#I don’t know I’m sharing that but yeah | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lexalith · 2 days ago

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FRIENDS || Choi Su-Bong (Thanos)

summary: after late-night sexting with your best friend, everything changes. the bond you thought was purely platonic starts to feel deeper. were these feelings always there, hidden beneath the surface? or did something just… click? is this the start of something real, or the beginning of a mistake that could ruin everything?

warnings: aged up female reader (they’re both in their late twenties) (MDNI), smut (masturbation, fingering, public sex, p in v, oral sex (f and m), sexting, edging, praising, unprotected sex (don’t be silly)) semi and minsu are victims of the reader’s and subong’s freakiness, angst (name calling, miscommunication, pushing, throwing things, lying, deception, fear of commitment, reader refuses to help him at some point, slapping, slutshame remarks), overuse of the words ‘fuck’ and ‘fucking’ (lmaoo), subong should be a warning himself, fwb dynamic, reader uses someone to forget subong, drug use and addiction.

a/n: i’ve never ever written anything here on tumblr before, so i don’t really know what i’m doing, help. also, english isn’t my first language, so mistakes should be present!! lowercase is intentional. this is an au with no games. text messages are in different colors (orange for the reader, purple for subong). the reader’s dialogue is in bold. mind you, this is LOOOONG (it’s a whole fic)

songs that inspired me to write this: friends — chase atlantic || back to friends — sombr || heartbeat — childish gambino || casual — chappell roan

this fic was also inspired by @jedisupernova ‘s writing, check out her page and fics!!! (they’re soooo good)

you’re still thinking about what that guy said. it wasn’t even a big deal, not really. just some random jerk at the club who’d had a few too many drinks and decided to share his unfiltered thoughts about your body. “you’re not really my type,” he’d said, like you’d asked. then he’d laughed and added, “not many guys would go for that.”

it shouldn’t bother you. you know it shouldn’t. but now, a few nights later, it’s stuck in your head, looping like a song you can’t turn off. so, lying in bed, scrolling aimlessly, you do what you always do when something’s bugging you—you text him. your best friend.

subong. are you awake?

yes ma’am. why?

i got a random question. but like, it’s not that deep

???

do you think i’m attractive?

you fire it off without overthinking, like it’s no big deal. it’s not weird to ask your best friend something like this. right?

it takes him a few minutes to reply.

what kind of question is that?

just answer

i’m too high for this shit, bro

you’re not high🙄 liar

i wish i were

omfg can you just say yes or no? please? but be honest, i promise i won’t get mad

yeah, i think u are

really?

sure thinggg, u’re hot mama

dude quit playing, i’m being serious over here

i’m not fucking playing

okay you think i’m attractive but like�� what kind of attractive? cute attractive? like awwww. or i’d-fuck-you-raw attractive?

what are we even talking about

why can’t you just answer?😭

what is this for?

for my knowledge

tf is that supposed to mean?

you stare at the screen, mentally deciding whether you should tell him about what happened or not. you hadn’t told him before, not wanting to give it more attention. but this time, you decide to.

ugh, remember i went clubbing the other day? well this dude was being an asshole to me and he said some stuff and i can’t stop thinking about it so just be fucking honest and answer my question

some stuff? what stuff?

he said, and i quote ‘not many guys would go for that’. ‘that’ is me, btw💀

who tf is this dude?

bruh idk, some random guy, it doesn’t matter

it does?

are you gonna answer my question or no?

yeah. i think u r both kinds.

good, good, you think to yourself. his reply makes you relax a little, the knot in your stomach loosening. he thinks you’re attractive. of course he does—he’s your best friend, and best friends are supposed to hype you up.

for a moment, you stare at your phone, chewing on your bottom lip. you know you should leave it there, let it go. but something keeps tugging at you.

so, hypothetically, would you… yk, with me?

the second you hit send, panic sets in. your pulse skyrockets, and you almost want to throw your phone across the room. why did you do that? why couldn’t you just shut up? but you don’t have time to spiral, because the dots appear almost immediately.

are u serious?

and you freeze. your fingers hover over the screen, but you can’t bring yourself to type anything back. what kind of answer is that?

alr, imma be honest. yeah i would

your heart stops. you blink at the message, reading it again and again, like the words might change if you look long enough. you weren’t prepared for this.

subong’s typing…

would u? with me?

you want to lie, to brush it off, but your fingers move before your brain can stop them.

maybe

the dots pop up again. then disappear. then pop up again.

maybe?? that means yes. cmon i’m hot as hell, baby, u know it. u’ve probably touched yourself thinking about me at least once

wtf bro you’re giving me the biggest ick rn 💀

but have u?

and you? i bet you jerk off to my insta photos, perv. don’t even start lmaoo

can’t help it when u look that good💯

you stare at his message, your mind scrambling to process it. you feel your breath catch in your throat. the shock should be overwhelming, but instead, you feel a strange warmth spread through you.

you didn’t expect this. the idea that he’s been thinking about you like that… it sends a shiver down your spine. you should probably tell him to stop, tell him it’s too much, but instead, you feel yourself leaning in, pulled toward this conversation in a way you didn’t think you would be.

i may or may not have done the same with your insta pics

i knew itttt señorita 🙏🏼

shut up

how many times?

why do you wanna know?🤨

i answered ur stupid ass questions, now u answer mine

maybe like idk, two?

no fucking way, just two????????

you think it’s not enough or what???? how many times have you done it?

more than u wanna know

how bad are we talking?

so bad i’ve lost count. u really want me to get into details?

maybe i do

bro, let’s just say that everytime u post i’m over here fighting a battle

you do realize i’m your bestfriend right?

yeah, so?

so aren’t there any girls to jerk off to instead of me???

yeah but they don’t make me as hard

you stare at the screen, your heart pounding, your legs squeezing together instinctively. what the hell is happening right now? and then another message comes through.

even saying this shit is getting me worked up

what???😭 you’re hard??

yeah bro, what's a guy supposed to do when his best friend asks if he would fuck her?

it was hypothetical

hypothetically speaking, if a guy was attracted to his best friend, he'd probably be rock fucking hard right now. so yeah, i'm fucking hard, girl

your stomach flips at the bluntness of his words. you can feel the blood rushing to your face as you stare at the message.

too much info, subong

nahhh, u asked. u wanted details, so here they are

okay… should i leave you to it?

fuck no

damn alr, suffer then🙄

could u help me out?

help you out?????????????

with a pic of u or smth

boy whatttttttttt

what?

i’m not sending you fucking nudes wtf 💀💀

no one asked for that, stupid. just a pic of u

just a pic of you. the request feels so simple. he’s your bestfriend—it’s not that big of a deal, right? especially after everything you’ve both just confessed to each other.

your eyes flick toward the mirror in your room. you’re in your pajamas. no bra. you know how it looks. it’s the kind of thing you wouldn’t think twice about wearing around him in person, but now, with this conversation, it feels different. your legs carry you to the mirror almost on autopilot. you pick up your phone and angle it toward your reflection. you shouldn’t even be entertaining this. but instead, you snap the picture. you stare at it for a moment, biting your lip. it’s not explicit—it’s just you. but still… you know exactly how he’ll see it.

your thumb hovers over the send button, hesitation gripping you. a hundred reasons not to do this race through your head, but one single thought drowns them all out: you want to know how he’ll react. before you can second-guess yourself, you hit send. the moment it delivers, your stomach drops, a mix of adrenaline and regret washing over you. you sit down on the edge of your bed, staring at the screen, waiting for his response, your heart pounding louder with every passing second.

hoooooooooly shitttttttttt

it’s just a pic

yeah, a pic of u looking like that

im just in my pajamas

and i’m hornier now, if that’s even possible

subong you can’t just say stuff like that

why not? we always tell each other everything

i should’ve thrown on a hoodie

i’d still be thinking of what’s underneath

well, glad i could help your horny ass🫡 enjoy or whatever

subong’s typing…

subong’s online

subong’s typing…

subong’s online

you watch the dots—flickering like they're mocking you. you can't help but wonder what he's typing—or if he's second-guessing whatever bold thing he's about to say. but then, they disappear. nothing. you frown, staring at the screen, waiting a few more seconds. still nothing. you realize exactly what he's probably doing. you bite your lip, heat creeping up your neck as the image forms in your mind: him, sitting there, hand wrapped around his dick, staring at the picture you sent.

you feel like you need to do something—anything—to distract yourself. you toss your phone onto the bed and reach for the remote, flipping on a random tv show. you let the noise fill the silence, but your mind keeps drifting back to him. it's a few minutes later when your phone dings. the sound cuts through the room like a knife, and you hesitate for a moment, staring at the screen, before finally reaching for it.

it's him. he sent a picture.

these are my pajamas. now we’re even, baby

him, standing in front of the mirror, shirtless and wearing only a pair of tight black briefs. the way he's posing is so over the top... he's trying way too hard. his expression is almost comical, like he's not really sure if he's pulling it off but is hoping you'll think he is. you can't help it—you stifle a laugh. but then your eyes drop, and that laughter dies in your throat. the bulge is so obvious, pushing against the fabric in a way that's impossible to ignore. it's not just visible, it's big. big enough that your pulse spikes, and you forget to breathe for a second. that laughter you were holding back? gone. you glance back at his goofy grin in the mirror, but it's no longer funny. shit. you’re wet.

you don't even know how it happens. one moment, you're staring at his picture, then a teasing comment here, a bold reply there—and before you know it, you're lying on your bed, your phone clutched in one hand and your other slipping between your thighs, pressed against the growing ache he's stoked with every message. you've never gone this far with him before—always ignoring his obvious flirting. but you can’t stop now. and he isn’t shy about it either, telling you with detail everything he would do to you.

u'd look soooo fucking good begging under me, baby

and what if i don’t?

then i'd make u

mhmmm, how?

fuck, i’d bury my face between those thighs and eat u out until u can’t take it anymore

a soft gasp escapes your lips as you read, your body reacting to the vivid images his words paint in your mind. you know you shouldn't be doing this—not with him—but the way he's describing everything makes you forget about all the reasons why. you’re far past the point of feeling shy too. you bite your lip, barely believing yourself as you hit send.

i wish you could feel how wet i am just thinking about you fucking me from behind

god damn girl, i’d stretch that pussy so good my dick is the only thing u’d think about for weeks

and then, it's not just texting anymore—you're sending pictures, even though you swore you wouldn't. the first one is a close-up of your fingers, glistening with your juices. his reply comes almost instantly, not as a text but as a voice message. “shit, baby, you're f-fucking killing me... mhmm... look at that. you're so fucking wet f’me, I can almost taste it through the screen... fuck...” his voice is low and rough, broken by soft, shaky breaths. you can hear him stroking himself, moans slipping out between words. you're losing your damn mind over it, replaying the voice message again and again—fingers curling inside of you as you push them in and out, wishing it were his fingers instead of yours.

he sends a pic too. this time, he leaves nothing to the imagination. it’s a selfie, his face barely visible at the corner. the center of attention is his hard dick, hand wrapped around it, tip leaking precum. and the only thing that comes to your mind right there and then is just how badly you want to take him in your mouth.

one picture leads to another, the messages growing dirtier with every exchange. his words are filthy, his photos even filthier, and the way he talks about your body—what he'd do to it, what he's imagining—fucking hell. your breathing quickens, your body burning with need, and before you know it, that familiar tension starts to coil low in your stomach.

shit, subong… i’m close

u’re gonna cum for me? cmon pretty girl, let me hear you

you hit record just as your orgasm crashes over you, moaning his name loudly as you cum on your fingers. after a few minutes, he sends a voice message back “you sound so fucking good… shit, look what you’ve done t-to me… mmm… fuck, fuck, fuck… i’m gonna cum thinking about fucking you, baby. i’m gonna cum thinking about you making those… s-sounds while i fucking pound into you.”

the next few days are a blur. he hasn’t texted, and you haven’t either. but no matter what you do, you can’t stop thinking about what happened. no matter how hard you try to shake it off, it’s there. his voice, the way he sounded saying your name, the damn nudes, the way your heart raced as you typed those things to him.

you don’t know how to feel about it. on one hand, you can’t deny how much you wanted it in the moment. but now? now you’re not sure. did you cross a line? did he? part of you regrets it, wishes you could just rewind and stop yourself before things spiraled. but another part—one you’re trying to ignore—remembers how good it felt, how right it seemed in the moment.

and then there’s the friendship. years of it. he’s been your best friend for a few years now. he knows things about you no one else does and he’s seen you at your absolute worst. like that night you showed up at his door after a horrible breakup. mascara streaked down your cheeks, and he didn’t say a word—just handed you a blanket, put on your favorite movie, and sat there with you until you fell asleep on his shoulder.

but it wasn’t always serious. like the time he tried rapping one of his freestyles for you, all cocky, and you laughed so hard you couldn’t breathe. or like the time you tripped over absolutely nothing at the mall, and he laughed so hard he cried, then spent weeks reenacting it whenever you were around. or when he clogged your toilet and tried to fix it himself instead of just telling you. or when he picked a fight with some guy at a club because the guy bumped into you and didn’t apologize. he got all puffed up and said, “you got a problem, man?” like he was some kind of action movie hero. but the guy was huge, like, rugby player huge, and before you could drag subong away, he swung and missed, and the dude took him down in one hit. he spent the rest of the night with a bloody nose and ice pressed to his face, grumbling, “he got lucky.” you still remind him of how he ‘lost a fight in one punch,’ and it always makes him groan.

you’ve got a thousand stupid inside jokes that no one else would understand, like how you always text each other ‘don’t die’ instead of ‘goodnight’ because of some dumb horror movie you watched together. or the fact that he nicknamed you ‘señorita’ when you said you wanted to visit spain one day.

he’s a walking disaster, an endless source of secondhand embarrassment, and somehow, that’s what makes subong… subong. being around him has always felt easy, like slipping into your favorite hoodie—comfortable, familiar, safe.

but friends don’t do… that. what if it’s never the same again? you’ve always been comfortable with him, never overthinking what you said or did around him. now, you can’t imagine looking him in the eye without thinking about what you two did together. you keep telling yourself that things will go back to normal, but deep down, you’re scared they won’t. because you’re not sure you can go back—not after knowing what it felt like to be wanted by him in that way. not after letting yourself want him back.

one day, out of the blue, he texts you like nothing happened. just casually, like you didn't have your hand between your thighs while listening to him moan your name a few nights ago.

yoooo, wanna hop on call and play videogames? i’m bored

at first, you stare at the text, because... what does this mean? is this his way of brushing it under the rug? of pretending nothing ever happened? still, you say yes. because what else can you do? you hop into the call, and there he is—joking, laughing, completely normal. like the two of you didn't cross every possible line. he's so good at acting like nothing's changed, it almost convinces you. you match his energy, responding with the same casual ease. maybe this is fine. maybe you're fine.

then the group chat lights up a few days later: a cinema meet-up. everyone's throwing out ideas for what movie to watch, talking about snacks, debating over showtimes. he's there, throwing in jokes about popcorn sizes and his infamous sweet tooth, and you're sitting there trying to decide if you can handle seeing him face to face. you hesitate, debating if you should just make up an excuse not to go. but then he replies to the chat, tagging you specifically.

u better be there señorita

i will🙃

the day arrives faster than you’d like, and before you know it, you’re standing outside the cinema, stomach flipping as you spot namgyu, minsu, gyeongsu, and semi waving at you. you force a smile and walk over, doing your best to focus on their chatter and ignore the nerves crawling up your spine. but then you see him—subong, leaning against the wall, vape in hand. and when his eyes land on you, he smirks. he knows damn well. he knows exactly what you’re thinking, and he’s not going to make this easy for you. “finally,” he says when you’re close enough. “i was starting to doubt you’d come.” “why wouldn’t i?” you reply. he shrugs, taking a puff from his vape “thought you might’ve had better things to do.” the way he says it feels loaded, but he doesn’t give you time to respond, turning his attention to namgyu instead.

when it’s time to head into the cinema, you try to position yourself far from him, making a beeline for a seat between minsu and semi. you settle in, thinking you’re safe, but of course, subong has other plans. “yo, minsu, my boy,” he says as he walks down the aisle, stopping directly in front of you. “mind scooting over? i’ll sit here.” “uh, sure,” minsu says, shifting down without hesitation. you open your mouth to object, but before you can say anything, subong is sliding into the seat next to you, drink in one hand and a bag of popcorn in the other. “hope you don’t mind,” he murmurs, leaning a little closer than necessary. you grit your teeth, keeping your gaze locked on the screen as the previews start. “not at all,” you mutter under your breath.

you think that’s it. but, of course, it doesn’t end there. he shifts in his seat, his arm brushing against yours every now and then, like he’s waiting for you to react. you swear you catch him smirking out of the corner of your eye multiple times. you try to focus on the movie, but it’s impossible when his presence is so loud. every little movement, every tiny glance, has your nerves on edge. and he knows it.

then, you feel it. his hand—light at first— rests on your bare thigh, the heat of his palm sending a jolt through you. you freeze, your breath catching in your throat. what the hell is he doing? his fingers trace a soft line along your skin, caressing just above your knee. you stay still, unsure of what to do, but your body betrays you, not pulling away.

his touch grows bolder, creeping higher up your leg, slipping under your skirt. you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. he's still watching the movie, acting like nothing is happening, like his hand isn't inches away from your clothed pussy. “what are you doing?” you finally ask, your voice barely above a whisper. he turns his head toward you, looking innocent, like he's just minding his own business. “nothing.” “subong—” “i'll stop if you want me to.” you don't answer, torn between wanting to push him away and not wanting him to stop at all. “do you want me to stop? be honest,” he says, still waiting for your response. “no,” you reply, looking away with embarrassment. he chuckles softly—hand rubbing the inside of your thigh.

you drape the thin jacket you brought over your legs, a flimsy attempt to shield his hand from semi’s view. every nerve in your body screams that you shouldn’t be letting this happen, but you don’t stop him. he spreads your legs with his hand for better access, and soon you feel two of his fingers pressing against your clit over the fabric of your panties. your breath hitches, and you try not to move—not even a sound escapes you—but your lips part at the feeling of his touch. he moves them slow—too slow—in a way that has you shifting against him, your hips bucking against his hand, desperate for more. and he gives it to you. his hand slips beneath your soaked underwear, and a low chuckle leaves him when he feels just how wet you are.

subong knows what he is doing. he rubs your clit in circles, gently but with enough pressure to have you biting your bottom lip. and god, his fingers feel so much better than you ever imagined. when he quickens the pace, a soft moan escapes your lips before you can stop it, and you quickly slap a hand over your mouth, pretending to be focused on the screen. but the rapid rise and fall of your chest betrays your so-called calm. before you can collect yourself, semi leans in. “are you okay?” “mhm,” you nod quickly, forcing a smile. “yeah, don't worry, i—” your words falter when his fingers move faster. you bite your lip, trying to hold it together, but he's clearly enjoying watching you struggle. “i-i'm fine,” you manage to stutter. semi raises an eyebrow. “you sure?” “yeah,” you nod. “alright,” semi says before shrugging and turning her attention back to the screen.

you let out a shaky breath, relief flooding through you. your head snaps toward subong, eyes narrowing in a glare that’s meant to convey exactly how ridiculous he’s being right now. you dig your nails into his wrist, “are you crazy?” but he only pauses for a second, leaning in close enough to whisper, “relax, girl. no one noticed.” the audacity of him sends heat rushing to your face. but he doesn’t back down, his fingers resuming their slow, torturous movements. and just as you’re about to reach your orgasm… he stops. your body jerks in frustration, and you whip your head toward him, confused. his smirk only deepens as he pulls his hand from under your skirt, bringing his fingers to his lips and licking them clean. “what the fuck?” you whisper, a soft groan escaping at the loss of his touch. “what?” he whispers back, feigning innocence. “you know what.” “i don't. you'll have to spell it out for me.” “subong—” “tell me what you want.” the frustration wells up in your chest. to him, this is probably hilarious—you being so desperate. but for you? it's humiliating. pathetic. begging your best friend for something like this. still, the need outweighs your pride. you lean in, your lips almost brushing his ear, “i wanna... i wanna cum. please, make me cum.” “yeah? be fucking quiet, then.”

his fingers slip back under your skirt. your breath catches, and you press your lips together, your body already trembling from how close you were before—gripping the armrest, barely able to keep still. every nerve in your body feels like it's on fire, and when his fingers circle just right, you're done. the release hits hard, and you muffle your moans by biting down on your lip so hard it stings.

the days after are... strange. again. no texting, no acknowledgment, no teasing, nothing. it's like it never happened. and when he does text again, it's so casual it throws you off. he sends a random picture, a meme he has found on instagram.

this shit is so funny bro loooololol

i fear your humor is broken😐

naahhh u just don’t get ittt babyy

you reply like everything's fine because, well, isn't it? you don’t even know at this point.

another day, he messages the group chat:

pentagon this weekend?🔥

the replies come fast. namgyu’s working that night. semi has plans with her girlfriend. gyeongsu says he’s too exhausted for it. minsu doesn’t even reply. everyone has an excuse, and eventually, the chat goes dead. then, a private message from subong popps up.

wbu? still down to go?

you and subong had gone clubbing together hundreds of times. hell, most nights it was just the two of you, dancing until your legs gave out, taking blurry selfies, and laughing over cheap drinks. it was normal. so, you type:

yeah, sureee

bet. see u saturday, señorita

when the night comes, your phone buzzes as you’re double-checking your look in the mirror.

outside

outsideeee

outsideeeeeeeee

hellooooooooooooooooooo

one minute, let me grab my jacket

i’m freezing man

one minute my ass

patience is a virtue ❤️

cmooooooooon

u knitting the jacket or what

girl i just hit retirement age waiting for u

you’re so dramatic

and u r so slow, balance baby

you grab your jacket and head out, the bass from his car already thudding through the air when you step outside. you see him leaning against the passenger door, dressed in his usual baggy style—a loose graphic tee, cargo pants, and sneakers that probably cost more than your entire outfit (the only damn thing he saves up for…)—vape dangling lazily from his fingers. when he sees you, his eyes trail over you for a second too long. “you’re overdressed,” he teases with a smile. “you’re underdressed,” you shoot back.

the drive to club pentagon is easy, filled with a mix of rap tracks and subong’s singing. when you finally pull up, the line’s already stretching down the block, but subong doesn’t even blink. “namgyu’s working, right?” he asks, sliding out of the car. you nod. “yeah, he’ll let us in.” inside, the music is already pulsing, bass heavy enough to shake the floors. subong grabs your wrist. “drinks first?” “obviously,” you answer. you follow subong to the bar, the pounding music buzzing in your ears. “what are we starting with?” he asks, leaning against the bar. “shots,” you say, already reaching into your bag. he raises an eyebrow. “you’re paying?” “you’re broke,” you remind him, rolling your eyes before ordering four shots of tequila. when the glasses arrive, he grabs two and hands you one. “guess i’ll owe you,” he says, clinking his glass against yours. “you already do,” you reply, downing the first shot without hesitation. the familiar burn of tequila trails down your throat, and you chase it with a quick breath.

you can feel his eyes on you as you throw back the second shot. you don’t meet his gaze, but you can feel it—the weight of it, the way it makes your stomach flutter. shaking it off, you slam your glass on the counter and signal for one more round. “last one,” you say, mostly to yourself, pulling out more cash. he doesn’t argue, just picks up his shot, watching you as you pick up yours. you both toss back the final shot, and the alcohol is just enough to loosen the knot in your chest. but the way his gaze lingers as he sets his glass down makes it tighten again. “dancing?” you ask. he nods. you push through the crowd till you find a spot on the dance floor. the techno track thuds through your chest as you sway to the rhythm. subong moves with you, not particularly in sync with the beat, but in his own way that somehow works. every now and then, his eyes catch yours, and you have to force yourself to look away.

the music builds, and you let yourself get lost in it, the alcohol buzzing through your veins and the tension from earlier slowly dissolving into the haze of the moment. after a while, he stops moving and pulls his phone from his pocket. you glance at him, curious, as he squints at the screen. whatever he sees makes him smile faintly before he shoves the phone back into his pocket. “i need to hit the bathroom!” he says, leaning close so you can hear. you blink at him, confused. “right now?” he nods, gesturing for you to follow. you don’t argue—it’s not exactly safe to hang around the dance floor by yourself. reluctantly, you let him lead you off the floor.

he disappears into the men’s room, leaving you standing against the wall, arms crossed. you tap your foot, watching drunk strangers stumble past. a few minutes later, the door swings open, and subong walks out, a small smirk playing on his lips. “what took you so long?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him. instead of answering, he holds up a small plastic bag between his fingers. your stomach flips when you see the little colorful pills inside. “what the hell is that?” you ask, but you already know. he grins, tilting his head. “new stuff.” your brows furrow. “what?” “my plug got these,” he says, holding up the bag slightly. “said they hit different. figured i’d try.” he slides one pill between his fingers, studying it like it’s no big deal. then he brings it to his mouth, about to toss it back. “wait,” you say, grabbing his wrist. he scoffs. “what? you want it instead?” you glare at him. “no, subong. what are you even doing? you don’t need that!” he rolls his eyes, freeing his wrist from your grip. “come on, it’s nothing. we’ve had worse.” “worse?” you scoff. “you’re really gonna compare getting blackout drunk and smoking pot to this?” “you’re fucking overthinking it. it’s just one pill. just tonight. trust me.” he says.

you glance at the bag again, at the little pills that seem so harmless yet scream bad idea. “subong…” you start, but your voice trails off. “look,” he cuts in, his voice softer now. “we’re having a good fucking time, yeah? it’ll be just this once, okay? i promise.” “okay,” you say suddenly, lifting your chin. “but if you do one, i’ll do one.” his smirk falters for half a second. “no.” you frown. “what do you mean, no?” “i mean no. you’re not taking one.” “but you can?” you challenge, crossing your arms.“yeah.” you scoff. “that’s bullshit.” he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “this isn’t your thing, señorita.” “since when it’s yours?” you snap. “if you’re gonna do it, then so am i.”

he looks at you, really looks at you. then, with an exasperated groan, he reaches into the bag. “fucking stubborn,” he mutters, pulling out another pill. “just this once.” he holds it delicately between his fingers before stepping closer. “open up,” he says, his voice dropping a notch. you hesitate for a second but eventually part your lips, sticking out your tongue. he places the pill gently on it. “there you go,” he says, stepping back and popping his own pill. you swallow it quickly, trying not to think about what you’ve just decided to do.

you move back onto the dance floor, the pill's effects creeping in like a warm wave washing over you. the flashing lights seem brighter now and everything blurs together—colors, sounds, the heat of the crowd—but it feels good. better than it should. your limbs feel lighter, like you're floating, and the energy buzzing inside you pushes you to move. subong is right there beside you, dancing with his hand raised, and you can't stop staring at him. his messy hair sticks to his forehead, sweat glistening on his tanned skin.

before you know it, your arms are around his neck, pulling him in like it’s the only thing keeping you steady. his eyes burn into yours for half a second, like he’s daring you to close the distance. then his hands are on your waist, rough fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt, warm against your skin, and he drags you closer until you’re pressed against him. the music is pounding, but it feels distant—like the only rhythm you can hear now is the way your bodies move together, hips rolling in time, every brush of his skin against yours making you burn.

his breath fans across your lips, hot and tasting of tequila and something bitter—maybe the pill he took earlier—and it makes your head spin. then your mouth crashes into his. there’s nothing soft about it. it’s messy and sloppy, urgent—like you’re both too far gone to think about anything but this. his lips part against yours immediately, and your tongues meet in a dizzying clash of heat and need. his hands slide up your back, fingers threading into your hair, tugging just hard enough to make you gasp into his mouth.

you tilt your head, chasing the kiss even deeper. you feel the sharp graze of his teeth against your bottom lip, a bite that makes you whimper before he soothes it with his tongue. the sound you make pushes him further—he groans into your mouth, his other hand gripping your jaw, tilting your face exactly how he wants it.

you’re not sure where the desperation is coming from, but it feels like if he stops touching you, you’ll shatter. your fingers clutch at his shirt, twisting the fabric as you grind just a little closer, a little harder. he’s breathing just as heavy as you are, lips red and swollen from kissing you like he never wants to stop.

you’ve kissed people before but nothing’s ever felt like this. nothing’s ever felt this fucking good. the two of you stumble out of the club. your legs feel like jelly as you hold onto subong, and his arm wraps around your waist to steady you. his car is parked a few streets over, tucked away in a dark, hidden corner under some trees. “thank god for this spot,” he mutters as he unlocks the doors.

you barely make it into the backseat before he’s on you again—his lips crashing into yours like he’s been waiting for this forever. his hands are all over you, rough and desperate, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. but you’re not going anywhere. his fingers dig into your thighs as he pulls you into his lap, and the second you straddle him, you feel it—hard and thick, pressing right against the heat between your legs. a soft gasp slips out of you, but he swallows it with another kiss, his tongue sliding against yours. fuck, he’s good.

your hands tangle in his hair, pulling as your hips start to move, grinding down on him. his grip tightens immediately, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he guides your movements, rocking you against him harder. the friction creates a delicious, aching pressure that makes you whimper against his lips. “fuck,” he breathes, breaking the kiss just long enough to let his head fall back against the seat. his fingers squeeze your ass, dragging you down against him rougher. “keep doing that.” so you do. you roll your hips, slow at first, letting yourself feel everything. you’re already soaked, already throbbing for more, and from the way his hands are gripping you, the way his breathing is getting heavier, you know he feels it too. “i need to eat you out,” he says, trailing kisses down your neck. “want you to cum on my tongue.” you do exactly what he wants—legs spread wide, thighs trembling as his head dips between them. his breath is hot against your soaked pussy, teasing, before his tongue finally makes contact—slow at first, a long, deliberate lick from your entrance to your clit that makes your whole body jolt.

you gasp at the feeling, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging hard, but it only makes him groan against you, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure straight through you. he doesn’t hold back. he devours you, eating you out like a man starved, his tongue flicking against your clit before he sucks it into his mouth. and when two of his fingers slip inside you, curling deep, pressing against that perfect spot, you swear you see stars. “you taste so fucking good,” he groans against you, his lips slick with your arousal before he flattens his tongue and laps up every drop. the way he’s working you—his mouth, his fingers, the filthy sounds coming from between your legs—it’s too much, too good, and your whole body is trembling, hips rolling against his face, chasing more. “shit—subong!” your voice breaks as the pleasure crashes over you all at once. your thighs clamp around his head, your body arching off the seat as you cum hard against his mouth. but he doesn’t stop—his tongue keeps moving, drinking you in, dragging out your release until you’re shaking.

when he comes back up to kiss you—chin shining with the evidence of your release— your hand instinctively moves to rub him through his pants, the hard outline of his dick impossible to miss. he hisses at the contact, his hips bucking eagerly against your touch. “you got a condom?” you ask. he pauses. “yeah, hold on.” reluctantly, he pulls away and starts patting his pockets. his brows furrow in concentration as he checks one side, then the other. finally, with a relieved grin, he pulls a condom out and holds it up. “got it,” he says before kissing the wrapper, making you chuckle.

he looks so fucking hot as he rolls the condom onto his cock, his chest rising and falling with anticipation. but nothing gets him off more than watching you climb back onto his lap, your soaked folds teasing the head of his dick as you line yourself up. his breath stutters, his hands gripping your thighs, barely holding himself back. “fuck, you’re so wet,” he says, voice tight with restraint. then, slowly you sink down onto him. inch by inch, he stretches you open, filling you up until there’s no space left between your bodies. “shit,” he hisses, watching as your slick coats him, making every movement easy, effortless—like your body was made to take him. and when you start moving, lifting your hips before sliding back down, a broken moan escapes his lips. “fuck, baby,” he breathes, hands roaming up your back, gripping your ass, anything to ground himself as you ride him. “you feel so f-fucking good—look at you, taking me so… mmm… so fucking well.” his voice is needy, and when you slam down harder, his hips jerk up to meet yours, pushing even deeper. “oh my—fuck, subong!” you cry out, your walls clenching around him so tight it makes his whole body tense beneath you.

he almost fucking loses it the second he feels you clench around him, his face twisting in pleasure, jaw going slack. his hands grip your hips, guiding you—faster, rougher—eyes locked on where your bodies meet, watching his cock disappear inside you over and over again. he forces himself to meet your gaze, even though his eyes keep threatening to roll back. “fuck, if i’d known how fucking good this pussy is… i would’ve f-fucked you sooner.” he moans as you move faster, bouncing on his cock—every thrust making obscene, slick sounds that only turn him on more. his eyes drop to your tits, bouncing perfectly in time with your movements, and fuck, he can’t decide what he wants more—to keep watching you ride him like this or to flip you over and ruin you.

but then you tighten around him, your rhythm stuttering as you throw your head back, moaning so loud he swears the whole damn neighborhood can hear you. “fuck— i’m gonna—! i-i’m gonna cum!” you cry out, your whole body trembling, thighs shaking as you cum around his cock. and that’s it. that’s all it takes to break him. “shit—ngh!” his body jerks beneath you, his abs tensing as he spills into the condom, his head falling back, mouth open.

his hands are still gripping you, holding you down against him as he rides out every last pulse of his release, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. and fuck—you’re still wrapped around him, warm and wet and perfect. you end up laughing for a solid twenty minutes after that, still too high to fully process what the fuck just happened between you two. but even in your haze, every single detail stays with you the next day.

fucking your best friend while high as fuck one night might’ve been an accident. but then it happens again. and again. and again. and you can’t call it an accident anymore.

it happens everywhere.

in his car, where the windows are always fogged up, your moans echoing in the tight space. in your apartment, where he barely gets the door shut before he’s got you pinned against it, hands rough and greedy, yanking your clothes off like he’s been waiting all fucking day for this. sometimes he doesn’t even make it past the kitchen—he just lifts you onto the counter, knocking over whatever’s in his way, too impatient to care as his mouth moves down your neck. in his bed, where the sheets are always a mess, tangled from how hard he fucks you into the mattress, his hands gripping your wrists, pinning them above your head. even in a club bathroom, right after he gives a show, still high off the energy, sweat dripping down his temple. you’re barely inside before he’s got you bent over the sink, hiking your dress up, shoving your panties to the side, fucking into you so deep you have to bite your hand to keep from screaming his name.

wherever. the second you’re alone, it’s happening. it becomes a thing. a need.

you always figured subong would fuck good. he never shut up about the girls he’s been with, the shit he’s done, bragging like he was the best lay any of them ever had. and every time he talked about it, you’d feel heat pool between your thighs, wondering if he was really that good or just full of shit.

now you knew. and fuck, he wasn’t lying.

he’s rough and passionate—the kind of lover who takes without hesitation but gives just as much, maybe even more. he loves watching you squirm, loves the way your body responds to him like it was made for this. like it needs this. his fingers trail down your skin, barely touching, making you shiver before he finally gives you what you want. and fuck, he lives for it—the way you gasp when he finally presses his mouth between your legs, the way your back arches when he fills you up, stretching you wide, making you take every inch.

some days, he drags it out, torturing you with slow touches, lazy kisses, making you beg before he finally gives in. he’ll tease you until you’re trembling, hands gripping at him desperately, “please, subong… need you so bad.” and then, maybe then, he’ll give you what you’re begging for. other days? he doesn’t bother waiting. before you can say a word, he’s got you pinned to the mattress, yanking your legs apart, pressing himself against you, making you feel just how hard he is. “been thinking about this all fucking day.” then he’s inside you, fucking you like he’s been starving for it.

it’s been months now—this thing between you and subong. but you don’t talk about it. not once. there’s no late-night confessions, no whispered ‘what are we?’ between tangled sheets. he doesn’t ask who else you’re seeing, and you sure as hell don’t ask him. but the uncertainty lingers. because he’s still your best friend. you still laugh at his dumb ass jokes, roll your eyes when he’s being his cocky self, and feel that weird, warm twist in your stomach when you catch him watching you from across the room.

and yet, there are a bunch of little things that scream something more. like that time you sat on his rumpled bed while he was writing a song, and you helped him hammer out stupid-ass verses—even when he swore they’d never work. you teased him for his cheesy lines and then watched his face light up like he’d just discovered a new fucking world. hell, he even calls you his muse sometimes, and you hate how damn proud that makes you feel.

or that stormy night. the rain was lashing against the windows, and you two were locked in his tiny studio apartment. one minute you were laughing, taking silly pictures of him with a digital camera while he smoked, and the next, he had your face pressed against the wooden table as he fucked you from behind—your ass cheeks burning from his vigorous spanking. after, he pulled you close, running his fingers through your hair as if trying to memorize every inch of you.

that one night he showed up at your door at 2 a.m., high off his ass, slurring your name with that cocky grin, his knuckles tapping too fast against the wood. “couldn’t sleep,” he mumbled, leaning against the doorframe. “fucking missed you.” you should’ve told him to fuck off, should’ve rolled your eyes and slammed the door in his face because he promised he wouldn’t do that shit again. instead, you let him in, let him collapse onto your bed with a heavy sigh, pulling you down with him. his arms caged you in, the scent of his cheap cologne filling your senses.

then there was the time you caught him staring at you while you were getting ready. you were fixing your hair in his mirror, wearing nothing but his oversized t-shirt, and when you turned around, he was just standing there—arms crossed. “what?” you asked, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. he just shook his head, smirking a little. “nothing,” he said. “you just—you look good in my clothes, mama.”

and when you called him crying after a shitty day at work, voice shaking so bad he could barely understand you. you didn’t even have to ask—he just showed up, no questions. drove way too fucking fast to get to you, and pulled you into his chest so tight it felt like he was trying to hold you together. “who do i need to punch?” he asked, half-joking, half-dead serious. and you laughed, even through your tears, because that was him—always trying to make you smile. he let you cry into his hoodie, let you hold onto him like a fucking lifeline, and then, when you finally calmed down, he kissed your forehead like it was second nature. “you’re okay, baby” he murmured. “i got you.” he always had you.

or the night he took you to some shitty underground concert, knowing damn well you didn’t even like the band. “it’s not about the music,” he told you, grinning like an idiot. “it’s about the experience.” you rolled your eyes, but you still let him pull you into the crowd, still let him wrap an arm around you when the pit got too wild, still let him hold your hand. afterward, sweaty and breathless, you sat on the curb outside, sharing a cigarette while he rambled about how sick the show was. “you should play up there one day,” you told him, nudging his shoulder. “your songs have gotten better.” “you think?” “yeah. you’re good, bong-bong.” the nickname made him laugh. a week later, he showed you something he wrote. something raw and messy and fucking beautiful. he let you hear a part of him no one else ever did.

you even helped him rebrand himself. it started with him pacing his room, muttering to himself, stopping every few seconds like he was about to say something, then changing his mind. eventually, you sighed, rolling onto your stomach while watching him from his bed. “are you having a breakdown or just being dramatic?” he ignored you, still pacing. and then, out of nowhere, he stopped. snapped his fingers. looked at you like he just discovered the secret to life itself. “i’m gonna dye my hair purple.” you stared at him for a long second, waiting for him to laugh or tell you he was joking. but he just stood there, completely serious, shoulders squared like he was about to go to war.

within twenty minutes, you were in his bathroom, gloves on, a box of purple dye sitting between you. you didn’t even ask how he got it so fast. knowing him, he’d probably been sitting on this idea for weeks, just waiting for the right moment to drag you into it. he sat on the closed toilet lid, legs spread, while you stood over him, parting his hair and working the dye through. up close, he looked smug as hell, like he knew he was onto something. the whole rap game was about standing out, and he was done waiting for people to notice him.

the name ‘thanos’ caught on faster than you expected. at first, it was a joke—you called him that to be annoying, and then he used it in a song, and suddenly, people were saying it back to him. dms started piling up. more people started listening. before you knew it, subong wasn’t just some guy making music in his bedroom—he was thanos. and, of course, he acted like he knew it was gonna work all along.

and fuck, the time he brought you home to meet his family. his mom fussed over you like you were the perfect daughter-in-law, laying on your favorite dish and insisting you have seconds. then, saying, “he talks about you a lot”, making subong choke on his food while his sister goaded him about how he treats you like his damn girlfriend. you felt so out-of-place and yet so damn loved by the way he proudly introduced you to everyone, as if you were the missing piece in his fucked-up puzzle. he even opened up to you about his dad—how he never gave a shit about him, never looked at him unless it was to point out everything he did wrong. maybe that was why he kept stealing glances at you like he was trying to make sense of it—of being wanted, of being next to someone who actually cared.

and later that night, when you were both lying on his couch, full and sleepy, he nudged your knee with his. “thanks for coming, señorita,” he mumbled, eyes half-lidded. “they liked you.” you turned your head to look at him, saying, “of course they did. i’m fucking amazing.” he smirked, but it faded quick, his gaze lingering on you a little too long. “yeah,” he murmured. “you are.”

nights that weren’t about sex at all. the ones where he just wanted you close, his hands resting on your back, his lips pressed to your shoulder, his voice low and sleepy in the dark. “you’re warm,” he’d mumble, pulling you closer. “don’t leave.” “i work tomorrow, baby,” you’d say. “i’ll drive you… stay with me,” he’d always replied.

and you did. every single time.

and there were the nights he fucked you like he meant it. not just like you were some girl he was hooking up with, but like you were the only one who had ever mattered. like he was trying to prove something with every touch, every kiss, every time he pressed his sweaty forehead to yours and whispered your name like a prayer.

like he loved you. but he never said it. and neither did you.

so instead, you settled for the quiet moments—for the way he always pulled you into his lap at parties, his hands resting lazily on your thighs; for the way he let you pick the music when you drove anywhere, even though he always bitched about your taste; for the way he let you steal his fries, let you doodle on his lyrics notebook, let you wear his hoodies even when you didn’t ask; for the way he texted you ‘good morning, baby❤️,’ and it made you smile for no damn reason; for the way you woke up to find him still asleep beside you, hair a damn mess on the pillow, and traced lazy circles on his chest while he mumbled some half-remembered melody. for the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching.

you can’t help but hope that one day you’ll both just say the damn words and finally admit that all these little moments mean something. you hope that maybe, just maybe, one day you’ll stop wondering if you’re more than just friends with benefits.

are u busy?

no, why?

good, i’ll be there in 10

i’m on my period

who gives a shitttt, i sure as hell don’t, mama

subong.

yeah?🙏🏼

not in the mood❤️

alr cool👍🏼💯

can i still come over tho? we could watch a movie or something

yeah okayyy, bring snacks (or else i won’t let you in)

i’m the only snack u need, girl

you don’t expect him to show up with anything, but when you open the door, subong’s standing there, hands full—one holding a plastic bag, the other gripping a bottle of soda. “what’s all this?” you ask, raising a brow. he steps inside without waiting for an invite, kicking off his shoes. “you said ‘bring snacks’, didn’t you?” he says, dropping the bag onto your coffee table. “figured you’d want something sweet.” you peek inside—chocolate bars, a pack of strawberry pocky, even a container of sliced fruit. your chest tightens at the thought of him actually remembering the little things you like.“what, no painkillers?” you tease, flopping onto the couch. he scoffs, collapsing next to you, way too comfortable in your space. “what do i look like, a pharmacy?”

you give him a knowing look, and his lips twitch, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. grabbing the remote, you ask, “so, what are we watching?” “something i won’t fall asleep to,” he says, stretching an arm across the back of the couch. “which means no boring indie shit.” you nudge his thigh with your foot. “first of all, my movie taste is elite. second, if you fall asleep, i’m taking pictures.” he grins, lazy and cocky. “yeah? what will you use them for?” heat rushes to your face, and you smack his arm without thinking. “shut up.”

the movie plays, and for a while, it’s normal. easy. you snack on the pocky while subong steals pieces of fruit from the container, acting like he’s doing you a favor by eating the ones you don’t like. he stretches out on the couch, legs spread, one arm draped lazily over the backrest. goddamn.

it's barely been a few minutes when you find yourself on your knees in front of the couch, his strong hand fisting in your hair as you hungrily suck his dick like your life depends on it. you couldn’t help it. he just looked too fucking good. you take him deep, your nose pressing against his abs, gagging slightly but refusing to back off. he lets out a groan as you take him, the head of his dick hitting the back of your throat. His hand tightens in your hair, guiding your head up and down. “fuck, just like that baby... show me how much you love this dick.” his hips thrust forward, making you gag slightly. “you're so f-fucking good for me... mmm such a pretty little mouth, choking on my cock.”

drool slips down your chin as you struggle to breathe but maintain eye contact, wanting him to see how much you love taking him in your mouth. the wet, obscene sounds of you slurping and gagging fill the room. he watches you intently, pupils blown wide with lust, his dick throbbing against your tongue. moaning around him, the vibrations make his thighs quake. "shit... you’re gonna make me fucking c-cum," he breathes out. “you gonna… you gonna let me cum in that s-sweet mouth of yours, hm?” “mhmm,” you purr around his length, looking up at him with hooded eyes. you double your efforts, sucking him hard and fast, your hand pumping what you can’t reach. he holds your head in place as he comes, making you to swallow every last drop. you take a moment to catch your breath, wiping your mouth before sitting back up.

the bathroom lights hum to life as you rinse your mouth and splash cool water on your face, trying to shake off the heat thrumming through you. you press your palms against the sink, inhaling deep in an attempt to look less flustered. the movie’s still on when you come back. you get comfortable, leaning into subong just slightly. he doesn’t say anything, just lifts his arm and lets you settle in against his side. the warmth of him seeps into you, and you rest your head on his shoulder. subong smiles at you before kissing your forehead, something that shouldn’t mean anything but somehow does.

you shift slightly, but he just pulls you in closer, his body solid and warm against yours. your heart stutters in your chest, and the thought of what you are—what you actually mean to him—becomes impossible to ignore. the longer you sit there, the harder it is to pretend this is normal. your heart is beating too fast, your mind racing with thoughts you’ve been shoving down for months. finally, you tilt your head to glance up. “subong,” you start, your voice quieter than you mean it to be. he hums, eyes still on the screen, but you can tell he’s listening. you swallow, suddenly nervous. “what… what are we doing?” that gets his attention. “what do you mean?” you sit up a little, putting some space between you—enough to see him clearly. “this. us. it’s been months, and we’ve never talked about it.” “what’s there to talk?” “i mean, is this just sex to you?”

he doesn’t answer right away. his jaw tenses, his eyes flicking away for a second like he’s weighing his words. “does it feel like just sex to you?” he finally asks. your chest tightens. “no.” his lips part slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to admit it so easily. like maybe he’s been trying to convince himself of something different. “right. it’s not just sex, we’re friends, too,” he says. “then why are we acting like this?” you push. he rubs a hand over his face. “i don’t know.” he leans forward, elbows on his knees. the silence stretches thick between you, but you refuse to let it suffocate you. you need to know. “what do you want this to be?”

subong exhales hard, dragging a hand through his hair. he looks frustrated, like he doesn’t even want to have this conversation. like you’re ruining something by asking. “why do we have to call it something?” he says finally, and your stomach twists. you blink, sitting up a little. “because it’s been months, subong. because we’re not—we’re not just fucking and then going our separate ways. because we’re sitting here, cuddling, watching a damn movie, and it feels like more.” his jaw clenches, his fingers tightening around his knee. “it doesn’t have to mean anything.” that stings. worse than you were expecting. you swallow around the lump forming in your throat. “it does to me.” his face twists, like he hates hearing that. “shit, don’t fucking do this,” he mutters, shaking his head. “why can’t we just keep things the way they are?” “because i’m tired of pretending this is casual when it’s not,” you snap, your voice cracking. “not for me, at least.”

he squeezes his eyes shut for a second, like he’s trying to hold something back. when he looks at you again, his expression is unreadable, but his next words hit like a punch to the gut. “then maybe you shouldn’t have let it get this fucking far.” you feel like the air has been sucked out of the room. “what?” “i never promised you shit.” the words cut deep, sharper than anything he’s ever said to you before. you open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. because he’s right. he never did. but the way he touched you, the way he held you after—none of that felt like nothing. you shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your voice steady. “are you fucking kidding me?”

he hesitates for a second too long. and that’s all you need to know. you force yourself to nod, pressing your lips together. “okay.” his brows furrow, like he wasn’t expecting you to take it like that, but you don’t give him the chance to say anything else. you grab the remote, press stop on the movie, and push yourself off the couch. “you should go.” “are you fucking serious?” you cross your arms over your chest, fighting to keep your composure. “yeah, i’m serious. get the fuck out.” “we have one fucking shitty conversation, and now you don’t want me here?” he scoffs, shaking his head. “what the fuck do you want from me, subong?” your voice shakes, and you can feel it crack, but you force it out. “sit here and pretend like i didn’t just fucking tell you how i feel? pretend i’m not fucking hurt because you—” you stop yourself, biting your lip so hard it almost bleeds. his jaw clenches. “what?” you let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and bitter. “because you don’t fucking care.” “i never said i don’t care.” “you might as well have,” you snap, voice breaking with frustration. “you just don’t give a shit enough to do anything about it.” he presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek, breathing hard through his nose. “just because i care doesn’t mean we have to slap a fucking label on it!” “and i just have to be okay with that?!” you snap, your voice rising. “i have to sit here like a dumbass and pretend this is fine when it’s not?”

he throws his hands up, his face twisting in frustration. “for fuck’s sake, why do you have to make everything so fucking difficult?” “difficult?!” you let out a humorless laugh. “you’re the one acting like a fucking idiot, subong! you want to fuck me, cuddle me, act like i’m your fucking girlfriend, but the second i ask you to be honest about what this is, suddenly i’m the problem?! you even introduced me to your damn family!” he freezes for half a second when the words leave your mouth, then he stands up, jabbing a finger in your face. “what the fuck did you just call me?!” you swat his hand away, your glare burning into him. “don’t fucking point at me like that!” his jaw tightens, and his nostrils flare like he’s barely keeping himself from snapping. “you wanna talk about being a fucking idiot?! look in the fucking mirror!” he spits. “you’re the one acting like some needy little bitch because i won’t say what you wanna hear.” “fuck you, subong!” you don’t say anything else. you just turn on your heel and walk out of the living room, heading straight for the kitchen. your hands are shaking, your chest tight, and you just need to put some distance between you and him before you completely fall apart. behind you, you hear him scoff. “seriously? you’re just gonna walk away mid-fucking-conversation?”

you grip the edge of the counter, squeezing your eyes shut. maybe if you stay quiet, he’ll take the fucking hint and leave. but of course, he doesn’t. you hear his footsteps as he follows you in. “you always do this shit,” he mutters, his voice dripping with irritation. “running off the second things don’t go your way.” you whirl around, your eyes burning. “what should i do, then? hm? get on my knees and suck your fucking dick again?!” he clenches his fists at his sides, his mouth opening like he’s about to argue—but then he hesitates. because the truth is, you do mean something to him. he just doesn’t know how to fucking deal with it. subong has never done this before—never been in something that wasn’t just fucking around, never had to deal with real feelings, real expectations. and the idea of fucking it up? it scares the shit out of him. but instead of admitting that, instead of being honest for once in his life, he just does what he does best—pushes, lashes out. it seems easier than dealing with what he feels when he’s around you.

“why do you care so fucking much about not calling it something?” you ask, your voice softer now. “if we’re not seeing other people, if we’re always together, if you do care about me, then why?” his throat bobs as he swallows hard. and then—because he’s a fucking coward—he lies. “who says i’m not seeing other people?” you freeze. his face is unreadable, but you can see the way his fingers twitch at his sides, like he already regrets saying it. “you’re lying.” your voice is quiet. he just shrugs, “i’ve been seeing this girl.” “who?” you raise your voice, taking a step closer as tears start falling down your face. “who?!” “i’m not fucking telling you!” “are you serious?! aren’t we supposed to be friends too?! we used to tell each other everything!”

his eyes flick to yours, and for a second—just a second—something flashes in them. something like guilt. but then he shuts it down, scoffing as he shakes his head. you continue, “but we’re not even friends anymore, are we?” “don’t say that.” “why not? it’s true, isn’t it? friends don’t do what we do,” you wipe at your face, even though the tears won’t stop fucking falling. he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, pressing it against the inside of his cheek like he’s trying to hold something back. but then he just shrugs again, voice flat. “guess we’re not fucking friends either, then.”

your vision blurs as you cry, no matter how hard you try to keep it together. “get the fuck out, subong.” your voice breaks on the last word, and you hate how fucking weak you sound, how pathetic. and the second the first real sob rips out of your throat, something in him shifts. “fuck. no, i—” he exhales, raking a hand through his hair, his voice softer now, like he’s realizing he went too far. “i didn’t mean it. i’m sorry—i’m sorry, baby.” “don’t fucking call me that!” “you gotta listen to me!” you shake your head, taking a step back, your whole body trembling. “no. i’m done listening to your fucking bullshit.” “baby, please.” his voice cracks, and his hands reach for you—hesitant, like he doesn’t know if you’ll let him touch you. “please.” you slap them away instantly. “don’t fucking touch me.” “you’re really just gonna shut me out like this?!” “you shut me out first!” “i fucking care about you!” “not enough!” his breath catches in his throat, and for a second, he just stares at you. “you’re being fucking dramatic.” “get the fuck out of my house, subong.” “why are you being such a fucking—” “say it.” your voice is a challenge, daring him to go there. he doesn’t hesitate. “bitch. a fucking bitch. you—you’re acting like a bitch.”

you’ve had enough. without thinking, you shove him—hard. he stumbles back a step, caught off guard, but you don't stop. you shove him again, your palms flat against his chest. “you’re a fucking asshole! fuck you! get out! get the fuck out!” his jaw tightens, like he wants to argue, like he wants to throw something else back at you, but you're already stepping forward again, grabbing his arm and shoving him toward the front door. subong wrenches his arm away, but you don't let it stop you. you push him again, shoving him past the threshold. but he’s not moving, so you grab the nearest thing—his damn sneakers—and chuck them at him, one after the other. the first one bounces off his chest, the second one catches him square in the shoulder. “what the fuck, man?!” subong barks, flinching back, his face twisting in irritation. he barely catches the second shoe before it can hit the ground. “you’re a crazy bitch!”

“fuck off!” your voice cracks again, but you don’t care. you’re already stepping forward, already reaching for the door—and you slam it in his face. the sound echoing through the room. for a moment, silence. a long, awful pause where your breath hitches, where your chest tightens so much it feels like you’re suffocating. then—“open the door. c’mon, open—open the fucking door!” he slams his fist against the wood. “stop being so fucking childish!” “you’re calling me childish?! grow up, subong! you’re twenty six, you don’t know what you want and you still dress like a fucking kid!” he bangs the door. “you’re one to talk, girl! always dressed like a damn slut!”

you squeeze your eyes shut and stumble to your room until your knees hit the bed, and then you’re collapsing onto it. the first sob breaks out of you before you can stop it, and then another, and another. you curl into yourself, pulling the blanket over your head, pressing your hands against your ears. but it doesn’t block him out. “fucking talk to me!” another bang. you hear the doorknob rattle. “baby, please! i’m sorry, okay?! c’mon, don’t do this! we’re fucking friends!” your voice is muffled when it finally comes, thick with tears, but loud enough for him to hear you. “go away!” “not fucking happening! open the damn door!” “go away or i’m calling the fucking cops, motherfucker!” that seems to work. you curl tighter, press your face into the pillow, and sob until the sound of his fists against the door fades away. he did this. he made you feel this way. and he fucking hates himself for it. but it’s too late.

the next few days are absolute shit. you barely leave your bed at first. your body feels too heavy, your chest too tight, your eyes too sore from crying. when you do finally move, it’s only to go through the motions—brushing your teeth, pulling on the same oversized hoodie, forcing down a few bites of food even when everything tastes like nothing, and going to work. you don’t check your phone at first. you can’t. but eventually, the screen lights up, and you don’t have to look to know who it is. subong. you let it ring. he calls again. and again. when it finally stops, the texts start.

pick up the fucking phone

cmon baby please

i fucking miss u

don’t do this shit to me

u make me so fucking angry

bro istfg

please

you turn the phone face down. but he doesn’t stop. every time you glance at your screen, his name is there.

i know u r reading these

don’t fucking ignore me bro

at least tell me u r okay

minsu asked why u didn’t come with us today

just fucking answer

is it that hard?

years and years of friendship man and u throw it all away like that?

u r fucking selfish

i hope u know that

the texts keep coming. always at random times. but the worst ones come at night. one day, at 4:12 a.m., your phone buzzes against your nightstand. you try to ignore it, try to pretend you’re asleep, but something tells you to look.

im highhg as fuvckk bro

look whatu vdone to me

fukcing bittvhhh

its urA fault

i mis uu

u r myybhaby❤️❤️❤️❤️

its fucking 4am. i wake up at 6 to go to work, stfu and leave me alone

can i cone over? plewaasse

answer bitchj

fuck you, subong. i don’t want to see you again

come bsck

i loveyouy

you block him, roll over, and squeeze your eyes shut. but sleep doesn’t come easy. not when the last words he sent are still glowing behind your eyelids, burning into your brain.

blocking him should have brought peace. should have been the final step, the clean break. but it doesn’t feel like that. instead, it feels like holding your breath underwater, waiting to resurface, except there’s no hand to pull you up this time. the first few days, you keep checking your phone out of habit. unlocking it without thinking. but there’s nothing. you still reach for him in small ways—almost texting him when something funny happens, almost turning to tell him about your day. but you can’t do that. you won’t do that. so you keep yourself busy. you pick up a book, let your eyes scan the words without really absorbing them. go on long walks, let the cold air bite at your skin, hoping it shocks you out of your thoughts. start journaling, writing down everything except his name, except the way your chest still feels hollow. you even try new things—take a yoga class with a friend, bake cookies at 2 a.m., cut your hair just to feel something different. but memories of him are stitched into the fabric of your life.

you hear his voice on the radio sometimes now, when they play a song of his that went viral. see him in the reflection of dark car windows, like he’s just a step behind you. hear a joke and immediately think about how he’d laugh, head thrown back, eyes crinkling at the edges. you tell yourself that eventually, you’ll forget. but some nights, you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he’s staring at his too. if he’s thinking about you. and the ache doesn’t go away.

your phone rings one night, when you’re already in bed. you almost don’t answer, but when you see semi’s name flash across the screen, you pick up. “hello?” your voice is groggy, tired. “hey,” semi says. “sorry, did i wake you?” “no,” you lie. “what’s up?” there’s a pause. hesitation. then, “it’s subong.” your stomach drops. “we’re worried about him.” she rushes the words out, like she’s been holding them in for too long. “he’s been acting weird lately—worse than usual.” you close your eyes, already knowing where this is going. already knowing what she’s about to say before she even says it. “he’s been taking those pills,” she continues. “the ones he used to mess with sometimes, but now he’s on them all the time. it’s like he’s not even—shit. he was out,” she says, frantic. “namgyu couldn’t wake him up at first, it was fucking bad, dude. and now he’s still high as hell, barely making sense, and he keeps—” she hesitates. you frown. “he keeps what?” “he keeps mumbling your name.” you feel like you’ve been punched in the chest. you press your fingers to your temple, trying to stop the pounding in your head. “fuck.” “he’s not okay,” she says. “he’s barely sleeping, barely eating. he looks like shit. well, he always does, but you know what i mean. and when he does talk, it’s like he’s—like he’s not there.”

you take a shaky breath. you shouldn’t care. you don’t care. he’s not your problem anymore. but your stomach still twists at the thought of him like that. “maybe you could talk to him?” semi says, hopeful. “when he feels better. i think he’d listen to you. gyeongsu is gonna take us to the hospital in a few minutes, maybe you could come too? we’ll pick you up. we’re at namgyu’s apartment, we had to take him—” “we’re not friends anymore, semi,” you cut off, swallowing down the lump in your throat. silence. “what?” she says. “what do you mean?” “he hasn’t told you?” “told us what?” “it doesn’t matter,” you say finally, letting out a heavy sigh. “i can’t help him.” “but—” “i can’t, semi.” the words come out sharper than you mean them to. she falls quiet. after a long moment, she sighs. “alright, okay,” she says, voice heavy with disappointment. “i just… i didn’t know.”

and even though you tell yourself it’s not your problem, even though you tell yourself you did the right thing—you don’t sleep that night. maybe you’re the most horrible person ever. for not helping him. that’s what you think to yourself as the days go by. you don’t go to see him. you don’t text semi back. you tell yourself that there’s nothing you could have done, that he made his choices, that you’re not responsible for saving him. but the guilt sticks to your ribs.

you keep moving forward. and then, somewhere along the way, you meet him. he’s nothing like subong. not really. but sometimes, in the way he leans back in his chair, in the way he runs his fingers through his hair, in the way he laughs when he’s had one too many drinks—he almost is. (he even likes rap!) and maybe that’s why you let him take you out. why you let him kiss you. why you let him press his hands against your skin and pretend it feels right. it doesn’t. but you let it happen anyway. because it’s easier. because when you close your eyes, you can almost pretend it’s subong. it’s fucked up. you know it’s fucked up. but you tell yourself it’s fine. that it doesn’t matter. that this is what moving on is supposed to look like. but it’s not fair. you know you shouldn’t be doing this. and when he asks what’s wrong, why you get quiet sometimes, why you look at him like you’re seeing someone else—you just smile. shake your head. press a kiss to his lips and hope he never realizes that you don’t mean it. hope he never realizes that no matter how hard you try—subong is still the only one you see.

he invites you to a show one night, says it’ll be fun. you don’t really know much about it—just that it’s some rap battle tournament called ‘rap battlegrounds’—but you’re bored, and it’s something to do. you don’t ask too many questions because, honestly, you don’t care that much. he picks you up, and you follow him through the neon-lit streets to a club you’ve never seen before, the bass already thumping from inside. he leads you through the crowd to a small corner of the club. it’s dark, gritty, with exposed brick walls and dim, flickering lights that barely cut through the haze of smoke hanging in the air. the floor is sticky. it’s the kind of place you usually avoid, but tonight, you let it slide.

you're barely paying attention, your eyes drifting over the crowd, the noise just background filler. the battles blur together, the hype not really doing anything for you. you're zoning out, tapping your foot to the rhythm of the beat, hoping this night will pass quickly—regretting all your life choices when he wraps his arm around your shoulders. when suddenly, a voice crackles through the mic, cutting through the noise. “yo, yo, yo, we got a real one up next! fresh off that new heat, straight killin’ the game—make some noise for ‘thanos’!” you freeze, snapping your head to the stage as the crowd cheers. “…and he’s goin’ up against the beast, the local legend, the one and only jace ‘the hammer!’”

there’s no way. you blink, trying to process it, but everything’s too dark, shadows everywhere, making you second-guess yourself. but then, you hear it—his voice. your stomach sinks. this is real. subong is here. for a second, you think you might pass out. he’s standing there, center stage, all cocky confidence, rapping like he owns the room. you wish you could ignore it, wish you could pretend he’s just another guy on stage, but he isn’t. and you can’t. and then it happens. his eyes sweep across the crowd, like he’s eating up the attention, and then they land on you. he freezes. just for a second—just long enough for his flow to falter, the words dying on his tongue. the beat keeps going, but he doesn’t, and the guy he’s battling jumps in, taking advantage of the opening. subong blinks, shakes his head, tries to recover—but it’s too late. he’s lost the rhythm, lost the momentum, and the battle ends with subong’s opponent eating up the win. the crowd erupts, but subong doesn’t hear any of it. he stands there for a second, chest rising and falling like he can’t believe it—like he can’t believe he actually lost. then, without another word, he shoves the mic into someone’s hand and disappears behind the stage.

someone else takes the spotlight almost immediately, the next rappers stepping up, music booming through the speakers again. you turn to the guy beside you, grabbing his wrist. “i wanna leave.” he frowns. “what? why?” you glance toward the side of the stage, your stomach twisting. subong won’t just leave it alone—you know him. “i’m just—i’m kinda tired.” the nervousness in your voice alarms him. “are you okay? what’s wrong?” “nothing. i just don’t wanna be here right now.” he studies you, and you can tell the exact moment he realizes how tense you are, how your shoulders are stiff, how you haven’t stopped glancing over your shoulder. his expression softens, just a little. “hey,” he says, voice quieter now. “it’s okay. i’ll take you home.” “yeah?” “of course.” you don’t move when he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. and it feels like… nothing. just lips on lips, a fleeting warmth that barely registers. your chest feels tight, like you need to shake something off, drown something out. so you kiss him back, harder this time, pressing in, searching for something. maybe it’s the adrenaline, maybe it’s the way seeing subong on that stage messed with your head, knocked you off center. maybe you just want to prove to yourself that you can feel that rush with someone else. but you don’t. no matter how deep the kiss goes, no matter how much you try to lose yourself in it, there’s nothing there.

and just a second later, he’s ripped away from you—shoved back so hard he stumbles, nearly knocking into the bar behind him. and when you look up, you already know. subong stands there, shoulders tense, and his eyes locked on you. “what the fuck are you doing?!” “me?! what the fuck are you doing, subong?!” the guy composes himself and goes back next to you with a strained expression, one of his hands caressing his side. “what’s your problem, man?!” “who the fuck is this?” subong demands, his eyes never leaving yours. you exhale sharply. “just leave me alone.” disbelief flashes across his face like you’ve just insulted him. “nah, what the fuck is this?” he gestures vaguely between you and the guy. “this who you’re with now?” the guy straightens up. “is there a problem?” subong laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “yeah, there’s a fucking problem. who the fuck are you?” “just go, subong.” you cut in quickly. “no. i’m not fucking leaving.”

the guy beside you steps in, placing himself between you and subong. “you know this asshole?” he asks you. you sigh, “he’s… we used to be friends,” you reply. “yeah, and i’ve probably fucked her more times than you have, bro,” subong adds, a smirk on his face. “don’t listen to him,” you tell the guy before redirecting your attention to subong. “you’re being more than ridiculous right now. stop it. leave us alone.” he just stares, like he didn’t even hear you. like you didn’t just tell him to fuck off. “ridiculous?” he repeats, like the word itself it’s funny to him. “you wanna know what’s fucking ridiculous? you showing up here with—” he finally looks at the guy, eyes dragging over him like he’s barely worth acknowledging “—this.” “enough! i said… leave us alone.” “no, we need need to talk.” “she told you to leave, man.” the guy interrupts. wrong move. subong’s lips curl into something mean. “and who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?” he sizes him up, scoffing. the guy doesn’t back down. he squares his shoulders, keeping himself between you and subong like he actually thinks that’ll stop him. subong steps closer, just enough to invade his space. you step forward, grabbing the guy’s arm. “seriously, let’s just go—”

subong’s hand shoots out, grabbing his collar. the guy shoves him back instantly, and that’s all it takes. subong’s always been quick to anger, and now he’s pissed. “relax,” the guy says, lifting his hands like he’s trying to de-escalate, but subong’s past that. “relax? you want me to relax when you’re out here kissing my girl?” the guy exhales through his nose. “you wanna fight me over her that bad?” he shakes his head. “man, you already lost once tonight.” subong’s expression shifts in an instant. his shoulders go tense, his nostrils flare, and his jaw locks so tight you swear you can hear his teeth grind. he snaps, swinging first. it’s fast, a punch aimed straight for the guy’s jaw, but he dodges, stepping back just in time. the guy doesn’t waste time. he drives forward, ramming his shoulder into subong’s chest, sending him stumbling back. for a second, you think it might end there—but of course, it doesn’t. subong recovers quick, too quick. he surges forward, grabbing the guy’s shirt and yanking him down just to throw a knee into his ribs. the guy grunts, shoving him off, and then they’re both swinging. fists connect, curses fly, and you can barely keep up. the guy tries to hold his own, landing a few hits, but subong barely flinches. he’s fueled by something else, and he’s not stopping. one punch lands hard against the guy’s cheek, snapping his head to the side. another follows, a brutal hit to his jaw that makes him stumble. then another. and another. the guy grunts, arms coming up to shield himself, but subong doesn’t let up. he grabs the front of his shirt, yanking him forward just to slam his fist into his face again.

blood splatters. and that’s when you snap out of it. “subong, stop!” he doesn’t hear you. “subong!” he pulls back for another hit, and you move before you even think. you grab him by his shirt, using all your strength to shove him back. he stumbles, losing his grip on the guy, his eyes wild when they snap to yours. “what the fuck is wrong with you?!” you scream, chest heaving. subong’s nostrils flare, hands still clenched into fists like he’s seconds away from going back for more. the guy groans, wiping blood from his face. “you broke my fucking nose, man! you’re insane!” he yells. “shut the fuck up,” subong spits, but before he can go at him again, you shove him harder. “leave him alone!” his breathing is heavy, his eyes dark, burning into yours. for a second, you think he might listen, that the fight might finally be over. but then, in one swift movement, he grabs your wrist. “what are you—” you barely get the words out before he pulls you with him, dragging you through the crowd, past the stage. “let go of me!” you struggle against his grip, but he doesn’t stop. people turn to look, but no one moves to intervene. they just watch. before you know it, you’re backstage, away from the lights, away from the eyes—trapped in a space that feels too small.

subong finally stops, shoving you back against the wall. you barely have a second to catch your breath before you’re shoving him off. “what the fuck is wrong with you?! what the fuck was all of that about?! huh?!” you slam your hands against his chest, but he barely moves. his jaw clenches, and when he speaks, his voice is rough. “what the fuck is wrong with me?! you’re really asking me that?! when you’re the one out there acting like a desperate fucking slut?!” your head jerks back, a bitter laugh ripping from your throat. “are you fucking serious right now?! you just beat the shit out of him, and you’re mad at me?! for what?! for moving the fuck on?!” “yeah, i fucking am!” he snaps. before you can react, he steps in, closing the space between you in an instant. his hands come up, slamming against the wall on either side of your head. your whole body tenses. he’s seething, breath ragged and reeking of cheap liquor and god knows what else. “why?!” “because you’re mine!” “yours?! fuck off!” you shove at him again, hard. “and take a goddamn shower while you’re at it. you smell like a fucking alleyway.”

his nostrils flare. “yeah? well, you smell like a cheap whore.” rage flares hot in your chest. “right, because you’d fucking know, wouldn’t you?” you sneer. his head tilts, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. “at least i don’t pretend to have fucking standards. what’s his name, huh?” your stomach turns, but you don’t let it show. instead, you smile. “why? you jealous? go cry about it, asshole.” he leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “you know he’s just using you, right? you’re nothing but a warm hole to him.” your hand flies up before you can think better of it, shoving his face away. “yeah. like that wasn’t exactly what i was to you too, motherfucker.” he stumbles back a step, running a hand over his jaw. “we never talked about what the fuck we wanted, or what we expected from each other. so don’t—don’t—” “that’s what you tell yourself? that you didn’t lead me on? that you didn’t fuck with my head for months?!” you cut him off. “you’re a fucking coward, subong. too fucking scared to admit you wanted me, but the second i move on, suddenly you give a shit?” “move on? to who? that fucking loser? you think he actually gives a shit about you?” “and you do?” “you can’t just act like we never fucking happened!” “we didn’t happen, that’s the thing!” you shoot back. “you didn’t want to be with me like that,” your voice wavers, but you force yourself to hold your ground. “so you don’t get to fucking act like this. you don’t get to be jealous, you don’t get to start fights over me, and you sure as hell don’t get to drag me back here like you own me.”

his throat bobs as he swallows. he looks away for a second, like if he doesn’t meet your eyes, this won’t sting as much. like he can pretend this isn’t hitting him the way it is. his fingers twitch at his sides, fists clenching and unclenching like he’s trying to hold onto something—maybe the last shred of whatever this used to be. his breath comes sharp through his nose, the kind that’s meant to steady him but doesn’t do a damn thing. “i didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters, voice rough around the edges. “i don’t—i don’t own you.” but there’s something bitter in the way he says it, like he hates that it’s true. like he hates that he ever let it get to this point. you’re not his anymore. you never were, really. “then stop acting like it! don’t try to ruin everything just because you can’t handle the fact that i moved the fuck on!” for a second, he doesn’t say anything. his eyes flick over your face, tongue running over his teeth like he’s trying to stop himself from saying something worse. but then— “if you had, you wouldn’t have let that motherfucker shove his tongue down your throat right in front of me.” you scoff. “you think i did that on purpose?” he steps in, too close, and you instinctively take a step back. “fuck yeah, you did. you wanted me to see it. you wanted to fucking piss me off.” “you piss yourself off, subong! newsflash! not everything is about you! get over yourself.” “get over myself? you made me look like a fucking idiot out there!” “what the fuck are you talking about?” his eyes flash. “you made me lose the fucking battle, man!” you blink, caught off guard for half a second, then roll your eyes. “first of all, i’m not a man. second of all, don’t blame that shit on me.” “right. it’s never your fucking fault, huh?” he shakes his head. “you just get to do whatever the fuck you want and act like it doesn’t affect me.” you throw your hands up. “if you weren’t such a fucking asshole, maybe this wouldn’t have happened!” “yeah?!” “yeah!”

and then there’s silence. thick, heavy silence. his breathing is still ragged, his hands still curled into fists at his sides. your heart is pounding, your own fists clenched just as tight. then subong scoffs, shaking his head. “you’re so fucking full of shit.” “excuse me?” “you wanna talk about me being an asshole when you’ve been ignoring me for months? like i didn’t fucking exist.” the pain in his voice is evident and it catches you off guard. “i wasn’t—i didn’t ignore you. i was trying to heal. you’re seriously throwing that in my face right now?” “yeah, i am. don’t act like you’re the only one who got hurt.” “don’t do that.” “do what? tell the truth? you fucking blocked me, girl!” “no! don’t—don’t twist shit around just to make yourself feel better,” you snap. “you know exactly why i did it. don’t act like you’re the fucking victim.” “who is it then? you?” he scoffs. “oh, eat shit, subong! you never fucking came to see me!” you throw your arms out, exasperated. “not once! you could’ve fixed this, but you didn’t.” his jaw clenches, but he doesn’t look away. “you think i didn’t want to?” “i don’t know what the fuck you wanted!” your voice cracks, but you don’t care. “i called! and texted you every single fucking day!” “and you think that’s enough?! after everything?!” "i almost fucking overdosed!" he yells. "i was at my fucking lowest, and you—" he lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "you weren't there." you shake your head, anger bubbling in your chest. "don't put that on me, subong. you did that to yourself," you snap, voice sharp. "don't fucking guilt trip me with that." "are you serious?" “what do you want me to say? did you expect me to just forget everything and come back to you like nothing happened? you promised me—how many times?—that you weren’t gonna do that shit anymore, and here we are! and not only are you trying to make me feel like a fucking piece of shit for it, but you’re also acting like this—all of this—is my fault? when you were the one who decided i wasn’t good enough to be anything more than a fuck buddy?”

his expression falters—just a flash of something almost guilty—but then he scoffs, masking it with anger. “you’re really trying to act like you didn’t fucking replace me the second i was gone?” “replace you?” you repeat, incredulous. “you can’t be serious right now. i wasn’t the one fucking other people when we were…. whatever we were!” he freezes, his face draining of color for a split second. “don’t bring that shit up.” “oh, I’ll bring it up, alright. because you can’t say that shit to me when you were too busy screwing around while i was waiting for you to call me your fucking girlfriend.” he opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, a group of people walk past, glancing over at the scene. a couple of them whisper, eyes flicking nervously from you to subong. his face hardens, irritation flashing across his features, and without warning, he grabs your wrist. “what the fuck are you looking at?” he snaps at them. the group quickly averts their gazes, pretending they weren’t just watching him. he yanks you away and you struggle for a moment, trying to free yourself from his grip, but he doesn’t let go. you’re too caught up in the heat of the moment to really think about where he’s taking you. before you know it, you’re being shoved through a door into a dimly lit room backstage, the door slamming shut behind him with a force that echoes in the silence. the room is small, cluttered with his belongings—bags, jackets, and scattered items. a mirror with round vanity lights casts a dull glow over the space, reflecting the mess on the counter: a half-empty water bottle, energy drink cans, his vape, a lighter, a bunch of candy wrappers and a few crumpled papers.

“you need to stop doing that!” you snap. “dragging me around like i’m—i don’t know—like i’m some puppet!” he ignores your words. “listen,” he says, “i tried to make it right, okay? i did.” “calling me? texting me?” you scoff, disbelief laced in your voice. “that’s what you think making it right looks like? all you ever did was send bullshit messages—half insults, half nothing at all.” you shake your head. “if you actually meant it, you would’ve come to me. you know where i live, where i work—you had every chance to show up, to prove that you actually gave a damn. but you didn’t.” his voice shakes now. “i thought… i thought you didn’t fucking need me anymore! i thought you’d be better off without me!” “better off without you?! that’s the dumbest excuse i’ve ever heard!” before you can stop yourself, you shove him, hard enough that he stumbles back a step. “you were my fucking best friend, you idiot!” your voice cracks as a tear rolls down your cheek, and you have to look away. “and i…” the words tangle in your throat. you swallow hard, forcing them out. “i fucking loved you.”

the words hit him like a fist to the gut. he swallows, his throat suddenly dry. because he knows. he knows exactly how that feels. he’s loved you too—probably longer than he even realized. but he’s never said it. not properly. not in a way that mattered anyway. and now? now it sounds like it’s too fucking late. “loved,” he repeats. “past tense?” you don’t answer. “you don’t—you don’t love me anymore?” the words slip out before he can stop them, and he hates how pathetic they sound, how fucking vulnerable they make him. “subong i—i’m sorry, i can’t… i can’t do this,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper. “answer me,” he presses, stepping closer, his pulse thundering in his ears. “please.” “i’m not talking about this,” you say firmly, reaching for the door. but he moves faster, pressing his hand against it, keeping you trapped in the small room with him. you squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling sharply. “i don’t want to see you again, subong.” “i do.” “well, i don’t.” “why not?” “because it fucking hurts!” the words barely leave your lips before the weight of everything crashes down on you all at once. “it… it hurts.” your throat burns, and suddenly, you can’t hold it back anymore. a choked sob rips through you, and before you can stop yourself, you’re crying.

subong’s eyes widen for half a second, like he doesn’t know what to do with the sight of you breaking down in front of him. but then, without hesitation, he reaches for you. “i know,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. “i know, baby.” the warmth of him, the familiarity, the way he holds you…it all feels too fucking good. too safe. too much like home. you sob into his shirt, fists clutching at the fabric, body shaking as months’ worth of pain and anger pour out of you. he holds you tighter, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other resting firm against your waist. “i’m sorry,” he breathes.

you suck in a sharp breath, realization slamming into you. and just like that, the warmth turns suffocating. “no,” you whisper, pushing against his chest. he stiffens. “what—” “get off me.” he hesitates, grip loosening slightly, but you shove harder, forcing space between you. “fuck, subong, what the hell am i doing?” he looks at you, confused, almost dazed, like he doesn’t understand why you’re suddenly pulling away. “baby—” “don’t call me that,” you cut him off. “i can’t—i can’t do this with you.” his jaw tightens. “you don’t mean that. you know you don’t.” “i do! because you fucking broke me!” you yell, hands trembling. “and i hate that you still make me feel like this!” you pause, trying to catch your breath, wiping at your face furiously. you hate the way the tears cling to your skin. you hate even more that he’s standing there, watching you cry. you force yourself to steady your voice. “i’m leaving.” “no, you’re not.” he’s there—blocking the door. you let out a frustrated breath, shoving at him again, but he doesn’t move an inch. “subong, move.” nothing. he doesn’t even blink. “is he your boyfriend?” the question throws you off balance. your brows furrow, and for a moment, the anger is eclipsed by confusion. “what?” “that guy. is he your boyfriend?” you exhale sharply, shaking your head as you glare at him. “jesus christ, subong, really?” “is he?” “it’s none of your business,” the words are clipped, laced with venom. his eyes darken. “none of my—?” he drags a hand through his hair, like he’s barely keeping himself together. for a second, it looks like he might actually lose it. “seriously? you can’t even say no?” “why does it matter?!” you snap. “it fucking matters to me!” your heart pounds. you don’t know why it’s so hard to answer, why the words feel like they’re lodged in your throat. his patience wears thin. “fucking hell, just—” “no!” you cut him off. “he’s not my boyfriend, okay?!” you shake your head. “did you fuck him?” “are you serious right now?” “answer the fucking question,” he demands, stepping closer. you scoff, shaking your head. “you’re actually insane.” “fucking answer!” “yes!” the word rips out of you before you can stop it. “yeah, i did. happy now?”

for a moment, he doesn’t react. he just stares at you, like the air has been knocked from his lungs. his jaw clenches, his nostrils flare. but nothing can stop the thought from sinking its claws into him—someone else touching you, having you, getting what he let slip through his fingers. it makes him sick. and it’s his own damn fault. he knows he has no right to be angry. no right to feel this way. but the jealousy curdles in his stomach, and before he can stop himself, the words tear from his mouth like a whip. “you’re a fucking whore.” the second he says it, he hates himself for it. but he doesn’t take it back. your fury is instant, white-hot.“fuck you! don’t call me that!” “i’ll call you whatever the fuck i want!” he snaps. he needs to hurt you, to make you feel even a fraction of what he’s feeling. “you really don’t see how fucking pathetic that is? spreading your legs for some guy who doesn’t even matter?” the words taste like acid in his mouth, but he spits them out anyway. he doesn’t know how else to deal with the anger, the self-hatred he feels. it’s easier to take it out on you than to admit the truth—that he ruined everything, that he’s the reason you were with someone else.

your vision goes red. before you can think, before you can stop yourself, your hand swings up and smacks across his face. his head jerks to the side from the impact, and for a moment, everything is dead silent except for the sharp sound of your ragged breathing. then, slowly, he turns back to you, his jaw tightening, his tongue running over the inside of his cheek like he’s tasting the sting of your palm. “did you just hit me?” his voice is low. oh, he’s angry. “yeah, i fucking did,” you say, your hands trembling. “because you’re a fucking piece of shit!” “you’ve got some fucking nerve!” he seethes, shoving your forehead with two of his fingers, forcing your head back slightly. you slap his hand away, your own anger doubling at the touch. “do that again, and i’ll break your fucking fingers, motherfucker,” you warn. “you just slapped me!” “and you called me a whore twice, subong! i wonder how the fuck i was ever friends with you! you’re a hypocrite!” he steps closer, jabbing a finger in your face. “don’t fucking talk to me like that!” “and i told you many times not to fucking point your finger at me!” you yell, shoving his hand away harder this time. so hard his arm jerks back. “who the fuck do you think you are?! you can’t fucking judge me when you’re the one who—”

his patience snaps. he grabs a nearby chair and hurls it at the wall. it hits with a loud crack, rattling from the impact before toppling over. you flinch, but you don't back down. “real fucking mature.” “you don’t fucking get it.” “why do you even care, huh? you have plenty of other girls to fuck, don’t you?” you spit. “so why the fuck does it matter who i’m with? why is it a problem when you do the exact same shit?” he doesn’t say anything. fine. you’re done here. you reach for the door again, shoving past him. “i’m leaving—” “i lied.” his voice stops you cold. slowly, you turn back, brows furrowing. “what?” he swallows hard. “i lied about it. there was never another girl.” you stare at him in disbelief. “i just—i said that shit to piss you off. to make you hate me. but i never—” he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “i never touched anyone else when i was with you.”

your mind spins, struggling to piece together what he’s saying. he’s lying again. he has to be. “you expect me to believe that?” your voice is defensive. “i don’t give a fuck if you believe me,” he snaps back. “it’s the truth.” your throat tightens. there’s something in his eyes, something desperate, something you’re not used to seeing. “why?” he hesitates. his lips part, then press into a thin line. “because i—” he exhales sharply, looking away for a moment before forcing himself to look at you again. “because i love you. i’ve—” “don’t fucking lie to me, subong.” frustration flashes across his face. “i’m not lying, okay?! i’ve—” “sure as hell you aren’t.” “jesus—can i fucking talk?!” you huff, arms crossing tightly over your chest. your jaw aches from how hard you’re clenching it. but you don’t interrupt again. you let him speak. “i’ve loved you for so fucking long, and it scared the shit out of me. you were my best friend and i didn’t—i didn’t know how to do it. how to be with you without fucking it all up.” you shake your head, gripping your arms tighter. “you can’t just say this shit and think it fixes everything,” you whisper, voice trembling. “you loved me, and you never told me. you preferred this… this shit between us rather than just… being fucking honest. you—” your breath shudders and you stop to breathe for a moment. “you’re confusing me, subong.”

he sighs. you can see it in his eyes—the regret, the pain, the anger at himself. then, he steps closer. his hands find your face, fingers gentle as they cup your cheeks. his thumbs move carefully, wiping away the tears you hadn’t even realized were still falling. his touch is soft—so fucking soft it almost breaks you. you squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing against the lump in your throat. you shouldn’t let him do this. shouldn’t let him hold you like this, shouldn’t let yourself sink into the warmth of his hands. but you do. because it’s him. “i’m sorry, baby” he murmurs, his breath warm against your face. “fuck, i’m so sorry.” his voice is lower now, and when you open your eyes, he’s already looking at you—his brows furrowed. “i didn’t mean to hurt you,” he continues, his hands steady on your face. “i swear to god, i didn’t.” “but you did.” “i know,” he whispers. “i was a fucking idiot.” his thumbs still trace slow paths along your skin, like he’s trying to ground himself in the feel of you. you try to look away, but he won’t let you. his grip isn’t forceful, but it’s firm—just enough to keep you there. “i can’t stop thinking about you,” he says, his brows furrowing deeper, like it physically hurts him to admit it. “no matter what i do—it’s always you.” “don’t—” “it’s the truth,” he cuts in, his hands sliding down to your jaw, his fingers just barely brushing your neck. “i wake up thinking about you. i fall asleep thinking about you. every fucking song i write is about you. every stupid little thing reminds me of you.” you shake your head, blinking back tears. “stop it.” “i can’t,” he breathes. “i don’t know how.”

he leans in slightly, his lips barely an inch from yours. “tell me you don’t feel the same, and i’ll go.” your heart pounds so hard it hurts. he’s so close… and the way he’s looking at you, like he’s daring you to push him away, makes something snap inside you. before he can say another word, you grab his shirt and yank him down, crashing your lips against his. subong freezes for half a second, like he wasn’t expecting it, but then he groans into your mouth, his hands gripping at your waist as he kisses you back just as hard. he barely gives you a second to breathe before he’s backing you up, walking you straight into the wall. the impact makes a sharp gasp escape you, but he swallows it down, one hand threading into your hair, tilting your head back as his mouth moves against yours.

then it happens—your breath catches, and before you can stop it, a tear slips down your cheek. he stops. his lips hover just over yours, his chest rising and falling against you, and he pulls back just enough to look at you. “are you okay?” you don’t answer. instead, you pull him back in, your fingers curling around the back of his neck. you kiss him harder, and he lets you—lets you take what you need, lets you pour everything you can’t say into this. his fingers tangle in your hair, tugging just enough to pull your head back before pressing his forehead to yours. “tell me what’s wrong,” he murmurs, breath hot against your lips. in a broken whisper, you finally say it. “i need you.” he’s been waiting to hear that. for months, it’s been the only thing on his mind—you. every time he got high, every time he tried to flirt with someone else, every time he told himself it didn’t matter, that you didn’t matter. but it was all a lie. because you did. you always did. and now you’re here, in his arms, needing him. and he’s so fucking mad at himself for wasting all this time, for pushing you away, for pretending he didn’t want this when you’ve been the only thing he’s wanted.

that’s all it takes. he’s on you in an instant, his hands gripping your waist as his mouth crashes against yours. he walks with you, never breaking the kiss, his fingers pressing into your sides, guiding you until your legs bump against the edge of a small table. before you can steady yourself, his hands move to your hips, helping you up until you’re perched on top of it. his lips leave yours, dragging along your jaw and your neck. one hand slides up, fingers curving over your breast through the thin fabric of your shirt. the touch alone makes a soft moan slip past your lips. he swallows the sound with another kiss, deep and greedy, before tugging your shirt up, his palms skimming your skin as he pulls it over your head. his other hand moves with purpose, working the clasp of your bra. the second it falls away, his mouth is on you. you gasp when his tongue flicks over your nipple, your head falling back as pleasure shoots through you. “gonna make you feel good, baby,” he promises, his breath hot on your skin as he switches to your other breast, his teeth grazing your nipple just enough to make you squirm. his free hand slides down your stomach, unbuttoning your pants with practiced ease before slipping between your thighs. you spread them instinctively, your breath hitching when his fingers brush against the damp fabric of your panties. “you’re so wet for me already,” he says, pulling back to look at you, his eyes dark with hunger.

subong takes his time peeling your pants off, pressing soft kisses to your thighs, your knees, your ankles. once they’re gone, he hooks his fingers into your panties, dragging them down at the same agonizing pace, his lips following their path. he tosses them aside without a second thought. then he’s on his knees, hands spreading your thighs wider as the cool air hits your skin, making you shiver. “let me show you how sorry i am, yeah?” you nod slowly in response. subong leans in, his breath hot against you, and you bite your lip, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach. and then his tongue is on you, licking a long stripe up your center, parting your delicate folds, exploring your wetness. you gasp when it finds your clit, your hands flying to his purple hair as his tongue swirls around it in slow circles. “f-fuck, yeah, right there,” you whimper, and he hums against you in approval.

he focuses all his attention on it, flicking his tongue over the sensitive nub before sucking it gently into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing out as he applies gentle pressure. you feel one of his fingers slide inside you, then two, curling them upwards and hitting that spot that makes your eyes roll back. his tongue never leaves your clit, licking and sucking in perfect rhythm with his fingers, and you can feel that familiar pressure building in your lower stomach. your hand travels to the side of his face, your thumb caressing his cheek as he works you. moans grow louder, your hips bucking involuntarily against his face. “subong—” you try to speak, but the words die in your throat—the pleasure too strong. he smirks, feeling you tightening around his fingers. “that’s it, baby” his voice is muffled against you. “cum for me.” and you do, your back arching, knuckles white from gripping the side of the table, a cry tearing from your throat as you fall apart. his mouth never stops, drawing every last wave of pleasure from you until you’re boneless, panting.

you try to catch your breath as he stands, pulling you into him, his mouth claiming yours again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. your fingers tremble slightly as they find the hem of his shirt, slipping beneath the fabric. he shudders under your touch, muscles tensing before he exhales, letting you lift the shirt over his head. it falls somewhere behind him as your hands roam his chest. this isn’t like before. like the other times you’ve had sex. there’s something different in the way his fingers brush your skin, in the way he watches you like he’s afraid to blink, afraid to miss a second of this. you reach for his waistband, tugging at it, and he lets you, his breathing uneven as he watches your hands work him free. his pants and boxers slip to the floor, and he steps out of them, never once breaking contact.

“do you… do you have a condom?” you ask quietly. he stills, his hands resting on your hips as he looks at you. his brows pull together slightly. “no,” he admits, then asks, “do you?” you shake your head. “no.” “shit,” he exhales, his forehead falling to your shoulder. you can tell he’s frustrated—not at you, but at the situation. “it’s… it’s okay. we don’t need one,” you add softly. his head snaps back up. “you sure?” he asks, and you nod. “i want to feel you.” your words are the confirmation he needs. he grabs your thighs before pulling you closer to the edge of the table, spreading them apart to find room between them. his raw tip presses against your clit and you take a deep breath when he starts grinding against you, his stiff dick sliding across your wet slit. you both moan at the feeling, but nothing compares to the gasp that escapes both of your lips the moment he slides inside of you.

he’s slow at first, letting you adjust to the feeling, his hands holding you in place as he sinks in deeper, stretching you around him. you try to steady yourself, holding onto the side of the table with one of your hands again. his breath is uneven, and each slow, measured thrust makes you ache for more. but then his pace shifts. his grip tightens, fingers digging into your skin as he pulls back and thrusts in harder and faster. the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the space between you, mixed with your breathless moans and his ragged groans. when you meet his gaze, his brows are furrowed, his lips parted. you can see it all written on his face: how much he’s wanted this, how long he’s been waiting, how badly he’s yearned for you. he looks like he’s barely holding himself together, like he’s afraid he won’t last because you feel too fucking good. “fuck,” he grits out, voice strained, his fingers flexing against your hips. “i missed you s-so fucking much…” his words cut off in a groan, his head dropping forward, forehead pressing to yours as he fucks you like he’s trying to make up for all the lost time. “i missed this… mmm… missed this pretty pussy of y-yours.” he drives into you harder, like he’s trying to claim you, like he’s trying to erase every trace of anyone else who’s ever touched you—muttering curses under his breath like he’s punishing himself as much as he’s fucking you. your nails scrape down his back, leaving red streaks in their wake, and he groans at the sting, at the way you cling to him. “fuck, baby—” he gasps, voice rough. “was he better than me? tell me,” he demands, his thrusts turning brutal, each one punctuating his words. “did he—did he fuck you like this? mmh? shit… did he make you cum like i-i do?” there’s anger in his voice. not at you—at himself. for waiting too long, for not telling you the truth when he had the chance, for letting someone else have you. you shake your head in response. his hand grips your chin, forcing you to look at him. “answer me.” “n-no!” you whimper “he… he didn’t, baby. only you—mmph!—only you make me f-feel this good.”

his grip on your chin tightens for a second before he releases you, his hand sliding down to wrap around your throat instead. not squeezing, just holding—just feeling you. his pace doesn’t slow, if anything, it gets rougher, like your answer wasn’t enough to satisfy the anger. “that’s right,” he grits out, sweat slicking his skin. “he could never…he could never fuck you like this.” his other hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise as he slams into you, making you cry out. you hold onto him, and he loves it—loves feeling you claim him the way he’s claiming you now. and fuck, he needs this, needs to remind himself that you’re here, wrapped around him—that you’re his. “look,” he mutters, commanding. “look how fucking g-good you’re taking me.” your breath hitches as your eyes drop, and fuck—seeing it is different. watching the way his dick disappears inside you, the way your body clenches around him, the way he’s completely buried in you, over and over again… “see that?” he pants. “you were made for me. this was fucking made for me.” his hand moves again, sliding between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, precise circles. “shit—subong!” you let out a broken moan. “y-yeah… fuck, yeah, just like that!” a whimper slips from your lips when subong fists your hair, tugging your head back up until your eyes meet his again. “say it,” he practically pleads. “say that you're mine.” “i-i'm yours!" you gasp, your voice shaking, your whole body trembling from the intensity of him. “i'm fucking yours…mmm… always been.” “i’m yours too, baby.”

his thrusts grow frantic and his breath comes in harsh, uneven bursts. all he can hear is the sound of his name falling from your lips in desperate, breathless moans. he swears he’s never heard something as beautiful. you can tell he is close, holding you in place as he leans over you, his forehead pressing against yours. your body tenses, your gummy walls clenching around him, his fingers still pressed on your clit as he pounds into you, making it impossible for you to hold back. your body tenses, and your free hand clings to the back of his neck with desperation as you kiss him, trying to muffle your whimpering. “gonna cum for me, b-baby?” he whispers, pulling away for a moment. “gonna—mmh! gonna cum on my cock?” you can’t even nod. his words are like a spark, and you can’t hold it back anymore. your body snaps, the pleasure flooding you. “subong!” you cry out, legs shaking. he watches you, his name on your lips, and the sight of you completely undone drives him to the edge. with a final, deep thrust, he follows you, quickly pulling out, his release spilling into your lower stomach. his face contorts, a strangled gasp escaping him as he rides out his own climax. he stays there for a moment, his body pressed against yours, both of you breathing heavily, sweat-slicked skin sticking together. “i love you,” you whisper, hands running through his messy hair. “i love you too, señorita,” he smirks, his hand cupping your cheek before leaning in to give you a small peck on the lips. “i missed you.”

subong is a good boyfriend. or at least he tries to be. he still messes up sometimes, still says things without thinking, still gets into fights he shouldn’t, but he’s trying. you see it in the way he waits for you after work, hands shoved into his pockets like he’s trying to play it cool, but you know he’s been standing there for a while. in the way he walks on the outside of the sidewalk, even though you never asked him to. you see it in the way he always grabs an extra drink when he stops by the convenience store, handing it to you without a word, like he just knew you’d want one. in the way he texts you did you eat? before he even says hello. in the way he always grumbles about carrying your bag when it looks too heavy, but takes it anyway. in the way he lets you steal his hoodies, rolling his eyes when you show up wearing one but never actually asking for it back. you see it in the way he lets you mess with his hair, even when he pretends to hate it. in the way he looks at you, like he still can’t believe you’re his. in the way he says your name, soft around the edges. in the way he tells you he loves you—not just with words, but in a hundred different ways, every single day.

there’s no confusion anymore. no second-guessing, no wondering where you stand with each other. he wants you, and he’s not afraid to say it. he tells you all the time, in every way he knows how. sometimes it’s casual, like when he looks at you in the middle of a conversation, something soft in his eyes, and says, “you know i love you, right?” like he just needs you to know. and then there are times when he’s shameless about it. like the time he made it his entire mission to embarrass you in front of both of your friends, throwing an arm around your shoulders and grinning as he declared, “isn’t my girlfriend the prettiest woman you’ve ever seen? no offense to you, semi.” there’s a beat of silence before half of them go “what?!” while the others just exchange knowing looks. “wait—dude, since when?!” namgyu asks. “oh, come on,” semi scoffs, rolling her eyes. “like we didn’t all see this coming.” subong just smirks, pulling you a little closer, dropping a kiss to your cheek. he’s here, and he’s yours, and he makes sure you know it.

you’re still best friends. you still laugh until your stomach hurts, still steal food off each other’s plates, still shove at each other like you’re kids. except now he kisses you after. or before. or sometimes instead of shoving you back. he’s still stubborn, still gets on your nerves more than anyone else. he’s not perfect, but he never pretends to be. and maybe that’s what makes it feel so easy. there’s nothing to prove, nothing to question. just the two of you, exactly as you are, exactly as you’ve always been. just you and him.

if you’ve read this far, i love you, let’s get married pookie ong

#squid game #squid game 2 #choi seunghyun #choi su bong #thanos #thanos squid game #thanos x reader #thanos smut #choi subong x reader #squid game smut #choi su bong imagine #squid game season 2 #thanos imagine #top #bigbang #seunghyun x reader

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stars-obsession-pit · 10 hours ago

Note

Hello! Can do a chapter fic off this fic prompt Danny phantom x dc: https://www.tumblr.com/corkinavoid/767516270934556672/dpxdc-legal-power?source=share

This isn’t a one-to-one recreation of that dialogue but it’s based on that as a framework/premise

Batman dropped down into the room behind a pair of figures—a teenage boy and a slumped adult—letting his landing create an audible thump to alert them of his presence.

If the teen noticed, he didn’t react. Even as Bruce approached, he continued to stare impassively at the wheezing figure on the ground, an old wooden bat with flaking green paint on its side loosely held in his right hand. Bruce had already suspected who the figure would be since he arrived, but seeing the Joker so broken was still bizarre. No laughing, no schemes. He didn’t even seem to be attempting to escape his binds, just… lying there, almost as if pinned in place.

Bruce paused a step behind the teen. “I don’t know what the Joker did to you, but this isn’t the right way to go about this.”

The teen scoffed, and Bruce felt a painful lurch in his chest as he was reminded oh so strongly of his son Jason. “And what, let him go kill more people?”

“I know he deserves to face justice, but not like this. Everyone deserves a right to fair trial. No one person should be judge, jury, and executioner.”

The teen turned to look at him with glowing green eyes, and Batman felt himself freeze. He had faced gods before, yet even using that as a comparison felt like an understatement. The boy’s eyes belonged to someone far older than his teenage form implied, and they radiated power. Inevitability.

When the teen—no, the entity—spoke again, his words carried an unearthly echo. “Perhaps, but I’m not acting for just myself.” He paused, glanced down at the Joker, then asked almost conversationally, “Do you know how many people he’s killed?”

Another pause, but before Bruce could even try to answer, the entity continued, “Eight hundred and fifty-six. He’s ended the lives of eight hundred and fifty-six human souls. I can tell you about every single one, if you want. About who they were, what their dreams were before he killed them. About the pain they felt at his hands.”

He punctuated the word ‘pain’ by raising up the wooden bat in his hands and ramming its end down onto the Joker’s arm. He let out a wheeze, muffled by the gag in his mouth.

“I have a duty to my people. I am the King of the In-Between and of all the souls that pass through it—even ones whose stays were as brief as his. I am the rightful arbiter of his fate. And with that power, I sentence him to death.”

He raised the bat again, adjusting his grip so he’d hit with the side rather than the end this time, then paused and let out a chuckle. “Of course, just because it’s based on some justice doesn’t mean I can’t have a bit of fun with it too.” He swung the bat down, slamming it into the Joker’s side, then hooked it under the clown’s torso and flicked him up through the air to slam into the wall. “We all really hate this guy.”

With the entity’s attention fully turned away from him as he sauntered towards the Joker’s slumped figure, Bruce could finally unfreeze himself.

Even if the Ghost King did have the right to pass judgement on Joker, Bruce still couldn’t let torture go on like this. He wouldn’t win a direct fight, but he could hopefully at least grab the Joker and bring him over to the police. Carefully, he reached for some of the smoke bombs and batarangs on his belt and readied his grapple. He’d have to do this very, very fast.

But before he could move, another figure entered the scene. Red Hood, emerging from the shadows on the far side of the room, an unexpected bit of a pep to his step.

“Nice to see someone else who gets that that bastard needs to die. But if I may make a suggestion, how ‘bout you use a crowbar instead of that old bat? It’d be a bit more… fitting.”

#asks #prompt fill #btw about that kill count number - the dc wiki page on “Joker’s body count” said two numbers 671+ and 185+ (for different continuities?)#so i just added those two together to get a plausible-ish –feeling exact value for “671+”#danny fenton kills the joker #ghost king danny fenton #also i know Bruce is sorta the antagonist here but I’m trying my best to present him fairly #a vigilante having a code against killing people is a good thing! right to fair trial is important!#yeah the Joker probably should be executed but I don’t think Bruce is a bad person for not doing it himself #the legal system exists!! why are you asking the extrajudicial vigilante who specifically has a no-kill rule to do it??#i feel like Joker getting sentenced to death would be the “logical” end to the situation; the Joker is gone and Batman’s code is intact #(you know. were it “real life” and not a comic with the whole “we’re not gonna kill off someone that iconic!” thing)#and also him planning to step in against Danny isn’t about “the joker has to live” it’s about “torture is wrong”#he’s (cautiously) believing of the “legal right” part so if they showed the legal sentence and executed him “cleanly” he’d be fine #(obviously he supports reforming criminals but in the Joker’s case I think he’d accept a fair trial saying “death” as okay)#or in other words Batman isn’t pro-life; he’s pro-choice(-by-the-courts) (/hj)#dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #dcxdp #danny phantom x dc #danny phantom x dc crossover #dpxdc the joker #dpxdc bruce wayne #dpxdc jason todd #also btw i’m sorry danny’s words are so pretentious/OOC feeling (well. at least to me they are)#it feels awkward to me too but it felt kinda necessary to match the vibe of the original thing #maybe he’s sorta sharing his thoughts with some judicial-y ghosts or etc who are influencing it #i did specifically want to imply the victims are affecting him at least a little (echoey voice + “*we* hate him”)#or maybe he’s just been King for a long while and has had time to get a bit more “kingly”

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mr-tony-stark · 2 days ago

Text

Tony shrugged. “I mean, not really. Obviously there’s a lot of moments. After sex. When we’re just hanging out and cuddling. I’m not not relaxed now. Though I wouldn’t say I was relaxed either. This is fun, but I wouldn’t call it relaxing? You know? That’s not a bad thing of course. Fun things are fun.”

Tony was really babbling trying not to say anything that made it sound like he didn’t want to be here when he did.

“But yeah, I would say generally, I’m mostly stressed. There’s so much to do, and the company shares are dropping. That’s part of why I have to go back for this board meeting. I need to assure the shareholders that things are still happening and I’m not on some kind of bender. And the internet here is spotty so things like FRIDAY aren’t working here how I need them to. But that’s okay. I’m working on it. It’s a transition phase and I know I can get things under control.” He wrapped his arms around him. “I want to be here. Don’t worry.”

Clint wrapped his arms around him and nodded. “I do think so. Atleast more than you were,” he spoke and smiled a bit. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the gaslighting thing making him shake his head. “Yeah, you did. But you don’t think so still, and we cleared it up right away,” he spoke and smiled kissing his cheek.

“I know it’s still a lot to do out here with your lab and stuff like that but… I think once it’s finished it’s going to be great,” he spoke and nodded. “You don’t feel relaxed?” He asks gently.

#norabarnes143 #tony x clint #hooking up

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pimpingthesqueak · 1 day ago

Text

temptations, temptations….

lads!caleb x fem!reader SMUT (MDNI)

synopsis: you have a crush on the popular coworker, and after a late night at work, he makes it clear he feels the same.

warnings: office AU! reader is down bad, caleb is just as down bad but he hides it better (in the first half), alcohol consumption, flirting, teasing, semi-public sex, risky AF sex, caleb cums first one time, multiple orgasms and overstimulation (both f and m), dacryphilia and breeding kink if you squint, praise kink, caleb becomes a mess a few times.

hi! this is my first published fanfiction so i am so so so open to feedback and suggestions. let me know if you like it :3

—————

your crush on caleb was pretty well conceived, you’d like to think. at first, it was just lingering glances, smiles and harmless jokes. he was a charismatic guy; there was no way your concealed feelings stood out in the sea of shared coworkers. sure, you talked to him a little more than everyone else, but your projects frequently overlapped, and you found yourself going to him, asking questions you already knew the answer to.

but you had standards. morals. don’t fuck your coworkers. you’d learn the hard way not to mix business with pleasure. so you admired. from a distance.

until that night.

working on a project ran late, but caleb was there too, so being the only two left in the office, you traded work to help complete your tasks quickly. you surprised him with dinner halfway through, and soon the conversation strayed from work, and more onto personal things…

“how do you see with these things?” he holds up your glasses to the light and squints through them, ignoring your protests to give them back. your prescription wasn’t even that bad, at least in your right eye. your left eye was a different story.

“very well thank you!” you huff and snatch the glasses from his outstretched arms.

“seriously, the right one is okay but the left one gave me a headache.”

“i’m sorry, we all can’t be perfect like caleb.” you roll your eyes but toss the glasses on the table between you.

“i’ve seen you type without your glasses before. should i be worried?” he smirks at you, his purple eyes shining with mirth.

why was he so infuriating? and couldn’t you wipe that grin off your face??? “shut up. they’re not that bad. but i memorized the keys.”

he stops for a moment. “no way.”

“it’s not that hard. you never took keyboarding in grade school?”

“yeah but i have to stare at the keys sometimes.”

“did i find something i’m better at than the infamous caleb?”

“not until I see you in action, sweetheart. come on.”

and you found yourself typing at your computer, typing simultaneously with caleb’s words with your eyes covered by his hands. your brain operates on autopilot as you focus on the feeling of his hands over your eyes, the heat from your body radiating from yours…

“are you even listening to what i’m saying?” his question breaks you out of your thoughts and then he laughs. “you totally weren’t because you just typed my question.”

your cheeks heat up and you push his hands away before he can feel it. “did i pass your stupid test?” you cross your arms and read over the words you typed out. there was a bit of The Bee Movie script, a recipe for a 7 layer cake and the beginning of Never Gonna Give you Up. *what??*

“i don’t know, pipsqueak. there’s some spelling mistakes.” he says from behind you.

you scan the paper again and frown. “no there isn’t, what are you-“

your words cut off when he leans over you and points to the screen. “there.” you weren’t paying attention because he was so close, in your space and you could smell him and he smells clean, despite being here in this stuffy office for over 12 hours. his body was huge, nearly folding over as he leans, and if you closed your eyes you could imagine that body wrapped around you, cuddling you, holding you in place as he-

you clear your throat and put some distance between the two of you, rolling the chair in the opposite direction a few inches. you look at the mistake to distract yourself. “that’s not a typing mistake, that’s a grammar error.”

if caleb noticed your demeanour change, he didn’t say much about it. “errors are mistakes, pipsqueak.”

“i have a name.” your eyes narrow.

“i know, but i want to use something that is mine.” he smiles, but there’s something deeper in his eyes, something you choose to ignore.

there wasn’t more productiveness after that, so you retired first, and he insisted to stay and clean up, and when you offered to help, he refused. so you said your goodnights and ran as fast as you could to the elevator to gather your thoughts.

what was that?

—————

you told no one about this, because frankly, part of you didn’t remember much besides your racing heart during that night.

but one thing was made clear to you: this was more than an innocent little crush. you wanted to fuck caleb, morality be damned. and he was so unsuspecting that you felt dirty, then a little hot then even more shameful.

and it didn’t help that he was ever the attentive, caring coworker. bringing you your paperwork from the printer, grabbing you an extra coffee, and talking about your favourite show that he just happened to start getting into in his spare time. you were fucked. and every time you tried to distance yourself to draw the line in your head, caleb was there, making sure you forgot why you wanted one in the first place.

a random thursday, weeks after the night you shared in the office together, you were sitting at your desk eating your lunch. suddenly you hear a chair roll up beside you and look to your left to see caleb leaning on his palm, staring at you with his dreamy galaxy eyes. you could lose yourself in them but you snap yourself out of it. “are you here to make fun of my lunch?”

“no. unless it has cilantro in it.”

“it does not.” you go to take another bite.

“go out with me.”

your food drops out your hand, landing back in its container. you face him, looking as if you didn’t hear him right. “what?”

“i’m tired of this back and forth.” he sits up then leans in, and his eyebrows scrunch together in that way that could make you do anything for him. “i want you. and frankly, so does james from marketing, so im beating him to the punch.”

you blink. who the fuck was james?

“say yes.” his voice was soft, but had a slight firmness to it.

“yes.”

he brightens and kisses you on the cheek before rolling away. “tomorrow, 7:35 PM. i’ll pick you up!”

you stare dumbly at your lunch as you process this interaction.

no seriously, who the fuck was james?

——————

the following day, you finally cave and tell your best friend that you have a date and she immediately comes to the rescue when you admit you have nothing to wear.

she knocks on your door and 30 minutes later you’ve showered shaved and scrubbed down your body. you’ve tried on so many dresses that you want to scream when finally you agree on something.

“if you guys actually make it to wherever he’s taking you, he’s not the one because i’d fuck you right now,” your best friend squeals and at 7:35 on the dot, you hear a knock on your door.

he was in slacks and a dress shirt, holding flowers awkwardly at his side. he was staring down at his feet while he was waiting for you to answer, and when you did, his eyes widened as they raked over your body.

your red dress fit you snugly, with thin straps secured on your shoulders and the dress stopping just above your knee and your wore high heeled boots to give yourself some height. you smirk as his eyes turn into saucers and take the flowers. “thank you caleb.” you giggled and gave them to your friend. who he didn’t notice until now. he cleared his throat. “good evening.” he nods at her then looks back at you, a bit more composed. “should we go now?”

gone was the confident, charismatic coworker that you knew so well. this caleb was… well he looked like he wanted to fuck you. which is exactly what you were going for.

your friend hands you your bag as you leave and caleb opens the door for you to get in the car.

during the drive you tried to converse with him but his answered were short, curt and he was gripping the steering wheel like he wanted to rip it off.

shit. maybe this was too much? you knew it. but it was a cute dress.

he pulls up to a restaurant that you’ve seen online for its exclusivity, the waitlist three miles long. but he offers you his hand as you get out the car and his mood was much calmer outside. the valet parks the car as you two walk inside. the hostess escorts you to a secluded part of the restaurant, a booth with dim overhead chandelier.

“caleb, you didn’t have to do this. i would have been okay with a dive bar under a strip club.” you smile as he scoots in beside you.

“no way josé, i gotta impress my work wife.”

you roll your eyes. “i’m not your work wife.” the wine comes, and you need it, because he’s so close to you, his cologne is tickling your brain in ways that is making your breathing quicken. you’re gonna need all liquid courage available.

turns out you weren’t the only one. caleb was drinking with a purpose between the light conversation, and soon he was staring at you with flushed cheeks and you were drowning into those galaxy eyes.

he chuckles wryly as your glasses get topped off again. “i imagined this differently.” he sighs.

you hiccup in reply, making the both of you laugh quietly in the muted restaurant. “i think we’re doing pretty good so far.” you say in between gasps.

he shrugs and puts his arm behind you, and you warm up, not because of the alcohol. “i thought i’d be cooler about this. more… macho.”

you snort and take a sip. “are you saying you’re nervous?”

“yes, absolutely.” you two laugh again and you look up at him. “i had a game plan and you ruined it.” he playfully glares.

“what was the plan?”

“fancy restaurant, with wine and dishes i can’t fucking pronounce because they’re french and you’re french-“

“i know french.” you clarify, then frown. “how do you know that?”

he ignores your question, and continues. “but then you show up in that dress, and your heels and fuck, you smell so good…” he leans in to the crook of your neck and inhales deeply then groans in a way that makes you squeeze your thighs together.

“caleb-“

he groans again and his head droops down onto his chest. “i had a plan. i really like you, and i wanted to treat you like a princess. but i cant think past your dress right now.”

your breath hitches at the confession, but he doesn’t care. in fact, he seems to be more interested at the way this dress shows off the swell of your nipples through the fabric. your head swims in pinot grigio and you let out a shaky breath. “I can back up, or give you space-“

“no.” his arm behind you wraps around your shoulders and pulls you into his space. and before both of you could think about it, his lips are on yours.

you hated any type of pda. but you couldn’t remember why as you deepened the kiss, a hand playing with the hair on the nape of his neck.

he groaned your name and soon the kisses turned desperate, but tried to keep their slow rhythm.

he has to be the one to pull away, because you couldn’t remember where you were, nor did you care. you needed him. you lean back in for another kiss but he pulls back and lets out a strained chuckle.

“I can’t kiss you again.”

“why not?” you huff but your bratty attitude is less efficient with your panting.

“if i kiss you again, im going to fuck you. and you deserve better than my raging boner. you deserve hearts and flowers and chocolates….”

“those can wait, we can do it for our second date. you already got me flowers…” you lean in and he pulls away again, increasing your irritation. screw moral compasses!

he sighs your name and you shiver. “i just don’t want this to be a one time thing.” he says carefully and watches you, waiting for your reaction.

you liked caleb. probably more than you should. despite the growing heat between your thighs and your nipples begging for this mans attention and he wasn’t giving it to you, you liked spending time with him. it was easy to be open with him, and he genuinely seemed like he cared about what you said.

he wants to be a gentleman. which was cute but you didn’t want cute, you needed something darker. and he looked like he wanted to give it to you.

“what do you need from me? written consent that i’ll allow a second date?”

he chuckled and it it resonated through your body. “i guess,” he says then looks at you, his eyes searching yours. “just give me another chance to get this right.”

you two stare at each other for long moments, his pleading eyes unnerving you. it seemed like… to him this was more than casual dating, and that made your heart go into overdrive. you look past your lust and swallow.

“caleb… this was already perfect. but i’ll give you as many chances you want.” no way you were letting this man slip through your fingers.

his body sags in relief and his hold around your body tightens. “oh baby, i just need one.”

you raise your eyebrows. “overconfident, are we?”

“for good reasons.” he was done talking, so he silenced you with a kiss. and this kiss made your head spin. You clutch at his shirt as he presses into you, almost lowering your body under his. but you needed him closer, and you needed these clothes off.

————

you weren’t sure how you got into this position, but you couldn’t complain. and if you could, you wouldn’t.

your dress was bunched up at your waist, panties ripped off, the remains tucked in caleb’s pocket. your moans echoed through the empty stairway accompanied with his grunts. he was fucking you with a one track mind; though his goal was completed several moments ago.

your hands clenched the railing, and his were clutching the fat of your hips like a lifetime. he wanted to have you quickly in the backseat of his car, take an uber to his house, and bed you properly. tenderly, still trying to salvage the night.

his plans faltered when you stumbled down the stairs and he caught you before you fell. your ass made his raging boner snug, and the wine in your veins made you bold enough to wriggle back against him. he groaned, kissed you and soon he was pushing his fat cock into your heat, fucking you, chasing a quick release so he could get you home and treat you properly.

and then you came.

the sight was unravelled him to the bone, your parted lips letting out a silent cry, your eyes rolling back and the way your back arch into him… it was a sight. you were a sight. but how you felt-

your nails dug into his biceps, your legs tightened around him as you fell off your peak. but the way your walls clenched, pulling him in, making it impossible to pull out…

he came, hard. flooding your heat with white and he wanted to close his eyes but he couldn’t, he couldn’t look away from you or your body, not even for a second.

you panted and smiled up at him as you came down from your high. but he glowered at you, and before you could ask what was wrong, he was taking you off his leaking cock and turning you around.

“hold onto this.” he ordered and placed your hands on the railing. that was the only warning you got.

he slammed back into you making the both of groan and he chased his high again, fucking you hard, and the new angle mixed with already being so sensitive had you seeing stars.

his balls abused your clit, and his mouth was all over your back. kissing your shoulder, licking your spine biting your neck, this man was in a frenzy. all while his long thick length bullied into that spongy part inside you.

he came first the second time, and came with a small whine that came from the back of his throat. “you’re unmanning me, beautiful.” he said shakily, and you whine in reply. it’s all too much, and his seed starts to flow out of you.

“oh no, we can’t have that…” caleb murmurs and he pulls out slowly, groaning at the sight of your walls clinging to his shaft. his fingers find your entrance and scoop up any cum that escaped before shoving it back in. then shoving his cock back into you in one go. you let out a broken moan as your knees buckle, but he holds you up with his hands on your hips and starts drilling into you again.

at this point you couldn’t be quiet, and your moans echoed throughout the staircase. your walls flutter, and you cum again, and your fluttering walls send him over the edge, deep groans coming from him.

you thought that it would be over, 3 times in minutes should have done it for him, but his thrusts turn erratic and broken versions of your name falls from his lips.

“I’m… so sorry.” he rasps, slamming into you like a man possessed. you barely understand him, your moans were cries of overstimulation, and he presses you into the wall. “y-you deserve better. so much better. it’s just, i’ve been waiting for so long… and I thought i could wait a little more but this dress…” he lands a particularly sharp thrust inside you, making your eyes roll back.

“i mean, could you blame me?” he pants and uses his body to push you snug against the wall. you couldn’t feel anything but him…. “you smell so good.” his nose runs along your neck band you shiver. “how am i supposed to think?”

“caleb…” you whine out. you were swimming in overwhelming pleasure, and caleb was drowning with you.

“fuck, sweetheart don’t say my name like that…” his thrusts were shallow, as if he couldn’t muster the courage to pull all the way out.

“i can’t…” you gasp as the coil in your stomach twists again. “caleb, i can’t!”

“i know… i know baby, i know…” he shushes you and kisses your neck sending chills down your back. He embraces you and you lean into him. for a moment, you caught your breath. his hands caress your skin and you sigh in contentment.

he peppers kisses along your neck and his hands travel lower. you though it was to fix your dress but his fingers find your clit, soaked with arousal, and tease the little nub. you gasp and you walls clamp down on his length.

“there she is…” caleb groans and starts to thrust again. they were slow, but deep, forcing cries from your lips.

“i promise, im gonna take you home and treat you like a real lady but i need you to cum for me one last time. can you do that baby? please?” his words were soft in your ear, a contrast to the brutal thrusts he was giving you.

you sniff and you don’t even realize you were crying. neither did he, because he looks down and wipes your tears. “you’re so beautiful…” he murmurs and he fucks you faster. the obscene sounds from between you two rand in your ears, but you were two fucked out to feel shame.

the coil tightens and your legs stiffen, clear indicator that your orgasm was close. he chuckles and his thumb traces your lips. “i knew you had it in you.”

suddenly the echo of a door opening falls on both of your ears and the both of you still. caleb hand covers your mouth and your eyes open in alarm.

you hear a male voice from several stories up, coming down the stairs. “yeah apparently someone heard screaming, but there’s nothing here.” he comes down another flight. caleb chuckles in your ear and you shiver. your heart races as the steps get closer. you tap his arm and his grip tightens. “quiet.” he says in a low voice and gives an experimental thrust. your moan is muted by his hand over your mouth but he groans softly then start to fuck you again, quietly.

you clamp down on his cock and his breathing hitches. the voice and footsteps come closer.

“i’m not going all the way down there.” the voice mutters then a door opens then closes and you two were alone again.

caleb’s pace gets devilish and the rapid approach of your orgasm makes it hard to keep your eyes open. your walls flutter sinfully around him. “i’ll … have to teach you… how to be quiet, sweetheart.”

you moan in reply and clench again.

“cum on me, baby. want you to soak me.”

you obey immediately, cumming on his cock, biting on his hand to hold back your cries. he curses, the pain shooting to his cock and he cums right after you, grunting your name as he paints your walls white.

his head rests on on your shoulder as he catches his breath, and when you go to rest your forehead on the wall, you head hits his hand instead.

a chuckle goes through the both of you and he straightens before pulling out. you wince at the loss and he forces himself to ignore that.

instead, he fixes your dress back into place and he turns you around. he looks sheepish, almost shy. “i promise i can treat you better than that.” he scratches the back of his neck.

better than multiple orgasms by his huge dick? “no complaints here.”

he chuckles and zips his pants back up. “let’s get you home.”

“your home?” you ask hopefully and he laughs.

“you thought I was done with you?”

————

like and repost, but please don’t steal

#caleb love and deepspace #lnds caleb #love and deepspace #caleb x mc #caleb x reader #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace fluff #caleb x you #caleb smut #reader smut #caleb x y/n #l&ds #lads x reader #lads x you

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satocidal · 3 days ago

Text

𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭“Smile for the Camera!” - Suguru Geto

Synopsis: one night really does change all - where you meet a hefty porn director Suguru and in the process of misunderstandings, you end up in his office, in the cutest maid suit.

— word count: 4.5k (i am sorry i just dk how to stop and how to start)

— a/n: this had been in my wip for so long lmao - it feels a little rushed to me but i'm also a bit rusty since it's been a while so yes lol @indiewritesxoxo you'd asked for a tag so😭hope you do like

— warnings: MDNI!!Fem Reader!! slightly manipulative! suguru, i tried to make him as gentle as i could; dumbification(?); camera; soft!dom geto; very botched representation of the porn industry; i have nothing against porn actors; masturbation; dressing up; Suguru is bisexual here, so is Satoru; reader has fem clothing; leashes and stuff; humiliation; praise kink: oral (fem rec)

The two men sat pretty and sprawled, Suguru Geto, head director of the freefuckforall website, along with Satoru Gojo, the website's longest running and most loyal actor.

“The industry is getting boring,” Satoru rolled his head, eyes closed, words directed towards his best friend who sat across from him on the couch.

Suguru only smirked, eyes stuck and watching every moving slide with lucrative detail - “I’ve been telling you, start filming sex with men, you already have it - just film it, more money, more opportunity,”

Satoru only giggled to himself - the boyish nature somehow suiting his towering self, "you know i have a different sort of fanbase - full of perverts who like seeing me fill up a cunt,"

He popped in his mouth the last of his grapes, eyes hazy as he looked at Suguru, “besides, what for? To fulfill your wretched fantasies? You already act as half a cuck anyways,”

Suguru snorted along, shutting his laptop then and getting up to stretch, “a. develop a new fanbase then, those who'd like watching you get your ass stuffed, b. someone has to edit and direct, no? Lest you want people to see all the clips where you lie all fucked out - which would fall in common with your new style if you try it,”

The story was so fresh in both their heads - that one time Satoru had been reduced from his cocky self to a pleading and begging mess as the girl rode him - it took a lot of convincing (read: sex and treats) from Satoru before Suguru agreed to keep his ego intact.

Satoru just pouted, reaching over to grab Suguru’s share of snacks - having finished his own, “that was one time - and that girl was such an amateur, just started going at it suddenly,”

“And the might Satoru, the amazing porn star couldn’t take it,” Suguru teased, his voice a low drawl, “but eh, it’s true, i don’t have fun filming the same shit over and over myself - it’s all repetitive,”

“Any new projects then?” Satoru asked, popping a grape in his mouth, Suguru grinned and shook his head - “not for you, but...I’ve got this new chick, she’s cute,”

Satory raised a brow now, “cute like…date cute or cute like new fuck and more bucks?”

“Both,” Suguru grinned, “met her last night, at a party - seemed a little slow at first, she was awfully innocent,” he laughed, and Satoru did too.

“So the corruption kind huh,”

They laughed again.

“I called her for a meeting today, said she had a dream for modelling, wanted a breakthrough in the industry - well, not this industry but..yeah,”

Satoru smirked, “you lied? How’d ya’ get her to agree?”

But Satoru knew all too well how Suguru got girls to agree, especially your kind - a few smiles, a few drinks, a little back story about himself and a little attention sprinkled, as gentle as he could be, Satoru really couldn’t remember any girl who had denied him a second date.

“Didn’t lie or nothin’...just told her i’m a director, we shoot a bit…unorthodox but it is what it is and makes good money, she couldn’t see an issue there,” he laughed.

Satoru did too - it wasn’t a lie, nor the truth.

“When’s she coming?”

Suguru checked his watch, smirked, “15 minutes, better get going then,” he grabbed his phone and laptop, ready to reach his office.

“And when would she really come?” Satoru egged on, with a grin. “Well they usually get wet by the time the camera begins anyway so…” Suguru grinned as he stepped out of the lounge and towards his office, where you were already seated.

The buzz felt alive, it made him feel alive.

Another wink to some girl he’d been gazing at - another sleazy line whispered in the ear of a boy who’d been grinding against him all night, none would accompany him to his mansion, he revelled in that itself.

Suguru focused on a waving hand - Shoko’s, he smiled softly at her, striding over to her, “yes ma’am?” he grinned, watching her down her drink.

“Wanna meet someone?” she said simply - a little flicker of a smile on her face. “Like a date?” he asked, before following her regardless, he knew better than to question.

And that’s where he saw you, a sight, he deemed you instantly.

A mini skirt you’d on, and a little top - just a tease - clearly out of your zone as you sipped on your-whatever-drink, eyes instead, drinking into the crowd, obviously searching for Shoko.

“Her?” Suguru asked, leaning down to Shoko’s ear, “sure?”

A hint of worry seeped into his voice - girls like you often proved to be tough to work with, a little silly, always nervous around his work space and huge cry-babies.

Shoko grinned in response - she’d been tasked weeks ago to find Suguru a new girl for his pieces, a new face, some new energy to spice things up.

What he hadn’t expected was that she’d find someone so…inexperienced with his workspace, clearly.

Well, of course Suguru could tell who was and wasn’t - the director in him was keen, very keen — he saw money shots before one could even consider one.

And just like that, introduced to Suguru Geto you were, a nervous smile, yours and a smirk, his.

One drink, three and then a total of five, the bartender merely glanced up as he passed suguru’s bill to him, you sat beside him, all giggly now.

“How much do i…?” you slurred - a grin on your face, Suguru chuckled, “don’t worry darlin’ - got ya’ covered,”

You smiled wide at that, “you’re so nice - at first i was scared of you,” you confessed innocently, promptly, making his grin almost wolfish now.

“Tell me,” he nudged, hand leading you through the crowd so gently, to a secluded spot in the club, to the couch, “what did you think, hm?”

His voice was smooth, his touch smoother - comforting and yet, you’d felt on the edge the entire night.

And yet, Suguru had nothing but sweet all night, not a single touch that went wrong, not a single gaze that was lifted wrong - just a long ear offered as you spoke and spoke, about work and life, obviously you'd needed this little escape.

Shoko has been gone ever since she introduced you to this gentleman.

“I thought…I thought…” you slowly had your eyes meet his, a flicker of confusion in them now, “i’m still thinking, what do you…do?” you asked - rightfully so - even if you did jump the conversation all too sudden for his taste.

Something he'd been avoiding all night, respite the true intentions of this meeting.

However, You’d bared your days and nights already - a huge mouth that you had, all under the drink of course, otherwise, the sober you was biting your lip beside him so hard that he was afraid you’d bleed.

And all you’d learned about him was that he was named Suguru Geto, and his friend was Shoko, all details shared by Shoko.

Suguru smiled, considering how much to share, “I’m a director,” he mused, watching your eyes widen, “yeah? I always wanted to become a model,” your tone was almost excited, “what kinda’ director?” you asked next, he shrugged casually.

“Here and there, ya’know?”

You shook your head in a no, he smiled softly and slowly helped you out of the club, it was getting late anyways.

You both stood outside, his car was right there in the parking.

“Rather have me drive you home doll? Or do I get you an uber? Whatever makes you feel better but…” his words trailed off as your fingers tugged at him partially from the cold and partially from the many people lined outside the club, “...i think it’s better i drop you, yeah?”

And so, that’s what he did - civic duty? Maybe; Did he find you adorable and wanted to hear you talk more? Definitely.

As you climbed in his car, he hummed - mind unsure but he didn't want to let the shtick drop just yet, “you asked what kinda’ director, yeah?”

You nodded in your seat, as he fixed your seat belt, hands brushing against your plush skin, you licked your lips at the contact, he did too.

“Well, it is a bit…unorthodox,” he said, lips pursed, debating if it was okay - if he wanted to drag you in, “how desperate are you, to be in the industry doll?”

He asked softly, as the car revved, somehow you felt your cheeks heating up, “uhm…it’s like…a dream, i - well, not very ambitious but…if a chance,” you stammered out, he couldn’t help but chuckle, deepening the warmth you felt.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said as he nodded to the directions you gave him for your house, “why don’t you drop by at my office tomorrow hm? You can come, see the work and all, and if you are interested, why not? Shoko will have you filled in with the details, yeah?”

You could only nod, after all, this gentleman wouldn’t be an issue, right?

A deep breath inhaled, a lot of regret exhaled.

You flinched every time you heard footsteps approaching, you recoiled every time a moan sounded out from one of the adjacent rooms.

You were officially in a porn-making-building-or-whatever-those-are, wearing the shortest, sluttiest outfit you ever had on - the little maid suit that Shoko had handed you right as you left the house.

“Don’t peek, it’s a surprise,” she’d reminded, and you just complied - like an idiot.

Because now, seated in this dingy office that you were, posters of porn-actresses and actors, you were sure you’d seen some of them a couple of times yourself - until, your eyes panned to the logo of the website in the corner of one of them.

Officially in the office of the biggest porn website - all because a stranger asked you to.

The previous night was fresh in your eyes - well, not really, but the regret was.

What were you even thinking? Letting a random man drive you? Coming to meet him? Talking to him about your work and life?

Perhaps, nothing.

What were you thinking when the said man actually walked into his office? With his busy footsteps and a gaze that meant business now, last night you’d thought everything else - with his charming face and laptop which would essentially also hold your file in a while?

Nothing, you really couldn’t fathom a single thought to be exact.

“Ms….l/n, is it?” he read from his sheet - pretense - yours was the only appointment he’d scheduled for that day, cancelling all others. He didn’t bother eyeing you properly, but he knew well, about how enticing you did look.

He smiled, the same smile, more twisted now, “why hello, nice seeing your pretty self again,” he said with a grin, you could only nod.

You let a small silence etch between the two of you, unacceptable, Suguru opened his laptop promptly.

“How was the ride over? All comfortable? My…” he said in almost disdain, “you haven’t even been offered water? How long have you been-”

“-why didn’t you tell me it is all this?”

The disgust was so evident in your voice, he almost felt bad.

Almost.

He hummed, “I did mention it is unorthodox…”

“How dare you assume i’m into all this - what the fuck?” you muttered, ashamed by just entertaining the thought of you being a pornstar.

“Assume what? That you would want to work in the porn industry?” he smirked, all business now, “you really can’t tell with people and then,” he rolled the cuffs of his shirt’s sleeves now, “the innocent ones like you are often the biggest whores,”

He seemed amused, you seemed tense.

You huffed, “fucking whatever - i don’t…i’m not the kind of girl… and - and this dress? Goodness it is so…” a scowl on your face finished the rest.

Suguru couldn’t blame you.

Geto shrugged, a hand raised, gesturing to the door, “very well then, you can always walk out, i understand, it’s not everyone’s cup of tea…”

All bluff, the confidence, the flair, all bluff - he wanted you, ever since last night.

You got up, right on cue, all bluff as well, you wanted to play the gamble.

“It’s a shame…” Suguru mumbled, “shame indeed,” you did too.

His eyes narrowed as you turned, eyes dipping then to take an appreciative glance at your ass, “tell you what?” He took a deep breath.

It felt desperate, it was.

“Let me take your profiles, yeah? You’ll get it for free - by a professional of course, just compensation for all the trouble,” he shot you a smile, you gulped.

“I…i’m not sure…it was - last night, just a lot of babbling, i don’t think i’m cut for…you know? And then this outfit also…”

You weren’t sure how a smile appeared on your lips so easily when you’d been pissed the moment you realised what he’d called you for, but it did.

He shrugged again, “just some pictures doll - and who doesn’t like dressing up, yeah? I’ve got plenty more for you to choose from,” he licked his lips, eyes boring into you, you could only nod.

“Tilt your pretty face a little to the right, please,” you gulped, still in that maid outfit - which was now being used to its full potential, the top was half open, you were on a steel chair that felt so cold against your flushed skin, and sitting right under the spotlight - while the director sat behind his camera, not rolling, nothing, just making assessments now.

Your profiles had been done half an hour ago, the photos had been sent too, it was a little job for Suguru, you were so compliant after all, following every instruction to the dot.

Which is why it had been harder for him to resist this.

After the pictures you were served drinks again, all hefty smiles and silly conversations - about porn of course. He told you everything, how he’d shot this shot, how long the process goes, how sweet you look, and how cute you are.

“Why don’t you just show me off once again, yeah? Just…so I can see, take inspiration?”

And ever the generous that you were, ever the charming as he was, somehow, you once again found yourself at a loss for no.

Which was how you’d ended up finally, in this position.

“Press your breasts together please…i want to…ah yes,” he murmured as you did what he asked for, albeit with a gulp, it felt so weird.

In front of a camera, his gaze on your every move, and he sounded so professional, dressed well too. And then there was you, just a built in thong with that dress, the top had a sheer torso, your side boob seemed so tantalising to him.

Your nipples had hardened just as well, it was just so cute, matched with your nervousness.

Your top lay now open - still on, after all Suguru wouldn’t ask you to do anything out of your comfort zone, right? On the monitor suguru only watched you fidget with your fingers on your thighs, smoothening the hem of the short dress as if it would help - provide some modesty.

Top open, thighs spread - a sheen of sweat from the small humid room and face hotter than ever - hair messy and eyes now dazed, Suguru had halted with his instructions for the moment, and you -?

You continued staring at his fingers, thoughts ran rogue - you wondered if he’d ever been on camera himself, if he’d used those skilled hands for something other than recording, if he was anything close to as long and thick as his fingers - you looked away.

shameless.

The room went quieter then, just a slight buzz, Suguru stared at his screen with eyes furrowed, “hm..i don’t know, it’s not working out very well,” he said - tone regretful, your face jocked to the side. “What? …why?”

Suguru wanted to coo at your simplicity - so bothered, he then got up, “you were correct, it’s not for girls like you,”

Such an insult it seemed, an unknowing pout fell on your lips, you got up too, your shorter frame moving slowly towards Suguru, the skirt was so short and given the humidity, it clung to your curves perfectly now - “can i…” you licked your lips, see?

You wanted to ask that simply but refrained, too shy of his disappointment and too prude to watch yourself.

And thus the secret of the fact that Suguru was recording nothing of you displaying yourself so shamelessly remained all but a secret.

“I’ll…oh, i’ll do whatever you ask,” you ended up muttering - exactly how he wanted to have you.

“You can’t…” he just muttered, not even trying anymore, just a small smirk as he stared at you - all aware of that raging boner in his pants, hidden only because of the dark, all aware that just a glance down would show your pretty tits, all so aware.

“I can,” you said determined this time, “it’s only for your inspiration…right? And if they do come out good…it might help somewhere,” you licked your lips, now he touched you, your cheek - his hands felt warm, sweaty.

Oh but it would help somewhere indeed.

“You sure doll? Wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable,”

It felt patronizing, the smile - the eyes, he knew you wouldn’t say no, he knew exactly how he’d sprawl you.

“So well…” he sighed deeply and then looked you up and down, “take the blouse off actually, please, go in back to the seat,” he spoke smoothly.

And you did just that.

You sat there - breasts, soft peaks - your gasps softer still, all exposed to his skillful eyes, “atta girl,” he murmured, smiling now - finally.

“Play with yourself - don’t be shy okay? Forget i’m here…”

You licked your lips…play…?

If you’d have told Shoko yesterday that you would be found half naked in the office of a man you’d found about 12 hours ago, she’d laugh in your face.

And so you began, hands cupping your tits, fingers sinking into the pliant flesh, they felt so full now - your face scrunched in focus as you tried to make it appear as sexy as possible.

“Perfect, jus’ like that…” suguru encouraged, a gulp of his own drawn - the camera finally began shooting, he couldn’t help himself after all.

your hands - all over the swell of your breasts, slender fingers kneading and squeezing the flesh, you massaged them, slowly drawing circles around your nipples.

“Pinch them,” he ushered from front of you, moving the camera closer now, moving towards you - he could tell with your hesitation, you were still nervous.

Your eyes remained stuck on him, so wide as he moved closer to capture your hardened nipples - “so cute,” he mumbled as you flicked them, “you play with your tits often doll?”

“N–no i…well,” you looked away shyly - only so long, Suguru had his fingers grip your jaw quickly, forcing you to look into the camera.

“Rule no. 1: always face the camera,” you nodded, he patted your cheek with a slight smirk, “go on, maybe imagine me…mm’hmm, imagine i was squeeziin’ those pretty tits, yes…”

He smiled - almost proud as you finally closed your eyes, a soft inhale as your back arched, chest obscenely jutting out - same ministrations, much hotter.

And just when you moaned - he paused the recording, “ok enough of this, get up.”

Swift you moved - feeling the shyness coat you again, he himself placed the camera down momentarily - jogging back to his table to grab you a new fabric, bright pink - shorter, skimpier.

“Wear this now, like it better than the last one?” it was small playboy bunny suit, the little bunny ears gave it away - and the tail of course.

“If it is okay by you, of course…you’re already doing so good,” he drawled and then without a word - his own hands latched t your boobs, pressing them softly - feeling them, “mmhmm, so pretty,” you gasped as he pinched your left nipple.

He continued fondling your boobs - as you stumbled a little, his practiced hand held you tight as he switched between your two boobs perfectly - teasing just so perfectly.

And when he did pull away, his fingers had you so sore - you could practically beg.

“Ready to change?” he added with a small smile - chuckling to himself as your eyes cast him a desperate look - exactly as they all did.

He handed you the costume, eyeing you expectantly, and you looked around - for the changing room.

“Uh…here?” your voice was squeakier than you’d have preferred, he laughed, “well don’t be silly,” he booped your nose then, “it’s a small office for me - of course, no changing room.”

So whatever else remained of your little shame, you pulled that down just as swiftly as you pulled the maid-skirt off, aware of just how Suguru stared.

And he did so with utmost detail, he took not of just how your slick clung to the gusset of the built in panties - of how cute you looked, trying to hide yourself, of pretty your entire body was, of how stiff his pants felt and of how he wanted to absolutely eat you up from how adorable you looked.

And he made a mental note of definitely not posting that recording anywhere.

The bodice of the suit was flattering to say the least - the pesky heart cut out for the breasts barely contained anything, and Suguru made you give him a twirl too, only to watch the little tail bounce on the curve of your ass.

“Now…i want you to get on the floor, all okay?” he asked - not caring any longer, “get down and spread your legs f’me,”

The camera was up once again, capturing every detail, the shiny suit and the way you sprawled out.

“I want you to touch yourself - forget that i’m here or we’re recording, okay? Play with that lil’ cunt for me - please?” he added the please with a little pout - as if it would solve the issue at hand.

“T- touch myself?” you echoed, eyeing him now, “isn’t that…oh it’s…”

“Too much? I get it,” suguru was quick to file in - so easy to make you think otherwise, “as i said…you’re not cut for this,”

You sighed - not wanting to prove him right and closed your eyes, “uh…okay but…fuck, okay,” you caved in, suguru wanted to kiss you deeply to comfort you instantly, to tell you that he would be the only one who got to fuck his fist while watching this recording.

But he didn’t, at the moment at least.

Thus you began again, this time your fingers on your clothed sex, rubbing slow - deliberate circles, eyes closed and mind focusing, the camera was set, Suguru simply sat aside and rubbed his own bulge, muttering little praises for you every minute.

Five minutes in and the shiny pink fabric of the bunny suit had ridden up, exposing a tantalizing glimpse of your inner thighs. Suguru felt his mouth go dry at the sight, his heart pounding in his chest.

"That's it, sweetheart," he encouraged, his voice a low, intimate murmur. "Now, I want you to start rubbing yourself faster through the fabric. Slowly, teasingly. Pretend it's my hand touching you, stroking you, making you feel good."

It was a stretch, using his name to get you off - but he knew it wouldn’t fail, never did.

Suguru watched as your hand moved between your legs repeatedly, fingers brushing faster over the front of the bunny suit. He could see the fabric beginning to dampen, to darken as your arousal grew. The sight made his cock throb, straining against the confines of his pants.

"That's my good girl," he praised, his voice a low, approving rumble. "Keep rubbing yourself, doll. Imagine it's my fingers teasing your pussy, my thumb circling your clit. I want to see you get yourself nice and wet for me."

He watched, enraptured as the camera continued recording, as your fingers moved more deliberately now, rubbing yourself more firmly through the damp fabric.

Your breathing grew heavier, chest rising and falling more rapidly as you lost yourself in the sensation.

"Fuck, you look so sexy like that," Suguru growled, his own hand moving faster to palm his aching cock through his pants. "Don't stop, baby. Keep touching yourself, keep teasing yourself for me. I want to see you get so fucking wet, so ready for me."

Suguru watched, transfixed, as your fingers moved, your hips beginning to rock against your own touch.

You dared not to look into the camera - or at suguru, “go on, get yourself to cum for me doll,” he called out - eyeing the way your fingers moved more frantically - eyeing the way your breath was more ragged.

But as the minutes ticked by, Suguru began to sense something was off.

Your touches - more frantic; breathing - more labored,and yet the telltale signs of an impending orgasm were nowhere to be seen. Your cheeks were flush with exertion and frustration, brows furrowed as you gritted your teeth.

And just like that, Suguru's patience began to wear thin.

He had expected you to pick up easily - but obviously, your shyness just got the better of you.

Because here you were, struggling, failing to deliver the intense, authentic performance he craved. Irritation flashed in his purple eyes as he watched you, his grip tightening on the camera mic.

"Fuck, y/n," he called, his voice a low, annoyed rumble. "What's taking so long? You should be done by now doll, not just... come on- don’t toy with yourself halfheartedly."

He watched as you tried to pick up the pace, her fingers moving at a frenzied speed, the wet spot on your bunny suit growing larger, darker. But still, no release came. Suguru clenched his jaw, his cock twitching - begging to be the help you desperately craved.

"Dammit, you're not trying hard enough," he snapped, his patience finally snapping.

With a harsh curse, Suguru ripped off his headphones and stormed out from behind the camera. He marched over to where you sat, panting and flushed, her fingers still moving weakly between her thighs.

"Enough," he barked, grabbing your wrist and yanking your hand away. "Get your fingers out of there. I'm going to show you how it's done- can’t manage nothing without me, huh?"

You looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise and a flicker of shame grappling back at you - But there was also a glimmer of excitement, of anticipation, at the thought of Suguru finally taking control.

And as promised Suguru didn't waste any time. He dropped to his knees in front of you, pushing your legs further apart, exposing the soaked crotch of the bunny suit to his hungry gaze. Without hesitation, he leaned in and pressed his mouth against the damp fabric, his tongue laving over your clothed slit.

"Ohhh!" you gasped out loud, your back arching off the floor at the sudden, intense sensation - fingers moving to grip his hair.

Suguru was quick still, to move the crotch of your suit aside - tongue lapping on your slick folds.

Suguru groaned against her, “shit, been thinkin’ bout’ this cunt since last night,” the vibrations of his voice did none but to add to the incredible stimulation. He could taste your arousal through the thin drenched fabric anyways, but what fun would that be ? he could smell the heady scent of your desire. It spurred him on, making him lick and suck at your clit harder, more insistently.

"Fuck, you taste so good," he muttered, his words muffled against her pussy. "I bet you're just aching to come, aren't you, baby? Desperate for release? See…told ya’ you’re perfect for this,"

He punctuated his words with a hard suck on your clit, making you cry out, your fingers scrabbling for purchase on the smooth studio floor. Suguru could feel your thighs beginning to tremble, your hips starting to buck against his mouth as he ate you out with wild abandon.

"That's it, baby," he encouraged, his voice a low, approving growl. "Let go. Come for me. I want to feel you fucking explode in my mouth. Want you on record as you lose yourself."

He sealed his lips around your clit and sucked hard, his tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive nub.

At the same time, he pushed a finger under the crotch of the bunny suit, rubbing your bare, slick folds, stroking your inner walls.

"Ahhh! Oh god, Suguru!" you choked, your voice echoing off the studio walls. Your body went rigid, muscles locking up as the intense pleasure crested over you.

Suguru groaned in satisfaction, feeling your juices gushing against his finger, soaking the bunny suit even more. He lapped at you greedily, not letting a single drop of your juices go to waste.

For a minute, neither spoke - as he allowed you to catch your breath - “well, that would make…one hell of a video,” he finally muttered, picking you up along side him, “you okay doll?” he confirmed once, smiling when you nodded.

He sat you down on his chair now - behind the camera as he paused the recording again, “i won’t post it, i just…well, it’s shady but you did say you …i mean,”

You hadn’t known him long - but it felt cute to see him fumble, “it’s okay - i…i liked it,” you said shyly and he grinned - “what will you do with it then?” you asked quietly as he handed you water.

“later use of course…” he chuckled, “you want a copy?” he laughed again when you nodded.

“Say…ready for round two…without that badboy?” he referred to his camera - “with handcuffs and chains maybe?”

You could only giggle at his suggestive eye brow raise.

All of this work is original and entirely my own—please refrain from copying or reposting.

Likes and Reblogs highly appreciated!

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parker-artio · 2 days ago

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Do’ya think that the Wayne family would get invited to be on the lip sync battle show? (Or just for the segment in SNL?) because omg, I just rewatched Tom Hollands umbrella performance, and I was thinking: Wow, Dick would do this…

I’ve seen people joke that Bruce would be on SNL and even play skits, but it makes me think, what about his kids? They’re just as famous as he is. Plus, there’s no way that they don’t have the humor that won’t get noticed by the media, they’d thrive on SNL.

Like what about those YouTube channels too? The one where it’s like: [Insert two Celebrity names here] react to most google searches of them.

Or something like that.

Do you think Bruce has gone on there with every single one of his kids? Or did all of them do it? Like a huge room, all of them sat around each other as Bruce pulled off the strips.

Bruce sitting on the chair holding the sign laughing, with Dick to his left, and Tim to his right: Is Dick Grayson-Wayne Romani?

Dick opening his mouth to answer:

Tim, deciding that as the younger sibling it’s now his job to ruin his answer: No. He’s European.

Dick laughing, knowing that it’s not too well known that Romani people are European: Ur-a-peeing?

Tim:

Dick:

Bruce poorly holding back a laugh and hiding his face in his hands:

-Cue a dark screen before it shows Bruce sitting with two more of his kids in either side of him, the youngest and his only daughter-

Bruce once again sitting in the middle and reading off of the huge card, pulling off the white paper: Is Cassandra Wayne deaf?

Damian without hesitation: She can hear just fine, however, if we mean as in tone deaf, then yes. She can’t sing.

Cass smiling: Says you.

-They share a look that anyone with siblings can indicate as the one you see before you get throttled-

(It quickly goes to the last set of his kids)

Bruce is sitting between the two, both of them are tall, and built mostly of muscle, much like him, but both look like they’ll be bigger than Bruce as they get older: Is Duke Thomas-Wayne adopted?

Duke smiling: Obviously not, can’t you see the resemblance between me and Bruce?

Jason: it’s like you’re looking a mirror.

Duke: exactly, I’m the biological son.

Bruce ignoring them as he peels off another one- off of the other card: Is Jason Todd-Wayne taller than Bruce Wayne?

Duke: stand up lets check!

Que, Bruce and Jason standing back to back, and a very visible height difference between the two, Jason obviously taller.

Duke: Bruce is taller!

-It goes back to the room with Tim and Dick-

Bruce reading off another board: Is Tim Drake-Wayne gay?

Dick: only sometimes.

Tim: yeah.

-The second room yet again. Both of the kids looking a bit disheveled and Bruce exhausted sitting between them.-

Bruce pulling off the thing and sighing before he reads it: Is Damian Wayne vegetarian or vegan?

Cass: There’s a difference?

Damian annoyed: of course there’s a difference… [insert 45 minute rant of the differences], and I am vegetarian.

I can just imagine them reading the questions about Bruce though-

Dick reading it as he pulls it off: How is Bruce Wayne.. famous?

Tim without missing a beat: Nepotism.

Dick shooting back: That’s the same for you.

Tim: I’m not ashamed of that.

Bruce sitting between them laughing into the pal of his hands, hiding his face as his shoulders shake violently:

-The next clip cuts off just as Bruce starts to fall out of his chair giggling-

Cass reading the board as Damian holds it and peels the thing off: Is Bruce Wayne Jewish?

Bruce nodding: my mother is, and by default that makes me Jewish too.

Damian: I’m not.

Cass: you should be.

-it goes to the next scene as Bruce gets onto his feet ready to jump in just as the two of them look like they’re about to fight again-

Jason sighing as he reads off of the board: How much is Bruce Wayne worth?

Duke: half a snickers bar and the lint in my pocket

Jason: that’s too much already!

Bruce sitting between them exasperated:

Duke, again: The lint out of a random persons belly button?

Jason: still too much…

Duke: the ashes of a burnt pile of shit?

Jason: hm… too much, but at least it had no potential to be worth anything, so sure.

Bruce sighing: thank you boys. I feel loved.

Jason smiling brightly: you shouldn’t!

If you can’t tell, I’ve never actually watched one of those videos the full way through- but I definitely feel like it’d be entertaining for the crew, annoying to the kids, and dealbreaking for Bruce (he’s never going to take them to another open interview again)

#batfamily #batfamily headcanons #bruce wayne #richard grayson #tim drake #damian wayne #cassandra cain #jason todd #duke thomas #bat siblings #batboys #batkids #batman comics #batman #crack headcanons

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naturesapphic · 22 hours ago

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I absolutely love ur writing and ive had this fic idea for a while now and i thought only u could do it justice. So i was thinking a fic based on the song all mine by brent faiyaz, where its the bit "you told me your new man dont make you nut thats a damn shame" and its reader is or was in a relationship and they couldnt make her cum so billies so cocky about it and that she could do it like the bit in the song "you come here ill knock your pussy out the damn frame" so yeah billie making reader cum easily. Dom!billie obvi and some strap action if u wouldnt mind. Tysm ly💖💖. If u need that bit of the song starts at 0:56

All Mine

Billie Eilish x fem!reader

Warnings: smut, dom!billie, strap on

“You told me your new man don’t make you nut, that’s a damn shame”

You and Billie have been together now for about six months now and the only thing yall have really done was make out and be handsy with each other. You knew you wanted more but you were nervous about taking that extra step with her. In past relationships, which were with men, they never got you to cum. It embarrassed you to no end, never having that sweet release that you always gave your exes and never experiencing yourself. So the thought of having sex with Billie was making you extremely nervous.

Which is stupid because you knew Billie was very experienced and could make you easily cum but it still scared you nonetheless. So when things were getting pretty heated you held yourself back and Billie could sense it. She asked you about it and even though you were embarrassed to tell her, you did anyway. Billie’s face contorted into shock then it morphed into sadness and understanding. After she let you explain, she went into her own bad experiences and relationships where they didn’t satisfy her.

You were surprised and shocked that Billie went through some of the same stuff you did but it made you fall for her even more. She reassured you that if you still didn’t want to have sex that it was completely okay, which melted your heart. With Billie reassuring you and telling you her own experiences, you felt a lot better about it and you wanted to share that special moment with her. You trust her more than anything.

“You come here, I’ll knock your pussy out the damn frame”

Billie was pounding into your cunt like it was nothing. She knew she could make you satisfied, she always knew. That’s why she’s always so cocky all the time. She knows that she’s better that your exes and she knows she about to make you cum. It only took her about five minutes to get you this way, your body squirming and your hands clawing at her skin. You were moaning her name so loudly that you wondered if anybody near would hear you. You knew Billie to be cocky, you sensed it but you knew that was gonna get worse as she knows she can fuck you better than anyone who’s ever tried.

“But I’ll love you better if you let me.”

You felt the tightness in your belly and you knew you were about to cum any second. The smirk on Billie’s face grew more and more as she knew you were about to climax. White cum covered Billie’s fingers and you felt your body shake in ecstasy as your orgasm washes over you. Billie pulled her fingers out of your pussy and plopped them in her moan, moaning softly at your sweet but tangy taste. “I’m so proud of you babygirl. I knew I would get you to cum less than five minutes. How are you feeling?” She said softly as she moved some hair from your face, making you smile at her. “Thank you bils….i feel amazing. Like im floating on a cloud.” You replied happily.

Billie giggled at your comment and leaned down to place a sweet kiss on your head. She helped you up and y’all started aftercare which was now one of your favorite things to experience with Billie. She was so kind and gentle with you and made sure to reassure you every second she could. When the aftercare was over, the two of you went into the bed and Billie pulled your body on top of hers. “I love you so much y/n. Thank you for letting me making you feel good and loved.” Billie whispered against your ear and placing a kiss on it. “Thank you Billie and I love you so much too.”

A/n: thank you anon for this request and I hope you enjoy it! I hope everyone else likes it too! Remember to stay hydrated and to rest! Take care of yourselves. I love y’all! :)

#billie eilish blurb #billie eilish fic #billie eilish oneshot #billie eilish x you #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish smut #billie eilish #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie #billieeilish #billie o’connell

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wildestheart4ever · 21 hours ago

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Here are some scenes that have been sitting in my head for a while:

Jason quietly closes the door behind him, scratching the back of his head as he thought of the new information that has been brought to his attention.

The Joker’s dead, it had been a whole public ala execution affair. Killed by his grandfather’s hand.

The King was angry

The Infinite Realms and the human world [or at least, the US] had been at war for two years. Spirits were haunting the streets so often that civilians were secluding themselves in their homes hoping for some semblance of peace.

“War, since when?” As if learning the Joker was dead wasn’t enough, now there’s this? Why did he not know any of this, why did Talia not tell him anything about this???

His bafflement gets him a few laughs and a sympathetic pat on the back. He has to keep from bristling and growling in response, it’s not their fault his source of information has been faulty .

“You’ve really been out of touch with Gotham for a while, haven’t you?” The older man teases, taking another sip of his beer before continuing, “It’s been a whole thing that started two years ago - conoces el Rey de los Muertos? Well apparently he was our Robin’s grandfather, and when he learned that his nieto had been killed, se encabrono. Had a whole manhunt out for the Joker - you should have seen it, it was all over the news. He - como lo mato?”

“Froze the fucker from the inside out and then ripped off his head,” a skinny looking fella at his right offered, letting out a scoff “Good riddance, I say.”

Murmurs of agreement were echoed, as the old goon continued, “I’ll say - anyway! So he not only killed the Joker, he declared war on the US government ‘cause apparently they were hunting his people, you know?”

“What was up with that, anyway? I get all those bozos lookin’ to help the dead move on and shit - but hunting them???”

“I think the Ghost King publicly killing the Joker says enough on the why.”

Jason’s not even gonna touch on that, maybe point a few shadows in his direction, see how that line of thinking fairs.

“Yeah, but it was the Joker.”

“Yeah? And then the war happened, pendejo.”

He pointedly clears his throat to call their attention, giving them a flat look as they offer him sheepish looks.

The man next to him looked just as annoyed by the interruptions, grumbling under his breath before continuing, “So the Ghost King declared war, and we were - or at least the government and the Justice League - that is, were losing badly, which only added to the dead so you can imagine how that went.”

“And the big guy didn’t think that was enough, no, don’t know what he did, but the streets of Gotham were suddenly crawling with dead folk, they were running the streets, harassing people - it was terrifying up until we realized only the rich folk -“

“- And the rogues, don’t forget the rogues”

“Yeah, and the rogues were getting the brunt of their anger, and Crime Alley - donde estaba lleno de ellos? - fucking peaceful. Then there was rumors of people seeing their dead so and sos, and well, since the big dead hotshots we’re keeping the violent ones in line……”

“Fuck them, right?” Jason finished with a mean smile. He can only guess who the hotshots were - his old man had a lot of stories to share about what used to be his own rogue gallery. He huffed at the boisterous jeering, smiling a little before nodding, “So when did the war end?”

“Since this March. I’m guessing the big guy finally got what he wanted ‘cause since then everything has been quiet - his troops all left except for the residents of Gotham I think.”

“Good riddance - ow! Hijo de su chingada madre, what was that for?!” One goon swore, rubbing the back of his head and scowling at the woman who smacked him.

“We’re you born yesterday? Everyone knows that the dead like to talk. You know the phrase Even the walls have ears? Best take that shit to heart, ‘cause they’re everywhere.”

He huffed a large gust of breath before tensing, finally picking up the presence in his apartment, hand immediately pulling out his gun and pointing it at the shadowed figure sitting on his ratty couch -

“Now, sonny, you should know by now those things don’t work on me.”

The sound of that familiar voice had him relaxing a smidge, lowering the weapon and carefully eyeing his grandfather, “Hey gramps.”

It had been hard to differentiate the chill between all the strong spirits roaming the streets these days, but none of them resonated with his core the way only one ghost could.

Turning up the light switch, Jason watched as his grandfather studied the book in his hand with a bemused look, “You always were such an avid reader, much like my sister.”

“Great aunt Jazz?” Yeah, he recalled the stories his gramps used to tell him about his old friends and family. It had given him a warm feeling, knowing his family hadn’t been pervaded by cruel or indifferent relatives.

No, just mostly dead dead ones.

The old man hummed, smiling a little smile before setting the book aside, “Yes, though her taste in literature lied more in psychology than your old classics. It’s nice to know the beyond hadn’t changed any of your interests.”

“Nah, just a bunch of other things.” He hopes this wasn’t the man starting down the path of bemoaning the loss of who he used to be, he was already fearing it from Bruce.

“Yes, Fright Knight has been telling me about the things you’ve been getting up to. Blood thirsty is how he describes it.”

Great, so it was sounding a lot like he had a babysitter he wasn’t aware of. Deciding to ignore the thought, he offered the man a shrug, “Had some important plans I’ve been trying to set in motion but - but apparently there was some unexpected trouble I had to……”

Jason watched the man get to his feet, eyes drifting higher and head tilting back, once again feeling like that clueless boy pinned under the man’s heavy gaze. The years have done nothing to his grandfather [not surprising, considering he was dead], he was still the same looming figure he always was, he was in his human disguise - not that that changed anything about his intimidating disposition but…..

His eyes were red

“Something troubling you, Jason?”

He quickly shook his head, scratching the back of his head and feeling a little off kilter, “No no, it’s just…….did you really kill the Joker?”

“Of course I did.”

Of course I did. Like it was such an easy thing to admit, Jason couldn’t - he - but this wasn’t, “Why?”

The old coot blinked owlishly at him, “Why, ‘cause that sorry excuse of a meat bag killed you, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let him get away with it, that’s why.”

“It’s because I’m the Prince of the Infinite Realms, your heir, right?”

Large rough hands carefully cradled his head, “Because you are my grandson, one that I had failed miserably - the least I could do is make sure your murderer faced the consequences.”

That…..that was a little too much to take this late in the day. Jason tried to resist leaning into his grandpa’s touch, taking comfort in the guttural growl of his core and letting out a shuddering sigh before mumbling, “Aren’t you worried about him coming back as a ghost? He certainly seemed obsessive enough for it.”

The man huffed, almost as if amused, “Trust me, my little ghostling - that’s already been taken care of.”

There was something sinister in that statement and Jason was sure he was going to regret asking but, “What did you do to him?”

“You remember what your teacher taught you about newly forming cores?”

“Yeaaaaaah?”

“So you know there’s a window of opportunity while the core is forming it’s body in which stronger ghost can and will devour it?”

Jason blinked, leaning back to stare at the man’s seemingly peaceful expression and tried not to shudder at recalling that bit of information, “Gramps?”

“Yes, Jason?”

“Are you telling me you ate the Joker?”

The old man laughed, like he thought Jason was being funny, “Oh no, not at all. No, I let an audience of his victims get their pound of flesh of his newly formed body before I devoured his struggling core.”

Casual cannibalism aside, he got a feeling that there was more to that, “Aaaaaand?”

He let the old coot carefully dust him off, picking lint off his shoulder before adding, “Well you see, Jason, the Joker had a very long list of victims - and while some of them were very persistent in the notion of never seeing or hearing from him again, the majority really wanted their pound of flesh. So you can image it was quite a…..repeated process.”

Torture, the Joker was fucking tortured just as he got into after life, going through the most likely arduous process of reforming only to repeat the process all over again, and just when he thought he’d finally get away?

Bye bye, off to never after, never to be someone’s problem anymore.

Holy shit.

@stealingyourbones @ashfly

In this AU, Danny is Jason’s paternal grandfather. [Does DP take place in like the 70s if I'm making Danny this old in the current time? Idk, but the idea of changing the era in which it takes place is always an interesting concept]

It takes place in an "Ultimate Enemy" AU, everyone dies and Danny is left a sad bitter drifter [Destroying all Fenton equipment and research, and avoiding Vlad like the plague, every encounter growing more hostile]. To add to the general angst, he’s also basically on a one-man mission to burn down the GIW.

He did not take the GIW into that much account, so Danny spends years being hunted and equally destroying GIW bases. Unbeknownst to him, the GIW had been keeping a very keen eye on the Fentons and their work [not to mention unearthing Vlad's brand of work], and thus Danny seethes at his failure

At some point, he tries to lead some semblance of a human life after sticking to the Ghost Zone and learning the ways of the ghosts for a while [He finally destroys the portals after learning to make portals on his own - if the destruction of Vlad's portal leads to Vlad sustaining a fatal injury, well whatever].

He meets someone, someone he feels he can trust with his secrets, and pursues a life with them. Cue marriage in the courthouse, cue bun in the oven. Cue nice shit for a while that has him thinking everything will be okay

Cue GIW being generally awful [Police investigating, worried neighbors, ransacked apartment, and a missing wife. Cold rage and unsettled officers, his eyes turn red for the first time.]

Dead wifey on a metal table, bun in the oven missing, and cue Danny’s faith in humanity taking a severe blow.

He loses his shit.

Growing older, growing bitter, and his moral compass turning all the more grayer [at some point wondering why he's been letting these people live]. He hunts GIW bases with a bloody vengeance and any stragglers that might've escaped? Well, he's got plenty of hounds and shadows to send on the hunt.

He turns anti-ish humans, bitter and angry.

Years continue to pass and the staggering numbers of agents loyal to the anti-ghost organization grow smaller, enough for Danny to pull back and leave only a few shades to keep a lookout. With that, he keeps mostly to the Infinite Realms, dead and resentful but taking great care of his people.

Why did he never find Willis or Jason? Well, I say it's because Gotham is a pretty strong city spirit, so her ecto signature kinda masks the ghostly residents living there.

Baby grows up to be Willis, but more on the weirder ghostly nonsense side. I like the idea of him being a good dad before things went to shit, teaching Jason about all the ways of the ghost [Not that either of them knew that. They’re not as ghostly as Danny, it’s just subtle things like cores communication and sneakiness]

Jason goes through his tragic events before his and B’s fateful meeting. Cue Jason being noticeably weird and ghostly in the Manor halls [his and Dick’s first meeting is Jason scaring the shit of Dick. One minute Dick is angry and looking to pick a bone with Bruce, the next, there's a child standing behind him staring at him - where'd he come from? Cause he sure as shit didn't hear anyone walk into the room.]

Danny is part of JL, only as a member that they call for hopeless scenarios. He is pretty unapproachable and JL is just relieved he’s willing to help at all.

He's a somber man by the time that first meeting comes around, bitter, unapproachable, and carries a distinct dislike for humans. The JL are only grateful that he's willing to give his help at all. Do they know about his quiet war with the GIW? No, Phantom keeps measures in keeping it all hush hush, he doesn't let agents get the chance to report incidents or call for outside help, in fact, he makes it all look like an accident when he's feeling particularly vicious.

Jason meets Phantom in an apocalyptic mission he wasn’t supposed to be in. Shrinks under the man’s intense gaze and quietly thinks Dick’s opinion of the man is spot on, he’s an overwhelming force and it feels like he’s being stared down by a predator.

He thinks the old man looks kinda sad.

But strangely enough, he also feels familiar.

[I like to think that there’s such a thing as familial cores, that can communicate impressions and feelings, that resonate deeper than a core would with a stranger. Like beacons.] Their cores are the source of purring. Jason's embarrassed to say the thrum [The one he's known and taken comfort in all his life] within him sounds almost like a kitten's purr, questioning, and yearning. The man's? It sounds almost like Willis' used to: Like a crocodile, deep and guttural, a sound so chilling yet feels warm and tentative. Hopeful and just as strangely yearning as his.

I also just get the image of Bambi meeting his dad for the first time lol

Batman swoops in like an over protective parent. Phantom is demanding where did he find Jason, he’s agitated and asking all sorts of questions B doesn’t have all the answers to.

Batman asks for the reason for Phantom’s desperate interest in Jason.

“Our cores share resonance, a factor only found in familial relationships”

Now B knows about Jason’s oddities, has a year getting used to them - but it’s never occurred to him the source or read for them.

The age difference hides a lot, but B can see a lot of the family resemblance. It’s in their bro, the shape of their jaw, the shape of their eyes

The burning green Jason’s eyes turn to when overwhelmed.

Cue Danny finding maybe not the child he thought he lost, but a grandchild and he makes it abundantly clear he wants some involvement in the boy’s life.

And a health check. Gotham may have been able to sustain Jason but she is still a cursed city, god knows how that affected the ghostling’s health.

[If Batman tries to search up every possible thing about the Ghost Kings from his human life, well, it's not like Gotham will tell - heck, she probably helps nudge him along. Gotta make sure Jaylad's last living(???) biological relative would be a good thing in his life]

Jason’s life proceeds as normal, even as he tries to forget the fact he has a grandfather who’s the king of another dimension and that there are now shadows dogging his steps. That's not mentioning the trips he gets to make to the Infinite Realms.

If he grows impish and generally more creepy? Batman nor Batgirl mention it. A far cry from the mischievous demeanor Dick built Robin on. They don't mention how his giggle now feels chilling or foreboding, or how their adrenaline pumps when he exercises his invisibility, Batman refuses the thought of it feeling like a predator stalking prey - he's sure the goons already think that enough as is.

Then you know what happens: Joker has been keeping a keen eye on Batman and his lot, he knows about Batman’s little birdy’s weirdness and……well, he is eager to play with the new toys he got from that decrepit little organization he found.

Cue the tragedy, cue an angry grieving Bat and an even angrier king.

Phantom is there at the funeral, disguised as a human [He doesn't have a human form, not anymore.]. Making it clear to Bruce he blames him just as much for this tragedy.]

Phantom spent weeks searching in the deepest corners of the Infinite Realms hoping to find the forming remains of his grandson. Phantom is only left with the knowledge that the boy passed over to the beyond.

Anything left of his patience for humans snaps like a frayed thread.

The king is furious, demanding why the boy felt the need to find family elsewhere, demanding why he was left alone

He wants blood

[I suppose he turns into a different flavor of Dan, he’s not targeting just everyone, he’s just targeting those involved down from the Joker to what remains of everyone involved with that damned organization]

He basically declared war on them.

Superman in a typical fashion when faced with Batman’s first attempt on the Joker’s life, tries to reason with the ghost.

Phantom isn’t having it.

“I’m going to make this very clear to you, Kal El. The prince of the Infinite Realms, my beloved grandson, the last of my family, has been murdered by a retched human, using weapons designed against my kind. If you think I’m going to sit idle or let you and anyone else get in my way? Don’t expect mercy from me and mine.

Try to get in my way Kryptonian, I dare you.”

Ghouls and shades swarm everywhere, particularly in Gotham [She is facing the punishment of being unable to protect her bird, even if he’s left her reach], the ghost in the cursed city become visible to the human eye as they help search for the Joker.

He’s found, by the king’s knight. Dragged kicking and giggling as he’s thrown at the king’s feet.

The king grabs the retched clown’s head with a large clawed hand and stares the Joker in the eye as he slowly freezes his insides

While many silently rejoice over the monster finally meeting his end, they cannot stand to look as bloody icicles stab through the man from within.

The beheading seems pointless, but watching this man rip off the Joker’s head, they get the feeling the Ghost King could not help the display of violence

He was stating a point.

Danny loses all faith in humanity and makes it known. He's pissed.

Basically, Batman had one job and he blew it, so there goes whatever relationship the JL had with Phantom.

JL is now missing one of their heavy hitters.

Tim watches Batman spiral and Gotham grow more obviously haunted.

It's like a war zone

Jason returns from the dead and Danny instantly knows about it [he had shades guarding his grave, he knows]. Cue him following his catatonic grandbaby and basically becoming a helicopter parent - Ras is kept in line at the threat of his corrupted bath water being taken from him, and Danny vaguely threatens Talia as he discerns her intentions towards Jason.

The Prince returns to Gotham and the shades are supporting his violent hobbies.

Jason's a little thrown off to find that the Joker had been publicly murdered execution-style.

He goes back to his apartment to think and finds Grandpa waiting for him. He's a little shocked and ill at ease at the massive grudge the old man holds for Batman.

Phantom offers Lady Gotham an apology, citing her inability to interfere. But Batman is a different matter.

That’s all I got for now. Lol, this got very long and I wasn’t expecting to be hit with the inspiration, might think of more soon.

I’ll add what I imagine old King Danny looks like in a minute. Is it necessary? No, but I have to share it with you.

How Danny looks:

I know everyone is a fan of twink!Danny but I'm leaning more on Jack's side of the gene pool in this case. The dude is huge, broad, and towers over everyone by several inches [Jason's epic growth spurt makes more sense when you look at his family lineage lol]. You know that thing Walker does where he's normal heights one moment, and looming sky high the other? Yeah, Danny can do that.

His getup? From what comes up at the top of my head: Something between Dan’s suit and lightweight gothic-style armor, spikes, and beady eyed skulls galore. He doesn’t wear gloves so you can see he charred black claws and he doesn't wear a chest plate, so it reveals the tattered remains of the insignia Sam made for him [I’m honestly thinking of Infinity War!Steve, with how roughened up he looks].

He's like Alfred's age, maybe older. He always has a severe frown on his face. Generally looks like he's one step away from losing his patience

Corpse pale skin, almost bluish

Wispy hair. Some say it looks like it's moving like it's underwater, others think it's wispy and foggy lookin' like dry ice. Along with the crown, it looks like his hair is flaming, which he tries not to think about.

Three eye colors: The general acid green - default, pale ice blue - when using his powers, red - when he's really pissed off. There used to be a fourth, the soft sky blues of when he was human. Jason had his eyes, Danny's sad those were gone too.

He has fangys, he will use them. In fact, he can stretch his jaws wide open horror style to reveal rows of sharp teeth.

Claws, he'll use those too. Long black claws up to his second knuckles, cold blue up to the center of his palms.

#Batman crossover #DP crossover #DPxDC #DCxDP #Danny Fenton #Jason Todd #was going to write more but I lost inspiration

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graysonfics · 1 day ago

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i have some thoughts about civil war!bucky… 18+ below the cut!

you’ve grown accustomed to bucky’s quiet behaviour. the two of you can sit in comfortable silence for hours, a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of the avengers compound. bucky knows when you’re yearning for home and it makes him feel guilty that he’s brought you into this, but then you give him that smile and he’s a goner all over again.

“how was the market today?” you ask him on a rainy sunday, curled up into his side with a book you’ve been trying to finish for weeks.

“busy,” his chest vibrates underneath your cheek. “i like it here.”

“yeah?” that makes you look up at him with a soft smile.

bucky nods and you take the moment to admire him. the scruff that adorns his face that you hope he never shaves, his hair that’s falling into those gorgeous eyes, the confused smile he gives you when you stare for a little longer than you should.

“what?” he asks gently.

“nothing,” you snap out of it with a sheepish smile. “you’re just so pretty, buck.”

a laugh of disbelief bubbles in his chest, “i wouldn’t say that.”

when you throw your leg over his thick thigh and straddle his waist, his brain short circuits. you cup his face in your hands and bring his lips to yours in a passionate kiss that he quickly melts into. he’s no stranger to your touch, but his heart hammers like it’s the first time he’s kissed you.

“you’re gorgeous,” you say into his mouth. “so perfect.”

bucky’s eyes flutter closed as you litter his jawline in soft kisses. it isn’t long until you find that spot on his neck that drives him crazy, a hum of approval escaping his swollen lips.

you test the waters by rocking over his hard length, his hands gripping your hips in response. you bite back a smile, capturing his lips again. his tongue finds yours and the kiss grows heated.

“don’t hold back,” you guide his hands further up your body, his eyes trained on yours. “you can touch me. i won’t break.”

“you’re just so beautiful.” he sounds broken.

“i want you,” you affirm. “only you, buck.”

you lift your shirt and throw it to the ground. bucky’s gaze lingers on your form and it goes straight to your core.

it isn’t long before both of you are undressed completely, clothes thrown around the small apartment you share. you nails dig into his broad shoulders as he kisses you senseless.

your wetness slides across his length and you both gasp at the feeling. looking into his eyes, the nod he gives you is enough for you to take his dick into your hand and line it up with your soaked centre. you sink down onto him, a broken moan falling from his lips. he’s watching you intensely, his eyes glassy. he’s already fucked out and you haven’t even moved.

“fuck,” you adjust to his size. “you okay?”

bucky nods, pulling your head down to kiss you again. you welcome the kiss with a smile.

“you feel so good.” he gasps into your mouth when you begin to move.

you ride him nice and slow, and bucky never once takes his eyes off yours. his lips are parted, eyes hooded, as he watches you take what you want from him.

“so good for me,” you intertwine your fingers with his, holding both of his large hands in yours. “made for me.”

those words turn bucky’s brain to mush and a broken groan escapes his throat. your eyes close as he hits that spot that makes your body shudder on top of him.

“you’re the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen,” bucky mumbles. “i can’t believe you’re here.”

“i’m never leaving, buck,” your high is fast approaching and you dip down to press your forehead against his. “i’m not going anywhere. i’m with you. i love you.”

bucky grabs your face and crashes his mouth onto yours. he swallows your moans and sets your entire body alight.

you know bucky’s close and you’re right behind him, your movements becoming sloppier. he reaches down between the two of you and plays with your clit, sending a gasp ricocheting into his mouth.

“i want you to come for me,” you tell him. “you deserve it. you’re always so good to me. come on, baby, let go.”

bucky comes with a gasp of your name and it kickstarts your own high. you collapse into his arms as he fills you up, your heavy breaths mingling together.

“i like it here,” he repeats his words from earlier. “but it’s because you’re here too.”

you smile and kiss him again, “i wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #mcu x reader #avengers x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 days ago

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🧚🏻‍♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now you must share a hoe thot about: CE!babe + nearly breaking a rib from cumming so hard 😘

Thanks for this one! I kinda went left field but it's fun!

Pay Up

Summary: your lot fees are due and your land lord isn't in a good mood.

Warnings: dubcon, coercion, extortion, NSFW. This is a dark drabble like most of my stuff so take this as your warning to stop reading.

Please leave comments and reblog.

The door shakes as someone pounds on it. You groan and hide your face under your arm. It’s eleven AM, who the hell is bothering you? You groan and stay as you are, hoping they just give up.

They bang again. This time harder. You sigh at the voice that comes from the other side.

“I know you’re in there, sunshine.” Lloyd calls through.

You snarl. How many times do you have to tell that sleazeball not to bug you before noon? Shady ass landlord.

You swing your arm down and hit your hand off the wall. You sit up groggily and look around the trailer. You hang your feet over the edge and nearly kick over the vodka bottle with a swig left in it. You grab it and finish it off as you stand. You fling the empty plastic and go to the door.

The strap of your leopard print camisole slips down your arm. The door trembles against his battering and the lock threatens to give. You slid back the latch and push it outward. Lloyd stumbles back as it hits his shoulder.

“Calm down, you’re gonna break the thing,” you snarl and cross your arms as you lean against the frame.

“Lot fees,” he rubs his shoulder, “now.”

“I told you, I’ll have them next week.”

“They’re due today,” he jabs his finger toward you, taking a step closer.

“Well, you’ll just have to wait.”

“Listen, sweetheart, you don’t make the rules,” he growls. “So give me my money.”

You scoff and look him up and down. He’s a con man like all of them. They wear their fancy suits and grease back their hair and think you can’t see through it.

“Don’t got it,” you shrug. “So wait until Monday or kiss my ass.”

He snorts as you go to shut the door. He catches it, lodging himself between it and the frame. He crowds you as he looms over you.

“I’ll call the fucking police. You signed a lease, doll face.”

“I don’t got it. You hard of hearing?” You sneer. “Look, I got half. I’ll give you that and you can take your hoity toity loafers and come back next week.”

“Half?” He echoes.

“Yeah, half.”

He stares at you then raises his hands to rub his fingertips together. You let go of the door and spin. You stomp over to the bed and search around for your wallet. It’s somewhere here. Always falls down when you fold in the table and pull out the bed.

His footsteps scuff behind you and you feel his weight in the floor.

“I didn’t invite you in,” you snip and turn to him with the bills. “Here.”

You shove the money at him and he catches your hand. He pulls it above your head and glares at you.

“Late fees. You’ll pay in full on Monday,” he grits.

“Fuck you. I don’t got that much.”

“Not my problem, honey pie,” he taunts. “I’ve been pretty fucking lenient. I’m done waiting on what’s mine. You are going to pay me. One way, or another.”

He tugs up the strap and lays it over your shoulder, tickling your skin. You snarl.

“Get the fuck off of me,” you snatch your arm away and push his chest.

“I know how you got all this,” he thumbs the money then tucks it away. “I am willing to cut a deal for your services.”

“I’m not a fucking hooker,” you spit. “Get out.”

You try to shove him again and he grabs your wrists. He tuts and squeezes as you bare your teeth at him. He snickers.

“Coulda fooled me. Ah, come on, a few minutes of heaven and I’ll waive the late fee,” he drawls.

“As if. Get off--” You writhe as you try to twist free of him. “Look, you filthy old perv, stop touching--”

He lets go of one arm and grips your shoulder, spinning you to face the bed as he twists your arm behind you. You whimper as he forces you against the frame. You bring your other arm back into his side and he grunts.

“Hey!” He swats your skull, “look, you bend over and I won’t even ask for the other half.”

“Are you that fucking desperate?”

“Nope, but I wouldn’t mind shutting you up,” he chortles. “Come on, I’m sure you’ve had worse.”

“You’re disgusting,” you tug on your arm and it strains in your shoulder. You whine.

“Ow, fucker. Give me the money back and I’ll let you get the worm out,” you scoff.

“How about you take the bottle of whiskey in my backseat? Top shelf shit, not like that piss you got all over.”

He kicks the empty out of is way.

“Get it over with, idiot,” you reach back with your free hand and hook your thumb under the top of your shorts.

“I knew you were fucking easy,” he snarls.

He lets go of your arm and you whimper. You bend and catch yourself on the mattress. You push back against him.

“I don’t want to see your face,” you shake your head.

He chuckles and pushes down your shorts until they fall to your ankles.

“All the better,” he slaps your ass and sinks his nails into your skin. You hiss.

“Hey, don’t leave any fucking marks,” you growl. “What’s the matter old man? Need time to get it up?”

He spanks you again, “shut your fucking mouth.”

He grabs your head and forces it down to the mattress. You grunt and swing your arm back at him blindly. He laughs under his breath as his fly unzips. You shudder and brace yourself. You’ve done worse, he is right about that.

He bends his knees as you feel him pumping himself. You curl your lip and close your eyes. He presses his tips between your cheeks and lingers along your puckered ring. You twitch.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Really? Woulda thought you’d prefer it,” he slides further down and pushes against your cunt.

“Limp dick like you used to going in dry,” you rasp.

You snake your hand down and rub your clit as your cunt burns at his prodding. He leans into you, pushing his tip in with his thumb. You drone and flick your fingers faster. He stretches you around him and you snarl.

“Fuck, goddamn,” you rub harder. “Can’t wait till I get fucking--”

You gasp as he thrusts. The force behind it brings you to your toes as his fingers curl into your scalp. You grit your teeth as he buries himself to his limit. He’s not small by any means. Fucker.

He shakes as he slides out. You swallow and gather what’s left of your pride. Your fingers slicken as he dips back in.

“You fucking suck,” you spit.

“And you’re a fucking slut,” he spanks your ass. His hand slides up to grip your hip as he finds his tempo. “Look at how your fucking taking me.”

His flesh claps against yours as he slowly bends forward. He drags his grip from your head and loops his arm around you. He tears the camisole down beneath your chest and gropes your tits. He snarls and bites your ear.

“God, you fucking smell like rich dick,” you sneer.

“Sure as shit, baby,” he ruts as your toes slip on the floor.

“Disgusting.”

“Takes one to know one,” he puffs.

“Ugh, I fucking hate you. You make my insides crawl--”

“I can feel that,” he pounds harder and your legs fold as you land on your stomach. “Squeezing me all fucking desperate for it.”

He crushes you again the thin mattress, his hips bucking wildly as he pants into your hair. You can only just swirl your fingers enough to get yourself to the edge. Your thighs tingle and tremble. His deep groans roll into your ears and his breath dampens your scalp.

He pulls his hand from beneath you and pins you with his forearm against your shoulders. He pushes himself up as he slams against your ass. You snarl and reach back to touch his hip. Jesus fucking Christ. He didn’t even put a condom on. Fuck. Fuck. This is what happens when you’re woken up before noon.

“You better not fucking blow--”

“Shit!” He gurgles and spasms. You feel the gush inside of you as his rhythm turns erratic. You curse again and smack his thigh.

“What the fuck!?”

He keeps going, fucking his cum deeper and deeper, rumbling and rattling as he empties himself. Jesus. How much does he got? His grunts turn to squeaks.

“You had to fucking say—ah, shit, shit--” his voice fizzles out as he pulls out and flips onto the top of the mattress, his legs hanging over the edge as he writhes.

You roll away and sit up, shoving your fingers into your cunt to scoop out his cum. You wipe it on the blanket and snarl. “You dumbass. Why the hell did you do that?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he sounds as if he can’t breathe as he hugs his ribs. His dick twitches over his pants as he groans and reaches for you.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you slap him away. You reach out and smear cum across his fancy jacket. “Jerk off.”

“I... I...” he inhales, little by little, and wheezes, “I think I cracked a rib.”

“What?”

“When I... finished, it just...” he touches along his ribs, “feels like a knife--”

You laugh. You cover your mouth with your clean and snicker. “Are you serious? You pulled a fucking muscle, you geezer.” You get off the bed and grab a towel, wiping between your legs. “We made a deal, not get out.”

“I... can’t.” He groans.

“Get out or I’ll actually break your rib,” you bark.

“Fucking christ,” he sits up with a whimper, “you’re fucking cold.”

“And you’re limp,” you retort. “Out.”

He stands, hunched over as he keeps his arm across his middle. He limps toward the door.

“Same time, next month?” He stops at the door.

You push him out, “no, you’ll get the money on time.”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #drabble #the gray man

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cheynovak · 2 days ago

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American Sin

Soldier boy x Angel aka Y/N Female supe

Summary: set somewhere in the 70s. Before gunpowder soldier boy had another sidekick who he couldn't get along with... until one horrible incident.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Almost rape, Name calling,SB being SB, talk of virginity, ...

English isn't my first language.

Please do not copy my work. Sharing/likes and comments are appreciated.

**Chapter One: Hell’s Angel**

The club reeked of sweat, booze, and cheap cologne. Neon lights flickered, barely cutting through the haze of cigarette smoke curling toward the ceiling. The bass from the speakers thrummed in Soldier Boy’s chest, but he barely noticed. He was nursing a glass of bourbon, legs spread wide, one arm thrown over the back of the booth.

The bartender had sent some groupie over—a redhead with legs up to her neck and stars in her eyes. She giggled, twirling a strand of hair around her finger, but he wasn’t paying attention. He had bigger problems.

Like the girl sitting across from him.

Vought called her Hell's Angel, which was some real ironic shit, given that she walked in here with a damn rosary around her wrist.

Her outfit told a different story: a black leather mini-skirt, ripped fishnets, a cropped tank with “God Is Dead” scribbled across it in red. She had the look—Vought had made sure of that—but everything else about her screamed not one of us.

But the world and Ben would soon start to call her, just Angel.

“You’re shitting me, right?” Soldier Boy’s voice was rough, slurred slightly from the whiskey. He gestured at her, as if the mere sight of her offended him. “This is what they sent me?”

She stiffened, crossing her arms over her chest. “I didn’t exactly ask for this gig either, sir.” Her voice was clear, cutting through the noise around them. She had a little bite. He’d give her that.

“Then why the hell are you here?”

A muscle in her jaw twitched. “Money.”

Soldier Boy snorted. “Yeah? You don’t look like the type.”

She glared. “Not all of us get a fat check for pretending to be America’s hero.”

That made him laugh—loud and mean. “You got some balls, sweetheart.” He took another sip of his drink, then pointed at her. “Alright, Angel, what’s your deal? What do you do?”

Her hands clenched into fists on the table. “Electromagnetic manipulation.”

He raised an eyebrow. “English, sweetheart.”

She rolled her eyes. “I control electricity. Short-circuit things. Cause blackouts. That kind of stuff.”

Soldier Boy exhaled through his nose. “Great. So if I need a goddamn lightbulb changed, you’re my girl.”

The sarcasm didn’t seem to rattle her, which annoyed him even more. “You want a demonstration?” she asked, voice sugar-sweet.

Without waiting for permission, she flicked her wrist toward the neon sign above the bar. Sparks shot from the wiring, the glow flickering before the whole thing popped and died, plunging half the club into darkness.

Shouting. Chaos. The bartender swore. Someone tripped over a chair.

Soldier Boy just whistled low.

She smirked, satisfaction flickering in her eyes before she quickly wiped it away. “Can I go now?”

“Not so fast, sweetheart,” he said, leaning forward, his grin wolfish. “Vought wants us to be a team. That means we need to—what do they always say?—get along.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m not here to be your friend.”

“Trust me, I’d rather chew glass.” He knocked back the rest of his drink, then slapped the glass down on the table. “But Vought’s footing the bill for your mom’s meds, right?”

She flinched—so quick he almost missed it.

“Yeah,” he said, dragging out the word. “I know why you’re here.” He leaned back, stretching his arms along the booth. “So I suggest you play nice, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want them cutting you off.”

The hatred in her eyes was delicious. Good. This was gonna be fun.

Vought Tower was nothing like she’d imagined. It wasn’t just a building—it was a goddamn kingdom. Floor-to-ceiling windows, gold-trimmed decor, and a constant swarm of assistants, PR reps, and corporate types pretending the world revolved around them.

Y/N had been here for months now, long enough to get used to the bullshit.

She had learned two things fast:

1. The public liked her, but they *loved* Soldier Boy and Crimson Countess more.

2. She didn’t give a shit.

Vought could dress her up however they wanted—make her wear leather, throw her into staged bar fights, and slap a rebellious nickname on her—but the public wasn’t stupid. They saw through it.

Her ex-boyfriend hadn’t helped.

One interview. One smug asshole telling the world she was a prude, that he hadn’t been “allowed to touch her,” that she was just some Catholic good girl pretending to be something she wasn’t.

That was all it took. The media went wild.

“Hell’s Angel? More like Heaven’s Nun.”

“America’s Sweetheart? Or America’s Ice Queen?”

It was all bullshit, but she ignored it. As long as Vought kept her mom’s medical bills covered, she didn’t care what people thought.

The Twins, though? They thought it was hilarious. That’s how she ended up outside Soldier Boy’s room.

"He needs you. Urgent.” That’s what the twins had told her, all wide-eyed and serious. And like an idiot, she believed them.

The second she pushed the door open, she knew she’d fucked up.

Soldier Boy was naked. Completely, unapologetically, stark-fucking-naked.

Not alone, either.

Three girls—two blondes and a brunette—were tangled in silk sheets, their bare limbs draped over him like he was some goddamn king. The room smelled like liquor, smoke, and sex.

Soldier Boy barely even looked surprised.

She? She stood there frozen, mortified, her brain short-circuiting worse than the neon sign she’d fried back at the club.

One of the blondes giggled. “Well, well. Looks like someone got lost.”

Soldier Boy just smirked. That smug, lazy smirk that made her want to slap him. “Ah sweetheart, I'll be right with you, I'll finish Cathy..."

"Kate." One of them corrected him.

"Kate," He started over "I'll finish her and your next."

Her stomach twisted. Her face burned. She wanted to disappear. To run, to burn her eyes as he did what he said and just... get along with it.

The girls giggled and moaned.

Her jaw clenched. She straightened, forced her expression blank, and leveled him with a cold stare. “Vought says you’re supposed to be a role model. Guess that’s a joke too.”

Then she turned on her heel and walked out. The laughter rang in her ears long after she shut the door behind her.

Inside the room, the girls were still talking, their voices muffled but clear enough.

"I read she’s a virgin," one of them giggled. "Guess she couldn’t handle you, huh?"

Another one chimed in, fake sympathy dripping from her voice. "Yeah, Soldier Boy, better stay with us. You need a real woman."

More laughter. More of that smug, taunting amusement, like she was some naive little girl who didn’t belong here.

She clenched her fists and walked on.

The smell of coffee and fried bacon filled the kitchen as Y/N sat at the counter, idly stirring her cereal. She wasn’t really hungry, but she had an early morning photoshoot, and skipping meals would just give Vought’s PR team another excuse to ride her ass.

She was halfway through a spoonful when he walked in. Y/N tried to focus on her breakfast, but her brain had other ideas.

Ben.

Fresh out of bed, looking like he didn’t give a single shit about anything.

His robe was wide open, showing off that broad, muscled chest, and the only thing he had on was a pair of low-slung training pants. The man didn’t believe in modesty. Never had. He strolled through the kitchen like this all the time, half-dressed, yawning, scratching his chest, stretching his arms over his head—like he knew people were looking.

Ben was right there, standing across from her, half-dressed like he always was.

Robe hanging open, coffee cup in hand, his chest on full display. And lower—her gaze betrayed her, flickering down to where his sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips.

And. Well.

Jesus Christ.

Was every man blessed like that?

She had no frame of reference, no real experience outside of a few PG-13 make-out sessions, but something told her that what she was seeing was... above average.

Way above.

Memories of that night flashed in her head—walking into his room, seeing him in full glory, tangled up with those three girls. The sounds. The way he barely even looked surprised, just amused by her reaction.

She swallowed hard.

Heat crept up her neck, and she forced herself to look away, staring down into her cereal like it held the secrets of the universe.

But it was too late.

She could feel his smirk before she even looked up.

“Something on your mind, Angel?” Ben’s voice was slow, thick with amusement.

Her stomach dropped.

Shit.

Slowly, she lifted her eyes, only to find him watching her with that cocky expression—like he’d caught her red-handed and was enjoying every second of it.

“Not at all,” she said quickly, too quickly.

His smirk widened. “Huh. Could’ve sworn you were staring.” He took a casual sip of his coffee, gaze never leaving hers. “Lotta thoughts running through that pretty little head of yours?”

She gritted her teeth. “You’re disgusting.”

He chuckled. “Disgusting?” He gestured at himself lazily. “Sweetheart, I saw you looking. I get it. You got questions.”

Y/N’s face burned." I don’t have questions.”

“Sure,” he said, unconvinced. Then, just to be a bastard, he adjusted the himself in his sweatpants.

Her eyes betrayed her again.

His laughter was damn near sinful. “You’re adorable.”

She shot up from her seat, gripping the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping her from electrocuting his ass right there. “I was not looking,” she snapped, voice high with mortification.

Ben leaned in, voice dropping to a mock whisper. “Angel, if you’re curious, all you gotta do is ask.”

Her hands sparked.

He grinned. “Careful. Wouldn’t wanna short-circuit the place just ‘cause you got flustered.”

He grabbed a mug, pouring himself another coffee like he didn’t have a care in the world and sat next to her. “Big morning, Angel?”

That damn nickname. He only ever used it when he was feeling extra annoying.

She didn’t look up. “Photoshoot.”

He snorted. “Lemme guess—more fake ‘bad girl’ bullshit?” He leaned against the counter, taking a slow sip. “Think they’ll finally give you a miniskirt that doesn’t make you look like a Catholic schoolgirl trying too hard?”

She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to stay calm. Ignore him. Don’t take the bait.

But he wasn’t done.

He smirked over the rim of his cup. “Or maybe they’ll just put you in a nun outfit. Wouldn’t want America’s Virgin to give anyone the wrong idea.”

Her grip on the spoon tightened.

He loved this. Ever since her ex went running to the press, Ben had made it his personal mission to tease her about it every chance he got. And in private? He was worse.

"Twenty-one and still pure as snow," he drawled, shaking his head. "Jesus, sweetheart. What are you waiting for, marriage?"

She knew he was trying to get a rise out of her. She wasn’t going to give him one.

Calmly, she took another bite of cereal, chewing slowly before answering. “What I do or don’t do isn’t your business, Ben.”

He chuckled. “Oh, sweetheart—everything in this place is my business.”

Her eyes flicked up to him for just a second—just a second—and he caught her.

That cocky smirk spread wider.

He saw the way her gaze had drifted, how she’d let it skim over his chest, down to his abs, before snapping back up.

Shit

Ben leaned in, setting his coffee down on the counter beside her. Close enough that she could smell the faint traces of whiskey still lingering on his breath from last night.

“Careful, Angel,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement. “Look too long, and people might start thinking you’re curious.”

Her face burned.

She inhaled sharply, grabbed her plate, and stormed out of the kitchen without another word.

Ben’s laughter followed her down the hall.

She hated him.

She hated him so damn much.

The studio lights blazed hot overhead as Y/N shifted in her pose, adjusting to the photographer’s demands.

It was supposed to be a simple shoot. Just another set of promotional images—leather, fishnets, smoky eyeliner, the whole rebel girl act Vought was still trying to push.

But from the moment she walked in, something felt off.

The photographer, some industry creep named Mitch, had barely looked her in the eye when they introduced him. Instead, his gaze dragged over her body, assessing her like she was just another prop.

“Alright, sweetheart,” Mitch called, circling her like a vulture. “Let’s see some attitude. Hands on your hips, chin up—yeah, that’s it.”

She adjusted.

He frowned.

“Nah, nah, let me—”

Before she could react, his hands were on her.

Instead of just directing her, he physically grabbed her waist, twisting her slightly. “Need you to angle this way.”

Y/N stiffened. She didn’t like being touched. Not like this. Not by him. She stepped away subtly. “You can just tell me what you need.”

Mitch ignored her.

The shoot continued, and every few shots, he found another excuse to touch her. Adjusting her stance, tilting her chin, running his hands over her arms under the guise of “fixing” her pose.

Each time, Y/N moved away. Each time, he did it again. Trying to get her into very intimate poses and stands.

Something in her gut twisted.

Then, when she tried to step back again, his grip tightened She froze.

The overhead lights flickered.

Mitch smiled like nothing was wrong. “Relax, sweetheart. You’re too stiff. Here let me help you relax..."

Her breathing picked up. “I said—”

Before she could finish, he shoved her back—into the wall.

The impact knocked the breath from her lungs. Panic slammed into her, sharp and blinding. His hands roamed lower.

He yanked at the fishnets Vought made her wear, his fingers tearing through the fabric.

“No,” she choked out, begging. “Please—”

His grip was firm. He wasn’t letting go. Terror locked up her limbs.

Then, all at once— The entire studio exploded in light.

The bulbs burst in a violent flash. Sparks rained down from the ceiling. The room hummed with electricity, static crackling in the air like a coming storm.

Mitch yelped, stumbling back. That was all she needed.

She ran.

Ben was still at the kitchen table, halfway through his coffee, when the lights flickered. At first, he thought it was just her.

Angel had been moody as shit that morning—not that he minded, it was fun to mess with her—and when she got worked up, electronics tended to act up. But this?

This was different.

The entire building pulsed like a power surge was about to take out the grid. The bulbs in the ceiling buzzed, flickering erratically. For a second, he thought they might explode.

Then, just as quickly as it started, it was over.

Ben raised an eyebrow but didn’t think too much of it. Not until a blur of black and leather came tearing past the kitchen.

She was running, eyes wild, breath ragged, shoulders shaking.

The coffee mug hit the table with a sharp *clink* as Ben stood. He barely had time to process it before instinct kicked in—follow her.

She was halfway down the hall when he caught up, grabbing her arm. “Whoa, whoa—”

The second he touched her, she lashed out. She fought.

Not the usual way—no smartass comments, no playful shoves. She fought like she was fighting for her life.

Ben had seen her in combat, had watched her take down men twice her size without hesitation. But this? This was different.

She was panicked. Wild. Desperate to get away.

“Hey! Angel!" he barked, gripping her tighter. She kept struggling, arms flailing, her hands sparking dangerously.

Ben sighed, then hauled her over his shoulder like a damn sack of potatoes. She kicked. She screamed. She damn near electrocuted him.

He didn’t let go.

Back in the kitchen, he set her down on the counter, hands firm on her waist to keep her still. “Alright, enough, ” he snapped. “What the hell happened?”

She wouldn’t look at him. Her breathing was too fast.Her hands were shaking so badly she had to clutch the counter. She looked like she was on the verge of collapsing. Her face and eyes puff from crying hysterical.

And then—he saw it.

The ripped fishnets. The fabric, torn at the thigh. The bruises already forming on her legs.

Ben went still. Something inside him turned cold.

His jaw clenched. “Who?”

Y/N swallowed hard, still refusing to meet his eyes.

His grip tightened. “Who did this to you?"

Taglist:

Jensen: @jackles010378 @libby99hb @winchesterwild78 @suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @deans-baby-momma @ancles @tulipsvanilla @thesilmarillionblog @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @kr804573 @kamisobsessed @hobby27 @globetrotter28 @kindollss @muhahaha303 @shadysoulangel @lyarr24 @spxideyver @impala67rollingthroughtown @panickedbitch @deansimpalababy @livya99 @yvonneeeee @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @imsiriuslyreal @panickedbitch @roseblue373 @n-o-p-e-never @ariasong11 @lmpala1967 @sherlockstrangewolf @spnaquakindgdom @writtenbyhollywood @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @healojane @star-yawnznn

#jensen ackles #fanfic #x reader #jensen fucking ackles #soldier boy #the boys #smut #soldier boy edit #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy fanfiction

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gensideas · 1 day ago

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jealous jealous, girl.

summary; y/n is jealous of rafe’s girl friend.

content * advisory; none. just rafe being a tease.

It started off with Rafe's girl-friend wanting to come over everyday after golf practice. It’s not that you were mad about. it was the fact she knew how you felt when she asked questions liked that. it always made you feel uneasy.

then, she would ask to come over for dinner, and rafe the guy he is, he would say yes. You thought the way you felt was stupid. maybe you were just over-reacting, right?

it was one of those nights yet again. the one where rafe’s “friend” would ask to come over for the millionth time in 4 days. you were getting sick of it.

—

“rafe, this is the millionth time she’s come over. does she have too, again?” you asked, not looking away from your phone. “Look doll, it’s the last time I swear. I don't know why she keeps asking.” Rafe responded, standing behind you. “you said that last time, and she came the next day. can she just not come today?” you sighed, turning around. Rafe walked behind you, “baby, please. i pink swear this time. it’s the last time she’ll come over.”

you hummed, going upstairs to your shared bedroom.

you’d had enough and didn’t wanna hear him beg and keep a promise he couldn’t every time.

—

Rafe was in the kitchen cleaning when he heard a knock at the door. He rushed to open, greeting his friend. “Ruby, hey.” he moved to the side, letting her in. “hey rafey.” she walked into the kitchen/living room. “Wow, it's gorgeous here. Did you paint the walls?” ruby asked, sitting at the kitchen table. rafe sat down, “uh yeah, y/n painted it.” —“oh, it’s…nice.”

—

“sooo, how’s your day been?” ruby asked, taking a bite from her sandwich. “uh, it’s been alright. mostly been out with y/n running errands.” Rafe smiled, eating some alfredo. — ruby sighed, “oh, well um, that’s very nice.”

“yeah, best part of my day really.” Rafe replied, looking up at ruby. “uh rafe, i was thinking..im going to watch this movie on saturday. it’s called heart eyes or something. i was wondering if you wanted to go? — you know, just you and me?” ruby spoke, her cheeks flushed.

Rafe knew you wouldn’t like the idea of him being with another girl ALONE. let alone, you guys have plans that day. —

“uh, I can't. I have plans with y/n that I can't cancel." Rafe replied, standing up to get a drink. “oh uh, doing what exactly?” ruby asked, curious about what HER boy best friend had planned. “me and y/n are planning our vacation for the summer. we’re planning our wedding.” Rafe responded, pointing a glass of whiskey.

Ruby had enough. she was tired of seeing her friend with another girl. even if it’s not her, she wanted him all to herself. “seriously rafe? marriage?! i’ve been in love with you since forever and you choose that-“ ruby was cut off. “that what? because if you say another word, i don’t wanna hear it. if you have a problem, you can leave." Rafe turned around to look at ruby. Ruby just grabs her things and walks out. Rafe sighs, happy that she was finally gone.

—

as you were reading, you heard a knock on the bedroom door. “y/n, doll?” rafe called from the other side. “what is it, rafe?” you asked, walking towards the door. you opened it to be met with a relieved rafe. “she isn’t coming over anymore.” rafe responded, walking into the bedroom to sit on the bed. “and why is that?” you asked, surprised. “she fucking admitted her feelings towards me after i told her we were leaving for vacation.” rafe exclaimed, laying back into the bed.

—

you felt angry. not with him, well maybe a little but, mainly with ruby. she KNEW you guys were engaged, and still admitted her feelings in the midst of their lunch. “she did what..?” you sighed, clenching your fist. “she admitted her feelings..” rafe sighed. “oh i’m so gonna kill her. why would she do that.” — “i may or may not have told her we were planning our wedding.” — “you did what?!” you sternly spoke, eyes darting at rafe. “im sorry! i didn’t know she was going to admit her feelings.” rafe frowned, sitting back up.

—

“i swear to god. she’s sooooo gonna get it. she’s dead.” you responded, walking into the shared bathroom. rafe followed behind, “what’s got you so upset?” — “she not only one, admitted her feelings. but she knows!” you replied, trying to take a deep breath. rafe looks at you for a second before inching closer to your lips. “what are yo-“ — rafe kissed you, placing his hands on your waist.

—

“what was that for?” you chuckled, looking up at him. “so i could shut you up for a second.” he smirked, looking down at you.

“well, ruby is a great “friend” ain’t she?” you sarcastically asked, looking away.

“what? you jealous? hm.”

#rafe cameron x female reader #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #obx season 4 #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron #drew starkey x you #drew x reader #rafe fluff #rafe obx #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe outer banks #obx fanfiction #obx

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nubiawrites · 2 days ago

Text

chapter ten

Pairing: Aaron Pierre x Black Original Character

Warnings: Slow burn. 18+. Smut. Sex. Talks of emergency contraception.

Summary: Iriye is forced to face the music at the table read for Paradise Lost but Aaron isn't ready to fall back.

Notes: Better late than never. I wanted to write more of their... lovemaking scene but I will consider releasing outtakes from this story. Enjoy! Drop comments in my ask box, under this post or reblog. I love the responses.

MASTERLIST

Aaron was used to tense situations. Being an actor meant long days and nights. Different personalities collaborated and clashed with each other. This was a given in every life situation. He had seen his fair share of it, but being in a situation like this was never fun.

Things were a bit tense at the official table read for Paradise Lost, and it hadn't even started. Aaron could sense it, the energies in the room clashing a bit. Aaron saw Tamara had her hands on her hips whenever she talked to someone, her voice low, but her eyes looked frustrated. She was trying to be polite, but there was a tenseness.

Nelly was too jittery. The younger woman always had a pep to her step and a joke on her lips, but she was working overtime. He could tell she wasn’t as cheerful but more on the move, her hair in a messy bun rather than the loose waves she kept together.

“Here’s your script,” Nelly said to Aaron, not stopping for their usual small talk.

“You drunk anything that isn’t dark, Nelly,” Aaron stated, trying to get a chuckle.

“I don't like that accusation,” Nelly stated before she sighed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you,”

“No, you’re fine. My apologies,” Aaron gave her a small smile. Nelly returned it, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “If you want, I can grab you something if it helps,”

“Thank you, but no thank you. I don’t want to leave Tamara and Iriye alone together,” Nelly said before leaning in. “They are not talking,”

“Isn’t that good?” Aaron asked.

“Aaron, that’s the worst thing. They’re doing this weird passive-aggressive attitude with each other,” Nelly rambled on.

“I have a feeling that I might be the cause of that,” Aaron admitted.

“Yeah, I know. Tamara was freaking out when she realized Iriye was at your place. I didn’t tell her anything. I figured Iriye would,” Nelly shrugged.

“Well, I thought Iriye would, too,” Aaron said. Nelly looked around.

“Walk with me to get something not dark from craft services?” Nelly asked him.

Aaron nodded, and Nelly quickly put the rest of the scripts for the cast at their proper seats.

They wandered over to the craft services area set up for the table read. Nelly immediately grabbed a bottle of water, causing Aaron to chuckle.

“To think I was going to offer my great advice giving skills to you about Iriye,” Nelly rolled her eyes before beginning to look over the snacks.

“Forgive me,” Aaron said througha chuckle. “I’m sorry. I mean it,”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Nelly pointed a pretzel at him before eating it. She took her time chewing and then proceeded to wash it down with some water before talking. “Iriye has always kept her cards close to her chest,”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” Aaron said, grabbing his own trail mix from the table.

“But once she opens it, Iriye really will give endless love and devotion. I’ve seen it,” Nelly admits.

“With Jay?” Aaron asked. “I kind of figured that they were an item,”

“Yeah but I don’t think she was ever in love with him. And she ended that before she could find out,” Nelly whispered.

“But she was able to be around you guys with him. She never even told you and Tamara about me,”

“I been knew you two were a thing. I didn’t need her to tell me. Hell, I think I knew from the time we all met in the meeting with Davis,” Nelly stated. Aaron raised one eyebrow at him, and she gave him a look. “Please. Iriye went all cool and collected. That’s her tick for nerves. And you’re a great actor. But not when you have the upper hand on someone. You’re too smug,”

“You really notice everything?” Aaron stated. Nelly raised her bottle.

“If you want to be the best assistant, you gotta notice everything and the cracks in between,” Nelly stated. “Iriye is a complicated woman. Delicate underneath it all, but she’s scared to show it,”

“I know. I get why. She told me about her dad leaving…” Aaron said. Nelly paused while sipping her bottle of water.

“Wait, she talked about her dad?” Aaron could see the gears working overtime in Nelly’s head.

“Yes, she did,” Aaron was about to ask something else when he heard Nelly’s phone ring.

“I’m sorry. I gotta take this,” Nelly said, whispering sorry before she got on the phone.

Aaron returned to where his script was, grabbing his pen and adjusting his glasses. As he was beginning to highlight his lines, he felt the chair beside him creak, and he looked to see Vivian.

“Crap, I’m sorry,” Vivian said apologetically, adjusting her bag on the back of the seat.

“No, you’re good,” Aaron said, adjusting himself so she had room to sit. She gave him a small smile before she took out a pencil case and pulled out pens of different colors, arranging them in a way that made Aaron curious.

“What?” Vivian asked, a nervous smile making it to her face as she pulled her hair back into a ponytail. Aaron pointed out her pens. “There’s a method to my madness,”

“No, we actors have ways we handle things,” Aaron raised his hands in surrender.

“How are you handling all of this?” Vivian asked. “You know, thrown into the spotlight, and it’s full-blown on you,”

“It’s something,” Aaron admitted. “I was asked to host events and things. And I keep asking myself, why me?”

“It can be a lot,” Vivian nodded. “Doing all the extra when all you want to do is just act,” Aaron could hear something in her words. “Can I give you some advice? One actor to another,”

Aaron sat up some more, ready to learn.

“Know what you’re willing to fight for and what you’re ready to say no to,” Vivian said. “I wish I had learned that a long time ago. Fortunately, I had some good people in my corner, along with some who cared more about the money than my well-being.”

Aaron nodded, knowing of Vivian through his sister’s tabloids and gossiping when they were younger. Vivian seemed to smile through it all, even when people didn’t have the nicest things to say from what he saw.

“When you set what you will and will not take, it makes it harder for people to shake those boundaries,” Vivian explained. “And trust me, with the level of fame you’re about to experience once your show comes out, you’re gonna need it,”

Aaron nodded, taking it in as Vivian checked her phone, a smile taking over her face.

“It’s my boyfriend. Every time I have a first table read, he always sends me a picture of our dog with a cheesy message,” Vivian explained, showing him the picture. Aaron smiled as he saw an actor he had seen before in something, holding the dog up and a message underneath the photo.

“Adorable dog. He takes after his father,” Aaron joked, Vivian chuckling.

“He does,” Vivian said. “Honestly, it’s nice to know after this and some meetings, I have Gabe and Charleston to go home to,” She said. “They make the boundary testing all worth it because, at the end of the day, I’m living my dream and going home to them,”

Aaron thought about those words, looking toward where he felt eyes on him. He saw Iriye, seeing her in the flesh for the first time in a week. She looked frazzled, and he just wanted to smooth the worries from her head. He would kiss her until she talked to him about the most random things in her life. Aaron would be happy to bask in her presence.

Iriye turned her attention back to the production assistant helping with the table read, not wanting to bud into whatever Aaron and Vivian were talking about. They were too close for her liking, but what could she do? Yell at the two romantic leads of the film she wrote and produced. Tell Vivian to back off of Aaron because he was her man.

But Iriye couldn’t do that because she didn’t want to open up that can of worms. They never explicitly said what they were doing with each other during the three months they had been in each other’s lives. That’s where it got tricky because Iriye was comfortable with what they were doing: going on mini dates at each other’s place before sleeping with each other. Late nights in the grocery store or early mornings trekking through the used bookstores Iriye loved. Eating food that was going against his Lanterns fitness regime and watching him try to work it off with his Lanterns regime at the home gym in his apartment.

Iriye just loved being around him. She loved him. It felt too soon to say that. The moment she realized she was really into Aaron was when he dropped her off at her apartment after picking up the morning-after pill. He seemed calm, but she could tell he was agitated. But he still offered to stay with her, having read the side effects on the box as they sat and waited to figure out the next steps of their plan.

“It says side effects include nausea and vomiting,” Aaron read plainly. Even telling her the worst thing sounded great coming from him.

“It’s not my first rodeo with the morning-after pill,” Iriye said nonchalantly.

“So, you’ve done this before?” Aaron stated.

“There was a broken condom situation when a fellow intern when I moved to LA,” Iriye explained. But she didn’t explain how the pill always tended to make her feel like she was dying. She always got the brute force of the side effects.

“I should probably stay then,” Aaron said. “Make sure you’re alright,”

“I don’t need you for this part, Aaron,” Iriye stated too quickly. “It just makes me sleepy, so I’ll be fine. I’ll probably sleep this thing off all weekend. And you probably need to get prepped for the table read and all,” Iriye knew it was a few days off, but in being around Aaron, she knew when it was playtime and work time.

“Iriye-” Aaron reasoned as she got out of the car.

“See you at the table read,” Iriye stated, walking towards her apartment.

And it was a terrible couple of days. Iriye had been fielding calls and texts from Tamara all while trying not to throw up from the morning after side effects. Once it came to Monday, she decided to stay home but not before Tamara could come banging at her door. Iriye had to pretend to not be home before seeing Tamara slip a note under her door. She waited a while before moving to grab the paper and read it: you can’t run away forever.

Now Iriye was back at the lot, ensuring everything was under control until she saw Tamara.

“Iriye,” Tamara was in professional mode.

“Tamara, I-”

“We’re using your latest script,” Tamara said in her professional voice, and Iriye raised a brow. “We can’t do this right now,”

“I know,” Iriye stated.

Tamara moved to talk with someone else on the sound stage while Iriye went to drop off her belongings at her seat. People started gathering around, with Tamara leading the group in quick introductions of the actors and creatives involved in the film. Iriye quickly introduced herself. Vivian led the group in a small round of applause, and she gave a small and curt smile.

As the reading began, Iriye was lost in everyone getting comfortable with each other. each finding their character's voice and emotional journey. One of her favorite things about being a writer was seeing the discoveries others found in and between the lines of her words.

They took their first break during Act One, and Iriye grabbed a snack from craft services. But she should have been smarter because Aaron was right on her tail.

“We need to talk,” Aaron spoke lowly under her voice. Iriye checked her watch.

“We can’t right now,” Iriye shook her head.

“We got fifteen minutes,” He said. “Enough time,”

“We said we wouldn’t do this, us, on the lot,” Iriye reminded.

“Bullshit, Iriye,” Aaron said under his breath.

“Excuse me?” Iriye was shocked at him being snappy with her. He never was.

“Bullshit. You weren’t saying that in your office,” Iriye cleared her throat, hoping no one heard. “Walk with me, Iriye Edwards,”

Aaron began walking ahead, and Iriye glared at his head. He turned towards her.

“Please, Iriye,” Aaron’s eyes softened at her even if his voice was sharp and clear. Iriye huffed and looked around before following him out. Still being the gentleman, he held one of the doors open for her, following behind her. They walked briefly before Aaron stopped them at a familiar structure: the soundstage where they met.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Iriye stated.

“How are you feeling after the weekend?” He asked her, a nervousness taking over him.

“I took the pill if that’s what you were wondering,” Iriye stated. “I forgot how sick those things make me,” She said too much, seeing Aaron’s eyes soften more. “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t like when people see I’m sick,”

“What’s wrong with seeing you sick,” Aaron said.

“Because I was gross and hunched over a toilet,” Iriye said. “I can take care of myself,”

“I know that, Iriye. But when you’re with someone. When you want to be in a relationship with them, you let them see all sides of yourself: the good, the bad, and the ugly,” Aaron said.

“Well, here you go. You’ve reached the bad part,” Iriye said. “I self-sabotage before you get a chance to figure out I’m not good enough and leave,”

“You think I’m going to leave?” Iriye chuckled.

“Aaron, it’s a given,” Iriye stated. “You’re handsome. You’re talented. And so deserving of every chance you’re going to get,” Iriye bit her lip. “But so am I,”

Aaron raised a brow at her words, moving closer to her.

“There’s going to be a point where it’s going to be what I want or what you want,” Iriye said. “And I’m afraid that when we get to that point, one of us might make the wrong choice,”

“So you would rather quit while you’re ahead?” Aaron asked, looking at her deeply in her eyes. “Answer me, Iriye,” His gaze was intense, and she wanted to look anywhere but him. But she was in his orbit and hated how close she had allowed him to get.

“I-I don’t know,” Iriye tried looking at his sweater. Aaron tilted her chin up to look up at him.

“We need to talk about this, Iriye. Not right now, because we have to return to the table read. But we’re gonna talk about this,” Aaron stroked her chin.

“Okay,” Iriye said.

Iriye and Aaron pulled apart, trying not to walk too closely to each other as they made it back to the soundstage. Iriye let him enter first, and Tamara stopped her just as she was going to go in.

“Tamara, we’ve got to get back,” Iriye muttered.

“Why didn’t you tell me,” Tamara asked. Iriye bit her lip.

“I didn’t mean to hide it from you,” Iriye whispered.

“But you didn’t,” Tamara said. “Is this about Jay?”

“No,” Iriye admitted. “It had nothing to do with him,”

“I know he and I are still being friends; it bugs you, but he was my friend before you were his girlfriend,” Tamara stated.

“I know, Tam. I wasn’t asking you to take sides,” Iriye said.

“But I wouldn’t have said anything if he asked about your dating life. Maybe that’s why you didn’t tell me,” Tamara stated.

“I know you wouldn’t,” Iriye admitted. “I just… I’m figuring things out, and I didn’t want to say something, and it didn’t work out. Saying something would make it real. Maybe too real,”

“I saw you two at the snack table,” Tamara said. “I was going to talk to you, but I saw him and you,”

“We’re about to start again,” A production assistant interrupted them. Iriye nodded toward them, and they left.

“You like him. Probably more than you ever liked Jay,” Iriye heard Tamara’s words.

“We need to focus back on the table read,” Iriye rubbed her on her jeans.

“It’s okay to feel for him, Iriye. You deserve to be happy,” Tamara said.

“I’m sorry, Tamara,” Iriye moved to hug Tamara, and she embraced her back.

“I’m sorry, too,” Tamara squeezed Iriye. They pulled apart, returning to the table together.

The energy for the rest of the table read felt better, Iriye able to focus at moments, hearing the chemistry building amongst the cast. The reactions to different scenes and dialogues had her feeling like everything she had worked so hard for, was coming to fruition.

By the last scene, Iriye’s eyes were shiny with tears. They got to the last pages and a few of the actors in the cast clapped. Tamara took a moment to speak, letting everyone know that Lanoire productions were thankful for them to join the journey of this film getting made.

The table read was wrapped up and Iriye was grabbing her things from her office when she heard a knock at her door. She looked up and saw Aaron.

“Can I come in?” Iriye nodded and he entered her office, looking around. “How are you feeling?”

Iriye let out a deep breath she felt like she had been fighting. “I feel like… I can breathe a little better,”

“You and Tamara?” Aaron asked.

“We’re good. I’m pretty sure I owe her dinner, two bottles of wine and a gossip session about us,” Iriye said. She saw the smile smile on his face and she bit her lip. “Aaron…”

“You said us,” Aaron moved to grab her bag, packing it up. “Come on,”

“Aaron, I gotta go home,”

“I know. I’m taking you home. I know you didn’t drive your car since you haven’t been feeling good,” Iriye rolled her eyes as the man before her.

“So bossy,” Iriye took her bag from him.

“Don’t think I didn’t see you rolling your eyes at me,” Aaron said as he led her out.

Iriye was quiet as she let Aaron drive her home in his car, his hand on her thigh as Sade played in his car. They didn’t speak but it was enough for Iriye. It made her feel warm and that thought came through her head. She loved him.

They got to her place and Iriye let them in, Aaron taking her bag off and putting it where she kept it normally.

“Go shower. I’m going to make us some dinner and we’re going to talk like adults,” Aaron demanded. “Then if you want to step away from us, you can,”

Iriye was going to say something but she saw the look on Aaron’s face.

“Fine,” Iriye turned to her bathroom and went inside, using the time as she needed. She had to get this fine ass man out of her house. But taking her time in the shower would give her the space to breathe and take in how she would do this. She could go the anger route. Yell at him. Threaten him. Tell him she wouldn’t see him. But she didn’t want that. She wanted him.

Iriye dried off, taking the time to moisturize her skin and she deciped to slip into some sweats and a t shirt. She walked into the kitchen to see Aaron heating up some pasta sauce she had in a jar.

“You need to go grocery shopping,” Aaron pointed out. He had some noodles boiling and she bit her lip.

“Maybe. I’ve just been spending a lot of time at this man’s house,” Iriye said.

“Oh a man. What’s he like?” Aaron asked, playing along.

“Well for one, he’s tall. Really built like a linebacker or something,” Iriye mentioned. “His ears kind of a tad big for his head,”

“Not too much,” Aaron chuckled.

“He’s passionate and sweet and funny. Can go toe to toe with me when we bicker,” Iriye stated. She watched as he continued cooking with what she had, moving to plate the paste with the sauce for her.

“I did the best I could,” He said, moving to get her a glass of water for Iriye. He place it by her. “Now eat,”

“Someone’s bossy,” Iriye dug into the meal. He watched her eat, Iriye knowing that he was focused on her. Once she finished, she watched Aaron move her plate out the way and pulled her chair closer to him as they sat at her counter. “What has gotten into you?” Iriye asked.

“You have, Iriye Edwards,” Aaron spoke, his hand moving to her cheek and cupping it. “So if this is what you don’t want,” His hand sliding up her thigh. “You’ll tell me to stop,” He cupped her pussy through her sweats and Iriye bit her lip.

“Aaron,” Iriye moaned. His hand slid into her sweats, finding her pussy as she didn’t put panties on.

“No panties. You made this so much easier for me, love,” Aaron slipped two fingers inside of Iriye and he quickly found that spot inside of her that made her gasp out.

Iriye was going to shut her legs but Aaron stood, moving to stand between her legs. His hand went to the nape of her neck and twisted his fingers into the hair there, making her look at him.

“You want me to stop, say it,” Aaron challenged her, blue eyes piercing her own. “Say it,”

Iriye couldn’t say anything as she moaned, his fingers working inside of her, his thumb touching her clit.

“The thing is you need me, Iriye,” Aaron said. “And I need you,” He leaned down to kiss her lips and Iriye kissed him back deeply.

Iriye cupped his cheeks as their lips moved against each others, Aaron swallowing every moan and gasp that slipped as he worked her pussy with his fingers, feeling her juices coming out more and more.

Aaron pulled back from kissing her, taking his fingers out of her pussy and sliding them to her lips, letting her taste herself amongst them. Iriye moaned, tasting her sweet juices. He pulled his fingers and kissed her, groaning.

“Come on,” Aaron lifted Iriye up, her hands moving to his neck and her legs wrapped around him. He led them to her bedroom and she gasps as he dropped her on her bed. “Strip,” Iriye sat up and with the look in his eye, she knew not to play around.

Iriye shuffled her sweats down, leaving her bottom half bare and then her shirt came off, her titties bouncing back to their space. Aaron;s eyes took in every part of her body and she felt so exposed like a raw nerve. He got himself out of his shirt, the slight hair on his chest coming into view and the same speckle just above his pants. No belt was in his jeans and she watched as he unbuttoned it, his boxer briefs coming into view to show the hard bulge below as he got out of them.

“Can I taste you,” Iriye asked and Aaron just chuckled.

“You think I’m going to let you have what you want?” Aaron stated. “After you drove me mad all week, worried about you,” Iriye thought it was posessiveness making him act like this but it was more than that. “Get the condom,” Iriye shuffled up her bed to check her sidetable draw. Just as she was about to grab the gold foil, she felt a smack to her ass and she moaned from the sting, looking back at him. “Get the condom, Iriye,”

Iriye grabbed it, shifting till she was laying against the pillow. Like a lion, Aaron crawled over her. He took the condom out of her hands and opened it, slipping it onto himself.

Aaron crawled over Iriye, his eyes meeting her and leaning down for a soft kiss. And Iriye hated that she felt like she didn’t deserve him being sweet for a moment.

“Let me in, Iriye,” Aaron whispered and it wasn’t just her opening her legs and bed to him. It was everything else. Letting him into her life and her heart.

Before she could reply, Aaron pushed into her, a groan leaving his lips as he pressed into her pussy. She gasped as the familiar feeling of her body stretching around his length.

Aaron took a moment to regain himself, his body rocking into her as Iriye’s nail went to his back to find purchase. But he took both of her hands and pressed them to the bed.

“No. You’re just going to feel me. Feel what I do to you. That’s your only focus. Do you understand,” Aaron demanded.

“Yes,” Iriye moaned as she felt him beginning to thrust his length inside of her. Soft gasps left her as Aaron was commited to being slow and steady. His length slide in and out of her, the wet sounds echoing amongst their moans and groans.

Aaron was rolling his hips too good into her. Rocking against her as her feet tried to find purchase on the bed. His chest was rubbing against her nipples, growing harder and making her pussy throb with each movement.

“God, I wish I could feel how wet you are again,” He whispered against her lips, him leaning down to kiss her. Her hands were gasping the covers as Aaron pinned her down.

“You feel so good inside of me,” Iriye moaned out, feeling him thrust a little harder into her and causing her to cry out.

“You really wanted to end this,” Aaron groaned against her neck. “Look at me,” He twisted his hips in a way that had Iriye arching her back, body still rocking slowly into her. “You want me to stop?”

Iriye gasped as he thrust again, hitting her g spot. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head for a second.

“You didn’t answer me Iriye,” He thrust harder into her. “You want me to stop?”

“No,” Iriye whined out. Aaron paused for a moment and she was about to moan her discontent.

“Wrap your legs around me,” Iriye did as she was told, her legs wrapping around his waist. He lifted her back up from the bed. “Arms around my neck,” She wrapped around his neck and that’s when she knew he was trying to ruin her for anyone else.

Aaron’s muscles weren’t just for looks as he began bouncing her on his cock, lifting her like she was nothing. She began crying out, not caring that her neighbors would most likely complain. If they were getting fucked like this while on their worst behavior, they would understand.

“You really want this to stop,” Aaron lifted her, his cock hitting her g spot just right and her being forced to take the onslaught was wrecking her. They were both trying to breath between gasps and moans. “A-Answer me,” He stuttered as Iriye’s pussy spasmed.

“No. Please! No! Don’t stop,” Iriye cried out loudly. She clutched onto him for dear life as the wet slaps fell against his hips.

“You really wanted to run from this,” Aaron was thrusting up into her harder. “But no one can fuck you like this,” He made sure to puntactate each word with a hard thrust, forcing cries from her body.

“Aaron!” Iriye whined.

“When I am done with you, you’re only going know my name. You understand, love,” Aaron thrust harder into her.

“Fuck! Yes,” Iriye cried out. He thrust up into her as he brought her body down onto his length, cries and moans leaving Iriye’s body as he moved faster. “You’re going to make cum!” Iriye whined.

“Good. Cum on your cock. I’m yours baby,” Aaron leaned in to kiss her. Her lips hungrily found his and she cried out as she felt her pussy spasming. It took a couple more thrusts before Iriye screamed out. Her juices flooding his length just made Aaron thrust harder, him groaning out as his orgasm hit her and they crumpled to the bed, entangled in each others arms. They would have to talk at some point but their bodies did most of the work and that was enough for now.

@wildwomanalereyia @teenage-aria @skvrpion @absentmindeddreamer @blackpinup22 @liv10002 @styleismyaddiction @jungwonsgfs @hooliemooliedonutshawp @hippiesandpeacesigns @blowmymbackout @justagirlwho-believes13 @caribbeangyalsworld @melovedorks @moihasarrived @ashanti-notthesinger @xx-mintyxx @iluvchrisbrown @ash-ketchumzzz @deijalee @pyramidlight @xosharieee @kaylaahisthebestest- @chaniceandrea @kimmivlixx @saveadanc @kaylalb @queenbritbrat @kceeee @naughtynolly-blog @myawesome56 @chainingxday @nononoks-blog @kinginwithbreezy-blog @apple123cg @jazziejax @lauren1000000 @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @venusincleo @loveschrisbrown20 @brwnskingirlll @iamfredtina @cozyashhh @modelmemoirs @kimiasinterlude @rpayn22 @mscarter123 @lolola22267 @thesweetestdrug @valarghoulis @nyifly22 @zimsilandela @teheeboo @blveeeeeee @5starsirl @yassbishimvintage @23jammy @prettiegal @vadeadiugularis @gabbywontlose @pinkkycherrish @slashervalley @aqueenwasmadehere @lee-jennie @wuzzzgoood

#aaron pierre #aaron pierre fanfic #aaron pierre fic #aaron pierre smut #terry richmond fic

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studiogrimm810 · 3 days ago

Text

Agitated

pairings/characters: (pining)dean winchester x gn!reader

summary: you know you're outmatched for a hunt so you call up bobby for some help but instead he sends dean. now you're forced to deal with his cocky attitude and still somehow get this hunt done. this man will be the death of you

warnings: bickering and annoyance, some blood and a fight scene, fadeaway to sex but nothing too graphic

word count: 5,121

A/N: this is a request!!! oh my god i could not stop writing this. i really hope i captured the pure annoyance they have for each other and also framed it into some steamy sexual tension,, idk, lmk how feel about this one!! :):)

———————

This is the worst. The absolute worst. You knew better than to try and go at this hunt alone but you seriously think you’d reconsider if you knew this was the outcome. You got here early, getting a motel room for yourself and eating lunch while waiting for him. Ugh. Him.

There was a nest of at least half a dozen vamps camped out nearby that you’ve been tracking for a while but you’re out of your league here so you called Bobby.

Ah, Bobby. How you loved him. He was quite the mentor for you when you lost your mother. He showed you the ropes, gifted you a car he pieced together on his lot, and offered a listening ear when you needed it. So of course, when you need help, you call him.

Except this time he’s busy so he sends, what he calls his ‘second-best’, Dean fucking Winchester.

God. You had asked if there really wasn’t anyone else he could send but he insisted that Dean was the best he could do. Bobby and Sam apparently were deep into some research for whatever apocalypse they’ve got on their plate now and they could spare Dean for the sake of your safety. Dean needed to hunt anyways, he itched to get back into action.

So now, halfway through rage eating your lunch, you hear the familiar rumble of Dean’s trademark gas-guzzler and plant your face in your hands. If you wanted to successfully complete this hunt then you needed to just take a deep breath and shove aside your irritations.

You finish your lunch and wait for the text or call saying that he’s got a room and is ready to regroup. That call came a lot sooner than expected.

“Hey, Dean,” you greet indifferently.

“Heya, sweetheart,” you can hear his sarcastic smirk and it makes you roll your eyes, “listen, I’ve kinda got a problem here.”

“What?” You try, but fail, to keep the bite out of your voice.

“Motel’s all booked up and the only other one is across town, looks like I’ll have to bunk with you.” God- of course.

“You’re kidding,” you internally groan, biting your tongue.

“Wish I was, sweetheart,” you can hear his own stifled sigh.

“Don’t call me that,” you scold, standing to go to the door and properly greet him. You open the door and he’s leaning against the hood of his car, pocketing his phone and plastering a fake smirk. You’ve noticed he knows how to make you tick. It usually starts as a feigned sweetness but soon sours as you aren’t receptive. He claims he’s trying to keep the peace between you two but you claim he’s full of shit.

“Whatever, princess,” he uses more sarcastically, as if it’s such a high request to ask to be addressed by your own name. “Hope you’ve got the room ‘cause I’m not sleeping on any floors,” Dean states, rounding his car to get his bags out of the trunk.

Fuck. You could shoot yourself if you had the fucking gun.

“Yeah, about that,” you fold your arms over your chest, squinting from the blinding sunlight you’re forced to face to keep looking at him as he moves. Fucking dick.

“No,” Dean demands, his shoulders slacking from lack of effort to keep his bags held. Yep, he’s pissed.

“I never have to share a motel, Dean!” You shrug with an annoyed bitchface. “I’m not all ‘buddy-buddy’ like you and Sam are. I like my privacy.” You squint at him like that’s a dig and not really a chip at your own lonely ego.

“Well I call the bed sweetheart, you can take the couch,” Dean grumbles, scrunching his nose in a mocking manner as he walks past you and into the motel.

Regardless, this was the last room the motel had so it’s not your fault there’s just one bed.

———

“So, you think they’re camped out here?” Dean asks, looking at the map with his arms crossed over his chest. You nod, nibbling on the end of a pen.

“I’ve been tracking them for a while- it’s their kinda hideout,” you add, thinking of different ways to approach this. Dean turns back as if to say something but rolls his eyes at you.

“That’s disgusting,” he points loosely like the oral act isn’t even worth the energy to spotlight.

“Good thing it’s not your pen,” you retort, looking back down at your laptop and refreshing the local news. Dean just scoffs, walking over to the small fridge provided by the motel.

“No beer?” He baffles.

“I’m not an enabler,” you sass, finding it your current life’s mission to kick him at any turn. God, the nerve to come into your room, make his snippy comments at your fidgets, and bash you for not keeping beer on tap like a fucking bartender. You couldn’t wait for this to be over.

“And I’m not an alcoholic.”

Ha, yeah okay.

You scroll around the 3D map on your laptop, looking for different access points of the rundown building but the shitty satellite rendering is too blurry and bubbly to really make anything out.

“Seriously? That’s what you’ve been wasting your time with?” Dean raises a brow.

“I’m checking my bases, Dean, back off,” you groan, leaning back in your chair and rubbing a hand down your face.

“Just sayin’, you’ll get more info first hand, princess, may as well just get on with it,” Dean insists, “not like we have any way to pass the time,” he’s not letting this beer thing go.

“Fine! Let’s just go, guns blazing,” you sit up, scooting back your chair with the force of which you popped up. You go to ruffle through your bag, grabbing a long sleeve shirt to slip over your tank top.

“You’re gonna be cold,” Dean says plainly.

“Shut up,” you shoulder-check him on the way out.

———

The sun is starting to set, casting a beautiful golden haze across the horizon. You two are headed north so thankfully the sun isn’t blinding your peripheral but instead Dean’s.

The drive is quiet other than the hum of some 80s band, or whatever it is Dean is obsessed with, on the radio. It’s weird, you don’t know why your hatred for Dean blossomed so naturally but it just did. Since the second you were disappointed to find that that is who was the sweet Sam Winchesters brother you’ve been irked by just the reminder of his presence.

He probably started it anyway.

The Impala starts to slow as you two come up to the hidden gravel drive for the abandoned building on Dean’s GPS. The rumble of gravel crunching under the tires is a satisfying dig in your ears.

Dean parks the Impala so you two can go the rest of the way on foot. You both gear up and sneak along the tree line until the building is in sight. It’s an old rangers station- blanketed with moss and vines, shards of glass poking out of crunched window frames, entrance doors missing- it looked completely vacant.

“I’m gonna take a wild guess and say your hunch was wrong,” Dean straightens out of his pre-fight stance. You don’t offer him a response, you just step past him to the entrance to see if there’s even a hint of this being the right place.

There’s nothing.

God, how could you be so stupid? You felt a pit of embarrassment swirl its way around your insides. You couldn’t confront Dean right now. You couldn’t deal with his sarcastic quips.

You have to though, you have to face him to get back to the Impala and back to your shared room. This was torture.

What if more people get hurt because you didn’t find the right spot? The longer you sit and stew the more likely that is to be true. You have to just keep your head on straight and find the next lead.

So with that, you spin on your heel and head back to the Impala. “I don’t wanna hear it,” you mumble as you pass him, this time shifting your shoulder out of the way so you don’t bump into him.

You miss the way Dean’s features soften with understanding and guilt and he decides to keep his mouth shut.

The drive back for you was thick with tension. Your mind ran with how to go about the situation next. What lead to follow and what instincts to trust because apparently this one was wrong.

The drive back for Dean, however, was different. He kept the music to a volume he knew wouldn’t bother you as much and he drummed along to the beat on his steering wheel with his fingers casually, hoping the common habit of his will show that he’s not angry and how you shouldn’t blame yourself so much. That even if it feels as detrimental as it does that in reality it’s not a big deal but just a failed lead.

He doesn’t use his words though. He’s offering common decency and not pleasantries.

You’re quick to duck into the motel as soon as the car is in park and recenter yourself at the drawing board.

Dean hesitates, finding it annoying how much you’re beating yourself up over this. He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much. Maybe it’s because he understands the guilt of not being good enough. Maybe it’s because he just doesn’t want to be around some mopey child. Maybe he doesn’t have to know.

“There have been a few disappearances- the last location they were all seen is this bar. Maybe we could start there,” you’re starting to doubt yourself.

“I agree,” Dean nods from behind you. You turn to look at him, a little taken back by his compliance. No shoving and no pushback.

“Really?” You cock a brow, still finding it odd that he hasn’t bashed you more for your screw up earlier.

“Yeah, I think that’s the next step,” Dean repeats, the annoyance of having to do so showing in his tone. You squint slightly as if waiting for him to say something else but he doesn’t.

“Fine, let’s go,” you walk right back out of the room and to the Impala, not bothering with your jacket or keys.

Dean snatches your keys from the kitchen table and locks up the room. You could thank him but why thank him for locking a door? It’s not like he did anything special.

The bar was in the middle of town so the drive consisted of a lot of turns but was still rather swift. You reach for the door knob but Dean stops you.

“What?” You ask defensively.

“That look normal to you?” Dean points, not matching your tone. What is up with him?

You follow his point, finding a couple making out against the side of the brick building. They look drunk and disoriented but nothing too out of the ordinary for a Friday night outside of a bar.

“He’s faking,” Dean adds, keeping his eyes on the couple but taking your silence as confusion. “He’s not drunk.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Watch,” he leans in a little closer to see them from your angle. “When she kisses his neck he loses his ‘daze’. You can see him scan-, there!” He cuts himself off as the man across the parking lot does exactly what Dean is describing. You look a little closer now, seeing a slimy smirk lift the man’s lips as he grabs the woman with a bit more force.

“Dammit,” you mumble, straightening up in your seat a bit. Before either of you can get out of the car in time, the woman is shoved into a nearby truck and the man climbs in after. Dean fires up the engine and follows the truck from a safe distance.

You beat yourself down a bit, wondering how you managed to miss something so clear. You would’ve overlooked them without a second thought and they turned out to be your next lead. Were you really this bad of a hunter? Maybe Dean was right to have such little trust in you.

“How damn cold do you keep this car?” You hound, wrapping your arms over your chest to try and churn some warmth over yourself.

“I told you you’d be cold,” you could hear the eye-roll without even looking at him. You stare out the window, Dean still staying on the truck's tail.

A few moments pass and you continue to ignore him. “God, if you’re gonna pout about it,” he adjusts, grabbing a spare flannel of his from the back seat, “here.”

“I’m not pouting,” you scoff.

“Sure you’re not. Just take it,” he shoves it in your lap and you hesitate to touch it. “I’m not diseased, princess, you can borrow my clothes. Won’t kill ya’.”

“Whatever,” you mumble, grabbing the flannel and slipping it over your arms. The cloth settles over your skin like a warm blanket and you have to force yourself to ignore how much it smells like him. You feel a need to thank him again but seriously, was it really that special or was he just doing the bare minimum? Or perhaps you were too embarrassed to thank him because doing so would admit that you didn’t entirely dread his presence.

Dean glances over to make sure you actually put it on and hasn't discarded one of his favorite flannels- which he would take as an act of war quite frankly- but is a little stunned to see how homey it makes you look. You're practically drowning in the tarp of cloth, but the way it melts with your skin catches his eyes for a bit too long. To see your hair settle over the pattern like a claim makes him want to never look away.

But he has to because he’s driving and just nicked the rumble strips.

“Driving at night is hard, huh?” You tease, “heard it gets that way with old age.”

“Hey! I’m not that much older than you,” he defends, forcing his eyes in the road ahead and the truck to follow. He can’t let himself wonder why you caught his attention so intensely or why he’s itching to look back for another peek.

Finally, after what felt like years to Dean, the truck turns off into a driveway of an older farm house. Dean drives past and parks off the side of the road around a turn where they won’t be spotted.

Now it’s time to really gear up, but this time it’s a little different. Dean finds himself wanting to make extra sure that you’re set and that you have any possible weapon you might need.

“Stay close, don’t split up under any circumstance,” Dean instructs. He hadn’t done that last time and you want to combat him because who is he to tell you what to do? But the wind brushing over you too carries his scent past your nose again and it’s almost like it shuts you up completely. You just nod in response.

The night sky rained over you two, soft pelts of misty rain dampening your clothes and you’re now really starting to feel thankful for the offered flannel, maybe you should’ve said something. But as you near the home, you reckon it’s not the right time to mention a lousy ‘thanks’ for such a simple offer.

Dean picks the lock of the back door and you follow him in, machete in hand. You can hear voices and laughter flowing from what you guess to be the main room. Dean halts right along the door frame, ducking in to count what they’re up against, he holds up 3 fingers to you and you nod.

On his signal, you both pounce.

The fight is brutal on your muscles since you often forget just how strong vamp’s are. The one you’re up against is at least a foot taller than you and is bulkier than is really fair, but you use the advantage of being smaller to slip out of his grasp and decapitate him from behind.

Dean is next to take care of his opponent and now it’s two against one. The vamp comes after you first, probably thinking you’re a quicker target, but Dean intercepts and slams the vamp

against a wall. You take this opportunity to go to the woman from earlier who is huddled in a corner, watching in horror as this happens.

Thankfully, she is physically unharmed and the adrenaline of the situation has burned through the alcohol she had ingested.

“Hey, I’m not gonna hurt you,” you shake your head with arms braced to show you aren’t a threat. “Can you walk?” You ask. She nods. “Good, okay,” you reach over to the pocket of one of the vamps, seeing a set of keys hooked to his belt loop, and hand the keys to her. “The truck outside. Take it and go- now.”

She snatched the keys and bolts. You breathe a breath of relief at how easy it was to get her out of here. You turn to see that Dean is still fighting the creature and you jump to your feet, approaching them. You bring up your weapon but the vamp sees you in time and shoves you hard. You stumble into a dusty china cabinet and hear Dean call your name. The impact rattles through your body but you have to help. You have to.

Getting to your feet takes a moment, but a pained gasp sets you with a fresh rush of adrenaline. The vamp has latched its teeth into Dean’s neck. He’s paralyzed with pain, raspy breaths barely escaping his gaped lips. That’s all the fucking power you need. You ram into the vamp, getting him to unhook his jaw and throwing him to the ground. In the blood drunken haze, you’re able to rid of its head with a quick swipe of your machete.

Dean groans, sliding against the wall and you drop your weapon, running to him.

“Hey-, you’re okay,” you speak before you have enough evidence to believe it. “You with me?”

“Y-Yeah,” he pants, his head going slack on the side he wasn’t bitten. It’s deep.

“Okay, hold on,” you say, reaching down to rip off a good portion of your shirt to cover the bleeding. He reaches out to stop you. “Don’t worry, it’s not your precious flannel I’m tearing up,” you actually joke. Not as a mock or tease but as an actual joke that you smile for to show your lightheartedness.

“With you? I’d never know what to believe,” he comes back. He doesn’t seem to have enough energy to smile but you can tell the initial joke was receptive.

He hisses as you press the cloth against his wound, your other hand cupping his cheek to keep him in place. His intense screw of pain seems to melt a bit under your touch.

“We gotta get you outta here, big guy,” you pat his cheek lightly, trying to keep him present. “How dizzy you are, can you walk?” You ask, unsure of how much blood he’s lost.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry ‘bout me, sweetheart,” he slurs. Dumbass.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” you huff, removing your free hand to grab his own hand. You swear he whined when you did so, but it was so quiet and could’ve been excused as a draw of pain. “Hold tight, okay?” You instruct. You knew if he had enough energy he would be batting you away and demanding he knew how to handle a wound like this and it almost worries you that he’s not. “C’mon,” you snake your arm around his back, lifting him the best you can and thankfully he works with you. You’re really gonna have to start saying your thanks out loud.

You lead him out the front door and curse as the rain has picked up. You can’t walk him through this- between the blood loss and getting wet, he’ll freeze. You set him in a semi-stable looking chair and use your hands to steady his face. The reaction he gives you when your skin lands on his stirs a curiosity in you.

“Wait here, keep applying pressure, I’m gonna get the car,” you enunciate so he can really hear you.

“Ain’t no way in hell I’m letting you drive my baby,” he slurs but you're already fishing through his leather jacket pockets.

“Try and stop me, pretty boy,” you say it as a tease- reprimand for the nicknames he’s bugged you with- but it rolls off your tongue with more meaning than you intended.

He doesn’t fight you as you head off to the hidden location of the Impala. The rain drenched you quickly but you don’t let that slow you down. Dean needs you.

Dean would fight more- he really would. If this were a situation where you needed him or Sammy needed him, he could fight past the haze of blood loss. He could drive his own damn car to safety. If he really needed to, he’s sure his body could supply enough adrenaline to power him through his own petty pain. But that’s just it. He doesn’t need to, and in all reality he can’t but it’s just that if he convinces himself that he’s choosing to let you take care of him then that’s less embarrassing then failing you.

He forces on his consciousness, waiting for the familiar growl of his precious Baby. His chariot to take him far from here and to shelter him in times of need.

And there it is.

He peels his eyes open enough to see you emerge for his car and goddamn. Your clothes are wet and stuck against your skin- his flannel hugging your torso like he should be. To see you in his clothes and in the driver's seat of his car is enough to feel his heart stutter.

“Let’s get you situated,” you announce, slipping your arm to its previous hold around his body. He stands with more strength now and you feel your worry dampen. Dean doesn’t argue and doesn’t make a comment about you driving his car again but he does mumble something about you letting him get in the car by himself so you can get out of the rain. You don’t listen and it ignites the familiar burn of anger in his chest that he’s actually used to with you.

After making sure he’s settled, you close his door and round back to the driver's side, pulling out of the driveway and carefully navigating through the foggy rain and back to the motel.

Light conversation buzzes between you in a primary attempt to keep him awake but also a secondary want to continue to just chat. You’ve never really just talked with him like this before. When you first met, he was quick to flirt and when you weren’t receptive you assumed he took it to heart and turned cold on you. You don’t recognize that Dean right now in the slightest.

He’s able to walk by himself by the time you make it back to the motel. He stumbles out of the car in a stubborn attempt to prove such but you remind him that just because he technically can doesn’t mean he should be expected to. He doesn’t mention how much your statement actually resonates with him.

“Sit,” you instruct, placing him on the king bed that reminds you of your sleeping arrangements. It’s a subtle irk but not enough for you to dwell on again, you have bigger problems to deal with at present. You grab your first aid kit and shuffle through the items and get to work.

The heat is blasting and you managed to get a towel to wrap around his damp frame to keep him from shivering but he’s also got enough energy to combat you, so now you’ve ended up with the towel around your shoulders.

“How’re you feeling?” You ask as you pour the disinfectant over the wound. He hisses but answers the distraction in the form of a question.

“Fine, sweetheart, don’t worry about me,” he says in his usual gruff. No longer slurring. Progress.

“Too late,” you murmur, cleaning the stained blood.

“Awe, someone starting to care? Who gave you a heart?” Dean smirks. You don’t entertain the usual banter.

“You could’ve died,” the words pass your lips with a slight waver. You dry the wound, starting to dress it.

“But I didn’t,” Dean reminds, his eyes watching yours for any hint as to why you got so freaked.

“Yeah,” you say out of obligation and not belief.

“Hey,” he reaches up to stop your working hands and when you don’t meet his gaze and calls your name. “I’m okay,” he repeats once your eyes meet his- you couldn’t help yourself with the way your name sounded on his tongue. “I’ve survived a lot worse.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“It’s meant to.”

You sigh, looking down at his hands around your own now idle ones.

“Okay,” you finally agree, hoping the false belief will settle your nerves enough.

“It’s gonna take a lot more than that to get rid of me,” he jokes with a smirk, “you know how persistent I can be,” he winks and you roll your eyes even if his wink bubbles something in you that’s never been effected by him like that before.

“Shut up and let me finish this,” you push aside his hold and secure the bandage to his skin. After packing back up the kit you start to stand but Dean stops you. His hand grips your wrist gently but the gravity of something not physical pulls you against your will. His lips part like he wants to say something but he doesn’t. He almost looks ashamed as he drops his hold on you like it’s burned him.

“What?” you ask, your voice a whisper.

“Nothin’, sorry,” he shakes his head, averting his gaze.

“You can tell me,” it’s not something you’d ever expect to offer but you can quite help yourself when he looks so pathetic.

“We should get into some dry clothes.”

“Yeah, sure,” you agree, knowing that’s not what he was talking about but accepting it as it is. You grab your bag and get out some comfortable clothes for sleep. You excuse yourself to the bathroom but curse at the broken latch.

“No peeking,” you warn after alerting Dean to the issue and he just scoffs a smirk.

“No promises.” And fuck, he’s glad he didn’t make it because through the crack he catches a glimpse of your shimmering skin as you dry off and replace your outfit with a pair of sleep shorts and a way too big shirt. He admires the cozy feel your clothes give you. As you exit the bathroom he clears his throat and busies himself with getting his bed ready on the couch.

“What’re you doing?” You ask as he lays a blanket over the couch.

“Getting ready for bed,” he says as if it’s a stupid question.

“We can share a bed, Dean, it won’t kill ya,” you use his own remark from earlier against him. You don’t know why he’s suddenly so docile. You worry maybe the injury burned him of his usual spark. “Seriously, don’t make me watch you sleep crunched up on that couch,” you insist.

“Fine,” he subsides, making his way back over to you and the bed. You start to crawl under the covers, sticking to your side but the radiating heat of how close he is makes you want to scooch closer.

“Night, Dean,” you say as he flicks the lamp off but he’s quiet and unmoving, like he has some sort of unfinished business. You push yourself up on your elbow and look back at him sitting on the edge of the bed. “Okay seriously, what’s up with you?”

No response.

“Dean?”

He sighs, turning to look back at you as well. His profile is illuminated by the moonlight pouring in from a split in the curtains.

“Thank you,” his voice is small like you’ve never expected he was capable of. You sit up fully, turning to him with your legs folded.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you shake your head, a small smile pulling up your lips. He doesn’t return the expression.

“You’re a good hunter, yaknow,” he compliments like he won’t get another chance to tell you so. You smile a bit bigger.

“Dean Winchester, did you just flatter me?” You tease.

“You’re strong and resilient,” he continues and your smile falters a bit due to your confusion. “Stubborn and a pain in my ass,” his expression remains a softened yearn. “I never knew why you got to me so damn bad. You’re smart and funny and captivating,” he snaps his jaw like he crossed a line and his cheeks flush. “I- I think I know now,” he finishes after a beat.

“Know what?” You ask, your heart puttering in your chest.

“Why I can’t get you off my mind,” his eyes dip down to your lips, “why, no matter what I do, I can’t forget you,” he looks so pained. So conflicted.

It hits. It all hits. His helpful offerings, your banter, the way he responded to your touch, and the way you felt yourself reciprocating his apparent feelings.

You lean in, you can’t help it, he’s so beautiful in this light- the way his eyes sparkle under it- but he tenses as you get too close so you halt.

“What are you afraid of?” You ask with a simple head tilt.

“I uh-, haven’t got that one worked out just yet,” he scoffs simply and his smile forces a small one of your own.

“Then just shut up for a minute,” you shake your head, leaning in and placing a soft kiss against his lips. It’s almost a ghost of a kiss but you can feel the emotion he funnels into it. He’s soft and gentle at first but his desperation takes over, leading the kiss through a dizzying spiral as he guides you into the mattress, hovering over you and encapsulating you with his radiating heat.

He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop kissing you until you’re unsure where your clothes have ended up. He doesn’t stop kissing you until you forget your own name. He doesn’t stop kissing you until your breathless pants slow from your high.

And when all is said and done, he doesn’t stop holding you through the night until the warmth of the sun blesses your exposed skin.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

>tags: @blossomingorchids @areswasneverhere

#supernatural #fanfiction #fandom #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #supernatural fandom #spnfandom #spn fanfic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #supernatural x you #supernatural x reader #dean winchester one shot #supernatural one shot #dean winchester angst #enemies to lovers

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