#6.5k celebration

[userparamore]

6.5K CELEBRATION: 📼 + THE BEAR ↳ for @djo

[screampied]

❝ HELL ON HEELS . . ! ❞

ᡴꪫ sum. it's your third day on the job as a flight attendant. you work around a lot of snobby rich elites, but a particular one catches your eye. a particular one who tips you $300 dollars in cash and wants way more than just your uninvited attention.

wc. 6.5k

warnings. fem! reader, sugar daddy!gojo au, this is how gojo and reader meet, mile high club trope, flight attendant reader, age gap (early twenties/early thirties), semi public sēx, praise kink, degradation, dry humping, squırting, spanking, edging.

an. thank u to everyone who voted for this on the poll <3

➤ sd!gojo masterlist

the low-pitched whirring of the plane’s engine was quite loud. white noise could be heard through first class as you walked alongside the aisle. with a heavy sigh, you’d just wish the day would be over. the overall duration of the flight was about a good two hours, not too bad but you were already over it. dealing with haughty a-list celebrities or elites as a whole wasn’t for the weak. a majority of them were rude, snobby, and just stuck up individuals. except for one . .

as thick pieces of rubber stick against your heels and clank against the carbon fibre floor, you sashay through and from the rows before a cheeky voice calls over to you. “excuseee me, miss ‘ttendant,” and you crane your neck to where it was coming from. sat right by the window near the left— draped in nothing but a sable-black tuxedo with a pricey g-shock wrapping around his wrist, he simpers. “do you ahh, mind if you . . ?”

“huh,” you quirk your eyebrows into a brow before he nods his head up toward the cabin compartment above all of the seats. “oh,” you give him a soft smile. he takes a quick glance at your name tag that’s glued on the left side of your blazer. you lean over against him, reaching towards the latch to pull it down. the more you get close to him, the more you smell his cologne. it’s so strong, you were sure it was some kind of expensive designer brand. a small grunt leaves your lips as you stretch before just when you’re about to pry open the cabinet, the plane grumbles with a rude shake. a rude shake in which you fall—right onto the older man’s lap who’s got the smuggest grin.

“we’re experiencing a bit of turbulence up here, sincerest apologizes passengers..”

the pilot mutters through the intercom— it’s blaring through the speakers. he talks for about seven seconds, as well as reminding for everyone to have their seatbelts on at all times before he stops.

as if things couldn’t have been anymore embarrassing, your face lands right into his crotch. “oh my god—i’m so sorry sir,” you try to atone, sitting up and as you’re up so close to him, you take a moment to actually get a good glimpse at the man.

he was pretty, simply no denying it. you knew him from anywhere. gojo satoru, the gojo satoru. the snowy white hair was a dead giveaway.

he was more of a well known business man—a ceo of some hot shot company. he had his own clothing brand, does lots of men photoshoots, and even modeled a bit in his early twenties. although, the more you gawk at him, the more it seems like he barely even aged. gojo looks like he was still in his twenties, he had a bit of a stubble but was quite really well shaved. azul-blue eyes return the stare right back at you as you take in his prepossessing features for just a bit longer.

god, he was handsome.

gojo’s hair was neatly neat, a simple slick back of a sort with a few strands of white hair running down his face. he brings a wrist up to his face to rub his mouth before covertly humming. “. . oh, am i that good lookin’, princess?”

you gulp once he catches you staring, and then it hits you again,

you were still dumbly laid on his lap as he’s gazing into your eyes with the most complacent grin. “i-i’m sorry,” you mumble, cringing at your own stutter. thankfully, it was probably about four am, it was a private jet and only a few other passengers scattered around the sectioned row. sitting up, you rub your neck sheepishly before sighing. “i . . don’t usually fall on passengers during on my shifts.”

“heh well i’d hope not,” he teases. “oh, and don’t worry about getting my luggage by the way,” and his eyes trail you down before he glances at your name tag again. “hm, i think i’d like to request something else though,” and the more you stare into his pretty cerulean eyes, the more you get lost in them.

his eyes were equivalent to a maze, you’re always getting lost in his pretty irises—never finding your way out. “you’re probably all sore from walkin’ around in those heels, how ‘bout you take a little break?”

and he was right. the entire lower parts of your calves were a bit sore, so you do. you take a break . . although,

your 'break' mainly consists of you being hunched over, propped up in front of gojo’s seat with him eating you out from behind like a starved man. your bottom lip feels all numb and puffed from chewing on it for so long. your lips part into an exaggerated ‘o’ as your head’s repeatedly being pressed against the back of the airplane seat in front of you. the softly made material rubs against your face and you moan. some older woman was snoring in the front of it, headphones plugged in both sides of her ears.

thank god, you prayed whatever heavy metal track she was listening to would distract her slumber from hearing your loud, whiny moans.

alas again, by ‘break’, you didn’t expect this but you weren’t exactly complaining either. with gojo’s tongue rummaging against your clit, it had you gasping for desperate various breaths. “s-sirrrr,” you whimper, a lewd smile pursing against your lips. two broad hands of his had your jade-colored business skirt pulled up all the way to the very hem of your torso— just about reaching near your now wrinkled blazer. as you sling an arm over the seat in front of you, you whine once his nose prods against your soddened entrance. “ngh, ‘m gettin’ close again i think. f-fuck, right there.”

“please, call me satoru, baby,” he whispers against your pussy. you shudder from the coldness of his breath aerating against your bare skin—you whine once his palm swats by your right ass cheek, giving it a mean spank. “ooh,” he coos from the recoil of your rear. so pretty, it was quite funny how things even escalated so quickly.

right before he was buried into the depths of your plush thighs, you were just chatting with him. gojo had a charm to him. he was a lot different from the other stuck up elites you occasionally dealt with. he was quite easy to talk to. you make it a habit to talk to each passenger, despite how snobby they might come across anyway.

with him though, he was a pure smooth talker.

gojo showered you with a plethora of compliments. it came natural, it didn’t seem forced—he’d point out your pretty eye color, your hair, just anything. with your job, you were used to getting a few compliments here and there—but he’d go all out, all out in a way where it makes your heart flutter and fly. you’re rutting your ass against his face, loving the way his wet tongue curls into a few alphabetic letters. he’s just filthy. each breath that escapes from your lips as if it was being held captive felt like it was gonna be its last.

“so . . fuckin’ sweet,” he purrs, dragging a thumb down your slit for a moment. gojo takes a second to admire the way you easily soak in his digit, such a breathtaking sight inside. lewd, but breathtaking. “mhm, look at her givin’ me a little show. move your ass against my face a little more, sweetheart. yeah, fuck.”

your heart does jumping jacks at his dialogue. his voice was deep, rich—and seductive.

the silvery band of his watch continues to skim all across your skin as your hips judder. you shiver, feeling yourself about to reach your inevitable orgasmic peak before you moan out loud. you tried to suppress your noises, you did—but it was no use. you’re already biting at your hardened knuckles but oh, his tongue.

every few seconds, he’d break away to spit and slobber on your pussy. his nose consistently smears all against your folds, getting you ten times more wetter than you already were. he’s nasty, making sure you keep that arch for him. your skirt was pulled up and all wrinkled. the teeth-shattering stimulation makes you feel nerves surge all throughout your body like galvanic electricity.

“s- satoruuu.” you’d huff out in tiny pants, feeling your tummy cave in a few times. your sweet moan, its like a tune—a harmony, hell, it was melodic. he’d listen to you whine his name like that all day if he could. a gentle hand of his runs down your twitching leg, giving every part of your body from behind attention.

he was starting to get addicted, you were too sweet . . candied even, it was dangerous. he’s always had a bit of a sweet tooth anyways and perhaps you were his new favorite treat.

the raving pace of his tongue was simply relentless. you’re gripping onto the back of the seat for dear life, barely able to keep up with him.

ethereal ivory lashes of his open and close every millisecond that passes. it’s as if time was going slow for you— of course it was though, considering how you were thousands of feet in the air. you don’t know why, but the thought of someone just walking by and stumbling upon you all bent over for a passenger,

not just a passenger but the gojo satoru . .

you’d be lying a bit if you said it didn’t turn you on a bit. you knew it was against policy to screw on the job, in the air at that, but it was the middle of the night and partly everyone onboard was asleep anyway. having some affluent attractive guy right between your thighs, you were living the dream. you thought this only happened in the movies.

“aw, don’t give up on me just yet, pretty,” he soothes a tune against your cunt. after a while, gojo’s speedy flicking of his tongue transitioning to pure sucks. you’re shaking within the suction of his mouth. it’s almost too much to bare yet you didn’t want him to stop. he knows just the right tempo to make you roll your eyes back too. with prying hands, gojo’s spreading open your ass a bit more to lick a deeper area with his tongue. you zealously whine once he playfully uses a thumb to poke against your puckering hole. “mhm, yeah. thaaaat’s it, but don’t be so loud though, princess. i know we’re in the back row but still, heh.”

and with that— he gifts your ass another smack. he proudly relishes in your lewd, pornographic reactions. you’re an entire mess and he’s slurping your fervor shamelessly.

“s- satoruuuu, fuck f-fuck,” your breathing starts to significantly pick up. with your chest continuing to sink in and out, he briefly sneaks his dampened lips away from your entrance to bite near your thighs. the way you were shaking to him was just so cute. the white noise that continues to sing and reverb throughout the plane’s structure grew louder. or . . that was just the ringing through your ears—regardless, it was between that noise and the sounds of your own obscene pleasure that had a competition. a competition on who could be the most louder. your name-tag that’s still pressed against your blazer remains to rub off against the fabric of the seat in front of you.

your perked nipples snag in the process as you’re arching a bit more before a wail dies out your throat. “i- i’m gonna cu— oh!”

“another few hits of turbulence, folks. please stay in your seatbelts. time of arrival should be around six thirty am..”

you bring a hand over your mouth in a cute attempt to silence yourself as you’re meeting your high—listening to the pilot, you sob out a squeal from the inside of your palm. gojo’s slurping you up again with his tongue, your grinding against his face makes him chuckle. with his jaw tightening a bit, he doesn’t care—you were so sweet, he could eat you out all day. not to mention, he was quite thirsty. instead of having you retrieve one of his bags, he was gonna originally ask for a glass of water. but this quenched his thirst a lot better in his humblest opinion. his warm breath fans against your cunt all the while you feel his stubble tickle near the undersides of your thighs. “mmph.” you moan, peeking in front of you to still see the old lady knocked out cold. with the way you were rocking into the back of her seat— you were surprised she didn’t wake up. you were glad she didn’t though. otherwise, you’d embarrass yourself yet again.

with your orgasm still having its moment, you start to calm down a bit. he’s still slithering his tongue down your folds, savoring your taste as if it’s the last thing on the planet. his chin was coated with all of your slick, and he snickers before dragging a thumb to get another taste. “good girl. give it to me, ride my—ride my tongue, uh huhhh.”

a swarm of butterflies wanders around inside of your tummy from his words—his tone, it was so soft yet the dialogue that spoke out was just downright dirty. you pulse between your thighs and it only makes you crave him more.

as you’re still arched over in front of him, you take a few hard gulps to swallow as you’re finishing your perfect nirvana state. ecstasy, just ecstasy overtakes your entire body as he gives your pussy it’s final sucks and nibbles. once he finishes, he’s still sat in his chair. spinning you around, he gives you a warm smile.

“c’mere, sweetheart..”

out of breath and pants snatching out of your full lungs with ease—you move into him with your eyes half-lidded. “. . . atta girl, taste how sweet you are. gimme a kiss,” and you get on top of him. sliding off your heels, you get onto gojo’s lap. now straddling him, you lean into a steamy, hot kiss. two hefty built arms of his wrap around your waist, pulling you in close. once your lips meet, it’s just utterly sloppy.

throwing your arms around him and tugging on his tucked out collar, you deepen the kiss. he groans at your enthusiasm, allowing his hands to glide against every inch of your body. gojo’s fingertips dance against the pieces of clothing you wore, despite it being so few. your blazer was still on and yet couldn’t help but rock against his lap as your tongue parts inside of his mouth. gojo’s head leans back as you’re enjoying yourself. but all of a sudden, you moan once you feel it. 

his boner, right in the middle part of his pants. gojo satoru was hard—hard for you.

he grunts lowly, a hand of his snaking up your leg as you taste the sweet remnants of your own flavor on his tongue. the closer you are to him, the closer you get a nice everlasting sniff of his cologne. so manly, it’s a rich scent that you could never get enough of. it was so strong—roaming through the air so much that it almost gave you a headache. 

“fuck,” he sibilates. a single hissing word that comes from his mouth makes you throb oh so easily. you’re swaying your hips against him and his adam’s apple bobs back in rapture. every few seconds, he pulls away to leave a wet slope of kisses down your neck. a hand of yours tugs against his tie that was neatly worn on him. “damn girl you’re kinda kinky,” and he finally pulls away, teasingly biting on your bottom lip before finally departing. “i’m startin’ to like you.”

“more,” you murmur, leaning in to nip a wet kiss of your own near the crooked crevices of his mouth. naturally parted lips of his twitch, causing him to wryly smile back at you. “i need more, sir. we have a few more hours left. please.”

“baby, you can call me satoru. cut the formal shit yeah?” and his voice was a pitchy low, an almost rasp hidden underneath. a hand of his gently grabs your chin and you’re met with the most prettiest eyes. if it wasn’t his long lashes, it was his celestially blue eyes. so blue that it was as if you were star gazing at a summer sky. gojo satoru a pretty man, no doubt. he hums to himself in amusement at your cute doe-eyed expression, hungry for more. sitting on his boner was already torture enough, you just wanted him inside. 

sure, you were technically working but you didn’t care about that. “satoruuuu,” he’s being playful, a thumb still pulling down your bottom lip. as you’re both maintaining such intimate eye contact, his voice softens once more. gojo’s hand slides its way between your thighs before he raises a brow in a taunting manner. “what do you want satoru to do to you? tell me, girl.”

“t- touch me.” you almost whine out, it yanks out from your throat so pathetically. the throbbing you were feeling behind your panties only turned into straight convulses. 

playfully, he tilts his head with a smile. “yeah? touch ya where.”

“i gotta spell it out for you?” you pout, and he chuckles at your frustrated attitude. you start to jerk your hips against his lap and he holds your waist in place to bring those movements to a stop. “f-fuck, ‘s hard.”

stroking a thumb against your quivering lips, his minty breath hits against your nose—you smell it and it’s minty fresh. a scent of what seemed to be some kind of tangy beverage and a gum like substance. with a mocking tone, he presses a kiss against your nose before jibing. “i just wanna know where ‘m gonna put my hands on this pretty body. that’s all,” and his voice was so smooth, an almost purr. with a chortle, he moves a few strands of hair out of your view of sight before continuing his words. “now now, i’ll ask again, pretty. where do ya want me to touch you? let’s be descriptive this time.”

“between my t-thighs,” you confess, already soaked from him devouring your pussy just merely seconds ago. the shocking friction between both bodies had you feral, had you dizzy, had you stupid.

gojo gradually brings a hand down before you press a hand against his chest, pouting again. “actually, i want you to fuck me. please, satoru.”

“there we go, good girl. ‘n heh, aw i figured,” he cheeses, licking a single stripe up your neck. “mhm, you’ll have to ride me though. ‘s only so many positions you can do on a plane, heh.”

you barely let him finish your sentence before you start to unbuckle his pants. you’re so quick with it. gojo stares at the way you’re so desperate, taking it off the tiny hooks before yanking his belt all the way off. seconds later, you’re pulling down his pants toward his ankles. “ooh,” his eyes flicker towards your chest as you start to align yourself against his lap. you take a moment to stare at his now exposed cock and it was so pretty. lengthy if anything, a leaky mushroom like tip that was a bit reddened. he was so hard too, just gawking at his heavyset bulge that had you almost drooling. gojo leans back, rubbing against his thigh before flashing you a cheesy smile. “wellllll,” he sings. “don’t be shy girl. get on up here. ride all that stress away from work, pretty thing.”

he was so cocky, yet you were so needy. 

as you’re still aligning him, your damp entrance rubs off against the head of his tip. it’s peeling open a bit, the skin that attaches to the frenulum was just so mesmerizing to look at. it’s got a pinkish color, almost red. shortly following, a mere tannish color flushes on his cock near the base down. you moan once he grabs ahold of his length, helping you adjust. 

“easy . . easy baby, i gotcha,” he sighs, feeling your warmth slowly swallow him whole. those short seconds you spend taking in gojo’s dick feels like long, consecutive hours.

you’re dripping wet. as you straddle his lap, preparing to ride him, he slouches back in such a sexy way. manspread—gojo grunts out a single breath as his chest deflates. shifting his gaze towards your cunt, he spreads open your folds to get a better view. “ughhh, look at how she opens up for me. ‘s fuckin’ nasty,” he groans, staring dead at your cunt. you were indeed coating him with your slick from the base down. “give it to me, upside daisey, yeah.”

you’re taking his inches as the seconds go by before after a while—you plop down, feeling him bottom out already. gojo moans, gifting your ass with another spank. “f-fuck ‘toru,” you hiss, knowing that was a non-verbal sign for you to start up your hips. a cooling air that passes through the plane sets against your skin as you move. you whine, feeling his hands trickle alongside the secretive edges of your thighs. “touch me more, l- like that.”

“i don’t remember saying you could tell me what to do,” he meets your eyes as you start to thrust forward. he’s got the most impish grin stretching against his lips. gojo grips your chin for what was probably the nth time within this hour before he grins. “nuh uh, don’t look away. i wanna see those gorgeous eyes,” and he sneaks another wet kiss against your mouth. “ride it like you own it baby.”

you start off realllll slow, 

sashaying your hips up and down against his lap in the most alluring way. all six eyes were on you and only you..

your arms still wrap around him and he’s keeping eye contact with you the entire time. with your blazer practically ruffled and wrinkled, you continue to move yourself against him. gojo’s cock stretches you out in such a way you didn’t even know was possible. your walls craved him, you craved him.

as he leans further back, a hand’s still glued to your ass before he smacks it . . again.

he pats it afterwards, watching a cute sour expression slowly marinate against your facial features. 

gojo giggles at your cute noises, it doesn’t take long before you bury your face into the crook of his neck, gnawing your teeth against his collared shirt. “f-fuck, satoru,” you’d whine out, feeling his grip tighten against your ass. his cologne’s got your head spinning like a merri-go-round, giving you whiplash in all the right ways. “s-so big, stretchin’ me.”

“takin’ it so good, baby,” he licks against the lobe of your ear.  his breath against your neck was warm—not so cold anymore. two rough hands grasp onto your active hips, encouraging you to go more forward, more faster. “good girl, mhm, fuck me like that. use those hips for me, yeahh.”

his dick curves through every part of your walls as if it’s exploring. you feel him reach deep within every part and it’s driving you toward the first street of crazy.

breathy pants skate out from your lips as you’re swinging yourself back and forth against him. “s-satoru,” you whimper, feeling his hands continue to feel against the bare bottom parts of your ass. you could feel the bands of rings he wore rub off against your skin also, so fridgly cold. “f-fuck, ‘s good. mhm, fuck.”

“you’re so pretty,” he groans, the brief sounds of skin slapping resounding through your ears. it’s loud, almost sonorous.

his hair was getting a bit ruffled and unkempt, adding to his suave, mature features.

as he looks off into the nearly empty dim lit aisle, a silhouette appears—someone’s coming. it’s a familiar sound of heels hitting against the floor and you were too occupied of being horny to turn your head. at first, you barely even notice as you’re still grinding against his lap. “oh shit,” gojo gasps, grabbing the sides of your hips, suddenly bringing you to a stop. with a sly smile, he hums against your ear. “baby, don’t freak but i think your co-worker’s coming.”

“w- what?” you murmur, and he makes you spin around, still having his heavy cock hidden into the swollen depths of your cunt. glancing up, it was one of your co-workers coming. in a weak attempt to fix your nearly messed up blazer that was about to pop, you lean against his chest. “who— where?”

as he’s pressed right up against you, you’re met with a playful deep voice against your ear. “relax. act like you’re totally not cockwarming me, obviously,” and he runs a few fingers down your uniform, feeling you shift your hips a bit at his touch. gojo tries to make it look like you were just sitting on his lap, moving a cover over you and him from the waist down. you feel so full, you were growing more and more needy, a pout comes onto your lips because you didn’t want to stop so abruptly. you just wanted to keep riding him, but of course—you were working. “play it cool, baby.”

“um, is everything okay?” one of your fellow co-worker flight attendants, serena murmurs.

with a furrowing brow, she takes in the sight in front of her. you, happily straddling a passenger's lap whilst you’re heaving as if you’d just finish a 5k race. “we’ve been some getting complaints about noises. also, you need to restock the snacks near back. we’re runnin’ low on peanuts.”

“y-yeah, ‘m fine,” you sheepishly nod, knowing how fishy this entire scene might have looked. gojo’s dick was just idly enshrouded into your cunt, just one move and you’d be fucked. technically, you already were fucked. he’s tracing a finger against your thighs before you exhale. “but uh— can’t you restock?”

“i would but that’s not my job,” she snaps with an eye roll. gojo chortles at your co-worker’s attitude, he presses a single kiss against your neck and you almost moan. her facial expressions twist in disgust before she backs away. “anyways, just go restock,” and as she twists her heels to walk away, she utters under her breath. “weirdos. i don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

gojo lets out a breathy laugh as you finally moan again—it’s taking everything out of you and you start up the jolting of your hips again. “f-fuck, ‘m close, ‘toru,” you whimper, the friction feeling like hot static dragging against your legs. “mhm, ‘s good.”

“you’re even more dirtier than i thought, princess,” he whispers, a hand playfully wrapping around your throat as you’re moving your hips back. “i bet your co-worker put two ‘n two together. you could have been a little more believable.”

you’re moaning, his touch sending you more deadly shivers before you feel a coil within you squeeze shut tight. the beat of your heat grows rapid and your pupils dilate from pure pleasurable lust. you’re getting close again, it’s coming so quick that you barely have any time to breathe.

his aromatic cologne nearly blinds your sinuses before you feel against his neck with your palm. “i . . i don’t care if she knows,” you mumble with a scowl, feeling his base continuously rub against your entrance. you’re coating him with nothing but a pretty viscous sheet of your slick. “fuck, ‘m gonna cum again.”

“yeah? what if i want you to wait?” he purrs, his sloping trail of kisses turning into sucks. you whine, leaning into his touch as he’s stuffing your insides full of thick cock. jello—your legs felt like jello, barely even able to move. the warmth against him had you hungry for more. it was addictive, you didn’t know what it was. you didn’t get like this for any other passenger, yet here you were. your mouth croons open, whining out a single harmony at his pace. he’s still making you grind back against him, the tempo having your head going for a spin every time. “what if i want you to be a good attendant ‘n wait just a bit longer f’me?”

“but—”

“nuh uh,” he snickers, bringing a smack to your ass. “wait for me, pretty. this pussy’s gonna make a mess when i want her to.”

and he creeps a hand down between your jittery legs, rubbing a few circles against your already sopping wet cunt. a gasp wretches from your throat as you’re laid back against his chest. the rugged fabric of his tuxedo top whisks against your skin and you’re babbling out sweet nothings.

“f-fuck, ‘m not gonna last,” you whine, feeling yourself throb at the way his thumb brushes against your throat. he’s feeling the vibrations of your gruttural moans and it’s so cute. by this point, you’d already forgotten you were thirty thousand feet in the air. thirty thousand feet in the air and you were getting your pussy destroyed by one of your passengers. 

not just any passenger though, 

gojo satoru. 

he’s panting right with you as you’re just bouncing on his lap, two soft padded hands gripping against his thighs. as you bite your lip, your ass thrashes back gainst him and he hisses. “just like that, pretty girl. shiiiiit, ‘m gonna cum too.”

with his deep penetrative thrusts, it’s got you going ditzy. as he starts to spank against your puffy cunt, he nibbles against your collarbone. “you wanna cum with me, yeah? ‘s that why you keep dragging y’r nails into my leg?”

“s—sir,” you desperately spat, but he spanks your cunt again so you could switch your words around. “ngh, i mean satoru. wanna cum with you, pleaseplease. ‘s good, want it, finish in me.”

“my, well when ya ask like that,” he hums, and you feel the sharpness of his hips pivot. gojo groans, standing up before he lies you back against the now reclined seat. “lie back, baby. actually, changed my mind. i wanna push those pretty knees up to your chest.” 

panting, you lie back against the now lounged seat. gojo flashes you that same sly grin before he lifts up your leg—bringing a sweet kiss toward your ankle. “you can lose your license over this, you know? dirty girl, lettin’ your pussy think for ya instead of that brain, huh?”

“don’t care,” you moan, watching him quickly align his cock against your slit. gojo grunts, feeling you easily swallow his tip up again. your cunt was clingy, he was very much addicted to your slippery sloppy core. with his pants halfway on and hanging down to his ankles, he starts up a rapid pace again. “uh, uh,” you whimper again and again, your thighs instinctively wrapping around his waist. you’re keeping him warm from the inside, raw moans pulling out of your esophagus like it was nothing. “right there, ‘m gonna cum, please. s-sir, fuck me.”

“satoru,” he corrects you, a hand gripping your chin. pretty blue eyes leer down at you and he’s so close to you. as he’s jackhammering his cock into your sobbing swollen walls—eyes of your own goggle into gojo’s as he’s fucking you silly. you probably look a mess from this view, the heel of your foot grazing down his strong back muscles. gojo hears the sloshing squelches your own pussy makes and you feel the sudden throb arise from his dick. he twitches inside you and it makes his head throw back. after he gains composure again, he exhales deeply, tapping a thumb against your sealed lips.“you don’t gotta be formal when ‘m inside, princess,” and he squeezes your lips together, licking near the bottom. “open.”

you’re whining, his tempo growing quicker and you’re so close. crimson-carmine lips of his twitch into a feral smile once he sees you being so easy to comply. with your lips parting open, you tilt your head back before he spits into your mouth.

“theeeere’s your tip,” he teases, pursing your lips together with two fingers as you swallow. your cunt still gripping against him as he then pulls you into a deep kiss. with your legs clutching around his waist. “uh, manners baby. where’s my thank you?”

“t- thank you, ‘toru.” you breathe, feeling your cunt throb even quicker.

“oh, you’re welcome,” he smiles and he can’t help but giving you another kiss on the mouth shortly afterwards. the lustful stare he’s giving you could almost be described as lecherous has you more sopping wet by the second. with your legs tightly and securely keeping him from breaking away, he groans. right into your mouth, his tongue collides against yours before he sucks on it. as he brings you into a loving kiss again, gojo’s girth has you feeling a sudden arch in your back arise the moment you sit up. you’re being fucking into the reclined seat, his weight almost crushing against but it feels so good. “mhmmm, ‘m gonna cum. gonna spill so much inside of you, pretty.”

“don’t waste any,” you whimper, wrapping your arms around him. you didn’t even care how unprofessional this was. in the back of your mind, you’re thinking to yourself— if someone walked in again, who cares? not you. “please.”

“well aren’t you a doll,” gojo murmurs in a cooing tone, shoving your knees all the way up near your chest. you’re preparing yourself as you’re about to reach your final pleasurable demise. it feels almost tickling, the fat tip of his cock repeatedly kisses against that same spot within you. you’re whines sound almost melodic, not even caring if your pilot a few seats back heard. “look at me.” he taps your bottom shaking lip, leaning in to plant another kiss on your lips. one turns into two, then three, then four . .

and then— his phone rings.

you’re still a moaning mess, feeling your legs just about give out as he’s pressing such amounts of weight on top of you. gojo’s hands fondle with your neglected breasts that laid underneath your blazer. he groans, reaching for his phone near the counter of the seat. with a grunt, he answers. “tch. satoru gojo.”

still snugly shoved deep inside, he’s multitasking. one hand holds onto the left side of your waist, another holding his phone up against his cheek. he’s drilling into you so mercilessly as if his occupation was a construction worker. you whine, the scratching itch never leaving you. once it comes, it comes. “suguru, ‘m kinda busy. can this wai— oh f…fuck.”

in an abrupt gasp, he ends up finishing first. it’s so much. thick gooey spurts pour into your cunt, filling up the insides of your goopy womb. gojo’s peering down at you and his lip quivers. he finished a bit early. too quick, his hand shakes as he holds up his phone before you squeeze your legs against his torso even tighter. for a moment, he almost whines himself. the strong gripping grip your pussy has against makes him swear underneath his breath.

“huh? yeah, ‘m good,” he sexily whews, slowing his rhythm down a bit.

a hand of his snaps, making you look down between your legs.

he gives you a teasing grin and you spread your folds open. it was so much, so much velvety ropes of hot cum that ooze in and out of your sloppy folds. you’ve never felt more warm from the inside. it was a feeling that had your mouth watering, salivating with your sweet, syrupy saliva. your legs were practically mush, and once you finish, you end up gushing all out at once. it takes you by surprise more than anything. the feeling comes like a crashing, unpredictable wave, a fading fade then departures from your body. minutes eventually pass and gojo’s still yapping away on the phone—yet after a while, he decides to wrap it up and groan. “yeah yeah okay, man. i gotta go now. unless you wanna listen to how i sound post-orgasm, heh.”

“what—?”

with a quick bleep, gojo hangs up. tossing his phone aside, he looks down at you—cutely sprawled out whilst chills run down your body. he can almost see you palpitating from said chills. leaning up close to you, still balls deep, he pants heavily. gojo pressed a kiss against your right temple before teasing. “heyyy, did you just squirt on me?” he asks, and he speaks in a sly soft tone.

you don’t reply and he gives you a priggish smile. “you didddd. so nasty, i should make ya lick it off me.”

you did end up squirting. it was so much. so so much.

you’re still having your legs wrap around his waist before you grab onto his wide, stiff shoulders. “s-satoru,” you moan into his neck, getting yet another balmy whiff of his manly musk. “f-fuuuck, more.”

right before he could reply though— the intercom of the plane comes on and it’s the pilot.

“ladies and gentleman, we’ve made it to our destination. local time and time of arrival is six thirty-three am. for your own safety and others around you, please remain seated and keep the aisles cleared until i announce we’re at the airport gates. thank you.”

“aw, boo,” gojo laments, slowly pulling out of your pussy. a pout unfurls against your glossed lips as you feel suddenly empty. no more thick inches inside. the only thing you felt were the leftover masses of his cum spewing out of you. the seats were a mess, he brings a hand down to strum a few fingers against your entrance and you whine. so soaked, he gifts you with a kiss on your forehead before exhaling. “well, think it’s ‘bout time we part ways, gorgeous.”

gojo helps put back on your skirt and panties and you‘re just laid back with a cute scowl as he assists you off your feet. “i . . can’t walk like this,” and he chuckles at how stiff you were— a few droplets of his cum race down your thighs and you almost moan again. you’re still sensitive, throbbing near every inch of your body before he stands up. he’s so lean and tall. as gojo towers over you, you glance up at him and you’re met with that annoying flirtatious smirk he gave you when his eyes first laid on you. “my panties are practically ripped.”

he turns around to grab his suitcases above him from the cabinet and sighs.

zipping up his exposed fly, gojo leans in to kiss your forehead. “ah, well i can always buy you some more,” and then he pauses. “actually,” he grabs his wallet and your eyes widen once he gives you three hundred dollar bills. “i can buy you more than just panties if ya want, sweet thing,” he slides the bills in between your bra before pressing a kiss against your neck. “you’ve been such a good girl,” and he then hands you his business card. it displays his name and a cheesy saying near the front, all his information in bold blue letters too. before walking away with your bawled up underwear, he leans up to your ear for a final time and whispers, “remember though, it’s satoru gojo, baby. ah, and these panties—i’ll be keeping these as a souvenir.”

[bi-writes]

a hand for a hand | knight!ghost x f!reader

in the year of our lord 1657, your king wields a weapon that cannot be reproduced. as your queen's lady-in-waiting, you steer clear of it, lest it cut you when it passes by. but duty and desire are rarely met in a man's world.

type: one-shot (6.5k), AO3

cw: dark!ghost, reader described as curvier/plus-sized, mentions of war + violence, possessive!ghost, war-criminal!ghost, inaccurate historical settings probably, unprotected piv, cumplay, breeding kink, size kink, ghost is obsessed with your tits (18+)

It is not a secret that you are afraid of the king's men. There is a reason that they have a reputation of cruelty. Ravagers, conquerors, unruly and untamed–they train like dogs, and they live like them, too. By accident, you have wandered to where their barracks are, and if it wasn't for the happenstance of your king hearing your screams, they would've taken your virtue that night.

That one belongs to my wife, he had said, gripping you by the scruff of your neck. Spoil it, and I'll have your fuckin' heads. His queen had been much kinder when he returned you back inside, cradling your head in her lap and promising to have something fashioned for you to wear so none of his men would ever touch you again.

And they haven't. They do not bow to you, but they open the doors for you, move out of your way, try to keep their eyes off of the softness of your cleavage and the curve of your skirt. But there is one that does not, there is one that refuses, and this one you avoid the most.

You don't know him by any other name other than Ghost. The right hand of the king, his most trusted advisor and his most brutal of men. There are times when he barges into the throne room, his sword dragging along the stone floor and trailing blood in its path, and he tosses the head of the king's enemy onto the floor. You clutch onto the skirt of your queen's dress, tears welling up in your eyes, and when you look up, he is staring at you, heaving in the metal of his armor, and you look away as his men yell out proudly as they crowd the room.

His eyes are always on you when you are in his presence. They track you as you move behind your queen, follow you as you eat and drink and tend to her majesty's needs. He wanders the halls, and he observes you as if you are his next meal. And maybe you are–if he suddenly decided you would be his next conquest, you don't think a refusal is in order. Maybe that's the mercy he gives you; just the aggressiveness of his stare and his stare only, and not the strength of his hand or the cruelness of his demeanor.

There is always a party. Always a celebration for this brute. He is praised by politicians and priests alike, because he must be the hand of god, delivering whatever the king asks for when it is asked of him. He does not lose, all he comes back with is chests full of gold and new slashes to add to the growing collection on his skin. Sometimes you wonder if he puts them on himself. You wonder if he drags his dagger in a crooked line down the length of his arm, as if he is tallying his win, counting up to a number that already puts the men that came before him to shame.

He seems like the kind of man to do so–like the kind of man to do it even with the blood of his adversary still warm on the sharp edge of the blade, the kind to lick it clean when he's finished just to solidify the unease and the terror of the next man to have the unfortunate fate of ending up at the wrong end of his adrenaline.

He has no face. He has no name. And if he is coming for you, it's already too late; your fate has been sealed, and you should say your last rites. The only mercy he ever gives is that death is always quick. His sword is too sharp, and his hand is too heavy.

It is late in the evening when you hear it. There's screaming in the courtyard, yells and howls and cheers. You put down your hairbrush, getting up and padding to the window to look outside. The king's men are there, hundreds of them milling about and walking around. They share mead and wine, crusty bread in their muddy hands. They are bloody and bruised, but they are happy. They sing and chant, hold each other and crowd around fires. They left weeks ago, and they are back now, and you suspect it must be victory on account of their demeanor.

You are not surprised by this. They aren't kind, but it makes them good soldiers. They aren't afraid to die; it's a common idea in your culture that for a man to die in battle is the only way to true salvation, to actual ascension. You have always hated this idea. Boys become cruel, and men become unforgiving, and it is why you are so grateful to be her majesty's lady-in-waiting because it means she is your only duty and nothing more.

You are surprised by the knock on your door. You think about ignoring it, but then there is another knock, and then a familiar, low voice mutters, "Are you awake, my lady?"

You tie your robe and scurry. When you open up the door, you curtsy low and graceful, your eyes drawn to the floor as you tremble a little in the king's presence. You've never really spoken to him before, not without his queen at your side.

"Y-Yes, your majesty? I'm sorry for my appearance, I–"

"It's quite late," he says gently. "You don't have to apologize. Is it alright if I come in?"

You stand from your curtsy, blinking up at him. You think for a few moments before you nod, widening the door. He settles himself at the seat by the window, looking down into the courtyard. He has a hint of a smirk on his face as he looks down at his men, still singing.

"I have a request of you," he says finally. You take a seat at the edge of your bed, wringing your hands nervously in your lap. Whatever his request is, you don't know why he's putting it this way. You're not exactly allowed to refuse. "It is time for my most decorated men to receive their titles. They deserve it, after what they have done for me these past few years."

You swallow, "Yes, of course. You have such a fine army, your majesty. You must be...V-very proud."

He turns to face you, and he nods.

"These titles come with land. Money. Responsibility. And it comes with other things they might request," he explains. "One of these things can be a bride."

"They are most fortunate," you say softly, trying to smile. He stands, turning back to look down into the courtyard.

"You are to be wed tomorrow," he tells you. "I know you gave up much to accept your role at my wife's side, and for that, I have arranged for a sizable dowry on your behalf. Congratulations, my lady." he turns to smile at you. "By sunset, you are to be a duchess."

You're shaking when he goes. You clutch the sheets, sinking to your knees, and you cry. You cry because you know who asked for your hand. You know who wants you, you know who it is, because every time he comes back from war, he cannot take his eyes off of you. He eats you with his gaze, he violates you and has never even touched you, he takes from you, and you've never spoken to him, but you know it's him, you know it, you know it–

Your queen is ecstatic. She lends you diamonds to wear, and she fusses over the embroidered silk and cotton dress they've sewn for you overnight. She tells you she's so proud, that you will make such a beautiful bride and a beautiful duchess, and it takes all of your strength not to cry, to choke back your sobs. Your innocence will be gone by the next morning, you know this, and yet here she beams about colored fabric and your new, unwanted title and all of the duties you have never, ever wanted for yourself.

Marriage will be your prison, and you will never be free. You'll be hidden behind closed doors and forced to carry loud, chubby babies.

You are not the only bride that afternoon, but you feel like the most important. Your veil is the longest, your dress is the most intricate, and you are wearing the queen's diamonds. Not to mention, you are to become a duchess, and the rest will be lords and ladies, nothing more. You have always hated the hierarchy that society fits themselves into, but you've never despised it more than this moment.

He is waiting for you when you make it to the throne room. He wears his armor, polished and without blood, his face covered and his hood up to shadow his dark eyes. He wears his telltale insignia with pride, the skull motif of his belt gleaming and the paint of his mask fresh. He stands tall and menacing, a reaper in human skin, and you are so close to tears as you make your way to him. Your eyes find his, and he holds out his hand for you to take. You slip a delicate hand into his gloved one, letting the rough fabric warm you as he brings you to stand in front of him. He purrs, you think, a low rumble as his eyes look you up and down.

You are a prize. A trophy. Nothing more. A gift given for cutting the heads off of your king's foes, and that is all.

The ring on your finger is gold, and the ring you slip over his is silver. And then he gives you his first gift as your husband–a tiara, made of emerald and gold, and he slips your veil off to tuck it between the strands of your hair. The intricate pattern on the tiara matches the patterns along the iron of his armor, and you want to think of this as a gesture of good will, but you know it is given with possessive intent, a brand of ownership.

Because that is what this is. Not a ceremony of love, but an exchange, a transaction. You've been bought with blood, and there is nothing you can do about it.

But one day he will grow bored of me, and maybe then, I'll feel myself again.

He narrows his eyes, glares, and your lips part, trembling, you are terrified. His response is to growl with delight, his eyes falling to stare at the laces that hold in your cleavage. You observe this fact–the fact that you have things that other ladies do not. You are not tiny like them, not thin nor delicate. You are warm, soft, and the squeeze of your breasts in your dress draw him in.

You are a prisoner, now. But perhaps, if you play this game correctly, you can be in your ward's good graces. This is the hand you've been dealt; perhaps there is still a way to win if you steel your bluff.

The party is lively. There is music, gold coins tossed haphazardly on tables, so much dancing and enough food to stuff yourself for days. There is endless wine, and there are brides seated in laps, hungry new couples kissing and whispering soft nothings into each other's ears. The king blessed you all, told you to enjoy your new lives, your new titles, to make your country proud and raise pretty, fat babies.

You sit aways from him. You don't speak, just stare at your dinner plate, sipping wine absentmindedly as you think about the rest of your life and how miserable you will be. You think about the control you have never had, the choices you have never been given, and you wish so badly that you were a man.

Men simply ask for, and then they receive. Women simply hope that their eyes don't meet a flame too hot to handle.

His eyes bore into your head. When you catch his gaze every once in a while, all he does is tilt his head to the side and observe you. The beauty that you are, the woman that no one can have, the supple tits that belong to him, and the perfect cunt he knows that you have under the multitude of skirts you hide it under. Your skin glows, your hair is healthy, you will give him everything that he needs, that he craves.

You'll look so beautiful carrying his heir. You'll look so perfect when you begin to wear the dresses he will buy you, when you sleep in the bed in the house that he gives you, when you stand in the kitchen that he builds for you. Although, a woman like you deserves to do nothing but relax, be pampered, to lay down on a bed of furs as he eats your sweetness and fucks you stupid.

When the morning is early, you sneak out. You scurry to your bedroom, closing the door behind you for a moment of peace. You take a seat on your bed, the bed you aren't sure you will have for much longer, and you sit there and stare at your feet until the door opens.

You know who it is right away. Coming in unannounced, because now he is allowed to, because everything in this room now belongs to him, from the thread holding your dress together to the very breaths you take.

You sit up straight, turning your head. Ghost slips through, taking up the space by the door as it shuts behind him. You watch him as he stands poised just like the soldier he is, looking at you illuminated by nothing but candlelight. His gloved hands rest at his sides, but he squeezes them in and out of fists, clicking his tongue. You hear the leather of them move.

You have never spoken to him before. You've never heard him speak. You wonder if he really knows how to; you wonder if he has a voice or if he's been whittled down to nothing but the sounds that a loyal mutt makes. You know why he's here, you know why he's come. You can't tell him no, you don't think, but he doesn't move from his place, so you aren't completely sure of what he wants.

But you have an idea.

"Y'abhor me," he says finally. He speaks. You swallow. At least he isn't stupid. It's rare that you see a brute with brains. Although, with all the battles he has won, you know he doesn't lack intelligence. He is seasoned, worldly, knows how to convince the politicians and to rile up the uneducated men that kill for him. He must have a quick tongue and a strong vocabulary. A leader bred for killing, a man taught to know his audience and how to deliver a persuasive message.

But has he been taught to tame a cat? How to please a woman? How to love her, how to have her?

Love. What a silly dream.

"Not as much as I fear you," you admit. He hums, his eyes crinkling a little, as if he's smiling. You watch him carefully as he finally moves, rounding the bed before he stands in front of you.

"Wot is it y'r afraid of?" he asks. His voice comes low, from the bottom of his chest. You tilt your head up to look at him.

"That you'll hurt me," you whisper. He shrugs, shaking his head.

"A beaten wife is no good t'me," he tells you, very matter-of-fact. "Need strong heirs. Which means I need y'fed and happy."

"I'll never be happy."

He grips your chin, shutting you up. A part of you wishes he would be meaner. That he would be the angry, possessive Ghost that he truly is and show the kingdom that there is no part of him redeemable or salvageable. You want to sport his bruises and tell the queen he is an animal, but his touch is firm and nothing more. If anything, he's gentler than you expected him to be.

"We'll see about tha'."

Your eyes water, and you stiffen at his touch.

"I know who you are," your voice cracks. "I know what you do. You're a pillager. You take women, and you kill men."

He tilts his head to the side, smoothing his thumb along your bottom lip. You aren't wrong. Since he was small, most of what he has known has been the smell of blood in the air and the sound of screams when he shows up at their doors. He's never been particularly gentle when he ravages. He takes, takes, takes–it tastes good and strengthens his bones. It puts medals on his chest and pretty, thick women in his bed.

But you are no village in an unfortunate land. You are the gift that his king has given him. The forbidden treasure that he had his eye on since he saw you standing there beside his queen. Poised, elegant, graceful, timid, untouched, perfectly soft. Ghost has never known this kind of thing, and if you had been any other lady, he would have married you long ago, but he had to wait. He had to be patient, win and kill enough that his king could not refuse his request–no, his demand–to have you.

He did not do the king's bidding for the glory or for the honor. He did it so he could bite into you, so that even if you screamed, you belonged, and no one would care.

"Just a matter of war, dear wife. They matter little," Ghost mutters. "Let me look at ya..." he tilts your head side to side, observing you. He guides his hand down your throat, arching you back so he could trace his fingers along the swell of your breasts. He hums with approval, reaching lower and squeezing the fat of one breast with one big hand. His eyes flash, and he fondles the other.

You are surprised by the sensation. No one has ever touched you this way before. It feels...good. His hands are warm, even under all of that leather, and you find yourself feeling rather sensitive. You lean back a little on the palms of your hands, looking down. You watch as he traces a finger around your nipple, and you bite your lip when it pebbles under his touch. He uses both hands now, cupping both of them, growling. Ohhh–it feels so nice.

"Gonna be so nice when they're full," he murmurs, mostly to himself. "All for our babe."

You don't know what comes over you. You don't know why you do it, but you do. You lift your hand, gripping the edge of the laces that tie the front of your dress closed, and you pull. The weight of your breasts unravel the ribbons, and Ghost groans audibly when they spill out of your corset. There is a tickle that you feel, some sort of sick satisfaction, knowing that you've pleased him in some way.

"Tha'sit...My beautiful bride..." he smacks his lips together under his mask, as if he's hungry, "Tits of a fuckin' angel."

You squeeze your legs together. You know what it is to feel aroused, but this is different. You feel wet, so wet, as if it's wetting the skirt of your dress. You've never felt it this strong. You whimper a little, and he chuckles, so mean.

"Y'like tha', my bride?" he asks. He reaches up and cups your cheek, bringing your soft eyes to his. The praise, it itches you nicely. "Y'r m'prize, swee'eart. I killed over a thousand men, and y'are what m'reward is, did y'know tha'?" he hisses. "Cut the heart out of a man's chest, like a fuckin' pig, just to 'ave this cunt."

Why does it feel so good? Why are you getting wetter and wetter, why are you whining, why are you giving into it? Why do you want it so bad, why do you ache?

It hurts, it hurts–

"'s olright," he coos, so condescending. "Shhhh..." he puts a palm on your chest and pushes, making you lay back. You swallow, letting him put a finger between the laces of your corset and tug. It barely budges, fastened so carefully, and you gasp sharply when he uses two big hands and grunts, ripping your corset apart. You hear the crack of the whale bone give away under the strength of him, and it's a reminder of just how dangerous he is, how strong, and you know when he looks between your thighs, he'll find you wet and needy and captivated.

The corset comes loose, and he tugs, taking your skirts with it until you're naked underneath him. You want to feel shame, but you can't. You're so desperate, for whatever he will give you, and instead of covering yourself, you let your knees fall open. The groan he lets out makes you leak even more, and he watches with awe as your puffy hole pulses. He moves to shove his trousers down, but you stop him, putting a hand on the chest of his leather armor.

"Wait–" you meet his eyes. Your eyes flutter. "B-but...But I want..."

He eyes you curiously, narrowing them.

"Want wot?"

You swallow.

"I-I..." you reach down and slip your fingers gently through your folds. The squelch makes his eyes widen, and he's mesmerized by what he sees. "I want...Your mouth..."

He snickers, "Y'think a man will eat it so easy?" he raises a brow. "Doesn't work tha' way. Besides..." he shrugs. "I don't reveal m'face."

You sit up, blinking, smoothing your hands down his chest and tracing them along the hem of his trousers. His dark eyes follow you, and you realize he doesn't really say no. You need to remind him that you are not one of his men. You need to be kept happy, and he needs to give in, even if it hurts his fucking ego.

"Please?" you whisper, taking his hand and putting it back on your face, kissing the palm of his glove. Killed a thousand men to have me, so show me–show me, show me, show me. You nuzzle into it, giving him those eyes, and he stares for a long few moments. "Please..."

He sinks to his knees almost immediately. His armor stretches a little, the leather and metal moving rigidly with him. Your eyes widen a little at the position–the thing that he is knelt down in front of his wife, an act of submission.

"Turn around," he snaps. "On y'r knees."

You do as he says. You turn on the bed, your face squished against the cushions, and he yanks you back by your hips. You fist the sheets, sucking in a shaky breath, and your eyes squeeze shut when he puts two hands on your ass and spreads you wide. He plants a kiss on your folds from over the mask, and then you hear the shuffle of fabric before his warm tongue prods at your entrance.

He eats slow at first. Just drags his tongue through the slick there. He's exploring you, learning you. But then he is all-consuming. He hisses, gripping you by the thighs and suckling at your clit before tracing his name into the folds of your cunt. You can't help how wet you are–drooling, wetting his mask, crying so soft as he bobs his head and eats you, starving. He did not expect you to be so sweet, so soft. Every part of you is soft, and he associates the taste of you with the sound of your pleasure, and it's like a trigger. His brain ticks just the right way when he hears you moan for the first time. Not even battle quiets the tinnitus, but the ringing is nearly gone now.

He wonders if you're sent from heaven, even though he doesn't believe in it. But something had to have sent you, something had to have given you to him, because it's too much, it's too good, it's too real.

What he wants is in his hands, cumming on his tongue, crying because of his touch. Too real, too real, too real.

He pulls away. He smacks his lips gently, smirking, and then he pulls his mask back down. He stands up straight, watching you, still on your knees, squirming. He tuts, turning you onto your back easily. You're languid and a little breathless, and you giggle a little when you realize how easy it is for him to manhandle you, for him to move you. You've never felt very small, but he doesn't even strain, not even a little.

He's so scary, it makes you sick, but you can make this your own–you could make him love you, couldn't you? Someone this twisted, someone this insane, you could make him obsessed, you could drive him crazy, you could have the loyal dog you have always been yourself.

Killed a thousand men to have me, so I'll put you on your fucking knees.

It's what you're owed. For all the years of serving, for all the years of submission and pain and kneeling and curtsying, you're allowed to have something, you can have something, even if it's this monster of a man. He may have paid for you, but you won't let a thousand men die for nothing.

You will make him love you. You will make him love you. You will make him love you.

You sit up, a bit dazed. You're swimming in your own head, a little insane from the orgasm. You know what a man like him wants. You have doted on men like him all your life. You know what it is that arrogant people crave, what it is they desire, the things that keep them up at night, you know because you've soothed those fears all your life.

You just need to know how to make him purr. You need to know what clears the thoughts in his head.

"My husband," you whisper, meeting his eyes, and there's a little twitch in his eyes. He likes that title. "I–"

"Did y'like that, my bride?" he murmurs. "Your husband's mouth on y'r cunt, 'n now y'r singin' for me, eh?"

You bat your lashes, sliding your hands up his forearms. You drag your fingers over the sleeves of his armor, whimpering. The smell of leather is overwhelming, but you suppose you must get used to it. You have a feeling you'll be polishing it for the rest of your life.

"I've always been...Terrified of you," you whisper. "The way you come into court...The way you fight...Seeing you in all those places, you have always scared me..." he hums, his eyes intrigued. He smooths his hands up your thighs, gripping onto your waist as he tugs you closer to him. "But, I..." you reach for his shoulders, pulling on him until he bends, leans over you, crowds your space and shadows you like the eclipse he truly is. "I-I want more..."

He chuckles, "I know y'do," he echos. "Could see it in y'r eyes, darling girl," he sighs. "A pretty face like this one...Wasted on her majesty."

"I don't think we're allowed to say that."

"I deliver entire countries at john's feet, I'll say wot I bloody please," he snaps. You just blink up at him, before smiling a little.

This disgusting, murderous, possessive, immoral, treacherous piece of shit that is your husband is really the most beautiful man you've ever set your eyes on. Strong, resilient, unable to be killed, adored by his king and his men alike. He is everything a man is supposed to be, but nothing like how a gentleman should behave. He is built for war, built to take, so how can you get this nasty thing to love you?

Ghost does not seem the kind of man to bend to the desires of ordinary men. He may want to fuck you, but he has self-control. He may enjoy the praise of his men, but he doesn't require it. He may ache for the soft press of a woman, but he is self-sufficient and easily deterred.

So you do what servant women do best. You appease, because at the end of the day, Ghost is still a man, and men are all the same.

"A baby..." you whisper, holding onto the backs of his hands firmly. You dig your nails into the skin there, arching your back to get closer to him. He growls under the mask, metal biting into your soft skin as he grips you even tighter. "Want a baby..."

He cackles, so mean, and he leans down to kiss along your ear, down your throat, biting at the supple skin through the mask. He's still got all of his armor on, he hasn't shed one lick of his gear, but you cling to it like a parasite. He is one with it, and you realize this now, his second skin made of durable steel and patent animal skin, singed at the edges. He's such a fine soldier, too strong for his own good, too rough around all his edges to be anything but a masochist, but he's yours. He belongs to you as much as you belong to him, and it isn't until he slides the warmth of his length through your folds that you realize this, too.

You reach up with trembling hands, high enough to cup his masked face. He flinches, nearly throwing you off, but you shush him gently, cooing softly as you nuzzle your nose against his.

"I'm sorry," you whisper there. It's so intimate, this position, and you know that he has never let anyone touch him this way by the feeling of his body under your hands, stiff and unable to move. You roll your hips gently, up against his, and you let out a soft keen at the squelch of your slick against his cock. "It's...It's everything I didn't know I wanted..."

He grunts, metal creaking as his nostrils flare.

"I don't understand," he murmurs. Affection, it's so unfamiliar that it startles him. That someone can be kind to him, something other than a hard hand and an impossible order, it's not something he knows, and he's not sure how he feels about it. His instinct tells him to distance himself, but his cock guides him closer.

"You," you whine. "So big–" you reach down between your bodies, pumping his cock gently. Your fingers barely meet around his girth, a true testament to his size, he lacks this largeness nowhere. "–there's nothing to be afraid of, is there?"

Ghost snarls a little, gripping your thighs tight and securing them around his waist. You lock your ankles around his hips, pulling, and he hums as the head of his cock sinks into you easily.

"Naughty lil' girl," he laughs, standing straight as his thighs meet your ass. You whine, your back bowing like a taut string, and he slides his tongue over his teeth with a menacing click. "Not a virgin, are ya?"

"I-I am," you gasp, clawing at his forearms, and he hisses when you clench.

"Mm. Not a stranger t'this feelin' then, aye?"

You shake your head, and he nods, hoisting your legs up and over his shoulders as he gives you a firm thrust.

"Good," he mutters. "Don't much feel like pettin' ya."

And he doesn't. He's a menace. He snarls like a beast under his armor, his gloves squeezing your plush thighs as he pounds into you with no words to soften the blow. He isn't gentle by any means–he gives, and he expects you to take, and your legs shake as you try and crawl away from him. He doesn't let you–his fingers spread around your waist and he tugs, spearing you back onto his cock before he leans over you and starts putting his back into it.

Despite the roughness, he looks down at you, eyes focused on yours, and he doesn't look away. Your arms flail a little until you reach up and wrap them around his neck for stability, but it only draws his face close to yours. Your hand falls to grip his jaw, and he leans into it just enough that you know you have him.

"You'll make such a good little babe," he grunts, groaning when you tighten just that much. He's securing his place, making room inside of you so you can take even more. "Cunt was made to bear m'children, m'lady..."

"That so?" you squeak, and he smiles under the mask–you're falling apart on his cock, a good girl, just for him, just like you always are. "Have to finish what you started for that to happen, don't you?"

"Fuckin' brat–" Ghost snaps, but he presses his face to yours, needing to be closer, needing to have you, needing to make you his from the inside-out. A ring is not enough, no, he has to bind you to him forever by making you bear his kin. He will give you many, he's going to keep you fat and beautiful and pregnant, and his children will know that their father hungered for their mother so much that he destroyed a generation of men to covet one of his own.

Ghost has known since the first moment he laid his eyes on you that you would be it. You had to be his wife, no one else would suffice, because no one else could bear the weight of his name the way you would be able to. No one else would be able to carry his babies without dying, no one else could make the sun fall and the moon rise and the fire wane just long enough for him to feel human again, no one.

You start to think the same. You've never felt this way, so out of your body and so aware of it all at once. You're floating–you're somewhere else, you think. There's a pleasure so searing, that you can barely breathe. His cock is deep, touching places inside of you your fingers could never dream to reach, and there's a place that he touches sometimes that makes your eyes blur and your mouth make the most pathetic whining sound. You're crying, begging, asking him for more, please–! Nnghh–please!

He's never had a woman so wet. He has always had them for his own pleasure. He has never paid attention to what they feel or tried to make it nice for anyone but himself, but he knows he will never want it the same ever again. There's something so satisfying about the heavy plat, plat, plat that his cock makes every time his hips meet yours. He can feel his trousers sticking to his thick thighs, knows that there must be some thick, creamy slick coating his length and sticking to your skin that he suddenly wants to scoop up with his tongue and savor the tang of his bride, his wife, his pretty, pretty girl–tha's it, just right, like tha'–

"I...I-I–!" it's more intense than you've ever felt it. A crescendo of pleasure that is starting to grow in your belly, an unwavering warmth that he keeps flooding you with, so good that you can't stop crying for it. You're sputtering, drooling, clawing at the hood around his back because it's so fucking close, it's right there, it's mine, you're mine, mine, mine–

"Fuckin' hell–" Ghost groans, cradling your head against his chest as he stills his hips against yours and fills you nice and warm. You go cross-eyed, you think, shaking as you latch your mouth onto his masked jaw and suck. You need to put your mouth around something, need to fill it with the taste of him. He doesn't move, body heavy and suffocating over you, but you don't tell him to move and make no effort to push him off.

You think you want this. You think you want him to keep you here, just like this, underneath him, full of him, drooling from more than just your mouth from a fucking too good and the promise of something more.

He moves to take a seat on the bed, and you chase after him. You keep your arms around his neck, shuffle into his lap, and he chuckles under his breath as he wraps one big arm around you and tugs you close to him.

Maybe it isn't so bad to be bound to someone like this. Maybe it isn't so bad to belong, maybe it isn't so bad to be wanted this way, maybe it isn't the most unfortunate thing to not have the autonomy of yourself anymore in favor of being this thing's wife.

You slide your hand down his chest before smoothing it over one masked cheek. His eyes close for a moment, and he leans into it for just long enough that you recognize the gesture as one of need. Ghost aches, too–maybe not for the same thing you ache for, but he aches, and maybe it's for this.

Something gentle. Something soft. Something to bury himself into because the flames have burnt too hot for too long, and the voices in his head give him no reprieve. His hands are too dirty, too unclean, and you think maybe that's why he doesn't take his gloves off anymore–there is no cleaning agent enough for the blood caked under his fingernails.

He's more human this way. Less beast, more man, but you see that flicker of humanity disappear entirely when he sees the trickle of his cum slipping onto the fine sheets of your bed.

What a waste. What a loss. He has to fuck you again.

He will never be bored of me, I don't think. Ghost will want me forever–even when we are dead, because he cannot die, because he's already rotting inside.

You don't seem to mind your new position. No kneeling, no curtsying–your duty is on your back and on your side and on your stomach, presented for your husband, just for his pleasure, just for your own.

In all your life, you have never wanted this. You endured the burden of serving because you were at least needed this way. Marriage to you looked akin to death; when the veils fell over girl's faces, you never saw them again. They would be confined to their houses, made to spread their legs, forced to carry children they didn't want and die the slow death of giving their husbands everything they wanted while their dreams were buried alongside them.

Your dream is freedom. It always has been. Your dream is to do as you please, to go where you want to go, to say the things you want to say. There is an understanding here that you have, an opportunity that you could not see before. Before you had Ghost, you saw him as the thing in your way. He was the quicksand that would pull you under, the tide that sunk the earth, the dog that guarded his bone. But you know now, you understand, that Ghost doesn't have to be the wall in your way.

He is more animal than man, and in that fact alone, you feel power in your toes and something hungry knocking at the bone of your ribs, just waiting to come out.

Ghost will hold the sword. And you will hold the leash.

NEXT

[taeghi]

best friends don’t kiss on birthdays

it’s your birthday! and jake’s gift might be more than just a cake.

PAIRING : bff baker!jake x birthday girl!y/n

GENRE : SMUT = MDNI, bffs 2 lovers, food (cake) play, lots of choking, dirty talk, brief spanking, cum play?? lmao. unprotected sex (pls wear a condom)

WC : 6.5k

authors note : it's my birthday!! (happy bday to me) so i wanted to post a bday fic :D ily all, i hope u enjoy!!!! 🎂🎈

you and jake have been friends for as long as you can remember. you wouldn’t call each other each others soulmates, but you both assume it’s something similar. 

since you were ten, jake has made a cake for you every single year for your birthday. every year it was either a different flavour of cake, different icing style or different shapes. but, every year, like clockwork, jake was at your door with a cake in his hand and a cheesy smile on his face. 

you were both in your final year of university (jake had followed you to university even though he despised the city it was in), and this year so far, has been a bit different between you and jake. both of you had split into different friend groups over the years. you were more of an inner, close social circle type, and jake was, well, the complete opposite. he liked going out every weekend, getting wasted until he was falling off his ass. everytime you hung out with him in public, someone would come up to greet him. 

despite the social shift, you and jake were still close as always. jake was still the same jake you had always known. he lives in the moment, makes quick decisions on the spot without thinking of any consequences, he loves to take risks, even if they put you on edge. but that’s how you and jake balanced each other out. like some chaotic yin and yang in perfect human form. 

the past month, jake had been hanging out with chisa. she’s the lead singer of the rock band at your school, the one that performs at every school event and every party. you’ve only briefly met her, like at her birthday party about a month ago that jake had forced you to go to. but, you could tell that she was almost exactly like jake. she radiates this energy, effortless and infectious, always up for anything, her unpredictability drawing in everyone around her.

jake’s never been serious with anyone—just a few hookups, then he moves on. but with chisa? it was different. he was attached to her in a way you’d never seen before, and you hated that it bugged you, even though you told yourself it didn’t. you had started getting used to smelling chisa’s perfume on jake when he comes over to your apartment, having just left hers. you had gotten used to him smiling at his phone when he hung out with you and it was because of something chisa had texted, not a dumb meme sunghoon had sent him. 

what you couldn’t get used to was jake making sure everyone came to chisa’s birthday, only for a month later to completely forget yours. this was the first year, after fourteen years, that jake didn’t remember your birthday. no text, no barging into your apartment at 8 am with that obnoxious grin of his, dragging you to some arcade or random party to celebrate. nothing.

and now, here it was—10 pm, and not a sign of your best friend.

you sigh and throw yourself into bed, desperately wishing this god awful birthday would just end already. if jake dares to text you tomorrow, you’ll scream at him for hours—unless you’re still caught up in this sinking feeling in your stomach. a brief thought crosses your mind: is jake replacing me? 

you scoff and roll over onto your side, how could jake replace you with chisa if you and chisa had completely different relationships with jake. you told yourself that you’ve just always been the only girl jake hangs out with, that now that there’s another one that he consistently hangs out with it’s fucking with you. because jake is your best friend, or at least you thought he was. do best friends forget each other's birthdays? their traditions? 

you pretend it doesn’t matter, trying to get your mind to shut off so you can sleep. you tell yourself that it’s just another birthday, same as all the others you've lived through and all the ones you’ll live through in the future. but it’s not.jake should’ve been here, whether you wanted to strangle him or not, you just wanted him here.

a single tear falls down your cheek, landing on your pillow that soaks it up.  

more tears are willing to escape, but a knock on the door stops them. 

the clock says 10:32pm on your nightstand, you wonder who the hell is here this late. but in your chest you hope it’s jake. you can’t help but speed walk to the front door. you don’t look through the peephole before you swing it open. 

and sure enough, there’s jake, a cake in his hand with a guilty look on his face, instead of the usual annoying smirk. 

“happy birthday?” jake says unsurely, his face contorted in unease. 

you scoff, “wow, you remembered.” 

jake gasps, “i didn’t miss your birthday, yn!” he pulls out his phone to look at the time, “there’s still an hour and a half of it left!” you don’t answer, just stare at him expressionless, trying to mask your hurt. jake shoves the cake out in front of you, “well are you gonna let me in so we can share this cake? i made it red velvet flavoured this year!” 

you glance down at the cake, it looks perfect. it’s deep red layers covered with cream cheese, white frosting. silver frosting was on the top in jake’s cursive hand writing happy birthday y/n! it looked annoyingly good. 

you sigh and step to the side, letting jake into your apartment so late at night on your birthday. 

“see, you can never say no to my baking!” jake chuckles out, he beelines straight for your kitchen like he never stopped practically living here up until a month ago. he finds two spoons in your cluttered drawers quickly. 

“yeah, well, at least your teachers didn’t waste their money teaching you,” you lean on the other side of the island from him, face to face. 

jake tsks, “okay well, it wasn’t a waste of money then for me to have followed you out here.” jake sticks out a spoon for you to take, “now taste it and tell me how good your best friend in the entire world can bake!” 

you dig your spoon into the cake, it glides so smoothly through it, just like everything else jake bakes. when the red velvet meets your mouth, you can’t help but moan around it. damn jake and his culinary arts degree. 

across the island from you, jake’s mouth is turned into a shit-eating grin, knowing that all your anger towards him has melted away just like the cake has melted in your mouth. 

“good?” jake asks with a tilt of his head, like he doesn’t already know the answer.

“shut up.” 

he laughs—loud, familiar. the sound of it makes your stomach flip in a way you wish it wouldn’t. for a second, it’s like nothing happened. like he didn’t almost forget your birthday.

“sorry there’s no candles this year,” jake mumbles out, placing a bite of cake into his own mouth. 

you shrug, going for a second bite, “it’s okay.” 

“if there was one, what would you wish for?” 

your spoon hovers mid-air. you’re suddenly hyper aware of the way jake is watching you, the way he’s close but not too close, his knee knocking against the cabinet when he shifts. you think for a second, strangely struggling to make eye contact with your best friend. your best friend that you had just cried about 10 minutes before this. 

“hm?” jake pushes you, impatient as always.

“i can’t tell you, or else it won’t come true.” you smirk at him, trying to ignore whatever this weird tension is between you. 

jake scoffs, “you have literally told me every birthday wish you have ever wished for since we were ten, why can’t you tell me now?” 

you shrug, “secret.” placing another piece of cake in your mouth. you notice jake still in front of you, his body rigid. his hands pressing flat against the counter like he’s holding himself back. “what?” 

jake gently puts his spoon down on the marble island, you can feel his sudden unease from across said island.he doesn’t answer. instead, he steps around the island, closing the space between you in two slow strides., “you uh, have icing on your face.”

 before you can reach to wipe it off, jake beats you to it. his large, warm hand meets your cheek, his thumb brushes once against your skin, gathering the icing on his digit. without a second thought (usual jake nature) he slides his thumb into your ajar mouth. your lips circle around his thumb, sucking the frosting of his mouth. jake bites his lower lip in between his teeth as he watches you, feels your tongue circle this thumb before you pull your mouth off it. 

“jake,” your voice whispers to him— he’s so close to you. your apartment suddenly feels one thousand times smaller than it usually does. 

“did your birthday wish include me, y/n?” jake asks, almost desperate, “tell me it did.” you only slightly nod in response, unsure of where this was going, aching for more. in a second, jake’s hand is cupping your jaw. “what was it, y/n? tell me.” 

your voice is quiet when you reveal your wish, “i wished for you to kiss me.” 

before you could process what you had just said to your best friend, he’s leaning over, his lips meeting yours. they’re gentle at first, testing to see if you’re okay. when you don’t push him away or reject the kiss gets hungrier. your lips mesh together in a hurried, desperate mess. like both of you needed this now or else you’d never get it again. 

jake’s hands grip your waist, pulling you into him. it’s the warmth of his body on yours (the one that you’ve always craved) that makes you gasp, pushing him away. 

“what? want to stop?” jake concerns, his eyes flashing over your body quickly, making sure you’re okay. 

“just— what about chisa?” her name sounds foreign coming from your mouth now.  jake chuckles quickly, and then laughs loudly like he suddenly can’t control it. “jake? what?” 

“it’s just,�� jake laughs, his on your island to keep him up, “what about chisa? she’s not my girlfriend or anything. don’t you know me, y/n?” 

you pucker your lips, not impressed by his response, it makes you feel dumb. “shut up, jake.” 

when jake sees that you’re being serious, his laugh fades into only a smile, his hands grip your waist again, “chisa is nothing to me, y/n. just a friend.” 

“if she’s just a friend then what am i?” 

his grip falters slightly. you both know jake sucks at talking about his feelings—he’ll show them, sure, but words? not his thing. too bad that’s exactly what you need right now. both of you are unsure if he can give you that. it’s a perfect example of how different you two are from each other. 

“you’re my best friend and i love you.” he speaks, your face is unimpressed and you try to step back from him, but he holds you close, his words rush like you’re gonna disappear, “but i love you more than just as a best friend.” 

you stay in your place, wanting jake to continue, his hands relax on your body again. “then why were you so late to my birthday, jake? i thought you had forgotten about it… about me.” 

“i could never forget about you,” jake leans down to look directly into your eyes as he speaks, wanting you to know that he’s genuine. he swallows harshly before he continues, wanting to do this right, knowing that he’s not good at this type of shit. "i was just—going over everything in my head. all day. i didn’t know if i should go all out or keep it casual. if you’d pick up on my feelings or not. if i’d ruin everything." his hands tremble slightly on your waist. "i didn’t want to lose you."

your heart pounds so loud you’re sure he can hear it. suddenly, all the frustration from earlier doesn’t matter anymore.

you don’t answer—not with words, at least. instead, you pull him back in, pressing your lips to his. jake stiffens for half a second before melting into you, hands slipping around your back, holding you close like he never wants to let go ever again.

jake walks you so your back is against the kitchen island. he pulls away from you and you can see that his eyes are full with lust. you figure yours must look the same. jake swoops down and presses a deep kiss into your neck, inhaling your perfume. he can faintly smell the icing from the cake on you. over your shoulder, jake looks at the bitten-into cake. 

jake’s hands pull off your night shirt, the one you always wear no matter how stretched and oil-stained it’s gotten throughout the years. you gasp at the cold air against your skin, your chest on full display for jake so suddenly. his eyes look like they’re about to devour you. he licks his lips as he look at  your hardened nipples. 

without a second thought, jake swirls some icing from the cake behind you and swipes it onto your breast. 

“jake—!” you gasp out. before you could finish your sentence, jake’s lips are circled around your pink nipples covered in icing, sucking on it and gently pulling it. he moans against your skin. your jaw drops open at the feeling of it. his fingers tweak your other nipples, causing your back to fully arch into him already. 

jake swirls his finger into the cake again, this time slowly, gently, tracing it against your collarbone. 

“what are you doing, jake?” your voice is already breathless as you let your best friend touch you. 

“i wanna see if you, or the icing is sweeter.” he casually shrugs, leaning down and placing his tongue flat against your collarbone, licking up the icing trail in one slow lick. the feeling of his warm, wet tongue on your collarbone has you spiraling too fast for your liking. 

jake’s hands rest on your tits, massaging them and tweaking your nipples as he licks and kisses your collarbone and neck. you can feel your core getting soaked. you can’t believe you and jake are doing this. 

jake dips his finger into the icing again, this time putting his finger right in the valley of your breasts before he slowly drags it down your stomach, stopping at the top of your belly button. 

jake is on his knees in an instant, licking up your stomach the trail of icing. he pops one of your nipples into his mouth again, sucking and pulling on it just enough to get you whining above him. 

jake’s hands push down your night shorts and panties in one go, letting them pool at your feet for you to step out of. it leaves you completely bare in front of fully dressed jake. your body is on full display for him, letting him do whatever he wants to you. 

both of jake’s hands cusp your jaw, his forehead leaning on yours as he looks into your eyes, “you’re so fucking beautiful, y/n.” since he’s holding your jaw you can’t look away from him, you feel your cheeks heat at the compliment. sure, jake has called you beautiful or pretty before, but he’s never done it when you’re completely naked and exposed. “will you let me taste you, baby?” 

you nod in response, making jake smash his lips against yours again, this time softer and gentle, like he’s telling you to trust him. you could taste the icing on his lips. 

jake swipes his index and middle  fingers into the icing again. this time he pushes them in between your lips, getting you to suck on them. “that’s right, baby, get my fingers soaked so they can slide right in you.” his words make you whimper around his fingers, swallowing the sweet icing. your tongue sucks on his fingers, wanting to do as he says. jake’s eyes are glazed over as he watches you, feeling your mouth sucking against his digits. 

with a pop, he pulls them out, now shining with your saliva. he doesn’t hesitate to spread your legs, teasing your already soaked hole with his saliva-covered fingers. he pushes them in slowly, but easy from all the lubricant. both of you moan as his fingers reach as far as they can inside of you. your pussy is so warm around his fingers, he can feel your walls already clenching around them and he hasn’t even moved them yet. 

jake kneels on the ground again, his fingers starting to push out and then back in again. he’s stretching you, preparing you for his cock later on. his fingers adventure and experiment with touching all over your walls. he’s determined to find the spot that makes you cry out. he’s determined to make this the best birthday you’ve ever had. 

your hands grip the kitchen island behind you, trying to stable yourself as jake starts to finger fuck you. his fingers are curling at just the right spots. your bottom lip is glued between your teeth as you watch your best friend stare so intently at where his fingers disappear into your pussy. your folds continue to suck his fingers in everytime he tries to pull them out. your juices and saliva are mixing around his slender fingers, dripping down the sides of them already. 

you throw your head back over your shoulder, the pleasure making your muscles contract and relax over and over again as jake builds your orgasm. you see the red velvet cake that he had made you, keeping your fourteen year tradition alive. you don’t stop yourself from reaching over and swiping the icing off the cake and onto your fingers. jake watches you as you bring your fingers to your folds, smearing the icing around the skin between your legs, right where you want jake’s mouth to be. 

“you want my tongue, baby?” jake smirks up at you from between your legs, his fingers still fucking into you. 

“please, i wanna cum so bad.” 

jake mumbles something about how hot you are before he delves into your folds with his mouth. his eyes closing as he starts to make out with your pussy. he keeps his fingers pushing in and out of you at a steady pace. his tongue starts to circle and tease your clit as his lips suck the skin around it. 

“oh god,” you cry out, your eyebrows bunching together as jake brings you closer to the edge. 

jake’s saliva mixes with your juices as he licks up the icing between your legs. he runs his tongue up and down your slit. your body starts to convulse at the feeling of being so close to the edge. he switches back to giving your clit pressured  sucks, flicking his tongue back and forth your clit quickly. 

your eyes stay focused on jake working your core. his eyes meet yours and a grin spreads across his face as his tongue still circles your clit, adding pressure to it. it makes you cry out, gripping the kitchen island behind you even tighter. your knees start buckling on either side of jake’s head as he kneels on your kitchen floor. 

“fuck, i’m gonna cum, jake!” you warn him, your chest starting to move sporadically as you reach the very edge of your climax. 

“do it, cum all over my face right now— cum all over your best friend's face.” jake grunts out, mumbling against your pussy as he speeds up how fast his tongue circles, how fast his fingers fuck into you. 

your high hits you so satisfyingly. all of your pent up emotions towards jake finally release as you cum onto his mouth and fingers. your body feels like it’s laced with ecstasy as your body shakes with tremors. jake’s free hand helps you stay steady against his mouth as he sucks on your pussy until you’re pushing him away because of the overstimulation. he only laughs at your whining as he pulls his fingers out of you. 

jake stands up, his lips swollen and wet from eating you out. “you really are sweeter than the icing,” jake smiles at your post-nut expression, his mouth still full of your taste. “here— try for yourself.” you let jake slip his finger sinto your mouth for the third time of the night. this time however, it’s not cream cheese icing that has you moaning around his digits, it's your own juices. 

and jake is right, it is sweeter than the icing. 

jake’s fingers slip from your lips. you wrap your arms around jake’s neck, pulling him closer to you again. his hands find their spot on your waist. you both find this position so easily, as if it wasn’t the first time in the past 14 years that you’ve done this. it feels natural, it feels right. 

jake and you are kissing again. it’s slow but passionate and needy. both of you know that the night isn’t over. especially when you feel his hard cock rub on your abdomen through his jeans. you pull away form him, looking down at where your waists are. his bulge is huge in his pants, it makes your mouth and pussy water some more. 

“let’s go to your bedroom,” jake says, his voice husky. 

“please,” 

jake’s quick to pick you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carries you through your apartment and to your bedroom. you’re both laughing as he does so. you press soft kisses into his scalp as he carries you. 

jake places you down onto your bed. this isn’t the first time jake and you have been in a bed together. though, it is the first time you’ve been in this position. your legs wrapped around his waist as he hovers over you, your pussy and his lips both swollen. 

you continue to make out until either of you can take it anymore. your lips wet and plump from sucking and pulling on each others. you’re both moaning into each other's mouths. jake slowly grinded his jean covered bulge into your bare pussy, teasing the both of you. the moment feels intimate, like the both of you needed this so desperately. 

jake pulls away from you, stopping the heavy makeout sesh. his chest is panting against yours as he lays on top of you. 

“you sure you wanna do this?” 

“yes, please, jake— i need this so bad— please, it’s my birthday,” 

jake laughs, “okay okay, anything for the birthday girl.” 

jake pushes himself off the bed, standing up to take off his clothes. he discards them lazily on your bedroom floor. his lean muscles flex as he crawls back onto the bed, resuming his position of being between your legs. 

jake grabs the flesh of your thighs, holding your legs open and wide for him to be able to press his cock against your pussy. 

“spit on it,” he demands of you. 

you lean over your body, spitting down onto where his cock rests on top of your pussy. both of you can feel your clit throbbing against his cock, wanting and needing more already. 

“good girl.” 

jake grabs his dick, lining it up with your pussy before he pushes all the way in with one singular thrust. both of you let out pornographic moans, your eyes rolling to the back of your head and the feeling of finally being stretched out by your best friend's cock. 

jake curses under his breath, his hair falling into his face as the feeling of you being so tight around him affects him, too. it already feels so wet and warm— jake can feel himself becoming addicted to this feeling. something that he knew would happen if he ever got you in a position like this. which is why he had tried so hard to ignore his feelings for you in the past, not wanting to ruin the friendship. 

but that’s all gone out the window now that he knows what you taste like. 

“move, please, move.” you beg of him, and who is he to deny the birthday girl?

jake leans over top of you, placing both of his hands on the mattress beside your body. your knees are bent around his waist as he starts to move his cock in and out of you, slowly at first, wanting to warm you up to the stretch of his large cock. his lips meet your own again, like they can’t be off each other long without feeling withdrawal symptoms. 

jake has to force himself to stop kissing you and he pushes himself back up, crouching himself over your body with his cock still lodged deep inside of your pussy. his feet are on the outer side of both of your hips, your knees bent and your thighs pressed against your chest in a mating press. 

jake starts to pound his cock into you at a slow but hard pace. the tip of his cock hitting your cervix every time he pushes back into you. 

“oh fuck!” you exclaim. you had imagined that sex with jake would feel good, but not this good. 

jake chuckles breathlessly as his one hand crawls to your neck, wrapping itself around it, adding pressure ever so slightly. jake’s breathless gasps and grunts mix with your whines as he fucks into you, setting a starting pace. everytime he slams himself into you, your bedframe hits the wall behind you. thankfully your bed is pushed up against the window that faces the street and not your next door neighbours. 

jake falls back onto his knees from his feet, keeping your legs placed on his broad shoulders as he continues to fuck into you at a steady pace. he aims for the spot he found earlier that he knows drives you to the edge. you keep your hands on your thighs, your eyes not leaving his face as he fucks you. 

jake’s gold chain hits his chest everytime he pulls out of you, just to drill back into you. 

“fuck i love your cock, it feels so good.” you confess, knowing already that no one would ever be able to make you feel as good as jake does. his cock seems to perfectly fit inside of you. every vein brushes against your pussy walls in the perfect way. his tip hits your g spot every single time. his hand pulses pressure around your neck, blocking complete oxygen from reaching your brain and lungs. 

jake drops your legs from his shoulders, wrapping them around his waist as he leans to hover on top of you, placing his elbows on either side of you. his cock doesn’t stop fucking into you. 

“fuck,” jake groans out, “your pussy keep sucking me back in, baby. doesn’t want my cock to leave.” 

“mhm,” you nod back to him, looking into your eyes as pleasure builds inside both of you. 

“would you like that, y/n?” jake teases you, “would you like having my cock inside of you all day?” 

his words make your walls pulse around his cock, something both of you feel, “oh god, yes. i want it in me all the time, forever.” 

jake dryly chuckles, leaning down to press a deep kiss onto your lips. you can feel his balls hitting your ass every time his hips meet your own. his pelvic bone rubs against your clit as he hovers over top of you. 

when the kiss stops, jake presses his hand over your mouth, cutting off your oxygen again, letting you moan and breathe heavily against his warm palm. jake keeps his body pressed on top of you, only his hips move as he fucks his cock in and out of you. 

at this point, both of you have sweat dripping off your bodies, your skin looks flushed. 

jake is intermittently switching between sloppily making out with you, to covering your mouth or wrapping his hand around your neck. 

“you like when i choke you, baby? like how i control when you breathe?” jake grunts out to you. 

even though you and jake had never done anything sexual up to this point, you both knew each other’s kinks and turn ons. that’s something best friends just talk about, right? 

like you know how much he loves to see girls choke on his dick. how much he loves seeing a girls ass turn red from him spanking her over and over again. just like he knows that you love being choked, love being degraded and teased as a man pounds into you. 

“i fucking love it,” you gasp out, loving how out of breath you were. 

jake smirks at your answer before he sits up on his knees again, your legs still wrapped around his waist. both of his hands land on your neck, adding enough pressure for you to lose some oxygen. jake starts using his grip on your neck to pound into your harder from a different angle. his cock hitting directly inside of you now, your cores hitting each other perfectly. 

your entire body is being pushed up and down off your mattress as jake using your body to be able to fuck into you harder and harder. 

“fuck,” jake grunts out, his teeth greeted as his pace picks up speed. your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, unable to do anything besides letting jake fuck you. your body numb to anything but the pleasure his cock was giving you. “you take my cock like such a good girl, such a nasty, good girl.” 

jake pulls his hands off your neck, and without warning, he roughly flips you over so you’re on your stomach, your plump ass up in the air for him. jake drags your hips towards him, sliding his cock back into you before he pushes your face down into the mattress. your sheets muffle your moans as he starts to fuck into you. 

jake has one hand on the back of your head, keeping it in your bed, and the other hand grips your waist. he keeps your body still, with just his hips moving as he balances himself on his knees. at this point, it feels like jake knows every square inch of your body. he knows every spot that makes you scream out his name. it’s almost ridiculous. 

“that feel good, baby?” jake asks from behind you, his hips not stopping. 

“god, fuck,” you answer, muffled by the mattress. “harder, please fuck me harder.” 

jake does as you say, letting go of the back of your head to grip your waist with both of his hands. his hips start to pound against your ass. your bedroom full of the sound of skin slapping against each other. and since you know your best friend so well, you aren’t shocked when he starts slapping your ass. a cry escapes your mouth everytime his hand meets your ass. 

“you want it hard, y/n?” jake chuckles out from behind you, “i don’t know if you can take it, baby. you already seem so close to cumming.” 

“no, no!” you try to shake your head no, “i can take it, please, please, harder.” your voice doesn’t even sound like yourself. it’s full of need and desperation. and luckily, since it’s your birthday, jake is willing to provide you with everything you want. 

his cock is still filling you up as far as it can go inside of you. it stretches you in a way you didn’t know you could be stretched. you feel so fucking full that it’s intoxicating. you think your pussy is going to be stretched out in the shape of jake’s cock. and then jake will be the only one to fuck you. 

jake’s hands reach under your core, lifting you up so your back is against his chest. his cock doesn’t stop working in and out of you, his pace never letting up. you didn’t know his stamina was this good. but who are you to complain?

jake keeps your body upwards with one hand wrapped around your waist, the other has snaked its way to your clit. all three of his fingers lay flat on your clit as he rubs them in a circle, adding intense pressure on the sensitive bundle of nerves as his cock seems to start perfectly hitting your g spot. 

your hands wrap onto his thighs that are on either side of your body. 

“holy shit!” you shout, “i’m going to fucking cum if you keep doing that.” 

if it wasn’t for jake’s hands keeping you upwards, you’d be bent over limp. the pleasure was building and building and building inside of you. your muscles working overtime by contracting and relaxing repeatedly. your tits were still covered in a mix of icing and jake’s saliva. your hairline was sweaty, you could barely keep your eyes open at this point. 

“yeah? you gonna fucking cum on my cock, princess?” jake grunts in your ear from behind you. “do it. fucking do it. i wanna feel your pussy clench around my cock so bad.” 

you whimper out at his words, they only make you tighten more around his cock. your juices dripping out of your pussy and all over his cock— all over your sheets. a wet stain was starting to form on your sheets directly below you.  

“fuck, fuck, i’m gonna cum on your cock.” you helplessly nod, focusing on the pleasure building in your abdomen. “just like that, like that!” 

you can’t help the scream that escapes your lips next as you come undone on jake’s cock. he’s quick to cover your mouth with his hand— silencing your loud scream so the neighbours don’t call the police. your head falls back onto his shoulder, unable to do anything but let jake fuck you through your orgasm. 

“that’s it,” jake grunts out, the feeling of your walls sporadically squeezing his cock over and over again, makes his brain fog over. “that’s a good girl, fucking wet my cock with your cum.” 

when your body finally stops shaking, jake helps you lay back onto your back, your head on your pillow. your eyes are glazed over, your body feels like it’s on high alert and just so, so sensitive. 

still, jake’s dick is rock hard, oozing pre cum, soaked in your juices. 

“i’m so close, baby.” jake’s voice is needy but gentle, “please let me fuck your pussy until i cum, please. i need it around me cock so bad.” 

you nod lazily at him, “please, please.” your hand reaches out to grab his thigh, wanting his cock back inside of you already, “need your cock in me. need to fill your cum fill me up.” 

jake can’t help but moan at your words, it makes his cock twitch at the fact that he’ll get to cum in your pussy. fill you up with his hot, warm sperm. his heart picks up pace when he visualizes what your pussy would look like as it dribbles out his cum back out and onto your sheets. 

“yeah? you wanna be my cum slut?” jake’s voice is teasing as he leans back over you, his cock already lining up with your weeping, swollen hole. “you wanna be filled with your best friend’s cum on your birthday?” 

“yes, fuck, i want that so bad, jake, please!” 

jake’s hand cups your jaw, forcing you to look at him as he laughs at your desperation. “relax, baby— you’ll get what you want.” 

jake pushes his cock back inside of you with one thrust, making both of you sigh out in satisfaction. he had only been out of your pussy for one minute but both of you were aching for him to be inside of you again already. 

jake could feel that his own orgasm wouldn’t be much longer. his cock was feeling so sensitive. everytime your soaking walls clenched somehow even tighter around him than before he could feel the pit in his stomach grow and grow. your whiny moans of his name, telling him to not stop edged him closer and closer to his orgasm. 

his hands gripped your waist roughly, focusing on trying to cum just for you. 

“oh god, jake— your cock fills me so good, i wanna feel your cum fill me, too, please.” you beg him, your sensitive walls milking his cock further and further. begging him to paint the inside of your pussy white with his cum. 

jake grunts out, his voice becoming deeper with every second, “yeah? tell me you want my cum, y/n. tell me you deserve my cum.” 

“i want your cum inside of me so bad, jake. please give it to me. i deserve to be filled with your cum, don’t i?” you beg him, your eyebrows furrowed together as you look up at him. his eyes switching between your face and your pussy. “aren’t i your good girl, jake?” 

jake lets out a deep grunt at your words, “fuck yeah, you’re my good girl. such a good girl.” jake’s cock is fucking in and out of you so quickly, you don’t even feel it leaving your pussy. “you’re my good girl so you’re gonna take my cum, right?” 

“yes! please, please! i can take it!” 

“fuck, fuck!” jake yells out, his grip on your waist surely leaving bruises now. “i’m fucking cumming.” 

when jake finally cums, it’s messy. 

his cum spurts out inside of you in thick, hot strands. both of you groaning at the feeling of him finally filling you up. jake doesn’t stop thrusting into you until his orgasm dissipates.  his brain becoming a little less foggy as he feels his cock plunged deep inside of your pussy with his sperm. 

jake gently pulls out of you and you sit up on your elbows, legs still spread wide open to watch jake’s cum start to drip out of your red, swollen hole. when it finally does, both of you moan. it’s warm as it drips down your folds, mixing with so many other substances you can’t count. 

jake is quick to reach down and gather some of his cum on his finger. your mouth is already open for it before he even asks you to. he slips his finger into your mouth. you moan at the taste, swallowing it with no hesitation. he pops his finger out of your mouth again. 

“tastes sweeter than the icing.” you tiredly smile up at him, teasing him. 

jake doesn’t laugh though, he only swoops down and presses his plump lips onto yours. the kiss is sweet and gentle, almost innocent if it didn’t just follow the multiple sinful acts you had just committed. 

the second you pull away from each other, reality takes over. your heart is still hammering from the orgasms, your lips are swollen and tingling from kissing jake so much.  your birthday is ending very differently from how it started. you’re now not only best friends with jake, but something more as well. 

jake’s still close to you, smiling at you that makes your stomach have annoying butterflies. he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. his smile is contagious and suddenly you're mimicking his expression. 

“best birthday ever,” 

“yeah?” jake’s smile is boyish and smug. 

“yeah,” you shrug, “definitely better than last year’s gift.” 

“hey! socks are practical! why wouldn't you want socks?” 

“shut up, jake.” 

jake huffs out a laugh before shoving you back onto the bed, he lays down beside you. your bodies still warm and sweaty against each other’s. 

“i can’t wait until my birthday.” jake says, elbowing you suggestively. 

“bold of you to assume i’ll still be into you by then.” 

jake is unaffected, only scoffing as he sits up on his elbows to look down at you, “you’re literally obsessed with me, i have no worries.” 

“okay? and you’re obsessed with me.” 

“yeah,” jake shrugs, “but at least i can admit it.” 

jake laughs when you kick him, laying back down beside you, head right next to yours on your pillow. your bedroom goes quiet. both of you take turns looking at each other when the other isn’t. both of you are still trying to process what just happened in the past hour. 

but, you don’t need to ponder for long. you and jake are still best friends. you’re still complete opposites. still yin and yang. still a complete mess. so, in your usual chaotic way, you’ll figure out your relationship together. 

“wanna shower and then eat the rest of the cake?” jake murmurs to you. 

“hell yeah.” 

best. birthday. ever. 

@ taeghi, 2024. do not repost or reuse in anyway.

PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU ENJOY, AS LIKES MAKE IT HARD FOR WORK TO BE SPREAD AND ENJOYED BY OTHERS :)

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[marvelstoriesepic]

Change your mind

Pairing: College!Athlete!Bucky x College!Reader

Summary: Natasha drags you to an NYU baseball game. And despite yourself, one player catches your attention.

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: Bucky’s charm; Bucky being flirty; Bucky showing off; Reader checking out baseball players lol; Reader not being interested in baseball (at first)

Author’s Note: I've been craving some flirty college Bucky after all the angst I've been writing. So that’s what I came up with. It is also meant as a little celebration fic because I've got over 1500 followers and that’s so amazing! Thank you so much!! Hope you enjoy! ♡

Divider by @thecutestgrotto ♡

Masterlist

You haven’t been to a single game since the semester started - since any semester started, to be real. And honestly, you have been content with that. Satisfyingly so.

Your time is better spent attending to assignments, slogging through your part-time job at the library, or doing literally anything else besides sitting in the stands and watching a bunch of guys chase a ball around a field, or whatever the hell this sport even is about.

Baseball isn’t your thing, it never has been and it never will be.

You’ve been complaining about it the whole way here. Dramatically so, but you didn’t care. Your best friend can handle you and your antics.

“You know, I can think of at least a dozen things I should be doing right now instead of this,” you grumble, trailing behind her as she weaves through the crowd in search of seats.

Natasha sighs sharply and throws you a glare over her shoulder. “God, would you quit whining? This is good for you.”

“I fail to see how,” you shoot back, adjusting the strap of your bag as you begrudgingly follow her.

But Natasha just smirks. That dangerous little smirk that means she’s about to say something you won’t have a comeback for. “You know,” she muses, eyes darting playfully in your direction. “I didn’t think I’d have to twist your arm to come watch a bunch of hot guys running around out there.”

A brow of yours lifts. “Alright, hold on-” you jab a finger in her direction “-I never said I was against that part.”

She scoffs, clearly pleased with herself, and you grin, nudging her with your elbow as the two of you settle into your seats.

“Besides,” you continue, voice dripping with amusement. “I don’t think you should be making comments like that when we both know you’re here for one guy in particular.”

Natasha only shrugs, all nonchalant, but the corner of her mouth tugs lightly upward. “So what if I am?”

You snicker. “I mean, nothing. I just think it’s cute how whipped you are.”

She rolls her eyes, but her lip is still twitching. Natasha and Steve have only been dating for a few weeks, but you see the way she looks at him. And as much as you complain about being dragged here, you suppose watching your best friend fall stupidly in love is kind of entertaining.

Even if you have to suffer through a baseball game to witness it.

You lean back against the hard metal bleachers, arms crossed as your gaze falls across the field.

It’s a decent night, warm with just enough of a breeze to keep the air from feeling stifling. And even though you’d rather be anywhere else right now, you can’t deny that seeing Natasha like this - light in her eyes, a weird softness in her expression - makes the whole ordeal slightly less painful.

Steve is out on the field, stretching with his team, and Natasha is watching him with this reserved kind of smile. The kind that sneaks up on a person when they don’t realize they’re doing it. You smirk to yourself. Yeah, she’s got it bad. But honestly, you are happy for her. They look good together, and she certainly deserves someone who looks at her the way Steve does.

Natasha must catch you watching her because she suddenly turns, an all-too-knowing glint in her eye. You don’t like that look.

“And who knows,” she says, spreading her legs out in front of her, voice hinting at humor, “maybe your future husband’s down there right now.”

You snort, rolling your eyes so hard they might get stuck. “Oh, yeah, sure. He’s just waiting for me to sweep him off his feet in the middle of a stretch.”

She smirks. “Could happen.”

You shake your head. “Yeah, no thanks. I'm all for watching a bunch of hot guys get all sweaty and run around in tight pants, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” You gesture vaguely toward the field. “That’s just spectating. Everything else is a hard pass.”

Natasha quirks a brow, tilting her head at you. “Oh, come on, Y/n. It’s not that bad.”

You shoot her a look. “Nat, the last guy I went out with, Peter Quill, you remember?-” You don’t wait for her nod “-he told me, verbatim, that he doesn’t believe in seasoning his food. And the guy before that showed up to our date in cargo shorts and a fedora and spent two hours explaining why The Wolf of Wall Street is the peak of cinema.”

She winces. “Oof.”

“Yeah. So forgive me if I’m not that eager to throw myself back into the trenches.” You pause. “Also, I’m super busy.”

Natasha laughs, shaking her head as she turns back toward the field. “Well, if you ever change your mind, I’ll be sure to put in a good word with one of Steve’s teammates.”

You scoff. “Wow, generous and delusional. I’m so lucky to have you as a friend.”

She nudges you with her shoulder, smirking. “The luckiest.”

Huffing, you sink deeper into your seat. Well, at least there is one upside to all of this. If nothing else, you can at least appreciate the view.

Your eyes wander over the team as they move across the field, warming up, adjusting their gloves, casually tossing a ball back and forth.

And yeah, you can admit it - objectively speaking, they look good. Athletic builds, toned arms, legs that fill out those pants just right. It’s a nice view, even if you’re not about to go throwing yourself into the dating pool again, so soon.

Your gaze drifts back to Steve, mostly because he’s the only one you actually know - if only a little. But before you can really focus on him, someone steps into your line of sight, half-blocking the blonde from view.

The number 17 fills out your vision.

Your head tilts instinctively, curiosity sparking before you know it. The guy in front of Steve is tall, broad-shouldered, with an easy stance that suggests he’s completely at home out there on the field.

His uniform fits him in a way that makes you annoyingly aware of just how well built he is - jersey stretched firm across his upper back, the sleeves tight around his biceps, pants snug in all the right places. His chestnut hair curls slightly at the nape of his neck underneath the baseball cap he is wearing, and he stands so casually confident that it makes it impossible to not look at him.

Have you maybe seen him around campus before? You should have, right? Someone like him doesn’t just blend into the background. Maybe in the halls, in one of those massive lecture rooms, passing by in the library, maybe when you're on shift. But you are sure, that if you saw that guy, you would have remembered him.

“See something you like?”

Natasha’s smug voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you catch the smirk she is throwing your way.

Scoffing, you tighten your arms around yourself and glance back at the field. Number 17 is still standing there, talking with Steve, completely unaware of the fact that you’ve just spent the past minute analyzing every inch of his backside.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you deny, keeping your tone even.

Natasha snorts, bumping her knee against yours. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what?”

She nods her head to the field. “For dragging you here. For the eye candy. For giving you the opportunity to meet your future ex-husband.”

You huff out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll see.”

Inevitably, your eyes move back to number 17, and you can’t help but think that if you haven’t seen him before, why it feels like you should have.

He’s turning.

Wait, he’s turning.

Your breath hitches and stays stuck in your throat uncomfortably, and suddenly he’s looking at you. Did he feel your eyes on him? Does he somehow know that you eyed him up like a complete creep? But just as the heat of panic can spark in your chest, you realize he’s not even looking at you.

He’s looking at Natasha.

Your shoulders loosen slightly. Steve also has turned his gaze toward the stands, his affective smile directed at your friend as well. He probably told the brunette that she’s here.

Number 17 lifts a hand in a casual wave, movement smooth, and even that simple gesture kind of looks way hotter than you want to feel right now.

Natasha only gives a small, lazy nod in return.

You expect the brunette to turn back around after that, to go back to whatever pre-game thing they were doing. But he doesn’t.

His attention shifts. To you.

Your stomach makes a flip before your brain can decide how to handle it.

His eyes are sharp, the exact color lost to the distance, but it seems to be something blueish. His expression is unreadable, his head tilting slightly as if assessing you. The stadium lights cast a glow over his features, highlighting the sharpness of his jaw, and the way his mouth seems to settle into something just shy of a smirk.

Immediately, you whip your head around to Natasha, eyes wide.

“Do you know that guy?” you ask, trying to sound more casual than you feel.

Natasha doesn’t even bother looking at you. She’s still watching Steve, her lips curving higher as if knowing what she’s doing.

“He’s Steve’s best friend.”

You blink. “Steve’s best friend?”

Your gaze falls back to the field against your better judgment but Number 17 has already turned back to Steve, talking to the blonde who now is sporting a smirk just like Natasha’s.

“You never mentioned him before,” you comment, though it comes out a little too measured.

Natasha of course picks up on it immediately.

“Should I have?” she counters, dragging the words out just a little.

You narrow your eyes at her but she only continues smirking.

And again, your gaze falls back to Number 17. God, why can’t you stop checking him out. The white baseball pants of his do absolutely nothing to hide the strength in his legs. His hair at his nape is slightly messy from running around and you wonder if it would feel soft if you put your hands on it.

You shake that thought right off again.

It’s not like it matters.

Still, you shift in your seat, arms tightening. “I just think it’s interesting that you never brought him up before when he’s his best friend.”

Natasha exhales a laugh through her nose, finally glancing over at you, her eyes glinting with something mischievous. “I mean, I could have.”

“And you didn’t because…?”

“Because,” she says sultry, shrugging one shoulder. “I figured you’d meet him eventually.”

There is something pointed in the way she says it, something deliberate, and you don’t like that it sends a small tingle of anticipation through you.

“So, what’s his deal, then?” you keep going, not even knowing why.

Natasha hums, stretching her limbs languidly. Her voice is sly. “His deal?”

“You know,” you press, trying not to sound too interested, although, fucking hell, you are. “Like, what’s his major? Have you seen him around before?”

She turns to you again, and oh, that look on her face is entirely too smug. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

You huff. “Nat.”

Her smirk only deepens. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Before you can answer, she looks past you, over your shoulder, down the steps.

Her expression doesn’t change but her smirk gets a little too satisfied, a little too wicked.

You quickly follow her gaze and, oh shit.

A heavy beat thuds against your ribs before your heart remembers how to move properly as your eyes follow the unmistakable figure making his way up the stairs.

Number 17.

And he is coming right toward you.

You inhale sharply, sitting up a little straighter, trying to act like this isn’t throwing you off balance. His steps are easy and unhurried as if giving you the time to check him out some more. And even though you should know better, you do.

His uniform is wrinkled from warm-ups, the fabric clinging in ways that are frankly unfair, and his dark hair curls enough to look annoyingly good.

He reaches your row. And despite the fact that Natasha should logically be the person he came up for, he isn’t looking at her when he speaks.

His eyes land directly on you.

“Steve sent me up,” he says, voice low and smooth, a pleased drawl rolling through his words. “Said he forgot his water bottle or somethin’.”

You blink and try to shake off what his voice does to your body. Crossing one leg over the other, you feign indifference.

“Yeah,” Natasha says, sounding way too delighted. “She’s got it.” She slaps your arm lightly with her hand.

You turn to her confused. “Huh?”

“I asked you to put it in your bag since mine’s smaller.” She raises an eyebrow.

“Didn’t know it’s Steve’s,” you mutter, then glare at her for a second before reaching down to retrieve the damn thing.

Natasha looks triumphant.

When you pull the bottle free and hold it out to the guy standing in front of you, he takes it with his fingers brushing against yours in a way that feels very intentional.

“Thanks, doll.”

His tone is silk spun into sound and hell, it glides over your skin, making it prickle underneath your sweater.

He has the bottle now but doesn’t step away yet. His eyes linger on you.

“Never seen you ‘round here before,” he remarks, studying you with open interest. His lips tug a little as if he is holding back a full grin. As if he is pleased.

You meet his gaze and swallow, keeping your expression open but neutral even as something sparks under your skin. “Yeah, it’s my first game.”

His lips press together like he’s trying not to fully smirk. “No kiddin’.” There is something about the way he says it that you can’t place.

You lift a brow and tilt your head slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, feigning innocence. “Just figured I woulda noticed you before, is all.”

Oh.

Oh, damn.

You know flirting when you hear it. And that was flirting.

You clear your throat, but a smile is trying to makes its way over your mouth. “Do you say that to all the girls in the stands?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Nah. Just you.”

Heat winds through your stomach. Because there is an easy, matter-of-fact kind of confidence in his voice.

Biting his lip, he studies you some more. Eyes intensely on you. “So you ain’t much of a baseball fan, then,” he hums. His voice is a low timbre.

You scoff, but can’t help the amused smile lifting your lips. “Not quite my thing.”

“Maybe I can change that.”

You almost choke on your next breath, because oh. He’s good. And hell, that came fast.

Natasha cackles. You ignore her.

Your fingers play with the fabric of your jeans. “Smooth,” you assess, unable to help the wry lilt in your voice.

He grins. Lopsided. Charming. Devastatingly handsome, oh god so help me. “Yeah? That workin’ for me?”

You roll your eyes, but it’s all for show. “Debatable.”

Natasha snorts.

His smirk is deep. There is a twinkle in his blue eyes. He stares at you like that for a second.

“I’m Bucky.” His voice is softened a fraction. His tone is genuine.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

His head moves to the side a little, the corner of his mouth twitching. “And you are?”

You tell him your name and his gaze lingers, his smirk edging into something thoughtful.

“Huh,” he muses.

You frown slightly. “What?”

He shrugs, still watching you, maybe even looking a little bashful. “Dunno. Just- I like it. Suits you.”

That somehow feels worse than the flirting.

You feel your face heat and you hate that Natasha can probably see it.

There is a shout coming from the dugout. “Barnes, get your ass down here, now!”

That must be their trainer Fury.

But Bucky stays standing there, looking at you for a beat longer, biting his lip and scratching the back of his neck. Then he takes a step back, spinning the water bottle once in his hand. “Guess I’ll see ya next game, doll,” he charms.

You blink, eyebrows up. “That’s a bold assumption.”

He just grins, throwing you a wink. “Nah. I got a feelin’.”

And just like that, he turns, heading back down toward the field, leaving you sitting there slightly dazed.

It takes a moment for your brain to start working again.

You feel Natasha leaning in but are not ready to meet that sly expression.

“We both know you’ll be here next time.”

Infuriatingly, you know she is right.

“I hate you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The game kicks off, but you are not watching it the way you thought you would.

Because he’s on the field.

And, well damn.

You tell yourself you’re just curious. That’s all it is. You’re not actually watching him. You’re just keeping an eye on him. Casual observation. A purely academic interest in how the game works.

Except, the longer you watch, the more you have to admit that he is good.

Really good.

His movements are seamless. It’s like an unbroken flow of precision and control as if the game is merely responding to him, not the other way around. He’s so natural, seems so at ease, and yet he moves so fast and sharp.

You can see the innate understanding he has, of how the game breathes. It’s impressive.

When he’s at bat, his stance is balanced to perfection, knees bent just enough, shoulders loose but poised. The pitcher winds up, releases, and before you can even register it fully, Bucky crushes that ball.

The sound of it is sharp, a crack that echoes through the field.

You track the ball as it soars high, way over the outfield. And then he’s running. He’s a cloud of white and navy as he rounds first base, feet hitting the dirt hard.

Natasha whistles low beside you. “Not bad, huh?” She doesn’t hide her smirk.

You press your lips together, determined to be neutral. “Yeah, well. Maybe I was just expecting less.”

Your best friend lets out a half-amused, half-exaggerated breath through her nose. “You weren’t.”

You want to throw her a glare but that would mean you’d have to take your eyes off Bucky and somehow you can’t manage that.

So you only huff and lean further into your seat.

But even as he plays, you can’t shake the feeling that perhaps he somehow tries a little more than necessary.

There are subtle indications. The way he lingers just a bit longer when he looks up toward the stands, the slight, extra flourish in the way he moves. The exaggerated ease of it all.

Oh, hell.

As he rounds third base, his gaze snaps up.

Right at you.

And he winks.

Your stomach plummets. Heat boils along your spine, and you freeze for half a second, caught completely fucking off guard.

The grin he shoots you is smug and holds a knowing edge, seeing the way your eyes are already on him, seeing your reaction, and thriving on it.

Natasha grasps your arm, gasping. “Oh my God.”

She is overly dramatic on purpose and you hate it.

You tear your gaze away from him and glare at her. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I'm starting,” she laughs, delighted. “That guy’s showing off for you.”

“He is not,” you hiss, trying and failing to ignore the warmth along your neck. Spreading and spreading up to your cheeks.

“That was textbook showing off, babe.”

You bite your lip, refusing to give her the satisfaction of the reaction she wants to see.

But maybe she’s not wrong.

The game continues, and despite your best efforts, your eyes keep finding him.

The more you watch, the more obvious it becomes.

The smooth way he catches the ball in the outfield, hardly needing to look before launching it straight to second base. The way he moves just a little bit slower after a play like he knows there are eyes on him. The way his grin sharpens when he hears the cheers, the teasing comments from his teammates.

And apparently, Steve notices, too.

Because after a particularly showy throw - one that was definitely more dramatic than necessary - Steve jogs past him and smacks him on the back of the head.

You faintly hear Bucky’s startled grunt from the bleachers.

Natasha snickers beside you.

Steve is muttering something to him, but the brunette only grins, backing away with his arms outstretched and shoulders pulled up in an unbothered shrug. And his eyes immediately find you. You look away hastily.

Your best friend leans in, voice low and teasing. “Change your mind about dating yet?”

Sinking lower in your seat, you move your hand through your hair. “This is ridiculous.”

But even as you say it, you glance back at Bucky.

And he’s still looking at you.

This time, you don’t look away.

Another smack lands across the back of his head and he is forced to drag his eyes away from you to grumble at the guy who is grinning from ear to ear, enjoying whatever the hell this is between Bucky and you.

“You’re actin’ real thirsty right now, Barnes,” the voice of the other player sounds out, loud enough for you to make out some words. “Hey, I mean, I get it. She’s cute. But can you focus, man?”

Flustered, you shove your hands between your thighs and curl a little bit inward.

“Shut up, Sam,” Bucky warns, rolling his shoulders and throwing a hard look at his teammate before jogging back to his position.

You don’t miss the way he shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair after lifting the cap for a moment as if he is trying to gather himself.

Your heart is beating in a weird rhythm. Your hands are a little sweaty and you hate that Natasha notices.

“Well, well,” she teases, watching Bucky get into position. “Looks like you’re a motivator.”

“Do you ever stop?”

“Not when it’s this much fun,” she grins, eyes swimming in mischief. “And clearly not when my best friend’s about to have my boyfriend's buddy ask for her number.”

It’s your time to smirk. “Boyfriend?” you chirp. “I'm sure Steve would like to know you calling him that behind his ba-”

“There’s no turning this around, babe. I’m the one with the power here,” she chides, but she is suppressing a smile. “No go ahead and continue to watch your future boyfriend.” She turns your shoulder forward to the field.

“He’s not-”

“Watch.”

You do.

And the longer the game goes on, you try to keep telling yourself that you’re going to stop watching him. But no matter how much you try to focus on anything else - the scoreboard, the crowd, even the actual game - your eyes don’t listen.

They keep wandering back to him. To the way he moves, his effortless command of the field.

It’s the way he seems to own every second he’s out there like he is meant to be on the field. And he seems to love it. His body moves with an instinctive kind of grace, muscles shifting under the snug fit of his uniform, every motion thought through but natural.

When he takes his spot at shortstop, you admire the confidence of his stance. He’s completely at home. He stands relaxed but his eyes are sharp and focused, scanning the field.

And when the ball comes his way, his gloved hand snatches it mid-air before his arm whips it across the diamond in a clean throw.

It’s irritatingly impressive.

You try to convince yourself that he plays like this all the time - that this isn’t for you at all - but there is something nagging at the back of your mind. Something in the way he carries himself, the extra little flair in the way he moves.

He really seems to be putting on a small show and you can’t shake the feeling that you might be the only one in the audience that actually matters to him. You don’t know how to feel about that.

Natasha catches you watching again. “Mhm,” she hums, knowingly. Not at all subtle about it.

You throw her a burning look. “Shut up, Nat.”

She smirks and tilts her head. “You want to be the one he’s showing off for.”

You release a sharp breath, looking at the darkened sky faintly lit by the stadium lights. “If I did, I’d be enjoying it, wouldn’t I? I just think he’s- trying a little hard. Like he’s-”

You don’t get to finish that sentence because the crowd erupts again. The score is tied. This is the final inning.

Your throat constricts as Bucky walks up to plate, adjusting his cap like he’s been waiting for this moment. He taps the bat against the plate once, twice, and tilts his head at the pitcher. You watch the way Bucky’s muscles coil, the readiness, the concentration.

The pitcher winds up. The stadium is silent.

The ball is pitched.

Bucky swings.

Crack.

The sound echoes across the field as Bucky swings and connects perfectly, the entire stadium staring with bated breath. The ball rockets up into the night sky, impossibly high, soaring straight over the center field fence.

It’s gone. A home run.

The crowd erupts, students leaping to their feet, fists pumping, voices carrying through the air. Natasha is already up, grabbing your wrist and yanking you up beside her.

“That’s your man,” Natasha yells over the noise, pointing at the field. “That’s your home run, babe!”

“Oh my god, Nat, he’s not-” you start, but you are cut off by the thunder of feet around you, students leaping onto the bleachers, fists raised, chanting his name.

Just like the others, you are watching Bucky jog around the bases at a confident pace, brushing a hand through his sweaty hair again.

You’re honestly a little overwhelmed with this whole thing. Trying to catch up to the way Bucky moves as if it’s the easiest thing in the world for him, like sending a ball out of the park is just something he does on a casual Tuesday.

And then, just as he crosses home plate, the team swarming him, he turns his head up.

Right to you.

The whole world seems to slow for just a second. Your breath is lost in your throat when your eyes lock. There is a heat in his gaze, but it shifts from exhilaration to something softer. He beams up at you for that special moment, blue eyes shining under the stadium lights, his grin wide.

Your pulse hammers in a way you really don’t want to acknowledge.

You are clapping, like all the others.

And there is something changing in his expression. The corner of his mouth curls in a way as if he can’t believe what he is seeing. His confidence falters for a brief second, replaced by something almost sheepish. His hand scrubs over his face, attention caught by his teammates, but there definitely is a hint of pink dusting his cheeks at your small cheers.

The other players pull him into a rough embrace and for a moment you don’t see him at all, the rest jumps around him in celebration.

“Alright, come on, let’s get down there,” Natasha says, grabbing your wrist again.

“Wait, what?” you sputter as she pulls you toward the railing, making her way down the steps, dragging you with her.

“You are not going to be the only one still sitting while your boyfriend-”

“Stop that-”

“-just won the damn game,” she finishes, waving you off as you scowl at her.

Before you know it, you’re at the very front of the stands, your hands coming together as the roar of the crowd vibrates through your bones.

You see Bucky looking over the chaos, his arms slung around his teammates, his chest rising and falling from exertion, when suddenly, his gaze catches you again.

That bright, wide grin now definitely softens. In a shit, you really were watching kind of way. His blue eyes scan your face as though he is trying to read every single thought rushing through your head right now.

Natasha is practically jumping beside you, cheering happily, so you don’t want to be a bummer and start clapping again. Looking at him.

His smile tries to widen, but Bucky bites his lip. And then, he actually looks bashful.

He dips his head just slightly, running another hand down his face, and this time it’s him looking away first.

But not before you catch that tiny flicker of something almost shy. For all his confidence, for all the easy charm he’s been throwing at you, all the flirtatious lines, something about your reaction to him is what makes him falter that little bit.

And oh how it does something to you. You don’t even fight the little smile on your lips as Natasha bumps her shoulder into yours.

“Shut up,” you murmur, but it sounds too light.

Natasha smirks. “I didn’t say anything.”

You roll your eyes and fold your arms over your chest to hide the way your hands are still itching to continue clapping.

The roar of the crowd slowly begins to settle, the energy of the game remaining charged in the air. The bleachers empty languidly, students pouring onto the field or shuffling toward the exits, their excitement buzzing in hurried conversations and triumphant chants.

The players begin filtering off the field, disappearing into the tunnel leading to the locker rooms. Some of them are still exchanging shoves and laughs, adrenaline still pumping through their veins.

Bucky walks alongside Steve, his uniform tightly handing off his frame.

But before he disappears with the rest of them he glances behind one last time. And, of course, it’s at you again. You shiver.

His glance is just a flicker of blue under the harsh stadium lights but it’s just a beat longer than you would expect. As if he is making sure you’re still here. As if he is worried you won’t be when he comes back out.

Then he’s gone.

“You see that?” Natasha assesses, leaning her weight into one hip, arms crossed.

“See what?” you ask, obviously annoyed.

She’s unbothered. “That boy just looked at you like a man checking to see if his car’s still parked outside.”

You groan. “God, shut up.”

“That never worked on me. You should know better.”

With an impish grin, she tugs at your wrist and guides you away from the bleachers.

“Come on, we’re waiting for them,” she says, already pulling you toward the tunnel exit.

“What? Nat-”

“Well, I’m waiting for Steve,” she says, “and you, my dear, have been eyefucking his best friend all night, so don’t even try to act like you don’t want to see him again.”

“Okay, come on,” you defend. “I have not-”

“-been staring at him, sure,” she interrupts, her smirk widening. “But only every time he wasn’t looking. Which, by the way, wasn’t often.”

You groan again but follow her anyway, because, at this point, you’re not even sure if you’re protesting for show or out of actual resistance.

Minutes go by as more people slowly tickle away, leaving only a few clusters of them lingering around, chatting under the lights.

The air is still warm, but the breeze carries enough of a chill to make you shift on your feet, arms folding over your chest as you wait.

And then, Steve and Bucky emerge from the locker room, side by side.

Steve’s blond hair is still damp from the shower, his team jacket slung over one shoulder. The moment he spots Natasha, his whole face softens. His stride quickens as he reaches her and he pulls her in for a kiss that is far sweeter than you expected from someone fresh out of a game.

Your best friend, for all her teasing confidence tonight, melts against him, fingers gripping the fabric of his jacket.

You feel happiness for her but you look away, feeling like you’re intruding on something intimate.

And before you can prepare yourself, Bucky is standing right in front of you.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” he says, voice lower, less playful than before.

His hair is damp too, looking darker like that. He doesn’t wear his cap anymore, short brown tendrils resting on his forehead. His uniform is gone, replaced by a dark hoodie and jeans. And yet, he still looks every bit like the man who just stole the game with a home run. He looks handsome. You can even admit that.

“Uh, yeah, I’ll leave with Nat,” you answer, voice a little quieter than you would have liked it to be.

Bucky smiles. He shifts his weight, hands slipping into his pockets.

“Well, had to make sure you actually enjoyed yourself,” he says, tipping his head to the side, smirk slowly appearing. “Didn’t want you to suffer through it since you’ve already been dragged out here.”

You huff out a small laugh, looking at the ground before up at him again. “It wasn’t terrible.”

“Not terrible?” he echoes, feigning offense. “Sweetheart, I won the damn game. You were cheerin’ for me.”

It’s as if he needed to say it out loud. As if he’s been telling that to himself the whole time.

You bite your lip. Those nicknames will send you tumbling to the floor if you’re not careful. “Yes, well. You put on a good show.”

He grins something slow and smug. “And here I was thinkin’ you weren’t much of a baseball fan.”

You shift, laughing softly. “Still not, really.”

He hums, studying you so deeply. In a gentle way. But he takes his sweet time and it’s making you nervous. “I’ll change your mind.”

Your stomach does something weird - something that has everything to do with the way his voice dips slightly, the way it rumbles out so smoothly.

You narrow your eyes, trying to keep your cool. “I’d like to see you try.”

Bucky chuckles softly, rocking on the balls of his feet. He can’t stop watching you, moving his eyes around your features, your whole frame, as if wondering where you have been the whole time. He looks like he is trying to read every little thing written across your face.

Your chest feels a little too tight, and your pulse picks up the longer you look at him, the longer he looks at you.

The air is cooler now that the game is over, the heat from the crowd dissipating into the open night, and although you feel plenty heated up by his gaze and presence, you instinctively rub your arms, shifting on your feet.

“You cold?” Bucky’s voice is lower, and there is a soft gentleness to his tone, that sounds so sincere, you feel your knees grow weak.

You shake your head. “I’m fine.”

“I’ve got an extra jersey in my bag,” he offers as if he didn’t even hear you, already moving. “Or you can take this one-” He seems about to shrug off his hoodie instead.

You quickly hold up a hand to stop him. “No, really. I’m okay.”

Bucky pauses, squinting at you, mouth quirking as he eyes you a second longer. Then, as if he’s figured something out, his lips form a real smirk again.

“Alright,” he concedes easily, his weight tipping slightly to one side, then back again. “Guess I’ll just give it to you next time, then.”

You freeze just slightly, blinking up at him.

Next time.

You don’t quite know what to do with that.

You clear your throat, forcing words out. “Yeah. Next time.”

Bucky beams.

It’s a full-on, dazzling grin, cheeks high and rosy, eyes bright in a way that makes something overturn in your stomach.

He looks way too pleased with himself now. And you are way too aware of how warm your face feels.

You try to push yourself past the sudden rush of flustered energy. “Well, I guess I will see you around campus, then.”

Bucky hums, considering, still not taking his eyes off you. “Maybe,” his head turns to the side, making a pause. “Or I could just make sure.”

“Make sure?”

He pulls his hands from his hoodie pocket, adjusting his footing and running a hand through his hair, messing with the damp strands a little. He might just seem the slightest bit nervous.

Flipping his palm up expectantly, he looks at you with a glint of hope in his eyes. “Your phone.”

Your stomach does that turning-over thing again as you realize what he’s going on about. “Oh.”

You are fumbling to grab your phone out of your bag, fingers perhaps wavering a little and you are glad that Natasha is preoccupied at the moment to see this. Unlocking it, you hand it over to him.

Bucky takes it gently, fingers brushing yours. Again, it feels intentional.

The glow of the screen illuminates his face as he punches in his number, and presses to call himself so he’ll have your number as well before handing your phone back to you.

You glance down.

A new contact. Bucky Barnes.

Bucky watches you with a soft smile.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve calls, still standing with Natasha. You don’t see the triumphant smile those lovebirds share, busy trying not to show your disappointment of the night coming to an end. “We heading out?”

Bucky sighs, but he doesn’t break eye contact with you just yet.

“Guess that’s my cue,” he murmurs.

“Guess so.”

His feet shuffle against the floor. He seems not quite ready to end this conversation, taking a slow step backward, not turning away from you.

“See you next game, doll,” he says, words landing softer, quieter in a way. He speaks as if it matters.

You fidget with the sleeve of your sweater and let out an almost shy laugh. “Sure.”

Bucky smirks, holding up his phone and waving with it when walking further backward to Steve. “I’ll remind you.”

You watch him walk off with his best friend, watch him throw another grin over his shoulder at you, still feeling the heat that won’t stop tingling along your skin.

Your own best friend throws her arm around your shoulders.

This time, she keeps her mouth shut. She knows she doesn’t have to say anything anymore. There is no denying it any longer and you are well aware.

Because yeah, you might not be into baseball.

But you might be into Number 17.

“Flirting is a promise of something more.”

- Milan Kundera

[weiweific]

mark fic recs ₊✩‧₊

finally going through all my likes to put together a comprehensive of all of my fave mark fics! as a result, there's older and newer fics here - enjoy!!! (also most of these are smut lol)

(m) smut | (f) fluff | (a) angst

one shots

surviving no nut november by @domjaehyun | m | 28.8k one of my fave fics!!!, ft. haechan, college au

pretty little weapon by @lisired | m, slight a | 25.7k undercover cop!mark, crime/gang au author summary: A lifetime worth of adversity had brought you to Bloodlust. You joined them to escape your history, but with Mark Lee - an undercover narcotics agent with a secret to keep - comes the threat of being forced to confront your past. Old wounds are opened, but scars heal.

pretty boy by @ncteez | m | 9.3k nerdy & shy mark, college au author summary: Mark’s favorite thing to do is sit alone at the library and enjoy the knowledge that his university offers. In contrast, your favorite thing to do is go to parties and enjoy as much chaos as possible. However, upon realizing your grades have dropped drastically due to this lifestyle, you have no choice but to approach Mark for help. or the one where your new favorite thing to do is seduce the most inexperienced man you’ve ever met and watch how desperate he gets for you.

graphic by @hausofwoo | m, f | 6.6k college!au, spiderman obsessed mark!! <3 author summary: stuck in the monotony of your job at the mall, every day feels the same: opening the store, sitting behind the register, and counting the hours til close. you’ve even memorized the routines of the stores around you. but when a new guy starts at the comic book store across the way, you realize your predictable days may soon change.

on edge by @ncteez | m | 22.5k infidelity, ft. boyfriend doyoung author summary: Dating the strict, well-liked, and loving Doyoung came with its hurdles. Normally, the two of you could communicate and work through the downsides, but what if the newest downside of the relationship is learning that his little brother, Mark, has a bit of a thing for you?

flipside by @yutaholic | m | 21k underground racer au author summary: When your father moves you overseas for his job, you are determined to hate it until you discover the illegal street races happening after nightfall. Boys are quick to vie for your attention, but none catch your eye like Mark, who takes you on the ride of a lifetime.

with a little pixie dust by @sehunniepotwrites | f | 11.9k cutest best friends to lovers au author summary: There are so many ways your friend group could have chosen to celebrate your graduation from university but they chose the one way that fit their childlike antics most of all–going to Disneyland. With all the screams of joy and laughter filing the atmosphere, you see why people call it The Happiest Place on Earth. It’s where magic comes alive, hearts soar to the skies, and where dreams come true. With your dream job already lined up for you once you get back from this vacation, you wonder if your last and wildest fantasy–the one that carries Mark Lee endearingly close to your heart–will take flight. (But don’t worry; your best friends, with a little help of pixie dust, are determined to make it come alive by the end of night.)

watch me by @sluttyten | m | 14.6k neighbours au, voyeurism author summary: you pick up the voyeuristic habit of watching your neighbor that never closes his curtains and whose face you never see. on an unrelated note, you start dating the cute barista from down the street that also happens to live in the building across from yours. what could happen?

go with it by @seouljazzbar | m | 6k best friends to lovers au author summary: “have sex with me so I can finish writing this” inspired by this tweet or when mark offers to solve all your problems, it's much better to go with it

bad habits. by @mrkis | m, slight a? | 6.5k slight toxic behaviour, dealer!mark author summary: ❝you know you're my favourite.❞

this is (not) easy by @mrkis | m | 13.2k friends to lovers, fwb situation author summary: getting into a friends with benefits situation with your all time best friend was so (not) easy

nervously in love by @angelwonie | m, f | 5.2k established relationship author summary: despite his very obvious sexual attraction towards you, your boyfriend keeps holding himself back from sleeping with you. OR the three times you want to fuck mark lee and the one time you do.

real talk by @smileysuh | m | 19.4k restaurant au, coworkers to lovers author summary: “You’re Jeno’s roommate, Jeno’s my friend- I know we’ve just met, but I know things about you.” Hyuck explains. “When you were with your last girl, Jeno used to come to the bar and bitch about you never coming out- he’s been wanting you to meet the rest of the boys for a while, but never wanted to invite us over cuz your last girlfriend had some supernatural cootchie-grip hold on you or something- point is, I know you’re a serial monogamist. Two long-term girlfriends. You like the domestic shit, and I get that- but if you want domestic, it’s not our little Miss Sunshine expo girl. She can’t even sleep next to guys she’s fucked- wakes up at five am, and dips out without a word. Trust me on this, dude, you wanna stay far away from that man-eater.”

gelato by @hazyhae | m | 14.4k plug!mark, weed use, friends to strangers to lovers author summary: a high slip up cost you mark lee years ago, and you’ve spent years burying your memories of him ever since. the universe has other plans for you when your old friend starts a new career, smoking his way back into your life.

kiss u right now by @domjaehyun | m, f | 6.9k mark pining harddd author summary: in which mark just really wants to kiss you. alternative summary. five times mark wanted to kiss you and one time he actually does.

play with me by @domjaehyun | m, f | 4.6k weed use, best friends mark

series

sweet cream, cold brew by @lucyandthepen | m, f | 2 shot, 46.7k total college au, nerd!barista!mark, a very sweet fic with lots of pining <3 author summary: something about mark lee keeps you up at night, and you’re pretty sure that it isn’t the lingering smell of espresso on his shirt.

unholy by @sluttyten | m | 19 chapters supernatural au, poly!au featuring ten, yuta, winwin & mark author summary: you’re a religious good girl when one day you find yourself sucked into a dark world of myth, legend, and creatures of horror. You never believed they were real, but now there are demons, vampires, werewolves, and so much more. In the magic and in the seduction, you begin to lose who you were and discover who you are. And most confusing of all? You want every bit of it.

quarantine chronicles by @domjaehyun | m | 3 parts | 126.7k featuring jaehyun, johnny, jaemin & jungwoo author summary: fourteen days, five roommates, and five remarkably high sex drives. what could go wrong?

smashing the six by @yutaholic | m | 6 parts other parts feature jeno, johnny, jaehyun and haechan - kinda have to read all the other parts for it to make sense!!, college au author summary: there’s a notorious tradition at nct university - hookup with a player from each of the six athletic programs. bonus points awarded if you get any of them to fall in love with you. but don’t forget about neonet, nctu’s infamous social media app, where rumors get passed around like candy and no one is safe from having their business aired out for all to see.

[beardedjoel]

ride

joel x f!reader

request: "prone, leaving a hickey on their neck, in a truck bed" sent in as part of my 5k celebration! or you try to grapple with feelings for your parents' friend while getting absolutely railed by him 🤠 6.5k words.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, age gap (unspecified but college age reader and it's said that joel is over twice her age), oral f receiving, unprotected piv, pr0ne b0ne, creampie, hickeys, dirty talk and pet names, bit of daddy kink (sue me okay), angsty feelings, alcohol, reader has a mom and dad and clothing is described (shorts and t-shirt).

a/n: saw this prompt and instantly loved the visual! such a fun one to write, and i got weirdly caught up in these two having history and a bit of angst so it ended up way longer than i anticipated (aaand everybody is thinking we are not surprised julie couldn't shut up).

Today had you on edge, taking in your surroundings more dutifully, fearing the rounding of corners on campus in case you’d run into him. You try to pretend you don’t want to see him, but can’t deny the sinking feeling in your stomach as you arrive for your shift that evening without having any chance encounters. You hate that you’re imagining how one would go as you wait on your tables, how you’d pretend you hadn’t even thought about the possibility of him also being on campus for parents weekend. Casual. It was totally, completely casual - the same sentiment you’d been trying to convince yourself of for months.

His daughter Sarah is only a year younger than you and ended up at the same university a couple of hours from your hometown. You’d played little league soccer together for a few years as kids, and your parents became much faster friends with Joel than you and Sarah ever did. 

Despite Chip’s Bar & Grille being located off campus, it doesn't seem immune to the influx of people due to parents weekend as you weave through your tables, a sweat breaking out on your neck. Your asshole of a boss - the Chip of Chip’s Bar and Grille - never quite learned how to keep the temperature comfortable in here for the workers. He’d also declined your request to have tonight off to spend with your parents - too many other coworkers of yours had the same idea as you with people’s parents being in town, apparently. You know he also simply just enjoyed telling people no.

You plaster on a fake grin as you carry a tray of beers over to a rowdier group of men, probably here to watch Friday Night Football or something, judging by their team spirited paraphernalia. They’re already a few drinks deep, getting increasingly more bold with their commentary towards you, but it’s nothing you haven’t dealt with here before. You easily brush it off, navigating your way through their charged remarks with grace and sweet looks that should only boost your tips, letting the act drop dramatically as soon as you walk away from them.

Karina, the hostess - a sweet girl around your age - flits up to you, buzzing information in your ear. “Table 19 just got sat. Said it’s your parents, I think?”

You smile to yourself - it’s thoughtful that your parents would brave the greasy, unappetizing food at Chip’s just to see you twelve hours earlier than planned. They instantly glow and warm up at the sight of you, looking slightly out of place but nothing short of comfortable. They were the type of people that could adapt nearly anywhere.

“Hey, honey!” your mom trills, hugging you tight, pressing the slightly damp t-shirt you’re wearing into your back. 

“Sorry. Sweaty,” you warn her too late, getting a chuckle in your ear. Your dad squeezes you tightly next, and when they go to sit down, you notice with confusion that Karina has placed three menus on the table. 

Your eyes snap up to the front door just in time to see a familiar, broad form step into the fray, weaving his way through the bodies and tables. His eyes scan across the restaurant - dark and brooding as always - then land on you, standing tall above where most people are seated at their respective tables. Your stomach leaps, leaving your breath caught in your throat, him letting his lip twitch into some semblance of a smile - or a smirk, rather, given how haughty he looks right now.

For that brief second, it’s only the two of you in this bustling, noisy room, before the bubble bursts and he stalks over to you and your parents. It’s only then his eyes are torn off of yours, leaving you breathless and confused. And angry.

“Oh, good, already got us a table. Parkin’ was weirdly a nightmare out there,” he says, smooth and silky, announcing his presence. With one more flicker of his eyes to yours just before your mom pops up to hug him, blocking you from view, you see the mischievous amusement behind them. He’s enjoying the fact that he’s caught you off guard, that you’re flustered by his mere presence alone.

Yeah, angry sounds right. Joel Miller: certified prick.

After the fuss settles down, your parents explain they ran into Joel at a cafe when they got to campus this morning while you were still in class. Being their gracious, hospitable selves, they’d promptly invited him to come out to dinner with them tonight to catch up. Just your luck.

“The rest was history. Joel seemed awful happy to get to see you too, know it’s been a while,” your dad happily and obliviously trills. 

You’ll bet he seemed happy.

Joel moves in for an embrace, and you stiffen before feeling his meaty, thick arms draping around you, the warmth of his chest pressing closer, his breathing in your ear. Everything feels lit up inside of you, sparks skittering across your skin. You beg your knees not to buckle, reminding yourself that refusing to hug him begs more questions than you’d like from your parents. You try not to melt into the familiarity of it when your arms fling around his neck, try to keep it… casual. The word bites at you, stinging deeper each time you try to convince yourself of its place in this relationship. 

“Hey there, sunshine. How you been?” he mutters in his slow, sweet drawl. You can’t help but smile at your favorite pet name he’s had for you for years, wishing to wipe it off your face as he pulls back and sees it. There’s a returned softness there beneath all his amused loftiness. 

“G-good. Good,” you manage to stammer out. “How’s the business… How's Sarah?” 

You watch on as Joel stays planted right in front of you, the moment lingering longer than necessary or normal. You watch him have the same realization, clearing his throat and turning to pull out his chair, sitting down.

“Good,” he echoes you, smiling softly. “And good. Girl’s too busy with friends to see her old man tonight, though. Stuck with these two now.” He jabs a thumb in the direction of your parents. 

The dig gets a hoot out of your mom, her hand playfully nudging him. The noise of her balking breaks you out of your reverie where your eyes had been plastered on his features, begging them to tell you anything. 

You suck your lip between your teeth, blinking a few times to snap yourself out of this haze. You’d wanted this, hadn’t you? A chance to run into Joel, knowing that parents weekend would likely bring him this way. It’s too much, too… intense, to see him in your workplace, somehow merging his life with the one you lived separately from him. Back home the two of you had been on equal footing, but now he invaded your space, the places you were able to go to get away from whatever this was, to get away from him.

“I - I’ll go check on my tables. You guys decide what you want to order and I’ll come back. And I’ll talk to Chip about a family discount, or something.”

Your dad insists it’s not necessary before you scurry away, but you ask anyway. Chip unsurprisingly argues with you, huffing and puffing and generally being the asshole that he is. 

“You want a discount for your family? And where’s that money gonna come from? Maybe from your tips tonight? Would that work for you? Hm?”

“Forget it, Chip.” Muttered under your breath, you roll your eyes, feeling dejected as he stalks off to likely terrorize someone else or put on his fake schmoozing act with a loyal customer. 

When you glance back at your parents across the room, Joel’s eyes are on yours, intense and questioning. They burn into you, making you immediately turn away, trying to hide the glistening of tears from Chip’s beratement. It’s dumb, really. He’s always this big of an asshole. You aren’t sure why you expected anything other than his default or a single generous thing from him.

After pulling it together enough to do the rounds on your tables, you stop back to take your parents’ and Joel’s orders. Joel seems like he’s stewing, his energy quiet and distracted as he glances down at the menu, ordering a cheeseburger with a distant voice.

It’s not until you’re off at the point of sales system tapping in their orders that a presence sidles up beside you, the voice deep and hushed.

“That your boss there? The one lookin’ like he’s got somethin’ shoved up his ass?”

You do a slow turn to peer at Joel incredulously, glancing around as if you’re caught in a compromising position. You suppose maybe you are, but at least your parents are out of view from where you’re tucked back in the little hallway leading to the restrooms. It’s cramped back here with the service station, leaving Joel’s body close to yours.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you hiss, instead of answering his question.

“It’s not a crime to go to the bathroom,” he quips back. “Answer me.”

“What? You’re gonna beat him up?” You give Joel a pointed look before focusing back on the screen, punching in your dad’s Dr. Pepper.

“No, jus’ wanna know why a boss is out here makin’ his employees cry.”

“I wasn’t crying. He - he’s just an asshole. And why do you care? You’re not my -” you cut yourself off, shaking your head, pinching the bridge of your nose. “It’s fine. I promise. Please just… why are you here, Joel?”

“Havin’ dinner with your parents.”

You have to force in a deep, calming breath before sighing it out. “You like this. Surprising me, catching me off guard. You’re the one being an ass now.”

Joel visibly softens at your stressed demeanor. “It’s also not a crime to want to see you, y’know. And have some fun trippin’ you up along the way. I didn’t realize -”

Your eyes linger on his face for a long, quiet moment, burning with frustration and contempt and something deeper you won’t allow yourself to access. “I’ve got to get back to work,” you say, concluding the conversation as you snap the notebook containing your orders shut and push away from the computer. You brush past Joel’s shoulder, turning to glance back at him.

“It is nice to see you,” you utter, half hoping he can’t hear it over the bustle of the restaurant. When his lips twist to the side in a lopsided smile, you know he did.

“You too.”

Joel seems to behave the rest of the evening, paying the proper, appropriate amount of attention to you, treating you like the family friend that you are and nothing more. Just as it should be, you remind yourself every time a pang of sadness pulses through your chest.

When they pay and leave, you breathe a sigh of relief, working the rest of your shift with an odd buzzing in your head, picturing Joel’s tanned skin and rugged lines. The memory of the feeling of his body close to yours in that hallway makes you shudder, then curse yourself.

A mixture of disappointment and irritation worms its way into your mind as you realize that was your chance. That was the time you got to spend with Joel this weekend, when he was so close within your grasp. He’d be busy tomorrow, spending time with Sarah, letting her tote him around campus - showing him where she takes her classes, her favorite places to eat, her dorm that is likely decorated with purple accents and posters of her favorite bands.

You’d missed the opportunity to actually see him, too busy being pissed at him for existing in your sacred space, for never leaving you alone no matter how hard you tried to get him out of your head. You never knew when the next time would come around - even if you were back home, time spent around Joel was never guaranteed. Nor was it appropriate.

You worry your lip into oblivion, realizing it’s for the best, anyways, as you push the back door to the bar open after your shift, letting the cool night air greet your grimy, post work skin. You go to round the building, heading for the bus stop on the main street that will take you exactly twenty five minutes and eleven stops back to your dorm.

A voice cuts in, seeming to come from the darkness itself. “You always wear shorts that short to work?”

God damn it. You flinch and then press your lips together, slowly turning your head to the corner of the parking lot, following the gruff, familiar voice. You see Joel leaning against the front of his truck, arms crossed over his chest. He’s half illuminated by the streetlamps placed periodically across the asphalt, casting long shadows on him. The blue flannel he wears is stretched tightly over his arms, the sleeves rolled up to reveal those forearms that make you feel more than you’d ever care to admit. 

“Better tips,” you reply, nonchalant. You adjust your bag on your shoulder, walking over to him. You stop short, giving a wide berth between the two of you, attempting to avoid the always inevitable pull you feel towards him.

“That so?” he says, sounding amused. Joel lets his eyes roam up from your feet, scanning your bare legs, drinking you in all the way up your chest until his gaze rests on your face where it softens. He’s obvious about it, not caring to hide the lust that lives between the two of you now that you’re alone.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, feeling like a broken record. You watch as he turns and starts walking to the back of the truck. You peer around to see the bed is open, staunchly crossing your arms and not following him.

“Thought I’d give you a ride home,” Joel throws over his shoulder.

“What if I had my own car here?”

“You don’t,” he punches out. “Parents told me they hate you takin’ the bus so late.”

You quietly groan to yourself. Of course they did.

“And I thought you could use one of these after a long shift,” Joel adds on, proudly holding up a six pack of cheap, generic beer, strung together by plastic loops. You give him a sardonic laugh, finally giving in and making your way to the back of the truck. Joel has it parked with the bed facing the far corner of the parking lot, looking directly into the thicket of trees beyond that separates Chip’s from the McDonald’s behind it. It’s late, the lot nearly empty and the businesses around you all quieted down for the night. Some kind of thickness hangs in the air, otherworldly and separating you from reality, pressing in on you to be so alone with Joel.

“Aren’t you driving?” you ask, brows raised. 

“Ain’t for me. It’s for you.”

“Miller Lite,” you say, gesturing to the six pack. “Clever. And disgusting.”

He smirks, tearing one out of its loop and handing it to you. It’s chilled, but not cold, and you nearly grimace. You don’t even like beer, but being around Joel still makes you nervous so you crack it open, listening to the little click of the pull tab and ensuing fizzy noise from the liquid inside, then take a long swig. 

“Attagirl,” Joel comments passively. Your heart flutters at the small praise and you peer at him, doelike, from over the can, hoping your eyes don’t give you away. Of course they do, they always do. You look down, shuffling your feet, clad in your black, non slip work sneakers.

His hand is hesitant, reaching out to you from where he now leans against the open truck bed, clasping around your wrist with a gentle authority. It tugs you, forcing you to take a step towards him.

“Joel…” you warn, still unable to bring your eyes up. You know if you do, you’ll fold.

“Hm?” he rasps, moving you closer still. Joel’s legs and feet come into view, thighs thick and meaty in their denim, his work boots dirty and scuffed. It made something inside of you flutter again, these details about him. You liked his mess and his manliness, the way he didn’t give a shit if his shoes were dirty, but that they were functional. You like his worn denim with the outline of his wallet seared into the back pocket from too much use. You like… him.

“Come sit,” he begs of you, and despite your best efforts, you’re unable to resist. You hop up onto the back of the truck, letting your feet dangle while taking another sip of crappy beer. He pulls himself up next to you, and leans closer, knuckles brushing along your neck, making you shiver. It’s heavenly and electric, everything you’d craved and missed and wanted, never able to stop thinking about these calloused hands and the man they’re attached to.

“We… we can’t do this again,” you force yourself to utter, fiddling with the pull tab on the can held in your lap.

Joel’s hand freezes. “You got a college boyfriend now or somethin’?” he spits out, unable to hide the greed from his voice.

“No…” you admit.

“Alright, why not then?”

“We just… shouldn’t.”

“Y’weren’t sayin’ that over winter break. Or durin’ Thanksgiving, or the summer before that when I was fuckin’ myself deep inside of you, lettin’ you call me your daddy,” he drawls out lazily, continuing to softly revere your neck with his hands, slowly moving to your shoulder and back, fishing underneath the collar of your branded Chip's tee shirt to find bare skin. 

You swallow hard, feeling your cheeks blazing at the memories of how caught up in it you’d gotten. “I - I don’t think…”

“That’s right, sweetheart. Just don’t think.”

You finally dare a flash of your gaze to his, finding his eyes dark and wanting. “Joel…” you plead again, unsure of how to express anything else. “This isn’t… right. Who you are to me, my parents. You know that, right?”

He licks his lips and nods, moving in close and ghosting them over your neck. Your eyes roll back, your touch-starved, needy body begging you for more. “Torture myself over it all the damn time, pretty girl,” he rasps right next to your ear.

“Then why did you come here tonight?” you ask in a lusty whisper as his lips attach to your skin, sucking softly. Your breath catches in your throat, fighting a whine.

“I don’t know. I jus’... did,” he says earnestly, sounding pained. “I wanted it. Didn’t care ‘bout the rest. I wanted to see you, just us.”

Your heart pitter patters in your chest, that pesky, squeezing feeling of it that always takes over around Joel pulling taut. You know he doesn’t mean it, that he doesn’t want you. He wants what you offer - your body, your naïveté to stay involved in this, your company when he’s lonely. It was hard to say just how Joel felt about you, because he’d never dare say it out loud for fear of making this too real. 

His scent invades you - musky and something fresh and nature inspired, pine maybe - and you feel yourself folding in real time.

“Joel…” you warn one last time without any resolve behind it, eyes fluttering shut as he nuzzles into your neck. You want this. You don’t want this. You want him. You don’t want this uncertainty, this unstructured and wild thing that you two have become tangled up in. 

It happens before you can even register your body moving of its own accord, crashing your lips into his waiting ones. His hands are fast, eager, to touch every part of you now that you’ve given some semblance of a go ahead. Squeezing, groping, one hand relishing in the feel of your tits, the other cupping your cheek, pulling you deeper into the searing kiss.

“Fuck,” he mutters when your hands move with equal fervor on his body - squeezing his thigh, wrapping around him the to clutch the hair at the base of his neck. “The hell says we shouldn’t be doing this…”

You shake your head, smiling into the kiss. “Probably everyone.”

“Makes me want you more, baby,” Joel counters, and you nod feverishly in agreement, squeaking in surprise when he pushes you down to the truck bed, swinging himself over to straddle you. His weight crushes down, comforting and arousing all in one, no time to even dwell on it before his lips are on yours again, a hand plunging between to cup you through your shorts. Warmth flows freely between your legs, the fabric dampening the sensation but it’s still too much, too built up, and you buck your hips.

“I want these shorts gone,” he demands. “Everyone wishin’ they got a peek under these, givin’ you all those tips, except at the end of the night it’s me right here, gettin’ everythin’ they want.”

Your head goes fuzzy, swimming with lustful thoughts as his dirty talk ramps up. It turned out that Joel Miller had the filthiest mouth you’d ever encountered, something you’d never have expected from the quieter, gruff man. He was an archetype of southern politeness most of the time - not without his sass, sure - but you’d never expected… this.

“Take them,” you breathe out. Joel grins above you, unbuttoning the shorts with ease, hooking his fingers in the sides.

“You’d let me, really? Right here… right out in the open?” Joel tsks, the grin on his face spreading into something wicked. You blink back to reality, to the parking lot around you, and yet your answer remains unchanged.

“Yes,” you whisper, feeling shame burn at your cheeks.

Joel works your bottoms down slowly, taking your panties with it and speaking unhurriedly. “Let anyone who comes to see what all the fuss is about see all of this, would you?”

“Yes,” you answer dutifully.

“God damn.” He chuckles, tossing your shorts to the side, leaning back to glimpse at the bottom half of you, now exposed to him. “Dunno what’s worse. This, or that closet at your parent’s place. You’re a dirty little bitch, ain’t you?”

You nearly growl. “You love it,” you shoot back, spreading your thighs wide open for him. 

Staring between them with a certain wonder about him, he answers. “I do.”

He sinks himself down, moving to pleasure you, pulling your clit into his mouth and giving it a gentle suck. You yelp, a tiny squeak that has your hand flying over your mouth to quiet yourself down.

Joel moves his tongue to lap at your folds, drinking in the sweet slickness you’ve already poured out for him. The slickness that had been pooling between your thighs just at the sight of him earlier tonight. 

“You been this wet all night for me?” he asks incredulously, toying a finger through it now, circling your clit in a slow, tortuous circle.

You whimper first as an answer. “You - you make me -”

“I know I do. Ain’t easy to hide a hard fuckin’ cock under the table with your parents either, y’know. Wearin’ shorts like that on that gorgeous ass of yours.” He tsks into your pussy before slurping again, groaning as your arousal starts to coat his beard.

Your chest heaves, desperately needing more from him, his satisfaction with toying with you going longer than you can handle tonight. Not after how long it’s been.

“Please, J-Joel.”

He chuckles darkly. “We both know that ain’t the name you want to call me right now.”

He was right, the word had hung on your tongue since the second you’d been alone together, since you felt his warm hands exploring your skin. It came out somehow more naturally than you’d expected or even wanted, but something about it just felt… right.

Self conscious, you hold back and grumble as he withholds contact from you, staring up expectantly. “Come on, angel. I wanna hear it, too. Been too long.”

“Please, daddy…” you correct yourself shyly, readjusting to the word on your tongue. Joel’s face, shadowed by the yellow light of the closest streetlamp, breaks into a smirk.

“That’s right. Right now, when we’re like this, I’m your daddy, aren’t I?”

You nod and he continues to lick your needy cunt as a reward, swirling his tongue over the delicate bud near the top. “Yes, you are.”

Joel’s tongue moves faster, urged on at your breathless cries for him. “And you’d want to come for your daddy, wouldn’t you?”

The words twist your core tighter, the warmth building to a near breaking point. “G-god, yes. Y-yes!” You cry out louder as he sinks a finger inside, crooking it to make you go a little dizzy. You clamp a hand over your mouth again, tighter this time, stifling your cries.

Joel pulls back, a string of saliva and arousal connecting the two of you. His finger keeps the pressure on that spot inside of you, his breath ghosting over your sensitive skin as the most painful tease.

“Nuh-uh. Think you should be loud. Unless… you don’t want your coworkers to hear ya? Or better yet, that asshole boss of yours?”

You picture the ramifications of what Joel is saying, the way Chip’s face would go red, twisted up in anger before he likely fired you. You break into a cheeky smile, and without conviction you say, “I - I shouldn’t."

“You should be doin’ a lot of things right now, sweetheart. But here we are. Don’t act like you don’t like the idea of pissin’ off that bastard.”

You chuckle, nodding in a dazed agreement as Joel glides his nose over your sex, flicking his tongue out periodically and making you start to squirm impatiently. “Bet he wants to fuck you, too. Such a pretty, perfect girl. Bet he wants to bury his mouth in this sweet god damn perfect cunt.” He punctuates his words with a deep inhale to your pussy, his nose now tracing a little circle over your clit. 

His words send you reeling - something about the possessiveness he holds over you makes you clench around his digits like you’ve never done for anyone else. “Please -” you beg before you can even think.

“Please you want him to fuck you?”

You sigh in lustful, irritated frustration. “D-damn it, Joel. No. You.”

“Need daddy to fuck you good, don’t you? These college boys ain’t doin’ it for you, are they?” he purrs into your skin, finally pulling himself from between your legs to glide up over your body, shielding you completely.

You feel yourself flush hot, still sheepish even after all these months affected by his dirty words and that stupid, yet hot - so hot, god why is it so hot - title he’s bestowed himself. A tickle of embarrassment creeps into your belly knowing that you’ve hardly pursued anyone at school, never able to find exactly what you’d already had all along - only it wasn’t yours to keep. It never could be.

“I - I -” you mumble, avoiding eye contact as his face hovers above yours.

“What? They’re that bad?” he teases, and you bite your lip.

“There aren’t many… relations going on, okay?” You grimace, finding his dark eyes and seeing him amused, yet studying you carefully, more seriously.

Joel throws you the tiniest smirk, but his voice is deep and sincere. “Damn shame for all of them. But makes me awful happy to hear on account of myself.”

You swallow, nodding, feeling an anxiousness playing in your belly. “Have - have you…? Since we last…?” You don’t know why you even ask, why you’re hellbent on setting yourself up to be hurt.

Joel hesitates, debating for a moment, then leans in to kiss you, long and deep. He pulls back, then shakes his head. “Not since December, no.” The words are hushed, whispered, one hand squeezing at your hip. 

The moment is tense - too much so - and the urge to escape it crashes into you. You shift underneath him, pressing your hips up into his to entice him. “Don’t you want to fuck me then before ol’ Chip gets his chance?”

Joel practically growls, his hold going tight. “Wouldn’t fuck you like I do.”

You shake your head, licking your lips and feeling the flicker of desire reignite between your thighs that had briefly paused. “We’ll see about that,” you say, raising your eyebrows.

“God damn it, kiddo, you’re tryin’ to piss me off.”

“It’s better when you’re irritated with me -” You lick your lips, your hands finding the waistband of his jeans, toying with it. “Daddy.”

That same growl erupts from his throat, aggravated and breathless. His hands scramble with yours to free his cock, and you can’t help but peer between your bodies to catch the sight of it. You love every bit of his body, love seeing the way it moves for you, with you. The way that it evokes things in you you’d never known possible, hitting all of your buttons just right.

Only getting a short glance at his erection, your body is quickly handled by Joel’s rough, eager hands rolling you onto your stomach. You’re held down immediately, his weight crushing into you, nearing on uncomfortable with the bumps and ridges in the bed of the truck. One hand presses to the back of your head as he mounts you, the hot skin of his cock teasing at your ass.

All you can do is whimper, your head straining to look back at him as he spreads your ass cheeks, slipping between them and to your slick core, nudging at your entrance. Anticipation hangs in your labored breaths until he enters you, the tension released in an exhale of relief and sharp tenderness at the full stretch of him. 

Joel wastes no time slamming into you, satiating every fantasy you’d had of him, every desirous, late night thought that caught you off guard since your last rendezvous. It was always just as you’d remembered it - a miraculous connection of your bodies that seemed to stump the two of you every time you’d tried to make sense of it.

“Hell yes, angel, you always take me so good, so perfect,” Joel grunts out as he thrusts into you. “Never complainin’, jus’ takin’ what you’re meant to.”

Your eyes roll back slightly as he presses impossibly deep inside of you. Despite everything - his size, your ages, the myriad of reasons this shouldn’t even be happening right now - it feels like the perfect fit.

“S-so good,” you whine , breathless as his body starts to lean in close, his chest pressing against your back.

“So good, who?” Joel reminds you, his voice now rumbling right in your ear.

“F- Daddy. So good daddy,” you quickly spit out, lost in the moment. Joel had once called you cock dumb, and you’d wanted to scoff, but moments like these proved it to be a very real phenomenon. You typically consider yourself relatively level headed, but right now you’re completely helpless to the power he holds, all thought centered on the way he slips in and out of you, every sensation and nerve lit up from the drag of the head of his cock inside of you.

You shudder, feeling his hulking form so close as he brings his lips to your ear, wet kisses trailing to your neck. He’s always loved your neck - it was the first thing he’d deigned to touch all those months ago that had felt charged, different than your typical interactions. That’s when he’d drawn you in, hooked you and pulled you into this whirlwind.

You scramble a hand back to reach for him, touch him, but he grabs it, tracing his fingers over your palm, interlacing them with yours for a brief moment before your wrist is pinned down. He fucks you harder, faster, his lips bouncing against your neck before they latch on, sucking hard.

“J-Joel!” you cry out in a panic, realizing the possibility of a mark being left with an impending meet up with your parents tomorrow.

“It’ll be fine,” he purrs against your sensitive skin, sucking a little harder before moving to another spot. "Jus' leavin' you with a little somethin'."

You see stars as his cock presses as deep as it can go on his next thrust, and you lose the will to fight a losing battle. You have makeup for a reason, you suppose.

You moan, loud and clear, suddenly unable to even care about the world around you, an audience or Chip or any of your coworkers rounding this truck and seeing you getting absolutely ruined by a man well over twice your age. None of it matters when you have Joel so close to you, so ready to please you and take care of you.

“G-god, you’re so deep,” you whimper out in a garbled haze as he keeps up his punishing thrusts, letting the head of his kiss the deepest parts of you.

Joel chuckles dryly, doubling down on his efforts, the both of you panting, close to reaching something extraordinary together. “Mmm,” he groans into your ear, still lapping at your neck periodically. “What d’you want with an old man like me anyway, huh?”

It’s a question you’ve asked yourself dozens of times, one you’ve never quite found the answer to, even after searching deep within yourself. Joel was brutal in the sheets but also sweet, and maybe that was a balance you’d been seeking without knowing it. The illusion he created of not caring was always overpowered by the look in his eyes that told you there was something more there, something you both wanted to build upon but knew you never could. So you took moments like this - dark and rushed and secretive in parking lots - and made the most of them while you could pretend that the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Instead of saying all of that, you just mumble out through your panting, “Y-you know why.”

“That’s right, this big cock, fuckin’ you like nobody else can,” Joel replies for you, and you nod languidly, your eyelids heavy, your mind concentrated now on the heat building deep in your belly, furling tighter with every thrust.

“R-right there, oh my god,” you breathe, pressing your hips into each thrust to pull him that much deeper, to make each crash of your bodies into one another that much harder.

Joel moans quietly, attempting to stifle the lusty little sound but it's music to your ears, listening to him fall apart for you. “Come for me, sweetheart, s-shit, daddy needs to hear you…”

“D-daddy!” you whine out loudly, knowing he loves to hear that name nearly pornographic off your lips in these heated moments. Your pants and noises break into little moans that crescendo as bursts of pleasure wash over you. Every muscle is taut and taking Joel’s harsh, relentless thrusts into you, nearly making you scream with how vibrantly every sensation seems to crash over you.

“Y-yeah, let ‘em hear it. Christ you sound so pretty f’me, baby. Milk daddy’s cock, f-fuck that’s it…” Joel’s string of praises reaches your ears in a distant fog before his hips stutter inside of you and he’s spilling himself deep and full. You clench around him one last time, shuddering at the sensation as your skin tingles pleasantly. You feel floaty, far gone as you try to regain your bearings, slumped and ass up on the cool material of the truck bed. Reality comes back slowly as Joel kisses down your back, planting one on your ass cheek before giving it a playful bite and kneeling next to you.

“You okay, sunshine?” he asks softly, and for some reason, despite feeling elated, tears prick at the back of your eyes. It’s too much, too emotional. You will them away in a second, not daring to let Joel see.

“Mhm,” you weakly utter, nodding. Joel’s hand strokes along the side of your head, and you peer up at him with a slack smile, finding that he’s giving you one back. 

He comes down to your level, kissing your forehead. “Best yet, maybe,” he says playfully, but you aren’t sure you feel like laughing.

“Maybe,” you ponder, watching Joel’s face morph into a more serious expression. He curls his fingers around your ear, tracing shapes along your hairline, your neck, your shoulders as you stay just as you are for a long, quiet moment. He guides you to sit up, silently handing you your discarded clothing, helping you dress as the mess of him slips down your thighs. You have the passing thought that maybe he has napkins in his glove box, but then decide you’d rather have the reminder of him.

Joel sits next to you on the edge of the truck bed again, and interlocks his hand with yours. “I - I’ve got a hotel, right on campus. I could take y’home, but I’d like if you came back w’me for the night.”

His words give you pause, a tiny inhaled breath as you go to speak, snapping your lips closed and looking down at your lap for a beat. “Is that a good idea?” You ask for so many reasons, knowing that Joel is as acutely aware of all of them - the worst being that the longer you spend together, the harder it is to come back to reality.

“It ain’t a bad one,” he rasps, sultry and rough, and you crack a tiny smile. Always persuasive and charming when he needs to be.

“It’s not,” you admit, looking into his inquiring gaze.

“W-well?” he asks, nudging your side. “Jus’ one more night. I hardly get to see you, an’ you can go in the mornin’.”

You know how the night will go. You’ll both think you’re there for the sex - to sweat and say dirty things and pant all over again until you both come so hard that it boggles your mind. You’ll convince yourself that’s all it is, until you end up staying up late - talking, laughing, held in the other's arms. Intertwined together, bodies naked and comfortable with the other, because you’ve been here before.

You’ll both find yourself wanting to shy away from that fact that more is there - a real connection, two people with unlikely similarities, that just… get the other. You’ll both get lost in it, until the sun shines the next morning and you have to pretend that it doesn’t exist, that it was some figment of the power that the night holds over a person’s emotions, those dark twilight hours taking over your minds.

But you’ll both know that isn’t true, and there is nothing you can do about it.

“Okay,” you tell him, knowing the fate you’re subjecting yourself to - one that’s as wonderful as it is confusing. It hurts at times, but the spectacular things this man makes you feel outweighs it all. It’s worth it, that pain, to be able to find one another time and time again, and maybe even dream of more someday.  “Let’s go.”

divider by @/saradika-graphics!

[violetflowerswrites]

Sweetheart

Pairing: Logan Howlett X Female Mutant Reader

Era: X Men 1 / Trilogy

Summary: Logan and the resident therapist for the mutant school grow closer due to Logan’s resistance to her emotional manipulation powers. A friends with benefits situation naturally leads to falling for each other.

Word Count: 6.5k

Disclaimers: smoking, mentions of cheating, mentions of mental health issues (PTSD, trauma, self-harm/suicide), swearing, explicit sexual content. Consensual kissing, touching, oral sex, and p in v sex. Logan has a bit of a pain kink. 18+ mature only. Minors DNI.

A/N: I recently re-watched X1 because Logan has been on my mind since the Deadpool and Wolverine movie this past summer. And holy hell Hugh Jackman is SO cute and SO sexy and SO flirty in X1 that I couldn’t help but write this absolutely depraved, incredibly smutty (and soft!) fic. Seriously, it just kept getting longer and longer because of all the smut scenes. Enjoy!

…

The first thing you noticed was the hairy forearm laid heavily on your stomach. The heft of it acted as a natural weighted blanket, lulling you into that peaceful haze between wake and sleep.

But the laughter and squeals of kids playing in the freshly fallen snow outside your window invaded your mind with happy energy.

Excitement and adrenaline.

Winter morning sunshine and the holiday spirit.

Too bad you still hadn’t quite mastered how to dial the volume down of the outside world so you could sleep in.

With a contented sigh, you turned and gazed at the weather-tanned face of Logan, aka The Wolverine.

He was scruffy, rough around the edges, and altogether too much of a flirt to be boyfriend material.

But that was exactly how you liked your men.

Emotionally unavailable?

Check.

Morally ambiguous backstory?

Check.

Utterly ravishing in bed?

Check.

Logan and yourself definitely had a friends with benefits situation going on. Not that anyone would have bothered to say anything. Although you hoped Professor X wasn’t spending his free time dipping into the confines of your mind.

You see, you were the in-house therapist. You knew everyone’s secrets so they didn’t dare share yours. It was the best insurance policy in a school full of mutants you could have gotten.

Ever since you were young, you had always been “in-tune” with others’ emotions. Uncannily so.

Somehow you didn’t question this, but the obvious career of choice was to become a therapist.

It wasn’t until your college boyfriend cheated on you and you felt so overcome with rage that you told him to drive himself off a cliff.

And he did.

But not really.

He was so upset that you caught him in bed with another woman, that he stopped paying attention to the road on the way home and got into a little fender bender. A trip to the ER and a few bruises and a cracked rib later, it was more than enough to scare you into thinking that perhaps your influence was more than just a high EQ.

So you tested your powers. First, getting your roommate to stop stealing your food from the fridge. Then, helping your sister reconcile with your mom over Thanksgiving dinner. After that, soothing crying babies in seconds. Calming down PTSD patients in relapse episodes. Catching students in mental health crises before they did something they could never take back.

Before you knew it, you were making six figures post-grad at a fancy private clinic for celebrities in Hollywood whose biggest problems were having way too much money and convincing themselves that they had every disorder in the DSM-5.

Then, Professor X found you. And hired you on the spot to be the school counselor / therapist / shrink / lady-who-you-talk-to-lying-on- the-couch, at his school for mutants.

Sorry—at the “Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters” as it officially said on your business card.

…

The peaceful inhales and exhales of the human heating pad next to you put you in a nostalgic mood. So you burrowed down deeper into the covers and remembered handing that exact business card to the burliest man you’d ever seen in your little office.

That was the first thing you noticed when Logan walked in through the mahogany wooden door almost half a year ago now. How he filled up the door frame with not just height, but pure mass of muscle.

Jesus Christ, is this man on steroids? You remembered thinking.

The second thing you noticed was the hair. Thick and dark and messy, but pointed and shaped exactly like ears.

The third thing was his hands. Almost always in fists, as if he was ready to fight in a moment’s notice.

Which he probably was.

Ah. You had thought to yourself then.

This is why they call him The Wolverine.

“Good morning!” You greeted him warmly, trying to exude as much welcoming energy as you could.

It was met with a brick wall and a single grunt of acknowledgment.

Not fazed in the least, you gestured to a plush deep espresso-colored leather sofa that matched the soothing wood tones of the room.

“You’re not gonna ask me to lie down on that, are ya?” Logan gruffed out.

”Totally up to you.” You tried to disarm him with a smile, which he resolutely ignored. So, you handed him your business card and he begrudgingly took it, though he barely glanced at it and tossed it on top of the cushions.

Then, Logan pulled out a lighter and a cigarette from his leather jacket and took a long drag.

“Mind if I smoke?” Logan asked afterwards, with an arched brow.

Clearly he was trying to get a rise out of you, so you ignored the blatant lack of manners and simply shook your head and tried to make a joke.

“Not if you’re willing to share.” You half laughed, half coughed.

“I doubt a pretty lil thing like you smokes Malboro reds, much less a shrink.” Logan exhaled another thick column of smoke.

“You don’t know where my mouth has been.”

The words slipped out of your smiling lips before you could catch them, and you mentally slapped yourself for letting your intrusive thoughts come out.

Logan’s jaw dropped open, before he quickly shut it and kept a firm grip on his cigarette before it fell and burned a hole into Professor X’s very expensive carpet.

You felt a shift in the room. Logan’s energy was defensive, reluctant, and suspicious when he walked in.

Now, it was undoubtedly aroused.

To you.

Goddammit.

“I apologize. That wasn’t very professional of me. I’m going to be straight with you because I know that Professor X requested that you to come here. He specifically asked me to help you recover some memories, possibly work through some PTSD and figure out who…” you hesitated, searching for a polite way to phrase what you wanted to say next.

“Fucked me up with their experiments?” Logan laughed bitterly. “No need to sugar coat it, sweetheart.”

“Ahem. Yes. But now I’ve clearly given you mixed signals—“

“Mixed signals?” Logan grinned impishly. “I’m just picking up what you’re putting out.” He leaned back into the sofa.

“Well, that’s not exactly it. You see, I have the ability to read emotions.” You explained, “and influence the emotions of others.”

“Really?” Logan looked intrigued, but not quite convinced. “Tell me what I’m feeling right now.”

”You came in unwilling and totally against seeing a therapist.” You took a breath. “And now you’re curious, and a little attracted to me right now.”

“Not just a little, Doc.” He took another drag of cigarette.

“I’m sure you tell that to all the girls.” You waved away his comment, trying to not let him make you blush.

“Nah.” Logan exhaled. “Tell me I’m lying.”

“Well, I can’t do that. But I can change how you feel.” You offered.

“Try me.” He sat up in his seat, leaning forward in a challenge. “Make me not feel attracted to you.”

You furrowed your brow in concentration. Emotions were a finicky thing to manipulate, but your powers helped you “see” the feeling, almost like an aura or energy around the person.

Logan’s right now was pulsing, wafting off his body towards you, as his locked eyes with yours.

So you tried, pushing it back. Changing its shape, its color.

Its taste in your mouth.

But it stayed the same.

Sweet, sultry, and utterly addicting.

“What the hell?” You muttered. Your professionalism fell away as you were caught by surprise yet again by this man.

“What?” Logan murmured.

“It’s not…I can’t…” you trailed off, perplexed.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Logan teased, “powers don’t work on me?”

“Holy shit.” You whispered to yourself. “Holy shit.” You emphasized the expletive in shock.

Logan’s face fell when he realized you weren’t messing with him. Your powers actually didn’t work on him.

“Stay right there. Don’t you dare leave!” You thrusted a finger in his face and practically ran out the door, your eyes shining in excitement.

And you left a very confused Wolverine in his seat.

It turned out, The Wolverine had very strong resistance to psychic-type powers. Your powers were much weaker than Professor X, or even Dr. Jean Grey’s, so it was easy for him to subconsciously block them off. When you were first hired, you worked with Professor X and Jean a lot, trying to improve your manipulation abilities, but they could always tell when you were trying to change their emotions. Others like…say…Cyclops for example? Not so much.

You chuckled aloud at the juvenile pranks you pulled with Jean, like making Cyclops feel so confident he sober-karaoked on a night out, and you and Jean recorded his performance, clutching your sides with laughter.

He was actually an excellent singer, but he never let the two of you hear another note again. After all, your powers changed emotions, but not memories.

…

Logan shifted on the mattress, feeling the vibrations of your quiet laughter, and he let out a sleepy groan. You held your breath until he settled back into stillness, not meaning to wake him just yet.

Your mind wandered again to another memory.

“You’re gonna give yourself wrinkles, sweetheart.” A rough voice interrupted your concentration and smoothed your forehead with an equally rough thumb.

“Stop calling me sweetheart, it’s distracting!” You playfully shoved Logan in the shoulder and he didn’t budge an inch. The man was built like a tank and had absolutely no qualms attacking you.

With his constant, less-than-subtle flirting that is.

“How’s this for distracting?” Logan grabbed your waist and plopped you right in his lap. Your tight black skirt rode up your thighs in a decidedly unprofessional manner. Logan’s eyes immediately flickered down to your exposed skin, before he brought your hands up to the sides of head.

“Jesus Christ Logan, I’m trying to get better at this.” You huffed out exasperatedly, but you could feel Logan’s emotions charging up, along with your own.

Attraction.

Magnetic, sensual, delicious attraction to each other.

It didn’t take mutant powers to see that the two of you had chemistry. The tension had been building for months since that first day Logan stepped into your office. Now, it was another matter entirely to test if you had sexual chemistry. Which Logan always seemed to push the boundaries on.

Because now, here you were, sitting on the lap of a man who you were supposed to be helping, training with, and trying to practice your powers on.

And your attention was wholly on how thick and hard and firm his rolling thigh muscles felt under the pliant flesh of your ass. You subconsciously sank down further into his lap and Logan closed his eyes in a slow couple of blinks.

“Careful there, sweetheart.” Logan’s voice came out with more gravel than he intended.

“Oh, are we feeling a little distracted?” You whispered in a smirk, your hands practically grasping the thick aura of attraction between the two of you.

The strength of Logan’s emotion was quite literally making you feel drunk with arousal. You could tell Logan noticed the increase in the thrumming of your heartbeat and the speed of your hot breath so close to his face.

“What am I feeling right now?” Logan searched your eyes, his tone filled with barely masked self-control, desire, expectation.

“Tell me.”

You sucked in a shaky breath. “You wanna fuck me.”

“You’re damn right I do.”

Logan’s strong hands tangled in the hair at the back of your head as his lips, teeth, and tongue clashed messily with yours. He didn’t hold back anything, and it felt like he was devouring you whole. Your hands clawed at his shoulders, pushing the leather jacket off and you dug your fingernails into the thick muscle of his biceps.

Logan released your mouth with a growl, and he wasted no time nipping, sucking, and licking all over your neck and collarbone.

Meanwhile, you were transfixed by how the bright pink lines of your scratches were healing on his tanned skin. Curiosity got the better of you and you tried scratching him again, harder this time.

“You trying to hurt me, sweetheart?” Logan grumbled hotly against your ear.

“Mmm maybe?” You giggled, sighing into his lips that were pressing kisses against the side of your face.

“Good.” Logan kissed down your throat, ripping apart the buttons of your work blouse as he went. “I like a bit of pain when I’m fucking.”

You peeled off the top and your lacy black bra, exposing your bare breasts to Logan and he promptly buried his face in your flesh, clearly enjoying himself with your body. Unseemingly moans continuously poured out of both of you and your lust-riddled brain somehow remembered that it was the middle of the workday and you were in your third floor office that anyone could walk by.

“Logan, hold on—I need to…” You gasped out in stuttered breaths.

“Mmph” he grunted back, his teeth having found your perky nipples and he was clearly too focused on that to hear a thing you said.

So you grabbed a thick tuft of his hair and yanked his head back, to which the man actually snarled at being interrupted.

Unafraid, you laughed with delight and kissed him deeply. He tasted of cigarettes and salt and a delicious musk that solely belonged to him.

“I need to close the curtains and lock the door, Logan.” You reprimanded.

Resigned, Logan spread his arms to the back of the couch as he watched you secure the room. Even with your back turned, you could feel that his gaze never wavered from you. The lust poured off of him in waves that pulsed with every breath he took.

It was a deep red, thick like a fog, and it filled your nostrils, your head, your senses entirely. You’ve never felt your powers be so entirely overwhelmed by a single person before.

But Logan was not just anyone.

“I can feel so much from you.” Your voice dropped down into a strained whisper as you stepped back towards him, in between his man-spread legs. You reached a hand behind you to unzip your skirt, and Logan licked his lips once he saw the little black thong you had on underneath. He quickly undid his belt buckle and threw it to the side with a clatter. You slid your hands up his chest slowly, inhaling his scent as you kissed the side of his neck, finding a single vein throbbing with his increased heartbeat.

His white tank fell in a heap on the floor. A second later, dark blue jeans followed suit. Finally, you used your free hand to yank his boxers down and he was completely bare before you at last.

“What do you feel?” Logan could not stop staring at you, at your body, and following every motion of your hands.

You straddled his lap, a knee on either side of his thick thighs. Logan released a breath he didn’t know he was holding when you sat your bare bottom on his lap once again.

Instead of replying, you whispered into his mouth, “Cut off my thong.”

Thrill licked up your spine as you watched a single blade release from his right hand, and Logan oh-so-carefully sliced the string of your panties along your hips. Silently, you both watched as it slid off your heated skin.

You rewarded him with another kiss, running your tongue along the inside of his mouth. He nudged his nose into your cheek, desperate for more.

Meanwhile, you reached down between your bodies and found his painfully erect member. Your lips swallowed the needy growl that escaped the back of Logan’s throat. It made a slow smile spread on your face.

This man wanted you as badly as you wanted him. And neither of you could wait a second longer to devour each other like animals.

“I feel your desire.” You finally answered his question, just as you pulled his thick cock towards your ready core, and you sank down in a single motion.

You both released the most guttural groan at the same time. Logan was a huge man and he had a cock to match. The head pushed against your cervix and you felt positively stretched out trying to accommodate his girth.

Logan filled his hands with the supple flesh of your hips, pulling you up only for you to slide back down, your slickness coating him well.

You braced yourself on his shoulders, raising yourself onto your knees until he was nearly slipping out of you. You glanced down between your two bodies, getting a glimpse of his glorious cock.

“Stop teasing.” Logan panted into your chest, his own already shining with sweat.

You smirked and lowered yourself again, slowing down even more.

Tantalizing The Wolverine with the hot suck of your pussy.

Pressing your soft breasts into the mass of hair on his chest.

Your mouth unrelentingly kissed his scruffy face and wet lips.

“Sweetheart.” Logan’s nickname for you was strained out through clenched teeth.

Laced with warning.

You paid no heed, continuing your teasing movements until, with a roar of impatience, Logan sunk his fingers into the soft fat of your ass and thrusted upwards as hard as he could.

You released his lips with a yelp of surprise and he set a brutal pace. Logan’s length drilled into your hot core, stretching you, spearing you far deeper than you could have ever expected.

“O-oh my god! Logan! S-slow down!” You implored, but Logan had other plans for how he was going to wreck you.

Every thrust was met with a hard slap of skin on skin, and the most you could do was simply dig your nails into his biceps, this time, drawing blood with how hard you were holding on to him.

The pain however, simply goaded him to keep railing you like a rag doll. His cock buried itself to the hilt only to pull out and push back in again, over and over, as if it could never be satisfied.

You had a feeling that Logan had stamina for hours. The Wolverine could just keep going until both of you lost the ability to move. As much as that sounded incredible, the thin trails of blood running down his skin forced you to reconsider how much sex the two of you could handle. At least for the moment.

“Logan, s-seriously. You’re bleeding.” You finally managed to say.

“It’ll heal.” Logan ground out. But, he did slow down until you sat back in his lap, running your fingers along the cuts your fingernails had caused. He wasn’t wrong; each small wound was closing up at a remarkable speed.

“I don’t want to hurt you each time we have sex, Logan.” Even if he liked pain, you didn’t feel comfortable inflicting injury on this beautiful man. Or getting too rough too fast.

“You could never hurt me, sweetheart.” Logan assured you, holding you more gently now, his breath coming in heavy pants. But, he could see the worry on your face, so he kissed the sweaty furrow of your brow.

“Okay. We’ll take it slow. I won’t be so rough, unless you say so.” He murmured against your skin. The both of you were drenched in sweat as if you had run a marathon.

You carefully untangled yourself from Logan’s body and stood up on wobbly legs. You were already feeling a dull ache of soreness between your thighs.

“Hold on-you said ‘each time we have sex’ as in…” Logan questioned.

“Oh we’re not done. You haven’t even made me cum yet.” You grinned at him, walking over to your desk.

You sensually bent over, presenting your slick-shiny slit to Logan.

“I doubt you could stay away from me after you’ve had a taste.” You teased him, the desperation for this man to give you an orgasm making the dirty talk stream out of your lips. Your outside persona as the put-together empath long gone in favor of the filter-less, horny, and needy slut you really were.

Logan immediately crossed over to you in a few strides, holding the weight of his still-erect cock over your waiting entrance.

As he pushed into you, one hand holding you down onto your desk, he corrected your statement.

“You’re wrong, sweetheart.” Logan explained. “I couldn’t stay away from you before you let me fuck this sweet pussy.”

His deliberate slowness was absolute torture on your body. He filled you up in a way no man, no mutant had ever done before.

“Oh! Right there, Logan!” You moaned out, barely hearing what he said. His cock now pushed against that delicious spongy center in your cunt. He then pulled out, admiring the way your juices coated every thick vein on his member.

He entered you again, just as slowly, making sure both of you felt every inch of his invasion. Your hands reached over to the other side of the desk, your white knuckled grip clutching the edge. You needed to hold on to something, anything to ground yourself or you were going to lose it with how Logan was tormenting you with his cock.

“P-please, keep going!” The desperation in your voice turned whatever you said into a whine.

A few thrusts later, and you could feel that familiar tightening in your core. You were getting so close, and you were sure that the helpless moans that kept coming out of your mouth were an obvious indication to Logan that you were about to cum.

“I knew I wanted to make you scream my name with my cock the very first day we met.” Logan finally concluded, his voice hot in your ear as he pressed his chest onto your back. At the same time he gave this sinful confession, he reached a hand down to find your swollen clit and touched you in just the right way, as if he had done it a million times before.

Your eyes squeezed shut and you came immediately.

”Oh—!”

In the haze of the most explosive pleasure you’ve ever felt, you registered three sensations at the same time.

First, wet jets of his expend painted the hot skin of your back.

Second, a rough hand clapped over your mouth, muffling the orgasmic scream of The Wolverine’s name that was ripping through your lungs.

Third, fireworks. You’ve never seen a man cum so hard that your powers registered an orgasm as fireworks. It was usually a quick flash of light like an old-school camera, but Logan came so hard that his pleasure was literally illuminating your senses like it was the 4th of July.

It was beautiful to witness.

And even more satisfying to participate in.

Breathless, speechless, and completely and thoroughly fucked, you turned around and simply grinned at the sexiest, horniest, hottest man you’ve ever had sex with.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to set up regular “Friday Fucknights” after that.

…

You slowly unfurled your clenched fists from the comforter that you didn’t know you were squeezing tight.

Goddammit.

All the memories of the first time you and Logan had sex made you decidedly horny. Even after Logan had given you a good rough fucking the night before.

Flashes of last night whipped through your brain.

Your face buried in the mattress, your moans disappearing into the fabric.

The cold breeze on your bare ass, raised up to meet Logan’s face.

The scruff of his beard rubbing against your skin.

His nose inhaling your sinful scent.

His lips and tongue eating you out for dessert after he surprised you with a date to a local steakhouse.

It was one of the few dates Logan spontaneously took you out on and it would always start the same way:

“Wanna go for a ride?” He’d ask you.

“Sure.” You’d reply.

And you’d end up at some isolated restaurant with Logan inhaling a monstrous slab of meat as you complained about all the teenage drama you were trying to counsel students through.

A few drinks and naughty kisses in the back corner booth later, the night always ended in your usual sex.

And you know you were clear to him that you just wanted the sex, no strings attached. You told him from the get-go that dating wasn’t really your thing. Due to the nature of your powers, you could never be sure if your partners actually loved you or if it was your love for them influencing how they felt about you. After all, if your powers influenced most mutants, then regular humans were even more susceptible.

But sex with Logan was perfect. Even those random dates were guilt-free and stress-free, because you could finally just be with someone who you didn’t have to worry about any of that with.

At the same time, Logan was intense. It was probably a good idea that you basically saw each other once a week for sex and stayed the hell out of his way the rest of the time.

Honestly? You could only handle The Wolverine in doses.

Between his traumatic hidden memories that emerged in daily nightmares…

And his overwhelming sexual desire for you…

The man was going to be the death of you.

…

A pained sound, almost like a whimper came from Logan. You could see a few beads of sweat break out on his forehead, and you quickly grabbed one of his clenched fists. Your hands gently rubbed over the knuckles where his blades lay hidden beneath a thin layer of skin. In a moment, Logan’s face relaxed and his eyes began to flutter open.

You sighed in relief.

Unfortunately, even though you could only handle Logan once a week, it was clear that Logan wanted you much more than that.

After that first month of Friday Fucknights, Logan had quickly figured out that spending the night with you acted as a natural sleep drug. He suspected it was your powers, or maybe it was just you.

Because somehow, when you were in his bed, he could finally wind down and slumber nightmare free. You noticed it too - his aura turned to a soft, amber yellow when he was sleeping next to you. The emotion of peace and contentment.

“Morning, sweetheart.” Logan murmured, his fingers now interlaced with yours. He brought your entwined hands up to his lips so he could press his lips to it.

Goddammit. There it was again.

The unmistakable feeling of love - pink, swirling wisps floating gently in the air. The smell of those quintessential roses and a deep warm fuzziness in your belly that felt like home.

Logan reeked of it.

…

You first noticed it at the date last night. You were complaining about some adolescent love triangle that Bobby and Rogue and Kitty had tangled themselves up in and Logan was teasing you about it. He was nursing a beer, chuckling as he laughed both at you and with you.

And there was a pause right after the laughter faded where you recognized the emotion he was feeling. You clocked it as soon as he took a sip of his bottle and looked right into your eyes.

Something that you hadn’t felt before from him.

Love.

You immediately deflected by saying something sexual to distract him from thinking too hard about what he felt and his aura quickly switched to that familiar red-hot lust.

That’s all you wanted from him.

That’s all you needed from him.

Right?

From there it was an illegally-fast motorcycle ride back to the mansion for some rough fucking.

…

Trying to hide your unease about his feelings, you hoped he didn’t notice the elongated pause before your reply this morning. Your thoughts were racing about the implications of The Wolverine falling in love with you.

You shouldn’t.

You couldn’t.

Fuck, you needed to distract him.

And yourself.

“Good morning, Logan” you finally snapped out of it and smiled at him. “You feeling alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He opened your palm up and kissed it again, this time, giving your skin a little teasing lick.

“You were tossing in your sleep a little.” You explained, “but I’m about to make you feel all better.” Your voice dropped flirtatious and low.

“Is that right, sweetheart?” Logan’s lifted a brow as you burrowed under the blanket, feeling the waves of heat emanating off of him.

You quickly shimmied down until your face was right in front of his thick cock. After all the sex last night, Logan hadn’t bothered to put on clothes again before he fell asleep.

Neither had you.

Your tongue found his shaft first, while your hands gently caressed his balls. They felt heavy and warm in your palm as you licked up and down his cock.

Above you, Logan immediately twitched and grunted at your touch.

“Mmph - that’s—!” Logan could barely say.

“More?” You teased from under the covers.

“Y-yeah. Please, sweetheart. Give me more.” He groaned, one hand tangling itself to your hair. He gave you a slight, sharp tug that made your arousal flare up.

You took a deep breath before closing your mouth onto the head of his cock, and sucking hard and holding him hostage in return.

“Fuck!” Logan swore, blood rushing down to his member. You could feel him growing in girth, opening your jaw wider, your tongue sliding under him. You refused to let him go, hollowing out your cheeks, drawing him deeper until you had to surface for air.

“Yummy.” You grinned devilishly, swiping away the trail of saliva down your chin.

“My messy girl.” Logan pulled your chin closer until his lips pressed against your mouth. You threw the covers off of the both of you, and climbed on top of him.

“Mmm.” You moaned, his tongue was dancing with yours and it was driving you crazy. “As much as I love kissing you Logan, I think I’d rather ride you today.”

“Be my fucking guest.” Logan smiled against your mouth before releasing your face with a filthy wet smooch.

You admired the ripple of his abs as he leaned against the pillows, his huge arms thrown behind his head. The sight made you lick his taste off your lips, and liquid heat rushed to your core.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about all morning?”

You knelt beside him, your knees squeezing into his hips as you reached below you. God, he was huge. A fact you admired every time you took his substantial girth into your hand.

“What, sweetheart?” Logan gazed at you with a bemused expression on his face.

“The first time we had sex.” You continued. The head was breaching the tight ring of your pussy now.

“That was a great day.” Logan’s chest rose as he sucked in a breath, holding it as he watched you sink down until your bottom was flush to his strong thighs.

“That was a fucking incredible day.” You moaned at the feeling of being so full, so full of him. “And I was sitting pretty in your lap, just like I am right now.”

“Y-you spoil me, sweetheart.” Logan released his breath in a whoosh, his words starting to stutter just like his hips.

“Ah ah ah.” You pulled his hands away from your ass and up to your breasts. ”Don’t rush me.”

Logan responded with a frustrated groan, even as he kneaded your soft flesh and pinched your nipples.

“Fuck that’s good.” You praised him and rewarded him with a roll of your hips. You let his cock slide out only to suck it back in with your next movement.

“I want to feel you, Logan.” You leaned down to press a kiss onto his open mouth. “All of you.”

Without waiting any longer, you bounced your ass on top of his cock, suddenly riding him like your life depended on it.

Logan wrapped his arms around your back as you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

Expletives flying and a whole host of unseemly sounds spilled out of the both of you.

But nothing compared to the sweet sound of his cock and balls slapping against the soft cheeks of your bottom.

And the messy wet squelch of juices that were streaming out of your pussy and coating his length.

“S-sweetheart! I c-can’t!” Logan’s whine almost made you laugh. Your pussy was so good that it made The Wolverine beg to cum. What a fucking power trip.

“Cum for me Logan!” You encouraged him, your pussy was throbbing with need. Something animalistic was unlocking inside of you and you just had to feel his release inside of your cunt.

After all, you did say you wanted to feel all of him.

And that included his hot, delicious seed.

“Let me—” Logan started to pull you off of him before you grabbed his hands and ground down onto him.

“N-no!” You panted out, still bouncing on him hard. “Cum inside.”

Logan’s eyes widened. With a roar, he sat up and locked his arms around you, his hips jutting up into you once, twice, three times.

And you felt his cock release inside of you at last.

“Oh my god!” You bit into his shoulder, seeing fireworks again, not just for Logan, but for both of you. The room was heavy with the smell of sex and lust and sharp bursts of light that danced across your vision. You could vaguely feel yourself falling back down onto the bed with him, your cheek pressed into his hairy chest.

Your mind was somewhere in space, simply overwhelmed with sensation. This man, this mutant, this Wolverine, gave you the most explosive orgasms every time he fucked you.

Then, as if the sky had cleared after a storm, you saw the fireworks fizzle out. And creeping in from the corner of your eye, you saw it again. That pesky pink fog and the smell of roses.

Love.

…

“Goddamit Logan” you muttered out, lifting your head up to look at the man before you, and your heart immediately softened. His eyes were closed, chest falling and rising rapidly as he recovered. Seeing Logan in that post-sex glow always felt special to you.

He was beautiful.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Logan’s eyes shot open on high alert and he stiffened underneath you, picking up the annoyance in your tone.

You blew out a breath and pushed yourself up on his chest, staring at him before deciding what to say.

What to do.

What to feel.

Logan’s eyes darted across your face, searching for an answer as you battled internally. You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks and your heart started to beat in double time.

Fuck it if he was falling for you.

You were addicted to this man.

You were not about to let him go.

“I can feel you, Logan.” You confessed, “I felt it last night, and just when you woke up, and right now.”

“What is it?” Confusion, and a hint of trepidation flashed across his face.

“Love.”

Logan’s brows shot up and he stared into your soul with wide, chocolate-brown eyes. But you stayed silent, waiting for him to deny it, confirm it, something.

With a rustle of sheets, Logan carefully sat up, and you with him. Then, he deliberately placed two warm, calloused palms on both sides of your hot cheeks.

And he kissed you gently.

So fucking gently.

Somehow, that simple kiss felt way more intimate than any of the sex the two of you had ever done.

“Would it be so bad if I loved you?” Logan asked in a low murmur against your lips.

In that instant, your mind recalled everything you loved about Logan.

His gentleness with the students, especially the ones that had powers that were more dangerous or harder to hide. He understood what it felt like to be an outsider. To be feared when you just wanted to belong.

His “I don’t give a fuck” energy when he did, in fact, give a lot of fucks about those he cared about. It showed up in the way he asked about how your week was, and patiently listened to all your complaints before taking you to bed. The way he noticed when you were stressed, or tired, or just needed the comfort of not being alone. The way he put your emotions first before his own.

His ridiculous reputation as the resident flirt, when he was actually so loyal to you. He might have made moves on Jean or Storm or every eligible and un-eligible lady at the school, but you were the only one he called “sweetheart.” You were the only one who saw what Logan looked like when he was afraid, when he was vulnerable. When he was in love.

And of course, his deep respect for Professor X, who he was always just a little bit more well-mannered for. He had changed so much since coming to the school. You could see it In the way he fought on X-missions even though he was so used to fighting for himself, by himself. Now, he was a soldier. A protector.

“No,” you slowly replied. You paused, and covered his hands with your own. ”It would be wonderful.”

Your ears were blessed with the most unbridled, joyful laugh from Logan as he smothered you with his 200 pound body and rained a cascade of kisses all over your skin.

Every press of his lips against your own felt like an I love you over and over again.

“Logan!” You couldn’t help but laugh with him. “Stop!”

“I can’t,” Logan lifted your leg up to his shoulder and drove into your pussy. You were so overwhelmed with his emotion that you hadn’t even seen his cock engorge itself again.

“L-Logan!” You cried out his name again, this time in pleasure.

“I can’t help myself, sweetheart.” Logan kissed you soundly. “Not when I love you this much.”

You held his face, caressing his rough beard and staring into his eyes, shiny with emotion that mirrored your own.

“I love you, too.”

The rest of the morning, laughter and kisses and smiles flooded the room, basking the two of you in the soft, pink glow of the best emotion there is.

Love.

[robynhoodwrites]

♛Within Reach♛

Expanding on the "Within Reach" Memoria, with smut at the end >:) (This is written from a first person point of view, with an AFAB and femme main character.)

Word Count: 6.5k

MINORS DNI! The following writing contains the following: smut, public sex, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, blowjob, Evol used during sex, mirror sex, half plot/half smut, jealousy on Sylus' end, mutual pining, he is possessive (in the hot way, ofc), kinda rough sex.

My fingers run across the fabric of the dress, the silk material sliding beneath my fingertips gracefully. “This is from our spring collection. I don’t know if you saw, but a few celebrities wore dresses from that collection to the Linkon Gala when it first came out,” the saleswoman says, her smile a bit too wide not to be fake.

I nod, reveling in the wine-red color of the fabric. My hands skim along the sides until they reach a price tag hanging from the collar. When I notice the price, a grimace spreads across my face. I hang the dress back up on the wall, a sigh leaving my frowning lips. The saleswoman notices this, tutting lightly under her breath.

“On second thought, why don’t you just browse over here in the clearance section while I finish stocking over here,” she says, her wide grin not leaving her face. Ouch. I just nod in response as she prances away, my eyes skimming the racks in the clearance section. Even these are a bit too expensive…

The pressure is on for this shopping trip. I have to make sure I look good for Romero’s party, especially considering that Sylus is going to be accompanying me. I didn’t technically invite him, but he took the initiative and invited himself. Honestly, I’m kind of glad he did. I can be a bit bad at that stuff sometimes.

As if thinking about Sylus had summoned him, I hear a crow’s caw come from my pocket. I take it out to find that Sylus is calling me, his face now illuminating my screen. Asshole must have changed my ringtone. I press the answer button, my mood brightening involuntarily as I place the phone against my ear.

“Did you change my ringtone?” I ask, a smile flitting across my face. I hear a dark chuckle from the other end, and I feel the butterflies in my stomach start to flutter rampantly. I have got to get this crush under control.

“I thought this one was so much more interesting. Now you’ll think of me no matter who calls,” he drawls, and I can hear the grin in his voice. God damn it, he’s not even here and I’m blushing. “Listen, I’m at the boutique by your work, on the top floor.”

I feel like my heart has stopped. “Wait, you’re here too? Did you do that on purpose?” I ask, a slight panic lining my voice. Sylus seems to pick up on this, another chuckle emanating from my phone’s speaker. “You totally did this on purpose,” I whine.

“See you in ten minutes, sweetie,” he insists, before hanging up and leaving me with a shiver down my spine. That asshole.

✧༺♛༻✧༺♛༻✧༺♛

The elevator finally slows to a stop, the door opening with a ding to reveal the top floor. I enter a waiting room of sorts, with a white and impeccably shiny tiled floor and several plush couches lining the walls. The room is empty save for two men, who are lounging on the sofas like they own the place.

“Luke, Kieran! Those couches are white! Get your feet off of them before you cover them in soot,” I nag, waving my hands in an annoying motion to get them to sit up properly. “The poor cleaners… Who knows where you two have been.”

“Oh, look. Mom’s here,” Luke jokes, and I turn to him with a fake frown on my face. He puts up his hands defensively, finally sitting up normally in his chair. Despite the mask, I can tell that a grin is spread across his face.

“I’m only a year older than you, asshole,” I mutter, crossing my arms in front of my chest. I flip him off, which only coaxes a giggle out of Luke. I shake my head at him, trying to fight the smile threatening to ruin my composure.

“If you keep it up, Luke, then I’m gonna take over as mom's favorite,” Kieran jokes back. I turn to him, reaching a hand down and rubbing it against his hair in an affectionate manner.

“You sure are buddy,” I say, leaning into the whole “mom” thing with a sigh. These two are idiots, but they’re so sweet that I can’t help but love them.

“Careful, you two. Sylus might rip you a new one if he sees you guys near each other,” Luke teases, and my hand immediately leaves Kieran’s hair. Besides Jenna, who has been on the receiving end of my ranting many times, these two are the only ones to know about how I feel towards Sylus. I didn’t actually tell them, but they have made it very apparent that they have figured it out.

“That’s it. Neither of you are my favorite anymore. Mephisto is in 1st place,” I mutter, moving towards the door at the end of the hall.

“Nice job, Luke. Now we’re losing to a fucking crow,” Kieran whines. Luke just throws a joking glare at him, resuming his lounging on the couch as he browses one of the many magazines on the table in front of him.

I just chuckle lightly beneath my breath before opening the door in front of me and closing it behind me with a click. The room I enter is quite large, with several changing rooms lining the walls. There is a table covered in different fabrics, several of them glittering under the fluorescent light above me. My eyes finally land on Sylus, who is standing in front of a large, floor-length mirror in the center of the room.

“Long time, no see,” he announces, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. He smiles, and my heart begins its palpitations again.

“It really hasn’t been that long,” I mutter, slowly walking closer to him as I take the room in.

“And yet why does it feel like an eternity? Does time fly when you’re around?” he asks, turning to face me finally. Shit. He has to know what he’s doing. A blush creeps onto my cheeks, and there is no way Sylus hasn’t noticed.

I don’t know what to say, simply standing there and staring at him like a statue. He doesn’t break eye contact, instead holding up two ties. He holds a solid red tie in one hand, the other clutching a light blue striped tie. “Which one?” he asks, holding each up to his neck in turn.

I walk up to him, barely thinking before wrapping the red one around his neck. My fingers work slowly, tying it in an intricate knot and pulling it tight around his neck. His gaze never leaves my face, his eyes burning holes in my skin. I can’t bring myself to look at him, knowing that one glance at him will surely bring me to a puddle beneath his feet.

I fiddle with the silk material of the tie, finally working up the courage to meet his gaze. “The red. It matches your eyes,” I mutter, before stepping back and distracting myself with the table of assorted fabrics. He chuckles, following me closely and examining some of the fabrics himself.

“I’ll have to pick a suit to match the tie, then. Wouldn’t want me to take you to that party with a mismatched outfit, now would we?” he asks, his fingers finding a black fabric and rubbing his thumb over it lightly.

“This is for Romero’s party?” I ask, stunned at the idea that he is buying an entirely new outfit just for me. No, not just for me. For the party. Don’t be delusional. He nods, taking the fabric and setting it aside.

“I wouldn’t want you to attend the party with me when I’m not looking my best. Not that I don’t always look my best, I just don’t want to take any chances,” he teases, setting the fabric on an empty table beside him. He takes off the tie, resting it neatly next to the fabric.

“Where’s all the staff? I figured you would have someone helping you pick things out,” I ask, my eyes scanning the empty boutique for any other signs of life.

“I sent everyone away. I don’t like to be bothered, and they do what I say since I’m a VIP. They should be sending in a tailor to take my measurements, though,” he boasts, never afraid to flex his wealth in front of me. He’s such an asshole. I want him so bad.

“Sylus, how did you know I would be here?” I ask, picking up a nearby object to fiddle with. If I don’t do something with my hands, the nervousness will show on my face. And I cannot have him knowing how nervous he makes me.

“I have Mephisto watch the entrance of every building I’m in, in case of an ambush. He spotted you when you walked in and came squawking to me immediately, the loyal bird,” he smiles, running a hand through his silvery hair. So, I have Mephisto to blame for this.

“I asked for the tailor 30 minutes ago, and he’s still a no-show. What kind of store treats its VIP guests this way?” he huffs, clearly growing impatient.

“How dare they? Don’t they know who you are?” I tease, finding any excuse I can to make fun of the spoiled brat in front of me. He gives me a dark look, making me stop in my tracks. My fidgeting stops, and he looks down at the item in my hands.

“Oh, perfect. Glad to see we have a volunteer to tailor me today,” he grins, and I look down to see that the item I was fiddling with was, in fact, measuring tape. Shit, how am I this stupid?

“But I don’t know how to tailor-” I begin, but he interrupts me by grabbing the tape from my hands and wrapping it around his bicep.

“You just measure the different sizes of my body, see? Anyone can do it,” he explains, taking the tape off of his bicep and showing me the measurement. I try to stay calm and collected on the outside, but on the inside, I am screaming. “See, I’ve already got one measurement done for you,” he says, a smirk playing across his lips.

“How generous,” I mutter, snatching the measuring tape from his hands. I sigh, looking from the tape to his sturdy form in front of me. I can do this.

“C’mon. It’ll save time,” Sylus insists, and I see a small glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“Fine. If you insist, your outfit will be made according to the measurements I take. And no matter how it turns out, you have to wear it to the party. Deal?” I ask, hoping that this will scare him off. If I have to get up close and measure him, I might melt.

He chuckles, stretching out a hand to shake mine. “Deal,” he says, wrapping the hand around mine and giving it a gentle shake. He rifles through a drawer in the table next to him, producing a pen and paper from inside. “You can write the measurements in here. You’ll need my waist and chest for the shirt, and I have already done the arms for you. Then, for pants, you need my inseam, the outside length, and the thigh. Oh, and my ass,” he adds with a wink, only strengthening the redness in my face.

“God, you’re so lucky I’m such a good…” I freeze, struggling to find the word. “Friend,” I finish, trying to pull myself together. A flicker of something flits across his face, but I can’t tell exactly what. He hands me the pen and paper, leading me over to the mirror.

“Let’s start with the chest, then,” he offers, pulling his shirt up to reveal his sculpted abdomen. He doesn’t take his shirt all the way off, instead letting it rest just above his pecs.  

I can't help it- I start to stare. It takes all of my strength not to rub my hands along his torso, the defined abs rippling along his stomach calling to me like a siren song. This isn't the first time I've seen him shirtless, but it will be the first time I've ever gotten this close.

"Like what you see?" He asks, and my attention snaps back up to him. Shit, how long was I staring? I clear my throat, walking closer to him and resting the pen and paper on a nearby chair.

"Just... trying to decide where to start," I mumble, trying my hardest to brush past my obviousness. He chuckles but doesn't say anything else. There's no way that worked.

With my hands now free of everything but the measuring tape, I begin assessing his body for real this time. "I think I'll start at the chest," I tell him. That way, you can put your shirt down faster. And I can stop feeling like I'm going to explode.

"Whenever you're ready," he practically purrs, looking down at me expectedly. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, inching closer to him as I hold up the measuring tape. I try my best not to touch him, my hands struggling to reach around his torso.

"Don't be nervous. The closer you are, the more accurate," he tells me, placing a hand on the small of my back and pushing me closer to him. Calm down. The quicker you do this, the sooner it's over.

But what if I don't want it to be over?

I exhale, finally working up the courage to get closer to him. My hands wrap around his torso, his warm skin burning against my bare arms. I thread the tape around his back, coming forward to meet me in the front.

My fingers graze his skin lightly, and I hear him inhale sharply. I panic, looking up at him for the first time since I started measuring him. There is a look in his eyes that I have never seen from him before, and I'm unable to place exactly what emotion it is.

"Sorry," I mumble, worried I've upset him. I take the tape off and go to write the measurement down in the notebook.

"No, it's just... your hands are so cold," he mutters, his hands brushing where mine had just touched him. A smile graces his face, which makes me pause. Is he... enjoying this?

I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. He's just messing with me. I move back over to where he is standing, my hands a bit more steady as I go to measure his waist. If he wants to mess with me, then I'll mess with him back.

I don't shy away from touching him now, my hands grazing along the sides of his hips as I thread the tape around his back once again. I watch as goosebumps rise on his skin, the hairs on his arms standing up ever so slightly.

I take the measurement, turning away to write it down in my book once again. I don't look at him, afraid that his gaze will take away the newfound confidence I've gained. Now, to move lower.

I get down on my knees in front of him, gulping slightly as I measure the circumference of his lower half. This time, I make sure not to touch him, my hands hovering slightly as they move around his backside. It's a shame. His ass is one of his best assets.

When I've taken that measurement, I move to the outside of his legs. Luckily, his tight jeans act as a barrier between me and his skin. That makes me feel a bit better about touching him, actually.

Finally, I move to the inseam. I start at his ankle, moving the tape up slowly along the length of his leg. When I finally look up, I realize how close my hand is getting to his crotch. I freeze for a moment, my face turning red.

"The closer you are, the more accurate." The memory of his words from earlier rings in my ear. I sigh, moving as high up as I can without straight up fondling him. My eyes finally rake up towards where the tape ends, his crotch directly in front of my face.

Is he hard right now, or is it just always straining against his jeans? No, stop. Friends don't think that way about friends. I take away the tape, hurriedly standing up and writing down the final measurement in my notebook.

I still cannot bring myself to make eye contact with him, the deep embarrassment leaving splotches of red along my face. "Okay, w-well, now we can get back to looking at fabrics," I say, trying to hide the embarrassment in my voice as I move to turn away from him.

He stops me, his hand gripping my wrist tightly. I drop the notebook in surprise, and he takes that moment to tilt my face up to look at him for the first time since I started measuring him.

"Wait," he begins, seeming to be searching for the right words. "We’re attending the party together. Our outfits should match," He tells me, his eyes still staring down at me with that same mystery twinkle in them.

"Well, I figure I can just pick out a red dress or something," I mumble, my head still resting in his hand. He tuts, releasing me to pick up the notebook and tape I dropped on the ground.

"No, we need to fully match. That way, no one will question who your date is for the night." He places the notebook carefully down on the chair, twirling the measuring tape intricately between his fingers.

"Oh," I nearly whisper, finally catching on to what he's implying. "I can't really afford to get something specially made... I'll just get one of the premade dresses."

"It's my treat, since I invited myself to this party," he smiles, giving me a look that screams "You don't have a choice in the matter." I nod, lost for words as he raises one of my arms. I gulp, the short sleeves of my dress making skin touch skin as his fingers run lightly up my arms.

He works painfully slow, his fingers tracing along my skin and leaving goosebumps in his wake. I can't help the shudder that racks my body, which makes a small smirk play across Sylus' face.

I start to feel a small pool begin beneath my legs, and I have to bite my lip to keep from cursing myself out. Damn it, pull yourself together. He moves to my chest, his fingers not touching my breasts but getting so close that one slip would put his hand against me.

I hold my breath, and the prick keeps moving as painfully slow as he has been the entire time. "God, you're so slow with the measuring tape. I was nearly done by now when I was doing it," I mutter, and his eyes flick up to meet mine.

"I'm just trying to be precise, sweetie," he breathes, looking back down to get the measurement of my chest. He finally releases the measuring tape, an anxious breath quickly leaving my lungs as he moves to write down the data.

I shake my head again, trying to snap myself out of whatever trance he has put me in. The heat is still pooling beneath my legs, a blush spreading across my cheeks. Does he know what he's doing, or is he just an oblivious guy trying to be nice?

He resumes his work, wrapping the tape around my waist and jotting down the numbers. It is then that he gets on his knees, looking up at me from the ground with that same twinkle in his eyes.

It takes all my energy not to squeak from panic. Him on his knees in front of me... I stare down at him, the pool beneath my legs more akin to a river.

"I have to do your inseam now. You're wearing a dress, so I need your permission to put my hands under it."

My eyes widen, my breath halting yet again. The more embarrassed side of me is begging for me to stop him, but the rest of me is practically screaming for him to continue.

"Go ahead," I nearly whisper, and I flinch as his hand touches my skin yet again. He starts at my ankle, running the tape along the inside of my leg agonizingly slow. His fingers lightly drag along my skin, and a breath hitches in my throat.

"You're doing great," he murmurs, and my heart skips a beat in my chest. His hand finally reaches my knees, which is where my dress ends. He slides his hand under it, moving upwards towards my thighs.

I'm suddenly aware of the heat radiating off of my body, the warmth pooling between my legs, and his fingers moving further up into my dress. If you had told me earlier that this is where I would end up, I would've laughed in your face.

He finally reaches the top of my thigh, his thumb pressing down roughly on the tape.

And directly into the pool of my desire that has started to soak through my underwear.

His breath hitches in his throat, his eyes closing as he lets out a curse under his breath. I'm almost frozen in shock, my world seeming to crash down around me. He knows.

"I'm so sorry, I don't know what-" I begin, but he grips my thigh with his hands, and the words die in my throat. His eyes flutter open, locking with mine in the mirror next to us.

"Is this all for me?" He asks, and I feel my heart start to pound out of my chest. What the fuck does that mean, Sylus?

"No. Yes. I'm so sorry, I don't know what's gotten into me," I begin, anxiety bubbling in my stomach. "It's just a crush, and I'll get over it, I promise. I know you don't feel that way-"

"Are you dense?" He asks, his grip loosening on my thigh ever so slightly.

"Excuse me?" I ask, looking down at him in shock.

"Have you not noticed the way I look at you? Have you not, for one second, thought about why I would invite myself to a birthday party for someone I have never met?"

I just shake my head, trying and failing to wrap my head around everything that is happening.

"It's because I cannot bear to sit alone at home while you go to that party. The idea of you all dolled up for another man? The thought of you smiling at him, laughing at his jokes..." he trails off, but the look in his eyes is distant. His grip tightens on my thigh yet again, this time from a desperate need.

"How long have you felt this way?" I ask, whispering as I look down at his face.

"Since the beginning. There is not one moment that I have not spent thinking about you, not one night that I have not been lying awake and picturing you. Your touch, your smell, how you must taste," he murmurs, his thumb tracing circles on my upper thigh, my excitement now coating his finger.

I can't help the moan that escapes from me, my legs feeling weak as he continues rubbing rough circles on my thigh. I finally recognize the twinkle of emotion that has been dotting his eyes.

It's hunger.

"I've felt e-exactly the same," I manage to squeak out. "God, I feel so s-stupid-" I begin, but he cuts me off with a rough grab of my thigh.

"Don't you dare. You're not stupid, just careful. That's one of the reasons I feel so strongly about you," he murmurs, looking up at me with a frown. The sparkle in his eyes is now a fire, threatening to burn me to ashes with just a look.

"You're perfect," he purrs, his thumb leaving from under my dress and entering his mouth. I fall to my knees in front of him, feeling weak as I watch him feast on my excitement.

"Do you know how long I've wanted to do this? To taste you?" He asks, his thumb finally leaving his mouth. I curse under my breath, taking his head in my hands.

I pull him towards me, our lips meeting in a fiery clash after months of anticipation. He lifts me onto his lap, my legs straddling him as I run my fingers through his silvery hair. I moan, and he takes the opportunity to bite my bottom lip.

He moves a hand to my waist, the other finding its way to the back of my head as he grips my hair. I groan, pushing him backward until he is lying on the shag carpet below us. I'm straddling his body now, lying on top of him and rubbing my hands under his shirt to feel his toned torso.

"Is it how you thought it would feel?" He asks, breaking the kiss to look up at me. I'm sure I look a mess, with swollen lips and ruined hair. But he looks at me like I'm the only person alive that he wants to be with.

"Better," I tell him, my lips finding his again. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer to him as he slips his tongue into my mouth, exploring it like it would be the last time he ever would.

He grinds himself against me, his erection fighting against his tight jeans as it rubs into my pussy. I let out another moan, breaking the kiss, as I try to stifle the noise by biting his shirt.

"Stop that," he murmurs, pulling his shirt out of my mouth. "I want to hear you."

"We're in public, Sylus. What if another shopper comes in?" I ask, still fighting moans as he continues to grind himself against me.

"I rented the floor for the next hour. No one should be anywhere near us," he murmurs, moving his hands under my dress. I grab his hands, pinning them on the floor next to his head.

"Shouldn't we just go home?" I ask, and he smirks up at me. I feel something moving beneath my dress and look to see that he is using his tendrils of black smoke. They curl around my thighs, sparking pleasure through my body.

"I need you now," he nearly growls, his Evol pulling down my underwear in one fell swoop. I gasp in shock, and he uses my moment of weakness to flip us over. His hands are planted firmly on the ground beside my head, using his Evol to lift the bottom of my dress and expose my naked lower half.

The chill of the air conditioning blows across my exposed cunt, a shiver crawling up my spine in anticipation. Sylus moves one of his hands down to my thighs, dragging his fingers up and down lightly like he did before.

"Sylus, please," I moan, and he smiles devilishly down at me. His fingers finally make it up to my entrance, teasing me slowly by dragging them around the folds. I moan yet again, out of both pleasure and frustration.

He finally reaches the bundle of nerves at the top of my heat, circling his thumb around it slowly. My back arches, attempting to push myself even closer to him. He pulls away, tutting under his breath.

"Patience isn't your strong suit, is it?" He asks, his warm breath dancing along my face.

"I have been patient for months. I can't be patient anymore," I whine, moving a hand down to grasp his. I move his hand back to my clit, and he chuckles deeply as he resumes his ministrations.

I moan as he begins to rub faster, my back arching upwards involuntarily. His mouth finds my neck, kissing and sucking along the outside with care. He finally reaches his desired spot, nibbling on it lightly before sucking roughly on it and leaving his mark.

He moves his hand from my clit, and I almost begin to complain before something else replaces it. His smoke is now curling around it, taking over his work as he moves two fingers towards my entrance.

"Fuck, Syl-" I am cut off by him thrusting his fingers into me, a yelp of pleasure leaving my lips. He rubs against my walls aggressively, exploring my insides while his Evol rubs circles around my clit. He licks the spot he has been sucking, moving his mouth further down my neck and towards my breasts.

He suddenly stops, the complete lack of stimulation leaving me almost empty. "Sylus!" I whine, looking up at him with a pout on my face.

"I want this off," he mutters, tugging at the material of my dress. I stop him, staring him down defiantly. He raises an eyebrow at me, the question asking itself. "What could you possibly want?"

"Take yours off, too," I whine, and he shakes his head in disbelief. Without warning, my dress is lifted in the air by his Evol, the clothing falling onto the floor and leaving me completely bare in front of him.

I begin to argue, but he does the same for his shirt, leaving his sculpted upper half bare in front of me in all its glory. I can't help but run my hands along his body, and he groans at the feeling of my cold hands against his warm skin.

He pulls over a chair, knocking the notebook and measuring tape onto the ground as he goes to sit down. He beckons me over, and when I do not move fast enough, he wraps his Evol around me and pulls me over there himself.

I'm now sitting on his lap, my back against his naked torso. We are facing the floor-length mirror, my body on full display as I rest on top of him. He kisses the inside of my neck, his hands moving up to massage my breasts.

I moan, my head leaning back against him as I writhe in pleasure. I feel his Evol wrap around my head, tilting it back down until I am looking at myself in the mirror.

"No, I want you to watch. I want you to watch as I take what's mine," he purrs, his other hand moving down to resume its work in my pussy. He thrusts his fingers into me, his other hand tweaking my nipple between his fingers.

I let out a yelp of pleasure, fighting the urge to throw my head back again. Instead, I look at myself in the mirror, watching as his fingers pump in and out of my leaking cunt. It's orgasmic, the way he completely ruins me.

I look up to find that he is watching me in the mirror, his eyes now locking with mine as he fucks me with his fingers. I feel my stomach tighten, already on the verge of an orgasm.

While maintaining eye contact, I run my hand down towards his cock, palming him through his jeans. He lets out a groan, a dangerous look now shining in his eyes.

"Don't start what you can't finish, sweetie," he groans, his hand gripping my breast tighter. I continue rubbing against him through his jeans, his erection fighting against the tight zipper.

I feel a strong sensation of pleasure and look down to see that he has started rubbing against my clit as well, the Evol now taking over the working of my breasts.

I moan again, finally reaching my orgasm as I fall apart beneath his fingers. He lets my head fall back as I pant, my body shaking as he continues thrusting his fingers in and out of me.

When I finally come down from my high, he takes his fingers out of me, bringing them up to his lips and licking them hungrily. I stand up, my hands moving to his jeans as I fight to get them off. He helps me take them off, pulling down his boxers and letting his erection spring up towards me.

I kneel, my hands rubbing along the sides of his shaft sensually. "Do you know how you made me feel when you kneeled in front of me earlier? Do you know how close I was to taking you right there?" He asks, tilting my head up with his hand so that I am looking directly into his eyes.

I don't hesitate, maintaining eye contact with him as I take the tip of his cock in my mouth. He groans, running a hand through my hair and grabbing it roughly. I inch slowly down his shaft, making him suffer like how he made me suffer earlier.

"Fuck, you're such a brat," he groans, using his grip on my hair to push himself further into my mouth. I take him in eagerly, my tongue swirling around him as he moves in and out of my mouth. He curses under his breath, and I feel his cock twitch inside me.

I moan, the vibration against his cock sending him reeling. He pulls out of my mouth, panting. I begin to protest, but he puts a hand over my mouth. "You're getting me too close. There's more I want to do to you," he breathes, practically picking me up off the ground and leading me over to the chair.

He sits down, his cock standing at attention as he keeps me raised above him. "Are you ready?" He asks, his voice dripping in need. I nod, practically begging, and he lines himself up with my entrance.

"Hold on," he says, and I grip his shoulders tightly as he pushes himself into me. Something close to a scream escapes my throat, his entire length sheathed into me in one hard push. "You okay?" He asks, pausing to make sure I am not in pain.

"More. Please," I manage to whimper out. This is all the permission he needs, thrusting in and out of me at inhumane speeds as he groans into my neck.

He begins kissing my skin again, this time more sloppy as he licks up and down the column of my neck. A jolt of pleasure shoots through me, his cock hitting the deepest point of my pussy over and over again.

I bite into his neck, my hands still gripping tightly onto his shoulders as he lifts me up and down on his cock. He groans, his dick twitching inside of me eagerly.

"They should be just inside here," I hear Kieran's voice say from behind the door, his footsteps approaching closer.

"Shit," Sylus mutters, practically leaping up from the chair we are sitting on. Like lightning, he pulls us into one of the dressing rooms, his Evol grabbing our pile of clothes and bringing it in with us.

The door opens as soon as we are inside, barely seconds after we had made it to safety.

"Mr. Sylus? The tailor his here to see you," Kieran announces, before leaving the room. We sit in silence for a moment, before the tailor clears his throat.

"Sir?" He asks the empty room, "Trying something on?"

"Yes, just trying out one of the vests from the Fall Collection," Sylus says, his voice surprisingly even. It's then that his Evol lifts me into the air, his dick finding its way back to the entrance of my pussy.

"Syl-" I begin, but he covers my mouth with his hand as he thrusts back inside of me. I whimper, his hand muffling the sound as he continues to thrust in and out of me.

"Well, sir, I am here to take your measurements whenever you are done," the man says, oblivious to what his happening inside of his changing room.

"We have already taken care of that for you. Now, please leave us be," Sylus tells the man authoritatively, his finger moving to my clit as he continues to utterly destroy me. It takes everything in my power not to scream into his hand out of sheer pleasure.

"You've taken your own measurements?" The man asks, bewildered. "I must insist you let me do them. That way we can assure they are as accurate as can-"

"I assure you, they are accurate. Right, sweetie?" He asks me, uncovering my mouth as he continues to pound into me. I look at him with wide eyes, but he just raises an eyebrow, prompting me to answer the man.

"Y-yes. Everything i-is...great," I tell him, in the most even tone I can manage. Sylus has not stopped, his Evol dancing around my body and leaving goosebumps along my skin.

"You hear that? We're doing great. Now, wait for us downstairs, and don't bother us again."

The man apologizes before shuffling out, the door closing behind him. Sylus uncovers my mouth, only pounding harder into me. "Sylus! What if he- fuck- had h-heard us?"

Sylus just looks down at me, pressing down on my stomach to compress my walls even further. "Would you have liked that? If he had found me fucking you like this?" he asks, his cock twitching as if close to release.

"Fuck, Sylus," I moan, my own orgasm nearing closer. The many sensations- his finger on my clit, his dick pounding into me, his Evol around my tits- it's too much to bear.

"Please- Please, let me finish inside you," he groans, sweat dripping down his toned chest as he continues fucking me. He looks at me expectantly, and I just nod in response. He growls, his orgasm finally reaching the edge.

Mine arrives first, my legs shaking as my pussy pulsates around him. My nails scrape along his back, leaving long claw marks along his toned muscles. This sensation drags out his orgasm, his hot strands shooting into me and coating the walls he had spent so long destroying.

He continues moving as we both ride out our orgasms, his lips meeting mine and gently swirling his tongue in my mouth. When I finally stop writhing beneath him, he stops his movement, keeping his cock inside me.

He stops kissing me, choosing instead to look down at me fondly. He runs his thumb along my lips, letting it drag along my bottom lip slowly. I'm panting, my hair sticking to my forehead as I heave out a breath.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs, wiping away a tear that had run down my face from pure pleasure. "Why don't we give them our measurements over the phone? I think we should head back to my place and relax for the rest of the day."

I just nod, pulling him in for a kiss that makes the butterflies in my stomach resume their fluttering. He sighs into my mouth, kissing me back softly and pulling me closer to his warm body.

✧༺♛༻✧༺♛༻✧༺♛

Thanks for reading! As always, my asks are open (and anonymous) if anyone would like to request anything :)

-Robyn <3

[starlightkyeom]

on second thought | jww

(where your roommate, wonwoo, has an interesting solution to all your bad dates. nothing can go wrong with two friends crossing a line, can it?)

pairing: wonwoo x f.reader genre: roommates/friends to fwb to?? | smut, tiny bit of angst if you squint rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni word count: 6.5k warnings: there's some plot here but it's mostly smut, multiple sex scenes (some quickly referenced), roommates who enter a fwb agreement, kissing, fingering, oral (f. receiving), protected sex, multiple orgasms, use of actual lube, some scratching, after care, mentions: masturbation, kitchen sex, teasing, overstimulation, edging, i think that's it.

authors note: happy birthday to my bby @wongyuseokie! i'm thankful to have met you through nets. i hope you like some wonwoo to celebrate. thank you to @wonwussy for helping me with a title, you're a savior. this is unedited because i only started it yesterday so sorry in advance. also tagging: @aaniag @gyuminusone

Another disappointing date. Another man who couldn’t even seem to let you finish a sentence. Was so intent on proving how well he could provide for you that he forgot to treat you like a person. So intent on establishing his dominance that he tried to order for you at the overpriced restaurant with too-small portions. So irritated that he paid for your dinner and drinks only for you to leave separately from him and refuse his offer to drive you home. There was no way you were letting that man know where you lived. Is it really asking too much just to have a decent date? You aren’t going to let anyone try to tell you that your standards are too high. You’re really just asking for the bare minimum. 

That’s why you’re sitting on the counter in the kitchen of your shared apartment, spilling your guts to your sympathetic roommate. His hair is messy, sticking up at odd angles in some places because he’s been playing video games for hours. Probably streaming at some point. You admire that he’s able to do something he loves to fill up most of his days. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and you try not to find it so endearing. But, you fail at that. He really is impossibly cute sometimes.

“Do you want a bite of this?” you ask instead, holding out the instant ramen you made as soon as you got home. 

“No, I ate earlier,” he answers. 

“An actual meal or a Wonwoo meal?” you challenge and he rolls his eyes.

“I ate real food. Go back to bitching about your date,” Wonwoo says. 

“I don’t know, maybe I was being too harsh,” you say. 

“He sounds like a fucking nightmare,” he disagrees. 

“Ugh, maybe I just need to redownload one of those apps,” you whine. Wonwoo raises an eyebrow at you. “Don’t look at me like that. I hate fucking on the first date, but I’m so pent up that I need to release it somehow. I’m going insane.” 

This makes him laugh, at least. It releases a little bit of the tension, too. You’ve lived with Wonwoo nearly three years and were friends for years before that. Nothing is secret between the two of you. Not anymore. The first time you realized he caught you getting off in your room because you didn’t think he was home was mortifying. Even if he didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. After you got over it, things settled. And in the time since, you’ve both heard the other doing a lot of things. Some of your friends think it’s weird, but you just chalk it up to the comfort of living with someone. After all, you would tell your female friends all about your sex life. Why was that weird to share with Wonwoo? 

“Toys not doing it for you?” he throws out. You only fix him with a glare. It’s more proof that you’re entirely too comfortable.

“Our walls are thin, what do you think?” you answer. 

Wonwoo snorts a little before seeming to consider something. “Why don’t we just fuck? Get it out of your system.” 

The sip of water you’re taking when he suggests that comes bursting out of your mouth. A real life spit take. Thankfully, he’s out of the blast zone. He looks unamused at water coming out of your mouth, but he doesn’t look like he was kidding. It can be so hard to tell with him. You think that you know his face well after all these years. But, you never thought you’d hear that coming out of his mouth, so you’re not sure. 

“Please give me some indication if that was a joke or not,” you say.

“It wasn’t a joke,” he says.

“Pretty clear indicator,” you mumble. 

“Is it that crazy? You think I’m hot…” Wonwoo starts. If you were still drinking, you’d spit out your water again.

“Uh, what?” you ask.

“You think I’m hot. Hao told me,” he says as if it’s no big deal. You’re mentally running through what the appropriate payback is for this breach of trust. “It’s fine. He told me because I was saying I also think you’re hot.” 

“I mean, thanks,” you laugh, still considering how you’re going to torture Minghao. “But, we can’t have sex.” 

“Why not?” Wonwoo presses. 

“Because we’re roommates?” you ask like it’s obvious. 

“So I can hear you fuck yourself with a toy or hear you fake an orgasm with another bad date, but us fucking each other is the line?” Wonwoo asks. 

“I don’t fake that many orgasms,” you scoff to buy time.

“Yes, you do,” he argues. “I can hear the difference. And I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be faking it with me.” 

There’s a little bit of cockiness in the statement that shouldn’t be doing anything for you. But, it is. There’s also the very real possibility that Wonwoo does know the difference in the sounds you make. It’s not like you’ve bothered being that quiet since the first conversation where he heard you. What’s the point? The walls are pretty thin and you’re both adults. It’s not like you’re going to kick him out every time you bring a date home. And you’re definitely not going to only get off in the shower because it drives up the water bill. 

Beyond any of it, there’s also a little curiosity. Wonwoo is insanely attractive. Someone would have to be blind to miss that. He’s got that whole nerdy thing going on for him on initial inspection with the glasses and gaming. Or there’s the fact that he’s content to just hang out around the house, even with company over, wearing his pimple patches. But then, there’s this whole other side to him. It comes out when you’re both out with friends and he leaves the glasses behind. Swapping out graphic tees or hoodies for form fitting clothing and leather jackets. Casually leaning against a bar and whispering honey into some nameless, faceless stranger’s ear. 

And that leads you to the reason you’re actually curious. Sure, he’s heard you having sex with people you’ve been dating or just someone you brought home for the night. But, you’ve heard him too. If any of your orgasms sound faked, the ones he coaxes from the pretty girls in his bed sound anything but. There’s nearly always an incoherent string of praises. That thought alone has you considering his proposition. It has you shifting a little on the counter.

“Let’s pretend for a second that I’m considering this,” you start and he smiles. 

“Pretend, sure,” he echoes. 

“We’d need ground rules, right? Like we don’t want this to get awkward,” you say.

“It’s not gonna be awkward. But, we can set whatever makes you feel comfortable,” he says nonchalantly. 

A very strong, very hard to ignore voice in the back of your head argues against setting rules at all. Actually urges you to just drag him into your bedroom. Or his bedroom? Maybe you do need some ground rules. 

So, you talk. You don’t say that it’s only going to happen once because you never know what needs might pop up. The most important thing that you agree to is that nothing can change between the two of you. If either of you feels like it’s going to, then you have to talk about it because preserving the friendship is most important. It doesn’t matter what bed you have sex in as long as the other helps clean anything up. You’re not planning on this being a regular thing, so you don’t need to negotiate any kinks or anything like that. If it does become more of a thing, then you can revisit the kinks. There won’t be any weirdness about dating or talking to other people. This is just a solution between two friends that are both going through dating dry spells. 

Once the rules are set out, Wonwoo brings you into his room. Even though you’ve been in here more times than you could ever count, it feels different now. He tells you to make yourself comfortable on his bed. When he turns around to take his shirt off and toss it aside, your eyes map out his back. And, yeah, you’ve seen Wonwoo shirtless before, but never given yourself permission to so openly appreciate his body. His shoulders are impossibly wide and he’s in deceptively good shape for someone that hides under baggier clothes. 

“Should I take a picture for you?” he asks. It’s only then that you realize that he’s facing you. 

“Funny,” you say with an eye roll. 

Wonwoo crosses the space to his bed and settles next to you. The way he reaches out to pull your face into his own is so smooth. His lips are on yours before your brain has a chance to catch up. You gasp a little and pull back.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Uh, didn’t we just go over this?” he asks.

“No, I mean, we’re kissing?” you ask.

“What am I supposed to do, sweetheart, just get right down to fucking you without foreplay?” he asks.

You feel a little stupid for asking that because of course you don’t want to skip the foreplay. It’s just that you don’t want to force it, either. 

“Just let me take care of you,” Wonwoo says to keep you from overthinking anything. 

It’s not something that you expected to be doing. Giving up control to Wonwoo. But, it’s surprisingly easy when he starts kissing you again. Any thoughts that this might be weird fly right out of your head as soon as he deepens the kiss. Instead, your focus is on what a good kisser he is. The way his lips mold effortlessly to yours. The way his tongue licks into your mouth. The way his hands roam your body as if they’re trying to memorize every curve. 

You’re breathless by the time Wonwoo pulls back from you to pull your shirt over your head. When you changed after the date from hell, you hadn’t considered putting anything nice on. Hadn’t bothered to keep your bra on. What was the point when you were just going to be going to bed after having something to eat? Now, you’re wondering about that decision. Because your very hot roommate is drinking in the sight of you. It’s making you a little self-conscious, the way his eyes move over your body.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he utters. 

It’s a little too intimate for you to respond to. It doesn’t seem to matter, anyway. Wonwoo starts kissing down your neck and working his way to your breasts. He spreads his kisses between them, rolling your nipple between his fingers when his mouth is on your other breast. There’s something so consuming about the way he kisses your body, like he’s worshiping you. Like this is a lot more than roommates helping each other out. 

He works his way further down your body, kissing along your stomach, stopping at the waist band to your shorts. Thankfully, he doesn’t give you the chance to overthink here either before he pulls the shorts and underwear down your legs. Tosses them off to the side for good measure. You’re totally naked in front of someone you find you do actually trust. And someone that, yeah, maybe you’ve thought about fucking before. There was no reality where you thought it would happen, though. Even if it does make a lot of sense. Every part of you truly does feel safe with him. He knows you better than most people in your life. Which clearly translates to this part of you. 

Since you’re so comfortable, you’re finding it easier to not be embarrassed at the way he’s got you squirming under the barest touch. The way he ghosts his breath across your center makes you let out a whine. It’s unfair, the way that he wants to take his time like this. It’s also unfair that he’s the first person to ever make your mind go this blank during sex. Nothing exists to you outside of this moment and this man.

Wonwoo moves back to where you need him the most, blows gently against your center. The sensation sends a shiver down your body. You barely hear him mumble out a “so pretty” before he flattens his tongue and licks a stripe up your core. There’s just enough time to think this slow pace might actually be the death of you before he goes back in. Using his fingers to spread you apart, he starts tonguing your pussy. A mix of slow and deliberate movements with faster ones. His thumb circles your clit before his mouth moves up there to give it the attention it needs. 

With his mouth on your clit, he presses one finger into your pussy. You’ve never really thought much about his hands and now you’re wondering how you missed them. His long finger pumps in and out of you quickly. It seems that he’s reading your body and can tell that you don’t want something too slow. There’s so much pent up in you.

“Fuck, please, Wonwoo. I need another finger,” you whine. 

“Anything you want,” he mumbles into your pussy. 

He slides another finger inside of you and it makes you clench around him. That only seems to make him move faster. His mouth continues to work along with his fingers and your hands grip whatever they can reach. You’re a babbling mess and you suddenly understand what you overheard from Wonwoo’s room. There’s something so hot about knowing he’s this good with his mouth and his hands. It’s got you coming hard on his face. Harder than you can remember coming before. 

“That’s my girl,” he praises as soon as you’re coming down from your high. Your hazy brain doesn’t latch onto it the way it clearly should.

He presses a gentle kiss to your inner thing and then pulls himself up to lie next to you. His fingers trace patterns into your skin while he’s waiting for your breathing to come back to normal. 

“Jesus, I guess I know why I always heard so much praise through the wall,” you mutter. 

“None as pretty as the sounds you just made,” he says quietly. It’s so gentle, so intimate. There’s a lot of love between you and one of your closest friends, so you don’t dwell too much on it.

You turn your head to face him. His eyes are still dark with desire, fingers still keeping contact with your body. There’s like some kind of bubble around the two of you where nothing else exists. It’s a comfortable feeling, even in the quiet. Something pulls you in closer to him and you can feel his erection brush against your leg.

“Oh,” you say quietly. “You know, I’m still a bit pent up…”

“Are you sure?” he asks. 

“What? I’m gonna come on your face but we can’t actually fuck like we meant to?” you joke, a little braver than you feel. 

“This was about you, not about me,” he says simply. 

“It can be about both of us,” you say, hand running down his stomach. He tenses a bit under your touch and it’s unfair. He’s got perfect abs and you kind of hate it. Kind of hate that it’s so hot to you, too. 

You run your hand over the outline of his dick threw his shorts, enjoy the sharp intake of breath at the contact. It feels like a sign for you to keep going. But, he grabs your hand and pins it above your head. Kisses you hard and desperate. All of his restraint from before seems to be gone now. 

“Don’t play with me, sweetheart,” he warns. 

“Then show me how good you can fuck me. You were so sure earlier,” you press back. 

Wonwoo rolls over and pulls his shorts and boxers off. Casts them off to the side with your clothing. He reaches into his nightstand and pulls a condom out. He rolls back over to position himself between your legs. 

“One final time, are you sure?” he asks. It’s the first time since you came into his room that you’ve seen him look unsure.

“As long as you’re sure too, yes. I need this Nu, please,” you say, a little breathy with desire. 

“I love it when you call me that,” he admits. 

With your go ahead, he slides his tip along your entrance. You know you’re still wet from his hard work, but he still reaches into the dresser again. He pulls out some lube and runs it along his cock. Once he’s done that, he puts the cap back on and tosses it aside. He presses his tip against you again and this time slides in, slowly. Gives you a chance to adjust. 

You’re completely at Wonwoo’s mercy like this, with his arms on either side of you like he’s caging you in. Instead of wanting to get out, you can only think that you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Your hands find their way to his arms, gripping him tightly as he bottoms out in you. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he hisses. 

“Nu, fuck, please move,” you beg. 

“Give me a second, sweetheart, I’m trying to adjust so it doesn’t end too fast,” he says, voice so impossibly deep. 

“Please,” you beg again. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. 

It finally does get him to move though, barely pulling out at all and fucking slowly into you, so deep. He’s filling you up in the most perfect way. Your nails dig into his arms, but you can’t help it. He doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, it spurs him on. Makes him pull nearly all the way out of you before snapping hard into you again. He repositions one of your legs so that he can reach a different angle. With each hard thrust, his dick hits exactly where you need him to be. The rhythm is fast, which is really everything you need for how stressed you’ve been feeling. Each thrust uncoils more of the tension in your body. Each moan seems to spur him on more. 

When he leans down to kiss you, it’s messy. A clash of tongues and lips and teeth and need, so much need. Your hands find purchase anywhere on his body they can, even as his own arms seem to be a little shaky. So, you pull him down on top of you, bodies pressed tight as he continues fucking you. You’re still so sensitive from the first orgasm that you’re building up entirely too quickly. Even though you wanted it fast like this, you’re a little sorry to think it might be almost over. 

Wonwoo must feel that you’re close by the way you’re clenching around him and begging for him to give you everything. He pushes himself up a little, just creates the tiniest amount of space between your bodies, and you miss it a little. Miss the feeling of skin on skin. But, he’s only doing it so that he can circle your clit. He just wants to take care of all that tension. You give control over to him completely. Let him set the pace. An embarrassingly short time later, you’re coming for the second time. He removes his hand but still fucks you through the high. 

When your body stops shaking, you realize that he’s stilled inside you. He’s barely even moving as he looks down at you.

“It’s okay, Nu, I’m not that sensitive yet,”  you assure him

“Thank fuck,” he whispers. 

His pace is fast and you reach up to run your nails down his back. That seems to get him like nothing else does. When you do it a second time, he hisses out and you know he likes it. Each time your nails find a new part of his skin, his thrusts stutter. You clench your pussy around his cock and that’s all he can handle. He’s coming undone. 

You return the favor through his high, lightly keeping the rhythm going and helping him settle his weight on top of you. His breathing is still heavy when he meets your eyes and gives you the gentlest kiss. Slowly, he slides out of you and rolls over. The next second, he���s up to dispose of the condom. He disappears into the bathroom and returns with a wet washcloth a few moments later, sitting on the edge of the bed to help you.

“Well, I guess I learned one thing,” you say when he gets up to take the washcloth back to the bathroom.

“What’s that?” he calls over his shoulder.

“All that confidence was definitely warranted,” you say through a light laugh. 

You can just feel him rolling his eyes. “And here I thought you’d have less to say after a good fuck.” 

“Nope, chatty as ever. No more tension, though,” you say. 

“I’m glad,” he says, but it looks like he actually means it.

You move to get out of the bed and look at the sheets. Probably in need of a change. “Hey, do you wanna throw these in the hamper and just sleep in my bed tonight?” 

“Are you sure that doesn’t break any rules?” he asks.

“No, we’ve done it…are you teasing me?” Your question morphs in the middle when you catch sight of his face. He can be such a shit for someone who acts like he’s chill all the time. 

“I would never tease you,” he says, faux seriousness lacing his voice.

“That’s a shame, I like being teased,” you toss back.

“I’ll remember that for next time,” he shrugs.

“Next time?” you wonder.

“Just go get in your bed, I’ll be there in a minute,” he says. 

It wasn’t like you agreed for sex with Wonwoo to be a one time thing. That felt like putting too many rules in place. Still, you’re not expecting it to happen again quite so quickly. You also genuinely didn’t realize he was home when you pulled out your vibrator. But, he was home and he barged into your room without knocking, pulled you to the edge of your bed, and fucked you hard. Made you wonder why you’d ever even consider using your vibe in the first place. 

The next time comes after another failed date. It kind of seemed like that was the recipe. Something goes wrong or you’re pent up and he’s there to let you use him. Although, he’s really using you just as much. You like to let him be a little rough with you. There’s something satisfying in the way he doesn’t treat you like he’s going to break you. It’s unquestionably the best sex you’ve ever had, but that’s your business. You don’t need to share that with the class. You do figure that it might be time to talk about some kinks and boundaries, though. It would be good to be on the same page. 

That seems to be how it goes for a while, at least. It’s mostly you needing something, Wonwoo being able to sense that, and helping you out. It doesn’t seem to ever start from him being the one to need something. He doesn’t even seem to be going out and bringing people home so much anymore. Not that you’re keeping track, you just can’t remember the last time he did. Or maybe he’s trying to only bring someone home when you’re not around. 

He definitely holds true to his promise to tease you. One night, after a really long week at work with a lot of little things going wrong, he asks if he can take his time with you. In hindsight, you should have known it meant that it was going to mean teasing. But, you agreed anyway, and let him set the pace. Instead of hard and fast, he takes everything slow. He brings you right to the edge over and over again without letting you have your release. It’s insane how well he seems to read your signs. It seems like he can tell you’re close before you can. That night, it feels like it goes on for hours before he finally lets you come. It’s the biggest mess you’ve ever made. A fact that you would be embarrassed about if Wonwoo hadn’t looked so proud. Still, it feels like you’re the one always working something out.

Until it doesn’t.

One night, you come back from a night out with friends and are rummaging through the cabinets looking for a snack. This is the thing you hate about living with Wonwoo. He’s taller than you and doesn’t think twice about using the higher cabinets. You, on the other hand, can’t reach them so easily. You’re on your tiptoes trying to reach something when you feel him press into your back. His hand comes up and grabs the box you were reaching for with ease. You press further back into him when your heels hit the floor again.

“Fuck, you’re driving me crazy,” he mumbles into your hair. His hands find a place on your hips, holding you against him. This feels different from how every other time has started. 

“What do you mean?” you ask quietly into the silence of the apartment. 

He lets one hand slide down, quickly meeting the bare skin of your thigh. You know your skirt is a little shorter than normal, but the night seemed to call for it. “This. Did you go out hoping to bring someone home?” 

“Maybe,” you say, shivering a little at the way his breath tickles your ear. 

“Are you trying to tease me?” he asks. It comes across almost like a demand. 

You wiggle your ass against him a little before you answer. “I would never.” 

“Of course not,” he says. 

Everything that happens after that feels different. It’s never started like this. It’s been passionate, but it’s never been driven by so much raw desire. It’s never been the kind of sex where Wonwoo pushes your skirt up around your hips and pulls your underwear down to your ankles. Never been the kind of sex where he buries his face in your pussy while you grip the counter for support. Never been so desperate and needy and rushed. 

He makes you come twice on his tongue with your knees going so weak that you can barely stand before he even moves onto actually fucking you. You’re so weak by the time you finish that he has to help you to the bathroom to clean up before he tucks you into your bed. You’re so tired that you don’t even realize how intimate it is when you ask him to get into bed with you. 

The disappointment that sets in when you wake up to get some water in the early hours of the morning hits you hard. Entirely too hard for something that’s supposed to be free of feelings. Your bed feels a little empty without him taking up space. Which is really stupid because it’s not like that’s been something you’ve been doing all of the time. It’s not something you’re used to. But, there’s an unexpected comfort in him. Something that catches you completely off guard. As you drift back off to sleep, you resolve to deal with your feelings in the morning. 

That’s how you find yourself sitting on Minghao’s couch as he makes you both a cup of tea. He hasn’t asked about your roommate yet, but you know that it’s coming. He just wants to have everything he thinks you’ll need first. A few minutes later, he sets two cups of tea down next to the plate of snacks he threw together. If you weren’t in such a crisis, you’d have time to be envious over how pretty the presentation looked. 

“So things with Wonwoo have gotten awkward?” he asks without preamble. 

“Jesus, Hao, let me take a sip first, at least,” you groan. 

“I don’t want to say that I told you this was a bad idea…” he starts.

“You were the one who spilled the beans that I thought he was hot. This is your fault too,” you point out. 

“I told him that he wasn’t alone in thinking his roommate was hot. I didn’t tell you both to start fucking without realizing it was bound to blow up,” he says. 

“I know,” you sigh. 

“So, what’s going on?” he asks. 

Minghao is a lot of things. He can be a bit of an art snob. He’s that kind of impeccably dressed where he looks like he just stepped off a runway. He can appear a bit detached. But, he’s also one of the most thoughtful people you know. He’s complex and he cares for his friends more than he cares for himself most times. Both you and Wonwoo are among those he counts as his closest friends. So, he just listens as you lay out everything that’s happened since the first time you had sex. He doesn’t judge or interrupt. Patiently, he just waits as you get it all off your chest, including how you felt after last night. 

None of that really comes as a surprise. You know that he’s going to give you shit and be there for you at the same time. What does come as a surprise is what he says when you’re done laying out your issues.

“I haven’t wanted to set you up because I wasn’t sure you were in the right place for it, but I actually have a friend that I think you might hit it off with,” he says. “He’d definitely get you out of this whole Wonwoo funk you’re in so things can go back to normal.” 

“You wanna set me up?” you ask, surprised. 

“Yeah, I think it’d be good for you,” he says. 

“Okay, tell me about him,” you agree.

“He’s really kind. Kind of talks in a permanent pout, but it’s endearing somehow. He’s a giant softie at heart and he’s so incredibly loyal. He’s been talking about how he’s looking for something a little more serious. I think you’d like him,” Minghao says. 

“What’s his name, Hao?” you ask skeptically.

“Mingyu,” he answers and your eyes go wide.

“Mingyu? As in that hot model you’re friends with?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Minghao says evenly.

“Okay, you can see if he’s interested,” you agree.

It’s been a couple days since Minghao threw out the suggestion of setting you up with Mingyu. The two of you have exchanged a few messages and he does actually seem really nice. He’s also funnier than you expected him to be. When he asks if you want to get dinner the upcoming weekend, you find you’re a little bit excited. 

There’s only one issue. You feel like you need to tell Wonwoo. You know that he’s not going to care, but it still feels weird when you’ve been fucking around. Maybe Minghao was right and the whole thing was a terrible idea after all. It’s hard for you to tell him when you seem to keep missing each other, though. Lately, he’s been playing video games over at Vernon’s place more than normal. Even if they’re streaming, something feels weird. 

“Hey,” he calls out from the front door, snapping you from your thoughts. 

“Oh hey,” you answer, looking up at him. He doesn’t meet your eyes as he moves to head back to his room. “Everything okay?” 

He stops to look at you when you ask that question and his eyes still look a bit distant. “Yeah, fine. Why?” 

“I don’t know, you’re being short with me,” you say. 

He just shrugs. “I don’t have anything to say.” 

“Okay,” you say, drawing out the first syllable. “Well, I just wanted to tell you that Minghao set me up with his friend Mingyu and I was thinking I’d go out with him.” 

“You don’t have to tell me about your dates,” he says evenly.

“I just thought…” you start.

“We agreed,” he interjects. “Enjoy your date whenever you go.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly to his retreating figure. 

The whole point of agreeing to go out with Mingyu was to get things back to normal with Wonwoo. It was clear that you had gotten in over your head. Now, you’re wondering if things are going to be able to go back to normal at all. This isn’t your normal dynamic. You always shared stories about dates, hook-ups, anything and everything under the sun. Your other friends always said it was weird for the two of you and you just ignored them. Now, you feel like you’re in it alone. Maybe they’re right and it is weird.

Since it’s a little on the later side anyway, you decide to grab something from the kitchen and just head into your room. You can go to bed early and forget that whole conversation even happened. That’s probably for the best. It’ll be easier to get back to normal once you’re going on dates again. Once you stop fucking your roommate like you could have ever done that without forming some kind of feelings. 

It’s the middle of the night when you feel someone slide into bed around you. A familiar scent slips into your consciousness as an arm slides around your center. You nestle back into the chest and know for sure that it’s your roommate. The same man you’re trying hard to get over.

“What are you doing, Wonwoo?” you mumble in sleepiness. 

“Don’t go on the date with Mingyu,” he says. He sounds completely awake. 

“What?” you ask. Your brain is still foggy from sleep. 

“Don’t go out with anyone else,” he says. 

That makes you open your eyes as the words bounce around in your brain. You turn over to your other side so that you’re facing him. His hair is messy and all he’s wearing is a plain white t-shirt, but your heart still constricts a bit at the sight of him. 

“What do you want, Wonwoo?” you ask, voice thick with mental exhaustion.

“Exactly what I told you. I want you to turn Mingyu down,” he says.

“Why should I?” you challenge. 

“Because, well, we’ve got this…” he starts and fumbles over his words.

“We haven’t got anything. You’ve been avoiding me for days,” you point out. “Hell, I asked you to stay in bed with me after you fucked me in the kitchen and you couldn’t even make it til morning.” 

“I know, but I was scared that night because I realized I was starting to feel something,” he says. “And then Hao texted me to tell me he’d finally given your number to Mingyu…”

“Finally? What do you mean?” you asked.

“He’s been asking for your number for months,” Wonwoo says through somewhat gritted teeth. “So Minghao told me you’d agreed to be set up and I don’t know, I guess I just decided…”

“To avoid me?” you supply. 

“I didn’t know what to do. And I didn’t know how to process you not telling me,” he admits. 

“You weren’t around for me to tell you,” you point out. “We’ve been fucking. I wasn’t just gonna be like oh by the way, I’m going on a date.” 

“Please don’t go on a date with him,” Wonwoo asks again.

“I will consider not going if you can actually talk to me,” you say. 

“About what?” he asks. 

“Everything you’re feeling and why this whole let’s just be roommates that fuck was stupid,” you say. 

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he says immediately. 

You sigh, realizing that you’re not going to be able to go back to sleep, and send Wonwoo to the kitchen to get you something to drink. By the time he’s back, you’re sitting up in bed and ready to have an actual conversation. 

You stay up entirely too late talking about everything between the two of you. It’s a little hard to believe Wonwoo is so open with admitting how he feels. It’s harder to believe that Wonwoo knew he felt something for you before the very first time you had sex. In his mind, it was clear that he wasn’t just offering because the two of you were friends. He offered it as a way to gauge your own feelings. But, after that first time, he kind of figured it was just sex and tried to detach himself from it. That was when you started to feel something for him. 

When he’s done admitting his own mistakes and feelings, you figure that it’s time for you to own up to your own. It was really silly to just make up his side of the conversation about why he didn’t stay in bed with you that night. After all, the one thing you both stressed before sleeping together the first time was that you had to be honest in your communication. That’s what friends did and you were friends before anything else. As it turns out, you’re both way more on the same page than either of you realized. 

“You’re wrong about one thing, though,” you admit. 

“What’s that?” he asks.

“It was never just sex for me. I was totally done the first time you kissed me,” you share, picking at a thread on your comforter to avoid looking at him.

“I kissed you before we even had sex,” he points out, incredulous. 

“Yeah, turns out I’m not so good at the just friends who fuck thing,” you say with a shrug. 

“If I’d have known that was all it took, I’d have kissed you months ago,” Wonwoo grumbles.

That brings you up short. “Nu, just how long have you liked me?” 

“I don’t know, a while,” he says. 

You just shake your head at him before pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “Just talk to me next time.” 

“Can we go back to having sex now? I miss the feel of you,” he whines out. “And the taste.” 

“We literally fucked less than a week ago,” you point out to try and avoid the way it makes heat pool. 

“I could taste you every day and never get sick of it,” he says without any embarrassment. 

“Are we really giving this a try?” you ask.

“Unless you don’t want to,” Wonwoo says.

“I do, I’m just scared. What if we try a relationship and it doesn’t work?” you ask. “You’re one of my best friends. I don’t wanna lose that.” 

Wonwoo reaches out to tilt your head up. “We’ll just promise to be honest with each other. We can figure this out together.”

“Okay,” you agree.

“So, we’re doing this?” he confirms.

“Yeah, we’re doing this.” 

Just like that, you agree to take a leap with the only person that you’ve always trusted to catch you every time you fall. It feels scary, but also completely natural. 

i hope you enjoyed it! 💕

[userparamore]

6.5K CELEBRATION: EMILIA CLARKE as DAENERYS TARGARYEN ↳ 💌 for @daenerys-stormborn

[starconchs]

𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐀 𝐁𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄!

pairing: gojo satoru x reader summary: college au! in which you argue with the school's golden boy (in your defense, you didn't know!) and then find yourself unable to avoid him no matter where you go. genre: college au! strangers to lovers, humor notes: mentions of alcohol, college shenanigans, wingman geto!, shoko refuses to be gojo's wingwoman wc: ~6.5k

a shiver runs down your spine as you exit the stuffy house, the cool air a stark contrast to the warm atmosphere inside. 

you smile as you heard a loud cheer, excusing yourself as you squeeze past the two boys who were celebrating their beer pong win. you stumble slightly when one of the boys leans a little too far back, swaying drunkenly as he gives you a remorseful look and let out a small ‘sorry!’. bumping into something as you waved him off, you do your best to keep your drink from spilling, slightly leaning against whatever you had bumped into in an attempt to regain your balance.

"watch where you're going," a bored voice drawls, causing you to turn around. you look up to meet the person's eyes, instead being met with shiny, white hair framing a handsome face. you feel your face heat up as you study the stranger carefully, taking in his casual posture before observing the dark sunglasses that are perched on his nose. wait, sunglasses? at night? you realize you've been staring for too long when he suddenly leans down, looking you over before speaking. "what? you like what you see?"

his words snap you out of your thoughts, and you instinctively take a step back as you notice how close he is. his actions cause his sunglasses to slip down, giving you a glimpse of bright, blue irises that seem to glow in the dim lighting. you shake your head softly, clutching your cup to your chest nervously as you try to avoid eye contact with him.

"what? no!" you vehemently deny, frowning as you notice the amused smile on his face. "i was just going to say i'm sor—"

"i don't care," he cuts you off, his tone smug as he watches you stumble over your words. you balk for a few seconds, gathering your thoughts before scowling at him. he might've been pretty, that was quickly overshadowed by his irritating personality.

"you really should be more aware of your surroundings," he continues, glancing down at the cup held tightly between your hands. "or maybe you should stop drinking. i dunno, just an idea."

"what? this isn't even alcohol!" you protest, nose scrunching up as you look at him with distaste. you take a step forward, pointing a finger at him accusingly. "you were facing me! maybe you should've warned me before i bumped into you."

"sure it isn't," he replies smoothly, a wide grin on his face as he reaches out to grab your finger and wiggle it around. "and maybe, you're just a klutz."

you yank your hand out of his grasp, stumbling back slightly as you half-cross your arms, making sure your cup remains stable. you ignore the way your heart jumps at the contact. "i am not a klutz! and listen here sunglasses, this cup is full of water."

"you sure you're not drunk?" he asks, a condescending smirk on his face as he takes a step towards you. "you're stumbling an awful lot for someone who's sober. or is it because i make you nervous?"

"you know what?" you seethe, fed up with the white-haired stranger in front of you. "here, taste it."

before you can think your actions through, you toss your water in his face. "refreshing, isn't it?"

you're gone in an instant, and the stranger finds himself chuckling as he dries off his sunglasses. he grimaces when he realizes his shirt is also wet, tugging the fabric away from his skin as he heads inside to find his friends.

he doesn't know who you are, but he was now determined to find out.

a groan leaves your lips as you try to open your eyes, the sunlight streaming in through the window preventing you from doing so. the constant vibrations from your phone haven't stopped for the past ten minutes, and all you want to do is go back to sleep.

you raise an arm to block the sunlight as you fumble around for your phone, an eyebrow raising when you see that shoko was the one who had been calling you the entire time.

"hello?" you ask, confusion and exhaustion mixing to make your tone sluggish. you let your eyes close, turning onto your side as you snuggle into your comforter. "what's with you today? leave me alone."

"hey!" you hear shoko say, followed by another small greeting from utahime. "are you still in bed?"

"yeah," you reply, pulling the blanket over your head. "are you two together right now? thanks for inviting me. some friends you are."

"we tried calling!" utahime replies. you can hear shoko huff, presumably due to utahime pushing her away from the phone. "you didn't answer your phone. it's not our fault!"

"i know, i know," you mutter, a smile stretching across your face as you hear utahime apologize anyways. "but seriously, what's with you two? shoko usually gives up if i don't answer after the second ring."

"you mean you don't know?"

"know what?" you ask, a yawn escaping you as you feel your eyes lower. you're half-tempted to end the call, but you can't deny that you're curious as to what could've been so important that shoko would willingly call you so many times.

"you're famous," shoko says. you can hear the faint clicking of a lighter in the background, a brief distraction as you try to process shoko's words. "you're all over social media. at least, on the pages that post about our student body."

there's a moment of silence after her words, and you find yourself sitting up immediately. sleep has fully evaded you by now, and you throw the comforter off of yourself before sitting criss-cross-applesauce. "i'm what?"

"famous," shoko repeats, her voice a little muffled due to what you assume is a cigarette. you pull your phone away from your ear as it buzzes once again, making sure to put the call on speaker before checking your notifications. "check your messages, i just sent you a link."

the link leads you to a random instagram profile, full of videos and memes submitted by students at your university. you click the first video on the page, your jaw dropping when you realize it was you in the video. you and that stranger you had argued with the previous night.

"oh my god," you say, watching as the video plays out on your screen. you watch as the stranger leans in close to you, as you yell at him, as he grabs your finger, and as you toss your drink in his face. by the time the video restarts, you had placed your phone beside you, head in your hands as you chuckle in disbelief.

"this is awful!" you finally say, flopping back onto your mattress and squinting as the sun hits your eyes. "not just awful, this is humiliating!"

"yeah, for gojo," utahime snorts. "he needs to be humbled. if anything, you did everyone on this campus a favor."

"gojo?" you mutter, closing your eyes fully before letting out another groan and shooting back up. "is that his name? he was kinda cute. what a shame."

"you don't know who he is?" you hear shoko ask, a genuinely curious tone enveloping her words. you hum absentmindedly as you scroll through the comments, seeing that many of them agree with utahime's sentiment while many others seem to question your actions. "and ew!"

"no, do you?" you ask, choosing to ignore her sound of disgust.

"yes," both shoko and utahime say. you hear a glass clink against a table before shoko continues. "gojo is actually an old frie-"

"oh my god!" you shriek, interrupting shoko as you fling your phone against your pillow. you quickly grab it, apologies leaving your mouth as you try to calm down.

"what? what happened?" utahime yells, concern in her voice as she hears you laugh nervously.

"you're not going to believe this," you say, finally catching your breath. you feel boneless as you settle in between your pillows, not even trying to fight the sunlight anymore. "he just requested to follow me on instagram."

the rest of the weekend passes without incident, the follow request from gojo remaining untouched on your phone. by the time monday rolls around, you had hoped that everyone had forgotten about the incident, but based on the random high fives you get and whispers that follow you, you knew they hadn't.

"this is awful," you hiss, lowering your head even more as a group of girls walk behind you and giggle. the textbook in front of you isn't making any sense to you, causing you to slam it shut and push it away before resting your head on the table. "i can't go anywhere without hearing something about me and gojo."

shoko hums quietly, too caught up in her medicinal chemistry textbook to pay you any attention. you sigh pathetically, resting your arms underneath your head before giving her a pleading look. when she doesn't react, you sigh louder, earning a chuckle from her before she leans back and puts her pen down.

"what did you expect? he's one of the most popular people on this campus," shoko reminds you, running a hand through her hair before tying it up in a messy ponytail. "i'm more surprised about the fact that you didn't know who he was to begin with."

"i don't keep up with school gossip," you mutter, weakly reaching out for shoko's water bottle. she gives you a knowing smile before leaning forward, grabbing the bottle and pulling it towards her. you whine as she opens it, watching as she raises it to her lip to take a sip. the two of you are caught off guard when the bottle is yanked out of her hands, water sloshing out and landing on the table. you hurry to grab a napkin from your backpack, wincing as shoko slams her hands on the table.

"what the hell, satoru!" she exclaims, irritation clear in her tone as she yells at the newcomer.

"who the fuck is satoru?" you ask, humming in delight when you find a paper towel. you proceed to kick your backpack back under the table, placing the paper towel over the spill and letting it absorb the liquid. you can hear shoko snort at the question, and you raise your eyes to see her placing her now sealed water bottle back on the table.

"awww you don't remember me?" satoru asks, placing his palms on the table before leaning towards you. "i'm heartbroken."

his voice sends a shiver down your spine, and you tense up when you realize that you recognize it. you look up at satoru to meet bright blue eyes, familiar, dark sunglasses perched on the tip of his nose. there's a teasing smile on his face and you can feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment as you stare at him. "oh... you're gojo."

"satoru," he corrects, his smile growing even wider when he sees your flustered state. "i like it when you say my name."

you ignore the way he's looking at you, your stomach turning as you simply nod and turn away to face shoko. "isn't, uh, isn't satoru a childhood friend of yours?"

"i sure am!" gojo replies, sliding into the seat next to shoko and throwing an arm around her shoulders. he pulls her in close, swaying side to side with her as she gives you a bored look.

"he sure is," shoko says tiredly, turning to give gojo an annoyed stare. she flicks his forehead, shoving his arm off of her as he yelps. she rolls her eyes as she ignores him, picking up her pen and scanning her textbook once more.

"why didn't you tell me?" you hiss, leaning in close to give her a glare. she smiles when she notices your expression, tapping the tip of your nose with her pen and chuckling when you shake your head and lean back in your chair.

"we tried," shoko says, rolling her eyes. "you threw your phone across the room when you got that follow request on instagram, remember?"

your eyes widen in surprise at her words, mortification clear on your face as you glance at gojo. "i did not throw my phone!"

"you threw your phone? all the way across your room?" gojo asks, snickering at your reaction. he leans forwards, placing his elbows on the table and resting his cheek on his palm. "so i do make you feel all flustered, huh? i'm flattered, although, i'm a little hurt that you haven't accepted my request yet."

there's a pout on gojo's face as you stare him down, grumbling incoherently before you take your phone out from your back pocket. you can hear him giggling as you open up instagram, and you waste no time before pulling up your follow requests and turning your phone towards him. he raises an eyebrow when you smile, watching as your finger hovers over the "accept" button before you switch and press "decline".

"there, now you don't have to keep thinking about it," you say, watching as gojo's face falls at your actions. you stand up before he can say anything else, pocketing your phone and grabbing your wallet before glancing at shoko. "i'm gonna go get a bottle of water. do you want anything?"

shoko shakes her head, and you simply hum before turning to leave, freezing when you heard gojo speak once again. "i should head out too, it's probably in my best interest to leave before you come back with water. you know, in case you spill it on me again."

gojo's shit-eating grin only widens when shoko can't hold back her laughter, causing you to send them both a withering glare. you stomp off with an angry huff, and gojo can hear you muttering under your breath as he watches you walk all the way down the hall. he doesn't look away until you turn a corner, only then turning to face shoko, who has a skeptical look on her face. he gives her a knowing look, eyes pleading as he leans his head against her shoulder. "they're cute. really cute. can i get their number?"

"i'm not helping you," she says, snorting softly before digging through her backpack for her airpods. she manages to put one earbud in before gojo speaks again.

"i'll win them over," he states confidently, standing up and pushing his chair in. he gives shoko a kiss on the head before walking away, ignoring her as she laughs at his words.

"yeah, good luck with that."

geto watches amusedly as you trudge into your shared chemistry class, not even bothering to greet him before slumping in your chair and resting your head on the desk.

"rough day?" he asks, raising an eyebrow in concern when you groan in response. he sits quietly as he observes you for a few seconds, and you sigh as you sit up, realizing that he's waiting for your answer.

"more like rough weekend," you finally say, eyeing him skeptically. "c'mon, don't tell me you haven't seen the video."

geto laughs at your words, his bangs swaying as he turns in his seat to fully face you. heat rises up in your cheeks as he gazes at you with a smile, and you fidget nervously as you try to keep your composure. it's no secret that geto suguru is attractive, and having his attention focused solely on you is almost too much to handle.

"i did, i just figured i'd save you the embarrassment and not bring it up."

"how considerate of you," you mutter, smiling softly before taking out your laptop.

"hey, do you have a pen i could borrow?" geto asks, searching through his backpack before sighing and putting it on the back of his chair. "i have a sneaking suspicion that my roommate stole mine."

"yeah, of course," you respond, rummaging through your pencil pouch before pulling out a sleek, black pen. "is this one fine?"

"that's perfect, thank you," geto says. before he can grab the pen, it's yanked out of your hand, and you look up to see gojo standing beside you.

"gojo," you greet dryly, trying to ignore the smirk on his face. "do you make it a habit to always snatch things out of people's hands?"

"i can't help it," he says with a laugh, pulling his sunglasses down slightly as he twirls the pen. "that irritated look you give me is so cute, i just can't resist!"

your face twists up in embarrassment, a huff leaves your lips before you reach up to snatch the pen back and hand it to geto. you refuse to look at gojo in fear of letting him see your expression as you settle into your seat, but a sudden thought has you turning to face him when you realize you had never seen in that class before.

"wait, why are you here?"

"i'm in this class, silly," gojo replies, reaching down to tap your nose the way shoko had earlier. you swat his hand away, your mouth twisting into a scowl as geto snorts.

"no you're not," you say, eyebrows furrowing as you give him a confused glance.

"yes i am."

"no, you're not."

"yes. i. am."

"then how come i've never seen you here before?" you ask, crossing your arms as you give him a smug look.

"well that's because—"

"good morning, class," yaga masamichi says, cutting off gojo's response as he walks in. the professor sets all his stuff down before turning on the projector, grabbing his laptop to set up the day's lesson. "today we will be going over new mechanisms so make sure you—"

yaga goes silent as his gaze lands on you, and you shuffle nervously as you wait for him to say something.

"gojo," yaga states, mouth pressed in a firm line as he stares at the white-haired boy. you sigh in relief when you realize his stare wasn't directed at you. "what a nice surprise. i never thought i'd see you here."

"ah, c'mon yaga," gojo replies, a charming smile on his face as he tucks his hands into his pockets. "i care about my studies. besides, it's not like i've skipped every single lesson."

"yes, you have," yaga says dryly, facial expression unchanging as silence engulfs the classroom. a minute passes before he let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand down his face before waving him off. "just take a seat, gojo. quickly, please."

gojo salutes yaga, giving him a cheeky grin before sauntering over to the seat directly behind geto. you do your best to ignore him throughout the lesson, dutifully taking notes and only glancing at him once when you bend down to grab your water bottle. you're caught off guard when you realize that gojo has been staring at you the entire time, pen in hand but notebook closed as he focuses on you instead of yaga. he shoots you a wink as soon as you meet his eyes, and you pretend not to notice before turning back around. geto doesn't miss the way you fight back a small smile.

you can feel gojo's eyes burning into you for the rest of the lesson.

the class ends with yaga announcing a new project, and you wait with bated breath as he reads off the list of partners he had prepared in advance. you can't stop the sigh of relief that comes out of you when you hear your name followed by geto's.

"so, your place or mine?" geto asks, gathering all his materials before placing them into his backpack. you open your mouth to reply before closing it quickly, your eyebrows furrowing as you think about the messy state your apartment is currently in. sensing your hesitance, geto chuckles, grabbing his backpack and standing up before speaking. "mine it is. i'll send you the address later and we can figure something out okay?"

"sounds good!" you respond, smiling sheepishly as you duck your head. you wave goodbye to geto, turning to hurry out of the classroom when you notice gojo approaching. "just text me and let me know!"

"so... they'll be coming over?" gojo asks, sidling up to geto as you walk off. his eyes never leave your form until you disappear from sight. he turns to geto with a smile, resting his head on geto's shoulder while pushing up his sunglasses to look at him. "say, can i get their number?"

"not a chance. just talk to them and ask," geto says, laughing at gojo's audacity before pushing him off and leaving the room.

gojo's left standing in the middle of all the desks, a small smile appearing on his face as he realizes that you'd be over at geto's apartment sometime soon. the very same apartment that he shares with gojo.

"gojo."

his train of thought is interrupted by yaga, who is standing near the door with his bag slung over his shoulder. all of his supplies have been packed up and he sports an annoyed expression as he looks at gojo.

"yes?"

"get out of my classroom."

"yessir!"

it's been a couple of days since the project has been assigned, and other than gojo's sudden appearance in class, not much has happened. you still do your best to ignore his presence, focusing on yaga or even geto to try and remain oblivious to his persistent staring.

but you can't avoid him forever, that much is clear as the door to geto's apartment opens and you find yourself face to face with gojo satoru. your face remains blank as he greets you with a call of your name, merely watching him as he leans against the doorway and gives you a giddy grin.

"what a surprise to see you here!" gojo crows, head tilting down to give you a peek at his eyes. you find yourself looking away, refusing to interact with him as he pulls you inside.

"what are you doing here?" you finally ask, slipping your shoes off and taking a few steps back when you realize just how close to gojo you are. the hallway isn't that wide to begin with, and even pressed up against the opposite wall, you can feel him brushing up against you as he turns to close the door.

you look through your phone as you wait for geto, only looking up when you feel gojo step closer to you. you shrink into the wall behind you, tensing up when gojo's hand lands on the wall next to your head as he leans in, his other hand plucking your phone from your grasp. you look up at him as he fiddles with your phone, reaching for it and scowling when he holds it up out of reach. you never realized just how much taller than you he was.

you give up on trying to retrieve your phone, crossing your arms and leaning back as you choose to study him instead. you're reminded of the night at the party as you let your eyes trace his face, taking in the way his hair falls over his face and cast shadows that only seem to emphasize the color of his eyes. you're so distracted as you study his nose and lips that you completely miss the words he says.

"i live here. duh!"

there's a moment of silence as you keep your eyes on him, and you rapidly blink away your dazed expression when you see a teasing smirk on gojo's face.

"w-what?"

"i live here!" he repeats, holding out your phone. you take it from his grasp, inhaling sharply when he invades your personal space and points at your screen. "oh! also, i added myself into your contacts and made sure to send myself a message so that i have your number as well."

"you live here?" you ask dumbly, briefly looking down at your phone to see the message thread. you notice that gojo has saved his contact information under "satoru <3" and you make a mental note to change it later.

"yes. unfortunately, he does."

the two of you turn your heads to look at geto, who stands near the living room with his arms crossed. there's an amused smile on his face as he takes in the scene before him, and he smirks at gojo when he notices just how close to you he is.

a weak laugh leaves your lips as you shake your head, looking back and forth between gojo and geto. "of course he does. so you're telling me that the two of you are—"

"we're roommates."

"we're soulmates!"

"we are not," geto states, refuting gojo's claim.

"you're right," gojo concedes, letting his arm fall from the wall to rest around your shoulders. he pulls you into his side as you let out a surprised squeak, grinning down at you as he guides you further into the apartment. "actually, i think we're soulmates."

"we're really not," you mutter weakly, although geto notices that you seem to avoid gojo's gaze. you send him a pleading look, and geto simply shrugs before turning and heading into the kitchen.

"would you like something to drink?" he asks, opening the refrigerator and bending down to grab a couple of water bottles. his question goes unanswered as gojo leads you away from him, taking your backpack in one hand as he continues to speak. geto doesn't miss the panicked look you send his way and he closes the fridge with a chuckle as he follows after the two of you.

"i dunno," gojo says, placing your backpack down before waving his hand casually. "we meet at a party, you turn out to be friends with my childhood friends, we're in the same class, and on top of all that, you end up at my apartment after being randomly paired with my roommate. it's like fate is trying to tell us something!"

geto can't help but snort at gojo's hopeless attempt at flirting, earning a dirty look from his roommate. he doesn't think he's ever seen gojo try this hard to get someone's attention, and the only thing that makes the entire situation funnier is that despite your attraction to gojo, you seem determined to avoid interacting with him at all costs. geto wonders if it's because of the party incident.

"pardon the interruption, but we really have to work on that assignment" geto sayss, taking a seat on the couch and patting the spot next to him. he smiles warmly at you as you sit next to him, your thigh brushing against his as he sends gojo a smug look. gojo merely scowls in return, his eyes zeroing in on the casual touches between the two of you. "i'm not necessarily kicking you out, satoru, but i do ask for some peace and quiet while we work."

gojo gives geto a sarcastic thumbs up, smiling as he grabs the first book he sets his sights upon and takes a seat on the armchair across from you. he opens the book to a random page, pretending to read as he watches you and geto set up your work space. he ignores everything but you for the most part, averting his eyes and flipping a page of two whenever you glance up to meet his eyes.

"here you go."

you're thirty minutes into the project when gojo finally looks at geto, his eyes narrowing as he watches his best friend hand you an already open water bottle. geto meets gojo's gaze with a smirk as he leans back, his arm laying on the couch right behind you. if you settled into your seat any further, you'd have his arm around you.

"oh! thank you," you say, eyes wide in mild surprise when you realize the bottle is already open. you give geto a soft smile, taking a sip before he takes it back to close it. "you're so sweet, geto. i always have trouble opening those water bottles."

"it's really no problem," he replies, sending gojo a sly look as he opens your textbook. "anything for you."

gojo can't help the way he clenches his fist, the rustling of pages drawing your attention to him. you notice him glaring at geto, and you look at the death grip he has on his book before turning to give geto a confused look.

"what's wrong with him?" you whisper, leaning in close so gojo won't hear. geto holds back a laugh as he also leans in, amused at the fact that you're simply making his mission of making gojo jealous that much easier.

"i don't know. many things," geto confesses, his lips dangerously close to the shell of your ear. you breathe out a laugh in response, blinking rapidly when a strand of hair falls into your eye. "let me get that for you."

you look at geto as he tucks the piece of hair behind your ear, his fingertips brushing the side of your face as he does so. he's closer to you than you thought and you take a moment to admire his features before smiling. "thanks, geto!"

"you're wel—"

geto's response is cut short as gojo slams his book onto the table. he proceeds to shoot geto a dirty look as he jumps out of his seat, storming out of the living room as he mutters something under his breath.

"now what's wrong with him?" you ask, eyebrows raised in disbelief as you hear him borderline slam his door shut. you turn back to geto when he starts laughing, the noise soft and quiet as he presses a hand to his mouth. he shifts away from you, shaking his head as he gives you a knowing look.

"you really don't know, do you?" he questions, crossing his arms as he studies you.

"know what?"

"that he likes you," geto reveals, unable to stop his laughter when he sees the shocked look on your face. your lips part in surprise as your eyebrows get even higher, and you can't help the way your gaze shift towards the armchair gojo had been sitting in before you school your expression back into one of disinterest.

"no he doesn't" you reply, shaking your head at geto. "he just likes being obnoxious!"

"i saw the two of you at the party, you know," geto confesses. "i was going outside to get gojo so we could head out but then i saw him speaking with you and well, take it from me, he was definitely trying to flirt with you."

you look at geto's face for a few seconds, laughing nervously when you realize he's telling the truth. "well he's shit at it, if we're being honest."

"i know," geto says solemnly. there's a brief pause before the two of you break out into giggles. "listen, i know he's obnoxious and annoying and irritating and he doesn't seem to have many redeeming qualities."

geto pauses as you laugh at his words.

"but," he continues, smiling fondly as he looks towards gojo's room. "he's a good guy. trust me, i've known him almost our entire lives. go talk to him."

there's hesitance in your steps as you walk down the hall. you turn to look at geto before you knock, being met with a thumbs up and a smile. you take a deep breath before knocking on the door, pulling your hand back when it swings open. gojo's eyes have barely met yours before he reaches out and grabs your wrist, tugging you into his room before closing the door.

"what's up?" he asks casually, leaning against the wall as you take a look around. his room is clean, neatly laid out with an obscenely large bed and a polished, wooden desk facing his window. you take in all his posters and knick-knacks, smiling softly when you see a small figurine of a fluffy, white cat napping.

"is it true?" you ask, turning back around to face him. he avoids your gaze, and you realize that for once, he's not wearing his sunglasses.

"what is?"

you snort at his question, taking a step towards him and trying to catch his eye. there's a teasing smile on your face when he finally looks at you, and hold your hands behind your back as you get even closer. "that you like me?"

the silence seems to drag on for way too long, and you're contemplating walking out of gojo's room when he finally speaks.

"yes! okay, yeah, i think you're cute!" gojo proclaims, walking past you to take a seat on his bed. "i'll admit, at first i was annoyed because i thought you were someone who had come out to flirt with me and i just wanted to be alone but then you started talking and you were so easy to tease and you looked all cute when you got worked up and i couldn't help myself so i just kept making it worse!"

gojo pauses, taking a deep breath before continuing. "and you actually argued back and you didn't just let me talk to you like that and it was so refreshing because usually no one even tries to go against me and i just thought you were really pretty and i didn't want you to leave."

"what the actual fuck is wrong with you?" you ask, stifling a laugh as he shoots you an offended glare. "that's such a childish way to get someone's attention. has that ever actually worked for you?"

"well now that you mention it, no it hasn't," gojo admits, looking up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "but then again, not a lot of people tend to reject me."

his sheepish tone lets you know he's not trying to be cocky, he's just stating a fact. you run a hand down your face in exasperation.

"well i couldn't even tell that you were flirting! you're so stupid," you state, rolling your eyes as he puts a hand up to his heart with a dramatic swoon. "you're lucky you're so cute."

gojo is up within seconds, approaching you quickly and placing his hands on your hips. he pulls you closer to him, and your hands go to his chest as you try and keep some sort of distance between the two of you. you look up to see him grinning at you, a faint blush staining his cheeks.

"so you think i'm cute?"

"shut up!" you groan, letting your forehead fall against his chest in an attempt to avoid his eyes. "you know you are."

gojo laughs at your mumbled words, one hand leaving your waist in order to hook a finger under your chin. he tilts your face up, chuckling when he sees the embarrassed look on your face.

"i do," he concedes, laughing when you scowl. "but it just feels so good to hear that coming from you."

you freeze when you see gojo glancing at your lips, and you feel your heart pounding as he draws closer and closer.

"gojo?" you say quietly, more of a call of attention than a question.

"satoru," he corrects, the single words now drawing your attention to his lips.

"satoru," you repeat dazedly, eyes fluttering shut as gojo's nose nudges yours. you draw in a shuddering breath, and gojo leans his forehead against yours as he waits for you to continue, his eyes slipping shut as well. he can feel your fingers grasping at his shirt, and he wonders if you can feel how hard his heart is beating. "i'm sorry. you know, for dumping my water all over you at that party."

gojo laughs, his nose bumping against yours once more as he does so. "that's okay. i know how you can make it up to me. if it's okay with you, of course."

you've barely breathed out a 'yes' before gojo's lips are pressed against yours. its a soft kiss, only lasting a few seconds before he pulls away. there's a moment where gojo looks at you, his eyes soft before his gaze drops to your lips once again. in an instant his hands have left your waist, choosing to cup your cheeks instead and bring you impossibly close to him as he goes in for another kiss. your fingers tighten around his shirt even more as your lips meet, trying to pull him closer as he deepens the kiss.

he guides you backwards until his knees hit his bedframe, causing him to take a seat. he pulls you down with him until you're sitting in his lap, and one hand leaves your face to pull you into his chest. his fingers burn as they stroke your cheek, and his gentle touch combined with the way his lips are moving against yours is almost enough to make you feel dizzy.

"sorry to interrupt!"

the two of you break away to see geto standing in the doorway, a surprised look on his face as he stares at the two of you.

"suguru!" gojo hisses, venom in his tone as he glares at his roommate. "get! out!"

"sorry, but we have a project to do that's worth 25% of our grade," geto says, not sounding very apologetic at all. in fact, the smug grin on his face tells you that he seems quite proud of himself in that moment.

"whatever," gojo mumbles, hiding his face in your shoulder to avoid looking at geto. "give us five minutes."

"how tragic that five minutes is all you need," geto says, not missing a beat. his response earns a laugh from you and gojo gives you a look of betrayal before flinging one of his many pillows at geto.

"get out!"

"okay, okay," geto says, holding his hands up in surrender as he backs away. "i know when i'm not wanted."

"clearly you don't," gojo mutters bitterly, causing geto to laugh loudly before he closes the door behind him. gojo's change in attitude is almost instant, and he turns to you with a smirk before pressing a kiss to your neck. "now where were we?"

outside, geto smirks to himself as he takes out his phone, opening his messages to his previous conversation with shoko. he wastes no time in sending her the picture he had managed to capture before making his presence known, the image clearly showing you sitting on gojo's lap. it's less than a minute before his phones buzzes with notifications, and he finds himself chuckling at shoko's words.

new messages (3) from: shoko

omg! i didn't think he had the balls to actually do it i guess i'm happy for them or whatever. fucking finally.

reblogs are appreciated <3 ty for reading!

[darknight3904]

All Too Well

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: After meeting Joel one late night at a bar you launch into a whirlwind romance with him. But, between a nasty breakup and the end of the world, you're left with nothing but your thoughts of the past and the way they haunt you all too well.

Warnings: 18+ Mature themes including: language, loss of virginity sexual references, SA (Not by Joel), Animal death, starvation.

Based on the song by Taylor Swift.

Word Count: 6.5k

Series Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Winter 2023

Jackson was a town that was almost too good to be true. You had stumbled upon it nearly 7 years ago after fleeing in the middle of the night from a band of men that had captured you. Your sanctuary was just getting started then, but the group that was working there, welcomed you with open arms and as many supplies as they could spare.

It was your own little slice of paradise in this post-apocalyptic world you were stuck in. Away from FEDRA's iron fist and the horrors that evil people inflicted on others, most days you felt like you were living the life you used to back in 2003.

Of course, some things were different now. The TV in the corner of your living room was useless and most of your meals were communal in the mess hall. But, you loved it all anyway, glad to be away from the harsh world that lay outside the walls.

Even when you were assigned to clean out the horse stables, you loved your community. Jackson was your perfect little universe, undisturbed by the past and-

"Oh, shit...Joel?"

May 2003

College finals were the two scariest words one could say to you right now. Luckily for you, you had managed to somehow pass all of them this semester. Yes, you had somehow even managed an 80 on your biology exam, you still weren't quite sure how that happened. Maybe those 3am nights poured over your books did something.

"We should celebrate tonight." Your friend, Amelia suggested from her spot on the couch

"I was thinking about ordering a pizza." You sigh as you try to work out in your mind how much you have in your bank account. Perhaps you even had enough for some wings too.

"Not like that." She scoffs, " I meant we dress up real slutty and hit some bars. Get some guys to buy us drinks."

"I wanted to watch a movie tonight though." You sigh, thinking of the Blockbuster down the road. The second X-Men movie had come out a few weeks ago and you were dying to see Hugh Jackman on your screen again.

"You can spend the rest of your life as a grandma watching movies. You're only hot once." Amelia laughs

"But-"

"No buts. Your tits are gonna be at your waist one day and you'll thank me for this." Amelia declares before skipping off to her room, mumbling about which top she'd wear.

You sigh as you watch her door close. Amelia Caddel hadn't been your first choice for sharing an off campus apartment. Afterall, she was the opposite of you in so many ways. But, Miss Life of the Party had a steady deposit of allowance in her account from mommy and daddy, meaning she never missed rent, an important factor in a roomate.

"Guess you're spending the night alone." You sigh, looking down at your cat, Loki who purred, clearly wanting a treat or perhaps another heaping bowl of kibble.

Amelia fussed with your hair as the two of you entered your first bar.

"How're you going to pick up a guy if he can't even see your eyes?" She laughs

The stuffy air and the loud music, followed by a group of frat boys cheering for someone, reminded you why you never went out.

You watched with a sigh as she sought out the closest mid twenties guy she could wrestle a few drinks out of. You trailed behind, fidgeting with the skimpy black mini dress she had coaxed you into.

You'd have to hand it to Amelia, you certainly looked hot in it.

The feel of a stranger bumping into you and the sharp scent of aftershave filled your nose, and then big hands were wrapping around your waist, keeping you from stumbling.

"Shit sorry, hon." His Texan accent sent a small shiver down your spine.

"It's fine." You mumble, jumping away from the stranger's arms.

"Tommy, let's go! Quit flirtin' with the college girls!"

The man, Tommy, mumbles another apology to you before disappearing further into the bar, in search of whoever called for him.

Joel watched as his younger brother "accidentally" bumped into some silly college girl who seemed out of her element. Joel couldn't lie, it was something his brain might've come up with if he wasn't so damn tired from today's work. When was laying concrete going to get easier?

The younger Miller brother, who hadn't succumbed to back pain just yet, whispered some false apology in the girl's ears as she jumped away from him.

Joel called for him, he couldn't let Tommy terrorize some poor twenty-something girl who looked like a deer in the headlights under his brother's gaze.

"You're getting too old to be after college kids." Joel chastizes as he sits beside Tommy at the bar.

"Oh c'mon." Tommy scoffs as he orders a beer for himself and Joel.

"You're thirty, you're not some mid-twenties loser anymore." Joel points out.

"You're no fun, Joel," Tommy says with a roll of his eyes

Joel wanted to go home. He'd wanted to go home hours ago but Tommy had dragged him out after they finally finished working on their latest project, the new local Subway was nicely constructed by the Miller brothers.

Yet, here he sat, a few hours later, Two and a half beers deep, listening to Tommy try his hand at karaoke. Joel was pretty sure his ears were bleeding as his eyes scanned the bar. Most of the patrons were so drunk, they cheered Tommy on.

Joel found his eyes settling on the girl Tommy had "bumped" into earlier. She was still alone, sat across the room at a high-top table, sipping at some fruity drink. Pretty red heels were linked on the footrest of the barstool and Joel watched as she fumbled with her purse, looking for something with a deep frown across her pretty features.

If Joel didn't have a 13-year-old waiting on him back home, he might have slipped across the bar and sweet talked his way into this girl's arms. But the thought of Sarah back home, watching TV with Mrs. Addler had his ass glued to his barstool.

Instead, he observes as you finally find your phone and make a call. He watches as your features droop in disappointment as you yell over Tommy's singing to whoever was on the other end. Joel watched with a bit of amusement as you nearly fell off the stool when you went to stand up, you must've forgotten you linked those heels onto the footrest.

Joel let out a grumble of disappointment as Tommy launched into the beginning of Don't Stop Believin' by Journey. Why had he been given the world's most annoying little brother?

Joel's eyes turn back to the mystery girl and her delicate red heels just as some frat guy from Alpha Delta- who fuckin' cares, slings an arm around her waist, hand dipping too close to the hem of her skirt for Joel to be comfortable with.

As if he's on autopilot, Joel finds himself crossing the bar in long strides, ready to put a stop to whatever might come next.

"I don't see your friend now." The guy laughs as you shift your weight from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable.

Joel hears you mumble something about wanting to go home.

"I'll give you a ride."

The guy's sleazy tone has Joel cringing as he approaches. DId anyone teach these kids manners?

"Why don't you give the lady some space?" Joel suggests boldy

Alpha-Delta-Chad turns around to meet Joel's gaze, not releasing you just yet as he scoffs,

"Who the fuck are you? Her dad?"

"Just a concerned stranger." Joel nods to you in greeting, "She doesn't seem too comfortable with you, kid. Give her some room."

"How would you even know old man?" The boy asks, "You're like forty!"

Ouch. Joel was 35. Did he really look 40? Already?

"Let her go," Joel says, his voice deepening a bit

The frat boy's eyes scan Joel's figure. Either he decides you're not worth it, or that he'd lose the fight because before Joel knows it he's letting you go and murmuring another curse at Joel.

"Thank you." You breathe a sigh of relief, and a small smile graces your pretty face as Joel nods.

"You're welcome, sweetheart."

The name slips out of Joel's mouth before he can stop it and he watches in amusement as you blink away in embarrassment.

Your eyes roam across his frame and Joel can't quite place the look on your face as you...size him up?

"Could you um...walk me to the bus stop? I'd go myself but I'm worried that guy might be waiting for me outside." You ask

Joel wants to say no. He wants to stay tucked away in the bar, sipping his beer, and hope Tommy accidentally swallows the microphone he's singing into. Yet, one look into your sad, and definitely drunk eyes has him folding.

"Sure, I'll walk ya."

A warm breeze blows through the air as your savior is beside you at the bus stop. He'd insisted on waiting beside you until the bus showed up, saying something about having a daughter back home and it not being right to leave you alone out here.

"So...what's your name?" You ask, your drunk mind disliked silences.

"Joel. Joel Miller." He says, "You?"

You softly say your name, shy under his gaze.

Maybe its the three margaritas but the man next to you is hot. Short brown curly hair with dark eyes to match. Not to mention the splatter of facial hair and mustache he seemed to pull off so effortlessly. He was definitely much older than you, at least over ten years your senior. But, he was attractive in the ways all the college boys in your classes weren't.

Your eyes raked over tanned arms, toned perfectly from whatever he did to get them. You could tell he was sporting a handsome dad bod under the plain blue t-shirt on his frame. You'd never been one for a rippling six-pack, a man who'd eat pizza and ice cream with you was always going to be attractive than one who spent his days drinking protein shakes and eating eggs for "gains". Joel seemed like a guy who'd be into a binge-watch of every Star Wars movie and indulge with you in an impulsive 2am Domino's order.

"Where the hell is this bus at?"

His deep voice had you snapping from your drunken daydream of pizza and dad bods.

"Oh um..."

You're not quite sure where the bus is. Hopefully, it'd show soon. Your legs felt like a newborn deer's, no way would you be able to walk the seven and a half miles back to your apartment like this.

"Joel!"

Another voice has you and your new companion turning your heads. Another man, somehow a bit familiar in your drunk brain is approaching.

"What're you doin' man? You missed my singing."

"I heard enough." Joel huffs in annoyance

Oh, so this was the guy who was badly singing to Brittney Spears and Journey. He looked a bit more familiar though...this was the dude that had bumped into your earlier!

"Now if I'm too old to be goin' after college girls, then you're definitely too old, brother."

"I'm not...Not goin' after anyone. I'm waiting for the bus with her. Some creep was hitting on her at the bar, I'm keeping her safe." Joel groans at this man's comment.

So he wasn't interested? You felt your heart sink a bit. Of course, he wasn't interested. He had a kid for crying out loud.

Oh god, what if he had a wife? Were you daydreaming about a married man?

Your eyes jump to his left hand.

Ringless.

Well, at least you weren't fantasizing about being a homewrecker.

"The bus? It's past midnight. The bus stops running at 11:30." The new guy says, looking at his watch.

"Oh...um. I'll just go then." You say, standing up on unsteady legs. Looks like you're walking. You didn't have the money for a cab, so your legs were just going to have to tough this one out.

"Go? Go where?" Joel's friend scoffs

You ignore him, he's so weird.

"Tommy, stop it." Joel scolds

He sounds like such a dad as you laugh to yourself while smoothing your dress out.

"Do you want us to give you a ride?" Joel asks, standing up next to you

"No, I can manage the walk." You brush him off, trying to ignore the way he's so tall all of a sudden.

You were even wearing heels and he was bigger than you!

"I can call a cab," Joel suggests, watching the way your ankle nearly twists when you take a step.

"I don't have any money for one." You whimper, as the pain in your ankle shoots up your leg.

Fuck these heels. Fuck Amelia for ditching you for another bar. Fuck Joel had his stupid dad bod and tanned skin. Fuck the stupidly attractive mustache on his stupidly attractive face.

This always happened when you were drunk. First, your legs turned into literal Jello and then you'd get all weepy about nothing. At least you'd have seven miles to cry your eyes out. Hopefully, Loki would let you hold him when you got home.

"Let me give you a ride. Do you live on campus?" Joel asks his eyes widening at the tears that dribble down your face.

"I'm just gonna walk." You mumble and bush past him, forcing your legs into an unsteady match.

"That's like...an 8-mile walk," Tommy says from behind you, estimating the distance between here and the college.

"Actually seven and a half." You sass, not interested in his comments or his stupid aftershave that invaded your nose as you walked past him.

You're not entirely sure how you ended up here, in the back seat of a pick up truck while Joel drove you home. You mumbled your address to him and he'd somehow known immediately where you were living.

Hopefully, you weren't going to end up dead in a ditch tonight.

Joel watched as you rested your head against the window. He'd walked you to his truck after you got a few feet away from him before sitting down on the curb, tears running down your pretty face, mumbling something about a cat.

"Fuckin' college girls." Tommy had mumbled as he helped Joel buckle you into your seat

"Let's just get her home," Joel said

"Yeah before she turns the waterworks back on." Tommy sighed

Joel drives towards the shitty apartments they rent to college kids. Two blocks away he had once been working in a fancy new condo building, putting up drywall and laying flooring. There'd been talk about developing your area as well, but six months later the apartments of Oliver Avenue were still as shitty as ever.

Joel guaranteed you were getting ripped off by your landlord. Probably paying too much for someplace that had thin walls and bad heating. Sure enough, he was right, as he parked his trunk in front of a building that badly needed a makeover.

"Stay here." He tells Tommy who seems to be a few moments away from falling asleep in the passenger seat.

Joel pulls you from the backseat, shoving Sarah's soccer ball back under the seat when it rolls out and tries to escape.

"Alright, what floor?" Joel asks as you stand beside him, tears finally dried up.

You wordlessly begin to plod your way up the steps and murmur what sounds like a five to him.

Joel makes sure you get your door open and watches as a black cat greets you as you push the door open.

"Hi, baby." You coo at the cat, scooping him up. "Did you miss me?"

Joel feels his heart speed up as you sweet-talk your pet. He tries to banish the idea of you talking to him like that, carding your hands through his hair, rather than this little black cat with a green collar and golden bell around his neck.

"Thank you, Joel." You say as you spin around to face him

"No problem." He hums, "Glad I was able to help."

You smile at him as your damn cat meows loudly, breaking the trance you had on him.

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

"Goodnight, Joel."

July 2003

The fourth of July was serious business in Austin. From mega barbeques to fireworks that put Magic Kingdom to shame, your sleepy little college town was transformed for America's birthday.

A much-needed breeze flows through the park as you sit on the blanket you'd found shoved at the back of your closet. Summer was brutal this year, and you were sure that the Texas heat wasn't making the wait for fireworks any easier.

Your parents had invited you back home to Pittsburgh this summer. But, you found yourself more interested in staying put in Austin. Your sleepy suburb town back home would always be there, no sense in spending your summer cooped up in your childhood room. At least here you could go out whenever you wanted.

"Dad, let's go! All the good spots are going to be taken!!"

A young girl's voice drifts across the park as you turn to watch her pull what must be her father along.

"Hold on, Sarah! You're gonna make me drop all this."

"Move faster then!"

Well, shit.

Joel Miller, the savior of drunk college girls, was here in the park, walking towards you.

Your eyes widen as you take him in. At least you know it wasn't just the alcohol talking, Joel Miller was just as devastatingly good-looking now as he was a month and a half ago when he drove you home from the bar.

"H-Hi." You awkwardly stammer as he passes by you, arms full with a small cooler and a big blanket.

"Hello." He says, quickly

The double take he does is almost comical as he looks at you.

"Sarah!" He calls after the girl, "Come back here!"

"Didn't think I'd ever see you again." You smile, standing up from your own spot

"Well, I do live around here." He says with a lopsided smile that makes him look a bit more boyish.

The girl, Sarah, returns to her father's side.

"Hi." She says a bit flatly, clearly annoyed her father has stopped his march across the park to what she had deemed the perfect spot.

"Hello." You greeted her, with a soft smile.

She was so cute, with dark curly hair and black shorts paired with a pretty green and blue t-shirt. Sparkly sandals caught your eye as she stepped a bit closer to Joel, looking up at him for an explanation.

Joel introduces you to her, "I helped her out a month ago, got her home safe."

You're beyond elated he's standing in front of you again. For a little bit you swore he was a hallucination you'd dreamt up in a drunken haze. A handsome Texan man who'd driven you home safely after rescuing you from some sleaze. Amelia had scolded you for hours when she found out you hadn't gotten his number.

"Super safe." You smile at him.

Joel feels a nervous sweat break out on his forehead. Here he was with his daughter ready to watch their fireworks like they always did each year and he was flirting with a girl like he was 17 again. He'd be lying if you weren't on his mind regularly. The way you'd been dressed that night haunted him at night as he lay in bed, your sweet voice filled his ears as he went about his days. He'd wondered if you only used that tone for your cat.

"You two want to sit with me? I'm not sure if these are the best seats in the house but I do have some popcorn I can share..." You trail off, giving a smile to Sarah who enthusiastically agrees at the idea of free food.

Joel settles next to you as Sarah talks your ears off about soccer practices and the pool party Joel took her to a few weeks ago. He watches as you listen intently to his daughter's words. So rarely does a woman he's interested in take time to talk to Sarah. Yet, here you were, in college and interacting with his daughter better than most grown women did.

"So how old are you?"

Joel nudges Sarah with his shoe, doesn't she know that's a rude question? He could've sworn he taught her better.

"I'm 23. 24 this August." You say

"Wow," Sarah says

You turn away for a moment, reaching for the bag of popcorn that sits behind you. Joel's eyes widen as he watches Sarah silently mouth to him,

"She's so old!"

If you were old, did that mean he was ancient? God, how old did his daughter view him as? He could've sworn 35 wasn't that bad. Maybe it was though...

"So, 23. You're graduating soon then, yeah?" Joel asked

"I wish." You sigh, "I took a gap year after high school, and then just couldn't find the right major for a bit. I'm technically on track to become a Physician Assistant but I dunno if it's right for me."

Joel nods, he knows the feeling, not knowing if what you're doing is right. He'd felt that way when Sarah was born, and then when her mother left them, and then every time Sarah was hurt or crying, or just not perfectly happy, Joel felt that way, unsure of himself.

"You'd make a great PA, Sweetheart." Joel genuinely says, placing a hand over yours

"Thanks." You say a bit flustered at the physical contact.

"Gross," Sarah comments at what's unfolding before her eyes.

"You're gross." Joel counters, not missing a beat to tease her.

Sarah sticks her tongue out at him in retaliation, and Joel does the same.

You spend the rest of your summer with the Millers. In between public pool trips, and catching fireflies in the backyard, you somehow end up entangled with Joel. Staying up on the couch beside him, watching movie after movie when Sarah drifted off into dreamland up in her bed.

Before you know it, Joel is picking you up for dates and meeting you at coffee shops to let you talk his ears off about whatever book you've picked up for the week.

You let Joel take your virginity on a humid August night. After sending Sarah off to her friend's house you let him pull you into his room and under the sheets.

Breathless and sweaty you rest your head on his chest.

"You okay?" Joel asks quietly, running a hand up and down your back

"Mmhm." You sigh dreamily

"Didn't hurt you or nothin'?" He asks

"I'm okay, Joel." You laugh

"Just checking." He mumbles

Joel looks a bit out of place as he sits on your couch. Sarah had a week of soccer camp and the two of you decided to spend it together. Loki jumps up on the cushion beside Joel and lets out a loud meow.

"Pet him." You suggest with a shrug

"He doesn't even like me." Joel huffs staring into your cats eyes

"You nearly sat on him the first time you were here." You remind Joel of his previous crime from a week ago.

"I thought he was a throw pillow." Joel defends himself, motioning to the many pillows you and Amelia had scattered around the apartment.

"You thought I had a green-eyed pillow that meowed?"

"I dunno what you women are into, you're all so confusing."

You let out a scoff before plopping down on the couch next to him, Loki climbing into your lap and purring as you scratch behind his ears.

"The only confusing one here is you, Joel Miller."

Tommy isn't as bad as you thought he was.

Scratch that, he's fantastic, pulling out old photos of Joel from over the years. You nearly piss yourself though when he whips out an old family album. A nine-year-old Joel stares back at you as you look at an old photo of him playing tee-ball.

"Look how cute you were!" You gasp as you run your fingers across the photograph

"Joel Miller, star tee-ball player!" Tommy teases his big brother.

You smile as you watch Joel's face turn red as you take in even more photographs of him as a kid, you even see his 10th-grade photo, yes the one where he has braces and the worst case of acne known to mankind.

By the time the Texas heat begins to ease off and the leaves begin to change colors, you're head over heels in love with Joel Miller. From the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, to the way he'd dance with you in the dead of the night while the refrigerator door hung open, the light reflecting off your bodies as you laughed in his arms.

Three months, such a short time, and yet so much had happened. You tried to focus on the Anatomy lesson your professor was talking about in front of you yet you found your mind occupied with something else. It was as if you had been possessed, nothing but Joel filled your mind as you scribbled your notes onto your notebook. Anatomy class be damned, you were going to go mad thinking of him like this.

Your birthday, August 29th rolled around faster than you thought it would. You hadn't seen Joel all week. Between your classes, Sarah's soccer and school, and Joel's contracting, you had only time to talk to him briefly on the phone.

You had reached out to Joel earlier today to invite him to a small birthday party Amelia had insisted on. Nothing special, just some pizza and cupcakes, a cheap beer or two.

But now, it was going on 10:30 and Joel was nothing but a whisper in the wind. Sadness weighed on your chest as you watched the front door, hoping for a knock that would signal his arrival.

"Hey...I think we should just go to bed..."Amelia suggests softly from her spot next to you.

"No, he's coming." You mumble sadly tears tickling your waterline,

You stare at the last cupcake that sits on the coffee table. It was meant to be for Joel. You had scooped it out of the box thinking about how nice the icing looked on it. You had wanted him to have the best one in the box, even if that meant your own was a little lopsided and missing sprinkles.

Amelia pulls you into her side, letting you rest your head on her shoulder. She gently wraps her arm around you and quietly says,

"It's supposed to be fun, turning 24..."

September 2003

Three days pass before you hear from Joel again. His voice on the other end of the phone call is paralyzing as your world comes crashing down. The phone beeps as the call ends and you stand at your kitchen counter in shock, shocked that he's ending it all like this, with a phone call.

"If we had been closer in age, maybe it would've been fine."

His words bounce around in your mind as you slam your phone down on the counter. Loki jumps from his spot on the windowsill meowing as you cross the room quickly.

You pulled your covers over your head, blocking out the world as you heard Amelia return from her ethics class.

"If we had been closer in age, maybe it would've been fine."

God, that made you want to die. What did he even think of you? That you were some wide-eyed college kid who just existed in limbo for him?

You spend the next week in bed, plagued with tears and anger as you curse Joel out at least 1000 times a day. The knock at your door and Amelia entering your room with a box has you startled.

"What's this?" You sniff

"UPS guy just left it at our front door." She says before setting it on the bed and leaving you again.

You cut the box open and find your things inside it. Little things you'd left at Joel's over the summer. Hair ties, a brush, deodorant, t-shirts, and sweaters, even a photograph of you, Sarah, and him at the aquarium is nestled between the pages of a book you kept on his nightstand to read to him before the two of you dozed off. The box holds your entire relationship as you dump it out on your bed.

The scent of Joel, masculine and inviting clings to your belongings just like the way it clings to your heart.

Your hands shift through the items again, the scarf you wore to Tommy's house is missing. You had left it there and Joel had promised to return it to you.

"Who wears a scarf in Texas?" Joel snorts

"I do! And you better give it back, Miller." You groan

"I'll get it to you, sweetheart. Don't worry about it."

You wonder what has become of your scarf now. Perhaps it's sitting in a drawer in his room, nestled among his belongings, looking horribly out of place. Or maybe it's stuck in his truck, shoved under the seats under the pretense that it would make its way back to you one day.

You wonder what has become of Joel now. Perhaps he's lying in his own bed right now, thinking of you, your scarf wrapped around his hands, smelling of you and all his failures.

You wonder if this love affair bruised him the way it did you.

God, you had so many regrets.

December 2003

Cold air fills your lungs as your feet ache beneath you. Snow gently fell down as you sighed quietly. The walk into your hometown was no joke. The shitty beater car you'd stolen had died about 50 miles ago, leaving you vulnerable and scared.

Loki meowed from his crate as you quietly walked along. You shushed him and dropped a few treats behind the bars of the crate. He was going to need food soon if you intended to stay alive, your traveling companion wasn't known for holding his tongue when it came to hunger. The last thing you needed was to have an infected try to kill you because of your pet.

It had been nearly 5 days on the road now. and You'd managed to drive from Austin to Pittsburgh all on your own armed with a shotgun and a map you'd found in the glove compartment.

The past few months had been spent in Joel's basement. After things started going south outside your apartment building, you stuffed Loki into his carrier and filled a two big duffle bags with food and clothes for you and supplies for your cat before managing to somehow sneak into the parking deck and jump into your car. Amelia had never returned from her boyfriends house that night. You knew you couldn't go looking for her though, his home was nearly 25 miles away while Joel's was only 10.

It was mid-morning on September 27th when you reached Joel's place. The other neighborhood homes were empty and you nearly threw up at the sight of Mrs. Adler's mother lying face down on the driveway.

Your heart sinks when you discover Joel and Sarah are already gone. You hadn't expected them to be here yet, a part of you had hoped they'd be. It was Joel's birthday yesterday, you wondered how he'd spent his last normal day. Knowing him, he'd probably been at work all day.

You barricade the doors before slipping into the basement. Joel had spent time finishing it so it was nice for Sarah's sleepovers. You let Loki out before returning upstairs to bring down every nonperishable food item the home had to offer.

And so, there you sat with your cat, in your ex's basement, willing for him to magically appear and tell you everything was going to be okay.

March 2017

The Pittsburgh QZ was fucked. Royally fucked. The loud explosion from some truck filled your ears as you zipped your backpack shut. Loki let out a meow of protest as he disappeared in your bag. He was nearly 15 and his attitude about backpack travel wasn't improving.

You stick to the back alleys as you work towards finding an out. A decent-sized hole in a fence catches your eye and you take your chances, better than getting blown up by the Fireflies or FEDRA.

You're about 4 miles away from the carnage when a sizeable group catches your eye. They must've gotten out just like you.

A man, David, shares a can of flavorless chili with you and you sit on the ground beside him. But, the more you listen to him talk, you can't help but think he's a total nutcase. You thank him for the chili and the 8 cans of chicken noodle soup he's shared with you and decline his offer to join the group.

"We have so much to offer." He says in a soft voice, gesturing to the people scattered around eating and talking amongst themselves.

"I'll stick to just him, thanks though." You say petting Loki's head as you pull him from your backpack to place the cans of food inside.

"Suit yourself."

April 2017

You had dozed off. A rookie mistake to make in the apocalypse.

They had been on you before you knew what was happening. With nothing but a knife to your name to protect yourself, you were hopelessly outgunned.

"Look at what we have here." A deep voice booms, "A girl wondering in my woods, must be my lucky day."

A smelly man stands in front of you, and about 8 other men are circled around you. You squeeze your eyes shut as he lets a dirty finger trail over your face.

"How pretty."

A loud hiss cuts his next sentence. Loki, you brave boy, has climbed out of your backpack where he had been taking a nap. His back has hunched up and you don't miss the way his dark black fur is bristling in the low light of the sun disappearing behind the trees.

You aren't even able to try to arrange a deal for your baby as the man pulls a large knife from his belt and carelessly throws it at your cat.

A horrible screech from Loki fills your ears as the man coos at you and tells you it'll all be okay.

"We've got dinner boys!" The man who has killed your only friend in the whole world exclaims.

Your eyes slam shut as red blood begins to seep into the fabric of your backpack. The man says something about being a provider but you're too focused on choking back the tears that are forming in your eyes.

Hours later, you're tied to a tree stump, your arms behind your back. Your captors present you with a warm soup of sorts. Canned carrots and potatoes float in a clear broth but it's what sits in the center of the bowl that turns your stomach. What's left of your Loki is now being devoured by the men.

You can't do it. You had been starving, unable to catch anything for days. but you can't do it.

"Fine, don't eat." The leader and cat killer huffs as he runs his hands across your chest in an unpleasant matter, "You're going to wish you had though when we're done with you."

June 2017

The moon is your only light as you steal away into the night. Your heart is pounding but you can't or rather won't look back.

Your escape is credited to a man named Adam. He had always been softer to you than the rest. Less brutal than the others when he bent you over a tree stump and forced himself into your unwilling body, cooing in your ears about how good you felt even though you were dry.

Softer and easy to fool when you batted your eyelashes at him so he'd give you a second serving of the deer they'd killed. Gentle when he cleaned whatever wounds the others inflicted on you for their sick pleasure.

Tonight, you had used his softness against him. Crying and whimpering when he tied you to a tree, saying the restraints were too tight. He'd of course taken pity on you and loosened them before kissing your forehead and walking off to sleep.

It had been easy to slip out of the ropes thanks to Adam. You stole his backpack and stuffed it with as much deer jerky as you could get your hands on before snatching a gun off Adam's unknowing form.

Now, you were stumbling through the night, hoping to put as much distance between you and the men as possible.

Nearly three weeks had passed and you were still somehow free. The men hadn't found you and you were deep into the wilderness. Your freedom was something you had yearned for since the moment Loki had died. Yet, here you were, starving and wasting away because you couldn't kill anything to eat.

You drag your body into an old concrete building that was being used to control some form of dam. You rested your head on your backpack, thinking of how far you'd come.

Strangely though, you thought of your past. Fuzzy images of a college classroom came into your brain. Amelia's long blonde hair and the way she'd style it perfectly each day. Texas summers, filled with heat and perfectly seasoned barbeque.

What you wouldn't do for a big plate of ribs right now.

And then the curly hair of a little girl is dancing around your mind. Her warm laughter fills your mind as you think of Sarah Miller. With her sparkle filled sandals and her strange interest in gore filled horror films. You wondered if she was still out there somewhere. Perhaps stuck in some QZ with Joel.

Joel.

You think about Joel. You're sure you've thought of him more in the past three months than you did your whole relationship. Every night when one of your captors, or sometimes multiples had you every which way, you'd try to think about other things. Those other things often divulged into Joel and how gentle he'd been with you. Oh, how you missed his warm arms and soft southern twang. Hou you yearned for him even now. Your only real relationship experience was something you just couldn't let go.

When you were finally found by Maria, you were nearly ready for death. Brain filled with delusional thoughts of the past and starving, she had hoisted you up on her horse and rode off to Jackson, praying this mystery woman wouldn't die on the way there.

Winter 2023

You nearly fall over when his tired eyes meet yours. The loud voice of a young girl fills your ears.

"Do you two know each other?"

You push the stable door open to get a better look at the man who stands before you. For so many years you had pictured the man you dated for a few months, not trying to imagine the way the end of the world might've changed him. Your mind can't reconcile the Joel you once knew and the one before you.

For starters, he looks so tired. Graying curly hair sits atop his head, a salt and pepper beard adorns his face. Even his frame has changed, the winter coat he wears hides it but you can tell he's become riddled with muscle to take on the harsh outside world. The only thing that seems the same is his mustache, somehow untouched by time.

"Joel, wait up! There's something I gotta tell ya!"

Tommy's loud voice carries from wherever he is and you want to laugh at the younger Miller brother. Of course, he was going to try to intercept your meeting. Too bad he was too slow.

"Joel? Hello? Do you know her?" The girl asks again.

You glance at her, she can't be more than 14 or 15. Her pale skin is rosy against the cold Wyoming winter. She looks at you, probably for an answer since all Joel is doing is staring at you, most likely in shock.

Eventually, though, the man of the hour opens his mouth to speak,

"No, I don't know her."

This is my first time writing for Joel, hope you enjoyed :)

Next Part

Comment to be added to the tag list. This tag list is not chapter by chapter, I carry the tags over to each part.

Tags:

@lunaticgurly @orcasoul

[gurugirl]

Best Friend's Dad!Harry

best friend's dad!harry x reader - forbidden relationship au

Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, smut, age gap, cheating, lying, angst, breeding kink

Song to listen to: Illicit Affairs (you guys have said over and over again that this song fits this series perfectly and I couldn't agree more)

note: should be read from top to bottom in order (unless noted that can be read as standalone)

Let Me Show You (6.3k words) - can be read as standalone

How your illicit affair with Mr. Styles began

Desperate (3.6k words) - can be read as standalone

A party at the Styles' house + sneaky bathroom sex

The Big Tease (7.8k words)

Some heavy teasing leads to you giving in to Mr. Styles

Not Fair (6.5k words)

Harry suggests something to you that blows up in his face *angsty*

He's Not You (7.8k words)

The aftermath of Harry's bright idea has some downfalls and he didn't expect to feel this way.

Liar (6.1k words)

Harry's wife suspects something is going on but she doesn't know what. Harry can't stay away from you and you don't want him to.

More of You (5.1k words) - can be read as standalone

Harry's at your place for a couple of days and you're enjoying having him all to yourself.

Crush (3.5k words) - can be read as standalone

A flashback: When your feelings for Mr. Styles morph from just finding him attractive to a full on crush you feel a little guilty. But then when he shows more than just a friendly interest in you at Fae's 22nd birthday party you two become close and eventually ebb on inappropriate, but you can't seem to stop.

Magic Spell (5.3k words) - can be read as standalone

A raucous Halloween party turns naughty when you and Harry find a hidden room at the Baylor mansion.

Under His Bed (4.5k words)

Harry invites you to stay at his house for the night and the following morning you both get an unexpected visitor.

Relax (4.9k words)

Fae asks you something that you aren't prepared to answer. You and Harry discuss what to do next.

Here's to Us (6.4k words)

A quick little weekend getaway is sweet and romantic. You reveal something that makes Harry do something a bit out of character.

Homewrecker (7.2k words)

The one where you and Harry finally come clean to everyone. Featuring an angry Fae, a spiteful soon-to-be ex wife, divorce terms, and lots of tears.

The Warning (4.5k words)

You and Harry are trying to heal after coming clean to everyone and Mrs. Styles comes to you with a warning.

A Little Naughty (3.3k words)

Your parents invite Harry to come with you for Christmas and you feel a little bit naughty after everyone's in bed.

Best Valentine's Day (4.2k words)

It's Valentine's Day and Harry's got something special planned.

Intuition (3.4k words)

Harry's got a surprise for you.

Must Be Nice (3.4k words)

You and Harry feel like everything's coming together perfectly. You're both getting all the things you wanted. But when you run into Fae while shopping and she notices something new about you, it bursts your little happy bubble.

The message blurb (453 words)

Fae unblocks you.

Heartburn (4k)

You and Harry have been anxious about seeing Fae at your baby shower but things go so well it leaves you both feeling relieved. Except for the small run-in with Fae's mom. Featuring: lactation smut!

Quiet Christmas Morning blurb (1.5k)

You have a lot to celebrate with Harry this Christmas.

MORE TO COME!

divider by @firefly-graphics

[edenesth]

TWTHH Spinoff: Stitched Hearts [1]

Pairing: dressmaker!Hongjoong x noblewoman!reader

AU: historical au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 6.5k

Summary: Throughout his entire career, Hongjoong has received nothing but praise for his work. Never once had anyone suggested his dresses were anything short of perfection. That is, until he met the youngest daughter of the Baek household—the family's black sheep, an enigmatic spinster whom he found utterly confounding.

A/N: As stated in the title, this is a spinoff. If you have yet to check out the main story, it's probably better to read that before starting this.

Main Story | Spinoff Masterlist | Part 2

"Father, mother, we're back!" called out Haeun, your eldest sister who had been married for years now, returning home with her husband and children to celebrate the birth of your middle brother's first child.

"You're home, our dear daughter!" Your parents enthusiastically rose from their seats to greet her, showering her with praise for leading such a successful life, whatever that meant; it was a concept you still struggled to comprehend to this day.

After exchanging pleasantries with your parents, she made a beeline for your brother, completely disregarding your timid presence in the corner of the room, "Hajoon-ah, congratulations, my brother! It's high time you joined the parent club!"

Your brother-in-law, displaying a touch more consideration than his wife, offered you a warm smile before joining 'the adults' in conversation, leaving you to quietly observe your nieces and nephews playing joyfully in the courtyard. At times, you were envious of the simplicity of children's lives—so carefree, with no expectations weighing them down. Unlike them, you felt constantly burdened by the expectations placed upon you.

This had been the pattern for as long as you could recall—living in the shadows of your successful sister and brother, both excelling in nearly every aspect of life. Haeun, intelligent and outgoing, had swiftly found a suitable match upon reaching marriageable age, becoming the epitome of a perfect daughter in your parents' eyes. Hajoon wasn't far behind, securing a position in the local government and dutifully marrying the girl your parents had chosen for him.

And then there was you.

The black sheep of the Baek household, the peculiar one, always kept to yourself, showing little interest in feminine pursuits such as cooking, gardening, embroidering, or any similar activities. Your days were spent predominantly at home, frequenting your father's extensive library and immersing yourself in the countless storybooks it housed, often seeking solace in the realms of fantasy they offered. Your lack of enthusiasm for conventional interests rendered you an enigma even to your parents.

You maintained scant friendships, lacking any love interests or potential marriage prospects. Unlike other young women, you harboured no desire to adorn yourself or enhance your appearance; you appeared strangely content in your plain white hanboks and minimal hair accessories. Your demeanour led most people to forget the existence of a third daughter in the Baek family altogether. Those who did recall you were hesitant to consider you as a potential match for their sons, and the young men themselves showed no interest.

While your parents had initially held onto hope that you would eventually find your own path to settling down, their concerns began to mount as you surpassed the ideal age for marriage. Beyond mere age considerations, most young women your age were already married with children, leaving you perpetually single.

Though you concealed it well, you weren't oblivious to the whispers and rumours circulating about you already being labelled a spinster. The servants of your family estate often used you as a topic for gossip and entertainment, speculating whether you would ever find a spouse and placing bets on your marital prospects.

Finally deciding to acknowledge your presence, Haeun heaved a sigh before addressing you, "And how have you been, maknae? Will I be hearing news of you getting hitched any time soon?"

Glancing at her, you simply shrugged and shook your head, "Same old, unnie. And no, I don't think you will."

Hajoon frowned in resignation at your customary bluntness, "With that attitude, definitely not. Do you even have any intention of settling down? What are your plans for the future, hm? Are you going to keep causing our parents to worry like this?"

Your mother shook her head, silently urging him to be gentler with you, a twinge of sympathy stirring within her. In your younger years, her favouritism was evident in the way she showered attention primarily to your sister and brother, especially since your father was often away for work. While your siblings made efforts to bond with him during his brief returns, you showed little interest. Consequently, your relationship with your parents wasn't as close-knit as theirs.

It wasn't until Haeun had married and left home that your mother attempted to show you some affection, though by then, it seemed too late to truly connect with you. Despite her earnest efforts, she struggled to understand you. The rest of the family faced similar difficulties. You remained a mystery to everyone, always lost in your own world.

For once, instead of reacting with anger or responding passive-aggressively out of frustration, your sister nodded slowly, as if making a concerted effort to remain patient with you. Despite her occasional harshness towards you, she hadn't always been unkind. As your only elder sister, she had tried to foster a bond with you throughout your childhood, but your reserved nature made it difficult, and your straightforwardness often unintentionally wounded her.

Deep down, she harboured a hope that her harshness might somehow elicit some sort of response from you. But by now, she had come to realise its futility, as you consistently maintained an unbothered demeanour, regardless of what others would say or do to you. Ultimately, she grew tired of attempting to decipher your mind and heart. The same goes for your brother.

However, despite their frustrations, you were still their youngest sibling, and they sincerely hoped that you would one day settle down, have someone care for you, and perhaps start a family of your own.

"I think I know what might help," Haeun began, capturing everyone's attention before continuing, "I've heard about a renowned dressmaker in town who has worked wonders for countless women. If I'm not mistaken, his craftsmanship has even garnered recognition from the King and Queen. I was just thinking... maybe all our youngest needs is just a little makeover?"

Your father's eyes widened in astonishment, "His work is recognised even by His and Her Majesty, you say?"

Haeun nodded enthusiastically, "Yes, father! I couldn't believe it myself, but it's true. He's the mastermind behind Lady Park's stunning white and gold wedding hanbok!"

"He must be truly exceptional! Well, then, it seems worth a try. Perhaps this is just what our youngest needs to catch the eye of a potential suitor," your mother chimed in, her gaze hopeful as she turned to you, "Are you on board with the idea, dear?"

All eyes swivelled to you, and you once again felt yourself shrinking under their scrutiny—this familiar sensation of never being enough for them. The truth was evident: they were all tired of you. You had been a disappointment your entire life. If all they desired was for you to marry and depart from the household, perhaps it would be best to acquiesce to their wishes. It wouldn't hurt to entertain their request.

With another indifferent shrug, you replied, "Sure, if that's what everyone wants. After all, I don't have much to lose."

For the first time in forever, your family's faces lit up with smiles because of you, cheered by your response. As you retreated to your quarters that night, your sister eagerly taking charge of contacting the renowned dressmaker they had discussed, you pondered whether their enthusiasm stemmed from a desire to see you gone.

In truth, your parents' neglect and blatant favouritism toward your siblings over you during your childhood had moulded you into someone who wore indifference as armour, a coping mechanism to shield yourself from the constant sadness you felt. The weight of constantly letting everyone down had driven you to suppress your emotions, opting instead to feign apathy. Eventually, this façade became your reality; it felt safer to shut yourself off from feeling anything at all.

As you attempted to drift off to sleep that night, thoughts of the acclaimed dressmaker they had been praising occupied your mind. You couldn't help but entertain the idea that, like everyone else, he too would eventually grow weary of you. Surely, upon seeing you, he would deem you a lost cause.

Heh, at least he'll be paid to deal with me.

"Thanks a bunch, hyung. I promise I'll treat you to the finest meal once this is over!" Wooyoung exclaimed, hugging the disguise crafted by the dressmaker at the eleventh hour for his latest case—more like a mission to play knight in shining armour, one that might finally win him the affections of a girl, unlike the silly crush he harboured for Lady Park, leading absolutely nowhere.

With a shake of his head, Hongjoong gave the younger man's shoulder a reassuring pat, "Yeah, you better. Off you go then, you don't want to keep her waiting a moment longer now, do you?"

"Yes, sir!" The private investigator saluted playfully before setting off in pursuit of his new dream girl.

Once he was out of sight, the dressmaker returned to his shop, settling comfortably back into his seat, ready to resume work on his latest batch of orders. His fingers moved with practised ease, guided by the rough design sketch before him. A faint smile lingered on his lips as he worked, a swell of pride warming his chest at his friend's development. It wasn't just Wooyoung; everyone had left the general's estate weeks ago, returning to their own lives. While part of him missed the chaos of their shared moments, he was content to give the newlyweds their well-deserved privacy.

Still chuckling to himself, he reflected on the fact that the once-intimidating Park Seonghwa was now but a lovesick fool. He had once worried about the general's prospects for finding love, but now he realised it had been a needless concern. Who would have thought that General Park would find love before him, or even before the ever-charming Jung Yunho?

As he put the final touches on one of his dresses, he couldn't help but wonder how the couple was doing. It had been weeks since he last saw them, and he shook his head when he recalled how 'excited' his friend had been, even when he was injured. Now that they had all the time in the world together, he imagined Seonghwa would struggle to keep his hands off his wife. He pondered whether he would soon hear news of a new addition to their family.

Before he could become further engrossed in his thoughts, his sharp senses alerted him to the presence of a man and a woman entering his shop. Without hesitation, he plastered on his best business smile—a façade rarely seen by his friends, perhaps except for Lady Park. It was part of his practised persona, an outwardly amiable demeanour he employed to win over customers and potential clients, doing whatever was necessary to secure their business. This isn't to say he wasn't genuinely pleased, but his true passion lay in designing and dressmaking rather than customer service. Unfortunately, the latter was an essential aspect of his job.

Hongjoong had never been naturally a people person, but as he had previously made it clear to the general, he was reluctant to hire assistance for such a simple task. So here he was, stuck with doing his least favourite part of the job: greeting customers.

"Good day, sir and ma'am! Welcome to Kim's Dress Shop. May I inquire what you are searching for today? A hanbok for a special occasion, perhaps? That happens to be one of my specialities. However, if you're seeking an upgrade in everyday attire, I also offer a selection of simpler yet elegant designs," he recited, sticking to his customary script upon each patron's arrival.

The couple glanced around in amazement before eagerly beaming at him. The woman spoke, "Um, are you the renowned dressmaker Kim who crafted Lady Park's famous wedding gown?"

Grinning proudly, the dressmaker was pleased to once again be acknowledged for his recent accomplishments, "Indeed, that would be me," he confirmed. He couldn't deny that his orders had doubled since news of the iconic hanbok he had designed for his friend's wedding had spread. Perhaps he owed Seonghwa a debt of gratitude for hiring him. Without him, Hongjoong might not have achieved the level of success he enjoys today.

Stepping forward, the woman bowed respectfully, "It's truly an honour to meet you, Mr. Kim! You see, we are interested in engaging your services, but it's not for myself—it's for my younger sister."

"Oh? Will she be coming by soon for me to take her measurements and discuss her design preferences?" he inquired, surprised that the intended recipient of his hanboks was not present.

Shaking her head sheepishly, she clarified, "Unfortunately not. Forgive me for not starting with a self-introduction. Good day, Mr. Kim. I am the eldest daughter of the Baek household, and I'm here on behalf of our youngest."

Upon hearing this, Hongjoong immediately grasped the situation. Having worked extensively with noblewomen, he was well-versed in local gossip about nearby noble families. He had heard of the mysterious third daughter of Official Baek from the local Civilian Office, who rarely ventured outside her home—a well-known wallflower who, if he wasn't mistaken, remained unmarried despite being well past the ideal marriageable age.

With a nod, he smiled warmly, "Ah, Miss Baek! Or should I say, Mrs. Heo," the dressmaker corrected with a grin directed at the man beside her, presumably her husband, "It would be my pleasure to create hanboks for the youngest miss of such a prominent family. I assume that means I will need to visit the Baek estate to meet her."

The couple nodded with a slight grimace, "Yes, I'm sure you're aware of her reputation. Whatever rumours you may have heard are true. She remains single, and our entire family is deeply concerned for her. We've heard of the wonderful work you've done for others, and we were hopeful you could work your magic on her. My sister has always been a unique individual. I apologise for the inconvenience of asking you to leave your shop just for her. However, I assure you we will compensate you for any inconvenience."

As he listened to her plea, the dressmaker's mind raced with excitement. That was because no challenge was too daunting for him; he thrived on the opportunity to showcase his talent. The woman was right in what she said; he had indeed helped numerous single young women find matches after they had worn his designs.

This time would be no different.

What truly fueled his enthusiasm was the knowledge that the youngest Miss Baek was known to repel potential suitors, making her a particularly challenging case. If he could help her in finding a match, it would undoubtedly bolster his reputation, adding another significant achievement to his already impressive portfolio.

Moreover, the Baeks were one of the wealthiest noble families in the area. It would be foolish not to accept this job, even if it meant temporarily closing his shop more frequently to visit their estate. He was certain that the compensation he would receive for his services would more than make up for any inconvenience.

With a feigned understanding expression, he nodded, "Oh, please don't worry about it, Mrs. Heo. Nothing brings me greater joy than helping young women gain confidence and find love. Miss Baek clearly needs my assistance. If it means I can help one more woman escape singledom, any inconvenience will be worth it."

The couple cooed at his kindness, profusely thanking him for his selflessness, while he celebrated internally, eager for the opportunity to make that buck. Reassuringly, he welcomed them into his shop, offering them seats and some tea as they made the necessary arrangements for the special job: determining which days he would need to close his shop and visit the Baek estate as well as negotiating the payment. Fortunately for him, they had even provided a down payment to demonstrate their sincerity.

After a lengthy discussion that may or may not have interfered with his current orders, Hongjoong happily bid the couple goodbye. He couldn't care less about any disruptions; his pockets were full, and he was content. With the success of the business that Seonghwa had brought him, he was sure that this would be his next most satisfying endeavour. As he watched the couple leave, a sense of anticipation washed over him, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Thank you, Miss Baek, for this wonderful opportunity. I'm certain we'll get along just fine, you and I. Gosh, I just love it when rich people are gullible, and money is easy to make," he muttered to himself, brimming with excitement for what lay ahead.

Oh, I'm going to have the time of my life.

Perhaps the dressmaker might have spoken too soon, been a tad overconfident in his abilities, and underestimated the true enigmatic nature of the youngest Miss Baek. He would soon discover this the hard way during his very first visit to the family's estate, which was nearly as large as the general's, albeit slightly smaller.

He remained confident and pleased as he was warmly welcomed, not only by the couple he had met at his shop the other day, but also by Official Baek and his wife, Lady Baek, along with their middle son and his new wife—everyone except for the one he was hired to make clothes for. The youngest Miss Baek was nowhere to be seen.

Nevertheless, he refused to let it dampen his spirits. If anything, it only heightened his curiosity about you. He was eager to finally lay eyes on the girl whom so many noble families and men tried to avoid.

The more your family emphasised how hopeless you were and expressed their concern about you remaining a spinster, the more determined he became. His fingers were itching to work another miracle. No ugly duckling could remain ugly forever, especially not if he could help it.

"We're terribly sorry our youngest is not here to greet you, Mr. Kim! We specifically informed her that you would be arriving by this time. She must still be holed up in her father's library. We'll fetch her immediately!" Lady Baek exclaimed, her urgency and embarrassment evident in her tone.

Hongjoong shook his head, waving his hands to signal that it was fine, despite feeling a slight disbelief at your apparent disregard for his presence. He tried his best to play the role of a considerate man, reminding himself that it was your family who wanted him here, not you. He tried to be understanding of how you might be feeling, "It's quite alright. Perhaps I could go meet her in the library if she doesn't want to come outside."

"Oh, is that really alright? You've come all this way, Mr. Kim. The least she could do now is come to you and make your job easier," Official Baek remarked with a slight wince.

"I assure you, it's perfectly fine. My task today is simply to take Miss Baek's measurements and discuss her design preferences. For that to happen smoothly, it's important she feels comfortable. Conducting it in her own space might be the best approach for all of us," he responded.

Your brother nodded, "If you insist, Mr. Kim. We'll have the maids escort you there. Let us know if there's anything you need."

Hongjoong bowed, "Thank you, sir. I will."

"We entrust her to you, Mr. Kim," said your sister, her hands clasped together to show her gratitude and hopefulness.

"Please do not worry, Mrs. Heo. I have a feeling Miss Baek will find love in no time."

"We're counting on it."

As a few maids escorted him towards the library as instructed, the dressmaker's mind buzzed with speculative thoughts. Considering all the talk about Miss Baek's perpetual singleness, he couldn't help but imagine you to be hideous. If that were indeed the case, he surmised it might stem from low self-esteem.

Throughout his career, he has developed a knack for identifying his customers' underlying issues. Just as he had done with Seonghwa's wife, he could often discern precisely what they needed, whether it be a boost in confidence or a transformation in appearance. He was almost certain he'd be able to figure you out in an instant.

Upon arriving at the destination, one of the maids spoke up, "We're here, Mr. Kim. You should be able to find the young miss somewhere inside. Just call out to any of us if you require anything at all."

Hongjoong nodded, expressing his gratitude, "Of course, thank you," he replied before heading inside. His heart quickened for some reason as he stepped into the room, uncertain of what to expect.

Taking a cautious step after gently closing the door behind him, he called out softly, as if afraid of disturbing the tranquil atmosphere of the silent and peaceful library, "Miss Baek...? Sorry for the intrusion, but this is Kim Hongjoong, the dressmaker your family hired to provide you with a new wardrobe. If you would be so kind as to come out, we could proceed with the initial stages of the dressmaking process for you."

Releasing a small sigh at the continued silence, he called out again, "Miss Baek...? If you won't respond, I'll have to enter."

While he understood your potential shyness, he struggled to contain his displeasure at what felt like disrespect towards him. After all, he had made the effort to come all this way and even prioritised your comfort. Yet here you were, still playing hard to get.

"Very well, don't say I didn't warn you."

With that, he began to make his way down the aisle, scanning the spacious room from left to right in search of you. It was only when he was about to pass by a hunched figure between the rows of tall bookshelves that he halted, doing a double take before fixing his gaze squarely on your form. There you were, seated on the ground, completely absorbed in the book you held in your hands.

Whatever he had anticipated, you were none of that. The girl in front of him was nothing like what he had imagined. Bathed in the sunlight streaming through the open window, your delicate and refined features were illuminated, accentuating your natural beauty. In that moment, you appeared almost ethereal. With such looks, finding a match shouldn't be a challenge at all.

Huh, guess I was wrong about her looks.

Yet, it wasn't your appearance that posed the issue. He had expected as much, considering the attractiveness of your family members. However, he could understand why you were often overlooked. The problem lay not in your physical attributes, but rather in that god-awful attire you chose to wear – a plain, white hanbok devoid of any embellishments. Furthermore, you seemed to lack hair accessories and makeup. He dared say that even some of the maids had put more effort into their appearance than you had.

Goodness gracious, you looked like a prisoner in that outfit. In his opinion, you ought to be arrested for donning such a monstrosity. Perhaps you weren't aware yet, but today you would be encountering the fashion police, and he was not pleased with what he saw. It was evident to him that you were in dire need of his assistance.

Kim Hongjoong was here now, and he intended to effect swift change. By the end of his makeover, he was confident you would be fit to enter even a beauty pageant.

"Hello, Miss Baek," he greeted, finally drawing your attention as you glanced up to see him approaching.

"Oh, you're here. Mr. Kim, right?" you responded, acknowledging him with a nod. Folding the edge of the page as a makeshift bookmark, you carefully slid the book back into its place on the shelf before rising from your spot on the ground.

The dressmaker's grip tightened around his bag of tools, a hint of displeasure flickering behind his façade of a smile, "Yes, that's correct, my lady. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I've heard much about you," he attempted to charm you, a tactic that typically worked wonders with his clientele, eliciting blushes and smiles. However, his heart sank as you remained unfazed.

"Did you really? I can't imagine it's anything favourable," you murmured, turning to face him squarely, "And there's no need for pretence. I highly doubt there's anything pleasurable about meeting me. I prefer unvarnished truths to false pleasantries."

What in the world.

Taken aback by your bluntness, he paused briefly to compose himself before clearing his throat, "Ah, I see... If you insist, Miss Baek, I won't sugarcoat my thoughts on your choice of attire. Your family has expressed concerns about your ability to attract suitors, and I can see why. It's pretty clear to me that you struggle with dressing in a way that appeals to others but fear not. I'm here now, and I'll help you enhance your style."

Just when he thought you couldn't possibly surprise him any further, you shrugged in disagreement, "I don't believe I'm struggling at all. I know exactly what I like, and this is it," you gestured to your hanbok, "It's not my fault nobody shares the same opinion."

Baffled by your words, he finally grasped the true extent of your problem. Yes, your fashion style was the main issue, but more crucially, it was your entire character. Throughout his life, the dressmaker had encountered his fair share of eccentric individuals, but you seemed to easily surpass them all in peculiarity.

Your blunt honesty was one thing, but it was your overall lack of emotion or ability to read social cues that truly puzzled him. Perhaps it was simply your indifference. Regardless, one thing became abundantly clear to him: he did not like you. Despite having only just met you, he eagerly anticipated the moment he could leave your presence.

Lord help me, I cannot stand her already.

Blinking rapidly, he struggled to maintain the smile on his face as he responded stiffly, "I... I understand, Miss Baek. Perhaps that's your belief for now. However, I'm confident you'll change your mind once you see my designs. They never disappoint. I've never had a dissatisfied customer, and I fully intend to keep it that way."

Not wanting to dwell on your comments, he quickly clapped his hands together and continued, "Now, without further ado, let's proceed with taking your measurements."

Forget discussing your preferences, you had made your stance clear. But Hongjoong remained determined to impress you with his work. He was eager to unveil his best design, he couldn't wait to see the look on your face when you would realise how stupid you were to prefer prison clothes over his hanboks.

Retrieving his measuring tape and notebook from his bag, he turned to you, making an effort to conceal any hint of displeasure on his face as he approached, "Stay still, my lady. This will only take a moment," he instructed, beginning with your shoulders before proceeding to measure your height, sleeve length, and neck size. His breath caught and his hands trembled as he reached the final step, assessing your waist and chest measurements.

While he typically performed these tasks with ease, it was usually in the familiar surroundings of his shop, with others present. Now, it was just the two of you in the expansive, quiet library. For some reason, the atmosphere felt almost... intimate.

Focus, Kim Hongjoong!

Suppressing the sudden spike of his heartbeat, he maintained a composed expression and directed, "Please raise your arms, my lady. I'll need to measure your chest and waist next."

Flustered, he attributed the fluttering of his heart to the persistent, unabashed curiosity in your gaze throughout the measurement process. That must be it, he reasoned. You didn't possess goddess-like beauty, nor were you sweet as an angel. There was no other reason for him to react that way than sheer embarrassment under your scrutiny.

Little did he know, you experienced similar, if not more intense, emotions than he did. But who could blame you, really? It was the first time a man had ever been in such close proximity to you. The only difference between you was your adeptness at concealing your feelings, contrasting with the subtle shifts in his demeanour and the slight tremor in his hands, which did not evade your perceptive gaze.

He was merely a man, after all. You supposed it was only natural for him to exhibit such reactions in the presence of a woman.

But that didn't mean much.

You could tell he disliked you, a sentiment you had grown used to. Like everyone else you met, it seemed no one genuinely liked you. Your family's acceptance stemmed from obligation, your servants' compliance from their employment, and Hongjoong's engagement from his professional duty. Once that was done, you were certain you would never see him again. Armed with this notion, you maintained your stoic façade.

"Very well, Miss Baek. Thank you for your cooperation. I'll return when the first batch of your hanboks is ready," the dressmaker stated, swiftly gathering his belongings and offering one final bow before hurrying out of the library, pink tinting his cheeks.

"Goodbye, Mr. Kim."

Back at his shop that evening, he struggled to focus on his work. His thoughts kept wandering back to the moment your faces were inches apart, when he had to briefly encircle his arms around your waist to take measurements. Despite the unattractive hanbok you wore, he couldn't deny that you smelled quite pleasant. At the very least, you had good hygiene, he had to give you that.

Get a grip, you fool!

Giving himself a sharp slap on the cheek, he shook off the distraction. He reminded himself of the sheer frustration of being around you. From your perplexing bluntness to your questionable taste in fashion, it was enough to raise his blood pressure. How could someone like you even exist? He realised now that he had vastly underestimated your peculiar nature. Once confident he could see through anyone, he was beginning to have second thoughts.

Nevertheless, one thing remained certain: you would surely admire the designs he had in store for you. His work had always been his stronghold, never failing to impress. If even royalty had been impressed, why wouldn't a mere noblewoman like yourself? You claimed to dislike fashion, but that was only because you hadn't seen his masterpieces, he was sure of it.

No one, no one could ever resist his work.

Determined to swiftly overcome this minor obstacle, he reassured himself that you were just a small hurdle on the path to another remarkable achievement. In the end, when you were basking in the glory of the century's most sensational makeover, all the effort would be worthwhile. He could not wait for you to shed tears of gratitude, thanking him for opening your eyes to the true essence of beauty. With that conviction, he delved into his work, flipping through his sketchbook until he reached the section reserved for his finest designs, carefully curated for an occasion like this.

Pausing at one of his personal favorites, a masterpiece he had been saving for a worthy client, he decided that now was the perfect opportunity to bring it to life.

Oh, you were sure to adore it.

You had to.

But he should have known better than to actually believe that. He was, once again, in for a surprise a few days later when he arrived at the Baek estate with the first hanbok done. Only once he had your green light would he be able to proceed with making more for you. As the maids escorted him to your quarters, they noted his bright demeanour; you had risen late today and were still having breakfast in solitude, "You seem quite cheerful today, Mr. Kim," one remarked, arching an eyebrow.

He smirked confidently, "Indeed, I am. Your young miss will be very impressed with what she is about to see today. With this makeover, she'll surely catch the eye of potential suitors in no time."

The maid hesitated, cautioning, "I'm not sure you should be so certain. The young miss isn't like any other girl you've worked with."

"Ah, I know, but my work speaks for itself," he retorted, "She'd be silly not to like it."

"If you say so, sir," the maid replied, her tone conceding defeat. She knew better than to doubt his skill, but she also understood that you were unlike any other. He would soon discover that firsthand, and she was almost certain he wouldn't leave the estate with the same confidence he arrived with.

"Well, what do you think?" inquired the dressmaker, proudly unveiling his newest masterpiece to his latest customer.

Eyeing the elegantly colourful hanbok, which was a departure from your usual plain white ones, your gaze remained impassive. After what seemed like an eternity, you responded with a slight furrow of your brows, "It uhh... it looks nice, I suppose."

As you watched Hongjoong's reaction falter momentarily, it appeared as though he was experiencing a million emotions per second before settling on a deeply offended expression. With an audible scoff, he clenched his jaw, "Nice, you say? Just... nice? You suppose? Miss Baek, that is utterly outrageous! Throughout my career, I've only ever been praised for delivering perfection."

You stayed silent as he continued to extol his successes, boasting about being the best dressmaker in all of Joseon and citing his most illustrious achievements, such as the wedding dress he crafted for Lady Park, which even impressed Their Majesties. It dawned on you that your simple response had deeply wounded him.

"I-I mean... it's not bad," you interjected, hoping to fix the damage, but your heart sank as he only glared at you, "Not bad...? I'm sorry, was that supposed to console me?" he chuckled incredulously, "You know what? Now I understand why you're still single. At this rate, you'll never find a husband."

Ouch.

The awkward silence that followed was deafening, causing the maids who were waiting in your room to quickly shuffle closer to you, noticing you had finished your meal, "Young miss, we'll just be clearing this up and excusing ourselves."

"Thank you." You nodded curtly, watching emotionlessly as they hastily picked up the table containing the empty plates and bowls and left with a deep bow. Meanwhile, the dressmaker remained in his spot, visibly heaving deep breaths as if trying to calm himself from the outburst, before carefully setting the hanbok down.

After you were left alone, he took a deep breath before apologising, "Gosh, I— I'm so sorry, Miss Baek. That was uncalled for, I—"

Shaking your head, you cut him off, "No, please don't be. You were merely telling the truth. As I've said, I prefer unvarnished truth to false pleasantries. In fact, I believe you are right about that. You are not the first to say that, and you certainly won't be the last."

As he absorbed your words, a wave of discomfort washed over Hongjoong. For some reason, he would have preferred if you had yelled at him or thrown a tantrum rather than accepting his insults like that. Surely, it couldn't feel pleasant to hear such remarks, no matter how unaffected you made yourself appear. It made him feel terrible, and he hated it — hated the guilt that filled him for uttering such words.

Clearing his throat, he sighed, "I... my lady, please don't say that. It's just that... I really need your approval before I make more of these for you. At the end of the day, you are the one who has to wear them." His voice softened, an attempt to make up for his earlier harshness.

You detected the familiar pity in his tone, and you despised it. Raising a brow, you shrugged, "Why does my approval matter? It's my family who's paying you, not me. You owe it to them to make me look perfect, whatever that means. I've made it clear what I like, and if it's not to yours or anyone's taste, so be it. I see no point in consulting me on your designs, Mr. Kim. Just do what you're hired for; it doesn't matter what I like."

It never has.

While that should have brought relief to the dressmaker, knowing he had the freedom to pursue his vision without worrying about your approval, something about your words left him feeling... melancholic. It struck a chord within him, reminding him of his own struggles when he initially embarked on his fashion career. At that time, it was met with disapproval from society, which deemed it an unfitting profession for a man. Despite the opposition, he chose to be himself.

However, seeing you succumb to societal expectations, suppressing your true self to please others, including him, stirred a sense of empathy within him. It mirrored his own past battles with conformity. Unlike him, you were forced to adhere to societal norms, sacrificing your individuality for the sake of others' expectations.

And he didn't like that.

But what he hated even more was how you managed to evoke emotions he hadn't signed up for. Despite his efforts to push thoughts of you aside and concentrate solely on his goal—to craft the finest hanboks in all of Joseon and transform you into a vision of beauty, one you did not desire—the memory of your somewhat disheartening expression, as you dismissed the importance of your preferences, lingered in his mind. It unsettled him, he hated the way it was causing an uncomfortable tightening in his chest.

« Preview of Part 2 »

"I'm telling you, Yunho, she's infuriating!"

The physician, busy tidying his clinic counter, rolled his eyes, "How could I not know, hyung? You've been talking about her since my lunch break. We're almost at closing time; are you finished?"

Hongjoong crossed his arms, scoffing, "What, do you have somewhere else to be? Don't think I haven't noticed you've been going to that apothecary more often lately."

Yunho stilled, a faint pink dusting across his cheeks as he cleared his throat, "What do you mean? I've always gone there for herbs."

"Yes, but not as frequently as you do now. Ever since you met a certain herbalist," Hongjoong teased, wiggling his brows.

"If you have nothing important to say, please leave," the physician grumbled, tired of the older man's rambling.

Uncrossing his arms, the dressmaker said, "W-wait! Look, you're the most rational one among us. I just... wanted to know your thoughts on the matter."

Sighing, Yunho softened, "You know, she's right. You're hired by her family, your job is simple, and you know what you have to do. The only reason you're so affected by this is probably because you care."

"I do not care about her—"

"Sure, if you say so. Then go on ahead and complete your job. You'll receive your payment and all the benefits that come with it anyway. So, what's really bothering you?"

Oh my gosh, thank you so much for 1.6k followers! Same as Wooyoung's spinoff, the next part will be the second and final part. I've decided to standardise the format, so all the spinoffs will be two-shots.

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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[httpsserene]

𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝟏 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥

𝘂𝗽𝗹𝗼𝗮𝗱 𝟰: 𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗲𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗿𝗱𝗼 / 𝗺𝗮𝘅 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗻 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 | 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗺𝘂𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: you can't remember the last time you've gotten to spend more than three days at a time with both of your boyfriends. you understand how demanding their job is but, you just can't remember the last time they really exhausted you...pleasurably. and then winter break comes around , and they have all the time they need to make you lose your mind. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. overstimulation. light dom/sub. quickies. cunnilingus. vaginal fingering. vaginal sex. unsafe sex. safewords. creampie. come eating. squirting. hand job. masturbation. dacryphilia. mention of taking explicit photos. praise kink. aftercare. set after the 2023 season. no beta we die like carlos’ fuel system. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 6.5k words 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: daniel ricciardo/max verstappen x black!fem!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: take me away • daniel caesar

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: set post 2023 season. mm, i luv me some danny caesar–i got to see him live this year 😛 i was originally gonna pick a classic country song in true american fashion to show some patriotism for the austin gp—as a black woman, i can attest that we love our country bangers—but take me away just fit perfectly. and daniel is definitely taking yall somewhere this upload—max and reader are just along for the ride 💀. i tried to write sub!max, i think it came across well, and ahead of time i sincerely apologize to the maxiel truthers…i think i may have slayed. i will not be paying for your therapy < 3 🙂 (and if you think i changed the summary, stfu no i didn’t 😌) enjoy y'all !!!!

do you want to be added to my general taglist? or my f1 kinktober taglist? send me an ask!

cross-posted on my ao3, htppsss

to see what kinktober uploads have already been completed or to see what's coming next check my f1 kinktober masterlist ! for all of my works see my general masterlist!

this past racing season was long; daniel knows that well; he went from being the third driver at red bull, to having a seat at alphatauri, to breaking his wrist–and still managed to recover to drive in the last five races. max can also account for how lengthy this season was; he dominated every race illustrated by his 10 consecutive wins, won his team the constructor’s championship 16 races in, won his third world driver’s championship the following week through a sprint race, and still had to stick around for five more races. but, daniel and max both know who has the best firsthand account of how prolonged and draining the formula one 2023 season was.

you.

daniel knows that you’re they’re biggest supporter; you’re a sweetheart. and while you haven’t vocalized your displeasure for the twenty-three races this year–he can feel your dejection. at the start of the season, everything was seen through rose-colored glasses; max was winning, the three of you were having champagne-drenched celebrations in hotel rooms–so filthy the poor staff probably had to incinerate the sheets. you were satisfied; and daniel was with you whenever red bull didn’t want to parade him around at a grand prix. but as the months progressed and as daniel got a seat, the demanding nature of formula one was observable. the longer season had stolen them from you–they were flying from country to country, the gaps between races only long enough to only have them home for two or three days at a time, before they had to fly out and adjust to a new time zone. leaving your two boyfriends unable to make a mess of you as often as you all crave in doing so. phone sex is hot–but it can lose its luster over almost nine months. they’ve been neglecting you–even though every time either one of them suggests that notion, you disagree vehemently– but, it’s the truth.

they pride themselves on the fact that they used to make you beg for them to stop drawing orgasms out of you...but recently your sex life has consisted of dry-humping like horny teenagers, frantic pussy-eating and cock-sucking, and quickies in the shower. so, max and daniel formulated a plan.

after abu-dhabi, the three of you returned home to max’s monaco flat and fell into bed. you’re comfortably laying completely on top of daniel, front to front, and your head is tucked under his chin, turned to the side to face max, who’s settled on his side facing the two of you, arm draped over your back, with his hand squeezing at your waist randomly as he talks to daniel. you’re fighting sleep and losing; eyelids fluttering closed every now and then against your will, breath slowing as you edge closer and closer to sleep. you're floating on the brink of unconsciousness until you're dragged away at the soft sounds of daniel and max rousing you.

“there ya’ go, honey,” murmurs daniel, his voice rumbling in his chest underneath you, “we got somethin’ to ask you, before we let ya sleep, sweet girl.”

max’s hand shifts to rub at the length of your back, and you clear the sleepy haze from your mind enough to nod your head and hum softly in question, “m’kay.”

daniel gently pulls your head from his neck with his tattooed hand on your nape, making sure your pretty eyes, foggy with sleep, make eye contact, “how do ya’ feel about spending december in australia, hmm? a sunny christmas–on the ricciardo ranch; you, me, max and our families–ain’t that perfect, honey?”

max smiles softly at your pout–you’re never one to appreciate having your sleep interrupted–before adding on to daniel’s question, “jimmy and sassy can stay with the sitter; i already spoke to her a few days ago. she’d be thrilled to have them, so you don’t have to worry about where’d they stay. i don’t think i can get pet passports in three days nor do i want to see how two bengal cats act on a private jet for twenty hours.”

a few seconds pass, max and daniel searching your face for any hint to a possible answer. you blink a few times, before you murmur faintly, “‘m okay with it…can i go to sleep now?”

max laughs tenderly, guiding your head back into daniel’s neck before he scoots closer and rests his own head on the australian’s shoulder, “yeah, mijn schatje. sleep well.”

daniel wraps the arm pinned under max around him, pulling him closer to drop a kiss on his forehead. his other hand falls on your back over the dutchman’s, caressing it softly. he holds the two of you as tight as he possibly can, the big grin on his face only seen by the ceiling. he has his whole world in his arms right now, but come christmas time, his whole universe–his family–will be under the same roof back home in australia.

the next three days are filled with an absurd amount of packing. max and daniel have five suitcases between the two of them—you have five for yourself; it doesn’t hurt to be prepared. the night before your flight, they watch you pace around the bedroom making sure there’s nothing important you’re forgetting. jimmy and sassy had been dropped off at the sitter’s, and max and daniel had already moved all the luggage to the entryway for the early flight. the two drivers had stopped trying to convince you to join them in the bed and cuddled together, knowing it’s best to let you work out your anxieties now so you don’t overthink on the flight.

as you start combing through the closet again, max whispers to daniel, “we could fuck the nerves out her right now, danny.”

daniel smacks max’s hip, smirking when he whines quietly, “no, maxy. she has to sit for an almost twenty hour flight, we can’t make that any more difficult for her.” the dutchman huffs, unhappy with the answer even though he knows it's the logical course of action.

dan continues, “remember: as soon as we get to the ranch and settle in—we'll be alone for a week before my parents come ‘n join us. we’ll have plenty of time to take her apart and put her back together.”

daniel was wrong. after y’all landed in perth, and made the drive out to the countryside—it was apparent that the three of you weren’t the only ones at the ranch. his parents had come early to make sure the ranch was prepped and fully stocked for your vacation, and prepared a home cooked dinner to welcome you in. dan can’t help his big smile from becoming a permanent fixture on his face as he watches his mom and dad fawn over you and max. grace pulls you into the house, instructing the men to bring the luggage inside while she gets to fixing you a plate heaping with barbecue. joe affectionately calls max ‘son’ with a tight hug, congratulating him on his third championship before they all make their way into the house.

the original plan is put on the back burner as daniel watches you and max bloom under the loving attention from his parents. the days passed quickly, all of them spent horsing around the farm; horseback riding, dirt biking, atv riding, making a trip out to the beach, eating good food, and sleeping well. dan sees max’s pale skin pinkening and your melanated complexion glowing with warmth from the caress of the australian sun. your afternoon naps are taken underneath the warm rays, stretching out in any slice of sun you can catch, bathing in it like a cat. max and dan do as many things as they can shirtless attempting to get their tan in as quick as possible—dan tans gracefully, max, on the other hand, burns like a lobster first before his tan becomes apparent.

they fucked you on the second day after your arrival, but not exactly how they were hoping too. it’s still a relatively short affair—for their standards, at least. while it quieted the need within you, it didn’t completely satisfy the urge for any of you. daniel had to coax you into biting a pillow to muffle your squeals, and have max nearly choke on his tattooed fingers to quiet his whining—dan himself clenched his jaw so tightly to prevent his own moans from escaping that he’s surprised he didn’t crack a tooth. he loves his parents, but he’s genuinely going to snap if he doesn’t get to ruin you and max without worrying if they could hear how he makes you and max beg for him.

on the fifth day, you wear your first sundress to lunch and max pulls daniel in the kitchen to muffle a scream into his chest. 

“dan, baby—i love your parents,” max starts, his eye twitching, “you know i do! but, i can’t go another day without hearing her scream for me—for us.”

they’re only men. very desperate men. and you had the nerve to parade yourself in this flowy, yellow, strapless sundress at a meal they have to suffer through. they can’t even tear it off of you after, because dan’s parents have a chance of overhearing. but, what forces the australian to kindly kick his parents out of the house, is how you fail to stop yourself from drooling over them playing around in the pool—struggling to continue speaking with his mom as you sit on the pool’s ledge. 

before dinner, dan showers by himself first, changing into fresh clothes. he then ushers you and max into the shower, ‘to rinse off the chlorine and sweat from the day,’ he says. but, he could care less about that. as soon as he hears the shower start, he practically sprints to the kitchen to see his mom and dad put the finishing touches on the burgers they fixed up.

daniel skids to a stop in the doorway, leaning against it in faux-relaxedness, and says, “howdy.” it’s silent for a minute; his dad stares at him blankly, and his mom eventually breaks and speaks plainly, “what is it, danny?”

daniel gasps in mock-disbelief, “why d’ya always think i want something from you? i can’t just be greeting my wonderful, loving, and understanding parents?”

grace stares at him, not fooled, “are you just saying ‘hi’?”

daniel stutters aimlessly looking to his dad for help, but joe just shrugs at him in a ‘you did this to yourself, son’ manner. 

“maybe! well, no, actually…” daniel sulks, slinking into the kitchen, and resting against the counter next to his mom.

his mom hums knowingly, and gestures at him to start speaking.

“uh, so, you know i love having y’all around, right, and uh, it’s nice y’know—i mean, i don’t see ya’ as often as i want to, but uh—don’t get me wrong, you’re my parents, but uhm—“

joe sighs, “daniel, cut to the chase, please.”

daniel groans, before he leans his head back to look at the ceiling, “fine. look—we just expected to at least have one week to ourselves when we got here. not that y’all being here to surprise us is bad! you know that. but, uhm…we just made plans, i guess. a-and we kind of can’t do it, because, well…”

grace washes her hands as daniel continues to ramble through an unnecessary apologetic explanation. she turns the water off, drying her hands on a towel, and turns to her husband, pointing at daniel while rolling her eyes teasingly, before she cuts her son off, “daniel, we can leave tonight.”

daniel stops, head dropping to look at his mom in shock, “what?”

“we can leave tonight, if that’s what you’re trying to ask. your father and i don’t mind,” grace smiles gently, “we weren’t supposed to stay for this long anyways, we were just trying to get the ranch prepared for y’all, and you know how enamored we are with your girl and boy; we overstayed our welcome. we can go and come back a week before christmas with the rest of the family, danny.”

daniel perks up, “you guys don’t have to leave for that long, i don’t wanna kick you out—“

“daniel, please,” joe scoffs, walking over to clap daniel on the back, “you’re not kicking us out. we’ll be back on the seventeenth, alright. hopefully, that gives y’all enough time to work out your frustrations. we really don’t want to overhear or see anything—“

daniel pales, “okAY, thank you, yes—please don’t comeback until as late as y’all want, jesus christ. wait—did you hear the other night?! ohmygod…they’re going to kill me.”

joe and grace laugh, “no, we didn’t hear anything, danny. we just figured from how they were following you around in the morning—max couldn’t even look us in the eye, son.”

daniel groans, embarrassed, “don’t tell them anything about this okay? they’ll break up with me if they know i asked you to leave so i could have sex with them.”

his parents' laughter only gets louder, but they agree eventually after they indulge in teasing their son a little more.

dinner is pleasant; you and max remain unaware of the ricciardo’s intervention, enjoying the well-cooked meal and lighthearted conversation. when everyone’s stomach is full and the conversation quiets, grace and joe break the news that they unfortunately have to return to perth. you and max sadden, trying to convince daniel’s parents to stay a little longer—max’s eyes fail to hide his eagerness at their announcement, even though his voice manages to be completely sincere. daniel watches as his parents formulate a fake excuse about their departute before he gently reminds you two, “they’ll be back for christmas, babes. you’ll see them again.”

the two of you calm at daniel’s statement, and walk his parents out to the car, exchanging hugs and kisses before they drive off back to the city. daniel leads you two back into the house after you’ve watched his parents disappear down the road, and the shift in energy as soon as the door locks is missed by you.

you mindlessly amble back to the dining table, stacking the emptied plates and glasses and wandering into the kitchen to clean them. as soon as you turn the sink faucet on, a strong body pushes against your back, and presses you against the edge of the counter as their hand reaches around you to shut the water off. you turn around to tell-off whichever boyfriend did that, but before you can get any words out, you’re pulled into a filthy kiss.

your shocked gasp is muffled by max’s lips, and you half-heartedly attempt to pull away, but the dutchman chases your lips, not allowing you to stop. you give in with a sigh, allowing max to continue kissing you. he buries one hand in your hair, tilting your head to the side for a better angle, and licks at the seam of your lips. you squirm against him, not quite giving into the coaxing of his tongue, and max hums softly before he tugs at your bottom lip. you turn your head to the side, panting softly to suck in a few desperate breaths before max pulls you back and invades the opening of your lips. you squeal at the feeling of his tongue laving against yours, the lewd wet sounds of your mouths have your thighs pressing together. max brings his other arm to grasp around your waist, and pulls you against him, groaning into your mouth at the smallest amount of friction that movement provided. you feel lightheaded, your knees weakening, but max firmly holds you up, not letting you slip from his grasp. your hands come up to wrap around him, one feeling up his chest before resting around his neck, and the other hand digging into the meat of his back in search of stability. he hums at the ache of your nails and drops both of his hands to cup the back of your thighs right under your ass. he lifts you onto the counter, spreading your legs and shoving his body between them, while still managing to not break the kiss. at the show of strength you arch your back, whining highly, pushing your chest against his—he’s so strong. he eagerly starts tugging the sundress up your legs, making to expose your panties before he’s interrupted by a sudden heavy hand on the back of his neck.

max jerks away from you (you can finally catch your breath), his chest heaving, and his own whine fills the air at the weight of daniel’s hand.

“now, darlin’,” daniel addresses max with a smirk, “this wasn’t part of our plan, was it? you forget the script, maxy?”

max blushes a pretty pink, and murmurs, “no, daniel—sorry, danny.” dan hums at the apology, pressing a kiss to max’s warm cheek.

“w-what plan?” you timidly ask, still sitting on the counter, legs spread obscenely, dress skewed messily, and lips swelling from max’s ambition.

daniel chuckles, eyes shining at you hungrily, “mmm. how ‘bout we make our way to the bedroom and ‘ll show ya, sweetheart?”

you’re spread eagle in the middle of the bed, completely naked, with daniel fully dressed in between your legs sucking marks and pressing kisses on your thighs, max stripped down to his boxer-briefs on his side next to you, doing the same to your neck and chest. you’re squirming viciously just from the feeling of his beard scraping against your inner thighs, squeals ripping from your throat when he leaves a hickey or bites at the meat of your thigh. the australian’s pupils are blown wide, as he watches you try and muffle your cries behind your hand—if this is how you’re responding to the two of them thoroughly refreshing their claim on you, he’s thrilled to see how you’ll lose your mind as the night goes on. pulling his head away, daniel presses his thumb into one of the bruises he left and your back arches deeply–you choke on your squeal, thighs slamming shut around his hand.

“none of that now, sweetheart,” dan instructs firmly, “‘s just me, you, and max, honey. no need to quiet those sweet sounds of yours, alright?”

you nod wildly, stumbling over your agreement, “y-yeah, danny. ‘ll be- i’ll be loud for you guys.”

max moans at your words from where his lips were tugging at your nipple, pulling away to raise himself back to your lips, thirstily tasting your desperation from its source. dan allows max to bruise up your mouth, and leave his own beard burn around your lips, as he undresses himself down to his briefs. 

“max…max, maxy, babe,” daniel softly calls a few times, failing to get the impatient man’s attention, “max, look at me.” the switch from dan’s soft tone to a deeper, base filled sound has max snapping away to look at daniel, panting roughly.

“be good f’me and give yourself a hand, darlin’,” dan commands, and max sighs lovingly at the endearment, “you can manage that right, maxy? while i get our sweet girl ready to take you, hm?”

max whimpers, “yes, danny,” and shifts to sit upright, pulling his underwear off and wrapping his large hand around himself. dan purrs, “good boy. her sweet cunt’s already drippin’ for us, maxy. won't take me long to stretch ‘er open for you.” you keen, humiliated at the way dan speaks about you like you’re not in the room with them. daniel tugs your legs open again, hiding his laughter in the plush meat of your thigh, but you can feel the smirk against your skin. 

embarrassed, you whine hushedly, hands fisting into the sheets by your side, “mean.”

daniel hums uncaringly at your remark, “mean? don’t worry, honey–when i finish with you, you’ll think ‘m mean for a very different reason.” he doesn’t give you a chance to ponder his words, and a firm drag of his tongue across your cunt destroys any chance for your thought processes. this time around, your moans are clear, echoing around the room. the press of daniel’s tongue is unforgiving and working intently at your clit. your thighs clamp around his head, not allowing the australian to escape even though he can feel your hips bucking away, trying to escape the consistent stimulation on one of your most sensitive spots. when one of your hands flies down to tug at his curls, he relents his assault and switches to prodding his tongue against your opening. he moans depravedly against your entrance, the noise vibrating through you, causing your shriek to pierce the air. he eats you out like a man starved; savagely shoving his tongue deeper inside you, curling against your walls, nose bumping against your clit, mouth moving like he’s truly trying to eat you alive. he ignores the ache of his jaw, the tightness of his briefs, how his beard scratches your skin; and he smoothly slips a finger into you, beginning thoroughly stretch you out.

it’s absolutely obscene-sounding. daniel works his way up to three fingers, and any previous qualms he had about you being too quiet are resolved. your whines are constant at the insistent invasion of daniel’s curling digits, and based on the way your legs are trembling, he can tell you're nearing the precipice. what’s even more erotic, is the way your cries harmonize with max’s own grunts of pleasure; the dutchman’s hips buck into the frantic pace of his hands and danny wouldn’t be surprised if max comes before he even gets inside you. daniel sits back on his heels, his fingers still digging deeper inside you, forcefully pressing against your g-spot. with his left hand, daniel knocks max’s hand away, ignoring the responding yowl of displeasure, and fists max’s cock on his own, “doin’ a little too much, maxy. our desperate girl deserves to come first, anyways—lemme set the pace for you, darlin’.” max suffers under danny’s ministrations; the extreme shift down in tempo, the constant attention on the head of his cock, a finger pressing at his slit or the vein along his underside alternatingly. you, on the other hand, are being pushed closer and closer to your orgasm. daniel’s thumb joins, rubbing quick circles of your clit–and you scream out, pleasure overriding you. when your moans start to blend into breathy little ah-ah-ah’s, he slips his fingers free from the tight clasp of your cunt, and releases his hold on max’s cock.

you sob achingly, begging daniel to make you cum, dismayed cries of, “no! danny, why’d you stop, please, make me cum,” falling from your lips as max mewls next to you, his own hands trying to force danny’s back around him. daniel shushes you, and motions for max to come closer. max flies forward happily, his whines cutting off at daniel’s attention. he man-handles max into hovering over you in missionary, his cock resting against your fluttering cunt, waiting for permission. your cries quiet, and your heart races with anticipation for max to bury himself in you. danny’s left hand grips at max’s corresponding hip, and his right hand slips in the narrow space between you two, and he presses the flushed arousal in you. and the australian cannot stop running his mouth.

“that’s ‘t, baby–nice n’ easy for ya’–mmm–he’s splitting you open isn’t he–yeah, soak ‘im, babe, get him nice and wet–no, sweetheart, don’t run from it–yeahhh just like that, you take ‘t so well–”

your own orgasm suprises you, otherwise you would’ve at least made an attempt to tell the two men. max hasn’t even gotten halfway inside you and you’re cumming; back-arching, toes-curling, hands rushing forward to scratch down max’s back, eyes screwed shut, and walls clamping tightly around him. max is whining above you, flinching away from the hot grasp of your inner walls, but daniel won’t let him pull out.

“danny, danny! please–oh–i-i-i’m gonna–not gonna last–‘m gonna cum, if i stay inside her,” max admits, sobbing embarrasingly.

daniel laughs softly from behind max, and shifts so his front is pressed to the dutchman’s back. max shivers at the sound, the hair on the back of his neck rising. “aww, you can’t handle it, darling? don’t worry, i’ve changed my plans for you, anyways,” daniel smugly whispers into max’s ear. dan brings both of his hands to the younger’s waist, and forces him deeper inside of you, ignoring the way max cries sensitively and keeps pushing him forward until he bottoms out. you and max let out twin squeals from the white-hot flash of pleasure; you struggle to adjust to his size as quickly as daniel forced him in–you pulsate around him, it’s like you’re still trying to drag him further in and push him out at the same time. daniel presses a kiss to max’s shoulder blade and praises him, “see, maxy? i knew you could do it—such a good boy f’me.”

max’s eyes roll back, and he can’t fight it–he cums, loudly. his limbs weaken and his body collapses over yours, head falling into your neck, and his lewd moans vibrate through your raw skin. the younger’s body covers you completely, and your knees come up to cradle max’s hips, encouraging him to thrust through the aftershocks. daniel leans back, continuing to bathe the two of you with praise as he lets you guys shudder through the come down. a couple minutes pass before your legs relax and max’s moans die down to breathy hums, as both of your chests heave as you try to regulate your breathing. 

“feelin’ good, my loves?” daniel questions tenderly.

you’re the first to respond, a sated smile sent the australians way, “so good, danny.” max sighs out a breathy “yeah,” muffled into your chest. daniel brightens, “alrighty–maxy, fuck her properly now, and make her cum again.” the dutchman grunts in disbelief, “what? no, i-i can’t, i just came–”

dan cuts max off, “you can’t or, you won’t?” max’s breath stutters at the sudden dominance in daniel’s tone, sitting up to turn his head to look at the older man incredulously. the smile on dan’s face is gone, his expression suddenly firm and unyielding–max can only drop his gaze away from daniel’s eyes, avoiding the piercing gaze.

“max, look at me,” the australian states unflinchingly, and the younger man’s eyes fly to meet his at the command.

“what’s your color, darlin’?”

with his tongue flicking out to wet his lips nervously, max mutely whispers, “green.” daniel’s piercing gaze drops to you and he repeats the question, “sweetheart, what’s your color?”

you squirm under his intense attention—max’s hips stuttering at the stimulation, and your bruised brown thighs squeeze at his waist until he stops—but the slight flare of pleasure that races up your spine decides your answer, “green, danny.”

a smirk spreads across daniel’s lips, “see, you can, maxy,” the younger blushes deeply at his teasing croon, “now, be a sweet prince for me, and fuck our sweetheart, hm?” and with a pinch to max’s hip, he sinks in you deeply with an oversensitive sigh, before he pulls out and sets a slow rhythm to allow you both a little more time to recover. the drag of his cock is coaxing soft shuddery breaths out of your lips, and sharp over-sensitive whines from max. his hands are trembling from where they’re grip flexes on your waist, veins popping with the strength of his grasp, sure to leave a mark on your darker skin. dan’s hands halt the gentle roll of his hips, before the man leads him at a quicker pace. max throws his head back onto daniel’s shoulder, overwhelmed at the feeling of your tight, soaking wet cunt, and cries out “too much—ngh—i-it’s too much!” but aside from all of his whines, he’s getting hard again. unlike max, the sensitivity from your orgasm had faded quickly—if anything, it’s doubling the amount of pleasure you’re feeling. desperate for more, you plant your feet on the bed and start rolling your hips to meet max halfway; moaning yearningly at the change in position.

the younger man frantically tries to force your hips back down, the friction added from you meeting his thrusts is too great. “heyheyhey—none of that, prince,” daniel quickly tugs max’s hands away from your waist, one hand firmly holding them against the younger’s chest, “remember, we made a promise to give her so many orgasms to make up for how mean we’ve been to her. you don’t want to break that promise; right, darling?” max tries to hide his face in dan’s shoulder, but it’s too late—he starts sobbing. daniel watches how the tears rain down max’s cheeks, and how his face crumples so prettily—is it weird that making his usually unbothered boyfriend cry, turns him on?

max sniffles, “n-no, danny. -ll do it, i-i wanna make her cum.” not wanting to disappoint you any further, he starts quickening his strokes on his own, eventually outpacing the rhythm daniel set for him. it dawns on max quickly; he’s not going to last, again. he makes the mistake of looking at the blissed out expression on your face, the knot in his tummy tightening as he watches how your mouth falls open in a moan, wet and inviting. he drops his eyes away, but they fall on where the two of you are connected; the sight causes him to choke on his breath. his own thrusts have forced his cum out of you, frothing at your entrance, smeared all over your labia and staining your inner thighs. if he could eat you out and fuck you at the same time—he’d be doing it. max urgently asks daniel, “d-danny, ‘m gonna cum—please, can i cum?” ignoring max, dan’s hand lets go of max’s, and falls to let his middle and ring finger rub vigorously at your clit. your body jackknifes, a scream leaving your lips at the sudden addition, you choke out a warning, “g’na cum! pleasepleaseplease—” and when daniel’s thumb sneaks down to press gently at where you're wrapped snugly around max, almost like he’s trying to slip in alongside his cock—white flashes behind your eyes and you’re cumming hard. 

daniel hums, satisfied, “now, you can cum, maxy.” the younger had already started coming the second he started speaking. it’s erotic—how the two of yours’ orgasm feeds off of each other. every clench of your cunt has you squeezing tightly around max, causing him to thrust in you deeper, which in turn has you pulsating around him tightly, and the cycle continues. max rides out the two of your orgasms viciously this time around, his hips slamming into you, forcing himself as deep as possible wanting to empty every last dreg of his cum within you. you can only whimper brokenly, not making an effort to calm his grinds, wanting to savor anything you can get before he pulls out of you. with max’s last pump of his hips in you, daniel slowly guides him out of you. the two of you hiss, extremely over sensitive from the two times you’ve cum, so daniel tries to make the affair as smooth as he possibly can. with a squelching pop, max is freed from the tight grasp of your cunt, and dan leads him to lie down next to you on the bed.

you’re still floating, not a single thought in your head, a deep sense of satisfaction coating your mind, but you can vaguely hear daniel checking on max, making sure he didn’t push him too far. you hum quietly under your breath, almost like a purr, eyes shut blissfully as you allow yourself to relax in your afterglow. you faintly register daniel slipping in between your legs, his broad shoulders pressed against the underside of your thighs. you feel his left hand gently press at the raw skin of your thigh, and you fuzzily manage to move it over for him, thinking that he’s trying to clean you up. 

daniel can only stare. the pink skin of your hole has turned to a deeper red, with how max bullied your cunt. his mouth falls open, entranced, at the sight of your bruised pussy winking at him, struggling to close, and he moans softly as the pulsing of your cunt starts pushing max’s cum out of you. the creamy, frothy, white fluid slowly sliding out of you and down your ass. his tongue wets his lips—he wants a taste. dan drops the towel he was holding in his right hand, and brings the now empty hand up to spread your lips with a ‘v’ of his fingers. his eyes flick up to your face, and once he sees that you're still floating, he takes a gentle pass over your entrance with two fingers, collecting yours and max’s combined release. he sucks the mess clean, and a groan rumbles through his chest. fuck—he needs more. daniel quickly finds himself breathing softly over your cunt for the second time tonight, and he can feel how your thighs already start shaking at the exhales of his breath against you. he laps his tongue once in a broad stripe over you, and moans depravedly—and then, he pretty much forced to eat you out; why let this go to waste. 

the minute his tongue slips inside you, your thighs slam shut around his head, trying to halt his overeager movements. daniel doesn’t care, he’d happily suffocate in your cunt if it meant he got to eat max’s cum out of you for the last time. when he slips two of his fingers in to coax more of the cum max fucked deep in you out, your hand flies down and tugs at his curls. daniel pulls his mouth away, growling sharply at the pain from the grip of your hand, but he steadfastly dives back in—he’s going to swallow every last drop you’ll give him. “hngh—too much, –anny, can’t take it—my tummy feels weird—it hurts!” daniel’s hips starting grinding against the bed, and he’s made aware of how painfully hard he’s gotten throughout the night; he hasn’t cum once. daniel moans against your cunt, panting against you, “ya got one more f’me right, sweetheart? yeah, ya do—just let me taste you, yeah?” daniel tunes out your cries again, and brushes his nose against your clit as he laves his tongue over you picking up every drop of cum the two of you have spilled on your swollen cunt. his fingers start to curl upwards as he pulls them out, dragging wetness out from the depths of your walls, and you squeal, any pleads that you planned to say have been suddenly erased from your throat at the sudden pain-pleasure that bursts behind your eyes. your core tightens, and you seize against the bed cumming for the third time this night at daniel’s insistence. this is the most intense orgasm all night, and it feels never ending; all of your senses feel like they’re burning hot, nerves tingling from your scalp to your curled toes. what you’ve failed to recognize is that you're gushing all over daniel’s face. he practically gets waterboarded from where he was pressed against your cunt, but once he realizes that he’s made you squirt, he happily starts drinking down each spray of your fluid, uncaring of how his beard is drenched with your release, and how it puddles underneath your ass. 

he swallows you down to the very last drop, plump lips massaging your labia sweetly. he backs off your pussy, switching to your thighs to collect any wetness he missed out on. when your hand tugs at his curls again, pulling him away when the beard burn gets too much, daniel rises to his knees over you. he tugs his cock out of his briefs, the tip flushed the deepest red he’s ever seen it, and it throbs hotly in his grasp. he uses the hand soaked with your squirt to roughly rub himself off, tattooed thigh spasming, and it takes less than ten pumps of his hand before he’s cumming. with every spray of his hot cum that lands against your swollen cunt, your hips jerk—even that feels too much.

when daniel finishes, he moans at the picture he painted on you—would you let him take a picture if he asked? but his fantasy is disrupted when you squirm up the bed, your hand falling to cup protectively over your cunt, thighs tightening around your hand, and you murmur repeatedly, “no more, no more.” max coos quietly from where he’s laying, still just as fucked out as you, but he tries to soothe your cries. he sweetly pulls you into his chest when tears slip out of your eyes, petting at you clumsily, not quite yet having regained complete control of his limbs. “did so good, schatje. daniel did just like he promised—i-if, if you let him clean you up, we can cuddle and go straight to bed, ok? be good, j-just a little longer.”

you sob messily into max’s embrace, but after a few minutes with max and daniel both reassuring you that they’ve finished pulling orgasms out of you, and comfortingly massaging the already setting soreness of your muscles—your cries die down to sniffles, and you slowly spread your legs open for danny. daniel stares at the mess he created this time around, but dismisses the urge to lick it off you; his only goal right now is to properly clean you up, and make sure you go to sleep feeling satisfied and worn-out. as gently as possible, he takes turns wiping both your thighs and cunt, and max’s thighs and cock, switching when either of you says it’s too much. it takes longer than it usually does, but it doesn’t upset daniel as long as it means the two of you are comfortable. 

“okay, okay,” daniel soothes sweetly, “i’m done. you both did so good for me tonight.”

max blushes at the praise, and with a voice as airy as silk, you whisper, “you ‘ere good too, danny—made me feel r’lly good, thank you.” daniel smiles, his heart warming at your sweet words, “thank you, honey. you’re always so sweet to me.”

“now, let’s move this party to the bathroom so both of you can pee, and take a bath before we sleep, i’ll get some snacks for you to eat too,” daniel orders softly, “i took a lot from the two of you tonight—so let me make sure i put you back together, okay?

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