#I can’t just tag this as ‘daddy’ with no context I will not do that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lovelyhan · 1 year ago

Text

— caught in the middle ⟢

mingyu knows. he’s perfectly aware that his best friend’s girlfriend is the last person he should end up wanting. but who is he to refuse when wonwoo invites him to join something he never thought he could ever be part of?

★ FEATURING; wonwoo x reader x mingyu

★ WORD COUNT; 15.8k words

★ TAGS; established relationship, streamer au, one-sided pining (or is it!!!), fluff, mild angst, smut (MINORS DNI)

★ WARNINGS; mentions of twitter porn, sex tapes, mentions of infidelity (there's none of that here though), lots of guilt-ridden thoughts on gyu's end

★ NOTES; i'm literally several days late but happiest birthday to the man i enjoy writing for wayyyy too much, wonwoo <3 it's been four months since i last revisited the streamer series, and i'm glad to finally make good on that teaser i left in the second part :]

★ BEFORE YOU READ; i highly recommend reading the first two stories in the series first bc as much as i wanted to let readers consume this as a standalone, context is still really important for the story i want to tell!

this is part of the game over series!

★ SMUT TAGS; oral (m&f receiving), vaginal fingering, daddy kink, pet names (puppy for gyu), threesome, spitroasting, unprotected sex, creampie, cum eating, aftercare

★ PERMANENT TAGLIST; @cheolhub - @pretty-trustme - @just-here-to-read-01 - @ldkmelkro - @dejavernon - @venusrae - @jyiiscool - @jiniesclub - @junhui-recs - @bldelaine - @featmia - @fruitzcup - @hoeforhao - @candidupped - @billboard-singer - @caratochan - @novalpha - @dahliatopia - @0717luv - @shiveringgaze - @toruro - @mixling-blog - @minnie-mouser22 - @homerunhansol - @mirtaspace - @ti--red - @zzucculent - @woozarts - @rubyreduji - @mozellerra - @lllucere - @cheolzip - @jjjzzz - @lissiesykes - @jeonride - @meowmeowminnie - @colored-confetti - @partiallyinfluencial - @speaknowlwt

★ MINGYU & WONWOO TAGLIST; @yoonzinoooo - @emmmui - @swinterr - @wolfhardbby - @scandal-in-bohemia

★ FIC/SERIES TAGLIST; @ressonancee - @smooore - @wave2love - @jjongjjongiesworld - @mimi14berrybear - @hanniebanggi - @havetaeminforbreakfast - @slut4donghyuck - @delulu4-life - @aurumness - @mingyucookies - @noonareads - @hafuunkjw - @strxbrymilkkuu

part one - part two - part three - part four

This is, by far, the worst day of Mingyu’s life.

Okay, maybe he’s exaggerating, but he likes to think that he’s a man of routine. If he doesn’t get to do his morning rituals right before his streams, it feels like the world has been tilted a few degrees off its proper axis.

And that’s exactly what’s happening now, when Mingyu realizes that his favorite Twitter porn account is nowhere to be found.

How the hell is he supposed to get his daily dose of relief now?

“Mingyu, you’re dragging your ass a lot today,” Seungcheol’s voice sounds pissed through his headphones and Mingyu can’t exactly fault him for it. Not when he ended up making their team lose their third Valorant match in a row. “The hell’s up with you? I thought you already practiced using Gekko with Vernon the other day.”

“We did and he was actually pretty good,” the younger man comments. “Dunno what suddenly got into him today though.”

“Cheol-hyung, you shouldn’t berate Mingyu when you royally sucked at using Neon during the time she was first released,” Wonwoo quips.

Seungcheol immediately makes a disgruntled noise at that. “I did not royally suck! She just doesn’t fit my playstyle. And I get that you guys are glued to the hip at this point, but you of all people should know when to call out your teammates especially if they’re being a bunch of noobs, Wonwoo.”

“Now, now, didn’t we already talk about this? No fighting when we’re only doing a bunch of scrimmages between friends.”

A less abrasive voice flits into the call and Mingyu finds himself relaxing into his seat as he stares at the glowing red DEFEAT screen on his monitor. Ever since you and Wonwoo finally dropped the act of hating each other and started dating, you’ve constantly mediated any petty arguments that sparked within their group. Mingyu is all sorts of grateful, but also just a tad bit embarrassed whenever he’s part of the argument in question.

“Yeah, what she said,” Wonwoo agrees with a huff.

“Whatever, man. Koyahngi has watered down your temper so much, it makes me look like the most easily tilted player on the team,” Seungcheol grumbles before adding, “Ugh. Couples.”

Vernon laughs softly. “Crazy how you’re the one who always insisted for Wonwoo-hyung to be kinder, but now that he is, you suddenly want him to go back to his trash-talking ways.”

“Now why’s everyone dogpiling me now!” the older man whines.

About half an hour and another lost match later, everyone decides to call it a day. Seungcheol and Vernon are going to hold a joint stream together and Mingyu needs to get ready for another modeling gig he managed to land a couple of days ago. He’s not sure what you and Wonwoo have in store for the day, but his best friend and roommate mentioned that you were going to drop by their apartment sometime today.

But when Mingyu finally deigned to grab a towel and head to the bathroom, he instead makes a detour to the couch with a desolate sigh. He unlocks his phone and opens the Twitter app like it was second nature, tapping on the button that pulls up his most recent searches.

goodcat_badcat

He absentmindedly types the username to an account that’s been his constant companion whenever he needed to let off some steam. Though he hasn’t checked her profile in a while, Mingyu was under the impression that goodcat_badcat would still be there to give him a hand especially when his schedule has been driving him insane these days.

But when the app redirects him to the main profile, the same words that greeted him when he woke up with his painfully hard morning wood stare back at him. Something went wrong. Try again.

She deactivated. His favorite Twitter porn girl is fucking gone and now he’s got nothing but despair and the bluest balls in the entire city.

“Hey.”

Mingyu jolts at the sound of Wonwoo’s voice, immediately locking his phone before tossing it on the other side of the couch as if it burned him. He’s quick to whirl around to greet him with a too-wide smile.

“Hyung, what’s up?” Mingyu asks, thanking the heavens that his voice didn’t crack.

His best friend looks at him weirdly. “Uh, do you have any plans today? We’re going out to go bowling today and she told me to ask if you wanted to come along.”

Bowling. Wonwoo sucks at bowling, but you managed to rope him into going with you anyways.

“I’d love to, but I’ve got a shoot in…” Mingyu’s voice falters before reaching for the phone he just tossed away—heart dropping to his stomach when he looks at the time. “Shit. Forty minutes.”

He doesn’t wait for Wonwoo’s response before bounding towards the bathroom with a towel in hand.

The part-time model hasn’t gotten ready faster in his entire life. Though his manager told him that the brand he’s shooting for this time isn’t strict with time, Mingyu doesn’t want to make it a habit to show up late for his commitments.

Streamers already have a bad enough image to those who aren’t part of the industry, and he wants to make it a point that not every single one of them is a slob who doesn’t shower and makes tardiness a way of life.

As he pulls on a snapback over his still-damp hair—opting to let the stylists on the set handle it for him instead—he faintly hears your voice outside of his bedroom door.

“Aww, he isn’t coming?”

“Yeah. Let’s just invite him next time,” Wonwoo’s muffled response manages to reach his ears as well.

With one last glance in the mirror, Mingyu hoists his bag across his shoulder before opening the door to his room. He spots you seated on the armrest of their couch, kicking your legs somewhat adorably before you meet his gaze with surprise.

For someone who’s supposed to be bowling today, you don’t really look the part. Of course, your signature Koyahngi cat ear headband is sitting on top of your head, as in-theme as always. You also paired up your short, pleated skirt with lace-trimmed thigh highs, and chunky white boots. Not to mention the sheer, low cut top that gives him an ample view of your cleavage…

“Gyu, do you have a photoshoot today or something?” Your question promptly snaps him out of his somewhat rude staring. “Here I thought we could team up and destroy Wonwoo together in the bowling alley.”

“As if I’d allow that,” his best friend scoffs. “Mingyu’s teaming up with me, princess. Then you’ll be crying like a loser while we get ourselves a victory treat from the snackbar.”

“We are not going to do that, and yeah, I have a photoshoot…that I’m already late for actually,” Mingyu replies with a bubble of laughter. “That’s okay. You and Wonwoo-hyung have fun. Pro-tip, he actually sucks at bowling, so you’ll score much better than he will.”

You giggle before getting back on your feet, making your way over to Mingyu faster than he can prepare himself for. He hasn’t quite noticed it as vividly as he does now, but you’re so much smaller than him—even with the added inches of your boots.

It doesn’t help that the way you’re cutely looking up at Mingyu with those pretty doe eyes as you examine his outfit is making sweat bead across his temples. Great.

“Doesn’t seem like you’re heading to a shoot though,” you laugh. “You’re going on a date, aren’t you? Who’s the lucky guy or gal? Why’d you dress up like Tadashi Hamada just to impress them?”

Wonwoo snorts. “You mean the guy who died in Big Hero 6?”

“Well, yeah, but he was also my childhood crush, so shut up, Wonwoo.”

Your childhood crush. Mingyu looks like your childhood crush.

As Mingyu watches you bicker with his roommate—your boyfriend and his best friend—he realizes something that could change the trajectory of this friendship altogether.

He might have a crush on someone he isn’t supposed to want.

Like any other sane person out there, Mingyu does his best to brush it off.

It shouldn’t be a big deal. He’s been fleetingly attracted to people who are taken before and it wouldn’t last for more than a few days before he gets over it.

Mingyu simply chalks this up to hormones. After all, it was one thing to see your promiscuous outfits on streams, but it’s another to constantly be around you in those…rather unique get-ups. As degenerate as it sounds, he is just a man. Though he definitely won’t make a move on his best friend’s girl just because you like to show up to their apartment in short skirts and tight crop tops, he can’t help the physical reaction your presence evokes from him.

Which is his exact dilemma right now.

“Nonu, you got a silencer on you?” you mutter with your feet propped up on the coffee table—eyes glued to your phone while the three of you played a new mobile-based battle royale game in the living room. “I found a shotgun. Can you drop it for—Fuck!”

Wonwoo hums beside you, glancing at your screen for only a moment before focusing on his own character. “What’s wrong?”

“Someone fucking killed me with a Type 25!”

Your boyfriend simpers. “That’s what you get for talking to me and not focusing on the game, princess.”

“I just remembered how much I hate you.”

With sulkiness in your strides, you get up from the couch before plopping yourself on the armrest of the lazyboy Mingyu’s currently occupying. He startles at your sudden switch in seats—eyes darting between you and his phone before he tells himself to focus or he’ll get wiped off the map in a blink of an eye too.

“Gyu, can you do me a favor and just let Wonwoo die if he needs help?” you coo, wrapping your arms around his bare bicep. “Teach the fucker the importance of teamwork?”

Wonwoo laughs crudely from his spot on the couch. “What happened to ‘no fighting during scrims between friends’ huh?”

“That rule doesn’t apply when I’m the one being antagonized.”

Mingyu is a little busy evading a sniper that’s trying to take him out, but he does hear Wonwoo mutter, fucking brat, under his breath. He doesn’t pay it any mind—quite used to this back-and-forth dynamic between the both of you, even before you made it official.

The rest of the round goes on for another ten or-so minutes. As if the gods answered your call, Wonwoo gets done in by a grenade, leaving Mingyu the only surviving member of your three-man team.

“Uhhh, sniper—two o’clock,” you point out, leaning closer to his screen all while pressing your tits against his arm. Mingyu lets himself think it’s not intentional. “That’s the asshole who killed me! You’ll avenge me, won’t you Gyugyu?”

God. He hasn’t even gotten used to you calling him Gyu and now you’ve suddenly got another adorable nickname up your sleeve?

But back to the sniper. He’s a little too far away for Mingyu to make quick work of and the only weapons he’s got equipped are close range. From what he can see on the kill counter, only three players remain and Mingyu just has to pray that the sniper and whoever else is left aren’t teammates and—

The flash animation of a sniper rifle going off illuminates part of his screen. The kill counter ticks up to 48 out of 50 players dead.

Mingyu doesn’t waste any more time.

You’re practically shouting into his ear as he rushes to ambush the sniper on the second floor, clutching his arm tightly as you dish out helpful words of advice. (There’s a bomb in that stairwell. Chase him on the other side!)

The game ends in a sound victory for your team when Mingyu manages to kill off the sniper with close range combat. Despite the added flourish to your reigning rank and win rates, you still tease him about how he fumbled with his weapon stash during those last few seconds—bringing out a molotov instead of a pistol like he initially intended. The six foot gamer argues that it was just the nerves and the fact that you were pressing your perky breasts into the curve of his muscles, but you don’t really have to know that last bit.

Mingyu gets so into it that he fails to notice the way his best friend’s eyes linger on him and his girlfriend for a beat longer than usual, nor is he privy to the way Wonwoo’s lips twist into a sordid smirk.

After borrowing some of Wonwoo’s clothes, you end up staying over for dinner—even going out of your way to help Mingyu in the kitchen as he whips up some kimbap for everyone in the house. Wonwoo at least has the decency to set the table while you two are busy doing the brunt of the work in preparing food and once everything is in place, you and Mingyu share a quick high five.

“We actually make a good team, huh?” you snicker.

Mingyu feels his neck prickle with heat. “Guess you can say that.”

Once your stomachs are full and the dishes are washed and put away, Wonwoo puts on a thriller on the TV. You’re still pouting because of his shitty behavior during the game, but you ultimately choose to snuggle up next to your boyfriend despite.

It’s in rare moments like this where Mingyu truly gets to observe you and Wonwoo past the dynamic you both like to parade around other people. Your fiery personalities have been tempered into something calmer. Something he’d dare to call safe.

No snide comments, no senseless bickering—only tangled limbs under a weighted blanket, snuggling yourself deeper into your boyfriend’s chest, and looking up at him with sleepy but loving eyes.

So here’s Mingyu’s predicament: you’re ridiculously attractive but also ridiculously in love with his best friend.

“Mingyu.”

He blinks up in surprise when he notices Wonwoo standing in front of Mingyu’s lazyboy, carrying you in his arms as you doze softly into his chest. The sight makes his heart twist with a kind of fondness that he was never meant to feel for you.

“Hm?” Mingyu tries to sound as casual as he can manage—forcing his eyes on the TV and away from your vulnerable form. “Guess she’s sleeping over, huh?”

His best friend hums. “I was supposed to drive her home before meeting Soonyoung and the others to grab drinks. But she hates it when I wake her up after she falls asleep like this.”

Mingyu nods. “Okay.”

“And she also hates waking up in the middle of the night all alone,” Wonwoo adds. “Which is where you come in.”

There’s a long pause in their conversation that makes Mingyu hyper aware of the steady rise and fall of your chest as you sleep in Wonwoo’s arms. You really are out cold—too deep into slumber to have any awareness of what the two men are even discussing.

“What?” Mingyu whispers, unable to pay attention to the main character walking into her doom on the television screen. “What do you mean that’s where I come into the picture? Don’t tell me you’re still going out for drinks when your sulky girlfriend’s asleep in our house.”

“It’s only for an hour or two,” Wonwoo explains before padding over to Mingyu’s—yes, Mingyu’s bedroom—before gently laying you down on the bed and pulling his blanket across your dozing form. “We’re actually meeting with our manager so I can’t talk myself out of the schedule even if I really fucking want to.”

The disbelief is still evident on Mingyu’s face. “So you’re putting me in charge of babysitting her until you come back?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Gyu. You’re just gonna sleep next to her, not clean up after her shit.”

Somehow, the fact that Wonwoo’s practically giving Mingyu permission to do that sounds more daunting than the latter. He’s much too busy gawking at the older man to give him a proper response right away.

Is this really the same guy who personally tells the perverts in your stream’s chat to fuck off when they’re being out of line? The guy who always has an arm wrapped possessively around your waist whenever you’re all out with your friends?

“Do I have a choice?” Mingyu sighs.

“If you want to deal with her all pissed off after waking up alone, then be my guest.”

“This wouldn’t be even an issue if you just did a rain check!”

“You know I’d do anything to keep her happy if I could, right?”

The pleading tone of Wonwoo’s voice takes Mingyu aback for half a moment before he gets his bearings straight. It shouldn’t be a surprise to him, how your boyfriend treats you like a goddamn princess. No matter how much you rile each other up where everyone can see, at the end of the day, Wonwoo is still the type of lover who puts great value in the smallest things.

The guy takes your fucking napping habits into consideration when making decisions between his personal life and his career. Even going out of his way to inconvenience his own best friend just so you wouldn’t wake up all alone.

If that isn’t love, Mingyu doesn’t know what is.

“Fine,” Mingyu relents. “Just make sure you’ll be back in two hours or else I’ll call your manager and tell him the apartment caught fire.”

Wonwoo flicks him painfully on the forehead as he walks back to the living room, making Mingyu roll back onto the cushions with a groan. “Don’t crack jokes like that when my girlfriend’s over at our place.”

“Wow.” Mingyu scowls. “So it’s okay for the apartment to go up in flames if I’m alone?”

His best friend doesn’t even hesitate. “Pretty much, yeah.”

Thirty minutes later, Wonwoo has already left for his evening plans and Mingyu is left to clean the leftover snacks off the coffee table as the end credits roll on the TV. The door to his bedroom has been left ajar so he can at least keep an eye on you in his peripheral while he tidies up.

He’s supposed to do a chill, late night stream, but seeing as his room has another occupant this evening, he might have to go on Twitter to let his subscribers know about the change in schedules. But that would leave Mingyu with nothing else to do aside from going to bed early.

Meaning, he’d have to lie next to you. On his bed.

Mingyu immediately shoots the idea down, plopping himself back on the sofa all while trying not to glance in the general direction of his room.

This is fine. This is okay. There’s nothing remotely wrong about his best friend’s girlfriend sleeping on his bed even if Wonwoo could’ve just dumped you in his own room instead. He could just play a few games on his PS5 until you woke up on your own or until Wonwoo comes back from his night out. Whichever happens first.

So that’s exactly what Mingyu does.

About an hour of playing through where he left off in his last Elden Ring save file, he’s so engrossed in the cutscene that he doesn’t notice you rising from the comfort of his bed—rubbing your eyes as you look around the room you’re in with mild confusion.

Just when the next boss fight begins, Mingyu is promptly spooked when the cushions dip beneath the weight of another person, letting out an undignified yelp as his eyes dart to the unknown figure wrapping their arms around his bicep—

Then he realizes it’s you.

“Eepy…” you mumble, eyes still drooping as you nuzzle his arm.

Mingyu scowls for a moment. Did you just say eepy?

Fuck, that’s so cute, he muses to himself before forcing his gaze back on the TV before Godrick the Grafted could cleave Mingyu’s character in half with a giant axe.

The daunting in-game OST coupled with the jarring sound-effects of weapons clashing together probably isn’t the best thing to wake up to, but with how you quietly bury yourself in the warmth of his body, Mingyu figures that you probably don’t mind.

He isn’t sure if you’ve decided to continue your nap or watch whatever he’s doing on the screen, given that he’s dedicated much of his attention span in trying not to get killed. But despite having been in the same position as other girls he’s dated before—them clinging to his arm as he plays through some gory open-world RPG—it’s the first time Mingyu has ever felt nervous.

Maybe it’s because you’re a streamer yourself that he doesn’t have it in him to flex his superior gamer prowess like he usually does. But with that thought in mind, shouldn’t he be more inclined to show off? To brag about how he can dodge and parry the enemy’s coordinated attacks effortlessly when Wonwoo can’t even switch his healing items without fumbling with the controls?

Then he remembers that tiny, minuscule crush he has. And the fact that the person he has that tiny, minuscule crush on is snuggling against him like a cat.

Mingyu barely gets to the second phase of the boss fight without his head imploding from vertigo.

“That looks really…gross,” you murmur just when the next cutscene starts and Godrick the Grafted sticks his amputated arm into the corpse of a nearby dragon. So you are watching him play. “Is he trying to assimilate with it or something?”

Mingyu offers up a soft hum. “He grafts his own body parts from other beings to get stronger, so…yeah.”

“Hm. So he’s using a dragon’s head to replace his missing arm?”

“You’re pretty clever for someone who just woke up.”

You huff. “For your information, I don’t just play cutesy games all the time. Who do you think finished Wonwoo’s save file for Dark Souls 3?

Mingyu simpers as he jumps out of the way of Godrick’s flamethrower. “You? Playing Dark Souls, of all things? You don’t have to lie to impress me, you know.”

“Fuck you.”

Before he can let out a teasing laugh, you promptly yank the controller out of Mingyu’s hands—making your boyfriend’s best friend scowl as you take over the boss fight he can very much overcome on his own.

You don’t say a single word as you finish off what’s left of Godrick’s HP bar with more finesse than he’d expect for someone he thought only fucked around on Stardew Valley and Genshin Impact. Your eyes are completely glued on the TV, not even second-guessing the buttons you’re mashing. Mingyu can only watch in quiet awe when the boss belts out his death voicelines, fading into ashes as the ending cutscene comes to a close.

Then, you glance over at Mingyu with a smug look and if he thought he couldn’t be any more infatuated by you, he’s dead wrong.

“Maybe I should start playing games like this on my streams so people like you would start taking me seriously,” you flare before tossing the controller back onto his lap. “But then again I shouldn’t really give a shit about what others think about me.”

There’s a sharpness in your words that makes Mingyu think that it wasn’t just a baseless retort to his earlier jab. That makes him frown.

“What do you mean?” he wonders.

He half-expects you to trade that frown on your face with a sleazy grin in a gotcha moment he’s been unknowingly anticipating. That you’d wave away the seriousness of it all with your cheeky laughter before you’re back to watching him play again.

But it doesn’t come.

You sink further into the couch with a sigh, crossing your arms together as you prop your legs on the coffee table. The fact that you’re wearing nothing but Wonwoo’s shirt makes Mingyu instinctively lead his eyes away from the way the hem rides up your thighs.

“Nothing. Just go back to playing your stupid game.”

Unfortunately for you, Mingyu is having none of it. “Hey, I get that I said something that pissed you off and I’m sorry. But…do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

“Well…whatever’s bothering you.”

You shake your head. “It’s nothing. I swear. I’m just feeling a little cranky.”

Oh. Right. Wonwoo mentioned how you hated waking up alone after naps. Well, technically, you weren’t alone. His bedroom door was still wide open when he started playing in the living room, but then again he doesn’t know you well enough to be able to tell what counts as waking up alone and what doesn’t.

“Should I call Wonwoo-hyung?”

“And have him tease me to the ends of the earth when I’m already in a bad mood?” you scoff. “Pass.”

Mingyu considers his options for a moment. You’ve always been quite bubbly and energetic when you’re over at their apartment. This is probably the first time he’s seen you act so grumpy and it’s been a while since he’s dealt with moody girlfriends so he isn’t sure what to make of the situation.

But then a lone thought wanders inside his head.

“Do you…want to go back to bed?”

He wonders if it’s a stupid question. You’re very much awake now that he accidentally tripped on the proverbial land mine that is your emotional disposition. Mingyu is already expecting you to decline, but the hard lines on your faces suddenly soften.

Then, with a quiet and considerably less disgruntled voice:

“I’d like that. Yeah.”

Maybe he should’ve worded his offer better.

By ‘go back to bed’, Mingyu actually meant that he’d help you into Wonwoo’s room—into Wonwoo’s bed—because one: he’s your boyfriend; and two: given that you’re both planning to go to sleep for real, you wouldn’t have to wake up alone anymore since Wonwoo would already be home before morning.

So why the fuck is he staring at the wall right next to his bed with your arm draped around his body as you dozed off behind him? Never mind that you were spooning a six-foot man with considerable body mass. You’re Wonwoo’s girlfriend. You’re not supposed to be sleeping in the same bed as your boyfriend’s best friend.

But despite his warring thoughts, Mingyu doesn’t move an inch. He doesn’t take any action to convince you to just sleep in Wonwoo’s room instead because that’s what’s right and proper, all things considered.

No, he just lets your hands dip beneath his shirt in your slumber, tracing the lines of his toned stomach every now and again. Mingyu tells himself it must be a habit you picked up from all the times you’ve slept right next to Wonwoo and that your body is just seeking that same kind of comfort in his absence.

You don’t have to know about how he feels himself grow hard when your pert nipples brush against his back every time you shift behind him.

And you definitely don’t have to know that he eventually peeled himself away from your heated embrace to jack himself off in the bathroom before retiring to the couch for the rest of the night.

It’s a secret that he simply has to take to his grave.

“Mingoo-yah, you’re spacing out again.”

Mingyu only feels half as bad as he should be for not listening to Jeonghan when the older man was in the middle of telling him about a brand collaboration offer he’s contemplating on accepting. Being the only two out of their friend group of thirteen to actively take up modeling gigs on the side, he’s close enough with Jeonghan to know he isn’t the kind of person who easily takes offense in things like that.

But one thing Mingyu does know about Jeonghan is that the older’s intuition is much too sharp for anyone’s liking.

“You’ve been inviting me out a lot lately,” Jeonghan remarks as he points the mouth of his beer bottle at Mingyu. “Are you trying to avoid something back at home? Is Wonwoo being an asshole to you?”

The lilt in his words clues Mingyu in on the fact that Jeonghan knows damn well that’s far from the reason that he’s been out of the apartment more frequently these days. He wonders if there’s any use to lying to someone who can see through any sort of farce before letting out a withering sigh.

“Hyung,” he starts, taking a sip out of his own beer as he chooses his words carefully. “Have you…ever wanted something you can’t have?”

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. “Kim Mingyu? Not getting something he wants? My, all those ambassador offers and that long line of men and women alike doing everything they can for a chance to even speak with you would beg to differ.”

Yeah, but those people aren’t my best friend’s girlfriend, Mingyu wants to say but doesn’t, for obvious reasons.

“You’re avoiding the question,” he whines instead.

Jeonghan lets out a soft chuckle before popping one of the bar’s complimentary corn chips into his mouth. “Well, to simply answer that: no. I’ve never wanted anything I can’t have because I always get what I want. All I need is to set my mind on having it and I’ll figure out the rest along the way.”

“But what if… What if I ended up hurting someone if I pursued it?” Mingyu asks, trying his best to make the topic as ambiguous as possible. “That’s the last thing I want to do so the only way I can really deal with it is to just stop wanting it, you know?”

For a moment, Jeonghan doesn’t respond—lazy eyes trained on the younger man as he assesses what he’s been told. His gaze makes Mingyu a little nervous. Has he already ratted himself out? Has Jeonghan already put the pieces together in his head?

“From the way you’re going about all this, getting over it seems like a far cry into the future. And I’m well aware that you’re not a patient man, Mingyu,” he chortles with a shake of his head. “You’re understanding—considerate, even. But if I know you as well as I think I do, then there’s only so much endurance you can exercise when it comes to something you want that badly.

“If you want my advice, then I’ll go ahead and tell you to just negotiate with the person you’re supposedly going to hurt when you finally go after whatever this thing of yours is. If he declines, then you can walk away knowing you tried. If he agrees on some sort of…compromise, then wouldn’t that make you less miserable?”

God. Fuck. Talking to Jeonghan about this was probably the worst decision he’s made in his life. Mingyu wonders if he’d still be saying the same things if he knew exactly what—more precisely, who—they were even talking about.

You’re at their apartment right now, probably snuggled up on the couch again—watching movies while engaging your boyfriend in occasional banter like you usually do. It’s a routine that the two of you have lulled yourselves into ever since you started dating and Mingyu would be a fucking dick for wanting to ruin that all because he can’t deal with the fact that he’s helplessly attracted to you.

He can’t even sleep in his own goddamn bed without his brain going back to the night you lied so peacefully right next to him. Whenever his thoughts start to swim into dangerous territory, Mingyu tries so hard to suppress them by just going to sleep—only to end up fucking his painfully hard cock into his fist before coming all over the sheets with the taste of your name still sizzling on his tongue.

Later that night, a woman in a pretty black dress goes up to him and Jeonghan with a flirtatious strut that Mingyu would’ve latched onto if he was the same man he was a few months prior. She offers to buy them a few cocktails as a treat before leading Mingyu to the dark hallway that led to the dingy bathrooms with an expectant look in her sharply winged eyes.

It doesn’t really take much to get him hard—he’s just a man after all. So when the woman whose name he knows she told him but promptly forgot gets on her knees on the dirty tiled floor, Mingyu thinks it’s perfectly normal for him to let her take his heavy length down her throat for some much needed relief.

What’s not normal is the way he pictures you in her place instead. That it was you deepthroating him like you were born without a gag reflex. You choking so adorably around his length as tears start to make your makeup run in gray streaks across your cheeks. You swallowing every last drop he spills into your awaiting mouth as he catches his breath against the bathroom door.

The woman was probably expecting some reciprocation on Mingyu’s end and while he’s normally a gentleman about these kinds of things, he promptly zips himself back up before leaving her alone in that dirty bathroom without another word.

To his surprise, Jeonghan is still there at their table, tapping away on his phone with a look of mild interest lining his gaze. Mingyu asks him what’s up.

“Wonwoo’s celebrating his birthday this year with everyone,” he chimes. “You would know when Soonyoung’s blowing up gen chat, but you were kind of busy getting your dick wet.”

Now that genuinely takes him by surprise.

While his best friend isn’t some brooding edgelord that thinks celebrating birthdays is overrated, Wonwoo has always preferred commemorating it in intimate spaces. He usually just orders some fancier take out than their usual Chinese fast food and Mingyu buys him a silly cat-themed cake for him to blow out the candles on.

But as Mingyu brings himself up to speed about what went down in their server over the last thirty minutes, he can now confirm that Jeonghan wasn’t bluffing at all.

Wonwoo: Dinner at Jungsik Dang at 7 PM on the 17th. The actual thing starts at 8 but you assholes have a thing for being late all the time.

Soonyoung: nice. i’ll leave my house at 10

Chan: Loser. I’ll leave at midnight

Seungkwan: Maybe you shouldn’t have announced the real time the program starts, hyung.

“You’ll be there, won’t you?”

Jeonghan’s question makes Mingyu look up from the Discord conversation on his phone and into the older man’s eyes. There’s a look he can quite pin down on his face and Mingyu isn’t quite sure what to make of it.

“Of course,” he says, throat tightening for reasons even he can’t name. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Mingyu doesn’t really count the time left before Wonwoo’s birthday—much too preoccupied with his own schedules to notice the days passing by. But as busy as he is, at least he doesn’t have to keep inviting Jeonghan out for an excuse to go outside the apartment whenever you’re paying a visit.

If Wonwoo has noticed Mingyu’s evasive behavior, he never really shows it. The older man still greets Mingyu everyday with a curt nod, retreating to his own bedroom before doing his morning streams. Wonwoo seems none the wiser to his best friend’s predicament and Mingyu prefers it that way.

But while it’s much easier to avoid Wonwoo’s scrutiny, you’re an entirely different case.

Mingyu comes home late one evening after a niche fashion event that one of his contacts personally invited him to attend. He doesn’t really get why he even reached out to him, given the fact that Mingyu’s modeling scene is a far cry from whatever haute couture bullshit they’ve got going on there.

The only reason he deigned to show up is because of the stories about the organizer’s after parties that his said contact mentioned in passing. Well, that and the invitation was extended to him on a night you were staying over at their place.

Mingyu is more than a little drunk when he stumbles inside the apartment—kicking his boots off with a huff as his inebriated eyes parse through the dim lights. He sighs, an airy smile gracing his lips as he recalls this evening’s events.

Sure, he enjoys those quiet drinking sessions he shared with Jeonghan just fine, but Mingyu isn’t past admitting that he misses partying like he did when he was still in college. In fact, he actually had the chance to go home with one of the pretty models that took the runway.

She’d been making moony eyes at him all evening and Mingyu would’ve let her whisk him off to whatever five-star accommodation she’s staying in if only he hadn’t promised to guest on Soonyoung’s charity stream the next morning.

So here he is, leaning against the kitchen counter as he drunkenly smiles at the last text his would-be conquest—her name’s Suji—sent five minutes ago. She told him to don’t forget to wash up before you sleep and have fun at your stream tomorrow <3

Suji is adorable. Fun to be with even if Mingyu only spent a total of two hours mingling with her in the high-end afterparty venue. Never did he imagine that a literal supermodel would even be remotely interested in what he does for a living, but the world is full of surprises like that.

In fact, it’s so full of surprises that Mingyu ends up dropping the glass of water in his hand when he sees you emerge from Wonwoo’s bedroom.

“Jeez, Gyu,” you mumble as you stare at the mess he made—hundreds of shards glimmering against the wet floor. “I know you’re clumsy but you never really break things by accident.”

Mingyu swallows thickly, wanting to say that you were the one who surprised him out of nowhere, but his eyes completely zero in on the conspicuous bruises that litter your throat and collarbones like a disconnected necklace.

All it takes is one brief glance at his best friend’s bedroom—to which you left the door completely open—for Mingyu to confirm the suspicions wriggling in the back of his head.

Wonwoo is lying on his stomach, bare back sporting scratch marks that Mingyu has teased him about before while his lower half is completely hidden beneath your favorite weighted blanket. He’s completely still as he sleeps, chest rising and falling with steady breathing.

When Mingyu dares to look at you again, he suddenly forgets about what happened at the afterparty; about Suji and her thoughtful texts.

Because how can he think of anything else when you’re right in front of him, freshly fucked by his best friend?

“What are you—?! Mingyu!”

He doesn’t listen when you scold him for picking up the bigger glass shards off the floor with his bare hands. He needs to focus on everything but your pebbled nipples peeking through the fabric of Wonwoo’s shirt. The hem fluttering across your bare thighs. The way your face is still flushed with sleep and what Mingyu presumes is that post-orgasmic haze.

Because if he doesn’t, he might just end up doing something he’ll regret for a lifetime and more.

But it’s just as you said earlier—Mingyu is clumsy; even more so when he’s had way too many Jägerbombs than his tolerance can actually handle. So he isn’t really surprised when one of the sharp edges splits the skin of his hand open, blood quickly seeping through the wound as he unceremoniously drops the shards he collected on the kitchen island with a hiss.

“You’re such a big idiot,” you groan before marching off to the bathroom.

When you come back with the first-aid kit that Mingyu himself had stocked when he and Wonwoo moved in, the first thing that comes to mind is how you’re pretty much a regular fixture in their home now. You know where the first-aid kit is. You know where Mingyu keeps the brooms and mops and dustpans. You know that he doesn’t like leaving messes in the house even if it’s a mess that Mingyu himself was responsible for making.

You’ve inserted yourself seamlessly into his and Wonwoo’s daily lives and Mingyu isn’t certain how long he can keep pretending that isn’t the case.

“Just leave the shards be,” you grumble before dragging him off to the sink. “Let’s clean it up after I clean you up.”

Mingyu remains silent as you apply ample pressure on the wound, listening to you mutter about how the bleeding has to stop first before it can be disinfected. He doesn’t really process much of what you have to say—too caught up in how his pulse roars in his ears from the way your fingers press firmly against his own.

He’s vaguely aware of his phone buzzing every now and again where he left it on the counter, but Mingyu doesn’t even feel the least bit apologetic for leaving Suji hanging more than he already has.

Right now, you’re the only one that matters.

“Alright, I think it clotted pretty nicely,” you observe with a small, relieved smile as you lift the piece of cotton you used to stem the bleeding. “Go wash your hands, big boy. Sit with me on the couch after so I can wrap a bandage around it.”

If he was even the slightest bit sober, Mingyu would’ve huffed and insisted that he can do that by himself. It’s not like he sliced off his entire arm like he did with Godrick the Grafted when you watched him play Elden Ring a few weeks back.

But Mingyu isn’t sober and all his stupid, drunk brain is telling him is to do as you say because he knows it’ll make you less worried.

Your touch is weighted with tenderness as you patch up the gash on Mingyu’s finger. There are no sordid remarks about his carelessness to be said—only the implicit concern that permeates off your being and rings in his ears. But even if Mingyu’s head is still swimming with liquor, he’s empathic enough to be able to tell that him dropping a glass of water isn’t the only thing you’re upset about tonight.

“Gyu, did I do something wrong?” you murmur, smoothing your thumb across the bandage once it’s in place. “You’ve been avoiding us a lot lately.”

He finds your choice of words a little…interesting.

Of course, Mingyu wouldn’t put it past you to notice that he’s been noticeably absent in the apartment these days. But for you to assume that it’s because of something you alone have done and not include Wonwoo in the narrative? You know him so well, it makes his chest burn with an emotion he can’t name.

Or maybe he’s just really fucking drunk.

“Why would I be avoiding you?” Mingyu chuckles, resting the back of his head against the cushions as he stares at the ceiling in a pathetic attempt at playing it cool. “I’ve just been a little busy is all. Don’t tell me Wonwoo-hyung misses me or something.”

“Maybe. But what if I miss you, too?”

The silence that follows is a little too loud in Mingyu’s ears.

You can’t do that. You can’t ask him questions that he doesn’t know the answer to.

Mingyu isn’t sure which robs him of coherent thought more: you in killer outfits and flawless makeup or you in one of Wonwoo’s old white shirts, barefaced and vulnerable as you scrutinize him with a pleading look in the middle of their living room.

He wishes he could just go back to the time when he just knew you as an up-there Twitch streamer that he suspected his best friend was fucking around with. Things were much simpler when Mingyu was merely a spectator in Wonwoo's complicated love life. But now, he’s slowly getting to know you past all the sexy cat girl cosplay and the fanservice. Past the back-and-forth banter with your boyfriend that Mingyu was once content with observing from the sidelines.

Did Wonwoo suffer through the same kind of epiphany before you started dating? It’s no secret that your boyfriend had a stick up his ass when it came to acknowledging how he felt about you, but Mingyu doesn’t fault him for it. He knows damn well that there’s just something about you that attracts people like magnets with polar ends.

People like Wonwoo and Mingyu who are helpless to your unknowing charm.

But the difference between him and his best friend is that Mingyu has no right to feel the way he does. He’s lucky enough to get to see sides of you that you’d never show to your subscribers and he told himself that he’ll never pursue anything past that—no matter how badly he wants to.

Yet the fact remains that Mingyu is just a man too drunk to deal with all of this right now, and you’re playing your cards a little too well, whether you know it or not.

“You’re saying that you miss me when hyung is already giving you splendid company?” Mingyu laughs airily, letting his eyes flutter shut because if he holds your gaze any longer, he might just combust right there. “You wouldn’t be hanging out here so much if he wasn’t, right?”

You’re quiet for a moment, eyes boring into Mingyu as if you’re looking for something he’s desperately trying to hide. He loathes and loves how perceptive you are, but if he isn’t careful, he might end up jeopardizing your friendship for good.

Then quietly, you ask:

“Have you not considered that maybe I hang out here a lot because of you?”

Before the words can even settle inside his head, you flatten your palms against his thigh, leaning in so close, Mingyu is certain you hear the way his breath hitches. Your eyes crinkle in the dim lights as you offer up a smile with just a little more intent than he’d expect you to show.

When Mingyu’s gaze flickers to the collection of love bites you’ve amassed on your neck, his traitorous brain wonders how it would feel like to sink his teeth into your skin. To litter your throat with his marks, to have you writhing against his touch.

“I could always just invite Wonwoo to my place, no?” you murmur, each word making the back of Mingyu’s neck prickle with heat. “But I insist on coming over here instead ‘cause I actually like hanging out with my boyfriend’s best friend.”

Then, as if his entire world was plunged into slow motion, you press your lips closer to Mingyu’s ear—one hand braced against his firm chest as he feels you grin against his lobe.

“After all, we make such a good team. Right, Gyugyu?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck—

“We do make a good team. See? You patched me all up!” Mingyu laughs heartily before begrudgingly peeling himself away from your touch. “I’m a little sleepy though. Do you want to help me clean up or not?”

He knows he’s overcompensating, but if he doesn’t get away from you now…

Mingyu doesn’t even want to know what he’ll do.

When he deigns to look at you again, the heated look in your eyes hasn’t dissipated. You even make a fucking show of swiping your tongue across your bottom lip, staring up at your boyfriend’s best friend like you want to just…eat him up.

But that can’t be right. He’s seen how enamored you are with Wonwoo.

You couldn’t possibly be…

“I’m a little sleepy too,” you admit, stifling a yawn that’s obviously fake. “I think I’ve already helped you enough for tonight, big guy. You go clean up that little mess you made ‘cause I’m going back to bed.”

Back to Wonwoo’s side—Mingyu reminds himself firmly.

He doesn’t really have to be told twice, nodding in agreement as he shuffles over to the kitchen and grabs the cleaning paraphernalia you were kind enough to bring out earlier. The dull ache in Mingyu’s temples makes it easy for him to do everything in silence. But of course that’s the last thing you’ll willingly give to him.

“By the way,” you start, twisting your torso halfway around to face him. The action makes Wonwoo’s shirt ride even further up your thighs and Mingyu fears he’ll have to clean up another growing mess in his jeans if he wants to get some sleep tonight.

“Suji’s been texting you non-stop. It would be rude to just keep her hanging, no?”

Figurative alarm bells start going off inside his head as his mouth hangs loose. You flash him a grin that’s much too smug for him to miss, greeting him good night, Mingyu before shutting the door to Wonwoo’s room behind you.

When he’s just about done throwing the glass shards in the trash and mopping up the water he splashed all over the floor, he retreats into the comfort of his own bedroom. He doesn’t reply to any of Suji’s text messages even after he gets changed into more comfortable clothes.

Not when he’s now fully aware that you know.

You know that he’s got the hots for you. You know that he’d drop any other semi-attractive person he’s using to distract himself the moment you throw him scraps of your attention. He feels like a helpless fucking puppy with how easy it is for you to unknowingly lead him by the nose.

Here we have another one of Mingyu’s many dilemmas in life. The object of his frustrated affections, the person he wants the most might just want him back.

The issue? Her boyfriend—his best friend—has no fucking clue.

Vernon isn’t someone that Mingyu frequently hangs out with. Out of all the three other GAM3 BO1s, the youngest is probably the one that he spends time with the least. But that doesn’t mean that Mingyu enjoys his company less than the company of his other friends. In hindsight, Vernon could easily be his favorite of the younger streamers in their entire friend group.

So when Vernon asks him for some tips on making his own gym routine, Mingyu sees no problem in showing up to give his friend some advice.

Surprisingly enough, when Mingyu arrives in his and Wonwoo’s usual place, he spots Seungkwan in the waiting lounge with Vernon as well.

“What came over you guys when you suddenly decided that you wanted to work out?” Mingyu laughs as he leads the odd pair to the locker rooms. “When we last asked about it on the server, most of you were being such prissy little shits about it.”

“Hey, we so work out!” Seungkwan complains with a huff. “We just don’t go to the gym. Get your facts straight, Kim Mingyu.”

As things are, Vernon wants to build his core strength while Seungkwan wants to focus on cardio. He tries his best to instruct them as effectively as he can all while getting his usual routine over with. Mingyu was supposed to try adding more weights to his deadlifts but with his attention divided between his two friends, he figures that he shouldn’t risk accidentally dropping a 150-kilograms’ worth of weights on his feet.

They’re all absorbed in their own work for about thirty minutes until Seungkwan eventually hops off the treadmill and collapses dramatically on the matted floor.

“I need a water break,” he wheezes and Mingyu laughs as he offers him a bottle.

During their quick break, Vernon whips out his phone and puts on a Twitch stream for the three of them to watch. Curiously, Mingyu peers at the screen, only to feel his stomach plummet to the pit of his stomach when he realizes whose stream it is.

Seungkwan scoffs. “There he goes again, watching Koyahngi like a closeted fan.”

“Hey, she’s playing Xenoblade Chronicles 3 today and told me to watch ‘cause I’m like, the biggest Xenoblade junkie on the server,” Vernon explains coolly while wiping off the sweat on his face.

Mingyu frowns. “Xenoblade? On a PC?”

“Yeah. She’s using an emulator.”

“That’s illegal, isn’t it? Won’t she get in trouble for live streaming it or something?”

“Oh, sweet summer child,” Seungkwan sighs as he splays his legs across the mat for a quick stretch. “You of all people should know that pretty girls like our dearest Koyahngi can get away with absolutely everything. It’s part of her charm!”

Vernon elbows Seungkwan in the stomach, to which the latter reacts with another dramatized gesture as if he’d been shot instead. Mingyu lets them banter between themselves for a few moments—choosing to focus on the stream instead.

You’re still in the middle of preparing the game you’re supposed to play on an illegal platform, dressed to the nines in full Mythra cosplay. Of course, a pair of cat ears that match the entire fit sits comfortably on your head—as is your signature look in all outfits.

“Oh wait, is Vernon here?” you muse out loud as you squint at the chat. “If you guys watch his stuff, you’ll know how crazy he is about Xenoblade, so I invited him as a special guest! Say hi to everyone for me, yeah?”

Vernon is so quick to snatch his phone to type in hi o/~~ in the chat, it even startles Mingyu.

“There he is!” You giggle. “We should collaborate on another game sometime, yeah? Sucks that Xenoblade doesn’t allow you to coop.”

Out loud, Vernon snorts. “Yeah, I won’t be doing that.”

“Why not?” Mingyu asks, genuinely curious. “She seems cool with it.”

“Are you crazy? Wonwoo-hyung will kill me,” he chuckles with a shake of his head. “I know I’m the one who introduced her to the friend group, but we all know how Wonwoo-hyung is with her. If she was my girlfriend, I’d gatekeep her from the rest of the world, too. Maybe.”

The words ring in Mingyu’s ears like a stern reminder he should’ve heeded a long time ago.

It’s no secret that Wonwoo is a little…possessive over you. He might even be acting as your pseudo-mod right this second—watching the chat like a hawk before doing public lashings for any weirdos brave enough to send anything inappropriate.

He wonders how Wonwoo would react if he knew about that chance encounter he shared with you a few nights prior…

“True,” Seungkwan agrees before rising back to his feet with a hop. “The only person he’ll probably be cool with handing Koyahngi over to is Mingyu-hyung.”

His friend says those words while he’s in the middle of taking a huge gulp of water. It nearly goes down his windpipe when he makes a surprised noise, but thankfully Mingyu manages to not sputter out his drink all over Vernon’s face.

“What?” he asks raspily when he collects himself. “Why me?”

“Uh, maybe because he’s alright with letting you touch and hug her anytime, but we get warning glares whenever we get close to her?”

Warning what? He’s got to be lying. Wonwoo is crazy possessive, but he does not glare at his friends just because they’re being affectionate to you.

Right?

Begrudgingly, Vernon nods at his side. “Mhmm. I think it has something to do with you guys living together for years now. You’ve shared practically everything up to this point, right?”

Mingyu scowls at them both. “You’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, right?”

“What are you—oh,” Seungkwan trails off with his face reddening upon realizing. “I didn’t mean he’d be down to share his girlfriend with you like that! But hey, if Wonwoo-hyung is into it, then you’re probably the only person he’ll consider accepting.”

“Agreed,” Vernon chimes. “Anyway, are we going back to work? I can watch her stream while I’m doing crunches just fine.”

As the three of them disperse back to their own corners in the gym, Mingyu finds himself mulling over that earlier conversation with Vernon and Seungkwan. They’re both aware of Wonwoo’s territorial nature, but openly admitted that when it comes to Mingyu, things might be a little different.

Which doesn’t help his case at all. Because how the fuck is he supposed to move past his feelings now? Not only did you implicitly reciprocate his interest the other night to some degree, but now he’s got his other friends unknowingly rooting for him too.

Mingyu breathes in deeply as he tries lifting 75 kilogram weights on each side of the bar all while thinking back to Jeonghan’s advice to just negotiate.

Do his friends’ words have any truth to them? Will Wonwoo actually agree if…if—

“Fuck,” Mingyu grumbles when he feels the force of the barbell’s weight flaring up his arms and muscles. But at the same time he realizes that it’s impossible to ask Wonwoo about what he wants because…

He can’t just tell him, hey hyung, how would you feel if I fucked your girlfriend? Wonwoo would probably chase him out of the apartment with a knife if he did. Worse, he’d end more than fifteen years’ worth of friendship and Mingyu loses not only that hair-strand thin chance of getting with you but also his best friend.

That’s not a risk he thinks he’s foolish enough to take.

As some sort of punishment, Mingyu forces himself to bear the barbell’s weight for about ten seconds before letting it drop back to the floor—the fibers of his muscles screaming in agony with what he just put them through.

He probably, definitely deserves more than that though.

“Mingyu! You’re late!”

Soonyoung’s jarring voice is the first thing that greets Mingyu when he finally arrives at the restaurant. The tall man is immediately surrounded by his friends—getting roughhoused for being tardy on his best friend’s special day. He lets out an easygoing laugh to brush off their teasing, eyes observing the private room Wonwoo rented for the occasion.

“What took you so long, man?!” Seokmin complains, throttling Mingyu by the lapels of his iron-pressed suit jacket. “You’re the one who always brings out the cake for Wonwoo, remember? Seungcheol-hyung nearly set the entire cake on fire earlier.”

“Fondant icing can’t catch fire, you ditz,” the eldest of their group scoffs. “Anyway, we might as well do the toast since Mingyu’s finally here.”

As his pack of rowdy friends ushers themselves back into their seats, Mingyu lets his gaze rove around again. On the end of the long, fancy dining table he spots the birthday boy waving over at him with a small smile. Right next to Wonwoo is, of course, you—flashing him a grin with those ruby red lips as your eyes crinkle with a smile that haunts him with his eyes closed.

If Mingyu came clean and said that you were the reason he almost didn’t show up to his own best friend’s birthday dinner, would everyone else in this room hate him for it?

Probably.

Once everyone is settled into their seats, Mingyu gets served a full-course meal by the waiters bussing around the private enclosure. Everyone else was already halfway through dessert and they’re now being poured generous amounts of whatever champagne Seungkwan boasted about buying for Wonwoo as a birthday present.

“C’mon, birthday toast!” Seungkwan announces obnoxiously loud as he eggs everyone on to raise their glasses. “So who’s going to do the honors and kiss Wonwoo-hyung’s ass for tonight?”

“Shouldn’t the latecomer do the honors?” Minghao suggests with a sleazy look. “Besides, he’s Wonwoo-hyung’s best friend anyways.”

“Asshole,” Mingyu mutters under his breath before swallowing a mouthful of his food and grabbing his champagne glass. “Uh, there’s nothing much to say. Wonwoo-hyung already knows everything I want to tell him.”

“Boo!” Chan yells from the other end. “You’re so lame, hyung. How would you feel if your best friend used that as your birthday greeting, huh?”

Joshua makes a noise in agreement. “Mingyu-yah, I’m sure there’s at least some things you want to tell him, right?”

With all eyes on him now, Mingyu feels himself flush several shades red. Goddammit.

He forcibly meets Wonwoo’s expectant stare from the other side of the table, appeased by the warm look in his best friend’s eyes. That’s right…

Asking Wonwoo if he can have just one chance with his girlfriend is ridiculous and impossible. But saying nice things about his best friend? That’s always been Mingyu’s forte. Even if Wonwoo threatens to break his PS5 every three business days whenever the younger man pisses him off on purpose.

“This hyung of mine has grown a lot over the last decade and more. Not that being introverted is a bad thing or anything, but it’s nice seeing him become more outgoing and interactive with people outside our circle,” Mingyu starts with a small yet genuine smile. “Our dream of playing games for a living is all too real now. But for Wonwoo-hyung, he’s a brilliant professional who’s going to be scouted on the Worlds team roster pretty soon, I’m sure.”

“Now you’re just lying to my face to gas me up,” Wonwoo chuckles.

He gestures for him to quiet down. “Ah! You guys wanted me to talk so let me finish talking!”

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” Jihoon comments. “This guy says five hundred words per minute depending on how much alcohol he’s got in his system.”

“We’ll all end up going home super late at this rate,” Jun chuckles with a shake of his head.

Mingyu pouts for a moment but his friends eventually cut him some slack—keeping their teasing jabs to themselves first to let him finish his impromptu speech.

“As I was saying,” the part time model huffs, “You’re an amazing player and an equally amazing friend. You always put up with everyone’s antics even if we all know you’d prefer peace and quiet. You’re the one who makes life just a little more bearable for me. And even if you don’t really show it much, we know how much you actually love each one of us.

“So… Happy Birthday, Wonwoo-hyung. Please live happily and healthily for the next hundred years because I’m afraid that they’ll only release Dark Souls 4 by then.”

Once he’s concluded what he has to say, everyone at the table cheers—not for Wonwoo, but for how concise Mingyu’s birthday speech is. Those little shits.

Either way, they all raise a toast for today’s celebrant—Soonyoung singing an off-key rendition of Happy Birthday on the top of his lungs as they all clinked champagne glasses together. Mingyu’s grinning from ear-to-ear as he watches his friends mess around with each other as per usual, thinking how he’ll never want any other constants in his life as long as they’re by his side.

But in the middle of all the commotion, his gaze tunnels into his best friend.

Wonwoo is in the middle of talking to you with a loving smile on his lips. Mingyu is a little too far away to make sense of what you’re talking about, but you do lean closer to press a firm kiss on your boyfriend’s lips.

He can’t really name the emotion that prickles in his chest at the sight of it. The closest thing would probably be jealousy but it doesn’t sound quite fitting. Mingyu doesn’t really wish for his best friend to be out of the picture so he could be on the receiving end of your sweet kisses.

It’s more like…he just wants you to give some to him too.

But after weeks and weeks of fighting against his fatal attraction to you, he’s grown quite exhausted from all the senseless overthinking. Mingyu is now waving the white flag of surrender—ready to bury these feelings in the past where they belong.

After all, he’d never trade all the years he’s spent with Wonwoo for a woman he’ll get over in no time. He’s better than that.

Until he’s not.

Mingyu doesn’t really know how it happened, when it started, and why he even let things get this far.

Wonwoo was generous enough to book everyone their own rooms in the hotel just across the famous restaurant he decided to treat them in. It was mostly for Soonyoung because they all know how that man can hardly handle his liquor. But still, it’s nice to be spoiled by the most stoic out of their friend group every now and again.

Before retreating to his own room, Mingyu decided to catch some fresh air on the open balcony on the tenth floor. The breeze blew past his face nice and easy, making him feel more relaxed than he has in the last few months.

But then you swooped down on him like an angel of death.

It’s been a while since he talked to you one-on-one like this. The last time was probably the night he split his hand open and you had to patch him up.

Mingyu is apprehensive during the entire course of the conversation, which is weird because he’s always felt comfortable in your company. It’s his stupid fucking feelings making things weird for him.

If only he could just wake up one day and things were back to the way they were.

He hoped it would just be one of those regular conversations where you’d eventually excuse yourself to look for Wonwoo. Mingyu can handle that. He can pretend to be fine in the face of others even if he’s rotting from the inside out because of how badly he wants to tear that lovely dress off of you. That’s something he’s always been good at.

However, when he’s in the middle of telling you a story about how Soonyoung betted a large amount of in-game Valorant currency on the possibility of you and Wonwoo dating back then, you bring a single finger to Mingyu’s lips.

“Aren’t you tired of this, Gyu?” you sigh, pouting at him so tantalizingly with your perfect red lips as you bring your hand down.

His brows furrow together, not quite catching what you’re trying to say. “T-Tired of what?”

The corners of your mouth pull up into a pretty smile that’s wearing down his defenses faster than he’d like it to. “Of this game of push and pull, silly. I’ve been trying to get you to sleep with me for ages, but you’re such a good puppy, aren’t you? Never taking anything you want unless someone gives it to you.”

Mingyu can hardly believe his ears.

“You’ve been trying to…what?” His mouth drops into a disbelieving look. “I— You— You can’t be serious. What do you mean you want to sleep with me? You have a boyfriend.”

You make a sound of affirmation before leaning closer to him by the rails, tugging on the lapels of his jacket to pull him flush against you. Mingyu has to physically bite down a groan at the feel of your perky tits pushed into his chest.

“I do, but that’s not important right now,” you giggle as you let your fingers trail up the curve of his neck. “Don’t you want to fuck me, Gyu? I see the way you look at me, you know. You have a bad case of wandering eye especially when I prance around your apartment wearing nothing but Wonwoo’s shirts. I didn’t expect you to hold out for this long honestly.”

The fact that you have a boyfriend isn’t important right now? And you’ve been deliberately seducing him all this goddamn time?

What the ever-loving fuck?

Mingyu still remembers how you looked into Wonwoo’s eyes earlier after the birthday toast. The love and adoration laced in your gaze…was that completely fake? Were you just using his best friend so you could get to him?

That’s not right. He at least knows the abridged version of yours and Wonwoo’s love story. Despite how unpredictable you can be, Mingyu refuses to believe that you’ll willingly put yourself through all that if you didn’t love Wonwoo in the first place. If he’s the one you’ve wanted all along.

But the fight in him has been fading day by day. Mingyu thought he was closer to accepting the fact that he’ll never really have you the way he wants to. But in truth, he’s on the complete opposite side of the spectrum.

It’s just the way things were before—Kim Mingyu will come running once you drop him scraps of your affection.

“Do you want to kiss me, Gyu?” you murmur, lips ghosting across his own.

No. He wants to say no. He needs to say no.

“Yes,” Mingyu breathes instead, a thousand sparks igniting in his chest as he stares at the plump curve of your lips. “God, fuck yes.”

You make a show of dragging your bottom lip between your teeth, looking up at him with so much desire in your eyes, he nearly melts from the intensity of it.

“Okay, big boy,” you giggle before taking his hand in a firm grip. “Not here though.”

The short trip back to your hotel room is swift. Mingyu doesn’t think about anything else but the feel of your soft skin cradling his large hand in yours. He doesn’t even wonder where the fuck Wonwoo is during this entire thing. All that matters is the fact that this is real and this is happening.

If things go the way he assumes they will in his head, he’ll finally get to have you for himself.

That’s the exact thought that makes the blood in Mingyu’s veins come alive with heady arousal—tapping his feet on the carpeted floor of the hallway as you scan your keycard on the lock of your hotel room. You giggle at his impatience tugging him into the room by his necktie before the door clicks shut behind him.

Mingyu doesn’t waste any time. He quickly crowds you against the wall of the narrow hallway entrance, hands on your hips as he crushes his lips with yours like your kiss was air itself. You moan into his mouth before hooking your thigh around his hips to let him grind his hardening length against your middle.

“You have no fucking idea how badly I want you,” he hisses between kisses, migrating to your neck to continue his onslaught against your skin. “Always walking around the house barely dressed. You were daring enough to rub the fact that Wonwoo-hyung just fucked you in my face last time too. Did you want me to fuck you the same way that night?”

“Mmm… Gyu,” you moan as he sucks on the skin just above the thrum of your pulse. “Y-Yeah… Wanted you to stuff me with your cock when Nonu’s cum was still dripping out of me. Does that make me a dirty girl?”

“It does, princess.”

Mingyu knows himself to be a person that’s easily spooked. It’s for that reason that Soonyoung likes popping out of nowhere just to do that. The reason Seungcheol likes intimidating him with a single look whenever Mingyu pushes his buttons. But it takes a lot to genuinely scare him.

Hearing Wonwoo’s voice on the other side of this room, apparently, is enough to make the color drain from his entire face.

Wonwoo is seated on a reading chair propped by the windows with the curtains drawn, scrolling through his phone with a bored look like the sight of his girlfriend being pushed against a wall by his best friend is something that doesn’t faze him in the slightest.

“H-Hyung,” Mingyu stutters, swallowing thickly. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

His roommate chuckles. “Mingyu, you just admitted out loud that you want to fuck my girlfriend. This is exactly what it looks like.”

“Mmm, big puppy’s being so silly,” you giggle as you inch your thighs apart, poking the tip of Mingyu’s nose with your finger. “He’s been fighting himself all this time and now when he can finally have me, he chickens out again. What do we do with him, daddy?”

…Daddy?

Wonwoo hums almost theatrically as he crosses his legs on the chair, smirking at the two of you like…like—

“Did you two plan this?” Mingyu asks incredulously, trying his best not to get distracted by your cleavage peeking from the low cut of your dress. “Hyung, why do you seem so…”

“Comfortable with the thought of you railing my girl well into the next day?” Wonwoo supplies and Mingyu winces at his crass wording. Well, he is right but— “Because I am, Mingyu. But since you’re a little slow on the uptake sometimes, she’ll spell it out for you in a way that leaves no room for misunderstandings.”

As if on cue, you give Mingyu’s necktie another firm tug, forcing the tall man to look at you with a bewildered look. You bat your lashes at him with a disarming smile before pulling him closer so that your faces are leveled.

“I told Wonwoo that I really want to know what it feels to have you inside me, Gyugyu,” you whisper. “If I mentioned any other guy, he probably would’ve killed them ‘cause he’s possessive like that. He’s only alright with it ‘cause it’s you.”

“And she’s been seducing you for a while now. It really is a mystery how you managed to hold out that long when she had me wrapped around her finger in no time,” Wonwoo adds with a chuckle. “You’re better than me, it seems.”

Mingyu’s gaze keeps alternating between you and his best friend—unable to completely wrap his head around the idea that not only are you actually into him, but Wonwoo gave your sick fantasies his blessing beforehand.

“You…” He breathes in deeply before turning to Wonwoo again. “You want me to fuck your girlfriend? On your birthday?”

The older man shrugs. “This could’ve happened much sooner if you weren’t so dense, Mingyu. But if that bothers you so much, then just think of it as another treat from me.”

“Gyu,” you whine, practically rubbing yourself against his thick thigh. “Stop thinking and just fuck me already, yeah? Doesn’t my big puppy want to feel me wrapped around his cock? I promise it’ll feel so much better than your hand.”

Oh. Oh.

Mingyu isn’t sure what to focus on first—you calling him your big puppy or the fact that they know he’s been jacking off religiously to the thought of sinking his length into your wet heat. But it’s just as you said.

Mingyu should really just stop fucking thinking.

All the time he spends at the gym is put to good use when he effortlessly picks you up by your thighs and migrates to the mattress. You let out an adorable little squeal when he gently lays you on top of the sheets and Mingyu has to keep himself from moaning at the sight of you splayed out so prettily for him.

“Are you just going to watch?” he asks Wonwoo without looking back at him, unable to tear his gaze away from you as you tug your dress down to reveal your tits. “I’d feel a little terrible if that’s the case.”

Wonwoo barks out a laugh. “Just a little?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu whispers before shrugging off his jacket and unbuttoning his dress shirt.

“Just a little.”

That’s how he ends up with his face buried between your soft thighs, tongue working on your glistening slit as your fingers tangle themselves in his mussed hair. The noises spilling senselessly from your lips are like music to his ears—egging him on to pick you apart with his tongue and fingers all while your boyfriend watches diligently from his seat.

Eating pussy while Wonwoo acts as a willing audience is honestly the last thing on Mingyu’s lifetime bucket list, but he knows very well that life’s full of surprises.

“Your tongue feels so good, puppy,” you whimper, thighs pressing against the sides of Mingyu’s head as he slurps at your dripping cunt. “More please. Gyu, I wanna come on your face so bad—oh!”

He smirks against your sensitive flesh when you jolt at the sensation of him sliding his thick fingers inside your hole—two right away because you’re already so wet and ready for him.

“She can take three, Gyu,” he hears Wonwoo chime in from behind. “Four if you’re feeling a little generous.”

The idea of taking more of his digits seems to excite you more than Mingyu expected. He feels you tighten around the fingers already inside you and he groans before suckling on your clit with unparalleled fervor.

He does just as Wonwoo says—sliding in a third finger as he stretches your gummy walls open. You have all the time in the world and he isn’t in too much of a rush to make you take as many digits as he can give you. As things stand, you’re already on the verge of being fucked out of your mind from the way his mouth works on your needy pussy alone.

“Mingyu!” you gasp when he crooks his fingers just so, making your back arch off the mattress so sexily, he has to resist the urge to rise and give you a long, sloppy kiss. “Fuck, fuck, right there! Feels so good, puppy. Give me more.”

He fucking loves it when you call him puppy and he doesn’t really know what that says about him. It’s not like Mingyu can bring himself to care though—not when you’re grinding your sopping cunt against his mouth like he’s your own personal toy.

“Shit, princess. You’re not this demanding when I eat you out,” Wonwoo groans.

“T-That’s cause—ahn, Mingyu…” A surge of pride momentarily fills his chest when he renders you unable to manage a coherent response. “You’re my daddy and he’s my puppy. I can boss my puppy around, right, Gyugyu?”

While Mingyu is just now getting to know what sort of dynamic you and Wonwoo have in the bedroom, he doesn’t really have any qualms about what you’ve decided on for him. He merely nods a bit too eagerly, unceasing on his onslaught of tongue and fingers. Your body is wracked with another full shiver when the ridge of his nose bumps against your clit, sparing him another beautiful moan that goes straight to his cock.

“‘m so close, puppy,” you cry out, riding his face as you squeeze your breasts in the hand not tangled in his hair. “Mouth’s so fucking good to me. Love how you eat me out s’much, Gyu.”

He doesn’t notice how he’s nearly rutting his hips into the bed in a desperate attempt at giving himself some much-needed friction. Your eyes flutter closed as your body stutters to a stop, shuddering as your orgasm finally washes over you.

Mingyu growls as he slips his fingers out of your quivering hole, burying his tongue inside your cunt as you ride out your high. You buck your hips against his mouth and he’s much too eager to place his hands on your ass as you come back down to earth.

To his surprise, you bounce back from that mind-shattering orgasm much quicker than he thought. Right when you stop trembling in his grasp, you’re quick to pull Mingyu up to have a taste of yourself on his lips—tongue swirling with his own as the tangy flavor spreads across the appendage.

“Want your cock next, Gyu,” you breathe against his mouth, eyes hooded with desire. “You’ll give it to me, won’t you?”

He’d be the biggest idiot in the world if he refused.

You quickly reposition yourself on the mattress, crawling towards the edge of the bed while glancing over at your boyfriend—still watching the show the both of you are putting up for him. Mingyu was so lost in the sensation of you grinding your pussy on his face, he nearly forgot Wonwoo was even in the room.

“Daddy, want yours too,” you whimper all while pushing your ass back for Mingyu’s enjoyment, the multitasker you are. “Can I suck you off?”

“Feeling greedy all of a sudden?” Wonwoo chuckles. “Do you really think you can take two cocks at the same time, princess? Are you that much of a cockhungry slut?”

You nod, too high on arousal to give a shit. “Uh-huh.”

Fuck. Why was that so hot?

Despite how he initially reacted, Wonwoo gets up from his seat and pads over closer to you. Meanwhile, Mingyu takes his aching length out of his tight trousers—breathing a sigh in relief as he pumps his cock a few times.

He feels like he should feel unnerved about taking his dick out in front of Wonwoo, but then again this isn’t something he hasn’t seen before. The college dorm bathrooms were an interesting place, but then again this is the first time he’s actually let his best friend get a look at his cock when it’s fully hard.

The sound of him jerking himself makes you glance behind you and he swears hearts nearly dance in the pupils of your eyes when your gaze zeros in on his dick.

“You’re so fucking huge,” you groan as Mingyu rubs his length along your ass. “Daddy, you’ve got a best friend with such a pretty fucking cock and you didn’t even bother telling me? You’re mean…”

The laugh that rumbles in Wonwoo’s chest betrays the fact that he’s a little ticked off with what you just said. “Baby, I’m already doing a lot for you by letting Gyu fuck you open. Keep abusing your pretty privilege even more, and I’ll fuck your mouth until you can’t say ridiculous things.”

Of course, Wonwoo’s threat garners the exact opposite of his intended reaction. Mingyu feels your slick gush out of your entrance at the prospect of being used by your boyfriend in such a demeaning way and he sighs with disbelief.

“Hyung,” he calls out as you work on Wonwoo’s belt and zipper. “Do I need to wear a condom or…?”

His best friend hums momentarily. “That’s up to her. What do you say, baby? Do you want to feel Mingyu’s monster cock raw or not?”

You pause from undoing Wonwoo’s pants to turn around once more, taking Mingyu’s heavy length in your hand as you practically salivate over it. Then, with careful movements, you guide his cockhead to your gaping entrance and Mingyu nearly comes right then and there.

“Wanna get pumped full of your cum, puppy,” you mewl. “Need your big cock to stretch me out so bad. You want that too, right?”

Of fucking course he wants it.

You let out a choked up noise when Mingyu eases himself inside you—trying his damn hardest to not just shove his entire length into you in one go. Wonwoo smirks at your reaction before taking out his own cock.

Mingyu isn’t one to compare dicks with his friends, but he’s got to say that Wonwoo is definitely well-endowed. It’s no wonder that you were fucking around with him for as long as you were before finally dating the guy.

But Mingyu pushes all thoughts about that in the back of his mind, relishing in the feeling of your tight, warm cunt enveloping him in delicious heat. He groans when he manages to bury himself to the hilt—cock pulsating with each second that passes.

“Take daddy’s cock down your throat while you let your cute little puppy fuck you stupid,” Wonwoo instructs as you open your mouth to do as you’re told. Then, when your boyfriend is sure you’ve adjusted well to Mingyu’s size, he meets his best friend’s gaze and gives him a minute nod. “Go ahead, Gyu.”

“Fuck my girlfriend just like you dreamed of doing.”

Never in Mingyu’s wildest dreams would he imagine getting to hear those words straight out of Wonwoo’s mouth, but he isn’t about to waste any more time processing the information. He simply pulls his hips back—letting you feel every inch of his engorged cock—before slamming back into you with enough force to drive Wonwoo’s dick further into your mouth.

Your moan is promptly silenced with your boyfriend’s length and Mingyu hisses as he palms at the swell of your ass.

He’d hate to bust his load when it hasn’t even been five minutes since he’d slid himself inside you. But your pussy flutters around him so fucking good that he has to breathe in deeply to keep himself from coming too early.

“Gyu, look at me.”

Mingyu’s momentarily puzzled by Wonwoo’s request, but he complies with a look of inquiry in his eyes. He then notices that his roommate is holding your hair up with one hand as you bob your head up and down and his phone in the other.

“We kind of have this…thing where we film ourselves during sex,” he explains. “Is it okay if I do that now? The footage will strictly stay between the three of us.”

Fuck. You film sex tapes with Wonwoo? Mingyu didn’t know it was even possible, but he just got harder inside you.

“I-I don’t mind,” he manages to wrench out. “God, please airdrop it to me after, hyung.”

“You want a POV shot of her sucking you off, huh? Got it.” Wonwoo simpers as he unlocks his phone, tilting it high enough to get a good view of you with his cock in your mouth as Mingyu pounds you from behind.

“What a pretty thing, getting fucked by two cocks at the same time,” he chuckles as he records the entire ordeal. “How can you ever go back to just having one, huh princess? You’re so insatiable after all.”

You’re unable to dish out a response of your own for obvious reasons, but as Wonwoo attempts to get you to deepthroat him, Mingyu presses a hand on the small of your back. Just a little so you wouldn’t lose your center of gravity, but it’s enough to make your spine arch into an angle that lets him hit it a tad bit deeper.

The reaction it incites from you is immediate and he can see Wonwoo’s smirk widen when you practically choke on his cock at the added sensation—tears gathering on your lash line because Mingyu just found your fucking g-spot.

“Gyu’s cock is splitting you wider than you can handle, isn’t it?” your boyfriend taunts as he pushes you further against his navel. “You’ll let us finish inside you like the cumslut you are, won’t you? It’s the least you can do for tormenting Mingyu all this time.”

He says the words as if he didn’t have a hand in making Mingyu lose his mind for the better part of these last few months. But he can’t really pay much attention to his best friend’s hypocritical admissions. Not when your walls are clamping around his cock so tight, he can barely hold out even if he wanted to.

If anyone else is in his place, they wouldn’t stand a chance either. With the squelch of your cunt with each deep stroke of his cock ringing in his ears, Mingyu wants to burn it into his memory along with the sight of your cream gathering at the base of his cock every time he presses his hips flush against your ass.

Not to mention the sight of you taking your boyfriend’s cock like a fucking champ. You haven’t once pulled away for a breather since Wonwoo slid himself inside the heat of your mouth and Mingyu can only wonder if his best friend would allow him to feel that next time.

If there’s even a next time.

“Pussy’s so fuckin’ greedy,” Mingyu groans through gritted teeth as he feels the release sizzling beneath his skin. “Can I come inside you? Let me stuff you full?”

Still unable to verbalize your responses, you let out another muffled noise in agreement, tears and drool sliding sloppily down your face as Wonwoo chases after his own high.

His best friend lets out another evil chuckle. “Take all of Gyu’s cum, princess. Can’t let a single drop go to waste now, can we?”

That’s practically the last straw for Mingyu—hips stuttering to a halt as his white hot emission shoots into your swollen cunt. You moan around Wonwoo’s cock as your boyfriend batters your throat with the head of his cock, absolutely addicted to the feeling of Mingyu’s thick cock pulsing inside you as he dumps his load.

Just when you thought he’d collapse onto the bed right away, though, Mingyu quickly scrambles onto his back—positioning himself underneath you as he hoists your hips to nestle against his face. Finally, you let Wonwoo’s dick slip out of your mouth with a surprised, “Puppy, what are you—”

The words quickly die on your tongue when you feel Mingyu slurping the mixed essence from your pussy, eating his own cum alongside yours as he lathers your quivering slit with the mess he’s made between your thighs.

Wonwoo lets out an amused chuckle when you struggle to take him back into your mouth again, much too distracted by the overeager Mingyu cleaning you up in the most unorthodox way possible.

“Pretty baby’s so fucking spoiled today,” he sighs, feeling his own orgasm just a few strokes away. “You’re close aren’t you? Go ahead, baby. Come on Gyu’s mouth again and I’ll give you my load as a little present.”

Mingyu groans against your sloppy cunt as he sucks on your clit, bringing you to that high he already coaxed out of you earlier. You’re full on crying now and Wonwoo’s got everything on film.

He just knows this’ll be a night he’ll spend countless more nights jacking off to and he feels absolutely no shame admitting it to himself.

“Fuckin’ take it all, baby,” Wonwoo rasps as he finally comes—pouring his viscous cum down your throat all while your muscles spasm from Mingyu’s unrelenting ministrations. “That’s a good girl…”

He finds it a little endearing how you both came at the same time, but then again, Mingyu figures that if you’ve been having as much sex as he thinks you had with Wonwoo, equally timed orgasms are a regular thing.

When all’s said and done, Wonwoo takes it upon himself to properly clean you up in the bathroom. He tells Mingyu that he doesn’t have to come if he doesn’t want to, but the part time model still feels partly responsible for the devastated state they both left you in.

So there you are soaking in the bathtub that comes with the hotel room’s en-suite as your boyfriend and his best friend take turns in the shower.

“I can’t believe you two played me like that for so long,” Mingyu sulks, checking his reflection in the mirror as he towels his hair. “If you wanted to have a threeway, you could’ve told me without making me go through this entire moral dilemma of wanting to fuck my best friend’s girl.”

Wonwoo chuckles from inside the shower. “Now, where’s the fun in that, Gyu?”

“Mhmm.” You giggle as you scrub your sore legs with a sponge. “It was pretty amusing seeing you so torn up, puppy. But we’ve had our fun. I promise not to tease you too much next time.”

Silence falls between the three of you and nothing but the sound of water from the showerhead hitting the floor rings in Mingyu’s ears.

“There’s gonna be a next time?” he dares to ask before glancing worriedly over at Wonwoo.

His best friend emerges from the shower with steam billowing out of the door and into the vent. Wonwoo’s wearing a casual, laid-back look on his face like this isn’t news to him.

“Yeah, remember when you mentioned me being recruited on the Worlds roster?” Wonwoo asks and Mingyu nods hesitantly. “Yeah. I actually got an email offering me a spot as a T1 trainee.”

Mingyu’s jaw nearly drops to the floor. “You’re kidding. You’ll be on the same team as Faker?”

“Hey, I’m not sure yet ‘cause I have to go to this bootcamp thing and everything,” his best friend chuckles before padding over to where you’re still lounging comfortably in the tub. “But since bootcamps take months to finish, my princess over here might feel a little lonely without me.”

You pout when Wonwoo plants a loving kiss on your nose. “I’ll die if I don’t get fucked stupid at least every three business days.”

“I know, baby. That’s why Mingyu over here is going to keep you company while I’m gone,” Wonwoo says out loud. “Right, Mingyu?”

With two pairs of eyes on him, the part time model gulps nervously.

It’s one thing to join them in bed to fuck you at the same time. But for Wonwoo to willingly leave his girlfriend in Mingyu’s care while he’s away for pro gamer bootcamp?

Part of him feels like he’s skipped several steps required to get to where he is now. That the offer is way too good to be true and that the universe will pull up with a fucking gotcha moment at him one day when he least expects it.

But Wonwoo seems so sure that he’ll accept and the look in your eyes glimmers with so much hope, Mingyu couldn’t bear to deny the implicit request even if he wants to.

So, with a deep, bated breath:

“Sure thing,” he says with a toothy smile. “What are friends for, right?”

part one - part two - part three - part four

⟢ end notes: hehe you made it to the end! thank god! this was meant to be concluded in part 3, but the plot line where mingyu finds out the identity of his favorite twitter porn girl is gonna take up tens of thousands of words again and i decided that it deserved its own chapter lol i still have much in store for this throuple so i do hope you tune into their sexcapades in the future <3 your reblogs and tags and other comments inspire me to write sooo much so it'll mean the world to me if you left your thoughts for me to read hehe~ p.s. i'll add links to the masterlist and other parts for easier access later bc tumblr is stupid when it comes to showing posts with links in the tags

this is part of the game over series!

#svthub #seventeen smut #wonwoo smut #mingyu smut #minwon smut #seventeen x reader #wonwoo x reader #mingyu x reader #full length fic 📚#lovelyhan

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farfromstrange · 2 years ago

Text

Daddy Issues | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Inspired by this song.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: There are some scars from our childhoods that just won't heal, like daddy issues will somehow always affect our relationships, especially with men. It's the trauma that makes us afraid. Matt Murdock is a considerate boyfriend and he hardly ever raises his voice, so when he lets his anger out on you, he triggers something in you that you have never told him about.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of child abuse, daddy issues (not the sexy kind), childhood trauma, yelling, crying, small injury (reader cuts her finger), not proofread

A/n: This is entirely self-indulgent. I won't tell you why exactly, but let's just say today was not a good day and I needed to write this to feel better. It helped, for the most part. If you have/had a father who yells a lot and likes to blame you for everything, this is for you. But also basically everyone who's afraid of men yelling at you because you've been traumatized before. This has not been proofread or beta-d. It’s just a silly little comfort fic.

Tags: (people who answered the original idea and I think would enjoy this or asked to be tagged)

@igotanidea @lina-mar @redzie02 @hellskitchens-whore

[not my gif, credits to the owner mentioned under the gif]

In the heat of the moment, some people raise their voices. May it be a fight or a moment of excitement. When we get angry, we often resort to a louder volume and sometimes even verbal abuse. We say things we don’t mean. We wouldn’t be human if that didn’t happen sometimes, although most fights can be resolved by talking civilly. There is no point in screaming when talking like adults is a viable option that won’t hurt anyone. But it hardly ever happens, not when both parties are already worked up to the point of no return.

For you, there has not been a fight or discussion in your life that hasn’t resulted in a screaming match. Your parents often yelled at each other. You grew up like this, the voices of your fighting parents constantly in the back of your head until the day they divorced. And even after that, you figure you started hallucinating their fights whenever the world went quiet around you so you would have some noise in the back of your head.

Your father was the one who screamed the most. He yelled and scolded you whenever you didn’t act according to his standards or made even the smallest of mistakes, didn’t do something or just used the wrong tone with him, something that often didn’t sit right with him.

He always resorted to screaming. The context never really mattered, he just got louder, harsher and he used words that would confuse every kid and make their tiny brains overflow with the guilt they caused. And when you cried, he only waved it off because “there is no reason to cry, I’m just stating the facts”.

It traumatized you in a way many children who grew up in such families understand, and he made you believe that every man in your life has a reason to yell at you, to use you, to abuse you and constantly ask you for things even though you can’t possibly match up to all of their expectations.

You always expect to be yelled at by the men in your life. Even the smallest hint of the disappointment in someone’s voice makes you anxious and more often than not, you start to cry. It’s your defense mechanism. You’re fragile and you get scared easily. A switch gets flicked and you’re suddenly standing in the same house you grew up in, letting your father rain hell down on you because you were too scared to fight back.

The constant screaming made you scared of men, and it made you more careful with what you say or do around others. You tread carefully. You try to please and not to screw up too much, too scared of the consequences and possible negative reactions. In school, you used to do the same, always wanting to please the teachers and when they raised their voices, you often excused yourself and were left shaking and crying in the bathroom.

Matt Murdock has always been a man with a heavy internal conflict, and that conflict resulted in anger issues and his ever-present catholic guilt. When you met him, he came across as attractive yet dominant, and that scared you a little until you talked for the first time in the middle of a cozy coffee shop and he showed how soft of a man he actually is. He keeps himself locked away and that might make him seem unapproachable, but he isn’t. He’s the kindest man you have ever met, and his heart is set right. Out of all the lovers you’ve had, he is truly the best and most considerate when it comes to your relationship.

He treats you like you’re the universe to him and when you fight, it’s more often bickering than it is an exchange of vulgarities and screams. He takes his anger out on punching bags, not you, and when he hurts someone, it’s often criminals who deserve his wrath. His life is complicated, but it’s easier with you in it. He feels alive, he’s told you, and he wouldn’t trade that for the world, so he always makes sure you’re taken care of and happy before he looks after himself.

There is, of course, the issue with his enhanced senses. He’s blind but his senses are enhanced to an extent that most blind people don’t have. You found out about that early on in your relationship, but there’s never been a doubt in your mind about the love you feel for him, so it was no hard choice to stay.

Though dating the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen comes with its collection of issues. More often than not you have to stitch him up or search him in dark alleys and trash cans because he keeps getting in trouble, and the worry often eats you alive. Still, you comfort him when he’s had a bad day, always, and you make him the spotlight of your life every time. In your mind, taking care of him comes first.

But Matt always gives back. It’s his Catholicism, you’re sure of that. He can’t take help. He has to be the one doing the work and moving mountains. He is God’s disciple and he feels responsible for his city and the people living in it. His blindness feels like a gift given to him by God to conquer all possible battles, and while you don’t really believe in God, you have accepted that part of him with open arms and more often than not join him in his faith because life with him is surely not the easiest.

When Matt Murdock feels overwhelmed, he tries not to show it. He’d rather lock himself away than burden you. He’d rather struggle on his own than put the people he loves in danger or hurt them with his personal struggles and the pain that consumes him.

Matt is patient and he doesn’t care if you screw up, even though you apologize profusely most of the time. He’s patient because we’re all human. We all screw up. That is the principle that he lives by and he makes you feel like you can be more of yourself around him. So after a year, there are no more reservations and you feel a lot more comfortable in your skin.

Until this day, he had never let his anger out on you, and he had never opened his mouth to yell at you in any way. Until that day.

He’s different when he comes home. He finds himself at his wit's end, and he has been ever since that godforsaken murder trial started. When he comes home, you don’t think much of his distance toward you, the denial of a proper kiss, and his grunts as he lowers himself on the couch instead of asking you about your day. You don’t think much until it all goes wrong, and you’re not even sure at what point it does or what you did to deserve this, but there has to be a reason because the man you’re seeing right now is not the Matt you usually get to see.

We all have bad days sometimes, others more often, but this seems deeper than just a bad day at the courthouse. This is not the face of an exhausted man after a long work day that just needs some kisses and maybe a blowjob, or to have sex with his girlfriend in all his dominant glory with aftercare to put the cherry on top. This is not Matt Murdock, this is the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen that comes through the front door, tosses his cane into a corner, and then just falls on the couch like a wet sack of potatoes, his fists clenched as if he is ready to explode any second.

You’ve been taught to tread carefully, so you do. You approach him only slowly because you are worried, you always are. Perhaps it’s the line of questioning that has him exploding in no time.

“You okay?” you ask.

He props his feet up on the living room table and huffs. “Fine,” he says.

“You don’t look fine. Did something happen?”

You’ve brought him a glass of water, which he takes with a curt nod. Something is bothering him, but he won’t talk to you.

“Bad day at work?”

“It doesn’t matter now. I’m fine. I just want to forget that today ever happened.”

“You want some coffee?” you decide to ask instead.

“No,” he says.

His leg starts to bounce. It only does when he is agitated or overstimulated and is trying to deal with the world around him.

“Do you want me to run you a bath?”

He sighs. “No.”

“We still have leftovers, maybe I could warm them up.”

His tone is harsher this time, “No!”

You blink, a little taken aback by the force in his voice and involuntarily, you start to shake.

“I just want to be alone,” he adds, softer this time. “Can you… you know what, I’m just gonna get changed.”

And like that, he is gone. He disappears into the bedroom and you’re left flabbergasted. You want to ask what’s wrong, but you’re scared. You’ve never been scared of him before. It’s not him, it’s his reaction, and so you retreat into the kitchen.

Eventually, he comes out again, though he is still missing a shirt. “Have you seen my Columbia sweater?” he asks, the lights of the billboard reflecting off his marble skin.

“It’s in the washer,” you tell him.

“Why?”

“Because it’s dirty. Matt, what is going on?” You place your mug down and look at him, eyes soft and full of concern.

He only rolls his. “I just want my sweater.” Grabbing the used shirt from the chair at the dinner table, he slips it on. It’s not the fabric he wanted and he tenses up, hating the new sensation already.

“Are you sure this is about your sweater? You’ve been on me ever since you got in.”

“Yes, because you keep asking useless questions.”

“Useless?” You scoff. “So my interest and worry for you are useless?”

If there is one thing you have gotten good at it has to be defending yourself.

He brushes past you to get a beer from the fridge. “I told you, I’m fine.” He is good at brushing you off because he doesn’t like to admit when he feels weaker than usual.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Oh, my God, then stop fucking looking!”

“Okay, what the hell is your problem?”

He scoffs. “You don’t get it.”

“What don’t I get?”

“Everything.”

“Enlighten me then.”

“It’s not…” his chuckle is bitter. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter. You’re gonna keep seeing problems where there are none, so talking to you makes no sense anyway.”

What did he just say? You are so confused and suddenly very angry that you forget you are holding a glass. You smash it down on the counter, and, as expected, it shatters into a million pieces. Most of them fall to the floor and right at his bare feet. His eyes darken.

Oh.

Now you are scared, and not in a way that resembles sexy foreplay. You are scared because he is turning into a stranger right before your eyes. Suddenly, all you can see is not your loving boyfriend Matt Murdock, you see the anger of both your father and your stepfather in his eyes and hear it in his voice and it instantly tells you, 'this is all your fault'.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I didn’t see…”

“One night,” he says. He moves out of the kitchen, trying not to step into the glass.

You follow him with wide eyes. “What’s that?”

“One night,” he repeats his earlier statement. “That’s all I wanted. One fucking night where people don’t prod or- or want things from me. And what do you do? You keep talking and talking, and you don’t even care that I simply don’t want to talk.”

“Matt, that is not fair. I just wanted to-“ the tears start to prick in your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Jesus Christ.” And that’s where your strength stops and you retreat into your shell – the next words out of his mouth come so loud, you could have sworn they echoed off the brick walls and shot straight into your eardrums. “For once in your life, stop fucking apologizing!”

His hand lifts, mostly to underline his words, and with the bottle in his hand he is suddenly so close, your eyes squeeze shut at the gush of wind. You flinch, your entire body caving in on itself. It’s not even intentional, you can’t help it. You’ve been conditioned to expect the worst when someone raises their hand, and Matt has never done it before.

He realizes what it looks like the second your heart jumps and your blood rushes loudly in his ear. He can smell your sweat, the tears, and the fear that surrounds you. It’s your pheromones that change and something lingers in the air that makes him stop and think, what did I just do?

He has been so in his head and the city has been loud for hours, he lost most of his patience at the courthouse, and then you’re there all caring and lovely and he can’t help but tell himself he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve you. He just wants quiet and to be alone while at the same time, all he wants is you, but it’s too much. It’s all too much.

And now, as you flinch away from him and his booming voice, he snaps back to reality and realizes he made a mistake. He’s never experienced you like this before, and it scares him.

“Did you just…” he begins, his voice soft and barely above a whisper.

He hears you fall to your knees, the taste of salt thick in the air and your breath shakes with every intake. You bite your lip and you collect the shards, trying to clean up your mess as if he would hate you if you didn’t. You whisper a silent, “Sorry.” And then he hears it. You’re sobbing, you try not to but you are, and it is his fault.

“Did you think I was gonna hit you?” he asks, dreading the answer.

You sniffle, not answering.

You flinched, he heard it, and not because you were surprised. You are scared, he knows.

He slowly approaches the kitchen. “Sweetheart, talk to me.”

“I just gotta clean this up,” you whimper and you brush the glass together with shaky hands. The tears are running down your cheeks in thick streams and your teeth have gnawed your bottom lip bloody, your throat dry with the denied sobs.

“I just gotta clean this up and then I can make you dinner or something. I don’t… I can fix this. I’ll fix this. I’m sorry.”

It’s your fault, you tell yourself. You pushed him. You deserve this. He worked hard the entire day and you annoyed him. He has every right to do this. In your head, at least. It makes all sense in your head while in reality, Matt has never been more shocked to read your body language than he is now.

He slowly kneels in front of you. “Answer me this,” he says, “did you flinch because you thought I was gonna hit you or because I yelled?”

You shrug, unable to look at him. One of the shards slides across your finger and you hiss, the smallest cut forming and causing blood to pool out of your skin. Still, you don’t stop. You need to clean this up before he gets even angrier at you. In your state, you don’t realize his voice has softened and he no longer stares at you with those blacked-out eyes. He looks sympathetic, almost, but most of all the guilt has spread throughout his features and his heart. He is aching to touch you, but you are scared and shaking and he doesn’t want to hurt you any further than he already has.

He had been so ignorant that he didn’t see the signs before.

“Why are you crying?” he asks again.

You wipe your cheeks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you. It’s my fault,” you say. “I’ll clean this up, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

“Hey.”

“No, I gotta-”

“Stop.” His hand is on your arm then. “You cut yourself.”

“I’m sorry,” it’s a mantra you’ve taught yourself to say in the hopes you could somehow fix this before it’s too late.

But it’s not too late. When you finally look up, he’s smiling softly, and his thumb is stroking over your skin in circles.

“I’m sorry,” it’s his turn to say it. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. None of this is your fault. I was so caught up in my own shit, I… God, I would never hit you. I just- I didn’t think when I raised my hand. I didn’t think what it might look like to you. And I didn’t think when I yelled because I… in my head, I wasn’t thinking.”

Your facade cracks even more to the point you are seethrough and your defenses have fallen completely. You’re a snotty mess, shaking violently in his grasp.

“I’m trying, I swear I’m trying to be better. Just don’t be angry with me,” your voice is bordering on helpless little sobs, your lips turned downward and God, you are shaking so badly, you haven’t done so since the last fight with your father when you were a teenager.

Matt’s face softens even more, but there is a pain in there too. He takes a paper towel to wrap around your injured finger and he holds your hand, not sure if he is allowed to touch anywhere else, but he wants you to know he is here and he is going nowhere. He is neither mad nor is he going to break up with you. You try to tell yourself that, but it’s hard with the demon in your head whispering all those awful things into your ear, reminding you that everything bad that happens can only be your fault and that there is no use for you but to destroy and disappoint. But you don’t want to disappoint, you want him to be proud of you. You want him to hold you and tell you everything is alright. But you’re scared and you feel so stupidly guilty for something you can’t even put a finger on. Your bleeding finger.

“Angry with you?” he says. “No.” Matt chuckles, but it’s broken and almost whiny as he does so. “I’m not angry at you, bug. Of course not. I was just angry with the world. I was angry at everything else, but not you. I’m not angry at you. I couldn’t possibly be. I’m sorry, it wasn’t fair of me to take it out on you. I realize that now. And the glass…” he forces you away from the chaos gently, helping you stand up without hurting yourself further. “It’s just glass,” he tells you. “I’ll clean it up. There’s nothing bad about breaking something.”

“But the mess,” you say.

“Fuck the mess. The whole apartment’s a mess.”

“I’m so sorry! I can clean it. I can clean up, I promise. I just… I’m so sorry, Matt.”

“Stop apologizing, baby, please. The mess doesn’t matter. The apartment doesn’t matter, and the glass does not fucking matter. None of this is your fault. You didn’t do anything but try to help. I had no right to yell at you. And my hand… I would never hit you. Never.” He squeezes your hand. “I love you.”

You hiccup, whimpering when he pulls you away from the glass on the floor and pulls you into his arms. His chin rests on the crown of your head and you mold into him, the tears taking on new speed and wetting through his shirt. He strokes your back, not sure what else to do, and his lips find your temple. “God, I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that, none of that.”

You cling tighter to him.

He keeps asking himself the same question over and over again. “Who hurt you?” he asks. It’s a valid question. A fear like that doesn’t just stem from nothing. Something happened in the past to have traumatized you this badly.

Your breathing eventually slows down, as do your tears, and you look up at him through swollen eyes. His white shirt is wet now, but he doesn’t care, he only hugs you back to his chest. “My father used to yell at me whenever I did something wrong,” you tell him, your voice muffled through his chest, but he understands every word.

His grip tightens. “Did he hit you?”

“Sometimes, but… I remember that one time I forgot to clean up after myself and he just… he…” The lack of oxygen makes you shudder and you hiccup again, nails digging into his back. “I’m sorry, he just… yelled at me. Sometimes, he’d slap me, but only sometimes. He’d threaten most of the time, but he didn’t do it often. And I mean, I was a hard kid to raise, I-“

“No, don’t blame yourself,” he is quick to cut you off. “You were a kid.”

You shudder again. “Well, I… you know, he blamed me for the smallest of things, so I got used to apologizing and trying to please everyone, but I can’t always do that. I try to fix things, but it doesn’t always work. He used to yell at me every damn time and I just… I get scared. I don’t like it when people raise their voices. It makes me feel so guilty and now I even broke a glass. That’s my fault. I shouldn’t have… you had a bad day, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cry like this. I swear I’m not a baby.”

You move away to rub your eyes. He grabs your face, smoothing the pads of his thumbs over your wet cheeks. The heat has pooled under the skin in an upset blush.

“Don’t apologize,” he says. “It’s okay to cry. If I’d known, baby, I…” Matt can only shake his head in disbelief.

He loves you more than anything and to see you hurting because of something another man did to you, a man who is supposed to protect you, makes him feel all kinds of things, but none of them positive.

But his anger doesn’t matter. This is about you. He has to take care of you now, not himself, and definitely not your father. It’s just you on his mind.

You choke on nothing. “He told me I have no reason to cry because he’s just stating facts.”

Matt clicks his tongue. “No, don’t ever think that again. You have every right to cry when you feel the need to.”

“It makes me weak,” you say.

“Your father’s wrong. You’re the strongest person I know,” he says. “And the fact that he yelled at you and blamed you for things that were out of your control… no one has the right to treat you like that, not even your parents, and he should have never even thought about raising his hand against you. That’s abuse. I can’t believe- fuck! Do you understand that it wasn’t your fault? That he had no right to do that?”

“Yes, but… it happened. Maybe I deserved some of those slaps. I mean you… I- I don’t know. It happened, we can’t change it. And who knows, maybe he was right.”

“Stop it! That’s not true and you know it.”

“I know, but-“

“No buts, sweetheart. I would never raise my hand against you, I promise. I’m not like your father. No one should be like him. You deserve so much better.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” you sniffle, “it was just instinct.”

“Shh,” Matt kisses you gently, “I know. It’s like me dodging punches in a fight. It’s a defense mechanism. Your father, I… you’ve never said anything. I would’ve never suspected this.”

“‘Cause I didn’t think it was important. This never happened before. You never yelled before.”

“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry. You should have told me,” he says. “It’s important to me. The last thing I wanted was to hurt you. I want you to feel comfortable around me, not scared.”

You nod. “And I am, really, it’s just… I thought I did something wrong.”

His smile is soft when he leans in to kiss you again, tasting the tears on your lips. “You didn’t. I let my anger out on you for no reason. You didn’t deserve that. It won’t happen again, I promise,” and he dives right back in.

You wrap your arms around his neck, relaxing in his arms as his lips move against yours with sweet precision, making you feel lightheaded. He scared you, that much is true, but it was neither you nor his fault and you realize that now, safe in his arms as he proves his devotion to you with a single breath into your mouth. With his gentle touch around your waist he promises never to hurt you, never to let his anger out on you again, and he promises that he will drive himself to hell personally if he ever scares you like that again because he couldn’t forgive himself if anything happened to you because of him. He couldn’t live with himself if he broke your heart or triggered the trauma you brought into the relationship from your broken childhood, and he promises that he will never leave you, never put you second and always hold you when times get hard because people screw up, bad things happen, and you might be at fault sometimes, but so is he and there is no reason to be put down for being human. He wants to teach you that, he wants to help you heal yourself, and you have never felt more in love than at that moment, losing yourself in his lips, eyes and arms.

He breaks the kiss, moving on to your forehead. “If there is anything else I need to know,” he breathes hotly against your already heated skin, and the exhaustion slowly starts to seep into your bones as the shakes and tension subside from your bones, “please tell me before I make another mistake that might trigger you.”

You take in a deep breath, shaking your head. “There is not much else. My childhood wasn’t the best, but that’s okay,” you say.

He brushes his knuckles over your cheekbone. “Bad enough. Promise you’ll tell me if something else might come up?” He resembles a puppy as he tries to meet your eyes, but he fails miserably.

So you promise him, “Okay.”

“Can you forgive me for yelling?”

Your tears have finally come to a halt. “Yes,” you say.

“Thank you.”

Your eyes fall on the mess on the kitchen floor again and you go to grab the broom. Matt’s arm around your frame stop you and he gently pushes you out of the kitchen. “Let me clean it up,” he says. “Put a bandaid on your finger and then go lie down. I’ll deal with it.”

“No, I broke it. Please, Matt, let me do this.”

“Not everything is your fault, sweetheart. Besides, you already cut yourself once and with how you’re shaking, the next time you accidentally cut yourself I’m sure you’re gonna cause more damage.”

“But I-”

“Go to bed,” he insists, “I’ll be there in a second and then we’ll cuddle so you know I’m serious when I say that I love you more than life itself.”

The weight and guilt fall off your heart. “I love you,” you tell him. “More than life itself, too.”

It’s not a lie. If there is anything or anyone you love, it’s him, and you’ve never been this in love with anyone before. It’s sickening to the point it hurts, but the pain is sweet and it’s all worth it because with Matt, you can be yourself.

The past matters just a little less with someone who loves you right by your side, and he would never give up on you like everyone else did before him.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil #daredevil x reader #gender neutral reader #matt murdock imagines #marvel #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock angst #mentions of child abuse #hurt/comfort #matt murdock fic #daredevil fic #daddy issues (but not the sexy kind)

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inkwolvesandcoffee · 10 months ago

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Coy Messages & New Love (Daddy Dom!John Price on Tumblr Headcanons)

Or: More headcanons for a story I might write someday.

CoD Masterlist

Username: CaptainBear

He’s a soft Daddy Dom but with a rough edge. So is it any surprise John is very possessive yet also genuinely caring?

And kinda heartbroken you don’t live in England despite coming across as British.

Is always the first to like your posts.

And despite the rules you set, especially the DNI if you’re 40+ (in my mind, John is about 42), you allow him to interact with your content.

Because there’s something drawing you to him, something inexplicable that craves his attention. Something that keeps you hoping there’s a chance.

Your heart almost leaps out of your chest when you receive a notification.

CaptainBear sent you a message.

CaptainBear: Hey, I just wanted to say I thoroughly enjoy your blog and you seem like a very darling girl. And pretty to boot! You probably won’t respond to this and that’s fine, but I thought I’d finally gather the courage to pop in and tell you.

CaptainBear: Also, if I may be blunt, seeing you wear that choker in combination with that bunny shirt makes it very difficult to think. If you were at base with me, I don’t think I’d be of any use. Mission planning would be nigh on impossible.

(your_username): Base? What do you do for a living?

CaptainBear: I’m in the military. Captain.

(your_username): Wow, seriously?! That’s incredible! But, with all due respect, what is a man like you doing in a place like this?

CaptainBear: Satisfying my curiosity. Maybe on a mission to find something.

(your_username): Which is?

CaptainBear: Companionship. With luck, yours.

(your_username): What’s your name, soldier? If you tell me, I’ll see what I can do.

CaptainBear: It’s John. Sorry, should’ve mentioned that. Quite a generic name too, I know.

(your_username): It’s alright, John. Is it short for anything or just John?

CaptainBear: It’s short for Jonathan, but only my Mum calls me that.

(your_username): But what if I did?

CaptainBear: God, you’ve got no idea how much I now want to hear you say it.

(your_username): Maybe someday you will.

He regularly checks up on you, even multiple times a day. Look, John just wants to make sure you ate, stay hydrated, and are healthy.

When he's on leave, it's not uncommon to get a message from him accompanied by a picture of a pint with the context he's at a pub with his pals. More often than not, it's followed by a confession he'd rather spend the evening with you.

Loves it when you send him photos, especially to show off new lingerie you bought.

Thrives on the knowledge he gets to see more of you than anyone else and loves the thought you’re showing others what they can’t have.

Because it’s all his.

Has confessed to jerking off to them… a lot.

Shares little bits of his day with you. He’d be at a bookshop and ask you to pick something for him to read or your recommendations. Or he’ll be cooking and be struck with curiosity because what is your favourite food? What do you like to eat?

CaptainBear: Y/N, I made a brownie.

(your_username): Oh, is it any good?

The photo he sends you answers the question. Nevertheless, just to be sure and give him the chance to give context, you send a follow-up question. (your_username): Did you use 90% cocoa chocolate or is it…

CaptainBear: It’s burnt… so now you know I can’t bake. I’m a man of many talents, but baking isn’t one.

(your_username): I’m sure you more than make up for it otherwise, sir.

CaptainBear: You’ll find out when we meet, my dear.

Assures you that when he’s away on deployment he’s not making up a lie to be with another. And in order to prove that, John will sneak in photos to show you he’s really in Iraq or wherever else.

Drives the task force up the wall because he gets quite lovey dovey in private.

Leaves compliments on your posts which are laced with possessiveness and his obsession with you (my pretty Dollie, sweet little thing, etc.) on your posts. He tags you in photos and reblogs too to let you know what he's into, thinks you like, and hopes for your relationship and possible future.

Furthermore, he also shows you claimed him via reblogs and by stating he’s ‘taken and proudly devoted to (your_username)’ in his blog’s bio (even before he's asked for your submission, which he is pretty sure you'll give him. Until then, it's a way to stave off unwanted attention).

Gets especially gooey with lust and affection when you show him the plushies you’ve crocheted (totally not saying this because I crochet, haha). Like, he’ll immediately brighten when he sees a '(your_username): John (and occasionally sir or even Daddy later down the line), look at this!' followed by a photo of you snuggling with your new animal buddy.

As time passes by and you two get to know each other in more ways than one, you finally decide to meet. The moment you tell John you booked a train to London during the time he’s on leave he’s overjoyed. Ecstatic even.

The moment you enter King’s Cross, he spots you and practically runs over to wrap you up in a warm bear hug before you can get so much as a greeting out. The only sound you make is a surprised squeal as he lifts you up and twirls you around. “My little lady, finally home.”

At last, you regain your voice. “Hello to you too, Jonathan.”

Though he loathes hearing anyone else use his full name, he melts on the spot when you do. Moreover, he’s flattered you remembered the promise he thought was an empty one, a fleeting wish.

Turned into a dream come true.

Takes you out for coffee and Build-A-Bear as a first date the day after because your first day together gets lost to unpacking and settling into the Hackney townhouse he calls ‘home’. Lost to getting the messages (holding hands all the while), learning how each of you likes their coffee, what his favourite cigars are, what your favourite food is.

Lost to the feeling of what it’ll be like to live together.

It’s surprisingly much easier for John to tune into you than he expected. Henceforth, he picks up on the hesitation that underlines your movements, the slight shudder in your lips while he tries his best not to get completely lost in you.

“We don’t have to do this,” he hastily says between kisses, needing to get the words out before you start something you won’t want to finish.

“No, I want to, John. I want you.” You told him you’re a virgin and have given off clues that the concept of actually having sex is, to be honest, quite frightening. Nevertheless, you’ve put your trust in him and feel secure in his touch, his embrace.

“I know, love, but I mean that we don’t, shouldn’t even, have sex if you don’t want to.” His features soften. “Don’t do it if you feel like you need to to please me because you don’t. I’ll wait for when you’re ready. I told you before, this isn’t about sex or the dynamic. I love you. Love who you, you as a person, are and I don’t want to pressure you into doing anything you don’t want.”

After reassuring him and giving him your consent explicitly multiple times, he picks you up and carries you to the bedroom.

Tries to be gentle the first time, but ends up being rough anyway. He’s utterly enchanted, nay, enthralled by how you look, unraveling over and over again.

All because of him.

Nonetheless, John refuses to cum inside you until you’re on birth control and he has bought a box of proper condoms.

“It’s not that I don’t want to have sex with you or cum inside. Believe me, I do, every minute of the day. Drives me fucking mad, but,” he caresses your hair as he pries your legs away from his waist, ”I have to think about your health as well.”

You don’t protest, don’t want to after a soft kiss on the forehead and a husky “I’m sorry, love”. In response, you lightly squeeze his arm and shake your head. “Don’t apologise. I also won’t force you to do things you don’t want to do. Though it’s nice.”

“What is?”

“You looking out for me.”

“‘Course I do,” John snaps into you, picking up the pace again that has you seeing stars, “I’m your captain. Your man. Your bear.”

Those very words, combined with his warm presence, tips you over the edge.

A content echo of his name fills the room, rings in his ears as a satisfied sigh falls from your lips and tears stain your cheeks. It’s this image of chaotic beauty, of gorgeous ruination, which almost makes him break his promise. Nonetheless, after a few more sharp thrusts, he pulls out. Thick creamy white spurts draw an intricate pattern on your skin.

His mark.

John rests his forehead against yours, basking in the afterglow. “I love you.”

Today and the many days he hopes are ahead of you.

#Captain John Price Smut #John Price smut #John Price #CoD smut #John Price x Reader #Captain Price x Reader #Captain Price smut #Captain John Price x Reader #CoD x Reader

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hotluncheddie · 3 months ago

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💕🪱Wiggly Wednesday🪱💕

ty for tagging me: @runninriot @just-my-latest-hyperfixation @whimsicalwadewinstonwilson @someforeignband <3

I’ve had these worm thoughts for a while but I dunno if I'll turn it into anything. Think bc of the nuance that I would need to put in it. <|:3

But basically! I’m thinking about autistic Steve again. My lovely lovely high masking autistic Steve. Who struggles to ask for help and struggles with how much he’s allowed to share, struggles to look after himself and is still learning about his needs and his desires.

Thinking about how he’s so good at following rules, because most of the time that genuinely makes the most sense to him. It’s how he navigates the world, how he’s built his mask and scripts. How he’s kept his secrets, kept himself safe.

As long as he’s not effecting anyone else, he doesn’t need them knowing the rules he’s made, the ones he breaks and why - what that might mean. So it can be to his detriment, it can be to people please, it can be a way for him to ignore himself. But they’re also a part of him, an important part; they're all he’s ever known.

But what makes it complicated is thinking about all of that, in the context of navigating a d/s dynamic. With Eddie and him exploring that part of their sex life a little.

Because, thing is, Eddie knows how good Steve is at following rules, how willing and eager he is to be good. But Eddie’s doesn’t want to hurt him. So they would both have a lot to learn, about each other, and about communicating.

- So maybe it starts as:

‘What do you think baby? Would that be hot, you’re not allowed to cum unless it’s with my permission?’ Eddie asks, kissing over Steve’s stomach, looking up at him all sprawled out and cozy on his bed.

Steve traces the line of Eddie’s nose, lips pouting in thought. ‘Like we did the other day?’

‘Kind of, but more like, when I’m not there too. You have to wait until the next time you see me.’

Steve liked what they did the other night, Eddie going slow, teasing him a little. Telling him when to touch and when to stop and when to finish is a slow syrupy haze.

But, if Eddie’s not there. He usually likes to touch himself before bed, to help him sleep. Pretty much every night. Like, like a routine…

(And that’s the thing. Working through Steve asking for things he needs, understanding that some changes could be for his benefit. Never meant to be to his detriment. What that means for his masks and scripts and taking real care of himself. To let Eddie into the world of his rules and maybe let him make some of his own - that requires a lot of honesty, and that's scary.)

- And so maybe there's a bit of angst, some hard talks and hard truths, but then maybe it shifts into something with a bit of comfort, like:

‘How about this, we can try rules, but things that are about taking care of yourself, and we don’t have to do punishments. It’s more, like, I want you to tell me when you’re struggling Stevie, and maybe this will be something that can help.’ Eddie says, pulling Steve’s hand into his lap, connecting them.

‘You like how showering feels right? You said it makes you feel good?' Eddie waits for Steve's nod. 'Ok, so I want you to shower for me, each night, it can be quick and the same as your always do it, same with your hair.’ Eddie continues, tucking a lock behind Steve’s ear. Steve curls toward him, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his head in Eddie’s shoulder. Not looking, but listening.

‘And it might help, you know, if you think you can’t do it but remember that Daddy’s rooting for you, yeah?’ Eddie drops his voice, speaking softly into Steve ear. ‘Daddy knows his baby likes to shower and brush his teeth before bed so that’s what I want baby to do okay?’ Eddie asks, smile blooming sweet and cocky on his face as Steve squirms, shifting himself closer, throwing a thigh over Eddie’s and seating himself in his lap. That word always makes Steve feel a little crazy. Makes him feel gooey and loved.

‘But, and this is the important part baby, if you can’t, if it’s too hard, I want you to call me okay?’ Eddie asks, linking their fingers again and looking Steve in the face, waiting for his small nod.

‘And you don’t have to use that word when you call, if you just want to call me Eddie, that’s perfect too. Or if you call and say it’s a bad night and can’t get any more words out that’s fine. I just need you to call me yeah? That’s your rule. Okay Stevie?’ Eddie finishes, shaking their joined hands and smiling when Steve gets out a little ‘okay’, looking Eddie in the eyes for a flash, smiling, leaning into Eddie’s arms, moving closer for a kiss, and another, and another.

yeah! Just ideas!! Maybe I’ll write it all down one day, but maybe not. Hehehe.

✨Tagginggggg✨ : @scoops-aboy86 @pearynice @steviewashere @devondespresso @marvel-ous-m

@wynnyfryd @wheneverfeasible @thefreakandthehair

#sorry for people who don’t like daddy kink #but also no I’m not #bc its hot and nice #:)#hotlunch #steddie #ideas #autistic steve harrington #my boy my boy my boy my boy #wiggly wednesday

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venuscxre · 20 days ago

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⌞ 𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 ; 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒 ⌝

summary ; boyfriend!tristan x giant gf!reader headcannons.

request ; “ can I request tristan liones bf hcs with a gf who’s a giant and king and diane’s adoptive daughter? ” — anon

pairing ; tristan / fem giant!reader

tags ; fluff, established relationship.

notes ; a tristan request this time around!!

𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠

tristan is just like his daddy, always somehow attracting women that are taller than him by far.

tristan is an incredibly gentle boyfriend, and if you’re anything like your adoptive mother, diane, your constant mood changes are capable of giving a man whiplash. tristan, however, is well versed in keeping his girl happy at all times.

he tries not to show it often, but he’s incredibly smitten with how much stronger you are and loves it when you’re at your full height rather than when you shrink down. he’s proud of you and if anyone tries to make it seem that your relationship is weird, he’ll damn near turn into a tyrant.

tristan is so male wife coded. he’s always making you little things or getting small trinkets that remind him of you and always surprises you with your favourite foods and snacks. oh, you’re eyeing down a nice looking dress? he’s getting it for you and scouring the ends of the world to find a mage who can make sure that you have another version that enters you at full size. oh, you want a crepe or something else that’s sweet? he’s buying out the entire stand. he loves his girl and will do everything in his power to spoil her.

naturally, as a knight of the apocalypse, he can’t be with you as long as you’d like, but if you give him something to hold onto as a way to remember you, he’s never taking it off. he’ll use it to brag about when he’s away for long term missions. random people that you don’t even know will have more information on you that most of the people you do know. why? because your boyfriend doesn’t know when to shut up about you.

you both have definitely gotten embarrassed by your parents since they’re very close to each other. diane and elizabeth will pull out picture albums from when you both were infants and will make sure to provide context on each one. king and meliodas just watch from the sidelines in amusement as their wives turn their children into blushing messes.

your siblings are very protective of you at first but since it’s tristan, they learn to warm up a little more. they treat him like one of you guys after he expressed how lonely he is as an only child. (cue meliodas teasing elizabeth with an “we should make him another sibling so he’s less lonely.” she smacks him after that.)

tristan knows how sensitive of a topic it is for you whenever someone mentions how you’re adopted. you’re well aware that your parents love you as if you’re actually one of their own, but whenever someone points out you’re adopted just to bring you down, you get all sad and disappear for hours on end which really worries him. he knows you like to be left alone during those times and when you get back, his and your family have a nice dinner laid out comprising of all your favourite foods, that he cooked, to make you feel better.

tristan is a mama’s boy, so he knows just what a woman likes or dislikes and can get the hint on certain things that most guys miss, that makes him really popular with the girls, much to your dismay. he knows you get jealous really easily and always makes it a point to assure you that you're the only girl in his life.

we all know that there’s a bit of a tension between tristan and lancelot as well as tristan and his father. whenever he gets in a mood, he likes to have you cuddle him up in your full height. he likes to be enveloped in you when he's upset.

tristan loves to kiss you, especially when you’re in your full height. he’ll summon his wings and kiss all over your face, muttering an “i love you,” in between each one. and when your soft lips completely smother his face in response? he’s so happy he could fly to the sun. he's absolutely and completely whipped for you.

lancelot may be a more nonchalant, reserved and mischievous lover, but tristan is more open and gentle with his affections. but one thing's for sure; they love their partners.

overall, tristan is a great boyfriend! 10/10 would date :33!!

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated. <33

#nanatsu no taizai #the seven deadly sins #nnt #7ds #mokushiroku no yonkishi #four knights of the apocalypse #mnyk #4koa #4kota #the seven deadly sins x reader #7ds x reader #four knights of the apocalypse x reader #4kota x reader #4kota tristan #tristan x reader #reader insert #ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐒𝐂𝐗𝐑𝐄 ˎˊ˗#ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐒 : 𝟒𝐊𝐎𝐓𝐀 ˎˊ˗

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a-small-writer-in-a-big-world · 2 years ago

Note

It’s so crazy you literally posted the thing about the whole price daddy kink thing because I was just about to send you this ask asking your opinion on something 😂

So I’m from the south and it’s extremely common (where I’m from anyways) for couples to start calling each other “mama”, “daddy”, or whatever when they have kids. Because 1 it makes it easier for the kids to know who their talking to or about and (for some reason?) parents seems to respond more quickly to the term their kid calls them rather than their own name.

Anyways my brain was on over drive thinking about Price (and a little about Gaz) and I was like hmm I feel like Gaz would be the type to start to call you mama once you either have a kid or the kid gets old enough to start calling you that but I was wondering what you would think of a fic with something like that in it with Price? It wouldn’t be a kink thing at all rather just another way of taking directly to each other or kinda just another form of nickname.

(I really hope this makes sense because I literally dumped this out of my brain so quickly)

No okay because this is entirely different from the daddy kink because this doesn’t make me uncomfortable and it makes sense to me so you’re good. All of this is my opinion ignore it or whatever idc

I am technically form the south as well and as I child I called my mom and dad “mommy and daddy” because that’s who they were to me, and even at my age now I still sometimes do it (especially when I’m having a hard time and need them to comfort me) there’s nothing sexual about it.

It’s different when it’s not in a sexual context, especially when you’re referring to your partner in front of your child as that so they understand “this man is my dad” and if someone sees that as sexual maybe you need to take a step back and think for a moment why you believe that

Using it as a non kink is fine imo, using as a kink is just bleh (to me)

I can’t stand the daddy kink. There’s nothing arousing to me about wanting to call the man who is dicking me down “daddy”. I don’t know why it became a thing, I don’t know why it’s been sexualized but honestly it irks me that it has because it’s literally impossible to enjoy any kind of media without having to see it literally fucking everywhere.

If you enjoy the daddy kink, good for you. Not my cup of tea. But I am so fucking sick and tired of trying to find fics (not just MW2) or any other kind of media that doesn’t have the daddy kink because it’s literally everywhere since a lot of people like to romanticize daddy issues.

Write what you want. I didn’t mean to rant about this and personally don’t have the energy to get into a debate about any of it either rn. My opinion ultimately doesn’t matter I’m just frustrated with the fact that I can’t read Captain John Proce fics without getting slapped in the face by the daddy kink because 1) the author didn’t tag properly and 2) i wouldn’t be able to read any fics if I didn’t read any of the ones that have it since there seem to be none that don’t

#rant #asks #I’m just annoyed #my goal is to write fics without for people who don’t want it #because I know #there has to be #others who are frustrated too

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stuckybingo · 11 months ago

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Stucky Bingo Round-Up #10 (December 10th - 23rd)

If you would like a shiny Bingo Card of your own, you can fill out this form! Don’t forget to fill out the submission form to be a part of the round-ups and to get your bingo badges!

Time spent with you is never wasted by late-to-the-party-81 Square filled: N4 - Domesticity Ao3 rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Supersoldier Husbands, Explicit Sexual Content, Top Bucky Barnes, Bottom Steve Rogers Summary: A little break away, just the two of them. Whatever shall Steve and Bucky do when they get snowed in? Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

Context by ABrighterDarkness Square filled: G5 - Oblivious to Lovers Ao3 rating: Teen Warnings: No archive warnings apply, Non-Consensual Outing Major tags: Siblings, Arguments, Mediation, Pining Summary: “Would it help if I gave you the context?” “I guess it would depend on the context,” she sighed. Steve knew that tone. This was where she’d been so sure that he’d already picked a side. He supposed, in a way, he already had, but he didn’t have the same hangup about explaining his reasoning that Bucky sometimes seemed to have. Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

Jingle all the way by Kalee60 Square filled: N1 - Action Figure Ao3 rating: Teen Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: shrunkyclunks, identity porn, fluff, first kiss, disaster Bucky Summary: Christmas Eve, Bucky realised, was not the time to try and buy the most sought after action figure in New York City. But he’d promised his niece, and there was no way he’d let her down - he was going to deliver. Except every single store he visited, had sold out. Then he’s injured in an accident, and a good samaritan, Steve, comes to his aid. But the last thing he expects is to spend the evening with him on a futile search for a toy. Bucky wasn’t complaining though, as Steve was the kindest, hottest and most magnetizing man on the planet, and Bucky hadn’t had so much fun in years. As time runs out for both the toy and their adventure, Bucky knows exactly what he wants for Christmas. But the question was - does the mysterious Steve want the same? Format: Long oneshot (over 5000 words)

All In, Chapter 2: Vulnerability by otpcutie Square filled: G3 - hurt/comfort Ao3 rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: President Steve, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, brat Bucky, angst, D/s, Daddy kink, age difference Summary: Bucky opens Steve’s eyes and confessions are made on both parts. Format: Part of a multichapter fic

Steve Rogers, PA by sparkagrace Square filled: I5 - car trouble Ao3 rating: Teen Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: winter soldier Bucky Barnes, personal assistant Steve Rogers, hunkyclinks, flashback, fluff Summary: 3:42 in the morning and Steve is B-O-R-E-D. He doesn’t even know why he’s so restless on this particular evening when Sunday nights at the gas station are usually the easiest as they’re so uneventful. He typically uses this time to do thesis research or read, but his brain can’t focus on anything and barely any customers have come by tonight. Normally, he can count on someone lonely enough to shoot the breeze with for five or ten minutes to break up his shift. He needs some excitement. Format: Part of a multichapter fic

Factory Regress by SucculentHyena Square filled: I3 - De-aging Ao3 rating: Teen Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Age Regression, Amnesia, Possession, Magic, Space Adventure Summary: A crashed ship, a mysterious device, and some unfortunate circumstances. Format: Part of a multichapter fic

The Great Barnes-Rogers Christmas Tree Heist of 1938 by SquadOfCats Square filled: Adopted square (December) - Midnight Mass Ao3 rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Christmas, Fluff, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Getting Together, First Time Summary: Bucky still shook his head and gave a half-hearted protest. “Robin Hood stole from the rich to give to the poor, though. He didn't steal and keep it for himself.” “Right, he stole from the rich and gave to the--Buck. Do you not think we're–?” Steve blinked, and then he stared hard at Bucky. “Pal, I've got some bad news for you about the state of our finances.” In which Steve and Bucky attempt to get a Christmas tree and everything goes wrong, but then everything goes right. Format: Long oneshot (over 5000 words)

#stucky bingo #stucky bingo round 5 #round up 10 #weekly roundup #don't forget to fill out the submission form

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ladytauria · 13 days ago

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find the letters tag game

tagged by @azol-otl ! thank you, this was fun (& surprisingly difficult lol)

Rules: You will be given a word. Share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word.

Word: MASK

gonna stick the excerpts under a readmore & also do the tagging of people up here <3

no pressure tagging— @ragnarokhound, @paprikadotmp4, @bi-bats, @this-was-a-terrible-idea, @thesandsofelsweyr, & anyone who sees this and thinks it looks fun :P

your word is… ACTOR <3

—

M — JayTim + wingfic sequel

i cheated a little with this one. translations of tim’s texts in brackets.

TIM: ❄️ mnd if i stp by? wngs r knda rgh [cool. mind if i stop by? wings are kinda rough]

Tim’s seeming allergy to vowels should not be charming, and yet, somehow—

Jason finds himself charmed.

God, he’s so stupid.

JASON: Would it kill you to text like a normal person?

TIM: y 👍🏼 [yes]

A — JayTalia + Public Sex + Trans!Jason

Anticipation coils in his chest. It winds tighter and tighter the longer Talia’s hand rests on him, doing nothing, nothing at all. He can’t help but shift, moving his weight from one foot to the other before settling again.

The worst is the way he can feel the slick smearing over his thighs. It’s not started to drip down his legs, not yet, but…

It’s only a matter of time.

S — JayTalia + AOB + Lactation Kink

omega!talia x alpha!jason

Slick drips down her wrist, onto his thighs.

He makes a low, alpha sound—a noise she often hears right before her partner of choice buries their face between her thighs or spears her with their cock.

Jason does neither. He just grips her bruisingly tight; his nostrils flaring as he breathes deeply, deliberately. The muscles in his abdomen twitch with the effort to stay still.

To wait.

K — RomanJay + Non-Con + Daddy Kink + AOB + Forced Knotting

alpha!roman x non-dynamic jason. also there are more kinks in it than listed, that’s just for context hehe

"Kick me again, boy, and you'll regret it," Roman says, his tone low. "I'm being very patient with you right now, but I assure you, that can change very quickly."

Jason whines. "Daddy, please. It's too big. It's not— It's not gonna fit. I don't— I can't—"

#the second jaytalia one is technically finished it just needs editing #romanjay is close to being finished but i have to rewrite it bc i decided on the nondynamic thing later #(as suggested by paprika <3)#tauriawritesfanfic #tauriawritessmut #romanjay #jaytim #jaytalia #dcu

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infinite-orangepeel · 2 years ago

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rating: as explicit as explicit gets with heavily angsty steddie

and for obvious reasons, this post is 18+ only !!!!!!

hi ! this post contains a VERY SMUTTY excerpt from pt. 4 of the current steddie fic i’m writing on ao3, it’s rotten work (loving a heart like mine) and this is my attempt to convince you to read the rest of the fic bc it’s my literal baby !!! thx <3

TW: feminization kink, daddy kink, memory loss, mild dub-con, religious imagery in non-religious contexts, heavy angst, sh behaviors, ed behaviors, bdsm dynamic, eddie’s a bit of a mean dom, ref. to past trauma (including homophobic parents, usage of homophobic slurs, domestic abuse), questionable decisions, blood, risk taking

note: i’ve placed the “read-more” where things start to become more sexual in content, but pls note this fic is utter chaos. it’s incredibly angsty and i strongly advise you read the full list of tw’s/tags at the link above before proceeding. i’ll be listing the main ones here but just please read at your own risk/pay attention to the tws. i don’t ever ever ever want to trigger someone accidentally !!

The cabin is a solid three miles from his house and his body feels every bit of the distance.

If it weren’t for the years of regimented physical conditioning, protein powder, and animalistic need to force his own body into submission—Steve probably wouldn’t have made it without having to stop by the emergency room for medical assistance.

His lungs are on fire, his chest feels about thirty seconds away from caving in, and his hair is plastered to his forehead by a sticky sheen of sweat.

Nevertheless, ignoring the constant bitching and moaning of his muscles, Steve runs.

The car was never an option. Too dangerous, too obvious. Burgundy beemer that everyone and their mother knew belonged to the Harrington kid.

Steve runs and the only thing that keeps him going, the only thing that propels him through the eternal damnation of this illness is the knowledge that Eddie is just across the finish line.

Eddie. His Eddie.

The lighter is with him. Eddie’s lighter. Bouncing in his pocket, as he reaches the crest of the last hill in the woods with chapped lips, thin blood, and blistering feet.

Hardly alive, he employs the final stores of energy in his ever-weakening body and knocks at death’s door to beg for desperate relief.

Which just so happens to double as the dilapidated entrance to Hopper’s seemingly abandoned cabin.

He bounds up the set of three stairs that have been eaten alive by an obvious termite infestation.

Hideous and cold and complete with temperamental plumbing—this is the place he’s dreamed of for nights on end.

“Steve,” Eddie whispers—cautiously opening the door and blowing a cloud of thick smoke over his shoulder, as he ushers him in and hurriedly latches a complicated series of locks over the door, “You’re not supposed to be here. What the fuck are you doing? It’s the middle of the night. How did you even—“

“I can’t go back home. Please don’t make me, Eds,” he’s heaving for oxygen, supply empty, “I’m not—I’m not good when I’m there.”

“Baby,” Eddie pouts and slants his mouth to kiss him, restraint quickly eroding under the waves of desire that push them together, “It’s not safe for you here,” he nips at his tongue as if chastising him for making such a careless decision, “You need to go back home. As much as I want you to stay, as happy as I am to see you—you have to go. It’s not worth it.”

Steve tastes the acrid bite of tobacco on his mouth, which is predictable, but there’s something less familiar beneath it. A deeper layer of bitter medicine that sparks anxiety within him as it crosses his tongue.

He licks over Eddie’s ruddy lips to identify the source—disguised as filthy passion—finding a clearer hint of rum or whiskey. Probably borrowed from Hopper’s old stash before he went sober.

The thing is Eddie doesn’t drink for fun anymore, save for the occasional beer or social glass of wine.

He doesn’t drink, because his deadbeat dad was a wretched alcoholic whose tirades were fueled by liquid gasoline.

Eddie’s been drinking alone and smoking and there’s salt on Steve’s tongue when he moves his lips in the direction of Eddie’s stubbly cheek.

“You’re hurt,” Steve pulls back to break the spell of shared touch, “You’re not okay, are you?”

Eddie laughs, turns his head, and swirls a crystal glass Steve hadn’t realized he was holding.

As predicted, the liquor is dark like molasses and smells about as sweet as germicide.

Poison.

“Is anyone? Are you?” Eddie spins on his heels, out of control, tires hitting black ice. Stumbling and catching himself on the edge of the couch.

Eddie recovers and straightens up quickly. Luring Steve closer to run a hand up his side at an aggressively slow pace. He smiles lazily and blushes at the way Steve squirms and stares at the row of silver rings waltzing over his ribs.

He wants to suck them off his fingers. He wants to get sloppy and dirty and gag around the silver. Let his fearless knight choke him on the likes of chainmail and steel.

He’d polish them day and night with globs of spit and messy worship.

He’d kill for it, Steve would. Slay any dragon to get those piano fingers down his throat, let Eddie play him dumb like a fiddle. Out of tune and grotesque. Gothic and ugly.

“I saved you once before. I could do it again. We can keep each other safe,” Steve appeals, following Eddie like a giddy Labrador as he rounds the front of the paisley print couch, “If we can beat Vecna and a hoard of Demobats together, we can definitely take on the town mob.”

Eddie’s hair is pulled into a messy bun and his white tank top leaves little to the imagination. Steve’s speaking plainly, but just looking at Eddie is making him ravenous.

“Maybe,” Eddie sips from his cup too calmly and Steve wants to shatter it, “Or maybe I was always meant to die. Maybe it was supposed to be me all along. Maybe Chrissy was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Black ink swirls visibly beneath the fabric of his tight shirt, as he bends to replenish the drink—filling it to the brim. Chugging poison like it’s pure water.

The head of the demon on his chest peeks out from beneath the low neckline. Tempting Steve to sell his soul and commit the crime of sodomy.

Give into the illness at long last.

“If you’re not gonna leave, you might as well make yourself useful, princess,” Eddie winks and stretches his arms overhead.

It’s pompous and douchey and makes Steve’s dick ridiculously hard.

”I haven’t forgotten how warm and sloppy that mouth of yours is or how good you look on your knees.”

”Really? You’ve—you’ve thought about me like that?” he replies dumbly, head a little fucked by the idea that any of this is actually happening.

Steve’s eyes track downwards, following the natural path of Eddie’s taught waist and widen as he notes the dark line of hair that is exposed beneath the jaggedly cropped shirt.

”Oh, sure. Gotta have something to keep me occupied while I’m out here living off the land like it’s the 1800’s,” he palms his cock roughly, dragging his hand over the head with slow force, “Turns out thinking about my wife’s pretty pussy makes the time pass faster than you’d think.”

Steve can’t even begin to process that comment, because he still hasn’t moved past the point he’s heavily fixated on—Eddie’s exposed stomach. Scars and ink and porcelain skin.

”Oh,” he sighs shakily and adjusts his stance to modestly cover his throbbing hard-on, “I’m—I’m glad."

That shirt, that stupid fucking shirt.

The hem is fraying and looks to have been cut with little planning. He’s now certain Eddie altered it himself with kitchen scissors or garden shears—haphazard and bizarre as is true to his nature. Kin to the wild things that dance in the shadows.

“See something you like?” Eddie croons in the cheesy tone of a chick-flick heartthrob.

It's infuriating how much it makes Steve genuinely swoon.

How much it makes him want to fill a girly diary cover to cover with Eddie's name in loopy cursive; little red hearts above the 'i's.

Honestly, he'd wear a dainty gold locket around his neck if it happened to have a picture of that fucker in it.

Steve is so royally fucked up. There's no coming back from this.

Not that he wants it to end, but still.

“You can touch me, Stevie. But I have to warn you, I do tend to bite," Eddie comedically bares his teeth and hooks a finger into the side of one cheek to showcase his canines-parodying a costume vampire, "Can’t blame me for wanting to mark up such a cute little victim with my teeth, though. Naughty habit, I know, but I’ve never been any good at sharing and it's only fair to claim what’s rightfully mine.”

His.

Steve audibly gulps and allows Eddie to pull him back in by the hand, giggling as their hips bump into each other. It's immature and clumsy-bringing his friend along to play make believe in clothes that don't quite fit either of them right.

Eddie maneuvers his limbs for him like an amateur puppeteer. Graceless and awkward, a colt fumbling his way through the meadow on needlepoint legs. He's drunk and it shows. Tucks Steve’s arms around his waist and leaves a claustrophobic distance between them--which is to say none--as he sucks onto his neck and grazes his pulse with sharp incisors.

His drawstring sweatpants are tented absurdly and reveal the thick line of his cock. Steve hasn't forgotten just how big Eddie is.

He thumbs at the head—noticing Steve’s lustful gaze—betraying his own discipline and moaning pornographically as he gets a hand on himself. Massaging the length as best he can over the obstruction of his pants. A shiver runs down his spine and Steve responds with a series of open-mouthed kisses along his broad shoulders. Unable to resist tasting him in one way or another.

“If you put the drink down and promise not to pour another drop tonight, I’ll let you fuck me,” Steve cants his hips into Eddie—somehow already rock hard despite the fact that his body should be incapable of such a thing considering how he’s treated it over the past few weeks, "Use me instead, c'mon. Show me where it hurts, so I can kiss it better. I know you want to. You're just as hard as I am-ah," his cock is so close to bursting, "I can feel it."

Eddie doesn't respond. Just stares at the glass in his hand and weighs the scale. They're both down on their luck, they both have so little left to lose--sitting ducks in a row. What's the point in denying themselves this one final pleasure?

If their story is destined to end in scattered ashes or twin graves, then why not masquerade as a pair of fortunate lovers in the interlude?

“I’ll be your pretty housewife. We can play pretend and forget about everything else. You can do whatever you want to me, but you’re not allowed to drink another drop of that shit,” Steve wagers, adopting the face of Bully #1 from his early days at Hawkins High--terrified to be known beyond his generic title, "It'll kill you before anything else ever has the chance to and that's a fucking waste of a way to go, Eds."

Eddie doesn't argue, in fact he doesn't say anything. Instead, he casually turns, sets the lurid glass on the dusty coffee table, and motions for Steve to trail him the rest of the way to the couch.

He does as he’s asked. Following Eddie’s orders without complaint.

He needs this. He wants this. It makes him feel safe. It makes him feel loved.

Eddie sits on the antique coach and opens his legs wide. Steve stands in front of him—sweaty and vastly unappealing after his suicide mission of a run. Feeling like a mere mortal in the hall of a god.

Patroclus at the feet of Achilles. What a tragic Greek myth of a duo they make.

“Why do you want me to fuck you, Steve?” Eddie asks inquisitively, palming his own cock again and rolling his hips to meet his open hand-its gotta hurt, the way he touches himself like its punishment, “It’s one in the morning. We both know you’ve always had your pick of the litter. You could be fast asleep with practically any girl in town curled up naked next to you. So, why me? Why here? Why now—when being in this cabin could very well cost you your life?"

Steve drops to his knees between Eddie’s thighs—more in complete exhaustion than in an intentional show of submission, but Eddie bites his lip just the same and moans at the view.

“Because I don’t want them, Eddie,” he stares at him through the dim light that a small lamp in the corner provides, laying his head in Eddie's lap and watching the hypnotic movements of his veiny hand, “I want you.”

“You shouldn’t. I won’t be good for you. Not long-term.”

Eddie’s hand stops moving, he lets it fall from his lap and retrieves an almost empty pack of Camels from his front pocket. He taps the bottom and tucks the resulting cigarette between his lips.

Then, as if needing to occupy his hands with something else, he curiously paints a thumb over Steve's lips-tugging at the bottom one and pinching down hard. Tears prick in the corners of Steve's eyes from the sudden jolt of pain.

Every move he makes with Steve holds careful intention, curated thought. Nothing is accidental and Steve knows Eddie's hinting at something more with his wandering fingers.

“I’ll ruin you, Steve. I’ve held back so far. This is about more than just tying up your wrists and silly little games of roleplay. You think you know me. You think I'm some interesting, open book with plenty of fun stories to keep you entertained,” he says condescendingly, which causes Steve to roll his eyes in budding annoyance, “but you only know the parts of me I’ve wanted you to see. You only know the stories I've wanted to tell. You don’t know the rest. Getting attached to me isn’t fucking good, I break everything I touch and I promise-I will break you. Whether I want to or not.”

There’s an eerie darkness behind his eyes. A black hole of pain that distorts his features into something previously unseen by Steve—sickeningly beautiful, terrifyingly alluring. He can't look away.

Steve has the urge to dive in and take the fall from heaven— down, down, down they’d tumble —with Eddie writhing above him in sinful release. Excommunicated for the greedy satisfaction they find in holding each other close and moaning into each other's mouths until the sun comes up. Passing catastrophe back and forth for all eternity like a bottle of cheap wine. Drinking their fill until all they have left is each other and the devil.

“Show me,” Steve says in a threateningly calm tone, “If you really are the big bad wolf, then quit holding back and give me everything you have. Just this once. Just tonight. And then–let me decide for myself.”

As more tears streak Eddie’s jawline and his cigarette loosely hangs–unlit and meaningless–between his lips, Steve realizes he isn’t in love with him. Not really.

He’d told Robin the truth, after all, it seems.

“Steve, I killed her. I killed Chrissy. Maybe not with my own hands, but with this stupid curse that seems to follow me everywhere I go. I can’t escape it. I’m bad luck, I’m a fucking nightmare. That shouldn’t read as an invitation to you. It should send you running as far away from me as you can get, but instead you've done the dumbest fucking thing in the world. No matter what I do, you keep running straight towards me like I can save you. Like this isn't the last fucking place you should be right now,” Eddie sobs and his voice is garbled by a thicket of pain and the obstacle of the cigarette, “I can't even save myself! I’m bad, Steve. At my core. I’m not–I’m not a good person. I’m not like you. I’m not the fucking human incarnation of the sun.”

No, he’s not in love with Eddie Munson.

Love isn’t the word for what Steve feels.

It would be a sheer fucking insult to sum up his feelings in such universally applicable form.

Love isn't nearly enough, but it's all Steve has for now.

And, even if it kills him, even if it leads him right over over the cliff's edge-he's going to love Eddie Munson until the very last second.

“You think I’m the sun?” Steve’s not sure if he’s breathing–he’s not sure how he got here in the first place or if he’ll see the light of another day.

But Eddie’s eyes are on him and maybe, that’s enough.

Maybe he can die on the floor of Hopper’s cabin.

Maybe he can die the beautiful death of a Shakespearian tragedy. Wax the poetic, hopeless dream of Juliet as his eyes fall shut.

Maybe he can find the romance in the suicide.

Maybe Eddie will kiss him as he takes his last breath and hold him as his heart ceases beating.

“Yeah, but that’s not–that’s not the point. I’m trying to get you to understand that I’m all sorts of wrong for you. I'll break your heart and I'm not–”

He leans forward and Steve is painfully sober and in need of a vicarious buzz, so he kisses Eddie without first asking for permission. Tangles his hands in the hair of the boy he’s not supposed to touch; not supposed to dream of; forcing his father to roll into a premature grave. Wherever the man may be in the world at this very moment. Steve doesn’t know. Hasn’t known for most of his life.

He kisses him until he's convinced it may very well be his last breath and with Eddie wrapped around his tongue--he thinks he can accept that fate.

“Eddie,” he feels hesitant hands wrap around his waist and scratch down his spine, “Eddie, I don’t care–”

Eddie kisses him back–kisses him harder. One upping him and raising the stakes of their game. Eddie kisses him murderously. As if trying to slaughter the words right on Steve’s tongue, as if trying to devour the sacred truth before it can make contact with the frigid air around them. Blue to red, dead on arrival.

They lick and moan and whine at each other.

Play with each other like they're regal pawns on a chessboard.

They sink teeth into reddening lips and make up for lost time, smashing the clock under Eddie's heavy boots.

And, at a certain point, Steve really does think he may pass out from lack of oxygen, but he doesn’t care. Trusts Eddie to catch him if he falls.

But then, Eddie releases him and Steve has to breathe on his own whether he likes it or not.

This isn't how it was supposed to end. Not with alarm bells ringing in his ears.

“Fuck, Steve. Don’t make this so hard, please. I’m going to want you for the rest of my goddamn life, okay? However long that may be. And that's enough, I've done my best to accept that," Eddie laughs bitterly and curses at the ceiling, staring up at the crooked wooden boards, "But, you? You deserve someone better. Someone that can give you a normal fucking life and a family and the ability to hold hands in public. Someone without a fucking mob out to get them. Someone who can actually keep you safe. Someone who doesn’t see you the way I do.”

You have no idea–no idea the things I want to do to you–

A monster, he'd called himself.

“How do you see me?” Steve stands and straddles Eddie’s lap; drinking in the moans he draws out of him, drunk on the power of being held by this man, "I promise you won't scare me away."

Eddie’s rock hard beneath him and Steve knows it’s wrong, knows it’s a bit manipulative, but he’s also a human livewire after seventeen whole days of separation–so he rolls his hips down and presses heat into Eddie's lap. Eddie hisses at the contact and grits his teeth as if Steve’s tied him to the electric chair.

He observes closely as Eddie’s hands cautiously trace the scars that have been revealed by Steve’s ratty, green Hawkins High basketball shorts riding up around the tops of his thighs. Deformities conceived by an experiment gone horribly wrong. By misadventures in self-reflection. Repeating the same mistakes over and over again.

“No, I’m not, We’re not doing this–” he shakes his head fervently, kissing the spaces between the lines anyway, “We can’t–”

He touches the gruesome scars like they're precious, soft as silk, and valuable as the commodified diamond. Keeping his touch featherlight.

“You told me you wanted to talk, Eddie. You told me you couldn’t resist the ‘Harrington charm after all,’” Steve–in an unusual display of decisiveness–grabs him gruffly by the jaw and watches the dull cigarette fall from grace-never achieving its' purpose, “So tell me. Let me decide.”

“I’m fucked up, Steve–” Eddie says through a river of tears.

He doesn’t take his hands away, rather creates half-moon indents in the flesh, digging in and growing roots in the soiled skin.

"I'm so beyond fucked up-"

“And I’m not?”

Steve pulls his sweat stained t-shirt over his head, tosses it aside, and moves one of Eddie’s hands to read the sullen language of ridged scars on his abdomen. Leading his fingers over the furled ruffage, illustrating the reality of the last few weeks. The damage he's done to himself in Eddie's absence, new and lasting.

“Whatever this is–whatever you feel, do me a favor and tell me before one or both of us dies without knowing the goddamn truth. Now or never, man."

“Shit. Shit. Shit. You promised,” Eddie brushes his hands over Steve’s chest, thumping a fist into the center—beating a drum that’s lost the will to make music worth listening to, “You told me you’d stop. You told me you were doing okay–”

“I lied, Eddie. I fucking lied to keep you safe,” he kisses him, nips at his jaw, gets his fingers back in those curls and wonders if this is how it feels to jump from the edge of the universe–to dive straight into the black, “Just like you. So, we’re even, I guess. We can put a tally mark on both sides. One, one. And if I can take the training wheels off, so can you.”

In a montage of profound rebellion–against his own rationale–Eddie locks a hand around Steve’s throat and pins him horizontally to the length of the couch. Penultimate domino collapsing as he bites him on the shoulder.

“Full honesty?” Eddie questions and tightens his grip enough to bruise, as if trying to squeeze the response out of Steve’s esophagus.

“Full honesty,” he pants, lightheaded and floating through space–Eddie the center of his universe.

“I–I think you’re the fucking sun. I do, but I actually think you’re brighter than that," he takes the bud of Steve’s nipple into his mouth and maintains the collar-like hold around his neck, "I think you’re a fucking supernova or whatever it’s called–Henderson taught me a long time ago at a Hellfire Club meeting.”

And then, in a display of ultimate humanity, he compassionately kisses a line down Steve's torso and whispers apologies along the way. Stopping at each scar to pay his respects, to mend the carnage. Tenderly pecking at each of Steve's veritable missing pieces.

If only Steve didn’t have to breathe, he’d beg for Eddie’s hands to keep him on the brink of suffocation at all times. It’s better this way, the bad shit doesn’t hurt as much when all he can feel is the harshness of Eddie’s wicked affection.

Taking his time, Eddie moves back up to Steve's chest.

Lavishing over the hardening nubs of his nipples, Eddie circles and hums around them–a simple tune that makes Steve squirm and whimper like he’s trying to fight off a violent predator. He likes it this way, the implication of violence. As if reading his mind, Eddie taps him on the cheek with a reprimanding little smack and kisses the red that blooms beneath it.

Ice to a burn, always ice to a burn with him.

If he could properly speak, Steve would beg him to hit harder. Beg for the imprint of his hand to become permanent on his face.

“You’re the first thing I think of in the morning and the last thing I think of before I go to bed and I dream of you,” Eddie removes his own shirt with his free hand and the chain around his neck dangles teasingly over Steve’s mouth as he tosses it aside, “God, I dream of you every time I close my eyes. No matter how much I drink, no matter how much I smoke–I can’t get you out of my head. I dream these horrible, filthy fucking dreams of you. It’s so fucked up. It’s so fucking fucked up. I'm so far gone for you, I told you."

Instead of being scared, Steve is intrigued.

Desensitized and enticed by the suggestion of squalor.

Wanting to roll in the mud and see what's it's like to have filth cover every inch of his body.

“What do I do in those dreams?” he coughs dryly, as Eddie releases his neck—hacking into his hand, “What do you do to me, Eddie?"

They’ve been inching towards this all along, since the beginning, since before it.

Since Steve's dad first told him about the illness that queer boys spread with leeching hands and parasitic defilement.

Since Eddie showed up on his porch and made his lips the tourniquet for every last one of Steve’s hellacious wounds.

“I make you choke on my cock until you can’t breathe,” he pushes his pants down to his ankles and shoves them off the rest of the way with his feet–completely bare except for the silver that adorns his fingers and neck. Dressed for the occasion.

“I fuck you until you cry. I tell you what to do and you obey my every command.”

The word makes Steve’s cock leak into his already damp shorts. Eddie laughs meanly and licks him over the fabric–reminiscent of their last illicit rendezvous. Squeezing him at the base of his clothed dick and warning him not to cum.

For good reason, because Steve is already aching for release.

“That’s the thing, Steve–in my dreams, you let me touch you and use you however I want. You don't complain, you don't say no, you let me hold you under as long as I want."

Eddie pushes Steve’s shorts down too, a delighted smile meeting his lustful gaze as he nods his approval at the lack of underwear he finds beneath. Kissing Steve on the tip of his cock and thumbing at the head until a bead of slick covers his finger.

He instantly shoves it into Steve’s mouth and orders him to suck. Plunging past his lips and rubbing over his gums, before settling on his spit-soaked tongue.

Steve does so gladly, just happy to have Eddie’s fingers inside of him. Pretends the thumb is Eddie's cock, rolls it across his tongue, and fucks his mouth around it. He knows Eddie likes mess, so he lets drool spill out of the corners. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, as he tastes himself. Bitter and tangy and putrid.

Eddie grins wildly and adds another finger. This time his index. Steve greedily latches onto it like a starved animal.

“But, it’s not just the sex that I dream of. Though, I’ll admit that’s a lot of it,” Eddie ruts his dick against Steve’s–dry and near unbearably painful with the amount of dragging friction the act creates.

“It’s all this everyday stuff, too. I don’t think I was kidding about making you my little housewife,” Eddie groans as Steve bucks up into him and flicks at his own nipples–putting on a bit of a show for the man hovering above him.

He tugs on them and pulls on the surrounding blanket of chest hair. Circling the buds and pinching intermittently. Moaning out sweet cries of pleasure and never taking his eyes off of Eddie. He’s so sensitive, wonders if he could cum just like this—grazing his nipples and letting Eddie watch him with rapt attention.

”That’s it, baby. Touch your pretty tits. So sensitive,” Eddie leans down to kiss the top of each bud and Steve sobs at the vulgar contact, “Making you feel good aren’t I? You like hearing how much I want to control you? Is your pussy getting all wet just thinking about it?”

“Yes,” Steve whimpers, shaking as he brushes a hand over his cock to further tease, “All slick and dirty for you. My clit hurts, 's throbbing so hard. What else did you dream about?”

“Hmm. Well, I make you eat and sleep on a regular schedule,” Eddie captures Steve’s wrists in one hand and sits down atop his bare thighs with the entirety of his weight, "You're right baby," he looks down thoughtfully, "Your clit looks downright pathetic."

He pinches the head of Steve's dick between two fingers and laughs as Steve mewls and kicks out his legs beneath him.

“I give you a bedtime and rules and punishments,” Steve gasps as Eddie reaches for a bottle of lube behind one of the cushions and douses his fingers in it, "I make you eat your vegetables and brush your teeth."

“I make you go to doctor’s appointments for your head and hold your hand when they do the x-rays," Eddie kisses him softly on the forehead and tucks a stray strand of hair behind Steve's ear.

“Gimme your color, baby or we can’t keep playing. Wanna play with my favorite fuck toy, really wanna play. But I gotta know your color first.”

“Green,” Steve yelps, as Eddie bites down on his lip, “Green. Green. Green.”

“Good girl,” Eddie says in that sickly sweet patronizing tone that Steve recognizes as his signature, “Such a good girl for me.”

He lifts himself onto his knees and instructs Steve to curl his legs against his chest. Then, scoots backwards to give himself space for what he's about to do.

What is he about to do?

Steve almost vocalizes the thought, but Eddie beats him to it. Ready with an explanation.

“Need to open you up, angel. Your pussy’s so tight, ‘s never been touched before,” Eddie uses the tip of his index finger to circle Steve’s rim methodically–slowly inserting it bit by bit, “I’ll talk you through it. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

It’s a strange feeling–this sudden intrusion. Eddie has an inch of a finger inside of his ass and it feels, good?

Strange and different and kind of painful, but overall good.

Steve’s never really thought to touch himself there and no girl has ever offered to, but he thinks there might be something to this. He wants more, wants to explore and play with Eddie until it all clicks into place.

But, despite the sensation being altogether foreign and odd at first, when Eddie eventually works him down to the last knuckle and curves his finger upwards—Steve swears he reaches nirvana. Stars burst behind his eyes and he practically cums on the spot.

What the fuck is that?

“Fuck. That’s–oh my god. Fuck,” he writhes and Eddie holds him down by the hips so he can slowly begin slipping another finger inside, “More, Eddie. More. Please, touch me. Touch me anywhere. I don’t care, just please don’t stop—fuck.”

"Cute. Looks like babygirl's enjoying getting her prostate fingered for the first time," Eddie licks a stripe up Steve's abdomen and sucks marks onto his hips, nosing alongside his weepy cock, "Just can't get enough of having my fingers in you, can you?"

Steve shakes his head somberly-borderline ashamed to admit it, "Uh, uh. Need you to keep me full. Wanna stay full. Please don't stop, Eddie. Please."

He adds a second finger, slowing sinking in, and working Steve open with gentle scissoring motions, edging him and licking up all of his wanton sounds.

“Let’s see where was I?” He feigns innocence and verbally ignores Steve's whining, but continues to press his fingers up against Steve’s prostate with increasing speed, “In my dreams, I make you do your laundry,” he rubs circles around that little perfect nub of pleasure that Steve never realized he had, “I make you give me a daily report of what you’ve accomplished and what you still feel you need help with,” he’s thrusting his fingers in and out of Steve’s hole at a punishing pace and the only thing preventing him from screaming is the vague memory that this is a man on the run and the walls are only so thick, “I make you take care of yourself in all the ways you don’t want to. In all the ways you think you don’t deserve.”

There are three fingers in his body somehow and it’s wet and messy and sloppy and gross.

He’s leaking profusely and swears he could cum from Eddie’s words alone. The control, the ability to submit fully, the offer on the fucking table–sends him into a state of irrepair. All of his senses converge to communicate the single fact that this is what he wants. This is what he needs.

Eddie Munson. Steve needs Eddie Munson.

He’s not the source of contagion, Steve’s dad had that all wrong.

He’s the cure–the narcotic sedative that may be the only thing capable of stopping Steve from unearthing the pistol in the basement and aiming it at his own head.

“And if I want all of that? If I agree to be okay with everything you just described? What then? Will you have me? Will you make me yours?” Steve secures his hands around Eddie’s neck in a binding clasp–lacing his fingers as a symbol of the oath he’s prepared to profess.

Locked in.

Permanent.

Eddie removes his fingers and furrows his brow in concentration, gazing down at the boy below him. Looking like he wasn’t quite expecting that answer.

“Then, I–I suppose we could do this, be whatever this is. But, Steve, I still don’t think you understand. Even if you are okay with a dynamic like that, I’m never going to be able to–”

Eddie’s doubts are silenced by another kiss. Steve doesn’t need to hear them, he already has them memorized like the back of his hand and he’s ready to battle them along with his own.

If the house was on fire, if the world was ending, if a bullet came spinning through the air and only one of them could survive–Steve would save Eddie every single time.

He’ll choose him in this universe and every other one. Born back again and again into his arms through time and space.

“You’re the moon,” he says, unable to put it into words, terrified of how lucid he feels when he looks into Eddie’s midnight eyes.

“What?”

“You’re the moon, Eds,” he kisses him unapologetically and thinks of how he got here-following the moon with nothing but Eddie on his mind, “You’re the light surrounded by darkness and I choose you, regardless. I don’t care about the consequences, as long as it’s you. As long as it’s you.”

“Steve, no one’s ever–I’ve never had anyone say something like that to me–” Eddie blinks back tears and everything is worth it–the pain, the risk, the unstable future.

It’s a disease, y'know. It can be passed from person to person. Make sure you stay away from boys like him, Steven.

Boys like him.

Boys with eyes as dark as the midnight sky.

Boys with quick wit and sarcastic bite.

Boys with bruised knuckles and scarred skin.

Boys like Eddie.

Boys like Steve.

“Ruin me,” he whispers brokenly, “Make me yours and ruin me.”

With that, Eddie rolls a condom onto his cock–retrieving it from behind the same cushion, as if he’d anticipated this very moment.

“Beg, babygirl,” he teases the head of his dick at Steve’s entrance and fists a handful of hair into his hand, “Tell me what you want with your words and maybe, I’ll give it to you.”

Steve cries out at the way Eddie prods against him, trembling and mewling in a fragmented cacophony. A fitful melody that could only ever appeal to a seriously fucked up audience of two.

“Need you inside me, Eds. Need your cock to fill me up, need you to make me forget about everything else,” he groans and tastes blood from where he’s been biting into his own cheek, “Please.”

“You’re learning,” Eddie grips the arm of the sofa with his free hand and Steve inhales the musky scent of him–trying to get high on it, “look at that,” his eyes are trained on where he stretches him out on his cock, “my bashful little virgin is going to get turned into a needy cockslut in no time.”

Steve fucking purrs. Greedy for more, desperate to feel himself split all the way open by Eddie’s dick. Wanting Eddie to break him all the way, sink his teeth in and never let go.

“That’s it, baby,” Eddie sinks further into the clutch of Steve’s ass and groans deeply–primal in essence, “Your pussy’s so fuckin’ tight, ‘s so warm too. Gonna stretch you out so good, make you nice and loose so I can fuck you easy whenever I want.”

“Wanna be yours,” Steve arches his back and sucks in a sharp breath as Eddie bottoms out inside of him–closer than ever, two becoming one, “Wanna be yours and make you proud. Wanna behave.”

“I know you do, princess. Can tell how good you are, how good you wanna be,” he stills his body, allowing Steve to adjust to him and pets at his face lovingly, “Of course you’re mine, baby. You’ve been mine since the day I first laid eyes on you. You belong to me.”

Fuck.

Steve cries out for a God he’s long since stopped believing in.

No one’s ever wanted him like this. No one’s ever wanted to claim him as theirs. To build a foundation atop his decimated grounds.

“Yours,” Steve replies weakly, rocking his hips and indulging in the painful stretch of his gaping hole, “yours, yours, yours.”

“Mine,” Eddie begins thrusting sloppily–with no rhyme or reason, other than the overwhelming need to reach his own end and take Steve down the rabbit hole with him, “You and your perfect pink hole. All mine. All fucking mine. Gonna ruin you, baby.”

Eddie presses his knees further into his chest beyond what should be naturally possible. But for Eddie he’ll do anything, bend and contort into any position necessary.

He slams into Steve, holding his ankles next to his head, and pistoning his hips.

“Mmmm,” he mewls and gawks at the bulge that pumps in and out of his lower abdomen, “Gonna cum soon. Gonna cum. Gonna cum. Feels too good, pussy’s gonna be so sore tomorrow. So full, so fucking full. Don’t ever want you to leave.”

“Fuck, Stevie,” Eddie takes one of his hands and flattens it over Steve’s pelvis, covering it with his own, “Do you feel that? Do you feel how deep you're taking my cock, princess?”

Eddie smacks his hips into Steve’s–whining high in his throat at the sight. The two marvel at the shape of desire, how Steve’s body molds to fit Eddie seamlessly. Like the cocoon of a dormant butterfly, shaping unique perfection.

“Next time, I’m gonna fuck you raw,” he sucks a hickey onto Steve’s neck–more purple to poke at in the morning, “Gonna make your belly all fat and pregnant with my cum. Breed you like the slut you are until it’s dripping out of every hole.”

“Yeah,” Steve moans sharply, canting his hips to meet Eddie in the middle–deepening his own pleasure and edging ever closer to a mounting orgasm, “Want that. Wanna be the mama to your kids, Daddy.”

I see myself as much more of a ‘Daddy’ than a ‘Mommy’—for your information.

It slips his mind, runs the length of his tongue by accident, and exits his perverted lips before he can comprehend the gravity of the situation.

But it scratches an itch that Steve hasn’t been able to reach since Eddie first spoke those words aloud in the produce aisle of the local grocery store. And he can’t take it back.

He doesn’t want to.

Daddy.

It feels right.

It suits him.

And, well, he doesn’t exactly seem too unhappy about it-

“Oh fuck,” Eddie trembles and fights for air, fucking into Steve with no remorse-balls slapping against his body rapidly,“Say that again,” he takes Steve by the throat and squeezes harder than ever before as if he actually plans on suffocating him right here on the couch, “Fucking say it, Stevie. Right fucking now, I swear to God–”

“Daddy,” he leans up to capture Eddie’s kiss-bitten mouth in his and smirks at how much the simple name affects the man’s composure, “Your wife, Daddy. No one else gets to play with my pussy and make me cum. Just you. Only you. Love being your pretty toy, want you to use me until I cry. Make it hurt Daddy, make me bleed.”

Stuttering in his rhythm and cursing relentlessly, Eddie slaps the outside of Steve’s thigh with a heavy hand and unsheathes himself.

”Fuck-what are you-“ Steve whimpers at the loss, desperate to get Eddie back inside him.

“Turn over, baby. Hands and knees. Wanna fuck you from behind so I can spank you while you cum all over my cock.”

Steve’s never moved so fast in his goddamn life. He scrambles into position-ducks his head between his elbows and teasingly wiggles his ass back and forth for Eddie to see.

“Gimme spankings, Daddy,” he pants, dick spilling out more slick onto the pillows, “Hit me hard so I feel it tomorrow.”

Steve’s never even spanked one of his girlfriends. Let alone gotten spanked himself. But there’s no doubt in his mind that this going to become a fast forming addiction for him, the second Eddie’s palm makes contact with the roundest part of his ass. He cries out at the overwhelming sting and hears himself pleading for more.

“You’re beautiful, Stevie,” Eddie says softly and tugs his head up from the pillows by the hair as he slides back into him, “I’m sorry about earlier, baby. I’m sorry I asked you to leave. Don’t ever wanna let you go, don’t ever wanna say goodbye.”

” ‘s okay, Daddy,” Steve moans out as Eddie pounds into him and lands another harsh spanking on his ass, “I got scared too. Don’t ever want anything bad to happen to you. Wanna keep you safe.”

“You’re the sun, Stevie. You’re the sun,” Eddie repeats in pure religiosity and closes out the prayer with a final, gorgeous virtue, “Gonna fuck you slow and cum inside you. Gonna take my time. Gonna savor this and never forget it.”

Tears fall when Steve hears him say this. He wants to promise the same. So badly. But he knows it’s one of the only things he can’t say back. He can’t give Eddie the blessing of his memory and it sends shrapnel flying into his heart.

“You’re the moon,” he says instead-figuring it’s the next best thing he can supply, “You’re my moon. Mine.”

“Yours,” Eddie says on the edge of a breath, “Always, yours.”

His hips stutter, slowing, and rhythmically brushing against Steve’s prostate which sends them both into an overwhelming orgasm in no time at all.

Steve spurts over his stomach and Eddie cums while still pressed deep inside him.

Twitching from oversensitivity and the aftershocks of pleasure, as he collapses onto Steve’s chest to bury his face in his neck.

Steve knows Eddie’s crying, can feel the tears pooling in the hollow of his collarbone. Opalescent in the moonlight.

Trying to make him whole, even now, even there.

Trying to save each other the only way they know how.

Within a matter of breathless minutes, stolen kisses, and mindless pillow talk; they drift off to sleep in each other’s arms.

”Need you to cut my hair tomorrow,” Eddie softly snores atop Steve’s chest and speaks through a half-formed dream, barely a whisper in the dead of night, “All of it.”

He almost asks, almost wakes him fully, but decides—without council—that the rest can wait ‘til morning.

When the sun will rise again.

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