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jungkoode · 4 months ago

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Strings Attached (to my heart)

→ PAIRING : Spider-Man!Jungkook x F!Reader

→ RATING: Explicit, 18+.

→ DATE POSTED: January 20, 2025.

→ GOAL FOR PART 2: 1000 notes. ✔️ NEXT

→ SUMMARY : You were a journalist at Yonsei University when you started noticing the strange coincidences between your favorite bumbling freshman and Seoul's newest superhero. The way Spider-Man's voice cracks on 'noona' exactly like Jungkook's does. The way they both bring you the same snacks, have the same nervous energy, the same tendency to ramble when flustered. You tell yourself it's just a coincidence, because the alternative means admitting something you're absolutely not ready to deal with.

→ TAGS : second person perspective used, female pronouns used, college au, spider-man au, noona kink, slight age gap (he’s 21, she’s 24ish), dry humping, virgin jungkook, first time, inexperienced jk, creaming his pants, sexual content, explicit content, library smut, clothed getting off, breast play, grinding, praise kink, crying during sex, crying after sex, embarrassment kink, humiliation kink, slight dom reader x sub jungkook, size difference, pining, jungkook has a big fat crush on you, secret identity, touch starved, protective jungkook, closet sexual activities, desperate jungkook, gentle domming, aftercare, emotional intimacy, fluff and smut, Korean setting, university setting.

→ PLAYLIST: set the vibes.

→ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 11.8k

→ A/N: Hi everyone! Welcome to my first attempt at a Spidey!JK AU, where he somehow manages to be an even bigger mess than Peter Parker 😭. This story is very close to my heart because it dives into the dynamic between a confident noona and her adorably flustered freshman—who just so happens to be Seoul’s clumsy new superhero. To be honest, this Spiderkook oneshot was heavily inspired by Tangie, aka @rpwprpwprpwprw (love you bb!!!). I’d been lowkey daydreaming about Spiderkook for ages but thought, “Nah, that’s too silly.” Then I discovered there’s an entire community sharing the same brain cell as me??? Like, you’re welcome for my service, I guess?? Originally, this was supposed to be a short, smutty 5k romp. But do you think I can write smut without plot? I CAN’T. IT’S A MEDICAL CONDITION. Now it’s a 12k beast with feelings, webs, and chaos. Sorry (but not really). If you enjoy this, I might turn it into a mini-series because, let’s be honest, spider powers in… certain scenarios… sound very intriguing. Hihihi. Hope you enjoy this mess I’ve unleashed on the world! 🕸️

Edit: also, yeah. Tae is older than Jimin and Jungkook here because my sleep deprived brain slapped a ‘hyung’ on Jimin’s mouth and I’m not editing again. (≖͞_≖̥)

The thing about Spider-Man is that he reminds you too much of a certain freshman.

A freshman named Jeon Jungkook who keeps hovering around the journalism building with his messy hair and his wide eyes and his endless supply of convenience store snacks.

You've been telling yourself it's just a coincidence. The way Spider-Man's voice cracks on 'noona' exactly like Jungkook's does. The way they both bring you the same snacks, have the same nervous energy, the same tendency to ramble when they're flustered. It's just a coincidence, because the alternative means admitting something you're absolutely not ready to deal with.

Maybe that's why you're hiding in August Coffee, your usual spot tucked away in one of Sinchon's winding side streets.

The late autumn breeze carries the scent of roasted coffee beans through the open window, and your laptop screen glows with half-finished articles and interview transcripts. Your notebook lies open beside a rapidly cooling americano while the café's jazz playlist provides a gentle backdrop to your furious typing. You're on a deadline for tomorrow's paper, and the last thing you need is—

A flash of red and blue swings past the window.

You pretend not to notice. Maybe if you focus hard enough on your screen, he'll take the hint and—

"Noona!"

—of course he doesn't.

There he is, hanging upside down outside the second-floor window, the eyes of his mask wide and eager. A plastic convenience store bag dangles from his hand, swaying in the autumn wind. Several patrons are already pulling out their phones, and you can feel your carefully cultivated productivity slipping away.

"No," you say firmly, not looking up from your laptop.

"But noona—" His voice cracks on the honorific, and you absolutely refuse to find it endearing. "I haven't even said anything yet!"

"I'm working." You take a pointed sip of your americano, grimacing when you realize it's gone cold. Perfect. "Some of us have actual responsibilities, Spider-Boy."

"I brought you snacks!" He awkwardly maneuvers through the window—you're not sure if the owner keeps it open for him specifically or if he's just that persistent. "You know, the ones you like with the matcha filling? The new ones from that fancy Japanese brand?"

You pause, fingers hovering over your keyboard. "How do you know I like the ones with matcha filling?"

"Uh—" Even through the mask, you can tell he's flustered. His hands fidget with the plastic bag. "Lucky guess? Not that I know you, noona. Uh, I mean, you look like a noona. Not that I know for a fact you're a noona—"

"Stop talking." You pinch the bridge of your nose, painfully aware of the phones still recording this interaction. This will definitely end up on some university Instagram page later. Again. "You're making it worse."

He deflates slightly, shoulders hunching in that familiar way that reminds you too much of a certain someone who keeps "accidentally" running into you at the journalism building. The same one who somehow always knows your coffee order and brings you snacks you oh so casually mention fancying—

No. You're not going there. You're not connecting those dots, because connecting those dots leads to complications you absolutely don't need in your final year.

"I can leave if you want," he offers, but he's already approaching, placing the snacks on your table with careful precision. "But you've been here for four hours, and you always forget to eat when you're working on a big story."

You stare at him. "How do you know how long I've been here?"

"I, uh—" His mask's eyes widen comically. "Spider-sense?"

"That's not how spider-sense works."

"You don't know how my spider-sense works! Maybe it's... hungry-noona-sense?"

A laugh escapes before you can stop it, and you quickly cover it with a cough. "That's the worst excuse you've come up with yet."

"Yet!" He perks up. "So you're keeping track?"

"Go away." You open the snack bag anyway, pretending not to notice how he straightens up eagerly when you do. "Don't you have a city to protect or something?"

"Seoul can handle itself for ten minutes while I make sure my favorite n—while I make sure hardworking journalists eat properly."

You raise an eyebrow at the slip, and he fidgets under your gaze. "Your favorite what?"

"Nothing! No one! Just, you know, doing my friendly neighborhood Spider-Man duties. Very friendly. Very neighborly. Nothing specific or personal about it at all."

You bite into one of the matcha-filled snacks—they're fresh, which means he must have bought them recently. Specifically for you. Just like how a certain freshman keeps bringing you fresh triangle kimbap from the convenience store near your morning lecture hall...

No. Stop it. You're not doing this.

"Sit down," you sigh, pushing the chair across from you out with your foot. "And stay quiet, or I’ll kick you out."

He practically collapses into the chair, bag already placed on the table. You notice his hands shaking slightly, and something in your chest tightens.

You shouldn't find it endearing. You really, really shouldn't.

But then again, you probably shouldn't find anything about this situation endearing — a masked vigilante bringing you sweets in the middle of your favorite cafe, stammering through excuses that sound exactly like the ones Jungkook uses when you catch him "accidentally" walking the same way as you after class.

You really need to stop noticing these things.

You try to refocus on your notes after that, but it's hard—mostly because Spider-Man is still sitting there. Quietly. Staring.

And not in a "just glancing around the cafe" kind of way, either. No, he's full-on watching you, eyes darting between the scribbles in your notebook, the crumbs on your plate, and, worst of all, your face. Like you're the most fascinating thing in the world. Like he's never seen someone drink a mediocre americano and type furiously into Google Docs before.

It goes on for five minutes. Five full, agonizing minutes of silence, punctuated only by the occasional click of your keyboard and the muted sounds of espresso machines in the background.

Finally, you sigh, your fingers pausing mid-typing. "Don't you have better stuff to do?"

"No." The response is immediate. Too immediate. His tone is absurdly casual, like the very idea that Spider-Man—the literal defender of Seoul—could have anything more important than sitting in August Coffee and bothering you is completely ridiculous.

You raise a brow, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. "No supervillains to fight? No cats stuck in trees? Nothing?"

"Nope," he says, popping the 'p' for emphasis. "Pretty quiet day."

You shake your head and turn your attention back to your laptop. "Must be nice."

There's a pause. You can feel him shifting in his seat, the chair creaking slightly under his weight, and when he speaks again, his voice is just shy of hesitant.

"How are the pastries? Do you like them?"

Your fingers freeze over your keyboard. Slowly, you turn to face him again, narrowing your eyes.

"You didn't spit in them, did you?"

"Wha—no!" he sputters, his whole posture stiffening in obvious horror. "Why—why would I—noona, I would never spit in your pastries!"

You let him sweat for a second longer, just to amuse yourself, before breaking into a small, satisfied smirk.

"Relax, Spider-Boy. I'm kidding." You reach for the bag of snacks he brought. "Yeah, they're good. Wanna try?"

His eyes widen a little—well, as much as they can through that mask—and he seems to hesitate, like he's not sure if you're serious or trying to bait him again. You wave one of the pastries in his direction. He glances at it, then back at you, before finally nodding.

"Okay. Yeah, sure."

You watch as he carefully rolls his mask up just to his nose, revealing his mouth for the first time. You don't know what you expected, but… it's a good mouth. Maybe annoyingly good, given how little you want to admit that very obvious fact to yourself. Full lips, slightly pink, with just the faintest hint of nervousness as he bites at his bottom lip before leaning forward.

He takes a bite of the pastry you're holding out to him, and the pleased groan he lets out immediately makes you regret offering him anything at all.

"God, that's delicious," he mumbles around his mouthful, crumbs falling onto his suit. He barely finishes chewing before continuing. "Now I know why you like them so much. I mean—why people say they're so good. Not you specifically. Just, you know, people."

You snort, shaking your head as you turn back to your laptop. "You're a terrible liar."

"And you're a terrible bossy noona," he mutters, mostly to himself, stuffing the rest of the pastry into his mouth before leaning back in his chair.

You're about to toss another sarcastic remark his way when something catches your eye. Or, more specifically, half of something. A small smudge of green—matcha filling, you realize—lingering on the corner of his mouth.

It's instinctive, the way your hand moves—completely unthinking, like muscle memory kicking in before your brain has a chance to catch up. One moment, you're perfectly stationary in your seat; the next, your thumb is brushing against his lip, swiping the smudge away with a gentle, practiced motion.

He startles at the touch, his whole body jerking slightly as his eyes snap to yours. And then, just like that, reality crashes back in.

Your hand freezes midair.

His mouth parts for half a second, like he's about to say something, but then his tongue darts out—slow, deliberate—to lick the exact spot your thumb had just brushed.

You snatch your hand back like you've been burned, your face heating despite yourself.

The silence that follows is awful. Deafening. Inescapable.

He shifts in his chair, his eyes flickering to the table, then back to you, then down again. He clears his throat—once, then twice—before adjusting the edge of his suit with what you can only describe as frantic energy.

"So… uh…" His voice is tight. Way tighter than usual, cracking slightly on the first syllable. "Thanks for that. The, uh. The whole… lip thing. That was. Uh. Cool."

You blink at him, deadpan. "Cool?"

"Yeah. Cool. Totally normal and cool. Happens all the time. Super casual."

If you weren't so flustered yourself, you'd have laughed at the way he's fidgeting in his seat, his hands gripping his thighs under the table like he's trying not to explode.

"Right," you say slowly, leaning back in your chair. "Casual."

"Exactly."

He nods a little too enthusiastically, and you notice his knees bumping against each other under the table before he quickly crosses his legs. His hands drop to his lap almost immediately after, like he's trying to adjust the spandex near his thighs.

Your gaze is momentarily drawn there before—

"Anyway!" The word comes out nearly an octave higher than it should. He's already standing—or, more accurately, bolting to his feet—his hands still awkwardly hovering in front of him. "I should, uh, get going! Supervillains don't wait, you know? Gotta, uh… save the people of Seoul. Yeah. Big hero stuff."

You stare at him, unblinking, as he starts inching toward the door. "Uh-huh."

"Thanks for the pastries, noona! Great talk, as always!" He clears his throat again, audibly struggling to keep his voice steady. "Okay! Bye!"

And then he's gone, practically sprinting out of the cafe before he can embarrass himself any further.

You sit there for a long moment, still frozen, your brain catching up to what just happened. Then, slowly, you reach for another pastry.

Whatever just happened? Definitely not your problem.

"I'm such a fucking idiot."

Jungkook's voice is muffled by his hands, currently covering his face in what can only be described as unrelenting shame. He's lying on Jimin's couch, legs splayed out haphazardly, the picture of a man defeated by his own existence.

Across the room, Jimin raises an eyebrow, lazily popping another chip into his mouth. The bag crinkles loudly, much to Jungkook's dismay. "It's not that bad, Kooks. She probably didn't even notice."

Jungkook groans, dragging his hands down his face until his eyes peek out dramatically between his fingers. "She 100% noticed. It was—like—a five-minute interaction. FIVE minutes, and I made it weird. Now she's gonna think I'm a fucking weirdo and a creep."

Jimin doesn't even try to hide the snort that escapes him, his expression somewhere between entertained and unimpressed. "Yeah, because stalking her as Spider-Man didn't have her thinking that already."

Jungkook bolts upright on the couch, eyes wide with panic. "She told you that?!"

Jimin chokes on his chip, wheezing as he waves his hand for Jungkook to calm down. "No! Shit, man, calm down. I'm just saying. Like, I guess? I mean, you do kind of… hover. A lot."

"I don't hover," Jungkook protests, indignant. But even as the words leave his mouth, he hesitates. "Do I hover?"

Jimin gives him a look.

Jungkook groans again, flopping back onto the couch like his limbs have given up on life. "Oh my god, you're right. I hover. I'm that guy. And now it's worse because who the fuck pops a boner from someone—" He pauses, embarrassingly aware of the words about to leave his mouth. "—touching their lip? What is wrong with me? I must be insane. She must think I'm insane."

Jimin, now thoroughly entertained, leans back in his chair with his bag of chips, one leg crossed over the other. "I mean... it's not great," he says unhelpfully, though there's a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Jungkook lets out a strangled noise, somewhere between a groan and a whimper, and buries his face back into his hands. "She's never gonna look at me the same. I probably freaked her out. GOD, she's gonna think I'm some kind of pervert. Or—worse—she's gonna avoid me completely now. And then I'll never see her again. And then—"

"Okay, okay," Jimin interrupts, holding up a hand to stop whatever spiral Jungkook's about to drag them into. "First of all, she offered to share her snack with you, so I don't think she's avoiding you anytime soon."

"But that was BEFORE—"

"Second of all," Jimin continues loudly, ignoring Jungkook's interjection, "maybe just... stop calling her 'noona' every chance you get? It's not helping your case."

Jungkook frowns, peeking out from behind his fingers again. "What's wrong with calling her noona? That's respectful!"

"Yeah, but it's also kinda... you know," Jimin winces, waving a hand vaguely. "Weird, coming from you. Like, you're already bumbling around her like a lost golden retriever. Adding 'noona' into the mix just makes you look—what's the word?"

"Adorable?" Jungkook tries hopefully.

"Pathetic," Jimin finishes, deadpan.

Jungkook groans for what feels like the millionth time, throwing his head against the couch cushion. "Why do I even talk to you? You're supposed to make me feel better, hyung. Not worse."

"Hey, I'm here for the truth," Jimin says, pointing at him with a chip in hand. "You want a cheerleader, go call Taehyung."

"Taehyung's just gonna laugh at me," Jungkook mutters into the cushion.

"And yet, you're shocked I'm doing it too."

Jungkook mumbles something unintelligible, his face half-smashed into the cushion now as he replays every excruciating detail of his interaction with you earlier. The way your thumb had brushed his lip. The way he'd immediately been unable to control the—well, reaction. The way he'd panicked like an idiot, stammered something incomprehensible, and practically bolted out of the cafe without even finishing his sentence.

"Kill me," he says dramatically, still face-down in the cushion. "Just end me. I can't show my face again."

Jimin laughs, leaning forward to pat Jungkook's shoulder in a way that's more mocking than comforting. "Relax, man. You'll survive. Just... maybe keep your hormones in check next time, yeah?"

Jungkook flips him off blindly, his hand waving somewhere above his head.

"Love you too, Spider-Menace," Jimin quips, taking another chip like this is the best entertainment he's had all week.

The crunching sound of Jimin biting into another chip is loud enough to make Jungkook groan into the couch again. "Do you ever stop eating?" Jungkook mutters, his voice muffled by the cushion.

Jimin raises an eyebrow, unbothered, and is about to throw a smartass reply back when his phone buzzes on the coffee table. He glances at the screen, sees Taehyung's name, and shrugs, casually placing the phone between his shoulder and ear as he picks up without pausing his snacking.

"What's up?" Jimin hums lazily, chips still in hand, completely ignoring Jungkook's existential crisis unfolding just feet away from him.

Jungkook's ears perk up despite himself—because why else would Taehyung be calling Jimin right now? He lifts his head just enough to peek over the cushion, his hair mussed and sticking up in odd directions.

Jimin's expression doesn't change at first, eyes still fixated on the bag of chips in his lap as he listens. "Yeah, he's with me," he says vaguely, gesturing aimlessly toward Jungkook, who frowns at being referred to like some stray dog Jimin found.

But then Jimin freezes. His chewing slows. His eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline as Taehyung says something that causes him to do a violent double take at Jungkook.

"What?" Jimin coughs, choking on the chip he was mid-swallow. He pounds his chest a little before leaning forward sharply. "He—what? What, what, what—? Tae, calm down—!"

"What's going on?" Jungkook asks, sitting up now, his stomach twisting uncomfortably at Jimin's sudden change in tone.

Jimin waves him off with a quick flick of his hand, signaling for him to shut up. "No, yeah. Yeah, no, I know," Jimin mumbles into the phone, his tone getting increasingly more exasperated as he listens. "Tae—okay? Can you just—okay?"

"What's wrong??" Jungkook asks again, panic creeping into his voice. He hates not knowing what's going on, especially when Jimin looks... concerned? Flustered? Whatever it is, it's not good.

Jimin twists his head toward Jungkook, eyes narrowing as he motions aggressively with his entire head for Jungkook to shut the hell up.

"Okay, let me— what? You wanna talk to him?" Jimin repeats, his voice pitching higher in disbelief. "Oh, now you wanna talk to him? Fine! Okay, okay, okay, here."

Before Jungkook can process what's happening, Jimin is all but shoving his phone into Jungkook's hands, plunking the bag of chips onto the bed with a dramatic sigh.

"Take it," Jimin mutters, irritation bleeding into his tone.

"Wait, why do I have to—"

"Take it," Jimin repeats, louder this time, his hand already retreating as he grabs another chip to munch on, clearly done with whatever chaos Taehyung just unloaded on him.

Jungkook swallows nervously, holding the phone to his ear as Taehyung's voice immediately fills it in a panicked rush.

"Jungkook! Oh my god, dude, you're not gonna believe this—" Taehyung starts, and Jungkook feels his entire stomach plummet before Taehyung can even finish his sentence.

"Believe what?" Jungkook half-yells into the phone, his voice cracking just slightly at the end, betraying the anxiety bubbling under his skin.

"Don't freak out," Taehyung begins, which, of course, makes Jungkook's blood pressure shoot straight through the roof. His knuckles grip Jimin's phone tightly, and he shares a panicked look with Jimin, who's now leaning against the coffee table with a chip halfway to his mouth, watching the scene unfold like it's prime-time drama.

"I'm already freaking out, hyung! Just tell me!" Jungkook demands, pacing the room like a caged animal.

"Okay, so," Taehyung starts again, and Jungkook can hear the smirk in his voice, which immediately makes him want to fling the phone out the window. "You know Y/N, yeah?"

"Do I—what do you mean, 'do I know Y/N'?! Of course I know—just get to the point!" Jungkook's frustration is mounting by the second. He's wound so tight he feels like a single flick might send him spiraling.

"Okay, Mr. Touchy," Taehyung says innocently, and Jungkook can practically see him holding back a laugh wherever he is. "So, uh… apparently, she's been asking questions."

Jungkook stops dead in his tracks. His heart lurches in a way that makes his hands clammy against the phone. "Questions?" he repeats, voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," Taehyung continues, tone far too blasé for Jungkook's liking. "You know, like... about Spider-Man."

Jungkook swears his brain short-circuits. For a second, all he hears is static, like every neuron in his head has collectively stopped firing.

"...What kind of questions?" he asks quietly, his voice taking on an edge that immediately grabs Jimin's attention.

"Oh, you know." Taehyung's voice is light, purposefully teasing. "Like, how he seems to always show up when she's around, or how he just happens to bring her favorite snacks, or—oh, this one's my favorite—how his voice cracks exactly like a certain freshman she knows at Yonsei."

Jungkook's knees buckle, and he collapses back onto the couch like his strings have been cut. Jimin is now openly laughing, clutching his stomach with one hand while pointing at Jungkook with the other.

"She—oh my god," Jungkook mutters into the phone, his free hand running through his hair in frantic tugs. "She knows. She knows, doesn't she? I'm so fucked."

"Hey, hey, calm down!" Taehyung says hurriedly, though his voice is still laced with amusement. "She doesn't know know. I mean, I don't think so. She's not like, accusing you or anything. Just... putting pieces together. Y'know, connecting dots."

"Connecting dots?!" Jungkook hisses, his chest tightening as his worst nightmare begins to unfold in real time. "Do you have any idea how many dots there ARE, hyung?! I'm like a walking... dot-factory!"

Jimin absolutely loses it, doubling over in laughter as crumbs from his chips scatter across the floor.

"Okay, Kook, you need to calm down," Taehyung says, though his tone suggests he's also suppressing a laugh. "She's just curious, that's all. You know how Y/N is. She's a journalist. She's always sniffing around for a good story, right?"

"She doesn't need THIS story!" Jungkook yells, his hand clenching into a fist against his thigh. "Oh my god, what if she writes about it? What if she—what if it ENDS UP IN THE SCHOOL PAPER?!"

"Relax, relax, relax," Taehyung says in quick succession, his voice almost soothing now. "She's not gonna write about it. I don't think she'd do that to you... unless, you know, you give her a reason to."

Jungkook groans, leaning forward to bury his face in his hands again. "I'm so dead. She's gonna out me. My life is over. My life is literally over."

"Hyung," Jimin finally pipes up, gasping for air as he wipes away a tear from laughing too hard. "Tell him to just confess already. At this rate, she'll figure it out before he ever grows the balls to tell her himself."

"Confess?" Jungkook sputters, jerking his head up to glare at Jimin. "Are you insane?! You want me to walk up to her and go, 'Hey, Y/N, funny thing—remember how you thought I was stalking you? Well, surprise! I was, but it's okay because I'm Spider-Man!' That's your plan?!"

Jimin shrugs, smirking as he tosses a chip into his mouth. "Worked for Andrew Garfield."

"THIS IS NOT A MOVIE!"

Taehyung's laugh echoes through the phone, loud and clear. "Oh man, I wish I was there to see this meltdown in person. Seriously, Kook, stop freaking out. Just... play it cool, okay? She doesn't know anything for sure. Yet."

"Yet?!" Jungkook exclaims, horror-struck.

"Gotta go!" Taehyung says way too quickly, the call disconnecting before Jungkook can yell at him further.

Jungkook stares at the phone in disbelief, his chest heaving as Jimin's smug laughter reverberates in the background.

"Cool," Jimin repeats mockingly, curving his lips. "Yeah, Kook, just play it cool. You're so good at that."

Jungkook groans, tossing the phone onto the couch and collapsing after it. "I need new friends."

"You love us," Jimin chirps, reaching for another chip.

Jungkook screams into the pillow.

You were expecting something, anything, really. A subtle slip-up. A sheepish confession. Hell, maybe even some stammering and nervous sweating.

But the moment you confronted Taehyung—cornered him, really, by the vending machine in the student lounge—and the words "Do you know if Jungkook's Spider-Man?" left your mouth, all he did was cackle. Loudly. Mockingly. Like a full-on villain in a Saturday morning cartoon.

"Spider-Man?" he wheezed, doubling over and clutching his stomach like you'd just told him the funniest joke in existence. "Jungkook? Jeon Jungkook? Noona, you're joking, right?"

You blinked, momentarily thrown off by how visceral his reaction was. "No. I'm not joking," you said stiffly, crossing your arms. "What's so funny about it?"

Taehyung straightened up, wiping a fake tear from the corner of his eye as he glanced at you with barely contained amusement. "Do you know Jungkook? Like, know him? Because that kid has two left feet. I've literally seen him trip over air. How would he even swing that gracefully?"

For a brief, fleeting moment, you felt the smallest hitch in your resolve. Because, well, the evidence did kind of contradict itself, didn't it? Jungkook is clumsy sometimes. That much is true. You've seen him knock over a whole stack of textbooks just trying to nod hello at you in the hallway. He once walked into a doorframe because he was too busy staring at his phone.

Spider-Man, by comparison, is supposed to be graceful. Quick. Precise. Not... whatever it is Jungkook embodies most of the time.

But then you think about the stupid coffee shop incident. The way Spider-Man stammered and fidgeted and tripped over his words like a nervous wreck. The way he dropped his entire cool superhero persona when he handed you those damn matcha pastries. He wasn't exactly graceful then, was he?

And okay, let's talk about those pastries for a second. Because the more you think about them, the more your brain starts spinning. You distinctly remember mentioning them once—to Eunjae, over lunch in the cafeteria, weeks ago. How the hell would Spider-Man know about them if he wasn't there to overhear?

You frown, chewing on the inside of your cheek as the pieces start stacking themselves again in your head. Jungkook might be clumsy, sure. But Spider-Man was clumsy too. At least, that day he was. And the matcha pastries aren't just a coincidence. They can't be.

Your inner spiral is abruptly interrupted by a bright, familiar voice calling out behind you.

"Noona!"

You whirl around at the sound like a guilty kid caught stealing candy, heart practically leaping into your throat because you know that voice anywhere. And there he is, the devil himself—Jeon Jungkook, all floppy hair and dumbly wide grin, bounding toward you like an overexcited golden retriever.

He sidesteps a couple of students in his path, his long legs moving with just a little too much energy. Honestly, it's a miracle he doesn't trip.

"I brought you these!" he announces, holding up a plastic bag like it's some kind of trophy. His grin stretches so wide it practically touches his ears, and you hate that your first thought is how stupidly adorable he looks.

Stupid, you think, swiping the bag from his hand. Not adorable. Definitely not adorable. You're sure of it.

Peeking inside, your brows furrow. "Hotteok?"

Jungkook presses his lips together, humming as he nods eagerly. "Yeah! You—" His smile falters just a touch. "You don't like it?"

The way his face drops shouldn't make you feel so guilty, but it does, and it's annoying. "No, uh, I mean…" You struggle for the right words, because… hotteok? Really? You'd been expecting the matcha pastries again. This feels almost purposeful—like he's playing dumb. Is he? Or is this proof that you've been completely off base this whole time?

You're overthinking again. Shaking your head, you wave off the thought entirely. "Yeah, thank you, Jungkook-ah," you mutter, tone softer than you mean it to be.

The banmal slips out without much thought, but the effect it has is immediate. His eyes go wide, and then his whole face lights up in the kind of beam that makes you want to smack yourself for fueling his enthusiasm.

"This is the first time you dropped honorifics with me," he says, looking downright gleeful.

You clench the bag a little tighter and wish you could hate him. Why is he so excited over something so small? Why does it make your chest feel weirdly tight? And why is it so hard to stay annoyed at him when he looks at you like that?

God, this kid.

"Don't get used to it," you mutter gruffly, turning away before the growing warmth in your cheeks betrays you completely.

"So," he begins, falling into step beside you as you start walking toward the journalism building. "What are your plans for today?"

You don't respond. Not out of spite or anything—you're just not in the mood to entertain whatever puppy-dog energy he's radiating right now.

"Writing notes?" he prompts, glancing sideways at you, his tone just a little too hopeful for your liking.

Still, you say nothing.

"Coffee?"

Nope.

"Gonna catch leads for Spider-Man's identity?"

That one makes you stop dead in your tracks. You whirl around so fast he nearly collides with you, blinking like a deer caught in headlights. "Huh?"

His eyes widen marginally, mouth opening and closing like he's trying to come up with a quick excuse. "Taehyung told me!" he blurts, the words tumbling out in a rush.

For a second, you just stare at him, blinking once, then twice. "Huh," you reply, eyebrows quirking upward.

"Yeah!" he adds, voice pitching slightly higher, probably in an effort to sound casual. "He said you were, uh, investigating? Like, Spider-Man and all that? You know, trying to figure out who he is?"

Your head tilts as you study him, arms crossing instinctively. "Did he now?"

"Uh-huh," he nods enthusiastically, though the way his hand rubs at the back of his neck gives him away almost immediately. "I mean, not that I think that's, like, bad or anything? It's cool! Totally cool! I mean, you're a journalist, so, like, it's your job, right? Investigating stuff and—"

"Jungkook."

He freezes, looking way too much like a kid caught sneaking cookies before dinner.

"Why," you ask, narrowing your eyes just slightly, "do you sound like you're trying to convince me not to?"

"I-I'm not! I'm not," he stammers, waving his hands frantically. "I was just, you know, saying! Like, uh, if anyone were trying to find his identity, it'd definitely be you because, uh… you're smart? And observant? And not at all easy to fool?"

Your brow arches higher, his stream of nervous compliments only fueling the suspicion building in your chest.

"Right," you say slowly, dragging out the word as you step closer, watching the way his Adam's apple bobs nervously when your gaze meets his. "So hypothetically…"

"H-Hypothetically," he squeaks, leaning back like he's mentally bracing himself for whatever's coming next.

"If I was trying to find out who Spider-Man is," you continue, voice calm and steady, "you wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that, now would you?"

The way he freezes, body rigid and eyes darting everywhere but at you, would be funny if it weren't so telling. The sheer panic written all over his face is practically criminal.

"I—uh—no? N-No. Definitely not," he stammers, the pitch of his voice betraying him entirely. "W-Why would I have anything to do with that? I'm just a freshman! I don't even know Spider-Man! I mean, who even is Spider-Man? Could be anyone, right? Crazy world we live in, haha…"

You take a moment to just stare at him, fighting the urge to roll your eyes so hard they might actually get stuck. "Right," you deadpan, turning on your heel to start walking again.

Jungkook exhales audibly behind you, feet scrambling to catch up. "Y-Yeah, right! That's what I thought too!" he says quickly, clearly desperate to steer the conversation in another direction. "Anyway, uh, where were we? Oh! Notes! Are you writing notes today, noona?"

You don't respond. Again. Mostly because you're too busy replaying his very suspicious reaction over and over in your head like a mental highlight reel.

Yeah… no way this kid isn't up to something.

You keep walking, your steps steady, purposeful. Jungkook, as always, trots along beside you like he's afraid you might disappear if he doesn't keep up. And unlike you, who values peace and quiet, Jungkook doesn't seem to understand the concept of shutting up.

"So, like, I was thinking," he starts, voice bright and eager. "If Spider-Man's around all the time, do you think he lives nearby? Like, maybe he's a uni student? Or—or maybe he's secretly a professor? Oh my god, imagine Professor Kim as Spider-Man—he'd probably web someone for being late to class, right? Oh, oh, or he'd use his powers to booby-trap the lecture hall if we don't submit our midterms on time! Haha—what do you think, noona?"

You don't answer.

"And have you noticed he wears, like, the same colors as Yonsei's? Like, blue and red? Do you think that's on purpose? Maybe he's trying to rep the school spirit! Or maybe he's trying to throw us off! Who knows, right? I mean, what's your theory? You must have a theory—you're always so smart about these things—"

"Jungkook," you interject, your voice flat as you stop abruptly in your tracks. He almost trips trying to halt beside you, blinking wide-eyed like he didn't expect you to actually respond.

"Yeah?"

"Don't you have class?" You ask, turning your head just enough for him to see the pointed look you're giving him.

He licks his lips, and you know he's about to lie before the words even leave his mouth. "No?"

"Liar," you deadpan, already turning back to face forward.

"You know my schedule?" he shoots back, voice teasing as he trails after you again.

You roll your eyes but don't give him the satisfaction of a retort. If you respond, he'll just milk it—probably tease you further, or worse, distract you with another string of nonsense questions about Spider-Man. No, you're better off ignoring him.

So, you keep walking. He keeps rambling.

And then—

The sound of a bus engine roaring down the street takes you off guard. You don't even register the rush of movement until it's too late.

Suddenly, there's a firm pressure against your shoulders, and you're stumbling—but not forward, no—backward. Stumbling directly into Jungkook's chest, his arms bracketing your body like they're the only thing stopping you from tumbling straight into the pavement.

Your breath catches, your heart pounding against your ribs. You freeze, blinking up at him in shock. "What the—"

He's close. Too close. His face hovers just inches from yours, his expression wide-eyed and… strained.

"Are you okay?" he blurts, his voice laced with breathless concern like he's just sprinted a marathon.

You don't answer. You can't answer. Because all you can think about is how the hell he even managed to grab you like that.

He was five meters away. Five meters away, Jungkook. There's no way he could've—

"What the fuck," you murmur under your breath, your mind racing a mile a minute as you shove yourself upright, still staring at him like he's grown a second head. "How—when—how the fuck did you just—"

"It was nothing!" he rushes out, cutting you off before you can finish your sentence. His voice cracks, and he's already letting go of you, stepping back like he's afraid of the scrutiny in your eyes. "I-I mean, reflexes? Adrenaline? Fight or flight? Haha…"

You narrow your eyes, suspicious once again. "…Right."

Jungkook scratches the back of his neck, the tips of his ears turning red. "Yeah, uh… it's all good. You're fine, right? Totally fine! So, uh… should we—keep walking? Yep, let's keep walking!"

He starts to turn away again, clearly desperate to move on, but you don't budge. You're too busy trying to piece together what just happened, trying to figure out how Jungkook keeps doing things that defy all logic and common sense.

And that's when it hits you.

Spider-Man. Fast reflexes. The ability to move like that without warning. You glance down at his feet, planted firmly on the ground, and then back up at his sheepish grin.

No fucking way.

"I'm leaving."

"No—come on, Tae, you promised!" Jungkook whines, clutching at Taehyung's shoulder like a child trying to stop his older sibling from walking out the door.

Taehyung stops mid-stride, turning to glare at him with an expression that's this close to murderous. "I promised you I'd study with you at the library," he hisses. "Not that we'd come here so you can sit there and drool all over her."

Jungkook freezes, eyes wide. "I—what?!"

"You heard me," Taehyung deadpans, shoving Jungkook's hand off his shoulder.

"I have no clue what you're talking about," Jungkook mumbles, feigning innocence as he suddenly averts his gaze.

Taehyung rolls his eyes so hard it's a miracle they don't get stuck. "Kook, you've been staring at her table since we walked in. Don't even try to deny it."

"I—have not!" Jungkook protests, voice pitching just slightly higher than normal. His head jerks around, and of course his eyes instinctively flicker to your table. The one three meters to the left. The one where you're currently sitting, completely engrossed in your notes, pencil moving methodically across the page like it's the only thing that matters in the world.

You're breathtaking. Ethereal. Like a beam of light in the dull, dusty gloom of the library.

And honestly, Jungkook's not even sure why he's into you. Okay, maybe he's a little sure. Or a lot. But that's not the point—the point is—he is definitely not staring. Not staring, not drooling. Definitely.

"You're doing it right now, man," Taehyung mutters, arms crossed.

"I'm not!"

"You are."

"I'm not! It's just—" Jungkook swallows, gesturing vaguely in your direction. "I was just… checking out the table. It's a nice table! Good wood quality, sturdy legs. The craftsmanship is—"

"Good wood quality?" Taehyung repeats, staring at him like he's lost his mind.

Jungkook groans, throwing his hands up in defeat. "Fine! Okay! Maybe I glanced at her for a second. It's not a crime, hyung!"

Taehyung lets out a long-suffering sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose like he's already regretting his life choices. "I am so done with you," he mutters. But even as the words leave his mouth, he walks toward one of the tables anyway and plops his bag down into one of the vacant chairs.

"Sit," he grumbles, motioning vaguely to the chair across from him. "And don't make me regret this."

Jungkook doesn't need to be told twice. He practically trips over himself as he sits, trying to act cool and not-at-all-focused on the fact that you're sitting so close. So close that he can see the faint furrow in your brow as you concentrate, or the way you absentmindedly tap the end of your pencil against your notebook.

He's not staring. Definitely not staring. Probably.

"You're staring again," Taehyung says flatly, not even bothering to look up from his own notes.

"No, I'm not!" Jungkook hisses, slouching lower in his chair.

Taehyung snorts. "Okay, Mr. 'Good Wood Quality.' Sure."

Jungkook tries. He really does. He's here to study—or at least, he's here to pretend to study—and he's determined to do something productive. Something library-like. Something that doesn't involve spending the entire time sneaking glances at you like some lovesick idiot.

So, step one: grab a book. Easy. People in libraries read books, right? He can do that. Simple.

He meanders through the shelves, grabbing the first book that catches his eye. He doesn't even check the title. Doesn't matter. A book's a book.

Step two: sit down. Done. Chair, occupied. Book, open.

Step three: look at the book like he's actually reading it.

He squints at the text, hoping his brain will absorb something through sheer willpower because god knows his mind sure as hell isn't cooperating right now. Every five seconds, it drifts back to the table three meters away, where you're still sitting, still taking notes, still looking unfairly... breathtaking.

"Jungkook," Taehyung mutters, his voice barely above a grumble as he glances up from his own book. "Why the fuck are you reading that?"

"What?" Jungkook blinks, startled, then looks down at the book in his hands for the first time.

Advanced Theoretical Physics.

Oh.

"You don't even study physics," Taehyung points out flatly, his tone dripping with judgment.

Jungkook flushes, slamming the book shut and fumbling to shove it under the table. "I—uh—thought it looked interesting."

Taehyung stares at him. "Sure you did."

Before Jungkook can come up with anything to salvage what's left of his dignity, you—of all people—decide to stand up, and all the air in Jungkook's lungs promptly decides to leave with you.

Oh, god. You're moving. Why are you moving? Where are you going? Should he say something? Should he act casual? Should he—

You shift slightly, gathering your things, and suddenly Jungkook's heart is doing this weird thing where it's racing and stuttering and flipping over itself, and now his body is moving before his brain can even think to stop it.

"Gotta go," he blurts, practically tripping over his chair as he bolts to his feet. "To the bathroom. I have to—pee. Yeah, really super really need to pee right now. See you in a bit!"

Taehyung looks up, stunned, as Jungkook all but sprints toward the library exit. "What the—wait—"

But Jungkook's already halfway across the library, muttering curses under his breath as he tries not to make it obvious that he's absolutely not going to the bathroom.

Taehyung sighs deeply, dragging a hand down his face before muttering to himself, "He's gonna get us banned from this place, isn't he?"

Jungkook's halfway to the library exit, heart pounding, when he realizes something odd.

You're not heading to the exit.

You're not even walking toward the bathroom.

He skids to a stop, trying very hard to play it cool, to act like he's not absolutely clocking your every move. His hands find their way into his hoodie pocket as he leans against the nearest bookshelf, pretending to scan the titles like he's not also sneaking glances at you over his shoulder.

Okay, so you're not leaving. That's fine. Totally normal. You're just… heading deeper into the library. Toward some distant corner, weaving past tables and shelves like you've got some secret mission.

And Jungkook? Jungkook is absolutely not a stalker. He's not. He's just curious. That's it. Normal behavior. Normal library behavior for a normal freshman.

Totally not unhinged.

But then you disappear behind a bookshelf, and his feet are moving before his brain can step on the brakes.

He follows, not too fast—just casual-like. Normal person stuff. Nothing suspicious. His eyes dart between shelves as he tries to spot where you went, his stomach doing this weird twisty thing that's part nerves, part excitement, part oh-god-why-am-I-like-this anxiety.

And just when he thinks he's catching up, just when he rounds the corner of yet another shelf and is about to spot you—

Yank.

Jungkook barely has time to register what's happening before soft hands grab him by the hoodie and pull him into a small, cramped room. His back bumps into something solid—he thinks it's the door—and suddenly you're standing right there, close enough that he can see every detail of your face, from the faint line of concentration on your forehead to the subtle curl of your lips as you exhale sharply.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

"You," you exhale, your voice sharp but quiet. "Have some explaining to do, young mister."

Jungkook's mouth opens, but nothing comes out. His brain is short-circuiting, sparking like a broken circuit board, because—how? Why? When? What?

"I—uh—I—what?" he stammers, blinking rapidly as his eyes dart around the tiny supply closet you've dragged him into. It's all brooms and cleaning supplies and the faint smell of lemon disinfectant, and holy fuck, it is too small in here. You're too close.

"Don't play dumb," you mutter, arms crossing as you lean back just slightly—not enough to give him actual breathing room, but enough to make him feel like he's being scrutinized under a microscope. "You've been acting… weird."

"Weird?" He squeaks, his voice cracking embarrassingly. "Me? Weird? No, I'm not weird! I'm—uh—normal! Super normal! The most normal person ever!"

Your brow arches, the skepticism written all over your face making his knees weak. "Normal people don't act like they've got something to hide," you reply evenly.

"I don't have anything to hide!" he says way too quickly, voice pitching high again.

You don't look convinced. Not one bit.

Jungkook swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry as he tries to come up with an excuse, a cover, a way to escape both this tiny-ass room and the weight of your accusing gaze.

But all he can think about is how close you are. How your voice sounds louder in this little space. How your shampoo smells faintly like citrus. How utterly and completely trapped he feels—not just against the door, but under the intensity of your stare.

And he's so screwed. So screwed.

"The bus thing," you say, and Jungkook feels his entire soul leave his body for approximately three seconds before crash-landing right back into his chest with a painful thud.

"What bus thing?" he asks, trying for innocent confusion, but his voice comes out more like a strangled whisper. "There are lots of bus things. Buses are everywhere. Seoul's public transport system is very efficient and—"

"Three days ago," you cut him off, eyes narrowing. "When I almost got hit."

Oh.

Oh fuck.

The memory hits him like a freight train. Three days ago. That stupid bus driver who didn't see you crossing. The way his heart had stopped dead in his chest when he realized you were about to—and he'd just—without thinking—

He'd used his webs.

On you.

In broad daylight.

As Jungkook.

Not Spider-Man.

Just... regular freshman Jeon Jungkook, who definitely shouldn't have access to web-shooters or superhuman reflexes or the ability to yank someone out of harm's way from five meters away.

"I don't—" he starts, but his mouth is dry, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth. "That was just—"

"Just what?" you press, leaning closer. "Just adrenaline? Just reflexes? Just another totally normal thing that totally normal freshmen do?"

"Yes?" he squeaks, pressing himself further against the shelf on his back like he might somehow phase through it if he tries hard enough.

Your eyes narrow further. "Really."

"Really!" He nods frantically. "I mean, haven't you heard those stories? About moms lifting cars off their kids? Same thing! Totally the same thing. Chemistry major stuff. Very scientific. Fight or flight response. Cortisol. Adrenaline. Biology... things."

"You're not a chemistry major."

"I could be!"

"You're in communications."

"...Minor in chemistry?"

You stare at him for a long moment, and Jungkook swears he can feel sweat beginning to bead at the back of his neck. This closet is too small. The air is too thick. You're too close, and your eyes are too sharp, and oh god, he's really messed up this time hasn't he?

"Jungkook," you say, voice low and steady. "How exactly did you pull me away from that bus?"

"I... ran really fast?"

"You were five meters away."

"I'm... very athletic?"

"Five meters, Jungkook."

He swallows hard, adam's apple bobbing nervously. "Would you believe me if I said I've been working out?"

The look you give him could probably melt steel. "Try again."

"Yoga?"

"Jungkook."

"Pilates?"

You lean even closer, if that's possible, and Jungkook's pretty sure his heart is about to explode right out of his chest. "One more chance," you murmur. "Tell me the truth."

And god, he wants to. He really, really wants to. Because you're right there, looking at him with those eyes that see right through him, and he's tired of lying, tired of pretending, tired of—

"I just..." he starts, voice barely above a whisper. "I couldn't let you get hurt."

Your expression softens, just slightly, but your gaze remains unwavering. "How did you do it?"

"I—"

Just as Jungkook's about to bolt, there's a distinct click that makes both of you freeze.

"What the—?" You whirl around, pushing past him to grab the handle. It doesn't budge. You try again, yanking harder this time. Nothing.

"You must be fucking kidding me," you mutter under your breath, jiggling the handle with increasing frustration.

And that's when Jungkook realizes several things at once:

1. Someone's locked you two in.

2. The closet is tiny.

3. You're pressed up against him trying to open the door.

4. Your ass is—

Oh god.

This cannot be happening. Not again. Not after the coffee shop incident. Not after he literally had to swing away to deal with his... situation.

"Fuck," he breathes, trying to press himself further into the piece of furniture behind him, but there's nowhere to go. The shelves dig into his back as he attempts to create even an inch of space between your bodies.

His hands hover awkwardly at his sides, not daring to touch you, not daring to move. His breath catches in his throat as you shift again, still wrestling with the door handle, completely oblivious to the way each movement sends sparks of electricity through his entire body.

"Hey!" you call out, banging on the door. "This isn't funny!"

Focus on something else, Jungkook tells himself desperately. Anything else. Math. Chemistry. Professor Kim's boring lectures. That time Jimin ate an entire jar of kimchi and—

You shift again, and Jungkook has to bite his lip to suppress a strangled noise.

"Seriously," you growl, hitting the door again. "Whoever's out there better unlock this right now or I swear to god—"

Think unsexy thoughts. Think unsexy thoughts. Dead puppies. Tax forms. Spidey suit chafing. Anything but how soft you feel against—

"Jungkook?" Your voice cuts through his desperate mental gymnastics. "You okay? You're breathing kind of weird."

"Fine!" he squeaks, voice way too high to be convincing. "Totally fine! Just, uh... claustrophobic! Very claustrophobic. Super claustrophobic. Did I mention I'm claustrophobic?"

You turn your head slightly, and even in the dim light, he can see your brow furrow. "Since when?"

"Since... right now?"

Another shift of your hips as you try the handle again, and Jungkook has to close his eyes, silently praying to whatever deity might be listening to either kill him now or get him out of this situation before he combusts from sheer embarrassment.

Because if you notice... if you realize... oh god, he'll never live it down. He'll have to transfer schools. Change his name. Move to a different country. Become a hermit in the mountains where no one will ever find him—

"Can you try pushing while I pull?" you ask, completely unaware of his internal crisis.

Jungkook makes a sound that might be agreement, might be distress, might be his soul leaving his body. He's not really sure anymore.

All he knows is that he's trapped in a closet with you, with your body pressed against his, and his spidey-sense is absolutely no help because apparently it doesn't warn him about situations that might kill him from pure mortification.

"Jungkook?" you prompt again, and he realizes he hasn't moved to help with the door.

"Right!" he says quickly, voice cracking. "Sorry! Just... give me a second to... uh... mentally prepare."

You snort. "For pushing a door?"

"Yes," he says weakly, because what else can he say? 'Sorry, I need a minute because you feel too good pressed against me and I'm trying very hard not to embarrass myself'?

Yeah, no. He'd rather die.

Jungkook does what you say. He really does. He plants his palms flat against the door, muscles tensing as he tries to push in time with your pulls. But it's too much. Too much to focus on, too close, too you.

His very healthy, very 21-year-old brain is absolutely screaming some unfortunate, very, very filthy thoughts right now, and no amount of silently yelling at himself to stop it, stop it, STOP IT seems to be working.

Push and pull. Yeah, he's thinking of that in an entirely different context, and honestly, sue him. He's a guy. A guy experiencing literal hell because your ass keeps brushing against him every time you shift, and it's doing things to him.

You move again, and Jungkook swears he's going to lose it. Like, right here. On the spot. His knees are weak, his palms are sweating, and his brain is running on some kind of autopilot loop of, "Abort mission! Shut it down! This is a disaster!"

Fuck him. Fuck his life. Just take him now, death. Send the reaper. Hell, send Taehyung to throw him into the Han River. Anything but this.

But then—just as his brain reaches critical overload—you stiffen.

Oh no.

You turn your head slightly, glancing at him over your shoulder, and the look in your eyes is... not great. In fact, it's terrifying.

"Jungkook," you say, his name an ominous warning.

His whole body seizes, every alarm in his mind blaring at full volume as sweat beads at the back of his neck. "Yeah?" he squeaks, his voice cracking so hard he wants to dig his own grave and lie in it.

"Are you hard?"

Oh, fuck.

Oh FUCK.

His brain short-circuits. His entire being freezes. His soul? Gone. It has left the building. His vision blurs at the edges as the words echo around the tiny closet, bouncing off every surface and hitting him square in the chest over and over again.

"I—uh—what?" he stammers, his voice so high-pitched it might as well be a dog whistle.

You straighten, still half-facing him, and your brow furrows with that look of realization that makes him want to throw himself into the sun.

"You are," you say, your tone shifting between disbelief and a growing edge of... amusement?

"I—I—no—what? No, I'm not! That's—no, that's ridiculous!" He tries to back away automatically, but there's nowhere to go, and his shoulders slam against the wood behind him.

You fully turn at this point, arms crossing as you raise a suspicious eyebrow. "Really, Jungkook?" Your eyes drift ever so slightly downward, and oh no oh no oh no don't look down don't look down don't look down.

He flails. Not physically, thankfully, but mentally? He's losing it. He's scrambling for something, anything, to salvage even a shred of dignity.

"It's—it's not what you think!" he blurts out, his hands flying up defensively. "It's—it's the—the door! Yeah! This stupid closet! I told you I was claustrophobic, right? That's gotta... do something... biologically... right?"

You stare at him, unimpressed. Completely, utterly unimpressed.

"It's not me," he continues, voice cracking again because his body is betraying him. "It's—it's like—science! Random reaction!"

"...Random reaction." Your expression is unreadable now, which somehow makes this worse.

"Totally random," he insists, nodding way too quickly. "You know, like... blood flow! Hormones! Human anatomy! It's a thing! You can look it up!"

"Oh, I'll look it up," you mutter, the corner of your mouth twitching like you're trying very hard not to laugh.

"Please don't," Jungkook whispers, his face burning so hot he's genuinely worried the fire alarm's going to go off.

And honestly? He doesn't even care if the fire alarm goes off at this point. He'd happily burn in this library right now if it meant escaping the absolute mortification of this moment.

Jungkook is fairly certain he's about to pass out, maybe die, and definitely disintegrate into dust when it happens. You turn around, shift again, just slightly, your body brushing against him in a way that feels… deliberate?

Or is his brain just playing tricks on him now?

Oh god. Oh fuck. Is this some cruel, sick hallucination brought on by his overactive imagination? Is his mind punishing him for thinking all those filthy, traitorous thoughts earlier? Why can't he have some kind of superpower to read minds right now? Be Professor X or some shit, because at this point, anything would be better than not knowing what the hell is going through your head right now.

Do you think he's a creep? A weirdo? A perverted little freshman who can't keep it together for five fucking minutes?

Or—

The thought makes his stomach flip violently, a spark of something hot—and definitely dangerous—shooting down his spine as you shift again.

Or do you find this… fun?

Amusing?

Arousing?

Because there's something about the way you're not stepping back, the way you're not recoiling in disgust, the way your breaths are just slightly heavier than before, that's making Jungkook's head spin.

And then you chuckle—low, quiet, but unmistakable.

"This is the first time this has ever happened to me," you mutter, the sound light but laced with something he can't quite name.

But he doesn't care what it's laced with. He doesn't even care what it means.

Because oh god, that chuckle—he'd bottle it if he could. He'd trap it in a jar and keep it with him forever, listen to it on repeat like a favorite playlist, let it echo in his head until he went insane from the sound of it alone.

His mouth opens, but no words come out. His body is frozen, his brain completely fried, every single one of his senses hyper-focused on the fact that you're still right there, pressed against him, closer than you've ever been before.

Say something, dumbass, his brain screams at him. Anything. Literally anything.

"I—it's not my fault?" he manages weakly, his voice cracking so pathetically he wants to punch himself.

You laugh again, and this time there's no mistaking it—there's something mischievous in it, like you're enjoying watching him squirm. And oh no, oh god, you're enjoying this.

"I didn't say it was," you reply, your voice smooth, calm, fucking deadly.

Jungkook swallows hard. His legs feel like they're about to give out any second now. His palms are clammy. His heart is doing that thing where it feels like it's both racing and stopping entirely at the same time.

"I—uh—should we try the door again?" he stammers, trying desperately to redirect the situation before his entire body spontaneously combusts from the sheer tension in the air.

You hum softly, not answering right away, and Jungkook feels every muscle in his body tense in response.

You keep moving, but now it's with purpose—up and down motions that are too deliberate to be anything but intentional. Like you're actually trying to... to get him off. Right here. In this tiny closet. In the fucking library.

Jungkook's mind is gone. Absolutely fucking gone. His consciousness has left his body, floating somewhere near the ceiling as he tries to process what's happening. He's honestly shocked he hasn't passed out yet, given how fast his blood is rushing south.

His hands hover awkwardly over your hips, trembling with the effort not to touch. His teeth dig into his bottom lip, desperate to hold back the embarrassing sounds threatening to escape. Because he refuses to pant like some desperate animal, even though that's exactly what you're reducing him to.

But then—oh fuck—you reach back, grabbing his hands. And before his brain can catch up, you're placing them firmly on your hips.

"It's okay," you murmur, your voice low and honey-sweet. "You can touch me."

The permission makes him shudder, a full-body tremor that he couldn't suppress if he tried. Your hand slides over his, guiding it upward, and his breath catches in his throat as you move it higher, and higher, and—

Oh god.

You press his palm against your breast, and Jungkook's brain completely flatlines.

A pathetic whimper escapes him before he can stop it. His fingers twitch against the soft swell under your shirt, and he's pretty sure he's died. This is death. This is heaven. This is some kind of fever dream his horny brain has cooked up.

"Is this really happening?" he whispers, his voice raw and desperate. "Like, actually happening? Not just another dream or—"

He cuts himself off, realizing what he just admitted, but it's too late. The words are already out there, hanging in the heated air between you.

"Another dream?" you repeat, and he can hear the smirk in your voice. "You dream about this often, Jungkook-ah?"

Fuck.

"Way too often," he confesses, the words spilling from his mouth before his brain can catch up. And yeah, that's definitely because his mind has completely checked out. Because normal Jungkook? Coherent Jungkook? Would rather die than admit something like that.

But normal Jungkook isn't here right now. Normal Jungkook left the building the moment you pressed his hand to your breast. Now there's just... this Jungkook. The one who can't think straight because you're letting him squeeze and touch and feel, and your ass is doing absolutely criminal things against his cock.

His forehead drops to your neck, breath coming in heavy pants that he can't control anymore. Fuck trying to be quiet. Fuck trying to be composed. His hips move on their own, grinding forward to match your rhythm.

Because you gave him permission, right? You said he could touch. You guided his hands. So this is okay. This is allowed. This isn't just another fevered fantasy his desperate brain cooked up at 3 AM.

"Noona," he breathes against your skin, the honorific slipping out again because his filter is completely gone. His fingers flex against your breast, testing, exploring, learning what makes your breath hitch. "Fuck."

You guide his movements with a confidence that makes his head spin, showing him exactly how to touch you. His fingers find your nipple through the fabric, and the way it peaks under his touch makes him dizzy with want. Your hand stays over his, encouraging him to squeeze, to explore, to learn.

And Jungkook? He's never been this hard in his entire fucking life.

He's pathetic, really. Getting this worked up from some dry humping and breast play like he's fifteen instead of twenty-one. Sure, they're absolutely amazing tits—perfect, actually, fitting in his palm like they were made for his touch—but still. He's broadcasting his virginity like a fucking neon sign, getting this desperate this fast.

But he can't help it. Can't stop the way his hips keep rolling against you, seeking more friction, more pressure, more. He knows he's close—can feel it building in his abdomen, that telltale tingling that makes his toes curl in his stupid mismatched socks.

"Noona," he whimpers against your shoulder, the sound muffled by your shirt. "Noona, I'm—fuck—"

His breath comes in sharp, desperate pants. He's making these absolutely embarrassing sounds—little whimpers and moans he has to muffle against your skin because if anyone heard him like this, he'd actually die on the spot.

The pressure builds, and builds, and builds, until he's grinding back helplessly, practically sobbing because it feels so good he can't stand it. His free hand grips your hip like a lifeline, probably too hard, definitely leaving marks, but he can't help it.

"Please," he chokes out, though he's not sure what he's begging for. "Please, I'm—I can't—"

He's going to come in his pants like a fucking teenager, and the worst part? He doesn't even care anymore.

"It's okay, Jungkook-ah," you murmur, voice honey-sweet and deadly. "Let go for noona."

And that's—that should be illegal. The way those words hit him is criminal, making his whole body seize up like he's been electrocuted. His hips stutter, losing rhythm as everything goes white-hot. He groans against your shoulder, embarrassingly loud even muffled against the fabric, as his orgasm hits him like a fucking freight train.

He came. He just—he actually just—came in his pants. Like some inexperienced kid who's never been touched before.

Mortifying. Absolutely fucking mortifying.

A hiccup escapes him, something between a sob and a whimper, and he wants to disappear. To evaporate. To cease existing entirely.

"Hey," you whisper, so soft it makes his chest ache. Your hand reaches back, fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck, and his skin erupts in goosebumps immediately at the gentle touch.

He wants to cry. Wants to apologize. Wants to explain that he's not usually this pathetic (lie), that he can last longer than three minutes (another lie), that he's not always this embarrassingly eager (the biggest lie of all).

But the words stick in his throat like clay, thick and suffocating. Because what can he possibly say? 'Sorry I just creamed my pants from some dry humping and titty grabbing?'

"It's okay," you murmur, and another hiccup escapes him.

No. No, don't do that. Don't pity him. Don't say those words like anything about this situation is remotely okay. Because it's not. It's the furthest thing from okay. He just—he literally just—

"I really liked that," you add, voice soft but sure.

Jungkook's head snaps up so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. "What?"

You… liked it? How could you possibly have liked that? He barely lasted three minutes. He came in his pants like a middle schooler. He probably squeezed your tit too hard and left bruises on your hip and made the most embarrassing sounds and—

"How?" he croaks out, voice raw and disbelieving. "How could you—that was so—I'm so—"

Pathetic. Desperate. Inexperienced. Embarrassing.

His brain supplies about fifty different self-deprecating adjectives, but none of them make it past his lips because he's still trying to process the fact that you said you liked it.

The dam breaks.

Jungkook is crying. Tears spill over his flushed cheeks, unbidden and hot with shame, and oh god, he's really lost it now. He's crying, actually fucking crying, because apparently, being mortified isn't enough. No, his body has to betray him in every possible way all at once.

His blurred vision catches you turning around to face him, and then your hands—soft, warm—reach up to gently brush the tears away from his eyelids. The gesture makes him hiccup, and he immediately wants to crawl under the floorboards and die.

"It was cute," you murmur, and your tone is soft but steady, like you actually mean it.

"Don't say that," he mumbles, voice cracking as he ducks his head, his tears threatening to spill faster. He can't handle this. He really, really can't.

You smile—a smile so kind it feels like a dagger to his chest. "Why? I'm not lying."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"It was so embarrassing!" he bursts out, the words tumbling from his mouth in one long, panicked string. "I made such embarrassing sounds and—and I—I came in my pants and—"

"It's what I wanted," you interrupt, your words cutting through his spiraling like a blade.

He freezes, the tears still clinging to his lashes. His breath catches, the air suddenly clammy.

"...What?" he croaks, the word so small and broken it barely makes it past his lips. His mind blanks, unable to process what he just heard. Surely he misheard you, right? Surely this is some kind of cruel, shame-induced hallucination because there's no way.

"It's what I wanted," you repeat, your voice unwavering as you look him straight in the eye, your gaze too steady, too certain.

His breathing stutters. His tears momentarily forgotten, he stares at you, wide-eyed and silent, like you've just flipped his entire world upside down.

Your hand is still on his cheek, thumb brushing away the lingering wetness under his eye, and Jungkook can't look away from your face. Can't process the way you're looking at him—soft but certain, like you actually meant what you just said.

"But—" he starts, voice wavering. "But why would you—I mean, I—" He swallows hard, his face burning. "I barely even touched you. I just... got off on you like some desperate—"

"Because," you cut him off, your other hand coming up to frame his face, holding him still when he tries to look away. "I liked making you fall apart like that. Liked knowing I could affect you that much."

His breath catches. "But—"

"And," you continue, your thumb trailing down to brush over his bottom lip, making him shiver. "I liked how honest you were. How you couldn't hide how much you wanted it."

Jungkook's brain short-circuits again. Because what the fuck? What the actual fuck? You liked that he was desperate? That he was pathetic and needy and—

"The sounds you made," you murmur, leaning closer, close enough that he can feel your breath against his lips. "Were fucking hot."

He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, caught somewhere between a whimper and a groan. Because this can't be real. This has to be some kind of fever dream. Some kind of post-orgasm hallucination.

"Noona," he breathes, his hands twitching at his sides, unsure if he's allowed to touch you again. "I—"

And then the door clicks.

Both of you freeze, heads snapping toward the sound. Light floods the closet as the door swings open, and there stands Taehyung, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"Time's up, lovebirds!" he announces cheerfully. "Did you two work out your... tension?"

Jungkook is going to kill him. He's actually going to murder his best friend. Right after he dies of embarrassment. Again.

"Hyung," he croaks out, face burning hotter than the sun. "Did you—was this—did you plan this?!"

Taehyung just grins, wiggling his eyebrows. "You're welcome!"

Yeah, Jungkook is definitely going to kill him.

Just... maybe after he changes his pants.

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nereidprinc3ss · 8 months ago

Text

pretty little things

in which you can't keep hiding your stuffed animals from your boyfriend. spencer would like a formal introduction.

fluff! warnings/tags: gn!reader I think, newish established relationship, they're so cute, reader is still kinda shy around him, I'm really obsessed with this dynamic actually, implied intimacy if you decide to interpret it that way, kissing/maybe mildly suggestive a/n: this is dedicated to my friends @parfaitblogs and @gublersg1rl bc in another universe we are actually just three jellycat plushies on someone's bed which is where the inspo for this little thing came from. and thank u willow for naming your fox. ok bye love u hope u enjoy !! :D

The first time you’d shown Spencer your room, and the handful of times he’s been in it since, you very intentionally hid your stuffed animals underneath the bed. After all, you’re an adult. You have a grown up job. And you don’t need him thinking you’re some kind of freak this early into the relationship. You like him too much.

Today, however—you didn’t have any warning. He comes over unannounced, which is all well and good, until you bring him to your bedroom so he can sit on the bed while you change from work clothes into something comfier for movie night. As soon as you open the bedroom door, you see them, lined up neatly by your pillow, and you know it’s too late.

“Uh…”

Spencer runs into your back and takes it as an excuse to settle his hands on your hips as he peers over your shoulder.

“What?”

You slip out of his easy hold and skitter to your bed, practically throwing yourself on the mattress and sitting unnaturally as the little beaded eyes of your friends dig into your back. Even your brightest smile doesn’t distract Spencer. He’s like a bloodhound for the truth. At least, that’s the sense you’re beginning to get.

“What are you doing?” He tries again, eyes narrowed and closing the door carefully behind him.

“Nothing!”

The urgency with which you say it has his eyebrows raising. Obviously delighted by the embarrassing secret he’s sure to uncover, he approaches. You lean back further even as he towers over you until you’re almost on your back and he’s folded over you, menacingly (and dizzyingly) close. This sort of position is still new-ish and has your heart pounding, even if it’s entirely playful and ostensibly innocent.

“Nothing? Are you sure?”

You nod, still shying away from him into the pile of pillows. Without looking he reaches under you and pulls out your pink bunny. You squeak and hide your face.

“What is this?” He laughs, and you yank it away, sitting up so he’s forced to give you some breathing room. The bunny is cradled protectively in your arms, though you try to hold it a bit more casually when you notice.

“I said it’s nothing.”

“What about the other two behind you? The fox and the… what is that? A deer?”

“No—”

“I didn’t even know they made deer stuffed animals—”

“Spencer, stop!”

He does, at the desperate tone of voice and the way you’re still hiding from him.

“No, no! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to tease you. Don’t be embarrassed. I’m sorry.”

As usual he’s over apologetic, now sitting knee to knee with you on the mattress and leaning down to try and catch your eye. You huff and grant him some eye contact just so he doesn’t go over the edge with worry.

“But it’s embarrassing.”

“No, it’s really not,” he laughs. “It’s cute. I can’t believe you’ve been—what, hiding them from me? This whole time? That’s like not telling me you have kids.”

“It is not like that.”

“Hm. I don’t know, I think you should probably introduce me.”

You give him a look, letting your head fall to your shoulder. “Spencer.”

“I’m serious. I’m going to be apart of their lives now. You can’t keep shoving them under the bed every time I stay the night.”

This nerd is going to be the death of you.

Eventually, you groan reluctantly.

“Fine. Okay, um—this one is… well—her name is Bunny. It’s not… very creative, but it’s—that’s just her name, okay?”

Spencer doesn’t react to your unjustified defensiveness—only grabs your bunny’s round little pink paw and shakes. “Enchanted.”

“Shut up.” Your face is so hot as you bury your smile and set Bunny aside, making sure she’s comfortable against the pillow before bringing out your deer. Spencer doesn’t have the shit-eating grin you were partially expecting when you glance up at him from beneath your lashes—he’s smiling, but it’s so soft. A little twisted, like he’s holding back the full extent of it for your sake. But you wouldn’t mind it at full power. It’s like he’s hiding the sun in a saucepan and the lid’s not on quite right. And he’s looking right at you. Like you’re the source of all his joy.

A moment passes. You clear your throat and look back down. “Um—this is Bambi. ’Cause—you know.”

“I do,” Spencer agrees genially, nodding as if this were a normal conversation. “Kind of a dark thing to name your deer, though.”

“You’re judging,” you accuse balefully. He chuckles and his hand finds your knee, rubbing apologetically.

“I’m not, I’m not! I take it back. I retract it. Continue, please.”

For a moment you only pout, but it doesn’t deter him—he simply looks at you expectantly, and now those syrupy eyes come with the added bonus of his hand on your leg. Fine. He wins. But not without a deep, tortured sigh from you while you’re grabbing your fox that makes the corner of his mouth twitch up.

“This one is…”

The name dies on your tongue, too ridiculous to be said out loud.

“Tell me,” Spencer pleads in that gentle voice and with those big eyes that you’d consider burning him at the stake for because that look on his face has to be witchcraft.

“Okay but you can’t laugh,” you insist in one quick breath, giving him a serious look that he can only partially reciprocate.

“No laughing.”

“It’s… Mr. Cuddles.”Spencer bites the inside of his cheek to keep his promise. You melt inside both from embarrassment and from the way it only further defines an already superbly sculpted bone structure. “Do not.”

Spencer scoffs at your warning. “Don’t what? I’m behaving.”

“Don’t make fun of Mr. Cuddles!”

“Does it look like I’m making fun of him?”

“Her.”

“What?”

“Her. Mr. Cuddles is a girl.”

“I see… can you explain that to me?”

“If a human person said I am a girl and I would like you to call me Mister, would you question that? Would you ask them to explain it to you?”

“I guess not.”

“Exactly. Don’t be rude.”The way Spencer is looking at you now, eyes so clear and still so full of affection, like you’ve got some sort of heavenly spotlight trained on you, lips parted as if to say something but still silent, has you forgetting your momentary confidence. You shrink. “What?”

“I just… you’re amazing.” You throw Mr. Cuddles at his chest and fall into your pile of pillows with a groan. Spencer only continues rubbing your leg. It’s very nice, actually. He’s gentle. And patient. “You don’t believe me?”

“I don’t believe you came to this conclusion just because I introduced you to my stuffed animals.”

“Not solely because of that. There are a lot of contributing factors. I mean, the stuffed animal thing helped.”

“It’s embarrassing,” you insist for the umpteenth time.

“It’s adorable.”

Spencer pushes pillows aside and lies next to you so you’re eye to eye. It’s nice how his presence isn’t exhausting the way people sometimes are. He’s easy to exist with. He makes you enjoy existing a little more than usual. Even now.

You raise your eyebrows and speak, cheek squished against fabric. “I’m a serious adult.”

“I know you are,” he assures with a solemn nod.

Your eyes narrow ever so slightly.

“Okay… well… don’t go forgetting that. I’m fun but I can also be not fun.”

“I’d love to see that.”

“No you wouldn’t. You would hate it. You’d be so scared.”

Spencer gives up on holding back a smile and moves his hand to tuck hair behind your ear.

“You’re right. I’m already terrified. The anticipation… it’s killing me, you know?”

You’re giggling as you roll over on top of him and he roots his hand in your hair, pulling you in for a long, smiley kiss like he knew it was coming. Only when he blindly throws your stuffed friends from the bed do you pull away—just by an inch or so.

“No respect,” you scold playfully. He kisses you again, tangling your legs and hands wandering.

“Can I apologize later?”

You’re good with that.

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader

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nineevees · 4 months ago

Note

relationship chart for personal reference :D

if the kids were on pasio, who would they meet and be friends with?

I assume... like not amongst themselves...?

Erin befriends... probably a lot of girls on accident. Lillie finds him easy to speak with and they both enjoy fairy types. Acerola is intrigued by him, especially when he reveals that he has a Mimikyu. (His possible friendship with Ohi'a also aids in this.) His more meek nature also brings in Wally to approach him. They seem to find themselves able to bond over being more quiet lads who tend to keep to themselves but enjoy battling. Irida hangs around him quite often, too. Sometimes she fussed over him, seemingly knowing him somehow. He does not get it. His friendship Lenie also brings him into meeting Sophacles. They both chat about their knowledge in engineering, even if Erin's own only skews towards trains.

Nero... finds himself pretty isolated aside from the group he already knows. At first. He knows Nanu is keeping an eye on him, but that's one of his dad's friends. Marnie is interested in him despite his clear attempts to distance himself from dark types. He admittedly likes Piers's music and is embarrassed to have caught the attention of his little sister. Sidney also takes an interest in him, seeing the child of another dark-type Elite Four's kid. He can that Nero has a lot of potential and wants to see it grow himself. Though, his determination in using fighting types also brings in a few trainers of that variety. Bruno takes a keen interest in him (alongside hearing Marshal praise his discipline) and offers to train him. Oddly, Riley also takes an interest in Nero. His aura is fascinating to observe. He ends up catching the attention of more skilled trainers, basically. However, Marnie does end up becoming a friend of his somehow.

Morrigan... Naturally, has a facade up. Yet, she still catches the attention of many trainers. Karen is intrigued by Grimsley's daughter, almost not believing it to be true. She takes Morrigan under her wing and teaches her a few things about caring for pokemon. Lucy also finds herself drawn in by this girl, seeing a terrifying foe developing. And, somehow (likely from Nanu), Anabel ends up keeping an eye on her. The woman finds herself concerned with the path this young girl is on, yet fascinated by her powress at such a young age. This innate talent catches Nemona's eye and she demands battles with her all the time, almost dragging her into her friend group. The Paldean cast intrigues her a bit. Somehow, Morrigan mostly only attracts adult women worried for her and a trainer near her age wanting a new rival.

Ohi'a... Alas, ends up alone. Much like his father. Well, that is untrue. Looker has him under his watch and inviting him for investigate various things due to seeing his father in the boy. Arven somehow ends up friends with him. The Paldean boy just finds himself at ease with the Alolan boy. They both seem to respect boundaries and enjoy caring for their respective pokemon like family. His situation also reminds Ohi'a's of Acerola's own, so he knows how to be mindful. Silver also finds himself at ease with him, which makes for a funny situation since Giovanni takes an interest in him as Nanu's son. He is invited to join Team Rocket for too many times. A declination is given every time. Ohi'a just wanders alone until people start following after him. (Hilariously, Giovanni gets glared down by Guzma for trying to take one of his members. Ohi'a does not recall joining Team Skull.)

Lenie... Dear, Lenie barely gets out much on Pasio due to her father's worries, but she does befriend Sophocles. The boy's care for her father makes her happy more people see him for the man he is. They work on projects together pretty often. Clemont also finds himself chatting with her due to her technical powress. She is a beneficial aid, and he is happy to call her a friend. Colress even dares approach her to discuss a possible project together, but Cyrus manifests and chases him off. However, she also finds herself befriended by Jasmine, who speaks with her about steel types. Their gentle natures mesh well.

Clover... Little Clover is far too inquisitive about everything. Like her father, she lacks a filter and does thing that might scare away people if they are unprepared. However, she is simply so cute and sweet that most people look past it. Hapu ends up as the first to befriend the girl, seeing her like someone who needs some guidance. She ends up having to tell some people off quite often. Lana also finds herself drawn into her, seeing her like she does her little sisters. Both also are endeared by Clover's strong love of nature. Her cute nature also brings in Lusamine, unfortunately. She almost wishes to adopt the little girl. However, Clover seems uninterested in playing along due to how her mind flows. Lillie ends up befriending her, too, through Hapu.

Inka struggles. She is abrasive and awkward. Her love of battling is clear and visible, but her personality can be volatile. Still, Nemona absolutely loves her as a rival and sticks to her like glue. They both are highly capable trainers. This only makes sense, no? She catches Guzma's eye, too. Her love of Joltiks and angsty-ness lands her an invite to Team Skull. Thankfully, Emmet declines for her. She does hang around them, alas. She catches Geeta's eye through Nemona, who seeks to help set the girl on a better path (and moving to Paldea). The Champion is confident in her improvement. Penny and her also befriend one another to bitch about their fathers (a powerful bond).

Emma finds friends easily. Despite her resting bitch face, she is social and polite. Nessa is draw in by her beauty and style, wishing to both have her a rival in battle and modelling. Diantha also approaches her, seeing quite a bit of potential in the girl. She ponders taking her as an apprentice. Lisia also ends up as friend, seeing the terrifying talent she holds in being a contest star. Naturally, Dawn and May do, too. Lots of girls and women surround her due to her fashion and nature almost like a big sister.

Prisma... Is quite similar to Lenie. Except, while she does befriend Clemont, her talkative nature scares off Sophocles. And, well, she does catch the attention of Lysandre due to her rising talent in science and him still owning a business. She is far too happy to be praised. Though, Sonia also takes notice of the girl and pulls her out from that. Prisma ends up idolsing the Galarian professor instead. Fashionable and intelligent... Her goals lie before her. They end up becoming besties. Oleana takes in the girl, too, seeing a lot of potential for Macro Cosmos. Thankfully, she ends up warding off her due to the bad press of being a criminal's daughter. Oleana does remain in contact, though. Meeting Elesa also is a dream for her. The Gym Leader Model looking past the Colress connection and offering to take her under her wing in fashion.

Laureano... He just wants a nice vacation with his dad. Instead, he get surrounded by weirdos. For some unknown reason, Cheren seems to wish to use him as a teacher's aid (which he agrees to). Norman wants to almost train him as a protégé since his son has long surpassed him. And Kabu seems to like him as much as his father. He is surrounded. Most agree to play baseball with him at least. A lot of trainers his age also seem to become his friend. Brendan likes that he is just easy to talk to, Nate likes that he lets him ramble without judgement, and Rei confesses to him his fears of this blond man doing evil things. He is truly surrounded.

Araceli... Her flighty nature sees her wandering around the island vacantly. She ends up watching the sky with Winona at some point, both talking about the wonder of bird pokemon. Falkner finds himself fascinated with another flying-type trainers, and one that seems destined to be as powerful as her father. They both discuss strategies, but Falkner finds himself bewildered by her lack thereof. Nate also enjoys her company as much as her brother's own. They discuss many things more lightheartedly. Oh, and Lisia befriends her, too. The potential of a contest star reigns in this one as well, even if she seems a bit out of it.

Astrea... ending up in this strange place is so fascinating. She wants to meet everyone and anyone. Cynthia is somehow a first friend for her. The Champion already has some feelings towards Volo, but his daughter seems innocent enough. They chat about history and archaeology for so long. Cynthia is endeared by her passion even at such a young age and truly wishes to take her under her wing. Dawn ends up as another she befriends. The Sinnohan trainer mostly ends up acting as a big sister to the displaced girl. (Akari, of course, also being there. Astrea confuses them often.) Through Dawn, she befriends Barry, who entertains her with his goofy actions. Jacq also ends up befriending her, seeing her much like one of his students. He teaches a lot about modern pokemon knowledge, which amazes her. She ends up befriending lots and lots of people. This concerns Volo.

(No Regan and Cordie... too sheltered.)

Amongst themselves, however:

Erin is friends with Lenie, Nero, Ohi'a, and Astrea.

Emma is friends with Lenie, Prisma, Cordelia and Clover.

Inka is tentative allies with Nero.

Nero is friends with Erin, Ohi'a, Prisma, Regan and Inka.

Morrigan is friends with Emma, Prisma, Ohi'a, Laureano, and Lenie.

Clover is friends with everyone and bestest friends with Cordelia. (No one is allowed to be mean to her.)

Laureano is friends with Morrigan.

Araceli is probably friends with Clover.

Astrea is friends with Erin.

Lenie is friends with Morrigan, Clover, Emma, and Erin.

Regan is friends with Nero and Clover.

Cordelia is friends with Clover, Lenie, and Emma.

Prisma is friends with Emma, Nero, and Morrigan.

Ohi'a is friends with Erin, Nero, and Morrigan.

#not sure if prisma ends up with regan or nero so i just. don’t have anything for those three lol.#speaking of i didn’t know that regan and nero were friends… that’s cute <3 little prince and little knight #erin is like a baby pokémon of sorts to the girls of pasio. soft. cute. small (he towers above most of them).#him and wally would ohko everyone in the immediate vicinity with how wholesome they are #nero is a dark-type user magnet much to his chagrin. how does this keep happening.#him and riley is an interesting dynamic…#MORRIGAN WITH LUCY !!!!!! something about dark-haired luck-themed trainers <333 #it’s also interesting how morrigan has a facade up… i wonder if she’s actually more relaxed or expressive when she’s with her family…#giovanni and guzma fighting over ohi'a 😭😭 custody battle but neither of the ppl fighting over him are even his dad #ohi'a bringing arven and silver over and nanu sighs. guess he’s responsible for even more kids now.#lenie and sophocles !! they can tinker with machines with rotom together <3 #also her and jasmine is so cute to imagine… waaahhh #if clover was the protag of a pkmn game it would be like.#‘i’m going to defeat u with the power of friendship!! and the legendary dragons of unova. reshiram blue flare and zekrom bolt strike.’#it’s also adorable how nemona still wants to be inka’s friend even if she comes off awkward or volatile <3 #maybe penny should invite peonia to her and inka’s group sessions where they complain abt their doting dads lol #emma being popular <333 so much so that even diantha takes notice. i love emma she’s amazing <3 #i wonder if she’d be name buddies with xy emma or if she’d find her strange #PRISMA BARELY DODGING A BULLET WITH LYSANDRE LMAO #her idolizing sonia is so real <3 that’s a really cute dynamic. her and oleana sounds really fun too <3 #not rei telling laureano abt volo and not a trusted adult 😭😭 laureano stands like 🧍 while rei talks abt the temple of sinnoh #kabu also being a fan of laureano like he is with larry is super cute <3 #araceli having no strategy for battling… she really just goes where the wind will take her #her being friends w lisia too !! :0 i think it’d be funny if araceli was as wowed as the audience whenever her pkmn performed #like ‘wowww… look at oricorio go… it looks so pretty :)’ and yet she still somehow wins every contest. gotta love her.#absolutely adore astrea making new friends in the modern world <3 she’s so curious. jacq’s no. 1 student #imagine your s/o and daughter being surrounded by friends meanwhile ur using ppl bc u think they’ll use u otherwise. another L for volo /j #thank u for finding my yapping in the tags interesting <3 :D hehe #pokémon #fankid tag

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kaciidubs · 1 year ago

Text

Ass or Tits?

❣ Summary: The question of 'ass or tits' never truly mattered when you had a group of men who loved all of you. ❣ ❣ Word Count: 6.4k ❣ Warnings: Poly! OT8 x Reader, smut, humor, fluff, light Dom/Sub dynamics, creampie(s), squirting, cum play, referenced after care ❣ ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣ ❣ Additional Tags: Usual first name + pet name references for the members, Reader is referred to as Baby, Mommy, Miss, Princess, Good Girl, Bunny, Bub, Kitten, Jagi, Noona, lightly edited ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist

“Hey, Hyune?”

The artist hummed as he sketched away at his desk, “Yeah?”

“What do you like better, ass or tits?”

He froze, dropping the charcoal pencil as your words ran through his head on repeat.

“Your ass or tits?”

There was no way he was about to get caught in an infamous partner discourse, not after years of being immune to other futile debates brought on by a certain freckle-faced fairy.

You scoffed out a laugh, rolling onto your stomach from your resting place on his bed, “I mean, I’d hope you’d be talking about my ass or tits, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin whipped his head toward you, eyebrows pushing to his hairline, “W-Well how am I supposed to know!? This is one of the questions every person dreads! You’re expecting me to pick one or the other on one of my favorite people in the world? What then? Are you going to ask me ‘acrylic or charcoal’? Because I’ll have you know, those are two very different mediums and-”

“Hyunjin, baby - it’s just a question!” Stifling a chuckle, you shook your head, “It’s not like I’m going to ban you from sex if you pick something I didn’t expect - I’m just curious, you know? All of you have different preferences and even though after two years I can kind of make a good guess, I wanna hear it from the sources.”

His shoulders relaxed, visibly slumping in his chair and running his cleaner hand through his short hair, “You’re stressing me out, muse! Why didn’t you lead with that?!”

You rolled your eyes, “I’m so sorry, my little drama queen - now, pick!”

Dark eyes scanned your figure, his head cocking to the side and if you looked closer you could’ve seen the gears turning in his brain.

“Mm… Tits.”

“I knew it.”

“Wha- What’s that supposed to mean?! Are you calling me basic?”

“No, my prince, I’m calling you predictable,” getting off of the bed, you walked toward him and pinched his cheek lovingly, “you grope Changbin’s chest like it’s your job, and there’s rarely a moment your hand isn’t on my chest when we’re cuddling. Now, go wash up - we’re meeting in Chris’s room.”

With a quick kiss to the crown of his head, you walked out of his room with your phone in hand, thumbs typing away in your group chat.

|❣️: Chris’s room asap 💋

“So… Is there a reason why we were summoned? To Chan’s room, no less?” Minho hummed inquisitively, picking up a small souvenir from the eldest’s dresser and turning it in his hands.

“If this is an intervention about League, I swear I didn’t mean to yell that night - I honestly didn’t think anyone heard me!” Came Felix’s whine of defense, already making himself a home on the California king bed, “Seungmin was throwing the game on purpose and I was losing against this stupid-”

“That’s crazy.” Seungmin gaped, faux shock on his face as he purposefully rolled on top of the Aussie, a muffled groan getting caught in the midst of it all. “I told you not to put too much trust in me!”

“Lixie, hate to break it to you, but this definitely isn’t an intervention, but we’ll come back to that point later.” Clapping your hands, you took in the rest of the members who either piled onto the bed, doubled up in Chris’s computer chair, or stood against the door frame. “Anyways - I called you guys here because I have a question!”

“I’d peel a pineapple for you if you asked.”

The room went silent as all eyes shot to Jisung who was currently seated in Minho’s lap, a triumphant smile on his pretty lips.

“I… No, Jisung, it’s not that question, but I’ll remember your answer when I do ask.” Willing away the confused looks sent your way, you cleared your throat, “The actual question is; which do each of you like better - my ass, or my tits?”

The room broke into an uproar, various voices speaking over one another as some questioned the validity of the question while others argued their respective points.

“Noona, you really think we can just pick one thing to like about you?”

Minho scoffed, “I can - her ass, easily.”

“Oh… Shit, you’re right.”

“Jeongin?! Weren’t you just saying you couldn’t pick?!”

“Hyung, that was before I was reminded of how her ass looks in her pajama shorts - you can’t tell me that’s not the hottest sight.”

“I can because I chose her tits!”

Felix laughed, holding his hand up for an air high-five, “I was gonna pick her tits too, Jinnie!”

“This is the stupidest conversation I’ve ever heard,” Seungmin mumbled, throwing an arm over his face, though it did nothing to cover the redness of his ears.

“Bunny, you know you’re more than just your body parts, right?”

You nodded enthusiastically, “Binnie, I’m well aware - I’m just asking for the fun of it, it’s nothing deeper than that!”

Changbin hummed, fluffy curls shifting with the movement, “In that case, I’m team ass - it’s just so cute and round and-” He lifted his hand, squeezing the air as if it were your ass cheeks with a dreamy sigh, “-god, I love it.”

“Okay but, what if we can’t pick?” Jisung piped up, a soft pout puffing his cheeks, “There’s no way I can just choose one - look at you, you’re fucking sexy, Jagi!”

“The oral fixation says boobs, Han, there’s no way out of it.”Felix deadpanned from his place on the bed, his head turned to nail the man with a mischievous glint, “Trust me, I know.”

The latter’s eyes flicked to your t-shirt, tracing the outline of your breasts in the loose fabric with ease. “Yeah… Yeah, you’re right - her tits are amazing.”

“Alright, Chan and Seungmin, you two are the only ones left - make your choice!” Hyunjin demanded lightly, gesturing his hand toward your body from his seat next to you, “Tits or ass? Ass or tits? Which one is it?”

“I’m not playing this game,” the youngest of the two mumbled, his position unchanged.

“Oh, come on, Seungmin! She said it herself, it’s just for fun, she won’t take any offense to what you choose,” Felix prodded, wiggling his body next to his boyfriend, “and we won’t make fun of you if you pick something we didn’t expect.”

“Yeah, puppy,” reaching down, you threaded your fingers through his black hair, “whatever you pick is fine with me, and if anyone makes fun of you for it, they won’t get anything from me for a week.”

That roused a small chuckle from him as he moved his arm, looking up at you with soft eyes, “Really? You think you could go that long?”

“For my Seungmin? Of course. Now, which is it, baby?”

His lips quivered, struggling between forming words and keeping his solitude until he finally murmured, “I like your thighs.”

“That wasn’t even an-”

You quieted Hyunjin with a glare, “Finish that sentence and that’s the only thing you’ll be finishing near me, Hwang.”

“Aw- I wanna change my answer, her thighs are fucking amazing too!” Jisung all but wailed, practically having a full on meltdown, “When you’re eating her out and she wraps them around your head like earmuffs - they’re so warm but you can’t hear her moans when she does it so it’s just a horrible, beautiful curse!”

“No changing your answer, Sungie, you’re still team tits.”

Now, all the attention was directed to the only one left; Chris, still leaning against the doorway of his room with an embarrassed flush on his face - nothing preparing him for this conversation that pulled him from the sanctity of his laundry run.

“Well, Chris? What do you like?” You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing, knowing full and well that everyone already knew what their boyfriend would pick.

“Ah- You’re seriously going to make me say it?!”

“Come on, Chan, we all said ours, no matter how obvious,” Changbin sent a side eye in an unbothered Minho’s direction, “some of ours may have been.”

The eldest sighed, dropping his head before bringing it up once again, “I like your ass, baby.”

Scoffing, Felix crawled across Seungmin to get closer to you, “I don’t understand how you guys can pick her ass over these,” his hand quickly found home over one of your breasts, gently squeezing the mound over your shirt and earning a shocked gasp in return, “like, how could you not want to suffocate in them?”

“Especially with how sensitive her nipples are?” Hyunjin chimed in, claiming your other breast with his larger hand, jiggling and watching the ripples from your shirt in response.

“Oh my god- The sound she makes when you suck on them?” The bed dipped with a new weight, Jisung making his way onto the bed, causing Jeongin to crawl over and straddle Seungmin. “You guys are seriously missing out.”

Changbin groaned, “It’s not like we don’t like them, we just love her ass more, there’s a difference, Ji.”

In the meantime, you couldn’t help the small sighs of pleasure escaping you as the duo continued to fondle you over your shirt, Jisung taking the hem into his hands.

“Can we, Jagi?”

You nodded happily, “You can, Sungie.”

Hyunjin and Felix pulled back as he lifted your shirt up and off, tossing it off the edge of the bed without a care in the world - why would he, when your tits were on display for him and the men that admired them?

“Why don’t we all take the chance to really admire our favorite parts about you, my muse?”

Hyunjin’s sultry voice easily floated through the air, the hidden implications more than enough for the atmosphere to ignite with lust.

“Are you ready, angel?”

You blinked up at Felix with dazzling eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips, “Of course, Lixie.”

In the background, you could hear the familiar sounds of panted breaths and the rustling of clothing, but you wouldn’t dare to turn your head from the scene in front - or, rather, above you.

Hyunjin took the role of straddling your torso while Felix and Jisung kneeled at the sides of your head without even a hint of the clothing that once covered their bodies.

“Innie, can you pass me the lube?”

Jeongin broke from Seungmin’s lips with a groan, narrowing his eyes, “Why can’t you just spit on it, Hyung? I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”

“Because I asked you to? If I felt like spitting I would’ve done it already,” Hyunjin spoke matter-of-factly, catching the glimpse of Jisung guiding his dick into your mouth from the corner of his eye, “don’t be a smartass!”

“Smarta-”

The youngest was unceremoniously flipped onto his back, the black haired singer reaching into the nightstand and tossing over a bottle of lube with a huff.

“Seriously, it was never that big of a deal, you brat.”

Snatching up the tube, Hyunjin wasted no time in squeezing a generous amount between the valley of your breasts, humming out a small apology when you jumped at the cold gel on your skin.

“Forget what I said,” Jisung moaned softly, watching the way your cheeks puffed and hollowed with each drag of his cock, “your mouth is my favorite part.”

Pulling off of him with a pop, you pumped him with your right hand and tossed him a teasing smirk, “You’re still team tits, Sungie.”

Turning your head, you eagerly welcomed Felix’s dick with an eager tongue lapping at the precum beading the tip before taking him in one fell swoop.

“That doesn’t take away from the fact that your mouth is fucking amazing, sunshine.” Felix groaned, bringing a hand to cup your cheek as he lightly thrust into your leisurely bobs.

“Especially for the fact that we’re here for these.” Hyunjin’s lube covered hands squeezed your breasts around his length, the swells positively shining as they sandwiched his cock in an unparalleled warmth.

It wasn’t long until an unplanned rhythm was found between the four of you; alternating between blowjobs and handjobs for the sunshine twins while a certain artist busied himself with a simple rhythm of humping your chest.

In the meantime, Changbin managed to swap positions with Minho for the chair, sitting the second eldest in his lap and littering slow kisses paired with sharp nips along the length of his neck while he watched the show before them.

“Chan, you’re not going to just stand there the whole time, are you?” Minho mused with a raised eyebrow, noting the way the eldest hadn’t even moved a muscle from his spot near the door.

Chris hesitated for a moment before shaking his head, “No, but I’m doing laundry - I don’t wanna get sidetracked and forget about it in the wash, you know?”

There was a disinterested hum followed by a huff he knew all too well, and he found himself pushing off of the doorway with a breathless laugh.

“You have such a way with words, you know that?”

Smirking, Minho shrugged, “I know, it’s a talent.”

Standing in front of the two - and inadvertently blocking the once flawless view - Chris planted his hands on the armrests of the chair before leaning down to catch Minho's lips in a slow kiss, just to part a moment later to do the same with Changbin over his shoulder.

“A-Ah- Tighten your hand a little, Jagi.”

“You have hands,” Hyunjin panted, licking his lips as he watched his pink tip repeatedly disappear and reappear, “help her out- fuck, Lix…”

The blond hummed against his neck, licking at a blossoming hickey, “‘M sorry, just feels so good.”

“Hyune, move your hand a bit.”

Abiding the request, Hyunjin slid his hand to the outer swell of your breast while Jisung licked his fingers before easily finding their way to your nipple, gently rolling the nub between his finger and thumb.

The moan you let out was instantly muffled by Felix’s cock, which in turn made him grit out a shivering groan, “F-Fuck, I’m gonna come soon.”

“M-Me too,” Jisung nodded frantically, eyes trained on the way his hand enveloped yours as he fucked your fist, “gonna paint those pretty tits of yours, Jagi.”

It only took a handful of strokes before Felix was drawing from your mouth with frantic breaths, Jisung slipping from your soiled hand to take over the rest of the job as they both aimed for your chest.

“God, look at how gorgeous they look wrapped around Jinnie’s dick.”

“They were just made to have a dick between them, huh?”

You groaned helplessly, bringing your hands to cover Hyunjin’s and squish your breasts together more, “C-Come on, show mommy how much you love her tits.”

If there was one thing to get them to fall, it was that title - and, like a harp string being plucked, they both came with a sharp gasp and a guttural groan, cum spraying across your breasts and a few drops even landing on your fingers.

Hyunjin shivered above you, eyebrows drawing together with the silver eyebrow piercing catching the glint of the light.

“I can see you’re close, Hyune,” squeezing his hands lightly, you watched as Jisung and Felix flocked to him, hands wandering his chest while lips danced along his shoulders and neck, “come for Miss, my prince, make a mess of me.”

A choked moan fell past his lips as his hips stuttered before he lifted himself onto his knees and came against your breasts, his cum joining the mess of the other two with ease and creating an intricate pattern of white along your skin.

Jisung dipped down to lick a fat stripe through the cum, collecting as much as he could onto his tongue before pulling Felix in for a beautifully messy kiss above you - then repeated the process with Hyunjin, leaving you in a state of horny awe.

“Seungmin, you’re up next.” Felix called happily, swiping his thumb along your breast before presenting it to your lips and watched as you eagerly licked it clean. “You’re so kinky.”

You stifled a laugh, giving the pad of his thumb a soft kiss, “You’re one to talk.”

The trio moved away to make room for the thigh connoisseur, watching as he untangled himself from Jeongin and shuffled between your legs - your pajama shorts and underwear having already met the same fate as your t-shirt moments ago.

“I… I don’t think I’m gonna last long,” he mumbled quietly, a strawberry blush turning his ears as he nudged the leaking head of his cock against the plush of your inner thigh. “Might’ve pushed it a bit too close with Innie.”

“That’s more than okay, pup,” reaching your hand out, you grabbed the lube before handing it to him, “if it bothers you, you can always have a round two later, okay?”

Seungmin nodded dutifully, taking the lube from you while tapping your legs, prompting you to lift them both and lean them on his chest; pouring a generous amount of lube in the palm of his hand to coat around his length.

With a bit of maneuvering, he had both of your calves resting on his right shoulder with his dick nestled in the tight space between your thighs and just above your pelvis - if you focused hard enough, you could feel the heat of his balls against the lips of your pussy.

“M-Mm, fuck…” Wrapping his right arm around your legs, his left hand went down to grip the outside of your thigh, squeezing the flesh as he jutted his hips forward with a quiet moan.

You watched on as he fucked your thighs in quick, sharp thrusts, brown eyes fogged and unfocused as he began to chase the high that was undoubtedly close.

“Good puppy, my good puppy - love my thighs so much, hm? Maybe one of these days I should get you to hump one, would you like that?”

You could clock the faint twinkle in his eye from a mile away, catching the subtle pout of his lips as his body rocked against yours without rhyme but with the sole reason of finishing.

His blush now crawled across his face, tinting the apples of his cheeks as his eyes found yours, “Really?”

Humming, you flexed your thighs, “Really, pup, I’d love to watch you ride me.”

He whimpered, blunt nails digging into your skin as his head dropped to nip at your ankle, “W-Want that, bub - want it so bad.”

“Then it’s yours, Minnie. I’m all yours.”

The next thrust forward had ropes of white streaking up the length of your stomach, breathless moans hidden behind firmly pressed lips as Seungmin shook against your legs, tensing and shaking with each wave until he finally relaxed with a shaky breath.

“You okay, pup?”

Nodding, he gave you a soft smile, “Yeah, but you better not forget your promise.”

You laughed, accepting a kiss to your ankle as a parting gift as he moved away from you and into the arms of a lounging Hyunjin - the comment of him being “disgustingly sweaty”, and Hyunjin’s response of “Then get off of me!”, not going unnoticed in the process.

Turning your gaze to the ceiling, a knowing smile grew on your lips, “Do I even have to ask who’s going next?”

“Nope!” Sliding into view came your darling bread, a smug grin on his lips as his face hovered over yours, “You don’t even have to guess, I’m already here.”

Bringing your hand to his jaw, you lightly scratched your nails under his chin, “Of course you are, maknae - so, how do you want me? Doggy style? Reverse cowgirl? Some secret third position I have yet to learn?”

Judging from the sparkle of his eyes the instant the second option left your lips, he had his decision already cut out and you laughed at his inability to be discreet.

“Alright, I guess this is to make up for slacking on leg day, isn’t it?”

Jeongin rolled onto his back, watching as you straddled him with ease, “You’d have to ask Changbin Hyung about that, Noona - you were the one who suggested it anywa- ah!”

You didn’t need to waste time in teasing yourself as your hand wrapped around the base of his cock, lining it up with your severely neglected pussy before sinking down in one fell swoop - a satisfied moan leaving your lips.

“O-Oh god, maybe this wasn’t a good idea…”

“Oh? And what makes you say that, baby?”

Of course, you already knew the answer judging from the way his calves tensed, his toes curled and - less externally obvious - the way his dick twitched inside of your warm walls.

“Noona, please-”

“Have a little too much fun with Minnie, huh? Got yourself all excited while you were waiting?” Clicking your tongue, you rolled your hips teasingly, “I bet you were touching yourself while Seungmin was having his turn, weren’t you, baby boy?”

He whined, tossing his head back with a groan, “Just- Just give me a minute, I swear I’ll last!”

Humming, you waited a few seconds before shaking your head, “Sorry, Innie, if you come early then that’s just how it is - just lay back and enjoy the view, okay? This is what you wanted, remember?”

With no other choice, the sounds of your joined moans soon filled the room as you rode him with one goal on your mind.

“Fuck, look at that view…” Neither one of you were aware of Changbin’s sudden presence beside the bed as he leaned beside Jeongin, basking in the sight of your ass jiggling with each bounce. “I’ll never get over it.”

“I-” Jeongin whimpered, short huffs of breaths escaping him, “T-This is the first time-”

“-she’s ridden reverse cowgirl?! IN-ah, what were you waiting for?!”

“It’s not that he was waiting,” you laughed breathlessly, though the clench of your pussy earned a moan in its wake, “he was just too excited to try everything else that normal positions were at the bottom of his list.”

“What a shame, wasting his chance like this.”

Lifting your head, you were now met with the sight of Minho directly in front of you, keen eyes unblinking as he took you in with a smirk.

“Is it a waste, Min?” Slowing your bounces to languid strokes, your head tilted prettily to the side, “I’d like to think of it as an introduction to what future chances would be like.”

This time, his smirk reached his eyes, brown irises sparkling with amusement, “You naughty kitten.” His hand cupped your cheek as he dipped down to steal a kiss, nipping at your bottom lip in the process.

You preened at the sensation, but the moan that followed came from the firm grip on the swell of your ass cheek, the hand and the pressure stemming from two different forms of familiarity.

“See? What did I tell you?” Changbin smirked, squeezing his hand over Jeongin’s to tighten his grip on your ass, “You can watch all you want, but the real fun is in touching.”

The younger groaned out a desperate sound, “‘M g-gonna-”

At the hint of his confession, you forfeited the feeling of Minho’s lips on yours for the opportunity to go back to bouncing on Jeongin’s dick without abandon, fisting the sheets to distract from the unyielding burn in your thighs.

“-a-ah- p-please- N-Noona, oh god, I-” He cut himself off with a choked gasp, hips canting as his orgasm took him by storm.

A hum of satisfaction vibrated past your lips as his warmth filled you, stilling to spare him the overstimulation for the time being. “Feels so good baby, you never disappoint.”

Once the incessant twitching of his cock died down, you lifted yourself off of his lap, shivering at the sensation of his load slowly seeping out of you and dribbling back onto his spent dick.

“So,” you breathed, looking between the two men currently surrounding you and shooting a glance toward Chris, “who’s next?”

The answer to that question was a very smug Minho, excitement thrumming through your veins as he nodded his head toward the edge of the bed - the silent command leading you to find yourself to where you currently were now.

“Minho!”

Your nails clawed at the sheets, the mattress rocking along with your body as the black haired man fucked into you like a man possessed.

“It’s only fair that someone gives you your first orgasm of the night, kitten,” he drawled, thumbs digging into the small of your back as he held you impossibly tighter, “why wouldn’t I make sure that it’s me giving it to you?”

Your body couldn’t decide between attempting to run away from his powerful thrusts, or submit yourself to the fiery pleasure that hoped to consume you, until you felt the warmth of his hands sliding up your back, past your shoulder blades, and along your forearms.

Like a slab of clay for him to mold, he maneuvered your arms behind your back and pinned them with one hand, the other going back to its home on your hip as he aimed long, precise thrusts to a spot he was well acquainted with.

The side of your face melted into the mattress, tears of pleasure blurring your vision, as any sound you’d hoped to make dissolved into hiccuped breaths and encouraging mewls.

Minho grunted, clenching his jaw as he felt the telltale signs of your orgasm begin to shine through, “That’s it, kitten, give it to me.”

Your legs trembled, pussy fluttering and clenching with each passing second until your body tensed with a cry of his name falling from your spit-shined lips.

He welcomed the new wave of arousal coating his dick and adding to the already sloppy glide of your cunt, wet slaps sounding through the room as he fucked you through your high with a breathless chuckle.

“There it is.”

Grip tightening on your wrists, his hips met yours a number of times before he pulled out with a gasp, jacking himself off with his free hand and coming along the curve of your ass and thighs - much to your delirious chagrin.

“Why…?” You whined breathlessly, wiggling your hips for further emphasis - not that he needed it.

Minho released your wrists to land a swift smack to your unsoiled ass cheek, a satisfied smile curling his lips from the squeak you let out. “Because I wanted to - you still have two people to fill you the way you wish, kitten, let’s not get too greedy, hm?”

There was a slew of giggles and chuckles from the onlookers, and you tried your best to send them your best glare, though your efforts were in vain as you felt a pair of hands caressing your thighs.

“Get up on the bed for Binnie, bunny.”

You obeyed with no hesitation, already knowing which position you would be set in for the remainder of the session as you turned to tuck a pillow under your chin, bringing your knees up and out to sit your hips high in the air and dip your spine into a fine arch - pretty and presentable.

“God,” Changbin groaned, scrambling to fill in the space behind you as fast as he could, “I’ve been waiting so long to get you like this, bunny, you would not believe.” His firm hands instantly went to cup your ass, spreading your cheeks further and sucking in a breath at your glistening hole. “So fucking pretty…”

“Binnie.”

Your insistent, warning whine hadn’t fallen on deaf ears, and he wasted no time in notching the fat head of his dick to your fluttering walls.

“Alright, bunny, deep breaths for me.”

Of course, you already knew the drill, having grown custom to the mind numbingly delicious stretch only he was capable of giving you, but the reminder never failed to stir the swarm of butterflies in your stomach.

With a deep inhale, your slow exhale was followed by him sinking past your walls, each inch slowly stretching your cunt around his girth.

It wasn’t long until he was fully seated inside of you, and with warm hands kneading the flesh of your ass, he drew his hips back before snapping them forward, punching a moan from the depths of your lungs.

Even if you were still tingling with the aftershocks of your orgasm, you were still begging for more with each whimpered moan and choked gasp as your body seemed to melt deeper into the arch you had set.

“Look at you, can’t get enough of us, can you?” Changbin goaded, though his tone was soft and warm, “It’s okay, we can’t get enough of you either, bunny.” He lifted his hand to slap the swell of your ass, before gripping the flesh, “You and this ass of yours.”

A shiver shot down your spine as his hand slipped, his thumb caressing the inside of your cheek and just barely grazing your asshole - a temptation that had shown its face among a few of the boys before, but was never fully dwelled on by them nor yourself.

“I’m curious, bunny,” he hummed, slowing his fast thrusts for laxed, deeper ruts, “would you ever let one of us use this other pretty hole of yours?” Sliding his hand further, he pressed his thumb against the tight ring just enough to burn the fantasy into a possible reality, “Would you let Binnie fuck this pretty ass?”

You nodded frantically, your hands gripping onto the poor pillow below you, “Y-Yes! Yes! I-It’s all yours, Binnie - want it so bad!”

His signature, triumphant laugh filled the room as he tossed a glance to his boyfriends, “Hear that? I get first dibs.”

“You can’t just ask her questions like that!” Jeongin groaned, a stern pout set on his lips, “She agrees to anything if you fuck her long enough!”

“Yeah, how else do you think Felix managed to stay up late enough for his Apex tournament that one time?”

“How am I always being brought up here?!” The blond scoffed as he lightly shoved Hyunjin, crossing his arms over his lithe chest, “But, I mean, yeah - three orgasms can get you a pretty good deal.”

Jisung hummed inquisitively, before narrowing his eyes, “But did you win?”

“He won,” Minho huffed, a smirk curving the corners of his lips, “and he gave her head the next morning, I could hear her moans from the kitchen.”

Muted thumps of the headboard began to grow in frequency until a low groan interrupted the riveting conversation - Changbin hunching over your body as his muscles tensed, shivering while he filled you with his seed.

“God, fuck,” he hissed, rolling his hips against yours while your walls fluttered around him, clenching from the orgasm that was just moments away. “You’re too good to us, you know that, bunny?”

You huffed out a breathless laugh, stifling a moan as his hands massaged your lower back out of its arch for a moment of respite, “I-I’ve been told once or twice,” turning your head, sultry eyes landed on the final man of the hour, “but you guys are worth it.”

Chris flushed under the heat of your gaze, just barely catching Changbin’s teasing “Don’t break her back, Chan.”, as he climbed onto the bed and took the space previously occupied by the rapper.

“Think you can stay in this position one more time, baby?” He mused softly, caressing the warm skin of your back before gliding his hand down to the curve of your ass.

Without answering him, you spread your knees and tucked yourself into a deeper arch, wiggling your hips to further entice the man behind you.

“Yeah,” Seungmin chuckled, lazily crossing his arms over his chest, “he’s blowing her back out, it’s over.”

As much as you wanted to turn your head to respond, your train of thought flew out the window as you felt the bed dip slightly, before the pressure of Chris’s blunt tip nudged against your cunt, bumping against your clit tauntingly.

“Alright, princess,” he breathed, dragging the tip along your slit, “why don’t you give them a show for daddy, hm?”

This time, your reply came in the form of an elongated moan as he sunk into your heat, the stretch coming with ease after Changbin’s size, yet the length making your toes curl.

“Oh, god-”

There was no opportunity for a pause, not when you were miles beyond prepped and ready; the orgasm Minho previously gave you, paired with the second one Changbin gently guided you toward yet kept from tipping over, leaving you with a bubble that was ready to burst within minutes.

“F-Fuck, daddy,” you keened, pressing your hips into his own in feigned hopes of getting him impossibly deeper, “please, please fuck me.”

Chris ran his tongue over his bottom lip, eyes glued to the way your pussy wrapped around his length, as he nodded, “Hands, baby.”

A shiver of excitement shot down your spine and you complied almost immediately, using the pillow to keep your head propped up as you worked your arms behind your back, the warmth of his hand easily finding your wrists and pinning them.

With you set up to his liking, he slowly pulled out just about halfway before driving his hips forward with force, the added balance of his right foot planted on the bed adding to his power.

He was definitely going to blow your back out.

It didn’t take long for him to find the perfect rhythm, nor did it take long for the room to be filled with your high pitched moans and gasps, and the slap of your ass against his thighs - the ripples slowly, but surely, turning your limbs to jelly.

“Our perfect girl,” he gritted out, the grip on your hip and wrists tightening marginally, “letting us admire you for the beautiful gem you are - take turns with this gorgeous body of yours.”

It wasn’t news that they were constantly in awe of you, with and without your clothes on - you were the brightest star in their night sky, you were the puzzle piece they finally found to complete their lives separately and together - and they never failed to remind you of how loved you were.

“But, you know you’re so much more than that, don’t you, princess?” Chris tilted his head to catch a glimpse of your face, eyes fogged and unfocused, lips parted with endless moans tumbling through, “You’re so much more than just your body to us.”

“C-Chris!” You managed to choke out between a whimper, his loving sentiments paired with the unyielding strokes of his cock to your deepest, sweetest parts turning your brain to mush, though your body responded in the best way it could.

He hissed at the telltale clench of your walls, a shiver running down his spine as he nodded mindlessly, “Already? It’s alright, baby, you can come for me - don’t hold back, yeah? Give it to me - give it all to me.”

Your body reacted faster than your mind could at his command, your orgasm barrelling toward you at a speed that had your hands balling into fists; every muscle in your body tensing and clenching until the thread snapped with one more well angled thrust. Mouth falling open with a silent scream, the only sound you were able to hear was your own heartbeat as your vision went white.

The first thing to return to you was your hearing, the muffled thumps of your heart fading out into loud, heavy pants - though you knew for a fact that breathing wasn’t just you. The next sense to return was touch, the slightly damp sheets underneath you grounding you back to reality as your eyes fluttered open only to land on an unexpected face.

“Sungie?”

“Jagi, if I swap to ‘Team Ass’ can you do that for me, too?” Jisung’s face was ripe with blush, though his eyes were wide and wild with lust that had your abdomen clench almost painfully.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you frowned lightly, “Do what?”

“You squirted, muse,” Hyunjin murmured beside him, awe laced in his tone, “that was so fucking hot.”

Oh.

It wasn’t until you went to move your arms that you realized Chris was still keeping you pinned - and a second later you realized he was still inside of you.

“Channie?”

“I-I’m okay, I-” Relinquishing his hold on you, his hands instantly went to your hips, thumbs tracing nondescript shapes against your skin, “I just… I need a minute, ‘m sorry.”

“No, no, baby, it’s okay, take your time.” Working yourself onto your hands, your lower back eternally grateful for the relief, you took a quick scan of the empty room, “Where’d everyone else go? Did I genuinely pass out?”

“No - honestly, you were only out for like, a minute, but after you, uh, came, we started the aftercare checklist.” Hyunjin’s hand reached out to wipe away a hint of saliva at the corner of your lips, “Hannie and I are on talk-down duty, Felix is running you a bath, Jeongin’s getting you a washcloth, Seungmin is getting you water while Minho’s starting on dinner, and Changbin is getting the laundry Chan was too fucked out to get himself.”

“I’m not fucked out,” the eldest groaned as he lazily turned his head toward the artist, “it was just a really intense orgasm, alright?”

With enough energy worked up, he pulled his hips away from yours as his softening dick slipped from your pussy, a shared hiss of overstimulation escaping you both in the process.

“Holy shit… Intense is a fucking understatement, she’s dripping so much.”

You bristled at Jisung’s words, though you could feel the reality of the situation currently oozing its way down your clit and undoubtedly landing against the stained bed sheet.

“Fuck, it’s like a river… Am I allowed to be jealous right now?”

“Han, please.” Chris groaned, embarrassment evident in his tone, “We get it, I come a lot, but I really don’t know what you have to be jealous about.”

Ducking your head with a barely contained laugh, you shook your head before meeting Jisung’s stare, “Next time, you’ll be the one almost folded in half and stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey, okay?”

“I got the water, but it’s gonna cost you-” Seungmin stopped in his tracks as he rounded the bed, his eyes locking onto the mess between your legs, “What- You turned her into an overstuffed twinkie!”

“Seungmin!”

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @s00buwu, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n, @bbgnyx, @ivyisnotokay, @bahng-chrizz, @milknhoneyracha, @hann1bee, @palindrome969, @newhope8, @softkissfelix, @luvyev, @luminouskalopsia, @kpopsstuffs, @luvyev, @starquokka, @wolfs-howling, @broken-glowsticks, @j-onedrabbles, @dawninnie, @junglyric, @piercedddriver, @sometimesleeknows, @mahklathekpopqueen

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#skz smut #stray kids smut #Poly! Stray Kids #Poly OT8! SKZ #bang chan x reader #lee minho x reader #seo changbin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #han jisung x reader #lee felix x reader #yang jeongin x reader #ot8 x reader #ot8 skz

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emmiesoverthemoon · 14 days ago

Text

correct me, i dare you

pairing: bang chan x reader

word count: 8k

summary: as chan's choreographer, he told you not to test him. now you’re all messed up in a studio chair, trying to remember your own name while he’s planning round two.

tags: brat/brat tamer dynamic, porn with plot, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), tension. enjoy

It always began the same way.

With him being late.

You were halfway through your warm-up, music echoing low through the empty studio, when his reflection emerged in the mirror—hood up, the ghost of a smirk already tugging at the corner of his lips. He moved with the casual arrogance of someone who had never once been told no. Someone who knew you would forgive the delay simply because he was good.

You did not turn to greet him. Did not acknowledge him. You continued to stretch, breathing steady and precise, though your skin buzzed with a treacherous awareness—an irritating, familiar hum that only he could summon. The kind that made you feel seen in a way that was almost unbearable.

Behind you, the studio door closed with a soft thud.

"You’re late, Chan," you said, gaze fixed forward.

"I’m worth waiting for," came his reply, smooth and infuriatingly self-assured. His voice, lower than usual, dragged across your spine like velvet laced with steel. You heard the dull thump of his bag hitting the floor. A moment later, he stepped into your space as if it belonged to him. “Unless you missed me.”

You finally turned, offering him the flattest look you could summon. "I missed the part where you follow the schedule."

"Schedules are tedious."

"And you’re exhausting."

He hummed, letting his eyes wander over you with the kind of unrepentant interest that made your blood simmer. His head tilted slightly, all charm and provocation. “Strange. You look wide awake to me.”

He came to a halt too close—deliberately close—and there was something maddening in the way he regarded you. Expectant. Like he was waiting for you to snap. To bite. To rise.

You did not dare give into him. Not yet.

Instead, you stepped forward, refusing to retreat. "Are you going to follow the routine today? Or must I play babysitter again?"

Chan’s smile curved, sharp and wolfish. “You can try.”

He moved past you with infuriating ease, brushing his shoulder against yours in a way that felt far too intentional. You swore he did it just to steal the air from your lungs.

And it worked. You exhaled through your nose, reached for the speaker, and pressed play.

As the beat rose and the session resumed, you already knew—this would be difficult. He would not merely follow the choreography. He would flirt with it. With you. With every boundary you had erected between what was permissible and what was not.

And worse still?

You were going to let him.

The first mistake was subtle—a single beat too early. A downward roll of his shoulder when it should have lifted. Barely perceptible to anyone else—but not to you. You saw everything.

You cut the music.

The abrupt silence cracked through the air like a whip. He glanced up, one brow raised, a bead of sweat sliding down his temple, breath steady despite the interruption.

"You’re early on that step," you said as you crossed the floor toward him, your tone calm, precise, with the faint edge of authority you had learned to wield like a shield.

"I’m in the pocket," he countered, the corner of his mouth twitching. "You’re simply obsessed with clean lines."

"No, I’m obsessed with accuracy."

"Mm." He made a thoughtful sound, amused. "Is that what we’re calling it?"

You stopped in front of him. "Turn."

He obeyed—slowly, deliberately. As though he were indulging you. As though you had not earned his compliance.

You stepped into his space, eyes on his shoulders, fingers lifting to adjust the angle. The moment you touched him, everything shifted.

His muscles stilled beneath your hand. The air thickened. His breath caught, barely audible—but there. Real. Raw. You were too close. You could count the freckles scattered beneath his jaw, trace the curve of his smirk with your thumb if you dared.

"Like this," you said, your voice softening, almost in spite of yourself. Your fingers guided his arm upward. "Not down. It ruins the symmetry."

You anticipated a nod. Silence. Deference.

Instead, his gaze dropped to your hand. Then lifted to meet yours. His lips parted, just enough to be dangerous.

"Are you always this hands-on with the others?" he asked, his voice low and curling.

Your fingers twitched. You pulled away like he had scorched you.

He turned to face you fully, his expression unchanged—confident, calculating, unreadable.

"Go on," he said. "Correct me again."

The words were a dare.

An invitation.

A spark held too close to dry kindling.

Your pulse quickened. Your mouth dried.

"Keep pushing me," you murmured, almost without thinking. "See what happens."

He stepped forward, gaze unwavering.

"I am."

You held his stare.

And for a moment—just a single, suspended second—he believed you would retreat. That you would fall into old patterns: step away, bite your tongue, pretend this was not a game you both played in heat and proximity.

But not this time.

This time, you lifted your chin, voice cool and unwavering. “Is it attention you want that badly, Chan? Fine. Let’s correct the entire routine.”

You stepped forward with deliberate poise.

His eyebrows rose—barely—but the subtle arch was all the proof you needed. A hairline fracture in that maddening self-assurance.

You reached for his wrist, adjusting it into the proper position—higher, tighter, until the tension rippled through his forearm. Satisfaction bloomed in your chest at the way his breath hitched, ever so slightly. Your other hand swept across the line of his back, palms pressing flat, coaxing his shoulders into symmetry with a precision born of practiced control.

“You’re slouching,” you murmured, your tone featherlight and biting.

“I’m relaxed,” he replied, tone casual, though his posture betrayed him.

“Wrong energy.”

You moved behind him, fingers barely skimming the plane of his spine as you traced a slow descent. He stiffened beneath your touch, every muscle drawn taut, as though your proximity alone threatened to unravel him. You paused at his hips, nudging them into alignment, the silence between you swelling with something unspeakably charged.

“You like giving orders, do you?” he muttered, the words caught between a breath and a challenge.

“Only when people fail to listen.”

His head turned slightly, gaze sliding to meet yours over his shoulder. His eyes had darkened, that lazy grin now replaced by something sharper. Edged. Curious.

“Is that why you keep touching me?”

You offered a smile—sweet, sharp, devastating.

“Would you prefer I simply tell you that you’re wrong?”

And then—purposefully—you let your hands fall from him, slow and final, the ghost of your touch lingering even as you stepped away.

“Your choice, Chan,” you said with a shrug, voice dripping with implication. “Keep testing me. I don't mind showing you exactly what you can’t get away with.”

The atmosphere shifted.

His breath caught.

That ever-present smirk faltered.

And for the first time since he arrived, he remained completely still.

Throughout the rest of practice, he listened.

Not perfectly. Not without that trademark insolence glinting in the curve of his mouth or the flick of his gaze. But he listened.

Because now, he knew what it cost not to.

Every cue you gave, he followed—sharp, fluid, intentional. Every correction you made, he absorbed without a word. You watched him from the corner of your eye, and it infuriated you just how good he looked when he was focused. How easily he slipped into that quiet dominance, body cutting through the choreography like he was born to lead.

And still—you felt it.

The shift.

With every pass, the space grew tighter, the air more fraught. Every glance he threw your way bore a weight it had not held before—no longer teasing, no longer smug.

Something else had taken its place.

Something coiled. Waiting.

At one point, you reached for your water bottle and caught him watching you through the mirror—openly, steadily, unflinching. He made no effort to look away.

You raised a brow.

He licked his lower lip—slow, subtle—and exhaled the softest laugh. The sound was quiet, but it struck you like a match dragged across dry kindling.

It lingered between you. That laugh. That look. That dare.

By the time the last beat dissolved into silence, your pulse thundered in your throat, your skin overheated—not from exertion, but from him. From the unbearable presence of him, the pressure that never eased.

You knelt to unplug the speaker, sweat cooling against your spine. You never heard his footsteps—only felt the warmth of his approach, the charged silence that always accompanied him when he drew too close.

His voice came low. Measured. Dangerous.

“You push harder when you are flustered.”

You rose slowly, subconsciously standing just a little too close for professionalism. “And you make more mistakes when you want attention.”

He smiled—barely. But it was different now. The mischief was muted. The darkness had settled in. He leaned even closer to your face, mere centimetres away by now.

The proximity sent your brain into haywire—was he about to kiss you?

Then, he broke the silence softly—almost like a secret—

“So what happens when we slip?”

Your breath caught.

He did not wait for a reply. He turned and walked away, towel slung over his shoulder, leaving nothing behind but the echo of his actions and the heat it carved into your chest.

You lasted four minutes.

Four long minutes of stretching, of pretending to cool down, of rationalizing your stillness in an empty room now thick with unsaid things. You told yourself you were being responsible. That this was routine.

You waited for him to return, to shut up your flustered little brain with his lips, like he threatened to do before he left. But, the doorway remained empty. So, you went after him.

The hallway outside was dim, lit only by vending machines and flickering overhead lights. You found him by some lockers, shirt clinging to his back, head bent as he scrolled through his phone like nothing had happened.

Your voice cut through the quiet.

“You always walk away like that?”

He looked up—slowly. No trace of surprise. Just a small flicker of something that told you he expected this. Maybe even wanted it.

“That a complaint?” he asked.

You gave a half-shrug. “Doesn’t feel like your style to run.”

He offered a lazy smile, but his eyes were sharp beneath it. “I wasn’t running.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

There was a pause then. Something softer. And when he spoke again, it came quieter. “You followed me.”

The air changed again, heavier now, suspended in a silence that could shatter with one wrong word.

You took a step closer.

His eyes tracked the movement—first your mouth, then your hands, then back again.

“You keep starting things you don’t finish,” you said, your voice low.

He tilted his head, gaze steady. “And what exactly is it you want me to finish?”

You let the question settle for a breath. “Pick one.”

His jaw clenched—subtle but telling. You saw the moment something inside him shifted, his control fraying at the edges.

“You really want me to finish something?” His voice dropped, warmer now, tinged with restraint.

“I want you to stop pretending this isn’t real,” you said, barely more than a breath. “Whether you act on it or not, stop playing like it isn’t there.”

He stepped forward, closing the space between you. Still not touching. But the pressure of his presence was overwhelming.

“Then tell me,” he whispered. “Which one do you want?”

And God help you—you could not tell if he meant the choreography or the almost-kiss.

But either answer would be dangerous.

And either way, you were about to find out.

You said nothing. You had no need to.

Because something in him changed. His gaze dropped to your mouth—and stayed there. Your breath stuttered, heat washing over your skin.

He moved closer.

Not boldly. Not recklessly. Just—closer. Deliberate. His hand lifted, hovered near your jaw, fingers twitching as though asking permission he would not voice.

Your lips parted. Not in invitation. In instinct.

You did not lean in.

But your eyes flicked to his mouth—and that was all it took.

He leaned forward.

Just enough for your foreheads to brush.

Your breath mingled. His hand found your waist, not with confidence, but with care—uncertain, hesitant, like the moment might collapse beneath the weight of it.

You tilted your head, just enough for the moment to turn.

And then—

The door swung open.

Footsteps. A voice, casual and unaware: “Yo, Channie—manager’s looking for—oh. Uh..”

You broke apart as though scalded.

His hands dropped. You stumbled back. Blood roared in your ears, a deafening rush of shame and unspent want. Chan cleared his throat, turning away as if to hide what could not be hidden.

“Right,” he muttered. “Coming.”

The third voice mumbled an apology and disappeared.

And what followed was silence.

Not the charged kind. The kind that ruins everything.

Neither of you spoke at first. You didn’t even look at each other.

But as he reached for his bag, something passed between you—unspoken, trembling.

“I wasn’t going to do anything,” he said quietly.

You nodded. “Me neither.”

A beat passed.

Then the faintest, wryest smile. “We’re such liars.”

You said nothing, you just watched him walk away for the second time.

But this time, the tension did not dissipate, it settled. Sank deep into your bones.

Waiting. Waiting for the next time. The inevitable. Not if.

When.

The next time you encountered him, it was in another studio. The mirrors were unfamiliar, the playlist unfamiliar still, yet the weight beneath your skin remained unchanged. A pressure that had not dulled, only shifted—waiting. You had arrived early, already moving through stretches when he stepped in. Earlier than usual. Deliberate, perhaps. His gaze found yours too quickly, and for the briefest of moments, both of you froze, suspended in the remnants of memory. The lockers. The breathless hush of almost. The air between mouths that had nearly touched.

But no words acknowledged it.

“Morning,” he offered with the kind of ease that could only be forced, lifting one arm to stretch overhead, voice deliberately light.

“You’re on time,” you replied, nonchalant.

“Trying to be good.”

Your eyes flicked toward him, measuring.

His smile curved, laced with implication. “For now.”

Electricity pulsed between you—not overt, not overwhelming, but coiled tightly beneath the surface, waiting for friction. You chose silence, turning toward the speaker as though the task of finding a track demanded all of your focus. In truth, your hands betrayed you, trembling faintly with the effort it took to maintain distance.

The music began. The session commenced. But the silence between the beats—between the counts—spoke louder than anything the speakers delivered.

Every motion you made was shaped by awareness. His presence carved itself into your periphery, every mirrored movement sending subtle tremors down your spine. When your rhythms aligned, when his shadow stretched too close behind you, it no longer felt like mere choreography. It felt deliberate. Intimate. Dangerous.

He slipped once, losing half a beat on a glide. Your eyes met his in the mirror, and the atmosphere shifted. That heat—undeniable and hungry—returned with a vengeance.

You were the one who looked away first this time, though only just. And yet, before the song had finished its final measure, you reached for the speaker—only to find him behind you once again. Not touching. Merely present. His breath a soft warmth against your neck, the scent of sweat and something inherently him clouding your thoughts.

“Still correcting me?” he murmured, voice pitched low, brushing the back of your mind like velvet dragged slow.

You did not turn. “Do you still require correction?”

There was a pause—barely a breath—before he answered, quieter still. “Perhaps.”

Then, as though his nearness had not unraveled the composure you fought to maintain, he turned away, towel in hand, a ghost of a smile curving his lips. He left you standing there, the ache blooming inside your chest like a bruise kissed too many times.

And this time—this time—you cursed him, because it had been you who wanted to close the space. You who ached to kiss him first.

It began with a glance. He was mid-step, face composed, body fluid—until your gaze found his in the mirror once again, and you gifted him a smile far too knowing, slow and sweet, laced with an innocence you did not possess. He faltered, missing his mark by a fraction of a second.

“Too early,” you noted smoothly, your tone silk and challenge in equal measure as you crossed the studio floor. “Again.”

He cleared his throat, gave a terse nod, and reset his posture. He did not meet your gaze this time. Did not dare.

The music restarted, but you no longer danced. Instead, you circled. A quiet predator draped in calm, arms crossed, watching him with all the patience of something waiting to strike. He held steady, but you saw it—the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched slightly each time your footsteps drifted too close behind him.

You waited.

You let the chorus build.

And then you moved.

When he turned, you were there—too close again, and yet not touching, until your hand rose with precision to adjust the angle of his posture. The movement echoed your earlier correction, but this time your fingers lingered. They traced the length of his forearm, slow and deliberate, pausing at his wrist before gliding upward again, your eyes never leaving his.

“Better,” you murmured, your breath teasing the edge of his skin. “I hadn’t expected you to be so obedient.”

His breath caught—a shallow hitch—and you watched the restraint tighten across his brow.

“You like it when I touch you, don’t you?”

He tried to laugh, but the sound caught, strangled by the atmosphere. “Don’t start something you won’t finish.”

You stepped in until your chest nearly brushed his, your gaze heavy-lidded, your voice a murmur blooming like smoke between you. “Who said I wouldn’t?”

His stare burned. His hands remained clenched at his sides, but his entire body trembled with the effort to remain still.

And then you touched his chest—once, lightly, a single mocking tap over the steady thrum of his heartbeat. “Start again.”

He did not move immediately.

You saw the conflict in him, the tension that curled like a storm behind his eyes, the desire barely restrained. He waited. He wanted.

And in that hesitation, you knew you had won.

Because this time, he had no words.

This time, it was him left breathless.

You continued, unabated.

The lingering touches, the glances heavy with implication, the murmured suggestions veiled in choreographic critique—each one became more deliberate, more artfully placed. A calculated seduction cloaked in professionalism. And he? He accepted it all in stride. A faint smirk here, a deeper inhale there. But he never rose to the bait. Never stumbled. Never retaliated.

So you pressed further.

During a lull—water break, bodies gleaming with effort—you leaned casually against the far wall, the curve of your hip framed in sunlight spilling through the studio window. You sipped slowly from your bottle, letting the straw linger between your lips, tongue brushing it just so. A test.

He looked.

This time, he did not smile.

Instead, he walked toward you—unhurried, unflinching, and terrifyingly assured. Each step reverberated like a silent countdown. You straightened, half-formed wit on your tongue, some flirty retort meant to reestablish the upper hand—but you never spoke it. He reached you first.

One hand braced against the wall beside your head, grounding you in place with a subtle dominance that stole your breath. The other hand lifted, slow, deliberate, until his fingers curled beneath your chin. Gentle, yet inescapable, he tilted your face upward, commanding your gaze with nothing but touch.

His eyes were not cold—but they were unreadable. Deep and calm, like a still ocean hiding a storm just beneath the surface.

“You finished?” he asked, voice low and unshaken.

Your stomach dropped, heat coiling in its place. “What?” you whispered.

“Playing.”

You blinked, feigned confusion. “I wasn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

His grip did not tighten, but it also did not relent. His thumb traced lightly along the line of your jaw, as though mapping it to memory—or warning.

“You’re charming when you tease,” he murmured, the edge of a smile tugging at his lips, though it held no mirth. Only precision. “But don’t forget what could happen when I stop indulging you.”

Your breath caught. Blood surged, dizzy and hot beneath your skin.

He studied you like a man memorizing a work of art—one he intended to wreck, piece by piece. His voice remained smooth, but it darkened, dipping into something far more dangerous.

“You believe you’re in control here?” His smile sharpened, languid and lethal. “Princess, I’ve only allowed you to think so.”

Then he leaned in—not enough to kiss, not quite. But his breath caressed your skin, hot and deliberate, brushing your ear like a secret.

“You want to be a brat? Go on, be my guest,” he breathed. “Just remember—”

He withdrew, slowly, his gaze sweeping you from head to toe with devastating intention.

“Brats get handled.”

And then he stepped back. Casual. Composed. As if he had not just stolen every shred of power from your body and left it trembling in your veins.

You remained there—motionless, lips parted, heart thrumming in your throat. Breathless, undone.

You knew, then. The game had shifted.

The next round?

You would not be the one in control.

But you did not stop. Even after that moment at the wall—after the words that laced threat with promise, after the heat of his breath echoing in your skin like a burn—you could not seem to stop. Perhaps it was the way he looked at you now, gaze simmering with warning and anticipation, like a man one heartbeat away from devouring. Perhaps it was the thrill—the exquisite danger of pushing too far, too fast, too close.

But today, he was done playing.

Today, he struck the match.

You had been playing a dangerous game—one step too close, one brush too many, your body skimming his in a way that most certainly did not belong to the choreography. And he saw it. Saw you smirk at your own boldness in the mirror.

That was all it took.

The music cut, abrupt and echoing in the sudden hush that followed. The studio stilled. Heads lifted. A few half-smiles, expecting a correction, perhaps even a teasing remark.

But he did not joke.

He turned to you. “Come here.”

Your stomach turned over at the sound of it—low, commanding, unmistakable. You hesitated, just long enough to register your heartbeat climbing.

“I said—” His tone sharpened. He snapped his fingers, pointed to the floor in front of him with infuriating precision. “Come. Here.”

You moved, pulse thudding like thunder in your ears.

He did not touch you. Not at first. He circled you slowly, like a thought forming in real time, eyes raking over your frame with unnerving composure. And then, he began to correct.

His hand settled at your hip, adjusting the tilt with a firm, measured push. His palm rose to your arm, guiding it upward, fingers splayed just wide enough to graze the sensitive space below your ribs. He stepped in closer, lifted your chin with a single knuckle—not gently, not cruelly, but with a control that brokered no disobedience.

He said nothing.

Not until he stood behind you, breath whispering against your ear like silk edged in flame.

“You want to be a brat?” he murmured. “Very well.”

His hands did not wander—they instructed. They placed. They demanded.

“You will hold this form. You will listen. And if you test me again—”

He leaned in, just close enough for the strength in your knees to falter.

“—I’ll deal with you in private.”

And then he stepped away. As though the warning had never left his lips. As though he had not just carved a promise into your spine with the threat of restraint.

You remained where he placed you—locked in position, every nerve alight, throat tight with anticipation.

And from that moment forward?

You behaved. But it was not fear that tethered your obedience.

It was desire.

After the rehearsal had concluded, you gathered your things in silence, though every motion, every breath, was steeped in tension. You felt his presence behind you like heat radiating from a fire you refused to face. Each glance toward the mirror caught his reflection—poised, dispassionate, but never inattentive.

He was watching.

Waiting.

Your steps carried you to the smaller practice room—the one without windows, the one with a door that locked. You stepped inside. The door closed behind you with a soft, decisive click.

You did not need to turn.

He followed. Still, he did not speak.

He moved toward you with the same deliberate calm, the air between you darkening, thickening, drawing tight around your throat. His eyes raked over your body—not with lust, but with intent. Calculation. Possession.

“You don’t listen,” he said, his voice quiet, surgical in its stillness.

You did not reply.

“You flirt. You provoke. You test.”

He stopped in front of you.

“And when I warn you?”

You glanced at his lips, unthinking.

His hand snapped to your jaw—not violently, but with unwavering dominance—redirecting your gaze back to his with a pressure that brooked no defiance.

“You smile.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Then, without ceremony, he leaned in. His lips did not find yours. Instead, they brushed your cheek—deliberate, lingering. A claim, not a kiss.

“You wanted this,” he whispered, voice deep enough to tremble through your bones. “Every little stunt. Every subtle touch. Every glance.”

He pulled back, just enough to study your expression.

“You wanted to be handled. Is that right?”

You swallowed. “Yes.”

His smile returned, slow and devastating.

“Then put your hands behind your back.”

Your breath stilled.

“Now.”

And you obeyed.

The moment your wrists crossed behind you, he moved—swift, precise. One hand gripped your hip, dragging your body flush to his. The other tangled in your hair, firm but controlled, tilting your head until your throat bared for him.

“You don’t speak unless I say so,” he growled, voice rich with heat and power. “You don’t move unless I command it.”

A kiss, featherlight, brushed just beneath your ear.

“And you don’t come until I allow it.”

You shuddered.

He felt it. Smiled.

“Good,” he murmured against your skin. “Lesson begins now, right?”

His fingers tightened in your hair—not cruelly, but with authority. A signal. A seal.

You nod meekly in answer.

He tilted your head just enough to force your gaze to his, his thumb ghosting along your jaw with a delicacy that belied the command in his posture. His eyes locked to yours—unchanging, fathomless, a storm beneath glass.

“Words.”

“Yes,” you whisper.

He studies you for a moment longer, then releases your hair with a final stroke and began pacing behind you. Slow. Silent.

You did not turn to look. The weight of his eyes was too heavy to bear.

You felt him instead—circling, appraising, plotting every step like a predator does when they know the prey cannot go anywhere.

Then, without warning, his voice unfurled at your ear—low, deliberate, velvet-wrapped steel.

“Take off your jacket.”

You obeyed. Fingers trembling slightly, you slid the fabric from your shoulders. Slowly. Precisely. Offering him the ritual of your submission with each inch revealed.

He didn’t move to help. Didn’t lift a hand to touch.

Just watched.

When it fell to the floor in a soft rustle, he made a sound—deep and approving, barely more than a hum.

“Good girl.”

The words landed like fire in your chest.

“Now,” he murmured, “come here.”

You stepped forward, heart caught in your throat. But before you could close the distance, he halted you with a hand at your hip. His grip was firm—anchoring, possessive. You felt the shape of his restraint pressed against your body, his power held tightly in check.

Still, he did not kiss you.

Instead, his palm slid upward, trailing the curve of your waist with exquisite slowness, watching your eyes as if waiting for the moment they’d break.

“You know what I want?”

You shook your head, breath caught in your lungs.

His fingertips ghosted along the edge of your waistband—just enough to tease, never enough to give.

“I want to hear you beg.”

Your breath stuttered. But before you could speak, his smile curved—dangerous.

“Not yet.”

Then suddenly—motion. Heat. Pressure.

His hands closed around your hips, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. He placed you on the table’s edge, the wood cool and unyielding beneath your thighs. He spread your knees, stepping into the space he now owned like he’d claimed it by right.

His mouth brushed your cheek. Barely there.

“You’ve been restless all week,” he murmured, breath hot and intimate. “Acting out. Testing limits. All so I’d give you this.”

“I—” you started, but your voice came out as a whisper, shaky and small.

His hand slid beneath your shirt, knuckles trailing your spine, an ache of contact that never satisfied—too light, too brief, too intentional.

“Quiet,” he said, voice like silk drawn tight. “You don’t speak unless I say.”

You nodded.

He clicked his tongue softly. “Still not listening.”

Then his mouth descended on your throat—not with tenderness, but with claim. Each kiss dragged, teased, taunted. He pulled soft, involuntary sounds from you—gasps that dared to break past your lips before you swallowed them down.

His hand dipped lower, brushed between your thighs—once. Barely.

Your body jerked forward, instinct chasing what it needed.

Immediately, he withdrew.

“Don’t,” he growled—low, sharp, searing. “Do. Not. Move.”

You froze. Eyes wide. Breath stalled.

He waited until the tremble settled in your legs, then tilted his head with that maddening smirk.

“I thought you wanted to be good.”

“I do,” you said, the words spilling out, hoarse and needy.

“Then prove it.”

And with that, he stepped back—not to leave you, not to show mercy, but to begin.

To take his time.

To teach you exactly what it meant to fall apart at the hands of someone who delighted in denying you everything until you earned it.

He returned to that maddening rhythm—touching, teasing, coaxing you to the precipice only to steal it away with surgical precision. Again. And again. Each retreat more cruel than the last. Each denied high a blade across your nerve endings.

Your thighs trembled, the ache blooming into something unbearable, your lips parting in a silent plea you no longer knew how to suppress.

His mouth traced your collarbone like a secret he’d memorized. Up the delicate slope of your throat, across your jaw—each kiss a promise without fulfillment, a cruelty dressed in velvet.

Still, he didn’t kiss you.

Still, he withheld.

“You feel that?” he murmured, voice a warm breath against your skin, fingers pressing almost—almost—to where you burned for him.

You nodded, a frantic gasp caught in your throat, a tremor running through you like lightning.

But he only leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper edged with wickedness.

“Not even close to earning it yet.”

Then—emptiness.

He stepped back, stripping you of warmth, of touch, of relief. You were left gasping, trembling, hands clenched in the fabric of your shirt like you might come apart if you let go.

His smile as he watched you was both tender and merciless—beautiful and brutal.

“You’ll beg soon,” he said, voice like a verdict.

And then, to your disbelief, he turned.

Walked to the other side of the room with unhurried grace. Dragged a chair across the floor, the sound scraping through the silence like a dare. He sat—legs spread, arms folded, gaze fixed on you with the full weight of his dominance.

“Try again,” he said. “From the top.”

Because this wasn’t indulgence.

This wasn’t even pleasure.

This was a lesson—and you, trembling and undone, were the student.

The chair groaned beneath him as he leaned back—composed, commanding. He looked relaxed, leisurely, like a man with all the time in the world.

But you knew better.

His eyes were sharp—cut-glass cold. Unforgiving. Watching not just your body, but the unraveling of your will. He wasn’t waiting.

He was watching you fall. A performance, a masterpiece in the making.

A slow, sweet descent into obedience.

You were still trembling—perched on the edge, slick and aching, every nerve a livewire. Jaw set tight, lips parted, your whole body strung taut with need. And still, you did not move.

Not until he allowed it.

His voice slid into the silence like silk over a blade.

“Go on,” he said, low and unhurried. “Beg.”

You blinked, your breath catching, heart stuttering like it had forgotten how to beat.

“What… what do you want me to say?”

That earned you a slow, dangerous smile.

“I want you to admit it. Tell me what you need.”

The silence stretched. Heavy. Punishing. You swallowed.

“I… I need you to touch me.”

He hummed—displeased. Like that wasn’t enough.

“You’ll need to do better than that.”

Your hands clenched into trembling fists. Your voice, when it came again, was louder. Frantic.

“Please. Please—just touch me. I need—”

He leaned forward just enough to steal your breath.

“That what all this attitude was about? All week?” he asked. “Pushing buttons, playing games—just to fall apart at my feet?”

Shame flared hot across your cheeks, but you nodded. The truth clung to you like heat, undeniable.

“Say it,” he ordered.

Your throat worked. You were already breathless.

“I want to come for you,” you whispered.

His smile sharpened, cruel and beautiful.

“And why should I let you?”

“I can’t think—I can’t breathe—” The words tumbled out in broken pieces. “I’ve been aching since you walked in—I need you to take it—I’ll be good, I swear—please, please—”

And then he moved.

Two strides. A fist in your hair. He tilted your head up, forcing your eyes to his.

“You’ll be good?” he growled.

“Yes.”

“You’ll listen?”

“Yes—yes, I promise—”

“No more bratty little stunts unless I ask for them?”

“God, yes—please—”

His mouth descended on yours in a brutal kiss—hot and claiming, teeth and tongue, a devouring hunger unleashed. His hands gripped you everywhere—commanding, unrelenting—like your pleading had finally torn the leash from his restraint.

And then he pressed you to the mirrored wall. One hand slipped between your thighs, the other pinned your wrists high above your head.

He smiled.

“There she is,” he murmured, reverent and wrecking.

And you broke.

Not from the touch itself, but from what it meant—that he had made you wait for it. That you had earned this.

He kissed you like he had starved for it. No space. No mercy. Just his mouth consuming yours, swallowing every whimper, every gasp. One hand fisted in your shirt, the other tracing fire between your legs—not teasing this time.

This time, it was real.

Your hips jolted forward, seeking more, but he pulled back—just a hair.

“Don’t,” he said, voice razor-sharp. “You begged to be good. Be good.”

You froze. Your whole body trembling in the silence that followed.

His smile was maddening.

And then he moved again.

His fingers pressed between your thighs—deep, slow, deliberate strokes over fabric. Not fast. Not generous. Just enough to have you writhing, your hands twitching in his grip.

“Still,” he reminded.

You obeyed. Barely.

His mouth traveled down your neck—biting, soothing, leaving traces only he would know were there.

“I could keep you like this all night,” he murmured. “Dripping, trembling, obedient. Until you forget everything except how to beg.”

You whimpered—weak, wrecked.

His fingers circled your clit again, slow and torturous.

“You’d let me, wouldn’t you?” he whispered. “Let me take you apart. Piece by perfect piece.”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Please—”

“Then ask.”

“Please… let me come.”

He stilled.

And smiled.

“Good girl.”

Then everything changed.

He slipped beneath your waistband, found you bare, drenched, desperate. Two fingers pushed deep, curling just right, sending shockwaves down your spine. You cried out, your body arching, but he held you fast—his strength the only anchor in the storm.

“You hear yourself?” he growled, mouth against your ear. “So fucking loud. So needy. You were made for this.”

He moved with purpose now—no longer denying, but delivering. Each thrust of his fingers uncoiled something unbearable inside you. His mouth was at your neck again, claiming every sound, every twitch, every unraveling breath.

“You take it so well,” he whispered. “Fucking perfect.”

Your body tightened—hips trembling, core clenching around him.

“Say it,” he commanded. “Who do you come for?”

“You,” you gasped. “You—Chan, fuck—please—”

“Then come.”

And you did.

With a cry that shattered the silence. Your body convulsed, clinging to him, coming apart in his hands while he whispered you through it, holding you like something precious. Reverent. Relentless.

“That’s it,” he breathed. “That’s my girl.”

Your vision blurred. Your limbs trembled. But he didn’t stop.

He slipped his fingers free—wet, glistening. He moved to hold them up to your mouth.

“Open.”

You obeyed wordlessly, to which he slid them past your lips, watching as you sucked yourself clean, dazed and undone.

“That’s right,” he whispered, “You’re all mine.”

And then—he lifted you.

A gasp escaped before you could stop it, air rushing from your lungs as the ground disappeared. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs instinctively circling his waist. His grip was firm, assured—like he’d done this a thousand times in the dark of his mind. He carried you like you weighed nothing, then lowered you into the chair with reverence, like he was crowning you, before sinking to his knees between your spread thighs.

“You don’t get to stop now,” he murmured, dragging you forward until you were right where he wanted. “I decide when you’re done.”

You barely managed a nod before his mouth was on you.

His tongue moved slowly—devastatingly—like he intended to savor every inch, like you were something forbidden he’d finally been allowed to taste. He licked into you with aching patience, moaning against your soaked skin, hands gripping your thighs with a possessive edge as he opened you wider, held you still.

You tried to shift.

He growled.

“Still,” he ordered.

A whimper rose from your throat.

He only smiled, smug and sinful, and kept going—flicking the tip of his tongue over your clit until your eyes rolled back, sucking you softly until you cried out, until your legs trembled around his head and tried to close. He forced them open again with a harsh squeeze, unrelenting.

“No running.”

And then you shattered—quick, brutal, your climax torn from you in a sob that barely sounded human.

But he didn’t stop.

Didn’t pause.

He kept licking, mouth locked to your heat, tongue dragging through your second orgasm as it surged up behind the first—hot and helpless, tearing through you as your body arched, your fingers twisted in his hair, and your voice broke on his name.

When you finally slumped, boneless and breathless, reaching for him with a wrecked sort of need, he rose.

Unbuckled.

His cock was flushed, hard, slick with precum as he stroked himself lazily, watching you with a hunger that made your knees shake all over again.

“Get on my lap,” he said, voice dark velvet—an order barely veiled in honey.

Your breath hitched, heart pounding against your ribs as you obeyed, your limbs moving on instinct alone. You climbed into his arms with a quiet gasp, thighs trembling as they slid around his waist. His hands guided you with slow precision, anchoring your hips as he settled you astride him. The chair groaned beneath the shift of weight, wood creaking with every motion like it, too, was aware of what was about to happen.

“Take it,” he murmured, eyes burning.

Your fingers trembled as they slipped between your bodies, wrapping around his cock—hot, heavy, slick with need. You guided him to your entrance, breath shallow as your body quivered with anticipation, still pulsing from the high he’d already coaxed from you.

You began to sink down—inch by inch, unbearably slow.

He filled you like fire—stretching you wide, pushing into the sensitive ache he’d left raw and wanting. The pressure stole your breath, your spine arching as you took more of him, your walls fluttering helplessly around the thick drag of him.

He didn’t help.

Didn’t thrust.

Didn’t move.

He just watched—utterly still beneath you, like a king on his throne, content to let his prize struggle to claim him. His hands rested on your hips, warm and commanding, but he offered no lift, no aid—only possession. His gaze tracked every twitch of your mouth, every tremor in your thighs, every desperate gasp you made as you worked to take all of him.

“You can take more,” he rasped, his voice jagged with restraint. “Be good for me. All the way.”

You whimpered, nearly undone by the fullness—the way he stretched you open, made you feel too much. But you didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Not with the way he was looking at you, like nothing had ever captivated him more.

Finally, with a trembling sob, you sank the last inch, until he was buried to the hilt—hot, thick, deep. Your body clenched, fluttering in overwhelmed surrender, your thighs quaking around him as you tried to breathe through it.

He didn’t move.

Just one large hand rose, slow and sure, to wrap around your throat—not tight, but claiming. He tilted your face up until your eyes met his.

“Now ride.”

You tried.

You set a rhythm—fragile, unsteady, the rise and fall of your body a stuttering dance over his cock. Each descent was a war against gravity and exhaustion, your slick walls dragging along his length in maddening friction. But your strength was spent, your body trembling from earlier pleasure, and your movements slowed with every pulse of overstimulation.

He watched you falter—watched the way your head dropped to his shoulder, your grip on him desperate and shaking.

And then he took over.

His grip on your hips turned unyielding, and he slammed you down onto him with brutal precision. His thrusts were deliberate—slow, devastating, designed not for pace but for impact. Each one drove up into you with a punishing force, making your eyes roll back as he filled you again and again, bottoming out so deep you saw stars.

“Still think you’re in charge?” he panted against your ear. “Still think you can tease me, push me, and not pay for it?”

You sobbed, lips parted, unable to form a single word as your next climax rushed toward you like a breaking wave.

He caught your face again, palm hot against your cheek, thumb dragging across your lower lip.

“Look at me,” he growled. “You’re gonna come again. On my cock. Right now.”

And you did.

Your body broke like glass—shattered and blinding and unbearable. Your head fell back, mouth open in a silent scream as you clenched hard around him, your walls fluttering in helpless spasms as pleasure exploded in white-hot waves through your core.

But he wasn’t done.

He held you there—crushed against his chest—and kept thrusting into you. His pace slowed, but the force remained—deep, relentless, possessive. He fucked you through the aftershocks, through the sobs, through the trembling collapse of your strength.

“I’m gonna fill you up,” he groaned, voice breaking. “So deep you’ll feel me dripping out of you every time you move. You’ll think of me every time your thighs press together.”

You clenched around him, broken by his words.

And it was enough.

He let out a guttural moan and buried himself to the base, spilling inside you with a shudder that rocked through both your bodies. His hips stilled, jaw clenched tight as warmth spread between your thighs, thick and hot and endless.

You collapsed against him.

Ruined.

Shaking.

His.

The silence that followed felt holy. Your breath came in broken exhales against his shoulder, your fingers tangled in the damp hair at the nape of his neck. His hand rubbed slow circles into your back, grounding you as you melted into him—sweat-slicked and spent.

“You alive?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper.

You nodded, the movement barely there. “Barely.”

He chuckled, low and tender. “Didn’t tap out. I’m impressed.”

“You didn’t let me,” you mumbled, lips brushing his skin.

“Of course not,” he said, mock-affronted. “You begged for this. Over and over.”

You groaned weakly, burying your face in his neck. He laughed again, thumb sliding beneath your chin to tilt your head.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Look at me.”

And his gaze—soft now, reverent—melted everything inside you.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “Really okay.”

“Good,” he murmured, and kissed you slowly. Like a thanks. Like a promise. Like a home.

Then—“Gonna have to carry you to the showers, aren’t I?”

You scowled. “I can walk.”

He arched a brow. “Is that so?”

You tried to shift—and winced.

His grin turned feral.

“Thought so,” he said smugly. “Guess I’ll have to take care of you. Again. What a burden.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Obviously. You were such a brat. And now look at you—wrecked and clinging to me like I’m the only thing keeping you alive.”

You slapped his chest half-heartedly.

He caught your wrist, brought your fingers to his lips, and kissed them with mock solemnity.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered as he stood with you cradled in his arms. “I’ll deal with you properly once you’ve recovered.”

You blinked, dazed. “That wasn’t properly?”

His smirk darkened.

“Oh no, sweetheart,” he said, walking toward the showers. “That was just the start.”

You were curled against his chest, limbs boneless, body swaddled in the oversized hoodie he’d tugged over your head with gentle hands—still warm from him, still carrying the ghost of his cologne. That scent—clean, musky, unmistakably him—wrapped around you like second skin, grounding you in the aftermath.

A thick studio blanket had been pulled from the couch and thrown over both your bodies, tangled at your waists where your legs remained loosely knotted, thigh to thigh, hip to hip. The lights had been dimmed to a golden hush. Somewhere, the mirror still wore the breath of your bodies—fogged and glistening in the low light, like it remembered.

Everything was slow now. Quiet.

His fingers brushed idle shapes into your bare thigh, the pads of them warm and absentminded, like he couldn’t stop touching you, even when he had no destination in mind. His voice came low, laced with the softness of a man who'd thoroughly undone you, and was still basking in the afterglow of your ruin.

“You were good,” he murmured, tone deceptively casual. “Eventually.”

You huffed into his shoulder, lips twitching. “I tried.”

He hummed, thoughtful and amused, his lips brushing against your temple like punctuation.

“Next time,” he whispered, the words velvet and sin against your skin, “don’t make me work so hard.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut as you nestled closer into the cradle of his arms. “Where’s the fun in that?”

His chest rumbled with a deep, lazy laugh—content and unhurried—as he tilted his head and pressed a kiss to your hair.

“God,” he said, almost to himself, “you’re lucky I like you.”

A quiet grin curved your lips, full of warmth and weariness and something dangerously close to love.

“I know,” you whispered.

And then there was nothing but his steady heartbeat beneath your cheek, the rhythm of his breath against your back, and the comforting weight of his embrace as he held you there—tucked safely in the stillness, limbs entangled, skin to skin in the hush that followed the storm.

He did not speak again, he just kept holding you, as if he were protecting your tired form from the world outside his arms.

soo this was a lil longer than expected......

taglist (ask to be added here): @petersasteria @gdinthehouseee @aizshallnotbefound @burlesquerade @floofeh-purpi @ldydeath @wcnderlnds @ttturnitup @breakmeoff @sherrayyyyy @ricecake9999 @leni111 @scream-queen-25 @spiritualgirly444 @fairyprincesslvr21 @loonybunny1 @uuchii @sherxoo @m-325

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nudijsmos · 2 months ago

Text

₊ 𖦹﹕TEAR YOU APART! ₊˚ c. bangchan.

summary: Dating as a supernatural being has always been difficult for you, but thanks to Mystic Match—a new dating app for monsters and the supernatural—you found your current partner: a werewolf. The only thing that has been bothering you is not being able to spend your heat cycles together. But tonight, you're determined to change that.

Or, the one where wolf!chan and bunny!reader spend their heat together for the first time by accident.

tags: werewolf!bangchan, bunny!reader, beastars AU, hybrids, petnames, heat cycle, rough sex, male dom, fem sub, size difference, predator/prey dynamics, forced heat/induced heat, knotting, dirty talk, doggy style, a blink-and-you-miss-it moment of aftercare.

wc: 5.6k

a/n: reader’s a bunny hybrid of a french lop and her petname’s flops. this work is a collaboration with @doestalker. english is not my first language!

[This was based by this script by AdventKitt on ScriptBin. All the corresponding credits go to them for inspiring this fanfiction.]

In the modern world, supernaturals and monsters were not as feared as they were centuries ago. Now they were able to roam the streets and live their life like every other human just with sharper teeth and more body hair than them. You could say that the normalization of the supernatural would also better the chances of dating. And it did, for most of them.

Them not including you. A shy bunny hybrid like you could never go out to a bar and start a conversation without feeling like a burden to anyone, even if they showed interest in you. You were just not made for the whole casual thing, the flirting with strangers, the hooking up and one night stands—you felt like you were built for something more meaningful, a genuine connection with someone else.

All of your friends encouraged you to get out of your shell and “just talk to someone”, but they didn’t get it, that you wanted long-term commitment from a partner instead of just a wild night and a kiss goodbye. Whenever you went out with them, they would always bring up the fact that you haven’t dated someone in the past two years as a way to manipulate you into going to someone and flirting with them. It obviously didn’t work. But you didn’t mind it, you knew it was in their best interest, they wanted to see you happy with someone.

After many failed attempts to throw you in the dating pool of your city, they opted for a new approach to convince you. They’ve been talking for a few weeks about this new dating app for supernaturals that was super trendy at the time—Mystic Match. You were a bit skeptical about the whole thing, you thought it might be dangerous to meet up with someone you met online, but all the stories your friends told you about the app actually succeeding at matching them with people they liked got into your head and convinced you to make a profile.

It was a simple yet cute bio, a nice selfie of you in front of the mirror and your favourite hobbies. You were looking for someone older than you, that you could spend a cozy evening with, that was kind and funny, and that liked sweets as much as you did.

The first week was hell. All kinds of monsters and hybrids ghosting you, sending unsolicited nudes, standing you up on dates or just being too boring for you. You almost gave up on the whole thing, but it was a new profile popping up on the app that caught your attention.

Name: Christopher Bangchan. Type: Werewolf 🐺 Age: 26 (in human years) About Me: Full moon enthusiast. When I’m not running out in the woods I’m working as a personal trainer. I’m looking for someone who I can share late-night adventures with, belly rubs and lazy morning naps. What I’m Looking For: A soulmate who doesn’t mind a little fur on their couch and enjoys midnight snacks. I don’t mind if you’re not a werewolf ― I believe love transcends species!.

You giggled at the silly humor and the attractive selfie the guy had chosen. You’d never dated a werewolf before. Being around a predator as a prey-hybrid was a big deal for your kind—all the cautionary tales your mom told you when you were little flashed through your mind for a second. But you brushed them off and swiped right. The world has come a long way since your mother’s time.

When the date finally happened, it was as if the universe felt bad for all your past failed attempts and decided to make it up to you with a giant werewolf sporting cute dimples and puppy eyes. A simple coffee date turned into a second date at a bar, which led to a third at a restaurant, followed by a kiss in front of your door. And just like that, six months later, you found yourself in a beautiful relationship.

Bangchan was all that you could ask for and more. He has been a gentleman the entirety of your blossoming relationship. The only thing that’s been bothering you is the fact that anytime both your cycles sync up, he pushes you away until they end. He has helped you with your heat when it came before or after his, but not the other way around.

Since you’ve never known a werewolf like that, you didn’t have any idea what it was like for them during heat. To you, a bunny hybrid, was a time when you were super needy and clingy and horny. So being away from your boyfriend at a time like that was some kind of psychological torture. You didn’t know how you could have spent the past two years of heat without his massive cock filling you up. Him keeping it away from you when you needed it the most and when he also needed to pound you the most was so mean of him!

Luckily you managed to convince him to come over to your apartment and talk about it. You were open about everything else, so syncing cycles were so complicated. A touchy or sensitive topic to talk about. He always understood your opinions on certain things about the relationship so you wanted the same, and if this situation was far away from his confort, you wanted him to tell you so you would not step over his boundaries.

A loud knock sound made you step out from your thoughts, running to your door just to see that man standing with his characteristic smile abroad his face, God he was too much.

“Hey Flops,” greeted your boyfriend. He liked to call you like that because of your floppy bunny ears falling on the sides of your head. “Hope I didn’t make you wait long.” He said, as he embraced you in his warm arms. His wooden coffee scent mixed with his cologne enveloped you and you buried your nose further into his chest so you could take in more of it. He hummed as you tighten your grip around him, liking the way you fit in his arms.

After a little small talk you both made your way into the living room space. He sat by your side on the comfy sofa and rested his left arm around your shoulders. “So, what is it that you wanted to talk about again?”

You paused for a moment before letting out a sigh, taking courage. “I wanted to know why we haven't spent our cycles together when they sync up.”

“Ah, I figured you’d ask that,” said Bangchand with a small laugh, his tone changing to that of a mix of anxiety and nervousness. He scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know I’ve been avoiding us doing anything intimate when we get closer to our cycles. I-It’s not that I don’t wanna do anything with you!”

“Well…it feels like you don't, because I feel like you always push me away when I need you the most,” the man let out a nervous sigh, he did really care about your feelings and everything about you. You were right, he did in fact push you away in many encounters. But he believed he was doing the right thing! It was too early to show you his most feral and unhinged form, the one who knew no boundaries and only cared about scratching his itch. He didn’t want to scare you, he knew how delicate a relationship between a prey and a predator could be, and he loved you so much it would actually kill him if you started to fear him.

“Look, I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t want to spend that time with you. I’m just― fuck,” he interrupted himself with an anxious chuckle. “Sorry, I’m not the best at explaining things.” He took a slight deep breath before continuing speaking. “The main reason I want to avoid us having sex in our cycles is because I can get… Well, a little too aggressive…”

“But—” you started to complain, but he cut you off.

“And no, it’s not the normal kind of aggressiveness you would expect from a predator. I’ve had some pretty bad experiences,” his face wrinkled when the memories flashed on his mind, “in my younger days, when I would be intimate with someone during that time. So no, it’s not just you. I’ve been avoiding intimacy during my heat for a long, long time.”

There was a long pause before you filled in the silence. “I can handle it,” you mumbled, cheeks heating up.

“Hmm?” hummed the raven-haired man, an incredulous look in his eyes and a small smile showing off his dimples.

“I know you’ve had some bad moments, but I honestly believe I can handle it. I’m not made of glass, especially during heat.”

“I like your enthusiasm, Flops, but I’m not talking about some simple kind of aggressiveness. It’s not the regular kind humans experience, it’s something much more… primal. I know about your ex-boyfriends, I doubt you’d been with someone like that,” he chuckled. “It’s something that lives deep inside my skin. It’s like a need to have some sort of control over the person I choose to mate with.”

You frowned at the sight of your boyfriend, trying your best not to burst in frustration. You weren’t some delicate porcelain doll anymore—you craved his touch just as much as he claimed to crave yours, in that raw, primal way.

“But baby, I know you’re not the same guy you were before,” you huffed, a teasing smile creeping onto your lips. Leaning in, your mouth hovered just inches from his. “I’m not as weak as you think,” you murmured, your voice small and shy—just to mess with him.

“I know you are, Flops… it’s just—” Bangchan looked at you and felt dizzy for a moment, every inch of you driving him crazier than regular. Your face, the way your lips pouted as you spoke, the way you sat so close to him. Fuck. “I never said that you were.”

He sounded so flustered all of the sudden, like he was trying to filter the words coming out of his mouth so they didn’t sound insulting to you. You rolled your eyes and straddled his lap, feeling a hint of satisfaction from the way his warm hands instinctively settled on your waist. From the amount of cuddling you both did, this position became quite natural. You placed your hands on his neck and the instant his nervous eyes met your gaze, all of his muscles relaxed. “Even if I was used to mating with other prey hybrids before, I promise I can, in fact, handle you, Christopher,” you said in a soft voice, trying to calm down that giant anxious mess of a boyfriend.

You could tell by his body language and the way his scent hitched and spread all over the room that his rut was coming. The suddenly-strong smell of coffee and wood and leather was starting to affect you, making you feel lightheaded. His hands, still on your waist, pulled you closer to his chest.

“Let me help you with your heat, baby, pretty please,” you hummed, playing with the soft baby hairs on the back of his neck.

“M-My heat? What?”

Oh. He didn’t realize he was in heat?

“Oh, fuck!” he whisper-yelled. “I really thought I had more time. I can’t believe I didn’t keep track this time! Shit, it must have come early or something.”

His stressed pheromones were bittering the nice smell of the room. You wrinkled your nose a little.

“Flops, please get off my lap,” there was concern in his voice, but the fire in his eyes was telling you to stay right where you were. You didn’t move, and despite his request and his obvious strength, he didn’t move you either. “It’s a really bad time, babe, get off or―”

“Or what?” You cut him off, one eyebrow lifted as you crossed your arms in front of your chest.

“Or I’ll do something we’ll both regret.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Stop being so careful with me, Chris…” You pouted. “I love you. I would never regret helping you out.” Your hands were back on Bangchan’s neck as they pulled him towards you. Your lips connected in a slow kiss where you were the one in control.

“Princess, please…” he mumbled between kisses. “I know you want to help me, fuck, I can smell it on you. I just don’t want to hurt you by accid—”.

You silenced him with another kiss, this one needier, more desperate. Still, it wasn’t enough to completely distract him.

“Flops, I’m being serious. I need you to—”. His words faltered, a low growl rumbling from deep in his chest as your hips rolled against his lap. “—get off my lap.”

His voice might have sounded like a warning, but his scent, the way his hands gripped your waist, and the heat radiating from him told a completely different story.

But your kisses were cut short as his hands suddenly shoved you away, sending you sprawling onto the soft carpet. A startled gasp left your lips as you looked up at him. From this angle, his tall frame loomed over you, more menacing than ever.

Your gaze flickered to the living room window—the clouds were shifting, slowly unveiling the full moon at its highest point in the night sky.

It was time.

Bangchan’s body began to change. His sharp canines grew even longer, glinting like knives meant to tear through flesh with ease. His warm brown eyes burned into a bright amber glow. His nails extended into short, deadly claws, and his wolf ears twitched, fully perked, as if he were locked in a constant state of alert.

He growled—a sound unlike anything you’d ever heard from him before. It was deep, raw, and primal, sending a shiver down your spine. The sheer vibration of it made every hair on your body stand on end, triggering every prey instinct buried inside you. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to run.

But the scent—God, the scent—was intoxicating. Sharp and overwhelming, it curled around you like an invisible force, keeping you rooted in place. Your breath hitched as you stared at him, mesmerized, watching your boyfriend caught between man and beast—his half-true form both terrifying and captivating.

You should have been afraid. You should have run.

But you couldn’t.

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. You naughty bunny…” His voice sounded a little bit deeper. His eyes roamed kneeled form up and down. “Look at you. Such wide eyes you have, but that smell…” He deeply sniffed the air and let out a chuckle. “Fuck, that’s not just fear I’m smelling from you.”

He leaned in closer, his face now mere inches from yours, the heat of his body radiating against your skin. His sharp amber eyes burned into you as he inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring. Another low, rumbling chuckle left his throat - amused.

His breath fanned over your parted lips. “I can smell the desire coming off you,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement. “It’s sweet… like nectar.”

His canines glinted as he curled his lips into a slow, knowing smile. His claws traced lazily over your hair, just enough to make you shiver.

“Look how small you are compared to me. Such a delicate, beautiful little darling…” His golden eyes gleamed with something unreadable, something dark and possessive. “I can already see the heat starting to take you over… ah, those beautiful eyes of yours.”

His voice was deep and unhurried, each word drawn out with a lazy confidence, and the rich vocal fry sending waves of heat down your spine. Your stomach fluttered at the sound, at the way he loomed over you, at the intoxicating mix of danger and desire wrapped around you like a snare.

Whenever you were taken over by your heat, your pupils would dilate in a way that consumed almost all the colour of your eyes. Bangchan’d always liked how your eyes morphed into a doe-like shape, he said they looked bigger and shined so pretty. If the warmth spreading across your cheeks was any indication, they should be fully flushed by now. And your panties were probably ruined by now from all the slick your cunt was producing.

Bangchan sniffed deeply, followed by a satisfied groan when the pheromones of your arousal stuck on the back of his nose. Every groan and growl coming from him ended up making more of a mess on your underwear. Not even your best detergent would make them soft again.

“Mm, such a sweet scent,” purred Bangchan, looking at you from above, his amber eyes focusing on every little detail of your body. “Look at that ass,” he growled between teeth. “That fluffy little tail is the best part. The way you shake it, you look like a puppy,” he laughed, caressing your shoulders with his large hands. They were warm, not surprising because every creature’s body temperature rises whenever in heat. “Let’s take this short off, mhm?”

You did as told, shimmying your pajama shorts off along with your underwear, tossing them aside on the floor. He hummed in approval, that went straight to your core.

“C’mon baby, on the couch, ass up. I need to taste that sweet cunt.”

Again, you did as he told you. You laid your stomach over the couch, your knees supporting you as you perked up your ass, slick pussy in full display for your boyfriend.

“As much as I love looking at your pussy, I need to taste it. Let me just―” you let out a sharp gasp as his index and middle finger spread your lips and the tip of his tongue made its way into your dripping cunt. He started slow, just moving it up and down, but after a couple minutes he began to lap like a fucking thirsty dog. The way he was just drinking your slick and teasing your clit with his thumb made you gasp and whine and wish for it to never end. God, you could swear he was nose-deep into your pussy.

He introduced his middle finger, moving it at the same time his thumb played with your clit, and moved his face away from you so he could speak. “Such a sweet fucking pussy,” mumbled your boyfriend. “So wet and hot on my mouth. How does it feel, bunny?” He asked, the shit-eating grin clearly audible even from behind. You didn’t answer, and that seemed to annoy him, because he introduced another finger and curled them in a way they could reach your soft spot, making you let out a high-pitched moan. “Answer me, you dumb little rabbit,” he muttered. “Do you like my tongue? Do you like how wide it is? How deep can it get?” His fingers still moved against your spot, fingering the answer out of you.

Your reply was a loud and whiny “Yeesss～” as your body squirmed around his thick fingers.He chuckled at your pathetic moan.

“I know, I can tell by the way you whine, so needy and desperate.”

His tongue was back on you, playing with your folds and lapping on your slick once again. Every single touch sends electric shocks to your whole body, like a big wave of pleasure hitting you all of a sudden.

His mouth was taking every slight drop of your slick like some desperate ole’ dog searching for water, his tongue lapping his way through your pussy and rubbing the end of his nose on your wet hole. Both of his hands were gripping your thighs as he ate you from behind, claws ripping your skin as your hips started to press against your boyfriend’s soaking face. “Fuck.. that’s it, bun. Fuck my face and make a mess out of it”, he growled near your cunt sending another goosebump to your spine as the hot breath clashed with your soaked core, arching your back to get more contact with his tongue.

“Keep moaning, let me know how good it feels.. Atta bun.” Just another teary moan of yours took from him to shove his large tongue inside you, widely opening your cunt for his own pleasure, slick dripping out of his chin as he roughly started to penetrate you with it. The constant ‘pop!’ and ‘slurrp!’ of his mouth on you, the firm but messy way he was grabbing you, even if you tried you couldn’t keep your eyes open. He was completely eating you dry.

Numb in pleasure it was obvious to you that it wouldn’t take you too much time to cum. Your boyfriend did eat your pussy a million times before when he was on a mission to help with your heat. But this time was different, it was so... painfully good that the fact that you didn’t squirt on the wolf’s mouth was crazy.

“C-Chris.. baby, if you d-don’t sto—” you cried loudly, hands grabbing the sofa as much as you could. Bangchan knew, and he didn’t hesitate to take his soaking wet tongue off your cunt, a string of your slick coming out from the tip of his tongue. A loud and cheeky chuckle escaped from him, “What? Did you really think I’d let you cum?”

His hand grabbed your hair from the back, twisting it around his left wrist and forearm. “As much as I’d love seeing you squirt on my face, I’d much prefer you did when I’m breeding this absolutely pathetic cunt. Bet you like the idea don’t you?” He shouted as his hand aggressively pulled your hair to make you trip over on your words.

A slight nod was enough to him, so he grabbed you by your waist before letting your hair go. “I need to rail you right-fucking-now, and your room’s too far, so excuse me if I…” A ripping sound interrupted him as both of his hands tore your top, exposing the lace bra you were wearing under. He huffed, amused. “You had all of this planned from the beginning, didn’t you? You amaze me, Flops.”

Another cocky chuckle came out from him, his eyes racing from your chest to your flushed face, smiling widely. “Fucking hell Bun, I can’t get enough of you… Now strip off that thing and open your legs a bit more…” Bangchan ordered with a raspy voice while letting his canines show up in his smile.

Your legs started to shake from all the stimulation you suffered before, but you still managed to stand up, tripping over a few times because of the scent of your boyfriend, which was now becoming stronger by seeing you slutted out. Your hands reached for the bra’s clasps behind your back. You smiled when Bangchan’s eyes followed the slight bounce of your tits being freed from your bra.

“Fuck, that’s it,” groaned Chan, grabbing one of your boobs and lightly squeezing it, his thumb caressing your soft nipple. “I can never get enough of your tits,” he cupped the other one. Now both hands massaging your boobs. You gasped softly when he pinched one of your nipples. “They fit so nicely in my hands,” he said softly, but the cuteness lasted just a second, before he growled: “On all fours, I’m going to mount you.”

You placed your knees on the sofa and leaned over the backrest. Your back was arched, putting your slicked pussy on display, and your eyes were fixated on the reflection of your bodies on the window behind the couch. The metal sound from his buckle being undone and the unzipping of his jeans made you grow more and more impatient. When his clothes hit the floor, your head turned back so you could take in his naked form.

Your eyes widened, your mouth watered. He had such a big cock in his regular form, and apparently a much bigger one in heat. It was thick and veiny and such a nice rosy shade. Your intense staring caused Bangchan to laugh.

“You like how big it is? I didn’t even put it in and I can see how your cunt is clenching, she’s begging for it.” He closed the small space between the both of you, placing his big hands on the sides of your hips and squeezing the meat of your cheeks. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to fill her up.” Bangchan leaned over your body to whisper in your ear: “I’ll make sure she knows who she belongs to.”

One of his hands left your hip and grabbed his cock, guiding it to your needy hole. Going against all of his instincts of fucking you senseless, he took his time and nudged it between your lips, covering the tip on your juices. Bangchan slowly pushed the tip inside you, relishing the tight feeling around his cock and your soft cries. As he pushed deeper, your walls squeezed him harder, making him groan.

“Ohh, fuck! That’s it baby, such a tight little cunt,” his voice was now a little coarse, like if his throat went dry from the sudden pleasure. “I’ve been dying to fuck you like this.”

He knows you don’t need time to adjust, heats give you a lot of endurance and stamina to make sure you breed successfully. That’s why he began to rock his hips without any warning. You moan loudly against the cushioned backrest of the couch.

His skin smacked against yours with his sharp thrusts. And he lowers his gaze to watch himself disappear inside your plush lips over and over again, captivated by the way you take him so easily.

“I love the way my hands fit so well around your hips, how those cute ears bounce with my thrusts,” panted the man. You mewled at the praise from your boyfriend. “We’re gonna fill the room with our scent. Your neighbours are probably smelling how good your boyfriend is fucking you.”

The feeling of his thick cock rubbing inside your warm gummy walls with each push was inebriating to say the least. The pleasure of his tip nudging against that sweet area near the front was making you see spots from the corner of your eyes. Your stomach is tightening from the sharp pleasure.

“Fuck, Chan! Fuck, fuck me just like that! Ngh～” Your desperate moans only served as motivation for him, causing him to speed up his movements. His balls were now rocking forward and hitting your sensitive clit with each thrust, making a wet sound because of your slick running down your legs and his pelvis. Your pussy was clenching around his cock.

“That’s it, fuck, I can feel you tightening around me.” His fingers were gripping your hips so tight that they would definitely leave some bruises. But he didn’t care, he’ll kiss them better after. “Goddamn, you feel so good baby～ I’ve been dreaming of the day I’d get to take you like this. Been wanting so hard to lock inside you and pump you full of my pups.”

Every word said by the wolf was going straight to your core and melting you from the inside.

“Ngh, Chan～Want you to fill me up, please,” you cried out, your fingers gripping the couch and turning your head back. Your eyes locked on his and you noticed they were different now. The amber burned brighter yet his gaze was darker, more predatory.

It was so thrilling how every prey instinct in your body screamed at you to run, to hide from the predator behind you. But instead of fear pushing you away, it coiled deep in your stomach, twisting into a wicked blend of fear and pleasure. The rush of adrenaline only fueled the heat thrumming through your veins, turning you on even more.

“Want to knot you so bad,” muttered the wolf between clenched teeth, slowing down a little bit so he could lean over your back and breathe against your ear. You moaned in agreement, perfectly fine with that proposition. “Oh, you want my knot, baby?” Cooed the man in a soft whisper.

You nodded your head, too fucked out to even say yes, just whines and moans leaving your plushy mouth.

“Hold on tight, bunny, ‘cause I’m gonna breed you so good.”

His thrusts picked up the pace once again. The wet sounds of your pussy swallowing his cock filling up the room, mixing with growls and moans. The amount of pleasure was so unbelievable that you almost felt angry at him for keeping this kind of experience away from you. Although there was a tiny grain of nervousness, after all you’ve never been knotted by such a large creature like him—Hell, you’ve never been knotted at all!

Your head focused a little too much on that, and by the way Bangchan’s thrusts began to slow down, he noticed, so he petted your head, moving all the sweaty hair away from your face. “Don’t worry, my little bunny. I’ll make sure you enjoy it all the way through.” Whispered your boyfriend with a tone of voice much different than the previous deep and growly one. This soft murmur on your ear helped to ease your nerves and let your body loose so he could start to knot you.

“Thank you, Chan.” You mumbled softly.

“Are you ready now? Want me to knot you?”

You hummed in approval and rested your forehead on your arms, arching your back a little more and shaking your fluffy tail. He snickered under his breath and started to pick up the pace again. His thrusts now harder and reaching deeper into your pussy, crushing that spongy spot that made you see stars out of the corners of your eyes.

The living room was now filled by the sounds of sweaty skin smacking, low groans and breathy moans. The overwhelming smell of arousal and his personal scent made your head spin. It didn’t take long until you were coming first.

“That’s it! Come for me, come for me!”

Intense shockwaves of pleasure shook your body all the way to your core and a loud moan tore away from your throat that it would probably let it sore in the next hour. Your heat orgasms were always powerful, but this one in particular felt too much. Maybe it was because you loved Bangchan so much that being able to share this intimate moment for the first time intensified the feelings.

Tears of joy and tiredness pooled on your eyes, but didn’t threaten to fall out, until you began to feel a light sting on your sensitive pussy.

“Okay baby, get ready, ‘cause here I’m gonna shove this knot in and finally claim you for myself,” the wolf mumbled into your hair, caressing the sides of your hips for a little comfort. Since you weren’t biologically made to just take his knot, he made sure you came finished first so your pussy would be more flexible when taking his.

Bangchan started to count down from five, his breath erratic just like his movements. Your abused cunt cried at the overstimulation of his growing knot.

Five, four, three, two..

When he reached number one, you could feel his hot cum filling your insides. He let out a loud animalistic howl. If your neighbours weren’t sure if you were getting railed into oblivion, now they were. You bit your lip to stop whimpering as his cum continued to fill you up and his knot reached full size.

It was strange at first, much bigger than the girth of his cock, but as he started to shove it in your pussy the stinging sensation felt so delicious. You felt so full, full of him. You were being claimed by your boyfriend, by your wolf, you were now completely his and it felt so delightful that the tears pooling in your eyes finally fell through your flushed cheeks.

“Ohh, fuck yes!” Howled the man behind you. “My knot slipped right in, sofuckinggood, can you feel my cum spilling out? Fuck!”

Indeed, his cum was leaking from your cunt and running down the back of your thighs. From his point of view it looked so fucking hot with you stretched out beyond most prey capabilities.

“Hmm, fuck me. That was just—” the only way he could describe the experience was a cheeky chef’s kiss that made you giggle.

As the orgasm bliss faded just like his knot, he carefully pulled out of your overstimulated cunt and hugged you from behind, laying you both on the comfy couch.

His chest was so warm against your back and his arms were holding you in the perfect tightness, while his lips trailed soft and caring kisses along your neck and shoulders, occasionally biting on your floppy bunny ears.

“Are you okay, princess?” His voice turned back into his normal deep yet soft tone. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?” He sounded genuinely concerned. You smiled even though he could not see you from behind.

You turned in his arms so you could face him, taking a moment to admire the afterglow on his face. His lips and cheeks shared the same shade of bright pink and his eyes were glossy with satisfaction.

“Yes, I’m perfect, baby. I enjoyed it.” You whispered, brushing your fingers against his cheeks. He grinned and leaned against your touch, closing his eyes for a second. The scene was so serene compared to the animalistic fucking that was happenning a few minutes ago.

You both just layed there, enjoying one another’s touch while your soft breaths filled in the silence.

Until Christopher speaked again.

“Perfect, huh?” The calmness was replaced with a playful glint on his eyes. You raised an eyebrow. “Good, ‘cause now we’re gonna be like this for quite a while.”

This was just the beginning of a long night.

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fauxnova34 · 4 months ago

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The Ice Between Us

| Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: When you a bored college student signs up for a beginners figure skating class, you never expected to be trained by Wanda Maximoff, the cold and commanding former figure skating champion whose career was cut short by an ACL injury. Wanda’s authority on the ice is absolute, she has no patience for beginners- especially one who seems to struggle with every move. Despite her harsh demeanour you’re more than determined to prove yourself. As Wanda asserts control over the class and over you, a complicated dynamic of power, desire and resistance begins to form. Will you rise to the challenge or crumble under wanda’s unyielding gaze?

Tags/warnings: Mean Wanda, dom/sub, fluff and smut, Age difference, mutual pining, Tension, Kinda enemies to lovers

Author’s note: This is my first series so I’m sorry if it’s not great, all comments/suggestions/critique is welcome but please be kind and respectful. I hope you enjoy the fic and the wild ride we are all in for!

You weren’t exactly sure what had prompted you in the beginning to sign up to this class. Maybe it was the fact that your college schedule felt endless, or maybe it was the idea of gliding on the ice seemed like the perfect escape from the pressures of exams and assignments. You’d always wanted to learn, but never had the chance. So, when a flyer had appeared on the campus bulletin board for extracurricular activities for adults, you had taken the plunge.

What you weren’t prepared for though, was her.

Wanda Maximoff. You’d heard of her of course, everyone had. She was a legend, practically a household name in the world of figure skating and on your TikTok for you page more than you’d like to admit. That was all until a catastrophic ACL injury had forced her out of the competition scene. Now, apparently she was here, in this small rink, offering to teach beginners like you. Your stomach flipped at the sight of her.

Wanda was standing in the set middle of the rink, her posture perfect, wrapped in a simple black jacket that hugged her curves, but there was nothing simple about her presence. She looked like she belonged to the ice like it was an extension of herself. As she began to glide every movement was sharp and graceful. She was without a doubt beautiful, but it was more than that. It was the way she seemed to command attention without even trying.

You shook yourself out of your daze and looked back down to your laces, you were hesitating, feeling the unmistakable rush of nerves in your veins. Was it really too late to turn around? But before you could make up your mind, her eyes found you.

Her gaze was immediate and it felt like a weight on your chest. You swallowed, heart suddenly hammering as she skated towards you with effortless speed, cutting through the ice with precision and grace that made your stomach tighten. She stepped of the ice in front of you, barely a breath away and your mouth went dry.

“You’re late” she said, her voice sharp. Her eyes were cold like they had already sized you up. She spoke up again “This isn’t the place for latecomers.”

You stammered, caught off guard by her bluntness. “I-I’m sorry. I hadn’t realised the class had already started”

“You’re here to learn how to skate, not to make excuses.” Wanda’s tone left no room for argument. She crossed her arms, her gaze narrowing with quiet judgement. “Hurry up and get in line. We don’t have time for anyone to be behind.”

The words stung and you felt the blush creeping up your neck. She wasn’t even trying to soften her tone. Her presence pressed against you like a weight you couldn’t shake. You were already wishing you could crawl into a hole and hide.

You nodded, unsure of what else to do. Her eyes didn’t leave you, not for a second. You were almost wondering if she was waiting for you to fail. “Laces criss crossed into a bow, be quick about it” she left you with before moving back into the centre.

Forcing your hands into motion you began tying them as she had said criss and crossing until they looks somewhat presentable tying them off with the bow before awkwardly shuffling to the rink where the rest of the class were trying to get into some semblance of rhythm. The other skaters didn’t notice your awkward entrance, but you could feel Wanda’s gaze on you, sharp and unblinking, as if she was waiting to watch every little mistake you would make.

The floor was slippery beneath you, and every step felt like you were about to lose your balance. But you couldn’t let yourself fall, not in front of her. You wanted to be good at this, needing to prove you could be more than another newbie just stumbling around on the ice.

“Don’t just stand there” Wanda’s voice cut through the space. “ Move, this is the beginners class, not the ‘watch people flail’ class. Skate, or get out.”

You froze, not sure if you’d been caught making a bigger mistake or if she just liked to keep her class on edge. That’s until the whole class seemed to stop and stare at you, and for a moment you just wished the earth would swallow you whole. But instead Wanda’s eyes locked with yours, for a fleeting second you’re sure you seen them soften, just barely.

“Try again” she said, her tone still commanding but with a subtle shift, something almost, expectant. “ And this time, don’t waste my time.”

Trying to ignore the way her words stung like a slap, you nodded. There was something about her authority, her control, that both frustrated you and compelled you. You knew she was tough, knew she wouldn’t let anyone slide by easily, but the more she pushed you the more you couldn’t help but want to prove her wrong.

Her eyes remained on you as you took another step, trying again to find some balance to glide across the ice. Every tiny movement seemed to be under her scrutiny and it made you feel both exposed and strangely…alive.

“Better” the word was still sharp, as if she were merely acknowledging that you hadn’t just completely embarrassed yourself. “But that’s not good enough. Do it again and this time, don’t think. Just move.”

It was a command and you didn’t even think to argue. You couldn’t, it felt like you were being bent to her will and you found yourself falling into line whether you wanted to or not.

You glanced around the rink desperate to follow the other skaters but they had already moved on. You were the only one still left struggling, alone in her gaze. She stood there, watching you, every bit the dominant figure that she was. And despite how harsh her words felt, despite the biting coldness in her tone, you couldn’t shake the feeling Wanda wanted something from you, something more than a simple performance.

She wanted obedience. She wanted control.

And for some reason, you couldn’t help but want to give it to her.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff #wanda x you #wanda x reader #wanda imagine #marvel wlw #wanda maximommy #wanda smut #wlw #wlw post #marvel smut #dom wlw #sub wlw

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amen-to-tiddies · 2 months ago

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Trouble Double in Paradise - Part one

Soft Dom Top SAN & Dom Top BM x Sub Reader (3,600 Words) Reader Speaking = Orange BM Speaking = Blue San Speaking = Pink

List of the fun stuff: Double penetration, Tag Teaming, Spit Roasting, Throat fucking, Rough/Hard sex, Phone sex, Praise/Degrading, Caught, Manhandling, Size Difference, Dumbification, Oral Fixation, fingering, Overwhelming pleasure used as interrogation, Reader very often gets called "puppy", "puppyboy" "pup" etc, Not really Petplay though, Slight Humiliation (mostly in the form of degrading), Bad cop BM Good cop SAN dynamic, Passionate kissing (San & BM Make out)

The bedroom was dimly lit, the only source of light being your phone screen as it was resting on your pillow next to you. Your hand was wrapped around your aching cock, slick and pulsing in your hand as San’s voice purred through the speaker again. His tone was rich, sexy, fucking addicting. the kind of voice that could get you all hot and bothered in just a few words.

“Bet you’re so fucking hard right now, huh?” he spoke, the sound of his own slick-wet strokes clearly audible, “All worked up ‘cause of me? Sucha good boy… letting me get you all stupid with just my voice.”

A shiver ran down your spine, your hips bucking up into you fist instinctively as his words settled into your head making you dizzy. “San-” you gasped, his name breaking off into a moan as you squeezed the base of your cock, trying to hold off your orgasm just a little longer.

San let out a deep chuckle, the sound sending a fresh wave of arousal coursing through you. “Oh, baby… you sound so fucking pretty. You gonna cum for me? Gonna make a mess all over yourself?” His breath was hastening, you could tell he was close too. “Wish I could see you… all fucked out and needy. Come over next time baby.. please, I’ll have you on your knees for me, begging for my cock like the desperate little boy you are.”

You whined, head falling back against the pillow, your were on the verge of breaking. The world outside of this moment was completely forgotten to your dumb mind, drowned out by the filth spilling from San’s mouth and the feeling of an orgasm quickly building.

But just then...

The sound of the footsteps quickly climbing up the stairs.

Your breath stopped, panic shooting through you as you scrambled to end the call. SHIT wrong button, you had only muted yourself and It was too late to try hang up now. The door flew open. There stood Matthew your giant 6 foot 1 boyfriend built like a beast and panting like one, leaning up against the doorframe with a genuine look of concern on his face. "Jesus baby, are you ok? i heard some weird noises coming from-" "Fuck puppy did you cum already?" The phone screen lit up as san cooed his little praise.

BM knew exactly who you were talking to the moment he heard that voice.

“What the fuck. Are you fucking kidding me?" BM’s voice was sharp. Your heart dropped, you were burning with shame as you scrambled around the bed trying to gather your clothes.

BM just stood there, but by god, even stood motionless you could tell he was fucking livid.

In that moment a heap of emotions came rushing to him possessiveness, jealousy, and also... the unshakable need to remind you exactly who you belonged to.

He stepped forward, jaw clenched tight as his gaze flickered to the phone still on the bed, San’s name was still glowing on the screen.

BM’s lips curled into a smirk, there seemed to be some kind of humor in it for him, like it was some kinda game, a prank you were playing. “So that’s how you wanna play, huh?” he said, stepping closer, his hands already working at his belt. “You wanna get off to someone else’s voice? Wanna act like I’m not the one who's name you scream every night huh? fuckin 'puppy'?! is that the shit you're into now?”

Your pulse pounded in your ears, your mind scrambling for an excuse, anything to defuse the situation.

BM didn’t give you the chance. He yanked you forward, flipping you onto your stomach with ease. He kicked his jeans off, the sound of his metallic belt hitting the floor making your heart race/

He then shoved you right down onto your stomach, his large hands gripping your hips to keep you in place. one of BM's hands shot next to your head, grabbing the phone, he hung up.

BM proceeded by throwing the phone to the side and sliding his fingers in-between your parted lips, pressing them down on your tongue. “That’s it,” he murmured, watching your mouth eagerly suck and coat them in slick warmth. “Such a fucking slut, always so desperate to have something in your mouth, huh?” He pulled them free with a wet pop.

You felt his wet fingers trailing down your spine until they were right above your hole. His touch was torturously teasing as he traced the rim before pushing a finger inside, he was so fucking slow and deliberate. You gasped, hips jerking at the intrusion, but BM held you down with his free hand, keeping you still.

“Look at you, already so fucking open for me,” he muttered, curling his finger just right, pressing against that sweet spot inside you “Did he have you touching yourself like this? Stuffing yourself full of your own fingers, wishing it was his cock?”

Your face burned, but BM didn’t stop. A second finger joined the first, stretching you, scissoring inside as he hummed in approval. “Bet you let him say all sorts of nasty shit to you, didn’t you?”

You whined, trying to bury your face in the sheets, but BM wasn’t having it. His hand moved to your hip, landing a sharp slap against your ass that made you jolt. “Answer me.”

“Y- yes,” you stammered, voice muffled. “He… he talks dirty.”

BM’s fingers twisted inside you, making your back arch. “Yeah? What does he say?”

You hesitated, your face and chest turning red, but the way BM was working you open had you too fucked-out already to think straight. Every push of his fingers against your prostate made your walls clench around them, made your mouth part in another pathetic breathless little whimper. You couldn't hold back.

“H-he calls me pretty,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

BM hummed, fingers pressing deeper, slower. “Yeah? What else?”

Your thighs trembled. “Tells me I sound good for him…”

BM clicked his tongue, unimpressed. “That’s all?”

Your breath stuttered. Your mind was hazy, but BM wasn’t going to let you get away with obvious half-truths. His fingers curled inside you again, grinding against that sweet spot until you were fucking losing it. Your back was arched, hips pushing back instinctively.

“Fuck- okay! He- ah- he tells me to beg for him.”

BM’s hand landed sharply against your ass again, making you yelp. “C'mon, Beg for what baby? What do you say to him?”

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, your throat dry from panting. “I… I beg for him to let me cum to his voice,” you confessed “To let me choke on him when we meet"

BM groaned at that, his cock twitching against your thigh. But he wasn’t satisfied. He wanted more.

“What else?” he pressed, fingers pumping faster, making you shake beneath him.

Your stomach clenched. You were feeling intense shame, but your body kept betraying you, tightening around BM’s fingers, practically begging him for more. “He- he makes me touch myself while calling me names,” you admitted, biting down on your lip. “Tells me I’m his needy little thing, his filthy fucktoy, his perfect hole.”

BM exhaled harshly through his nose. “Jesus,” he muttered, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His fingers slowed, teasing now, and it only made your desperation worse.

“And?” he prompted.

You swallowed, eyes fluttering shut. “He makes me spit on my cock, Tells me to fuck my fist like it’s his dick I'm stroking.. to hump my pillow like a stupid, desperate slut. Makes me send him videos- fuck- makes me edge myself ‘til I’m crying.”

BM paused and then let out chuckle, fingers still inside you. His free hand moved up to tangle in your hair, yanking your head back just enough for his lips to graze your ear.

“That so?” he murmured. “And did you listen, 'puppy'?

A whimper spilled from your lips before you could stop it. BM smirked.

“Yeah,” he found this very ammusing. “You did, didn’t you?”

BM added a third finger with no warning. You gasped, your body tensing at the added stretch, but he didn’t let up. “You like begging, huh? Is that why you sound so needy right now? Want him to fuck you so bad you’ll say anything he wants?”

You bit your lip again, nodding frantically. BM withdrew his fingers slowly, making you whimper at the sudden emptiness.

“Call him back.”

Your brows furrowed. “W- what?”

“Call. Him. Back,” he repeated, voice authoritative. “Let him hear how you sound when you're actually fucked”

Your fingers trembled as you reached for the phone, unlocking it with a swipe. The moment you hit the call button, BM’s hands were on you, spreading you open as he lined himself up. The dial tone rang once- twice

Then San picked up.

“Missed me already, baby?” His voice was smug as usual “What happened earlier handsome? You just hung up on me and-.” His voice faltered, suddenly registering the muffled sounds in the background- the heavy breathing, the slick, obscene noises, the sharp gasp that escaped your lips as BM sank into you in one deep, claiming thrust.

A beat of silence.

“…Shit”

BM smirked, grabbing the phone off of you bed and pressing it to his own ear, his other hand gripping your waist as he dragged his cock out, only to slam back in, knocking the breath from your lungs.

“C’mon over, Sannie,” BM rasped, voice thick with amusement. “This is your chance. I wanna show you how you really pleasure a lil’ slut.” He pulled your hips back roughly, angling his thrusts so perfectly that your moans became outright pornographic.

BM also started to let out over-the-top moans as he started rolling his hips deeper, watching you fall apart in his hands. “Better- ah- be quick, though- fuck-,” he added, voice purposefully stuttered with low, heavy groaning. “He might already be fucked-out by the time you get here.”

San’s breath was harsh on the other end of the line, it didn’t take long for him to speak. His voice dropped low “You really think I’m gonna let you have all the fun?” “Keep him nice and warmed up for me- I’m on my way.”

BM was pleased, tossing he phone onto the bed. His grip on your waist tightened as he picked up the pace, each deep thrust sending sparks up your spine. “You hear that, baby? You’re in for a long night.”

Time blurred after that. Your body trembled under BM’s relentless pace, the room filled with the sound of his balls and crotch slapping against your ass over and over. Your own breathless whimpers mixing with his low groans.

You were already beyond being on the edge, you were practically teetering on exhaustion by now, when the bedroom door slammed open.

San stood in the doorway, chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes locked onto you- flushed, wrecked, struggling to hold yourself up under BM’s weight. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Shit…”

BM slowed just enough to glance over his shoulder. His look was practically a challenge. “Took you long enough.” He pulled out, flipping you onto your back with ease. “C’mon then, let’s see what you got.”

San wasted no time. He was on you in seconds, his touch was so different from BM’s- it really was soothing where BM's felt punishing, His fingers traced over your burning skin, his lips pressing soft, teasing kisses along your neck and jaw. “You doing okay, baby?” he murmured, brushing sweaty strands of hair from your face.

Before you could answer, BM scoffed. “Oh, don’t go all soft on him now. He likes it rough, don’t you, puppy boy?” His hand wrapped around your throat, tilting your head up until you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

BM let out a sharp laugh as he caught your cock twitching against your stomach in the corner of his eye. Both of the men started glancing down just in time to see your tip drool, a fresh little puddle forming. “Oh, fuck- did you just leak all over yourself from that?”

His grip on your throat tightened, just enough to make your breath stutter. “Jesus. That’s all it takes? One little nickname and you’re already making a mess?” His tone mocking eyes flicking between your flushed face and your twitching cock.

San smirked, blood rushing to his now semi-hard cock. “It's his magic word”

BM’s lips curled into a devilish grin as he looked down at you, completely and utterly submissive beneath him. “That right, pup?” He dragged the words out slowly, purposefully, watching as another bead of pre-cum welled at the tip of your cock. He let out a dramatic scoff, his head shaking side to side. “Pathetic. Fucking pathetic.”

San, whistled lowly. “Damn, baby. You really do love it, huh? All it takes is one little ‘puppy boy’ and you start leaking like a desperate bitch in heat. I mean I knew it got you all hot over the phone but I never realized it actually drove you this crazy” He cocked his head at BM, stupidly giggling like a teenage girl. “This is the best shit I’ve ever seen.”

BM clicked his tongue, fingers moving around your jaw, adjusting you gaze up to san who was still towering over you. “Go on, pup,” he cooed mockingly, thumbing at your spit-slick lips. "Thank San for teaching me that new word”

San climbed off you and sat back onto the mattress, spreading his legs in that cocky, confident way that made your stomach flip. He didn’t say a word- just gave you a knowing look, tilting his chin ever so slightly. Fuck.

“C’mon, baby.” His voice was all smooth and innocent. Coaxing you over. “Show me how much you appreciate me.”

Your hand trembled, reaching for the waistband of his sweats. Slowly, carefully, you peeled them down, eyes fluttering at the way his cock twitched, slapping against his abs- it was so thick, already glistening at the tip. You swallowed, hands ghosting up his thighs, taking in every inch of his beautiful, sculpted body.

“Fuck… you’re so perfect,” you murmured, voice still barely above a whisper as you dipped your head down, placing soft kisses along the sharp cut of his hip bone.

San hummed in approval, his fingers threading gently through your hair, encouraging you. But just as you started trailing your lips lower, savoring the feeling of his warm skin under your tongue-

SMACK.

A sharp slap landed on your ass, jolting you forward.

“None of that slow teasin' shit,” BM’s voice was a low and commanding. “You know damn well how to worship a cock properly. Get to it.”

You gasped, blinking up at San in wide-eyed desperation. He shot BM a glare, fingers tightening in your hair protectively. “Hyung-seriously?”

BM only scoffed again, he was now standing next to the bed, just right behind you “What? You know I’m the one in charge here.” His eyes flicked down to you “And he knows better than to make me wait.”

San rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he sighed, bringing his gaze back down to you. “Ignore him, baby- you're doing such a good-”

BM cut him off with a laugh. “Like hell he will.”

You decided to not take your chances getting your already sore, red, ass getting slapped again, but just as your lips wrapped around the head of San’s cock something caught you by surprise..

BM had moved closer and he had now reached for San, grabbing the back of his neck and yanking him in, crushing their lips together in a rough, dizzying kiss.

San let out a muffled noise of surprise- half protest, half pleasure- but BM didn’t give him a chance to react. His tongue forced its way into San’s mouth, claiming him.

It was fucking filthy.

The way BM groaned into San's mouth, the way San’s moans spilled right against BM’s tounge, they were kissing like they were starving for each other.

The sight almost made you cum on the spot. You whined around San’s cock, the vibrations making him shudder. His fingers tightened in your hair as he melted into the kiss.

San suddenly gasped for breath as BM pulled back. His lips were slick with saliva, His chest rose and fell in heavy pants as he hovered over San- eyes half-lidded. It was clear he wasn't gonna wait long before diving back in

“Fuck,” BM murmured, “You don't understand how long I've been waiting to do that shi-"

San was already leaking, his hips jerking up involuntarily, pushing his cock deeper into your mouth. He let out a breathless, shaky laugh looking up at BM. “Shit… that was so fucking hot,” he muttered, his head falling tilting back. His fingers twitched in your hair, hips jerking up involuntarily as you swallowed him deeper.

BM smirked, his thumb swiping over San’s spit-slick lips. “Yeah? Would’ve done it a hell of a lot sooner if I knew you were a fuckin' fag too.” His voice was low, teasing, but there was certainly a rough edge to it.

San's lips parted like he was about to fire something back, but BM didn’t give him the chance- he was already diving back in.

And just like that, San was caught between the both of you, Every mouth was busy with one another's- San’s cock filling your throat while BM devoured his mouth, both of them completely lost in each other.

You instantly started leaking another wave of pre-cum. The way BM spoke to San. Fuck. You half-wished it was you, while thinking you had half forgotten you were meant to be 'thanking' San and you'd just been hovering your head over his aching cock for quite a while.

BM barely notices at first, too lost in the messy heat of San’s mouth, but then he opens his eyes and sees you sitting there like a little fucking idiot staring at them like you’re waiting for permission or something.

He pulls away from sans lips and quickly shoves the hand that was originally on san's jaw into your hair overtaking where San had been lightly holding you. He grips your hair, fingers tight at the roots, yanking you forward. The force drives you straight down. You instinctually open your mouth right before San’s cock was slamming into your throat in one brutal motion.

San moans like a filthy fuckin whore, the sound so desperate that bm even let out a little "fuck-" BM was getting achingly hard but don't get it twisted, his focus was all on you now-

One thing about BM is that he certainly doesn’t let up. He keeps his grip tight in your hair, starts using your head like a fleshlight on San’s cock, dragging you up only to push you right back down. He watches with a big fucking cocky smile on his face as San’s face twists, his lips parting in helpless gasps, his hands shaking on the matress where they held him up.

“See, you just can't hold back,” BM murmurs again, clearly amused by sans reaction to your throat. “He’s made for this.”He forces you down again to really punctuate his point.

San is spilling broken moans and then... his fingers finally grip your skull replacing BM's. San's big hands are now guiding you into a slow, steady rhythm. “Fuck, just like that, baby. That mouth- goddamn.”

BM, still looming beside you two had developed an absolutely shit eating grin watching you struggle to take all of San’s length. “Cmon now, bet you could go deeper then that,” his hand pressing against the back of your head. your throat clenching around San’s tip.

San let out a sharp hiss, his thighs tensing beneath you. “Fuck, Matt- I”

“What? don’t like seeing him like this?” "Getting his throat stretched out on your cock?”

San groaned, head falling back, his jaw clenching as he tried to keep control. “Nah, I fucking love it,” he muttered, breathless, his abs flexing as you swallowed around him again.

BM leaned in, whispering into San's ear. “Then let’s see how much he can really take.”

BM’s grip tightened on the back of your head, forcing you down right into San's clean shaven crotch, stuffing your mouth full of his now throbbing cock.

The sudden stretch had you gagging, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but BM didn't give a fuck. He held you there, making you take it, making you feel every inch pulsing down your throat.

San cursed under his breath, his thighs trembling. His hands fisted in the sheets, his restraint barely hanging on. “Jesus Christ,” he groaned, voice wrecked. “He’s gonna make me- fuck.”

BM laughed, “Yeah? You gonna cum for him already?” He grinned, pressing a kiss to San’s neck. “Go on then. Give him his reward.”

San didn’t need to be told twice. His hips snapped up, his breath stuttering as he finally let go, spilling wave after wave of hot sticky cum down your throat with loud filthy broken moans to boot. His fingers trembled in your hair, his whole body going tense as pleasure crashed through him.

You swallowed around him, throat working while being coated, taking and swallowing every drop off cum he gave you. When he finally eased you off, you gasped for breath, lips slick, eyes glassy.

BM looked down at you, his thumb swiping up the mess on your chin and pushing it back in you mouth. "Shiii baby- you did a good job"

PART 2/CONTINUATION COMING SOON

278 notes · View notes

marigoldenblooms · 1 year ago

Text

That's a Wrap - One Shot

Pairing: Director!Natasha x Fem!Actor!Reader x Actor!Wanda (MINORS DNI - 18+)

Summary: You and Wanda can’t seem to get this scene right. With your director’s help, you manage.

MINORS DNI - 18+

Tags: Is Y/N in the room with us right now (They aren’t), Dom!Natasha, Switch!Wanda, Bottom!Reader. Dub-con, power dynamic (Director/Actor), voyeurism, degradation, praise, semi-public sex, semi-orgasm denial, light edging, objectification, oral (W receiving), fingering (R receiving), strap-on use(R receiving), some pet names (baby, sweetheart, darling, ma’am, Tasha(For N), Wan/Wands(For W), Mommy(For W, used loosely)), Nat calls her strap her dick, semi-previous established relationship? Porn with plot, clothed sex, sextape, light aftercare, fluff at the end.

A/N: Welcome to the first issue of Smut Saturdays! Want to really create some good shit in this genre, so I'm posting at least one spicy fic every Saturday (if I can help it)! This came to me in a vision (called the five minutes before my math class)- After my last smut fic did well (An Important Lesson, Prof!Wanda x Reader, which you can read here), I thought I’d do some WandaNat practice! Not proofread, written in the span of an evening. This is a crime against intimacy coordinators, I’m so sorry. Asides over. Natasha wears a strap to her films and she can dick me down with it, please and thank you!

Word Count: 2.4k - Read Length: 8 minutes, 49 seconds.

~~~

It was never fun when the producers came by.

They’d always arrive in droves of two or three, never the top dog- as if Natasha’s ‘avant-garde chick flick’, as they called it, wasn’t worth their time. They certainly treated it as much. Today was the worst day for them to arrive, in pressed jackets and always on a phone call, because today you were filming the sex scene. It was more of a ‘romance’ scene, with alluring cinematography and enough passion to make your eyes fall out, yet you hadn’t even gotten to remove any clothes from your beautiful costar- Wanda. You knew she was incredible, her previous films as a fem fatale showing her dominant streak, however the spark couldn’t burn when interruptions from the suits kept happening. You weren’t on a porn set, and yet sometimes you wish you were. Might’ve been faster, or at least more fun.

“From the top,” A groveled voice muttered, Natasha’s steely gaze breaking into your skull- though a part of you wished she’d break your back. The redhead had always been an inspiration, one of the leading reasons for your participation in her project, besides her being so fine. But now, she looked pissed, worn down by hours of appeasing the producer’s half-baked suggestions and guarding you and Wanda from their prying eyes. “Yes Ma’am,” you replied, earning a slight chuckle from your director, the twinkle in her eye not lost on you- she was on her last legs, but it was yours and Wanda’s compliance that kept her going.

You’d return to your blocking, centered in the middle of your ‘apartment bedroom’, with Wanda’s hand placed gently on your waist. Your roles were lovers, reuniting after a long day of hardship, slowing down after it all. You’d stare up at her, the mild exasperation in your expression making her smile. She’d send a wink down to you, muttering something about being ‘bored too’, but ‘not hating kissing you again’, or the like. She’d invited you out to coffee tonight, and especially after a day like this, you’d take it. Perhaps you’d even forget the paparazzi and really kiss her as you’d been wanting to do this whole shoot. Throw a bone to the fanfiction writers and make their canon comply with reality. Maybe. It was Natasha’s words which startled you from your thoughts, a look of tenderness overcoming your face as you’d sink into your character, “Action!”

Within an instant, Wanda hiked her hands under the hem of your shirt, eyes darting down to your face. Her palms were warm against you, smooth against your soft skin, as your head rested gently on her shoulder. She’d tug at the fabric- and you’d send her a quick nod, smiling as you’d lean up to capture her lips in yours-

“Well that’s not very marketable!” A producer would crow, scoffing with both his hands outstretched towards the two of you. You’d freeze, feeling all of the passion drain out from the scene, no more than a shell of itself. His bald head wasn’t very marketable, looking like a morally dubious Mr. Clean- and yet you didn’t comment on it. He’d look at Natasha, the woman pinching the bridge of her nose with a stern sigh, and you gulped. Oh, shit. She was going to lose it. “Can’t you get their clothes off faster? Our focus groups won’t wait around for-”

“Fucking Christ, get- out!” Natasha shouted, a growl in her tone bringing heat to your face. She scowled, roaring to the surrounding suits, “Leave, get off my set- it’s my fucking turn to direct them.” Her hands would fan away their deer-in-headlights looks, ushering them out before locking the door. Her fiery gaze would bore into you then, jaw locked as her heels would click towards you and Wanda, many feet apart.

The two shared a knowing nod- And before you could speak, your director grabbed Wanda by her shirt collar and pulled her into a bruising kiss. Your jaw would drop as the brunette’s eyes widened, fluttering shut as Wanda moaned into the embrace- Natasha’s hands planted firmly on her tits. She’d squeeze them, earning a gasp from Wanda, your costar’s head swung back as Natasha swiped her thumbs across her nipples. Your director’s gaze would strike yours, and you understood why Wanda’s submission was so quick. You shuddered at the redhead’s gleaming smirk, her voice a husked whisper, “Get those clothes off and get on the bed for me, baby. Now.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Your reply was instant, Natasha’s grin only widening as you’d shed your layers, kneeling on the mattress’s soft sheets. They were cold, goosebumps settling up your spine yet you wouldn’t move, eyes trained obediently on Natasha. You were so perfect for her.

Natasha’s mouth would return to Wanda’s, pressing her into the faux wall that had outlined the bedroom. Her hand would splay against Wanda’s stomach, and you saw how she hiked up the shirt there, continuing to palm her tits while unclasping Wanda’s bra with the other. She’d pepper kisses across the brunette’s neck, sucking hickeys the lower she’d go.

They’d part only so Wanda’s top could come completely off, your director keeping a claiming touch on Wanda’s hip as she’d look back at you over her shoulder. Her hair was wild, mused from Wanda’s hands slung loosely around her shoulders while her expression remained flushed, dark eyes darting down to the slick that pooled between your legs. Wanda’s voice would ring to you, almost reverent as her hips would stutter against Natasha’s, “She’s fucking drooling for us, Tasha..”

The redhead would bite back a smirk as she’d watch you twitch. You ached to touch them, yourself, anything- your hands already balled into fists on your thighs, legs rubbing together, desperate for friction. But neither had given the command, and you had an inkling from their hungry looks that they wanted you needy, right where they had you. Natasha’s rasp came second, “Then show her what I taught you.”

Wanda would reach you first, discarding the rest of her clothes in the process. Her hands trailed warm touches up your legs and to your chest, digging into your soft flesh as her lips would meet yours. It was explosive, sweet and tender yet with a ferocity that claimed you quickly, heating up your skin as her knee would slot between your thighs. You’d feel Natasha’s calloused fingers on the small of your back, the sinking of her weight in the mattress behind you, and her tone husked in your ear, “Stretch her out for me, Wan- like we practiced.” Your director’s words sent a buzz to your core, cunt grinding mercilessly into the sheets below as Wanda’s hand would trail there, dragging two fingers along your folds before arcing dazzling circles around your clit.

You’d eagerly press your hips into her touch, moaning lowly as she’d chuckle, “So wet for me, sweetheart…bet I can just slip right in.” She’d coax her fingers inside, your pussy walls taking her gladly as Wanda curled her digits against that spongy spot. Your back would arch, head growing fuzzy as you’d feel your slick drip down her hand. Her thumb would press into your clit as you’d buck your hips against her, cursing a quick “Fuck-” which was quickly swallowed up by Wanda’s mouth. She’d bite your lip, dragging it with her teeth as she’d settle into her rhythm, spare hand palming your tits with a rougher grasp, “Been waiting for this, haven’t you sweetheart- pretty whore, just for us.”

“Mhm, good girl just wants to be fucked, don’t you?” Natasha would grit, and you could see her stroking something behind your back. She’d unzipped her slacks- her strap heavy in her hand, glistening with the spit she’d gathered in her palm. Natasha bucked her hips against her hold, cursing as the cock’s base would rub against her clit. She looked incredible, sweat across her brow as her hand would clench around the toy, like she could feel it. “Keep going, Wands- want her perfect for my dick.”

Natasha would pant, breathing ragged as her hand moved in time with Wanda’s fingers- curling into you almost torturously, feeling your cunt clench around her. The brunette’s kiss would claim you again, moaning into her warmth as her thumb would circle your clit. She’d sigh almost lovingly, fondness overtaking her expression as your head found the crook of her neck, “She’s already perfect, Tasha-” She’d coo, although her hand wouldn’t stop, gasping at the squelching sound of her fingers up your cunt, “This pussy was made for us, darling.”

Their words and touch brought you so close, yet Wanda’s hands slowed down when she felt your legs quiver or your breathing seize up, never giving you what you needed. You’d squirm against Wanda, begging for more, a lingering touch, anything- “Please, Wan- I‘m so close,” You whined, earning a tut from your costar. She’d devour your pleas, lost to time as her mouth would reach yours, softer than before. You felt her sympathetic smile against you as she’d shake her head, locking eyes with Natasha’s heavy stare, “Not yet, sweetheart..It’s not my turn anymore.”

The redhead groaned when Wanda slid her fingers out of you, her fingers shimmering with your arousal. Your walls fluttered around nothing, aching for anyone’s touch as you felt Natasha’s rugged grasp on your hips, pulling you up and back so your pelvis was against hers. The strap had warmed in her hand, dragging between your legs. You were dripping for her, soft sparks of pleasure seizing you as her tip would brush against your clit. Her voice would thunder through you, almost delirious with her own need, “Fucking finally..want this pussy all to myself…”

Wanda would chuckle at that, your director kneading at your hips as Wanda’s thighs settled in front of your mouth, your arms propping yourself just above her soaked cunt. “We promised to share, Tasha..” She’d croon, face flushed and touch softer than Natasha’s as she’d cradle your face in her palms, “Such a pretty girl..are you ready for your reward, darling?” You nodded, a flurry of sensation hitting you all at once- Natasha’s strap sinking into you as the redhead would push your shoulder blades down, pressing your face between Wanda’s legs.

The stretch was incredible, the woman behind you vicious as she’d drive her dick into you, bottoming out as your mouth would be smothered against Wanda’s cunt. Each thrust would drive Wanda crazy, your gasps and whimpers vibrating right into her core, especially as you’d flat your tongue against her clit, suckling on the sensitive nub. Her thighs would threaten to shut on you, her stretched words lost in your pussydrunk haze, “Yes, like that sweetheart- such a good girl..-” Natasha would rock her hips into yours, pace bruising as she’d pull your thighs flush to hers. You’d hear her muffled curses as she’d bottom out again, sighing as if she could feel you clench around her. “Baby..fuck, so perfect for us…” Wanda’s hands would thread into your hair, anchoring her hold on you as she’d press your face further into her cunt.

The sight would echo a curse from Natasha’s mouth, her hips growing a little more erratic, “Fucking christ, she’s our perfect little whore, aren’t you baby-” You’d try to nod, moaning as Natasha’s hand would press further into your back, keeping you from moving an inch, “Don’t even think, baby- just fucking take it, fuck-”

Time would seem to slow, your brain fuzzing into blissful static as you’d feel Wanda’s thighs tremor around your head, her grip tightening as she’d see your body tremble in Natasha’s touch. “Come with me, sweetheart- be a good girl and come for Mommy.” Her saccharine words spurred you into a blinding release, your tongue working Wanda through her orgasm as your body quaked with your own. You’d feel Natasha follow shortly thereafter, cursing aloud as she’d pull herself out of you, watching as you’d clench around nothing. Her hands would immediately find your waist, bringing you gently up to kneel with your back against her clothed front.

Panting, your arms would shake as you’d catch your breath, leaning up to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. You could feel both women’s eyes on you as you’d suckle on your fingers, cleaning up with an exaggerated moan, looking towards Wanda as you’d pop your hand out of your mouth, your words almost dreamy, “Mmm, so good, Wan..” You’d giggle as Wanda’s face would alight in blush, although the clink of metal and fabric drove you away from your teasing.

Natasha’s hands would be rushed as she’d pull her pants and harness down, eyes heavy with a lust that made you shudder, “Switch with me, Wands-” She’d grit, thrusting the strap in her general direction before settling calloused palms on your still quivering thighs, her gaze boring into yours, “It’s my turn for her mouth.”

Wanda’s smirk was immediate, sending you another sly wink, “Gladly.”

------------------------------------------

Unbeknownst to the three of you, the cameras had never stopped rolling. That film would never be seen by the public, kept hidden once you left the building. Not to say it couldn't be enjoyed by you three, though.

Natasha and Wanda took you out to coffee afterwards as the brunette had promised. They explained their prior agreement to ‘test the waters’ with you, Wanda working with Natasha on a plan to woo you both in and out of character. The date went well, although with much less lingering glances and more almost-fucking in the back of Wanda’s car afterwards. It was there that the public and paparazzi learned of your relationship, although their camera flash thankfully stopped any romance before it got good. You weren’t on a porn set, after all- and Wanda kept your half-nude form hidden while Natasha cursed out the press. All in a day’s work.

Unfortunately, the day’s work began anew the next day. Filming the romance scene was no difficult measure now, but Natasha’s grin and Wanda’s wandering hands blurred the lines of professionalism. The film crew couldn’t care less, a few of them- such as Kate, a script supervisor- mentioned how they knew it would happen eventually (and won a bet with Peter, who said it’d take until the award show for you three to get together).

However, once you three escaped into Natasha’s office for some ‘paperwork’ as she’d called it, it didn’t matter. They were yours, and that was enough. ~~~

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sasheemo · 4 months ago

Text

Revenge and Reconciliation

Pairing: Ex gfs Bound!Agatha x Witch!Reader

Summary: When the hex shatters, the bond between you and Agatha reignites with a force too raw to ignore. Confronting her after decades of anger, betrayal, and yearning, you’re determined to make her pay. Power, passion, and a collision of unresolved emotions blur the line between vengeance and surrender.

Tags: Bitter Ex Gfs, Smut, Revenge Sex, Emotional Angst, Power Dynamics, Magic-Infused Sex, Magic Strap, Magic Cum, Magic Wrists Restraints, Slight Degradation, Cum Powered Reconciliation, Revenge Gets Sticky, Sub!Agatha (I know, wtf), Writing Sub Agatha Feels Illegal, Is It Subbing If She Still Wins Tho?

Word count: 6.6k

A/N: I wrote this fic as an attempt to wrestle my way out of the creative block that’s been clinging to me like an overly affectionate stray cat. I don’t think it’s the best thing I could have written, and I’m not entirely convinced by it, but the idea had been gathering dust on my list for a while, so here we are.

The concept of sub!Agatha has always intrigued me—mostly because, in my mind, it’s about as rare as a solar eclipse. I usually stick to writing Dom!Agatha, but hey, I think sub!Agatha is canon-compliant too… just in that “blink and you’ll miss it, alignment of the magical cosmos” kind of way.

For this fic, I decided to throw caution (and some very own personal hcs) to the wind and see if I could somehow make that dynamic work in an x Reader setting. Did I nail it? Definitely not. Do I feel like I truly captured the elusive sub!Agatha vibe that lives rent-free in my head? Eh, we’ll call it a work in progress. Maybe I’ll take another swing at it someday. For now, here’s my first attempt—enjoy! 💜

MASTERLIST

Read on AO3

It’s subtle at first—a faint ripple in the air, like a string pulled taut and suddenly slackened. But you feel it, deep in your body and soul, as if the ground beneath you shifted.

The hex is broken.

Agatha.

Her name lingers in your mind like a curse, dragging with it a torrent of emotions you’ve spent decades trying to bury.

Fury, white-hot and all-consuming, surges to the surface, clawing at the walls you’ve built around it. You can feel it all, the bitterness, the pain, the endless ache of betrayal.

Yet everything feels shushed by the unmistakable pull of her magic, faint but familiar, like the distant hum of a melody you can’t forget.

You’ve tried to sever this bond more times than you can count, poured every ounce of power into cutting the thread of magic that still ties you to her.

But it never worked. Years of spells, rituals, and desperate attempts to scrape her magic from your soul couldn’t erase that connection, that cruel reminder of the love you once shared.

You don’t want to feel her. You don’t want to feel anything.

But with the hex shattered, she’s there—everywhere. The memories rise like a tide, drowning you in the ghost of what once was.

The warmth of her fingers, trailing just long enough to leave a fire in their wake. Her voice, low and teasing, laced with promises that made your heart race. You remember the way she laughed, genuine and unguarded when she let herself forget the world, or the way her lips curled into a smirk when she caught you staring, daring you to look away. Those stolen nights, when her touch was tender and her kisses slow, felt endless, like she was giving you pieces of her no one else had ever seen.

And then… nothing.

She left. Without a word. Without a reason. Without even a shred of decency to say goodbye. She disappeared like smoke, leaving only the cold, bitter truth: it meant nothing. You meant nothing.

The memories crash to a halt, mocking you, shaming you, for ever believing she could be anything more than one of her masterly crafted lies.

Your magic surges in response, wild and vengeful, begging for release. You clench your fists, trying to ground yourself, but it’s futile. Her presence—or the absence of it—calls to you.

It’s been decades, but the wound is as raw as the day she abandoned you, as sharp as the moment you realized she wasn’t coming back.

But you won’t give her the chance to run this time.

Without hesitation, you focus your energy, feeling the familiar pull of teleportation. The world shifts, and when you open your eyes, you’re standing outside her house in Westview. It’s dark and unassuming, the air around it heavy with the remnants of the hex’s magic.

The door slams open with a burst of energy, the wood groaning under the force of your magic. The faint remnants of Wanda’s hex still cling to the air, a metallic tang that pricks at your senses, but they’re nothing compared to the oppressive weight of her presence.

Agatha is sprawled on the couch as if she hasn’t a care in the world, her posture loose and unbothered despite the clear signs of exhaustion clinging to her.

Her dark hair, longer than you remember, tumbles around her shoulders in wild, mussed waves, catching the light like ink kissed by moonlight. Her clothes are rumpled, the lines of her blouse wrinkled and her jeans have clearly seen better days, but somehow the disarray only adds to her maddening allure.

And then there’s her face—those sharp cheekbones, that pale, smooth skin, and the glint in her icy blue eyes that even now refuses to dim.

She looks up at you, her smirk curling with the same audacity that’s haunted you for decades, and for a moment, you hate how effortlessly breathtaking she is, how your heart still skips a beat whenever her eyes meet yours. Even now, even when she’s powerless.

“Well, well.” she drawls, tilting her head, her voice laced with a defiance she has no right to feel. “Come to gloat?”

You take a step inside and the air shifts, charged with the force of your presence. For the first time in decades, you’re the one with the power, and Agatha—bound, powerless, and alone—is at your mercy.

“You look terrible.” you say, your voice sharp, cutting. “What happened to the all-powerful Agatha Harkness? Shouldn’t you be out scheming, manipulating, destroying lives? Oh, wait—”. You step closer, savoring the way her smirk falters, “You can’t.”

Agatha’s smirk snaps back into place, but there’s a flicker—tiny, fleeting—of something behind her eyes. Fear? No, she wouldn’t let you see that. Regret? That would be even more shocking. Whatever it is, it’s gone in an instant.

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you.” she says, leaning back against the couch. “I guess that hasn’t changed.”

Your jaw tightens, so hard you’re lucky you don’t chip a tooth. The sheer audacity of her, lounging there like she hasn’t single-handedly fueled centuries of your bitterness, makes your magic flare.

The air around you hums with tension, a wave of heat radiating from your skin, but she doesn’t even flinch. Of course she doesn’t. Why would she? Agatha has always been maddeningly immune to the consequences of her actions.

“Don’t you dare pretend nothing happened.” you snap, stepping closer until you’re towering over her. “You left, Agatha. You abandoned me without a word. No explanation, no goodbye—just gone. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

“I had my reasons.” she murmurs, voice quieter now, almost too quiet.

Your laugh is cold, bitter. “Reasons? That’s the best you can come up with? You destroyed me, Agatha. For decades, I tried to understand why, to make sense of how I meant so little to you.”

Her lips part as if to speak, but no words come out. For a moment, just a moment, you see something raw in her gaze—a vulnerability she’s trying desperately to hide.

“Don’t.” you say sharply, your magic flaring brighter. “Don’t you dare try to justify what you did. You don’t get to play the victim.”

Her smirk falls back into place, but it’s weaker now, almost brittle.

“You’re really milking this righteous fury thing, aren’t you?” she quips, though her voice lacks its usual bite. “What do you want, then? Revenge? Closure? Or did you just miss me?”

The last question catches you off guard, her tone teasing but her eyes searching. Your magic is screaming at you to be unleashed, the rage bubbling so close to the surface as you lean in closer, your face inches from hers.

“What I want,” you say, your voice low and dangerous, “is for you to feel even a fraction of the pain you caused me.”

The heat of your fury presses down on her, forcing her back into the couch. Her sharp tongue falters, her bravado slipping just enough for you to see it: the crack in her armor, the shadow of fear in her eyes.

“Give me one good reason,” you hiss, venom drenching your tone, “why I shouldn’t end this now. Why I shouldn’t take everything from you the way you took everything from me.”

“Because you still love me.”

Five words, and everything you’ve built comes crashing down.

It festers like an old wound torn open, flesh ripped apart to reveal something gory beneath, bleeding and pulsing. It’s a visceral pain that feels like it might consume you whole, a dark, twisting ache that blooms in your chest and radiates outward.

Your grip on your magic falters, and for a fleeting second, you see her as she was all those years ago—the woman who once held your heart in her hands, who kissed you like you were the only thing that mattered.

The memory bleeds into the present, stark and jarring, clashing with the image of the woman before you now. She’s still breathtaking, but there’s a hollowness in her now, a shadow where the fire used to burn brightest.

The contrast churns something bitter and broken inside you—resentment, grief, yearning, perhaps all three at once. It’s unbearable, the way the past and present collide, leaving you adrift in the space between what was and what is.

You force yourself to recoil, your magic snapping back to you as if burned.

“Love?” you spit, the word a venomous hiss that cuts through the charged air between you. “You think I could still love you after everything you did? I fucking hate you, Agatha.”

Her laughter startles you—a sharp, bitter sound that carries no joy, only a rawness that sinks deep under your skin. It’s the laugh of someone who’s long since made peace with their own destruction.

“Hate’s just love that’s been shattered to pieces.” she says, her voice cracking, the edges sharp enough to draw blood. “And we both know you’ve been holding onto those shards for decades.”

You want to deny it, to unleash every ounce of fury you’ve carried for all these years, to rip her apart for daring to speak such a painful truth aloud.

But you can’t.

And it’s in this moment of hesitation, of vulnerability, that the rage in your chest shifts—twisting into something far more dangerous.

The bond between you roars, electric and alive, as if responding to your emotions. It’s always been there, tethering you to her no matter how much you tried to sever it. And now, it’s pulling you closer, wrapping around you like dense smoke.

It’s infuriating. It’s intoxicating. And you fucking missed it.

Even bound and powerless, Agatha looks at you as if she’s still in control, as if the years of pain and betrayal you’ve carried mean nothing.

Her eyes narrow, a glint of recognition flashing in that unnervingly sharp gaze. She sees it, she feels it, the way her words have struck a nerve. And, of course, she pounces on it.

“What’s the matter, hon?” she purrs, her voice a sickeningly sweet mockery of concern. “Can’t decide whether to kill me or fuck me?”

The words land like a match to gasoline, igniting a fire it’s far too late to extinguish. The line you’ve been toeing shatters, and before you can stop yourself, you close the final distance between you in one swift movement, your hand wrapping around her throat as you press her back against the couch.

Her smirk doesn’t leave her lips—if anything, it deepens, her breath catching just slightly as her eyes gleam with something dark and infuriatingly pleased.

You can feel her pulse under your fingertips, quick and unsteady, and it only feeds the chaos roiling inside you.

“You don’t get to say that.” you hiss, leaning closer until your face is inches from hers. “You don’t get to act like this is a game.”

“And what if it is?” she murmurs, her voice low, almost daring. “What if that’s all we’ve ever been?”

The anger in your chest twists, warping into something raw and untamed. You hate her. You want her. The two emotions bleed together, inseparable, consuming.

Your grip on her throat tightens—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her who has the power now. She doesn’t fight you, but she doesn’t look away either.

“You have no idea what you’ve done to me.” you say, your voice shaking with the weight of everything you’ve held back. “No idea what it’s been like to carry this—this anger, this pain, this fucking bond I can’t escape.”

Of course, you don’t expect her to apologize, she never would, but the flicker of regret in her eyes is louder than words.

The bond between you hums again, relentless and unyielding, pulling you closer even as you try to resist. You do hate her, but you also can’t deny the way her presence calls to you, the way her magic—even diminished—feels like a part of you.

“Why, Agatha?” you demand, your voice breaking as you lean in closer. “Why did you leave? Why did you—”

She cuts you off by brushing her lips against yours in the barest hint of contact. It’s not a kiss, not yet, but it steals the breath from your lungs all the same.

As her breath mingles with yours, the world collapses to the infinitesimal space between your lips, a charged, aching void that demands to be closed.

And then, as if honoring that demand, she closes the distance.

Her lips crash onto yours in a kiss that isn’t tender—it’s a storm, a battle, a clash of wills. Her mouth moves against yours with a desperation that feels like surrender, but there’s no mistaking the way she bites at your lower lip, as if daring you to take more.

You growl low in your throat, the sound vibrating against her lips as your hands find her hips, pinning her harder against the couch. She arches into you, her body a perfect, infuriating fit against yours, and the bond between you flares alive, pulling you deeper into the chaos of her.

Her tongue meets yours, and it’s molten—hot and demanding, tangled in a rhythm that feels like a fight for dominance neither of you is willing to lose. The couch creaks beneath you as you press her down, your weight covering hers completely, your hand sliding up to tangle in her hair, tugging just hard enough to make her gasp into your mouth.

This isn’t forgiveness. It isn’t reconciliation. It’s unfiltered emotion, punishment and possession, everything you’ve bottled up for decades exploding in a collision of anger and desire that leaves no room for restraint.

With a flick of your wrist, her clothes dissolve into shimmering wisps of magic, vanishing like smoke into the air. What’s left behind steals the breath from your lungs despite every part of you screaming not to react, not to let her affect you like this.

The sight of Agatha’s bare body, a masterpiece of soft curves and sharp angles, reignites memories you thought you’d buried—the way her skin once felt beneath your hands, how her body moved in perfect synch with yours, every sound she made etched into your soul.

It’s been decades since you last saw her like this, but time has done nothing to dull her power over you.

Your pulse thunders in your ears, heat spreading like wildfire through your veins as your gaze trails over her, lingering on the lines of her collarbone, the swell of her breasts, the way her thighs tremble ever so slightly.

She’s bound and powerless in every possibile sense of the words, yet somehow she still holds the upper hand.

Her lips curl into the faintest smirk as if she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. “Still as easy to impress as ever, I see.”

The words snap you out of your trance, a surge of irritation mingling with the desire coursing through you.

With another flick of your wrist, ropes of magic coil around her wrists, pulling them together and suspending them above her head. The glowing bonds crackle with energy, casting faint light over her bare skin.

Her smirk falters, just slightly, as she tugs against the restraints, her muscles flexing in defiance and testing their hold.

And it’s that—that small attempt at resistance, her futile struggle against the bonds you’ve created—that makes something snap inside you.

It’s not just power—it’s the realization that she, the woman who’s haunted your every waking thought and dream, is finally yours to control. The intensity of it almost scares you, the way it spreads through your chest like spilled ink, staining every corner of your mind in pitch black.

It’s a visceral, consuming need to claim her, to fill her, to mark her in a way that will sear into her soul, leaving no room for doubt or escape. The hunger burns through you, fierce and unrelenting, every ounce of your power thrumming with it, shaping itself into something tangible, something undeniable.

Your lower clothing dissolves into shimmering magic, leaving you partially bare—but not fully. The vulnerability of complete nakedness is a luxury you can’t afford. Not right now. Not with Agatha. You want the contrast to be stark—her, stripped of everything, exposed and powerless beneath you, while you remain in control. It’s a statement, a reminder, that here, now, you’re the one with the upper hand.

And then, as though summoned by your need, the strap materializes. And it’s not just magic—it’s a part of you, an extension of your body.

The weight of it settles against your hips, grounding you, the connection immediate and intimate, as if it’s always been there.

Your gaze drops for a moment, drawn to the way your cock stands proud and commanding, and a smirk tugs at your lips. You take in its size, the thick, substantial girth that demands attention. You make no effort to hide your satisfaction as your hand wraps firmly around its base, stroking it in slow, deliberate movements that make your intent unmistakable.

Agatha’s eyes widen, her own gaze falling to your cock before flicking back to your face. Her lips part slightly, and her tongue darts out to wet them in a motion so instinctive, so sinful, that it sends a fresh jolt of heat through you.

For once, she seems utterly at a loss for words, the sharp wit you’ve come to expect from her silenced by the weight of the moment, and by you.

“Speechless?” you ask, your tone dripping with mockery. “Not like you.”

“Well,” she manages, clicking her tongue, her voice laced with an edge of forced confidence, “you’ve certainly… outdone yourself.”

You press the tip against her thigh, watching as her body tenses and her breath hitches. Slowly, teasingly, you trail it upward, letting it graze her glistening folds but never quite giving her what she wants.

You see all of her defiance falter the second you tap the tip against her clit. You do it multiple times, teasing her until she’s a panting mess, her chest heaving as her body completely betrays her.

And yet, her eyes stay locked on yours, burning with a mix of frustration and longing.

“Look at you,” you murmur, your hand sliding back to her throat, wrapping around it just enough to keep her grounded. Her pulse races beneath your fingers, and you feel her body relax into your touch, her submission becoming more evident with every passing second. “You’re supposed to be the powerful one, remember? The one who’s always in control. How does it feel to be at my mercy?”

She doesn’t answer—not with words. Instead, a broken moan escapes her lips as you finally push the tip of your cock into her. The sensation shoots through you like lightning, raw and electric, and you can’t stop the low hum that escapes your lips.

“So wet for someone who acts like she’s above it all.” you say, your voice carrying a teasing lilt. “Tell me, Agatha—do you always get this needy when you’re powerless? Or is it just for me?”

Her cheeks flush, and she glares at you, but the humiliation in her eyes only makes your smirk deepen. She tilts her hips toward you in an attempt to take more, the motion drawing a smug chuckle from your throat.

“Pathetic.” you mock, “You used to have me on my knees, begging for you. And here you are now, so desperate for my cock you can’t even hide it.”

Her lips part in a sharp, trembling intake of breath, her chest rising and falling as her wrists strain futilely against the glowing restraints above her head.

“You think you’re in control now?” she spits, though her voice trembles. “That this makes you powerful?”

You laugh, cold and merciless, leaning in until your breath fans across the shell of her ear.

“Oh, I don’t think.” you whisper, your words nothing but a cruel taunt. “I know.”

To drive the point home, you push deeper, and the wet, obscene sound of her body yielding to you fills the room.

She’s molten, deliciously tight, and her slick heat draws you in like a drug. Every inch you sink into her feels like a conquest, you can feel how her body stretches to take you, how her walls tremble and clench around the pleasurable intrusion, pulling you deeper as if begging for more.

The sensation is so vivid, so overwhelming, that a loud, unrestrained moan tears from your lips.

“Seems like I’m not the only needy one.” she murmurs, her voice trembling but cutting nevertheless. “Such pretty sounds for me.”

Her words strike a nerve, and the moment they register, your hips snap forward in one sharp, punishing thrust, driving the strap so deep your hips collide with hers.

The impact sends a jolt through both of you, her sharp cry echoing through the air before it’s cut off as your fingers tighten around her throat.

“Is that what you wanted? Mmh?” you hiss, your voice trembling with the effort to stay in control. “To be fucked like this? To feel what it’s like to be under me for once?”

She doesn’t respond, her voice swallowed by a series of breathless moans as you pull back and thrust in again, setting a slow, languid rhythm that feels more like a claim than a motion.

You want to break her—but not physically. Even now, even with the all this anger coursing through you, the thought of truly hurting her is unthinkable. You know you’re big, and despite everything, you couldn’t forgive yourself if you let the fury bleeding into your movements cause her pain.

Instead, you pour that intensity into control, into precision, into the way you angle your hips just right to drag your length against every sensitive spot inside her. The sound of her wetness grows louder with each thrust, mingling with the faint creak of the couch beneath you.

“Gods.” you murmur, your free hand gripping her hip to steady yourself. “You feel that, don’t you? How wet you are for me? How much you want this?”

Her head nods slightly, the motion almost instinctive, as if her body answers before her mind has time to process, before the final syllable of your last question even hangs in the air.

“Yes—fuck.” she whispers, the word trembling on her lips. “Yes, I—”

“Louder!” you command, your tone sharp as you feel it—a fresh gush of wetness enveloping you, slick and hot, pulling you in.

“Yes!” she screams, her voice cracking under the weight of her need. “I want it—I want you.”

Her admission is a spark to the inferno raging inside you, and you give in to it, your magic surging wildly.

Your pace quickens, your hips snapping forward with growing intensity, each thrust deeper and harder than the last, the slap of your hips against hers a relentless cadence of possession that blends with her cries.

Her wrists pull at the restraints while her back arches and her moans rise higher, each one a testament to your power over her, a surrender you claim with every punishing thrust.

Your gaze drops involuntarily, drawn to the mesmerizing rhythm of her breasts bouncing in time with your movements, and the sight instantly makes your mouth water. The memory of their softness, the way they felt against your tongue and lips, rushes back unbidden, igniting a primal urge to lean down and take one into your mouth.

But you catch yourself, clenching your jaw against the temptation. This isn’t about her pleasure. You’re not here to make her enjoy herself. You’re here to ruin her, to make her crumble under your control.

“Fuck, don’t stop.” she whispers, her voice breaking. “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

Your eyes snap back to hers, a wicked grin spreading across your lips as your grip on her throat loosens, your hand sliding down to join the other on her hips. With both hands anchoring her in place, your pace grows ruthless, each thrust drawing louder and more desperate sounds from her.

Her walls tighten around you, squeezing your cock as the connection between you deepens, your magic tangling with hers in a way that feels both chaotic and inevitable.

And then, just as you feel teetering on the edge of release, you pull back, slowing to a maddening pace.

Your thrusts become shallow, deliberate teases that barely fill her, leaving her gasping and writhing beneath you. Her frustration is palpable, her hips bucking in search of relief, but you hold her steady, a cruel smirk curling your lips.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” you purr, each word dripping with satisfaction. “Just say the word, Agatha. Beg me, and I’ll let you come.”

Her body tenses beneath you, every muscle taut as she fights the command with everything she has, struggling to cling to the last fleeting semblance of control. Even as her thighs quiver and her hips twitch uncontrollably, her pride holds her back, refusing to surrender to you so easily.

But as each thrust reminds her of what she’s being denied, drawing out her torment, her nails curl into her palms, her jaw tightens, and her resolve cracks little by little under the relentless pressure.

Finally, her head tilts back, her voice breaking as the words tear from her throat. “Please—fuck… please, let me come.”

Her words ignite something feral and all-consuming. Power surges through your veins, setting your every nerve ablaze as you answer her desperate plea and resume fucking her with renewed vigor.

You slam into her with brutal force, each thrust hitting that soft, devastatingly perfect spot inside her that makes her entire body jerk beneath you. Her eyes roll back, her cries turning into incoherent, panting moans that fuel the raw, insatiable need driving your every motion.

“That’s it.” you growl, your hand sliding down to her clit. You circle it with fast, precise movements, your fingers slick with her arousal as you push her closer to the edge. “Come for me, Agatha. Come on my cock.”

Her moans climb higher, until they peak in a scream that tears through the air as the tension within her shatters all at once.

Agatha’s orgasm bursts forth like a supernova, bright and devastating, her walls clenching and spasming around you in rhythmic pulses that leave you breathless. She cries out your name, her voice splintering into a sob as her body quakes with the force of her release.

The sight of her—head thrown back, lips parted, her chest heaving as she trembles in the throes of ecstasy—is almost enough to undo you. But you don’t stop. You keep pounding into her, forcing her to take every inch over and over as you drive her higher, helping her ride out each wave of her climax.

And then, as you revel in the way she’s gripping you as though she never wants to let you go, and your own release threatens to overtake you, you falter.

Because her eyes—half-lidded, blown wide, and dark with need—lock onto yours, piercing through the haze of control you’ve clung to. Her lips part, trembling, and her voice cuts through the storm.

“Fuck—please, baby.” she gasps, each word breaking into a whimper that makes your stomach tighten and your magic throb. “Come inside me. I need it—need to feel it, need you to fill me up.

That’s it. Her words, how she begged for it, the pet name falling so effortlessly from her lips, the raw desperation in her voice, the sheer thought of filling her up with your cum, of watching her take every drop like she’s made for it. It’s all more than enough to tip you over the edge.

How utterly ruined she looks beneath you only adds to it, and whatever fragile grip you had on your restraint shatters instantly, obliterated by the force of her need.

Your hips snap forward in one last devastating thrust, burying your cock into her as deep as it can go, your climax slamming into you like an explosion.

And then it happens.

The magic within you surges implacably, a relentless flood that erupts deep inside her in thick, scorching waves. Each pulse of your cock forces more of your release into her, a molten rush that fills her completely. The bond between you roaring with life as your magic claims her from the inside out, leaving no part of her untouched.

Beneath you, Agatha’s body goes taut, her back arching violently as the blue in her eyes gets rapidly swallowed by a swirling, familiar, luminous purple.

You can feel her magic pouring back into her, she gasps as it all overtakes her, her body trembling violently as another orgasm tears through her. But this one is unexpected, different, and even more powerful than the first.

Her cry pierces the air, a sound of pure ecstasy and unrestrained power, unlike anything you’ve ever heard. It’s primal, otherworldly, and devastatingly beautiful. For a moment, you’re left breathless, unwillingly captivated by the sight of her. A vision that makes something inside you ache.

When the final waves of pleasure subside, you collapse onto her, your breath ragged, your body trembling with exhaustion and the lingering hum of magic.

The restraints on her wrists dissolve, fading into shimmering sparks, and her hands hover for a moment, uncertain, before they settle gently on your back.

Her touch is light, not hesitant but careful, as though rediscovering something long lost. And as your bodies press together, it feels as if no time has passed at all since you last lay in each other’s arms.

Agatha’s chest rises and falls with uneven breaths, her lips parted as her hooded eyes lock onto yours.

Her gaze is a labyrinth, a tangle of emotions so layered and profound it’s impossible to unravel. There’s no trace of defiance, no smugness, no sharp wit lurking in the corners. Instead, disbelief and shock hum beneath the surface, while a glimmer of something softer—gratefulness, maybe even devotion—burns faintly. And yet, woven through it all is an aching, unguarded longing.

It’s a silent confession wrapped in questions, and the absence of her usual masks, the sheer vulnerability staring back at you, stirs something deep in your chest, a feeling too overwhelming to even begin to name.

As you pull out of her, you catch how her hips twitch instinctively at the sudden emptiness, and the sound she makes—a quiet, needy whine—makes your breath hitch.

The cock dissolves in a flicker of shimmering light, fading back into the ether, but your eyes remain fixed on what it left behind.

You watch your cum drip from her, thick and glistening as it slides slowly down her folds. The sight is mesmerizing and utterly filthy, making a new rush of heat coil low in your stomach.

Agatha notices the shift in your gaze, lazily tilting her head to follow it. When she sees what’s caught your attention, a smug grin spreads across her face, equal parts infuriating and intoxicating.

“Hmm.” she hums, her voice a sultry drawl that sends shivers down your spine. “You always did know how to leave an impression, darling.”

She pauses, her grin deepening as her eyes flick back to yours, gleaming with sharp amusement. “Though I must say, I never expected to get my powers back this way… not that I’m complaining.”

As soon as you register her words your jaw clenches, a flush rising to your cheeks as frustration surges through you.

That wasn’t supposed to happen. The thought echoes in your mind, relentless and deafening. You didn’t plan this—hell, you didn’t even know you could do that, and the realization leaves you stunned, reeling.

You came here to break her, to strip her of whatever scraps of control she had left, to show her just how worthless she was without her power. You came here to make her pay.

But instead, as always, in the end, Agatha got exactly what she wanted.

The smugness etched into her face says it all. It’s infuriating. Humiliating. Maddening. Everything always plays out in her favor, no matter how the odds stack against her. The universe itself seems to bend for her, conspiring to deliver her victory, while you’re left choking on the ashes of your intentions.

And yet, even in your frustration, there’s a selfish, shameful flicker of satisfaction burning in your chest. You gave her back her power, yes—but you did it your way. Intimate. Indelible. Something neither of you can ignore or undo.

No matter how powerful she becomes again, no matter how she wields what’s been restored, she’ll always know who gave it back to her and how. She’ll owe you, whether she admits it or not.

In that way, you did make her pay. And the twisted irony of it feels like a cruel, bitter triumph.

Agatha notices the shift in your expression, the way your gaze has drifted into the distance as if lost in thought, and her voice slices through the haze with a softness that catches you completely off guard.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re like this.” she whispers, her tone impossibly gentle, like a secret meant only for you. ”When you’re all mine.”

Her words land like a jolt, anchoring you back to the present and cutting through the fog in your mind.

There’s something in her voice, an aching sincerity you didn’t expect, that makes something deep inside you twist painfully.

But even if her tenderness disarms you, it still strikes a nerve, clashing violently with the anger and resentment still simmering beneath your skin. You cling to that anger desperately, using it to shield yourself from the confusion clawing at the edges of your control and threatening to drag you under.

“I’m not yours.” you snarl, but the words lack conviction, and you know she hears it.

Her grin returns, sharper now, as if she’s savoring your futile resistance.

“Oh, darling…” she whispers, her voice dripping with equal parts confidence and affection. “You’ve always been mine.”

You open your mouth to reply, to hurl another retort that might restore some semblance of control, but the words die on your tongue as her hand moves with startling speed.

Her fingers curl around the back of your neck, her grip firm yet trembling, and she pulls you down roughly, her lips crashing against yours before you can resist.

The kiss is instant chaos, scattering your thoughts like leaves in a storm. Her tongue slides against yours, hot and insistent, tangling and teasing with a fervor that steals the air from your lungs.

It’s wet, messy, the taste of her flooding your senses as she kisses you with the same confident, consuming intensity she always did.

But beneath the confidence, there’s something unspoken.

It’s in the way her body shudders beneath you, in the way her fingers dig into your neck, in the way her lips cling to yours as though letting go might unravel her completely. The vulnerability in her touch and the aching need in her kiss cut through the haze of anger, leaving you trembling and unsure whether the ache blooming in your chest is pain, longing, or both.

But right now, whatever it is you’re feeling, you refuse to linger on it.

You won’t allow her another second of your time, your presence. The very air around her feels oppressive, making it harder to breathe, and you know that if you stay a moment longer it will be too late to resurface.

With all the strength and willpower you can muster, you push yourself up, breaking away from her touch and from her warmth.

You wave a hand, conjuring back your underwear and pants in a blur of hasty magic, your movements jerky and unsteady while every fiber of your being screams at you to put distance between yourself and her. To leave.

Suddenly, the bond hums again, loud and persistent, gnawing and mocking at your resolve. You grit your teeth and force yourself to ignore it, taking a couple of steps toward the door, refusing to look back.

You’ll leave. You need to leave. You want to leave.

But with Agatha, it’s never that easy.

“Wait.”

It’s not a command. It’s not teasing or smug. It’s quiet, almost unsure, and that alone makes you hesitate.

You glance back over your shoulder, your voice sharp with all the frustration burning hot in your chest. “What could you possibly want now?”

She sits up slowly, still completely naked, making no effort to conjure clothes with the magic now thrumming through her.

“Answers.” she says, her tone smooth but tinged with a sly undertone, her gaze locked on yours with unnerving steadiness. “That’s why you came here, isn’t it? To finally hear the truth you think I owe you.”

She pauses, her lips curving into a faint, almost teasing smile as her eyes flick downward to her still-bare body. “Especially after… this.” Her eyes return to yours, glinting with amusement. “I suppose it’s only fair.”

You fold your arms across your chest, your anger warring with the pull of her words.

“You owe me more than answers.” you bite back, your voice cutting and cold. “You owe me years of my life, years of trying to understand why you left.”

“And you’ll have them.” her voice softer now, almost disarming. “But not like this.”

Your eyes narrow, suspicion curling in the pit of your stomach. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She rises slowly, her movements deliberate as she closes the distance between you. Her nakedness robs her of nothing—if anything, it sharpens her power, her control.

When she reaches you, her hand lifts to cup your cheek, her touch infuriatingly warm, a silent challenge wrapped in unsettling intimacy.

“Stay.” she says, her thumb skimming your skin with a tenderness that makes your breath hitch. “We’ll talk. Over dinner. But only if you stay.”

You bristle at the condition, your pride flaring.

“Using my need for closure as leverage?” you ask, your voice biting. “How very you.”

Her grin returns, sharper now, but her eyes betray a flicker of something gentler.

“Oh, darling.” she purrs, her voice dripping with confidence, “I know you want this, so, let’s not play pretend. I’d say we’re well past that point, wouldn’t you?”

Your jaw tightens, the weight of her gaze making it hard to hold onto your anger. You hate that she’s right. Hate that you want to stay, that the bond between you has wrapped itself around your heart so tightly you can’t bear to leave.

“Fine. Dinner.” you say, your voice clipped. “But no games, Agatha. You owe me the truth.”

Her smirk deepens for a moment, a glimmer of mischief flashing in her eyes, before softening into a genuine, almost nostalgic smile.

“No games.” she whispers, her tone unexpectedly gentle. “Just dinner… like old times.”

You shake your head, as if trying to clear the lingering warmth of her touch. But it stays with you as you watch her move toward the kitchen, humming softly to herself.

As you follow her, you can’t help but wonder if staying will be your salvation or your undoing. But with Agatha, it’s never a question of one or the other—it’s always both, tangled together in a way that, after all this time, you’re starting to realize you were never meant to escape.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness x female reader #agatha harkness fanfic #aaa fanfic #agatha all along fanfic #agatha x reader #agatha x you #agatha x y/n

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leriexoxo · 1 month ago

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TEACHER’S PET 2

PART TWO

pairing: Prof! Bang Chan x Reader

tags: smut, 18+ mdni, teacher- student trope, forbidden love, unprotected sex, dom/sub dynamics, oral (f receiving)

word count: 2k+

summary: When a forbidden hook-up with your professor turns into an obsession neither of you can resist, you’re invited into his world—one bed, one confession, and one dangerously intimate secret at a time.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You hadn’t seen him all day, but you felt him everywhere.

The ache from last week’s lecture hall rendezvous still haunted your thighs, your mind clouded with the echo of his voice telling you to bend over and behave. And now, as you sat alone in the near-empty campus café, your phone buzzed.

Mr. Bang: Come by after 8. My place. We need to talk.

You knew exactly what kind of “talking” he meant.

When you got there, the front door opened before you even knocked, revealing him in a black button-up, sleeves rolled, hair messily pushed back like he’d been pacing. His eyes dragged down your body once, then again—slower. Hungrier.

He stepped aside silently, but the tension was thick enough to choke you.

“You’ve been on my mind,” he murmured once the door clicked shut behind you. “And I don’t like distractions when I’m working.”

You swallowed hard. “So this is… to clear your head?”

He smirked, lips curling around something dangerous. “No, sweetheart. This is to ruin you properly—without the fear of anyone walking in.”

He was on you before your reply could form, mouth hot against your neck, his hands already sliding beneath your shirt like he owned your body. And maybe he did. Because the second his fingers touched skin, your knees buckled.

“Bed. Now,” he growled. “This time, I want to hear everything.”

But you didn’t move.

Not yet.

Your eyes locked with his, testing boundaries you didn’t know existed. “You waited a week to text me,” you whispered, breath shallow. “Why now?”

His jaw clenched.

He stepped closer until your back touched the wall, one hand gripping your chin, tilting your face up so your lips were inches from his. “Because if I didn’t, I was going to fuck you in my office again. In the middle of a meeting. I haven’t been able to think straight since the moment you walked into my class looking like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like a fucking sin I was too weak to resist.”

You didn’t realize how fast your heart had started racing until he pressed his palm flat against your chest.

“See that?” he murmured. “You feel that rush? That’s not just because of last time. It’s because you’ve known since day one what this is.” He leaned in, brushing his lips over your ear, his breath searing. “You’re not innocent, are you?”

“No,” you breathed.

“And you like being my dirty little secret?”

Your breath hitched. “Yes.”

That was all it took. In one swift movement, he lifted you—lifted you like you weighed nothing—and carried you straight to his room. The door slammed behind you, the air turning heavier with every step.

He threw you on the bed, eyes devouring every inch of exposed skin as he slowly pulled his shirt over his head, revealing lean muscle, veins, and the kind of power that made your thighs squeeze together.

“Lie back,” he ordered, voice thick with restraint. “Hands over your head. I want you completely open for me.”

You obeyed—barely—your body already trembling.

He leaned over you, one knee pressing between your legs, mouth ghosting over your stomach.

“I thought about you every single night,” he confessed, each word dragging heat lower and lower. “Your moans, your taste. The way your voice cracked when you begged me to go harder. I’ve ruined three pairs of sheets because of you.”

Your head tipped back, a whimper spilling from your lips.

“And tonight?” he said, slipping a hand between your thighs. “I’m not stopping until you forget your name and remember exactly who you belong to.”

His mouth crashed onto yours—hungry, aggressive, and completely feral. The kiss wasn’t sweet or slow—it was bruising, raw. You barely had time to breathe before his tongue pushed between your lips and claimed your mouth like it was his to own.

Clothes were stripped with reckless hands. He tugged your top over your head, unclasped your bra with practiced ease, and practically tore your panties down your legs, groaning the second he saw you completely bare beneath him.

“Look at you,” he muttered, voice low and wrecked as he stroked a thumb through your folds. “So fucking wet already, baby. You wanted this the second you walked into my class, didn’t you?”

“Y-yes—”

“Say it properly,” he warned, gripping your thigh and spreading your legs wider, exposing you to the cool air and his scorching stare. “Tell me you’ve been fantasizing about getting fucked like a whore by your teacher.”

You moaned, the filth of his words sending heat flooding through your chest. “I’ve been thinking about it every day since your desk, Mr. Bang. I wanted to be ruined by you.”

That broke him.

He dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed and dove in—tongue flat against your pussy, licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit, groaning like he’d just tasted heaven and sin in one lick. His hands pinned your thighs apart, thumbs digging into your skin as he sucked your clit into his mouth with wet, filthy sounds that echoed through the room.

“Oh my god—Chan—fuck—”

“That’s it,” he growled between licks. “Say my name like that. Over and over.”

You were already shaking when he shoved two fingers deep inside you, curling them just right—just perfect—as he kept his mouth latched onto your clit, eating you like a man possessed.

“Gonna cum,” you whimpered, back arching, heels digging into the mattress.

He didn’t stop. He sped up, fucking his fingers into you faster until your orgasm slammed into you like a freight train, heat exploding in your core, legs trembling around his shoulders.

But he wasn’t done.

“Oh no, baby,” he said, licking his lips as he stood up, his cock thick and hard and angry red, already leaking pre-cum. “You’re not getting off that easy.”

He climbed on top of you, lined himself up at your entrance, and slammed into you in one brutal thrust. Your gasp turned into a cry—he filled you completely, stretching you until your body molded around him.

“Fuck—so tight,” he groaned, hips pulling back just to drive into you again. “I missed this pussy. You were made for me.”

You clawed at his back, nails leaving red lines down his skin as he set a brutal pace, fucking you into the mattress with unrelenting force. Your tits bounced with each thrust, his mouth latching onto one nipple while his hand gripped your throat, holding you down as he pounded deeper.

“You like this, huh?” he hissed. “You like being my filthy little student? Letting me fuck you dumb in my bed like this?”

You couldn’t speak. You were gone—fucked-out and dazed, body slick with sweat, moaning his name like a prayer. All you could do was take it.

And he loved every second.

He flipped you over suddenly, dragging your hips up and slamming into you from behind, the new angle making your eyes roll back. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back so your spine arched deliciously.

“Gonna fill you up,” he panted. “Gonna cum so deep in you you’ll feel it every time you walk into class.”

You clenched around him hard.

“Fuck—do that again and I’ll cum right now.”

You did.

He let out a feral growl, hips snapping erratically as he fucked you through his orgasm, spilling inside you with a guttural moan of your name.

He collapsed on top of you, both of you panting, bodies trembling with aftershocks.

And then—softly, breathlessly—he whispered against your ear:

“You’re mine now.”

The air between you both still crackled, thick with the remnants of everything you’d just done—hands still trembling, skin warm, hearts racing in tandem like they hadn’t quite caught up. You lay there tangled in his sheets, flushed and dazed, the hum of the city outside barely cutting through the silence in the room.

Chan propped himself on his elbow, gaze trained on your face, searching for something—maybe regret, maybe fear—but finding none of it.

“Was that…” He swallowed, voice raw and low. “Too much?”

You turned your head toward him, lips still parted from the way he’d ruined you just minutes ago, and shook your head. “No,” you breathed. “It was everything.”

A beat passed. Then another.

“I’ve been losing my mind over you,” he confessed, eyes darkening with something far deeper than lust. “Since the first time you walked into my class. I tried to fight it—I did fight it. But then that day in my office happened, and it’s like something in me snapped.”

You sat up slowly, tugging the sheet around yourself more out of modesty than necessity. “I thought I was the only one going crazy.”

He reached for your hand and kissed your knuckles. “You weren’t.”

You let the quiet settle again. The only sound now was the rhythmic thump of his heart under your palm as you pressed it to his chest.

“So what are we?” you whispered.

He didn’t miss a beat. “Mine.”

Your eyes widened, the way his voice dipped into something possessive, like a growl.

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. I don’t want to keep pretending in class. I want you. Fully.”

A pause.

“You okay with that?” he added, softer now.

You leaned in, brushing your lips over his with a smile. “Only if you’re okay with me being just as obsessed with you.”

Chan grinned—giddy, boyish, utterly in love—and pulled you back into him, burying his face in your neck like he never wanted to let you go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: And with that, Teachers Pet is DONE!!!! I really enjoyed writing this but because i have so many other fics in the works, this one took a little more time to complete, sorry for the wait!!!

Please dont forget to reblog, comment and like!! Also of you want to be added to my taglist just let me know, i drop new fics every few days 💕

#bang chan #bang chan smut #skz imagines #bang chan angst #chan smut #bang chan skz #teacher student #bang chan x reader #skz bang chan #chan x y/n #chan x female reader #forbidden love #straykids x reader #straykids smut

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madefortherain · 2 months ago

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february fic recs ⋆ ༘⁀➷

the end of february means it’s, once again, time to shout about my favourite reads of the month! (same as last month, tagging authors i know the blogs of, but feel free to lmk if you want anything changed/removed) <3

multichapter:

Astronomia Nova by sreka (@smodernlife) - T, 35k. sirius raising harry, meets beautiful librarian remus and subsequently ruins a priceless book (meet-ugly everybody cheer!!). absolutely adored this!!

Be My Baby by pixelated (prettyremus) - M, 21k. dirty dancing au!! enough said just with that, really, but also the way queer themes are woven into the original story is so cool!

The Proctor House by @eyra - M, 5.2k, MCD. i honestly think it’s best to go into this one fairly blind. just let the beautiful writing take you where it wants to, it’s so so worth it. this one has stayed with me since i read it.

you don’t have to be alone (when you’re the place i wanna go) by @quiethauntings - E, 37k. remus reunites with his friends on a trip to the scottish highlands. nostalgia bottled into a fic! a very lovely depiction of loneliness and rekindling friendships. really beautiful!

Of Prefects, Pretence, and Precedent by Whoops_E - M, 121k. shouting this one out again because it’s now complete!!! i’m immediately diving in for a full reread. i go insane for this fic and specifically think about the grape jam chapter approximately 30 times a week.

oneshots:

nightlights by sadgeminimoon - T, 9.2k. single parent remus raising teddy, & sirius who helps out far too well. the pining!! adored this. i, too, would lose it if i came home to find sirius black doing a load of my laundry.

The Best By Far Is You by orphan_account - T, 13k. padfoot and moony are tumblr mutuals, while blind remus hires sirius as a reader for his classes. i believe this one is fairly well-known, but i only just got to it and it’s so so wonderful! there are also 7 more shorter oneshots (ratings vary) following this, all of which i subsequently inhaled. really recommend the entire Tumblr Trash series! (E, 35k total)

Perfect by wanderingdonut - T, 3.7k. ace4ace wolfstar learning to love each other :’) such a wonderful acespec story, i adored this <3

A Cup of Sugar by MsAlexWP (@languagelessonswolfstar) - T, 5.3k. harry pov feat. disabled harry and disabled remus (bonding!!). so sweet, such great disability rep, and adorable little peeks of wolfstar! loooved this!!

WIPs:

Let me Believe (Ever After) by @brigid-faye - M, 6/12, 47k. ever after: a cinderella story (1998) au! sad-eyed prince remus, riches to rags sirius. such great characterisations, relationships, and storytelling. i devoured these chapters so quickly!

Brave Face by @zoemillinwrites - M, 28/?, 252k, MCD. a canon-divergent, sirius-centric fic starting in hogwarts first year. such real and raw characters, being a little in love with your friends, and some of the cleverest, most unique magic explanations i’ve ever read. seriously, can’t emphasise enough how SO insanely cool the magic is!! (also shouting out the accompanying Story Shards WIP (E, 1/?, 4.3k) for some brilliant extra character studies!)

four thousand holes by aeridi0nis (@steelycunt) - E, 2/5, 41k. pride (2014) au. lesbians and gays support the miners; sirius is part of the organisation, remus is the son of a miner. truly so so obsessed with this premise. and the writing!! incredible, incredible prose.

As You Walk On By (Will You Call My Name?) by @imsiriuslyreading - M, 6/15, 23k, jily!!!! royalty au AND university au in one! royal james and eat-the-rich lily, creating such a fun jily dynamic. + a lovely dose of background wolfstar, too :)

#fic recs #wolfstar fic recs #+ one jily!#recent reads #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar #marauders #monthly rec lists #rain’s recs

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syd-djarin · 10 days ago

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she's my collar - frankie morales x f!reader

**reupload**

Frankie gets jealous of your handsy boss at your work gala. He’s got an idea to remind you that you’re his (and that he belongs to you).

tags/warnings: EXPLICIT 18+, newly established relationship, special Max Phillips mention, they're in love!, slight age gap (frankie is 44, reader is 35 in my mind) use of LEASH + collar (on reader), a jealous and possessive Frankie, first big "fight", sex in front of mirror, fingering, a lil rimming/butt play action, eating it from the back, Frankie is a NASTY DOG so he's doing it doggy style, cowgirl position, excessive use of pet names(baby, bebita, etc.) a few sluts sprinkled in, use of spanish, creampie (unprotected p in v sex), healthy communication and healthy relationship dynamics, frankie is a loverboy, love confession

*reader wears makeup & a dress but isn't really described so use that beautiful imagination! I wrote this with a plus size reader in mind, but NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTIONS are used. No skin tone, ethnicity or race descriptors used, she is YOU.

thank u to my beautiful babes @almostempty, @gothcsz and @myownwholewildworld for being my cheerleaders and for matching my freak! <333

wc: 2.5k

resources: consulted spanish use here by @urmomsgnocchi and here by @myownwholewildworld, inclusivitity in fandom

smut below the cut ;)

“What is it, Frankie? You've been quiet since we hopped on the elevator.”

“It’s nothing, I promise.”

”You’re a terrible liar,” you lightly tease. “ I know you don’t love crowds, I’m sorry. I should have checked in with you throughout the night…. I was just—”

”its not that—“

”— excited to bring you to the gala, I’ve never had anyone to bring and I wanted to show you off to everyone… oh my god, is the room too much? We don’t have to stay, I just figured it would be late and it was comped by the company so it made sense.. even though neither of us drink I just thought ya know we could have a mini staycation for a night… I mean we made it official like, last month. Fuck, I’m sorry, I mean you had to rent a suit! I—“ you ramble your hands wildly punctuating your thoughts.

You’re overthinking the entire night.

”No, no, s’not that.” He grabs your hand and squeezes three times (for I love you). “I’m happy to be your plus one any time, any place,” he kisses your knuckles. His beard tickles your fingers, making you giggle.

“I….ahem..” he clears his throat. “Was a little jealous,” he admits, looking down at his shoes.

Shame swirls in his gut, deep down, he knows this is just an insecurity rearing its vicious head. He learned the difficult and very hands on way that burying his feelings eventually makes the wounds fester. So, he’s keeping the wounds clean, so to speak.

“Jealous?! Jealous of what?”

“I don’t like being the guy who gets jealous when another dude even looks at their partner… I didn’t think I was that kinda guy but…”

“But?…”

“I don't like that sleazy motherfucker you work with,”

“Who?”

“You know, the clean shaven douche canoe who kept touching you all night.”

”Max? My boss?”

”Matt, Max, whatever his name is. Didn’t like the way he looked at you…kept putting his hand on your shoulder…”

You’ve had jealous boyfriends before and it's not an experience you’re looking to have again. It has your nerve endings on edge and you feel heat rise from your chest to your face.

“I appreciate your honesty but I can’t help it, okay? I mean he’s just...like that.”

“So you let him get away with it?”

“Get away with it??!” You rip your hand from his and scurry to the adjoining bathroom. ”What do you want me to do? I need this job, Frankie.” You hastily start removing your evening glam, using too-aggressive-for-your-face circles with the cleanser, ignoring the way your heart is racing, a bit from anger and a hint of something else...

He follows you, leaning against the doorframe. Even though your back is to him, you know he looks ridiculously hot right now.

“Look… I didn’t mean to be accusatory or blame you. I know it sounded that way and I’m sorry. It's just…”

“Just what?” you avoid his eyes taking advantage of the sudsy wash covering your face.

“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. You’re it for me, baby. I get scared though… of losing you.”

Frankie has never been this vulnerable before. He's a lot more open and laid back than he used to be, and he’s not shy about telling you how he adores you, all the things he loves about you, the future he sees with you. But candidly speaking about his fears and doubts, the insecurities that threaten to swallow him whole, well, he’d rather be swallowed up by a giant fish.

Despite the annoyance of his jealousy, you hate to admit you feel your clit jump and the palpitations are no longer from anger, but from arousal.

“I understand. Completely. I have fears, insecurities too… but Frankie,” you sigh, “I don’t like a jealous partner. In my experience… it just escalates and…”

“So you wouldn’t feel jealous?”

“There a reason I should be?” You feel like you’re going to rip out of your skin. Your attempt to deflect is doing little to mask the ferocity bubbling within you.

“No? I was hoping that us talking about it would, you know...help.” Frankie says, a little softer and a bit more disarmed than his previous words.

“Well it didn’t help, you just…just pissed me off,” you snap back, so flustered and tumbling over your words, one of your tells that you’re turned on.

It’s then it clicks for him. He grins wickedly.

“Wanna know what I think? I think you like it.”

“What? Frankie—“

”I think…” Frankie steps closer, crowding you against the bathroom sink. “You like that I’m jealous. I think that it makes your little pussy wet. And you don’t know what to do about it.”

“No, I don’t like it—“ You try turning your head away but his hand finds your chin and turns you back to him.

“It’s okay if you like it baby… Maybe, this is the first time you've been turned on by it, perhaps it's because I'm not one of these fucking dipshits you've dated before... or, you’re a filthy slut…” he leans even closer, his breath tickling your ear. “I should put you on a leash.”

He beckons you to follow him to his overnight bag. He pulls out a leash and collar made of smooth black leather and adorned with metallic hardware. He must have seen the sites you were browsing clandestinely in preparation of sharing your fantasy with him. He’s so attuned to you, your emotions, your thoughts, it’s no surprise he caught on so quickly.

You’re dizzy from the emotional whiplash, you were ready to throttle him moments ago and now you need him to fuck you to tears.

He gently fastens the collar around your neck. “How’s that feel?”

You’re momentarily stunned, your brain desperately trying to catch up.

“Mírame, bebita,” he turns your head to face him in the mirror hanging directly across from the bed. You knew Frankie would take advantage of the ceiling to floor mirrors adorning the room.

“Good girl. keep your eyes forward for me, okay?”

“G-ood,” you rasp out, unable to form any other words.

“Want you to get used to just the collar then we’ll add the leash, yeah?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Need your words, honey.”

“Y-yes, Frankie. Sounds good to me.”

He kisses your temple. “Good.”

Frankie’s big hands cup your breasts, massaging them, thumbing your nipples. He’s slow and methodical in the way he builds up the sensations.

“F—fuck, feels good,” you moan.

“I love these tits… love the way they feel in my hands, love them in my mouth…” he punctuates his point, slightly pinching and pulling your hardened nipples. “Hard to keep my hands to myself, especially around others…”

The thought of Frankie claiming you in front of others, especially your boss, makes you moan involuntarily.

“Oh you’d like that wouldn’t you? Showin’ everyone how sweet you beg for my cock, how much your pussy drools for it?”

He’s got you on all fours close to the edge of the bed and he’s behind you.

“Fucking love your ass, baby.” He kneads the soft flesh of your cheeks, spreading you open. Cool air hits your dripping core, goosebumps raising on your skin.

Frankie lowers his head closer to your ass and spits. He groans watching the trail of saliva drip from your asshole down to your clit. You clench around nothing, desperate to be stuffed full of him.

“Pussy’s droolin’ just for me, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh,” you moan.

Frankie lands a smack to your right cheek. “C’mon, tell me, baby. Tell me who makes your pussy gush like this?”

“Yo-you, only you, Frankie!”

He swats your other cheek. “That’s right.”

“Fuck I’ll never get over this pussy,” he growls into you, he licks long stripes from your clit to your soaked entrance, caressing you with his tongue.

He’s said on multiple occasions his love language is eating pussy. You can’t argue with that.

He knows how hard to suck on your clit, where you like the tip of his tongue, where you like the broad strokes, when to alternate between all the motions.

Normally he’d take this part slow too, but the jealousy that’s lodged itself in his chest is still calling the shots.

“Bet your asshole tastes just as sweet.” he pulls back to give you space to consent.

“You want to–?” you turn your head to peek behind you and look at Frankie directly.

“Yeah baby, but only if you want it,” he says, caressing the backs of your thighs.

“Yes, please.”

“My pretty girl is sweet too, asking so nicely…tell me what feels good and what doesn’t, okay?”

You manage to you choke out a yes, baby.

He ghosts the tip of his tongue around your asshole, the lightest of pressures, swirling it to ease you into the feeling.

The new sensation has you reeling, thankful Frankie is focused on your ass more than the way you look in the mirror right now — truthfully you almost didn’t recognize the hazy, ravaged woman staring back at you.

Two of Frankie's thick fingers enter your dripping hole, curling them to hit the spot that makes your legs shake.

"Oh-fuuuuuuck!" You squeal when his tongue continues lapping at your ass and his fingers are hooked, pumping in and out of your pussy. "Please, Frankie I need to come, pleeeaase."

“You filthy girl... you want to come on my fingers?"

"Uh-huh.”

"Show me what you got, bebita. Soak my fingers and I'll put the leash on, c'mon, you're so close I can feel it."

His encouragement, talking you through it never fails to hurl you over the edge. You're warm and tingly all over, breath in shallow pants - the first orgasm with Frankie is always a gentle one that preps you for what comes next.

Frankie peppers kisses on your lower back, the back of your thighs, murmuring praises against your skin. Did so good for me, my pretty girl, love watching you come, always wanna make you feel good…

Frankie clips the leash onto the collar. He tugs gently to bring your back to his chest.

“Feelin’ good, baby?” His lips ghosting your temple.

“Yeah, s’good,” you slur.

He chuckles - it's adorable how cock drunk you get.

Frankie taps the thick head of his cock against your clit, sliding it through your lips a few times.

“Please, Frankie, I need you…” you whine.

He lands a swat to your ass. “Yeah? And what is it that you need from me?”

Normally you’d have a rejoinder for him, but your head is hazy and all you want is your Frankie and his big cock inside you. And because you like getting what you want, you play along.

“Need you to fuck me, baby. I need your cock inside me… wanna be full, please baby…” you whine in a syrupy tone he falls victim to every time.

His cock bottoms out in one sweet push, your moans harmonize, stars form on the edges of your vision just from the fullness.

“Fuck, gimme a minute.” He nearly busts prematurely– the pent up feelings, the way your eyes gleamed when he pulled out the collar, the privilege of being vulnerable with you.

You push back against him, seeking friction and movement. This earns you a spank and a tug, pulling your head back so he can groan right in your ear.

“Needy girl…Balls deep inside you and it’s not enough for you is it? Always a slut for this cock aren’t you baby?” A shiver runs up your spine. Slut is a new one. Must have come with the leash.

“Yeahhh, I know you like being my pretty slut.”

He begins deep, slow thrusts before picking up a steady rhythm, hitting that spot each time.

Frankie's been edging you - bringing you so close to release before cruelly and deliciously taking it away. Tears, drool and your juices have drenched the hotel comforter.

"Frankie, please I can't, I need to come, please please, Frankie!" You beg.

He abruptly pulls out of you and situates himself against the headboard. He pulls the leash, guiding you into his lap.

"Wanna watch you cum on my cock...wanted these fucking tits in my face baby," he moans, taking a pert nipple in his mouth. You sink down onto him, every nerve ending in your body on fire - you're already on the verge of release, just from being filled at this angle.

Frankie's free hand finds your clit and begins calculated circles, all while tugging your head to meet his. Sweat drenched foreheads pressed together, Frankie's hips meet your movements, his hips bouncing off your ass in each thrust.

"I'm close–” you’re dazed, floaty, absolutely wrecked.

“Whose pussy is this?” He growls.

“Yours–!”

“Say it again. Whose fucking pussy is this?” this time louder, more raw than before.

“Yours, Frankie! O-only yours.”

“Again, say you’re mine, baby..” His voice trembles.

You know he needs this –needs reassurance, and this is his way of asking for it.

“Only yours, only ever yours–” grind. “forever baby… not–” grind. “Going–” grind. “anywhere…”

“Come for me, show me how pretty your pussy creams for me. Godddddddamnnn baby, fuck—“ Frankie groans.

If he had to choose how to go out of this world, it would be just like this.

OhmygodFrankiefuckI’mcomingohfuckohfuck is the jumbled chant that escapes your lips when you soak his cock. He’s mesmerized by the way your pussy lips spread open for his cock, how divinely sinful your pussy looks covered in your cum, how your cum looks on his shaft – creamy rings of your cum adorn his cock. He’d keep it that way forever if he could, a type of lecherous jewelry he’d wear in pride.

“Cum for me, Frankie, baby it's your turn.”

“Where? Quick–”

“Inside! Inside me pl–”

“Oh ffffffuuuuuckkk, baby,” he whines as cum spills into you. “Oh, I love you so fucking much…” he declares before burying his face in your neck. He swiftly unhooks the leash and collar before collapsing into each other's embrace, and you wrap around him koala bear style.

I love you so much.

The first time it's been uttered in your relationship. You’ve both felt it, knew what you both share is a once in a lifetime love, but, both of you bring past baggage. Neither afraid of loving again, but afraid of what happens when you name it as such. It feels silly now that he’s said them.

You tug on his curls to gaze into his sable eyes. “I love you, Francisco. More than you know.”

He smirks – the coy and sheepish one he gets when he doesn’t know how to accept a compliment. The irony that he just put you in a collar and rearranged your guts, but is shy about confessing your love to him is not lost on you.

“Yeah, I get the general idea.”

“Hmm, maybe if you’re not convinced, I should put you on the leash next time.”

tagging some frankie babes: @hellishjoel @for-a-longlongtime @jolapeno @whiskeyneat-coffeeblack @kirsteng42 @studioghibelli @katiexpunk @thedilfdiaries

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