#I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to open the outline like my writing would probably benefit from it

[formulafanfics13]

wait i loved the cl16 being a boobs guy request lmaoo, there’s not much of it here. do you mind writing another one? i don’t have much fantasy so you do you babes

Le paddel, Le Obsession, Le TITS - CL16 🔥

masterlist

Summary: Charles Leclerc is, unapologetically, a tits guy. After a sweaty padel match in Monaco with Lewis — where his phone’s lock screen reveals his true obsession — he launches into a feral, hilarious, and deeply unhinged monologue about his girlfriend’s chest, much to Lewis’ horror. That night, Charles returns home to find her in his hoodie with no bra, and absolutely loses his mind. What follows is a slow, worship-heavy, deeply affectionate smut scene full of praise, adoration, and boob-fixated obsession that proves Charles Leclerc has two religions: Ferrari and her tits.

Warnings: explicit smut, tit obsession, Charles being insane in love, light praise kink, oral (m to f), very soft dom vibes, body worship, hoodie kink, boyfriend adoration, absurdly wholesome horniness, mild breeding talk, deep strokes, Charles losing his mind over her boobs in every position imaginable. 100% filthy devotion.

The padel court in Monaco was drenched in late afternoon light, golden and hazy, bouncing off the high glass walls and making both drivers look like poster boys for elite cardiovascular health. They were shirtless, flushed, breathing hard and sweating through their shorts. It was the fourth game. Charles had won three of them. Barely.

Lewis was pretending not to care, but Charles was grinning like a smug little shit as he cracked open two bottles of water and handed one over.

“Admit it,” Charles said between sips. “I’m better than you.”

“You have home court advantage,” Lewis muttered, towel over his head. “And longer legs. It’s unfair.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m faster and prettier,” Charles grinned, flopping down onto the bench beside him, phone in hand.

Lewis scoffed but didn’t reply. He reached for his phone too, swiping to check a text — and that’s when he caught a glimpse of Charles’ screen. It lit up briefly when he pressed the side button, and Lewis blinked, did a double take, then leaned over with the slow confusion of someone trying to confirm they just saw what they think they saw.

“Bro,” Lewis said, squinting. “Is that… your girl’s tits?”

Charles didn’t even blink. “Oui.”

Lewis blinked again. “That’s your lock screen?”

“Yes,” Charles said, utterly unbothered. “She sent it to me when she was at work. She was wearing this little white shirt and I-” he cut himself off, suddenly fully energised. “Wait, wait, look. Look at the zoom. You can see everything. Like the outline. The shape. The softness. This shirt is cursed. I don’t know why they let her wear it.”

Lewis’s brows went up slowly. “So your lock screen… is a crop of your girlfriend’s chest. Fully clothed.”

“It is art,” Charles said solemnly.

Lewis stared. “You are down so bad.”

Charles only shrugged. “I’m Monegasque.”

“You’re practically French.”

“Same thing when it comes to tits.”

Lewis laughed, low and long and a little disturbed. “Okay. But why that photo? Like, not a full one of her face?”

Charles turned to him like he had just said the dumbest shit in recorded history. “Her face is in my heart. Her tits are in my pocket.”

Lewis choked.

“No, listen-” Charles was fully animated now. “You don’t understand. I am a tits guy. Like. Fully. I don’t care what anyone says. I don’t even care if they’re small or big or fake or natural or uneven or whatever. They’re amazing. They’re soft. They’re round. They’re like-like comfort objects, but sexy.”

Lewis put his head in his hands. “Please stop.”

“No, I’m serious!” Charles was on a roll now, ranting like a man possessed. “You know the best thing? When she lies on her back and they just like… spread. Or when she wears a little crop top and they bounce slightly when she laughs. It’s hypnotic. I lose IQ points.”

Lewis let out a strangled sound.

Charles kept going. “I’m telling you, they have power. I can’t even look her in the eyes sometimes when she’s not wearing a bra. I’m like a dog with a bone. I have no dignity.”

“You said this to her?” Lewis asked, genuinely concerned.

“She loves it,” Charles grinned. “She teases me on purpose. Like she’ll wear a hoodie with no bra and just pretend she’s cold. She knows what she’s doing.”

Lewis groaned. “Jesus Christ.”

Charles sipped his water, content. “Boobs are the original religion.”

Lewis looked at him, deadpan. “You need help.”

Charles smiled dreamily. “I need tits.”

That night, Charles was feral. It started the second he walked in the door. She was in the kitchen wearing his Ferrari hoodie, hair up, no makeup, barefoot. He could see the outline of her tits through the cotton and it was over.

He dropped his keys. Walked straight to her. Palmed her chest over the hoodie like a man starved.

“Bonsoir to you too,” she said, laughing into his shoulder.

“I’ve been thinking about them all day,” he whispered, kissing her neck. “Even Lewis knows.”

She pulled back, amused. “Knows what?”

“That I’m a tit guy. That I’m obsessed with you. That you’re my lock screen.”

Her brows lifted. “The one of me in the white shirt?”

He nodded, eyes wide, hands already sliding under the hoodie. “You’re so evil. Do you know what that picture did to me?”

“You said I looked cute.”

“You looked like temptation incarnate,” he muttered, dragging the hoodie up over her chest, mouth already moving to the exposed skin. “And now I need my fix.”

She giggled. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it,” he whispered, already kissing the top of one breast, kneading the other gently in his palm. “I worship you. I worship these.”

He led her to the bedroom like a man in a trance. Laid her down. Pulled the hoodie off entirely and just stared for a moment, lips parted. “Fuck,” he muttered reverently. “They’re so perfect.”

She bit her lip, chest rising under his gaze. “You’ve seen them a hundred times.”

“And I’ll never get tired.”

He kissed one nipple, slow. Sucked it into his mouth, tongue swirling gently, then moved to the other. His hand never stopped stroking her sides, her hips, the swell of her waist. Every touch was careful, adoring.

“You know what I love?” he whispered between kisses. “When you ride me and they bounce. When I hold them in both hands while you come. When you wear that little bra that barely covers anything and I get to pull it down with my teeth.”

She moaned softly, arching into him. “Charles…”

“Tell me you know how crazy I am for them. For you.”

“I know,” she breathed. “You show me every time.”

He kissed his way lower, then back up, returning to her chest with laser focus.

“I don’t care about anything else,” he murmured. “You could wake up tomorrow with a third tit in the middle and I’d still be obsessed.”

She laughed, breathless.

He cupped them both, leaned down, and whispered against her skin, “My girl. My tits. My heaven.” And then he fucked her slow and deep with her tits in his hands the entire time.

[rawrkittenpurr]

we're going through a heatwave and i couldn't stop thinking about that towel video, so.

“What the fuck was that?” Gabi demands, following Nico into his driver's room. “Out there.”

“I heard that they were celebrating your points, didn’t wanna miss it,” Nico shrugs.

“So you showed up in your towel? It could have slipped!”

“You have way too little faith in my towel tying skills. Besides, we’re in Austria. People go to the sauna naked with their colleagues all the time here.”

“But you’re not Austrian, you’re German. I’ve been taught that’s an important distinction.”

“Yeah, I am German, which means I’m not so prudish about being naked. Ever heard of Freikörperkultur, baby? Don’t you Brazilians have nudist beaches too? Or is that just so you can look at hot Brazilian girls topless?”

“What about the team, then?” Gabi responds, decidedly not thinking about which Brazilian women Nico finds hot. “They aren’t Austrian or German or Brazilian. They shouldn’t have to accidentally see your penis.”

“Eh, they’ve seen enough of Valtteri’s ass to be desensitized.”

“I see, you have an explanation for everything!” Gabi is becoming more and more agitated. 

“Yeah, it’s not so fun when you’re the one being talked back to, is it? Actually, I also know why you’re so mad. I think you’re jealous.”

Something snaps in Gabi at that, a last restraint tethering him to some semblance of normality. 

“Yeah, you know everything? So what if I am?” He’s all up in Nico’s personal space now, any traces of his shyness from earlier gone without an audience. He sees Nico’s eyes zeroing in on him, focused and burning. Gabi reaches down to feel the outline of Nico’s dick through the towel, hardening quickly. Annoyingly, the towel is still in place, he might have to concede his point there, but he uses this to his advantage, reaching through the folds for Nico’s cock and giving it a few experimental tugs before uncovering it, by now fully hard. 

“What if I don’t want everyone to see you like this?” He collects saliva in his mouth then bends his head down and opens his mouth, letting it drip down on Nico’s cock. Nico is speechless now, watching Gabi work his spit over his dick. 

“I know you’re a whore, old man, but maybe it’s time for me to do something about it.” Gabi pumps his fist tight and fast, letting his thumb swipe across the sensitive head every now and again, keeping his eyes on Nico’s face. Just as he’s starting to groan and twitch, Gabi’s phone goes off and he lets go instantly. 

“Ah, must be the 10 minute reminder. We have to go do press. I’ll take a shower. You, put on some clothes,” Gabi orders. “And don’t you dare think about touching that,” he adds, nodding at Nico’s dick, before storming out the door, leaving him breathless. 

[no1ryomafan]

Sometimes I wonder why the fuck I make a outline for chapter fics sometimes other then “here’s a vague idea of what goes on in this chapter/point of the story” cause like- it’s good to plan stuff out, but I straight up don’t check my outline and simply go “you know what would be funny” and this continues to fucking happen especially with my stupid crossover fic 😭

[nadvs]

the power play (part three)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

< prev

Rafe is waiting for you in front of your building, this time to take you to a frat party.

“Hi,” you say cheerfully, settling into his passenger seat, “for the third day in a row.”

Apparently, Emma always goes to these parties, and since Beck is friends with a lot of the frat’s members, you’re almost certain he’ll go, too.

You’re also meeting Lyla there. She’s been open-minded about Rafe. You hope he doesn’t make her regret it.

“You’re going to have to be nice tonight,” you say, then shut the door with a hard thud.

“Why?”

“Because my best friend will be there and I want her to like you.”

Rafe stares ahead, his mood plummeting. He doesn’t want to deal with this.

He didn’t care what Emma’s friends thought about him, until she started bringing up how much they don’t like him. You’re not even his real girlfriend, and the thought of being subject to that sort of judgement again makes his blood run hot.

He drives out onto the road. You wait for him to speak, but he doesn’t.

“Don’t tell me you’re already mad about something,” you say with a quiet laugh. “What’s up?”

You haven’t even been in his car for half a minute and you’re already trying to open up his wounds again, clueless to the fact that you’re reminding him of the things he wants to forget.

“What am I supposed to say to her?” Rafe murmurs.

“Just be polite,” you reply. “And act like you like me.”

He tensley rakes a hand through his hair. Something’s off with him. He’s never had to ask you how to navigate this.

“Are you nervous?” you ask.

“Nah.”

“What are you then?”

“I’m fine,” he says tersely.

You roll your eyes. You thought you’d gotten past feeling uneasy about pulling this off, but right now, you have no idea if this is going to work when you and Rafe are so out of sync.

You already aren’t in the mood to go to a party. He’s not doing anything to change that.

“I guess I should take back what I said about us being friends,” you tease.

He doesn’t say anything. You gaze up at the starry night sky through the window, letting out a sigh.

“I’m okay to cancel if you don’t feel like doing this,” you offer. “I’m in the middle of a great book that I’d like to get back to anyway.”

Rafe doesn’t know what to do with the things you say sometimes. It’d be easier if you snipped back or iced him out like everyone else does, because then, he wouldn’t feel shitty like he does now.

It’s annoying how much you unknowingly push these touchy, complicated topics. Even though you’re giving him an out, it’s hard to ignore how rotten he feels when he shuts down your innocent chit-chat.

So, he relents.

“I don’t want to – to have to think about impressing someone,” he admits with a stammer you haven’t heard before.

You look at him again, somewhat stunned. You almost make a joke about how this whole ruse, which he thought up, sort of hinges on impressing people. But the tension is too thick.

“You don’t have to impress her,” you reply, your eyes drifting over the outlines of his profile. “I just want her to believe you like me because she might mention it to her brother. But it’s not like… a test. If it were, I’d make you study. That’s kind of my whole thing.”

You find relief when he cracks a small smile, his eyes still on the road. You smile back, wishing he thought of you as someone he could trust, and wondering why he’s stressed about his fake girlfriend’s best friend's opinion, when he doesn’t seem like the type to worry about what anybody thinks of him.

“I’m surprised you care what she thinks,” you say, your tone lighthearted.

Rafe chews on his lip.

“I know this isn’t…” He motions between you, aware of how ridiculous it is to be tense about this when you’re not even really dating. He exhales, giving in. “Emma’s friends didn’t like me. She always brought it up.”

His words hit you, sadness twisting your heart. His ex did badmouth him minutes after she met you; you wouldn’t be surprised if she complained about him to her friends, handing them reasons to dislike him, using it against him.

That’s what’s bothering him. This is a bad reminder.

“All you have to do is what you did last night,” you tell him. “You don’t even have to talk much. I honestly think Lyla expects to see me with a guy who lets me do all the talking.”

You continue to stare at him. He’s stiff. On edge. It’s another crack in the facade, another peek into the things he hides.

“Why would she… always bring it up?” you ask quietly.

Rafe turns the car onto a narrow street, the steering wheel sliding underneath his hands.

“We said shit just to hurt each other all the time,” he mutters.

You gaze forward, your chest tight. At this point, you’re sure that what they had was toxic. His ex said he had red flags, but it sounds like she was the same way. You still don’t know why he liked her so much.

He’s obviously worked up. You shouldn’t push. You decide to put yourself in the spotlight to even the score.

“I never told you how Beck rejected me,” you say. “He hugged me, then said I’m a better friend than his sister.”

“Shit,” he winces.

“Yeah,” you chuckle. “You know when you can’t fall asleep and you think about all of your most embarrassing moments? That’s one of mine.”

Rafe breathes a quiet laugh. He grips the wheel when he reaches a stop sign, frustrated that he’s so curt with you, and even more frustrated that he cares. You’re slowly claiming a soft spot he didn’t know he had, whether he likes it or not.

“I’m… still pissed off,” he explains, his syllables sharp. “At her. Not you.”

It’s something that you didn’t expect about Rafe when you first met – that he can tell when he’s being too harsh and then tensely backpedals. You have a feeling he’s not really mad. He’s hurt. But he’d rather hide behind anger.

“I would be, too,” you say.

He offers an appreciative nod, avoiding eye contact.

════════

Lyla greets you with a big hug once you find her in the crowded frat house.

“I haven’t seen you in forever,” she says, then looks up at Rafe. “You stole my best friend.”

“Can you blame me?” Rafe replies, putting his arm around your shoulders. You smile up at him, the uneasiness you’d felt dissolving. He can put on a good show when he wants to.

You quickly catch up with Lyla while Rafe quietly stands next to you. When there’s a gap in conversation, you turn to him and motion for him to come closer. He leans down.

“You can go hang out with your friends now,” you whisper. “Or should we stay together? What do couples do?”

Your words echo in his head. He didn’t think about if you’ve actually been part of a real couple before. He gazes at you, wondering why you never said anything about it.

“They should see us together first,” he finally says.

“Good point,” you say. “Let’s do a lap.”

Lyla finds a friend in the crowd and you take the opportunity to get a drink with Rafe. You walk to the kitchen, nudging past people together, your fingers interlaced with his.

Behind the worn laminate kitchen island, a lively game of beer pong is taking place. Emma is standing by the far end of the table, playing next to a guy who’s standing close to her.

You look up to see if Rafe notices. He does. His jaw tenses as he stares at her.

When you step up to the stack of empty solo cups, you catch Beck on the other side of the living room, leaning against a wall and chatting with a couple of his friends. You hate that your stomach still goes numb at his smile.

“They’re both here,” you tell Rafe.

He turns to face you, your hands still joined. You know what he looks like when he’s concentrating. You’ve seen it through your tutoring sessions, the way his eyes narrow and his dimples cave in as he flattens his lips together.

“You have your thinking face on,” you laugh.

“On the counter,” he says.

“Excuse me?” you nearly shout, eyes widened.

He nudges your hips with firm hands. The edge of the counter is hard against your lower back. He steps forward to push the clutter behind you aside.

Rafe’s brows lift in expectation.

“Sit on the counter,” he explains, “so they can’t miss us.”

You let him take the lead and feel for the counter with your palms. With Rafe’s grasp on your hips and your own force, you settle on the hard countertop. He guides your knees apart and shifts to stand between your thighs.

Your throat goes dry.

He’s smooth, experienced, clearly having done stuff like this before. The thought of it, of him, makes your skin burn and you force yourself not to picture it.

You’ve been close to Rafe before – you sat on his lap just last night – but this is the most suggestive position you’ve been in together, and it’s sending your thoughts into an uncontrollable frenzy.

Just a second ago, you were standing a few feet away from him, and now he’s between your legs, his frame big and dominating, his palms hot on your thighs.

“Hands on me,” he instructs.

You stiffly rest your forearms on his shoulders, the crisp smell of his cologne dancing over you. Your eyes dart to Beck, who hasn’t noticed you, and you tell yourself to do with Rafe what you always imagined doing with him.

You cradle the back of his neck, gently lacing his soft hair between your fingers. The conversations and music fade away as you and Rafe settle in a moment that looks private, but is really just for show.

Your mind slows down as you remind yourself that this isn’t real and there’s no reason to be shy.

Rafe is eye-level to you now. It’s still bothering him – why wouldn’t a girl who never stops talking tell him that she hasn’t been in a relationship?

“You haven’t dated before?” he asks.

“What?”

“Why are you asking me what couples do?”

“Oh.” You laugh and shrug, as if it’s apparent. “When you’re in love with someone for, like four years, you don’t really pay attention to other guys.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Rafe murmurs.

“Is it important?”

“A lot of things you say aren’t, but you still say them.”

You laugh, lips parting in shock.

“Jerk,” you mutter under your breath.

“You’re name-calling now?” he says, amused at the way that calling him that, even as a joke, seemed like it made you a little uncomfortable.

“Sure am,” you retort. “I’m kidding, though.”

He scoffs, amused again. Of course you had to clarify that you didn’t mean it.

“That’s why you’ve been so freaked out about this?” he realizes, cluing in that all your nerves have been because this, all of this, is entirely new to you.

“Paired with the fact that this is a ridiculous thing to be doing,” you say. “I thought it was obvious. So much for being easy to read, huh?”

Rafe’s brows furrow. It makes no sense. You two couldn’t be more different, but he can imagine what other guys would see in you now that he’s used to your unrestrained cheerfulness. You have a rare sincerity to you. It’s absurd how many years you wasted on Beck.

“What the hell do you see in him?” he asks, an unexpected sense of protectiveness pricking at him.

You look up to the ceiling in thought. Your fingers continue to lace through his hair, and he ignores the goosebumps that are blossoming on his skin.

When you look back down again, you notice Beck’s gaze on you from across the room.

“This is a first. I’m telling my pretend boyfriend why I like a guy that’s looking right at me,” you say. “I had fun with him. He’s hardworking and he’s nice to everybody and I respect that in a person. And when I talked to him, he cared about what I was saying. He remembered little things about me. He’s kind.”

“He led you on, though,” he remembers.

“Maybe. I do wonder if he knew I liked him and kept me around because he enjoyed the flattery or the help with school,” you say. “But I don’t know. He could’ve hoped I’d get over it and wanted to spare me the embarrassment. Or maybe I read into things and imagined he was flirting with me when he never was. I could’ve built all this stuff up in my head.”

Rafe takes in all the words you just threw at him, bringing out a touch of amusement from you.

“I fell for him because he made me feel special,” you conclude. “Isn’t that a big part of loving someone? You like the person you are when you’re with them?”

He looks at you silently, reminding you of when you met him and all he would offer you is a blank stare. Then, his face drops in melancholy.

While he’s usually drowning in his overwhelming thoughts, with his ex, life was simple. He could forget about the shit he didn’t want to think about because she never pushed.

Before they started fighting so much, he could do his best impression of who he always wanted to be. A man who’s steady. Who’s strong.

“Yeah,” Rafe says.

“How’d you feel with her?” you ask. “When things were good, I mean.”

You hope he meets your eyes again. He does.

“Everything was easy,” he says. “It’s like I wasn’t as…”

“As?”

“Fucked up,” he admits.

Your shoulders drop. For the first time, you see a piece of why he was with Emma. She made him feel uncomplicated.

You wonder what Rafe has been through to make him think of himself that way, but you’re treading carefully, avoiding any risk of embarrassing him. No matter how rude he can be, you’re almost certain it comes from a place of sensitivity, and of wishing it didn’t.

“Isn’t it kind of funny?” you say, trying to lighten the mood. “He made me feel special and you make me feel annoying. She made things easy for you and I literally nag you to do your homework. And we’re supposedly dating.”

Rafe’s lips curl into a smile. You mirror it.

Just past his shoulder, you spot Emma’s gaze on you. She’s still playing beer pong, laughing with the guy she’s standing next to, but her eyes land on you and Rafe every few seconds.

“She keeps looking over,” you say. You think of their shared history, of how many memories they must have made together. Maybe Emma just needs to see him with someone else long enough to realize she wants him back. “What will you do if she wants to get back together?”

Rafe squints. He kept trying to make things work after she broke up with him because he just wanted the peace he’d once had with her back.

But when someone fucks him over, he’s done. The way she’s been dragging his name to anyone who’ll listen, to you the very day she met you, leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. She may have broken his heart, but she doesn’t own it anymore.

“I’m done with her,” he tells you. “What if Beck asks you out?”

You’re not sure how to answer him, because you’d written off Beck being interested in you as a possibility. You hate that your heart skips thinking about it.

You shouldn’t want a man who could only want you once he thinks he can’t have you. But it’s easier said than done. The years of infatuation have a hold on you.

“I don’t know,” you confess. “But no matter what happens, we should have an easy-out clause. No hard feelings when one of us is done with this. Cool?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Cool.”

“Beck’s looking, too,” you say. “I think they’re buying it. Can I…?”

You bring your hands forward to gently rest on Rafe’s jaw, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones.

“You don’t have to ask,” he says with a subtly irritated shake of his head.

His hands are splayed over your thighs and your knees are pressed against his hips. It might be a good thing to get some practice with a guy you’re not really with. Affection won’t be as intimidating if you’ve already done it in a controlled setting.

Rafe waits for you to say something, to do something. Maybe you’ll break your ‘no kissing’ rule, even though now he’s pretty sure it’d be your first kiss.

“You know what?” you say gently.

He takes in the way your eyes travel over his face, and for a split second, it’s like you can see just how much he hides below the surface, like you’re going to keep digging until you find out what it is.

He nods once, silently beckoning you to continue.

“The next book on the syllabus is one of my favorites,” you say.

He smirks, relieved you’re joking instead of prying.

“This really is the type of shit you’d talk about with your boyfriend,” he realizes. He thought you were just nervously rambling the other night because you had nothing else to talk about, but he was wrong.

You purse your lips in thought, memories trickling in.

“Yeah,” you say, sadness clouding your features. “It’s one of the reasons I thought Beck liked me back. He liked to listen to me ramble about whatever I was reading. And he was interested. Or he acted like it. I really… I wish I could get over him.”

Rafe’s face falls again, confused over why a guy who did shit like that for years, who stared at you the way he did last night, pushed you away.

“I know,” is all he can offer, because he really does understand the desperation of wanting to feel whole again after somebody breaks you.

“Sorry to interrupt,” you hear.

You glance up to see Lyla, her eyes darting to where Rafe is standing between your legs. You almost want to pull away, explain that it’s not what it looks like, nearly forgetting that you’re supposed to be fooling her, too.

“Hey,” you say.

“You want to do a shot with me?” she asks.

“Sure.”

You grip Rafe’s shoulders and shift forward. His hands tighten on your hips and you gently drop to the ground, pressed against his body.

“I’ll find you later?” you ask him.

He leans down low again, his temple brushing against yours.

“Take it easy, lightweight,” he replies.

You look up at him with a big grin.

“What?” he mutters.

“You’re worrying about me,” you whisper. “We are friends.”

“Get out of here,” he sighs.

You laugh and squeeze his hand before you step aside.

════════

You meant to keep count of your drinks. You really did. But every drink was like a temporary antidote against the heartbreak that’s been haunting you, and before you knew it, you were drunker than you’ve ever been before.

The night slips in and out of focus. You’re laughing with Lyla, then you’re playing beer pong, then you’re looking for Rafe.

You find him in a pocket of the crowd standing with a few other hockey players, your mind and body dizzy and hot. You cover his hand with yours, gently tugging him closer.

“I came here to ask you something,” you mumble into his ear when he leans down, his cologne hitting you again. “And… I don’t remember what it was.”

He shakes his head disapprovingly. You were stone cold sober earlier in the kitchen, and now you’re plastered.

“I told you to take it easy,” he says.

“I thought I was. I’m usually very responsible.” You shift to meet his eyes. “You smell great, by the way.”

“Okay?” he replies stiffly.

“Are you always this bad at accepting compliments?” you ask.

He is, and he hates how quickly you figure this kind of stuff out about him.

“What do you want?”

You squint, looking out at the crowd as you attempt to put your fragmented thoughts together. You spot Lyla.

“Oh! Could you give me and Lyla a ride home?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I’m done here anyway.”

Just a few minutes ago, Rafe watched Emma leave the house with the same guy she was playing beer pong with. It screwed a hole into his chest and he’s been wanting to get the fuck out of here since.

════════

You crack open the window as Rafe drives away from the frat house. Lyla’s in the backseat, tapping on her phone.

He glares at the road. Who was that guy Emma left with? And how the hell does he stop giving a shit? Is he doomed to spend the rest of his life wishing he didn’t care about things as much as he does?

Thinking of her with him doesn’t bring up jealousy. It’s anger. Disappointment. Because he’s losing this game.

“Did you have a good time tonight?” you ask Rafe, the cool spring breeze pressing against your face.

He glances at you. Even though you hardly ever see eye-to-eye, you genuinely want to be kind to him, consoling him on the way to the party, paying him compliments when drunkenness took away your filter.

Despite how irritating it can be when you pry, you don’t do it out of malice. And you even cracked him up a few times tonight.

He decides to answer you honestly, to be nice like you told him to be, ignoring the discomfort.

“When I was with you, yeah,” he replies.

“Aww,” Lyla coos from behind you.

You smile, discreetly giving him a thumbs up for his performance. He means it, but he’ll let you believe he said it just because your friend’s listening.

════════

Lyla directs Rafe to the front doors of her dorm, and when she tries to say goodbye to you, she laughs once she realizes you dozed off.

“Thanks for the ride. I still don’t really get this,” she says to Rafe, pointing between you two, “but I can tell it works.”

He knows why it looks like that. It’s because, as much as Rafe didn’t expect it, you’re right. You two genuinely became friends at some point over the last three weeks.

The sound of Lyla shutting her door snaps you awake. You quickly gauge your surroundings, realizing you’re on the opposite end of campus by Lyla’s building. The athletes’ dorm is practically a ten second drive away and the route to your building will be a long detour for Rafe.

“Isn’t your dorm like, right next door?” you murmur.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll just sleep over,” you say in an exhausted daze. “So you don’t have to drive all the way to the other side of campus and back.”

It’s nearing two in the morning. Rafe just wants to be in his bed. So, he goes along with your idea.

════════

Your eyelids flutter open. You stare ahead to see a broad, bare back sitting at a desk. Then, you recognize the unkept dark hair you ran your fingers through last night, as well as your tabbed copy of Lost Horizon sitting on the dresser.

You’re in Rafe’s dorm room. In his bed. Your face buried in his pillow.

Last night flashes through your mind. You’d thoughtlessly suggested a sleepover. Rafe helped you out of the car and let you lean on him in the elevator and complained that you weren’t making enough space for him in his bed.

“I am so sorry,” you murmur.

Rafe turns around, taking out an earbud with an eyebrow raised.

“Finally awake?” he says.

Your chest stings and your stomach turns as you slowly sit up. You put your hand on your forehead, tangled up in his duvet, last night’s clothes tight and uncomfortable as you think back to how much you drank.

“I should’ve listened to you,” you murmur. “That was not taking it easy. I was stupid.”

“Thought that was a bad word.”

“It is,” you say with a pointed finger. “Thank you. It is.”

You finally look at him again. He’s in sweats, gray boxers peeking out the band, his muscular body curled over the chair. It’s unusual to see him like this; in his downtime, sitting at his desk, using his laptop, shirtless.

You’d felt his body against yours, felt the firmness of his muscles, but seeing him like this in broad daylight raises your pulse.

Rafe notices your gaze linger on his chest before you meet his eyes again. If he really is flustering you, it’s a good dose of payback, considering how he felt when you sat on his lap and played with his hair.

“What the hell did I drink last night?” you mumble.

“You tell me.”

He gazes at you as you try to remember. Even though it was snug sleeping next to you in his tiny single bed, it was nice to not spend a night on his own. He already knew he was lonely, but feeling you next to him, hearing your breath as he dozed off, showed him just how much.

“Shots? Beer? Something really sweet?”

“You mixed,” he realizes. “Bad move.”

“I feel like death,” you groan. “I’m going home now.”

You shuffle forward, your legs hanging over the edge of his bed. You slide off, briefly losing your balance before your feet touch the carpet.

You catch yourself, gripping his shoulder. He cups your wrist as you wobble. You pull your hand back and readjust your clothes, a wrinkled mess now, then pick your bag up off the floor, which you’re glad you thought to bring in your stupor.

“I’m sorry again. Thanks for… dealing with me,” you say quickly, smoothing back your hair. Rafe only smirks, entertained by how embarrassed you are. “I’m walking home because I might throw up and I don’t think we’re at the point where I can do that in front of you yet.”

“You already did.”

Your lips part in shock and he laughs.

“You’re kidding,” you realize. “I didn’t expect you to be a morning person.”

“I’m not.” He looks over at his laptop for the time. “It’s half past noon.”

You sigh in shame and make your way to the door.

“Hold on,” he says. You turn and almost miss the ball of fabric he throws towards you. When you hold it up and realize it’s one of his extra jerseys, you laugh.

“Wear it to the next game,” Rafe tells you.

“Good idea,” you say, imagining the way Emma, and hopefully Beck, will fume at the sight of you with Cameron across your back. “See you.”

You rush down the hallway, thrown out of your thoughts when you hear a loud click. Beck is unlocking his door a few feet ahead of you.

You internally groan. You feel awful and you’re sure you look it, too.

His eyes search your face, as if he doesn’t recognize you. On top of the embarrassment and anxiety you’re already feeling, the sight of him bombards you with the familiar pain of rejection.

“Hey,” you say with an awkward laugh. You need to act casual. You figure if you can pretend to like Rafe, you can pretend to not like Beck. “How’s it going?”

He looks past you, no doubt cluing in that you’re leaving Rafe’s dorm in last night’s clothes. You know what he’s going to think – you spent the night doing more than just sleeping. Suddenly, you’re glad you ran into him.

“Good,” he says absentmindedly. “You?”

“Good,” you reply, continuing to walk past him. Beck looks down, seemingly thrown off.

“I have to say…” He lets out a humorless chuckle. You stop and turn to look at him. “It’s kind of crazy that you’re hanging out with him.”

“Crazy?”

“He’s not really your type.”

Your heart hammers in your chest.

“What is my type?” you challenge.

Beck’s forehead crinkles in what you’d have to guess is disappointment. You swallow nervously. He could say so many things that would break your heart even more. And you hate that he has that much power over you.

“I just think he’s… intense,” he replies.

“I like intense,” you say.

Beck seems out of words. And as much as you want to stay, to ask what he’s thinking, you’re done waiting on bated breath for him, hoping he feels how you do when you share a private moment.

If you act like you’re not in love with him, your heart will eventually catch up. It has to.

“Nice to see you,” you say, carrying on towards the elevator. And walking away from him instead of the other way around for once gives you a newfound feeling of victory that you realize you really needed.

next >

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[baby-yongbok]

Upgrade

Yang Jeongin x Afab!Reader

⤷ Smut - Ex's Brother AU [MDNI]

⤷ WC - 1.5k

⤷ CW - Fingering (f.rec), nipple play (super quick)

Your ex said you were messy. Maybe he was right. Because when his younger brother FaceTimes you at midnight, you answer. When he asks to come over, you let him. And when he finally kisses you, you don’t stop him

⋆｡‧˚ʚ Masterlist ɞ˚‧｡⋆

You don’t know what you’re thinking or how this started, you just know that now you can’t stop. 

It’s messy, something your ex called you before the sour breakup that left you as enemies. Maybe that’s why you started talking to his brother. Maybe that’s why you flirt with Jeongin like you’ve never learned shame. 

His name flashed across your screen at 12:43 a.m., a FaceTime call that you answered too confidently. You’re in your pajamas while he’s in the dark, in someone’s neighborhood with street lights outlining him in a glow that attracts you like a moth. 

“You’re still up?” It’s a silly question, something laughable but you entertain it. His voice is lower now, steadier, nothing like the boy you used to tease for tagging along after his brother. 

“What’s it look like?” You lift your phone higher, exposing more of you, tight tank top and shorts too tiny to be considered such. He exhales, brings the phone closer to his face.

”Can I come over?” You should say no. Maybe confess to flirting with him for fun, for a sick kind of revenge, but when he looks at the screen—eyes wandering, studying—you give in.

And now he’s here.

Standing in your doorway with rain in his hair, nerves in his eyes, and desire sitting low in his throat. He doesn’t ask permission, just steps in once your door swings open. He slips in like a breeze, cold and quiet. You shut the door and step behind him as he slips off his shoes, like this shit is domestic.

”Does he know where you are?” Jeongin hums, attempting nonchalance but you can hear the nerves, he knows this is wrong. 

“I’m not a kid, I don’t tell him my every move.” he turns, swallowing hard when he realizes how close you are, close enough for him to feel the heat off of you. Close enough for this to feel domestic.

 “Just answer the question.” he tilts his head like he’s ready to argue but he gives in, shaking his head just twice. “He doesn’t know. I’d be surprised if he cared.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, taking a small step back. “He’s still a dick, huh?”

”Don’t talk about him when I’m here,” he takes the step that you returned, closing the distance again like he’s testing how far you’ll let him go. “It’s my turn now, you’re done with him.” he whispers, looking at you with eyes that burn—like he’s scared to touch you, and more scared not to.

Your breath shallows ever so slightly, gaze flicking from his to his lips and then right back up. He’s much bolder than he’s been over text but just as eager, just as malleable. “So, what’re you going to do with your turn?”

He reaches up, his hands trembling just for a second. Just until his skin touches yours. He exhales and the nerves go with any last shred of restraint you both shared. The pads of his fingers brush your shoulder, slither down your arm like a viper in sand and you let him. Goosebumps rise, oxygen abandons you—so you steal his. 

It’s quick, a clash like porcelain to tile or maybe that’s just your heart abusing your ribs. He kisses you like he thinks it’s a mistake, a line that he’s willing to cross again and again. You kiss him like you always knew it was one and you don’t regret it for a second. 

His hands find more of your skin, your cheek, your waist, your thigh. He doesn’t stop. Your back hits the wall next to your front door, your leg is hiked up and your shorts ride up impossibly high. 

“Tell me to stop.” his voice is strained, desperate for you to defy him. Your hands answer for you, pushing up his shirt just enough for you to feel the cut of his abs brush along your fingertips. He meets your eyes for just a second before you both go back in. Hard.

You bite his bottom lip and he moans like it’s a secret. Like his brother is in the next room and he’s doing something he’s not supposed to. Only half of that is true. His breath fans over your face, teeth clashing against yours before sinking into spit slick flesh. He’s a better kisser than his brother. 

“Couch.” You push and he follows, your hands to his chest and his to your hips, chest to chest until he sits, pulling you into his lap and crashing his lips back to yours. 

His fingers curl into the plush of your hip. You moan—or maybe he does. The sounds blur together but it doesn’t matter, not to him and most definitely not to you. He drags you down, anchoring you against the solid pressure of his lap like he’s daring you to move. You do. Slowly. Just once. And his head falls back against the couch like you knocked the wind out of him.

“You gonna keep teasing?” His voice is low, rough like gravel and dangerous. You roll your hips again, slower this time, and lean in like you're about to confess something forbidden.

“Do you think you’re a rebound?” you whisper, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Or just a distraction? Something to play with.” Jeongin groans like the word hurts. 

One hand splays across your lower back, the other tangles in your hair as he drags your mouth back to his. 

The kiss is feral. Hot. 

His teeth catch your lip again and you love it. You let it happen—let him take it. He presses you firmly against the hard line of him while your nails dig into his shoulders.

“You’re playing with fire,” he grits, grinding up into you hard enough to make your breath catch. You smirk, breathless, hungry. “Then burn with me.”

His hoodie’s gone. Your tank top’s halfway up your chest, his mouth hot and open over the curve of your breast. Fingers slip under the waistband of your shorts, knuckles grazing bare skin. You reach down, palming him through his sweats, and he muffles a moan against your half bare chest. His tongue dips out and catches your nipple, covering his pretty sounds with your own.

“Fuck,” he hisses, “if you don’t stop—”

“Then what?” you cut him off just as he’s tugging your waistband lower, “Do you wanna stop?” Your eyes are hooded, low, glazed over with lust that spells out his name on the surface. 

“Don’t stop,” his fingers slip beneath the band of your shorts like he owns the right, like he’s done it before. Like he’s thought of it every single time he’s heard you and his brother late at night. “Don’t you dare stop.” 

You’re already wet, embarrassingly so, and when he feels it he groans, forehead pressing to yours, his breath ragged. “Jeongin.” It’s a moan, light and void of air and shame.

“Shit. You wanted this, huh?” Two fingers glide through your slick, hovering right where you need him most. “All that flirting, all those looks. This is what you’ve been hiding from me?” One finger goes in, slow and deep. You gasp as he curls it just right. He smiles. Adds a second. Your hips react before you do.

Then his phone rings.

You both freeze for half a second, the caller ID lights up: His Brother. 

Jeongin’s eyes flick to yours. There’s a silent challenge in them.

He answers.

“Yo.” His voice is too steady, too calm for someone knuckle-deep in you. The contrast makes you throb around his fingers. He doesn’t flinch, just keeps them inside you, slowly curling, pressing right where it makes your eyes roll back.

“Open the door,” his brother says through the speaker, casual, completely unaware.

“I’m not home.” Jeongin’s tone is clipped, smooth. His fingers start moving again—slow, wet strokes that make your thighs quake and your stomach coil. His palm presses firm against your mound, grinding just enough to make your toes curl. You’re breathing heavily, chest rising against his, but he doesn’t give you time to recover.

“Where are you then?”

He shifts his hand, the heel of it nudging your clit just right. Your breath escapes in a soft, stunned noise, you’re trying not to whine when his thumb finds your clit and circles once. Twice. And then again until your hips are rolling into him like you’ve forgotten you’re not alone.

“Out,” Jeongin says, lips twitching. “Why?”

“You just never go anywhere.”

“I do now.”

You bite his shoulder through his shirt to muffle a moan, sinking your teeth in hard, trying to keep quiet. His muscles twitch under your mouth. He doesn’t stop. If anything, he pushes deeper, two fingers stroking up and curling until your walls flutter around him. Until you're close. He watches your face like it’s art, breath hitching only when you moan into his neck.

“Whatever,” his brother mutters. “Just text me when you’re back.”

“Will do,” Jeongin answers, ending the call without waiting for a reply, phone tossed carelessly to the side the second the line drops. He pushes you back, spreads your legs wider on his lap, and drives his fingers in hard.

“Now,” His eyes drift down to the stain on your shorts then back up with a grin, a well earned cockiness. “To answer your question, I don’t think I’m a rebound.” Your eyes are locked to his, Your breath is anywhere but your lungs. He drags his lips down your throat, nipping over your earlobe before whispering:

“I’m the upgrade.”

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[glamourscat]

It was 3am and you were supposed to be asleep, but after dating TIM DRAKE for almost two years now, you picked up on his weird sleeping patterns. Tonight in particular your brain won’t rest. Not until you will receive his usual post patrol message.

2am, then 2:30, 3 and 3:30am rolls around and your lack of sleep was slowly turning into anxiety. Why hadn’t he texted yet? Did something happened? You try to make sense of the situation, but your brain is refusing from making you think logically. And just as you were about to message him, his message comes through.

“sorry for the late message. had to run in the shower immediately after i arrived home cause i was covered in blood” he texts 

“not mine btw” he follows up, knowing already to clarify. 

“good, good. im glad you’re ok love, i was beginning to worry. what are you doing now then?” you text back, eyes fluttering at the screen waiting for those three dots to appear. But they don’t. In their place a picture appears. 

Him. In front of the mirror. His face covered by his phone, one arm on the sink leaning a bit to flex his muscles and that towel dangerously low, enough to see his v-line and the outline of his hardness against it. Oh….

“damn, drop the towel? 🙂‍↕️🙏🏻”  “for scientific purposes obviously…” you add in two consecutive texts. 

You know it’s unlikely he would do it, but teasing him comes naturally to y— he did it. You cannot even continue your train of thoughts because suddenly his next picture comes through. The towel gone, his pretty cock— and that damn blushy pink tip— staring right back at ya, hard against his stomach. 

You can’t even begin to form a coherent thought  as another picture comes through. 

This time he is on his bed, on his knees— which are open to show the view between his legs— His hungry, leaking, cock is begging to be touched; while his face now—no longer covered by the phone— looks at his phone through the mirror reflection with a knowingly devilish grin. And your mind goes to one thought, and one only, how desperately you wish to have a dick. Because he looks so damn breedable right now. 

“cause I don’t feel like I did it right the first time ;)” he texts back within seconds from sending that second picture. 

“hey…? you still there lol?” he texts back after 10,  long minutes without a reply from you. Did he overstep? Was it too much…?  But then the outdoor camera alerts him of a movement outside his front door. 

“im outside. open me up.”  ________________________________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

A/N: I wrote this at 5AM and had the sudden, horny, urge of writing for Tim. Nothing else to add lmao. Also this is not proofread :(

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[fckmebarnes]

˗ˏˋ ★ silly little prank ★ ˎˊ˗

bucky barnes x reader

you play a prank on bucky by carving your initials into his dagger…

+18 MEN AND MINORS DNI. semi-hate sex! knife play. oral (bucky receiving) lmk if i missed any!!

You and Bucky had a quarrel, one that was going on for, quiet a bit. You weren’t sure why the two of you hated each other so much, but you both couldnt deny the sexual tension that was between you both.

Sam swore that everytime you both were in the gym, he could cut the sexual tension with a knife. You both shrugged it off though with “I hate her” and “I can’t stand him”.

But both of you couldn’t deny the sneaky touches the two of you shared, the way that Bucky stood close to you in briefings when there were plenty of chairs around the room.

The two of you knew there was something there, but didn’t want to admit it.

That was, until you heard his heavy footsteps down the hall, heading straight to you room. You heard Sam yell “Wacth where you’re going asshole!” As Bucky bumped into him on his way to your room.

You jumped in your spot as he thre the door open, his eyes full of rage as he stood in the doorway. You paused from reading your book and looked up to see his standing figure, as he walked closer to your bed and shut the door behind you.

“You think this is funny, don’t you?” You were confused, not sure what he was talking about until he held up his favorite dagger by the blade, showing you the mahogany handle.

You blinked, suddenly remembering what you had done. It was a dare by Sam one late Friday evening, the two of you were so drunk you could barely form coherent sentences.

“I dare you to carve your initials in Barne’s favorite dagger.” You shook your head as you dipped your wine, knowing that that would be a huge mistake.

“No way. He would have my head.” Sam laughed and shrugged knowing there was absolutely no way a Bucky would harm a single hair on you.

“Hey, it would be helping you. It would finally give him a reason to fuck you.” You almost choked on your wine as Sam spoke.

“He does not like me like that.” You tried to deny it, but you knew deep down it was true. That the two of you had feelings for each other.

And here you were, sitting on your bed watching Bucky hold his dagger in his metal hand, your initials showing. You put your book down slowly, closing it and setting it to the side. You crawled to the end of you bed, sitting on your knees and looking up at him.

“It was a dare, Sam dared me to do it-“ you paused as you felt a cool point on your cheek, slowly trailing down to your jaw.

“You think it’s funny, don’t you?” Bucky’s tone was dark, deep, a turn on. You looked up at him, his pupils blown out, and you could see an outline of his hard on in his jeans.

“I-“ you gulped as his face got closer to yours, feeling his breath against your mouth as he was inches from yours. You resisted the urge to kiss him, but felt a damp spot on your panties at the thought of his dagger against your cheek.

“Silly girl. You should know better than to mess with me. On your knees on the groun, now.” You blinked and crawled down without a second thought, looking up to Bucky through your lashes as he kept the point of the dagger underneath your chin to look up at you.

He licked his lips, slowly biting his bottom lip. You shifted on your knees, trying to create some friction between your thighs but to no avail.

“You’re going to do what I say, got it? Don’t speak unless spoken to.” You nodded your head, hands on your knees as he smirked. He motioned down to his zipper, and you knew exactly what he wanted you to do.

“Take it out, doll. I want to feel that mouth of yours.” You shifted as your hands fumbled with the button, popping it open and pulled the zipper down. You took out his dick, and it felt heavy in your hand.

The tip was red and angry, pre-cum on the very edge. You stroked his shaft, the soft velvety skin against your palm made you wetter. He dragged the blade of his dagger on your skin, not hard enough to draw blood but hard enough to make you take his cock in his mouth.

You licked around the tip slowly, feeling his thighs flex as you rested your hands on his legs, a soft moan coming from his lips as you swirled your tongue. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, and slowly thrusted into your mouth, moaning as he felt your hot, wet mouth around him.

“Fuck, this mouth feels so good. Didn’t know you could suck cock so well.” He thrusted his hips into your mouth at a slow pace, grunted as he got deeper and deeper, feeling his tip hitting the back of your throat.

You felt the small damp spot in your panties grow, shuffling your thighs together as he stopped inside your mouth.

“Don’t move. This is what you get for putting your initials on my dagger. Be my dirty whore.” He picked up his pace, feeling spit on the corner of your mouth and falling onto your thighs. You grunted as he thrusted deeper, moans falling from his lips and head tilting back.

“Gonna come in this pretty mouth of yours. You’re gonna take it.” He fucked your throat hard, spit covering his entire dick, spilling from your mouth. The sounds of you gagging filled the room and fueled his thrusts, making him curse under his breath.

His dick throbbed in your mouth as you felt him come, hitting the back of your throat as you swallowed obediently. He took a few more slow thrusts in your mouth as he milked his cock

He pulled out and put his dick away, looking down at you with tears in your eyes and spit all over your mouth. He knelt down and took your head in his fingers, making you look at him.

“Lesson learned?” You nodded your head as you licked your lips. He nodded and stood up, holding out his hand for you to take. You took his hand and stood up, Bucky guiding you to your bathroom.

“Gonna take care of you, doll. We have a lot to talk about.” He pressed a kiss against your forehead as he started your bath. He set his dagger on the countertop and looked at you.

Maybe you should do dares more often.

[asxgard]

Companionship | pt. 2

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: You and Michael have some late night phone calls. He struggles to open up.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: wow! Y’all are really so nice omg, I really appreciate all of you who took the time to like, comment or reblog. I also appreciate all you silent readers too! I’m genuinely surprised with how much traffic part 1 got, so thank you all so much! Contemplating adding this to my AO3 account from the perspective of a f!oc, but still undecided (I prefer to keep my reader works strictly for tumblr, idk why). This is definitely going to be multiple parts (my rough outline currently has ten chapters whoops).

I don’t know much about sugar babies aside from what I’ve read, so I took some liberties with my guesstimates.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: age gap, slowburn, foul language, allusion to a panic attack, work stress, Robby trying to avoid his feelings/anxiety, my basic understanding of accounting, angst

not beta read

“You’re lucky. Someone only looking for companionship is a small pool of men. Not as lucrative as a traditional sugar baby, but if that’s more your speed, maybe reach out to some more.”

Your smile twisted, “I’m already uncomfortable with just one. Thinking about adding more makes me feel icky.”

Erin rolled her eyes, “Why? They know what they signed up for. If they wanted fidelity, then they should get a girlfriend.”

“I’m telling you, I could hook you up with a shift or two a week at the bar. I make great tips.” Marsi said, her eyes not flickering from her laptop.

You frowned. “I already gave him my number. My Google Voice number, but yeah.”

“That’s my girl!” Erin praised with a laugh.

You wondered if it was a mistake. He had not reached out since you had sent the number on the app, nearly four days prior. Perhaps he was having second thoughts. Anxiety filled your chest at the thought of having to go through the whole process again.

Or just drop it and take Marsi up on her offer.

—

Your night passed slowly, studying with your friends until dinner time, when they left. You kept your focus on the Excel spreadsheet in front of you, checking over your homework with careful eyes. Numbers were easy, they did not hold the complexities of human beings—

Your phone buzzed on the table, immediately pulling you away from your work.

You have any time to talk?

It was an unknown number. You watched as the three dots appeared immediately after, though it wasn’t hard to guess who it was.

This is Michael by the way.

So formal, you found yourself thinking with a small smile, quickly adding him to your contacts.

I have time.

It only took a few more moments before your phone started ringing. Anxiety thrummed through your system, heart beating like a drum against your ribcage. You took a long breath through your nose before answering the call.

“Hello?”

“Hi.” He answered awkwardly.

“How are you?” You asked out of habit.

There were several moments of silence. “I want to say I’m okay.”

“But you’re not?”

“But I’m not.” Came his quiet reply.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Another measured silence. “No. Yes? I don’t know.”

You hummed. “I understand your hesitation, we don’t know each other. But isn’t that the whole point? I’m unconnected to your life and you basically have anonymity. I won’t pry, so we can talk about something else, if you’d like.”

He was silent for a long time. You checked the call to make sure it hadn’t dropped. The seconds ticked away on the call, so he was still there. You waited.

“Just a…rough day.” He said, his tone sounding stressed. “I think I’d rather talk about your day right now.”

“My day?” You questioned, surprised.

He only hummed in response.

“Do you want the play-by-play or the cliff-notes?”

Michael exhaled a ghost of a laugh, “Give me all of it.”

You cleared your throat, “So my alarm went off at 5:20, no! 5:25, and then I got out of bed—”

He laughed, bringing a smile to your lips.

“I have early classes on Thursdays, so I was up earlier than I usually like to be…”

“Night owl?”

“Guilty.” You smiled. “But it was my forensic accounting class, which I’ve been enjoying, so I wasn’t too upset getting out of bed. Add in my morning coffee, and I was a pretty happy camper.” You paused, but he was quiet on the other end. “I had taxation today too, and despite the fact I love the numbers, learning tax law just isn’t my favorite thing.”

“Why do you like it? Accounting?”

“Oh, um,” you paused, deliberating. “I like turning unreadable stuff into a well-crafted report, turn a mess into an easy to read story of a company’s financial history. Plus, numbers are a lot less complicated than human beings.”

There was his quiet laugh again. “Yeah, I can see how that can be true.”

“As a doctor, I can imagine you would.” You were smiling.

“I’ve seen…a lot of complicated people.”

You waited a few moments, but he didn’t elaborate. People were the primary reason you had left the medical field early on in your college career — while you enjoyed being helpful, people could be too overwhelming.

“And my shift today was good, busy and boring, but easy enough.”

As you went on about your day as a payroll clerk (though vague about the company details), Michael was quiet. It was clear he needed the distraction from whatever his day had been. You explained your studying routine with your friends and your love of baking. You got the occasional hum of acknowledgment, but it was clear he just wanted to listen to you talk. You moved from topic-to-topic without complaint, pausing occasionally to make sure he did not want to comment, or change the subject.

It was late when you realized the time: 11:08.

“Michael? I’m sure I could keep going, but I’m not sure you want to hear my opinions on office politics.” Your tone was jesting.

Still no response. Furrowing your brows, you listened silently to the other end.

Small puffs of air, slow and steady, in and out. In. Out. He had fallen asleep.

Your first instinct was to be offended — no telling how long since he had drifted off or how long you had rambled to no one. But then you relaxed. He had clearly needed the distraction from what was going through his head when he first called, enough to quiet his brain. Or perhaps he was just that exhausted. Either way, you did not take it personally, you would have likely been up this late anyways.

You ended the call at two hours and seventeen minutes.

—

Are you available at 9?

You checked your phone when you moved into the living room, dinner cooking in the oven, finding a text from Michael. Per your agreement, you usually talked about once a week. He usually gave late notice, though it usually reflected how bad his day had gotten. Your last talk, however, had only been three days prior.

In addition to the one only days ago, you had talked two additional times since your first, typically at night, where you did most of the talking. You almost found your talks therapeutic; plus you were getting paid to just talk. Though, you wished he talked more — part of you felt like you were taking advantage of the situation and he was barely getting anything out of it.

He had already put money on the prepaid Visa card you had picked up after your first phone conversation. Michael thought the card would be more discreet and confidential than Venmo. The $400 dollars you had agreed on for the month had done wonders with relieving the pressure on making your rent payment.

Erin had encouraged you to set up an online wishlist as well, adding things periodically in case he wanted to buy something extra for you. “As a tip,” Erin had told you, a wide smirk on her face. That same day, Erin had coincidentally brought her new Valentino canvas bag that you were sure cost more than your rent payment. You held off on the wishlist, but you kept a few things in your notes app. Just in case.

You sent him a confirmation that you were fine with nine. He must work late hours. He had said he was a doctor, but you wondered in what specialty or where, but you had never broached the topic. You both valued your privacy when it came to your arrangement, not wanting to muddy the waters.

Surprisingly, he did not call at nine. He was usually pretty punctual when it came to a time he asked for. You waited patiently for several minutes before moving to start some hot water for tea, looking out the window at the rain. You figured to give him a bit of extra time before turning in.

At 9:24, your phone rang. Part of you nearly picked it up on the first ring, but you gave it a few moments before picking up. When you answered, he spoke first.

“Please just talk. About anything.” He sounded out of breath, talking quickly. His tone sounded more stressed than you had heard before.

“Are you alright?” Was your first instinct instead of doing as he asked, standing from your chair at the dining table, mug of tea forgotten.

“Fuck. No, I’m not. Please just talk to me. Your day. Your job. The fucking traffic this morning. Anything,” Your name was so quiet on his tongue, you nearly missed it.

It sounded like a plea.

You swallowed, pulse quickening, before running with it, “This asshole actually cut me off this morning, which considering his bumper stickers, wasn’t all that surprising. No blinker, nothing. I swear, sometimes the subway is less stressful, though I hate the morning crowds.”

Suddenly realizing talking about stressful things might not be the best way to calm him down, you pivoted, pacing across your apartment. Deciding quickly on something boring to most, you began to explain your most recent accounting assignment. How you came up with the financial analysis from the numbers your professor had given, to the tax implications of several of the (fake) business’s decisions. You explained it as best you could in layman's terms, trying not to make the math too complicated, before walking him through your report and your thoughts about how to help the business improve.

You paused long enough to hear his breathing, not quite as ragged but still loud and quick. “I don’t need you to respond, but think of five things you can see.”

Oh this was cliche, but you did not dwell on it.

After a few moments, “Okay, four things you can touch.” You paused, finding four things of your own to ensure he had time. “Now three things you can hear.”

“You.” He croaked, much quieter than he had been. “I can hear you.”

“That’s good. Now two more things.”

“…the rain. The cars outside.”

“Good,” you breathed out. “Two things you can smell?”

He didn’t answer, though his breathing had slowed tremendously from when you had first answered his call. It felt relieving, and you finally made your way to sit on the couch.

“Last is one thing you can taste.”

He let out a long deep breath, but kept whatever it had been to himself.

“Are you okay?” You asked again after a few moments.

“No.” He said. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”

You nearly huffed, but the annoyance was fleeting. You smiled, “I can tell you more about accounting, but most people find it incredibly boring.”

“You seem to really enjoy accounting. Though, I can’t imagine being cooped up in an office all day.”

“Well I wasn’t quite cut out for psychiatry, and I’ve always enjoyed a good spreadsheet.”

“Psychiatry?” He sounded surprised. “That makes a lot of sense, actually.”

“What does that mean?”

“You would’ve been good at it.”

Oh?

“Thank you.” You whispered. “Um, can I interest you in what my professor assigned today or how my manager nearly fucked up payroll this week?”

He cleared his throat, “I’ll take ‘how my manager nearly fucked up today’ for $200, Alex.”

Your lips quirked back up at the Jeopardy reference, trying to shake off the feeling his praise had given you. With a long sigh, you rubbed your fingers along your hairline.

“He messed up the new employee’s tax deductions by misclassifying his title. When he backtracked to fix it, he cleared out the entire category — thankfully I caught it when I was putting my own numbers in for the small team I oversee.” You told him, looking at your nails. “Led to quite a frustrating day.”

Despite the fact that it had led to quite a hectic start to your workday, adding several tasks that interrupted you workflow, you felt mildly pathetic knowing his day had clearly been so much worse. You tried not to compare, your days had just as much value as his, but it was still a creeping feeling in your gut.

You continued on after a beat of silence on his end. Fixing the problem hadn’t necessarily been the issue — it was redoing every employee's numbers that led to your annoyance. That, and the lack of accountability from your manager.

Time ticked on, Michael only adding in his thoughts here and there, mostly staying quiet.

He coughed awkwardly during a lull in your conversation, “Uh, thank you for tonight.”

Beginning to feel your exhaustion, you smiled tiredly. “No thanks necessary.”

“Goodnight,” there was your name again.

“Goodnight, Michael.”

[ Next ]

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[bonsubear]

Reader loves Invincible but hates Mark┃Mark/Invincible x Fangirl! Reader ┃#2

a/n: I hope I didn't make reader too unlikable :P I’m literally just pulling these out of my ass with no outline. Also I just wanna keep these silly hsdhah

potential ooc warning cause I’m not confident I portray characters correctly ;;

#1, #2, #3

WC: 2.4k

“Mark, why are you whining about spending some time with your mother? You should be ecstatic, you know.” His mom playfully nudged at him as she pulled into the parking lot of the mall, the parking lot completely packed left and right with cars. “I’m getting scared you’re forgetting about me. I thought you’d be momma’s boy forever.” Debbie sighed, shaking her head as she unbuckled her seatbelt. A light smile on her face.

“You’re using me as a porter, mom.” Mark flatly replied, unbuckling his seatbelt. “I’m happy to spend time with you but it’s obvious you’re using me as free labor.”

“And that’s my right! I carried you for nine agonizing months, I get the perks of having you. Besides, you can think of this as—I don’t know—training.” She shrugged.

“Training?” He deadpanned. “Training for what?”

“Weight training or whatever you want to call it. It’s not like you’ll get tired from a couple of bags.” She nodded, pointing out his viltrumite strength. Debbie pushed the car door open, exiting and Mark simply sighed as he followed his mom’s lead.

His mom suggested (more like she demanded) that he accompany her to the mall. Apparently, a couple of stores were having a sale, and she wanted to check out the potential good deals. Mark is completely fine with this, but it’s pretty evident that he’ll be stuck carrying around all the things she’ll most likely purchase.

“What are you even looking for?” Mark asked, walking next to his mom.

“Anything! So many things are on sale right now at Always21 and f.a.e. We can get some stuff for your dad, couple of my coworkers, and you.”

“I don’t want anything.”

“Don’t say that so soon, we aren’t even in the mall yet.”

His mom was standing next to the escalator, with Mark just right beside her. Just as he had predicted, he was being used as his mom’s personal porter as his hands and wrists were full of different bags of different colors and sizes. 85% of the items were for people Debbie knew like her coworkers or friends while the rest were for her, his dad, and him.

Mark eyed the bags, raising his brow. “How many babies is your coworker having again? This seems a lot for a baby shower.”

“She’s having quadruplets. She’s going to need all of those things—babies grow out of their clothes in a blink of an eye.” Debbie chuckled as she looked at her son’s face, being reminded when he was a chubby little baby who would outgrow his clothes practically every week.

Suddenly, her phone began ringing in her pocket and she was quick to check the caller ID. She released a small groan, shaking her head. “Mark, I have to take this. It’s work. You can put those stuff down and go walk around, I’ll find you later, okay?”

“Okay, choosing work over spending time with your son—got it.” He quipped, the corner of his lips raising as Debbie swatted at him. Mark rolled his eyes playfully, setting down the bags near the bench that his mom took a seat on as she brought her phone to her ear with a furrowed brow.

He strayed away from his mom, walking as his eyes passed various stores. His eyes lazily bounced from one store to another, not really paying close attention to the people in them.

An elderly man sitting at the edge of the wall of a Vicky’s Secret.

A mom struggling to get her two screaming children off the floor of a Smallso

A bald guy staring a little bit too hard at a mannequin who was only wearing underwear inside an Aged Navy

You staring at an anime figurine inside Trendy Topic

A kid trying to reach their hand inside a gumball machine—wait, you?!

Mark Grayson immediately halted, tripping over his feet. His sudden action caused some people walking behind him to curse at him, but he pushed past them as he turned to poke his head back to look inside Trendy Topic. Rubbing his eyes, he saw that you were squinting at a figurine as you stood still like a statue. Obviously deep in thought. The punk rock that was playing in the speakers of the store surrounded you while you softly bit your lip, staring at the figurine—searching for an answer to your problem.

Wow, you looked great. You were wearing a casual baggy shirt and pants, the articles of clothing mismatched and contrasting each other in the ‘worse’ ways—yet is it weird to say that you still looked amazing?

Mark could’ve sworn that he heard his brain take a picture, saving it in his memory files with the rest of the mental images he saved of you.

Blinking, he realized that his feet were already moving towards you. His pounding heart matched with his footsteps as he walked closer to you, his body immediately acting on a weird impulse while his brain tried to come up with things to do once he finally got to you.

Shit, what do I say? Hello? Hey? His mind raced as his eyes flickered from your face to the figurine you were looking at. Thinking of buying that? Is that weird to say? Is that a good opener? Oh man, this is actually the first time I’ve ever seen her outside of school as just me. Me, Mark. Not Invincible.

Grayson had seen you multiple times around the city as Invincible while fighting or simply flying around the city. It was a coincidence that he would see you a few times then and there—totally not because he would keep an extra eye out for you and find any excuse to talk to you.

He totally didn't make sure whenever there was danger nearby he wouldn't be the first one to warn and whisk you away to a safer area, hearing you sing praises in his ear about how much you loved him. He also totally didn't pretend not to notice you as he stayed afloat in the sky yet close enough to the ground so you could point him out and call him with that sweet voice of yours.

No, pfft, totally not. What kind of superhero would he be if he did those down right pathetic things?

"Holy fuck! How long have you been standing there you creep?!" You yelped in surprise, shocking him too as he snapped out of his trance. You looked up at him with your gorgeous eyes, clutching your purse close to you as you stared at him as if he had two heads. "Did you stalk me? Fucking pervert." You hissed, taking a step back as if he had the plague.

"What? No! Uh—I saw you just for a second and wanted to say hi."

"Hi, now buzz off. Don't you have a loaded gun that you should be pointing at your head right now?"

Mark felt a chuckle swell in his throat, his lips quirking up in an amused grin. He should be offended at the harsh things you verbally threw at him, but he couldn’t get it out of his mind how you were all over him as Invincible yet so guarded off toward him as Mark. If he were to reveal his secret identity to you right here and now, how would you react? Embarrassed? Flustered? Hell, what if excited?

He quickly raised his hand to cover it, if you saw him smiling you'd get pissed—

"What are you smiling for? Eugh."

Never mind, you noticed.

"Are you interested in that figure? Uh, I saw you looking at it through the window." He smiled, his eyes shifting to look at the anime figurine that was out on display with the copies underneath it.

"Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy." You scowled, eyeing him as if he was going to mug you at any second. Mark really couldn't help but continue to compare how you act towards him and his superhero alterego Invincible in his head.

You acted so outgoing and bubbly whenever he was dressed up in his hero costume, shamelessly fangirling over him by saying things like, "please sign the marriage papers already!" or "let me take you out on a date, I'll give you my whole college fund!" Yet acted like Mark was the dirt on your shoe whenever he was in his civilian attire.

"Is that a no?"

"... I might be interested in it." You teared your eyes off of him, looking back at the figurine. You glanced at your wallet, and Mark noticed how your eyebrow twitched just slightly. He pursed his lips as he took a second to piece the puzzle pieces together before speaking again.

"Don't have enough money for it?"

"!!!"

You coughed, your cheeks tinting slightly in embarrassment as you took a look at Mark's face—a sly smirk on his lips as he stared down at you. You shivered, he's so freakishly tall. "None of your business, jackass. Go die."

He hesitated before seizing the opportunity to take this as a chance to get closer to you. In school there was never opportunities since you refused to be in any group in him, never needed help with studying, declined exchanging notes—but this? Mark knew you were weak to obtaining new items.

"I can buy it for you." Grayson smiled innocently, trying to appear as friendly as possible. He picked up a box, turning it over to see the price tag. 24.99. "I've never seen this anime before. I'm more of a comic book guy."

"Why the hell would you buy that for me?" You barked, raising a brow as you took a step forward. "What are you tryna get at?"

"Nothing! I just want to do a nice thing for you."

"Your trying to get in my pants, aren't you. Your not getting this fucking cookie, it's for Invincible."

"W-What, no?!" He yelped, his cheeks flushing at the fact you accused him of trying to get into your pants and the fact you were so shameless about basically saying your—uh, as you put it, 'cookie,' was for Invincible aka him. "I, I just want to help you! Nothing weird!?"

"Your a pathetic pervert, I bet you were cooking that up while salivating behind the window, huh? Diabolical."

"No!"

"Then why!"

"I—you—" he stumbled over his words, his eyes darting to the Invincible phone charm that dangled. "Your a huge fan of Invincible—I'm a huge fan of him too! Two Invincible fans got to stick together, right?" He chuckled, sweat dropping at how stupid his reasoning sounded.

You stayed silent for a moment, quirking your brow. "... Your a fan of him?"

"Y-Yeah! A huge one!"

“Prove it.”

“I have pictures of him I can share with you.” Pictures?!

You blinked, and he internally screamed as he was certain that he just screwed up and made him look like an even bigger loser in your eyes. “… What kind of pictures?”

“Like, uh, so many of them. Up close ones, pictures of him back when he just started it without his official hero suit, um, and y’know the works!”

“…How up close are they?”

“Practically selfies?”

“…”

A pregnant silence passed between you, the punk music playing in Trendy Topic filling the air as you stared into his sweating face hard like you were dissecting whether he was telling the truth or not. You took a step towards him, your hateful eyes having a sparkle of something else inside them.

“Really?” Your voice chirped. He immediately recognized the tone of your voice being the same as the one you use toward Invincible, so sweet and filled with admiration. Shivers ran down his back.

“Yeah, yeah.”

You coughed, turning your face away. “I guess even losers can recognize peak.” You mumbled to yourself, but with his heightened hearing he heard it loud and clear. “How many of those pictures do you have?”

“Multiple?”

You squealed, jumping towards him. “Show me them, show me them!”

Oh no. “I don’t have them on my phone—I only have physical copies.” Nice one, Mark!

“That’s even fucking better.” You were practically shaking. With no warning, you grabbed on his arm, holding it tightly as you led him to the cashier register, Mark having a firm grip on the figurine box. “I’ll let you buy that for me if you give me some of those photos!”

Mark sat with you on a bench outside Trendy Topic, the figurine he had just bought in your lap. “I’ll only kind of believe you’re not trying to sleep with me if you prove that you actually have those photos,” You squinted, “If you don’t, let’s just say whenever you see me walk faster.”

“I did not buy that to sleep with you! I am… a super big Invincible fan.” He cleared his throat trying to pretend enthusiasm for himself. “And when I found out you were also one weeks ago, I figured you’d finally want to be friends with me.”

“In your wildest dreams. I’m only tolerating you right now for the photos that you may or may not have.”

“I do have them!” I don’t.

“Well whatever it is, I’ll believe it once I see them.” You huffed, reaching your hand out. “Give me your phone.”

He handed it over and watched you open his phone and into his contacts, entering a series of digits.

“I have to go so text me when you can hand the goods over. Don’t jizz your pants just cause you have my number.” You harshly pushed his phone back in his hands. “My hatred for you is on a slight pause, so don’t mistake this for friendship. Merely an alliance.”

His ears perked up at the acknowledgement of you profound hate towards him. “I don’t understand, why do you hate me?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know!” You huffed, standing up. You jabbed a finger in the air, “I know it must come easy to you, but don’t act dumb. Unless you’re a secret blond under that thick hair of yours.”

“I seriously don’t—“

Before he could interject you already turned on your heel and walked off, leaving Mark sitting on the bench staring at your disappearing silhouette.

He internally groaned at himself—as soon as he gets home he needs to take pictures of himself.

Though, he couldn’t help but get giddy at the fact he had your number now.

Always21 = Forever21

f.a.e = e.l.f

Vicky’s Secret = Victoria Secret

Aged Navy = Old Navy

Trendy Topic = Hot Topic

Smallso = Miniso

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Caught In the Act✨

Pre-outbreak! Joel Miller x Roommate! fem reader

A/N: Thank you to @littlevenicebitch69 for showing me that video that sparked the inspiration for this fic 😘 No beta, but I had so much fun writing this one!

Summary: Thinking you’re home alone, you decide to unwind in bed, but the last thing you expect is to have Joel Miller, the man you’re renting a room from, find you naked in bed.

Word Count: 4.1k

Rating: Explicit 18+ Only MDNI

Tags: Vibrator use, porn with plot, yearning, feelings, infatuation, fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, dirty talk, roommates

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The sunlight trickles against the sheer curtains as the room swelters with heat. The buzzing sounds fill the bedroom as your hips rock against the silk sheets, your fingers curling with every meticulous circle the vibrator makes against your swollen clit. 

   “Joel,” you moan freely, knowing he isn’t home, not at this hour of the day. It’s just you and your breathy whispers of his name, pretending the vibrator is his thick fingers stifling an orgasm from your needy clit, pretending the dampening sheets are his greying tousled curls as you tug and pull, pretending his large tongue is consuming you entirely as another moan slips from your lips.

   You shouldn’t be thinking about the man you’re renting a room from like this, shouldn’t be moaning his name while your vibrator is pressed firmly against your bundle of nerves, but you just can’t help yourself. He’s just so hot the way his veiny hands open whiskey bottles as his strong muscles clench tight around his button-up flannels he always looks so damn good in. And he’s so fucking sexy the way he smirks while his Southern drawl falls from his plush lips every single time he talks to you with those big brown eyes that you just want to sink into. You can’t help but want him all the time, even though you really shouldn’t.

   “Ohhh, fuck,” you whine as you hit that spot, right where it feels like you’re about to shed your orgasm at any second. So you speed up your motions, pressing down harder as you moan his name again, letting it fall off your lips like he’s here with you now, like he’s taking you exactly how you like it. 

   You’re breathing so hard and focusing on your ragged breaths and the sounds of the whirring vibrator that you don’t even hear the door being jarred open or see the brooding man that stands against your bedroom door. You don’t notice until you hear that thick, undeniable voice that only belongs to one man. That man being Joel fucking Miller.

   “Jesus Christ, sweetheart. Moanin’ my name and I ain’t even touchin’ you? Must want it bad,” he chuckles, a large smirk pressed on his mouth as he leans with crossed arms against your painted door frame.

   You jump from the sudden intrusion and shut the vibrator off, panting and sweating from your almost orgasm as you work to throw the covers over your naked body. “Jesus, Joel! I didn’t know you were home. I'm sorry… I.” Fuck. This wasn’t supposed to happen, he wasn’t supposed to see you like this! 

   He stops you mid sentence, holding up his large palm as he clears his throat. “Ain’t gotta apologize, sweetheart. Why don’t you just carry on? Besides, I could hear you moanin’ my name the moment I stepped in the house. Not gonna lie, it kinda turned me on. And then walkin’ in and seein’ this? Well, jus’ pull those covers back and let me see that pretty glistenin’ pussy. You want a little assistance there?” he nods, eyes darkening into black pits as you see the outline of his hard cock beneath his worn jeans. 

   You swallow and choke on your own spit, eyes widening as you slowly reveal your slick center to him once again as you spread your legs wide. “There ya go, sweetheart. Look at how fuckin’ wet you are. Goddamn,” he groans as he rakes a large hand slowly over his greying scruff. “Go on, be a good girl and turn the vibrator back on for me,” he replies in a raspy tone that sets your core on fire.

   You slowly press the button, letting the vibrations slow your pounding heart rate as you stare up at the man you’ve been dreaming about from the moment you stepped foot into this house. “You want me to…”

   He nods, dropping his jaw open as he takes in just how wet you already are for him. “Yeah, put it back on that pretty clit, sweetheart. Wanna see.”

   Your mouth parts open the moment you place it on your throbbing mound, your mouth dropping open as you gaze up into pitch black eyes that want to consume you whole. You hold in a moan, spreading your legs wider as the vibrator circles against your puffy clit, but what feels even better is Joel standing there drinking down the image of you getting yourself off while he watches. 

   “Goddamn, darlin’. Look at you,” he whistles, untucking his flannel shirt from his jeans as he stalks over to the edge of the bed, kicking his boots off as his body weight makes the bed cave as he crawls on top of the sheets.

   “Joel,” you whine, watching his big black eyes come closer as he props himself up beside you, one hand coming down on top of yours while the other tucks a lock of hair behind your ear.

   “Let me jus’ give you a hand there, sweetheart. Let me take control,” he growls, grabbing onto the end of the vibrator as he presses it further into your folds, circling slow, meticulous circles as he draws a breathy moan from you. 

   “That’s it, Attagirl,” he praises as your back arches off the bed, taking the vibrator a level up as he grinds it against your slick folds.

   “Ooooh, fuck,” you whine, twisting your fingers into the soft material of his flannel while his gorgeous face hangs just over yours, his big eyes making another wave of slick slip from your center.

   “Feels good, don’t it? Yeah, right there,” he purrs as he pushes it down close to your dripping hole, hitting that one special spot that makes your legs start to shake.

   “Yes, Joel. Please, don’t stop,” you beg as you grip his forearm with a tight fist.

   “I’m not gonna stop till that pretty pussy’s soakin’ my hand, sweetheart,” he smirks, turning the vibrations up even higher as your body hums with electricity from his touch. “If I would’ve known sooner that you’ve been wantin’ this, I would’ve already been on my knees with my mouth between your thighs,” he groans as another moan comes crashing through the room.

   You start to feel the coils snap in your belly, and then hot heat starts to slide down your spine as your orgasm starts to break. “Joel, I’m not gonna - fuck, I’m coming!” you scream as you let the floodgates open and latch on to his veiny wrist.

   “Jesus Chris, you’re fuckin’ soakin’ me,” he says in awe as slick sprays from your pussy, coating his hand in your release as your back arches off the mattress and your body hums with your intense orgasm. Joel works you through it, calling you a good girl as he shuts the vibrator off and just slowly circles it over your aching center until you’re coherent enough to open your eyes and breathe normally again.

   He throws the vibrator to the side and slides a calloused hand carefully from your neckline, in between your breasts, skating down your abdomen, and ending right above your mound. He smiles down at you as he takes his time to ghost his fingers over your soaked folds, stifling a whimper from your lips as he hovers over your puffy clit. 

   “You look so pretty comin’ undone, darlin’. Wanna see it again, this time wanna really feel it.” He presses the pad of his thumb down on your bundle of nerves, drawing meticulous circles, making you cant your hips up as you soak in the way his fingers feel like pure magic. 

   “Oh god, please,” you beg, throwing your head back as he slips a finger inside your dripping hole. 

   “I got you, sweetheart. Gonna make you feel real good now, jus’ hold tight.” Before you know what’s coming, he crashes his lips down on yours and swallows a moan as he curls another finger inside, stretching your walls as he reaches that soft spongy spot that you can never reach yourself.

   You lean into the kiss, breathing in his woodsy scent, tasting the sweat of the Austin sun on his lips, feeling the way he slips his tongue inside your mouth and swallows every sound you make while he repeatedly fucks his fingers deep inside your pussy, making you feel like you’re floating on thin air. 

   You wrap your arms around his neck, pushing your fingers through his dark tousled curls as a groan leaves his lips and enters your mouth while he repeatedly takes the breath from your lips. He licks inside you while his thick fingers make wet, obscene sounds as he fucks deeper, uncoiling that same tension he already snapped just minutes ago as he repeats the process all over again.

   He unhooks from your lips, finds a steady rhythm as he slips from your hole and full on rocks his fingers up and down your folds, brushing the heel of his wrist over your puffy clit that screams for him to take you over the edge again. 

   The room is suddenly too hot with his weight on your chest, his expert fingers moving at an impossibly fast pace as your core burns hot and bright, begging for him to make you come again.

   “Jesus, fuck - I’m right there. God, it feels so fucking good, Joel,” you stifle as your jaw slackens and your body starts to vibrate the more his fingers work and work at your core. 

   He slips two fingers back inside you, hitting that one spot that makes you see stars, and then he’s whispering filthy words against your parted lips. “Such a good fuckin’ girl lettin’ me use these fingers on that pretty pussy, wonder what you’d feel like takin’ my cock next,” he smirks as he nips at your bottom lip, pulling another moan from your throat. 

   “Please, Joel,” you beg.

   “Is that an invitation, sweetheart?” he chuckles, raising a thick eyebrow as he looks you deep in the eyes with those beautiful brown eyes that are blown wide.

   “Yes, want your cock, Joel. Want you to - oh, fill me up - fuck,” you whine as you feel your release start to flow down your insides. 

   “Yeah, fuckin’ spill for me, that’s it. Atta fuckin’ girl,” he growls as he presses deep inside that spongy spot, and then you’re completely done for. The slick pools down your core, covering Joel’s knuckles and the inside of your thighs as the orgasm takes a hold and knocks your head back against the cotton pillow.

   “That’s it. So pretty, baby,” he coos as he works you through it once again. 

   The fog fills your brain as every euphoric feeling takes its hold on you, holding you down against the damp sheets as you focus on the man that hangs above you. When you finally come to your senses, Joel uncurls his fingers from your core and pops the digits into his mouth, sucking and groaning as he indulges in your sweet taste. 

   “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, you taste better than a shot of whiskey,” he groans as he delves his fingers back inside you, collecting slick on the tips of his calloused fingers and brings it up to your lips. “Open up, sweetheart. Try a taste,” he purrs.

   You part your lips and allow him to enter. You take his two fingers and suck, glancing at him with glazed over eyes as your sweet taste slides down the back of your throat. 

   “Goddamn. That’s picture worthy, sweetheart. You suckin’ on my fingers while you lick off your own slick? Jesus Christ, you’re gonna fuckin’ ruin me,” he murmurs as he looks at you with wide, blown out eyes.

   You giggle as you tip your head up, wrapping your fingers around the collar of his flannel as you tug, pulling just enough to expose a trail of dark chest hair that’s saturated in sweat. “Just like you’ll ruin me. But I’m okay with that. Just need you right now,” you pant out, popping open more of the buttons of his flannel until he gets the hint and throws it off, exposing his broad, muscular chest that’s beaded in glistening sweat, and his happy trail disappears under the material of his dark jeans.

   “You want me inside you, sweetheart?” he whispers as you hurriedly unbuckle his belt and start popping open the top button. 

   “Yes, want your cock inside me. Please, I need you,” you beg as he smiles down at you with glossy brown eyes.

   “Need me to fill you up? Want me to fuck you nice ‘n deep?” he smirks as he unzips his jeans and slides them off his legs, his boxers following swiftly after.

   You gulp as his massive cock springs up against his soft tummy, taking in just how big he is as precum spills from the slit. You gawk at him when he wraps a hand around his large length and starts spreading the precum up and down his shaft meticulously. 

   “Mhm,” is all you can get out as you watch him stroke himself up and down. Fuck. 

   “Spread those legs then, sweetheart,” he smirks as he positions himself right between your legs. You can only whine and knead your breasts together as he takes the tip and slides it along your folds, collecting slick on his swollen tip that’s red and throbbing just for you. He rubs it along your overstimulated clit and chuckles when you pant his name out. 

   “So fuckin’ beautiful,” he drawls as he positions himself at the entrance of your sopping wet hole. “Such a messy girl, too. All this for me? Goddamn. Gonna fill you up real good.” Before you have time to say anything, he thrusts inside you, filling you so full as you gasp at the wide stretch he makes.

   “Jesus Christ, you’re tight, darlin’. Jus’ needed this big cock to stretch you out, s’that right?” he groans, caging you in with his muscular arms as he ruts deeper inside you, filling you to the brim with every languid stroke of his massive cock.

   You throw your head back, clawing your nails down his broad back as you moan nonsense while he generously slides his thick length back and forth, slipping out just enough to ram back inside you with a sting to your insides as his tip continually kisses the back of your cervix. 

   It’s like you can’t get enough, need more of him, need every inch of his skin to crawl into yours as he takes you to the edge again. You’ve never felt a stretch like this, never been so cock hungover, not until Joel fucking Miller slipped inside you, and you’re afraid you won’t ever get enough of him now. 

   “More,” you beg, panting from every motion of the snap of his hips, moaning every time he’s deep inside your clenched walls, splitting them open with every single rutting motion he gives.

   “You want more, sweetheart? I’ll give you more. Yeah, give you jus’ what you want,” he smirks as he bends your knees up, folding you into a pancake shape as he crawls over you with his beautiful, broad body. “Careful what you ask for. Might not be able to take it,” he chuckles, eyes darkening with trouble written all over them. 

   He spears inside you, thrusting so deep that you swear you feel him inside your stomach, hitting that spongy spot that makes you gasp as your back arches off the damp sheets. “Fuckkkk,” you moan, your voice carrying through the entire room as his deep grunts collide with yours.

   “Yeah, s’right. Take it,” he growls, nipping at your collarbone as your fingers fist in his tousled curls. “Be a good girl and come on my cock,” he demands as his hips thrust violently against yours.

   You have no more control. The room is heavy and hot as your musk and sweat collect over the other, your fingers dragging down his back as you clench up and let your sweet release slip out, coating him in your slick. “Joel, feels - fuck, I’m coming,” you moan into the shell of his ear.

   He stills his thrusts for a few seconds, feeling your walls clench around his cock as you start to soak him, the flow not stopping even as you tilt your head back and scream from the blistering heat that settles in your core.

   “Oh, that’s a good fuckin’ girl. Squeezin’ so tight, milkin’ me with that slippery cum, Jesus Christ,” he moans as he thrusts back into you, not wasting a moments time as he chases his own release.

   You settle into a fog, his deep pants and groans reverberating off the walls as his heavy hands settle on your hips, fucking into you so deep that you feel drunk and so full of him that you swear you should be satiated, but you’re not. You’d let him pump you full of his cock all night in every different position, if only you could continue to do this night after night.

   “‘M not gonna last, sweetheart. Where do you want me?” He grinds his teeth together in concentration as he tries to hold it in just a little longer.

   “Inside me. Fill me up, handsome,” you purr.

   His jaw ticks, and something like fire lights in his glossy eyes, and a devilish smirk forms on his plush lips as he thrusts once, twice, three more times and then pounds you as hard as he can. He leans his forehead against yours and lets out a guttural groan, feeling the white ropes of cum paint the back of your cervix as he gushes all inside you.

   “Fuck me,” he moans, not willing to move till he has all of him spilled inside your walls. He slowly pulls out of you, and you feel the warmth of your own slick and his release mix together as it gushes outside your pussy and down your thighs.

   “Look at you, such a pretty little mess you are, ain’t ya,” he smiles, staring at your legs splayed wide as he dips a finger down against folds, collecting the mixed cum together on his index finger. “Open up, pretty girl,” he smirks.

   He takes his index finger and slots it between your glossy lips, letting you lick and suck on his finger. You swear his eyes widen even further as his black pupils expand into pure lust. “So good,” you moan, wrapping your lips around his finger as you tease and suck on his slick covered digit.

   “Goddamn, look at you. You’re jus’ a wicked little tease, ain’t ya?” he groans, dragging the finger from your lips and pulling it into his warm mouth, sucking with a deliciously hungry groan that makes your eyes widen with heat. “Delicious,” he smirks as he pops his own digit from his mouth, grinding out another moan from your throat as he topples on the bed beside you.

   You both breathe raggedly as you look from one to the other, both locked in a heated staring match, his fingertips lingering on the back of your neck as he pulls you closer to his glistening chest. “That was…” 

   “Unexpected, but amazin’ all the same,” he finishes with a smile curled around his mouth. “You’re tellin’ me you’ve been livin’ in this house for moments, and you weren’t plannin’ on tellin’ me you thought ‘bout me in bed?” His eyebrows raise, and he looks at you square in the eyes, a sly smirk crossing his mouth.

   “I didn’t wanna risk getting kicked out,” you say with your lips molded together in a tight gesture. 

   “Kicked out, huh?” He chuckles and shakes his tousled curls. “Sweetheart, I found you in your bed moanin’ my name. Hell, you could’ve told me that first day you walked in. Think I would’ve taken you right there on the counter if I knew you were into me,” he chuckles.

   “Get out of here,” you laugh as you playfully push him in the chest. “You would not have.”

   “Oh yes I would. Thought you were a knockout from the minute you came through the front door with those little daisy dukes and those beautiful eyes. Shit, I’ve had a thing for you since day one, sweetheart.”

   You purse your lips and give him a once over, assessing his genuine brown eyes that seem covered in softness. Holy shit. He’s being serious. “Really?” you ask breathlessly.

   “Really,” he nods, curling his fingers through your hair and pulling you forward, till your mouth collides with his in a long, sensuous kiss that sends music running through your ears. His lips feel like velvet, and his tongue tastes like cinnamon. 

   When you fall away from his lips, he smiles. “We gonna make this a habit?”

   “Do you want to make this a habit?” you ask with a raised brow, hope stirring in your chest.

   “I mean, ‘course I do, darlin’. A pretty thing like you should be fucked well and taken on nice dates. Think we got the fuckin’ part down, jus’ gotta take ya to dinner now.” He winks and flashes his honey-glazed eyes, and you feel as if you could drown in those syrupy eyes. 

   “That what you tell all the girls who turn into your roommate?” you giggle.

   “Now, sweetheart. You’re rentin’ a room from me. If you wanna be roommates, then technically you’d need to stay in my room, in my bed, in my arms,” he smiles as he pulls you flush to his broad chest, draping an arm around the back of your hip as his fingers softly tease at your soft skin.

   You hum into his touch, giving him a dreamy smile as you drag your nails against his silver scruff. “Roommates, huh? Is that what we’re gonna be?”

   “Roommates, fuck buddies, lovers… s’hard to say, darlin’. But I like you, and I’d like to explore whatever this is.” His tone is so sincere that it makes butterflies flit through your stomach at the possibilities of what this could turn out to be. 

   You push your fingers through his messy curls, reveling over his deep groans as you drag your nails down his scalp. “I like you too, Joel. A lot, actually,” you blush.

   “Figured as much when I caught you moanin’ my name while usin’ that little vibrator on your pretty pink pussy,” he winks, making you blush at the way he drags out the words and keeps his brown eyes locked tight on yours. 

   You shake your head and groan when he drags his thick thumb over your lower lip. “Bet I’m not the only one. What have you been thinking about at night, in the shower, in your bed?” you smirk, making his cheeks redden at the mention of it.

   “Yeah, yeah, sweetheart. You know I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout you, too. Been wonderin’ how sweet you were. Turns out you’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever put my lips on.” He curls his lips into a delicious smile and flips you over to where your back is flush with his sweat-covered chest, lacing his calloused fingers with yours as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his scruff scratching softly along your jawline. 

   You lay there in the twisted sheets, inhaling the musk that makes up Joel Miller, embedding his woodsy pine scent deep into your memory. This feels… right, like this is where you’ve always belonged, in his arms.

   “How’s ’bout I take you on a date Friday night? We could go see a movie, I’ll buy you a big thing of popcorn, hold your hand, maybe pull you into my lap so I can kiss you all I want, then I’ll take you back home and make love to you in my bed all night long.” He places a gentle kiss to your cheek, and you melt into the feel of him. 

   You squeeze his hand and brush your lips over his knuckles, giving him a lazy smile as you turn to look back at him over your shoulder. “Okay, cowboy. You’ve got a deal.”

   He brushes his lips over yours and pulls you close so he can trace his lips over the shell of your ear. “Alright, pretty girl. It’s a date. Now, how ‘bout we go take a shower, and I can make you some dinner. Maybe go for round two after with my mouth between those pretty thighs of yours,” he whispers as a chill runs down your spine, heat building back in your core.

   You huff out a laugh and stifle a groan. “Mmmm, alright then, cowboy. I’m all in.”

   He presses his lips against yours and then tugs you up from the bed, lacing his fingers with yours as he leads you to his room. “Gonna take you for the ride of your life, sweetheart,” he smirks.

   “I’m counting on it,” you smile. 

   And so it begins.

[hearts4hughes]

oh, professor - professor!rafe x student!fem!reader

WARNINGS: smut ; mdni ; p in v ; oral (f receiving) ; degradation ; unprotected sex ; age gap (reader is 22 & rafe is 29)

A/N: i started this writing for someone else, but changed it because it gave off so much rafe energy. all im needing rn is to get attention from professor!rafe

you sit in the dimly lit library. your leg bouncing up and down under the wooden table. it was late— too late for a tutoring lesson, especially one with your professor.

rafe, your professor, sat across from you. his presence was both distracting and irritating. you hate the way his eyes pierce through you, reading every thought you tried to conceal. he is only seven years older, but he wore his authority with a confidence that made your blood boil.

“if you actually paid attention, you would understand the material, y/n.” rafe says, his voice teasing and raspy. you shoot him a glare, your arms crossed over your body.

“i am paying attention,” you retort with a tight lipped smile. the lie leaked from the sides of your lips. how could you focus when every fiber of your being is aware of him?

he leans closer, his scent intoxicating as it fills your nostrils. your heart races in your chest. “then prove it.” he challenges, leaning back with a smirk.

you open your mouth, but nothing comes out. your mind is blank. rafe grins with pride, his cheekbones highlighted by the lightning in the room.

“it’s hard to think when you’re putting me on the spot.” you roll your eyes.

he stifles out a laugh in response.

at the start of your sophomore year at the university of north carolina, you were assigned to professor rafe cameron’s class. he was new to the college, and his arrival spread like a wildfire. he was tall with piercing blue eyes and a muscular body that was evident even under his formal clothes.

from the moment he walked into the classroom, he wore a confident strut in his steps. the girls practically swooned at him. as the semester went on, the outfits the students wore got smaller— each girl trying to catch his attention. however, he kept it professional, not looking lower than he needed to.

it all made you scoff. professors were supposed to be older and wiser than their students. but he was only twenty-nine! how could you truly respect him when he was barely older than you?

you couldn’t, and it didn’t go unnoticed. rafe had noticed you ever since you stumbled into class. his eyes followed you day after day, week after week, but you never shared that interest. you didn’t attempt to flirt with him or invite him to a party, you were totally indifferent. it enticed him.

however, ignoring your professor wasn’t the smartest idea. as a former straight a student, you were failing one class only— his. even though it was unusual for a professor to directly tutor a student, rafe offered to, leaving you no choice if you wanted to keep up your grades.

the tension between you and rafe was palpable. every week the fog surrounding the two became thicker.

“you’re not concentrating.” rafe spoke, breaking the silence. his voice was softer now, almost gentle.

“i’m trying.” your words were dismissive.

he sighs, closing his notebook. “maybe we should take a break.”

you nod in response.

as he stretched his arms above his head, his shirt pulled taut against his abdomen, revealing the outline of his abs. you looked away quickly, a red flush rising to your cheeks.

“why do you do that?”

“do what?” you ask, feigning innocence.

“act like you hate me,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “i know you don’t.”

you scoff. “why should it matter if i like you or not? you're my professor, not my roommate.”

“it begins to matter when your grades plummet.” he says plainly, tilting his head to the side with a smug expression.

you clench your fists by your side. frustration coursed through your veins like a wildfire. “you think you’re so smart, don’t you? you’re only a few years older than me!”

he chuckles, the sound so entrancing it made you gulp. “i’m smart enough to know that you’re scared to admit that you like me. that maybe, just maybe, you find this as intoxicating as i do.”

your heart pounded in your chest. “this is ridiculous.” you mutter under your breath. “i don’t need this, i’ll figure this class out myself.”

his smirk only grew deeper as you rushed out of the door. as the north carolina air hit your skin, it was hard to ignore the pulsating between your legs. looking back towards the library, you scoffed.

**

the next morning you find yourself back in rafe’s lecture hall. the room is filled with the scent of coffee and the rustle of college students.

you take your usual spot in the middle of the class. as you unpack your books and laptop, a figure sits besides you. you glance at the boy as he smiles, mirroring your action of setting up his academic station.

“hey,” he greeted. “you always sit in these seats, don’t you?” he smirks. “i’m gavin by the way.” you can’t help but blush as he holds out his hand.

you shake his hand, “hi, i’m y/n.” you reply, your hand still lingering in his. “and what can i say, i like routine.” he chuckles at your cheeky comment.

he’s cute with a dirty blonde mop of curls on his head. his eyes brown eyes are doe and kind. his jaw is sharp and his dimples pop when he smiles. he’s the all american perfect boy. the rest of the lecture is harder to focus on as he sits besides you. every so often, he steals glances at you and whispers jokes into your ear.

rafe notices the second the male student sits besides you. he notices how the boy’s gaze lingers on you and your cleavage, and how he’s so desperate for an ounce of attention from you. it makes his body tense and his lungs tight. it’s unbelievably hard to stay on track during the lesson which causes him to end the class fifteen minutes early.

“we’ll pick this up next class. see you all next week.” he clasps his hands together, signaling the end of period.

you stand up, slinging your bag over your shoulder as gavin follows you like a loyal puppy. within steps of the exit, your professor calls out to you.

“y/n, can you stay after class, please?” rafe calls out towards you. his body was stiff and jaw tense. the usual glimmer in his eyes was replaced with a greenish tinge.

girls besides you sneered as you nodded your head, waiting until the rest of the students filtered out before you walked towards him.

“yes, professor?” you said, your voice bitingly sharp.

“we didn’t get to finish our conversation from last night.” he tisked, his eyes raking up and down your body. “you left so abruptly.”

“well, we were done tutoring, so i had no other reason to stay.” the words are sharp off your tongue, only encouraging him more.

he stared deeply into your eyes. his eyes held an ocean filled with lust and secrets. it was as if there was a siren in the waters, singing and drawing you in.

you broke eye contact, allowing your gaze to fall onto the ground. he chuckled as if he had won a bet. your cheeks blushed something fierce.

“make a new friend today?” he asks as he moved his body around his desk. he was now standing directly in front of you, leaning on his desk. his dress shirt pulled against his body, emphasizing his impressively muscular arms.

he is a work of art.

you turn your head, “i’m not sure what you mean.” your voice was shaky and you weren’t sure if it was because of the tension in the atmosphere or the tension between your legs.

“really?” he challenges. “i could have sworn you were talking to that boy during my lecture.”

“it was just a conversation, rafe.” you reply, trying to keep your tone casual. however, your heart rate increased under the confines of your clothing.

he took a step closer, his proximity sending a shiver down your spine. “oh, i’m rafe now? what happened to professor? and it seemed like more than a conversation.” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “i don’t like seeing you flirt with other students.”

you swallow harshly. “yeah? and why’s that?” your words were an attempt to maintain steady, but you knew who was controlling the conversation.

his lips curved into a smirk, his eyes darkening with desire. “you don’t have to pretend with me, y/n.” his voice was soft. he reaches out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “i know you want this just as badly as i do.”

the fire burning in your core intensified.

“we can’t do this.” your mind was telling you no, but your heart was screaming yes. “y-you’re my professor, and i’m a student.”

“i know.” his voice was sultry. chills traveled along your skin as his finger traced your arm. “i’m no good for you, but doesn’t that make this all so much better?” he leans in, whispering into your ear.

his lips dropped from your earlobe onto the skin of your neck. he sucks along the sensitive skin, biting ever so gently.

“rafe,” you breathe out. he hums in response, his arms wrapping around your body as he pulled you close. “kiss me.”

without any hesitation, his lips landed on yours. his lips were soft, yet demanding, moving against yours in a fiery rhythm. your hands instinctively found their way to his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt. his hands roamed your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between. the bulge beneath his dress pants began to grow.

you could feel the heat radiating from him, mixing with your own. the kiss depend, his tongue teasing your mouth. a moan escaped you, echoing around the empty classroom. he flipped you around, lifting you up, and sitting you on his desk. your legs separated as he stood in between them.

breaking the kiss, he gazed into your eyes, his lips still a shadow on yours. “do you know how long i’ve wanted to do that?” he whispered, his voice dripping with pure desire.

you were breathless in a haze of pleasure and desire. “what else have you wanted to do?” you look at him through your lashes. your doe, sweet eyes flicking a switch inside of him as he growls in response.

his hands traveled to the hem of your shirt before swiftly ripping it off. you sat clad in a black, lace bra, leaving little to the imagination.

“you’re ethereal.” his words painted a pink flush on your cheeks.

one hand reaches behind your back, unclasping your bra and revealing your perky tits. you gasp as his mouth attaches onto one of your nipples, sucking voraciously.

your legs wrap around his waist as you melt into his touch. every rational thought fled your mind, replaced by a primal need to feel pleasure; to feel him.

“rafe,” your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling every time his tongue swirls around your sensitive nipple. he responded with a moan, dropping to his knees in front of you.

you took in the sight as he unclasped your jeans. his hair was a tousled mess, his lips swollen, face flushed, and eyes hungry with desire.

he pulled the material down your legs, discarding it elsewhere in the room. your matching lace panties made his mouth hang agape.

he looked up at you, “are you sure about this?” you nod, your body squirming in need of touch. he tisked with a grin, “i need words, sweetheart.”

“yes.” the words couldn’t have left your lips faster.

the second he heard your consent, he dropped his head down to your lower body. he began at the edge of your thighs, licking a trail up to your inner thighs. his hands moved with purpose, swirling circles around your legs, but never in the one spot you desperately wanted.

he took his time, savoring each moment as he licked, kissed, and sucked the skin along your thighs and waist.

you wiggled as you grew impatient. he chuckled, taking a hint and suddenly pressing his tongue flat against the thin material of your black panties. your head fell back in pleasure.

he made quick work of pulling your panties to the side and licking a long stripe up your folds. your fingers find their way to his hair, where you tug and pull. that only encourages him more as he begins to lap up your core like a man starved. his nose pushes against your clit as his tongue penetrates deep inside you.

the sight of his handsome face buried between your legs made you whimper, clenching around nothing but his muscle. your juices covered the lower half of his face as he continued to please you.

“taste so much better than i imagined.” he coos, shifting his focus from your hole to your bundle of nerves. you whimpered when his tongue circled around the little nub. he smirked against you.

“i’m gonna-” you interrupted yourself with a gasp as his ring and middle finger entered you. you stretched around his digits, leaving your mouth agape. he pulls away from your legs to look at you as he curls his fingers just the right way.

it wasn’t long before he began pumping his fingers in and out of you at a merciless pace. you felt the knot in your stomach tightening as he continued his assault on your pussy.

and just as you were about to come undone on his fingers, he pulled them out. your eyes shot open and you opened your mouth to argue, but his lips crashed against yours in a hungry battle between tongues. he pulled away with a tisk.

“think i was just going to reward you for being a brat?” he shook his head. “after you flirted with that ass in front of everyone? gotta teach you a lesson, honey.” he undid his buckle and dress pants before allowing them to drop to the ground.

your eyes widened as he freed his thick length from the confines of his boxers. his tip was painfully throbbing, in need of release. he ran his finger over his tip, collecting precum and spreading it across his cock. he hisses at the feeling, only causing the ache between your legs to intensify.

he scoffs as you spread your legs wider for him. “such a needy little slut, huh? need your professors dick that bad? so pathetic.” his words send a shock straight to your core, making your legs twitch. he smirks as he steps between your legs. he grabs himself and teases your entrance. when his tip knocks at your clit that’s when you turn into a cock drunk mess.

“please, rafe. i need you so bad that it hurts.” his smirk widens as you beg. while keeping eye contact, he bottoms out completely in you. you want to scream at the pleasure, but all that falls from your mouth are whiney, pathetic whimpers.

he doesn’t give you time to adjust before thrusting ruthlessly into your sopping cunt. his thick length stretches you out deliciously. his hand drops to your clit, rubbing in circular motions to ease the pain into pleasure.

his hand claps around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head feel hazy. he continuously pounds into you. his tip kisses your cervix causing you to yell out in pure ecstasy. he smirks as he looks down at your stomach. with each thrust his cock bulges against your skin.

“rafe, it’s too much.” you breathe out, squirming around. his hand tightens around your throat and his other clings to your hips, holding you down as he fucks you.

“you can fucking take it.” he spat, his lips connecting with yours. it’s a clash between teeth and tongues as the knot in your stomach intensifies.

he leans back in his heels, hitting a new angle. his dick hits your g-spot continuously, bringing you to your climax. you cream around his length and it spills onto the floor below you as he doesn’t slow up on his thrusts.

you lay limp, clinging to his biceps as he spills inside of you. you’re thankful that you’re on the pill because nothing ever beat the feeling of his sperm painting your walls. breathlessly, he slows down his strokes. he pulls out, kneeling down and watching your mixed juices spill out of your worn-out core. using his fingers, he pushes his release back into you, marking you as his.

“i think you just earned some extra credit.”

[yun-fangz]

Sleepy Head.

synopsis: waking up needy, you can't help but crave the taste of your boyfriend.

pairings: ateez (member not specified) x gn!reader

warnings: smut, consensual somnophilia, cursing, oral (m rec.)

a/n: hiii thank u so much for requesting this, although I deviated a tad bit from what you wanted, I hope that this is still enjoyable for you! id also like to let everyone know that my inbox is open! however, writing out requests may take me a long while, I apologize!

You guys had discussed this before, and countless times have you woken up to the man's head buried between your thighs, so you don’t understand why you’re so nervous to return the favor. 

You had woken up hot and bothered this morning, an itch for something, someone, to satisfy that itch under your skin. You turned to face your sleeping boyfriend, your eyes naturally drifting down to the exposed area of his stomach, where his shirt had ridden up some throughout the night. 

The smooth and toned plane of your boyfriend's torso was driving you furtherly insane,  convincing your already horny brain that there was nothing to be afraid of. Snaking a hand out, you begin to brush the area of skin with the pads of your fingers, a deep inhale escaping the man's lips at the sudden touch. You bite back a small smile at his reaction, letting your eyes drift lower towards his boxers. A faint outline of his cock was visible, sending straight hot waves of arousal down to your core, urging you to act faster. 

You settle yourself further down the bed, hands drifting to the sides of his hips as your nails toy with the elastic band of his underwear. Taking a final deep breath, you slowly drag the fabric down to about mid-thigh, just enough to free his already semi-hard cock. You take his length into your hands, feeling the way it immediately twitches into one of your palms. Feeling emboldened, your hand begins to move at a slow but rhythmic pace, stroking your sleeping boyfriend into full hardness, your eyes never leaving his sleeping face. Occasionally you paused as he stirred, small groans and deep puffs of air leaving his lips as his brows knitted almost confusedly at the pleasure. 

Once you know he's fully hard, you then lean down to leave a light, explorative kiss on the tip of his cock, enjoying the way it jumps at your touch. Trailing down his cock, you leave small open-mouthed kisses along the way, stopping just above his balls before trailing back up. As you reach his tip once more, you leave one last kiss onto his slit as you open your mouth, taking in his cock with one swift motion. You waste no time now, burying his cock into the back of your throat, resisting the urge to gag as his hips subconsciously buck deeper into your mouth. 

His groans soon turn into gasped moans as the the feeling of your mouth rouses him from sleep, his eyes cracking open to see yours staring right back at him. It takes him a moment to fully process what was happening as you sucked on his cock, his head eventually falling back into the pillows as the pleasure soon consumed his entire body. 

“Fuck…” He groaned, his voice gravelly from just waking up. Simply humming as a response, you continue to work your mouth over his cock, eventually feeling his hands tangle into your hair. You can hear his moans rise in volume the longer you suck him off, his hips beginning to stutter more against your mouth. 

Soon enough, to your displeasure, you feel a small tug at your hair as he pulls you off his cock, his eyes blown wide just as yours as he takes deep breaths to steady himself.

“God, you’re gonna make me cum too soon if you keep doing that…” He groans, voice heavy with lust. 

“That's the point” You reply quietly, your lips resting against his reddened tip as you stare up at him with wide eyes. He has to take a second to close his eyes and compose himself so as to not cum at just the look of you with your red and swollen lips pressed against his raging boner. Smiling to yourself at the small effect you have on him, your hands stroke up and down his thighs in a coaxing manner, causing him to open his eyes and look at you once more.

“Let me take care of you…” You purr sweetly into his skin before you latch yourself back onto his cock, sending him back into the deep throws of morning pleasure.

© 2025 Yun-Fangz All Rights Reserved.

[blueheron15]

CINNAMON

pairing: jj maybank x bsf!reader

summary: when you struggle with your eating disorder and body image issues, jj is always there to help you. cuz that's what best friends do... right?

warnings: flangst, ed

a/n: i rewrote this a million times but think i’m finally happy with it. if your struggling with something similar, YOU ARE NOT ALONE! my inbox is always open ♡

you stood in front of the mirror in your bathroom. you were in a cute, lose white tank top that stopped a few inches above your belly button and a short white skirt with little pink flowers scattered around. you made sure your thigh gap was visible, and the faint outline of some of your ribs. because in some, sick way you had wanted other girls at the kegger to ogle at your slimness.

something inside of you was wrong. very wrong. you were so put together. giggly. full of life. sometimes you even thought you were pretty. but in this moment, you wouldn't use any of those adjectives to describe yourself. you were so in your head. you were broken.

you hated yourself. maybe you even deserved the constant hunger pain. the dizziness whenever you stood, or moved too fast.

you had body image issues to the third degree, and developed an eating disorder at the ripe age of 13. sometimes you felt fine. normal. but other times, like this, it was hard to function.

bracing your hands against the counter, you inhaled a deep breath. you're okay. you're okay.

you slowly lifted your head back up, not wanting to look yourself in the eyes, but u were interrupted by a knocking at your bedroom window.

you were pretty sure it was jj. tucking your hair behind your ears, you padded over and a soft smile graced your lips as you were met with jj’s face on the other side of the glass.

he was in his usual attire- ripped tank top, cargo shorts, boots, and a backwards cap- as you opened the window and guided him in. he immediately flopped down on your bed and got comfortable on his back.

“how’re you on this fine evening?” he questioned in a southern drawl.

“all good in the hood.” you lied.

“yeah, well not for me. i was lookin all over for you dude! why didn’t you tell me you were leavin? woulda come with you.”

“first of all, get your shoes off of my bed.”

“yes ma’am.” he saluted, sitting up to take off his boots.

“and,” you sighed, opening a drawer to pull out your pajamas. you really did not wanna cry right now. but you could feel your throat pulsing and lips beginning to wobble. “i don’t know.” you mumbled. “i just don’t feel well.”

you quickly walked into your bathroom, closing the door shut behind you, wrapping your arms around yourself. “fuck,” you mutter under your breath, palming your face.

“woah, woah, woah.” you heard jj call as he scrambled off of your bed, standing in front of the door. he shook the handle, but it was locked. he moved to rest his palm against the door. “what’s wrong, bubba?” he asked softly.

you hiccuped at his words. it was the nick name you often used for him when comforting him after a fight with his dad, or cleaning up his cuts and bruises.

he called you the name too, in your vulnerable moments like this. while rare, he had experienced your break downs before. with him being the only person you could open up to without the fear of judgement.

at first, he would often get angry and frustrated. no one was allowed to think so terribly about his girl like that. not even herself. when he was there, he learned to gently coax you out of your thoughts, the only person capable of doing that.

“c’mon,” he gently prodded. “what’s goin on in that pretty little head of yours?”

you moved to sit on the toilet, pulling your legs up to your chest and resting your head in the crook of your knees as you silently cried. “don’t know.”

“don’t bullshit me, y/n.” he said with concern.

“i- god i just feel fucking insane! like, why can’t i have a normal time at a normal party with out comparing myself to everyone else? why can’t i eat like a normal person? like, i didn’t even wanna drink that much because i know i’ll get bloated. i c-can’t function sometimes and i know saying this out loud prob’ly makes me look crazy, even to myself… but i’m just so tired, jay.” you whimpered.

he was on the verge of tears himself as he leant his forehead against the door. he was just as clueless as you. he didn’t know why you always restricted meals, or often just didn’t eat in general. he didn’t understand how food genuinely tasted like ash in your mouth because it had become so difficult for you to swallow, metaphorically and literally.

he didn’t understand how you thought you were anything less than absolutely perfect. so he offered the only thing he could.

“i’m sorry, baby.”

“it’s fine.” you mumbled, defeated.

“it’s not,” he insisted gently. “i… i know i’m not your therapist or whatever. but i always wanna help you in anyway i can. so… please, let me in.”

your eye brows scrunched in confusion, thinking back to a minute ago when you basically poured your heart out. “i just did.” you said, confused.

“no, like, let me in.” he said, jiggling the door knob.

“oh,” you said, a genuine grin coming over you face. you reached over without fully sitting up and unlocked the door, which was open in an instant.

“c’mere.” he said, opening his arms and pulling you into a hug. his muscular arms providing a sense of home and security.

i’m so tired. you repeated. whether you said it in your head out loud, you weren’t sure. but regardless, jj caught you as you jumped up and locked your ankles behind his lower back, nuzzling your face into his neck and holding onto him just as tightly as he was holding on to you.

he buried his face into your hair, inhaling your scent and pressing kisses to your head, leaning against the wall as he held you up. “you’re good. i gotcha, mama. you’re gonna be okay.”

you’re not sure how long he held the two of you up, but you were dozing off as you played with the hairs on the nape of his neck.

“alright,” he finally said, rearranging his grip on you and walking out of the bathroom. he placed you down on your side of the bed. “how’s this sound; you change into your pajamas, i make us a lil snack, and then we watch a movie, or go to bed. hmm?”

you nodded languidly. he snatched the clothes you had taken from your drawer off of your dresser- a lose fitted blue t shirt and a pair of cotton shorts, holding them out for you with one hand.

the other hand scratched at his eye. a nervous tick.

now, it’s not like he wanted to see you getting changed in this moment. but you are the leading star of his wet dreams….

obviously, though this was not the time. he knew that.

but the emotional toll of the break down and the psychical toll of you being hungry had run its course. you felt your limbs melting into the bed. so, with flushing cheeks, you asked him quietly. “um. can you…” you started, nodding your head to the clothes.

his eyes nearly bugged out of his head and he tried not to sound hopeful. “y’sure?”

“don’t wanna move.” you shrugged. you watched as a suggestive glimmer adorned his eyes. ah, jj maybank. ever the pervert. you kicked his shin with your foot.

“hey, watch it!” his voice rose an octave as he jumped back to defend himself “you just said you were too tired to move!”

“don’t be a perv, j. it’s the same thing as me being in a bikini.”

“not really” he mumbled, sitting down next to you.

jesus, you didn’t have it in you to fight anymore as you felt your eyes tearing up again. “whatever, i’ll just-“ you started, extending a hand to grab your pjs.

“hey, no.” he insisted, placing his hand over yours and gently putting it back on your side. “i’ll do it, y/n.”

you closed your eyes, leaning your head against the headboard as you nodded. here you were- offering yourself to someone so intimately in your most vulnerable state. and it wasn’t even about sex. jj had never experienced anything like you before.

his fingertips ghosted over the hem of your top. “arms up.” he whispered huskily, stripping you of your shirt. he let a hand gracefully fall on top of your stomach, lightly trailing his fingers up and down, his thumb sweeping over your side and your ribs. your eyes screwed shut impossibly tight.

a tear rolled down your cheek as you wearily opened your eyes. he was staring at you with not a pitiful look like you had expected. his expression was fairly neutral as he took it all in, but there was a hint of… love in his eyes.

he grabbed your ankles, threading them through your skirt, leaving you in a bra and panties. he then dressed you so delicately, his calloused and bruised hands juxtaposing the way he handled you in his arms.

“good?” he asked, smiling with pride at dressing you, giving your hips a squeeze. you nodded, then he rushed out of the room, promising to “be right back!”

he came back carrying an assortment of chips and some containers of fruit, placing them down on your nightstand table.

the two of you ate together for a while in silence, your room illuminated only by the movie playing in the background. you laid next to each other, shoulder and thighs touching. occasionally, when he noticed you struggling, he’d pop and raspberry into ur mouth and coddle you, using his fingers to grip you jaw and move it up and down, causing you to giggle and nearly choke.

after a while, with a mouthful of chips he said. “we’re basically married now, you know that right? like, all this shit i just did for you? it’s what fuckin elderly couples do for each other.”

you snorted. “yeah, right. ur not even my boyfriend.”

“well, can i be?” he teased.

“no.” you replied in a deadpan tone.

this was a common conversation between the two of you- best friends who were not so secretly in love with each other.

“fuck you.”

“fuck you.”

a beat of silence. you placed your baggie of chips on your night stand, and turned on your side to rest your head against his chest. “i’m tired.” you sighed. “thanks for helping me.” you murmured lazily.

“‘course,” he said, kissing your head. “g’night. love you.”

“love you too.”

[arkaiveofurown]

Figure Study

Pairing: Sabo x Reader

“Draw me like one of your French Girls” you said. What was meant to be a quiet sketch session quickly becomes a heated game neither of you can resist.

Word Count: ~1,600

tags: nsfw, smut

my masterlist here ♡

——

“You still want to draw me?” you ask, leaning back onto your hands as Sabo sets the sketchpad on his knee, already fumbling for a piece of charcoal.

“Yeah,” he says, trying to sound casual, but he’s not looking at your face—his eyes are already sliding over your body, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “I mean—only if you’re serious.”

You tilt your head, smirking. “Dead serious.”

He sits straighter, swallowing hard. “Okay. Um. Just… whatever pose you’re comfortable with.”

You shift slightly, reach for the hem of your shirt, and begin to pull it up slowly. His eyes widen, the charcoal pausing mid-air.

“Wait—are you actually—?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You wanted a model.”

He blinks fast. “I—I thought you meant like, clothes-on.”

“You want me in clothes?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it again. “No. I mean—no. I just—shit.” His hand rakes through his hair as he tries to keep his eyes on your face.

You toss the shirt aside, exposing your bare chest. “Better?”

He exhales, a breathy, stunned sound. “Fuck, yeah.”

Next, your fingers hook into your waistband, and you drag your pants down slowly, legs stretching out in front of him.

He makes a low noise in his throat, adjusting how he’s sitting. “You’re really doing this.”

“Mmhm.” You lay back on your elbows, now completely bare. “Still want to draw me like one of your French girls?”

His jaw clenches, eyes raking over you in a way that’s anything but innocent.

“I’m trying not to get hard,” he mutters, almost like it’s your fault.

You grin lazily, stretching your legs out. “You’re not doing a very good job.”

He lets out a breath through his nose, sharp, frustrated, but doesn’t answer. Instead, he shifts where he’s seated, one thigh twitching as he subtly adjusts himself under the sketchpad. You catch the movement—the way his hand hovers too long near his crotch before moving back to the charcoal. The sketchpad’s positioned just a little too strategically on his lap.

You narrow your eyes, amused. “Need to move that pad lower, or is it already doing the job?”

He doesn’t look up. “Stop talking.”

You laugh softly. “Why? Am I making it worse?”

His hand pauses mid-line. “You know you are.”

You tilt your head, voice a notch softer. “What’s it feel like, Sabo?”

He stiffens. “What?”

You shift your position slowly, legs parting just slightly, catching the way his throat bobs. “Being hard and trying to pretend you’re not. Sitting there like a gentleman, when I know your cock’s pressed tight in those pants, begging for attention.”

His hand visibly trembles. The charcoal smudges the line he was working on. “I’m trying to draw.”

“You’ve barely looked at the paper.”

His eyes lift, dark and desperate. “You’re making it fucking impossible.”

You trail a finger down your own stomach, just enough to make his eyes flicker down, jaw flexing again. You see his knuckles tense where his hand grips the side of the sketchpad.

You smile slowly. “You can touch it, you know. I don’t mind.”

He shifts again—clearly trying to stay still but failing, the outline of his cock now obvious beneath the pad. He hisses through his teeth, one hand dipping beneath it briefly. Not to jerk—just to adjust. But even that makes him groan low in his throat.

“Sabo,” you murmur, “I want to watch.”

His eyes flick to yours. His cheeks are flushed, lips parted. “I—fuck—don’t tease me like this.”

“Then show me.”

He hesitates. The sketchpad slips down his thighs, revealing the bulge straining against his pants. His hand moves to it, hesitant, then pressing down as if he can will it to behave.

You hum approvingly. “God, you’re so hard.”

“Because of you,” he says, voice rough.

You crawl closer, slowly, deliberately. “Then let me help.”

You crawl into his lap, straddling him slowly, the sketchpad knocked aside and forgotten. His breath hitches as your bare skin brushes his clothed cock, the pressure making him curse under his breath.

“Y/N…” His voice cracks on your name, hands hovering at your waist like he’s unsure if he should stop you or pull you closer.

You grind against him deliberately. “Feel how wet I am for you.”

He groans, head falling forward to rest against your shoulder. “Fuck, don’t tease me like that. I’m trying—”

“You’re done trying,” you whisper, biting his earlobe. “Touch me.”

That’s all it takes—his hands snap to your hips, gripping tight as he drags you flush against him, rolling his hips up into your slick heat through the fabric of his pants. “God, you’re soaked. You’ve been sitting there, looking like that, and you’re already dripping?”

“You were the one getting hard during your little art session,” you murmur, rocking against him. “You started this.”

“I’m gonna finish it, too,” he growls, suddenly lifting you just enough to yank his pants down, cock springing free—hard, flushed, already leaking at the tip.

You can’t help the gasp that leaves your lips as it presses against your slit. “Fuck, Sabo…”

He grabs the base of his cock, rubbing it through your folds. “You want it?”

“So bad,” you whisper, nails digging into his shoulders.

But he doesn’t thrust. Not yet.

Instead, Sabo grips your hips tighter and pulls you down slowly, letting the length of his cock slide through your slick folds—just teasing, hot and heavy, not entering, just gliding. You shudder, moaning into his neck.

His voice is strained. “You’re soaked. You’re fucking dripping for me.”

Then his hand moves—one trails up your spine, the other between your legs. Two fingers slip through your wetness, spreading it, dragging slow circles over your clit.

You cry out softly, back arching. “Fuck, Sabo…”

“Look at you,” he breathes. “I’ve barely touched you, and you’re already falling apart.”

He leans in, mouth brushing over your breast. His lips find your nipple, tongue circling slowly before sucking it into his mouth with a sharp pull. You whimper, grinding against his fingers as he rolls your clit with practiced, dirty precision.

“God, your tits…” he murmurs, switching sides, teeth grazing the other nipple just enough to make you gasp. “They’re perfect.”

His fingers move lower, slipping into your heat without warning—two of them, curling deep inside you. Your walls clench down around the intrusion, your hips bucking helplessly.

“Sabo—shit—”

“You like that?” he asks, voice thick. “You like me finger-fucking you open for my cock?”

You can’t answer. You’re too busy riding his hand, desperate for more, your breath coming in ragged pants as his thumb circles your clit in quick, tight swipes.

“You’re so tight already,” he growls, fingers pumping harder. “So fucking wet… I’m gonna slide right in, aren’t I?”

“Please,” you gasp, head dropping to his shoulder. “I need you inside me. Now.”

He withdraws his fingers and presses them to your lips. “Taste how ready you are for me.”

You suck them into your mouth, tongue curling around them, watching his eyes go dark with hunger. His cock twitches against your thigh.

“Fuck,” he rasps, lifting your hips. “You ready for me, baby?”

You nod, breathless. “Give it to me.”

And he does—grabbing the base of his cock and guiding it to your entrance, then thrusting in, slow but deep, inch by inch until he’s fully buried inside you.

Your cry tears from your throat. “Oh my God—”

His hands are everywhere—one on your hip, the other gripping your ass as he starts to move, hips rocking up into you with deliberate, punishing force.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he grits out, head falling back. “You’re squeezing me so tight—”

You grind down to meet every thrust, the wet slap of your bodies echoing off the walls. Your hands claw through his hair, mouth pressed to his jaw, gasping into his skin.

“Harder,” you moan, and he gives it to you—driving up into your pussy with brutal rhythm, thick cock hitting deep, the sound of skin on skin loud and filthy.

“Goddamn,” he growls, panting into your neck. “I’m not gonna last if you keep clenching like that—”

You moan louder, the pressure building fast, blinding. “Sabo—I’m close—”

He slams into you harder, faster, voice ragged. “Cum for me. Right on my cock. Let me feel you fall apart.”

And you do—legs trembling, pussy pulsing around him in waves, your orgasm ripping through you like a storm. He holds you through it, hips stuttering as he fucks you through your high.

Then he lets go—burying himself deep with a hoarse groan, cock pulsing as he cums inside you, warm and thick and endless.

You collapse against him, still joined, breath ragged.

“…That,” he gasps, voice hoarse, “was not in the sketch.”

You laugh breathlessly, nuzzling against his neck. “Maybe next time, I’ll be the one drawing—starting with that face you just made.”

[chrissssssmut]

can i request a fic where, after the reader's girlfriend breaks up with him, his elder sister jiwoo (tripleS) comforts him and they end up fucking 🙏🏻🙏🏻

STILL THINKING ABOUT HER?

TripleS Jiwoo x Male Reader

AN: Surprise! Finished this super fast! Hope you guys could still wait for the others!

It started with the sound of your bedroom door creaking open—slow, careful, like whoever was on the other side wasn’t sure if they should be walking in at all.

You didn’t move.

The room was dark, but the faint hallway light outlined her silhouette perfectly: soft curves in an oversized hoodie, one hand clutching the doorframe, the other holding what looked like a can of Coke.

“Hey,” Jiwoo’s voice was low, casual, but laced with concern. “You good?”

You scoffed quietly, buried in your pillow. “What do you think?”

She stepped in anyway. No knock, no permission. Just Jiwoo being Jiwoo—your dad’s new wife’s daughter. Technically your step-sister, but you barely saw each other as family. You hadn’t grown up together. She moved in only a year ago.

And now she was in your room, sitting on your bed like it was hers.

“I heard about Seoyun,” she said after a pause. “She really broke up with you by text?”

You rolled onto your back, arm flung across your forehead. “Yeah. Just… three sentences. ‘It’s not working. I’m sorry. Don’t text me again.’”

Jiwoo made a sound—half laugh, half snort. “Wow. Cold bitch move.”

“She’s not a bitch,” you muttered defensively.

Jiwoo raised an eyebrow. “You’re defending her after that? Wow. You really were in deep.”

You didn’t reply. You hated how easily she got under your skin, but… you hated even more how right she usually was.

She kicked off her slippers and folded her legs, sitting cross-legged next to you. You could smell her perfume—light, citrusy, familiar from passing her in the hallway or brushing past her in the kitchen. She reached out and ran her fingers through your hair like she’d done it a thousand times.

You froze.

“You know,” she murmured, “not to make it about me, but… I always thought Seoyun was kind of boring. Pretty, sure. But zero personality. Like… if tofu were a person.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks for the comfort.”

“I am comforting you,” Jiwoo said innocently. “Just… in my own way.”

Her hand didn’t stop moving—fingertips tracing your scalp, a gentle scratch at the nape of your neck. You hated how good it felt.

“Why do you care, anyway?” you asked, not looking at her.

She clicked her tongue. “Because you’re moping. And I live here. And it’s annoying.”

You huffed.

“And maybe,” she added with a smirk, “I like you better when you’re not acting like a kicked puppy.”

You finally glanced at her—and she was already staring. Her eyes locked with yours, and for the first time, you realized how close she was sitting. Her thigh was brushing yours, the hoodie slipping off one shoulder, exposing soft skin and the strap of her tank top underneath.

“What’re you looking at?” she teased, tilting her head.

You looked away quickly. “Nothing.”

“Ohhh, don’t lie,” she grinned. “Were you staring at my shoulder? That’s so scandalous.”

“Jiwoo…”

“Or was it the bra strap?” she whispered, leaning closer, lips inches from your ear. “You do know I’m not wearing pants, right?”

You swallowed hard. She wasn’t. Just a long hoodie. Maybe underwear under there, maybe not.

“I thought you came to comfort me,” you said stiffly, trying to control your breathing.

“I am comforting you,” she purred. “Don’t you feel better already?”

Your heart was racing. You sat up a little, leaning on your elbows, but Jiwoo didn’t move. If anything, she leaned in more—nose brushing your cheek.

“You don’t have to do this,” you said softly. “You’re just teasing, right?”

Jiwoo smiled. A slow, knowing, wicked smile. “Maybe I started teasing. But maybe…” Her hand slid down your chest, over your shirt, then lower, trailing along your stomach. “Maybe I got curious.”

You caught her wrist. “Jiwoo.”

She paused, but didn’t pull away. “Just say the word,” she whispered. “And I’ll stop.”

You hesitated.

Then let go of her wrist.

“…Don’t stop.”

She was on top of you in seconds.

Lips crashing into yours, warm and soft, her hands sliding under your shirt like she’d been dying to touch you for years. You kissed her back—hard. Months of frustration, heartbreak, loneliness—all pouring into the heat between your mouths.

Jiwoo moaned into the kiss, grinding against you. “Mmm. There he is. That’s the real you.”

Your hands found her thighs, bare and warm under the hoodie, and pulled her closer. She gasped when you pushed up against her.

“You’re already hard?” she grinned. “God, your ex was such a waste. Bet she didn’t even suck you properly.”

You groaned. “Why are you so dirty?”

She bit your neck playfully. “Because I know you like it.”

Then her hand was slipping under your waistband—fingers wrapping around you. You gasped, hips bucking into her palm.

“Fuck, Jiwoo—”

She licked her lips. “Shh. Let your big sister take care of you.”

That shouldn’t have turned you on more. But it did.

She slid down your body, tugging your pants down with one hand, her eyes never leaving yours. “Let me see how heartbroken you really are, baby.”

She went down on you slowly, deliberately—tongue teasing, lips curling into a smirk every time you gasped or cursed her name. She loved the control. Loved the way your hands tangled in her hair, the way your thighs tensed with every motion.

When you finally couldn’t take it anymore and pulled her up, kissing her hard, she only laughed breathlessly against your lips.

“You gonna fuck your big sister now, huh?” she teased. “Gonna cry on my shoulder and cum in me all in the same night?”

“You’re insane,” you muttered.

Jiwoo winked. “You love it.”

You did. God help you, you did.

Your hands gripped her hips like a lifeline as she slid down on you, inch by inch. Jiwoo gasped when you bottomed out inside her, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as her body trembled slightly from the stretch.

“F-fuck—Jiwoo—” you groaned, barely able to breathe. She was tight, hot, soaking wet. Every part of her clenched around you like she was made for this—for you.

Jiwoo opened her eyes again slowly, lips curled into that same smug, wicked smile. “Yeah?” she breathed, grinding her hips in a slow, devastating circle. “That good already?”

Your head tipped back into the pillow as a guttural moan left your throat. “You feel… so fucking good.”

Her nails scratched lightly down your chest. “You think your little high school girlfriend could take you this deep?” She sank down again deliberately, drawing another strangled moan from you. “Huh, baby?”

“Don’t talk about her—”

“Why not?” she whispered, leaning forward, her hands on your chest for balance. “You’re inside me now. Not her. She didn’t deserve this cock—I do.”

She started moving faster, hips lifting and dropping in a rhythm that sent lightning through your spine. The slapping sound of skin meeting skin filled the room—wet, filthy, intimate.

Your fingers dug into the soft flesh of her ass, guiding her movements now. She let you take over for a moment, panting, flushed, letting you thrust up into her. Her hoodie slid up, exposing her stomach, then her bare chest. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

You reached up to cup her breasts, fingers brushing her nipples, and she gasped—then laughed breathlessly.

“God, you’re desperate,” she teased, biting her lip as she rode you harder. “You gonna cry again? Or are you just gonna fill me up like a good little brother?”

You pulled her down into a kiss—sloppy, deep, tongues clashing. She moaned into your mouth as you rolled your hips up, fucking her deeper, harder.

Her rhythm started to break. Her body trembled again, this time not from teasing, but from the steady build toward release.

“Ah—fuck—you’re hitting so deep—” Jiwoo choked out, head falling to your shoulder. “Shit, baby, you’re gonna make me—”

You flipped her before she could finish the sentence—rolling her onto her back, still buried inside her. Jiwoo let out a surprised laugh, then moaned when you slammed back in.

“Whoa—someone’s getting bold,” she breathed, wrapping her legs around your waist. “So rough all of a sudden… is this how you fuck your ex in your head?”

You stared down at her, breath ragged. “No. This is all for you.”

That shut her up—for a second.

Her voice was breathless, high-pitched, whiny now. “Then don’t stop. Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

You didn’t.

You kept thrusting, harder now, the bed creaking beneath you, her nails clawing into your back as she got louder, more desperate.

“Jiwoo—fuck—I’m close—”

“Inside,” she gasped. “Don’t pull out—I want it. I want all of it.”

You slammed into her faster, your rhythm turning frantic as your climax approached.

“Jiwoo—!”

“Cum for me, baby—fill your big sister up, fuck—”

You exploded inside her with a growl, hips jerking as your release overtook you. Jiwoo cried out beneath you, arching her back, body shuddering as she came too—legs locked around you, holding you in as deep as possible.

You collapsed onto her, both of you soaked in sweat and panting, your heart pounding in your ears.

She ran a hand through your hair, laughing softly.

“Well,” she whispered, kissing your cheek, “I think I win Best Comforter of the Year.”

You kissed her again, dazed.

“…You’re insane.”

Jiwoo grinned.

“But I made you forget her, didn’t I?”

The smell of eggs woke you before the sun did.

You blinked, barely registering the mess of clothes scattered across your floor. Jiwoo’s hoodie was hanging off the corner of your bed, your boxers were inside out on the floor, and the faint soreness in your thighs reminded you that last night hadn’t been a dream.

Holy shit.

You really fucked your step-sister.

And she really enjoyed it.

You dragged yourself out of bed, tossing on sweats and a shirt, and padded barefoot to the kitchen.

Jiwoo was already at the stove. She was wearing your hoodie now — sleeves too long, hem barely covering the curve of her ass, and absolutely nothing else. She flipped eggs with one hand and sipped orange juice with the other.

She glanced at you with a lazy smile. “Morning, loverboy.”

You froze. “Jiwoo—don’t say stuff like that.”

“What? Too soon?” she smirked. “Should I have waited till after breakfast to call you that?”

You sat at the counter, rubbing your face. “This is insane. What if someone finds out?”

“Relax,” she said, sliding a plate in front of you. “Dad's on a business trip and Mom’s doing yoga in Jeju. We’ve got the house to ourselves for a whole weekend.”

“That’s not the point,” you muttered.

Jiwoo leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “You didn’t seem so worried about that when you were balls deep in me last night.”

You nearly choked on your orange juice.

“Jesus—Jiwoo.”

She giggled and pulled back. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

You glared at her. “You’re seriously not weirded out?”

She took a slow bite of egg, chewing with a thoughtful hum. “We're not blood-related. You’re hot. I’m bored. You needed to forget your ex. And I like making you squirm.” She licked her fork. “So no. I’m not weirded out.”

You said nothing. Just stared at your food.

“Still thinking about her?” Jiwoo asked softly.

You glanced up.

She wasn’t smirking anymore. Her eyes were darker now—watching you carefully.

“…Not really,” you admitted.

She smiled. “Good.”

You escaped to the bathroom after breakfast, needing to wash off the confusion—and the scent of sex still lingering on your skin.

You peeled off your clothes and turned the shower on, stepping under the spray. The hot water felt like absolution.

Until the door creaked open.

You turned fast. “Jiwoo?!”

She was leaning against the frame, arms crossed under her chest, wearing the same damn hoodie.

“What the hell—can’t I get ten minutes alone?”

Jiwoo walked in slowly, shutting the door behind her with a quiet click.

“You sure you wanna be alone?” she asked, voice low. “You looked like you were about to cry again.”

You stepped back as she approached the fogged-up glass.

“Jiwoo. I’m literally naked.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So? You think I didn’t see all of you last night?” Her fingers hooked under the hoodie and peeled it off slowly, dropping it to the tile.

She wasn’t wearing anything.

You swallowed hard. “Jiwoo—what are you doing?”

She stepped into the shower with you, not even blinking as the water soaked her hair and skin. She was glistening now—wet and beautiful and way too close.

“I’m helping you forget,” she whispered. “Clearly, one round wasn’t enough.”

You backed up until your back hit the tile. Jiwoo didn’t stop.

Her hand wrapped around your shaft before you even realized you were getting hard again.

“You say her name once,” Jiwoo murmured, “and I stop.”

You looked at her—completely soaked, lips parted, eyes burning into yours—and said nothing.

“…That’s what I thought.”

Jiwoo sank to her knees in the shower, water streaming down her face and breasts. Her lips wrapped around the tip of your cock and you nearly lost balance. The heat of her mouth, the suction, the way her tongue curled under you—

“F-fuck—Jiwoo—”

She moaned around you, fingers curling around the base as she took you deeper, slower, more purposeful this time. Her eyes never left yours. She was proving something—and you were losing the argument.

Your hands braced against the wall as your hips twitched. “I’m gonna—Jiwoo, I’m gonna—”

She pulled off with a wet pop and looked up at you, face soaked in water and spit. “Not yet.”

She stood and turned around, pressing her palms against the glass wall of the shower, her ass arching toward you.

“You’re not done making me forget, are you?” she asked sweetly.

You didn’t answer.

You grabbed her hips and slid inside in one thrust. Jiwoo let out a long, desperate moan.

“Oh fuck, that’s it—yes—just like that—”

You pounded into her, harder now, water splashing with every thrust, steam rising between your bodies. Her ass bounced against your hips with every movement, and the way she clenched around you made your head spin.

“You’re gonna wreck me,” she whimpered, voice trembling. “God, you’re gonna fucking ruin me.”

You leaned in close, grabbing her hair, whispering against her ear. “Good. Maybe then you’ll stop acting like this doesn’t mean anything.”

That silenced her.

For one second.

Then she looked over her shoulder with a wild grin. “Baby,” she gasped, “I want it to mean something.”

That was it. You grabbed her tighter, fucked her deeper, until the shower walls shook and Jiwoo was moaning your name like a prayer.

When you came inside her again—loud, breathless, bodies slick and shaking—she collapsed into your arms, dragging both of you to the floor of the shower.

You sat there, holding her, heartbeat against heartbeat, both of you panting under the rain of water.

After a long pause, she finally whispered:

“…Still thinking about her?”

You shook your head slowly.

“Good,” she smiled, nuzzling your chest.

“Because if you ever do, I’ll just have to fuck the memory out of you all over again.”

[smutmind]

Goodbye Head ft. Wendy

The agency halls echoed with soft footsteps and muffled goodbyes.

Wendy walked slow, fingers brushing the plastered wall where old tour posters still hung. Thirteen years. From fresh-faced trainee to seasoned idol. Every corner of the building held a whisper of her past—early call times, tearful rehearsals, stolen naps on studio floors. She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

She turned the corner and nearly collided with someone.

"Ah—sorry," she started, then blinked. "Mr. Joon?"

He looked older. Grayer hair. Softer around the edges. But the same calm eyes, always watching without judgment. He stepped back, blinking as if trying to confirm what he was seeing. "Wendy... Wow."

She grinned. "It’s really my last day. Can you believe it?"

"I can’t. God, I remember when you came in with braces and a notebook full of lyrics you were too shy to show anyone."

Her laugh was quiet. "I still have that notebook. Somewhere."

He smiled, but something in it sagged, weary. They stood in the hallway as the silence stretched between them.

"You know," he said, clearing his throat, "I’m leaving too. Retiring, technically."

Wendy's brows lifted. "Really? I didn’t hear. When?"

"End of the week. No fanfare. Just... walking out."

She read his posture—shoulders rounded, tie loose, eyes that avoided hers for a beat too long.

"You okay?"

He gave a low laugh. "I don’t know. Poured everything into this job. Years just blurred by. All the birthdays missed, family I stopped calling back... I don't even have a plant at home to water."

Wendy's smile faded. Her voice turned soft. "I saw it. All of it. You were always the last one to leave. Even when I passed out in the practice room, you were the one who covered me with a coat."

Mr. Joon looked away.

"You gave everything, Mr. Joon. We noticed. I noticed."

For a moment, he didn't answer. Then: "It's strange. You get to the end and realize no one’s there to clap for you."

The ache in her chest surprised her. Wendy stepped closer. Close enough to see the faint wrinkle beside his mouth. Close enough to smell his cologne—subtle, woodsy, familiar.

"That's not true," she said. "I’m here."

He met her eyes.

Wendy tilted her head. "Come on. Just for a second."

She led him down the hall, past the break room she remembered napping in between vocal lessons. The light was off. The door creaked as it opened, and silence wrapped around them like dusk.

Mr. Joon paused inside. "Still smells like burnt coffee."

"And ramen packets," she added.

The hush between them deepened.

She stepped closer, fingers trailing the edge of the table where she used to sit and cry quietly after a bad dance eval. "You don’t deserve to feel alone. Not after everything you gave us."

He shook his head, mouth twitching like he might say something. Then he didn’t.

Wendy touched his hand. His skin was warm, trembling slightly. Their eyes met again, and something unspoken bloomed between them—gratitude, grief, tenderness.

Her voice barely above a breath. "Can I give you something?"

He hesitated. But he didn’t move away.

Wendy knelt slowly, fingers brushing his belt.

His breath caught.

She looked up, her gaze steady. "Let me say goodbye properly."

She opened his belt with slow, deliberate fingers. The metallic clink echoed in the silence. Her palms were warm against his hips as she unbuttoned and tugged down his slacks.

Mr. Joon’s breath stuttered. "Wendy… this kind of service… It’s only ever been offered to higher-ups. The executives, sponsors. Never someone like me. Not once. Even when you were all still under my care, I never—never expected anything."

She smiled gently, her lips grazing the outline of him through his briefs. "Exactly why you deserve it. You were kind. Always. No agenda. You watched over us. You watched over me."

Her voice turned tender, reverent. "So let me watch over you now. Just this once."

She pulled his briefs down, freeing him. He was already half-hard, heavy and flushed, and he twitched when the cool air kissed him. Wendy wrapped her fingers around his base with soft wonder. Her thumb stroked the tip, drawing a sharp hiss from him.

"You’re beautiful, Mr. Joon."

He groaned, looking down at her. She looked luminous even in the dim light—her skin glowing, lips plush, lashes casting long shadows over her cheeks.

Then she leaned in and licked.

One slow drag of her tongue along the underside, from base to tip. He shivered. Her mouth opened, wet and warm, and she took him in—just the tip at first, circling it with her tongue.

"Jesus," he muttered, hand finding the table to steady himself. "You feel like a dream."

Wendy moaned softly around him, the sound sending a throb straight through him. She began to bob her head slowly, each movement smooth, her cheeks hollowing as she took more of him in.

His hips jerked. She steadied him with a hand against his thigh.

"Wendy—God—you don’t have to—"

She pulled off with a pop. "I want to. Let me spoil you. Just this once."

Then she went back, deeper this time. Her throat opened to accommodate him, slick and hot. Her other hand fondled his base, her lips working him with deliberate devotion. She wasn’t rushing—she was savoring. Worshipping.

He gasped, watching her. Her hair brushed her shoulders, catching the dim light. Drool slipped from the corners of her mouth as she took him deep again, again, her eyes fluttering closed with each descent.

Then, she looked up.

She locked eyes with him, mouth full of him, lips stretched wide. And then she moaned again—vibrating pleasure straight into his core.

"Fuck—" he choked. "I can’t—I’m gonna—"

She didn’t pull away. She sucked harder, faster, her cheeks flushed, her eyes never breaking contact. Her nails bit into his thighs just enough to ground him.

And then he came.

He spilled with a long, ragged groan, and she took it all—every drop—without breaking rhythm. Only when he trembled under her touch did she finally pull back, licking her lips, eyes still soft.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smiling up at him.

"Goodbye, Mr. Joon."