#5. Bathroom hooks

[tapron-uk]

Genius Tips when Looking To Upgrade Your Plumbing

The "Genius Tips when Looking to Upgrade Your Plumbing" article on Tapron.co.uk offers valuable advice for homeowners considering plumbing upgrades. It emphasizes investing in energy-efficient water heaters, maintaining pipes in good condition, and choosing water-efficient fixtures to save on long-term costs and increase home value. The guide also suggests considering the use of recycled water and ensuring compliance with building codes for vent installation. For detailed insights and tips on upgrading your plumbing effectively, visit the full guide here.

[ramp-it-up]

Claim

Summary: Bucky's not the boss of you. But what is he?

Word count: 2.2 K

Pairing: Congressman Bucky Barnes x Teacher!Reader

A/N: I saw Thunderbolts*! Definitely on my Bucky bullshit for a minute. Just block me now. Or, read, respond, and reblog! Love you heauxes! This is connected to Charm and Celebrate but can be read alone!

This should have no spoilers of consequence.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. All mistakes my own. Smut! Teacher Reader, Congressman Bucky, Protective Bucky, feral Bucky, dom Bucky, Bucky with the dirty mouth, reader tries to be a brat, but well, Bucky, kitchen sex, wall sex, allusion to nipple play, f receiving oral, and anal, raw p in v, praise kink, SIZE KINK, after care, the "what are we" discussion, tiny bit of the Sargeant kink, nicknames Charm and Baby, also Boss, kinda. Basically pwp.

I do not have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

------------

Bucky flew in because you weren’t taking care of yourself. 

There were too many late nights grading papers, too many skipped lunches to tutor your students, and too many weekends you couldn’t make it up DC because you were giving time to everyone but yourself. You were overtired, cranky, and out of groceries.

When Bucky called, you told him you were going to bed early and would shop after the pancake fundraiser in the morning. Then, because you couldn’t help it, you reminded him he wasn’t your boss.

Hell, he wasn’t even your boyfriend.

That was the problem.

You and Bucky met, fell in lust, flirted on the phone, and hooked up once (several times) during a whirlwind weekend in DC. You hesitated just as hard as he did to put a label on things, but tonight, your feelings were in the way. You hung up on Bucky with a lump in your throat, curled up on the couch, and passed out at 5:16 PM.

At 9:06 PM, you woke to the sound of your front door opening.

And there he was, Bucky Barnes in a Brooklyn hoodie, grey sweats and a scowl on his too-handsome face. His hair flopped into those gorgeous eyes chaotically and your heart beat double time when you saw him.

He had bags of food, a backpack, wine, and righteous indignation.

“How did you get here so fast?”

“Sam gave me a lift,” he muttered as he pushed past you to the kitchen.

You stood by your open door, frozen, blinking as reality caught up.  

Winter Soldier. Congressman Barnes. Besties with Captain America.

Oh, right. That guy.

You closed the door and shook your head as you followed him inside the apartment that he’d never been in before, but was now taking over.

He complained about you running yourself down as he unboxed the food and watched you eat like a hawk, then ran you a bath.

“Yes, Boss,” you replied to his back as he retreated into your bathroom. 

How did he know the layout of your place? You shook your head again, laughing, because of course he did. When you stood to clear your plate, Bucky took the dishes from your hands.

The standoff began. You glared. He glared harder.

You, because he wasn’t the boss of you, him, because you’d sassed him for caring. The problem was that his glare was sexy as hell and now you were wet.

Bucky read you and chuckled, then his eyes dropped to your body in your zip up hoodie, tank top, and short shots, then back to glaring at the saucy look on your face. 

“Oh, I’ll boss you, Charm. Don’t even get me started.” 

You felt the heat rise to your face but…you couldn’t help it. You wanted to push him, because you knew why he was so grumpy. He was concerned about you.

And very, very horny. 

It had been a month since you’d seen him in DC. 

On anyone else this possessiveness would be annoying, on Bucky, it was so damn cute. But why? 

What claim did he have on you?

The bulge inside his sweats was so enormous it looked like someone stuffed a giant sausage down there. Yikes. You’d almost forgotten how massive he was. You wanted to tease him because there was something empowering and fun about having him entirely at your mercy. 

“How, Congressman? How exactly will you boss me?” 

Bucky cocked his head, challenging you with his devil-blue eyes. 

“You want to know how?” 

His jaw was clenched and he looked almost dangerous, staring at you in a way that probably intimidated most people. It just got you wet. You were not scared of James Buchanan Barnes. 

He was your Bucky.

So you just shrugged and cocked your eyebrow at him as he set the dishes down and leaned against the counter, his t-shirt clinging to his sculpted chest; his grey sweats tented.

You crossed your arms against your hard, aching nipples and cocked your hip as you silently continued to sass him.

“Well, I’ll start with that smart mouth. Gonna kiss it until you’re hotter and wetter than you already are, Charm. Then I’ll peel off your clothes and suck those gorgeous nipples of yours until you’re squirming and maybe, possibly, I'll give you my thigh to grind on and get all wet with your slick if you’re a good girl.”

You shifted and Bucky smirked, but continued, his eyes on each body part as he reeled off filthy promises.

“I’m gonna hold you down, take my time playing with those sweet tits until you’re almost cuming, but not quite.”

Bucke remembered how responsive you were when he sucked your nipples, and in fact jacked off every day to a tit pic you sent him. He was making a mess in his pants because he knew you were making a mess in yours.

He was relentless in the mission of your ruin.

“Then, gonna take my time licking my way down that hot body to your sweet pussy and eat you out until you cum on my tongue. And my fingers.”

Then his eyes flicked to yours, those ethereal blue eyes making you gasp.

“M fucking starving, Charm.”

Poor baby, you thought, and then remembered you were trying to be a brat. Bucky smiled at you and then focused on your shorts again.

“And with every cute little tug that your pussy does to try and take my fingers deeper…Did you know your pussy does that, Charm? Pulls on my fingers and my cock so sweet, fuck, I need it.”

Bucky's voice broke. He cleared his throat and continued. 

“For every spasm of that cute little cunt, I’ll play your clit to make the pleasure last longer, so you’ll come that much harder. And longer. Until you beg me to stop.”

You were trembling, knees weak, trying not to moan. He watched your thighs press together and grunted, but he kept going.

“I’ll get you nice and wet and ready for me to fuck you with this big cock that is aching for you.”

Bucky reached down and lewdly grabbed himself, your eyes riveted. 

“Gonna fuck you in every position, until there’s no part of you I haven’t tasted and possessed as much as I fucking want. You’re gonna feel it in your soul, Charm."

God he was so damn smug.

"And then, Baby, you’ll sleep. All. Damn. Day. Fuck the fundraiser. I’ll buy the pancakes.”

Bucky met your shock with a self-satisfied grin. 

“I’ll work on my policy briefs and packets while you rest, tomorrow, and Sunday, we’ll go grocery shopping and stock the place before I get on the train back to DC.”

You opened and closed your mouth like a fish, thinking of a plausible argument against what he just said. Everything but the sex part.

You held your finger up for him to stop.

“Give me a minute.”

You tried to regain your composure. You were wet. Very wet. Your panties and your shorts were clinging to you and your heart was beating fast.

Bucky’s eyes lit up when he saw how flustered you were, and he leaned closer, murmuring into your ear as he crowded you back against the island, caging you in with his strong forearms.

“You like my dirty mouth, don’t you, Charm?” 

He nipped your earlobe as you whined in response. 

“I see you. You love how hard I am for you. You want to grab my cock and feel it, I can see that. I know you’re already wet for me. I bet if I slid my fingers inside your panties right now, you’d be all soft and wet and juicy like the sweetest plum in the world, isn’t that right? You’re just aching for me to eat you real good and make you cum, aren’t you?” 

God.

Yes. 

You thought it, but didn’t say it. You just couldn’t articulate words at the moment.

“And I’m going do all of what I said, Charm, but I think that right now I need to fuck you on this counter top.”

Bucky stepped back and pulled down his sweats and you saw the dark allure of him, a good nine inches, thick and dripping pre-cum in time with it’s own heartbeat making it throb. Bucky’s hand took himself in his grasp, and the pulsing almost purple monster looked beautiful encased in the rare vibranium. 

You appreciated this small dark tower and the dusting of dark hair at it’s base and you don’t know why, but when Bucky pulled his shirt up and pinned it with his chin as he stared at you and stroked, but you got so much wetter.

That’s a lie. You knew exactly why. 

“Take off your shorts and panties. Now.”

You scrambled to comply as Bucky advanced on you and lifted you on the island with one hand while simultaneously lining up with the other. His eyes rolled when he actually felt how wet you were for him.

“Good Lord, Charm. Fuck, it’s been too long.”

He said it as he looked down and tortured you with the head of his cock teasing your clit and the slick on your pussy lips. He looked back up at you, those blue eyes almost feverish.

“I- I didn’t stretch you out with my fingers. But I need it, right now, Charm. Do you want it too?”

You pulled off your top and threw it somewhere behind you. You started pulling your nipples and speaking your filthy mind.

“Don’t need your fingers’ Sarge. Fuck me with that…. whooooooohhhh my goddddddd!”

Bucky slid inside you as you spoke and the stretch had your pussy pulsing when he wasn’t even halfway in. The feeling was indescribable and you couldn't believe that you were cuming almost instantly.

You both looked down at your cream almost immediately leaking out and frothing around his big, red, pulsing cock as he pistoned slowly inside you. You both moaned and closed your eyes.

Bucky grabbed your neck to bring your head back up from lolling back on your shoulders as your pussy pulled him in with your orgasm. He batted your hand away from your breast and started pinching and rolling it, elongating your pleasure.

“I think we’ve lost the plot here, Charm.”

He said it through gritted teeth as he slapped into you and sped up incrementally.

“I told you that I was yours. And I assumed that you were mine.”

You croaked, “You know what they say about assuming…”

You still had a little brat in you. But Bucky took it as a challenge. His hands moved to pick you up, separating your asscheeks as he fucked you against the wall now. Your eyes were rolling from the feeling of vibranium in your asshole.

“I get the ass.”

“Take it, Bucky!” you were gasping for breath.

“Thanks for the invitation, baby, but it’s already mine. Isn’t it?”

You were cuming again, or you’d never stopped as Bucky pounded you hard against your kitchen wall. Pots were rattling in the cabinet, and you were afraid glasses were going to break until Bucky hit that spot.

And then you didn’t care anymore. 

“Yes, Bucky! It’s yours. I’m all yours.” 

You were cuming all over him at this point.

“Fuck, yes! Mine.”

Bucky’s eyes were black now as he fucked you through it.

“Your sweet cunt is milking me… fuckkkkk.”

Bucky came, adding to the moisture levels between your legs, and he buried his head in the juncture of your neck and your clavicle as his climax hit with a guttural moan. You managed to grab his head and make him meet your eyes, both of you dazed.

“Let me see you Bucky.”

Bucky looked at you, pupils blown, lips parted in awe.

“You’re my guy,” you whispered. “Am I your girl?”

Bucky smiled at you, and then grimaced, another pulse of semen spurting out of him.

“You’re my Best Girl, Charm.”

He kissed you as both of you trembled with aftershocks. After he caught his breath, he walked you out of the kitchen into the en suite, where your bath was waiting. Your combined fluids were running down your legs. 

Once there, he let you down slowly and held you until you were steady on your feet, then, he helped you step into the bath.

You looked up at him, eyes heavy.

“You coming in?”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, tempted, but he had a mission.

“No, relax, enjoy your bath. I’ll shower and then clean up the kitchen.”

Bucky leaned down and kissed your forehead as he placed your robe and a bottle of water where you could reach it. Then, he grabbed a towel and stepped into the shower. You enjoyed the view of him taking a shower as you got clean, then dozed in the warm water. You felt yourself be lifted and placed in your bed, warm and wrapped in your robe. 

And Bucky Barnes. 

Around 3 am you stirred, and turned in his arms to see Bucky watching over you, never tired.

“Time to make good on your promises, Boss.”

Bucky’s eyes crinkled, but then he pouted a bit.

He was so freaking adorable.

“That’s not my name.”

You smiled at him.

“Bucky. Baby. Boyfriend.”

“That’s better,” Bucky grinned as he parted your robe, his gaze hot down your body. Then he looked back up at you. 

“So much better. And you’re the boss. Because it’s my job to take care of my girl.”

——

Read Celebrate

[springintosummerxx]

i don't want you like a best friend

op81 x childhood best friend! reader

song: dress by taylor swift

in which oscar yearns and pines

warnings: suggestive, sexual themes, angsty, mutual pining

word count: 1.8 k

masterlist

our secret moments in your crowded room, they got no idea about me and you

oscar finds you the same way he always does: he feels where his heart tugs, deep and familiar, and when he looks up, there you are.

you look at him a, half a second after his eyes land on you. because you know, you always do.

you squint, a little tipsy, dress ruffled. he relishes in the way you smile at him, that special one with your teeth showing, pretty lips stretched pink on your face.

he studies the way your cheeks plump, under the dim light of the party.

his stomach swoops when you shrug, strap slipping off of one delicate shoulder. he flushed pink when he realizes he wants to bite the smooth skin there.

weird.

you cock your head.

he nods, and you lope over to him, very ungracefully.

he wraps one arm around your waist, the same way he's done since parties in high school.

the two of you bid your friends goodbye.

charles kisses the side of your face, and then alexandra too, smiling her own farewell.

you wave to the rest, and let oscar practically carry you out the door.

later, when he tucks you into bed and curls his body protectively around yours, he hears you murmur something.

"i love you, oscar."

he swallows, those four words that have pained him to hear for the past three months lodging something thick and unknown in his throat.

"yeah, sweetheart. i love you too." he manages to grit out, despite how desperately he wants-

he needs you to want, to love him the same way he needs you like he needs to breath, like a car needs an engine.

he tries to think of a comparison to how he loves you, but he can't.

because he's never loved anyone, anything like this before.

that thought scares him, but he holds onto you as you drift to sleep anyways.

⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎

all of this silence and patience, pining and desperately waiting

oscar has never been violent.

his sisters have always taken advantage of this when they all fought as kids, but he has never, ever hit them back.

the one time he ate the last cookie in your fridge when you guys were 11, he'd let you tackle him to the hardware floor of the kitchen, laying there until you relented and made him promise to make you more.

but he wants to right hook the sleazy finance bro that has been eyeing you up all night.

you'd forced (batted your lashes twice and he'd caved) him to come out and celebrate his maiden win, to distract him from mclaren's shit-show of a strategy.

the dress you're wearing, tight, short and black was very distracting. alex, with her sharp brown eyes has already caught him looking at your ass twice.

he'd danced with you, watched your drinks like a security guard while you danced with alex, kika and rebecca, and waited outside of the bathroom for you.

he'd left for like thirty seconds (5 minutes, the line was long) to get drinks, and this asshole had already claimed the seat next to yours.

which was his. it was always his. he made sure of that.

in every room, every country.

"excuse me," his tone not a bit excuseful, "you are in my seat."

the guy turns, and he realizes with a start that he's handsome.

like how lando and charles are handsome, charmingly roguish.

he could never be like that; he's too awkward, too quiet.

for the first time since he was a teenage, oscar feels insecure.

it's a disgusting feeling, sticky like the spicy marg he's holding for you, clinging to his skin and eyes.

"oh, sorry" the guy says, moving, "didn't know she had a boyfriend. my bad."

his eyes widened, then, recognizing oscar.

"oh, shit. oh, man-"

you roll your eyes, plucking the drink out of oscar's hand, sipping.

when the guy finally leaves, you frown at him.

"you scared him off," you pout, and oscar suppresses the urge he's had to kiss you again, "he was like, okay looking."

"sweetheart, that should not be your standard," he snorts.

you stare at him, eyes a little glassy, and then you do something that makes him choke on his own drink.

you cup his face, fingers smoothing over the moles on his face.

"no one can compare," you murmur, "you're the prettiest, oscar."

his heart explodes, right in that club in hungary.

into a thousand little pieces, each of them attaching to you.

⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎

say my name and everything just stops

"oscar, baby! you did it, you did it again!" you cry into the speaker phone, your voice crackled and broken because of all the miles and time difference, but that's okay.

oscar holds you, carefully cradled and remembered in his heart, no matter where he goes.

"yeah, sweetheart," he laughs, "i know."

"i hate you! how are you this calm? hold on, hattie wants the phone."

he chatters with his sisters, his mom. but when the phone is handed back to you, you whisper his name, the same way you do in his dreams.

reverent and adoring, your tone giving him too much hope that maybe one day you would love him the same way he loves you.

"oscar," you murmur, and it reminds him of that night in the club in monaco, "i'm so proud of you. you've worked so hard."

he wants to cry a little. desperately, he wants you here.

but when you say his name, everything just stops.

he sits in his hotel room, time irrelevant outside of this long distance phone call.

oscar relishes in your voice, and closes eyes and pretends that you're waiting at home for him, as his.

⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎

i don't want you like a best friend, only bought this dress so you could take it off

"-and his arms, alex! i want him to like, choke me out," you giggle, "i think i want him to use me as a chew toy. sorry, sorry, tmi."

oscar is rounding the corner of his kitchen, and stops in his tracks when he hears you.

he feels the exact moment his chest tightens, so much that it's hard to inhale, and the beer he had earlier with lando swirls in his stomach.

"you're seeing someone?" he blurts out. alex gawks at the two of you, oscar with what he's sure is a painfully twisted expression, and you, who is turning red from embarrasment.

"i'll leave you two. it's been a long night, charles and leo are probably..." she doesn't even finish the sentence in her slightly accented english, before darting out, slipping a hand on your shoulder as she goes.

you're still wearing the pale yellow sundress from tonight, after the 2024 season finish dinner the grid had hosted.

you look ethereal, tanned and glowing.

he wants to kick himself, for not saying anything.

for not offering his undying affections.

it's too late now, but he has to try.

you are meant to be together, he knows that.

all his friends, shit, all of your combined friends know that (and tell both of you so, too), and your families have been waiting with baited breath for this to happen.

"i love you!" he nearly yells.

you yelp in response, eyes wide with shock.

"oscar-"

"no, sweetheart, please, let me-let..." he can't talk, but you nod, as he crosses the kitchen to scoop your hands into his.

he kisses them, each fingertip, each knuckle. he prays that another man hasn't held you, not like this.

he feels you gasp, but he only tugs you closer.

"i have loved you, since we were teenagers. and i've been a coward, i think. because i was selfish and i need you, every moment of every day, and i didn't tell you." he confesses, and your hands press against the thump of his heartbeat.

"i will be everything you want," he promises, "please, just give me one chance. i'm going to do right by you, i swear. i'll win championships and i'll provide, and when you're ready, i'll get a ring and a big house and we can have kids. if you want. or just a dog." he's rambling, and then he realizes that your eyes are teary.

"i wasn't going to say anything," he repeats, "but you were talking about someone else, wearing that dress, and i-"

"i only bought this dress so you could take it off."

"i don't want you like a best friend," you cup his face, sliding into his hair, twisting until he sighs, from the pressure on his neck, and your words.

"i love you too, oscar."

he shakes his head, huffing out a shaky breath.

"say that again," he demands.

you do, and he scoops you over his shoulder, nearly sprinting to his bedroom.

that night, while he slowly took of your dress and more, he whispered "i love you" into your skin more times than you could count.

⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎

i woke up just in time, now i wake up by your side

when oscar wakes, he does so with a shit-eating grin on his face.

last night, he fucked you deep into the mattress, you bodies intertwined the same way your souls have always been. he'd made you come 3 times, and then again when he took you in the shower.

it's like you were made for each other, every single scientific reasoning for attraction etched into your cells.

he frowns, realizing you're not in bed with him.

then you slip back into the room, wearing only his t-shirt, holding a plate of eggs and toast.

his mouth waters at the sight of you (not the eggs, but later you'll swear you heard his stomach grumble).

"hi, baby." you smile happily, squinted eyes and stretched pink lips.

he takes the plate and sets it down, pulling you back down to cuddle.

"hungry?" you ask.

"for you?" he presses his front to the bare swell of your ass, "always."

"oh no, i've created a monster," you laugh, turning in his arms, lips pressing to his.

he deepens the kiss, tongue sliding to lick, hot and heavy into your mouth, stealing your breath the same way you stole his heart at age 14.

"incorrect, you've unleashed me," he mutters into your jaw as his fingers pulled up his shirt from your morning-warm body.

you giggle and let him, and oscar thanks his lucky stars that you are finally his, the same way he's been yours since he could remember.

[whateveriwant]

The 141 getting you to stay in bed

It gets a little spicy towards the end so 18+ please

Soap

Waking up to the feeling of a numb arm is extremely unpleasant, but you suppose it comes with the territory when trying to cuddle 200+ pounds of rugged Scotsman

You manage to free your trapped limb and roll to the other side of the bed, but that space behind you remains empty for only about three seconds before Johnny's pressing himself flat to your back 

Now with his arms around your waist, he holds you tight to him, mumbling unintelligibly against the back of your head

He drifts back to sleep quickly enough, his grip on you starting to loosen, only for it to tighten again when he feels you try to wriggle out of his hold

The incoherent grumbles from his throat grow increasingly displeased the more you try to shift away from him, until finally he huffs a grumpy, “Quit it,” into your scalp, hooking his leg over yours 

If you still don't listen, he'll have no choice but to take drastic measures to keep you still. Fed up with your squirming, he simply rolls on top of you, pinning you to the mattress below him

You can try beating on his back, telling him that you can't breathe, but he just shrugs and says, “Use my breath.”

Don't even bother trying to explain how oxygen doesn't work like that, because he doesn't care. “Tough,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck. “‘Cause I'm no' movin’.” And by extension, neither are you

Gaz

Kyle is also a stage 5 clinger, but he's less boa constrictor and more baby koala

So when your alarm goes off at 8am precisely, it's no surprise that the man behind you grumbles in protest

“It's Saturday,” he bemoans. “Why you getting up so bloody early?” When you tell him you like to keep your routine even on the weekends, he just groans and mutters, “Five more minutes.”

You can try to squirm and wrestle out of his hold, but he'll just tighten his arm around your midsection, keeping his front firmly glued to your back

But you need to get up! You have to pee for goodness’ sake! 

“Use the empty bottle on your nightstand,” he mumbles into your hair, peeking an eye open as you crane to look back at him. The look you give him at such a horrid suggestion has him sighing. “Alright, fine,” he relents and releases you. “But be quick. Bed gets cold without you.”

Once you've answered the call of nature, don't be surprised to find Kyle waiting for you directly outside the bathroom. He's wrapped up in your comforter like an oversized burrito, only his face and feet visible as they peek out from under the plush cover

With a sleepy pout, he holds his hand out for you, tugging you back to bed with him. Oh, he’ll make sure you get those five more minutes alright. Even if he has to drag you kicking and screaming

Ghost

First of all, don't even kid yourself into thinking you'll stand a chance of waking up before him or sneaking out of bed without him knowing. This man is the epitome of a light sleeper, whenever he does sleep, that is

So when you do finally wake up, it comes as no surprise to see Simon already up too. But just because you're both awake now doesn't mean you have to immediately be productive; quite the opposite, in fact

With how busy and stressed he is all the time, Simon loves nothing more than to just lie in bed with you and do nothing for hours

If you try to get up, he's stopping you with a gentle hand on your wrist, his voice quiet but firm as he commands, “Stay.”

You'll lay back down for a bit to appease him, but it won't be long before you feel guilty since you have so many things you should be doing instead

But actually, no, you don't have  anything to worry about. He's already taken care of everything before you woke up, he humbly informs you

The cat's been fed, the bin’s been taken out to the curb, he's even gotten your breakfast typed up on his phone – just give him the word and he'll place the order

So now when he opens his arms for you, having you bury your face in his chest, you've got nothing to worry about except savoring this moment with him 

Price

John is also a very light sleeper, so it only takes .02 seconds of you trying to stand from the bed for his bear-like snores to cease and his eyes to flit wide open

He'll grab you by the shirt hem, mumbling, “Where’re y’ goin’?” But it doesn't really matter what your answer is because his response is always the same: “No y’r not.” And pulls you back down. “Y’r stayin’ right here.”

He'll lie on his stomach, face smushed in the pillow, a big, warm hand tucked under your shirt resting against your belly

With nothing better to do, you scroll through your phone, catching up on your socials, the news, etc., but it's not long before you hear him grumble, “Put that away, will ya? ‘S too early to be meltin’ your brain with that thing.”

Well, what does he expect you to do? Lie there and stare at the ceiling for an hour? “Expect you to be good,” he tells you. “Don't make me get the handcuffs out again.”

Now that you have to laugh at. If he thinks it's too early to be on your phone, it's definitely too early for that

He smirks, opening his eye just a sliver, and the hand on your stomach begins to rub soft circles. “Is that so?” he taunts, his touch sneakily edging downwards. And when he slips beneath the band of your shorts, well…

Let's just say you're not leaving that bed anytime soon

[emilys-bangs]

take a seat | e.p

Tags: lap sitting (sometimes in inconvenient places), bau!reader, emily’s man-spreading, reader is insecure about their weight, multiple concerns about being too heavy, too many mentions of emily’s thighs, brief mention of nail picking, there’s a bar scene but it’s not mentioned whether or not reader drinks, a gross man as a plot device, getting together, personal space does not exist in this fic, the last part skips to uc emily (rated t? it’s a bit spicy idk), the usual use of petnames

Summary: Circumstances happen. Sometimes, the solution is to make yourself comfortable on your dizzyingly attractive coworker’s lap. She holds your hips, you hold your breath. Or, 5 times Emily’s lap makes for a good seat. Requested here.

Word count: 6.5k (woah!!) (this says nothing about me)

A/N: it’s not mentioned which seasons this takes place in but I imagined season six emily because…yeah…..yall already know. However the last part does skip to uc emily (and married reader and emily yey :3). Clearly I went wild with this fic lol. I hope you like it <3

1.

You’re the last of your teammates out the door of the precinct. 

Just as you were following Morgan to the car, you realized you’d forgotten your phone—which was lying on the bathroom counter, forgotten in your haste to finish up before everyone left—and circled back in for it. It took a bit to find, your head cloudy with exhaustion after four consecutive days of working on the case. You slide it into your pocket now and briskly cross the parking lot to the open door of the SUV, starting when you find Emily already seated at the edge. Reid sits beside her, trapped by Morgan on his other side.

You blink at the three agents already stuffed in the backseat. JJ took the other SUV to drive a shaken victim home, and most of the precinct’s officers have already retired for the night. Only a few other cars loiter in the lot, the lights in the building dimming fast, throwing the night in more shadows. You quickly do the math and cringe at the solution.

You’re a grown adult. You hardly weigh a feather. Reid would probably snap under your weight, Morgan’s slight smirk already hints at the teasing you’re in for if you sat on his lap, and Emily…

Sitting on Emily’s lap is the last thing you should be doing right now. Just the flick of your eyes towards her spread thighs makes you fluster, swallowing hard at the way her left knee encroaches onto Reid’s space and forces both of his neatly together in front of the center console. Heat gathers on your neck, intensifying with the force of everyone’s eyes on you.

“Reid should get up.” You blurt before anyone says anything.

“What? No—I’m already seated, why should I get up?” His voice goes high pitched, his bottom lip jutting out in a sulk.

“Because.” You press your lips together, waiting for someone to back you up. They don’t. Traitors. “You’re a stick figure, honey. I’m—”

“You can sit on my lap,” Emily offers.

Oh, hell no.

“What?”

“She won’t bite, cupcake.” Morgan drawls, grinning when Emily shoots him a glare. “But you’re plenty welcome to sit on my lap, if you’d prefer. I know Prentiss here can get a little intense.”

Her jaw ticks.

“Come on, Y/N.” Emily isn’t harsh, but she’s not exactly patient, either. “It’s just for a few minutes.” Her eyes flick up to Hotch in the driver’s seat. Yours do, too, but your boss says nothing about the probable—no, definite—laws you’ll be breaking by finding yourself a seat atop one of your coworker’s thighs. So you do it.

“Is nobody concerned about breaking the law here?” You ask, but the attempt is half hearted. Everyone’s exhausted, and the outside chill is starting to creep in through your thin shirt.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Rossi says easily. “And we just placed a serial murderer in custody. I think the sheriff will let us off the hook for an unlawful ride back to our motel—for some much needed rest, might I add.”

Hotch turns to look at you. “I could drop them off and come back for you.” He offers.

“What? No, that’s—it’s fine. Fine. Whatever,” you mutter, shaking your head. It’s fine. The motel is hardly 15 minutes away. You can survive that long, surely you can. Looking at Emily, you try not to let it show how nervous you are—if you do, she’d back off, steadfastly refuse to sit you on top of her, and probably get out herself and demand from Hotch that he come back for her later. Which is really more trouble than all this deserves.

Fine. You’ll sit on her stupid lap.

“Don’t blame me if your legs go numb.” You mumble as you climb into the car, feeling your voice tremble in the back of your throat.

“Give me a little credit,” Emily says dryly. Her hands settle on your waist, lightly steadying you as you close the door. It shuts with a loud thud, and you gingerly settle yourself on her thighs. Her knees, really. She’s closed them to give you more space—space you don’t use as you lean forward and hold on to the back of Rossi’s headrest. You all but hover above her lap, holding most of your weight up and leaning into the seat ahead of you. 

It hardly takes a minute before your thighs start to tremble with the exertion. Emily’s hands leave your waist; they leave behind a strange mix of hot and cold under your clothes. The absence of their weight is infuriatingly disappointing. 

Hotch glances at you in the rear view mirror. “All good back there?”

“All good, boss,” Emily replies.

He drives off. You grip the headrest tighter as the car lurches onto the road, the low speed knocking you off balance.

Shit.

Emily’s hands return to your waist. Her fingers dig into your sides, gripping firmly through your clothes. You swallow, hands going clammy even before she leans in, her chest just brushing your back.

“You can sit.” She says into your ear, the whisper of her voice so low it’s almost elusive. “I’m a big girl, I’ll be fine.”

Something tickles your neck. You think it could be her hair. “I’m not exactly light as a feather.” You mumble haltingly, the particles of her fading perfume swimming in your lungs.

“And I’m not Reid,” Emily shoots back a little too loud.

“What?” Reid asks meekly.

You both ignore him. When the car drives over a bump in the road, you teeter. 

Emily’s hands grip you tighter. She exhales a low, frustrated breath; it skims the skin of your neck, teasing the fine hairs at your nape to stand on edge. 

“Careful, Hotch,” she mutters, fingers flexing on your hips.

The car slows. Everything is starting to cramp—your fingers around the headrest, your thighs trembling with your own weight, the heels of your feet digging into the floor between Emily’s. Outside the window, the precinct is still in view.

This is ridiculous.

You inhale a quiet breath. You’ll move back when you let it go, you decide. Holding it for a beat—two, three—you let it inflate your chest before exhaling and slowly easing yourself back onto Emily’s thighs. Inching back as if she won’t notice, gingerly letting your weight drop on her lap the more you scoot further into her. Your back finds the rounded softness of her chest. The curve of her knees nestle under yours. 

You bite your lip, bracing yourself for her to push you back up to her knees—or hell, even throw you at Reid—but all she does is tug you up further into her. She squeezes once, lightly, clearly satisfied. You relax a fraction as her hands leave your waist and loop around your hips instead, a makeshift seat belt to keep you against her chest.

“This okay?” She whispers, a hand pressing against your ribs. You’re not sure if you imagined the shake of her voice or not.

You nod silently.

Muscles tense, back ramrod straight, you try to breathe in slowly and hope that Emily’s fingertips don’t catch the edge of your racing heart. They dig in lightly, much looser than the firm arm anchoring your hips to hers. You can feel the heat pooling between your bodies—doubling, spreading, scorching. 

You’re used to Emily touching you. But not like this. She squeezes your elbows, shoulders, gently nudges the small of your back and lets her fingers linger when she adjusts something for you—your vest, hair, swiping invisible lint off of your clothes. You like those touches, you seek after them and glow warmly from the inside when you earn them oh so easily. But this? Oh, this could just kill you.

“Relax.” She says quietly. You fight hard against the urge to squirm at the warm fog of her breath on your neck, a small squeeze to your waist going unnoticed. “We’re almost there.” The rumble of her voice vibrates through her chest and into yours. 

The car tilts. Or maybe it drives over a pothole.

Either way, you’re dizzy.

Blood rushes hot under your skin. You bite your tongue, refraining from snapping at Hotch to hurry the fuck up when a deep inhale from Emily jostles your chest as well. 

It’s a small miracle that you get out of the car without stumbling, knees weak and legs boneless. The cold air slaps your cheeks and gives you reprieve from the heat burning them. You don’t get a good look at Emily until you’re in the elevator, trapped between her and the wall; the moment your eyes fall on her, her gaze snaps up. 

The corner of her mouth curls imperceptibly. She wets her bottom lip, dragging it into her mouth with a shine of teeth, the shadow of a dimple flashing, there and gone in an instant. 

Her cheeks are pink.

Oh, heaven help you.

2.

Your whole body feels like it’s been rammed by a truck. Your feet throb in your shoes, your shoulders ache, and your lower back is finally getting back at you for the way you’d outrageously slouched for the large majority of the three hour car ride. Two agents, a few hundred miles—hardly worth a whole jet for their comfort, right? Sometimes you think the BAU has you spoiled.

But then again, here you are, in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, leaning against the front desk of a dilapidated motel lobby because for some reason—in spite of the laughably low demand—yours and Emily’s rooms still aren’t ready yet. The scrawny guy at the front desk had looked at you confusedly, scratching his chin and mumbling, that’s tonight? much to your dismay. You hadn’t been hoping for a five star service, but the least you can ask for is a ready room by the end of the night.

He’d scampered off—presumably to get the rooms ready, but it’s been ten minutes and he’s not back yet which leads you to think he’s maybe avoiding the disgruntled glare you’re throwing at the wall. It’s not like you can help it at this point. Your hip aches where you lean it against the vacant desk, and every so often you enviously eye the lone chair that Emily occupies in the narrow stretch of space so generously called a lobby.

And that’s a whole other thing, because you’re trying hard not to stare. 

Emily’s bag rests in the wide open space between her spread legs. Her hands are on her thighs, fiddling with the creases in her slacks like she always does, idle, her head lazily tipped back against the wall but her eyes still razor sharp. 

You wish she would just close her damn legs. Every time your eyes fall on them, unabashedly staring at the flex of her thighs when she restlessly shakes them out, you’re reminded again of the car. The overwhelming heat of her body, the strength of her hands on your hips—protective.

It does nothing to help your massive, debilitating crush on her. Not when you now fluster every time you see her sit on a damn chair, gaze wandering to her thighs and the way they held you up, the smooth scent of her perfume settling down in your gut with each inhale. Talking to her is even worse. Somehow, the line has blurred more. You have no idea where you stand, what you are, or how you’re expected to behave. You’ve always been an overthinker, but this is bursting your head.

Safe to say, work has been hard lately. Especially with Emily’s amplified flirting. At least, that’s what you think it is. You can’t figure her out sometimes (most of the time) when her lips stretch into a smooth curve, eyes going sparkly with playfulness and words dripping charm you can’t tell is manufactured just for you or is mass distributed to everyone in bulk.

You snap out of your head when Emily lifts her head, arms crossing over her chest. Drawn to the movement, your eyes meet hers.

“You’re sulking.” She notices.

Her calm tone grates on you. “I’m tired.” You snap. “I’ve been on my feet for half the day.” And you’re hogging the only seat. But you’re mindful enough to hold your tongue on that one. She’s hardly the reason you’re in this mess.

But she is making it harder to deal with—in several aspects.

“I’m pretty comfortable if you want to sit on me.”

You blink at her, irritation wavering.

Her eyes go the slightest bit wide. Lashes blending into bangs, a deer in headlights look there and gone in a flash. The inside of her cheek moves with what you think could be a bite as her mouth opens, brows delicately drawing together. “I mean…” She begins then trails off, her usual silver tongue failing her.

You feel your mood lighten. Emily’s cheeks tint a faint red and you press your lips against a smile, trying to ignore your body’s reaction to her words. Because you know damn well how comfortable she is.

“How forward of you. Or you could get up,” you suggest, halfway torn between laughing and bursting into a ball of flame.

Where’s the stupid reception guy?

Emily’s chivalry fails her. “I’m not getting up, I’m tired, too.” She protests, bringing her knees together. Your eyes drop to them. “I’ve been in heels all day.”

Your lips purse in displeasure.

It only takes a few quiet beats before Emily sighs, bending down to reach for her bag. “Okay, fine.”

Your eyes widen when you see what she’s doing. Immediately, you back down. 

“Hey, no, don’t. It’s okay, I was just complaining—”

She gives you a docile smile. “I don’t mind, babe. I’ve been sitting for a while—”

“Emily, don’t you dare get up—”

She ignores you. Before she fully stands, you walk over to the chair and sit down, forcing her thighs back on the seat. 

Emily lets out a quiet huff; the flimsy chair almost knocks backward from your sudden assault, teetering on its back legs. She steadies it and grips your hip, long lashes fluttering up at you as her thumb digs in under the hem of your blazer.

Oh, god, what have you done?

The corners of her lips twitch, messing with the pattern of your already unsteady pulse. “See?” She says, her voice strangely high pitched, “Now we’re both sitting.”

Your arm is just shy of her chest. When Emily inhales a little too deep, the buttons of her shirt press against your bicep—a short kiss, then gone. 

You’re still numb with your own stupidity. Only your eyes do any good, scanning her face and watching as the blush deepens on her cheeks, fair skin blooming red in real time with the fast pace of your heart.

You move to slide off her lap. Emily holds you in place. “What, am I that bad of a seat?” She murmurs, her arm lightly circling both your thighs. If you weren’t so focused on trying to control the heat in your face, you would have lingered on the strange tremble of her voice.

You ignore how heavenly it feels to sit down. You also ignore the way the tips of her fingers rest on the crest of your ass.

“I’m making you uncomfortable.” You say, horrified and unsurprised to find your voice choked.

Emily shakes her head, mussed bangs slipping from their place. “You’re not, promise. Besides, it’s—uh, it’s not our first rodeo.” Her brows raise, a small arch. 

You flick your eyes away, overwhelmed by the small distance between your faces.

Her hands loosen their grip. “But if it’s—if you’re uncomfortable, I mean—”

“I’m not.” You say quickly.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Her hands disappear from your body. You try not to make it obvious you’re staring—or disappointed—as she hooks one arm over the back of the chair, her nail notching on the tattered skin of her thumb. She peels away at her cuticle, repetitively picking at the skin as she watches the open doorway of the lobby. Her nail digs in, twists, and draws blood.

“Stop.” You take her hand unthinkingly, wincing at the sight of her nails. Emily’s eyes are hot on your face. “Doesn’t that hurt?” You ask, your thumbs gently holding either side of her wrist.

“It’s an easy pain.” Her voice is breathless. “Manageable, I guess,” she shrugs, her eyes darting away.

You frown. Her cuticles really are a gnarly sight—uneven skin and jagged nails and blood on her thumb. 

Emily’s hand twitches in your loose grip. You look up, she looks away again, swallowing as her eyes return to the door. A visible pulse beats in her throat; the line of her jaw is sharp. 

Her leg starts jolting. You jolt with it.

“Emily—”

“Uhh, your guys’ room is ready.” The receptionist says as he walks into the lobby. He briefly stares at the largely inappropriate sight in front of him. You stand quickly, fixing your clothes.

“Room?” You echo.

“We only have one available.” He says bluntly.

Your eyes meet Emily’s. Any retort you expect from her dissolves into silence, the both of you staring at each other with similarly wide eyes, hot cheeks.

Well, shit.

3.

When you see the guy from the corner of your eye, you tense. He’s almost concealed in the shadows frothing at the corner of the bar’s walls, waiting just beyond the bathroom you came out of. You quietly curse and dodge through a group of giggly women in hopes of losing him. 

He’d been practically glued to you at the bar, sidling up to your side with lecherous eyes and overwhelming cologne, both of which left a sour taste on your tongue as you ignored him from behind your shoulder and placed the team’s orders. When JJ came over to help you with the drinks, he stayed behind, but the heat of his eyes followed you all the way back to the table, lifting the hairs on the back of your neck. You saw him while dancing—lurking at the edge of the floor, inching closer until you hid behind the broad line of Morgan’s shoulder. Now he’s materialized on your way to the bathroom, and still he’s on your tail. You could deal with him, you know that—and your friends would be more than happy to—but it’s not worth causing a scene over.

At the table it’s just Reid and Emily. Hotch and Rossi are both long gone, and everyone else is busy dancing as Reid rambles over a bowl of forgotten chips, mouth moving rapidly, hands gesturing wildly in excitement. Emily nods along and pops nuts in her mouth with smooth flicks of her wrist. Her hair is fluffed from her earlier dancing, skin gleaming under the lights. You see her, knees spread, arm hooked over the back of the booth, and it sparks your brain.

“Emily!” You gush, slipping into the area between the table and her body and promptly dropping into her lap, both your legs slotting in the ample space between hers. 

She stiffens, her body going tense when your ass perches on her thigh. You briefly hate yourself as you press yourself into her chest, draping an arm around her shoulder and pressing the flat of your wrist to the warm, smooth curve of the nape of her neck. “Behind me,” you breathe into her ear, the dark strands of her hair rustling to skim along her exposed collarbone.

Emily instantly relaxes. Her arm slides around your waist, heavy and strong, fingertips idly skimming along your side as if she’s been doing it for years. 

“Sweetheart, what took so long?” She murmurs sweetly, the warm drawl of her voice turning your knees to mush. Her eyes meet yours and you go almost nauseous with want, dizzy at the way the bar lights outline her irises and make them gleam, dizzy at the honey-thick pet name that burns in your blood. You draw a sharp breath, stomach clenching; it trips in your lungs when her slender fingers graze your jaw, teasingly getting a feel for the hard bone nestled under your skin. “You had me worried, I was about to come looking for you.”

You can barely think. You know you’re too heavy, all your weight on one of her thighs, probably numbing it beyond belief, but you’re fixated on the way she touches you still. The searing heat of her gaze is enough of a touch all on its own. Having her look up at you, lashes so glossy they look wet, is a strange high you can’t get over.

“B-Bathrooms were full.” You stammer. You’re sure your pulse beats through your wrist and right into the back of her neck. It’s too much, all of it—her warm hands, the solid muscle of her thigh flexing as she brings it, you, in closer. Turning your head, you accidentally meet the guy’s gaze, his looming form jolting you back into reality. 

You tense on Emily’s lap. 

She feels it. Her hand leaves your jaw to grab your thigh, securing you further into her chest. The inherent protectiveness of it makes you flutter. 

“Can we help you?” Her voice sharpens as she turns too, her eyes narrowing. It’s a tone you recognize—the unforgiving edge she serves to unsubs in interrogation rooms, cold and stripped of mercy.

You almost shiver. The guy certainly does, though he tries to hide it with a stony glare.

“I’m alright,” he snipes, dragging his now disgusted gaze up and down your body. Emily’s hands tense, flexing on your hip and thigh until he finally turns with a shake of his head, sulking away to the bar.

You straighten the moment he does, inching away from Emily’s chest. “I’m so sorry,” you say breathlessly, clambering to get off of her lap. “God, Emily, I don’t know what came over me—”

“It’s okay,” she says, her voice tender but her lips pressing together into a thin line. The edge of her jaw hardens. “How long has he been bothering you for?”

You grimace as you settle on the booth next to her, eyes flicking up to Reid. You’d forgotten he was there, honestly—he’d been observing in silence, and other than his concerned look he doesn’t give any other reaction.

“A bit,” you say, not really wanting to elaborate. Emily’s eyes look far too murderous right now, and, really, this was supposed to be a fun night out. The enjoyment has fizzled out like flat soda, and though you throw Emily a smile, your heart’s not in it anymore. Your head is too cloudy, stomach tangled and twisted in knots—half nervous, half lovesick. A small tremor rocks your hands. “He was just being bothersome. Really, it’s okay, Em.” Before you can think you’re leaning over, your lips finding her cheek in a quick kiss. 

You’re close enough to hear her sharp intake of breath.

When you lean back you find that her pupils are blown, her lips slightly parted. A fleeting rush of confidence brightens your smile. “Thanks for saving me.” You murmur.

Her tongue darts across her bottom lip. “Yeah,” she says. Her voice is gritty, the smoky remnants of a bonfire. Emily clears her throat, “Yeah, anytime.”

You seem to have shocked her out of any reprimand. But you haven’t distracted her enough to stop her from splitting a cab with you and dropping you off, though your apartments are on opposite ends of the city. 

Fully composed, she drops a similar kiss on your cheek. Your keys almost tumble to the floor.

4.

It’s a strange sort of exhilarating to be allowed to brush your lips over the raven strands at Emily’s hairline. Her skin is warm, and after months of teasing, months of relentless tension, stolen glances and sly touches, here you are, red string finally pooled loose on the floor between you.

It’s a rare weeknight. Takeout has been ordered, movie switched on, and you get to experiment with things like these. Finally.

Her hair smells like coconut. You sift your fingers through it when you straighten, smiling as Emily’s arms gently hug your waist, her forehead rubbing against your torso.

“What was that for?” She asks as she tilts her chin up, the lilt of her voice curving to match her smile.

You really have no clue.

“Just because I can.” You shrug one shoulder. “I can, can’t I?”

Her eyes trap you from beneath coal-dark lashes. “Honey, you can try to set me on fire and I’ll let you.” She drawls, warm and flirty. You’re briefly caught off guard, too distracted by the velvet-smooth cadence of her voice to notice her hands skimming until they find your hips. Fingers curling down around the backs of your thighs, she tugs gently, forcing you in until your legs hit the couch.

“That seems irresponsible.” You stammer a little, flustering under her stare. She does it so openly, eyes unabashedly burning holes into your skin and flaying you open. 

You somewhat thought that confessing to her would make it easier on your heart. You now know you were dead wrong.

Emily tugs more. You all but stumble into her, bracing a hand on her shoulder to keep yourself steady. It’s not hard to know what she wants, but you play dumb anyway, a roiling pit settling in your gut.

“Emily,” you say nervously, “what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” She indulgently squeezes the soft of your thighs. “Sit.”

“I’m good,” you blurt, tensing against her hands. “I don’t wanna bother you, plus there’s plenty of room over here”—you gesture to the couch—“your couch’s awfully comfy, I don’t know if you know—”

“You wouldn’t be bothering me,” Emily interrupts softly. “Not at all. Is something wrong?” She asks after a beat, when you’ve let the silence stretch. You chew on the inside of your cheek and shake your head, trying not to squirm away from the intensity of her gaze.

Her hands loosen on your thighs. “It’s okay if you don’t want to.” She says seriously, all previous mirth gone. “Just because we’re dating doesn’t mean I expect stuff like that from you.”

“I know,” you say, your skin itching. You fiddle with the hair that cascades down her shoulder, for some reason stuck here in front of her though she’s not holding you still. The truth is, you know how good it feels to be that close to her. To feel the strength of her beneath you, the warmth that glows in the gaps between your body and hers. There’s a certain…safety in the space between her arms. You can only imagine how it would feel when you’re both openly allowed to be affectionate with each other, all previous barriers crumbled and broken down at your feet.

Emily takes your hand and brings it to her lips. Her kiss is just a gentle press, the slightest pressure on your knuckles. “Okay,” she says softly, smiling as she pats a spot on the couch next to her. “C’mon, I want to start the movie.”

You love her for letting it go. It’s a comforting warmth under your skin, and it’s just enough for you to ignore the anxious churning in your stomach.

“I want to.” You say, voice hushed as you place the backs of your fingers along her jaw, dispelling nervous energy. “I want to be close with you like that, and it’s not…it’s not that it makes me uncomfortable—I mean, we’ve tried it before.” Your lips twist into an ironic smile.

“Then?” Emily nudges, her hands gently roving over the sides of your legs. The whisper of her too-soft tone is almost too much.

You puff out a small laugh, chest aching. “Come on, Em. I’m not exactly the lightest person in the world.”

Her expression doesn’t shift. “So?”

“What do you mean, so?”

“So, what does that have to do with anything? I’m not the lightest person in the world, either.” Her shoulders raise in a shrug, brows furrowed like you’re not making sense.

You can’t believe she’s making you spell it out. It certainly wasn’t something your previous partners were ever hesitant about, never mind the teasing tones they used in a futile attempt to soften the blow. Baby, my leg’s gone numb—with a squeeze of your waist, a condescending had any dessert today? masked by a smile, the way it pulls enough of a reason for you to clamber off with a bad taste in your mouth.

But stupid, kind Emily.

“I’m too heavy.” You say flatly.

“Not to me.” She shoots back, her palms hot on your thighs. “I can take it.”

Heat flares at her words. You gape, mouth dry, “Jesus—”

“I can.” Her voice drags into a half whine. Emily’s eyes flash, her nails digging into the fabric of your jeans. “Come on, give me a little credit here. You’ve sat on my lap before—”

“Because I had to.”

“And did I drop you? Did I complain? Honey—” She shakes her head, the drag of her tongue across her lip briefly distracting you. “Let’s get one thing clear here. You want to and I want to, right?”

You nod.

“Then all you have to do is worry about being comfortable. That’s it. I want you here.” She says clearly, enunciating every word. “You’re not too heavy, and you definitely won’t be bothering me.” Her eyes go soft, her fingers rubbing over your pulse where she’s still got your wrist clutched in her grip. “I got you. I promise.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “You really don’t mind?”

“Please.” She breathes, as if she might die if you don’t. 

Your face must give, because her hands are gently nudging again. This time you don’t fight the pull, letting her help guide your knee up to the edge of the couch, then further. Emily’s other arm circles your waist and tugs down to get your hips to meet hers. You hesitate, hovering above her.

“I’ve got you,” she murmurs. Her smile is gentle, reassuring. You return it nervously as you settle in the rest of the way, her hands never leaving your body even after you sit with a quiet breath. It’s awkward at first; you shift to get comfortable, moving your limbs this way and that, but Emily waits patiently until you do. You finally find the right spot, your knees settling on the sides of her hips, snugly hugging her narrow waist. Your heart pounds in your ears, just about drowning out the sound of her low, almost inaudible sigh.

“Hi, gorgeous.” She beams, all but throwing the light of the sun in your eyes.

“Hi.” You lean into her hand when she cups your cheek. Her other draws patterns on your hip. “I didn’t know you wanted me to sit on your lap that badly.”

“Are you kidding?” Emily places a small, singular kiss on your closed mouth. “The thought hasn’t left my mind since you first sat on me in the car. It was so hard to keep my hands to myself.” Her voice has gone smoky, low and rumbling through your chest.

She didn’t, really. You would’ve said just that, but you don’t think you can say anything. She’s overwhelming you—totally, completely. The hand on your hip moves gently, traveling and squeezing; her fingers trace up from your jaw to your cheekbone, sometimes reaching the corner of your eye before returning to carve the same path. And just—her. The scent of her perfume and the curves of her dimples and the exposed triangle of her throat all thanks to her form-fitting shirt. Her touch, the relaxed slopes of her posture. The way she smiles and leans in to nuzzle her nose into yours.

It’s not possible for her eyes to soften further, you think, but you’re proven wrong. “You’re thinking too much,” she whispers. “Don’t think.”

Her lips seal over yours, warm and sweetened with her saccharine words. She traces the seam of your mouth with her tongue, slips her hand under your shirt and palms the warm skin of your waist, aiming to distract. You hardly last before melting into her, muscles gone liquid. When she kisses you like that, you couldn’t form a thought if you tried.

5.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Emily only looks slightly guilty. She’s warm with the glow of the desk lamp washing over her, pen held between long fingers, hand stilling over yet another report. You blow out a huff as you cross the floor of her home office, trying to hold on to it and not let your lips twitch into a smile when she rolls her chair back automatically, leaving ample room for you to slot in between the desk and make yourself comfortable on her lap. Because really, there’s nothing funny about this. It’s nearing midnight. You’re sure she hasn’t left that chair in more than a few hours.

“You should be in bed.” Emily murmurs. Her hand settles warmly on your waist, her thumb tracing the slopes under your pajama shirt.

“You should be in bed.” You return none too gently.

“I will be,” she promises, dropping a kiss on your mouth, “in a minute.” 

You level her a look, knowing full well she’s lying. She’s trying to soften you up with kisses and touches, but this has happened enough times that you’re (mostly) unaffected. Emily sees the unyielding line of your lips, and she places another kiss there.

“I just want to finish this last one. It won’t take long.”

“It won’t,” you agree. “But then there’ll be the next one, and the one after that, and the one after that”—you ignore her sigh—“and that will sure as fuck take long.”

You hate how work-oriented she’s been. Emily loves her job—and you do, too, you get it—but this is more than loving. It’s obsession, perfectionism, working herself to the bone. She used to be the first one out of the office. Now she’s the one declining team drinks because she’s busy with her paperwork, the high pedestal of her looming office distancing her from everyone.

From you.

You miss your wife. You’re with her almost every day, your steps in time with hers, but it hasn’t been the same lately. The skin under her eyes is constantly dark with exhaustion, calluses hardening on the sides of her fingers from hours of continuously holding her pen, and she’s been trying to hide the strain in her neck but you feel the knots every time you cup the back of it, trying to coax her away from uncomfortable chairs and bloody files.

You shift on her lap, knees spreading to slot her waist between them. It’s become a natural move, smoothened with time. Now you bring your chest almost flush with hers, your pelvis to her hips, hands spread over her ribs—just to feel her here with you.

“You’ve been neglecting me.”

It seems a petty, selfish thing to say, but it hits home. The fight immediately leaks out of her, the skin between her brows creasing, her eyes going soft with regret.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes. “I know I have, I’m sorry. It’s just…”

She fidgets with the pen in her right hand. Hasn’t even dropped it, you notice, relying on her left and shifts of her hips to bring you in close. You fight the urge to pull it from between her fingers and instead rub wide arcs over her torso, thumb skimming over the softly fluctuating movement of her chest. The buttons running down the center of her shirt are cool under your skin. You toy with them. 

“You don’t know when to stop.”

Nimbly, you flick open the buttons of her Henley, starting from the bottom. One after the other, as Emily’s breathing quickens and fills the silence her words had failed to. The sides of the shirt wilt open; her skin shines gold under the lampshade. You dip your head to kiss it, honey-colored and just as sweet.

“When was the last time you went to bed with me, hm?” You murmur, involuntarily smiling when her thighs flex under yours. “Just went to bed with me, and we fell asleep together. Can you remember?” Your hand roams, finding the hem of her sweatpants and slipping past. Emily’s chest rises sharply under your lips. 

“Honey.” She grips your waist—her right hand still notably absent. “I really need to—”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Your teeth dig into her flesh. Emily hisses lowly, muttering a curse as you soothe the sting with your tongue. “’M’sorry,” she says breathlessly; you look up to find her pupils blown, bottom lip blooming a fresh red like she’d bitten on it. “I know I’ve been caught up with work, I’ll do better, promise.” 

You skim your fingers over her hip bone. Emily jolts beneath you, her thighs tensing again. Her hand is hot on your cheek as she brings you in, kisses you with more attention than you remember getting from her in weeks. You can feel the desperation behind it—an apology—as your hand wanders deeper between her thighs. 

“I’ll do better, amor,” she mumbles against your mouth, frayed and trembling. 

It never gets old how she reacts to your touch. Nothing gets to her like the feeling of skin on skin—kisses, squeezes, tight hugs and idle fingers everywhere. It’s how she communicates, how she wants to be communicated with, craving the weight of your touch and the whisper of your skin. There’s solace in the scarce bit of space between your bodies. 

You hum against her mouth, fingers nudging past damp fabric. They wade through searing, wet heat, and immediately get soaked to the knuckle. Emily’s hips buck into your hand, a choked gasp on her lips. 

“You don’t know when to stop,” you murmur, wrist already cramping at the angle. With your free hand, you skim idly over her jaw, feeling her stuttering pulse under your finger. “I can do that for you, sweetheart. You’ve got a lot on your plate, I know, so let me help, hm? Even Unit Chiefs need a little support.” Your fingers sink home, and Emily’s lashes flutter. “Yeah?” You whisper.

“Y-Yeah,” Emily gasps. The skin at the base of her throat gleams. You curl your fingers and she breathes your name; you tilt on her lap, rising with the rock of her hips, but her grip on you is bone-crushingly tight.

“Been so long, hasn’t it, Em?” You’re thrumming now, blood hot under your skin, your pajama pants sticking to your thighs from her overwhelming body heat. A tilt of your wrist, a slow circle with your thumb, and her jaw clenches. 

The sight of it sends sparks crackling down your spine. It’s like you’re drunk on her. 

“It’s okay.” You kiss her chin, catching the edge of her lips. “I won’t let it happen again. And neither will you, right?”

Emily whines quietly, both her hands digging sharply into your hips. You smile, the gesture gone unnoticed beneath her closed eyes.

Paperwork is the last thing on her mind.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu@ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi@temilyrights@professorsapphic

[madamechrissy]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ Satoru Gojo Oneshots ˚୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Drabbles Masterlist for oneshots under 5k are HERE

Sex, Lies, Ugly Truth - Explicit-13.2 k WC - there's just one thing worse than having to stay with your estranged mom for just a few days while your apartment is getting renovated - and that's the six foot four white haired man banging her out every night. Your mom's much younger boyfriend who's closer to your age. What's worse is... you liked him first. No way you wanna fuck your bitch ass mom's boyfriend. right?

Do I wanna Know? - explicit- 9k wc Satoru Gojo knows as soon as he sees you, he'll do anything to have you, but first? He needs you to need him. Ignoring his friendly offer to let you stay with him to save up for a better place, you soon find yourself kicked out by your landlord, and moving in with Satoru. Is he a Stalker!? Yandere, heavy smut, read the warnings

I'll look After You - 10.6 wc-NSFW- You longed to hear from Satoru, After an epic night hooking up in a club bathroom, sure you'd been strangers, but he has your number, he made you feel so special... but... he never contacts you again. Ten months later, you have a beautiful baby named Reign, with those exact blue eyes- FLUFFY, sweet and smutty.

You Got me thinking Nonsense- Explicit- 11.5k wc You're Suguru's lil sis, which means you've dealt with both him and his best friend Satoru Gojo being overprotective little shits for most your life. You've also been in love with Satoru Gojo that long. Will he see you as anything more? - smutty/fun

Forgive me for I have Sinned - Explicit- 5.7k wc- You keep having dreams about Father Gojo, and he decides to try to save your slutty soul! Freaky ass Priest gojo- sacriligeous af, meant for sinners <3

Duvet Days and Vanilla Ice cream - Explicit- 15k wc Satoru has tried five different times over the years to tell you he loves you, but the words just never came out right, and you would never believe it. Cute/sexy and emotional Christmas fic- 5+1

I wanna be Yours - Explicit- 5.3k wc -Satoru Gojo has been your best friend since middle school, you've been in love with him that long, but he is clueless! Can you all stay just friends??- friends to lovers smut

[gangplanksorenji]

Her (Risky) Invitation.

Pairing: Chuu x Male Reader

Word Count: 4,432

A/N: Hello Orenjideul! This fic was supposed to be out as a BFH but I got busy so whatever haha. I feel like this should out in the draft hell since my folder's getting stacked and dusted (rip) but anyways, hope you guys like this pretty quick bit.

--------------------------------------

--------------------------------------

The ebullient sounds of the audience roars around the stadium, and you contribute to it with a single percentile. The match is getting exciting at this moment, considering how a single home run changed the course of the game yet someone isn’t in the same boat as you.

“This is pretty boring, argh—” The girl is unfiltered, not giving a care on who may hear her despite her opening pitch earlier that made the crowd erupt in cheers.

“Don’t say that—a wrong word that comes out of your mouth could get you in trouble, Chuu.”

“So?” She raises an eyebrow, following a coy smile as you sigh in little disbelief.

She doesn’t care, and you couldn't care less—her pettiness is something you despise, an attitude worth removing with teaching her a lesson but that won’t even make her learn anything.

“What do you mean ‘so’?”

She brushes you off, looking at the distance, reeking with boredom, and with nothing much for Chuu to say right after, you just avert your attention back to the game where it’s getting spicy.

“You know what—whatever, I’ll go to the bathroom, I’ll be right back.” You couldn’t care less even if she leaves the stadium (metaphorically, you do, yet realistically, you won’t let her) knowing how you’re getting more hooked with the game in front of you.

Letting Chuu by, you nod to her as she just looks at you and flashes out of your sight, through the door, then averted your attention towards the possible climax of this stupendous game.

“Hope this delivers an exciting ending.” You hope it does, and you’re looking forward to what happens in the next minutes.

---

Almost a home run, and the waves of cheers erupt as the pitcher poises himself to throw the ball until a buzz in your phone piques your attention.

jiwooya__ at 5:58 PM - “come at the restroom rn plsss”

You at 5:59 PM - “why am i gonna go there with u?? something wrong?”

jiwooya__ at 5:58 PM - “yeah, just come over pls pls”

The ephemeral conversation sums up: her needing your help on something, an immediate call for you, and possibly another game from her—you know how this can end and whatever the outcome may be, you would welcome it with open arms because it’s Chuu and you can’t resist her.

You’re quick to get off your seat and excuse yourself, not giving a damn if the game’s getting spicy or not.

“This better not be a waste of my time...” You’re optimistic it won’t be, rather suggestive or not, you’re in positive spirits with what trick she may have up her sleeve.

---

You’re an easy bait and no one can blame you for that—like earlier, you can’t resist Chuu, not even in public places like this and you doubt anyone would care if something may happen here, the eruption of cheers that quakes the stadium says otherwise.

“It’s pretty compact here, don’t you think?”

“It doesn’t look like it—” Chuu’s eyes wander around the bathroom, sensing possible dangers to unveil such profanities. “Besides, this is the perfect place.”

It was all part of your plan, and hers—it was all an act out there, because deep inside, the both of you want to discover the thrill of the underlying threat of being observed, but you’d love to keep all of what’s bound to happen for you and you only.

You’d make it clandestine, a secret that will be locked just between the both of you.

“Can’t wait any longer~” Chuu’s tone teases you, legs uneasy as you could sense her wetness beneath such a hot pair of jeans that accentuates the fine build of her ass. You can’t let yourself die out of impatience, a cruel death that’s not worth as your hands did an audacious move—gripping her ass and pulling her closer to you.

“Me neither.” It’s simple, enough for Chuu to receive the message with clarity as your lips lock hers. An entangled mess comes right after, hungrily exchanging torrid kisses with tongues dancing around gracefully with the aim to taste each other.

She’s insatiable and you can’t wait to just do the unthinkable. Knowing her patience is running low too, she knows this isn’t the reason why the both of you are alone together in a restroom.

“Been wanting this for a while.” Her breath blesses your face, just inches away as her seductive barrage of words comes after, not without her hand finding its way onto your clothed bulge that’s growing with every second that passes.

“Elaborate, Chuu.”

“Huh, you wanna hear the things I want to do with your cock?” She chuckles as you nod, Chuu then fixing her hair and tucking it behind her ear just to whisper these words: I want to stroke your cock until it leaks all over my fingers, then, I’ll suck it sloppily just like you always wanted, and then, you’ll cum all over my face, and it’s not just going to end there, because you’re going to pound me in front of this mirror until you drain your balls into me.

You’re fucked, and you love it. Chuu doesn’t just say it all because she wants to, because she’ll mark her words and she’ll fulfill her needs whatever it takes.

“So, you in?” Simples words as a smirk paints your face, then nodded knowing how much you fucking liked the dirty talk she’s escaped.

She doesn’t need to be commanded, because it’s in her nature to know what she’s an expert at, and she’ll show you why you won’t find a girl like her—she’s just that type of girl. She drops down to her knees, dexterous fingers coming right after, unbuckling your belt and undressing what fabric that just hinders her to her deserved reward. She can undress you with her eyes closed, and with just your boxers as the last bit of defense, she exhales and drops it down with one, swift motion.

Her eyes glimmer in lust and admiration, your erect shaft in sight for her to savor for the umpteenth time. She places her hand around it and brings shivers down in you, the coldness of her hand rivaling the emanating heat of your cock.

She strokes it, you wincing with that hint of pain until she spats on her hand and continues her expertise. “Just want it slow? Give you some room?”

As much as you want to tell her to pacen up her strokes, you want to savor every second of her dexterous talent, a pleasurable drive that’s downright commendable. “Like t-that, Chuu—god, your hands are a blessing.”

“Already stuttering? Oh my, I really did turn you on, hm?” Those doe-eyes that only have innocence as its façade, begs for your answer as she continues her work until the base of your shaft.

“What do you think, hm?” It’s rhetorical and you know it as her laugh says otherwise. She averts her eyes onto your already throbbing cock, leaking such a minuscule amount on the slit where her tongue laps the gifts, making your knees weak.

“I fucking love you—and this cock, god.” Her handjobs are just the side dish, because the main course is being delivered immediately, lips enveloping on a tight snug that earns a moan out of your lips. Her strokes on your base are continuous, massaging the hardness where it stands tall yet you crumble, and it's evident with her lips venturing deeper, almost taking half of your shaft to really test you.

If she’s not careful, she’ll knock down the architecture of your legs, and she’ll pick up the pieces once she’s done. 

She just swirls around your sensitive crown, dethroning your attempts to resist her utter control. She licks with passion unwavering, moreso, her lips sucking you off like a lollipop with a suction that rivals even a vacuum. It doesn’t end there, because she’s just starting this, and she’s not even bobbing her head frantically to the point where the both of you become a mess.

Well, speaking of that, she’s fulfilling her promises, one by one.

“Shit—that feels good, Chuu.” You’re hissing, a hand cradles her head, then your fingers running through her locks as she bobs with a pace that’s moderate, yet her experience shows evidently—her absence of gag reflex, her tongue licking wherever it lands, her hands fondling your balls and her lips that’s wringing out the best bits of pleasure from you. Her bobs are in this recurring pattern to die out the inevitable building inside you—slow, fast, slow—and it’s just perfect, because you’re moaning like you mean and encouraging her that she’s doing great.

“Keep sucking—shit, you’re really a filthy cocksucker, aren’t you?” You taunt her but it falls deaf onto her ears, continuous with her pace and what she’s great at.

Saliva seeps out of her mouth, dripping onto your balls that she’s taking care of, until such a hot pursuit was hindered, ejecting out and looking at you with delight. “I am your filthy cocksucker.”

Then she continues, only this time, she’s locking eyes with you as down she goes, relentless with her oral pursuit of greatness.

Her nails are digging deeper, gripping your thighs harshly yet not enough to mark you, as she’s bobbing more furiously, the saliva staining her orange top and the puddle of worthless clothing of yours—rather rendered as worthless, the intention of the commotion says otherwise. She’s slobbering all over your length, gawking with the succulence as her actions are repeatedly dangerous and rightfully audacious—she doesn’t care if her mascara runs rivulets onto her cheeks or she messes the clothing full of saliva, because all that matters is the fulfillment of the need.

She’s just bringing you down slowly, piece by piece until you break as she’s relentless, but she knows what her limits are, and releases such warmth out with a loud pop.

“Are you close? You’ve been throbbing more than before—like my mouth that much?” She’s igniting you, words that unlock a safe that’s your reservoir, slowly filling in and nearing the end. You’re not going to be under her spell, not this time, and as much as she thinks you’re lying, there will be a single answer to her rhetorical question.

“No and yes, Chuu.”

She’s stroking, wringing it out leisurely and you inevitably grunt as she does so, a mischievous smile directed towards you as she seems appalled with your answer. “Elaborate, please?”

She knows she’s fucking you up, barely got any space to genuinely articulate a sentence, what more about a simple elaboration? Well, it doesn’t matter whether you answer or not, because your earlier reply is enough to stroke her ego, and she’s giving it all, stopping the feverish pumps and letting her mouth do the job.

Let’s be honest, with the suction Chuu provides, the plumpness of her lips and her mouth complementing the shape of your cock, you’re not going anywhere far as the inevitable builds up quick on par with her pace. Albeit the lower ground, she keeps your lower body in check, ultimately powerless to move as all you can do is embrace the warmth she brings. You’re gripping those dark locks as a leverage, not restraint and decelerating her pace because this is the outlet you have to combat the pleasure she delivers.

You want to thrust and fuck her throat just to suffice the filthiness that’s orchestrated at your end, and with those doe-eyes glimmering with lust, she’s quick to assess the situation and nods as her lips just puckers at the tip of your cock.

“Do it—” She laps the drool that dribbles onto your underside, licking fervently as she continues her verbal approval. “—fuck my face—I know you’re dying to do that.” 

With her disheveled look begging to get your job done, you know it’s the green light. She doesn’t need a breather even if you ask her to have one, because she is that addicted to your taste that she can’t bear the vision of being depraved by it even for just a second. Your pace is immediately ruthless, and you wouldn’t give such an introductory act considering how she slobbered all over your length earlier without giving a damn with the mess she can make.

The pace dictated didn’t render herself useless, being used like a toy, but instead battled against your roughness as she bobs repeatedly alongside your thrusts, which makes her falter a little, gagging onto the rapid actions of filth. Your thrust, do a couple and she gags—it’s beautiful, all that pretty countenance just to be ruined within minutes as your control dominates her. Chasing the nearing high, your hands grip a handful of her hair, a leverage to muster greater pace, skin clapping and her repeated gags reverberating around the restroom. 

At this point, someone may suspect something suspicious between the both of you, and thank god her mouth is shut thanks to you because you know how much noise she can create in such a filthy session with you.

“Fucking like t-that, hm?” You tug her hair as she looks up at you with glee beneath the dishevelment, nodding with just those eyes as you continue your assault, yet she never resisted, only carving more.

You’re dying to paint her body with your cum, you really do—nobody can blame you for that, not when her outfit perfectly accentuates a godly figure. Despite that, you can’t just do that immediately when she’s still all dressed but just a mess.

Just a mess. Well, you should really fulfill her needs and add up to the monstrosity.

You pull out as the saliva-sheathed cock is throbbing relentlessly, as Chuu catches her breath but her words contradict her visible struggles.

“Hah—hah, I c-can—can take more of it—fuck me more, please.”

Her grip on your thighs weaken and ultimately, you’ll do what you need to do. 

“But I can’t, Chuu.” Your hand raises her chin, as she smiles and anticipates what you’re about to do. What she had in mind might be right, and you’d know it’s imminent. “Stay fucking there and make me cum.”

She does what she’s told to and does it with eagerness. You’re on your wit’s end as Chuu’s fingers wrap around them and muster a velocity unparalleled, slick with her drool and messing her up. She closes her eyes as she knows what’s about to come, and she embraces it.

White, pearlescent streaks paint her porcelain skin, splattering and coating almost every feature of her face as her awaiting mouth receives plenty of her reward. She hums in satisfaction with what you’ve given her, the warmth complementing the hotness the both of you are in and the succulent taste that she’s been yearning for quite some time.

This is far from over and she knows it, but for now, you marvel at the fruit you bear—an outstanding sight, her face covered with your cum and it’s filthy in all of the right places.

She parts her lips, hitches a breath and opens her eyes just to meet yours painted with utter satisfaction. Sweat forms on your forehead and it’s worth effort, ruining her in a space where risk lingers around the corner.

Even with the marvelous sight, you’re still not done with her, and she knows that.

“Get up.”

“Why?”

“You know why.” You didn’t hesitate to outpower her, grabbing her by the wrists and flipping her over, facing the mirror. “And I’m fucking you up to get the job done.”

You meant it, and she gets herself ready.

Your eyes just darts onto her fine ass accentuated by those tight jeans (thankfully), its scrumptious volume allowing you to really test its integrity with a single, harsh spank that makes her yelp, and bite her lip. You see it in the mirror, a clear vision that she’s genuinely enjoying this and so you did another until you know to yourself that you shouldn’t play with your food.

You tug, she wiggles and you spank. It repeats for another time as the lust emanates the air the second that inviting face of hers exactly points out her reasons to fuck her—it doesn’t get any better than this and you know it, you’re damn impatient as much as she is. You undress her pants slowly, down to its ankles as your cock throbbed to the sight of a monumental wonder of nature and you’re glad to see it firsthand, nobody being blessed as much as you are. 

“Red ones, hm?”

“Like what you’re seeing? It’s your favorite shade.” Chuu knows you well, and you can’t lie. You just can’t help the fact that this looks like she orchestrated herself for you to fuck her publicly, anticipating with the right moment of the possible embarrassment to come and risk of being caught.

“You’re really a fucking slut—you did this intentionally, didn’t you? You wanted me to fuck you at this very day, hm?” More spanks wrings out cries at her end, a sweet disposal of the masked pleasure. She laughs and kept that gleeful face on hers, nodding because you debunking her sole reasons was just a piece of cake.

“You alwa—o–oh! Fuck, t-that’s great…” She grows weak, the second finger teasing the cameltoe formed onto those panties, feeling her wetness evident as her hands grasp the concrete of the sink and close her eyes.

“Keep d-doing that—oh!” 

“Grab the sink, Chuu.”

“What—ow!” You spank as your command renders deaf on her ears, the pleasure finally getting into her and she’s submitting slowly to you faster than you’ve expected.

“I’m fucking you with my fingers—be ready. Grab the fucking sink.” She does what she’s told to, gripping tighter as you plunge a finger, half with its depth and she moans in reply—that alone is the driving force to tease her, plunging another just to elicit that same, sexy moan you love hearing. 

You thrust in and out, a repeated process that orchestrates sounds in such a rhythmical and discordant pattern even with such a benign way of introducing yourself into her clit. You swipe and slowly make her descend down to her carnal desires, and your eyes sparkle with each passing second that passes, drooling with the fact how much it turns you on to see her dripping, glistening under the lights and her legs shuddering due to your own actions.

Guess you need to really start the show, for the better for both worlds.

Chuu knows you can’t contain it anymore, unleashing the beast, setting up the pace and going to “home-run” all over her backside—

“Fuck!” She swears at you, laced in goodness of what she’s feeling as your exposed lengths envelops another eventful paradise, plunging in deep and withdrawing with just the tip resting in it. The pace is sluggish, much intended for your comfort rather than hers, getting accustomed to her tightness that still surprises you until this day. You hold her hips and she holds the side of the sink tighter as your thrusts grow harsher and deeper, the profoundness driving you into insanity as Chuu spews profanities that reverberate around the puny restroom. It’s not just her dulcet tone that is an ear-candy, but also the clapping of your bodies against each other, a sound that adds to the erotic soundtrack that’s purely an abomination, your greatest creation.

She grows louder and it alerts you, so with an immediate action against it, the domination truly shows and it starts with you reprimanding her. “Shut y-yourself or we’re going to be fucked and you’re not gonna like it—do you understand?”

It’s surprising how articulate you could still be even with thrusts nigh-unbearable. Your other hand is occupied shutting her mouth up, letting her muffled screams vibrate on your hand as her eyes portray the sight of being satisfied, and it’s all shown in the mirror just to fuel you to take it into the extremes. It will be, but you’re still having the semblance of humanity left to just fuck her in a pace that she can take but if she talk right now,  you know that she’ll beg for more and she won’t break—the former, an absolute chant yet the latter can be debatable.

Thank god the cheers and the sounds outside rivals the absolute sinful cacophonies the both of you muster, and you’re thanking the blessing in disguise with that. With the climax of the game being evident outside thanks to the sounds of the audience, now brings the opportunity to bring spanks onto her butt that makes her grit her teeth in pain and pleasure.

You let go of your hand on her mouth to let those beautiful moans out for your ears to be blessed again, and she wails in pleasure with your pace and the harshness your hand makes contact with her ass. The sight of a rosy hue is the fruit of your efforts, and the events occurring in such a stingful session is a sight to see—a jiggle of her ass was enough to make you riled up even more.

You’re gripping her hips and you can foresee what can be her—

“Shit! Fuck, more, more! G-god, just fuck me real g-good…” Chuu is utterly fucked and she’ll thank you for it. She snapped and there she goes, you reading her like a book—she’s going to beg for more and with her numerous pleas that isn’t even registering in her head totally, you fulfill it anyways knowing it’s the route that you’ll inevitably pass.

“Fuck m-me—my ass—shit, more!” Your hips muster a velocity that is uncertain, but ultimately frantic and in for no-return. Her juices just stain the tiles and thank god you still have some time to discard her pants away to the sinful scene where her nectar will fall into, and at that point you know you’re breaking her apart slowly. At this point, Chuu is just blabbering with nonsensical jumbled pieces of existing words that will soon be more incoherent when you put the final in the coffin.

“You fucking like that, huh?” She nods in the mirror, those cum-glazed lips smiling after as she closes her eyes, savoring whatever that’s stimulating her and the pleasure you’re bringing all over her body.

“God, fuck! Ah, you’re crazy!” You pull her hair and make it as a leverage for you to fuck her truly. The pain stings but is translated as pleasure the second she feels it, and it’s evident because she’s been secretly talking about it and with the live reaction, oh, it’s all right there for you to hear.

You spank her and she bites her lip, you hissing at her remarks. “What did I say? Shut your fucking mouth.”

You’re vulgar and she didn’t care, even dropping the honorifics when you’re dropping her pants. You thrust repeatedly until burying it deep in her, making her moan so sultry and cry in pleasure, as lean towards her and whispered, “You want my cum again, hm?”

You slowly oscillate your hips, kissing her nape and ear as she replies an audible yes that enables the green light for the denouement of this spectacular show—spoiler: you did this before and you’ll never get tired of doing it again.

You pull yourself back, grab Chuu’s waist and run your hands towards her clothed tits, caressing it as she moans with your actions and cries once you return to your original pace. It went for possibly twenty seconds that felt like minutes on how heavenly she feels until you lean towards her again, this time, announcing the very thing she wants to hear again.

“I’m going to fucking cum, Chuu.”

You’re nearing the end and it won’t be in her pussy.

Well, here are the reasons why: firstly, you don’t want people to see your reward marked onto her pants and that would be unhygienic; second, she haven’t earned that luxury yet as per the situation the both of you are in; third, it’s a damn risk to it knowing it’s a sudden invitation by Chuu because you don’t want to risk these things; and lastly, you might just need to add up to the mess on her face you plastered all over her earlier.

Reasonable arguments, and it’s easier to be done than being said.

She doesn’t argue with your principles and wants, but eagerly obliges as she brings herself down to her knees again, stares at you with anticipation and her mouth agape. You know she really does know what she’s doing when she’s initiating the actions, stroking your cock frantically as your knees shake a little due to the pleasure her hands bring.

“Come on—cum on my face, right he—” She doesn’t need to finish her sentence when yours does, spurting strings and strings of cum on her already disheveled face, flinching whenever it gets on her forehead and savors with her hums when it gets on her tongue and lips. With the final orgasm that possibly lasted about ten seconds, she still wrings out the leftover cum in your slit, even licking it clean to savor your succulence, then smiling towards you because of the gratification.

“God, you still came a lot…” She still grips your length, admiring it as she slowly strokes it for good measure as an ending.

“It’s all your fault, Chuu.” You reply back, chuckling as the both of you exchange smiles. Chuu licks her lips and wipes her face full of your cum, the messy liquid being tasted by hers and she commends that taste, and you roll your eyes because of that.

Now, with the adrenaline diminishing slowly, the both of you are grasping the situation as the both of you get dressed up quickly, and Chuu is cleaning up the mess you’ve made on her face.

“Shit—I’m sorry, Chuu—was I too rough? Sorry if I came too much—”

“No, no, it’s fine—I can retouch and reason with them later. You got me pretty sore though.” Her bubbly smile takes effect and reassures you, and you trust what she can do to reason herself out of this mess. You got her ready and you know it’s still a risk even going out, even with the busy atmosphere around the stadium.

Chuu just smiles at you, smirking even with a single sentence that follows. “We should do these things again, I never knew it would be this fun…”

You’d be truly damned if it was to be fulfilled but you’re foreseeing the inevitable, and it’s just about when would be the next time such sin would happen.

[littlegochu]

"just friends" part 1 │ jjk 18+

"no feelings. no promises. just a night that didn’t end when it should’ve."

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader (f)

genre: friends with benefits, cold male lead, cold female lead

rating: 18+, smut

synopsis: we weren’t close. just mutuals. he was mia’s boyfriend’s friend — always quiet, always there, always looking like he didn’t care about anything. then we hooked up once. and then again. now it’s late-night texts, locked doors, and pretending not to look at each other during group hangouts. no feelings. no rules. just whatever this is. and yeah, maybe i’m in too deep — but if he is too, he’s not saying it either.

-

5 months ago

leon’s dorm was too full.

shoulders bumping, drinks spilling, heat clinging to my skin like static. someone was yelling into a red cup, someone else was filming it like it mattered. mia had disappeared into the crowd. theo was shirtless again for no reason.

i needed out — or at least five minutes of not pretending to have fun.

i turned into the hallway, hoping for quiet and a bathroom. the lights were dim, walls lit up with weak blue from a broken led strip. i wasn’t drunk. not really. just warm. a little foggy.

i rounded a corner — and ran straight into someone.

“shit—” my drink sloshed, and my hand shot out to catch the wall.

a steady hand caught my arm instead.

“careful,” a low voice said.

i looked up.

jungkook.

of course.

he let go of me as soon as i was steady.

i stepped back. “sorry.”

he nodded. “you good?”

“yeah. just—needed air. trying to find the bathroom.”

he didn’t say anything for a second, then tipped his head down the hall. “it’s that way. last door on the left.”

i hesitated. “thanks.”

he didn’t leave.

just leaned against the opposite wall, hands in his hoodie pocket, like he wasn’t in a rush to go anywhere.

leon’s friend. mia’s boyfriend’s roommate. the guy who showed up to every group hang without saying much, just existing in the background like he didn’t need to try.

people assumed things about him — that he was cold, cocky, probably a player. i didn’t know if any of that was true.

but i did know he was stupidly good looking.

backwards cap, silver rings, hoodie sleeves pushed over his tatted forearms. the way he looked at you like he wasn’t even trying to. the way his mouth barely moved when he spoke.

he had that quiet, effortless thing. like he didn’t have to prove anything.

and maybe it was the tequila, or the heat in my skin, or how good he looked standing there in that damn hallway light, but for a second i couldn’t stop staring.

he looked at me. slow. calm.

and fuck — it made my stomach flip.

“you always this quiet?” i asked.

he blinked. “you always this lost?”

i scoffed. “you always this annoying?”

“you always this talkative?”

i rolled my eyes. “okay.”

he nodded toward the bathroom again. “go before someone else throws up in it.”

-

i stayed in the bathroom longer than i needed to.

ran cold water over my hands. pressed them to my neck. stared in the mirror and tried to calm down.

i wasn’t drunk. not really. but i felt buzzed in the worst way. warm all over. restless. too aware of him.

i opened the door and nearly tripped.

he was still there.

leaning against the wall like nothing had changed. like he wasn’t still in my head.

his brow lifted. “you good?”

“it’s hot.”

he looked at me, then nodded toward the next door. “my room’s right there.”

i blinked. “what?”

“you wanna cool off or not?”

his room was dark. neat. quiet.

i sat on the edge of his bed, then laid back, trying to breathe.

he followed. not fast. just kicked off his shoes and dropped onto the bed like it was nothing.

we didn’t talk. just laid there — side by side, not touching.

“you always let girls crash here?” i asked eventually.

he didn’t turn his head. “only the ones who almost eat the hallway.”

i scoffed. “i wasn’t that bad.”

he didn’t answer.

i turned toward him. studied his profile in the dark.

he looked good. too good. relaxed. unreadable.

i swallowed. “so this is the move, huh?”

he finally looked at me.

i didn’t back down.

“bring them to your room, lay there all quiet, let them crawl to you?”

he stared. “if that’s what you want to think.”

my pulse jumped.

“and then what?” i asked.

he reached out slowly. curled a hand around my waist.

my breath caught.

his voice didn’t change. “then i hold them like this.”

he pulled me in. not hard. just enough. close enough to feel his breath. close enough for mine to stutter.

i looked at his lips.

he didn’t kiss me.

just stared back — eyes low, unreadable.

and then he pulled away.

he laid back into the bed. arm tucked behind his head. no explanation.

i blinked. stared down at him.

he wasn’t saying no. just waiting.

so i leaned in and kissed him.

his lips parted under mine.

he kissed me back. slower, rougher. hand back on my waist, pulling me over him.

i straddled his lap, kissed him harder, my hands under his shirt, dragging up his sides.

his fingers dug into my hips.

and then — he stopped.

his mouth stilled. his grip tightened, then released. “don’t,” he said, voice low.

i froze. breathless. “what?”

he didn’t move. “you’re drunk.”

i swallowed. “i want this.”

he shut his eyes. jaw flexing once.

“you won’t in the morning.”

i sat there, still, pulse thudding through my ribs.

he didn’t push me off.

but he didn’t pull me in either.

so i climbed off him. laid back beside him. said nothing.

he didn’t speak.

but he stayed.

-

leon’s dorm felt different this time.

same couch. same lights. same group — kind of. but the energy had shifted.

mia and leon were already asleep in his room. the rest of the group had passed out wherever they dropped — theo on the floor, face half-buried in a hoodie that wasn’t his, and jimin slumped over the armrest like his spine gave out mid-laugh.

i sat cross-legged on the carpet, watching the movie no one was awake enough to finish.

beside me, jungkook nursed a water bottle like he wasn’t paying attention to anything. not the tv. not the noise. not me.

but i felt it.

his shoulder brushed mine.

once. then again. not deliberate. not really.

we hadn’t spoken about last week. not a word. not even a look that hinted at it.

but i hadn’t stopped thinking about it.

his mouth. his hands. the way he stopped. the way he wanted to keep going.

and now — with everyone else unconscious and the room dim and quiet — i couldn’t stop thinking about what it would feel like to finish what we’d started.

i didn’t drink tonight. said i was driving. truth was, i wanted to be clear when it happened — if it happened.

jungkook had a midterm tomorrow. he hadn’t touched a drop either.

and maybe that’s why it felt worse. because we were both sober. and still thinking about it.

the credits started rolling.

he shifted beside me. slow. unbothered.

“you staying?” he asked.

i shook my head. “said i’d drive. might crash on the couch, though.”

he hummed. didn’t say more.

i stood, brushed popcorn dust off my legs, stretched. his eyes followed — just for a second. then flicked away like he didn’t mean to.

he didn’t blink. just waited. “the couch is full.”

i looked at him.

his mouth twitched, but only barely. “so where are you going?”

i swallowed once.

then nodded toward the hallway.

“show me again where the bathroom is.”

he stood. didn’t say anything. didn’t smirk. didn’t tease.

just followed.

we didn’t even make it to the door before i turned and kissed him.

this time, no hesitation. no buzz clouding it.

his hands went straight to my waist, dragging me in. my back hit the wall, his mouth rougher now — hungrier, like he’d been holding it in. like he wasn’t going to stop this time.

my fingers curled into the front of his shirt. i kissed him harder. let him take what he wanted.

he didn’t ask if i was sure.

he didn’t pull away.

we found his room again. dark, same sheets. door shut behind us with a quiet click.

i didn’t feel nervous.

i felt ready.

his mouth stayed on mine as he pressed me down into the mattress, hands sliding beneath my shirt, slow, steady. like he already knew how i moved. like he’d imagined it before.

when i tugged his shirt over his head, he didn’t flinch.

when he kissed down my throat, i arched into him.

when i pulled him closer — all the way — he didn’t ask anything.

we weren’t drunk.

we weren’t in love.

we were just there.

wanting the same thing.

and that night — was the start.

it started with tension. with texts. with “you up?” and “you have ten minutes.” every hookup ended the same: a quiet fist bump, no eye contact, leaving before the sun was fully up.

we were both busy. school, work, life — whatever excuse we needed to keep it simple.

but then school ended and he started staying a little longer.

not always. not every time. but sometimes he’d fall asleep after. and not rush out in the morning.

sometimes he’d bring food. sometimes we didn’t even fuck.

just laid there. watched random shit. talked about dumb things we never asked each other in the beginning. it wasn’t a relationship.

but it felt less like hooking up and more like choosing to stay.

authors note: comment and lmk what u think!

part 2 here:

[voitier]

HANS - In your Hands

하나 : Gran Premio de España

In a world where every single step is recorded and analysed by cameras, F1 racer Jeon Jungkook could care less about his reputation, having decided that with the amount of money he has he could buy the silence of everybody, if he wished.

Behind him, there's a girl losing her mind trying to get him to behave, knowing that her job is at risk if she doesn't cover up his mess-ups in time.

What happens when one of the most influential and world recognised racers falls head over heels for his PR manager, who absolutely despises his "I've got it all" attitude and wants nothing more than to keep doing her job in peace?

WORDCOUNT: 3K

CONTAINS: 18+! sex, hooking up (occasionally and not), mentions of blood and paramedics (brief, not too much descriptive), car crashing description (again, not too much detailed)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: okay, so... here's chapter one. okay. WOW. literally shaking rn I'm so scared it's gonna flop LMAOOOO. anyway, literally one of the longest pieces I've ever written, lowkey surprised myself. oh, and that thing I said that I wanted to wait until I was working at least on the second half of the story to post chapter 1? yeah, call me a liar cause that's what I am, I literally couldn't resist anymore, especially not when I saw how much "popularity" it was gaining. SO HERE IT ISSSS. I don't wanna spoiler anything so I'll shut up right here. hope you enjoy it and are ready to run a Grand Prix. love you all <3

Jungkook knew that he had the whole world at his feet. And he didn't think it because of a weird god complex whatsoever, but it was kinda hard to not do so when he stood high and tall on the podium, the whole crowd tinted of a bright orange, screaming his name and whipping around McLaren flags. 

For an hour, Jungkook was the owner of the world. 

And it felt so fucking nice.

That was almost three years ago though, and for the next three years, he always ended up on the podium – just as second or third place each time. It didn't matter, as much as he was craving that first place rush, he was happy he could stand on the podium itself.

This time, though? He had to win first place. No ifs, no buts.

He was doing so good already, he could almost feel the weight of the cup in his arms and his skin wet and sticky with champagne as he screamed at the top of his lungs.

Just two more races and he would be reborn as F1 World Champion – twice. He could do it: he and Namjoon, his strategist, had studied the Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya of the Spanish Grand Prix over and over again, meticulously measuring every variation of speed, every rough corner, obsessing over the track until they became disgusted of the mere thought of sitting down with the map in front of their eyes.

Jungkook trusted Namjoon. He was the mastermind behind all his wins, after all. And he saw it in his eyes, too – that endless thirst of win, the need to see his racer becoming World Champion again. Something was in the air for sure.

Anyway, Jungkook was a... man of needs. He needed his morning coffee to function properly. He needed to jog at least 30 minutes by himself before a race as a way to slip into a focused zone. But, most importantly, he needed to release all of his pent-up stress before sitting down in his race car. 

Which was exactly the reason why he was locked in a stall of the McLaren garage's bathroom, the zip of his suit pulled all the way down to his crotch as he pounded into one of the models' pussy. What was her name again?

"Jungkook, they’re looking for you–"

"They can wait," he snapped back, covering the pretty girl's mouth with his hand, desperately chasing his orgasm. From the outside, someone – probably his other teammate and racer, Jimin – kept yelling his name, followed by "5 minutes left, hurry up!"

A string of profanities left his lips as he felt his body tense up, every fibre getting ready to welcome the long awaited release. The girl in his arms whimpered softly, clearly overstimulated. Eh, he had told her prior that he could last longer than most, and she was the one who said it was no big deal, so it wasn't really his fault if she was trembling now. 

"Fuck!" a groan left his lips as his body finally gave in, filling the condom spurt after spurt. He breathed heavily, chest heaving as he slowly recovered from the post orgasmic bliss. 

"Two minutes! Jungkook, fuck!"

A prayer of "shit shit shit" was whispered in the air, the racer rushing to throw the condom away, zip his suit back up, and go out there like nothing had happened.

As he exited the bathroom, everything blended in a blur of hands grabbing him wherever they could, pushing him against his car– and what a car. Orange, shiny, looking better than ever, ready as much as him to win another Grand Prix. Someone handed him his helmet, urging him to put it on before sitting down in the vehicle. 

As soon as the cold leather touched his suit, it was showtime.

You hated Jungkook.

No, scratch that, you didn't hate the guy per se.

You hated the cocky attitude he carried around everywhere. And you hated the fact that he didn't facilitate your job, at all. Being a PR member is already hard as it is, but being a PR manager? Jungkook's PR manager? Oh baby, hiking on Mount Everest would be easier. 

The kid could not care less about his reputation. It was admirable, really, being unapologetically yourself in a world full of judgement, if it wasn't for the fact that he was a public figure. A well-known one, too. And whose job was it to not let him taint it? Yours, of course.

Teaching foxes how to talk would be less stressful.

"Where the fuck is he?" a sharp voice interrupted your endless thinking, grounding you right in the moment. You whipped your head to the right, watching as a frantic Hoseok walked around the garage to look for their number one driver. 

The McLaren team had three drivers: Jungkook, Jimin, and Hoseok. Usually, it was Jungkook and Jimin who would race, Hoseok was put aside mainly because he was new. Whole team decision, of course.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose before sighing heavily, already feeling a growing headache nagging at the back of your head. 

What you didn't know, was that it was bound to get way worse than that. With the corner of your eye you had caught a weird movement, followed by a big commotion. 

Ah, that's where he was. Checks out, actually. Last minute nerves, right?

Yet– something was off. Something was... unusual. Something...

A man tripped not too far from you. Another one screamed at him, threatening to fire him. "Pull yourself together, we're Netflix, for god's sake!

Your heart dropped.

Netflix.

And coming right from the bathroom, you saw a hand. Delicate, long, well groomed. A woman. 

Shit.

You sprinted for the bathroom, running for your life like you've never done before, dodging engineers, mechanics, PR members, anyone who dared to stay in your way. 

You pushed the girl back inside before anyone could see her, slamming the door closed behind you. 

"What–"

"Shh. I'm sorry. I'm Jungkook's PR manager, Y/N. Nice to meet you" you whispered through the whole presentation, your eyes darting from the girl to the door, back to the girl again. You swallowed hard, breathing in and out slowly as the drumming in your ears settled for something less dramatic.

The girl in front of you was... beautiful, to say the least. Tall, clear skin, flawless makeup on. Shoulders and back straight and stretched nicely, her collarbones peeking over her shoulder-less dress. Dark hair framed her slim face, a nice contrast to her blue eyes. Yeah, definitely a model. 

You could almost see it – Jungkook's and this model's faces plastered all over the media, them holding hands and acting like the paparazzi had caught them in a private moment while walking in the streets of some élite class city, probably Monaco. Everything would be piloted by you, of course. There were no caught red-handed moments with you, everything was planned, studied, thought out. 

Oh, if only Jungkook made things this easy for you.

“Oh, uhm…” the girl eyed the spot where your hand touched her arm a couple times, definitely trying to find a polite way to get your hands off her skin. Understandable, anyone with that type of perfectly clear skin would grimace at the view of a woman who has no time for a full eight hours sleep, yet alone pay attention to skincare and stuff, touching what you probably had to work your ass for. Not that Jungkook was any better, by the way, but at least he was rich and handsome, and known enough to be on the same social step as the model in front of you. Hell, he was probably even higher up than her. You pulled your hand back, whispering a rather embarrassed apology.

From the garage, you heard one of the engineers yell, followed by a general roar as Jungkook overtook one of the Ferrari’s drivers. The girl gasped, her body jumping startled. “It’s fine, I– let me see if it’s safe to go out.”

The cold metal of the doorknob kissed the scorching hot skin of your hand as you gently twisted it, opening it just the right amount to peek outside. Your eyes scanned the place, looking out for anyone not dressed in orange and a couple men carrying a camera and a boom microphone.

Her fingers gently tapped your shoulder, peeking over it before softly asking “Is it safe?” in an accent that sounded anything but native. 

You gave one last look around before nodding, opening the door to let the woman through. 

“Wait!” your exclamation stopped her in her tracks. She turned towards you, confusion written all over her face. “I didn’t get your name.”

“Isadora. Isadora Ioannou.” 

The rest of the Grand Prix was spent glued to the screen in the garage, occasionally scribbling down notes in your agenda as ideas for new content popped up in your mind, and downing at least two more shots of espresso. 

However, no matter how hard you tried to engage in other activities, the name of the model kept haunting you. Isadora Ioannou, Isadora Ioannou, Isadora Ioannou. You were sure you had heard that name before, but no matter how hard you focused, you just couldn’t pinpoint when and where. The clock in the garage ticked slowly, its sound buried by the absurdly loud people inside and the echo of the cars’ tires screeching on the hot concrete, reminding you that in a few hours you could retrieve to your room and finally look up her name, maybe while soaking in the bathtub of the fancy hotel the McLaren team had reserved for those flying to Spain with their racers. 

A heavy arm slumped around your shoulders pulled you out of your thoughts and back in the garage, where a rather enthusiastic Namjoon kept yelling to Jungkook over the intercom about the last overtake he just did. You didn’t even need to look up to know whose arm it was, recognising Taehyung’s cologne immediately. You had met him back in college, then life made you part ways before it brought him back in your track. He was one of Jimin’s best friends then, got a place as a member of your PR team almost by luck. Witty, clever with words, sly in a way that made people think twice before opening their mouth in his presence, you just couldn’t let him run away. And so, here he was. “How did the… date go?”

You groaned, throwing your head back in annoyance. “Awful, truly awful. I’ve been with first timer men who knew way more than this dude. Seriously, if I had known about it I wouldn’t have spent so much time getting ready.”

He chuckled, a low sound coming deep from within him. 

Oh, god. You knew that sound far too well for your liking. 

He leaned down, tip of his nose brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered “Wouldn’t have had this problem if you had accepted my suggestion, and you know it.” He pulled back as soon as he came in, raising his other hand to wave at a coworker a couple feet away from you, completely unfazed by the suggestion. 

You sighed, shaking your head softly before slipping your orange headphones on, effectively drowning out any noise other than Jungkook’s heavy breath echoing in his helmet mic and the vroom of sports cars running at 300 km/h.

Back in college, you and Taehyung used to be… friends. Who occasionally fucked. And by occasionally you mean even two times a day hidden in the very back of the library, if you wanted. But still, no more than friends, you didn’t really do “date”. Anyway, the sex was great, the guy used to be fine as hell already back then, and he knew how to make you finish like no other did. Then he moved back to South Korea for his Master’s degree, and when he came back he became your coworker and part of your own team. You couldn’t really sleep with a man who was now “dependent on you”, work wise. It just didn’t feel ethically ok to do so, even though he had made clear more than once that he truly couldn’t care less about it.

“You really think I’d give a fuck about our job positions when I’m buried balls deep inside you? C’mon, Y/N, you know me better than this,” he had begun once, and since then you decided to not bring it up anymore. At least, not until the very end of the season. 

But geez, how you missed having a man who knew what he was doing, especially when work pulled at your every possible string, waiting for you to finally snap.

Of course, no one in the team knew about you two and your past. You weren’t even sure if Jimin knew, and the two boys shared everything with each other. Gossip is quick to spread in the workplace, and you didn’t want anyone to think that Taehyung had access to his position because he had bought it. The guy was genuinely what the team needed. Plus, he had to work even harder than all the others since he was part of both Jungkook’s PR team and Jimin’s one. Thank god Jimin’s PR manager, Jin, grew a great liking of Taehyung soon, and in tandem you both decided to split his workload so that he wouldn’t go into burnout too quickly, too soon. 

Gotta protect the good ones, no?

Anyway, that's how Taehyung ended up being a constant in your day to day life again. Were you complaining? No, but did you wish that the circumstances were different? Absolutely. 

Fuck you, Taehyung, you could have turned down the job offer at least.

Inside the vehicle, Jungkook was breaking out in cold sweat. Just another car before he could proclaim victory. Behind him, Jimin was stuck at a tie point with one of Mercedes racers, the two continuously trying to overtake the other, yet without succeeding. 

If they wanted to win, he was the one who would have to do so. 

Right in front of him, a Red Bull Racing car was just a couple meters away from crossing the finish line.

Not again, not again, he thought, adrenaline kicking high in his body as everything in him screamed for him to just do something. 

“Jungkook!” Namjoon's panicked voice echoed in his helmet, the urgency crystal clear in his voice. “Swerve to the right! Now!” 

Jungkook had no time to think, his hands immediately bending the steering wheel to the right, his car abruptly swerving right as the left tire of the Red Bull car detached itself from the vehicle, rolling on the concrete until it hit the perimeter of the track and then rolled back.

The racer inside the car had no time to react as he was pushed to the side, smashing the pedal to the floor to try and stop his car from killing them both. Loud screeching noises were heard all around, but no matter how hard he tried to brake, his car wouldn’t stop until he finally hit the fences at the side.

Inside Jungkook’s helmet, Yoongi’s voice, one of his engineers, called him back to attention. “He’s fine, just keep going. You’ve got Jimin right behind you, the victory is ours.”

Being part of the McLaren team had its perks, like the continuous paid trips and luxury hotels, but its downs too, like having to watch another human being probably in his early 20s being brutally pushed to the side in a scorching hot car with no power to control its direction, while simultaneously having to celebrate your two drivers making it to the finish line first.

It’s in those bittersweet moments, when everyone else seems to be completely unaffected by the repercussions that other people had to live, that you find yourself asking: are we really doing this? Are we really working for a sport that could end someone’s life in a matter of seconds? Is our team’s victory really that important that we hold no shame in celebration when there’s paramedics all around taking care of another man right in front of everyone’s eyes? 

The garage was full of people screaming, hugging, celebrating Jungkook and Jimin’s victory, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to truly participate in the chaotic celebrations, your eyes fixated on the screen monitor filming the rescue mission of the boy inside the car. You knew him, a barely 20 years old boy with too much determination for his own good. You were sure you would see him again on the track soon, even with a concussion, if needed. You understood him, you knew what it meant to have a passion that kept you going even when the only outcome is heading head-first against a wall at full speed. 

“Here are the champions!” Hobi’s voice resonated inside the garage, and more cheers and whistles and clapping rose in a matter of seconds. Jimin and Jungkook came inside, tired, almost limping, slipping their helmets off with a relieved groan, shaking their heads side to side. Towels were handed to them, and you observed silently as they ran them over their sweaty hair. 

Jimin was almost immediately pulled back by Jin, ready to have him talk to the cameras of god knows what channel. But you stayed back, watching as Jungkook soaked in all the congratulations, the compliments, observed as his ego visibly inflated as honey coated words were fed to him, and he swallowed them whole, one by one.

You sighed, shoulders dropping as you diverted your eyes to the screen again. The car was ruined, its rear part wrecked by the impact, but the boy was taken away, at least. The camera slowly panned to the spot where paramedics had him laying on a hospital stretcher, his team surrounding him to ensure privacy while he had a big cut over his temple cleaned and disinfected, probably getting ready to stitch it back together.

“So? No congratulations for me?”

You didn’t register Jungkook’s teasing voice at first, way too immersed into the scene displayed in front of you. “Hey,” he tried again, morphing his voice into something softer, almost careful. His arm wrapped around your shoulder, gently squeezing you to his body. “He’s gonna be fine. We’ve seen worse, you’ve seen worse.”

A little hum escaped your lips, not too convinced by his words yet. It was true, you had seen worse before, but it still didn’t stop you from thinking, from worrying. Isn’t that what makes a human being different from an animal? The capacity to doubt, to worry, to be stuck in a moment even when the world keeps spinning and life keeps going on. 

“Okay,” you sighed at the end, shrugging your shoulders like you were trying to shake off the icky feeling off your body. You turned around, smiling softly at Jungkook before wrapping him in a hug. “Congratulations, bun”

Jungkook groaned at the nickname, clearly trying to look annoyed, yet failing when he met your smile again. “C’mon, let’s go celebrate,” he announced, grabbing you by your elbow, pulling you in the middle of the chaos, “we’re going to Monaco!”

© voitier 2025

find the introduction post here

[m-robinavitch]

27 with Robby pretty please 🥺 I will give you my soul for this

Trope Tuesday Wednesday! Just finishing the asks that were sent yesterday because I did not expect that much love from y’all 💕😭

Pairing: Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!Reader

Trope: Secret Baby

You never thought you’d see the handsome stranger that you hooked up with at your college roommate’s wedding ever again. You never imagined that he would ever be apart of your life after having what you consider the best sex and hook up of your life- but a hook up nonetheless.

You catch up with Samira here and there. You love hearing about her adventures as an ER doctor while you bore her with your job that doesn’t nearly have the same level of excitement- but she loves hearing from you. You were her roommate for four years in undergrad. You spent nights staying up cramming and watching those cheesy romcoms you love. Then she went to med school while you joined the working class. And when you got the invitation to her wedding you cried a bit. You were so happy for her- but weddings always make people think about their own pathetic lives. Just like Robby did. Watching Jack and Samira smile at each other while their said there vows. He couldn’t be happier for his best friend- but that ache in his heart never seemed to heal no matter what he did. And while Robby sat and nursed his second drink, he finally saw you walking up to him- tiny ache in his chest because nerves started to flutter about. He had seen you earlier- a glass of champagne and the same longing look he had towards the other couples on the dance floor, he thought you were beautiful.

“Mind if I sit? Feels a lot less lonely if you’re lonely with someone else.” Immediately he nods, pulling out the chair for you with a laugh-

“To being less lonely together?” Robby holds his tumbler out to you- letting you clink your champagne flute against it with a laugh and smile that he never wants to forget. You both ended up at your hotel room not even an hour later. Clothes being pulled and thrown around between hot desperate kisses. Robby had you under him for half the night and on top of him for the other half. Bent over the bed, bathroom counter, balcony. It’s no wonder those 5 home pregnancy tests lit up like fucking Christmas trees. At some point he must have fucked you so hard that it knocked your IUD out of place.

You didn’t tell anyone that your daughter was the product of a one night stand- that you only knew her father’s first name and that he was a doctor. It didn’t matter- not really. You loved her. She’s the best thing that ever happened to you. You spent your pregnancy perfecting her nursery and working as much as you could to save money and days off for her. But as she grew- you kept staring into those big beautiful brown eyes that she only got from the man from the wedding, wondering if he’d love her as much as you did. You didn’t tell Samira that the baby she was cooing over on social media was conceived at her wedding- that she most likely knew the father. You forced yourself to not ask her about him- you figured it’s not fair to go this long and suddenly reach out or go around uprooting the man’s life over a one night stand.

But three years later you find yourself relocating to Pittsburgh with your toddler for work. You find yourself meeting Samira for coffee one afternoon with your daughter who has oddly familiar soft brown eyes and a crooked smile. She doesn’t ask about her father, she just sees how happy you both are. Your daughter is sweet and loves everyone- sitting in Samira’s lap playing with her teddy bear and messily eating a muffin while babbling to her new best friend. But a week later you find yourself at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital because your daughter was still a bit clumsy and fell at the playground.

You stood in line, your daughter crying in your arms while you tried to console her and it was like Robby had forgot how to breathe. He walked to the nurses station to see how they were doing up there and immediately he saw you- immediately felt the same tightness in his chest like when he first saw you almost three years ago. Only you had a child in your arms this time, crying and clinging to you- a missed opportunity on his part. Whoever you had waiting for you both at home was a lucky bastard. His voice was like ice down your back because you can remember and feel every word that he had whispered in your ear years ago.

Robby immediately got you both to a bed- calming your worries and saying it’s fine as he put gloves on. Your daughter hid in your neck- crying slowed to a whine but still refusing to sit on the bed no matter what. You explain to Robby that she tripped and bumped her head at the park- a little clumsy still and you offhandedly say that she gets it from you. He smiles a bit- because he remembers how you stumbled in your heels years ago when you dragged him up to your hotel room. But he smiles, rolling the chair over to you both and trying to make himself as small as possible to not scare your toddler. You don’t know if you should bring it up now- that Robby is about to work on his own child but you figure you should let him focus on her first before you ruin his life.

“Hey sweetheart, I’m Dr. Robby-“ you turn a bit to face your daughter to him, smiling when he ducks his head down and tilts it so she can see him, “mommy said you hurt yourself?” She whimpered, nodding and choking you with her tiny strong arms while her hands clutched her teddy bear. “I like your bear, can I see him?” You melted at how gentle he was- at how his voice was soothing and how his eyes softened when she turned and held her bear out to him. As if he was dealing with glass- Robby took her bear, a gift from Samira when she was born. “Can you show me where you got hurt on your teddy bear?” It was like she was drawn to him now, peeking out from your neck and pointing to the side of her bear’s head. Robby obviously figured from the tiny about of blood that matted her hair- but he just wanted to make her comfortable. To put her at ease and almost instantly she reached for him so he could sit her on the bed and he can examine her.

He asked routine questions, taking note of your lack of ring but then chastised himself for even looking. You had a daughter- you clearly had someone in your life. He must have missed a narrow window of opportunity because she was still young, about the same age as the years it’s been since you first met and-

“When was she born?” Fuck.

[tapron-uk]

Accessories Guide for a Modern Bathroom

The Tapron guide provides tips on selecting modern bathroom accessories, emphasizing the importance of choosing items that blend well with your bathroom's decor. It discusses the significance of details like soap dishes, dispensers, toilet roll holders, hooks, hangers, and tumblers in enhancing the bathroom's aesthetics and functionality. The article also highlights the choice of finishes, such as gold and matt black, to complement the modern design, ensuring these accessories contribute to a stylish and practical bathroom environment. For detailed recommendations, visit the guide here.

[reiderwriter]

A Dream, A Kiss, A Wire

A (very late) submission for @imagining-in-the-margins Undercover challenge!!

Prompts: Character is surprised when their undercover partner is *very* good at pretending to be in love with them. “It’s just acting.” / “So you can make your heart race like that on command?”

Warnings: mentions of case details (bombing/ arson), mainly fluff

A/N: I don't know when the last time I posted fluff was, but I had a lot of fun writing this, so I hope you all enjoy it! I'm trying to post more regularly once a week now, so hopefully, I'll have something else for you next Sunday~

Masterlist

Two months of undercover work was probably standard in the FBI. You hadn't exactly been in the FBI that long, obviously, or in any job too long for that matter, being pretty fresh from a decade in academics, but you were a hard worker, and you got work done.

But your undercover work with the BAU wasn't exactly what you would call work.

You woke up in the morning, cooked breakfast for your fake husband, went to your pilates class with the other neighborhood wives, went to your fake job, and then went back to your fake home where you publicans flirted with your fake husband outside for an hour or two to make your real neighbors believe in your fake relationship.

So that hopefully, one of them would attempt to blow you up.

With three “accidental” house fires in the neighborhood in the last year, and insurance company who'd been investigating potential fraud in the area had tipped off the BAU of a possible undiscovered arsonist, though you'd quickly deduced as a team that your unsub was likely a bomber instead.

A few months of surveillance, and then the gradual introduction of pairs of agents into the neighborhood under heavy cover, and here you were.

Making your fake husband pancakes.

Spencer emerged into the kitchen to one of his favorite views in recent months. You'd been the first pair put in, the one most likely to get attention quickly, the team had said. He watched as you hummed along to the morning radio, stacking up piles of pancakes and dancing along as you cooked.

You looked happy.

The concept of pretending to be married hadn't sat well with Spencer at first. He was never the greatest actor, and his last attempt at cover with Cat Adams hadn't exactly lasted too long. He was two months in now, sure, but he owed most of that to you.

Every time he'd blundered, you'd been there to help him out.

You'd suggested working on the garden together at the weekend to show off your effective communication as a couple. He'd let you feed him strawberries and sprayed you with the water hose, causing a water fight the neighborhood kids had politely asked to be included in.

You'd also been the one to request weekly flower bouquets, preferable from the local florist, just so everyone could see how dedicated he was to his wife. You'd sneezed heavily into the first few bouquets, and he'd requested mainly tulips, roses, and carnations after that when your nose looked a little red.

You'd also been the one to hook your legs around his waist in the swimming pool in your back yard - in clear view of at least 5 neighbors houses - and angle your head just so, inspiring pats on the back from a few heavy handed husbands at the neighborhood barbecue the week after.

That was all to say, Spencer thought you were an incredible actor.

Until that morning, when you'd rolled over in the bed you shared after waking up and kissed him full on the lips as you groggily said good morning, before padding off to the bathroom to take your morning shower.

If Spencer hadn't been awake before then, he definitely was after. It was like every cell in his body jolted at the touch of your lips. You'd zapped him with a lightning bolt, then walked off so casually he didn't even have the time to question you.

By the time he stood to follow, the sounds of the shower were already pronounced alongside his own heartbeat.

It took the best part of the morning to remind himself that this was just work. You were just acting, and you'd gotten into the role.

“And don't forget to head to the dry cleaner today in your way home from work, I dropped off some summer dresses last week and your other work blazer and they called twice yesterday to say they were done-”

He listened to you happily telling him what to do as he ate his pancakes, responding where you wanted him to respond, and being a generally agreeing husband, all the while thinking about how your lips felt pressed against his.

He thought as well about the way your body felt against his. You'd been sharing a bed for two months, and obviously, you'd ended up tangled in one another more than once. He'd never let himself think about it as any more than an extension of work before that morning, though. Part of the cover.

And now he felt the contours of your body matched his in a way that made the tips of his ears pink.

His eyes - and attention - must've slipped away from where you thought they'd ought to briand you looked at him with a questioning glance.

“Spencer?”

“Hmm? Yes, dry cleaning and visit Tara at the bank. Anything else?” he asked, begging you to say nothing about where he'd just been caught looking.

“No. You got everything. Well, just make sure you wash up the breakfast pots on the way out, I'm leaving for pilates now.”

Without another word, Spencer watched you grab your car keys from the basket in the foyer, directly down the hall from his seat at your kitchen island, and felt a sense of dread.

He couldn't let you go again without asking you about the kiss, his body screamed at him, though his mind begged him to be rational.

His body seemed to win out rather quickly, as he called after you just as you opened the front door.

“Wait,” he said, jogging to catch up with you before he pulled you into his arms. The memory of the pool filled his thoughts to the point where he could almost smell the chlorine, the tips of his ears aflame with the sensation of your breath against his skin.

You tried to relax into his hug, knowing that a few of your neighbors were already outside, getting their cars ready to go to work. “Spencer,” you whispered, “What are you doing?”

His eyes flicked to your lips as he thought about just kissing you then and there. But the almost worried look on your face had him loosening his grip slightly, losing his resolve.

Luckily, the shame at his loss of self-control made his head drop slightly, just enough to catch the translucent wire centimetres from your foot glare in the sunlight.

At the worst possible time for Spencer Reid, you'd had your biggest break in the case in months.

...

A week later, you were you again and on the jet with colleagues you hadn't fully been able to interact with in months. Of course, you'd seen them all about the neighborhood, and you laughed and joked about it now that you were going back to your real lives.

“I swear to the almighty himself, if Joy ever suggests putting me in one of those old people's homes really, I want you to just take me out back and shoot me,” Rossi complained, swearing off slippers and bingo for the foreseeable future.

“You had company at least,” Luke muttered, having been confined to a small apartment on the upper side of the neighborhood that coincidentally housed all their surveillance equipment.

“Speaking of company, how was married life?” Emily joked, elbowing Spencer in the side from her seat next to him.

“It was… it was good,” he said, taking a sip of water from his bottle and avoiding all eye contact from everyone.

“Okay…. Y/N, what about you? What was Spencer like as a husband?”

You looked nervous as Spencer finally found it in himself to look at someone else again, desperately avoiding Emily's probing gaze.

“It was…. Nice. To switch off for a while. Not think too much, just…. Pretend?”

“Really? It was hard for me to get into character, and I lived alone. You and Spencer had to keep up a double act,” Luke laughed and shook his head, and Spencer found the ensuing silence more than a little awkward.

“I don't know, I just think it was kind of nice,” you said after too long of a pause. “Living with someone again. Less lonely, you know?”

Some sad smiles flicked your way in sympathy, then out the window, and you found yourself looking up at Spencer directly across from you and smiling shyly.

“Maybe I should start dating again,” you sighed under your breath when no one else was listening. But Spencer was listening. Spencer was always listening to you.

Two days in the office working late on paperwork and research was all Spencer could handle before he started asking questions.

Two hours into overtime, the moon was out, and the light in the office had dimmed just enough for the majority of the light in the room to be coming from your computer screen and desk lamp.

Spencer watched you casually, quick to look away any time you looked up at him, the feeling of his eyes burning into you, alerting you to his attention.

After a few minutes of looking up just as he looked away, you sighed in resignation and confronted him.

“What is it, Spencer?”

“Hmm? No, um… nothing,” he said, fumbling his pencil so it fell to the ground. He stood and retrieved it before hesitating and taking a step closer to your desk.

“You're really good at your undercover work, you know?” He said with a cute smile, leaning on the side of your desk as you looked up at him.

“What does that mean?” you asked, suddenly on edge. Spencer didn't usually pay you compliments, and you'd hoped to completely drop the topic of the cover completely after you'd landed and closed the case.

“I don't know, it's just… it seemed like you put a lot of yourself into it.”

“It was work. I put a lot of myself into everything I do. Work is included in that.”

“Work…” he said, nodding. He almost turned around and walked away. Almost.

“You kissed me that morning, you know?”

It didn't come out loud, but it resonated around the empty room anyway as you felt your heartbeat faster.

“You were awake?” You squeaked out before you could stop yourself, suddenly looking up Spencer with pleading eyes as you willed him to tell you he was joking.

“Yes, I was- hold on, you thought I was asleep? You kissed me because you thought I was asleep?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“It was just something… I didn't think, and-”

“Y/N, I kissed you back. Why did you think I was asleep?”

“Well, you didn't kiss back hard enough if I hardly noticed, did you?” you pouted, trying to go back to your work, but finding yourself with a brain so blank you couldn't even pretend to type. “I was acting, Spencer. I just.. got too into it, I suppose.”

“Y/N, look at me please,” Spencer pleaded, but you kept your head stubbornly turned away.

You felt his eyes on you, heard him take a step closer. Then another. You felt him loom over you, saw his hand come to rest beside yours on your desk.

Finally, you cracked.

“Spencer, I really don't think-” you stood and faced him, and immediately regretted both actions.

You'd shared a bed for two months, but this was definitely the closest you'd ever gotten. You could practically taste Spencer. You stood almost attached at the hip, his mouth not even inches from your own, but centimetres.

His forehead practically rest against your own, and he clutched your waist for balance, bringing you in closer.

You were stunned into silence, and when he grabbed your wrist in his hand and looked down at it in silence for a minute, you stood with baited breath for him to do something, anything else.

“The average resting heart rate for someone your age and activity level is around 75 beats per minute. I estimate yours is currently between 112 and 115. Are you acting now, too?”

You almost wanted to pull away and pout, but before you could do anything with your bottom lip, he'd claimed it with his own. His kiss was soft and delicate but intentional. His second was bolder, harder, and invasion of all your senses as he cupped your chin in his hand and lifted it just a little higher, pressing his tongue between your lips as he begged for permission.

A small moan granted him everything he wanted, as his hands sparked up your skin.

When he finally pulled away, not far enough to be out of your reach yet, your pants filled the air, syncopated as you breathed each other in and out.

“Let's keep acting. Just for now,” he gasped, whispering in your ear as he stroked your cheeks.

“Please,” he whispered as he once again claimed your lips.

[koy6na]

conflicted

xavier isn't really your type, so you say. so why does being with him feel so incredibly right? tags: 4.8k words, nsfw, overstimulation, creampie, spit mentioned, mating press, fem reader

a/n: i wanted to write reader as someone who has trouble knowing what she wants and is in denial of her feelings. xavier is very understanding of this. also sorry this got wayyyy too long i went on a weird tangent towards the end oopsie:3

he’s not the type you typically go for. he’s a bit of a basket case and his eyes are unusually assertive. maybe it was the unavoidable fact that he was your co-worker that made him desirable to you that night. maybe it was those annoyingly alluring blue eyes whose gaze you tried your hardest to avoid. either way it wasn’t like the two of you were dating. if you asked him exactly what you were he’d probably categorize you as colleagues.

sure, you had hooked up a handful of times. you’d “mistakenly” stumble upon his doorstep, claiming it was a drunken accident after a clumsy night out. he’d insist on getting you your first sip of water in over four hours and a nice meal to combat the liquor. before bed when you’re washing your face in his bathroom, you tell yourself it that it doesn't quite feel right. he’s too uniform, too clean, and way too normal. you didn’t mean to lead him on. you never thought he'd grow to like you this much. you're not sure how to feel.

your last hookup was with a friend of a friends at a lackluster party, your last relationship ended with a sad last hurrah, and though you don't really want to admit it, you hadn’t really been seeing anyone other than xavier for the past year. it wasn’t like you to be so still, so stagnant with someone who you didn't call a boyfriend. his soap smelled nice and his towels were soft. you swear you’d never seen a cleaner bathroom in your life. today when you show up unannounced at his door he doesn’t question you. he simply stands aside as you saunter into the living room. things were strikingly casual but you liked it that way. it was simpler, easier to digest. no strings or promises to uphold. it was just sex, and anyways there was the matter of workplace etiquette. the two of you could only be considered colleagues after all.

his living room is neat, everything in precise order. his house smells nice, but you can’t quite name the exact scent. when you take a seat on his couch he doesn’t hesitate to take the spot next to you. "did you ever get the lab results from those aether cores we found last week?" you ask as you lean against his side, fidgeting with your phone. you can feel his eyes boring into you. "no not yet. who are you texting?" he asks bluntly. "tara." the conversation lays flat against the two of you. it never goes too low or too high. right in the middle where it's comfortable. you go from laying against his ribcage to having your head in his lap. the movie you'd turned on was beginning to drag, the popcorn he'd made an hour ago was stale. you couldn't help but wonder if maybe the two of you had gotten too casual, but you also don't know why you care so much. you knew what you wanted from him because there was only one thing standing between you.

the first time was a mistake. an honest mistake on a bad night out. you're not sure why he was there or why you even went over to him in the first place. there was a stumble to get into the elevator. you were certain you'd pressed floor 5. or had you even pressed the button at all? a part of you believed that xavier had beaten you to the chase and maybe led you straight to your doom after all. when you both arrived at the sixth floor you couldn't bring yourself to protest xavier's suggestion to come in, just for a bowl of ramen.

upon entering his apartment you can recall the shuffle of feet and the thrashing of tongues. you remember the flush of his face and exactly what his fingers felt like. to your horror you had been able to remember too much of what had occurred the night before.

you were terrified the next morning to discover just how far things had progressed. yet when you saw him, it all became weirdly normal. there was something calm and yet slightly unnerving in the way he looked at you. at first it creeped you out, although discomfort quickly turned to intrigue. it seemed like he actually enjoyed knowing that the two of you had slept together. a strange feeling of lust mixed with something more complex overcomes you with a chill when you remember.

when you sit up slowly, face inches from his, he barely reacts. you see the twinge in the diameter of his pupils but remind yourself that a normal person would've never noticed something so trivial. "what is it?" he asks, his voice is still calm. "i was just thinking that we could be doing something else right now. something fun." you whisper. you're sure he can feel the vibrations in your voice from the forced proximity between you. he swallows thickly, and you feel the motion in your bones. "what are you suggesting?" he asks, the corners of his mouth twinging upwards.

you're both smiling at each other. you waste no time begging or being extra suggestive. you slip your palm over his crotch as your lips meet his. his lips move against yours making you feel the contrast in tempo. xavier's tongue gently melts against your wild, convulsing muscle. it's so like him to be so sensual and particular. it's annoying. a casual hookup isn't supposed to be all lovey-dovey like this. from what you've experienced they're usually clumsy and messy and typically you want them to be over as soon as they start. you always have to push him a little to speed things up.

you can feel how hard he is. the material of his pants is taut against the growing tension. when you start to unbutton him he quickly grabs your wrist. you gasp lightly at how abrupt he is. "someone's feeling bold today." he whispers, the words flutter against your lips. "you don't want to?" you ask, knowingly. he laughs breathlessly. "i didn't say that." he mumbles before dropping your wrist into his lap. your hand instinctively cups his cock. a muffled whimper escapes him. to others he might seem restrictive towards his emotions but his boyish tendencies often showed during moments like these. he was actually quite easy to read. you were sure xavier hoped for something more than a sleazy happening. you were sure from the way that he looked at you that he saw more than a hookup, and much more than a colleague.

the drastic contrast that reverberated in waves between you and xavier was becoming too stark. he was exceedingly successful in his work and he seemed to you like the world’s most reliable guy ever. you were clumsy, disorganized, and hopeless at times. sure you worked harder than ever as part of the hunter's association, but your reasoning dwelled deeper than a good work ethic.

you didn't have time for a relationship, and certainly not a relationship with someone as put together as xavier. although there were times it felt like there was a different side to him, something less proper. something more like you. it flickered in his face like candlelight before blowing away like smoke.

you start to take off your shorts, trying to ignore xavier's searing gaze on you. when he finally lets you unsheathe him, you don't waste any time. his eyes grow in shock when you slide yourself into his lap. your clit bumps against the underside of his shaft as you shamelessly grind against him. you've never done it like this with him. you want to take whatever it is you need from him, unapologetically so he gets the idea. whatever's going on with you two, it was strictly for pleasure. you moan louder than you intend to when you finally slide down on him.

you can't help but be a little embarrassed at how wet you are from just a little bit of kissing but you definitely can feel how much he's twitching inside of you. you grin at the way his hips stutter against the back of your thighs. he's got it worse than you. "i didn't think you liked it this way." xavier's voice is strained as he remarks. "of course i like it this way." you respond unequivocally. you're breathless as you grind up and down onto him. you know he's gonna cum first, you can feel it as you increase the tempo. the stretch is honestly remarkable. he's definitely the biggest you've ever been with but you try not to think about it too much.

for such a docile guy he can be a bit surprising in the bedroom. so when he tightens his grip around you and starts pistoning in and out, you can't stop the hitch in your breath and the pathetic moan that tumbles out of your mouth.

his head is buried in your chest. he's close enough to where you can hear each frenzied pant. you get the sudden urge to tease him, just a little. you can’t help but smile as you loop your hands through his hair, petting the back of his head. he shudders a bit before forcing himself deep into you, your thighs crush against each others with unexpected strength. the angle he's hitting feels nothing short of insane to you. like he's putting every ounce of effort into forcing his cock inside you and pulling an orgasm straight from within.

ugh, he always does this, you think to yourself.

you know he's close and before you know it, he's almost getting you there. the rhythm of his thrusts starts to slow. he loosens his grip against you, snaking a hand between the two of you to thumb against your clit.

he's looking at you now, and you despise how good he looks.

his cheeks are flushed and somehow his eyes look even bluer than usual. his lips are parted and his panting is gradually becoming more like moans. your hips falter as your mouth parts slightly.

his thumb moves in brisk pulses as his hips are shaky and uneven. when he cums, your whole body moves with his. a couple short, hard thrusts into your spasming hole cause your moans to go high pitched and sharp. the staccato of your bodies transposes notes to your voices. you're so close you can practically grab it with your own two hands. he's cumming in you, it's so hot it's nauseating. you can't seem to remember when you starting letting him do it raw.

all that you can recall is that it was definitely his idea.

his thumb hasn't stopped circling that tender spot between your legs. his thrusts have stopped completely and his head rests on the couch now. your hips raise, unintentionally before coming back down. you start to find a pitiful rhythm to fuck yourself on his dick to. he's so overstimulated, one because he just came and you're so tight, and wet, and so so warm,

but also because he almost can't bear to see that unbelievably desperate face you're making.

"fuck, fuck i'm cumming." you whine, tilting your head back as your eyelids shut tightly. when you cum it's like your whole body freezes, you're only able to slide your cunt over his softening cock. you're losing yourself to pleasure and yet you hate that you can't pull yourself together in front of him. you know for a fact that he's got his eyes locked on your expression. so why do you let your mouth fall open? why do you let that desperate, breathy moan slip out for him? when you barely flit your eyes open you catch a glimpse of him.

he looks like he's in pain almost.

he's wincing at the strangulating feeling of you cumming on his flaccid cock. eyebrows scrunched, heaving like he just can't seem to catch his breath.

the aftershock of your orgasm makes your thighs shake like a new born deer. your breathing is uneven as you lift yourself off of him, your own breath hitches when you hear him hiss sharply. you collapse against him on the couch, unable to pry your eyes from the sight of his creamy, softening dick in front of you.

his pants are still halfway on his thighs, yet they're perfectly clean and black. you can feel his cum slipping out of you and you try your best to hold in a moan. when you get the chance to slip away into the bathroom you find yourself in a strange mood. you knew it was time to get cleaned up and head out, but you're fidgeting in the shower, stalling almost.

just a second more to breathe in the misty scent of his shampoo. you hope he doesn't bother to even say goodbye, that he only let you in to have a measly fuck. when you turn the faucet to the right, the sudden absence of the scalding water leaves goosebumps along your skin. you run your hands over your slicked body. you remember his hands around your torso, and his lips against the shell of your ear. you think about the fact that he likes having his hair played with and that face he makes when he puts it in like it's the first time every time. he always lets you cum no matter what and do whatever you want to him. you know exactly how he feels about you, so why are you hesitating?

you know the right thing to do is leave. go back to your apartment and stop playing house with someone who deserves someone other than you. but when you open the door to see him sitting, waiting for you on the other side, you feel sick to your stomach.

his head immediately perks up at the sight of you, wet hair and still dewy from the water. "that was a long shower." he says liltingly. you're speechless for a second before fickly reminding yourself to not let the lines blur too much. "sorry. i think i'm gonna head out soon. got some work to do." your voice is colder than you intended to make it. his eyes lower, as he turns his gaze to the side. you're not sure what to say for the millionth time in this apartment.

you hate how uncomfortable this whole routine is and you can't help but feel sorry for him. for the past few months he's been giving you the same response when you leave. like a child being left with an unwanted babysitter.

like he thinks he'll be fine after you leave and yet for some reason he doesn't want you to go.

he always looks angry at first but you watch in silent regret as it turns to disappointment. you press your lips together in awkward reform. you expect him to give you a lofty goodbye. to walk you out with a chaste kiss. instead he's pulling you in. "we both know you don't need to be doing any more "work" than you've already done." he says sweeping you into his arms. you're frozen as he leans in. "you're always so quick to leave." he whispers as his lids grow heavy. your hand rests on his tricep, you smile at him nervously.

you can't tell if you want to melt into his touch or to run far away. the lovesick look on his face is adding fuel to the fire burning a hole straight through your sternum. "i've just been slacking on paperwork. i guess there's more to being a hunter than just killing wanderers." you reply. you're desperately trying to combat this strange occurrence, but you can feel your voice getting sweeter as you sink into him.

you're think you're actually sinking into the ambience of the room and the idea of how domestic this whole thing is. "but i've got dinner going on the stove, so you can't leave yet." xavier's rocking you back and forth in his lap slightly and you can't help but flush with embarrassment.

since when did you become so sappy?

you don't push him away when he kisses you, once on the cheek and twice on the lips. there's the familiar feeling of being doted on far too much for your sanity. you feel smothered by the sudden desire to lay in his lap and kiss and never be apart. "stay. you should stay the night." he whispers lowly. before you can stop yourself you're nodding at him.

dinner tastes like affliction when you're scarfing it down to avoid saying too much at the table. he won't stop looking at you. even after your useless tirade about different aether cores and whether or not your evol could resonate with people you don't like. he always answers as honestly and as thoroughly as he can.

when he reaches his hand across the table to grab yours, you're tormented by the way his thumb caresses the back of your hand. you smile that same feeble smile you seem to be producing whenever you're shown affection and try to play off the way you awkwardly snatched your hand back. with a nervous laugh and a pang of anxiety rushing through you, you can't really seem to think straight. when you slip under the table, between xavier's knees the look on his face makes the guilty, sunken feeling in your stomach a thousand times worse.

you've done this before, so why is he making that face? like he feels sorry for you. like maybe he thinks this should be the last time you see each other. you're not sure what to do or say to him when he's like this. because this was complicated. this was the exact reason you didn't want to get involved with him in the first place. there was no shame in having sex, however the shame that overcame your senses under xavier's gaze was becoming too much to bear.

the signals in your brain are getting all mixed up, your nerves are reacting in the worst way possible. why is this so diffucult for you to navigate? you want to go home and bury your head into the blankets. instead you're sliding your hand up and down xavier's hardening cock."what's this about?" he asks, dully. you're unable to stop yourself from glancing down in quiet humiliation.

"i thought you wanted this." you mumble, barely above your breath. you let go of him and sink back on your knees, your hands resting in your lap. xavier makes a noise, telling you he knows what you're referring to. when he zips his pants, he's looking down at you with an unreadable, yet dormant expression. he scoots his chair back and gently moves the hair from your face. "come here." his voice is still calm, but you can't ignore the sweet, nurturing tone.

when you stand between his legs, still gazing at the floor he laughs lightly. "what's wrong? did something happen to make you act all weird today?" he teases. a million complex questions run rampant in the front of your mind, the simpler ones start forming as solid thoughts. what are we? why didn't you turn me away that night? why do you keep looking at me like that?

instead, "can we go to sleep now?" is the only thing you can manage to say. you can see the confusion behind xavier's eyes but you don't retract the question. "sure. are you tired?" he says while standing up. "no, not really." you respond, turning your back to him.

you're jumping his bones as soon as you enter his room. the way your teeth clash against his hurts, but it doesn't deter you or even slow you down.

you know he won't push you away so you persevere. this is what feels right. no guilt or shame in fucking each others brains out. at least not as much as holding hands at the dinner table(or something). once you're on your back you can sense that alter ego of xavier's lingering on his fingertips as he lifts the hem of your shirt up. he immediately attaches his mouth around your sensitive nipple. you quiver in time with the movements of his tongue, making you whimper.

he's kissing down your stomach, head dipping low. you grab his face with both your hands before he goes lower. the two of you look at each other for a moment, breathing heavy and staring with deep intent. "just put it in, please." you manage to spit out, more sweetly than you intended. he obliges, shedding his shirt onto the floor. you inhale sharply at the sight of his pale skin in the light of the moon. he kisses you, hard and messy. it makes you moan and grasp at the ends of his hair. the sound of his zipper gets you excited. the look in his eyes makes you anxious. "you always want it to go as quick as possible." you're looking straight into his eyes but you know his cock is probably so hard and weepy in his palm.

"you never let me savor it." when he spreads your legs apart you know he's got it out for you.

he slides his dick, clad against your clit. the tip sends shivers through you, and you can feel yourself clench harshly. you're biting your lip as you stare in anticipation at the sight in front of you. back and forth and back and forth. your legs are shaking already and he's not even inside yet. it's like he knows exactly how to get you going. every time he glides over your clit it brings you a step closer to an orgasm. you can see precum pooling on his tip as he grinds against you.

you’re embarrassed that you’re already so close. you feel pathetic when you cum as he replaces his dick with his nimble fingers. when they rub at your clit with precision, you feel a gush of arousal coat his fingers. your eyes are closed shut as a throaty moan exits your opened mouth. your head drops back into the bed as you fail to compose yourself. when you try to close your shaky legs, he slides a hand against the back of your thigh, cupping the underside of your knee.

he gently keeps you from shutting him out. "see, i know you like it better this way. why do you always deny it?" he says, matter-of-factly. you're at a loss for words, mind still overblown with leaky pleasure. when you can't muster a response to him he smiles, lovingly. "ok, i'm sorry.” his hand rubs circles over your outer thigh as his free hand palms his cock. “i'm putting it in now."

you can feel the heaviness of his cock resting against you when he says that.

the initial push is slow and brutal. the tip spreads you open so nicely. as he gets deeper and deeper your face contorts in pleasure. when his hips finally bottom out you can see the way his self restraint starts to diminish as you clench around him.

"you act like you want to run away from this, but your body never wants to let go of me."

when you open your eyes slightly you notice that his are laser focused on where your sex meets. he moves at first in shallow thrusts. this way you can really feel it when he hits that one overly sensitive place. he notices it right away from the way your body tenses up. you hate how observant he is because now he's guiding his cock with his hand to really grind into your g-spot.

you swallow thickly at the feeling. when he starts rubbing your clit you curse yourself for letting him unravel you this easily. when he sees how much of a mess you are underneath him xavier dips his head into the crook of your neck.

"i know you're indifferent, but you always let me do whatever i want to you without complaints. i like that about you, among everything else."

he whispers lasciviously into your ear, igniting a spark in deep in your shivering core. you make a poignant face at him when he lifts his head before kissing him. it's sweet and needy. it's exactly the kind of kiss you hate to initiate. it makes you look weak, but you suppose that xavier's not the only one with a secret, contrasting side to them.

he pulls back to cup your face, still thrusting in and out of you with precise vigor. you lean to the side to kiss the palm of his hand, earning a soft groan from xavier's swollen lips. he pulls his hand away, cautiously as if nearing the jaws of a carnal predator.

you follow his movements and your eyes light up when he places two fingers on your tongue. you quickly envelope them with your wanting mouth. bobbing your head and sucking at them as if they were his cock. you watch in delight as his lips curve into a circle as he drinks it all in. "you're not playing fair." he says breathlessly. he quickly yanks his hand back, sticking his own fingers in his mouth. you watch entranced as his cheeks hollow out as he sucks your spit from his fingers. "you're sick." you say, a genuine smile creeping onto your lips.

xavier scowls in obvious embarrassment. he firmly plants his hands under your knees, spreading you wider as he leans in close. "it's your fault." he says lowly. at this new angle you can really feel the fullness of his cock plunging in and out of you. the wet,clicky sound of xavier fucking you fills your ears along with his frequent, airy moans. "does it feel good?" he asks, his voice is shaky and lighter than usual. it makes your face hot and tingly. it makes your head hazy and unnavigable.

your lack of a quick response only annoys xavier. he wants to hear it from you just how worked up he's got you. you gasp sharply when he mounts you fully. the girth of his cock stretches you out and though it burns you find yourself moaning louder. it's music to his ears. each moan includes a frantic babble of his name and a broken sound which he can tell is signaling your release.

the soft sound of skin on skin is somehow egging you on. you can't help but want to be fuller, more cognizant of his dick. to feel him everywhere across your skin in burning hotspots, forming mountains, geysers, earthquakes all like across your trembling body. you think about the food still on the dinner table and your wet footprints on his bathroom floor. there's probably strands of your hair entwined together on the walls of the shower and your fingerprints cover every surface of the apartment. was that the totality you craved? you weren't sure.

the only thing you were really sure about was that xavier was hitting all the right spots at all the right angles and you were falling apart in his hands. the worst part was that he knew it too. the way you felt around him. you didn't need to say anything. not a word. without even really thinking about it xavier finds his fingers on your clit again, coaxing you through it. "-m, i'm cu-" you start to babble, "i know. go ahead. for me." he can barely get out that last part. you're gushing around him keeping your eyes barely open just enough to gaze at him. he can't help but smile at you.

he can't look away from you. he just knows that this is how it's supposed to be. you, in his bed, cumming your brains out all over his cock. that's normal to him. or at least he's working on feeling normal about you.

"fuck, xavier. you feel so good." you whimper as you come down from your orgasm thoughts are pooling in your head. you start to put it together just how good he is. you're intimidated by the fact that he's amazing in every aspect of his life. you're drawn by how magnificent he appears to be compared to the masses. you're watching his expression as he cums. you memorize his eyes, his flushed cheeks, and the ever-changing shape of his mouth as he releases more cum inside you.

you can feel his cock flutter and twitch. you're shocked and enamored at how hard he's cumming. he can't speak or even form a coherent thought. he can only muster out a symphony of pathetic moans before he practically collapses on top of you. his head falls next to yours. the weight of him is soothing you as you keen in on his breaths, matching your own pattern to his.

"can i stay the night?" you whisper breathlessly, the growing smile on your face translating to your words. xavier says nothing, his face still adjacent to the satin sheets. he simply buries his head into your neck, slithering his arms underneath you. he holds you tightly, paralyzing you in his grasp, before he puts the blanket of the two of you.

[ddejavvu]

m.list - jake 'hangman' seresin

thoughts: #let's talk about hangman !!

fics:

spring fling (series)

hungman

pizza box puzzle pieces

sun-kissed

blurbs:

rooster x reader x hangman | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

surprising jake for christmas

outlaw!hangman

living on a ranch with hangman

being feral for hangman

jake + clingy!reader

personal trainer!jake

vampire!hangman

hangman + casual dominance

hangman's dirty talk

waxing jake's chest

jake's skincare routine is longer than your own

jealous!hangman

hangman is shy around you | 2

hangman likes proving you're his

hangman + rivals to lovers

dbf!hangman | 2 | 3

drunk!hangman

jake x pregnant!reader

jake x bradshaw!reader

showering with jake

the dagger squad as mechanics

cuddling with the top gun pilots

jake with a secret wife

whipped!hangman

jake x shy!reader

booktok with husband!hangman

jake buying you flowers

bathing with jake

hangman x florist!reader

hangman's gf has a bonfire with the dagger squad

hangman comforts you after a botched haircut

top gun x criminal minds crossover

ceo!hangman

hangman corrals his drunk girlfriend

you wear jake's cowboy hat

hangman + dumbification

hangman doesn't recognize you with your new hair

hooking up with hangman

jake lets you into the bar's bathroom

jake taking you in the locker room

you're hangman's girl

decorating jake's car

asking jake to leave while you change

hangman alphabet: N O P

[nanaslutt]

NEED A PART 2 OF MMA TOJI RNNNN

Pt 1. here

Contains: fem reader, angst to comfort, fluff, lots of screaming & crying, manhandling, Toji isn't the best with his feelings, confessions, mutual pining, cunnilingus, Toji cums in his pants, soooo much dirty talk, sweet sweet lovey dovey filth, hickeys, biting, crack :3

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

You woke up from your nap with the grating jingle of your phone ringing on your nightstand. You sat up and rubbed the sleep from your eys, glancing at the clock- 9:13 pm. "Fuck, I must've been tired." You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck as you grabbed your phone right when the caller ID of Toji's assistant disappeared from your screen. It was then that you noticed how your phone had over 35 missed messages from the team, 5 plus calls, and even a text from your best friend, Shoko.

"What the fuuuuck?" You whispered into the room, standing up to flick on your light, your phone started ringing once more- Toji's assistant was calling again. You slid the green check over, answering the call, "Are you with Toji right now?" Her rushed voice spoke through the phone. "What? No, I was sleeping." You answered, sitting back down on your bed as you sat criss crossed on top of your sheets. "Fuck, he won't answer his phone." She cursed, the sound of a car revving could be heard in the background- why was she driving this late?

"You're scaring me, what's going on?" You said, swallowing the lump in your throat as you fiddled with the hem of your shorts. "I'm so sorry babe, it's okay, but I'm going to need you to stay off of your phone, I'm on the way to pick you up now." She said as calmly as she could muster. "Please tell me whats going on, is Toji okay?" You asked, holding your hand over your chest as you felt a sort of nauseousness come over you. "I don't know what that asshole is doing, he's probably drunk or something." She responded, cursing under her breath some more as she finished.

What the fuck did that mean? You put her on speaker and swiped out of the call, not wanting to give her any indication that you were scrolling through your phone after she just told you not to. The first message you checked was from Shoko.

Shoko: Is that video real?

Shoko: Babe, pick up your phone, what the fuuuck is going on

Shoko: This is not the time to be napping, fuck, pick up right now

You scrolled through was seemed like an endless row of texts from her that all read the same thing, until one caught your eye, making your heart sink to your stomach.

Shoko: Why didn't you tell me you were hooking up with Toji?

Your heart started beating out of your chest, you covered your mouth as you felt something rise up your throat, your face felt hot as you took in her words. How did she know you and Toji had been hooking up? Your swiped over to the work group chat that Toji was excluded from and started from the top.

Main manager: Someone get ahold of Toji NOW, and let me know the moment you do, he's playing with his fucking future here.

The thread continued with your coworkers all chattering about Toji, most of them saying how he wasn't responding, this and that- a couple girls you were close with were asking in the chat how you were doing. You were going to be sick. You saw one of his managers say something about a Twitter video in the thread. Faster than the speed of light, you opened up the blue bird icon, and your feed was immediately flushed with snippets of a video you had partook in earlier that day, of you and Toji fucking in the PT room, the most noticeable account that was posting them being Toji's himself.

It was only then that you registered Toji's assistant had been talking to you as her repeated call of your name left her lips and entered your brain. "Fuck." You covered your mouth with your hand and rushed to the bathroom, your name could be heard yelling out to you through the speaker as you barely made it into the restroom in time. Coughing as your knees lay next to the toilet bowl, you heaved air into your lungs as you tried to process what was going on. You were so scared; a million questions rattled through your brain.

Why would Toji post that now? The two of you had been doing this and filming it for months, so why now? Why could no one get ahold of him? Were you going to get fired? We're you safe right now? Toji has been the sex symbol of the MMA world for years, he had too many fangirls to keep track of, surely they had it out for your head now. You groaned into the small space of the bathroom, flushing the toilet you stood up on shaky legs and walked back into your bedroom.

Toji's assistant must've heard your breathing because she called out to you again, "Are you okay? I heard the toilet flush. Fuck I'm going to kill him I swear I-" Your weak voice cut her off, "I gotta go." You said, not hearing her protests as you clicked the big red button on the screen, ending the call. Anger, confusion, and sadness along with all of these unanswered questions consumed your entire being as you opened up Toji's chat and spilled your guts out to him.

You screamed, your voice cracking as fat tears rolled down your face, curses coming out broken as you choked on your words; and to think you were actually starting to like him. Of course, he was like all the others. You threw your phone against the wall, a loud thumb resounding against the hard surface as you buried your head in your hands, sobbing into the silent room as you waited to hear the knock of Toji's assistant through the wall.

--

Toji doesn't think he's ever felt so frantic in his life, even amidst all the chaos that would come with showing his face in public, especially around what was going on right now, he forgot to throw on a face mask as he ran into the elevator, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for the numbers to decline, hitting the bottom floor.

How was he going to fix this? Could he fix this? He swore he would never throw another punch again if he couldn't make this right, fuck being the world champion MMA fighter, that didn't mean anything if you weren't there by his side. He was thrown back to earlier that day when he had invited you over to his house for drinks, feeling dejected when you had to decline, saying you had a lot of work to do and errands to run- and so little time to do so. He couldn't help but think how things would've been if you had come over for drinks.

The two of you would've drank some expensive liquor he got from some rich old man at a company dinner, probably bickered; as the two of you did. He bet you would've been rolling around together in his sheets right now, continuing what had occurred earlier in the day. He ultimately would've missed the text he got from the strange number from being so absolved in you-- or maybe the two of you would've been cuddling by then, your naked chest pressed to his as some show played in the background of his too-large bedroom while he sipped on the expensive liquor and felt your heartbeat against his skin.

There was always the possibility he could've seen the message after the two of you were finished, and clicked on it anyways; at least then you wouldn't be thinking he betrayed your trust and had leaked the video himself, and you could've delt with it together.

He couldn't stop thinking about how uncharacteristically sad and weak you sounded. The anger still being evident in your voice, but the sorrow and betrayal were thick in your tone, you sounded utterly defeated. He had never heard you curse his name in the way you did through the phone. You really sounded like you meant it. By the time he came to, he was already halfway to your house, he had no idea how he had gotten so far and not realized. He could have been running people down in the street and passing through every red light and not have known.

He prayed he would make it to your house before anyone else did, after all, he knows all the shortcuts to your home, he had spent a lot of time there over the past months you two had been doing whatever it was you were doing. He swerved past cars, ignoring his blinker signal as he raced through gaps in the lines of the road between vehicles, not being conscious of his well-being as the only thought on his mind was to get to you.

He pulled into your housing complex, parked his very expensive car on the side of the road, and didn't even bother locking it as he made a b-line for your front door. You were still crumpled on your bed and crying when you heard the frantic knock on your door, signaling to you that Toji's assistant had arrived. You pulled yourself off of your now tear stained sheets and wiped your wet cheeks before you started making your way for the front door.

The pounding continued, making you scrunch your eyebrows together in annoyance. You know she had no idea how to know if you heard her, but you were feet away from the door, have some patience. With a sigh, you turned the handle to your door and swung it open, stepping to the side to let her in, when you froze. Standing in front of you was none other than Toji himself, he was panting like he had just finished running a marathon, his hair was damp, his shirt was wrinkled, and he looked more of a mess than you did.

For some reason, Toji was the last person you were expecting to see, hearing about his disappearance from everyone and all. You registered his presence too late as he forced himself through the doorway and into your home. "Toji-" You started, feeling the anger start to rise, and the tears start to form in your sockets. "Let me talk." He said, quietly, shutting the door behind him as he took slow and careful steps toward you as you backed away.

You felt like the prey, and he was a predator the way he was stalking your movements. "Ill scream right now." You said as serious as you've ever said anything, keeping your eyes on him, unwavering. "It wasn't me-" He tried to speak. "Get the fuck out of my house!" You yelled, not wanting to hear him out. He called out your name softly, followed by a please. "Toji, get the fuck out!!" You repeated, pointing your hand angrily to the door behind him. Your sudden movements broke his stalking spell as he took long strides quickly up to you. "Stop!" you yelled again, louder this time.

You turned away from him to excape to another room, but you were too late. He grabbed your arm with a force that scared you, keeping your body in place as he wrapped the arm around your body, placing his other hand firmly over your mouth as he pressed you back against his chest, keeping you in place there. You tried yelling against his palm, curling your arms up to dig your nails into his forearms as you wiggled against his iron grip.

He knew this was absolutely the wrong way to go about this, but he had never done anything like this before, his emotions were too overwhelming. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He whispered, holding you against him, making sure his hand placement on your hip wasn't hurting you too bad as he brought you down on the floor to your knees, all the while his hand stayed over your mouth as tears flowed freely down your face, curing into his hand.

"It wasn't me, baby it wasn't me who posted that video." He said softly, keeping his hand over your mouth while he got his words out, making sure you were listening. "I would never do that to you." He continued, while you gripped his large forearm with a force he didn't even know was possible for you to exert, breathing heavily as your screams and attempts to excapre from his arms died down.

How were you supposed to believe him? A part of you really wanted to, Toji did not seem like the kind of man who would do this, so boldly if anything. Why would he post your sex tape on his main account unless he was batshit crazy? But you knew there were definitely secrets this man had under his belt, which made you skeptical as you tried to listen to his words, taking deep breaths in through your nose to get your emotions under control.

"My phone got hacked, that's the reason no one could reach me, the reason you couldn't reach me." he made a point to emphasize. "I clicked on some stupid fucking link because my ego felt bruised.." He paused, to which you scrunched your eyebrows in confusion at his explanation, but listened nonetheless. "And my phone shut down. I got a call from my manager cussing me out for posting that shit, but I explained everything to him." He said softly, keeping his iron grip on your body.

The tears still flowed over your cheeks, dampening his fingers as he spoke, "When I saw your messages I came over here as fast as I could, I'm sorry for not responding I-" He paused, swallowing a lump in his throat, "I couldn't let you think I would do this to you, I had to know you were okay." He said, feeling his face heat up at the words he was saying, the man had never been so vulnerable in his life.

He kept his hand around your mouth for a couple moments after, letting you absorb his words before his hand fell from your mouth, the arm around your body loosening in tandem. "Never grab me like that again." We're the first words that fell from your lips, making him wince at your harsh tone. "Where is your phone?" You asked next. "My house." He responded quickly, trying to gauge your reaction now that you had heard the truth.

You stood from his grasp, his body staying on the floor as he watched you get up and walk forward a couple steps, looking like you were wiping your eyes while you faced away from him before you turned around to look at him, and with a quivering lip you sighed, sliding your body down the wall adjacent from him, only a couple feet in front of him as you tipped your head back against the wall and let the hot tears roll down your flushed cheeks, "Fuck." Your voice came out cracked, "What am I going to do." You cried, covering your mouth as you kept your eyes shut, sobbing in front of him.

"The team is meeting at my house, we'll figure this out." He spoke, trying to reassure you, but his words only resulted in you snapping at him. "Easy for you to say! Everyone is in love with you! Do you have ANY idea how many people would kill to sleep with you?" You said, dropping your chin as you raised up from your spot on the floor, now standing in front of him.

He called your name, slowly standing from the floor as well as you continued yelling at him, "Those people are going to hunt me down for this Toji! Fuck! This is such a fucking mess, I should've never slept with you in the first place." Toji's breath caught in his throat as your words hit him harder than any punch he's ever received in the ring. You continued pacing in front of him, running your hands through your hair and cursing under your breath.

"You really mean that?" He said, making you stop your pacing. "You would really take all of that back?" He was trying and failing to keep the hurt out of his voice, but you were too overwhelmed to notice it anyway. "Well we wouldn't be in this situation if you hadn't kissed me all those months ago would we?" You spat, looking him up and down. His eyebrows scrunched together as his eyes squinted at you, "This isn't my fault." He spoke, tilting his head at you.

"Who's fault is it then?" You challenged, walking up to him and placing your chest inches from his. "YOU hired me on the team, YOU kissed me first, YOU took the first video, YOU started this." You said, poking your nail into his chest with every point you made. "So were just going to skip over how YOU accepted this job, YOU kissed me back, YOU begged me to take the video, this is not my fault!" He yelled back, shaking his head at you.

"Well, It's sure as hell not mine!" You defended yourself, backing up from his body as you shook your head in disbelief. "I never fucking said it is!" He yelled your name, "This is not out fault!" He tried to keep his composure, but you were making it so fucking hard. "Then who's is it then, huh? Who's is it?" You challenged, tilting your head at him and squinting your eyes as you waited for a response that never came.

"That's what I thought If we just never fucking started this in the first place, we. wouldn't. be. here." You spat through your teeth, making the vein on his forehead pop out in annoyance as he felt his heart sink to the bottom of his feet. Maybe he was wrong about you, he really thought there might be something here but the way you were so willing to wish so easily that you never started this with him in the first place was making him rethink that. "Fuck!" You shoved his chest when he didn't answer, walking into your bedroom to excape this conversation, you felt like you were going to be sick again.

"Where are you going?" He yelled, walking after you as you made your way through the doorway into your personal space. "Anywhere if it means you're not there." You said back, biting your lip between your teeth as you tried to take deep breaths to calm your angry stomach. You weren't sure you were even mad at Toji for this, you just needed someone to blame. He was right after all, you took on this job, you chose to cross this line with him, you consented to everything, but the thought that you might even be a little responsible for this was driving you to deflect, deflect, deflect.

"That's it then? We're done talking?" He said, following closely behind you as you distanced yourself from him with the bet between you. "Toji I don't know what else you want me to say." You said, waving your arms out in front of you as you sighed, shaking your head at him. "Tell me you don't regret this." He said, the sadness returning to his voice. "Tell me you don't regret the last 12 fucking months we spent doing this just because of this." He said like the current situation was nothing.

You laughed incredulously, finding no humor in the situation, "This, could very well be the end of my career." You said, ignoring his first demand. "This might be nothing to some big hot shot celebrity like you, whos sitting on some fucking gold mine, but I'm a little different Toji, I'm not some famous celebrity who can just never work again after this and be fine." You said, your lip quivering as you spoke.

"That's not what I meant." He tried to interject, to no avail as you continued ranting. "Who is going to hire the slut who whored herself out for the number one MMA fighter in the world? No company wants that kind of baggage." You said, shaking your head. "Don't say that shit about yourself." He said, looking sternly into your eyes. "That's all they fucking see Toji, that's all everyone thinks I am." You said, huffing out a curt laugh once more.

"Who cares what a bunch of strangers think about you? They don't matter!" He tried to reason. "You don't fucking get it! You're not listening to me!" You responded, raising your voice. "No, You're not listening to me!" He yelled loudly, catching you off guard at the desperation in his voice. "It doesn't matter what they think because I know. I know what you are. Do you want me to spell it out for you? Huh?" He yelled, his voice cracking as your crying picked up again, hot tears running down your face.

"I love you, okay? I'm in love with you." He yelled, his chest heaving. "Do you see me talk to anyone the way I talk to you? I don't even fucking look at anyone besides you." He said, exasperated, watching the fat tears roll down your cheeks as you watched him with a slack jaw as he made his way to your side of the bed. "The first person I look at when I finish a match, it's always you. It will always be you." He said, grabbing your face in his hands as you stared up at him, silently sobbing, your hands coming to rest on the small of his wasit.

"So tell me you don't regret what we've built, tell me." He said, clenching his jaw under the weight of his teeth. Your red eyes gazed up at him, iris swirling with confusion, sadness, anger, reciprocation. You were thrown back to what started all this as you stood on your tippy toes and crashed your lips with his, hot tears flowing freely from your eyes.

Toji inhaled sharply, wiping the hot tears from your cheeks before dropping his hands to your waist he pressed you against his body, moving your lips together needily. You whined shortly into his mouth, smoothing your hands over to the front of his chest as you started pulling up his shirt, trying to get him naked. Toji understood fully, pulling away from the kiss, he yanked his shirt off of his body in one swift movement and placed his large hands back onto your hips, connecting your lips again.

Toji walked the both of you back a couple feet, bumping the back of your shins against the bottom of the bed frame. You wrapped your arms around his strong neck and let him pick up your body, his hands coming to grip under your thighs as he wrapped your legs around his torso and climbed onto your bed, laying your back down on the sheets.

The two of you gasped and panted into the other's mouth through the messy kiss, quiet moans could be heard from the both of you when Toji started humping his hips shallowly into your clothed cunt, to which you wrapped your legs tighter around his large frame, encouraging the feeling. "I don't-" kiss "regret this-" you whispered against his lips, opening your eyes that locked onto his darker ones, blurry from the proximity. "Yeah?" He breathed into your cavern, one of his hands coming down to pull your legs off of his waist so he could pull your night shorts off.

"Yeah~" You wined, running your hands over his toned chest while he leaned back on his heels and pulled your shorts and panties down your body in one swift movement, exposing your already-soaked cunt to his eyes. Toji wrapped his arms around your thighs and pushed you higher up on the bed, making room for himself as he slotted himself between your legs, gripping around the fat of your thighs, he let you sling them over his shoulders as he pressed soft but needy kisses to the insides of your thighs.

"Toji~" You whimpered, keeping your swollen eyes on his as he looked up at you like you hung the stars in the sky. He tightened his hold on your thighs, squeezing the fat in comfort, "It's just us baby, let me take care of you." his deep voice spoke softly. The rapidness in which you were experiencing all of your emotions at once was giving you whiplash, but Toji's comforting thumb rubbing your skin was helping you ground yourself.

You nodded, and with that, Toji vacuumed his lips to your clit and got to work. "Ffuuck~" You wined breathily, tipping your head back against your familiar sheets-- heavy eyes shutting in pleasure as he flicked his tongue over the sensitive bud, humming against it. He kept his eyes on you the entire time, soaking in each and every one of your reactions. He released your clit with a pop; sticking out his tongue he dragged it through your folds before bringing the wet appendage back up to your clit and drawing his name across it.

Toji started humping his hips into the mattress, not being able to handle your soft moans echoing into his ears and his alone. He felt like the two of you were the only people in the world, he hoped you were feeling the same. He knew he couldn't fix this situation with the snap of his fingers, and it was sure to come with some level of consequence for the both of you, but he didn't want you to think about any of that right now, he just wanted you to focus on his tongue, and the pleasure it was bringing you.

He wished he could make you feel like this all the time, you looked like you were experiencing complete bliss, the way your eyes were screwed shut and your head was thrashing, you looked like you were in another world mentally from his tongue. Toji felt extra sensitive at this moment; maybe a combination of the confession and your sweet moans, the way you were squeezing his head with your thighs, your taste, all of it was making him feel like a virgin.

The mattress was also working him over surprisingly well. The ache in his cock was so strong, so he appreciated any sort of relief, he just didn't expect humping the bed sheets like some pre-teen would feel so good-- once again he thinks he had you to thank for most of what he was feeling. He couldn't help but wonder if he could get off like this; losing himself in your cunt as his thoughts kept rolling, he rapidly flicked his tongue on your sensitive bud, keeping his eyes on your flushed face.

"Right there- Fuck- Toji-" You wined, thrashing your head back and forth against the mattress, you laced your hands with one of his on your thigh, the other threading itself through his hair, still damp from his shower, as you gripped onto the strands for support. He headed your words, rolling his warm tongue over your clit as he drew shapes and words onto the bud, loving the way your back arched and the muscles of your thighs tensed under his hands.

He groaned into your wetness when you started rolling your hips against his face, moaning 'mhm''s into your cunt at his approval. He knew you were getting close when you started holding your breath, your moans pausing for a period of time before a larger one echoed throughout the room, another telltale sign being the way your thighs started to shake. "B-baby I'm gonna cum- 'ur gonna make me cum-" You whimpered, squeezing his hand in yours as he rapidly brought you to your high.

The man between your legs pinched his eyebrows together while he watched you fall apart on his tongue. He Humped his hips against the bed he felt himself feel dizzy watching your eyes roll back in your head as you repeated his name like a mantra. He felt his own orgasm crash over him as well, right when you gripped your nails into his hair and started riding out your own.

He moaned loudly into your cunt, sending delicious vibrations through your pussy as he worked you through the shocks of your orgasm. Toji's eyes were rolling back in his head as he felt rope after rope be realized into his pants, firmly pressing his hips into the bed for as much relief as possible as he shook his head against your wetness, letting you ride the aftershocks of your orgasm out on his tongue. "Fuck-" You heaved, releasing your grip on his hair you pulled is back to push your own out of your face, blinking away the fuzziness your orgasm created in your eyes.

Toji left one more kiss against your oversensitive clit before pulling away and raising his body to sit back on his heels, your thighs now slung over his more muscular ones. Your half-lidded eyes dropped to his crotch, noticing the twitching from under his sweats as a dark grey spot had formed right where his cock was. "Toji, did you-" You started, raising your eyes back up to meet his and blushing at the sight.

Toji was breathing heavily, his jaw dropped in a small o as his eyes flicked between your own, and the mess he made between your thighs. That same mess was coating the entire bottom half of his face, some on his nose and upper cheeks from how sloppily he had been eating you out. "Didn't know you liked eating my pussy that much." You smiled at him, wrapping the naked bottom half of your body around his hips as he leaned into you, placing his strong forearms by the sides of your head.

He leaned down to the crook of your neck and started leaving slow, teasing kisses against the skin, making you gasp softly. "Has there ever been a time we fucked that I didn't eat you out first?" He asked, his hot breath tickling your neck as he used his hand to tip your chin toward the ceiling to give himself more room. "Even when we have five minutes to get our shit done," kiss "I still eat your cunt out first don't I?" His deep voice vibrates into your skin, making you moan at his words.

"Yes, you- you do-" You respond, letting him spoil you with his heavy neck kisses. "I love makin' you feel good. Makes me so fuckin' hard to see you squirmin' like that cos of me." He continues, shallowly humping his semi-hard on against your naked cunt as he speaks. "Every time I feel you cum on my fingers before I fuck you." A bite could be felt on your neck, pulling the skin towards him before he let it drop back into place, "Makes me feel like I'm goin' fuckin' crazy." You whimper, grinding your hips into his as you meet his slow thrusts.

"Love hearin' you too," You giggle when he kisses a ticklish spot. "Okay I get it, you're in love with me~" You tease, running your hands through his air as he sucks purple bruises into your neck. "It's just that though." He says, pulling his head away to look at you directly. "I think I'm falling in love with you."

You've never seen the expression that was currently lying across Toji Fushiguro's features right now, it didn't look wrong; just unusual, and you think you could get used to it. He looked so bashful, almost pouting as he blushed down at you; he looked so soft. He leaned down for a kiss slowly, the two of you looking between your lips and eyes before-

*ring ring ring* ..... *ring ring ring .....

Toji dropped his head back into your neck defeatedly with a sigh, he almost forgot what was happening right now, you had that effect on him. You laughed at his reaction, feeling him leave weak kisses against your shoulder as you reached over to the nightstand and grabbed your phone, sliding the green button across the screen as you held it up to your ear.

"Hello?" You spoke into the receiver, wincing when the grating voice of Toji's assistant screamed through the phone. "I'm here, tell me why Toji's car is outside your house right now?! Are you with him?! Why did you not tell anyone!!" She yelled, Even from Toji's place on the opposite side of your neck, he could still hear her words loud and clear. "He got here not too long ago, and wanted to explain everything to me." You answered, running your hands through his hair absentmindedly as you spoke.

"Explain?! Explain what?? Why he leaked a fucking sex tape on a major social media sight, ON HIS PUBLIC ACCOUNT??" She yelled. You had to admit, her rage on your behalf felt nice, you always did like her, but you couldn't help but giggle at her words. After a brief back-and-forth explaining the situation to her, she sighed, and you heard her car start up again in the background. "Next time Toji goes MIA and the entire team is going batshit trying to find him, please at least let someone know." She sighed, feeling a headache come on.

Toji snatched the phone from your hand and pressed it against his ear. "We were a little busy." He said, rendering her completely speechless for a couple beats. You made sure to smack him upside the head, wrangling the phone back from him you muttered out a quick 'sorry' before letting her process Toji's words some more. "I don't want to know what that means and don't tell me. I don't wanna be liable for any of this shit, I don't know anything." She deadpanned, making you laugh into the receiver.

"Oh, so this is funny to y-" Another loud sigh could be heard from miles away from the intensity of it leaving her lips, "The two of you meet the team at Toji's in ten, hanging up now." She said before the dial tone blared through your phone. You turned your phone off, your body going limp against the sheets as you were brutally forced back into reality. If you had it your way you would stay in this bed forever, embraced in Toji's arms as the two of you lived your whole life out in this one room.

With a groan, he begrudgingly rolled himself off of you, walking over to your desk he grabbed your purse and turned back around to watch you sling your legs off the side of the bed and start sliding on your pants; the expression on your face was distant. Toji placed your bag on the mattress before he slotted himself between your legs and held your hands in his face, making you look at him. "It's going to be okay." He said, nodding his head. You shut your eyes, feeling the nausea start to creep back over you, Toji's words aided in keeping most of it down.

"Fuck, I don't wanna go" You said, leaning your heavy head into the side of his palm. He wasn't used to seeing you so soft, but it pulled all the right strings in his heart. He knew this was an absolutely horrid situation, but he couldn't help but want to engrain this exact moment into his brain forever. "It'll be alright, well get through this together." He reassured. You cracked your eyes open and stared at him blankly, pouting your lip at him.

"I meant I didn't wanna be seen with you and that very obvious cum stain on your pants, but that part too--sure, we'll figure this out." You said, forcing back a smile. Toji licked his teeth before the warmth of his hands were gone, and he walked over to where you kept your pants in your closet, you laughed as his figure disapeared into the open walk in closet, his wet pants and boxers being comedically thrown out of the room as he found something suitable to put on instead.

He walked out in a pair of your plaid pajama pants, that were about a foot and a half too short on him. "You know what, I'm glad your sex tape got leaked." He said, placing his hands on his hips as he looked at you all too seriously for the silly outfit he was adorned in. You covered your mouth as you burst into a fit of laughter, the scene made Toji internally sigh in relief, he knew you were trying to play tough to protect yourself from all those scary emotions, so he was glad to see you genuinely smile tonight.

"Let's go big boy." You said, throwing your bad over your shoulder and swiping your phone from the desk as you headed for the entrance of your bedroom. Toji followed hot on your heels, bumping into you when you stopped in your tracks and turned your head over your shoulder. "I think I'm falling in love with you too." You spoke into the quiet air, welcoming the feeling of Toji's warm hand rubbing on your arm before you trekked forward and made your way out the door to Toji's penthouse to meet the team.

Bonus scene:

You and Toji walk into his main room, every member of Toji's team sitting in his living room already as the chatter bustles loudly, computer keyboard clicking resonating through the room, men yelling at poor representatives on phones mixing with the conversation.

The room goes completely silent as soon as one of them looks your way, the rest of their eyes following; you swear a pin dropping could be heard.

They took in your states, Toji, his hair slightly wavy, slightly straight, sticking in every direction. The pants he wore bursting at the seams of the thighs as the ankle of the pant rested bellow his knee. You, adorned in black leggings and some band T-shirt, two different colored and different length socks hugged your ankles, your entire body wrapped in a snug looking grey robe- and of course, the dark purple hickeys that scattered across the expanse of your neck.

Toji raised an eyebrow, his lip curling upwards as his deep voice spoke. "Somethin' on my face?"

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

💬 reddit

← ⬤  r/relationship_advice • 16 hr. ago       

      1mjust-agirl02

I found out my (22F) sneaky link (25M) is a cult leader. Am I enabling him if we keep hooking up?

First-time poster here. I’ll try to keep this brief. A few months ago, I was going through a rough patch. I’d just moved to the city from a tiny countryside town—a major life change. Sure, it came with perks: a good job, a decent apartment, and better nightlife. But I felt… disconnected. No matter what I did, I couldn’t shake the gnawing loneliness. The more I tried to adapt, the more isolated I felt.

I’ve always been a model citizen—quiet, diligent, never stepping out of line. But in the city, my days dragged, my nights felt darker, and I was slipping into depression. I couldn’t pinpoint why, but everything around me seemed coated in this heavy, negative energy.

That’s when I started frequenting a local bar. It was small, dimly lit, and blissfully cheap. The kind of place where people drank alone to nurse their sorrows. I guess I fit right in.

The bartender knew my order. The regulars were predictable: the middle-aged lady with crimped hair, the clean-cut businessman with tired eyes. I even started to find comfort in the routine. Until he walked in.

It was a random Wednesday at 5 PM. He was tall, with long black hair tied back neatly except for two loose strands framing his sharp, bronze-toned face. Dressed in a plain black sweatsuit, he looked effortlessly suave, even with a grim expression. Our eyes met, for a moment, his stern demeanor softened, replaced by something that felt like intrigue. Without hesitation, he made his way over, settling beside me like it had been his plan all along. He ordered whiskey—straight—and downed it in one smooth gulp.

“You didn’t even flinch,” I blurted, unable to stop myself. “Impressive—or concerning.”

He smirked, devilish and confident. “You don’t even know.”

That was the start. We chatted. Or rather, we danced around anything personal, just sharing vague feelings and flirting between drinks. He had this magnetic sorrow about him, like we were kindred spirits.

The night carried on, the drinks kept coming, and somehow, he kept getting closer. Our knees bumped beneath the booth. He was attractive in that quiet, alluring way—charming. That distant look in his eyes, as though he’d seen too much too soon, only added to his appeal.

I think we both needed a distraction. I laughed at his teasing, swatting playfully at his chest. His dark eyes lingered, and when I fumbled with my glass, he reached over, swiping his thumb across my lips.

What came next was a blur: heated kisses stolen in a dingy bar bathroom, his coarse hands gripping my waist and sliding to the back of my neck. The kiss was messy, whiskey burning on his tongue as it slid against mine. We stumbled back to my apartment in a haze, barely making it inside.

The second the door swung shut, he had me off my feet. My lock hung unlatched as he threw me onto the bed, the impact knocking my head lightly against the headboard. His hands were everywhere—rough and deliberate. My blouse fell open, my slacks tangled around my ankles as he pushed me face-down on the mattress. I heard the shuffle of his sweats coming off, the warmth of his spit trailing down my skin.

He’s big. I struggled to take him, fluttering and gasping as he pressed inside. His hand yanked my head back, forcing me to look. Between the bunched fabric of his sweatshirt held in his teeth and the tense, toned muscles of his abdomen, the sight was utterly debauched. The sounds—slick, lewd—filled the room. By the end, my sheets were damp, my chest marked with his teeth and hands, and I had my first noise complaint from my neighbors.

I thought that would be it. A one-time thing.

But then, the next Wednesday, he was at the bar again.

Now sober, I finally got a good look at him—and somehow, he was even more devastatingly handsome. His sharp features softened by the loose claw clip holding back his hair.

Our dynamic stayed the same: casual conversation, teasing touches, and nights that left me trembling. He was addictive. Every time, his grip was firm, possessive—his habit of squeezing my throat just as my climax approached pushed me to the edge. It had me teetering between bliss and unconsciousness, choking out strangled moans as he drove into me, relentless. It felt like a punishment. It felt like everything I hadn’t realized I’d been missing.

If I were to indulge myself, I’d admit I liked him best when sobriety started creeping back into him. He had this way of reading my body like a map, tracing every nerve and exploiting it until I was trembling, breathless, undone. Sometimes, as he finished—his hair spilling over my face like a curtain—I’d let the lines blur. I’d tell him how good he was, how deeply I felt him, how pretty he looked. And for a fleeting moment, he’d soften, his rhythm slowing, kissing me with an almost tender deliberation.

Weeks later, I got a text and an address:

“Want to see you. Be here at 11. Side door, past the gate.”

Curiosity got the better of me, and I showed up. His house was bigger than I’d expected—too luxurious for someone his age. On the way to his room, I passed a door slightly ajar. Inside, I glimpsed pink walls and a boy band poster. My stomach dropped. Was he married? Did he have kids?

I confronted him immediately. Sitting nervously on his bed, sandwiched between his toned thighs, I listened as he explained. He’d been raising his two orphaned cousins for years. His voice softened as he talked about them—their favorite shows, their quirks, their hobbies. I’d never seen him like this before. The care and pride he showed for them stood in stark contrast to the man I knew intimately.

That night was different. When I came, hard and breathless, his lips brushed mine, our eyes locked, fingers intertwined beside my head. For the first time, I thought I was starting to understand him.

But everything changed soon after.

At work, I passed a bulletin board I usually ignored. For some reason, that day I stopped. A flyer caught my eye—his face stared back at me.

In the photo, he was dressed in a golden kasaya draped over black yukata robes, his serene smile paired with an outstretched arm in a regal, inviting pose. The caption called him a “Buddhist priest” and a “divine leader” of some obscure spiritual group.

Confused, I Googled it. Turns out, it wasn’t just a spiritual group. It was a full-blown cult. The photos showed worshippers kneeling before him, their faces aglow with reverence, calling him a godlike figure.

I couldn’t resist. That evening, I went to the event listed on the flyer, held at a local temple. I slipped into a seat in the back, close to the door. Watching him lead the ritual felt surreal. There he was—calm, composed, draped in robes—like he hadn’t had me screaming into my pillow just days ago.

Then, I saw him lay his hands on a sobbing woman kneeling at his feet. Her cries turned into praises as she clung to him, trembling. It was… chilling.

I barely had a chance to settle in before I felt the need to leave. I thought about ending things right then and there—but I hesitated. Now I’m torn. On one hand, he’s the best I’ve ever had—dominant, attentive, and downright divine in bed. On the other hand… he’s a cult leader.

If I keep seeing him, am I complicit in whatever shady things his group does? Or am I overthinking it—can I keep pretending I know nothing?

Advice is welcome. Don’t hold back.

( ↑  734  ↓ ) ( 🗨️ 1K ) ( ୨୧ ) ( ↳ Share )

⬤ toge-talks-shit  MOD  • 14h ago • 

This is the wildest shit I've read all day. My prayers go out to you, OP—but your hookup might be answering them LOL. Fr though, the cult stuff sounds creepy. Not worth it. ↑  1.5K  ↓ 🗨️ Reply ∘∘∘

⬤ blue-eyes-savelives  • 11h ago • 

OP, message me privately. Did he ever mention old regrets, breakups, or friends? Plz answer. T-T ↑  425  ↓ 🗨️ Reply ∘∘∘

⬤ k-nam_mister73  • 9h ago • 

Delete his number. You should’ve ceased all contact a long time ago. ↑  344  ↓ 🗨️ Reply ∘∘∘

⬤ nobarabara_yaps  • 2h ago • 

He sounds hot. See it through. Gatekeep, Gaslight, Girlboss. ↑  109  ↓ 🗨️ Reply ∘∘∘