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seokwrts · 1 day ago

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SEVEN MINUTES IN HEAVEN

KIM MINGYU | nsfw one shot

synopsis : at a wild college party, tension that’s been simmering for weeks finally ignites when Y/N is dared to spend seven minutes in heaven with her cocky, dangerously attractive friend, Mingyu. What starts as a game quickly turns into a heated encounter neither of them will forget—changing everything between them in just seven minutes.

“Seven minutes, let’s see how many times I can make you fall apart before time’s up”

pairing : kim mingyu x f!reader

genre : college au , smut , friends to lovers , mutual pining , forced proximity

word count : 8.1k

warnings : MDNI , sexual content, unprotected sex, sexual innuendo, explicit language, suggestive dialogue, public teasing, mild slut-shaming, mild alcohol use, casual intimacy, and emotionally charged group dynamics.

Y/N was already regretting the second layer of lip gloss when Elle grabbed her by the arm.

“Stop fidgeting,” Elle groaned, eyeing her in the mirror. “You look hot. Slutty, but hot.”

Y/N laughed, brushing a final touch of mascara onto her lashes. “Thanks. I was going for college party, but make it unbothered and slightly unhinged.”

“You nailed it,” Elle said, sliding in her gold hoops with a wink. “Especially the unbothered part. The lip gloss screams, I’m not desperate, but I will step on you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and reached for her leather jacket. “Okay, relax.”

Elle snorted. “Relax? Please. I’ve seen the way you spiral when Mingyu walks into the room.”

Y/N paused. Jacket half on.

“I don’t spiral.”

“Babe,” Elle said, turning to face her fully. “You go feral. Your entire soul leaves your body. I’ve watched it happen. It’s like a full-blown event.”

“I do not go feral,” Y/N insisted, but her face was already heating.

“You literally gasped the last time he wore that grey hoodie that hugs his back like it owes him money.”

“It was a really good hoodie,” Y/N muttered defensively.

“You said, and I quote, ‘That man could ruin my credit score and I’d say thank you.’”

Y/N flopped onto the edge of the bed, groaning into her hands. “Why do you remember everything embarrassing I say?”

“Because your crush on Mingyu is the highlight of my college experience,” Elle said brightly, grabbing her phone. “It’s adorable. Tragic. A little thirsty. But mostly adorable.”

Y/N gave her a look. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“You’ve had a crush on him for how long now? Like… since freshman year?”

“More like the first week of freshman year,” Y/N admitted, voice muffled behind her hands. “He said hi to me in the dining hall line and I forgot how to speak.”

Elle cackled. “So tonight’s the night, then?”

“The night for what?”

“The night your Mingyu thirst saga becomes a spicy enemies-to-lovers one-shot instead of a silent, slow-burn pining fic with no plot.”

Y/N groaned again, but this time she was laughing too. “I hate you.”

“You love me. And I love that I’m manifesting your hot girl era.”

She finally stood, adjusting her skirt one last time. “Okay. Let’s go before you start making vision boards.”

They left the dorm around ten, walking into the night like it owed them something. The sidewalks glistened faintly under streetlights from the late drizzle, and the air had that early fall edge—cool enough to raise goosebumps, warm enough not to care.

Y/N clutched her phone in one hand, jacket draped over her shoulders like armor. Every step closer to the party made her heart beat just a little faster.

She didn’t know if tonight would change anything.

But she knew this much:

She looked good. She felt ready.

And if Mingyu looked anything like he usually did—tall, golden-skinned, all stupid charm and sharp jawlines—she was doomed.

Elle bumped her hip against Y/N’s as they reached the end of the block. “Last chance to turn around.”

Y/N took a breath, heart thudding.

“Not a chance.”

The bass thumped through the walls before Y/N and her best friend even stepped inside. It pulsed like a second heartbeat, loud and deep, making the air buzz. “This is packed,” her friend muttered, tugging at the hem of her top as they stepped into the crowded house. Laughter, chatter, and music overlapped into a chaotic hum. Warm bodies pressed close, red cups in nearly every hand, and low amber lights turned the living room into a hazy blur of movement and heat.

Y/N didn’t respond. She barely even heard her.

Because her eyes had already locked onto him. Mingyu.

He was leaning against the kitchen counter like it was his throne. Red cup in hand, head tilted slightly back as he laughed at something someone said. Not just laughed—threw his whole body into it, like he didn’t know how to do anything halfway. His black shirt clung to his broad chest like it had been stitched directly onto his skin. It was criminal, honestly. The way the sleeves hugged his biceps, the way the fabric stretched slightly across his shoulders, the way—

God.

The silver chain at his collarbone gleamed when he turned slightly, catching the light. His dark hair was pushed back casually, revealing the sharp cut of his jawline, the arch of his cheekbones, the perfect curve of his lips. And that smirk?

Deadly. Slow. Deliberate.

She froze. And then he looked up—and noticed her.

Their eyes locked across the room. A beat. Then another. He didn’t look away. His gaze stayed on hers, unwavering, as if everything else had blurred into background noise. He tipped his chin up slightly, the corner of his mouth quirking just enough to say: Yeah. I see you.

Neither did she look away.

“Oh shit,” her best friend whispered, following Y/N’s stare and practically bouncing with excitement. “Is it finally happening?”

“Shut up,” Y/N muttered, but her voice lacked heat. She was too busy trying not to combust. Her lips curled up despite herself. Heat was already blooming on her cheeks, rising up her neck.

Her friend elbowed her. “Go talk to him.”

“What? No.” Y/N blinked and tore her gaze away. “I literally just got here.”

“So? He noticed you. You noticed him. The vibe is already vibing.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but peeked back toward the kitchen. Mingyu was still watching her, now sipping from his cup. Slow. Lazy. Confident.

“I can’t just walk over there,” she muttered.

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll look desperate!”

Her best friend gave her a look. “Girl. You’ve had a crush on him since the first econ lecture. You doodled his initials in your notes.”

“I did not.”

“You did. With hearts.”

Y/N groaned, trying to hide her face in her hands, but the thump of the music gave her away. She peeked again.

Mingyu had shifted. He was still leaning against the counter—but now his body was angled slightly in her direction. His thumb tapped against his cup rhythmically, and then—he raised a brow. Just a little.

Was he—waiting?

Y/N’s breath hitched.

“Okay, but what do I even say?” she mumbled.

Her friend raised a brow. “Hi?”

“I swear to god—”

But before she could finish, someone bumped into her from behind, forcing her a step forward. “Sorry!” the girl called out, weaving through the crowd, clearly already tipsy.

Y/N’s heart skipped. That step had brought her even closer to the kitchen. And now—

“Too late,” her friend grinned, gently pushing her. “You’re halfway there.”

Y/N turned around to glare, but her friend only shrugged. “You look hot tonight. Stop overthinking it.”

Y/N swallowed, nerves buzzing under her skin. She glanced down at herself—the fitted black tank top, the skirt that hit mid-thigh, the subtle gloss on her lips. Okay. She didn’t look terrible. But still.

Before she could chicken out, Mingyu pushed off the counter.

Y/N froze. He took a few steps forward, weaving through the party without breaking eye contact. Her stomach flipped.

“Hey,” he said, voice low but audible over the music. “You just get here?”

Oh god. His voice. That deep, smooth, slightly amused tone that made everything sound like a joke he was letting her in on.

“Uh—yeah,” she managed, heat flooding her cheeks again. “Just walked in.”

He smiled. “You looked kind of like a deer in headlights. Cute though.”

Y/N let out a soft, nervous laugh. “I was… trying to decide if the house was structurally sound. It’s shaking.”

Mingyu chuckled, tipping his head. “Fair. Pretty sure the upstairs bathroom’s already out of commission.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“Neither is the guy who just took a beer bong in the bathtub.”

Y/N laughed for real this time, and his smile widened like it had been waiting for that sound.

“I’m Mingyu, by the way,” he said, though he definitely didn’t need to.

“I know,” she blurted, then immediately wanted to slam her head into a wall. “I mean—I’ve seen you around. Econ.”

“I know,” he echoed, and the smirk returned. “You sit in the third row. Always take notes with colored pens.”

“You’ve noticed that?”

“Hard not to when you keep borrowing highlighters from me.”

Y/N blinked. “You remember that?”

Mingyu nodded. “I remember you.”

There was a beat of silence. Then two.

“You wanna grab a drink?” he asked, tilting his head toward the kitchen.

She hesitated, just for a second, then nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

As they walked side by side, the crowd seemed to part a little. Or maybe it was just her pulse drowning everything else out. She glanced up at him, and he caught her looking again.

This time, he didn’t smirk. He just looked at her—calm, sure, a little curious.

And Y/N suddenly thought that maybe—just maybe—this night was going to change everything.

Soon, the friend group clustered in the living room, half-tipsy and buzzing with energy. Someone had turned the music down just enough that voices filled the space — overlapping, loud, laced with laughter. Someone else had dragged in extra chairs, but most people chose to settle onto cushions, the floor, or sprawled across each other like drunken dominos.

Y/N ended up sitting directly across from Mingyu.

The group didn’t seem to notice, too busy trying to argue over what game to play next. Elle had already taken off her heels, her feet tucked under her as she flopped sideways onto Soonyoung’s legs.Soonyoung, ever the dramatic, moaned in protest but didn’t move. Yoona passed around a half-full bottle of vodka like a sacrament. Chan was perched in the center of the group like a queen about to announce her decree.

Y/N curled her legs beneath her and accepted the red cup Elle handed her. Her fingers felt too warm around the plastic. Her skin buzzed. And she didn’t have to look up to know why.

Mingyu sat across from her, lounging with one elbow resting lazily on his bent knee, his other hand still loosely holding his cup. His dark eyes tracked across the room—but whenever they passed over her, they paused. And lingered.

He wasn’t smiling. Not like he usually did when he told loud jokes or teased Jae for being overly dramatic. No, tonight, Mingyu just watched. Quiet. Intense. His gaze didn’t waver when it landed on hers.

Y/N took a sip to ground herself, lips brushing the rim of her cup a little too slowly. She could still feel him looking. When she finally met his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitched. Barely. Like a secret only she was in on.

Across the room, Soonyoung nudged Seungkwan.

“Okay but someone better come up with a game before I start ranking all my exes from worst to absolutely-freaking-trash.”

“You already did that last week,” Seungkwan said, flipping an imaginary strand of hair over his shoulder. “You put Soobin below the guy who cheated on you and stole your oat milk.”

“Because Soobin has zero rhythm. Zero. That’s a crime on its own.”

Laughter rippled around the group, but Y/N barely registered it. Mingyu was still watching her — openly now. No more subtle glances.

She arched a brow at him over the rim of her cup, almost as if to ask What?

He tilted his head. You tell me, his eyes seemed to reply.

The whole room snapped back into focus when Elle clapped once, loud and attention-grabbing.

“Alright, babies,” she announced, clearly reveling in her chaos gremlin energy. “Truth or dare. Let’s do this.”

“Oh god, here we go,” Jae muttered, already burying his face in a throw pillow. “Elle’s drunk enough to start trauma-digging.”

“No trauma, I promise!” Elle said brightly. “Just lighthearted emotional destruction.”

Everyone groaned, laughed, cheered. Jihoon tossed an empty bottle into the center of the circle.

“Who even suggested this?” Chan asked, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning back on his palms.

“I think it was me,” Joshua shrugged. “But, like, ironically.”

“Nothing’s ever ironic with you,” Mingyu said, his voice a low rumble that sent goosebumps down Y/N’s arms. It was the first time he’d spoken in a while.

Everyone turned to look at him. Elle raised an eyebrow.

“Wow. Look who finally speaks.”

“I was enjoying the show,” he said simply, but his eyes hadn’t left Y/N.

She flushed under the weight of it.

The group noise swelled again — teasing, laughing — but to Y/N, it all felt distant. The tension between them hummed like an invisible thread pulled taut between where they sat.

She tried to look away. She really did.

But the thing about Mingyu was that he never made it easy to escape. He didn’t do anything — didn’t speak again, didn’t smile, didn’t lean forward — but somehow, he still managed to feel like gravity.

The bottle spun once. Loud whoops followed. It hadn’t landed on either of them, but Mingyu barely glanced away.

Neither did Y/N.

Because while the group dissolved into dares and truths and confessions that drew gasps and groans — the real game, at least for now, was the one being played in silence.

Just eyes. Just him and her.

And a tension so thick it practically crackled in the air between them.

A few rounds in, the game had completely unraveled into the kind of glorious chaos only semi-drunk college students could create. Laughter echoed through the living room, drinks were half-finished or completely forgotten, and the air practically shimmered with the energy of too many confessions, too much heat, and no boundaries.

Y/N shifted slightly where she sat, her legs curled under her. Across the circle, Mingyu leaned back on one arm, fingers lazily tapping his knee. Every time she laughed at something someone said, she could feel his eyes flick back to her. And every time she glanced up—he was already looking.

His gaze didn’t move. He didn’t smile. He just watched her. Like he was waiting.

“Okay, okay,” Elle shouted over the noise, holding the bottle aloft. “Back to the game or I swear I’ll start asking real questions.”

That sobered them up a little.

“Alright,” she said, spinning the bottle dramatically. It clinked over the hardwood before landing on Jae.

He raised his hands like a guilty man surrendering.

“Let’s get it over with.”

“Dare,” Elle smirked.

He groaned, already dreading it.

“I dare you to give someone in this circle a lap dance.”

Laughter exploded instantly. Soonyoung nearly fell over. Seungkwan started drumming a rhythm on his cup like it was a strip club beat.

“You people are unwell,” Jae said, standing up anyway.

“Choose someone!” Elle grinned, clapping her hands.

Jae looked around dramatically, then sighed.

“Seungkwan, I hope you’re ready for the worst thirty seconds of your life.”

“Oh honey,” Seungkwan said, fanning himself. “Make me regret this.”

And he did. The performance was tragic, all exaggerated hip rolls and fake body rolls. The room was in hysterics by the time he collapsed back into his spot.

“Okay, okay,” Seungkwan said breathlessly, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

“My turn.”

The bottle landed on Yoona.

“Truth,” Yoona said smoothly.

“Who would you sleep with in this room if no one ever found out?”

Dead silence.

Everyone sat up a little straighter.

Yoona didn’t blink.

“Mingyu.”

That got reactions. Whoops, cheers, and one very dramatic gasp from Jae.

Y/N’s throat tightened. She didn’t even realize she’d tensed until she caught Mingyu out of the corner of her eye. He didn’t even react — just sipped his drink, eyes flicking briefly to Y/N, unreadable.

Elle was already laughing.

“Okayyy, spicy! Let’s keep it going.”

Next spin. It landed on Jihoon.

“Dare,” Jihoon said, ready for blood.

Soonyoung grinned.

“Kiss the person you’d never admit you had a thing for.”

The room tensed.

Jihoon stood, walked right past Chan and Joshua — and kissed Elle.

It wasn’t dramatic or showy. Just a quick, firm kiss that left Elle blinking and the entire group losing their minds.

“You are not okay,” Elle said, cheeks flushed.

“I’m very okay,” Jihoon smirked, sitting down again like he hadn’t just shifted the entire friend group dynamic.

“Alright,” Elle breathed, grinning like a devil. “Y/N.”

The bottle had landed on her, of course. All eyes turned.

Y/N blinked slowly. “Dare.”

Elle didn’t hesitate. “I dare you to play Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

That drew a chorus of “ooooh”s, a few dramatic gasps, and someone (probably Jae) whisper-yelling “IT’S HAPPENING.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?”

Elle’s grin deepened. “With… Mingyu.”

Dead. Silence.

Someone dropped their cup. Jae let out a long, drawn-out, “Holy. Shit.”

Y/N’s heart beat loud in her ears.

Across the circle, Mingyu looked… unaffected. His drink rested in his hand, the silver chain at his throat catching the light. He didn’t say anything. Just looked at her.

She cleared her throat. “Maybe that’s not fair. Like, what if he’s uncomfortable—”

“I’m not,” Mingyu said, voice low.

She blinked. “Oh.”

“I’m game if you are.”

Elle squealed. “OH. My god. Up. Now.”

“I hate you,” Y/N muttered, but Elle was already grabbing her by the wrist.

Mingyu stood slowly, every movement unhurried, smooth. He brushed past a few pillows and offered no defense. No jokes. He didn’t look embarrassed. Didn’t look cocky either.

He looked like a man who’d been waiting for this moment.

Jae shouted from the back, “Use protection!”

Yoona added, “Use your time wisely!”

“Make it worth it!” Hana yelled, raising her cup like it was a wedding toast.

Y/N wanted the floor to swallow her.

Elle ignored all of it. She had Y/N in one hand, Mingyu in the other, leading them down the dim hallway like a proud matchmaker.

As they passed the rest of the group, Yoona shouted, “SEVEN MINUTES—NOT A SECOND LESS!”

Elle pushed open the second door on the right with her hip and turned toward them with a wicked grin.

“Enjoy yourselves,” she said, backing away slowly. “We’ll be listening.”

Then she closed the door behind them.

Click.

“Have fun, lovebirds!” Elle shouted through the door, her voice muffled but smug.

The latch clicked shut. The sound echoed louder than it should’ve.

And then—silence.

The kind that wrapped around you like smoke.

Y/N didn’t move. Neither did he. The soft hum of bass-heavy music seeped through the walls, but inside the dim room, it felt like they were miles away from everything. Just the two of them. Her heart was hammering in her chest, but she forced herself to breathe slowly. To look casual.

Across the room, Mingyu stood with his hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed, like this wasn’t completely insane. Like he hadn’t just agreed to seven uninterrupted minutes alone with her in front of all their friends.

He tilted his head slightly. “So… this is happening.”

She shrugged, arms crossed over her chest. “Looks like it.”

The corners of his mouth curled, slow and lazy. That damn smirk. It always said more than words. “Nervous?”

“Should I be?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you’ve been thinking about this as much as I have.”

Y/N froze.

The words hung between them, weighty and soft all at once.

“You’ve been staring at me all night,” he added, voice dipping lower. “You probably thought I didn’t notice.”

She gave a short laugh. “Please. You were staring first.”

He didn’t deny it. “Maybe.”

She took a slow step forward, chin tilted. “You’re cocky.”

He didn’t flinch. Just raised a brow. “You like it.”

She pretended to consider it. “Mmm. I like watching you think I have no idea how hot you are.”

His laugh was low and genuine. “You think I don’t know?”

“I think you really like being the center of attention.”

“I wasn’t looking for attention.” He paused. “Just yours.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.

There was something dangerous about the way he was looking at her—like she was both a mystery he’d already solved and a secret he couldn’t wait to open.

Her pulse quickened. She hated how warm she felt under his stare. How every inch of him seemed like it had been made to drive her insane. That chain at his collarbone. The black shirt that clung just right. The calm in his voice like he knew he had her off-balance.

“So what are we supposed to do in here?” she asked, lightly, like she didn’t already feel like combusting.

Mingyu took a step closer. Just one. But it was enough.

His gaze dropped to her lips for the briefest second before returning to her eyes. “Anything we want.”

Her stomach flipped.

“You talk like you’ve thought about this.”

“I have.”

She blinked.

“I’ve thought about what your mouth tastes like when you smile like that,” he murmured. “What you’d sound like if I kissed you right.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

“And?” she said, voice thin.

“And I’m kind of dying to find out.”

The heat spread down her neck, goosebumps prickling along her skin. She told herself to stay cool, to tease him, but he was already undoing her with just his words.

Still, she lifted her chin, letting her voice come out playfully — if slightly shaky. “Then I dare you,” she said softly, “to kiss me.”

A slow grin stretched across Mingyu’s lips. “Finally,” he murmured.

Then he stepped forward and kissed her.

Not soft. Not tentative.

It was the kind of kiss that came after too many nights of almosts. Of eyes meeting across parties and flirty inside jokes, of hands brushing accidentally-on-purpose, of imagining it a hundred different ways.

His hands found her waist like they belonged there. Her fingers fisted into his shirt, tugging him closer without thinking.

The kiss deepened — hot and needy, tasting like all the tension they’d tried to brush off.

She gasped against his mouth as he guided her back, her shoulder blades pressing gently against the wall. He kissed her like he’d been holding back. Like the last straw had snapped the moment that door shut.

His lips moved down to her jaw, then just below her ear, and she sucked in a breath, fingers tightening in his shirt.

“Mingyu,” she whispered.

He didn’t stop.

“Say that again,” he murmured, lips brushing her skin.

She shivered.

“You think I’ve been staring all night?” he whispered, voice ragged now. “You have no idea.”

Her fingers slid up into his hair, pulling slightly. His groan was low — and it only made her pull again.

“I liked it,” he added, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. “I liked watching you try not to look at me.”

“You’re insufferable,” she muttered.

“Tell me to stop.”

She didn’t.

Instead, she kissed him again.

This one was slower. Less rushed. More dangerous.

Because it felt like it meant something.

Like it was the start of something that couldn’t be undone.

His hands slid under the hem of her top — not to push, just to feel. Her skin was hot. His touch was cooler than she expected. Her head was spinning and she didn’t care.

They kissed like they’d waited too long for this. Like they were trying to make up for every second wasted.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembered the timer. The fact that in a few minutes, someone was going to knock or yell or open the door, and this spell would break. But for now…

Mingyu kissed her again — slower this time, like he had all the time in the world.

She kissed him back like they didn’t.

Like seven minutes wasn’t nearly enough.

She had seven minutes.And right now, every single second was on fire.

Mingyu’s breath was fire against her skin, every exhale like a secret whispered directly to her pulse. His hands were already at her sides, firm, confident, sliding lower with maddening slowness until they gripped her hips. He pressed her fully against the wall, one thigh slipping between hers like it belonged there.

“You’re mine for the next seven minutes,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous, the kind of tone that curled around her spine and made her stomach drop. “And I intend to make every second count.”

Y/N’s breath came in short, sharp bursts, her back arching slightly into him. She could feel the heat rolling off his body, his presence caging her in without ever feeling suffocating. No, it was addictive. Too much, not enough, all at once.

She turned her head slightly, enough to glance at him over her shoulder. Her voice was shaky, but it held a thread of defiance. “Cocky.”

Mingyu’s lips grazed the shell of her ear. “Not cocky. Certain.”

She shivered. “Of what?”

“That you want this just as much as I do.” His mouth brushed her earlobe. “Maybe more.”

She exhaled sharply, heart pounding. “You think you know everything.”

His hands slipped up, fingers tracing the curves of her waist, thumbs pressing into the small of her back. “No,” he said, voice soft and deliberate. “But I know this.”

He leaned in, slowly, until his body was flush against hers, chest to back, heat to heat. His thigh pressed more firmly between hers, nudging her legs apart. Her breath hitched.

“You’ve been driving me insane for weeks,” he continued. “Those looks? The way you bite your lip and act like you don’t notice me watching you? Every time you laugh and glance away like I don’t see it.”

His mouth dipped lower, trailing along her neck. She gasped when his teeth grazed skin, light but deliberate.

“You knew this was coming,” he said, lips brushing her pulse point now. “Didn’t you?”

She swallowed hard. Her voice came out rough. “Maybe.”

He chuckled, low and dark. “No maybe about it.”

Then he turned her.

In one fluid motion, he spun her gently but firmly, pressing her back to the wall this time. His eyes swept over her face, lingering at her lips, dark with hunger and tension and something deeper—curiosity, maybe. Like he was memorizing her in real time.

“I’ve thought about this,” he admitted, his hands settling on her thighs. “What you’d look like like this. All flushed, breathless. Mine.”

“You act like you already own me,” she whispered.

Mingyu’s lips brushed hers without fully kissing her. “Don’t I?”

Y/N stared at him, heart thudding violently. Her hands fisted into his shirt. “Prove it.”

He smirked, the tension between them sparking like static.

Then he dropped his head and kissed her—really kissed her.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t careful.

It was full of pent-up tension, slow-burning frustration, and raw, hungry want. He kissed her like he was starving and she was the only thing he’d ever craved. Her body melted into his, hands tangling in his hair as she kissed him back, matching his intensity beat for beat.

When they broke apart, both breathless, he rested his forehead against hers.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured.

“Then stop talking,” she whispered, “and do something about it.”

A growl built in his throat as he dropped to his knees in front of her. She gasped, her hand flying to his shoulder for balance as he ran his hands up her legs, slow and reverent. Her skirt hitched up easily under his touch, the air cool against her skin.

“This—” he said, gripping her thigh firmly and lifting it over his shoulder, “—is dangerous.”

Her breathing was shallow now, hands in his hair, thighs tightening around him.

His lips grazed the inside of her thigh, trailing kisses that made her legs shake. “You’re shaking,” he whispered, almost teasing.

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re irresistible.”

He rose again suddenly, gripping her wrists and pinning them gently above her head. The movement was smooth, practiced. Her breath caught at the shift, the way his body fully claimed hers without crossing any lines—he was in control, but only because she let him.

Their eyes locked. “Say the word,” he whispered. “Tell me you want this too.”

Y/N stared up at him, chest heaving. Then, in a voice that was all fire and surrender, she said, “I want this.”

He kissed her again—deeper this time, hungrier, his body pressing hers harder into the wall. One hand slid down to her hip, the other slipping between her thighs, slow and purposeful. His fingers hooked into her panties, dragging them down in agonizing, teasing inches.

“Look at you,” he whispered, his voice a low growl. “So wet already. For me.”

Her head fell back against the wall, a sound leaving her lips that was equal parts surprise and pleasure as his fingers teased her slick heat.

“Touch me,” she begged, voice barely audible.

He lifted his head, eyes dark. “Like this?” he murmured, running a finger between her folds—soft, slow, then with pressure that made her cry out softly.

Her hips rolled into his hand instinctively.

“God, you’re perfect,” he said, kissing her jaw, her throat. “All of this? Mine. Tonight.”

You shiver. Then—one finger. Then two. Sliding in, curling, stroking.

Your hips jerk instinctively, breath catching as he finds that perfect spot too easily, like he’s memorized you already. His touch is confident—devastating. Each movement is deliberate. Calculated.

Your legs tremble, muscles tightening as your head falls back against the wall. Mingyu’s free hand wraps firmly around your waist, anchoring you in place, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

“You feel that?” he murmurs against your neck, voice rich and low, the sound alone enough to make you ache. “How your body reacts to me?”

You manage the softest sound—half gasp, half whimper—and it only seems to spur him on.

“I’m going to make you cum like this first,” he whispers, lips brushing the sensitive skin just below your ear. “Then I’m going to fuck you—slow, deep, until you’re gasping my name.”

Your breath stutters, caught in your throat. You try to speak, to say something, but nothing comes out. Just the broken sound of want.

He chuckles, low and rough, the sound vibrating through your chest. “You like being teased, don’t you?”

You nod, just barely. It’s all you can manage. Your hands clutch the front of his shirt, wrinkling the fabric as your knees threaten to give out beneath you.

“Good,” he says, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, slow and hot. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Then it hits.

You come hard on his fingers, your body arching off the wall, a sharp gasp ripping from your lips as everything inside you clenche around him. Your vision blurs. Legs shake. And Mingyu just watches. Watch you fall apart for him, wearing that same maddening smirk he’s had all night—the one that says he knew this would happen from the second you walked into the room.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, withdrawing his fingers with slow, teasing precision. He holds your gaze as he lifts them to his lips and sucks one clean. “Knew you’d be like this.”

You’re still catching your breath, still blinking through the haze of your high, when his fingers move to the button of his jeans. One flick. Then the zipper. And he pushes them down just far enough—just enough to make your breath hitch again.

He’s already hard. Already waiting.

“Still quiet?” he asks, his voice velvet over steel.

You find your voice—barely. “Trying to figure out what’s bigger—your ego, or…”

His smirk sharpens. “You’ll find out.”

“Seven minutes,” he said, eyes dark with challenge. “Let’s see how many times I can make you fall apart before time’s up.” You smirked, breathless but bold. “You talk a big game, Mingyu.” He grabbed your waist and spun you around, guiding you onto the bed with a cocky laugh. “You started it, sweetheart.”

You let him position you, his grip strong on your thighs, spreading you open beneath him like he’d dreamed of doing it a hundred times. He hovered just above, his mouth a breath away from yours, eyes flicking over your flushed face, your parted lips.

“You think you’re the first guy to say that?” you said, a breathy taunt, even as your chest heaved.

He stilled for half a second. Then a slow grin curled across his face—dangerous and devastating.

“No,” he muttered, voice low as sin, “but I’ll be the one you remember.”

And then he pushed in—slow, deep, devastating and he was inside you

Your mouth fell open in a gasp soundless moan, back arching, a breathy curse escaping you. The stretch made your thighs quiver, a delicious ache settling deep in your belly.

“Fuck,” you breathed. “Okay… point proven.”

Mingyu leaned down, lips brushing your ear, his voice thick and rough. “That’s it? No more snark?”

You wrapped your legs around his waist and dragged your nails lightly down his back, breath hitching. “Didn’t want to throw you off your game. I assumed you needed quiet to focus.”

He growled a laugh—deep, low, and full of heat. “You think this is me focusing?”

His hips rolled harder, pushing deeper, and your breath stuttered. You moaned loudly and answer

“You’re cocky,” you murmured, lips brushing his jaw.

“You love it,” he fired back, thrusting again.

Your body rocked with him, the friction building like fire beneath your skin. “I like watching you try to impress me.”

“I like watching you fall apart,” he rasped, grinding his hips in a way that made your toes curl.

He dipped his head to your neck, dragging his lips along your pulse, where it beat wild and fast. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His hand slid up your side, fingertips skimming just under your top, and when your hips met his in rhythm, his breath caught.

“You’ve got…” you smirked against his skin, voice breathless, “like five minutes left.”

He rolled his hips, angled just right, and you moaned again—louder. “Then I better make it count,” he said, watching you come undone beneath him. “Say my name.” You bit your lip. “Make me.” His eyes flashed, and he grinned like he was about to ruin you—in the best possible way.

He grabs your hips and snaps into you harder. “Fuck, the way you squeeze around me—like you were made for this.”

You throw your head back against the pillow, a moan slipping past your lips before you can stop it.He leans down, lips ghosting over your jaw. “Look at you,” he whispers. “So cocky earlier. Now you’re moaning like you need me.”

Your eyes meet his, blazing. “I do need you,” you pant, voice breathless but challenging.

“Just not sure you can finish the job in time.” That lights something in him. “Oh, baby,” Mingyu laughs darkly, “I’m going to ruin you in four minutes flat.” He lifts one of your legs onto his shoulder and thrusts deeper—hard, rhythmic, relentless.

“Feel that?” he rasps. “That’s me splitting you open. Taking what’s mine.” You claw at his back, eyes fluttering shut. “Harder.” He obeys instantly. You moan out aloud

“You like being used like this, don’t you?Like the slut you are” he groans. “You like me fucking you full in some random bedroom while our friends wait outside?”

“Say it,” he demanded, voice low and commanding, as his hand slid to your jaw, tilting your face toward his. “I want to hear from you.”

“Yes,” you moan, voice wrecked. “You’re dripping for me,” he snarls against your throat. “So damn wet—like your body knew what was coming the second we walked in here.” as he grabs your breast, squeezing firmly as his thrusts grow harder, rougher—each movement making your body jolt beneath him

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging hard enough to draw a growl from deep in his throat. His lips brush over your neck, your collarbone, anywhere he can reach as you arch into him.

“Shut up and make me cum again,” you snap, breathless but cocky, the edge in your voice sharp despite how wrecked you already feel.

His breath stutters, the challenge lighting something feral in his eyes. “Oh, I will,” he murmurs, voice rough and low, like it’s scraping from somewhere deep inside him. “But you’re not walking out of here without begging for it first.”

The arrogance in his tone makes heat bloom low in your stomach. “Then make me beg, Mingyu. If you think you’ve earned it.”

That did it. His jaw clenched, a low growl vibrating from his chest as his hips snapped forward, rough and unrelenting. The pace shifted—no longer slow and teasing, but fierce, almost punishing.

“I’ll fuck you until you forget your name,” he ground out, breath hot against your skin.

Your breath stuttered, caught between a gasp and a moan, pleasure blooming in your veins. “I’ll scream yours instead.”

“Good,” he hissed, leaning in until your foreheads touched, his eyes dark and focused entirely on you. “Because that’s all I want to hear for the next—” he threw a glance at the door, sweat glistening at his temple, “—two minutes.”

You bit your lip, heart hammering. Every nerve ending was lit up, your body thrumming under his touch, his weight, his voice. “Then what are you waiting for?”

“You’re going to remember this,” he growled, one hand tangling in your hair, the other gripping your waist tight. “Every time you try to flirt with someone else.”

You opened your mouth, ready to fire back, but all that came out was a strangled moan as his hips snapped forward again, perfectly timed, perfectly cruel.

He smiled into your neck. “That’s what I thought.”

His grin spread slow and dangerous, that same wicked fire gleaming in his eyes—the one he’d had the second he saw you across the room. The one that said he’d been waiting for this just as long as you had.

He adjusted his grip on your hips, grounding you harder beneath him as he picked up the rhythm again, his breath ragged now too. Your head fell back against the pillows, the only thing anchoring you to the moment was the sound of his skin against yours, your breathing tangled, bodies moving like they’d done this a thousand times in their heads.

Everything outside that room ceased to exist.

“For you,” he says, voice rough and low, thrusting even deeper. “To break.”

Your nails raked down his chest, dragging over every slick line of muscle. His shirt had vanished somewhere in the chaos, and now your hands were greedy — exploring the sweat-slick heat of his body, the flex of his abs each time he drove into you with bruising force.

He was all tension and power above you, and still, you couldn’t stop touching him — couldn’t get enough of the way his skin burned under your fingertips, or the way his breath stuttered when you reached lower, gripping his hips to pull him even closer.

“God, you feel so good,” you moaned, head falling back, voice unraveling. “So fucking perfect—everywhere.”

He groaned at that, the sound ripped from somewhere deep in his chest. His rhythm faltered for just a second — then returned, harder, more urgent. His hands held you tighter now, like he needed to keep you grounded or he might fall apart himself.

“You like touching me that much?” he rasped, his voice frayed, wrecked in the best way.

You nodded, unable to find words at first, just your lips parting in a gasp as you looked up at him. “Can’t help it,” you whispered, chest rising and falling fast. “You look like sin and feel like heaven.”

That earned a breathless laugh from him, barely more than a puff of air before it twisted into a moan as your body clenched around him, heat pulsing. You were close—so close it hurt.

“I’m gonna cum,” you gasped, fingers digging into his back as your body arched toward him. “Fuck—Mingyu, I’m gonna—”

His mouth was on your neck in an instant, lips dragging hot along your skin, hips snapping into yours with relentless rhythm. “Then cum for me,” he growled, one hand sliding to your thigh, gripping it like a lifeline. “Let go. Right here. On me.”

His pace never broke, even as your body began to tremble. The sounds between you grew louder—breaths, gasps, the distant thump of music outside forgotten as you shattered beneath him. And he held you through every second of it, like he’d been waiting to watch you fall apart just for him.

You choked out his name, legs tightening around him as your body shook again, the orgasm hitting hard and fast — blinding. But he didn’t stop.

“Fuck,” he hissed, voice breaking. “I’m close—fuck, I’m gonna cum.” You barely had time to respond before he said it — low, desperate, possessive: “I’m gonna cum inside.”

Your eyes snapped open, heart thudding. His grip tightened on your waist. “I’m not leaving,” he said through clenched teeth, thrusts getting sloppy, erratic.

“Not until I’m buried so deep inside you, you’ll feel me even after I’m gone.” You moaned in response, dizzy from everything — the heat, his words, the overwhelming pleasure.

“You want that?” he asked, voice ragged. “You want me to fill you up?”

“Yes—fuck, yes.”

“Then take it like the fucking cum desperate whore you are” he growled

His head dropped to your shoulder as he groaned your name, hips jerking once, twice, and then he stilled — body trembling as he spilled into you, breath catching in his throat.

A soft, broken sound escaped him — somewhere between a moan and a gasp — as he held you tighter, like letting go would unravel him completely. Your fingers dug into his back, desperate to anchor yourself, to feel every pulse of him, every wave of heat.

Silence settled between you for a second. Heavy. Intimate. Charged.

His skin was damp against yours, chest heaving, heart racing. You could feel it — the aftershocks in his body, the quiet vulnerability in the way he stayed pressed against you, unmoving.

Neither of you spoke.

There was nothing to say — not yet. Only breath. Only heat.

His hand slid up your spine slowly, deliberately, until it cradled the back of your neck. “Fuck,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “You drive me insane.”

And then, just beyond the door, someone called out:

“Time’s up!”

You both froze, breath tangled, bodies still pressed too close, the heat between you crackling like static. His forehead rested against yours, both of you panting, wrecked.

Mingyu grinned first — wild, breathless, his lips kiss-bruised and eyes still dark with want.

“Shame,” he muttered, cocking his head like he already missed your body. “I was just getting started.”

The door creaked open, and he stepped out first, running a hand through his mess of hair, his shirt buttoned in all the wrong places. He didn’t even bother pretending — just walked out like he owned the room and everything that happened in it. Like he’d just walked off a victory stage.

You followed a few seconds later, skirt tugged hastily down, fingers still trembling. Every nerve in your body felt overstimulated, your lips swollen, thighs shaky. You could feel it — the evidence of him, of what he’d done to you — with every single step.

Elle stood outside, arms crossed and smirking like she’d just won a bet.

“So,” she said, drawing the word out, eyes flicking between you and Mingyu. “Did you two… have a good chat?”

Mingyu shot her a wink, smug as ever.

“Productive.”

You glared at her, trying not to trip over your own damn legs or give away just how thoroughly ruined you were.

“Elle, I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” She looped her arm through yours with way too much glee. “You’re glowing. Like, post-orgasm glowing.”

Your jaw dropped.

“Elle!”

Behind you, Mingyu chuckled — deep, amused, far too satisfied with himself.

“She’s not wrong.”

You turned sharply, cheeks burning, and gave him a look meant to kill.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

He didn’t miss a beat. Took one step closer, leaned down until his lips brushed the shell of your ear. His voice was low — all silk and sin.

“I enjoyed you, baby. That’s different.”

Your breath caught.

Goddamn him.

Your body still responded to him like it hadn’t just spent the last seven minutes being kissed senseless, touched like worship, fucked like a secret. Your skin prickled under his gaze, your knees still not fully recovered.

And worse? He knew.

His smirk deepened as he straightened, eyes trailing lazily down your body like he could still feel you under his fingertips.

“See you out there.” He turned and walked away — swagger in every step.

Elle whistled low under her breath.

“You know what’s worse than watching you fall for him?” she muttered. “Watching you pretend you’re not.”

You didn’t answer.

Because you weren’t ready to admit she was right.

Not yet.

But god — the ache between your thighs and the way your heart raced at the thought of round two said it all.

You and Elle walked ahead, arm in arm, though she was doing most of the walking — you were still recovering, legs wobbly and traitorous beneath you.

From behind, you could feel Mingyu’s eyes on you. That lazy heat that made your skin tingle like you were still in that closet, still pressed against the wall, still moaning his name with his hand over your mouth. You hated how easily he lingered — in your mind, on your skin, in your pulse.

“Stop thinking about it,” Elle whispered, nudging you.

You blinked. “I’m not.”

She raised a brow. “Your pupils are dilated, your thighs are clenched, and you’ve got that ‘I’ve just been devoured alive’ look. Babe. Please.”

Before you could shoot back something clever, you reached the group — gathered around the back patio, drinks in hand, mid-laugh. And the second they spotted you and Mingyu trailing behind like you hadn’t just committed multiple sins in a dark room — the grins started forming.

“Well, well, well,” Jihoon said, holding up his drink like a toast. “If it isn’t Mr. and Mrs. Closet.”

“Took you long enough,” Seungkwan added, eyes dancing. “We thought maybe you’d moved in there permanently.”

“Should we decorate it for them?” Hana chimed in sweetly, swirling her drink. “Maybe add a little bed, a snack drawer… mood lighting?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to downplay the heat in your face.

“It was seven minutes. Not a lifetime.”

“Seven legendary minutes, apparently,” Soonyoung said, hand to his chest like he was personally affected. “Elle said you came out glowing like a Twilight vampire.”

You turned to Elle, horrified.

“You’re the devil.”

“A supportive devil,” she said brightly. “I’m just proud.”

Yoona raised her glass in your direction. “Honestly? Good for you. Closet sex? Bold. Iconic. Unstable, but iconic.”

Mingyu finally joined you, sliding into the circle like he hadn’t just wrecked you against a supply closet door. Hair still a mess. Shirt still barely together. Confidence radiating off him like second nature.

He took one look around, then grinned.

“Miss me?”

“You didn’t even fix your shirt, bro,” Chan pointed out.

“Didn’t have time,” Mingyu said with a shrug, not even trying to act humble. He looked at you.

“Some of us were busy.”

Groans and laughter erupted. Someone — probably Joshua — fake-gagged.

“God, you’re insufferable,” you muttered under your breath.

Mingyu leaned closer, voice just low enough for you to hear.

“You didn’t think that when you were begging me to go slower.”

Your eyes widened.

“Mingyu—”

“You didn’t say I couldn’t tease,” he said, smirking.

You turned sharply, grabbing the nearest cup of something — anything — to cool your face, your heart, your entire existence.

And then you heard Soonyoung yell,

“Let’s take a shot for the happy couple!”

“We’re not a couple!” you and Mingyu said at the same time.

The group just laughed harder.

“Sure,” Jihoon deadpanned. “You’re just two friends who happened to have the most sexually charged game of Seven Minutes in Heaven we’ve ever witnessed.”

“I mean,” Yoona added with a grin, “they walked out looking like a deleted scene from a very explicit K-drama.”

“I’d watch that show,” Hana nodded seriously. “Season one finale: supply closet confessionals.”

You groaned. Mingyu wrapped an arm casually around your waist — for show, you told yourself. Just for show.

But the way his thumb stroked your hip? That wasn’t just anything.

Neither was the way he leaned down again, voice soft and smug.

“Round two later?”

And the worst part?

You didn’t even hesitate before whispering back:

“Yes.”

Hey tumblr 💗!

This one’s a Seventeen one-shot featuring none other than Mingyu—because let’s be real, he’s perfect for college AU smut, and I couldn’t resist. 😏

Originally, I did plan on turning this into a series, but honestly? I just wanted to get this story out of my head and into your hands. So here it is—messy, hot, and unapologetically smutty.

Feel free to drop any thoughts, suggestions, or thirst-fueled questions in the ask box. I love hearing from you!

As always, reblogs, comments, and virtual kisses keep me going 💋 Thank you so much for reading 🥰❤️

With love,

xo, Ario

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charliedawn · 2 days ago

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Omg the vampires with a reader who had a petty fight with them so she won’t let them in the house now. Shes clearly having fun making them beg. Sitting there in the doorway taunting them and playing innocent.

(There has been a lot of controversy around the characters of Bert and Joan. I will make it clear right now. When I write about them, I will not associate them with the group they were a part of in the movie for obvious comfort reasons. With that said, enjoy. ☺️)

Mary

Mary looks the most annoyed—not because she is mad, but because she knows exactly what you are doing, and she cannot even pretend not to enjoy the power dynamic flip.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she hisses, tapping a perfectly manicured nail on the doorframe. “Just because I said you were being dramatic over your broken coffee mug—”

“Which was hand-painted by a person dear to me,” you cut in, mock-hurt.

She rolls her eyes. “You hand-painted it yourself.”

You huff. “And? I am dear to me.”

Mary crosses her arms, grinning despite herself. “You know, I could rip this door off its hinges.”

“But you won’t,” you sing-song.

Mary groans into her hands. “You are impossible.”

You smirk. “And you are still outside.”

She cannot help but smile and shake her head in disbelief. She knows you will eventually let her come in. It is only a matter of when.

Remmick

Remmick stands just beyond the threshold, his expression crestfallen—clearly not used to being denied anything. He is already on his knees with his hands joined—trying to convince you to let him come inside with pathetic puppy dog eyes.

“You’ve made your point, mo chuisle. Now let me in.”

You gasp, feigning shock. “Is that supposed to be a please? Because it sure didn’t sound like one.”

His jaw tightens. He’s ancient. Powerful. A telepathic vampire warlord. And yet he knows he has to ask nicely.

“…Please.”

You grin like a cat in sunbeams. “Hmmm. Maybe. Maybe if you say please with meaning this time.”

His eye twitches. He knows he needs to play humble here. He knows the sun will soon come out and he doesn’t intend to stay outside to greet it. The others behind him pretend not to smirk as he almost crawls. Everything to survive. Pride is not worth turning to ash over.

Bert and Joan

When you found those two, they were literally half dead. You saved their lives and since then they’ve been keeping you company. But, Joan and Bert decided to go hunting for a week without telling you. You were worried and when they finally come back…You decide that this is not okay and slam the door in their faces. Bert tries to convince you with sweet words. “You’re being hysterical, baby. C’mon. You know you love us. Let us in.”

Joan, echoing him, says, “It’s irrational behavior, sugar pie. Please. Do not let us stay outside.”

You slowly close the door just a crack. “One more condescending word and you two are gonna see if sunlight actually turns you to ash.”

Joan huffs. “We just want to talk!”

You grin. “You can talk. From out there.”

They both growl at you and you slowly flip them off before closing the door with a laugh.

Cornbread

Cornbread folds his arms at the door. “This is dumb. Lemme in.”

You smirk. “Nope.”

“Girl. I ain’t playin’. You’re playin’ with fire here.”

You shrug. “Maybe I’m cold.”

He scowls and warns you. “You’re gonna feel real bad when I burst into flames out here.”

You point to the overhang. “You’re in the shade.”

He scoffs. “Eventually, sun moves.”

You lean your head back lazily. “Then you better apologize before it does.”

He growls. “I hate you.”

You smile sweetly. “Aww. I love you too, Cornbread.”

He growls and kicks a garbage container nearby, but you aren’t giving in. Not this time.

Stack

Stack looks personally offended, hands shoved in his pockets, shifting awkwardly on the porch like he’s trying not to show how much he wants to come inside.

“So you’re just…gonna sit there and act like I’m not freezin’ my ass off out here?”

You tilt your head. “You’re dead. You don’t get cold.”

He scoffs. “That’s not the point, Y/N.”

You wink. “Exactly. This is about principle.”

He lets out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Alright, I see you. Petty queen behavior. I respect it. I hate it, but I respect it.”

Stack understands. He doesn’t like it but, he understands. You are as stubborn as him and this is why he likes you so much.

Bo Chow

He steps forward just enough to hit the invisible barrier and taps it with two fingers. “This is stupid.”

“Is it?” you hum. “I think of it more like…divine comedy.”

He huffs. “You are…petty.”

You nod cheerfully. “Extremely.”

He gestures at your tea. “What’s in the mug?”

“Your dignity.”

Bo growls softly in Chinese and mutters something about ‘unfairness,’ then sits on the edge of the porch to brood in silence.

You lean forward, voice dripping with mock concern: “Aw, Bo…Don’t make that face. You could just say you’re sorry.”

He looks you dead in the eye. “I’d rather boil in the sun.”

“Then sit tight,” you chirp, raising your mug. “Sunrise’s in five hours.”

Annie

She’s standing just outside your door, arms crossed, her expression somewhere between exasperated big sister and the woman who will hex your entire bloodline if you don’t knock it off. “Mm-mm. I know you ain��t playin’ with the dead like this.”

You blink at her sweetly from your seat on the threshold. “Me? No. I’m just observing vampire behavior in a controlled environment. Very scientific.”

Annie raises an eyebrow so high it might summon thunder. “You sittin’ there with a blanket and some tea like you ain’t got a heart. I taught you how to make rosemary oil and how to fix your limp with pine when you got hurt. And now you got me locked out like I’m a stranger?” She huffs, looking up at the stars like she’s praying for patience. “You keep on with this foolishness, I swear I’m gonna plant gopher dust right at this threshold.”

You gasp. “That’s aggressive!”

“And yet effective.” She steps closer, hits the barrier, and flattens her hand against the invisible line. “Baby, don’t make me beg. I got too much dignity and not enough night left.”

Your grin falters just a little. She notices.

“And my husband’s spirit is whisperin’ that you’re about five seconds from me callin’ down every ancestor I got.”

You take a long sip from your mug. “…Are they bringing snacks?”

She narrows her eyes at you. But you aren’t worried. You know she’ll forgive you.

…

Eventually, the entire group is standing outside your porch like a pack of disgruntled supernatural cats, grumbling, squinting at the sun, and begrudgingly trying to charm, bargain, and guilt you.

You, of course, are basking in your power. One slippered foot over the threshold. A snack in your lap. Absolutely glowing with glee.

They’re seething, simping, and suffering — and you’re making them work for your forgiveness. You’ve turned vampire weakness into a personal power trip, and honestly? Iconic behavior.

#fandoms #imagine #fanfic #sinners 2025 #bo chow x reader #remmick x reader #annie sinners #annie x reader #Cornbread x reader #bert and joan #stack x reader #mary x reader #sinners mary

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ceceilum · 1 day ago

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Toriel slander trending again? Color me shocked

I’m not even a little surprised to see Toriel (a maternal figure) suddenly getting backlash across multiple platforms.

The Dreemurr family dynamic in UT is already emotionally dense the more you sit with it, but Toriel, while often beloved is still often flattened in fandom into a one-dimensional “overprotective mom” trope. At first glance? Sure. But there’s so much more going on there.

One thing I think fandom consistently overlooks is that Toriel Dreemurr is severely depressed. And that’s something she actually shares with Sans (beyond their shared love of puns)

We know from UT that Toriel didn’t abandon her people right after the death of her children. She stayed. She left only when Asgore declared war. That’s what broke her. Even Flowey tells us that Toriel retrieved Chara’s body and gave them a proper burial before isolating herself in the Ruins. There, she ends up caring for not one, but six more human children. And ends up carrying six more deaths.

And yet when we, as Frisk, fall into the Ruins, Toriel is still kind. Still warm. Still trying. She tries to keep her distance, but ultimately she cares too much. She begs us to stay. She fights us, but if we spare her, she lets us go. Like?? That’s already a deeply complex character.

We also know from Gerson that she was once a serious ruler. And then you have the nose nuzzling championship trophy at Asgore’s house. She’s loving. She’s strict. She’s grieving. She’s lost almost everything, but she never stops trying to love.

But it’s in DR where we finally get to see Toriel outside the grief.

She has college memories. A social history. She’s described by Rudy as “fuzzy n’ sweet on the outside, a TOTAL NUT on the inside.” She can be judgmental (whose mom isn’t, honestly?) but we also see how much she cares about Kris. She reads parenting books. She becomes the primary caregiver after her separation from Asgore. She’s doing her best while juggling divorce, a full-time job, and a household.

And yeah, she misses stuff. Like the bullying. But if you’ve ever known a single working mom IRL, this is very real.

Parents can love you deeply and still not know everything happening in your world. Especially teens like Kris, who are actively withdrawing.

And then Chapter 4 hits.

People are divided on the ending, but I think it was brilliant. We go from high stakes cosmic weirdness back to Kris’s reality.

Their mom is having fun… without them. And it HURTS.

But that’s not the full picture. That’s Kris’s perspective.

If you’re a teen of divorce, or any kid with a single parent who finally starts to move on, yeah, It sucks. It feels like a betrayal. Because you can’t yet see the complexity. You can’t understand that your mom is her own person, trying to find joy again.

Because to you, she’s just your mom. And you feel left behind.

tl;dr: Toriel is one of the most layered characters in the Undertale/Deltarune universe. She’s grieving, trying, sometimes failing, always loving. She doesn’t deserve the hate, if anything she deserves empathy.

#deltarune spoilers #deltarune #toriel dreemurr #Toriel #kris dreemurr #deltarune thoughts #cecil’s comments #utdr

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kuncitizen · 1 day ago

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(S)cream for me, baby!

Synopsis: What starts as a flirty late-night phone call turns into something far more sinister when a masked stranger begins describing everything you're wearing — and everything you're hiding. But Ghostface is already inside the house. Even worse? He’s someone you know.

And he's about to make you the star of his favourite scary movie.

W.c. 9.2k

Pairing: Ghostface!Geto Suguru x reader

Content. MDNI, cheerleader!reader, dubcon themes, home invasion, stalking, manipulation, voyeurism, psychological horror, oral (f!receiving), intense power dynamics, knife play (panty-dropping & aesthetic, not gore), orgasm denial, unhealthy obsession, filming/recording during sex, creepy phone calls, unprotected sex, implied cheating (if you squint?), mentions of blood (minor injury), manhandling, phone sex, slasher undertones, masturbation, possessive behaviour, BACKSHOTS RAHH rips off shirt like a werewolf in heat, Sorry for the Satoru slander I love my glorious blue-eyed king.

A/N: Due to my unhealthy obsession with Billy Loomis's Ghostface, this takes place around the time that the first Scream movie was released (1996). Enjoy ;)

The living room light hums low, warm against the quiet. Your chemise sticks a little where your skin’s still warm from the shower, and the silk robe’s already given up trying, one sleeve hanging off your shoulder.

You lean against the kitchen counter, hip jutted, phone receiver tucked snug between your cheek and shoulder.

“How could cheerleading go wrong?” a slow smile plays on your lips. “I mean, we did win.”

Shoko snorts on the other end. “No, dumbass— I mean how’s it going going? With Mr. Star Quarterback. I heard he took you home after the game.”

You click your tongue, dragging your finger along the counter like it’s boring you already. “He did.”

“And...?” she presses silently in anticipation like she already knows where this is going.

“It was… whatever.”

“Whatever?” Her voice rises in disbelief. “Girl, don’t you dare—”

“He came in, like, one minute and forty-five seconds, Shoko. I’ve boiled noodles slower.”

Shoko gasps so hard you can hear her light a cigarette out of pure trauma. “No. You’re lying.”

You sigh. “I wish. He was looking me dead in the eye like he changed my life. I had to throw in a moan just to let him sleep at night.”

She breaks into laughter, disbelief crackling through the receiver. “God, and they make Satoru Gojo sound like the second coming of sex.”

You click your tongue disappointedly. “I've gotten more action from a shower hose.”

Shoko laughs harder at that, urging a giggle from you too— until another unpleasant flash of memory makes you groan.

“And I even brought my new digital camera, like an idiot.”

“What, why?”

“I thought he was gonna take me somewhere nice. So I packed it thinking I’d take a few cute shots,” You exhale sharply. “Instead I ended up starfished on his nasty dorm sheets and forgot the damn thing in his room.”

Shoko chokes. “You left your camera? Your new one?!”

“Yep. It’s probably in there somewhere, next to his condom collection and that tragic poster of Tom Cruise.”

You're both still snickering when you hear a sharp knock on your door. You glance towards the direction of the sound, brows furrowing in annoyance.

“Hold up,” you say, setting the phone down with a clatter and sliding off the counter.

You walk barefoot through the hallway, silk brushing your thighs with each step as you crack open the front door.

Unsurprisingly, you're met with nothing but silence.

The porch is as empty as ever. A cold breeze brushes past you, enough to raise goosebumps. You linger a beat there, tongue against your teeth, before clicking it shut.

“Probably the neighbor's kids.” You huff, flopping back against the counter. “They’ve been little shits ever since I told their dad to stop ogling me while mowing the lawn.”

Shoko hums, but her voice has dipped lower, more serious. "You sure it's them? Not..... you know."

You roll your eyes. “Don’t start.

“You should be very careful,” She warns. “You heard what happened to that girl, right? The one from Lit?”

You listen to her noncommittally. “Yeah, yeah. No one’s coming after me. I'm a bitch, remember?”

“Yeah, well, even bitches bleed.” She retorts, half-joking, half not.

You snort, but there’s a sting in her words that lingers. “Sounds like someone’s been watching too much Dateline.”

“No, seriously." She presses. "I heard he asks girls their favorite horror mo—”

Whatever Shoko was trying to say gets cut off abruptly, as the doorbell rings obnoxiously again.

You groan. “Fucking hell.”

“Wait—”

“I’ll call you later,” you mumble, hanging up without waiting for a goodbye.

You walk towards the entrance slower now— less amused, more pissed. The robe, at this point, is clinging on out of spite.

You swing the door open again. But this time around, you step out onto the porch, arms crossed against the night.

“Very funny,” you speak into the dark, voice just loud enough to cut through whatever bush they’re probably hiding behind. “Real fucking original. Maybe next time try growing a pair instead of playing doorbell roulette, dickwads.”

You pause, waiting for any sign that would give them away. But you retreat upon hearing no sound except for the rustling of underbush.

“What a bunch of virgins,” You hiss under your breath, slamming the door shut.

But as you walk away, you don’t see the silhouette watching from across the street. A cheap plastic mask gleams under the porch light, breath fogging behind it predatorily.

♡⛧♡⛧♡⛧♡⛧♡⛧♡⛧♡⛧♡⛧♡⛧♡

The TV screen flickers weakly, channels skipping between static and late-night reruns of soap operas with bad lighting and worse acting. Saturated colors bleed into one another — crying women, cheating husbands, some dramatic slap that plays out in blurry slow motion. You sit curled on the couch, legs tucked under yourself, aimlessly clicking the remote with a glazed-over look.

Click. Click. Click.

Still nothing good.

Your eyes skim over somewhere around Channel 76, where a woman in a sparkly gown is screaming into a rotary phone. You’re not even watching anymore. Just letting your thumb drift over the remote while the glow of the screen pulses across your bare fore legs.

You're mid-yawn, head tilting back on the couch cushion, when the sharp crash of glass shattering cuts through the stillness like a gunshot.

The sound cracks your skull open from the inside. You jolt upright so fast your knee slams into the coffee table, sending a coaster flying and your heartbeat into cardiac arrest.

Your first thought is Shoko, you evil bitch, because of course she jinxed it with her 'you gotta be careful' bullshit, and suddenly you’re living in the Dateline episode she was probably referencing.

Your eyes flick toward the kitchen— the hallway looks darker now, like it knows something you don’t. The shadows stretch longer than they did five minutes ago. You don’t like it. Not one bit.

As if remembering your own limbs, you shove the remote aside and push up off the couch. Swinging your legs down without a sound, you grab the fruit knife still dripping with pineapple juice from the coffee table, and march toward the kitchen barefoot— silk flapping around your thighs.

You move toward the kitchen, steps light, pulse hammering loud enough to fill the silence. Whatever’s waiting, it’s about to meet a very pissed-off version of you.

But instead of some creep, a tiny gray blur shoots across the floor.

It's a kitten.

Your goddamn neighbor’s stray, probably.

It skids through the shards of what used to be your favorite set of crockery with the little sunflowers on it, then books it right out the door you had left slightly ajar earlier.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you exhale sharply, slapping the knife down on the counter with a thud. “All this over a fucking Hello Kitty reject.”

You crouch down and start picking up the shards, still mumbling to yourself like that’ll keep the fear of being home alone at bay. “Just a stupid cat. Just a stupid plate. Just a stupid—shit—!”

A sharp sting shoots through your finger. You suck in a breath and see the blood welling fast from a slice near your knuckle.

“Motherfucker,” you hiss, yanking your hand back.

You stare at the cut, jaw tightening as the blood wells and runs down the side of your hand like it’s trying to make a dramatic exit.

You march to the cabinet with righteous fury, yanking it open one-handed. And of course, the first aid box is nowhere to be found. No band-aids. No gauze. No antiseptic. Just expired allergy meds, a single mint from a sushi delivery bag, and something that might once have been a condom but now looks like beef jerky.

Your eyes scan the room for something — anything — to MacGyver a solution, before a dish towel catches your eye. Old, kind of crunchy, and probably hasn't seen detergent since the stone age. It'll do.

You rip a strip from the corner with your teeth, wrapping it haphazardly around your finger like you’re some war-torn soldier in a lingerie ad. It's definitely not sterile, but you're no Florence Nightingale either.

The ringing of the landline splits the air again, loud and shrill like it’s laughing at you. You freeze, pulse kicking up a notch.

Your gaze turns towards the living room, where the receiver sits crooked on the hook, cord swinging slightly.

“I swear to God, if this is Satoru asking for a second chance, I will shove my foot up his ass.”

Still, you make your way over, more annoyed than scared, ready to stab anyone who makes your night worse. You reach for the receiver, fingers stiff.

“Hello?” you say, voice sharper than you mean it to be.

“Didn't think you'd actually pick up,” A voice echoes through the speaker, velvety smooth, rich like melted chocolate poured over a razorblade.

“Wrong number.” You fret, ready to disconnect the call.

“Oh, I don’t think so.”

You narrow your eyes at the nerve of this unfamiliar voice, as you tilt your head in curiosity. “Bold of you to assume I answer calls from strangers.”

“Stranger?” the man muses in mock offense. “That hurts. You’ve been on my mind all night.”

You raise a brow amusedly, shifting your weight onto one hip. “Well, I hate to break it to you, Casanova, but unless you’re selling thin crust pizza, I’m hanging up.”

A soft chuckle ripples through the line. “I could do that if you'd like. Your wish is my command."

Your mouth curls despite yourself, satisfaction flickering at the corners as your teeth catch your bottom lip. Whoever this man is— he’s smooth, but not desperate. And honestly? This is already more entertaining than any soap opera rerun flickering on the living room screen.

“You don’t even know what I look like,” you tease, tracing a lazy fingertip down the cord, feigning boredom you don’t feel.

“Mmm,” he drags the sound sleazily. “That’s the fun part. I get to imagine.”

“Then tell me,” you purr, sliding your thumb to brush along your lower lip. “What do I look like to you?”

There's a momentary pause from the other side, like he's contemplating the question heavily. Or already picturing you.

“I think you’re the type to wear silk. Something dark… maybe red.”

Your throat tightens a little at the suspiciously accurate observation and the color drains from your fingers slightly, but you say nothing.

“It hasn't been too long since you took a shower,” he adds, softer now, almost like he’s whispering it against your skin. "Which means your hair's still a little damp at the edges.”

Your lips part involuntarily as you glance down at yourself. The damp cling of your chemise, the droop of your robe.

“You’re making a lot of assumptions,” you say, voice just a little dimmer than before.

He laughs again, lower this time. “And you haven’t denied a single one.”

You force a chuckle too, just to buy a second of normalcy. “Peeping Tom is the new trend, huh?”

“Let’s just say I’ve got good taste,” His breathing is audible now, unhurried, like he’s been reclining this whole time. “And you have a bad habit of leaving your curtains open when you're home alone.”

You don’t answer. A shiver passes through you, but you try to convince yourself it’s from the coolness of the night.

“The lace suits you.”

The silence after his words expands like a balloon in your chest, pushing against your lungs. For a second, there’s no air, no thought, just the sterile burn of panic lodging itself behind your ribs.

“…Sorry?”

“Your robe’s cute, too,” he says, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “But I think I like the way it keeps slipping off better.”

Suddenly the robe around you feels a little looser. A little thinner. You grip the fabric tighter across your chest, shifting against the counter with a new kind of tension.

“Don’t be shy now,” he croons. “I liked the show. That little sway in your hips when you thought nobody was looking? Fuck—I could watch you walk around like that all night.”

You press your lips together tightly, eyes darting towards the window. “You’ve got ten seconds to say something that doesn’t make me call the cops,”

“Let’s not pretend you want cops poking around. Not with that little history you’ve got. Be a shame if someone leaked it. But go ahead, I’ll be gone before they get here."

You back away from the counter, as if the contact alone might burn you alive.

“There she goes,” he hums. “That’s it, baby. I like the way you move when you’re scared.”

You hear shuffling from the other side, like sharp metal scraping against a surface before he speaks up again.

“Y’know, I’ve always wondered..... was it worth it?”

You pause. “What?”

“Getting your teacher fired.”

The ground drops out from under you. No. that can't be it. Your parents made sure the news wouldn't make it outside the principal's office, made sure that the report didn't have a single trace of your name.

Then how the hell does he know about that?

“Mr. Kenzo, back when we were in our final year of high-school. You remember?”

He waits, letting the silence crawl inside your body. Your grip tightens on the phone, casting a harsh imprint on your palm.

“He lost his job, his marriage," the man clicks his tongue. "All for a seventeen-year-old with a short skirt.”

He doesn't even wait for you to answer.

“You know what was sad?" his voice drips with mock sorrow now, "The way he begged you to delete the messages like a puppy. You really should keep your nudes out of the staff room.”

Your nails dig inside your thigh, engraving moon-like stamps on your flesh. The tremor in your voice isn't even trying to hide itself as you speak.

“What do you want?”

There's a beat of silence before he speaks up again.

“What's your favorite scary movie?”

You blink, dumbfounded. “Seriously?”

His voice tilts toward a smirk. “Gotta set the mood, don’t I?”

“This isn’t some horror movie,” you snap.

“Mmm,” he says, slow and low, curling under your skin. “Could’ve fooled me. You’re the girl alone in the house. I’m the voice on the line. All we’re missing is a knife and a dead body.”

Your stomach knots. You grip the phone tighter, palms digging further into the plastic.

“Oh wait,” he adds lazily. “We already have the knife, don’t we?”

You slam the receiver down so hard the plastic cracks.

For half a second, you just stand there, blinking at the phone like it might spontaneously combust. Your pulse is riotous in your throat, in your fingertips, even in your goddamn eardrums.

This is not the time to think.

You sprint through the apartment like a mad-woman, slamming locks, drawing curtains, yanking the bedroom window shut so hard it nearly takes your fingers off.

The phone rings again, shrill and furious. Like it’s screaming at you to pick up.

You don’t answer.

Instead, you grab the knife from the counter—the same one dripping with pineapple juice just ten minutes ago, before your night took a nosedive into a fucking slasher film—and stomp back to the living room.

And in one clean slice, you sever the cord with a satisfying snap.

Your chest rises and falls in tight little jerks. The knife stays clutched in one hand, your reflection warped in it. There’s something almost liberating about it, if you weren’t one second away from pissing yourself.

You stagger back towards your bedroom. It’s not safety, but it’s got a lock and it doesn’t have any windows facing the fire escape. That counts for something. You shut the door behind you and press your back to the cold wood.

Ring. Ring.

Just a moment later, the piercing sound returns. Slowly and impossibly, your head turns towards the direction.

It’s the cordless landline by your nightstand. You don’t remember plugging it in. Hell, you don’t even remember owning that model.

It rings again. And again. And again.

You inch towards it gradually, like one would acknowledge impending doom. Your hand is shaking so hard you’re not sure you’ll be able to hold it steady, but somehow you pick it up.

“...Hello?”

The man's voice snaps through the line, no longer playful and suave. “Don't you fucking dare hang up on me again. You got that?”

You flinch like he’s standing right behind you. His voice is primal now, completely stripped of it's initial charm.

“Who the fuck are you?” your voice isn’t strong anymore, it’s shredded with disbelief.

“You really wanna know?”

There’s something slick in his tone now. The promise of something worse.

“Check under your bed.”

You don’t want to. Every cell in your body is shrieking don’t look. But your legs move anyway— one slow, crawling step at a time.

You crouch beside the bed, cold air kissing your bare knees as the floor creaks. Lowering yourself further, your trembling fingers curl around the edge of the duvet as you lift it.

Shoved just barely under the frame, nestled between a dust bunny and a forgotten sock— is a digital camera.

Not just any digital camera— your camera. The same one with a pink little sticker on it. The same one you'd left at Satoru’s apartment.

Your hand darts out and snatches it. You fumble with the latch, hands slippery with sweat as the screen flickers to life.

You tap Playback, and the world tilts on it's axis.

Dozens of photos.

All recent.

All… of you.

Sleeping, brushing your hair in the mirror, walking around in your robe. One where you’re bent over tying your shoe. One taken from inside your apartment.

There’s no sound inside the room except for your own breathing. The line is dead silent.

“Why do you have this?” you whisper, voice cracking mid-sentence. “How did you even—?”

The man only chuckles. “I told you I was watching, didn’t I?”

You lurch to your feet at that, camera clutched like a weapon, phone still glued to your ear.

The voice on the line doesn’t even sound human anymore. He’s not just speaking—he’s writing a script, and you’ve fallen into the role before you ever had a chance to decline the audition.

“Now that you know your place,” he sighs, as if already bored of her resistance. “be a good girl… and do exactly as I say.”

You don’t answer.

Not because you can’t, but because your instincts have gone eerily quiet, like prey trying to fool the predator into thinking it’s already dead.

“There we go,” he lilts, a low hum of approval. “Knew you were smart.”

You hate that you feel warm under the compliment. Hate it even more that heat is already blooming somewhere low and out of your control.

“I want you to get on the bed.”

You don't bother resisting this time— sitting back on your heels, chest rising and falling like you’ve just run a mile. The phone is warm against your cheek.

“Would you be a sweetheart...” he pauses. “and spread your legs for me?”

You shift your knees apart on the mattress, the hem of your robe slipping further up your thighs, cool air kissing skin that feels too hot.

The way he says it makes your skin erupt in goosebumps. You feel as if his eyes are dragging over every inch of you, peeling you apart. And your breath catches, because some part of you wants it.

“Such a fast learner,” he adds, voice slick with satisfaction. “You like this, don't you? You want to be told what to do.”

You sit there, legs parted, knees digging into the mattress, your pulse a frantic little rabbit in your throat. You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until he speaks again, low and amused, as if he’s savoring your reaction leisurely.

"You're doing so well," he says softly, like a verbal reward.

And fuck, you feel it.

It slides down your spine, warm and syrupy, until you’re arching just slightly without meaning to, robe slipping further off one shoulder, baring the swell of your collarbone.

"Alright,” he murmurs coaxingly, “run your hand down your thigh.”

You let your head tilt back against the pillows, hair spilling out like ink over white cotton.

"I wonder,” curiosity seeps into his tone. “If I told you to touch yourself right now… would you?”

Your lashes flutter. There’s a pause in your breathing but not in your movement. Your fingers skim higher. Not quite there, but enough to know that your body is already betraying you.

"Say it,” he demands. “Say you’d do it.”

You don’t speak.

You just press your thighs together tightly, biting your lip so hard you taste blood. But still, you don’t say a word, instead squeezing your eyes shut. You don’t know what’s more terrifying, his words, or how your body responds to them.

“…Yes.”

He groans, quiet and low, like the sound itself is meant to crawl under your skin and live there.

“That’s my girl.”

The phone crackles with static for a second, but then his voice comes back, heavier and thicker, soaked in need.

“Slide your hand down further,” he instructs, gentle but firm. “Let’s see how obedient you really are.”

You hesitate.

Not because you don’t want to, but because you do. That’s the biggest problem.

Your fingers trail over the curve of your thigh slowly, every nerve ending screaming for contact. The moment you brush over your panties, you suck in a breath—sharp and traitorous.

A low, throaty laugh escapes him. And just by that, you know he heard that too.

“Soaked already?” he drawls. “Fuck, you really are the sweetest little thing, aren’t you?”

Your face burns, but your thighs part wider. Shame tastes like sugar on your tongue, wetness pooling with each word.

“Pull them to the side,” he says, voice huskier now. “Just one finger.”

You do.

And the first one is electric, your body arches up without permission, legs tensing beneath you as a whimper slips past your lips.

“There she is,” he exhales a shuddering sigh. “You hear how pretty you sound when you’re not pretending to be tough?”

You clamp a hand over your mouth, as if that can trap the sound in your throat. But your body is moving on instinct now, chasing the drag of your fingers, the friction that barely satisfies.

“Faster,” he says, breathing heavy through the receiver. “Let me hear you lose control.”

You whimper again, this time without restraint.

Your hips rock into your hand, breath coming in broken gasps. The sheets twist beneath you as you move, the phone pressed tight to your ear like it's the only thing keeping you from disintegrating completely.

Your body tenses as your fingers stutter, control fraying dangerously.

God, you're so close.

So close it hurts.

“Don’t cum yet.”

Your whole body jerks, fingers halting. Your legs tremble with the effort of holding back. It’s agony. Perfect agony.

“What?”

“I said don’t—” he says, voice unforgiving. “cum until I say so.”

The line disconnects, leaving nothing but a slow hum of static before deafening silence. You hear a shallow creak, making you jump mid-motion.

The phone is forgotten beside you on the mattress, tangled in the sheets and your own ragged breath. The distant sound of footsteps echoes, creeping closer with each tap on the marble.

You whip your head towards the door. The hallway lights cast a long, lean shadow across the floor. Your stomach flips, a warning scream silent in your chest as the man steps into view.

He stands there like a shadow made of flesh, broad shoulders cloaked in black, shirt unwrinkled, and tucked neatly into the waistband of matching slacks that taper over long legs.

Dark, sleek gloves encase his hands like second skin, no fingerprints and absolutely no warmth.

Then there's the mask.

White, sculpted to the upper half of his face like poured porcelain. The exaggerated contours curve into the hollow-eyed, slack-jawed sneer of the Ghostface, a distortion of terror frozen in a silent scream. It gleams faintly in the low light, making the sharp lines of his jaw beneath it seem almost surreal, like something out of a fever dream.

One hand slips into the pocket of his slacks indifferently. Like he’s waiting in line at a café instead of your bedroom. The other holds a knife— nestled casually in his grip, silver blade catching the light like it wants to be noticed. Not threatening, just inevitable like it’s always been there.

He kicks his shoes off with sleazy precision, each movement coiled with a kind of obscene elegance, like a panther peeling itself out of it's restraints.

Once those are off, he climbs onto the bed like he belongs there. Like you belong to him. The mattress shifts beneath his weight, breath stilling in your lungs as his knees slot between your thighs.

Your body reacts before your brain does, and you sit up on your elbows, instinct curling your legs in just slightly.

His gaze flicks over you gradually— messy hair, sweat-slick skin, soaked panties still pulled aside. He cocks his head with a smirk as if you’re something curious on display.

“Look at you,” His voice is just as it was on the phone, amused and soaked in mockery. “So fucked out already. And I haven’t even laid a finger on you yet.”

Your lips part, the words trying to catch up with your racing pulse. “Who—who are you?”

His fingers drag up your thigh with the ghost of a touch, leaving goosebumps on their wake.

“You really wanna know, baby?”

You nod just barely. But it’s enough.

“How could I say no to such a pretty little thing?” he purrs, tipping your chin up with a single gloved finger.

With the slow, practiced flourish of someone who knows the moment is cinematic— he slides the mask up, knuckles brushing his cheek like it’s part of the act.

A grin spreads slow and sharp beneath it, eyes gleaming like he already knows you’re fucked.

And you damn near choke to death on your own spit.

“Miss me?”

It's Suguru.

Geto fucking Suguru.

Satoru’s best friend and flatmate— the kind of guy who blends into the background with his quiet presence. The one who always has his nose buried in a book, never bothering to make eye contact in the hallway, moving with that low-key, almost invisible energy that makes you forget he’s even there. Boring. Yeah, that’s what everyone thought when they weren’t blinded by Satoru’s spotlight.

Your whole body goes cold, then hot, then cold again.

You would be lying if you said you didn’t recognize him—if you said you hadn’t fantasized once or twice during awkward breakfasts when he wore nothing but gray sweatpants and irritation.

His grin widens when he sees the flicker of familiarity in your expression. “Ah. So you do remember me.”

You open your mouth, but Suguru cuts you off with a shake of his head, chuckling softly.

“Y’know,” he muses, lips pouting slightly in faux offense, “I was kind of offended when you didn’t recognize my voice.”

The cool edge of the knife in his hands traces lightly along your cheek, then slides down your jaw, tilting your face as if he’s inspecting you for the slightest flaw.

“But then again… you were too busy screwing my best friend, weren't you?”

The sting in his tone isn’t jealousy, it’s insult. It’s wounded pride disguised as cruelty. Suguru leans closer— long, midnight hair brushing your shoulders, the knife now resting casually beside your hip.

“I heard that little sigh you gave when he finished from my room,” he says, voice darker with intent. “Heard you fake your orgasm like a fucking champion.”

“But i-” You try to open your mouth in protest, but his eyes flash.

“Don’t lie to me, sweetheart. You don’t even realize how loud you are when you’re bored,” Suguru interrupts, a mocking smile ghosting across his face. “You do that little tongue click, like you’re disappointed.”

Your face burns as shame crawls up your throat. He isn't just mocking you, he’s dissecting you. Peeling back the curtain you didn’t even know were open.

“You’re so pretty when you’re frustrated,” he whispers, brushing your hair back from your face. “Made it so hard for me to not walk through that door and do it right.”

You swallow, thighs still twitching with restraint. You stare at him, heart in your throat, trying to hold your need and your sanity at once.

“You… you were listening the whole time?”

Suguru hums, fingers sliding from your hip to your bare thigh again, tracing slow, teasing patterns that set your skin aflame.

“You know,” he murmurs, voice dripping with that dangerous sweetness, “I didn’t come here just to watch. I came for more.”

You swallow, cheeks burning part embarrassment, part something electric. Your eyes flicker to the knife still glinting on the floor, a dull reminder of how this night spiraled out of control. But right now, it feels like neither of you could care less.

He leans in further, breath warm against your ear, voice low enough to make your pulse skip. “You’ve been keeping all that frustration locked up tight… I think it’s time to let it out.”

Your body responds despite yourself—shivers racing down your spine, legs parting like they crave the touch he’s promising.

His hands move with slow care, fingers sliding beneath your robe’s edge, brushing over your slick heat. Your heartbeat thunders loud in your ears, breath catching in your throat as his touch grows more and more demanding.

He presses his palm flat against the fat of your breasts, pinching the swell of your nipples lightly as you let out a gasp. For a moment, the world narrows to that single, heated contact.

Suguru’s smirk softens into something darkly amused, maybe even possessive, as his fingers casually unwrap that sloppy dish towel around your bleeding finger. You catch the faint drip of blood, barely visible.

Without warning, he leans in close, eyes locked onto yours, as his lips close around that injured fingertip.

He sucks on it steadily. Not a lick, not a quick kiss, but that deep, slow suction that sends a shiver rattling down your spine.

You bite your lip, caught between surprise and a twisted kind of release, breath hitching like you’re right on the edge of losing control.

His lips pull back from your finger with a soft, wet sound, a smear of blood glinting faintly on the corner of his mouth.

“Messy,” Suguru says, a teasing glint in his eyes. “But I like it.”

The knife beside him gleams in the dim light, but right now it feels like the least threatening thing in the room.

Your nerves are screaming, but God, his attention feels like a spark in the dark. Dangerous, yes, but alive.

Suguru's eyes flick to the floor— to that little black digital camera.

The one you’d forgotten. The one you’d left at his shared house with Satoru after that stupid fucking fling. It must’ve fallen out when you scrambled under the bed, and now—it’s just lying there.

He reaches for it listlessly, like he’s got all the time in the world– and turns it over in his hand, thumb brushing the power button. The lens extends with a soft mechanical whirr.

“It would be a waste…” He says, examining the camera. “If i didn't take a picture of you like this.”

He lifts it to eye level, head tilting slightly as he frames you, eyes lingering on the subtle heat still rolling off your skin.

You can feel the weight of Suguru’s gaze as it traces the pink tint in your cheeks, the way your lower lip’s caught gently between your teeth, the tension in your shoulders. His stare drags lower, catching on the thin strap that’s slipped from your shoulder, the lazy, intimate slope of it revealing the soft dip of your cleavage.

Click.

The sound slices through the air like a whipcrack.

“Perfect.”

Suguru turns the camera around and shows you the photo. The image is small, grainy, but still: there you are. Eyes wide, mouth parted, a shoulder bared like you’re undressing for the camera itself. You can’t help it as your thighs press together.

And he notices.

“Oh? You like that?” he says, one eyebrow raised in teasing. “Wanna see what you look like when I’ve got my fingers inside you?”

You whine at his teasing— at just how much he's making you wait— hips bucking up to grind against his for any semblance of friction. Suguru pins you down with hands on either side of your hip, stopping you in your action with maddening restraint.

“You know what’s crazy?” He says, trailing a finger down your throat. “I used to hear you moan through the wall and want to tape your mouth shut.”

“But now?” A smirk curls his lips as his hand maps across your collarbone, squeezing the plush of your breasts. “Now I kinda want to hear what you sound like when you’re not pretending.”

Click.

The camera flashes again, this time angled further downward, catching your half-lidded eyes and parted legs.

“Let me do everything he couldn’t, ” Suguru murmurs, setting the camera up and leaning down, forehead brushing yours. He presses a kiss on the base of your neck. “And I’ll make a whole fucking gallery out of you.”

His fingers ghost up your thigh with agonizing patience. One gloved hand planted beside your hip, the other gently coaxing your legs wider as he slots himself lower between them.

His mouth ghosts over the inside of your thigh, warm breath skating across your skin.

"God, look at that.” Suguru gazes at you with hooded eyelids. “Satoru’s sweet little fucktoy, putting on a show for his best friend.”

His tongue peeks out, finally touching your skin. He presses a kiss just shy of your aching pussy, then pulls back with an infuriating smirk. The action urges a soft squeal out of you.

“She's fuckin' soaked for me, baby.” He says, tongue darting across his own lower lip. “No wonder you didn’t recognize my voice. Bet your pretty little head was empty.”

He leans in nose-deep into your cunt, licking one long, decadent stripe up your folds like he’s tasting something forbidden— groaning deep in his throat as your back arches and your fingers fist the sheets.

One gloved hand holds your hip steady while the other moves to grip your thighs, thumb pressing against the meat of it possessively. Suguru doesn’t look away once.

Not when his tongue circles your clit slow and lazy.

Not when you gasp, a breathy whine slipping past your lips.

Not even when your hips stutter upward and he hums into you like you’re the first thing he’s eaten all day.

“Shh,” he coos against your core, lips slick and curled in a cruel smile. “Don’t wanna ruin the audio.”

Your head falls back, neck arching, and the camera blinks red in the corner— recording, capturing every breathy moan, every flutter of your lashes, every subtle tremor in your legs as Suguru feasts on you like a starving man.

You try to focus, to breathe evenly, but it’s useless. His mouth works you open with veritable filth—tongue flat, then pointed, then curling into the spongy spot deep inside you that no one's ever reached.

“I should’ve done this the first night I heard you,” he murmurs, pausing only long enough to pant against your dripping heat. “Should’ve walked in, thrown that little white towel over your mouth, and fucked the arrogance out of you.”

His grip tightens as his tongue prods at a faster, unrelenting pace. Your thighs start to shake with the onset of your climax—encasing his head tighter between them.

“You gonna give it to me now, sweetheart?” he grunts into your cunt, hands bracing around your legs firmly. “Gonna come all over my mouth while your boyfriend's waiting for you to call back?”

“He's not my—”

You try to form words, to retort— but your control snaps finally, as the knot in the wells of your stomach comes undone with a mewl. You cream all over his tongue while his eyes bore into yours.

Suguru's mouth is onto yours as soon as he detaches from your slick. His tongue licks into your throat, deep and claiming, the taste of salt and sweet from your release still clinging to his lips.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, harder—his grip on your waist bruises, but you don’t care. Every drag of his tongue, every sharp nip urges ragged breaths against your cheek, his body pressing you into the space between restraint and sheer hunger.

He pulls back, a string of spit connecting both of your lips, mouth glistening, chin slick, and that stupid little grin planted on his face like he’s carved you into a masterpiece.

You’re panting, legs trembling where they’re spread, hands fisting the sheets so tight your knuckles ache. He watches you catch your breath, dark eyes dragging over your body like he’s already planning the sequel.

The camera light blinks red like a heartbeat in the dim room, capturing every second of your ragged breaths and flushed skin.

Suguru leans back just enough to drag a gloved hand through his hair— hand tightening, tense, hungry — then slides the other glove to the edge of his fingers.

You watch as he bites down on the cuff with those perfect, ruthless teeth. A little snap, followed by the faint pop of latex breaking free.

Suguru pulls the glove off in one smooth motion, lips trailing the edge, pearls flashing dangerously close to your skin. Without warning, he snakes his hand under your waist— flipping you onto your stomach, that bare hand hitting the fat of your ass— earning a surprised squeal from you.

His fingers splay over your thigh, nails grazing, teasing, before he presses his palm flat against your hip, holding you steady.

“Your turn,” he breathes, eyes gleaming like he’s dared you to try and resist. You’re shaking too much to do anything but obey.

The camera, still recording, gets brought up to your flushed, desperate face—spit lewdly coating swollen lips, eyes glossy with sex. Suguru props it in your hand, fingers curling over yours just enough to steady it.

“Keep it steady, sweetheart,” he murmurs, kissing the inside of your thigh again. “Wanna see you take me from the back.”

You make a soft, wrecked sound, which at this point, sounds more like submission to each one of his actions.

“And don’t you dare look away. You’re gonna watch yourself fall apart for me.”

Before you can answer, he’s shifting behind you, fingers slipping under the edge of your chemise, dragging it up slowly— touch scorching hot against your cool skin.

The fabric slips over your ass, teasing, exposing that smooth curve, the soft skin just begging for his hands.

And then he lowers the camera. Just a little. Still watching you through it, but now one hand’s smoothing up your calf, gliding higher.

Suguru pries your legs apart gently, a devilish smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You’re bent over the bed now, chest pressed against the mattress, back arched like a bow—every muscle taut and trembling with torment.

His gloved hand slides down your spine, then dips between your legs, fingers finding your wet folds again, rubbing your sensitive spot in delicious torture.

"Jesus–" you whimper, hands trembling, barely keeping the camera still. "Put it in already."

"Patience," Suguru clicks his tongue in disappointment, though you know he's anything but disappointed. "Don't be a brat."

The camera shifts in your hand, lens capturing your flushed cheeks, the arch of your back, the way you gasp when Suguru's hands cup your ass, kneading on the flesh tantalizingly.

“You ready, baby?”

You nod shakily, breath catching in your throat with anticipation.

You hear the soft clank of metal as the hook of his slacks comes undone. Suguru lines himself up, fingers pressing into your hips, positioning you like a damn goddamn king claiming his throne.

He sinks inside slowly, filling you inch by scorching inch, stretching your hole dangerously with his massive size.

Your body quivers under him, desperately trying to adjust to his girth, eyes rolling back in pleasure.

"F-fuck," he shudders, balls-deep inside your pussy, matress creaking with the weight of the collision. "So tight... So fucking tight f'me."

You're letting out porn worthy moans, hands clawing at the sheets as his pace quickens, each thrust more intense, more claiming than before.

“You’re not bored now, are you?” he teases, teeth grazing your ear as his pace gets even meaner. “No little tongue click tonight, huh?”

Your breath stutters—half caught in your throat, half moaned into the pillow—when his hips snap into you harder, the slap of skin-on-skin obscenely loud in the otherwise quiet room. The only other sound is the camera’s soft whir, faithfully recording every ruined inch of you.

“Back arched just right,” he says, voice is ragged in between grunts like it’s scraping out of his throat. "You’re made for this, y’know that?”

Another thrust, sharper this time, more punishing—and the pillow swallows your cry.

“Don’t hide from me,” his hand fists in your hair, tugging harshly to pull your head up, to make you see yourself wrecked. “Look at yourself.”

Your gaze is forced to the screen again. To your glassy eyes, tear-stained cheeks, mouth falling open around a sob as your body rocks with each drive of his hips.

Your fingers tremble around the edge of the mattress, barely holding on. You choke out a broken noise when he slams in deeper into your cervix, tilting your hips just so.

“Ah, fuck—yeah, there,” he rubs circles into your clit with his fingers as he thrusts into the spot that makes you see stars. “You feel that?”

Your legs shake weakly, and you can do nothing but nod helplessly. Suguru tugs harder at your hair when you give no verbal response, making your head jerk back.

“I said—do you feel that?”

“Yes!” you wail, shame and pleasure burning like wildfire in your blood.

“Atta girl.”

His hand slides down, flattening over your belly, pinning you in place as he ruins you from behind.

“You think he ever fucked you like this?” he taunts, breathless, lips brushing against your ear. “Think he ever made you forget your own name?”

The coil in your stomach is taut now, stretched impossibly close to snapping.

He knows. Of course he knows. He feels it in the way your thighs tremble, in the frantic clutch of your fingers at the sheets, in the way your walls tighten around him.

“S-shit—” he groans, pace stuttering. "Gonna cum inside you baby, yeah?"

And when it breaks, when it snaps. It tears through you like lightning, leaving your body quaking and your throat hoarse from the sound you make. You feel thick, warm, creamy ropes of his own release pump inside your cunt, filling it to the brim.

But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t falter with his movements. Keeps fucking you through both of your releases, watching the aftershocks rack through your spine.

“Look at you,” he growls, nails digging into your flesh. "Never want you any other way.”

And then, abruptly, Suguru pulls out completely— both of your bodies now connected with nothing but a long, stripe of white.

Your body bucks at the loss, instinctively chasing him.

“Don’t worry,” he smirks upon seeing your reaction, reaching for the camera and angling it to a new view.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

♡⛧♡⛧♡⛧♡⛧♡⛧♡⛧♡⛧♡⛧♡⛧♡

You’re still catching your breath—legs shaking like anything, chest heaving, the mattress soaked with sweat and whatever else he’s pulled out of you—when Suguru finally shuts the camera off with a casual flick of his thumb. He hums under his breath, the sound low and oddly pleased, like a man who just finished a particularly satisfying meal.

His fingers trail lazily down the curve of your spine, feather-light, like he’s painting you into memory. The gentleness would almost be sweet, if he hadn’t been two thrusts away from murder hours earlier.

“You good?” he murmurs near your ear, lips brushing just below it in a kiss that's far too tender to be trustworthy.

You manage a slow nod, still a little drunk on adrenaline. “Y-Yeah.”

He brushes your hair back from your face, then rises with unhurried grace — shirt wrinkled, pants unzipped, camera still dangling from his hand like an afterthought. Like a trophy.

He points it at you again, this time with the lens off, just watching. Admiring the view.

“God,” he says softly, almost to himself. “You’re a fucking vision.”

Your eyes don't waver as you stare at him, and something behind your ribs shifts.

It’s not that he looks dangerous. It’s that he looks… content. Like this was never improvisation. Like every step was scripted, and you’re the only one who didn’t get a copy of the lines.

Your stomach tightens, but you keep your expression still. If there’s one thing you’ve learned tonight, it’s that fear just makes him smile wider.

“Suguru,” you whisper. “What’re you gonna do with that footage?”

The camera in his hands lowers a little, before a smile graces his lips, slow and sticky with ardour.

“Jerk off to it when I miss you. Duh.”

You shoot him a flat look, nose scrunching in distaste. “You’re so damn disgusting.”

“Yeah?” He grins wider at that, tilting his head. “Well, you got fucked silly by disgusting, old me.”

You open your mouth — maybe to argue, maybe to throw a pillow at his head — but the landline rings.

Both of you freeze over as if someone hit a pause button. Suguru tilts his head, like he’s listening to the universe set up the punchline.

“…Expecting someone?” he asks lightly.

Your shake your head, mouth dry. “No.”

“Hello?” he says, voice polite. Cheerful. Like the kind of guy who holds the elevator door open.

You can’t hear what’s said, but whatever it is has his lips curling into a slow, poisonous smile.

He turns to you, eyes gleaming with mischief. Then mouths: It’s him.

Your stomach turns inside out.

Satoru.

Your heart lurches into motion again, the floor tipping beneath you.

Suguru stretches the cord with one hand and flicks the camera back on with the other, angling it towards you.

“She’s a little tied up right now,” he says into the receiver casually.

You scramble upright, heart racing faster. “What the hell do you think you're doing—”

He silences you with a finger pressed to your lips gently.

You hear Satoru’s voice crackle distantly through the receiver. “Is she with you?”

Suguru’s eyes don’t leave yours— smile all teeth and vicious.

“She’s not just with me, Satoru,” he says, tilting the camera a little, like he’s lining up a better shot. “She’s on me.”

Your cheeks burn brightly. You mouth stop it but he just winks, like this is the highlight of his week.

“She’s still shaking,” he drawls, voice thick with satisfaction. “Twitching from the last time I made her come. Poor thing can barely speak.”

You groan into your hands, full-body cringe. Because if humiliation could kill, you'd already be embalmed.

“I could let her talk to you,” Suguru muses, panning the lens down to your legs like he's conducting a tour, “but I don’t think she wants to. Not when her mouth’s already so—”

You slap the phone out of his hand before he can finish the sentence. It hits the hardwood with a thud. You slam the receiver back into its cradle, fists shaking.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” you spit.

He pauses, like he’s genuinely going to reflect on your words. Then steps forward and kisses your throat. Right over your pulse. Right where he could end everything, if he felt like it.

“You know,” he murmurs, thumb stroking your jaw with fondness. “you should’ve been dead by now.”

Your breath catches. He lets it hang in the air, not as a threat, but as a simple and unapologetic truth.

“But I guess,” he adds, smirking again, “I’m sentimental.”

Suguru leans in, lips hovering a breath above yours, close enough to graze, not enough to kiss.

“You moan too pretty to waste.”

Then he pulls back a fraction. His eyes scan your face — the flushed cheeks, the wide pupils, the lip caught between your teeth.

“…For now.”

Tags: @anime201283 @11thlife02 @smolcooki33 @savagecatsuga @luv3nti

@starlixers @sophistication-as @plswtfdontdoitagain @angie420 @arabellasolstice

@valiantqueenalien-blog @bunnygorex @miss-u-koo @ll0rona @ladyjanesstuff

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demie90s · 20 hours ago

Text

Your Mine

Paige Bueckers x fem!reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: You don’t just want her—you need her. Paige calls it a game, claims it’s harmless, but you know better.

Genre: Toxic romance · Smut · Psychological obsession

Warnings: Possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, smut, obsession, jealousy, toxic dynamics

Word Count~ 4.1k

She’s the first person I look for in every room. Always has been.

There’s something about the way Paige moves—like the world pauses for her, and she doesn’t even notice. People trip over themselves just to be near her. They laugh too hard at her jokes, ask questions they already know the answers to, call her “Bueckers” like it makes them part of something. And she entertains it. Smiles. Plays along. Sweet little Paige.

But when the lights go down and the crowd fades—she comes home to me. She always comes back.

I think that’s what makes it beautiful. The fact that she chooses me, over and over. They don’t know what her voice sounds like when it breaks. They don’t see her fall apart, shaking, gasping, holding onto my wrist like she’ll drown if I let go. That version of her only I get to see.

And I do. I see all of her. I keep all of her.

She’s curled up next to me now, head resting on my thigh, scrolling on her phone while I rub lazy circles on the inside of her knee. Her hair’s still damp from her post-practice shower. The smell of her skin—warm lotion and cheap hotel soap—makes my mouth water.

“You tired?” I ask, my voice calm. She nods without looking up. “Mmhm. Long day.”

I hum and lean down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. So soft. So good for me. So mine.

“Want me to rub your back?” I ask sweetly. Gentle.

She smiles. “Please.”

And I do. Of course I do. I take care of her. I always take care of her. Even when she forgets how lucky she is.

Even when she flirts too much after games. Even when her eyes linger too long on someone else’s shoes, someone else’s smile. Even when she gets too comfortable thinking I won’t notice.

But I do. I notice everything.

I let it slide because she doesn’t mean it. That’s the thing about Paige—she’s soft. She needs to feel wanted. So I let her feel it, just enough to keep her sweet, before I take her home and remind her what real love looks like. What devotion feels like when it sinks into your ribs and never lets go.

I tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, slow and careful. She shivers under my touch.

“I missed you today,” she says quietly.

I smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. “Did you?”

She looks up. “Of course.”

My hand tightens just slightly around her hip. She doesn’t notice.

“Who were you with after practice?” I ask lightly, like it’s nothing.

Her brows pinch. “Nobody—just the team. Why?”

“Just wondering.” I kiss her forehead. She believes me. She always believes me.

That’s the funny part. She calls me chill. Says I’m laid-back, “different from the others.” But if she knew the things I’d done just to keep her close? If she saw the burner account I use to check who she follows, the screenshots I keep for insurance? If she heard how I talk about her when she’s asleep in my bed, mouth parted, legs tangled in mine like a promise she doesn’t know she’s making—

She’d run. Maybe. Or maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe some part of her likes it. The way I watch her. The way I touch her. The way I claim her without ever needing to ask.

Her phone buzzes and I glance at the screen before she can turn it over. It’s some girl from a podcast, heart emoji in the notification.

“Don’t answer that,” I say, soft but firm.

She pauses. Looks at me. “…Why?”

“Because you’re with me,” I murmur, sliding my hand under her sweatshirt. “And I’m not in the mood to share.”

She laughs—thinks I’m joking. She’s so cute when she doesn’t get it. She’ll learn.

I don’t get jealous. Not really. It’s not jealousy if you know someone’s already yours. It’s not insecurity if you’re just aware. If you’re paying attention. And I always pay attention.

So when I saw her talking to that girl after the game—some tall, pretty thing with gloss on her lips and dumb, eager eyes—I didn’t get mad. I just watched. I watched the way Paige laughed a little too long, stood a little too close. I counted the seconds, measured the space between them. Noticed the way she kept tucking her hair behind her ear like she wanted to be looked at.

She was being careless. And that’s fine. She’s allowed to make mistakes. But she’s not allowed to lie to me.

We didn’t talk in the car. Not on the ride back, not walking through the hallway, not while I got undressed and left my hoodie on the floor like I wanted her to see it. She followed, of course. She always follows.

And when the door shut behind us, I finally turned.

“What was that?” I asked. Voice low. Calm.

Paige blinked. “What was what?”

“So you’re gonna act dumb now?” I smiled. Tilted my head.

“I talked to a girl. That’s not a crime.”

“No,” I said, nodding. “It’s not a crime. It’s just disrespectful.”

“Disrespectful?” she repeated, already defensive. “You’re not my mom, y/n.”

That switch in my chest flipped and everything went cold. I turned my back to her and walked toward the bed, quiet. Calm. Lifted the blanket, fluffed the pillow. Not even mad. Just distant.

“Okay,” I said, shrugging. “Then go ahead.”

“Go ahead what?”She hesitated.

“Go ahead and text her. Go be with her. I’m sure she’d love the attention. Maybe she’ll actually be grateful to be seen with you.”

Paige scoffed behind me. “Oh, come on—”

“No, really. Go. You clearly want someone new. Someone soft. Someone who doesn’t ask questions. You wanna be admired, not watched, right?”

I didn’t look at her, but I could hear it—the breath caught in her throat, the quiet shift of her weight.

“Y/n…”

I exhaled, sharp. “You think I need you? I don’t. I like having you. That’s different.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“I know.”

She was crying now. She didn’t want me to see, but I could hear it in her voice.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” she said, softer. “I didn’t even ask for her number.”

I didn’t say anything. I just sat at the edge of the bed, my legs spread, hands resting on my thighs. Letting it hang in the air like I was done. Like she’d have to crawl back and beg. And she did.

She stood in front of me, blinking through tears, arms folded over her chest like she was trying to hold herself together.

“I’m sorry, okay?” she whispered. “I wasn’t thinking.”

I looked up, finally. Met her eyes. And something in her broke.

I didn’t say a word. Just reached up, hooked my fingers in the waistband of her sweats, and pulled her forward.

She gasped when I kissed her—deep, hard, unforgiving. My hands slid over her ass, her hips, and I pushed her back onto the mattress without another word.

“I hate when you cry,” I murmured, kissing down her stomach. “But I love making it better.” She didn’t resist. She never does.

I pulled her sweats down slow, then her underwear—wet already, even through the shame. She always gets like this when she thinks I’m slipping away. Desperate. Needy. Like she’s scared of what I’ll do without her.

And I use it. Of course I do.

I start slow. Kisses to her thighs, soft licks that barely brush where she wants me. My breath hot and steady. My hands gripping her hips like she might float away if I let go.

“You’re mine,” I murmur, dragging my tongue up once. A slow, cruel stroke. “No one else gets to taste you like this.” She moans—quiet, cracked, like she doesn’t know if she should cry or bite her lip.

“Mm,” I hum against her, smiling against slick skin. “So ungrateful. Cryin’ like I didn’t just forgive you.” I look up, licking my lips slow. Her eyes meet mine and flicker like they’re begging for mercy I’m not about to give.

“This what you wanted that girl to do, huh?” I whisper, soft and venom-sweet, tongue dragging over her again. “Wanna flirt, then come back to me all dumb and sorry?”

Her hips twitch. A broken sound falls out of her mouth.

“You don’t even deserve this,” I say, licking her again—slower this time, deeper. I suck gently on her clit, just once, then stop. Pull back. Let the air touch her. Let her miss me.

She whines.

“Aww,” I coo, tilting my head, fingers digging into her thighs to keep her still. “Look at you. So pathetic. So messy. You gone cry again, baby?” She nods. A single, sharp motion.

“Yeah?” I lick her again, and this time I stay. I flatten my tongue and move in slow circles, letting the pressure build—then suck. Relentless. She gasps, back arching, hands tangled in the sheets.

But I don’t let up. I don’t let her run. My arms hold her down. My mouth drags moans out of her one after the next like confessions.

“Don’t you ever forget who owns this,” I growl, mouth still buried, voice dark and sticky like honey gone bad. “You need me. Say it.”

“I need you,” she sobs, wrecked and trembling.

“Louder.”

“I need you.”

And then I hum into her again, tongue ruthless, lips slick, chin soaked. She’s shaking now—can’t stop, can’t think, can’t breathe without it. And I just keep going.

I don’t stop ‘til she’s gone—mind blank, eyes wet, body limp, thighs twitching like she don’t know how to come down.

I kiss her softly once more, right on the clit like a goodbye. Like I’m sealing something shut. Then I crawl up slow, wipe my mouth, and lay over her chest, smug. Calm. Loving.

“I forgive you,” I whisper. “But don’t ever test me again.”

And when she curls into me, eyes closed, still crying a little—I let her.

Because she’s mine. And I take care of what’s mine.

She’s spiraling, and I can see it from a mile away. Not in some dramatic, meltdown kind of way—no. It’s subtle. Quiet. The kind of unraveling that only someone like me would notice. She’s off her rhythm. Missed two free throws last game. Hesitated on a fast break she normally eats alive. Dropped her bag walking into film like her body and mind weren’t in sync. That’s not like her.

And I know exactly why. It’s because I stopped loving her. Or at least, I told her I did.

I didn’t scream it. Didn’t cry. Just leaned back against her locker and said it like it meant nothing: “I don’t want you like that anymore.”

She didn’t believe me, not really. But the damage stuck. I watched it land in her chest, like a nail driven slow. And now she’s been trying everything to pull it out.

She’s in full-blown damage control. Buying my favorite smoothie from a place two cities over. Leaving notes in my hoodie pockets—dumb little things, sweet even, if I cared enough to smile. Always signed the same: Forever yours, even when you’re cruel.

And I am cruel. Cruel in the way I let her try. Cruel in the way I let her love me so obviously, so desperately, while I pretend not to care. She shows up with gifts. Pays for dinners. Touches me in public like we’re still us.

And I let her.

That’s the worst part—I let her. I let her plan a night out like it’ll fix anything. I show up in her passenger seat, let her open the door for me, let her order for me. And when she’s looking at me like I hung the moon and sky just for her, I glance at my phone and ask if she’s finished talking.

It breaks her every time. You can see it in her face. That slow wilt, the way her fingers start to twitch or her jaw sets like she’s swallowing a scream.

Then, like clockwork, she whispers, “I can make it up to you.”

Back at mine, she gets on her knees before the door’s even shut. She eats me out like her life depends on it. Like her tongue can undo the distance between us. She moans into me like it hurts, like it’s holy. I don’t stop her. I don’t say a word.

She keeps going until I finish, and then she looks up at me like she’s begging. Not for permission—but for something. A smile. A touch. Some sliver of softness.

I kiss her forehead. That’s all she gets. And she leans into it like it’s enough.

She doesn’t know that I already made my decision. Doesn’t know that I’m not here because I love her—I’m here because I own her. And the second I let her think she’s winning, it’s over.

So I don’t give her that. I let her crumble in the silence. Let her fall asleep on my chest, warm and wrecked, thinking she’s safe.

Because that’s the thing—she is safe. With me, she always is. But I’m not trying to be her safe place. I’m trying to be the reason she never stops running. And she doesn’t even realize she’s already lost the race.

She’s been trying so hard lately. Showing up early to practice, staying late like it’ll impress me. Posting thirst traps with captions that practically scream my name without saying it. She brings me coffee now. Gifts. Flowers. New hoodies she knows I’ll wear once just so she can smell them after.

It’s sad. Really. She’s trying to win me back like she ever had me. I let her chase. That’s what she’s good for.

She came over tonight after practice—soaking wet from rain, no umbrella, no jacket. Just Paige. Soaked and shaking, looking at me like a fucking puppy someone left on the curb.

“You didn’t answer any of my calls.”

“You still talking?”I just raise a brow from the couch.

Her mouth drops open, but she doesn’t argue. Not anymore. Not since the last time I left her crying on her knees. Tonight. She drops to them willingly.

“I’ll make it up to you,” she whispers, tugging at my sweats, hands trembling like I’m the last goddamn miracle on earth. “Please. I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

I yawn. “You sound obsessed.”

“I am,” she breathes.

At least she’s honest.

She pulls my sweats down slow, kissing every inch of skin like it’s sacred, like her mouth was made to worship me. And when her lips hit my clit, I don’t flinch. I don’t praise her. I just stare down, blank-eyed, hand resting lazily on her head like I’m bored.

“Do it better.”

She whimpers. “I—I’m trying.”

“Try harder.”

So she does. Licks deeper. Sucks slow. Uses her fingers like I taught her. It’s pathetic how much she remembers, how perfect she’s gotten at ruining me—because all she wants is my attention. Not love. Not approval. Just a sound. A sigh. A twitch of my fingers in her hair that says, “good girl.”

But I don’t give it to her. I don’t make a sound.

“You like this, right?” she whispers, lips wet, chin messy. “You taste so good… please, let me make you come. Let me do something right.”

I laugh. Low. Cruel. “You think you earned that?”

She moans like I slapped her. Digs her tongue in like she can fuck the hate out of me.

“Pathetic,” I whisper. “Look at you. So eager. This what you wanted that bitch to do? You smile in her face and come home to beg for scraps?”

“I didn’t—” she gasps.

I grab her hair and grind against her face. “You did. And now you’re gone prove how sorry you are.”

She takes it. All of it. Never stops licking. Never stops moaning. She’s crying by the time I come—loud and drawn out, head tossed back while she whimpers into my cunt like it’s salvation.

I pull away after, breathing steady. Look down at her flushed, ruined face. And I still don’t kiss her. Don’t hold her.

I just say, cool and easy, “You’re getting better. Still not enough.”

She nods, wiping her face. “I’ll keep trying.” I smirk.

“Yeah. You will.” Because this isn’t about love. It’s about power. I’ve got her begging for every drop.

She pissed me off. That’s all it takes, really. One wrong look. One slick comment. One second of her acting like she’s not mine. So I fucked somebody else. Simple.

Didn’t even try to hide it. Left the door unlocked. Made sure she’d walk in on it if she really cared. And when she did? I didn’t stop. Just looked at her while this girl—this nobody—was moaning in my ear like she’d never had it that good.

Paige froze.

She didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. Just stood there, clutching the bag she brought me—dumb little apology gift she probably spent all day thinking about.

I tilted my head and said it. Calm.

“She’s so wet for me. You never used to drip like this.” And that broke her. Right there in the doorway.

“You’re joking,” she whispered, voice shaking. I raised a brow, still inside the girl, still grinding slow like I had all the time in the world. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

She dropped the bag. It hit the floor with a soft thud.

I leaned down, kissed the girl’s shoulder, murmured loud enough for Paige to hear, “You feel so fucking good, baby. You want me to come inside you?”

The girl nodded, moaning, drunk off me. And Paige? She stepped back like she’d been shot. Like I hadn’t warned her. Like this wasn’t always going to happen if she kept testing me.

“Don’t look so surprised,” I said, lazily running my tongue across my bottom lip. “You knew what it was. I told you not to piss me off.”

“Is this because of—what I said?”

“No. This is because I can.”

She didn’t say anything after that. Just stood there, lips trembling, hands curled into fists like she was trying not to beg. Trying not to cry.

But baby, it was too late for that. I grabbed the girl’s hair, gave her one more thrust, then groaned, loud, on purpose. Paige flinched. When I finally pulled out, I stared her down—eyes cold, voice even colder.

“She was better,” I said. “But she ain’t you.” Then I smiled.

“Still… she didn’t waste my time.”

She turned and walked out. And I let her.

She came back shaking. Quiet. Eyes red but dry, like she already cried all the way from the car to the door and just didn’t have it in her anymore. She stood in the doorway like she was waiting for me to say something. Apologize. Flinch. Even blink wrong. Something that might mean I regretted it.

I didn’t.

I stayed right where I was—on the couch, blanket around my waist, phone in hand. Still smelled like the girl who left an hour ago. Vanilla and sweat. Paige could smell it too, I know she could. I wanted her to.

She dropped her bag by the door. “You’re not gonna say sorry?”

I looked up like I had to think about it. “For what, baby?”

And that’s when it started. The spiral. Her face twisted, all that held-in emotion collapsing into disbelief. “Are you serious right now?”

I didn’t answer. Just shifted on the couch, stretched a little. My legs were sore—in a good way. “Why would I be sorry for something you caused?”

Her mouth opened, then closed again like her brain short-circuited. I stood, slow. Walked right past her like she was invisible. “You shouldn’t have pushed me.”

“I didn’t—” Her voice cracked. “I didn’t do anything but ask why you were ignoring me.”

“And now you know,” I cut in, turning toward her with that half-smile that always shut her down. “You were boring me. Constantly checking in, trying to impress me. Baby, I don’t want a fan. I want a girlfriend.”

She flinched like I hit her. I might as well have.

“You slept with someone else,” she whispered.

I leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Slept with? No. I fucked her.” I let that hang. Let the words dig their way into her ribs. “Bent her over the sink. She came twice.”

She covered her mouth like the truth physically hurt. Tears started to fall now, fast and silent. And I didn’t care. I just tilted my head. “What? You thought crying was gonna stop me from being honest?”

“You used to love me,” she croaked.

I blinked. “Maybe. But that was before you started acting like I couldn’t breathe without you. You forgot who I am.”

She picked up her bag. Threw it onto the bed like she couldn’t get out fast enough. Hands shaking, shoving shit into the duffel—her sweatshirt, her charger, the perfume I bought her last Christmas.

The whole time she kept glancing back at me like I’d change. Like I’d stop her. I didn’t.

“Keep packing, Paige. You’re cute when you’re heartbroken.”

She froze. “…I hate you.”

I walked over, slow and steady, then leaned in, brushing her cheek with my fingers like I was still sweet. “I’m sure you do.”

She shoved my hand away and kept packing. No more words. Just pain. And that’s the thing—she thought this was a breakup. It wasn’t.

This was me reminding her she was never in control.

It’d been months since I touched her.

Not that she stopped trying—texts left on read, late-night calls I let ring just to hear her voice on voicemail. Her name would light up, soft and blue, and I’d just watch it fade. Never blocked. Never ignored. Just… unbothered.

Her stats were dropping. She was quiet at practice. Snapping at teammates who used to feel like sisters. And I knew why. Of course I knew. But I let it ride.

I’d see her sometimes. Across the court, or during walk-ins. She’d always look at me like she was starving. Like she hadn’t eaten in weeks and I was the last thing that ever tasted like home.

So when the knock came—slow, shaky, familiar—I didn’t even check the peephole. I just opened it, leaned on the frame, and raised a brow.

Paige was standing there with wet lashes, lips bitten pink, and a duffle slung over one shoulder. Like she didn’t know whether to beg or just fall into me.

“Can I come in?” she asked, voice thin. I didn’t move. I let her stand there in it. That regret. That ache.

“I shouldn’t’ve done what I did,” she added, a little more breathless. “I wasn’t right. But I miss you. And I love you. And I’m sorry.”

“Mmm,” I hummed. “You say that every time.”

Her eyes dropped. Her fingers curled around the strap of her bag like it might hold her together.

“I know. I just… I thought maybe—”

“Thought maybe I’d fall back into your arms ‘cause you cried a little?” I stepped aside anyway, slow. “Go head.”

She didn’t hesitate. Dropped her bag, walked past like she belonged, and stood in the middle of my living room like she was waiting for a verdict.

“Tell me what you want,” I said, voice quiet. Dangerous.

Her lip trembled. “You. Just you.”

“For how long?” I tilted my head. “Until the next pretty girl makes you feel powerful again? Or until I stop fucking you like you deserve it?”

Her face twisted like it hurt. Good. It should.

“Baby…” she whispered, walking closer. “I haven’t even looked at anyone. I’ve been trying. I’ve been showing up. I’ve been—”

“Failing,” I cut in. “You’ve been failing, Paige. That’s what you’ve been doing.” Tears hit her cheeks. She took a breath like it hurt to even stand.

And still—I let her reach for me. Let her wrap her arms around my waist, press her face to my chest like she needed the heartbeat to survive.

“I’ll do better,” she promised. “Whatever it takes.”

I brushed a hand through her hair, soft. Gentle. Almost tender.

“Shh,” I murmured. “It’s okay.”

She relaxed for the first time in weeks. I kissed her temple. Then her cheek. Then her lips. And when she sighed against me, I whispered, “You’re mine.”

She nodded like it was gospel. And I let her think that was the end of it. But she should’ve known better. I don’t do forgiveness. I do ownership. And she’s not done paying yet.

—————-

She cried herself quiet. Didn’t scream. Didn’t yell. Just let the tears fall while I sat there, still and cold, like her pain didn’t sting me too. But it did.

God, it did.

She was curled up on my bed now, facing the wall like she was trying to disappear into it, fingers curled into her own shirt like maybe if she held tight enough she wouldn’t shatter all the way.

And still—I didn’t say sorry. I never said sorry.

Instead, I slid in behind her. Pressed my chest to her back. Wrapped one arm under her neck and the other around her waist, tugging her against me like I could fuse us back together by force alone.

“You breathing?” I asked softly, lips brushing the shell of her ear. She nodded. Barely.

I kissed her shoulder, slow. Then again. And again. Until she shivered.

“You hate me?” I whispered.

“No,” she breathed. “I just don’t know how to stop loving you.” I closed my eyes. I didn’t want her to.

“You’re okay,” I murmured, my hand rubbing slow circles over her belly, gentle and sweet like I hadn’t just ripped her heart open an hour ago.

“You’re mine, remember?”

She whimpered. Not from pain—just from being held. Like even after all that… this was the part she craved most. And I gave it to her. I always give her what she needs.

Even if I’m the one who broke her to begin with.

@xxsnowxx213 @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog

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mi-co-uk · 3 days ago

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⸝⸝⸝ 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓 𝐗 𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 ⋆.˚🦢⋆

BLURB: intro - matt wants more than the sex, but is it worth losing you completely?

WARNINGS: smut !! not detailed but nsfw, angsty unreciprocated love, FWB type dynamic, male yearner final boss

barbed wire dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

wc: 350.

AU MASTERLIST // NAV // ALL AUS

it was hard to let go of it.

it was the only way he could have you.

the touching, the loving, the way you gave yourself to him in a way you would never in any other way. if that was all he could have he'd keep it. but he wanted more. he had your body and your trust but he yearned for your heart. the permanence, no matter how painful or taxing it could turn out to be.

it was always close to perfect until it ended.

the noises of relief and pleasure, how you gripped him tight, enclosing yourself in for a hold on reality. he would feel you everywhere, the way he couldn't any other occasion, pretending it wouldn't end as he pounded into you.

"tell me you're mine. all of you."

it didn't sound like begging, but it was.

you couldn't spit it out, overtaken with the tightening knot in your stomach until he slowed down his pace, practically forcing the phrase out of you. "mm- 'm yours."

"yeah baby? you belong to me?"

"nn- yes. 'm all yours. I need more- please please-"

he increased the pace, having made the most he could out of the moment. he couldn't hold it off for much longer.

you never failed to make him into an idiot. he'd barely cleaned you up, you were out of his bed, out of his reach already. pulling clothes back on yourself, fixing yourself as if it had been an evil deed, as if you hadn't wanted it.

he'd learnt that words didn't help. you'd just take longer to come back to him. he wanted to yell it all at you. he wanted to beg for a genuine glance, something more than lust. he needed you to love him. matt knew you needed him, but his burning for you was something entirely different. it was vital, the only thing fueling him enough to stay alive.

you were his exact perfect. and if your only flaw was your inability to love him, could he really blame you?

a/n I don't know how I feel about this :p

taglist:

everything taglist: @pair-of-pantaloons @oopsiedaisydeer @corspebridedelrey @browniepop62 @izzylovesmatt @michele-sturns @courta13 @sturns-mermaid @emely9274 @baebadoobee4ever @fw-lee @afr8idofrats @stvrniolotrxpl3ts @chrxsprettygirl @franticroads @m4gz-png @clairomatt @allisonclairee @mattshorsenecklace @whor3ing @matts-girlfriend @obsessedwiththesturniolos @shadowthesim237 @chrisslut04 @jetaimevous @eeyoresturnz @dolliraez @sugarraez @pizzapocketpocketpizza @sturnsira @pink1man @bbgirlmatt @fadedstvrn @sturnslutz @ribbonlovergirl @msvalsius @mattsfavoriteteddybear @sturnberries @jacsismattswife @tezzzzzzzz + all matt only taglist : @trulygentle @apersononearth011 + angst and fluff only taglist : @xeneasworld @auttysturnz @kayskreativeideas @franticroads

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heesngirl · 2 days ago

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Synopsis : Heeseung in abstinence, given his appearance in Lee Hye-ri's show. Also, they are on a trip with the ENHYPEN members, plus Jake, Jay and Sunghoon's girlfriends respectively. And after a water war with everyone, we move on to this.

— Heeseung x MC reader : established relationship, unprotected sex, rough sex, spanking (just one), power dynamics, vers! Heeseung, vers! reader, cum filling, p in v, size kink (discreet), jealousy, possessiveness, biting/marking, a little toxic this time. MDNI.

Count : 8k

With the chaos settled, and plans for later already agreed upon amidst jokes and laughter, everyone began to retreat to their respective spaces in the villa and go about their own business. Given this, Heeseung knew that for the next few hours he'd be completely alone with you in the room. It seemed like a cruel form of punishment, knowing full well there would be no interruptions, and maybe, just maybe, this was the opportunity he'd been waiting for to redirect everything he'd been holding back for weeks.

Because if it hadn't been for Jungwon's sudden appearance moments before, just as he was about to make you succumb to him, the end of that recent chaos would have been very different for you. If you'd had a little more time, right now you wouldn't be riding out the adrenaline rush of the group dynamic, but moaning his name until you were speechless. But at least all that playfulness had served to distract him.

And now, making your way to the room you shared. Heeseung, now somewhat calmer but still feeling raw, opened the door and let you in first. As soon as you crossed the threshold, you casually took off your wet shorts, letting them fall at your feet while grumbling in an amused tone.

— These people really have no control — you complained with a laugh, shaking your wet hair and checking your body for any bruises. — And Jay's girlfriend... damn, she never loses track of them. She looked like a war leader, shouting orders to everyone like she was a combat squadron.

Heeseung let out a short laugh, closing the door behind him while his eyes never left you. He approached with measured steps, like someone restraining himself from acting impulsively, and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest, still damp from the pool water.

— Don’t deny it, you had more fun than you want to admit — he murmured near your ear, sliding a hand around your waist. — I saw you when you grabbed Jake by the hair. You had that mischievous, cheerful smile I love so much.

You laughed hard at the memory, leaning your forehead against his chest.

— Of course I got even. What did you expect? They disturbed my peace when all I wanted was to rest and be with you. But then Jungwon showed up first, and then that stupid Sim shot me straight in the face to get me out of the room. — you protested, with valid reasons that justified your outburst against Jake.

As you spoke, Heeseung listened to you with a half-smile on his lips, but his gaze had already changed. Something in his tone grew thicker, more charged with intent as he allowed himself to get even closer, lowering his voice until it sounded like a whisper full of insinuation.

— What a shame. If none of that had happened, you and I would be in a different place right now. — He spoke, and his hands, which until then had been merely affectionate, began to run with deliberate slowness along the line of your back.

His fingers deftly found the clasp of your bikini top and calmly undid it, letting it loosen without any resistance from you. His words grew thicker, almost like a caress on your skin.

— We were so close… — he murmured, lowering his head to brush his lips against your neck as he removed your top. — So fucking close… And you, gorgeous were vulnerable, ready for me. Needing me as much as I’ve been needing you this whole damn time.

You felt each word sink deep into your being, the warmth of his breath washing over you, and your body responding on its own. Your lips parted, and all you could manage, barely a gasp, was his name.

— Heeseung~ — That sound was enough for him to lose what little self-control he had left.

His voice, even lower, rough with accumulated tension, slid straight into your ear with an emotional charge impossible to ignore.

— You don't know how much I'm suffering without you... — he confessed, his fingers sliding down your hips until they found the damp waistband of your bikini. — I long for you so much. Stop punishing me like this, please. I'll do anything to make it up to you, anything you want. But I need you to stop pushing me away.

Deftly, he removed your soaked bottom garment, which slid down your legs, making a soft, heavy sound as it fell to the floor. Now you stood completely naked before him, drops of water still running down your skin, but you weren't shivering from the cold. It was the tension, the unfulfilled promise, the urgency of what they both knew could happen if no one interrupted them again.

Suddenly, without warning, Heeseung captured your lips with an almost desperate urgency. Their kiss was hell unleashed: hot, wet, needy. Their tongues met, explored, devoured each other without restraint, licking and sucking with a voracity that seemed to want to devour it all out. Heeseung's hand held your hips firmly, pressing you against him, forcing you to feel the hardening of his penis pressing against the fabric of his shorts.

You began to moan into his mouth, those low, broken sounds that only he knew, that only he could elicit. He wanted to go further, his hands trembling, eager to explore more brazenly, to invade your body. But just before he could, you turned your face away with a smile radiant with mockery, with that power that only you have when you decide to set the pace.

— The moment is over — you declared matter-of-factly, with that firm, playful voice that disarmed him. — I'm not going to let you catch me so vulnerable and unprepared again. You're in abstinence, and you'll stay that way, until I decide.

Heeseung froze, his dark eyes shining with frustration and unspent desire. He watched you calmly take the wet clothes he'd ripped from you, while you walked naked around the room, with that self-confidence of yours, searching through your luggage for a clean, dry change of clothes. It was as if time had moved forward again as, without giving much thought to his obvious tension, you...

— I'm going to take a quick shower. After I get out, you shower and then we can take a nap together. — you announced matter-of-factly. Your tone was so calm, so lacking in concern for his suffering, that he looked at you in disbelief, almost indignant, feeling that the punishment was crueler than anything else.

For someone with a high libido and obsessed with every part of you, the fact that you were putting him into abstinence as punishment was, without exaggeration, a hellish sentence. Even worse because he was used to always having you. Because you were as addicted to doing it with him as he was to you. Always hungry, intense, and ready to devour each other. Now, having gone weeks without touching you, without hearing you moan, without sinking inside you; it was torture. And to top it all off, you didn't play fair. He had to deal with the provocations you dropped like subtle blades. All the times you got too close only to then act indifferent. You knew what you were doing; it was all part of a twisted game of yours that he was willing to endure just because he loved you. Also because, deep down, he knew you were protecting yourself. Even if you didn't say so.

By the time he finished removing his soaked shorts and adjusting the towel around his waist, you appeared in the bathroom doorway, wrapped in a white robe and with a smaller towel in your hands, drying your hair. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down, pumping hard as he swallowed, seeing you so perfect, so naturally and effortlessly beautiful.

— Baby, would you do me a favor and dry my hair, please? — you requested in a sweet, sincere voice, not fake or lacking in games or ulterior motives.

— With pleasure, my darling. — He couldn't refuse, not even in his mind; the answer came out without thinking, full of tenderness.

He watched as you installed the dryer, then sat you down in a chair, and he approached from behind. His hands were so careful yet firm, gently undoing your wet strands. When he finished, he made sure to apply a moisturizing product that you always use, gently massaging your scalp while you closed your eyes with a comfortable smile on your lips.

— Thanks for taking care of me, Hee. You're so nice to me. — you whispered, turning your face slightly to look at him from below with a serene, grateful expression, without a trace of irony.

He instantly leaned down, cradled your cheek in his hand, pressed his lips against yours, and kissed you once more. But it wasn't like before; now it was gentle, slow, intimate. Filled with that devotion he always reserves only for you.

— You have nothing to thank me for, precious, taking care of you is the greatest of my pleasures. — he declared in a low, reverent voice, his eyes lost in the depth and brilliance of yours, so entranced by your charm. To which you smiled, moved.

— You can go shower now. I'll wait for you to dry your hair, too. — you murmured with a mischievous smile, gently removing his hand from your face, your fingers delicately brushing his while your eyes sparkled mischievously.

He smiled, resignation and desire still intact in his eyes, and disappeared into the bathroom. The air between you remained charged, intense, and although the momentary distance lingered, you knew this had all only just begun.

After what seemed like hours in the bathroom, he finally appeared. With the towel tied tightly around his waist, leaving his torso bare, still damp, with drops slowly running down his skin, while his dark, soaked hair fell in messy strands, plastered to his forehead. His gaze immediately fell on you.

— What are you doing, babe? — he asked, his voice calm, without a trace of reproach or jealousy, more like an invitation to come closer and share this moment with you.

You were sitting up in bed, still wrapped in that bathrobe that barely contained the beautiful silhouette of your body he loved to watch. You were absorbed in your phone screen, your eyes shining with concentration, your fingers nimbly scrolling through messages and notifications. He noticed the brightness reflected on your face and peeked out to look sideways, not hiding his curiosity.

Without stopping typing on the screen, you barely raised your gaze and answered him, still concentrating on what you were doing.

— I'm looking at something about work — you said, lightly biting the inside of your cheek. — With the show's anniversary approaching, they gave me the option of choosing some special guests to host the special with me.

— And who did you think of inviting? — he asked, careful with his tone so that he didn't sound too inquisitive, but simply interested in knowing what your plans were. Although he was.

Then you stood up gracefully, and as you began preparing everything to dry his hair, you answered:

— I decided to invite Yeonjun and Soobin. I've already extended the invitation and I'm waiting for them to confirm. — You commented as you adjusted the dryer with precise movements, though your gaze slid sideways toward him, hoping to catch a reaction on his face.

Heeseung just watched you with a mixture of surprise and something that could have been called bewilderment, though he maintained his composure.

— Why invite Yeonjun and Soobin? — he asked with a slightly raised eyebrow, though his tone wasn't accusatory, merely requesting an explanation. — You could have invited Jungwon and me, or even just Jungwon."

Your smile was sweet, though there was a quiet firmness to it. Still adjusting the heat settings on the hairdryer, you looked up at him, responding calmly:

— I thought about it, Hee, I really did. But I prefer to be cautious. I don’t know if I’ll be as lucky this time as I was a few months ago, when your agency allowed ENHYPEN to attend. I didn’t want to risk a refusal — Your words held no reproach, only careful sincerity. You returned your attention to your phone screen just as a new batch of notifications lit up the device. — They’ve confirmed! They’ve agreed to be my special guests for the anniversary. — you announced, turning to him with shining eyes.

Heeseung approached without saying anything at first. His steps were slow, almost silent, and when he stood in front of you, he leaned down slightly to place a tender kiss on your forehead.

— I’m so happy for you, sweetheart. — His voice, soft and sincere, brushed your ears like a caress. He really couldn’t be upset with you for something like that. Afterward, he just sat in the chair, waiting for you to put your phone aside and start drying his hair.

The warmth of your hands caressing each strand made his body relax a little, although inside the fire was still there, burning strong. When he finished, he smiled his thanks and stood up to head toward his luggage, while you immersed yourself once again in the incoming notifications. He watched you silently, admiring every detail of your face, the way your hair fell in strands over your forehead from your messy bun, how your skin seemed to glow with a light of its own. It was impossible not to be attracted to you.

In that instant, an idea crossed his mind, and with a determination that made his heart race even faster, he removed the towel with a slow, defiant movement, revealing his damp skin, his defined chest, and that hard cock that screamed for your attention. He approached you with clear intentions, hugging you from behind, pressing his body against yours with an urgency and need that made you shudder. The hardness of his penis against your buttocks was a clear warning of how long he'd waited for this moment.

— What are you up to now, Hee? — you asked with a playful smile. You put your phone aside and looked at him over your shoulder.

You let out a soft laugh and shook your head, knowing full well what was coming. However, he didn't wait for an answer before asking permission. His displays of respect despite his arousal were what had always made you love him so much.

— Isn't it obvious? I'm trying to seduce my girl, applying the same methods she uses with me. — he whispered, his voice husky and heavy with intent.

— Can I kiss you? — His words spilled out softly, but with an unmistakable edge, like a plea. — And... Can I rub myself against you while I do it?"

Your response—a silence accompanied by a slight arch of your neck—was enough for him to understand that yes, he could do it. And he didn't hesitate a moment longer. He leaned in slowly, with the precision of someone who knows that every second counts. His breath mingled with yours as his lips captured yours.

They kissed with a contained, yet deep and intense urgency. That first contact was an electric shock, a fire that ignited in your gut and began to spread throughout your body, making you shudder.

His hands didn't just hold you; they moved with determination, lifting the bathrobe, challenging the barrier that protected your body. And when the soft fabric gave way, his warm skin met yours, exposing your ass, and he couldn't help but grip it tightly, rubbing that perfect flesh against his member aching with need.

The kiss turned voracious, messy, with tongues seeking and exploring each other as if they were the only source of life they had left. Your body responded without inhibition, arching against him, seeking more, desperate to feel him complete. A breathy moan escaped your throat as he lowered his mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of wet sucks and soft bites that made you tremble. Each one was a small punishment and at the same time a caress, a play of pain and pleasure that slowly broke down your defenses. You felt his tongue explore your sensitive skin, moistening every inch with a somewhat obscene devotion, drawing a string of sighs from you, while he also continued to rub himself insistently against your buttocks.

His large, firm hands squeezed your breasts tightly, making you arch even further toward him, while his fingers pressed through the fabric of your bathrobe. The sensation of his touch was intoxicating, and you couldn't help but feel that shiver run down your spine.

From one second to the next, you decided to give in to the provocation and with trembling fingers, you undid the knot of your bathrobe, letting the garment slide slowly off, falling to hang from your bent elbows. Heeseung gasped for a second when your back was exposed, and with it, that new tattoo of yours. The intricate pattern of red and black ink contrasted with your soft, fair skin, enhancing your beauty in a way that completely enchanted him.

— You're fucking torture, babygirl. You're killing me slowly, and I can't stop wanting more. — The touch of his breath and the pressure of his body against yours made your legs tremble and your heart pound.

You pulled away slightly, turning around to get rid of your robe and also to face him, with a haughty smile and a spark of perversion in your eyes that immediately disarmed him. Your eyes shone with that familiar fire that drove him wild, and then you blurted out those words that both hurt and excited him.

— I've never enjoyed anything in my life so much as making you suffer like this, seeing you so needy, begging for a bit of my attention. — you stated, in that tone that left no doubt you were challenging him, mocking him.

He swallowed, frustration and desire burning inside him. It was too much, an unbearable torture, and he couldn't hold back anymore. Without giving you time to react, he lifted you up in his arms with the same ease as always and slammed you against the nearest wall. He felt your body tremble at the contact, your hands gripped his shoulders tightly, seeking support and resistance. His hands slid under your legs, opening you shamelessly. His hard, imposing cock insistently rubbed against your wet, taut pussy. The glans rubbed against your clitoris with every movement, and that exact touch made you moan.

— Baby, please, end this punishment. Break this damn abstinence and let me take it all, make love to you, fill you like you love so much. — He begged in a broken voice, pleading more than commanding.

You looked at him, with eyes that reflected a mixture of power and tenderness that only you could show, and you responded with a sigh that seemed both a caress and a warning.

— Keep rubbing yourself like that, and maybe I'll think about whether to let you put it in me or not. However, if you put it in without my permission, I swear I'll increase the abstinence time. — you whispered, a sly smile appearing on your lips.

He growled in frustration, but obeyed, sliding his tireless cock against your wet pussy lips. The wet, obscene sound that formed filled the room, mingling with the deep, clipped moans escaping both of you. This felt even worse than not being able to touch you at all. However, by the time the pace became frantic, and his hips rocked wildly, pressing against you relentlessly, he couldn't hold back and begged again, almost desperately.

— Please, let me in. I can't take it anymore. I swear I'm dying without you. Don't torture me anymore. — His voice had a whiny tone, and his dilated, glittering pupils accompanied his words.

To which you also broke away, and soon, before you could stop yourself, a heartfelt confession escaped your lips.

— I’m suffering too, Lee Heeseung — you began, raising your voice a little more than expected. But it was your emotions finally surfacing and exposing what you were truly feeling. — Do you think this isn’t a fucking hell for me too? My insides ache with need to have you inside, throbbing incessantly. But even though I’m dying for you, I need to maintain control. My jealousy and possessiveness are getting the better of me.

He looked away for a moment, touched by your vulnerability and the rawness of your words. You were finally being honest with him, and he felt so different. He looked back at you and, with a sigh filled with love and regret, replied.

— I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to make you feel this way. I never meant to force you to punish me to make it clear that you were hurt or that you were in charge in this relationship. I love you. You know you mean everything to me, and I wouldn’t want to hurt you. I know why you're like this. I know you didn't like what I did, and seeing me act that way with someone who isn't you. I know I let you down in some way. It was just an appearance on a talk show; I was drunk, I know. But please, remember what I told you back then, in the middle of our conversation, and I repeat it now… To me, you're only you, and it always will be. —his words were a promise, a balm for both of us.

Both pairs of lips sought each other again, and found each other just like before, melting into a kiss filled with need, desperation, and love all at the same time. While his hips continued pressing against you, rubbing relentlessly, marking every inch of skin. He returned to his frenetic rhythm as a moment ago, making you moan into his mouth. He swallowed your sounds, drinking in the pure ecstasy unleashed between you. His hands tightened around your lower legs, pushing them sideways, opening you even further.

It wasn't until they were gasping for air that they released each other's lips, both panting and staring at each other heatedly. Then, in the midst of that moment, you were the first to say something.

— Put it all in now, okay? — you begged hoarsely, arousal tightening your throat. — Break this damn abstinence and give me what we both need so much.

He didn't hesitate. His firm hand gripped the base of his hard, hot cock, guiding himself straight into you. The tip pressed against your wet entrance and slowly began to slide in, parting your inner folds, stretching you with intense heat, inch by inch, until his entire length was inside, tight and burning, filling you completely. You felt him nestle deep inside, sending shock waves through every nerve in your body.

Your walls clung to him with a natural suction, engulfing him, embracing him with a sticky heat that made him gasp. His fingers dug into your hips for support, while his eyes met yours, shameless and unconfined. Your gaze was lost in his, your pupils dilated, your breath ragged.

— Do it hard. I want you to make me take it all without hesitation. — you murmured, your voice cracking and panting, your hands gripping his neck tightly.

A crooked, malicious smile spread across his moist, parted lips. His eyes shone with unbridled passion, as if every word you just said rekindled the fire inside him.

— This is just how I planned to do it to you, baby. — he affirmed, pressing your body more firmly against the wall, to reassure you.

He withdrew until only the tip remained inside, and then, with a sharp thrust that made your insides vibrate, he penetrated deep, driving himself inside you forcefully. The action was repeated a couple more times, making you almost scream. Then he thrust in and out without pause, with a hungry rhythm, punishing your body, seeking to fill every corner of your interior.

Every vein, every ridge of his cock rubbed and massaged your inner walls with a fierce intensity that made you whimper with pleasure and desperation. The wet, sticky sound of his member sliding into your moist heat was accompanied by moans and gasps, creating an obscene and delicious chant.

He was so intensely passionate about your carnal connection, unbridled and unrestrained.

The oozing of your fluids flowed between you, a dense, fiery river that soaked your bodies, sealing that raw and necessary union. He had you pinned against the wall, your legs raised and open, held tightly beneath your thighs. Each thrust was abrupt, a blow that split you in two, that shook you from the depths. You felt his cock fill you to the limit, entering you hard, grazing spots that made you see stars. He held you like this, completely his, elevated, trapped between his warm body and the cold wall, as if he wanted to devour you from the inside.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, scratching the skin, clinging to him as if he were the only real thing in the midst of the whirlwind. Your moans were now stifled screams, and his breath crashed against your neck, laden with fire, wetness, and pure instinct. The rhythm was brutal, constant, as if it wanted to break and rebuild you with each thrust.

You couldn't stop touching yourself; lowering one of your hands until your fingers insisted on rubbing your clit, making you even wetter, searching for that spark that was already burning in your belly and about to explode. You felt each thrust pushing you closer to the abyss, and when you opened your lips to beg, you could barely get it out.

— Hee, please... don't stop. I'm so close... give me more... please. — you moaned, your voice cracking, your chest heaving with every breath.

He grunted, and that guttural sound was all you needed. He didn't stop. Quite the opposite. He fucked you harder, with precision that was all too accurate, as if his body knew exactly what you needed and wouldn't stop until he'd given you everything.

And then it happened…

You felt him tense even further inside you, the pressure increasing, the intensity becoming unbearable. A second later, your orgasm shook you from the very center of your belly to your fingertips, making you tremble violently. Your walls squeezed him in a suffocating manner, and he came at the same time, erupting in deep waves that filled you completely. He stayed inside you for a moment, trembling too, his muscles tense, his face hidden in your neck, panting heavily.

Then, carefully, he pulled out of you and, still breathing heavily, lowered you to the floor, supporting you as your legs gave way. He caressed your face lovingly and then took your hand, slowly guiding you to the nearby table. Along the way, he murmured, his voice still raspy from exertion:

—Lean against the table. I want to feast on you while I fuck you with my eyes on that tattoo. — he ordered, leaving no room for argument.

You shuddered, but obeyed. You leaned your elbows on the cold surface, arching your back deliberately, offering yourself again. You knew what was coming and you were eagerly awaiting it. He positioned himself behind you, aligning his still-hard length with your hot, wet entrance. Without warning, he entered you again with a single thrust, drawing a high-pitched moan from you. The rhythm he resumed was merciless from the start, and each crash of his pelvis against your buttocks resonated like a direct blow. His hands gripped your waist as his gaze lowered, devouring the tattoo adorning your skin.

— Fuck... You have no idea how incredibly sexy you look like this. — he murmured in a raspy voice, lost between gasps. His hand came down and gave you a firm, resounding spank, making you whimper audibly.

The spank left a burning heat that spread like liquid fire beneath your skin. It hurt, yes, but it was the kind of pain that merges with pleasure, sending you straight to the brink of delirium. Heeseung didn't let up for a second; he kept pounding into you mercilessly, each thrust a shock that shakes your insides, a raw affirmation that you are his. You feel it in every inch he enters, claiming you with that explicit intensity that knows no bounds.

His fingers dig into your waist, he grips you as if he could melt into you, as if his only goal was to remain inside you. Your moans are no longer coherent; they've become clumsy, interrupted by the breathing you can't regulate. You could only let yourself be carried away by the wave of pleasure that takes control away from you. The sweat mingling on your bodies; skin against skin, heavy panting, breaths that clashed in a sick echo of desire and need. He lowered his mouth to your neck, licking with hunger, biting with fury. You felt his teeth sink in, leaving a raw signature that would burn for days.

— You're mine, and only mine, babygirl. Only I can have you like this — he growls against your skin, his voice raspy, filled with that primal instinct that consumes him. Every word entered you like every thrust of his. — Are you going to hold out any longer? Because I won't stop until I leave you shaking.

You couldn't respond; you had no voice left, no breath, no will other than to surrender to his possession. Each time he thrust into you, he pushed harder, Deeper, the pleasure ached. Your muscles trembled, your nails scraped the tabletop, and then you felt it, that hot pressure building, overflowing, that you could no longer stop. The orgasm spilled over once more, your walls squeezing him with overwhelming intensity, and that brought him his own release. He let out a deep moan, and you felt his cum gush out in waves, filling you without pause, hot, thick, claiming every inch of you.

Still trembling, he slid out of you with a wet sound. The cum trickled slowly down your thighs, mixed with your own juices, and it was so obscenely delicious that you felt a new shudder run down your spine.

Heeseung watched you with blazing eyes, between gasps, and a crooked smile that held no arrogance, only boundless adoration. He leaned closer, caressing your back, his voice turning soft as he spoke.

— You're amazing. You always take it so well. A real good girl to me. — he murmurs, his voice husky, still breathless, as his fingers grip your waist in a more affectionate gesture.

Without giving you time to process anything, he firmly lowers himself into a nearby chair. His thighs are still tense, his cock still hard, glistening with the mixture of both of you. You carefully move away from the table, your legs still trembling and your body vibrating with the echoes of the recent frenzy. As soon as you take a step back, you feel Heeseung's hand intertwine with yours, firm but gentle, pulling you with a delicacy that contrasts with the roughness of a moment ago.

Without taking his eyes off yours, he brings your hand to his lips and places a warm kiss on your knuckles, as if he adores every inch of you, that simple gesture reminding you that despite the intensity, his love is no less present. His hot breath brushes your skin, and the depth of his gaze leaves you speechless for a second.

— Come here, sweetheart. Now it's your turn to take control. — he whispers, his raspy voice vibrating low in his chest, heavy with what seems to be lust and reverence.

His smile curves slightly, that gesture he only gives you when he's completely surrendered and vulnerable. Even sitting, legs spread and his hard cock resting against his abdomen, he seems more than ready to give himself over to whatever comes. His gaze isn't a request, it's an invitation for you to claim him as yours.

Your body moves without thinking. You approach with steps filled with pure desire. You climb astride him, feeling the heat of his thighs against yours. His cock throbs in your hand as you take it, thick, throbbing. You line it up without taking your eyes off him, and you sink in slowly, every inch a delicious tear that fills you completely. Once inside, the world disappears again. You rest your feet on the low sides of the chair and your hands grip his shoulders. You feel the heat of his body, the subtle tremor of his muscles as he gazes at you as if you're the most fucking perfect thing he's ever touched.

Then you move...

You start slowly, setting the pace with your hips, letting him feel every contraction, every movement of your hungry pussy around his hot member. He gasps, his fingers digging into your waist, and his head falls back for a second, overwhelmed.

— Like that... move like that. Look at you, you're driving me crazy. — he growls, his raspy voice ripping through his throat as his eyes bore into you as if he can't believe what he's seeing.

You respond with a dark smile, thick with arrogance. You grip his shoulders tightly and ride him mercilessly. You go up and down on his cock in a relentless rhythm, feeling it push itself all the way in with each plunge. The wet sound of your pussy taking him mingles with the dry slap of your skin against his, forming a filthy symphony that fills the room. Your insides clench around him, squeezing him hard, and he felt it. You know it from the way his abdomen tensed, from the gasp that escaped between his teeth as his fingers dug into your buttocks, holding you desperately, as if he needed more of you and didn't know how to ask for it.

His mouth soon found your neck. Licking, sucking, and biting without delicacy. The heat of his tongue sliding over your collarbone and his teeth leaving new marks over existing ones. His need overflows with every movement.

— Fuck, you're so wet... so damn tight... — he moaned against your skin, and you didn't stop. You ride him harder, bouncing on him, making his cock sink in with a loud pop with each thrust.

Your hips punish him, dominate him, consume him. Your breasts heave with each movement, sweat mingles between your bodies, and he moans through gritted teeth, almost on the verge of another imminent orgasm.

— Don't stop, you'll make me cum inside you again. — he whimpers desperately, his fingers digging insistently into the skin of your ass cheeks.

You look down on him, feel him tremble, vulnerable, surrendered, and that only turns you on more. You slide your fingers down the back of his neck, pull his hair back, and tilt his head, forcing him to look into your eyes.

— Then cum and fill me again. — you command in a raspy voice, drenched in lust, as you kiss him fiercely, sucking on his tongue as if you couldn't get enough of him, as if you wanted to melt him into yours.

He breaks with a moan that comes from deep within his chest, hoarse, panting, primal. You feel him explode inside you, hot and overflowing, his cum filling you relentlessly. But you don't stop for a second. You continue riding him relentlessly, your movements intense, uncontrolled, as if you were trying to drag him to a breaking point from which he could never return.

His body trembles beneath yours, completely subservient to you, the overstimulation visible in every spasm that shakes him. His cock throbs inside you, still hard, still yours, even as you exhaust him mercilessly.

— Release yourself for me — he whispers against your lips, his voice shattered, a stifled moan creeping into every word. — Come on, you need to do this too. Soak me again, beautiful.

He reaches a hand between your bodies, and his fingers find your clit, rubbing it with that perfect rhythm, as if his sole purpose in life is to make you squirt all over him. You cling to his arms, fingers marking his skin, and you let go. You break. Your muscles tense, your insides squeeze him with devastating strength, and you come undone with a cry that cuts through the air, soaking him everywhere, trembling over him as your orgasm consumes you until you are breathless.

And still, you don't let go.

Heeseung is completely at your mercy, and in that position, his submission is so palpable it drives you crazy. His hands grip your waist tightly. His breathing is erratic, his gasps becoming increasingly sharp and ragged, filled with suppressed tension, and his gaze rises to you, pleading and surrendered.

— Darling, you're a goddess, you play against my sanity every time I see you like this... so fucking good, so perfect... — His voice breaks in a shaky breath, and when his jaw trembles, he adds with heartbreaking sincerity. — I love you so much, I'm so obsessed with you, definitely."

Your pupils dilate at the sound of it, and although those words thrill you, what truly sets you on fire inside is how shamelessly he gives himself to you. Then, without warning, his head falls back, exposing his tense and vulnerable neck, like an open invitation, like a silent plea.

— Mark me. I can't stand it anymore because you always hold back, avoiding leaving traces of your wonderful presence on my body. — He says, his voice almost breaking, a plea that digs into your chest and reaches the spot between your legs.

And you don't hesitate. You let your body lean forward a little, without losing control of your hips, which continue to rise and fall with a firm, overwhelming rhythm, and you bring your lips to his throat. Your tongue runs over his Adam's apple and you feel him shudder. He moans in a higher pitch, while your teeth dig into his skin. You mark him on his collarbone, in the curve of his neck and shoulder, leaving small bites and bruises.

— All of this is mine, do you understand? — you whisper in a deep voice, between gasps, as you run a hand down his sweaty torso, marking each line with your nails as if you were claiming territory. — Every part of you belongs to me."

Your words upset him. He moans your name, clinging even tighter to you, his fingers desperately marking your skin. He comes again, convulsing beneath you, consumed by the intensity of the moment, filling you with another wave of heat, thick and deep. But you don't stop. You can't. Not yet.

Your body keeps moving, relentless, driven by an almost cruel frenzy. You purposefully overstimulate him, wanting to take him to that limit where he no longer knows if he's feeling pain or ecstasy. Your hips slam into him with wet force, and his cock throbs inside you with hypersensitivity, trembling, trying to resist.

— Please... stop... I can't take it anymore... — he whispers between loud gasps and sobs of pure pleasure, his hands trembling at your sides, his body curling as if it might break.

But you lean down toward his face, and with disturbing sweetness, you brush away his damp hair.

— Just one more, baby boy. One more for me, okay? — you whisper against his lips, your voice clouded with lust but also with perverse tenderness. — Be my good boy and let yourself go again."

You cup his face with both hands, forcing him to look at you, your hips never stopping for a second. Your movements become deeper, more demanding. His body shakes, his eyes flash between submission and imminent climax, and you just smile, knowing he's completely surrendered. His moans turn into desperate whimpers, his voice almost inaudible, lost between the devastating pleasure and the absolute love he has for you.

Finally, the climax comes like a storm for both of you. His body convulses violently, his legs tremble, his hands grip your thighs, and you too let yourself go, cumming on him once more. Sweat runs down your bodies, fluids trickle between your legs, your reddened skin burns at every point of contact.

And then, just when you think there's nothing left to untie, when your body vibrates at the height of pleasure and everything seems to fade away in a breath, you hear his trembling voice, barely a murmur between gasps.

— Baby, it's too much... it's starting to hurt...

The blow was immediate. Those words hit you like a bucket of ice water, instantly breaking the fog of desire. Your body freezes, and your breath abruptly stops. You bolt upright, eyes wide open, searching for his face, and the euphoria that had gripped you a second ago is replaced by a burning anguish.

— Love, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize. Did I hurt you? Tell me, please tell me if I hurt you. I didn't mean to, I... — the words tumble from your mouth, barely a whisper that begins to tremble. Your heart pounds, no longer from sex, but from fear.

You feel breathless as you look at him, scanning every gesture on his face as if waiting for an alarm signal, something to tell you how bad things are. Your hands tremble slightly as you clumsily touch him, trying to reassure yourself that he's okay, that he's still with you, that you didn't accidentally break him.

But Heeseung, even with his skin still burning and his body exhausted, reacts in seconds. He gently cups your face, his palms firm but soft against your sweat-damp cheeks. Without saying a word, he pulls you towards him and kisses you. It's a different kiss, without urgency, without tension; a warm balm that aims to soothe more than words could. His mouth melts into yours in a serene caress, as if he wants to restore your peace of mind through contact.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, breathing deeply, and in a deep but loving voice, he whispers:

— Hey, calm down. I'm fine. You don't have to get so worked up, okay? I just need a moment to calm down, that's all — He strokes your cheeks with his thumbs, with infinite tenderness, and gives a soft, almost amused smile, adding with a sigh heavy with surrender. — You definitely took everything from me, gorgeous.

His arms wrap around you then, surrounding you with that warmth of his that has always been your refuge, and you can only release the breath you'd been holding. Without saying a word, you let your chin rest on his shoulder, snuggling against him, your heart still racing. You look across the room, trying to sort out the turmoil swirling in your head.

Both of your bodies remain entwined on the chair, still damp, trembling, marked by the intensity of the act. The air is still hot, thick, impregnated with sweat and shallow breaths. But now the silence is different; It's no longer just stillness, but a pause that seems to contain something unspoken, a tenuous tension that floats between the two of you.

Heeseung senses it immediately. His body moves subtly, and he carefully separates you just a few inches so he can look at you. He holds you with an almost reverential delicacy, and seeing your lost expression, he tilts his head tenderly.

— What's going on in that little head of yours? — he asks with a soft smile, seeking to sweetly break the density of the moment.

Your eyes cloud over for a second before the words come out, almost in a guilty whisper.

— I'm sorry, I really am, Hee. I didn't think I could let myself go like this. I'd never felt something so intense and not realized it. I could have hurt you, all because I was letting my emotions get the better of me. — Your voice cracks a little at the end, and you look at him with genuine fear, waiting for his response as if your ability to breathe depended on it.

— You don't have to apologize to me, babe — he murmurs, his warm voice sounding warm and enveloping. — I couldn't explain myself well either. It wasn't that it hurt exactly, it was just that I was starting to lose my erection, and that made him feel strange, even uncomfortable. I guess it was easier to say it hurt. — he lets out a small, dry laugh, embarrassed, but sincere.

You stare at him, trying to read beyond his words, and although the explanation sounds logical, there's something in you that still isn't entirely convinced. Without saying anything, you carefully lift your hips, gently pulling him out of you. You both watch in silence as a thick mixture of fluids spills from your pussy, but in reality, none of that matters anymore. The only thing that matters now is him. His well-being. His peace of mind.

The atmosphere settles with a strange, almost solemn peace. The room still smells of sex, of warm bodies, of sweat slowly cooling on the skin, but a gentle silence settles between you, filled with connection more than words. You press yourself against his chest again and rest your head on his shoulder, seeking the warmth of his closeness. Heeseung circles your back with his large hand, drawing slow, deliberate caresses, as if he wanted to memorize every millimeter that made you up.

— I love you, darling... — he began, speaking lightly and genuinely. — So much so that sometimes it's scary. Every day it becomes more impossible for me to imagine myself without this, without you, without us. Without everything we are and everything we're building. Fuck, how am I supposed to live without this connection?"

The lump in your throat prevents you from speaking at first, but you manage to nod, and then your voice joins his, soft, soothing, full of tenderness:

— I love you too, Hee. More than I ever thought I could love. — Although it was something you often declared, the words didn't lose their charm.

You brought your hand to his face, and he didn't need you to say anything else. He leaned into the touch, closing his eyes as your palm caressed his cheek. He let the warmth of your skin envelop him and sighed at the cool contrast of the promise ring against his face. That simple detail brings a faint smile, filled with suppressed emotion.

After a few seconds, he helps you get off his lap and slowly stands up. You react instantly.

— Are you okay? Aren't you sore? — you ask, frowning, unable to help but worry.

— That's my question to ask, not the other way around — he replies, simultaneously letting out a soft laugh, laced with playful irony. And without giving you a chance to respond, he leans down and takes you in his arms bridal-style. He surrounds you with the warmth of his embrace, and with an exaggeratedly solemn gesture, he declares : —Time for a shower, and then a post-coital nap. We've earned it.

After the bath, already clean, dressed in light clothes, and their hair still damp from the shower, they fall onto the bed. Outside, the sun barely filters through the window, gilding the room with the last warm tones of the sunset. The air smells of soap and warm skin. There are no traces of all the chaos they'd previously experienced, only the calm that comes after having given it their all.

Under the sheets, their bodies intertwine naturally. There's no need to find a particular position; they simply fit together. And amid the settling of rest, their lips meet in soft, slow, and lazy kisses. They're not trying to provoke, just to linger. Kisses of reassurance, of gratitude. Of quiet love.

You snuggle closer against him, your fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. You look at him tenderly, and a whisper escapes from your lips that seems to come straight from your soul.

— I love you so much, Hee.

Heeseung smiles without opening his eyes. He caresses your arm with his fingertips and responds with a murmur that sinks sweetly and deeply into your heart:

— I love you even more, my baby.

He leans down slightly and places one last kiss on your forehead, warm, tender, like an invisible seal. And there, in that corner where everything is safe, where only the two of you exist, sleep slowly envelops you. Between the folds of the sheets, between your crossed arms, everything is at peace. You fell asleep, cuddled, in silence, your bodies still beating to the same rhythm. And so, without noise, without further words, the session ends with what is most abundant between both of you : love.

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stump-not-found · 2 days ago

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how do u get the motivation to write? i have an idea that's been floating around for months but i've never been able to actually sit down and write it. even when i do manage to write i don't get much farther than like 2-10 paragraphs before i go " this is garbage i'll finish it later " and then never come back to it. you have several hundred thousands of words. how

this is an interesting question, one that's gonna have several different answers because it's very personal to each person . please treat this as a very incomplete datapoint because i could ramble about a bunch of different approaches

I'm gonna make an initial point that I'm in my thirties; I'm extremely used to tedium, and I find that's the number one blocker to folks. boredom is okay . you don't have to love everything you make . it's just important that you make anything at all

im also extremely opinionated. almost everything i write is because i engaged with some other art that pissed me off but i don't want to be a cunt about it . so i write 100k words of weird smut instead

more thoughts under the cut!

In terms of specific checks I'd ask folks struggling with art, i'll start with a couple of things:

are your physical needs being met?

If you find yourself struggling to write, check in with yourself and If you're tired, or hungry, or haven't gone for a walk, or haven't had fun/socialized in a while. You're a physical being and as irritating as that can be sometimes, you can't push past these things. Take care of your body!

Do you have community?

Inspiration for me is primarily driven out of a joy of talking and sharing ideas with others. Find and cultivate relationships with people purposefully; this is one of the hardest things for me, i had to go to therapy to even be able to even talk to people, but having people to share ideas with and collaborate with is the number one motivator in my life. its really, really worth it

Are your outcomes clear?

Not every story can or should be super long, or complex. Sometimes, I write something just for the sake of finishing something, specifically to train my brain in getting comfortable with starting and finishing something. Other times I write something to practice a specific technique. Other times? It's just to indulge, quality be damned -- sometimes you just got to go hog wild

Are you giving yourself permission to learn?

This is the most important to me. Making art isn't about being good at something; it's just something humans do. It's good for you. It's good to make shit that's bad, and to recognize that's part of the joy! Learning to be a novice is a genuine skill, and it feels terrible at first, but it gets easier to more you let yourself accept that you've got a lifetime to learn, and that's a wonderful thing

There's probably a lot more i could list off but your physical needs, community, clear outcomes, and learning mindset are the concepts that seem the most generally applicable.

for things more specific to me and my specific quirks as a human, i guess the only other thing I can mention is I write an abnormal amount of words per day, because I'm very comfortable with letting myself write shit words . like on average im pulling 2k words a day -- this is weird . doctors hate me . doctors also crave me .

this is probably because i'm an insane pervert . but also i practice not judging a thing that doesn't exist yet, and do a stream of consciousness approach when i write -- which is to say, I'll do some basic pre-planning of a scene, but a lot of times its just letting my thoughts flow freely without censorship . i'm already so visually minded because i've been writing comics & scripts for over a decade at this point, so it's pretty easy for me to picture dynamic scenes, and at that point i can just literally write out the actions im picturing

I do not edit, I do not pause, I just let the words in my head flow and have faith that it will be good . i'm an extremely indulgent writer and encourage everyone else to be as well . i'm dog shit at grammar and make a lot of mistakes . i thankfully have wonderful friends who help me learn and grow in the areas i am weak in

when you just let yourself write what the fuck ever, sometimes you get some really dope shit out of it. Other times you write 4k words of dogshit that you gotta delete. Either way, I have fun, I learn something about my story, and I get a little bit better at trusting myself to make something i enjoy reading

be selfish in art . but also be empathetic, and curious ! write shit you hate . write shit you love . write shit that only you and one other freak are gonna enjoy . just be weird about it i guess is the main thing .

OH!!! OH ONE FINAL THING SORRY: listen to music and hallucinate and pace in circles and spend hours just rotating images in your head to music . literally my number one thing for coming up for shit that rocks . go listen to some hatsune miku right the fuck now . i know not everyone can visualize things but pacing around listening to music is such a big part of the writing process for me please go kneel before hatsune miku and kiss her on the ring

#i'd also say if you're first learning a skill #train yourself to know when and how to be critical . you should avoid being overly critical #you deserve praise and support . you deserve to praise and support yourself #the time for honing and improving your craft is when you've already got a baseline level of confidence #avoid trimming back leaves before you've even gotten the chance to bloom . or something like that #stump asks #while you're at it learn various types of chess . it's fun #train your brain in all sorts of way #its good 4 u #meat computer loves to learn new things yay #be curious forever and always <3

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prettyboykatsuki · 3 days ago

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PLEAPSLEPSLEPELEEMSPELEMSJEKZJEKSNS. WANSI LOVE THIS DYNAMIC SOSO SO SOSOOOO MUCH IM EATING YOUR BRAIN EIGJT NOW

based on this

cw for mild yandere and veryyyy angry caleb + your usual caleb incest lmao

"Come home,"

"Aw. Why should I?"

You can see it. His jaw is twitching, a vein in his neck swelling with irritation. It's been years since you've last seen your older brother but some things don't change. He's cold when he's angry. Frigid and temperamental.

It used to upset you. You remember trying to cheer him up. They're sweet memories - good times now long behind you. Seeing him now looking just the same way makes you wonder if he's also been in the same place all these years. Just like you.

"Quit acting out and come home," He says. Insists.

You scoff at the nerve of him before you smile. It's crooked. Vicious and mean. "I don't want to. Why should I? So I can spend the rest of my life watching you go in circles over what you should do about wanting to fuck me?"

Caleb stills. You should stop now, but you keep going. Keep rubbing salt into the wounds in exactly the ways you've always wanted. You already made a mess of everything else.

"Be a little more considerate, will you? I'm a big girl now. I've got needs. I'm not sure you can fill a single one of them," You can hear it in your voice. Sneering. His eyes go dark but you go on. "And you know, once you start having sex - nothing really beats the real thing,"

All the air gets sucked out of the room. You stand from where you're seated and walk to the other side of the table - leaning against it. Right in front of Caleb as you rest on the edge, head tilted. Your phone buzzes on the table and you glance at it before looking right back up at him. Something in you burning.

"A lot of people would miss me. I'm their favorite part of their week," You put a hand on his chest and Caleb freezes. Stares at you as you pretend to think about it. "So I don't know if I can. But maybe, you know - since you're my big brother," Your eyes sparkle. "I can give you a little service before you leave. I'm good with my mouth. So I'm told, anyway,"

For a while it's noiseless. So deathly silent all you can hear is the hammer of your own heartbeat. You're enjoying this. You're enjoying provoking him. Once upon a time such a thing would be unbelievable. But it feels good to finally have thrown it al away. Nothing left of your innocence for him to insist on preserving. Everything ruined at your own hands.

A punishment you've wanted to inflict on him each time he rejected you. The humiliation of being the only one who seems to believe being together was worth wanting.

A chill crawls up your spine as Caleb circles his hand around your wrist. He's strong. You can feel it in such a small movement. He pulls your hand away from him and you think he's about to give up and go home.

Instead his hand grabs your jaw, seething.

He's never, ever been so fucking angry. It alerts you as much as it pleases you. As much it scares you.

"I shouldn't have tried to let you live your life. That's the only thing I really regret," Caleb hisses. You squirm away from his grasp but he holds you so firm you can't do anything but keep still. "I should've done what I thought was right and kept you locked up nicely in the house. I should've just trapped you there,"

Your breath hitches. "You—"

He leans in closer. You're nearly nose to nose, your eyes forced up to look at him. Terror has your stomach churning. It's brief and low, suddenly keeping you alert. Like you're in some kind of grievous danger.

Maybe you are.

"I won't make the same mistake twice," His grip on you gets righter. It hurts. "You're coming home. You don't have a choice. Clearly, I can't take my fucking eyes off of you," Another flash of anger passes over his features. He takes a deep breath. "So you'll come back whether you like it or not,"

You're incredulous. Irritated by the surety in his words.

"And what makes you so sure I won't just run away again? I could have someone come get me," Your words are muffled slightly. "I'm sure there'd be plenty of people willing to keep me around in exchange for a little—"

Caleb laughs humorlessly. "You think you'd ever be able to again? I'll come find you no matter how much you run away. No matter how much you act out, you're my responsibility."

You're mine, goes unspoken. The sentiment lingers in the air.

You pause. You want to say something to combat him - to get under his skin again. He's staring at you with so much intensity, almost loathing that you find yourself at a loss for words.

"I'll give you what you want this time," Caleb's voice is hollow. The anger is so heavy, so apparent - his words come out calmly. "And you can show me what useless shit you learned while you were out of my sight,"

#zero;answers #where caleb;#yandere cw #incest cw #oh guys . ohhhh god guys JKDSHFKJSD

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myfictionaldreams · 2 days ago

Note

hiiiii, this is my first time ever doing a request and you’re my favourite fanfic writer ever so I thought I’d give it a go…

Would you ever write for Bucky x reader x Wanda? It’s been my dream to read something with this dynamic forever and I feel like if anyone could do it it’s you💚

I’m a sucker for hurt/comfort so was thinking maybe something along the lines of them helping the reader through a sub drop after a particularly intense sesh…

Obviously no pressure and I just want to say again how much I love your work!!!

⁀➷ Soft Place to Land // Wanda/Bucky x F!Reader

Summary: When your emotions spiral, Bucky and Wanda remind you what it means to be truly seen and cared for.

Requested by: This was fun to write, and I haven't written Bucky/Wanda before! Thank you for the request xx

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, angst, fluff, subdrop (!), anxiety, comfort, threesome (f/f/m), multiple orgasm, restrained, squirting, creampie, aftercare

Words: 2.7k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

There were days when you could happily skip along without a care in the world. But then there were also those days when your brain wouldn’t slow down, and your skin felt too tight. Everything buzzed just beneath the surface, every sound too sharp, every silence too loud and suffocating. You’d barely spoken all day, just continued with the mundane tasks in a haze of anxiety and self-pressure you couldn’t explain.

By the time you stepped into the apartment, you felt like you might snap in half if anyone looked at you too closely as you sloppily removed your shoes into a messy pile by the door.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Wanda greeted softly from the kitchen, holding a mug in her hands. She tilted her head, the auburn shift in her hair tumbling over her shoulder as she studied you. “Rough day?”

You nod, too tired to do much more. You didn’t trust your voice not to crack. Before you can process anything else, arms wrap around your waist from behind. Warm, solid arms, one flesh and one cool metal.

“Hey, baby,” Bucky murmurs, pressing his lips gently to the crown of your head. His smell instantly consumed you, all leather and cologne. “You didn’t text.”

“Didn’t want to bother you,” you say in a breathy, quiet voice, resting back against his chest, already seeking the comfort you had been anxious to pursue.

He snorted, his arms tightening. “You never bother me. That brain of yours playing tricks again, Doll?”

You nod, swallowing the thick lump that had formed in your throat. It felt silly. Nothing specific had happened, but everything felt wrong. You didn’t know how to explain it without sounding like a mess.

Wanda crossed the room quietly, setting the mug down before cupping your face in both hands as you fight the tears threatening to spill. “Do you want words or quiet?”

Sniffing, you grip onto her wrists, needing further touch to ground you. “Quiet, please.” You say it in a barely audible whisper.

“Come here,” She tugs gently on your hand and guides you to the couch, Bucky following, sitting beside you while Wanda curls into your other side, a thick cream blanket thrown over your lap.

The three of you fit together like a puzzle piece. Bucky with his cooler hand resting on your thigh beneath the blanket, his thumb rubbing slow comforting circles whilst Wanda lay her head against your shoulder, her fingers lightly tracing shapes along your arm.

For a while, no one spoke. It gave you the much-needed break just to breathe. The warmth and comfort were enough to have the overwhelming need to cry, to ease until you’re able to take a deep breath without the lump in your throat.

“You don’t have to do everything alone, y’know,” Bucky said eventually, turning into your body further to kiss your cheek. “You’ve got two train professionals in comfort right here.”

That coaxed a tiny laugh out of you, which earned a smile from both of your lovers.

“You don’t have to be perfect to be loved either, if you need a break from the world, just call. What’s the point in having two hero partners if we can’t get you out of work when you ask?” Wanda adds, her voice a soft hum against your neck.

Your body melts into them further, your chest easing a little more.

“Let us take care of you tonight,” Bucky insisted, squeezing your thigh. “No pressure. Just us. You don’t have to think at all.”

Wanda’s fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt, gliding over your warm skin. “We’ll take it slow. Let your mind go quiet.”

That promise sent a shiver down your spine. You didn’t know how they did it, how they always seemed to know what you needed. But in their arms, the edges dulled. You didn’t need to explain or present; they always knew everything about you.

By the time they got you to the bedroom, the tension in your body had gone soft. You weren’t trembling anymore – but you weren’t steady either. You were clay in their hands, breath hitching as Bucky tugged your shirt over your head and Wanda unfastened your bra with deft fingers.

They were being purposefully careful, almost like you were something precious.

“Lie back, baby,” Bucky encourages whilst brushing a kiss over your jaw. “We’ve got you.”

You obeyed without a word, lying back on the soft duvet as Wanda climbed up beside you. She leaned down to kiss you, slow and deep, with her soft lips brushing against yours. Her hand slipping into your hair, anchoring you, her nails gently scratching against your scalp. Her lips tasted like honey and coffee, and something darker, something dangerous in the best way.

When she pulled back, Bucky was already kneeling between your legs, his metal hand stroking slowly along your sensitive inner thigh until your legs opened in response.

“Colour?” he asked, voice low but serious as he began to lower onto his knees.

Meeting his intense blue eyes, you say, “Green.”

“Good girl.”

Your breath audibly hitched at his words.

Wanda smirked slightly and looked down at you from where she rested on her fist. “Let go, beautiful,” she insisted whilst trailing her fingertips down your torso. “You’ve been holding yourself too tight all day. We’re going to pull it out of you.”

Bucky eased your underwear down slowly. “Spread for us, Doll. Let us see how pretty you are.”

You did. Then your ack arched as you gasped as Bucky’s mouth descends to your pussy without warning. Hot, steady and overwhelming. Hungry. Wanda kissed your exposed neck as you writhed, whispering praises into your skin.

“So sweet for us. So wet already. She missed this, didn’t she, Bucky?”

“God, yes,” Bucky growled against your clit. “Look at her already shaking.”

You couldn’t stop moaning and whimpering their names. Your fingers reached for something - anything - until Wanda caught them gently and laced them with hers.

“You don’t have to hold on or ask permission. Fall, we’ll catch you, Sweetheart.”

Your orgasm hit too fast, too hard, your hips bucking desperately as Bucky sucked your clit throughout. But he didn’t stop, in fact, he added two warm fingers, curling them in time with the pulsing of your cunt.

“Bucky, wait– I can’t–”

“Yes, you can,” he said, voice assertive and dominant. “You're going to come again for me, for Wanda, aren’t you?”

You couldn’t answer as your eyes shut as the overwhelming sensation eased and was replaced by that beautiful pleasure building and building in your abdomen.

Wanda sweetly kisses your temple. “Don’t be afraid of what you feel. Give in to it, let it all go.”

As Bucky continued to move his fingers in out expertly and as his mouth works your clit, your thighs quaked. You sobbed into Wanda’s shoulder, overwhelmed already. She held you, continuing to talk you through it. “That’s it. I know it’s a lot, it might even hurt a little, but focus on that good feeling.”

The second orgasm slammed into you, and you cried out. Messy, sloppy noises came from between your legs as you squirted over Bucky’s face, unable to control your body. But they didn’t stop.

With one last lick up the length of your cunt, Bucky pulled away only long enough to slide up beside you and kiss you hard, tasting yourself on his wet lips. “One more,” he grunted. “You’ve got one more in you, I know you do.”

“I–I can’t–”

“You can,” Wanda interrupts your pathetic moans, her voice soft and hypnotic. With a simple wave of her fingers, red shadows formed knots around your wrists, easing them above your head as she used her powers to hold you to the bed. “Let us take control. You’ve done enough.”

You whimpers, tears blurring your vision, but you didn’t say no. Didn’t want to say no because you wanted them to look after you.

Bucky rolled you onto your side, thigh resting high on his waist and eases his throbbing cock inside you slowly, groaning at the tight head. You arched, overwhelmed by the feeling of being so full when you were already so raw.

Wanda spooned you from behind, one hand sliding between your legs to rub lazy circles over your clit as Bucky thrust into you, slow and deep.

It was too much and yet it was perfect, being completely consumed and surrounded by the two people you loved most.

“Remember what we said? Just let go for us, baby,” Bucky grunted between thrusts. “Cum around me. Cum one more time for your girl and me.”

You sobbed as the third orgasm tore through you, your body locking up before melting into theirs completely. Wanda kissed your tears away while Bucky groaned and joined you in the euphoria.

Your body collapsed into theirs, trembling, sweat-soaked, wrists still bound but muscles limp.

“Fuck,” you croaked, “I think I’m broken.”

Wanda eased back on her powers as Bucky massaged your arms, returning them to your side as they continued to hold you close.

“You didn’t break, you were beautiful for us,” Wanda whispered against your neck.

And for a moment, the world went quiet. Silent. All heavy breathing and thumping heart rates.

Then a different silence overcame you. The eerie kind. The kind that settled like a dog in your chest and wrapped itself around your ribs. You lay between them, your body boneless, skin flushed and damp with sweat, muscles soft from release, but something was off.

You felt far away. Your heartbeat was too fast, loud in your ears, thudding like it didn’t know the scene was over.

You tried to speak. Wanted to say you were not okay, that you needed water, or that you just wanted to be held tighter to stop the panic. But as your lips parted, nothing came out.

Your fingers twitched but didn’t lift.

A cold tremble started in your legs and worked its way up slowly, shaking your shoulders, your jaw. You blinked, eyes unfocused, a sudden weight pressing down on your chest like something wrong had happened. There was no explaining it, just a heavy, aching emptiness where your warmth used to be.

And then: panic.

Not loud, dramatic panic. Just that quiet internal unravelling, like something inside you was slipping, spiralling, and there was nothing to grip onto.

Tears welled in your eyes without warning. It wasn’t even that you were sad, but there was something broken. Your breath hitched. Then again and again.

You didn’t even realise you were crying until Bucky sat up and brushed his fingers beneath your eye.

“Doll?”

His voice was so soft and comforting, but it cracked open the dam inside of you. You squeezed your eyes shut, chest rising and falling too fast now.

Bucky turned toward Wanda, tension immediately rising in his body. “Wands–She’s dropping.”

Wanda was already moving, her body curved around you, her hand pressing lightly to your chest, just over your heart. “Shh, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” she uttered, brushing damp hair away from your forehead. Her magic danced at her fingertips instinctively, cooling her body down and helping her breathing start to slow. “You’re okay. Just come back to us.”

You were still trembling.

“I, I don’t know what’s wrong,” you finally sob, your voice hoarse and shaky. “I-I feel sad and empty. And I can’t stop shaking.”

“You’re not broken, baby,” Bucky insisted firmly. “You’re just crashing. That was a lot. You gave us everything, and sometimes your body needs time to come back.”

He grabbed the soft robe from the edge of the bed and wrapped it around your shoulders, pulling you into his lap like you weighed nothing. His warm chest against your back grounded you.

Wanda tucked herself in at your side again, laying a cool palm against your cheek.

“You did so well for us,” she said sweetly, kissing your shoulder. “This sadness, this hollow feeling, it's just your nervous system resetting. It’s not your fault. You're not alone in it.”

The reassurance cracked your composure wide open. Your tears came harder now, and you clung to Bucky’s arm around your waist like a lifeline.

“I can’t make it stop,” you choked out.

“You don’t have to stop it.” Wanda rubbed firmly across your back. “Let it move through you, let us hold it with you.”

Bucky kissed your temple. “You’re not too much, okay? I’ve been there. I know what this feels like. We’ve both got you.”

The tremors didn’t stop straight away. Even tucked between the two of them, even swaddled in the soft robe and their love, you still felt that eerie ache inside.

But not once did they let go.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I feel this way,” you whispered, completely and utterly exhausted.

Wanda firmly held your chin, tilting your face until she was looking you dead in the eyes.

“Don’t ever apologise for how you feel. You opened yourself completely to us. You are so safe right now.”

Bucky pressed a long, warm kiss to the top of your head. “This part’s just as important as the rest. Let us take care of our girl.”

He wrapped his vibranium arm around your back and stood effortlessly, cradling you against his chest. “You’re not going far,” Wanda said, trailing behind as Bucky stood with you in his arms, into the cosy little sunroom off the bedroom.

The space was dim with soft, golden light and a worn couch that practically begged to be collapsed into. Bucky settled down with you on his lap again, propping your legs across his thighs.

Wanda returned moments later with that same big fuzzy blanket from earlier and a steaming mug in each hand. She passed you one with a gentle smile on her beautiful face.

“Chamomile with honey. You love this one when your chest feels tight.”

You took it with trembling fingers. Ucky helped guide it to your lips. The warmth hit your tongue, and something in your chest uncoiled. Wanda oversaw you. “Do you want me to check your heart rate?” she asks softly.

You nod.

Her fingers brushed your wrist, magic tingling gently and red, and she closed her eyes for a beat. “Still high,” she announced, not worried, just aware. “But it’s coming down. You’re doing beautifully.”

“I don’t feel like I am,” you say quietly into your drink.

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “Hey.” He took the mug from your hand and set it down. “Look at me.” You did, with some reluctance. “You are so fucking brace, Doll. You gave yourself to us completely, and now your body catches up. That doesn’t make you weak, that makes you real, this real.”

Wanda leans in, her nose brushing yours. “You don’t have to be strong right now. You just have to be here, with us.”

Leaning back against her chest, Wanda wraps her arms around your middle and hums quietly, soft little notes of Sokovian lullabies into your ear.

Bucky reached down and pulled your legs into his lap again, rubbing long, slow circles into your thighs. Then your calves and ankles, repeatedly.

“Tell us what you need,” he says. “Or just nod, we’ll do the rest.”

You blinked slowly. “I… I don’t want to think. Just stay, please.”

“Then we’re not going anywhere,” Wanda confirmed.

She reached down beside her and pulled out one of the pre-packed snack hits she always made sure to keep around for you.

“You’re low,” she said gently, popping a piece of fruit into your mouth and smiling as you chewed. “This’ll help your brain catch up.”

You let her feed you. Let Bucky wrap the blanket tighter around all three of you. Let them hold you, rock you gently, like they had all the time in the world.

Minutes passed, and eventually it became easier to breathe, your chest stopped aching, and your hands stopped trembling. You sagged fully into Wanda’s arms, your head tucked beneath Bucky’s chin, the sound of his heartbeat in your ear.

“I think I’m back,” you whispered at last.

Wanda kissed your temple. “You never left, sweetheart.”

Bucky smiled against your hair. “But we’ll always come to find you if you do.”

#bucky smut #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes angst #bucky x wanda #bucky one shot #bucky x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x reader #marvel one shot #marvel smut #wanda x bucky

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raccooninthedaytime · 2 days ago

Text

I was deciding btwn two but since someone has already done strange noises i will do my OTHER favorite which is the leftenmost window. I am gonna try not to pick obvious reasons but it’s really hard not to love the ICONIC BITS.

1. Hello iconic lines! “The women in our family have always had a gift…” “..cushion for the push-in.” “The medical arena: where i have to fight the other patients.” “Yeah, that’s a period of history we know real well.” “What the fuck is a tank its 1914??” “havent the foggiest.” I could name more but then i’d just have to copy the whole script in.

2. The family dynamic is sooo on point luke and sam play petty sisters again pls (bark bark bark bark ORDERRRRRRRrrrr). And dad-j and silly tom mom.

3. PLEASE DARLING THIS IS SERIOUS MENS LIVES ARE AT STAKE AND I LOVE YOU! I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU! I LOVE YOUR BODY I LOVE YOUR EYES I LOVE YOUR SOUL I LOVE YOUR MIND NOW PLEASE TELL ME! WHAT THE FUCK ARE THE GERMANS DOING!

4. Cheeky fourth bc i would be crucified if i didnt mention tom and sam leaving the material plane <3 (and i don’t think I’m insured for that)

Reblog with your favourite SFTH longform and 3 reasons why you love it (or don't do that part, do whatever the hell you want it's your life)

I'll go first: Divorces and Teddy Bears!!!

1. Tom as Krampus and Luke as little Krampus are hilarious

2. "All of the elves have ADHD" and every joke about that but shoutout to Sam telling Luke earnestly that "I think it should be managed" and also "Luke- I mean Snowdrop"

3. Sam adressing him as Snowdrop to Lukes total surprise then AJ a "Tall Elf"

4. (cheeky extra one) The whole thing with the passports

#teeeee heheheheeeee #sfth

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jennxxe · 3 days ago

Text

Sports car.

pairing — evan lewis x fem! reader

summary — late night drive with your rich, asshole boyfriend.

warnings — 18+, p in v, public sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, multiple rounds, very unsafe driving lmao, u flash ur tiddies, backseat sex, mentions of nipple piercings (on him), dirty talking, he’s an asshole, degradation, dry humping, collar & leash, he loves ur boobs, dom/sub dynamics, hair pulling, road rage, cursing, overstimulation, creampie, unprotected sex

a/n — i’m ovulating rn if u can’t tell by this demonic ff

It’s past midnight, and the city’s finally sleeping. The sky is a deep endless navy, starless but lit up by the soft buzz of neon signs casting their glow on the slick asphalt. Everything hums quietly; the streetlights flickering like lazy fireflies, the occasional distant bark of a dog, and then that sound.

The low purr of a finely tuned engine prowling down the avenue.

A sleek black sports car rolls into your view, its body gleaming beneath the lights, polished so perfectly it reflects the color of the sky. It slides to a stop in front of you with a low, throaty purr—sleek, black, and way too flashy for the neighborhood. Like everything about him, honestly.

Then he steps out.

Evan Lewis. Blonde hair a mess in the most intentional way like he ran his fingers through it five seconds before the door swung open. He’s got that half-grin already in place, the one that makes you roll your eyes and bite your lip at the same time. His white tee clings in all the right places under that worn-in leather jacket, gold rings flashing under the streetlight as he shuts the door with a lazy thud.

His eyes land on you and stay. Slow drag down your legs, up your thighs, pausing just long enough at the hem of your tiny dress to make your stomach tighten.

“Holy shit,” he says, low and unapologetic, licking his lips with zero shame. “You tryna get me in trouble tonight, or what?”

You push off the lamppost, hips swinging just to tease him, and his eyes damn near glaze over. His smirk turns cockier like you’ve already lost a game he didn’t even warn you he was playing.

“Trouble’s already here,” you murmur, stepping into his space, hands on his chest. His shirt’s warm, soft, and his heart’s racing just enough for you to feel it.

Evan grins wider. “Fuck, you’re cute when you talk back.”

He kisses you. Just a soft press of his mouth to yours, enough to make you chase more but he pulls back before you can.

“Mm-mm,” he teases, thumb brushing your lip. “You’re not gettin’ dessert before dinner.”

He opens the door for you, all smug, like he’s doing you a favor AND like he didn’t almost crash the car trying to pick the right playlist on the way over. His hand slides over your ass like it belongs there, giving a little squeeze as you get in.

“Jesus,” he mutters as you sit, shaking his head with a grin. “You’re seriously gonna make me spend money I don’t need to spend tomorrow.”

You blink up at him. “On what?”

He slides into the driver’s seat, engine already rumbling as he throws an arm behind your headrest to back out. “New seats,” he smirks. “You’re gonna ruin these.”

And just like that, you’re flying down the street with the windows down, his playlist too loud, his hand already creeping up your thigh, and that signature Evan Lewis cocky-ass laugh echoing into the night.

His fingers brush yours first like it’s nothing. A casual touch, a little whoops moment that doesn’t match the glint in his eye or the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

But then they slide lower.

He’s still looking at the road, one hand on the wheel, the other trailing over your thigh with maddening patience. Fingertips grazing your skin just under the hem of your dress. Barely there.

You glance over. Hw’s chewing gum, jaw tight, tongue flicking against the inside of his cheek like he’s holding back something way too dirty for daylight.

“Evan,” you breathe, shifting in your seat.

He hums. “Yeah, baby?”

But that hand? It doesn’t stop. He’s tracing shapes into your inner thigh now, knuckles brushing dangerously close to your panties, rings cold and teasing against your overheated skin.

So you uncross your legs and let them fall open. One leg stretches long across the console, foot hooking near the gearshift like you own the space.

That smirk deepens, but he doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t need to. His fingers slide higher. Higher. Until they’re dancing just along the edge of your panties, barely tugging them aside. Just enough to tease.

You turn toward him fully, dress slipping further up your thighs, hand diving into his messy blonde hair to pull him in for a kiss, despite the fact that he’s driving.

Tongues tangling. Teeth clashing. He moans into your mouth and it sends a jolt straight between your legs. He breaks the kiss just long enough to mutter, lips brushing yours, breath hot:

“You’re gonna get us killed.”

You grin, biting his bottom lip as you whisper, “You love it.”

And he does. You feel it in the way his hand grips your thigh harder now, his thumb brushing over soaked fabric of your panties. The way his cock twitches in his jeans. The way his foot hits the gas just a little harder sending the car surging forward.

The streetlights blur. Your body’s burning.

He’s driving like he’s chasing heaven, one hand on the wheel and the other about to wreck you.

His mouth’s on your neck before you even realize he’s leaned over. Soft bites and hot lips trailing from your jaw to your collarbone like he’s got all the time in the world and every inch of you is his favorite distraction.

You tilt your head back, sighing, your fingers tightening in his hair.

“Mmm, there she is,” he murmurs against your skin. Then he nips just under your ear, hard enough to make you gasp, and smirks against the sound. “You make that noise again, baby, I might crash this fuckin’ car on purpose.”

And then his hand’s back under your dress. No shame. No hesitation.

First it’s knuckles, slow and teasing over the top of your lace panties. Then fingertips. Stroking. Pressing. Until he slips under and feels just how wrecked you are.

He exhales sharp through his nose, tongue clicking behind his teeth.

“Fuuuck, all this for me, huh?” he chuckles, low and cocky, like he just hit the jackpot. “You’re soaked. Soaked for me and I’ve barely even touched you.”

You squirm under his hand, hips rolling up, desperate for more but he just keeps it lazy. Barely dipping between your folds, fingertips gliding so slow it’s maddening.

You arch into his touch instinctively, your thighs trembling as his fingers slide down again, slow and taunting. Two fingers circle your clit, barely touching, just the pads dragging lazy figure-eights over that aching bundle of nerves.

You moan, hips twitching, and his grin is wicked.

“Don’t move,” he mutters, voice low and smooth, eyes flicking from the road to your bare, trembling thighs. “Let me feel you like this. Legs open, seat soaked, and me still drivin’ like it’s just another Tuesday.”

Then, finally, finally he slips one finger inside.

You gasp. The sound is soft, broken, and it makes his jaw clench.

His golden rings glisten, catching the streetlight as his finger pumps slowly in and out, curling just right. You shudder, your back arching off the seat, your thighs threatening to close but he tuts under his breath and presses them back open with his free hand.

“Nuh-uh. Stay like that. Show me how fuckin’ messy you get for me.”

You choke on a moan. “Evan—”

And then he slides in a second finger, a satisfied grunt escaping him when you clench around the stretch.

He bites his lip, still watching the road but you can see how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he drawls, cruel and so fucking hot. “You’re dripping on my seats and I haven’t even unzipped my pants yet”

His fingers work deeper, faster, curling again, knuckles brushing your slick folds as he picks up the pace, just enough to drive you insane.

“You really this fucked out already, baby?” he whispers, leaning closer, breath hot against your neck. “Just from my fingers? You gonna cum with me drivin’ one-handed like this?”

He laughs, so smug and full of himself, and presses his palm hard against your clit while curling both fingers inside you. “C’mon, baby. Let the whole fuckin’ city know who owns that pretty little pussy.”

“Evan,” you pant, eyes fluttering, voice barely holding together. “I’m gonna—”

He doesn’t even glance at you, just smirks, voice laced with mock sympathy as he coos, “Aww, baby… you’re gonna cum without me even having to stop the car?”

The car swerves slightly as your hips jerk, thighs clenching around his wrist. He breathes hard, cock visibly straining against his jeans now, the tension in his jaw betraying just how close he is to losing it too.

His thumb circles your clit faster now, meaner, and he groans, “Shit, you’re gonna make me crash this damn car.”

You’re trembling, legs shaking so hard you nearly knock the gearshift.

But somehow, you manage a smile through the haze of pleasure, nails digging into his wrist as you gasp out, “Then maybe you better finish me fast… before we both go down.”

That grin spreads across his lips again, his voice going low and smug as he whispers, “Better scream my name, baby. I want people two cars over wonderin’ why the windows are fogged.”

Your body shatters around his fingers right there in the passenger seat—legs spread, moaning his name, back arching off the leather as he fucks you through every pulse of it, every gasp, every twitch of overstimulation.

He brings his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a satisfied groan as you slump back, ruined and panting.

“Jesus,” he mutters, glancing over at you with a grin so cocky it should be illegal. “You better hope we hit red lights… ‘cause if we don’t, I’m pulling over and bending you over the hood.”

Evan’s still riding that high, humming with leftover adrenaline, your taste still on his fingers, your slick clinging to the gold bands like it belongs there. He hasn’t even tried to clean his hand off. Hell no. He rests it on the wheel like it’s some badge of honor, flexing his fingers now and then just to feel the memory of how tight you were around them. He keeps glancing at it like it’s his trophy.

He shoots you a look, that smirk tugging at his lips. “You’ll be thinkin’ about this every time you sit in this seat, huh?”

But before you can sass him back, the universe gives him an opening.

Some lifted monstrosity of a truck with mud-caked tires, cracked tail light, probably compensating for a dick the size of a Q-tip swerves right into Evan’s lane. No blinker. No hesitation. Just daring someone to crash into him.

Evan slams on the horn, the sound sharp and angry over the growl of his engine. The car jerks slightly, and he has to yank the wheel to avoid kissing the truck’s ass.

“What the fuck is this guy doing?” he snaps, voice instantly ten shades angrier.

He throws his hand out the window, middle finger waving with flair, wrist adorned in his golden rings like he’s taunting fate. “You don’t cut off this car. This is a six-figure machine, you piece of shit!”

Evan is seething, that bratty, testosterone-laced fury rolling off him in waves you can feel through the cabin. One arm tensed on the wheel like he’s ready to put someone through it, the other flexing just from the tension alone. His jaw’s clenched so tight it might snap, and you can see his pulse ticking in his throat.

You peek over, one brow cocked, half-smirking, half... throbbing.

God, he looks good angry.

Muscles coiled under that tee, chest rising with each pissed-off breath, gold rings flashing as he flicks the blinker and changes lanes with unnecessary force. You don’t even know if it’s the same guy still ahead of you but at this point, Evan’s on a mission.

You drag your gaze down slowly, zeroing in on the way his thighs strain under those ripped jeans. That twitch in his leg? That’s not just rage. You know that twitch.

The dude is vibrating with anger.

“Baby…” you purr, playful, dragging the word out, “you’re gonna pop a vein.”

He doesn’t even flinch. Just shifts the gear harder than necessary, growling through his teeth, “I should pop his tires. Fuckin’ pull up beside him, spit on his mirror, let this beast of a car chew through his dad’s retirement fund on wheels.”

You snort, biting back a full laugh. “Sounds like someone’s compensating.”

“Oh yeah,” Evan snaps, the cocky edge already sliding into his tone like a reflex. “And now he’s gotta come for me? Me, with this car—” he gestures, almost offended, “and you sittin’ in the passenger seat lookin’ like a damn centerfold?”

You tilt your head, voice syrup-sweet. “You mean lookin’ like this?”

And then you reach for the thin straps of your dress. Tug them off one shoulder. Then the other. His peripheral vision catches it, but he can’t fully look yet. The neckline dips. Your tits spill out like a fantasy. No bra, nipples stiff from the A/C, catching the faint blue light from the dashboard like some pornographic art installation.

“Wanna see my tits?”

Evan whips his head toward you so fast the car sways.

“Wait—what?”

You lean closer, smiling way too sweet. “I said… I can distract you.”

He makes this broken sound, half moan, half disbelieving laugh. “You’re joking. You’re fucking joking.”

But you’re not. You sink lower in your seat, spine arched subtly, back pressing into the leather as you lift your arms and fold them behind your head, just enough to push your chest out like some vintage Playboy spread. You look at him through lowered lashes, bottom lip tucked between your teeth, like you’re offering up a goddamn offering.

He shakes his head like he’s physically trying to exorcise the thought. “You’re lucky I’m not rear-ending that guy and fucking you right here in the wreckage.”

Evan makes a sound somewhere between a growl and a desperate whimper.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he mutters. “You’re evil. You’re—you’re insane. You cannot do this shit to me while I’m driving.”

You bat your lashes. “Oh, this is too much now? Not fingering me? Not making me cum on your rings while you hit 80 on the freeway?” You tilt your head, feigning innocence. “You gonna crash, baby? Need a little help staying focused?”

You arch just slightly, the soft bounce of your breasts enough to destroy any restraint he had left.

His hand abandons the wheel entirely once more, palm cupping your breast with a groan, thumb brushing over your nipple in circles. Your breath catches, back pressing into the seat as you melt into the touch.

He licks his lips, blue eyes dark and dialed in. “Babe, I swear… I will pull over and ruin that pretty little dress if you don’t put those away.”

You pout, dragging a single finger along the thick muscle of his thigh, just over the seam of his jeans. “But I thought you liked reckless behavior,” you tease, purring. “Or is that only when you’re behind the wheel, big man?”

He slams the gearshift into a lower gear with a thunk, the sound sharp and final.

Then his hand slides right back between your thighs. No hesitation. He finds your soaked panties and presses against the wet heat of you, breathing like he’s seconds from losing it.

“Keep tempting me, and I’ll fuck you with the door open,” he growls low, close to your ear. “Let the whole street see what happens when you act like a whore.”

You moan, soft and breathless, as two fingers slip under the lace, teasing the slick entrance he already knows by heart. Your hips twitch toward him on instinct, your legs falling wider.

He barks a breathless laugh and rips the wheel sideways, jerking the car down the nearest gravel turnout without warning. Tires screech. Loose rock kicks up behind you. The brakes slam.

The car jerks to a halt, engine humming with tension as he throws it into park so hard you think the stick might snap. He looks at you, leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear, breath hot with intent.

“Backseat,” he growls. “Now.”

His fingers dig into your hips as you climb into the back, and he watches you move like it’s a private show he paid for. You hear the soft clink of his rings as he yanks the door shut behind him, shirt already discarded and left in the front seat, muscles flexed from the motion. He’s all golden skin and a little sweat, his necklace swinging against his chest as he stalks toward you like you owe him something.

“God damn,” he mutters, eyes raking over you like you’re his next party drug. “You’re sittin’ pretty in my backseat like I didn’t just finger you dumb ten minutes ago.”

His hands are all over you now. One yanks your hips into his lap, the other curls in the thin fabric of your panties and rips them aside without blinking.

His mouth crashes into your neck, teeth scraping hard enough to bruise, tongue dragging fire down your collarbone as you moan his name. You’re needy, dizzy and dripping for him all over again.

“You flash those tits at me one more time,” he growls into your throat, breath hot, cock grinding up against you through his jeans, “and I swear, baby, you walk right for a week.”

You roll your hips against him, dragging yourself across that hard ridge in his lap, breath catching at the friction. You slide your lips to his ear, voice sugar-sweet and smug as hell. “You promise?”

His grip tightens as he presses his cock against your soaked folds through his jeans, rubbing slow just to tease. “Oh, I fuckin’ swear. You’ll be limping into that campus café tomorrow. Eyes all glassy, legs shaking, can’t even sit right and everyone’s gonna know exactly why.”

You whimper and he just smirks. “Now be a good girl,” he whispers, popping the button of his jeans one-handed while the other forces your legs open wider. “And ride me like you want that shopping spree tomorrow.”

Your thighs wrap around him like you belong there, knees digging into the leather, dress shoved up high around your waist. Every grind makes your tits bounce against his chest, and Evan looks like he’s in heaven. Or hell. Or both.

His hands won’t stay still, one palm full of your ass, the other dragging up your spine, hot and greedy. His lips close around your nipple, sucking deep and hard, teeth catching just enough to make your back arch. He bites, pulls, then soothes with the flat of his tongue like he’s got all fucking night to play.

“You like that?” he mutters against your skin, voice rough, breath hot. “You like using me like your fuckin’ toy, baby?”

You grind down harder on him, dragging your heat along the thick length of his cock through his jeans, making both of you groan. His rings bite into your hips where he grips you, pulling you into every thrust of his lap like he’s trying to ruin you.

He shifts to your other nipple, sucking it deep, swirling his tongue until your head tilts back and your moans fill the fogged-up car. One hand fists the leather beside his head. The other is tangled in that messy blond hair, yanking just enough to make him groan.

“You think you’re the one teasing?” he murmurs, pulling back with lips wet, that smirk spread across his face like sin. The moonlight slices through the window and catches the gold rings in his pierced nipples.

Your breath stutters. “F–fuck… Evan…”

But he doesn’t let you say more. His fingers curl into your hair, tight and perfect, yanking your mouth toward his chest.

“Go on, baby,” he rasps, low and lethal. “You flash those tits like a pornstar and think I wouldn’t make you earn it? Use that pretty little mouth. Let me feel it.”

You whimper, lips already parting, and drag your tongue across one of the metal rings. It’s cold, shocking against the heat of his skin, and you feel the jolt of it shoot straight through your cunt. You suck around it, lips closing tight, tugging just enough to make him hiss.

“Fuck, just like that,” he groans, head dropping back, hips rocking up into yours. “God, you love makin’ me feel good, don’t you?”

You nod, still latched onto his chest, tongue curling around steel, breath fast. But you already know what’s coming from the shift in his grip, the way his fingers flex like he’s about to flip the script again.

His breath is ragged now, chest heaving under you, one hand still tangled in your hair, the other sliding down to your waist. You’re still licking and sucking at his piercing, dizzy on the taste of sweat and metal and him.

“You know what I want?” Evan mutters. “I want you to grind on my cock till you cum. Just like this.”

His hands clamp down hard on your hips, fingers digging into the flesh, dragging you forward, forcing you to grind against the thick bulge beneath his jeans. He hisses at the pressure, jaw clenched, eyes half-lidded but locked on you like you’re his only fucking religion.

“You feel that, baby?” he growls, rocking you along the hard line of him, letting the denim drag right across your soaked panties. “That’s how hard you make me. That’s what you do with one look, one fuckin’ whimper.”

You moan, high and breathless, your hands braced against his chest as he guides you over him, again and again, slower than you can stand.

“Faster,” you whimper, hips starting to move on their own. “Evan—”

“Nope,” he smirks, tightening his grip to slow you down. “You’re gonna take it my way. All slow, all needy, ‘til you’re beggin’ me to let you fall apart.”

The friction is maddening; denim rough, heat unbearable, every grind dragging your clit just right. Your thighs start to shake again, your body trembling as he grinds you down harder, his hips rising just enough to make it worse.

“Look at you,” he whispers, voice fucked-out and full of pride. “Soaking me through my jeans like a fuckin’ mess. You gonna cum for me like this, baby? You gonna cum from dry humping my cock like a desperate little thing?”

You nod, choking on a moan, nails digging into his chest as your body tightens, an orgasm crawling up your spine.

He leans in, lips brushing your ear, voice dark velvet. “That’s it, ride it, baby. Cum for me. Make a mess all over me, and I won’t even fuckin’ unzip.”

And then you're gone—crying out his name, grinding helplessly through the wave of pleasure as your body shudders, folds soaked, thighs clenching around his waist while he holds you there.

“Good girl,” he breathes, kissing your jaw as you fall against him. “Didn’t even have to take my pants off.”

He watches you come undone, breathless and flushed in his lap, and that cocky grin just deepens. His hands stay on your hips for a second longer, thumbs stroking your trembling skin like he’s memorising what it feels like when you fall apart on him.

One arm wraps around your waist, the other catches your thigh, and in a fluid, almost obnoxiously smooth motion, he flips you beneath him. Your back hits the hot leather seat, your dress bunched at your ribs, tits still out and glistening in the moonlight.

He settles over you, his jeans still tight and rough between your thighs, his bare chest brushing yours, the golden rings in his nipples cool against your skin.

Then his hand trails down your body.

Rings brushing your waist, then the curve of your hip, then lower until his fingers are sliding down between your legs, moving through your soaked folds with an obscene kind of reverence.

“Still fuckin’ dripping,” he murmurs, voice all smoke and smugness. “Goddamn, baby.”

You gasp as he sinks a single finger inside you. No rush. No rhythm. Just a lazy curl and drag, dragging it back out, then in again, deeper this time. His eyes are locked on your face like it’s his favorite fucking movie.

Your back arches, a whimper slipping past your lips. “Evan…”

“Oh, I know, I know,” he coos mockingly, adding the tiniest twist to his wrist that makes your thighs jerk. “So sensitive now, huh? And I’m just gettin’ started.

He leans in close, brushing a kiss against your jaw, then your neck. His breath is hot, his mouth smiling against your skin. His fingers work inside you, curling just right, dragging over that spot that makes you clench around him. But every time you try to buck your hips or speed up the rhythm, he slows down.

“You don’t get to cum yet,” he whispers, licking a stripe up your neck. “Not until you’re cryin’ for it.”

Your back arches off the leather, a choked moan spilling out as he sinks deep, pressing his palm against your pussy so you feel everything. The gold ring on his knuckle drags against your skin, cool and electric.

“That’s it,” he mutters, eyes locked on your face, watching every flutter of your lashes, every twitch in your lip. “Take my fingers, baby. Take ‘em like a good girl.”

He doesn’t even blink as you fall apart beneath him, just grins, unbothered. “You’re gonna cum again, huh?” he groans, his fingers never pausing. “Good. Because the second you stop shaking, I’m fucking you. Raw. I wanna feel this tight little pussy grip my cock the second I slide in.”

Your back arches like you’ve been hit with lightning, a cry ripping from your throat. You shatter around him, thighs shaking, fingers digging into the leather like it’ll hold you together. His name bursts out of you in a sob—Evan, over and over. But he doesn’t stop.

He fucks you through it with slow, deliberate strokes, two thick fingers curling just right, milking every last twitch and clench from your overstimulated body. You swear you black out for a second and still he keeps watching you like it’s the best goddamn show he’s ever seen.

When he finally pulls his fingers free, they’re drenched—your slick dripping down his knuckles, shining in the faint glow of the dash light. And he moans as he licks them clean, sucking them into his mouth like he’s starving, groaning deep in his chest.

“Fuckin’ heaven,” he mutters, lips wet, gaze never leaving yours. “You taste like sex and sin and everything I’m never gonna get tired of.”

Then he leans down, one hand gripping the side of your face as he kisses you like he wants you to taste yourself on him. His cock is already pressing hard against your thigh, straining his jeans, and he’s panting against your mouth when he pulls back.

“And baby…” he whispers, dropping his hips lower until the pressure of him is right there, pulsing against your slick entrance, “…I’m not even close to done with you.”

He grins, that cocky little smirk curling the corner of his mouth as the zip cuts through the humid air.

Zip.

Your head jerks up just in time, eyes locking on the flash of gold as his fingers slide through his belt buckle with maddening ease. It slips loose in one fluid motion, the sound of leather against denim sharp.

He sees your stare, your parted lips, the way your chest rises like you're trying to catch breath that won’t come. And then, like the devil he is, he raises a brow and says, all mock-sweet:

“You look thirsty, baby. Need a sip or just wanna stare?”

You don’t even answer. Your throat’s dry, your heart’s trying to punch out of your ribs, and your whole body goes still when he shoves his jeans down just far enough.

Just enough to free it.

His cock—thick, veined, flushed deep and glistening already at the tip—slaps against his stomach with a needy twitch. Your breath catches so hard it hurts, a noise stuck in your throat.

And Evan’s loving every second of it.

He strokes himself lazily, almost taunting. Your slick makes it easy, gliding over the length as he groans under his breath, head tipping back for a second, golden rings bright against flushed skin.

“Look at this,” he growls, voice low. “Look what you did to me. Look what you made.”

You reach out, desperate to touch, to wrap your hand around the heat of him, feel that weight, but he’s faster.

His hand catches your wrist mid-air, hard enough to make your breath stutter, but never rough. “No,” he murmurs. Then he pins your wrist to the leather above your head, pressing his chest to yours, thick and solid and radiating heat.

His lips brush your ear and he whispers, low and filthy:

“I told you. I’m gonna fuck you stupid.”

Then he shifts over you, knee pressing between your thighs to spread them wide. You’re already bare, slick, ready, but he still takes his time, hand dragging down your thigh to keep you open, exposed. You feel the heavy heat of him press against your folds, just the tip, sliding up and down through your slickness, catching on your clit with every teasing pass. Not giving you what you need. Not yet.

“Beg.”

You moan, hips lifting. “Evan, please—”

“Beg better.”

So you give him what he wants, voice breathless, desperate, soaked in need. “Please, Evan… I need your cock. I need you to fuck me. I need it deep.”

That does it. With one brutal thrust, he buries himself inside you.

You scream his name, a ragged cry that echoes off the windows and fills the car like lightning cracking through a storm. Your back arches, thighs clenching around him as he bottoms out. He doesn’t pause. Doesn’t let you adjust. He starts fucking you with a rhythm that’s pure punishment; relentless, hard, deep. Each thrust slams your body against the seat, the leather creaking beneath you, the car rocking on its tires.

The fogged-up windows rattle. Somewhere outside, a streetlight flickers. But in here? It’s just the sounds of sex and desperation, the wet slap of skin, the snap of his hips, your moans breaking into sobs.

His hand wraps around your throat again, thumb pressing beneath your jaw, golden rings biting into your skin as his other hand grips your hip, pulling you harder onto his cock with every thrust.

“This is what you needed, huh?” he grunts, sweat sliding down his chest, catching on his nipple rings as they glint with every movement. “Look at you now. Dumb on my cock. Can’t even speak.”

You can’t. You try, you really do but all that comes out is a shattered moan, your eyes rolling back, lips parted around sounds that barely make sense.

“Say it,” he growls, slapping your thigh hard enough to sting, the heat blooming across your skin.

“I’m yours!” you sob, legs locking around him. “I’m yours, Evan—fuck, I’m yours!”

He chuckles, leans in closer. “You’re not going anywhere. Not tonight. Not ever. I’m gonna fill you up so good, baby... you’ll still be leaking me in the morning.”

You can feel every inch of him, buried so deep you swear he’s carved himself into your body. Your walls clench around him, tight, trembling, the pressure building faster than you can control.

He thrusts faster, deeper, his hands everywhere—your throat, your hips, your breast, his thumb dragging across your nipple until you're gasping.

And then his breath catches. His thrusts stutter.

And he cums.

Hard.

Your name rips from his mouth, his whole body trembling as he spills inside you, cock twitching, thick heat flooding your core until it’s leaking out around him.

He collapses over you, still deep, panting against your neck as your bodies shake together. You feel his lips press to your collarbone, a soft, lazy kiss like a brand.

“Fuck,” he whispers, voice wrecked and warm. “You ruin me.”

And you smile, dazed and breathless, your fingers curling in his hair. “Good.”

You're still catching your breath, skin stuck to the leather from sweat and heat, when Evan shifts above you. His cock is still buried inside, still thick, still hardening again already. You blink up at him, dazed, glowing, but then his fingers slide into your hair and tug, just hard enough to make you gasp.

“Flip over,” he rasps. His breath is hot against your ear. “Now.”

You moan softly, but you don’t hesitate. You roll onto your stomach, letting your cheek rest against the seat, your bare ass lifting in the air for him.

Evan groans behind you, his hand sliding down the curve of your spine. He pauses at the dip of your back, lets his palm rest there, before reaching back and smacking your ass. The sound cracks through the car, your body jerking forward as a gasp tears from your throat.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect like this,” he mutters, voice dripping with awe and lust. “Tits against the seat, back arched, ass up... leaking my cum all over the fuckin’ leather. Just waiting for me to ruin you again.”

You whimper, shifting your hips back, presenting yourself like a needy little thing and he loves it. He spreads your cheeks with both hands, his eyes locked on the slick mess between your thighs.

He drags the head of his cock through your folds, still sticky with his cum, coating himself in it with a hiss. You’re already sensitive, still fluttering from your last climax, and the teasing alone makes you shake.

“Still so fuckin’ wet,” he groans. “So full of me.”

And then he thrusts in again.

He slams into you with one brutal stroke, your body jolting forward, a raw moan ripping from your throat as the seat squeaks beneath you.

“Evan—fuck!”

He wraps a hand around your hip, yanking you back into each thrust, his other hand gripping the nape of your neck, holding you down just enough to make you feel owned.

You can barely breathe. Barely think. Every movement sends shockwaves through your overstimulated body. It’s too much and not enough. It’s fire under your skin.

“You gonna take it all, baby?” he teases, panting behind you. “This what you wanted, huh? Gonna let me fuck you so deep it hurts?”

You cry out something between a sob and a yes, and that only spurs him on. His pace brutal, relentless, the sound of your bodies slapping together louder than the pounding of your heart.

“You wanted to act up in traffic, flash me, tease me like a little slut,” he snarls, thrusts slamming deep. “Now you’re gonna take every inch until you learn.”

His hand slips between your legs, fingers finding your clit with perfect precision, rubbing tight circles that make your knees buckle. You’re so sensitive it borders on pain but it’s the best kind.

“I can feel you clenching,” he pants, voice smug. “You’re gonna cum again, aren’t you?”

You nod frantically, tears pricking your eyes from the intensity. “Yes—yes, Evan, please—”

“Do it,” he snarls. “Cum while I fill you up again. I dare you.”

You fall apart around him, screaming his name, your body convulsing as your orgasm crashes over you like a wave.

Evan curses loudly behind you, hips stuttering as he thrusts deep one last time and stays there, buried to the hilt as his cock pulses, spilling hot and thick inside you all over again. You feel it flood you, feel it dripping out almost instantly, both of you a sweaty, ruined mess.

He leans over your back, chest heaving, mouth at your ear.

“…Round three’s gonna be worse if you keep lookin’ that fuckin’ pretty.”

And with your cheek against the seat, all you can do is moan.

You’re lying there, gasping against the leather, your thighs spread, soaked, twitching, every nerve still sparking. You’re filled with him, twice over, and your whole body feels like it’s floating.

He pulls out slow, a messy squelch echoing between your legs, and you whimper from the loss. You feel his cum drip down your thighs, sticky and hot, and that chuckle from behind you makes your toes curl.

“Oh, look at this fuckin’ mess,” he murmurs, almost to himself. You hear the sound of his zipper going up just long enough for him to reach over to the front seat and grab something from a compartment.

Your dazed mind barely has time to process before you feel it; his hand on your ass, spreading you again, then…

Click.

A soft leather strap tightens around your throat. Not choking, just claiming. You gasp, instinctively lifting your head, but he tugs it back down.

“That’s better,” he breathes against your ear. “Now you really look like mine.”

A collar. Thick, black leather. A silver ring at the front and way too flashy. You can tell it’s an expensive one. And you’re not even shocked. You’re soaked all over again.

Evan’s hand slides down your back, settling on the small of it like he’s steadying you before you hear another sound.

Clink.

A chain leash.

Your body shudders at the noise, heart thundering, and when he clips it to the ring on your collar, you whine. That low, needy, cock-drunk sound he lives for.

“Good girl,” he purrs, giving the leash a light tug. “Ready for my favorite part?”

You moan out something that sounds like please, but all that comes out is a wrecked whimper. Doesn’t matter, he knows what you want.

You feel his cock, hard again, pressing against your entrance. He grips the leash tight, pulls your head back just enough to arch your spine, and thrusts.

Your scream shatters into the leather as he fucks you like he’s trying to crawl inside you. Your hands claw at the seat. The collar bites softly into your throat with every pull of the leash.

“That’s it,” he pants, thrusts slamming into you. “Let me use you.”

You’re just bouncing under him, whining, whimpering, drooling against the seat as he rails you like an animal. The chain jingles with every thrust.

And then his fingers dip between your legs again, soaked and messy. He doesn’t tease this time, just rubs your clit with that perfect, brutal rhythm while he holds the leash like reins.

“Gonna cum with my cock in you and a collar around your throat like a good little bitch?”

You sob something close to yes, legs starting to shake again. He smirks. “Not yet.”

He pulls out but it’s only so he can slap his cock against your swollen pussy. Over and over, loud and wet and obscene. You're writhing now, whining like a desperate thing, grinding back against him in mindless need.

“Please, please, please—”

Then he slams back in, grabs the leash tight, and fucks you flat. Your face presses into the seat, ass in the air, chain clinking every time he moves. You’re screaming now. Crying out his name like a prayer.

He leans over you, voice feral in your ear: “Cum for me, you dirty little slut.”

You cum hard, violently, body convulsing, throat whining around the cold steel between your teeth. You go boneless beneath him as he growls and pumps deep one final time, flooding you with a third load, thick and hot, his cock jerking inside you as he holds your hips in place.

You’re left twitching, full, marked, panting against the seat with a collar around your neck and cum dripping down your thighs. And behind you, Evan smirks and tugs the chain just once more, making your hips twitch again.

“Next time,” he pants, “we’re bringing handcuffs.”

The car's gone dead quiet now except for the hum of the engine and your wrecked little gasps, barely audible under the thick fog of sweat and sex that clings to every inch of you. Your body’s sprawled across the seat, limp, twitching, drenched in his cum, your cheek pressed into the warm leather. There’s a collar around your throat.

He’s leaning back against the seat, smug as hell, his jeans half-done, chest still heaving, golden rings gleaming on his fingers as he watches you fall apart from round three.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, swiping a hand through his messy blonde hair, still trying to catch his breath. “Look at you…”

You make a soft, exhausted noise, and he smirks.

“Fuckin’ ruined. Can’t even talk, huh?”

He leans over, presses a kiss to your temple, then tugs the collar gently off of your neck. His lips brush your ear.“I warned you. Flash those tits, act like a tease in my car? I’m not just gonna let that slide.”

You let out a sleepy giggle, too fucked out to sit up, still full of him in every way.

He pulls your dress down over your hips, fingers lingering on the bruises forming along your thighs. “That pretty little dress is toast, by the way,” he says casually, like he's commenting on the weather.

Then he stretches and grabs his jacket from the front seat, draping it over your back like a blanket. His voice drops again, cocky and smooth.

“…Guess I’m taking you shopping tomorrow.”

You blink, dazed. “Wha…?”

You’re still trembling beneath him, flushed and glowing, body wrecked in the best possible way; makeup smeared, hair wild, your legs too shaky to move even if you tried. Evan’s breath is warm against your collarbone as he leans in, presses a kiss just below your jaw, then another, softer, to the corner of your mouth. You feel his smirk before you hear it.

“Damn,” he murmurs, voice low and lazy now, lips brushing your ear, “you really took it like a champ, didn’t you?”

You hum something between a laugh and a moan, dazed and melting beneath his weight.

He shifts back, dragging his hand down your thigh. His golden rings are still glinting with you, and he doesn’t even wipe them off, just holds his fingers up and grins like he’s proud of his own destruction.

Then he leans in again and kisses your shoulder, slow and deep this time. “I’m takin’ you shopping tomorrow.”

You blink up at him, still catching your breath. “What?”

He grins, eyes gleaming. “Yeah. You earned it. I’m talkin’ the works—shoes, lingerie, maybe a new dress I’ll end up ruining again. Whatever you want, baby.”

Your chest rises with a shaky laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m rich,” he corrects, smug as hell. “And you’re hot. I reward good behavior.”

Then he softens, just a little. One hand strokes your hair, fingers gentle as he brushes it back from your face. “Gonna get you cleaned up. Get some food in you. Hydrate that pretty mouth I ruined.”

You bite your lip, a sleepy smile tugging at the corners. “Is this you being sweet now?”

He leans in one last time, kisses you full on the mouth.

“Nah,” he murmurs, lips still touching yours. “This is me taking care of my girl.”

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