“No.”
“What if-”
“Jace.”
He stops, though only because he is laughing now, actually laughing, and the sound fills the room so easily that for a moment you forget everything else.
“You are impossible,” you inform him.
“I have been told.”
He reaches for your hand, and you let him take it. His fingers close around yours with a warmth that feels almost unbearably familiar, and when he speaks again his voice has lost its teasing edge. “Another month is a very long time.”
You shake your head, smiling softly, but before he can begin constructing another ridiculous argument, you lean forward and press a kiss to his mouth.
The effect is immediate. Jace falls silent, blessedly, wonderfully silent, and when you pull back he blinks once, then twice, as though he has forgotten every thought he was having.
A second kiss lands at the corner of his mouth, then another against his cheek, and with each one his smile grows slower, softer, warmer, until by the third he has entirely abandoned his campaign against the maesters.
You feel rather proud of yourself.
He grins and reaches for you, and you allow him to pull you nearer. The blankets shift around you both as you settle beside him carefully, because he is still healing and you are both painfully aware of it.
His arm slides around your waist. Your head finds its familiar place against his shoulder.
The first week after the maesters' decree is irritating.
The second becomes ridiculous.
By the third, it's infuriating.
Jacaerys Velaryon approaches recovery the way he approaches every obstacle in his life: by refusing to accept that it is truly an obstacle at all.
If the maesters insist upon restrictions, then he will simply find exceptions.
One evening, as you sit beside him on the bed with your book open in your lap, he glances over and says, almost casually, “I stand by my opinion that their instructions were imprecise.”
You do not look up. “No.”
“They never actually provided definitions.”
You turn a page. “They are maesters, Jace, not scholars debating philosophy.”
He sighs, long-suffering and theatrical, and shifts a little closer.
Recently, he has become fond of finding excuses to sit beside you, or hold your hand, or drape an arm around your shoulders, or rest his head in your lap while insisting he is 'too weak' to move despite having spent the entire afternoon arguing in council.
“What if,” he begins. You close your eyes.
“What if,” he repeats, undeterred, “the concern is specifically overexertion?”
“It is.”
“Then surely the solution is simply avoiding overexertion.”
At last you lower the book and look at him properly. His expression brightens at once, as though he has won something merely by drawing your attention.
“Jace.”
“Yes?”
“No.”
He groans, and you return to your book.
Three nights later, he appears to have developed a new argument. You discover this when he is sprawled across the bed with his head resting against your shoulder, warm and comfortable and entirely too pleased with himself.
“What if,” he says thoughtfully.
You nearly laugh. “Again?”
“I have had several days to refine my position on the issue.”
“Gods preserve me.”
“What if I simply did not move very much? You could do all the... moving... uh, like difficult parts.”
You lower your embroidery hoop and glance down at him. He looks entirely sincere, which somehow makes it worse.
“Jacaerys.”
“I am not going to do any part because we are not going to do anything.”
He studies the ceiling for a moment, then turns his head just enough to look at you. “I think you are dismissing my proposals too quickly.”
“I think you enjoy hearing yourself talk.”
“I enjoy talking to you.”
Oh, you hate how good he is at being charming.
His arm slips around your waist. “You know,” he says quietly, “I do understand why you’re worried.”
The humour fades a little. You look at him, but his gaze remains fixed on your joined hands.
“You frightened me,” you admit.
Something flashes behind his eyes. “I know.”
Silence settles between you, gentle and sad and comfortable all at once. Then, because he is incapable of allowing a serious conversation to remain serious for too long, he lifts his head and says, “So that is still a no?”
You stare at him.
Jace immediately begins laughing, and when you throw a cushion at his face he catches it easily, looking delighted by the rejection.
Which, unfortunately, only convinces you that recovery is proceeding exceptionally well.
One morning at the beginning of the fourth week you're standing at the edge of the bedchamber, the salt-laced wind moaning through the open shutters as the last embers in the hearth crackle low.
Jacaerys is desperate today, even more than usual
He lies propped against the pillows, his bare chest rising and falling with quick, restless breaths, the angry red scars along his ribs and hip still mapped in fresh pink, but they are scars now, nonetheless.
It's been two months since the Gullet.
To the naked eye he seems fully recovered — he partakes in council meetings, goes on long walks with you along the shore, is no longer winded by those particularly steep stairs — but the maesters’ edict remains iron.
No strain, no exertion, no touch that might tear what they say has barely knit. Yet here he is, dark eyes fixed on you with shameless hunger, voice low and frayed.
“Please,” he murmurs, the words thick with frustration, his hand extended, palm up, fingers flexing as if he can already feel the shape of your waist.
“I cannot do this, I’m not some broken thing anymore. I feel you every night in my dreams, and then I wake up and you won't even let me touch you properly. I need your hand, your mouth, anything. Just… let me feel you again.”
He sits up a little straighter, a small grin finding his lips, voice dropping to a growl. “You’re aching too, I know it. Two months without feeling how wet you get for me-"
"Jacaerys, stop being so crude, you cannot possibly think-" but he continues, completely disregarding your objections.
"Gods, I’d give anything to see you under me like I used to, but I won’t move. I swear it. Just you, I'll even lie still.”
Your fingers tighten on the bedpost, because you cannot dent he's right. You do miss him, painfully so. You miss the feel of his hands on you and the stretch of him inside you, but reluctance still coils tight in your chest.
You take one hesitant step closer.
The cool stone floor beneath your bare feet gives way to the softness of the mattress as you perch carefully at his uninjured side, your fingers brushing the edge of the linen without yet touching him.
“Jacaerys,” you whisper, “I cannot, the maesters said-” But the way his hips twitch, just once, desperate and involuntary, stops the protest on your tongue.
A soft, helpless sound escapes him, and something shifts inside you, because this, in a way, is also him in pain, except this time you actually have the power to help him.
Your hand drifts over the sheet, hovering just above the bulge you can just start to see emerging beneath the linen.
“You must promise me you’ll lie perfectly still,” you remind him, the words gentle but unyielding, “There are reasons they forbid it; you could open one of the wounds.”
His dark eyes flash, jaw tightening as if he might argue, but apparently the months of forced stillness have left him too raw, too aching, and he nods once, a bead of sweat tracing down his temple.
You smile then, small and maybe a little teasing, and let your fingertips graze the linen over the head of his cock.
Slowly you peel the sheet down, then work on the laces of his breeches before pulling them down and finally revealing him fully to the firelit air.
His cock thick and flushed dark, the vein along its length pulsing visibly as you wrap your fingers around the base with deliberate lightness, still not quite sure how this is going to go.
He groans, low and broken, head tipping back against the pillows, but he holds himself rigid as promised, muscles trembling with the effort.
You lean in, breath ghosting over the sensitive head, and press the softest kiss there, tasting the salt of him while your free hand rests lightly on his uninjured hip to remind him of the boundary.
“Only on my terms tonight, dearest husband,” you whisper against his skin, stroking him once, slow and torturous, savouring the way his breath hitches and his fingers clutch the bedding instead of reaching for you.
“I will give you this, you just lay there and let me take care you.”
You tighten your grip just enough to draw another shuddering groan from him, your thumb circling the slick head of his cock in slow, deliberate strokes that make his thighs tense against the sheets.
He’s so hard it must be painful, the heavy length twitching in your fist with every pass,
The sight of your big, strong husband, normally so commanding, now reduced to biting his lip to keep from thrusting stirs something warm and aching in your chest.
It feels like the biggest relief.
You still remember every moment of the last two months, watching him wince at every breath, lying awake beside his bandaged body while fear gnawed at you both, and now here he is, flushed and leaking for you, trying so hard to obey even as his hips give one tiny, involuntary roll.
It’s adorable, that stubborn flicker of dominance surfacing in the way he grits out your name, only for it to dissolve into a whimper when you lean down and drag your tongue along the underside of his shaft.
His fingers fist the bedding harder, knuckles white, and you can see the war in his eyes, the urge to grab your hair and guide you deeper warring with the maesters’ warnings and his own fragile healing.
“Fuck… just like that,” he rasps, voice cracking with need so raw it makes your own neglected body clench.
You take him deeper into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks with a soft suck that has him arching his head back.
It's as if you're watching him heal in real-time, because he’s becoming himself again, that fierce, passionate man who once pinned you laughing to the furs.
You hum around him, savouring the salt-bitter taste of him while your free hand strokes soothing circles over his tightening stomach.
You pull off just enough to murmur against the flushed skin, teasing the slit with the tip of your tongue until his breath stutters.
“Still, Jace.”
Then you resume your rhythm, slow, twisting strokes of your hand paired with wet, deliberate licks. He trembles beneath you, every suppressed sound proof of how desperately he’s craved your touch.
You quicken your pace with deliberate mercy, not seeing a point in dragging this out any longer than you have to, lips sealed tight around him as your tongue swirls and your hand pumps in steady rhythm, feeling the way his thighs quake despite his vow to stay still.
His voice breaks on your name, half-command and half-plea, while one of his hands finds your hair and grips tight, not that you mind at all.
Finally, he spills hot and pulsing across your tongue, thick spurts you swallow with a soft moan of your own. You keep stroking him through it, gentling your touch as the last tremors fade, watching the tension drain from his battered body until he lies boneless and breathless, dark eyes glassy.
For a long moment afterward, neither of you says anything.
The chamber is quiet except for the soft crackle of the fire and the distant rhythm of the sea beyond the windows. The candles have burned lower than either of you realised, leaving the room washed in warm gold and shadow.
Jace lies beside you with that same dazed, contented smile still lingering on his mouth, as though he has not quite remembered how to put it away.
You glance at him from the corner of your eye and shake your head. “What?”
His smile only deepens. “Nothing.”
“Mhmm.”
He gives a quiet, breathless laugh and reaches for your hand where it still rests atop his stomach, threading his fingers through yours. His thumb moves over your knuckles, warm and absentminded.
The sight of him like this, softened and unguarded, makes something in your chest loosen.
You fuss over him out of habit more than necessity, fetching a washcloth, straightening the blankets around his hips and making certain he is comfortable, searching his face and posture for any sign that he has overdone himself despite every promise he made.
Jace watches the whole business with open affection, his expression growing gentler by the moment.
“My darling,” he murmurs, though there is no real complaint in it. You ignore him. “You are checking on me.”
“Someone has to.”
His teasing fades then, leaving something softer in its place. For a moment he simply watches you, and when he lifts your joined hands and presses a kiss to your knuckles, the gesture is so familiar that it catches you off guard all the same.
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
You look up at him.
The words are not playful nor triumphant, not even particularly clever. Your chest aches unexpectedly, because beneath all the bargaining and persistence and impossible shamelessness, you know what this has really been about.
Weeks of fear. Weeks of recovery. Weeks of being careful. Weeks of wondering whether life would ever feel normal again.
You squeeze his hand, and his fingers tighten around yours at once.
“You do not need to thank me.”
“I do.”
His voice is gentle. “I know I was insufferable.”
You giggle softly. “Do you now?”
Without either of you needing to say anything, Jace opens his arm toward you. You move into it at once, as naturally as breathing, as though you have done it a thousand times before. Because you have. Your head settles against his shoulder, his arm folds around your waist, and the blankets shift around you both as you settle more comfortably together.
Eventually you feel his lips brush lightly against your hair, a sleepy, lingering kiss that makes you smile before you can stop yourself.
“Tired?” you murmur.
“A little.”
“You should sleep.”
“So should you.”
The waves continue their endless song beyond the walls.
somehow i ended up writing a several-thousand-word account of jace velaryon attempting to find loopholes in doctor's orders. i regret nothing <3 lemme know if you guys liked this, trying to decide wether to write more for jace or not.
“be right back.” that was what dean told sam fifteen minutes ago
sam let out a sigh, reclining in the passenger seat of the impala in boredom and bringing out his phone to check the time again. the brothers were working on a case and landed on a problem where they couldn’t pinpoint the origin of the urban legend— which was why the car was in front of your house, because you were a folkorist who often worked with dean when sam was still in college
okay, ‘worked with’ was a bit of a stretch. moreeeee like fuck buddies who were into the paranormal
“look at her” dean panted, eyes fixated on your boobs bouncing as you rode him while he was leaning back on the headboard. the sight made him groan and bury his face in between your cleavage. “god, i fucking missed this view”
the open mouthed kisses he was planting on your chest made you moan and arch your back more for his mouth, feeling his hands on your ass push your pussy more onto the length of his cock. it made him thrust himself deeper into your cunt, as if he wasn’t balls deep in you
you let out a shaky moan of dean’s name, one hand trailing from his chest to his abs while the other pushed his head more into your boobs. you felt his abs harden from your warm touch, sending shivers down his body. god, he’s missed you so much that fucking his fist didn’t feel the same
“that’s it, gorgeous” his mouth slowly trailed up to your collarbone. “missed the way my pretty girl took my dick” up to your neck. “missed hearing you scream my name” and up to your jawline. “missed the way you made a mess all over me”
alllll the way up till his lips were inches away from your swollen ones. “god, look at you” dean whispered, squeezing the fat of your ass that made you gasp. “my perfect girl, takin’ me like a fucking goddess”
you closed the distance between your mouths, his hands on your ass now taking the lead and thrusting his hips back at yours. and soon, your orgasm came with soft sounds leaving your lips, soaking up dean’s cock and clenching on every inch and vein
a gutteral groan left his lips. “there you go” he murmured, biting your bottom lip to conceal sounds of his own before his own orgasm washed up next. your hips almost jerked from how much he was filling you up, his cum oozing out as he slowed down to fuck his cum into you
both of you broke the kiss and halted your hips into a complete stop, heavy pants leaving you and dean as you stared at each other, the afterglow evident on your faces.
“now” dean sighed, not breaking eye contact as he shifted his hands up to your waist and leaned back more onto the headboard. “what can you tell me about the legend that’s been happenin’ around town?”
meanwhile, sam let out an impatient huff, still waiting in the impala. be right back, his ass
—————————————————————————
masterlist!
(a/n: as you can tell i went wayyy overhead for this to be a drabble AND IDCCCC 😜 😜😜😜 NO REGRETS #DEANWINCHESTER4EVA)
“do you ever fucking use your head?” JASON TODD’s sharp insult alerts you, snapping your gaze in his direction just as soon as the hard pad of his gloved finger taps your forehead hard. it twists your brows, bowing to reach your hand up to rub the sore spot. curtly, he pushes your appendage away with his. “or is it just dust up in there?” his incredulous expression boring down at you freezes you in place, silent and peering up at him expectantly as he continues on. “that wasn’t rhetorical.” he reaffirms sternly, prompting your doubtless dumb-founded response. you swallow. you shake your head. “what are you? fucking stupid?” his deep voices makes your lashes flutter, subconsciously lured towards him, your body lulling closer to him as he wrings you out. dramatically, he visibly gives up, shrugging his broad shoulders, waving the situation off with both hands, pivoting to pace but he comes right back to you. “i’m done - i’m done thinking you’ve got a clue, that you can think.” he stoops to your eye-level, reasserting your attention with a flash of intrigue in your eyes, and you jump in place when he slams the back of his hand into his palm - hard leather smacking into itself. he searches your gaze for a second, studies its glowy haze. “you’re too dumb to even understand what i’m saying—fucking idiot.” he curses in a language you don’t catch as he straightens up to his full height, and you can’t ignore the way his hips push out. you’ve got half a mind, and a lustful instinct, to help yourself to a healthy cupping of his bulge through his cargo pants. he catches you scan his figure instead. “you like this shit, you slut?” angrily, he snatches your chin with a sting, pushing your lips together in a pout. he studies you. “you’ve got nothin’ going on behind those eyes, just when your next dick appointment is, huh?” he scoffs spitefully. “is that all you’re brain’s good for? getting fucked out?” dumbly, you nod. it makes him laugh, a cruel sound. “you’re like a bitch in heat, c’mere.” as if you’re easy to maneuver, he casually jerks you towards him, spinning you in place to get your ass to his crotch, “you’re so useless. dumb little cunt—“ he talks to himself, right next to your ear as he bullies his hand up your skirt despite your weak protests. “don’t act like you’ve got shit to prove right now - not to me. you’re gonna take it. empty head’s only good for a whore anyway.”
