#High Side Power Switch | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jaeyuniversal · 3 months ago

Text

you broke me first - l.hs

pairing: virgin!lee heeseung x experienced fem!reader

synopsis: you and heeseung are the school’s golden pair — popular, admired, and constantly shipped. the only problem? you can’t stand him. from competing on exams to gym class, you’re always neck and neck, and no one gets under your skin like he does. but while you see a rival, he sees the love of his life. when you overhear a hushed conversation that breaks you, will heeseung be able to win you back?

featuring: all of enha, winter from aespa, yuqi from (g)i-dle, and keeho from p1h

genre: angst... slow burn, some fluff, kissing, skinship, SMUTTTT, college au, first love trope?? sorta? one sided enemies to lovers

warnings: smut so mdni (18+), alcohol consumption, vandalizing property, Sexual Tension, everyone is around the same age (21-23), lowercase intended <3

playlist: you broke me first by tate mcrae & what was i made for — billie eilish

(smut warnings under cut!)

wc: 13.271k

a/n: first fic is here! plsplspls leave feedback as anything helps!! was listening to you broke me first and got inspo for a kinda angsty fic pls bare with me :3 anyways! enjoy the read <3<3

smut content: mention of toys (but no use), fingering, squirting, unprotected sex (not for you), dry humping, switch! hee and reader, riding, mating press, too much kissing, masturbation (m.), breeding kink, slight dacryphilia, oral (m. & f.), deepthroating, belly bulge, creampie, size kinkish, big dick! hee, not much aftercare but it's like fluffy, y/n has a “reputation” that she gets around, VIRGIN HEESEUNG (but no one knows…) i think thats it? lmk if i missed anything ◡̈

not proofread!

lee. fucking. heeseung. you hate him. you can't stand him. he always knows what to say just to piss you off. you might be wondering, "why don't you just try to avoid him?" the issue is... you do. you try with ALL your power but to no avail, he's in the same friend group as you.

your friends, knowing you hate him, decided to combine friend groups to see if you and him could mend things. spoiler alert: it failed miserably.

you felt safe in your small circle with keeho (the man you deemed to be your biological older brother — you aren't related), yuqi (your junior high best friend), and winter (your literal wife).

you guys were well known around the entire city of seoul for being the "it group" — always partying, hooking up, and somehow still acing every class (while nursing massive hangovers).

however, heeseung's friend group consisted of the golden boys in decelis university: park jongseong (known as jay, he hates his given name), sim jaeyun (known as the australian transfer student, jake), park sunghoon (the insanely hot figure skater), kim sunoo (the bubbliest person you've ever met), yang jungwon (the boy with feline features, however you've made a special note to never piss him off cause he has a black belt), and nishimura riki (known as ni-ki because he wanted to be different).

you loved riki. he was like your younger brother — chaotic, blunt, and always three steps ahead of everyone. you’d even joked once that if you had to suffer heeseung’s presence, at least you got riki out of it.

unfortunately, riki had the worst habit of instigating chaos.

“truth or dare?” he asked one friday night, grinning like he already had your life planned out. everyone was crammed into jay’s ridiculously large basement, music low, snacks half eaten, and bodies sprawled on beanbags and plush carpet.

you should’ve said “truth.” you knew you should’ve. but you weren’t a coward.

“dare,” you answered, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

the group erupted in ooooh's in perfect synchronicity.

riki’s grin only widened. “i dare you to sit on heeseung’s lap for five minutes.”

you almost lunged across the room.

“riki,” you hissed, “you are so dead.”

he just wiggled his brows suggestively. “i’m a baby. you wouldn’t hurt me.”

the worst part? he was right.

you looked over at heeseung, who was watching you like a cat watching a cornered mouse — lazy smirk, fingers casually drumming against his knee. “scared, sweetheart?”

“i’ll kill you in your sleep,” you said sweetly as you stalked over and dropped yourself into his lap like he was made of cardboard and air.

he oofed, not because you were heavy, but because he wasn’t expecting you to actually do it.

“wow,” he murmured, lips near your ear. “you smell like citrus and bad decisions.”

you resisted the urge to elbow him in the ribs.

five minutes. you just had to survive five minutes.

but then his hands casually settled on your waist, and you felt it — the spark. the electric, traitorous, goddamn spark that told you this was a very, very bad idea.

because maybe, just maybe, your hatred wasn’t as pure as you thought- no. what are you thinking??? you immediately shook the feeling that was buzzing inside you and blamed it on the alcohol swimming in your blood.

you definitely. hated heeseung. yup, yeah, you really did.

heeseung on the other hand? he was just praying to every god he could think of that you couldn't feel how sweaty his palms were getting.

because he was panicking. full blown, internal screaming, oh-no-she’s-sitting-on-me-and-she’s-warm kind of panicking. he hadn't expected you to actually follow through on your usual threats, much less practically straddle him in front of your mutual friends.

but now? now he was just trying to not pass out from the sheer force of your perfume and presence and the weight of years of unresolved tension that sat heavier than you ever could.

"you're sweating," you said flatly, side eyeing him with that expression that usually meant murder or mockery — or both. "you good?"

"totally," he croaked. "i always nearly die when beautiful people threaten me. it's, like, my thing."

you blinked once. twice.

"did you just call me beautiful?"

"i said what i said," he muttered, then immediately regretted everything.

your brows lifted in slow, dangerous amusement. "you feeling okay, heeseung? you hitting on me while i’m threatening you?”

“wouldn’t be the first time,” he said, almost too quiet for you to hear.

and there it was again. the spark. like a lighter flicked too close to your frayed nerves.

you looked away, choosing to focus on literally anything else, but his grip on your waist tightened just slightly, grounding you, almost daring you to acknowledge it.

“how much longer do i have to sit on this assholes lap?” you questioned under your breath, reminding yourself, reminding him, that this was temporary.

"4 minutes!" jake sang back as his accented voice rang in your ears. fuck, it's only been one minute? you thought to yourself... until he spoke.

“i could ruin us in three,” he whispered, warm breath tickling your ear. he was so close you could practically feel his labored breathing against your back. you craned your neck to the side so you could look him in the eyes, "what did you just say???" heeseung was at a loss for words — his brain only drawing blanks.

did he say what he thought he said in his head out loud? impossible. he's hidden it so well, no one in your guys' shared friend group had even suspected his overbearing attraction towards you.

so heeseung did the only thing he could think of. he gulped.

just as your gaze dropped to his adams apple, sunghoon cleared his throat, reducing the fiery tension between you two to reduce to a simmer. "time's up" he stated. and just like that, the warmth you once shared was gone.

as the game progressed, the most interesting things to occur were jake kissing sunghoon on the cheek, riki vandalizing an old alley way that never saw the sun, and winter lady-and-the-tramping a twizzler with keeho.

you and heeseung never dared to even spare a glance in each other's direction for the rest of the night.

───

you laid awake, staring at the ceiling in jay's basement while trying to get comfy on the leather couch that probably cost more than your entire wardrobe. you couldn't sleep. and the reason? none other than your self-proclaimed arch nemesis: lee heeseung.

your friend groups slept on different floors to prevent you and heeseung arguing and waking up the entire house. you slowly got up, attempting and (barely) succeeding to not step on a sleeping figure sprawled on the floor.

as you walk up the stairs from the basement, you hear two people whisper shouting at each other.

you glance at the time displayed on your phone.

a measly 3:16 am stared brightly at you. who's awake at this hour?? as you step closer to the hushed voices, you think you can make out the unmistakeable deepness of riki's voice and heeseung's annoying(ly hot) whispers, tinged with sleep.

"why the fuck would you dare HER of all people to sit on MY lap????" heeseung shouts quietly, clearly frustrated. riki bursts into a fit of giggles. "dude, don't tell me you feel something for her, don't you guys like hate each other?" he says between snide little chuckles.

heeseung freezes. there's no way riki really caught on to what he was supposed to never let slip through the cracks... right?! so he musters up all the dignity he has left and defensively grunts a series of defenses "nowhywouldieverseeherlikethatsheisn'tmytypeandithinkshe'sgross"

riki blankly stares back at heeseung's panicking eyes, "okayyy," he drags the word out, "you don't need to put her down like that, she's like my older sister, dude" riki spits back.

your lips twitch in a small smile, just for a second. just long enough for riki to catch your eyes peeking behind the corner. he nods once, subtle and solid. always in your corner.

but the comfort dies as soon as heeseung opens his mouth.

"i could never love someone like her."

and the world stops.

he says it so casually. almost like it’s a joke. like it's just another throwaway comment tossed between drinks and half-meant insults. but it lands with the weight of something cruelly true — or at least, something you believe he means.

you feel the breath hitch in your throat. just once.

riki's gaze is drawn to your frozen frame. and that's when everything freezes. heeseung whips around to see you standing there. eyes blown and glossy.

riki shifts, but he doesn’t move to try and console you — he knows better. knows this is something that'll bruise. something you need time to process, alone.

you bite back tears. “right,” you say, quietly. “of course.”

heeseung’s expression flickers — confusion, regret, something else — but you’ve already masked the pain. emotion draining from your face like you’ve trained for it. like it’s a sport. like if you stop moving, the hurt will catch up.

“i didn’t mean it like that,” he says, a little too late, a little too soft.

you readjust your posture, fixing your shirt.

“you meant it exactly like that,” you reply, and it’s not even bitter. it’s worse. numb.

riki’s there before heeseung can say anything else. standing between you like a wall. like a shield.

“walk away,” he tells you gently, and you do.

because if you stay, you might ask him why not. and you’re not sure your heart could take the answer.

riki turns back to heeseung, flames he's never seen before burning in the younger boys irises that are normally filled with mischief and teasing glints. but all of a sudden none of that is there anymore. it's pure, unfiltered anger. raw emotion.

heeseung wants him to yell at him. say something, anything. but nothing comes. riki just walks upstairs like he doesn't even know who heeseung is anymore.

and maybe he doesn't.

───

the next morning, when heeseung wakes up, it's almost peaceful. until rain begins to tip tap on the roof and everything comes crashing down. his chest is tight and immediately swells with regret. so much he thinks it'll spill out of him just like the rain outside.

he needs to talk to you. make sure you're okay. but he knows he's the last person you want to see right now. still, he has to try

as he descends down the stairs, he doesn't smell the usual feast jay would prepare them: eggs, bacon, toast, orange juice and cereal for jake since he claims, "it doesn't hurt his tummy," (his words).

he actually doesn't see jake. nor sunghoon, sunoo, jungwon, jay, winter, yuqi, or keeho.

after last nights events, he expected not to see riki as he was probably with you.

how did he go from having the girl of his dreams sitting on his lap, to making her hate him even more?

it's simple, really: he fucked up.

he moves through the house like a ghost — rooms too quiet, air too still. no laughter, no music playing off someone’s phone. just him and the rain.

the basement still has the blanket you’d curled up with last night. your mug — half full. he picks it up, and it’s cold. like him.

he tries to call riki. no answer.

he tries to call you.

it goes straight to voicemail.

he types out a text. deletes it. tries again.

“i didn’t mean what i said. i didn’t mean to hurt you. i'm sorry, y/n”

he stares at it. sends it.

and immediately regrets it. because what if you never answer?

as he packs up all his belongings, ready for the uncomfortable drive home, someone enters the house.

heeseung's heart rate picks up. what if it's you? he bolts down the stairs and is ultimately disappointed when he's met with a very disapproving jay.

they stand across from one another, staring into each others eyes.

heeseung's the first to break. he collapses on the bar stool at the counter and drops his head into his hands like it weighs a ton.

jay just sighs and sits down next to his friend.

"is she okay?" heeseung mumbles, his face buried in his hands.

jay’s jaw tightens. "why do you care?" he snaps. "you sure as hell didn’t last night when you said you could never love someone like her."

the words hit hard — harder than jay intended — and heeseung shatters.

the sobs break out of him like a dam giving way, loud and raw. tears stream down his face, and the sound of it makes jay flinch, caught off guard by how real the pain is. how broken heeseung suddenly looks.

still, jay moves without thinking, reaching out and rubbing slow circles on his friend’s back. it doesn’t fix anything, but it softens the edges of the moment.

they sit there in silence, the storm outside echoing the one inside, as heeseung cries himself hoarse.

by the time he’s able to breathe steadily again, nearly an hour has passed. his eyes are red, his voice barely there. he lifts his head and meets jay’s gaze; tired looking into just as tired.

neither of them says much. there’s no need.

finally, jay sighs and stands. “go grab your stuff,” he says quietly. “you’re in no shape to drive. i’ll take you home.”

heeseung doesn’t argue.

because for once, he knows jay’s right.

───

your phone dings.

dni: i didn't mean what i said. i didn't mean to hurt you. i'm sorry, y/n

you stare at your phone. gaze void of emotion. you've cried out everything you could muster.

you don't even know why heeseung's words echo in your head.

were you really that intolerable to be around? surely you weren't. all of heeseung's friends enjoyed hanging out with you and same with your little group.

so why did hearing your supposed enemy say he could never love someone like you hurt so bad?

you suppose you need to distract yourself from thinking that heeseung's words have any sort of impact on you. and that's when your door swings open. riki, yuqi, winter, keeho, sunghoon, jake, sunoo, and jungwon walk into your apartment with food, video games, board games, coloring books, skincare — everything you needed at the moment.

a break.

a break from your spiraling thoughts and endless questions you didn't want answered.

there's a knock at the door, jay comes in after he dropped heeseung off, with a freshly made cake, red velvet. your favorite.

you don’t move at first.

the warmth of your friends floods the apartment — laughter, chatter, the familiar rustle of takeout bags and the buzz of game controllers syncing. but it feels distant, like you’re underwater, watching from behind a thick pane of glass.

yuqi wraps her arms around you from behind, cheek resting on your shoulder. “we got your favorite pork buns,” she says softly.

you nod. you don’t trust your voice.

riki’s the one who notices your phone still clutched in your hand. screen glowing. that message. his message.

he doesn’t say anything, but he takes the phone from you gently, pressing the lock button, letting the screen fade to black. and you’re grateful. because if you kept staring at it, you might’ve started crying again, and you didn’t think you had anything left in you.

“movie?” sunghoon offers, holding up a stack of dvd's none of you ever returned to the library.

“coloring?” sunoo chirps, already spreading out gel pens across your coffee table.

“face masks?” winter insists, already tearing them open.

you let them distract you. you let them love you in the only way they know how — loudly, messily, unconditionally.

there’s a moment, in the middle of the chaos, when keeho makes a stupid joke and jungwon snorts soda out of his nose, that you laugh. actually laugh.

and then it hits you like whiplash — how easily heeseung could’ve been here. how almost close you came to letting yourself believe there was something soft behind his smirks and eye rolls. how you’d dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, the tension between you wasn’t just one-sided delusion.

but then he said it. “i could never love someone like her.”

and even with the people you love surrounding you, something in your chest hurts. like a bruise that won’t stop blooming.

later, after everyone’s settled into pillows and half-finished coloring pages, riki sits beside you. he doesn’t speak for a long time.

then, quietly, “you don’t have to pretend around me.”

and that’s when your lip trembles. just slightly.

“i don’t know why it hurts this much,” you whisper. “i knew he hated me. i knew. so why do i feel so broken?"

“he didn’t have to say it like that,” riki replies, voice firm. “he didn’t have to break something just because he couldn’t admit he wanted to hold it.”

you nod, finally letting a single tear trail down your cheek. riki wipes it away before it can fall too far.

he squeezes your hand.

“he messed up,” he says. “that’s on him. not you.”

you hold onto that — his words, their presence, the comfort of being chosen and cared for.

and for the first time since last night, you breathe. not easily. not painlessly. but it’s a start.

───

heeseung didn't know how hard it would be to try and get any information about you.

how you were doing, if you were okay. anything

your mutual friends? after hearing how massive he fucked up, they sided with you.

sure, jay, jake, sunghoon, sunoo, and jungwon would text him and hang out with him occasionally, but they wouldn't utter a word about you. most of the time heeseung saw them, it would be for awkward movie nights or when they would game together when none of them could sleep.

when he was alone, his mind ached, his chest twisted in pain, but mostly... his body ached.

he tried to stop it, he knew it was wrong.

but when you sat on his lap, something in him shifted.

sure he knew you were pretty (breathtakingly stunning), but he never imagined something he thought about constantly would ever become reality.

he thought back to those 5 minutes. the tension. surely it couldn't have just been made up in his head, right?

the way your entire body tensed when his hands rested on your hips. normally he wouldn't have touched you, but you were shifting and he needed to stop his growing problem before you noticed.

and thankfully it worked.

however, he was already hard as a brick.

his breath hitched as he remembered the look in your eyes — uncertain, but not scared. curious, maybe? or was he projecting again?

he swallowed hard, his hands now clenched at his sides like if he let them loose, they’d betray him again.

five minutes. that’s all it was. but it looped in his head like a damn broken record.

you hadn’t said a word. but your thighs had tensed. and when he shifted, trying to regain his composure, you hadn't moved away — not immediately, anyway.

maybe it meant nothing. maybe you hadn’t even noticed the way his breath had gone shallow or the way he was holding back like his life depended on it.

but god, his body remembered.

he shifted in his bed now, alone, frustrated, angry at himself. this wasn’t who he was supposed to be. he wasn’t supposed to want this — to want you — not like this. not in silence, not in secrecy, not in pain.

but the damage was already done.

and the worst part?

he wasn’t sure he even wanted to stop anymore.

as he stared at his chase atlantic posters, he thought to himself. any guy would get hard when a pretty girl sits on his lap, right? surely it isn't just because he's a pathetic virgin who's had to lie to his entire friend group about how he "gets around."

soon enough, his thoughts were interrupted by the rapidly increasing ache between his legs.

his hands trembled slightly as they hovered over the tent in his shorts. his breathing was shallow, lips parted, eyes half-lidded as if he were caught in some fever dream he didn’t want to wake up from.

he hated how much he needed this.

how much he needed you.

with a low, strangled groan, he finally gave in, palming himself over the thin fabric. the relief was immediate, but it wasn’t enough — it never was. not when the ache ran deeper than just skin. not when every nerve in his body was screaming for more.

he slipped his hand beneath his waistband, hissing through clenched teeth as his fingers wrapped around his thick length, already twitching with need. he was so hard it hurt, painfully stiff and dripping at the tip, slicking his palm almost instantly.

your name burned on his tongue, but he swallowed it back.

he couldn’t say it. shouldn’t say it.

but in his head, it echoed over and over again. your laugh. your voice. the way you looked at him — or didn’t. the way you moved. god, he remembered everything. he was haunted by it.

he shut his eyes tight and let his hand move — slow at first, starting at his base and dragging his fingers up each vein decorating the sides. his patience wore out quicker than he'd ever admit, starting to move up his length, then down with just enough pressure to make his thighs twitch. he bit his lip, hard, trying to hold in the sounds. but as the memory of you shifting in his lap played behind his eyelids like a cruel fantasy, a soft whimper escaped.

he was losing it.

desperation clawed at him with every stroke, every flex of his hand. his hips lifted off the mattress as his muscles tensed. he imagined your fingers replacing his, your body hovering over his, your breath against his neck.

“please,” he gasped into the dark — not even sure what he was begging for. forgiveness? permission? you?

he pumped harder now, faster, chasing that high like it would save him. his other hand gripped the sheets, knuckles white. he was right on the edge, falling apart with nothing but the echo of your presence and the throb of need coiled deep in his belly.

“i need — fuck, i need you,” he moaned, broken and breathless. his body was hot, slick with sweat, twitching under his own touch.

he could feel it. the band threatening to snap at any moment.

he swirled his fingers around his tip, hitting that spot that made his vision go white. he was close.

all it took to unravel him was an image of you, mouth replacing his hand. trying to fit as much of him into your mouth while he just laid there and took it.

eventually the thought was too much, his seed spilled over his stomach in thick, messy ropes, his fist slowing only when the aftershocks wracked his frame like a wave of guilt and pleasure colliding all at once.

he laid there for a moment, chest heaving, skin flushed and sticky.

and then it hit him.

he still wasn’t satisfied.

because it wasn’t your touch. it wasn’t your voice, your kiss, your heat. it was just his hand and a fantasy he couldn't let go of.

and no matter how many times he did this, no matter how many times he used the memory of you…

it was never going to be enough.

───

you’ve held it together for as long as you could — smiled through movie nights, laughed at keeho’s stupid impressions, even ate something other than ramen yesterday. but it’s all surface level. the moment you're alone again, the cracks split wide open.

there you are, sitting on your couch, drowning in your thoughts.

the faint glow of the streetlamp filters through the windows, further highlighting the text message staring back at you

“i didn’t mean it.”

it replays in your head over and over like a broken record until your vision starts to blur. tears flood your waterline but you make no effort to stop them.

you don’t sob. you just sit there, hurting so quietly it’s almost peaceful.

until it isn’t.

your lip trembles slightly, then it all comes pouring out.

“why? why did you say that? what the fuck. did i do to deserve those words?”

riki hears your quiet words from the bathroom. he comes rushing out, empathy and sadness twirling in his eyes.

“hey, hey, hey, talk to me y/n. yell at me if you need to, yeah?” he says. voice barely above a whisper. all you can choke out is a tiny “no, none of this is your fault.”

riki sits next to you, holding you, trying to piece you back together as if he were the one who broke you.

disrupting the mellow silence lingering in your apartment, there’s a knock at the door.

not wanting the worst case scenario, you answering the door to heeseung, riki gets up and makes his way to where the sound came from.

to both of your dismay, a tired heeseung stands in the doorway.

his hair is messy, dark bags under his usually teasing eyes, looking like he hasn’t slept in days.

he freezes when he sees you. your puffy eyes, shaking hands, the way you curl in on yourself like you’re trying to disappear.

riki steps in front of you, but you give him the signal to back down. you and heeseung can handle this alone. what’s another argument anyways?

as riki walks away, heeseung starts slowly “yn…”

you look at him. and no matter how hard you could have tried, nothing could have stopped you from snapping at him.

“why are you here?” “i had to see you. i had to say–” “you already said enough, heeseung.”

god. the way you say his name. all he’s thought about since you last saw each other was you saying his name. and now, he doesn’t wanna hear it ever again.

he opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it.

“do you know what it felt like to hear you say i wasn’t lovable? that someone like me could never be enough for you?”

as if you could read his mind, you shake your head, dismissing whatever he was about to spit out.

with every last ounce of energy you can gather, you scream. “you don’t get to feel sorry now. you made your choice the other night. i knew we had a mutual hatred, or at least some twisted distaste, but i never even thought about saying something like that to you.”

he doesn’t respond right away. just stands there, frozen. then you hear it. soft sniffles. ragged breathing. sobs.

he breaks.

because this is the first time he gets it. really, truly understands what he did. what he said. what it cost you.

“i’m sorry,” he chokes out, voice cracked and barely audible. “truly. what i said last week… i didn’t mean it. even thinking it broke me.”

you stare at him for a long, quiet second. and then you say it — flat, but shaking.

“you broke me first, heeseung.”

his breath catches. your words land like a punch to the gut, because they’re the truth. maybe the first truth spoken between you in a long time.

heeseung, who’s always so calm. so composed. the one who rolls his eyes at everything and makes everything feel like a joke. he’s crumbling in front of you now. not fighting. not defending. just falling apart.

and then it hits you. maybe he’s always been like this.

watching you. listening. never the first to strike, only ever the one to react. maybe he was never the villain in this story.

your breath hitches. maybe, just maybe, you were wrong.

you don’t know why the realization crashes down now. maybe it’s the sound of his sobs. maybe it’s the way the silence has more weight than anything he’s ever said. but something inside you shifts.

and for the first time, you see him — not as the enemy. but as the boy who let you hate him, because he didn’t know how to ask for anything else.

you replay every argument like a tape stuck on rewind. you were always the one who started it.

the snide comments. the sideways glances. the venom you dressed up as jokes.

heeseung never really fought back. he always matched your energy, sure, but he never escalated it. never crossed a line. not until that night.

your chest tightens. you realize you don’t even remember what the first fight was about. some hallway bump? a misunderstood glance? maybe it was never about anything. maybe it was just you, projecting every piece of your brokenness onto the only person who saw through it and stayed.

god, had he always stayed?

you remember in elementary school, how he used to bring you extra snacks when you forgot lunch. how he gave you his hoodie that one time you were shivering during morning assembly, even after you’d spent the entire week roasting him in front of your friends.

you remember the way his gaze always lingered—not in a way that felt invasive, but like he was always checking. watching over you without saying a word.

and now here he is. slumped into his knees. back pressed against the wall, crying over you.

you were so busy building walls with your bitterness that you didn’t notice it was slowly breaking him.

the quiet way he tried to reach over them.

you sink to the floor across from him, not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel the weight of everything between you.

for a long moment, you don’t speak. neither does he. you just breathe in the silence together — like it’s the only language you both understand.

“i didn’t know how to stop hating you,” you whisper, voice catching. “because if i stopped… i think i would’ve started needing you.”

heeseung lifts his head. eyes red, lashes wet.

“i already did,” he says. “i never stopped.”

your heart fractures in a way that doesn’t feel sharp, just tired. heavy.

“i don’t know what to do with that,” you admit.

“you don’t have to do anything,” he murmurs. “not tonight.”

you nod. once. then you help him get up. both your legs feel numb, but you walk him towards the door. your hand rests on the handle, taking a second to look up at him. really look at him, and you’re tempted to say something.

but instead, you give him the quietest thing you can offer: a small, broken sort of smile. not quite forgiveness. not quite goodbye.

then, he steps out into the night. and just like that, the quietness of everything settling in takes over. no more lies. just the truth.

as you’re deep in thought, riki walks in with two mugs of hot chocolate — extra marshmallows, your favorite.

-ˏˋ⋆ 3 years ago ⋆ˊˎ-

it’s a chilly summer night. you and riki are sprawled out on the roof of his parents' house, the shingles warm beneath your backs from the day’s lingering sun. crickets hum below. the stars blink overhead, careless and constant.

you shift slightly, seeking warmth, and without a word, riki lifts his arm. you curl into the space beside him, head on his shoulder, fingers tucked into the sleeve of his hoodie. his arm settles around you like it belongs there.

“do you think we’ll ever feel like this again?” you murmur. “peaceful. like nothing’s wrong.”

he hums low in his chest. “you mean without chaos or boys who don’t deserve you?”

you let out a breath, half a laugh. “exactly.”

there’s a pause, the kind that feels thick with unspoken things.

riki’s voice is soft when he finally speaks. “i think… the people who make you feel heavy, like you're constantly questioning yourself, that’s not love, y/n. that’s something else.”

you turn your face slightly to look up at him. he’s gazing at the stars like he’s afraid of admitting he craves the one thing he’s always sworn to never care about.

“love should never hurt,” he says, quieter this time. “not the kind that stays.”

you don’t say anything right away. you’re too busy memorizing the way the night folds around his words. the way he’s always been a comfort for you, the one to pick you up when you’re falling.

and in that moment, you believe him. you really do.

you nod once. “then i hope… when it’s my turn, it feels like this. safe.”

riki swallows. “me too.”

-ˏˋ⋆ present time ⋆ˊˎ-

and now, back in your bedroom, the silence left in heeseung’s absence is deafening.

your gaze flicks toward the window, rain still threading down the glass like tear tracks. your mind lingers on that rooftop — the stars, the safety, the version of you who still believed in soft things.

before all the hook-ups, parties, and one-sided confessions.

you pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders and whisper. either to riki or yourself, you don’t know.

“you said love should never hurt. i think heeseung missed that memo.”

and god, how you wish you could go back to that night — before the spiral, before the ache.

before the boy who made you feel like an afterthought.

before you let yourself fall over someone you thought you didn’t care about.

riki leaves after making sure you’re alright, mumbling something about dance practice.

and again, it’s just you. in the quiet.

then, almost without thinking, you rip a blank piece of paper out of your journal.

you don’t plan it. it’s just instinct — fingers gripping your pen, waiting for permission your heart hasn’t quite given. but then you start writing.

dear heeseung,

i hated you before i knew how badly i could want you. maybe that’s where it all went wrong. because at some point, i stopped seeing you as the boy who annoyed me and started seeing you as someone i wanted to understand. as someone i wanted to look at me and see me. and for a while, i thought maybe you did. i thought maybe the way you pulled me into your lap, the way you whispered near my ear, the way your hand rested on my waist — i thought maybe it meant something. i thought i was stupid for hating you. turns out i was just stupid for hoping. you said you could never love someone like me. and god, that broke something in me i didn’t know was still whole. because even when i told myself i hated you, there was always that small, traitorous part of me that wondered: what if he doesn’t hate me back? what if it’s more? but it wasn’t. and now i can’t unhear it. you probably didn’t even mean it — not in the way it came out. maybe it was fear, or pressure, or ego. but it doesn’t matter, does it? words don’t get erased just because we didn’t mean them. they echo. and yours… yours are still echoing inside me like a song i can’t shut off. i don’t think i’m mad at you anymore. i think i’m mad at myself. for letting you get close. for not guarding the parts of me i only let out in small doses. for thinking i was different to you. i wish you hadn’t said it. but mostly, i wish it hadn’t mattered so much to me that you did. – y/n

you take out an envelope, neatly fold the paper and stuff it inside, writing a neat ‘heeseung’ on the front of it.

some truths aren’t meant to be sent. some confessions are only meant for the rain to witness.

and tonight, that’s enough.

───

the second the door shuts behind him, the silence hits like a punch to the ribs.

heeseung stands there for a second too long, staring at the wood grain of your door like it might open again. like maybe you’ll come running after him. like maybe that small, broken smile you gave him wasn’t the end.

but it doesn’t open.

and it was the end.

he starts walking. he doesn’t even remember moving his feet, just that suddenly he’s outside, and the rain greets him like an old friend. cold, sharp, unforgiving. it soaks through his hoodie in seconds, but he doesn’t flinch.

he deserves it. every drop. every chill. every echo of your voice in his head.

“not quite forgiveness. not quite goodbye.”

god, what did he do?

how did he take someone who was literally sitting in his lap, trusting him with the fragile thread of something real — and turn that into this? this mess of silence and space and words he can’t take back?

“i could never love someone like her.”

he had said it so carelessly. so cruelly. trying to deflect the attention off himself in front of your friends, like a coward. like a boy who still thinks protecting his ego is worth more than protecting a heart.

especially your heart.

he wipes his face with the back of his hand, unsure if it’s tears or rain. it’s probably both.

he thinks back to your eyes right before he left. the way you looked at him like he was someone you used to know. like whatever thread was between you had finally snapped.

and the worst part?

he couldn’t even beg you to stay.

because he knows — he knows — he doesn’t deserve it.

he walks home in silence, the city around him buzzing and breathing like it doesn’t care at all about the wreckage inside his chest. his phone buzzes a few times in his pocket, probably jay or jungwon checking if he made it back safely.

but none of it matters.

because there’s only one person he wants to hear from.

and you’ve already said everything you needed to say. in the way you didn’t ask him to stay. in the way you didn’t cry. in the way you simply closed the door.

so when heeseung finally steps into his apartment, soaked to the bone, trembling from more than just the cold, he collapses on his bed, stares at the ceiling, and whispers:

“i didn’t mean it. i swear i didn’t mean it.”

but there’s no one left to listen.

not tonight.

───

heeseung isn’t the center of your world anymore.

not in the way he used to be.

in the weeks that follow, your friends become your anchor. riki never leaves your side. winter brings over matcha lattes and blankets. sunoo paints your nails while jake tells bad jokes. you laugh again. slowly, but surely.

you start writing more letters.

some are angry. some are soft. some are nothing more than wordless scratches of ink on paper.

but one night, you write a letter that feels different.

you don’t even realize what you’re saying until it’s already down:

i wanted you. for a long time. maybe even when i said i hated you. maybe that was the only way i knew how to say it without crumbling. i masked want with rage. affection with sarcasm. love with loathing. you made it easier to run. but i wanted to stay. god, i wanted to stay.

you fold that letter gently. tuck it into your drawer. it doesn’t matter if he reads it. not now.

because healing isn’t about him.

it’s about you.

and you’re getting there.

lately, the weekends have felt lighter. your apartment has become a familiar gathering place again, only now, it’s just the people who stayed. who showed up. who chose you. heeseung hasn’t come around in weeks, and no one really talks about it. not in a cruel way, just in the quiet, understanding way that friendships shift when someone slips out of the picture.

you used to dread saturday nights, used to flinch every time the group chat lit up with plans. used to wonder if he’d show up, if you’d have to spend the night pretending not to notice the weight of his silence, the way your laughter dulled around him. but somewhere along the way, those nights started to feel easier. not because you stopped missing him — but because you started remembering how to miss him without hurting yourself in the process.

your living room is alive with warmth and laughter. the scent of popcorn and mango smoothies drifts through the air. blankets are piled high on the couch, soft pillows strewn across the floor where riki is dramatically throwing himself down after losing yet another round of mario kart to sunghoon, who’s grinning like he just won the olympics.

“cheater,” riki groans, pointing an accusing finger without lifting his head.

“just admit i’m better,” sunghoon replies smugly, stretching his legs across the coffee table like he owns the place.

in the corner, winter and yuqi are dancing barefoot to a chaotic mix of early 2000s pop and indie throwbacks — somehow still synced up to choreography you’d all made up back in sophomore year. their laughter is contagious, unfiltered and bright, and it tugs a smile onto your face before you even realize it.

keeho is halfway through teaching jungwon and sunoo a tiktok dance in the kitchen doorway, voice loud and arms flailing with exaggerated energy. they’re laughing too hard to get the moves right, collapsing into each other every time they mess up. jake, unfazed by the chaos, is blending something suspiciously green in the kitchen, wearing a headband that reads “chef vibes only.”

you’re curled up on the loveseat, blanket wrapped around your shoulders, a half-finished smoothie in your hands. and for once, you’re not scanning the room for him. you’re not wondering what he’d say or how he’d look at you or if tonight would be the night he pulled you aside and finally said something real.

you’re just… here. and it’s enough.

someone throws a pillow at your head, probably riki, based on the cackling, and you lunge to retaliate, laughing as the pillow war erupts across the living room. it’s messy, loud, ridiculous. and it’s yours. this little world you’re rebuilding, one laugh, one night, one breath at a time.

there’s still a part of you that misses him. maybe there always will be. but tonight, that part is small. quiet.

outnumbered by joy.

meanwhile, heeseung is alone in his apartment.

the place is dim. quiet. it hasn’t felt like home in a long time. he's been staring at his phone for an hour now, hoping for a text that doesn’t come.

he thinks about the group chat. the silence from everyone. he thinks about the night he ruined everything. and how, somehow, he still wants to fix it.

he knows an apology isn’t enough. not this time.

he needs to show you, all of you, that he’s not the same guy who let his fear speak louder than his heart.

he just doesn’t know how yet.

but he will. he has to.

because he doesn’t just want forgiveness.

he wants to deserve it.

───

somewhere in the chaos, one of your unsent letters goes missing.

riki finds it by accident. tucked under a cushion, edges worn. he doesn't mean to read it, but your handwriting draws him in, and before he knows it, he's holding your heartbreak in his hands.

he doesn't say a word. just slips it into his pocket and walks away.

a day later, heeseung finds the letter folded on the seat of his car.

he doesn’t recognize the paper at first. but the second he sees your handwriting, his heart drops.

his hands shake as he unfolds it. the silence around him is so loud, he can hear his pulse in his ears.

and then he reads it.

every word. every line. every raw, aching truth you never meant for him to see.

i thought maybe the way you pulled me into your lap, the way you whispered near my ear, the way your hand rested on my waist — i thought maybe it meant something. turns out i was just stupid for hoping. you said you could never love someone like me. and god, that broke something in me i didn’t know was still whole.

heeseung sits there, completely still. letter trembling in his grip.

"fuck," he whispers. "fuck."

he shows up to the next group hangout like his life depends on it.

he doesn’t talk to anyone. not really. not until you walk in.

you freeze when you see him. part of you wants to turn around and leave.

but he doesn’t let you.

he stands. crosses the room.

"can we talk?" he asks, voice low, not demanding, but pleading.

you don’t say anything.

"please. just five minutes. if you still hate me after, i’ll leave you alone. forever."

there’s a long pause.

you nod.

he takes you outside, away from the noise, into the quiet night.

"i read it," he says.

you blink. "read what?"

he reaches into his jacket and pulls out the letter. your letter.

your stomach drops.

"i wasn’t supposed to see it, i know. but... i’m glad i did."

"heeseung—"

"no. let me say this. please."

his eyes are desperate. glassy. his words shaky.

"i lied. that night. i said that because i was scared. because i felt too much, too fast, and didn’t know what to do with it. i thought if i pushed you away, i could kill whatever it was before it killed me."

he takes a step closer.

"but you weren’t just someone i hated. not really. you were someone i couldn’t stop thinking about. you were the highlight of every party, every night, every moment. i was an idiot. but i never stopped wanting you."

your throat is tight.

"you broke me," you whisper.

he nods.

"i know. and i’ll spend every second proving to you that i’m sorry. not with words — with time. with actions. with everything you’ll let me give."

there’s silence.

then you take a breath.

"you’ve got a lot to prove, lee heeseung."

he gives the smallest, hopeful smile.

"then let me start now."

and he does.

not with fireworks. not with promises he can’t keep. but with the small things. the consistent things.

the next morning, there’s a text from him. simple.

“did you sleep okay?”

you stare at it for a while before replying.

“yeah. you?”

“not really. kept thinking about you.”

you don’t answer that. but your heart stirs anyway.

a few days later, he’s waiting outside your class with a drink in his hand, the one he used to make fun of you for ordering (“that’s basically sugar and foam, y/n”), but now buys without hesitation. he doesn’t try to walk you home. doesn’t push. just hands you the drink, offers a soft “you looked tired,” and walks away before you can respond.

he lets you come to him.

at the next hangout, he doesn’t hover. doesn’t sulk. he helps jake in the kitchen, jokes with jungwon, lets the others tease him without biting back. when you walk in, his eyes find you — but he doesn’t pull you aside. just offers a quiet, careful smile. like he’s waiting. like he’s learning how to stay.

one night, you’re struggling with your laundry, balancing way too many bags and a basket of unfolded clothes, and he appears without a word, grabbing half the load from your arms. you glare at him, but you don’t tell him to stop.

he walks with you to the laundry room, helps you separate colors, folds your towels when you’re too tired to finish. “i owe you way more than this,” he says softly. you don’t look at him. “yeah,” you murmur. “you do.”

he doesn’t reply. just keeps folding.

you start to notice it more after that. the way he lingers behind after group dinners to help clean. the way he listens, really listens, when you talk, even if it’s just about the books you’re reading or the music you’ve been into lately. the way he starts learning your rhythms again, not to manipulate them, but to respect them.

one night, you find a note slipped into your bag.

“this isn’t about getting you back. it’s about being someone who deserves to stand beside you. i don’t expect anything from you. just… thanks for letting me try.”

you don’t know what to do with that. but you keep the note anyway.

and maybe the biggest moment doesn’t feel big at all. it’s late. you’re sitting on the floor of your apartment, overwhelmed with everything—assignments, memories, feelings you’ve tried to ignore—and he shows up.

he doesn’t say anything. just sits beside you. close, but not too close. his shoulder brushes yours. your hand trembles. and without looking at you, he says, “you don’t have to talk. just let me sit here.”

and you do.

because he’s not trying to fix you. he’s just showing up. and maybe that’s what love looks like now.

quiet. patient. real.

you don’t forgive him all at once.

but some nights, it’s harder to pretend you don’t want to.

like the night it rains, and you forget your umbrella. you’re standing under the campus archway, clutching your books to your chest, half-considering just running for it, when a quiet voice says, “hey.”

you turn. heeseung’s holding out his umbrella, expression unreadable, hair already wet from the walk over.

“you’ll get soaked,” you mumble, surprised. “i don’t mind,” he says. “but you hate the rain.”

you want to tell him to leave. want to remind him that knowing those things doesn’t mean he’s forgiven.

but instead, you step under the umbrella. shoulder to shoulder. hearts too close. you don’t say a word the whole walk home. but you remember how he always matched his pace to yours. he still does.

───

there’s another time. movie night.

everyone’s over again, sprawled across the living room. you end up between yuqi and jungwon on the couch, but at some point, someone moves, and when you shift, you realize you’re next to him. again.

the movie plays. people whisper and pass snacks and argue over the plot twist. but all you feel is the space between your knee and his. the ghost of warmth where your arms nearly brush.

you don’t move away. neither does he.

and at one point, you laugh at a stupid scene. without thinking, you glance at him, wanting to see if he found it funny too. he’s already looking at you. and for a second, everything stills.

you look away first. but your heart doesn't stop racing for a long, long time.

───

the third moment is softest of all.

it’s late. everyone’s left. you’re cleaning up alone, stacking plates in the kitchen.

you don’t hear him come back until he’s beside you, rolling up his sleeves.

“thought i’d help,” he says gently. you nod. don’t speak.

you’re both quiet for a while, working in sync. something about it feels… familiar. domestic. like home.

then, as you’re drying the last cup, you glance over. he’s watching you, and there’s something in his eyes. something tender. careful. full of things he hasn’t said yet.

“i miss you,” he says softly.

your breath catches.

you set the cup down.

“heeseung–”

“i’m not asking for anything,” he interrupts, voice thick. “just… i miss you. and i wanted you to know.”

you swallow hard. there’s so much you could say. but instead, you whisper, “i know.”

he nods once. and then he leaves. because he meant it — he wasn’t asking for anything. but that’s the moment you know: you don’t hate him anymore. you never did.

��──

it happens a week later.

a rooftop. stars overhead. winter’s birthday, most of your friends are tipsy on alcohol, sugar and too many karaoke songs. you haven’t had a drop of alcohol, wanting to truly feel everything.

heeseung finds you leaning against the railing, eyes on the sky.

“hey,” he says. you nod and let him stand beside you.

the silence isn’t awkward anymore. it’s soft. steady.

“can i ask you something?” he says, barely audible.

you hum.

“do you still feel it?” he asks. “whatever it was… whatever we had.”

you don’t answer for a long time.

and then, quietly… “i never really stopped.”

he turns. slowly.

your eyes meet. and in them is every apology he’s ever whispered with his actions. every moment he gave you space. every time he showed up when he didn’t have to.

you reach for him first.

your hand brushes his. his fingers curl around yours like a prayer.

and then, finally, he kisses you.

soft. aching. full of every unspoken word, every almost, every could’ve been. this isn’t the kind of kiss that demands anything. it’s a promise. a beginning.

you pull back first, just enough to whisper, “i don’t wanna do this while you’re intoxicated, i don’t want you to regret it.”

he stares at you before mumbling into your lips.

“y/n, i haven’t had a drink, but it feels like i’m drunk when i kiss you.”

your heart stops and everything fades into the background. “don’t break me again.” you plead, face inches away from his.

he presses his forehead to yours.

“never again,” he breathes.

and this time, you believe him.

as he reconnects your lips, his hands tremble slightly where they find purchase on your waist. the night air is cool, but your skin is burning—flushed, alive, and aching in a way you haven’t let yourself feel in so long.

he pulls back just enough to look at you. his eyes flick between yours and your lips, like he’s still not sure this is real.

“we don’t have to,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “just say the word.”

but you don’t want him to stop. not tonight. not after everything.

so you slide your fingers into the collar of his jacket, tug him closer until your lips brush his again.

“take me home, heeseung.”

and he does.

his apartment is quiet when you get inside, the chaos of the earlier party gone, the night still humming with something electric. you barely have time to kick your shoes off before his mouth finds yours again. hungrier now, more desperate. like all the restraint he’s shown is unraveling, thread by thread.

his hands are everywhere — your hips, your waist, your jaw. like he’s relearning you. memorizing the weight of you against him.

you tug his jacket off, fingers fumbling with the zipper, and he lets out a low, breathless laugh against your neck.

“still impatient,” he teases.

“still hot when you shut up,” you shoot back, and he groans.

you barely make it to the couch.

he sits first, pulling you into his lap like it’s instinct, like he’s needed this for months. your knees straddle him, bodies pressed chest to chest, your hands tangled in his hair as he kisses you like he’s starving for it.

he tilts his head, deepens the kiss, and it’s filthy. slow. wet. your hips roll against his without thinking, and the noise he makes, low and guttural, goes straight to your core.

“fuck,” he groans. forehead against your collarbone. “you’re gonna kill me.”

you arch into him, tug his shirt over his head, and he follows suit, fingers slipping under the hem of yours, eyes flicking up for permission. you nod, and he peels it off slowly, reverently, like unwrapping something precious.

his hands trail over your skin like he’s trying to remember what it feels like to deserve you.

and then his mouth is on your neck, your shoulder, trailing down until you’re gasping his name, your back arching as he presses kisses across your collarbones.

“you’re so beautiful,” he whispers, like it hurts.

as you reach for his belt wanting to make him feel good, he puts his hand over yours. “there’s something i need to tell you.. before we take anything further.” he says like he doesn’t even want you to know.

“what is it, hee?”

god. that nickname.

it’s what all his close friends call him, however when you say it. he wants to lay the world at your feet.

“i’m.. uh– a vir-virgin…” he mumbles. you would have missed it had you not been paying close attention.

you laugh.

heeseung leans back into the couch, hoping, praying, wishing it to swallow him whole.

as you observe heeseung, you realize he must be serious. “you’re a virgin? but you– you always used to talk about your hook-ups and how every week it was like you had someone new hanging off your arm??? what do you mean you’re a virgin?”

he whimpers. he fucking whimpers. “i’m not proud of it, okay? i always came really close to hooking up with girls but i um. i couldn’t you know.. get it… up.”

you sit there quietly, giving him time to compose himself and continue.

“everytime i tried to lose my virginity, i couldn’t get hard unless i thought she was you,” he speaks, not gaining enough courage to look you in the eyes.

you stare at heeseung for a moment, trying to process what he just said. the weight of it settles between you like a delicate secret, and suddenly the playful teasing tone you’d had before feels completely inappropriate.

you can see it in his doe eyes — how embarrassed he is, how much he wants to crawl out of his own skin. the corners of his lips are tugged in a tight line, as if holding in every emotion that threatens to spill out. but you can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face. it’s soft, gentle, but laced with a teasing warmth.

“you’re a virgin?” you ask, letting the words linger a little longer than they should, pretending to be surprised as if he hadn’t just told you, twice.

heeseung’s face reddens, and you see him shrink further into the couch. you could almost feel his desire to hide, to escape. but you don’t let him. instead, you move closer, shifting between his legs, and place your hand on his thigh. a gentle, reassuring pressure.

“god, heeseung,” you tease softly, your lips curling into a smile that isn’t cruel, but playful. “how could you keep that from me? you’ve been all… big talk and ‘i get all the girls,’ and here you are, this nervous little thing, blushing at the thought of being with me?”

his eyes flicker with uncertainty, but you lean in just enough to press your lips to his ear. you feel him tense under the touch, and the subtle shiver runs through his body, telling you everything you need to know. he’s not as confident as he makes it seem.

“you should’ve told me sooner, you know,” you whisper, your voice low, just enough to make his breath hitch. “i would’ve been patient. we could’ve taken it slow.”

heeseung groans softly, his hands gripping the fabric of the couch like he’s holding onto some semblance of control. you smile knowingly, watching the struggle on his face. but it’s not discomfort — it’s desire. you can feel it in the way his eyes refuse to leave yours, in the way his body reacts to the gentleness in your touch.

“i… i don’t want you to think less of me,” he mutters, barely audible, but you catch it anyway. “it’s just… with you, it’s always felt different.”

you gently trace your fingers up his chest, watching as his breath quickens. you’re giving him space to breathe, to process, and then you lean in, brushing your lips against his in a soft, teasing kiss.

“stop worrying about that,” you say quietly, your lips just barely touching his. “i don’t think less of you. if anything, you’re hotter right now than ever before.”

the vulnerability in his eyes shifts. he’s still nervous, but the weight is lifting. and for the first time in a while, you see him start to believe that he doesn’t need to hide anything from you.

then, you shift your focus, teasing him once more with a playful grin. “but you know, heeseung… i could help you with that. we could take this slow, maybe help you get comfortable with what it feels like to be with me. you trust me, don’t you?”

he nods, slowly, not trusting his voice. he’s ready. maybe more than he thought.

and you take that as your cue. you kiss him again, deeper this time, letting the heat between you grow. his body responds to you almost immediately. hands shifting from nervous to eager, pulling you closer as his mouth moves hungrily against yours.

“let me take care of you,” you murmur, your hands trailing down to his belt. this time, you don’t hesitate. you undo it slowly, giving him time to react, but he doesn’t stop you. instead, he leans back into the couch, chest rising and falling with each shallow breath.

heeseung’s eyes search yours one more time, a silent question in them. you nod gently, giving him permission to be vulnerable, to trust you fully.

and when your hands pull his pants down, you can feel the heat of him, see the evidence of his desire. you take your time, enjoying the way he reacts to each touch, savoring the way he trembles under your hands.

you start by rubbing over his bulge when your eyes widen.

he just stares back at you, not blinking, but incredibly nervous. “is– is something wrong?” he stutters out.

“wrong? no, heeseung. you’re huge.”

he blushes and hides his face in his hands. his veiny hands. you’ll definitely need to put those to use later.

you softly drag his hands away from his face and tell him to never hide from you. you think he’s beautiful like this.

after he calms down, you look back into his eyes that resemble a deer, and he nods. signaling you to continue.

you finally trail your eyes down to his raging hard on, you can almost see it pulse.

his breath quickens the longer you take to begin touching him.

you start by teasing his swollen tip, arousal evident in the stain on his gray boxers. he sighs heavily, tipping his head back.

as you rub your hand down to his base, you get a feel for how thick he truly is.

he’s hard. aching. even at the slightest touch, his eyebrows furrow and he holds back soft groans.

you rip your hand off his clothed bulge. “if you want me to continue, you need to let me hear you, baby.”

that was his breaking point, he quickly nods his head yes looking at you with pleading eyes, “c—can you please touch me? it hurts.”

not wanting to tease him any longer, you rip his boxers off his thighs and his throbbing length slaps against his lower abdomen reaching just above his belly button. precum smears on his abs and you get the urge to lick it off.

so you do.

you gently move his dick away from his toned stomach, swiping your wet muscle along his abs, sucking to leave light marks.

the noises he makes are downright pornographic, and you think you’ll never be able to hear them enough.

moving your attention back to the hardness in your grasp, you begin to lick up his shaft, tracing each vein with the tip of your tongue. his head is still tipped back, frustrating you a bit because you want his attention on you.

so… in one swift motion, you take him down your throat until his tip hits the back. his head shoots up and he moans. loud.

heeseung is in heaven. the feeling of your throat constricting around his cock, he never wants you to pull off of him. he gently pulls your hair into a ponytail, hands shaking when you start moving.

his apartment is filled with filthy noises: wet, loud, and obscene.

he can hear and feel your gag reflexes kicking in but you don’t budge. you continue to move up and down, not wanting to stop until he cums.

his tipping point was you somehow taking him even further down your throat, nose brushing his pelvis. he thought you were going to take a break for air but you didn't.

you stay.

swallowing around him.

the pressure in your jaw is almost unbearable but when you feel his thighs shaking, you know he’s close. and you need to ruin him.

hollowing your cheeks, you swirl your tongue around his engorged tip, hands coming up to play with his heavy balls. he can’t hold back anymore. the sensation of you taking his whole cock down your tiny throat and the stimulation of his balls in your hands. he groans.

desperate. low. deep

and spills down your throat. warm, wet, and sticky ropes, pour out of his tip. taking up all the space you had left, some spilling out from the corners of your mouth.

you swallow all that you can, then pull off from his dick.

heavy breathing is the only thing that can be heard. heeseung threw an arm over his eyes, chest heaving, trying to regain control of his senses.

meanwhile, you haven’t stopped clenching your thighs together.

you didn’t even notice you were staring until he clears his throat. he just looks so gorgeous all fucked out.

“wow. did you– swallow.. it?” he asks through pants.

you answer him like it was the most natural thing in the world, “yeah, because it was you”

he moans, again. and that’s when you notice he’s still hard, still aching.

as you move to straddle his lap, he grabs your thighs and wraps your legs around his waist. “not here, i want our first time to be special” he says softly, with a kiss to your temple.

he carries you to his bedroom on wobbly legs and gently lays you down on his bed, hovering on top of you. he plants wet kisses all over your face, trailing down to your neck, collarbones, until he reaches your covered chest.

looking at you with big, lust filled eyes, he waits for your green light. you nod and he fumbles with your bra clasp, eventually tearing the fabric away.

“you’re stunning,” he says completely awestruck by your half-naked form.

as he continues staring, he licks his lips, slowly lowering his head wrapping his soft lips around one of your perky buds.

you instinctively arch into his touch, one of his hands wrapping around your waist as his other hand gently kneads your other boob. soft gasps and whines slip from your lips as you try to grind up in search of any friction where you need it most.

he senses your desperate pleas and starts moving his body to slot between your legs, face in front of your clothed core. you wiggle your hips trying to convince him to speed up and touch you where you need it the most.

“can i…?” he practically begs, “yeah” you sigh as you relax into his plush sheets. he drags your sweats down your soft legs planting kisses along the inside of your thighs, all the way down to your calves. he makes his way to your panty clad pussy, pressing a soft kiss to your bundle of nerves aching for him.

you don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on before.

he looks so good between your thighs, you want this image ingrained into your brain forever.

he brings his thumb up to press on the wet spot that’s formed on your panties, groaning, “fuck, you’re so wet.”

“all for you.”

he replays those words in his head and his patience snaps. tearing your underwear in half, he wastes no time. tongue lapping and the wetness between your legs, like he’s been deprived of any liquid all his life.

you’ve never met someone this desperate to eat you out. or anyone for that matter.

he mumbles against your core, “guide me, please, wan’ you t’feel good, mmh.”

your hands take place in his silky soft roots, gently tugging on the strands.

through whimpers, you tell him to focus on your clit, and surprisingly (for a virgin), he finds it fairly quickly.

he briefly sucks on the nub, flicking it with his tongue to soothe it. “fuck, hee” you moan out into the space of his bedroom.

he groans against your pussy, carefully bringing up his fingers so he can push his tongue into your awaiting hole. the moment he starts fucking you with his tongue, you arch your back and grind into his face, needing more.

he heard his friends talking about “prep” and “stretching girls out,” so he wonders if you need to be stretched out to take him. you said he was huge, did you mean it? he has no idea, he’s a pathetic virgin who has only shoved his dick into his right hand. not even a pocket pussy or fleshlight.

to your dismay, he pulls away for a brief second asking if he should use his fingers. “please, i need you to stretch me out, i can’t– take you without prep,” you rush out feeling your high not far away.

“shit, okay baby,” he mutters back before bringing his middle finger up to spread your juices around.

your hips jerk up when he focuses on your clit, surprised by the stimulation.

slowly, he pushes his finger in, getting used to the warm sensation of your walls.

you clench around his thick digit, feeling fuller than when you finger yourself. as he pumps it in and out, you tell him to add another one and he does.

moaning in relief, you arch into his touch as his tongue finds its way back to your sensitive clit.

between him lapping like a dog and the feeling of two of his fingers pumping in and out of your tight hole, you feel a familiar band in your stomach building up.

your moans increase and heeseung feels dizzy, taking in all that you give.

he curves his fingers all while sucking on your bundle of nerves, causing you to tip over the edge and that band in your stomach to snap.

you come crashing down, chanting his name like a mantra as heeseung helps you ride out your high.

as you lift your head and meet his gaze, he looks more fucked out than you do. hooded eyes, tongue lolled out of his mouth, gaze consumed with lust. you pull him by the collar of his shirt until your lips collide in a mess of tongues and teeth.

your makeout session unfortunately doesn’t last long as heeseung starts whining into your lips.

that’s when you realize his cock found your bent knee, not so subtly grinding against it, trying to relieve some of the ache.

“feeling needy, are we?” you tease, earning a playful roll of the eyes from heeseung.

pulling back, you drink in his bare torso– he’s always been muscular as he was very popular with the ladies (until he got into bed with them).

dragging your hand up his chiseled abs, his stomach tenses and his dick twitches.

you found his second biggest weakness, besides you. his abs.

deciding to end the teasing there, since you’re also becoming increasingly impatient, you flip him over so you land on top of him with a quiet, “oof.”

as you settle your bare core on his rock solid cock, you start grinding, placing your hands on his chest for support.

he can’t hold back the guttural groans spilling from his mouth. not believing you’re really on top of him right now. this isn’t just one of his wet dreams.

he thought this couldn’t get any better, but when he struggles to get out a weak ask for a condom, you just respond with “no, i’m– on the pill. need to feel you. all of you.”

and to that, he moans, not believing his ears.

it’s his first time. and he’s about to have sex with YOU. raw. he thinks he’s dreaming. there’s no way you’re real.

you gently angle his dick towards your awaiting hole, sinking down until his fat tip is inside you.

instantly, you both sigh in relief, starting to feel the pressure ease up.

if you feel a stretch at his tip entering you, you don’t know how you’re supposed to fit all of him inside you. he’s the biggest you’ve seen and he doesn’t even know it.

your attention is drawn back to the man consuming your brain when he whines. “m-more, please.” he’s becoming needier the longer you stay at just his tip but you don’t know how to tell him you’ve never taken a size like him before.

“hee-heeseung i need a sec, you’re– fuck. so thick,” you say between moans.

his grip on your hips tightens, a silent way of telling you to take your time.

when you finally deem yourself ready, you sink lower, wanting to speed it up, bracing the stretch to come.

you feel him pulsing inside you and that’s all you need to sink all the way down, him bottoming out inside you.

it’s his first time feeling anything other than his hand wrapped around him, and he whimpers, loud. it’s overstimulating in the best way possible and before he knows it you move up to his tip and bounce back down. his dick twitches and you feel it. every vein, every pulse, every movement, even his heavy breathing.

heeseung, not in control of his movements, bucks his hips up, making another non-existent inch fit inside your stretched out core.

you moan soft and loud, eyes rolling back, as the pain turned into pleasure. bouncing faster on his girthy cock, you uncontrollably clench around him, causing heeseung’s grip to tighten. you know it’ll bruise tomorrow, but at the moment, he feels too good for you to care.

the room smells of sex, and the only sounds that can be heard are skin clapping and your shared noises.

heeseung must notice your legs becoming tired because before you know it, you’re flat on your back with heeseung on top of you, cock never slipping out from your pussy.

his large hands grab each of your thighs, pressing them to your chest.

his pace is slow at first, testing the waters, getting a feel for a rhythm.

as his hands stay pressed to your thighs, he slowly drags out and pushes all of his dick inside you.

you feel him deeper in this position, a bulge forming in your lower belly.

when he notices, his eyes stay glued there.

you wonder what he’s looking at but the moment you look down, you’re met with his hand pressing slightly on the bulge causing the loudest moan to leave your lips.

he signals you to hold your thighs as one of his hands holds himself up and the other focuses on how he can feel his dick inside your guts with every thrust.

his pace suddenly quickens when you clench hard around him, making his hips stutter briefly.

endless praises leave his pretty lips, telling you how good you feel, how hot you look laid underneath him, taking whatever he gives you.

feeling a familiar, yet new sensation building rapidly, you try to warn him that you’re close but somehow, he already knows. “i know baby, let go whenever you want.” he mutters back, feeling just as close to his high.

“fuck– where do you want it?” he rushes out, not wanting to cum inside you if that isn’t what you want.

but apparently, all the gods are smiling down on him as you release your thighs from the grip you had on them and wrap your legs around his waist. “inside,” you moan.

and at that, he cums. hard. ropes of his hot, gooey, cum spill inside you. tipping you over the edge.

with a loud groan, clear liquid comes rushing out from you, spraying all over his sheets and lower abdomen. soaking his dick.

heeseung moans. again. raw and unfiltered at the fact that you just squirted all over him (he’s seen enough porn and heard too many stories from your shared friend group to know what squirting is).

as you come down from your high, heeseung is somehow still cumming. it spills out of you, creating an even stickier mess on his bed. but he doesn’t care.

not when you’re beneath him, chest rising rapidly, trying to catch your breath.

heeseung’s cock is still lodged inside you, holding half of his cum inside you, not wanting it to go to waste.

as he collapses on top of you, he places a soft kiss on your forehead, holding your trembling body close to his.

you were the first to speak, “i didn’t even know i could do that,” talking about how you squirted all over him. “guess we both had firsts today,” he softly chuckles.

his breath is warm against your skin, his arm tightening just a little around your waist as if anchoring himself in the moment. you don’t respond right away, too caught up in the quiet thrum of your heartbeat, the lingering warmth between you, the way his fingers begin tracing gentle, absent-minded shapes against your spine.

“i didn’t expect it to be like this,” you murmur, your voice almost lost in the hush of the room.

“like what?” he asks, voice low, like he’s afraid to shatter the calm.

you shift slightly to face him, resting your head more comfortably on his chest. “soft. safe.”

Hheeseung lets out a breath that sounds like relief and something deeper, something reverent. “yeah,” he whispers. “me neither.”

for a while, neither of you say anything. he pulls the blanket higher over both of you, his other hand brushing your hair back with such tenderness that it makes your eyes sting. he presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering like he means it.

“you okay?” he asks, voice still rough from earlier, but softer now, like the edge of him has been smoothed by your touch.

you nod, then glance up at him. “are you?”

heeseung meets your gaze, and something in his expression shifts. vulnerability bleeding through the cracks he used to hide behind. “i am now.”

your heart squeezes.

he licks his lips, nervous. “i’ve been so stupid with you. all this time, i kept pushing and pulling, thinking maybe if i kept it messy, it’d be easier to walk away if i had to.” he pauses, his voice thinning. “but tonight just… made me realize i don’t want to walk away.”

your breath catches. “heeseung…”

“i don’t want this to be a one time thing,” he says, eyes searching yours. “not the sex, not the closeness. i want you. the fights, the tension, the way you drive me crazy and still somehow make me want to be better just by being around you. i’m so in love with you, it hurts.”

your lips part in surprise, and he laughs quietly, self-deprecating and shy. “too much?”

instead of answering, you lean up and kiss him, slow, deep, and full of all the things you couldn’t say until now. when you pull back, you rest your forehead against his, smiling as his thumb brushes over your cheek.

“i’m in love with you too, idiot.”

he grins, wide and a little teary-eyed, and pulls you closer like he’s never letting go.

and you know he won’t have to.

pls reblog & leave feedback <3 hope you enjoyed the read ◡̈

[ @jaeyuniversal ] prod. 250417

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progooner123 · 21 days ago

Text

Until the bed breaks (it does)

Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: After a day full of teasing and playful torment, Bucky finally snaps while you’re sitting together on the couch, wearing something revealing. What starts as slow, deliberate teasing quickly explodes into a fierce and urgent need. He pins you down, kissing and caressing you with a rough hunger, then carries you to the bedroom where things escalate. The intensity breaks the bed, but neither of you care. also some fluff?

Warnings: 18+/ NSFW/ smut, established relationship, power dynamics (consensual), praise kink, degradation kink, edging, squirting, oral sex (f receiving), rough sex with tenderness, overstimulation, bed-breaking (literal), aftercare, fluff, mutual emotional connection, use of pet names, possessive language, p in v (unprotected)

Word Count: 4.8k

A/N: I wrote this super fast and I’m also not good at writing smut . I’m just horny

You’re on the couch, legs tucked under you, scrolling through your phone like you’re not doing it on purpose, like you don’t know exactly what you're doing to him.

The thin silk camisole you’re wearing rides up just a little too high on your thighs. No bra. Just soft curves and bare skin, warm and glowing in the evening light. Every time you shift, the fabric clings in new places. Every time you stretch, it reveals more than it hides.

Bucky's been trying to focus on the movie, arms crossed, jaw tight. But he hasn’t turned his head toward the screen in over fifteen minutes. His eyes are locked on you tracking every little smirk, every not-so-innocent adjustment, every goddamn breath you take.

“You comfortable, sweetheart?” he asks, voice low. Dangerous.

You glance over, lips twitching with mock innocence. “Mmhm. Why?”

He raises an eyebrow. His sleeves rolled to his forearms, and that twitch in his jaw says he’s one second from snapping. You can feel it, the tension in the air tightening.

You shift again, this time more deliberately, letting one leg fall open just a little wider. The hem of your shirt creeps higher on your thigh. You don’t even look at him. That’s what finally breaks him.

He moves fast.

In a blur, the remote hits the floor. You let out a surprised gasp as he grabs your ankle and yanks you toward him, not rough but not gentle either, like he’s been holding back all day and he’s just now letting go.

His body is between your legs in a flash, palms on either side of your thighs, caging you in. His face is right there, hovering just inches from yours, his breath hot and shallow.

“I’ve been patient,” he growls, voice like gravel and thunder. “You’ve been testing me since this morning. Parading around like that, lookin’ at me like you don’t want me to snap.��

“I didn’t do anything,” you whisper, smiling.

His eyes narrow.

“Didn’t do anything, huh?” he echoes darkly.

He leans in, ghosting his lips over your jaw, then to your neck, barely brushing skin. You shiver. His metal hand slides up your bare thigh, cool and smooth, the touch so light it almost tickles. Teasing. Tormenting.

He doesn't kiss you. Not yet. Just stays there, breath hot, lips barely grazing your skin as he moves lower. Across your collarbone. Down the dip between your breasts. He drags his nose across the swell, not touching with anything else. Then lower, still not kissing, just hovering, making you feel every heartbeat, every breath, every second he’s not giving you what you want.

“You wanna tease me?” he murmurs against your skin, his voice nearly a growl. “You wanna act like this pretty little thing ain’t begging for me?”

You whimper, back arching. His hand wraps around your waist suddenly, pulling you tighter under him.

“Too bad,” he growls. “Now you wait.”

Then he stops.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t kiss you. Just smirks, lips brushing your sternum like a dare.

And that, that makes you whine.

Your hips twitch up toward him and you finally whisper, desperate, “Please.”

That’s what does it.

His eyes darken like a switch got flipped. And then he snaps.

With a low growl, he grabs your face and kisses you hard, no more teasing. Tongue and teeth and need, like he’s starving for you. He presses you into the couch, grinding down between your legs, his hand already sliding beneath your shirt.

“You wanna tease me?” he pants against your mouth. “Now I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you.”

He lifts you suddenly, like you weigh nothing. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist.

“Bed,” you gasp.

He smirks, carrying you like he owns you. “Not before I make you beg.”

His lips ghost down your neck, painfully slow.

“You think it’s funny?” he murmurs against your skin. “Walkin’ around all day in that little outfit. Touchin’ me when you knew I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.”

You smile, smug. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t play dumb now.” His grip tightens on your thighs where you're straddling him. “You were grindin’ on me in the kitchen. Then that little show on the couch? You were askin’ for it.”

His mouth trails to your collarbone, tongue flicking, teeth grazing, lips just barely brushing, teasing you back. One hand slides under your shirt, palm rough, slow as he drags it up over your ribs.

"You’ve been a fuckin' brat all day."

You rock your hips forward, grinding down. “So do something about it.”

That’s what breaks him.

He growls, low and feral, and in one swift motion, grabs your ass and stands, lifting you like you weigh nothing. You gasp, hands clinging to his shoulders as he carries you with purpose. His boots thunder down the hall. Kicking the door open.

You’re tossed onto the bed, the air ripped from your lungs with a sharp gasp and he’s on you like he’s starved. There’s no time to recover. No time to think. His mouth is everywhere, feverish and desperately kissing, biting, sucking like he’s trying to brand you. Across your chest, your stomach, the softest parts of your thighs. His teeth sink in just hard enough to leave a mark, to make you remember.

“Gonna make you pay for it,” he growls, voice thick with need, breath hot against your skin. His fingers hook into your panties and yank them down in one brutal pull, the elastic snapping at your hips. “Made me wait all fuckin’ day. Parade around like that, smilin’, actin’ all innocent? You knew exactly what you were doing. Now you come when I say. How I say. You understand me?”

You nod frantically, body trembling, eyes wide. “Yes, Bucky.”

He laughs, low and rough. It vibrates in his chest, against your bare skin. There’s a look in his eyes are wild, starved. He’s barely holding it together.

“Oh, baby…” His smile is all teeth. “You’re not fuckin’ ready for me.”

He kneels between your legs and there's no softness left in him. His hands shove your thighs open with zero patience, palms spanning the width of your legs like they were made to ruin you. He stares down, eyes flashing like a man possessed.

“You’re already soaked,” he mutters, like it’s an insult and a fucking gift. He drags his tongue over his bottom lip. “You’re drippin’, baby. Filthy little thing. What, you got off on makin’ me wait?”

His mouth crashes down like punishment.

One slow, flat lick that makes your hips buck. Then another this time heavier, hungrier. His tongue fucks into you, sloppy and deep, then slides up to your clit where he sucks hard, tongue flicking mercilessly.

You cry out, legs trembling, but his metal arm shoots across your hips and locks you down. He moans into your cunt, low and guttural, grinding his hips into the mattress like it’s the only thing keeping him from splitting open.

“You tease me just so I’ll break like this, huh?” he growls against you, voice raw and ruined. “You like gettin’ fucked like a toy?”

You nod through the gasps, back arching into his mouth. “Yes—yes, Bucky—”

He pulls back just long enough to slap the inside of your thigh. It’s sharp, stinging, and makes you jolt.

“Then fuckin’ take it. Keep those legs open. I didn’t say you could move.”

He drags two thick fingers through the mess between your legs, covered in slick and dripping heat. He groans when they come back soaked. “Goddamn. You’re fuckin’ obscene. I haven’t even started and you’re already makin’ a mess.”

And then he starts ruining you for real.

Two fingers slide inside, deep and curling, pressing against that spot that makes your vision go blurry. His mouth stays locked to your clit sucking, licking, working you with all the control of a man who’s completely lost his mind.

He doesn’t let you cum.

Not once.

Three times he pulls back, just as your legs start to shake, just as your orgasm starts to crest. You’re gasping, trembling, thighs clenching on nothing as he backs off with a cruel smirk.

“You don’t cum without my permission,” he growls. “Not after actin’ like that. Brats don’t get to finish when they want.”

By the fourth time, you’re crying. Not from pain but from the aching, burning need between your legs. From the cruel, delicious torment of being so close you can taste it.

And then he breaks you.

“You wanna cum?” he pants, voice wrecked, lips slick with you. “Then fuckin’ cum.”

His mouth clamps down, tongue flattening and flicking fast, and those thick fingers thrust in deep, relentless, hitting that spot so perfectly it makes you scream.

It’s not an orgasm.

It’s a full-body surrender.

You sob as you squirt, thighs trembling violently, back arching as white-hot pleasure explodes through you. It’s overwhelming, so intense you can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but feel.

Bucky groans into your cunt, grinding into the mattress, tongue working you through it like a man possessed.

“Fuck yes,” he snarls, dark and proud. “That’s it. That’s my girl. Look at you. So fuckin’ messy for me.”

You’re still twitching, brain melting, when he climbs up your body. His pupils are blown wide, hair wild, breath ragged.

“You think I’m done?” he growls. “Nah, sweetheart. I’m gonna fuck you so hard we’ll owe the neighbors an apology.”

He flips you onto your stomach, yanking your hips up into position.

“Ass up. Face down. That’s how brats get fucked.”

He yanks his pants down in one rough motion, cock springing free. Thick, hard, and already leaking.

He slams in with a guttural growl, thick and deep, splitting you open in one ruthless stroke that knocks the breath out of your lungs.

The bed jerks violently beneath you, the mattress creaking in protest, and you scream half from the shock of it, half from how fucking good it feels to be filled like this. Your fingers twist into the sheets, desperate for something to hold onto as he sets a brutal rhythm with no warning, no buildup. Just need.

Just hunger.

“Fuck, Bucky!” you gasp, the words punched out of you with every rough thrust.

There’s no mercy in him now. No teasing. No holding back. He’s fucking you like it’s been years. Like he’s trying to bury something in you. rage, lust, love. whatever it is, it’s all-consuming. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, wet and filthy, and the headboard slams the wall with every vicious snap of his hips.

One hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back so your spine arches for him, forcing you to take every thrust deeper, harder.

“You feel that?” he growls into your ear, voice shaking with how close he is to the edge. “That’s what you fuckin’ do to me. You drive me insane, you brat. You make me lose control.”

His other palm lands on your ass, hard enough to leave a print. Once. Twice. The sting mixes with the pleasure until you’re gasping, a whimpering mess beneath him.

“You wanted this,” he snarls, fucking into you so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat. “You fuckin’ begged for it all day with those looks. With that mouth.”

The wood beneath you groans.

And then crack.

The bedframe splits beneath the force of his thrusts, collapsing partially to the side with a loud creak of splintered wood. The mattress tilts, dragging both of you with it but he doesn’t stop. He just grabs your hips harder, uses the leverage, and keeps driving into you like a man possessed.

Neither of you care.

He’s gritting his teeth now, sweat dripping down his temples, his grip bruising. “You hear that?” he pants. “That’s what happens when you get me fuckin’ feral.”

You’re gone. Absolutely ruined. Words are nothing but static in your head. Just moans and gasps and half-sobbed praises that tumble from your lips like prayers.

And he loves it.

He leans forward, his chest pressed to your back, the heat of him wrapping around you, caging you in.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he growls, his voice ragged and cracking with need.

You don’t even hesitate.

“Yours,” you cry, wrecked and breathless. “Yours, Bucky—only yours—”

That’s it. That’s the final spark.

With one last, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt and stays, his entire body shaking as he spills into you, forehead pressed to your spine, breath stuttering against your skin.

He groans, low and wrecked, and you feel his body lock up behind you. shoulders taut, thighs trembling, one last thrust grinding so deep inside it knocks another moan from your throat as you cum, hard.

Then stillness.

You collapse together in a tangled heap, both of you gasping for breath, the broken bed tilted beneath you, the air thick with heat and sweat and the scent of sex.

He’s still inside you, softening slowly, one hand still wrapped in your hair as the other slides gently up your back. His voice comes soft now. Barely a whisper.

“Good girl. Fuck, you’re perfect.”

You hum weakly, eyes fluttering closed, cheek pressed to the sheets. Your thighs are still twitching. Your body feels like it’s glowing and unraveling all at once.

He pulls out with a soft groan, cum dripping out of you. He sits back on his heels. You hear the rip of a tissue, the soft rustle of movement, and then warm hands are on you again, gentle this time. Wiping you clean, kissing the sore curve of your ass, rubbing soft circles into your hips like he’s trying to bring you back to earth.

You peek over your shoulder at him, dazed.

“You okay?” he murmurs, eyes suddenly soft, brushing hair from your face.

You nod, smiling hazy and slow.

“I’m amazing,” you breathe. “And sore. And ruined.”

His grin is pure trouble.

“Good. That was the goal.”

Then you feel him laugh.

Not a cruel one this time it’s soft, breathless, warm against your shoulder. He rolls onto his side with a groan, the mattress tilting with the slant of the frame.

“I think we broke the damn bed,” he mumbles into your skin, lips pressed just beneath your shoulder blade.

You lift your head and look back, hair sticking to your damp cheeks. “We?”

He smirks, brushing your hair from your face. “Okay…I broke the bed.”

You both burst into laughter. It’s sleepy, messy, breathless joy. Your body still buzzes, but the tension is gone, wrung out of you completely.

He leans in and kisses your cheek, then your jaw, then your lips. Slow. Gentle. So different from how he touched you just minutes ago.

His hand trails down your spine, soothing now, stroking gently. “Did so good for me,” he whispers. “Took it all like a fuckin’ champ.”

You rest your head against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart, the rise and fall of his breath. He shifts beneath you, maneuvering you both so you don’t roll into the slanted part of the mattress.

“New bed tomorrow,” he mutters.

“Maybe something reinforced?” you tease sleepily.

He pulls the blanket over both of you and sighs. “Or maybe we just start using the couch more.”

You giggle into his chest. “That’s where this all started.”

“Might as well finish what we started.” He kisses your forehead. “Just not tonight. Tonight you rest. I’ll hold you.”

And he does.

Strong arms wrapped around you, skin still warm, the air filled with the faint scent of sex. The chaos of before dissolves into comfort, into calm.

And despite the busted bed and the ache between your thighs, you’ve never felt more safe.

I haven't stopped laughing I REALLY DONT KNOW WHAT TO TITLE THIS... anyways, I hope you enjoyed! ^-^

I also wrote this really fast LIKEEE lightening fast, I was thinking with my kitty not my head. sorry if it doesn't make sense...idk.

#bucky barnes smut #winter soldier smut #bucky barnes #winter soldier #bucky barnes x you #thunderbolts #bucky barnes fluff #sebastian stan

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slttygeto · 8 months ago

Text

Oh no, it's Ghostface! HANMA S.

Synopsis: When you ask your boyfriend what he wants for his birthday, he tells you that it's a secret. How is it his birthday but you're the one getting surprised? You don't question his intentions and proceed with your day at work. Little did you know the kind of tricks Hanma had up his sleeve.

word count: 3,7k

pairing: hanma x fem! reader

content warning: dark content, slightly cnc (read at your own risk), slight breath play, gvn k!nk, fear play, rough oral sex (m! receiving), lots of drool, a bit of mindbreak?

The sound of heels clicking on the floor fills the hallway as you approach your apartment door. It had been a long, exhausting day, yet a smile still manages to find its way onto your face as you remember the date. October has never been your favorite month, you can’t exactly pinpoint the reason why but you’re always filled with sadness as the colder season approaches.

Probably seasonal depression, who knows?

Inserting the key, you push the door open nothing but darkness greets you. It’s rare for the apartment to be engulfed in such suffocating gloom, especially knowing that your boyfriend preferred a dimly lit space. Still, you brush it off, proceeding to remove your knee high boots and place them on the shoe rack.

“Shuji?” you call out for your boyfriend, eyes trying to make out any details but it’s difficult. So you reach for the switch and flip it. Still nothing.

Did the power go out?

It’s a pretty expensive apartment complex, you highly doubt that the power goes out and Hanma does nothing about it. So you try again, and again and–still nothing but darkness.

“Shuuu,” you drag the first syllable of his name on your tongue, grabbing your phone to turn on the flashlight. Since it was his birthday, you had half expected him to stay home, but then again he was Kisaki’s right hand and it wasn’t rare for him to receive phone calls from the shorter man asking him to take care of something for him.

However, your body feels a little tense. Your shared apartment with your boyfriend was rather spacious, and there were many spots you disliked walking by during the night because of how hidden they were. You proceed down the hallway with your phone’s flashlight illuminating the path in front of you, sighing deeply when you notice that all of the rooms’ doors were closed and none of the curtains had been opened all day.

You’re about to point your flashlight towards your bedroom door when you hear something to your left and freeze.

No way. There was no way for it to be Hanma. His shoes were gone, so were his car keys–but this area had a lot of security and no one would be able to walk in unless they had special access to the main lobby. There were no signs of forced entry and every single window was closed–your brain is running a thousand miles a second, and you’re too busy trying to make sense of the noise that you had just heard to react fast. Before you could point your flashlight properly towards that one corner, you swipe your thumb across your screen and click on ‘contacts’.

Suddenly, you’re pinned to the wall with such force that it knocks the wind out of your chest and a gloved hand covers your mouth in an attempt to muffle the scream that rips out of you. You’re dizzy–you’re breathing fast and trying to make sense of what’s happening around you. With teary eyes, you look up and your heart drops in your stomach. A shiny, terrifying ghostface mask is right in front of you and whoever’s wearing it is breathing hard. They notice your trembling lip, the tears coating your lash line and tilt their head to the side.

Trembling, you think they haven’t noticed the phone in your hand despite the flashlight being the only source of light. Your thumb messily swipes across the screen and finds Shuji’s contact at the top of the list. Press call.

The sound of a familiar ring tone fills the apartment, your eyebrows furrow in both confusion and fear. Was he here? Maybe he was hurt and needed your help and–

But the longer the phone rang, the deeper it sank that the sound was way close to you. Way too close.

Your breath hitches as you watch the tall masked man reach into his left pocket. A gloved hand grabs the familiar phone and your name appears on the screen. Before picking up the phone, he pushes your hand up until you’re forced to press the device to your ear and you watch as he mirrors your actions.

“So, you got a boyfriend?” The unmistakable, chilling voice sends shivers down your spine. You recognize the unsettling calmness to it and all your body can do is melt against the wall as your knees buckle. But the tall man isn’t having any of it, and he pins you even harder against the wall. His gloved hand goes from your mouth down to your neck, and the grip is all too familiar that you can’t help but let out a strangled moan.

Despite the fear gripping your bones, you part your quivering lips to reply.

“Why… Do you want to ask me out on a date?” Your voice comes out small and unsteady, and you sniffle, desperately blinking back tears. A low chuckle escapes the man’s lips as he feels your harsh swallow beneath the grip of his hand.

“Maybe… Do you have a boyfriend?”

Before you could even manage a reply, you feel him push his knee between your thighs and a loud gasp escapes your lips. “I–”

“Do you?” The emphasis in his voice combined with his knee rubbing against your clothed pussy leaves you breathless. You can’t give a proper reply, not with your head tipped back in pleasure and your hips bucking up when he grazes your aching clit. Sensing that you were enjoying yourself, your boyfriend pulls away his knee and you’re immediately whining at the loss.

“Shuji–” you can’t see his face or what kind of expression is behind the mask, but you would hope that your desperation moves something in him. However, you forget that your boyfriend is a ruthless criminal, someone with years of expertise in physical and psychological torture. And he makes sure to put it to good use.

A pained moan escapes you when you’re being roughly pushed off the wall, only for your chest and cheek to get pinned to the cold, hard surface. Your phone falls to the ground and Hanma grabs both of your wrists, pinning them behind your back. You feel powerless as he pushes up the brown leather skirt you were wearing, hissing when he sees that you were wearing the smallest pair of underwear beneath.

“Did ya prepare for this, doll? Knew I was gonna fuck ya senseless the moment you walked in–” he momentarily breaks character, forgetting the role he’s supposed to be playing and you feel your heart and pussy swell. Being able to distract a man like Hanma was something you took pride in. You instinctively push back against him, brushing your ass against his crotch and hear yet another loud hiss from the man.

“Fucking slut.” The plastic part of the mask feels chilling and unsettlingly hard against your ear as filth spews out of his mouth. Muffled and low, the sound of his voice alone is enough to have your mind reeling at all the things he will say.

“Answer me.” You don’t expect something hard to press against your clothed pussy so soon, your jaw drops at the cold feeling as you struggle to get away from it.

“Shuji!” you cry out for the man, but to no avail.

“Shuji,” he says in a mocking tone, pressing the item harder against your pussy as he grabs your wrists in place. “How fucking pathetic, you’ve already gone dumb just from something rubbing against your pussy?” His voice drips with dark amusement. Hanma knows how to have fun with you, sex with him is never boring simply because the way that his brain works was fascinating–but you had always wondered if you could get a glimpse of a darker side of him.

However, up until today, he always rejected the idea. Primarily due to the fact that you were his girlfriend, someone whom he cherished with all of his cold and sheltered heart and a person whom he liked to keep away from his business. To the world, he is Hanma–a ruthless killer with a criminal background that could paralyze anyone with fear but to you, he was Shuji. Your sweet, loving boyfriend.

Your loving boyfriend who always fucked you when he came back from a mission with blood painting his face, your sweet and doting boyfriend who let you ride his face because you found him so hot when there were a few cuts and bruises there. You suggest that he integrates his dangerous side during sex and he refuses, but the idea lingers at the forefront of his mind the longer he remembers the pout sitting on your lips and how eager you seemed with everything.

So, the first step was to buy a ghostface mask.

And the second was to fuck you while he wears it.

“Yes,” you answer, barely catching your breath. “I-I prepared.”

“Oh yeah?” you can hear the smirk in his voice. “You wanted me to fuck you?”

“It’s y-your birthday,” your breath hitches when the cold material presses harder against your clit, and Hanma watches as you subconsciously move back and forth against it with a wide grin.

“Fucking hell, look at you. Do you know what you’re fucking yourself on, slut?”

You whimper, a sign of confusion and Hanma offers an amused chuckle before pressing the mask against your ear.

“My gun.”

He sees your eyes widening and laughs loudly when you don’t pull away or flinch. Instead, you move your hips back and forth–slow and sloppy, face burning with shame. This had been a fantasy of yours–you’re starting to believe that Hanma has wanted to do this just as much as you did.

“Didn’t know you wanted it this bad,” he’s obviously caught off guard by how needy you are, but it doesn’t stop him from pressing harder and nudging your clit in ways that have your eyes roll to the back of your head. He watches as shame leaves your body and it’s replaced by pure lust as you chase your high. You’re panting, eyes screwed shut and lips parted to let out the sweetest moans.

“Yeah just like that–” you can feel his hard on pressing against your backside, but you’re far too distracted to care. “Use my gun to get off. Good girl–my pretty slut.”

Pleasure courses through your veins like hot lava, it blinds you momentarily and shuts down your brain as you desperately chase your orgasm. You’re certain that the sentences you were blabbering made no sense, you could hear Hanma speaking to you and could make out that he was mocking you by saying “Oh yeah?” “Oh baby, poor you.” but none of it mattered when you were so close to your release. Your thighs tremble, your voice a pitch higher and there’s drool dripping down the side of your mouth. The knot in your stomach feels hot and tightens with each desperate grind against the gun. You’re about to cum, you’re so fucking close–

A pained cry leaves your lips when Hanma pulls the gun away, heartless and cold.

“Why?! Why–” you sob before flinching when he lets go of your wrists to spank you harshly.

“Are you fucking questioning me?” He grips your hair harshly, pulling your head back and craning your neck at an uncomfortable angle. “You don’t fucking deserve to cum.”

“But–but Shuji–” still gripping your hair, Hanma pushes you down until you’re on your knees and you instinctively turn around until you’re eye level with his crotch. Eager and blinded with lust, your hands reach for his belt and start to unbuckle it but Hanma grips your hair tighter and you gasp at the pain.

“Didn’t say you could touch it yet, did I?” Now that you were on your knees for him, Hanma could confidently say that this was the hottest sight ever. Your makeup was smudged, mascara running down your cheeks and your eyes were blown out with lust. He should’ve done it sooner.

“Please,” you lean forward, chin resting on his hard on and your hands rest on his ass. “Please,” you drag your nose against the fabric of his pants, before pressing a gentle kiss to his clothed dick. “I can make you feel good, Mr. Ghostface.”

Hanma lets out a muffled “fuck,” before pushing your face against his dick and you take it as a sign to get to work. You make quick work of his belt and pants before pulling down his boxers and watch as his cock springs free. You don’t waste a single second before wrapping your hand around the shaft, gripping it enough to have the man’s breath hitching. His cock was a work of art, and you always found yourself enjoying oral sex with Hanma mainly because you enjoyed having his cock in your mouth. So you kiss the balls, dragging your tongue along the shaft and don’t give the man a warning before letting your mouth engulf the tip. It’s a small move, but it makes the masked man grip your hair tightly and the silence is now replaced by the much anticipated dirty talk.

“Fuck, do I love when you use your mouth like that,” he sounds so fucked out, drowning in pleasure that you can’t help but let out a moan yourself. The vibrations send shivers down Shuji’s spine and he is quick to remind you to take the whole thing.

“Suck.” Within a few moments, there is spit and drool everywhere. Your hand strokes the parts you can’t reach, and you pull away to spit on the tip whenever you can before bobbing your head up and down on his cock. Hanma, however, is still not satisfied.

“You’re gonna take the whole thing.” Your eyes widen at his statement, and you pull away to complain.

“But Shuji–” your heart stops when you feel something cold press against your forehead.

“Come on, doll.” You look up at him with furrowed eyebrows and through teary lashes. “Don’t look away.”

Your hands tremble as they settle on his thighs for support and you’re glad he doesn’t ask you to put them behind your back. Inhaling deeply, you look up at the man as you start to swallow his dick–inch after inch, the deeper he goes, the harder it is to keep your eyes open or stop yourself from gagging. And when you do and try to pull away, Hanma pushes the gun against your forehead. Finally, you manage to fit all of him down your throat and you’re proud to hear the muffled groan that leaves Hanma’s lips. You could’ve sworn that you saw his knees buckle as well, but you can’t afford to focus on anything else with his cock down your throat.

“Good fucking girl, oh fuuuuck,” he lets out a laugh when you pull away to breathe, coughing and trying to catch your breath before grabbing his cock again. “Oh yeah, someone’s desp–fuck, desperate.” you hum in response, taking him down your throat before repeating the same movement over and over again. Until Hanma’s hips buck into your face and he presses your nose against his pubic hair. You cough and gag, drool spilling down your jaw. You’re smacking his thigh, reminding him that you needed air but to no avail. He watches as your eyes roll to the back of your head and you swear dark dots are starting to form. You were going to pass out, you can’t breathe–

It’s not until your fingers aren’t digging into the skin of his thighs that Hanma lets go of you. He watches as you fall to the ground, a hand to your chest as you try to catch your breath and messily wipe the drool on your chin.

“Up.” He speaks, and your body responds to his command as if it were second nature. You feel dizzy, and the longer Shuji wears the mask, the more difficult it is to remember who’s behind the mask. A gloved hand grabs your jaw, pulling you close until the lips of the mask are brushing against your own.

“Tell me,” he says lowly, his other hand traveling down to grab your ass. “How much do you want me to fuck you?”

“So-so much,” you admit, broken. You can no longer think straight or try to mask the lust. Your body craves Hanma like the moon needs the stars, you’ve never been teased like this–so heartlessly, without being able to look into his golden eyes for comfort and a way to ground yourself. There was no reminder that it was your boyfriend, the one who gives you the softest smiles and whose eyes meet yours when you’re about to cum. Behind this mask was a different man, and you were starting to lose your grip on reality.

The gloved hand goes from your jaw to your cheek, and you let out a small noise when you feel him wiping something.

Tears.

Hanma is well aware of his sick and twisted desires, but watching you cry is on another level. It makes his cock twitch and his heart beats loudly against his ribcage.

“Beg me.”

“Please.” You ask, desperately.

“Again.”

“Please fuck me–please, Shuj–please.” You start to blabber, lips quivering and fat tears streaming down your face. Hanma finally breaks.

You’re caught off guard as he throws you over his shoulder, letting out a startled squeak when he forcefully pushes the door open to your shared bedroom. He doesn’t give you time to get used to your surroundings as throws you on the bed before grabbing you by the ankles and pulling you down to the edge of the bed. It’s still dark in the apartment, and Hanma doesn’t have enough time to turn the power back on, so he reaches for the curtains and pulls them open so that the only source of light was the street lamp outside.

He approaches the bed again, hurried and impatient to fuck you stupid. Before he can reach for your panties, your hand goes to his ghostface mask and he doesn’t have it in him to stop you from taking it off of him.

Finally, you can see his face. He was all sweaty, flushed cheeks and a few hair strands sticking to his forehead not to mention–his pupils were blown out with lust. This was your Shuji, your boyfriend–the ghostface mask was hot, but you preferred this side of your boyfriend. You waste no time to bring him closer to you, crashing your lips against his in a messy, tongues dancing and spit swapping kiss. It’s anything but romantic, your bodies consumed with an animalistic kind of lust for one another. Instead of taking off your panties, Hanma rips them off of your body and muffles your complaining noises with his lips once again.

“I’ll buy you new ones.” Is all he says before pushing your knees open. Your pussy is glistening with arousal, all puffy and swollen from not being touched enough and Hanma leans down to spit on it and give your clit a wet kiss.

“Fuck–” your close your eyes at the feeling, suddenly growing aware of all of the layers on your body that needed to come off. But you didn’t have time for that, and neither did Hanma. So, he pushes up your turtleneck shirt and watches as your boobs spill out. Holding the fabric, your boyfriend proceeds to push your knees to your chest line up the tip of his cock with your entrance.

He lets himself in, slowly and taking in the way your jaw goes slack and how your eyes roll to the back of your head. You had been craving this, you were practically begging for his cock and watching you unravel just from him pressing inside made it nearly impossible for Hanma to hold back.

“Come here,” he leans down to kiss your lips, sloppy and wet as he starts to move his hips. His cock slides in and out of your tight pussy, leaving creamy rings at the base that has Hanma cursing under his breath. Meanwhile, your head is thrown back and you don’t seem to notice or feel anything but the way that his cock felt against your warm walls.

“Thought of giving me the best birthday gift–fuck, you are my birthday gift,” the tall man starts to blabber, clearly lost in the pleasure and in the feeling of your tight pussy. “This pussy is the best gift I could’ve asked for–” he bites down on your bottom lip, finally getting you to whine in response. Your hands grip his shoulders when he starts to pick up his pace, eyes widening when his tip starts to press against that one spot.

“Yes right there–oh fuck, right there!”

“I got you.” your legs are thrown over his shoulder and a hand wraps around your neck as he maintains his pace, hips remaining in the same angle that has you seeing stars. It’s not until you’re cumming around his cock, crying and shaking, that Hanma can finally lose himself and fuck you hard. He fucks you until you’re crying for him to slow down, watching as the creamy ring that forms at the base is smeared all over his pubic hair and your hand is pushing at his stomach.

“I can’t–I can’t–”

“Take it,” he says through gritted teeth. “Fucking pussy is milking me dry–holy shit.” he curses as he buries his face in your neck, feeling you squeeze around him as you orgasm again. The feeling of your tight pussy along with your nails digging into his back has the man shooting his cum inside after a couple of strokes.

You both lay there in silence for a couple of minutes, trying to catch your breath and party because Hanma knows you need this skin on skin moment. This wasn’t a moment where he could wipe you down, kiss you goodnight and go to sleep–he needed to be present.

“You okay, pretty girl?”

“Hold me,” hearing the desperation in your voice, Hanma lowers your legs and brings you closer to him. He kisses your cheeks, forehead and then your nose. There are tears in your eyes still, but the eye contact with him helps ground you. The love and warmth in them remind you that it’s him, your boyfriend and not Ghostface who had fucked your face senseless.

“Happy birthday, Shu,” you say as you grab his face and the tall man can’t help but chuckle.

“Happy birthday to me.”

2024 © all works belong to slttygeto. do not repost my work anywhere else.

#happyyyy shuji day and halloween!!!#moon's works #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #hanma smut #hanma x reader #hanma shuji #hanma shuji x reader #hanma shuji smut #hanma shuuji x reader #hanma x yn #hanma x you #hanma shuji x you #tr smut #tr x reader #tr hanma

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loveabunbun · 1 month ago

Text

; CHOI SOOBIN 🐰 after hours

— cw; age gap (5ish yrs), professor soobin, student athlete reader, unbalanced power dynamics, clubbing, alcohol, public/bathroom sex, intoxicated sex, top male reader, sub bottom soobin, big dick sb and reader 🙌🏾, sex toys (butt plug), blowjob (sb), protected anal (a first??), belly bulging. 5k words.

— 🎶 now playing; kehlani - after hours, tomorrow x together - love language, destin conrad - kissing in public.

once you noticed him in the crowd of moving bodies, you simply couldn’t take your eyes off of him.

him being choi soobin, currently a young visiting professor at your institution, having just completed his phd in sociology and education, and one your lecturers in particular. soobin’s large frame isn’t out of place among all the others. in fact, you think the number has grown since he made his way to the centre. an attention stealer.

it’s the same as when you’re sat in his lecture: he’s captivating when he talks, enticing when he moves, and irresistible all around. he brought the youthful masculine charm the department severely lacked. and, of course, all the girl students desperately latched onto the eye-candy.

he was here. at a nightclub. and not just any random nightclub, a popular gay nightclub in the city centre. it’s a delightfully pleasant surprise. your margarita burns as you finish the glass. the warm daylight filtering in through the windows of your classroom has been replaced with the cool of the moon from the warehouse's skylight. and with the transition, it seems a new side has emerged. a new side to you, at the very least.

his glasses aren’t to be found, dark hair styled up and back to reveal his forehead and eyes more clearly. his knitted jumper and slacks switched out for a blue baby tee and jeans. you can’t quite make out what it says under the strobe lights.

being completely honest, your attention is on other parts of his body. the tequila trickles into your bloodstream and you can feel your heartbeat revived in different places. he doesn’t appear to have a dancing partner — you’ve had an eye on him for a few minutes and spotted him laughing with what appeared to be a friend as they goofed around.

your own friends are also on the dance floor. your legs are taking you closer soon enough. you sway with the beat of the song as you push through the bodies, eyes locked onto your target.

what your goal is you’re not even sure of. nothing could happen, anyway — you tell yourself— you’re his student. if only a few years younger. soobin exuded ‘model faculty’ with his polite smile and gentle giant demeanour. you're sure even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t risk his budding career for some dick.

although he would give something else up for it. why else would he be surrounding himself with drunk men, more likely than not looking for sexual respite. you weren’t that much younger than him, really. around five years, if you remembered his age correctly? but a minor blip in the universe's grand scheme.

now you’re right behind him.

he moves even better up close. swaying his body, throwing his hands up in the air with the beat of the song. carefree. it’s hard to keep your wonder at bay. you’re not thinking straight as you step closer, and let your hands ghost his waist. high enough not to get you immediately elbowed in the stomach.

soobin isn’t surprised when someone sneaks up behind him. although he came with zero expectations, the young man was starting to doubt his abilities. without turning to look at the new presence, he backs up into you. your heart leaps in your chest. he was waiting for someone. for this. you bite your lip in to hide how your cheeks pull up from the feeling of your professor's soft ass against your groin. fortunately, the lights were concentrated elsewhere for the time being.

the pop song playing is punctuated with strong percussion, gifting you with the tempo you needed to move in rhythm with him. fortunately, you know the lyrics to this one and find yourself getting lost in the sensations. you would’ve hated to see someone else behind him. even now, you can feel jealous eyes on you. it only makes you pull him closer, meeting him at various points of contact where which you can feel his body moves against you.

your scent washes over him and he welcomes the new smell of your cologne. he had yet to go nose-blind to the overwhelming scent of testosterone-filled body odour. maybe you would be his ticket out of the crowd.

whatever. soobin puts an end to his overthinking. or rather, the liquor flowing through his veins does. he just wants to feel good. just wanted to dance and let loose. it’s been too long.

his runs his hands down his front sensually before they meet yours on his hip. he drags your hands up on his body; they catch his shirt on the ascend and you momentarily feel the sweat on his damp skin. you can’t focus on it, because at the same time soobin rolls his hips onto you.

damn, he moved his body so well. you would’ve never thought the shy man had it in him. but you’re learning more about him by the second. you follow along with his smooth moves without any delay, determined to not mess up.

and fumble the bag you don't. looks of intrigue and desire join the envious. soobin’s friends throw him teasing grins and immature winks. he ignores them. all he can think about is how well-oiled your tall body feels against him, lithe yet sturdy. it stirs a primal need within him. something almost foreign to him at that point.

when the next song ends, soobin spins around with a happy grin on his face. he had to know who the suave cutie was behind him.

your grip loosens. before you can duck away, you’re making direct eye-contact. he's confused at first, but then his eyes widen in recognition, straightening up like he’d been struck by lightning.

shit.

“yn??”

“h-heyy, prof.”

soobin gawks at you, not knowing where to begin. his student was just grinding on him. he was just grinding on his student, and he liked it. he wanted more. his integrity! his reputation! his future!

the crowded dance floor suddenly feels stark empty, and the multi-coloured lights stop their orchestrated twirl, replaced by a stationary, bright spotlight. focused on the two of you.

he needed to get out of sight. grabbing your wrist, soobin drags you behind him until you’re stumbling into one of the bathrooms. he waits for an explanation, with a hard look on his face that tells you: you fucked up.

you stare at your shoes, shuffling in place. he was intimidating when he wanted to be. and you were, admittedly, in the wrong, “i’m sorry i came onto you."

“no, you’re not.”

your head shoots up. it was a poor apology, but you weren't expecting him to call you out on it. because, true, you weren’t really. you’re not sorry because you’ve got jacking off material for like the next couple of years. but more sorry because you’re not sure he would’ve reciprocated if he knew who you were. not very consensual of you...

“what on earth were you thinking?” it’s like he could read your mind.

“i wasn’t. that, i apologise for. can you blame me?” soobin sees how your gaze trails his body with your reply. it reveals what instead you had in mind — his broad shoulders sloping into a small waist and slim hips. shapely legs clad in jeans and ending in stylish sneakers.

wild and wonderful.

“seeing you here threw me off a little, prof.” you continue, meeting his eyes once again. his eyelids and cheeks shimmer iridescent in the light. you couldn’t tell before, mistaking the glow for sweat in the suffocating horde. but it was deliberately placed highlight. looks like your young instructor knew how to get dolled up.

soobin felt the same; it was weird seeing you in a place like this. even though you were probably a regular. or a more regular than he was, at least.

…maybe it wasn’t so weird. after all you were attending the city's university as a student. specifically, both a promising basketball athlete and a top scholar for your class. soon to graduate, matter of fact. he's sure you've scoped the lay of the land over your time.

what was new was seeing you in something other than athletic wear. you looked good, donning a loose button down and black jeans, surprisingly more handsome than you usually did in your everyday comfort. you were dressed to impress too, that’s for certain, with your inhibitions loosened after a few shots.

the older had also been drinking. stronger stuff than usual; his friends wanted to spoil him, to celebrate the rare occasion of him crawling out his hole home. soobin would be lying if he said he wasn’t having a fun time.

“i don’t usually come out. and quit it with the prof — while we’re here. anything else.”

hook.

you tilt your head as you look at him, feeling your normal dynamic shift with the new location. and the request for less formality. you toss the bait: “yeah... i didn’t take you for the party type. does hyung work for you? instead of mr wild and wonderful?”

soobin can’t hide when his eyes sparkle in interest at your fluent english. he knew you were smart, but the casual flex takes him aback. so does realising you know exactly what the wording insinuates. he never expected it would be you picking up the hint.

he loathes to complain. of course, he pays a little more attention to you when you’re sat at your desk — attending to his words, sending messages on your device, or talking to your friend. you're enticing without meaning to be. your frequent insightful contributions made up for where you lacked in other efforts. he’d only ever seen you in the daylight. the shadows that fall on your face now bring out another side to you.

line.

the race of his heart comes back, but not in fear this time. in excitement. the professor had never entertained the idea more than a passing thought but now he’s tempted. the plug sitting between his cheeks becomes noticeable again for the first time since he put it in before leaving his home. not for any particular reason…

he shouldn’t.

“been said i can get a little crazy outside the classroom.”

oh! that’s not— soobin’s thick lips purse in shock at his words. sober thoughts?

“yeah?” a smirk appears on your face as you take a bold step forward, throwing a look around the restroom in faux enquiry. your boyish playfulness has a way of keeping him in place. “doesn’t look like we’re in the classroom right now... from what you said, this sounds like my area of expertise.”

oh, you’re good. pulling him into your dangerous game like a siren into the depths. he doesn’t even know when your hearts started thumping against each other, his hand on your arm.

“then, maybe you could teach me the ropes. show me how it goes?” comes his breathy whisper, eyes narrowed in seduction.

and sinker.

you push him into the stall furthest form the entrance and lock the door behind you. his back hits the wall with a thump and he gasps, looking at you with surprised eyes when you press into his front deliberately, strong hands back on his hips.

soobin has much more to lose than you, and you respect that. you give him time to change his mind, to slip out from underneath you and put the earlier events under lock and key. he doesn’t. a beat passes and then another. the muffled music matches the atmosphere. muted, on the verge of breaking the silence.

the door opens and upbeat chords slice through the air like a whip. a few voices dance just over the top, boisterous and joyful on the way to release. soobin surges forward and captures your lips.

you groan instantly, desire roaring inside you once again at his initiating. his hands grasp at your shoulders as you kiss him harder, licking at his lips until he lets you in. you can’t get enough as you suck on his tongue. soobin feels your fingers hook into his belt hoops and tug. your hips start to move in their own, bucking into his front.

the friction pulls a deep sigh from you onto his pretty lips, “hyung,”

his breath hitches. if soobin was somehow still on the fence about doing this, hearing you moan for him was the final push he needed. he wraps his arms around your neck and pulls you closer, letting his hunger lead the way.

he can taste the tangy lime on your lips and can smell the faint liquor when you pull away from his lips, only to trail down to his neck. you kiss the soft skin. his smell is intoxicating too.

before you get lost in yourself, the older man warns quickly, “no marks.”

like some dirty secret. it turns you on even more. you know it does for him too. “got it,”

you press against him harder, dipping into his neck and licking the sweat off. you nibble and lick at his salty skin, rocking your hips against him in fervour. his chub hardens under your ministrations and he moans shyly by your ear.

a small creak and the dj’s booming voice fills your ear, indiscriminate and accompanied by cheers of the audience. then you’re alone again.

soobin kicks up a leg and hooks it around your waist, getting leverage to fuck into you. one of his hands drops from behind your neck to in front, urging you closer with a firm grip. can't have you thinking you're in charge here. even as you grope at his body, humping him like a dog in a rut.

the desperation sets him alight. the fire consumes you. or maybe it’s the alcohol. maybe it's the risk. you needed him. right now.

"hyung, can-can i suck you off?"

soobin's face explodes with heat at your request. he nods before he realises, biting his bottom lip. you fall to your knees even quicker, nuzzling into his bulge. he can't help as his hips flit into your face, large hands coming to rest on your head.

he doesn't push or pull you away, but you gaze up at him through your lashes. his dick swells with blood and tents his jeans. it sticks out like a sore thumb against your handsome face and exacerbates its presence. he can’t stop staring your puffy lips, mesmerised as they slick and shine with his spit.

soobin swallows, starting to shake his head as reality sets in again, fighting against the sexual demand rousing in his gut. this was too far and extremely inappropriate. one of his most sought-out students literally on their knees in a filthy stall in even sleazier settings, begging for a taste. there was no going back after this.

he shouldn’t.

"wait, you're drunk yn." your hands come to fiddle at his belt, the other rubbing his dick through his jeans. you can feel yourself salivate at the heat it exudes.

"i'm not drunk, 'm tipsy. you might not know it because of the generation gap, but there's a difference." he rolls his eyes.

“i’m not drunk either,”

“then we’re both on the same page. been thinking about this cock since the start of term. everyone wants a piece of you, hyung. i want it."

his body betrays him, cock throbbing below your palm at the confession. you grin wickedly. you finally manage to tug down his jeans and boxers enough for his length to fall out. your jaw falls slack in surprise as you take him in your hands. “fucking big, oh my god.”

soobin blushes further at your vulgarity. you kiss at his cockhead before dragging your tongue underneath to taste his arousal. your hand grasps the base as you take him into your mouth. his grip tightens.

you let your saliva build to make the entrance smooth, gazing up at your attractive professor. he stares down at you in disbelief. he twitches in your mouth and your eyes flutter shut in satisfaction, taking him deeper. soobin pulls up his shirt, exposing his chiselled stomach, to watch as his dick disappears between your thick lips.

“ohh~,” he sighs, other hand curling into a fist at the warmth of your mouth. his hips jerk like he doesn’t know whether to pull out or go further.

you can’t help but moan at the feeling. this was so hot. he was so hot. a part of you couldn't believe he was single. and you couldn’t care less about the mysterious wet spot you started to feel on your right knee.

you quickly start bobbing your head up and down, dragging broken moans from the older man. pleasure cracks down his spine as the devil on his shoulder cackles in glee. you fist the base of his dick, covering what you couldn't fit into your mouth.

“oh my— s-slow down yn, fuuck,” the lewd wetness of your mouth bounces off of your ears, his sweet moans only spurring you on. you don’t think you’ve given such enthusiastic head in your life. the taste of his salty precum trickling down your tongue is only a welcome boost for your endeavours.

you hum and soobin feels his eyes rolling back in pleasure at the vibration around his shaft, fucking into your hollow moist despite his better judgement. you can feel as your dick strains against your jeans, crying for attention but you pay it no mind.

“yeah, just like that… you’re soo good, ha-ah!” soobin’s thighs shake by your head as he falls further into bliss with every obscene slurp coming from your skilled lips, fingers curling into your hair. he’s almost forgotten where he is: lucky for him it seems right now isn’t peak time for the drunken pissers.

you push yourself closer to him in response to his praise, until you’re almost directly underneath his body, and swallow your gag reflex. if it weren’t for his jeans, you would’ve had his thighs wrapped around your head. from where you are gravity pulls soobin’s throbbing length further into your tight throat with ease, leaving no space for him to get away even with his long legs. he wouldn’t want to anyway.

the sound of you finally gagging around his thick cock, your fingers on his thigh and ass urging him deeper, is enough for him.

he releases into your mouth with a loud gasp and a whiny groan, curling over your body as pleasure racks his body. your eyes squeeze shut as his bitter cum fills your mouth and swallow rapidly, moaning endlessly around your professor’s squirting dick. the excess spills from your lips when you pull away to breathe.

the older pants above you too and his shirt drops. it sticks to his sweaty skin and is too short to hide his arousal, sparking in the barely burning light with your spit and his sperm. leaning forward again, you guzzle down his cock to slurp up the remains. he welcomes the extra attention with a lazy smile.

“shit, that was..”

“best head you’ve ever had?” your eyes shine when you look up at him lying against the wall like he had all the strength stolen from him, cheeks rosy. soobin tears his gaze from you as you run your tongue over your tempting lips, teeth appearing with your pleased grin. innocent like the both of you weren’t on the verge of a lifetime ban from the club and probably academia in general on his end.

“s’up there,”

a couple of seconds pass and he realises you still need to be taken care of. his next move is only given a second of consideration as his critical thinking cap finally gets tossed out the window — the young man had already passed the point of no return as soon as the both of you walked into the stall.

soobin spins around to face the wall and pushes his jeans down to his ankle. he bends over slightly and spreads open his cheeks, revealing to you his asshole. where a black plug sits comfortably.

your gulp is audible as you make eye-contact with the toy. but you push past your shock to reach up and grasp it, watching soobin's back flex as you poke and prod at his squishy insides.

"t-take it out," you do so instantly, greeted with the sight of his puckered rim, wet and pulsing. suddenly you were starving again. before you can dive in, after setting the plug down on the toilet tank, soobin speaks up again, "do you have a condom?"

no fucking way.

"y-yeah, yeah, i do." after rustling in your front pocket, heart thumping in your chest, you pull out a shiny rectangle.

"fuck, what are you waiting for then? put it on, get inside me," he demands. it lacks the authority his booming voice usually holds, laced with lust and a neediness that makes you dizzy.

you scramble to your feet, apparently a little too slow for his taste. the older spins around and takes it from you, ripping it open with his teeth. he drags you into a messy kiss as he unbuckles your jeans and belt with calculated yet rushed movements, betraying his intentions.

you're rock hard — and leaking buckets — in his big palm and he marvels at how he has trouble wrapping his fingers around you. were you just being generous with your compliment about his size earlier?

you're too busy moaning and huffing at his grip to notice. soobin’s barely touched you, but the fact that he's touching you (the crush of basically every sane member at your university), and rolling a condom onto your sex, excites you like nothing other. not to mention, him just having emptied his sweaty balls into your stomach.

the beauty spins around with a sultry hum, arching his ass into the curve of your cock. akin to a page out of a playboy magazine. “you’re so unbelievably sexy,”

he grins at you just as the bathroom door swings open again. you take the burst of noise to push into him. you both moan freely at the burn of the intrusion. the men in the room are loud; you think someone’s holding the door open because the sound doesn’t cease like it should. you’re thankful it doesn’t.

“fuck!”

you press him roughly into the wall and fail to keep quiet at the warm, gummy feeling of his inner walls. soobin cries out in white-hot pleasure as your hips gain a life of their own, thrusting into him. every buck shakes the older man to the core. your athletic body is solid against his backside, hands gripping at his tiny waist. god, is this how you feel? like a place he could melt into with no worries?

soobin thinks you’re cute too, as you curse and whimper under your breath in consideration of not getting caught. he thinks about how that same mouth made him feel just earlier. your stiff cock doesn’t disappoint, filling him up and stroking his swollen prostrate easily. soobin can’t deny how his body responds to your gifted touch, how his pride swells at having you so shameless for his attention. he wonders if this is how you usually acted for some dick.

your enthusiasm translates with your wandering hands as they push up his cropped shirt to reveal more of his milky skin. his abs are dense under your touch, the muscles dancing below the surface. you rock your cock into him with firm circles, staring at where he consumes you with eager eyes and even eager movements — he greets you with hiccupped moans.

the thumping music doesn’t help the adrenaline sparking through his veins but it briefly hides the rippling connection of your sinful activities from the other fun-seekers. the sound cuts off and you’re left alone again. the energy doesn’t dissipate.

soobin throws his head back, fingers curling against the wall by his head when he feels you start pull him down and impale him further on your throbbing length, grunting by his ear. the way your fingers sink into his skin is strangely possessive. he shivers at the idea of you claiming him, or maybe it's the cold metal of your jeans against his bare ass, slurred whispers falling from his lips.

“fuck me, ffuck me! god, yn don't stop fucking me!”

“yeah, you like that?”

soobin nods in affirmation as you fuck the breath out of his lungs, dark hair flying up and down, eyes squeezed closed. shit, this was so bad. him getting dicked down by someone so much younger. he’s enjoying it too much. you’re having the time of your life. his sloppy hole feels like a heavenly respite to your aching needs. he massages and presses on all your right spots, like his ass was made to embrace you. like your lives were orchestrated for this moment.

you slip your fingers past soobin's open lips and thrust into his wet mouth to the rhythm of your hips. “look at me when i fuck you, sir.”

you tone is slightly condescending as you turn his head; using honorifics while he opens his ass and mouth for you like a two-piece whore.

but soobin does look at you. you feel yourself gasp as you meet his teary doe eyes from behind, eyebrows knitted in overwhelming pleasure. his pretty lips wrapped around your fingers and sucking like they were something else. a line of drool trickles down his chin from the disturbance.

a moan falls from your lips as he gazes into your eyes like a succubus with potent allure, tempting you to fall deeper into his web. his smooth walls squeeze your most sensitive areas and the pleasure crackles up your spine. you were already entrapped.

utterly irresistible. you watch his eyes flutter as you remove your fingers to instead curl them around his biceps. you pull his upper body up to rest fully against yours and his spine curves in tandem, head falling on your shoulder and opening his front up.

he can feel his hardness swing helplessly with every slap of your hips against his ass, legs starting to shake. his pliant body bounces back and forth with ease, but with the way he’s crying out, you'd think he was being pushed to the limits. it certainly felt like he was. one glance down at his stomach proved that.

“you're sho—! so deep inside—!" he can't help the hand that reaches out to caress the swelling you make in his lower abdomen, growling as it protrudes against his palm every time you bottom out. somehow you catch onto his words and do the same. too smart for your own good.

burning satisfaction envelopes your frame at the feeling of your cockhead poking away inside your professor's stomach, twitching uncontrollably inside him with an airy moan. sweat drips down your arms and legs. you were about to explode.

"hyung 'm close, uhmnn ah, c-can i?"

"y-yes," comes his breathless reply. your hand slips down to wrap around his cock and pumps roughly. that's enough to push soobin over the edge again, clamping down and pulsing around your hard cock with a wail.

the cord snaps inside of you too as you trap him against the wall with your strength. his taut ass grips you so tight in place as you fall into ecstasy, you can't keep your noises to yourself, moaning shamelessly when the feeling of fiery-hot pleasure spreads down to your fingers and toes.

your hand pumping his cock doesn't let up and soobin's eyes white out. he writhes against your body as you fill him up and send him spiralling into the depths of peak pleasure with hushed encouragement. each squeeze of his balls reflects in his stomach and rim, barely able to contain the cream you dump in his ass.

"shit," you heave and fall backwards after you regain some sense, your upper back resting against the other side of the stall. the air is stuffy. stuffier than it was before, anyway. euphoria ripples across your nerves as it melts away, leaving a satisfying ache in your muscles.

your eyes trail your eyes over soobin’s bent over form in front of you: the back of his head, down the dark patch along the curves of his shirt where it collected his exertion, down to where his rosy ass cradles your throbbing dick.

your cum seeps from the base of the condom, and you briefly wonder if it ripped inside him. not much time to think, because his pale ass slowly sinks down again until the soft flesh sits flush against your pelvis, drawing a sigh from both of you. you glance back up at your professor's side profile at his actions. his eyes are closed in contentment. you did that.

your palm lands on his ass and rub the smooth flesh before you reluctantly pull out. he slumps further, shiny puckered rim pulsating at the loss of something holding him open. you bite your lip at the indecent picture. then, you remember the plug perched above the toilet and slide it back in tentatively. with no complaint, soobin lets you pull up his jeans and boxers.

"...thanks. needed that,"

"don't thank me. thank you. i'm gonna be thinking about this forever." he turns around to face you as you convey your gratitude(?), but his handsome, flushed face disappears out of sight when he falls to his knees and tears off the condom.

"what are you— o-ohh," soobin swallows your softening length. seems like he wanted to return the favour. his mouth is so warm and wet as he licks up your creamy fluid, you flinch from the overstimulation. "ha-aa,"

he slides off with a pop of his lips, looking up at you as he tucks you back into your clothes. when he rises to his feet he regards your messy appearance, face bright in the afterglow of your orgasm.

"just make sure to keep those thoughts to yourself, got it?"

this could not get out.

"not even you?" you move closer and rest a palm on his lower back, oddly happy to be able to see his face again. he's so fucking pretty. it would be such a pity if this was the last time you felt him. you know he feels the same…

"could keep it between us instead. i have a couple more things i think i could teach you, prof."

#; ִ ࣪𖤐 choi soobin #txt x reader #txt x male reader #top male reader #sub soobin #sub txt #sub kpop #bottom character #sub character #kpop x male reader #tomorrow x together #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #txt fanfic #txt smut #dom reader #top reader #male reader

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thesharktanksdriver · 2 months ago

Text

Devils may love?: leaving home, loving life and loosing you

This is part 1 going over dmc3, I’m gonna maybe write parts for the other games if people are interested. Also maybe will eventually write some stuff for the pov of other characters in love with the blind dumbass that is reader.

Links: masterlist, part 2, part 3, part 4

You never thought that in your life you’d end up working at a place called “devil may cry”

When you initially found a job listing for the job it wasn’t even named that yet, and you never knew how much it would end up affecting your life

You used to fear not being able to pay rent on a daily basis

Feared getting mugged on your way home from a late shift or if your coupons expired before you bought groceries

But now you feared having demons knocking down your door and breathing down your neck on a daily basis

Let alone the fact that you had to deal with that alongside whatever other world ending event you somehow got caught up in

And dealing with taxes

And ensuring that Dante payed for the power and hydro in time

And….

Well there were a lot of and’s with the job that would go on to change your life

Whether that change was fully good or fully bad was up to debate

God knows how long you’ve weighed both sides in your mind

But it for sure made your life a hell of a lot more lively

Quite literally in the hell metaphor

And it all started when you found an add in the paper right after leaving a previous job and needing cash quick

You had a shitty apartment but rent was due in a short amount of time

Couldn’t rely on your parents either, not when they put you in this situation in the first place and you’d took the opportunity to get as far away from their shit as possible

Which meant you had fairly limited options

Especially with the fact you’d also had to drop out at the finish line of high school to make ends meet

That had ended up biting you in the ass more than anything

But the paper in your hands said little qualifications were needed

So it was your last chance

You never knew what it entail when you entered through the double doors of the newly bought building

The street lights above you illuminating your hope filled face holding your short resume

Admittedly sitting down for the job interview with Dante was a rather…daunting task

Less because he was intimidating

And moreso for the fact that the man (you say that hesitantly because he was literally the same age as you) who introduced himself as Dante sat with his feet kicked up on his desk and barely even glanced at your resume

The paper simply ended up in his hands for his eyes to skim before letting it be placed atop a stack of papers that looked like overdue bills nearby

Nor had he asked any work related question like “how do you work well in a team environment” or “do you have any prior experience to jobs like this”

Instead your potential future employer snacked on a slice of pizza and asked you questions like “know any places that deliver mid-apocalypse?” And “want a slice? Can’t guarantee you’ll get more than a piece or two with how fast I eat”

You can’t say you’d had any job interviews end up like this

They mostly ended up with fake smiles and promises to contact you if you got the position and never hearing a peep from them again

But Dante seems all too lax to be considered serious at all

Well besides his serious addiction to take out evident by the few leftover stacked pizza boxes and cartons of Chinese swept off to the side

Whenever you bring up your resume he waves it off or switches topics

He definitely didn’t even read through your previous job experiences

He just read your name and your phone number

What’s worse is that this wouldn’t even be the worst boss you’d had

Just potentially the weirdest

And that’s saying something

But At least he’s not some old creep the age of your dad leering at you

He’s just a horned up teen boy

He’s 18, just like you and just as in need of needing to get by on his own as you are

Though you think for different circumstances

By how he keeps a small photo of a blond woman on his desk, the only thing comparably well kept on the scratched up mahogany slab implies something

Something your not privy to (yet) but something none the less

A thing that leaves him both careless and untethered all the same

Perhaps for both good and bad

Whilst your seemingly the opposite, you can’t help but think of your parents with a bitterness that crawls up and wraps round every memory good (not many I the first place) or bad

Along with the fact that you can’t and don’t want to go back to them and would rather try to scrape by on your own

Even if it meant dropping out before graduation to do so

Just so you could get a job to afford rent since minimum wage wouldn’t get you by

Well…it certainly has a lot of weight to it both

Maybe something he recognizes when despite your made up professional appearance there are some cracks in it

How you nervously play with your hands

The fact that your his age and asking for a job that’d be enough to afford groceries and a roof over your head

No matter how leaky or loud the neighbours were

So when the interview is over you begin to count your losses

Grabbing your bag and trying not to hang your head on the way out

He must’ve just been messing with you

Or at least that’s what you think until he stops you asking where you going

And you can only tilt your head in confusion saying that you were heading back to your apartment

“But your already on the job”

“Huh? But I thought you were pulling my leg”

“What do you mean? I hired you already”

“What?! When???”

“When I opened the door and found an absolute babe in front of me asking for a job”

You think your already starting to regret this choice

But cash is king and you need some of that dollar to get by this month

You’ll just resign when you get on your feet and find something better

(News flash that doesn’t happen. Oh poor young naive past you)

Working at this still yet to be named paranormal/mercenary agency is a relatively easy task

Answer the phone, organize Dante’s increasingly messy desk, file some paperwork and make sure the bills are payed on time

Maybe throw out some old takeout and fight off the colony of raccoons in the back who started making a palace from pizza boxes

Somehow that ends up being the most odd but simultaneously normal thing you’d experienced yet

The place itself is actually quite cosy when you get used to it

Warm lighting accented by a the soft hum of the jukebox playing some 80’s power ballad

It makes for a nice mood when your sweeping up or filling things out

A comfy leather chair and a simple but effective desk for you to work at if it wasn’t already occupied

The smell of gunsmoke and cologne wafting in the air…alongside leftover pizza remains that you try to mask with fabreeze

On that half the job is simple

Effective as you mainly just ensured the place didn’t burn down

Or have the power taken again

Something you’d expect from being a secretary and or cleaner

(You will not say your a maid, Dante kept insisting that maybe he’d get you a proper costume to go with it that you quickly shut down)

And mainly answer the phone when Dante wasn’t there to butt in and take the receiver from you

But on the other hand working at this still unnamed place also means you were working with Dante

And that was a mixed bag in of itself

For as much as he initially intimated you with his display of guns right behind his desk or the sword casually strapped to his back

Or the ungodly amount of times you dealt with him covered head to toe covered in gore and blood

Or the fact he was your boss and could fire you at any moment

Dante’s intimidation factor quickly faded away into mild annoyance from his Dante..ness

Look you aren’t paid enough to deal with this crap-

To others Dante was the demon hunter

A mercenary of well known regard

A hero who saved the day and stopped the forces of hell

A badass with a penchant for overly complicated and dramatic theatrics

And dear god was he known for how he did this all effortlessly while seemingly being the coolest man ever known

But to you he was your annoying boss

This was both affectionately and as an insult due to the amount of times he’d gone out of his way to dump the bills on your desk and high tailed it out of the store using a mission as an eccuse

Dante as your employer is weird plain and simple

He has moments where he toys with you slightly

Pushing your buttons but never pushing too far

Small jokes sent your way but nothing extreme

Knowing when you began to look genuinely upset and stopping before he accidentally crossed the line in the sand

He drapes himself over your shoulders while your trying to fill out his papers

Keyword his

Or he calls you by those god awful nicknames

He calls you a plethora of stuff: babe, baby, hot stuff, sugar

But most embarrassingly and most frequently

“honeypie~”

You’d swear with the amount of times he called you that you could permanently pay for the electricity bill and maybe even the water

A shit eating grin on his face as he drags out the pet name whenever he could in a sing-song manner

(Including in front of clientele and eventually the other members of dmc when they join…and it unfortunately sticks since everyone but Nero partakes in torturing you this way-)

You’ve chased him with his plethora of weapons many times trying to wipe that grin off his face

Yelling his name at the top of your lungs as he hopped over his desk and toppled the stack of still unsigned paperwork

The phone ringing conveniently has saved him too many times when you were just about to get revenge

The most effective threatening tool of them all was the well loved broom you’d swear you’d mastered at this point

But on the other hand Dante is equally kind as he is annoying

When not playfully teasing and joking Dante just talks to you

Sometimes it’s mundane things like asking for recommendations for new schlocky horror flicks to watch

Other times it’s complaining whatever demonic creature he was sent to exterminate

Something he had initially tried to hide from you before you very easily pointed out the literal demon heads he’d impaled on the walls weeks earlier

For all his bravado and being a bit of an ass he’s caring at his core

You see that through his actions that are both loud and clear and quiet and invisible

There are times he makes his care obvious

He watches intently and knows when your tired and pushing yourself to get things done even if your trying to hide it

The subtle lull of your head as exhaustion seeps into your bones

He gets up from whatever he was distracting himself with (typically a magazine of some sort)

Telling you to “take a break there babe. Don’t want you to keel over too soon” though the slight edge to it indicates his worry as he takes the paperwork off your desk and stashes it some place absurdly high

His go too method to get you to stop overworking

other times when you fall asleep at the front desk you wake up to find his coat draped over your shoulders and yourself relocated on a nearby couch

A small sticky note clinging to your face saying “don’t overwork yourself honepie, who else is gonna keep me in check. By the way there’s some leftover pizza for you in the fridge if I’m not back by when you wake up - your favorite devil hunter Dante :)”

How he offers to walk you home or let you stay the night if it was getting particularly late

Though whenever he makes that offer he ruins it with the wiggling of his eyebrows immediately after

And the cheeky grin that by that point your too tired to try and erase off his face

But even then, when he makes that offer you see in crystalline blue eyes the sincerity in them

A smidge of worry and maybe even a crumb of fear

His more subtle care comes in the form of how you find your area more safer than usual

Less muggings let alone demons slinking through the night

Apparently he made it known that these were his stomping grounds and with his reputation most demons knew to stay clear

Same for muggers as well with his name in the underworld

His other silent care comes in the form of finding your favourite snacks eventually stocked at in the small kitchen

It comes from a few stray questions here and there

Or noticing what you packed yourself for lunch/snacks

He never acknowledges it

But you do find he has a small smile when seeing you enjoy what he bought

Content without a thank you because seeing your smile was enough

how the jukebox now seems to contain songs you’d mentioned enjoying out of nowhere

Or songs you’d already liked in the machine playing more often

Because that’s the sort of person Dante was

The man who when you call in sick ends up at your place with wanton soup and medicine

Never asking for anything In return except for you to recover properly

Or The fact he always he always buys you a strawberry sundae alongside his own or makes sure to buy a split pizza incase you didn’t like his toppings

It’s perhaps because of this you keep telling yourself you’ll put off finding another job

That the job market was bad right now even if you’d seen another promising job

Just because seeing his stupid grin when he sees you enter was payment enough even without the cash

“Dante I swear to god! Get back here!”

“Sorry honepie! Got a job to do!!”

“You’re not leaving until you pay the god damn bills you asshole!!! If you can deal with demons then you can deal with me you bastard!!!” Raising the broom you whack his head, making the devil hunter groan and he returns to running for his life out the double doors “also pick a god damn name for this place already! A business needs a name!”

You end up seeing Dante in various particular intimate moments in his life (Even before all the craziness that would come later on down the line)

It first begins when you see the days he’s drained from wear and tear

From the jobs that went bad even if he made it back alive

his shoulders sag even when he tries to act like his cocky self

His grin more strained as blue eyes hold back tears from failure to save someone

You don’t ask

Never have the heart to

But you do find yourself pulling him close even with the height difference

The first time it happens he goes stiff

Still as a statue in such an uncharacteristic manner

Thinking he’s uncomfortable you tried to pull away, an apology at the tip of your tongue when shaky arms pulled you back

Clinging to you as knees buckle and he ends up in the crook of your neck

You don’t mention how his sobs are heartwrenching

Nor that they haunt you with how vulnerable it sounds

Instead you thread fingers through his snowy hair, weaving through the soft locks

You never ask what happened

Instead you say that you’d order pizza tonight, on the house

With a few sobs he tries to argue but you don’t relent

And somehow the stubborn man you called your boss relents

Perhaps for the first time you’d ever seen

It’s later on when these moments happen though few and far between that he opens up bit by bit

It takes about a year but Like small fractures in a dam it eventually breaks and lets out the waterworks

He tells you he had a dad, a stern but caring man who disappeared one day and probably died

He tells you that he had a brother, his twin who was his opposite in almost every way possible down to contrasting favourite colours

The most caring mom in the world who died as flames consumed their home

He could only stay hidden in the closet

Scared and alone

Powerless to it all

How for years he was alone with only a trail of regrets and people he cared for ending up in the crossfire

How he’s only part human (though to be honest you already kinda put that together after he walked off being impaled one day)

All because of him

That despite it all he only ended up failing time and time again

And most surprisingly that he was scared

Scared for you

Because everyone he cared for ended up dead

And that he’s sorry for being selfish and keeping you around despite the risk

That you have to hate him for how annoying he was

For the danger he brought even being in the same room as you

It’s admittedly a lot

But you hold him, letting him get it all out

Hands that had seen so much loss and blood clutching you like you were the last valuable thing in the world and simultaneously made of glass

It just solidifies your words when you tell him that honestly he was a giant pain in the ass

A admittedly terrible boss

A smartass and flirty bastard

But he was a good person

Someone who did his best despite the circumstances

Because no matter how much he was kicked down and spat on he took it with a cocky smile

Never letting the salt in the wound sting in front of others

And that most importantly you can’t guarantee that you won’t get hurt

But you’d stick with him

For some reason despite all the risks he lists off you wanna stay

Your not really sure as to why

But you stay and that’s what matters

The risk he practically begs you to consider

Yet you stay

So in the vulnerable moments you wait for him by the doors

Waiting and ready for him to collapse into your arms

Ignoring the blood and gore that you’d inevitably have to wash out your clothes yet again

But it’s a price to pay when the man you call your friend

Your technical boss who was more like your own employee than anything with how you heckled him to get work done

Your best friend and worst migraine holds you with such fragility

You never confirm with him but you think the last time someone hugged him like this was his mom

All those years ago as the blazing flames surrounded them

It’s perhaps why he clutches you so close

Hoping to not let go and have the past repeat itself

But unlike back then you remind Dante that he’s not powerless anymore

He’s not the scared boy locked in a closet surrounded by the flames

He’s a man with the power to protect those weaker than him

Because he knows what it’s like to be powerless

To pray for a hand to reach out and to now be that hand for others

Despite what he thought you remind him that the truly powerful protect what they love

(Unbeknownst to you, you are that love)

(The beating heart that makes his humanity all the more apparent and his demonic side all the more powerful with something to protect)

All the while you morn the fact that Dante and you are the same age

Both kids with no one seemingly but each other in this world and left to navigate with one another

Your both just kids

You’d heard too many of Dante’s stories about his childhood not to recognize the sight of his brother inside your apartment

White hair slicked back instead of messy locks framing his face

Their near identical features if not for the ominous threatening look in blue eyes that you knew Dante would never direct towards you even if you took the last slice or banned him from strawberry sundaes yet again

You’d think after all the stuff you’d been through due to Dante like the incident with the raccoons out back becoming infused with demon power

Or the amount of times you’d saved his sorry ass from going fully broke

That this would be the worst thing that could happen

An Incorrect assumption

Looking at his definitely evil twin brother you can’t help but sigh and put your hands up in defeat

He told you awhile back about his run In with his twin

Said twin trying to steal his half of the amulet that the half-demon always wore

Well “always wore” besides the times he’d go to take a shower and ask you to hold onto it for him for a bit

Then returning it once he was done, a certain shine of gratitude in his eyes when he sees you polished it for him

Anyways back to the evil twin thing, apparently Vergil gave back said amulet because “he said he could take it back anytime he wanted”

The death glare and that quote alone alerted you to what type of person you had in your apartment

And that’s not even accounting the fact that he’s also part demon and has a real ass katana with him

“So do you want me to write a note for him before you kidnap me? Or do you want me to call him instead?”

To be completely honest after the raccoon incident you can’t even be remotely surprised anymore

But this does either earn you amusement from said definitely evil brother or at least some brownie points for being compliant

“Your cooperating?”

“Listen sir…uh Vergil? I’m assuming your Vergil? Anyways Vergil I’m not paid enough to deal with this….and your brother said I’d be paid overtime if something like this happened. So if anything this a forced paid vacation”

To be honest that last part was mostly you trying to find some good in this admittedly shitty situation

You always had great copping skills or at least that’s what you told yourself

At least you’d hopefully get something out of this besides trauma

And potential scars physical and psychological

Or Maybe even death if your super unlucky and piss off the blue half demon

But that was an if

A big if due to the fact he hasn’t already cut you down implying he needed you for something

And hopefully that something would give Dante enough time to save you

God forbid he doesn’t or else you’d become a demon and claw your way out of hell to torture him with undone paperwork

And with that you end up as hostage/bait in a literal hell tower that spouted up from the ground

Vergil and some weird guy called Arkham holding you at the top of the tower like some princess

Guess in this case Dante would be your proverbial knight in shinning armour while Vergil was the dragon or something

The analogy wasn’t too far off with that weird ass jester occasionally popping up to piss you off when Vergil left the room

You couldn’t wait for the long nosed bastard to have some lead shoved inbetween his eyes for the fact he kept joking about your dead expression whilst being kidnapped

Unlike him you had some scraps of dignity you wanted to save

Plus what was even the point of kicking and screaming when you were up against a half demon and whatever else they had up their sleeves

Speaking of said other half demon though

Surprisingly you didn’t entirely mind Vergil

Was he an ass? Definitely

But at least you could have a conversation with him

Something that surprises even him when you spotted him pulling out a book of poetry

Specifically William Blake

Yeah, surprise surprise somehow that “useless” class in high school your parents hounded you about wasting your time on actually became relevant

You’d say you’d told them if it weren’t for the fact you never wanted to see either of them again

He reads quietly aloud not expecting you to finish the last part for him

“The sun descending in the west, the evening star does shine; The birds are silent in their nest, and I must seek for mine-”

“The moon, like a flower, in heavens high bower, with silent delight, sits and smiles on, the night”

For the first time you see something crack in his stoic demeanour

a spark of something when he then turns to you

Surprise? Maybe even a hint of some sort of longing

You don’t know what he went through after he was separated from Dante, but you can only guess it was just as hard as his twin up to this point

So maybe finding someone with the same love for flowery words of a dead guy was comforting in some weird way

At least as comforting it could get for someone who hated humanity

He walks over to where you sat on the cold ground with your wrists and ankles bound, asking if you knew more of Blake’s work and when you nod

At that there’s a moment of silence and then he asks for your interpretation of old words on faded yellow pages

This leads you to discuss with Dante’s brother without being called a “useless human” 5 seconds in

Honestly sitting atop the weird demon tower debating with him wasn’t what you pictured

But it is a sure if a lot better than what you originally imagined

Mostly because it’s actually pretty fun

Vergil unlike Dante seems to like debating and discussing

Something that was hard to do with Dante because he either brushed it off or was more prone to changing the subject

You don’t blame him for it, stuff like this wasn’t his forte

But it was nice having someone to talk to about it

The two of you start off at first with Blake

Interpretations of his poems meanings

Particular passages either of you enjoyed

That evolves into discussion of other poets

Poe, Dickinson, Shakespeare, Wilde, frost and Shelley

But it later devolves into world views

Specifically his opinion on humanity

Because despite the fact that Vergil is part human and his fully demon father married a mortal woman and seemingly abandoned that part of himself

Vergil ended up despising his humanity

Thinking of it as inferior to his demonic half

Well, maybe hate was a strong word but he definitely looked down on humans

Yourself included but maybe a bit less considering he was talking with you instead of scowling silently as he did before

He was the opposite of Dante in every way

While Dante embraced his humanity Vergil shunned his own

But Vergil accepted his demonic half whilst Dante still remained hesitant of it

One brother was loud, the other silent

One Red and one blue

One Warm and one cold

Complete and total opposites in every manner of the word

While you don’t agree with Vergils views you do try to understand them

You make the effort of understanding him because you think he deserves as much

Not only because he was important to Dante but because like Dante he also was your age

He was a kid like you are even if he tried to act mature

He thinks his mom abandoned him that day in favour of Dante

Telling him she didn’t wouldn’t change his mind especially from you of all people

A human who’d never met her or was there for that event

Especially if Dante had tried and still couldn’t get through to him

So instead you reason with him in other such ways

Sparda had sealed off the demon from the human world for a reason

Didn’t that indicate something to him?

Plus he was already powerful enough by every other standard possible

He could outmatch any human that came his way

He raised a god damn hell tower to prove it

He was already top of the proverbial food chain with enough power

Dipping his toes into this though could shift those tides

Admittedly you knew jack shit about hell and it’s hierarchy besides the small tidbits Dante explained

And even then those snippets of information were from the small stories his dad told when he was younger so it was dubious at best

You’re not sure if Mr. Sparda had sanitized stories for his sons or if he told them the truth and didn’t cushion the blow

But it safe to say even the most powerful of humans couldn’t compare to the upper crust of hell

Plus the added bonus of It being closed off for who knows how long giving an even bigger question mark as to what’s down there

Because if hell is anything like humanity things change and demons get stronger

For all he knows he could be inviting that Mundus guy his father went against to his doorstep

And seeing how Sparda apparently had a difficult time defeating him at full power the odds weren’t in anyone’s favour

That last part seems to shake him a bit more than you’d initially thought

You see the stone cold demeanour crack slightly

“Are you calling me weak?”

“I’m not, Far from it. But all I’m saying is that opening that portal is opening pandora’s box.” For a moment you pause watching his stewing expression “there’s no undoing it if you do and no telling what your unleashing on not only everyone else but yourself. Your not guaranteed anything from this, let alone the power you seek ”

Distantly if you listen hard enough you swear you hear gunshots ring out on the lower floors of the tower

The familiar rhythm and melody of ebony and ivory’s gunshots

You’d heard them too many times to be able to memorize the sound

But along with that your alerted to the fact that someone else besides Dante is in the tower

Something Vergil seems less than amused with

Not to mention the fact he looks like he’s perpetually 5 seconds away from stabbing that Arkham guy nearly any time the man opens his mouth

Something you can’t exactly complain about since you’d also found him plain weird

And that’s saying something

The only thing out that bald freak’s mouth that you agreed with was that a storm was approaching

Both physical and metaphorical as you sit when the rain begins to fall

Sitting atop this ancient tower of stone you can’t help but find some irony in it all

Sparda had sealed away this unholy tower to stop the passage from one world to the next

But ultimately it’s one of Sparda’s sons who tries to resurrect it and undo his fathers work while the other wants to topple it for humanity’s sake as his father did

It was like a twisted form of jenga with this Tower of Babel

With you unfortunately at the top of the tower waiting for it to topple

The moon hangs high in the sky, Illuminating the droplets that shine

The pale silver light reminding you of both of the twins hair

Dante’s is left down to frame his face, free and messy just like he is

Whilst Vergils is pushed back and sleek, professionalism and an air of confidence in it

Never had you been as relived in your life until that point when you see Dante’s knotted messy mop of hair

Slightly stained with blood and viscera that soon began to wash away under the rain

You can’t help but yell his name in sheer excitement, his eyes light up

Lurching forwards your stopped not only by the fact that your currently tied up with uncomfortable ass rope but also the fact that Vergil unsheathe his sword in front of you

A indignant huff escaping him

(From your yell or his brother your not sure…probably both considering him)

You see your reflection in the blade alongside the hollow presence of the moon

Her silent presence a small comfort in this entire situation despite her impartialness in helping

(You do not see the blue wearing brother glance down at you for the briefest of moments)

You can’t do anything but watch as the two fight

Blow after blow

Slash after slash

Round after round fired from ebony and ivory

All the while you stay huddled to the ground trying to desperately stay out the way

Your works cut out for you though on account the two seem to pivot away if they get too close

No matter if either was about to win Dante would pull back if either him or Vergil got too close to you for comfort

And you think even Vergil seemed to do the same for some reason

Maybe he wanted to kill you later or something

But the turning point comes and red stains the cold ground

Yamato impaling itself through Dante’s chest while you can only watch

You can’t help but scream his name again as he falls and the necklace is torn from his neck

The heirloom he seemed to only trust you with being stolen

Vergil smoothed his hair back under the rain in a comedically villain manner that takes you out of it for a moment

This is your life now

Captive atop a tower while two half demon brothers duked it out

Dante twitches, ready to get up but Vergil takes Dante’s own sword and stabs him with it

Vergil and Arkham talk for a moment but your too distracted to pay their words any attention

Not when your focused on Dante

and then a beam of light shoots out Dante’s sword and the sword changes?

And then Dante’s back up again

This all happens in the span of a couple minutes the while your gaping at the scene

Because a) you knew Dante had some type of magic deus ex machina bullshit but you didn’t know he could get stabbed multiple times and survive. Mind you, you’d seen him stabbed once or twice before and walk it off but several times in a row was something you didn’t expect him t just walk off either

plus b) all this time he could get impaled several times over and yet his ass would run like you were coming at him with a chainsaw when you were trying to whack him on the head with a broom a few days back

You don’t get much time to focus on that anymore

Not when Vergil picks you up and walks to the edge of the tower

All the while Dante stumbles to his feet

A bloodied cough erupting from his chest as he tried to stumble forwards with his arm outstretched to you

“Oh please god no, can’t you just take the stairs-“ before you get to finish your plea Vergil takes a leap off the tower with you firmly on his shoulder grasping him for dear life “DANTE!!”

Never had you thought that your life would end up like this

And it all came from a singular job ad

#devil may cry #dmc #dmc3 #dmc virgil #dmc dante #dante sparda #vergil sparda #Dante #Vergil #dmc x reader #dmc x you #devil may cry x reader #dante x reader #vergil x reader #devil may cry x you #this took way to long #devils may love?

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marksbear2 · 3 months ago

Note

Omni man x male reader!! And could it please be nsfw headacanons? I love you so much and your one of my fav writers ever

Omni-man (Nolan Grayson) x Switch Male Reader

⚠️Warnings!— Both Reader and Nolan are switches, teasing, public sex kink, rough Sex, choking, quickie, face fuck, flying, and more!⚠️

— You’ll be the first ever man he’s been with. But he’s pretty arrogant so he thinks having sex with you would be the same as having sex with a woman, oh boy he was so wrong.

— One of the first things you taught him was how to give a blowjob. He lets you guide him through it as he held the end of your cock with his hand. As he went down further on your cock he kept eye contact not breaking for a second.

— After a few more tries of sucking you off he takes your cock to the base. He likes being in charge making sure you don’t thrust your hips or try to push his head away or down.

— He hates getting a facial, his face would be turned to the side with his eye close as your load painted his face.

— But whenever your face fucking him he’ll have his head tilt back letting you go relentlessly at him. Or even laying on his back and letting you fuck his throat that way. His tongue would be swirly and gulping around your cock. The only time he gags or chokes is when you cum in his throat without a warning. He’ll be quick to spit it out and pull away. But whenever you force him to swallow every last drop his gaze would be filled with lust and also annoyance.

— Sloppy kisses with you all the time during sex. His mouth would be latched onto your throat trailing up until he reached your ear or lips. Lapping his tongue around your face until it finds its way back in your mouth. Whenever you two are kissing he’ll be fucking you even harder.

— He last forever in bed, so usually you two are going at it for however long you can take it/handle it or stopping whenever he has to go do hero things. The last time you tried going as long as he last you ultimately tapped out since it was going on for hours position after position location to location.

— Very dominant and controlling in bed. He knows exactly what he wants and expects you to follow orders.

— But he loved getting put in his place. He’ll be pathetic moaning and grunting out your name. His breath would be shaking begging you to fuck him harder and faster.

— He’s into restraints and choking, one time he immediately came on accident when you suddenly started to choke him.

— You two having quickies often is normal since Nolan is always off handling business or training mark. When you two actually have time for sex and not just a quickie it could last hours as he has high stamina.

— Him having very sensitive nipples so you pinch and tease them while he’s fucking a fleshlight basically milking him. You two also share sex toys as well.

— He has a public sex kink, he’s too possessive to let anyone actually see you two doing it but sometimes when it’s night he’ll holding you over a city fucking you in the air while still in his hero suit. Or having you fuck him in a middle of an alleyway. Just having you take him anywhere and time arouses him.

— Very clingy when’s he’s bottoming. He’ll want you close as possible. Holding onto your back and shoulders while having his leg spread letting you have your way with his hole. He’d be mumbling all sorts of things under his breath while you fuck him.

— He also enjoys taking it from the back. Having you fuck him in the kitchen both of you in a rush as you could be walked in on any time. His head will be on the counter, his pants and boxers down to his ankles while you fuck him. His cum landing onto the bottom cabinet of the kitchen.

— Him riding you for hours, he’ll treat you as his own toy dildo. Even as your cock slips out of his hole from how much cum you have buried inside of him. He’ll arch his back reaching down to you and lower himself down on it.

— He has a habit of pinning your face against any surface when fucking you. It’s almost as a power play as he fucked his cock in and out of you. He also wants you to be very vocal. He couldn’t care if the neighbors or his son can’t get any peace and quiet because of you two. He wants to hear every sound of pleasure you make.

— A lot of “I’m sorry” sex between the two of you. Whenever you’re upset at him, whenever having sex he’ll be more tender and sweet to you. While in missionary he’ll press a kiss to you with every thrust wanting to coax you into forgiving him. And whenever that doesn’t work he’ll offer his hole to you. And if you accept the offer while you fuck him his fingers will comb through your hair whispering sweet nothings and words of affirmation.

— Really into overstimulation. Seeing you get all needy and spent after cumming so many times it boost his ego. He’ll let out a chuckle as he listen to your whiny protest about no more as he sinks down onto your cock milking your cum with his hole or mouth.

— He will have your head in between his flexing biceps as he thrust very roughly inside of you. He also likes giving and receiving dirty talk.

— You two having sex while he’s still in his hero suit. He could just arrived home and already wanting to pounce on you like a dog.

— When he’s needy like that, he doesn’t even care about getting undressed and wants you to take him right there and then. When your fucking him he asks (command) you to pull his cape to force his body to go down on your cock.

— Has a weird interest in seeing you just jerk off or finger yourself. He actually becomes feral if you’re jerking off to a video of him or to anything he owns. And joins right next to you.

— He sometimes randomly gets on top of you and make you pull your shirt off to give himself a boo job with your pecs, or randomly touches your face with his cock until you open your mouth and suck him off.

— Very possessive. He has subtitle ways of marking his claim on you like by leaving marks on your neck and any exposed area. He also cums on your face a lot. He’d paint you with his cum while also mumbling compliments under his breath watching you clean off his cock with his tongue.

— You two definitely broke the bed multiple times. It’s mostly whenever Nolan’s on top and he’s accidentally going to fast and rough without realizing it. And when you two stop and stare at each other for a moment, he will quickly snap his hips back to fucking you ignoring your protest to stop.

— One of his favorite intimate positions is cuddling while fucking.

— Listening to your soft grunts and words of praise in his ear turns him extremely on. His body will be arch into yours giving you easy access. He wants every inch of you beared inside of him, and even asks for more whenever your balls deep showing how needy he is.

— Especially after a long day, having you spoon him from behind while also driving your cock in and out of him. Even when he knows he’s seconds from falling asleep he allows you to keep going.

— Breeding kink.

THE END

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sleep-0-deprived · 10 months ago

Note

Gyomei Himejima x Male Reader who's a demon who was rehabilitated by Tamayo and one day met Gyomei and it was like love at first sight? And M/N has like a rope/belt like power similar to Daki's? And they wanna experiment with that?🤭

Experiments~ (Gyomei Himijima x demon male reader)~ ໒꒰ྀི˶˃ᆺ˂˶ ꒱ྀིა

WC:. 2.2k

Tags binding, praises riding, no protection, soft sex (firm believer in Gyomei being a gentle giant), anal sex, size differences, belly bulging, creampies ૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱ა

A/N I’ve never written for a blind character so please excuse any errors! Sorry it took so long to write I hope you enjoy though <33

────────────୨ৎ─────────────

You were a demon. You favored Nezuko and Tamayo in the fact you didn’t follow nor submit to Muzan’s cruel plans and you still kept contact with your human side. That was what led you to meeting lady Tamayo and by default she managed to rehabilitate you over time. You eventually make yourself known to the core, wanting to help the greater cause by fighting against muzan and his demons with them.

The demon slayer corp didn’t trust you at all at first, I mean why would a demon of high status, no- one of Muzan’s most loyal switch sides and come to them and offer himself over?…well you did and master thought the only person fit to handle and keep tabs on you was none other than the stone Hashira Gyomei.

You were forced to stay in the stone estate with Gyomei, and occasionally Genya when he stopped by. Genya was more accepting of you than Gyomei at first being that Genya’s fighting style was him temporarily turning into a demon he was understanding

Genya was more open to the thought not all demons were bad. Gyomei on the other hand was still skeptical keeping his senses strong listening to you at night walking around the estate.

Gyomei would sense your blood demon art at night, he’d expect you to sneak off maybe hunt for food or run back to your master but you never did. You would use your blood demon art to grab things doing the most laziest things with them like opening doors grabbing a pillow that was too far out of reach,

he could tell what you were doing by the sounds of your belts and pillows ruffling. The large man might not have any sight but his other senses were heightened in every way.

Slowly over the months he’d ease his guard and stop holding his body ready like you were about to betray the core, he’d even swoon for you almost when he first heard your voice it made him question if you were really a demon because you sounded just like an angel to him.

Sadly your scent betrayed you showing to him you really were the demon that did such horrific crimes. The rehabilitation brought you close to Gyomei, and you spent most of your days together in the empty estate.

Present day the two of you have been together going close to a month and shockingly you two do have sex, one might think a religious and traditional man like Gyomei would wait for sex until marriage but nothing about his relationship with you was traditional I mean you were a demon and the two of you were both men but he didn’t seem to care.

“I’m bored Gyo?” You’d grumble all sprawled around in his lap like you were a king on a tanned flesh throne “must you lay like that on me [name]?” He’d sigh just reaching one hand down firm on your hip, his voice holding no true disdain having you in his lap

“yes I must!…and you know we could always pass time in other ways Gyomei?” You’d lean close standing on your knees in his lap now leaning into his ear whispering using your thumb to wipe the tears running down his cheeks with his eyes open glossed over as always unblinking and pale white.

“Always insisting sinful things to me, you really can be a from [name] pulling me into temptations with your binds..”his slightly red beneath his skin tracing his hands to your waistband with you straddling his lap in his room of the stone estate.

“Speaking of my binds….wanna use mine on you when you’re stretching me out. Bind you against me skin to skin while I ride you” you speak shamelessly nearly confident in his lap but he was totally flabbergasted, his body tense you could see red on the tips of his ears with a few hot tears pricking back down his cheek right where your thumb pressed wiping his cheek off again.

His large hands felt your pants around tracing and guiding them to the zipper making due with his lack of sight while you on the other hand let go of his cheek taking your hand down to his pants undoing his fly as he sits under you. With your belts coming out of your back wrapping around his waistband pulling them off softly before turning to blades cutting his boxers up to get his cock out

“you are such an eager demon [name]” his voice rang in the cool night of the estate with his cock hard pressed to his shirt with a pearl like bead of pre cum sitting on his tip, clearly sensitive pulsing eager for touch— which you were happy to give.

“You’re eager too Gyomei, don’t bother telling me different I feel it” you murmur retracting your binds for a moment to Scoot closer lifting your shirt over your head with your cock springing free when he can finally get your boxers off.

You crawl further in his lap sitting down on his cock with it pressed between your cheeks reaching above your crack making a sticky mess in your laps

“always feel so good, boy” he groans grabbing your hips with his teary eyes white and wide as always grinding his cock between your cheeks easily lifting you around like a boy toy in his lap making your binds react wrapping around his back tearing through his haori leaving marks in his skin unintentionally.

“Shit- didn’t mean to Gyo—“ you let out a sharp gasp hushed by him taking one hand off your hip keeping you firmly pressed to his cock reaching his hand up to the back of your head and shoving your face upwards leaning down eagerly kissing you into silence “it’s fine, not worried about it [name]”

He murmurs his tongue pushing past your lips into your mouth running against your cheeks pressing to your tongue making you huff using your binds to fully get his haori and shirt off with the sound of his golden buttons hitting the floor with your chest pressed to his leaving your cock weeping between your thighs pressing all leaky between your stomachs.

“Prep me already gyo..” you muffle out guiding his hand off your hip pulling your mouth off of his panting trying to catch your breadth before shoving two of his fingers down your throat “so warm baby” he speaks his teary face all red and flushed at the lewdly of what was happening with him only being sad his prayer beads weren’t around we hike his cock throbs between your cheeks producing more precum.

“I’m going, be patient or you aren’t getting anything but your own fingers” he finally broke away with a string of saliva his voice booming making a shiver run down your spine pouting pressing more to him feeling his large hand snake out of your mouth using the hand on your hip to lift you off his lap enough to push one finger inside you.

“Hm, you can’t do that to me” you shriek a little panicking with your rim puckering staying still in attempt to adjust to the feeling looking up at the blind Hashira with your binds all sharp and from wrapped around his muscular back holding his larger body to yours while your jaw slacks a little feeling him thrusting his finger in and out massaging your walls curling against your prostate before trying to prod his second finger in you.

“I can, and I will if you don’t get it together in my lap” he hums now scissoring your rim open using the mix of spit on his fingers and precum from where his cock rested between your cheeks to open you up. His fingers rub against your bundle of nerves building up a hot pit in your stomach and you think he knew that too because right as your cock perked up against his stomach he pulled his fingers back out.

“Want you to cum from me, need to know my cock was what pushed you over” his hands trail lifting you up by your hips making your binds lose grip on his back with your hands holding his muscular shoulders while he nudges his cock head against your rim. “Feels like you’re ripping me in half Gyo~” your air fled your lungs leaving you exhaling harshly feeling a burn shoot through your body but any tears quickly heal from your regeneration sealing yourself around him bottoming out inside you leaving a outline in your stomach.

“I bet you look so beautiful sitting on me like this, wish I could see your body. I’d kiss it up in every way” his large arms move on your body grabbing around your waist holding you slowly starting to jerk his hips upwards from beneath you making your rim stretch further and engulf his full length feeling his balls pressed firmly to your cheeks while you dig your nails into his shoulders straddling his large lap.

“I- know you would gyo-mei~” you squeak out, your muscles tensing reaching forward kissing him nearly eating his face off moving your lips against his slipping your hand off his shoulder wrapping around the back of his neck with your binds all slithered around the two of you holding you two skin to skin. His hands hold onto hour hips bouncing you in time with his movements with your thighs on either sides of his hips filling the room with small plap’s of your asscheeks smushing to his balls getting stretched with your cock bobbing back and forth tapping your stomach with your tip an angry red.

“Mh- [name] you’re clenching me so tight, boy” a soft strained sigh leaves his lips starting to pick his pace up holding your hips down firmly groaning against your lips pulling back only to suck in air before smushing his lips back on yours rutting his hips upwards driving into you with his cock stretching you out, his veins dragging along your inner walls while you hold your arms around his neck pulling your mouth off his and shoving his face in your pecs gripping his black hair.

“Just suck em” you moan your Adam’s apple bobbing like your cock while your binds dig at the skin in his back leaving marks from how tight you hold him to you. Gyomei’s cock pushing and nudging into your sweet spot over and over practically bullying your prostate making you feel its pulse while his face buries into your pecs biting at one of your nipples rotating between sucking and biting with his tears dampening your s/c skin.

“I can tell you’re getting close [name], you’re clenching up more- cum for me baby” he murmurs pressing sloppy kisses over your perked up buds holding your hips tighter making the bulge in your tummy bigger feeling a burning pain build up inside you from being fucked and spread open on him so long. One hand in Gyomei’s hair and the other holding his shoulder firm rocking your hips downwards into his thrusts trying your hardest to feel him deeper and deeper inside you with your belts tightening even more erupting a moan from the larger man.

“Oh fuck-oh I’m gonna—! I’m cumming~!” You mewl out shoving his face in your pecs harder arching your back up straight with your hips rolling erratically clenching and clamping as tight as you can around him breaking his skin with your other hand digging nails in his shoulder with your cock stiffening nearly jumping forward shooting sperm in its own groaning dropping your head forward on top of his when your cock shots a final rope of cum onto his stomach.

“That’s a good boy, gonna make me cum won’t you?” His chin resting on your rib cage blowing on your sensitive peaks rocking his hips forwards into you slowing down going in deeper and longer thrusts trying to let your rim milk him while he hits his own climax, the muscles under your hand tensing up letting you know the fire in his loin is bursting hot feeling the first spurt enter you making you shiver your eyes half lidded getting filled up.

“So warm” you coo out in his lap feeling your bulging tummy bloat up some with your binds slowly loosing around him letting him go as they retract back inside your back with your regeneration healing up your once broken skin. “Did I go over board [name]?.. how are you feeling?” He’d murmur lifting his head from your chest with a serious expression on his face needing to hear your verbal words not being able to see your reaction.

His tears flow freely down his cheeks making you sigh in his lap reaching your hand up from his hair and off his shoulder wiping his cheeks mumbling “I’m great Gyo, you were great.” Leaning in with a kiss on his cheek sitting still on his cock letting out a little hiss when you lift yourself off his cock feeling his semen slipping from your now loosened rim leaving your cheeks all slick when he grabs your waist and lays back pulling you right on top of his chest holding you laying on his mat in his personal bedroom of the stone estate letting you pull a blanket up.

“In the morning I’ll make sure to draw you a bath inside the estate, I know your beautiful skin is sensitive to the sunlight” he spoke in a soft tone to you holding you to him in a comfortingly tight regard rubbing at the back of your head and if it wasn’t for you being a demon he’d personally take you to the saunas but he knew that wasn’t possible with your inability to stand in the sun, doesn’t mean he still won’t give you the great aftercare you deserve.

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bachissidehoe · 1 year ago

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Blue Lock Men & Your First Time

featuring: Isagi, Bachira, Chigiri, Nagi, Reo, Rin

“I- before we go further I- just want to tell you it’s my first time…I definitely want to, I just thought you should know…”

Isagi: he smiles softly, pulling your shaky, nervous body into a soft, tender kiss. He goes slower than he normally would, his tip dancing against your tight little hole, pressing into you just centimeters at a time, ensuring your comfort the entire way. As soon as his entire cock plunges inside you, you gasp, letting out a moan from the unexpected pleasure. But as soon as Isagi gets a hint that you’re enjoying yourself, his switch flips, and his tender attitude washes away as he thrusts deep into you.

Bachira: he can’t hide his devilish smile, that little demonic look in his eyes. He can’t help it, to have that power over you is exciting. “Don’t worry pretty girl, might hurt a little at first but I’ll take care of ya.” He slides a finger inside you, then a second, playing around with your obvious arousal, scissoring his fingers to work on stretching you out. “Y’can take me. Promise. You’ll love it.” He smirks, replacing his fingers with the tip of his cock. He pushes it into you, attaching his lips to yours to drink up all your whimpers and winces from the pain. He can’t help it turns him on to see you just a little in pain, he can’t help that it makes him push harder and faster.

Chigiri: he’s surprised to hear that it’s your first time, you’re always so flirty and forward he expected you’d at least have a little experience. Regardless, he’s honored to be in this position, and makes sure you know that. “Why don’t you get on top and slide down, you know, gravity’ll do the work.” He suggests. “Lucky I have this hm.” He pulls out a bottle of lube, lathering it onto his perky cock and stuffing some of the gel into your pretty pussy. He holds your hips as you hover your hole over him, slowly sliding down. The lube makes it much easier, with you bottoming out in no time. “See look at you, fuck~ you’re so damn good at this. A natural. That’s it~” he praises.

Nagi: this is even better for him, he can just lay back lazily and let you ride his thick cock however you please. “You wanna just sit on it?” He asks, sharp pains radiating through your lower half as you sit halfway on his gorgeous, pulsing shaft. “Don’t worry ‘bout moving.” He loves the pleasure just from the tease, you slowly getting used to his size is like heaven for the snowy-haired boy. He’d let you sit on his cock all day, twitching inside your pretty cunt as the pain slowly washes away.

Reo: he smiles kindly, a plan instantly coming to mind. “Wow beautiful, and you trust me with this? Let me make you feel good first, it’ll make it easier to take, trust me.” He dips his head between your soft thighs, licking up your wetness and lapping circles around your throbbing clit. You can’t help but grab at his hair, the sensation of his perfect tongue sliding against your tight, wet pussy. In almost no time you find yourself releasing, cum soaking his eager tongue. Reo fucks you as you come down from your high, the pain of your first time nonexistent after he took care of you so damn good.

Rin: he tilts his head to the side. “You sure you want it to be me?” He asks. You nod eagerly, encouraging him to continue sucking dark hickeys into your neck, down to your tits, on your inner thighs. He loves how you whine for him, he can’t help but love it even more when there’s a bit of pain involved. He tries to go slow but he just can’t help it, your pretty little pussy takes him in too well. He loves how you dig your nails into his chest as you instinctually push against him, he loves how your whimpers echo in every corner of the room. He loves holding you close and telling you “just a little more, you can take it.”

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furioussheepluminary · 3 months ago

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𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥

Pairing: ex!FBIagent!Chan x FBIagent!afab!reader, slow burn, strangers to reluctant allies, nonidol au

Synopsis: he died. Everyone believed he did. But you found out. And whether you like it or not, keeping you alive is now his job.

Warnings: violence, onomatopoeia, switching btwn chris and chan (but its the same person), russian (there will be translations), mullet chan...

a/n: I liked this piece a lot actually, and I hope you do. dw, there will be more parts (relax...), uhh my longest so far? 5k words? yeahh..if you have extra eyes for errors, no you don't.

next...

Christopher Bang is dead.

The world had been convinced that Christopher Bang was dead.

His funeral was quiet, attended only by select FBI agents and a few grieving colleagues. A closed casket. No family to claim him. A legend reduced to whispers in the hallways of Quantico. They said he died in an operation gone wrong, a noble sacrifice to protect the country. Christopher Bang had never been an ordinary FBI agent. He was a prodigy—recruited young, trained hard, and shaped into one of the Bureau’s finest operatives. His reputation was legendary, whispered in briefing rooms and hushed conversations. He was the kind of agent you sent when failure wasn’t an option. His career had been built on precision, unwavering loyalty, and an unshakable sense of justice. He wasn’t just good at his job; he was the job. His instincts were lethal, his mind sharper than the blade he always carried strapped to his thigh. From high-profile kidnappings to dismantling international crime syndicates, Chan had seen it all. And for a while, he believed in the mission. Believed in the Bureau.

Until he didn’t.

The cracks had always been there, but Chris only started noticing them after Operation Nightfall. Nightfall was supposed to be routine—an undercover mission to infiltrate an arms smuggling ring with direct ties to high-ranking officials. The Bureau had been tracking them for years, their operations spanning across borders, feeding civil wars, and keeping global conflict at a steady boil. This was supposed to be the mission that brought them down. Chan had spent months buried deep in the criminal underworld, assuming the alias of a ruthless gunrunner. He had earned their trust, gathered intelligence, and secured evidence that could take down some of the most powerful players in the game including politicians and government officials who were supposed to be on his side.

That was his mistake.

Because when the time came for the bust, nothing went as planned. The moment his team stormed the compound; they were met with bullets. Not from the criminals, but from their own men. The FBI’s tactical unit, the very people meant to back him up, had turned their guns on him and his informant. It was a hit. Chan barely made it out alive. His informant, his only lead to the bigger players and his best friend, was executed in front of him, and he had been left for dead in the chaos. A staged accident. A casualty of war. But Chan had survived. Wounded, disoriented, and betrayed, he disappeared into the underground before the Bureau could finish the job.

It took weeks for him to recover, to put the pieces together. The truth was uglier than he could have imagined. The people he had trusted had sold him out to protect their interests. He had two choices: fight back and risk everything, or disappear.

Chan chose to disappear.

Faking his death wasn’t easy, it never was but it was the only way to move undetected. He had to erase Christopher Bang from existence. Burn his past. Cut ties. He left behind no body, no trace, nothing for the Bureau to track. The world mourned him, but he watched from the shadows. And from those shadows, he did what he did best.

The glow of your desk lamp cast long shadows across the scattered case flies, illuminating worn folders that had become your life for the past three weeks. The first time you saw Christopher Bang; he was nothing more than a file on your desk. You didn’t mean to stumble onto his case. It had been a late night at the office, one of those quiet, lonely shifts where the air smelled like stale coffee and ink-stained fingertips. Fewer voices, more room to think. Most agents had gone home, the bullpen dimly lit by the glow of monitors. You had been assigned to a different case—routine arms trafficking, nothing out of the ordinary. But in the midst of your research, his name popped up not once and that didn’t sit right with you. At first, it was a footnote. A long-forgotten alias linked to an offshore account. It should have been nothing just another dead man’s forgotten assets. But then, the details started to unravel, one thread at a time. The account had been accessed recently. Money had moved. And whoever had moved it knew exactly what they were doing.

Your fingers tapped rhythmically against the keyboard of your system as you scrolled through classified financial records, piecing together a puzzle that didn’t quite fit. The deeper you dug, the more the numbers twisted into a dead end. As you combed through the financial web, his name resurfaced again. Your breath hitched.

“Ok, what the actual fuck?”

The world buried that name two years ago but here it was, tied to a forgotten alias buried in offshore transactions. “Thats impossible.” You turned in your chair toward the stack of classified files and papers piled on your other desk. Quickly, your flipped through the pages and pushed aside other papers. The alias wasn’t obvious, Chan had been careful but when you spotted it, you knew. The name was one you had come across years ago during a different case, linked to a false identity the Bureau once used for deep-cover work. An alias that had supposedly died along with him. Yet here it was alive and well, funnelling money through ghost accounts. The neatly organised system you prided yourself on was gone, replaced by a frantic need to confirm what you already feared.

“Come on, come on...” you muttered, flipping again past cases that had long since gone cold. The scent of ink and the faint musk of time filled your senses as you pulled open another manila folder, the edges frayed from years of handling. And when you saw it, your pulse spiked.

FBI CLASSIFIED: CONFIDENTIAL – AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY

BANG, CHRISTOPHER CHAN

Stamped in bold red ink across the top was a single word that now could’ve been a lie.

DECEASED

Swallowing hard, you spread the contents across your desk. A black and white photo of Chan stared back at you, his badge clipped neatly to his suit, a small smirk playing at the edge of his lips.

Name: Bang, Christopher

Alias(es): Phantom, K-Strike, Shadow OP

Date Of Birth: October 3, 1997

Place of Birth: Sydney, Australia

Nationality: Australian/Korean

Last Known Rank: Senior Special Agent – FBI covert Operations Unit

Specialization: Deep cover infiltration, counterterrorism, tactical reconnaissance, financial crimes, high-risk asset extraction

Status: Deceased (as per Bureau records, declared KIA during Operation Nightfall, 2023)

You glanced through the pages of his physical and psychological evaluation, very impressed by his results. On his classified operations list, Nightfall was disclosed as a failed mission declaring his KIA, which should have solidified his name as a martyr in the agency’s war against organised crime. People who die in the field don’t get forgotten so quickly. When you reached the last page however, a small text at the bottom was handwritten which stood out to you;

FILE STATUS: ARCHIVED

NOTICE: Any activity involving this alias or financial transactions linked to Agent Bang should be considered a breach of classified intelligence. Further investigation requires authorization from the Director’s Office.

Signed, M. Reynolds.

You grabbed his mission report, flipping through the pages searching for what you might have missed. Nightfall had always seemed too clean on paper. A mission that ended in disaster, yet conveniently wrapped itself up without loose ends. No body recovered. No autopsy. No real proof of death, only ‘witness reports’; a term that had been conveniently vague. You stomach twisted as you skimmed the list of operatives present during his last assignment. A few familiar names, including higher-ups who were still active in the Bureau today. And one name in particular...

Deputy Director M. Reynolds.

You stiffened. Reynolds had been the one to officially close Chan’s case. If Chan had supposedly faked his death, Reynolds either knew about it or it was one of the reasons he disappeared in the first place.

The weight of the situation dwelled heavily on your chest. You weren’t just looking at a missing agents financial trail. You had reopened a case the Bureau had long since buried. And if you weren’t careful, you’d be buried alongside it.

Deputy Marcus Reynolds was once one of the most respected figures in the Bureau a man who built his career from bringing down high-profile syndicates. But Chan had seen what others hadn’t: the cracks in his so-called justice. Their relationship had always been tense. Reynolds saw Chan as an asset useful but too unpredictable. Chan, on the other hand, never trusted Reynolds, especially after noticing discrepancies in classified reports. The deeper Chan dug, the cleared it became Reynolds wasn’t just complicit in the corruption; he was orchestrating it. His last mission, Nightfall, had been an evident setup. The intel had been too clean and easy. As if someone wanted him in the field open and vulnerable. But when it went sideways, Chan realized too late, that he was the target. And he had to disappear.

Reynolds closed the case within 72 hours, an unusually fast decision for a high-ranking agent’s death. Because if Christopher Bang was dead, he couldn’t expose what he knew.

The next few weeks were a blur of late nights and hushed conversations. You moved quietly, off the books, following leads that didn’t exist. It was dangerous work digging where you weren’t supposed to. But you had always trusted your instincts, and your instincts told you something was very wrong. You kept this new discovery to yourself of course, exposing it may open multiple Pandora’s boxes that couldn’t be closed. You didn’t know why you chased him. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was something darker, the need to understand why a man like that would fake his own death. Or maybe, deep down, you knew that whatever he had been running from was still out there. The breakout came unexpectedly. Against the dim glow of your laptop casting shadows across your apartment walls. While cross-referencing transaction time stamps with recent disappearances, you noticed a pattern- each financial movement coincided with a known safehouse burning to the ground. It was subtle, almost untraceable, but not for you. When you saw it you knew. Christopher was surviving. Amongst all the locations you had scouted one hadn’t been touched yet. An old decommissioned safehouse outside the city; a place you remembered from your early years at the Bureau. Officially, it had been abandoned after an op went sideways and unofficially could be Chan’s hideout. If he was still alive.

You grabbed your gear- a discreet sidearm, burner phone, flashlight, and the flash drive with all the evidence. The drive that proved the Bureaus corruption against Chan and why he had to disappear. The drive that could get you both killed.

The night air was thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth as you navigated the overgrown path toward the building. It stood hidden between skeletal trees, its exterior worn by time, but the security measures were still intact. A rusted fence. Motion-triggered floodlights ones that shouldn’t work but flickered on as soon as you stepped closer. He was here you were so sure of it. Your breath came shallow as you approached the side entrance, pressing against the damp wall. The door had been reinforced new locks, fresh welding along the hinges. Not abandoned at all. He’s careful.

You reached into your pocket, pulling out a small USB device. It wasn’t the evidence neither was it just a tool; it was bait. Plugging it into the old security panel, you let it do its job—overloading the system for a brief five-second window. It was all the time you needed.

Click. The lock disengaged. Heart pounding, you stepped inside. The interior smelled of dust and aged wood, but there were signs of recent use—a makeshift bed, scattered papers, a half-empty glass of water on the counter. A map was pinned to the wall, red markings circling names you recognized. People who had gone missing. People the Bureau wouldn’t miss. People Chan had eliminated. Then, movement.

A whisper of sound behind you. Before you could react, an arm wrapped around your throat, pressing just hard enough to warn, not to harm. A gun was at your temple, the cold steel sending a shiver down your spine.

"Who sent you?" The voice was deep, familiar. You swallowed hard. "You did." A pause. His grip didn’t loosen, but he didn’t pull the trigger either.

"You should have stayed away," he murmured.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to meet his eyes. Dark. Calculating. But underneath it all—a flicker of something else. Something human. "I couldn’t," you whispered. "Because you didn’t."

A sharp exhale—barely a whisper—was the only warning you had before you were tackled to the ground. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs as your wrists were wrenched behind your back, pinned in an unbreakable grip. The cold press of a gun barrel met the back of your skull, and the weight of a solid, muscular frame held you immobile against the dusty floor.

"One last time," a deep voice murmured above you, low and lethal. "Who sent you?"

You gritted your teeth, twisting slightly beneath him. "No one." A pause. The weight above you shifted slightly, but the gun didn’t move.

"Third times a charm, princess. Try again."

His voice was cold, but something about it struck you—not just familiarity, but certainty. You had found him.

"Bang Chan," you rasped. "I found you." That was the wrong thing to say. The grip on your wrists tightened, his knee pressing into your lower back with just enough force to make your ribs groan. You clenched your jaw to keep from gasping. "Yeah?" he mused, almost mocking. "And how exactly did you manage that?"

You sucked in a breath, your pulse thrumming against the barrel of his gun. "Your offshore accounts," you admitted. "One of your old aliases popped up in my case files. I traced the transactions—saw the pattern. You're covering your tracks, but you missed one."

A slow exhale. He was processing. Then, suddenly, he yanked you up. Your legs scrambled for footing as he hauled you to your feet with an ease that sent a shiver down your spine. He spun you around, and for the first time, you got a good look at him. His hair was longer now—jet black, damp at the ends, curling slightly at the nape of his neck. It fell into his sharp eyes, barely concealing the raw intensity burning behind them. The years had refined him, hardened him—his jawline sharper, his muscles defined beneath the tight black shirt clinging to his frame. He adjusted his grip on his gun, holding it lazily by his side but never out of reach.

But what struck you the most was the way he was looking at you. Like he was deciding whether to kill you or let you live. "Prove it," he ordered, his voice softer but no less dangerous. Your breath hitched. "I have proof of the Bureau’s corruption. On a flash drive. I brought it with me." His gaze flickered—just for a moment—before hardening again. He exhaled sharply through his nose, then abruptly released you, shoving you back slightly. "Don’t follow me next time," he muttered before turning away.

Your heart still pounded as you watched him move, muscles flexing beneath his shirt as he returned to whatever he had been doing before your arrival.

You took a step forward. "You're just going to pretend this didn’t happen?"

"Yes."

"Are you serious right now?"

"Yes."

Your frustration flared. "So, what, you’re just gonna keep hiding in the shadows? Killing off whoever you think deserves it?" Chan finally looked at you again, his expression unreadable. "That’s what ghosts do." A beat of silence stretched between you before he turned away again. "You should go back to where you came from," he said, voice quieter this time.

But you didn’t move. Because now that you had found him, there was no way in hell you were letting him disappear again.

Chan had stripped off his tight black shirt, revealing the sharp, battle-worn lines of his torso—faint scars cutting across his chest and shoulders like remnants of a past he didn’t care to remember. He pulled a clean, loose shirt over his head before dropping into his chair, exhaling as he propped his combat-booted feet onto the wooden desk. A plastic bag of heated ramen sat beside him, the faint steam curling up as he ripped open the top. The scent of instant broth filled the air, and with a slow, almost lazy motion, he dug his chopsticks in, slurping up a mouthful without a care in the world.

But when he turned his head, there you were. Still standing. Arms crossed. Stubborn as ever.

His chewing slowed. "Why the hell are you still here?"

"I'm not leaving without an explanation." Your voice was firm, unwavering. Chan let out an amused scoff, flicking his eyes away as he continued eating. "Not my problem."

"It is," you shot back. "You disappeared. You faked your own death. People thought you were murdered, Chan."

His expression didn’t change. He didn’t even pause, still chewing. "And?"

"You don't get to just vanish without an answer," she pressed, stepping forward. "You were one of the best agents we had. Then one day, you’re gone? What was I supposed to think?" Chan finally lowered his chopsticks, resting them on the rim of the ramen cup. His fingers drummed against his thigh as he exhaled slowly through his nose. Then, with a lazy, almost bored movement, he reached for the gun beside him. The soft click of the chamber sent a chill down your spine.

Without lifting his feet from the desk, he cocked the gun and aimed it directly at you. "You should go," he murmured, voice laced with quiet threat.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t back down. "You’re not going to shoot me." Chan tilted his head slightly, something dark flickering in his eyes. And then—

BANG.

The sound shattered through the room. A sharp sting cut across her cheek as the bullet tore through the window behind her, the glass shattering into a thousand shards. A thin line of warmth traced down her skin—a graze. He had aimed for the perfect near miss. Your breath hitched, heart hammering as she stared at him in disbelief.

Chan twirled the gun in his fingers before leveling it back at you, still slouched in his chair.

"I don’t bluff, darling," he murmured, lips curling into a smirk.

The weight of his gaze pinned you to the spot, daring you to make your next move. But you wernt going anywhere. And by the way Chan’s lips curled into a smirk, he knew too. The silence stretched between both of you, thick and suffocating only broken by the soft plink of glass shards hitting the floor behind you.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t take a single step back. Instead, you exhaled sharply, leveling your gaze with his, voice steady. "Fine then," she said, brushing a thumb over the fresh graze on her cheek. "I guess I’ll just go back and tell Reynolds where you are. Let him know his little ghost isn’t as dead as everyone thinks—"

The reaction was immediate. Chan’s boots hit the floor with a solid thud as he swung his feet off the desk. His once lazy posture vanished as he stood, slow and deliberate, the air around him shifting into something darker. His expression didn’t change—no anger, no frustration—just a cold calculation in his eyes as he started toward her.

"You see, that’s where you make your first mistake." His voice was smooth, deceptively calm, as he took another step forward. "You think Reynolds is the one pulling the strings."

Your jaw tightened, but you didn’t respond. Chan smirked. "Your second mistake? Threatening me. You don’t have the leverage you think you do, sweetheart." Another step. He was close now, towering over her. She could see the sharp lines of his face, the way the dim light cast shadows beneath his jawline.

"And your third mistake?" He tilted his head slightly, gaze flicking down as he scoffed. "Letting me get this close."

She stiffened, but he didn’t move—just watched her, eyes scanning every inch of her like he was reading her next move before she even made it. Then, his voice dropped lower.

"How long have you been in the agency?"

She swallowed, keeping her stance firm. "Five years."

"Hm." He studied her, gaze lingering on hers a moment too long. "And in those five years, did you ever stop to wonder why you care so much about this?" She narrowed her eyes. "Because you disappeared. Because none of this makes sense, and every time I get close to an answer, another door shuts in my face."

Chan hummed, considering her words. His gaze flickered between her eyes like he was searching for something.

"And?" he pressed, voice barely above a whisper now.

She exhaled. "And because you were one of us. One of the best. If they turned on you, who’s to say they won’t turn on me next?"

That made him pause. For the first time since she walked in, something flickered across his expression—something almost unreadable. He was quiet for a moment, the distant sound of the city outside the only thing between them.

Then, in a tone laced with something far heavier than before, he murmured, "They already have."

Chan’s gaze flickered back to her, something sharp settling behind his dark eyes. "What’s your name?"

You hesitated for only a second before responding. “Y/N.” He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he walked back toward his desk. Chan exhaled, running a hand through his hair before turning his attention back to her. "Tell me something. Did you tell anyone about this little research project of yours?"

You straightened. "No."

He let out another humourless chuckle. "You should’ve left it alone. Left me alone. Whatever you found, whatever little breadcrumbs you were following, you should’ve buried them. I was doing just fine in the dark." Your jaw clenched. "I'd rather work under the right leaders than serve corruption."

He stopped, tilting his head slightly. He was about to respond when—

A voice. Muffled, hushed yells from outside. His entire posture snapped into something rigid, head whipping toward the sound before his gaze cut back to you, something deadly brewing beneath his calm exterior. "You cleared your tracks, didn’t you?" His tone was laced with sarcasm, but his eyes told a different story, survival mode kicking in.

"I did," you shot back, but even as you said it, her stomach twisted. Had you been wrong? Had you been followed? Chan scoffed, already moving. "Of course you did."

Then, instinct kicked in. He grabbed a duffel bag from beneath the desk, moving swiftly, shoving in stacks of cash, fake passports, and a few flash drives you barely caught a glimpse of. He zipped the bag, yanking open a drawer and pulling out two guns, checking the clips before tucking them into his waistband. The voices outside grew closer. Chan turned to her, jaw tightening. "See what you’ve caused?" Before she could respond,

CRACK!

A bullet shattered through the window. Her body froze for half a second, but Chan was faster. He yanked you down, his grip firm as another round of shots rang out, tearing through the walls. "You just had to come looking for ghosts, didn’t you?" His breath was hot against her ear, voice low and edged with frustration.

You didn’t have time to argue. Not when the next shot nearly clipped the spot where she was just standing. The sound of heavy boots against concrete echoed through the abandoned building, growing closer with each passing second. Mixed in with the rapid orders were voices speaking in clipped Russian. Chan’s body went rigid.

"Чистите здание!" Sweep the building!

His jaw locked. His fingers twitched around the grip of his gun, the muscle in his temple ticking as he processed. Russians. He cursed under his breath. His gaze flicked to her. "Stay close, don’t do anything stupid." You opened your mouth to respond, but he didn’t give you the chance.

With practiced ease, he slung the duffel over his shoulder, grabbed your wrist, and yanked your toward the back of the room where the garage was. Another voice cut through the air. "Если увидите его—убить сразу." If you see him—kill him immediately.

Chan’s grip on you tightened. "Move.”

The gunfire had stopped, for a while but Chan knew better than to think they were safe. The silence was worse—it meant they were moving, repositioning. The Russians didn’t shoot blindly; they cornered their targets like hunters. He pulled her through the darkened hallways of the safe house. The air was thick with dust, the only light coming from the flickering emergency bulbs that barely held power. His pace was quick, calculated, and she had no choice but to keep up.

They burst into the garage, Chan’s boots crunching against the concrete floor as he beelined for the nearest car. He didn’t care which one just one with gas and working tires. He threw the duffel bag into the backseat, yanked the driver’s door open, and turned to you.

“Get in.”

You hesitated. Only for a second. But he wasn’t in the mood for second-guessing.

“Now.”

There was something about the sharpness in his voice, the raw edge of urgency, that made you obey. You slid into the passenger seat, barely buckling up before the roar of the engine cut through the silence. Chan reversed so fast that the tires screeched, burning rubber as he whipped the car around and sped toward the exit. The second they burst onto the empty road, the garage door behind them rattled. A second too late—the Russians had reached the safe house, but they were already gone.

His hands tightened around the wheel, jaw clenching as he forced his breathing to steady. But Y/N wasn’t stupid you saw the shift in his composure. The rigid tension in his shoulders, the flicker of something dangerous behind his eyes.

“Who were they?” you asked, your voice steady despite the lingering adrenaline.

Chan didn’t answer immediately. He exhaled sharply through his nose, gripping the wheel until his knuckles turned white. “Since I became a ghost and not dead, someone put a bounty on my head.”

“A bounty?” She blinked, processing. “By who?” He hesitated, just for a beat. Then, his lips curled into something bitter. “A former Russian cartel.”

Silence.

“Wait? A Russian mafia?!”

Chan rolled his eyes, his grip flexing on the steering wheel. “Oh, don’t sound so shocked, sweetheart.” You turned in your seat, still trying to wrap her head around it. “You mean to tell me you pissed off the Russians? The same ones who wipe out entire families without blinking? And you thought, what? That they’d just let you go?”

He shot her a look, unimpressed. “I did die, remember?” He tapped his fingers against the wheel. “They weren’t supposed to know I was still breathing.”

“But they do know,” she pressed. “No shit.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I should’ve expected it.”

She stared at him for a moment, piecing it together. “What did you do to them?”

Chan didn’t answer immediately. His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking there. The headlights illuminated the stretch of road ahead, but he wasn’t seeing it—his mind was elsewhere.

“Something they don’t forgive,” he murmured. And somehow, that was more unsettling than anything else.

The road stretched endlessly before them, a dark ribbon of asphalt cutting through the night. The drive was silent. The only sounds were the occasional creak of the car’s frame and the distant wail of sirens in the city. Chan’s hands remained steady on the wheel, his foot pressing just enough on the gas to keep them moving fast but unnoticed. The hum of the engine filled the silence, punctuated only by the occasional flicker of headlights from distant cars.

Then, without looking at you, he asked, “So, are you willing to become a ghost, just like me?” His voice was low, unreadable.

You turned to him, your brows furrowing slightly. “What?” Chan exhaled through his nose, still keeping his eyes ahead. “You found me. Which means others can, too.” His fingers tapped against the wheel, slow, deliberate. “Now that you know I’m alive, you’re at risk.”

You let the weight of his words sink in.

“If you want answers,” he continued, “there’s no going back. You either disappear, like I did, or you keep living with the lie that I’m dead.” Silence settled between them. The reality of the situation pressed against you, suffocating in its finality.

You didn’t know what to say.

All you wanted was the truth—why he disappeared, why his name kept surfacing in places it shouldn’t. But now, you were tangled in something far more dangerous.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, voice quieter than before. “I just… I just want to know the truth behind everything.”

Chan scoffed under his breath. “Truth comes at a price.”

You turned back to him, watching the way his jaw tightened, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

And for the first time, you wondered if you were ready to pay it.

Chan's grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles pale in the dim glow of the dashboard. His mind was running a mile a minute—running through every possible reason why they had found him so easily, why she had been so careless.

Or maybe… she hadn't been careless.

Maybe they were watching her before she even found him.

He pulled into the parking lot of an old roadside motel, one of those places where no one asked questions as long as you paid in cash. The neon sign flickered above them, casting an eerie red glow over the cracked pavement. He killed the engine, but neither of you moved for a moment.

Finally, he turned to you, his expression unreadable. "Here’s the deal, Y/N," he said, voice low. "You have two choices. You stay here tonight, in this room with me, and by morning, you’re gone. You forget you ever found me, forget what you saw, and go back to playing by the agency’s rules." He let the words settle before continuing.

"Or…" he leaned in slightly, eyes sharp, "if you're actually ready for this life, if you’re ready to stop working under men like Reynolds and start chasing the real truth—you stay until morning."

A pause.

"But if you stay, there’s no going back."

You stared at him, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a loaded. Your pulse pounded in your ears, but you refused to show any hesitation. You had risked too much and come too far. He was giving you a way out, to turn back and pretend none of this ever happened. Btu you couldn’t do that.

“You think came al this way just to walk away now?” you finally said, arms crossed as you met his gaze head-on.

Amusement flickered in Chan’s eyes. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” he muttered.

“No,” you shot back. “I don’t.”

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tobiosbbyghorl · 3 months ago

Text

Rhythm of Us | psh 🔞

pairing: dance club president!sunghoon x plump!reader

wc: 8.8k

warning: smut!/unprotected sex/ body insecurity themes/public sex/light power imbalance/ sexual photography (consensual)/mild angst/ fluff ofcourse!

Orientation day wasn’t something Y/N had been looking forward to. New faces, crowded spaces, the weight of first impressions—it all felt overwhelming, especially when you didn’t quite feel like you fit in. Her clothes felt tight in all the wrong places, and even though she knew she looked okay, her mind kept whispering otherwise. Still, with Sunoo and Jungwon on either side of her, dragging her toward the campus auditorium, it was hard to say no.

The room was packed with freshmen, all buzzing with nervous energy. She tried to shrink into her seat, already exhausted from pretending to be unfazed. Then the lights dimmed.

Music started. The cheers around her rose.

And then he walked onto the stage.

Park Sunghoon. Second year. Dance club president. The name didn’t mean anything to her yet—but the moment he started to move, it was burned into her.

He was smooth. Fluid. Sharp. Controlled. The way his body followed every beat made it hard to look away. He danced like he knew what it did to people. His confidence wasn’t loud—it was in the way he took up space, the way his eyes scanned the crowd without needing to land on anyone to command attention.

Her breath caught in her throat. She wasn’t even sure if she was clapping when it ended—her heart was too loud in her ears.

She didn’t tell anyone. Not even Sunoo, who she told everything. She just held it quietly, tucked it somewhere between admiration and fascination. She watched from afar when they passed him in the quad. She caught glimpses during campus events, when he was leading workshops or walking with his club members, exuding that quiet charisma that made heads turn. Especially hers.

Weeks passed. Her crush didn’t fade, it deepened. But she never expected to actually cross paths with him.

Not until the school festival.

Their department was in chaos. The interdepartmental dance competition was coming up, and they were short on performers. Sunoo and Jungwon had already agreed to join, and the moment Y/N mentioned offhandedly that she used to dance in high school, they latched onto her like hawks.

“No way you’re keeping that from us!” Sunoo gasped dramatically.

“I’m not—seriously, I’m rusty. And—” she looked down at herself—“this isn’t exactly a dancer’s body anymore.”

Jungwon frowned. “Screw that. You know what looks good on stage? Confidence. Energy. Passion. Not pants size.”

She hesitated, but eventually gave in. It was just an audition. No one important would be watching anyway.

Or so she thought.

She stood at the edge of the practice room, shifting nervously as the music cued. For the first few beats, she was stiff. Conscious of the way her shirt rose every time her arms did. But then… she found the rhythm.

The switch flipped.

She moved. Boldly. Powerfully. Her body remembered what it felt like to lose herself in a song. Her insecurities melted with every step. Her hips swayed, her arms cut through the air, her footwork crisp and commanding.

She didn’t see the door crack open.

Didn’t see Sunghoon lean against the frame, arms crossed, brows slightly raised as he watched her dance like no one was watching.

His head tilted. A slow smile curled on his lips. Interesting.

When the music ended, she was breathless. Flushed. She grabbed her towel and bent over to catch her breath.

A voice came from behind her.

“I didn’t expect that from you.”

She froze. Slowly turned.

Sunghoon stood there, smirking. His black tee clung to his chest, and his hair was damp with

sweat like he’d just come from practice himself.

“You just made half the dance team look like backup dancers,” he said, stepping a little closer.

Y/N couldn’t form words. Her mouth opened slightly, but her brain refused to cooperate.

Sunoo grinned behind her. “Told you she’s a hidden weapon.”

Sunghoon’s gaze didn’t waver. “I like hidden weapons.”

She didn’t remember the rest of the conversation. All she remembered was his voice, the heat that climbed up her neck, and the way his eyes lingered just a bit too long.

After their department won the competition—largely thanks to her—Sunghoon approached her again. Alone this time.

“You’ve got something special,” he said, fingers tapping rhythmically against his thigh. “You should join the dance club.”

She blinked. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious,” he said, that damn smile back again. “I want to see more of you.”

The double meaning was not lost on her.

Practice after that became… something else.

He wasn’t subtle. Every time they were paired together, he pushed limits. His hand always rested a little too long on her waist. He stood close—too close—when they moved through routines, voice low as he murmured corrections in her ear, his breath grazing her neck.

“You’re stiff,” he said one evening, pressing a hand against the small of her back. “Relax. Trust your body. It knows what it’s doing.”

Her breath hitched. “Easy for you to say.”

He leaned closer. “You make it very hard to stay easy.”

She nearly choked.

After a while, she gave in to the flirtation. Gave into the way her body reacted when he touched her. The way he looked at her like she was the most interesting thing in the room.

Then came the post-performance party.

She’d worn a fitted dress that hugged her hips, lips tinted in a shade darker than usual. She’d danced. Laughed. Let go.

And someone noticed.

An upperclassman approached her, complimented her moves, told her her curves made her stand out on stage. He was charming. Harmless.

But someone else was watching.

Sunghoon stayed back, drink in hand, eyes locked on her. Jaw tight. When the guy’s hand touched her arm, Sunghoon moved.

He cornered her near the hallway minutes later, his voice quieter than usual, more serious.

“Didn’t know you liked guys like that.”

She raised a brow. “Like what?”

“Touchy. Forward.”

Her heart jumped. “What’s it to you?”

He stepped closer, enough that she had to tilt her head to look at him.

“It’s everything to me right now.”

The tension was thick. His eyes dropped to her lips. Her back hit the wall. She swore he was about to kiss her.

But Sunoo called her name from down the hall, and just like that, the moment passed.

It wasn’t until a week later—after another high-energy performance, where the two of them danced like their bodies were on fire—that it happened.

Backstage. Dim lighting. Music still thumping from the main floor.

Y/N laughed, flushed and panting, high off the adrenaline. She turned to face him, breathless.

He reached for her hand, spun her around.

“You keep dancing like that,” he murmured, pulling her close, “I might fall harder than I planned.”

And then he kissed her.

It was messy. Hungry. His hand on her cheek, thumb grazing her jaw, the other on her waist pulling her close, her hands gripping his shoulders like she’d fall without him. Their lips moved like they were still dancing, synced and seamless, stealing breath and giving it right back.

When they finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against hers.

“Damn,” he whispered, grinning. “You’re full of surprises.”

She smiled, dizzy. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

And she meant it.

Because the dance had only just begun.

—

The studio had emptied out hours ago. The overhead lights were dimmed to a low golden hue, casting long shadows across the floor as the playlist played softly in the background on a loop. Y/N stood in front of the mirror, trying to stretch out her sore calves. Her body was damp with sweat, her tank clinging to her skin, and her chest rising with shallow breaths after their nonstop practice.

It was supposed to be just another after-hours session—polish the final duet choreography for the dance showcase. Sunghoon was always strict about lines and connection, always chasing perfection on stage. But tonight had been different.

Too many moments where his hand lingered just a second too long. Too many hushed praises said in a low, teasing voice right by her ear. Too many times her body responded before her brain could catch up.

“Still standing?” Sunghoon’s voice came from behind her, low and rich. His reflection joined hers in the mirror, and she immediately tensed.

“Barely,” she tried to joke, avoiding his gaze. “I think I pulled something.”

He stepped closer, towel slung around his neck, black shirt clinging to his torso. His chest rose and fell with a practiced ease, but his eyes were anything but calm as they scanned over her in the mirror.

“Show me.”

“What?”

“Where it hurts.”

“I was joking,” she murmured, her voice suddenly small. His presence always did that—made her feel things she didn’t know how to name.

But he didn’t laugh. Instead, his hand reached out, gently grazing her lower back. She flinched, and he paused.

“Relax,” he said, even softer now. “Let me take care of you.”

Y/N stared at their reflection, unsure. Her instinct was to hide. To turn her body away from his eyes. Even after weeks of flirting, of tension, of touches that lingered, there was still that small voice in the back of her head that whispered he’s out of your league. That he looked the way he did—and she looked the way she did.

But then he stepped closer, chest against her back, and slipped his hand up her arm in a gentle, grounding motion. His other hand touched her waist, his fingers tracing slow, featherlight patterns over the soft curve there.

“You’re holding back again,” he whispered, voice low and rough. “Why do you keep doing that?”

She bit her lip. “Because I don’t… I don’t look like the girls you usually dance with.”

His head dropped to her shoulder, lips brushing her neck. “Don’t do that.”

Her breath hitched.

“Don’t you dare compare yourself to anyone else. Not when I can’t stop thinking about the way you move.”

He turned her around gently, hands firm on her hips. She tried to step back, to hide, but he followed, eyes locked on hers.

“Y/N,” he said, like a vow. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

She was quiet. Vulnerable. Her hands clenched at her sides.

Then he leaned in and kissed her—softly at first. Like he was asking. When she didn’t pull away, he kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands sliding up her sides like he needed to touch every part of her. His tongue slid past her lips, coaxing hers into a slow rhythm that left her dizzy.

When they pulled apart, he pressed his forehead to hers.

“Let me see you,” he murmured.

“I don’t—” she started, already shaking her head.

“Shh.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “Let me worship you.”

His fingers slipped under the hem of her tank top, and she stiffened again. But his eyes held no judgment. Only heat. Admiration. Hunger wrapped in reverence.

He peeled the fabric up, slow, giving her every chance to stop him. She didn’t.

When her top came off, he sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes drank her in—soft stomach, full chest, flushed cheeks.

“God,” he whispered, stepping closer. “You’re perfect.”

She laughed nervously. “You don’t have to say that—”

He kissed her neck. Her collarbone. Her shoulder. “I’m not saying it to be nice. I’m saying it because I’m obsessed.”

His hands traced the soft curve of her waist like it was his favorite line in a song. He dropped to his knees in front of her without a word, pressing kisses over the stretch of her belly, murmuring, “Beautiful… gorgeous… fuck, I love this.”

Her hands flew to cover herself, but he gently tugged them away.

“Don’t hide from me,” he whispered. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you right now.”

She let her fingers tangle in his hair, breath catching as his lips explored her skin like it was something precious. He rose slowly, trailing kisses up her body, until he stood again, cupping her cheek.

“Look,” he said softly.

He turned her toward the mirror again, standing behind her. Her reflection trembled, but his hands anchored her—one on her stomach, the other caressing her arm.

“You see this?” he asked, his voice like gravel. “This body dances like fire. Drives me insane. The way your hips move, the way you own the stage… You don’t get to call that anything but sexy.”

His lips grazed her ear. “Let me show you how much I mean that.”

And when his hands slid lower, and his lips found hers again—deeper, hungrier—she let him. She let go of everything. Of fear. Of shame.

Because in his touch, in the way he moaned against her skin, in the way he looked at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered—

She finally believed it.

She was desired.

And when he laid her down on the studio mats, kissed every inch of her with aching reverence, whispered how much he wanted her between every breathless touch—

She finally felt worshiped.

Her back met the cool mats beneath them, the contrast to the heat building in her body making her shiver. Sunghoon hovered over her, his knees on either side of her hips, his hands braced beside her head. The look in his eyes wasn’t just lust—it was reverence. Like he couldn’t believe she was really there, beneath him, letting him see her like this. Letting him have her.

“You sure?” he asked quietly, his thumb brushing her cheek, grounding her even as the fire between them burned hotter.

Y/N nodded, biting her lip, her voice barely above a whisper. “I want this. I want you.”

That was all he needed.

His lips were on her again, but this time they moved lower, worshipping every inch as they traveled down her body. He kissed over her collarbones, nipped at the swell of her chest, his hands sliding under to unclasp her bra slowly—so slowly that her hips lifted involuntarily beneath him.

The fabric slipped away, and Sunghoon pulled back just enough to take in the sight of her bare chest. His eyes darkened.

“Fuck…” he breathed, tracing the underside of one breast with the backs of his fingers. “You’re unreal.”

She turned her face to the side in embarrassment, but he didn’t let her hide. He dipped down, kissing the curve of one breast, then the other, then wrapping his lips around her nipple, sucking gently until she gasped.

Her fingers curled into his hair, tugging without meaning to, and he groaned against her.

“You like that?” he asked, tongue flicking playfully.

“Yes—God, yes,” she breathed, legs shifting restlessly beneath him.

He chuckled, cocky but adoring, clearly enjoying every second of her unraveling.

“Say it again,” he said, trailing kisses down her stomach. “Say you want me.”

“I—I want you, Sunghoon,” she whimpered. “Please…”

His hands slipped beneath the waistband of her leggings, slowly peeling them down, inch by inch, like she was something to be unwrapped—not just desired, but savored. And when he finally got her bare, fully bare, he sat back on his heels and stared at her like she was art.

“You’re driving me fucking insane,” he muttered, palming himself through his sweats, breath heavy. “You don’t even know how sexy you are like this. Spread out for me. Trusting me.”

Her body trembled, both from nerves and anticipation, but her eyes met his—and she saw it there. The worship. The hunger. The want. Not for a version of her, not in spite of anything, but because she was her.

“Touch me,” she whispered, voice barely audible. “Please…”

He obeyed instantly.

One hand slid between her thighs, parting them gently as his fingers dipped through her folds, testing how wet she was—and when he felt it, he swore low under his breath.

“Goddamn,” he groaned. “All this for me?”

She moaned in answer, arching into his touch. His mouth returned to her chest, his fingers finding a slow, delicious rhythm between her legs that had her panting, clinging to him, grinding up for more. He watched her fall apart, fascinated—her flushed face, parted lips, whimpers tumbling out with every brush of his fingers.

And when her thighs began to tremble, her walls fluttering around him, he leaned in close, lips against her ear.

“Cum for me, baby,” he whispered, voice like silk. “I want to feel how pretty you fall apart.”

She cried out as it hit her—pleasure blooming white-hot in her gut, her body shuddering beneath him. Sunghoon didn’t stop, easing her through it, kissing every inch he could reach, whispering praises and filthy promises all at once.

As she came down, chest rising and falling rapidly, he kissed her again—slower now. Deeper. A kiss that promised more. A kiss that said this isn’t just about tonight.

“Can I…?” he murmured against her lips, hips grinding against her core.

She nodded, no hesitation this time. “Yes. I need you.”

Clothes were shed in record time, and when he finally pushed into her, both of them gasped like they’d been holding their breath since the moment they met. He filled her completely, their bodies molding together like two halves of the same song.

He held her close, one hand under her back, the other cradling her face as he began to move—slow and deep, deliberate.

“So fucking tight,” he groaned. “You feel so good, baby.”

Her nails scraped down his back, her legs wrapped around his waist, her moans rising with each thrust. The studio echoed with the sounds of skin on skin, breathless gasps, soft curses and moaned names. His name. Over and over.

“Sunghoon—please—don’t stop—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he panted, kissing her fiercely. “This is just the beginning.”

And when they both came undone again, tangled in each other under the soft glow of the mirrors, it didn’t feel like a mistake. It didn’t feel like a fling.

It felt like everything was finally in sync.

Just like their dance.

Her chest was still heaving, her skin flushed and slick with sweat as Sunghoon pressed her deeper into the mat, his body nestled perfectly against hers. One of his arms cradled beneath her neck, the other splayed across her stomach, anchoring her to him as if afraid she’d vanish the second he let go. Their legs tangled, her thighs still trembling from the aftershocks, his cock buried deep and still twitching inside her.

She felt dazed—ruined, really. Breathless and boneless, her cheek pressed to his chest, right above where his heart was still beating erratically.

Sunghoon tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking to the mirror in front of them. The way their bodies looked—her full curves beneath him, the way her chest rose with every shaky breath, how she was holding him like she never wanted him to move—he looked absolutely possessive. And proud.

“Fuck…” he murmured against her temple, lips ghosting her damp skin. “Look at us.”

Her eyes fluttered open, and when she caught sight of their reflection, she stiffened slightly, still not used to seeing herself like this. Bare. Exposed. Tangled up with someone as effortlessly gorgeous as him.

Sunghoon caught the shift immediately.

“Hey,” he murmured, tightening his arm around her waist, pulling her back into the warmth of his body. His voice was honey-sweet and cocky all at once. “Why do you look like you’re about to disappear on me, huh?”

“I’m just not used to… seeing myself like this,” she whispered.

He grinned, slow and sinful, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder. “You better get used to it.”

Then he leaned to the side, reaching blindly for his phone resting on the edge of the mat. Y/N’s brows furrowed.

“What are you doing?”

His voice dropped, raspy and full of heat. “Can I snap a pic, baby?”

Her eyes widened. “What? Sunghoon—”

He held the phone up, smirking as he tilted it slightly to angle the lens. The camera showed them just like they were in the mirror: her plush, flushed body beneath him, legs still wrapped around his hips, his arms caging her close, sweat-slicked skin glowing under the studio’s warm lights.

“You look so fucking good right now,” he groaned, biting his lip as his fingers ghosted down her side again. “All wrecked. Mine.”

“Sunghoon—”

“I won’t show anyone. Not a soul,” he promised, and though his tone was cocky, his eyes flicked back to hers with a quiet softness underneath. “Just for me. Just to remember the first time I got to ruin you like this.”

She swallowed hard. The idea was bold. So unlike her.

But the way he looked at her—like she was art. A masterpiece he had the privilege of touching. Worshiping. Keeping.

Her lip caught between her teeth as she hesitated, then let out a shaky breath. “Just don’t get my face.”

His eyes lit up. “Fuck yes. Come here—arch your back for me, baby. Let me show you just how sexy you look from this angle.”

And before she could fully process how she’d gotten from silently admiring him across a crowded auditorium to letting him take a photo of her post-orgasm with his cock still inside her, he snapped the picture.

He grinned down at the image, then showed it to her, letting her see how soft and pretty her curves looked beneath him—how wild his own expression was, how possessive his grip on her waist was.

“Gonna be thinking about this all week,” he whispered, setting the phone aside. “No one’s ever made me feel like this before.”

He kissed her again, slower this time. Deeper. Then rolled his hips forward once more, just enough to make her moan and dig her nails into his shoulders.

“Round two?” he whispered against her lips, voice dripping with mischief. “Or do you wanna see what else we can get on camera, baby?”

—

Sunghoon didn’t wait for her to answer—because the way she clenched around him, the way her nails dug into his arms and her body arched up toward him? That was all the answer he needed.

“Yeah?” he breathed, already pulling back just enough to hear the wet drag of his cock sliding from her heat. “You want more, don’t you?”

Y/N swallowed, her cheeks flushed, lips parted in the prettiest daze. But this time… she didn’t shy away. Her eyes held his, heavy-lidded and bold, her fingers trailing down his chest to his abs, then back up to his shoulders.

“I can take it,” she whispered.

Sunghoon’s breath hitched.

Something primal flickered in his gaze—like the switch had flipped, and that teasing cocky energy turned darker, hungrier.

“Oh, baby,” he groaned, voice rough as gravel. “You have no idea what you just unlocked.”

He sat back on his heels again, his hands sliding under her thighs and pulling her down the mat until her hips were perched right on his lap. Still inside her, still thick and hard and stretching her open. Her breath caught as he adjusted the angle—and then he grinned.

“You’re dripping,” he muttered, almost to himself, watching the mess between her thighs with open awe. “So fucking messy and so ready for more.”

He braced one hand under her knee, pushing her leg up to her chest, opening her wide. His other hand gripped her hip tightly.

“Hold on.”

The first thrust punched the air from her lungs.

Not slow. Not gentle. He slammed into her like he couldn’t get close enough, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the empty studio like a filthy metronome. Her moan came out choked, a raw sound that made his head fall back, jaw clenched.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he grunted. “Take it. Take all of it.”

She did. She took everything—every rough thrust, every breathless curse, every desperate kiss he dropped on her lips, her neck, her shoulder. Her body moved with him now, hips rising to meet his, moans rising uninhibited as he drove deeper, harder.

She wasn’t shy anymore. Not here. Not with him.

Her hand slipped up his back, fingers raking through his sweat-damp hair as she arched under him. “More,” she gasped. “Faster—Sunghoon, please—”

“Fuck—like that?” He growled the words, picking up his pace until it was nothing short of relentless, his abs tightening, veins in his forearms prominent as he gripped her harder.

Y/N’s back lifted off the mat as she cried out, thighs trembling again, overwhelmed by the sheer force of his body and the way he looked at her while fucking her like she was the only thing in the world that ever mattered.

“So goddamn perfect,” he groaned. “Taking my cock like you were made for it—fuck, baby, you were, weren’t you?”

She could barely speak, only moan, her brain foggy from the pleasure snapping through her with every thrust. But she managed a breathless, “Yes—yours—Sunghoon, I’m—!”

“Cum again,” he demanded, thumb flicking quick over her clit. “Let me feel it. I wanna feel you squeeze me like you did before—fuck, baby, do it. Come on.”

It only took seconds. Her body locked beneath him, her walls clamping down so hard he nearly lost it then and there. Her moans dissolved into sobbed whimpers, her hands scrambling to hold onto him like he was the only thing keeping her grounded.

And maybe he was.

Sunghoon let out a strangled curse, hips stuttering, and then he was right behind her—spilling inside with a low, guttural groan as he pressed as deep as he could go, grinding through every last pulse of her orgasm until he collapsed forward, chest to hers, both of them panting and shaking.

They lay like that for a while, tangled, sweaty, and so close it hurt. His cock still nestled inside her, his hand stroking lazy patterns up and down her thigh while her heartbeat gradually slowed.

When he finally lifted his head, hair messy and lips swollen from kissing her breathless, he gave her the filthiest grin.

“You,” he said, brushing a thumb across her cheek, “are going to kill me.”

She laughed softly, dazed and happy, still catching her breath.

He kissed her. Slow this time. Sweet.

Then, his voice dropped again, low and playful.

“Think the mirrors caught that round too?”

—

Sunghoon was still hovering above her, sweat-slick and flushed, his hands stroking lazy up and down her sides as her breathing began to even out beneath him. But Y/N’s heart was still racing—this time, not from his thrusts, but from something bolder building up in her chest.

That same boldness he’d coaxed out of her piece by piece tonight.

He watched her with those hooded, post-orgasm eyes, that smirk softening into something fond as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You okay?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Still with me?”

She nodded slowly, biting her lip. Then, after a pause… she spoke. Quietly, but clear enough.

“Can I ride you?”

His body tensed above her. A beat passed. Then his jaw slackened, and his eyes blew wide with surprise—and heat.

“What?” he breathed, like she’d just flipped his entire world upside down.

“I want to,” she whispered, braver now, her fingers curling against his chest. “I wanna try… like that. On top.”

Sunghoon let out a strangled groan, his head dropping against her shoulder for a second like he physically needed to collect himself.

“Fuck, baby… you’re gonna be the death of me.”

He leaned up, eyes burning into hers, cupping her face with both hands.

“You can do whatever you want to me. Anything,” he said with a low, reverent kind of intensity. “You wanna ride me? I’ll lay back and worship you while you take what’s yours.”

That sent a hot thrill through her. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be wanted like this before—seen like this. Not just allowed to take control, but invited to. Encouraged to.

Sunghoon slid off her carefully, groaning as he slipped out of her, only to lay flat on his back on the mat, his arms stretched behind his head, completely unguarded.

He looked up at her with nothing but awe. “Climb on, gorgeous.”

Her cheeks burned as she rose to straddle him, thighs still shaky, but this time it wasn’t nerves—it was anticipation. She hovered above him, eyes flicking down to where he lay thick and hard again against his stomach.

“C’mere,” he coaxed, hands gripping her waist and guiding her forward. “Nice and slow.”

She reached between them and lined him up, exhaling shakily as she sank down.

Sunghoon groaned. One hand flew to her hip, the other pressing flat against his own chest like he needed to ground himself.

“Holy fuck, baby…” he hissed. “You feel so good like this—so fucking good riding me.”

She whimpered as she sank lower, the stretch deliciously slow and intense. Once he was fully inside her again, seated deep, she stilled for a moment, catching her breath.

He was right—she felt powerful.

Sunghoon looked up at her like she was a dream. “Look at you,” he whispered. “You’re fucking stunning like this.”

She began to move. Tentative at first—rolling her hips, adjusting to the angle. But the way he responded, the deep growls from his throat, the way his fingers dug into her plush thighs like he couldn’t get enough—it fueled her.

Confidence bloomed.

She leaned back slightly, grinding down on him as her hands braced on his abs, her movements smoother, more deliberate.

“Oh my god,” Sunghoon choked, his head falling back as he bit his lip. “You’re gonna make me cum just from watching you—fuck, ride me just like that, baby. Show me how bad you wanted this.”

Her moans picked up, riding the rhythm of his words. Every time she brought herself down on him, he met her halfway, matching her with a deep thrust that had them both unraveling.

“Harder,” she gasped. “Please, harder—”

He sat up in a flash, chest to hers, mouth crashing into hers as he took her hips in both hands and began guiding her even faster.

Her forehead dropped to his shoulder as she rode him harder, faster, her moans turning breathless and high-pitched.

“You’re so fucking sexy like this,” he groaned into her ear. “Can’t believe you’ve been hiding all this from me.”

She was close—so close. He could feel it in the way she clenched, in the way her nails scraped down his back.

“Cum for me,” he growled. “Right here, on top of me, just like this. Want you to fall apart while you’re owning me.”

And she did—shaking and gasping his name, her body jerking as the orgasm crashed through her again, harder this time.

Sunghoon followed with a curse, holding her down as he spilled inside her, hips twitching helplessly beneath her as he rode it out.

When they finally slumped down onto each other again, breathless and ruined, his hand cradled the back of her head, his mouth brushing soft kisses over her temple.

“You,” he whispered, lips against her skin, “are never gonna walk into practice again without me thinking about this moment.”

—

They hadn’t moved much—just enough for their breathing to settle, his arms still wrapped around her waist while she stayed straddled over him, warm and messy, their bodies still joined. The low lighting in the studio gave everything a soft glow, casting reflections in the mirrored wall across from them.

Sunghoon leaned back against the wall now, legs stretched out, her body still in his lap. One hand rested lazily at her lower back, the other reached off to the side again—fingers brushing along the mat until they closed around his phone.

Y/N felt him shift slightly, lifting the phone with a telltale little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re not—” she began, a little breathless, cheeks still warm from everything that just happened.

He tilted the phone casually, angling it toward the mirror in front of them. The screen lit up.

There they were. Her on top of him, hair wild, neck marked from his kisses, her curves cradled perfectly against his body like she was made to be there. His head leaned back against the wall, sweat-slicked and flushed, that post-orgasm look on his face—utterly wrecked and proud of it.

“You like taking pics, huh~” she teased, narrowing her eyes at him with a coy smile as she traced a finger down his chest. Her voice was breathy but playful, the soft lilt of it stirring something in him all over again.

His grin widened, slow and wicked.

“Only when I look like this,” he murmured, thumbing the screen but not pressing the shutter yet. “And only when you look like this.”

Her hand rested over his on the phone. “And what do I look like?” she asked, though her tone was already smug, body still glistening from their high, her confidence just barely teasing through.

“Mine,” he said without missing a beat. “Fucking gorgeous. And fucked-out. And glowing. And riding me like you finally know you own me.”

The air between them thickened again.

She raised an eyebrow. “So that’s why you wanna save it? A little souvenir for your spank bank?”

He chuckled, deep and low, squeezing her hip possessively. “Please. Like I need a photo when I’m gonna be dreaming about this for the next ten years.”

Then, softer, his voice dropped.

“But if you’ll let me take one again…” He brushed his lips against her jaw. “Just for me. Just to remember how perfect you look like this. No one else’ll ever see it. Cross my fucking heart.”

She looked at the screen again—at their reflection. At how good they looked together, how raw and messy and real she looked with him. And she didn’t hate it. Not even a little.

“…Just one, last one,” she murmured.

Sunghoon’s eyes sparkled as he clicked the shutter.

“And maybe one more,” she added, biting her lip as she shifted in his lap teasingly, making him hiss. “This time with you moaning my name.”

He groaned. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

And maybe she would be.

Their bodies had finally stilled, breaths returning to something human, even if Sunghoon still had his arms locked tight around her waist like he wasn’t ready to let her go. Y/N stayed curled into him, bare chest pressed to his, head tucked into the crook of his neck while the studio lights hummed softly overhead. Everything was warm. Sticky. Quiet in the most intimate way.

“You okay?” he asked again, voice low and stupidly fond.

“Mmhm,” she murmured, lips brushing against the sheen of sweat at his neck. “Better than okay.”

He smiled at that, smoothing a hand up and down her spine, fingers pausing at the curve of her lower back to trace light circles.

“You were incredible,” he said softly. “Like, actually insane. You know that, right?”

She scoffed into his neck. “You mean for someone who’s never done that on a studio floor before?”

He gave a breathy laugh. “No—I mean for anyone. You think I’m ever gonna be normal after this? I’ll be standing here leading choreo next week and all I’m gonna see is you bouncing on top of me like you own the place.”

She swatted his chest, giggling despite herself, her face heating all over again. He kissed her temple in return, lazy and warm, lingering there a second longer than necessary.

“Okay, okay,” he whispered. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

He shifted underneath her, and though her body protested at first—sore in the very best way—he moved slowly, carefully, helping her up without ever letting go fully. Somewhere in the pile of their clothes and chaos, he found his oversized black hoodie and slipped it over her head before she could even reach for her own top.

She blinked up at him as it swallowed her completely, hanging down to her thighs, soft and warm and smelling like him.

“You always this possessive with your dance recruits?” she teased, voice still raspy.

He smirked, leaning down to peck her lips.

“Only the ones that fuck me dumb and then look this cute in my clothes.”

And when her knees gave a little wobble as she reached for her leggings, Sunghoon clicked his tongue and scooped her right up, bridal-style, without hesitation.

“Sunghoon—!”

“Uh-uh,” he said, arms secure under her legs and back as he walked toward the door. “Don’t even try to walk right now. You were a menace ten minutes ago, but now you’re all soft and wobbly and mine.”

She buried her face in his shoulder, laughing breathlessly. “People might still be around, you know.”

“And what? I’ll tell them you passed out from nailing the choreography too hard.” He winked. “Wouldn’t even be a lie.”

He carried her all the way to the parking lot, hoodie swallowing her frame as the night air hit, cool and crisp against their flushed skin. He set her down just long enough to open the passenger door, buckling her in like she might float away if he didn’t handle her with care.

Once in the car, she peeked over at him as he turned the keys in the ignition.

“…You hungry?” he asked, glancing at her with that post-sex softness still in his eyes.

“I mean… kinda starving.”

“Same,” he said, reaching over to squeeze her thigh, the touch grounding. “Let’s get you something good. My girl deserves a feast.”

She blinked, heart flipping. “Your girl?”

His lips curled. “Unless you’re planning to ride someone else next week?”

She rolled her eyes, but the grin was already tugging at her mouth. “Tteokbokki,” she said after a pause. “With cheese. And maybe ice cream after.”

Sunghoon grinned, shifting the car into gear. “You’ve got expensive taste. Guess I’m lucky you like me.”

And just like that, he drove off with her curled up in his hoodie, legs tucked under her, cheeks glowing from the night. Like she hadn’t just ruined him in the middle of a dance studio. Like they weren’t about to do it all over again the second she finished her last bite.

The city lights blurred past the windows, golden and slow, bathing the car in a calm kind of glow that matched the quiet between them. The kind of quiet that felt full rather than empty—like everything had already been said with mouths and hands back in that studio. Now all that was left was softness, the steady hum of the engine, and the warm scent of Sunghoon’s hoodie wrapped around her like a blanket.

He reached over occasionally just to hold her hand. Thumb brushing back and forth over her knuckles like he couldn’t help it. She didn’t say anything. Just squeezed back, leaning her head against the window as the car rumbled gently under them.

They ended up at a tiny tteokbokki place tucked into a sleepy street, still open past midnight. One of those little hidden spots that smelled like chili oil and home. Sunghoon ordered way too much—spicy rice cakes, mandu, fish cake soup, cheesy corn, and soda—and he carried the tray like it was sacred, guiding her to a small table by the window where the neon glowed pink across his jawline.

They ate slowly, laughter spilling between bites. Her hoodie sleeves kept falling over her hands every time she reached for something, and he kept tugging them back playfully, like he liked seeing her swallowed up in his clothes.

She fed him a rice cake with chopsticks, nearly dropped it in his lap, and nearly fell out of her chair laughing when he caught it with his mouth and smirked like a show-off.

“Such a menace,” she said, eyes warm.

“You like it,” he replied, mouth full.

“Unfortunately,” she muttered, cheeks tinting again as she sipped her soda.

He watched her for a second, then tilted his head.

“What’s that face?” he asked. “You’re thinking about something.”

She paused, noodle halfway to her mouth.

“Was not.”

“Liar.”

She glanced out the window, heart thudding. The neon made her reflection glow. She looked back at him.

“…I liked you since orientation,” she said suddenly, so quiet it barely made it past the bubble of the room.

He blinked.

She toyed with the straw between her fingers, not meeting his eyes. “You were performing at the welcome event. Dance team number. I was sitting way in the back, and you were just—so confident. All sharp moves and cocky smiles. And then when you bowed and laughed with your team, like you didn’t even know how magnetic you looked…”

She exhaled, still not looking at him. “I knew I was doomed.”

A long silence stretched between them.

And then she felt his hand gently reach across the table. His fingers brushed under her chin, lifting it just enough that her eyes met his.

Sunghoon’s gaze was soft but serious, like she’d said something sacred.

“You’ve been crushing on me since then?” he murmured.

She nodded once, suddenly shy again.

“Baby,” he breathed, thumb stroking her cheek. “If I’d known, I would’ve ruined you way sooner.”

She laughed, half-flustered, half-melting. “That’s not the point—”

“No, no, it is,” he said, standing and coming around to her side of the table. “Because now I get to do this properly.”

He leaned down, kissed her right in that little neon-lit diner, tasting sweet and spicy and warm. She tilted up to meet him, lips parting easily, soft and slow but filled with all the want they’d built from the moment she first watched him dance.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, breath warm.

“So… official first date?” he asked, voice husky and hopeful.

She nodded, grinning. “Only if you let me pick the music in your car.”

He groaned dramatically. “You’re going to torture me with ballads, aren’t you?”

“I already tortured you in the studio,” she whispered, brushing her lips against his again. “What’s a little IU on the drive home?”

He laughed against her mouth.

“Fine. But next time you’re riding me to my playlist.”

She flushed bright red.

And somehow, despite all the chaos, it already felt like the start of something perfect.

—

A few days passed, and with them, an electric kind of anticipation. The kind where you can’t stop thinking about someone, where every conversation feels charged with a promise of something more, where every glance exchanged holds the weight of unspoken confessions.

Y/N couldn’t help it. She replayed their night together over and over in her head—the way he’d kissed her softly, but with a hunger she hadn’t expected, the way his touch had been both gentle and possessive at the same time. The way he made her feel—seen, not just for her talent, but for who she was underneath all the layers.

And now, here she was, standing in front of her mirror, deciding what to wear for their first real date. It wasn’t just a late-night snack run anymore, no. Sunghoon had texted her earlier in the day, suggesting something a little more official. He’d promised her something nice—no rush, no hurry, just the two of them. And when she agreed, her heart had skipped a beat. She’d only been hoping for something simple, but he was going to make it memorable.

Y/N settled on a flowy white dress, soft and delicate, a perfect balance of sweet and a little bit daring. The dress was a subtle nod to the way she felt—open, vulnerable, but daring enough to finally take the leap. She paired it with simple sandals and curled her hair just a little, adding a light layer of makeup. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she didn’t just see her reflection. She saw someone who could hold her own. Someone worthy of the kind of love Sunghoon could give.

When she walked outside, he was already waiting by his car. The moonlight was high, and the soft hum of traffic in the distance didn’t seem to matter when he looked at her like that. The way his eyes lit up when they landed on her—there was nothing else in the world except that moment.

“You’re stunning,” Sunghoon said, voice low, soft with awe.

She blushed, trying to fight the smile creeping up her face, but she didn’t fight it for long. “Thanks,” she said, nervously adjusting her dress. “I was hoping this wasn’t too much?”

He stepped forward, hand brushing against her waist as he leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek, just barely. “Trust me, nothing about you is ‘too much.’” His voice was playful, but it held something deeper now, something far more tender. “You’re perfect.”

Y/N let out a breath, trying to hide how flustered he made her, but it was hard when he was this close, and his smile made everything else feel so… right.

“Ready to go?” he asked, sliding open the passenger door for her.

She nodded, a little out of breath, and climbed into his car. He closed the door gently and slid into the driver’s seat, starting the engine with a soft hum. The car pulled away from her apartment, and she couldn’t help but stare at the way the streetlights caught on the edge of his jaw, casting shadows that only made him look more impossibly handsome.

As they drove, the mood felt so natural, comfortable. They didn’t need to talk the entire time. The silence was warm, like a promise of something more to come. He’d told her he’d pick the place, and when they arrived, she understood why

They pulled up to a hidden rooftop bar with strings of fairy lights hanging low above their heads, and soft music playing in the background. There was a cozy outdoor seating area, with high tables and low couches around fire pits. The city’s skyline stretched out before them, and for the first time in a long time, everything felt still.

“You’ve really outdone yourself,” Y/N said, stepping out of the car, the cool breeze swirling around her as she took in the view.

Sunghoon followed her, walking close enough that their shoulders brushed, sending an electricity through her that she couldn’t ignore. “Only the best for you,” he said, his voice low again, full of meaning.

They settled into a small, private corner, nestled close to the fire pit. He’d ordered wine and appetizers already, and as she sipped her drink, she caught herself looking at him more than she probably should’ve. She could tell he was trying to be nonchalant about it, but his eyes didn’t miss a thing. He noticed her stealing glances, and the way his lips quirked up into a soft, knowing smile made her stomach flutter.

“Tell me something about you,” he said, breaking the comfortable silence between them. “Something I don’t know.”

She raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. “You want me to spill all my secrets, huh?”

His smile turned teasing. “Not all. Just one.”

Y/N thought for a moment, leaning back in her chair. She picked up her glass and swirled it, watching the light catch on the edges. She didn’t want to keep playing the game of avoiding him. She’d been doing that for far too long. It was time to be honest.

“I guess…” she began, voice a little quieter now, “I used to think people like you wouldn’t notice people like me.”

His gaze softened, just slightly, before he leaned forward. “What do you mean by ‘people like you’?”

She swallowed, the truth tasting both terrifying and freeing. “You know… I’m not… perfect. I don’t have that ‘cool’ vibe, or the body type people expect to get attention. I used to think I was just invisible to guys like you.”

Sunghoon didn’t react the way she expected. He didn’t get defensive or brush her off. Instead, he just leaned in even closer, his gaze unwavering.

“I think you’re more than perfect. You don’t need to look like everyone else to be the center of attention. You’ve always been noticed by me.”

The words were simple, but they hit her in a way she didn’t expect. The sincerity in his voice made her heart beat just a little faster.

“You don’t need to hide anything,” he continued softly, brushing his thumb against the back of her hand. “Not from me.”

Y/N felt her breath catch in her chest, and she found herself smiling, genuinely, for the first time in a while. “You’re impossible,” she said, teasing him just a little.

“No, I’m just someone who’s crazy about you.”

That was the moment. The one that made everything feel real. She leaned in, softly brushing her lips against his once more. It was sweet, slow, the promise of what was to come hanging between them. And when they pulled away, she couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“Okay, I guess I’m crazy about you, too.”

Sunghoon grinned, leaning back in his seat and stretching out, looking pleased with himself.

“Good,” he said, before reaching across the table to take her hand. “Then let’s make this a night to remember.”

And with that, the night stretched out before them, full of stolen kisses, soft laughter, and the undeniable feeling that this was just the beginning.

taglist: @selenaxnguyen-blog @cowboylikemalika @limerenceisserenity @luvksnn @laurradoesloveu @enhalxvr @sseshiross @nithxhoon

permanent taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @hoonielvv @rjssierjrie @firstclassjaylee @morganaawriterr @rikifever @daisyintherainsposts @kkamismom12 @pocketzlocket @semi-wife

a/n: ovulating so hard thats why enjoy!

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comicaurora · 4 months ago

Note

Hey Red! Long time viewer, first time Asker - I have been so consistently impressed with the quality of the world of Aurora, and I wanted to say how cool I think this series is!

For my question, I want to know which order you went in when you made the comic: did the characters inform the world, or vice versa? I’m working with a team to make a story and I’m of the mindset that the world must inform the structure of the characters, but I’ve seen a lot of opposing ideas that say characterization should be paramount and the world should mold to fit the idea of the characters so they can shine.

I've sort of gone back and forth about this! By which I don't mean I've changed my mind on which is important - I mean at different stages of the worldbuilding I've reversed whether I change the world to suit the characters or vice versa.

Early on I built a simple concept to serve as the foundation of my world, and then I almost entirely scrappd it. It was the idea that anything that possessed both a soul and a body had a mind. You could have souls without bodies and bodies without souls, but only both those things together produced a mind, like an interfefence pattern produced by layering two grids on top of one another. Emergent consciousness was a fun concept, but not exactly a good foundation to build a whole world around, so I dropped it and focused on other things.

Then I went full character driven. I would build a character I thought was cool and flesh out the world that needed to exist to justify them. I wanted a cool wizard with a superpowered evil side so I built an elemental magic system for him. I wanted a weird dude with a connection to a god, so I built out gods.

It worked for a first draft, but it was very wobbly. The characters didn't have much to tie them together beyond loosely existing in the same world. So once I had the elemental magic system, I worked backwards to make a coherent world out of it - elementally influenced people and creatures producing exciting magical subspecies and fun fantasy regions of high magic. I worked out the primordials and some of the effects of their elemental natures. I started laying out gods and the worldbuilding of souls largely to answer the question "why can't a wizard just automatically win every fight by turning people inside out" because that was less interesting than the character stuff I wanted to do.

With the world actually coherent I switched back to building out character concepts. I had all this world stuff locked down, but now I had a really cool idea for this edgy beastman dude, and where could THAT fit in? So I started building out the history of the world to cover the ground of "wizards and gods and other powerful people did Weird Shit to reshape the world and make new kinds of people sometimes" which gave me a lot more room to play. And building out the history meant locking down a timeline and putting historical events in order, and once I did THAT, it gave me a bunch more worldbuilding ideas to play with of when certain things could've happened and what effects those might've caused-

Anyway, I can't tell if I'm doing this wrong or if I'm doing this very right, but in my experience it's worked best as a back-and-forth, letting each draft grow and change the next one.

#asks #aurora #writing stuff

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lottiesviolence · 8 months ago

Text

Grip n’ Collar

Warning: 18+ Hard dom Sevika, switch Sevika, switch fem reader, power play / dynamics, biting, slight choking, disgusting dirty talk, pussy eatin, finger fuckin, strap-on, breeding kink, Sev is mean and rough, but so are you,, leash/bondage, hint of squirting, cumming strap sighhhhh, sweet ending ofc

Synopsis: You decided to dominate your girl...well at least trying to.

You walked around the house waiting for your girl to come home after a hard day’s work. You wore a black tube top, nipples piercing through the fabric and thin sheer black tights underneath your leather shorts that hugged your ass oh so beautifully. You knew as soon as Sevika would walk through the door she’d only have fucking you on her mind, but this time you wanted to play dirty. You had a few things up your sleeve.

The front door creaked open, and closed swiftly with the kick of Sevikas boot.

“Hey baby I’m home, missed me?” She grinned throwing her keys mindlessly on the dinning table. Her attention was grabbed when she saw you.

In the kitchen there you were, pretty, sexy, you. Your thighs squished against the cold kitchen counter you sat on. Smug look on your face, you swung a leash in your right hand while your eyes fixed on hers.

“I missed you so much baby” You said lowly, spreading your legs open ever so slightly, inviting her. “Get over here.” You commanded, and she didn’t hesitate.

Sev walked over to you, towering you still despite you sitting on the high surface. She crept her hands up your thighs and hips, fingers gripping at your tights and belt loops.

“I missed you too baby, missed tasting you... fucking you.” She said with a mean needy look on her face.

“Yeah? You wanna fuck me baby?” You teased.

“Enough, I’m losing my patience here.” Sterness in her voice.

“You can have me right here, fuck me however you want in this kitchen under one condition, okay?” You hung the end of the leash you had to her face showing her the clip.

“Absolutely not.” Sevika huffed and lit up a blunt, blowing smoke to her side.

“Then I guess you’re not gonna fuck me, such a shame, I wore this hot ass outfit for nothin, I was hoping you’d bend me over the counter and fuck me senseless, but I guess not anymor-”

“Fine.”

She cut you off, putting out her blunt. You grinned knowing how your disgusting words pulled at her heart..and strap. You clipped the leash onto the collar she wore against her neck, giving it a little yank. She moved an inch closer, a sigh escaping her lips.

“You like it don’t you?”

She ignored you and grasped at your hips pulling you closer, she kissed you roughly, tasting of whiskey and smoke. Sev bit your bottom lip, snaking down to your neck, biting and kissing leaving pretty marks all over your body.

You gasped when you heard the rip of your tights, she yanked your shorts down to your hanging feet, and pulled at the rest of the torn fabric positioning herself to taste you.

You pulled on the leash, wrapping it around your hand.

“Did I say you could do that? Huh? Did I give you permission?” You looked down at her, stopping her in her tracks as she was about to bury her face in your cunt.

She looked up at you with desperate, hungry eyes. Not knowing how to respond to your dominance, it confused her, but deep down she loved it.

“Say please.” You demanded.

Her breathe hitched when you gave her another soft yank, pullin her face closer to your dripping pussy.

“Please.. Please let me have you” She hated begging, but she loved you and how you just tasted so fucking good.

Your face was hot, seeing how you had her wrapped around your finger it drove you crazy. You tilted your head to the side giving her a smile, your free hand snaked up to her cheek, she brushed the side of her face into your warmth. She trusted you, poor..foolish.. Sevika.

You gave a harder tug, this time forcing her face into your cunt, sevika groaned in surprise, sinking into your taste, she hummed in satisfaction.

Both your hands gripped the counter, you threw your head back squeezing your eyes shut as she lapped her tongue hungrily into you.

“God! fuckkkk- that’s it baby, such an obedient.. dirty..thing you are.” You spoke breathlessly through your words, desperately clinging onto the little dominance you had left as she ate you out.

Her eyes halfway shut, she bobbed her head in every direction, lapping up your slick in her tounge, rubbin her nose against your clit, moanin into you as she served her girl.

“Gonna cum on my face baby? Should I even let you?” She teased, face still buried between you.

“Have you forgotten, I’m the one who’s in control here?” You didn’t even believe that yourself, blinded by her tongue, you lied straight through your teeth. She always had the upper hand, and god she just fucked you so good.

“Not for long” She groaned, gripping at your sweet thighs pulling you deeper into her. She sucked and kissed at your aching clit. Her nails dug into your skin, she knew you were desperate just as much as her.

Feeling your cunt tighten, you humped her face as she fucked you with her tongue.

“Mmmf fuck! Sev! gonnacumgonnacumpleasepleasee.”

She didn’t say anything, just letting her work do all the talkin. She gave you one last hump before she held your hips down, releasing for air she stuck her thick fingers into you.

You moaned and whispered pleas incoherently, keeping your grip on the leash, holding onto your last drop of power.

She hummed as you took her in so deeply. Watching as your cunt let out sweet splashes of wetness, soaking her fingers. Your top was disheveled from all the grasping and movement, she cupped and groped at your tits with her free hand, making your body tense.

“Cum f’me baby, cum on my fingers and I’ll give you what you want.” She watched as your brows furrowed tightly, she saw how desperately you wanted to be in control, but she knew what you really wanted.

“Want me to fuck you senseless, right baby? Bend you over the counter and fuck my cum into you, that’s what you want?” Her voice low and stern.

“Shut up and make me cum.” You spat, giving her another pull.

She stuffed her fingers into you deeper, moving them slowly, curling them just how you liked.

“Fuckfuckfuckkkk!” You moaned bucking your hips against her as you came on her fingers.

Sevika wasted no time, she stood up towering you once more. Quickly picking you up n’ off the counter. She turned you around, her hips positioned against your ass, your face inches away from the cabinet.

“Fuck, look at you now, all fucked out you can barely stand, and I’m still not finished with you.” Her voice was so low and mean, her big hands rubbed at your flesh as she pulled your ass closer pressing against her hips. You mewled.

“Gonna give me what I want baby? I know how badly you want to..just as much as me.” You teased, looking at her over your shoulder.

“Shut up.”

You heard the clinks of her belt as she took off her pants, her strap bobbing out. You bit your lip at the sight, hoping she’d fill you and fuck you stupid.

She towered over you and sunk her strap into you. Your lips parted letting out a soft moan.

Sev groaned as she thrusted into you quickly, feeling how your cunt stretched for her. Low grunts left her lips, hands gripping at your hips, controlling your movements.

You pulled at her leash, her lips right at the nape of your neck. You looked into her eyes. “Don’t hold back on me now, my pussy feels so good doesn’t it baby? Tell me how good it feels.”

She moaned at how you spoke, “fuck.. yeah baby, feels so..fuckin’ good.. god I love your cunt.” She thrusted into you between her words.

“Fuck..pull it” she huffed.

Your stomach heated up at the demand. She fucking loved belonging to you. You pulled at her again, turning more towards her to kiss her roughly. You both were so fucking hungry for each other.

You kept your hold on the leash tightly, making sure she stays close you, free hand gripped at her thigh as she fucked into you harder and deeper.

“Don’t...fucking... stop.” You begged.

Sevika hunched over your back, cold metal hand on top of yours, grunting and huffing into your neck, she bit your shoulder making you groan in pain.

“You like takin’ this dick don’t you baby? Takin’ it so well f’me.” She groans.

“Mmh yesbabyyesss!” You cried. She gently pushed your head against the cabinet, cold hand gripped in your hair, cheek against the hard wood.

“Fuck, gonna cum baby, cum in this pretty cunt, fuck”

Your eyes fluttered back as her hips smacked against your ass, you drowned in the nasty squelches your cunt made. “Fill me baby, fill me, it’s yours so fuckin’ take it.” Your legs were about to give out any second, but all you could focus on was how Sev just filled you so good.

Sev brought her hand to your clit rubbing it in soft circles as she fucked you stupid. You let out soft pleas, lipstick and makeup smudged by tears.

“G-gonna cum in you pretty, cum on this dick, can you do that baby?”

“Yes baby yes, give it to me” You hassled.

Her grunts and your sweet moans and cries filled the room as she stuffed and fucked her cum into you. Your slick mixing with hers, Sevika pulled out of you and watched as her cum leaked out your throbbing cunt. You hummed in pleasure seeing it drip to the cold tiles.

“God, you fuck me so good ‘vika” You smiled uncoiling the leash from your hand and unleashing her.

“That’s my job gorgeous, finally got what you wanted? Satisfied?” She grinned adjusting her collar.

“Seems like you got what you wanted too Ms. ‘Pull it’.” You giggled.

“Alright alright, let’s run a bath, you can barely stand.” She lifted you and threw her over her shoulder.

You smiled and tucked her hair out of her face to see her grin as your feet swung in the air. Sev patted your ass while taking you upstairs, you both spoke about your fuck session.

“I didn’t know you had that dominance in you baby” Her eyebrows lifted with impression.

“I KNOW right?!? I definitely surprised myself, but it sure didn’t last long” you sighed, which made her laugh heartily.

♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎

💗a/n: Well there's Grip n’ Collar honey’s!! wrote this after noticing Sevs collar/choker that she had to wear while breaking in the prison (its so hot 🥲) This was proofread twice but if there are mistakes please forgive me! This is my first full fic im posting on here!! Many more to cum🙂‍↕️ still working on my subby sevika who gets fucked stupid, so stay tuned!! Hope this left you as wet as it made me 💗

#sevika #sevika x you #sevika fic #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #sevika smut #arcane s2 #arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane fanfic #arcane smut #arcane league of lesbians #Dom sevika

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bluerosefox · 2 years ago

Text

Courting Chaos (to Balance)

A KlarionxDanny brain worm that has spawned

Tim Drake, aka Red Robin gets kidnapped suddenly and very randomly by Klarion in the middle of a JL and others meeting.

Leaving with a

"I'LL RETURN HIM WHEN HES NO LONGER USEFUL JUSTICE LOSERS!"

And fire and chaos in his wake.

While the JL, and others scramble to figure out what Klarion has planned this time, Tim manages to break free of whatever Klarion had used to kidnap him only to find himself on a couch and Klarion nervously petting Teekl on his lap while also sitting in a chair across from him.

When Tim goes to demand to know why Klarion kidnapped him Klarion finally speaks.

"Okay, I wanna strike a deal. I won't bug you or your little Young Just US buddies if you help me ask someone out..."

"...What the fuck Klarion?" Was Tim's only response.

-x-x-

So it turns out, every so often the three main entities and actual factions of Order, Chaos, and Balance get together to well discuss things happening in certain Realms, worlds, and timelines. Basicly to touch base, see where everyone was at. Etc etc.

Order was Order. Chaos was Chaos.

Very simple.

Both could be bad. To much order caused restraint and could snuff out growth. To much Chaos could get out of hand and cause ruin.

Both could be good. Order help stabilizes worlds and builds their future. Chaos allowed creativity to roam and brought forth wonderful things.

And Balance.

Well Balance was the very scales that kept both sides in check. They were neutral grounds. The ones that normally oversaw the meetings as well. And despite their low numbers they held powerful entities that more than made up for it.

Balance did their best to keep things in check, sure they do have their own preference sometimes and allowed the scales to tip a tiny bit but always corrected it later if it tips to much.

It was at this meeting, a meeting even Klarion knew better than to do anything too chaotic, pranks were fine but nothing too much, and had been chatting with a newcomer to the side of Chaos (Danielle, call me Ellie, Phantom. She did some heroing on the side but liked causing chaos in her wake to do so, he liked her so far though.) When the bells for the side of Balance to appear announced them.

Ellie had smiled brightly and said her brother was coming with his mentor, turns out her brother was apart of the Balance group which meant that he was strong, strong enough to need a mentor.

He watched as the members of Balance walked, teleported, flew, and other means into the meeting halls. And then froze when his eyes caught sight of him.

Floating next to a blue skined being that was switching ages was a beautiful otherworldly person.

Snow white hair that wisped upwards oh so softly. Glowing green eyes that were cat-like with their piercing glance. A galaxy cloak hanged around his shoulders and seemed to shift with each movement. Star like freckles decorated his face and seemed to glow a soft bluish white. A crown made of ice and aurora lights floated above his head as well.

All in all Klarion couldn't keep his eyes off of the being at all. He nearly spat his water out when Ellie commented that was her brother Danny, or rather.

High King of the Infinite Realms, Daniel 'Danny' Phantom. The Great One. Defeater of the Tyrant King. The Halfa. The Peaceful End. The Balance of the Undead. (And his mentor was the Ghost of Time itself. THE very Keeper of Time, Kronos original form himself.)

Klarion honestly didn't know what to think or rather what emotions he was feeling when he spotted Danny, nor why his face felt so hot and red when the young man looked over at them and smiled. (He was smiling at Ellie but Klarion for some reason hoped it was for him as well)

It wasn't until halfway in the meeting when a rather ingenious prank that Klarion, Ellie, and a few others had set up went off... thing was it strong enough that it had hit Danny's side of the meeting and had hit him.

Now, again pranks were okay but only after the meetings. It was one of the few rules many, even those in Chaos, took seriously because once it was done and over they could go do their things. So for it to happen in the middle of a meeting means someone set their time on the prank wrong and add the fact it hit a person on the Balance side...

Yeah not good.

Only...

Only instead of getting angry, even Clockwork who was seated next to Danny was chuckling, Danny threw his head back and laughed about it. And his laugh... was very cute.

And before he knew it, Klarion had already fallen.

-x-x-

"So yeah.... Since you have a boyfriend and know how to date in this modern age, I need your advice."

".... Klarion just because I'm dating Bernard doesn't mean I know how I did it..."

"Bernard? I thought you were dating that one Supes?"

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc #blue rambles #crossover #writing ideas #random idea #danny phantom dc #KlarionxDanny #ngl kinda based Klarion crushing off how my parents meet #they were at a party due to their siblings and my ma mentioned she was walking around and heard my dad's laughter above everyone's #said she really liked his laugh and found him at the party #very loosely based on my ma getting her crush on my dad #anyways Klarion is crushing hard #he cant ask Ellie though. He may have just meet her but he can sense shes gonna be a gremlin about it #so he goes to the one person he knows is a in a relationship! in the modern age too!#only he kidnaps Tim and well...#chaos #meanwhile Danny gushes to his friends about a cute chaos lord he spotted at the meeting #he wants to talk to him but Ellie is being a troll and not telling him anything about her new friend

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pedgito · 6 months ago

Text

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄 | Javier Pena x reader

summary | Authority looks good on him, but you think he'd look ever better on his knees.

author's note | written for @wannab-urs’s DMAMC 2025. forever and always a special thank you to @murder-wife for the beta.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, sub!javier, dom!reader (but lbr, they’re both switch) obviously. reader has vague backstory (related to work), enemies to fwb, they fuck a lot oops, unprotected piv, oral (f receiving), restraints, brat!javi as god intended, choking, coming untouched, edging for the greater good, amen.

word count — 6k

Javier Peña dominated every facet of his life.

Work. Home. It was no surprise with how easily he authoritates a room.

You’ve learned to mind your business at work, keeping to the file and lunch room. There, back, never anything less or more. It was a security net, a secondary salary unless your primary fell through—it hardly did, considering there was always dirt to dig up, but it was nice to have the additional income. One less stressor among the many. The road here had been long, sinuous and complicated and you were thankful for this overdue regularity in your life.

The one thing Javier hadn’t figured out about you was that you and him had more in common than he expected. Different sides of the same coin, you yearned for the control and command in whatever situation you found yourself in, liked the idea of you having power over the outcome.

It was a high that you craved like nothing else.

“Morning,” He greets casually—you’ve known him for a distance for weeks now, only trading files in and out, turning in his paperwork, signing off on certain things without looking like a robot. Assess, find, file, repeat. It was monotonous, but it was easy, “what are we up to today, cups?”

That stupid fucking nickname.

It was a running joke amongst your co-workers—he’d only caught on recently—watching how you plowed through a pot of coffee on your own, never re-using the same flimsy cup, always grabbing a fresh one. Your stack was only about six inches tall today, but you were running on mostly fumes.

“Fuck off,” You sneer, a lighthearted roll of your eyes, “this it?”

You yank the file from his grip as he spots the watch on your wrist—he analyzes, squints, grabbing your arm without acknowledgement as he speaks his mind.

“Pretty nice for a file clerk salary,” He frowns in consideration, “Cartier?”

He’s been prying recently.

Javier didn’t have any evidence, but there was a deep suspicion.

One, you were a mole—working for Escobar, infiltrating the DEA from the inside.

Or two, you were just a liar.

Your story has never changed. You transferred from the states a few months ago. You were living at a small apartment in town that most of the staff seemed to hole up in during their transfers and long-term stays. Javier would occasionally catch you in the hallway, but he never talked. He was always pensive, stiff, odd.

You worked as a file clerk, did your job, and went home. That was it.

Except it wasn’t.

He’d figure it out. It would eat away at him until it did.

“It was a gift,” You retort, pulling your wrist from his grip as you sign on the paperwork inside the file and place it aside, fiddling with the jewelry on your wrist as you fit the watch back into place.

Also, not a lie. It was a gift…from a client.

You side eye him as he continues to stare before you finally get annoyed enough to bark at him.

“Are you lost, Peña?” You ask, “You’re holding up the line,” He peers over his shoulder at the few men that have gathered behind him, cigarettes perched on their lips and an expectation for him to hurry it up, “Keep it moving,” You tease with a nod of your chin.

He flicks at the stack of cups and sends them tumbling to the floor with a triumphant grin, watching as your mouth gaped, trying and failing to hold back the chuckle that rises in your chest.

It was a harmful back and forth—not quite enemies, not friends either.

Eventually, he finds himself with a dilemma.

Weeks and weeks of nothing on the trail to take down Escobar and he’s grasping at straws, on edge, and you’re the easiest target for him to attack.

–

It was a simple trading of evidence for payment as you were gearing to make the drive home, helping out a co-worker under very specific terms that he wouldn’t approach you during work hours—he was almost positive his wife was cheating on him, begging you to dig up information on the supposed suspect.

She was going on extended vacations for work, a traveling nurse with a bad habit of leaving evidence behind—though, with her, it seemed like less of a mistake than her poor husband thought it to be. Either way, you got the information and he handed the money over.

It was one of the easier sides of your other job, less of a risk than running surveillance or being asked to break the law by government officials who were either corrupt or just desperate for information or a helpful break in a case.

Javier was being nosey, unfortunately. And you knew he was watching, turning your head to him as he approached when the coast was clear, cornering you at your door with a mere centimeter of distance between you both.

“Insubordination, really?” Javier bites, eyebrow raised in skepticism as he looks you over, not even a twitch of intimidation in your expression. “Carrillo would have your ass over this.”

You shake your head in amusement, pressing a gentle hand against his chest to shove him backwards, patting as if to console a child, “Javier, I don’t know what you think you saw, but you might need to take a break on these late nights at the office. They’ll drive you crazy.”

“Crazy?” Javier echoes, “Estás loca,”

There’s a certain jeer to his tone, stress collecting in his furrowed brow that helps you figure out where to attack, “Are you okay?” You ask with a serious tone, “Do I need to report you to Carrillo?”

“Traidora,” He remarks, “You think I can’t tell?”

You tilt your head in question, ignoring his own.

“I haven’t had a break in this shit in weeks, chasing a fuckin’ ghost—do you work for him?”

There it was, the lapse in judgment you were waiting for.

“Who is it?” You ask, “What are you after?”

He gives you a name, a subtle amusement to his tone like you should already know. It doesn’t immediately ring a bell and it shouldn’t, considering what he was accusing you of was the furthest thing from the truth.

“Carrillo knows what I do,” You tell him honestly, “So, go ahead. Tell him. I dare you.”

You knew it was a mix of work stress and whatever demons Javier was harboring in the backseat of his mind, a job that riddles you with guilt and what-ifs, it tends to boil over.

Whatever—you’d do him this one favor.

“Te verás estúpido.”

It shuts him up, thankfully.

–

You’ve got the file on his desk by eight o’clock the next morning—a long night of extensive research that led you toward a full file of usual information, whereabouts, alias, anything that could help out, even just a little. You’re pouring up a fresh cup of coffee when he spots it, dropping his bag into his chair and picking up the file like it was a spectacle, peering around all sides before he flips it open, a pink sticky note pressed into the first page.

His nose twitches, like a sniffle as he crumples up the note and shoves it into his back pocket, his eyes peering up to lock with yours from across the room, like he sensed your gaze. A smile gracing your face as you stirred your coffee, nothing out of the ordinary.

He approaches you near lunch, the file room emptying as people are heading toward the break room, but Javier catches you at the perfect time, back turned and he’s slapping the file on the desk behind you with a distinct clearing of his throat.

“You wanna explain this?” Javier inquires, fingertips spread across the file as he slides it toward you.

You stare him down, a silent challenge as his hands settle against his hips.

You push the file back, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He digs the pink note from his pocket and flattens it out, turning over a closed file to match up the messy cursive handwriting, “Is that not your handwriting?”

You quickly snap the file closed and pick it up, shoving it into his chest.

“Take the damn file, Peña,” You order him, a sheer darkness to your gaze that glosses over, compelling Javier to take the file without another word, “I’m not a traitor, okay?”

Javier chews at his bottom lip in thought, taking a quick glimpse through the file once more, impressed by the collection of information that has had him stalled for weeks, handed to him on a silver platter.

“You wanna grab lunch?” He asks casually, peering up at you from the file, a smile curling under his thick mustache, “My treat.”

“It fucking better be,” You remark.

–

It starts that way, a gradual comradery shared over lunch and late nights, moving from twenty-four hour dine-in spots to the comforts of your own apartments, trading off in a discombobulated schedule.

A big break in the case called for celebration, having finally caught the one member of Escobar’s entourage that they had been after for months, having been helping Javier behind the scenes with no expectation of credit, thankful that it didn’t intersect with much of your other work.

“So, is it usually cheating couples?” Javier asks curiously, shooting him a look of warning, “C’mon, chiquita, I’m curious.”

You shrug, closing the file as you tossed it aside, stretching back on the couch with your open beer in hand, enjoying the soft, plushiness of Javier’s couch.

“Family, sometimes,” You add, “And strangers, more often than you think.”

Javier makes a small hmph sound through closed lips, scratching as his cheek as his thumb circles the lip of the bottle, oddly reminiscent of something far too dangerous to allow your mind to wander towards this late at night, three bottles in, and sleep deprivation on the rise.

“Do you want me to walk you back?” Javier asks after a long period of silence, still repeating the same subconscious motion to the bottle as it sits between his thighs, legs outstretched and his left knee knocking against your own that were curled underneath you know.

“Give me a minute,” You murmur, eyes falling closed as down the rest of you beer and place it on the floor, your hand failing to support you as it slips from the cushion, sending you tumbling to the floor at Javier’s feet, laughing immediately at your drunken clumsiness as he leans forward in concern, placing the beer bottle on the table as he reached for you.

“Shit, you’re a sloppy drunk,” He jokes, subtly pushing your hair back to check for injury, a sudden charge to the air as you kneel between his legs, his chest hovering above, his tongue peeking out to lick his bottom lip, “is it always that bad?”

You laugh again, a soft snort through your nose as you shake your head.

“Wouldn’t you love to know,” You remark, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he chuckles, the faint smell of barley on his breath as you’ve come to realization that not only had his hand stayed on your face, but the other had joined—it was a silent yearning that Javier couldn’t find the balls to act on, so you do it for him, “—are you gonna ask to fuck me yet or not?”

“Is that what you want?” Javier counters, “You want me to fuck you?”

“I mean,” His thumb grazed along your bottom lip, a subtle pull that has you rising to press the palms of your hands against his thigh, willing to crawl into his lap if he pulled you further into him, but instead you hovering back, a challenging gaze and smirk only our lips, “unless you want me to fuck you?”

Javier’s face pinches together in confusion, amused but still wholeheartedly confused.

“You didn’t say no,” You tease, another beat of silence as he remains undecided before you’re answering him, “yes—I want you to fuck me, Javi.”

And, god, does he.

It’s messy—sweaty, hot, sticky, and nothing near graceful.

Javier fucks like you expected he would—because, despite your best efforts, it had been a thought to cross your mind.

He ravishes, controls, demands. He’s insatiable and greedy, never enough. One orgasm, a second, a third before you’re begging, pleading for relief. He likes to work himself up—he gets you first with his fingers, then his mouth, eventually sliding the head of his cock against the seam of your soaked, oversensitive folds and catching against your entrance before he slides in with a deep, guttural groan.

But, he can’t have all the fun.

You eventually wrestle him into the cushions, on his back as he grips at your thighs, both of your hands clutched against the arm of the couch and the back, Javier entranced with you, his eyes showing as much amongst his needy, wandering hands. And he tries to hold off—he does, but his climax hits him with gusto, leaning up to levy the dominance between you both as he fucks up into you, his foot sliding to the ground to steady him, face buried in your chest as he comes inside of you, something you two hadn’t discussed beforehand and comes as an immediately apology from Javier, his cheek pressed against your breasts as you slump back into the couch, leaving Javier to catch his breath as he leaned against you.

“Don’t worry,” You assure him with a tired laugh, “I would have let you know if I wasn’t okay with it before you did it.”

Exhausted, Javier chuckles too.

It was the first of many late night meetings—some work, mostly play. Javier finds himself a little more emboldened as time goes on, interrogating you like a suspect after a long, eventful day.

“Javi,” You sigh, “your dick is still inside of me and you want to talk about work?”

Javier shrugs impishly from his position beneath you, sitting in his lap as he leaned against his headboard.

He leans forward, pressing a wet kiss against the column of your throat before his kisses trail, teeth dragging against your neck followed by another wet, sloppy kiss.

Well, now you were curious.

You grip his hair, a gentle tug to pull his head back to look at you, a profound glint in his eyes at the action.

Speak, you command silently.

“I’m just saying—if the FBI knew what you could do, they’d be killing each other to get to you,” He explains, “but you wanted to be a file clerk?”

“I like the ease of it,” You speak through the gentle caress of his hands over your ass, rocking your hips to a slow rhythm, “simple, uncomplicated—fuck, that,” You sigh, head falling into his waiting hand as he cradles your face, watching you through a half-lidded gaze as you start to succumb to the throes of pleasure, “feels so good—I just,” You blink through the haze, a little breathless as you speak, “working freelance, you know, off the books…it’s easier.”

“And risky,” He warns, “without protection—“

“Who said I wasn’t protected?” You smile, releasing your grip on his hair as he slowly flips you underneath him, pulling out briefly to adjust the duvet , kicking it down the bed as he slid into you, knees pulled high over his hips as he gripped the sheets beside your head, thrusting his hips at an impossible to focus pace.

“Be—besides,” You begin weakly and Javier offers a mocking laugh, low and full of pure adoration, even if he’d never admit it, “I’d get too pricey for you.”

“Oh, should I be paying you?”

You stop, a gawking look on your face as you steady him at his shoulders, pausing his movements, “Did you think fucking me was payment? Oh, bebé, no.”

Javier balks for a moment, in disbelief that his sexual expertise and suave looks suddenly weren’t as valuable as he thought.

“I’m fucking with you,” You tell him through gritted teeth, your hand curling around the back of his neck, eyes locked on his as you offered him a sultry smirk, a subtle twitch of your lips, “but, you do owe me.”

And he’d pay up, eventually.

—

Javier’s things start to take shape in your apartment without a word—a spare toothbrush for the nights he was too tired to leave, a spare set of clothes—maybe two. You also always had his favorite beer in your fridge and a spare pack of cigarettes sitting on top of your microwave. It was little touches, ignored and unaddressed but he was like a constant presence in your space.

You were more secluded, careful—but Javier didn’t mind.

He just gets comfortable, though you both had clear boundaries, a strict line that neither of you crossed.

Feelings, out of the question.

And honestly? Not a problem.

Javier was a good friend and even greater fuck, but he would make a terrible partner, you both knew it.

And you can feel that urge, he wants that effortless, full submission that he won’t explicitly ask for—it’s what he used to, women falling so easily to their knees and begging for him, it, whatever he had to offer.

But, you see both sides of his personality. He could be commanding and in full control of a situation, but also had a tendency to let his guard down…just a bit, enough for you to pry your way in and settle there.

It was two battling personalities, one you’ve learned to subdue with a valiant effort, meld yourself to any situation, whatever was required.

Javier follows you back that day, disregarding his own apartment for yours, in a constant fog of distraction all day. Between the news, the ramping up of Escobar’s antics, and the pressures of the higher ups weighing on his and many others shoulders, he just can’t seem to find a way to relax.

Even as you lay in bed, slung over him in your near nakedness, your white button up still covering your frame as he squeezes at the soft flesh of your hips, grinding you down against his cock, half-hard for the last fifteen minutes. He’s frustrated, evidently so.

“I’m sorry,” He apologizes, pulling away from your lips with closed eyes, rolling onto his back as he rubs his thumb and middle finger against his temples.

You’ve gotta pull his mind away, leaning up on your palms to follow him, raising your leg over his lap to straddle him.

He chuckles, reaching for his nearly empty pack of cigarettes, plucking one out lazily before he’s tossing the box aside, but you’re quickly snatching the cigarette away and tossing aside, pressing your hands against his chest with an expectant look.

“What the fuck?” He gawks, looking you up and down and toward the floor, watching you shrug in response.

He moves to push up, but you push back, the distribution of weight giving you the upper hand as he falls back against the sheets, “Alright, real funny.”

“Close your eyes,” You urge him gently, obvious skepticism on his face but eventually he succumbs, throwing his hands up in defeat as he closes his eyes, suspicious to the various shuffling noises as you lean to the side, digging in drawer of your bedside table until you find the item you’re looking for, a distinct clink of metal that Javier recognizes too late, the metal tightening around his wrists and tangled through the loop of the bed frame slats.

“The fuck are these—” He shakes his fists, pointless, “did you sneak my cuffs out of the office?”

You shake your head, slowly unbuttoning your shirt, a clear distraction that Javier tries to fight.

“They’re mine,” You tell him, simultaneously enjoying the slow rock of your hips as it seems to have found a somewhat solution to his issue, wiggling underneath you at the movements, almost urging you to quicken your pace, insistent.

Javier cocks his head in both a show of question and defiance, pressing for more.

“What?” You feign innocence, peeling the fabric over the last button as you lean forward, cradling his face with your hands as you give him a slow, explorative kiss, your tongue slipping into his open mouth, chasing you as you pull away, “Citizen’s arrests are just as legal here as they are in the states, Peńa.”

“So, this is an arrest,” He counters, licking at his lips, tugging once more at the chains.

“Do you want it to be?” You tease, hands pressed against your thighs now, finding amusement at his obvious frustration, knowing that he was completely helpless in this situation.

“Tell me you have the key.”

Your eyes widen at the sudden realization, “Oh, fuck—”

Panic rises, but you quickly quell his worries, “Just kidding,” You reply with a chipper tone, picking the key up from the table while dangling it in front of his face, “you want it?”

Javier nods, yanking against the cuffs weakly.

You contemplate, face scrunching up as you think.

“Are you sure?” You question, glancing down at the hard line of his cock defined in his jeans, rubbing your palm against the bulge in the denim, gently pulling at the button to pop them open, “I think you enjoy it.”

You place the key at the center of his bare chest, nodding toward it.

“Beg,” You tell him, voice steady and completely serious, the eerily void of emotion that has Javier thinking you might be joking, attempting to get a rise out of him, he laughs.

“You can’t be serious,” He says, but doesn’t explicitly ask.

Your eyebrows raise expectantly.

A battle of silence.

“Oh, I had that file I forgot the other day,” You switch topics, climbing off of him as you slip your unbuttoned shirt down your shoulders, revealing the bold colors and thin lace, material that hugged every curve of your body, a dark crimson red, sheer material leaving little to imagine—though, Javier had enough familiarity that he didn’t need to guess.

“Wait,” He interrupts, his hands balled into fists as you turn to him, one knee settling into the edge of the bed with the file in hand, looking at him….waiting, “come here,” He beckons, perking up as you toss the file aside and walk toward the head of the bed, fingers hovering over the key, “no—no,” He quickly interjects, “like—up here,” He explains vaguely, a weak attempt at asking you to sit on his face—he could come like that, he thinks. Eventually break you down enough. But, you remain ignorant to his demands, waiting for those specific words.

In the entirety of your midnight hook-ups with Javier he had never said please. It was a forbidden word in his vocabulary, far too confident and expectant, deserving to be knocked down a peg.

Besides, it was clearly working, the visible flush in his skin as you began to back away, his writhing against the sheets having shift his jeans further and further down his hips—never having been so thankful that Javier Peńa was a strict believer in going commando, silently helping the aid of his jeans down his legs with your bottom lip between your teeth, a predatory gaze and teasing touch at the inside of his thighs as you toss his jeans away, completely naked and at your control.

“Are you serious?” Javier asks, not an ounce of shyness when it came to his body, cock hard and leaking from the tip as he watched you turn, ignoring him as you grabbed the file and began to flip through, reading out the information as if he wasn’t even there, “Is this me owing you one?”

If there was one thing you knew about Javier, ignoring him was not the path to take.

Beg, your eyes demand.

Not a fuckin’ chance, his grimace retorts.

You twirl in the spinning desk chair, skimming silently through the papers now as Javier startle to unravel, eventually leaving you to get antsy, wandering around your room to fix the curtains, fold and tuck away a few loose pieces of clothing, only acknowledgement the small grunt he makes as you turn your backside to him, ass in the air as you picked up the discarded cigarette from earlier—he’s never needed one so bad in his entire life.

You reach for his lighter, placing it between your lips as you ignite the flame and press it to the end, awaiting the amber glow before you toss the lighter aside.

“You don’t even smoke,” He gripes, “You want me to say please? Is that it?”

You pull the cigarette from your lips and listen, approaching him so your stomach was at eye level, flicking the cigarette in the ashtray you had purchased specifically for him and cigarette after sex ritual, and he sighs, “Please,” It’s deadpan and lackluster at best, but you appreciate the effort, “baby, seriously.”

You shake your head in dismay, stubbing out the cigarette as Javier frowned.

“I’m helping,” You remind him, “I mean, I got your mind away from work, didn’t I?”

It was a slow but eventual realization that, yeah, you had. A hard task for even him.

You slowly climb over him on the mattress, dragging your hand along his chest and down his stomach, fingertips gazing against his pelvic bone, resting against his thigh.

“So, you’re going to beg,” You explain, leaning close enough to his lips that he can taste the remnants of smoke on your breath, “and I want you to, really, really mean it.”

He feels vulnerable, he is—but, he’s just desperate enough that he’ll let it slide.

For you.

He’s quiet for a stretch of time, watching as you toyed with the idea of touching his cock, watching it twitch with the slightest of touch, feeling like one tug would have him coming in your hand, a pathetic whine to follow. But, he focuses, lips parting as you finally wrap your hand around his cock, velvety soft skin as you caressed the girth of him, neatly trimmed hair at the base the peeked up toward his stomach, his tan skin almost glowing under the soft yellow light of the room, knowing you were throbbing just as bad as he was, feeling the needy pulse under your palm as you jerk your hand slow, from base to tip and back, rubbing your thumb over the slit at the head of his cock, so tantalizing you could take him in your mouth right now and take the load of him down your throat.

“Baby,” His voice relaxed but his body telling you otherwise, “Oh, fuck—you gotta go a little faster, tighter,” He directs, and you apply a minuscule amount of pressure to tease, “like that, like that,” he chants, his chest rising and falling as his brow furrowed, yanking roughly against the chain, your eyes catching at the movement. They were loose enough to avoid any discomfort, you were careful. It was mostly mind games, if Javier wanted out he could probably slip his hands through with enough concentration, but he wasn’t focused on that. He was focused on you.

He’s getting closer, the staggered breaths and soft whimpers that were like melodies, desiring nothing more than to give into your own temptation and sink down onto his cock, riding him until he was mindless.

You let go, much to his dismay, “Fuck,” He groans, eyes peeling open to look at you, “you enjoy this, don’t you?”

“A little,” You shrug, giving him a fair chance out, “do you want me to stop?”

“Where does that leave me?”

What are the consequences, he means.

“I’ll uncuff you, we’ll get dressed. I give you your file and you go home.”

You reach for his face, rubbing your thumb along his bottom lip, the unavoidable twitch of his tongue as he instinctively licks, your own lips parting in desire, the enveloping heat of his both pulling the digit in.

“Or, you beg for it hard enough and I’ll let you fuck me.”

A real, authentic plea. That’s what you wanted. One derived from desperation and primal need.

You straddle his hips slowly, pulling at the tied bows at your hip keeping your underwear in place, pulling at the thin ribbon until they loosen and fall, balling up the fabric in one hand while you hook your hand in the strap of your bra, unfastening it with ease, tossing the garment aside completely.

You position your cunt along the shaft of his cock, silently tapping at his chin until he opens his mouth expectantly, shoving the discarded fabric of your panties into his mouth without a word, an obvious smirk on his face at the action as you try to stifle the short giggle at his eagerness to accept.

“I think you really underestimate me, Peña,” You taunt, canting your hips as it drags along his cock, coating it in the sticky slick that has gathered between your thighs at your own neediness, suffering in silence and wishing for him to break, nearly caving in yourself, “Stop being so fucking stubborn all the time.”

His eyes roll back as the bulbous head of his cock catches at your entrance, nearly slipping in at how easily you slide against him, raising his foot to the mattress in an attempt to do so, his remark muffled behind the fabric, that heady taste of you on his tongue.

He’d come if he wasn’t so frustrated, but he’s there—right fucking there, the pace of your grinding quickening as you grip the balled up fabric in his mouth, using it as leverage as his eyes squeeze shut, the familiar coiling in his gut that you recognize too, slowing down considerably as you rip the fabric from his mouth.

“Say it,” You demand, slightly breathless, “just say it, Javi.”

Fuck it, he can’t do this anymore.

“Please, bebé. Please,” He begs, “this is fucking torture.”

That was the tone you were looking for, the shakiness to his voice that oozed desperation.

You nod and he’s almost expectant that you’ll undo his cuffs and let him have his way with you, but that wasn’t the plan.

Instead, you sink down onto his cock without another word, a long drawn-out groan from Javier followed by your soft moan of satisfaction, riding him almost desperately, the sound of skin and against, the sticky heat and humidity of Colombia seeping through the open window of your apartments, you both nearly delirious with overdue release.

His lip is pulled tight between his teeth, eagerly trying to match your hurried, erratic bounce of your hips as you claw at his chest, marks he’d admire for days to follow.

“Be realistic, baby,” He moans, “even like this you know that pussy belongs to me,” Your eyes flick up, greeted by the raise of his brows, tongue peeking between his lips with confidence.

Even now, he still has the nerve.

“Yeah,” You agree, egging him on with that salacious, vexatious tone, “Does it?”

He admires the slick mess at the base of his cock, angling your hips to grind down against him, cursing at his inability to grab and touch, flip you over and coax you into your climax with a twitch of his thumb, an easy fix.

Javier, unfortunately, was not a man to be tamed.

He was yours, but he’s never been solely yours.

You were special, though. He knew that.

He just needed a refresher.

“Seems a little unfair,” You shrug, his impatience growing and evident, “don’t you think?”

Your finger drags up his chest, inch by inch until the full expanse of your palm encircles his throat, his chin lifting in silent permission.

“Say it,” You counter, “come on, Peña.”

He chuckles, the sly fucker.

“Tell me this cock belongs to me,” You whisper low, close to his ear as your teeth drag along his jaw, “—that no one can make you come like I do,” You squeeze at his throat, a weak noise falling from his lips as his eyes roll back, “ and how pathetic and needy you look when I let you come inside of me.”

You squeeze once more, gentle but demanding.

He squeaks quietly, yanking weakly at the chains, “It’s all yours, bebé—fuck, it’s—right there, it’s—”

“Beg,” You urge, his mouth parts, breathing increasing more rapidly as you echo yourself, his head nodding instinctively in a desperation for relief, “beg and you can come, Peña.”

He does, a plethora of please—baby, please falling from his lips as you slide off of him, allowing him to come untouched, watching his dick twitch wildly, come coating his stomach in thick spurts as he groans, throaty and wet, eventually falling slack on the bed beneath you as you undo the cuffs without a word, a soft whine releasing from his chest as he arms fall to his side.

It takes a while, several minutes, eyes closed with a gentle and repressive touch of your thumb against his forehead, brushing away a loose strand of his hair, waiting for the haze to wear off.

“How do you do that?” Javier asks, returning the touch as his hand wraps around your wrist.

“What?” You counter with a playful smile, his tired one spreading across his features.

“You’re like…some kind of bruja,” He jokes lightheartedly, “No one’s ever—I’ve never let someone take control like that.”

“You look really pitiful when you beg,” You tease, “it drives me insane.”

You soothe his ego with a kiss, leaning over him to reach for his pack of cigarettes, squealing as his arms pull you back, swatting the contents out of your hands, wrestling you back down into the sheets with ease, your own body fighting a similar exhaustion.

“I wasn’t wrong,” Javier remarks, “estás loca.”

He sinks between your legs without a word, reminding you that he wasn’t a man to be bested, fingers stuffed inside of you as he pumped with an expertise that came with familiarity, learning what made your body tick—Peña was goddamn expert.

He’d rendered you speechless, fingers gripping the sheets, wriggling and whining without a tangible thought on your mind, words lost.

“Pobrecita,” He mocks, “come on—use your words.”

You hum weakly, wistful but hard-headed, “Make me,”

Fortunately, like you, Peña was always up for a challenge.

dividers: @/saradika-graphics

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