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bloodibambiidoll · 1 year ago

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Cat and Mouse

(Perv!Eddie Munson x Perv!Fem Reader)

Summary: Eddie thinks you are innocent and oblivious to all the pervy things he does behind your back, but what he doesn’t know is that you’re fully aware. Not only that, but you like it, and you just might be a bit of a perv yourself. WK: 8k (idk what happened)

Warnings: Where do I even begin? This is filthy guys… Panty stealing, honestly just Eddie and Reader both taking things of each others without asking (and using them to pleasure themselves), Maybe a tiny bit of angst? Idk there’s like a second where they’re both doubting themselves but it’s solved quickly. SMUTTTT!!! Unprotected P in V, Oral (M and F receiving), overstimulation(on R), hair pulling, slightly sub!Eddie? Idk he’s just really down bad(but so is R), dirty talk but like dirty dirty. Idk what to tell y’all they’re pervs, they’re gross, this is feral. If I missed anything pls lmk!! 18+MNDI!!

A/N: Listen… idk what came over me with this one… a horny demon possessed me and wrote this.. It was fueled by my feral period brain and all the perv Eddie fics I’ve seen where Reader is innocent, which is still very hot and I love it but I’m a whore so I wanted to write something where maybe she wasn’t as innocent as Eddie thought. That’s it, that’s all I have to say, pls enjoy the filth. 😌 (also shout out to @take-everything-you-can for mentioning something about taking Eddie’s shirt, I kind of took that idea and ran a mile with it.) My Masterlist

You met Eddie a few months ago, you were working at your uncle’s comic book shop when he came in looking for some dice. He came in a few more times after that, always needing something for his campaign, or looking for a comic for one of his younger friends he told you about. He would always stay and talk to you for a while, telling you things about his life, asking about yours. Eventually he asked you if you wanted to come to one of his shows and the two of you had basically been inseparable since.

You hadn’t known him long but it didn’t take long for you to pick up on a few things. Like how his eyes would always linger on your thighs when you’d cross them on his bed in your little ruffly skirts, or how they looked like they were going to pop out of his head when he noticed you hardly ever wear a bra. You noticed he always talked to you in this way that made you seem so innocent and pure, untouched. You weren’t, but noticed he liked it, so you played into it.

You started to notice things going missing, a pair of underwear that didn’t quite make it in the dirty clothes basket, a tester vile of your perfume you had left over from before you decided it was worth buying the whole bottle, a picture of you from your stack of polaroids that was of you at the beach in your little red bikini.

So you started leaving things. Your dirty underwear on display, always at the very top of your laundry basket. A nearly empty bottle of your favorite lotion sitting next to the trash, ready to be thrown out. A picture of your tits with your forearm just barely covering your nipples at the top of the stack of Polaroids.

Each time they would be gone, and you weren’t sure at this point if he was just playing along or if he was the one that was really that naive.

•

The first time Eddie saw you he was convinced you were an angel. Standing behind the counter at the comic shop downtown in your little white sweater and pink skirt. When he walked up to look at the dice in the glass underneath the register he could see your white thigh high socks. You had this cute ribbon in your hair and when you spoke your voice sounded like sugarcane. You asked him if there where any sets that stood out to him, and then you surprised the hell out of him by asking if they were for D&D. You had never played, but your cousins and your uncle did, so you knew the basics.

He couldn’t stop himself from coming in after that, finding any excuse to make a trip to see his favorite girl. Maybe he would decide he needed a new mini for an NPC or offer to go get a new release of a comic for Dustin while he was at school. He always spent a while standing there talking to you, getting to know you, ogling you because he just couldn’t help himself. How could he? When you would lean over the counter giving him a perfect view of your tits through your thin shirts and hardly ever wore a bra? When you would ask him to hold the ladder steady so you could get something up high and he would get a perfect view up your skirt of whatever panties you wore that day? You were irresistible.

He learned that you weren’t only beautiful but actually really cool. You knew a lot about comics, you had read Tolkien, you loved horror movies possibly more than he did, and you were down to give any music a chance.

You also had this innocence about you, like you almost didn’t realize how much he wanted you. It just made him want you more. You’d look at him with those big round eyes and pouty lips whenever he would tease you about something. When he would compliment you outright you always made this little squeaky noise and he would notice you squirm or press your thighs together.

But once you started hanging out with him outside of work that’s when he really lost control. The first time he was at your house he saw a pair of your panties next to your laundry basket. Clearly dirty by the way he could see your juices left behind on the crotch of them. You were in the bathroom changing and he just couldn’t resist. He picked them up off the ground and held them up to his nose, inhaling your scent. He felt slightly sick but he had already gone this far so he figured he might as well just have a little taste. He licked the patch where your pussy was, and even though they had mostly dried you still tasted divine. His head spun and his cock hardened as he imagined what you would really taste like. He heard the bathroom door across the hall creak open so he quickly shoved the panties into his back pocket and sat down on your bed, one leg bent at the knee crossed over the other to try and hide the very prominent bulge in his pants.

Then there was the time you had to run down to the mailboxes to check your mail, he already had been subtly staring at the small vial of your perfume after you proudly announced to him that you decided it was your signature scent now, showing him the larger bottle. He figured you wouldn’t need the small one anymore, it was almost gone anyways. So he did what he’s been finding himself doing more and more often when he’s in your room, he pocketed it. That night he sprayed it on his pillow, holding it to his face while he had your panties wrapped around his cock. Bucking into his hand with reckless abandon, imaging what yours might feel like instead.

Then there was the day he was at your apartment before you were supposed to meet up with some of his friends for a movie night and you wanted to shower after work. He was bored, snooping around a little like he usually does when he gets a moment alone in your room, and he came across a stack of Polaroids. His heart warmed when the top one was a photo of you and him at a metal show you went to with him and the guys a few towns away.

You were always surprising him and that night was no exception, banging your head until your little ribbon was about to fall out of your hair. He fixed it for you, of course. He kept looking through the stack of photos, seeing images of you and your friends back home, some of you and your cousins, and tons of you here in Hawkins. Mostly of you and him, some with his friends that were now yours too. But when he got almost to the bottom of the stack he saw a photo of you and your friends at the beach, all smiling wide at the camera. He could only see your neck and shoulders but he could tell you were wearing a little red bikini of some kind. He eagerly flipped to the next photo, hoping there might be one that proved him right, and he was not disappointed.

This picture was just you, laying on the beach with your legs outstretched in front of you, your hands were buried in the sand and just like he thought you were wearing a bright red bikini.

The way you were leaning back on your hands was making your chest stick out and the way one of your legs was slightly bent made it so he could just see the curve of your ass from the side. Your skin glistened with what he assumed was a mixture of sunscreen and sweat and he wanted to lick it off. Your eyes were adorned with heart shaped sunglasses that matched the red of your swimsuit and if he looked close enough he could tell even your toes matched.

He felt his cock harden immediately, licking his lips at the sight. Without even really thinking he shoved the photo in the back pocket of his jeans, hoping you wouldn’t notice it missing.

You tempted him twice that day, it was just too easy when you threw your clothes on top of the basket after your shower and walked into the kitchen to get a snack. Your panties were directly on top, the crotch side up, and he could see a fresh wet patch there. He couldn’t help it, he pocketed them and excused himself to the bathroom, running his tongue along the cloth where your juices had collected. His eyes rolled in the back of his head and he felt like he was going to pass out. It only took a few tugs of his cock before he was spilling cum all over his hand and exiting the bathroom with his pockets full of treasures like nothing ever happened.

•

About two weeks into this cat and mouse game you still weren’t sure you were just playing with yourself, you were alone in Eddie’s room. He ran out to his van to check for the tape he was looking for and you were sitting on his bed and one of his shirts was thrown haphazardly near his pillows like he had taken it off right before going to sleep. The thought came to you and before you could question it you were grabbing it and holding it up to your nose. It smelled good but not like you were expecting. You were expecting the scent of weed mixed with tobacco, apple shampoo and the aftershave you got for him after you told him the smell of the one he was using smelled like a 60 year old man’s wife picked it out for him.

It smelled like those things, but it also smelled like… you, your perfume. But there was something else. When you picked it up it felt slightly dry and maybe a little bit crunchy and upon closer inspection you noticed that it was dried cum. Did he spray your perfume onto his cum shirt? Was he smelling it while he stroked his cock? Thinking of you? The thought made your pussy pulse and your head spin, but it wasn’t what you wanted. Plus, he would definitely notice this missing. So when you heard the trailer door swing open you acted fast. Grabbing one of his discarded shirts that was on the ground near his bed and shoving it into your bag.

That night you did something you would’ve felt ashamed of if you weren’t positive Eddie’s done something similar, maybe even dirtier from the looks and smells of that shirt you found.

You wrapped Eddie’s shirt around your pillow and rode it until you came three times. As you drifted off to sleep still holding onto the pillow you wondered how much longer you could go without actually having the real thing.

•

Eddie was starting to wonder if you were doing this on purpose, his first indication of that being what he was currently holding in his hands. You were in the kitchen making lunch for the both of you and he was snooping around, as one does. But something caught his eye when he was walking by your shelf, something that wasn’t there before. Right on top of the stack of Polaroids he had found the bikini photo in was a picture of your tits. Your nipples were covered by your forearm, but your tits nonetheless. He was absolutely positive this hadn’t been there before, he definitely would have noticed.

Did you notice that he took the bikini photo and leave this here on purpose so he would see it? Did you take this for someone else? The thought of that made him sick to his stomach. His thoughts were bouncing around in his head like a ping pong ball trying to decide if he was reading into it, if he should take the photo or leave it. If he took it would you be mad? Would you be offended if he didn’t?

Before he could contemplate his decision further he heard your steps coming down the hall so he made a snap judgment and shoved it in his pocket. Practically launching himself onto your bed, he grabbed one of your cute frilly pillows, threw it on his lap and hoped it wouldn’t come off as suspicious.

You were walking down the hall with two bowls of Mac and cheese when you heard a shuffling sound and then the creaking of your mattress like someone just jumped on it. You smirk to yourself, wondering if Eddie saw the gift you left him.

When you open your bedroom door he’s sitting on your bed with a pillow in his lap, he flashes you a smile that is almost believable but you could see the slight flush in his cheeks. You set his bowl down on top of the pillow, and smile back.

“There you go Eds, one gourmet bowl of Kraft, as promised.” You mock curtsied, setting your own bowl down on your nightstand before walking over to your dresser under the guise of grabbing some socks. Making sure to glance as subtlety as possible at your shelf, and just as you thought, the photo was gone.

“Why thank you madam” Eddie held the spoon in his hand with his pinky out as he dramatically took a bite.

You giggled at his antics, as you grabbed the socks out of your top drawer you saw an opportunity to tease him further. You had already seen Eddie eyeing you in your little house shorts and your tank top so you pulled out your white thigh thighs, the soft fuzzy ones that you only really wore at home and made a show of putting them on.

You kept your back to him, bending over extra as you slid them slowly up your legs. You make sure to pull them up as high as they go. Leaving only a small section of skin between the top of the socks and the bottom of your shorts.

Eddie was pretty sure he was going to pass out and he thanked his past self for putting this pillow where it is right now. He watched as you pulled on your socks wondering how something as mundane as putting on fucking socks could be this sexy. When you snapped each one in place it made the meat of your thighs slightly giggle and the way they were sitting just under the curve of your ass was making it look extra juicy. He wanted to bite into it before he made his way between your thighs and spent the rest of his god damn life there.

“Fuck” He swore under his breath and hoped to god you didn’t hear him.

“Hmm? Eddie, you okay?”

You turn around and look at him with that fucking look you always gave him, like you didn’t know how sexy you were, like you didn’t know you drive him fucking crazy.

“Uh - Yeah! I was just saying fuck this is really good, I forgot how much some good ol’ kraft hits the spot.” He smiled and hoped his excuse was convincing enough, taking a large bite for good measure.

“Right? It’ll always be my favorite no matter how many homemade or restaurant kinds I’ve eaten, nothing beats it.”

You crawl onto your bed, making sure he can see down your shirt and plop down next to him on the pillows, leaning over to grab your bowl off your nightstand. Eddie can see your ass even more when your shorts ride up and he suddenly feels like he’s got to get out of here before he says or does something totally humiliating.

“I - uh - I just remembered I have to help Wayne! I told him I’d help him move his stuff into my old room since he has been so tired and hasn’t done it! So I’m - I gotta go!” He stood up swiftly, turning away from you and throwing the pillow down behind him. He didn’t turn around, just kept marching towards your door with his bowl still in hand. Only when he was practically out of your bedroom door did he turn his head to the side and address you.

“Thank you for lunch! I’ll leave the bowl in the sink! I’ll um - I’ll see you later!”

He didn’t even give you a chance to respond, ditching the bowl in the sink, grabbing his shoes not even bothering to put them on as he ran out the door to his van in only his socks.

You sat there with your mouth hanging open, eyes wide as you stared at your bedroom door wondering what the fuck just happened. Did you go too far? Were you making him uncomfortable? Maybe he changed his mind about you… Or maybe… maybe he ran home to jerk off… maybe you did go too far but not in a bad way. That’s what you hoped at least.

You bit your lip and clenched your thighs as you entertained that possibility. Was he going to go home and jerk off to your photo? Maybe with your panties held to his nose or wrapped around his cock? At least that’s what you liked to imagine he did with them, you could be wrong.

•

You were wrong, but not about that. Eddie normally used your panties exactly how you imagined. But not right now, no. He didn’t even make it home, hell, he barely made it out of your apartment building before he was pulling off into some trees and furiously tugging at his cock while he practically dripped drool on your photo. He made sure not to though, he couldn’t taint it like that. It had to remain in perfect condition in case this was his only chance to see your tits.

He grunted and whined, spitting down onto his cock and rubbing it around his tip with his thumb. His pace increased as he imagined it was your hand, or even better, your tits. He imagined sliding his spit slick cock between them while you sucked and licked at the head, he imagined covering your face and tits with his cum.

“FUCK!” He throws his head back against the seat, his eyes cross and he practically bites through his bottom lip as he cums all over his hand, his pants, even some on his shirt.

After he came down from his high, the reality of what he did hit him. He not only probably confused the hell out of you by running off like that without barely saying goodbye, he just jerked off in his fucking van to a photo he took from your bedroom. This was getting out of hand. He had to get himself under control, maybe some distance would help.

•

You hadn’t seen Eddie all week, ever since he ran out of your room like a bat out of hell and that was unusual. You guys usually saw each other a few times during the week, even if it was one of you bringing the other lunch while you were at work.

You called him a few times, either getting his voicemail or only having a brief conversation before he came up with an excuse to get off the phone. You started to wonder if you were reading things wrong after all. But that just didn’t make sense, why would he take all those things if he didn’t like you? If he didn’t want you in the desperate way you wanted him? You almost felt like you needed him.

So you decided to make a last ditch effort, no beating around the bush this time you were going to be straight forward. You grab Eddie’s shirt, your Polaroid, and your white lacy thigh highs with the little pink bows that he bashfully complimented one day.

You wrap the shirt around your pillow like you have done so many times now you’re almost ashamed. You take off your shirt and shorts before pulling on the thigh highs, leaving you in just your little white lace panties and socks.

The first photo you take is a shot from above of your tits, you can see your thong and the very top of your lace adorned thighs.

The second features your face, your eyes wide in that way you know he loves, your middle and pointer finger shoved down your throat with your lips wrapped around them. If you look close enough you can see a bit of drool dripping down between your boobs.

The third photo is a full nude, your legs spread and pussy on full display for him.

The next one is the one you’re most excited for, the one that sparked this entire plan. It’s an upshot of you from the neck down, you’re straddling the pillow that’s wrapped in Eddie’s shirt in just your socks, your free hand grabbing onto one of your tits.

The last photo is you in the same position but it’s from below, you have your fingers on your pussy, opening yourself up for him against the material of his shirt.

Satisfied with the spread, you gather them up, grab your discarded thong and remove the shirt from your pillow. You fold the panties and the photos into the shirt like they’re a gift to be unwrapped and put them in a little box. Then you write out a note.

Eddie,

if you wanted my panties… all you had to do was ask. You’ve taken all my cutest ones now. But that’s okay because I took something of yours too, I thought you might want it back.

Xoxo - Your angel.

You sign the note with the nickname he had awarded you and fold it in half, putting it on top of the shirt and then you put the lid on the box. Now all you had to do was give it to him, everyone had planned to meet at Gareth’s for a movie night tomorrow and he was supposed to pick you up. You could give it to him in the car before you get there and tell him not to open it until he gets home. It was the perfect plan. Hopefully.

•

Eddie was nervous on his way to pick you up for movie night, he had managed to avoid you the entire week, much to his dismay. He felt pathetic but he missed you, and even though he was still feeling guilty he was excited to see you.

He pulled into a guest parking spot in front of your building and was surprised to see you already standing there. He usually had to come in while you finished getting ready because you were perpetually running late. But you were standing there in a little white dress and a soft looking pink knit sweater, holding a little box in your arms. He figured it was some kind of baked goods, you pretty much always brought treats to every get together.

You saw him pull in and waved as you walked over, he jumped out of the car so he could come around and open the door for you.

“Hi Eddie, this is for you. But don’t open it now, open it when you get home. Okay? Promise me?”

You sounded nervous, hell, you looked nervous. What was in that box? He doesn’t know how he’s going to get through the night not knowing.

“A gift? For me? Angel, you shouldn’t have.” He tried to play it cool, even though he was feeling anything but.

“I didn’t spend any money on it or anything… but I’m not giving it to you unless you promise you won’t open it until you get home later.”

“Yeah, I promise.” He smiled at you reassuringly.

You handed it to him nervously, and he took it with glee, immediately shaking it like a Christmas present.

“EDDIE!! Don’t do that, you’re never going to guess what it is so just wait, please!”

You were looking at him with this pouty look on your face and he literally would’ve said yes to murder at that moment so he agreed. You let out a breath of relief as you got into the car, now all you had to do is wait.

•

Movie night wasn’t awkward like you feared it might be. When Eddie picked you up he acted totally normal, like he hadn’t been ignoring you all week and you couldn’t tell if that annoyed you or not. Maybe a little. You wanted to ask him about it but you also didn’t want to make things awkward by bringing it up so you tried to act as normal as you could.

That little box in the back of Eddie’s van was in the back of your mind all night though, you couldn’t stop overthinking and second guessing your decision. You even almost went out to his van at one point to take everything out and shove it in your bag but you talked yourself out of it.

Eddie was in a similar boat, he was having fun, he was engaging and acting as normal as he could but all he could think about was what possibly could be in that box. He knows you made him promise but there are several times where he has to physically stop himself from just going out to his van to look in it.

When the last movie ends you and Eddie were both quick to gather your things and leave. Him wanting to get home as fast as possible to see what was in the box and you wanting the looming thoughts of how he might react to just be over with.

Your goodbyes were chaste, neither of you bringing up the gift you had given him. He walked you to the door like he always did but he didn’t ask to come inside and the hug he gave was much faster than the usual bear hugs he would normally give you.

•

Eddie sped home, he lived in a studio apartment a few miles from yours and the drive had never felt so long. He pulled into his parking spot with a screech, grabbed the box from the back and rushed inside.

He didn’t even bother to take his shoes off, throwing his jacket across the back of the couch before plopping down on one of the cushions with the box in his lap.

He took a deep breath before opening it. At the top was a note, he unfolded it and as he read it he swore all the blood from his body went directly to his cock.

Underneath the note was his shirt, his favorite Iron Maiden one he hadn’t been able to find for a few weeks.

It was folded neatly so he gently took it out of the box, it felt heavier than it should and when it was fully in his grasp he could feel that there was something inside it.

He sets it down in front of him on his coffee table so he can unfold it and his jaw drops when he sees what’s inside. A pair of your panties, a little white lace thong is sitting under a stack of Polaroids.

His hand shakes as he reaches for the photos, when he sees the first one he actually moans, and then they somehow just keep getting better. But he stops dead in his tracks when he sees the second to last one.

You have his shirt wrapped around your pillow and you’re straddling it in nothing but those fucking socks, and he’s seriously going to lose his mind, especially when he sees the last photo of you in the same position, spread open for him.

It took him a second to get past the fog of lust to realize what this means. You knew. You always knew what he was doing. It all makes sense now. The way your panties were always so easy to steal, how he always happened to have the perfect view of your tits and ass, the photo. Also you took his shirt, you didn’t just take it, you put it on your fucking pillow and humped it. He hopes you did it more than once. He picks up the shirt again and he really looks at it this time, there’s little white streaks all over it, from you. He brings it to his nose and it’s the best thing he’s ever smelled. Both of your scents mixed together, topped off with the sweet smell of your pussy.

His initial thought was to rip his pants off and stroke his cock until it was raw but he realized he could do better than that. He could have the real thing. He needed to see you. Now.

He didn’t even think twice about shoving everything back in the box and walking back out the door to his van. Speeding off in the direction towards your house.

•

You were laying in your bed trying not to let your anxiety consume you when you heard banging on your door. Your heart pounded and your mouth went dry, you knew who it was, there was no way it could be anyone but him.

You opened the door and there he was, looking absolutely feral if you might add. His eyes were wide, pupils blown out, he was breathing like he ran a mile, and his hair was all over the place. You wanted to eat him alive.

“You knew?” He held up the box you had given him earlier the night, his hands shaking.

“Yeah…” You bit your lip as you nodded. “I knew the whole time… from when you took that first pair of panties, I knew.”

“And you didn’t say anything?” He looked at you, his eyes filled with lust and confusion.

You shake your head, a smirk forming across your lips.

“Why not?” He was still panting, hands grasped tightly on the box.

“It was fun, I thought for a while there that you knew I was doing it on purpose, and then when I realized you didn’t it was almost hotter to me for some reason… I’m sorry if that’s weird.” You suddenly felt super self conscious, was he mad you didn’t say anything?

“I stole your panties, multiple pairs might I add, and you’re asking me if it’s weird that you left them out for me?” He laughed, bringing his hand up to your cheek and rubbing his thumb across it.

“I could never think you were weird angel, do you know how sexy that is? And these photos…” He groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head. “Did you really…”

“Fuck my pillow with your shirt on it? Yeah.” You nodded, your face nuzzling into his palm.

“Jesus fucking christ… that’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life, shit.”

He used the hand cradling your face to pull you closer, clashing your lips together in a hungry kiss. You immediately buried your fingers in his hair, like you did in all your fantasies. You wanted him closer but the box was still in between you so you broke the kiss long enough to pull him inside and discard it on your kitchen counter.

You pulled his mouth back down to yours by the collar of his shirt, running your tongue along his bottom lip and he immediately granted you access. Your hands made their way back into his hair and he gripped your hips pulling you tightly against him.

“God Eddie, I want you so fucking bad.” You moaned against his lips.

“Angel, I’ll give you anything you want after all these sweet gifts you’ve been leaving me without me even knowing… you really thought I knew?” He took your face in both your hands, running his hands down your neck and rubbing his thumbs along your jaw.

“For a while there, yeah… That’s why I left you that first picture, but then when I came back in my room and you were acting all nervous I realized you definitely didn’t know. I thought for a second I might’ve made you uncomfortable but I took the chance with the photos anyway… looks like it paid off.” You looked him up and down, biting your lip.

“Fuck yeah it did.” He pulled you into another bruising kiss that you happily returned. You stood there in your kitchen making out for what could’ve been minutes or hours, tongues exploring every inch of each other's mouths and your hands mapping out each other's bodies.

You finally pulled away, breathless. You smirked at him, placing a kiss on his throat before turning around and walking towards your room. Eddie wanted to scream at the sight of your ass in your tiny little pink spandex shorts. He bit down on his fist instead, admiring you for a moment before practically running after you.

You were standing in the middle of the room with a smirk on your face that he’s never seen, one you must have been hiding from him this whole time. You looked like you wanted to eat him alive and he was going to let you.

“Tell me about your fantasies Eddie… tell me what you did with my panties, I wanna know so bad.” Your smirk turned into a little pout, giving him that fucking look. The one he knows now is all an act, but something about that just makes his dick even harder for you.

“Fuck, you really want to know? The first time I sucked on them while I jerked off and right when I was about to cum I wrapped them around my dick and came all over them.”

“Mmm… that’s what I hoped you’d do, tell me more…” You walk up to him and run your hands down his chest, hook your fingers in his front pockets and give him the look.

“I can’t believe this is happening, I - uh - I was so scared if you ever found out you’d hate me. But fuck, I never imagined you would be into it.” He put his hands on your hips and squeezed, almost like he was making sure this was real.

“Well, you better believe it honey, because I am so so into it.. please tell me more.” You lean up and press wet kisses along his neck.

“God damn.” He throws his head to the side more, granting you further access to his throat. “When I had a second pair I sucked on the newer ones and used that same pair to jerk off. Then when I got your perfume I sprayed it on my pillow so that I could smell you and taste you.”

“Mmm Eddie, that’s so hot.” You bite into his throat causing him to let out the cutest little yelp, sucking the skin into your mouth, wanting to mark him as your own.

“Then once I had the bikini photo I was able to see you too, so it was like I was surrounded by you in every way possible.”

His hands snake down your hips to grab onto your ass, the material of your shorts and the feeling of your soft skin contrasting with the calluses on his fingers.

“That day when I found that picture of your tits… and then you somehow found a way to make putting socks on one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen and you topped it off by bending over in those little shorts with your ass practically in my face? I barely made it out of your building before I pulled over and jerked off in my van like a depraved psycho.”

You moaned at that, pulling back from his neck to look him in the eyes.

“If you’re depraved… so am I.” You pull your tank top over your head and throw it on the ground behind you somewhere, followed by your shorts. Eddie seriously thinks he’s in love with you at this point because you’re not wearing a bra or panties but you are of course wearing white thigh highs. You’re standing there like every fantasy he’s ever had about you come true, but better.

“Angel, those pictures have nothing on the real thing” He grabbed onto your tits, twisting your nipples between his fingers. Using his nose to brush your hair away so he can whisper in your ear. “I need to taste you so bad, like, so bad. I need to know what the real thing tastes like.”

“Mmm fuck, yes, want that so bad.”

You lay back on your bed and spread your legs, showing him how wet you are for him. Eddie doesn’t think twice before dropping to his knees in front of your bed and throwing your legs over his shoulders. He wishes he had it in him to kiss every inch of you before tasting you but it was like someone offered him the nectar of the gods and he needed it now.

He parted your lips with his fingers before running his tongue along your slit, licking up and down with a flat tongue before shoving it as far as it could go inside you.

“Ho- holy shit! Eddie!! Fuck, your mouth is so good.” Your fingers found his hair again, tugging and the groan he lets out sends vibrations through your pussy.

“I thought your panties tasted sweet but nothing will ever taste sweeter than the real thing, oh my god baby.”

His tongue comes up to circle your clit, wrapping his lips around it and sucking. You feel his fingers circle your entrance before he’s inserting his pointer and middle finger deep inside you. He curls his fingers in just the right way, he’s still sucking your clit while he runs circles around it with his tongue and you feel yourself getting close.

“I’m gonna - I’m gonna - fuckinnng cum - I’m gonna cum.” You pull his hair again and start rocking your hips against his face. You watch his eyes roll back and feel him moan into you again, knowing he’s enjoying this as much as you is what sends you over the edge. Your hips rising off the bed and your hands falling from his hair to grasp the sheets. Eddie brings his free hand down on your abdomen to hold you down as he fucks you through your high.

You try to push him off once it becomes too much but you hear, or more so feel him let out an “Uh-Uh” into your pussy. His hand that’s pinning you down doesn’t move and his fingers stay buried inside you. He’s licking and sucking on your clit like a man starved and you immediately feel another orgasm crash over you. Your entire body shakes and you let out noises you didn’t even know you can make.

When he feels you push at his head this time he lets you, looking up at you with a grin on his face, his chin and mouth covered in your juices.

“Sorry… you just tasted so good and when you came it was so hot I didn’t want to stop.” He looked awfully bashful for someone who was just eating you out like it was his fucking job.

“You’re sorry? Holy shit Eddie, I’ve never cum that hard in my entire life.”

He smiled triumphantly, you’d think just told him he won the lottery. He came up and covered his body with yours, kissing you without wiping his face. The taste of you on his tongue was intoxicating so you pulled away from the kiss and licked his lips, then his chin, and down his neck.

“Fuck, we taste so good together.” You moan.

“Holy fucking shit, you’re my dream girl.”

“Let me return the favor, I wanna taste you too, also you are wearing way too many clothes right now.” You pull at the hem of his shirt and he puts his arm behind his head to pull it off.

You’ve never seen him shirtless before and you needed a better view. You push on his shoulders until he lifts himself off of you and lays back on the bed. You throw your leg over him to straddle him, looking down at him in awe.

“Wow Eddie… you’re beautiful.”

You smile at him with that devilish little smile he’s becoming addicted to as you run your soft hands along his chest before raking your nails down his torso, all the way to the waistband of his jeans. His back arches off the bed as he lets out this sound that you want to hear him make over and over again.

You grind your hips down on his, fiddling with his belt loop and looking at him with a question in your eyes.

“Please.” Now he’s the one giving you the look and you understand why he loves it much. Those big brown eyes are wide and glassy, there’s a slight pout on his lips and even though he just ate you out so good it makes you want to sit on his face.

But there’s something you want more, something you’ve been dreaming about. So you undo his belt and jeans with deft fingers, pulling on the waistband of both his pants and boxers. He lifts his hips so you can pull them down and when his cock pops out and hits his stomach your jaw actually drops.

You always figured Eddie was big. You caught small glimpses through his jeans when he thought he was hiding his boners better than he really was, so you had an idea. But it’s bigger than you imagined, and so so pretty. The tip red and leaking precum, each vein prominent because of how hard he was. You lick your lips and spit on your hand, wrapping your hand around his cock and pumping it a few times. He makes that sound again and you know you’re addicted to it now.

“Your cock is huge baby, I can’t wait to feel it stretching me out.” You spit on the head of his cock, circling your thumb around it before you lean down and take it in your mouth.

“Holy - fuckING - sh - shit!” Eddie instinctually jerks forward, his cock hits the back of your throat and you gag.

He’s about to apologize but you don’t pull off, just push his cock further down your throat until your nose is snug against the hair at the base. There’s tears coming out of the sides of your eyes and drool dripping down your chin but you’re moaning and so he can tell you’re enjoying it. You circle your tongue around his shaft a few times before pulling off.

Not for long though, you take him as far as you can without gagging and start bobbing your head up and down, your hand moving in time with whatever your mouth can't reach. Eddie is a moaning mess, he’s babbling your name in between curse words, switching between grabbing onto your hair, the sheets, and his own hair.

When you pull off his dick and bring your mouth to his balls, swirling your tongue all around his sack before sucking one into your mouth he’s pretty sure he’s in love with you. But he’s also positive that he wants to fuck you so he grabs you by your hair and pulls you off.

“Hey, I wasn’t done!” You look at him with a pout and you whine. Every time Eddie thinks he can’t possibly be anymore obsessed with you, you prove him wrong.

“Yeah but I was about to come and I want to fuck you so badly.” He’s the one whining now.

“Can I ride you?” You ask him like that’s even a question.

“Fuck yeah you can.”

You eagerly climb back up to straddle him, wasting no time lining him up with your entrance and sliding down on his cock. It’s still a stretch but you’re so wet it hardly hurts. You rock back and forth a few times once your hips are flush against yours and you moan in unison at the feeling.

“Oh sh- shit, your pussy is so fucking t- tight. Feels better than I could’ve ever imagined.”

“Yeah? Your cock is so fucking big, filling me up so good Eds.”

You start riding him hard and fast, your ass bouncing against his thighs, your tits on full display and you’re moaning his name over and over again like a prayer. He has one hand on your ass, grabbing it so hard you’re sure you’re going to have a bruise there tomorrow, and you honestly hope you do. He brings the thumb of his free hand up to your bottom lip and runs it across it.

“Suck.”

You do, happily, swirling your tongue around the digit and moaning at the feeling of having something in your mouth while your pussy is being filled too. He pulls it out and you’re about to mourn the loss but then he’s rubbing circles on your clit and fucking up into you to meet your thrusts.

He starts fucking you so fast that you can’t keep up, you put your hands on his chest, your nails digging into his flesh and just let him take you. He’s fucking you hard and fast, his cock hitting just the right spot while he continues to circle your clit.

“Eddie I’m c - close I-I’m close.” Your babbling and drooling, fucked out and on the brink of what you know is going to be a mind altering orgasm.

“Me too Angel, I need you to cum for me. Cum all over my cock just like you dreamed about when you were humping your little pillow.” His feet are flat on the mattress and he’s somehow fucking you harder than he was before. When you cum your vision goes white, pleasure jolts through your entire system and you aren’t even sure you’re on this planet anymore.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck I’m gonna- I’m gonna cum, where do you?”

Eddie talking brings you back to earth just enough to respond, to tell him what you want.

“Inside! Eddie please inside! I want you to cum inside me so bad!” You start to meet his thrusts, he’s still rubbing your clit and you’re so sensitive you already feel another orgasm coming on.

“Oh fuck!!!” Eddie cries out as his thrusts slow down to pumps and his cum spills inside you. The feeling sends you over the edge, cumming right along with him. Your walls squeeze him for all he’s worth.

When you come down you let yourself fall onto his chest, both of you panting, your hearts pounding. You lay like that for a while, catching your breath and enjoying the feeling of each other. Eventually your knees start to cramp and you slide off of him, settling at his side with your head on his chest.

“I’m gonna fuckin marry you someday.”

You laugh, even though he doesn’t sound like he’s joking.

“Yeah? I think I’d like that. Then my underwear will stop going missing because we will live in the same house.”

You both started cracking up at that.

“I’m serious though, can I have some of them back? You really did steal all my best ones…” You looked up at him and pouted, giving him the look.

“That’s not gonna work the same now that I know you’re just using it against me…”

“You sure about that?” You stick your bottom lip out further and make your eyes even wider.

“Ugh, no. You’re still not getting them back though, I’ll buy you new ones.” He brings his hand up to push your hair out of your face and places a kiss on your temple.

“Why? So you can just take those ones too?” You tease.

“Nah, I have the real thing now. I’d rather take them off you.”

Tagging the bbs: @the-unforgivenn @lokis-army-77 @gravedigginbbydoll @bettyfrommars @eddiemunson95 @melodymunson @bangaveragewhitewine

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #Eddie munson x reader smut #perv!eddie #perv!eddie munson #perv!eddie munson x reader #perv!eddie munson x perv!reader #Eddie munson one shot #eddie munson imagine

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blitzyn · 1 year ago

Text

stop moving

re4r leon s. kennedy x m!reader

request: none

synopsis: After finding yourself stuck in a closet with Leon, you end up squirming just a little too much.

a/n -> i have fallen victim to the leon lover rabbit hole. ALSO. I FUCKING FRACTURED MY FINGER??? guys i almost cried when i had to write the word balls. </3 but thank you all for 1k followers! tbh i only started this acc because i liked the font when i wrote something in my drafts lmao. but still! it means a lot to me and im happy to have gotten this far!

wc -> 2.5k

cw -> thigh fucking, hiding in a closet, spit as lube, handjob (r receiving), pet names (baby x2, sweetheart x1), he's kinda possessive tbh, not beta read

This was supposed to be relatively simple: get in, figure out where the president's daughter was, save her, then get out. Sure, you've seen your fair share of weird shit — especially after the outbreak in Raccoon City, but finding out that there was a whole religion dedicated to spreading a plague for the sake of taking over the world definitely takes the cake. For now, at least.

But finding yourself cramped in a closet with Leon, surrounded by a horde of hostile cultists, also wasn't something you expected to happen throughout the entire mission.

"Stop moving so much," Leon quietly muttered from behind you just as you shifted.

"I'm not," you huffed, a bit annoyed that you had to hide in this stuffy closet, even if you knew that you'd probably be dead by now if it weren't for your partner's quick thinking. Against his words, you adjusted yourself again, trying to find a decently comfortable position. Suddenly, you felt his hands on your hips and the warmth of his chest pressed to your back as he pulled you flush against him.

"I said, stop moving," he repeated, whispering in your ear. You held back a shudder at the feeling of his breath ghosting over the shell of it, stilling completely in surprise. Just then, thunderous footsteps could be heard outside the closet; slowly, listening for any sound that might reveal where the two of you hid.

You tensed and instinctively backed up to further yourself from the perpetrator, even if there wasn't much room to move to begin with. You could faintly hear Leon grunt from behind you, but you were in no position to apologize at the moment. Your eyes were glued to a crack in the old, wooden door, watching as the light shifted when the person passed by.

You waited with bated breath, hoping that it wouldn't come near. But, like some cliche horror movie, you could see the light at the bottom of the door disappear, meaning it was far too close for comfort. With every second the person stood there, the tighter Leon's hold on your hips became. The two of you went so silent your ears rang, and you were briefly afraid that it'd hear the sound of your racing heartbeat.

But after what felt like an eternity, its heavy footsteps started up again and away from the closet. You heaved a sigh of relief when the front door slammed shut, rendering the building empty once more.

"Fucking hell, sorry," you mumbled, trying to shuffle forward and give Leon his space when you realized that he hadn't let go of you yet. "You okay?"

Using the dim light that filtered through the cracks in the door, you lifted your arms a bit and curiously peered at his hands. But that's when you noticed the black lines covering his arms. Upon closer inspection, you quickly realized that they were his veins.

"Christ, Leon, what—"

"Be quiet. Just—just for a second."

You found it hard to tear your eyes away from his arms, waiting in silence. You focused on the sound of his labored breaths, biting your tongue to keep yourself from questioning him even further. Your mind couldn't help the invasion of 'What happened?' and 'What is that?' that threatened to spill from your lips. How did you not notice this earlier?!

You were pulled from your thoughts when you felt him rest his forehead on your shoulder, muttering and grunting under his breath. And that's when you felt it — the reason why he was so reluctant to move just yet: he was hard.

"Oh." You couldn't help it, even if he had already told you to shut your mouth twice already. The silence from then on was painfully awkward as the two of you tried to figure out what to say. With a deep breath, you miraculously found the courage to speak up.

"Do you... Can I help you?" You offered, remaining still to keep yourself from accidentally pressing yourself up against him again. It was silent while you waited for his reply, embarrassment wriggling its way through your chest the longer the two of you kept quiet.

"I mean, you don't have to accept, you can just ignore me—" you began to ramble on, mortified that you even asked the question. "I just thought, cause, like, it'll be hard for you to—shit, I didn't mean it like that—"

"[Name]," Leon interrupted you, finding your instant silence charming in its own way. You could hear him take a deep breath in just as his hands slid further up to firmly caress your waist and abdomen. Electricity shot down your spine and pooled in your gut when he tugged you closer to him, grinding himself against your ass. "You can."

He reached for your hand and brought it behind you, placing it directly onto his cock. You gave it a tentative squeeze, savoring the quiet grunt that came from him, feeling your confidence grow by the second. You heard the gentle jingling of his belt as he undid it just enough for you to dip your hand underneath the waistband of his pants and boxers.

"Not wasting a second, huh?" Amusement and lust were laced in his voice as he spoke, a quiet moan spilling from his lips soon after.

He was hot and thick in your hand, throbbing rhythmically. You swiped a finger over the tip that beaded precum, savoring the shudder that came from his body. His hips trusted up into your fist, seeking more, and you were more than happy to oblige.

With a steady pace, you moved your hand up and down, tracing the prominent veins. You felt your own cock twitch at the sound of Leon's breathy groans and sighs, but you ignored it in favor of getting him off.

"Fuuckk," he drawled out, leaning forward to press his lips on the side of your neck. "You're good at this. Makes me think you've done this typa thing before."

"No," you responded, gently rubbing the spot on the underside of the tip. "You're the only one."

"I get the special treatment?" He muttered teasingly, his breath hot against your skin. "Must be my lucky day."

He could feel his body buzzing with adrenaline as he peppered open-mouthed kisses on the side of your neck, untucking your shirt to slide a hand up your torso to pinch and toy with a nipple. His free hand traveled lower, slipping his cold fingertips underneath the waistband of your pants, but refused to go further than that.

You could feel his lips curl in a subtle smirk, but even as you realized he was teasing you, testing your patience, you had no intention to retaliate. Christ. The hold this man had on you. It was downright pathetic.

"God," he started, pressing his palm flat on your chest to bring you closer to him—eager for more of your touch. He let his teeth gently scrape against your skin, threatening to bite—to mark you, but he forced himself not to. He couldn't. Not right now. "I want to fuck you so bad."

His words were breathless, borderline desperate, as they left his lips. He couldn't help but thrust his hips up into your fist, pushing and pushing until your hand was flush against your ass, keeping you from jerking him off as he rutted against your hand.

"We can't, Leon," you muttered, disappointment lacing your voice. As much as you'd love to have him inside you, fucking you deep, you knew you couldn't. Not when the Ganados were still outside, at least. "Just let me finish you off."

Leon let out a low growl, knowing that you were right. There were a lot of things the two of you couldn't do inside the confined space of the closet, forcing him to conjure up ideas of what he wanted to do when all of this was over.

But for now, he settled on the second best option: your thighs.

"I know," he murmured, breathing in deeply as he pulled your hand away from his throbbing cock. "Then let me fuck your thighs. I'll be quick, I promise."

You mulled over his words, unsure if it would be a good idea.

"Please, baby," he pleaded, his voice heavy with lust. "Just this once. Then, when we find Ashley and get the hell outta this place, I'll make sure to fuck you properly. Nice 'n hard 'n deep. Wouldn't you like that?"

Fuck it.

"Mhm, yeah, go ahead." You relented, knees weakening at the thought of having his thick cock inside you, stretching and filling you up perfectly.

"Atta boy," he buried his thumbs underneath your pants and boxers, pulling them down to let them drop to your ankles. "Knew you'd come around."

He groaned at the sight of your bare thighs and drooling cock, running his hands along the curve of your ass to lean back and spread it, focusing his gaze on your asshole. "Fuck," he hissed. "Can't wait to feel your tight little hole around me later. Gonna fill you up with my cum, make you mine."

Arousal sank in your stomach like a rock as your hole clenched around nothing. Whatever's coursing through his veins made him more impulsive, more desperate, but with the fog that clouded your thoughts, you hardly found it in you to mind.

He spat on his cock and moved a hand away from your body to briefly jerk himself off and smear the saliva around.

"Open up, baby," he instructed as soon as he was done, raising his hand to caress your hip. "Spread your legs a little."

Like a trained puppy, you obeyed, widening your thighs just enough to let him guide his hard cock in between them. Your breath hitched at the sight of the head peeking out, squeezing your legs around him just a bit tighter.

"Jesus fuck, [Name]," he groaned, leaning forward to press his chest against your back. He wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you close to him. Through the hazy mess that was in your mind, you found comfort in the warmth and firmness of them as you placed your hands on his forearms for some sort of stability. "That's it. Squeeze me just like that."

You could feel every twitch and throb, and you were sure he could feel yours, too. It felt like your senses were on overdrive as you listened to your labored breaths, his pleased sighs and grunts, and the slick sounds of his cock sliding in and out of your thighs. He set a leisurely pace, rocking his hips back and forth.

"Shit..." He hissed, speeding up his thrusts as his dick rubbed against your balls, smearing his makeshift lube across your skin.

His hips met yours with quiet slaps, making sure to keep the noise level at a minimum despite the overwhelming urge to just bury himself inside you right then and there. He mouthed at the nape of your neck, tasting the salt of your skin, gently pressing his teeth down hard enough to send sparks down your spine.

His fingertips pressed into your sides so firmly it hurt, but it only served to mix in with the desire that burned brightly in your belly. He fucked your thighs with a sense of urgency, as if trying to satiate a hunger deep within his subconscious—not that you minded.

He grunted and groaned with every thrust, tightening his arms around your waist to tug you back to him whenever your hips jolted forward. It was intoxicating; the way he so effortlessly turned your body into a sensitive mess left you wanting more.

But as soon as a strong hand wrapped around your aching cock, you nearly came on the spot. One of your hands left Leon's forearm to slap it over your mouth as you tried to keep yourself from moaning too loud.

He breathily chuckled beside your ear. "Is this what you wanted?" He rhetorically questioned, swiping a finger over the leaking head so perfectly it left your skin tingling. "Tell me, sweetheart."

"Ohh, fuck," you hissed. It was embarrassing how you so eagerly responded to his touch. "Yeah, th-that's it...!"

Your eyes fluttered shut, focusing on the feeling of his slick cock moving in and out from between your thighs. Your lips parted from behind your hand to let out quiet pants and moans, digging your nails into his forearm the closer you got to your orgasm.

"Oh god, Leon—!" You moaned, pressing yourself further against his back. You could feel your legs faltering, but he didn't seem to mind having you rely on him to stand up.

"I know, baby, I know," he muttered, his voice tight and strained as his thrusts gradually grew sloppy and weak. "Me too."

His cock pulsed and twitched, and he can't help himself from clamping his teeth over the side of your neck this time. It wasn't hard enough to draw blood, but it left a noticeable bite mark that dully ached.

"Come on, baby, cum for me," he instructed, and you had no choice but to comply.

With a muffled moan, you arched your back and finally came as ropes of your semen coated the dusty wooden floor and Leon's fingers. He stroked you until he was sure that you were spent before letting go to chase after his own release.

"Shit," he cursed, breathing heavily. "I'm gonna cum so... so fucking hard...!"

With a strained groan, his hips jerked erratically as he came, holding you tight enough to leave bruises. You gently rub your thighs together, helping him ride out his high. It wasn't until a few moments later did he finally stop, breathing hard against your neck as he calmed down. But that's also when the clarity kicked in.

"Oh, fuck," he muttered, moving his head from you. "I'm sorry, I don't know what happened—I just—" he apologized, sighing in defeat a moment later.

"It's fine," you replied, patting his arm. You had to suppress a shudder when he pulled away from your thighs. The cum that ended up on the insides of them quickly cooled, leaving an uncomfortable sensation on your skin. You were just gonna have to suck it up.

"Let's just get outta here, already." You shuffled forward a bit to tug your pants back up your legs while Leon composed himself.

"Yeah," he said, pressing an arm against the dusty, wooden door. Through the dim light, you could see that his veins were no longer visible again, but that thought was going to have to hold off until later. "You ready?"

"Yup." You nodded after briefly making sure you still had everything in place.

Without further thought about what happened just a few seconds ago, Leon pushed the door open and quickly left the closet as you trailed close behind. Now, it was back to work.

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distantdarlings · 7 months ago

Text

TAUNTING // e. berkshire

RATING: R / 3.5K WORDS

Lorenzo Berkshire x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this and this* After hearing some rumors traveling about that Enzo Berkshire might have a thing for you, you decide to make him as jealous as you can.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! PIV, Oral sex (m!receiving), Dom!Enzo, Sub!Reader, slight degradation, praise, (1) slap, language, brief mention of alcohol, brief mention of drugs, brief mention of masturbation Fem Reader Insert, not fully proof-read (if I left anything out, please lmk!!!)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Who Do You Want? - Ex Habit

You were being mean. You knew you were. But you couldn’t help it.

Every tick of his jaw, every twitch of his eyes, every snarl of his lips…it was intoxicating. You couldn’t believe you’d never noticed it before.

Enzo…his jealousy, his desire to touch you, to feel you, to be yours… His lust radiated off of him like heat waves, blistering your skin like radiation.

The sweat beading over your lips and across your forehead slid over the sides of your face, slicing down your flesh like knives. The hands on your waist tightened against your bones, clutching their fingers possessively into your body.

Despite the beat of the music threatening to vibrate your heart out of your chest, you could see his envy so clearly.

Through the haze and the sweat and the bodies, you could see his eyes harden and his knuckles bleed white. You just hoped that the little game you were playing with him wouldn’t lead to Theo getting hurt.

Precious Theo… Though the two of you had broken up over six months ago, it had been mutual and you both craved each other from time-to-time. You’d only slept together once since you’d broken up but you were getting antsy.

It had started with Pansy Parkinson telling you that she’d heard a rumor being spread around. A particularly dirty rumor that threatened to ruin a gorgeous boy’s social ego. You thought back to what she’d said.

“A couple girls from Ravenclaw that sit behind us in Potions swear Enzo gets a hard-on every time you slip your robe off.” Pansy giggled and slapped a hand over her lips to cover up any raucous laughter that threatened to slip out.

“Pansy! That’s such a lie!” you’d shrieked, giggling along with her. “Lorenzo Berkshire does not like me, let alone get a hard-on every time I take my robe off.” You’d whispered that last part, not wanting any walkers-by to hear your dirty conversation.

“It’s at least worth a check, just to see if it’s true.”

And that evening, during the last class of the day, you’d let your robe slide down your arms and land against the back of your chair. You’d turned back to glance at Enzo and, sure enough, his eyes were already on yours. When you made contact with him, he quickly glanced away and dropped his hand into his lap. You refrained from an evil smirk.

And now, here you were, dancing against Theo, your ex, trying your hardest to elicit a response from the boy eyeing you from across the room.

It was an end of semester party, just before the big exams and the end of the school year. You didn’t want to wait to see him again. Between exams and packing, you wouldn’t get another chance to do anything with him for a couple months.

You turned back toward Theo, letting your hair slide over your shoulder and brush across the back of your neck.

“Teddy, baby, will you do me a favor?” You pulled yourself close against him, whispering into his ear. The music and the amount of firewhisky in his system probably had half of your words drowned out.

“Of course,” he slurred. “What is it, darling?” Everytime he was drunk, his accent popped out tenfold. There was a time when he was absolutely irresistible to you, but now, you had your sights set on another.

“I’ll explain later, but—” you paused, hands on Theo’s face, his hands on your waist, and glanced back at Enzo to make sure he was watching— “I need you to kiss me hard.”

He pulled away and looked at you with a bit of shock. “Is this for me or someone else?”

“Someone else…is that okay?”

“I suppose,” he joked, rolling his eyes. “I’ll probably get someone else tonight anyway.”

“Ew, you whore.” The two of you laughed.

“You’re one to fucking talk, bella,” he teased, scraping his teeth gently against your jaw. You giggled and slapped him away quickly before refocusing.

Theo locked in and tangled a tight grip in your hair, yanking your face towards his. His lips found yours in a rough heat, claiming what used to be his. His lips tasted like firewhisky and his hands were dominating. It was almost enough to make you forget about poor little Enzo waiting across the hall for you like a kicked puppy.

You slowly pulled away from Theo, whispered a small thanks, and turned back to Enzo. Or, rather, the lack thereof. The space that was once occupied by the brooding boy was completely empty. Fuck. Maybe you’d gone too far.

You pushed your hair out of your face and moved away from the lanky boy you’d just been grinding on for the last half-hour. He’d busy himself elsewhere.

Swallowing thickly, you pushed through the bustling crowd, weaving in and around hot, sweating bodies reenacting what Theo and you had been doing, and what you and Enzo should be doing.

Once you came to a clearing where only a few stragglers stood around, and the dim light from the hallway torches contrasted against the cool-toned strobes above, you found him.

The hazy clouds of herbal smoke clouded your vision and senses; the second-hand inhales nearly made you light-headed.

Enzo stood with his back toward you, broad shoulder leaned against the doorframe, head tilted toward the sky, fingers clutching a messily-rolled joint.

His dark hair was shoved away from his face with a light gel that allowed his natural curl to peak out just a bit. Two silvery studs decorated his ears and matched the chain around his neck, that framed the slit of bare chest that was revealed by the black button-up he wore only half-buttoned. You nearly dragged him to your dorm right then and there.

You stalked over to him, moving briskly past your intoxicated peers, ignoring any call that came from any of them.

“Hey, En—”

Your voice was cut off by one of the random people standing behind you.

“Enzo! Where were you at practice tonight, man?”

One of his fellow Quidditch team members jogged up to him from behind you. Enzo turned to see who had called his name and, whilst finding his friend’s attention, he caught yours as well. You smiled just a bit, watching him closely.

As his friend ranted about what a great practice Enzo had missed, you watched as your dark-haired target of the night barely paid any mind to the boy in front of him, and looked you up and down slowly. You felt as if he was devouring every inch of your body with his eyes.

You smirked at his reaction to seeing you, but he didn’t return the smile. His jaw clenched tightly and he seemed almost angry. You wondered if you had pushed him too far.

“Yeah, yeah, man, I’ll talk to you later,” Enzo finally interrupted the boy and gave him a dismissive pat on the shoulder. Understanding that Enzo was done with the conversation, the boy broke away and wandered back into the bouncing crowd.

When the boy was gone, he took a long drag from the joint, and turned away from you. He was mad.

You rolled your eyes at how your plan seemed to have backfired and closed the distance between the two of you.

With a slow start, you slid around to the front of him, catching his eyes seductively. He stared at you but said nothing.

“En, I was wondering if I could speak with you?”

He took another long drag, tilted his chiseled jaw upwards, and blew the smoke toward the sky.

“I’m surprised you still have a voice, considering you just had Theo’s entire tongue shoved down your throat.” You blushed, embarrassed, and glanced towards the floor. You placed your hands innocently behind your back and glanced up at him.

“I was trying to make you jealous,” you whispered.

“What was that?” he dropped his head toward yours to try and meet your eyes. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you. Speak up.” He was demanding and stern but it only intrigued you more.

“I said I was trying to make you jealous.” You finally looked at him. He took another drag and glanced around, once behind him, then once farther into the party, before turning back around. He placed his hand onto the wall above your head, caging you completely against his broad body.

“Can I?” you asked, glancing down. Your eyes refused to leave his.

With his free hand, he gently but firmly pressed your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He tilted your head up and placed the joint between your lips, his smoky fingers brushing across them in the process. He watched as you took a deep inhale and your eyes fluttered as the drug filled your system. You knew you would feel it soon enough.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his voice low and dark. “Good girl.”

Even after you exhaled, he refused to remove his hand from your face as he took another inhale, dropped the joint to the stone ground, and stamped it out with his shoe.

“So, you were trying to make me jealous by rubbing your ass all over your ex and kissing him in front of me?” he asked.

You nodded. “Did it work?”

The peace in his eyes drained, leaving deep, angry voids. “Yes.”

His fingers drifted from your chin down to your throat where they wrapped stiffly around you. The light pressure he applied made it feel as though the drug was seeping into your system faster.

He pressed his face between your head and shoulder, lips brushing up against your skin.

“Every day in class you’d let that fucking robe slide down your body, you’d let your hair fall across your back, and you’d glance back at me with that fucking look on your face. Were you trying to get a rise out of me? Is this what you wanted?” he growled.

His hands were rough on you and his words were mean but he pressed a gentle kiss on your neck to soften the whole situation.

“Mmhmm,” you sighed to the air, your eyes fluttering closed once more.

“And then in there with Theo?” he growled. “What's your game?”

When you didn’t answer, he wrapped his fingers tightly into your hair and held your head against the wall behind you, keeping you tightly in place. His eyes found yours once more, then your lips.

“Answer me,” he demanded.

“You, En…” you gasped. “I want you to fall in love with me so I thought I’d make you jealous.”

“Why did you think that would work?” he whispered, his voice menacing and cruel. “I don’t want to fall in love with you now, sweet girl…now I want Theo to watch me fuck you.”

His words made your knees buckle pathetically. Surely he didn’t mean what he said, but the thought of Enzo touching himself at night to voyeuristic fantasies of you and him made you want him even more. You nodded your head.

“Yeah? You want that, baby?” he cooed against your skin, eliciting chills across your chest and shoulders. His free hand trailed a gentle fingertip down your throat, then your collarbone, then between the split of fabric that pressed your cleavage together. The touch of his warm, rough fingers against your breasts made your breath stutter in your throat.

“Well, that’s too fucking bad.”

He pulled away suddenly, grabbed your hand, and roughly pulled you into the direction of the dungeon’s lavatories. You weren’t sure what he had in mind with the two of you going in there, but you were sure it couldn’t be anything good. Though at this point, your desire outweighed any threat of punishment from any form of authority. All you wanted was him.

He slammed the male lavatory door open and shoved you through, his movements rough and dominant. You stumbled over the threshold, the tiles slipping beneath your shoes.

In an attempt to catch your balance, you placed yourself against one of the small porcelain sinks lined against the western wall. Taking advantage of your current position, Enzo placed a wandless locking charm on the door and crossed over to you in milliseconds.

His head dropped below yours as his arms wrapped around the swell of your ass. He propped you up onto the sink behind you, careful to block the faucet from poking into your back.

With little regard for the increasing issue between your legs, he placed rough hands around your waist and ground your hips into his, allowing you to feel every inch of the issue he was also having.

You stifled a moan, your lips parting just a bit. He smirked meanly, his dazzlingly sharp teeth showcasing themselves between the slivers of moonlight sliding through the windows above.

“En, please…” you begged, your arms wrapping around his neck, trying to urge his lips towards yours.

“Ah, you can dole out the teasing, but you can’t take it, right?” he smirked. “Can you take it, baby?”

At his words, a single hand slid down briefly and skirted over the core of your body through the material of your dress. You gasped at the sensation.

“Please, baby, I’ll do anything!” you whined, pathetically reaching your hips back towards his.

“You’ll do anything?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow. You nodded quickly.

“Okay, baby,” he said, yanking you off the edge of the sink. Your feet hit the floor with a jolt that shot up your entire body.

“On your knees.” His voice was demanding and his eyes were cold. The lust that blossomed beneath his waist did little to melt the ice pooled in his pupils. You swallowed thickly, briefly wondering what you’d gotten yourself into. Whatever it was, you liked it.

You promptly obeyed and dropped to your knees, the thin flesh there bruising quickly. He wrapped your hair into a makeshift ponytail and tilted your head up to make eye contact.

“Suck.”

A shiver ran through your body as you quickly got to work sliding the button of his pants apart, and ripping the zipper down to the ground. Despite the layer of his briefs still between him and your mouth, you marveled at how big he was. You were slightly concerned you weren’t going to be able to fit him anywhere after having not been with anyone since Theo.

Nevertheless, you dropped his pants and briefs to the floor, his belt clinking on the way down. He was enormous but you refused to back down from any challenge handed to you. With a deep, shuddering breath, you wrapped your hands around the base of him and replaced the negative space with your mouth.

At the sensation of your tongue laying across him, the grip in your hair tightened significantly and Enzo groaned roughly. His free hand grasped the edge of the sink where you once sat in an effort to keep his stuttering knees afloat. The effect you appeared to be having on him made you all the more desperate for him.

“Good job, baby,” he groaned. “That’s so good.”

His words made the wetness pool between your legs more and more by the minute. If you didn’t have him within the next few minutes, you were going to have to give yourself something.

You pushed your head back against the hand holding you in place. He released his hold on your hair and looked down at you, a single bead of sweat dripping down the side of his jaw.

“What is it?” he panted.

“I want you,” you whined.

“No, I think you got enough from Theo.” His eyes were serious and biting. Blood drained from your face at the thought of not getting to feel him.

“No, please,” you begged, placing your hands against the edge of his stomach. “Please give me something…anything. I need you so bad.”

He seemed to be contemplating your words for a moment before he clicked his tongue and pulled you up by your hair. The slight burn on your scalp pulled a whimper from your lips as he directed your body right into the space he had just been occupying.

You were pressed back against the sink with his hips pressed into the back of you. A shudder passed across your lips as he turned your head to the mirror before you and demanded a single word: “Watch.”

Your lips parted in a gasp of disbelief as he flipped your dress over your back and roughly yanked your bottoms down around your ankles.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispered, his fingers ghosting over every part of where you needed him most. Your eyes fell shut as you reveled in the feeling of him touching you.

“Eyes open,” he asserted, bumping you into the sink a bit with his hips. You could feel the hot length of him against you.

When he decided he was ready to start with you, he placed hot fingers over your waist and guided you back and onto him.

At the stretch of him inside you, breath escaped you. Your heart pounded up and out of your chest, through your throat, and out onto the mirror before you. You felt as though you might collapse if it weren’t for the boy behind you holding you up.

You watched as his eyes fluttered shut behind you and a silent moan pierced his face. The expression of his pleasure, the size of him, and the fact you hadn’t been touched in months was almost enough to push you right over the edge.

His pace was set rather quickly. It was brutal and demanding, just like his personality. Your fingers wrapped tightly around the porcelain sink, begging for purchase on anything.

You watched him beat into you from behind, lathering in the feeling of him taking full and utter control of you. He was mean now, and he knew it as well.

A melody of moans and gasps escaped you as he hit everything he was supposed to with raging ferocity. His jaw clenched and his eyes opened a bit wider.

“Can Nott do this? Huh? He ever fuck you like this, baby?” he growled, fingernails clutching into your soft flesh. You whined at the feeling.

At the lack of your ability to reply, he grunted in frustration and laid a sharp slap to your ass. You gasped at the biting sensation and felt your pleasure begin to push itself over the edge.

“Answer me.”

“No! Nobody but you, baby. Nobody makes me feel this good.” You choked on your words, sweat dribbling across your throat.

The tail of your dress was clutched in his free hand and he used it as a kind of leverage to slam himself into you at record pace. You wouldn’t last for much longer if he continued his brutalization of your body. You felt delicate and helpless in his arms.

His form of fucking was so much different than Theo’s. Where Theo was long and thin and softer and let you take control from time-to-time, Enzo was thick and rough and kept you pinned down. Merlin, help.

As you quickly approached your end, your eyes rolled far back into your skull, demanding release from the inside-out. Your body couldn’t withstand anymore of Enzo’s cruelty—you were going to shamelessly finish against him, of which you breathlessly warned him.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered. “Come for me.”

He leaned against you, forcing himself into you even deeper, and pressed his lips against the shell of your ear.

“Say my name—not his… mine.”

“Enzo, baby…,” you whispered, his words against your skin dropping chills down your spine.

“Say it again,” he groaned, his pace becoming more desperate and his voice more strained.

“Enzo…”

“Again,” he moaned, his fingers tightening against you.

“I’m fucking close, Enzo,” you whined. His speed quickened.

“Oh, I’ve touched myself to the thought of you saying that to me, baby,” he groaned, breath fanning against your cheek.

At his sinful words, you could feel your body be shoved over the edge.

You came with a breathless scream, the sensation hitting you harder than Enzo’s hips pounding against you.

Seconds after you’d rode out the edge of your finish, Enzo released a high-pitched moan against your ear—one so beautifully contrasting to his deep, demanding voice from earlier.

When the two of you had finally finished and come back to your senses, breaths heaving and lips swollen, you laughed hysterically.

Despite the weight of the situation only moments before, the two of you could feel the glee just from being able to finally touch the other.

The pent-up desire Enzo harbored for you and the newfound lust planted in your heart had created a heat-fueled rush that caught you both off guard. But neither of you could lie, it was far better than anything you’d felt in a while. No offense, Theo.

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bitchlessdino · 1 month ago

Text

boo-ty call 👻 (m)

Pairing: perverted ghost!jeonghan x cute neighbor!seungkwan x afab!reader Genre: supernatural comedy, smut Word count: 11.1k tags: a lot of puns, human body possession (con and dubcon), threesome by definition if you count a ghost, mention of food, cunnilingus, some degrading (slut), light spanking, unprotected sex Summary: As far as unwanted roommates go, your ghostly companion was one you never anticipated. But when this specter began to assert himself and meddle in your dating life—or lack thereof—you started to reconsider your stance; maybe having a roommate wasn’t so bad after all. Especially if he's helping you get laid. author note: it's sluttober! when did i last write anything and have it posted. that's crazy sorry about that yall, but i'm really trying my best to be more active, but ngl its hard. life really gets in the way and we have to remind ourselves to take a back sometimes, even from our hobbies. Thank you to @multi-kpop-fanfics and @seokgyuu for beta reading and helping me perfect this masterpiece and thank you to you guys for your patience. Enjoy! Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @kyeomiis @wonwooz1-blog @horanghaezone

You should’ve known better than to find an apartment listing in the same place where people get lied to about the types of dogs they’re buying. To this day, your aunt is convinced her Chorkie is supposed to be pure Maltese.

Meanwhile, you’re about 99.999% sure your apartment is haunted, and whatever ghost this was, they really liked stealing your underwear. It should’ve scared you. It should’ve driven you away and rushed you out to find a newer, less haunted place to live. But it was cheap, fully furnished, and came with a walkable laundromat and a family-owned market with homegrown tomatoes. Nothing could beat that.

You could tolerate it. It was better than mooching off your parents, who ask every five minutes when you’ll get a 'real' job. Living away from your parents was necessary for your sanity and a dead pervert is much preferable to a live one.

“Can you fucking stop leaving the bathroom light on? I get that haunting is your job and all, but you’re not the one paying the electricity bill.”

If anyone could see you talking to thin air right now, they would’ve had you committed.

“And while we’re at it, could you stop stealing the lacy underwear? They’re gifts, and I don’t wear them, but I might someday, so leave me the option!”

The hallway light flickered before it finally stopped and swift air breezed past you in response, but no returning underwear. You let out a frustrated sigh and shove the rest of your dirty clothes into the hamper before proceeding with laundry day.

You’ve never seen any part of them, yet you’re always aware of their presence. It was creepy at first, but that quickly turned into annoyance when you realized how limited their grasp on the living world truly was—just a bit of theft and light tinkering. It was manageable, but you still felt uneasy knowing you couldn’t change without feeling watched.

“I’ll be back. Don’t piss me off more when I do. It is not my week.”

Not a day had passed since you two became acquainted that he didn’t find some way to bother you, but there were definite perks to living in hell’s best apartment lease. As your feet scraped across the tiled floor, the afternoon sun briefly flushed your skin, and a familiar flutter stirred in your chest as the thought of something popped into your head. Instead of the usual contempt, longing filled your chest as you made your way to the machine.

“What do we have today, m’dear?”

Your ears perked up at the sound of his voice, and you pretended to nonchalantly turn around, as if you hadn’t just spent several minutes hoping for his appearance. “Oh, you know, the usual—interview clothes, some sweatpants, and a few coffee-stained rags.”

Seungkwan’s lips curled into a soft chuckle, his laugh warm as he tossed his own laundry into the machine beside yours. “Sounds spicy. Mrs. Whirlpool is in for a gourmet meal today.”

He said the weirdest, most ridiculous things, but the real mystery was how you still ended up wanting to kiss him anyway. There was something about his easy smile, the effortless way he tossed his dress shirt into the machine like it was some kind of party trick.

He had a knack for brightening the atmosphere as if he possessed a magnetic otherworldly charm. Whenever you arrived, you couldn't help but wish he would be there, transforming the ordinary task of laundry into an intimate little affair—just the two of you amidst a heap of dirty clothes.

You observed him from the side, noting that his stack of clothes was noticeably smaller than usual. This made you question why he would wash such a small load. “Today isn't your regular laundry day. It’s usually Fridays and Mondays, isn't it? Today’s Thursday.”

The second the words left your mouth, you cringed internally. Great. Way to sound like a total stalker. Creep much?

Seungkwan cocked a smile. “I’m flattered you’ve memorized my laundry schedule.”

You laughed awkwardly, scrambling for cover. “I pass by here and just happen to have a really great memory.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, this might sound kind of gross and embarrassing, but I found these abandoned at the back of my closet. They’ve been there forever, and I had some extra change, so I figured, why not? You know, especially since I’ll be gone at the end of October.”

“You’ll be gone for Halloween?” Well, don’t sound too disappointed.

“Yeah,” Seungkwan said with a soft chuckle, glancing your way. “Family traditions. Can’t miss them. You know, the usual—handing out candy, our neighborhood haunted house contest, all that.”

“That sounds like so much fun. Way better than my Halloween growing up.”

“Aw, thanks, but trust me, it’s way more chaotic than it sounds. Kids screaming, neighbors going overboard with decorations—it’s a lot." He shrugged as he folded his laundry, a hint of nostalgia creeping into his tone. “What about you? Got any plans?”

“Um… I’m not sure yet. Still figuring it out, I guess,” you answered earnestly, suddenly feeling like a loser with no plans–which you were by definition.

Seungkwan hesitated, his hands stilling mid-fold, the fabric dangling loosely between his fingers. You could see something flickering in his eyes—a jumble of thoughts swirling in his mind like a muddled cloud, visible in the furrow of his brow. “Oh. Well, um…” His voice trailed off, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, as if he were battling whether or not to say what was really on his mind.

"What?" Your curiosity spiked, your heart quickening as you waited for him to continue. For a moment, the only sound was the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall, stretching the already lingering silence.

He quickly shook his head, offering a faint, almost apologetic smile before turning back to his laundry, his hands moving again, but less sure than before. “Nothing. Just—never mind.”

“Oh, okay.” The disappointment weighed on you, heavier than you wanted to admit. You glanced at the washing machines, trying to focus on the steady hum of the cycles, but your eyes kept drifting back to the numbers, slowly counting the seconds until the minutes ticked over, all while the silence between you grew louder.

You finished your load long before Seungkwan could wrap up his, the awkward tension of unfinished business hanging in the air like a thick fog. You glanced at him, hesitating for a moment before mustering a tight smile, trying to shake off the discomfort. “Well, that’s it for me. See you around, Seungkwan.”

He looked up from his laundry, the corners of his lips tugging down slightly. "See you, neighbor," he said, his tone laced with a hint of regret. The moment lingered in the air between you, thick with unspoken words, making it even harder to walk away.

With one last glance at his face, you stepped back, the soft chime of the door ringing behind you as you passed their glass doors.

As you walked back toward your apartment, you couldn’t help but drop in confidence, thinking to yourself that maybe you didn’t deserve good things like cute laundromat boy. The hallway felt more confining than usual, the walls seeming to close in, echoing the insecure thoughts making rounds in your head.

You leaned against the cheaply painted walls of your cramped apartment, sliding down to sit on the floor with your head in your hands. It was just a childish crush—fleeting and meaningless—yet the thought of him going away scared you more than any real-life danger you'd ever faced. He was the only upside to moving to this part of town, the one thing that made the mundane feel even remotely worthwhile.

As you sat on the vinyl floor, you could still picture the sparkle in his eyes when he first opened those double doors, the warmth of his voice as he introduced himself. What had once been just laundry had turned into something to look forward to, a small break from the routine and a chance to brighten up your day in this sparse town.

Maybe, if you were lucky, it could turn into a little small-town romance. But now, you couldn’t help but wonder if he even saw you beyond the casual pleasantries. Did he just see you as another neighbor, or maybe just a friendly face?

The familiar flickering light in the kitchen pulled you back to the reality and up from the ground of your haunted apartment. With a frustrated sigh, you turned your attention to your unwanted roommate. “Yeah, yeah, I’m home,” you muttered, trying to shake off the feeling of melancholy.

As you walked toward the living room, the flickering lightbulbs in the lamps followed your path, their erratic dance a reminder of the presence that lingered in your space. Maybe getting rid of them wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. It could be a way to finally cut ties with the ghost that seemed determined to remind you of your solitude. You chuckled softly at the thought. Perhaps an exorcism could clear out both the ghost and all the pointless overthinking.

But that was a problem for another day. Rotting in bed sounded far more appealing right now. You shuffled into your room, the soft glow from the streetlamp spilling in through the window, casting faint shadows on the walls as the evening deepened. The coolness of the night crept in slowly, the faint hum of the city blending into the background.

As you sank into the familiar embrace of your blankets, the exhaustion in your limbs finally settled, but your mind lingered for a moment longer. You glanced outside, the dim light catching in the leaves of the trees below, and for a fleeting second were at peace. No ghosts, no old washers or dryers, no obsessive crush. Just sleep.

You sighed, pulling the covers tighter around you, letting the hum of old furnishing–and probably the old pervert ghost–as you drifted off into sleep.

Your rest was cut short by a full bladder, ready to burst. With heavy eyelids, you stumbled toward the bathroom, barely aware of your surroundings. As you relieved yourself, everything felt normal—the creaking of the bathroom door, the sporadic running of the faucet, and the occasional flickering of the lights above, indicating his restless presence.

You groaned, rubbing your eyes with your fists. “This wasn’t an invitation, Casper,” you muttered, irritation creeping into your voice.

As if to taunt you, the faucet suddenly turned on full blast, running wildly before shutting off completely, leaving you with nothing but the simmering annoyance bubbling inside of you. With a frustrated huff, you quickly flushed the toilet and turned to the mirror. The lone reflection staring back at you looked as tired as you felt.

With dark circles under your eyes and a complexion that could only be described as dull, it was starting to feel like you were one bad hair day away from getting "gave up" tattooed across your forehead. And suddenly you were wondering whether you looked more dead than the ghost.

Instead of wallowing more self-pity, you washed your hands under the running faucet. If the ghost wanted to bother you, it certainly wasn’t going to be about your hygiene. You kept that on lock.

You glanced back at the mirror and no longer were you alone. Instead, where your reflection should have been was the unsettling visage of your ghost, staring back at you with a smirk that sent a shiver down your spine. His pale features were striking, almost ethereal, with an undeniable charm that twisted your gut. Those mischievous eyes sparkled with a playful malevolence.

Your ghost was attractive–strikingly so–and for some reason that made you dislike him even more.

You shot your shared reflection an unamused smile. “Was that supposed to scare me?”

His reflection chuckled, leaning over his sink to give you an unfiltered view of every extraordinary detail etched into his face like a sculpture. “What? I thought I could finally introduce myself.”

“After months of me already living here? I feel the moment has passed,” you shot back, crossing your arms in defiance.

“Well, I had to pass my own judgment, didn't I? Do you know how many coke-huffing, cheese puff-grubbing, athlete-foot-walking slobs I’ve encountered in my place of residence?” He leaned closer, his expression mockingly serious, the flickering light casting playful shadows across his sharp cheekbones.

“May I remind you that those people were renters? If they paid to be there, who were you to deny them that?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Like I didn’t pay when I was alive? Plus, Muriel definitely wasn’t paying, nor was Monty. They were beyond sketchy.” He rolled his eyes dramatically, clearly relishing the chance to air his grievances from beyond the grave. “Now that I think about it, there was definitely some laundry going on around here—and I’m not just talking about your underwear strewn all over the place.”

“Thanks for the reminder. Would you please leave the undergarments alone?” you replied, trying to keep the irritation from creeping into your voice as if you didn’t sound crazy enough talking into a mirror.

He shrugged nonchalantly, the flickering light casting shadows across his smirking face. “I will once you learn to toss them in the hamper like a normal humie. Upside to being dead: no laundry.”

“I don’t have to take this from someone who can’t even wear underwear anymore.”

“So you assumed I died without any on? How morbidly perverted of you.” His playful smile widened.

You scoffed, incredulous at the absurdity of the conversation you were having—with a ghost of all people.

“You know I’m right…I could sense your heart racing the moment you laid eyes on me,” he teased, a playful grin dancing across his lips as his jaw hung slightly slack in intrigue. His gaze swept over you, lingering on the way your breath caught in your throat, as if he were drinking in every detail, alive in the way his eyes glowed with mischief despite their soulless depths.

His ghostly figure was lean and toned, the contours of his form faintly visible like a lingering shadow, brimming with an energy that felt both alluring and infuriating. The flickering light cast an ethereal glow around him, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaws and the way his seemingly wet hair fell carelessly over his forehead. He leaned closer, the air thickening with a mix of annoyance and something dangerously enticing as if he relished the effect he had on you.

“Are you…flirting with me?” You couldn’t believe you had to ask, but the glint in his eye was undeniable.

“It’s not illegal. Not in the afterlife, anyway. Anything goes here.” He leaned back against the sink, bloodless veins pulsing against his forearms, enjoying the encounter more than he should.

“I…need sleep.”

You peeled yourself away from the mirror, shaking your head in disbelief, and headed to bed without looking back. You slipped through the sheets, found comfort in their familiarity, and sighed, thinking you escaped.

“You know—”

“Jesus!” you burst out, your heart racing as you instinctively clutched your chest. Opening your eyes, you found the ghost looming above you, his expression a mix of amusement and annoyance. “What now?”

“Walking to a different room isn’t exactly a proper goodnight,” he said, crossing his arms over his spectral chest as if he were the arbiter of etiquette in the afterlife. His expression was mock-serious, and the playful glint in his eyes suggested he found the whole situation amusing.

“As if ghosts even sleep?” you shot back, rolling your eyes.

“No, but it’s polite,” he replied, feigning indignation, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a barely contained grin.

“Is this going to keep happening? You annoy me until I scrape together enough money to move out, or, if I’m not fortunate, end up penniless and homeless,” you lamented, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you threw your hands up in frustration.

“You tell me.”

With a sigh, you shut your eyes again and threw the blanket over your head, seeking refuge. “At least save it for the morning.”

And the ghost did just that—he saved all of it for the morning, better yet the afternoon. Since that’s when you woke up anyways.

“Do people always eat breakfast past two p.m., or is that a recent trend from the last two decades?” his voice called, cutting through the haze of your half-sleep as you started to eat

“How old are you even?” you mumbled, cereal gnashing between your teeth.

“Old enough to know that you need more than cereal to sustain a healthy human body.”

“Riveting,” you muttered sarcastically, sipping the milk from the bowl. “Next, you’ll tell me that ‘ghosting’ is a real thing in your realm, too.”

“Actually, it is,” he retorts, his presence somehow stronger than it was in front of a mirror, “Happen to be doing it right now. Having some fun.”

“Is that your idea of fun? Stalking me from beyond the grave?”

“Call it what you want, but I’m just trying to keep you company,” he replied, his voice low and smooth, like honey dripping from a spoon. “Besides, who else is going to breathe some life into your dull existence other than someone who’s already checked out of theirs?”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms with a playful huff. “Great. Just what I need—my own ghostly life coach. What’s next? A seminar on the benefits of double-scrubbing the bathtub?

It was meaningless stuff, really. The kind of chatter that filled the air like background noise, a gentle distraction from the world outside your walls. Yet, for someone who was supposed to be dead, he had an uncanny knack for conversation, it only made you assume the type of person he was alive. He could turn the mundane into clear images, painting vivid pictures with his stories about the afterlife—or, more accurately, his gripes about it. Not that you asked for it, but, it was like being told a grand story. Stories you could not for the life of you stop listening to for some reason.

“Okay, ghostie—”

“Jeonghan,” he corrected. “Say it with me slowly. Jeong. Han.”

“Mmh, ghostie! I’ll be back after the laundry is done.”

“No way you’re saving money with how often you—”

“Bye bye, poltergeist!” You cut him off with a wave, stepping out with a load full of laundry.

You had noticed how quickly the days were slipping by, how time seemed to blur when you shared your space with someone—or rather, something—that could actually respond to you in real-time. It was a strange kind of companionship, one that made you forget just how much solitude had weighed on you before.

The passing days also reminded you just how much you needed a breather, to clear your head from this bizarre living arrangement. And somehow, your laundry had piled up, more than it ever should have for someone unemployed who barely left the house. It was odd. Almost like time itself was moving faster, dragging the mess along with it.

“Hey, right on schedule—Thursdays and every other Monday and today’s Monday..”

You almost forgot about Seungkwan amidst all the supernatural nonsense swirling around you, but seeing him brought back memories of your last encounter, and you quickly put on a smile. “Hey there! Look at you, recognizing my laundry schedule too.”

“Thought I’d return the favor since you were kind enough to remember mine. Hope that’s okay,” he replied, his tone light.

You piled your laundry into the machine, carefully measuring out some freshly opened detergent. “It is.”

“Okay… I just want to apologize for being weird the last time we talked,” he said, shifting slightly as he leaned against the machine, his expression turning a bit more serious.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” you assured him.

“I just… I don’t know.” He glanced down at the floor, his brows furrowing slightly. “My mind went blank, if I’m being honest.”

You smiled reassuringly. “I get that. Don’t worry your pretty little head over it.”

He looked up, a playful grin spreading across his face. “So you think I’m pretty?”

Fuck. “It’s… just an expression.”

He leaned against his machine, his gaze fixed on you. “Didn’t deny it, though.”

You chuckled, feigning exasperation and mirroring his posture against your own machine. “You’re a lot more cocky than I realized, Mr. Seungkwan.”

“Do you like that?”

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you were left speechless. Your mouth dropped open in surprise as your thoughts bounced from one corner of your mind to the other until finally, they found themselves running down between your legs in a new form of discomfort. “Umm…”

You turned away for a moment, breathing to steady yourself, gently patting away your very alive heart.

“I made it weird again, didn’t I?” he said, his voice laced with a hint of regret.

You spun back around, shaking your head. “No. No! It just took me by surprise.”

“Sorry about that.” Not sounding all that sorry.

“That’s…more than I’m used to,” you admitted, a slight heat creeping onto your cheeks.

“Thank you?” he replied, a grin tugging at his lips.

You let out a soft laugh, the sound brightening the air between you and making the moment feel lighter and more vibrant. Just then, the machine beeped, a sharp sound signaling that your clothes were done, pulling you away from the heated exchange.

A comfortable silence enveloped you both, but this time it felt different—like the crackling of kindling in the perfect moment when fireflies come out, illuminating the night as brightly as the stars in the sky. You exchanged a quiet glance, catching a glint reminiscent of those stars in his gaze, and for a second, it felt like the universe was telling you, ‘Hey, maybe there's something here.’

When you finally turned to leave, your smile was the biggest you’d ever had. And when he matched yours, it was like you had just won a bizarre lottery. You probably looked a bit unhinged, standing there grinning at nothing while swaying in the damp weather, but you didn’t care. The butterflies in your stomach danced happily, and you found yourself wishing you could hold on to this moment just a little longer, savoring the warmth it brought.

“You look happy.”

Not even the Ghostbusters’ final boss could ruin that for you.

“Cram it, Beetlejuice Lite,” you shot back, because although you’re in a good mood, you relished finding new names to call Jeonghan besides his own.

You hummed to yourself as you folded and neatly put away your clothes, feeling his cool, lingering presence behind you. He watched, like always—probably thinking up who put sugar in your cereal this morning for you to be in such an uppity mood.

“Well, I’ll be. You’re actually putting your clothes away like a functional human being?” His voice oozed mock surprise, but today, it just rolled right off you.

“Yep! Just felt like it,” you replied cheerfully, sliding the last of the shirts into your drawer with a satisfied nod.

“Strange. I thought laundry was your natural habitat now, seeing how often you’re in there… but I guess that’s thanks to a certain ‘living,’”

You snapped your drawer shut, the sound echoing through the room as you whipped around to glare at him, immediately pulling you away from the happiness you felt not that long ago. “You—”

“Seungkwan, wasn’t it? Cute kid. Didn’t quite peg him as your type, though.” He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

Your eyes narrowed, heart doing an involuntary somersault. Of course, he’d noticed. He seemed to notice everything, like some twisted version of a nosy neighbor, only this one didn’t have the decency to keep his opinions to himself. You wanted to fire back, but your brain was moving a step too slow, still caught up on the casual way he dropped Seungkwan's name. How long had he been watching you both at the laundromat?

“You’re stalking me outside of the apartment now?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“My spirit may be bound to this place,” he replied with an air of nonchalance, “but my soul can roam as it pleases.”

“Spirit? Soul? Aren’t they the same thing?”

He tilted his head, giving you a patronizing smile. “Not quite. My soul travels freely, observing everything within a reasonable distance—it’s not tethered to the apartment like my spirit is. My spirit stays here, out of my control.”

“So, you spied on me just because you could?”

"Call it research. Gathering intel." He shrugged. "Besides, it's not like you were doing anything interesting."

"Oh, I'm so glad I could provide you with such riveting entertainment.”

You shook your head, leaving the bedroom and closing the door behind you, only to have Jeonghan pass through it. "You know, for a ghost, you're surprisingly annoying."

"For a flesh-and-blood mortal, you're remarkably unfazed," he observes, his ethereal voice echoing slightly. "Most wouldn't last a day with my...unique brand of housekeeping."

You paused, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah, well, I'm not most people."

“So,” he began, “about this Seungkwan guy…”

You stiffened, feeling your cheeks heat up. “What about him?”

“Just curious,” he replied casually, though there was a glint in his eyes. “He seems... nice.”

“He is,” you mumbled, suddenly finding your laundry far more interesting than the conversation again.

“And you like him?”

Your heart raced in your chest. “I don’t know,” you admitted, the words almost sticking in your throat. “Maybe.”

“Does he like you?”

You hesitated, fiddling with the edge of your sleeve. “…I don’t know yet.”

There was a beat of silence before he offered, “Want some help with that?”

“No. What? How would you even do that?” You narrowed your eyes, already regretting entertaining this conversation.

He started circling you, wearing a grin that screamed trouble, like a cat ready to pounce. “The only time my soul and spirit are truly joined,” he began in a low, conspiratorial tone, “is when I possess a body and take control of their flesh.”

You rolled your eyes. “Where is this going, Bloody Maury? Skip to the part that makes sense.”

He stopped directly in front of you, arms crossed. “Well, if you’re interested in ‘skipping to the good parts,’ I could possess your body. Help you say what’ll win over Seungkwan in no time.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. “Why in the hell would I be dumb enough to let you do that?”

He snickered, leaning in with a smug look. “Because you’re desperate and haven’t slept with anyone the entire time we’ve lived together.”

“…You talk too much.”

“Think about it,” he continued, unbothered by your glare. “You’ve already got a foot in the door with him. You just need a little boost. I can help.”

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes. “This sounds like some high-level scheme to take over my body. Then I’ll end up stuck sharing it with a ghost, screaming into the depths of my soul for eternity. Thanks, but no thanks.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ve been watching too much supernatural TV. And besides, if I wanted to possess your body for good, I would’ve done it a long time ago. I do have some principles, you know. Consent and all.”

You shook your head, unimpressed. “Nope. I still can’t trust you, ghostie.”

Jeonghan, ever the persistent undead, didn’t know the meaning of giving up—and by now, you should’ve expected as much. And maybe, just maybe, his constant, incessant persuading was starting to wear you down. Sharing the same space day in and day out gave him the upper hand. He knew your quirks, your weak spots—the best and worst parts of you.

These past few days, you weren’t sure if you were going insane by agreeing with a ghost, or if he was actually starting to make some sense.

As you stared off at him, basking in the cool autumn air slipping through the balcony, you started to wonder if his intentions were not as venomous or malicious as you initially thought. There was a strange, quiet sadness in his eyes as if he longed for something he couldn’t put into words. Something that you couldn’t understand even if you tried.

“Am I really so pathetic that the ‘phantom reject’ is willing to help me with my love life?”

Jeonghan glanced at you with mild interest, noticing the way your curiosity had piqued. You sat comfortably on the couch, your elbow propped on the armrest, cheek nestled in your palm, as you observed him. He quietly approached, given that his feet were intangible and didn’t reach the ground, the silence was deafening and he lowered his head to level with you, staring back at you with so much intent it burned to feel his gaze.

He titled his head, brimming with pride. “Well, let’s just say I’ve never been rejected in my life. So.”

“You really think this’ll work for me?”you asked, skepticism lacing your tone.

“Of course,” he replied, with a grin. “You’ve got me.”

You were really considering it—letting a ghost help with your love life. Was this truly insane? Maybe. But it felt like it was worth a shot.

God, this was pathetic. And for once, you had something to be genuinely afraid of. And funny enough, it wasn’t possession. Until, well… maybe it was.

Life had never quite prepared you for this. Standing in your bedroom, surrounded by the overflowing pile of dirty clothes in the corner, you realized you’d put this off long enough—both the laundry and the body possession. You let out a shaky breath, glancing nervously from the mess to Jeonghan.

His presence loomed, just as insistent as the neglected chores, and you had to steady yourself, mentally sorting through how you’d ended up in this bizarre situation. Laundry? Fine. Ghost possession? Not something you thought was possible. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to assess the ridiculousness of it all.

“Okay, Grim Peeper, let’s do this.”

Jeonghan chuckled softly as you tried, and failed, to shake off the nerves. His movements were deliberate as he approached, eyes narrowing in focus. He watched how the tension gripped your shoulders, the way your breath quickened despite your best efforts to stay calm. His presence felt heavier, and as he took his position in front of you, the air around him seemed to still.

You could feel the weight of what was about to happen, the looming absurdity of it all. Jeonghan, who usually exuded a kind of careless charm, now looked oddly concentrated, as if he were preparing for something he rarely had the chance to do. His expression, though still smug, carried a certain gravity. But in all honesty, he wasn’t really sure what to expect.

“I’m about to make contact,” Jeonghan said, his tone unusually serious. “It’s going to feel a bit disorienting at first—like a cold shiver running down your spine. But after a few seconds, your mind will adjust, and it’ll feel like nothing ever happened. My voice will echo in your head, almost like it’s your own thoughts. I’ll let you know when it’s me taking control.”

His hands hovered over your shoulders, a ghostly chill brushing against your skin. For a split second, there was something oddly reassuring in his dead, sullen eyes. "You'll be okay. I promise, nothing will go wrong."

You sighed, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down. "Alright, I trust you." Then you glanced at him, a small smirk forming. "But seriously, what do you get out of all this? Helping me, I mean. I won’t judge... Boo-dini."

He let out a short laugh, tilting his head slightly as if considering how to answer. “I…want to remember what it’s like to feel alive again. See what I missed out on.”

“That’s fair,” you nodded, understandably.

“Expected more from me, humie?”

You shrugged. “Thought you’d have a deeper back story, but that’s fine.”

Jeonghan scoffed softly, giving you a teasing smirk before he began. In an instant, he was there—and then he wasn’t. The shift was so sudden it left you reeling. Just as he’d predicted, a shiver rippled down your spine, cold and unsettling. But what he hadn’t mentioned were the flashes of unfamiliar images that flickered behind your eyes, moments you’d never lived but somehow felt were real.

They came and went so fast, you couldn’t make sense of them—fleeting fragments of his past, perhaps, or echoes of something even older.

‘How are you?’ he voice said, interrupting your thoughts.

You quietly nodded, reassuring him.

‘Very well then. Your lead, dear host.’

You wandered into the laundromat with your overstuffed hamper, feeling a bit like a laundry pirate hauling treasure—or dirty socks—across the high seas. You’d made the executive–and rightfully cowardly–decision to skip your usual laundry day, and now it was leading up to this very moment. Jeonghan stayed mostly dormant in your body as you claimed an empty machine, the back of your head itchy knowing another being was sharing your body that has led you this far. And now it was going to lead you to get laid.

It was like clockwork. Any minute now, Seungkwan would stroll in, and Jeonghan would take over, handling all the nerve-wracking nonsense you'd rather avoid.

‘Don’t be nervous,’ his voice echoed, ‘I almost thought it was my own heart racing, then I remembered I’m dead.’

“Sorry,” you muttered softly under your breath, ignoring the supernatural’s attempt at a joke.

‘It’s fine. Everything will be fine.’

“I know,” you sighed.

“You know what?”

You spun around, facing Seungkwan, who’d entered with that casual, friendly energy you always admired. He smiled, raising an eyebrow at your startled expression.

"Seungkwan!" you blurted out, trying to push the embarrassment down as far as it would go.

“Hey, neighbor,” he greeted, already moving toward his machine, gently separating colors from whites. “How are you?”

“Good—Great! Why do you ask?”

He gave you a light shrug, glancing up with a playful grin. “Just sounded like you were talking to yourself.”

“Well, who doesn’t?” you quipped, trying to play it cool. “Sometimes thinking out loud helps clear the head noise, right?”

“Right,” he said, stretching with an amused smile, clearly entertained by your odd, jittery energy.

‘Wow, thank god you have me.’

You quietly cursed Jeonghan in your head for making this harder than it needed to be, before mustering up the nerve to approach Seungkwan, fingers nervously fidgeting.

"Hey, so... you mentioned you were going to be out of town for Halloween, right?"

Seungkwan looked up, surprised and then grinned. "You remembered! Yeah, what’s up?"

You hesitated for a second, feeling Jeonghan’s smug presence lingering somewhere in the back of your mind. "I thought..."

Seungkwan leaned casually against the now-humming washer, hands tucked in his pockets, his curious gaze fixed on you. "Yeah?"

You tried to keep your cool, but the moment the words "we could do something" left your mouth, your brain started to short-circuit. Seungkwan turned to you with that easygoing grin of his, waiting for you to elaborate, and you could already feel the awkwardness creeping in.

Jeonghan’s voice chimed in, ‘You’re fumbling. Let me take over.’

Before you could protest, the familiar shiver ran down your spine. Suddenly, everything felt distant—your limbs moved, but you weren't fully in control anymore.

Jeonghan’s smooth voice came out of your mouth as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I was thinking, maybe we could hang out before you head out of town? You know, catch a movie, grab a drink, something low-key, say my place?"

Seungkwan's smile widened, surprised but clearly intrigued. "You want to hang out with me?”

Jeonghan, still in control of your voice, replied effortlessly, "Of course." Before you could even process what was happening, your feet began to move on their own, gliding across the floor like a spy on a secret mission. Jeonghan closed the distance between you and Seungkwan, and suddenly, your hands were fidgeting with the hem of Seungkwan's shirt. “I figure it’s a good excuse to steal some of your time before Halloween hits."

Your heart raced, and you mentally screamed at Jeonghan, Okay, okay, that’s enough! I can take it from here!

But he was on a roll. "Tomorrow?" Seungkwan asked, leaning casually against the washing machine, though the way he shifted his weight from foot to foot betrayed his nervousness. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty.

"Tomorrow’s perfect," Jeonghan responded smoothly, maintaining the effortless flow of the conversation. "I’ll text you the details."

With each word, your body felt like it was moving on autopilot, and while you were horrified by the lack of control, a part of you couldn't help but feel a rush of exhilaration. Jeonghan was nailing it, but the closeness to Seungkwan was almost too much to handle.

Suddenly, Seungkwan playfully entwined his fingers with yours, his touch sending a jolt of warmth through your hand, as his grin graced his face. Your eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment, savoring the warmth of the connection. When you opened them, you found an unreadable expression on his face—intense and smoldering. “Sounds like a plan,” he said, his voice slightly softer now. “Looking forward to it.”

The way he held your gaze made your heart skip a beat, and for a moment, the world around you faded into a soft blur. Even though Jeonghan was in control, your thoughts tangled with the heat of the moment, coursing through you like a fever.

As soon as Seungkwan turned away to his laundry with a lingering grin, Jeonghan released control, and the reins were back in your hands. You blinked, still a bit disoriented from the possession.

‘See? Easy,’ Jeonghan’s voice echoed smugly in your mind.

‘You’re impossible,’ you shot back.

‘But effective.’

That night, you tackled all the prep work you knew you needed to get done. It had been a while since you’d done anything like this, and you definitely had some dust bunnies and spiderwebs in your attic.

“Humie–oh.”

“Jeonghan! What the hell?” Your eyes flew open as you scrambled to pull the shower curtain over your bare legs, the chill of the water sending a shiver up your spine from the products strewn haphazardly at the edge of the sink. “Do you fucking mind?”

“Well, well. Look at you, all cleaned up. At least yourself, anyway. Can’t say the same for the bathroom floor—or that mountain of grooming products over there.”

You gripped your makeshift cover-up a little tighter, groaning in frustration. “Privacy, please! I barely have any as it is.”

“I’m just saying, I’m proud of you. Now, if you manage to sweep up after, I might even give you a round of applause.”

“Out!” you snapped, glaring.

He shrugged, turning to leave with an impish grin. “Hey, roommates catch each other with their pants down one way or another.”

If you weren’t already a bundle of nerves, Jeonghan was getting far too comfortable for your liking. Leading up to that night and the big day, he had been dishing out advice on everything from what to wear to what movie to play, right down to critiquing the meager food stock in your fridge.

“That’s it, you need to go grocery shopping.”

“I can't afford that right now!”

“Just get Instacart. I don’t care. This apartment is as bare-bones as it gets.”

“I have popcorn, soda, and some chocolate for Halloween when I'm giving them out.”

“First of all, popcorn isn’t actually food. Second, prebiotic soda doesn’t count as real soda. And if you can get chocolate, then you can definitely manage to buy some real groceries.”

But just as you were about to respond, luck decided to abandon you with a sharp knock at the door. “No time!” you hissed, “now scr—oh, you’re already gone.”

One moment he was there, and the next, he had vanished. Now, it was all on you, and nothing felt more nerve-wracking. You tugged your shorts down just enough to cover the rest of your bottom, anxiety buzzing in your chest. Your hand hovered over the doorknob as you took a deep breath, trying to muster some confidence before swinging it open to reveal who was waiting outside.

“Seungkwan, hey!”

“Hey!” he grinned, his Halloween-themed vest adding a playful touch to his outfit as he juggled a couple of bags in his arms. “You didn’t ask, but I thought I’d surprise you with some food. Pumpkin-spiced spaghetti and meatballs.”

“Oh, uhhh…”

He burst into laughter, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m just messing with you! It’s actually butternut squash gnocchi and some stuffed peppers that look like pumpkins.”

“Oh, thank God! That sounds amazing.”

“Yeah, it’s festive without going overboard.”

You nodded in agreement, feeling a warm rush of relief. “Come in.”

As you stepped aside to let him in, you couldn’t help but notice how wholesomely he was dressed compared to your casual attire. Suddenly, you felt a pang of self-consciousness.

“I like your sweater,” you said, trying to mask your growing insecurity.

He looked down, a hint of modesty crossing his face. “Yeah, I think it’s just the right amount of festive, but—”

“It’s festive but not overboard,” you responded, playfully tossing his words right back at him.

He grinned, “Exactly!”

You smiled back, feeling a wave of warmth as Seungkwan's presence began to calm your nerves. As he settled into the familiar space of your apartment, you couldn’t help but discreetly scan the room for any signs of your ghoulish roommate. Half-relieved to find nothing, half-disappointed that your spectral “backup” was nowhere in sight, you let out a quiet sigh. And now it was just you—and the human you actually invited in.

Hesitantly, you eased into the spot next to him on the couch, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach. Your hands were jittery as you picked up the remote, scrolling through the movies you’d lined up, your mind racing to figure out what to do next.

You glanced at him, hoping for some sort of sign or direction, but the words caught in your throat. The longer you scrolled, the more painfully aware you became of the silence, as if it only heightened the nervous tension taking over your body, weirdly missing Jeonghan and how flawlessly he executed what he did yesterday.

"So, movies," you said, aiming the remote at the TV.

"Movies," he echoed, mimicking your tone.

“I mean,” You raised a brow. "What do you have in mind? And there is a right answer."

He chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "Alright, I love Halloween, but..."

"But?" you pressed, leaning in slightly.

"I... really can’t handle scary movies. Halloween Town is probably my limit."

"Halloween Town? The kids’ movie?"

"Hey, don’t knock it. They had great graphics!"

"They had awful graphics!" you shot back, incredulous.

He grinned, half-joking but clearly standing by his point. "Yeah, now. But for its time?”

You shook your head in playful disbelief, unable to hold back a smile. “You’re ridiculous. But fine, your choice.”

You were left with very few options. Seungkwan had suggested a few festive, family-friendly titles, but you managed to persuade him to consider a couple of mild thrillers—some stupid but perfectly on theme.

“The zombie version of Twilight? Seriously? Zombies?" he repeated, stressing the idea with disbelief.

You shrugged, smiling from his reaction. “You might like it.”

He dropped his head in defeat, cute little whines escaping his pursed lips. “Fine, but you’d better be my shield for this, okay, neighbor?”

The movie began to play, the take-out boxes popped open, and your nerves were on high alert, vibrating like something else does on a normal Friday night for you. Except now, it was just you and the incredible realization that the man you're very much interested in was mere inches away. You were a fucking wreck.

Surprisingly, Seungkwan was genuinely enjoying the film, finding unexpected humor and charm in the cringeworthy blockbuster. His laughter was soothing and infectious, gradually easing your nerves until you started to feel normal again. Why were you like this?

Wait, you felt normal again, but what was normal?

Before you fully grasped what had happened in that fleeting moment of clarity, your hand made contact with Seungkwan, trailing lightly up his forearm. He immediately turned to face you, and your eyes locked, but suddenly they felt as if they belonged to someone else as if you were watching a different kind of film—a film where you were a separate character, experiencing everything from an alternate reality.

“Seungkwan,” your voice spoke, sounding foreign and distant as if someone else were taking control. Jeonghan?

‘It was so painful to watch.’

Jeonghan guided your hand to brush against Seungkwan's ear, teasingly grazing the tip and relishing the warmth that bloomed between your fingers.

“Hey,” he replied, his nerves speaking for him. “Is something wrong?”

A low chuckle escaped from the depths of your throat, echoing Jeonghan’s playful menace. “You didn’t think we were just going to watch a movie, did you?”

Seungkwan audibly gulped, his eyes darting around as anxiety crept in. “We aren’t?”

“What’s the matter?” Jeonghan leaned in closer, your lips brushing against Seungkwan’s ear. “Where’s that confidence you had yesterday?”

Seungkwan suddenly tossed a pillow onto his lap, speechless and blushing fiercely. “Sorry,” he stammered, caught off guard. “I never anticipated—”

“Oh, really? You never expected to do something other than watching movies?” Your hand gently cupped his cheek, and you could feel Seungkwan melt into your touch with a gentle whimper.

A delighted sigh escaped you, fueled by Jeonghan’s newfound confidence coursing through your veins as your thumb traced the curve of Seungkwan’s Adam’s apple, feeling the rapid thrum of his pulse beneath your fingertips.

“You didn’t think for a second, I’d–you know–keep the night as is, did you?”

He softly groaned in his throat, feeling the tension seep inside him. “Are you suggesting?”

“I don’t want to just watch movies with you, Seungkwan. It’d be more fun to make our own. Isn’t that right?”

“...yes. God, yes.”

He leaned in, cradling your face in his hands, and pressed his lips to yours in a swift, hungry kiss, sending a surge of electricity through you as your tension unraveled in waves. His weight dipped against your body, pinning you against the rough tweed of the couch. His soft moans mingled with your breaths, muffled yet threatening, as if he were desperate to let loose and explore the desire in his heart while you were within reach.

‘That’s it.’

Your hand held the back of his head, catching strands between your fingers and tugged, ravaging his lips as if it’d be the last time you’d get a chance. You weren’t sure when Jeonghan gave you back your control, but in the heat of the moment, none of it mattered.

He tasted like a life force, fueling the fire burning in your loins and the fire kindling in your stomach; he had you wanting more with every passing second. His hands grabbed you recklessly, throwing his weight against you and squeezing your flesh until it was tender and malleable in his hands. This wasn’t something to unfold on the couch, you thought—not when a big, inviting bed lay just a few steps away, calling for you.

Your feet regained enough feeling to guide you off the couch, and before you knew it, you were stumbling toward your room, feverish and driven, with no thought of turning back. Your hands found his clothes, teasing beneath his holiday vest and up his torso, admiring the smooth flush of skin that graced your senses. He gasped, succumbing to your excitement and leaned into it, falling seamlessly into your rhythm.

“Didn’t want to stretch this, but,” he pulled the vest and shirt beneath over his head, tossing them aside in the corner. You let your hand linger longer on his body, running along the curve of his spine as he pulled you closer.

Seungkwan grasped your waist, savoring your lips with gentle strokes of his tongue before lifting you from the ground and onto the bed. Your bodies crushed against one another, peeling off articles of clothing one piece at a time until you were almost bare, expertly taking you apart to have you whole. All to himself as far as he knew.

“Seungkwan,” you called out in pleas, hands cradling the back of his neck as his hair fell over his eyes. “I want you so bad…”

“You’re telling me,” he managed to breathe out, gripping your underwear at its hem and scrapping it over your hips as he pulled them down. “I’ve thought about you ever since I met you.”

Your heart bloomed in your chest, pleasantly startled by his confession. Your hands ran through his hand, pushing them over his forehead despite knowing they’d only fall back in place. “You were always so…friendly.”

He smiled, pressing it against the corner of your lips and decorating your cheeks and jaw with kisses. “Yeah. I always hoped that we’d be more than just friendly.”

“Well, mission accomplished.” You pulled him back into a lip lock, parting your legs to give him access.

‘Look at all the fun you’re having.’

Jeonghan was like a wandering whisper, weaving through your thoughts as Seungkwan enveloped your senses. Seungkwan’s hands were on your body, touching what’s yours and making it his, where Jeonghan could feel it as much as you could, and you knew it. He got off on this just as much as you did.

‘Feel him rubbing that pretty pussy of yours.’

“So wet…” Seungkwan said with ache, sounding like he was pleading.

His digits found your sensitivity and thumbed over your clit, stimulating you until your voice rang but the last thing you were doing was speaking. You became fluent in moans, fluid in body language, and perfect in Seungkwan. Your breath dragged on, panting against him as your leg hooked to his side, holding him with urgency.

‘So fucking horny…you were begging to be fucked, hmm?’

You couldn’t help but nod, hand lowering to find Seungkwan’s raging erection just within reach. He softly gasped, thrusting into your touch as you held his shaft, stroking his length that felt so full in your hands. So stiff, yet warm to the touch, almost tasting the tension on your tongue.

‘Look at that size, huh? Imagine how that feels in you. Stretching your pussy and making you feel so full? Doesn’t that sound amazing?’

“I need you in me Seungkwan.” You begged in desperate pants, gripping him by the forearms. “I want to feel you inside me.”

There was a certain eagerness in his eyes, the kind that said he would do anything and everything for you in a heartbeat and succeed. You weren’t dealing with any average guy that wanted to get off. “Fuck,” he whispered, before lifting his upper body, putting himself on full display.

His physique was magnificent in every way, tantalizing and captivating like nothing you’ve ever encountered. You had an inkling of what he looked like under all his clothes, the veins always so prominent on his forearms and hands when he strained to reach something on a shelf, the line of his back when his lifted shirt revealed just a sliver of skin, or his wide hips, baring an ass so round and full they look like they came straight out of the oven. Never have you ever wanted to run your hands over something, nor have you ever wanted to sink your teeth into something. Yet, here was Seungkwan: utterly delectable.

Seungkwan dragged you by the ankles, moving you effortlessly as he angled himself between your legs, your molten heat practically dripping at the sight of him. His groan bounced off the walls, hand coming over your inner thighs and gently massaging your skin. As his kisses started to pepper over your legs, you felt your pussy physically throb, damned to eternal craving.

“You look like heaven,” He cried against your thighs. “Any protection?”

“It’s right–oh.” You picked up a rubber conveniently left at your nightstand, then handed it to Seungkwan. You‘re welcome.’

He set it aside with a smile and instead of putting it on, his face fell on your heat. He tasted you like it was worship; the dance of his tongue was his prayers, while your response flowed like a cascade of blessings. You whined when you felt him pursed around your clit, teeth barely grazing you as he sucked down like you’re the last bit of syrup in a dessert.

At the same time, his eyes glazed over to yours, a hand hovering over your chest, inaudibly asking permission, and when you gave him a wordless nod, he grabbed handfuls of your breasts. He kneaded you between his knuckles, rolling your buds between his fingers, and having you surrender to his chase.

“Seungkwan, please…”

Seungkwan’s eyes glimmered with pride, a sultry testament to the depth of his exploration. The longer he ventured, the more you found ogasmic relief, feeling every ounce of his efforts and every ounce of his pleasure. You held him by his hair, leg anchoring over his back, feeling his tongue massage your inner walls. His voice vibrates inside you, somehow stealing your breath, and filling you with utter euphoria.

‘You feel that? How much he wants you? How much he craves you. He’s been waiting for this day. And you should reward him. Don’t you think?’

You tugged him up, watch him gasping for air, replace one pair of lips with another. You flipped him on his back, gaining momentum, and relishing in the power of control, and swallowing his gasps. You aligned the hilt of his cock towards you, ensuring you wrapped it protection before it sat between the slit of your folds.

Seungkwan tilted his head back, his eyes glistening with desire as he admired you, his gaze revealing his thoughts like an open book. "You're so sexy," he murmured, the words spilling out without hesitation. While his look said it all, hearing it felt like a heated rush of affirmation, and it made you want him more.

You pushed his length in you, feeling his size pulsate through you, and a moan managed to pass through your lips. Shivers ran down through you, goosebumps pebbling your skin, and you realized the raging presence of Seungkwan was going to be the death of you. As he rocked inside you, he held your hips in place, guiding your form up and down on lap, adjusting to your squeeze, and adjusting to how it contracts. “Oh my god, please, you’re driving me crazy.”

“Just like I wanted,” You teased.

Your lips brushed against his neck, grazing your teeth over his skin before making passionate kisses to his neck, grinding down on his body until there isn’t a hint of space between your bodies. You were growing weary–albeit needy–chasing a high that was so close to be conquered. You felt it, Seungkwan felt it, and damn well Jeonghan felt it. You needed more, just a little more.

Suddenly, the air was knocked out of your lungs, as if something vital had escaped from within you, and your movements were put to a halt.

“Sorry,” you apologize, pushing the hair way from your face. “Not sure what happened. I promise–”

“Don’t apologize to me, Humie.”

You heard his voice—or rather, an echo of Jeonghan’s voice—calling from below you, and as you met his gaze in Seungkwan’s eyes, your expression widened in shock. “Jeonghan,” you declared menacingly.

“In the flesh. Well, not my own, but you get the idea,” he quipped.

You nudged at the body beneath you, careful of not hurting the host. “Get out of this poor human’s body right now! What happened to consent?”

“Oh, he’s very much consenting to the thrill of this level of intimacy,” Jeonghan replied, a teasing grin spreading across his face.

“Not when it involves a literal ghost!”

“Relax, he won’t remember a thing. My spirit won’t let him. All he’ll recall is the good time he had,” the body thief winked playfully.

“Bullshit! Do what’s right and let the boy go.”

“But I am doing what’s right.” His grip tightened around your hips, pushing Seungkwan’s cock deeper in you as if it was possible and ebbing weak moans from as he pulled you closer, a wicked smile dancing on his lips. “So right.”

“J-Jeonghan,” you stammered, your pulse quickening.

“I just couldn’t take it anymore, Humie. You looked absolutely ravishing. I had to experience you for myself.”

Your head was screaming all kinds of denial, but your body thrived off his confidence, his energy was flowing through you, splitting through you and hitting a spot of pliancy. This was so wrong. “This…this is violating…for him…”

“But you love it, don’t you? It’s like a wicked thrill, a tantalizing pleasure that feeds your deepest, most tumultuous desires.”

You scoffed, trying to ignore the pulsating cock rocking your very core. “And what kind of desires is that?”

“You want us both,” he answered plainly. “The human and me.”

You shook your head, fingers tightening around Seungkwan’s shoulders in a desperate bid for security as you fought against Jeonghan’s seductive temptations. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Then, why don’t you get off of me?”

“It’s Seungkwan I can’t get off of,” You clarified.

You could recognize Jeonghan’s smile, even though it was plastered on Seungkwan’s face—so conniving, so devilish. It exuded an intoxicating power that was inhumane, but irresistible. “But it's me you’re riding–and fucking hell–you look so good doing it.”

“Jeonghan…” You whimpered, pleading for release from his coercion, but as you feared, mercy eluded you entirely.

“Yes,” His palm rode up your body, his lips parting in haughty confidence. “Beg for me, beg for me to fuck you full.”

“...Fuck it. I want you to fuck me full.” You accepted him, feeling the tension of the cock inside you, ripple waves straight into your heat.

Mindlessly, you accepted his domineering hand that landed on your mouth, feeling it travel past your lips, parting way with his thumb. You wrapped your lips around his digits, sucking them like candy, and the shame that once enveloped your paradoxical feelings dissipated, leaving only a deep hunger in its wake.

Whether it was Jeonghan or Seungkwan beneath you, it was all true to its very core. You had an undeniable infatuation for your cute neighbor and a strange fascination with the handsome ghost. The connection you felt with both was more than palpable, leaving you with an unexplained frenzy of emotions that would require extensive therapy. You knew the logical choice was the one who was alive, but you had never considered that you could have both—especially not in such a chaotic, unorthodox three-way.

“Look at what a slut you are for us, your lips so perfect wrapped around these slender fingers of his.”

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” you quietly muttered to yourself, grinding harder, sucking Seungkwan’s fingers deeper, and gradually succumbing to Jeonghan’s demands.

Jeonghan let out a deep, rolling laugh that resonated from Seungkwan’s core, a sound so rich and dark it sent a momentary unease through you. “You’re simply giving into your desires, why fight it?”

“You damn well know why,” you spat out his fingers and gritted your teeth.

“Now that’s not nice,” His hand covered the shape of your ass, cupping them in his palms, “Do I need to show you how to be nicer to me?”

“Jeonghan,” you groaned, feeling his digits dig into your flesh as he spread them apart.

“What’s that, baby?” he experimented, “Looks like I have to make this a teaching opportunity after all? Because you can’t show your gratitude?”

“Jeonghan, please.”

“Well, if you insist.” With an unexplainable, arcane, supernatural force, the dynamics were switched and Jeonghan had you on your stomach, ass conveniently placed in from of him.

“Jeonghan!”

"I always knew you looked good from every angle, but wow—this one is something else." His hand glided over your curves, Seungkwan’s cock splitting down your divide, you grasped your thirst.

Anticipation was wreaking havoc on your sanity, leaving you in a deafening silence as you waited for Jeonghan to make his move, impatience following. “Will you just–”

A hand clashed against your backside, your skin stinging from impact, and relieving you from a ched yelp. Jeonghan braced you against a groin, the erection nudging at your skin. “So needy,” he chuckled. You felt the tip tease along your slip, eventually filling you up in that familiar way.

You whimper, the size still enticingly foreign, and back into his weight, feel yourself travel all the way down to the base.

“An impatient,” Jeonghan softly groans, grounding himself to you in careful, yet sharp thrusts.

You balled your sheets into fists, your voice muffled as you buried your face in a pillow.

He chuckled against his skin. “That good?”

“Y-yes,” you helplessly whispered.

He slammed down on you, releasing a squeaky spring sound from the bed, both embarrassing and strangely arousing. “Even when I do that?”

“Yes…more please…”

Jeonghan repeated the move, finding a steady rhythm, and watched as your skin and flesh recoiled back against him. He could feel his host basking in the intensity of this pleasure, tears swelling his eyes as your moans echoed in his ears, memorizing from the decibels your voice reached, to the way you looked from behind, and even how the flesh of thighs spilled when you collapsed wearily on the mattress.

“Insane,” He said in hushed whispers.

“Stop it,” you whined.

“Stop what? Showing you how fucking perfect you are taking my cock?” He grunted.

You pressed your lips in a firm lip, clawing down on the bed as your core tightened, every pound drilling into you, giving into his indulgence and taking you along with him. He made every thrust count as the echo of skin slapping faded into the background.

“Oh please, help me cum.” You begged. “Please, please, please…”

His pace quickened, his rhythm erratic. “Yeah, you want you cum coat around my cock like a good little whore.”

“Yes, Jeonghan please, just give it to me.”

“You asked, and you shall receive.”

Finally, he bottomed out into you, unleashing the reins he held to prolong this moment and cut them lose. Your body was no longer yours, weakened by the spirit draining your energy. Your jaw fell slack, unable to close, a waning moaning stretching for miles, ecstasy coursing through your veins.

You said one name, then another, and then again. This was really confusing but you were here, pounded into obvious for what it seems like endlessly, until you realized you were full and not with what you had initially anticipated. In the remenance of fatigue from the sex, you fail to notice the lack of protetction seeing as proof of you supernatural rendezvous was seeping out of you like a slow river.

“Jeonghan!”

“What?” he drowsily answered as he claimed the side of the bed besides you, evidently using the extent of Seungkwan’s body.

“What the fuck happened to the condom?”

“Please, that’s my own cum.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ectoplasm, you know. Comes from all sorts of places.”

“I hate you so much—am I gonna get pregnant with ghost kids?”

“Relax, and no you aren’t. It’s as effective as…something really ineffective–fuck, I’m tired.”

“And Seungkwan. What about Seungkwan?”

“He’s fine and his release became as good as mine when I possessed his body. His soul is asleep right about now, having a catnap. Now come here.” he pulled you towards him, throwing your covers over you and keeping you away from the draft into to room, slipping you into his arms. “Stop tiring yourself out any further and rest. Everything will be fine when he wakes up like a man that got laid: amazing.”

“Fine,” muttered with heavy eye lids, “but only because im really tired.”

And from that moment sleep was easy.

You woke up to those same arms, now only asleep and less “ghost-like” and snuggled up closer to him, a newly acclaimed heat source. A soft chuckle escaped him, holding you tighter in his embrace as a kiss fell on the top of your forehead. “Hey there.”

You smile, cupping the side of his face in your hand. “Hi.”

“That was amazing, you’re amazing,” he said, planting another kiss on your nose. “Is it weird to say it felt so good I kinda blacked out?”

“Ha,” you shook your head, knowing the truth, “No, but thank you for the massive compliment.”

He grinned, a flush of red coating his cheeks, before pulling you into a deep and wonderful kiss, entanging his legs with yours. He seeped into realization when he found the mess between your legs, untouched since sex. “Oh shit, i did that, didn’t i?”

“It’s okay, I…have some sort of protection.”

“One moment.” Seungkwan came up naked from the bed, momentarily left the room, and with a noticeably wet hand towel. “I usually have an extra clean one on hand for after my workout. Glad I brought a backpack for no reason today.

As he inched closer, he sat between your legs, uncovering you from the blanket, and politely asked if he could help. When he received your consent, he brought it up to the mess, gently swiping between every crevice, ridding any remnants of cum that might have been left over.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you reassure, visibly gushing.

“Of course, I do.” He insisted, a sincere smile gracing his features. “It's my pleasure taking care of you.”

It was so disorienting going from the original to Jeonghan’s version and back to the original Seungkwan. As if you were once looking through a window of an alternate reality. Still a lot to process what happened.

“I don’t usually do this,” you try explaining yourself, “I just…I’ve been into you for a long time and I just thought, maybe, you felt the same.”

“I do,” he pressed his lips to your inner thigh. “A lot.”

“So you wouldn’t mind seeing me again?”

“I wouldn’t object to the idea,” he grinned, “especially if we get to do what we did to make me black out in the first place.”

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lucyandthepen · 1 year ago

Text

sweet cream, cold brew | lmh ( m )

something about mark lee keeps you up at night, and you’re pretty sure that it isn’t the lingering smell of espresso on his shirt.

alternatively: mark is shy until he isn’t.

read the second part here!

pairing: nerd!barista!mark x reader verse: college au rating: r ( minors, do not interact! ) warnings&tags: unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), fingering, slightly possessive/jealous dialogue, mark has a thing for tummy bulges because why not, implicitly that also means he has a big dick, a slight???? exhibitionism kink (not actually something that happens, only talked about), johnny exists in this simply to trigger something vaguely feral in mark, reader is a little bit assertive and schemes to get mark's attention, jaehyun is a nosy lil eavesdropper, i think that should be it?? word count: 26.4k

a/n: hello so this was a mess and honestly not a fic i would say showcases my best plot-wise but… what can I say apart from booty wurk mark has me in a chokehold and I needed to release some thoughts and feelings !!! please do not expect too much from the development of the story; i fear it’s quite long and choppy because my ideas were all over the place and i was wringing my hands and brain constantly and i was eager to get to the spicy parts !! this is also not beta’d/proofread, it’s currently almost 1am, and i’ve been writing this on and off for a full week with very few breaks so it honestly felt like a fever dream for me LMAO please forgive any oversights and mistakes; i’ll try to go back on them another day and fix them little by little! finally and …most importantly belated happy birthday, my beloved morkly!

p.s. this will probably be flagged as ‘mature’ by tumblr, which means there’s a high likelihood it won’t appear in tags or searches. please consider reblogging to boost the fic, if you feel so inclined!

You’ve heard tell of how caffeine has inherently addictive properties.

The more of it you have in your lifetime, the more likely you are to experience symptoms of withdrawal whenever you try to have orange juice for breakfast in its stead. It sounds bad, actually, considering most addictive substances are, but you suppose that its benefits somehow outweigh its milder drawbacks. You’re not much of a coffee connoisseur the way some people — see: your best friends, Yeji and Jisu — are, trying one cafe after the other in pursuit of being able to nominate the winning beans of 2023 (an annual heated debate they participate in for no better reason than their own slow and useless entertainment during their six-hour long breaks), but you do know you’ve only ever experienced good things from having a cup every so often: better energy, a more focused approach to mental activities, and the ability to drive through fifty percent of a road trip without needing pop punk music blasting out of your speakers to keep yourself alert.

The three of you are generally particular about the coffee you drink, only in different ways. While your friends have a tendency to demand only the best from any establishment — lest the staff hear fiery commentary about the flatness of the brew or the evident coarseness of the grind — you, on the other hand, are a singular individual of rather simple tastes. All you need to survive long days is a glass of vanilla sweet cream cold brew. No modifications to the sugar level or fancy new milk types are necessary; you’ll drink it as it’s served in a grande cup (or a venti, when things prove particularly grueling).

Of course, you’re strict about other things in the experience of consumption — like where it’s served and, more importantly, who serves it to you.

While Yeji and Jisu have rated the Liberal Arts building’s on-campus Starbucks branch as a five with the strict label of POEO — ‘passable on emergencies only’ — branding the menu as “nothing revolutionary” and criticizing most baristas for subpar brewery, you happen to be extremely drawn to the place. Initially, you may have argued that this has to do with the fact that it’s walking distance from most of your classes, confined to the same general compound on campus, so you can always grab a quick recharger whenever needed, no matter how short the timeframe to do so is. Sometime later on, you may have found yourself asserting that the layout of the cafe, albeit small, is very convenient, considering that every table is situated next to an electrical outlet, so you’re never out of battery (important to other students for their laptops and powerpoint presentations, important to you because you have an unhealthy obsession with passing time on TikTok, scrolling past video after video of ASMR girls clicking their twenty-inch long acrylics with their crazy candyland designs), and this makes you feel at ease.

A month ago, you finally came clean to yourself and, soon after, to your friends, and they came to understand, albeit begrudgingly and with no small amount of amusement, what made this Starbucks unbeatable in your eyes; it had one thing no other coffee shop could lay claim to.

What you know of Mark Lee is accrued from two major sources: long, surreptitious glances in the Modern World History class you share, and irritatingly brief interactions when you place your order from the other side of the counter behind which he stands, long fingers always poised to punch in your order at the speed of light. Sometimes, those encounters get cut even shorter when irate upperclassmen start prattling their orders out before you can even say anything past your own, except even this has its own consolation prize — an apologetic smile at you that seems only for you, although you’re not sure how much of this assumption is true. You’ll just believe it as you feel it.

And what you’ve learned about Mark Lee has funneled down into two key points for you: first, he is single, a fact you were clued into when a group of his friends came to the coffee shop and sat around the table next to you. You hadn’t been eavesdropping; they’d just been pretty loud, but you’d also perked your ears the moment the one everyone seemed to call “Hyuck” — you aren’t sure if it’s his full name or a nickname, and you don’t particularly care — had leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper about having a vague master plan to set Mark up with an old high school friend’s younger sister that he was just waiting to spring on said Mark, busy slaving away on their six impossible orders near the espresso machine.

You don’t really know what became of that plan, nor if anyone had telepathically been on your side to outright call it crazy (someone should have had a better reason than you, anyway) since the next moment, Hyuck’s voice becomes significantly louder when it orders the one named Jisung to collect the completed coffee and snacks waiting for them on the counter. However, you feel safe in the assumption that even if it had happened, no repercussions had followed, seeing as Mark still presently comes and goes from his shifts alone and in no clear hurry to meet any cute girls that are sisters of high school friends of his friends. Or, maybe you’re just ignoring what could be truth, but that’s whatever.

Second, you’ve learned that Mark Lee should not actually be your type — at least, in theory.

Saying you’re out of his league would be a bit juvenile, but if you had only so many words to describe the situation, you’d say so under duress. It isn’t so much that he’s beneath you in any way, but your interests and general social circles run different routes. Yours tend to be more classically patterned after constantly changing trends, and the people you interact with all seem to have similar goals; you like to call it ‘vibe networking,’ which, from experience, involves connecting with both groups and individuals that are equally aware that they will benefit in some way from any resulting acquaintanceship — whether it be by climbing the social ladder a couple of rungs or being able to call in a quick, off-the-charts favor for something very important and/or very exclusive down the road. You and your friends spend a significant amount of time in a year watching your style and image, something quite a lot of kids in the first couple of years of college tend to do, which means that while you don’t particularly like to spend your time following your grade trajectory, you do have quite a lot of pseudo-friends that all seem to offer something entertaining or helpful to you.

Mark, on the contrast, prefers to keep his circle very close to his heart, it seems — that which acts as a receptacle for all his interests. You can tell that he likes to be up to date less with trending movies and more with comic books, a separate beast of a world that’s rather unknown to you. More than once, you’ve overheard him chat with his friends about Spider-man Issue Number Whatever-It-Is or engage in somewhat lively (sometimes rowdy, thanks to the Hyuck fellow) discussions about some webtoon you’ve come to understand is called Solo Leveling, which seems to have to do with monsters and hunters — two things you know next to nothing about. You’ve also never seen Mark holding anything remotely close to a magazine; his hands are always filled with either a freshly opened comic or a beat-up textbook. Maybe once or twice, you’ve seen him on his phone, but when you peeked over (surreptitiously, of course) on those occasions, you were met only with brightly colored panels and a singular word: BAM.

In conclusion — you and Mark Lee live very different lives, likely never truly meant to intersect.

And yet, you want him — not even in a way that speaks only to your curiosity, but in a manner that feels slightly delusional. More than once, you’ve found yourself having to shut your jaw close after realizing you’ve been watching him steam milk with your mouth slightly agape. Maybe it’s his side profile, which gives you a great view of the way his jaw tenses every time he puts whipped cream on someone’s frappuccino. Maybe it’s his eyes, which always seem to twinkle like he’s harboring some special secret every time someone in line asks for his recommendation on how to spice their order up. Maybe it’s his hands, steady and agile, with just the right showing of veins through the skin to tell you they’ve probably got significant strength to them too. Or maybe it’s just his mind — that thing he always manages to show off in class, working faster than lightning even when the rest of you are in your natural eight-in-the-morning stupor.

Whatever the reason for your interest, Mark Lee makes sure the Liberal Arts building’s Starbucks has you as a regular customer.

You’re fully aware that this is the twenty-first century, which is why you could, as Yeji and Jisu have so kindly made known, simply ask him out. Under normal circumstances, you would have.

Unfortunately, in this particular area of your life, separate from all others, you’re something of a traditionalist.

Actually, you just want to know what Mark asking you out would look like. Curiosity has fully gotten the better of you — how can it not, with how he breaks eye contact with you the moment it happens by accident in class, or with how pleasantly and shyly he smiles when you say ‘hey’ to him once you’re about to order? You’d like to see, first-hand, as a recipient of the experience itself, what he would look like taking control of a particular situation like that — something someone like him, so mild-mannered and laid-back, never really seemed to do upfront.

You’d like to think you’ve given him clear signs. There’s a reason you always come in during his shift times, and it’s the same reason for why you have the same damn drink from the menu over and over again despite not even caring too much about coffee in the first place (something he admittedly doesn’t know and probably wouldn’t puzzle out, given how often you’re in that Starbucks, anyway). It’s that you want him to remember you.

Selfishly, it’s that you want him to think just a little bit more about you every single day.

But if he does, Mark has never made it very clearly known; apart from taking your order in his genial customer service demeanor or letting a look of brief recognition pass his face over when you cross paths in the hallways, he’s never really shown heightened inquisitiveness about you. For all your differences, only you seem to actually care.

Frankly, that frustrates you, because if you have to think about him unhealthily, it would only be right for him to do that for your sake too. Still, you’ll shrug that hit on your pride off for as long as you can get his attention one way or another.

All you really need is for your plan to pan out as well as you think — and hope — it will.

The thing is, you’re not even that bad at math. You’ve never really excelled at it, of course, but you wouldn’t go so far as to say you’re in dire need of help from anyone — the kind of help that feels like babysitting, at least.

However, Mark Lee doesn’t know that, and you’re not compelled to make that fact known to him when you notice that he’s leaning on the counter with his elbows, shoulders rolled forward and head bent down. He’s twirling his ballpoint in hand, wrist hovering over a worksheet, and you’re briefly distracted by the rapidly moving shadow underneath it.

His head snaps up when you gently knock on the counter, and the rest of his body follows suit, straightening as he shoves the paper away, one edge crumpling in on itself as it meets resistance in the form of the pastry display glass.

“Hey — hi, _________.” He knows your name, says it easily, and while you’d like to believe it’s because of his unprecedented interest in you, you know that it’s just because you’re always here and always having him write your name on the side of your cup. “Can I get you the usual?”

There’s no particular reason you order what you do; maybe it’s just rooted in the fact that when you first asked Mark for a recommendation, he said that the Vanilla Sweet Cream Cold Brew was pretty good, and you were inclined to believe him (while pointedly ignoring the fact that it was, at the time, a new item all of the baristas were required to push to indecisive, slightly moony-eyed customers such as yourself). Whatever the case, you found the drink generally palatable, and you were also able to score the first of many smiles that fed into your two-semester-long infatuation with him, so it was basically a win-win scenario for all. He even got to do his job by getting some rube (see: you) into trying a new product.

“Hey, Mark.” You’ve long since given up pretending that you don’t know his name and have to check the tag on his cute green apron (why is it cute? You don’t know. It’s the same, standard, Starbucks green, but Mark makes it look homely and natural, somehow). You’ve been here way too many times over the last academic year for a nonchalant, were you talking to me? approach to work, anyway. “That, plus a lemon loaf, if you don’t mind. What’ve you got there?”

His eyes follow the trail of yours over to his wrinkled worksheet. “Oh — no, sorry. It’s nothing.”

“Is it secret?” Your bottom lip juts out, and you see his Adam’s apple bob dangerously, a small telltale sign of minute nervousness before he lets out a short laugh. “Didn’t know we kept stuff from each other.”

You don’t know what makes you say that so naturally. The both of you don’t do much beyond exchanging pleasantries.

“We — uh, well, it’s just a worksheet. For Park Hyosung’s class. College algebra?”

“I’m in Kim Junghwa’s. Can I have a look? I want to know if you’re suffering just as much as I am.”

He pauses, considering your request for a moment, likely wondering if there’s any harm in it before he smooths the paper out and turns it towards you. His handwriting’s a little messy, but his solutions are extremely neat. You see, like, one erasure, max. You also don’t see anything that interests you — except the name written at the top. Still, you can see at a general glance that more than half of his answers are correct; the logic of his organization is way too elegant and his writing’s too sure to be anything else. You whistle low, and his eyebrows shoot up.

“Something wrong?”

“Pretty much the opposite. How is it that you’re doing this without breaking a sweat?”

“Oh, well — it’s not…” He doesn’t even know how to brag. Yet another item in the perpetually growing list of things you find cute about Mark Lee. “I mean, anyone… can?”

“I must not be anyone then.” You meet his quizzical look with a wry smile. “Either you guys are leaps and bounds ahead, or I’m really not going to make it through this semester.”

Another silence passes, just for a fraction of a second — short enough to be passable to others, but long enough for you to wonder if your humor code isn’t up to par with the rest of the world’s — before Mark’s chuckling lowly. His large palm comes down, covering a majority of his answers in the process.

“You’re kidding. I’m sure you’re doing just fine.”

“Mark, look at this face.” You gesture to your evidently dumbfounded, blank expression. “Does this look like the face of someone that’s doing just fine?”

You’re pleased to hear another laugh from him; you don’t know if he really finds you funny or if he’s just the type to be easily amused. You don’t want to know, anyway; assuming is better than actually finding out.

“That bad, huh?” He slides the worksheet away again, like he’s afraid his correct answers are going to offend you into leaving the cafe. Instead, his hands start working on your order, grabbing a cup and scrawling the shorthand of the drink on one of the little boxes. “Ever think about getting a tutor, maybe? If you really feel like you’re drowning, that is.”

“A tutor? I guess that depends. Are you free on weeknights?”

The marker makes a soft screeching sound as he drags it down with too much force, ruining the penmanship of your name. Mark takes a moment to stare at the mistake on the plastic before he looks at you, pointing the rim of the cup towards himself. “Sorry — am I free—?”

“You said I should get a tutor, right?”

“I thought — no, sorry, I was thinking more like one of those department-assigned tutors you can ask the faculty for, or something.”

“Oh. Are you not one of them?” You sigh, albeit a little over dramatically. Thankfully, he doesn’t really cotton onto your acting, too caught up in befuddlement at the turn of the conversation. “That’s a bummer. I was kinda hoping that if I was going to ask for help, I’d get an actual genius. You know — someone like you?”

You can tell by Mark’s expression that he’s torn between denying your compliment again and responding to your actual question; he looks both relieved and miffed when the student behind you clears her throat.

“Sorry, but— you know that there’s a line, right?”

You both apologize, Mark’s much more sincere than your own, and you step aside. His gaze follows you for a moment before it snaps back to the next customer, his voice abandoning that bemused uncertainty it had taken up with you. You don’t really mind; as far as you’re concerned, any dent in his barista persona when he talks to you is a step in the right direction.

You hang around the pick-up area, receipt in hand, watching Mark clear the line before moving to the actual stations near the kitchen area. There’s a concentration on his face that you find all the more attractive; he has a habit of chewing on his bottom lip when he’s trying to focus on getting the drizzle just right inside the cup’s cylinder.

He tends to try his best at everything, you figure. Not an unattractive quality — not by a long shot.

Mark finishes your drink first; the milk’s still only seeping, cloudy, into the coffee when he brings it over. He doesn’t even have to call your queue number, opting to meet your eye — albeit slightly nervously — instead. You reach out to hold the cup, a calculated move that allows you to brush hands against his without him being able to pull back on instinct. He doesn’t, nor does he really seem to want to, but his jaw tightens as a flush creeps along the curve of his ears.

“You really won’t help me?”

Your question’s abrupt, almost a little demanding, even if your voice is sweet. You’re not above asking this much, anyway, even if you technically want him to make the first move. The redness sinks down to his earlobes.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t really say anything,” you tease. The cup’s on the counter now, so he can easily relinquish it to you at this point, but he still hesitates, only one hand slipping out from under the heat of your palm. He uses it to rub the back of his neck, chuckling softly, and you take this as a green light. “What time does your shift end?”

“Five-thirty. You sure you wouldn’t want someone better?”

You pull your cup slowly to yourself, and his hand, still lightly trapped by your own, follows for a few inches before he’s withdrawing, the counter between the two of you forcing the distance. A smile follows the shaking of your head, and you take a small sip of the drink before you respond simply.

“There’s no one better than you.”

Mark is a prompt kind of person; you learn this when, at five-thirty, he comes over to your table, tugging his apron off over his head. Of course, you might attribute that to his overall personality, but the fact that you spend the remaining two hours of his shift casting him glances from the left side of the coffee shop might have also been a contributing factor. The looks you give him aren’t even furtive; they’re deliberately long, so you never miss whenever he looks over to you from time to time.

He doesn’t hold eye contact for very long (he does it well enough when he’s talking to customers, but it’s not like you’re ordering another cold brew from across the room at that point), but you can read snippets of his thoughts through the fleeting gaze exchanges. He’s curious as to why you’re asking for help, now, of all times, when the semester’s more than halfway over. He’s surprised that you asked him, of all people, because he just can’t conceive of a world that isn’t within a television show where this kind of abrupt, overt request makes sense. He’s flattered that you even asked him out of the blue. He’s equal parts anxious and eager to know what’s meant to happen after his shift, once he starts fulfilling your request.

Most of all, he’s unsure if he’s reading you right — if what it feels like you’re doing is something he’s attaching too deep a meaning to. If he’s right in reading your signs.

You don’t really mind it; you like knowing that Mark somehow wears his heart on his sleeve, even if he tries to remain neutral for the sake of appearances. You also bask quietly in the fact that he’s looking at you twice as much as he ever has in the time you’ve loosely known each other. Still, his bubbling confusion and inquisitiveness seem to be interfering with the rest of his work, especially when you notice that he’s been wiping down the surface of a table two down from where you are for more than seven minutes.

In the hopes of easing whatever tension might be in his heart, you offer him a small smile, but that’s only met with his eyes immediately glazing over and inching a couple of centimeters above your forehead, where the story of Starbucks’ origins is drawn out in a faux-manga style. He pretends to find it interesting, as if he hasn’t seen it a million times from coming into this establishment day after day — you know it well enough, and you don’t even have to, considering you don’t work here — and you can’t do anything but hold back your laughter.

A small part of you says you should just give him the affirmative answer to his biggest question, but every other cell in your body says that it’s no fun if he doesn’t ascertain it for himself.

He has his school bag and textbook in tow when he approaches, taking the seat across from you. There’s a steely resolution on his face, like he’s been emotionally preparing himself for such a daunting task, but it eases up the moment you laugh lightly.

“You don’t have to act like I’m going to eat you.”

“I’m still not sure why you’re suddenly asking me to help you,” he admits. He’s also very honest, you note. Again, not an unattractive trait. “I’m not complaining. I just didn’t think you even had an opinion of me.”

“Why’s that?” You’re genuinely surprised. Mark drums his fingers on the front of his textbook, thoughtful — less for the sake of thinking what to say and more for the sake of considering how to say it. It’s clear he wants to avoid calling attention to the fact that before now, you two have had no reason to run the same track, let alone sit together and talk at a coffee shop, as if you’ve always been the best of friends.

“Genuinely just thought I was the guy who gave you your afternoon coffee every day,” he finally settles. Your eyes widen, and another laugh escapes you — a little louder this time, enough to call the attention of a couple of jumpy freshmen nearby.

“Well — let me put it this way.” You lean over slightly, cupping your chin in your palm. “Was I just the girl you made coffee for every day until now?”

There are clear cogs turning in his head; his eyes unfocus slightly as he thinks of the possibilities. His silence suddenly makes you somewhat nervous; your tone had been confident, and you’d only said that to prove a point, to push him in the right direction, but you realize that you hadn’t previously factored in the possibility that he might simply say yes — or, worse, say no just to avoid hurting your feelings.

You watch his lower lip curl in; he uses his tongue to smooth out the skin that’s slightly dried from work fatigue. You would much rather it peeked out, so you could imagine it against your own. His response is mumbled in a lower register, but you catch some key syllables — didn’t… not … stranger — pretty … you?

“Sorry?” You ask patiently, but the fact that he turns red and laughs again — something you realize is not only a trademark of his personality but also downright delicious of him to be doing — is all the answer you need to let the apprehension seep from your shoulders. “I didn’t catch that.”

Mark clears his throat. “No, I… didn’t think of you that way. I mean… you’re my classmate.”

“Sure,” your tone’s breezy, but the somewhat sloppy confirmation of interest in you makes your heart soar. He just needs more of a push. “And we’re basically friends, right?”

“Yeah.” His voice is unsure at first, like he can’t seem to wrap his head around the concept. You can tell that Mark’s notion of friendship is likely based on shared interests, of which you admittedly have none. Technically, if you were his friend, you’d spend less time just telling him the exact same order every single day and more time sitting around a table trying to learn how to play Magic: The Gathering with him. Still, he takes one long look at your grin and suddenly gains confidence in his next words, as if it somehow convinces him that the briefness of your old conversations had been a mutually agreed-upon thing and not the product of social distance between the two of you. “Yeah. We’re friends.”

“Right. Friends help friends, don’t they? I’d definitely feel more comfortable having a friend teach me than some stuffy upperclassman I don’t know.”

You see Mark’s lips move slightly, in such small movements you could have imagined it as breathing if you didn’t care too much (which you do). He mouths, to himself — friends help friends. For some reason, that boosts his conviction even further, and he nods.

“Makes sense. Well — for as long as you don’t mind me, then.”

“Mind? I asked you, so I should be saying that.”

“I’d never mind — I mean, of course I don’t mind.” He’s quick to correct himself, and you have to stop your own hand from reaching out to try to satisfy your curiosity, the desire to know just how hot his cheeks get when he blushes. “More than happy to help, actually.”

“And I’m more than happy to be here.” You beam at him, and he mirrors your smile. You don’t know what it is about the look on his face — the brightness in his eyes, or the slight lift of his eyebrows, maybe — but it gives you the impression that he might be feeling at least a fraction of what you are: the feeling of your heart lifting off a few inches from your rib cage. “Since we’re on the same page, I hope — should we get to it?”

From the moment that Mark opens his textbook to a chapter on inverted parabolas, he assumes a personality you feel you haven’t seen from him before. You realize that you really do know him in only two limited capacities — his classroom persona that seems to really only view himself and the material, focused on the board and the professor’s words (even up until the useless anecdotes) to absorb as much information as possible, and his more genial customer service form, always happy to assist in the trained, easygoing way you’ve come to meet so often.

Right now, he’s a blend of both, yet somehow neither all at once. He’s quick to catch the parabolas you draw, either wrongly or downright poorly. Despite initial hesitation, he always manages to say something; there’s already a pattern to how he does it, from his slightly awkward, “Ah, sorry, actually —” to the way his finger traces over what you’ve written, outlining the right curve. You find his interruptions so endearing that you start drawing them wrong purposefully — not enough for him to realize your schemes in their entirety, but enough to cast you a few amused glances, like he can’t imagine why you’d map out such an absurd graph. You get the feeling he wants to actually laugh at how ridiculous you’re acting, but he can’t tell if you’re seriously struggling or not, so he settles for a smile he thinks he does well in keeping to himself, but that you catch anyway. He’s patient, even when you have to rip out pages from the back of his notebook because of your ‘mistakes,’ like he’s still catering to your request for an extra pump of syrup for your coffee on sleepy days.

But there’s also that side to him that comes out when he suddenly remembers the distance between you that, before today, had felt unlikely to be closed. It peaks at odd moments, like when you’re borrowing his pen because yours is currently holding your slowly unraveling bun up, and your fingers brush against his. It surfaces abruptly when you lean in to watch what he’s drawing until he realizes how close you are, arm lightly grazing his, and his pen freezes, ink blotting on the paper for a second. It’s in those times that you can almost hear his brain churning out questions — like he’s wondering if you’re just oblivious or if you’re doing something on purpose that he can’t quite believe. Like he wants to ask you what’s on your mind, but he just doesn’t know how.

If he asked, you would reply without missing a beat. The answer, after all, is simple (him). But Mark never raises the question, only does something without fully acknowledging what he’s doing — the adjustment of his glasses on the bridge of his nose, the ruffling of his hair as though to shake off his thoughts, the clearing of his throat to normalize his tone before he explains something you’ve just asked about. There’s always that light tinge of pink to his face that makes him look even more endearing, and it fades and returns every so often for the better part of two hours.

By the time he rubs oncoming fatigue out of his eyes, the sun has already set; there are far fewer people around you at this time, and for as much as you like spending time with him and breathing in the scent of his shirt — always a tinge of Downy, barely cutting through the much more overpowering scent of espresso and sugar — your back has begun hurting from your front-heavy posture and determination to have your face as close as rationally possible to Mark’s. Still, you don’t miss out on the fact that the act of him cracking his neck to relieve tension makes your lips curl inward, trying to stifle an inappropriate noise in reaction to the view.

“I feel like I talked your ear off,” he pipes up, sounding a bit sheepish. “Sometimes it’s hard to know when to stop once you’ve gotten started. I’m just hoping I didn’t bore you to death.”

“Meanwhile, I’m here hoping you aren’t sick of my questions already.” You smile, closing your notebook and hanging the clip of your pen on the spiral. Your arms stretch up first, followed by your back, a light twist to relax your posture into normalcy again. Mark’s breathing falls quiet, like he’d been preparing to say something in response but had let it die in the back of his throat instead. You let your eyes drop, expecting to see him looking at you, as he mostly has been — on and off — since his shift ended, but his eyes are far lower than yours, the telltale redness now growing in evident splotches across his cheeks.

The hem of your shirt has ridden up; while there’s nothing outrageous about it, there’s a short expanse of skin that it reveals, for a brief moment. His eyes are slightly glossy, brow furrowed like he’s trying to find a solution to something he can’t fully understand. You’re not even sure about what he could really be looking at, or if there’s something he’s just thinking of that caught his attention while his eyes focused on a rather unfortunate spot. To test your theory, you suck in your stomach slightly alongside an inhale.

It should be objectively funny to watch Mark blink unevenly, left eye going first before his right tries to catch up, but you manage to stifle your laughter — poorly, though, because you end up coughing a little and breaking him out of his strange trance. You avert your eyes quickly enough for him to look vaguely relieved that you hadn’t caught him looking. So he thinks, at least.

“Anyway.” You feel bad that you have to tear his mind away from whatever faraway land it must be trying to burrow a hole in; the dazed expression on his face dims into hastily hidden embarrassment. You don’t want him to feel awkward, so you just busy yourself with packing up, making an unnecessary show of stuffing your notebook back into your bag as if it isn’t half-empty at this point. “I really appreciate you taking the time to help me.”

“Any time.” His first attempt is a little raspy, maybe from overuse of his voice today, so he clears his throat and tries again. A slow smile builds on your lips. “Any time, really. I’m glad that this is actually helping you; you pick things up surprisingly fast.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah. Give it a couple of weeks, and you’ll probably be ready to tackle it on your own again, I’m sure.”

He smiles reassuringly, but all you can think about is how that’s not good. You should pretend to be a little dumber next time, or this will end much too prematurely.

The next five minutes pass in silence; you don’t expect to be knee-deep in conversation anyway since, as much as you try to convince him, you aren’t actually anywhere close to being those kinds of friends yet. There’s an unspoken rule to the give and take of things, where he pauses for you to get an item off the table and push it into your bag before he does the same with his own belongings. Neither of you really intersect paths, save for the moment you both grab your phones and stand at the same time.

His jaw falls open like he’s preparing to say something, then shuts as if he’s better decided against it. You decide to take the initiative to say what you’re assuming he wants to. “Same time, same table?”

“Oh — uh, yeah, for sure.”

You want to ask him to walk out with you. You want to lace your fingers with his, tug him out, and kiss him under the green and white glow of the sign outside. You want to know if kissing his collarbone means you’ll taste a hint of coffee. You think about doing it all somehow, especially since he’s fighting back a slight smile at the promise of tomorrow.

But it just isn’t the right time.

Instead, you place a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. The slow movement of his throat — yet another hard swallow — isn’t lost on you, and his eyes land on where the two of you connect. With a grateful smile, you bid him a soft goodbye, taking your leave first.

You don’t look back — at least, not until you’re fully in the cover of the darkness outside. On the gravel path, just out of reach of the lamplight, you chance one last glance back into the store. Mark is still rooted to the same spot, his backpack slung over one shoulder, staring at the table like he’s dissociating from what just happened — like he can’t believe the last couple of hours.

Your smile grows when you see his own, and his hand comes around to the back of his neck, rubbing it lightly like it gives him small comfort to let him know that it was real.

Baby steps, you remind yourself. You’ve already got one foot in the door, after all.

As the days trickle by, you fall into a more comfortable standing with Mark; there’s a routine to your meetings that seems to eliminate the initial and abrupt awkwardness of that first day. You come into that Starbucks at four, greet Mark, who doesn’t ever have to ask for your order, and spend the next hour and a half slowly sipping on it until the ice has thinned and watered down your drink substantially. In that time, you allow yourself to do whatever you want (as if you’ve ever done otherwise anyway), and what you usually want the most is a good view of him. You therefore use most of the minutes you have on hand to regard him from different angles — from the side when he’s frothing milk, upfront when he turns to leave cups on the pick-up counter, from the back when he’s clearing tables — interspersed with moments of checking your TikTok feed, clearing group chat messages, and sometimes re-curling your bangs with a portable iron from the school’s co-op center, a relatively new purchase you tote around these days. You do essentially anything in between to avoid acting too suspicious while he works.

Sometimes, you catch Mark’s eye too; the more your meetings increase in number over the course of a few weeks, the more deliberately he looks over at you, and the longer it lasts. You feel like you’ve made significant progress when your gazes lock and he smiles slightly, albeit a bit unsurely, instead of turning away like he used to. The other day, he’d even passed by while apologizing for how long you always waited for him — not that you ever minded, something you made a point to clarify with him before he walked away, carrying a couple of chairs from the back room with him to replace rickety ones.

That he’s able to transport them easily, as if he’s lugging a bag of apples from the grocery, does not escape your watchful eye.

What you like the most is that you start to learn more about him in a way that isn’t fueled only by your expectations and, therefore, limited by your imagination. You find out that he’s from a close-knit family with a rather cushy background, and this barista job is just for interest funding and experience, in that exact order. Most of his earnings are funneled into the things he collects, which apparently isn’t limited to comic books and special edition blu-rays with director’s cut but also a rather stupendous amount of PopMart blind box figurines. Apparently, he particularly likes the Skullpanda series even if he hasn’t completed it yet; your last session together had adjourned thirty minutes earlier than usual so that he could catch a pre-rush hour inner circle train to Hongdae, where the flagship store was set to open on that day. He’d promised to show you his pulls (as long as they weren’t embarrassing dupes). You learn that he likes to listen to loud music when he studies to stimulate his mind, and he has a playlist that’s just a jumble of songs from Punk Goes Pop volumes that makes him feel empowered for some absurd reason, like he’s going against the grain. You don’t really get it, but you do like that spiced-up rendition of Ariana Grande’s Problem that he let you listen to once.

Of course, there are things that you find out not through conversation but through continued, closer observation. You notice that he likes to put on chapstick even if his lips aren’t particularly dry, but he does worry on them often, most especially when he’s thinking hard about something. He has a habit of saying honestly… at the start of every other sentence, as if he’s concerned you won’t take his word on anything, even though he’s just talking about how unnaturally hot it was at noon despite it still being spring. He has long eyelashes that you’re equal parts attracted to and jealous of, and he bites the inside of his cheek whenever he wants to pep himself up after grueling shifts. He plays beats you’re not even sure he knows he’s creating against his knee with his fingers, so enthusiastic and consistent in this habit that you want to offer your thigh instead. His shoulders always go first before he laughs, and he does this thing where he raises his hand to cover his mouth at the start of it, which is a shame, because you’d do anything to keep seeing him smile like that — or, better yet, to be the reason for it.

Then there are those things you notice he tries to hide. He always turns his face halfway to the side when he blushes, something he seems to do without fail every time you smile at him. He has to temper the intensity of his grin when you take the time to compliment him on how cool his shirt is, or how nice his hair looks today, or how smart he is, like he doesn’t want you to know how good it makes him feel even if you want him to feel good about it, around you, because of you. Sometimes he denies it for the sake of responding, and his voice always lilts on the first syllable in his refusal to accept what you say, even though he knows you won’t take it for an answer.

And after a couple more careful experiments, you notice that Mark, out of the many things he’s interested in, seems to have a particular thing for your stomach.

You don’t know if it has anything to do with him not really seeing much of it in real life in his own time or if he just has his own kind of fixation on it, but you start to cotton on by the fourth time you meet. An hour of being hunched over a table that’s not at the greatest height in relation to your neck and torso has you stiff, and you’d leaned back in your chair, arms pulling to the air, hoping your spine might feel like realigning if you exerted enough tension pressure that way. Your shirt hadn’t ridden up this time, considering it had been tucked into your jeans, and it was because of this that you’d caught a flicker of something new in his face that you hadn’t seen before.

You could have sworn it looked like disappointment.

Of course, he hides it quickly, as he does with most of his emotional candor, but it’s enough to make you suspicious — enough to make you wonder if Mark is also just keeping something to himself. Or maybe you’re just projecting your own presently secretive nature onto him. Regardless, you think it’s odd that whenever you stand up or stretch, his eyes almost immediately fall to your midriff, like he wants to challenge your clothing into a staring contest before he thinks better of it.

You don’t mind, anyway. He can look as much as he likes. Maybe when the weather’s warmer, you’ll even cater to that interest and wear a crop top. Hopefully, that’ll be the push he needs to act on human instinct and ask you out or, like… bend you over. Maybe.

You’re often plagued with these kinds of thoughts in between the ones you try to keep as family-friendly as possible — now, more so than ever.

Sometimes, it’s easier, especially when you’re caught up in talks with him; despite the fact that he doesn’t seem like much of a conversationalist when it comes to generic matters, when either he or you are enthusiastic about a particular topic, he has a tendency to get carried away. There’s nothing impure about how his eyes light up when you remember to ask him about the movie he saw with his friends over the weekend or the way he hums old Nickelodeon cartoon theme songs under his breath whenever he’s looking for a page in the textbook. It’s more of a situation where you’ll observe something and immediately run with it despite it being an objectively normal action.

Like right now, as you’re watching him turn his pen between his fingers. Now, while he’s shaking his knee in mild impatience, as if he’s trying to will the answer to the worksheets you’ve both been trying to get through for the better part of the day faster. You’d made copies of the problems your professors had assigned and exchanged them under the premise of being able to practice more intensely.

However, whereas Mark is actually focused on solving, you’re just watching him out of the corner of your eye, wondering if he’s ever been told that his fingers are fuck-worthy on a singular, unique level or if it’d feel good for you to ride the thigh he’s currently moving, jeans and all. You consider the feeling of his warm palms on your bare waist as you do it, and you end up wondering if that’s what crosses his mind whenever he sneaks glances at you, too.

You’d know the answer to all those things if he’d fucking ask you out. Maybe you could do it after all. Maybe you should, instead of relying on slowly increasing the probability over such a long period of time. Maybe if you asked nicely, Mark might pull the shades down on the storefront windows and rail you against the glass.

You’re so lost in thought that it genuinely startles you when he plops his textbook over the worksheet, rattling your eraser dangerously close to the edge of the table. You’re still clutching your heart while he rubs his eyes a little too violently.

“Can’t,” he groans, and his neck gives into the weight of his head, allowing it to loll backward. “I feel like the numbers are just melting into each other. I swear, I thought I could read words out of them.”

“Maybe we were a little too ambitious with the double worksheet agenda,” you admit, even though you’ve barely gotten past half of yours and certainly haven’t touched a single item on his. “Should we call it a day for now?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, although he still takes the time to encircle his final answers before clapping his palms to his cheeks (an act that has your mind dangerously close to wandering off inappropriately again) to wake himself up. “Woah. I didn’t even notice how dark it is already. I’d say time flies when you’re having fun, but I’m not too sure about the ‘fun’ part of it…”

You trace his gaze towards the glass; the moon’s already out, surrounded by a smattering of low-light stars. You hadn’t realized how late it had gotten, probably because your mind had been on R-18 mode for most of the afternoon. Also, the days are getting generally shorter, but that fact doesn’t make you feel as embarrassed, at least.

“You got a ride?”

The question once again shocks you out of your small trance, and you turn back to him with wide eyes. “Well — no. Wait, I didn’t know you had a car. Why’d you take the subway, then?”

“Oh — no, sorry, I… don’t.” He looks suddenly sheepish, eyes dropping to the shiny surface of the table for a moment before they snap back up, as if he’s actually actively reminding himself to look at you. “I was wondering if you wanted me to — actually, more than that, are you going home already? Not that you need to stay; it’s not that important, but…”

You try to gloss over the fact that he had just been about to initiate another huge step in the right direction (i.e. offering to walk you home) by beaming at him, maybe a little too widely, if only to mask your disappointment at the sudden shift in conversation. “I have nothing waiting at home for me but a sandwich dinner and Singles Inferno, so hit me with whatever it is.”

“Oh, cool.” His lips turn up, and the corners shake, this show of happiness once again tamped down by his own inexplicable desire to maintain a safe distance. How are you supposed to tell him you’re desperate to bridge that gap without using those exact words? “I came from the flagship store yesterday — the one in Hongdae that I told you about?” He allows the smile to widen slightly when you nod in genuine understanding. “Got the last six boxes of the collection I’ve been trying to finish.”

You whistle appreciatively. “Can I ask you for a loan on my next phone bill? You know, once I’ve upgraded to something pricier.”

“Nah — just itching to complete the set,” he laughs. You wonder if he’s been doing that more often because he knows its crippling effect on you, though you doubt he’s that sly. Again, maybe you’re just projecting too much of your own motivations onto him. “This was probably about two months of saving up combined.”

“No new Iron Man issues to look out for, then?” Your voice is warm even though it takes on a teasing tone; Mark’s hand rubs the back of his neck, and his expression is a little sheepish, but you’re happy that the times he used to go completely quiet, opting only to blush at your attempts to act more familiar with him are pretty much gone now.

“Maybe next month.” You also like that he doesn’t really treat his hobbies as secrets, neither out of shame nor snobbishness. He explains these things to you the same way he does the topics you study — with an air of contentedness, like he’s happy someone listens to him without interrupting. On your end, you have no qualms with listening to his voice for hours, wondering when he’ll stop using it to greet you when you come through the door and when he’ll start saying your name in a way that makes you feel like you’re the only one he sees whenever you’re near. It’s a win-win situation (sort of). “I was actually debating between this collection and a really rare copy of Spi— well, never mind that. I just thought — since you were asking me a bit about blind boxes last time. You know, if you wanted to. With… me.”

As much as he’s become comfortable talking to you about things that don’t involve coffee orders and school, you can’t say that you aren’t doing your fair share of the work in connecting the dots; the demand for your efforts is exponentially higher in moments like this, when you think he’s trying to ask you something but can’t seem to find less-than-eager words to avoid what he thinks might spook you.

Luckily, he augments his fragments with action; reaching into his backpack — which you notice seems to be bulkier than usual — he starts extracting small brown boxes, all with the same design; it seems, for lack of better words, aesthetically gothic, and you reach out to pick one up, turning it over and examining the print on each side with vague interest. Mark starts laying them out on top of each other until there’s a small, somewhat unstable pyramid in front of him, then shifts his attention fully to you, just as you’re putting the box in your hand atop all the rest.

“I’d love to.” You beam as he does, and there’s a wondrous relief in his eyes that tells you he’s glad you manage to catch onto his words — or lack, thereof — surprisingly well. “For as long as you don’t blame me for any bad draws.”

“The contents have already been decided by my own hand — sort of,” he chuckles. “Point is, I would never do that to you. But I won’t lie; I kind of want to rely on your luck a little more.”

“What makes you think I’d have any of that running through my system?”

“Not sure — beginner’s luck, maybe? You just kind of look like one of those kinds of people to me — like… you’re just made of good things.”

You don’t know how to take this compliment; on the one hand, it’s easily one of the sweetest things Mark has ever said to you that doesn’t involve anything with actual sugar content. On the other, you know you’re not as lucky as he makes it sound, considering you’re still striking out on getting past the borderline of friendship with him. All you can do is smile, nodding and making to move closer to him by sliding into the next seat.

It’s hard to ignore the sight of him stiffening; something like surprise mingled with both fear and interest flashes strong across his face, but you don’t do anything to acknowledge the slight change in atmosphere, choosing to settle down comfortably and clap your hands. “So. What are the rules? What can I do, and what can’t I?”

“Uh.” His throat constricts at the right moment, the syllable getting caught and causing him to clear his throat. You know that this is the nearest you’ve ever been to him, the sleeve of your shirt tickling his arm. Upon closer, albeit brief inspection, you note that he’s also rather veiny. That doesn’t do your impurity any favors. “Not… really rules, or anything like that. Just — these are the ones I’ve been looking for. Not that you can really control it, but in case you were curious about that.”

You squint intently at the scaled-down images he points out. There’s one that looks like a penguin caught in an oil spill; another that seems to be in a polar bear costume, dozing; and — “What’s… halo? Halo…bios?”

“It just means marine life,” he answers quickly, like the thought means close to nothing to him to know something that obscure. Whoever said that smart is the new sexy wasn’t joking. “Like… all things that live in the ocean, that kind of thing.”

“And you know this because?”

He pauses, looking thoughtful. “I’m not sure. I guess I must have just learned it when I was curious about what it meant some time ago. Isn’t that how we all learn things?”

You shake your head incredulously, and he smiles a little apologetically. “You never cease to amaze me.” Your nail drums against the silhouette of one with a question mark on it. “What’s this supposed to be? Can you draw your own figurine, or something?”

“No.” He’s clearly amused, but his expression’s still patronizing enough for you to not feel too bad about saying something idiotic. “It’s a secret design — a money drainer, basically. You could buy a full set of this and still not get it. Some people will open hundreds without any luck, so it’s really rare.”

“You don’t want it?”

“I try not to get too caught up in the secret thing,” he admits. “Otherwise…”

“No rare print comic books for the rest of your life, basically?”

He taps his nose, and you both share another laugh. It’s nice, you think, to have come this far — to be someone Mark can share his interests and thoughts with. You may have been stretching the word to its limit when you first punched your way into his social life and called yourself his friend, but it feels more real now, more natural to think about and say. Even if he still sometimes seems to be hyperaware of the gap between the both of you, there’s no denying, at least, that it’s been significantly reduced, and this much is a testament to that.

“Well, leave it up to me. I’ll let all of this beginner’s luck rub off on you,” you announce with overflowing albeit unfounded confidence.

You both decide to open a box each at the same time; Mark suddenly panics and asks you not to unseal the foil bag right away without looking at the card inside first, earning him one slightly alarmed look followed by a burst of laughter at his pained expression when you pretend to rip open the packaging. Comparing pulls, you identify them using the set chart — your luck doesn’t seem to be operating at full capacity yet because you can only offer him the card of one that looks like a floppy pigeon, which he responds to with a slightly apologetic grimace before saying he’s already pulled that thrice in the past. He, on the other hand, is turning the card of the polar bear over in his palm, trying not to make you feel bad for your duplicate pull by slipping it under his textbook when your eyes land on it.

The second round isn’t much better; both of you manage to pull something he’s already added to his collection, and as you’re ripping the seal to your third box, he pauses and watches you. You think it’s because he’s concerned about the obvious shit luck you’ve had thus far and wants to snatch it from you before your negative energy transfigures whatever’s inside into something he doesn’t want, and you’re just about to offer the half-opened package to him before he pushes the one on his end to you.

“No way, Mark.” Your eyes are wide, a palm up to reject it. “If that turns out to be another dupe by my hand, I’m literally going to walk into oncoming traffic.”

He has to control his amusement at your words so that it doesn’t completely shake his voice into incoherence. “I picked all of these while I was there, so if anything, you’re only riding off my bad luck. Besides, this is your first time doing this. I want you to have fun.”

“But,” your voice is pained. “Your money.”

“It’s not a big deal. With how few I need to complete them, I was definitely bound to run into more repeats than new ones.” He taps the front of the textbook — or, at least, the part of it not buried under the figurines and sealing tapes yet. “Probability mathematics.”

“I thought we already ended the study part of the day,” you grumble but concede, putting aside the one you half-opened to tear the top of his. You’re careful when you shake out the foil packaging, making sure to place it upright on the table before extracting the card. Both of your faces fall — yours more than his — when you see it’s a repeat of the polar bear.

“Almost. It would’ve been a pretty lucky pull earlier, so it’s technically not bad,” he tries to reassure you, but you childishly feel like you’ve been the sole source of his disappointment thus far. “Try the last one.”

It’s irrational, but you’re suddenly anxious about it. For some reason, you’re worried that this will topple the carefully constructed ladder you’ve propped up against Mark’s tower of social defense. Even if he’s being genial about your rotten pulls, you don’t know how much of it is just resignation to dismay on his part.

You say a small prayer, then fully rip off the seal; you don’t even take out the packaged figuring anymore. You just shimmy the card out of the box, turning it over when you notice it’s upside down.

For a moment, your shoulders deflate. It’s closest to this pastel purple figurine in the middle of the line-up, its stupid puckered lips almost taunting you. He hadn’t even mentioned it as something he’s looking for, so you almost feel like this has come to a horrible full circle. But then he grabs the box, checks the list, and looks back at your card again. He looks shell-shocked, and you’re not sure if it’s the strong air conditioning directed towards the two of you or if it’s just his hands, but the image he’s holding is shivering slightly.

You look more closely at it, and something just doesn’t feel right. Color palette aside, there are notable differences — different colored lips, a more intricate ear design, and closed eyes. It’s…

“Dream eater,” Mark’s voice is hushed, almost reverent, and very, very close to your ear. “It’s the secret one. You’re… incredible.”

“What are you talking about,” your words are just as raspy; you’re not sure if you’re actually choked up with emotion or something — over a figurine, you have to remind yourself. “You picked all of this. I just ripped open the box.”

The hush that falls over the both of you feels very concrete, weighty on your shoulders. His fingers creep towards the foil packet — the only one he actually opens because there’s no way he’s not keeping it. The shiny purple head gleams under the fluorescent, the glitter around the star and moon designs catching the light as he turns it left to right, like he’s worried it’s a fake. You can tell why people want these things so much; there’s a thrill in you that lingers, makes you feel warm and alert. It’s anticipation, despair, excitement, and triumph all in one sitting.

You’re stroking the smooth curve of the design by the ears lightly when Mark speaks up again and says the most outrageous thing.

“I want you to have it.”

“What?” You actually have to pop your ear canal in front of him with your pinky to make sure he knows how ludicrous he sounds. “This is… you said it was crazy rare.”

“Yeah. And you pulled it, with your magic. That’s like… unimaginable luck. Even more than beginner’s luck.”

“Like I said, I literally just opened the box.”

“No — you have like… the golden touch.”

“Please,” you hiss, a genuine testiness to your voice. “Do not. I was just here for the ride — the experience, and all.”

“Seriously, take it.”

“Absolutely not—”

It’s a chaotic moment of him trying to hand you the figurine and you outright rejecting it, with both your palms working hard to push it back to him. Instead of nudging the plastic back, though, you end up placing the full force of your hands against his fingers.

There’s no actual spark when you touch, but your reactions make it feel like there might as well have been; you even lock eyes in startled unison, like you can’t believe that just happened, before you pull away quickly, Mark drawing the figuring back to his torso while looking away towards the counter, where a lowerclassman is wiping down the stains. You want to scream at your warped reflection in the window. You barely initiate contact with him, but you imagine that if you ever did, you would prefer to not be saying something as abjectly negative as absolutely not while doing so.

Your mind flails in an attempt to mitigate the issue and water down the embarrassment, and clearly he’s struggling to figure it out too, because he pipes up before you can piece your thoughts together.

“No, really.” His tone is a lot milder and, consequently, a lot more persuasive this way. “You should take it. I want you to.”

“It’s not mine. This is your thing — your hobby.”

“That’s why I’m giving it to you. I swear — I want you to keep it.”

“Why?”

He lapses into silence again, but his face is much redder than earlier. His mouth opens in an attempt to say something, but he just manages to uh his way back into a state of quiet, which gives you a chance to speak instead.

“We can… share it,” you suggest. “Shared custody…. ish.”

His eyebrow cocks involuntarily, and his jaw falls again, but all he does in actual response is nod — slowly at first, then with more sureness to the act.

“Yeah. We can share it. I’d… like that.”

You’re glad that the bulk of the awkwardness has fizzled out fairly easily, and when you think about it, this feels like a pretty good course of action; you like that it’s this little link between the two of you now — something you share that no one else can touch.

Mark, you notice, is smiling as well — more to himself than towards you, it seems. His thumb grazes across the face of the figurine, slow across the lips, and you’re once again falling into a pit of nonsense by wondering when he’d do that to you.

“Thanks for staying with me, _________,” he finally says, and your heart jolts and melts all at once. “And for… doing this. For chatting with me. And giving me your luck, and all that. Great way to end the day… with you.”

You say no problem, but you instantly regret it when you realize you could have just said it didn’t have to end just yet.

“__________? Hello? Come back down to Earth?”

“Shut up,” you sigh at the guy seated across you — Seo Youngho, an upperclassman, your Gender Studies classmate, and current project partner, waves in front of your face. You shoo his hand away, which only joins his other one as he throws them in defeat above his head. “Stop moving. Be quiet. Don’t talk.”

“That’s the same thing as shut up and be quiet. What’s up with you?” He demands. “Fifteen minutes ago, you were full of ideas. Now I feel like I’m talking to a wax figure.”

You’d been engrossed in your report for the last hour and a half, and the subject matter is admittedly something you enjoy — the role of gender in Twenty-First Century Korean marketing and advertisement, a title Youngho had taken more than ten minutes to type into the Google Docs header because he was pissed off at how the numbers looked like in the fonts he chose. He’s an enthusiastic classmate and someone you’ve come to be friendly with, not only because he’s genuinely approachable but also because he has fits of nosiness and talkativeness at the strangest moments, so a chunk of your relationship is mostly based on social terrorism on his part. You like him well enough most of the time — save for the last fifteen minutes of this hour.

Because Mark had just come in for his shift fifteen minutes ago, and suddenly Youngho is much too noisy for your taste, and his head is honestly way too big to the point that it gets in the way of your opportunities to see Mark behind the counter. You even resent him for choosing a booth instead of your usual table all of a sudden, because your view of the central barista’s area is much more limited from this angle, especially since the huge espresso machine is in the of your field of vision.

You’re also (currently and abruptly) mad at Youngho because you remember that he’s the reason you’ve had to skip out on a couple of sessions with Mark. Like, it technically isn’t his fault that you have a lot of research to do for the literature review section of the paper, nor is it his fault that this is your final requirement that comprises a whopping forty percent of your grade, but like… you’ll blame him anyway. So you’re much more irritable, and you’ve definitely been missing Mark’s presence. In fact, you kind of just want to shove Youngho’s balloon head away and call Mark over to sit with you, but you’re not that much of an animal to actually do that.

Probably.

There had been inquisitiveness across Mark’s face when he’d come in; his eyes had trailed to the table at which you usually sat, surprised to find two guys hunched over a single phone there instead of the usual you, waiting for him with your eyes bright and your smile wide. You’d like to think it’s because he’s gotten as used to seeing you as you’re used to waiting to see him — like he just expects you to be there.

You hadn’t really known how to call his attention to where you were, especially since Youngho was prattling very matter-of-factly about the academic journal he’d unearthed yesterday and how he thought it would be useful in reshaping the methodology of your paper (whatever). There was a moment in which you briefly considered ordering another cup of coffee just to get in line to talk to him, but your hands were already shaking from the venti you’d had to keep yourself from passing out in front of your partner.

So you’re more than relieved when, half an hour into his shift, Mark finally steps out from behind the huge machine, a mug of water for himself in hand, and turns away from the front of the store to drink it — only for your eyes to lock as he twists his torso in your general direction.

The mug stops just inches from his lips, but you could swear he smiles at you briefly when he recognizes you, so you return the favor. Youngho’s face contorts into abject befuddlement, turning around to see what you’re grinning at.

“Oh, you poor sap,” he snorts, finally letting the puzzle pieces fall into place.

“What?” You’re still distracted even if Mark has taken a gulp of water and is now attending to a gaggle of girls still in the throes of discussing what to order.

“What what? You gonna spend the rest of the day eyefucking Mark Lee from over here? At least let me get a different table.”

“Shut up,” you repeat sullenly, coming back down to his level and finally — albeit reluctantly — meeting his eye (just because Mark isn’t looking your way). “What were you saying about the sample size?”

“That it’s much too large to be feasible, a point we closed twenty fucking minutes ago,” he says pointedly. “Is it a thing for baristas or a thing for smart guys?”

“It’s a thing for Mark Lee,” you sigh, following Youngho’s suit and shutting your laptop close. You’re at least glad he’s not annoyed that you’re delaying work for a crush, or maybe he’s also just equally lazy at this point. “You ever look at someone and think you would give it all up for a chance to hit that?”

“No, because this isn’t a porn movie, and I’m clearly not the main character in whatever’s going on in there.” He jabs at your forehead; you swat his hand away again.

“Well, I would.”

He rolls his eyes. “So do it, dumbass.” He says this so simply, like he can’t imagine why you’d be holding yourself back, which is a valid thing to feel, except it’s not really any of his business.

“Can’t.”

“Because?”

“Because it doesn’t fit into my elegant master plan. Also because I want him to ask me out. I just want that victory.”

“Oh yeah, there it is.” Youngho leans over, wiggling his fingers at your ears like he’s greeting a next-door neighbor. “Hey, delusion. Good to see you. Do you even understand how crazy it is that you’re taking a Gender Studies class while waiting for your dick-in-shining-armor like a damsel in distress?”

“Asshole,” you grumble, violently opening your laptop monitor again. “Get back on Google Drive.”

Thankfully, Youngho complies, and the next two hours pass in relative silence and productivity, with you hammering out a vague references list that he promises to format in your stead so you can ‘spend more time dreaming about Mark Lee between your legs.’ You want to strangle him, but there are far too many people in the cafe for you to get away with it. Also, aforementioned Mark Lee would only be a witness to your criminal record, and while you think there’s something romantic in killing for love, or whatever, you’re not sure it’d make the best impression on him.

“Next week’s my birthday,” Youngho announces as he stands to tug on his jacket.

“Congratulations,” you say wryly, peeking over his bulletin board torso to see Mark tugging off his apron and picking up his school bag. Your heart hammers in your chest as he looks over at you briefly, and something like embarrassment passes over his face before he busies himself with neatly folding the fabric. “Go away.”

“Usually people look uncomfortable for not knowing and then start thinking about what gifts to get the celebrant, but I always felt you were kind of a revolutionary.” He snaps his fingers right in front of your eyes, and you look up at him, a little offended. “I’m having a get-together — and by get-together, I mean it’s gonna be a rager. You should come.”

“When?”

“Next Thursday.”

“Can’t,” you chew on your lip, wondering if Mark is leaving. His movements seem particularly slow, but you wonder if he’s just taking his sweet time because he has nothing better to do. Of course, he would have something better to do if Youngho stopped fucking obscuring you from him and vice versa. “Busy. School… whatever.” Not completely untrue. Most of what you do with Mark has to do with school.

“This moony-eyed thing is just not for you, I fear.”

“Are you going to be here all day?”

“Are you? Why don’t you just fucking ask him out, you lunatic?” You can’t imagine why he sounds so exasperated. It’s not like this is his problem — or his business, for that matter. “Maybe if you did, you could fuck him and move on with your life and be an actual contributor to society’s development.”

“Has anyone ever told you how nosy you are?”

“Constantly.” He brings his palms down on the table, the thud shaking you out of another oncoming stupor. “Think about it. Maybe it’ll make you stop making that stupid face.”

“You’ve got a stupid face,” you mumble, sulking as he pinches your cheek as a goodbye before heading out of the shop.

At least you finally get to see Mark in full, glorious view — and you get to watch him come closer, although his stride is somewhat cautious.

“Hey.” Even his voice sounds unsure — almost like the way he used to sound earlier in your friendship. “I didn’t want to interrupt you and… your friend?”

“Oh. Well, you wouldn’t have been interrupting,” you inform him, completely genuine. “He was spouting a lot of nonsense.”

“You guys seemed pretty close.”

“I guess it’s a proximity thing,” you sigh, and Mark raises his eyebrows slightly in question. “We’re partners.”

“Oh.” The way he draws out the syllable is slow. “That definitely makes sense.”

The silence stretches out between the two of you again, with Mark checking his shoelaces. You almost grab your head; it hadn’t occurred to you until now how damaging missing meetings with him would be to your friendship. You feel like you’re slowly being dragged back to square one, and you want to give him an explanation.

“He’s actually… I haven’t been able to see you because I’ve been working on something with him.” you offer, trying to answer a question he didn’t even ask. “Sorry about that. I swear I’ll be back on track tomorrow.”

“No, no — I completely understand.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Thank you… for telling me, though. I— uh, appreciate that.”

“I’d love to see you tomorrow, though.” You try injecting more pep into your voice. “I’ve really been behind on my algebra. I’ve definitely been drowning without you.”

“Oh, yeah.” A small smile graces his lips, but you can’t tell if the reluctance behind it is from fatigue or something that looks oddly like sadness. “I’m down for tomorrow. Same time, same table, right?”

“Yeah, for sure.”

“Cool. See you, _________.”

You watch him turn on his heel, walking to the front door, and something like fear mingled with desperation clutches your heart. Fuck the traditional route, you think. You don’t know what it is about how he’s acting now, but it’s making you feel like he’s slipping through your fingers. All that hard work — there’s no way you’re letting him go.

“Mark, wait.”

You’re at his side, fingers curled into the sleeve of his jacket before you can figure out exactly what you want to say. You feel as surprised as he looks at your sudden liveliness in action, and his gaze trails from your clenched fist to your face slowly, like he’s trying to memorize this whole position.

Your exhale’s shaky, but even still, you try not to sound overtly self-conscious when you ask, “Do you like Chinese food?”

Something in the furrowing of his brows tells you he can’t seem to see where this conversation is headed, and that slightly bothers him. “I like it well enough. Why?”

“There’s this really good dim sum buffet near my mom’s office. We tried it before — the Xiaolongbao is awesome.”

“Hey, that sounds pretty cool. I love Xiaolongbao. I’ll definitely have to check it out then.”

You want to tear your hair out. “How about — you know, checking it out with me? Tonight? You know… together. With me.” You already fucking said that.

You’ve never seen Mark blink this rapidly; he looks like he’s trying to crunch large numbers in his head. A small part of you actually worries that he’s malfunctioning, but just when you think he’s going to glitch out completely, he clears his throat. It bothers you how uncomfortable he looks. “Tonight? Oh man… it’s my cousin’s birthday tonight. I can’t… reschedule. Well, obviously. Maybe some other… time?”

Your ‘oh, yeah’ is small, and so is the ghost of Mark’s smile. You can’t help but feel like he’s pitying you a little, although he doesn’t seem like the type, but the thought of it alone makes you want to puke. He makes no motion to move, and you think he’s extending this awkward moment out on purpose until you realize you’re still hanging onto him and he has no way of telling you to let go nicely.

Fingers unfurling from his sleeve, you take a careful step back, but when he walks away, it feels like you’ve gone much, much further away.

The worst part is that you can’t even figure out why.

Luckily, the next few times you see Mark, you manage to rebuild a rather shaky bridge back to where you had been. You even manage to strong-arm him into sharing an apple fritter one afternoon, and you know it’s a bit sad to think about it a particular, untrue way, but you can’t help but pattern what you’re doing into some kind of pseudo-date. Pathetic isn’t a word you normally associate yourself with, but you’ve been borderline desperate for progress where there seems to be none, so you take small victories where you can get them.

Unfortunately, you haven’t been able to revisit your stupid dim sum plan; sometimes, he says he has somewhere important to be, but most of the time, it’s actually your fault. No — it’s Youngho’s fault, because he keeps bothering you to finish the project. You’re aware that he can’t do it himself, but since he’s informed of your current plight, he could at least stand to be more sympathetic.

And you hate the way Mark looks every time you splutter out that you have to take a rain check for that reason; it’s not even disappointment, or something, which would be much more understandable. It’s this mysterious kind of faraway look, where his eyes glaze over a bit and he seems suddenly very lost in thought — or completely dissociated. He never strays away from his normal response of “next time, then,” but that ‘next time’ fades into the weekend and into the start of next week, and you have to spend every other evening with an annoying Seo fucking Youngho on a Google Meets call instead of eating soup dumplings loveshot style with Mark Lee.

Thursday night rolls around, and the former performs the most irritating stunt yet: blowing up your phone with so many KakaoTalk messages that it almost buzzes off the table during your session with Mark. Luckily, he seems to have learned a thing or two from his comic books, catching it before it hits the floor.

“You sure you don’t want to answer it?” He asks, gingerly handing the phone to you like he’s afraid it’s going to explode from all the pinging.

“Without the shadow of a doubt,” you sigh, flipping the screen downwards. Buzz.

“It kind of seems important. Or, like… urgent.”

“He’ll live. Unfortunately.”

Mark falls silent, fiddling with the page he’s on. He’s neatly highlighted the formulas on the page with blue ink, and his finger keeps scratching at the slightly wet paper. Buzz.

“Didn’t you say you two were partners?”

“Yes. Also unfortunately.” Youngho is actually a great person, but you kind of hate how Mark’s paying more attention to his texts than to you right now. “What did you get for number ten?” Buzz.

“A hundred and twe— are you really just going to let it keep ringing like that? What if he’s… I don’t know. In trouble? Like, he needs you?”

You smack your phone on its back, hoping that the punishment reaches Youngho because he absolutely is in trouble — only with you. “He’s just making a racket because it’s his birthday and he probably wants a bunch of people to trash his parents’ house, or something.”

“Sounds like fun.” The dubious tone in Mark’s voice indicates that his idea of fun definitely isn’t that. Buzz.

“Not really, but I assume he’ll only pipe down if he manages to get his way.”

“He must really want you there.”

There it is again — that weird, distant expression that makes you feel like he’s trying to free himself from the tethers of the earth. You close your textbook in defeat; it wasn’t even like you got the answer to number ten correct anyway. Buzz.

“He just wants everyone there, I bet. But I probably should show up so he shuts up.”

“Oh — yeah, okay. We’ll call it a day, then?” He’s avoiding your eye as he starts packing his things, which is actually impressive because you have practically nothing but your book to keep in comparison to his pencils and protractor, so you just stare, willing him to look at you.

You want to know what’s going on in his head. You want to know what’s going on in his heart — what he thinks of you, why he seems warm one second then almost like a stranger the next. You want to know if he knows you like him and if him not doing anything even if he knows is a sign that he doesn’t like you back. You want to know if he’d let you kiss him, if he’d kiss you first, if you can meet not because of sweet cream cold brews or algebra but because you just want to be together.

You just don’t know how to ask. For as much as you like him, for as much as you want him, you haven’t figured out the most basic part of this — if you mean anything more than a two hour talk to him at all.

“Mark.” This feels awfully like the dim sum conversation, only somehow ten times more disastrous. “Come with me.”

“Sorry?” The appalled look on his face makes you squirm in your seat.

“I don’t really want to go, but maybe if we go together… we can just hang out a bit and leave once it’s boring… I think it’d be fun,” you explain lamely, deciding at the last second to drop the with you that had originally come with your sentiment.

“I don’t think your… partner will like someone uninvited showing up.”

“I’m inviting you.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

“You’d be, like, my saving grace or something — my excuse to scram. We’ll say we came right from a study session; we only popped in halfway through for the sake of greeting him a happy birthday. Then we can just go. We can say — uh, we’ve got more work to do.” You’re practically begging him at this point, and you don’t even get why. You just don’t want him to leave looking the way he does — confused and a little detached. You want the Mark that had smiled at you while giving you your coffee — the one that had kindly pointed out an arithmetic mistake in the most gentle way possible. You want to open blind boxes with him, whine about your rotten luck, and part ways with his warmth still against your coat sleeve.

You don’t know what comes over you then, but you pluck up the courage and initiative to slip your hand in his. He stiffens a little, but you don’t care; your fingers squeeze his in urging.

Something in his expression breaks — cracks first, then falls away, before he’s nodding, still looking vaguely thoughtful.

“If you think it’ll help you, then… okay.”

The bus ride to Youngho’s neighborhood is uneventful because it’s quiet. You stand close to Mark at all times, but you barely touch, save for the times your knuckles accidentally brush his when you lurch forward slightly as the vehicle comes to a dangerously abrupt stop. He doesn’t ask anything about the party or the company that’ll populate it, which is just as well, because you don’t have a clue.

You know it’s the right house because the door’s wide open and there’s music coming from inside; you can’t make out much more than the deep bass pumping through the concrete, but you’re pretty sure it’s making your heart jump in your chest even more than it already is. There are quite a few people you vaguely recognize on the lawn, and even more that you absolutely don’t; a good number of them glance at you and Mark as you step through the threshold then look away, probably deciding you’re of no real consequence or harm to their moods.

Youngho’s easily spottable because of his massive height; he towers over the rest of his guests, and the red plastic cup in his hand calls even more attention because he’s lifted it over everyone else’s heads. You throw Mark an apologetic glance that he responds to with a short nod before you dive into the crowd alone, trying to weave your way to where you’d last seen Youngho.

“Bro, finally!” Youngho greets you, pretty much shouting over the music. “Where’s the gift? Did you leave it on the table?”

“Happy birthday, Youngho. Do you know how close you were to being blocked?”

“I see you brought mister espresso with you,” he ignores your comment completely, nodding to Mark. When you turn back to see him, you notice he’s squishing his arms closer to his sides, trying to minimize the space he takes up. “So what? Y’all get to hook up already?”

“No. I brought him here because we were in the middle of something and someone,” you stop, offering him a pointed look that’s also ignored. “Wouldn’t stop texting.”

“Cockblock,” the guy next to Youngho, who you now realize has been eavesdropping, singsongs. “Oh, sorry. You looked angry when you stomped through the crowd, so I wanted the juicy details. Name’s Jaehyun.”

You take the hand he offers you briefly, introducing yourself. When you say your name, realization dawns on his face, and he jabs his forefinger at you.

“Oh, dude. You’re that girl — the Starbucks Showstopper.”

“The what?”

“That’s what his friends call you.” He scratches his ear, seemingly racking his brain for more information. “I’m with Mark and a couple of his friends — Lee Donghyuck and Na Jaemin — in College Algebra.”

You completely gloss over the fact that you’ve finally found out the real government identity of the mysterious figure named ‘Hyuck.’ “They… talk about me?”

“From time to time. Not really. Once or twice. Donghyuck only calls you that because Mark apparently keeps blowing them off to hang out with you.”

“How do you know this?”

“I have ears. It’s not hard when they talk like no one’s around.”

You shush Youngho’s exclamation of and you’re saying I’m nosy?, your heart hammering hard in your ears, practically drowning out the music. “What… what else did they talk about?”

“Not sure. Something about not seeing you that often these days. Jaemin teasing Mark about getting dropped now that you don’t need his help anymore. Donghyuck piling on and saying you’ve got a boyfriend.”

“What?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger.” Jaehyun still inches away from you when your voice rises in pitch and decibel. Some people around you start, then move away as well, as if scared you’re going to incinerate them. “They were just teasing him that you probably ditched him after you started dating someone. Your partner in some project, or what.”

“Oh gross.” The realization hits you like a speeding truck. Youngho’s expression is affronted.

“First of all, you bitch. Second of all, as if I would date someone who didn’t even buy me a gift. Or want to come. Or yelled at me after coming. Wow — now that I think about it, you’re terrible, _________.”

“Oh, shit; that someone was you?” The only person that isn’t tense in this conversation is Jaehyun, who laughs point blank at Youngho’s sour face. “I think they were offering to put you into one of their Death Note notebooks. Sucks for you, hotshot.”

“What a smudge on my good name,” Youngho sighs mournfully. “On my special day, too.”

“I desperately need you two to be quiet for one second. I have to — where’s Mark?”

Even when you stand on your tiptoes, you’re not nearly as tall as the two of them; it’s Youngho, with his freakish height, who manages to spot Mark by the bowl of nachos, looking as though he’s trying to decide if they’re safe for consumption. You hardly excuse yourself; actually, all you say is a distracted “later” that dismisses Jaehyun’s cooing that something’s going down and you should clue him into all the mess later as a thank you. Your appreciation of his sudden and somewhat short-lived presence in your life is still up in the air.

Mark’s busy making a sour face at the sip of punch he’d just taken; he only straightens up when you’re right in front of him, putting his cup down next to the nachos. “Hey. Did you get to find… um…”

“That’s not important.” Your hand bunches the fabric of his jacket in a death grip, something he barely has time to register, let alone question, before you’re tugging him through the throng of people. You want somewhere quiet, somewhere private, and you initially consider the lawn, except you know it’s strewn with cups and has stragglers debating whether to go home or not. You can’t risk any of them being expert eavesdroppers like Jaehyun, so you make a beeline for the stairs instead.

“We’re not leaving yet?” He has to shout over the music, but there’s no resistance in his stride; he follows you up and waits patiently, although a little perplexed, as you check the doors on the second floor. Two are locked, one is a bathroom, and the other is a messy, musk aftershave-scented place you can only presume is Youngho’s room. Talking in front of a sink and a toilet doesn’t feel like it’ll be very productive, so you just drag Mark into the bedroom, kicking aside the crumpled shirt on the floor — which you could’ve sworn you’d seen Youngho wear for class yesterday. “_________, what’s going on?”

“Mark Lee,” you burst out, ignoring the fact that his eyes widen slightly at your tone. “What’s your fucking deal?”

You don’t think you’ve ever sworn in front of him before; that much is evident when he continues to gawk silently, unable to find words to respond to your question. Or maybe it’s just the volume and force with which you demand an answer. The problem is that you don’t even know what kind of reply you want. A small part of you nags that this is uncalled for, especially at this level, with you practically caging him into an unknown room. In fact, even now, you’re still embarrassed at your behavior, wondering if you’ve gone too far and stepped over a line between you.

But the source of all your frustrations is, in fact, that line — one so strangely drawn, clear at some points and almost invisible at others. Sometimes, he seems simply content with the barest minimum of friendship: talking to you, helping you, politely laughing at your (terrible) jokes. But there are also times he blushes too hard for it to not mean anything, times that he makes you feel like you could mean a little something more to him too.

Yet, from there, he wavers, stepping back so as not to get entangled in something you don’t understand — like when he grows distant every time you mention Youngho to him. You don’t understand why he would unless he echoed, even just a little, the longing in you. But you also don’t get why he stays and builds more walls around himself, like he’s determined to ignore all the other signs — like he doesn’t want to know if it’s really true and will just accept the assumption that it is. You hate not knowing where you stand with him, and while you could easily ask, you know you don’t want to.

And for a long time, you’ve convinced yourself that it’s because you want to see Mark step out of his comfort zone and initiate something, but the ugly truth is staring at you: it’s simply just that you can’t stand the idea of seeing him come to the conclusion that you can’t be anything more to him than someone he makes a sweet cream cold brew for every so often.

There’s a moment of tense silence between you two, where you’re just staring at each other — him, perplexed, and you, agitated — and the only sound that passes is the faint but unmistakable voice of Youngho going who has the cake cutting knife? from somewhere down below. You try not to get caught up in the fact that Mark still looks cute when he’s dumbfounded.

“Sorry?”

“What,” you repeat pointedly. “Is your deal? Why have you been acting so weirdly around me these days? I thought — I thought we were… getting closer. I thought… we…”

You’ve confirmed it now; you’re the epitome of cowardliness. You can’t even say I thought we liked each other — because you know that you do, but you still can’t honestly, assuredly tell if he does. Maybe you just read too deeply into the smallest things — smiles before he asks for your order, glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking, sharing the dream eater figurine — to fuel your own emotions without really checking the depth of his.

“I thought we were cool,” you reroute your words, and they come out flat and lame. “But just when I think you’re warming up to me, you suddenly pull away. Like… you’re afraid of me. Or you don’t like me. I don’t know.”

“It’s not — I don’t — I’m not afraid of you,” he stumbles over his words, and even in the darkness of this space, you see his face turn bright red, very quickly. His feet shuffle, not because he’s lost his balance but because he seems to want to get rid of a sudden restlessness. “I do like you. We are — we were getting — we’re close. We — we’re friends. You said that, and we are.”

“Is it only because I say we are that you agree?”

“What? No, I—” His hand passes over his face, slowing at the curve of his chin. “I really like being friends with you. I like being around you.”

“Then why do you act so weird these days? Like — you’ll be fine one moment, then you’ll back off, like you suddenly remembered you don’t want to be around me.”

“It’s not like that. I’m — I don’t get…” He takes a deep inhale, recalibrating himself for a moment before his voice comes out again, less strained this time. “I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me.”

“How could I?” There’s something more than confusion coloring your voice; there’s hurt, too, and he looks as surprised as you feel at hearing it. “I wanted to be your friend. I was the one that asked you to hang out. I was the one who wanted you to talk to me, to help me, to go to a goddamn dim sum place with me. Why would I feel uncomfortable? Or are you just using this as some roundabout way to say you feel uncomfortable?”

Mark falls silent, and you don’t know why this speaks volumes all of a sudden. His eyes are trained to the tips of his sneakers, which are rising in soft bumps every few seconds; he’s curling his toes inside them. You feel like you’ve gotten the worst answer possible, and something grows cold in your chest.

“You feel uncomfortable around me.” You rehash, but it’s no longer a question. “You don’t know how to get rid of me.”

“No, it’s not that.”

“You think I’m only using you.”

“No.”

“Then what?” Your voice breaks, no longer out of anger, but a desperate sadness. The moment your eyes feel hot and prickly, you decide you want to end the conversation. It’s embarrassing, you think, for someone like Mark Lee — whom you like, who only ever sees you as a friend — to see you get choked up at a fucking birthday party at someone else’s house.

A beat later, you’re mumbling a half-hearted forget it, and you detest overdramatics, but you hate the idea of being in a room with someone who’ll never return your feelings even more right now; you push past him, already on the thought of calling a cab home instead of taking the bus so that no half-drunk businessmen coming from their company dinners see you crying.

But something warm wraps around your wrist, then closes over your hand, and you’re unable to move, Mark’s palm pressed against the back of yours. When you look back, you notice he’s still not looking at you, but his ears are practically on fire with how red they are, and you feel his fingers tighten slightly, tremble slightly against yours.

“It’s not that. I didn’t ever want you to think — I heard about you two. That you were dating someone. Seo Youngho.”

“What does that matter?” Your words come out a little more bitterly than you expect, and you have to remind yourself to reel it in. “That doesn’t explain your discomfort.”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he repeats, still evidently careful in choosing his words. “Because you wanted to be friends.”

“I don’t understand,” you state bluntly. In the back of your mind, you note that Mark’s grip keeps tightening and loosening, unsure of whether to keep holding on or let go. But there’s something else, too — the soft graze of skin against yours, his thumb gliding over your knuckles.

“That was all you said you wanted to be, right?” He waits for a response, but when you don’t give him one, he lets out a shaky breath and continues. “You kept saying — we were friends. You wanted us to be close like that. I just wanted to respect it, even if…”

“Respect what?”

“That you didn’t want… anything else.”

The music downstairs is a bit tamer now; you hear the door opening and closing every so often, signaling guests leaving here and there, but there are still enough footsteps downstairs for you to know that there’s a crowd Youngho hasn’t gotten rid of and therefore has to attend to. That much is good; you’d get slapped with a homicide charge if he came up here all of a sudden.

“You were jealous.”

Mark’s fingers pinch the bridge of his nose for a moment. “I tried to stop. I don’t have a lot of practice with — well, I didn’t know how to approach the situation. I thought I was still acting normally; I didn’t think… I didn’t want you to feel weird and stop hanging out with me just because… I couldn’t fix it.”

“Your friends are assholes,” you mumble, and he finally meets your eye, equal parts startled and amused. “We aren’t. Weren’t. We never were dating.”

“Even without that, I thought… it was a bit embarrassing. Liking someone like you — someone as pretty as you, as nice as you — I thought it would make you feel weird. Then you’d start avoiding me too. Or, worse, you’d keep doing it just because… you… felt bad for me.”

You don’t know what you find more ridiculous — that you hadn’t seen figured it out or that you could have avoided all of this if you’d just been a little more honest with him too. Mark’s hand starts loosening around yours, a little too much, and you turn your palm and grip his hand before he can escape. He stiffens again, just like earlier, but you now understand better why he does.

“I just wanted to keep hanging out with you as much as I could. I thought… It’d be fine, just spending time with you, and I’d be able to like you for a while, on my own, then…” He looks a little pained. “Then just let you go. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry you couldn’t let go?” You sigh softly, your palm guiding his until they connect, face to face, and you can finally lace your fingers into his. There’s no resistance, but his hand trembles slightly in yours still. “If there’s anything you should be apologizing for, it’s that you ever thought of doing it.”

Something clears in the air, lightens in his expression, and he chuckles, albeit a little shyly still. “It’s because I never thought someone like you would like someone like me.”

“I like you.” And it feels right to say it now, not at all out of the blue, never in fear of an answer he’s already given. “I like you when you smile at me every time you ask for my order. I like that you never get impatient when I’m getting my answers wrong. I like seeing you excited when you talk about a new series you’re looking forward to — something new you really want to collect. When you blush, when you laugh loudly, when you spin your pen in your hand — I like you in all those times.”

“Even when I’m jealous?”

“Especially when you are.” Your free hand comes up to cup his jaw, and you’re reminded of the fact that you’ve wanted to feel the strength of the angle under your palm for ages now. It’s not at all a disappointment, and your heart flutters irregularly in knowing you could’ve done this a long time ago, but it doesn’t matter because you’re doing it now, and fuck if Mark Lee doesn’t look good this close to you. “So be jealous — because now, you know you can be.”

Kissing him is better than you imagined, and you’ve imagined a little too much to be embarrassed at this point; there’s a heat to his lips that matches the one across his face, an upturn to them that makes you smile too. The setting’s not at all an expected one, but you’ll take it, not because it’s dark or because it’s private but because Mark’s in here with you, and you would have kissed him in a brightly lit football field full of people for as long as he’d let you.

You’d like to think he’s flushed for a reason other than shyness when you pull away, even if his laugh is quiet and breathy. In fact, when you murmur not enough, he’s the one that closes the gap this time, offering freely what you ask for with such little eloquence. The natural trepidation in his mouth relaxes, gives way to a curiosity that keeps you locked for so long that you forget you need to breathe, much more intent on finding out if Mark’s tongue tastes as good as you’ve imagined for so long.

It doesn’t; it tastes even better.

It’s still not enough, not by a long shot, but you have to resurface before you pass out like this, and even he looks a little dazed when you pull away — not in a bad way, with a grin on his face that you can only classify as endearingly goofy: slightly lopsided and a little shy, but with an unmistakable air of satisfaction.

“Months,” he mumbles, his lips still dangerously close to yours. Your eyebrows rise in questioning, and he laughs in that infectious way that makes you want to join in without even knowing what the punchline is. “I’ve been thinking of kissing you for months.”

And you do share the laughter this time, not out of amusement but of a happiness that spills without restraint. “But you’re suddenly holding back now?”

“Just letting myself bask in the moment, I guess. Letting it sink in so I remember everything.”

The two of you stand there quietly, still trying to fully parse the progression of events, and a small part of your mind registers that Mark’s thumb is still drawing circles on your skin. It’s also not enough — this touch, this closeness. You know now that he’s been thinking of you for months, and it reminds you that you spent that time dreaming of him too. And you remember you’ve always wanted to be even more familiar with him, and suddenly the desire is overwhelming; he’s right here, and you don’t ever want him out of your grasp again.

“Where are you going?” He’s only curious for the sake of it; there’s no alarm in the question because you keep your fingers tightly woven in his, tugging him along as you walk past him to the door. He’s still staring in wonder after the lock clicks shut. “What’s… happening now?”

“You waited months to kiss me, right?” He nods in response at your question. “I’ve been waiting just as long to have you too.”

His mouth falls open, but he doesn’t manage to say anything; his jaw tightens just as quickly when he feels your free hand trail down his chest, feather-light and asking for a green light. Your index finger stops just above his navel and draws back slowly, but not before you feel the shiver that runs down his torso.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you murmur, giving his hand a little squeeze. “But I just want you to know — I want to. I want you.”

A thoughtfulness settles on his face, and his eyes graze over yours, trying to read your seriousness. You don’t know how honest you look, but your words hold enough truth in them. A silence stretches over the next minute, but to you, it feels like an eternity, and you lose the test of patience somewhat, smiling softly at him.

“You don’t want to?”

“I—” His tongue peeks out, running over his bottom lip. “I do. It’s not that I don’t want to, but…”

“You seem worried.”

A hesitant nod. “I’ve never — well, no, I have, but not — with someone like you.”

“What’s someone like me?” You laugh airily.

“Someone pretty like you — I don’t know. Someone who seems to know exactly what they want. Someone who seems like… they could do better than me.”

“Mark.” You can’t keep the incredulity out of your voice. “I do know exactly what I want. I want you. The rest — I don’t care about. As long as it’s you, I want it.”

He cracks a smile, half of relief, half of disbelief. You don’t miss his hand coming up to press, warm, against your waist. “For real?”

Your fingers curl into the front of his shirt — an anchor to bring you closer, until the tips of your noses are brushing. “For real.”

The third time you kiss is slow, almost careful; there’s lingering worry in the line of his mouth that your lips try to ease until his slightly part under the movements of yours. You feel the tension leave his form in waves — first in his shoulders, then in his arms, until you’re able to press yourself closer and feel the slight give of his frame against your smaller one. He’s radiating an immense amount of body heat that’s pricking your skin and keeping you alert, and you’re hyperaware of the smallest things — the weak tremble in his mouth, the slight roughness of his teeth under your tongue, the ridges of his palate above it.

He tastes nothing like what he smells, you learn. Instead of the air of earthy coffee stuck to clean linen, you inhale a combination of spearmint and mild saltiness that’s made slightly sharper by the lingering splash of alcohol from his accidental sip of punch earlier. You decide then and there that this disparity is important to you; it makes you feel like you’re the only one who can have this experience — that everyone else can know his scent, but now, only you can know what Mark Lee tastes like.

You have to keep your wits about you to avoid this addictive stimulation of your senses; you let go of his hand only to lock your fingers around his neck, and there’s a show of trust in how he lets you lead him backwards, until his knees are hitting the edge of the unmade bed. The kiss breaks as he’s forced to settle on the mattress, and he looks up at you in what can only be described as a quiet kind of awe. He doesn’t complain when you place your hands, heavy, on his shoulders, using his sturdy form to keep you stable as you move to straddle his lap.

“I feel like,” his voice is hoarse as he speaks up. “We should have picked a different location. Someone… could walk in.”

“I locked the door,” you remind him, a light reassurance in your voice. He doesn’t say anything immediately, but it’s clear there are cogs turning in his head, and you think it’s unfair that he’s thinking way too hard about something else that isn’t you, right now, in this position. In a bid to rectify this, your face presses into the side of his neck, breathing in that familiar scent and leaving a light kiss on his skin right after. Your lips mark the moment he swallows hard at the contact. “Besides, would you really be that unhappy if someone did?”

His hands tighten against your waist, prompting you to leave another kiss against his collarbone. “What — what do you mean?”

“You wouldn’t like it if someone — say, Youngho — walked in to see me on your lap like this?”

The silence that follows your words is tense, and you can tell that Mark’s breathing has become shallower. Again, you can feel his throat constricting slightly, and you can’t help but laugh breathily as you nip at his skin, just under his Adam’s apple. He’s surprisingly easy to tease, you realize — quick to turn speechless and prone to hanging onto your words.

To say that you wouldn’t want to use that to your advantage would be a downright lie.

“Tell me,” you urge, your tone deceptively gentle. “You wouldn’t want him to see you kissing me like this? To see me wrapped around you, begging for more, saying your name over and over? You don’t want him to watch you take me — so he knows you’re the only one that can?”

A strangled groan punctuates your words, but it comes from him; his fingers dig hard into your side with barely constructed restraint. “What do you want from me, _________?”

“I want to know if kissing me was the only thing you wanted for months.”

You pull your head away, nudging his chin with the tip of your nose. Another groan escapes him, and his head tilts back slightly, almost like he’s praying. But when his gaze comes down to meet yours at your level again, you see a firm resolution in his eyes that stirs your heart — which takes off the moment he shakes his head, slowly but surely.

“Then,” you whisper. “What do you want from me?”

He doesn’t say so much as shows; he takes from you your breath, steals another kiss that’s now firmer and more openly demanding. Suddenly, his mouth can’t seem to stay still, trapping your lower lip in between his, drawing out your taste until it mixes with his against his teeth. You feel your head growing light again, and you’re pleasantly surprised that it’s suddenly become difficult to keep up with his lips, asking more from you without restraint. A hum of need sounds in the back of his throat, vaguely dissatisfied, and he’s telling you wordlessly that it isn’t enough right before he attaches his lips to the base of your neck, just above your collar. You think he’s just about to return the favor, but a laugh leaves you when you realize he’s taken it a step further, his teeth grazing your skin lightly, soft nips signaling how eager he is to sink his teeth in with only his slowly weakening self-control stopping him from doing it. Mark’s breathing is slightly labored when he pulls his lips away, warm breath fanning over your chest.

“It’s crazy — and stupid,” he croaks out, voice slightly raspy. “But I want it, and I don’t.”

“What do you mean?” Your fingers drag into his hair, combing it upward messily from his nape. He leans in for a quick kiss that’s somewhat misplaced, landing on the corner of your mouth instead of squarely atop it.

“I want them — him to see us. To see me with you, kissing you — fucking you, too. I want everyone to know we’re like this.”

You’ve never heard Mark say anything so forwardly before; a sweet, warm flush builds in your face, pleased at how comfortably he manages to say it — pleased that he’s saying it to you. “Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want him to see you.” There’s a bluntness to his words, but hiding behind them is an undertone of pleading — a serious request. “I don’t want him to see how pretty you look. I don’t want him to see you when you’re bare, or how you look when I’m inside you. I don’t want him to see—”

His voice wavers and dies, and you wonder if he’s embarrassed, but when you read his expression, you see an unyielding longing. A smile tugs at your lips, and your hand comes around to cup his chin, thumb extending upwards to drag his lower lip down.

“You don’t want him to see what’s only yours.”

He swallows hard again, but he doesn’t wait long to nod. Understanding passes between the both of you, silently but completely, and Mark presses his face to your throat, feeling the hum resonate as he places another long, firm kiss there.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, in a way that almost feels like he wants to convince himself of something impossible to believe. He doesn’t even wait for your affirmation, prefers to read it in the way you shiver lightly once his lips travel further down. His kisses trail past the collar of your shirt, and his hands are unabashed in how they seek skin, pushing the fabric upward so he can settle the palms of his hands, warm against your waist. Oddly, they don’t travel upwards; they only brush against the dip, down slightly over the upward rise of your hips, then upwards again, almost soothingly. It’s almost like he wants his mouth to meet them, but he stops halfway, sidetracked by the curve of your breasts.

He barely pulls away, only does for a moment, enough to meet your eyes.

“You’re only mine,” he repeats, his voice softer now. You realize he’s still waiting for some confirmation, and when you do, you’re quick to give it to him — quick to erase any doubt.

“I’m yours,” you affirm in the same tone, in the same careful volume. “Only yours, Mark.”

Whatever else he wanted to ask for, he knows you’ve given assent; that much is clear when he buries his face between your tits, inhaling your scent. You briefly wonder if he might feel just as intoxicated around you as you do around him, if your pleasant dizziness in being this close to him, in tasting and smelling him is something he experiences too, but you don’t get much time to dwell on it the moment you feel his lips part, a slight wetness seeping through the fabric. He’s kissing your chest, teeth grazing just above the cup of your bra, nipping without any real objective other than to feel the pad’s slight resistance to his mouth.

You almost miss what he says as he shifts his head, lips brushing over the curve of your breast — another breathless ‘mine’ that isn’t ever punctuated; his lips still stay parted, mouthing at the cloth, like he’s desperate to feel what’s underneath through it. There’s pressure where his tongue presses flush against the shape of your tit, tightness whenever he chooses to nip, attempting to take the flesh and all that’s between you and him between his teeth.

Not enough, you think, even when a whimper of need bubbles out of you; you want to be closer, your thighs pressing against the sides of his. You’re close in almost every way, but you still inch yourself further forward, enough to feel the taut hardness in his jeans. Your hips settle right there, letting fabric ride against fabric as you center yourself.

No sooner do you press yourself flush against him do you gasp; the light sting sends a jolt up your spine when his teeth close around your nipple through your bra, and when you look down at him, you see the corners of his mouth pulled up in evident satisfaction. He’s quick to atone, his tongue dragging your shirt slightly upwards in his attempt to soothe, and for some reason, the push of fabric and the barely-there feeling of motion leaves you tingling.

“Mark.” Your voice comes out in a whine, but in the haze you’re in, you don’t really have a clear idea of what you’re asking for. All you know is that you want more of him, and for as much as he’s already given you in kisses and words, you aren’t even halfway down the list of everything else you wish you could demand from him. You say the only thing that comes to mind — the only thing that really encompasses what you feel. “Mark, I want you. I want more of you.”

His hands on your waist are replaced by the significant tightness of his arms, locked around your torso; you don’t even have the time to take in your awe at the fact that he can easily carry you, turn you over until you’re on your back, until he’s already eased one knee between your legs.

The way he looks down at you is a mixture of hesitation and desire, but the former’s erased when you reach out for him, murmuring another ‘more’ so you can pull him in. With one palm pressed against the mattress, he lets his free hand graze against your side again, bolder in its movements, and his fingers trace a path up to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh through layers. Your back arches upwards in response, eager for more contact, for touch that’s almost there but not quite, and he smiles when you make a noise of frustration from his fingers tweaking the soft nub of your nipple.

“Mark, please—”

“Would you really let him see you like this?” His thumb’s still idly grazing over your breast, following the rise and fall of its curve. You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice level despite the growing want that threatens to break through it. “Would you really let him watch you… get fucked?”

You shake your head, and his brow furrows.

“I’d let him watch you fuck me,” you correct him, and the confusion in his face gives way to pure satisfaction the moment you make this nuance clear. “It has to be only you.”

His grip tightens briefly against your breast again, and he leans down, pressing a surprisingly chaste and brief kiss to your lips.

“Then I’ll unlock the door next time and give him a show.”

You don’t know if it’s what he says or what he does after — his hands bunching your shirt upward until the hem’s just below your neckline — that makes your breath hitch, but you decide it doesn’t matter when you realize you’d much rather be focusing on the journey his lips take, slick against your stomach as he presses languid kisses down to your navel. His fingers hook into the waistband of your jeans, the weight naturally pulling them down, and you see his muscles tighten for a moment as he stops himself from tugging them off completely.

Mark’s mouth is unparalleled in its attentiveness, seemingly intent on making sure he’s covered every inch of your stomach in warm kisses, but you only realize he’s somehow stalling when he starts the cycle again, his nails digging into the taut elastic of your jeans as though to remind himself to curb his desire.

You take the initiative instead, raising your hips slightly to signal your want, acutely aware of the fact that you brush lightly against his thigh when you do so. His eyes lift first, followed by the rest of his face, and he’s watching you quietly. You might have thought he was unsure of what to do all of a sudden again, but his knee pressing closer, an unmistakable pressure against you, is enough to tell you that he’s only curious to know what else you’ll do.

The second time you grind against his thigh, his hands catch your hips, keeping them aloft just long enough for him to tug the band of your jeans downward; he peels them off you with surprising ease, returning to the same position between your legs, hands still firm on your waist. With that done, he only has the thin garter of your panties left to curl his fingers into, bunching it into his fists when you roll your hips up one more time. You manage a shaky noise when you feel the stark difference — the roughness of the denim against you, the stick and drag of flimsy cloth. Mark lets out a low but unmistakable hiss.

“I can’t believe—” his idea is cut short by the movement of your hips again, and his grip tightens, knuckles pressing into your skin. “Can’t believe you’re here. I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“What am I supposed to do,” you breathe out, the sound momentarily getting stuck in your throat. “So that you know it’s real?”

His fingers relax their hold, palms now pressed against your thighs; they travel between your hips and your knees, a soothing and thoughtful motion. “God — I don’t know. I just want — I just want you so badly. Like… I’m going to go crazy if I don’t have you now.”

You lean up, your weight resting on your elbow, and your other hand reaches out; Mark meets you halfway, bending just a little lower to press his cheek against your palm. There’s something intimate, something so giving about the way he turns his face to your fingers, pressing a fluttering kiss just under your thumb. The tips of your fingers trace the shape of his lips, even when they pucker again under your digits.

“Take me,” you murmur quietly. “Right now — from now on, every part of me is all for you.”

His exhale is shaky, but his fingers have a sureness to them; they slip under your thighs, cradling the backs of your knees, and lifting until they’re folded over your chest. You don’t even have the time to wonder if you should feel exposed all of a sudden; his breath warms the inside of your thigh as he presses his lips there — not a kiss, just a touch as he speaks.

“I want to taste you,” he mumbles, partly distracted with the act of inhaling the mild scent off of your skin. “Every inch of you — I want to know just how sweet you are.”

He lets his hold on your thighs relax, letting them fall apart; he busies his hands with your panties instead, hooking a finger into the strip of cloth just covering you. It’s clear you’re both aware that the fabric sticks light to your skin, poorly masking your wetness, and interest mingled with hunger flashes across his face as he pulls it aside.

“You’re so pretty,” he says, sounding like it’s a comment more for himself than anything else. His gaze flickers to you for a moment before it moves back to your pussy. “The prettiest fucking girl in the world.”

The pressure of his thumb between your folds causes you to forget what you wanted to say, and you know Mark had been nervous, but you realize that it doesn’t mean he’s supremely inexperienced by any means; there’s a quiet, understated confidence in the way he rubs slow, thorough circles, moving upward towards your clit. Your face, your neck, your whole torso feels flushed, but you power through the instinct to tilt your head back so that you can keep watching him — the minute changes in his expression, the slowly building strength in his touch.

“I want to taste you,” he repeats, looking up at you. “I want to know what you taste like when you cum against my mouth.”

You’re not sure if you’re gawking because you can hardly believe Mark Lee — your eternally blushing, mild mannered campus crush — had said all those words strung together into such a lewd sentence, but you’re sure as hell not going to deny him. Your hand travels down your torso, and he watches, curious at first, then awestruck when your index and forefinger settle against either side of your folds, pulling them apart in offering.

His eyes end up transfixed on your pussy again, observing how your fingers ease your folds further apart the more he massages his thumb against your slit. His mouth is slightly agape, intent on drinking in the sight, unaware that you’re trying to memorize this view of him too — Mark Lee, touching you, wanting you, eager to take you fully.

“I’ve always wanted to see what it’d look like with your face between my legs,” you say in a hushed tone, but he catches it anyway, briefly looking up at you again. “I’ve always wanted to know what your tongue would feel like against my pussy.”

Your index finger bumps against the tip of his thumb, and he stops its motions, allowing you to move his digit down until the pad of it hovers just in front of your tiny hole. You can see one cheek tucked between his teeth, bitten to muffle the groan you wish you’d heard louder.

“Won’t you show me?”

You think you hear him rasp out a ‘fuck yes’ before he bends down, pressing his half-open mouth against your pussy. The squeal of delight that leaves you is half-strangled as his thumb curls, hooking into your entrance. It starts a shallow, distracted motion, with his attention funneled much more clearly into keeping his tongue working. Flush against your slit, it drags up, and he releases a guttural noise at your taste, lips pursing slightly on the way back down — like he can’t stand not trapping every drop of wetness with his mouth.

The intensity of his tongue, the idle thrusting of his thumb — you’re not sure what you want to focus on more, and the result is you whimpering incoherently at the starkly contrasting combination of the two. Mark moves his mouth like he’s never tasted anything as good in his life; the sounds between your thighs are wet, sloppy — almost embarrassingly so — but you don’t have the presence of mind to dwell on that because Mark Lee is eating you out and that’s really all that you can think of.

The tip of his tongue suddenly flicks upwards; you keen, long and low, when it starts to circle your clit in that same intense, circular movement his thumb had gotten you used to. Your sensitivity skyrockets, and you’re completely unable to control the upward bucking of your hips, but Mark stays supremely unperturbed, his free arm winding under your thigh to keep the both of you steady. Your noises are growing embarrassingly loud, and you realize just how needy you’ve become when you vaguely notice that there’s a pattern in what you’re saying — his name, over and over again.

“Did you do that too?” He asks softly, his words slightly muffled against you. “Say my name, I mean — when you thought of me.”

“God, yes.” Your voice comes out strained, teetering on the edge of slurring. “So many times — every single fucking time.”

“Promise me something.” He lifts his head, and you see a fieriness in his gaze.

You nod — at this rate, whatever he’d ask you to do, you would without question. “Anything.”

His thumb presses in deeper, up to his knuckle and you reflexively tighten around his digit, but he keeps it anchored there, pushing down against your walls. He drinks in your gasp, the widening of your eyes, the way you chew on your lip with a singular kind of contentment on his face.

“Promise me — from now on, you’ll make sure I’m always there to hear it.”

The only kind of assent you’re able to make is a moan as he dives down again, mouth buried in your warmth, his nose pressed tight against your clit. His tongue moves in strong strokes, broad swipes that push your folds apart further, and his thumb, while not moving, increases in pressure to the point that you feel a heaviness adding to the growing pleasure. Your hands fly down, seeking some kind of sense and reason, and you thread your fingers into his hair, grip tightening as your climax builds in stride.

“Mark, I’m—” close, you want to say, embarrassingly so, but the moment he hears his name, his lips attach to your clit, and there’s suddenly so much more pressure as he sucks, almost like he’s desperate to draw out your orgasm. He chooses this of all time to start moving his thumb again, and this time, his movements are anything but slow and idle; they’re filled with the intent to drive you over the edge. “Fuck me, oh my god—”

“I want to,” he murmurs, pausing for just a moment to drag the tip of his tongue around the nub. “God, I want to. Let me see you cum first; let me taste how sweet you are.”

His thumb stops, buries deep into your pussy, and you’re not sure why this, of all things, is what pushes you beyond control; you’re only half-sure you say his name when your orgasm hits, the rest of your consciousness much too clouded by pleasure. He doesn’t stop, revels in the way you squirm under him as he hums low and keeps his tongue working against your clit. His licks become longer, more thorough as you come down from your high, your cries softening into whimpers as his tongue both attempts to clean you up and makes you messier in the process. His arm is still curled around your thigh, keeping you from inching away from him, even if instinct and stimulation are telling you to.

You’re barely lucid when you sit up, and Mark inches back, somewhat startled; you grab the front of his shirt, and the sight of his mouth, slick and glistening from your wetness, only makes you more curious to know what you taste like on him. You find out how tangy it is, how rich the two of you are together on his lips, and you’re able to fully appreciate the skill of the mouth that kisses you deeply, leaving traces of you against your tongue and teeth.

“Please — fuck me.” It’s the only thing you can say at this rate, only half-coherent and still trembling with desire, but Mark doesn’t seem to care that you’re stuttering over such a simple request. His thumb wipes traces of saliva off the corner of your mouth, kisses it clean for good measure, then straightens up, his hands working at his belt. You almost miss the fact that his hands are shaking slightly as he undoes the buckle and tugs it out from the loops.

You want to help — it’s the least you can do, after all, and your fingers push the button of his jeans out through the hole, his hands working in tandem to tug the zipper down. However, your movements falter when you hear a noise from just outside the room — the sound of the doorknob being jangled, the thud of a body gently hitting the door, as though worried it’s stuck. You glance up at Mark, ready to reassure him, but he either hadn’t heard or doesn’t care because he’s too busy stepping out from the pool of denim at his ankles, and you get completely sidetracked by the bulge straining against his boxers.

You almost ignore Youngho’s voice grumbling ‘Jesus Christ, now of all times? from behind the door, but you leverage it instead.

“Should we let him in?” You ask, tone innocent despite the evident deviousness in your words. It pays off, though; Mark’s cock twitches unmistakably under thin fabric, and he actually looks like he’s considering it. “You’re just about to fuck me, after all. Weren’t we going to — what did you say? Put on a show?”

He worries on his bottom lip, like he’s unsure if you’re serious, but in the end, he shakes his head, reaching out to smooth your hair away from your face and ushering you to lay back down. The lips that meet your forehead are gentle, almost apologetic.

“Not now,” he murmurs against your skin. “Right now, you’re all mine.”

You laugh lightly, nodding, and he chuckles too, but the sound of it slowly dies down when your finger hooks into the garter of his boxers. You can feel his breathing hitch as you tug it down, the elastic catching when it meets the shape of his cock, but you don’t make any move to free it just yet — for some reason, you want to see him do it.

“Show me.”

He complies without hesitation, one hand dragging the elastic down over his thighs, the other curling around the base of his length, and your face flushes as satisfaction works through your system at the bare sight of him.

Mark Lee is big — not monstrously so, but enough for you to make a pleased noise as your hand joins his, fingers barely wrapping around his girth. You give his shaft a gentle squeeze, and his exhale stutters, watching you stroke him, long and thorough in your movements. Your palm swipes over the tip, leaking precum, allowing it to slick up your hand enough to keep your movements smooth. You’re fixated on the tension in his lips, the throb of his cock against your palm, and the way his gaze never leaves your face, like a small, amazed part of him still can’t believe what you’re doing, even if you’re both half-naked already.

“I want to suck you off,” you plead, grip tightening slightly. He grits his teeth, stifling another groan, but he shakes his head clearly enough for you to slow your movements in mild surprise.

“Can’t — not now. I need to be in you so badly.” His breathing’s sharp and heavy, like he’s trying to keep himself in check. “You don’t even know — how long I’ve wanted to feel you.”

Your hold relaxes, and you let him maneuver you, his renewed hold on your hips dragging you closer to the edge of the bed. In this position, he can spread your thighs further, and you angle yourself optimally — enough for him to get a full view of your pussy, wet and still aching from your last orgasm.

“You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to know how tight you are,” he continues, and there’s a faraway look in his eyes that makes you think he might be entrenched in fantasy. “How much I would have killed to see you — have you like this. I’m not gonna be able to wait anymore.”

His fingers dig into your sides, thumbs stroking your stomach in a weak pattern. The underside of his shaft presses against your folds, still half obscured by your panties, in a way that’s heavy enough to make you mewl, your hips reacting before your mind can, and he hisses softly as he feels his length glide along your slit before you relax your stance again.

“I can’t wait,” he reiterates, a breaking in his voice that sounds almost tortured. You don’t want him to either, want to see him buried to the hilt inside you, and you raise your hips again in need. “I want you so much it’s driving me crazy.”

“Then take me.”

And you’re not sure if it’s a demand or a plea, but he no longer stops himself; his hand fists his cock a few times, coating the slick of precum along his length before he lines the tip up with your entrance. His other hand’s flush against the inside of your thigh, a light pressure ensuring he always has enough space to fit himself between your legs — enough space to bottom out completely.

Mark’s considerate in his pace — maybe he knows he’s big, or maybe he’s just naturally careful, but he allows you the time to adjust to the stretch. Your nails almost puncture holes into the sheets, your grip so tight you wonder if it’s just to brace yourself or to hang onto the last threads of your sanity. He’s only halfway in, but you’re pushing fullness already, and he stops when his cock meets slight resistance, looking up at you in concern.

“You’re not—?”

“It doesn’t hurt,” you reassure him softly, and it’s true; the adjustment brings about slight discomfort, but it’s almost nothing to you — not compared to how much more you want. “Give me everything; I want all of you inside me.”

He pauses still, trying to read your expression for any lies, but when he can’t find any, he nods, his jaw tensing as he presses both palms against your thighs, keeping you open as much as possible to accommodate him. He doesn’t even stop when you whimper, feeling a tightening twitch in your pussy that also causes him to groan, until inch by inch, you’ve taken him, his hips flush against yours.

He doesn’t move — not yet, his eyes trained to where you’re connected like he’s once again unable to believe what he’s doing. You hear him mumble something to himself that you want to hear too; you squirm slightly, and he hisses through his teeth, looking up at you and finding the questioning in your face. He offers you a small smile, albeit somewhat strained.

“You’re tighter than I thought.”

“You’re bigger than I thought,” you hum, and neither of you is really to blame; the tight fit, the slight breathlessness it leaves you with, is perfect, you think — just what the both of you need. “Did you often think about fucking me?”

“Probably just as often as you’re making it sound like you thought about having me fuck you, I think.”

“Don’t get cocky,” you warn, but there’s no real heat in your voice.

“I won’t. But it makes me feel good — knowing you wanted me just as bad.”

“I still do.” Your gaze is lazy, a little hazy, even if you’re anticipating so much. Even just the feeling of Mark, throbbing inside you, is already slowly building the pleasure in your stomach again; you wonder if you could cum like this, given enough time, given enough patience. “I’m still waiting for you to fuck me. God, Mark— please.”

He chuckles good-naturedly, but even that’s drowned out by the long moan that leaves you once he draws his hips back; your body’s mildly shocked into a new adjustment, feeling a sudden emptiness that’s quickly mitigated by him filling you back up again. The pace is slow, almost torturous, although you know he isn’t doing it to get a rise out of you. He wants to ease you into speed, careful to help you adjust fully; his restraint in his movements is all the more evident on his face, in the furrowing of his brow and the determination in his gaze. Even with that, he can’t help what he says, so intent on controlling everything else he does that he lets his words spill out over your noises.

“Pretty,” he grunts out, and when your walls twitch around him, he accidentally thrusts sharper — just enough for you to whimper a little more loudly, and he has to reel his strength back again. “God, you’re beautiful. I should’ve told you sooner how much I wanted you. All those times I had to imagine you wrapped around me like this, wondering how much tighter you’d get once you came on my cock. All those times you drove me crazy while I was alone, when I could have been in you— I could have found out how good you felt. How pretty you’d look under me. And you’re still even prettier, even better than I ever dreamed.”

There’s an erratic melody of moans under his words, spilling from your mouth, and the fact that he riles himself up enough to increase his speed slightly doesn’t escape you. He’s a little less careful now, seemingly entranced by the view he gets, watching his shaft disappear into you only to come out glistening, and a part of you hates the idea of snapping out of his reverie, but the majority of your thoughts now lean towards wondering how much more you can get him to break free of his own self-imposed restrictions.

“I wanted to ask you so many times.” His eyes snap up, coming back into focus as he takes in the sight of you, flushed, hair tousled, gaze darkened. “Almost every day — I sat there, thinking about how all I could do was go home and fuck myself, frustrated you weren’t doing it for me. I should have taken you home with me right then and there — should have let you watch me touch myself thinking of you, should have let you touch me into cumming on your fingers.”

His breathing staggers as he leans in, eager to see you clearer, to hear your words, slowly becoming airier as they come out. For a moment, his gaze falls, torn between watching him move into you and meeting your eyes, but he ultimately chooses the latter once you speak up again, your tone even more hushed than before — like it’s meant to be a secret between just you and him.

“But there were times I wanted you even more than that, to the point that I almost felt like I couldn’t wait.” His eyes widen slightly, a few precious seconds of wondering if he understands what you mean, right before you confirm what he thinks. “I thought about making a move right then — I should have kissed you. I should have asked you.”

“Asked me what?” His voice is gruff with the effort to keep himself in check despite the fact that it’s clear to the both of you that it won’t last.

Your lazy smile’s illusionary; it hides the triumph swelling in your chest at knowing that he asked exactly what you hoped him to.

“I should have asked you to fuck me in front of everyone there.”

“God,” his eyes squeeze shut, his grip tightening. “Please. I can’t—”

“I should have bent over for you there, begged you to stretch me out right after our session,” you continue, bordering on merciless. “Mark, you don’t know — how badly I wanted to be on your lap, your cock in me, with everyone watching. How much I wanted you to fold me over that table, have people watch you pound me, have them listen to how good you make me feel. No one would ever even wonder; everyone would know I’m yours.”

You pause, allowing his eyes to fly open once again, and there’s a pleading in them that’s begging for release. Your eyes soften along with your voice, but you’re this far gone; you should at least see it through.

“And everyone would know you’re mine too.”

“Fuck,” he growls, and his hips stutter before new resolve fills him, his hips driving into you with the force of a strength you didn’t even know he had in him; your thighs tremble at the intensity, at the renewed impact, and feeling him drive his cock deeper into you has you crying out somewhere between a moan and a sob. “Fuck, _________. If I had known you’d thought about me like that — God.”

It’s your turn to shut your eyes for a while, allowing yourself to focus on his movements, breaching your tightness even faster now. You feel his hands skim up your sides again, fingers digging into the fabric of your bra and pulling them down until your bare tits are cupped in his hands. You shiver as his thumbs pass over your nipples, toying them into firm nubs.

“One day,” he hums out, his voice giving way to a slight hoarseness again. “I’ll do it. I’ll fuck you in front of him — in front of Youngho, in front of everyone. I’ll let them wonder how tight you are, how fucking warm you are, and I’ll let them leave knowing no one can know but me.”

It’ll never happen, you both know, but something about agreeing to something so absurd is what has your body almost shaking in longing, and it’s what causes him to press in deeper, folding your legs closer to your torso. Your hands do what little they can to help, keeping your thighs apart so as not to obstruct his view. You can tell it’s somehow not enough, not really all of what he wants when his brow furrows, and he shifts his weight, pushing into you at a new angle.

The stark difference has you gasping before you can control it. Immediately, Mark stops, and you’re already shaking your head before you even hear him say anything, presuming he’s paused out of concern. But before you can say you’re fine, his hushed voice cuts through the silence.

“Do that again.”

“What?”

“Do it again,” he mumbles, sounding distant. “Breathe in. Suck in your stomach.”

You’re not one to complain at such a simple request, albeit a little odd, so you comply, inhaling enough to tighten your torso. You’re surprised when you feel his cock twitch inside you, and you blow out the air alongside your question. “Mark, what are you—”

“I can see it,” he says in utter disbelief. “When you’re like this, I can — I can see my cock inside you. Just a bit.”

Your eyes follow his gaze, fixed just below your navel. From this angle, without any movement, you can’t see a thing, but you assume he’s not one to abandon fucking you so intently without good reason, so you press your palm against your stomach, just above your pelvis. Nothing really feels significantly out of place — up until the point when Mark draws his hips back again, and you feel the backward slide of his cock.

Your throat tightens, and you don’t really understand the feeling that spreads in you — a unique kind of arousal, knowing how deep he is inside you and how you’re taking all of him in despite the fit, because of the fit. Your hand falls away, allowing Mark’s to take its place, and he exerts just a little more pressure against your stomach in an attempt to get the most out of the experience when he thrusts back in. He groans, feeling the bulge push back up, and he quickly picks up the same pace, renewed in intensity so he can experience the rapid rise and fall he creates under his palm.

The faster he goes, the harder he presses, and you’re not sure if he knows it, but the onslaught of friction is what’s making you whine and squirm even more; you’re trapped, in the best way possible, in his hold, your hands back to clinging to the backs of your knees like a lifeline. Pressure from the outside builds on the slowly growing pressure inside, a knot in your pelvis that’s coiling so tightly you feel like you can’t breathe. If Mark notices how close you are, he doesn’t make it known; he’s busy feeling the outline of his cock against your stomach, and when he looks up at you again, his eyes are hazy.

“I would fuck you every single day, every single hour if I could feel this every time,” he whispers in a way that’s almost reverent. “Let me — I want to keep seeing you like this. I want to feel how deep I am inside you, too. Let me fuck you all the time.”

You nod, and your first attempt to say something is just another choked sob. When you do manage to get something out, it’s broken in tearful stutters. “M-Mark, I’m s— I’m so close… I’m — fuck—”

“Do it.” It’s not a harsh command but an urging made on short breath; through your misty vision, you see tension in Mark’s face and shoulders, like he’s bracing himself for something too. You barely register the ping in the back of your mind, too focused on the way he’s pressing his palm harder on your stomach, the way his hips quicken their pace — he’s close too. “Let me feel you — want to feel you cum all over my cock.”

You inhale, not to speak but to let out a loud whimper; your teeth dig into your lower lip as you try to stifle the moans that threaten to follow, but in the end, you whine out his name. Your thighs threaten to close, trembling as you finally reach your climax, an impossible explosion of pleasure, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut so that you don’t get dizzy from the stars that burst around your vision.

“Fuck.” Mark’s voice is strained, his one hand still firm against your stomach, the other sliding against the inside of your thigh. “You get even tighter — you feel even better when you cum.”

“Mark,” you hiccup, unable to do anything but flutter around him as he pistons harder into you. You don’t even know what you’re asking for when you say ‘please,’ but he somehow seems to, and you trust that your body’s saying something you can’t fully detect in this state, with your mind floating in the aftermath of ecstasy.

“I know,” his tone is soothing in contrast to the intensity of his thrusts. “I’ve got you. Just a little more — where do you want—?”

You blink slowly, his words sinking in at too leisurely a pace; his hips stutter dangerously before you’re able to respond. You barely even do that, your hand gently brushing over the one against your stomach, but he catches onto the meaning quickly enough.

You’ve never heard your name said in such a beautiful way; hearing him moaning it lowly is enough to make you whine again, and that noise is drawn out when he shifts and slips out of you fully. Your brain’s fuzzy, but your senses are at least sharp enough to drink in the perfect sight of him cumming — the way he leans his head back, jaw taut and eyes shut, as he pumps his cock and the heat of his release against your skin, pooling against your stomach once he finally cums. You see a shiver run through him, and then he’s still for a while in this position, the both of you basking in the afterglow of your highs.

You’re still weak and sensitive when Mark finally comes back down, a lucidity you don’t have right now coming back into his gaze. All you can do is smile when he leans in, catching your lips in another kiss — one that’s surprisingly soft and slow in comparison to everything else, but still leaves you breathless when he pulls away.

“Let me clean you up,” he murmurs, and you hum in agreement, your body limp as you watch him move off the bed and pull a handful of tissues from a box on the desk on the opposite wall. Even his hands are gentle when he scoops you up, shifting you until your head can lean against the pillows. They carry a scent you’re not used to, and your nose scrunches, rejecting the change, but that’s quickly overpowered by Mark’s familiar coffee-and-linen one when he presses next to you, careful as he wipes his cum off your stomach and thoroughly cleans between your thighs. From somewhere down below, you still hear hushed voices, and the front door slams shut again. People are still in the middle of leaving, but you know Youngho will likely run out of guests soon, and this makes you feel like the timing’s suddenly become urgent.

“I want to date you properly,” you start, slightly slurred but unmistakably blunt. Mark’s gaze snaps to yours, slightly amused, as he balls the tissues up in his fist. “You never asked me, so I’m asking you.”

He looks perplexed. “I just never thought you wanted me to, so I didn’t try.”

You reach up, locking your fingers into his hair and using your grip to pull him down. Your kiss is a little demanding, with a tinge of excess frustration, and he pulls away laughing lightly.

“Do you still think I don’t want you to?”

Mark hums thoughtfully. “I think you made a lot of things clear tonight. On my end, I was happy enough to be near you.” He smiles down at you, and in the faint light, you can see the flush slowly return to his cheeks. “Having you like this — dating you… there’s no way I’d say no.”

Your shoulders relax, satisfied with his answer, and you beam up at him — an act he easily returns, breathtaking and endearing all at once.

Moments later, you feel his arm wind around your waist; he allows you to lean into his side, his other hand crossing over his lap to stroke your thigh. His face turns, pressing a kiss to your hair, and you feel his lips move, hear the quick rush of a whisper. You tilt your head, eyes slightly wide in questioning. “What was that?”

He shakes his head at first, trying to pass it off as nothing. But when it’s clear your curiosity won’t abate, he chuckles softly, his hand gently cupping your chin so that you can only look at him. His thumb strokes your bottom lip gently, as if trying to coax the same words out of your mouth before he murmurs them to you one more time — and this time, he sounds fully convinced of them.

“You’re all mine.”

5K notes · View notes

elllisaaa · 2 months ago

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KINKTOBER 2024

welcome to eli's kinktober masterlist !

-> author's note : i'm so so happy to be able to present you this ! i originally wanted to participate last year, but i've got caught up with the no nut november serie and i didn't have the time to do both. it was hard to choose which members from which groups to write, and i tried to keep it even in terms of how many times i write each group. i'm very proud of myself for getting through this and i hope you'll like it as much as i enjoyed writting this <3 take care !

-> reblogs and feebacks are appreciated !

-> english is not my first language, sorry for any mistake

-> 18+ content below, minors DNI

______________________________________________________________

_ DAY 01 | BIG DICK + SMOKING W. ROCKSTAR!GUNIL

you were a groupie, and you weren't afraid of admitting it. and you didn't mind that you probably were just one of the girls, that gunil had surely fucked hundreds of fans at this same exact spot. because it felt good, and you didn't want him to stop.

-> ONE OF THE GIRLS

______________________________________________________________

_ DAY 02 | VOICE KINK W. IDOL!YEOSANG x MANAGER!READER

going through your ovulation week when you were a manager for ateez was hard enough to not have to deal with yeosang deep voice too. it did things to you, and you weren't sure if you were going to be able to keep all of this professional.

-> MAKE IT BOUNCY

_ DAY 03 | VOYEURISM W. BEST FRIEND'S BROTHER!HUENING KAI

yeonjun had always made it clear to you that his friends were off limits for you, it was his only rule. and it never bothered you until kai started to come over. he was exactaly your type, but you didn't want to break the promise you made to your brother. however, is it really your fault if your door is left ajar as you're touching yourself at night ? and is it really your fault if kai walks by your room at the same time ?

-> EYES ON ME

_ DAY 04 | PRAISE KINK + MARKING W. TEACHER!JAY

after you did a successful presentation for jay's class, he feels the need to reward his favourite student in a very inapropriate way.

-> EARNED IT

_ DAY 05 | BREEDING W. SUGAR DADDY!CHAN

you've been nothing but a good girl to him lately, even watching over his niece when his sister visited him by surprise. and it awakened an urge in him. maybe your relationship is more than what chan pretends it is.

-> CONNECTED

_ DAY 06 | BUKKAKE W. XDH x STYLIST!READER

the dirty secret you've been hiding for a few months now is suddenly harder to keep for yourself when the other members catch you sucking off seungmin backstage. and after having discussed it, they decide that they have to get back at you for fucking each one of them sneakily.

-> HER

_ DAY 07 | ORAL FIXATION W. FRIEND!JIHOON

one of the first thing jihoon noticed about you was that you always needed to have something in your mouth - be that candies, cigarettes or joints, lollipops... he just didn't think that your obsession extended to him and his fingers too.

-> SUGARCOAT

_ DAY 08 | EDGING + HANDCUFFS W. JEALOUS FUCK BUDDY!SEUNGMIN

when seungmin catches you flirting with another guy at a bar, he gets possessive even if he has no right to be. you deserve to be punished for making him feel like that.

-> OBSESSION

_ DAY 09 | PREMATURE EJACULATION + FEET W. ASSISTANT!JAKE x CEO!READER

jake is the best assistant you've ever had, and to top it all, he's really cute. you know he has a crush on you, everyone knows it, and that makes him even more adorable. so when you have to leave for an important conference with him and that the hotel room only has one bed, you take it upon yourself to give him what he wants.

-> DANGEROUS WOMAN

_ DAY 10 | LINGERIE + HAIR PULLING W. BARISTA!SAN

you kinda like the barista who's always serving you, but you wish he would notice that you're flirting with him sometimes. so maybe that flashing him your pretty lingerie would help ?

-> FREAK

_ DAY 11 | HATE SEX W. ACADEMIC RIVAL!BEOMGYU

surely, everyone on campus knows how much you and beomgyu hate each other. but being locked in the library one evening because you both stayed too late studying forces you to communicate, for the better or for the worse.

-> ARE YOU DUMB, DUMB, DUMB ?

_ DAY 12 | BONDAGE + MIRRORS W. PHOTOGRAPHER!WONWOO

you wanted to be more confident about your body and having a boudoir photoshoot seemed to be a good option. you just didn't plan that having the photographer tying you up would excite you that much.

-> FOCUS ON ME

_ DAY 13 | CREAMPIE W. BF!JISEOK

jiseok thinks you're really cute when you're desperate for his attention, so he lets you sit on his cock even if all his friends are right there. he simply forgot that you were never the first one to back down.

-> IN FOR A RIDE

_ DAY 14 | AGE DIFFERENCE W. POLICE OFFICER!SEUNGCHEOL

"everybody knows that i'm a good girl, officer" is what you said to him when you got arrested for selling drugs. and despite seungcheol having a wife and kids, he can't help stumbling over his words when you ask to suck his cock in exchange for letting you go.

-> MR. POLICEMAN

_ DAY 15 | MULTIPLE ORGASMS + FEMDOM W. LOSER!HAN JISUNG

you always liked your men weak and pathetic, so no one was shocked to hear that you had a crush on han jisung - the nerdy boy of your physics class. being paired up with him for a project was the perfect opportunity to have him all for you. except that finding a collection of dairies filled with all the fantasises he has about you wasn't part of your plan.

-> SECRET SECRET

_ DAY 16 | PAIN PLAY W. BRATTY!WOOYOUNG x PRODUCER!READER

you need to work on the new track you're helping hongjoong produce for ateez, but wooyoung can't seem to be able to concentrate. though, you slowly notice that he loves it a little too much when you're mean to him.

-> USE ME

_ DAY 17 | ROUGH + LOUD SEX W. SOOBIN

it has not been long since you started dating soobin, and every intimate moment you had until then has been cut short. frustration starts to grow on the two of you and when he finally has the opportunity to have you all to himself, soobin doesn't hold back.

-> BE YOUR LOVE

_ DAY 18 | DACRYPHILIA + SPANKING W. RICH!SUNGHOON x BOOKWORM!READER

sunghoon is gentle enough to indulge in your book addiction. what he cannot bear is when you're ignoring him to read and fawn over some guy who doesn't even exist. he spoils you so it's only fair he takes what he wants from your body as a reward for being such a good boyfriend.

-> CRY FOR ME

_ DAY 19 | OMORASHI + SPIT W. LEE CHAN

after having taken you out a on a bunch of dates, you got comfortable enough to invite chan to come have a last drink at your apartment after a night out. chan really needs to go to the bathroom, but he doesn't want to cut off the conversation flowding fludily between the two of you, especially not when he had been meaning to ask you out for ages. so he stays here and tries to not think about his growing need to pee, even if it might lead to an accident.

-> NOT EASY FOR YOU

_ DAY 20 | COLLAR/LEASH + JEALOUSY W. BF!OH SEUNGMIN

despite you wearing the collar seungmin bought you, some guy still had the nerves to try and hit on you. your boyfriend had to do something, and to remind you that no one could ever treat you as good as he could.

-> HANDS ON YOUR KNEES [TBD]

_ DAY 21 | QUIROPHILIA W. SURGEON!YUNHO x SURGEON!READER

working with yunho was both a blessing and a curse. a blessing because he was incredibly talented and smart. a curse because you had to look at his pretty hands all day long and it was very, very distracting. so when you spend the night trying to come up with a diagnostic for a patient, doing exams in the labo all night with him, you cannot hide your attraction anymore.

-> UNDER THE INFLUENCE [TBD]

_ DAY 22 | APHRODISIACS + GROUP SEX W. ENHA HYUNG LINE

to celebrate the release of the new album of your friends, you decided to make them some cocktails. exept that they don't taste like they usually do, and when the fifth of you start to feel hot and bothered, you definitely understand that someone put something in your drinks.

-> FEELING GOOD [TBD]

_ DAY 23 | SEXTING W. BFF!YEONJUN

when your best friend receives a nude from you on a random tuesday, he feels the need to seek some clarification, and maybe that it is his chance to finally fuck you like he's been wanting to for years.

-> OOPS [TBD]

_ DAY 24 | MUTUAL MASTURBATION W. BEST FRIEND'S BROTHER!JEONGIN

you always had a soft spot for your best friend's little brother, maybe a little crush if you were honest. however, learning that he was still a virgin despite being this hot, you take it into your own hands to show him how it should be done.

-> SHAMELESS [TBD]

_ DAY 25 | OVERSTIMULATION + SEX WORK W. RICH!HEESEUNG x STRIPPER!READER

when a client offers a generous amount of bills to get a private show from you, you have no other choice but to say yes. after all, you need that money and the guy is handsome, you couldn't ask for more.

-> BROUGHT THE HEAT BACK [TBD]

_ DAY 26 | THREESOME + BATHING W. BFF!SEOKMIN & HOSHI

your parents are away all summer, and you take it upon yourself to invite your two best friends to spend it with you in their big villa. however, seeing you walking around in skimpy bikinis is starting to feel frustrating for soonyoung, and when he shares his misery to seokmin, they decide to act on it. the jacuzzi seems like a perfect excuse to finally get you all for themselves.

-> SOAKED [TBD]

_ DAY 27 | BITING W. IDOL!SEONGHWA

you never knew about your boyfriend biting kink until wooyoung revealed it in one of their videos. quickly, an idea emerges in your mind and you decide to make his fantasy come true.

-> SUPER FREAKY BOY [TBD]

_ DAY 28 | FREE USE W. MINHO FT. HYUNJIN

you really liked it when hyunjin came over to spend some time with your boyfriend, but today wasn't the good time because minho was needy. but luckily for him, you only want to satisfy him, no matter if hyunjin is still here.

-> SUCH A WHORE [TBD]

_ DAY 29 | CHOKING + HUMILIATION W. GYM TRAINER!TAEHYUN

today, you don't seem to be able to focus and your trainer is not having it, at all. but the effect his harsh words have on you are not what he imagined. but is it really a crime when you look this good in your gym clothes.

-> MASK OFF [TBD]

_ DAY 30 | SCENT KINK W. PERVY ROOMMATE!JUNHAN

you only see junhan as your roommate, and he knows it. you made it very clear by fucking with some guy when he's next door. but still, junhan cannot help his attraction to you, he cannot help sniffing your dirty panties and too bad that he didn't hid very well the last pair he stole, still covered in his cum. maybe that he picked your interest in the end.

-> I'LL MAKE YOU LOVE ME [TBD]

_ DAY 31 | SIZE KINK W. PIRATE!YUNHO & MINGI

being the captain of a boat with only men on board is sometimes tiring, but luckily, your two wingman are always willing to help, in more ways than one.

-> BIG BOY [TBD]

489 notes · View notes

fatecantstopme · 1 month ago

Note

Hello! How are you today? I hope you are doing well today! I have read your stories well mostly of Dean and I fall in love with them! Your stories are just French kisses!! I was wondering if you are okay the the idea or available in Season 10 ep 1-3 Dean is the knight of hell but instead of Sam who found him, it has his wife or fiance reader? He doesn't harm her at all but all he wants to do is trap her and rail her all long day and night he willingly goes with her to the bunker. Something like that, I'm very sorry if it's accurate could it but smut and fluff if it's okay with you? If not that okie! Don't worry! I love your stories and Keep up on doing what you do best! Thank you and have a wonderful day!!

OMG STAHHHP. You're so sweet. I'm glad you like my writing--I love doing it! AND I LOVE THIS ASK SO FREAKING MUCH. I love you for giving me the opportunity to write Dean in the most dominating, degrading, aggressive way possible without feeling bad for making him like that. I love my soft!dom Dean...but I am so freaking into this...HOPE YOU LOVE IT!

Fiend

Pairing: Demon!Dean Winchester x wife!reader

Summary: I mean...just read the lovely anon's request. So gooooood.

Warnings: An unnecessary amount of SMUT, unprotected sex (P in V), choking, slight degradation, rough sex, oral (M & F receiving), face sitting, orgasm denial, Dean is very dominant. Cursing, canon violence, Mark of Cain bloodlust, use of pet names, slight domestic violence.

A/N: I 100% went overboard on this one and I have no regrets. Fair warning, it's insanely long. It doesn't follow the season 10 storyline perfectly, but we've got the core elements.

"Are you sure about this?" you asked softly.

Sam stared at you, a familiar dark expression on his face. "Do you want to find him or not?"

You closed your eyes and sighed quietly. Of course you did, but you didn't want to lose who you were along the way. "You know I do, but torture's not exactly my thing."

"It's a demon."

"Wearing an innocent woman."

"Fine. You stay out here, then."

You watched Sam enter the dungeon, clearly prepared to do whatever it took to find his brother. The first scream echoed through the hallway and straight into your chest like a knife. You couldn't stay there--didn't wanna hear what happened next.

You went as far away as you could, walking past the bedroom you hadn't entered since the night he'd died. Sam had been the one to discover he was gone--Sam had been the one who found his note. You'd cried yourself to sleep on the couch in the library, heart too broken to even move.

The next morning, you woke to Sam's shouts of your name, but nothing would prepare you for what happened next. Sam's frightened eyes met yours and all he said was "He's gone," before handing you a note.

It was Dean's handwriting. You were sure of it. All it said was "(Y/N), Sammy, let me go."

That was six weeks ago.

Simple as the request was, it wasn't something either you or Sam could do, nor could Castiel. The three of you loved that man too much to just let him go.

At this point, all you knew was Dean was gone and Crowley was with him. Dean's handwriting on the note was the only indicator he wasn't dead...but you'd watched him die. You'd held him in your arms. The only possible answer was that Crowley had gotten a demon to possess Dean's body and rode off into the sunset with him. What you didn't know was why.

**********

Torturing the demon hadn't exactly proven fruitful, but Sam did manage to find a case he thought was connected to Dean. He was convinced the death of a man named Drew Neely was related to demons--and possibly to the missing Winchester.

While it seemed like quite a stretch to you, you were willing to go with him to Wisconsin and find out what happened.

As per usual, you and Sam pretended to be FBI to get inside information on the investigation. Much to your surprise, when the local PD showed you and Sam security footage from the gas station where Drew Neely was murdered, you saw a very familiar face.

You'd know him anywhere--Dean Winchester, seemingly alive and well, being attacked by Drew Neely. You watched as Dean pulled the First Blade from inside his jacket and stabbed Neely repeatedly. As the other man died violently, you watched in horror as Dean's normally beautiful green eyes turned black as night.

You looked up at Sam, whose expression matched your own. It looked like Sam's suspicions were correct--Dean was in fact possessed by a demon. Your only thought was saving him, even though you knew you'd really only be saving his body. You'd be damned if you let some demon scum ride around in Dean's body forever.

When you left the station, Sam turned to you, eyes full of a mixture of sorrow and anger. "Wanna go to the gas station? See if there's anything there?"

You nodded, still a little too upset to do much talking. Sam placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. He knew full-well how difficult this whole thing was for you. This wasn't Sam's first experience with his brother's death, but it was a first for you. He could tell the loss was killing you slowly, especially with Dean's body being defiled by some demon asshole.

When you arrived at the gas station, you were both surprised when the clerk handed you Neely's phone. You wondered why he hadn't given it over to the police, but at the moment, you couldn't be bothered to care. You wanted answers and this phone might be the key.

"There's a text from a number not saved in the contacts," Sam said as he scrolled through the phone's contents.

You leaned forward to look at the screen. "An Abbadon loyalist," you mumbled. "Lovely. But who the hell told Neely Dean was even here?"

Sam shrugged as he pressed the call button, dialing the number on the screen. "Only one way to find out."

When the voice on the other end of the phone answered, the rage that had been simmering inside of you for 6 weeks finally overflowed. "Crowley, you son of a bitch!" you yelled.

The chuckle on the other end did nothing to ease your anger. "Well hello (Y/N). I was wondering when I'd hear from you. Can I assume your avenging Moose is there too?"

You were about to tear into Crowley, but Sam placed a firm hand on your shoulder and shook his head. You clamped your mouth shut so tightly your jaw began to ache.

"Where the hell is my brother, you son of a bitch?"

"Maybe if you were nicer to me, I'd help you."

"Why don't you just start by telling us why you sent an Abbadon loyalist after Dean in the first place?" you growled.

"How else was I supposed to keep the bloodlust at bay? The Mark wants what the Mark wants."

You inhaled sharply, the ache in your chest intensifying at his words. Even in death, the damn Mark of Cain was still torturing Dean.

"Where are you?" Sam tried again.

"Oh please, Samuel, as if I'm going to tell you. Your brother and I are having a grand ol' time together. I quite like this version of him. I'm sure you and (Y/N) are jealous over our new relationship, but I simply can't be bothered to care."

"If Dean wasn't possessed, there's no way he'd be with you," you seethed.

Crowley's laughter echoed through the phone, sending cold shivers down your back. "You think he's possessed? That's not how the Mark works, sweetheart."

The condescension in his tone made you want to crawl through the phone and rip his throat out, but you managed to bite your tongue.

"The Mark twists the soul--darkening it with each kill--until all that remains is darkness," Crowley gloated. "So you see, Dean isn't possessed by a demon, he is one. Not just any demon either—a knight of hell."

You took a step back, suddenly feeling incredibly nauseous. Out of all the scenarios that had run through your mind when Dean went missing, this wasn't one of them. There was no worse way to dishonor his memory--his legacy--than this.

You vaguely heard Sam yelling into the phone, but your mind was spinning too quickly for you to comprehend a single word. Your entire world had just been tipped on its head and you weren't sure how to find solid ground again.

You doubled over, breath coming out in painful heaves. Bile rose in the back of your throat and you found yourself hurling the limited amount of food you'd eaten all over the sidewalk.

You felt Sam's strong, comforting hand on your back as he tried to calm you. After several more dry heaves, you managed to stand back up, eyes bloodshot from the exertion.

Sam's gaze was gentle, but you could see the pain in his eyes. As much as you loved Dean, you knew Sam loved him just as much. You couldn't afford to break down now--not when the two people you loved most in this world needed you.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

"No need to apologize, (Y/N/N). This is a lot to take in."

You simply nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

"I think I know how to find them."

Your head snapped up, meeting Sam's gaze with hope for the first time in weeks. "How?"

"I think I can track Crowley's phone."

You shot Sam a weak grin. "Thank god you're a genius. Let's go."

Before heading to Crowley's last known location, you and Sam discussed your findings thus far. You now knew Dean wasn't technically dead--which meant there was a slight chance you could use the ritual you'd tried on Crowley over a year ago.

There was a chance you could make Dean human again--and it was a risk you were more than willing to make. Knowing Dean was still in there--still alive--made you more reckless than you'd ever been. You were determined to bring him home, no matter the cost.

**********

You and Sam decided to split up, determining you had more of a shot at bringing Dean home that way. Sam went one route and you went the other, stealing a car to make your journey.

You didn’t realize it, but this decision would result in a cascade of events that would put you right in the crosshairs of the demon your husband had become—alone.

As you sped along the dark highway towards the Black Spur, you were left with nothing to do but listen to the thoughts swirling around your mind. Without Sam there to keep you occupied, your inner turmoil had begun to rear its ugly head.

Out of all the things you’d expected to happen when Dean died, becoming a demon had not been among them. Being possessed was one thing—being a demon was another thing entirely.

You knew exactly how Dean would feel about it, if he’d actually had the ability to feel, and it broke your heart. He was the strongest man you’d ever known, but this would break him. Even worse, you couldn’t even begin to imagine what you would feel when you found him.

You loved Dean Winchester with every part of your soul. He was your best friend, your lover, your partner, your husband. He was the man who never failed to make you laugh or bring a smile to your face. He held you when you cried, took care of you when you were hurt, and made love to you like you were the only thing tethering him to earth. But you knew that man was gone—all that remained was the beautiful body that once held the most incredible soul you’d ever known.

You felt the tears well up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Crying wouldn’t fix things and you’d done more than enough of that in the last month. Instead, you focused on what you were going to do when you found Dean.

You had no idea how you were going to convince him to come back to the bunker with you. You weren’t even sure he wouldn’t kill you if you tried to force him. You’d come prepared, but you would die before killing him. End of the day, he was Dean—somewhere inside him was the man you loved.

Part of you hoped Sammy would get there first—that he’d be the one to find Dean. Then he’d be faced with the decision of what to do next, sparing you the pain. You knew that wasn’t fair, but if you were being honest, you didn’t trust yourself to do this alone. One single look at his face could very well be your undoing.

You sighed quietly and glanced at your GPS. Only a couple hours to go before you would find out for yourself.

Unbeknownst to you, Sam had managed to get himself kidnapped when his car broke down on the way to the Black Spur, which meant he most definitely would not be beating you there. Unfortunately for you, that meant confronting Dean would be entirely on your shoulders--a weight you certainly didn't wish to carry.

**********

A few hours later, you arrived at the Black Spur, unsurprised and maybe a bit relieved to see that Dean was no longer there. You talked to the bouncer Dean had beat the shit out of the night before, so you knew you weren't very far behind him.

What you didn't know was Crowley and Dean had a rather intense falling out due to Dean's ever-growing aggressive behavior and complete and utter lack of respect for Crowley.

After leaving the Black Spur, you decided to stop at a motel, get some sleep, and wait for Sam. You'd tried calling him to no avail and you were starting to worry, but you knew Sam could take care of himself.

You'd just managed to fall asleep when your phone rang. It was Sam.

"Everything alright?" you asked.

"Got kidnapped by some guy named Cole."

"Sorry, what?"

"Apparently Dean killed his dad when he was a teenager and now he wants revenge. He kidnapped me hoping I would tell him where Dean was. He admitted he was trying to get us both, but he hadn't expected us to split up."

"Great. Just what we need. Some random human hunting the best hunter-turned-demon in history."

Sam sighed his agreement. "Cole called Dean...and he actually answered."

"What?!"

"Told him he'd kill me if Dean didn't give himself up."

You paused for a moment, breath caught in your chest. "And?"

"He refused. Told Cole he'd given me explicit instructions to let him go--and it was my fault for not listening to him," Sam said with a huff. "Then he told Cole if he killed me, he'd hunt him down and kill him."

You chuckled dryly. "That actually sounds like Dean."

Sam chuckled softly with you. "Yeah...it does."

You could hear the sorrow in his voice and you knew it matched your own. Seeing even the slightest sliver of your Dean in this demon version was beyond painful.

"I managed to get away while he was distracted. I'm on my way to the Black Spur now," Sam said after a few moments.

"He's not here. I've looked."

You could almost hear Sam's chest deflate as the hope left him. "Any sign of where they might've gone next?"

"No," you answered softly. "And Crowley turned his damn phone off."

Sam sighed heavily. "We'll find him, (Y/N)."

You wanted to believe him--wanted to have that kind of faith, but you'd lost steam. There wasn't a trail to follow, and even if there was, you weren't sure you should follow it. Dean had left Sam to die all because he'd ignored Dean's instructions. What would he do to you if you found him?

You ignored the tightening in your chest, pushing down your emotions as deeply as you could before wrapping up your call. You told Sam what motel you were in and that you'd see him in a couple hours.

You'd just laid back down when there was a knock at your door. You grabbed your gun and slipped an angel blade into the waistband of your pants before moving towards the door. When you looked through the peephole, your eyes nearly popped out of your skull.

You ripped open the door with surprising force, angel blade pointing at the visitor's throat.

"Watch where you're pointing that thing," Crowley grumbled.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now."

"Because I know where your husband is."

Your expression softened slightly, but the blade remained pressed to his neck. "Are you going to tell me or do I need to beat it out of you."

Crowley laughed mirthlessly. "Oh please, (Y/N). We all know you aren't capable of torture."

He was right, of course, but you would never admit it. Instead, you narrowed your eyes and pressed the blade a little more firmly into his skin.

The demon winced and threw up his hands in surrender. "Fine! I'll tell you. Just put that thing down."

You remained still for a moment before stepping back and allowing him entry into your room. You closed the door behind him, keeping the blade securely in your hand. "Talk."

"It's more that I know how to find him and less that I know where he is."

You clenched your jaw, feeling the simmering rage begin to boil. "This entire thing is your fault, Crowley, so if you want to stay alive, I suggest you speak plainly."

"We're not exactly on good terms at the moment."

Your eyes scanned his face and a small smirk appeared on yours. "He get tired of you?"

Crowley's eyes narrowed. "We had a disagreement over how to handle his bloodlust. Plus, he's even more arrogant than he was as a human."

Your heart clenched at the word 'bloodlust'. You'd hoped it had subsided in his death, but that damn Mark wouldn't quit until it took every last vestige of humanity left in Dean.

"Fine, so he left your ass in the dust. How do you plan to find him?"

"I have several demons watching his every move. I can't have him making too much of a mess. His type of chaos is bad for business."

"Then make a call and tell me where he is."

"Happily," Crowley paused. "On one condition."

"There it is," you grumbled.

"It's a simple request, really. All I want in return is the First Blade."

"Why?"

"I have my reasons, and I'm quite certain you don't want it in Dean's hands."

You thought about it for a few moments. "If you screw me over, I will burn your sordid kingdom to the ground around you before killing you in the most painful way possible."

Crowley almost seemed impressed. "I think you've spent a little too much time with Dean."

"Not nearly enough," you mumbled under your breath. "Do we have an understanding?"

"I tell you where to find Dean, you give me the Blade."

"You take me to Dean, I give you the Blade," you countered.

A look of fear flashed across his face. "I'd really rather not."

"I don't give a damn. You made this mess, so you're gonna help us out of it."

Crowley sighed. "Fine."

You grabbed your phone off the nightstand, but Crowley interrupted you before you could dial.

"What are you doing?"

"Calling Sam."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why the hell not?"

"You will have better luck persuading Dean than Sam will. You've never once betrayed Dean--never let him down. Sam cannot say the same. As such, it's likely Dean will be more likely to have a soft spot for you, even now."

You contemplated his words for several moments, before shaking your head. "Sam's his brother. He needs to know."

Crowley snapped his fingers, sending your phone flying across the room and into the wall with shocking speed, shattering it instantly.

"You son of a bitch!"

"You want my help? We go alone. Sam can catch up."

You glared at him in annoyance, before sighing quietly. "Fine. But I'm driving."

**********

"A piano bar?" you asked in surprise as you parked across the street.

"That's what they said."

Your eyes scanned the street before landing on a familiar black Chevy Impala. Your heart skipped a beat, knowing you were about to come face to face with your worst nightmare.

Crowley's gaze followed yours and he hummed quietly. "As I said, he's here."

"Get out," you hissed. "You're coming in too."

"Pardon?"

"Do you want the Blade, Crowley? Then get out of the damn car."

He huffed, but did as you said. You gestured for him to walk ahead of you, effectively blocking you from sight from the inside of the bar.

The moment Crowley entered, Dean felt his presence. "Didn't expect you to come back," he stated as he sipped some whiskey.

Hearing his voice sent a wave of emotion through your body, having not heard it in weeks.

Dean seemed to realize Crowley wasn't alone and you heard him inhale deeply. "I'd know that scent anywhere." He finally turned around to face the two of you. "(Y/N)."

"Hello Dean," you said softly, a slight blush dusting your cheeks. The idea he could smell you from several feet away was both a reminder of who he'd become, and an uncomfortable turn-on.

Dean glared at Crowley, realizing he had given his location up. Before he could say anything to him, you stepped forward, causing Dean's gaze to snap back to you.

"I suggest you run before I rip your heart out and feed it to you," you growled under your breath, not sparing another look in Crowley’s direction.

Crowley immediately stepped back, exiting the bar as quickly as possible.

"I didn't think you'd be foolish enough to work with Crowley," Dean said lowly.

"Means to an end."

"Hmm." He took a long drink of his whiskey before placing the empty glass on the counter. "I'm surprised you're here alone."

"Glad you asked--Sam's fine. No thanks to you."

Dean's eyes narrowed and he stood up, taking a step towards you. "I gave both of you very explicit instructions to let me go. What happens to you when you disobey is not my fault."

You inhaled sharply, body reacting to his words without approval from your brain. You clenched your jaw, trying to appear calmer than you felt.

Dean had always been extremely perceptive, and his demon abilities only heightened it. He took another predatory step towards you. "I can see your turmoil, sweetheart--you want me and you hate yourself for it."

You scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself--you're not Dean."

He laughed and the sound sent chills down your spine. "That's where you're wrong--I'm 100% Dean, just the new and improved version."

You felt a pang in your chest. "I'll have to disagree on the 'improved' part."

Dean started to slowly circle you, like a predator hunting his prey. "Aren't you the least bit curious, (Y/N)?" Each ring brought him closer and closer to you, until you could feel his body heat enveloping you. "Don't you want to know about all the things I can do now? All the ways I can wreck that pretty little body of yours?"

You felt his breath on the back of your neck--and you were embarrassed when your lips parted and your own breathing sped up.

"I can hear your heart racing, sweetheart." The pet name dripped with condescension--his voice low and gruff, barely above a growl. You felt a wave of arousal rush to your core, thighs rubbing together on instinct.

The movement didn't go unnoticed by Dean, who let out a dark chuckle. His lips brushed against your ear as he inhaled deeply. "I can smell how badly you want me, (Y/N)."

His hand gripped your hip tightly, pulling you back so you were flush against his front. You felt his hard length pressing into you through his jeans, a soft needy sound escaping your lips.

Suddenly he pulled away, leaving you feeling vulnerable and embarrassed. He might be wearing your husband's face, but he was a demon for christ's sake! You should be as far from turned on as humanly possible.

He came to a stop in front of you, close enough to touch you, but far enough to allow you some clarity. "I imagine you came here to talk me into coming home?"

You didn't bother to reply, it was obvious he could read you as well as he did as a human.

"If I'd wanted to be human again, I wouldn't have left. I'm as familiar with the cure as you are, sweetheart--and it's not worth it to me. I like who I am--I like being a demon. All that baggage I carried as a human? It's gone--I've never felt more free, (Y/N), and I'm not giving that up."

Much to Dean's surprise, your expression morphed into quiet understanding, eyes softening as you watched him closely. He felt uncomfortable under your gaze, so he flashed his eyes black in an attempt to regain control of the situation.

You winced slightly, hating seeing those demon eyes obscuring the brilliant green you loved so much. Your expression, however, remained soft. "Your life wasn't easy," you murmured gently. "There was a lot of heartbreak, pain, and loss...not to mention the weight of the entire world on your shoulders for most of your adult life. I can understand why you'd prefer this...you no longer have to give a damn."

Dean wanted to be annoyed--he wanted to be angry, his need for control surging inside him. Instead, he found himself stepping closer to you again--drawn to your soft eyes and sweet expression. Somewhere deep inside, emotions began to stir.

What had once been a deep, unending love for you, had turned to a lust so powerful, it threatened to devour you both. His eyes turned back to green, but the irises were barely visible around his widened pupils. His gaze was hungry, the predatory look having returned with a vengeance.

"How 'bout we go back to my room?" he purred lowly.

You knew you should say no--you shouldn't go anywhere alone with him, but you couldn't bring yourself to deny him.

"Are you afraid of me, (Y/N)?"

"You're a knight of hell," you whispered. "I'd have to be a fool not to be."

He smirked coldly. "Do you think I'm going to hurt you, sweetheart?"

Despite the darkness within him--despite what he had become--you believed in your heart he would never hurt you.

"No," you murmured honestly.

His smirk widened, rough fingers reaching out to grip your jaw tightly. "Oh I will hurt you, baby--but only in the ways you like."

You inhaled sharply, a wave of arousal dampening your panties even further. Your lips parted slightly, eyes never leaving his.

"You're coming with me," he growled possessively, hand gripping your wrist tightly as he dragged you to the door.

He pulled you roughly out onto the sidewalk and practically dragged you to the Impala, pulling the door open and shoving you into the passenger seat.

His aggression was a turn-on, none of his actions thus far having hurt you. You were certain you'd have bruising on your wrist from where he grabbed you, but you were completely fine with it.

He drove in silence at a speed that sent little waves of terror through you. The hotel he was staying at wasn't far, but he still made it there in record time. It was a much nicer place than the ones you usually stayed in, but you weren't surprised that Dean's tastes had become a little more bougie.

He dragged you into the elevator, pulling your back flush against his chest, hands gripping your upper arms like iron vices. You squirmed slightly and he let out a low growl, grip tightening.

"You move like that again and I'm gonna fuck you in this damn elevator," he hissed.

Part of you was into it, but you also didn't want to get caught fucking your demon husband in a public elevator. So you remained as still as possible until the doors opened on his floor and he pulled you down the hall to his room.

Once inside, Dean slammed the door with force, pinning you up against it so your cheek was pressed into it. His body was molded up against yours and his hot breath fanned across your neck. You felt his teeth scrape your pulse point, earning a low moan from you.

"You have one chance to get out of this," he growled. "One chance to say no and walk away before I fucking devour you."

If you'd had any sense, you would have ran away and never looked back, but you were already too far gone. He might not be the Dean you married, but he was still Dean--just the much darker, much wilder version.

"Fuck me, Dean," you begged softly.

He groaned lowly. "Oh I'm gonna do so much more than that sweetheart."

He ground his bulge into your back and bit into the soft flesh in the crook of your neck, causing you to whimper slightly.

"Wanna know the best part about being a demon?" he purred in your ear as he tugged your head back by your hair so he could see your eyes.

You nodded your head as best you could and waited for him to continue.

"I can have multiple orgasms and I've got the stamina of a god," he murmured. "I can fuck you all night long if I want to--and damnit I want to."

He spun you around quickly, slamming you against the wall beside the door. His lips were on yours immediately, tongue invading your mouth before you could even process what was happening.

You whimpered softly as his lips left yours and he began to kiss and nip his way across your jaw, down your throat, and to your collarbone. He wasn't being gentle, but you still found yourself wanting more--needing more.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, unused to the longer locks. It gave you more to grab, giving you a firmer grip on his head--and you loved it. If the groan that left Dean's mouth was any indication, he loved it too.

You felt his hands grasping at the front of your shirt before ripping it right in half. You yelped in surprise, but he ignored you, instead grabbing the edges of your bra and tugging them down to reveal your breasts.

"Oh, I missed these," Dean murmured before leaning back down to pull your nipple into his mouth. He used both hands to massage your breasts harshly, fingertips pinching at your exposed nipple while he nipped and sucked on the other.

You were panting heavily--almost to an embarrassing degree given how little this man had actually done to you. You found yourself falling into a familiar role with him, though he was much rougher than you were accustomed to.

When he switched to suck on your other breast, he slipped one hand down your stomach to the top of your jeans. He unfastened them easily before sliding his hand into them to cup your very wet pussy.

You felt Dean's smirk against your breast a moment before he lifted his head to look at your face. "Your panties are soaked," he groaned. "How long have you been thinking about me fucking you senseless?"

Your eyes weren't entirely focused on him and you didn't respond right away, so he grabbed your chin tightly, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You respond when I ask you a question."

You gasped softly before whimpering out an answer, "Since I saw you in the bar."

He gave you a look clearly indicating his disbelief. "Really?" His fingers pressed more firmly against your pussy, brushing against your clit purposefully. He ignored your soft moan, but you saw the smirk in his eyes. "You didn't imagine me fucking you while you played with your pretty pussy? Don't lie to me, sweetheart, I know you can't go almost 2 months without an orgasm."

You shook your head, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of your honest response.

His eyes flashed black and your heart leapt into your throat, a surge of fear sweeping through you. "Don't be a brat, (Y/N)," he growled. "You know what will happen."

Under normal circumstances, you'd play into the bratty role--it always got Dean riled up. But this wasn't a normal situation and he wasn't the normal Dean. Dean had always been a very loving and affectionate dom, but you knew demon Dean was about as far from loving and affectionate as one could be. You didn't want to see exactly how far he'd go if you pushed his buttons.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

"Answer my question."

"I did imagine you," you said so softly he almost didn't hear you.

He pretended to have missed your words and he leaned in closer. "What was that? I couldn't quite hear you."

"I imagined you," you said again, slightly louder.

"I know." He simultaneously bit into your neck and rubbed his fingers against your clothed clit, eliciting a wanton moan from your lips.

"There are lots of women in this world that'll fall right into my bed with a single look from me, but not a single one has a pussy like yours. Been dreamin' of it for weeks."

His words hurt you, but you pushed those feelings aside and tried to focus on the positive of the backhanded compliment he'd just given you.

He suddenly stepped back, leaving you completely untethered and weaker than you'd expected. Had the wall not been right behind you, you'd be on the floor right now.

His eyes roamed your disheveled body hungrily, possessively. He backed up towards the bed, taking off his shirt as he went. He sat down on the edge, eyes still glued to your body. "Come here."

You did as he asked, too afraid to disobey him.

"Strip."

You started to remove your clothes quickly, but his gravelly voice stopped you. "Slower."

You very slowly removed each article of clothing until you were completely bare. While you'd been naked hundreds of times in front of Dean, this time was different. You felt self-conscious under his hard gaze, afraid he wouldn't like what he saw.

He seemed to sense your discomfort, and to your surprise he assuaged it instantly. "Becoming a demon didn't make me stop loving that body of yours, sweetheart. It's still my favorite thing in the world."

You relaxed instantly, feeling pleased that he liked your body so much. A soft voice in the back of your mind pointed out he'd said your body was his favorite, not you--but you pushed that thought aside for the sake of your heart.

He spread his legs wide and leaned back on his hands, appreciative gaze roaming your exposed flesh. "Now, show me how you like your pretty pussy to be touched."

You bit your lip, keeping your eyes locked on his face as you slid one hand to your breasts and the other to your aching pussy. Dean's eyes watched as you slipped your fingers between your folds, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

You toyed with your clit gently, little moans and whimpers filling the room. You watched as Dean removed his belt and stood up to take off his jeans and underwear. When you finally got a good view of his cock you moaned a little louder, and his eyes flicked up to your face. He smirked when he realized what had caused that noise to come out of your mouth.

He stepped towards you, gripping his large cock firmly in his dominant hand, stroking it slowly. Your own hand had slowed nearly to a stop, but Dean wouldn't have any of that. "Did I say you could stop?"

You quickly sped back up, wanting to please him with an unhealthy level of desperation.

"You're such a good girl for me. My little slut," he said lowly. "Saw the way you looked at my cock, baby--bet you want it in your mouth."

You nodded rapidly.

He leaned forward and brushed his lips against yours. "On your knees."

You dropped to your knees instantly, ready and willing to give him want he asked for.

"Open your mouth. Now."

Your mouth opened obediently, waiting for his next move.

"You gonna let me fuck that pretty mouth of yours?"

You nodded eagerly.

"So fucking sexy like this," he murmured. "Gonna make you choke on my cock."

He gave no further warning before grabbing the back of your head and tugging you down onto his cock. You gagged as his large member slammed into the back of your throat, a burning sensation accompanying it.

His hips moved rapidly as he fucked your face harshly--it was as if you were an inanimate object, only there to give him pleasure.

This level of roughness was new for you, and you were surprised to find how much you were enjoying it. Your eyes watered, spit dribbled down your jaw, and your pussy dripped.

The ache was almost unbearable, so you slipped a hand between your legs to provide yourself some relief.

Dean's observant gaze saw the action and he grinned. "Such a dirty little slut aren't you? Getting off on sucking my cock."

You moaned around him, pulling a surprised groan from deep in his throat. He gripped your head tighter, thrusts speeding up. "Fuck--love this mouth," he ground out.

The force of his thrusts made you pause your own ministrations, attention focused solely on the intensity of his motions. You gripped his strong thighs tightly, nails digging into the soft flesh.

"Oh fuck yes--gonna cum in this sweet little mouth, baby."

You moaned in response.

"Yeah? You want that? Want me to cum down your throat?"

You moaned again and tried to nod.

"How could I deny my little slut?" His grip tightened even further on your head, pulling your hair painfully. With one final thrust, he spilled his load into your mouth, hot ropes of cum filling your throat.

You swallowed every drop he gave you, knowing he'd certainly punish you if even a single drop left your mouth.

Even Dean had to admit, he hadn't had an orgasm that good since he'd become a demon--and watching you swallow all of his cum like that had him wanting more. "Greedy, are we?"

You licked your lips as you looked up at him. "I can't help it. You just taste so good."

He was taken aback by your statement, cock twitching in response. Perks of being a demon, he thought to himself. Already ready for round two. "On the bed, feet off the end."

You got up and laid down on the bed, face up. You weren't moving quickly enough for Dean, so he grabbed your ankles and roughly pulled you towards him. Your ass was now hanging off the bed slightly and your pussy was at the perfect height for him to enjoy from his knees.

There was something incredibly thrilling about seeing Dean on his knees for you. While it wasn't the first time, you doubted demon Dean was the kind of man who'd get on his knees for anyone.

"Now I'm gonna eat this pretty pussy of yours until I get my fill, understand? If you try to stop me, you will be punished."

"Yes, Dean."

"Good girl," he mumbled. He spread your legs as wide as they would go and breathed deeply. He licked his lips subconsciously before diving into you.

As always, Dean knew exactly what to do to drive you wild--he'd learned how to read your body years ago. His tongue felt incredible, large and flat, licking from the bottom of your pussy to the top, giving your clit a gentle flick, then repeating.

You shifted your hips, trying to get him to speed up, which he ignored. Instead, he laid his arm across your lower belly, holding you in place so he could continue his work.

After several more moments of this agonizing pace, he finally relented, lips wrapping around your clit to suck it into his mouth. You cried out in pleasure, legs already beginning to shake.

His motions were rhythmic, sucking your clit and licking it intermittently, as if he couldn't decide which one he preferred. As your moans grew in intensity, he knew you were getting closer. He had plans for you this evening--and your first orgasm of the night was going to be from his mouth and nothing else.

Your fingers had tangled in his hair and you were desperately trying to grind yourself against his face, but his arm prevented you from moving. He switched to focus all of his attention on your clit, sucking it into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue at an insane rate of speed.

You cried out as you came, the orgasm breathtaking in its intensity and pleasure. Dean worked you through the high, but didn't make any signs of stopping.

You remembered his words from earlier, so you kept your mouth shut even though the sensitivity was overwhelming.

When he felt your body begin to relax and the soft moans began to leave your lips again, he slowed his pace way down. He wanted to take his time now, enjoying your taste and the sweet sounds you made for him.

He slid two of his fingers into you, pressing gently against your g-spot before sliding them back out. His tongue laved at your clit, moans of his own giving it the slightest vibrations.

When your pussy started clenching tightly around his fingers and your breathing had become more labored, he sped up. He sucked and licked at your clit, nipping ever so gently at the hood, causing you to yelp softly.

Your fingers had once again found their way to his hair and you were holding on for dear life. You felt your orgasm building--it was so close. You voiced as much to Dean, even though he was already very aware.

You were just about to reach your peak when Dean suddenly slowed down--to an agonizingly slow pace.

"No, no, no--please!" you begged.

Dean ignored your pleas, opting to focus on his activities instead. He sped up just a tiny bit, building your orgasm back up.

The louder your moans became, the faster Dean went. Your orgasm was approaching once again and you begged Dean not to stop.

You were a second away from your orgasm when Dean once again slowed his motions. You cried out in anguish as the blissful feeling faded away.

"Please, Dean," you whimpered.

He lifted his head slightly, fingers still moving very slowly against your g-spot. "I'm not done with this pussy yet. Tastes too good for me to stop."

"But I need to cum," you cried.

"You'll cum when I let you cum," he said harshly.

His mouth dropped back to your pussy, focus once again on enjoying his feast.

Dean did this two more times--denying you an orgasm mere seconds before one was to occur. By this point, you were crying and begging him to just let you cum--you couldn't stand the ache any longer.

Dean decided he had listened to your babbling pleas for long enough. He pulled away from you, leaving you whimpering shamefully.

Dean laid down on the bed beside you. "Get up here. I'm not finished yet."

You were confused, so you didn't move fast enough for him. He smacked your breast harshly and you yelped in pain.

"I said, get up here. Now."

"I don't understand," you whimpered.

Dean sighed in exasperation. "Sit on my face so I can eat you properly."

It's not like you hadn't done this with him before. It was something you'd always known Dean enjoyed, but your brain was so fuzzy with need, it hadn't even crossed your mind.

You pulled yourself up and straddled his head. He didn't wait for you to sit down, he simply grabbed your hips and tugged you down to his waiting mouth.

You moaned in pleasure instantly, the sound spurring him on. He knew you were in for an incredibly intense orgasm and he was dying to taste it--to feel you coat his mouth and face with your sweet juices.

He had you on the brink in an embarrassingly short amount of time, but you couldn't be bothered to feel any shame. You were grinding down on his face, using him for your own pleasure.

You prayed he wouldn't stop this time--the need to cum so overwhelming it was painful. You were gripping onto the headboard for support as you rode his face, moans slowly rising in pitch as you neared climax.

Dean's fingers dug into your upper thighs and hips so tightly there were sure to be bruises. He could tell you were close, so he sped up his motions, desperate for you to cum.

"Dean--I-I'm gonna--"

You finally came with a scream of his name--the sound so loud it likely woke the entire hotel. Your legs shook violently, the pleasure so blinding you nearly blacked out.

It wasn't until you felt someone lifting you and laying you on your back that you started to become aware of your surroundings again.

Dean watched you, a satisfied smirk on his handsome face. He reached out and brushed your hair from your face where it had stuck to your sweaty skin. It was an oddly affectionate gesture for a demon.

He waited patiently for you to re-acclimate to your surroundings--come back down to earth, as it were. When your pretty (y/e/c) eyes met his, you smiled, forgetting for a moment that he was anything but the man you loved.

"That was...in-incredible," you mumbled breathlessly.

He grinned. "Happy to be of service."

You smiled in return, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm your racing heart.

Dean crawled on top of you, arms on either side of your body, ensuring you couldn't get away. "I'm no where near done with you yet."

"You give me another orgasm like that and you just might kill me."

He grinned wolfishly, eyes darkening with lust. "Oh sweetheart...you have no idea what I could do to you."

You weren't sure if it was a threat or a promise, but you were incredibly turned-on by it. Dean could see the rapid rise and fall of your chest beneath him...and he knew his words had the desired effect.

He grabbed his cock and rubbed it very gently between your folds. You inhaled sharply at the sensation.

"Do you want my cock?"

You nodded rapidly.

"Come on baby, I wanna hear you say it."

"I want your cock."

"Good girl," he murmured, repeating his earlier motion. "Now beg for it."

Your eyes widened and he gave you a warning look. You knew you had to beg or else. "I want your cock so badly."

"Mhmm."

"I need it."

"Keep going."

"I...I wanna feel you inside me."

"Come on, sweetheart," he chided. "I know you can do better than that."

"I want you to fuck me, Dean. Please--I need you."

He slipped the tip of his cock into you and you whimpered softly. "Give me a little more, baby."

"I want you to fuck me so hard I forget my own name," you begged. "I'll be so good for you--I promise."

He plunged into you without warning, sheathing himself deep in your warm, wet heat. "That's my good girl," he moaned.

He started to move slowly, in and out, each direction painfully slow. "My god have I missed this pussy," he said as if to himself.

You whined beneath him, hoping he'd get the hint and pick up the pace.

He looked down at your needy expression and smirked. "Patience, baby. I'll make those knees weak--don't you worry."

He leaned down to kiss you roughly, one hand tangling in your hair, pulling your head back slightly as he deepened the kiss. His thrusts started to speed up, matching the pace he'd set with his tongue in your mouth.

After several moments, he pulled himself up, grabbing your legs and putting one on each side of his head. The new position allowed him to hit that spot so deep inside you, you'd thought it was a myth until you met him.

He began to piston in and out of you, each thrust hard and fast. Each time he'd pull almost all the way out slowly before slamming back into you with force--cock brushing up against your cervix with each thrust.

It didn't take long before you were a whimpering, moaning mess beneath him. He loved seeing how fucked out you were--knowing that it was all because of him.

"Whose pussy is this?"

Your eyes shot open. "Yours!" you gasped.

"That's right, baby. Mine," he growled. "No one gets to touch you like this but me."

"No one," you confirmed breathlessly.

His eyes flashed black. "I'll kill anyone who even looks at you like he wants to fuck you."

You inhaled sharply. Dean had always been a very protective man--possessive even--but this was a whole new level. You had no doubt in your mind that he was completely serious. He would most certainly murder a man for daring to have so much as an unclean thought about you.

It probably shouldn't have turned you on, but it did--his possessive nature infinitely more intense now that he was a demon. Your pussy clenched down tightly around him, signaling how much you liked his words.

"That turns you on, huh? You like the thought of me owning you? Owning this pussy?"

"Yes!" you cried out as he continued to pound into you.

"Lucky for you, I'm never letting you go again," he growled. His thrusts were fast and hard, his focus on feeling you cum around his cock.

His words had an immediate effect on you, his possessiveness almost affectionate in that moment. It was exactly what you needed to fall over the edge with a low moan of his name.

"Fuck!" he groaned as he tried to maintain his speed. Your pussy was squeezing him so tightly he could barely move. "Jesus, baby--gotta stop squeezing me like that."

"Sorry," you whimpered, trying to relax your body.

Dean's hips began to move again and he leaned forward to kiss your jawline. "Don't apologize--not your fault this pussy feels so fuckin' good--made for me."

You gasped softly, skin flushing at his praise.

He pulled out of you without warning and roughly flipped you onto your stomach. His palm landed on your ass with a firm smack, causing you to jump slightly.

"Lift your hips," he ordered.

You did as he asked and he slid into you, immediately setting a brutal pace. He alternated between smacking your ass, pulling your hair, and gripping your hips so you couldn't move.

Your pussy pulsed and fluttered around his cock, the pleasure becoming unbearable. "Dean--s-so close," you moaned.

"I know--you're squeezing me so tight," he replied through gritted teeth. "But don't you dare cum until I give you permission."

"But, I--"

He grabbed you by the hair, tugging you up so your back was pressed against his chest. He nipped at your ear and pressed his hand firmly against your neck--not enough to hurt you, but enough for you to know he could.

His voice was low and demanding when he spoke again, "Be a good girl for me, (Y/N), and I won't have to hurt you. But if you disobey me, I will take everything I want and give you nothing, do you understand?"

"Yes," you whispered breathily.

"Good." He released you suddenly, letting your body fall back onto the bed as he renewed his painful thrusts.

You used all of your concentration to focus on not cumming until he allowed you to, but the more time passed, the more painful it was not to orgasm.

"Dean, please--I-I can't t-take it," you cried.

"Yes you can, baby. You're already taking my cock so well."

"Ne-need to cum," you begged.

Dean thought about it for a moment and made a decision. His hips slowed and he leaned forward to speak close to your ear. "You can cum after I do."

You whimpered, head nodding your agreement.

Dean's hands gripped onto your hips, holding them in place as he pistoned in and out of you, chasing his own high. He heard your desperate whimpers and felt your pussy spasming around him, but all he cared about was his release.

His hips began to falter as pleasure licked up his spine moments before he came with a guttural groan, spilling his seed deep inside you.

The moment you felt his cum begin to fill you up, your own orgasm crashed into you, making you cry out in pleasure.

Dean worked you through your high before pulling out of you and letting you collapse on the bed. His large body hovered over yours as he pressed kisses into your heated skin.

His cock was still throbbing with need, despite having just had an incredible orgasm. He knew you were exhausted, but he hadn't had his fill of you yet.

He rolled you back over and slid inside of you, slowly bottoming out with a breathless moan. You whimpered at the sensation, pussy too sensitive and overstimulated for another round.

"No--no more, Dean, please."

"I warned you, sweetheart...told you I wanted to fuck you all night."

"It--it's too much."

He slowly slid out of you and slowly slid back in. "I know you can take it."

You shook your head. "I can't--"

Dean grabbed your wrists and pulled them over your head, holding them tightly in place with one hand. The motion forced him lower, making his body weight press firmly against you.

His lips brushed against yours and his voice was almost pained when he whispered, "I'll be gentle."

You saw the need in his mossy green eyes and your resolve crumbled. You supposed you could allow him at least one more orgasm. "Alright," you murmured.

He smiled at you before kissing you deeply, thoroughly enjoying the taste and feel of you. His thrusts were slow and measured, much more gentle than they'd been before.

To your surprise, the friction wasn't as painful as you'd expected. In fact, you found yourself enjoying the slow feeling of his cock dragging against your walls, the thick vein on the underside throbbing inside you.

He let go of your wrists to hold himself up a little, allowing him more room to move. His eyes traced your face as he fucked you, the action incredibly intimate despite the situation.

After several minutes of gentle thrusts, Dean pulled himself up into a sitting position and pulled you along with him. You weren't strong enough to hold yourself up properly, but he was more than capable of keeping your body where he wanted it.

He leaned back, lying flat against the bed, with you now straddling him. You put your hands on his chest for leverage as you began to ride him.

Dean let out a soft moan, which you echoed when he pulled your hips down flush against his so you couldn't move. He pressed his hand firmly against your lower belly and you gasped in pleasure.

"You feel that, baby? Feel my cock so deep inside you? Feels so fuckin' good."

You nodded rapidly, not trusting your voice to actually speak.

Dean released your hips so you could move again, but his eyes didn't leave your body. "You look so fuckin' sexy riding me. Could stare at ya all night."

You blushed deeply, gaze pulling away from his bashfully.

He reached up and touched your cheek, pulling your face back towards him. "I like looking at you."

You bit your lip, but didn't turn away. Having demon Dean compliment you felt so incredibly different than what you were used to. It almost felt wrong to appreciate his words and his gaze--as if you were cheating on your husband. You knew you weren't really, but it still felt wrong.

After several more moments, Dean tired of the slowness of the pace. He grabbed you and pulled you down to him, wrapping his arms around you to hold you tightly. He planted his feet and began to piston up into you, sending shock waves of pain and pleasure through your body.

He loved the wrecked sounds coming from your mouth as he fucked up into you. He knew his current angle would hit your sweet spot with each thrust--and he knew you wouldn't be able to avoid another orgasm.

He'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't want to feel you cum all over his cock again--the sensation was almost as incredible as his own orgasm. He found himself craving it with a desperation he didn't want to dive too deeply into.

"I know you're close, sweetheart," he murmured. "I can feel it--know you wanna cum around my cock."

Your moans and whimpers were all the confirmation he needed.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?"

"Please," was all you could manage to say.

"Cum for me."

His command sent you over the edge with shocking ease. You weren't certain you even had it in you to cum again, and the intensity of the orgasm surprised you.

Dean held on tightly as your body shook, your pussy clenching and unclenching around him as you squirted all over his lower body.

"Holy fuck, you're sexy," he groaned, an intense feeling of pride surging through his veins. He'd made you squirt before, but every single time felt like a gold fucking medal to him.

His thrusts became more sloppy as his own orgasm neared. He was so close he could practically taste it, but it was your aftershocks that finally had him exploding inside of you. He stopped moving, holding you tight to him as he emptied deep in your pussy.

He carefully rolled you over onto your back before sliding out of you. You whimpered at the feeling of emptiness, which made his chest swell with pride.

"Spread those pretty legs for me, baby--spread 'em nice and wide," he murmured, large hand gently rubbing your thighs. "Spread yourself open--wanna watch my cum leaking out of you."

You did as he asked, surprised to find yourself so turned-on by his request. You watched him stare at the apex of your thighs, your mixed spends dripping from your abused hole.

He licked his lips, gaze flickering back up to yours. "You're the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen."

You inhaled sharply, pleased by his praise. "Come here," you whispered, reaching for him.

You were surprised when he actually complied, crawling up your body and placing a soft kiss on to your lips, allowing you to run your hands through his hair affectionately.

After a few moments, Dean pulled away. "Why don't you get a little rest? You'll need your strength."

You looked at him in shock. "Strength for what?"

"You didn't think we were done, did you?"

"Dean, you can't possibly be serious!"

His eyes flashed black, reminding you exactly who and what you were dealing with. "I'm deadly serious."

You exhaled shakily as it finally dawned on you that you had no control over your current situation. Dean could do anything he wanted to you and there wouldn't be a damn thing you could do about it.

But that wasn't the concerning part. The concerning part was how little fear you felt. The idea of him being completely in control felt like a good thing...and that was what really scared you.

**********

You awoke several hours later to the feeling of Dean's rough hands on your soft skin. You were lying on your side, with him directly behind you. It had been a comfortable position to fall asleep in, but it seemed Dean now had a different idea.

You felt his cock tease your pussy and you whimpered softly.

"Need you just one more time," Dean murmured in your ear as he slid into you. He held you tightly against him, still spooning you as he began his gentle thrusts.

"Focus on how my cock feels in that tight little pussy of yours," he instructed. "I know you're sore, baby, but I'm gonna make you feel so good."

You'd lost count of the number of orgasms you'd had somewhere after the 7th one. You hadn't even known it was possible for the human body to have that many. Dean was right--you were sore, too sore to move, in fact.

"I've got you," he murmured, pressing his lips into your shoulder.

The intimacy of the moment surprised you and you weren't sure why Dean was being so soft. You leaned back into him, feeling the taunt muscles of his abdomen flex against you.

He took the movement as permission to continue what he was doing. He slid his hand farther down your body, slipping it between your legs to rub light circles on your swollen clit.

You gasped softly, nails digging into the flesh of his arm.

Dean shushed you gently. "Let me make you feel good--just relax."

You tried to do as he said, willing your overstimulated body to stop tensing.

As Dean continued his gentle thrusts and soft touches, you began to feel the familiar tightening deep in your abdomen. You focused on the feeling, on the need for a release as it rose within you.

"You're doing so good for me," Dean praised. "So sexy--with this fucking perfect pussy. Could stay here forever."

His murmured words of praise went straight to your core, causing it to tighten around him. He moaned softly, continuing his movements.

"Dean," you whispered. "I'm close."

He pressed his lips into your shoulder. "Let go for me, baby. I've got you."

For a moment--just a moment--you felt like you were making love to your Dean. The feeling was fleeting, but it gave you hope, even as it ripped your heart to pieces.

He knew exactly what to do to send your body into overdrive--he'd always known. He had you falling apart in minutes, soft cries of pleasure slipping past your tired lips.

"That's it, baby," Dean groaned. "Gonna fill you up."

Dean came for a final time, deep inside you. You'd lost track of his orgasms long before you'd lost track of your own.

He whispered your name softly, lips brushing against your skin sweetly.

He didn't pull out, but his cock finally began to soften--having reached the limit even for a demon.

After several minutes, he allowed you to pull away from him. You rolled over and quickly fell asleep, too exhausted to even exist for a moment longer.

**********

When you finally woke up, you weren't sure how much time had passed. Your entire body was sore, a dull ache from your head to your toes.

You pulled yourself up into a sitting position, glancing beside you to the empty bed. Your eyes flitted around the room, seeking any sign of Dean. His clothes were still strewn all over the floor, along with yours, but he could very well have put on fresh clothes.

You weakly pulled yourself out of the bed and slowly made your way to the bathroom, bladder pulsating painfully. After using the bathroom, you splashed cold water on your face, trying to revive yourself even a little.

You gazed at yourself in the mirror, taking in the various marks and bruises littering your skin. You would typically wear such marks like a badge of honor, but in this moment, you only felt shame.

You'd had explosive sex with a demon--not just any demon, a demon that used to be your husband. Your heart clenched as images flashing through your mind. You'd loved it in the moment, but now you felt incredibly guilty.

You couldn't help but wonder what Dean would think of you if you were able to make him human again. You were scared he'd be upset with you--ashamed even.

The sound of the hotel room door opening shook you from your thoughts. You grabbed the robe hanging on a hook in the bathroom and threw it on quickly, barely covering yourself before Dean came into view.

"Hey sweetheart," he said with a smile. "I brought food."

Surprise lit up your face as you stared at him. You hadn't been certain he'd come back, let alone bring you food. "Oh, umm...thank you."

He nodded and placed the bags on the small table. "You wanna take a shower first or eat first?"

You were still in shock from his behavior, but you managed to mumble, "Shower." You closed the door slowly and started the shower, but you didn't get in.

You took a moment to try and collect yourself, but you found it nearly impossible to relax. You sighed and dropped the robe from your body before stepping under the hot spray.

The calming feeling of the water washing over you brought you some relief--as if it was washing away your sins. It also gave you some clarity.

At the end of the day, he was still Dean--and you desperately wanted him back. If this was the only way to do it, then you just had to suck it up and do what needed to be done. If necessary, you'd beg for forgiveness later.

When you got out of the shower Dean was waiting for you at the table. You'd thrown the robe back on, having no other clothes with you.

You offered him a smile before going towards where your undergarments lay near the bed. You also picked up your jeans, but your shirt was completely ruined.

Dean's keen eyes followed you around the room, watching in silence. When you made it to the door where the remnants of your shirt lay, Dean chuckled lightly. "Why don't you wear one of mine, sweetheart?"

You held up the ripped fabric. "I don't think I have much of a choice."

He smiled and stood up, grabbing a clean flannel out of the duffle on the floor. He handed it to you and waited--as if he expected you to say something.

You looked down at the flannel in your hand and inhaled sharply. It was your favorite flannel of his--green and black in color, and incredibly soft from all the washes it had endured.

He saw the moment you recognized the shirt and he suddenly felt oddly nervous--he wanted you to be happy, as silly as that might be for a demon.

"I'll just go throw these on," you whispered.

Dean just nodded as you walked past him to the bathroom. You came out a few minutes later, fully clothed.

He let out a soft sound you could only describe as a low growl. "I love it when you wear my clothes."

You blushed. "You always did find it sexy."

He grinned darkly and took a step towards you, but you shook your head gently.

"My entire body is sore, Dean."

He pouted. "A kiss at least?"

You sighed. "Fine."

He leaned down to kiss you with shocking gentleness. It warmed you from the inside out.

"See? I can be gentle," Dean said with a smirk.

"Interesting for a demon," you mumbled, sitting down at the table.

You missed the look of hurt that crossed Dean's face at your words. He sat at the table across from you, expression impassive.

You started to eat, quickly discovering how hungry you really were. Dean watched you quietly, not particularly hungry himself. He noticed some marks on your exposed collarbone and throat and he felt an odd feeling in his chest. It made him extremely uncomfortable, but he couldn't quite place the feeling.

"Dean?" you asked softly.

His eyes refocused on your face. "Hmm?"

"I know what you're going to say, but will you please come back with me? Just--Just come home, Dean--please." You were more than ready to beg, but you found you didn't need to.

"Alright."

You'd opened your mouth for a rebuttal, but his voice stopped you--"What?"

"I'll come back with you."

Your face was a mixture of surprise and confusion. "I, uhh--I was expecting to have to beg you."

"No need," he commented. "After last night, I have no desire to be anywhere else."

"Anywhere else?"

"Perhaps I should have said with anyone else."

"Ahh. I see." Your heart fluttered slightly, even though the words came from a demon.

"So yes, I'll go back home with you...on one condition."

Your heart began to beat faster as you waited for him to continue.

"Under no circumstances will you ever force me to become human."

Your chest ached at his words, your eyes fluttered closed, and your breath exhaled slowly. Dean knew what he was asking of you--knew it was a lot deeper than a simple promise. "Don't make me promise that," you whispered.

Dean's eyes flicked to black and his expression hardened. "Promise me or leave. The choice is yours."

It felt as though time slowed around you. You had never once broken a promise to Dean--never. He knew you prided yourself on that--he knew you would never break one. You couldn't find it in yourself to betray him, even now.

"I have one condition of my own."

Dean raised a single eyebrow.

"I will make you that promise, if you give me the First Blade."

It was Dean's turn to be surprised. "Why?"

"You know why."

His eyes flicked back to green, but he looked annoyed. "And if I don't give it up?"

"Then I leave."

Dean weighed his options in silence. After a few moments, he got up and crossed the room towards the door where his jacket hung. He reached into the inside pocket and pulled out the First Blade.

You inhaled sharply, a ripple of fear surging through you.

He crossed the short distance back to you, placing the Blade on the table in front of you. You reached out for it, but his hand snapped forward and grabbed your arm.

"Do we have a deal?"

You exhaled heavily. "We have a deal."

"Say it."

"I promise I will never force you to become human again," you whispered.

He released your arm and smirked. He was obviously pleased with himself, even as you quite clearly ached from making such a promise.

You pulled the Blade towards you, keeping it as close to you as you could. You needed to call Crowley to come get the damn thing as soon as possible--you wanted it as far away from Dean as possible.

“Maybe we can leave when I’m done eating?”

Dean just nodded. “Better not tell Sam until we get there.”

You couldn't have told him even if you'd wanted to, given that Crowley had broken your phone, so you simply nodded your agreement.

Dean watched you in silence while you finished eating, his face completely unreadable. You were worried about what Dean was planning, but you were more worried about Sam's reaction to all of this.

**********

The drive back to the bunker was uneventful. Dean drove straight through the night, no need for sleep. You were still tired from your antics the day before, so you slept for a large portion of the drive.

Dean woke you 10 minutes before arrival. "How pissed you think Sammy's gonna be?" he asked.

"You left him to die, Dean--he's probably not gonna be excited to see you."

Dean shrugged. "I mean, he didn't die though."

You shot him a glare and he laughed. "It's not funny, Winchester."

"It's not, not funny."

You sighed. "Just let me do the talking, okay? He's not pissed at me."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "He's gonna be."

"Either way," you mumbled. "Just let me handle it."

"Fine."

Dean pulled in to the underground garage and you both got out of the car. You weren't sure if Sam would even be there--you hadn't spoken to him in a couple days. For all you knew, he could have been kidnapped a second time--or maybe he thought you were the one missing.

As you entered into the bunker properly, you found it very quiet and very empty.

"Looks like nobody's home," Dean commented.

"Sam's probably worried about me--god only knows where he is," you muttered. You turned to Dean. "Let me borrow your phone."

He eyed you warily. "What happened to yours?"

"Crowley broke it."

Dean's eyes narrowed, flashing black aggressively. "He what?"

"Easy there killer--he broke my phone, not me."

"I'll kill him."

"Get in line," you mumbled as you stuck out your hand. "Phone, please."

He handed you his phone and you immediately dialed the familiar number. Sam answered on the second ring, hope and surprise in his voice, "Dean?"

"No, it's me."

You heard relief in his voice when he spoke again. "Where the hell are you? Are you okay? I was seriously worried--" he paused, seemingly remembering whose phone you were using. "Are you with Dean?"

Dean leaned in over your shoulder to speak into the phone. "Hiya, Sammy."

You elbowed Dean lightly. "I'm fine, Sam, and yes, I'm with Dean."

"How--?"

"Crowley."

"Why the hell didn't you call me?"

"Also, Crowley. He busted my phone--hence why I'm using Dean's."

"Are you--are you safe?"

You looked over at Dean and sighed. "Yeah, I'm safe."

Sam sighed in relief. "Where are you--I'll come get you."

"We're, uhh--we're actually back home."

"What?"

"We're at the bunker."

"How the hell did you convince him to come back with you?"

"We can talk about that when you get here. Just come home."

"I'm on my way."

You hung up the phone and handed it back to Dean, who gave you a hungry look.

"So...what should we do while we're waiting?"

"I know you're a demon, but I'm not," you said lightly. "I'm still sore."

"Aww c'mon, sweetheart," Dean pouted slightly. "I'll be gentle."

You shook your head with a small smile. "I'm not so sure about that."

"I was gentle yesterday morning, wasn't I?"

"After several orgasms and some very rough sex."

"I thought you enjoyed that," he said lowly, stepping closer to you.

You blushed, taking a step back. "I--I did."

He grinned predatorily. "I can make it very good for you, baby."

You felt a rush of arousal flood your body as he took another step towards you, backing you up against the large table behind you.

He breathed deeply and his eyes flashed black. "I can smell your desire."

You exhaled shakily.

Dean leaned forward, pinning you against the table. He placed one arm on the table and the other very lightly against your throat. "How 'bout I take you right here?"

You weren't opposed to the idea, but you weren't sure exactly how far away Sam was. "What if Sam comes back?"

Dean shrugged. "Then we'll give him a show."

You smacked his chest affectionately. "We will not."

"Then I guess you better hope he doesn't come back while I'm fucking you senseless."

You gasped and Dean leaned down, pressing his lips hungrily against yours. You kissed him back with the same amount of passion, fingers digging into his back to pull him closer to you.

You felt Dean's fingers brush against your chest and you pulled back immediately. "Wait!"

Surprise lit up his face and he released you instantly. "What's wrong?"

"This is my favorite flannel--you are not going to rip it."

Dean laughed heartily. "My apologies, sweetheart. You can take it off yourself then."

You quickly unbuttoned it and slid it off your shoulders, tossing it to the floor nearby. You looked back up at him, a sultry smile on your face. "You may continue."

"Oh, I will." Dean gripped the front of your bra and tore it directly down the center, revealing your heaving breasts to him.

You gasped at the action, but it quickly turned to a moan as his hands began to massage your breasts and pinch your nipples harshly.

Your hips instinctively jutted forward, seeking his body for some relief. Dean immediately noticed, pressing his body firmly against yours, knee sliding between your legs to apply pressure against your core.

You ground yourself down on his knee and groaned softly. You repeated the action, the friction giving you pleasure.

"That's it, pretty girl," Dean growled lowly. "Get yourself off my thigh."

You continued your motions, but it just wasn't enough to get you to your peak. You whimpered softly and Dean chuckled darkly.

"Not enough for you, baby? Need me to help you?"

"Please," you begged.

He made quick work of removing your jeans, but instead of removing your underwear, he simply ripped them right off, practically shredding the lace.

Dean slipped two of his fingers between your legs and plunged them into your core. You gasped and clenched tightly around him.

"Fuck, sweetheart--you're fuckin' soaked," Dean groaned into your neck, fingers thrusting in and out of you hastily. "So damn tight too."

You whined softly as he pulled his fingers out and slipped them into his mouth, sucking them clean. He gripped your hips tightly and lifted you to place you on the table properly.

You wrapped your legs tightly around him and pulled him in closely, desperately wanting to feel him against your skin. You tugged at his shirt, which he quickly removed.

Your fingers grasped at his belt, but he smacked your hand away. He said nothing as he dropped to his knees and tugged your hips forward.

"Spread those legs for me."

You did as he asked, spreading your legs as wide as you could. You waited for him to touch you, but he made no moves to do so. "Dean?" you asked softly, slight desperation in your voice.

His eyes raised up to meet yours, a dark expression on his face. "Touch yourself."

"What?" you asked in quiet confusion.

"You want some relief? Touch yourself."

You supported yourself on one arm while you moved the other between your legs. You were mortified by the wetness dripping down your folds, but you collected some before sliding your fingers between your labia.

Dean watched with dark, hungry eyes as you played with your clit, soft whimpers of enjoyment slipping from your lips.

"Spread yourself open so I can see," he demanded.

You did as he asked, using your other hand to spread yourself, giving him a proper view of your aching pussy.

"Fuck," he muttered beneath his breath. "Keep going."

Your fingers immediately went back to rubbing your clit, desperate to feel that tightening in your core--knowing the pleasure it would bring.

Dean's large hands splayed on your thighs, massaging them gently as he watched, eyes glued to your movements.

Finally, after what felt like hours, he leaned forward and licked into your pussy, making you shiver with anticipation. You moved your hand away and he slapped your pussy harshly, causing you to yelp.

"Did I fucking say you could stop?" he growled, eyes flashing black.

You inhaled sharply and shook your head, fingers immediately returning to your core. You wouldn't admit it to him, but you liked this dark side of him--he would never have let it come out like this if he were human. He was too afraid to hurt you--too protective to even consider it. You hadn't known how much you'd enjoy it until now...and you just had to hope Dean wouldn't notice.

Dean's tongue lapped lazily between your folds as you continued to massage your clit. Every time you felt the pressure begin to build in your gut, your fingers would instinctively speed up. Each time they sped up, Dean would pull your hand away, keeping your orgasm just out of reach.

After several minutes of this, Dean's control had begun to wane. When your fingers sped up, he once again removed your hand, only this time he replaced it with his mouth. You felt his tongue dance across your clit in the most pleasurable way, fingers entwining themselves in his hair.

Your hips bucked up towards his mouth, but he didn't relent. Even as you screamed his name and your juices began to gush, he kept his mouth on you, drinking up everything you gave him. It wasn't until you'd collapsed back onto the table that he finally pulled away and stood back up, licking his lips in satisfaction.

Your breathing was ragged and your vision was slightly blurred as you looked at him, waiting for him to make his next move. He quickly shed his jeans and boxers, tossing them out of the way before taking his cock into his hand.

He watched your chest rise and fall rapidly as he stroked himself, appreciating how fucked out you already looked. "I need you to sit up, sweetheart." His words sounded soft, but his voice was demanding.

You managed to slowly pull yourself into a sitting position, grabbing onto his muscular arms for support. He teased your entrance with his cock and you whimpered softly.

"Lean back on your hands," he murmured lowly.

You did as he asked, the angle allowing him better access to your pussy. He slipped the head of his cock between your folds and slowly began to push forward until he was completely sheathed inside you.

The feeling of fullness had you gasping softly, head tilted back as you tried to catch your breath.

Dean tugged you even closer by your hips so he could get even deeper. You cried out in pain as his first thrust hit your cervix, but Dean didn't seem to notice. His hips snapped forward repeatedly, each thrust threatening to send you flying across the table if not for his death grip on your hips.

The pain soon gave way to pleasure, the room filling with the sounds of your mixed moans, the slapping of skin, and the sounds of your slickness as he fucked you.

He snaked one hand around your back to pull you even closer to him, practically holding you as he kept his pace. Your legs had begun to shake and your arms were weakening--but you knew your orgasm was near.

"Harder," you whimpered, surprising him.

He growled. "You like it when I fuck you like a little slut, don't you?"

"Yes!" you cried out.

His hips moved impossibly faster, the thrusts harder than before.

"Don't stop!" you pleaded.

"I wouldn't dare." He kept the pace as steady as he could, even as he felt his own orgasm rising.

"Please, please, please," you rambled. "S-so close!"

Dean's hand wrapped around your throat, pressing lightly against it. "Cum for me, pretty girl," he growled.

"More!"

He tightened his grip on your throat, but not enough to hurt you. It was all you needed to push you over the edge and into bliss. You cried out as you came, the intensity of your orgasm sparking his own.

He shouted your name in surprise as hot spurts of cum filled you. His thrusts began to slow, but his grip on your body didn't lessen. He held on tightly as you both came down from your highs.

He roughly tugged you forward and off the table. You weren't stable enough to stand, but that didn't matter to him. He spun you around and forced your upper body down onto the table, spreading your legs with one of his.

His cock was already hard again and he plunged into you without warning, earning a cry from your lips.

"Fuck, this pussy is so good for me," he groaned. "I just wanna fuck you until you can't move."

"Dean!" you whimpered, body overly sensitive already.

Once again, his grip on your hips was bruising and his thrusts were almost painful in their depth and intensity. The only thing keeping you upright was the table beneath you, your legs no better than wet noodles.

"You look so fuckin' sexy like this--spread for me, pussy leaking my cum, fuckin' moaning so pretty...fuck." His thrusts sped up, making you cry out.

"Need--shit--need you to cum again, baby."

"I-I c-can't!"

"Yes you can--you've been so good for me. Just give me one more."

Tears welled in your eyes--your body ached horribly, but you wanted to please him so badly. Your hips and thighs hurt from his grip and the force of his thrusts pressing you into the table, but you tried to block all of that from your mind. You focused on the pleasurable feeling of his cock, desperate to give him what he wanted.

"I-I need more," you whimpered.

His hand immediately slipped around to your front and began to rub tight circles to your clit. The sensation nearly pushed you over the edge with how sensitive you were.

"Come on, sweetheart, I can tell you're close."

You moaned in response, focus entirely on reaching your high.

His finger moved faster, the friction sending you into overdrive. You screamed and your nails scratched against the wood as you desperately searched for something to cling to--something to ground you.

"Fuck, yes--that's it. Cum for me, baby."

You screamed again as you came--the pleasure so blinding you passed out for a few moments. When you came to, he was chasing his own high--thrusts becoming more sloppy by the second.

"G-gonna fill you u-up," he ground out, hands tightening on your hips painfully.

Two more thrusts and he was spilling inside of you, hips stuttering as he emptied his seed deep within you. He leaned forward, pressing you even farther into the table, his lips gently caressing your back.

Once he'd regained his breath--and his strength--he pulled out of you and stood up. You nearly slid off the table and onto the floor, but he caught you.

"Woah there--I've got you."

He scooped you up and carried you to the bedroom the two of you shared. He laid you down on the bed with surprising gentleness before climbing onto the bed with you.

"No--no more--please," you begged.

"Easy, sweetheart," he purred softly. "I know you're tired--I just wanna be inside of you."

He laid you on your side and he slid up into you, forcing some of his cum back into your pussy. You whimpered at the feeling of fullness, but even you had to admit you enjoyed the feeling.

He wrapped his arms tightly around you and pulled you close. "Go to sleep, baby. I've got you."

His tone was almost loving--if you didn't know better, you would have thought it was. You were too weak and tired to dwell on it, instead drifting off to sleep with unsurprising ease.

**********

Sam rushed into the bunker like a bat outta hell. He wanted to trust that his brother would never hurt you, but he worried for your safety. Dean was a knight of hell after all.

When he properly entered the war room, he froze. His eyes went to the clothing strewn about the space--a mixture of your's and Dean's. Out of all the things he'd expected, this had not been on the list. He couldn't believe you would be that foolish.

"(Y/N)? Dean?" he called as he walked farther into the bunker.

There was no response, so he made his way to where your bedroom was. The door was shut, so he knocked loudly.

You jolted awake at the loud banging, the movement making Dean moan softly. Somehow he was still hard and buried inside of you--where he'd been for however long you'd been asleep.

"(Y/N)? You in there?" Sam's voice called from the other side of the door.

Dean groaned in annoyance, but you answered anyway. "Yeah--just, uh...give us a minute."

"You coulda told him to go away," Dean mumbled into your shoulder.

"We'd just be delaying the inevitable."

He sighed and slowly removed himself from you, causing a soft whimper to escape your lips. He grinned and leaned down over you, kissing you softly. "Don't worry, we can do it again later."

You kissed him back, before giving him a light push against his chest. "I need clothes."

You dragged yourself out of bed and moved around the room, throwing various items of clothing on to make yourself decent. You wanted a shower, but that would have to wait until after you'd talked to Sam.

Dean watched you from his place in the bed, not making a move to get dressed himself.

"You coming?" you asked.

"I'll give you a head start," he answered. "You can talk to Sam alone."

You nodded. "Alright."

You exited the bedroom, closing the door behind you. Sam was standing at the end of the hall near the entrance to the library. The look he gave you told you exactly what kind of mood he was in. He disappeared into the library and you followed shortly after.

"Sam, I can explain--"

"Explain? Really? You wanna explain why you're sleeping with demon Dean?"

"Oh like you can talk," you shot back. "You slept with a demon several times--and she tried to destroy the world."

Sam's eyes narrowed, but he knew you were right.

"Besides, he's still Dean...just a demon," you mumbled.

"Fine," Sam said with a sigh. "Is that how you convinced him to come back with you?"

You averted your gaze and bit your lip lightly. "Not exactly."

"(Y/N)...what did you do?"

"What I had to do."

"(Y/N)."

"I, uh--I made him a promise."

Sam's face paled slightly. "What did you promise him?"

You closed your eyes and exhaled slowly. "I told him I wouldn't force him to become human again."

"You what?" Sam yelled. "You can't possibly keep that promise."

"I have to, Sam. I've never betrayed Dean before and I sure as hell won't start now."

"Are you kidding me? He's a demon, (Y/N)! A monster! The kind of thing he's loathed for his entire life--you really think he wants this?"

"Of course I don't!" you yelled back. "Do you really think I want my husband to be a demon forever? This was the only way to get him to agree to come back here with me. I don't regret making this promise and I would do it again if I had to!"

"So you'll break it?" Sam asked again, voice still raised.

"No," you answered firmly. "I can't."

"How could you be so stupid, (Y/N)?" Sam yelled harshly. "This is the dumbest goddamn thing you've ever done!"

Dean appeared seemingly out of nowhere, wedging himself between you and Sam. He pushed Sam back aggressively, eyes flashing to black. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a growl. "Don't you ever speak to her like that again, or you won't make it to see another sunrise."

"Dean!" you cried, stepping forward to place a calming hand on his arm. "It's alright--I'm fine."

Dean ignored you, black eyes still trained on his brother's face. "Do you understand me?"

Sam nodded slowly.

"Apologize."

"Dean, that's not necessary," you tried.

He held up his hand to silence you. "Apologize."

Sam swallowed thickly. "I'm sorry, (Y/N). I shouldn't have said that."

"It's alright, Sam."

"Don't do it again," Dean seethed.

"Dean," you murmured softly. "We're good--I'm good."

He finally relaxed his shoulders and took a step back. His eyes flicked back to green and he turned to look at you. He seemed to scan you, checking to make sure you really were okay.

"I'm fine," you mouthed.

He nodded, finally believing you. He turned back to his brother. "Now you gonna play nice and adhere to (Y/N/N)'s promise?"

"I don't like it," Sam responded. "But fine."

Dean grinned. "Excellent. Otherwise we'd have quite a problem on our hands."

You exchanged glances between the two men and worried they would have some sort of fight sooner than later. You knew you needed to get the First Blade to Crowley before something terrible happened.

"Sam, can I borrow your phone for a moment?" you asked suddenly.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to you. Dean eyed you warily, wondering what you were up to.

"Just gonna make a quick call...outside," you mumbled.

You practically ran towards the steps, taking two at a time to get out of there before someone asked too many questions. You called Crowley as soon as the bunker door closed behind you.

"Mrs. Squirrel," Crowley answered by way of greeting.

You rolled your eyes, opting not to comment on the annoying nickname. "I have the Blade."

"Where?"

"The Bunker."

He appeared a few feet away from you and you hung up your phone. You gestured for him to follow you down towards the garage.

"Stay here," you insisted, before entering the garage as quietly as possible.

You went straight for Baby, popping the trunk to retrieve the First Blade from the demon-proof box you'd placed it in. You made your way back outside quickly, not wanting to alert Dean to your movements.

"Take it," you demanded, holding it out to Crowley. "And for the love of god, hide it--put it somewhere Dean will never find it."

"I can assure you, it will be hidden well."

"Good. Now get the hell outta here before I change my mind about killing you."

Crowley smirked mirthlessly. "With pleasure."

He disappeared, taking the First Blade with him. Relief flooded your body and you turned to make your way back into the bunker, hoping to find both men in one piece.

**********

It had been a week since you and Dean had returned to the bunker. As the week went on, Dean's anger and aggression became more and more noticeable.

He hadn't said anything to you, but you knew Dean was jonesing for a kill. You could tell by the way he'd react to things--even the slightest of annoyances would have him reacting violently.

The other indicator came out in Dean's sexual desires. He wanted you almost constantly, regardless of where you were, who else was around, or what was going on. While that alone wasn't problematic, what was concerning was his increasing aggression during sex--and if he didn't get what he wanted immediately.

There wasn't a single inch of your skin he hadn't marked in some way, and you were beyond exhausted. The one time you'd dared to say no to him, resulted in him punching a dent into a metal wall--an action that frightened you. You still didn't think he would hurt you, but you weren't willing to risk it.

Sam had begun to notice as well, especially as it pertained to the marks on your skin. Dean no longer cared about hiding them and makeup wasn't cutting it anymore.

Sam's gaze was on you as you entered the library one morning, limping slightly.

"You know, I'm really starting to worry about you," Sam said quietly.

"I'm alright," you lied as you lowered yourself into a chair, wincing in discomfort.

"Right," Sam muttered sarcastically. "You can't even sit without being in pain."

"If it keeps him from killing someone, then it's worth it," you snapped back.

Sam fell silent, knowing you were right. He wanted to bring up breaking your promise again, but he knew you wouldn't budge. He worried about how Dean would feel about all of this if he became human again...he knew his brother well enough to know it would kill him to know he'd hurt you like this.

Another week went by in much the same manner, but Dean's urge to kill had only worsened. He still hadn't hurt you outside of sex, but you'd begun to fear him--really fear him.

You'd decided to address the issue with him while Sam was out on a store run. You thought he might take it better if Sam wasn't hovering around.

Dean was sitting in the kitchen, drinking his coffee, when you walked in.

"Hey, D," you said softly. "Can we talk?"

He grunted and gestured for you to continue.

"It's about your behavior the last couple weeks. I-I know the bloodlust is getting bad and to be honest, your temper is starting to really scare me."

He looked up at you with black eyes. "Maybe if you'd let me go out and do some hunting I wouldn't be so volatile."

"You know we can't do that, Dean."

"We," he scoffed. "Since when did you and Sam become 'we'?"

You closed your eyes and sighed, ignoring his question. "You're too unpredictable. You know that better than anyone."

He stood up and took a menacing step towards you. "Give me the Blade and let me go out for a while...one or two kills and I'll be right as rain."

"I can't do that."

"I think you mean won't."

You shook your head. "I can't. I don't have the Blade."

He froze. "What the hell do you mean you don't have it?"

"I-I couldn't risk you getting ahold of it...so I made sure it was safe."

His gaze narrowed, eyes still black as ink. He took several steps towards you, but you backed away until you hit the wall behind you.

He was inches from your face when he growled lowly, "Where is it?"

"I don't know," you whispered.

"What?"

"I don't know," you repeated.

"Where did you put it?"

You were deeply regretting telling him anything at all, but you still blurted out, "I gave it to someone!"

"Who?!"

"I needed to make sure it was hidden where you would never be able to find it," you said desperately.

"Who did you give it to?" he roared.

"Crowley," you whimpered in fear.

Dean punched the wall directly beside your head and you yelped in surprise and fear.

"What the fuck were you thinking?"

You didn't answer--too afraid to push his buttons further. You could feel the rage rolling off him in waves and you felt the cold terror seize your heart.

"Call him and get it back," he ordered.

"No," you whispered. You wouldn't risk Dean getting ahold of the Blade...not for anything.

He pinned you against the wall by your throat, slamming your head back against the wall with enough force to break the skin.

His grip on your throat was painfully tight and you tried desperately to get away. "Dean--" you gasped.

For a moment, you were certain he was going to kill you--you would be the next victim of the Mark's bloodlust and there was nothing you could do about it. Even with his eyes filled with darkness, you could see the boiling rage in them. He wasn't seeing you, he was seeing his next victim.

You struggled against his hold on your throat, trying to loosen his grip enough for you to speak. You smacked your hands against his chest, trying anything to get him to release you.

You suddenly remembered your failsafe--you'd starting carrying it everywhere when Dean became more volatile. You managed to pull the item from your pocket, breaking the lid off as you brought it up and splashed the liquid into Dean's face.

He screamed and released you as the holy water burned his skin. You dropped to the ground, gasping for breath, head throbbing painfully. As you coughed and sputtered, you reached a hand to the back of your head, touching the wound softly. When you brought your hand back down, you saw blood staining your fingers.

At first, all Dean could feel was rage--you'd dared to splash holy water in his face? He'd kill you for it. But then his gaze landed on you as you crouched on the floor, blood soaking your fingers, trying to catch your breath. He looked up and saw the blood on the wall where he'd slammed your head against it and he immediately felt sick.

He stepped away from you, eyes flicking back to green as tears filled them. He hadn't meant to hurt you--even as a demon, he'd never wanted to hurt you. He'd let the Mark's rage get the best of him and he'd nearly killed you.

He backed away to the other side of the room and sank to the floor, dropping his head into his hands. He was ashamed of what he had done and for the first time since he'd become a demon, he felt like a monster.

A few minutes later, Sam came into the kitchen, arms laden with bags. His eyes landed on you first and he dropped the bags as he rushed to your side.

"(Y/N)! What happened? Are you okay?"

Without waiting for your response, Dean spoke up. "I happened."

Sam turned to look at Dean on the other side of the room. He felt angry when he heard Dean's words, but the anger dissipated when he saw the agony etched into his brother's face.

"I-I was so angry..." Dean whispered. "I didn't mean to."

"I'm okay," you rasped, voice hoarse from the trauma to your throat.

The sound of your voice nearly broke Dean's heart in half. "Give me the cure," he said to Sam.

"What?" Sam gasped in surprised.

"Make me human again. Please." The desperation in Dean's voice shocked both of you, as did his request.

"Are-are you sure?" you asked.

Dean looked at you in a mixture of sadness and pain. "I would rather risk death than ever hurt you again."

His words washed over you, warming the ache in your chest. You didn't say anything further--you couldn't find the words.

"Let's go then," Sam said firmly.

Dean stood up and followed Sam down to the dungeon. Sam came back a few minutes later to help clean your wounds. As he cleaned your head wound, he told you he'd secured Dean in the dungeon and he'd called for Castiel.

"We might need some backup for this," he muttered.

You nodded, the simple action making your head throb painfully.

"Try not to move too much," Sam said gently.

"I'm alright."

"What happened?" Castiel spoke from the doorway.

"Dean did," Sam said with a sigh.

"You need to be healed."

"No," you insisted as you held up your hand. "Don't waste what little grace you have left on me."

Cas looked down sadly, but he didn't come towards you. "Where is Dean?"

"Dungeon," you mumbled.

Cas walked away, apparently on his way to see Dean.

Sam finished cleaning your head wound and stood up. "I don't think you need stitches."

"Great," you groaned, standing up slowly.

"Woah--take it easy."

"I'm fine, Sam. We need to do this before he changes his mind."

"Cas and I can handle it."

You shook your head. "I'm not leaving him."

Sam sighed and gave you his arm to hold onto while walking down to the dungeon. When you opened the door, you saw Dean strapped to a chair in the center of the room. Cas stood off to the side, waiting.

"Let's get started," you said softly.

You left the dirty work to Sam--you couldn't bring yourself to hurt Dean, even after everything that had happened.

Listening to Dean's screams and pleas was almost too much for you to bear, but you knew it had to be done. Dean had asked to become human again...and there was nothing you wanted more.

Despite the agony he was experiencing, Dean insisted Sam continue the injections. As much as he would have rather stayed a demon, he was too afraid of what he would do to you if left unchecked.

You closed your eyes as Dean once again screamed in pain. You weren't sure how much more of this you could take, let alone Dean.

Dean noticed your demeanor--could tell your resolve was weakening. "It's okay, baby," he told you breathlessly. "I'm okay."

You opened your eyes and looked at him, unshed tears blurring your vision. He gave you a small, weak smile, which you tried to return. It ended up looking more like a wince than anything else.

"I wanted this, remember? I want this," he insisted.

You nodded tearfully. "I know. I just don't like seeing you in pain."

"We've only got one injection left," Sam cut in gently.

You watched in silence as Sam injected him with the final dose. Dean once again cried out, before falling completely silent, head drooping forward.

"Dean?" you whispered in fear.

When he didn't respond, you worried you had all gone too far...that Dean was dead.

As the three of you stared at the man in the chair, you heard a soft groan escape his lips and he slowly lifted his head. His eyes fluttered open, revealing the beautiful green orbs you loved so much.

"You guys look worried," Dean said softly.

Sam splashed some holy water on his brother, but the liquid had no effect.

You let out a choked sob, beyond relieved to have your husband back.

You thought you heard Sam say, "welcome back Dean," but you were too focused on Dean's face to be sure. His own gaze was locked on yours, tears filing his eyes as he slowly took in the marks littering your skin--especially the bruising around your throat in the shape of his hand.

"(Y/N/N)," he whispered, his voice more broken than you'd ever heard it.

"Uncuff him," you said to Sam, who immediately did as you asked.

Dean stood up, clearly weak from the ordeal he'd just gone through, but nothing would have stopped him from getting to you.

He was a foot or two away from you when you gave in to your own desires, closing the gap between you. You wrapped your arms around him tightly and sobbed into his chest--letting out all the pain you'd kept inside for the last couple months.

Dean's arms held you close, lips pressed firmly into your hair, his own tears streaming down his face. Neither of you spoke--there was no need, not yet anyway.

After several minutes, you finally stepped back, wiping the tears from your face. You smiled up at him and whispered, "I love you."

You saw something flash across his face, but it was gone before you could place it. "I love you too," he murmured.

You stood to the side as Sam hugged Dean, followed by Cas. Everyone was glad to have him back, but you could see Dean was struggling--he clearly remembered every moment of being a demon...and you had no idea what kind of impact that would have on him.

"Alright guys, I think he needs some rest. He's been through a lot today," you interrupted softly.

Dean looked at you gratefully and both Sam and Cas nodded their agreement.

"Come on," you murmured, reaching out for Dean's hand.

He grabbed it and followed you to your shared bedroom. To your surprise, he stopped just outside the door. "I think I'd rather sleep in one of the other rooms."

You looked at him in confusion, but he wouldn't quite meet your gaze. "Okay," you whispered. "Whatever you'd prefer."

You followed him to a room down the hall, waiting quietly as he took off his boots before climbing into the bed.

"Do you need anything?"

"No, I'm alright."

You knew he was most definitely not alright, but now wasn't the time to address it.

"Okay. I'll be down the hall if you need me."

He nodded, but said nothing further. He once again couldn't look at you as you left the room. Sadness laced its icy tendrils around your heart, despite the joy you felt at Dean's return to humanity.

You went to join Sam and Cas in the library, not quite wanting to be alone. You didn't want to talk either, but just being around people you loved made you feel a little bit better.

You knew Dean's road to recovery would be long, as would your own. You weren't sure what trials lay ahead of you, but you knew the two of you would make it through--you always did.

If there was one thing you knew for sure, it was how much Dean loved you--if the last few weeks taught you anything, it was that. Your own love for Dean was equally endless--there was nothing you wouldn't do for him. As cliche as it was, love really could conquer all.

#dean winchester smut #dean winchester x reader smut #dean winchester x reader #supernatural smut #supernatural #dean winchester x wife reader smut #dean winchester x wife reader #jensen ackles smut #demon!dean #demon!dean x reader smut #demon!dean smut

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seungkw1 · 2 months ago

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pretty little present — smg

♡ pairing: bf!mingi x afab!reader ♡ theme: smut ♡ wc: 2.5k ♡ warnings: dom!mingi, sub!reader, size kink (obviously), reader wears lingerie, mingi picks up reader and carries them, masturbation (f. & m.), oral (f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), multiple orgasms (f. receiving), unprotected piv sex (do not do this), dacryphilia, possessiveness, creampie, reader gets one (1) hickey, pet names (princess, doll, babygirl), great aftercare, fluff ending ♡ a/n: i don’t normally write atz but bestie @myhimbomingi requested a mingi fic and i absolutely said yes!! i had such a fun time writing him hehe

The soft light of early dawn filters through your eyelids as you slowly drift into consciousness. You roll over, flopping your arm over your sleeping boyfriend to snuggle up next to him - but your hand hits nothing but the bedsheets. You sleepily pry your eyes open to see his side of the bed vacant. You grab your phone to check your texts - sure enough, you have a message from Mingi, sent at 6:14am:

good morning babe :) sorry to leave without saying goodbye but i didnt wanna wake u, u looked so cute!! i had to leave early for work today but i promise i’ll make it up to u! i left u a present on the counter, we’ll put it to good use tonight ;) love you ❤️

You were planning on going back to sleep, but now you're simply too curious. You hop out of bed and make your way to the kitchen. There, on the counter, you see a flat, gift-wrapped box - creamy white in color with baby pink ribbons tying it together. Whatever it is, it looks expensive. You untie the pastel bow and remove the lid. Underneath several layers of crisp white tissue paper, you find your present: a lingerie set.

The set is jet black, made of silky mesh adorned with lace and satin ribbons. It’s light as a feather, buttery soft to the touch - clearly a luxury item. You've never worn anything like it in your life, but it's beautiful.

You pull your phone out to text your boyfriend.

got your gift, hurry home to me ;)

The typing bubble immediately pops up. Within seconds he responds.

i will baby 😘

The day passes at an annoyingly slow pace. You didn't have much to do today anyway, so you try to occupy yourself with chores, but you can't help daydreaming about what all Mingi will be doing to you later.

Finally, evening rolls around - Mingi will be home soon.

You take a quick shower to freshen up, afterwards donning your new lingerie set. With all its various straps it takes you a few minutes to even figure out how to get it on, but once you do you step in front of your full length mirror to check it out. You knew it was gonna be really pretty on, but you look fucking hot. You start thinking about how feral it's going to make Mingi - quickly ruining the delicate panties at the mere thought of him.

You grab some leggings and a big tshirt and throw them on. Another peek in the mirror verifies that you can't tell what you're wearing underneath the comfy clothes - all the more perfect to surprise him with.

A few minutes later, you hear the sound of the front door being unlocked and opened.

“Babe, I’m home!” Mingi calls out.

You flutter on over to meet him, practically skipping as you jump into his arms. He pulls you in for a big kiss, placing his large hand on the back of your head, petting your hair softly as he holds you tight against him. As his lips depart from yours, he smiles, gazing at you with pure love.

“I missed you,” you tell him as you place your hand on his chest.

“I missed you too,” he replies as he kisses your forehead.

“Soooo,” he starts as he tosses his bag down and kicks his shoes off. “What do you say we try out your new present?”

“Already?” you reply coyly. “Don’t you wanna eat dinner first?”

“It can wait,” he says as he lightly grabs onto your chin. His voice turns low and rumbly.

“I’d rather eat you.”

You giggle. “Well somebody's horny.”

“I've been thinking about you all day - thinking about how good you're gonna look in your gift.” He strokes your jaw with his thumb. “Gonna be my pretty little present.”

He grabs the hem of your tshirt, starting to pull it off of you.

“Why don't we get you out of these clothes already and-”

He stops. He’s lifted your shirt just enough to reveal the black lacy lingerie underneath.

“Oh.”

“One step ahead of you, baby,” you say sweetly.

“Fuckkkkk,” he groans. He helps you lift your shirt the rest of the way off, flinging it aside as he takes in the sight of you. The mesh lining of the bra is entirely sheer, putting your nipples on full display. The coolness of the room combined with how turned on you’re getting makes them perk up, poking through the delicate fabric.

He brushes his fingers over the protruding buds, making them even harder. He licks his lips as he gazes at you, the love in his eyes quickly turning into lust.

You reach for the waist of your leggings, sliding them off of you to reveal the rest of the set. You kick them aside, standing up before him to show yourself off.

“Turn around for me,” Mingi commands.

You give him a twirl, wiggling your butt as your back faces him. He grabs onto you with both hands, squeezing your ass, kneading the soft flesh in his hands.

You let him touch you for a few moments before you spin around, grabbing his hands as you pull him with you toward the bedroom.

“Come on, what are you waiting for?” you tease.

Before you can take another step you feel your feet depart from the ground - Mingi grabs you by the waist, lifting you off the floor as he picks you up. He practically tosses you over his shoulder as he carries you down the hallway, his arm wrapped tightly around your torso as he holds you against him.

“Hey!!” you shout, but a big grin spreads across your face. So he’s in this kind of mood. You know he’s about to throw you around, have his way with you - even more so than normal. You feel your pussy clench in anticipation.

You arrive at the bedroom. Mingi tosses you onto the bed - you land on your back, resting upon the pile of pillows. You keep your legs open, showing off your pussy through the sheer fabric of your underwear.

“So wet for me already,” he says as he runs two fingers lightly across your clothed slit. He gives your cunt a gentle smack.

“Touch yourself for me, princess. Leave your panties on.”

You obediently slide your fingers to your core. Mingi quickly pulls his shirt over his head, then reaches for his belt. You begin stroking your clit through the soft mesh as you watch him remove his clothes, freeing the large bulge that has formed in his pants. He pulls his boxers down, his length springing free. As many times as you’ve had sex with him, you’re still always taken aback by his size. His cock is thick, long, hard - precum already dribbling from his tip. He strokes himself a few times as he watches you. You slip your fingers underneath your panties, sliding them into your opening. You moan softly at the sensation - but you know this is absolutely nothing compared to how much his cock is going to fill you up.

He watches you slowly fuck yourself for a minute, gripping his length in his fist. As you start to wriggle slightly to your own touch, he steps forward. You yelp as he grabs you by the ankles, yanking you toward the edge of the mattress. He kneels down, leaning against the bed, positioning his face in front of your cunt. His hands slide up the underside of your thighs, pushing your legs up and into the bed, nearly folding you in half as he opens you up even further before him. He sticks his tongue out, dragging its tip ever so lightly over your clit through the panties - it’s enough to drive you insane.

“Mingi,” you whine, trying to push yourself into his mouth. He retracts his head, not letting you get what you want just yet.

“What’s that, baby?” he asks. The way he’s staring at you, you can tell he is dying to taste you - but he doesn’t miss the opportunity to taunt you a bit.

“Please,” you softly mumble under your breath.

“Use your words, doll. Tell me exactly what you want.”

“Want your mouth on me,” you manage to utter, still trying to push your cunt against his mouth - but his grip on you is too strong. “Want you to make me cum.”

“Like this?” he asks, teasing you once more as his tongue dances over your pussy.

“God, yes,” you cry. You feel like you’re going to lose your mind if he delays any further.

“Or,” he continues as he reaches beneath the hem of your panties, pulling them aside. The coolness of the air hits your soaked core, countered by the hot exhales of Mingi’s breath against you. “Like this…”

He dives into you, his warm mouth greeting your cunt as his tongue traces between your folds. He sticks the tip into your hole - you’re so wet right now that it slips in with ease. You groan as he fucks you with his tongue, his nose pressing against your clit as he swirls his tongue around inside you. He pulls it out, flattening his tongue and licking a big stripe up your center before latching onto your clit. You cry out at the overpowering stimulation, writhing beneath Mingi’s strong arms as he sucks on the sensitive bud. A white-hot sensation swells in your gut, burning delightfully as you feel your orgasm approach. Your body tenses, your legs beginning to quiver as Mingi devours you. You reach for his head, grasping onto his hair as your climax takes over. You scream out Mingi’s name as you cum on his face, his tongue moving relentlessly against your clit as you ride out your high. He grips onto you until the very end, face buried in your pussy as you come down. Just when you think it’s over, he starts up again, sucking on your clit as he slips his fingers into you, curling them perfectly to reach your g-spot. Within moments, you’re cumming again, grinding against his tongue as overwhelming pleasure courses through your veins. He slows his motions, giving your clit a few last gentle licks as he slides his fingers out of you. They’re dripping wet, as is his entire chin - he places them in his mouth, licking them clean, making sure he doesn’t waste a single drop of you.

You lay there, your chest rising up and down with heavy breaths as you try to recover. Mingi crawls up to meet your face, kissing you slowly on the mouth as he lays his weight upon you - resting on his forearms so he doesn’t completely squish you. You feel his cock throbbing against your cunt as he makes out with you - you can just tell he is unbearably hard.

Mingi’s lips part from yours - barely, just enough so he can gaze into your eyes as he strokes your hair.

“Please fuck me,” you beg, your voice barely more than a whisper.

He nuzzles his head into your neck, sucking at your skin - lightly, but enough that you know it’ll leave a mark.

“Anything for my princess,” he whispers into your ear.

He stands up, pulling your hips toward him. He grabs onto the panties, ripping them off of you and throwing them aside. He lines his cock up with your entrance; he pushes just the head in, but he’s already stretching you out. Slowly he slides his full length into you - you cry out at the overwhelming fullness. He rests inside you for a few moments, letting you get used to his size. You begin shifting your hips, trying to ride his cock from beneath him. Mingi grins.

“So eager,” he coos, tracing his fingers over your stomach. “Are you ready babygirl?”

“Uh-huh,” you mewl, nodding your head swiftly.

He begins fucking you, steadily at first, but your cries quickly makes him increase his pace. Tears flow from your eyes as his thickness stretches you with each motion. He grasps tightly onto your hips, pulling you against him as he thrusts into you. He looks down at you, his pretty baby, losing all composure on his cock. He moans loudly, uninhibited - he doesn’t care if the whole world hears him. He wants everybody to know you’re his.

He reaches down, feeling your breasts through the lacy sheer bra.

“So pretty,” he groans. “So perfect, all mine.”

His hand slides down to your stomach, pushing down on your abdomen as he fucks you. The other reaches for your clit - you didn’t think you could possibly cum again, but the gentle pressure of his fingers combined with his cock nearly splitting you in half just feels too good.

“Gonna cum,” you manage to get out, barely able to speak through your cries of pleasure.

“Cum for me babygirl,” Mingi growls, very near his own release.

You cum on his cock, crying out his name as your walls squeeze around him - sending him over the edge. He releases, painting your insides with his hot white ropes. He grasps onto your hips, holding you down against him as his cock pulsates inside you. He breathes heavily, grunting as he gives you every last spurt of his cum. As he finishes, he holds still, his cock resting inside you. He leans over, careful not to pull out just yet - gently he grabs your jaw as he kisses you, his lips hungrily interlocked with yours.

“Wait right here baby,” he says softly as your mouths finally part. You groan as he carefully pulls his cock out of you, immediately missing the sensation. Mingi quickly makes his way to the bathroom; he returns with a small towel, doused in warm water. Gently he cleans you up, cautious as not to overstimulate you. As he finishes he tosses the towel back into the bathroom, scooping you up and pulling you into the bed with him. He tucks the both of you underneath the blankets, taking you in his arms as he nuzzles up against you.

“Are you cold?” he asks, kissing you on the forehead.

“Not with you here.”

“Good.”

You lay there in silence, deep breaths filling the air as you relax into each other's arms.

“Thanks for the present, baby,” you finally say, your voice soft and sleepy.

“You’re welcome, love.”

“You did completely rip it to shreds, though,” you remind him.

Mingi smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, I got a little carried away. You just looked too good.”

He cradles your cheek in his palm. “I’ll just have to get you another one,” he tells you with a kiss.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” you say as you snuggle up into him. “Just give me a few business weeks to recover from this please.”

He laughs, drawing you even closer into him. You begin to drift off to sleep, comfortable and warm in his embrace.

“Mingi?” you say softly.

“Yes, babe?”

“I love you.”

You feel his cheeks turn into a smile.

“I love you too, baby.”

#ren's fics ੈ♡₊˚•.#mingi #song mingi #mingi fics #mingi smut #mingi x reader #ateez fics #ateez smut #atz fics #atz smut #atz mingi #atz imagines #atz x reader #atz hard hours

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mangostarjam · 4 months ago

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the proposal — kaiju no. 8, hoshina soshiro x f!reader, established fwb to fake engagement to lovers, smut, oral (m!receiving), piv sex, creampies, fingering, unprotected sex, slight exhibitionism/sex act in a public place, praise, mentions of oral (f!receiving), reader is referred to as 'girl', 'pretty girl', and 'honey', reader is unable/chooses not to have kids, written for the romcom collab run by @bloompompom ! 11.6k words

a/n: i really should've rewatched the movie before writing this but i got carried away! also my first time really writing in soshiro's pov which was an interesting challenge. would i do some things differently? yeah. am i going to share this anyway and apply those things next time? yeah. anyway i hope you enjoy!

Hoshina Soshiro wakes up with a handful of something soft.

It only takes a moment before he realizes what's going on. You've been sleeping over more and more often lately, and your previous activities must've worn you both out more than expected.

It makes sense. Soshiro was a little stressed, and you've always been willing to help him relieve it.

He squeezes your tit and snickers quietly when you grumble at him. You're sleep-warm and utterly relaxed, your body melting back into the solid length of him as you resettle in his bed. It's barely dawn, the room brightening little by little, the light catching on the loose strands of your hair and the sweep of your eyelashes as you scrunch your nose at his teasing. He pinches your nipple lightly.

"Hoshina-kun… I'll dropkick you if you're trying to go again right now."

"You're the one who keeps squirmin'," he points out. You push your hips back against him again in retaliation and his cock twitches with interest. "You sure ya don't want another round? One for the road?"

He watches you consider it, your eyes blinking open and squinting at the clock on his nightstand. He rolls your nipple between his fingers and smirks when your lashes flutter at the feeling, only to bite back a groan when you arch into his touch. Fuck, you're so sexy.

"You just want me reporting to Narumi with your cum staining my panties," you mutter. Oh, now there's an idea. He knows you can feel how hard he's gotten, pressed up tight against your ass. Soshiro won't deny that you're right.

You're naked besides the shirt you grabbed from his closet last night, though the soft material has rucked up around the curve of your waist. He's similarly barely dressed, just the thin barrier of his briefs keeping him from pressing against you fully skin to skin. You're so soft and pliant in his arms, fitting perfectly in the crescent moon shape of his body as his little spoon.

"You'd like that," he murmurs, relishing the little shiver that goes up your spine. In a moment of weakness, you had confessed once that you really liked his morning voice (and his seriously-gonna-kick-this-kaiju's-ass voice, and his follow-my-orders voice, and — but then he'd turned you around and fucked you against the counter muttering praises in your ear as you came all over his cock). "Don'tcha think it'd be fun? He's already gonna know you spent the night."

As evidenced by the many hickies Soshiro's left all over your neck. It might be a little childish, this possessiveness — especially when you're not even his, not really — but Soshiro likes leaving little marks wherever he can, some sort of proof that you were together and that you chose to fall into bed with him.

And you keep choosing him, even as Captain Narumi Gen of the First Division actively pursues you. You tell Soshiro all the time that rank doesn't mean much to you, and it's not like you're sleeping with people for advancing or clout — but you're a platoon leader in the First Division and that means you spend way more time with Gen than with him. It wouldn't surprise Soshiro if one day you decided he wasn't worth the hassle of traveling down to the Tachikawa base on your days off, if you decided that Gen is actually kinda hot and could get in your pants for once.

That'd be the end of your friends-with-benefits relationship. The two of you agreed from the beginning that it'd be exclusive — neither of you wanted to worry about protection, and Soshiro didn't want to bother with the hassle of other partners anyway. It was easiest with you and only you.

"Hey," you mutter, turning in his arms to face him and leaning up to bite fondly at his chin. "You're thinking too much."

He knows he is. The message he received yesterday from the Hoshina clan sits heavy in the back of his mind, though he can kind of ignore it as you suck bruises into his neck.

Soshiro groans low in his throat and leans down to kiss you as you sneak your hand into his briefs. He feels hot and shivery, arousal pooling deep in his gut as all the blood in his body flows away from his brain. You give his cock a few slow pumps, smearing the precum gathering at the tip to help the glide of your hand along his length, squeezing and twisting your wrist just right as he shudders and grabs at your ass. You kiss him hard, seemingly determined to erase his train of thought, dragging your tongue along his teeth and sucking on his lip as you throw your leg over his hip. "Fuckin' hell —"

"You're so hard," you mutter, rolling the two of you over so that Soshiro's flat on his back with your legs on either side of his hips. His hands go immediately to grip your thighs, eyes widening at the wet smear of arousal you leave along his lower abs as you drag his briefs halfway down his legs. He kicks them the rest of the way off as you press down on one of the bruises you left on his shoulder. "Fuck, Hoshina, you're so — you look so — I'm gonna — wanna ride you, 'kay?"

As if he'd say no. As if he'd ever protest anything you want to do when you're grinding the soft folds of your pussy along his cock, practically dripping on it as you adjust the angle and squeeze the base of him in your haste to sit on it.

Soshiro doesn't cum right away, though it's a close call. The wet, sticky heat of you enveloping his bare cock is a feeling he'll never get tired of. It's heaven and hell all wrapped up in you, in being with you, being inside you. You moan as he enters you, a low, rough sound almost punched unwillingly out of your chest.

"Hold on to me," he grunts, offering his hands for leverage. You take the offer gratefully, squeezing his fingers as you bottom out and pant. "Fuck, how're you still so tight?"

"Why're you still so big?" you huff, wiggling your hips a little to adjust to the stretch. Soshiro tenses, groaning as your walls bear down on him. He's not going to cum. He won't. He can last a bit longer. "I thought we went like, three rounds last night," you mutter, "you should be wrung out by now."

Soshiro laughs. "And I thought I fucked ya last night," he says. "Thought I fucked ya good and proper. But you're just too good for me, huh? Too good at bein' so fuckin' perfect."

He punctuates his statement with a sharp thrust, relishing the startled whine you let out and laughing a little more when you shoot him a halfhearted glare. "Quit it," you demand, "let me do this."

You raise your hips and drop down on him carefully, working up into a pace that makes your tits bounce. Soshiro wants to see — wants you naked — and thankfully you don't stop him as he reaches up to pull your borrowed shirt off. The change in angle makes your stuttered moans veer into whines, mixing with the sound of skin slapping skin echoing in the morning air. "You're doin' so well," Soshiro groans, hands coming up to hold whatever he can. You grab his shoulders for leverage, back arching as he leans forward to suck one nipple into his mouth.

"Hah — ahh, Hoshina —"

"What'd I tell ya to call me?" Soshiro grunts, switching to your other nipple with a lewd pop. He swirls his tongue around the pert bud and reaches down to rub quick circles around your neglected clit. "C'mon, pretty girl, what'd I say?"

You gush around his fingers, coating his cock in a ring of white as you bounce on it desperately. Soshiro can tell you're getting close — your whines get cut off, your walls get tighter, you dig your nails into his shoulders — and it only makes the coil threatening to snap in his gut tighten harder.

It's too early for this. You're worn out from last night, and pleasure is making your muscles strain. Soshiro can feel your thighs trembling with the effort of riding him. He leans back on one hand to help, timing his thrusts as you drop back down, hitting that spot deep inside you, keeping his other hand at your clit as you sob. The friction is driving him insane — you feel so good. He can usually keep his mouth shut during sex, only letting out rough groans and stuttered moans, but knowing you're affected by his raspy morning voice has him dropping his filter with every thrust.

"Feels so fuckin' good, pretty, you look so perfect on my cock," he grunts. You tilt your head towards the ceiling as you pant, granting him access to suck more bruises into your neck to bloom along with the ones from last night. "You're such a good girl — such a good fucking girl —"

Oh, he's gonna cum soon. You're squeezing him so tight, your wet walls squelching obscenely with every thrust.

And then you say it —

"F-fuck, Hoshina — I'm gonna — Soshiro I'm gonna cum —"

Ah, fuck.

"Nghh," Soshiro feels it snap, feels his thrusts get sloppy as he cums, thick ropes of white painting your insides as you whine and cry and cum around him, squeezing him tight, feels the sharp zip of pleasure racing through his body as all his muscles release.

You collapse on top of him and he catches you, breathing hard, sweat beading his temple and dripping into your hair. His arm is loose around your waist and he's trembling holding the two of you up with his hand planted flat on the mattress. "Can't believe you still came so much," you mumble into the side of his neck, "what the hell, Soshiro?"

"It's a going away present," he mutters back, laughing fondly when you pinch his side. "Make sure ya keep it in while you're reportin' to your Captain."

There's only the sound of harsh breathing for a moment as the two of you recalibrate and return back to your bodies.

"I'll need my panties," you say, lifting your head and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Do you know where you tossed them last night?"

Soshiro traces a pattern idly along your bare back, following a few of your scars and smoothing along the sweaty skin. "You don't wanna shower first?"

You shoot him a look and he laughs. "You'll spill out if we do — unless you're planning on going again."

Soshiro hums and leans forward to kiss you, languid and easy. You kiss him back, as naturally as breathing, and maybe there's some post nut clarity involved but the idea he's been floating in the back of his mind seems a little more like a good plan the longer he kisses you.

"What d'ya think about marryin' me?" he asks.

"Is this why you called last night sounding like that?" you ask. Soshiro tilts his head and you copy him, pinning him in place with your pretty eyes. "I came over thinking you needed to talk, but you… distracted me."

Soshiro snorts. You still sound breathless, hazy and floating off the high of your orgasm. "I got a message from my family."

"The entire Hoshina clan?"

"Yeah," he says, shifting you more comfortably in his lap. He's getting soft, but you make no effort to move from off of him. "My dad was askin' me to come back."

"To do what? You're the Vice Captain of the Third Division — surely they've stopped hounding you about quitting the Defense Force to be a teacher." You say it so easily, as if they'd be stupid to bother trying. "You're literally better than Narumi's dumb ass against mini kaiju. Your family should be proud."

"They said something 'bout my future prospects," Soshiro admits. He has no idea why you have so much faith in him, but he appreciates it. "So it sounds like I'm bein' set up with omiai. I was thinkin' it'd be nice ta walk in with a fiancée so I could avoid that whole mess."

You hum thoughtfully, but it's not an answer. Soshiro helps you get off his lap, following you into the bathroom and helping to wipe you down with a wet towel as his cum dribbles out of you. Your panties are located and you slide them on, sighing. "I wish the train ride back was shorter, but there's no way I can sit that long with your cum in me. Sorry, Hoshina-kun."

"You're gonna kill me someday," Soshiro says frankly. He didn't actually expect you to try. You snicker and flick his forehead affectionately.

"You're the one who thought this was a good idea," you point out. "For someone who isn't interested in having kids, you sure love cumming inside."

Soshiro raises an eyebrow. "Pot. Kettle."

You laugh. "Fair point," you say. "Anyway, you just need me to pretend as your fiancée, right? I'm down. Finding another fuck buddy would be a pain at this point, and you piss off Narumi the most, so it works for me. Will I get to tour the famous Hoshina training compound?"

"Yeah, 'course," Soshiro says. There's a funny feeling sitting in his chest, but he doesn't have time to think about it as you give him a sweet kiss and loop your arms around his waist. "It'll just be for a lil while. Just 'til my family gets off my back."

You shrug. "Do you want me to record Narumi's reaction when he finds out your dick game was so good I agreed to marry you?"

Soshiro laughs. You feel good pressed against him like this, hugging him in just your panties. You usually save your physical affection for behind closed doors, so Soshiro's gotten used to soaking up as much as he can before you inevitably leave.

"Go shower," you say after a moment of aimless kisses. "I can make your coffee."

"You're the best," he mumbles into your hair. You tilt your head up to accept another careful kiss to your temple, eyelashes fluttering closed in appreciation. "I'll be quick."

"That's what you said last night, but now I'm all sore," you laugh, pushing him towards the shower. Soshiro obeys, scrubbing up and getting ready for the day. You grab your toothbrush from its spot next to his on the counter to brush your teeth, and then you wash your face with the cleanser he picked up for you the other day. You shoot him a wink through the mirror when you catch him checking out your ass, and then you skip out of the bathroom and Soshiro listens through the open door as you hum absently in his quarters. Captains, Vice Captains, and platoon leaders get the most space, so while his apartment isn't as large or as fancy as Captain Ashiro's, it's still pretty sizable. There's enough space for a small kitchenette, at least, and soon the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts in to cut through the steam of his shower.

Soshiro pulls on his uniform, toweling halfheartedly at his hair as he finds you on his couch. You're nursing a mug with the JAKDF design flaking off — the one you always use, which is why he hasn't replaced it yet — and there's another fresh mug on the table. Soshiro sits beside you and takes a sip.

"Perfect," he says, "thanks, sweetheart."

You've dressed back in your own uniform, rumpled and sleep worn. "That'll cost three kisses," you say, smiling into your mug. Soshiro hums, arching a brow.

"The cost's gone up? What's up with that?"

You shrug demurely. "Inflation. Sorry, but rules are rules."

Soshiro is careful to grasp your mug as he leans over to kiss you, bypassing your softly puckered lips and going for your nose and cheek and forehead instead. Your lashes flutter as you open your eyes to glare at him playfully. He's hovering close enough that he can feel your breaths on his skin. "The cost for not paying up properly is five kisses."

"Ah, well, I guess I'd better pay up," he murmurs, setting your mug aside and kissing the silly smile off your lips. You giggle into the kisses, delighted and giddy, a version of you that Soshiro only sees behind closed doors.

"Your hair's still wet," you say, pulling back with a wrinkle to your nose. A few stray droplets of water slide down your cheek. Soshiro watches, mesmerized, as your tongue darts out to catch it. "C'mon, I'll help you."

You sit up and take the towel from around his neck, fluffing up his hair as he tilts his head obligingly towards you. It's nearly time for you to catch the train back, but you take your time, pressing the water out of his hair carefully.

It's a little too sweet, a little too comfortable and domestic. At the beginning of your friends-with-benefits arrangement, you never stayed the night, and you had laughed when he offered, preferring quick fucks around the base in the limited time you had together. That was about a year ago, and now you show up in the evenings, claiming his pillows and demanding he update you on the latest story he's been reading before getting down to business. Any more of this and he'll start getting ideas.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think ya liked me."

Soshiro peeks up at you from beneath his bangs, a lopsided smirk on his lips, ready to fall back into the easy pattern of teasing and bantering with you. Just like clockwork, he catches you rolling your eyes. "I wouldn't let you or your dick anywhere near me if I didn't like you at least a little bit, Hoshina-kun."

"And 'cause I piss off your Captain," Soshiro says. You nod with just a fraction of hesitation, but that's probably because you're distracted by the towel in his hair.

"Narumi gets so grumpy," you laugh. "You'd think he's never been rejected by girls before."

"He's never been rejected by someone as pretty as you," Soshiro says absently, reaching up for the towel. His hand brushes the back of yours and you drop it abruptly, covering up the moment with a scoff as you turn quickly to grab your mug. "Want me to walk ya to your train?"

"I'm a big girl," you roll your eyes. "I'll be fine." Soshiro watches as you drain the rest of your coffee and rise to bring the mug to the sink. You pad back and lean over the back of the couch to give him a light kiss on his forehead, and then you're sliding your boots on at the genkan and waving with one hand on the door. "See you next time, fake fiancé."

His apartment is quieter, emptier without you, so Soshiro finishes up his own coffee and heads out to face the day. His muscles are pleasantly sore, relaxed in the way he always is after spending time with you, and now that he has a plan for dealing with his meddling family, it's easier to cheerfully put his new rookies through a rough training session.

You send him a message later in the day, a short video clip of you in Captain Narumi's office. Soshiro settles in his desk chair as he watches, mindful of Okonogi searching for some records in another corner of the workspace. The video clip starts off with the front facing camera, where you grin and throw up a peace sign, before it flips to show the First Division Captain hunkered down in a mess of boxes and a rumpled futon, fingers tapping rapidly at buttons as he stares at the television screen with bloodshot eyes.

"Reporting, Captain Narumi," your voice sounds cheerful and Soshiro can see Gen's head twitch towards the sound.

"I'm almost done beating this boss," Gen says hurriedly.

You hum, but it's clear you don't particularly care. "Then I guess I can tell you later about how I'm engaged to Vice Captain Hoshina."

"Hah?!" Gen's controller flies into his blanket as he scrambles up, a pathetic noise coming from the television as a Game Over flashes across the screen. "What did you just — are you recording this?"

"I promised I'd show my future husband," you say sweetly, and damn if the phrase doesn't stir something strange in Soshiro's chest. "Do you have any congratulatory words for us?"

Soshiro brings his phone closer to his face, snickering as you zoom in on Gen's rapidly contorting expressions. The Captain of the First Division seems to refocus, gaze zeroing in on your neck. "You're pulling a prank on me," Gen says. "You look like you got attacked. You two aren't even dating. What about giving me a chance?!"

The video shakes as you shrug. "What can I say? We've been together for a year now, you know. Hoshina-kun's the only one I trust to treat me right. Anyway, I've gotta tell everyone else, thanks, Captain."

The video flips to show your face again, and you give a little wave and a smile to the camera. "See you soon, love!"

It cuts off with a strangled noise from Gen's direction and the bright peal of your laughter in response. Soshiro can't help laughing too, clutching at his side as he scrolls through the rest of your messages to see screenshots of the First Division Captain's face looking like he belongs in several viral memes. And if Soshiro's ears feel a little warm at your new term of endearment for him, well, that's just for him to know.

Okonogi pops up with a stack of files and sets them on the table. "What was that, Vice Captain?"

Soshiro hums, tapping out a response to you. Before he can send it, you send a blurry photo that makes him sit up straight, eyes wide. It's clearly your panties shucked down your thighs, taken from an awkward angle, but even with the shadowy lighting he can see the way your fingers are glistening with creamy white liquid stretching down to your pussy.

Is that… is that his cum from earlier this morning?

You send him a thumbs up emoji. Mission success, you type, as if you aren't giving him a heart attack from several kilometers away.

Okonogi clears her throat as Soshiro locks his phone and rubs at his face. "Sir?"

"Ah, my fiancée just sent me a funny video."

The news spreads across the two divisions rapidly, much to Gen's loudly voiced annoyance and Soshiro's amusement. It isn't exactly a secret that you have an exceedingly friendly relationship with the Third Division's Vice Captain, but the details of your engagement are enough to fuel the communal bathhouse rumor mills for a solid few weeks. Love in the Defense Force isn't rare by any means, but most of the higher ranked members are more focused on their fighting abilities than romance, so it's big news for the Defense Force's strongest miniature kaiju combatant to be involved in something like an engagement.

Time moves differently in the Defense Force — there are daily patrols, training sessions, sporadic days off — but everything gets put on hold when a kaiju emerges in the area. Then it's destruction minimization, civilian rescues, kaiju neutralization and the aftermath of reports and reconstruction and kaiju deconstruction. The First Division gets a few more than the Third's, just by virtue of being based next to the ocean, and it feels like ages and no time at all before Soshiro sees you again.

"What's this?" you ask, shutting his office door behind you with a soft click. "Are you behind that mountain of paperwork somewhere, Hoshina-kun?"

"M'here," he grumbles, reaching up to stretch out the stiffness in his back. Nobody ever talks about how much paperwork comes with going up the ranks. "Thanks for comin' by."

You snicker as he spins to face you, letting him tug you closer by the hem of your uniform jacket. "Did you call me over to rescue you? Sorry, sir, but I have my own paperwork to die under."

Soshiro snorts and tugs you even closer, until your knees bump his. "I needed to give ya somethin'."

He digs around in his jacket pocket for a moment before producing a small box. Your eyes widen, but you don't say anything as he takes your hand and slides the ring into place. It's a simple band, safe to wear beneath combat gloves, but the gem inset is a clear, brilliant amethyst. "Unconventional color," you remark, tilting your hand in the light.

This is somehow more embarrassing than he thought it'd be, but thankfully you don't seem to notice the flush creeping up his neck. "You said once that ya liked my hair color in the light. Since it's just a favor, I figured you'd be alright with somethin' a lil different."

You meet his eyes and grin. "Oh? Is this where you promise me a real ring when we get engaged for real?"

Soshiro's heart kicks in his chest as he coughs his surprise. You laugh, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his forehead, mussing up his bangs. He blinks as you comb the strands back into place. "I dunno, you'd hafta move to Tachikawa if we got married for real."

If you're not joking — if you really do feel something else, something more —

You tilt your head, your eyes clear and sparkling as the setting sun hits your face just right. The angle of light swallows your pupils, throws your gaze into something unreadable for just a moment. "You don't think you could unseat Hasegawa-san as Vice Captain? He should probably retire soon, you know. He looks way too stressed."

"Your Captain would never take me," Soshiro scoffs. "Besides, I promised I'd always clear a path for Captain Ashiro."

You're quiet for a moment. Soshiro can feel his heartbeat in his throat. "I guess I could move here," you concede, humming. Your fingers still on his bangs. "The company's not too bad."

"Not too bad, huh?" Soshiro raises an eyebrow, skims his fingers along your waist. The air feels charged with something unspoken, something different — but he knows how to drag it back to normalcy. "I can't say much 'bout the company, but what about this desk?"

Mischief sparks in your eyes and he answers your grin with his own. That's more like it. "The last time we fucked on this desk, Okonogi-chan complained that all your paperwork was messed up afterwards," you point out. "I have a better idea."

Soshiro's eyes widen and a bolt of lust zips down to his cock as you sink to your knees, settling between his thighs with a hum. You shuffle and turn a little, positioning yourself between his chair and his desk. "What're ya doin'?"

"You still need to finish your paperwork, right? How many reports do you think you'll get through before I can make you cum down my throat?" Your eyes flash in the light and he shudders, hips jumping into your touch.

"Ya lock the door?" Soshiro huffs, shifting in his seat as you run your hands along his thighs. Fuck, his pants are getting tight. You shrug noncommittally and drag your finger along the hard bulge of his cock. "I didn't call ya over for this, y'know."

"I know," you unzip his pants and smile as he lifts his hips enough for you to yank the fabric down. His cock springs free and you lick your lips. Soshiro groans. The way you're looking at him — eyes bright, lips wet and shiny, eyelashes fluttering as if you're shy when you reach out to lick the beads of precum on the tip of his cock — should be fucking illegal. "You'd better get to work, Vice Captain."

Oh, fuck you. Soshiro knows you know exactly how to rile him up, and using his title in that tone of yours is one guaranteed way to get him that much closer to cumming. You blink up at him expectantly. "You can't be serious."

You stroke his shaft with your left hand, the cool metal of your new ring sending electricity up his spine. It warms to body heat quickly, but the added texture is enough to keep all of his senses trained on your touch. He grabs a pen as you twist your wrist on the upstroke and he nearly drops the damn thing. "You'd better get them done correctly, Soshiro."

"I hate you," Soshiro chokes out a grunt as you suddenly engulf him in your mouth. His balls tighten and he snaps his pen in half, heat and lust and lightning gathering in a maelstrom below his gut. "Fuck, you feel so good."

You swirl your tongue around the tip as you suck, hollowing your cheeks and swallowing him down without giving him any time to brace himself. The wet, warm heat of you is heaven around his cock, the tight suction of your lips sending him spiraling with every stroke. It's hot in the office — sweat beads at his hairline as you settle into a steady rhythm, the wet, sloppy sounds of you drooling all over him echoing in the quiet room. "Yeah, honey, just like that."

Your eyes widen at the new pet name but your rhythm doesn't falter — if anything, you start moving faster, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat in a way that's driving him insane. Soshiro can't even keep his eyes focused on the paper in front of him, mesmerized by the bob of your head and the gleam of your eyes beneath his desk. He cups your cheek with his free hand, something light fluttering in his chest when you lean into his touch, even as you proceed to suck his cock like your life depends on it.

Tension and heat coils in his gut. Holy fucking hell. You have one hand braced on his tense thigh, but your other hand goes to cup his balls, smearing your drooling saliva on them as he chokes at the feeling. It's overwhelming — you are overwhelming — and he tries not to hold your head in place while he fucks your mouth but your moans are so pretty and you look so hot with your mouth stuffed and —

The click of the door opening is the only warning he gets, but luckily years of honed reflexes saves the two of you as he rolls his seat forward, forcing you further beneath the desk and his cock further down your throat.

"Hah — shit!" Soshiro gasps as you dig your nails into his thigh. He throbs in your mouth. "Ah, fuckin' — sorry, Okonogi-chan, I just hit my knee on the table."

The Third Division's Operations Manager gives him a funny look, but thankfully she stays near the door. "I just came by to ask if your reports are done, sir!"

Your throat is convulsing around his cock and it's the worst thing he's ever felt in his life because if he cums right now, there's no way Okonogi will miss it. "N-not yet, sorry!"

"Well, let me know when you're done so I can add my files. Will you finish them before your fiancée gets here?" Okonogi glances around. "I thought she'd be here by now, actually."

"Nope, haven't seen her!" Soshiro's voice cracks. There's spilled ink staining one of the reports. You slowly pull off his cock, but the lightning rod of tension in his spine just coils harder. "I'll finish 'em soon!"

"Are you getting sick, Vice Captain? Please don't take this the wrong way, but you're sweating a lot and you're all… red," Okonogi says hesitantly.

"Aw, 'm fine, dear," Soshiro threads his fingers through your hair in warning when you make an aborted little sound. He coughs loudly. "I feel just peachy! In fact, I'm ready to zip through all these reports right now!"

You slowly sink down on his cock again, tongue tracing the vein as you go. Soshiro dares to shoot you a warning glare and nearly cums down your throat at the answering gleam in your eye. He's throbbing in your mouth and you don't even care. Fuck you're a menace.

"Well, if you say so," Okonogi sounds rightfully dubious, but she puts her hand back on the doorknob. "I'll check again later!"

The instant the door clicks shut after she leaves, Soshiro slumps into his seat, groaning low in his throat as you swallow him back down. It's dim beneath his desk, but he can clearly see tears gathering at the corners of your pretty eyes, and you moan as he carefully starts fucking your mouth. The tightly wound tension is incessant, a burn beneath his skin, a thrumming in his ears. You're gorgeous like this, choking on his cock and drooling, spit soaking the bottom of the seat as you blink those teary eyes up at him.

"Fuckin' hell, honey, you're gonna make me fuckin' cum," Soshiro groans. "Where d'ya want it? Down your throat? Are ya gonna swallow it all like a good fuckin' girl?"

You moan loudly at that and he huffs out a laugh, the tension so tight it feels like he's going to snap. It's the ring that does it — your hand disappears for a moment and when you bring it back into view, he catches the glint of the ring, glistening with your cum, because of course you're fucking soaked and of course you had to show him with his cock down your throat and —

Soshiro cums so hard he sees white.

There's nothing. There's sparks and light and heat blooming everywhere. Distantly he hears himself grunting a garbled version of your name, but his brain shuts down so hard he barely has the capacity to breathe as his orgasm crashes through him.

"Soshiro, Soshiro," you whisper, climbing onto his lap and pressing soft little kisses all over his neck and jaw and cheeks. Soshiro comes back to his senses slowly, panting hard as feeling returns to his fingers and legs. "Hey," you whisper, brushing his sweat soaked hair from his forehead. "Are you back?"

"You…" he breathes. His brain is still rebooting.

You giggle. "Me?"

Soshiro grips your waist to hold you steady as you hover over his cock. "Gimme a minute. I'm gonna make you squirt all over this fuckin' desk."

You laugh outright at that, dipping down to kiss him sweetly. He can taste himself on your tongue, but it doesn't bother him. "Okonogi-chan will kill you if we get the reports messy."

Soshiro runs his hands up your sides just to watch you shiver. He still feels hazy, floaty, breathless and loose. "You're stayin' the night?"

"Is that an order, Vice Captain?" you ask teasingly. Your voice sounds scraped raw. He hums, reaching for your dirty fingers. You watch with blown pupils as he licks them clean, his tongue swirling around your engagement ring and his canine tooth catching on your fingertip.

"Let's go back to my rooms so nobody'll hear ya screamin' my name."

He ends up making you squirt in the shower, eating you out messy and lewd as steam fogs up the room. You goad him into fucking you from behind against the door afterward, pushing your ass back with every heavy thrust until you both cum hard enough to warrant a bath. He washes your back and hair in the shower first, building up a lather of shampoo and twisting the strands this way and that as you laugh and complain about the water temperature, but the both of you are relaxed and pliant in the warm water of the bath afterwards.

You cajole him into one of the smaller mess halls afterward, your hair wet and dripping down your borrowed shirt as he sets two trays piled with food in front of you. It's late — way past midnight — and you're soft and giggly and clingy as you drape your legs over his lap and eat. Soshiro drops extra bits on your plate whenever he thinks you aren't paying attention, but of course you're always paying attention to him.

"Quit it," you grumble, "I'm too full!"

Soshiro snickers as you scoop the rest of your food onto his plate. "Whoa, is this what I'll get as a married man? Your leftovers?"

You roll your eyes. "Shut up, you spoiled asshole. When we're married you know you'll be doing all the cooking."

Maybe it's the late hour, but the way you say it — like it's a fact. Like it's a truth, and not a lie to appease the Hoshina clan and keep them from meddling in his life. Soshiro wonders when he started hoping.

"That's true," he says lightly. "You're just as bad as Captain Ashiro with kitchen knives."

"Don't let your family find out, or they'll tell you to find a new wife," you joke. Soshiro snorts, but it's quiet in the empty mess hall. You prop your chin on your hand and watch him chase around the last grains of rice with his chopsticks. "Tell me about your family? Is there anything I should be prepared for?"

"Well, ya know I've got an older brother," Soshiro says. It feels a little strange, mentioning Soichiro after all these years of (literal) radio silence. "He'll be busy captaining the Sixth, so we shouldn't be runnin' into him at the house. My dad's still an instructor, and he'll probably wanna know 'bout your combat levels. My ma…"

"Uh oh," you murmur. Soshiro sighs and takes your hand.

"My ma's always wanted grandkids." He watches as your face goes blank. "Y'know I ain't the type. I've got my hands full with my lil' fledglings already."

"Well," you squeeze his hand and offer a tiny smile, "at least this is fake. Your mom will get her grandkids eventually, even though it won't be from me."

You're quiet and distant on the short walk back to his rooms, but maybe it's just the late hour. Soshiro doesn't know how to break the strange awkwardness that's settling between the two of you — but you seem lost in thought, kissing him goodnight absently and quickly burrowing your face into his neck as if you don't want him to look too closely at your expression.

It's weird. You seem back to normal in the morning light, making his coffee and hugging him from behind while he brushes his teeth, but there's a strange distance in your gaze and your smile drops unnaturally when you think he isn't paying attention. There isn't much Soshiro can do about it, though — you go back to the First Division and your texts are… typical. You agree to take some time off to visit the Hoshina family home together and Soshiro just about wears down the floor of his office with his pacing.

"Vice Captain, are you sure you don't need a break?" Okonogi asks. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but you seem agitated."

Soshiro flops back into his seat and stares at the ink stain he left behind the last time the two of you were in his office together. The ruined report was luckily one of his own, so he just printed another copy, but unfortunately he hasn't been able to scrub the ink out of the desk. "Nothing to worry 'bout, Okonogi dear."

"Are you worried about your family visit? I'm sure it'll be fine, sir — your fiancée is perfect for you," Okonogi says. She adjusts her glasses. "But if you're concerned, you should talk to her. She'd want to know."

Soshiro doesn't think you want to know what's really going through his head — you'd probably run away. Casual. Friends with benefits. You were the one who brought it up, after years of working together whenever your Divisions teamed up, after plenty of teasing and friendly competitions and sharing meals sitting slightly apart from the rest of your officers. You always caught his eye, but of course he'd never assume you were interested, not when you had all those other options (including Captain Narumi) — so it had been a welcome surprise when you confessed that you thought he was hot. That you thought about him at night. That maybe having a friends with benefits arrangement could be good for both of you to blow off steam without any mess.

Soshiro still remembers your first time together — the first and only time you slept together in the First Division. Your rooms were smaller than his, but he hadn't had much of a chance to explore, too busy learning how to elicit those sounds from your lips that haunted his dreams for months afterwards. It was awkward at first, with bumped noses and self conscious laughter, but you had forged ahead as if it would be your only chance and it was so good.

It's always been good with you — good and easy. This weird… distance? It's unsettling. Soshiro can tell something is up, but you message him normally and there's nothing for him to hang this niggling feeling on.

He meets you at the train station a few days later and you smile at him like he's made your day. "Should I be calling you Soshiro-kun for this trip?" you ask, offering a canned coffee from the vending machine. It's early, and of course he hadn't had time to make his own morning coffee, so the can is a welcome weight in his hand.

"Yeah, but don't do it too often or I'll drag ya into a hotel on our way down," Soshiro says, trying not to stare. He pops open the can and takes a sip, eyes dragging down your form as you laugh. It's rare to see you in something other than your Defense Force uniform, his borrowed clothes, or naked — and you've shown up to the train station in a cute skirt and blouse outfit, looking fresh and adorable and not at all like you take down kaiju on a regular basis. Something about the dissonance stirs up a surge of protectiveness in Soshiro, though you'd probably offer to kick his ass if he voices this thought aloud.

"We're meeting your parents, Soshiro-kun," you scold, "keep it in your pants."

But there's a teasing glint in your eye and Soshiro snorts, reaching out to snag your wrist, pulling you close so he can kiss the laugh out of your mouth. The strange unsettled feeling is nudged to the back of his mind as you kiss him back.

The shinkansen ride is a few hours long, but you've packed bentos and seem perfectly content to gaze out the window at the flashing scenery as he reads a book. You doze off a few times, settling into his side as naturally as breathing, and Soshiro keeps as still as possible so you can be comfortable leaning against him. You later confess that the bentos were made from bits and pieces you had begged from the officers on chef duty early this morning and Soshiro teases you about making your bentos in the future.

"You can barely even function without your coffee in the morning, Hoshina-kun, how're you gonna make us bentos?" You're so pretty when you're laughing like this — lighthearted and sweet with your sparkly eyes. Soshiro knows he's staring openly now, but you don't seem to mind, leaning into his space to steal the last bite of tamagoyaki while he's distracted.

"I'm a man of many talents," Soshiro declares, just to watch you snort into your royal milk tea can. "But 'course I'll just make 'em the night before."

"That's good planning," you nod sagely. "I knew I picked a good future husband."

The automated announcements overhead remind the two of you that your stop is coming up, and Soshiro gathers up the trash and your bags in preparation to offboard. Both of you packed light, used to moving quickly through cities on long deployments, and it's nothing for him to sling both bags over his shoulder. You follow him off the shinkansen and through the station, always close enough to touch but careful to maintain a little bit of distance in case someone sees.

It's lucky you do, because as soon as the two of you step out into the balmy southern air, someone calls out his name.

Soshiro feels his shoulders stiffen and you shoot him a mildly alarmed look. "Well, well, well, if it ain't my lil bro!"

What the hell.

"And ya really brought someone! Ma's gonna be over the moon!" Soichiro says brightly. Soshiro watches with dread as his older brother approaches and promptly offers his hand for you to shake. You take it, amusement in the edges of your polite smile. "I'm Hoshina Soichiro, this guy's older brother and Captain of the Sixth Division."

You introduce yourself, shooting Soshiro a wry glance as you add, "and I know who you are, sir. My captain speaks highly of you."

"Oho! You're a member of the Defense Force? Are ya with the Third?" Soichiro asks. If you've noticed that Soichiro and Soshiro haven't actually spoken to each other yet, you don't mention it.

"No, sir. I'm with the First Division," you reply. "Thank you for coming to meet us at the station. We weren't expecting anyone."

"Aw, well, I wanted ta catch up with my lil bro," Soichiro says. Soshiro's mouth twists a little at that, but he faces his older brother and offers him a tiny smile. It makes his face hurt. "It's been a long time since you've been home."

"Things are busy in the Third and I'm further away than you are," Soshiro says. Thankfully his voice stays steady. You step a little closer to him, the back of your hand brushing the back of his, and he takes a deep, fortifying breath. "Is everythin' good at home?"

"Things are peachy," Soichiro says, waving them along as he begins to walk. "Dad's just finished up teachin' a new batch of hopefuls for the Force, and ma's been settin' me up with omiai every time I come home. Is that what you're here for, lil bro?"

"They just told me ta come by," Soshiro admits. "But I've got some news for 'em, anyway."

Soichiro glances back at the two of you walking so closely together and hums. "Yeah, I figured. When ma said you'd be bringin' a guest, I knew I had ta come see it for myself first. It ain't right that ya got such a cute girlfriend, Soshiro."

Soshiro can feel his ears burning, but you just shoot him a grin and a raised eyebrow. Well, if you're fishing for compliments… "She is a cutie pie," he says lightly. "But she's smart, too, and funny as hell. She's the best thing that's ever happened to me."

He watches you blush prettily and avoid his gaze for the rest of the ride towards the Hoshina compound. Years and years of kaiju fighting and developing the Hoshina clan techniques means the family is pretty well off — Soshiro doesn't flaunt the family's wealth, determined as he is to prove his own worth — but it can't be denied that he grew up well taken care of and pampered in spite of the intense training he put himself through growing up.

The grounds sprawl in a valley nestled between densely forested hills. The buildings are traditional and the yards are all swept clean, tastefully interspersed with rock gardens and ponds full of glimmering koi fish. The sharp clack of practice swords echo in the balmy air as a clan member leads students through exercises, though Soshiro doesn't spot anyone out of the ordinary as Soichiro leads them into the main house.

He pauses before the sliding door that leads to where his parents will be waiting. This is fake — the two of you just need to get through this weekend, and then you can go back to your divisions and pretend none of this happened. His family won't expect any updates for a long time, and by then Soshiro can figure out if you… if you'd be willing to marry him for real. Maybe, by then, he'll finally be good enough for you. So why is his heart pounding so loudly in his chest?

You stop as well, looking wide eyed at him as you shift your elegantly wrapped gift in your trembling hands. "Soshiro?"

"I promise they won't bite," he murmurs, ducking close as Soichiro reaches for the door. He doesn't know if his older brother can hear, but it doesn't really matter as long as you feel better about this meeting. "I'm the one choosin' you, remember."

You blink up at him, close enough for a kiss, your eyes searching his for something before you take a deep breath and nod. "Right. You're the only biter in the family."

He snorts before he can stop himself, feeling hot around the neck and ears as he straightens up. Jumping into the middle of a daikaiju battle would probably be easier than this — than facing his parents with news of his engagement and listening to them tell him to quit the Defense Force. His older brother lets out a quiet cough before he slides the door open. The three of you enter the lion's den.

Soshiro has nothing to worry about. Hours later finds the two of you settling into the room you'll be using during your stay, futon laid out as you sit beside it, your legs tucked to the side with your skirt splayed out. The sliding door leading to the walkway is open, exposing the two of you to a small side yard featuring a koi fish pond, but otherwise the guest room is out of the way of the main buildings. Soshiro won't be staying in the same room as you, even if his parents did approve of the engagement, but there's still some time before lights out and he wants to be with you. You let out a deep sigh and reach for his hand.

"That went well?" you ask carefully. Soshiro squeezes your hand. Watching you interact with his parents, who he loves in spite of the sense of duty that permeates everything they do, and with his older brother, who he knows is so much better than him at everything — seeing you cheerfully and earnestly bringing up Soshiro's own good qualities whenever you could did a lot to ease an unknown soreness in his heart.

"You were amazin'," he says honestly. You blush.

"I just wanted them to know how amazing you are," you say. "You're the coolest Vice Captain in the Defense Force, you know?"

"Just a cool Vice Captain?" Soshiro asks, glancing over at you. He smiles a little to himself as you roll your eyes.

"Did you also want me to tell them you're an incredible lover?"

Soshiro laughs out loud at that, releasing your hand so that he can pull you into his lap. You settle there easily, grinning, looping your arms around his neck as he leans up to kiss you. "We can keep that to ourselves," he says. His heart feels light. "I didn't realize you were payin' that much attention to me. Stroke a guy's ego like that and he might propose for real."

A wall comes up in the depths of your eyes and he falters as he leans in to kiss you, but you close the distance before he can ask what's wrong. You taste sweet, like the daifuku mochi you shared with his ma earlier, and you kiss him like you never want to stop. Soshiro groans into your mouth as you lick into his, your tongue sliding slick against his teeth. You don't pull away as you kiss, merely tugging his lip between your teeth, sucking lightly and tilting your head for better access. You kiss him hungrily, messily, the kind of desperate kissing you usually resort to after weeks without seeing each other, and all of it sends heat lancing through his body and straight to his cock.

You're so fucking soft in his arms — delicate and strong and warm, barely resisting as he crushes you to his chest, wrinkling your blouse and slipping a hand below the waistband of your skirt. Soshiro can feel the rabbit-fast beat of your heart against his, hears the soft gasp you let out when he nicks your lip. A breeze floats in from the wide open door, ruffling his hair, and he suddenly remembers where you are.

"Soshiro…" you breathe, chasing his lips as he pulls back with all the self control he can muster. "Soshiro, c'mere."

Fuck, the way you sound —

"Quit teasin' me," Soshiro grumbles, hands heavy on your hips. He leans back and glares halfheartedly at you, though it's nearly impossible when your lips are spit slick and kiss swollen and your eyes are hazy with want. "Someone could walk by at any moment."

You blink. "Not my fault you're irresistible." You rock your hips slightly in his lap and smirk when he groans at the friction against his cock. "Are you going to jerk off in your childhood bedroom?"

"You'd like that," Soshiro notes breathlessly. "Are ya gonna touch yourself tonight? Here, on our guest futon? Are ya gonna think of me?"

"I always think of you," you confess easily. Soshiro's heart thunks painfully in his chest. You tilt your head and kiss the tip of his nose. "It'll be weird sleeping in this guest room tonight when you're so close by."

"I'll cuddle ya lots when we get back to the base," Soshiro promises. "Whatever ya want."

"Okay, I'll hold you to it," you say, kissing him sweetly. "I guess you should get out of here before we really give something for your family to talk about."

Soshiro laughs quietly and skims his lips along the smooth column of your neck. "You'll hafta let go of me if ya want me to leave."

You slide off his lap with a pout, waving him off with a small smile that drops as soon as he rounds the corner. Soshiro keeps walking, however, because whatever's going on with you is probably something that can wait until you get back to the base. He doesn't want to air out any issues where his family can hear.

After a long day of train travel and the excruciating anxiety of presenting you and your engagement to his family, Soshiro wants nothing more than to sleep. But as he approaches his room, he groans to himself. The light is on, and the shadowy figure waiting for him inside is unfortunately familiar.

"It's late," Soshiro says, sliding open the door and facing his older brother. "Can't this wait 'til tomorrow?"

"Aw, but I've gotta go back to my base tomorrow," Soichiro says. He holds out a bokken and tilts his head towards the yard outside, which is swept clear of rocks and leaves. "Wanna go a round? Or are ya still my lil Wimpshiro?"

The old nickname makes Soshiro frown. He takes the bokken and nods toward the yard. "After you, Bonehead bro."

They don't have any protective gear, but neither of them are really looking to hurt the other. Soshiro feels his muscles tense with familiarity and falls into the rhythm of his childhood — the clack and clatter of blades meeting and pushing apart, the shuffle of feet on hard packed dirt and the low swoosh as the wooden practice sword narrowly misses his hair. He can tell his older brother is holding back, but it doesn't feel disrespectful. Or like he's underestimating him. Unlike in childhood, when Soshiro knew bone deep that he could reach his brother with just a little bit more, now it feels like a mutual agreement not to wear themselves out.

"You surpassed me a long time ago, Soshiro."

The words make him jerk back in surprise. "Don't make fun of me," he snaps. "You aren't even goin' all out."

Soichiro sticks his tongue out and flicks his long braid over his shoulder. "You ain't either, lil Soshiro. I know you hate my friggin' guts, but I'm proud to be your older bro, y'know?"

Soshiro frowns. Keeps himself in a 'ready' stance. "Where's this comin' from?"

"I was listenin' to your fiancée gushin' 'bout your good qualities," Soichiro says, leaping forward with a strike that Soshiro catches with his own blade. "And I was thinkin' it's a damn shame she knows ya better than I do."

Soshiro knocks the next strike aside and falls into a flurry of practiced blows, meeting Soichiro's wooden blade at every twist and turn. "She's my fiancée."

"And she's a good one," Soichiro nods. "Makes sense that she's picked you outta everyone."

But it's fake — it's not a real engagement — you haven't picked him, not for real —

"If ya stay here any longer she might change her mind. Good thing you're goin' back to the Sixth."

It comes out before he has a chance to swallow it down, and Soichiro's next strike misses him by miles. "What're ya talkin' about, ya dope? She'd never pick me."

Soshiro sighs and rubs at the bridge of his nose. Being around his older brother and facing all these memories again is throwing him off. He walked past one of the training buildings earlier and his father's voice had leapt into his mind unbidden — Soichiro is the Hoshina family's ultimate incarnation — and while he knows it's always been out of love and worry for his safety, he can't stop the bitterness from stinging in his throat whenever he remembers his family telling him to give up on his dreams of joining the Defense Force.

And it seems it's all combining into one awful swirl of insecurity that isn't even fair to you. Soshiro knows you better than to think you'd suddenly choose his older brother over him. Even if Soshiro is used to being a reject… he's never been rejected by you.

"Anyway, I'm lookin' forward to the wedding," Soichiro says, oblivious to Soshiro's inner turmoil. "Ten bucks says you'll cry during the sake sharing ceremony."

"Shaddup, ya bonehead," Soshiro laughs in spite of himself, startled out of his thoughts. "I ain't gonna cry."

"You look at her like she's the whole world," Soichiro says. He slides into a neutral position, his wooden blade pointing downwards. "When she births your first child, you're gonna sob like a baby."

The words are cold water thrown over his shoulders. "We ain't havin' kids."

"Oh?" Soichiro flicks his braid back over his shoulder again. "That's fine. I'll let ma know she can rest easy just dealin' with mine."

"Ma… won't mind?" Soshiro asks.

"Ma just wants ya to visit more often," his older brother says, "and she likes your fiancée. Said she's cute as a button and clearly adores you, which is all ma wants for us boys."

"You're gonna let her keep pullin' ya into omiai?" Soshiro asks, dropping out of his fighting stance as well.

"Not everyone's lucky enough to find a love like yours, lil bro," Soichiro shrugs. "Let your older brother show some dignity for the clan, alright?"

Soichiro finally leaves and Soshiro sits on the deck, bokken resting across his lap. The traditional buildings creak as they settle, a familiar sound as he looks out into the deepening twilight.

One more day. One more day in his family home, and then he'll be back on a train to Tokyo with you by his side. Tomorrow the plan is to give you the tour you wanted, and then catch the shinkansen after lunch. Maybe Soshiro can borrow you for the rest of the evening, too — you can always catch the next morning train to Ariake.

"Soshiro."

"Yeah, honey?"

You bite your lip before you reply, which is Soshiro's first sign that something is up. You acted normally during the morning tour of his family home, walking close enough to brush shoulders with him and smiling without a care in the world, and you snuck in a few kisses on the train ride back to Tokyo. But now you're fiddling with the sleeve of your pretty dress and barely looking him in the eye. The train station is emptying out around you.

"I think we shouldn't see each other for a while."

Soshiro's heart clenches in his chest. This is it, then. You've finally gotten tired of him — you've figured out that you could do better, find someone better —

"I love you, but I can't… I can't give you kids. I know that's what your family expects, and it isn't right to get their hopes up like this. I like them, Soshiro. They love you so much."

Soshiro's brain feels fuzzy.

"Wait. What did you just say?"

You frown up at him. Your eyes are sparkling with unshed tears and he reaches up to thumb at your cheek, brushing along the soft skin there as he stares down at you.

"My ma doesn't care if I have kids," Soshiro says quietly. His heart is beating so loudly he can barely hear his own voice. "They just want me to visit more."

Your cheek warms under his touch. "So I've been worrying about that this whole time for nothing?"

"I only found out last night, talkin' to my big bro," Soshiro says. "Do ya really love me?"

"You're an idiot," you breathe. You reach up to grab his hand and turn to walk down the platform, tugging him along. "You're coming with me. We're going to my place this time."

Soshiro lets you drag him onto the train to Ariake, lets you hold his hand the entire time, his rough palms scraping against yours as you squeeze his fingers. The two of you make it onto Ariake base unscathed and unnoticed. You lock your room door behind you.

"Look at this," you demand, booting up your computer and pulling up a word document that fills the whole screen. Soshiro leans over the desk to read it, eyes widening with every word.

"This is…"

"My request for a transfer," you nod, stepping back and crossing your arms over your chest. "I wrote it a long time ago — before your proposal, actually. I've been in love with you for ages, Soshiro. I just didn't know if you…"

"I love you."

You blink. Your nose wrinkles as you pout. It's the cutest thing he's ever seen. "I had hopes, when you proposed, even though I knew it was fake, but you just… kept making me feel all mixed up."

"I thought I was lucky ya kept choosin' me, but my luck was gonna run out someday," Soshiro says, his voice cracking on the words. "You could choose anyone."

You roll your eyes and the tension pops like a bubble. "Why would I choose anyone else when I love you, Soshiro?"

Soshiro laughs, feeling suddenly weightless and warm and fond. He reaches for you, smiling wide when you step into his embrace easily. Your arms wrap around his waist and he relaxes into your hold, nudging your temple with his nose. "Will ya marry me for real, then?"

"Of course I will, you dummy," you bury your face into his chest. Your voice comes out muffled. "But you owe me a million cuddles first."

"Wow, inflation's really hittin' hard," Soshiro murmurs, laughing when you roll your eyes and kiss him. It starts off as a sweet kiss until you fist the back of his shirt and a bolt of heat sweeps through him. "Can I start payin' up now?"

"Yeah," you breathe, tugging him over to your bed and pulling you both down onto it. Soshiro huffs as he lands on top of you, the sweet scent of you puffing up from your blankets and pillows. "Kiss me, Soshiro."

The way you gasp his name does nothing to ease the lust clouding his veins, but Soshiro has enough presence of mind to obey, kissing you deeply as he pins you to your bed. He keeps one arm by your shoulder to prop himself up, but his other hand is free to roam your body, squeezing your tits and digging into the curve of your waist, dragging the silky fabric of your dress up to your hips. You're tugging at his clothes desperately, popping open buttons and untucking his shirt, but you keep kissing him all the while, as if you can't bear to part with his lips even for a moment.

"You're so gorgeous like this," Soshiro mutters, groaning when you palm his cock over his unbuckled pants. He throbs concerningly in your grip and he huffs a laugh into your neck. "I'm — I'm fuckin' sensitive, honey, hold on —"

"Get inside me quick, then," you murmur, shimmying out of your panties and dragging your dress off. Your bra goes flying off as well, leaving you naked beneath him like the finest feast in the world.

Soshiro pulls off his own clothes but doesn't enter you right away, determined to worship you the way you deserve when you're laid out like this for him. You gasp as he sucks and nips at your neck, arching into his touch as one large hand grips your breast. You squirm when he trails down to flick his tongue against your neglected nipple, kneading the flesh with his hand and switching sides just to suck hard at the other bud. "S-Soshiro you jerk—"

He laughs fondly as he kisses down your tummy, biting affectionately at your hip bone just to feel you twitch. His hands smooth over your thighs before he spreads them apart, scooting down the bed to settle between your legs. "You're so wet already," he says reverently, "is this all for me?"

"Please, Soshiro — ah!"

Soshiro slides two fingers into your wet, slippery heat without preamble, groaning as your walls clamp down on him. He sucks at the inner meat of your thigh as you rock your hips, scissoring his fingers to stretch you out and pressing into the spongy bit of your walls that makes you gush even more down his wrist. He laves attention to your other thigh as well, littering love bites all along your sensitive skin but avoiding where you want him most.

"Are ya close?" he asks, watching intently as you fuck yourself on his fingers. He adds another just to hear you whine, the sound going straight to his cock as his balls tighten. You look so pretty like this, desperate and hot, squirming on the bed as you chase your pleasure with his help.

You catch his gaze and he groans, scrambling up to kiss you hungrily. You moan into his mouth, tongue swiping along his own as your hands leave the bedsheets to dig into his shoulders. "Soshiro, please —"

"My gorgeous, perfect fuckin' girl," Soshiro grunts, removing his fingers from your tight hot cunt and replacing them with the head of his cock. He's leaking at the tip, throbbing and heavy, and you whine as he catches at your clit. "I'm gonna marry ya," he promises, moving his hips carefully as he enters you slowly.

"I love you," you whisper, blinking starry eyes at him as he bottoms out with a moan. Unfair tactics — you've got his heart rate flying off the charts, his entire body warm and tense with adoration and desire as he slowly pulls out just to bully his way back inside you.

"I love you, too," Soshiro says, fucking into you carefully so that he's nudging that spot inside you that makes you clench harder around him. "I'm gonna — gonna make ya happy. And proud and — I'm gonna keep ya safe."

"Soshiro, you're gonna make me cum," you gasp, giggling a little deliriously as your nails dig into his back. You wrap your legs around his hips to pull him closer, and something about that makes his body run white hot. "F-fuck, Soshiro — I'm — !"

He cums first, his cock kicking and throbbing inside you as you fall headfirst into your orgasm, bodies shuddering and releasing in unison. Soshiro buries his face in your neck, biting down as he groans, relief crashing through his body as he floods your insides with white.

"I fuckin' love you," Soshiro says, peppering your face with kisses as you pant breathlessly. You giggle and run your fingers through his hair, the sweaty purple strands sticking up as you mess with it.

"You're an idiot if you think I'll ever stop loving you," you say softly. Soshiro meets your fond gaze and smiles.

"First ya call me an idiot, then a dummy and a jerk," he says, "if I didn't know any better, I'd say ya need some new nicknames for your fiancé."

"Hmm, I'll think about it," you laugh.

The two of you stay holed up in your room for the rest of the day, eating the snacks you have stashed around and talking and dreaming and making plans for the future. Soshiro's heart does a traitorous little flutter when you ask him to make love to you a few more times — because it is love, and it's still dirty and hot and you make him cum so hard he goes boneless, but there's love there, as always.

Soshiro wakes up the next morning with a handful of something soft.

"Soshiro… I'll kick you off this bed."

He snickers into the nape of your neck and removes his hand from your breast after giving it a gentle squeeze. You turn to face him, shoving your bare legs against his, and reach to grab his hand. The morning light is seeping in through your blinds slowly, but it still catches on the pretty purple gem and the shiny silver of your engagement ring as you hold your entwined hands up.

"G'mornin', fiancée," Soshiro murmurs. You drop his hand in favor of running your fingers through his hair.

"Good morning, my love."

#hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro x reader #kn8 x reader #kn8 fic #kaiju no. 8 x reader #kn8 smut #hoshina smut #hoshina soshiro #x reader #romcomcollab #kn8 writing #kaiju no. 8 writing #fuji writes fic #i'm still learning how to write long fics lmao #it's not really my forte for sure #also. writing in hoshina's pov when the guy has an inferiority complex? wild #this was also inspired by that post about uhh #having a complicated relationship but having sex the whole time lmao

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