#I scrambled out of bed and fully lost it again

[b33tlejules]

a phone doodle of the situation i am currently trapped in because now i cant find that stupid fucking fly but i know its in here.

[luveline]

𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐚𝐳, 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐝 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

Eddie has a staring problem that you barely notice, though you share an aching, awful crush. One of you has to bend first, and it’s not who you’d expect. fem, 5k 

ditzy-ish reader, pining eddie, mutual pining, confessions, first kisses, fluff and hugging, idiots in love, mild states of undress

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

It’s a day fit for a funeral in Hawkins. Rain hammers his bedroom window like hailstones, plinking against the frame, condensation running down the panes in thick rivulets he soaks up with an old t-shirt. 

It’s supposed to be spring time. Green grass, flowers, a gentle humming sun to warm the back of his neck while he sits out on the couch on the porch, a hand-rolled cigarette between his fingers, the tip shimmering with heat. 

But the rain pours. He’s cleaned his room for the first time in a month, at least, and his back aches in the best way as he lays down amongst fresh sheets. His room feels strange when it’s organised, but he doesn’t mind. He pictures the state of it through a second pair of eyes. This is a boy who cares about things, who takes care of them, who could take care of me, too. 

Rain again rackets on the metal roof above. He and Wayne keep a couple hundred bucks stashed for the day the roof flies straight off —they take turns hiding it, because cars break down and groceries get more expensive every year, but god will they need it, and so they safeguard it well. 

He syphoned a little of the money recently with Wayne’s support. It was for a good cause. 

“Jesus,” Eddie murmurs to himself, not tired but feeling dull as the clouds outside eat the remaining sun. 

It’s depressing to be poor, and to lose a day trying to hide the evidence of an entire life in a small room. He could sleep a hundred years. 

He’s just finished pulling the sheets over his shoulder when somebody knocks on the front door. Wayne opens it three rooms away, the sound of the rain doubled. 

He gives a startling shout, “Ed! Your girl!” 

Eddie topples out of bed. Doesn’t mean to, foot caught in the bottom of the sheets and stuck as he scrambles to slide out of the mess. He’s begged Wayne not to call you that when you’re within earshot, but Wayne’s a mean (kind) old bastard (middle aged dad) who wants Eddie dead (happy, and in love). 

“Come on in, girl. You’re soaking.” 

“It’s raining.” 

“It’s pouring down. Did you walk here?” 

“Took my bike. Thought I’d get struck by lightning in the car.” 

“How’d you figure?” 

Eddie goes to grab the door handle and spins on his heel, staggering onto his bed and up against the wall, where a mirrored tray once used by Dio himself for rolling hangs from the wall. He checks his face in the polished surface, his warped mouth and nose, too small eyes, and swears to himself that one day he’ll get a real mirror with a fully-functioning reflective surface. 

Then he hops down off of the bed, causing a reverberation he knows traverses the entirety of the trailer floor. Eddie snatches a rare clean towel from his laundry chair and speeds down the hall. 

“Hello,” he says, more casual than he feels to find you unexpectedly in his house. “You’re soaked.” 

You give a sweet smile. “It’s raining out, did you not know?” 

Your hair is dripping, water racing down the curves of your face to collect at your chin. Eddie can see the smudges of your makeup where it’s washing off as he wraps a towel around you, kohl on your cheeks, eyelashes turned to half-diamonds and sticky-looking. You grin at being covered, taking the towel from his fingers before he can dab you dry. 

“Why didn’t you just call me?”’

“I can never remember if your phone number ends in three or four.” 

“Seven. I wrote it down for you a hundred times.” 

You rub your eyes and spread all manner of glitter and shadow over your skin. You wipe your neck and the glitter spreads like an alien rash. 

When you talk next, you shiver, “I lost it a hundred times, sorry. Is it okay that I'm here?” 

Wayne, who’s been watching with a distinct sense of amusement from the couch, lets out a chesty laugh. “Honey, it’s always okay that you’re here on my account. And it’s my house.” 

“It’s fine.” Eddie turns your shoulder so he can mouth over it without being caught. Asshole. 

Another laugh follows. Eddie would cut each of his fingers from his hand and then his hand from his wrist if it were something Wayne needed him to do, but that doesn’t make him any less of an opportunistic asshole. If there’s a way to fuck with Eddie, he tends to try it. He loves Eddie with all the tenacity of a father who loves his son, but Wayne got infected with little bitch disease or something and Eddie can’t cure it. 

“Can I please wash my face? I didn’t expect to get soaked.” 

“Didn’t you?” He regrets his flippancy quickly, leading you down the hall. “You could take a shower. What do you think?” 

You’ve never showered here, but Eddie’s trying to, you know, date you. Romance you, get to cherish you, however anyone wants to say it. And it’s not a war of attrition, just a natural escalation of sharing, or a minimising of boundaries. 

No, that’s pervy, isn’t it? 

“I mean–” He starts to correct himself. 

You interrupt with your answer, “Yes, please, do you think I could? But I don’t have anything to wear.”

“I have your purple hoodie in my room, and there’s gotta be a pair of sweatpants here that fit you,” he says. 

They’ve got a whole bunch of clothes here that floated in from somewhere else, Eddie’s other friends or stuff they’ve bought by mistake. He’s sure he can find something.

“You have my hoodie?” you ask, black kohl spreading across the towel as you wipe your cheek. 

Eddie only smelled it one time. When he’d realised you left it in his van he brought it in and folded it, waiting for the next time he’d see you to give it back, but that night he’d been getting out of the shower wondering if he could call you or if that was too soon, and your hoodie had been right there. So he stood there in his pyjama pants with his wet hair and he didn’t think about picking your hoodie up, he just did, and when he pressed it to his face it still smelled of your perfume. 

He put it back and felt like a loser for days.

“It’s in my closet, you left it in the van Monday,” he explains quickly, nudging you through the doorway of the bathroom. 

The Munson bathroom is teeny tiny but not unnavigable. There’s a shower pressed to the far wall that could squeeze in two people, their toilet to the right, a sink basin opposite that with a medicine cabinet and just enough room for a dirty laundry box that’s always, always full. 

Eddie opens the shower and turns it on. “It takes a while to get really hot but then it’s not hot for long, sorry. There’s my shampoo if you want it, and soap, and body wash. Sorry, none of it is super girly.” 

“Sorry sorry,” you say, pretending to hit him in the stomach. “What’s with all the sorries, handsome? I can’t wait to smell like a boy.” 

The way you say it. Eddie doesn’t know what it is, but it’s why he’s crazy about you. 

Probably shouldn’t tell you that as you're taking off your jacket, though. 

“I’ll be right back,” he says. 

Eddie heads out of the bathroom to their skinny linen cabinet hidden in the hallway. He grabs the last two towels from the middle shelf and takes pause, fabric starchy in his hands. Just be normal, he thinks, a pep talk from Eddie to Eddie. She hangs out with you all the time for a reason. She held your hand at the movies. 

Eddie’s in better spirits when he remembers that. Your hand in his, your ring pushing his ring further down his finger, your cheek touching his shoulder as you’d leaned in and asked if he wanted some of your popcorn. 

He opens the door without thinking, shower pattering against the perspex wall, your legs crossing tightly as he enters, turning yourself away from him.

“Woah!” you say, laughing.

“Holy crap.” The image of your red underwear immediately stamps itself into his mind as he pulls the door shut between you. They were really cute, red and white gingham, showcasing just the slightest curve of your– “I told you I was coming back!” 

“I thought you’d knock!” you laugh. “Sorry I flashed you. At least I had my shirt on.” 

At least, he thinks wryly, shoving his arm through the gap in the door, heavy towels pulling at his fingers. His head’s about to snap off, it's turned so far away from the door’s opening. “Here.” 

“If you wanna see me naked so bad you can just ask,” you tease. 

“Take the towels, loser.” 

You take the towels and he closes the door, preventing any more accidental creeping, and giving himself a reprieve. Gingham underwear. Wavy lettuce edgings kissing your skin. 

Holy fuck. Being a person is so lame, Eddie thinks. He wants to have a crush on you purely, and yet seeing the way you’d crossed your legs to hide from him, smiling, he can’t not think about kissing you —touching you. If he doesn’t get you laid out in his bed soon for some slow kissing he’s not gonna make it.

Eddie opens the strip vent above his window and prays it doesn’t flood his whole room. Clean, it doesn’t look half bad, he could bring you in here respectfully, you could stay the night without fearing for your life. 

You take a quick shower. He’s barely gotten over his nerves when you’re walking into his room, a towel around you, not a hint of shyness about you. 

“You didn’t bring me anything to wear,” you explain. 

Eddie just stares at you. 

“Eddie?” You wrap the towel tighter. “Come on, you’re staring at me.”

“Sorry.” His mouth is bone dry. 

“You have my hoodie, right? Just need some pants.” You cross your arm tightly across your chest. “I don’t usually notice when people are staring at me.”

“You aren’t usually naked in my room,” he says, genuinely and embarrassingly apologetic. 

“I’m not naked. Come on, please? Do I have to wait outside the door?” you ask with a laugh. 

Eddie stands up. Shakes his head hard, almost trips over himself trying to get to his dresser. He decides honesty will be best at this point, lest you think he has only one thing on his mind, “Listen, I’m sorry. I’m just in my head about something and I wasn’t expecting you to come out like that. It’s not right. You’re just… you’re really pretty.” 

“Thank you.” He can’t see you, sorting quickly through his middle drawer and all his miscellaneous pants for a pair he’s sure would fit, if he could just remember where it was. “What are you in your head about?” 

“What?” 

“Eddie, are you okay?” 

“No, no,” he moans, rubbing his face with his hand, ring scratching the bridge of his nose, “I’m not okay, princess, I’m overheating or something, Jesus Christ.” He finally lays eyes on the sweatpants he’d been thinking of, grabs your hoodie from the top shelf and drops them both at the end of the bed. “I’ll give you some privacy.” 

“I don’t have any underwear.” 

“And that’s something I can’t fix,” he says, leaving the room in a hurry. 

Eddie gets to the living room and keels over. His hair falls in his face, his shirt slides down his back. What the fuck is wrong with him? 

Wayne, sliding his shoes on in the recliner, gives a start. “What’s wrong?”

Eddie lifts his head, yanking hair from his face, the skin of his under eyes pulled down harshly. “Oh my god.”

Wayne wrinkles his nose. 

“No ones ever been such a pathetic excuse for a man before,” Eddie says. 

“Your dad’s in jail,” Wayne points out. “And not for the impressive stuff.”

“I’m pathetic.” 

“You’re fine. You’re not supposed to be not pathetic, you’re twenty.” 

“I’m twenty one.” 

“The extra year doesn’t mean much. I know you think you’re all grown up, but you’re still an idiot.” 

Wayne stands and shrugs on the jacket laying over the armrest. 

“Wait, where are you going?” 

“I thought you were definitely gonna ask her?” Wayne asks knowingly. That’s what Eddie told him, after all. “Next time I see her, Wayne, I’m asking her to go steady.” 

Eddie shakes his head. “You can’t leave.” 

“Eddie.” Wayne gestures for Eddie to stop slouching like some fiend from a bad horror. “Listen. I get that you’ve always been sort of… behind everyone, but that doesn’t mean you can’t do it. She likes you. She biked here in a hurricane.”

“What if she says no?” he asks. 

Truthfully, Eddie’s more scared of you saying yes. 

Wayne shrugs. “Girl like that’ll still be your friend after. It’ll be fine, okay? Do you need a hug before I go?” 

“No.” Eddie rubs his eyes some more, sore now from being touched. “Maybe.” 

Wayne crosses the room to give his shoulder a squeeze. “It will be fine. You’re great with rejection, Eds, but I have a good feeling about this one.” 

Eddie felt better about it, before he embarrassed himself staring at you. But Wayne’s right, even if Eddie’s read things wrong between you, he’s sure you’ll still want to be his friend. You and Eddie are the same kind of weird, though he’s more angry where you’re carefree. If everything goes wrong, you’ll probably just give an unnecessary apology and offer to braid his hair. Which will be torture, but Eddie’ll still say yes.

Wayne calls goodbye, and you shout, “Bye, Mr. Munson!” to which Wayne wiggles his eyebrows. 

“Get lost,” Eddie says. 

“Go make her a drink. I’ll see you later.” 

That’s not a bad idea. Eddie makes you a mix of orange and grapefruit juice with a couple of ice cubes and a plastic straw, your reaction predicted and then proved. 

“It’s a cocktail,” you say, pleased, sitting on the side of his bed. 

“It’s not a cocktail, just juice.” 

“Can I have some socks, please, Eddie?” 

Eddie passes you your drink, fingertips brushing. “Yeah. Anything else?” He pretends to be exhausted as he trudges back over to his dresser. 

You laugh and sip your drink. “No, I think you’re treating me quite well.” 

Eddie grabs a random pair and finally gets to sit down beside you, the dresser drawer left out, a spare sock fallen to the floor. You shuffle back into his pillows, propping your juice on his side table, and holding your hands out for the socks. Again, your fingertips touch his as he passes them to you. You seem to enjoy it, a smile lighting your face as you pull your knees up to put the socks on. 

“Thank you for waiting on me,” you say quietly. Not shyly, just quiet. 

“You’re welcome. Came all this way to see me, didn’t you?” He gives you a shove. You shuffle back further. “In the pouring rain.” 

“It felt important at the time.” 

“Yeah?” 

You get the socks on and don’t care about them once they're past your heels. Eddie does the honour of smoothing out the bands so that the elastic won’t dig into your skin, and when he’s done he can feel you looking at him heavily. You’re not one for continued eye contact, but you smile like you were waiting for it all day, like it’s a relief to see him. 

“Bad weather,” you say, slouching down. “I think I’m still wet on the inside.” 

“Gross,” Eddie says, pushing you over bodily to sit beside you. This isn’t new, he doesn’t need any nerves, and he’s grateful when they don’t come. “Here, I’ll pull the blanket over you.” 

“Can’t move,” you say, leaning back against the pillows.

Eddie stretches his legs out. You keep yours up, but you turn to his side, and before he can really make any sense of you, you’re dropping your face into his shoulder. 

“Are you still cold?” he asks, searching for the truth in your strange comment. 

You nod into his shoulder. “I’m freezing. The shower didn’t get very hot.” 

“Sorry,” he says, letting his cheek rest on your head. 

You lift your chin as he does it, his lashes pressed to your forehead, the two of you stuck together like two warped jigsaw pieces. You probably weren’t made to be together, but you make a nice picture, and you fit snugly now. That’s what Eddie thinks. 

This is the sort of moment that makes Eddie wanna ask you out. Maybe you’re just the best friend he’s ever had, but something about this closeness feels different. You wrap your arm around his stomach in a hug and he knows this is different. 

“It’s okay,” you say finally, sighing as you shift downward into his side, getting comfortable. 

“Please don’t bike here in the rain. It’s, like, torrential. You could actually get sick.” 

You feel warm where your body presses against his, but Eddie doubts that’ll make a difference if the cold already made you sick. The bike ride from your place to his isn't short. He covers your arm with his and tries to be your space heater, cheek sliding over your forehead. 

“Eddie…” You hug him with tenderness. Eddie’s reluctant to say cuddle, but it’s close. “This might be a surprise to you, but I think it’s worth the rain and the cold to see you. Especially when you do this.” 

“What am I doing?” 

“You’re rubbing my arm.” 

He hadn’t noticed his hand caressing up and down your arm where it rests on his stomach. 

“You make me feel amazing,” you say, dropping your face into his chest. 

That’s his last straw. Eddie gets both arms around you and cuddles you (it’s a cuddle, okay! he’s a loser!) to him, arms tight but not cruel. All this fuss and you’re finally laying on top of him. He decides he won’t ask you after all. He’s not that brave, and he doesn’t want this to end. 

Your legs fall onto him. You relax completely. Even after you shower he can smell your perfume. 

“You smell nice,” he murmurs. 

“It’s on my hoodie,” you murmur back. 

Right. Eddie should remember. 

“You make everything smell like you.” Even his van keeps your scent most days. 

“Too much?” 

“The right amount,” he says firmly. 

You lay on his chest for a while, just breathing. Eddie rubs your back, tells himself he will ask, actually, because he can’t imagine not getting to do this again. You might even stay over. He could live hours of this. He didn’t know having you lay on him could make him feel like this. 

He can’t believe you’ve never done it before. 

Rain pounds the window. Condensation drips down onto the sill. You let your legs stretch out flat and then manoeuvre to be laying half atop him, hoodie riding up your back. 

“Any warmer now?” he asks.

“Yeah, you’re warming me up.” You lavish in his arms for a moment, and then lift your face. “Oh, this is a bad angle.” 

“For me or you?” 

“For me, duh.” 

Eddie doesn’t think you could have a bad angle. He rubs at your upper arm as you start to shift. “You know, your bike has just as big a chance of getting hit by lightning as your car does. More, probably.” 

“You think so?” 

“It’s physics. So, please don’t do it again.” 

You hum. “Hm, should I risk getting struck by lightning, or spend the evening without you?” you murmur, your arm moving, moving slowly, your hand resting gently on the column of his neck. There’s something ironic in your voice, wry, but your eyes are warm. He’s paralysed. No one has ever spoken to him like you. “I think I’d rather get struck by lightning.” 

You stare at one another. He laughs. You join in, your thumb a pressure at his neck, and when you move up his chest to lean in, he isn’t expecting it. 

“We’re very close together,” you whisper. 

“Super close,” he whispers back. 

“…Eddie, can I ask you something?” Your eyes slip shut, your lips so close that something in him aches, just enough wit about him to cup your shoulders in his forearm. 

“Yeah.” 

He doesn’t sound half as calm as you do. 

“Would you… Do you think we could be official? Would you want that?” You tilt your head to the side. “Is that stupid?” 

“Official?” he asks, panicked, his eyes squeezed shut hard enough for a moment that they ache.

“Like, you’d be my boyfriend. I’d be your girlfriend. We’d be close like this all the time.” 

Eddie panics so hard he just says the first thing that comes into his head, “Like, we’d kiss?” 

“I hope so,” you say, your nose pressing against his, the tip to the side of his, and then against his nostril. The heat of your breath is hard to ignore. “What do you think?” 

What does Eddie think about it? 

He catches your lips in a slow kiss. Achingly slow, not even sure it’s a kiss until you reciprocate, and your fingers dig behind his neck to tease his hair. Your lips part against his, the heat of your tongue sudden and undeniable —Eddie didn’t know you had it in you. He squeezes you to him, attempting to crane his neck downward, reliant on your enthusiasm as you move up, as you use his neck to pull yourself closer. 

Your noses crush together, and it actually hurts. “Sorry,” he says, easing you back, “you okay?” 

“‘Nother kiss,” you say hopefully, distractedly. 

He can’t not give it to you. 

Your hand spreads flat against his chest and you kiss, you kiss, long and slow movements against him before turning your head to take it again. Eddie doesn’t always know what to do with himself, but he knows kissing, no matter what anybody might think about him, and he takes the lead. 

His hand screws into a fist against your hoodie, the slip of your back further exposed as you shiver into his mouth, a sound you shouldn’t make sweet on his tongue. 

You pull away, breath on his lips. “Wanted you to kiss me for so long,” you murmur. 

Eddie knows you’re not saying it to flirt, and that makes it worse. 

“I should’ve kissed you a long time ago,” he says roughly. 

“You wanted to?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, so much, I’m a loser about you–”

“I’m always a loser,” you interrupt, “but especially about you.” 

You scratch your fingers through his hair, encouraging his head down for another kiss. This one rougher but not rough, his arm slips finally behind your head where he’d needed it to be, hooking you in his elbow to keep you in one place. To kiss you soundly, without interruption. Your almost feverish ebbing inward is a dream, your nose rubbing up against his is a fantasy. 

His heart hammers and hammers at his ribs. 

You pull away to let him breathe. “You’re very excited,” you tease lightly. 

Eddie kisses you, breathless. He kisses you so much he’s surprised you allow it, but your thumb rubs his cheek, and he knows he’d been right all along. You want him like he wants you, with startling, mildly pathetic urgency. 

He feels like a fucking prince. Girl of his dreams in his lap, everything he wants, and he didn’t even have to ask. 

—

Eddie spends a week in bliss. You’re suddenly everywhere, all the time, attached to his hip or some other part of him, and he forgets for seven whole days that he bought you a ring. 

The rain dries up, the Munson emergency fund lives to die another day, and he remembers the ring only minutes before you’re knocking at his door. 

He trips over himself trying to answer it before Wayne, who’s taken to being as painfully embarrassing as is possible for one human being, can get it for him. 

“One day you’re gonna eat shit and break your nose,” Wayne says. 

Eddie yanks open the door. “Yeah, thanks. Hey, beautiful, what’s with the sunglasses?” 

You slide them down your nose. You’re a vision on his front step, not that you’d ever notice your own intrigue. “The sunglasses?” you ask, tucking them away. “What do you think they’re for? Three guesses.” 

He grabs your waist, leaning down out of the doorway so as to save Wayne the agony. “That’s smart,” he says, kissing you quickly in hello. “You’re funny. Need anything before we go?” 

“No, I’m okay. Hi, Mr. Munson!” you add.

“Hey, honey! How are you?” Wayne calls.

You look up into Eddie’s face with an obvious delight. “I’ve never been better.” 

Eddie grins back. 

He waves a quick goodbye to Wayne and then he’s out the door. You grab his wrist and practically dance him to the car, where you offer your keys, and he deigns to drive. From there it’s smooth sailing, familiarity with a better twist, Eddie driving with the windows down and your hands twined on your thigh. Things haven’t changed much since you asked him to go steady, there’s just a whole lot more of this. Touching, kissing, no weird guilt about staring. 

As it turns out, you’re as eager to be laid out in his bed as he is to lay you out. He’s never wanted to kiss you more, and now he’s allowed. 

“Eyes on the road.” 

He leans over to kiss your cheek. The sun has warmed your skin, and his kiss makes you smile. You look pretty no matter the weather. 

“Before we get there, I have something to give you.” He takes his hand from yours to slide the box from his pocket. He holds it up. “But you can only have it if you swear you’ll call me tonight before bed. No excuses. You know exactly what number to call.” 

“Ends with a three,” you say, nodding. 

He sighs. “No, it does not.” 

“I’m kidding! Two one nine seven, I have now committed it to memory.” 

Eddie pays attention to the road, though it’s clear and long heading out of the trailer park and into town. “That deserves a gift.” 

You’re back in your glitters today, a skirt to enjoy the fine weather, a button shirt with a cute triangle collar, you’re lovely as ever, if a tad much for some. Not Eddie. He loves the dark clothes, the tinkling bracelets, the fun way you smile like everything he says is a secret between him and you. People stare wherever you and Eddie go, but as long your arm is sewn through his he couldn’t care less. 

“A gift,” you say, smiling in your way, and taking the box politely. “I don’t think I deserve it for just remembering your number.” 

“You deserved it for less. It’s not much. You can pay me back in three or four amazing kisses. Right here.” He points to the tight juncture beneath his jaw. 

You attempt to lean over and kiss him immediately. He pushes you back, laughing, worsened by your own breathless laughter as you steal one exactly where he’d tapped. 

You settle back down, Eddie’s hand dropping kindly to your knee. “I wonder what it is,” you say. 

“Then open it.” 

“I am!” You pop the box open, it’s springing hinge snapping into place. “Oh, woah. Woah. Where did you get this?” 

It’s a slim ring, with a weirdly shaped band of quality metal around some cheaper but not totally worthless gemstones, of which there are three different colours: a topaz orange, a lime green, and a pinky-red ruby colour centre stage. They have nice cuts. It’s strange as you are, and he knew when he saw it you’d have to have it. 

“If I put it on my marriage finger, are we engaged?” you tease. 

“That one would be way heavier,” he says, giving you a squeeze. 

You slide it onto your middle finger and hold your hand up in the sunshine. It fits in with your other ring nicely, though it is, to Eddie’s pride, far prettier. 

He has half a mind to pull over and kiss each knuckle, but he’s trying to be less dramatic about you. It’s not working. 

“Thank you, Eddie. I love it.” 

“Best boyfriend ever?” he asks hopefully. 

To his mild fear but better pleasure, you climb up onto the console to press three quick kisses to his cheek and jaw, your hand under his ear holding him in tender place. “Best boyfriend ever. Even if you stare too much.” 

“How am I supposed to not?” he asks, with more weight than he’s intended. 

You speak matter of factly for the first time in your life. “I am going to cause an accident,” you promise, attempting to kiss his nose. “A bad one.” 

“Sit down, please.” He lets you kiss his nose, and then jabs you in the side. “Sit down, oh my god! That’s not funny, you’re so pretty I will total your car.” 

“Now who’s not funny?” 

You both laugh at the same time, the unfiltered, un-cute cackling of two idiots with the same sense of humour, and the same wealth of ridiculous honeymoon love. 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

thank you so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed. if you did, please consider reblogging or commenting!! thanks very much <3

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 4

in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader are interrupted at the most inopportune of times. he calls you on the first night of his case. dirty talk turns into a hard conversation. we get a glimpse into spencer's past, and we finally learn why he's so hesitant to sleep with you.

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: dirty talk, phone sex/mutual masturbation, softdom!spence, obligatory he talks u through it, lots of graphic discussions of sex, established relationship, angst (sorrryyy!) a/n: so remember how i said you'd need the bonus chapter to fully appreciate/understand this part? i was wrong!! it will come in handy probably in the next part tho:) also idk how these parts keep getting so long im sorry! anyway, i love you all so bad. thank you for bearing w/ my craziness. PLEASE let me know your thoughts on this part!! i adore hearing from you!! kisses

(also special thank you to @fliesforeyes who convinced me phone sex w/ spence could be done!! i will link his phone sex blurb here :)) thank u binx!!

“Three million six hundred eighty four thousand three hundred thirty two times fourteen million seven hundred sixty one thousand nine hundred seventy one.”

You’ve lost count of how many stupid math questions you’ve asked your human calculator boyfriend, just to see if he can actually do them. Spencer is silent for a second, and you think you’ve finally stumped him. 

“That one is complicated.”

You sit bolt upright in his bed, looking down at him and pointing an accusatory finger. His brows raise at the manic look in your eye. 

“You don’t know.”

“I do know. I meant it would be hard to explain if you aren’t a math person.”

“Bullshit!” You scoff, “you don’t know!”

“It would display on a calculator as five-point-three-eight-eight-E-thirteen. It’s a really big number.”

“Oh, really big, huh?” you mumble, searching for your phone blindly in the sheets and scrambling to open the calculator app. “Um… what numbers did I say?”

Spencer repeats them back to you and you press the equals sign. 

You look at it. 

And then you set your phone down. 

“I was right, huh?” he smiles up at you, probably reveling in your pouty wrongness. 

Too proud to admit it, you collapse on top of him, burying your face in his shoulder. 

“I don’t like this game anymore. What the fuck even is an e? Why are we doing algebra?”

Spencer laughs, brushing your hair aside. 

“The e stands for exponent. It’s to the power of ten.”

“Ever heard of a rhetorical question?”

“Yes, I have.”

It’s hard not to snort even at his dumbest jokes. 

“You’re annoying. Let’s do something else.”

You roll over onto your back again, letting your head flop over to look at Spencer, whose hair is exactly the right amount of messy after a long day, falling in impossibly soft waves over the perfect lines and contours of his face. Despite lounging, he’s still in his suit from work—he’d left Quantico and immediately picked you up. There were no solid plans for the evening, so after both of you pretended that you wanted to go out for a while, you ended up back at his apartment. 

He looks good. Almost too good. 

“Something like what?” he smiles lazily, reaching over and tracing his fingers over your cheek. 

“Something… naked?”

His grin widens and he shakes his head. 

“Me naked or you naked?”

Pretending to think about it, you roll your bottom lip between your teeth. 

“Mm… why not both?”

“Hm. Why do I feel like I know where this is going?”

The mattress sinks underneath your elbow as you prop yourself up, dropping your head over Spencer’s to kiss him. 

“Because you’re so smart, and you think it’s a great idea.”

He entertains your kiss for a moment. Just a moment.

“You sound sure of yourself.”

“Because I am!” You finally give in to your impulses, tangling your fingers in his hair and looking at him meaningfully. “It doesn’t make any sense for us to have not had sex. I don’t care about any of your weird, cryptic moral reasoning.”

He grabs your wrist carefully. 

“It is not moral,” he scoffs. “We haven’t even talked about it yet.”

“Really? Because I feel like we’ve talked about it a lot.” 

He begins to reply, but you realize you don’t want to get into a debate over whether you’ve technically talked about it yet. “I don’t even care! If that’s all that’s standing in your way, then let’s talk about it. Right now.”

Spencer sighs, his eyes darting between yours as he reaches up to cradle your cheek. 

“Fine. But I have things to say you’re not going to like.”

“So business as usual?”

He rolls his eyes. You allow yourself a tiny self-satisfied smirk, forever relishing in his poorly-hidden soft spot for your constant teasing. Spencer ignores this. Which is probably for the best. 

“I know you probably won’t see it this way, but—sex is different than everything else we’ve done so far. It can be really fun, obviously it feels good, it facilitates deeper feelings of connection—that’s all true. Which is why, in my opinion, it’s incredibly important that you be selective with who you sleep with. Because it’s so easy to do something you regret, and sex is vulnerable. It should always be with someone you trust and—and… care about.”

A pink flush stains his cheeks like watercolor as he stumbles over the last few words. It makes your heart flutter against the confines of your chest.

Maybe best not to think about the absence versus presence of certain four-letter words and what they may or may not mean. You’ll move on to more pressing matters and pretend like it doesn’t ache just a little in your whole body. 

You cover his hand with your own. 

“Are you going to break up with me anytime soon?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, filling with genuine horror and confusion. 

“What? No!”

“Are you going to cheat on me?”

“Absolutely not, I—”

“Then I’m not going to regret it. Issue resolved. Moving on.”

“Honey, I just want you to be 100% sure that I’m what you want.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping onto your back once more. “I have begged you to sleep with me on multiple occasions. We have been dating for months and I liked you even longer before that. I think about it literally every time I see you. I don’t know how to be any surer.”

It’s quiet for a moment as you study the imaginary pattern on the ceiling. The rebuttal you’d been anticipating doesn’t come—instead, the mattress shifts next to you. Spencer enters your field of vision, now leaning over you with a little smile on his face that gives you butterflies. 

“Every time?”

“…yes, every time,” you agree, voice considerably thinner than it had been a moment ago. Spencer glances at your lips as he speaks. 

“Interesting. And what is it that you think about exactly?”

You groan again, attempting to roll facedown, but he pins your shoulder to the bed. The way he’s sweetly kissing down your cheek and jaw is infuriating because you know it’s a false pretense. 

“Ugh, I don’t know! Don’t make me answer that!”

“You said if talking about it was all that was standing in my way, we would talk about it. Now I want to talk about it. Come on,” he says, voice low and cloying against your throat as he attempts to tease the answer out of you. “Tell me what you think about when you think about us having sex.”

You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of his lips skimming your neck, hating how easily he can reduce you to this. 

“I… I always wonder what it will feel like. Sometimes I wonder if it will hurt.”

Spencer sighs, interrogation by way of seduction momentarily forgotten. You silently curse yourself for saying something so un-sexy. 

“It might, sweetheart. That’s one of the reasons we’ve held back. I… really don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even know if I can.”

You grab his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you with more confidence than you feel. 

“Sometimes I worry about it, too. But I like you a lot more than it scares me. I still want to.”

He kisses your palm. 

“You’ll be okay. It doesn’t hurt for everyone, and even if it does, you’re resilient.”

“Exactly. So you have to get over yourself.”

Spencer laughs like he wasn’t expecting to, eyes sparkling as he regards you.  

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do.”

He’s smiling again as he leans down and kisses you—a slow, lingering thing which tastes like spearmint as you part your lips for him. 

“Please?” you whisper against him after a long moment. He hums, keeps kissing you. 

“What is it that you think you want? You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

“Tell me,” you beg, chasing his lips. “Tell me what you’re going to do with me. We can talk about it. This is talking about it.”

Spencer exhales deeply, wedging a thigh between yours. Immediately you clamp around it, trying not to grind against him too overtly. 

“You want to know what I’d do to you?”

“Yes—” you paw at his jacket. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop you from pushing it off. Your heart pounds. 

“Well… we both know how anxious you get,” he muses, pressing his lips so delicately to your fluttering pulse-point in emphasis, and then back to your mouth. His thigh pushes harder against you to supplant the absence of his lips as he speaks, though he kisses you sporadically and between sentences. “You’re hard to get out of your head when you’re nervous, you know that? I watch it happen. One minute you’re with me, and then you start overthinking, and getting self-conscious. The only thing that seems to relax you is letting me touch you—so first I would touch you like I’ve touched you before. I’d make sure you know how pretty you are and how good you deserve to feel.” You whimper inadvertently at his words, arching into him and grinding against his leg as he pauses to kiss the sensitive soft spot below your jaw. “You’re going to need to be really ready to let me in. Do you know what I mean by that?”

As he asks, he pushes his thigh against you harder. Your body responds immediately, arching into him and seeking more friction. When you squeak, he takes it as a no. 

“I mean I need you relaxed and wet. You’ll excuse my crude language.”

You pull at his tie, breathing heavier now and so turned on it’s almost painful. 

“What are you gonna do after that?”

“What else is there to do but fuck you after that?” he breathes. “You want me to tell you how I’d fuck you?”

Something about it makes you whine salaciously. You’ve heard him curse—you’ve even heard him talk about fucking you. But it feels more real now; when it’s low in your ear and you’re covertly undressing him and he’s pushing your shirt over your stomach promisingly. 

“Yes, please.” 

He hums against your jaw, nipping and brushing his lips over the skin as he considers. Leaves you waiting. 

“I would have to take my time with you. You’ll be overwhelmed. I know you think you won’t, but you will. I’m going to have to be so, so careful with you, angel. It’s going to drive me insane. But it will feel good for you.”

“Why careful? I don’t want that.”

He chuckles. A chill runs down your spine. 

“Yeah, you do. You’re going to want me to be careful when I’m—” he pauses, pressing his thumb to your bare lower tummy and dragging up to a spot below your belly button. He presses down lightly again. “Right here. Approximately.”

The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your skin in this moment, as you writhe underneath him in both arousal and embarrassment. Mostly, burning need. You feel almost sick with it. 

“Please don’t make me wait anymore. Just do it, please, Spencer. I need it to be you, I don’t want it to be anyone else. I promise I’m ready.”

It’s silent for a moment. Your heart quickens. You sense his walls wearing away, his instinct to keep you intact for god knows what reason crumbling. He’s finally going to give you what you’ve been begging for. 

Spencer opens his mouth, eyes glimmering—

And then his phone rings. 

You both freeze—he melts dejectedly before you do, more accustomed to an ill-timed phone call and realizing the finality it can present. 

He’s breathing heavily against your neck, as if maybe whoever it is will just hang up. But the phone keeps ringing. 

“I’m sorry.”

Your stomach sinks as he sits up, grabbing his phone from the side table and rubbing circles on your inner thigh as he answers.

“This is Reid,” he says, lackluster. 

If you wanted, you could hear what Penelope is saying—but you don’t bother listening. It’s going to be a case. Spencer is about to leave. The details are his problem. 

“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.”

He hangs up, tossing the phone onto the mattress and not speaking for a moment, just continuing to rub your leg apologetically. Watching you almost mournfully—taking in your disheveled hair, your likely blown-out pupils, the shirt pushed almost over your chest. 

“I have to go right now,” he finally manages with a heavy sigh, gently pulling your shirt back into place. 

You sit up, shedding all the hopes that had been building for the evening, and try to sound chipper—though all you feel is bitter disappointment that goes deeper than you understand. 

“I know. Go ahead, I can get a cab home.”

He frowns, running his hand over the back of your hair. 

“I don’t love the idea of you standing on the sidewalk waiting for a car in this part of town so late. Do you just want to stay here for the night and go home tomorrow?”

You force a smile. Great. So you’ll be spending the night in his bed after all—just without him. 

“Sure. Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you are feeling particularly grateful. 

Soon you’re walking him to his own door. Both of you come to a stop in front. 

“I’m sorry,” he sighs again. 

“Spencer, it’s fine. It’s your job. You don’t need to apologize. You were very clear about this part when we started dating.”

“I know, but… it’s easier in theory than in practice.”

You smile. If Spencer is a reflection of you, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. His hair is still messy from your fingers running through it and he’s missing his tie. You hope all his coworkers see and feel bad about taking him away from you. 

But it’s not their fault. You just want someone to blame. 

Instead you mould yourself to his body, wrapping around him like you belong there. He returns your embrace, pressing his lips into the crook of your shoulder and rubbing your back in that way he always does with you. 

In that moment, your affection for him becomes so profound it’s like a chemical reaction—everywhere he touches burns and you love him so fucking much it aches in every inch of your body the way your muscles do when you have a bad fever. Love is the most terrible of afflictions, you realize. It is a fever dream. It’s every fiber of your being screaming to tell him how you feel, to beg him on your knees not to go because you love him like a child loves a parent or a bee loves honeysuckle or the ocean loves the horizon. Pared down to your most basic components, the barest version of yourself, you require him. Your soul needs his soul. 

“Spencer?”

“Hm?” 

It’s nothing more than an absentminded hum against your skin. 

“I…”

Should you be looking him in the eye when you say this? Should you say it right before he has to leave? Just because you say it doesn’t change the fact that he’s about to be gone for several long days. Maybe this is a terrible time to admit something that suddenly feels so true and so consequential. 

He senses your internal conflict, pulling back despite your resistance and holding your face between his hands. 

“You what?” He murmurs, soft eyes bouncing back and forth between your own. Fuck—you feel so observed, now. Like he can read your mind. 

“I forget.”

FUUUUUUCK. 

Spencer blinks. Processes. You watch the disbelief crystallizing over his eyes like ice freezing over a lake. 

He knows. 

He knows you didn’t forget, and he probably knows what you were going to say, and he’s going to tell himself he was wrong to spare your dignity. 

Everything hurts when he kisses you. You wonder what regret tastes like. 

“Well, let me know if you remember.”

It’s too gentle and at the same time he can’t hide the edge with all the tenderness in the world. You nod as if in a trance, already looking forward to dissociating as you lie in bed and stare at the dark ceiling.

Two small goodbyes are exchanged, slightly stifled now, as if shared between drunk strangers who have sobered up and are mutually embarrassed about how candidly they’d interacted before. 

You close the door behind him, doing up all the locks, and meticulously flick every light switch in the apartment off before climbing into his bed—though you don’t really feel like you deserve to be there anymore.

But perhaps this is all an overreaction. It’s not like you owe it to him to say I love you, or anything—it was bad timing, anyway. And why can’t he say it? In fact, why hasn’t he said it? 

Maybe you have it all wrong. 

Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about you. 

You fall asleep before you allow these questions to make you sick. 

24 hours go by. 

24 hours go by and you really had meant to leave his apartment—it was just that you woke up late, and your phone was dead so you couldn’t call a car, so you charged it while you made breakfast, and then you ate, and then you decided to take a shower and wash your clothes, and then it was two in the afternoon and you hadn’t left yet and you decided to walk to the store and replenish the groceries you’d used up. 

Maybe you got a bit distracted looking at flowers and other beautiful things at the market and by the time you got home it was 5:00, so you decided to wait until seven to skip rush hour. And then eight, just to be sure. 

Before you know it, it’s midnight, and you’re dozing off in his bed again (teeth cleaned with the brush you’d bought at the store—maybe this whole situation hadn’t been entirely unwitting on your part.)

Throughout the day, you tried to let all your anxiety about the previous night melt away. If it’s something that needs to be addressed, Spencer will address it. Everything will work out in the end. That thought is how you’re able to doze off. 

You’re almost asleep when your phone lights up and begins buzzing on the side table. You wince as your eyes open, not adjusting well to the harsh bright display and unable to discern who’s even calling you at this hour. Stupidly, probably because you’re half asleep, you answer without checking. 

“Hello?”

Your voice is groggy, quiet with sleep. 

“Shit, did I wake you?”

“Spence?” you whisper, stomach flipping at the sound of his voice on the other line. You feel caught, still sleeping in his bed. 

“… yeah,” he chuckles. “Did you not check who was calling before you picked up?”

“I was asleep,” you pout. “Kinda.”

“Okay. Go back to sleep, honey. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

You sit bolt upright, phone balanced between tense fingers and speaking directly into the microphone. 

“No! No, I’m awake. What’s up? Why did you call?”

A longer stretch of silence—you’re too sleepy to comprehend what it might mean, though never too sleepy to worry about it. With a pang of pain, you recall your strange goodbye, the words you hadn’t said. 

“I just needed to hear your voice,” he sighs. You frown, staring at nothing in particular in the pitch black room. 

“Oh. Is everything okay?”

“As much as it can be.”

“Right.”

More quiet. You chew on the inside of your cheek, stricken with a sudden feeling of awkwardness that you haven’t had with Spencer in a while. 

“I’m sorry… I don’t really know what to say.”

“That’s okay,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice which makes you feel a bit better, “why don’t you tell me about your day? Or you can absolutely go back to sleep, if you’re too tired.”

“Don’t ask me about my day,” you whisper, flopping down on the bed once more. Shame seeps into your voice. He laughs. 

“What? Why?”

“Because if I tell you you’re going to think I’m super weird and you’re going to break up with me.”

Laughter tapers off into gentler tones. 

“I already think you’re super weird. It’s actually one of your most attractive qualities.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks. 

“But it’s like… borderline crazy.”

Immediately, he replies, “for better or worse, I also frequently find myself attracted to crazy.”

“Thank you for calling me crazy and super weird,” you grumble. 

“I also called you attractive twice. Tell me.”

When his tone takes on that easy, assertive quality, and it’s sort of raspy and low because it’s late and he’s been talking all day, and you can hear the lazy smile on his face—you imagine him laying on his hotel bed, arm slung over his eyes in the dark as he grins into the microphone—you have a very difficult time saying no. 

“Fine. Guess where I am right now.”

“Um, I would hope you’re in bed?”

You smile to yourself, basking in the victory of successfully throwing him off his game even slightly. 

“Guess whose bed.”

Silence. 

“What an interesting question.” That cocky smile, the low drawling is back, and you chew on your lip, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine. “If it’s not mine or yours, we’re going to have issues.”

“But if it is yours? You’re not going to call the police on me?”

“Why would I call the police? To tell them there’s a pretty girl in my bed and I don’t want her there?”

“To tell them your psychopathic girlfriend broke into your apartment and might be holding hostages there.”

Spencer laughs; a brittle, drawn out thing, flat and quiet as the desert.

“If you were a psychopath, calling the cops would be a waste of time. I would handle you myself.” The idea of being handled has your thighs clenching. “But—yeah, don’t invite anyone else in.” More humor finds its way into his voice, momentarily relieving some tension that had sneakily begun to build. “Having people in my space makes me anxious.”

“But not me?” Your whisper is half flirtatious, half insecure. Spencer’s reply is soft, as if he’s picking up on this from hundreds of miles away.

“No, not you. You are always the exception.”

“Good,” you say, cheeks aching as you half-bury your warm face into his pillow. “Because I made myself really comfortable. You have a nice shower, by the way.”

Spencer groans. 

“You’re killing me.”

“What? What did I do!”

“Don’t talk to me about my bed and my shower. I might start to think you’re intentionally being a brat.”

“You asked me about my day! I’m just telling you what I did!”

But you’re also intentional teasing him for sure.  After a pause, he sighs in defeat. 

“You’re right. I did do that. Tell me what else happened.”

“Well,” you begin, all too eager, “I had to put my clothes in the dryer after I got out, so I borrowed some of yours. But then they were way comfier than mine, so after I went to the store I put them back on, and—”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?” you frown. 

“Tell me what this is.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

Lying to a profiler is usually pointless. 

“I’m not stupid, sweetheart. Tell me why you keep talking about my shower and my bed and my clothes.”

Caught red-handed. Your skin heats up. 

“I don’t know. I miss you.”

He hums in a way that blurs the line between sympathetic and patronizing. Even through the phone you can feel the bass of it in your bones.  It changes the frequency you’re vibrating at. It’s hypnotic. 

“But that’s not really why you’re being intentionally provocative, is it?”

“No,” you admit quietly. “I’m still upset you had to go last night.”

“So you’re frustrated and you’re taking it out on me?”

Your brow furrows. Well, when he puts it like that…

“I’m not taking anything out on you.”

“I think you are. And I don’t appreciate that, because I’m on your side, honey. Do you think I prefer being in a hotel bed by myself or being in my bed with you?”

Somehow, he makes you feel like a scolded child. But he makes it appealing in ways you don’t understand. 

“Your bed with me,” you murmur, skin prickling with the coldness of his absence even as you curl under the blanket. 

“Right. So why don’t you tell me what I can do for you right now, instead of punishing me for things that are beyond my control?”

“I wasn’t punishing you,” you mutter. 

“No? You weren’t intentionally talking about using my shower and sleeping in my bed and putting on my clothes so that I’d have to think about what I can’t have right now?”

“I—”

“Believe me when I tell you I have been thinking about what I can’t have, all day. Your efforts are entirely redundant and you can’t say anything about yourself that is even close to as dirty as the frankly disrespectful thoughts I’ve been having about you for seventeen hours.”

The lack of air is making you so dizzy your vision goes gray at the edges. 

“What… what thoughts?”

“None that you need to concern yourself with.”

“You can’t just say something like that and then not tell me!” you insist. He’s obviously giving you a taste of your own medicine and it’s fair but it doesn’t mean you have to like it. 

“I can do whatever I want,” Spencer corrects cooly in a way that pisses you off beyond belief because he’s right. It triggers some adolescent immaturity within you—a desire to get back at him, so to speak. He wants intentionally provocative? He can have it. 

“Fine. Then so can I. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it even if I could.”

“Spencer,” you warn. “If you don’t tell me what you were thinking I’m gonna—” you look around the room for ammo. “I’m gonna look through your nightstand!”

“Go ahead. I’ll warn you, it’s not very interesting.”

“Sounds like what someone who has something hide would say,” you mumble, crawling across the mattress through tangled sheets and using your phone flashlight to open the drawer. 

Spencer is patient and silent as you take in its contents—a small blue leather-bound notebook (full of what looks like Russian), a fountain pen, a glasses case, various kinds of vitamins, and—

“Spencer Reid,” you say, dragging out his name and pretending nothing is fluttering in your stomach, “what are these?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see what you’re referring to.”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Oh, I have one. But I’d like to hear you say it.”

You realize you may have gotten yourself in deeper than you meant to by going through his stuff. Well—they don’t say karma is a bitch for nothing. 

“What are you doing with a box of condoms?” 

He chuckles and you feel it in your whole body, warm as you stretch across his mattress and eye the box like it might jump out at you. 

“Those are years old. I’ve used three since I bought them.”

“Don’t tell me that,” you whine. “I don’t wanna think about all the other women you’ve seduced.”

“You wanted them to be for you, huh?” 

You flush. Honestly you hadn’t even thought about that. 

“I… I don’t know. I kind of just assumed…”

It’s silent for a second and you frown, realizing you hadn’t even considered protection when you’d imagined sleeping with him before. 

“You assumed what, honey?” he asks, voice soft. 

“It’s dumb. I can’t tell you.”

“You can tell me anything. I’m not going to think it’s dumb, I promise.”

You chew on your lip, letting your eyes unfocus on the box as you muster the courage to be honest. 

“Whenever I imagined it… we didn’t… use anything.”

The words make you cringe even as you’re saying them. So does the quiet that follows. 

“When you imagine us sleeping together, we don’t use a condom?”

“Ah!” The phone drops to the mattress as you cover your ears and roll onto your side, curling into yourself once more. “You didn’t have to say it! You make me sound so weird!”

“It’s not weird,” he laughs, because he can probably imagine exactly what you just did, “I just wanted to make sure I was understanding you. That said… we would definitely use protection.”

“Do we have to?”

The quiet words take even you by surprise—and they seem to stun Spencer as well. Several false starts are punctuated by a sigh as he gathers his thoughts. 

“We really should, baby. That’s the kind of thing we need to take seriously.”

“But you’re… you’re good, right?”

Thankfully he picks up on your meaning. 

“I am. I wouldn’t touch you if I weren’t.”

“And I’m good. So...”

“Hm. And has anyone ever explained to you where babies come from?”

You groan in frustration. 

“Spencer, I’m being serious! There are ways to negate that.”

“Honey,” he murmurs, “I understand that. But it would be irresponsible of me to say yes. We can talk about it in the future, but—”

“I’m telling you it’s already dealt with. The chances of an accidental pregnancy are slim to none.”

The new information hangs in the air for a moment until Spencer speaks—to your surprise, his voice is low and humorous. 

“That is… good to know. But even so—I’m setting a dangerous precedent if I always let you get exactly what you want.”

“Is it such a bad thing that I just wanna—I wanna know what it feels like? You don’t want that?”

“That’s not what I said. I want to know exactly what you feel like. I’m just hesitant to give in so quickly because it makes me look weak.”

You laugh breathlessly, caught between being turned on by the first part of his sentence and amused by the sarcastic second half. Your thighs clench and your hand absentmindedly wanders between them. 

“You know what I was thinking about?” you ask. Spencer hums curiously. “I was thinking about when you let me, um… when you let me touch you how you touch me.” He hums again, but you can hear the amused curve of a smile in it now.

“When you had your mouth all full of me and you looked so pretty?”

“When I—yeah,” you agree, too caught up to deny his compliment as your fingers brush your most sensitive spot through clothing. “And  how you got me all messy after. And I was wondering what it would feel like… inside me.”

He sucks in a breath. Your legs brush against each other and you twist slightly as you pretend like you’re not touching yourself just a little bit. 

“You want me to come inside you?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, brain short-circuiting at the way those words sound in his voice. 

—

On the other side of the line, Spencer isn’t doing a fantastic job of thinking clearly either. His dick is half-hard already and it’s only getting worse with each little noise you make that you don’t seem to realize you’re making. 

“Really? That would be very messy, baby. I’m surprised that’s what you want.”

“But I really want it,” you breathe. He’s not even looking as he slips his hand under the waistband of his pajamas and palms himself, his other hand rubbing tiredly over his face as his phone rests on his chest. This was not how he intended for this call to go, believe it or not—but he’s here now. 

“Yeah? Is that why you’re touching yourself right now?”

You go silent—which is more or less exactly the reaction Spencer had been expecting. Patiently he waits for you to deny it, in three, two—

“’M not.”

Now, he could explain how he knows that’s a lie. How your breathing pattern changed, and your voice got softer and airier, and how you started speaking with smaller words in fragmented sentences. But he doesn’t feel like explaining any of that. 

“I know that’s not true,” he murmurs. “You know what? It wasn’t fair to get you all worked up last night and then leave. I don’t want you frustrated, honey. I want you to do whatever you need to do.”

You make a little gasping noise, and Spencer can imagine the way your back would arch when you did it. His own hips buck slightly as his dick twitches under his fingers. 

“Where are you touching?”

“Um—over my clothes.”

Cute. 

“Go under them for me. Tell me how it feels when you’re touching yourself like that.”

It takes a moment, in which all he hears is the rustling of fabric, until you’re whispering, “feels… it feels good. I wish you were here.”

He inhales, freeing his cock and squeezing the base. 

“I know. Just listen to my voice, pretty. I’m right here.”

Spencer allows himself a few slow tugs as he imagines what’s happening in his bed. You make a squeaking noise, like a held-back moan, and his eyes screw shut. 

“I need them inside,” you whine, and he knows you’re referring to his fingers—the ones currently stroking his own leaking cock. 

“You can use your own, just give yourself a minute first. Remember what I said about needing to be ready?”

“I am ready—” judging by the surprised chirp you interrupt yourself with, you’ve proven yourself right. What surprises Spencer is the weak sound of disappointment you make next. “Spence, it doesn’t feel the same.”

“We’re different sizes, honey. Your hands aren’t as big as mine. But you can still make it feel good.” 

He almost says, 90% of the nerves in the vaginal canal are located in the lower third—in other words, within approximately 2.36 inches from the opening, which you can most certainly reach—but he refrains. He’s not sure if that’s good dirty talk. 

“You have a really sensitive spot about three inches up, right in front. It’s going to feel a little different than the rest of you when you touch it. I want you to try and find it for me, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe, ever-eager to please even from a great distance. There’s a quiet moment. “I can’t—I don’t think I can r—oh,”

The moan is so pretty Spencer can’t help speeding up the motion of his hand, hissing slightly as his fingers brush against the angry tip with every pump. 

“Did you find it?”

“Yeah,” you whine, a weak, high-pitched thing. “Oh my god.”

“Be gentle,” he warns with some effort as his own hips jump slightly. “You’re really sensitive there. If you’re not careful you’ll make yourself sore.”

“I don’t care—holy shit—” the way your voice rises and tightens to a squeak at the end has Spencer moaning as he fucks his fist. A black hole forms and warps time, turning every minute into a second and every second into an infinity until he has no idea how much time is going by. He drags his thumb over the tip, smearing precum over his cock and whining as his jaw drops at the feeling. “Oh my god, Spencer,” in that same strained, high voice. “’M gonna—ah!”

He gets the general sentiment. 

“What, baby? You’re gonna make yourself come all over your fingers? Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“Mhm!”

“Yeah, I bet you are. It feels good, huh?”

“Yes,” you cry. 

“See? You don’t need my fingers to feel good. Mine barely fit, you know that? I have to hold your fucking hips down whenever I put my fingers in you because you can’t stop squirming. I don’t know how you think you’re going to take my cock.”

“Spencer!” 

He knows. 

“Come, baby. Let me hear you.”

The delicate sounds you make as you bring yourself to orgasm tip him over the edge of his own—grunting as he comes all over his fist. 

“Jesus,” he strains under his breath, the word dragging out into two long syllables as his hips buck involuntarily and cum drips down his knuckles. He’s lightheaded and he’s created a mess and it all happened so quickly. “Fuck,” he breathes, a rasping chuckle as he reaches for the towel he’d dropped on the bed after his shower earlier. “You conscious over there?”

“I’m conscious,” you slur, breathing heavily. “I’ve never had an orgasm by myself before.”

“Are you proud of yourself?” Spencer smiles, wiping his hand off and making sure he’s otherwise clean. “You should be. I am.”

He’s barely kidding. 

“I’ll be proud when I can do it without your help,” you tease. 

“But I’ll always want to help you with that.” His already warm face flushes further as he goes over what he’d said. “Sorry I was so vulgar.”

You laugh. He blushes even more. 

“Are you? I think you secretly love being vulgar.”

“I don’t know why! I have no idea where it comes from. I would never speak that way in any other context. I should probably work on that. Sometimes I look back on the things I say and I’m genuinely appalled.”

“Well, don’t stop on my account. Personally I enjoy it.”

“Yeah, I think I’m corrupting you. You probably shouldn’t enjoy it.”

The truth of it weighs heavy on his mind, but he’s pretty sure his voice alone doesn’t betray that and you can’t sense it through the phone. 

“Oh, my god. Do not do that falling on your sword shit. I like being corrupted by you. If you stop I’ll be very upset.”

“Well god forbid you get upset,” he teases gently. Idly he wonders if the reason he’s suddenly feeling so depressed is because his cortisol levels were already high from the case, and then he jarred his system with an orgasm, spiking his dopamine and ultimately causing it to plummet without the oxytocin release that post-coital physical contact would usually provide. 

Or if it was something else. It could also be something else. 

For the millionth time, he wishes he was with you. Part of him also wants to go to sleep. But mostly he wishes he was with you. 

—

A comfortable silence settles over the conversation. In the ditch between words, you’re mapping constellations in the texture of Spencer’s ceiling. If you squeeze your eyes almost shut, you can imagine it really is the night sky. You can imagine he’s really here. 

You think about what he said—his apparently mindless vulgarity. Did it mean anything? Or was he just rambling to get you off?

“Spencer?” you murmur. 

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

He sounds earnest, perhaps a little tired, as he replies, “always,” through the little metal rectangle on your chest. He likes me and my questions are important to him, you repeat to yourself silently as you work up the strength. 

“If Penelope hadn’t called, last night… were you going to have sex with me?” 

Your lip tastes like his toothpaste as you chew it. Spencer sucks in a breath of air like he’s about to speak—and lets it fizzle out like foam on a carbonated drink. 

“I don’t know,” he finally admits, lamely. “That wasn’t my plan, but you can be extremely convincing when you want to be.”

“But why can’t it be your plan?” It’s an almost whine, pouty and childish—but the next words are quiet and pained. “Is it something I’m doing wrong?”

“No, no! It’s not you. You’re perfect. It’s—it’s complicated. It’s a me thing.”

Such trite words—such a ubiquitous, simple excuse sounds almost comical from his mouth when you know he’s capable of all the eloquence in the world. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s ridiculous. 

“Okay. Let me simplify this for you,” you begin with an uncharacteristic assertiveness that surprises even you. “I want to have sex with you. Either we are going to have sex or we’re not. So your future branches in two diverging paths. In one, we have sex, and then we keep having sex. In the other we never have sex ever. If you want to ever have the privilege of fucking me, then we just have to do it. Otherwise it simply will never happen. And I’m not eternally patient, Reid.”

Go me, you think, slightly breathless from your monologue. 

“Watch your mouth,” he says dryly. Something about the chastisement makes your stomach flip and your whole body tingle. “When you talk to me you call me Spencer. I will also accept Doctor Reid.” You wrestle down a smile, refusing to let him change the subject. A delayed sigh from him sobers up the conversation. “You know what I want. I’ve been very clear with you about that. But…”

“But…?”

Another sigh. A deeper, shuddering sigh, like his breath is searching for balance. Like Spencer is in a precarious position for which he was unprepared. 

“But—but to be completely honest… I worry that you’ll regret choosing me. And I know virginity is a social construct and I’m not implying that your worth will somehow be diminished if we have sex but regardless of my views on virginity as a construct, having sex for the first time can be weird and scary and it’s incredibly intimate and I don’t want you to regret your first time like I regret mine because you chose the wrong person.”

The words come at you so rapid-fire it takes you a moment to process them. And aside from all the ways you want to reassure him that you will not regret choosing him—that you could never, ever regret anything about him—one thing stands out. 

“You regret your first time?” 

Something between a scoff and a sigh travels through the line. You can tell he’s not annoyed at you for asking so much as he’s flustered himself with all his own words as he occasionally does. 

“Yeah. Yes. Sometimes I do. The person—she didn’t… like me as much as I liked her. And I was really, really in love with her, and she knew that and she knew she wasn’t in love with me—or maybe she was, I don’t know—but my point is, when one person likes the other more than the other person like them, things get complicated. And however you feel about me—that’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t want you to feel bad if we don’t feel exactly the same way about each other. I understand that this is newer for you, it’s different, I—I just don’t want us to do something we can’t undo because I don’t want to relive that. And I’m not saying it will never happen but I just don’t want you to make this choice when… when right now, I think we’re in different places emotionally. Regardless of that, I want you to choose the right person. I don’t want you to choose me and then find out that we feel differently after we sleep together and leave you feeling like you signed up for something you didn’t understand. I’m sorry. Maybe telling you this is selfish. But I’ve been thinking about it and trying to ignore it and I think I just have to be completely honest.”

Your ears ring like Spencer just fired a blank right into the microphone. Like you just got backhanded across the face and now you have the world’s worst case of whiplash. 

Every finger is numb and your blood is so cold it feels blue as it slithers thick through your veins. 

What you want to do is scream. What you want to do is go back to last night and stop yourself from almost telling him I love you, slap yourself and keep your cards a little closer to your chest. Because now he knows, and he doesn’t feel the same. 

You want to scream bloody murder. 

But when you try, when you unhinge your jaw and part your chapped lips and expect a bellow to come hurdling up the corridor of your throat with so much force it rattles your bones, all that falls out is a small, “oh.”

Maybe that’s worse. 

Spencer doesn’t reply. You hate yourself for feeling obliged to fill the silence. 

“I didn’t realize you…”

I didn’t realize that you don’t love me back. 

I didn’t realize I like you more than you like me. 

I didn’t realize you’d tell me to masturbate in your fucking bed and then drop this not even five minutes later. 

If Spencer Reid was able to talk to you over the phone with the same amount of affection and familiarity as always, like everything was still okay, knowing you love him and he doesn’t love you the whole time, he is not who you thought he was. 

“I’m sorry,” he lamely says again, like it could ever help. 

More silence. Now you can’t bring yourself to speak, so Spencer does. 

“I realize how awkward this is. I really didn’t mean to put you in this position. Especially not over the phone when I—god, I���m stupid. I’m sorry. But can we—can we talk about this in person when I get back? Please?”

Is that what grownups do? Is the proper etiquette for him to take you out to dinner and explain why he’s not in love with you? Is he going to break up with you?

What does one even wear to a breakup date?

“Okay,” you whisper. Your eyes sting, your everything stings, like you’ve been wrapped in a shroud of briar. Sheets that were soft a moment ago feel like sandpaper on open wounds. You feel like an open wound. 

Spencer sighs. It’s a sound of relief that confuses and hurts you even more. 

“Okay. I—okay. Thank you. Um—I’ll let you go back to sleep, now.”

“Okay,” you repeat—as if any of this were okay. But you can’t keep being that stupid girl who feels it all so much harder, who loves easily and begs to be loved in return, too naive to assume that someone who treats her so kindly might not reciprocate her feelings. It has to be okay, because if it’s not, you’re silly and dramatic and you’re just proving him right. 

“Goodnight,” Spencer whispers, and you can’t help but feeling that it’s the last time you’ll ever hear those words from his mouth while you’re in his bed. And he’s not even fucking here.

So you pull the blanket a little higher. You let your tears stain his pillow because they’ll be invisible by the morning. It will be like they were never here. Like you were never here. 

“Goodnight.”

-

part five

[itneverendshere]

school spirit and all! - soccer!frat!rafe cameron (+18) - part iii (final)

warnings: angst; smut; word count: 6.3k (sorry)

what the fuck. 

as soon as the words left his mouth, you wondered how many hits to the head soccer players got each match, because there was no way in hell rafe cameron was in love with you.

suddenly hyperaware of your nakedness, you stood up, almost falling off his bed in the process.

in a frantic scramble, you reached for your clothes, tugging on your jersey inside out and hopping around on one foot trying to pull up your shorts.

"what's wrong with you?! we just had sex!"

rafe blinked, still dazed from your anything but innocent activities.

“uh, yeah, that's kind of when these feelings hit me.”

you paused, one leg in your levis shorts, the other still “bare”, and shot him a look. 

 "you don't just drop the l-word after sex! are you insane!" you managed to get your shorts up and fastened, albeit a bit crookedly, “jesus christ.”

“i didn’t mean to freak you out, it just came—"

“yeah, well, maybe lead with something less dramatic” you snorted, tugging your shirt the right way around. "i mean, who does that?"

he laughed, the sound rich and warm, and for a moment you were torn between being annoyed and charmed, “i’m sorry. i meant it tho.”

“no, you didn’t.” you shot back, rolling your eyes as you fumbled with your shoelaces.

“i did,” he insisted, his voice earnest, but you were too busy wrestling with your stubborn converse to look up.

“you don't even know me."

"course i do," he looked offended, like you insulted him, "your birthday is on october 8th, and your favorite color is blue. your favorite food is picanha and kimchi ramyeon. you do this thing when you're happy where you just speak really loud, all the time and when your favorite song comes on, which is all of them really, you always squeal—"

you think you lost at least three brain cells as you stood there, jaw dropped to the floor, listening to him list all the things he knew about you.

correctly.

"y’know what sherlock?” you said suddenly, standing up, finally fully dressed but still feeling exposed. “i need some air. a lot of it.”

“what?”

“i’m leaving.”

“wait—" you hear the sound of sheets ruffling, “wait a sec—dammit!”

you didn't look back as you hurried out of his room, the sounds of the frat party thumping from downstairs, music seeping through the walls. the hallway was packed with people, and you pushed your way through the crowd, your mind racing. oh my god. everyone was seeing you leave rafe cameron’s room in a hurry. there was no way in hell you’d have a peaceful week after this.

you were almost reaching the door when you felt a hand grab your upper arm. you turned around to see rafe, now dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, “can we talk about this?”

the music was deafening, forcing you to practically scream to be heard. “what part of 'too much' don’t you get?”

“why?” he asked, his voice barely cutting through the noise. “why does it have to be too much?”

“because it is!” you shouted, then softened your tone just enough to be less harsh, “just let it go.”

he let go of your arm, but his eyes stayed locked on yours. “’m not asking you to say it back, okay?”

you felt the weight of curious eyes on you. the partygoers’ stares only made you want to leave even more. desperation clawed at your chest.

rafe closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly, “did that really feel like only sex to you?”

you bit your lip, the regret hitting you immediately, but you couldn't stop now. you needed to get out.

“yeah.” you replied, even though your heart screamed at you to take it back.

he stepped back, letting go of your arm completely. “fine. go on then," he said, his tone flat and lifeless. “just go.”

“i’m sorry—" you started again, but rafe's expression hardened. he’d never looked at you like that and you hated every single second of it.

he stepped back further, creating a physical distance, as if to save himself the hurt, “leave.”

you didn’t have to be told twice, you wanted to be anywhere but there. you couldn't delete the image of his face when you rejected him from your brain. 

as soon as you were outisde, you pulled out your phone, and dialed pope's number. he picked up on the third ring, his voice laced with excitement.

"the dick was that bad? i could've sworn—”

tears were already threatening to fall as you tried to steady your voice. "pope, can you... can you pick me up?"

“huh?”

"i just... i need to get out of here," you managed, voice cracking as you wrapped an arm around yourself, feeling strangely exposed.

"shit. okay. i'll be there in ten minutes.”

you found a quiet spot near the edge of the campus, too embarrassed to sit outside rafe’s frathouse with so many people coming and going. leaning against a tree, you sank down, hugging your knees to your chest.

what the hell were you doing? had you just permanently ruined your friendship with rafe? let your little mommy issues get ahead of you?

when pope finally pulled up in his car, you climbed in wordlessly, unable to meet his eyes. 

“what did he do? you want me to punch him? cause y’know i’ll call jj and we—"

you leaned your head against the cool glass of the car window, “this was such a fucking bad idea.”

he glanced at you briefly before focusing back on the road, “what? why?”

“because.”

pope's brow furrowed in confusion. "what did he say?"

"that he loved me.”

“what the fuck?!" your body jolted forward, your heart racing from the sudden stop. the motherfucker accidentally slammed the brakes.

“pope, what the hell?”

“my bad, fuck,” he muttered, regaining control of the car and easing back onto the road, “he dropped that shit on you?”

“yeah.”

“okay, that’s kinda fucked, but—“ pope glanced at you again, concern etched on his face. “look, cameron might be a lot of things, but he’s not a liar. man, he’s the complete opposite if you ask me. too fucking honest for his own good.”

“he picked the worst time to be honest,” you muttered, wiping away a tear, “i literally had his dick in my hands!”

“dude!” pope faux-gagged, “i don’t need the details, jesus.”

“sorry,” you said, half-laughing through your tears. “it’s just... how can he love me? he doesn’t even know me! that’s what’s pissing me off the most.”

that was a lie.

pope sighed, shaking his head. “i don’t know, but it sounds like he’s really into you. you spent a lot of time together, right? maybe he knows you better than you think.”

he does.

“don’t get smart on me pope howard. i need your support right now, not this sentimentalist bullshit.”

pope chuckled, “you’ve got to talk to him. y’know that, right?”

you groaned, lifting the palms of your hands to your eyes, “why?”

“because you care about him, you dumbass. that’s fucking obvious.”

“stop making sense,” you mumbled, sighing heavily. “i need you to be angry with me, pope.”

he shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips. "i'm your best friend. my job is to tell you what you need to hear, not what you want to hear.”

you slumped further into your seat, “this is your fault anyway. you planted the stupid idea in my brain.”

“me? this is all you.”

your mouth dropped, “be fucking serious. you told me to sleep with him! for sports!”

“yeah, okay, i’ll take the blame but…”

“but?” you narrowed your eyes in warning, “but what?”

he shrugged innocently, “you never listened to me up to that point. i didn’t think you’d do it. that’s gotta mean something.”

“stop making me think,” you muttered under your breath, letting your head fall back against the seat. “i just want to forget this whole night happened.”

“maybe you just need some time to figure out how you feel.”

“i don’t feel anything,” you lied, staring out the window at the passing lights. “he’s just rafe cameron.”

pope sighed again, the kind of sigh that said he didn’t believe you for a second. “whatever you say."”

he dropped you off at your dorm, waiting until you were inside before driving away. you made your way to your room, collapsing onto your bed. why did you feel like such a terrible person?

you grabbed your phone and scrolled through your contacts, stopping at rafe’s name. your thumb hovered over the call button before you shook your head, tossing the phone aside.

you needed time. time to think, time to breathe, and time to figure out what the hell you wanted.

the next morning, you woke up with a headache and a sense of unease that settled deep in your chest. you dragged yourself out of bed. pope had texted you, a simple “hope you’re okay <3” that made you smile despite everything. you quickly replied, assuring him you were fine, even if you didn’t fully believe it.

you weren’t.

not when your first class of the day was with rafe. but you could do it.

you walked into class just in time, like you always did, only this time you were dreading the inevitable awkwardness of being sat next to rafe.

you hadn’t thought this through. he usually got here before you, real heavy on being on time for everything he did. you tried to keep your eyes locked on the professor, who was gathering the material for class, but you still took small peeks towards the door, expecting to see him stroll in at any given moment.

except he never did. as the lecture progressed, he never showed up. 

when the professor eventually asked about his whereabouts, kelce, his friend who sat a few rows behind you, raised his hand casually.

“rafe’s not feeling well today,” kelce spoke up, his tone nonchalant. he glanced over at you briefly, a knowing look in his eyes that made your stomach twist. 

oh great, so now you were the witch of the wicked west to all his friends. 

the professor nodded sympathetically. “alright, thank you for letting me know, kelce. make sure he gets the notes from today’s lecture.”

kelce nodded in acknowledgment, and the class moved on, but your mind was racing. rafe skipping class wasn’t like him. the timing felt deliberate, almost as if he was avoiding you after last night. 

as the lecture continued, you realized rafe wouldn’t be the only one needing notes. all you’d done for two hours was scramble down a few words, none of them making any sense. you struggled to focus on the material. every glance towards the door was met with disappointment.

maybe this was serious. maybe he hated you now.

after what felt like an eternity, the class finally ended. packing up your things, you hesitated before deciding to approach kelce, who lingered near his seat. you’d only spoken to him a handful of times, mainly when you and rafe studied back at the frat house.

kelce was nice. but the look he was giving you now, was anything but.

"hey, kelce," you began, trying to sound casual.

"hey," kelce replied cautiously, eyeing you up and down. 

you swallowed, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his scrutiny.

"um, is rafe okay? is he sick?”

he nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering, “the flu. got it last night."

"l-last night?” 

“yup.”

“oh.”

kelce's brows furrowed slightly, “look, i don’t know what happened. but, he’s…not doing okay.”

your stomach sank. it was clear rafe was avoiding you, and the guilt gnawed at you even more. "i just... i didn't mean to..."

kelce cut you off gently, his voice softening. "that’s none of my business.”

"yeah," you murmured, feeling utterly inadequate.

"he'll come around," kelce reassured you, though his tone lacked conviction.

you nodded dumbly, unsure of what else to say. part of you wanted to apologize again, but...you’d done nothing wrong. there was no need to explain yourself.

"thanks," you managed weakly, offering a half-hearted smile.

kelce nodded in response, his expression remaining neutral. with that, you turned and hurried out of the classroom, feeling the weight of kelce's gaze on your back. the hallways felt suffocating, with whispered conversations and curious glances that only amplified your discomfort. did everyone know? was there a journal column telling everyone who got laid last night? fucking hell.

back in your dorm room, you collapsed onto your bed, burying your face in your hands. this was worse than what you’d expected. you couldn't stop seeing the image of rafe's hurt expression, his quiet insistence that he meant what he said.

your phone buzzed beside you, and you hesitated before picking it up, sighing in realief when you saw it was a text from pope.

"baaaabeeee, how did it go?"

did he really want to know the mess you'd made of things?

after a moment's hesitation, you replied with a simple, "not great. think everyone hates me lol"

pope's response was almost immediate. “shit. you wanna to talk about it?"

you bit your lip, undecided between wanting to unload everything and wanting to bury it all deep down. in the end, you settled for a brief reply. “later."

that went on for a week and three days.

you avoided rafe’s usual hangouts, keeping your head down and focusing on your classes. you still hadn’t seen him, and it was starting to drive you crazy. you needed to talk to him, but you were scared. like, shitless scared, of what he’d say, scared of what you’d feel.

it was hours later when you finally saw him again. you were in the library, buried in your notes, the ones who’d stolen from pope because you hadn’t been able to focus properly in any class and you hated that you’d let a boy have so much control over your brain, let alone a jock.

when you looked up and saw him standing at the entrance. he looked a little too good. the typical shorts hitting just above his knees, a loose sleeveless shirt that showed off his muscles way too much for your sanity, and his hair peeking out from under a snapback. 

good enough to eat.

he spotted you almost immediately and then quickly turned his head to side, ignoring you. 

ouch. okay, fair enough all things considered.

your heart skipped a beat. it was now or never. for a moment, you considered hiding, but you knew you couldn’t avoid him forever. taking a deep breath, you stood up and made your way over to him.

“hey,” you said softly, your heart pounding in your chest, trying to sound as casual as possible.

rafe looked up for a second, then returned his attention to the phone in his hands, “hey.”

“can we talk?” you asked.

he shrugged, and it took everything in you not to punch him in the face. “sure.”

you swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. “sorry about the other night. i-i didn’t handle it well.”

he nodded, but his gaze remained on his phone, fingers typing away. “yeah, i get it.”

you frowned, sensing that something was off. he’d never ignored you before, he wasn’t even giving you the dignity of looking at you as you spoke to him. 

“are you okay?”

“fine,” he replied curtly.

before you could ask him what the fuck is problem was now, a girl approached, her smile bright, almost blinding you. she was ridiculously pretty, with long braided hair and sparkling brown eyes.

a literal doll.

she looked between you and rafe, “hi, are you ready to go?”

your heart sank as the girl slipped her arm around rafe’s arm and he finally put his stupid phone away and smiled down at her.

heavy on the ouch.

“yeah, let’s go,” rafe said, his voice softening, but then he turned to you, his expression blank again, “see you around.”

you stood there, watching them walk away feeling like a complete fucking idiot. like you were being pranked. what the hell was that? was he trying to make you jealous? or was he moving on that quickly? was there even something to move on from?

you returned to your seat, barely registering the world around you.

is that what he meant by telling you he loved you? you’ve been feeling bad over a boy who clearly only said what he said because you fucked him too good? wow.

you tried to focus on your notes, but your hands were trembling. without realizing it, you started tearing at the pages, ripping them apart. by the time you looked down, half of your notes were in shreds, scattered across the table.

“dammit,” you hissed under your breath. you gathered the torn pieces, stuffing them into your bag. there was no salvaging them now. 

with a frustrated sigh, you pulled out your phone and dialed pope’s number. 

“what’s up?”

“i need to get fucked up tonight.” you said bluntly, not bothering to hide the frustration you were feeling. 

“buy a guy a drink first?”

you could hear him snicker at his own joke, “shut up. are there any parties?”

“yeah, heard there's a big one at the delta house. everyone’s going.”

“okay. we’re going too.”

pope sighed, “i don’t remember signing up for this.”

“shut up and pick me up at 9.”

you decided that tonight was the night to go all out. no more hiding, no more feeling sorry for yourself. you rummaged through your closet, tossing aside clothes that were too plain, too boring, or just not the vibe you were going for. 

finally, you found it—the perfect outfit, and possibly the sluttiest thing you proudly owned.

you slipped into a sleek, black leather mini skirt that hugged your curves perfectly, hitting just the right spot on your thighs. you paired it with a cropped, red satin top that showed just enough skin to be daring but not over the top. the top had a deep v-neckline, accentuating your collarbones and drawing attention to the delicate gold necklace you wore. the outfit was completed with a pair of knee-high black boots, giving you an edge and adding a few extra inches to your height. you never wore them out, too worried that your feet would be killing you after a couple of minutes, but tonight, if you got drunk enough, you wouldn’t feel shit.

you looked at yourself in the mirror, adjusting the top and smoothing down the skirt. 

your makeup was bold, different from what you usually did—a smoky eye that made your eyes pop and a deep red lipstick that matched your top perfectly. you left your hair loose, allowing it to fall in soft waves. satisfied with your look, you grabbed a small clutch and headed out.

when pope arrived to pick you up, his jaw practically hit the floor. he stared at you, eyes wide, as you strutted towards the car.

“i'm sorry—are we going to a strip club or to a party?” he blurted out.

"are you slutshaming me?"

"no, but be real for a second."

you rolled your eyes, but a small smirk played on your lips. “don’t be dramatic. just wanted to look good.”

“look good?” pope repeated, still in disbelief, “sweets, you always look good, okay? but this? you look like you’re about to rip someone’s heart out.”

“good,” you replied, sliding into the passenger seat. “that’s the goal.”

he shook his head, muttering something under his breath about needing to keep an eye on you all night.

“you’re gonna tell me what happened?”

“nothing happened.”

“right.”

the delta house was already packed when you arrived, the music thumping so loud you could feel it in your chest. you walked in with pope by your side, determined to leave all your worries at the door.

“alright, let’s get some drinks,” pope clapped his hands, rubbing them together before leading you to the makeshift bar. you could feel eyes on you as you walked through the crowd, whispers and stares following your every step. you ignored them. 

so what if people knew you fucked rafe? that was your business, not theirs.

you grabbed a tequilla shot, downing it quickly and feeling the alcohol warm you up from the inside. pope handed you another, and you sipped it more slowly, trying to steady your nerves.

“easy. ‘m not holding your hair back if you throw up,” he warned, nudging you gently. “just relax and have fun. cleo’s joining later.”

“awwww, look at you being soft."

“shut up. don’t embarrass me in front of her."

you placed your hand over your heart, “i would never!”

the night wore on, the party growing louder. you danced, laughed, and mingled, trying to keep your mind off rafe and the mess you'd made of things. pope stuck by your side, and cleo, the girl of his dreams, joined you eventually, her energy infectious. 

you were happy he’d found someone. 

you were at the bar, grabbing another drink, when you saw rafe walk in.

your heart nearly dropped out of your ass, but you forced yourself to stay calm. he was with the same girl from the library and seeing them together made your stomach churn. he hadn't even noticed you yet, too busy talking to her.

"pope," you called, nudging him. "look who's here."

pope glanced over and sighed. "ignore him, please. we're here to have fun, remember?"

you nodded, drowning another shot, "right. fun."

it was easier said than done. every time you glanced their way, you wanted to storm up to him and punch him in that stupid perfect face. why did it bother you so much? he was just a guy. just rafe cameron. you downed another drink, hoping the alcohol would numb the emotions swirling inside you.

“goddamn mama, are you drinking yourself to death?”

jj’s presence barely phased you, “yes.”

“what’s got you so worked up?”

you groaned, not really in the mood for his antics. “nothing. just havin’ a good time.”

“yeah, right,” jj snorted, stealing your drink and taking a sip. “try again. this shit is 95% vodka by the way.”

you snatched it from his hands, “don’t drink my shit. don’t wanna talk about it.”

“alright,” he held up his hands in mock surrender, “dance with me then?”

“no.”

“pleaseee,” he begged, jutting out his bottom lip in a ridiculous pout, “c’mon.

despite your best efforts to stay frustrated, his infectious energy made you crack a smile. "fine, but just one song maybank."

jj whooped, “atta girl.”

he grabbed your hand with a mischievous grin and pulled you onto the crowded dance floor. you laughed as he twirled you around, his movements were surprisingly graceful. one time he made you faceplant the floor, so this was an improvement. 

his energy has always been infectious, jj was a literal golden retriever in human from and soon enough you found yourself letting go of all the worries that had been weighing you down. you moved in sync with him, your hips swaying, and your arms following the flow of the music. jj’s playful antics kept you entertained—he'd throw in a spin or a sudden dip, making you laugh even harder.

but then, he leaned in close, his voice barely audible over the music.

“guess who's watching?"

you raised an eyebrow, trying to catch your breath between giggles.

"who?"

jj nodded towards the edge of the dance floor, where rafe stood with a group of his friends. “my number one fan. been eyeing us since we started."

“uh,” you glanced in his direction, catching rafe’s gaze briefly before he looked away, “that’s weird.”

“i know you two fucked.”

your hand instantly reached out to shove jj’s shoulder, “shut up.”

“i'm serious. you’re gonna let him watch or show him what he's missing?"

on one hand, you were furious at rafe for bringing another girl to the party so soon after whatever had happened between you two. after telling you he was in love with you. sure you were a bitch after, but that didn’t mean you didn’t care for him. on the other hand, jj’s always made you go off the rails, in a way that stoked your pride. 

“fine,” you said with a defiant grin, “let’s give him a show.”

jj’s smirk widened, and without missing a beat, he spun you around and pulled you in closer, moving with even more enthusiasm than before. the music pounded around you, you couldn’t even tell the lyrics apart. every twirl, every dip, every sway of your hips was a message to rafe—whether he was watching or not—that you were done feeling sorry for yourself. as the song reached its peak, jj dipped you low, and you laughed breathlessly. you glanced towards where rafe had been standing, but he was gone.

then, without warning, from the corner of your eye, you saw a commotion erupting nearby. before you could react, the crowd around you began to murmur and part, revealing rafe. what the hell? what was this? a coming-of-age movie?

his usually friendly composed demeanor was gone, the glare in him was enough to scare anyone in his way. he stormed towards you, his eyes locked on jj. and then it clicked.

“oh for fuck's sake,” you groaned under your breath, knowing that nothing good would come out of it.

"hey, what the—" jj started, but before he could finish, rafe swung a punch at him.

yep, there it was. 

the blow caught jj off guard, knocking him back a step. the music seemed to stop, or at least fade into the background as chaos erupted around you. people gasped and shouted, some pulling rafe away while others checked on jj.

you pinched the bridge of your nose in annoyance as you watched jj touch his jaw gingerly. 

“what the fuck, cameron?” jj groaned, “watch the pretty face.”

rafe’s chest was heaving as he glared at the other blonde, fists typically clenched by his side, looking as if he was ready to pounce on him again. before he could take another step, you placed yourself in front of him, blocking jj’s figure sitting on the ground.

“upstairs. right now,” rafe opened his mouth to spit something, but you cut him off, “now.”

he moved silently, following you up a flight of stairs to a quieter area. you could hear his breathing from miles away, he was still worked up. you found an empty room and stepped inside, slamming the door shut behind you.

“what the hell was that?” you demanded, turning to face him.

rafe ran a hand through his face, frustration evident in his every movement. “i don’t know, okay? i just—i saw you with him, and i lost it.”

“oh, so you’re a caveman now?”

"god, you can be so fucking infuriating," rafe exploded, throwing his jacket into a corner of the room, "i saw you. touching him like... like none of this matters!"

"none of what matters?" you shot back, incredulous. "you show up with another girl after telling me you love me, and now i‘m not supposed to move on? what do you expect?"

"me?!" he jabbed a finger into his chest, his face flushed with anger. "that was my damn tutor! i wasn't trying to—shit. you think i'm trying to move on? i told you i loved you. that shit doesn’t just disappear because you don't feel the same way."

now you just felt stupid.

"your tutor?" you repeated, trying to wrap your head around the new information.

“we weren’t exactly on speaking terms and i needed help with calculus,” he muttered, “didn’t think you’d want to speak to me. and i was still sad.”

rafe shifted uncomfortably in his place, his expression now softer. you felt the sudden urge to hug him, but you didn’t. 

“you said you were supposed to move on,” he says carefully eyeing you.

“i did?” you lied, suddenly feeling like the room was closing in on you, “i don’t think so.”

“you did,” he said firmly, taking a step closer to you. "i meant what i said that night. did you?” 

you looked away for a moment, “rafe—“

“i don’t care if you don’t love me, you don’t have to, not right now. i just need to know if you think you can, one day.”

this wasn’t the rafe who punched jj, or the rafe who stormed through the crowd in a fit of jealousy. this was the rafe you were used to. 

your ears were ringing as he closed the distance between you. his eyes searching yours, desperate for an answer. the anger had melted away, replaced by a raw, aching need. fuck, he was good.

“listen—” you started again, but this time your voice was softer, trembling. he was so close now that you could feel the heat radiating off his body, his breath mingling with yours, “can you back up? jesus. can’t think properly with you close.”

“don’t want to back up,” he whispered, his voice low and rough. he didn’t move, instead leaning in even closer, his lips brushing your ear, “yes or no?”

“cameron,” you breathed, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

but he wasn’t having it.

his hand cupped your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “tell me you don’t feel this,” he murmured, his thumb tracing your lower lip. “tell me you don’t want me too.”

he held your face by the jaw before leaning forward on instinct to kiss you but stopped himself right before he did. eyes on his lips now, completely entranced, you leaned forward to finish what he started but he was stopping you with his thumb. you stayed close though, gaze still fixated on his bottom lip and when his eyes flicker up to yours again, they’re wild and dark.

“you gonna make me fuck it out of you?”

you couldn’t deny the way your body reacted to him, the way your pulse quickened every time he was near, “and if i do?”

he didn't answer immediately, instead closing the gap between you in a heartbeat. his lips crashed against yours, his hand sliding from your jaw to your neck, wrapping his fingers around it as he squeezed you deliciously. 

all of a sudden, you were pressed against a wall, his body firm against yours, pinning you with his weight. he got a groan out of you, tilting your head as his grip tightened on your hips to keep you there, secured to him.

“this isn’t fair,” you pushed at his shoulder with your palm so that he pulled away to look at you, “you’re playing dirty.”

“so what?” he breathes out, jaw relaxed as his hips start to grind against yours.

your hand reached out to grab his shoulder for purchase when your hips started to move on their own, “oh fuck.”

rafe arched his hips sharply, teasing your clit, eliciting a gasp as you leaned your head against the wall, your chin tilting towards the ceiling. he kissed your neck, where sweat-dampened hair started to cling at your nape.

when did it get so hot in the stupid room?

“you’re—oh, gonna f-fuck me in a stranger’s room? real romantic,” you tried to sound casual, but it came out all wrong when his fingers pressed into the plush of your ass. 

he laughed against your skin, the sound making you tighten your legs around him. you were glad his hands were currently busy because a single touch between your thighs would expose how wet you were. 

“you can say it.”

your arms slided past his shoulders and loosely locked behind his neck, “no.”

rafe shook his head, “you asked for it.”

“rafe.”

he was poking his tongue to the inside of his cheek looking at you as if he was ready do destroy you whole, “told you i was gonna get it out of you.”

you blinked slowly, savoring the sight of his face, then your wrists, still crossed behind his neck, tugged gently, drawing him closer, craving his threat, “you’re gonna fuck me until i confess?

he lowered his head until his forehead met yours, your fingers could sense the rapid throb of his pulse beneath his jaw, his eyes tender, holding an adoration you never knew was possible. no one had ever looked at you that way. 

you pulled him by the fabric of his shirt, hard enough to make him understand he needed to do something. you moaned against his lips, fingers threading through his hair as he trailed kisses down your neck, sucking and biting gently at the sensitive skin.

your skirt rode up as he rutted into you, and his hand slipped under the fabric, fingers grazing the edge of your panties, teasingly close to where you ached for him most. you gasped, arching into his touch, silently begging for more.

“rafeee,” you whimpered, “please."

he pulled back slightly, his breath ragged, eyes dark with lust. “say it,” he demanded, his fingers tracing patterns on your inner thigh, driving you crazy with anticipation.

“no.” you managed to choke out, feeling a flush of heat spread through your body.

he raised a brow, “no?”

his fingers slipped beneath the thin fabric of your panties, finding you wet and ready. he groaned at the feel of you, his thumb circling your clit with just the right amount of pressure to make you moan his name. you clung to him, hips bucking against his hand, chasing the pleasure he was giving you.

“you sure?” he murmured against your skin, his voice husky and full of promise. 

you barely had time to think about changing your answer before he plunged two thick fingers inside you, curling them just right to hit that spot that made your vision blur. your back arched off the wall, your head falling back as waves of pleasure crashed over you. he pumped his fingers in and out of you, his thumb never leaving your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“rafe, i'm—” you couldn’t even finish the sentence, your body trembling as you felt the orgasm build, ready to spill over.

but then he was pulling back just as you were about to fall over the edge. it was maddening, the way he seemed to know exactly how to bring you right to the cusp of pleasure and then deny it. you’d only fucked once before, and it felt like he’d memorize every single thing you liked. every spot that made your toes curl. 

“please, let me—”

“you said no, baby” he interrupted, a mocking smile curling on his lips. “you’re not ready.”

his fingers moved with practiced precision, slow and deliberate, stoking the flames of your desire without allowing you any release. every time you felt the pleasure building to its peak, he’d ease off, bringing you back down, only to start all over again.

you clawed at his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, but he held you firm against the wall, his body a solid, unyielding barrier. “please,” you begged again, “i can’t take it.”

“oh, you can,” he scolded, lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “and you will.”

his thumb pressed against your clit, rubbing slow, torturous circles, while his fingers thrust inside you, curling just right to hit that spot that made you see stars. you bucked against his hand, your body pleading for release, but he kept you balanced on that knife’s edge, never letting you tip over. motherfucker.

“I need to come,” you admitted, your voice cracking with desperation. “please, baby. i need to come.”

rafe’s pretty blue eyes darkened with satisfaction at your words, but he still didn’t relent. 

instead, he slowed his movements even more, drawing out the pleasure until it was almost unbearable. you writhed against him, your body trembling, every nerve ending on fire.

“you want to come?” he asked, his voice a seductive purr, “that bad, huh?”

“t-this isn’t f-fair.”

“awww, sorry baby."

“fuck, fucking—"

“that’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice filled with approval. “just a lil more, yeah?”

he increased the pace of his fingers, his thumb rubbing faster against your clit, and you felt the pleasure building again, higher and higher, until you were sure you couldn’t take it anymore. but this time, he didn’t stop. this time, he pushed you right to the edge and then, finally, let you fall.

your orgasm crashed over like a train wreck, your body convulsing with the intensity of it. you screamed his name, your nails digging into his shoulders as you clung to him, riding out the waves of pleasure that seemed to go on forever. rafe held you through it, his fingers never stopping, drawing out every last bit of your release until you were a boneless, panting mess in his arms.

“good girl,” he murmured, his voice soft and filled with affection. 

he kissed you tenderly, his lips a gentle contrast to the intensity of what you’d just experienced. as you came down from your high, he held you close, his fingers still inside you, his thumb gently stroking your clit, sending aftershocks of pleasure through your body.

you couldn’t find the words to answer, your mind too foggy with pleasure. instead, you just held onto him, your arms wrapped around his neck, your face buried in the crook of his shoulder.

rafe’s fingers slowly withdrew from you, leaving you feeling empty and aching for more. he lifted you gently, carrying you to the bed and laying you down with his casual tenderness. he climbed in beside you, pulling you into his arms, his body warm and solid against yours.

“i love you,” his voice was a soft caress against your ear. “i meant it.”

you looked up at him, “i know,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss him, “i think i love you too.”

“i know.”

[gutterfuuck]

thinkin abt u and ur best friend mark…

cw: somno, pervy mark, drunk reader, mdni

bff!mark who gets touchy when you’re out and about, his hands always finding their way on your shoulder, thigh, neck. of course, he was protecting you! he had to keep you safe from all of the other bad men, it was what best friends were for, right?

bff!mark who forgets to return your pajamas from the night before, hoping that you would eventually forget about them too, so he could continue sniffing at your clothes, his mouth hanging open while he fucks his fist.

bff!mark who apologises for the weird mark that stained the seat of your pajama shorts, swearing up and down that he knew how bad it looked and that he had no idea how it had gotten there. best friends don’t lie to each other, after all.

bff!mark who lets you get just a little bit more tipsy than you should be; helping you swallow down yet another drink even after you had insisted that it was to be your last.

bff!mark who damn near almost has to carry you across campus on his back, your high heels in his hand as not to lose them, he knew that they were your favourite.

bff!mark who holds your door open for you, watching as you stumbled into your home, tripping over nothing, resting on your bed.

bff!mark who doesn’t have a problem with sleeping over in your room for the night, you were his best friend.

bff!mark who starts to strip you naked, trying his best to avert his eyes from your body while he attempted to change your clothes for you, not being able to resist looking at your tits, your nipples pebbling up from the cold air.

bff!mark who’s hands start to roam your barely conscious body, pulling your pants down to your ankles to take you all in. he was just cleaning you up a little, changing you so you’d be clean for bed.

bff!mark who buried his face into your crotch, sniffing you like he had sniffed your clothes, his heart thumping as he debated whether he should taste your cunt, just one lick, one taste and he’ll be done…

bff!mark who has no idea what he’s doing, his tongue flicking against your clit mindlessly. you tasted so sweet to him, making out with your pussy, kissing your little nub lovingly.

bff!mark who is painfully hard, his cock straining against his pants as he palmed his clothed bulge, looking down on your sleeping body, knowing that he was violating you in your own bed, knowing that your roommate could walk in at any time and ruin his fun.

bff!mark who’s hands fully yank your pants past your ankles, leaving you completely nude, eating you up with his eyes.

bff!mark who apologises while he jerks off over your unconscious form, occasionally slowing down to rub his leaking tip all over your lips, guilt slowly slipping away as he lost himself in you,

“sorry… ‘m so sorry..” he says in between heavy breaths, the thought of you waking up in the morning and knowing none the wiser making him throb.

bff!mark who is scrambling to stuff his dick back into his pants as if he had never done anything wrong, searching his blank and flustered brain for an excuse as to why you were naked.

“i thought id clean you up”, “you threw up all over yourself”, “you trust your best friend right, y/n?”

and who are you to judge him?

bff!mark who watches you stand up clumsily, your tits bouncing as you walk over to your messy desk, pulling one of his shirts over your head. he had left it in your room some time ago, and you had been using it as a pajama top.

bff!mark who can’t stop himself from blurting out how good you looked, even with your makeup smudged and your hair in a mess. you smiled back, best friends were supposed to compliment you, no matter how pervy it came off as sometimes.

bff!mark who takes advantage of your drunken, sloppy state, his pockets almost bulging with panties you would never see again and would blame on the community dryer that you swore had eaten up your sweaty t-shirt, the same shirt that mark used as a pillowcase, falling asleep to your smell.

bff!mark who regrets not holding you down, covering your mouth with his hand and just using your body to get himself off, telling you how much he needed this and how much he wanted you.

bff!mark who tucks you into bed, waiting for you to fall back into a deep sleep before he’s fisting his cock with his hand again over you,

“you’re gonna take it- fuckkk, i’m gonna make you take m-me-“

he groans, mumbling to you as if you could hear him,

“g’na shove it in-inside… get you pregnant- hng..”

bff!mark who pumps his cock faster, chasing his approaching orgasm, body tensing up as he shot white ropes onto your sleeping face, hips stuttering as he carried on stroking his length, overstimulating himself to ride out this moment for longer.

bff!mark who pulls out his phone, taking picture after picture of the way his cum glazed your face and leaked down your cheek,

“y/n, i’m so sorry… sorry..”

he whispers sweetly, wiping the mess he made on your face away with the sleeve of his hoodie, planting kisses all over your face.

bff!mark who finds himself in his boxers, sneaking under the covers to sleep beside his best friend, a regular occurrence after you had drank for the night.

bff!mark who whispers goodnight into your unhearing ears, kissing your forehead and pulling you into his arms. you wouldn’t question it in the morning, as usual. you trusted your best friend, even when you woke up with mark’s dick pressed against your ass. it was just morning wood, it wasn’t on purpose. you trusted your best friend.

[hajimeseyo]

“Tell me something about yourself that not many people know.”

“What's this?” he asks, voice laced with amusement.

“Just answer me, ‘tsuya.” you grumble, head lolling over the side of the bed you're currently spread out on, peering at his upside down figure. “I'm bored.”

Mitsuya hums thoughtfully, pen tapping against the table absentmindedly. Both your homeworks lay abandoned on his table, you having already given up a long time ago and pestering him to do the same, despite his best efforts to stay focused and finish them.

“I have a dragon tattoo on the side of my head.” he says casually.

“WHAT?????” you leap up from your spread-eagle position to gape at him properly. His lips curl into an impish grin at your reaction, the sight sending butterflies flying through your stomach. You swat them away in favour of focusing on the more pressing matter at hand. 

“Yeah.” His hand comes up to tap at the right side of his head. “Right here.”

You scramble off the bed, nearly tripping over yourself as you rush to his side. “Whaaat the fuck. You're the last person I'd expect to ever have a tattoo.” you say as you pull up your chair next to him, plopping down on it.

He huffs in amusement. “I am in a gang, y'know.” 

“I know, but you're like, more well behaved compared to them.” You pause, peering at his face suspiciously. “...right?”

A mischievous smile is all you get in response.

Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention back to the side of his head, peering closely at the short lilac hair, trying to catch a glimpse of the tattoo. You can't see anything, though, due to all the hair fully covering it.

“Can I…?” you raise your hand hesitantly. He nods, grabbing your wrist and bringing it to where the tattoo supposedly lies, the warm touch sending sparks flying through your skin.

Carefully, your fingers gently part his hair to reveal the scalp below. The slight shiver as your fingers make contact with his head doesn't go unnoticed by you, although none of you say a word.

And there, under the lilac strands, you catch glimpses of furling strands of black ink, coiling and curling into something resembling—

“A dragon?” you murmur.

Mitsuya hums. “Mhm. I designed it myself. Cool, huh?” You can hear the pride in his voice.

You snort, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “I suppose.” Following the strands of ink, you trace down the side of his scalp, mesmerized by the intricate design. Despite your seemingly unimpressed response, you found the tattoo really beautiful, the art style unique and artistic, the way it curves along the side of Mitsuya's head so naturally you wouldn't be surprised if he said he was born with it. Lost in your concentration, you don't notice Mitsuya's slowly reddening cheeks, closing his eyes as his head subconsciously leans into your gentle touch.

The two of you stay like that for a while, in comfortable silence, him enjoying your ministrations, you too absorbed in admiring every detail of the tattoo to notice. 

Until you trace the final curl of the dragon's tail, the trail ending making you snap out of whatever trance you were in, face immediately flushing a deep red as you realized you probably spent way more time touching him than you should've. Your hand instantly jolts back from his head as if it touched hot iron. At the loss of your touch, Mitsuya's eyes slowly fluttered open, gazing lazily at you, the sight once again sending some weird, hot feeling shooting through you. Damn this man and his stupidly pretty face.

You clear your throat, trying to act natural. “Why have a tattoo when you can't even see it under all that hair, though?” 

That question catches him off guard, and he barks out a laugh. “There's a funny story behind it, actually.”

He goes on to tell you the story of how he got the tattoo, from meeting this boy called Draken, to playing games at the brothel, to deciding to become a delinquent and accidentally matching tattoos with Draken. Your jaw dropped more and more as the story progressed, mostly from how unexpected and wild the entire thing was.

“Damn.” you laugh when he finishes. “And here I thought you were this good, well-behaved child who got roped into the gang business by their friends. I mean, abandoning your sisters to graffiti a wall?” you shake your head in mock disapproval. “What a bad child you are.” 

His lips stretch into a sly grin, something dangerous glinting in his eyes. “Oh? Really, [name], you should've known by now.”

He leans forward until his lips are right by your ear, voice coming out in a teasing whisper.

“I can get quite naughty sometimes.” 

...

You're quite certain your face is in flames. 

You sit there, short-circuiting, as Mitsuya leans back into his chair, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Fumbling, you glance around desperately from something that will save you, and your eyes land on the abandoned exercise books on the table, the whole reason you were at Mitsuya's house in the first place. 

“Oh! Would you look at that! Our homework! That we still have to finish!” You pull your chair back to the other side of the table hurriedly and bury your face in the books, your homework suddenly being the most interesting thing in the world. You hear him chuckle, but he doesn't say anything, picking up his pen and continuing with his work. Your heart finally stops racing, and you think that you're safe until—

“[name]?”

“Hm?”

“I enjoyed that very much. Feel free to do it again if you want~”

“...”

This boy is going to be the death of you.

(part 2 here!)

[stylesloveclub]

sunshine (part 2)

In which Harry's a little bit nicer, and y/n is very excited to possibly, hopefully, maybe be kissed.

sunshine (part 1)

˙· .° ｡  ˚ ｡  ° . · ˚ ˙ · . ° ｡ ˚ ｡  ° . · ˙ · .° ｡ ˚ ｡ °.  · ˙ ‧̍̊  

Y/n’s apartment is filled with a bunch of people she doesn’t know. Maddie has a bunch of people over – not really a party, but a fairly large gathering. A few of her school friends, a couple of her co-workers…. nobody that y/n is really close with, though. 

That’s why she locked herself in her room, away from the music and the stuffy, smoke-filled air. She said her polite hello and everything, of course! But… she just wasn’t in the mood to hang out with Maddie’s friends. They weren’t really y/n’s type of people, and the smell of weed is giving her a terrible headache. 

She bunches up her hair in her fists as she stares at the math problem in front of her. She had been able to do integrals just fine with Harry, but when you add trig into the equation? She’s thoroughly fucked. Not even The Organic Chemistry Tutor could help her work through this problem. 

A knock on her door makes her jump. “Come in,” she says politely, though her brows are still furrowed grumpily as she stares at the calculus in front of her. 

“S’this room taken?” a deep voice murmurs. 

She whips her head around, heart fluttering excitedly in her chest. “Harry,” she says softly. “What are you doing here?”

“Maddie invited Blake,” he says, sitting down on her bed. “And Blake invited me.” 

Oh. She should’ve known. 

She rolls away from her desk and faces Harry, who’s making himself more than comfortable on her bed, laying down with his head on her pillow. “Smells like shit out there,” he grunts. 

“Yeah,” she shrugs. She’s accepted that her apartment will always reek of weed, no matter how hard she tries to get rid of the smell. “Did you smoke anything with them?” she asks. 

“No, not in the mood.” Honestly, the only reason he decided to come over with Blake was because he knew that he’d be able to go chill in y/n’s room. Hanging out in Maddie’s smelly apartment was the last thing he wanted to do on a Thursday night, but… he knew y/n would be there, sitting quietly in her room like the good girl she is. “Did you?”

“No.” She fiddles with her fingers. “I– I don’t smoke.”

He snorts. “You don’t smoke but you live with Maddie?” Maddie cannot survive two seconds without her vape. “That doesn’t make sense.” 

“The smell of it gives me a headache,” she tries to explain. 

“Your apartment literally always smells like weed,” he deadpans. 

She blinks. “Yeah…” she trails off quietly. “If I close my door though the smell isn’t that bad.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “What are you working on?” he asks, pointing to the textbook sitting on her desk.

“Um– math.” His lips quirk up, while she pouts. “S’not making sense again.”

“Lemme see,” he says, sitting up. She looks at him for a second, not moving, but when he nods towards her ipad again she scrambles to pick it up and sit next to him on the bed. 

“So, what were you going to try and do?” he asks, grabbing her pen. She’s hyper aware of how their thighs are touching, how she can practically feel the heat radiating off his body.

“Um… I feel like I need to use one of the trig rules here but I can’t think of any that would do anything here.” 

“Okay you’re right… the issue is that none of your sins or cosins fit any of the rules. But you can break cos^3x down into cos^2x times cosx, right?” 

“Okay…” she looks up at him like a lost puppy, still not fully getting it. 

“Do you have any trig identities with cos^2x?”

“Um…” she shuffles through her notes, “ cos^2x equals 1 minus sin^2x?”

He nods his head, “yeah. So now that everything is in terms of sin, you can do a u-sub.”

“Oh,” she blinks quietly, staring down at the paper. “Why’s it so easy when you explain it?” 

He shrugs, leaning back down onto her bed, “y’just need a lot of practice.”

The bottom of his shirt rises up as he puts his hands behind his head, revealing a pair of black ferns that point towards a yummy v-line. Y/n tries her best not to look, but she’s reminded of the night where she showed up to his apartment to pick up Maddie… how he’d been shirtless, his abdomen so chiseled and firm. The swallows on his collarbones, the butterfly that seemed to jump with every breath. She finds herself getting a bit short of breath as she thinks about all of the things hidden beneath his shirt currently.

That’s the thing about being a touch-deprived, romantic girl like y/n. The littlest things get her going. 

He was nice to her once, helped her with her math homework and comforted her when she cried, and now her heart flutters like crazy when she sees him. Just the smallest rise of Harry’s shirt has her spiraling. 

She can’t help but notice the way his biceps bulge subtly as he puts his hands behind his head, and finds herself overwhelmed with the fact that this boy – an attractive boy – was just laying in her bed casually.

She knows it’s no big deal for Harry, he’s probably just in here because the living room stinks and he needs to clear his head. But for her, it’s a lot. She never has boys in her room, has never had a romantic interaction with a boy. Hasn’t even been kissed. It’s always just very friendly – getting notes from a guy in her class, joking around with some of Maddie’s friends. She’s never had a boy talk to her any more than that. 

Harry, though… Harry comes into her room and talks to her even when there’s a whole party going on outside. He kept her company when she was stranded at his apartment, he took her home and took care of her when she was drunk and emotional. It probably meant nothing to him, but the way he grabbed her ankle and told her to lie down when he was helping her into bed was one of the most tender things she’s ever experienced. He put his hand on her waist, and held her arm while she stumbled, he’d guided her through the door with his hand on the small of her waist. 

And when he saw her crying at the library, he came over and talked to her. Comforted her and let her rant about her classes. He’d let her into his room and helped her with her homework, murmured soft praises to her when she got a question right, his arm brushing against hers, or his chest rubbing against her shoulder. 

The stupidest little things, that are probably so insignificant for him, have been on her mind for days.

“Hey,” Harry says, snapping her out of her daydreams. She tears her eyes away from his ferns embarrassedly, hoping he didn’t notice. “What are you thinkin’ about?”

She averts her eyes, looking down at her bedsheet. “Um, nothing.”

He quirks his brows. “Nothing?”

“Mhm,” she nods her head innocently.

‘Really?” he asks again, his lip twitching with the slightest hint of amusement, sitting up on his elbows now. He raises himself up so that they’re face to face. He’s not an idiot.

She bites her lip nervously, and her heart stops when Harry’s eyes flicker down to watch. He stares at her with a strange look in his eye… a glimmer in them that she’s only ever read about in books. His eyebrows furrow as though he’s deep in thought, eyes still glued to her lips. 

She wonders if she’s hallucinating when he leans in. 

She thought she was being silly for starting to feel things for him – that she was just being classic y/n, crushing on a guy even though she knows she’s too shy to ever make a move. Now, with how close he is, she can see every freckle on his tan skin, every lash that frames his bright green eyes. She breathes with a tight chest, swallowing thickly as her eyes flicker between his, wide and curious. His eyes still haven’t left her lips.

Her heart stutters as his large hand makes its way to her thigh, his palm warm and smooth, gently grazing her skin. He unconsciously inches closer and closer, incapable of pulling his eyes away from her mouth. 

He wets his bottom lip with his tongue, a force of habit, and finally looks her in the eye. His irises have turned a dark green, pupils dilated, and his breathing has deepened. She has no idea what’s going on in his head, but he looks serious. Deep in thought. His hand still rests on her thigh, the contact sending sparks of electricity all over her body, especially when his fingers gently start to trail upwards. 

Her eyes flutter shut as she tries to take deep, calm breaths, but he’s gotten so close that she can feel the puff of his breathing against her lips, inhaling his every exhale. It makes her lightheaded. He’s so close… so, so close…

A loud pounding on the door makes y/n jump away from him. 

Her eyes are blown out when she jerks them open, her heart pounding harshly with anticipation that’s been left unsatisfied. “Who is it?” she calls out with a shaky voice. 

Harry hasn’t moved an inch. He sits there and stares at her, hand still on her thigh. 

“Is Harry in there?” Maddie yells. “Blake is ready to go.”

He brings a hand up and tugs on her bottom lip with his thumb, then watches it bounce back into place, hypnotizing himself with the sight. Y/n, unable to get any words out, sits there and watches him as he stares at her lips.

“Hellooo?” Maddie obnoxiously yells again.

Harry’s nose flares and he shuts his eyes, frustratedly pulling himself away from y/n. She says nothing, still in a daze, watching as he leaves her bed. He stands and runs a hair through his messy curls, before heading towards the door and opening it. Maddie stands in front of the door with her fist raised, ready to knock on the door again. 

“Calm down,” he says, eyeing her coldly. Maddie rolls her eyes and walks away to tell Blake that she found Harry.

He turns around for a moment and glances at y/n. “See ya,” he says. 

She blinks, her hand coming up to touch her lips, searching for some confirmation that this was real and she hadn’t imagined it. “Bye,” she nearly whispers, breathless. 

The door shuts with a click and she finds herself alone with her thoughts. Her math homework sits abandoned on her bed, and will probably remain untouched for the rest of the night.

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Finally, y/n has Harry all to herself.

She’d been dancing around him all night, constantly catching his eye from across the room in a game of cat and mouse. He watched her from the corner of the room he was stationed in with his dark eyes, a teasing smirk on his face. He knew what she was doing – trying to distract him. It was working. 

He watched her as she mingled and talked, watched as she sipped on her drink, watched as she weaved her way through the passes of people in her apartment, pushing past the hot bodies and sweaty skin until she disappeared in her room. 

He followed her in, less than a minute later.

She hears him walk into the room, the sound of him turning the lock and his heavy footsteps approaching her. A shiver runs down her spine when his hands grab her shoulders from behind, goosebumps rising on her arms almost instantaneously. His firm front pushes against her back, toned stomach pressed against the curve of spine. 

His fingers are warm and gentle on her shoulders, comforting yet teasing at the same time. He doesn’t hold her firmly – his featherlight touch more tantalizing than any other form of contact. These light, delicate brushes of his skin keep her on her toes, never knowing what to expect next. She holds her breath as his fingers travel from her shoulders, down the length of her arms. 

Suddenly, she feels his lips against her ear. She can’t help the soft, aroused breath that leaves her as his lips skim the shell of her ear. He chuckles, low and taunting, and she can feel the deep reverberations of his chest against her back.

“I’ve been waiting f’this,” he murmurs softly. His warm breath tickles her ear, sending waves of pleasure straight down to her core, and his hands have migrated from her arms to her hips now. He grips them, fingers digging into the soft flesh there, and pulls her back, grinding her into his front. She swallows a whimper down, eyes fluttering shut. A hard bulge presses against her ass, and she can’t resist the urge to press back on it, wriggle her hips even though Harry’s holding her still. “You’ve been teasing me…” he presses a kiss right underneath her earlobe. “Playing all innocent when I know you’re actually filthy.” Another kiss, and another kiss, trailing his lips down the curve of her neck.

She lets out a pathetic, shaky whimper, and it makes him chuckle tauntingly. “Your head is just filled with dirty thoughts, isn’t it?” Her knees go weak as he wraps a hand around her throat, tilting her head to the side so that he can look at her. “Bet you’re just dying for me to fuck you.” 

Her eyes are wide and round, and her entire body turns into jelly. The only reason she’s standing right now is because Harry’s holding her up. She can’t get any words out, pathetically wrapped around his finger. She looks up at him with a pleading gaze, begging him to do something… anything…

The sound of her 8 AM alarm yanks her straight out of dreamland.

Her eyes are bleary as she frantically looks around her bed, gathering her bearings. She has to triple check that Harry isn’t anywhere in her room – looking at every corner and patting around her sheets as well – before she can confirm that it was all a dream. 

Oh gosh. This is like the third time this week! 

She doesn’t mean to be having these dreams. It's a rather embarrassing situation for her and she honest to god would much rather just read a couple of steamy romance books about fictional vampires to get the horniness out of her system, instead of having repeated wet dreams about a very real Harry. 

They make her feel icky because, like– isn’t it a bit disrespectful to be having such dirty thoughts about someone who’s just been helping her with her math homework and potentially also kissing her had they not been interrupted? Like what are the boundaries there? You can’t really ask someone for consent to having wet dreams about them… but it’s not like she was consenting to those dreams either! She can’t control what her subconscious mind decides to stir up for her nightly dream! 

She tries to logic it out – how would she feel if Harry was having wet dreams about her? Well… actually the thought of it makes her a little bit excited, cos that would mean he likes her, right? Ugh, no, she’s getting distracted!

It’s all very typical horny virgin behavior. Ever since her almost kiss with Harry, her mind has been in shambles. Her first issue is trying to wrap her head around the entire thing – had Harry actually wanted to kiss her? She hadn’t made that up, right? 

She’s replayed the night a hundred times in her head. Remembers exactly how his hand felt on her thigh, how he’d stared at her lips, how their eyes had fluttered shut, how their noses brushed… all the things she’s read about in her books! All the ingredients for a first kiss! 

How tragic that it’d been interrupted. She thinks that’s why her brain has been overly active this past week – her subconscious has been trying to fulfill the insatisfaction she felt when she jumped away from Harry, just seconds before their lips touched. It feels like she’s been edged over and over again and been denied an orgasm five times – but the orgasm is her first kiss and she’s being edged by Maddie, who stole that kiss away by knocking on her door! 

She flops around in her bed frustratedly, smushing her face into her pillow with a sad groan. What if Harry doesn’t wanna kiss her the next time he sees her? What if this was a one time opportunity? She doesn’t want to sound desperate… but she really wanted to kiss Harry! She’d be really sad if it was just a whim of the moment kinda thing. 

But also… if it wasn’t just a one time thing… if he did actually want to kiss her… well how was she gonna end up in the situation to be kissed by him again? 

She’s thinking about this way too hard, way too early in the morning. And she’s uncomfortably wet from her dream.

She needs to get herself sorted out. 

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The chair in front of y/n screeches loudly as it’s pulled from under the table she’s sitting at. She jumps at the sound of it, having been too engrossed in her book to be aware of what’s going on around her. When she looks up, she finds Harry standing at her tiny table in the campus coffee shop.

“Can I sit here?” he asks, his jaw tight. He’s wearing a gray Kendrick Lamar hoodie with the words DAMN. written in bold font across the front, his curly hair messily hidden underneath. All the other tables in the shop were taken (it tends to get pretty busy at noonish when everyone needs somewhere to sit and study), and Harry needs somewhere to sit before his next lecture.

She nods, eyes wide like a baby sheep. It’s quite jarring to just randomly see the guy you’ve been having sexy dreams about – especially for someone like y/n who apparently can’t be normal about having a crush or having an almost first kiss. She hopes she’s acting normal enough to not raise any suspicion. 

Trying to not get distracted by his green eyes and pretty pink lips, y/n looks down at the table, but finds herself instead staring at Harry’s hands. He has nice hands, she thinks to herself. The cross tattoo on his left hand compliments his tan skin nicely, and he has these thick knuckles that she just wants to run her fingers over. In one of his hands he holds a coffee cup, and even though she and him both got a medium sized coffee, his drink looks smaller, dwarfed in his massive hands. His thumb is fingering the lid of his drink mindlessly, and she remembers how that same thumb had touched her lips just over a week ago… how he’d tugged on her bottom lip and hypnotized himself with the sight of it bouncing back into place. And while she’s on that train of thought, she can’t help but remember how his hands portrayed such a significant role in her dream last night. Hadn’t she imagined them being wrapped around her throat–?

Harry clears his throat. Y/n glows with heat. She has absolutely no capability of being normal around him. “Sorry, what?” She hadn’t heard a word he’d said in the past minute, too caught up in her own thoughts. 

He smirks. Is she always this distracted? “Just asked how it’s going.”

“Oh! Oh, yeah– good, I’m good,” she closes the book, folding the corner of the page she’s on as a bookmark. “How about you?”

He shrugs. “Just got out of class. Needed a coffee.”

“What’d you get?”

“Just a black coffee.”

She can’t stop herself from wrinkling her nose, “Ew.” 

 He quirks a brow, “Well what’d you get?” “Vanilla latte with oat milk.” Yeah. She would be an oat milk girl.

Considering their recent frequency in seeing each other and his newfound… fondness towards her, he doesn’t find it difficult to start picking and prodding at her, getting to know her. He realizes Blake was right – she wasn’t a super duper shy girl, she probably had just been scared of him. Once he started talking to her and smiling every once in a while, it seems like she loosened up. What used to be painfully awkward conversations have now become free flowing and casual.

He picks up the book she was reading and reads the cover. “Book Lovers by Emily Henry. Awfully fitting for you.”

She furrows her brow, already offended. She hates it when people make fun of her books – especially boys who make fun of her for reading romance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re a book lover, aren’t you? Can never find you without your nose in a book.” 

She relaxes. “Oh… yeah,” a soft chuckle escapes her. “Yeah, I guess I’m a book lover.”

“You think I’d like this one?” he asks, flipping through the first few pages. 

“Um… maybe.” She can’t imagine Harry being a huge fan of her soft romance books. “Are you a reader?”

“God, no,” he puts the book down. “Not smart enough for that.”

Her jaw drops. “You are totally smart, Harry! Way smarter than me!” she exclaims.

“M’just good at math,” he shrugs, “You’re little miss smartie, with your color coded notes. Reading your books for fun.” 

She grows shy. Part of her thought that Harry thought she was stupid – not the over-emotional-girl-who-cries-too-much kind of stupid, but rather the kind of stupid that makes you wonder how she even got into this school because she’s doing so bad in math. 

It was a massive hit to her girlboss mentality when she had to ask Harry for help, and even though Harry never actually made her feel dumb when answering her questions… she just had this mean voice in the back of her head that constantly nagged her, convincing her that Harry thought she was a stupid girl who should just give up and drop out. And ignoring that voice is really hard, so…  it was just nice to hear that he didn’t think she was a stupid little baby. It made that mean voice in her head shut up. 

“Um… by the way. My next calc midterm is next Friday. I was wondering if, um…” she tucks her hair behind her ear nervously. 

He fills in the rest for her. “Do you want to revise together this weekend?” 

“If it’s not too much trouble,” she says bashfully. “Your tutoring is super helpful.” 

“You can come over on Saturday,” he sips on his coffee. “No trouble.”

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“Is this right?” Y/n shows her work to Harry, and he nods. They’re both on his bed, except Harry’s lying down with his head on a pillow, scrolling through tiktok, while y/n’s hunched over her ipad. She’s been doing practice problems for the past three hours, asking Harry for help every once in a while. That's how it’s been most of the night – her study session is mostly just him checking her work to make sure she’s not doing anything funky and giving her hints if she’s stuck. 

She’s studied a lot in the past two weeks and luckily doesn’t need Harry to be guiding her through every problem, which makes her really happy. And she’s only gotten a couple of the practice problems wrong! Some of them were particularly tricky and had her stumped, but that’s why she has Harry. He helped her out of roadblocks and kept her motivated. Without him here, she probably would’ve given up after the first question that she didn’t know how to solve.

“You should take a break,” he says.

She’d refused to take any breaks since she got here – determined to finish the practice test that her professor had posted while she had Harry next to her to help. Now that she finished all the problems, she locks her ipad and puts it on Harry’s bedside table. She leans back on one of Harry’s pillows and copies Harry, holding her phone above her face. Except instead of scrolling through tiktok, she opens up her kindle app and starts reading.

He sees the tiny font on her screen from the corner of his eye. “Reading?” he asks.

“Mhm,” she shuffles around on his bed, getting comfortable. 

He thinks it’s kind of cute that she’s always reading. “Is it the same one as last time? Book Lovers?”

“No, I finished that one yesterday! This is by the same author though. S’called Beach Read.”

“What’s it about?” he turns off his own phone and sits up, turning to look down at y/n. Her hair is splayed across his pillows, and her eyes glimmer softly in his bedroom lighting.

She feels a little shy describing one of her favorite books to Harry – she’s often been ridiculed by her friends for being so lovey dovey and reading her silly romance books. But he seemed genuine when he asked. “Um– there are these two writers. The girl writes romance and the guy writes like these serious fiction books. And they’re kinda rivals.” 

He hums. “Let me read a little bit,” he looks down at the screen of her phone. “I tightened my thighs around the sides of his body–” he reads aloud, before she yanks her phone out of his sight.

“No!” she yelps, turning her phone off and practically throwing it across the room. “You are not allowed to read it!” 

He laughs, a fully amused belly laugh, and the sound is beautiful but she doesn’t allow herself to revel in it due to her embarrassment. “What are you reading?” he giggles.

“Oh my gosh,” she hides her face in her hands. 

“Didn’t expect you to be reading such dirty stories,” he teases, “I thought you were a good girl.”

“It’s not all dirty!” she defends herself. “It’s– it’s sweet! It’s a love story… it’s romantic.” Her voice gets quiet near the end. 

Harry’s laughter bubbles down and he’s left with a smirk on his face, while y/n lays in front of him, an embarrassed pout on her face. “M’only teasing,” he says as he reaches a hand out to rest on her thigh, not wanting her to look so sad. “Read whatever you want. Seems like a cute book, maybe I should pick it up, hm?” 

Her mind goes a little blank when his hand meets her thigh, his palm warming her skin once more – just like that night he’d almost kissed her. “Y-yeah, you might like it,” she clears her throat. “S’one of my favorites.”

That same look glazes over Harry’s eyes – that dark look, as if he’s deep in thought. 

She swallows thickly. Could this be it? Her second chance at a kiss with Harry?

She pushes herself up on her elbows, more alert. Her palms feel sweaty and she finds her fingers nervously toying with his comforter. A million thoughts are racing in her head as she searches Harry’s eyes, flickering back and forth, trying to see what he might be thinking of. He’s so hard to read. She feels like she’s drowning in his eyes. 

Almost as if he can read her thoughts, he leans forwards. She hopes she doesn’t look like an over-eager puppy, but her eyes light up and practically beg him to come closer, to just kiss her! He smiles to himself a bit, and obliges. 

With y/n laying on his bed, propped up by her elbows, and Harry already having been sat up on the bed, he doesn’t need to move that much closer for their faces to be aligned. He’s leaning over her, one hand holding him up, while the other hand comes up to her cheek.

She gasps when his large palm comes up to cup her face, his palm on her jaw and fingers sliding into her hair. He inches closer and closer, his eyes fluttering shut when his nose brushes against hers ever so lightly. She can feel the puff of his breathing against her lips, breathing in each of his exhales as she tries to stay calm. She forces her eyes shut, her entire body alive with butterflies.

He wets his bottom lip with his tongue, a force of habit, and nudges his nose against hers. She tilts her head to the side. He teases her for a second, gives her the chance to pull away by just grazing their lips together teasingly, and feels her sharp intake of breath at the contact. He can’t help but smirk against her lips.

With her eyes closed, she’s hyper aware of how it feels. The way his curls brush against her face… the warmth of his palm as he tilts her head upwards… the wetness of his lips as he finally… connects them… in a kiss. 

This was it. Her first kiss. 

There’s not one thought in her head, a stark contrast to how she’d spent countless sleepless nights overthinking the mechanics of kissing someone. She’d always worried that she’d mess it up, that she’d freeze and wouldn’t know what to do. 

But falling into the gentle caress of Harry’s lips is easy. Her nerves spill, her muscles relax, and she just lets herself melt against Harry’s lips. He suckles on her bottom lip gently, folds their lips together, pulls away with soft clicks just to reattach a second later. She sighs dreamily into his mouth and lets herself fall back into the bed, her head against his pillow. He doesn’t let their lips disconnect, following her down and climbing on top of her so that one of his legs is stationed between her thighs. 

She wonders if all kisses are this magnificent, or if it’s just Harry. Is it normal to feel your heart stuttering in your chest, or feel electricity flowing through your veins at just the touch of someone’s lips? Would she always lean her face into the palm of his hand, and let herself relax in the bliss of feeling his lips against hers?

It’s wonderful – a head-spinning, heart-fluttering, electrifying kiss. 

Harry’s hand that isn’t holding himself up comes down to rest on her thigh, goosebumps rising under his touch. His kisses start to grow more pressured, inhaling sharply and breathing heavily against her, tongue licking at the seam of her lips eagerly. His nose bends against her face as he tilts his head to the side, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he tastes the sweet chapstick on her lips. Her skin is warm and soft and plushy underneath his touch, and her lips are addictive. 

He uses his grip on her thigh to hike her leg up, fitting his hips between hers and sliding his hand up and down her leg tantalizingly. He can feel her losing her breath, so he forces himself off of her lips and starts kissing down her neck. He skims his lips down, presses wet, hot kisses on her throat, his every breath making her core clench. 

She squeezes her eyes shut, eyes rolling into the back of her head, and takes heavy breaths, chest rising and falling shakily. Her hands come up to grab onto him – just hold onto him in any way – and the first thing her hands land on are his biceps. His firm, toned biceps, that are flexing as he hovers above her. In an effort to feel more grounded, she squeezes her fingers, but it just ends up making her even more lightheaded because god he’s so strong and muscular and he’s kissing her right now! 

She’s overwhelmed and her head is spinning and it feels like she’s in a dream, an amazing dream that feels so good and that she never wants to end – she can smell his aftershave and his shampoo and his overall yummy boy smell, and her lips are tingling with the aftermath of his kiss. She’d always imagined what it would be like to have her neck kissed and sucked on by a boy and now that it’s happening it’s better than she could’ve ever imagined, and she’s so sensitive, and it’s just different to have a real person touching you and kissing you all over, especially someone that she’s majorly attracted to and–

Harry presses his hips into her center and, wow, if it isn't the most arousing thing she’s ever experienced. Excitement and anticipation fill her veins… but then a trickle of doubt starts to filter in. She’d only just had her first kiss, was she ready to go any further than that? 

‘H-Harry,” she says, but it’s more of a moan because his fingers squeeze her hips and he’s kissing right underneath her earlobe right now and it’s sending shivers down all over her body. “M-maybe we should stop.”

“Hm?” He pulls away from where he was buried in her neck, his eyes blown out and lips slicked with a mix of their spit. 

“I-I’m not ready to have sex with you, if that’s what you want.”

“That’s okay,” he says, licking his lips. “I could just eat you out.”

And, god, if that doesn’t make her whimper. “I– no, I um…” she stammers over herself.

He smiles. “What is it?” he murmurs, an amused lilt to his voice.

“I… I haven’t done any of… that.” She swallows, looking at him nervously. Her heart, which had once been racing with excitement, now pounds with apprehension. This is the first time she’s been in this position and she’s feeling so vulnerable. 

It’s extremely scary and nerve-wracking and Harry’s silence is not doing anything to help her feel better.

“You’re a virgin?” he asks after a beat.

She nods. She feels insecure under his gaze, and even though she’s fully clothed, she feels totally exposed.

He laughs. “Are you really?” he asks again.

Her eyes flash with hurt. She just shared something extremely intimate with him, shared her very first kiss with him… and he was laughing at her?

She feels her heart drop, and her cheeks flame with insecurity. 

“Um–" she swallows around the lump developing in her throat. "I should go,” she says, barely over a whisper. She puts her hands on his chest and pushes him away, sliding out from underneath him and climbing out of his bed. Grabbing her ipad, she shoves it into her backpack, along with her notes that were scattered along his desk and her phone lying at the foot of his bed. Her cheeks burn hot and her heart is aching in her chest.

“What?” He doesn’t challenge her when she pushes him away, but he stares at her with his eyebrows furrowed, confused at the sudden mood shift. “What happened?”

She doesn’t answer. Her throat is hurting, the painful lump a tell-tale sign of the tears getting ready to fall.

“Y/n?” he asks again, getting off his bed and walking towards her. All amusement has left his face, brows furrowed in a concerned manner. She shrugs him off when he approaches her.

“Don’t.” She feels embarrassed, her mind only filled with insecurity. He was making fun of her for being a virgin, teasing her. As if she wasn’t already embarrassed enough about it herself.

She’d planned on calling Maddie to come pick her up when she was ready to go, but it doesn’t matter anymore. She leaves his room hastily, before any of the tears can fall, and nearly runs out of his apartment. 

She’ll walk home. 

˙· .° ｡  ˚ ｡  ° . · ˚ ˙ · . ° ｡ ˚ ｡  ° . · ˙ · .° ｡ ˚ ｡ °.  · ˙ ‧̍̊  

OMG!!! HOPE U GUYS LIKED ITTTTTT HEHEHEHE :-) part 3 is up on my patreon already and will come to tumblr next saturday (augsut 5) pleeeeaaaase lmk what u think and give her a rb and a comment i LOVE U GUYS SO SO MUCH!!!!

sunshine (part 3) - in which y/n just wants to get this whole virginity thing out of the way, and Harry needs to grovel a bit before she forgives him.

sunshine masterlist

[changbunnies]

Desire (18+)

♡ Pairing: Wolf Hybrid!Bang Chan x Fem Bunny Hybrid!Reader x Wolf Hybrid!Changbin

♡ Genre: little red riding hood au, fantasy/supernatural au, hybrid au, allusions to omegaverse dynamics, porn with plot, sequel to scent of you, past dubcon from part 1 is discussed

♡ Word Count: 10.9k (i have got to stop doing this, my god)

♡ Summary: In which the bunny hybrid “little red” has been unable to forget her past encounter with the wolves of the forest, and goes to seek them out for more fun while also being in the throes of her heat. 

♡ Warnings: same as before; uses the little red riding hood fairytale as a base for inspiration, words like "alpha" and other omegaverse terms aren't used but the vibes are There

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): reader is in heat so... yeah, pet names (though mostly as a title- bunny, little red, and sweetheart), more use of the word slut + gendered language, dom/sub dynamics (dom!chan, sub!reader, switch!changbin), scent stuff again lol, lots of kissing, size difference, size kink, outdoor sex :'), manhandling, unprotected piv, dacryphilia, orgasm control + denial, subtle mxm may not actually be all that subtle + more of the rivalry between binchan as well as jealous bin lol, mates / mating, biting, nipple play, overstim, multiple orgasms, choking kinda? reader just gets held by the neck lol, handjob, cum eating, multiple creampies

♡ Notes: this is a sequel to scent of you, which you can read here! so i fully intended to still be on a small break and this was not supposed to be a series but i literally could not stop thinking about what would happen next for them and i had to write it :’) i hope you enjoy <3 

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

A frustrated sigh leaves your lips as you stare up at your barren ceiling, sweat dripping from your brow as your limbs grow tired and ache with exertion. How long had it been since the night you got lost deep in the woods, only to be found by Chan and Changbin?

Two wolves who you would still think you imagined were it not for the note they left behind, clear evidence that everything you experienced with them was real. It wasn’t something your psyche conjured while lost and alone in the dark woods, the pleasure wasn’t a vivid dream made in an attempt to cope with the reality that you were lost– everything about them, about that night, was entirely real.

You can still remember how you tucked your note away into a pocket of your dress before you opened the cottage door, your grandmother scrambling up to her feet when she heard you enter, rushing off her bed and out of her room as fast as her weak legs could carry her. You met her halfway, catching her as she stumbled, her arms squeezing you tight as relief washed over her.

You knew she must’ve been beside herself with worry, but actually experiencing it made guilt strike your heart like lightning; and when you opened your mouth to speak, she simply shushed you, requiring no explanation. Your grandmother wasn’t stupid, she knew a predator had caught you– your cape was torn in several places and you positively reeked of wolf, but rather than comment on it, she was simply grateful you were back home in one piece.

There were very few things a rabbit could do to ensure their survival against a wolf, and she was wise enough not to pick at the fresh wound you may very well harbor for having done the unspeakable in exchange for your life. She let the topic of wolves die right then and there before it could even be spoken, simply dedicating herself to stitching your cape back together, doing her best to make it appear as if it had never torn at all.

And not being forced to discuss what happened that night was certainly a relief, but not for the reasons your grandmother might expect. Because how would you explain to her that you actually liked the wolves that had found you in the deep, dark woods that night?

It’s utterly shameful how even now you still think of them, how their touch still feels engraved in your skin even as each season comes and goes. Shameful, how you look at that note they left behind as a sign that they’d want you back in their arms, that perhaps they think of you as much as you think of them. And they knew where you lived, they could easily seek you out whenever they pleased, but they never had. 

You assume it to be for the same reason they likely left you outside instead of carrying you to the front door of your cottage, or opening the door to bring you inside your home– because you lived with your grandmother, and what would that poor, frail woman do if she was confronted with the sight of two massive wolves holding her precious granddaughter? But despite the logical reasonings, there was a part of you that still felt.. rejected, somehow? 

It was fucking dumb, you knew this, but you couldn’t stop yourself from feeling that way. You just wanted to see them again so badly, to look at them and touch them and let them touch you, to bask in the warmth of their skin, to lay yourself against their massive bodies and revel in how feeling small was good in their presence.

Safety, protection– the complete opposite of what you should feel from them, the complete opposite of what you felt when you first laid eyes on Chan and then on Changbin, but somehow by the end of the night, that had all changed. 

To further complicate matters, your heats have since made the disgraceful yearning you feel exponentially worse, your mind flooded by the memory of them, your body aching to feel them again, every nerve inside you practically screaming for their touch. You are typically quite prepared for your heats, often stocking up on the herbs needed to brew natural remedies meant to make your symptoms more bearable so that you can be an effective caretaker for your ill grandmother, and they usually did well enough for you. 

Of course, it’s not a magic cure-all, nor does it completely alleviate any of the discomfort you feel, but it’s enough. You still need to make yourself cum a couple times before the night is over, but you can at least go about your day with little issue until the remedies effect begins to wane.

This week, and tonight specifically, was supposed to be more of the same– prepare dinner, get grandmother comfortably into bed, and then take care of yourself in the privacy of your room. If all went as expected, you’d feel satisfied enough to get some sleep, the next day you’d start your morning by brewing and drinking your homemade tea to calm your nerves, bring down your heightened temperature, and ease any aches you may experience.

You’d carry on through any remaining discomfort as best you could as you spent another day taking care of your responsibilities until night came, rinse and repeat for essentially a week until your heat eventually recedes and you can go back to your daily tasks as normal. Why had it become so different after meeting Chan and Changbin?

While going through a heat without a partner is never a comfortable experience, what you experienced now was downright unbearable; nothing you did to calm yourself or your body ever seemed good enough, none of your orgasms satisfying enough to dull the incessant need for something more, your only relief coming from driving yourself to utter exhaustion, when your body would be forced to give itself to sleep.

It didn’t make sense– it’s not like you were a virgin before you met them; you had your fair share of fun experiences with a few trusted friends of yours before you moved in with your grandmother to care for her. So certainly, while you weren’t exactly super promiscuous in your personal life, you were no stranger to sex, and you never fixated on your past partners during your heats the way you do now with Chan and Changbin. 

If you had to guess, it must be because of how different they were. Nothing about them was familiar, and that brought a unique sort of excitement you’d yet to feel again since that night had come to an end. Could that feeling be replicated with another rabbit?

You weren’t sure– and even if it could be done, would you want them over the two wolves? That was another thing you’d found yourself stuck on lately; was it them specifically that you wanted, or just a similar experience, in which anyone would do as long as they successfully replicated the sensations? 

Either way, you spent yet another night in unsatisfied yearning, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could take it. And your poor grandmother would suffer for it, as your scorching fever and addled mind made your ability to care for her deteriorate.

Compounding on that even further, your longing for them was becoming increasingly heightened as you became more and more desperate for relief– a desperation that would drive you to make foolish decisions you wouldn’t otherwise make. You look again at the note the two wolves left behind, clutching it tightly in your hand as you consider what you should do next.

If you go see them again, grandmother will know– their scent will be all over you when you return, and what will you say? Will you admit you liked them and sought them out on purpose? Or will you make up some stupid excuse, blaming your every decision solely on your heat, chalking your choices up to a lapse in judgment brought on by your need for relief? 

But the simple truth is that it isn’t just your heat that makes you want to see them again, and even if you did place all of the blame there, it wouldn’t change what you have come to realize about yourself. The shameful reality is that you’re attracted to wolves– those two wolves in particular, and no one but them will be able to grant you the specific relief you seek. 

And you know how dangerous it is to leave your home when you’re in heat– your scent could attract far more than just Chan and Changbin, and truthfully speaking, there is no guarantee that you will find them before someone else finds you first. You’d be walking blindly, mirroring what you’d done the first time you were lost in the woods at night, though this time with the explicit hope that you’d be found by them. 

It’s dangerous, it’s foolish, you absolutely should not go into the woods at night looking for a fucking wolf– but that’s exactly what you do. Not even bothering to change out of your nightgown and into proper outdoor attire, you opt for tying on your cape and pulling up the hood, knowing they will instantly recognize you if you’re wearing it (as if they need more than just your scent to identify you in the first place.)

Just in case, you hastily write a note for your grandmother in the event that you aren’t back before morning, apologizing as you explain in the briefest of terms that you needed to soothe your growing ache. She’ll understand, you hope– she was young herself once, and surely she remembered what this feeling was like. And foolish though your choice may be, you hope she’ll sympathize and scold you lovingly instead of harshly upon your return. 

The night air feels impossibly cold on your fevered skin, but it’s hardly a deterrent– in fact, you welcome the way the wind chills your sweat, a small, but much appreciated form of relief before you hopefully experience what you truly wish to.

Honestly speaking, you have absolutely no fucking clue where you are going; there is no path to follow to their den, no landmark for you to use in an attempt to guide yourself to your destination. You simply wander in the direction you hope is correct, praying the one (or ideally both) of the two wolves you so wish to find stumbles upon you. 

You glance up at the sky, the waning moon and countless stars shining back at you; a full moon is coming, and you wonder if they even have time to play with you at all. You don’t know all that much about wolves outside of what is required for self preservation, but you do know that the full moon is important to them; will they even entertain you right now?

Maybe this truly is a fool’s errand, maybe you’re making a mistake and getting yourself lost for nothing, maybe–

Suddenly you’re being grabbed, body being forcibly turned around and back shoved harshly against a thick tree you’d passed just moments prior. Your breath hitches, and your nose recognizes who it is before your eyes do–Changbin. He's caging you in and looking down at you with a clenched jaw, his claws digging into the bark of the tree he has you pressed against, clearly trying very hard to control himself. 

“Y/N-” he breathes, voice strained as he uses your given name for the first time, and hearing it from him makes a new, fresh wave of heat crawl over your body. “What are you doing walking around out here smelling like that? Are you insane?” 

Unable to control yourself now that he’s close, you immediately grab at his shirt, twisting the fabric in your hands as you look up at him with pleading, glassy eyes. “B-Binnie, I– I was looking for you, needed to find you,” you explain, your voice embarrassingly weak with desperation, “need you and Channie to help me, please.” 

His grip tightens, you realize– the sound of wood cracking and splitting audible just behind your head. “Please? I’ll be a good bunny for you again, I promise, please help me,” you continue to plead, shamelessly pawing at him, begging for him to accept your advances. 

Holy shit, are you seriously doing this to him right now? Begging him to take care of you? Him? A wolf? A rabbit begging a wolf for something like this is completely unheard of, only occurring within his wild fantasies.

To be quite frank, he was aware that the first time with you was coercion– he and his elder saw a meek, defenseless rabbit, and they took their chances. He had his fun, and while you did too when things really got going, he fully expected that to be it, though he hoped otherwise. 

And God, he can’t even believe how reckless you’re being; what if it was one of the other wolves patrolling this area tonight that found you instead of him? He can only imagine how the younger wolves in the pack would react to your scent right now– he’s barely keeping himself in control as it, and he has much more experience with these matters than them.

He clenches his teeth as his gaze trails away from your eyes and down your body, where your nightgown leaves very little unexposed, where you are very clearly pressing your thighs together as you stare up at thim, expectant and hopeful. Fuck. You really want this, don’t you?

“Fuck, yeah, okay, just–” Changbin says as he picks you up, tossing all his responsibilities aside as you’re lifted from the ground and cradled in his arms, “just hang on, we’ll go find him, okay? We’ll help you.” And he’s trying, he’s really fucking trying to control himself and not just throw you down on the ground right here and have you all to himself, but you’re making it increasingly harder to maintain focus on the task at hand as he winds his way through the forest. 

Chan’s scent is barely discernible over the way yours intensely fills his nostrils, and even when he does manage to pick up on his elder’s location, he can hardly even focus in on it. And your hands wont stop roaming over his skin, you press your body to his as much as you can manage, absolutely desperate for contact.

He can hear you panting despite the fact that all he’s doing is holding you, can feel your body tremble in his arms, can smell the slick that steadily leaks from your core. And to put it simply, Changbin is a weak man, and your desperation is utterly infectious. But still, he holds strong; that is, until you start pressing kisses to any patch of his skin you can reach.

When your breath hits his neck before your lips latch on to it, he feels completely done for. This is it. Fuck it. Chan can have his turn with you later– Changbin is the one that found you, it’s only fair that he has fun with you first, right? And besides, you’re acting positively insatiable right now– how is he supposed to hold off or say no? That’s quite literally asking him for the impossible. 

So he falls to his knees, your bodies tangled together on the grass in a matter of seconds, your clothes being thrown off in a flurry. Changbin rotates to his back, pulling you on top of him, deciding that he should still be a gentleman even when his composure is at its limits and not let your bare skin touch the dirty forest floor.

He grabs your face, pulling you in to kiss him before you’re even fully settled on his lap; it’s a bit awkward, given the size difference between you, but he makes it work, curving and twisting his body however necessary to keep his lips on yours as you adjust your positioning. 

Your slick drips and pools, coating him entirely with no effort expended on either of your parts. He’s even bigger than you remember, and that feeling of pure adrenaline inducing excitement that you’ve missed so much finally returns to you. This is what you needed all this time, what you’ve been craving.

You grab the base of Changbin’s cock with one of your hands and do your best to line it up with your hole– and again, it’s awkward due to the difference in size between you, but you’re determined to see this through. “Wait, fuck, sweetheart–” Changbin gasps as you begin to sink down on him.

He fully intended to get you prepped first, was going to pull you up after he got his fill of kisses and have you sit on his face, make you cum and loosen you up enough to take him, but apparently you felt that you’d waited long enough to have him inside you again. And you’re so fucking wet that the slide down is relatively easy; benefits to being in heat, you suppose– it makes your fervent desperation for cock come with far less sting.

And no doubt, there is still a sting– after all, your body isn’t made to take a size so disproportionate to your own; but all it does is further ignite the fire in your gut, the excitement swelling as you take more and more of him inside. Changbin uses one hand to bear his weight and keep himself propped up while the other holds your face in place, his tongue shoved in your mouth. 

He hardly lets you pull away for a breath before you’re dragged back to his lips, a moan coming from deep in his chest when you meet his tongue with enthusiasm. Your palms are pressed firmly on his chest, your nails digging into the surprisingly soft flesh, your every moan and whine swallowed by his open mouth until your hips finally become flush with his.

You know you should feel the utmost shame, desperate as you are for a wolf, stark naked and exposed in the open forest where anyone could stumble upon you, but all you feel is relief. True, delightful relief, finally– Changbin gives you everything you need just as easily as you’d hoped he would.

You mentally compared him to a puppy during your first meeting– desperate, easily excitable, cute in a way that juxtaposes his rough exterior. And you knew, just knew he’d never deny you if you offered yourself to him, because it’s simply not within him to do so. A desperate puppy with his equally desperate bunny– what better pairing could there be? 

And truly, you feel like heaven– your body, so small in comparison to his, makes you feel impossibly tight, your wet warmth utterly perfect and beyond compare; he could die right now, and feel that his life was entirely fulfilled. “Be a good girl, and show me how good bunnies can bounce,” Changbin breathes as he lets go of your face, now supporting himself with both arms as he leans himself back to watch you. He huffs out a small laugh when he feels you clench, pleased to find that words still have a profound effect on you. 

Changbin expected you to start slow, but maybe expecting a desperate little thing like you in the middle of her heat to show restraint wasn’t his brightest moment– because you’re bouncing fast, and fuck, he knew rabbits had strong legs and were notoriously skilled at bouncing, but what the fuck?

You’re riding him like your life depends on it, which from your perspective may very well be true– you’ve been so pent up and unsatisfied that truthfully you couldn’t act any differently than this even if you wanted to. All you can think about, all that drives you, is your need to cum on Changbin’s cock– nothing else matters. 

Despite the fact that Changbin is using his arms and hands for the explicit purpose of keeping himself upright to watch you, you all but demand he brings them to you. It’s a pitiful attempt really, trying your best to learn forward enough to grab his hands without losing your balance on his lap and falling straight onto his chest, but thankfully he realizes what you’re going for and offers them to you before you can fully fall against him. 

His back once again touches the cool grass, with you intertwing your fingers as soon as his hands come to your own. His hands are much bigger than your own, fingers thicker, and you have to completely spread out your own fingers to even get them between his, but he squeezes your hands once you succeed. You use the additional support of his hands in yours as leverage for your bouncing, his arms strong and firm enough to help keep you upright and steady as you slide up and down his length. 

You can hear his tail thumping against the ground, a display of excitement and pleasure that he’ll never be able to disguise. Your nails dig into his knuckles, your bottom lip sucked between your teeth as you try to contain the noises that leave you, not wanting to alert the entire forest that you’re fucking right now (as if yours and Changbin’s combined scent doesn’t already give that truth away.) 

But there’s still something missing– something that a desperate puppy and bunny really needs; and that is someone to keep them in line. That’s where Chan comes in, tsking at the scene in front of him as he steps closer, having evidently caught your scent and came straight to where you are now, sitting on Changbin’s dick in the middle of the forest without a single ounce of shame between the two of you. 

“What’s this? Having fun without me?” he asks with a frown that feigns disappointment, though the slight swish of his tail and subtle spark in his eyes relays that he doesn’t actually mind very much. If anything, it gives him a chance for even greater fun, opens up a world of opportunity to tease and demand whatever he wishes.

And his sudden presence and voice doesn’t cause you to slow down in the slightest– rather, it excites you further, causing you to bounce with renewed eagerness as you turn your head in the direction you heard him, looking him squarely in the face even as you continue your motions atop Changbin.

“That’s not very nice, I thought you liked me,” Chan pouts as he squats down next to the two of you, though his obviously fake pout breaks into a smile when you whine and affirm you do like him and want to have fun with him too.

“We tried, fuck– we tried to find you, I swear, but she– she just–” Changbin is doing his best to talk, though you’re making it extremely difficult for him to be coherent, not letting up your pace in the slightest; and truth be told he’s never been much of a multitasker. “She– she’s fucking– God, I can’t–”

There’s also a pang of jealousy in the pit of Changbin’s stomach over how obviously excited the addition of Chan made you, how his presence and voice caused you to bounce on his dick with renewed vigor; and really, he should probably be happy that you’re putting so much effort into riding his cock thanks to Chan, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he squeezes your hands harder, almost instinctively, a gesture that he doesn’t even fully comprehend as possessive. “Oh, look at what you’ve done to poor Binnie. He’s a mess because of you, slutty girl,” Chan coos and your stomach twists as you divert your gaze back to Changbin. 

He’s sweating, panting hard, his stomach rapidly clenching and unclenching– and you feel it, the throb and twitch that alerts you to how close he is. And you’re close too, you have been for ages. Days worth of terrible, unfulfilling orgasms make the pleasure of this moment positively euphoric– but you were doing your best to hold out for Changbin. You know that once you came you won't have the strength to ride him anymore, and you want to be good and do what he asked of you to the best of your ability. 

And Chan can clearly see the signs on both of you; he’s shared with Changbin enough times to recognize his tells, and in your case, well.. It doesn’t take a genius to realize you’re about 3 seconds from gushing and creaming all over Changbin’s cock and lap.

But you started the fun without him! And he isn’t sure you deserve to cum so easily after leaving him out– so just as your volume picks up, your pace finally faltering as your taut line is about to snap, Chan grabs your hips and forces you down, bringing you to a complete stop. 

You whine loudly, wiggling your hips as you vainly try to lift yourself up again, but it’s impossible– Chan is much, much stronger than you after all. Changbin, who was close himself, curses and whines nearly as loudly as you, his brows knitting together as he tries to calm himself down. 

“Hyung, what the fuck–” he complains, though he doesn’t dare make a move to make Chan stop holding you down– he knows better than that. You look at Chan, bottom lip quivering and eyes glassy with fresh tears as babbles of “why” and “please” and “need to cum” leave you. 

“But weren’t you a bad bunny? Having fun with just Changbin, weren’t even thinking of me at all..” Chan says with another false pout. He is nowhere near as jealous and unconsciously possessive as Changbin, as he knows very well he can have whatever he wants, but this dynamic is where he has the most fun– exuding control is the greatest pleasure he knows. Changbin’s denied orgasm is just collateral.

“And poor Binnie, you dragged him down with you because you just couldn’t wait,” he continues, grabbing your face with one hand and making you look back at the wolf beneath you, “I think you should tell him you’re sorry. Tell him you’re sorry for being a slut who can’t wait and getting him into trouble with you.” 

You whine again, watching as Changbin swallows and bites his lip, clearly eager to hear the apology you’re about to grant him at Chan’s command. “I.. ‘m sorry, Binnie, ‘m really sorry,” you mumble, and Chan tsks again, very clearly unsatisfied with the meek apology.

“C’mon little red, you can do better than that, can’t you? Try again, we’re waiting.” You glance at Chan and then back at Changbin, swallowing as both of them stare at you and wait; the ball is in your court, and you have no choice but to deliver. 

“I’m sorry f-for being a slut, and ‘m sorry for being a bad bunny, sorry for getting Binnie in trouble, ‘m really sorry, I promise ‘m so sorry,” you try again, to which Chan smirks, taking his hand away from your face to give you a pat on the head. “That’s better,” he says as he finally removes his other hand from your hip. You take that as all the permission you need to start moving again, wasting no time in lifting your hips and slamming them back down onto Changbin’s lap. 

Changbin’s surprised gasp transitions into a moan, his hands once again squeezing yours while also trying to be careful not to pierce your skin with his claws. Eventually, begrudgingly, he lets go of your hands to dig his claws into the earth instead, finding that better than risking cutting into your precious skin.

Chan watches patiently, waits until you’re both close again before he brings you to another stop with his strong hands, frustrated whines leaving you both as you plant your feet firmly on the ground and try to fight against Chan’s natural strength.

“I didn’t tell you that you could move,” he explains as he watches tears fall from the corners of your eyes, “couldn’t even wait for my permission, and look at you now, in trouble again– dragging Binnie down with you, again.” 

You pout and cry, babbling apologies to both wolves, shame ever a foreign concept in the face of desperation– all you know is you want to cum, but if Chan needs you to be good, to ask first and follow his rules, then you will; you’ll always be as good for him as you possibly can be. 

When Chan removes his hands from your hips this time, you ask for permission as he wants you to. “Can I move, please? Please, I’ll be good from now on, I promise, just need to cum so bad,” you beg and he smiles as he coos, once again giving you a sweet stroke to your head.

“Of course, good bunnies can have whatever they want. Make Binnie cum too, he’s so good to you, he deserves it, doesn’t he?” Chan chuckles as you nod quickly, eagerly resuming the motions on Changbin’s cock as if Chan had never stopped you at all. “Tell him,” he says, moving his hand down your head, over your back and to your tail, tugging it ever so slightly, “he’ll get so excited. Go on, talk to him.” 

“B-Binnie, you’re so– so good to me, make me feel so good, want you to cum, d-deseve to cum– cum in me,” you stutter out between harsh breaths and Chan has to suppress the laugh in his throat when Changbin’s tail fucking whacks against the ground in an impossibly loud, excited thump. So predictable, he always is– can’t hide a damn thing he thinks or feels.

Changbin is the one grabbing your hips this time, helping you along as he starts to fuck up into your from below. You squeak and nearly fall forward onto his chest, but somehow manage to keep your balance and stay mostly upright, your hands gripping desperately at his biceps.

And in all the times they have shared someone, Chan is met with a sight he doesn’t think he’s ever seen. Changbin’s eyes are rolling back as bites his lip and chases his high from below, using all of his strength to move you however he wants. Clearly, being denied orgasms did something profound to him– he’s almost feral, relentless in the way he fucks into you.

When he feels the build up again, he tries to hold back, almost afraid that Chan will rip it all away from him at the last moment again– but then you’re squeezing him hard, he can feel more slick gush and coat his length as you cry out, and he loses it entirely, cumming in long, drawn out spurts, giving you all he has to give.

You’re entirely collapsed on Changbin’s chest now, seemingly spent from all the effort you exuded and the intensity of your orgasm, eyes closed as you try to collect your breath. Changbin is equally breathless, brain lagging as he processes the fact that he’s cum the hardest he thinks he ever has, and on top of that it was in the middle of the fucking woods with Chan controlling when you were both allowed to cum. Maybe he’s due for some self discovery after this..?

Changbin, whose senses are finally returning to him and recalls he was unable to kiss you at all once you really got going and was sorely missing it, lifts your face and pulls you into a kiss. One kiss turns into two, then to three, then to four, until you’re essentially making out, with Changbin effectively stealing away all the breath you’d just regained.

Chan watches for a time, lets Changbin indulge in what is one of his favorite intimate acts, but he can’t let you two be the only ones having fun for much longer. It’s Chan’s turn now, and he’s been patient enough.

He’s good at putting up a front, makes his control seem effortless, what with his boundless charisma and intimidating presence, but fuck, the minute he caught the scent of your heat in the air, he about lost it. Just as Changbin surely felt, he needs to fuck you before he risks going insane.

The younger wolf whines when you’re pulled off of him, a mess left behind on his lap where you once were. What a selfish pup he is– maybe one of these days Chan needs to remind him what it means to share. “Go home, Bin. And tell everyone still there to get the fuck out, so I can bring her back home with me.”

Changbin blinks for a moment as he processes, and then he’s scrambling to his feet, getting his clothes back on in a rush. Changbin wanted to bring you home too, but he knew he couldn’t– if he just walked in with you in his arms, it would’ve been chaos; the younger wolves with much less practice in self restraint would’ve lost their fucking minds. Even Chan and Changbin themselves had barely been keeping it together, still heavily effected by your heat despite how experienced they were. 

“Uh, when I do, can I.. y’know..?” Changbin asks before he starts to leave and Chan rolls his eyes before he lets out a small laugh. “Yes, Bin, you can join us again.” Changbin smiles, tail swishing cutely before he runs off and once again you have to suppress a giggle at the surprisingly adorable display. You wonder if he’d take offense to the fact that you view him as a puppy; he just screams “I need constant affection and attention or I’ll die” and it’s oddly endearing. 

Chan doesn’t let your thoughts linger exclusively on Changbin for long however; he’s grabbing your face again, diverting your attention back to him, making you look straight up at him. He captures your lips in a kiss, one that is far more impassioned than you would’ve expected based on his cool exterior.

He holds you tightly, pressing your body firmly against his own, leaving no space between you. You in turn wrap your arms around his neck, sighing into the kiss as you are met with more of the sweet relief you’ve desperately needed. His hands travel over your body, refamiliarizing himself with the feel of your soft skin beneath his fingers, refreshing the memory, letting it become engraved once more.

When he pulls back, he is looking at you carefully, doing his best to continue to suppress his carnal need to have you long enough to ask you something that’s been mulling around in his mind, “Tell me honestly, little red. Did you want us to find you tonight, or was it an accident?” He needs to know if it was simply spur of the moment with Changbin, if anyone would’ve done if they’d approached you, or if it was them you specifically needed to get you through your heat. 

“You, I wanted you,” you answer easily, truthfully, a slight blush crawling over your face as you admit how you truly feel; your mind may be foggy from your heat, but you're not immune to the nerves that come with an honest confession, “I told Binnie too, that I.. I wanted you both.”

Chan smiles at your answer, a smile that makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to how pretty he is when he smiles at you. “Good. Then my next question before I keep you for the rest of the night– do you want to be ours?” 

“B-Be yours..?” you ask, blinking up at him as your mind goes over what that could mean. “Mhm, mine and Changbin’s. Our sweet, little bunny that we’d take good care of. Our mate, essentially.. Do you want that?” Your breath hitches, the blush on your face growing as the words swirl around in your head.

Their mate. Chan’s. Changbin’s. Both of them.. Their mate. “A-Are you serious? I mean– I’m a rabbit, and you’re.. not.” From what you've heard, wolves take having a mate very seriously.. and he wants that special someone to be you? And to share that special someone with someone else? Is that really okay?

“I’m completely serious. And you don’t have to be if you don’t want to, but I hope you know it’s not something I offer easily,” he says, stroking your cheek, offering you the softest smile you’ve ever seen him hold. “And you feel it, don’t you? The inexplicit desire, how nothing since having each other has felt complete, satisfying.. enough?”

You swallow as you nod, knowing that much is true– ever since you met them, every night without them felt.. wrong somehow. Like you weren’t where you were supposed to be. And God, how unbearable your heats had become, going far past the usual discomfort into completely uncharted, agonizing territory. 

“I do, I really do,” you answer, unable to lie about such a thing even if you wanted to. And there’s still so much about your life you’d have to figure out, but you know you’d regret it if you said you didn’t want to be theirs, you’d live in agony if you didn’t have them. He smiles again before he kisses you, hands traveling down to your legs, over your thighs and hips, until he’s cupping your ass, lifting you up and bringing you closer.

You leak onto his lap, but he doesn’t mind, can’t even process it, really– his mind is full of you. Of your scent, of your touch on his skin, of his on yours. And just how you’d done with Changbin, you insatiably run your hands over whatever patch of his skin is within your reach. And if his senses weren’t in overdrive from your scent, he’d admonish you for being so insatiable, tease you for being a slut and make your face burn red from filthy, whispered words.

But he has to admit the desperate, needy side of you he’s witness to is a treat, and it works at the rope that is his composure in record time, steadily tearing at it until all that keeps it together is a thin thread. He’s no better than Changbin, is he?

Really, if this is how you’ve been from the start, it’s clear the younger wolf never had a chance; but Chan is the superior here, and he has to set an example– what good will it do if he can’t stay in control long enough to get you back to his den? He has something to prove– to himself, to Changbin, and to you; that he doesn’t break and give in so quickly and easily.

So he quickly rises to his feet with you in his arms, carefully leaning to where your clothes were discarded and picking them up, covering you in your cape like it’s a blanket. “Just in case there’s some stragglers still at home,” he explains; when you’re officially his mate, no one will touch you, but until then, he’ll take every precaution necessary to protect you from other wolves that may want you– barring Changbin, naturally. 

It takes you no more than a few minutes to get to their den thanks to his speed, and just as before you closed your eyes and clung to him tightly as he wove through the trees to get there. Thankfully, it seemed Changbin did a good job at relaying that the leader wants everyone gone until morning, as the only sight you are met with inside is him sweetly and excitedly waving as Chan approaches with you in his arms. 

Just like the first time, Changbin trails close behind on the way to Chan’s room, locking the door for security when you’re all inside. You’re set down on the bed, with Chan putting your discarded clothing on his nearby armchair before he’s sitting next to you. Changbin also wastes no time getting his clothes off again, to which Chan stares at him incredulously until Changbin replies with a simple “what?”, causing Chan to scoff in disbelief and you to giggle. 

Changbin sits on your other side, his hands in his lap as he waits for whatever it is Chan is going to do next; and he may be jealous, but he won’t interfere with whatever his elder wants to do with you, even if it means all he gets to do for the remainder of the night is watch.

Chan reaches out, pushing your hair behind your shoulders and exposing your neck, to which Changbin instinctively swallows. He resisted last time, only scraping your skin with his teeth, but he wanted to bite you so bad that night. 

It was a bit strange, considering he’d never had such an urge with previous partners; he liked them, of course, they were pretty, sexy, fun.. But he almost felt the natural instinct for a wolf to bite was either a myth or something he wasn’t meant to experience until he had you.

And maybe that’s why he felt so jealous when Chan captured your attention; Changbin has always been a jealous person, but it never felt this.. real, almost? Serious, and not entirely playful and fun-aligned as it usually was. 

Changbin watches as Chan trails his fingers over your neck, the both of you instinctively holding your breath. He watches as Chan replaces his fingers with his lips, watches as he trails kisses over your skin, watches as his hands travel to your thighs and squeezes them. His jealousy mixes with excitement, softened cock beginning to harden once more, his fingers twitching and aching to touch you some more, but not acting on the desire; it’s Chan’s turn, he has to remind himself repeatedly.

Chan chuckles a bit when he pulls away and sees Changbin very clearly internally struggling; he’s so simple when it comes to things like this, incredibly easy to read. Once more, Chan grabs your face, but he does something new this time– he makes you tilt to the side, exposing the entirety of the right side of your neck to Changbin.

He licks his lips and swallows before tearing his gaze away from your neck to look at Chan, unsure of why exactly he’s exposing your neck to him like this. “Bite her. I know you want to,” Chan says much too casually for Changbin’s poor brain, his eyes widening in surprise as he practically gawks at his elder. 

“W-What? But– I can’t, she’s–” he stutters out, and you’re surprised to hear him so flustered; you guess the rumors are true– wolves take mating and bites very seriously. It’s not something he’ll do on a whim, even if he desperately wants to.

“She wants you to. Wants both of us to,” Chan continues with a smile as he watches the gears turn in Changbins mind, “isn’t that right? Tell him, sweetheart.” 

“’s true, I wanna be yours. Both of yours,” you tell him and Changbin groans, though you can’t tell if it’s from disbelief, pleasure, or a mix of both. He takes one of your hands in his, squeezing once more as he leans down to your neck, inhaling your scent as he presses open mouthed kisses to your skin.

“You’re sure..? This isn’t something you can take back,” Changbin asks between his hot kisses, and you affirm eagerly, that yes, you absolutely want this. “Together then?” he asks as he pulls away, looking at Chan with utmost seriousness.

Chan hums his agreement before he’s tilting your head backwards, your entire neck exposed to both of them. And though this is something you want, you can’t help but be nervous as they take their places on either side of your neck, their breath tickling your skin and causing you to squirm. “Relax, sweetheart,” Chan whispers soothingly, his hand coming down to find the one Changbin isn’t holding. 

You let out a breath, doing your best to will you heart and nerves to calm; this will change your life forever, but it’s a change you accept wholeheartedly. Once the initial pain subsides, you know they’ll take the utmost care of you, they’ll make it all worth it. You feel their teeth start to prick your skin, their positions on your neck a true mirror of one another– the same placement on either side, marks that will show to the entire world that you have not just one mate, but two.

Chan’s fangs pierce your skin first, causing you to gasp and squeeze at their hands, crying out when Changbin’s own fangs follow shortly behind. It stings, but that initial pain dulls rather quickly, and you’re soon left with only the pleasurable feeling of belonging, of.. love?

Or maybe that's not entirely accurate given how this all came to be, but whatever it is transcends anything you've ever known or experienced in your life thus far. It’s unique, special, new– a fitting description for your newfound relationship, and all the emotions it conjures within you.

Changbin is the first to kiss you when they seperate from your neck– and it's to be expected, he just can't help himself. But possessive though he can be, intentional or otherwise, he pulls away rather quickly, giving Chan his opportunity to kiss you too– because it’s not just him you belong to, and he wants to make it clear that even when he’s clingy, or jealous, or pouty, he’ll never do a single thing to jeopardize what the three of you have together.

He simply hugs you as Chan kisses you, his lips ghosting over the mark he left behind, soothing a sting that no longer exists. You wondered, when you were back at home in your cottage in the clearing, if it was okay to miss them. Was it foolish, did it even make sense to want to see them again?

But you feel you’ve found your answer– you were meant to miss them, were supposed to feel a tug in their direction, were supposed to find them irresistible in every aspect, to desire them with all that you are. They are meant for you, and you for them, and maybe everything up to this point happened the exact way it was supposed to; and now you were truly where you belong.

Though Changbin should keep his hands and lips to himself given that it’s Chan’s turn to have his fun with you, he really can’t help himself. You’re sure Chan notices, as he notices everything when it comes to the both of you, but he doesn’t scold, tease, or pull you away.

As fun as it would be to make you both whine and pout, this is a moment that will never be replicated– to bite someone like this is an act that you hopefully only do once in your lifetime. For the first night of belonging to each other at least, he’ll loosen the reins of his control just a bit for Changbin’s sake.

Chan guides you, and in turn Changbin, to lay back. Changbin's back hits the wall, while yours rests against his chest, where he cups and grabs your breasts from behind, squeezing and playing with them to his heart’s content while Chan continues to kiss you. His tongue slides in your mouth when Changbin’s rolling and pinches of your nipples causes your mouth to open with a moan, Chan’s own hand traveling between your legs, his fingers becoming quickly coated in your slick. 

Your body jolts when he rubs your clit, instinctively squirming and avoiding his direct touch– because even though it’s the first time either of them are touching it tonight, you’ve been abusing it all week whilst chasing your (unsuccessful) orgasms. It’s tender, sensitive– and you say so, a tremble in your voice as you try to make Chan understand that the feeling is just too much right now.

“It’s too much?” he questions, and you’d think his tone was one of genuine concern were it not for his smirk giving away that he doesn’t very much care if the feeling is overwhelming you, “but you’re making such pretty sounds for us. And I thought you needed to cum? Isn’t that what you told me?” 

“Y-Yes, but–” you start but Chan quickly shushes you, another roll of his fingers making your eyes roll back as you continue to squirm. Your hands instinctively go to his wrists, simply holding them as you know you’d never actually be able to push him away.

“But what? I’m giving you what you wanted, silly girl,” he says with a smile that you’d view as sweet if you didn’t know any better, “you should be thanking me. Go on, tell me ‘thank you’, nice and sweet, ‘kay?” Oh, he’s so mean– and Changbin is no better, because he feels it fair to remind you that apparent cuteness and loss of composure aside, he’s just as much a menace as his elder.

“Yeah, yeah, do it, pretty. We wanna hear it,” he says, close enough to your ear that it makes you shiver and squirm some more, whining in equal parts embarrassment and pleasure. Because even if it is overwhelming, it does still feel good– so good, you can’t help but cry.

“Th-Thank you, thank you,” you say between moans and gasping breaths, your nails digging into Changbin’s thighs now that you’ve released Chan’s wrists from your grasp. “Hmm, are you sure that’s all you wanna say? I think Channie-hyung expects more from you,” Changbin says with a grin you can’t see but can certainly hear.

He’s right, of course, but you have no idea how you’re supposed to string together a coherent sentence with the way they’re coordinating their touches to your body and talking to you. But you have no choice but to do your best, because the alternative is disappointing them, and you would never.

“Thank you– thank you for making me feel s-so good, thank you Channie, Binnie, th-thank you.” Choppy and hardly coherent through your whimpery moans your words may be, they seem satisfactory enough; Chan hums approvingly, and you can feel Changbin’s cock twitch against your back.

“That’s my good girl,” he smiles, increasing the speed of his fingers before he corrects himself, “our good girl.” You squeeze your eyes shut, legs twitching, entire body trembling, though you no longer instinctively squirm away from his fingers– your body has finally accepted it, you suppose. Apart from the tremble and shake in your legs, your body is otherwise limp, accepting of every bit of stimulation they bring you.

You’re close, they both know, but given the circumstances, Chan decides to be kind this time– he can make you beg and cry some more later, for now he should give his good bunny what she needs. “Gonna cum aren’t you, pretty bunny? Go ahead and let go, let us hear it,” Chan says, doing his best to apply more pressure with the pads of his fingers, though how sloppy you are from slick doesn’t make the task entirely effortless– not that he minds, of course; he likes the mess you’ve made between your legs. 

You cry as you nod, head falling back against Changbin’s shoulder when his tugs and pinches to your nipples become harsher. You try to warn them before it happens, but you can’t– it hits you so hard that you can’t even utter any further noise, your mouth hanging open in silent cries as your eyes roll back and body tenses and untenses rapidly, gushing and making a further mess of Chan’s fingers and the mattress beneath you. 

They both whisper praises in your ears, sweet encouragements and dirty words that further drag out the euphoria you feel. You’re not sure how much time has passed before you open your eyes again, feeling Changbin’s hands rubbing your hips and thighs while Chan strokes your cheeks, smiling sweetly at you, actually sweetly, as your senses return to you.

“There���s our girl,” he says after giving you a quick peck on the lips, “did such a good job, sweetheart.” He strokes your head as Changbin presses sweet kisses to your neck and shoulders, moving his hands from your thighs to wrap his arms around you in a soft hug.

“Channie, fuck me now?” you ask, because as breathless and nearing exhaustion as you are, you’re still eager to feel him inside you, and you won't be truly satisfied until you get another load of cum inside you– his specifically. His smile turns to a grin, his hands coming down to your hips, prepared to move you into whatever position he desires, “Course sweetheart, nights not over until I’m done with you.” 

He flips you around effortlessly, Changbin catching you before you fall completely against him. He holds you upright while Chan adjusts the position of your hips, aligning his cock with your hole once he has you how he wants you. Changbin kisses you as Chan slides his way inside your heat slowly, swallowing every little noise that escapes you.

And really, you’re beyond wet and prepped enough for him to go fast if he wants to, but he doesn’t. Not entirely because he wants to tease you (though it does serve that purpose), but because he’s been so on edge this entire time that he’ll cum in record time if he doesn’t, and he’ll die before he lets Changbin last longer than him. 

Changbin, who is happy to have your attention again, has his tail thumping excitedly against the mattress. You’re holding onto his shoulders for support as your tongues play together, gasping into his mouth when Chan is finally fully sheathed inside you, his hands digging into your hips whilst still trying to be cautious of his claws and their ability to pierce your delicate skin (though you don’t think you’d particularly mind if they did.)

Changbin brings a hand to one of your ears, stroking the soft fluff and causing you to whimper as you clench around Chan’s cock, earning you a grunt from behind, a clear sign that he felt it. It’s not meant to be a challenge against Chan’s ability to hold out, but he takes it as one– if anyone is going to break and cum fast, it won’t be him.

His hand comes around to your front, grabbing your neck with just enough strength to pull you back towards him. You gasp and whimper, turning your head as much as you can to look at Chan while he holds your neck. “Make our Binnie cum again while I fuck you, and then I’ll let you cum again too. Understand, bunny?”

You nod quickly as Changbin whines and his cock twitches. Our Binnie– he likes the sound of it more than he’d expect. Chan whispers a simple ‘good girl’ in your ear before he lets you go, letting you fall back into Changbin.

Your head lands on his chest, and he intends to lift you up to support you and shift himself into a position that’ll benefit the both of you, but it doesn’t seem you need it– your hands are instantly on his cock, your tiny hands wrapping around and stroking as much as they are able. He groans and grabs your face, lifting it up enough so that he can lean down to kiss you.

Your pace falters when Chan finally starts to roll and thrust his hips, but you do your best to keep steady, determined to perform well and be allowed to cum again. You’re gasping, whimpering, crying as Chan’s pace turns to one you can only describe as purely animalistic– and fair, you admit, given how much self restraint and composure he had to hold until now. The fact that he even went this long before losing it is a herculean feat. 

Despite that, he is still firm on the idea that he absolutely will not cum before either of you do, so he reaches around and grabs one of your hands, taking it away from Changbin’s cock and bringing it up instead to one of his twitching ears. “Wanna see our Binnie really lose it? Rub his ear, he’ll go crazy.” 

“Hyung–” he opens his mouth to protest as his face starts to flush, seemingly embarrassed that his weak spot is being called out. The complaint dies in his throat however when your fingers softly rub over his ear, a gaspy whine coming out instead as his hips jolt up into the other hand still on his cock. 

“Fuck, shit-” he weakly whines while Chan smirks in victory– though the smirk doesn’t last very long, as he truthfully isn’t fairing much better than Changbin in regards to how good you’re making him feel. Maybe in the end, his plan backfired– because each noise that Changbin emits causes you to clench harder; but he still has other ideas in mind to make the two of you cum first.

Chan’s fingers find your clit again, making your body jolt and your hands grip at Changbin harder– on both his poor, sensitive cock and equally sensitive ear. He curses again, eyes rolling back for the second time, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth as his hips once again unconsciously thrusts upward.

It reaches a point where he’s essentially doing all the work, your fist almost entirely still while Changbin fucks your hand. His hands dig into the sheets, almost tearing them as he clenches at the fabric between his fingers. “O-Oh fuck, ’m gonna cum– harder, touch me harder, please–” 

Butterflies explode in your stomach, having never expected to hear Changbin beg the way you are usually made to. You do as he asks, you’d never dream otherwise; your fingers grip him harder, squeezing his cock and rubbing harsh circles on the soft ear in your hand. The thump of his tail is erratic, his breaths harsh as his head falls back, cum shooting on your hand and his stomach.

When he opens his eyes and lifts his head, he’s met with the sight of you licking his cum off your hand before your scooping up the mess he made on his stomach with your fingers. You stick them in your mouth, licking them clean and then sticking out your tongue to show him it’s all gone when you’re done, twisting your neck after to show Chan too. 

“F-Fuck,” Chan stutters a groan, pulling out long enough to flip you back around, your back hitting the mattress as Changbin moves to the side to watch. “Such a good girl, cleaning him up without having to be asked, should– fuck, should reward you, shouldn’t I?”

But he already promised you could cum if Changbin did, so what’s the next best reward he could give you? “What do you want? Tell me, bunny, and I’ll give it to you,” he decides to simply ask as he slides back into your wet warmth, resuming the harsh pace he’d set before you flipped back around. 

“K-Kiss? Can we kiss?” you ask and he chuckles, stroking your cheek as he brings his face close to yours, close enough that your noses are touching and you can feel his breath against you.

“That’s it? That’s all you want?” he asks, unable to suppress the smile when you quickly nod, “Bin’s gonna get jealous, y’know. You’ll have to make it up to him after.” But before you can reply, he’s kissing you, tongue shoving it’s way in your mouth.

Chan’s pace is fast and not entirely accurate, but God, he’s trying– and you perfectly understand, because even with the cool exterior he exudes, you can tell he’s barely been holding it together. He’s utterly gorgeous like this too, sweat dripping and jaw clenched, brows scrunched and veins popping from exertion, pretty lips glossy from your kisses just prior.

He finds your clit once more, desperate to make you cum first, but his fingers are quickly replaced by Changbin’s, allowing him to focus purely on his own pleasure. Chan’s hands grab your legs and keeps them held open, his cock going as deep as it can go. 

“So perfect, perfect bunny for us,” Chan grunts as his head falls to your neck, lips ghosting over the mark he made with fangs. Changbin brings his other hand to one of your ears, rubbing the base in the same way you rubbed his, while his fingers on your clit rub in quickly practiced circles. “Yours, ‘m yours and Binnie’s, bunny just for you,” you affirm, body shuddering when Chan groans in response.

He’s close, so fucking close, but you have to cum first– so he closes his eyes and tries to focus on hitting the spot that makes you see stars, working to stave off his release as long as he can possibly can. And he’s successful, Thank God– between his perfect thrusts and Changbin’s fingers, you’re cumming again in no time at all, the wet spot beneath you growing as you drench Chan in your release. 

He grunts, thrusts reverting back to their sloppier rhythm as he chases his high, his grip on your thighs sure to leave bruises behind. A string of curses leave him as he finally cums, filling you to the point it leaks even as he’s still fully pressed inside.

Your eyes are closed, heavy with exhaustion, but you hear them talk to each other as they wipe your sweat away and clean you up between your thighs. One of them picks you up, Chan you think, while the one you assume to be Changbin changes the sheets for him, absolutely filthy after the night you just shared.

Tired and not entirely conscious as you are, you still snuggle into the chest of the one holding you, and it’s confirmed it’s Chan when you hear him chuckle and whisper something about you being “sweet and cute.” You tiredly whine when you’re put back down, eyes still closed but missing the warmth you were enveloped in, and hear them once again chuckle before you feel them on both sides, pressed against them in the middle. 

With a struggle, you blink awake, body heavy and eyes still impossibly tired, the darkness surrounding you making it near impossible to tell what time it is. It's clear you're still in their den, and wolves dens are always dark given their nocturnal nature.

You're laying on your back, you realize, Changbin’s arm slung over your stomach while Chan, who is also apparently awake, is stroking your head as he looks at you. “You didn’t sleep?” you ask quietly and he shakes his head, whispering his reply back to you.

“It’s still the middle of the night, sweetheart. We never sleep at night– but well, after what you did to Changbin, he was out as soon as he got comfortable next to you. Couldn’t stay awake even if he wanted to.” You quietly giggle, turning your head to catch a peek at him. He looks cute, peaceful– you give him a soft peck on his cheek before you turn your attention back to the awake Chan.

“He’d lose it if he was awake during that, y’know. He loves cute shit like that,” he says and you smile– you can tell, it’s obvious; Changbin is a bit of an open book, you think. “What about you?” you ask and he scoffs a little, turning his gaze away as a slight smile peeks out on his lips.

“Course. I just don’t make it as obvious as that idiot. Seriously, we have a reputation to maintain.” You peck his cheek, and he scoffs again, trying to hide the growing smile and retain the cool image. “Don’t start– you’re gonna make me as bad as him.”

“Is it going to be morning soon..?” you ask as you lower your head back to the pillows. “It will be in a couple hours,” he replies, turning back to you with a more serious expression, “you need to go back home, yeah? Can’t stay here?”

You frown as you nod, a strange feeling of loneliness filling your gut at the idea of leaving them behind to go back to your cottage. “Grandmother needs me..” you tell him and he hums in understanding, careful not to expose the ache in his chest that you’ll be parting soon– whether that’s courtesy of the mating bite or if it’s feelings he’d have regardless he can’t entirely tell.

“We’ll figure something out. Just get some more rest for now, okay? I’ll be right here.” You nod and close your eyes, relaxing further when you feel him start to stroke your head again. When you shift slightly for comfort, Changbin instinctively holds you tighter; even in his sleep, he has to make sure you’re close.

There’s a lot you’ll have to confront come morning, but you decide to follow Chan’s words and leave it until then. You lay one of your hands atop the one Changbin has resting on your stomach, and use your other to touch Chan, humming happily when he brings his own over to hold it. 

For now, you’ll fall back to sleep, you’ll indulge in the safe comfort you feel while sandwiched between their bodies, holding their hands, secure in the knowledge that even though your life will be drastically different from now, it’s what will make you happiest. A bunny and her two bad wolves, who aren’t actually as bad as they seem– this is where you belong.

[punkshort]

Cuts Deep

Pairing: Dave York x f!reader

Summary: Dave shows up at your apartment in the middle of the night again, but for a different reason.

Warnings: language, descriptions of wounds/injuries/blood, smut (18+ MDNI), oral (m!receiving), little glimpse of soft!dave

WC: 2.6K

Collection Masterlist

You lost count how many times he had come to you in the middle of the night, but after the fourth or fifth time you began to recognize a pattern. It was always after he did... whatever it was that he did under the cover of night. There was a week where you thought he might be a vigilante crime fighter, then you realized you were watching too many movies and shut the television off.

You didn't dare ask him what he did. He wouldn't tell you, anyway, but you were afraid if you even questioned it, he might stop coming to see you.

And when he did come see you, it was always the same. It was always middle of the night. He always wore all black. And he always broke in and sat at the foot of your bed until you awoke. Or sensed his presence. Whatever you wanted to call it.

But that night was different.

You woke with a start when you heard a loud pounding on your front door. A closed fist slamming against the weak wood, rattling the chain on the other side that was left dangling, as always.

Stumbling out of bed, you rubbed your eyes while you made your way to your front door.

"Who the fuck is it?" you seethed, then your eyes widened when you peered through the peephole to find Dave on the other side. His hoodie was tossed over one shoulder and his arm was braced against your doorframe as he clutched his side with a gloved hand.

"Oh, my god," you breathed as you fumbled with the lock. You swung the door open and hurried him inside, glancing quickly down the hallway to make sure nobody saw, then locked the door behind him.

"What happened?" you exclaimed, hands beginning to shake when you saw his blood seeping through the thermal shirt he was wearing.

"You got a first aid kit?" he growled, cheeks puffing as he tried his best to stifle his pain.

"Y-yeah, uh," you swiveled around and grabbed a kitchen towel. You shooed his hand away from his side and pressed the towel there instead. "Bathroom," you instructed him. He nodded and followed you down the hall, then collapsed with a groan on the closed toilet seat.

He held the towel while you scrambled in your tiny linen closet for your first aid kit. It had all the essentials, but you had a feeling it wouldn't be enough for whatever was hiding under his shirt, so you tucked a few extra towels under your arm along with some large pieces of gauze and medical tape from the time you used to ride your bike to work and you flew over the handlebars, effectively ending that means of transportation for you permenantly.

Popping open the kit, you rummaged around for scissors, antiseptic, and whatever else you thought you might need within arms reach.

"Okay, are you ready? I'll need to take off your shirt."

He scowled at you and you rolled your eyes. Dave had a habit of keeping your sexual encounters as transactional and impersonal as possible, and that included him remaining fully clothed.

"I can cut it off, if you like," you offered, but he shook his head. Gingerly, he took off his gloves and raised his arm, hiding his pain while he struggled to remove the wrecked fabric. You immediately stepped forward to help, pulling at the wrist of his sleeve, then the other, and then carefully tugging it over his head. You balled it up and threw it in your tub to deal with later before turning back to him.

Even covered in blood and grime, he was beautiful. Your eyes briefly roamed over the sharp planes of his chest, strong and toned, then down his thick arms all the way to his softer belly. You had to turn away so you could hide your smile, tickled by the fact that he was actually mortal and didn't have a six pack.

After you washed your hands, you collected some gauze doused in antiseptic and knelt down in front of him so you could get a better look.

"I'm not a doctor," you said when you saw the deep gash along his ribs.

"I'm aware."

"No, what I'm saying is maybe you need to see one. This looks pretty nasty."

He grunted and shook his head. "Just clean it up and I got some glue you can squeeze on when you're done, it'll seal right up."

He leaned to his side and pulled out a tiny disposable plastic bottle filled with a clear liquid, then handed it to you. "Tear off the top and just squeeze," he explained. You stared at it in your palm, your brain still struggling to catch up with what was happening before putting it down on the counter next to you.

"Alright," you said hesitantly, then nudged his elbow so he would lift his arm. You did your best to be gentle as you dabbed at the cut but you heard his breath hitch each time you pressed down on the wound. Your eyes flicked up to his but he was staring at the wall behind you, his jaw flexing and his nostrils flaring. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, just hurry up," he snapped. You rolled your eyes again and tossed the pink gauze into your wastebasket before picking up the glue and twisting off the top.

"Is this going to hurt?" you asked him. He swallowed and nodded.

"Once it dries."

"When does it start to dry?"

"About twenty seconds after you put it on."

You bit your lip, looking back and forth between the glue and his seeping wound, then shifted your weight before leaning forward. You left one hand on his thigh for support while you hovered the glue over his cut.

"Just be quick," he said softly, almost pleading. You nodded and focused as hard as you could on your task, squeezing the tube and smearing the glue around with the tip of the bottle to make sure the entire cut was covered. And sure enough, right when you sat back on your heels to throw out the bottle, he groaned loudly and grabbed frantically at your towel bar.

"Fuck!" he seethed, his eyes squeezing shut as he struggled to breathe evenly through the pain.

"Shit! What do I do?" you asked, your hands hovering in the air around him. He shook his head and exhaled sharp little bursts of air through his pursed lips until his eyes finally reopened and he dragged in a deep breath through his nose.

"Fuck," he said again when he sagged against the back of the toilet, chest heaving. You grabbed his arm just as it fell from the towel bar and fanned some air along the gash, trying to help it dry so his skin wouldn't stick. You didn't realize it, but he was watching you carefully with a small smirk, eyes scanning up and down your body. He felt his cock spring to life when he finally realized you were on your knees, seated between his wide spread legs in just a thin sleep shirt. He recognized it. In fact, he had fucked you in the shirt before. The memory just sent more blood rushing between his legs.

"Okay, I think it's dry. I should probably put a bandage over it, right?" you asked, completely unaware of his erection pressed against his leg for maybe the first time since you started your little tryst.

"Yeah," he said, voice coming out a little more gravelly than he intended. He cleared his throat. "Put some gauze over it with some medical tape. It'll keep it clean til I can get home."

You nodded and began to rip into your package of gauze, picking out a few pieces to layer on top of one another before gently laying it over his cut. Your eyes, which no longer looked filled with fear, found his and he felt his stomach flip.

"Can you hold it here so I can get the tape?"

He nodded, his arm automatically dropping to hold the gauze against him with two fingers while you began to cut pieces of medical tape. After you had secured the bandage, he let his hand fall to his thighs, just inches away from where his cock was straining against his black jeans.

With a heavy sigh, you glanced over your shoulder at his mangled shirt. "I could put it in the wash for you. I don't think I have anything that'll fit you."

Dave shook his head. "I'll just wear my sweatshirt."

You turned back to face him, your gaze scanning him for any further injury before you braced yourself on his knees so you could stand.

"I have some ibuprofen-"

His hands shot out to grab your wrists and you paused, your body arched awkwardly halfway between kneeling and standing.

"I like the way you look down there."

You blinked rapidly for a moment and then he saw that familiar flash of desire in your eyes before you slowly eased back down.

"Are you saying you have something else you need my help with, Mr. York?"

His eyes lit up, pain temporarily forgotten as you slid your hand up his thigh.

"Don't tease me, I've had a shit fuckin' day," he scolded while fighting back the smile that threatened to spill across his face. He was growing very fond of this little game with you.

You chuckled, fingers pinching around his zipper and pulling down. "Really? Couldn't tell."

A mission that almost went sideways was a rarity for Dave York, but when it happened he had a tendency to dwell on it for far too long. He simply couldn't let it go until he figured out exactly where he went wrong and how he could avoid it in the future. Sometimes it took days or even weeks to get his mind off a mistake, but the moment you took him inside your warm mouth, all the stress melted away and his mind went blank.

"Shit, that's it," he whispered, watching in a daze as your lips wrapped perfectly around his cock. "Look so pretty like that. Yeah, keep going, little more," he urged, the compliment causing a gush of arousal at your center as you took him further into your mouth.

Before Dave, you didn't really enjoy giving oral sex. Your past partners were either too quiet or didn't reciprocate or, in one case, asked for it way too much. But not Dave. Much to your surprise, he always expressed his appreciation and was far more vocal than you expected, two things that turned you on and made you want to do it even more.

His fingers weaved through your hair and he hissed when he nudged the back of your throat. His hips lifted almost involuntarily, causing you to gag and tears to fill your eyes, but you quickly recovered.

Dave's breathing grew ragged and he fought like hell to ignore the pain in his side with every deep breath he took. He watched, transfixed, as you worked him up and down. Slowly at first, then with more speed. Your fist gripped him at the base, moving in rhythm with your mouth while you moaned around his cock, like you were enjoying it more than he was.

"Christ," he groaned, your tongue swirling around his length every time he sunk back inside your mouth. "Feels so good, baby," he rasped, letting his eyes slide shut and his head tip back, knocking lightly against the wall. Baby. God, you loved hearing that. It only made you work even harder.

You relaxed your jaw and took him as deep as you could without gagging. His grip on your hair tightened and relaxed with each pulse of his cock on your tongue. You dared to glance up at him and the sight took your breath away. He was still shirtless with his chest heaving and covered in a thin sheen of sweat and blood, chin tilted towards the ceiling in ecstasy, and it had you squeezing your thighs together to quell the ache between your legs. You noticed some bright blue bruises beginning to form across his torso and you had to fight the urge to kiss each one.

You released him with a gasp, dragging air deep into your lungs while your fist continued to glide up and down his shaft. You were just giving your jaw a little break but then his head tilted forward and he gazed down at you, lips parted for air and eyes wild.

And then he said something that had you melting.

"Please, I'm so close," he whispered, hand pressing gently against the back of your head. "Please, baby, please."

Please. Please, please, please. You weren't sure you'd ever heard him sound so soft and you certainly never heard him say that word.

Immediately, you slipped him past your lips, no matter how the muscles in your jaw screamed for relief. He sighed and you felt him relax as he went back to watching you work with renewed gusto.

"Such a good girl," he murmured, noticing right away how the praise affected you. You moaned and your eyes fluttered closed, relishing in the taste of him leaking onto your tongue. "You like this, huh? Like being on your knees for a killer?"

A shock of arousal hit you and you began to work even faster. It was the first shred of truth he shared with you. Even if you already assumed he killed people, it was different hearing the confession coming from him.

You hollowed out your cheeks and twisted your wrist, your neck muscles now aching from the effort but it was worth it when you heard his breath stutter and his soft little groans that filled the air.

"Oh, fuck," he moaned, hips lifting again, but this time you were ready for it. Your name on his lips sounded like a song when he came, deep grunts pairing with each burst of his seed across your tongue until he visibly relaxed and sagged backwards, chest and stomach rising and falling so fast that he felt lightheaded. Or maybe it was the blood loss.

You swallowed his salty release and sat back with a sharp gasp. You caught your breath against your tub, your eyes closed for a moment while you both tried to get your bearings.

When you reopened them, a jolt of fear shot through you. Dave was leaning against your vanity, eyes closed and looking pale. You scrambled to your feet and hooked your arms under his to help him stand.

"C'mon, you should lay down."

He nodded weakly and allowed you to lead him to your bed, where he collapsed and closed his eyes again. You stood next to your bed, biting your nail and looking around nervously. Was he okay? Should you call an ambulance? No, he wouldn't want that. A man like him must have some secret doctor he calls who doesn't ask questions. At least, that's what you'd seen on television.

"I'm fine," he mumbled, sensing your worry. "Just gotta... just need a minute."

"Okay," you said softly, then turned on your heel to head to your kitchen. You got him a bottle of water and made sure to tuck it into his side so he could find it, then slid into bed next to him.

You watched him for about an hour, staring at his bare chest steadily rising and falling and listening to his little snores. Once you decided he probably wasn't going to die, you let yourself drift off to sleep.

And in true Dave fashion, when your alarm woke you the next morning, he was already gone, along with the bottle of water.

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[lint-beetle4]

Male reader x wukong nsfw, reader warns wukong not to put his knot in, but wukong accidentally does it, he just can't help himself, he needs to breed the reader, and fill them up, so what if they can't get pregnant, he can't help but try

Just A Simple Creature (WukongxMale!Reader Smut)

Wukong is a monkey of impulse, you know this well

Sure, he has better self-control then he did before

But when it comes to certain things, he can't control his animalistic instincts well

He certainly couldn't control them well around you

You are Wukong's everything-- his peach blossom, his little apricot

Wukong was simply a monkey without his intelligence and celestial guidance

Yet, for you, he was willing to control his impulses

Tight hugs turned into a simple, wordless gesture, a question you readily answered

Surprises kisses turned into gentle pecks on your cheek and a bright grin

You were fragile to the Monkey King, and he treated you like an ancient painting, filled with beautiful inks and colors that made the work of art you are

Of course, as much as he tries, sometimes the two of you simply get lost in the moment

You groaned above Wukong as you pushed his dripping cock inside of you.

It was a hard day for you, life just adding up meaningless stresses that only Wukong could solve. Normally, all you needed was a hug and kiss, maybe a cuddle session here and there. But the frustration you felt wasn't emotional anymore--it was something that spread hot fire in your body, circling into your stomach down to your dick.

By the time you finished with work and every other little part of your day-to-day, your body was practically screaming at you to drag Wukong and bounce on his cock until you couldn't see straight.

Of course, the great sage was miles ahead of you, dragging you onto your bed with hungry eyes and nipping teeth. Your skin bared his marks, claiming you as his. You moaned again, feeling Wukong's cock twitch inside of you, brushing against that one spot in your greedy asshole that made see vibrant colors and sparks of white.

Wukong groaned underneath you, hands loosely guiding your hips as he moaned out whispers of praise for your endurance and strength.

"You're so--hkk--so strong."

"You--haa--My little apricot--mm."

Wukong's dick swelled inside of you dangerously--the sage was at his limit, but you hissed into his ear.

"You can't cum inside of me, Sun Wukong. Don't you even dare."

And the Monkey King obeyed with a simple mew as his fingers dug into your hips more. The sounds of skin on fur echoed through the room, your cock slapping against Wukong's stomach sending chills down your spine.

"Can--Can I?" Wukong asked shyly, barely holding back whimpers.

You nodded with a lustful sigh, using your hands as leverage while Wukong stroked you off with experienced and steady hands. You laid your head on his chest, panting harshly as you continued to bounce on the lovely appendage that stimulated you so greatly.

You whimpered to Wukong, kissing his neck roughly as your hands scrambled for purchase. "I'm--I'm gonna."

Suddenly, Wukong grabbed you, twisting you onto your back as he pounded roughly into. "Mm, sorry, blossom--I can't--"

"Wukong--Ghhh--Wukong!" You cried out, feeling your prostate being abused over and again as you came, thin ropes draping your stomach and sticking to Wukong's fur.

Neither you care, as Wukong ruthlessly thrust into you despite your own overstimulation leading you to come a second time in mere seconds. Wukong gripped onto you, claws nearly drawing blood in your skin as he came inside of you with a loud moan.

"Fuck--hhh--"

"Wukong," You groan, feeling your asshole stretch slightly. "Take it out--I can't--"

"I'm sorry," Wukong whimpered, nuzzling into your neck as he knotted fully into you. "Pups--I want--I want pups."

You whimpered a second time, feeling Wukong's hand drift lower, stroking you a final time before you came with a shuddered sigh.

"I'm carrying?--No, no--" Euphoria was clouding you, a dizzying sense of bliss and comfort sending waves of pleasure through your stomach. "We can't have pups silly."

Wukong kissed you tenderly, biting your lips playfully. "I can still try, right?"

You giggle highly, stroking the disheveled monkey's mane. "You're just a simple creature after all, you silly oaf."

[corpsebasil]

I Will Tell You Who You Are

When Nikolai is infected with Merzost, the only one who can comfort him is his queen.

You were sprinting down the hall.

You could hear him, screaming, screaming your name as you made your way to his rooms. The guard outside merely stepped in your path, a troubled look on his face. You couldn’t catch your breath; you felt like you’d vomit as you heard Nikolai’s scream of pain, his voice catching on a sob.

“Open the door.” You gasped, feeling desperate. “Open the fucking door.”

“I—I cannot, Your Majesty. The King has requested no one—”

“I am his wife. If I wish to enter I will.” Nikolai’s sob split the air around you and you almost threw the guard to the floor. “Move or so help me God, I’ll kill you myself.”

The guard’s throat bobbed.

Your husband was barely around anymore. You’d been traumatized at the coronation and were desperate for his attention. And yes, while he saw you in the day, he didn’t feel fully with you anymore. He hadn’t shared a bed in almost a month, and you couldn’t take it.

That’s when you’d heard his scream.

“Move.” You commanded, voice shaking, and the guard slowly stepped to the side.

You almost ripped the handle as you shoved the door open, a shriek leaving your lips at the sight in front of you. Nikolai was chained—chained—to his bed, black tendrils of dark power wrapping around him. He was trembling, sweat beading on his brow as the power seemed to dull.

“Y/N,” he was shaking. Shaking. “you can’t be here.”

“What is happening to you?” Your voice broke as you moved forward, trying to ignore his flinch at your approach.

“It’s in—inside me.” He panted, shaking his head. “Don’t come near me, Y/N. Please. It’s fighting—” he bent double, back bowing towards his knees as a cry of pain left him, every muscle tensing. Nikolai sobbed, gritting his teeth, and you saw that the clenched fingers of his hands were tinged with black.

“My love what—”

“Go!” He shouted, yanking at his own chains as he panted through clenched teeth. “Go, Y/N, I never wanted you to see—”

“Nik.” You choked on a gasp of pain and dropped to your knees in front of him, grabbing his face. He shook his head wildly, eyes wet and squeezed shut as he fought your grip. “Nikolai it’s me. It’s me.”

“No, no, no.” He shook, still attempting to scramble away as you held him fast. “Don’t touch me. You have to leave.”

“I love you, Nik. Please, please let me help you.”

“I’m insane.” He sobbed, the black slowly vanishing as he collapsed roughly into your chest, his locked muscles releasing. His hands strained painfully against the restraints, but they were the only things holding him up. “I have lost my mind, Y/N. I cannot live in this way. I am dangerous to you you need to leave—”

“I will not leave you.” You fought, running your hand across his sweaty brow, forcing those gorgeous eyes of his to meet your own as you gripped his chin. “I am not weak. Am I weak, Nikolai?”

He swallowed.

“No.”

“And have I ever left you?”

His eyes shuttered.

“No.” Nikolai’s face crumpled as he shook, dropping his head against your shoulder as you held him. He was gasping for breath, shaking his head lightly back and forth, muttering to himself. “Get it out of me.” He whispered, and your heart cleaved inside your chest. “Get it out. Get it out. Get it out.” He yanked at his chains and let out a scream of anger and pain, shaking in your desperate hold as tears ran hot and fast down your face.

“I am here. I am here.” Your hands gripped his hair, your body pressing him to your own, feeling your nightgown soak as he cried out of frustration.

“I cannot control it.” He wept, wrists raw from struggling as he attempted to calm himself. “I cannot control my own body—my own mind. I will hurt you. Do not allow the one thing I love left to be lost. If I hurt you—” he sucked in a breath and you gripped his head again, pulling his tear stained face off your shoulder to peer up at your own.

“If you cannot control it,” you said, voice trembling as you stared down at the raw blue gaze of your King. “then I will be your control. I will be your anchor.” You wrapped your arms around him, mouth wobbling as you kissed his head. “I will be your tether to this Earth. I will ease your suffering, Nikolai.”

“Please.” He whispered, but was pressing as close to you as he could get. “Please do not leave me alone tonight. Please.”

“I will never leave you alone.” You promised, and when he had calmed enough to attempt to sleep, the clasps still around his wrists, you curled up on the couch, your mind racing and your heart heavy.

short and to the point and very much inspired by bridgerton because it just makes sense

[astrobolical]

Hi hi! I saw you write for Obey Me and was wondering if I could request Mammon, Satan, and Beel with a reader that holds their horns during sex? It’s perfectly fine if you don’t want to!

Grabbing a demon by the horns -

Content Warnings: Ns.fw! MDNI!!, sex in a shared area, riding, biting, growling/slightly animalistic reactions, horny as hell demons, sub-ish Mammon (kinda), oral (GN Receiving), unprotected sex, creampies

Reader: Gender Neutral

Characters: Mammon, Satan, Beelzebub

Hi!! You absolutely can, I love this idea! (Two of my favourites, too ahhhhh!) This was super fun to write, so I hope you like how it turned out! I love how easily these guys can just… do things. They’re insanely strong, capable and absolutely putty in MC’s hands anyway.

I fully believe Mammon’s horns are much stronger than they appear— so he doesn’t need to worry about a human grabbing them being damaging. I think the only brother that would really need to ‘worry’ about that might be Levi, but even then it’d just be the smaller offshoots on his horns, and they’d repair quickly anyway.

Thank you so much for requesting this!

Hands rested against the skin of your hips, grip tentative as Mammon hesitated to guide the pace, to fuck up into you until your hips ached. You could see it in the way his half-lidded eyes stared at where the two of you were connected, the way his hips twitched beneath you in a desperate, needy motion. All bravado stripped from him as you straddled him, raising your hips tantalizingly slowly so only his head remained inside.

“Fuck, MC, yer gonna kill me.” He groaned, head falling back against the pillows strewn across his bed. Slowly you sink yourself back down onto his cock until you are fully seated on his hips, grinding yourself into him, enjoying the way his mouth falls open, little whimpers and moans gracing your ears. His cock twitched, aching for release, precum leaking as he bit his lip.

You allowed yourself to fall forward, arms caging the demon between them, increasing the friction between the two of you, the arousal palpable. Sharp teeth find your wrist as Mammon turns his head to nip, eyes screwed shut as your pace picks up, muffling his little whimpers and cries with your skin.

When your thrusts stilled once more he let out a cry of frustration, the euphoria he’d been feeling slipping through his fingers once again. Your little giggle above him letting him know you knew exactly what you were doing to him, dragging these noises from your demon who would never normally allow you to hear them so easily. “MC!” He whines, cock pulsing. “Come on!”

“Aww, Mammon, wanna cum that bad?” He huffed, glaring up at you as he bit down particularly harshly, causing you to sit back and withdraw your arms from his reach.

Suddenly the hands on your hips gripped tightly, indenting your skin with inevitable bruises in the shape of his fingertips, nails digging in and leaving crescent moon shaped reminders of what was about to happen. Mammon lifted you easily before his hips surged forward to follow.

The motion sent you tumbling forward again, catching yourself on the first purchase that your scrambling hands could find. Mammon was relentless, thrusting upwards with abandon, stilling only momentarily as your hands gripped the horns protruding from his head.

He gave you no time to adjust your grip, growling at the feeling of the pressure your hands provided, as if a switch had been flipped within him.

His eyes narrowed, bouncing you impossibly faster on his dick, ignoring your little pleas to slow, the little cries of his name. “Hold on ‘ta me MC, yer not gettin’ away now.” Despite his bold words you could see the blush on his cheeks, his horns sensitive to your grip as you moved your hands downwards towards his scalp. The base of his horns being touched only adds fuel to his already desperate need for you.

“Wanna fuck you full, MC.” He whimpered, the truth coming forth as he lost himself to the heat of your body, the connection between the two of you, the erotic sight of you losing yourself above him. “Fuck, please, lemme cum inside.”

You nodded erratically, breathless as each powerful thrust knocked the wind from your lungs. The obscene sounds from where skin met skin echoing within Mammon’s room, the way he whimpered and moaned out your name as he neared the edge— it all proved too much as you came undone.

Mammon’s cock twitches as he empties out inside of you shortly after, your tight hole milking him through your own orgasm, his hot cum filling you. He rides out his orgasm before lifting you from his hips, watching the mix of fluids trickle down your thighs, dripping down onto him and he curses at the very sight, heat rushing downwards once again, flipping you onto your back.

You use his horns to pull him downwards into a breathless kiss, and Mammon groans. “Damn, MC…”

He presses himself back into you, not giving you time to recuperate. “Need ya. Need ya again, MC.” He presses his horns into your grip, clearly enjoying the way your hands massage the base where they connect to him. Who were you to deny your precious demon what he needs?

A hot tongue pressed against your sex, hungrily devouring all you had to offer, licking anywhere he could. Satan enjoyed the taste of your body, nestled between your thighs and watching each contortion of your face as he pleasured you. He could feel every twitch of your thighs beneath his fingers, how they tightened around him when he moved his tongue just right.

Hot breath ghosting across your skin made you whimper, the predatorial look in his eyes making your heart race and the heat rushed through you. Satan looked as though he was starving just for you, as if you were the only thing that could fulfill him in that moment. Sharp teeth threatened your most sensitive area, a hint of danger that had your adrenaline pumping, as if simply being at the mercy of the Avatar of Wrath wasn’t enough.

You begged for him, craving how it felt when he filled you, the way his body pressed down against yours, how possessive it could feel to have him hovering over you. “Not yet, MC.” He grumbled into your sex, grinning at how needy you were for him already.

In your desperation you reached out, grabbing onto his horns and tugging him forward roughly, burying him between your thighs to urge him to hurry. What you were met with made your body feel as though it had been set ablaze. Satan snarled, gripping the plush of your thighs in warning as he sat up, wrenching his horns away from you in the process. Though the noise was frighteningly feral, you could see the way his tail swayed behind him, how the fire in his eyes seemed to ignite further— oh, he’d liked that.

“Impatient, are we MC?” He crooned, his hand trailing up your abdomen. “Think it’s funny to grab a demon like that?”

“Grabbing my demon like that.” You corrected, though not as confidently as you’d intended. The look in his eyes alone had you pinned in place, and your voice was lost as you replied in a small whisper.

Satan wasted no more time, complying to your impulses, lifting your legs over his shoulders in one motion and pressing you down hard into the floor of his room where you’d been reading together, mindful of the haphazard towers of books around you.

His cock filled you suddenly, without warning, and you cried out his name in surprise. “You’re so tight for me, MC.” He hummed as you frantically searched for something, anything, to hold to ground yourself as his body rocks into yours, barely hearing his teasing words and tone. Instead you hear his growl as you once again grab him by the horns, pulling him down even if it bends you further in half, pulling him until you can just reach him to press a messy kiss against his mouth.

Satan adjusts readily, tail now lashing at the feeling of being pulled at your whim, riling the already lustful man up further. You’re sure your body will be bruised with the sheer strength behind each thrust, that you’ll leave with deep bites as he tries to restrain himself and mark you as his all at the same time.

He looks almost wild, instincts alight and running rampant with each tug of his horns, each fumble to keep yourself steady.

You lost track of time, senses narrowed in only on the demon using your body for his pleasure, chasing your own high along with him. Each orgasm he ripped from your body leaving you shaking, your limbs weak and your hole spasming around him.

When Satan cums, it’s deep within you, wrenching his horns from your grasp so he can bury his face into your neck, biting down harshly as he growls. His tail still lashing wildly from side to side, a shiver running down his spine as he marks you as his inside and out. “Satan…” you whine, quivering at the pain and pleasure you were lost in.

“It’s okay, MC.” He panted, licking the deep mark he left on your neck before he sat back, staying connected with you as long as he could. “I’ll take care of you.”

A flurry of motion, your back pressed against the coolness of the nearby wall. Contrasting the sheer, overwhelming warmth that overtook you as Beelzebub pressed impossibly close. Large hands moved you with ease, your body weighing nothing to him as he kept you aloft. Your legs wrapping needlessly around his waist, locking him into the proximity he’d set, though you knew he’d never back away now, not when everything he wanted was right before him.

His cock, hard, twitching and desperate for you, pressed deep within you without further warning. Filling you, so deeply buried in your tight heat, his growl mixing with the low moan that spilled from you. So deep, so searingly warm, Beelzebub filled you completely.

His eyes filled with a hunger only you could satiate, his lips greedily claiming yours to stifle your moans as he rocked his hips into yours. Whimpering whispers of his name, flooding out like a mantra, you claw at his back, his shoulders, anywhere your hands could find purchase as his thrusts rocked your entire body, bouncing you perfectly back down onto him.

“Shhh, MC.” He growled, wary of being found in such a precarious situation, yet finding the thought exhilarating at the same time. The contrasting feelings brought a sense of excitement, making your heart race faster, the coil in your belly tightening and the heat consuming your body.

Tremors rippled through your spine as he hit that perfect spot inside of you, blinding pleasure flooding through you and you pressed your lips to his in a desperate attempt to quiet the moans. A deep groan rumbled from Beelzebub, the vibrations tickling your tongue. Your hands moved from his shoulders to bury themselves in his hair, tugging him as close as you could.

Soon your fingers met the plated bumps of his horns, the surface smooth, and you gently massaged the base. A rumbling, loud growl escaped the demon holding you, hips jerking forward erratically at the feeling, and you gripped his horns like a lifeline.

You pulled him by his horns, Beelzebub’s hip stuttering as he pulled away from you, however slightly. His eyes blown wide, overtaken entirely by the dark, hungry lust he had for you but you could see the concern in his gaze as his pace slowed, his breathing laboured. One hand touched your cheek, gently guiding you to meet his gaze, still holding you steady with ease despite the movement.

“Are… you alright?” He breathed, his body shaking as he restrained himself from continuing to take you, to devour you. “Did I hurt you, MC?”

“What?” You stuttered, whining at the loss of the pleasure that had you teetering over the edge just a moment before. “No, no Beel, I’m okay. Please…” You desperately wiggled your hips, silently pleading for him to start again, to give you what you both needed. You pulled his horns again, his time to guide his mouth to yours.

Reassured, Beelzebub’s worry faded away, his wings chittering behind him as he began his brutal pace again. The sound of his skin against yours echoing in the quiet of the kitchen, moonlight filtering through the window.

His grunts, breathing, and growls all you could hear, his scent overwhelming, Beelzebub overwhelmed every sense you had. “Beel, Beel, please—“

Waves of pleasure overtook you as you came undone from his cock alone, grip tightening on his horns and you could feel his grip on your hips tighten, a loud moan coming from your demon as you tightened around him.

Beelzebub pressed in one final time, stilling as his cock twitched, releasing into you, filling you even more, making you unbearably warm. You kissed him, finally releasing his horns in favour of cupping his face in your palms, only moving far enough away to rest your forehead against his as you parted, panting.

“I’m glad you’re okay, MC.” He whispered, nuzzling his forehead into yours, not releasing you from his hold. “When you grabbed my horns I was worried you were trying to stop me.”

“Never, Beel, you’ve never hurt me.” You smiled, touched that even in the throes of passion Beelzebub was still concerned with your safety over his own pleasure. “I’m sorry I just grabbed them like that.”

He laughed, finally pulling himself from your warmth, though still holding you closely. “Don’t be, MC. Next time, will you grab my horns again…?”

You stared at him a moment, before realizing that it must have felt good to Beel. “Of course.” It was your turn to laugh, tucking away that information for the next time you and Beel would have some fun together.

[starglow-xx]

“i think you forgot something!”

isagi yoichi x gn! reader

in where your boyfriend’s forgetful habits somehow leave you the one being flustered

a/n: i’ve fallen fast and hard for the blue lock boys (specifically isagi yoichi but shh) so here we go but also happy birthday yoichi ily <33

inspired by this scenario: Person A is about to leave for work. Person B asks them if they've forgotten anything, and Person A gives them a kiss. Person B turns red and opens their hand to reveal Person A's keys/wallet/etc., saying 'I meant this, but thanks.'

Isagi was already half way out the door when you called for him, jogging slightly to meet him at the door frame. He was running late as he fell to the temptation of staying in with you for a little longer in bed.

Before he knew it, he had just about 7-10 minutes to leave before he’ll surely be late and as much as he wants to continuously improve his skills for soccer, he does not want to subject himself to whatever punishment would be waiting for him.

Isagi as quickly as he could with his thoughts already so scrambled went through a mental checklist of possible things that he could’ve forgotten.

And whether or not it’s a list comprised of things he has actually forgotten in the past is irrelevant. He ignores the your voice in his head telling him he’s “head empty, only soccer”.

He’s thinks it’s dumb though, because really, you’re the one always on his mind.

Okay, but water bottle? Yes, he nearly knocked off like 3 things off the fridge shelf to get it, but it’s in his bag.

His keys? Yeah, they should be in the pocket of his bag.

His cleats? Should still be in his bag from yesterday’s practice.

Ah! Duh, what else could he be missing?

Tunnel vision seeing nothing but your face, he quickly took a stride forward and wrapped an arm around your waist and used his other hand to cup the side of your face and pulled you into a long kiss.

The squeak that accidentally left your mouth was lost in the kiss as you feel yourself literally melt into your boyfriend’s arms, knees weakening almost embarrassingly quick.

Yoichi deepened the kiss tilting both your heads, as you feel yours spinning, although you aren’t really sure if it’s due to the sudden kiss itself or the lack of oxygen.

The blue eyed male pulls away to be met with your burning face. He smirks slightly at his work and brushes hair from your face, then kisses your forehead gently.

His smile is gentler and more affectionate as he pulls away to look at you again.

“Sorry love, almost forgot your goodbye kiss”

He didn’t think your face could get any redder, but you always managed to surprise him. He watched you fumble with something behind your back, avoiding eye contact, and you slowly pulled out his cleats.

“I-I meant your cleats, but t-thanks...”

Isagi blinked twice in surprise. He was not expecting that.

Getting more flustered due to this silence, you ramble on using the cleats to cover your face.

“B-but not that I mind! Actually, I don’t mind if you do that again later...”

You mumbled the last part, but naturally, your egoist of a boyfriend happened to hear.

His face breaks out into a smile combination that to you seems so Isagi Yoichi being a mixture of smugness and boyishness.

Having enough (not really) of the man in front of you, you shove the cleats into his arms feeling your own mouth break into a grin as he laughs at you.

“Go on you egoist! You’re going to be late! Don’t come running to me when all the boys target you for dragging your practice back!” You playfully chastise as you practically push him out the door, knowing fully well that he’s letting you because he’s much stronger than you.

“I’m going! I’m going!”, your boyfriend laughs out.

You watch as Isagi walks out, leaning against the doorframe as he does so, a gentle smile as you wave when he turns around.

All of a sudden he sends you a cheeky smile, and before you know it, his lips are back on yours. Before you can even kiss back, he breaks the kiss, and runs away from your spot at the door.

You gape at his back as you process what happened.

Never mind being an egoist, what a little shit!

“Isagi Yoichi!”

You’re only met with the light laughter that carries throughout the corridor.

im a simp for isagi yoichi <33

as always, reblogs and shares are appreciated! i hope you all stay safe! and just in case nobody told you they loved you today, i love you! you are enough! <3

writing belongs to me! please do not plagiarize, repost, or translate on here or any other sites!

[bountycancelled]

LOST CAUSE

bada x reader (part 4)

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

warnings: none I believe (besides subpar writing because I'm burnt out)

content: mentions of sex (but no one's actually fucking) sad gays, but some happy gays too, bada being hypothetically, reader lowkey slaying???

lusher wished that you could see yourself the way she sees you.

sure, it was cliché, but that didn't mean that she didn't believe it. you were much better than you gave yourself credit for, better than the things you put yourself through just to call bada a friend.

"what?"

lusher blinked rapidly, her heartbeat matching the pace set by her eyelashes. you had caught her staring, again. she scrambled for something, anything to say. something to diffuse this strange tension that she had caused. "I just... you look good."

real smooth lusher, you're a certified flirting expert.

you simply let out an airy laugh, waving away the compliment with your hand. "I'm literally wearing your shirt, narcissistic much?"

lusher sputtered, shaking her hands rapidly as she tried explain herself to you. "I'm kidding lusher! you're always so on edge around me, i swear."

lusher laughed with you, hoping that you didn't catch the look in her eyes that confirmed what you had just said. on edge, not exactly the term that she would use to describe how she felt around you. about you.

maybe giddy? nervous? wanting to impress? she wasn't sure, and right now, with you in her apartment instead of in badas' like you always were she wasn't worried about anything but you.

"it's actually because... im in love with you, and I always have been." lusher stated in an overdramatised manner, her hand on her chest.

"get in line." you replied back, giggling at her mock confession. lusher joined in on your laughing, ending it with a sigh. it felt so strange to say those words out loud to you, even though you didn't believe them to be true.

it was cathartic, in a weird way. she got the relief of confessing, but without the consequences. this had to some kidn of self sabotage, but she didn't mind it, anything to hear your laugh.

your moment together was interrupted when you checked your phone momentarily, only to be met by a flood of messages and missed calls. all from bada.

you let out a sigh, realising that your absence had probably worried her. you started typing a response, assuring her that you were okay at lushers, when the woman in question entered through lusher's front door.

"I have no idea where she is, lusher. she wasn't at my place, so I went to hers and nothing. I'm starting to thin- oh." she paused her rant mid way through when she saw you, obviously surprised that you were here.

she rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly, her lips pressed into a thin line. "... can we talk?"

you looked at her, before turning your gaze back to lusher, silently asking if you could go speak with bada privately. she was disappointed, you could tell. hell, anyone with eyes could tell that she didn't want you to go, not now, not for bada.

nevertheless, she nodded, trying and failing to hide her displeased expression.

"I went back to my place looking for you, I didn't know you were at lushers." bada was the first to speak once you both entered her car, facing forward with her hands on the steering wheel out of habit. her tone was... strange. for lack of a better word. there was some semblance of anger, you think? you couldn't place it, and that just made it all the more confusing.

"I was." your reply was curt. to the point. no cushioning bada from your anger, no more fake smiles and laughs, just you and how your real feelings being expressed to her fully.

she physically flinched just a bit at your coldness, but it was almost refreshing. like a run early in the morning, or the blazing, bitter first sip of coffee when all you want to do is go back to bed. a wake up call.

another awkward silence stretched over the car, with only the feint song on the radio and the nervous drumming of bada's fingers on the steering wheel to break the uncomfortable quiet.

"I'm sorry." bada said softly, effectively breaking the silence. "for not taking as much care of our friendship as you were. i know it may not seem like it because of my actions, but you are my whole world, and when I showed up to my apartment and you weren't there anymore I–"

was she crying? you didn't know, you weren't looking at her, you couldn't bear the sadness in her voice. you simply faced forward, letting her say her piece.

"I realised that losing you would be the end of my life as I know it, and I know that it's shitty of me to only realise it when you have one foot out the door but I hope that you... will allow me to prove or redeem myself to you or... just please. please, give me a chance."

you took it all in, her words. they seemed... sincere, and you wanted so desperately to immediately put a smile on your face, jokingly mock her for being so dramatic and assure her that you weren't going anywhere.

but, you didn't.

you nodded, turning to face her so that you could acknowledge her apology verbally. "you're my best friend, bada. I haven't given up on you." those words, however curt they were, lifted the heavy weight on her shoulders instantaneously.

she was relieved that she hadn't lost you yet, and she was going to do everything in her power to ensure that it wouldn't come to that.

she wrapped her arms around you from where she sat in the drivers seat, squeezing you tightly, as if she was afraid that you would disappear. she let you go, wearing a giddy expression on her face. "you are too good for me, my love. okay, okay, what do you wanna do now? we could go to the arcade and as a treat I'll finally let you beat me at that stupid dancing game."

you grimaced, feeling a lump from in your throat. "although I'd absolutely love to‐" bada's heart sank into her stomach. she knew she wasn't going to be forgiven immediately, but knowing didn't make your rejection any less heartbreaking.

"-but lusher actually wanted to have a game night kinda thing, and I couldn't ditch her in good conscious. it would be a little hypothetical of me. but, I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?" you concluded, already opening the passenger door.

as you walked back to lusher's front door, you couldn't help but feel a little proud of yourself. usually, you would've jumped at the opportunity to even be in bada's presence, cherishing every speck of attention she'd give you.

but as you walked back into her apartment, the look on lusher's face made any doubts about your decision to stay vanish in her eyes.

"I thought you were gonna leave with bada." lusher spoke, unable to hide the smile creeping on her face. you had chosen her. by some miracle, you'd chosen her.

"and miss our impromptu game night? not a chance. now, prepare to lose at every game we play." you smiled back, feeling a small amount of guilt at leaving bada, but not enough to sour being with lusher.

☆

so this was what it was like.

to be rejected in favour of someone else.

bada could now understand your qualms perfectly, and the feeling she was experiencing left her wondering why you had even given her another chance.

it was a special kind of rejection, made up of a range of emotions. she was angry, not at you but rather, at herself. how many times had you felt this way because of her?

she was jealous. of lusher, she wanted to be the one that you were spending the night, she wanted to do game night with you. she wanted you to be in her shirt, not lushers. not anyone else's.

god, that fucking shirt. if she ever got her hands on it, she would burn it, or shred it, because maybe if it were destroyed, bada could live the rest of her days pretending that you had never put on your body in the first place.

did you let lusher see you out of the shirt as you were changing? were you going to let her take it off of you at the end of the night? were you and lusher a thing?

she couldn't stomach the thought. of you, sweet, gorgeous, sexy you being touched by someone else. the thought of your back arching, your mouth falling open, sweet noises escaping from between your lips because of lusher.

the thought ate her up from the inside as the hours of the night turned to morning. she had no reason to be so opposed to you receiving pleasure, lusher wasn't a bad person by any means, she would treat you well.

but bada could treat you even better, she was sure of it. she had spent years with you, and she was confident that she knew your body better than anyone else, even though you had never slept together.

bada stared at her phone. the time read 2:47 am. no new messages from you.

having thoughts about sleeping with her best friend was not something that bada had expected to do. maybe it was sleep deprivation making her delirious or something, maybe this was her brains attempt at conceptualising just why she felt so abrasive when confronted either the thought of you with someone else.

or maybe... this was the beginning of the eventual self reflection that bada would have to do to conceptualise how she felt about you.

whatever it was, she needed to sleep. she needed to sleep to forget that you were mostly likely, too busy with lusher to even remember her.

wow, she was such a hypocrite.

a/n: who are you guys rooting for? do you think there's still hope for bada and reader?

[ramsayxme]

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six / AO3 Link

TW - ramsay bolton, marriage, forceful sex, choking, unconscious sex, murder, death, manipulation, cutting / talking about wounds in detail, violence, stockholm syndrome.

Chapter Seven: You Belong Here

For the first time in a very long time, you were woken up by sunlight beaming down on your face. You turned over, nuzzling into your sleeping lover. Ramsay slept flat on his back with one hand always touching you. You blinked as you woke up, staring lovingly at Ramsay. Sleep made him look soft, his chest rose and fell gently with his breathing. You kissed his chest as you propped yourself up on your elbows, stomach on the bed. "Ramsay..." You whispered. He softly stirred, his eyes rolling open, a small grunt escaping his lips. Seeing him like this made you smile.

"My love, wake up." You whispered again, tracing the muscles on his toned arms with your fingertips. Ramsay rolled into you, wrapping you in his arms. He nuzzled his warm face in your chest, a raspy groan coming from his throat. "No." He said, his voice hoarse and thick with sleep but muffled into your body. You could feel him exhaling against your chest as you stroked his hair. You knew you were falling in love with him. You hadn't fully accepted it yet, but you knew it was happening. Today you were going to marry him and the idea didn't completely scare you, in fact you were almost excited.

"Ramsay, we are going to have our wedding today." You whispered, causing him to roll onto his back and finally open his beautiful eyes. "Yes, we are." He mumbled, his lips turning into a grin. "Are you excited?" He asked. You nodded, your hair falling onto his bare chest. "Of course I am. Are you?" He chuckled, brushing your hair back with his hand. "Yes. I am."

Ramsay sat up and climbed out of bed. "In fact, we should get up. I would hate to have to wait any longer than we have to for our wedding night." He flashed a grin at you and you felt your stomach flutter. You giggled and scurried off, Ramsay slapping your ass as you ran away. You ran all the way to your chambers where there was a long white dress waiting for you on your bed, and a white fur cloak. Reek was waiting for you in the corner of your room. He startled you, as you didn’t expect to see anyone.

“I’m here to help you with anything you may need, M’Lady.” He muttered. You walked up to him. “I’m sorry for last night, Reek… I didn’t want to hit you.” You reached your hand out to him, trying to show some humanly comfort but he only flinched. He didn’t respond to your apology. “Master said I am not allowed to s-speak any more to you, only to say what I have to.” Reek trembled. You sighed as you turned to your dress. There was no sense in trying anymore, he was a lost cause. Reek turned around so you could get dressed. You wondered if you were also a lost cause as you pulled your wedding gown over your head and fastened your bridal cloak.

You heard footsteps running in the hallway and a few men shouting. This wasn’t normal, but you didn’t want to involve yourself. Reek shuddered at the sound. Ramsay opened your door, he was dressed in the finest leather you’ve seen him wear. Gods, he was handsome. His hair was clean and curling under his ears. His freshly shaven skin looked soft and gentle, but you knew it was a mask; one that you’d come to love. Ramsay grinned. “Reek! Go make sure everything is set up to my liking and let me have a moment with my future wife!” He barked, sending Reek scrambling out the door.

That’s when you noticed the bloody knife in Ramsay’s hand. He wiped the knife clean on a blanket draped over the chair in your room. He noticed your gaze lingering on his knife and he chuckled. “Don’t worry, my love. I’ll never hurt you. It’s unfortunate, really…. My father must’ve been poisoned by our enemies… I just found him dead.” Ramsay grinned at you as he stepped closer, putting his knife back into its sheath. He wrapped his hands around your waist and admired your beauty. “Now, we truly can be the Lord and Lady of the Dreadfort.”

Your chest felt warm as you pressed your lips against his. You knew he had just stabbed his own father, but you felt the urge to belong to him in this moment. He was doing this for your future, your title, your family. You felt somewhat honored. Again, Ramsay had the power to make you feel less than the dirt caked to his shoes one minute and then the next minute, the best prize in all of the seven kingdoms. Your arms hung around his neck, your fingers playing with his curls on the back of his neck. He gave you a closed lip smile as his eyes scanned your face.

Your wedding was somber, as Roose Bolton had just been murdered, but it was beautiful for you and your husband. Bolton men lined the courtyard with torches as you and Ramsay shared your moments. It was early evening, the sun had set and the sky was hazy. Nothing else mattered, the audible fear from both women and men had been drowned out by Ramsays gaze. He stared at you with a mixture of possession and longing. Snow gently fell, sprinkling flakes on Ramsay's dark hair. He looked absolutely handsome. His eyes pierced into you, his mouth tightened into a grin as you spoke. "I take this man." You announced when prompted, and you and Ramsay sealed your marriage with a kiss.

You walked down the aisle together now as husband and wife, Lord and Lady of the Dreadfort, Warden and Wardeness of the North. Ramsay was grinning from ear to ear and so were you. Although the pit of fear in your stomach was always there, you had learned to befriend it; almost welcome it. Ramsay was yours, and you were his.

Ramsay led you to your chamber that you now shared. You stepped in and he closed the door with a loud groan from the old hinges. "Are you pleased, my lady?" He asked you, stepping towards you. You nodded, smiling. "Yes, very. I love you, Ramsay." You finally spoke the words that you had been holding deep within you, locked away in a box built of shame and guilt. Ramsay smiled as he took your hands, leading you to the bed. You were completely under his spell, you were putty in his hands. He could tear you to pieces if he wanted to, limb by limb, and you wouldn't complain.

All of the sudden, Ramsay spun you around and yanked your body against his, your back pressing into his chest. He snarled as his teeth yanked at the shoulder of your dress, his hand snaking around your body to grip your throat. "You're mine." He growled, causing your eyes to flutter, knowing he was about to ravish your body. "Take off your clothes." He demanded, shoving you forward and causing you to fall to the floor. Your hands were shaky with anticipation as you unclasped your cloak and began pulling at your dress. It was fastened tightly, it was taking a long time. Ramsay was growing impatient as he grabbed the same knife that had plunged into his father's chest that evening. He brought the knife to your back and sliced the back of the dress open.

You felt pain as you realized he had also slashed the skin on your back quite deeply while cutting the cloth. You felt the warmth of blood begin trickling out of your fresh wound. Ramsay didn't care, jerking the dress open fully with his hands until it fell to the floor. Ramsay had the devil in his eyes as he turned you around, meeting your gaze. He flashed his teeth before he sunk them into your shoulder. You moaned as Ramsay began to suck on your skin, leaving dark bruises in his path.

He pushed you down on the bed, stomach down and face first. He yanked his own clothing off before he mounted you, spitting on his hard cock before shoving it deep inside you. As soon as his cock entered you, you felt his fingers at your back wound. He pressed his fingers into the deep cut, causing you to scream out in pain. Ramsay growled as he began thrusting hard, you know he enjoyed to hear you in pain. He leaned forward and bit your wound, pulling even more screams from your lungs. Your eyes swelled with tears as he applied more pressure to your open skin.

Even with the pain you were enduring, you tilted your hips slightly to allow Ramsay full access into you. He groaned when you did so, the slight angle allowing him to slide in with more ease. "That's a good girl... I've trained you so well." He moaned as he stayed leaned forward, his teeth leaving throbbing marks on your upper back. One of his hands found your hair as he yanked your head back, forcing your neck to bend so you could look at him upside-down.

His pace slowed as he leaned closer to your ear. His face had your blood on it from kissing your wounded back. He gently whispered to you, "Do you remember our first night together? You fought me so hard... and now, your cunt is soaking wet with the thought of me abusing you, isn't it? You're so good." He purred. You couldn't deny him, moaning in agreement. He yanked on your hair even more, your neck unable to bend back any further, as he let go of your hair and wrapped his arm around your neck. Your chin rested in the crook of his elbow as he squeezed, growling in your ear as he choked you relentlessly. You attempted to whine, but only wheezes came out as you felt yourself slipping into unconsciousness.

You immediately knew you had passed out. You sucked in air as you felt reality seep back in, Ramsay still fucking you without yield. You were dizzy as Ramsay flipped you over, your body obeying him like a rag doll. You looked at your husbands face, he had wiped the blood off of himself. Ramsay's lips tightened as he reached his hand out and slapped you across the face with all of his force. The single stinging slap was enough to nearly knock you unconscious again.

You felt your eyes rattling in your skull as you focused on Ramsay, his hand pulled back so he could swing again. Before he could, you reached up and gripped his throat with both of your hands. He grinned, "There you go!" He growled. He grabbed you tightly and flipped the both of you over once more, so you were on top of him. His hair flopped on the bed and he looked up at you. "I made you mine. Now, make me yours." His eyebrows raised when you hesitated.

You leaned forward, putting all of your weight onto his throat. His eyes slightly bulged as he smiled, "Hit me." He wheezed. You pulled your hand back and slapped him with all the strength you had. His smile didn't fade as his eyes fluttered. You pulled back again, forming a fist this time. You landed your punch on his cheekbone, he moaned with sadistic satisfaction. You didn't ease up, your body was bubbling over with leftover anger from how he had treated you, sudden bursts of power, and an uncontrollable urge to hurt him.

You kept throwing punches at your new husband's gorgeous face, kissing each of his cheekbones with flowering bruises. He never stopped grinning as he absorbed your blows. You leaned forward to choke him again, not letting go. Ramsay's eyes slid backwards as he fell unconscious just as you had. The monster within him fell silent as his head fell limply to the side. You paused as you realized he was knocked out, his cock still hard inside you. You rocked back and forth, wanting your pleasure to continue. Ramsay had used you, couldn't you use him in return?

You slid your body up and down on his cock, peering at his face every few moments to see if he was waking back up. You felt powerful, but nothing in you wanted to leave him. You could've gotten up and left him forever but instead you leaned forward, pressing your bare chest against his as you bucked your hips up and down on his cock. You felt the warmth growing in your core as you reached down to rub yourself as he slid in and out of you at your own perfect pace. You started to teeter on the edge of an orgasm when you saw his eyes flicker back to life. He grinned, watching you bring yourself to climax on his cock. You erupted, quivering and moaning as your body rode out the wave on him. He lay there, his arms behind his head and grinning, admiring his wife's orgasmic bliss.

You slowly came down from your orgasm as you laughed, sliding your body off of Ramsay. "My Lord, that was-" You had barely lifted yourself off of him before he grabbed your throat once again, slamming you backwards into the bed. "You think I am finished with you? I didn't get to come yet, my love! You'd be quite selfish if you didn't allow your husband to finish on his wedding night, don't you think?" He purred as he inserted himself back into your soaking slit, forcing your back into the bed. Your back ached as you remembered your wound, now being scratched against the blankets once more.

Ramsay choked you hard with both of his hands as he fucked you, knocking you unconscious once again. This time, you knew it was for a long period of time. You woke to find your husband sleeping at your side, and your body leaking his seed. You groaned as you saw the welts across your chest from his bites, your wounded back had crusted itself to the covers as you peeled yourself upright. Your body was screaming with agony as you turned sideways to lay within the crescent shape of your husbands body.

You prayed to the Gods that night. You prayed that you were pregnant with Ramsay's son. You prayed that he wouldn't hurt you through the night. You prayed for a happy marriage and for Ramsay to love you as much as you felt yourself growing to love him, regardless of the things he did to you. You prayed a second time to be pregnant with an heir. You didn't want to to disappoint your husband and the sooner you could provide him an heir, the happier he would be. You drifted off to sleep, your body screaming for help but your mind in a blissful state of attachment. You officially belonged to Ramsay. You smiled, allowing the screams from your body to be silenced by your husbands gentle snoring.

Chapter Eight

[avengerscompound]

Shared Experience - Chapter 10

Shared Experience - A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Rating:  E

Warnings:  Injuries, blood, blood-drinking, sex talk and touching.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Rose Astor

Word Count: 1972

Summary:  Rose Astor met her end in 1920, joining the ranks of the living dead two years after the birth of Steve Rogers.  A century later the two meet in battle - a beacon of light clashing with a creature of the night.  Despite their differences, the two bond over their shared life experiences.  Can a vampire become an Avenger?  Can two such different beings create a life together?

Chapter 10

Blood spilled into Rose’s mouth and down her chin, warm, salty, and nourishing.  Rose tried to turn her head, to pull away, to stop from swallowing the very thing that could keep her alive.  She had never wanted something as much as this before, yet simultaneously she wanted it to stop, to push away and fight this from happening.  Steve was trying to feed her after spending months telling her no and she wanted it so badly, but if she started, she wasn’t sure that she could stop.

There was no stopping it.  Her injuries were too severe and even if she was strong enough physically to push him away, when she was this close to death she lost all humanity.  The instinct to survive pushed away all mortal thoughts and her body acted outside her control.  It would have been hard not just to bite him if he wasn’t bleeding freely into her mouth.  The fact he was, made it impossible.

She latched on, her hands going to his forearm and holding it in place as she drank.  Each swallow of the thick hot liquid reenergized her.  Her wounds knitted and her flesh filled back out.  Color returned to her skin.  The heat from the blood radiated through her until she felt like a furnace in the middle of the snowy forest.

Never had she felt the effect of blood so fully and to such an extreme as drinking from Steve now.  It was like drinking straight from the sun.  His blood surged through her, making her feel stronger and more alive than she could ever remember feeling.  Within minutes, she felt strong enough to run again, yet she couldn’t pull herself away.

Steve moaned.  It was a low and deep sound that reverberated out from his chest.  She looked up at him.  His head had lolled back on his shoulders and the look of pure bliss etched into his features made her tingle right through to her core.  She knew what it was like for the people she fed from.  The near-orgasmic feeling that vampires created for their victims was a defense mechanism.  It stopped them from struggling and meant the Vampire had more control over the outcome.

God, how she wished this wasn’t happening like this.  In the middle of the Russian Wilderness, buried in snow, and surrounded by HYDRA was not where she wanted to be sharing this with Steve.  She wanted to do this at home, in her bed, his cock buried as deep into her cunt as he could go.  She reached down and put her hand on his cock.  He was rock hard, even through the thick fabric of his combat wear she could feel the press of his cock.  He moaned again and pulled her closer to him.  “Rose…”

It was her name that snapped her out of it.  The way he breathed it, the love that it carried even in the throes of pleasure.  She released him and pulled back, scrambling away from him.  She needed a moment to compose herself and while the wound on his wrist was still open, she wouldn’t be able to.  It would heal quickly now she wasn’t feeding - another side effect of her feeding.  The wounds healed with no scar, so no one could guess what had happened.

Steve looked up at her dazed.  “Rose?” he asked.

“Just give me a second,” she panted.  Not that she was breathing heavily.  She wasn’t breathing at all.  It was just a way to regulate the blood flow and shake off the feeding frenzy that had taken over her.  “Are you okay?  Did I drink too much?”

Steve shook his head and looked down at his wrist.  The wound was mostly healed and he rubbed his hand over it.  “I’m okay… what was that?”

“That’s why it’s taken me so long to separate feeding from sex,” she said.  “Are you sure you’re okay?  We should probably get out of here.”

He stood and while he still looked a little dazed, he was steady on his feet.  She stood, shaking off the layer of snow that was clinging to her.  “We should find the others,” she said.  “I’ll need to go to ground soon.  Dawn is coming.”

Steve pointed the way he came.  “It’s that way, but we’ll have to move fast if you’re going to make it.”

“I guess we’ll go as far as I can.  If I need to bury myself, that’s okay.  You can mark it and find me tomorrow night,” she said.

He nodded.  “Let’s go,” he said.

The two began to run, tearing along the frozen landscape toward the rest of the Avengers.  The cold air stung Rose’s cheeks, yet she couldn’t remember ever feeling warmer or more alive.  Something about Steve’s blood had invigorated her.  It had given her some sense of life again.  More than that, it made her feel slightly high.

She kept her pace steady despite wanting to take off and test her limits.  She thought with this new boost she could run over water.  She felt invincible.

At the speed they moved, she was sure she’d find the jet and the others before the sun rose.  Unfortunately, she’d misjudged exactly how long she’d been awake for.  Lethargy began to kick in and she felt the animalistic urge to start to dig.  She kept pushing, determined to find something, and just as the first rays of light rose to the East, she spotted a small ice fishing cabin.  There were no signs of life around at all and while there was the risk of someone coming during the day, with all the HYDRA activity in the area, it was safe to assume no one would be coming to use it.

Surprising as it was to find any shelter in the Russian wilderness, the fact she could see sunlight and yet was both still awake and not burning was more surprising.

She pointed at the cabin to Steve. “I’m going there.  I need to get out of the open.”

He simply nodded and she ran as fast as she could, a mere blur in the snow, pushing the limits of her abilities.  Her skin was starting to blister and her energy waned as she reached the building that was no more than a box with a slanted roof.  With a massive heave, she shoved the pile of snow away from the door, yanked it open, and hurried inside.  Once out of the sun, her skin immediately healed, giving her an almost tanned look.  The cabin had bunks built into the far wall, each with a lumpy hole-ridden mattress and dusty blankets piled on them.  Closer to the door was a wood stove, and some shelves with tinned food and a bottle of what looked like moonshine.  Rose didn’t take long to take it in.  She rushed to the bed, pulled down the upper mattress to create a walled box under the lowest bunk, grabbed the blanket, and crawled under it.  As soon as the blanket was covering her entire body, her eyes closed.  She had lost consciousness before Steve had even reached the cabin.

Rose woke all at once.  She had expected to be colder than she was, but aside from the fact that whatever was in Steve’s blood had made her own body heat to above the ambient temperature, warmth radiated out from the other side of the room.  She shimmed out under the mattress that was protecting her from the light.  Steve was sitting on a rickety fold-out chair by the stove, looking over something on his tablet.  With the large coat he had on, he looked far too big for the chair and she wondered how it was even still in one piece.

He looked up at the sound and a smile lit up his features. “Wow,” he said.  “You look - different.”

She looked down at herself to try and see what he was talking about.  All she could see was the tattered ruins of her uniform.  She didn’t need coats like the others, but the outfit covered her neck to toe, including her hands.  There was a tear in the fabric on her chest, but the wound under it was completely healed.  “What is it?”

“You have a tan,” he said.  “I was worried when the sun came up.  You normally go into autopilot as soon as it gets close to dawn so you get somewhere dark and protected.  What happened?”

She shook her head. “Your guess is as good as mine.  I felt that urge, but I was able to overrule it, and when the sun started coming up, it burned but -” she shrugged.  “I guess it was your blood.  The super-serum.  I feel - alive.  Or as close to it as I have been since I was turned.”

Steve seemed to assess her.  The weight of his gaze was heavy and she felt like she was under a magnifying glass.  She wrapped her arms around her body, almost as if she was trying to protect herself.  “Is it always like that?” he asked, finally breaking the silence.

“The way you felt?” she asked.  He gave a short nod in reply.  “Yes.  I think it’s a survival thing.  It’s safer for us if you enjoy the experience.”

He didn’t say anything and she started to worry his feelings had changed about her.  She hadn’t wanted this.  She’d tried to resist feeding from him, but he’d forced it.  “Are you angry with me?” she asked.

He blinked and shook his head.  “Oh god, no,” he said, holding out his arms.  She moved into them instinctively and he held her close to his chest.  The steady even thud of his heart soothing her along with the strong arms.  “No, honey.  How could I be angry with you?  You’ve never lied to me about what you are.  This is just new - for both of us.  I wonder what it means.”

“I’m sure it will wear off,” she said.  “Like when you eat white bread.  A blood sugar spike and then drop.  By the time I need to feed again, it’ll be like it never happened.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I guess we’ll see.”

Rose closed her eyes and just let Steve hold her.  Yesterday had been a lot.  She’d had worse days in her life, but they’d been a long time ago.  Never had she had someone there to just comfort her like this after so much stress and pain.  Usually, the person she had to be with after it, was the same person who had inflicted the pain in the first place.

She pulled back slowly and looked up at him.  “Should we find the others?” she asked.

Steve laughed.  “Oh, they’re just outside,” he said.  He opened the door of the cabin to show her the view of the lake.  On the far side, the lights from the Quin reflected off the ice from the lake, glittering like stars.  The sounds of the rest of the team talking and preparing to leave floated over on the arctic wind.  “I stayed here through the day.  I thought a wood cabin near a town and a HYDRA base might be a little risky to leave you unguarded.  If someone else came to use it or hide in it, they’d just need to start a fire and that would be the end of you.  The rest of the team was off finalizing everything.  SHIELD arrived.  They made their arrests.  The base is in the process of being cleared out of illegal equipment.”

Rose sighed in relief and leaned against him again.  “So we can go home?”

“Yeah, we have some prisoners that need to be taken to the Raft,” he said.  “But yes, we can go home.”

// NEXT