#THANK YOU GUYS FOR 7.5k

[aeyumicore]

please & thank you

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: sylus x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with very little/no plot, porn with feelings

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 7.5k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, SLIGHT spoilers to the lore (with some of my own interpretations and theories), oral m!receiving, fingering f!receiving, face/throat fucking, finger sucking, kinda rough, size difference, cuffing/tied up (m!receiving), sylus kindaaaa/degrading mean but in a tasteful way, he’s also very soft for reader, sylus has a FILTHY mouth, orgasm denial (f! and m!receiving), mirror sex, improper use of Evol, use of Y/N, cute petnames hehe (little dove, little bird, sweetheart, doll, etc), slight predator and prey, choking (kinda breath play??? not really), some references to lore (main storyline + midnight stealth), kinda sub!reader, dom!sylus, THIS IS FILTHY YALL IDK WHAT ELSE TO SAY

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: ao3

━ ✧.˖ A/N: hi guyssss she is here <3 MY FIRST ever sylus fic, first of many me thinks bc i am so utterly infatuated w him im sorry zayne LOL

i did NOT end up making this connected to ‘midnight stealth’ OR ‘no defense zone’ (although some midnight stealth plot is referenced a tiny bit in the beginning). any resemblances to these two memories are purely coincidental, mostly similar because there’s use of cuffs/restraints in all three. this is purely a standalone filthy fic

this has veryyyy little plot, i decided to keep it that way so im sorry to those who wanted to see plot in this ;_; i didn’t want to burn out, which i likely would’ve because pivoting from what i had (5.6k words) to a more plot based fic would have taken me a few more days and probably double the words and i just couldn’t do that to myself. 

i appreciate you guys for supporting me and i really respect each and every opinion so i hope i didn’t let anyone down by not doing the plot version. there will be plenty of opportunities for that i promise <3

pls enjoy :) any comments or reblogs r greatly appreciated (and loved) by me <3 they help me keep motivated to keep writing and truly make my whole week.

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ .

You were playing with fire.

Actually, what you were doing was definitely more dangerous and infinitely more idiotic than playing with fire. 

It was downright deranged. 

It appeared the silver haired man beneath you agreed, his jaw ticking dangerously as his deep crimson eyes crinkled in warning, “Are you sure this is a game you want to play?” 

You knew the answer was definitely no. But the mere glimpse of the Onychinus leader beneath you, at your mercy, was enough to make you push through the thrilling fear coursing through your veins.

With Sylus’s chiseled body unwillingly sprawled out before you, you situated yourself in between his thighs. Though his words and expression were laced with a cautionary edge, his legs spread open for you. 

His wrists were bound with the two silver cuffs you’d purchased at a novelty store on girls day out with Tara, each hand simultaneously locked to the steel beams of your bed’s headboard. With his arms bound above his head, his button up shirt rode up to expose his pale and scarred skin and the defined outlines of the chiseled pelvic muscles that lead to his manhood.

It wasn’t a stretch to say you’d planned this, after all you did buy the cuffs with Sylus in mind. And you’d never forget what Luke and Kieran had told you, in what felt like a lifetime ago. 

“Boss is most vulnerable when he’s sleeping.” 

Except now you weren’t binding him for the purpose of incapacitating him to find that damned brooch he’d taunted you with. Now, when he’d dozed off after you’d forced him to marathon the Harry Potter series with you, you tied him up with only one goal in mind.

Well maybe two. To tease and to punish.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you watch the way Sylus’s naval rises and falls irregularly, a subtle sign of his boiling anticipation. His exposed pelvis is dusted in a faint path of hair, trailing to where his pants hang dangerously low on his hips, after you’d taken his belt off. 

Sylus watches you with a careful eye as your hands find his waistband, tugging his bottoms and his boxers down in one motion. He tuts disapprovingly, even as his body lifts every so slightly to assist you in undressing him, “I’ve already warned you once. I won’t warn you again.” 

And yet, there’s an undeniable amusement in his voice that lets you know it’s safe to keep going. Your eye contact never breaks as you tug his clothing all the way down, until they rest at his ankles. His hardening cock springs free as you do so, the thick mushroom head already leaking a shiny streak of precum. As it slaps against his abdomen, Sylus’s carmine irises darken, but he refuses to make any sounds. The screech of steel rattling against steel is loud in the tense air, the formidable man’s fists clenched so tightly his nails threaten to break his skin. 

You bend down slowly, torturously languid, until his masculine scent invades your senses. You shiver in pleasure, positively addicted to every part of him. Sylus’s stomach heaves as he curses you inwardly; you were the only devilish minx that could even fathom rendering him into this vulnerable state. The only person he’d ever allow to see him like this. 

“You’ve become quite bold, little bird. Perhaps I’ve been too lenient with you.”

His cocky attitude makes you want to shiver, but you find the strength to retort back, “Perhaps you have.”

Not wanting to give him a chance to respond, and a chance for you to lose your courage, you let your tongue run over the thick tip of his erection, collecting his arousal on your tongue. You make a show of savoring his taste, letting your eyes bat at him while you lick him clean. 

Sylus is hypnotized, crunching up to watch you. His wrists pull against the metal restraints, growing irritated with being held back. Of course, if he’d wanted to, he could snap the cuffs with a mere tick of his fingers, but he found it amusing to watch his mischievous little bird believe she had control. 

When you take his head fully into your lips, Sylus’s hips involuntarily buck up into the heaven that is your mouth. Though surprised, you do your best to accommodate the extra inches, tongue twirling around his leaking slit as your jaw unhinges to take in his fat girth. 

“Fuck.” 

Sylus’s dark eyebrows are scrunched as he fights the urge to destroy the cuffs to get to you, wanting nothing more than to sink his fingers into your hair and push you down until you couldn’t breathe. But he prided himself as a man of patience, even if he despised being tested. 

And you were absolutely testing him. Your puffy lips caressed his sensitive veins, tongue assaulting every flaming nerve of his massive length, delicate and soft fingers leaving no inch of him untouched. Yet you moved so languidly. Deliberately testing how far you could push him, testing his resolve. Not that he would ever beg, but he desperately wished you’d move faster, take him deeper. 

“My love,” he purrs, deceptively calm even as your filthy tongue lathered his most sensitive parts, “I implore you to release me. While I’m still feeling generous.” 

Doing your best to shut him up, you take him into the back of your throat, fingers shifting from the base of his manhood to his heavyset balls. You’re only half successful in your antics, as you do cut off Sylus’s demands, only to be replaced by an inexplicable string of curses. The daunting leader of the Onychinus, whose name evoked fear itself to most, unraveled at your whims. A man who had no weaknesses, save for one.

You.

With his head thrown back, hair tousled and matted with a thin layer of sweat, he began to pant heavily. His neck bobbed deeply to the rhythm of his gasps, hands pulling against the restraints you’d locked him into. The sound of metal clashing against metal is almost deafening, your head snapping up to his arms bound above his head. 

For a second you’d feared he’d snapped the steel cuffs, his biceps rippling and forearm veins bulging with the sheer strength of his arms. But fortunately for you, his wrists were still firmly bound, a red angry circle forming where the metal met the pale skin of his hands. 

“Do you really think – hah – this will end well for you, dove?” Sylus considers this your very last warning, crunching up once again to watch you, your mouth full of his cock, saliva dribbling down your chin as you try to accommodate his thickness. He swears under his breath at the sight of you, his woman, the only person he’d ever even consider letting his guard down around, pleasuring him so sweetly and enthusiastically. Even if you were so foolish that you thought you could get away with typing him up. 

You look up innocently at him, fluttering your eyelashes as you fuck him with your mouth. Though you let him hit the back of your throat every time, your rhythm is intentionally and torturously slow, edging him without making it obvious enough for punishment. And although each intentional motion elicits the most mind numbing grip from your gag reflex on his throbbing erection, he’s losing his mind from how much more he wants. How much more he needs. 

“Faster.”

You nearly choke as you giggle at his demands, releasing his cock with a resounding pop. Of course, even tied up, Sylus didn't use the word ‘please.’ The man of unthinkable power was absolutely used to getting what he wanted without even batting an eye. It was a habit that he rarely relented on, and when he did it was only for you. 

“What’s the magic word?”

Sylus glowered at you, jaw twitching dangerously as he did his best to hold himself back, “Watch it.” 

It was truly taking every ounce of willpower he had to not rip the cuffs off the steel beams of your bed, taking your headboard apart with it. All so he could have more.

“Sylus,” you pout, still using your hands to gingerly stroke him with a featherlike touch. Nothing intense enough to get him off. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to say ‘please’ when asking for something?” You give him a pointed squeeze, thumb stroking the underside of his swollen head. 

He curses, pelvis thrusting up into your fist to try and chase the pleasure you’re withholding from him, “Fuck, if you’re going to act like a brat, I’m going to treat you like one.”

“I just want to hear the words ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’ Please. See how easy that is?”

“Y/N, my heart,” Sylus purrs lowly, eyes glinting dangerously, “I won’t tolerate any more disobedience.”

“Well then you don’t get what you want.” As soon as the words left your mouth you knew you’d regret them. 

Before you can even blink, you find yourself pressed firmly into the mattress, your head hanging off the side, hair dangling freely. The air feels strangely brisk, and you can vaguely feel your nipples hardening. It’s then you realize you’re naked. But you hadn’t felt Sylus lay a single finger on you.

His Evol.

You’d become so accustomed to Sylus’s Evol that you no longer felt its slightly suffocating  invisible web when it touched you, unlike when you’d first met him in the N109 zone. The countless times he’d use his Evol to guide your lips to his, your hand into his larger ones, or to undress you, had actually made you quite fond of the touch of his Evol. 

Little did you know that Sylus had actually been practicing lightening up the intensity of it, for you. He’d always detested seeing the uncomfortable scrunch of your eyebrows, the hostile goosebumps that would raise where his Evol touched you. So he’d absolved himself to train the claws of his Evol to soften, instead becoming that of a gentle caress. Only for you, of course. For everyone else, they got the skin-shredding talons that parents warned about in cautionary tales to their children. 

Hanging upside down, the glint of the ceiling light against the silver cuffs hanging off your headboard catches your eye, snapping you from your thoughts. The metal loops were still completely intact, but unlocked. Of course you knew he’d use his Evol to escape eventually, but it still surprised you how he managed to do it so effortlessly. Graceful in everything he did. 

You try to sit up, but Sylus’s hand wraps itself softly around your throat and holds you back down. He tsks scornfully, a playful warning in the swirling glowing cerise of his eyes. His grip is gentle enough where you can still speak normally. Rough enough where you want more.

So you pout childishly, “It’s just like you to use your Evol for such cheap tricks.” 

From beneath his towering frame, you can just barely see him raise his perfectly arched eyebrow. Most of him is obstructed by his massive erection pressed at your nose, menacingly imposing before you. “Cheap? Doll, there’s nothing cheap about me. And nothing cheap about the things I’m going to do to you.”

You shiver involuntarily at his threats, your thighs clenching together in anticipation. Sylus’s words were always harsh, but when it came to you there was always such a profound sincerity and gentleness behind his actions, even when he was brutally devouring your body. So the danger edged into his words only served to excite you, fueling the dampness that had formed between your legs. 

And of course, his perfect cock dangling in front of your lips, still glistening with a sheen of his arousal and your saliva. Hanging so closely to your waiting tongue, but never touching. That definitely did not help the throbbing ache in between your thighs. 

“I think you’ve had enough fun, don’t you agree?”

Feeling daringly bold, you playfully curse him, “Screw y–” But before you can finish getting the words out, Sylus grips your jaw, shoving himself into your waiting mouth. The force he uses is enough to make your eyes roll back, the feeling of being full of him making you forget what you’d wanted to say to begin with. You’re careful to pull back your teeth as he finds his way to one of his favorite places, the back of your throat. 

“Let’s give that mouth something to do, other than run itself, hmm?”

You groan in response, letting the vibrations of your throat speak for you. Sylus grunts, removing his hand from your throat and weaving it into your hair like he’d wanted to earlier. His grip is strong, just hard enough that you feel an immense pleasure from the stinging pull. With a firm hand on your scalp, he fucks into your face, his meticulously groomed hair brushing against your nose at every thrust. 

His speed and vigor is relentless, not that you’d complain even if you could. The feeling of Sylus driving in and out of your throat, like you were a fleshlight, had your body vibrating with need, clit throbbing in ecstasy. How you could feel this good just sucking his cock was beyond you. Your unrestrained moans were an absolute orchestra to his ears, the vibrations running through every nerve ending in his erection, causing him to release a string of his own sounds 

“You’re so – hah – exquisite like this, dove. Choking on my cock instead of your words.”

You whine at him, so unbelievably turned on by the filthy way he speaks to you. His skin slaps against your wet mouth, and an obscene amount of drool mixed with precum drips off your cheeks and onto the carpeted floor beneath you. You loll your tongue out to try and catch his copious dribbles of precum, not wanting to waste any part of him. 

“I can see my cock in your throat, sweetheart,” he cooed, using a hand to brush against your throat, where his erection bulges against your neck each time he fucks into you. 

Tears streamed from your eyes as Sylus’s pace increased, gripping onto your hair for even more leverage against your beautiful face. 

“Crying already? Not feeling so bold anymore, my love?” 

You ignore his patronizing words, trying to focus instead on your own pleasure. With one hand still gripping the hard muscles of his bubbly rear, your other hand wanders to the quivering area between your thighs, fiddling with the bundle of nerves that was slick with your arousal. You desperately seek to relieve some of the tension building up in your gut, all from just Sylus’s cock in your mouth.

But before you can give yourself any inkling of pleasure, you feel a familiar force of energy pulling your hand away. 

“I don’t recall giving you permission to touch yourself.”

You nearly sob at his words. You want to speak, plead with him to touch you, or at least let you touch yourself, pride be damned. But his unbelievable girth makes it impossible to do anything but devour him repeatedly.

The white haired man above you watches you carefully, swearing at how your tear soaked face makes his resolve to punish you crumble ever so slightly. Taking pity on you, he brings your hand to his, weaving his long fingers into yours. You hold his hand tightly, enjoying the way his much larger hand clasps into yours, fingers digging into your sensitive flesh.

“Good girl,” he coos in praise, voice tinged with a condescension that makes your skin crawl in excitement, “You don’t touch what’s mine, unless I say, hm?”

You look up at him with wide wet eyes, nodding obediently as he continues to ravage your face. He pressed your hand deeper into the mattress, his thrusts becoming so intense that you knew you’d have a hard time speaking tomorrow, your throat battered and bruised. 

From your position, you don’t see the glowing light that emanates from your joined fingers. But Sylus does, and he watches in a concealed wonder at the way you can so easily resonate with him now. You didn’t even need to try, a single touch was all it took. It was a testament to how much you’d grown to trust him. 

No, it was a testament to the deep love and respect you’d both come to hold for each other. You’d both definitely come a long way from when he’d captured, or when you let him capture, you at the N109 zone all that time ago. The thought of that threatens to make Sylus shiver as he continues to ram himself deep into your warm wet throat. He watched the way you took him so eagerly, hand gripping his for dear life, your other hand coming up to stroke his heavyset balls as they slapped against your face. The way your poor little throat bulged every time he thrusted into it, the bump so visible to his hungry crimson eyes.

Oh, how you ruined him. He’d fucking marry you.

Your jaw ached, having been open as widely as possible for far too long now, but you did your best to continue to take him. The feeling of him using your mouth was more than enough to keep you growing wetter, needing more. Your thighs squeezed together, as you rocked into nothing, wanting nothing more than to feel any friction between your legs.

Sylus watched as you pathetically tried to find pleasure in the empty air, nearly growling at how arousing the sight was. He was fueled with such an intense desire and love for you, nothing like he’d ever felt before. And that love and desire was enough for him to concede, if even just a little bit, for you.

“You’re lucky I’m feeling…charitable today, my dove,” he murmurs, releasing your hair and bending over your body. His erection never leaves your mouth, but he hovers so that your sight is filled with the view of his solid abdominal muscles. You cry out against his member when the familiar feel of his fingers finds your clit. You gasp out, choking on him, your hips jolting up eagerly to meet his torrid touch.

Sylus chuckles, a satisfied smirk making its way onto his unfairly gorgeous face, “Look at how eager you are…all this just from the taste of cock?”

Not able to respond, you hump up into his hand, squeezing your eyes shut in embarrassment of how desperate you were for him. Sylus only gives you a pointed thrust into your throat, making you gag deliciously around him again.

“Such an insatiable little bird,” he murmured, fingers expertly toying with you.

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart,” his skilled ministrations never stopping, “I wish you could see how lovely you look with your mouth full.” 

Your eyes rolled back when he entered you, one finger at a time. He cursed at how tightly you gripped just one of his fingers. He had half a mind to just bury himself into your perfect cunt right then and there. And that’s just what he’d do. He was never used to not indulging in what he wanted, why stop now?

You felt the familiar shift in energy, a gentle hold on your body, until you found yourself laying on the middle of your bed, Sylus situated between your knees, fingers still toying with you. Your neck screaming in relief at the plush surface, mind reeling from the sudden shift. 

The white haired man bends to hover over you, free hand caressing your jaw, his frighteningly beautiful face before yours, “Hello, my love.”

Your voice is hoarse, sounding unfamiliar, “Hi.” It’s nothing more than a pitiful squeak.

Sylus chuckles, his chest rumbling warmly at your adorably vulnerable state, “How’s your throat?”

You glare at him, trying to steady your raspy voice, “Don’t patronize me.”

He smirks, not the least bit apologetic, but says, “Forgive me, love.” He doesn’t give you a chance to sass him further, instead bringing your chin up to his. His lips slot onto yours, deceptively slow at first and quickly progressing to a vigor that matched the way he’d rammed himself into your throat. 

The bruising intensity of the kiss made your mind muddle, your hands coming up to grasp his neck to ground you. You gasped at the feeling of his heartbeat pounding so forcefully in his neck. The familiar feeling of an earth shattering orgasm edges into your numbed mind, every heightened sense filled with Sylus and only Sylus.

You finally break away, propping yourself up on your elbows to watch him scissoring in and out of you, enough to have you on the brink of climaxing, “Sy-Sylus, I’m–”

Sylus reads you like the back of his hand, withdrawing his fingers and roughly grabbing your face to look up at him. You sob at the loss of friction, looking up at him with teary questioning eyes. 

The ceiling lights illuminate behind Sylus, forming a halo like ring atop his head. He was so hauntingly and terrifyingly beautiful. Not unlike that of a fallen angel, whose sole purpose was to ruin you. 

And just as you’re admiring him, Sylus looks down at you. Unbeknownst to you, he also considers you to be his very own angel sent from the heavens. Bringing light and salvation to the shadowed crevices of his soul.

But even then, he can’t help but tease you, the urge to see you ruined at his hand. An angel with tattered wings, so utterly spent with lust. “You don’t cum until I say, hm?” As if to punctuate his point, he puts his fingers, wet with your slick, in between your parted lips. The taste of you is strong on him, enough to distract you from Sylus, who’s lining up his more massive than ever erection with your weeping slit. 

“Come on, sweetheart. Suck. I know you can do better than that.”  

He presses his fingers harder onto your tongue, relishing in how warm you feel around him. At your adorable pouty glare, he pushes his leaking tip into you.

You yelp in surprise, biting down on his fingers in your mouth. Sylus hisses, but the pain only further arouses him, making him shove into you suddenly. Your hands come up to grasp his forearm, the veins bulging under your touch. 

The feeling of him entering you is so overwhelming, the only thing grounding you to the present was the way his fingers felt and tasted against your tongue. And so you devoured him in earnest, much to his satisfaction. 

It’s not long before he bottoms out, his head kisses your cervix, just enough to have your eyes rolling back, sparks of hot white pleasure clouding your vision. 

Sylus removes his fingers from your mouth, bringing his thumb to his own lips and brushing it across his parted mouth, his other fingers outstretched as he licks across his thick thumb. You whimper at the sight, so unbelievably seductive he has to be doing it on purpose. 

“You always taste divine.” His movements have all but halted completely, his thick girth just sitting inside of you, brushing against your womb. And even though the stretch is enough to practically compress your lungs, you want more. 

“D-Don’t tease Sylus,” you whine pathetically, “Fuck me.” 

The smile on his face is as cocky as ever, the corner of his lips curving up, as sharp as his edged jaw. 

“So bold. Do you really think you’re in any position to make demands?”

He gives you just one pointed thrust, cockhead nestling so deliciously into your sweetest spots, but stopping just at that. You cry out, fingers gripping the comforter so tightly your knuckles turn white. 

“If I recall correctly…someone once told me something about saying…what was it? ‘Please’ and ‘thank you’?”

He grins down at you, bending forward so that he hovers right over your face. He would never let you know but the pouty grimace on your lust glowing face was nearly enough to have him caving into your every whim, punishment forgotten in the wind. 

“Hm? So what do we say, sweetheart?”

With his cock situated so perfectly in you, it’s impossible for you to do anything but follow his every command, no matter how much it bruises your ego.

“P-Please?”

His smirk deepens, fingers cupping your chin up to face him, “You can do better than that, Y/N.”

You groan as he shifts, giving you just the tiniest bit of friction where it mattered. You do your best to find the confidence, “Please Sylus.”

There’s the faintest flicker of darkness in his eyes, a twitch of unraveling at the way you effortlessly purr his name. If you had any idea the things you did to him, the mighty and fearless leader of the Onychinus, it would be his absolute undoing. 

“Please what, my dove? Come on, use that beautiful voice of yours.”

Before you can let out your snarky response, his fingers travel to your neck, stroking your sensitive pulse gently before pressing down to compress your airway. 

“Or is this throat only good for taking my cock?”

You whine at his words, patience absolutely gone. You wrap your legs around his waist and force him closer. A pathetic attempt to get him to thrust into you. Your hands come up to the back of his neck, and your tear glistening eyes search his pleadingly. He’s taken aback by the sudden shift, a small gasp escaping his parted lips. In his surprise, he lets himself be guided to you, his forehead falling to lay atop yours, his breath fanning against your own. 

“Please Sylus, please fuck me. I’m sorry, I’ll be a good girl. Please.”

The curse that leaves Sylus’s voice is barely perceptible as he drinks you in. Your cheeks were still streaked with tears, your eyes wide and glassy. Your lips were puffy from his bruising kisses, and cheeks heated with desire. There was absolutely nothing in the universe that could match how utterly gorgeous you were. His gorgeous woman. His to ruin. 

His voice low with longing and hunger, “Fuck, okay love. I’ll give you what you want.”

He manipulates the energy around you, raising your arm above your hand. His slender fingers dance up your exposed skin, until they find your fingers. His nails graze your inflamed skin, fingers toying with yours. For a brief moment, he enjoys how much smaller your hand feels in his. His delicate little bird.

“Hold on tight.”

Your fingers grip his, your nails digging in when he finally pulls his cock out, leaving only his head still snuggly inside. Without giving you a second to breathe, he’s plummeting himself back into your sopping cunt. Your combined slick ensures there’s zero resistance, only the sounds of wet slaps filling the space between you. 

Sylus’s forehead still rests against yours, his free arm bent above your head, helping support him as he fucks you with a painfully delicious intensity. Your cunt milks him perfectly, the warmth far too inviting and the tightness much too constricting. His fingers grip yours forcefully, trying to offset the way your pussy tries to suck the living soul out of him. 

“Sy-Sylus,” you cry out, nails digging crescents into his skin, your other hand coming up to rake red scratches into his back, “Slow – ngh – slow down!” Your brain is a jumbled mess, confused at the words your tongue lets out when your body only wants more.

Sylus’s chuckle is low and almost sinister, his pace never relenting, “That’s funny. I recall you saying you’d be a good girl.” He shifts his weight to his knees, moving his palm to your naval, pressing down. You squeal at the feeling of his palm pressing into your stomach, your sensitive walls being compressed into his cock spearing in and out of you. 

“And good girls take what they’re given, hm?”  

Moans and whimpers are the only thing you’re capable of producing, his pace brutal, like he was trying to find his way into your throat from your cunt. You don’t notice his hand traveling further south until his thumb presses into your swollen clit, flicking hard. You screech, your back arching off the bed, giving him further access to your dripping cunt. 

“Answer me when I speak to you, sweetheart.” 

“Yes! Yes, I’m a good girl, I can take it!” you all but screamed, spine so arched you felt like you were levitating.

The erotic cries that leave your lips make it difficult for Sylus to think straight, so he doesn’t. He fucks you with a ferocity that was nothing short of animalistic, the only thing he can think of is how many different ways he can and will make you cum. 

He presses your joined palms deeper into the mattress, eyes searching yours desperately. For what, you were unsure. But as his scarlet irises bore into yours, you felt an overwhelming sense of emotion catch in your throat.

Propping yourself slightly on your elbows, you pressed your forehead to Sylus’s, his sweat dampened bangs fluttering against your eyelashes.You reach up to cup the back of his head, pulling him towards you. His right hand never leaves your clit, his left staying tightly clasped with yours.

He takes the opportunity to press his lips to yours, forcing his tongue into your mouth. You moan into him as he claims you fully, thrusts moving in tandem with his tongue. It’s a torrid clash of tongue and teeth, enough passion to have the Aether core in your heart throbbing dangerously erratically. 

“Syluuus,” you slur as you pull away to breathe, “I-I’m..I’m gon–” You can’t get the words out, the tip of his cock against your cervix and fingers on your clit bringing you into another dimension, one filled with him. The scent, the sound, the feel, the sight of him. 

“I know. Getting so goddamn tight,” he grits out, jaw locking as he tries to steady himself against your vice grip. Sylus was a man of boundless stamina and restraint, but when it came to you… When it came to the absolute heaven that was your body, he could hold nothing back. 

Just as you neared your orgasm, Sylus stops again. You find your body being moved again, but this time Sylus’s hands are lifting you, and not his Evol. His strong arms lift you so that you’re sitting on his lap, your back pressed against his muscled chest, and his back leaned up against the bed.

He does however use his Evol to drag over the gold arched full-length mirror you had propped up against the corner of your bedroom, so that it sits right in front of the bed. Your vision is filled with the gleaming reflection of you, naked on Sylus’s lap, his arrogant smirk right by the top of your head. His muscular arms are draped over your thighs, spreading open your glistening folds, fully exposing you before the mirror. 

“Sylus s-stop. It’s embarrassing,” you whine, averting your gaze at the lewd sight, and the even filthier sounds of his fingers against your copious slick. But he grips your jaw firmly, turning you back to the mirror. 

“Look how beautiful you are,” he murmurs, lips pressed against your ear, “Look.” 

You puff your cheeks, fighting against his fingers.

“Look, love. Or you don’t get to cum,” he purrs in your ear.

You mutter sulkily, knowing full well his threats are anything but empty, “You’re evil.” 

But you obey diligently, letting his fingers guide your face forward. The sight before you is so unbelievably filthy, Sylus’s long fingers digging into your thighs to keep them spread open, his other fingers playing with your swollen lips. Even on his lap, he was a head taller than you, His soft white hair is matted with sweat, his cheeks dusted a peachy red with how vigorously he’d just been fucking you.

As your eyes meet in the mirror, Sylus lifts you from underneath your thighs, and spears you onto his cock. You cry out at the feeling of being stretched open again, Sylus’s own ecstasy fueled grunts in your ear.

With you atop him, his cock reaches so unbelievably deep inside you that you feel the tears returning. Your eyes screw shut as his tip repeatedly brushes against your cervix, the familiar pain quickly dulling into an intense pleasure. 

Suddenly you feel Sylus’s teeth at the crook of your neck, and arm coming across your chest to enclose over your entire throat. His sharp canines dig into the area where your neck meets your shoulder, biting just hard enough to make your eyes fly open to face his in the mirror. His eyebrows are quirked at you, amusement evident in his sharp ruby eyes.

He doesn’t speak, instead keeping his mouth attached to your pulse point. But the dark sultry heat swirling in his eyes that you can see reflected in the mirror is a clear and wordless command. 

Watch.

And who were you to disobey him, when his body brought this much pleasure to your own. 

So with your eyes locked on his in the mirror, Sylus begins to bounce you in earnest on his lap. And while you moan and whimper as he springs you so effortlessly on his cock, like you weighed nothing more than a mere toy, his own noises are muffled by his teeth that are sunk into your fluttering neck. 

His eyes never leave yours in the mirror, darkened underneath his eyebrows, glowing with red hot lust. The way he watches you is so intimately primal, like a predator toying with its prey before the kill. 

With his hungry gaze locking yours in place and the lewd wet sounds of slick skin pounding against one another, you feel the alarmingly rapid tightening of your abdomen that signals your orgasm. Sylus feels it too, your walls tightening so intensely that the outline of his veins might imprint into you. Your grip coaxes his own cock toward release, his jaw tightening as to keep himself in check. 

He releases your bruised skin, admiring how breathtaking you look with his marks on you. His hand leaves your clit to rest on your tummy, stroking the skin there. You can feel him use his Evol to keep you in place, only the raw strength of his thighs and abs keeping you in steady motion on his length. 

“Look,” he croons in your ear, teeth grazing against your sensitive earlobes, “Can you see where I am, dove? I’m allll the way here ” His husky voice drawls, hand on your abdomen pressing down. You can definitely see the distinct outline of something large thrusting in and out of you. Your eyes widen at the mirror, mesmerized at how your bodies connect, almost resonating on their own. Sylus’s eyes are also glued to the way the base of his cock, shiny with a ring of arousal, forces your tiny fluttering cunt to take him in all his glory.  

“Tell me how it feels, hm? Tell me how I make you feel.” When you don’t respond, too lost in the sight in the mirror, his fingers come back down to squeeze your clit,

“Sylus! – ngh – feels ssoo so good,” you simper, panting through the hold he still has on your throat, the pressure quickly becoming far too addicting, “I-I…”

“Hah,” he groans into your ear, “You what baby? Tell me.”

“M’gunna cuuum,” you wail as his angle shifts just slightly, cock driving into your g spot. Sylus knows just how to play with you, his fingers sending you to heaven and back repeatedly. He was so thick that you felt like he'd split you in two, your cunt and thighs being stretched to their limits against the sloppy friction.

“Hmmm, is my beautiful girl going to make a mess on me? Does she deserve to?”

The mere thought that he might deny your climax again has you sobbing, tears of anguished ecstasy rolling down your face as his pace picks up even further.

“P-Pleaaase – unghh – please let me. I’m a g-good girl, I’ll be so – hnngh – good, I promise.”

Sylus had no intention of denying you again, but now he physically couldn’t. Because now, watching the fat tears roll down your cheek and hearing your beautiful pleas, he too could feel himself pulse with the ache to fill you up. As he watched your breathtaking form in the mirror, he cursed the Gods for sending the only thing that could ruin him. 

You.

And yet, being ruined by you felt so damn good.

“Good for who, my love?”

Your vision has become clouded by your tears and the black spots that blot your eyesight. But the possessive purr in Sylus’s voice reaches you, through all the blinding pleasure, and makes butterflies flutter in your chest.

Your hands come up behind you to grasp behind his neck, and you strain yourself so that you turn just slightly to face him. For a second Sylus looks taken aback, but he quickly composes himself, the confident smile returning to his lips. 

“Nggghh – for you, Sylus.” The sincerity of your shaking voice wipes the cocky smirk off his face, his thrusts faltering ever so slightly. For a brief second, Sylus can’t feel anything. He can’t feel the way your cunt, on the precipice of release, squeezes so forcefully that it threatens to break him in half, the way your soaking thighs ripple against his lap as he pounds into you, the way your fingers play with the hair at the back of his head.

Fate had played a cruel trick on the two of you. Two tragically entwined Aether cores. Two birds of a feather, trapped in the cage destiny had built. 

But now, there is only you and him. Fate and destiny be damned. 

“I’m yours Sylus. Always yours.”

Your words, delicate and simpering, pull him back to reality. All the sensations he’d briefly been numbed to came crashing back. The torturously delicious way you felt around him, atop him, and against him swarmed back all at once. And to top it all off, the sight of your fluttery wide wet eyes, hazed over with a fog of lust, staring at him with such wonder and adoration. Your eyes alone were practically making love to him.

It made him absolutely feral.

You squeal, thighs doing their best to grip against Sylus’s lap as he bounces you with an unprecedented vigor, his hand holding your throat to keep you somewhat steady. You watch his muscles bulge, his much larger frame very much on display behind you. Powerful and imposing – a true god-like glory. 

“That’s fucking right, you’re mine,” he hisses in your ear, jaws clenched to hold back the moans your pussy threaten to pull from his body. 

“Gonna cum in you, yeah? Would my slutty girl like that?"

“Y-Yes!” you squeal, so close to coming undone, “Pleeease Sylus!  I-I’m s’close, I’ll do anything please!” You were quickly losing your voice amidst all the screaming and vigorous activities.

You can see Sylus devilish smile, releasing your throat to tilt your chin towards him.

“Anything? You’re making a deal with the devil, little dove.”

With your face so dangerously close to his, he can’t resist. He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, his lips crashing onto yours, locked in the sweltering passion of your bodies. The feel of his tongue claiming every inch of your mouth is just enough to send you headfirst into the orgasm you’d been on the brink of for so long.

And because of that, your body couldn’t hold back the gush of excitement that squirted from where Sylus was connected to you. It’s so messy you can’t help the way your cheeks burn in embarrassment, even amidst the short circuiting of your pleasure-numbed brain. 

“Jesus fucking christ,” Sylus bites out, the tautening of your orgasm stricken cunt nearly squeezing him into unconsciousness. He fucks you through your blissed out state, and it isn’t long before he follows your lead. 

Like everything Sylus does, the way he cums is frighteningly powerful. Your body involuntarily shivers at how hot he is, but more so just how much there is. You can both clearly see the thick milky white seed seeping down Sylus’s cock, even as he continues to fuck into you. His thrusts are slower now, but more intentional. Conveying every ounce of passion into the way he rocks into you. Overstimulation quickly grips you, and you weakly tap at his thighs.

“Sylus, no-no more. S’too much.”

“M’not done,” he groans into your ear as he continues to thrust into you, and it’s then you feel his cock still shooting ropes of his hot spend inside you. He does, however, release your clit, shoving his fingers in your mouth, knowing it'll give you something to ground yourself amidst the sensitivity while he rides out the waves of his climax. 

You gladly accept his fingers, grasping his forearm and sucking like his arm was a dessert. The taste of your mixed slick helps distract you from the intense aftershocks that wrack your body. It’s all enough to have Sylus spurting out everything he has, drained completely empty, milked utterly dry. 

When you feel him finally still, you crack your eyes open, almost scared to see the aftermath. 

The waning sun bounced beams of golden sunlight off your sweat, tears, and cum slicked bodies. Your own body was also littered in pretty little bruises, in the shape of Sylus’s teeth and fingers. Bruises in places you hadn’t even felt Sylus sink his teeth into. They quite literally looked like swirls of paint against a blank canvas. 

Your hair was a mess, and your tear stained face was no better. The area between your thighs was red and puffy, leaking an obscene amount of white cream, all the while still stuffed to the brim with Sylus’s softening member. Even half hard, he stretched you absolutely full. 

On the other hand, the man in question looked absolutely ethereal as he loomed above you in the mirror. His hair sat lusciously soft, gently blowing with the breeze entering through the cracked window. His muscles still flexed gently as they recovered from the vigorous activities, strong chest rising and falling rhythmically with his steadying heartbeat. 

And finally his eyes that watch you back so carefully, the carmine orbs half lidded with satisfied bliss. His lips stretch into that signature Sylus smirk when he catches you staring, nothing short of heart stoppingly arrogant.

He’s so unbelievably handsome, your cunt quivering again just at the sight of him. Wincing at the feeling of his cock inside you stirring back to life at your involuntary throbbing, you panic and tap furiously on his thigh. 

“Sylus, put me down.” 

Sylus chuckles, mischief coloring his scarlet eyes, “What, no ‘please’?”

You whine, not able to withstand the feeling of him stirring back to life in your absolutely spent core. Yet you can feel yourself fluttering in anticipation. And you know he can feel it too. 

You silently curse your traitorous body.

“Please.”

He laughs warmly and obliges. His strong hands grip the underside of your thighs, lifting you off of him. You cry out at the feeling, your cunt clenching at nothing, seeking him once more. Sylus inhales sharply, craving your tight warmth again. But he holds you gently against his chest, shifting so that his erection rests between his abdomen and your thigh, with you sitting sideways on his lap. 

You nuzzle your head into his chest, and Sylus’s lips come down to the top of your head, breathing in your scent and ghosting kisses into your hair. Your hands reach up to weave into his silver tresses, playing with his soft locks and delicately massaging his scalp. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, voice muffled against his skin.

When Sylus doesn’t respond, you pull away from him and look up at him expectantly. He appears to be lost in the feeling of your fingers. 

“You never said please, you could at least say thank you,” you tease, poking his soft cheek with your finger. 

Sylus looks down at you, amused danger flickering in the deep orbs of crimson. His hand leaves your thigh, slowly and tortuously crawling up your skin until he cups your face. You shiver, suddenly feel like you’re staring into the face of danger. 

“Hmm, isn’t it customary to say thank you after eating?” 

You crinkle your brows in confusion at his cryptic words, waiting for him to elaborate further. Sylus’s smug grin widens, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, basking in the excited fear brimming in your bleary eyes. 

“I’ve yet to finish my meal, little dove.” 

© aeyumicore 2024.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

[kaiyunsim]

serendipity —

pairing : spider-man!jake x gn!reader

summary : a late night studying session with shinyu results in a weird stalker following you home… but wait, he’s webbed to the wall..? by… SPIDER-MAN? what’s even weirder is that you find yourself running yourself running into the hero more often and begin to see some similarities with… jake sim?

warnings : FLUFF, very very oblivious reader, jake is SUCH a loser here (i crave a loser bf guys… he’s just a nerd), jake is popular, shinyu as a friend of the reader

a/n : omg everyone thank @writhyv for getting me back to writing for jake ! ALSO for getting me to write a hot loser jake (i love it very much) GIFT FOR HIM !! thank u pook ilysm.

queueing… : serendipity - laufey, sweet - cigarettes after sex, safety zone - leehi, blue - kai (not yung kai)

— wc : 7.5k — not proof read —

jake sim is the kind of guy who could ruin your entire life without even trying.

he’s the hottest person you’ve ever seen in real life. like, actually hot. perfect hair, perfect smile, broad shoulders under whatever hoodie he always throws on like he didn't just accidentally win the genetic lottery. he’s popular in the way that feels effortless, always surrounded by people who seem to orbit around him like he’s some kind of sun.

the whole school loves him. teachers, athletes, the kids who sit in the back of class and never talk. jake sim could probably trip and faceplant in the middle of the hallway and people would still clap for him.

the only weird part is that he’s also… kind of a loser.

you don’t really know him, just know of him. he’s in a few of your classes, close enough to be a familiar face but not close enough for either of you to actually talk. if anything, he’s just background noise in your life, one of those people who exists on the edge of your universe without ever really crossing into it.

except sometimes, every now and then, you feel like he’s acting a little… strange around you.

not that you think too hard about it. probably nothing.

the first time it happens, you don’t even clock it as anything weird.

it’s in english class, some group discussion where nobody’s actually talking, just pretending to think really hard about the book none of you actually read. you’re flipping through the pages when you feel someone staring.

you glance up, and there he is. jake sim.

he’s sitting diagonally across from you, elbow propped on the desk, eyes locked on you like he’s trying to figure out the meaning of life or something.

you blink at him.

he blinks back.

and then, like he just got caught committing a crime, he whips his head down, pretending to scribble something in his notebook with the intensity of someone writing their final will and testament.

...okay. weird, but whatever.

the second time, it’s in the hallway between classes.

you're digging through your locker, minding your own business, when you hear someone clear their throat behind you.

“uh—hi.”

you turn around.

jake sim is standing there, clutching his textbook like it's a lifeline. up close, he's even hotter, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, hair falling into his eyes.

he's also… kind of red in the face?

“hey?” you offer, confused.

he opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, then immediately shuts it again.

“never mind,” he mutters, spinning on his heel and walking away so fast you'd think the hallway was on fire.

...what the hell was that?

it keeps happening.

little moments that should probably add up to something if you actually paid attention, but you don’t, because jake sim is jake sim, and you’re just you.

he stumbles over his words when you ask to borrow a pencil. drops his entire water bottle when you accidentally brush past him in class. one time, you catch him fully tripping over absolutely nothing when you make eye contact with him across the cafeteria.

but for some reason, your brain just files it all away under wow, popular guys are weird sometimes and moves on.

if anyone ever asked you what you think of jake sim, you’d probably just shrug and say he’s nice.

you don't know that he’s been in love with you since sophomore year.

you don't know that every time he tries to talk to you, his brain completely shuts down.

and you definitely don’t know that the same guy who turns into a stammering mess around you spends his nights swinging across the city, cracking jokes and saving people as if confidence is something that comes built into the suit.

the third time you actually talk to him is in chemistry class.

the teacher pairs you up for some experiment, something involving measurements and burning stuff, and jake ends up at your table, tapping his pen against the notebook like he’s trying to act casual.

"can you pass me the beaker?" you ask.

he freezes.

his eyes flick to the beaker, then to you, then back to the beaker like it's a bomb he’s been assigned to defuse.

"...yeah," he says, voice cracking on the single syllable.

you don’t think anything of it, just reach for the beaker when he hands it over. your fingers brush against his, and he drops it.

it clatters against the table, rolling onto the floor with a loud clink.

"oh."

jake looks like he wants to melt through the floor.

"it's fine," you say, bending down to grab it. “at least it didn’t break” you joke to lighten to mood.

he doesn't move, just sits there gripping the edge of the table like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

you offer him a small smile when you straighten up, placing the beaker back on the table.

"chill," you joke. "it's not that serious."

jake visibly short-circuits.

"chill," he echoes, like it's the first time he's ever heard the word in his life.

if someone told you jake sim had a crush on you, you’d probably laugh.

guys like him don’t go for people like you.

guys like him date cheerleaders or instagram models or the kind of girls who know exactly how to flip their hair and laugh in that effortless, pretty way.

not people who half-ass their homework and accidentally fall asleep during history lectures.

definitely not people who would rather have deep conversations on rooftops than go to parties.

but what you don’t know is that those are all the exact reasons jake likes you.

he likes the way you always stick your tongue out a little when you’re concentrating. he likes how you always hum to yourself when you think nobody’s listening. he likes how you talk to everyone the same, never acting like anybody’s above or below you.

he likes you.

and it’s ruining his life.

—

"do you think jake sim is... weird?"

shinyu raises an eyebrow. "weird how?"

you frown, trying to find the right words.

"i don’t know. like... awkward? around me?"

he snorts. "he's awkward around everyone."

"not really."

shinyu pauses, eyes narrowing like he’s finally catching onto something you've been missing this whole time.

"...wait." he leans in. "do you seriously not realize he's into you?"

you blink.

"what?"

"oh my god." he gape at you like you're the dumbest person alive. "he's had a crush on you since, like, forever."

you genuinely laugh at that, because there's no way.

right?

meanwhile, across the cafeteria, jake sim is currently choking on his water because he saw you glance in his direction for half a second.

sunghoon pats his back, looking vaguely concerned.

"bro, you have superpowers, but you can't even talk to your crush?"

jake coughs harder. he’s so, so doomed.

—

you don’t try to stay out late. it just happens.

sometimes it’s because you lose track of time, caught up in the city’s glow. sometimes it’s because you’re walking home after a long study session, brain fried from trying to shove too much information into it at once.

tonight, it’s the latter.

shinyu yawns next to you, stretching his arms over his head as you both step out of the library. “i swear, if i have to look at one more page of notes, i’m throwing my entire textbook into the river.”

“you say that every time,” you point out.

“and one of these days, i’ll actually do it.”

you snort, tugging your hoodie closer around you. it’s late enough that the streets are quieter than usual, the hum of distant traffic the only real sound. most of the shops have already shut down, save for the 24-hour convenience store at the corner.

shinyu pulls out his phone. “should i call a cab?”

“nah,” you shake your head. “i’ll just walk.”

he frowns. “are you sure? it’s kinda late.”

“i always do this. i’ll be fine.”

he hesitates, clearly debating whether or not to argue, but eventually sighs. “alright. text me when you get home, though.”

“yes, mom.”

he rolls his eyes, flicking your forehead before heading off in the opposite direction.

you stuff your hands into your pockets and start walking.

your route home is familiar, same streets, same flickering streetlights, same little shop windows reflecting the glow of the city back at you. you don’t feel unsafe. if anything, you like walking at night. there’s something peaceful about it, something that makes the world feel a little softer around the edges.

but then—

you hear footsteps behind you.

at first, you don’t think much of it. there are always other people out and about. but as you keep walking, the sound stays steady, just far enough behind that you can’t tell if it’s a coincidence or something else.

your stomach twists. ‘who the fuck is walking around the same route as you at 2am..?’ you think to yourself.

you glance over your shoulder.

a man. mid-thirties, maybe. hood pulled up over his head.

the moment your eyes meet, he quickly looks away, pretending to check his phone.

your heart beats a little faster. you’re probably overreacting.

but then you turn the corner, and the footsteps turn with you.

you pick up your pace.

so do they.

your chest tightens. okay. okay. you’re not imagining it.

you scan the street for other people, but it’s mostly empty. the nearest open shop is too far ahead, and the alley you just passed is—

wait.

your stomach drops.

you didn’t even hear him move, but suddenly, he’s not behind you anymore.

he’s right there.

you barely have time to react before he grabs your wrist, grip too tight, breath too close. “hey—”

before you can even think to scream, something flies past you—fast, sharp.

and suddenly, the man is yanked backwards.

one second he’s gripping you, the next he’s pinned to the alley wall, struggling against thick strands of white webbing wrapped tight around his torso.

your breath catches in your throat.

what.

your brain barely has time to process it before—

“hey,” a voice calls.

you turn, heart still pounding.

and standing there, perched casually on the edge of a lamppost, is spider-man.

your mouth goes dry.

he hops down, landing lightly on the pavement, head tilting slightly as he glances at the guy still stuck to the wall. “yeah, i don’t think so,” he says.

the guy grunts, struggling uselessly against the webbing.

spider-man sighs. “not your best move.”

you just stare.

you know who he is, obviously. everyone does. but knowing about spider-man and actually seeing him in front of you are two entirely different things.

he turns to you. “you alright?”

you blink at him, mind still catching up. “uh.”

he tilts his head. “i’ll take that as a yes?”

“y-yeah,” you stammer, clearing your throat. “yeah. i’m fine.”

“good.” he gestures vaguely toward the guy. “i’ll leave him here for the cops. but, uh—maybe don’t walk alone this late?”

you exhale sharply. “yeah. got it. solid advice.”

spider-man lets out a soft chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.

for some reason, that tiny, almost shy gesture is what actually makes your brain start working again.

because up until now, he seemed untouchable, fast, sharp, the kind of person who moves like he already knows the next ten steps ahead. but now, standing here, he’s shifting his weight slightly like he’s not sure what to do with his hands.

and for some reason, that makes him feel real.

“do you, uh,” he starts, then hesitates. “want me to walk you home?”

your stomach flips.

“oh,” you say. “you don’t have to—”

“i don’t mind,” he says quickly. “just to make sure you get there safe.”

you bite your lip. you really should say no. he’s probably busy, and you don’t want to take up more of his time.

but also.

spider-man just offered to walk you home.

what kind of idiot would turn that down?

“…okay,” you say finally.

you can hear the smile in his voice. “okay.”

—

when you finally get home, he hangs back by the streetlight, watching as you unlock the door.

“thanks again,” you say, turning back to him.

he nods. “anytime.”

you hesitate.

“…do you do handshakes?”

he lets out a soft laugh. “not usually.”

“oh.” you lower your hand, a little embarrassed.

but before you can pull it back completely, he reaches out and bumps his knuckles against yours.

it’s such a small thing. so stupidly small.

but for some reason, it makes your heart stutter.

you glance up at him, but he’s already moving, gripping the edge of the nearest rooftop, hoisting himself up with an easy strength that makes your stomach flip.

and then, just before he disappears—

“goodnight,” he says.

your breath catches.

and then he’s gone.

you collapse onto your bed the second you get inside, phone buzzing with a text from shinyu.

shinyu: you home yet? you: yeah shinyu: good

you hover over the keyboard for a second, debating.

and then—

you: hey. what do you think of spider-man?

his reply is instant.

shinyu: idk. kinda cool? you: ...yeah.

you stare at the screen. your heart is still racing.

and for some reason, all you can hear is his voice.

stupid voice with that stupid accent you recognize but look over.

—

it’s become a thing now.

you didn’t plan for it, but somehow it has.

spider-man keeps showing up.

at first, it’s just the occasional late-night save, that charming but awkward conversation at the end where you thank him profusely and he gives you a weird little knuckle bump before disappearing into the night.

but then...

you start seeing him more.

you start to notice that he seems to be where you are, just when you need him.

it happens AGAIN one night when you’re walking home after another late study session with shinyu.

you’re tired. drained. your brain feels like mush, and shinyu, though he’s usually the one full of energy, seems to be on the same wavelength.

"i swear," he mutters, "if i see one more page of equations, i’m going to just… yeet this textbook into the nearest river."

you snort, nudging him. "don’t tempt me. i’m kind of considering it myself."

you both chuckle, but it's tired. the kind of tired where you can’t even muster the energy to fake your usual enthusiasm.

the streets are quiet again, just the sound of your footsteps echoing in the night.

and, as usual, that familiar feeling creeps in, like you’re being watched.

you brush it off. it’s probably just a shadow, the way the streetlights flicker and make things seem closer than they are.

but then, in the distance, a small rustle.

you freeze for a second, but quickly continue walking, convincing yourself it’s nothing.

you turn another corner, and then, there he is.

spider-man.

you blink, more than a little surprised.

“oh, hey,” you say, trying to act casual. "what's up?"

he’s leaning against the side of a building, arms crossed, but when you notice the way he’s watching you, you can’t shake the feeling that maybe he’s been here for a while.

he straightens, suddenly looking a bit... embarrassed? "uh, nothing much. just making sure you're alright."

you blink, a little confused. "i’m fine? why wouldn’t i be?"

he gives a small shrug, like it’s no big deal. "you know, just being careful. you’re walking kinda late, and i’m... well, i’m always around."

you raise an eyebrow. "you just 'happen' to be around whenever i'm out late?"

he looks sheepish. "yep."

you stare at him for a second.

“are you stalking me?” you joke, but it comes out a little too serious.

his eyes widen, and he starts shaking his head quickly, scratching at the back of his neck. "no! no, of course not. just... making sure you're safe, y’know?"

you chuckle softly, rolling your eyes. "right. sure."

he seems to relax when you don’t push it further. “anyway, i could walk you home if you want. just in case, you know?”

you shrug. it’s not like you mind. "okay, but only because you’re weirdly persistent."

he grins, clearly relieved. "wouldn’t dream of letting you walk alone."

it’s an awkward, quiet walk. mostly because spider-man doesn’t seem to know how to start a normal conversation. his silence is comfortable, though, like there’s no need to fill the space. just walking with him feels nice.

by the time you’re at your front door, you’re laughing over something dumb that shinyu had said earlier. you feel strangely at ease.

"thanks for walking me home," you say.

he shrugs. “it’s nothing. just doing my part.”

you smile, heart skipping a beat. "goodnight, spider-man."

"goodnight," he replies, his voice soft. then, as usual, he’s gone before you can say anything else.

—

the routine builds quickly after that.

it becomes normal to see him around whenever you’re out at night.

he always seems to be around, sometimes just dropping in for a casual chat, other times swooping in to rescue you from the occasional shady character or two.

but it’s the quiet moments you start to cherish.

there’s one night where you and shinyu are hanging out on the rooftop of your building, talking about life as you always do. the sky is clear, the stars twinkling, and it feels like a moment frozen in time.

shinyu is sprawled across the floor, pretending to sleep, while you’re sitting with your legs dangling over the edge, arms resting on your knees.

“so,” he says suddenly, breaking the silence. “what’s the deal with spider-man, anyway? you two talk a lot now.”

you freeze for a second, eyes narrowing. “what do you mean ‘talk a lot?’”

he raises his hands in mock surrender. “i’m just saying. you two have some weird dynamic. are you, like, dating or something?”

you laugh it off. “what? no! it’s just... he’s, uh, nice. i don’t know, he’s just been around when i’ve needed him, that’s all.”

shinyu sits up, raising an eyebrow. “oh, really? just ‘happens’ to be there. that’s cute.”

you roll your eyes. “he’s cool, okay?”

he gives you a knowing look. “if you say so.”

before you can respond, you hear the familiar sound of whoosh above you.

spider-man drops down onto the roof, landing lightly beside you with an easy smile.

“hey, guys,” he says casually, like he hasn’t just flown in to join the conversation.

you smile at him, your heart fluttering a little. “hey, spider-man.”

shinyu squints at him, grinning. “so, we’re just hanging out, huh? that’s cool. do you want anything to drink?”

spider-man looks at him in confusion. “huh?”

“i mean, you’re here now. should we get drinks?” shinyu gestures to the corner store below. “i’ll go down and grab something. you want anything?”

spider-man glances at you first, and then back at shinyu, his expression unreadable for a moment.

“uh, sure,” he says, his voice a little uncertain. “i’ll just have whatever you’re getting.”

shinyu gives a little nod before standing up and heading down the stairs to the convenience store.

you and spider-man are left alone again.

the air feels different this time, like the space between you has changed. you both sit there in silence for a moment.

he clears his throat. “so, uh... how’s the studying going?”

you laugh softly. “honestly? i want to burn my textbooks.”

he chuckles. “yeah, i get that. same.”

you glance at him, curious. “you study too?”

he shrugs, looking awkward. “well... when i’m not being, you know, spider-man. i try to keep up.”

you nod, smiling. “cool. you seem smart.”

he looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. “yeah, well, it’s all kind of a... blur, y’know?”

you laugh again. "yeah, i know exactly what you mean."

and suddenly, you realize something.

you’re actually... comfortable with him.

not just the whole superhero thing, not just the awkwardness, but the person behind it. you don’t need to be on edge around him.

and somehow, that makes you feel both lighter and a little strange.

later, shinyu returns with drinks, and the conversation picks up again. spider-man relaxes a little more, though he still seems a bit fidgety.

you can’t help but notice how, even now, when he’s around shinyu, he still doesn’t seem to know how to act. there’s an ease to his awkwardness that’s almost endearing.

shinyu teases him a little, asking if he’s ever had to take his suit off after a long night of “saving people” and spider-man just shrugs awkwardly, mumbling something about the suit being “perfectly breathable” as if that’s the most casual thing in the world.

it’s a weird dynamic, but it works.

and for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel quite so... lonely.

—

when it’s time to leave, spider-man walks you home again, which is literally downstairs.

you’re still laughing from something shinyu said, but when you glance over at spider-man, you notice him looking at you more seriously than usual.

“you okay?” you ask, surprised by the shift in his mood.

“yeah,” he replies, his voice quiet. “just... it’s nothing. just wanted to check on you.”

you smile softly. “you do that a lot.”

he shrugs. “it’s my job, right?”

and even though he says that, you can see the hint of something more. something deeper.

you’re not sure what it is, but you feel it.

you smile to yourself, wondering if maybe you’re starting to understand him a little better.

when you get to your front door, you wave goodbye, but this time, he doesn’t leave immediately.

he lingers.

“goodnight, spider-man,” you say quietly.

“goodnight.”

he’s gone before you can blink.

and you can’t help but feel like there’s something he’s not saying. something important.

—

you’re at school, sitting with shinyu during lunch, lazily picking at your food as the two of you chat about the usual, homework, annoying teachers, and how much you’d rather be anywhere else.

and then, somehow, the conversation lands on him.

"so, spider-man," shinyu says, taking a sip of his drink. "you never really told me. what’s the deal with that?"

you blink, caught off guard. "what do you mean?"

shinyu shrugs. "i mean, you guys talk a lot. what’s he like?"

you pause, considering it. "well... he’s nice. kind of awkward, but in a cute way. and, i don’t know, i feel like i can actually talk to him, you know?"

shinyu raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. "so you like talking to him."

"obviously," you say, rolling your eyes. "he’s funny, easy to be around, and—"

you pause for half a second.

shinyu waits.

"... and?"

you shrug, acting like what you’re about to say is no big deal. "and he’s kinda hot."

it happens instantly.

a loud choking sound from the table next to you.

you both turn your heads.

jake sim, golden boy of the school, is currently dying.

he’s hunched over, violently coughing, his drink abandoned as he tries to catch his breath. his friends, some of the other popular kids, are just watching him, either concerned or mildly entertained.

"bro, what is wrong with you?" one of them asks, patting jake on the back.

jake wheezes.

you stare at him, blinking. "... you good?"

he looks up at you, eyes wide, mouth slightly open like he just realized he made a scene.

"uh—yeah! yes! i’m fine!" he blurts out, too loudly.

you and shinyu exchange a look.

"uh-huh," you say, unconvinced.

jake quickly grabs his drink again, pretending like nothing happened, but you can see it, how his ears are red, how he’s suddenly so focused on stirring his drink with his straw like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

weird.

shinyu, being shinyu, decides to push it.

"wait, you were listening to us?" he says, grinning.

"no!" jake says, way too fast. "i wasn’t listening! i just— i mean— i heard something, but it wasn’t on purpose—"

he stops himself, as if realizing he’s making it worse.

you stare at him, trying to figure out what his deal is.

jake sim is, objectively, very attractive. everyone at school knows it. he’s the kind of guy who could probably get away with murder just by looking at someone the right way.

but right now?

right now, he looks like a glitching NPC.

shinyu smirks. "so, which part made you choke? the part where spider-man is easy to talk to, or the part where he’s hot?"

jake makes a strangled sound, like he just swallowed his soul.

"i—" he starts, then stops, looking deeply uncomfortable.

you narrow your eyes at him.

"wait," you say suddenly, realization hitting. "do you know spider-man?"

jake freezes.

his eyes dart around the table, as if searching for an escape route.

"i—uh—no?" he tries, but it sounds more like a question than an answer.

"that was very convincing," you deadpan.

"thank you," he says automatically. then, realizing what he just did, he groans and drags a hand down his face.

you just stare at him.

what is up with this guy?

shinyu snickers. "dude, you’re acting real suspicious right now."

"i am not," jake says, still looking very much suspicious.

you and shinyu both just keep staring at him.

jake, unable to handle the attention, suddenly stands up. "gotta go!" he announces, grabbing his tray and practically sprinting away from the table.

... what.

you blink. "okay, what was that?"

shinyu just laughs. "no clue, but that was hilarious."

you shake your head, still baffled.

jake sim is weird.

—

that night, like clockwork, spider-man appears.

you’re outside, walking back from the convenience store, a bag of snacks in your hand when you hear the familiar thwip of a web.

you don’t even flinch anymore.

“oh, hey,” you say as he lands beside you. "you’re early tonight."

spider-man, who seems slightly fidgety for some reason, clears his throat. "uh, yeah. just happened to be around."

you nod. "right. as always."

there’s a beat of silence as the two of you start walking.

then, spider-man casually goes, "sooo... you think i’m hot?"

you freeze mid-step.

"what—"

he panics immediately. "i mean—! not that i heard you say that or anything, but like— well, let’s say hypothetically you did say that, and hypothetically i overheard—"

you narrow your eyes. "did you overhear?"

he hesitates for a full second before blurting, "no!"

"uh-huh."

he coughs. "but if you did think that— i mean, just out of curiosity, uh... what part exactly were you talking about?"

you stare at him.

he shifts, looking way too eager but also like he might die on the spot.

you decide to mess with him.

"i dunno," you say, pretending to think. "maybe the mask? keeps things mysterious."

"mysterious," he echoes.

"or maybe the whole... ‘hero of the city’ thing," you continue. "kind of hard not to find that attractive."

"oh," he says weakly.

you glance at him.

his shoulders are tense. he’s definitely blushing. even through the mask, you can tell.

you bite back a grin. "why do you ask, spider-man? you interested in what i think?"

"wh—no! i mean— i guess? maybe? i just—" he stops mid-sentence, suddenly frustrated with himself.

you laugh. "wow. you get flustered really easily."

"i do not," he lies.

you grin.

he’s so bad at this.

but... it’s kind of cute.

he clears his throat, clearly desperate to change the subject. "so! um! anyway! totally unrelated question—"

"uh-huh?"

"—but, like... have you ever thought that maybe you already know me?"

you blink. "what?"

he shrugs, trying to sound casual. "i mean, like, what if i wasn’t just spider-man? what if i was, i dunno... someone you see every day?"

you frown, confused.

"... but you’re not," you say simply. "i’d recognize your voice."

spider-man pauses.

"oh," he says.

like he just remembered that’s a thing.

you keep walking, completely missing the way his entire body slumps.

"why?" you ask, glancing at him. "are you secretly my math teacher or something?"

he lets out a weird, awkward laugh. "pfft. no! definitely not. that’d be, um. weird."

you snort. "right... mr. lee..?"

spider-man sighs, clearly realizing this isn’t going anywhere. "never mind," he mutters.

you just shrug. "okay. anyway, are we getting snacks or what?"

he perks up instantly. "yes! let’s do that."

he’s back to normal.

but inside, jake sim is screaming.

when you get home, you fall onto your bed, thinking about the conversation you just had.

weird.

he was acting weird.

but it’s probably nothing.

meanwhile, somewhere across the city, jake is lying face down on his bed, aggressively kicking his feet like a teenage girl in a romcom, absolutely mortified.

his friends are still roasting him for what happened at lunch.

he’s never going to live this down.

—

rooftops are underrated.

shinyu agrees.

“this is the best place to complain about life,” he says, stretching out on the rooftop ledge. “no teachers, no school stress, just the city and the stars.”

“and potential death if you slip,” you point out.

“adds to the thrill.”

you laugh, taking a deep breath as the cool night air brushes against your skin. it’s peaceful up here, the hum of the city below feeling distant, almost like background noise.

this is your favorite part of the night, escaping the weight of the day, letting yourself exist without expectations.

shinyu, lounging beside you, throws a crumpled snack wrapper at you. “so. be honest. do you think mr. lee is actually grading our essays or just randomly handing out scores?”

“random,” you say immediately. “there’s no way he read mine. i wrote a whole paragraph about how pigeons should have jobs and still got an A.”

shinyu nearly chokes on his drink. “what?”

“i was sleep-deprived, okay?”

“bro.”

you grin, nudging his shoulder. shinyu’s dramatic laughter echoes in the open air, and for a second, it feels like nothing else matters.

but then—

thwip.

a familiar sound.

you don’t even flinch.

shinyu, however, does. “bro,” he says, staring at the figure that just landed on the rooftop. “your weird little superhero friend is here again.”

spider-man straightens up. “hey,” he says, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie over his suit.

“oh, great,” shinyu mutters. “now i have to third-wheel whatever this weird thing is.”

you roll your eyes. “it’s not weird.”

spider-man, beside you, shifts. “wait. what’s not weird?”

shinyu smirks. “you and them.”

spider-man nearly trips over his own feet. “what?”

you laugh. “ignore him, he’s just being annoying.”

“i’m just saying,” shinyu teases, standing up and stretching, “i feel like a chaperone. anyway, i’m heading home before mr. lee assigns another test. try not to die.”

you wave him off, watching as he climbs down the fire escape.

the second he’s gone, spider-man sighs dramatically. “your friend is kind of scary.”

“he’d love to hear that.”

he chuckles, shaking his head. “so. you just hang out on rooftops for fun?”

“why not?” you shrug. “it’s peaceful. no school, no responsibilities, no—”

you shift slightly on the ledge—

and your foot slips.

for a split second, your stomach drops.

but before you can even process it—

strong hands grab your waist, pulling you back to safety.

your breath catches.

you don’t even have time to think before you’re pressed against him, his hands still firmly holding you, your faces way too close.

your brain short-circuits.

spider-man tenses.

his mask hides his expression, but you can feel the shift, the sudden awareness of just how close you are.

your hands are gripping his arms, his hands are still on your waist, and for a moment, neither of you move.

the air is thick.

his breathing is a little uneven.

he’s calm on the outside, but inside?

jake sim is losing his mind.

because oh my god.

he is touching you.

holding you.

you’re close enough that he can see every little detail, the way your lips part slightly in surprise, the way your eyes flicker down for a second before meeting his again.

he’s panicking.

but he cannot show it.

so he clears his throat, trying to sound casual. “you, uh. good?”

you blink, snapping out of it.

“oh. yeah. thanks for—” you gesture vaguely, still hyper-aware of his hands.

spider-man nods, though his brain is still buffering.

he should move.

but his hands don’t move.

why aren’t they moving?

he’s gripping your waist like you’re going to fall again, like he has to keep holding on, and it takes everything in him to not scream.

you tilt your head.

“... you okay?”

"me? oh! yeah! totally fine! absolutely not freaking out or anything!”

you squint at him.

"... you sure?"

"yep! totally! one hundred percent normal behavior happening right now!"

he still hasn’t let go.

you raise an eyebrow.

he realizes he still hasn’t let go.

"oh! right! my bad!"

he snatches his hands away like he just touched fire, stumbling back a step.

you blink at him.

he looks like he just had an out-of-body experience.

"... you’re acting weird," you say.

"no, i’m not!" he says, voice cracking.

you stare at him for another second before shrugging. "okay."

you sit back down like nothing happened.

spider-man stands there, physically trying to reboot.

—

the next day at school, jake sim is a mess.

he is so weird about it.

you don’t even notice at first, too busy going about your day, but then, little things start adding up.

like how he keeps running into walls.

or how he drops his books every time you walk by.

or how, when you pass him in the hallway, he does a 180-degree spin and walks the other direction like he just forgot where he was going.

it’s like he has no motor skills around you.

and the worst part?

everyone notices.

"bro, what is your deal?" one of his friends asks after jake nearly trips over thin air.

jake just groans, aggressively rubbing his face. "i don’t wanna talk about it."

his friends exchange a look.

"you’ve been acting weird since yesterday," one of them says. "what happened?"

"nothing!"

"are you sure?"

"yes!" jake says, too fast. "i’m totally fine! absolutely normal! definitely not thinking about anything that happened on a rooftop last night!"

his friends blink.

"... what?"

jake.exe has stopped working.

"i gotta go," he says, shoving his books into his bag and sprinting away before they can ask any more questions.

meanwhile, you, completely oblivious to his entire breakdown, sit down with shinyu at lunch, happily eating your food.

"hey," shinyu says, nudging you. "you notice how jake’s been acting extra weird today?"

you pause mid-bite. "huh?"

"he keeps running into things. i think you broke him."

"... what did i do?"

shinyu shrugs. "no clue. but it’s hilarious."

you glance across the cafeteria.

jake is at his table, looking stressed.

you don’t think much of it.

meanwhile, jake is sitting there, gripping his drink, replaying last night’s moment in his head like a broken record, absolutely suffering.

there’s something weird about jake sim.

not in an obvious way, he’s still the school’s golden boy, still effortlessly good-looking, still surrounded by people who seem drawn to him like he has his own gravitational pull.

but ever since you started talking to spider-man, something feels... off.

and the more you think about it, the more you realize...

jake and spider-man are kind of similar.

not in every way, obviously.

spider-man is cool in a nerdy, awkward way. jake is just awkward.

spider-man is confident until he’s flustered. jake is flustered until he’s more flustered.

but there are little things. things that stick in your mind and refuse to leave.

the way they both stutter when they’re flustered.

the way they both react too strongly when you mention something embarrassing.

the way spider-man somehow always reacts to things you say about jake sim a little too specifically.

you wouldn’t normally care.

except now you do so you decide to test him.

the opportunity presents itself in the middle of lunch.

shinyu is ranting about his math teacher, and you’re half-listening, half-watching as jake sits at his usual table across the cafeteria.

he looks tired.

his friends are talking, but he’s zoned out, poking at his food with a fork like it personally offended him.

for once, no one is paying attention to him.

so you turn to shinyu and casually say,

"hey. you ever think jake sim is kinda... spider-man-y?"

shinyu blinks. "what."

you shrug. "just saying. they kinda act the same sometimes."

"what kind of reach—"

you don’t get to respond.

because across the cafeteria, jake, mid-bite into his sandwich, freezes.

like, completely.

his jaw locks, his eyes widen slightly, and for a second, he just sits there, bread still between his teeth, looking like he’s buffering.

it’s only when one of his friends elbows him that he starts moving again, slowly, mechanically, chewing like he suddenly forgot how food works.

you watch this unfold with mild amusement.

shinyu squints. "okay, that was weird."

"right?"

you decide to take it further.

"also, if you really think about it, their voices are kind of similar," you add, casually sipping your drink.

jake, still trying to recover from his sandwich malfunction, visibly flinches.

his friend frowns. "dude, are you good?"

"mhm!" jake squeaks, before quickly stuffing more food into his mouth to avoid talking.

his ears are so red.

shinyu glances between you and him. "...did you just break jake sim?"

"interesting," you say, watching as jake forces himself to act normal, failing spectacularly.

very suspicious.

—

that night, spider-man shows up like always.

you’re sitting on your usual rooftop spot, legs dangling over the edge.

he lands beside you, slightly out of breath.

you tilt your head. “you good?”

"yep!" he says. "totally! just... busy day."

you hum.

"...sooo," you start, watching him closely, "something really funny happened today."

spider-man tenses. "oh? uh. what?"

you grin. "i was talking to shinyu about how jake sim kinda reminds me of you."

he flinches.

"oh?"

"yeah," you say, leaning in slightly. "you both get flustered really easily."

"what? no, i don’t!"

you raise an eyebrow. "you’re literally flustered right now."

"no, i’m not!"

you squint.

he shifts uncomfortably.

"also," you continue, "you have the same little mannerisms sometimes. like how you rub the back of your neck when you’re nervous."

his hand immediately drops from the back of his neck.

you stare.

he stares back.

"...okay, that was suspicious."

"what was?"

"that!"

"what?"

"you just—" you gesture vaguely. "you’re acting weird."

"i’m always weird!"

"true," you admit.

he sighs in relief.

but you’re not done.

"also, your voice kinda sounds like his."

"what?!"

"just a little," you say, watching him panic. "not enough for most people to notice, but still."

"n-no it doesn’t!"

"you sure?"

"positive!"

you hum.

"you definitely don’t have anything you wanna tell me?"

"nope! nothing at all! absolutely nothing weird happening here!*"

you squint.

he is sweating.

interesting.

—

jake sim has fought criminals, dodged gunfire, and swung through the city at terrifying speeds—

but this is the most nerve-wracking thing he’s ever done.

because tonight, he’s going to tell you.

he’s going to take off the mask, look you in the eye, and say it, 'i’m spider-man. i’m also jake sim. and i like you. a lot.'

he’s been rehearsing it in his head for days.

except now that he’s actually standing on the rooftop where you usually meet, waiting for you, his brain is short-circuiting.

what if you get mad? what if you feel betrayed? what if you never want to talk to him again?

he groans into his hands. this was a terrible idea.

but he can’t back out now.

not when he hears footsteps coming up the fire escape.

his heart nearly leaps out of his chest.

okay, okay. just act normal. wait, no—don't act normal, you’re always awkward. act... slightly less awkward. you can do this. you got this.

he takes a deep breath.

the door creaks open.

he turns around, already preparing himself—

and then immediately panics because—

oh god. that’s not you. that’s shinyu.

shinyu blinks. “oh.”

jake freezes.

shinyu squints. “what are you doing here?”

"nothing!" spider-man blurts out. "just—y’know. being spider-man. normal superhero things. ha ha."

shinyu looks so unimpressed. "right."

jake is internally screaming. where are you?? why is shinyu here instead?? he was so ready.

shinyu leans against the rooftop railing, arms crossed. "so. waiting for someone?"

spider-man stiffens. "uh—no! no, just... hanging out."

shinyu hums.

spider-man shifts uncomfortably.

there's a beat of silence before shinyu smirks. "you’re totally waiting for y/n, aren’t you?"

spider-man chokes on air.

"what?!"

shinyu laughs. "dude, relax. you guys seem close, that’s all."

spider-man doesn’t know what to say.

shinyu keeps going, teasing. "you like them or something?"

spider-man malfunctions.

because the answer is yes, so much yes, oh my god yes, but he cannot say that.

so he just stands there, absolutely flustered, failing to form a single coherent word.

shinyu raises an eyebrow. "wait. do you like them?"

"WHAT? NO. HAHAHA. HA." spider-man's voice cracks.

shinyu stares.

spider-man stares back.

the silence is deafening.

then shinyu grins.

"oh my god, you totally do."

spider-man groans and buries his face in his hands. this is a disaster.

shinyu laughs. "don’t worry, i won’t tell."

"thank you," spider-man mutters, still dying inside.

shinyu pats his shoulder. "good luck, loverboy."

and with that, he leaves, completely unaware that he just ruined the big reveal.

spider-man sighs so hard.

he’s going to scream into his pillow when he gets home.

—

jake sim has been so, so careful.

for months, he’s balanced both sides of his life perfectly, being the popular golden boy at school while keeping his very obvious crush on you a secret, and being the confident, quick-witted spider-man who gets to talk to you without turning into a human error message.

but all of that completely shatters in a matter of seconds.

and it’s entirely his fault.

it’s late, and you’re heading home from another study session with shinyu.

your backpack is slung lazily over one shoulder, and you’re lost in thought when suddenly—

"HEY!"

a voice yells from the alley beside you, and before you can react, a blur of red and blue drops down from above.

spider-man.

except something is off.

because he’s standing in front of you... maskless.

his wavy hair is messy, his expression is panicked, and his wide brown eyes lock onto yours in sheer horror.

… jake sim.

"JAKE?" you yelp.

"OH MY GOD." jake grabs his head like he just realized he left the stove on. "OH MY GOD, I FORGOT MY MASK. I—I THOUGHT I PUT IT ON BUT I DIDN’T. I JUST SWUNG DOWN WITHOUT IT—OH, THIS IS SO BAD—"

he starts pacing in frantic circles, muttering a meltdown under his breath. "stupid, stupid, stupid—how do you forget your MASK? how did i even think this was a good idea? i should just move to another country—"

you’re just standing there, staring at him, processing.

spider-man is jake sim.

jake sim is spider-man.

it all clicks.

the awkwardness. the stammering. the similarities you swore you noticed but ignored.

you slap a hand over your mouth, because instead of being shocked, instead of yelling or freaking out—

you start laughing.

"you’re kidding." you wheeze. "you’re actually kidding."

jake stops spiraling and looks at you like you just started speaking another language. "wait. why are you laughing?"

you’re losing it. "because this makes so much sense now. oh my god. jake."

he goes so red. "don’t say my name like that while i’m wearing the suit, that feels illegal."

but you can’t stop laughing. "i can’t believe i didn’t put this together sooner. you—oh my god, you were literally short-circuiting in front of me at school while having full-on conversations with me as spider-man."

"please," jake begs. "please let me live."

you wipe a tear from your eye, catching your breath. "wait—hold on—" you inhale, trying to compose yourself. "so… does that mean… you had a crush on me this whole time?"

jake freezes.

his entire body locks up like you just hit him with a paralyzing spell.

you raise an eyebrow. "jake."

he doesn’t move.

he doesn’t breathe.

"jake," you say again. "do you—"

"OKAY—" he blurts out, exploding into motion. "yes! yes. i like you. a lot. i have for a really long time. and i know this is probably the worst way for you to find out but—"

you take a step closer.

he shuts up immediately.

he’s still rambling in his head, though, oh my god, they’re looking at me, they’re getting closer, what does this mean, am i going to die—

and then—

you kiss him.

it’s soft, quick, and so unexpected that it completely short-circuits him.

his brain blue-screens.

by the time you pull away, his soul has left his body.

"you just—" he breathes, voice barely above a whisper.

you grin. "you like me."

"YOU JUST KISSED ME."

"yeah." you tilt your head. "you gonna do something about it, spider-man?"

jake.exe has stopped working.

he just stands there, mouth opening and closing, until finally—

he just groans into his hands. "oh my god, i am so in love with you."

~

ty for reading and enjoying !

enha taglist : @minoouz

perm taglist : @s0shroe @minoouz

[mulloey]

clever girl

mafia!seonghwa & mafia!yunho x undercover detective!reader. feat. mafia!ateez

words: 7.5k

warnings: dark content. extremely dubcon. depictions of gangs, violence, death (not you or ateez& not shown) and prostitution.

smut warnings: heavy dubcon, threesome, hard doms!yunho & seonghwa, exhibitionism, gun play, double penetration, anal, unprotected sex, sir kink, pet& degradation names, fear kink, some thigh slaps, mentions of pregnancy and breeding, death threats, humiliation, no aftercare, imprisonment etc

hate is deleted and blocked

-

“Detective.”

Your head darts up, gaze meeting that of your irritated looking boss. He stands above you with folded arms, a displeased expression on his face. “Sir,” you greet him. You struggle to keep your expression blank, a smile pulling at your lips; you know exactly what he’s mad about.

He slams a sheet of paper down on your desk. “Why did you request to do this mission alone?” He asks, wasting no time. “Have you lost your mind?”

You don’t need to ask what mission he’s referring to; though you, much to his annoyance, are known for choosing to go it alone, there’s only one mission on your roster right now that’s dangerous enough to make him this agitated. You sigh, rolling your eyes as you lean back in your chair. You stretch your arms out above you with a yawn before sitting back up, eyes on him. “I’ve been watching these guys longer than anyone else,” you say. “Before anyone here would even acknowledge they were an actual threat. I know how they work.”

“Yes, we’re all aware of your qualifications,” your boss snaps. “But I wasn’t asking about that. I’m asking why you want to do this alone.”

You nod, a small concession and certainly the most he’d ever expect from you. “It took me a long time to fully understand these men,” you explain. “They’re incredibly volatile and unpredictable, even for a gang.”

“Even more reason to have backup.”

“No,” you disagree, shaking your head. “Even more reason not to send officers to their deaths because they don’t know what they’re dealing with or how to deal with it.”

His mouth opens and closes, formulating a response. He frowns, tapping a heavy black boot against the floor. “You really think that’s what it’d be?” He asks. “You think we’d lose men?”

“I’m certain,” you say. “I can’t emphasise enough how dangerous these guys are if you don’t know the way they work or how to stay on their good side. But I do know those things, sir. I’ve studied them for six years.”

He hums. “And you actually think you can handle it alone?”

You smile, nodding confidently. The thought of finally meeting these strange men in person has you a little queasy, but you know you can get this done. “It’s simple intelligence gathering, sir. I’m happy to have backup stationed a good distance away, but I’m not sacrificing good people for something I can do alone.”

He stares at you for a moment, searching for any signs of uncertainty before he sighs, nodding in defeat. “Very well,” he says. “I can see there’s no convincing you. You can do this alone if you’re absolutely certain that’s the best course, but you will call for help when you need it. The moment you need it. Understood?”

You smile, standing up to shake your still hesitant looking boss’ hand. “Thank you, sir. Understood.”

On the other side of Seoul, in a dark office piled with weapons and supplies, a screen lights up, buzzing with a new message.

4:37pm

unknown number: she’ll be coming soon. alone.

A man stares down at the message, a thin smile on his lips. It’s finally happening. The girl he’s been watching, who’s followed him around corners and stared into his windows for years, will finally stand in front of him, and she’ll be completely alone. He couldn’t have asked for more.

He sighs, twirling a knife around sullied fingers. Come, little dove.

—

Five days later, a taxi drops you off just on the outskirts of what has become their unquestioned territory. It’s an unassuming area, not rich by any means but not outwardly dodgy, either, and to the untrained eye doesn’t seem at all like gang territory. But you know better, of course. You know what happens behind the doors that quickly close as you walk by; you know the terrors behind the eyes of the men who leer at you as you venture further away from safety. You know this place, and you know that as far as anyone who knows anything is concerned, you’re not in Seoul anymore. As much as your boss may claim to, try to believe differently, neither the law nor the police nor anything can help you now. Every step you take now is taken at the mercy of the eight men you’ve come here to meet. The Owners, locals call them. You’ve come to know them as Ateez.

You walk with your head down, trying not to catch any more attention than being a lone woman at this time of night already commands. One hand is stuffed in your jacket pocket, fingering at your gun for reassurance while the other hangs at your side. Beneath your jacket, the black dress you’ve chosen to wear hangs just above the middle of your thigh. You hate the feeling of it, shorter and far less comfortable than the pants, jeans and shirts you’ve become accustomed to as a detective, but it’s all that was available for the very specific tactic you’ve chosen.

From your interviews of Ateez’s associates, or at least the ones who you’d managed to catch before they did, you know that they are extremely and understandably stingy with their information. Their personnel, operations and other intelligence is closely guarded on a completely need-to-know basis. It’s what makes trying to capture the lower-level members of the organisation such a pointless task; the majority of them don’t even know who their bosses are, let alone any useful information about them. In fact, the chances of actually meeting the men themselves are very slim even for people looking to do business with them; from several accounts you’ve ascertained that even trusted partners and allies will work with the organisation for years without ever meeting its leaders. No, the only people who get anywhere near the leaders and, more importantly, the information they possess, are the women who come and go from their penthouse on a quickly rotating basis, and according to your informants, always seem to emerge looking even more terrified than they’d entered.

As such you’d formed your plan; you’d enter as one of their hookers, with the clothes and parts to match, find out as much as you could, bug every inch of the penthouse, and leave with your satisfied clients none the wiser. A simple enough plan, but as your years on the force have taught you, not one that’s likely to go exactly as you expect. You just hope that you come out in one piece. Or that you come out at all.

You pull the jacket further across your chest, holding it tightly against yourself. Mercifully, the inconspicuous, but for you instantly recognisable building belonging to the organisation soon comes into view. By design it doesn’t stand out, except for the fact that it is quite a bit taller than its neighbours, but you know what goes on in there; or at least, you’re about to. You take a deep breath before biting the bullet and quickly stepping inside.

The interior of the building is just as uneventful; relatively clean but stained in places with substances you’d rather not think about. A few men shuffle around silently, looking up briefly when you walk in before quickly averting their gaze when they realise what you’re here for. It’s a well-known rule, apparently, that no one is to even think about a girl the leaders have had, even after they’ve discarded her. And with such a fast employee turnaround, it’s no mystery what they do to people who violate even the smallest of rules. The leaders — particularly the eldest two, you hear — run a tight, disciplined ship, and think nothing of throwing anyone overboard. Except each other, apparently; the one thing that every single one of the informants had vouched for is the tight, indestructible bond of the men at the helm of this operation.

A man approaches you nervously, asking why you’re here and you quietly whisper the name of one of your informants; miraculously you’d managed to turn one of the men Ateez frequently used to procure their companions, and he’d agreed to hand you over to them, essentially guaranteeing your authenticity; basically, he’d promised to vouch for you not being the exact thing you were— a snitch. A cop, at that. The man you speak to nods in understanding and directs you where to go and, thanking him with a smile, you make a note to thank your informant the next time you check in with him.

The further you venture into the building, your heart pounding heavier with each step, the nicer it becomes. When you step into the elevator, far nicer and more richly decorated than the front of the building, it becomes clear that the first part of your mission — breaching the restricted area — has been successful.

You step out on the top floor and the difference is obvious; polished floors and hallways lined with mirrors, paintings and flowers show you this is a part of the building few will ever see. This is the bosses’ world. Ateez’s world.

Breathing shakily, you knock on the doorbell the way you’d been instructed — five times, with a gap between the third and fourth. You hear voices before the door opens seemingly on its own, revealing the lavish interiors of the leaders’ apartments. It’s richly decorated with a dark, oak theme, and there’s not a person in sight.

“Hello?” You call out. Your voice almost seems to echo in the vast emptiness of the penthouse. “I’m here to see the Owners? Binwoo sent me.”

Silence abounds and then, just as you start to worry this has all been a big set-up to take out the only detective who’s gotten remotely close to the group, someone emerges. You recognise him instantly as the leader, Hongjoong. You’ve only seen him in surveillance, and very scarcely; the only time he ever seems to leave this place is when someone pisses him off so badly he decides to deal with them himself, so naturally the majority of your surveillance of him has been of torture and murder and pain. Seeing him in front of you now, not as tall as he looked from afar yet somehow even more imposing, those images of him — the things you’ve seen him do — play on repeat in your head.

When he raises a hand to wave at you, all you can picture is the black leather gloves he wears while he brutalises, covered in blood. Your blood, if this doesn’t go well. There’s a reason, you think, that the employees who don’t know this man’s name and thus resort to nicknames, have settled on The Butcher.

You gulp as you wave back. You hope he doesn’t notice the way your hands shake. “Hello, sir,” you greet. You bow politely, trying not to let on to the fact that you have any knowledge of who this man is or what he’s capable of. “I was sent by Binwoo to entertain you.”

He cocks an eyebrow, staring you up and down. “He did say he had someone for us,” he says. This is the first time you’ve heard his voice clearly, and you have to stop yourself from looking surprised at how… normal he sounds. Like a regular guy in his 20s, really— certainly not the monster you know him to be. In another situation, you think you’d quite like his voice. It’s gentle and welcoming and you could even see yourself getting flustered by it; but instead the voice, the man, everything about this moment, fills you with terror.

“Yes, sir. That was me.” You try your best to sound seductive, or even normal, but you’re not sure if he buys it.

He stares at you for a few seconds, eyes narrowed. “Take off your jacket,” he orders. Fear pulsates as you obey; you note that his voice is deeper than before. You hope it’s arousal— or even just curiosity. Anything but what you’re fearing it to be.

You take off your jacket as quickly as possible, hanging it up on the hanger next to the door as he instructs you. You stand in place, hands by your sides like your informant, Binwoo, had told you he teaches his girls to do. Wearing only your dress and heels, you feel more exposed and vulnerable than ever.

He stares at you for a moment before nodding, satisfied. “I’m Hongjoong,” he smiles. “What should I call you?”

You don’t think about your answer; you’d come up with a name while planning this mission, just as you always do. “Mira.”

He cocks an eyebrow, sceptical, but nods. It’s not uncommon for prostitutes to give a fake name, particularly in circles like this, so your obvious moniker shouldn’t be a problem unless he figures out the real reason you’re using it. You pray he doesn’t.

“Very well, ‘Mira’,” he grins. “I’ll take you to the others. They’re waiting for you.”

You follow him down the hallway; dark, ambiently lit, almost cosy. The sound of your heels on the wooden floor breaks the silence into small seconds, giving you a rhythm to follow and cling to as you walk towards what could very well be your doom.

Reaching the door to the dining room, Hongjoong spares a second to look back at you, offering a thin smile that could almost be reassuring before pushing open the door. The room is bigger than you could have imagined and impossibly lavish; more suited for royalty than a criminal syndicate. Along one side of a long, oak table that stretches much of the length of the room sit seven men, arranged to face you in an intimidating formation.

You recognise them all, each face unnerving you more than the last. It’s true, they’re all stupidly handsome — even more so in real life, you realise — but all you see on their faces are the countless, endless amounts of blood on their hands. You’ve seen some of it yourself, more than enough, but the stories are even worse; men, women, children, anyone who stood in their way, slaughtered like sheep. You could swear you hear the faint ringing of screams in your ear as they look up at you.

“Gentlemen,” Hongjoong says. “This is Mira.”

They greet you with interest, a few of them offering a smile while the others simply stare you down. “Turn,” one of them says — San, you think. You stare unsuredly at Hongjoong and he lifts an eyebrow; a silent order to obey. Slowly you turn around, letting them see your back side before facing them once again. They look pleased.

“She’ll do fine,” another, Wooyoung, says with a grin.

Your gaze catches his and you gulp, unnerved. Wooyoung was the person you were most nervous to encounter; though his demeanour is friendly, enthusiastic even, the stories you’ve heard about him are the worst. He kills, massacres people with ease and he does it with that same grin on his face. It’s more terrifying than the more calculated, stoic members, because while they’ve probably killed and maimed more people than him in the long run, they at least treat it with the seriousness it deserves. Wooyoung ends lives without consideration and treats it all like some kind of game.

“Um…” you start. “What would you like me to do now, sirs?”

“Unless anyone has any requests,” Hongjoong starts. He looks around at the others and when no one speaks up, he continues. “You may put your bag on the table then come back here to present yourselves to us.”

You nod, voicing a quiet ‘yes, sir’ before nervously making your way over to the table. Your grip on your bag is iron and you’re hesitant to let it go; your bugging equipment lies in a secret compartment at the bottom hidden beneath the makeup and toys you’d brought to make yourself more convincing, and to leave it with them feels like giving yourself away. But even if they check your bag, you think, they have no reason to think there’d be any kind of secret compartment. You’re safe. You just need to get this done and then you’re safe.

You walk back to where you were, alone this time — Hongjoong has gone to take his seat next to the oldest member, Seonghwa, and now you’re eight-to-one.

Seonghwa speaks for the first time and his voice is surprisingly sultry. “Take the dress off,” he says calmly. His eyes are narrowed. “I’d like to see what I’m working with.”

With shaking hands you remove the dress, carefully unzipping the expensive (for a detective’s salary, at least) fabric and sliding it down off your body. Clad only in black, lacy lingerie, you feel a deep flush across your face; you’ve never been so exposed in front of a man before; certainly not multiple men and certainly not dangerous, notorious criminals. A whistle sounds across the room, though you’re not sure who it came from, and you blush deeper. You feel the weight of their gazes as eight pairs of eyes hover over every inch of you, inspecting and scrutinising you silently. Seonghwa, the closest to you and with the sternest expression, can’t seem to draw his eyes away from your breasts. You swallow, feeling vulnerable and smaller than you ever have before.

“Turn,” Seonghwa says, voice commanding. “Let me see the back.”

You nod, turning once again, taking your time to give them the opportunity to rake their eyes up and down the back of you; no doubt hovering on your ass, globes cleverly exposed by your lingerie. You hear a few whispered comments and try to keep your composure; you almost feel the touch of their hands on your ass, squeezing and slapping it however they like. You know they want to; you hope they will— it will mean you’ve convinced them enough for them to let their guard down.

“That’s enough,” Seonghwa says. “Turn back.”

Relieved, you turn back to face them. You’ve passed one obstacle, you think. Seonghwa stares at you for a moment, expression unreadable before he curls a long finger, bidding you closer. You take a few steps before he raises his palm, stopping you, and you still yourself. His eyes rake over your torso again before he nods. He stares up at you with dark but interested eyes and a smile breaks onto his face before he speaks.

He says it so casually you almost miss it. “I know what you are.”

His voice is so soft you only just hear him and the words take a moment to hit you. When they do, your reaction is sudden and visceral; you heart drops into your stomach like stone, blood rushing to your head at a dizzying pace and you almost pass out. But you do your best to keep your reactions internal; you know the only way to make them more certain of why you’re actually here is to freak out and panic at the mere suggestion. No. You can play this one off. You’ve trained for this. You just need to de-escalate.

You clear your throat, tapping your foot against the floor. “And what’s that?” You ask, trying to sound sultry; your voice almost breaks on the last word but you catch it in the nick of time. “A whore?”

Seonghwa’s lip quirks. “You know,” he says. “That’s not as far off as you think. But no.”

You almost want to huff at the jibe he’d thrown at you, but you remember your situation, the danger you’re in and choose to stay on his good side.

“What am I, then?”

“We don’t really need to say it, do we?” Hongjoong interjects. There’s no anger in his voice; he sounds somewhere between bored and amused. “We both know already.”

You reach up to your chest, to the chip you’d hidden in your bra in case you needed to call for backup, but a loud laugh stops you.

“Are you calling for backup?” Wooyoung grins, confirming what you already knew — they know exactly why you’re here. They’ve figured you out.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, still fighting your case. Your voice starts to falter as you speak, composure beginning to crack. Some small, stupid part of you still seems to think there’s a way out of this, but you know there’s not. They know your secret. And even if they were wrong, if you were innocent, this is their territory and their house— if they say something is so, there’s no arguing.

“You are,” Wooyoung laughs.

“And that backup,” Hongjoong interjects again, “they wouldn’t be the officers we found in vans on the next block, would they?”

You feel your heart drop into your stomach, jaw dropping in disbelief. No. The next block? Does no one listen to a fucking thing you say?

“I—”

“I wouldn’t bother calling for them,” Seonghwa says. You hear a few chuckles from the others, clearly enjoying this. “I don’t think I need to explain why.”

No, you think, he doesn’t. You know what they do to spies and traitors — what they’ll do to you. You can only hope they killed your colleagues quickly. If you somehow ever make it out of here, you’re going to do the same to your boss — you told him to station backup far away and this is why.

Starting to panic, you begin to back away but your pathetic attempt only takes you a few steps before Seonghwa barks, “Grab her!”, and the two men nearest descend on you.

Your years of combat training are no match for the strong, probably better-trained men, and within seconds they have you fully restrained. You struggle in their hold and the taller, Mingi, harshly grabs your hair, yanking it back to force you to stare the others straight in the face.

You expect to see anger, even bloodlust when you meet their gaze, but you don’t. Other than Seonghwa, who seems irritated at your attempt to escape, they look… unbothered. It doesn’t make sense, you think. Not with what you were trying to do and especially not with how painfully close you came to doing it. For having almost had their entire network penetrated by one terrified looking woman, they look strangely calm, like they’re entirely unsurprised by this development, and you don’t know why. Unless…?

You hold back a groan as the realisation hits you. “You knew.”

Hongjoong smiles, amused. “We’ve always known, Mira. You think we wouldn’t realise we were being watched?”

You bow your head. You’re still terrified, knowing these men have killed countless people with the blank, unbothered expressions they wear now, but right now the overwhelming, crushing emotion is just… embarrassment. You feel like a rookie again; cocky and confident with your badge and gun until you fuck up for the first time and it all comes crashing down.

You shrug. “I don’t know.”

You hear someone snort and look up to see Wooyoung, giggling almost gleefully to himself. “Aren’t you meant to be the smartest on the squad?” He laughs. You hear a few others chuckle too. “Didn’t you tell your boss you ‘knew everything about us’? But you didn’t consider the fact that we might know you?”

He makes a good point, you realise. But while you figured they’d know they were being watched, with your high-tech surveillance equipment and ability to blend into a crowd, it had barely crossed your mind that they might know who was watching them — certainly not that they’d somehow know the exact things you’d said about them. They must have bugged you, you think, or somehow gotten a spy into the department to listen in on your discussions on them. You guess you owe them more credit. And a lot more fear.

“I’m sorry,” is all you can think to say.

“I’m certain you are,” Hongjoong says. “Now you’ve been caught. Are you keen on proving it?”

You look up, confused, hopeful and terrified all in one. You thought you’d be dead by now, shot on sight. And if they intended on killing you slowly, torturing you for information before finally letting you die, you figured they’d have started by now. Or at least made any attempt to move. They could still do it, of course, but they don’t seem in the mood for that. They look… curious.

“P-prove it?” You stutter. “How?”

A few of them smile, mouths curling into thin smiles and you shift uncomfortably. The two oldest share a look before Seonghwa nods and seemingly out of nowhere, Hongjoong pulls a gun, setting it carefully but loudly on the table. He keeps a hand on the trigger and his eyes on you as he speaks. “Firstly,” he says. “Don’t try to run. I’d hate to stick a bullet through your pretty face but if you bolt, that’s exactly what I’ll do. And I know you’ve seen yourself how excellent my aim is.”

You gulp. Hongjoong’s right. Through the lenses of your binoculars you’ve seen him — all of them, in fact — make some almost impossible shots. Certainly more impossible than a woman in heels trying to escape from a locked room. There’s no point trying to run. You’ll leave when — if, you think with a shiver — they allow you to.

You feel yourself deflate, nodding defeatedly. “Okay.”

“Alright,” he smiles. “Mingi, Jongho, let her go.”

The men holding you stare almost petulantly at their leader but he raises an eyebrow and they relent, releasing their grip. “Not a fucking toe out of line, Mira,” Mingi whispers in your ear. He says your ‘name’ like it’s diseased.

Despite being released, your body refuses to move; it stays paralysed in the same position, too terrified to even shiver. A blessing in disguise though, you suppose; Hongjoong looks pleased. “See,” he smiles. “It’s so easy to just be good for us, isn’t it?”

You try to respond but all that comes out is a small, pathetic squeak. A few chuckles sound out across the room and your gaze catches Yunho, who, though appearing calm, in his eyes looks just on the edge of feral. You gulp.

Seonghwa is the first to move; he says your ‘name’ lowly, curling a finger towards you. “Come here,” he orders.

You approach him as slowly as you can excuse, soon enough ending up inches away from him. He looks you up and down, inspecting your body with dark eyes.

”You’re shivering,” he says softly.

You manage to force out a few words. “I’m cold,” you reply. “And…”

“And scared?” He asks. You don’t respond, but you flush pink and he chuckles. “Clever girl,” he says. “You should be scared. I’ve never liked the way you seemed so… fearless about us.”

He wraps an arm around your waist, eyes flashing when you jump in surprise. “So flighty,” he mutters. “Sit on my lap.”

You don’t know if you would resist if you could but that doesn’t matter; your body, seemingly in survival mode, moves of its own accord to straddle him. His hands settle on your waist, just above your ass and he smiles.

“Still shivering,” he chuckles. “Good girl.” He leans in close enough that only you can hear as he whispers; “San’ll be much nicer to you if you stay this terrified.” You gulp, eyes flickering in the direction of the man mentioned; he’s watching you intently, face blank but he’s clearly not one to mess with. He’s so much more intimidating in person.

“Now,” Seonghwa says, and you turn your gaze back to him. “Let’s see what you can do for us, hm? Open your mouth.”

You hesitate briefly, but quickly obey, parting your lips slightly. Seonghwa runs his thumb across your bottom lip before he tugs at it to open your mouth further; before you know it a wad of spit lands on your tongue, and he closes your mouth again. He taps your cheek. “Swallow,” he says.

You pray your boss never finds out about this; straddling your enemy’s lap and swallowing his spit on his command. Then again, you’d be lucky to see your boss again at all. You don’t particularly trust that they’ll spare your life just because you let them fuck you. This feels more like playing with their food.

Seonghwa pushes two fingers into your mouth, ordering you to suck. They push to the back of your throat, making you gag but you keep them inside, sucking them desperately and trying to ignore the way your body screams at you to get them out. “Sucking me so good,” he grins. “You’re gonna look so pretty with our dicks in your mouth.”

You can’t help the moan that slips out; nor the flood of relief that washes over you at the praise. Maybe they will let you live after all.

Seonghwa thrusts his fingers lazily in and out of your mouth, letting you choke and gag on them as your throat slowly adjusts to the intrusion.

“I must say,” he says. There’s curiosity and knowing in his eyes; a knowledge of something you think is secret. It unnerves you even further. “You’ve come around to this remarkably quickly. I really thought you’d put up more of a fight, petal.”

Noises of agreement sound out, the men chuckling to themselves. “Pathetic,” you think you hear Yunho say.

“You know, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong says. You turn in surprise at his voice— sitting in Seonghwa’s grip, those dark eyes burning into you, it’s easy to forget there’s anyone else in the room. Hongjoong smiles amusedly at you before he continues. “It’s almost like she wanted to fail. Like she wanted us to realise what she was because she knew that’d mean we couldn’t let her leave.”

You manage to stop yourself from scoffing— thank God, you think, because the pistol on the table in front of Hongjoong is ever present and you’ve seen him use it on others for a lot less. But come on. That’s ridiculous. You’ve been after them for years, never for a moment with any intention other than locking each and every one of them up for good. You try to protest but Seonghwa clamps his palm over your mouth, shushing you. “You might be right, Joong,” he smiles. “That would explain why she came here so poorly prepared. Like a lamb to slaughter.” He removes his hand from your mouth; his fingers brush over your lips and linger a little longer than you can justify.

Hongjoong chuckles. “Is that it, little lamb?” He asks. “Were you hoping for this?”

You shake your head, determined to refute him but to your horror, part of you starts to wonder if there might be some truth to his words, if you… no. No way. Of course you weren’t hoping for this. Still, your hesitation tells them more than you want them to know. “I…”

“She was,” Seonghwa grins. “Naive little girl.”

You frown, brows furrowing. “I’m not—”

Before you can finish your sentence, a deep voice you recognise as Yunho sounds out, silencing you. “Will you stop fucking talking back,” he snaps, almost shouting. He leans over to where you’re still held firmly in Seonghwa’s grip, eyes dark. “I swear to God,” he whispers.

“Yunho,” Hongjoong replies before you can, tone warning but amused. “Don’t be mean to her. She must be so scared right now, hm?” He turns back to you, narrowing his eyes. “And maybe something else?”

“She’s horny is what she is,” Yunho snorts dryly. “Dripping for us yet still with so much attitude.”

“She can’t resist,” Seonghwa says. “It’s in her bones, isn’t it?” He strokes your face with a gentleness you’d never expect from him; but the knowledge of how easily he could and might still kill you makes it a lot less comforting. “She wants to hate us, knows she should but this feels so right, doesn’t it? So good.”

You whine, shaking your head; you know you’re past the point of resistance now but you can’t bear to fully submit. There’s no coming back from that. Seonghwa sighs, stroking your hair. “As soon as you give in,” he says, “this will get so much easier.”

“I—”

“Hm?” He asks. “What? You can’t?”

You shake your head and he smiles. “You can, Mira,” he says. “You will.”

You groan, squeezing your eyes shut as if you could make this all go away just by blocking it out. You hear them chuckle, then before you know it you’re being lifted up; you open your eyes and see Seonghwa has stood up, still holding you in his arms, before laying you down on the table with your legs hanging over the edge. Your stomach twists as you realise the position you’re in; completely exposed and at their mercy. Ripe for the taking. Your hands are lifted above your head and you look up to see Yunho, holding them together firmly in one hand. Seonghwa’s hands come to rest on your hips again.

“Open your legs.”

You whine, shaking your head squeezing your thighs together. Seonghwa scowls, displeased and wraps a calloused hand around your plush upper thigh. He stares you down, eyes dark as he starts to squeeze. His sharp nails dig into you, piercing the skin ever so slightly under the pressure. You whimper, squirming a little but he doesn’t react.

“Open them.”

Cold metal touches your temple. You don’t need to look to know that Yunho is holding a gun to your head. You swallow thickly, trying to stay calm. At this point, you’re not disobeying on purpose; you’re not stupid enough to think that would work. But in the thick of adrenaline, where your body had once obeyed of its own accord, now… it won’t move.

Seonghwa gives Yunho a pointed look and then the gun leaves your head. Now in the elder’s hand, he puts it down for a moment before, with one hand on each thigh, he spreads your legs open with ease. “There we go,” he hums.

The steel of the pistol is ice cold against the warmth of your inner thighs as he moves it slowly up your legs until it points directly at your pussy. Covered by the thin black fabric of your panties, you nonetheless feel entirely exposed, like he can see right through them.

The end of the gun comes to press up against your panties and you feel the cold steel through the fabric; but where it presses against your clit, pressure slight but noticeable, it’s almost nice. It doesn’t move; Seonghwa keeps his hand still in place, watching with a small smile as you try to conceal your pleasure. He pushes it against you slightly, making you gasp, and gestures to your panties.

“Take those off,” he says. “Quickly, if you want the safety to stay on.”

You scramble to obey, tugging them off and discarding them next to you. With a small smile, Seonghwa picks them up and stuffs them in his pocket. You bite your lip. “Sir,” you whisper.

He hums, cocking an eyebrow before placing the gun back where it was before. This time he presses it more firmly against your clit and you squirm. “Nice and still for me,” he murmurs.

Turning your head, you see the other men gathered around the table. They’re just… watching. No one looks affected, no one’s touching themselves; they’re just watching their friends take you apart with entirely blank, focused expressions. Like it’s a clinical procedure.

Unnerved, you turn back to face Seonghwa just as he slips the gun ever so slightly into your pussy. You gasp, almost crying out but Yunho quickly shoves his fingers into your mouth, silencing you. “Now, now,” he cooes. “We don’t want to make them angry, do we?” His voice is sickly sweet and condescending and the most terrifying thing you’ve ever heard. You shake your head, still gagged by his fingers and he chuckles. “Good girl.”

Then the gun is gone as Seonghwa pulls it away— a string of wet, sticky liquid following in its wake. He smiles knowingly and you wish the earth would swallow you up. You’ve creamed on a fucking gun, shoved up your pussy by your worst enemies. You’ll never come back from this.

“My, my,” you hear Hongjoong chuckle. You turn to meet his eyes and he tilts his head, smiling innocently. Seonghwa grabs your face to force your gaze back to him. “Stop looking away,” he says. “I’m the one fucking you.”

The gun clatters down and without warning Seonghwa’s long fingers are penetrating you; two, you think, maybe three. He doesn’t ease you into it (why would he, really?), just quickly stretching you out on his fingers. And then Yunho’s there too, standing next to the elder and watching him work you open with dark eyes.

Soon they swap places, and while Seonghwa’s fingers are certainly large, Yunho’s are something else entirely. His fingers pump in and out of you efficiently; your pleasure clearly isn’t what’s on his mind, but rather, working you open for something bigger. He certainly pays no mind to your reactions; even as you whine and cry his eyes never move from your pussy as you come more and more undone around his fingers. He’s focused, dangerously so.

Once his third finger sits comfortably in your pussy, he pulls them all out, leaving you gaping and empty. You whine at the loss and he chuckles before he picks up his gun again. He runs it up and down your thigh with light, teasing touches.

“Want it in you?” He asks.

You nod, desperate. At this point, you wish you felt shame— you wish you were embarrassed and humiliated to be debasing yourself like this for your targets; but instead you’re just aroused. Completely, overwhelmingly, suffocatingly aroused. “Sir,” you whisper again.

He grins, twirling the gun in his hand. The ease with which he handles it is a stark reminder of where you are, who these men are. It does nothing to lessen your desperation.

“Very well,” he says. “Stay still, Mira. Wouldn’t want the safety coming off accidentally.”

Accidentally. You almost scoff. You’re a detective; you know a thinly veiled threat when you see one. And this is barely veiled. Still, you do as he says without complaint, keeping your legs spread and pussy open for access as he presses it against your entrance. It goes in surprisingly easily; lubricated by your gushing pussy and it’s as humiliating as it is exhilarating. You make a noise of discomfort, biting down on your lip until you taste blood; half of pleasure and half of pain.

The steel is cold and inhuman and the edges push painfully against your walls and it’s degrading and terrifying. Yet at the same time it feels so good to be used and demeaned in this way; to be fucked open not for your pleasure, not even his pleasure, but purely for his own amusement. You know every noise or face of pain you make is making him harder and it’s a rush you’ve never even felt from sex. Fuck. What is wrong with you?

At this point, you don’t even know who’s talking; people and voices blur into one distant, surrounding haze.

“She’s loving this,” someone says.

“Sick bitch,” another spits, then, “we should keep her.”

Then the gun is gone, and you’re suddenly empty, your walls clinging to nothing— briefly. Within a few moments something else nicer, warmer, better is sliding into you; you look up, meeting Seonghwa’s gaze as he pushes into you. He’s large and thick, bordering on this side of too much, but it feels… good. Fuck. You’ve never felt like this in your fucking life; neither, it seems, has he.

“Fuck,” he choked. “Tight little whore. So fucking good.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, lost in a fog of pleasure and clinging to the rhythm of his quickening thrusts. Half of you wants to forget who it is that’s doing this to you, making you feel so good; the other half thinks this is the only dick you want for the rest of your life. But with each thrust of Seonghwa’s dick deep inside you, slamming against your cervix each time, you become less and less able to think of anything at all— except the waves of painful pleasure washing over you, and your desperate desire for it to never, ever stop.

It’s just your luck that, just as you feel yourself approaching your climax, Seonghwa pulls out without warning, leaving you empty and leaking. You’re about to cry out in protest when you find yourself flipped over, pressed down and bent over the wooden table. You feel the two men behind you, kneading your ass, and a sharp slap lands against it before Seonghwa pushes back into your pussy again.

“Hwa,” Yunho says. “I don’t think she’s full enough.”

Seonghwa slows his pace, and you feel his stern, scrutinising gaze on you. “You’re right,” he says. He spreads your ass cheeks, making you gasp, and he chuckles. “Look at that little asshole clenching. I think it wants to be filled.”

Yunho makes a noise of agreement, pressing a finger to your rim and making you jump. “Think she can handle my cock in there?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not really,” Yunho says nonchalantly. “But I’d rather not break her completely. She’s too tight, it’d be a waste.”

“Fine,” Seonghwa says, slowly starting to thrust again. After a few moments, he pulls out, and you feel Yunho’s long fingers enter your pussy. You whine, confused, but a slap of Seonghwa’s hand against your thigh silences you. Yunho’s fingers pull away, replaced with Seonghwa’s dick again, before Yunho’s fingers are on your asshole, pushing into the rim with— oh. He’s… he’s using your slick as lube.

“Dirty girl,” he mutters. It takes embarrassingly little time before he manages to fit all three fingers in there and he stills. “You ever been fucked here before?”

“N-no,” you gasp, squirming under the two men’s grips on you.

“Good,” he says. “Hold still.”

The feeling of his cock pushing past your rim makes you scream— it’s fucking maddening; painful and pleasurable and pretty much every adjective you could use to describe anything. You don’t even recognise the sounds you’re making now; you barely sound human, squealing and crying like an animal.

“Yeah,” Yunho grunts. “Bark, bitch.”

You’re fully sobbing now, a broken, dripping mess as two cocks pump in and out of you. Seonghwa’s fingers are digging into your hips, no doubt leaving bruises to match those blooming under the impact of your colliding bodies each time they thrust. Yunho’s hands are in your hair, tugging your head backwards; it stretches your neck painfully, but you doubt he cares; the only thing on either of their minds is using you for their own satisfaction. Only the sound of laughter reminds you of the presence of the other six and you crane your neck to look at them.

“Look at her,” Jongho laughs. “Taking it like a fucking whore.”

Emboldened by his comments, Yunho speeds up, thrusts getting quicker and harder by the second. You feel your walls clenching around his cock, squeezing him each time he moves.

Seonghwa’s thrusts are just as fast, hitting you just as deep, but in the more familiar cavern of your pussy, they’re not quite as overwhelming as Yunho’s. You can tell by their tightening grips on you when they’re close, slowly losing their control.

“I’m gonna fucking cum in you,” Yunho growls. “I’m gonna get you pregnant and fucking keep you here. Our little breeding bitch.”

You cry out, half pleasure half pain, and it pushes you over the edge; with a shout he releases inside you, hot load filling you up and leaking out around his dick before he pulls out. Seonghwa follows quickly, unloading in your pussy before pulling out, leaving you fucked out and leaking onto the floor.

“Disgusting bitch,” someone says.

Seonghwa touches your hip almost gently, and you find yourself crumpling to the floor, unable to hold yourself up anymore. Sat in a pathetic heap, you faintly see the men surrounding you.

“You did a good job, Mira,” Hongjoong says, and he almost sounds fond. “A maid will take you to your cell.”

Cell. The word hits you like bricks crashing down; knocking the wind out of your chest and dropping you back into your reality— you tried to beat them. You failed. You’re trapped. You know they see the terror creep back onto your face. You imagine they enjoy it.

Seonghwa pats your head, and for a moment it looks like he wants to kiss you; instead he just smiles, nodding curtly before following his brothers as they walk away. Hongjoong is the last to exit, leaving you alone, still crumpled on your knees and covered in cum on the floor of the hall. Before he closes the door, he turns back to you; his eyes hover over your shivering form and a smile flickers.

“If you can keep this up, Mira,” he says, “we’ll probably let you live.”

The slam of the oak door echoes around the room.

-

thanks for reading! i think this is darkest fic i’ve ever written. i’m trying to start branching out into more plot-heavy fics along with the usual smut, so this is something of an attempt in that area. your feedback is much appreciated and motivates me to write more. reblogs and comments are appreciated. requests open. love🖤🖤🖤

taglist open!

[vigilantekisser]

Let It Be Done Unto Me

pairing: husband!matt murdock x f!reader (wc: 7.5k | ao3 mirror)

18+! cw: breeding kink (mentions of impregnation & pregnancy – both matt and reader want kids here), dom!matt, rough sex, oral!f receiving, doggy, mating press, light bondage, choking, biting, use of “good girl” “my wife” during sex, slight dacryphilia, possessive behavior, classic daredevil guilt, allusions to religious devotion, fluff

summary: some dreams have always felt beyond reach for matt, including having a family of his own. but post-party, three drinks in—turns out all he had to do was ask.

note: foggy and marci are married and have a kid here! also matt holds a baby in this one, so obv it’s totally self-indulgent : )

A/N: HAPPY FATHER'S DAY to the dilfest lawyer on earth!!! i started this completely intending for it to be just filth but my nine year delusionship with this man means everything i write about him WILL grow feelings

The bustling warmth of Foggy’s apartment hits you the moment you step in the door. Every inch of the space is alive with the sound of chatting adults and shrieking children, not to mention the same incongruously happy verse of “We Did It!”—the Bluetooth speaker cutting out the Dora playlist over and over. Bright balloons cling to the backs of chairs, paper plates and half-eaten cupcakes cluttering every surface. To put it simply, it’s utter domestic chaos.

So obviously, it’s hard not to smile.

“Wow,” Matt says beside you, his lips twitching upward faintly as his head tilts to take in the scene. “This place is alive.”

“Alive,” you snort, swatting him gently on the arm as you guide him through the threshold. “It’s a full-on circus. Foggy must be in hell.”

“Can confirm,” Foggy interjects. He’s appeared behind you as if summoned by the mere mention of his name. There’s a smear of frosting on his button-down, and there’s a crazy light in his eyes you haven’t seen since college. “Thank God, cavalry’s here. I was this close to drinking Scotch out a sippy cup.”

You laugh, leaning in to hug him as Matt claps him on the shoulder. “Happy birthday to the big guy!” you grin as Foggy pulls back. “Officially one! How’s it feel?”

“Haven’t heard, huh? We’re auctioning him off later,” Foggy deadpans, though the affection peeks through. “Which reminds me—mind if I pawn off your husband for a bit?” He turns to Matt, gesturing toward the kitchen where a battalion of Nelson women’s engaged mid-conversation, holding plastic cups and talking animatedly. “Dude, do me a solid and work your lawyerly magic on the aunties, please. They’ve been talking about SNTs all afternoon and frankly, I cannot feign interest anymore.” 

“Oh, Fog, I don’t know if I’m the guy for that—” Matt starts, but Foggy’s already steering him toward the fray. “You’re exactly the guy, go make them cry with one of your blind crusader stories. Right this way, ladies,” Foggy urges, as Matt’s protests are drowned out, swallowed by the chattering mass of Nelson aunts. 

You stay back, still laughing, and duck toward the table of snacks. From the few remaining drinks, you grab a can of Yoo-Hoo and your finger along its sweaty condensation—until the sharp wail of the baby cuts through the din. 

You turn. 

Across the room, the birthday boy’s squirming in his frazzled aunt’s arms, flushed and clearly seconds away from a full-blown meltdown. Without thinking, you slip over to them (Yoo-Hoo forgotten), holding out your hands with a soft, “Here, let me.”

Teddy comes to you easily, his weight settling against your hip as he lets out one last cursory wail before quieting. His chubby fists tangle in the fabric of your dress, his head falling against your chest as his breathing hitches. You rock him gently, murmuring soft nonsense under your breath until his cries subside entirely. It doesn’t take long before he’s calm, little body relaxing against yours as he smacks his lips softly, his stubby fingers patting at your collarbone. 

Across the room, the Nelson women chatter on around Matt.

“You poor dear,” one of them coos, clutching his elbow, “how’s work? Foggy says the firm’s doing very well. You boys must be rolling in clients.”

“It’s steady,” Matt says mildly, “we’ve been lucky.”

“And her?” someone else asks. “That sweet girl of yours still hasn’t run away screaming?”

A small smile curves his mouth. “Still here, thankfully.” A chuckle goes around the circle. 

“Oh honey,” Foggy’s mom cuts in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “So, when do you think you’ll have one of your own?”

Matt raises his eyebrows, amused and a little cornered.

One of the great-aunts is squinting across the room. “Hmph, looks like she’s halfway there already.”

He tilts his head slightly, tuning in—adjusting the direction of his senses—then stops. His heart stutters. The space between you—the constant hum of your heartbeat, the soft lilt of your voice as you soothe the baby—it’s all amplified in his head, pulling his attention like a magnet. 

“Must be nice,” another jokes. “You can always tell who’s gonna be a good mom. Poor Foggy looked like he was going to pass out.”

Matt smiles faintly, his usual charm just barely masking how his throat has tightened. “Ah, she’s good with kids. Always has been,” he says, deliberately keeping his tone light.

The mention of children is a trap he’s navigated before, typically with casual deflections that fall back on vague hopes of someday. But this time, the words are harder to shake off, and when one of the aunties has so pointed it out—the way you’re holding Foggy’s baby, calm and radiant and perfectly at ease—it feels less hypothetical and more, well, inevitable.

“Well, you’re doing well for yourselves now,” one of the women says, her tone pointed but kind. “Don’t wait too long. You’ve got a good thing going—and if you ask me, you could use one of those little ones running around.” 

“We’ve got some time,” Matt laughs offhandedly. “Haven’t really sat down and talked it through in depth. Maybe soon.”

Mercifully, the conversation shifts, but Matt’s distracted now. Every word buzzes in the background as he hones in on the sound of you: the soft rise and fall of your breathing, your voice swaying upward as you coo at Teddy, the faint rustle of fabric as you shift your weight to keep him secure on your hip.

Before he knows what’s happening, you’ve made your way across the room to him, oblivious to the swirl of tension beneath his skin as you’re saying something lighthearted about how “it’s about time Uncle Matty took a turn.” He doesn’t even have time to protest before the toddler’s being nestled against him, pudgy fingers pawing at his tie.

“Careful,” he says, a little alarmed. “I could drop him.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Couns,” you say breezily, smoothing a hand over Matt’s arm. “You’ve done this before. Plus he’s pretty sturdy, you know. Babies are tougher than they look.”

Matt falls silent, holding the baby cautiously, keeping completely still so that not even his breathing will disturb the delicate balance of the moment. Teddy squirms briefly before miraculously—horrifyingly—settling into his chest, and Matt’s heartbeat jumps, but the baby’s doesn’t. There’s just the faintness against his sternum, the rise and fall of milky breath; he can feel the pulse in his tiny wrist. The echo of a hiccup in his ribs. He finds himself cataloguing every flicker of life beneath the fragile skin. 

It’s overwhelming.

“Matt,” you say softly, “you okay?”

He nods, handing Teddy back to you a little too quickly. “Yeah. It’s just—he’s warm.”

“He didn’t pee on you, did he?”

“No—no,” Matt chuckles faintly. “Not that kind of warm.”

You lift a brow at him, but say nothing more. The baby yawns, then burrows into you again. Matt can hear everything. The low, involuntary sound you make when the baby nestles just right under your chin. The shift in your skin temperature: your whole body warmer than usual. And that scent—he’d missed it before, but God here it is, subtle but unmistakable under the usual fare of your perfume. Sweet earth, clean sweat, and something deeper, headier. His heightened senses tell him what his mind has tried to ignore; it makes his chest tighten and imagination run rampant. He tries to shake away the thought, wresting his focus from the way you smell so right, so perfect, but it’s hurtling like a tidal wave.

By the time you’re on the train ride home, the realization has planted itself in the hollow of his chest, refusing to be moved. You sit beside him, scrolling idly through your phone, humming some barely-there melody under your breath.

He’s silent the whole time, thoughts turning over in endless waves.

It’s already dark outside when you arrive at the apartment. Matt’s still unusually quiet, his mind somewhere else entirely. You shrug off your coat by the door and toss it onto the hook with a bit of flair. Trying to fill the silence, you busy yourself with telling him about the Nelson family dog—a story you picked up about the ratty little mop of a thing getting passed around from household to household like a fuzzy hot potato.

“It’s probably because it’s so ugly,” you grumble lightly, shooting him a grin as you kick your shoes off toward the mat. “Swear, if you could just see it, it really is so ugly it’s insane.”

Matt is usually one to tease, grinning back in that sly, devil-may-care way, but tonight he doesn’t even give you a huff of amusement. Your brows draw together in concern: could someone have said something earlier? He wasn’t one to let offhanded comments get to him, but there had been exceptions… Or maybe the party was too much? Its noise and chaos and endless stimulation, well— you could see this silence as an aftermath.

“Matt?” you finally ask, your tone gentle as you cross the small space to him. He hasn’t moved from where he’s standing near the door, barely out of his coat. “Are you okay? You’ve been so quiet since we left. Did something happen at the party?”

The longer he stays silent, the more determined you become to shake an answer out of him. Whatever storm is brewing in his mind, you’ll be damned if he keeps it locked away, as he tends to do. It triggers your instinct to soothe. Or at the very least, poke fun at it to take the edge off. “C’mon, don’t leave me hanging here. Whose ass do I have to beat? Was it Uncle Tommy? Was it something I–”

“Sweetheart,” Matt cuts through your ridiculous coaxing. Though his tone is steady with concerted effort, there’s a flush creeping up the column of his neck, coloring the edge of his ears.

You step back half a pace, blinking. “What?”

“It’s nothing. Please.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing. Matt, tell me what’s going on with you.” In truth, you greatly dislike all this unceremonious pushing and goading, but the last time he’d gone quiet like this it turned out he’d been hiding a broken rib and a tender side from late night patrol. You frown, stepping closer. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no, I’m not. Honestly.” The shift is almost imperceptible, but you notice the way his body tenses further, throat bobbing as he swallows hard. He drags a hand through his hair, sighing deeply, “Forget it.”

“Forget it?!” you gasp dramatically, clutching your chest. That at least earns you the faintest twitch of a smile on his lips, but he smothers it so fast you wonder if it was a figment of your imagination. “Oh, no. No, no, no.” You wag a halfhearted finger at him. “You absolutely do not get to brood like that then ‘forget it’ me! You’re going to tell me, Matthew”—the way you enunciate his name is pointed—“because you at least owe it to me to tell me if you’re hurt, or I swear to God I’m—”

“Fine,” he snaps, putting an end to your mock dramatics. The tension in him pulls tight enough that the words tumble out unguarded. “Let’s have a baby.”

You blink.

The air around you seems to still, as if the apartment itself is holding its breath, having followed his bidding for silence.  “What?”

“I want a baby with you,” he confesses slowly, sounding pained. It sounds almost like loathing, the derision with which he views how badly he means it. 

You laugh before you can stop it, strangled and half-scandalized. “Matt, Jesus! What the hell…”

But your startled amusement is already tapering off as it clicks into place. Oh. His quietness, his strange mood during the ride home—it was now making perfect sense. Earlier, you were utterly at ease with Teddy, and maybe he’d been, too. The situation now glaringly obvious, your heart starts to race and Matt’s expression darkens when he picks up on it, his lips twitching with that slow, devilish smile you know all too well.

“Oh,” you begin, blinking up at him as you straighten.

That smile. Christ.

“Yes, oh,” he says, already closing the distance between you. “I mean it.”

His hand finds your waist, pulling you closer to him with deliberate pressure.

“Let’s make one,” he murmurs. “Right now.”

Your heart hammering violently in your chest, you tip your head back slightly to meet the wine-dark mirrors of his glasses. In the reflection, all you can see is yourself. His next step seals the last inch of space between you, and when his mouth finds yours, whatever resistance you had left dissolves like sugar on the tongue.

His kiss is needy, and you feel his every hot exhale fanning your cheeks as a hand slips to your waist—guiding you, pushing you back, back until your spine hits the wall. His other hand curls around your nape gently, cushioning the press of your head against the panel. You gasp into him, grabbing at the tense muscles of his shoulders through his shirt. He’s so close, pressing so close now that you can feel the heated hardness through his slacks. Well, he seems to not mind. If anything, he wants you to feel it, grinding himself against your stomach.

“Somebody’s eager,” you tease playfully, never mind that you’re growing lightheaded from the delicious burn of his stubble scratching your face. “Christ, this is a lot of intensity for a lady who just inhaled too many cupcakes. Mmf, ow!”

His teeth catch your bottom lip, nipping at it lightly before letting it free.

“Not now, honey,” he rasps against your mouth. You know it well enough to be a warning, but you don’t know if it’s more terrifying or thrilling. The hand at your waist slips upward, finding the curve of your breast over the flimsy material of your dress. Your face grows embarrassingly hot, and Matt’s breath hitches, groping you a little harder, more possessively, and the thought crosses his mind: the sensation of your tits rounding out for him, growing swollen, heavy with milk… Fuck, the thought makes his cock jerk hard in his pants, and the guttural moan that tears from his chest seems to surprise even him.

Fuck, Matt, get it together.

Shaking his head, he dips down to the crook of your neck, inhaling deep. You smell so damn good—milky and earthy and uniquely you—it’s a shame you’re oblivious to it. What you aren’t oblivious to, though, is the way he’s trembling slightly. From restraint or the desperate undercurrent of his desire, you can’t tell.

“Is this really you?” you ask, breathless now, trying to wriggle just enough to make him loosen his grip. This isn’t like him—not Matt the charming husband, the overzealous lawyer. But you do recognize him. This voice, it belongs to the man who comes home late at night beaten within an inch of his life, collapsing on the floor as you scramble for the medkit. But that part of him has been quieter, gentler lately, less frequent with the overly suicidal excursions—a promise he’d offered you when he asked you to marry him. 

And yet here he is now, returned with that fire reignited, directed solely at you.

“You smell so good I can’t think straight,” Matt murmurs, his nose dragging along your throat, pausing to press a hot, deliberate kiss behind your ear. “You wanna know something?”

You nod, the unbearable heat trickling between your thighs.

“You were holding him,” he begins, voice rasping like he can barely get the words out, “and all I could think about was my baby. Our baby. You’re ovulating right now, and Christ, sweetheart—I can smell it on you.”

That stops your breath cold. You’re reeling, your internal voice screaming for decorum, coolness, anything that might save face—but it’s impossible to, not when hot nerves are zinging traitorously through your body at his words. Not when his hands are on you, hot as brands. Not when he’s put words to the question you’d been hoping he’d bring up again for the past year.

It’s so embarrassing how easily he unravels you. Case in point–

His hand cups your sex through your soaked underwear, pressing the heel of his palm into you hard.

“Matt—!” It’s more of a plea than anything else, but you barely manage to say anything else before his hands slide down your weakened thighs, broad palms curling under them, and he lifts you effortlessly. He hikes you up further against the wall, grinding his hips into you and fuck, you can feel him pulsing—he’s like iron, a fact you’re darkly aware of even through the unconscionably selfish layers of his clothes hiding his hardness from view. The sheer force of his want makes you gasp, hands to his chest as if to push him away—though you clearly have no intention of doing so.

But seemingly, he does.

He pulls back from the kiss, and for the first time all night, you catch a flicker of hesitation cross his face. A crack in the mask of breathless certainty, the very same that had carried you across the room and into his arms just minutes ago.

“Are you sure you want this?” 

You almost laugh. He’s asking you? When he’s the one tearing you out of your clothes, talking filth? “Are you?” 

“I… Well–” The vibrations of his voice tickle your collarbone as Matt rests his head against your shoulder, unceremoniously snapped from the trance of his arousal. Visibly, achingly, he’s searching for words that won’t come. You take it upon yourself to help him out.

“I am.” It’s unsatisfactory; his silence tells you this. For a moment there’s only his measured breathing. But you know what he’s not saying, and he doesn’t have to tell you. It’s there again—the old voice in his head, convincing him he doesn’t deserve any of this, much less the privilege of asking for anything more. The quickly vining doubt in him dictates it: allowing himself this is the most selfish thing he can do. 

You cup his face in your hands so he can’t turn away from you.

“Matt, I know what you’re thinking,” you say gently. “I want this, alright?”

For a split second, you wonder what it’ll take to pull him back from his misery. You swallow, rubbing the sides of your thumbs along his cheeks soothingly. “I want it. Not in spite of your life; because of it. Yes, you bleed and lie and you flake out and… keep going on these fucking suicide missions and yes, yes they scare the shit out of me… But even if I’m scared, I believe you’ll come home, because you always do; that’s who you are. You keep getting back up even if the world’s given you so much reason to be unkind to it.” 

Wordlessly, you reach up and remove his glasses gingerly, tossing them toward the table. They land somewhere with a dull clatter. In the half-light of the living room, you can only make out parts of him, the cut of his cheekbone, the impressionistic slopes of definition on his face. This must be just a fraction of how he sees you, defined solely by blunt form and sensation.

“And that’s why I’m here, too. It’s just my choice as it is yours.” You press your forehead to his, finding him scorching against your clammy skin, before pulling back again. “Your night patrols, all that… If you believe that people deserve all the chances they can get, that there’s always a future for them no matter what came before, then have faith that it includes you, Matt. Everything you fight for is why I believe we could do this. What’s ahead could be dangerous, but what if it’s worth it a—what’s that word you like?” Your lips quirk slightly. “A thousandfold more. We can still bring good into the world, in all the ways we can, can’t we?”

Have faith that it includes you, Matt.

He closes his eyes. He does want it, all of it, more than anything in the world and he’s being the greediest man in the world right now, taking and taking and you’re letting him. Have faith that it includes you.

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Well, it is. It’s no question if it’s with you.” You pause for a bit, before leaning back in, eyebrows wiggling playfully. “And you know, I haven’t refilled my prescription… So if we do this, it’s real. So ask me again.”

An incredulous, lighthearted scoff finally breaks through him. “Unbelievable. Are you sure you’re not the lawyer between us, sweetheart? That was one hell of an argument,” he says, chuckling boyishly through the pecks you’ve started to nip on his cheeks. “Fine. Last chance—are you sure about this?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Ha, ha, Mr. Murdock. Please. As if you believe in last chances.” 

He grins, can’t help it, can’t hide it; it’s crooked and a little desperate. But it’s impossible to skirt around it, your body betraying every rational thought. “Yes,” you whisper, your legs wrapping around his waist, arms sliding around his neck to pull him closer. “Yes, I want this. I want you.”

The words have barely left your mouth before Matt presses his hips into yours again, his groan muffled against your neck. The conversation has quelled the worst of his fears—but not the hunger. If anything, your unshakeable trust in him has unleashed something deeper within, darker and older than guilt. Something he can’t say aloud.

But God knows it. And he knows it.

The knowledge threatens to unmake him: he could fill you now, right now with your heated body primed and the timing perfect, let nature take its course. Your cunt is soft and warm and open, ripe and ready for him. And fuck, it hits him like a train.

Fucking you full to knock you up, marking you with proof of your unwavering faith— 

The thought makes his cock ache so hard it’s a mercy he’s still clothed.

Conversely you’re a mess, dress bunched up and panties soaked, and your heart is beating so hard you’re sure it’s deafening him. Matt locks your thighs over his forearms and carries you down the hall in steady steps, kiss never breaking until your back finally hits the bed. He’s over you in seconds, broad and solid and trembling with restraint that’s quickly breaking.

He looms above you, working deftly on the buttons of his shirt with one hand, the other braced beside you on the mattress to keep you where he wants you. His lips—rosy and pouted, kiss-swollen—curl into a knowing half-smirk.

“You have no idea,” his voice is rich with the thickness of his lust, “the way you taste and smell right now. If you could feel what I feel standing this close to you, you’d lose your mind.”

The shirt finally slips free, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Your eyes trail over his chest, marked by two long scars like uneven wings taking flight. Then his broad shoulders, the planes and valleys of muscle. Oh, Christ. He leans down, his hands already finding the material of your dress.

“Up,” he coaxes, warm but unyielding. You obey instinctively, helpless to raise your arms up and shimmy a little so he can peel the dress up and toss it aside in one smooth motion. His lips descend to your collarbone, stubble grazing the sensitive skin there as he kisses you with maddening patience. Every sensation of his tickling, hot breath sends sparks rushing through your veins, but it isn’t nearly enough. You squirm, desperate for more, but he’s already working his way down—kisses tracing paths between the valley of your breasts, down your stomach, until he reaches the waistband of your panties.

Nose nudging against the soaked fabric, Matt inhales deep, a shameless groan rumbling from his chest as his hands grip your thighs, keeping them spread. “Fuck,” he murmurs, “you’re dripping for me, honey. Been like this since the train home, haven’t you?”

You flush but don’t deny it. The damp feel of the delicate lace between your thighs is proof enough. He chuckles softly at your silence, a finger twisting under the waistband to peel the damp fabric down, sliding it off the smooth skin of your legs to toss it aside. And suddenly, the room seems to be completely saturated by your arousal, steeping into every inch of air he pulls into his lungs.

Still, Matt doesn’t seem to be in any rush. His lips return to your inner thighs, tracing sultry kisses to burning flesh. Thighs pressed to his ears, the sound of your arteries reverberates like a drumline inside his skull. Femoral, uterine, iliac —he can name every one he hears. A symphony thrumming for him, hot and rhythmic. He kisses the spot where it sings beneath your skin.

(What an asshole, you’re thinking, knowing his every peck is deliberate; every drag of his tongue is just close enough to where you need him that it makes you squeal with frustration.)

“Matt,” you snip, tugging at his locks to guide him where you want him. “Stop teasing and just fuck me already!”

He pulls back from between your legs, lips curved into a cocky grin. “Be patient,” he chides, shaking his head like you’re a child spoiled rotten. “I gotta take care of you first, don’t I?”

You open your mouth to argue, but he isn’t done.

“I heard, it’ll take better if you come first,” he says evenly, using that court voice, the one he uses to explain the facts of a case and win over the jury without fail. “So… I’m gonna make you come again…” a kiss on the inner side of your knee, “…and again….” on your inner thigh, “…and again…” on your pubic mound, “…until your body has no choice but to take me.”

The filthy promise pulls you taut as his nose bumps against your clit. “Oh? And just where did you hear this news from, Counselor– Oh Christ–!” You gasp, hands tightening in his hair as his tongue darts out, tasting you lightly before pulling back just long enough to smirk at how you tremble under him.

“See?” Matt says, voice positively dripping with smugness. “You’re already so wet, sweetheart. Let me handle it, alright?”

And then he buries himself between your thighs, his tongue delving into your folds with ravenous precision. Fuck, he could die happy right then, the sour-sweet taste of your slickness robust and vividly ripe on his tongue, incomparable to its scent he’d only enjoyed since before that point. You cry out, your head falling back to the mattress as he pulls you higher with every stroke of his tongue, every flick and flat press against your clit, mouth working generously to kiss your needy cunt open.

Determined to see you come undone, he dives his rough fingers into you, his tongue maintaining pressure upon your clit. Your walls clench at the sensation of being breached, nerves going haywire with excitement as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. When you call out his name, he brushes at that sensitive spot, conditioning you by the whimpers and cries falling out of your mouth. Training you like an animal to associate the heightened pleasure with his name, though really he has no need to. No one has ever touched you with such precise devotion as him. 

Your heels dig into his back, hips canting to demand more. Matt grunts against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your entire body, and you can feel the mattress dipping slightly as he ruts against it, his own desperation spilling over.

“Matty—fuck—” you pant, hands clutching at the sheets. He only growls in response, his free hand curling against your legs to hold you in place, barring any attempt at escape. He’s eating you like a man starved, shamelessly groaning and fucking the mattress at your taste—and with the pressure in your stomach threatening to snap, you fold and unfold, instinctively trying to get away.

But Matt, all-knowing and bent on denying you the privilege of holding back, presses down harder inside you, rubbing while he sucks at your clit. You curse uncontrollably and the white-hot high finally, finally washes over you violently, downwards, down then up with your thighs clamped around his head, clenching around his thick, thrusting fingers. Matt refuses to slow down or let up, working you through every spasm until you’re left a panting, boneless mess beneath him.

“Christ,” you mutter weakly, when you can get it together enough to speak. The world’s still spinning around you, folded inwards to just the sight of him sitting back on his heels. His mouth and jaw are obscenely glistening with your wetness. Matt, sensing your hitched breath, correctly infers that you’re staring shamelessly at him, and at the bulge that’s tented angrily between his legs.

Smug little shit that he is, he brings his hand up to his mouth. The pretty-pink petals of his lips purse around his fingers as he revels in your taste. Matt hums his praise low in his throat, but you don’t get to enjoy the show as much as you want. The mattress shifts, and his hands close tight around your waist, turning you over onto your arms and knees.

Bent over for him, the anticipation is electric, your body still oversensitive from your high. But you can’t help it, that errant need to reassert yourself.

“Jesus, finally,” you muse, smirking above your shoulder. “I was starting to think you were all talk, Counselor.”

That earns a snap.

You hear the leathery rasp of his belt sliding through the loops of his pants, a sound that makes your toes curl.

“Watch your mouth,” he says, pushing your head forward. He leans down to press a hard, claiming kiss to your shoulder blade. The cold metal of the belt buckle kisses your wrists a moment later, and he binds them behind your back in a practiced knot, giving the binding a perfunctory tug to test its hold. 

Oh. Fuck.

Every inch of your arched posture has you laid bare for him in surrender. Your shoulders are sunken into the mattress, having lost the arms to brace yourself with. Ever the gentleman, he holds you steady with a firm grip while the other hand touches between your thighs, trailing all the way to your wet slit. He inhales sharply at the mess waiting for him, your arousal clinging sticky up to his knuckles. 

Matt huffs a laugh under his breath.

“So fucking ready for me,” he murmurs. 

Fisting his cock, he gives it a few rough tugs, precum slicking over his palm as he aligns his hips behind you, pushing forward. You feel the fat, hot head of his cock notch between your folds, and your cunt clenches on instinct, greedy for the stretch about to come. But Matt’s cruel with his patience, and his pace is leisurely slow.

One of his hands finds the knot of your bound wrists and tightens his grip, using the tension to anchor himself. 

He’s soaking in every detail. How your heat radiates off every cell of your skin; the fertile slick seeping out of you, perfuming the air so thickly he can taste it on his tongue. He can hear your heartbeat in your cunt, veins rushing with blood and fuck, he wants to ruin it, claim you with a violence that will leave no doubt in your body, least not in your womb. But even completely soaked, he knows your body needs time to adjust to him.

You whimper, pushing back to take control, but Matt holds you rooted in place. “Ah,” he tuts, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “You’re not getting it that easy, sweetheart. Patience, remember?”

“I literally just fucking came!”

He grits his teeth. The blunt crest of his cock presses into you, splitting you open and it knocks any trace of defiance from your mouth, bordering on too much but your pussy’s welcoming it, spasming around the overwhelming sensation as he fills you to the hilt.

“Oh fuck—” you gasp, “you’re so deep, Matt– Matt—”

“Yeah?” Voice almost cracking as he draws his hips back, only to thrust forward again with a punishing roll that has you keening. “I told you. So fucking tight. Jesus. Your pussy’s just pulling me in.”

Your body jolts with every thrust, each one driving deeper, testing the limits of what you can take. Every time he slams in, your cunt makes a wet humiliating sound and then the hand gripping your wrists slides up, pushing between your shoulder blades to shove you down hard into the mattress as his movements pick up. Fucking you in earnest, his cock drilling into your heat with a brutal, single-minded rhythm that has you whimpering, crying out his name.

“Listen to how wet you are,” he snarls, grabbing the round swell of your ass, “you want it as bad as I do. You smelled so fucking good all day, d’you know how hard it was for me? It was torture. So good with that baby— Gonna let me give you one? Make you mine? Do you want that, honey?”

“Yes–fuck–yes,” you’re panting, thighs trembling as the coil in your stomach tightens and tightens, “want it so bad, Matt, don’t stop–”

“Oh, I’m not stopping,” Matt growls, his chest pressing flush against your back. His breath is hot and wet in your ear. “How many kids do you want, honey? I’ll give you as many as you’ll let me. I’ll put one in you right now. Not gonna stop til I fill you up.”

The shift in angle forces a sob from you as he sinks even deeper, his cock grinding up deeper than before, hitting that unbearable bundle of nerves with a dense pressure that makes your vision blur at the edges. Your arms are still trapped between your bodies, they’re numb and aching but it feels so so good, getting fucked by your husband with abandon. Matt doesn’t falter; he’s fully over you, pinning you down with his full weight as his mouth finds the curve of your shoulder, teeth scraping the tender skin before biting down hard.

You cry out, pain-blinded. The sharpness slices clean through you and with the overwhelming heat, the stretch of him inside you—there it is, you come undone with a fractured sob, violent and searing. Your bound hands writhe uselessly, the bite on your shoulder singing as your vision whites out. Your ears ring, barely registering Matt’s voice swimming in and out of focus, calling you Good girl good girl… his hand petting your head, stroking your hair as your body shakes for him.

Then he’s pushing himself upright again, pulling out and rising to his knees behind you. His praises are still trailing out of him in soft whispers. One hand reaches for the belt at your wrists, tugging—your spine pulled upright by the motion. You whimper a breathy protest as your limbs stretch from disuse.

“You’re doing so well for me,” he praises, voice buttery and low. He sounds so sweet it makes your bruised core flutter, even now. His hands work at the leather binding behind you and finally, mercifully, you’re freed. But your body’s limp, shaking from the aftermath, and without the belt holding you up, you collapse forward like a puppet with its strings cut.

Matt chuckles. “Easy, baby.”

He eases you over onto your back carefully, slipping a pillow under your spine to support your sore back. He’s pressing kisses all over your cheeks— and his cock, still swollen and slick with your release, twitches at the salt clinging to his mouth. You’ve been crying.

“Poor thing,” he murmurs, brushing a knuckle along your jaw. “So sweet for me. Is my girl tired?”

You can barely say anything; you nod shakily. Your arms are tingling from the blood finally returning.

“And does she want to stop, hm?” A kiss to your cheek. “Does my sweet girl want to stop?”

You manage a small shake of your head.

A rough, pleased sound rumbles from his chest. “Good. That’s what I thought.”

The pins and needles in your arms are buzzing unpleasantly, but your cunt clenches at his voice anyway. You whine pitifully, and of course he hears.

“One more, alright, honey? Will you give me one more?”

Then he’s shifting, settling himself between your legs again. His hands wrap under your knees–thumbs pressing into the tender divots beneath the joints—and he presses them forward, toward your shoulders. Folded in half, you gasp at the stretch. Completely open beneath him, pinned by nothing but his weight, you shiver under the totality of his presence over you.

“This,” he murmurs, brushing a hand over your lower belly, “this is where our baby’s gonna grow, sweetheart. Right here.”

The blunt head of his cock nudges at your entrance and you’re so wet it slides through the mess of your arousal, teasing but not entering, just enough to make you sob.

“Matt—please—”

“Shh,” he soothes, lining himself up, pressing in. “There we go. So good for me, you’re taking it so well.”

This angle—God, it’s worse than before; better than it. Deeper, impossibly so, hitting places inside you you’ve never felt before, spots that send your nerves screaming. You sob helplessly as your body struggles to accommodate him, every thrust dragging against your walls, each ridge and vein of his cock felt completely. 

“C’mon,” he pants as his movements pick up the pace, thrusts growing fast and erratic. “Gimme this one, sweetheart. Just one more for me, I promise.”

The bed protests beneath you, the frame rattling against the wall. The wet slap of skin fills the room, and just as you start to feel that sharpness creeping up again, something stupid occurs to you: you’re loud. Your screams, the creak of the bed, the sound of your cunt around him– the neighbors—

You turn your head, trying to muffle yourself against your arm.

Matt growls, yanking your arm down and at the same time, he pulls out nearly all the way—only to slam back in with bruising force, hard enough to knock all the breath from your lungs. You can’t stop the scream of his name torn from your throat.

“Matt— please, the neighbors—”

“No,” he snarls. “I’m your husband. I get to fuck you as loud as I want. You want this?” 

You nod frantically, too breathless to answer.

His hand finds your throat, grasping firmly around the delicate column. He feels the hammer of your pulse against his palm, heavy and turbulent like a rushing flood. He tightens his grip just enough to feel it catch beneath his thumb. To him, it seems unmistakably perverse—this power to still you if he wanted. And yet your trust is entire, your faith in him unshaken. 

“Then let them hear,” he says. “Let them hear what I do to my wife. Let them know how good I’m fucking her.”

A generous god, a present one. That’s what you’ve made him.

“Say my name,” he demands, voice rough, “want to feel it in your throat.”

“Matthew,” you choke out, completely helpless to his touch. Matthew, Matthew, Matthew…

It’s slipping. That darker thing inside him rising, coaxed loose by the mess of needy wetness where you’re connected. It wants to claim you and mark you, become His peer, one worthy of your devotion. 

Have faith that it includes you, Matt.

He licks the salt from your neck. “Can feel how close you are.”

His hand leaves your throat and presses flat against your stomach, right above where his cock punches deep. The pressure of his cock bulging under his palm sends another wave through your body. The feeling at the pit of your gut’s starting to rapidly swell, acute and compounding by the second as he fucks you with the whole length of his cock. 

“Feel that?” he rasps, pressing down harder. “That’s where m’gonna fill you. Right into your womb. And if it doesn’t take this time— I’ll fucking make sure it does the next. You won’t even have to lift a finger.”

Then his hand drops lower, to your cunt, gathering your creamy slick with his thumb to rub the swollen nub of your clit with. 

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he says, the words strangled. “Come while I fuck my baby into you.”

You look down where you’re connected, where his cock sinks in and out of you, coated in slick and so much need and you break. Your walls seize around his length, body convulsing as your climax tears through you. You cry out, legs twitching and nails raking across the sheets. Above you, Matt groans with a guttural, broken sound. His hips drive forward once, twice—the head of his cock kissing the ripe seal of your womb, and then he’s coming, thick and hot, filling you with so much it leaks around his cock even as he keeps pumping deep as he can go. His sweat’s dripping onto you as he holds you tightly, arms trembling with the effort of staying upright. You twitch beneath him, aftershocks rolling still and he collapses onto you, pulsing with the last desperate pulses of cum from his cock.

Your body’s completely pliant, legs trembling even when he finally stills. 

“Let gravity help,” he says, easing out gently. He slips the pillow from beneath your back and tucks it under your hips, before slumping beside you. You giggle weakly, nuzzling into his neck. Your sweet husband’s back, placing soft lingering kisses all over your face as his chest heaves from the earlier exertion.

“So,” you start, the haze starting to set, “can you really tell?”

“...Yes,” Matt admits. His voice is husky, warm with affection. “You smell different. And you’re warmer, just a little–”

“Smell different?! Do I stink or something?”

He laughs into your hair, arm pulling you in tight. “Sweetheart, I think we’ve established well enough that you smell absolutely beguiling to me.”

You roll your eyes, your finger tracing absent shapes on his chest. Heart, triangle, star. He hums at each one.

Smiley face. That earns a chuckle. 

“Anyway, you weren’t half bad with Teddy either,” you muse thoughtfully. “I think you’d make an amazing dad.”

You opt not to tease him about the blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Matt.” You clear your throat. “You know, I really do want it, but… I just want you to know that I’m happy, even just now. And I’m not stupid, I know you could…,” you try not to say die, “...well, the worst could happen. Even then, I’d still want this life with you, whatever I can get. When we got married, I knew that would come with it, and– And if we do have a kid, if the future holds that for us, then it won’t just be us. We have Foggy and Karen and Marci, and my family, too. Takes a village and all that, y’know?”

You pause to catch your breath, Matt nodding you on.

“Point is, we’ll never be left alone, no matter what. I know that’s something you worry about a lot. So if– if something ever did happen to you…” You force yourself to say it, “we’d survive. We can keep living. But between surviving with you and without you, I’ll always choose with. So I’m asking you to let yourself have this. If you really want it. Just promise me you’ll be more careful.”

Have faith that it includes you.

He’s silent for a moment, his hand stroking gently at the slope of your arm.

“I promise,” he says at last, “I really do want it.”

He knows you know the rest. That’s all he can say, pressing a kiss to your temple. Thank you isn’t nearly enough, but it buzzes in his pulse anyway. Smiling faintly into your hair, he lets it stretch just long enough… Before the gravity of the moment slips from his shoulders, not all the way but just enough to let in that familiar, crooked grin.

“Oh, but you know, honey,” he murmurs, lips on your cheek, “you’re not pregnant yet.”

The laugh bubbles from your throat, and he can feel the sound against his skin.

“That was just round one.” His hand slides down to grip your thigh, and he feels you shiver. Perfect. “Let’s get to work then, Counselor.”

a/n: i want his kids swimming in me

[salemlunaa]

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆EMBODY THE SENSE OF “I AM” ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

you are the decider, the creator 👁️👁️👁️

The fact is that you can see, not what you see

The fact is that you can hear, not what you hear

The fact is that you can feel, not what you can feel

That you exist is fact, The version of reality you exist in isn’t

What is the only constant aspect in all this?: you

You are the most high, you are the divine spirit. You are everything. Nothing is a fact and nothing is a lie, drop that concept. When I tell you to think as if you’re living your dream life it’s because you are. There is no such thing as “fake it til you make it”, affirming isn’t “lying to yourself” it being “delulu”, what you perceive and affirm as fact is fact.

Real = Fake

Fake = Real

Something being real or fake is an idea. And these two idea are concepts, just as valid or as useless as the other

The distance you are from your dream life = the closeness of the reality you are experiencing now. As you’ve gathered from the success stories you binge, once you fully immerse yourself in what’s true, the need for outside validation from your 3d senses is non existent. Go within so you don’t have to look outward in desperation.

Wake up and realise that you are god. That’s who you are. You are “I AM” it shouldn’t be difficult for you to reach your natural naked state. You’re making it harder than it needs to be.

Who’s to say you haven’t induced the state of pure consciousness

Who’s to say you don’t have your dream body

Who’s to say you haven’t shifted

It’s you. there’s no other deciding factor telling you that. There’s no one else, nothing else telling you you’ve failed, it’s you.

And don’t even begin to mention the 3d, a malleable, ever changing CONCEPT. The 3D can’t tell you anything.

The things and feelings that dominate the mind are what manifests. Stop letting creation happen to you, you are the creator.

Feel the feeling of stepping into the POV of god, that’s all you need to induce the void, lay down and feel that feeling, surrender to it. To manifest you must decide. That’s all it is.

You can do literally anything, NOTHING is too small, get excited about that. Get excited that you can create and perfect anything from a dream face to a dream reality from the comfort of your own bed. Get excited at the fact that you can change your life by doing nothing but thinking. Get excited that you can have anything.

You are so privileged to know what you know, although you are the prize. This information is privileged to be discovered and experienced by a godly being such as yourself. Move through life knowing that you are the creator, move through life blocking out the 3D, Move through life with bliss and love for the game that is this experience.

There are people who have risen others from the dead and you can’t manage to wrap your head around your role as god. The only reason anything seems impossible is because you believe it to be so.

“You are already that which you seek”

-Ramana Maharishi

Belief is a concept, what you really must do is know and embody

🌞👁️ALL YOU MUST DO IS DECIDE AND YOU WILL FIND THAT ALL IS HERE, BECAUSE YOU ARE ALL

also thank you guys for 7.5K!!! that’s a really scary amount lol jk 😀

[beeschmee]

all part of the colonel's plan

⊹ ࣪ ˖ word count: 7.5k

⊹ ࣪ ˖ p a i r i ng: farspace fleet colonel caleb x mc

⊹ ࣪ ˖ summary: your mission was simple: sneak into skyhaven and escape with the final aether core fragment, right under the farspace fleet's nose. you weren't prepared to fall right into a trap created by the fleet's new colonel.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ t a g s: mdni, explicit sexual content, fem! reader, jealous! caleb, unprotected sex, light bondage, dry humping, orgasm denial, inappropriate use of evol, biting, pet names, cunnilingus, p in v, breeding, light praise

⊹ ࣪ ˖ n o t e: hii guys! the brainrot for this man is unreal, and i just needed to write something, so i hope you enjoy~ not proofread so enjoy the chaos! thanks for reading 𖹭 ao3. banner: me. dividers: cred

When you accepted the mission to search for a lead on the aether core, you hadn’t expected it to be easy. Skyhaven was new territory for you and your information on the Farspace Fleet was few and far in-between. Yet, when you ran into that frazzled cadet, it was like candy falling into your lap.

Her uniform was snug against your body as you flattened out any wrinkles that appeared during the change. The girl barely could barely thank you before darting off into an alley. You couldn’t help but laugh a little. You saw your fair share of scared recruits during your time in the academy.

Placing the uniform cap on your head, you take a deep breath before heading towards the crime scene tape on the other side of the street. The smell of ash and burning wood fill your nostrils as you get closer to the decimated property. A similar memory flashes in your mind, threatening to pull you back below its depth, but you push forward. Now cannot be the time to falter.

You stop in front of a commanding officer and salute them, waiting for their nod before ducking under the tape. The breath you were holding loosens from your lungs as you approach the remains of the house in front of you. You refuse to let your eyes linger on the charred front patio, pulling your cap further down your head to block your view of it as you pass.

Focusing on the task at hand, you head towards the backyard. Near the pool, you can sense something pulling you to the bushes. The feeling is faint but unmistakable.

You nod to fellow cadets and officers as you pass. The air is filled with chatter and commands thrown around, causing further chaos, as the fleet is trying to balance an investigation and the return of their Colonel at the same time. The distraction is much appreciated.

You crouch before the bushes, reaching into the vines to search for the presence pulling you in. Thorns scrape against the exposed flesh of your wrist, drawing tiny pinpoints of blood to the surface. You wince as you lean further in, grasping at air. The further you look for this presence, the less you feel it. A frustrated sigh escapes from your lips.

“Is there a problem, Cadet?” A masculine voice speaks up behind you.

You jolt to your feet, ignoring the pain of the thorns trying to hold onto you. The man in front of you is older, probably in his late 40s, and is looking at you with all the contempt in the world.

“No, sir.” You shake your head, then gesture to the bush behind you. “I was looking for any additional evidence that may have been blown back by the explosion.”

The man doesn’t even blink as he stares down at you. You bite your tongue to stop you from rambling off useless lies. He doesn’t trust you, that much you can tell. Yet, he simply nods his head after a few more seconds of silence.

“Carry on, Cadet. This area needs to be cleared within the hour. It’s set to rain soon.”

You swiftly nod your head, holding onto the cap so it doesn’t fly off. The officer scoffs at the notion and walks away, immediately yelling similar orders to the other officials by the house. Once you feel comfortable that he won’t turn back around, you continue your search amongst the foliage. The presence from before is faint, almost nonexistent, and the fear of failure starts to creep along the edges of your mind.

Bending your knees into a squat, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. Even if the aether core isn’t here, it’s close by. It has to be.

Opening your eyes, you reach your hand out to part the branches to look further into the bushes. You’re leaning forward to examine the area when a blunt force slams into the back of your head. The air rushes from your lungs and a ringing drills into your ears before darkness takes over.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Memories of gentle laughter and playful fighting war against the sounds of crashing waves as you wave in and out of consciousness. The world feels as though it is spinning. Your head is splitting apart, pain rippling from the back of your skull to your temples. As you come to, your head refuses to lift up, the muscles in your neck sore and locked in place.

It takes an unreasonable amount of strength to pry your eyes open. Even with the little amount of light in the room, you can’t help but squint against the pain. Everything is blurry no matter how much you blink. You try to reach up and rub your eyes, but your hands won’t move. They can’t move.

You’re cuffed to the chair you’re in.

Panic quickly starts to creep in as you take in your situation. You wiggle your feet, only to find them just as restrained as your hands. Pulling your hands against the metal band holding you down, you flinch at the persistent stinging from the cuts on your wrist. A whimper escapes through your clenched teeth as your wrist jams against the restraint, unable to squeeze through.

Somewhere behind the chair, you hear a door open. Your body stiffens as the realization of your situation sets in. You’re trapped.

“I’d be careful. You don’t want to break those slender wrists, would you?” A voice from behind you asks.

In your semi-conscious state, something about that voice prickles the hairs on the back of your neck. Despite the person’s warning, you continue struggling against the metal bands, trying to figure out a trick to get out. Heavy footsteps echo throughout the dark room, leisurely approaching you.

“Persistent as always,” the voice mutters, your ears barely catching the words.

One more useless tug and you resign from the meaningless action. You’re thoroughly stuck. It doesn’t help that your head feels like a ton of bricks and then some. The tension of your position is surely causing knots to form all along your shoulder and back.

The person takes another 10 steps, you count. There’s silence for a long moment and then the sound of a heavy fabric bristling. The feeling of warm air on the side of your cheek causes you to flinch, jerking away from the sudden sensation. They let out a seemingly exasperated sigh before the warmth leaves you, their body pulling back.

“I’d say that I’m surprised to find a traitor in our midst.” The voice states louder. “But, I made it so easy for you. I’m almost disappointed by how easy you fell for my trap. I mean, come on. Wasn’t that incident almost too familiar?”

The ringing in your ear fades away as you focus on the voice now positioned in front of you. A voice that has your heart lurching into your throat, threatening to spill out. It can’t be.

The footsteps resume and you listen to how they reposition behind you. Their warmth radiates on your back. They’re too close.

Suddenly, two leathered hands run over your shoulder toward your neck. You try to yank away from their touch, but they have you caged in. Something cold slides against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as it circles your throat. Click.

“A perfect fit.” The voice is quiet, as if they’re talking to themself.

There’s a boyish lilt to the deep voice that causes an ache in your chest. Your brain is arguing with what your heart realizes all too fast. Memories of that same voice, but lighter and more carefree, echo in your mind. Your hands clench against the armrests, trying to grind yourself to reality. A corpse can’t speak.

One of the hands leaves your neck, lightly tracing a path down to your shoulder before dropping away. The other lets the metal band rest against the base of your neck before wrapping your throat. The leather material is rough against your skin. Your body breaks out into a cold sweat as it tightens ever so slightly against your windpipe.

Slowly, your head is being pulled up. Pain pulses across your skull to your spine as the person behind you straightens your posture. Their thumb and index finger move up slightly until they’re pushing up your jaw, forcing your head up.

You try to take in the room as your position changes, but your gaze halts at the view in front of you. Across the room is a glass wall. You stare back at yourself in the one-way glass as your vision clears up. Whether it be fear or denial, you almost want to beg the hand to let you go, to let your chin fall back against your chest, so that you don’t have to look.

But, you were always a curious one.

Your eyes adjust to the darkness and take in the sight of the hand wrapped around your throat. It tightens just a little bit more, restricting your airway enough to make your brain feel fuzzy.

“You always did like to make me wait, pipsqueak.”

With that damning admission, your pulse rages against his fingers. Your eyes flick up to the reflection of the person, the world freezing around you.

A dead man stands behind you. His finger taps against your pulse as he smiles at you. Never losing eye contact, he leans down until his lips are grazing the shell of your right ear.

“Did you miss me?” Goosebumps raise all over your body.

“Caleb.” Your voice is raspy and the sounds get stuck in your throat, threatening to choke you.

“The one and only.” He presses a light kiss to your temple.

He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t explain how he’s standing in front of you. Your world as you know it is cracking and crashing around you, and he’s just there. Tears spring up faster than you can force them away. They pool in the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision of the living ghost behind you.

Caleb steps back around, clicking his tongue in disapproval as he wipes the tears from your eyes. You flinch at how cold his hands are; the sensation shocking you. “Now, now, pips. I expected a big hug from you when I imagined this moment.”

His words betray his actions as he crouches in front of you, his hands tracing the skin around the restraints. He doesn’t move to release you from them. A laugh bubbles up and escapes your lips as you take in this foreign version of your best friend. Gone is the childish Caleb you knew so well. This man may look like him, but the energy around him is suffocating. Harsh lines decorate his face and his smile doesn’t reach his dim purple eyes.

“Hard to hug a dead man when you’re chained to a chair.”

His thumb digs into your wrist for a brief moment, the pain jolting up your arm. He shakes his head.

“I see you haven’t lost that attitude of yours, princess.” The pet name drips off his tongue condescendingly. “That’s okay. It’s to be expected since I’ve been gone for so long. There was no one around to work it out of you. But, I’m here now.”

“And how are you here, exactly?” You lean forward, sneering at the man. “Last I checked, you should be 6 feet under in Linkon Cemetery.”

“I know it’s all confusing now, and I don’t expect you to understand. Not yet. But, aren’t you happy? Your “big brother” is back.”

You spit in his face. His facade drops ever so slightly. Reaching up, his thumb wipes it off his cheekbone. With eyes never leaving yours, he licks the dribbling spit off his gloved appendage. A groan slips past his lips. The sight has butterflies blooming deep in your stomach.

“Gentle, pips. There’s more than one pair of eyes watching us right now.”

Your eyes dart to the camera mounted on the wall behind him, a red light blinking next to the lens. You gulp at the thought of others witnessing this moment, praying there is no audio. He has to hold back the grin from forming as he watches you frantically think of the Fleet watching you both. The cameras are only accessible by him, but you don’t need to know that. He loves the way it makes you fidget in the chair.

“Now, are you going to be a good girl?”

Eyes glaring daggers into his, his hands land on your thighs, squeezing the plump flesh. His touch is cold against your warm and clammy skin. The look in his eyes daring you to go against him, to act up, to defy. It’s dangerous, he’s dangerous.

His fingers move up, pushing the fabric of your skirt with it, all the while he watches you. He sees the way your pupils dilate, the way the pulse in your neck quickens. He feels your thighs twitch, moving to squeeze together, but his grip prevents you from denying him. All the while, the fabric of your panties grows damp at his roughness.

Higher now, the tips of his thumbs start to fall into the crevice between your thighs and hips, and he almost moans at the way your skin pillows around his hands. That’s not what does him in though. Before you can protest and ask him to move away, his thumbs graze the outskirts of lace frill. Lace that is wet and stuck to your skin. His head drops into your lap, his breath quickening.

“Fuck, pips.” He traces his fingers along the edge of the fabric as he pants into the side of your left thigh, nipping at the skin to prevent another moan from leaving his lips. You gasp at the sensations, your body trying to curl in on itself but the restraints prevent you. “You are my undoing.”

“Caleb.” The sound of his name whimpering out of those plush lips has his cock twitching in his slacks.

“What is it, my love?” His hot breath is torture against your trembling skin.

His fingers are still tracing the edges of your panties, back and forth and back and forth, never giving you what you need. Your pulse throbs heavily in your clit as you clench around nothing. You can feel yourself growing wetter at his ministrations and the thought is mortifying.

Yet, something about the way he looks both dominating yet pathetic with his head in your lap has you unraveling. Years of desires that were so tightly locked away come flooding to the surface and it feels dirty, sinful even. None of it matters anymore. No reasoning could stop this from happening… and maybe, this was always where you were meant to land.

Right in the palm of his hand.

His head tilts in your lap, his soft hair tickling you. Purple eyes stare up into yours, begging for the words to leave your mouth. Yet, the hint of darkness glinting behind it lets you know he won’t wait long. You're his for the taking.

You nod your head at him and he smirks.

“Ah-ah,” he scolds, nipping at your inner thigh harder this time, leaving a light bite mark. “Use your words.”

Rouge scatters across your cheeks, ears, and neck in shame and lust. Tilting your head to the side, averting your gaze, you whisper, “Please touch me.”

Fingers ghost over the top of your fabric, pressing gently into your mound, the fabric pushing into your folds. The feeling has your brain short circuiting. It’s still not enough.

“You have to be more specific, love. I’m already touching you.”

His face moves up higher, kissing a trail up your thighs until his nose reaches his finger, replacing it. His hands move up higher, grasping the panties resting on your hips and pulling them up higher, causing the fabric to dig in deeper. A pathetic moan ripples out your lips.

“Where do you want to be touched?” His nose moves, pushing into your throbbing clit.

“There. Please, Caleb.”

He wants to tease you more. He wants you tied to this chair, begging for his touch, tears streaming down your face from the edging and denial. He wants you to want him as desperately as he needs you. But, the sound of his name so needy on your tongue has him saving his plans for another day. Oh how easily he folds for you.

“You always get what you want, don’t you?” His tone is sarcastic, but he doesn’t deny you any longer.

Fabrics is pushed to the side and the feeling of his skin on yours has you twitching in the chair, your hands gripping the armrest. His tongue swipes through your folds, flicking your clit before diving into your pussy like a man starved. The sounds escaping your mouth are foreign to you, but so is the pleasure burning its way across your body.

Caleb is relentless in his pursuit for your orgasm. He alternates between lavishing your hole, moaning at the way your walls pathetically clench around him, and abusing your clit with bites and sucking. It’s all too much for you. The pressure building within you is lightning fast. You bite down on your lip to prevent the moans from escaping, but that angers Caleb.

One hand leaves your thigh and pulls your bottom lip out from between your teeth, replacing it with two fingers. He presses down on your tongue, your mouth opening with the force.

“Don’t,” is all he mutters against you before returning to his feast.

His other hand moves down until his index finger ghosts your entrance. He traces around and over it lightly, never truly giving you what you want. Meanwhile, the fingers in your mouth play with your tongue as you moan around them.

Suddenly, his index finger catches on your entrance and he slowly sinks into you. You bite down on his fingers, whimpering at the intrusion you desperately needed. He wanted to go slow with you. Truly, he did.

But the way you clench around him has him seeing stars. He doesn’t hesitate to add another finger, relishing in the way you accept him smoothly. He presses in until the palm of his hand rests against your clit. The sounds your pussy is making has him grinning ferally.

Lifting his head, he gazes at the glazed out look in your eyes. A look he’s seen only a few times before when he happened to check his monitors and you were fucking some other guy in your room. He’d almost stormed to your place that night to kill the man. He’d only been gone for a month and you’d given yourself to someone else. Your first time. The jealousy bubbles within him even now.

His hand suddenly starts rocking back and forth, his palm grinding harshly against your clit. The sensation has you tearing apart at the seams. Stars flicker in the corners of your eye as you feel yourself approaching the edge of a dangerous cliff. His name rambles off your tongue like a prayer.

“That’s it, baby girl.” His tone sounds mocking, but you can barely process that over the pleasure coursing through your body. “Cum on my hand.”

He’s resting on his heels now, watching you fall apart right before his eyes. Your knuckles are white against the armrest, your thighs twitching, and your mouth suckling on his fingers through broken moans. He curls his fingers up right as he sees you inhale, finger tips grazing a spot you’d never touched before. A spot no one had touched before.

A wave crashes through you, dragging you under, as an orgasm rips through you. Caleb doesn’t falter, working a third finger in at the same time you cum. The sensation has tears bubbling in your eyes, a sob escaping your lips. He works you through your orgasm flawlessly, while building up another one at the same time. It’s overwhelming.

Caleb removes his fingers from your mouth, trailing down to your neck, grasping it within his hands. Fingers press into the sides, your head feeling light at the restricted blood flow. Your eyes find him, trying to ground yourself in the storm of pleasure.

His fingers leave you right as you're about to cum again, the denial harsh. Before you can beg the colonel before you to continue, his fingers reach his lips. You watch silently as he sucks on his fingers, moaning at the taste of you on his tongue, his eyes never leaving yours. The sight is obscene and filthy, and you’re enthralled.

Once he’s done sucking every last drop of you off his tongue, he stands up, towering over you. The grip on your throat moves to your cheeks, pushing them together. “Open up,” he demands.

Even if you wanted to defy him, his hands force your lips to part and your head to tilt up to his. He leans down until his face is above yours, eyes boring into yours as his mouth opens. Your cum and his spit gathers in his mouth before he spits it into yours.

“Swallow.” And, you do. Your tongue swipes across your lips to make sure you didn’t miss a drop before opening your mouth, proving to him that you’d followed his orders. His hand taps the side of your cheek. “What a good girl you are.”

Suddenly, there’s a beeping sound echoing in the room and the pressure around your wrists and ankles releases. You’re unchained. You could try to make a run for it, but you don’t want to. Not anymore. He’d only chase you, punish you. The thought is actually tempting. But, what if he didn’t? What if you ran and he let you? Would you ever see him again? You’d only just gotten him back and the thought of losing him for a second time is inconceivable.

Caleb watches your inner turmoil for a brief second, loving the way you look torn apart. In your moment of distraction, he lifts you up from the chair. Your hands wrap around his neck for balance as your world shifts around you. He turns around before seating himself on the chair, placing you right on top of his lap, your thighs on either side of his. Grabbing your hips, he pulls you down until you’re fully seated against the bulge in his slacks.

Your eyes whip to his his as you feel him twitching beneath you. His head rests against the back of the chair lazily, a smirk gracing his lips.

“I’m all yours, pipsqueak.” His fingers dig into the groove of your hips. “Aren’t you going to punish me?”

He moves your hips forward, grinding you down onto his cock. Biting down on his lip, he groans at the feeling of the wetness seeping into the fabric of his pants. Your hands rest on his shoulders to balance yourself, falling into the motions of grinding atop him.

You wanted to respond to him. You wanted to yell how angry and hurt you were at him, but your mind blanks out at the sensation of another orgasm building within you. Your head falls to his shoulder, your lips grazing the skin of his neck above his jacket collar. Sweet moans and gasps fall from your lips, warming his heart.

His hands move from your hips, which never falter in their dry humping, and grasp the bottom of your shirt. He peels it up from your body, his head nudging yours so you lift it. Once the fabric is free from your body he tosses it to the side, his hands immediately unclipping the bra and tearing it off you.

If angels were real, you had to be one and he could only pray that staring directly at your heavenliness wouldn’t kill him. He’d dedicate his life to you, bruise his knees in nightly worship at your feet, if it meant you’d stay here, right in his unworthy arms.

Gently, as if not to scare you, his hands ghost your skin. The feeling has your nipples pebbling and goosebumps raising all over. Gods, waiting this long to have you was his punishment.

His hands explore your body, fondling your boobs, gripping your hips, smacking your ass, as you greedily grind down on him, using him for your pleasure. You feel like teenagers in heat as you both explore each other.

But, it’s not enough, and you both soon realize that as your moans turn into frustrated whimpers as your orgasm rests just below the surface.

You sit up, your hips circling his lap, tears in your eyes and the tiniest bit of drool on the corner of your lips. Caleb wants to photograph you just like this: drunk from his touch on his lap. He nods at the way your eyes plead with him, his name babbling out of your lips.

One of his hands traces up to the back of your head and gently grips your hair in his grasp. The other moves to rest at the top of his zipper, his thumb presses against your clit as you move. You're greedy in the way you start to chase your pleasure against his hand now, ignoring his throbbing cock. Right as the tension is about to burst out of you, you’re lifted off his lap.

The energy wrapped around you has you feeling weightless as your head whips down to the man right below you, anger simmering in your blood. A tear drips from your eye and lands on the corner of his cheek, his tongue swipes it.

“You’ve always been so cute when you’re angry. But, you need to know your place, pips.”

“Put me down right this instant, Caleb.” Your voice sounds foreign to you, raspy and breathless.

Laughing at your pitiful excuse to demand him, he unzips his pants. Your eyes immediately dart to the movement, any more arguments dying on your lips. He palms himself over his boxers for a moment, relishing the hungry look in your eyes.

“What if I like you up there?” Suddenly there’s a bit of pressure against your clit and then you feel your panties tear away from your body, the fabric burning against your skin as it quickly rips. The cold air has you twitching above him, and he’s given a beautiful view of your dripping pussy.

Without breaking eye contact from your beautiful mound, he frees himself from his boxers, his dick standing against his stomach as his hand wraps around it. For as long as you’d lived together in the past, you’d never seen this part of him. He always made sure never to expose himself to you, no matter how many times he’d seen you naked over the years. It had bothered you on endless nights where you tried chasing your pleasure in between his sheets while he wasn’t home, inhaling his scent on his pillow, imagining his cock rubbing against your clit instead of your untrained fingers.

You’re enthralled with the veins that adorn his thick cock as they trace up to a pink tip that has you gulping. Could you fit him? Sure, you’d been with well-endowed men in the past but Caleb was a different breed. Where most men excel in either length or girth, he is blessed with both. Maybe even cursed, depending on how this goes.

His hand pumps up and down his shaft as he stares at your exposed pussy while you sit in your rambling thoughts. Tiny groans escape his lips as he clenches the base of his shaft, holding his pleasure at bay, his balls twitching. He can’t cum yet, not when he’d prepared you so well.

“Caleb.” Your breathy voice breaks him out of his daze, eyes darting to yours. “Put me down.”

The venom in your voice is gone, replaced with a sweetness that has his teeth rotting. He can’t ever say no to you at the end of the day, no matter how hard he tries. It’d always been this way. He could only resist and deny you for so long before you won in the end.

The energy around you shifts, bringing you down the few feet to meet his body, but not fully releasing you. The tip of his cock grazes against your folds. But, he did love to make sure you deserved your win, and you hadn’t yet.

Frustration burns across your body as Caleb toys with you, dragging his cock through your folds and rubbing against your clit. He repeats the motion a few times until you’re whimpering above him, your eyes burning holes into his skin. His cock catches on your entrance for a second, knocking the air out of your lungs at the feeling, before it slips out and through your folds. “Caleb,” you warn.

The colonel doesn’t even look up at you, he’s too mesmerized by how you’re dripping onto his cock, his hand rubbing your cum across the smooth skin of his shaft. Your warning falls on deaf ears as he catches his cock on your hole one more time, groaning at the way your entrance tries to clench onto him and drag him in, but you’re not close enough.

He needs your pussy weeping for me. He needs you crying for him.

It’s torture as he dangles you just out of his reach, building your orgasm up with the tip of his cock and sometimes his fingers when you beg. The edging and denial is overstimulating. The air in the room is suffocatingly hot. Your skin is covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

“I-” Your voice breaks into a moan when his fingers ghost over your clit. “I need you.”

There it is.

“Am I not giving you enough, my love?”

His cock settles at your entrance, this time not moving. The feeling has you writhing in his gravitational hold. You shake your head, words failing you as tears blur your vision. The frustration is painful.

“You’ve always been so greedy.” Your body starts to inch slowly down until the tip of his cock rests within, the feeling making you delirious as a moan rips through you.

“Always such a needy little brat.” His words are harsh and his evol raises you up until his cock is resting just at your entrance again.

Blood rushes through your ear as your walls clench around nothing yet again, the pulse in your clit threatening to tear you apart from the pain.

“Pushing me around all these years.” You sink down again, your breath stuttering, but he’s pulled you up again before you can even cherish the feeling of him. “Do you know how that has made me feel?”

“I’m sorry,” you choke out as a sob racks your body, tears spilling from your eyes. You want to rip your skin apart to rid yourself of this burning sensation. “Caleb, please.”

It’s not enough. Not yet.

“Please what, pipsqueak? Use your words. You’ve used them so well in the past to hurt me.” He sinks you down again, waiting this time to see if you will be punished or rewarded.

“Forgive me.” He tsks, almost pulling you off him before words begin rambling out of your mouth on a broken sob. “Fuck me. Please, just take me. Use me. I need it. Caleb. I’m sorry, please. Cal-”

Gravity rushes back through your body and suddenly your hips are flush to Caleb’s, his cock pushing through you with little resistance until he’s fully sheathed in your warmth. It takes the strength of gods to hold his orgasm back and not empty his cum into your deliriously hot pussy. The air is ripped from your lungs and you forget how to breathe as an orgasm rips through you at the pain and pleasure of his cock throbbing against your tight walls.

You almost lose consciousness at the absolute power of your orgasm. Lightning shoots across your body, zapping every nerve until you’ve turned to jello in his hold. Caleb’s hand rests on your abdomen, his thumb stroking over the bulge where his cock rests within you, filling you up more than you’d ever been in your life. The added pressure of his hand against your stomach has you keeling over, the air rushing back into your lungs right before you pass out.

Caleb waits for you to get used to him. He’s patient. He knows that you’re stretched thin. He knows that your body can take him, but that it’s not easy. He knows it in the way your pussy grips him like a vice, threatening to break him off at the base, yet pull him in at the same time.

When your breathing returns to normal is when he moves, grabbing your hips and grinding you against him at first. The movement has you circling on his cock, but you need more. Your hands grip his shoulders as you raise your head up to meet his eyes, and the look of him has your heart melting.

He’s looking at you as if you crafted the world with your bare hands and gave it to him. The purple of his eyes is almost gone and the smile on his lips is soft. He looks like the Caleb you know again. The soft Caleb who made sure you were taken care of and went to sleep happy every night. It has you returning the smile and his hips jolt up into you at the sight.

“There’s my girl,” he whispers before lifting you up by your hips, his cock slowly dragging out of your walls, the feeling making you dizzy. “I missed that smile.”

With that, Caleb’s restraint is gone. He drops you onto his cock once more, rutting up to meet your hips, his cock kissing your cervix. Moans rolls out of you like music to his as he fucks into with reckless abandon. You may be on top, but his tight grip controls every single movement.

His head falls into the crook of your neck, biting down hard when you clench around him as your third orgasm surprises the both of you. His tongue swipes against the mark, soothing the pain he’d caused. “Such a tight pussy, baby. All for me.”

“Yes, sir. All for you.”

Oh, the submission in your voice and body has him seeing stars. Somehow, his cock grows harder within you, the feeling causing you to whimper, looking at him with the most needy eyes and furrowed eyebrows. “Fuck me,” he whispers.

Grabbing your ass firmly with both hands, he stands up. You sink even deeper onto him with this new angle, your eyes rolling back as his cock presses harshly against your cervix and sits there. He turns you both around until you’re facing the chair. Lifting you off of him, you moan at the empty feeling as he slips out of you.

“Shhhh, be good for me.” He kisses you as one hand releases you to return with a sharp smack against your ass.

His hands move expertly as he turns you around in his hold until your back is against his chest, his cock slipping between your thighs. You tighten them until his cock is firmly cocooned between your plushy skin. His teeth bite into the shell of your ear as he retracts his hips, pulling himself free from your seductive hold as he places you on your knees in the chair.

“Grab the armrests, would you please baby?” He asks sweetly, his tongue swiping the inside of your ear, causing you to shiver.

You do as he asks, regaining your balance. You grip the metal of the chair, holding on as his hands rub down your arms. Caleb peppers across your neck and back, causing you to giggle at the sensation. You press back into him, your ass rubbing against his cock.

Click.

Cold metal snaps against your wrists, binding you back to the chair like before. You try to turn and look at the man behind you, angry that he’d lock you up as before, but his hand at your throat stops you. His fingers wrap around the collar you’d forgotten about.

“Can’t you just fuck me like a normal person.”

You’re mad again and he loves the way your eyebrows furrow.

“Bold of you to assume I’m normal, pips. I thought we established,” he whispers into your ear as his cock pushes into you from behind, your pussy resisting him a little with this new angle, “I am anything but that.”

His words end with a sharp thrust of his hips, his skin slapping against your ass. He doesn’t wait for you this time, his pace is relentless as he drives into you, chasing both his pleasure and yours. You lean forward from the movement, your chest pressed against the cold metal of the chair as he fucks into you.

All you can feel is the addicting feeling of him moving inside you, pressing against a spot that has you moaning his name with every thrust. He’s no more put together than you. Sweat drips down his face, his hair sticking to his skin as he watches the way his cock disappears into you and how your pussy holds onto him when he pulls out. It’s a sight he’s imagined countless times over the years, but experiencing it is otherworldly.

You're falling against the chair now, the arch in your back giving out as your strength fades. Caleb can’t have that. His hand at your throat moves to the back of your neck and grips the collar. He leans back, using every ounce of self-restraint to remove his body from your back. When he pulls the collar back towards him, you raise up, your back arching, moans choking at the pressure the collar has added on your throat. You can still breathe, he’s evol is holding the rest of your weight slightly up so the collar doesn’t choke you out.

“A normal person wouldn’t fuck you like this.”

He’s thrusting into you again. With every push in, he pulls the collar tighter, making your body meet him. His free hand slaps your ass before rubbing the red mark away. You yelp at the pain, and relish the delicious way he soothes it.

“But, you wouldn’t want to be fucked normally.”

Your mind is in the clouds as his presence surrounds you: his scent, his body, his evol, his touch, everything. You aren’t sure where you end, and he begins as he rhythmically fucks into you. Every few moments, he slows down, making sure you can truly feel him.

“None of those other boys could make you cum.” He spits out the words angrily, his hand spanking you once more before smoothing your skin. “Do you know how hard I had to hold myself back so I didn’t barge into your room and finish the job myself?”

You should be embarrassed that he knows such things, should be terrified of how he even knows that, but his fingers find your clit and your sobbing at the overwhelming sensation of Caleb.

“You should’ve done it.” Your words are barely comprehensible over the sound of skin slapping against each other and your moans within this room, but he hears you all the same.

His hand leaves the collar and wraps around your throat, bringing himself flush against your back as he ruts shallowly into you, his orgasm quickly approaching.

“Yeah? You would’ve liked that, brat? Have your best friend clean up those assholes’ mess and replace it with his own?”

Your head falls against his shoulder, your lips kissing the skin behind his ear as you moan at the thought of him doing that all those years ago.

“They didn’t deserve to cum in this pussy. They weren’t worthy of you.” His fingers tighten and your head grows light at the pressure of his hand at your throat and clit. “That’s okay though. I’ll wash you clean of their filth. I’ll make sure no one touches you ever again.”

You’re at his mercy as he skillfully fucks in and out of you, his fingers rubbing delicious circles around your clit. There’d never been another time in your life where you’d felt this much pleasure and you fall into its embrace willingly. As your breath quickens and becomes choppy as your orgasm approaches, Caleb whispers filthy praises into your ear before grabbing your chin and tilting your head towards him.

You open your eyes briefly to look at how absolutely drunk off you he looks. You stretch up, your hands pulling at the restraints, and kiss him. It’s sloppy and uncoordinated as you both moan into the other, tongue and teeth battling for dominance when they can. His hips stutter, losing rhythm and you know he’s close. So are you with his hand between your thighs.

“Can I?” He doesn’t finish his sentence, but you know what he wants.

“Yes.” Your consent rips away whatever restraint he thought he had left.

All he can think of is filling your pretty pussy up with his cum until your stomach is full and bloated with it, with him. He’ll fill you up nice and good and make sure you don’t waste a drop. After today, he’ll make sure you leave the house, when he lets you, with his cum dampening your panties. He needs you full of him.

His fingers work you into your next orgasm smoothly, that it’s arrival has you melting into his hold. Warmth spreads across your body in waves as his orgasm rips through him like an earthquake. His hand moves away from your clit, sparing it from oversensitivity for today, and further down until it’s cupped around your mound, his dick slotted between his fingers.

The extra feeling of his hand around his dick and your cream pooling around his fingers and base of his cock has his eyes rolling back. His cum floods into you in thick bursts, the hot fluid covering your wall as his head falls onto your shoulder.

He’s moaning your name like it’s a prayer as he rides out his orgasm slowly, relishing the way your walls try to milk more out of him. If he could, he’d stay seated here forever, with you in his arms and wrapped around his cock. But, the Fleet will need this room at some point and the thought of such trivial humans seeing you like this has him seething.

The restraints around your wrists release you and one of your arms raises up to hug Caleb’s head and pull him closer into you. He peppers your eyes and cheek with soft kisses, cleaning your face of sweat and tears, as he pulls out of you. The feeling is awkward as the cum rushes to drip out of you.

Caleb’s fingers join back together once he’s fully out of you and he cups you tightly, making sure not a drop spills out. He grins against your neck as he nuzzles into it, proud of the way your pussy is pulsing against his hand.

“Can’t have you wasting my cum after you worked so hard for it, now can we?” His tone is mocking, but he kisses you softly nonetheless.

A group of cadets walk past the door, their voices filling the empty room, and Caleb can’t help loving the way you tense up, scared to be caught by such runts. Your pulse quickens under his lips, and he kisses it to soothe you.

“Let’s get you home so I can clean you up, okay?” His eyes travel across your torn panties and dirty clothes on the ground, before he hands you his jacket. Your fingertips touch as you take the jacket from him, and he grabs your wrist. His head leans down to brush his lips across the top of your hand before letting go. “Put that on, Princess. I don’t want anyone seeing you like that. That’s only for my eyes.”

Caleb’s wink has you shoving his shoulder before wrapping yourself up in his large jacket. Once closed, it fully covers you up and Caleb can’t help the way his cock hardens at the way you look in his colonel coat. He sweeps you up into his arm bridal style before his cock comes up with other ideas.

Your hands wrap around his neck, fingertips messing with the short hairs at his nape.

“Who's taking me home? The Colonel or my best friend?” You try to ask teasingly but the worry and sadness seeps into your tone.

His gaze softens as a regretful smile graces his handsome face.

“Hopefully, just Caleb.”

You don’t say anything further. Not now. The moment is too raw, emotions too high. For now, you want to relish in his warmth and devotion, everything else can be worried about tomorrow. Today, you have the love of your life back and that’s enough.

He’s enough.

[straylightdream]

APT. 847b

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭: yoon jeonghan x camgirl! reader

Having sex with your roommate normally complicates things. What happens when being with Jeonghan just makes sense?

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: roommates to lovers, friends with benefits??, soulmate au?? non idol au

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: camgirl reader, camboy jeonghan, lots of emotions, they’re both very down bad for each other and don’t realize it. Smut warning below the cut.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.5k

an: this story switches between jeonghan and the readers pov. It will be label by his name and her, when the pov is switching. This is a part of my little universe of loosely connected SVT stories called all for you. Thank you @whimsical-whatever for helping me figure out this story.

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: multiple sex scenes, camgirl reader, camboy jeonghan, soft dom/switch jeonghan, voyerism, masturbation, mutal masturbation, oral (male rec), sex toys, dirty talk, nipple play, squirting, unprotected sex, cream-pie, breeding kink, cum play, sex tapes, cam boy jeonghan??, lots of emotions, tipsy sex (they’re both fully consenting), caming, filming sexual acts, slut shaming (not by any of the boys. The mc refers to herself as one). names: hers (baby, good girl, angel), his (baby, hannie)

-JEONGHAN-

Jeonghan was tired of being one of the few single people in his friend group. He had zero desire to try online dating like a few friends and all his friends that were girls were already dating one of the other guys in his friend group. He thought maybe if he had a girlfriend or someone for companionship he wouldn’t feel like something is missing in his life.

-

Looking at his computer at the kitchen table his brain was hurting looking at all his banking info. It was coming up on that time if the month when rent was due. Since Jihoon moved out to move in with his girlfriend, Jeonghan and his other roommate Kitten decided to just split the amount of the whole apartment instead of finding another roommate. This was working out but now it’s been six months and Jeonghan is tired of spending so much on rent.

Kitten walked in the door with groceries in hand. She instantly noticed how stressed Jeonghan looked.

“What’s up?” She asked as she set some groceries on the table.

“I think we need to get a roommate. I can’t keep paying this much for rent.”

“Okay that works for me. I just request we maybe find a girl roommate. Also we should probably tell her right away about my job.” Jeonghan assumed Kitten would want a girl roommate. With her being a cam girl he knew having a random man she didn’t know living with them could make things weird. “Wait. Would it be weird if I asked one of my friends I met through Cherry moved in?”

“Is she a camgirl?” Honestly Jeonghan didn’t care what Kitten did for a living. He also didn’t care if another girl who did the same job moved in.

“Yeah she is.”

“That’s fine with me.”

-HER-

Your last roommate you had started making you uncomfortable after finding out about your job. You were in desperate need of a new place to live.

One day when you were out to lunch with Cherry she mentioned having friends that were looking for a roommate. She mentioned one of them being Kitten, a fellow camgirl. You knew right then that would be a good place to live.

You’ve been living with Jeonghan and Kitten for four months now. You and Kitten were already friends and your first reaction when you met Jeonghan was that he's absolutely beautiful.

You learned very quickly they’re both amazing roommates. Jeonghan keeps the apartment very tidy and Kitten loves cooking for you guys. Kitten’s boyfriend Joshua is often at the apartment. He’s best friends with Jeonghan so he’ll even come over just to hang out with him even if Kitten is busy.

You work at a tech company as a software programmer during the day and at night you stream to make extra money. Work has been absolutely shitty recently and this week all your deadlines have been driving you insane. After getting yelled at by your boss you can’t wait to get home. The moment you walk through the door you instantly notice how quiet the apartment is. Opening your phone you see a text sent to your roommate group chat.

5:32pm

From Kitten <3: I’m not coming home tonight. I’m staying at Shau’s place. I made pasta for lunch and I made you each a container. They’re in the fridge for you.

From Jeonghan: thank you. I’m heading home soon. I carpooled with Hao to work.

From you: if anyone needs me I’m getting wine drunk. I had a shitty day at work.

5:37pm

From Jeonghan: don’t get wasted before I get there. I’ll get wine drunk with you.

Walking into the apartment Jeonghan finds you sitting on the couch in your pajamas with a large glass of wine in your hands. You’re dressed in a pair of sweatpants and an oversized shirt.

Jeonghan sits his work bag down by the door and slips off his shoes.

“That’s a lot of wine,” he says walking closer to you.

“I had a shitty day,” you raise your glass at him.

“Let me get out of this work clothes.” He heads off to his room and comes back in a pair of sweats and baggy shirt.

He heads off to the kitchen and comes back with a wine glass for himself. He pours himself a big glass of red wine and sits down next to you.

“Am I crazy if I quit my tech job?” This week feels like it’s been absolutely eating you alive trying to maintain your nine to five job. You take another big drink of wine.

“Not necessarily. I don’t know how inappropriate this is to ask but do you make enough on your lives to afford to get by?” You know Jeonghan is one of the few people you can have that conversation with. He knows all about how being a full time camgirl works because of Kitten.

“Honestly I make enough to live comfortably. In all reality if I quit my tech job I could probably focus more on streaming and making my subscribers only page make even more money.” You’ve been thinking about this for a while, you've just never mentioned it to anyone.

“You’re pretty miserable at your tech job aren’t you?” He’s seen you so stressed out you started crying last week. Jeonghan is very aware of how much you hate your job.

“I fucking hate it,” you sigh.

“If you think you make enough steaming, I say do it. If you have a rough month with money. I can help you figure out rent.” Jeonghan has been so nice to you since the moment you met him. You can’t believe he’s willing to help you with money if things get tough.

“I’m gonna tell them Monday I’m quitting,” you can’t help but smile.

“I think you’re going to be so much happier.”

Taking a big sip of wine you instantly feel relieved. You can’t wait to no longer work a nine to five job.

“Did you already heat up Kitten’s food she made for us?”

“No.”

Reaching over his pats your thigh, and lets out a soft laugh. “Maybe we should eat something before we drink our weight in red wine.”

Getting up he goes into the kitchen and starts warming up the food your roommate left. Sitting at the kitchen table you pour yourself another large glass of wine. He places the food on the table in front of you. Before sitting down across from you.

The food is absolutely delicious. Just like it always is when Kitten makes anything.

“Did you wanna watch something in the living room together?” He asked picking up your empty bowl.

“Sure.”

Sitting back down on the couch you take another big drink of wine before sitting your glass down on the coffee table. Jeonghan turns on a drama he’s been watching before he gets comfortable next to you on the couch. It’s not uncommon for you to practically cuddle leaning against each other on the couch.

His arm is over your shoulder as you lean against him. The whole time his show is playing you aren’t really paying attention. Even the red wine can’t seem to stop your over thinking about work. Without even thinking you pick the little lent pieces that are on the thigh if Jeonghan’s sweats. He doesn’t say anything but you feel his thigh flex under your touch.

He takes a deep breath. Glancing up you see he’s no longer watching the tv, he’s eyes are trained on you.

“Sorry,” you pulled your hand away feeling instantly embarrassed.

He doesn’t say anything, he just stares at you blinking. The air feels heavy. Without even thinking you go back to playing with the fabric of his sweats. Your hand travels towards the inside of his thighs almost testing the waters. The sound of him swallowing loudly tells you you’re playing a dangerous game.

“Do you want me to stop?” You whisper not even sure if your voice is fully audible. Maybe it’s the red wine in your veins making you bold enough to make a move on your roommate.

“No,” he voice is clear as day.

Your hand slides up his thigh. The growing bulge in his sweatpants is a clear indicator that he’s enjoying this. “Can I touch you?”

“Yes.”

Slowly your hand slides up his thigh. Stopping just at his bulge. Your eyes stay locked on his as you cup his bulge. He’s a little bigger than average size by the feel of it. A low moan passes his lips as you feel him up.

Your eyes stayed locked on him as you groped him. He’s so hard in your hand and straining against his sweatpants.

“Hannie,” you whisper.

“Yes?”

“Are you sober?” You want to make sure he’s fully aware of what is happening.

“I was barely tipsy. Are you sober?” He looks so gentle suddenly.

“I’m just tad tipsy.” You don’t stop touching him as you speak. “But I want this.” You have thought about touching him for weeks.

“Can I please kiss you?”

“Please.”

Without another word he removes your hand from him and pulls your pilant body on to his lap. His straining erection is pressed up against your clothed core. Resting his hand on your cheek he drags his thumb across your bottom lip. Rolling your hips against his for some friction, a soft moan passes your lips.

The first time your lips touch in a tipsy state it feels sobering. The feeling of Jeonghan’s soft lips against yours gives you butterflies. He’s holding your face in his hands slowly he pulls away and smiles at you.

“I have wanted to kiss you for a while.” His voice is low. There’s no words you can think say. Crashing your lips into his once again for a heated kiss.

“I wondered what it was like to kiss you.” His hands grip your hips and guide your body against his. After your shitty day at work you didn’t think it would end with you dry humping your roommate while you make out.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he groans as his lips start kissing your jaw.

Rolling your hips against his erection you can feel your panties starting to stick to your wet core. “Hannie, can you fuck me?” You moan.

Pulling away from you, he rolls his head back moaning. “I want to so badly.”

Crawling off his lap you quickly remove your sleep shorts and your wet panties. His eyes stay locked on your pussy. It is clearly wet with need. You hope he doesn’t mind that you aren’t shaved bare. Since you started streaming you realized you didn’t need to wax all the time. Men tended to like you like that. He swallows watching you for a moment before he takes this as his cue to remove his sweats and boxers.

The sight of his cock is absolutely mouth watering. His cock is just as pretty as you thought it would be. It’s a little bigger than the average man. It’s a pretty blush color, and curves up towards him. The base of him has a well kept patch of pubes with a little happy trail.

Crawling onto his lap you nestle his length between your folds.

“Can I take this off?” He messes with the hem of your baggy shirt.

“Yes,” you sigh.

He pulls off your shirts and marvels at the fact you aren’t wearing a bra. “Can you take yours off?” Silently he follows your request.

You’re both completely naked sitting on your living room coach. Rolling your hips, his cock slides through your folds. Everytime his mushroom tip brushes your clit you can’t help but gasp.

“Should I get a condom?” He moans taking your breast in his hand. His hands knead your flesh.

“I’m clean and have an iud.”

“Where did you want me to finish?” He plays with your nipples, tweaking them between two fingers.

“Wherever you want. I would prefer you fill me up.”

“Are you asking me to come inside you?” He looks completely caught off guard by your request.

“Please,” you practically beg.

“Okay baby.”

Your lips move together as you slowly sink down on his length. Your fingers tangle in his blonde hair holding him close. Lifting your hips you keep a slow pace. Each time you roll your hips forward you clit brushes against his pubic bone earning a moan.

Your nose brushes his as your lips are so close to touching. The only sounds in the room are the soft moans, and pants. His lips connect to your neck leaving open mouth kisses.

The way his cock is curved his brushing against the spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

“You feel so good,” he moans. “You’re so tight.”

As you move your body up and down his length you can’t really think straight. You're lost in a lust filled haze. It feels like he was made for you. His cock hits the perfect spot inside of you.

The coil in your stomach tightens more and more with each thrust. His hands grip your sides helping you move. Suddenly the coil snaps and a white hot wave washes over you.

Moaning his name like a prayer. He starts lifting his hips helping you ride out your orgasm.

-JEONGHAN-

“Can I cum inside you?” He begs. He’s desperate and sounds like he’s on the verge of falling apart.

“Please fill me up.”

His hands grip your hips as he chases his release. Your walls contract around him as another orgasm follows, milking his cock. Thick white ropes fill you to the brim. He doesn’t think he’s ever come this much in his life. Looking into your eyes for a moment he feels like this was supposed to happen. He doesn’t know how he ever was to survive not touching you.

-HER-

You stop moving, leaning against him. Your face rest in the crook of his neck. You press open mouth wet kisses to the delicate skin on his neck.

“That was unexpected.” Gently he rubs your back.

“That was amazing.” You murmured against his skin.

“I need to clean you up and make sure my cum doesn’t get on the couch. Kitten might kill us if we stained this couch.”

Standing up your legs feel like jello. Looking down between your legs you watch as Jeonghan cum starts trickling down your thigh. Without even thinking his grabs his shirt and gently wipes away his release. Grabbing your hand he takes you to the bathroom where he sits you on the counter and wipes way any cum that is leaking out.

Standing between you legs his hand rest on your cheek. “You’re so pretty.”

“You sure know how to make a girl feel good.”

“The only girl I have ever wanted to make feel good is you.” Leaning forward he presses his lips to yours for a gentle kiss.

Everything feels like it makes sense right now. There isn’t any awkward tension or any feelings of regret. He helps you off the counter and without even asking takes you to his room. He pulls you close to his body and presses another kiss to your forehead.

- JEONGHAN-

“Can I ask you something that might be a little too intrusive?”

You’re naked in his bed you aren’t sure what he could possibly be worried about asking you. “Go for it?”

“What kind of stuff do you film?”

“You’ve never looked up my account?” You’ve mentioned your username before. You just kinda assumed he would investigate. Some of your other friends have. Hell even your last roommate did.

“Never. I’ve never looked up Kitten or Cherry either. It just felt like an invasion of privacy. Also I don’t think it’s really fair to Shau or Jun if I looked up their partners.”

“Do you think any of the boys have looked me up?” Jeonghan's whole friend group basically knows about your job. You found out when Cherry started seeing Jun she slowly let the friend group know and Kitten’s secret had slowly gotten out as well as she felt more comfortable letting close friends know.

“No none of them have. They all just see it as a normal job.”

“I film a lot of solo stuff with toys. I back in the day used to film with this guy I was casually seeing but he never fucked me on camera. I just used to film giving him head. Things with us ended when he got a serious girlfriend.”

“Would you ever film with someone again?” He can’t lie, he's curious. He is one of the only people Jun has told about filming with girlfriend. He knows Jun films with Cherry all the time but makes sure his face is never seen.

“I wouldn’t be against it. It has to be the right person. I need to make sure I trust them.”

He looks up at the ceiling. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly so interested in the possibility of filming with you. He’s never had a desire to preform sexual acts in camera. But there is something about you that he’s interested in doing it with you.

“Would you trust me?”

Knitting your brows together you stare at him for a long moment. “I do trust you.” Lacing his fingers with yours he squeezes your hand gently. “Did you want to film with me?”

“I’m quite interested.”

“Have you talked to Jun?”

“Yeah he told me about his anonymous filming he does. It piqued my interest, but I don’t want you to think I slept with you because of that.” He’s suddenly worried you’re going to think he’s a creep.

“Last time I checked I started this when I was messing with your sweatpants,” you let out a little laugh. “If you were interested in filming with me. We could try whatever you’re comfortable doing.”

“I think I want to try at least once.”

-HER-

When morning comes you're reminded you’re in Jeonghan bed when you feel his morning wood poking your butt. His arm tights around your waist letting you know he’s awake.

“Hannie.”

“Baby,” he groans, pushing his dick further against your butt. His hand moved down your stomach. His hand cups your pussy. His finger dips between your folds earning a moan. “I want you again,” he groans.

“You can have me,” you moan.

“Are you going to put it in?”

“Do you want me to fuck you again?”

“Please, Hannie.”

He pushes your leg forward to give himself better access to your core. “Do I need to get a condom?”

“No want you raw,” you moan. He’s grinding against your core, making you feel like you’re going insane.

Slowly he pushes into you. He’s hitting a different angle than last night. “This might be the best way to wake up,” he groans. “You feel even tighter from this angle.”

It doesn’t take long before you fall apart moaning his name. The feeling of him finishing inside you is intoxicating. You understand why people have creampie kink. You’ve never fucked anyone on camera before, but now you can’t get the thought of Jeonghan fucking you on camera out of your mind.

Walking out of Jeonghan room dressed in a pair of his sweats and baggy shirt. He takes your hand in his before pressing his lips to your cheek.

“Hannie?”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe we don’t tell Kitten right away. Especially if we’re gonna film together.”

“Okay that works for me.”

-

You have officially quit your job and have decided to fully focus on being a camgirl.

After that night you and Jeonghan first slept together things between you have definitely changed. It feels like you’re definitely together but you’re sneaking around. Neither of you are ready for Kitten to know or any of your friends. You haven’t had a chance to film together yet, but Jeonghan sat in your room last night while you were filming. He sat on the other side of the camera. His hand stroking his length mimicking the speed you’re thrusting your sparkly blue dildo into yourself.

Him being in the room while you’re filming is absolutely thrilling. It’s intoxicating knowing that no one knows what’s happening other than the two of you.

After filming you always take a nice hot shower and the addition of Jeonghan joining you is welcomed. He massages mango scented shampoo into your hair.

“I like watching you film,” he says, breaking the comfortable silence that has formed between you.

“I liked you watching.”

“Did you still wanna go out to the bar with Seungcheol, Darling, Honey, Wonwoo, Chan and Minghao?”

“Oh yeah I’ll go. I think Shau is coming over here. Kitten mentioned wanting to film. We could give them some privacy.” He taps your butt signaling for you to turn around to rinse your hair.

You spend the rest of the shower not doing anything sexual. Jeonghan finishes washing your hair, and you help wash his hair before getting out. Each of you go to your seperate room to get dressed and get ready to go out.

Walking out into the living room you find Joshua sitting on the couch talking to Jeonghan. Kitten pops out of the kitchen holding a bottle of water.

“Are you guys meeting Cheol at the bar?” Joshua asked.

“Yeah Cheol was saying it’s been too long since we all met up for beers.”

“(Y/N) are you going?” Kitten asked.

“Yeah Jeonghan said we can use this to celebrate me being free from my job.”

“That means you should get wasted. Hannie can take care of you,” Joshua says, patting your roommate on the shoulder.

“Hannie take care of our girl,” Kitten says as she walks over and holds her hand out signaling her boyfriend to stand up.

“I always take care of her,” Jeonghan’s words have a double meaning that neither of them catch.

Jeonghan drives you to the bar telling you that he would be designated driver that you could let loose and have fun.

As soon as you arrive Darling and Honey pull you away saying they want to do shots to celebrate you quitting.

-JEONGHAN-

Standing at the bar Jeonghan is ordering himself a beer, and you a drink. Seungcheol walks up patting him on the back.

“I’m glad you brought (Y/N) with you. Darling and Honey seem to love her.” Seungcheol says before taking a sip of his beer.

“She’s great. She just quit her tech job so I told her this would be a good way to celebrate.” The bartender puts two drinks down in front of him, and Jeonghan hands him his card to pay.

“I take it that means she’s going to work full time doing the same thing as Kitten and Cherry?” It’s funny all the boys know now that Kitten and Cherry are camgirl but they’re all really respectful about it and never directly say what their jobs is.

“Yeah she makes good money doing it. She was absolutely miserable at her tech job. I can’t count the number of times she came home crying from work.” Jeonghan hated seeing you upset.

“You know I think she’s a good fit for the group. She gets along with all boys and the girls adore her. It’s a bonus that she understands and relates to Kitten and Cherry.” Seungcheol says.

“I think with Jun seeing Cherry and her being open about her job made Kitten feel more comfortable letting everyone know.” Jeonghan remembers when Kitten awkwardly told him about her job. She seemed so worried that Jeonghan would be upset or judge her, but he honestly didn’t care. He’s always been a very sex positive person, and if his roommate could make a living being a cam girl he would never judge her. He wouldn’t ever judge you either. Your job didn’t define you. He was quite interested in your job though, and wanted to explore aspects of it with you.

Seungcheol clears his throat, catching his attention. “You zoned out on me.”

“Sorry I was just thinking.” He stares at his drink before taking a sip.

“Why don’t you go take (Y/N) her drink?”

Walking over he interrupts your conversation with the girls to hand your drink. He wants to give you time to catch up with the girls. Walking over he joins Wonwoo and Minghao at the pool table.

The moment Chan joins the boys at the pool table he’s already in full gear complaining about his coworker. Jeonghan gets an earful about the new girl that is making Chan’s life, as he says “a living hell.” That’s probably because they’re competing for the same promotion.

Minghao just shakes his head before taking a drink of his beer. Seungcheol soon joins the rest of the boys after bugging his girlfriend who seems more interested in catching up with the girls.

The whole time boys are playing pool he can’t seem to fully focus on the game. He keeps glancing over at you.

“You’re not nearly as competitive tonight as you normally are,” Wonwoo bumps him. Jeonghan glances up at his friend. He’s trying to be subtle about the fact he can only focus on you.

“I got a lot on my mind.”

“Maybe, your roommate can help with that.”

“Wonwoo-“

“I’m just messing with you. I know you’ve had a crush for a while.”

“Let’s not talk about this,” Jeonghan doesn’t need any of the boys in his business. Especially since he hasn’t properly talked about what is going on between you.

The girls rush over with a tray of shots. Jeonghan passes on taking one knowing he needs to drive you home. He watches as everyone toast to you quitting your job.

As the night goes on Jeonghan watches as you, Chan, and Darling get absolutely wasted. Honey is quite drunk but nowhere on the level of the others. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you this drunk. There is something so cute about how fluster you get in this drunken state.

Seungcheol is taking care of his girlfriend who is even more clingy than normal.

Chan is fighting with Wonwoo about not wanting to go home.

“I need to take Chan home,” Wonwoo says, holding the wrist of his very drunk friend.

“I’ll ride with you guys to help,” Minghao chimes in.

“Wonwoo, can you hold my hand?” Honey asked, walking up to her boyfriend.

“I need to get my own drunk one back to my place,” Seungcheol says, holding his girlfriend’s hand.

Leaning into Jeonghan you wrap your arms around his waist holding him. “Hannie, are you going to take me home?”

He leans down pressing his lips to the top of your head, “yes, angel.”

Taking your hand he leads out of the bar and helps you into his car. After buckling you in he starts heading home. Leaning your head against the cool glass window. Reaching over he rests his hand on your thigh.

“Hannie?”

“Yes angel?”

“Thank you,” you murmur, sounding like you’re trying not to fall asleep.

“For what?” He glances over at you trying to focus on the road.

“For being my person.”

“You’re my person too,” he gently squeezes your thigh.

Arriving home he helps you into the elevator. He notices the apartment is quite quiet but he can hear the sound of music lightly playing in Kitten’s room.

“Your bed or mine?” He asked.

“Mine but will you sleep with me? I wanna cuddle.” He had zero intention of letting you sleep alone. In your drunken state he wanted to make sure you were safe.

“Of course.”

He leads you off to the bathroom where he sits you on the toilet and uses one of your makeup wipes and helps you clean your face. Once in your room he helps you strip down to just your underwear. He even helps you remove your bra you were complaining about. He hands you a baggy shirt he knows you love to sleep in. He doesn’t bother going to his room to get his pajama pants. He strips down to his boxers and joins you under the covers.

Curling up on your side he can tell you’re barely awake. He turns off the light on the nightstand on his side of the bed. He curls up behind you spooning you. This is quite possibly his favorite way to fall asleep. He is never more comfortable than when he is holding you.

“Night Hannie,” you whisper.

“Goodnight baby.”

He doesn’t fall asleep as quickly as you. He can’t seem to shut off his mind. He doesn’t understand how one person can make him feel so many emotions like you do.

When sleep finally finds him, he only dreams of you.

-HER-

It’s been two months since the first time you slept together, the first of many times. Since then Jeonghan has brought up filming with you a few times. Recently he’s been enjoying being in the room masturbating with you off screen.

Today is the day he finally asked if he could officially go on your stream with you.

“Maybe pull your hair back so it looks short and wear a face mask in case any of you face shows.” You think it’s best if he stays anonymous as possible. Especially if it ends up being a one time thing.

“Okay.” He works on pulling his hair back.

“If you don’t want to do this I fully understand,” you want to give him an opportunity to back out.

“I want to do this.”

“How do you want to do this?” You need to know what his boundaries are. You’re willing to do anything he feels comfortable doing. You know with Junhui and Cherry he stays fully dressed and plays with her on camera. She’s mentioned they filmed a full sex tape before but she decided against posting it. You aren’t sure if you would ever feel comfortable posting one of those, but if you trust anyone enough to film a full sex tape it would be Jeonghan.

“Maybe the first time you give me head and I’ll finger you.” He seems a little nervous and you don’t blame him. Your first time you went live you were nervous too.

“I’m going to suggest you talk dirty to me while I give you head. People eat that up.”

Jeonghan sits on the bed and you make sure the camera isn’t showing his face. You adjust the camera so no matter where he sits it should only show him from the neck down.

You start your stream and sit on the bed next to him. You’re dressed in a see through lavender bra and crotchless panties.

You greet your audience and tell them you have a mystery friend helping you. All the comments are instantly excited that you have brought someone to film with you. Some of the requests people are leaving are asking him to do wild things to you.

Leaning over you whisper in his ear, “act like it’s just us two.”

He nods silently. Standing up he removes his underwear and sits on the chair angled in front of the camera. The angle makes it where you only see the bottom of his jaw that is covered by a mask. Slowly he strokes his length as you crawl towards him.

“Such a pretty cock,” you say as you sit on your knees in front of him. The sight of him naked on the chair in front of you is mouth watering.

Putting his hand under your chin he tilts your head up. “Are you going to be a good girl for me and suck it?”

“I want you to fuck my mouth.” He groans at your dirty words. You never talk like this to him when you’re fooling around.

Sticking your tongue out you stare at him through your lashes. Tapping his dick against your tongue. You smile as he pulls away. Neither of you are normally like this in bed together and this kind of feels like you’re role playing. This whole scenario is exciting.

“Open,” he commands.

Placing the tip of his dick in your mouth you instantly start sucking him. His dark eyes stay locked on you as you focus on taking him further in your mouth. One hand rests on his thigh steadying yourself while the other pumps his neglected shaft. Your focus is on his sensitive tip right now.

Hollowing your cheeks you take him all the way in. Thank god you don’t really have a gag reflex as he brushes the back of your throat. Looking up at him with watery eyes you wish you could see his whole face. His hands brush your hair away from your face. Making a makeshift ponytail with his hand.

“Such a good girl,” he moans.

He is not even touching you and he’s making you wet. You don’t think you’ve ever cum fully untouched, but today might be the day.

Popping off him you smile up at him taking this moment to properly breathe again. Taking his length in both hands you pump him and focus on his tip again. Tilting his head back he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.

Taking him back into your mouth you take him until your nose brushes against his will trimmed patch of pubic hair. His stomach muscles tense as he’s on the brink of falling apart.

Pulling off him you look at him and say, “are you going to come in my mouth?”

“That depends, are you going to be a good girl and swallow?”

“Anything for you.”

Hollowing your cheeks you take him fully again. His fingers tangled in your hair helping guide you up and down his length. Your eyes are a watery mess as he keeps brushing the back of your throat. The echoing moan of the word “baby”’ takes over your senses as he feels your mouth with his milky release.

You keep sucking until he’s finished and clearly spent. Pulling off of him he rests his hand on your cheek. His thumb brushes your bottom lip wiping away some of his cum.

Opening your mouth you show him cum. You’ve never been a fan of swallowing, but you would do it everyday with him.

“Good girl,” he whispers. Closing your mouth you swallow everything he gave you.

“Can I play with your favorite vibrator?” He asked standing up. Walking off camera he grabs some tissues cleaning himself up.

“Please.”

“Lay on your bed and spread your legs wide for all the nice people to see.”

Crawling on the bed he sits on his knees next to you. Making sure your wet pussy is on full display for everyone watching. He’s attempting to make sure the only part of him that shows is his jaw that is covered by a mask.

Holding the vibrator to your already sensitive clit he starts by pumping one finger. Giving you a chance to adjust before he adds a second. He hooks his long fingers brushing your g spot over. Your body feels tense as the coil in your stomach tightens. At the rate he’s going you're going to fall apart the quickest you ever have.

“Is baby close to cumming?” He says staring into your lust filled eyes. You aren’t sure you can form proper words, you just nod your head.

“Can you take another finger?”

“Yes.”

He stretches you open more, adding another finger. He clicks up the speed of the vibrator practically making you scream.

Your orgasm hits you like a ton of bricks and for the first time ever fluid rushes out of you. Coating Jeonghan’s arm in your release. Your body feels weightless as you lay there trying to breathe.

Looking at Jeonghan you see his arm glistening. You’ve never squirted before and you weren’t even sure you could. Your cheeks instantly flush, feeling quite embarrassed.

“Such a good girl,” he pulls away from your core. He clicked off the vibrator tossing it on your bed.

“That’s all folks,” he walks over and ends your livestream.

Laying there you close your eyes staring up at the ceiling. Slowly sitting up you watch as he removes his face mask and pulls on his boxers before dashing out of your room. He comes back holding a washcloth.

“Baby spread your legs for me. I need to clean you up.”

The warm water cloth against your sensitive core is nice. “I’ve never squirted before.”

“Oh,” he instantly sports a cocky smile.

“I’m gonna need to clean my sheets.” You can’t even think about getting out of bed yet. Your body feels like jello.

“How about you take a shower and I’ll strip your bed and toss your bedding in the washer.”

“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?” Suddenly things feel very deeper between you and you honestly just want him to hold you.

He helps you stand up. He leans down and presses his lips to yours for a gentle kiss. “Of course you can stay in my bed.”

“What if Kitten sees us?” You ask the question that has been on your mind since this all started.

“We don’t have to hide anything. If she sees us I’m okay with that.”

Slowly you sit up and stare at him for a moment. You don’t think you can really keep your feelings out of whatever is happening between you. “Jeonghan, I like you a lot.”

“I like you a lot too. I actually more than like you.” His words instantly give you butterflies. “Go take a shower and we’ll talk more after. Come to my room after.”

Standing under the warm water you can’t seem to shut off your brain. Things suddenly feel so different, but that’s not a bad thing.

-JEONGHAN-

Three little words have been floating around in his head for a while now. He tries to stop thinking about it as he throws your bedding into the washer. When heads to his room he goes through his drawers finding something for you to sleep in. All he can do is picture your face as you lay on your bed completely blissed out.

The bedroom door opens and you walk in with a towel wrapped around you. “Is Kitten with Joshua?”

“Yeah they’re actually at her parents house for dinner.” He forgot to mention that earlier. “I picked out something for you to sleep in.”

“You don’t want to sleep naked?” You give him a smile.

“I mean we can if you want. I was thinking we could get cozy, and talk about some things.”

You take the clothes from him and get dressed, not bothering to get underwear. You’re wearing some of his sleep shorts, and a baggy shirt.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed Jeonghan stands in front of you for a moment before he leans forward and presses his lips to yours for a gentle kiss. “You know for the longest time you seem to be the only thing I can think about?” His heart swells instantly when he sees you smile at his words.

“Is that a good or a bad thing?”

“It’s very good. You make me so incredibly happy.” He smiles.

“Jeonghan, you make me happy.”

Sitting down on the bed next to you. Taking your hand in his he squeezes it three times. “Hannie-“

“Yes Angel?”

“You truly are my person. I like you so much.” You suddenly feel like crying. They aren’t sad tears. They’re anything but. “You're the first person I’ve ever been with that doesn’t make me feel like I’m some slut for my job.”

“Don’t ever call yourself that.” He chimes in.

“I don’t think I am one. I just need you to know. You make me feel so normal.”

The smile on his face is heartwarming. “You know I watched Shau and Kitten figure out their shit. They went from friends to being head over heels for each other. I even watched Wonwoo fall for Honey. And I even saw the other boys find their girlfriends. I was always so jealous wishing that I would know what it’s like to find companionship like theirs and to fall hopelessly in love.” He pauses, reaching up and resting his hand on your cheek. “And then I met you. Everything suddenly felt like it clicked when you moved in. The moment we met I had a feeling I was going to love you.”

Tears start sliding down your cheek. “Yoon Jeonghan, is this your way of telling me you love me?”

“Absolutely,” his thumb brushes the tears staining your cheek.

“I remember when Kitten introduced us. I thought you were so beautiful and I knew I was fucked.” A soft laugh passes your lips. “I love you too, by the way.”

“I should properly say, I love you.” He leans over and presses his lips to your for a soft kiss.

“Does this mean we’re officially a couple?” You think that it’s time you put a label on this.

“Angel have been my girlfriend since we fucked on the couch.” He laughs.

“Since the first night we hooked up?”

“Yes. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since.”

“So you’re my boyfriend?”

“Yes, and you’re my girlfriend.”

Holding your face in both hands he leans in pressing his lips to yours for a heated kiss. Your lips move together as if you need each other to breathe. Pulling away he rested his forehead against yours. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Since the beginning things between you have always made sense. You aren’t shocked that you fell in love with your roommate. It almost seems inevitable.

That night when you finally lose your clothes Jeonghan has you on your stomach with a pillow under your hips. Slowly he rolls his hips into you. He hits a spot deep inside. His thrusts are a little lazier than normal but you feel so incredibly close to him. His lips are over your bare shoulders. Between kisses you hear him whisper, “I love you.”

Both your highs reach you at the same time. Falling apart you moan his name. His thrust grows a little sloppy until he slows down.

He sits back on his knees and watches as his cum slowly starts to drip out of you. His mind feels fuzzy and all he can think about in that moment is how much he likes seeing you filled with him. Running his finger through your sensitive folds, he collects his cum and slowly pushes it back inside you.

He’s surprised you don’t comment on his fascination with pushing his cum back inside you.

“Hannie?”

“Yea Angel?”

“Are you having fun back there?” You tease him.

“Sorry I just like seeing you filled with my cum.” He doesn’t even bother trying to lie.

Crawling off the bed slowly he cleans himself off with a tissue before throwing in boxers and heading off to get a warm cloth to clean you up.

Jeonghan puts back on his sweatpants and you get dressed back in the sleep clothes he picked out for you.

Crawling back into bed a soft yawn passes your lips. Rolling in your side you signal for him to come hold you. The moment he is on the bed he pulls close to him. This feels perfect.

-HER-

When morning comes your wake with your body curled up against Jeonghan’s. Your head resting on his chest and your legs tangled together.

You never sleep better than you do when you’re in his arms. A soft yawn passes his lips as he pulls you closer.

“I need coffee,” his voice is raspy.

“We should get up and make some,” you nuzzle against his chest.

Slowly you both crawl out of his bed. He doesn’t bother putting a shirt on. He’s dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants that sit low on his hips. Holding your hand he leads you out of his room and out to the living room.

“Well I didn’t expect to see this,” Joshua's voice startles both of you.

Both of you stop in your tracks. Kitten pops out of the kitchen and instantly smiles at you and Jeonghan holding hands.

“I can’t say I’m shocked,” Kitten has a huge smile on her face. “You two always flirt and Hannie has always been quite fond of (Y/N).” Glancing up you see Jeonghan is blushing. You squeeze his hand and give him a smile. “Also seemed more touchy than normal.”

Kitten looks instantly happy as she stares at both of you. “So is this like an official thing?”

“I mean I love her and she’s my girlfriend,” Jeonghan responds.

“It’s about time you guys got together.” It turns out even your roommate knew that you were supposed to fall in love with Jeonghan.

Maybe Wonwoo is right when he talks about everyone having their own soulmate. Maybe Jeonghan is yours? You love him so much. He just makes everything feel right in your world.

[alessiamalfoyzabini]

Howl at Midnight

Pairing | werewolf!Jimin x human!Reader

Word Count | 7.5k

Warnings | +18, angst, smut, halloween theme, an apparently abandoned castle (don't trespass on other people's property 🤧), mentions of a pact made with the city's residents, poison, MC doesn't really have much choice 💀, forced nudity, dark themes and also yandere (?), underneath MC finds the situation exciting, bites and marks, sink the canines and drink blood, PWP, oral sex, pussy worship, dubcon, begging, virginity loss, unprotected sex (use protection!), vaginal sex, big dick, knotting, MC abandons herself to her fate (I think Jimin's supernatural nature contributes in MC's choices), eat cum, this is not for minors.

This fanfiction is dark and yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | You always thought you lived in a quiet, small town. You never imagined that the locals would be able to keep such a secret for centuries, you fell into their trap… But it doesn't seem so bad.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys!!! 🥹

My best friend and I challenged each other to write a Halloween-themed story using the following keywords: werewolf - halloween - virginity - castle - poison.

I don't know why I came up with such a story, it was supposed to be something simple but my dark side took over WAY too much 💀

Anyway my best friend liked the story and suggested that I publish it, so here it is, I already apologize for any mistakes and for the plot which is not who knows what 🥺

Howl at Midnight was written for recreation, but I still hope you enjoy it ❤️

PS: I really didn't know how to classify this story, when in doubt I put the warning “yandere,” since there are behaviors that go a little beyond 😵‍💫

Permanent Taglist | @katherine-kookie, @btsuga-d, @reallygenerouskoala, @takemeaway5402, @velvet-stardust2002, @jimincrystal, @ke1k029, @kylafox09, @pantara, @themwordsblog, @angelicsmilesworld

It's a rather dark night, you think, as the flickering lights of street lamps barely illuminate your path. You and some of your friends have decided to spend Halloween night roaming the more desolate streets of your small town, rather than attend the party of the school's homecoming queen, the most popular and at the same time most hated girl ever by you and your friends, a common ground that has certainly welded your friendship.

You are reminded of the afternoon you spent at Glenn's house deciding how you would spend Halloween night; Glenn's initiative had been rather unique, since he was not a fan of that holiday.

“It will be fun, everything is so scary at night, we might even meet a real vampire! I mean, not like Edward Cullen, I mean one who doesn't sparkle-” but Glenn's excited monologue had been badly interrupted by his girlfriend, Claire, who had hit him over the head with a book, and who knows why, said book was actually titled Twilight. You remember giggling, willingly accepting that idea, but now...

“We were simply supposed to go for a walk, Glenn,” you mutter ruefully, looking around, “Do you want to tell me where you're taking us?”

The red-haired boy snorts again, settling into his vampire costume bought at a thrift store stall, “Come on Y/N, what would life be without a little thrill?”

Claire, for her part, nods in turn with a euphoric smile, as if she knows something you don't, prancing merrily dressed as a red devil among black lace decorations and lace.

“Life would be as it has always been, wonderful,” you blurt out nervously, freezing suddenly.

The asphalt has run out and the streetlights have stopped dimly illuminating the entire street, you are at the edge of the most talked about lands in your town. When and how exactly did you get there?

“Here we are, my girls,” you hear Glenn say, satisfied with his feat.

“What are we doing here?” you swallow, far from cheerful.

Answering you is Claire, “It's an abandoned castle and this is Halloween night, what do you say?”

You grit your teeth, shaking your head, “You're crazy, I'm not going in there!” you take a step back, your heart stirring, but Glenn stops you in a single moment.

“Where do you think you're going? I promised your brother I'd keep an eye on you,” he tells you sternly, and you know he's right, you can't just leave on your own, the streets are empty but it would still be dangerous.

“Don't you want to see what it's really like inside, aren't you the least bit curious?”

Short answer? No.

More articulate answer? Fuck no.

“Come on, don't be a wimp now!”

You snort, casting a glance at the castle in question.

It is as large as it is gloomy; the older inhabitants of the town have always spoken of the presence of various monsters within it, which is why the lands surrounding the castle are so large, preventing the actual growth of the otherwise large and well-populated town. Some of the land had been ceded to keep the monsters quiet.

That's some bullshit. And you're certainly not a wimp.

What will you find in there, maybe overgrown spiders? You shake your head, certainly nothing up to the Acromantulae seen in Harry Potter.

“I'm not afraid,” you limit yourself to saying, Glenn and Claire seem satisfied with your answer as they begin to step over half of the downed iron bars surrounding the gates of the immense building. It bothers you that they haven't bothered beyond you, but it's Halloween night; you can't really spoil their fun.

You hold on tightly to one of the rusty old iron bars, lift one leg trying not to fall off because of the bulky skirt of your witch costume, and end up straight on the ground covered with dry mud and grass, thank the heavens that it hasn't rained in the last few days, otherwise goodbye costume, although more like an elegant medieval dress and nothing more than that.

“Guys, wait for me!” you exclaim as you turn toward them, but you find yourself rolling your eyes.

The darkness is almost completely pitch black, only the moon high in the sky gives you some brightness in that open space surrounded by green trees and uncultivated grass. Your friends are not there.

“Please tell me this is a joke, please,” you growl, turning only a few seconds to climb over the railing, “Glenn? Claire?”

A shiver of unease snakes down your spine, as if someone - or something - is watching you. But you immediately banish the absurd thought. The Halloween atmosphere always makes everything quite scary; your friends chose that place for that very reason.

Imagining that you simply find them in front of the castle's entrance, you also wander down the path that actually looks like anything else by now. You will meet each other there.

The wind blows without worrying about your bare shoulders because of the dress's boat neckline; the cape had long since been taken away along the way. You bought it in an antique store and the elderly man seemed quite eager to get rid of it. He even gave you a discount.

The sound of falling leaves under the force of the draught is quite terrifying, especially now that you've discovered you can't use your cell phone. There is absolutely no service there, and isn't that how the best horror movies begin?

A frustrated groan leaves your throat, you don't have to think about it.

“Glenn?” you try to call out once more, but along the path echoes the hoots of an owl that is probably scrutinizing you with condescension, wondering why a silly girl like you is wandering around in such a desolate, godforsaken place.

When you arrive at the gates of the castle, you find yourself admiring the extraordinary Gothic architecture of the huge, ancient building made of stone and marble. The fact that it has survived over the centuries without any kind of restoration is a testament to the good materials that were used.

One by one, you walk down the stone steps, sudden thunder jolts you violently, and with fear in your veins you throw yourself toward the immense reinforced door, finding it ajar, a sign that Glenn and Claire must have already entered. You ignore the hint of annoyance, since they could at least wait for you, you must escape the sudden storm.

Wordlessly you notice the large, thick black clouds enveloping the sky, obscuring even the immense full moon.

You carefully close the ancient gateway, looking around the thick-walled atrium decorated with paintings that are surely worth more than your current home, not to mention the carpet you are walking on, though a bit worn, is definitely from the time of the castle's founding. You wonder which lord lived there and whether it can be traced in the history books.

“Claire?” you whisper, afraid of disturbing someone, but who exactly?

Sighing wearily, you really have no time or inclination to play along with your friends, you rest your hand on the wrought-iron railing of the staircase, beginning to climb so that you can find those two idiots as soon as possible and get home safely.

They say 'God makes them and then matches them up,' right? You mentally growl, well, you would’ve just wiped them out instead.

Between corridors that are not real corridors but dead ends, some narrow and some exaggeratedly large, you finally find the wing reserved for rooms, hating the enormity of that place.

“Hey, you ... are you here?” you ask, slowly opening a bedroom door with one eye closed and one only slightly open, fearing to find the two lovebirds doing strange things in the leto of an abandoned castle, because they would be perfectly capable of it.

But what you find is just a lavishly decorated bedroom absolutely empty of any other life forms but you.

“This is definitely a joke,” you chuckle mirthlessly, clutch your arms to your chest, and continue that unwelcome tour of yours, continuing to open rooms at random, with no more expectation of finding anyone in them, until you come to a rather large bedroom.

Quite different from the others, which up to that point had been yes, beautiful, but empty, lacking a soul.

This one was immense just like the castle itself, yet warm, thanks to the burning fireplace. The four-poster bed was adorned with red silk sheets, as were the velvet curtains tied to the solid wooden columns, on the walls finely decorated with gold paint were hung medieval tapestries, depicting hunting parties, running horses and wolves, wolves everywhere. One that particularly strikes you depicts two wolves and a woman in the center, they seem ready to bite her fiercely, you notice with discomfort.

High glass windows with curtains left open allow lightning to illuminate the entire room, followed by a terrible, howl-like rumble.

That horrible noise seems to awaken you from the sort of trance you fell into while admiring the surely master bedroom, and you finally take serious note of the burning fire. Why a working fireplace in a castle uninhabited for years?

“To many the night brings counsel, to me it has brought a lovely maiden, I see...” you gasp surprised and terrified, turning toward the silky, warm, yet slightly hoarse, almost growling voice.

A relatively young man watches you with his shoulder resting against one of the stained glass windows. You had not seen him. No. He was not there before, you are absolutely sure.

His dark, shiny hair has been grown down to his neck, some curling around his sharp, elegant jaw, the neck left bare by his unbuttoned, white shirt is a set of sinuous, sharp, powerful lines. The soft black pants do nothing to hide the wonderful figure of his long legs, his feet are bare, you notice. He feels perfectly comfortable, as if... as if that were his home.

“I-I... I'm sorry, it's Halloween and some friends of mine thought...” you try to explain with your hands clasped to the skirt of your dress, but you are immediately interrupted by the man's sophisticated, sassy giggle.

“They thought it was a brilliant idea to violate my property?” you pale at his question.

“We... the whole town believes the castle is uninhabited,” you reply with a shy breath, trying to justify them.

The young man breaks away from the glass window, slowly approaching you, you take steps back, inadvertently bumping into one of the pillars of the bed.

“And does it look uninhabited to you, little girl?”

Little girl? By the look of him, he wouldn't seem that much older than you, in fact.

Now that he has moved closer, standing only a foot away from you, you notice details of his face that you did not catch a few moments earlier.

He has high, pronounced cheekbones, and his lips seem so plump and soft that you blush at the thought of kissing them, his nose is well-proportioned and straight, while the peculiar shape of his eyes gives him a rather sweet and angelic air, although the fun written in them is anything but angelic.

“I didn't know, I'm really sorry, sir,” and it's true, the last thing you want is to be a nuisance to someone you don't even know, “I'll get my friends back and we'll leave right away, I promise.”

Dark eyes rimmed with long eyelashes watch you closely, before dropping to the rest of your body. Suddenly you remember the deep cleavage of your witch's dress, your skin burning under his watchful gaze.

“Right now there is no one else in the castle, except you and me,” he approaches again, you can feel his warm breath meet your neck, you shiver as the man clasps one hand above your head, around the pillar of the bed, doing the same with the other. This makes it clear how statuesque his physique is, compared to your more petite one, you also catch a subtle citrus fragrance, light and not cloying, is that him?

With a huge effort, you process his words, widening your eyes. No one else?

“But how-”

“In my opinion you made it all up, little girl,” he sneers, "Just admit that it was your curiosity that drove you here," but you shake your head, vehemently denying it.

“I really came here with friends!” you fret, you've never been good at handling pressure and this guy is not helping you at all.

“Oh, really?” a devilish smile makes its way across his soft, smooth cheeks, "So it's just a coincidence that you're wearing this dress?" you don't know how to answer the question, you can't, not when he lowers a hand over you, brushes the outline of your face with a finger, trailing down the delicate line of your neck to your cleavage, your rippling, shivering skin longs to receive his touch once more, you struggle to recover.

“Th-this dress?” you stammer in shame, his finger is still grazing your chest and you are doing nothing to push it away.

“Mh-mh,” he nods, pushing your cleavage down a few millimeters, enough to make you squeak with red cheeks, “How much do you know about this castle and its owners, little girl?”

Nothing, you'd like to answer, but your eyes already communicate your answer as he pulls back, finally letting you breathe. His scent still hovers around you, though.

“Year 1479, the people of the town of Howl enter into an agreement with the seven lords of Midnight, ceding a part of their lands to these noble lords and agreeing to send a virgin once every ten years, on the so-called Halloween Night,” he narrates, leaving you speechless, “In return, none of the townspeople would be hunted down and killed, does that ring a bell?”

“L-Listen to me, I really don't know what you're talking about, I definitely have to go now,” you nod at your own words, but the door slams shut along with a new and terrible rumble, an anguished cry involuntarily leaving your throat.

“The dress you're wearing is soaked in poison, little girl” the imperious tone terrifies you, automatically your body closes in on itself, as a kind of protection.

“This must definitely be a joke, it is Halloween after all,” you whisper to yourself with tears in your eyes.

“It's a security, for us. It ensures that the girls don't run away, because we are the only ones who can neutralize that poison” you don't know why the man started speaking in plural, you just know that you have to leave, even though something inside you is screaming at you not to. Because it could end very badly.

“You'd better take it off, your body might absorb more poison than is really necessary, the sooner we start the better,” he sighs, beginning to take off his white shirt, showing off a well-built, smooth chest and abs studded with thin scars lighter than his skin, swallowing without any more salivation, following long lines of black ink that weave across his pecs, forming some kind of mark, perhaps related to some cult.

“What are you doing!”

The man tilts his head, his soft hair following the movement meekly, and grasps the edge of his pants, running his forefinger and thumb over it defiantly as he watches you, “I'm taking what was given to me, little girl,” he sneers again, not at all impressed by your shock.

It was not uncommon for him and his brothers to be served girls who were totally unaware of their own destiny, they were tiresome at times, they would not stop shaking and crying, praying not to be deprived of their purity, but you smell so delicious that it might make him go beyond your dullness.

The fabric of his excellent quality pants slowly flows over the flawless skin of his toned legs, the blood rushes straight to your cheeks, and your heart misses a beat with a strangled “iiih” as you realize that the stranger has not only freely undressed in front of you, but is not wearing any underwear.

You've certainly never seen a naked man in person, but based on your anatomy books, that is definitely not a normal penis.

With a strange feeling of dizziness and no little embarrassment, you realize that even at rest, it is definitely big, with a swollen base almost as big as perfectly round testicles and such obvious purplish veins that you wonder if it is actually already hard, in its own way. Could that vibrant pink be an indicator? God, what the hell are you thinking?!

After a little dizziness your eyes fly to the closed door, you have to leave, run.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asks you, smiling with a hint of danger in his eyes, “Do you want to run? Run away from me? Know that this will only excite me more.”

You try to look away from his cock, with extreme difficulty, as he spoke, his cock had moved slightly, as if agreeing with the man's words. You ignore the slight jolt between your legs.

“If I can get through the gates of your property, will you let me go?” you propose almost shyly, staring into his sly eyes.

“Um... if I let you go, you'd die from the poison, but if that's what you want...” he shrugs, making you frown. The story of the poisoned dress might be bullshit to convince you to let him fuck you, but what if it's not?

You shake your head, it's all just a bluff. This man is clearly a pervert, maybe he gets off on fucking on such nights with stranger women.

“That's what I want.” you assure with a note of panic in your voice, the desire to escape is so urgent you can hardly think, “Open the door.”

But the man shakes his head, “Strip and I will leave you free to roam my lands until I find you.”

“I don't-!” the words die between your lips, his singsong expression gone, giving way to a sternness that clashes with his regal features, the difference making that contrast frightening.

“I like to play, little girl ... but I don't tolerate whining, don't make me angry, because I might decide to take you now, we have a bed available right here and now,” he hisses, clenching his fist against the polished wooden backboard of the four-poster bed. The more he looks at you, the more his balls throb fiercely; he's trying to control his desire; if his cock hardens, that's the end.

You're the first woman he's seen in 60 years, finally his turn has come, and there's no way he'll let you go. Do you want to play? He'll let you, but eventually you'll give in to his desires. The scent of your sweet virgin pussy makes his wolf growl, eager to get out to meet you.

Perhaps you sense something strange, because with trembling fingers you go to unbutton the side opening of your dress, a little sorry to him, the plunging neckline raises and shapes your breasts invitingly, though the stench of the poison with which it is imbued leaves him disgusted. An idea of humans to persuade chosen women not to flee, his eyes scroll over the ancient clock hanging above the door, the hands turn and you have just four hours to go before the poison takes effect, killing you. He would be sorry to see you die without having had a chance to taste you first.

“Tic-Tac, the clock is ticking, little girl... the slower you are, the more likely you are to die,” he informs you with a smile, your fear written all over his face igniting his loins; he has to restrain himself so he doesn't jump on you, and you're aware of that now, too.

Your eyes study his shoulders, they have stiffened noticeably, and with embarrassing speed you unfasten the last side button, letting the soft black fabric of your dress slip off like a veil, leaving you in your bra and panties. You start up under his eyes, which move to observe every nook and cranny of your body, from the soft breasts enclosed in the cups of the purple lace bra, going lower and lower, past the delicious curve of your hips to the tightly clasped mount of Venus covered by more purple lace. You yourself realize that for a man who wants to possess you, that kind of lingerie might make you look like a neatly wrapped gift in his eyes.

“Don't stop,” he tells you hoarsely, his eyes veiled with glowing lust.

The blood leaves your veins; if he were to take you, you would already be ready to receive him. As your fingers move to get rid of your bra as well, you realize you don't find it such a disturbing idea after all, even when you finally pull down the light fabric of your panties, showing off something no boy has ever had the honor of looking at, his nostrils flaring as if to inhale something in the air, you are aroused.

“You'd better start running, little girl, I'm going to give you exactly twenty seconds head start,” his voice comes out as a guttural sound, making you widen your eyes and really run, when the door suddenly opens wide.

You don't even wonder what strange contraption he used to close or open the door without having to physically do it, you just know you are definitely in danger.

Every nook and cranny of the castle is an unknown, he owns it, he may know passages unknown to you; therefore, you always try to wander the corridors with no visible openings. A tense, animalistic roar makes you scream in terror, with spirited eyes you look down the stairs, you are close to the stairs to the hall, the door has not been locked, you just need more time, you can make it.

You sling yourself barefoot down, almost tumbling from your haste and throw yourself out, skipping the stone steps and then to the wild path, short of breath and fear dictating your decisions, you remember it took you a good twenty minutes to get to the castle, but walking the whole path is out of the question, it would be too obvious and easy, you necessarily have to lengthen the path and consequently put in more time to get away from that terrifying place.

With horror you realize that you don't know where Glenn and Claire might be at all, would he hurt them if he found them?

Of course he would.

You don't know the man, but you have noticed all too well the bestial aura around him; he is someone capable of harm, and he will harm you if you cannot escape him.

Your feet step on scattered branches on the ground and you whimper trying to ignore the pain, another roar - or maybe it's a howl? - rips through the air, mingling with the howls of the rushing wind, and you stifle an anguished cry.

Scratches open along your body, trees ravaged by bad weather and never tended seem to want to block your way in every way possible, and the darkness certainly doesn't help.

Like a wounded animal you limp aimlessly, not imagining the hunger of the ravenous beast that sneers at the scent of your blood.

You feel tired, sluggish at times, your peripheral vision somewhat obscured, an excruciating doubt makes its way into your mind. Could it be that the story of the poisoned dress was true?

But why sell it to you, how could the seller have known that your friends would take you to that castle on Halloween night?

You begin to stagger, a sharp twinge in your head stops you, it is so painful that you collapse on the icy, muddy ground.

You realize you are screwed in every sense of the word when a weight suddenly crushes you to the ground, you scream in terror and wide-eyed, trying to shake it off.

Jimin doesn't think twice about clasping you in his vigorous arms, burying his nose on your neck damp with cold sweat, the accelerated beat of your heart rumbling in his own chest, driving him to moan with need. He presses himself against your soft curves, basking in your feverish warmth despite the stormy, icy night.

“Don't hurt me,” you shake your head with your eyes closed, trying to fight the unusual fatigue to plead with him, "Please, I was wrong, forgive me...I won't come back here again, I swear," the boy snorts against your flustered skin.

He reluctantly lifts himself up to allow you to turn toward him, you find some strength to open your eyelids wide, being invested by his sometimes divine appearance. His eyes, no longer as black as you thought they were, are tinged with an extraordinary shade of gold, he watches you from receptive pupils as you notice the grin on his mouth, a mouth larger than you remembered. There is something strange, not human, about him now. And despite the run he must have made to keep up with you, he doesn't have the slightest hint of fatigue in his breath, he's as fucking fresh as a newly bloomed rose.

“You're dying, little girl,” he hums, shaking some hair off your forehead, you lose a beat at the sight of long claws where once there were short, well-manicured nails.

The claw grazes your skin unhurriedly, you feel it scratch without hurting, you anxiously lick your lips closing your eyes, you are so sleepy that you even willingly accept your fate, Jimin snorts through his nose, almost laughing, before lowering himself onto your jugular.

It would be really easy for him to sink his canines into your flesh and bite your throat to rip it out, but fortunately for you he is not a vampire. All he wants is to sink his cock into your pussy and make you cum repeatedly, but if you died it would be hard to put his plan into action. He wants you alive and receptive.

He licks a long streak of saliva onto your delicate neck, heedless of the dirt that has stuck to your skin, before gently biting you. Your reaction is immediate, you start sobbing like a puppy at the feel of his fangs penetrating your flesh, you cling to his shoulders trying to move him weakly from you, and you kick awkwardly with your legs, legs that are locked in a vice grip by his. That way it is easy to feel something hard and heavy pressing against your belly, you try not to think about it as the man seems inebriated by the taste of your blood flowing straight down his throat.

The bitter taste of the poison is revolting, but fortunately your blood has such sweet notes that it counterbalances that horrendous taste in a balanced way, here, now he just has to lick your wound thoroughly. He collects the last rivulets of your blood with his tongue, before dripping his saliva into the tiny holes created by his sharp canines, little holes that begin to close with light smoke, cauterizing the wound and partly removing the poison toxins from your blood.

With no longer a grip on your throat, your head falls limply back to the ground, you gasp trying to fight off the shock of such an experience.

“Mpf!” his tongue invades your mouth treacherously, the taste of your blood making you squeal on his lips, so unfairly soft and pleasant to the touch. The hot and unusually long muscle pushes into your oral cavity eagerly, saving your life has as if awakened the more primal side of Jimin, one of the seven lords who unleashed hell in Howl's town. And the mating ritual has begun, but you cannot know this.

You break free by gasping for air, “W-why?” you stutter breathlessly, “You don't even know me!” you cry as you drive your nails into his forearms, triggering in return a reaction of possession in him, prompting him to grab your thighs and lift them onto his shoulders to your profound horror, he is so wild as he spreads your legs wide open to sink his face in between them that you can't utter a single breath.

As he runs his tongue along your pulsing, hot folds, Jimin realizes with nastiness that during your escape you got wet for him, he had smelled your arousal as he pursued you, on some people the quickened heartbeat has that effect, but the sweet and slightly salty taste of your juices are now a definitive proof for him. And you can't deny it, you love how he teases you by slowly sliding around your swollen clit, plays with it by holding it between his lips and then releasing it after sucking hard, almost biting it. He tortures it by pricking it quickly with the tip of his tongue and then returns to lapping your thick juices from the soft slit, which seems to melt every time that devilish tongue penetrates it, managing to lick and stimulate walls that a normal tongue could never reach.

You shyly move your pelvis against his face, your thighs stained with your arousal tremble against his cheeks, and a terrible heat makes you pant desperately. The man abandons your slit to push himself again against your unbearably sensitive folds, they are so moist that you can hear the noise they make every time that cursed tongue stimulates them to push a few millimeters toward your clitoris, never reaching to touch it.

“God!” you curse, suddenly reaching out an arm to grab his hair, not recognizing yourself when you desperately push him against your pussy, longing for the pleasure he was spoiling you with at first.

His arousal makes him grunt like a wounded animal as he sinks into your core with languid, sensual movements, rewraps your desperate clit with his lips and tongue before continuing with more direct, zigzagging movements, crushing it at times with the flat part of his tongue and then flicking it with the tip soon after. He would never stop kissing and licking you like that, his tensed cock vibrating each time he eats you up a little more, delightedly swallowing your juices, enjoying retrieving them each time they flow between your wide-open, rosy thighs. A clearer, liquid substance squirts slightly out of your slit, causing you to shake around his head, you clench your lower lip between your teeth with tears sliding down your flushed cheeks, you are instigating Jimin to pleasurably hurt you, and the funniest thing is that you don't even notice.

Finishing licking some of that shiny, transparent substance from your inner thigh, the boy moves up your body, biting slowly at the flesh of your belly and then higher and higher to the softness of your breasts, titillating a turgid nipple before pulling it between his lips.

“W-What are you doing to me?” you gasp, wishing he would never stop adoring and cuddling your body, why? Just moments before you were running from his clutches, why are you lifting your pelvis now, inviting him to take you as if you've been waiting for this all your life?

“Are you just...” he murmurs, before kissing your chin with his devilish lips, "Responding to your desire" he kisses your mouth again, an electric sensation forcing you to comply, chasing his tongue with yours, collapsing to the spicy taste that is now all over his mouth, your taste.

With half-closed eyes you realize that the dark lines of ink are moving, taking the shape of a wolf watching you, you have no way to comprehend the unsettling sensation that invades you. The man, with one hand pressed against your bare back, forces you to turn away without you having any say in the matter, you find yourself with your face to the ground and the wind blowing down your back, shivering under his fiery, golden eyes, your legs trembling from the effort to keep you on your hands and knees, fighting the sweet pain pulsing in your naked pussy.

“Now hold still, little girl,” he murmurs in your ear in a husky voice, sensuously pumping his cock with one hand, swollen veins pushing against his palm, which squeezes along the entire shaft to the base, then back to the thick tip from which he is already dripping his thick cum, "I need to get all the venom out of your pretty little body, am I right?" he sneers, positioning himself at your entrance.

You open your eyes wide, panic stifled by arousal, but it's still there nonetheless, clenching your fingers between the grass and damp earth, rubbing your knees against pebbles that make you moan in pain. The length of his cock begins to push against your slit, forcing it open for him, a choked cry leaves your throat, feeling your walls that, despite their wetness, struggle to let him in.

“You're still so tight,” hisses the man unfamiliar to you, "I must spoil you some more, huh?" he chuckles, sliding his hand between your legs, using his index finger to stimulate your throbbing bud, you gasp arching your back and raising your buttocks toward the man, who takes the opportunity to plunge his cock another inch into your entrance, which throbs and squeezes him rhythmically, almost making him lose control of the situation.

The sensation of the claw grazing your folds each time he presses and massages your swollen clitoris brings you almost to the edge, you feel a wild sexual desire, something you never experienced even during your teenage years, a crucial period of sexual development.

“Go ahead, please!” you exclaim breathlessly, pressing your forehead against the ground, every single millimeter that moves inside you without really penetrating you is like torture, your index finger moving languidly, and you're going fucking crazy.

“Are you really begging?” he teases you, you grit your teeth until it hurts, but finally you give in.

“Please... fill me, take me!”

“Do you want it?” he asks again, pulling the tip almost completely out, the only part he had managed to get in, you clench your legs desperately trying to recover what your intimacy has lost.

“Yes! I want it! I want your cock, I want it to fill me all the way, and I want it now!” you growl with an anger that burns under your skin, looking at him from behind, his face is an emotionless mask, but his eyes...oh, those never lie, you read the fire of desire in them, he's suffering that anticipation as much as you are. Bastard.

“You begged for it so well, little girl... I'll just have to satisfy you,” the cavernous tone clashes with his appearance, but it anticipates what happens next and leaves you breathless, abandoning your contracted clitoris he grips your hips tightly, almost penetrating your delicate flesh with his claws, pushing himself into you with a vigorous thrust, instantly breaking the thin membrane at your entrance, effortlessly. The burning that follows makes your eyes water, your body instinctively trying to escape the man's savage assault, suddenly realizing that you have lost your virginity that way, out in the open, sweaty and dirty, just like an animal.

The man on top of you hisses and makes strange deep sounds, inebriated by the sensation of his throbbing cock finally and completely squeezed between your trembling walls, trying to adjust to the abnormal size. You gasp whimpering, moving your pelvis trying to disentangle yourself from the overgrip, his claws are hurting you, but he doesn't seem to want to let go, not now that he is buried so deep.

With a grunt he thrusts out slightly, watching as your pussy instinctively clings to him, as your thick juices and virginal blood wet his entire length, lubricating him. Leaning toward you, he lets a long trickle of saliva fall back between your buttocks, slipping between them reaches the point where you are joined. He thrusts back into you forcefully, striking deeper and deeper, and you feel every detail of his cock penetrating you and thrusting higher and higher, touching points so delicate and sensitive that you howl meekly, like a she-wolf offering her whole self to her mate, the pain has been replaced by the need to be possessed, you move against his pubes with urgency, the thread of pleasure is getting thinner and thinner, you feel incredibly wet, practically soaked, and the sounds of your union are so obscene that you are shamefully aroused. Your walls flutter drunkenly with pleasure, at one point with the thick, red tip he manages to hit the entrance to your cervix with precision, you stiffen whimpering breathlessly, and Jimin collapses on top of you, continuing to move his hips tirelessly and with spellbinding sinuosity.

You take it so well that it is impossible for him not to want to have you again and again, throwing back his head to be hit by the moonlight that increases his desire, his pupils widen and he feels his testicles clench with urgency as the base of his cock swells, making him shake all over. Without a second thought, he begins to enter you with deeper and longer thrusts so that his whole cock sinks into you without any more constriction, he hears you panting and crying and this only causes him joy, you are completely abandoned to him and your sensations.

You're about to come, you're not so ignorant that you don't know what's happening to your body, you've even heard of intense orgasms, but this... god, this is going to be devastating, you know very well. It's nothing like the ones you had with masturbation, this one is deeper, snaking through your lower belly and you feel it in your uterus. You stiffen all over, trying to block the erection that keeps pinning you down between hard, sensual thrusts, every time it touches your cervix you risk going crazy.

“Don't stop me, little girl... It's here, isn't it?” he gasps at you, slamming into you once more, high up between the entrance of your uterus and another sensitive area that makes your clitoris and walls tear with intense pleasure, your toes curl and you can't help but nod desperately, "Alright, love," he replies without even realizing it, kissing your bare, sweaty shoulder, his knot is almost complete, but he wants you to come before he gives you his cum.

He teases a sensitive, turgid nipple with the tip of a claw as he reaches the point of your union, massaging your folds to help you come, though with a hint of naughtiness he doesn't dare touch your clitoris, he wants you to orgasm on your own, knowing that the intensity then will be greater and you will collapse weak and distraught in his arms.

“Oh, fuck-!” you widen your eyes, being hit by a pressing and beautiful sensation of jouissance, sucking him furiously into you amid tremors and searing waves of pleasure, the same clear liquid as before leaks from your slit, this time in a greater quantity, causing Jimin to grunt as he is run over by your jet, slamming into you almost brutally, streams of his cum fiercely fill your core, as if to mark you for life, and finally his knot swells completely, locking him inside you.

Although immobilized, he cannot stop coming, his testicles quivering violently, and only one thing could quell his aching desire. With his eyes now almost completely encompassed by the black pupil, he pushes your hair away from your neck, exposing your previously tortured skin.

“Why does this go on?” you ask feverishly, confused by the enormous weight widening your walls and locking his big cock into you.

“Sssh” he rubs the tip of his nose against you, making you shudder, "Just wait a little longer" his words are followed by an excruciating twinge, his grown canines penetrating like blades into your skin and sinking into your flesh amidst your shocked and submissive screams, your body surrendering to his force, instinctively submitting and waiting for him to finish marking.

Jimin loves blood, your blood, it pleasantly bathes his tongue with its density and sweetness, he moans with need as he loses himself in your scent, instinct commands him to move his hips once more, even though you are both locked together, with a weak moan you take in the last strings of his cum, resting possessively in your belly, you feel heavy and unbearably full, but at least he seems to be finished, you feel him relax as he once again licks the holes left by his teeth, healing them. He looks like a wolf cleaning up after his mate after mating.

“What are you?” you ask wearily, by now surrendering to the idea that the man cannot be a mere human, that probably everything he has told you, from the poison-soaked dress to the deal with the town, is real.

“Jimin” you hear him grunt at such a low frequency that if you hadn't been alone, you probably wouldn't have heard him. You snort weakly.

“I asked you what you are, not your name,” you murmur, the strange, heavy weight preventing you from moving, hissing as Jimin moves awkwardly between your legs, putting you in a more comfortable situation, letting you rest against his chest lethargically, occasionally kissing the back of your neck and licking your neck, or behind your ear.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't like all that attention; you feel a delicious bite around your heart as you cling to his embrace, protected from the evening chill.

You don't know exactly how long you spend like this, maybe forty minutes, maybe an hour, the fact is that finally that thing between your legs seems to melt away, making you sigh almost strangely.

Jimin gently untangles himself from you, leaving your warm shelter slowly and with a feeling of emptiness that stuns you, your legs finally relax and you try to move them to regain some mobility, you feel his cum pushing to come out and two of his fingers enter you, plugging your entrance. No claws, you notice as he slowly turns you around.

You hiss at the burning, your knees are completely ruined, but Jimin begins to sprinkle them with kisses and saliva, the man is back between your thighs again, you can see his long, wild hair shining as he licks and sucks your skin from time to time, all the way to his fingers, he moves them slowly inside you and you twitch involuntarily, closing your eyes at the warmth of his tongue licking a thick streak of cum and juices dripping roughly from you, pushing it down to your hypersensitive clitoris and you moaning in pain.

“Don't do it,” you gasp, closing your legs tightly, but he doesn't give up, grabbing your chin between two fingers and forcing your mouth wide open, your heart faltering with a strange emotion, you let him spit all his creamy load into your mouth, running along your tongue with a surprised cry.

“Swallow,” he orders with a gleam of interest in his eyes.

You do as he tells you, wanting to please him in every way possible, accepting him back into your mouth for a slow, intimate kiss. It is also dominant and sweet, intense.

“I'm Jimin, a werewolf and also one of the masters of the castle,” he explains pushing you against his bare chest, you hug him back as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be there, clasped to him on a bed of dry leaves, "You are my mate, it's no accident that you were chosen ... being a virgin at your age is unusual for humans, but not for us wolves, you waited for me," he emphasizes with fire in his eyes.

“But ... my friends?” you can't help but ask, which makes him chuckle.

“My people have learned to be among humans, they recognized you by scent and led you to me at the right time, they are fine,” he informs you with a caress, “In fact, you should worry about yourself,” he says with a note of reproach.

“H-How?” fear advances again.

“I've waited too many years for your birth, little girl... it's time to repay the wait,” he hums as something hot and hard returns against your belly.

“Jimin, wai-!” too late, the tip of his cock captures your entrance again, this time with more ease and the next thrust has you writhing against him with tears in your eyes, “Oh, shit!”

© 𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐟𝐨𝐲𝐙𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐢 -  𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. || 𝐔𝐧𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝/𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐡𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝.

[laceyhearts]

✶ SO HIGH SCHOOL ; LUKE HUGHES !

➪ summary: going into sophomore year she had no expectations, but when luke hughes sits in front of her during trig, suddenly her sophomore year turns into a mission

➪ pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader

➪ warnings: none ( i think ? ), not proofread per usual

➪ word count: 7.5k

➪ emma's notes: NOT BASED ON SO HIGH SCHOOL. i just listened to it a lot while writing it so that's what i named with. but it is a little based on what happened to me my sophomore year. i hope you guys enjoy this fic because honestly it took me way too long to write and yeah. for the sake of this fic, they're close to detroit - pls go with it for the plot thanks. UHHHH apologies if some of the scenes are short, they were important to the plot but i just didn't know what else to write. OKAY ENJOY :)

© laceyhearts ; do not copy, repost, translate, or put my work through ai generators. do not copy or remake my themes, graphics, or layouts.

She had no expectations for high school, let alone for her sophomore year. She never thought about meeting Prince Charming and having a cheesy homecoming proposal, never thought about late nights out with a guy that made her giggle at just the mere thought of him, never thought she’d have a press conference about a guy she liked with her favorite teachers. 

And she was right, for the most part. She’d be lying if she didn’t say she stayed in bed, minutes from sleep, eyes fluttering close before opening seconds later, thinking about the guy she had seen in the hallway for a brief second. But she didn’t expect any of those things to happen, and none of those things did happen. Well, except for the press conference.

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

She met Ms. Wilsher and Ms. McCroix bright and early on her first day of sophomore year. It was first period, all of her friends were in AP Human Geography or AP United States History, but not her. It was a new class, not many people were in it, and she felt like an outsider as a bunch of the students high-fived the two teachers like they’d known each other for years. 

“I’m Ms. Wilsher, and I’m assuming you’re y/n, right?”

She flushed, wiping her hand against her skirt before holding it out, nodding, “Yeah, hi. It’s nice to meet you.”

“And I’m Ms. McCroix, but you can just call me Croix. We’re not too formal around here.”

“Around here?” She questioned, head tilting in curiosity as she set her things down. 

“Uh yeah, a lot of the kids kind of hang out with us, our classes intertwine sometimes, so most of the time it’s the same kids. Us and Mr. Carlson across the hall. Don’t worry, you’ll fit right in.”

And she did. Sure, it took a few days, but she slowly allowed herself to feel comfortable, share things with the two teachers that she’d come to trust and rely on more than she could imagine. Soon, this classroom would become her safe space. 

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

Trig was next, a subject she felt comfortable in, a class she could just be and do her work where no one would bother her, and she didn’t have to second-guess everything she did. And while she thought it was going to be peaceful, she was proven wrong. 

She took her seat in the back of the class, somewhere near the middle of the row, so she could still see the board easily, her go-to spot in any class. One by one, people she knew from middle school trickled in, some more people she didn’t, and one by one, they took their seats. 

She shifted anxiously as guys who were deemed popular two years ago when they were in the height of their middle school years, guys who talked to her during a group project but now couldn’t tell you what her name was, sat next to her. She took a deep breath; she could get through 10 months with them, maybe, hopefully. 

He was the last one to walk in, and at first, she didn’t know who he was. She hadn’t seen him around, she didn’t know his name like she knew the rest of the people around her, didn’t know what he could make her feel with just a small, awkward smile, not yet anyway.

She didn’t talk, didn’t introduce herself, she just gazed at him, shrinking in her seat, acting like her friend just texted her life-changing information as he sat in front of her, dapping his friends up like they didn’t just see each other a few weeks ago at the beach. 

And it was like that for a few weeks, staying quiet because she didn’t know anyone in the class, making a connection with her teacher, Mrs. Cooper, laughing softly at the random things the boys around her said. Nothing happened, sophomore year was starting out as expected, and if she was lucky, it would stay that way.

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

Her friends were assholes, it was confirmed. Somehow, someway, she started liking Luke Hughes. She didn’t mean to, didn’t plan to, but her friends were insistent, and professional gaslighters.

The moment they found out that Luke Hughes was sitting in front of her in trig, they knew they had to get her to like him. 

“You guys would be so cute together.” Chloe started, opening her lunchbox. 

“Yeah, you know who else would be cute together? Me and a cow.”

“Luke kind of looks like a cow, a cute one. Like one of those highland cows that stick their tongues out.” Her friend, Stephanie, offered, shrugging as she took a bite of her sandwich. 

Y/n stared at her, a blank expression on her face, before throwing her napkin at her, “Shut up.”

“Seriously, y/n/n. You guys would be cute, he’s nice and funny, and he likes hockey, which you do too. You should at least try. I know the last guy you liked didn’t end up well-”

“I asked him a question and he didn’t respond, he left me on heard. Only my mom does that.”

“Was she on her phone?”

“Yeah, what is with that? They can’t be mad at us for not being able to multitask, and then once they’re on their phone, they forget their ability to hear-”

“Hey! Focus, guys.”

Stephanie and y/n shut up, eyes snapping to Chloe, who gave them a look, “We’re sophomores-”

“Exactly, I have time to experience the high school romance life.”

“But how often are you going to have a class with Luke Hughes of all people?”

“Seriously, guys. I’m fine where I am, I don’t need to like anyone, I’m barely 16, stop acting like I’m 32, and if I don’t find someone now, I’m going to end up lonely forever.”

“Just trust me, you and Luke would break the school. You guys are adorable.”

“I haven’t even said a word to him.”

“You will, with our help. Now c’mon, let’s do this chem homework.”

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

It took y/n until the week after homecoming to say something to him. It didn’t even happen on purpose; they were talking about hockey, and her mind was moving a million miles per hour as she tried to keep up in their conversation. And one off-handed comment later, she found herself snorting in amusement as she kept her eyes trained on her paper in front of her, filling out the unit circle in front of her. 

“What?”

She looked up, face dropping and cheeks flushing with embarrassment, “I- oh, nothing, sorry.”

Charlie, the one sitting directly next to her, raised an eyebrow. “Well, obviously something we said got you to laugh, so I want to know what it was.”

She wasn’t good at this, talking to people she barely knew. She was an introvert, the kind of girl who went through high school quietly, the kind of girl no one noticed until they were paired up with her for a group project. 

“Seriously, it’s nothing. I was just thinking about something-”

“It’s okay, really. Just say it.” She could feel herself relax at the tone of his voice. He’d always been loud with his friends, stealing their phones and laughing like he had heard the funniest joke in the world. She didn’t know why it changed when he talked to her.

“I just- you guys were talking about the Calder, right? I don’t think Dahlin is going to get it, if I’m honest.”

Some of the boys looked at her like she had grown two heads, not expecting her to know what they were talking about, some of them looked at her like she had no idea what she was saying, but Luke? Luke gave her a curious look, a small spark in his eyes as he stared at her, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“And who do you think will be?”

“Petterson. Plays for-”

“Vancouver, yeah. My brother just got drafted there.”

Her eyes narrowed before recognition lit them, “Right. Quinn. I watched the draft, congrats.”

“Thanks… Um, you are?”

“Y/n.”

“Luke.”

“Uh, yeah, I know.”

He grinned, holding his hand out to which she took carefully, their hands lingering for a moment before they pulled away.

Luke turned around, his friends laughing at the slight blush on his cheeks that she didn’t dare to believe was real. She made eye contact with Mrs. Cooper, a knowing smile on her lips that caused y/n to roll her eyes. 

It was nothing, just a fleeting moment that happened because she couldn’t keep her thoughts to herself, and that’s all it would be.

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

November came quicker than she anticipated. She hadn’t talked to Luke since that day, and if she did, it was brisk, one-word answers that left both of them wanting more. 

She’d been studying until 2 in the morning when it happened; she could feel herself grow exhausted quicker than usual, her nose started to run, and her cheeks flushed even if it was only 60 degrees in her room and the fan was on. 

It got worse in the morning when she woke up, the pounding headache, the twist in her stomach, every symptom of sickness hitting her like a freight train. She tried to get up, tried to take a shower and get ready for the day, but as soon as she lifted herself off the bed, she fell right back down. 

And that was the start of a long week of no school. She completed her homework in bed, binge-watched whatever new show was out, listened to music until she got bored, texted her friends who caught her up on all the random drama she missed, and before she knew it was back at school, sitting through first period with Ms. Wilsher and Ms. McCroix.

“Yeah, I don’t know, it was long, tiring. Probably just a bad flu or something.” She explained off-handedly, focusing on her work they had given out.

“You know, if you’re not ready to be back, you can go home.”

Y/n looked up at Ms. Reed, her social worker, who had stopped in to ask her how she was doing. She shook her head, “I’m going to get anxious if I miss anymore, it was already a struggle to get through today.”

“Well, you know where to find me if you need to talk. Now… how about that boy?”

“What boy?” Ms. McCroix walked over, a smile growing on her face.

Y/n flushed, “No one! There is no boy.”

“Really? Because I went to sub for Cooper the other day, and I overheard a certain someone asking about where you were.”

“As if.”

The three of them gave her a look, one that made her shrink in her seat because she knew she was going to have to talk about it, whether that was now or never.

“Fine, maybe there is, but it’s nothing. They were talking about hockey and I stated my opinion, nothing more, nothing less.”

“Uh huh. Do you like him?”

“No!”

“Do you think he’s cute?”

“Maybe…”

“Do you-”

The bell rang, effectively cutting off Wilsher from asking another question, y/n grinning at the interruption, “See you later.”

“Have fun in trig!” They sang, watching her rush out of the classroom.

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

She took a deep breath as she entered her trig classroom. There was no one there yet, no one besides her teacher. 

“Hi, Mrs. Cooper.”

“Y/n, welcome back. You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, better than last week, felt like I was constantly getting hit by a bus.” She explained, taking the small stack of papers Mrs. Cooper had given to her.

“Don’t worry about getting caught up right away, alright? You can take the test you missed whenever, just make sure to do it before next Friday.”

“Yeah, thank you.” 

She took her seat without a second thought, riffling through the papers as more and more people filed in. The boys sat down first, none of them batting an eye at her as they talked about their game the other night, all of them going on their phones to play a game. 

Luke came in with a few seconds to spare, halfway to his desk when the bell rang, and plopped his backpack down as the announcements started. 

His eyes fell on the girl in the seat behind him, eyes lightning up once he saw her figure, “Y/n.”

She jumped, slightly startled, looking up at him, “Hi?”

“You’re back!” He exclaimed, sitting down and turning to face her, coughing to lower his voice, “I uh- I mean you’re back. You sick or something?”

“Uh, yeah, the flu.”

“He was really worried about you, you know?” Charlie piped in, leaning over the side of his desk to ruffle Luke’s curls. “Kept asking us if we thought you were okay.”

“I did not, shut up.” Luke huffed, batting Charlie’s hand away and fixing his hair.

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to agree with Luke on this one.” Her voice was soft, tentative, a stark difference from the usually snarky tone she had when she talked to them. 

“Why’s that, y/l/n?”

Her eyes narrowed at the use of her last name, casting a sideways glance towards the red-headed boy before letting it settle on Luke again, “Him? Worried? Yeah, sure.”

Luke felt her words low in his stomach, like she was implying that he was incapable of worrying about her. And, to some extent, he couldn’t blame her. The two hadn’t talked before the first day of school this year, hadn’t even made eye contact in the hallway before sitting next to each other. 

But somehow, that didn’t matter to him. Something about her captivated him: the way she talked about hockey, the way she smiled at her phone when she was texting her friends, the way she completed her work with speed and precision, the way she offered help to the girl who sat next to her when she asked. 

So yeah, he did care that she was out of school for a week without prior knowledge - not like it was his place to know in the first place. 

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

It was later in the day when she saw him again, waiting for her friend in the stairwell as she came down from her eighth-period class. She hadn’t even noticed, not until Stephanie approached her, wrapping her in a hug because she hadn’t seen her in a week. 

“Hi.”

Luke’s head snapped up at the sound of her voice, picking it out from the hundreds of other voices, eyes immediately finding hers, stopping in the middle of the staircase. He stumbled as people bumped into him, almost tumbling into the two girls but missing them by a few inches, “Dude, you good?”

Y/n and Stephanie had already started to make their way down the stairs by the team. Luke answered his friend’s question, both of them talking animatedly about their after-school plans, “I uh- yeah. I’m fine.”

“You sure, bro? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“It’s nothing.”

And if Luke wasn’t about to combust at that moment, the distant sound of y/n squeaking his name out was enough to do it.

“Luke! No way.”

“He totally does, y/n/n. He could’ve been listening to any other conversation up there, but as soon as he heard your ‘hi’, he stopped in his tracks.”

“It’s just a coincidence.”

“Puh-lease. He’s into you, like head over heels into you.”

“We’ve talked like twice,” Y/n replied, pushing open the doors into the November air that was growing colder by the second.

“Doesn’t matter, his heart eyes are so obvious, it’s actually sickening.”

“Why don’t you date him then if you’re so intune with his eyes?” She teased, heading towards her mom’s car.  

“Shut up, I'm not. I’m just making sure he’s good for you, duh.” Stephanie started walking the other direction to find her sister.

“Whatever, later loser.”

“Bye, dweep!”

Y/n climbed into her mom’s car, throwing her backpack in the back seat as she buckled her seatbelt, “Hi.”

“What was that about? Was that about that boy?” 

“Mom.”

“What? Isn’t that him?” She pointed to the entrance of the school, where a group of boys were piling out as they hit each other.

“Mom! Put your finger down.”

“He’s cute.”

“That’s what everyone keeps telling me.” She dragged her hands down her face, slumping in her seat to avoid any stares.

“He’s looking at you!”

“He is not, would everyone stop with that?” 

But curiosity got the better of her, and she sat up slightly, peering through her fingers to see Luke, their gazes meeting for the third time that day. 

“Drive, please.”

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

The following week, everything seemed to slow. Luke talked to her more, his fleeting glances behind him, turning in his seat to “face his friend” when in reality all he wanted to do was talk to the girl who seemed to know hockey like the back of her hand.

Maybe he was growing feelings for her, maybe he liked it whenever she would try to hide her laugh whenever he or one of his friends said something ridiculously stupid, so what if he did? It’s not like anything was going to happen; she barely paid attention to him, acted as if he were just another one of the annoying guys who didn’t care about his academics. 

But he was determined to change that. 

He walked into second period with a plan formulating in his head, nodding to his friends as he took his seat, already taking his pencil case out. He glanced behind him a few times, failing at covering it up, unable to keep the smile off his face as he saw her focused on their homework that was due by the end of class.

“Y/n.”

He watched as her head popped up, eyebrows furrowing as she stared at him, “Luke.”

“What’d you get for number 10?”

“Uhhhh, 43.”

He nodded, turning back to his work, waving his friends off when they made snide comments in his direction. He scribbled down work that he wasn’t sure was correct, but made sense in his head, which at least counted for something. 

His pencil tapped restlessly as Mrs. Cooper started teaching, something about the law of sines, spacing out with every word said. 

It wasn’t until halfway through class that he started focusing again, noticing the stack of two papers that were placed in front of him, sheepishly turning around to hand one to the girl behind him, who was already giving him a tired expression, “Sorry.”

Y/n didn’t say anything, just nodded and grabbed the paper, knocking her pencil off in the process. She sighed inwardly, eyes darting to the writing utensil on the ground, trying not to direct Luke’s attention to it. 

Her cheeks flushed as her foot reached for it, accidentally hitting his foot just as she was about to kick it closer. She buried her head in her hands, avoiding his gaze, unbeknownst to the wide grin on his face. She felt a tap on her desk, peeking through her hands to see him holding out her pencil, “Here, gorgeous.”

His voice was soft, low enough that only she could hear his exact words. She was sure she couldn’t get any redder. 

She took the pencil from him, their hands brushing as she did so. It was innocent, nothing more than a guy being nice to her, but still, she had butterflies erupt in her stomach, a shy smile on her face as she thanked him, watching as he turned back to the board. 

It was only a few minutes later when Luke spoke again. Mrs. Cooper had walked out of the room to talk with another student, leaving the class to their own devices, in some cases literally. He turned just slightly, facing Charlie and Brandon and a few other guys that he was teammates with, “So game tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah, bro. Let’s hope we don’t get our asses whooped like last time.”

Luke shot him a look, as if he was trying to hide how badly they had been crushed in the previous game from y/n. She didn’t even bat an eye at the conversation, her face back to its normal color, pulling out her phone to check something or to do anything but her work. 

He sighed, “Y/n.”

“What?’ This time, she didn’t even look at him, keeping her stare on her phone. She wasn’t sure where Luke’s sudden insistence to talk to her came from, and she wasn’t sure how she should feel about it. Giddy? Put off? Annoyed?

“You should come to the game tonight.” His voice was smooth, cool, and collected, like whatever her answer was going to be, he’d be indifferent about it, but the way his eyes moved around her face, searching for any hint as to what she was about to say, betrayed his attempt to hide his nerves.

“Yeah sure.” She snickered, finally tearing her gaze from her phone. “Let me get right on that, Hughesy.”

He frowned, his hand stilling from where he was spinning his phone around, “Why not?”

Charlie shot him a look, but once he caught whiff of his friend’s intention, he played along, “No, really, y/n. You should come. It’ll be fun.”

“Okay, 1. Since when do you talk to me, Charles?” Charlie blinked, caught off guard by her sudden tone change, “And 2. Need I ask again, why do you want me to come to this hockey game of yours? I have a million other things to do tonight.”

Luke shrugged again, “Just think about it.”

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

She ended up skipping third period, who needed to go to chemistry anyway?

She wasn’t sure what she should do, go to the game or not? Think something of Luke being worried about her and her absence, or don’t? Keep thinking about the way Luke called her gorgeous, like he was sure of it, or block it out of her mind forever?

Wilsher and McCroix were hanging around in their classroom when she entered, the room void of students, and Ms. Reed sat in the back. She spent more time in here than in her office, which only concerned y/n the tiniest amount. 

“I need your guys’ help.”

The first thing the two teachers noticed was the soft blush to her cheeks, the way she seemed out of breath even though her trig classroom was a few doors down. The first thing Ms. Reed noticed was the smile that tugged on her lips, acting like she wasn’t in a full-on mental crisis. 

“What happened?”

“Luke. Happened.” She breathed, sitting in one of the chairs, the other three gathering around the front of the table. 

“Spill.”

She stared at them for a second, trying to gather her thoughts, “Why does it feel like I’m at a press conference right now and I just had a great game?”

“Y/n.”

“Right, right, sorry.” Her cheeks heated, overcome with embarrassment, she reached for her water bottle to have something to fidget with. “We brushed hands.”

“Stop, you did not.”

“That’s lame, this isn’t middle school or a high school romance something, give us something good.” Wilsher interrupted, looking at her expectantly.

“He wants me to go to his game tonight? And he might’ve, sort’ve, maybe called me gorgeous.”

She shrank in her seat as the three adults gasped and squealed, “Can we not make this a big deal?”

“Oh no, we are absolutely making this a big deal, what do you mean?”

“You have to go to the game, right? Please tell me you’re going.”

“I don’t know, it’s a Thursday, I got homework-”

“We all know that’s bull. You have no homework, I didn’t give you homework, you always finish your trig homework, you have a test in two of your other classes, and in the other classes, you never get homework.” Wilsher gave her a blank stare, almost daring her to say no to the invitation.

“Guys-”

“You’re going.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Can we move on from the game? Let’s talk about how he called her gorgeous.” Reed sighed, conveying how much his words meant more than the game.

Y/n flushed again, her cheeks in a permanent state of red. 

“She’s blushing.”

“You like him.” McCroix teased, patting her shoulder.

“So what, maybe I do!”

“Knew it.” “Called it.”

Y/n just rolled her eyes, picking her bag up, “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“Go to the game!”

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

She ended up going to the game. Chloe and Stephanie went with her, well, more like they dragged her out of the house into the back of Stephanie’s sister’s car. 

What was even the point of going to this game? She’d make sure they would sit far enough back, out of sight from Luke and the rest of his team, so no one would know she was there. She’d follow the puck lazily, not really caring who scored or who won, but deep down, she knew she’d want to see Luke hit it into the net, celebrating with his teammates. She’d spend time outs and intermissions on her phone, acting like it was a chore even to be there at all. 

Chloe and Stephanie looped their arms through hers, the three of them making their way into the arena. She shivered slightly at the temperature change, pulling her sleeves down to cover her hands as they walked to their seats, y/n narrowing her eyes when she saw where they were leading her.

“We’re not sitting behind the bench.”

“Y/n-”

“No, I’m not. Be lucky I agreed to come anyway.”

“She’s got a point.”

Chloe just huffed, allowing the two to redirect their path, heading towards seats that were higher up and out of the line of sight of anyone sitting on the bench. 

As much as she tried not to, the whole game her eyes were focused on him; wherever he went on the ice, wherever he sat on the bench, wherever he came out after intermission, that’s where her eyes would be. She didn’t admit it, not even to herself, but her friends knew, smirking every time she would lean forward when he got close to scoring. 

“You know, you make it too obvious,” Stephanie murmured, wrapping her arm around y/n’s shoulder, walking out of the arena a little after the game ended. 

“Make what too obvious?”

“You like him. Please stop trying to convince us, and yourself, that you don’t.”

Y/n only sighed, fidgeting with her fingers, “A little.”

“A little?” Chloe scoffed.

“This is a conversation I need to have when I have some food in me. Can we please stop to get food?” She begged, slightly pouting.

“Fine. But you’re not getting out of this conversation this time.”

They waited a while before Stephanie's sister arrived, and right when they were about to climb into the car, she heard a voice behind her, one that she only heard within the walls of her Trig classroom, “Is that y/l/n?”

Her eyes widened, Stephanie and Chloe grinned and turned to face the voice, but not before they were pulled into the car, y/n already pressuring Sam to drive. 

“You guys are never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Nope.” “Not one bit.”

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

She woke up groggy that morning, moving through her morning routine with the speed of a sloth, slinging her backpack over her shoulder, bleary-eyed, walking through the hallways. It was moments like these where she was thankful to have such a chill first period, a place where she could relax, and her teachers wouldn’t yell at her if she fell asleep 5 minutes in. 

Wilsher looked at her with an amused look, handing her a water bottle from the small fridge she had in the corner of the room, “Have fun last night?”

“I’m never letting you talk me into going to a game on a school night. That was brutal.” She plopped down in her seat, the condensation from the water bottle already seeping into the wood of her desk. 

“Did you see him?” McCroix walked in next, that stupid grin she got whenever something interesting was about to happen in one of her students' lives. 

“Yes.”

“Did you talk to him?” She looked up as Ms. Reed passed through the door like she’d been waiting for her moment to enter. 

“No. Who do you guys think I am? It took me weeks to even tell you guys my favorite food is pizza.”

“Besides the point. You’re never going to date him if you just stare at him longingly.”

“I do not stare at him longingly!”

“I walked in there one time to hand Cooper some papers, and you were drilling holes in the back of his head with your eyes.”

“I was spacing out,” she defended weakly, chin resting in her hand. 

“Mhm, whatever you want to tell yourself. Now… we talked to Cooper, and we came up with an idea so Luke can find out you were there.”

“You guys are way too invested in this.”

The three of them stared at her, blankly, blinking slowly before laughing, “Of course we are.”

“Get a life.” She grumbled but couldn’t hide the smile that was growing on her face. 

They continued to talk for the rest of the period, about the plan and about whatever homework they had last night, barely noticing the time passing after the bell rang.

“Shit-”

“Shoot!”

“Right, shoot. I gotta go, bell’s about to ring in a minute and I am not going to be late.”

“To see Luke!” They all teased, before looking back at their computers when y/n gave them a look. 

She gathered her things, heading out the door and down the hallway towards Mrs. Cooper’s room, stepping inside seconds before the bell sounded. She maneuvered her way through the desks, walking down the aisle to her own, passing by Luke before sitting.

“Oh- I was worried about you.” She furrowed her eyebrows at his statement, cocking her head more or less to herself as she pulled out her notebook. 

“Why…?”

“I don’t know, you were going to be late. You’re always like the first person here.”

Charlie leaned over, tugging at her sleeve, “Yeah, he was really worried. You know, so worried that I think he likes you.”

Y/n paused midway through grabbing a pencil from her bag, peering up through her lashes to see Luke’s already red face, turning to face his phone in front of him. A light pink dusted her cheeks too, continuing her actions like the thought of her crush liking her wasn’t admitted out loud by his closest friend. 

“Do you ever shut up?” Brandon called, eyes looking between the three of them, but no less amused than his two friends. 

Charlie shrugged, already moving onto a new task, no doubt texting someone as his thumbs moved across the keyboard on his phone. 

It was silent for a few seconds, everyone around them doing their work and chatting with their friends, but the back left corner of the classroom, sprinkling into the center, was quiet, unusually quiet. Y/n fiddled with her pencil, eventually reaching for her own phone to type a message, the three-person group chat with her, Chloe, and Stephanie, somewhat messy, filled with typos and grammatical errors the other two weren’t used to seeing.

“We ned ti alk assap at lunch!”

She could feel her phone vibrating in her pocket, but she paid no mind to it, eyes completely focused on the task at hand - do not do anything embarrassing. 

“Y/n, come here.”

She got up, walking carefully through the backpack-littered aisle, trying not to stumble as she stepped over them. Luke watched her from behind, worry in his eyes like he was about to watch her get in trouble or be talked down to because of a test score, but all he could hear was her bright laugh, one that made his stomach flutter like a schoolgirl's giggle. 

As she was walking back to her seat, she heard Mrs. Cooper’s voice, not loud but not trying to be quiet either, “How was the game last night?”

She only froze for a beat before continuing, calling out over her shoulder, “It was good. They won 5-2.”

She could hear three phones clatter as the numbers fell from her lips, looking back at the group of boys. Luke, Charlie, and Brandon stared at her, the few other guys in their friend group exchanging looks with each other, slowing their hands as they worked.

“See any cute boys?”

“Are we really talking about this in front of people?” Y/n flushed, more so than when Charlie’s stupid “You know, so worried I think he likes you” repeated through her head. 

Mrs. Cooper just smirked as she went back to grading. 

She only got halfway through a problem when she heard a cough, looking up to see Luke staring at her. “Hi?”

“So, you went to the game last night?”

She nodded, acting as if it was a casual thing to go to a random hockey game in the middle of the week, “Yep. My friends and I were bored, had nothing else to do.”

“Oh. So, did you see any cute guys?”

Y/n raised her eyebrow, “Maybe. What’s it to you, Hughes?”

He held his hands up in surrender, but jealousy swam in his eyes, “Nothing, nothing. Go back to your trig. I’ll stop bothering you.”

She smiled once he faced away from her, knowing that the stupid plan of her friends and teachers did work. 

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

She did not want to be wearing this, okay, maybe that’s a stretch. When the idea of dressing cute today was brought up on the table, she was reluctant; she’d rather throw on a pair of sweats and her favorite hockey hoodie and go to school like she didn’t care what people thought about her. But then she put it on, and she felt cute. 

Her jeans sat comfortably on her legs, the gray crewneck with “Canucks” written in blue lettering across her chest sat atop a white undershirt that peaked out along the color, and her hair tied up in a half-up half-down hairstyle with a blue ribbon Chloe had given her however long ago. 

She knew this was a stupid, even useless, plan, but she went along with it. She couldn’t really be mad at how it turned out; she’d always favored being comfortable over cute when she went to school, maybe this was a nice change.

She walked the hallways of the school, her black Converse hitting the ground with each step as she made her way to Wilsher’s classroom, where they were already sitting, Chloe and Stephanie too. 

She blushed heavily when she came in, eyes widening when they saw her outfit, “Look at you.”

“Okay, okay. You’re the ones who wanted this.”

“Do a spin! Do a spin!”

She did as she was told, dropping her bag so she could turn around. Chloe stood up, walking over to inspect her hair. “Is that the ribbon I gave you like two months ago?”

“Yeah, not my fault you never asked for it back.”

The other girl shrugged, twisting the fabric in her hand before letting go, taking a step back to look at her again. “He’s going to go insane when he sees you in this.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious!”

“Fine… I guess I look cute.”

“You guess? Girl, I’ve never seen you look hotter.”

“You guys are so annoying.”

First period flew by faster than she wanted it to, constantly fiddling with her crew neck as the nerves consumed her. She lingered in the classroom for a few minutes, waiting until the time between class starting and her arrival would be as short as possible.

She kept her head down as she entered the room, her eyes trained on her hands as she adjusted her rings before sitting down, unaware of Luke’s (and his friends’) gazes on her. 

Charlie poked her side once she settled, hand extended over the side of his desk, “Y/l/n.”

“Yes?”

“You get dressed up for something special?”

She shook her head, not looking up from where she was tracing random shapes on the wood. They could see the small tint of pink littering her cheeks, causing them to urge Luke into saying something, anything. They were tired of him whining like a puppy every time y/n wouldn’t talk to him in class.

Luke didn’t know what to do. She looked beautiful, not that he didn’t think he was beautiful before this moment, but the way she seemed to have a softness about her today, like she knew she looked gorgeous but didn’t want to admit it. 

He couldn’t deny that it flustered him; everything about her made him freeze up. She could brush her hair behind her ear, complete a problem in 30 seconds, or walk down the hallway, and he’d be in awe. He wasn’t sure if that should embarrass him or not, but at this point, he’d wear that like a badge of honor.

“Y/n/n.”

That caused her to raise her head, eyes widening at the nickname. Since when did he address me by a nickname?

She cleared her throat, nodding, “Yes?”

“You busy this weekend?”

“Uh, I don’t know-” she stuttered, eyes blinking fast as he watched her every movement, studying her as if he would have a quiz on her next period.

“We should hang out.”

Brandon coughed from next to him, giving him a look. There was no way this was how he was going to ask her out, not if he had a say in it. 

“Right. Do you want to go on a date?” 

If y/n was holding anything in her hands, the whole school could hear it clatter against the surface beneath her. She wasn’t sure what to say, if she should say anything, or nod her head. Luke saw the panic flash in her eyes, “We don’t have to if you don’t want to! I just thought-”

“No! I um- I would like that.” The two smiled at each other, stilling.

“About time.” Charlie rolled his eyes, typing away on his phone. 

Luke hit him in the arm, y/n giggled softly, causing him to smile once again.

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

It was too cold to be standing out on the porch waiting for Luke to show up, but it beat having to sit with her parents awkwardly in the living room while they asked her questions about him. So here she was, in almost 50-degree weather, a light frost covering the ground as the leaves fell. 

She hugged herself tightly, her jacket only providing her with a small amount of warmth. A similar pair of jeans adorned her legs, paired with a black long-sleeved shirt that did little to shield her from the growing cold weather.

She barely registered Luke’s car pulling into the driveway, too focused on shifting her weight from foot to foot, preventing herself from going frigid. It wasn’t until the door closed that she looked up, noticing his figure standing outside, a beanie on his head hiding his curls.

“Hi.” 

“Hey.” 

They stood there for a few minutes, neither of them moving, just watching the other’s movements, studying their faces.

She snapped out of the trance first, walking down the few steps that led to her front door to where he stood, unable to keep the smile off her face, “Hi.”

“Hey.” He repeated, chuckling softly. “You ready to go?”

She nodded, allowing him to lead her to the other side of the car, opening the passenger-side door for her. He climbed in seconds later, turning the heat on full blast to calm y/n’s shakiness, pulling out of her driveway to head to wherever they were going.

“You going to tell me where we’re going?”

He shook his head, grinning, “Nope. Top secret.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Not enough to deter you from going on a date with me.”

“Touché.” She huffed, crossing her arms.

“How long were you standing outside for?” He stopped at the stoplight, eyes flicking over to her form, frowning when he noticed her hands still shaking. 

“Uh, like ten minutes maybe? It beat waiting inside with my parents.”

He reached for her hand like it was second nature, as if they’d done it a million times before this moment, letting the warmth of his hand encompass the coldness of hers. He heard her sigh gratefully, continuing to drive as if nothing had just happened. 

It was silent the rest of the way, y/n completely oblivious as to where they were going but paid no mind to it, watching as the trees passed, the lights changed from red to green or green to yellow, and the traffic decreased and increased. 

“One question.”

“Shoot.”

“Does this involve physical labor because I’m not dressed enough for that, and I will not look cute once we’re done?”

“You might have to climb some stairs, but that’s it. And I beg to differ, I’m sure you’d look cute no matter what, gorgeous.”

She smiled as she rolled her eyes, going back to her window-watching and listening to the music that played softly in the car. She didn’t notice the fond expression he had, barely noticed the way his hand tightened around hers because he was scared that this, she, wasn’t real.

It didn’t take long for her to realize where they were once the building came into view, the lettering across it, and the red and white clothing the thousands of people standing outside in line were wearing. Her eyes widened, looking over at him, “Really?”

“Figured you’d like it,” Luke smirked, all too cocky, but neither of them cared. 

“I wish you had told me! I would’ve worn my jersey.”

“Yeah, but then that would’ve given it away.”

The two walked hand in hand into Little Caesars Arena, y/n practically vibrating with excitement. 

“You’re excited about this, huh?”

“Shut up, let me enjoy my hockey.”

He held his hands up in surrender, leading them towards the line, y/n curling into him as they waited in the cold. 

It was the perfect first date. Nothing would ever compare. 

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

It happened later that night, they were out at a small dinner after the game, sitting next to each other in a booth like a cliché high school movie. She didn’t mind; her head rested comfortably on his shoulder, and his hand was on her thigh. They’d finished their food ages ago, paid ages ago, but none of them had the energy to move even if they wanted to. 

“Y/n/n?”

“Hmm?”

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

“Mhm.”

“Are you even listening to me?”

“I’m sleepy.” She murmured in response, curling into him more. 

He laughed softly, resting his chin on her head, “Does that change your answer then?”

“Nope. I’d still say yes, but if I weren’t tired, I’d be a mess right now.”

“You still are one.”

“Say it again, and I'll take back my answer.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She looked up at him, sleep evident in her eyes, but neither of them let it stop their lips from touching, Luke’s arm slipping around her waist to bring her closer. 

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

She wasn’t sure when this tradition was established, all of them meeting in the morning in Wilsher’s room, her, Chloe, and Stephanie. And that wasn’t changing, not even when Luke’s hand was in hers as they walked down the hallway. 

“Okay, so they might be a little overbearing-”

“I’ll be fine, I’m extremely charming.”

Y/n gave him a look, “Mhm.”

“I am too!” He gasped, offended, “That’s how I won you over.”

“I’m still regretting that decision.”

“No, you’re not.”

She grinned, looking up at him, “Fine, I’m not.”

He kissed her temple, the two of them coming to a stop right outside Wilsher’s classroom. She went in first, noticing how her two best friends were already sitting at a table, on their phones, and how her two teachers and her social worker were talking about something, most likely another student in their class.

“Hey.” 

She watched as they did a double-take, looking at her and then noticing the figure behind her, the one who stood a few inches taller than she did. 

“Okay, let’s not-”

“So this is the boy we’ve been hearing about.”

“Guys, seriously-” 

“We’ve heard everything about you, Luke. Smart boy, mostly A’s.”

Y/n buried her head in Luke’s chest like she’d been doing it for years before this moment, like it was second nature. He laughed softly, his hands threading through her hair, keeping her head close to him. The five others smiled at them, exchanging looks. 

“Treat her right.”

“Wasn’t planning on treating her wrong.” He admitted, looking down at her with a certain fondness.

LH43 MASTERLIST ; NHL MASTERLIST ; OTHER MASTERLISTS

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[bucketgetter535]

No Margin for Error: Chapter Two

CW: language

WC: 7.5k

Notes: I almost broke this into two chapters but if yall prefer just combined longer chapters lmk. Anyway a little more of azzis POV this chapter. She does a lot of #noticing.

Azzi could feel the sweat slipping down her back before she even peeled off the top half of her race suit.

It was that kind of heat.

Sticky, impossible, the kind that clung to you through layers of clothes and carbon and adrenaline. The kind that wrapped around your spine and didn’t let go. The kind that made you dream of plunging face-first into an ice bath and never coming out.

She unzipped her suit halfway, tied the arms around her waist, and pulled her fireproof undershirt away from her chest with a wince. The fabric slapped back wet. Her sports bra was soaked. Her body felt like it had been steam-cooked inside a metal box at 300 kilometers an hour for 30 minutes — which, to be fair, it had.

She didn’t even want to talk.

She couldn’t talk, not until her breathing slowed. Not until her pulse backed off from the red zone. Her throat was dry, her arms shaking in that low-buzz way they always did after a race that took more out of her than it gave. The points were fine. The sprint race had been fine. 4th, she thought. Or was it 5th?

It didn’t matter yet. Not until qualifying. Not until the real race.

For now, she dropped onto the bench in the Ferrari cooldown room, eyes closed against the fluorescent lights. Across the small space, Paige was already there — legs sprawled out in front of her, race suit hanging open, undershirt clinging to her in a way that made Azzi’s eyes flick over and away before her brain caught up.

There was something about seeing another driver this wrecked. This undone. Even if it was Paige.

Especially if it was Paige.

Her face was flushed, eyes glassy, like she hadn’t had a full breath since the moment she climbed into the car. Her hair was stuck to her forehead and temples, some flattened from the helmet, some wild from the heat. The veins in her arms were raised, still pumping from the effort. Her collarbones were sharp under the thin material of her undershirt, sweat glinting in the hollow of her throat.

It was a whole lot of information. Azzi didn’t need it. Didn’t ask for it.

She looked away again.

“I hate China in April,” Paige muttered.

Her voice was rough, but not sharp. Not snappy. It was more… honest. Tired honesty. Too drained to be anything else.

Azzi snorted quietly, too cooked to argue. “Try doing this in July.”

Paige let out something between a laugh and a groan. “God, don’t remind me.”

They didn’t speak again after that. Just the soft hum of the AC unit kicking in. Just the sound of both of them breathing through the weight of it.

The cooldown room was private — thank God — a small, merciful space inside the Ferrari garage with a padded bench, a hydration station, a fan no one had pointed in the right direction, and enough room for two drivers to pretend they weren’t about to pass out. No cameras. No mics. No PR team. Just them. And now, thankfully, her.

The door opened and in came Dr. Liao — short, calm, efficient. Female, thank God. That was new this year. That was them.

Azzi had barely known Paige when they’d made the request, but when it came to asking for a female team doctor, they’d been perfectly aligned. No debate. No friction. They’d both wanted it. Needed it.

Azzi remembered how it used to feel, being half-conscious post race in front of a guy almost twice her age. Even if he was kind. Even if he was professional. It was just… never fully comfortable.

Dr. Liao didn’t make them feel like patients. She made them feel like people.

“Hydrate,” she said simply, passing water bottles to both of them before crouching to check Paige’s vitals first. Her tone was steady, clinical. “You’re both running hot. Paige, hold out your hand.”

Paige obeyed without a word, her fingers trembling slightly as the pulse oximeter clipped on. Azzi watched out of the corner of her eye.

Still flushed. Still glassy-eyed. Sweat running down the back of her neck.

Dr. Liao noted something down on her tablet. “You’re fine. Just overheated. Take five, then cold compress. Azzi?”

Azzi rolled up her sleeve as the doctor shifted over, not protesting when her wrist was taken. Her legs were jelly, and her hair was damp all the way to the roots. She thought about peeling off her undershirt too, but the effort felt like too much. She settled for pulling the hem up, letting her skin breathe. Paige had already yanked hers off, sitting back now in just a black sports bra, her skin gleaming under the industrial light.

It wasn’t like Azzi stared. She didn’t.

It was just… there.

The lines of her stomach. The quiet rise and fall of her chest. The tattoo on her rib that Azzi hadn’t known about. The heat radiating off her like she’d swallowed the damn engine.

This wasn’t the first time she’d seen her like this — they changed in the same room pre race, trained in the same gym, stretched next to each other before sessions — but something about today made it harder to ignore. Maybe the heat stripped too much away. Maybe exhaustion blurred the edges of resentment. Maybe it was the way Paige hadn’t said anything bitchy for once.

They didn’t argue. Not today.

There just wasn’t enough energy for it.

Dr. Liao handed each of them a cold compress, then stood.

“Try to stay cool until the debrief. Get protein in you before qualifying.”

Azzi nodded. Paige, too.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Silence again.

Paige tilted her head back, eyes half-closed, the cold pack pressed to her neck. “I don’t think I’ve ever sweat this much in my life.”

Azzi leaned back, matching her without thinking. “Yeah. That was brutal.”

A pause. Then another. Then—

“Thanks for the doc,” Paige said, not looking at her.

Azzi blinked. “You asked for her too.”

“Yeah,” Paige said. “Still. I wouldn’t’ve spoken up if you hadn’t first.”

Azzi didn’t know what to say to that. So she just nodded.

It was strange, sitting here like this. Close but not quite. Tired but not open. Just adjacent. No press cameras. No engineers. Just the low thrum of two hearts cooling down from something unspoken and hard to name.

They weren’t friends.

They weren’t even friendly.

But for the first time since joining the same team, Azzi didn’t hate being next to Paige.

That probably didn’t mean anything.

But maybe it did.

—

China was a success and Azzi couldn’t stop smiling.

She had been on enough podiums to know the routine, but that didn’t dull it — the rush of standing on the top step, the Ferrari red wrapped around her shoulders, the trophy cold in her hands. The champagne didn’t taste like anything, but that didn’t matter. It was hers. First win of the season. China was hers.

The anthem roared. The crowd beneath them waved flags — some Ferrari, some with her name on them, a few even homemade signs with glitter and gold stars. Cameras clicked and flashed. She felt the weight of her cap on her head, the sun on her back, the ache in her calves. Every inch of her buzzed with adrenaline and heat and relief.

Azzi Fudd. Winner in Shanghai.

She closed her eyes for half a second and let it all settle in her chest.

Her engineer, Mateo, had all but lifted her out of the car when she’d pulled into her first place spot. “Brava,” he’d said into her helmet mic before she’d even parked. “You were perfect out there. Absolutely perfect.”

The car had felt good. Not flawless, not light — the track still had its bumps and moments, but Azzi had driven the hell out of it. Gotten pole. Won the race. Controlled the pace. Managed the tires. Held off pressure. All of it.

It was textbook. And it was hers.

So why couldn’t she stop looking for Paige?

Fourth wasn’t a bad finish. In theory. But Paige had been running third with five laps to go. Right behind her, almost, for a while. Then just—gone. Dropped pace, like someone hit a switch. Fell back behind a Red Bull and a Mercedes. No fight. No spark. It hadn’t made sense.

Azzi had noticed. She hadn’t meant to. But she had.

She caught Mateo on her way off the podium, still drying her hair with a towel as they walked toward the media pen.

“Hey,” she said, voice low beneath the noise. “What happened to Paige?”

Mateo hesitated for just a beat too long.

“I saw her start to fall off,” Azzi added quickly. “The car wasn’t handling?”

“She had no cooling,” Marco said, cutting to the chase. “Whole race. It didn’t work. System failure. We caught it too late.”

Azzi’s chest tightened.

“No cooling?” she repeated.

“None. Full suit temp. Cabin temp was off the charts by lap ten.”

“Jesus.”

“She should’ve pulled out. But she didn’t.”

Azzi blinked hard. Something sharp pricked the base of her neck — guilt? Concern? Something else? She shook her head.

Mateo glanced at her. “She’s with Dr. Liao now.”

Azzi nodded but said nothing.

The next twenty minutes blurred. Media. Photos. The usual rinse-repeat of post-race interviews. Smiles, nods, answers on autopilot. Yes, the car felt great. Yes, we’re thrilled with the pace. Yes, we’ll take this momentum into the next race. She knew the script. Delivered it well.

But behind every answer, her mind was somewhere else.

It wasn’t that she cared about Paige. Not like that. They weren’t friends. Barely even teammates in the traditional sense. She didn’t know Paige’s middle name, didn’t know what music she listened to, didn’t even know who she called first after a good race.

But still. Azzi found herself turning down the wrong hallway on purpose. She justified it in her mind by saying she just needed to make sure her teammate could handle the intensity of Ferrari. Not any other reason.

The garage was quieter now. Engineers half-unpacked the gear. Mechanics wiped sweat from their brows. She bypassed the debrief room. Ignored the congratulations.

Dr. Liao’s office door was closed, but not locked.

Azzi knocked, once.

A voice from inside — not Dr. Liao. Not Paige either. Just a soft “yeah, come in.”

The room was cooler than the hallway — AC turned up, fluorescent lights dimmed, medical bags open across the counter. Paige sat on the small exam bench, still in her race pants, now in just a sports bra again. Her hair was damp and loose now, clinging to the curve of her jaw.

Her eyes lifted when Azzi entered.

Surprise first. Then… unreadable.

Dr. Liao stood beside her, looking up from her tablet.

“Azzi,” she said with a small smile. “Come to check in?”

“I—yeah.” Azzi shifted. “Mateo said Paige was here.”

“She is,” Dr. Liao confirmed. “And she’ll be okay. But I’m glad you’re here too.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I like to check on both my drivers. Not just the one who got cooked.”

Azzi chuckled quietly, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’m good. Cooling systems worked.”

“Good,” Dr. Liao said, not missing a beat. “Still, you’re not leaving until I take a look.”

Azzi made a face but stepped further in. Paige hadn’t said anything yet. Her gaze lingered for half a second too long before she looked away.

“I heard about the cooling,” Azzi said finally, voice low.

Paige tilted her head, jaw tight. “Yeah. Wasn’t fun.”

Azzi crossed her arms. “You didn’t retire from the race.”

“I know.”

“You could’ve.”

“I know.”

Silence.

Dr. Liao glanced between them and then took the opportunity to go wash her hands at the sink, clearly giving them a second alone.

Azzi studied Paige again. There was color back in her face now. A little more strength in her shoulders. But there was something hollow about her too — not fragile exactly, just… scraped down to the nerve.

“You didn’t tell anyone it was that bad?” Azzi asked.

Paige shook her head. “Didn’t want to give up the points.”

Azzi didn’t say anything right away. Just stepped closer, eyes flicking to the bottle of water in Paige’s hand, half-empty.

“You were 3rd.”

“I know that too.”

Another beat.

Azzi sighed. “You’re a dumbass.”

Paige finally looked at her again. Her mouth quirked — not a smile, not quite. “You’re welcome.”

Dr. Liao returned then, stepping between them gently.

“Paige is cleared,” she said, nodding toward her. “Azzi, sit. I’ll check your core before you disappear.”

Azzi sat.

Paige stood, gathering her towel and pulling her suit back on over her hips. The movement was slower than usual. Not weak, just tired.

She lingered by the door for a second too long before leaving.

Azzi watched her go.

The win still buzzed under her skin. But now, something else did too.

Something quieter. Something not quite nameable.

Maybe it was just the heat.

Or maybe not.

—

Azzi had only been back in the States for two days, but already her shoulders were looser.

New York in the spring was loud and half-unruly — cab horns echoing off glass, puddles still crusted with oil from the last rain, pigeons that refused to move even if you walked straight through them. But from the forty-eighth floor, the chaos became background hum. Low, distant, almost comforting. Like the city was alive beneath her feet and she didn’t have to answer to it.

Her penthouse was mostly quiet. Sleek lines, dark floors, wide windows. A glass coffee table she didn’t use and a white sofa she regretted buying the second her team shipped over the red wine she liked. It was the kind of apartment people expected a two-time world champion to live in — tall, polished, borderline impersonal — but she liked it anyway. It had her books. Her candles. Her kitchen. Her rules.

And her silence.

Mostly.

Azzi sat curled in one of the window alcoves, legs stretched out, loose tee barely hanging on one shoulder. A half-finished glass of cabernet balanced on the ledge beside her, and her tablet screen was glowing faintly in the dimness — emails, most of them irritating.

PR had stacked her inbox like always. New sponsorships. New media requests. A mildly threatening note from her stylist about her refusal to attend the Vogue-sponsored cocktail hour in Tokyo. And, worst of all, a bullet-pointed agenda for the next “Brand Alignment Workshop” Ferrari had set up for her and—

Ugh.

Her eyes lingered on the name.

Joint driver promo content. Must align schedules. Please coordinate availability with Paige directly.

Azzi exhaled through her nose. She stared at the line for a full ten seconds before tapping open the attachment. There were six concepts. Three were worse than the others. One involved pretending to bake together for a TikTok series about “F1’s softer side.”

She laughed once. Sharp and alone.

A second later, her phone buzzed in her lap.

PAIGE BUECKERS

[Incoming Call]

Azzi blinked. Then answered.

“Did you see the email?” Paige’s voice came through first — dry, edged with disbelief.

“Unfortunately,” Azzi said, lifting the wine to her lips.

There was a pause. Some muffled sound on the other end — something clattering, maybe wind.

“You’re in New York, right?” Paige asked.

Azzi didn’t answer immediately. She glanced toward the skyline — the Empire State glowing soft yellow in the dark.

“Yeah,” she said eventually. “You in Minneapolis?”

Another pause. “Yeah.”

Azzi could almost hear it now — the difference in Paige’s background. Less hum, more hush. The kind of quiet you couldn’t get in New York City, the kind you could only get where the sky spread wider and the houses didn’t fight for air. There was a dog barking distantly, a screen door closing somewhere. Then footsteps — bare, maybe on hardwood — soft and lazy.

“You actually gonna do the baking video?” Paige asked, voice tinged with something amused.

“God, no,” Azzi said, grinning. “Unless you’re into pretending we’re PR girlfriends.”

“You wish,” Paige shot back without missing a beat.

Azzi huffed a laugh. “I’d be the hot one.”

“You’d be the controlling one.”

“Same thing.”

Another silence, but not uncomfortable this time.

Azzi shifted, tucked one leg under the other. She leaned into the window glass and tried not to think about how nice Paige’s voice sounded when it wasn’t clipped from a radio or low over engine noise. It was warmer. Throatier. Maybe a little tired.

“Did they tell you what time they want to film?” Azzi asked after a moment, mostly to give her brain something to do.

“Yeah. Morning sessions in Tokyo before media. Six a.m. local.”

Azzi groaned. “They hate us.”

“Deeply.”

Another beat.

Azzi could hear something now — not quite music, but something soft in the background. A record? Or a playlist with too many vowels in the band names. Paige didn’t strike her as someone who had a speaker system set up in her living room, but she had something going. There was also the faint sound of water — maybe a kettle? Or a tap.

“You home alone?” Azzi asked without meaning to.

There was a hesitation. “Yeah.”

“Huh.”

“You?”

“Yeah.”

They didn’t say anything after that.

Azzi picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. The call should’ve ended by now. It was only supposed to be about the email. Confirm the date. Maybe complain once or twice. But Paige hadn’t hung up, and neither had she.

Instead, they both sat in different cities — Azzi with her wine, Paige with her whatever — and let the space between them stretch.

“You like it there?” Azzi asked finally.

“Where?”

“Minneapolis.”

Paige paused. “It’s quiet. It’s mine.”

Azzi nodded slowly. “I like it here, too.”

She didn’t mean to imagine it — Paige curled up on a couch somewhere, phone in hand, in sweats and a tank top, her hair loose, a light on in the kitchen. Azzi didn’t want to picture it. But her mind filled in the blanks anyway.

“What’re you drinking?” Paige asked, pulling her back.

Azzi smirked faintly. “Wine.”

“Of course you are.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just—of course. You’re the type.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “And what type is that?”

“Fancy. Dramatic. Probably drinking it from one of those glasses that cost a hundred bucks just because they’re thin.”

Azzi glanced at her glass. “…They were a gift.”

Paige chuckled. “Sure they were.”

Azzi leaned her head back against the window and closed her eyes. The silence returned — softer now, more like a blanket than a wall.

“You should get some rest,” she said, voice quieter.

“You too.”

“We’ll survive the PR thing.”

“Barely.”

Azzi hesitated. “Text me when you land in Tokyo.”

There was a pause.

“Yeah,” Paige said. “Alright.”

Azzi didn’t say goodbye. Just let the line go quiet, then tapped her phone off.

Outside, the city blinked like it always did — constant, fast, golden.

Inside, her wine had gone warm.

She didn’t know what any of this was, or why Paige’s voice was still echoing in her head.

But she let it echo anyway.

—

Japan was always fast.

Suzuka bit into tires and punished mistakes. It rewarded bravery and flow, and this year — finally — it loved the Ferrari.

From the first lap of practice, Azzi could feel it in her spine. The car was alive. Light on its feet. Responsive in ways it hadn’t been since pre-season. The balance was still twitchy in places, but it was raceable. And more importantly — it was fast.

Not that Paige made that easy to enjoy.

Every meeting was an argument. Every debrief felt like walking a wire. They weren’t even fighting about anything important anymore — Azzi swore Paige was just contradicting her for sport. Tire wear, lift-off points, different calibrations in the steering wheel, goddamn front wing angles. Every word Paige said sounded like a challenge.

And the worst part was that sometimes Paige was right.

But race day was race day.

On Sunday morning, Suzuka felt like it was holding its breath. Cloudless sky. High grip. Grandstands full and loud. The Ferrari team garage was buzzing — calm urgency, polished adrenaline. Both girls in the top three, the Red Bulls boxed in behind. A real chance.

Azzi strapped into her car with a jaw set like steel.

Paige did the same three feet away — lips taut, fireproof mask already pulled up — and Azzi didn’t even look at her.

Not really.

—

The start was clean.

Lights out, and Azzi surged forward like she was born for it. The launch was perfect. The traction was instant. She pulled clear by the end of turn two and never looked back. The Ferrari was a machine beneath her, practically begging for corners.

And behind her — just close enough to feel — was Paige.

Azzi saw the red flash of her number on the boards every lap. Heard the team radios updating split times. Knew, somehow, Paige was pushing with everything she had.

They didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

The race unfolded like poetry — strategic, tight, unbothered by chaos. Red Bulls squabbled with McLarens. Mercedes fell back. The midfield chewed itself up.

But Ferrari? Ferrari flew.

By lap forty-four, the result was obvious. Azzi crossed the line with a roar of the engine, four seconds ahead of Paige.

1st.

2nd.

1–2.

Ferrari dominance.

—

Azzi had won before. Many times.

She’d stood on podiums in countless different countries. Held trophies twice her size. Sprayed champagne until her fireproofs were soaked. She was used to it.

But this one felt clean. Effortless in the way only total control could feel. She let herself enjoy it — the cheers, the anthem, the weight of the trophy.

Then she glanced sideways.

And saw Paige.

It was Paige’s first podium. Her first. And the expression on her face—

Azzi didn’t have a word for it. Pure maybe. Or blinding.

Paige had her helmet off, hair matted to her forehead, cheeks flushed, and she was grinning like she couldn’t breathe. Laughing, actually. Wide-eyed, flushed, completely drunk off adrenaline. She wasn’t even holding her champagne right — just looked like she couldn’t believe she was up here.

Azzi felt something twist in her gut.

She hated that smile.

She really did.

Or at least she wanted to.

—

They came down from the podium together, not speaking much as the media crews swarmed. Paige took every question with that same giddy excitement, talking about pace and grip and how amazing the car felt today.

Azzi watched from a few feet away, answering her own questions with clipped professionalism. She smiled when she needed to. Gave credit where it was due. Spoke like a champion.

But she could still hear Paige’s laugh cutting through the noise. Could still feel the way she’d lit up when the camera caught her looking out over the crowd, her first bottle of champagne in hand.

And Azzi thought, God, she’s such a rookie.

She remembered her own first podium. Remembered how her cheeks had ached from smiling, how the photographers caught her mid-laugh, soaked and shaking with disbelief. Back when she still looked around and thought I’m here. I made it.

She didn’t smile like that anymore.

Paige did.

Paige still had that look in her eyes — the one that said this all meant everything. That look made Azzi itch under her skin.

—

They were walking back to the paddock when Paige caught up beside her.

“Good race,” she said, out of breath but beaming.

Azzi kept her pace. “You didn’t even try to pass me.”

Paige shrugged. “Didn’t have the tires. Or the gap.”

“You had the straight-line speed.”

“And you had clean air.”

Azzi gave her a sidelong glance. Paige’s fireproofs were tied around her waist now, black tank clinging to her shoulders. Her cheeks were still pink from the heat. Helmet hanging loose in one hand. She looked like she was still riding the high of it all.

Like she was invincible.

“You’re painfully fast in Bahrain and Jeddah,” Azzi muttered before she could stop herself.

Paige blinked. “Thanks?”

Azzi didn’t reply.

She hated that about Paige too — how Bahrain always brought out something feral in her. How her driving in Jeddah was so stupidly aggressive that it worked. Azzi remembered from the junior days — watching Paige brake late and still stick the apex. She’d never admit it, but there had been weekends back then where she’d had to fight to keep up.

And Vegas? Vegas was her playground. That annoyed Azzi most of all.

Of course Paige loved the show of it. The lights. The spectacle. It was such a Paige thing — chasing the glamour, soaking it up like it was part of her fuel. Azzi had always thought that made her unserious. Showy. Too caught up in the theater of it.

But now she wasn’t so sure.

Now she was wondering if Paige just loved it. The whole thing. The speed, the cameras, the people. The joy. The pressure.

And maybe that’s why Azzi hated her.

Because she used to love it like that too.

And now?

Now she just loved to win.

—

Bahrain was still dry and hot as usual.

Azzi had been here enough times to know how the track behaved at night — when the desert air cooled just enough to fool you, and the tarmac gripped like it had a personal vendetta. She liked Bahrain. She usually did well here.

But today?

Today sucked.

She was in the garage, gloves still on, helmet still half-unclipped, watching the final moments of qualifying play out on the monitor in front of her. It felt like a personal insult that she had to sit here and watch.

Paige was still out on track.

Of course she was.

Azzi had spun out earlier — turn nine, back stepped out, grip just disappeared like it never existed. Saved the car, barely, but it killed her lap. That was it. No more softs, no more time. She was lucky to get through to the top ten at all. Tenth on the grid. Double digits. Garbage.

And Paige?

Paige had been purple sector after purple sector. Flying.

Azzi leaned forward in her seat, jaw clenched tight, eyes on the monitor. Paige’s car snaked through the final sector like it was glued to the circuit — smooth, clean, fast. She looked calm in the cockpit too. Like she belonged up there.

Azzi hated how calm she looked.

Final corner. DRS open. Clean launch to the line. The screen flashed green.

3rd.

Azzi blew out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Not 1st, at least. The Red Bulls locked out the front row — again — and for once, she was glad for it.

“Great lap, Paige,” Luca’s voice said through the radio on the broadcast. “That’s 3rd. Really solid session.”

Paige’s voice came back, light and professional. “Yeah. Car felt good. Let’s get ‘em tomorrow.”

Azzi’s fingers curled into a fist against her leg.

—

The debrief was short, but it didn’t help her mood.

She knew what the data would say before they even pulled it up — rear instability, mid-corner rotation issues, maybe something weird with tire temps. The wind hadn’t helped either. She’d pushed too hard on her hot lap. She’d been angry. Frustrated. Pressing when she should’ve waited. It was a classic Azzi overdrive moment.

But what pissed her off more was that she didn’t feel like she was wrong. She should’ve been faster.

She was the better driver.

She knew that.

So why did it look like Paige was the one carrying Ferrari this week?

Why did every camera cut to Paige like she was the star?

Why was her name all over the board while Azzi’s sat in tenth like a joke?

Paige had no business being this fast. She was barely in her second year in F1. She was supposed to still be adjusting. Still learning. Still catching up.

But Bahrain had always suited her. Even back in junior formula. The long straights, the late braking zones, the high-speed rhythm of it all — it played into Paige’s strengths. Her aggression. Her absolute belief in her ability to control a car on the edge.

And Jeddah? Azzi didn’t even want to think about next week.

If Paige looked this good now…

Hell, she could win this week. If the Red Bulls messed up their start, or pitted at the wrong time, or if there was a safety car at the right moment—she was right there. 3rd. In striking distance.

Azzi ran her tongue across the inside of her cheek.

A podium was one thing.

But a win?

That would change everything.

And Azzi didn’t know why that felt like such a threat.

—

‘

She peeled off her gloves in the silence of her driver room, the dull hiss of post-qualifying interviews humming through the wall. She was supposed to join them. Eventually. After she cooled off.

She dropped onto the small padded bench and leaned her head back against the wall, eyes closed. Helmet still in her lap. She could feel the heat of the Bahrain night pressing in through the concrete.

She knew she should be thinking about the race. About tire strategy, about overtaking, about the million things that could still go wrong tomorrow that she could maybe make go right.

Instead, she was thinking about Paige’s face on the screen. The way she’d looked getting out of the car. Hairline damp, smile tight but focused, fist bumping a few mechanics like she’d been there before. Like this was routine. Like she belonged on the front two rows.

Azzi hated how much space Paige was taking up in her head.

This was supposed to be her season.

Her championship.

Her team.

She wasn’t about to lose to someone who still treated the Ferrari like a shiny new toy.

Especially not Paige.

Azzi exhaled hard through her nose, grabbed the towel off the bench, and threw it across the room.

She needed to sleep.

Tomorrow was race day.

And God help her if Paige really did win.

—

Race day got off to a good start.

The lights went out, and Azzi launched.

Not flawlessly. Not cleanly. Just hard. Aggressive. Maybe a little reckless. Tenth place felt like prison, and she was clawing her way out of it corner by corner.

By lap two, she was already in eighth.

By lap twelve, she was in sixth.

By lap thirty-two, she was in fourth.

Bahrain had always been a rhythm track, and Azzi had the rhythm now. The car felt heavy early, tires needing longer to come in, but once they did — once the grip arrived and the fuel load dropped — it was hers again. Hers to push. Hers to punish.

She chased down Mercedes like they were standing still. She cut through McLaren with surgical precision. She was so deep into race mode she barely registered Mateo’s voice until he brought up the inevitable.

“Paige is in 2nd and closing on the race leader”

Azzi didn’t respond. Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t have time to.

She was on the outside of turn four, elbows out, sending it up the inside into five, and the Alpine driver gave her just enough room. That was fourth. She was in fourth.

And Paige was still ahead of her.

—

The thing about Bahrain was that the podium wasn’t just a stage. It loomed.

From the garage, from the cool-down room, from every replay and every still image — it was there. Lit up under a thousand bulbs like a goddamn cathedral.

Azzi had stood on it. She’d owned it. She knew what it smelled like, what it felt like. She knew the weight of the trophy in her hands. She knew the cadence of the anthem as it played.

But tonight, she wasn’t on it.

And Paige was.

Again.

Red Bull had won, as expected — cool, untouchable, boring. Paige, on the other hand, had clawed her way into second. Not a lucky second either. Earned. Fought for. She had the gap down under a second when she crossed the line. Under a second behind a much more experienced driver.

That was real.

That was close.

That was…

Azzi stood behind the screens in the Ferrari garage, jaw set tight, arms crossed over her chest as she watched Paige pull up to her assigned spot. The second-place board was in front of her car. Mechanics and engineers swarmed around her, but Paige stayed still for a moment, helmet tipped back against the headrest, hands resting on the wheel.

Then she pulled it off, and Azzi watched her face.

It was flushed. Red from the heat, damp with sweat, but relaxed. Not ecstatic — Paige was too composed for that — but she had that look again. The one that said she knew she belonged up there. She stepped out of the car, peeled off her gloves, undid the top of her suit just enough, and walked over to the other drivers like she’d done it a hundred times.

Like she wasn’t the rookie in this lineup.

Azzi felt something twist in her chest.

She wasn’t jealous.

She knew she wasn’t.

She’d won races. Championships. She had the legacy, the records, the reputation. She had nothing to be jealous of.

So why did it feel like something was being taken from her?

—

Her manager, Marco, found her after the debrief. They were going over tire data when the screens showed Paige again, this time on the podium, shaking the bottle of champagne like it was her goddamn coronation.

“She’s on a run,” he said, nodding at the screen.

Azzi didn’t look. “So was I last year.”

“You still are. Fourth place from tenth is a hell of a drive.”

Azzi grunted. She didn’t need the pep talk. She didn’t need the sugarcoating. She knew how to read a result sheet.

But still. She couldn’t shake the image — Paige smiling, Paige shining, Paige so thrilled about second place like it was gold-plated.

Azzi had been there. She remembered her first podium. The breathlessness of it. The sensory overload. How nothing else in the world had existed for those ten minutes. She remembered what it felt like to finally be seen.

Maybe that’s what was bothering her.

Because she wasn’t being seen right now. Not the way Paige was.

And what kind of two-time champion did that make her?

—

She showered quick. Changed quicker. Avoided most of the media. Gave the team her thanks, her praise, her apologies for qualifying, her comments on strategy — all clean, all clipped, all professional.

By the time she stepped outside the paddock gates, Paige’s name was still trending. Paige’s second-place finish was being clipped and re-posted with headlines like “Ferrari’s Future?” and “Bueckers Blossoms.”

Azzi hated how fast the world turned.

But more than that — she hated that she was still thinking about Paige’s face on the podium.

Because underneath all the irritation, all the cold professionalism, all the competitive instinct that churned in her blood like fire — there was something else. Something quieter. Something more dangerous.

She’d watched Paige get up there tonight.

And a part of her — a part she didn’t understand — hadn’t wanted to look away.

—

Jeddah was here. And that meant a pre race debrief.

The conference room wasn’t large, but it was private — a quiet corner carved out of the Ferrari motorhome, insulated from the chaos of media obligations, fan zones, and the constant background hum of hospitality. The air-conditioning ran cold, like it always did on race weekends in the desert, and the lights overhead buzzed softly, fluorescent and clinical.

Azzi sat on the left side of the long table, shoulders relaxed but posture perfect, the heel of one boot propped over her opposite knee. Her black Ferrari polo was clean and crisp despite the heat outside, sleeves tight around her biceps. Paige sat across from her, hunched slightly forward, elbows on the table, her damp hair into a lopsided bun.

There was a notepad in front of her. Azzi hadn’t brought one. She didn’t need it.

Fred Vasseur, the team principal, stood at the head of the table. Calm, stern, the same expression he always wore when he was about to say something he didn’t want misinterpreted.

Beside him was Alessandra — head of driver development and one of the few people Azzi actually listened to. She wasn’t as cold as Fred. But she wasn’t soft either. Alessandra’s eyes flicked between the two drivers before she spoke.

“Let’s keep this focused. No press questions, no sponsor talk, just the race. This weekend, we’re not chasing headlines. We’re chasing performance. Understood?”

Azzi gave a single nod.

Paige did too, a second later.

Fred clasped his hands behind his back. “Jeddah is high-speed, narrow margins. Precision above all. You both know that. We’re not asking for heroics.”

Azzi didn’t react outwardly. But part of her bristled at the implication. She didn’t do heroics. She did excellence. That was the difference.

“We want two cars clean through turn one,” Alessandra continued, “and we want race pace that allows for flexibility. Both of you have shown that in data — in moments — but this weekend has to be execution, not potential. We’re past the warm-up phase now. Bahrain was proof we have the car. But you both need to bring it together.”

Azzi lifted her chin. “Are you saying we haven’t?”

There was the briefest pause. Not hesitation. Calculation.

“You’ve both had flashes of brilliance,” Fred said. “But there’s still time on the table. Sector two especially. Paige, we need you to trust your braking a touch deeper. Azzi—” He looked her straight in the eye. “We need less correction mid-corner. More throttle discipline.”

Azzi’s jaw flexed.

She wanted to argue. She wanted to say the balance still wasn’t where she liked it, that she was adjusting to inconsistencies in rear grip, that the telemetry didn’t tell the whole story. But she didn’t. Not here. Not with Paige watching.

Alessandra shifted focus. “Let’s talk goals. Real ones. No sponsor-speak. Paige, you first.”

Paige blinked, caught slightly off guard. She tucked one hand under her opposite elbow. “I want a clean first stint. I want to keep Red Bull in range. Ideally, I’m out ahead of them, but… if I’m 3rd or 4th off the start, I want to be close enough to capitalize. Strategy’s gonna matter. Tire temps too.”

Alessandra gave a single approving nod. “And?”

Paige hesitated, then added, “And I want to beat her.”

Azzi arched an eyebrow.

Paige didn’t look away.

Fred, unbothered, turned. “Azzi?”

“My goal is the same as it always is,” she said, voice calm and clipped. “I want to win. Full stop.”

Alessandra tilted her head. “Even from 7th?”

Azzi’s lips curved in the faintest smile. “Especially from 7th.”

The room held a beat of silence. Not tense. Just full.

Fred crossed his arms. “Look — we aren’t interested in internal rivalry becoming public spectacle. We’re not Red Bull. We don’t cannibalize talent. But let’s be clear — neither of you is here to coast.”

Azzi felt Paige shift slightly in her chair. Maybe it was the way Fred had said that. Neither of you is here to coast. Like someone had. Like maybe Paige had in Bahrain.

“We’re giving you both full race strategy autonomy tomorrow,” Alessandra added. “There won’t be team orders. Whoever gets track position keeps it. Whoever earns the win gets the win. But don’t expect us to fix it for you. This is still a team. And we are Ferrari.”

The last three words rang out like doctrine.

Paige leaned back in her chair. She looked tired. But focused.

Azzi, meanwhile, was too proud to feel tired.

She didn’t need to be reminded what the logo on her chest meant. She didn’t need to be told how fast the Red Bulls were or how Paige was “finding her form” or how brilliant the strategy team could be when everything clicked.

She knew all of that.

And she knew that Jeddah was her kind of track — fast, technical, tight. All instinct and nerve. You didn’t flinch in Saudi. You committed.

“I want the gap to be clear,” she said finally.

Everyone looked at her.

“What gap?” Alessandra asked.

“Between us,” Azzi said, nodding slightly in Paige’s direction. “If I win, I want it to be obvious. Not luck. Not pit stop timing. I want it to be mine.”

Paige didn’t speak. But her eyes burned.

Alessandra looked at both of them for a long moment. Then she straightened the edge of the strategy sheet in front of her, even though it didn’t need it.

“Well,” she said quietly. “I guess we’ll see tomorrow.”

—

Azzi had a lot of complicated feelings about how that race went.

Paige Bueckers had stood on the top step of the podium, sweat clinging to her jawline like it belonged there.

Her helmet was off. Her suit half-zipped. Her fireproofs soaked through, sticking to her arms and sides and everything in between. Her face was flushed the way it always got when she was overheating — too pink across the cheekbones, damp strands of blonde hair curling wild around her face, her whole body breathing hard like the race was still happening.

And behind her, the podium lights glowed purple. Of course they did.

Jeddah did everything in neon. The night shimmered with it — track walls, halo boards, hospitality towers, all of it wrapped in that surreal violet tint that turned everything slightly more dreamlike. Slightly more unreal.

Paige looked… unreal.

Azzi blinked once. Then again.

Her own body still hadn’t settled. Her pulse was high from the heat. Her hands smelled like the steering wheel. Her ribcage felt too tight beneath her suit. She’d just driven the hell out of a race, made every inch of the track bend to her will — and still, she was watching Paige on the top step. Not herself.

Ferrari 1–2. Paige first. Azzi second.

It was still dominance.

Just not hers.

–

She could hear the anthem playing — not Italy’s, not Ferrari’s, not even the sound of a team celebrating — but Paige’s. The Star-Spangled Banner blared in grainy perfection from the podium speakers, and Azzi almost laughed at the way Paige tipped her head back like it meant something. Like it really was hers.

Maybe it was.

It was stupidly cinematic.

Purple light, breeze moving through her sweat-wet hair, eyes closed to the sky.

Paige wasn’t singing. She just stood there, soaking it in. Letting herself be seen.

Azzi didn’t know what to do with her face. She clapped, because that’s what you do. She smiled, because the camera was pointed at her. But none of it reached her bones.

Her bones were too busy noticing.

The way Paige looked afterward — once the champagne exploded and she got absolutely drenched — was worse.

Not worse in the painful way.

Worse in the dangerous way.

Because her smile then? It was real. She didn’t fake that joy. She didn’t even try to hide it. She laughed, loud and unrestrained and open-mouthed, the kind of laugh that made her whole body shake. Her eyes were nearly shut from how hard she was laughing as another tried to spray her from behind and missed entirely. Azzi aimed better. Drenched her again. Paige didn’t care.

Confetti fell. She leaned into it. Tilted her head up again and let it hit her. Arms out, palms up like the whole night was made for her.

Maybe it was.

Maybe Azzi hated that.

Or maybe she didn’t.

She didn’t know.

What she did know — what was undeniable in that instant — was that Paige looked good like this. Lit up in champagne and glory, framed by purple neon and gold confetti, laughing like she’d been born to win.

It was Azzi’s least favorite thing.

And maybe the most beautiful thing she’d seen all month.

–

Afterward, backstage in the cool-down zone behind the podium, Azzi barely said a word.

She watched Paige towel off. Watched her press a bottle of water to her temple, eyes fluttering closed from the contact. She was still dripping, still pulsing with heat, but her whole body radiated that particular stillness that only came after something that mattered.

Azzi had felt that once. The first time she won. She knew what it did to you. The way it carved your name into the season. The way it lingered, hours after the track had gone quiet.

And Paige had it now.

Azzi’s arms were crossed over her chest.

One foot tapped quietly, impatiently.

She stared at the floor instead of Paige.

She shouldn’t care.

She shouldn’t notice how Paige’s neck looked in the light.

She shouldn’t notice how defined her shoulders were in a soaked fireproof.

She shouldn’t notice how Paige’s eyes kept glancing at her like she expected something — a reaction, maybe. A smile. A nudge. Something shared.

But Azzi gave her nothing. Or tried to.

Even when her body betrayed her and her eyes drifted upward. Even when her heartbeat flickered at the memory of Paige on that step, drenched in light and champagne.

–

They flew to Miami next. The calendar didn’t wait for anybody. Wins or not, the circus rolled on. But tonight was Paige’s night. That was plain. That was carved into the lights and the scoreboard and the air itself.

Azzi didn’t clap again.

Didn’t linger near her.

Didn’t congratulate her beyond the expected.

But later that night, she closed her eyes in her hotel room and saw the purple glow behind Paige’s head like a halo. The champagne in her lashes. The smile that didn’t stop at her mouth.

And for the first time in her life, Azzi Fudd didn’t want the top step.

She wanted to understand what the hell it was she felt watching someone else on it.

[carakook]

Shut Up .・。.・゜✭・.

╔═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╗

“If I fuck you, will you calm the fuck down and listen to me?”

🔞FOR MATURE AUDIENCES🔞

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader

Synopsis: After taking a job as a co-writer, you quickly find that you and your “boss” just don’t get along. Constantly butting heads, disagreeing on things, and he isn’t even nice about it. He’s a fucking dick. He’s always criticizing you in embarrassing ways, but you’ve tried to be patient, ride it out. Over the short time you’ve worked here, the tension has built quickly, and it is clear both of you cannot stand each other. Unfortunately, today is the day you reach your limit after he humiliates you in front of several of your coworkers… and the “conflict resolution” is definitely something you did not expect.

Genre: Enemies to lovers (or hookup in this case), workplace affair.

Pairings: Boss/Writer!Namjoon x Co-writer!Reader

Word count: 7.5k+

Warnings: 18+, Heavy smut!! Hate sex, protected sex (wrap it up), rough sex, face fucking, light slapping (not in the face), a bit of spit play, face fucking, cussing, crying (sort of), heavy conflict, degradation, arguing, name calling, a bit of teasing, cum eating? (Sort of), dry humping, face humping, being slapped with dick (lightly), Let me know if I missed anything!

⚠Disclaimer⚠:This story does not in any way reflect the character of those who are mentioned, it is totally fiction and just for fun. Please don’t take it seriously.

A/N: Hiiii! This is my first one shot. I’ve actually had it in my drafts for a long time but never posted it, I decided to finish it recently and post it here. I hope you like it! I love writing, have soooo many drafted one shots/full on fanfics with each of the boys. A looot of them are with Jungkook, can’t help myself. He’s my lover… 😭 Anyway, if you guys end up liking this I’ll post more. Thank you so much for reading if you do!

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╝

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

There aren’t many things you regret in life. Because if you allow yourself to regret things, you overthink. Overthinking is never a good thing.

See, it wasn’t awful at first. But the moment you met Kim Namjoon, you could tell he had a problem with you. What? You didn’t know. You still don’t know. But he never bothered hiding it.

You powered through, because this was sort of like a dream job for you. You loved writing music, writing lyrics. It was hard to even find a job like this to begin with. So when you got the callback, you jumped at the chance. You were so excited to be working here, and you were familiar with Kim Namjoon. You thought his songs were beautiful, his writing style seemed similar to yours.

Boy, you were wrong.

Not even a week into working here he was heavily criticizing you. But again… you pushed through. Because you were new, he had a right to be picky. This was his studio, he was technically your boss… technically. So you tried to be patient and listen to his criticism.

Which didn’t last long. Because he was not subtle. Arguably, there is a difference between constructive criticism and being blatantly rude and picky. Namjoon was straight-up rude. And at times it was embarrassing.

Nothing you did seemed to satisfy him. Every single time you brainstormed with him and the team, he disagreed with you. Every time you proposed lyrics, he rejected your ideas. Every time you so as much opened your mouth, he had an issue with what you had to say.

You tried to be patient… you genuinely did. But you don’t like feeling disrespected or embarrassed. And you certainly don’t take shit from anyone. So the last two weeks you’ve both been bickering, and the tension is noticeable not only to you and Namjoon but to the entire damn team.

The worst part about it all? You are so fucking attracted to him. He makes your tummy swoop with butterflies. He smells good. He’s tall, his dimples are fucking adorable, and his body… god, he is to die for. The sexual tension is prominent.

If only he wasn’t such a dick.

Today pushed you to your limits. Never in your life have you been more embarrassed.

It all started with a song he was working on. He played the beat, and immediately you were inspired. You got excited. Your attitude was bright, and you immediately jotted the lyrics down on your paper when they came to mind. You seriously thought today would be the day he’d be proud. He would agree. You felt good about it.

Only for him to burst out laughing when he read the lyrics. That wasn’t even the worst part. It’s bad enough that he laughed at you in front of the entire team. But what he said next is what made you lose your shit.

“Oh- shit. You’re serious?”

He stared at you for a moment, taking in your very irritated expression. And then he fucking laughed again.

“Fuck, Y/N. I thought this was a joke. God, I wish it was a joke because it would be hilarious if it was. It sounds like a fucking kids-bop song. You can’t be serious.”

And that’s when all hell broke loose.

You went off on him. In front of everyone. For three minutes straight you cursed him out, waived your hands around, and made it clear how much you cannot stand him and how rude he has been. How humiliated you feel. You’ve always been praised for your writing, so why the fuck doesn’t he like it? You are fucking pissed.

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to cuss your boss out in front of everyone… but at this point, you don’t care. If he gets you fired by the company, oh-fucking-well.

Namjoon stares at you for a moment once you’re done. Your chest is heaving, your cheeks are red, and your brows are furrowed angrily. Clearly, he didn’t expect your outburst. His nostrils are flared and his jaw is tense, it even does the little tick thing that drives you crazy. Fuck him for being so hot. Fuck him for being so damn hot and such a dick.

He raises a brow at you, tongue in cheek, making that angry face that would be incredibly attractive if it weren’t directed at you. He lets out an angry huff of air before speaking.

“Studio. Now.”

He points at his studio as he says this as if you’re too stupid to understand his words. This pisses you off even more.

“You’re not my fucking boss.”

He scoffs at you, briefly smiling at your bold choice of words. You infuriate him just as much as he infuriates you.

“Actually, Y/N, I am. Studio. Now.”

You know that technically, he is your boss. But you refuse to listen to him after how humiliated he made you feel. In front of everyone, how dare he speak to you this way? Regardless of his weird hate for you. Besides, he can’t fire you. He may be able to request it, but you know that he won’t. From what you’ve heard, It took forever to fill this position. He was picky when it came to hiring someone… which makes this more confusing. You can’t figure out what his issue is with you, especially when he is the one who helped pick you for the job. Regardless, you know that he doesn’t have the patience to do it again. He’s full of shit.

You stand your ground. You won’t back down this time. You’re tired of the disrespect.

“No, Namjoon. Whatever you want to say, you can say it here. You’ve already embarrassed me, so go ahead, do it some more. I’m sure you get off on it.”

No longer smiling, his gaze is dark. He’s pissed. Now he’s a bit embarrassed… that’s what he gets.

“I won’t ask again. You can march your ass upstairs, or I can carry you. Your choice.”

You say nothing, surely he wouldn’t do that. He’s bluffing. Regardless of how harsh he has been towards you, you know that he wouldn’t cross that line. You hope that he doesn’t. The last thing that you want is for him to touch you. Not because he makes you uncomfortable, but because you already have enough dirty thoughts about him. You hate him, yet he turns you on in a way you’ve never felt. Lust driven by pure hatred, it’s a dangerous thing.

But of course, you were wrong, and he never ceases to surprise you. Never underestimate Kim Namjoon.

You stay silent, secretly hoping that he will just back down and continue the brainstorming session. But is Kim Namjoon the type of man to back down? No. He never has been.

He strides over to you quickly, taking big steps in your direction, causing you to miss your chance to run.

He swiftly grabs your waist and hoists you over his shoulder, his fingers digging into your thighs. You don’t even have time to react before he starts carrying you upstairs to the studio. He has no trouble doing so either, carrying you as if you weigh nothing.

You come to your senses and swat at his back while you yell profanities at him, demanding that he put you down, threatening to report him, and telling him that he’ll be fired by morning if he doesn’t stop.

But you know that he won’t. This company would never side with you, no matter what Namjoon did. They relied on him. They didn’t rely on you. You were replaceable, even if it would be difficult. Namjoon is not replaceable.

“Resume the session. If you finish before we’re done, you’re free to go. This may take a while. Don’t interrupt us.”

Hurried nods are sent in his direction, no one dares protest him or intervene. Cowards.

He kicks the door open to the studio, entering with ease, making sure not to hit your head on the doorframe as he walks in. You wish he would have hit your head, knocked you out, hell even thrown you over the staircase. Anything to avoid this humiliation he has cursed you with. You almost wish you would’ve just kept your damn mouth shut.

But the damage is done now. No point in backing down.

He throws you roughly on the couch sitting opposite his desk and then closes the door, locking it before facing you.

You glare at him, chest heaving, heart beating out of your chest. You’re just as pissed as he is. Yet, you still find yourself clenching your thighs together, irritated at the fact that he turns you on so much. You shouldn’t be horny right now… yet you are. The way he squeezed your thighs… fuck. Fuck him. God, fuck him to hell. You hate him.

“What the fuck was that?” You nearly growl at him.

He stands in front of you, arms crossed, looking down on you as if you’re nothing more than a pesky roach that he wants to squash.

“I told you, you could walk, or I could carry you. You made your choice, clearly.”

Fuck him.

“Fuck you, Namjoon. This is ridiculous.”

He laughs. He laughs at you.

Fuck him.

“You are ridiculous, Y/N. Why are you even here, if you can’t take criticism?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I can take criticism, constructive criticism, something that you are apparently incapable of giving. You’re so fucking mean to me and I’ve done NOTHING to you.”

“No, I-“

You cut him off, unable to control your mouth.

“And another thing, it’s only me that you speak to this way. I’ve yet to see you speak to anyone else the way that you do me. What is your issue with me, why do you hate me so much?”

“Maybe if you-“

You cut him off again, and his jaw does the tick thing. He’s getting angrier, but you do not give a fuck.

“No, this isn’t on me. I earned my spot here, I was hired for a reason, and everyone else respects me, why don’t you?”

“Because-“

Again.

Fuck him.

“There is no reason, you obviously have some sort of sick vendetta against me. You’re fucking insufferable!”

“Me? No, you-“

Again.

And he’s had enough.

“No, fuck you Namjoon, fuck you and this weird ass game you’re playing, you—“

He borderline growls before he pins you on the couch.

You don’t even have time to register what he’s doing, and if you did, you’d slap the shit out of him.

That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

His lips crash into yours as he hovers over you, one knee perched in between your legs, while his other leg steadies him. He grabs your face with force, so rough that you swear he could break your jaw if he gripped you any harder. His other hand is on the back of the couch, steadying him the same and pinning you in place.

The kiss is no different. His lips assault yours, and he wastes no time in forcing his tongue into your mouth. He kisses you with vigor. A kiss unlike any you’ve ever experienced before. You’ve only ever been kissed like this in your dreams, the same dreams that wake you up in the middle of the night leaving you touch-starved. It’s fucking aggressive and rough.

And of course, you kiss him back. You don’t want to. Yet you do. You don’t want to give in to him. But you do. You can’t help it. As soon as he made his move, you were under his control. He has that way about him, he’s easily able to affect people. You were a different story. You always defied him, disagreed with him, challenged him. Yet, this is the way that he tames you, even if only for a minute. Shit. You’re weaker than you thought.

He nips your bottom lip before pulling back, your jaw still in his grip. His nostrils are flared and his breathing is rigid, as if he’s just as shocked as you are at his actions.

And he is. He has no idea why he just kissed you. He has no idea what came over him. He just wanted you to shut the fuck up, and he acted on impulse. And now he has a raging hard-on, which pisses him off even more. He doesn’t want to want you, in the same way that you don’t want to want him. But you both do.

He whispers, searching your face, studying your reaction.

“Do you ever just shut the fuck up and listen?”

You clear your throat, still trying to come down from the rush of the kiss, adrenaline running through your veins.

“I-“

“Do you know how fucking irritated you make me?”

Suddenly, you have no fight left in you. You feel intimidated. Fuck him.

“Then why-“

“Am I gonna have to kiss you every time you need to shut the fuck up?”

You blink at him, unable to respond. You have no idea what to do, or how to react, and are becoming distracted by the puddle seeping between your thighs.

You haven’t had sex in over a year. You haven’t been able to grow interest in someone enough to give them that piece of yourself again. Your last situation-ship left you simply sick of men. Sex wasn’t appealing enough to go through that again. But, of course, as if the universe is punishing you, Namjoon awakens your sex drive.

You nervously bite your lip and clench your thighs, not even realizing what you’re doing. You’re on the verge of tears, overwhelmed with anger and lust. And this doesn’t go unnoticed by Namjoon.

He looks down at your thighs, and you immediately unclench them. Your cheeks betray you by reddening, thanks to the smirk that very clearly gives away that he knows exactly what you’re feeling right now.

He keeps his eyes on your thighs for a moment before looking up at you. He smirks, raising a brow, giving you a crooked smile that tells you he knows your dirty little secret. Your jaw is still firmly in his grasp.

“Is that it? You’re sexually frustrated? Is that why you’re being such a bitch?”

You try to wriggle from his grasp, embarrassed, angry, horny. You’re starting to wish he would just fire you. Anything to save you the embarrassment of his knowing glare.

“Fuck you.”

He chuckles, bringing his face closer to yours, so close that you can feel his breath touch your lips.

“Yeah? Fuck me? If I fuck you, will you calm the fuck down and listen to me?”

You blink at him again and say nothing. You want to protest, tell him how gross he is, tell him how much you hate him, tell him that he’s the worst. Yet, his idea just makes you hornier. You’ve never had hate sex, and oh fuck, you’re sure that it would improve your mood, even some of the tension between you two.

But it pains you to even admit that. It’s humiliating. He has humiliated you enough.

He moves his hand to the back of your head, angling it upwards so that he has better access to your neck. He places his lips on your jaw, running his teeth up it, leading to the crook of your neck, keeping his lips on you as he speaks his next words.

He grabs your wrist with his other hand, leading it to his crotch, coaxing you to feel him. And he’s hard. So hard that you’re certain a button will break on his jeans. Fuck. He feels giant… You’re so fucked.

“Do you see what you do to me? Never in my life have I had anyone piss me off to the point of getting a fucking boner.”

You can’t help but whimper at his dirty words, but you make sure to bite your lip, preventing yourself from begging him to take you as you so desperately want to. You aren’t one to beg for anything. And you hate him even more for bringing you to that point.

“I’ve thought about fucking you so many times, Y/N. Fucking you to the point that you don’t even remember your own name, and my name is the only thing that you can scream. I just wanna fuck you until you shut the fuck up.”

“Please, just… do it then.”

Word vomit. You thought it but didn’t intend to say it. Yet, you said it. Of course, you did. You’re on the brink of cumming just from his filthy words.

He kisses your neck before speaking. And you can feel him smile as he does so.

Fuck him.

“Oh, Y/N, baby, hearing you beg makes it so tempting. I never thought you’d be the type, considering the amount of shit you talk.”

You croak out, suddenly feeling defensive, “I’m not. I don’t beg for shit.” You weakly push at his chest, even though you both know damn well you don’t want him to stop.

He laughs, pulling back to look at you, keeping his face close.

“Yet, here you are, begging for my cock like a desperate whore.”

You frown at him, feigning offense, when in reality his degradation is making you even more desperate. Why? You don’t know. You’ve never liked being degraded, in fact, nothing turns you off more than being called names… but hearing it come out of Namjoon's mouth? Fuck.

“I’m not a whore.” You whisper.

He tilts his head at you, amused.

“Fucking obviously, you’re acting like you’ve never been touched before. Are you this needy with other men?”

“There are no other men.”

He studies you for a moment, carefully calculating his next move. The way that he looks at you makes you feel insecure, as if he’s a judge on one of those cooking shows, trying to figure out whether he likes the taste of you or not. You have the urge to push him away and take off, his gaze is too goddamn intense.

He is too intense. Never met a man like him.

“Stop looking at me like that.” You mumble, looking away from him.

“Like what?” He asks, furrowing his brows. Amused.

“Like you think I’m the most vile thing on earth.”

He’s taken aback by your response, almost looking offended. Because that is the last thing he was thinking. If only you knew.

“Vile? Baby, I’m so hard for you right now that it hurts, do you know how hot you are when you’re pissed? Fucking annoying, but soooo hot.”

You squirm, your cheeks pinking again. You didn’t expect that. You expected him to laugh in your face and agree. He grunts as he takes in your facial expression. If only you knew what you truthfully do to him. He closes his eyes and scrunches his brows, taking a deep breath before he pulls away from you, leaving you considering getting on your damn knees and begging for him to touch you again.

He chuckles while shaking his head, eyes still closed as he speaks. As if he’s in pain from pulling away from you.

“Yeah, fuck, and you’re cute when you blush. This is fucked. I can’t stand you, yet you’re so fucking cute. What the fuck are you doing to me? Huh?”

Fuck. He’s making this hard. You’re so overwhelmed. So pissed, so horny, you wanna push him away and cuss him out some more, but also you’ve never wanted another man more in your life than you do him right now.

Both of you stare at each other silently for a moment. His jaw keeps doing the tick thing, and you squeeze your thighs tighter, rubbing them together to relieve some pressure. His eyes flick to them, and you don’t even bother hiding it this time. As humiliating as it is, his cock is hard and bulging out of his jeans. So you can’t find yourself caring too much at the moment.

What really makes his resolve waver is the way you’re looking at him, which you don’t even realize. Normally you look at him with such disdain, as if he’s the vile one. But right now? Your eyes are wide and glossy, your lip stuck between your teeth. You’re looking at him almost sweetly. The desperation in your gaze is impossible to hide.

He loses it completely.

“Ah, fuck it.” He declares before grabbing you by your hair again as he sits on the couch. He tugs you roughly into his lap and starts devouring your mouth again.

You let out a little huff of air as he does this, not quite used to the rough handling. But god, it’s fucking divine. You feel as if all of the anger you’ve held for him comes rushing out in the form of kisses and touches. He feels the same.

His hand leaves your hair and he grips your hips, roughly grinding his hard cock onto your pussy. Dry humping like fucking teenagers as you make out aggressively.

Your hands come to rest on his face, framing it as they tremble slightly from the overwhelming emotions. You don’t hold back this time either, licking into his mouth wantonly, letting out little grunts and mewls that make his cock strain and twitch inside of his jeans.

His hands leave your hips to grip your ass, and he fucking groans into your mouth. He slaps it once, testing. When you let out a whine, he slaps it much harder this time, making your body jerk slightly.

He laughs into your mouth and says breathily, “Fuck, you really are a whore aren’t you?”

You bite his lip hard when he says this. You hate it. You love it. You grind down harder onto his clothed cock. He reaches back up to grip your hair and tugs your head back, pulling on it harshly and pulling you away from his mouth.

He grins when he hears you whine at the loss of his lips. “You wanna fucking bite me, huh? Uh-uh, fuck no you don’t.”

He pushes you off of his lap and lets go of your hair, you look up at him with heavy-lidded eyes and confusion. Honestly, you already look fucked out and he’s barely done anything. You’re just touch-starved, so every little kiss and touch is fucking you up. You’re craving relief from both your sexual frustration and the building irritation he’s caused you over the last month.

Before you even realize what he’s about to do, he grabs your hair again, his grip much firmer this time. It actually kind of hurts… yet you don’t stop him. He pushes your face roughly into his clothed cock, and grinds onto your face as he spreads his legs wider on the couch.

Oh fuck.

He grunts as he starts nearly smothering you. When he feels a bit of your drool gets onto his crotch, he yanks your head back, he laughs again, “Bet your big fucking mouth is great at sucking cock. Should we find out?”

You just glare at him. Don’t wanna give him the satisfaction even though every single thing he has done so far has made you borderline cream your pants.

He clicks his tongue, “No? Don’t have anything to say now? Isn’t that funny…”

Fuck him.

He keeps his grip tight on your hair as he uses his other hand to fumble with his zipper and button. Once it’s undone, he whips his cock out. It hits the fabric of his rumpled shirt and is already dripping precum.

Holy. Fuck. His cock is huge. A good nine inches.

He yanks your head forward again, literally smearing your face all over it, humping your face again. His head falls back and he grunts at the feeling. Your skin is just so soft, and the way your makeup is already becoming fucked up is making him go crazy. He’s always loved sloppy sex. And you are fucking gorgeous like this, he thinks.

He grabs his cock with his free hand as he tilts your head back, starts slapping your mouth with it, your cheeks too. The precum starts stringing from your cheek to the tip of his cock, and you can see his pupils dilate even bigger, he almost looks like he’s about to lose control.

He says uncharacteristically softly, “If you want me to stop, pinch my thigh real hard, yeah?”

If you had even a single moment of free thought, you would’ve probably been thankful that he gave you an out. You know despite him being a huge piece of work, he’s not a bad guy. So the fact he’s setting boundaries in your favor, even in the heat of the moment, is comforting. He cares about your safety and comfort. It’s the bare minimum of course, but most men lack even that. It’s why you stopped having casual sex to begin with.

But you don’t have a moment to think because pushes your lips down onto his cock abruptly, your mouth opens on instinct and he shoves himself inside. Doesn’t even ease into it, he just straight up plows his cock inside of your mouth until your nose is pressed against his pelvis.

You cough, and gag, already drooling all over him. Fuck it’s hot. You’ve never been face fucked like this before, but you’re starting to think maybe you’ve been missing out on good sex if this is how good rough sex feels.

You can’t even imagine what his cock would feel like inside of you if it feels this good in your mouth.

When he sees tears start to form, he pulls your hair back, strings of spit and precum connecting from your mouth and onto the tip of his cock. Fuck, it felt so good feeling your throat constrict around his cock. His resolve is wavering heavily. But he’s trying to remain patient. He smirks at you, stroking his spit-covered cock lazily directly onto your lips, causing beads of precum to escape his tip and cover your lips like lipgloss.

“Fuck, look at you. And you haven’t said a damn word. So pretty when you shut up.”

Your cheeks flush and you say petulantly, “Fuck you.” Because even now you don’t wanna give him the satisfaction.

That’s short-lived though because he starts fucking your mouth again. He shoves his cock inside and starts thrusting into your mouth as if it’s a goddamn sex toy. He hits the back of your throat with every thrust, causing you to gag and cough, your hands squeezing his thighs hard but not pinching.

You can take it.

He grunts out, “Fuck… I swear to god I’ll fuck your pretty little mouth every goddamn time you mouth off from now on Y/N, since nothing else has worked so far.”

Each word punctuated by a harsh thrust, he grunts our, “Just shut. the. fuck. up. Fuuuck.”

He keeps fucking up into your mouth, not easing up even for a second. Your eyes roll back in your head, and all you can do is take it. His thrusts only become sloppier and wetter. His head is thrown back and his abdomen starts clenching hard. But he knows you need to breathe. As much as he wishes he could just cum down your throat; he has other plans…

He pulls your head back again, he’s already feeling a bit too close to cumming. He doesn’t wanna cum too fast, he’s certain it would give you more to talk shit about.

He gazes down at you with heavy-lidded eyes, his mouth parted slightly and his breaths coming in fast. You look utterly fucked. Your makeup is ruined completely now, your eyes are red and teary, and your pretty pink lips are swollen. His stomach flutters, because he thinks you have never looked prettier.

He’s always thought you were so pretty. It’s one of the reasons he can’t stand you. He isn’t supposed to want you. You’re his coworker, technically his subordinate.

But none of that matters now, does it?

He doesn’t look much better, his shirt is covered in wet spit and his boxers are ruined too. He should’ve taken his clothes off… but luckily, he thinks it’s so much hotter this way.

His cock twitches against his belly, and he strokes your cheek with his free hand. He murmurs, “You good?”

You nod stupidly at him even as drool dribbles down your chin and your mascara runs onto your cheeks. There’s nothing to say really. You’ve never enjoyed having a dick down your throat so much. And he has effectively shut you up.

He nods and guides your head up, kisses you deeply. His eyes roll back as he tastes his precum on your tongue. So fucking good, he thinks.

He guides your pliant body to lay down on the couch, and then he settles in between your legs, his hands stroking up and down your thighs as he looks you over. God, there is so much he wants to do to you. He wants to use you but also wants to make you come undone as many times as possible.

Maybe then you’ll be more tolerable. Maybe this is what you both need, he rationalizes.

But he’s getting impatient. His cock is standing tall as he looks down at you, visibly pulsating, jerking upward now and then. And fuck, it’s making you impatient too. So much so that you whine at him, “Fuck, stop looking and just do something.”

His jaw ticks. He’s getting irritated. That’s what you think, anyway. But in reality, he’s preening on the fact you’re just as impatient as he is. It gives him an excuse to cut the foreplay and fuck you stupid.

You want him to do something? Oh, he will.

He lets out an almost mocking laugh, “Yeah? Want me to do something about it? You sure?”

You groan and roll your eyes at him, scooting your ass closer to his pelvis on the couch, his cock dripping so much precum, you have no idea how he’s not losing his mind right now. You certainly are. In fact, he’s starting to piss you off again.

Right as you’re about to talk shit, he can immediately tell. He grabs the front of your button-up and he rips it open. Doesn’t unbutton it like a normal person, but fucking rips it open, sending buttons flying on the floor of the studio. You let out a grunt, and blink at him in surprise with your mouth open.

You liked that shirt. Fuck him.

“Fucking seriously? You’re ruining my clothes now?”

Your patience is almost nonexistent at this point. You have drool and precum drying on your chin, you’re so horny it hurts, and he just ripped your shirt open like a wild fucking animal.

But him? It’s like he’s not even paying attention. His eyes are averted downward, tongue flicking over his lips. He looks almost stupid like this. What the fuck?

You look down to see what he’s gawking at, and… Oh. Oh. Kinda slipped your mind that you aren’t wearing a bra today. You were running late this morning and forgot to throw one on. Oops.

Namjoon doesn’t even look at your face at this point. His eyes are glued to your tits. He feels kind of ridiculous, getting this worked up over tits. He’s seen tits many times, it’s nothing new. But something about yours has him salivating, has his cock jerking upward.

He reaches down and starts lightly slapping the sides of your tits, watching them jiggle with a gaze full of hunger, he rasps out, “Not the only thing I’m gonna be ruining.”

One hand remains playing with your tits like they’re fucking stress balls, and Namjoon would argue that they absolutely are. The other hand reaches down and lifts your skirt, causing it to pool around your waist. He looks down a bit further, begrudgingly tearing his eyes away from your perfect tits, his other hand pushing your ruined panties to the side. He groans, nearly growls when he notices how wet you are. Fuck. He’s so close to losing control.

He dips a single finger into your sopping heat, just barely. Moves the creamy juices around before pushing his finger fully inside, squeezing your tit hard in his other hand. Your hips buck up involuntarily and your head falls back against the couch. You fucking hate yourself for the desperate noise that claws out of your throat.

Namjoon is no better, the moment he feels how wet you truly are, he lets a sound that sounds no better than the one you just let out. His breathing picks up, his heart starts beating faster, and his cock is so hard at this point that it’s actually painful. God, you are just so tight. Your pussy is clenching around his finger as if it’s trying to swallow him whole.

“N-Namjoon— please. Fuck. Please.” You beg again, don’t even care how pathetic you sound. A single fucking finger isn’t enough for how badly you want him right now. Want to be filled up and fucked hard. He’s barely moving it too. Just lightly grazing your walls, and it’s so frustrating. You just want to cum. Get it all out.

Namjoons resolve finally breaks when he sees a trickle of creamy white drip out of your pussy and onto the couch, he can’t take it anymore. He genuinely wanted to tease you, make a fucking mess of you. Make you beg and cry for him because of how much you piss him off. But not even he is strong enough to stall, he needs you. Now.

One last slap to the tit, he pulls his hand away and hastily reaches over for his wallet on the side table next to the couch. He pulls a condom out, brings the wrapper up to his mouth, and tears it open. And fuck, that’s so sexy. Your pussy clenches his finger again at the sight, and then he jerks it out of your pussy with a grunt.

You whine at him, almost feeling offended. But Namjoon knows damn well he’s going a little crazy because he just got jealous. Jealous of his own fucking finger. Should be his cock, not his finger. What the fuck are you doing to him?

He doesn’t warn you before he stuffs the same finger, accompanied by another finger, into your mouth. Nearly making you choke just like you did on his cock. Then he tosses the wrapped condom onto your bare chest, “Put it on me. Quick.”

You don’t even hesitate, you grab the condom with shakey hands and fumble it out of the package, all while sucking his fingers clean of your own juices. It only turns you on more, tasting yourself on his skin.

You reach for his cock, grab it with one shaky hand and his hips buck into it a bit. He lets out a little hiss through his teeth because of how sensitive it is, neglected for too long. That’s how it feels, anyway.

You roll the condom onto his cock snuggly and then look up at him expectantly with a desperate but wrecked look. Give him the best ‘fuck me’ eyes you can muster up. He keeps his fingers in your mouth. Doesn’t even move. Again, drawing it out. Attempting to, anyway.

You whine against his fingers, and would probably be begging him if you could talk. But Namjoon can’t take it anymore, lucky for you. He moves his hips forward and uses his free hand to position his cock at your entrance.

The moment the tip is sucked into your tight hole, he snaps. Literally, he snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt. You cry out even with your mouth around his fingers, sounding muffled and wet. Your back arched obscenely because fuck you didn’t expect him to just go in like that.

You’re not complaining though, fuck no.

His head falls back like yours, and he stays like that for a moment, his teeth grit and eyes clenched shut. He removes his fingers from your mouth and grabs your face with one hand, smooshing your cheeks, the other hand coming back up to your tit and squeezing it harshly, as if he just can’t help himself. Squeezing so hard that it kinda hurts. But fuck, it feels so good. You’re starting to realize maybe you have a thing for shit like this.

Doesn’t help when you feel his cock twitching inside of you. It’s just enough stimulation to make your pussy start throbbing around him.

It’s pathetic how close you already are. But god, it feels like he edged you for hours. Even though he barely did anything. You guess you just kinda forgot what actual dick felt like compared to your fingers or a toy.

He starts moving his hips slowly, trying to be patient while your pussy adjusts to his size. But your patience left the moment he entered you.

“Fuck. Go faster, please.”

Your voice sounds high-pitched and a bit loud which you don’t even realize. You can’t control it. He clicks his tongue at this, gives your face a little shake as he says, “Thought I told you to shut the fuck up? Unless you want all of your coworkers to know you’re letting your boss fuck the shit out of you like a whore? That what you want?”

He pulls back out and then slams in again. You let out another cry, body jolting at the force. And he starts just pounding into you.

You asked for this.

How the fuck are you supposed to be quiet when he goes from 0 to 100 like that? Holy fuck.

“Oh, so you do? You want them all to know I’m making you my slut after humiliating you for your shitty writing? C’mon, speak up. Can’t hear you. Use your fucking words.”

All while snapping his hips harshly into yours, out one moment, deep inside the next. You can barely take it. You swear you can feel him in your fucking stomach. Hardly even register his degrading words because you can’t think, can’t speak, can’t even control the loud noises coming out of your mouth, although you desperately try.

Tears prickle your eyes, not because it hurts but because you’re overwhelmed. He’s so hard to figure out. Acting like he’s gonna tease you one moment, and then fucking you like he’s trying to split you in half the next.

He lets out a grunt at your lack of response and ends up squishing your cheeks harder, forcing your mouth open. He leans down slightly and fucking spits in your mouth and then stuffs his fingers back in your mouth, “Actually, just shut the fuck up. Keep your mouth busy and shut the fuck— ah, fuck— the fuck up.”

Fucking disgusting. Fucking hot.

The way his words falter and he loses train of thought for a second makes your pussy clench deliciously around him. Because it’s confirmation that he is just as affected as you are. Just as fucked up right now.

You both look a mess. Your shirt is torn open, your skirt all crooked and pushed up to your waist, and your panties aren’t even fully off. His shirt is still damp with spit, his pants only halfway pulled down and now there’s a creamy white stain on the front of them from your juices dripping down his dick.

It’s heaven, honestly. Or maybe hell. You aren’t sure. But it feels so fucking good.

His hips piston into your cunt hard and fast, and you do your best to focus on sucking his fingers, but the pressure is building fast. You can feel your pussy start to flutter, your clit throbbing, begging to be paid attention to. He can feel it too, it’s making him go crazy because of how responsive you are.

He slams home one more time before staying there, swiveling his hips in a circle so that his pelvis brushes against your clit each time, giving it the minimal amount of attention that has you nearly seeing stars, almost there, but not quite.

“Need more?” He pants out.

You nod your head quickly, his fingers covered in your saliva at this point. Dripping in the essence of you just like his cock. He nods back, removes his other hand from your hip, and settles it at the bottom of your belly, pushing down and placing his thumb over your clit. He starts flicking it fast and starts fucking into you again, picking up the pace so that the room fills with wet squelching noises and skin slapping.

The way he’s pushing onto your tummy while rubbing your clit, Jesus fuck… it’s intense. Makes it feel like he is inside of your stomach. So fucking deep.

Yup. That does it. The stagnant pressure starts building rapidly, he can feel it too. Your pussy starts tightening and fluttering beautifully around his girth. You’re making the prettiest noises, still quiet thanks to his fingers stuffed in your mouth but he can hear you the perfect amount.

God, it’s so perfect, he thinks.

You, you’re not thinking at all. He really is fucking you stupid. Your eyes are continuously rolling back and your hips buck into his thrusts desperately, quickly approaching your climax.

He flicks your clit back and forth, fast but precisely, “C’mon baby, give it to me. Fucking cum all over me. Make a mess. Ungh— god you’re such a fucking slut.”

And that sends you. Out of everything, something about Namjoon calling you a slut just fucking does it for you. You let out a muffled moan, that would be a scream most likely if his fingers weren’t sheathed into your mouth. Your legs tremble and your body shudders through the force of your orgasm.

Your pussy throbs violently, walls rippling around his cock as you finally see those stars. It feels fucking amazing, makes tears fall down your cheek. You can barely breathe because of the force of how fucking good it feels to cum on his cock.

This is his end too. He simply can’t hold back when he feels the vice grip of your pussy desperately trying to keep his cock in place, the rippling of your walls nearly feels like vibrations. He lets out another groan, but it almost comes out like a whine. Very subtly. His face is scrunched up and his mouth open as his hips stutter, his cock spilling and filling up the condom.

It goes on and on. Neither of you thinking about how much you hate each other, only thinking about how good it feels to be together like this. He swears he’s never had sex better than this. You feel the same.

The reality of it all is hate sex is unmatched. Especially when tensions build for so long and you both act as if you can’t stand each other… who knew a fuck could’ve helped with that?

At the last twitch of his cock, when your pussy becomes overstimulated and sore, he collapses on top of you. Both of you panting harshly, catching your breaths as your hearts beat in unison.

He removes his spit-covered fingers from your mouth, and he places lazy little kisses on your skin. He isn’t even sure where, too fucked out to pay attention, just anywhere he can reach while he rests on top of you. It’s an oddly tender gesture. A little sweet, even.

It’s silent for a few minutes. And you both start to realize what you’ve done. You just fucked your technical boss… he just fucked one of his co-writers.

Definitely shouldn’t have happened.

He can’t find himself regretting it though. He feels so light, that he could almost smile. As much of an excuse as it was at first, it genuinely helped with the tension. He’s not quite as irritated with you. Does he like you now? Fuck no.

But the more post-nut clarity comes to fruition… the more he thinks he can tolerate you. Maybe even work with you, compromise with you.

You on the other hand… you don’t know how to feel. You don’t regret it, because fuck, it did help with the tension. You feel lighter too. Not as sensitive. Not as hateful.

Maybe it was for the best. It’s not like anyone has to know, anyway. It’s like couples counseling sort of… except you’re definitely not a couple, and you both still cannot stand each other.

But you can tolerate each other now that most of the tension is gone for the time being.

“You good?”

He tears you away from your thoughts, and you look up at him with bleary eyes. It makes you feel sort of warm and fuzzy inside knowing despite his dislike for you, he’s still checking to make sure he didn’t cross any lines.

Well, he crossed several lines. But, you aren’t complaining. You’re glad he did. Glad he reduced you to this.

“I’m fucking great.”

That earns you a little chuckle. He sighs a breath of relief, was worried he went a bit too hard or did too much, especially since you didn’t set any boundaries beforehand. But you took what he gave you and you took it like a fucking champ, he thinks.

He reluctantly gets off of you because now that you’re both a bit more clear-headed, the couch feels a little too small, and he doesn’t wanna crush you.

His softening cock is still inside of you, so he braces a hand on the couch and slowly pulls out, both of you hissing at the feeling. He watches in awe as your juices flow freely out of you. God, what a pretty pussy, he thinks.

He dips a finger back into your heat, causing you to let out a little noise of surprise. But he removes it quickly, brings his finger up to his mouth and sucks it clean.

“Mmm. Yummy.” He says, wiggling his brows.

Ugh.

He pats your thigh before getting off of the couch, taking the condom off, and tying it up to chuck it in the trash. He stuffs his soft and sensitive cock back into his underwear and pulls up his pants, feeling utterly satiated now. Bubbly and light, even though he won’t show it. He makes his way to the little fridge in his studio and he grabs two bottles of water, tosses you one which you barely catch.

You gulp down the water gratefully, parched considering he stole most of your fucking spit. Asshole.

He begins walking into the bathroom attached to his studio as he says, “C’mon let’s go get cleaned up. Then we can look at those lyrics again and see if it still sounds like kids bop now that I’ve fucked you stupid.”

At your immediate glare, he lets out a laugh, and shrugs innocently, “What? Pussy is magic, can change a man’s mind about a lot of things. Now hurry up, you’re a fucking mess.”

And with that, he’s stepping into the bathroom.

Yeah. Fuck him. Still insufferable.

But god, you really do hope to fuck him again.

[annicht]

kitten dad | Kuroo Tetsuro

or when your persian princess get pregnant by the black tomcat of the hot neighbor

-> post timeskip Kuroo Tetsuro X fem! reader | strangers to lovers

-> wordcount: 7.5k

-> tags: soft nsfw close to the end, sloooow burn, mutual pinning, post timeskip

@ anni says: I had to take this out of my head. already thinking about part two. let me know if it's too much bc I found it very dragged, idk. hope you enjoy

Marching torwards your neighbor door, you question yourself how is that even possible.

Your cat, Lola, a white persian, lies lazily on the animal carrier, and you huff annoyed, looking at her.

“I thought you hated other cats, you little troublemaker” — you mumble to the cat like she can understand you. And for her lazy grumbling, you know she can.

You knock on the white door three times. It’s late enough for the guy already be at home from work, but not late enough for him to be sleeping, you think in your head, looking at the 20:37 appearing at your watch. He’s a corporate worker like yourself, you saw him many times in the elevator with his suit and tie and his badge—

You were dry cut mid thought by the door opening, and the delicious scent of musky soap invading your senses.

Kuroo is standing, puzzled, wearing grey sweatpants and a black tank top, slightly wet hair, tilting his head. The girl next door, he thinks to himself.

He had seen you around countless times on the common areas, in the elevator, in the pool in a skimpy bikini, even at the gym. But what could you possibly be doing on his door?

You look at him, allowing your eyes to fall in his figure for miliseconds, enough to take notice of his strong biceps on show. Scrumptious. Then you focus back on his face.

“Hi, neighbor. Your cat just impregnated my kitty.”

He just looks at you for a couple seconds, his eyes slightly widening as the words slowly sunk on his brain.

“Excuse me?” — He asked, blinking. He’s either really tired or you are saying the most unlikely thing ever, and he didn’t know what is worse.

You squint, still a little annoyed, but slowly getting amused.

"Sorry the suddenness... you're the owner of that black short-haired cat, aren't you?"

You ask, and as if on cue, the little fella appeared strutting and mumbling a grumble behind Kuroo's legs, apparently curious of who's in the door

Kuroo looks down at the cat and then back at you, his eyes widening a bit as realization sank in.

“Ah— yes…” He says slowly, his eyebrows knitting in a frown. “This is Loki, yeah”.

He looked down at the cat again, who is now sitting and looking up at you with his big, yellow eyes, as if he knew exactly what you were about to say.

Kuroo crouched down to scratch behind Loki’s ears, his lips quirking into an amused grin.

“Looks like someone had a productive week,” he said dryly, casting a glance back up at you.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Productive? That’s one way to put it. My vet bill is going to be very productive, thanks to him.”

Kuroo straightened up, the movement drawing your eyes to the way his tank top stretched across his chest. You swallowed quickly and forced your gaze to his face— a smirking face, of course.

“Alright, I guess I owe you an apology?” he said, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Though, to be fair, it takes two to tango. Maybe your girl couldn’t resist Loki’s charm.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his playful boldness. “Excuse me? My Lola is a lady of standards.”

“Clearly,” Kuroo said with a teasing edge, his smirk deepening. “I mean, look at Loki—absolute catch.”

You tried not to laugh, but a small snort escaped, and you covered it with a cough. “Okay, fine. Maybe they’re both to blame. But seriously, I thought she hated other cats. I didn’t even know they interacted.”

“Cats are sneaky like that,” he replied, shrugging, his tone light but his gaze lingering on you for just a second too long. You felt a strange warmth creep up your neck and mentally cursed him for being so... distracting.

“Well,” you started, clearing your throat and glancing down at Lola, who was now staring at Loki with her usual haughty expression, “Anyways. Just wanted to let you know that. And to ask if you know anyone who might want some… persian mixed kittens? I figure that the least you could do is help me find a home for them after they born”

Kuroo raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. “You’re already putting me to work, huh? I didn’t realize Loki’s charm would come with responsibilities.”

You shot him a flat look, though the corners of your lips twitched. “You do realize this is partially your fault, right? Or are you just going to let me deal with a whole litter of kittens by myself?”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, fair enough. Consider me on kitten duty.” His smirk softened into something a bit more sincere. “I’ll help however I can. They are Loki’s kids, after all.”

Something about the way he said it, the playful yet genuine tone, made your resolve to stay annoyed falter. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

“Good,” you said, a little less stern this time. “You can start by helping me figure out where to set up for them. I don’t have much space in my apartment.”

Kuroo’s grin returned in full force. “So what I’m hearing is... you’re inviting me over?”

Your eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by his boldness, but you recovered quickly, giving him a pointed look, raising your eyebrows smugly. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, neighbor. This is strictly business.”

He laughed, the sound low and warm, and you hated how much you liked it. “Strictly business, got it.”

Loki chose that moment to rub up against Kuroo’s leg, his tail swishing as he let out a satisfied purr. Lola, still sitting primly in her carrier, let out an indignant grumble in response.

“Seems like they’ve got a complicated relationship,” Kuroo remarked, glancing down at the cats. “Enemies? Lovers? Frenemies?”

You rolled your eyes, though a small smile tugged at your lips. “Let’s just call them… complicated.”

“Works for me,” he said with a wink, straightening up. “Complicated relationships are kind of my specialty.”

Before you could respond—because what could you say to that without your brain short-circuiting?—Kuroo kept going: “I’ll check around to see if anyone’s interested in adopting some kittens,” he added casually. “Can I have your phone number? You know… to discuss kitten details?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, catching the glint of mischief in his tone. You said back with a mocking hint of disbelief. “Uh-huh. Kitten details. Sure.”

Kuroo raised his hands in mock innocence, the smirk still playing on his lips. “Strictly business, remember?”

You rolled your eyes but relented, pulling your phone out of your pocket. “Fine. Give me your phone.”

He handed it over without hesitation, and you quickly typed in your number, labeling yourself as Kitten Lady. When you handed it back, Kuroo glanced at the screen and let out a laugh.

“Kitten Lady? That’s what we’re going with?”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Fits the situation, doesn’t it? Unless you’d prefer something more creative, like Annoyed Neighbor Who’s Stuck With Your Cat’s Consequences.”

“I think Kitten Lady has a nicer ring to it,” he said, his grin widening.

You shook your head, trying to ignore the way his playful energy was starting to chip away at your annoyance. “Alright, then. I guess I’ll be hearing from you soon, Kitten Dad.”

Kuroo raised an eyebrow at the nickname but didn’t argue. “Kitten Dad, huh? I’ll take it. Has a nice familial touch to it.”

You sighed, stepping back toward your door with Lola in tow. “Goodnight, Neighbor,”

“Goodnight, Kitten Lady,” he replied smoothly, leaning against the doorframe as he watched you retreat.

As you reached your door, you couldn’t help but glance back over your shoulder. He was still standing there, Loki in his arms, one hand casually rubbing behind Loki’s ears, his eyes locked on you with an unreadable expression.

You quickly looked away, fumbling with your keys and stepping into your apartment, shutting the door behind you. Leaning against it, you let out a slow breath, placing Lola’s carrier on the floor and opening the little grid door.

Lola meowed lazily, peeking out of the carrier as if she were judging you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you muttered, setting the carrier down and letting her out.

Lola stretched and sauntered off, clearly unimpressed.

You rubbed your temples, already feeling the beginnings of a headache. This was going to be a long few weeks, wasn’t it?

----------------------------------------------------

Across the hall, Kuroo closed his door with a quiet chuckle, looking down at Loki, who was now lounging contentedly on the floor.

“Well, buddy,” he said, crouching down to scratch under Loki’s chin. “Looks like you’ve caused some chaos.”

Loki purred in response, blinking up at him with an air of smug satisfaction.

Kuroo leaned back against the door, a small smile lingering on his lips as he pulled his phone out to save your number properly. His thumb hovered over the screen for a moment as he read Kitten Lady 🐾.

He stared at it for a beat longer, that grin of his softening slightly. This might just get interesting.

----------------------------------------------------

Surprisingly enough —or don’t— he was the one to text first just a day later. You’re at work, sipping coffee after a meeting, scrambling some papers on your desk when your phone buzzed. The Kitten Dad name made you squint your eyes.

Kitten Dad: Hey, goodday sweetheart. You good? Just got asked when is little Lola due. A friend from work might be interested in having one of the kitties.

I look at the text. A friend from work? He text and I can’t help but imagine how is he at work. Is he a manager? A head? A director? Which department is he from? If I had to guess I would say Sales — he’s charismatic enough to sell sand in the desert.

I huff in annoyance with my own train of thought. Why am I thinking so hard about it? I take my phone to answer.

Kitten Lady 🐾: Hey. Vet said she’s due two weeks from now.

The response was simple, straightforward. Yet, as you set your phone down, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d sounded too curt. No, you told yourself firmly. It’s just a text. No need to overthink.

But then, your phone buzzed again, and against your better judgment, you snatched it up almost immediately.

Kitten Dad: Two weeks, huh? That’s soon. Let me know if you need help setting things up for her. I’m practically a cat expert now.

You bit back a smile. Cat expert, huh? You could practically see that cocky smirk on his face, the same one he’d worn when he leaned in the doorframe last night.

Kitten Lady 🐾: Oh, are you? Should I start calling you Dr. Meow?

It took less than a minute for his reply to come through.

Kitten Dad: Has a nice ring to it. Or Cat Whisperer. Either works.

You let out a small laugh, earning a confused look from a passing coworker. Quickly composing yourself, you turned back to your desk, cheeks warming for no apparent reason.

----------------------------------------------------

By the time you got home that evening, you were surprised to find Kuroo opening his door, like he was waiting for you to arrive to leave and talk to you. He was holding a small, rectangular package in his hands and greeted you with his signature grin as he walked torwads you and your door as you opened it.

“Evening, Kitten Lady,” he said smoothly. “Perfect timing.”

You blinked, shifting your bag onto your shoulder. “Uh, hey? What’s that?”

“Thought I’d swing by and help with that whole ‘setting up for Lola’ thing,” he said, holding up the package. “Got a starter kit—fluffy blankets, soft toys, and some other stuff. Figured it might make her more comfortable when the kittens arrive.”

You stared at him, stunned. For all the teasing and smug remarks, you hadn’t expected this. “You… bought stuff for Lola?”

“Well, yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck almost sheepishly. “I mean, it’s partially Loki’s fault, right? I can’t exactly leave you hanging.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. There was a sincerity in his tone that caught you off guard. He wasn’t just trying to charm his way out of responsibility—he was actually being… thoughtful.

“That’s… really nice of you,” you said finally, unlocking your door. “Thanks, Kuroo.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, following you inside.

Lola, as always, was lounging regally on the couch, barely sparing Kuroo and Loki—who had, unsurprisingly, followed him to your place unbothered—a passing glance.

“She really does act like a queen, doesn’t she?” Kuroo said, setting the box down and kneeling to unpack its contents.

“She’s earned it,” you replied, watching as he pulled out a fluffy blanket and a tiny cat bed. “I mean, look at her. She’s unbothered by everything.”

“Clearly,” he said, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk. “She didn’t even flinch when Loki walked in like he owns the place.”

You snorted, crossing your arms. “She’s probably plotting her revenge for him ruining her peace.”

Kuroo laughed, the sound warm and easy, and you found yourself smiling despite yourself. He had a way of making everything feel light, even when you wanted to stay annoyed.

“Alright,” he said, turning back to the task at hand. “Where do you want this stuff? I’ll help you set up her little kitten corner.”

You hesitated for a moment, but eventually pointed to a cozy nook near the window. “Over there, I guess. She likes the sun.”

“Got it,” he said, grabbing the blanket and bed.

As you watched him work, his movements uncharacteristically focused, you couldn’t help but wonder: was this the same guy who smirked at you in elevators and flirted shamelessly by his door? Because right now, he looked… different. Softer, somehow.

“You know,” you said after a moment, “you’re surprisingly good at this whole ‘cat dad’ thing.”

He looked up, his grin returning. “What can I say? I have hidden talents.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. Maybe this arrangement wouldn’t be so bad after all.

----------------------------------------------------

The kitten corner was finally set up, and Lola had already claimed her throne atop the soft new bed. Loki, meanwhile, was having the time of his life pawing at one of the dangling toys Kuroo had brought over, batting it around like a tiny predator.

You were in the kitchen, rummaging through your cabinets for something to fix up while Kuroo lounged on the couch. The sound of his laughter floated through the room, warm and unrestrained, as Loki miscalculated a jump and landed in a comically undignified sprawl.

“You weren’t kidding about him being a troublemaker,” you called over your shoulder, smiling to yourself as you grabbed a couple of glasses and a bottle of wine you’d been saving for some occasion. This felt good enough.

“Hey, he’s a charming troublemaker,” Kuroo countered, his voice carrying an easy humor. “Loki’s got personality. You can’t fault him for that.”

You rolled your eyes, pouring the wine. “If by ‘personality,’ you mean a complete lack of grace, then sure.”

“Hey now,” he said, mock-defensive, “I’ll have you know he’s a highly sophisticated creature.”

Turning with the glasses in hand, you walked back to the couch and handed him one, tilting your head toward Loki, who was currently tangled in the blanket he’d been pouncing on. “Yeah, I can see the sophistication from here.”

Kuroo snorted, taking the glass from you with a murmured “Thanks,” before shifting to make room for you to sit. You settled cross-legged into the cushion next to him, a comfortable silence falling as you both watched the cats in their oddly synchronized chaos.

“So,” you said after a moment, swirling the wine in your glass, “what do you actually do? Besides spoil Loki and crash your neighbor’s evening.”

Kuroo grinned, taking a slow sip before answering. “I’m a PR manager for the promotion division at JVA. Basically, I work with the teams that keep the company and our sponsors happy. Events, campaigns, all that good stuff.”

You raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed. “JVA? As in the Japan Volleyball Association?”

“That’s the one,” he said, flashing a toothy grin. “Biggest name in the game. It’s a lot of work, but I like it. Keeps me on my toes.”

“Wow,” you said, nodding. “That actually explains a lot. You’ve got that… people-person vibe.”

“Oh?” he teased, leaning back against the couch. “And what vibe is that, exactly?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “You know. Smooth talker, always charming. Classic PR type.”

Kuroo chuckled, resting his arm casually along the back of the couch. “I’ll take that as a compliment. What about you? What’s the story with… what do you do, again?”

“Marketing manager,” you said, shrugging. “Different industry, same chaos. I work for a firm that handles branding for retail clients. It’s mostly brainstorming ad campaigns and arguing over budgets.”

“Sounds intense,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “But you’re good at it, huh?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “I mean, I guess. I like it. It’s creative, and it keeps me busy.”

“Busy’s good,” he said, nodding. “But it doesn’t leave much time for stuff like this, huh?”

You glanced at him, unsure what he meant, but his gaze was fixed on the cats now. Lola was swatting half-heartedly at Loki, who had resumed his enthusiastic assault on the dangling toy.

“No,” you admitted softly, swirling the wine in your glass again. “Not really. I guess I don’t usually let myself slow down.”

Kuroo looked at you then, his gaze steady but unreadable. “Well,” he said after a moment, his voice lighter again, “it’s a good thing you’ve got me to force some downtime on you, huh?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Oh, is that what this is? A public service?”

“Exactly,” he said with mock seriousness, raising his glass in a toast. “Here’s to kitten diplomacy and responsible downtime.”

You clinked your glass against his, unable to hide your smile. “Cheers to that.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to relax. The warmth of the wine, the sound of his laughter, and the soft chaos of the cats were all more comforting than you’d expected. Maybe Kuroo wasn’t just a charming troublemaker after all.

And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t mind him crashing your evening.

----------------------------------------------------

Two glasses of wine in, and you were feeling a little loose, the warm buzz in your cheeks spreading to your limbs. The evening had been lighthearted—talking about work, random anecdotes, and occasional jokes about the cats and their ridiculous antics.

You were now sitting cross-legged on the couch, your messy bun more of a loose cluster than a tidy knot, strands of hair falling against your flushed cheeks. You animatedly gestured with your hands, describing some recent event at work. Kuroo is now leaning forward with that usual relaxed, playful energy that made you forget there was anyone else in the room.

“—and I swear, if I have to sit through one more ‘group synergy’ meeting, I’ll scream,” you finished with a dramatic sigh, dropping back onto the couch, rolling your eyes.

Kuroo snickered, leaning back, arms crossing behind his head as he relaxed. “Group synergy? That sounds like a nightmare. You really don’t like your coworkers, do you?”

You shot him a teasing glare, settling deeper into the couch. “I’m professional, I swear. But, seriously, it’s the worst. A whole hour, and not one person had anything worth saying. They spent half the time discussing what color the logo should be on our next campaign. I almost fell asleep.”

“Well, at least the logo’s going to look great,” Kuroo teased, reaching for his glass and taking a casual sip.

You snorted and looked at him sideways, the wine making you more comfortable than you intended. “You’re one to talk. You’ve probably sat through worse in PR. What’s the worst meeting you’ve ever had to deal with?”

Kuroo tilted his head, thinking. “Hmm, I guess the worst was this entire week-long campaign brainstorming session where we just talked about the idea but never actually did anything. People in that room were like… walking around in their own little PR bubbles. I nearly lost my mind.”

“Is that why you’re so laid-back now? You survived that chaos and just decided to become a permanent chill vibe?”

“Exactly,” he said, grinning. “I figured if I could survive that and still be sane, I deserve to kick back a little.”

You shook your head, still grinning. “I can’t believe you’ve been in that world for so long. You must have some stories.”

Kuroo’s eyes sparkled with mischief, and you realized you might’ve just opened a can of worms. “Oh, definitely. A lot of interesting ones. You know, the kind where you end up questioning your life choices. And not only work-related.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. “You’re gonna have to elaborate on that.”

He leaned in, his voice taking on a more conspiratorial tone. “Alright, alright. So, there was this one relationship I had.” He started, and you raise one eyebrow, not expecting him to just switch from work to personal relationship so quickly “She was a wild ride—great at first, but things got a little… crazy. Started out all perfect, you know? But then she started bringing up wedding ideas after a couple of months, and I’m like, ‘Whoa, hold up.’”

You laughed, raising your glass, poiting at him, remembering the topic from earlier, but not entirely knowing the story. “Wait, wait—this is the ex who nearly got you to the altar?”

“Yup,” Kuroo said with a smirk, swirling his glass, “but I guess she wasn’t the ‘I Do’ type, if you know what I mean.” He winked, and the playful lilt in his voice had you biting back a smile.

“No way. Did she have one of those ‘we need to talk’ moments?”

He nodded dramatically. “Oh, she sure did. But instead of talking, she got me into a whole emotional spiral. I was supposed to pick out wedding rings, and I—” He cut himself off with a laugh, shaking his head. “I mean, talk about commitment issues. You would have thought I was getting married to someone else the way she freaked out.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “That’s insane. What did you do?”

“Well, after a long string of very loud discussions, I ended up booking a solo trip to Thailand for some ‘soul-searching.’ I didn’t come back with a ring, but I did come back with a lot of souvenirs and a much-needed reality check.”

Your lips curled into a smile, impressed. “I mean, I don’t blame you. That sounds like a red flag festival.”

“Exactly.” Kuroo leaned back, letting out a chuckle. “I don’t think she ever quite understood why I ghosted her after that.”

You shrugged, a teasing glint in your eyes. “Well, sounds like you dodged a bullet. She was probably a headache.”

“Oh, definitely,” he said with a wink. “But, hey, I’m better for it. You live and you learn, right?”

Your expression softened, just for a moment. “Yeah, I guess so. Can’t say I’ve been any better at picking ideal relationships either.”

Kuroo’s gaze flickered to you for a moment, and the sudden shift in the air wasn’t lost on either of you. You could feel the tension coil between you, subtle but undeniable. He tilted his head, his tone more curious.

“You’ve had your fair share of messy affairs?”

You shrugged nonchalantly, but your fingers fidgeted with your wine glass. “I mean, I was in an office relationship once. It was… well, it was a disaster, to be honest. Started out all hot and heavy, you know? But once we hit that *‘what’s next?’* phase, everything went south.”

“Office romances are always a gamble,” he said, voice quieter now. “Especially when someone can’t handle the post-work hours realities.”

You let out a soft laugh, but there was a certain edge to it. “Yeah, and the worst part? I thought we were solid. But he ended up freaking out when things got serious. Real ‘let’s keep it casual’ kind of guy.”

There it was again—the unspoken weight in the air. You could feel it creeping closer, like the world had just tilted slightly. You were both leaning in, caught in this space where the conversation could go anywhere—or nowhere.

“Funny how that happens,” Kuroo murmured, his gaze drifting from your eyes to your lips and back again.

You swallowed hard, lips slightly parted, suddenly aware of how close he was. “Yeah,” you said softly, the atmosphere thickening. “Funny…”

A long beat of silence followed. Then, as if the universe itself had just cleared its throat, Kuroo’s smirk deepened, and he leaned back slightly, breaking the tension just enough to let you both breathe again.

“Well, at least you didn’t nearly get engaged,” he said with a teasing grin. “I think that takes the cake on ‘bad decisions’.”

You shook your head with a soft laugh, relieved for the lighthearted tone again. “I’d be so much better at picking next time,” you said, looking at him with a sly grin. “I think I’ve learned my lesson.”

Kuroo raised an eyebrow, his gaze flickering down to your lips once more. “Oh? What exactly does that lesson look like?”

You felt the heat of his gaze, and the sudden closeness seemed to make the space between you shrink even further. The way he was looking at you, the slight tilt of his head—it was almost like he was waiting for you to make the next move. It made your heart skip a beat.

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to focus, but it was hard to ignore the way your body seemed to lean in just a little closer, drawn to him like a magnet. “Maybe…” you began slowly, your voice soft but carrying the weight of something unspoken, “maybe I’ll go for someone who doesn’t have a one-way ticket to Crazy Town.”

Kuroo’s lips curled into a half-smile, but it wasn’t as playful anymore. There was a hint of something else lurking beneath. He leaned in, ever so slightly, as if testing the waters. “You know,” he said quietly, “sometimes, a little bit of crazy isn’t always a bad thing.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Is that so?” You met his gaze head-on, not backing down, but feeling your pulse pick up.

“Yeah,” Kuroo replied, his voice lower now, his tone shifting, “sometimes it’s just the right kind of chaos that makes things… interesting.” His eyes never left yours as he spoke, the words heavy with an almost tangible tension.

For a moment, the space between you seemed to dissolve entirely, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was this close to crossing that line. The line you both knew was there, but neither of you had acknowledged it yet.

“Is that what you’re offering?” you teased lightly, though you could hear the slight quiver in your own voice.

Kuroo’s smirk widened just slightly, but the warmth in his eyes remained. “Maybe…” His voice trailed off, but the way he said it made you feel like there was more to it, like he was almost daring you to take it further.

You couldn’t stop yourself from leaning in just a little, your lips almost brushing as you whispered, “Maybe I’m not sure if I want to risk another ‘chaos’ just yet.”

Kuroo's gaze dropped to your lips for the briefest moment, and you could feel the charged atmosphere shifting. The space between you was narrowing faster than either of you could pretend it wasn’t. He leaned in a fraction more, and his breath was warm against your skin. “Maybe… that’s a risk worth taking,” he murmured, his voice now barely above a whisper.

Your heart raced, the distance between you two was practically nonexistent now. You could feel the heat of his body, his presence taking up all the space in the room. The playful teasing was gone—replaced by something far more intimate. More dangerous. His hand reached out, brushing your hair back from your face with a tenderness that had your breath catching in your throat.

Before you could respond, Kuroo's fingers slid gently down your jaw, and his thumb lightly grazed your bottom lip. The gesture was simple, but it felt like the world had stopped. The kiss was inevitable now.

Slowly, almost too slowly, he tilted his head, his lips brushing against yours in the softest, most deliberate way. The touch was electric, sending a spark of heat rushing through your veins. You were almost caught off-guard by the intensity of it, but it didn’t take long for your lips to part, inviting him closer.

His hand found the back of your neck, pulling you in deeper, as the kiss grew more urgent, more demanding. The world around you melted away, the only thing left was the heat between you two. His lips moved with a teasing confidence, making sure you felt every second of it.

His tongue lapped on your wet cave like a thirsty man that haven’t seen water in years, and the sweet taste of wine made your head spin, chasing his own tongue in a soft sucking move that drove him insane.

When he finally broke the kiss, his forehead rested against yours, both of you trying to catch your breath. His lips curled into that familiar, mischievous grin. “Guess that’s one way to make a decision,” he said, voice low and raspy.

You opened your eyes to find him watching you, eyes darkened with something more than playfulness. There was still a hint of the teasing smile on his lips, but now it was accompanied by something far more tempting.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice a little breathless, “I think I’m starting to see what you mean by chaos.”

He chuckled, his hand still on your neck, fingers tracing small, absent circles on your skin. “Well, I’m not all bad at it,” he said with a wink. Without warning, Kuroo tugged gently on your arm, pulling you toward him until you were no longer leaning back on the couch. Before you could fully process it, you were perched on his lap, straddling him with your knees on either side of his thighs, the space between you two completely gone.

For a moment, you just sat there, a little stunned by how naturally it all happened. His hands slid to your waist, holding you firmly in place as his gaze swept over you. “You look better here,” he said, his voice deep, eyes never leaving yours.

You couldn’t help but laugh, trying to hide the sudden nerves that started to bubble up in your stomach. “Well, this is a bit of an upgrade.” You gave him a teasing smile, your hands resting on his shoulders, but the tension between you was palpable now.

Kuroo’s fingers tightened just slightly on your waist, his expression turning more serious. “Better be careful. We’re both dangerously close to making some bad decisions here.”

“Are you trying to scare me off?” You tilted your head, the edge of a challenge in your tone, but deep down, you weren’t sure whether you wanted him to back off or pull you even closer.

“Nope,” Kuroo said, his lips curling into a grin as he gently tugged you even closer, your body now pressed against his. “Just making sure you know exactly what you’re getting into.”

Before you could respond, Kuroo’s lips found yours again—hungry, a little less playful this time, but just as consuming. Your body reacted immediately, the heat between you two igniting in an instant. There was no more teasing, no more games. The only thing that mattered was the feel of his lips on yours, the way his hands gripped your hips, pulling you even closer, if that was possible.

When he finally broke the kiss again, he exhaled slowly, resting his forehead against yours. “You sure you want to keep going?” he whispered, his voice low, but there was no mistaking the desire in it.

You grinned, your fingers brushing against the stubble on his jaw, the touch almost affectionate now, despite the electricity between you. “I think,” you said slowly, your lips curling into a mischievous smile, “I’m already in too deep.”

Kuroo’s eyes darkened, his grip tightening on your waist as his smirk returned, cocky and satisfied. “Good. Because I’m just getting started.”

----------------------------------------------------

The make out session felt like it went on for hours straight. Enough for Loki and Lola engross themselves in the biggest nap, both balls of fur tangled on the fluffy bed.

One of Kuroo’s hand is sliding up your thigh, his long, slender and strong fingers slightly entering the hem of your cotton shorts, squeezing the flesh in his palm. His free arm is sneaked around your waist, pushing you flush against him on the couch as he spreads his legs, making yours spread in the process.

Your hair is as messy as it can get, your cheeks are flushed, your eyes are darkened and dilated, your white dress shirt have three buttons open and is half slid down your shoulder, exposing just a teasing piece of your black lacy bra, making the cleavage a white canvas for his lips to paint with soft red marks.

In swift subtle moves, your body unconsciously grinds down on his hard erection strained through his pants, offering a delicious type of friction that sends a wave of pleasure through your bodies and is both a torment and a relief. The movement makes Kuroo groan inside your mouth, and you swallow his noises like it can feed you phisiologically speaking.

You two are like a couple of horny teenagers dry humping each other on the couch and almost completely out of it. Almost.

That’s when a couple of knocks and a door bell incessantly ringing filled both your ears. Not from your place, but from Kuroo’s. And he groans deeply.

He completely forgot the boy’s night he planned hosting with Bokuto and Kenma in his place, and he mentally curses the past Kuroo Tetsuro for his life choices. But how can he had antecipated that a cat visit to spoil Lola and Loki’s future offspring would end up in his hot neighbor straddling his lap like a five course meal?

When his phone started buzzing on your coffee table with “owl guy” on the screen, he shouted from under you a “I’m coming, damn it”, more huffed and annoyed than he would like, but he didn’t care at the moment.

The scream pacified the guy out there for now, and he collapsed his head on the crook of your neck, mumbling against your skin.

“I gotta go, apparently” — he said while placing soft kisses on your skin, trying to come down from the high and dissipate the intensity between you. You hummed, already resigned with the fate that the momentum between you ended.

“Mkay…” You said, nuzzling in his hair, breathing in the scent of his musky shampoo, trying to tattoo it on your memory. “Go before the guy out there lose his patience,”

He huffed a chuckle on your neck, making you shiver, and you proceed to desintangle yourself from his lap as he stands up. Now standing, Kuroo whistle to Loki, calling him with a soft “Come on, boy” that makes you want it was meant for you. The black cat stands up with his ears perked up, slowly walking behind Kuroo.

You two don’t bid goodbye, not feeling the need to, and the things feel even more unfinished than ever.

----------------------------------------------------

As Kuroo leaves your door, hair messy, traces of smeared pink lipstick on his lips, his jaw and his neck, ragged breath, wrinkled clothes, Bokuto’s eyes widen and he tilted his head like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.

“I…” Bokuto started, looking from his door to the door he left “Bro, did I miss your door?”

Kuroo just rolled his eyes, trying to hide a smug smile, walking torwards his door to enter, not bothering answer his question, making the owl guy let out a boisterous laugh

“Ohoho, boy’s night just got a hot topic!”

----------------------------------------------------

Kuroo’s splashed in his couch, sipping from a bottle of water, while Bokuto is sitting on the counter stool, sipping one of Kuroo’s fancy scotches, looking at Kuroo with a funny face.

“Wait, bro, let me see if I got this straight… Your cat… banged the hot neighbor’s cat.. And now you’re doing the same?” Bokuto summarized the story that Kuroo just told him.

“That… sounded… animalistic”

Bokuto snorted, nearly spilling his drink. "Oh, come on, bro. You can’t tell me it’s not poetic. It’s like… fate. Two star-crossed lovers”

Kuroo sighed, rubbing his face with one hand while reaching for his own drink with the other. “First of all, no. Don’t call it fate. Second, Loki didn’t ‘fall in love.’ He just knocked up her cat, and now I’m stuck playing awkward in-law.”

Bokuto wiggled his eyebrows. “And you accidentally ended up in a heavy make-out session with said cat’s owner?”

Kuroo shot him a deadpan look. “Yes, Bokuto. That’s exactly how it happened. I tripped and landed with my tongue in her mouth.”

Bokuto gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “That’s insane! How’d you even keep your balance?”

Kuroo exhaled through his nose, dragging a hand down his face. “I hate you.”

Kenma, who had been half-listening while scrolling through his phone, finally spoke up from the other end of the couch, locking the phone and tossing on the coffee table. “So, are you actually into her, or was this just the wine?”

Kuroo opened his mouth, then closed it. A beat passed. Then another.

Bokuto leaned forward like he could smell the hesitation. “Ohhh, you like her.”

Kuroo groaned, tilting his head back against the couch. “I never said that.”

Kenma didn’t even glance up from his phone. “You didn’t have to.”

Bokuto grinned wildly. “Dude, you totally do. You’ve been all ‘hot neighbor this, hot neighbor that’ for months, and now you’re sitting here, looking like you just crawled out of a romance novel—messy hair, lipstick all over you, breathing like you ran a marathon—”

“Alright,” Kuroo cut in, pointing a warning finger. “I met her yesterday. There’s nothing there. We’re done with this conversation.”

Kuroo rolled his eyes at the topic, but his mind was already back at your place, back to the way you felt on his lap, the taste of wine lingering between kisses, and the way your fingers had tangled in his hair like you belonged there.

Yeah, he was screwed.

Bokuto smirked behind his glass. “You know that’s sus, bro. You never not wanna talk about the girls you hook up, sometimes you even share too much for our ears sake. And now you’re done with this conversation? Weird as hell. Are you high on catnip or something?”

Kuroo scoffed, taking a slow sip of his water, trying to ignore the way his ears burned at Bokuto’s words. “I just don’t feel like giving you two a play-by-play of my night, alright? Not everything is meant for your entertainment.”

Bokuto gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Kuroo Tetsuro, keeping a secret? Scandalous.”

Kenma hummed, eyes narrowingskeptically. “It’s either serious or embarrassing. Either way, he’s hiding something.”

Kuroo groaned, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “Oh my god, can we talk about something else?”

Bokuto, ignoring him completely, turned to Kenma. “Serious and embarrassing is my guess. I mean, look at him—he’s got that ‘I just realized I have a crush’ face.”

Kenma finally looked up, golden eyes scanning Kuroo for a long, quiet second. Then, with the precision of a seasoned gamer landing a final headshot, he muttered with a smug smile, “You’re overthinking it already, aren’t you?”

Kuroo opened his mouth, but no words came out. His jaw tightened.

Bokuto’s grin widened. “Ohhh, he is.”

Kuroo scowled, sinking deeper into the couch. He hated how well they knew him. He hated even more that they weren’t wrong. His brain had been stuck replaying the feel of you against him, the way your breath had hitched when he’d gripped your thigh, the way your lips had parted right before he kissed you again— everything seemingly so physical and superficial, but there’s a deepth he’s not familiar with in the slightest. Is it the cat connection? Is it because you two shared too much right before the make out session and he realized how you’re a mix of smart, successful, hardworking, independent and authentic wrapped up in devastatingly hot body and pretty face?.

Shit.

He needed to get a grip.

With a sigh, he grabbed the scotch glass from Bokuto’s hand and took a sip himself. “I swear, you two have way too much time on your hands.”

Bokuto just wiggled his eyebrows. “And you have a hot neighbor on your hands.”

Kenma smirked slightly, going back to his phone. “This is gonna be fun to watch.”

Kuroo exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “I hate both of you.”

Bokuto just laughed, spinning the empty glass in his hands. “Nah, you love us. Just like you looove—”

“Finish that sentence and I’m throwing you off my balcony.”

Bokuto made a show of zipping his lips but kept grinning like he’d already won. And, honestly, maybe he had.

Because Kuroo was distracted. He was so distracted.

Even as Kenma and Bokuto bickered about what game to play next, his mind kept drifting back—to your place, to the taste of wine and heat on your lips, to the way your fingers had tugged at his hair like you needed him.

It was supposed to be a casual thing. Just some alcohol-induced fun. That’s what he’d told himself when he went for the kiss. But the way his body was still thrumming with leftover electricity and his mind was yearning for a deeper connection told a different story.

And the worst part?

He wanted more.

A lot more.

With a quiet groan, he tipped his head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling like it held all the answers. Maybe he really was screwed.

Kenma’s voice pulled him back to the present. “So, when are you seeing her again?”

Kuroo scoffed, grabbing his phone from the coffee table. “I don’t know. Whenever Loki and I happen to bump into her, I guess.”

Bokuto snorted. “Dude, your cat is literally dating her cat. You have the perfect excuse.”

Kuroo glared at him, but his fingers hovered over your name in his messages. Should he text you? Would that be weird? Too soon? Too obvious?

Before he could overthink it, his phone vibrated with a new message.

Kitten Lady: Hey, I was thinking about making some arrangements in the kittens corner tomorrow. Wanna come help me with it?

Kuroo blinked, rereading the text. A slow smirk spread across his lips.

Kenma, eyebrows widden in a stunned expression, muttered, “He’s smiling. This is worse than I thought.”

Bokuto clapped his hands together. “Boys, we have a situation!”

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

With water, your powers return. Only to be used in a betrayal that ends up feeding everybody.     

[Part one]  [Ao3] [8] [10] [Chapter Index]

TW: Major Character Death, Cannibalism, Nyaaa :3 Did I tell you guys nobody is safe :33

9 * Eat It [7.5k]

"So let your real flag fly, you fuckin' freak."

To Cleveland (And Beyond) - Go Hang

        Day seven.

        You can drink by your lonesome. Move and walk, but not very fast or far without feeling woozy. Use of your powers made your vision black out for seconds at a time. Gray advised against it until they could find food. They still hadn't found anything.         

        The cave extended beyond the chasm you'd landed in. Walls of stalagmites had to be carefully demolished to reveal off-chutes. Most of the Marks had gone into the dark to explore. You stayed in the main room, feeling like shit, hungry enough to think about eating sand but alive.

        The cavern was shaped like a loaf of sourdough, that's all you could think of. Bread. Half of it was flat enough ground, slightly slippery with the humidity. Stalagmites coming up from the ground had been sliced in half, made into low stools. The other dropped down deep into a seemingly endless source of water.

        Sheets of metal were brought down from above, laid on the ground. Topped with sand then the trash fabric. Best joint bedding the desert could buy. Gray and Baldie were still working on more trash fabric bedding for more beds, but the work was slow. For now, the first bed was yours, Gray who'd made the thing, insisted. It was tucked into a corner, the fire pit close enough to warm you, with more stools and makeshift benches wrapping around it. There was room for more on the mattress, but you invited nobody, letting them rest their heads on rocks or bundled-up cloth. Though Mohawk, Lensless and Scars tried to invite themselves to your side often. They were pulled away or told outright by you and your power, to buzz off. They just liked the fight, to see how far they could push until you couldn't shove back anymore. You were thankful to be alone on the bed now, watching the wind blow sand around hundreds of feet above the caves entrance. 

        Maskless was sleeping even though he was supposed to be watching you. You were glad to have someone on the same page. This whole babysitting thing was stupid. Okay, sure, you'd almost died from dehydration, but you weren't going to die now. Probably. 

        The others were above or below, searching. You were alone and safer than you had been in days. You sat up, blinking away the dizziness and doing your best to ignore the gnawing at the inner lining of your stomach.

        The boots Baldie found yesterday come to the ground, the black GDA soldier pants swished around your legs. Baldie was out there somewhere wearing only his prison pants, you had kept the shirt.

        No helmet or armor, but you were covered up enough to feel a little more comfortable. Warmer in the cool cave. There were complaints when your clothing returned, they just wanted something to look at. Some desert entertainment.

        It was disgusting, and you couldn't tell the teasing from the actual threats, so treated all mentions of your body the same. 

        You crawled to the pool, a sunbeam from above guided you. You drank out your hands despite what Gray had said. All water needed to be boiled before consumption for safety. He'd taken a chunk of limestone, punched out its center (which took multiple attempts) and deemed it a pot. It was more of a shallow basin than anything, but you weren't going to argue. He wasn't around now and you didn't want to wake Maskless by starting a fire. He was part of the reason you were still alive, and you weren't going to say thank you, so being civil was the best you could do. 

       What had started as drinking from your hands, turned into scrubbing blood and soot from your face, turned into half pulling yourself into the water to take a fully clothed bath.

        "Hey." Maskless didn't open his eyes. "Don't contaminate the water."

        "Boiling it gets rid of germs." You don't go further in than you already had. Rational thought caught up with your body, you were definitely too weak to tread water at this point. Let go of the ledge and you'd slip under. Unsure if Maskless would save your ass and not waiting to find out, you slid back. "You not sleeping?"

        "Can't. Listening for something."

        You roll back onto your haunches. "For what?"

        His eyes open with a scowl, "I can't hear if you're talking."

        You decided you dislike him more than you already did. The others had something off about them, un-Mark-ish and bordering on inhuman. But Maskless was a dead ringer, same face, same inflection, same bitch attitude. You couldn't be in the same room as him.

        You got up. 

        "You can't see in the dark." He says like you'd forgotten. 

        You pulled your phone out of your pocket and flicked on the flashlight. If you could leave a review on your phone case it'd be a glowing five stars. Thing was still working even after being thrown a few hundred miles into sand. 

        He sighed and floated off his ass to your side, "Let's go then." 

        "I'm going alone." You pick a direction arbitrarily, and move toward the opening. 

        "I'm not going to tie you down or anything, but if I let you leave and you die, they'll kill me." He says with very little enthusiasm.

        "Poor you." You swallowed, gathering power, "Why don't you go sit back down?"

        You sway, stumbling forward a step, and catching yourself on a wet rock. Maskless is halfway across the cavern to his stool when he stops and turns.

        "They told me you'd do that." He stayed in place, waiting. "Why don't you go sit back down?"

        "Fuck you." Breathe, regather, and, "Sit down."

        You tip forward before you can see if it works. On the ground, you lie in a groaning heap. Hunger ebbing away at your very soul. 

        Maskless sighs, long and loud. He grabs the back of the jail shirt and half-carries, half-slides you back to the makeshift bed. "You can try that again when you didn't almost die two days ago." He drops face-first onto the garbage despite your protests.

        Maskless floated back to his stool, crossed his legs, and tried to listen. The sound had gone. A faint, so very faint, skittering he could only hear if everything was still and he paid no mind to his own beating heart.

        "You ruined it." It's more a fact than a biting insult. He is too tired to be as nasty as Emperor. Honestly, where the hell did the guy get the energy to be so annoying?

        You didn't reply. Fighting unconsciousness before your brain kickstarted and you peeled yourself up. "You could've stayed where you were but you had to follow me."

        You were so tired of the tails. You just needed to be alone or with someone who doesn't scare the shit out of you. But you can't. Groups are good for survival and the longer this goes on the more you realize. You couldn't kill them without food. The murders were postponed even further than they already had been. 

        "I already told you, they'll kill me." The sentence ends with a laugh, though nothing about it is funny. "I don't even know you." The intonation made you remember Mark in the GDA hospital wing. You're angry all over again at someone that is and isn't him.  

        You'd heard it before, but the words are an honest to God relief. He was a blank slate. Hated you right back. Now, this was a normal relationship to have while stranded in the desert.

        Despite his assurance, you're suspicious. "Not even a little?"        

        "I mean I met you but I don't want to fuck you." He says it plainly. "I have a boyfriend."

        Your ears perked up at that. "What?" 

        "William Clockwell." He throws the name at you like a knife.

        A knife you pick up and examine. "Mark's best friend, who's dating that guy D.A. Sinclair maimed?" Thrown right back.

        It hits him square in the chest, bullseye. His turn to say, "What?"

        Invincible had long since turned tail and left Machine Head's business alone, which meant Machine Head would forevermore have his nose in Invincible's business. He had plenty of enemies and plenty of money to hire people to watch the family of his enemies. Nothing better than kidnapping and ransom to get people to do what you wanted. It was funny that the GDA did the same thing, just higher tech with more red tape. Maybe you wouldn't have minded a job there, you liked intel being thrown around like gossip. 

       "Rick something or other." The words are a one-two punch to his gut.

        His brows knit, he leans forward a fraction, unable to hide his interest.

        "That guy from high school?" Jealousy and bitterness soak through his tongue. You knew the tone and feeling all too well. Seeing the misery swimming in his eyes was like a baby's laughter and butterflies.

        "They just graduated college together." You boasted like you were proud of them. Like you and William were still friends. "Going steady a few years now." You had him on the ropes now. Finish him! "Probably getting married soon." Honeyed eyes go black, and you knew you'd gone too far. You couldn't help push further, a thrill at getting a reaction. Hunger had made you worse than a cunt, you'd started acting like a man. "Unless they died when you guys ran through the planet."

        The hand has closed on your throat before you could even think up the next insult. "Shut up. Shut up, you're lying." Yet his hand loosens enough for you to answer. 

        "The Mark Grayson in my timeline was only friends with William Clockwell." Fingers don't press in hard enough to bruise; he's careful. Knows if the others see he's fucked.

        That wasn't the answer he wanted. "Where did they live?"

        "Some college in Chicago."  

        His eyes go bug-fuck wide. "Chicago?" One of the cities they hit. His grip loosens, hands shaking. You'd said the truth, which was apparently the wrong thing. He floated back to his seat, head in hands, muttering, "Chicago, Chicago..."

        You don't say anything and neither does he until the others return, when the sunbeam goes orange and soft and the cold starts to creep in.

        Marks returned for the evening usual, a bonfire debrief where the only thing cooking was water. 

        Baldie built the fire. Orange light reflecting off his thick muscles. Nothing to report from his end. Lensless took the floor first, pacing as he talked about the winding caves he'd walked. It was hard to follow, but there were more caves than what he'd explored. Mohawk said he'd found another pool of water. Scars had no luck in the desert besides some more trash to weave. Tracksuit had nothing. Gray reported the cave system was bigger than thought. Warned it'd be easy to get lost like Lensless, but never find their way back. A map would need to be made. Warned that breaking through the roof of the cave system to the surface could collapse the tunnels. He said this with eyes on you. 

        "You've been awfully quiet." Mohawk flicked his fingers toward Phantom, who sat still on a stalagmite stump directly across from you. "Got anything?"

        ***

        According to the numbers in his lenses, the nest was four hundred miles below the surface. He hadn't seen the narrow entrance at first, and when he did, didn't consider squeezing through it. Until a tiny spec of green lit the screen on his lens. A moving spec. Something living. He crept closer to the wall, the tiny holes coming into focus. More silhouettes outlined in green, limbs too fast and small, they looked like a blur. 

        He tore out a chunk of wall, set it aside and stepped into a new cavern. Bigger than the rest. Roof so high it could've been a cathedral. He'd come in by its apex, looking down at the comings and goings of the creature mass. Paths well worn deep into the earth where they moved, wide as pipes. Winding, twisting, into a wider network of dugout tunnels. But here, in this space, all roads led to one place. 

        Her subjects crawled up her body, holding morsels so small he couldn't see or detect it with his lenses. Fungus perhaps. They made their way under her twitching pedipalps. Drop the mold or sand morsels or whatever into her mouth, and make their way back down the body. Tiny, useless wings on her back flutter in buggish satisfaction. 

        She lay on limestone, a pool of water around her like a moat.

        He leaves after a shallow investigation of the closest caves. Finding eggsacks buried in the walls in one cavern. Spore-filled air in another. He slid the removed rock back in place, careful to push it flush to the wall. The others were unlikely to find the secret hideaway. Unlikely to find you both if you left together in secret. Living off bug meat and cave water, forever. Disgusting, yes, but you'd have each other.

        If only he could get you to come with him, unnoticed and without a fight.

        ***

        Phantom shook his head. 

        "Of course, you have nothing." Emperor spat like he didn't also have anything to report. "We won't have anything unless everybody is pitching in." The white of his lenses flash firelight, set on you.

        "Am I supposed to magically recover from almost dying?" You shoot back. "You think I like hanging around while you do shit?"

        "What shit has he done since we've got here?" You almost don't hear his voice.

        You have to look around to see who spoke and find Emperor glaring at Maskless. "Got something to say?"

        "I found water." He says, hand coming up to gesture to Phantom, "we found water. All you've done is sit and complain."

        Emperor scoffs. "Like you've been around to monitor my progress."

        "I didn't have to be. People talk." He says as if you didn't catch him leave with Phantom a half hour ago into one of the caves. Since digging out your new home, they were definitely closer than the rest of you.

         Tension starts to tighten in the air. Baldie and Mohawk shift on their asses, bring themselves closer to you to block any incoming strays from hitting you. 

        Emperor is off his seat, standing while everyone remained seated. "If any of you have anything to say to me now- say it!"

        "Your voice makes my ears ring." Said Scars, who loved hearing himself talk.

        "You do jackshit, dude." Lensless adds.

        Emperor turns on them, waving a fist. "I've got a lot more on my mind than you idiots! My empire has to be falling apart without me, and I'm stuck with you useless, brain-dead, backwater versions of me! You can't even survive on a desert planet, how could so many of you not rule Viltrum- you are the bloodline of Argall! Are you too stupid to know that or just too weak to ascend!?" His words echoed around the cave. Lingering.

        The detail hung over the Marks who did not rule Viltrum. Thragg did just fine ruling, so why should they? They saw no need, some never knew they were descendants of Argall, or anything about the lost royal bloodline. There were questions to ask but none of them spoke up, a show that what he said didn't matter. That his insults were unsubstantiated and weak, like him. 

        "On the second day of the attack, were you in Chicago?" Maskless says.

        "Why does that matter?" Spit flew off Emperor's lip. Cheeks red under his mask when no one seemed to be bothered by his fury- widely feared in his universe.

         Maskless was all even calm. Muscles relaxed, whereas Emperor was tensed up. "Yes or no." 

        "I don't answer to the likes of you." It was said in a snarl, "To any of you!"

        Maskless blinked slow, cat like. Head turned slowly to you, "Make him answer."

        The unexpected attention made you stiffen. You sat up a little straighter. Weighing the options. Don't, and be resistant. Do and cooperate. Either way you were picking a side you didn't fully understand. You didn't know which would provide the bigger bane or boon. So you went with what your heart wanted, to see Emperor get his teeth knocked in.

        Emperor spun on you, finger up and wagging at you in warning, "Don't you da-"

        "Answer the question." Your head falls, chin smacking against your chest before coming back up. Vision bobbing in and out. Baldie had scooted closer, hands poised to support you, but backs off against your wakeful sneer. 

        The power was watered down, though it should've been back full force by now. Starvation made you weak and the weakness made you edgy.  

        Emperor answered all the same. "Chicago was mine to destroy, so I did."

        A muscle in Maskless's jaw ticked. You cough out the hammer so he could nail down his own coffin, "What about Upstate University?"  You slump onto your thighs, a streak of blood dripped down your nose. Vision swimming and body uncooperative for a few seconds. Coming back to Baldie holding you upright by the shoulders, clear worry across his hairless brow. 

        "Burnt it to the ground," Emperor said even, uncaring. 

        You cared little about the answer. You tried to pat Baldie's chest, get him away but no words come out. Your head lolls forward, unable to hold it up and sneer at him. 

        He turned to Mohawk who'd apparently seen you use the powers before, "What do we do?"

        "I dunno," He crawled forward, considers reaching for the codeine in your pockets before remembering how you'd almost vomited on him. "Just wait it out?" His palm goes to your cheek, lifting your head to look at your face, skin clammy, eyes glassy and unfocused. After a few days you seemed okay enough, but he wasn't familiar enough to know if this was normal. God damn it, why couldn't you just trust them with the details of your powers- of your past?

        His machinations are cut short by a blur of movement. You catch it too, thanks to your head being held up. 

        Emperor is still stunned. Fingers twitched as your control slipped away, but Maskless was too fast. The side of his palm and wrist cut through the air. Slapped your face with wind and a splatter of blood. You could barely register what you're seeing.

        One second Emperor was standing and Maskless was sitting. The next, Maskless was behind him, arm bloodied, body all tense rage. Emperor still stood proudly, sans an important addition. Too stubborn to acknowledge the blood rhythmically spurting out of his stump of a neck. His head toppled to the ground, rolling over once before Maskless's foot came down. Sinking into the skull and meat with a sickening crunch.

        Then and only then does Emperor's twitching body fall to its knees. Arms jittering as his nerves try too late to fight for his life, before his torso finally drops, fwump, against the cave floor. Blood pooled quick, the smell already permeating in the air. 

        Gray is up with his fists but does not lunge. Mohawk and Baldie are a wall of muscle blocking Maskless's eyes from sliding on you. You watch from between their legs. Phantom is still, calculating what's to come. Tracksuit's hands go to the back of his head. Lensless is laughing. Scars looked down at the body, fallen directly at his feet, blood staining the yellow of his boots. 

        Maskless looks at none of them, turning back to his seat before settling back down. Seemingly oblivious to the fresh blood that soaked into his uniform. 

        Gray's muscles relax, deeming the threat neutralized.

        "He was weak and uncooperative." He says, "But you couldn't have killed him any cleaner?"

        "He killed my boyfriend." Is all Maskless can say.

        Gray's nod is terse. Annoyance hid well. "The blood can not stay on the campsite." He'd already moved past the murder, like it was nothing. Onto nagging Maskless. "It is unsanitary."

        "Unsanitary?" Tracksuit flipped out his hand, splaying his fingers, that quintessential New Englander gesture for 'what the fuck'. "He jus' killed that guy!"

        "Yes, we all saw," Gray replied.

        "He was a douche bag anyway." Mohawk said.

        The wall of Baldie and Mohawk undid itself. Mohawk first beside you, hand on your back to support you. Baldie too slow, settled on his knees on the edge of your mattress, he didn't want to crowd you if it wasn't necessary. Despite how deeply in his bones he wanted to melt into your skin, to wipe the blood off of your face. 

        Phantom ignored the body. Watched Baldie's lingering look. Saw how you shifted away from Mohawk, toward Baldie. Your hand briefly landing on Baldie's as you tried to sit up. You didn't know it, but you'd chosen a favorite that was not him, Phantom. Something had to be done about that.

        "Couldn't have left some action for the rest of us?" Lensless prodded the corpse with the toe of his boot. Smiling when it twitched, frowning when the movement stopped. 

        You supported your own weight, but just barely, pushing off of your arms to sit back upright. Used to death and not too deeply surprised Emperor was first voted off the island. You swat away Mohawk's supportive hand from your back. Hissing out a, "I'm fine."

         He opens his mouth to fight, but Scars voice takes up all the air in the cavern. "We should eat him."

        Tracksuit is the only one to voice, "Dude, what the fuck?" 

        "Think about it." Scars grabbed Emperor's limp arm. Warm, fresh, red meat. "We've searched this entire fucking planet for days and found nothing. This," he jostles the arm, making Emperor's wrist flap and violently snap, "is how we survive. How she," he pointed the limp hand toward you, "survives."

        "No." The thought made you sick. Empty stomach churning around nothing, your hands going to cradle yourself. Insides growl in protest, wanting the meat but you wouldn't indulge. "I'm not a fucking cannibal."

        Scars grabbed Emperor's hand, twisted it off at his forearm with a wet snap. "Do you want to die here?" The hand is discarded, Scars pulling to break the joint at his elbow like a crab leg.

        You don't answer. Watch as Scars tears the fabric off the bloodied limb. Yellow-coated digits digging harshly under the skin. Pushing. The flesh bulges with the intrusion. Scars slowly peeled up the skin with a grunt, removing the humanity from the lean meat that would melt in your mouth if cooked. You felt sicker. He can see the urge to puke in your bobbing throat. "You'll come around."

        "We could find food any day now and you're just gonna-" Tracksuit stopped himself when Scars bit into the broken end of the arm. Pulling out a slip of pinkish tendon with his teeth. "Alright, dude."

        The meat slipped between his lips. Swallowed without a single chew. He moaned. Met the stump halfway with his lips and began to shred with teeth. Piece after piece torn off the bone. Blood stained his chin so completely it seemed like he'd never be clean again. You would've been able to hear a pindrop if he wasn't chewing so loud, so wetly.

        You all watched. Rapt attention gone from Maskless to Scars in a matter of moments. Murder was one thing but this? No one knew what to say as he continued to eat, but you felt each swallow in the pit of your stomach, a creeping suspicion that he had done this before. You don't realize how hard you're gripping Baldie's hand.

        Across the room, Phantom wants to throw up, though he cares little about the gore.

        "We should preserve the rest." Scars set the remaining meat atop Emperor's unmoving back. "He won't last long." Before rot sets in. Or before he is eaten entirely. Which would come first?

        No one spoke. Scars continued. "You," he flicked fresh bloodied fingers at Gray. "You took over a bunch'a planets, right?" Gray's nod is stiff. "So you know how all this survivalist bullshit works?" Another nod. He's comply but he would not trust, not after that show of loyalty to Emperor's body.

        Scars lifted Emperor's still leaking corpse by the back of his suit, "You know how to make jerky?"

        "Holy shit, dude." Tracksuit answered for Gray. "You can't be serious."

        "I am." Scars says, "This is the only food on this entire fucking planet. Be a pussy if you want but I'm not dying like this. Now, do you know how to do this or not?" Scars jostled the body for Gray's attention. A thick splatter of blood hit the fire, sizzled, and released a scent that made your nose curdle, your nails digging into your stomach. 

        Gray floated from the ground, up and out the hole in the ceiling. Scars followed, Emperor's limbs swaying as they both rose. Blood rained in thick, lazy drops until they both were gone. A single rivulet landed under your nose, rolled down your cupid's bow and slipped between your lips. Your tongue darted out automatically. The taste lingered in your mouth as your stomach ate itself.

        Lensless was first to move after a long, thick silence. He crouched by the smashed head, poking idly at the eye that blasted out it's socket, the other smashed in with Emperor's brains. "We should clean this thing up. Put it on the wall. Decoration." 

        Nobody in the room hadn't not killed somebody, but the suggestion felt wrong. Like a bad omen. 

        "Dude, no." Tracksuit said.

        Lensless rolled the head, a gooey slab of brain matter stuck to the floor. Your throat twitched, a gag rocked your body. He grinned at you, fingers pulling out Emperor's front teeth. "Don't worry, if you clean it right it won't smell."

        "I don't think..." You can't finish the thought before another gag rips up your throat. Nothing comes out. 

        Maskless rose from his seat and grabbed the basin. "I'll clean up, it's my mess."

        He got to work, dousing the floor with water, guiding the dirty sludge to a slope leading to another cave as to not contaminate the drinking water. By the time he was done, Lensless had removed all the teeth from Emperor's mouth. He shoved the bloody things into his pockets, adding to his collection. 

        Maskless scooped up the remnants of Emperor's head best he could. Lensless pouted but didn't fight as Maskless floated to the surface to deliver the meat to the butchers. You stared at the red spot on the floor where it'd been, a single chunk of brain sitting in a dim sunbeam.

        ***

        He touched down to the empty sand field. Directionally challenged, he was not, this was where he'd taken off a month ago. Yet the dunes were drastically different, shifted. There was no beginning of a tent or improvement or ruins. There was no evidence of anybody else. The chasm that had begun to yawn open in the depths of space, deepens.

        He removed the oxygen mask. Newfound beard heating his face. He rose to the sky. Floated miles above the planet, pace meandering when he should've been frantic. He'd lost all hope for you to still be alive. You. Not the person he'd thought you'd be. The person he threw everything away for just to see one last time. He'd never know if it could have been worth it, if under the hurt and the fear you were still his. What a waste, for both of you. 

        He wondered if the others were still alive. If he left and they all killed each other. He wondered if he was alone, destined to go mad between the desert dunes.

        A hairdryer breeze assaulted his face, a welcome change from the frigidness of space. On the wind he smells it, cooking meat. He is gone before he can think. 

        ***

       He was undressed like a pig skinned. Slices of thigh removed with a quick chop of the side of a hand. Holes poked through the cuts at their tops for a metal rod to be fished through before the slices were hung above the fire from a rickety rack. The setup wasn't ideal or very good at all, but it was the best they could do.  It'd be days before the whole body was processed. 

        It'd be hours before the blood-sopped meat would dehydrate into jerky. Viltrumite bodies were resistant to lava in life, but upon death and the release of stress hormones and loosening of muscle- could be cooked. According to Gray at least.

        "You done this before?" Scars had asked only because of how little time it had taken the man to set it up, almost suspiciously so. Like Gray planned on being the first to turn to cannibalism, already planning a jerky recipe.

        "No." Gray said, "But my mentor has."

        Scars does not ask who. He doesn't care about Gray's life. He only cares about you. "This'll make it safe for her to eat, right?"

        Gray's jaw ticks. "It should, but you should know how weak human stomachs can be. Consuming the body in front of her was a poor choice. She will not wish to eat it, no matter the preparation method."

        Scars snapped the other arm off Emperor's body. Unrolled the muscle from the bone, which he set aside on a rock. The marrow could be eaten. The bones could be boiled in water for soup. He began to sheer off arm meat, saying, "Don't be a pussy."

        "Cannibalism is not common on Viltrum but we do what we must to complete our missions. You know this."

        Scars knew some things about Viltrum. He had never gone, never absorbed the culture. What he knew had come from his Dad at an early age. He thought he knew it all, but upon meeting Gray, he realized he knew little. He should've let Dad live longer, if only to teach him more- but the idea was so absurd it almost makes him laugh. 

        "Sure." He says instead. 

        "But I will not eat until she does." Gray finished. He would not try to assuage you. He would wait patiently. You would crack and cave, you were not made for a hunger strike. Your human morals would fold like wet towels under the slightest pressure. To a Viltrumite enforcer like himself, a week of starvation was nothing. 

        Scars secured the meat slices onto a pole and set them aside. "Okay, pussy."

        Unsatisfyingly, Gray does not react to his jabs. At least not visually, he just speaks evenly, "Father taught me humans are brought comfort by eating side by side with their mates. It makes the most sense to wait for her."

        He remembers his Father and Mother together on Viltrum, so strangely in love. Him foolishly thinking he could have the same, taking you, becoming so unexpectedly infatuated. It softened him. Such a waste what had happened but then again, that chain of events brought him to you. The stronger, better version of you that would fit so well into Viltrum society. He feels soft all over again at the idea of your strange human courting rituals. So silly and unnecessary, but so tempting, so easy to indulge in. He nearly forgets to whom he is speaking. 

        Scars didn't know what to laugh at first. The reverence in his tone at Father or the word, "Mates?"

        "Yes," Gray retrieved the latest wrack Scars finished and hung the swaying meats over the fire. His stomach clenched at the smell. 

        Conquering was the most Dad taught Scars of Viltrum culture, and conquer he did. "Why not just call it what it really is? She's a pet to people like us."

        Gray considers kicking him in the stomach. Making him vomit up the meat and an apology on your behalf. He withholds, thinking it'd be a better idea to have Scars on his side. Scars was as strong as he was unpredictable. Scars under his thumb meant you being much, much safer.

        "It is simply the word we use." He says, "Though Father said he called Mother his girlfriend, then wife back on Earth." The word girlfriend felt clunky in his mouth. Too many syllables, too simple, yet complicated, whereas mate just felt right. 

        Scars laugh is a whip. "You really care about those assholes, huh?"

        Gray does not answer, for it is not Scars' business and also- it was rather obvious how he felt. Though Viltrumites shouldn't feel. He was considered a strange boy on his home planet, but he wouldn't trade his childhood and lineage for a thing. He felt justified in this just speaking to Scars. Looking at how a different, loveless life on Earth made him into a rude and impulsive man. Ugh, those garish colors and that cape. So ugly.

        Gray senses the atmospheric shift and moves out of the way long before Scars thinks to. 

        Sand is kicked from the ground in a wave, dousing the afternoon fire, coating the still-wet meat. The man who fell from the sky did not care. He grabbed two slices at a time and shoved them into his chapped mouth. An uncharacteristic groan rumbling out of his chest. 

        Gray and Scars watch, poised from their vantage spot hovering over the ground, as Omni feasts. 

        "I thought you were dead." Scars is first to touch down, moving closer to the smoking sand and meats. 

        Omni chewed and swallowed, throat bulging like a snake. He grabbed two more slices of meat. "Hungry." Is all he says before biting down.

        "Not even gonna ask what you're eating?" His gaze slid significantly to the mound of sand. Emperor hidden under the kicked-up sand. 

        Omni's mouth does not slow as Scars kicks the sand off Emperor's bare back. "Things went batshit after you left." 

        Omni does not process as he swallows. Realization hits when the meat reaches his stomach and his eyes focus unsteadily on the corpse. Oh God. He lunges, grabs Scars bruisingly hard by the shoulders. He was weak, exhausted, but now, pumping with adrenaline and desperation he didn't know he still had. "Where is (Y/n)?"

        Gray does not want this haggard madman near you, but Scars does not give a shit about what Gray wants. Gray opens his mouth, "Don't-"

        Scars pointed to the massive cone in the ground leading down to the caves, they were only a few feet away. "Down there, dumbass."

        Omni is a red-white bolt streaking down the hole. Gray is at his heels but faster, reaching the cavern first and stopping in front of you before Omni can reach you. 

        The air splits at their sudden pause. You are sent backward, careening for the wall but Mohawk is there to catch you. The rest of the Marks are on their feet, bristling at this new threat, tense until they realize who they're looking at.

        "You're back early," Gray says, standing tall, trying to block his view of you. He does not like how glazed Omni's eyes are behind the lenses. Does not like how they won't focus on him, the immediate threat, but over his shoulder, at you. 

        "It's been a month." His voice is brittle. 

        "It's been a week." Gray bites back. 

        "Time isn't right out there." Omni's voice doesn't feel a part of him. Nothing feels right in his body, because nothing is right about any of this.

        "What'd you find?" Baldie asked.

        Phantom crept up behind him, ready to strike Omni if Gray needed the backup.        

        "Nothing." Omni moved a degree and Gray moved with him. "Let me see her."

        "Yeah, dude, just let the crazy guy touch your girlfriend," Tracksuit spoke when Gray wouldn't.

        Mohawk sets you down but does not let go of your shoulders. Omni is looking at you like his dead puppy. You ache with hunger. Know you are weak.

        Yet you say, "Don't touch me." Before passing out.

        ***

        The explanation is winding. Nonsensical at best, but the other Marks turn it over in their heads, reexplaining it to each other while Omni fitfully rests in your bed. He did not get to hold you like he wanted, but seeing you alive, sharing a bed with you, no matter how unconventional, was enough for now. In moments when he awoke, sparse because of exhaustion in his body, he only looks for you. Mulling over in his mind how he could prove to himself, to you, that you were the woman he married.

        You sit on the edge of the sandy garbage mattress as they tell you the bad news. Woozy. Aching with hunger that even excess boiled water could not quench. Twelve days you'd been stuck in the desert now. Twelve days of heat and near death and starvation. A week sat doing nothing in this suffocating cave. They refuse to let you move beyond the littlest things. Gray says you must conserve energy so long as your hunger strike lasts. But you had an eternity of suffering left. There was no other planets to go to, no one who could come save you. Just the slow creeping annihilation of the universe, and you, starving to death.  

        Mohawk was the first to cave when the first batch of jerky was done cooking two days ago. He ate across the fire, relishing the dehydrated thigh meat with a moan. Lensless rose to the surface for his own slice not long after. Tracksuit and Prisoner held out, but their morals were starting to get shaky by day ten. They could survive long periods without eating, but they were unused to the hunger pains, it was starting to get to them. Scars had not eaten since the first day. Claiming it'd be good to ration. Gray and Phantom held out, seemingly unaffected by the hunger.

        Gray was steadfast. Phantom was not. He snunk away to the bug cave under the guise of exploration. Ate the fingerpad sized insects by the handful to satiate himself. Plans tumbling around in his head. He couldn't make the moves he wanted until you were strong enough to eat, until there weren't eight pairs of eyes watching you at all times. So he waited for you to give into the long pig jerky.

        Baldie, Tracksuit, and you kept each other in check like a hunger pact. 

        "Just hold on, we'll find something else." Baldie would say, hand supporting your back as you swayed while simply sitting. You never swatted him away. Trust a slow, creeping thing growing between you like mold.

        "No way I'm leaving a cannibal," Tracksuit says, fingers flexing on his knees. "I can't be the only one not leaving a cannibal."

        Day Fourteen. 

        You wouldn't do it. 

        You pass out on the bed, wrapping yourself in Omni's cape to try and escape the cold of your body eating itself. Feeling the pain even in sleep. 

        Day Fifteen.

        They search hard, find nothing. You are looking worse and worse. Snappish and downtrodden when awake, a rock when asleep. Phantom thinks of telling the others but sees how Baldie frets over you, how you don't swat him away, and doesn't. A plan, a real plan, started to form in Phantoms head. 

        Day Sixteen. 

        Scars hovers over you. Thin sticks of dried meat in his fist. You refused to eat, choose to die with the universe. He would not allow it. 

        You do not stir as he sits on your hips. Nobody stops him. Though Baldie says, "She doesn't want it."

        He breaks a piece off one of the already slight pieces. "She's dying."

        He goes to stuff the piece between your lips when his wrist is grabbed by Baldie. "I said-"

        "Do you think letting her starve to death will get you pussy?" Scars spat. "She hates us regardless. Making her eat won't change anything, but she won't die." Baldie's hold falls reluctantly away. 

        "People have survived much longer than this without food." Omni says, watching your sleeping face and despite his proximity, doesn't stop it. None of them want to see you continue to suffer. With you out of commission, they were starting to creep more toward edginess. Snapping at each other, fighting over nothing. Only Maskless and Tracksuit immune to the status of your state but not of the men around them.

        Piece after piece was slipped between your lips. You dreamt of the grocery store. Of being in the snack aisle and grabbing the closest thing to you, a Slim Jim. You tear open the wrapper, greedily swallow it down, taste it.

        You wake, chunks of meat, slimy with spit, crammed into your mouth. You cough, gagging, and nearly choking. Brownish meat splatters onto Scars face but he doesn't seem to care.

        "Eat it." He held the meat to your lips but you sealed them closed, sucking them in. He pinches your nose shut. You can't breathe. Head already starting to feel like a balloon, you thrash, trying to sit up despite his weight on your body, reaching to push his hand away. Omni moves, you think to save you, but he just holds your right shoulder down, his other hand holding yours as it spasms in panic. Baldie watches horrified. Mohawk moves around him and holds down your left, unable to look at you. Not for Scars safety, you couldn't hope to hurt him with human fists but to prevent you from hurting yourself. The ease with which he holds you down makes him sick, easier than it should be. 

        Screams are trapped inside of your throat, shrill, but they do not listen. Your vision darkens, darkens, darkens until your brain forces your lips apart to take a heaving breath. The meat is forced inside your mouth. Scars slams your jaw shut, sealing your lips with the warmth of his palm, his one eye watches you coldly. 

        The meat is freshly cured, almost melting on your tongue. Telling you to just give in. To enjoy the smoked pork taste but you can't, you won't. 

        You shake your head in their grip. Tears forcing themselves past your eyelids. You look from Omni to Mohawk, pleading with your eyes for them to help. They don't. You look to Scars, willing him to move his hand so you could give the order for him to die.

        He sees it in your eyes and grins, leaning closer. "You wanna kill me, don't you? If you wanna kill me, you have to eat."

        You do. You want to kill him so bad. For everything he'd done. For everything he's doing. For the fact that if it weren't for him forcing you to eat, you'd starve to death. You hate him so much. You cry looking into his one exposed eye. You willfully swallow.

        "Good girl."

[bettystonewell]

Sam Winchester x Reader - PERFECT

Read on AO3 || Main Masterlist

Sam is ever the gentleman, and Dean is, well, Dean. Having had enough of watching him lead yet another woman on, leaves Sam with no choice, but to leave. But a chance encounter in the most unlikely of places leads to Sam getting his sock on the motel door first.

18+ only MDNI 7.5k words (SAM POV)

Tags: smut, oral - male and female recieving, language, Sam’s POV, pining, dirty talk, an unconventional meet-cute

A/N: Guys! It’s my very first Sam centric fic, and it turned smutty! This is all thanks to a prompt exchange with the lovely @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth. You can find her Donna x reader fic HERE. I was given the prompt: Third Wheeling, and the phrase, “You do not want to go in there, believe me,” which is in bold. - Beth ❤️

“Being on the road can be so lonely sometimes, you know?” Dean says, taking Kristy’s hand and gliding his thumb over her smooth skin. She’s hot and way out of his league, and Sam just knows he’s already forgotten her name.

He rolls his eyes. Again. Another town, another bar. Another conquest that will keep him out of a nice warm bed.

He gets it, he does, but he was looking forward to stretching his legs out tonight. They’re stiff and his back still aches from the salt and burn they did the night before and the driving they’ve been doing all day.

Milroy to Muncie. Dean isn’t travelling the world like he just told her. What would a seasoned pilot even be doing in a place like this?

There’s a tidal pool of liquor right in front of him, lapping at the elbows of his jacket with every fresh drink poured. But hey, there are peanuts. The shells are swimming in the swill, and that suits him fine. The smell of smoke and tobacco, cheap cologne mixed with sweat and… urinal cakes… it’s nothing to bitch about. They could use a load off.

It’s just having to hear Dean swindle his way into her panties. Only took two beers and a double bacon cheeseburger.

Sam takes another swig of his beer. Lets the bitterness cool his throat and his hands. It settles in his stomach that’s twisted itself into knots. Kristy was perfect until she started talking to Dean.

He’s got a shoulder blocking his peripheral now, but raising his chin and leaning further into the wave of booze on the counter gives Sam the right angle. He sees the rise of her chest as it dips into her tank top. Makes his lip curl over the lip of his bottle and his cheeks flush. A little.

“Omae wa mou shindeiru,” Dean says with a husk to his voice.

Kristy giggles. “What does that mean?”

“It’s Japanese for you’re so beautiful. I learnt that on my last visit.”

It’s not. Sam might not speak the language, but he knows enough to know that line is from Fist of the North Star and Dean butchered it. Pretty sure he told her she was going to die, actually, but whatever. He shakes his head. None of his business if she falls for it - she does - and he can either stay here and further torment himself, or do something about it.

He chugs down the rest of his beer and drops it in the potent ocean. His elbows just miss the riptide. “Bathroom.” He shoots the word Dean’s way, but he gets no response.

“Yeah, I climbed Fuji last time I was there. It’s beautiful in the winter. The snow up there makes the whole mountain look like you’re walking in the clouds.”

Right. Though Sam would love to see him try. He might not have his brother in full afterwards, but he could live on if Dean became subjected to Darwinism.

He stands and searches the place for the John. Of course it’s in the back.

His eyes sweep over Kristy as he passes her, keeping them well away from Dean’s. His hand is covering the dip of her lower spine now, and that’s enough.

Between the pool tables and over more spilled booze that catches the soles of his sneakers as he crosses the room; he makes it to the little darkened crook behind the jukebox where some guy is marking a trail over the neck of a woman twice his age. He has to tap him on the shoulder or squeeze past and bump uglies with them, but no problem, sweet urinal cakes are within his grasp.

He reaches for the handle, tugs, and is about to step inside when a face plants into his chest.

“Sorry,” you say, and look up. Your eyes would be apologetic if it weren’t for the grin that’s stretching your cheeks. “You do not wanna go in there, believe me.”

He doesn’t want to — “What?”

He checks the plaque on the door to make sure that he is indeed trying to enter the men’s room, and he is. “Ahhh,” he chuckles. His voice is higher, and he’s blinking like there’s no tomorrow. “Why?”

“Oh. No.” Your hand is at your mouth and it’s grown even wider.

Your giggling is much more pleasant than Kristy’s, but he doesn’t see what’s so funny. A band of warmth spreads across his nose, but his stomach is doing flips now and not the good kind.

This place is gross enough. What could someone like you possibly do in there? You’re so…little. Well, anyone compared to him is, but you seem sober and put together.

Your makeup has no smudges. No smell of puke or anything else. Your hair is neat, and while those jeans are rather snug, you’ve got some nice tits. They’re not falling out and you’re not stumbling all over the place. You are looking more sheepish by the second, though.

“No, no. I, ah.” You shake your head. Your legs are crossing together. “Uh-uh. Someone’s dropped a load off in there and the ladies aren’t much better. Can I—” Your hands clasp and fingers intertwine; your arms are now slithering like two snakes between his side and the doorframe. “I really gotta go. Excuse me!”

And with that, you take off through the gap made by the couple and the booze puddles on the floor. You’re scooting between the pool tables, then past Dean and Kristy, honing in on a door at the end of the bar he never noticed before. A gust of air pulls it shut behind you.

Okay. Weird.

Sam shakes his head. He’s about to walk on through to the sink he spots on the wall when his nose picks up on whatever it was you were talking about and, yeah, he doesn’t want to know. Whomever did that needs their insides checked, if they haven’t died already?

He turns on his heels and considers his options. He’s seen and smelled worse, but he’s not desperate yet. The beer is still sitting atop the knots that had unraveled, and though the stench has tightened them back into place, they won’t hold forever.

Maybe if he walks home to the motel they checked into earlier, he can make it before things get dire? He should beat Dean before he drops a sock on the door that way.

So, with a glance towards his older brother, whose fingers have slipped under Kristy’s waistband, his decision made, and Sam beelines for the main entrance, stepping out into the night air.

The chill cuts the back of his hands and he shoves them straight into his pockets, bringing his elbows in tight on account of the wind. It dares to tackle him over, but he leans forward and braces himself down the path and past the alley that tucks into the side of the bar.

For the second time that night, you barrel into him. The coincidence, the irony, the annoyance tightens his stance until he realises it’s you and his brow quirks. “You gotta watch where you’re going.”

Your face planted into his arm, above the junction his elbow makes. It fits nicely. A strand of your hair catches on the stitching of his jacket. Probably got some beer on your chin. Serves you right.

“Excuse me,” you snap, but that grin still spreads over when you look up and your eyes recognise you’ve bumped into him. “Oh.” Your eyelashes bat against your cheek. “Well, you gotta stop getting in my way.”

And as you had done only a minute ago, you turn to take off again. Only Sam is quicker. More alert. His hand grabs your wrist before you get too far and holds on tight. “Where are you going?” he says, considering how your hips and legs squirm. The motel is only two blocks and he’ll be the gentleman if he has to be. He isn’t Dean.

“Look dude, I gotta pee, and that alley ain’t going to cut it, so unless you want me to—”

“Yeah.” He scoffs. “I’m staying down the road, so before you threaten to piss yourself, you’re welcome to use the one in my room.”

You bite your lip and shrug as you stare him up and down. He’s not a serial killer, but he can understand the skepticism after all he’s seen.

You nod your head. “I was gonna aim for your shoes,” you say. “But okay.”

And there’s Sam, blinking once more. His eyes are getting quite the workout tonight. His scoff teed with a snicker this time. The dimples in his cheeks are pulling his chin to new heights and his other hand is leaving its pocket, outstretching in front of him to lead the way.

“Okay then,” he says, and now you’re both walking.

The room isn’t much. The usual twin beds, table and chairs, a couch Sam refuses to sit on. You’ve only been here a second and you’ll only be here a minute or two more, but it’s imperative he cleans up any evidence of their less-than-normal lives while you’re occupied. 

The second the door clicks and the light filters through the threads of carpet caught on the frayed timber, he’s zipping up duffles and tucking the nose of Dean’s shotgun out of sight. 

There’s a salt round by the fridge, an empty bottle of Jim next to it, and Dean’s underwear draped over the chair. He picks that up with the machete, thanks his lucky stars you didn’t see that or the rest of it, then sits on the end of his bed. 

No, he stands. 

No, he sits and leans on his legs. His thumbs twiddle, his eyes scan the doors. And now he’s standing up again as the handle jostles and you appear with a smile that’s oozing relief. He relaxes just a little.

“All good?” he asks. What the hell was he thinking? Not like you battled a vamp in there. But then you’re tilting your head and your palms are smoothing your sides as you consider his question, and ‘Please don’t think I’m a creep,’ he prays. 

“Yeah. Thanks,” you say. You’re less animated now. You’re chill, calm, collected. Even more put together than before, but just as Sam feared you might, you take in your surroundings, checking out the details of the room.

He’s luckier still. 

“Can I, ah, take you back to the bar?” 

It’s not suss, right? He’s just being friendly, not kicking you out or hiding something, but it’s not the way you take it.

“You want me gone?” Your chin recedes into your neck. 

Shit. “No, I—”

“Relax.” You chuckle and step over to pat him on the shoulder. The same side you ran into on the street. “I’m just messing with you. Thanks for helping a stranger in need,” you add as you move to the door. “I’ll see you around, unless walking me back to the bar includes buying me a drink?”

“There’s beer in the fridge.” Sam didn’t even think. Well. He did, just not with his head. 

It’s Dean’s stash in case he doesn’t pickup, but you’re here, and he’s there. Even if nothing comes from this, he doesn’t need to know it’s all a fallacy. Sam’ll take it as a win, and he waits for your response.

He’s down to beg. He throws that look that always works and your lips spread into a smile. 

“Alright.” You nod. Don’t even question why there’s beer when you just met at a bar, and the next thing he knows, you’re pulling up a chair, and so is he. His back, leaning against Dean’s former underwear drawer, clinking his and your cold one together. 

“So, passing through, huh?” you ask between swigs. 

There’s a spark of interest in your eyes, but all he can do is say, “Yeah.” He’d much rather talk about you. Your life is normal. You seem normal. If accepting to use a stranger’s motel bathroom and then staying for a drink makes you so. 

You did threaten to pee on him.

“Staying long?”

“Depends on my brother.”

You’d taken another mouthful and the lip of the bottle catches on yours as you say, “Your brother?” 

There’s a drop of beer dripping down your chin, and he’s drawn to it. Tongue darts out before hiding it behind his own drink. “Yeah,” he repeats and you’re nodding more. Only it’s slow. It’s understanding. 

Your gaze travels the room again as you think what to say, passing the two beds and the duffles he threw on the floor. “So, road trip? Heading to or from college?”

“College?” He chuckles.

“Yeah. You seem young enough. You got that head in a book kind of look.” Your fingers trace the bottleneck and swipe at the condensation. “I dunno? I’m making shit up while I try to work out who you are besides Sam, the guy who saved me from peeing my pants. You’re not exactly giving me much.”

And you’re not giving him a chance. “What about you? What’re you twenty-four?”

“Three. You?”

He nods. He’s twenty-five, but you don’t need to know that. It’s been over two years since he got dragged back into hunting. Since he lost Jess. Maddison, too, not that it’s the same. 

“So what’s your story?” he says.

“Besides trying to use the men’s room and the alley?”

It’s not just a chuckle this time, he’s wholeheartedly laughing. It bellows round the room, ricocheting off the walls and doors. That smile of yours is wicked, and the straight-laced tone that delivered it was just right. His stomach has unwound, and his head is feeling light thanks to your shoe brushing his leg below the table.

Maybe there’s no need for lies. Sometimes all it takes is a gentleman’s kindness. A tall stature and an air of mystery. 

“Besides that,” he says, and you’re considering him again. Your stare has him staring back.

You’re pretty. More than you are put together. Your hair sits just right, your hands delicate. They’d look good in his, and even better wrapped around any part of him. 

Which means he’s got to up his game. You’re already here and the way you look at him clues him in that you might be interested. He just has to reel you in. So, “You gotta boyfriend, or living with your folks?” he adds. He shouldn’t have started with your relationship status, but your smile’s just growing bigger and bigger.

“Boyfriend, huh? At least I asked what you did first.”

“No, you didn’t.” 

“Do you wanna know if there is one?” you tease, then you’re laughing along with him.

There’s no guy. Your shoe is off and your socked foot is now stretched across the table; resting close to his crotch. 

You’re not shy. You’re not dumb, either. “Why do you think I stayed?” 

You lean forward. Your toes shift, too, creeping closer and closer to not so little Sam, who twitches with interest. “Cute stranger, staying at the local motel. We don’t get a lot of those ‘round here, and I’m counting on you leaving tomorrow. If you’re interested.”

It’s like he’s channeling his inner-Dean or something. You may as well be in his lap. Sure, your foot is, but women his age never fawn over him, at least he never notices until it’s too late. It took days for Jess flirting after Brady introduced her for him to make his move. 

He was in Maddison’s living room and that took Dean’s interference. The weird, and albeit extremely obvious kind, but here with you, what you’re suggesting is plain as day. 

“I, ah.” You’re looking at him still. Your big toe is scraping right up against the seam of his pants now. If it weren’t for the fabric covering the family jewels, your nail would be right up in theirs.

Shit. 

His knee hits the table. His beer travels down the wrong pipe. He chokes when the cool liquid slides further and the bubbles lick the walls. Meanwhile, your foot just gets in there more. Big toe, seeking the form of his growing boner.

Your smile is infectious. You think making a grown man squirm is hilarious, apparently. He’d let you do it again and again. “You wanna?” he says between splutters. 

Idiot. Does he really have to ask?

It’s hard to breathe when your lungs are constricting, let alone think. But you’re there, and he’s there, and he’s so fucking down, it’s no longer funny. 

He stands. Crunches his chair across the crunchier carpet as your chin shoots up. Eyes following to what would be the perfect angle if you were closer and below his feet. 

“I do,” you say, and your lips are plump, glistening. They’re wide and they pillow under your front teeth, daring him to capture them. 

He does.

His arm sneaks around your waist, and he pulls you to stand. His hand plants firm on your side. Fingers scrunch up your shirt, but no matter, yours are riding up under his, and fuck, no, no, he doesn’t fucking care.

His gut is doing flips. Those knots are loose, but his chest is tight. Blood rushes to both heads and both heads ground against different parts of you. 

“Sam.” Your kiss stops mid nip. Your hands have since moved to his buckle, but your eyes are on him when he looks past his nose and mouth. He’d kiss you more. Only his attention has turned to what your fingers are doing with his belt and how your arms glide it out in one flick, then go straight back to the fly. “You packing?”

Packing? He stands there, stunned. His pants clearly are. Your fingers just brushed the tip.

“Condom,” you say, and the colour in your irises flicker. 

“Ah—Yeah. Yes. Mm—You—You don’t waste time, huh?” 

“Haven’t had enough, not too.” You double over in a manner he’d say otherwise. “And you mentioned something ‘bout a brother?”

“Dean?” His cheeks are rising again. But they’re doing so because his eyes are squinting with disgust. You’re still grinning up at him though, and your palm is teasing his dick through its confines. 

You grip and press into him, moulding out the shape under his jeans and he shakes that thought away. 

You want him. Your lashes are fluttering and your lips are twitching into a sultry smirk because he’s under your ministration and you’re ready to go with him, just as much as he is with you.

“Hold that thought,” he says, and he takes a step back, hand still on your waist to toe a shoe off. 

He’s not that coordinated with the sock, however, and he soon bends over to retrieve the house-elf’s bounty. He flashes it in triumph in front of your quirked brow, but you’re soon grinning with him. 

There’s a fit of laughter that hits his ears again and footsteps stalking him as he glides to the door and covers the outside handle, just as Dean would do. 

He shuts it, turns around and your hands grab and pull him back to you. Your right is back at the button and your left is sliding on in, tickling skin teasing through the copse of tiny curls before any kiss picks back up.

You swallow his moan. Taste the trepidation on his tongue as your skin touches his velvety head. 

Nope. Not shy. You know what you want, and Sam is more than happy to let you take it if you keep touching him like that, but he’s not dumb. He also knows what he wants, and it’s only fair he gets his turn, too. You’re here. He’s here. He wants to last. No, needs to. Being on the road with Dean so often means he gets little time to, well, take his time. 

He’s pent up. Motel showers aren’t the best when he has to keep quiet and slow his hands so the faps don’t reach his brother’s waiting jaunts. He could blow his load right now with not much more effort from you, but he’s not going to. Not until after he savours you first. 

It’s been way too long since he felt sweet curves or tasted the sweat of another’s skin. The bitter beer mixed with a fruity gloss is doing wonders already, but he craves more.

Just like the footpath, his hand grabs your wrist and its twin, and he leads you backward until your knees hit Dean’s bed and you flail. Your arms pull from him and push down into the bedding, then you drag yourself up to the pillows where you rest your head against the wooden board. 

Your finger tells him to come hither, your hand pats the space at your side. Sam takes off his shirt.

His gut is doing flips again. More so when your eyes trail up over every inch of his chiseled chest. Behind it, his heartbeat is fast. It could jump right out of there. Only the lump in his throat is huge. 

You’ve slipped off your shirt, too. Your fingers unclasp the hooks of your bra. You slide the straps down and hold it in the air before you fling it at his feet and giggle again. 

“What’re you waiting for?” you say and it goes straight to his pants. The outline of his dick throbs against the denim. 

He swallows. “Just, ah, admiring the show.” 

You grin. A little sigh escapes your lips as you look down at yourself. Your fingers swirl over your heaving skin. They dip into the valley between your breasts, but never move further than the tan line that divides the top half from the fuller one. “It’s more fun if you’re touching me, too.”

Ho-kay. This is really happening. And Sam’s now diving for Dean’s duffle. He’s careful not to reveal the contents, but it’s hard not to when he’s just as and everything’s dumped on top. The little box of Trojans is right under the weight of the sawn-off and the sharp blade of a machete almost cuts him.

Man, it’s lucky you’re occupied. 

Sam turns around, and that’s an understatement. You’re inching down your jeans. They’re flung off, and he’s doing the same. Hopping, skipping, and jumping, he yanks the string of plastic foils out and trails them along behind him. 

They splay out over the covers while you splay under him; and he’s dipping down to taste. There’s salt and a light scent of citrus teed with something sweeter flooding his nostrils as your fingers curl into his hair. His occupied with the way your left tit fits below them. He squeezes and draws his mouth over the other. Pops your nipple in and sucks.

“Took you long enough,” you coo, and he just chuckles, haughty, deep.

“And I’m gonna take longer,” he says between nips and swipes of a thick, flat tongue. One that glides perfectly ‘round the round, hardening bud. “Gonna fuck you so good.”

He presses firm, draws your taut skin into his teeth. He’s determined to leave marks because something’s snapped within. Where the hell that last line came from, he’s got no idea, but it’s as if he’s an animal turned feral.

A wolf in its den? A lion devouring its prey? Does it matter when his hips are gyrating against your lace? 

Your panties are staining his boxers, and his boxers strain against them, staining them right back.

“Fuck,” you moan. 

He groans, and then your hands are pressing against his head.

He can take a hint. He’s smart. He won’t tell you your upper thighs were his mouth’s goal all along. Too busy concentrating as he scoots down, ‘cause he can’t fuck this up. “You want me to fuck you, baby?” he says on the outside. God. Who the hell is he? “Want me to taste you?”

“Sam,” you moan again. “Gonna get me off with that tongue of yours, baby?”

And damn. His name is so much better when you say it, when your legs are spreading further open for him. His fingers are slipping under the edge of the lace, feeling the first slither of just how wet you really are.

His lips press against your clothed entrance and the damp fabric gives way. He’s certain his nose has just tapped into your clit and you smell divine. Sour, earthy. On the verge of something sweet. 

He darts his tongue back out to taste, and your fingers are tugging this time. Your nails scrape his scalp and your back arches off the bed, pushing your hot, hot heat against him.

“You gonna tease me all day, Samuel?” you say, and he’s not mad. That scolding tone is working wonders. His amusement bursts through his nose.

Down below though, a bead of pre-cum dribbles from little Sam, flexing with a life of its own. He can’t deny his balls are tight, stomach hotter than you are. It’s still flipping, and his toes stretch and recoil in extension. 

“No, ma’m.” The sooner he can get you to cum, the sooner he’ll be comfortable sinking into you. What he lacks in confidence he makes up for in size, and it’s something he’s proud of. 

He unfurls your panties. Glides them down with your eager help. Without warning, his lips return to their former position, parting yours around him. He presses hard, spreads his mouth open wide and licks while his fingers dip where he’s too afraid to reach. 

You’re still a stranger he knows nothing about besides no boyfriend and you’re willing to have this one-night stand with him. But he’s smart, remember? He doesn’t want to catch anything. Even if you’re well put together and squirming into his palm, he just met you, urinal adjacent. 

“Oh, shit.” Your back arches again. Your pants reach his ear. His fingers curl and stroke your constricting walls, wet catching in his nail-beds. Your body trembles, bringing a new meaning to thundering thighs. 

They quiver, they shake. He gets a calve to his chin as you raise it up and stretch it out. There’s a risk his head will get a good clamping, but he continues to strike with the pebbled tip of his tongue. 

His lips pull together and he pulls away with a smack, putting on a show for you with a swipe over the bow. His eyes find yours, lust blown, heavy lidded. Your mouth parts and begs a, “Please.”

And Sam’s diving right back in with a smirk. Kisses with force against your clit. Thrums his fingers inside, hard and fast. His wrist is getting a workout. His thumb aches as it’s pushed to the side. But he slips in a third finger, flicks the shelf of your pubic bone. Holds your stomach down as you buck and shake.

“Oh, god,” you cry. His name comes out in a hoarse scream. You yank at his hair as you gush over his hand and chin. Your legs do everything in their power to crush him, but he doesn’t let up.

His fingers continue to make you writhe and your arms wriggle and bend. Only now, his kisses move and spread your juices over you. 

The crease in your thighs and the soft flesh covering your hips. Over your stomach, delving into your navel, he trails up your body, back to your breasts, and soon you’re wet inside and out, and he grins big and toothy. Cheeks up high again as he waits for you to come down from yours.

He drops to his side. Props himself on his elbow. Hand runs through his hair, already laced with sweat. “That good, huh?” he asks. 

And if he’s honest, he needs to know. He’s still working you, only now his fingers tap at your opening. Slipping through your folds with a sound so slick, Dean would say it’s music. A newfound confidence comes from the belief you’re outta breath because of him.

Your laugh fills with air, like how a cartoon dog might snicker, chest rising against his own. Your nipple scrapes over his skin as he leans down and kisses you proper. Answer, stolen, before it can even form.

Salt and fruity gloss - cherry? No, strawberry. Why the hell does he care? The flavours swirl together. Bodies press together when you hitch your leg over his and pull him closer. Your sweet heat now flush against him, hammers his heart and forces his grip on you to tighten.

He squeezes your ass. It’s plump. It’s firm. Your jeans hid just how perfect and round it was. Just the right size for him to hold.

But you’ve got your sights set on your own grip, hand diving into his boxers to take him and give him a slow pump. Pulling back, your eyes open wide in surprise; you twist your wrist and palm his weeping head. 

“You’re the one packing, huh, big boy?” You then bite your lip. Lick it. Drag your thumb over his slit and pull a grunt from deep within the pit of his stomach. 

Somewhere below the knotting, there’s a fire burning, raging, and it needs to be sheathed, covered, surrounded. It’s gross, and it’s oh so Dean, but he needs it put out and a wet pussy will do.

Sam thrusts into your touch. He can’t help it. Fuck, he wants to move.

“You think you can handle me, baby?” he rasps into your parted mouth, stretching his arm over and behind, fumbling for the string of foils and tears one off.

“I’m gonna fucking try,” you say, and the wordplay, whether on purpose, is not lost.

He rolls to his back, and you’re already pouncing, pulling his underwear further down and off. You straddle his legs, take the little packet in your hand, and stroke him some more, up close, eye to eye. 

You kiss the tip, watching as it flexes. His fingers do the same ‘round the ends of your hair. They curl then grip. Yours is firm around his base. And the sight?

The sight. 

He’s died and gone to heaven. Too long since he’s seen a woman between his legs, those eyes still half lidded, still full of lust. You’re greedy. You’re needy. The way you hold your gaze as he feels the heat of your mouth nip at his skin, breath warm and wet, floods through him. 

The way you sink further down.

Sam rolls his head back, his crown pushes into the pillow bunched up below. He wants to look, wants to pull at the strands of hair that still lace through his fingers and yank you down so you take all of him in. 

Your tongue glides down the underside, flattened and rough, encasing, but with a light graze from two front teeth up top. The suction is so tight. The stretch around him burns his own skin. The way you drag back, then spit, swirl the saliva, and do it again, coating him all sloppy that it’s gleaming, all slippery and dripping like you were. Like you will be again. His gut curls in on itself now. 

He’s tingling. He’s buzzing. He’d be high as a kite, if it weren’t for your thighs keeping him down. Their weight, your weight, making him go numb with need. 

You pump your fist down low, swiping your smallest finger over the velvety skin covering his balls. A drop of him or you pools there, then drips further down. “Fuck.” He then calls your name.

“You ready for me, big boy?” you ask again, and he’s snickering at the way you say it. 

“Yeah.” His arm releases you and flops over his forehead, but the sound of that little wrapper in your grasp rectifies that. He’s peeping out from under himself as you roll the rubber down.

He’s so sensitive, it stings like the bite of some bug. Balls more so as you drag yourself up and over him. Cockhead catches where you split down the middle, rubbing across your puckered hole. 

You bite your lip. How many times now he’s lost count? You raise yourself, grabbing him where he’s thickest. Those eyes of yours stare at him again. They continue to hold that gaze as you lower back down, grin only curling further up, as your lower lips stretch around him. 

“So big,” you say this time, and he can’t tell if you’re yanking his chain or really mean it. Your cheeks puffed and your mouth all white from shining teeth, just like the rest of you. 

Like your perky ass, kissing his pelvis. Like your thighs squeezing him, much like the vice between them. Tight, wet and hot.

“Can you handle it? Can you move, baby? Gonna ride me? Gonna cum all over me?” God. Where the hell is this coming from? Who is this guy, all confident and cocky?

The guy with the big cock in your cunt. That’s who. 

Sam chuckles to himself. Still can’t believe his luck. But you’re raising again, and sliding back down, and all he can do is hold on.

His fingers dig into your thighs. He presses his nails into your soft body. He helps you rise and fall over him. 

He’s making the ride smooth and savouring the feel of your walls closing around him. Feels the fluttering, and the beginnings of new tremors. Marvels at how much more wet you’ve become. 

The sounds. It really is music. The way you, your tits, and your skin slap with each thrust and bounce. The louder claps of his pelvis hitting yours and the sheen of perspiration between has his head swirling with images he needs.

“Come ‘ere.” Sam lifts you just slight. Raises his legs; bends his knees; jostles you so his neck doesn’t need to strain as far so his mouth can reach. 

He pistons his hips, hears the slaps, tastes the sweat, feels the pants against his chin and cheek. Memories blend, and ghosts of his past weave in and out around you. You could be Jess, you could be Sarah, but it’s you who’s mouthing him. Not exactly kissing, too focused on making your bodies move.  

“Fuck, Sam,” you squeal. 

His hands spread you wider. He grunts your name into his ear.

He can’t keep up the pace as much as he’d like to. Can’t keep up the facade. It’s better if he sees your face to remind him who he’s there with. He can’t do that with a curtain of hair. 

So he taps, twice on the fine edge of a curve, has your eyes firm on his. 

“Wanna switch, baby?” he asks, and thinks quick for a reason. “Need to see that pretty face when you come.” He’d try to roll over with you in his arms, but he can just see that being disastrous. Losing his balance or getting an elbow somewhere where it shouldn’t.

He doesn’t have to worry because you’re lifting off. You fling yourself to his side and wriggle your back against the bedcovers. Open your legs wide, hands draped where your panty line would be. 

“You gonna make me come again, big boy? Gonna fill me up with that thing?” you say, and he’s over you in one swift movement. 

Sam grabs his cock and runs the covered tip over your entrance to tease you back. Watches the twinkle in your eye as it runs over your clit and you moan, just for show. 

Man, he’s lucky. Who the hell meets someone by a urinal and then gets to fuck them? Wait, no. He doesn’t wanna answer that. He’ll just keep marvelling at his luck at the gorgeous woman below him. The one who was busting to spring a leak, now waiting for him to bust his nut and hers.

“Fuck. You’re so tight.” Still, he glides back in with ease. How wet you are for him makes it so. 

He wishes he could feel it, he’s just not that stupid, but he can imagine if he remembers your mouth and how it felt ‘round him, taking him deep.

You still do.

Your legs hook over him, and he hitches the left up higher with his elbow. His cock sinks deeper, base flush against your seam.  

“Fuck me, Sam.” You’re squirming. It’s right out of a movie or a book. He’s John Snow or Jamie, and you’re - god no. You’re you and he’s him, and he’s, fuck, yeah, he’s fucking you.

He snaps his hips. Feels that burn again as his balls collide with your ass. His thumb is drawing little circles over where you join and he goes for it. 

He leans over, bending you with him, stretching you open, dreams of splitting you in two. You moan. Your walls flutter again. You tremble and your thighs contract. 

They’re powerful, much more than before. The back of your knee pulls on his arm and he only grips tighter. Hand on your shin. The other palm pushes you down.

It’s the perfect angle. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. 

Perfect to dive in deeper. Feel you flex and accommodate his size.

Your mouth produces a hiss. It’s like a whine at the same time. Forming an O with your lips that then spreads wide into an “Ah.” Elongated. A laugh. A giggle. Whatever it is, he’s doing something right because your thighs are trembling again and your leg is trying to pull away. 

His hand presses firmer, but he’s pulling you and shifting back, raising you up so you’re his handle on the ride. His tip is dragging out through you now and spearing you when he goes back in. 

Thrusts are quick. Sweat falls from his brow. He feels the way your body pushes back against him. He’s an intruder, but he’s not backing down. 

His stomach is tight. His legs ache and tremor, just as yours does. But that pull? The way his dick swells? It’s magnetised, pushes as deep as it can go. It’s determined to bury itself to the hilt. 

And when you say, “Fuck,” again, but there’s another, and an added, “God. I’m gonna come,” Sam snaps his hips and watches your face closely. 

A huge grin. The biggest yet; stretches into your eyes, twitches your lip and raises your jaw high. Your neck, exposed like a bloodsucker’s prey, and Sam is doubling over to claim it.

His tongue glides up your neck, teeth nip at your skin. He’s sucking like you’re his last meal. His pace wanes as your walls try to push him out, but he’s rocking his hips with purchase, pushing back in deep.

Another, “Fuck,” leaves you, but he’s seeing white. His balls throb and he’s spilling into what little space is left in the Trojan. He’s so far high on cloud fucking nine, he forgets where he is and who’s under him. 

He’s spent. That was way better than any quickie in the shower. The warmth beneath him. Perfect round tits pressed against his hardened chest tremble and shake. 

“Fuck.” It’s his turn now, but it comes out more like a groan. He pants. Body heavy, yet light as air. He tries to move, but everything is jello and shaking.

Your arms have been clinging to his back, your slick pussy would if it could, but it’s still fluttering, and he chuckles deep.

You giggle on reflex, and somehow it gives him the strength to look up and search for a kiss. The sweat is intense. Fruit, now barely there, but the after-sex-glow kissing your cheeks is better than anything else.

“Wow, big boy,” you say between your own pants. “Fuck.” He could hear that again and again. “That was quite a ride.”

“Yeah?” he says, though he really doesn’t have to ask. 

“Yeah,” you say, and it’s breathless, it’s hearty, it’s reminiscent of a time he should forget when you’re there with him, so he does. He tries. 

He rolls over to the side and removes the rubber. His muscles remember to roll back and drape his arm over your middle. Fingers flex at your side and he breathes in the citrus remnants in your hair as he closes his eyes and breathes in deep.

For a moment, he’s not in the dingy motel, but in his room. Yours too, maybe? He’s still at college ‘cause he is young, and he still has his whole life ahead of him. 

There are no monsters. No salt, no burns, knives or guns, and Dean? Well, Dean can be there too, he supposes. Just separate, the other side of town. Further in Milroy.

Yeah. Pennsylvania. That’s perfect, too. 

The weight of you draws him in further to dreaming. The warmth of you finally lolls him off, but neither is there when he stirs the next morning. The space in the bed beside him is cold and the thumps on the door rattle the chill he’s left with. His body, no longer jello, but stone-like, and cold. 

No feathers in sight, unless the pillow bunched up beneath him again is made of them. He is dumb if he thinks it’s true.

The newfound churning in his gut tells him he’s foolish, though, and when he opens his eyes and scans the room, he’s a bigger fool than Dean. What was he hoping for? That you’d be there with bacon and eggs? A morning coffee? Waking him up for another round?

No. Of course not. The bathroom door is wide open, and no feminine clothes, litter the floor. Of course you’d be long gone. You’d told him something of the sort last night.

“I’m counting on you leaving tomorrow.” Yes, that was it. That’s exactly what you said. He just didn’t realise you’d be the first.

Sam rubs his face. Pushes his hair back out of it and stands. The bangs are getting old, and the district “Sammy” that comes with them grates his eardrums. He’s not so big anymore.

No, he’s little brother Winchester. 

Bitch. 

“Sammy.” Dean bellows again. “Sock time’s over!” Another thump. “You’re abusing the privilege. ‘S only supposed to be two hours, max. Three if you’re ménaging.” A lecherous laugh follows.

Who’s older and who’s younger? Well, it’s only four years. 

Sam rolls his eyes and picks his boxers up as he walks around the bed. He grabs his t-shirt at the midway point, and strolls over to the door. 

Dean’s fist is held up in greeting when he opens, but Sam’s turning before the stupid grin gets any bigger. 

“Oh c’mon man. On my bed?” 

“It’s not like you were using it,” Sam says, back still towards him as he grabs what he needs and heads for the shower. 

“Where’s the girl?” follows him there.

There’s a twinge of a smile as he closes the door, but a sigh replaces it. He runs his hand through his hair again, holding it there as he looks around.

Nothing’s out of place. No signs of anyone else occupying the space unless you count the seat on the John being down. “You’re getting sentimental over a toilet?” he whispers, and shakes his head. Grabs his toothbrush; squeezes the paste.

Pearly whites and hands on him flash before his eyes. He goes through the motions after that. 

There’s a perfectly rounded tit in his hand, heaving as he squeezes, then lets go. A, “Fuck,” moaned into his ear when he turns on the faucet, plump lips and lust-blown eyes spitting on his tip when he spits into the sink. The lingering drop on the porcelain drips down nice and slow. He’s got a small mark on his shoulder. When he twists, he sees a couple of tiny dints in his back. His cock is stirring as his eyes travel his waist, imagines perfect hands gripping him firm.

“Hey, big boy,” Dean says through the crack, and it makes him startle. 

Big boy chokes and yanks on the handle. How the hell does he know? 

“You sly dog. So you did get your dingle wet.”

“What?” Sam’s voice is rather high. His cheeks are pushing the limits again and he’s hiding the smirk that’s trying to rise.

“You know.” Dean chuckles. “Widdle Sammy got waid.” He even goes as far as to slap his side as he holds up a note with ten beautiful digits scrawled between a heart and a ‘call me.’

“Give me that.” Sam snatches the note; grabs his phone, refusing to look Dean in the eye when he slams the door. They’re too busy scanning the digits, each curve, each bubble, each dot as he punches the numbers into his contacts, his thumb hovers over pressing call. 

Is he desperate? Yes, but his ego holds him back. It will at least, until they hit the road. 

From Muncie to god knows where next, he’s got no idea. Another town, another case? Maybe. But there’ll be nowhere as special there and no-one as perfect as the girl who almost…made him ditch his shoe.

For those who don’t recognise the Japanese reference, “Omae wa mou shindeiru,” (お前はもう死んでいる) translates to “you are also going to die.”

Tagging those who showed interest from the WIP folder game, and those who asked to be tagged in everything SPN ✌️

@losers-clvb @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @roseblue373 @middleearthislife

Do you want to see more Sam stuff? LMK

[kedsandtubesocks]

cosmic love

Marcus Acacius x F!Reader x Marcus Pike

summary: a missing statue, a handsome ancient roman general, an equally handsome museum visitor - and you caught in the magical (and wonderful) mess of it all

tags & warnings: 18+ ONLY MDNI, MAJOR GLADIATOR 2 SPOILERS. time travel AU, magic elements, pining & yearning, fluff but with touches of angst, implied age gap (Acacius being older than both reader & Marcus), light use of gendered language, bi!Marcus Acacius & bi!Marcus Pike, brief mention of death & existential questioning, spicy themes, smut (threesome, m!oral, one moment of spitting) M/M/F & M/M dynamics, polyamorous exploration that leads to eventual poly relationship, no use of y/n

word count: 7.5k

a/n: I’m sorry I blame the gladiator statue pics we got & yeah now here we are lmao, this fic literally wouldn’t be here without @pedgito & @perotovar - i can’t thank you two enough for all the help i love y’all tremendously, also a sweet special tag for @morallyinept ily too… And lastly - thank you for reading, you’re what makes this so special and magical ♡

The statue that arrived with the newly updated Roman exhibition at your museum has gained attention.

As a guide you enjoy seeing all the new faces here to check out the freshly opened installation. The heightened foot traffic has kept you and your co-workers busy, but it’s been a nice welcome.

Your eyes drift to the statue now.

General Marcus Acacius stands slightly weathered yet still commanding in his bronze glory, towering among the room with all the grace a powerful Roman Army commander would be.

You learned he conquered countless territories and countries in the name of the Ancient Roman Empire. Eventually though, he was caught in a conspiracy to overthrow the ruling emperors and died within the eyes of the coliseum, the whisper of a gladiator’s death.

Now you readily explain this all to tour groups like the one you currently guide.

“Oh, he’s cute.” One of the elementary school girls currently giggles to her friend. The other school children gasp around her, teasing her.

“It’s okay. He is pretty handsome, isn’t he?” You reassure her. The girl seems bashful but relieved at your agreement.

It wasn’t just you. A local internet influencer stopped by and even made a video about the statue being her dream guy.

Even as a statue, the General is eye-catching.

The bronze figure captured his likeness bewitchingly detailing the soft curls of his hair, a lovely sharp nose, mountainous strong broad shoulders, and a pensive stare looking out to a distant horizon. He’s a man of unwavering beauty.

You constantly want to smack yourself for being wistful over a piece of art.

“He’s definitely the most attractive statue I’ve seen.” A familiar smooth sweet voice melts into the room’s quiet softness making your heart jump.

Approaching you with a molten smile and eyes twinkling in the low museum lights, Marcus doesn’t seem real at times.

A regular visitor, you first met him when he accidentally crashed one of your tours. Wholesomely thoughtful, but also being a charming yet slightly know it all, he was quick to join in on commentary of the paintings. With his Disney prince-like smile and earnest eager energy, you couldn’t dare shoo him away.

Now you happily seek his company.

“He’s become like a hot new celebrity here.” Joking, you nudge towards the General’s striking figure.

“I can see why.” Marcus whistles low. “Like look at those shoulders.”

You snicker as a bubbling fondness swells in you.

“He unfortunately died a tragic death.” Marcus comments, cloudy and mournful.

“Yeah, I heard. That means this guy is a bad boy.” You nod.

Marcus snickers at your comment then playfully nudges you with his elbow.

Later, all your co-workers beg you to ask him out to coffee.

“He’s totally got the hots for you!” Your favorite co worker often tells you, but you wave her off.

Marcus is just sweet. He’s kind and considerate, engaging to all the workers here. Besides, you don’t want to assume he possibly likes you and maybe ruin the precious friendship you have with him.

However, your favorite coworker shows up a few days later with a solution for your stale love life.

With a cheeky bright grin, she hands you the cutest pink velvet pouch in the break room.

“It’s called a love wish tea.” She declares.

She grabbed a pack of them at the local occult shop after the lovely witch who owned the place swore it worked.

“It calls in your heart’s desires and hey, it worked for me! That’s why I still have a pack left over!” She proudly recommends.

You roll your eyes but appreciate the gift.

Shoving it into your bag, you don’t give it much thought.

Then the cooler cozier weather settles in, the perfect time for museum dates. Strolling along the floors keeping a watch on everyone it’s hard not to notice the intake of couples. Some are intertwined beside each other staring fondly at a painting together, while others happily take photos of the other being silly.

A taste of loneliness fills you, but gently you sweep it away focusing back on work. Especially since tonight you’ll be locking up.

Already craving some extra caffeine, you glare seeing the break room depleted of any sweet salvation.

The small velvet pink bag in your bag immediately comes to mind. And at this point you think, why not. it will at least keep you awake.

Immediately out of the pouch the tea bag releases a soothing smell, a rich floral blending with delicate touches of a fruit scent, possibly pomegranate. You’re now excited just to taste it, love wish or not.

The tea steeps in your tumbler cup allowing a faint rose color to float into your water. Of course the tea is pretty too.

And the taste? Rich, lovely and warm, like a romantic valentine-like themed drink. It doesn’t reward you with a sensation of being in love, but instead you feel at peace.

After a few sips, you return to the floor.

There, Marcus sits on one of the benches in the Roman exhibition.

Curled over a leather sketchbook, he’s every bit the personification of a scholarly beautiful artist straight out of a romance novel. His face glanced up then back down to his sketch. Diligent concentration paints over his gorgeous face.

Cautious, yet eager, you approach.

He’s sketching a portrait of the General. The sharp edges of the charcoal, the smudges meant to mimic shadows, along with capturing the striking slopes of the General’s features - it’s fantastic.

“You’re amazing!”

Your compliment causes him to jolt slightly spooked, and you rapidly apologize. Once he catches sight of you, Marcus sighs with a dreamy relieved sleepy grin.

“Just sketching, nothing too crazy.”

You take a seat besides him on the bench.

“You captured his likeness so well already.” You’re in awe at the sketch.

Marcus laughs a bit nervously. It’s hard trying not to swoon at the light rose blush coloring his cheeks. He’s stunning.

“I bet General Acacius would be flattered.” You grin then glance back to the statue.

Marcus turns to follow your sight.

“Nah, he strikes me as a big relief fan.” Marcus comments thoughtfully.

The bad art joke isn’t lost on you, and you snicker beside him. Among the giggles you catch Marcus staring at you, the softest boyish grin tugging his lips.

The world melts into a splendid focus all on him.

This isn’t good. You can’t be thinking about possibly leaning in to kiss cute visitors while you’re still on the clock.

“Hey… so I’ve been meaning to ask if maybe we could-”

His phone ringing cuts Marcus off causing you to shoot up from the bench. Jumping on the call, Marcus seems apologetic and almost sad as you wave him bye to him.

Closing time approaches. You and your co-workers do one final look around the rooms. Marcus is nowhere to be found.

The Roman exhibition now sits sleepily still.

The dim glow coats the general’s statue, a glistening chopper. Even with the chips and weathering of time, he stands glorious as you stroll closer.

He really must have been something fierce for the empire to immortalize him in such grand fashion.

“You must’ve been a pretty amazing man.” You mutter mainly to yourself, gently touching the base of the elevated display platform he rests upon.

You wish him a good night and head home. You try not to think of stunning statues or cute museum visitors.

Next morning you’re woken up by a call from work, a frantic one.

“The fucking hot ass statue is missing.” Your co-worker hisses.

You don’t believe it till you see it.

But you’re knocked breathless at the sight.

General Marcus Acacius is missing. The once grand presence he added to the room is absent, vanished, as if plucked from the air itself.

It’s almost unnerving to see the once elevated space now hauntingly vacant.

Chaos brews humming all around. Copes scurry around everywhere, and plenty of people stand outside curious to what’s going on. A controlled whirlwind fills your museum. Various officers keep the scene roped off.

The museum decides to close for the rest of the week to let the police handle as much as they can. You adore the museum truly, but there’s one spot you love the most. Right by the break room leading from various different doors is an outdoor courtyard. It’s become a place of solace.

The bubbling dread has you stepping out here one more time. The sky above looms with a cold front approaching and casts a somber shadow over the space even more.

The shrubs rustle off the side among the thick greenery, and you figure it’s a bird.

“It’s you.” Until a new voice speaks to you. Rich, heavily accented and smooth, it startles you.

You wonder if you’re imagining things.

The man is dressed in Roman attire, elaborate white armor adorned with ornate gold pieces. Glorious graying curls frame his ethereal aged face.

How did a cosplayer manage to sneak in?

He stares so directly at you it frightens you a bit.

“You’re the one who’s voice I heard…” he continues to speak. “It was like I was asleep, drifting away. Then you woke me.”

“Sir, how did you manage to get in here?” You ask, trying to stay as calm as you can.

“I do not know. I simply woke and found myself in this strange place.” He explains with a furrowed brow.

You wonder…is this a strange bit the museum is maybe trying to pull off, and they didn’t tell you.

He steps forward now, and instinctively you walk back cautious. The man must take in your reaction because his face, his handsome face that now looks vaguely familiar, frowns. He holds his hands up defensively.

“I mean no harm. I just need to know what happened to me.”

Someone calls out your name, sounds like your boss. “Come on let’s head out.”

The stranger repeats it and how smooth his voice is, your name rolls off his tongue.

“I am General Marcus Acacius, and I am in need of your assistance.”

That makes your brain scratch.

“Wait, what?” You turn to him confused. “What did you say your name was again?”

He repeats it firmer.

Marcus Acacius.

As in… General Marcus Acacius.

There’s no way.

“Oh, so you’re an actor.” You deadpan.

“I…am confused? I’m no performer. I promise you that.” He almost sounds huffy.

You gotta give him credit. The guy stays in character pretty well.

“You shouldn’t be here, actor or not.” You tell him, heading back inside. Of course this man follows you in.

At the sight of the glass door and the movement of it, he pauses stunned, like he can’t process it. You almost want to laugh.

“You’re pretty good, even though you say you’re not an actor.” You tease.

He frowns hard not enjoying that.

“Either tell me what is going on or I will find a man who will.” He snaps loud and your eyes go wide.

His memorizing face scrunches up in frustration. Dark amber eyes are coated in fierce anger.

“I wake up in a strange place filled with artifacts and see people dressed strange. What is going on?” His voice rises confused, panicking.

Either he’s the most amazing actor ever or…

No.

It can’t be.

Too many thoughts swirl in your head like angry bees trying to make your brain explode.

You need a minute. So you grab the mystery man’s arm, practically dragging him to follow you.

“Excuse you? Where are you taking me?” He demands.

“Somewhere safe.” You half lie.

Unfortunately your boss stops you. His worried eyes catch sight of the man in the armor. You’re quick to explain he’s an actor, upset about the missing statue.

“I am not a-”

You shush the strange man harshly. Your boss, hesitant and worried, surveys him.

“He shouldn’t be here.” Your boss says firm.

“Yup, and I was just showing him the way out.” You happily explain.

Thankfully your boss gets called away, and you make your escape.

“Are you abducting me?” He demands harder.

“Look, I’m the only one here who might be able to help you.” You hiss back.

“I am the commanding General of the Roman armies.” His voice blooms stronger when you reach the lobby. “I will find my way around.”

You swallow hard. A small but chaotic idea quickly jumps into your mind, and you decide to put it into action.

So, you hold the exit door open for him. The man nods to you, then strolls out. You follow him.

The towering skyscrapers, the rush of the cars, the stretching concrete roads, it becomes an overwhelming sight while the man whips his face around eyes wide and in shock. His face falls, aghast and disoriented.

That unrealistic conclusion you thought of - you think it might not be so realistic. Because the man turns to you wearing petrified horror, terrified confusion of a man in an unknown world that no actor could truly capture.

Reality smacks into you like a bag of nails.

This man is truly the great General Marcus Acacius.

The missing statue now full man summoned to life.

Someone yells your name.

Your heart drops. Of course Marcus arrives at the worst time. He jogs up to you dressed in what looks like a gym outfit.

“I heard about the statue.” He says worried then his eyes immediately grow cloudy and confused as he catches sight of the strange Roman dressed man.

“Is he… a friend of yours?” Marcus asks hesitantly.

“It’s complicated.” You blurt, panicked.

General Acacius stands still very stunned trying to take this new modern world in. Stumbling, he returns to your side, clutching your arm like you’re the only one who can steady him.

“I…” Acacius begins then stops mid word, still trying to process a reply. Until he catches sight of Marcus.

“You,” The man surveys Marcus with narrowing eyes. “You seem familiar as well.”

This is getting out of hand.

“Okay time to go.” You rapidly try diffusing the situation, moving General Acacius away from Marcus.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Marcus questions, persistently following behind while you head to the parking lot.

You scramble out a lie that the strange man is an old friend you ran into who just came back from a play.

“I told you, I’m no performer.” Acacius insists still. You also discover he’s built like a wall and trying to wrangle him into the car proves to be Herculean.

Swiftly, Marcus firmly snaps out your name. His tone is different, urgent and enforcing. It turns you into a statue yourself.

Comedically, you’re practically halfway shoving Acacius into the car but now stand frozen. He notices the shift in tension quickly.

“Are you frightened of him?” Acacius mutters concern, surprisingly concerned. “Because I can dispose of this man.”

You shake your head no.

Swallowing hard, you finally look Marcus dead in the eyes.

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.” You admit.

“Try me.” Marcus rebuffs, serious as steel.

So you sigh, what more do you have to lose now?

“General, can you please tell him who you are.” You then allow Acacius to speak for himself.

The ancient Roman clears his throat and announces his full title and name. The younger and modern Marcus’s face twists confused with a hint of concern.

Suddenly his eyes go wide. He catches on fast, figures it out quicker than you did that’s for sure.

This cute casual museum visitor you have a slight crush on is now your accomplice and partner in crime.

At least…now you don't have to deal with an ancient Roman General being brought back to life from stone alone.

— °˖➴ —

Marcus’s apartment is lush and cozy, filled with so many books and records. The warm walls, sleek modern design, make your place feel like a hole in the wall. Having a roommate, you couldn’t just bring home a very confused man out of time. So thankfully Marcus offered his home.

Now you’ve practically been living here with General Acacius trying to figure out what happened.

Acacius takes things rather well, almost in stride. Fitting for a general that explored new territories and had to face the unknown chaos of war.

The fridge fascinates him the most. You had to stop yourself from laughing seeing him open and close the refrigerator door like a child wondering if the food inside would disappear.

Marcus has a vice for candy, specifically sour ones. Seeing General Acacius try one and the disgusted face of twisted torture is a memory you’ve replayed over multiple times.

But unfortunately no one can figure out what brought the statue to life and him here.

“I’m a man. Not a statue.” The roman general clarifies.

“You are now, but we gotta figure out why.” You sigh exhausted while Marcus readies breakfast for everyone.

He’s been an incredible host. It’s been hard not lingering on how domestic and warm he is within his own space.

Especially when there’s also an archaic man looking just as handsome walking around in a tight white t shirt Marcus lent him.

Surrounded by two unbelievably gorgeous men has been a double edged sword, a blessing and curse.

General Acacius reminds you of a mountain, ever powerful, sturdy and unwavering with the change of seasons. Yet there’s still an open vulnerability to him. You’ve seen it in how grateful he’s been and how eagerly he’s tried absorbing all about this new world.

Whereas Marcus reminds you of a river, beautifully flowing, always adaptable. But he surprises you with how direct and firm he’s been, almost protective in keeping you and Acacius safe.

You also don’t miss the way Marcus’s eyes sometimes flicker to sneak a glance at the older General. You can’t blame him.

Acacius fills out modern clothes sinfully. Watching him navigate everything with a certain poised grace is attractive. While Marcus has become endearing and patient, incredibly welcoming to this new hiccup in his life. You haven't felt this comfortable with someone in so long.

Truly a river and mountain now exist in your life, and you want to stay in their atmosphere more and more.

But you can’t get tangled in the budding emotions growing for these men.

You need to figure out how to help Acacius.

“Once I get back to the office, I’m hoping I can try to find something that could maybe help.” Marcus clarifies while grabbing his work bag.

You’ve learned much about him these past few days. Like he enjoys a good run, used to be a swimmer, has a soft spot for strays, surprisingly loves football -

Also that he’s a well known FBI agent.

You realized you never once asked what he did for work, and you’ve known him for months.

“You have feelings for that man.” Acacius announces once it’s you and him alone in the apartment. You almost spit out your drink.

“We’re friends, that’s all.” You huff.

This Marcus doesn’t seem to believe you, and gives you a very modern dry eyed side glare that makes you roll your eyes.

“I’ve seen the way he watches you, the look of a man in love.” Acacius continues.

“Well I see the way he stares at you too, pal.” You reply back before you can even realize what you said.

Your words do their job stunning the general.

“He is too young for an old man like me.” Acacius rapidly fires back.

“You’re not that old.” You clarify. “If anything you’re distinguished, mature.”

“You are too kind, dear lady.” He chuckles.

You ignore how fast warmth spreads through you a dangerous wildfire just hearing him.

Your phone ringing makes poor Acacius jump. Though, it’s progress from the confused shout he used to yell whenever the phones rang.

Your boss explains that unfortunately the museum will have to stay closed the rest of the month for further investigations, and everyone’s information has been sent in to check for any suspicious activities.

It sounded serious.

Dead serious because after that phone call, you get called by the police department to head in for a few questions.

You have nothing to hide, except you did.

Because in theory you technically did and didn’t steal the statue. You just know the cops wouldn’t take your explanation.

The interrogation room you sit in is coated in a bleak serious air making you fidget worried. This is also the first time you left General Acacius alone at the apartment and that worry picks at you.

Then two officers walk in. One an older distinguished woman who gives you a nod then the other… a rather striking man.

Hawkish nose, clean shaven face, kind eyes, he smiles soft at you.

Marcus.

The agent that walked in is Marcus.

You try not to stare, but it’s hard. Dressed in an official suit and tie, the badge he wears, he sits across for you a striking professional handsome agent.

The woman introduces herself as one of the head local detectives of the case and the man accompanying her is from the FBI, specifically the head of the art crimes division.

Marcus wasn’t just an agent but someone that important.

You can’t deny how extra attractive it makes him.

“Agent Marcus Pike.” Polite and sweet he outstretches his arm to shake your hand like you’ve never met him before.

The questions are very basic.

Where were you the last time you saw the statue? Do you remember any recent guest that stopped by that maybe seemed suspicious?

You answer as truthfully and as best as you can, while also hiding the ancient Roman sized man truth away.

“Funny enough,” Agent Pike comments. “It does seem like this statue just seems to have…I don’t know, grown legs and walked out itself.”

You weakly laugh at his joke. You don’t miss the tug of his lips trying not to grin.

You leave the room as if you stepped out of a strange pocket dimension. Then again these past few days have felt strange and disorienting.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were the head of some FBI art division?!” You let Marcus have it when you both return back to his apartment.

“Is that dangerous?” Acacius asks curiously.

“I don’t know.” You sigh.

“No…This is good.” Marcus clarifies. He even picked up apology pastries. General Acacius greedily snags a cheese danish and moans in pure delight once he takes a bite.

It’s hard to ignore how incredibly sexy he sounded.

“It means I can keep looking in my records for any previous instances of situations like this, or if there’s any leads on the case I’ll know.” Marcus patiently explains.

That calms you enough.

Days pass, and Acacius grows restless.

He doesn’t sleep well, snapping at you and Marcus often more. He mourns the loss of a world that’s passed, of a wife he lost. The grief comes in waves. You and Marcus try comforting him, but Acacius reminds you of a caged tiger, restless and fanged. You understand. Being cooped up in a strange home in a strange world must be exhausting.

So Marcus and you agree to have a nice weekend out with him.

General Acacius fidgets in the cozy cream knit sweater that stretches over his broad body, but damn does he look incredible. So does Marcus in his scholarly sleek coat.

This trip also works as another opportunity to do more investigating. The nearby bookstore is the first stop. Acacius gasps seeing the stretch of books.

“Pretty impressive, yeah?” Marcus smirks, and you grin agreeing. He decides to take a look at the art history books here for any information he might have missed.

You unfortunately get side tracked with the many books in front of you and slightly wander away from Acacius when one catches your eyes.

But you quickly find your way back to him.

The elder Marcus stands stunned like a ghost among the classical literature holding a thick encyclopedia.

“I knew of what happened to Rome after you and Pike told me. But seeing the grand colosseum like this… it’s a specter of ruins now.” He mutters while taking in the photo of the ancient landmark.

“I am glad. There should be no need for more death matches.” His voice weighs with the heaviness of centuries past.

You agree, happy he shuts the book and returns it back. You’re about to dive into the Ancient Rome section yourself now until he speaks again.

“What if I am not the same man these books speak of?” The older Marcus questions hollowed.

That stuns you.

“What if the man who died many years ago… is not me?” His voice wavers.

Existential dread looms off him a dark storm growing stronger.

Marcus turns the corner smiling bright. But quickly he immediately notices the shift in atmosphere, and his face falls as he mouths asking what’s wrong.

You let General Acacius speak from the heart.

“What if… I am not me? What if I am not the real Marcus Acacius?”

His face is weighted with fear, raw and open making him appear lost and so small for someone powerful as him.

“I believe it’s you.” You reassure him gentle. “I’m sure Marcus does too. Besides… who says you can’t be the same man?”

There are pieces of yourself that you’ve left with people, even some bits of you have gotten snagged in certain places or tied to certain objects. Who says a piece of Marcus Acacius truly resided in the statue and simply woke up. And if that’s the case, then that means he’s as real as ever.

You explain all of this best as you can to Acacius. Those deep steady eyes of his waver transforming into molten earth. Your hand moves down to squeeze his stronger large warm hand.

He squeezes back tight.

“Besides the man that died is still you too. You’re allowed to be both.” Marcus jumps in with the most tender voice

“That does not sound true.” Acacius mutters.

As modern has he’s slowly become, you think it still might be too hard to explain dimensional or reality theory.

“This philosopher I read about once said something along the lines of, if you think, therefore you are.” Marcus clarifies. “You exist here and now. And sometimes that’s all that matters.”

You realize both you and Marcus slowly have huddled around General Acacius. You on one side and Marcus on the other, barricade to support your General as much as you or Marcus can.

Acacius sighs, watery, taking it all in.

Your heart aches for him. It overwhelms you, causing you to gently rest your head against his shoulder and letting your hand rest on his back.

Marcus also moves closer, placing his hand right besides yours, gingerly touching your hand.

Among the books you and these two rest simply in the stillness of the moment. You feel something hook deep in your chest, a feeling you can’t fully express.

After, Marcus treats everyone to his favorite taco truck. It's infectious seeing Acacius’s spirits brighten again. He again moans delicious when he takes his first bite. You don’t miss the awkward cough Marcus makes.

But the tacos are amazing and the cooler weather covers everything in a comforting dreamy cloud.

“I want to explore this world as much as I can.” Acacius declares with resolution and shining gilded hope.

So you start bringing the Roman general out with you more.

The museum is still being investigated, so you take the chance to enjoy the days, especially now with Marcus Acacius by your side. He enjoys your smaller apartment, becomes a fan of cooking shows fast.

Marcus and you discovered he isn’t big on sushi but has a notorious sweet tooth. Acacius embraces everything now with more gusto, a vibrant curiosity about many things, especially food. It’s endearing.

General Acacius also proves to be a lovely companion when you go grocery shopping.

“So many spices.” He says in awe in the aisle.

More people arrive and you try maneuvering your cart through the traffic. General Acacius catches on quick. Staying close to you, he places a comforting hand at your lower back and the other against yours in the cart. Shifting his body against yours, he’s a protective shield until you’re out of the thicket.

It sends the wildest hum of sparks throughout your body that persistently stays. Acacius stays firmly beside the rest of the trip.

For a man out of time, he’s open for conversation. The check out worker seems to blatantly ignore you while she happily and very openly flirts with him.

You don’t say much, ignoring the possessive emerald eyed sense of jealousy threatening to rise. He bids the flirty cashier a good day along with an elegant head nod. You keep quiet heading back to the car.

“That woman, she gave me a strange note with numbers on it.” General Acacius comments cautious, almost worried about what they could be.

You almost trip on the way out.

“Her number, she gave you her phone number.” You explain simply.

Of course you have to elaborate what that means and how it’s a modern way of signaling someone is attracted to you.

“Truly?” His handsome aged face scrunches up confused.

“What can I say? In any year you’re a catch.” You try not to sound wistful.

“I’m an old man not from this time. I have nothing worth for anyone to desire me.” Now he sounds dejected, somber and serious.

“Okay, besides being absolutely one of the most gorgeous men ever, you’re kind. Incredibly loyal and brave. Anyone would be lucky to have you.” Earnesty floats off you.

His face drops, your words finally settling within him. The soft streams of grays in his luscious curled hair and rustic beard, the beautiful scars he wears that tell of his victories…

The statue truly was not able to capture the magnetic pull of this man.

Acacius’s eyes flicker across your face. You swear something shimmers in his deep earth eyes. His gaze flickers down for a split moment, as if he’s glancing at your lips.

Then your phone rings with a text, and you sigh.

This precious bubble you’ve been in, this newly woven existence with these two gorgeous men, is one you want to stay in forever. It’s warm, easy, and feels too nice to leave.

But work eventually crashes in.

The museum finally reopens but with the Roman exhibit closed still. The missing art has brought in more foot traffic to the museum. But what surprises you is seeing Marcus at work now while he works. You and him share sweet secret smiles to each other.

Even with work getting busy for you and him, you’ve been texting with Marcus frequently. It’s even been amusing being on the phone with him and Acacius cries out surprised hearing your voice.

Your mind drifts to them again as you daze off a bit at work.

“So, did you ever drink that tea I gave you?” Your favorite coworker asks, interrupting your daydream.

The confusion must be evident on your face.

“Ya know… the sweet love wish tea?” She grins like a pleased cat that’s about to catch a canary.

An abrupt realization barrels right into you, a fierce horned bull almost knocking you out at the knees. You can’t believe a possible magical tea maybe brought a statue to life. But with that statue now a very real ancient Roman man you’ve been harboring - anything is possible now.

“Can you tell me where the shop is that you got it?” You rapidly ask her.

Your next day off you head down there immediately, not even taking either of your Marcus boys.

The sweetest shop owner greets you warm and welcoming. You compliment her lovely silvery lavender hair.

“Oh it’s to hide the grays.” She winks, and you grin.

But the nervousness rises because you don’t even know how to approach the question you have.

“Something seems to be bothering you.” Of course she notices but speaks with a gentle tone.

Your heavy sigh must say it all. Very sweetly she pulls out a stool by the register and settles in waiting to hear your story.

Even with her welcoming smile, the hesitation pulls at you. But you manage to gently explain what happened without revealing the dizzying truth.

“So I drank the love wish tea. And something… someone I never imagined would come into my life did. So now I don’t know if there’s a way I could probably send him back to what, to where, he was.” You tell her.

The shop owner hums in deep thought, crossing her hands over her chest nodding.

“Is it a ghost? Did you call in a spirit? Are you in love with a ghost?” She asks flat out without hesitation, and you almost laugh.

She’s half right in a way.

“I’m thinking…possibly the one thing that came to mind that I would do first is to do an unbinding spell. Whatever is keeping this man here, the separation of that would be what sends him back.” She says jumping off her chair, waving at you to follow her through the shop.

You quickly scurry behind her.

Grabbing a pack of two candles, the ritual she describes is simple enough. Tying a string around the two candles, lighting them until they burn, which in the process would burn the thread, theoretically severing the tie of Acacius to this world.

“And you said it was the love wish tea you drank, yes?”

You nod, and she nods back in understanding.

“What that tea is meant to do is call in your heart’s desires, simply allow the universe to bring whatever magic it seems fit to your life…But it also isn’t doing it forcefully.” She explains.

The tea is known to work because it calls in someone who desires the same thing you do, almost like a little nudge in the matchmaking department, a magic magnet.

“It works because someone else is also receptive. But of course, there is no need to stay with whoever is brought to you.”

Her words sink into a deep corner of your heart. You wonder if that meant Marcus Acacius longed for a better future, and it’s why the tea worked on him.

Thanking her graciously, you take the candles and a few cute stickers she has by the counter.

“I hope everything works out for you, gorgeous.” Her warm smile becomes a comforting hug.

You hope so too.

But the way your stomach twists, a part of you realizes… what if you don’t want Marcus Acacius to leave?

It’s selfish - but you want this trio of you, him and Marcus Pike, to last as long as it possibly can.

Driving to Marcus’s apartment, guilt and selfishness fight each other tooth and nail. You don’t know if this unbinding spell would work, but it would be a start.

With the spare key Marcus gave you, you let yourself in.

There on the couch you catch the quickest glimpse of both men heavily making out with the elder Marcus greedily holding onto Agent Pike’s sharp jaw. You wonder if maybe you’re seeing things, but the image knocks you breathless.

The younger and modern Marcus, who halfway was on the elder General’s lap immediately, bolts away as if electrocuted.

On the table, you spot two glasses of wine.

They both stare at you, caught red handed. Immediately though, you scramble out apologies.

“I should have called and-”

Marcus says your name. “It’s.. it’s okay.”

You feel so foolish right now. You didn’t even think that they had a thing, and that you were possibly the third wheel.

“I can leave. I totally understand.” You really do.

“No.” Acacius orders, saying your name, firmly shaking his head as he rises. His eyes rusted steel swords that pin you to where you stand.

“This started because of you.” He adds.

Wait.

Because of you?

“Wait, are you guys drunk?” You even voice your confusion.

Both Marcus men shake their heads no.

“We were just talking about you, about us.” The younger Marcus explains.

“And it took us some time but we both desire each other. And we both desire you.” General Acacius simply interjects, and Marcus coughs stunned.

You wonder if you’re the one who’s been brought to life in another time.

“Honey, please don’t feel pressured if you don’t feel the same.” Marcus, wonderful Marcus Pike, ever understanding and eternally good.

“I’ve liked you for so long. Even tried to ask you out a couple of times, just got a bit of cold feet. It just unfortunately took an ancient Roman to get me to finally say something.” He laughs weakly, boyishly nervous.

He’s liked you all this time.

You don’t say anything, don’t think there’s any words you can say just yet. Simply the emotions overtake you.

You head first to the younger Marcus and kiss him with a fierce tug at his shirt. He happily pulls you into him and sighs into your lips.

A soft but large hand runs up your back, and the sensation makes your body bloom.

“You both are so beautiful.” The older Marcus mutters dripping with adoration.

With a squeeze to Marcus’s shoulder and one final soft kiss, you pull away then melt into the general’s waiting arms. His mustache tickles you as his lips kiss yours, but it’s divine.

Their hands all over you touch every inch they can. You’ve never felt this desired, never been the epicenter of affection and passion like this before. You just as eagerly try grabbing at either man with as much clawed possession as you can.

They’re both yours now after all.

Tumbling into the bedroom it’s like something out of a dream, blissful and deliciously decadent, but so real with how heated your body feels.

Both men start kissing your exposed skin, with one licking at your neck from behind and the other readily nipping at your exposed chest. Your mind melts in bliss.

“Marcus,” you sigh.

You’re rewarded with two beautiful groans, different in tones it becomes a symphony you want to hear forever.

In the blurry of haze, the sticky syrupy desire, you and the younger Marcus follow each other peppering multiple kisses on Acacius’s chest as he falls onto the bed.

You and the modern Marcus work together, conquering the beautiful golden exposed landscape of Marcus Acacius’s chest. You tenderly press your lips against the various scars then happily move to kiss the younger Marcus.

The delicious sighs from General Acacius fill the room, a hypnotic soundtrack.

Soon your lips start traveling further down across his body. Your fellow lover follows your trail, kissing and kicking every inch of Acacius. You and Marcus reach his cock twitching in the loose sweatpants Acacius has grown fond of.

“Fuck.” Marcus groans as he drags the older man’s cock out.

Fuck is right. Thick, girthy and dripping already, you already ache to have him inside in any way.

“Both of you are little fiends.” The elder Marcus croaks breathless. Confidence surges in you as you lick across his length, relishing in the taste of his skin.

Marcus’s tongue also licks with you along your other lover’s cock, even moving across your tongue. The louder groans coming from General Acacius only spur you and Marcus on.

Greedily your eyes flicker up towards the towering force of a warrior. The beautiful older man’s eyes blown black, desired drenched galaxies looking down at you and Marcus like prizes he wants to conquer himself.

It makes you dizzy, completely possessed, and you kiss your way down to one of his thick large heavy balls. You tentatively lick. Acacius initially hisses until his voice melts into the loudest primal groan when you start sucking.

Your sweet Marcus immediately follows your lead, dragging his mouth down as well. You and him simply devour Acacius, licking back and forth across your lover’s balls and each other’s mouths.

Marcus quickly starts stroking your lover’s thick cock. It’s heaven being among these two, allowing yourself to get lost in the golden ecstasy.

When Acacius reaches his release you greedily lick up his cum that spilled against his skin, and he groans. Once you sit up, you reach for Marcus’s cum covered hand and begin to lick and suck his fingers clean. It’s then your sweet Marcus that suddenly grabs your mouth with the same hand, pulling your face towards his.

“Don’t swallow baby, I wanna taste.” He mutters with blazed out eyes.

Hearing that you almost come on the spot.

You sit up and slowly allow your spit and the milky cum into Marcus’s waiting mouth.

“Gods above.” The elder Marcus moans carnal.

The rest of the night consumes you in a wanton haze.

Sweaty, exhausted, but floating on a cloud, you sink into the bed with two men barricading you in their arms.

“I’m surprised you were…open to this.” You say to Acacius who chuckles a bit.

“I have loved others before, some included men. One was even a fellow General who died tragically among the same coliseum walls as I once did.” He explains gently.

You kiss his chest softly in understanding.

As you and these two lie curled into one another on Marcus’s lush bed, it’s like a new door has opened.

You and Marcus eagerly ask your General about his days in ancient Rome and his travels across the old world, about the true story of how he got his scar. Ever the steady man, Acacius answers all questions he can.

In the middle of this warm incredible double Marcus sandwich makes you giddy. But Acacius’s deep comforting lull of a voice, Marcus’s soft hands stroking your skin, create a cocoon drawing you to sleep faster than you realize.

A soft kiss comes to the top of your head.

“Rest. We will be here when you wake.”

Nodding through a yawn, you happily kiss them both goodnight. But just before you fall into the depths of sleep, you catch the two talking.

“What… will happen if I do not return to stone?” Acacius speaks first, so low and cautious you wonder if you’re dreaming already.

“I… I guess the statue will remain incomplete, stolen.” Marcus answers truthful but gentle.

A moment passes.

“What if I do not wish to return to stone?” Acacius clarifies.

You hear Marcus inhale sharp.

“I’ve longed for peaceful days away from the brutality of the frontline. And now… it’s here.”

A thick hope shines through the older Marcus’s voice, slipping past your ribs to piece your heart.

Movement shifts the bed, arms reach across for each other and seem to cage around you more.

“You’ll always have the final say. You get to make that choice. Neither of us would ever want to force you or take that away from you.” Marcus’s molten words are coated in pure understanding.

“I wish to stay here… with you and her.” Confidence, solidified resolution, radiate from the General’s voice.

The bed shifts again, and you hear them exchange the softest kiss.

“We’ll have to make sure to tell her in the morning.” The modern Marcus sighs dreamily. His hands again start rubbing your arm soothing, as if he can sense you’re fighting sleep.

“Of course. We must never forget our lady.” The older Marcus agrees.

His words along with a soft kiss to your forehead become the final push that allows sleep to settle.

— °˖➴ —

“So you’re telling me mister head of the art crimes department will be okay with a statue staying stolen and missing forever?” You smirk amused while Marcus drives down the familiar roads.

“Hey it’s no Vemeer’s Concert, but I’ll live with it.” Marcus playfully smirks and shrugs.

The investigation on General Acacius’s missing statue had run cold. There was no indication of a break in or forced exit. From the surveillance tapes, the video recordings simply shimmer, distorted for one moment, and then the statue is gone. As if it vanished into thin air.

Or is simply currently sitting in the back seat of the car taking in the world and power of a motor vehicle.

“You hear that, General? Our boy said you’re not valuable.” You tease.

“I don’t mind and I can agree.” Acacius replies bored, making you laugh. The green sweater he wears compliments him and brings out the streams of grays in his hair. You and Marcus have loved seeing him embrace modern clothing more than ever.

“That’s not what I meant.” Marcus rolls his eyes.

You snicker even more.

The occult shop arrives, and the candles feel lighter than ever in your bag, especially knowing you’re here to return them.

“Seems like you didn’t need these after all.” Your favorite lavender haired shop owner says with a coy smirk. Her eyes stay locked on your men exploring the aisles.

“A two for one deal? I'm definitely advertising that for the tea.” She adds eagerly, and you hide a laugh behind your hand.

If only you could tell her the full truth.

You return to your boys, enjoying the way Acacius seems to be a bit petrified among all of the occult objects.

“Are you sure this witchcraft is safe?” He asks worried, snd Marcus smooths by rubbing his back.

You grin.

Love, affection, might be the strangest but most beautiful magic after all.

[christopher-bangnaldoskzz]

This is 1000% a rewrite of this series, I read through it recently to refresh my memory of the story and I actually died a little inside knowing this is how I wrote 3 years ago 😅 I deeply apologise so please this is my redemption post.

Soft Dom Bangchan x Female Reader Sub!

Genre: Dark Romance

Word count: 7.5k

Warnings: No warnings yet, however, I am going to say this is strictly 18+ MDNI fan fiction.

Summary: In a world where submissives crave dominance and dominants seek out their submissives, a thrilling tension brews when deep emotions start to intertwine with binding contracts. What happens when the lines blur between desire and duty? Can a contract stay just a contract when the flames of passion ignite? As love weaves its way into the dynamic, are they prepared to face the tumultuous journey of balancing hearts and agreements? The stakes have never been higher—will they surrender to love, or will they fight to keep it in check?

A/N: would also like to dedicate this story to @daceydeath, thank you for always putting up with my deluluness, also thank you for putting up with my drama fill life honestly. I wouldn’t be still writing if it wasn’t for you encouraging me.

Next

Chapter One

 

"Are you out of your mind, Grace?" you respond, a mix of disbelief and amusement in your voice. Surely, this can’t be serious—she must be joking, right?

 

"Absolutely, I mean it." She was your sole ally in this vast world, and there was something undeniably captivating about her dominant nature.

 

“What!.noooo, please, I’m not looking for one at the moment,” you replied, trying to sound convincing, although deep down, you knew it was a lie. The truth was you did desire a Dom to share laughs, experiences, and quiet moments with. However, the thought of finding a random guy on the internet made you feel uneasy.

 

Grace was aware of your past experiences and the fears that lingered from them. Your last relationship had left a sour taste in your mouth; he had been a bit too rough, disregarding the boundaries you tried to set. You often replayed those uncomfortable moments in your mind, unsure if you were ready to open yourself up to someone new. The idea of stepping back into the BDSM world felt daunting, and the online scene was even more intimidating. You longed for a genuine connection, but the anxiety of navigating it all made you hesitate.

 

"I have found a guy I think you will like...he classifies himself as a soft Dom, “As she spoke, her fingers quickly navigated her phone's screen until she found the image she was looking for. With a proud smile, she turned the device towards you, revealing a clear picture of the guy. His features were sharp and striking, framed by tousled hair that suggested a carefree spirit, and his expression was one of warm confidence. You could see the way his eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief, instantly drawing you in as she eagerly awaited your reaction.

 

You look closely at the profile photos. He catches your eye. "Grace, please tell me you haven't messaged him?" You watch her mouth curl into a mischievous grin. 

 

"He's here right now." She was such an asshole for doing this to you. "Okay, behave,” she warns, her teeth clenched tightly. With a mix of tension and determination, the young man strides toward the table, his expression revealing a blend of nervousness and curiosity.

 

"Umm, hi," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with a hint of nervousness in his voice. You glance up from your spot, and there, standing before you, a man of about 5 feet 7 inches tall. His brown hair is slightly tousled, falling just above his expressive brow. But it’s his eyes that truly captivate you—rich, warm brown, like molten chocolate, drawing you in with an intensity you didn’t expect. As he awkwardly chuckles, a shy smile breaks across his face, revealing a deep dimple in his left cheek, and he shifts his weight before sitting down beside you. The air feels charged with an unspoken connection, and you can’t help but feel your heart flutter at this unexpected encounter.

 

"Hello, I'm Chan," he said, extending his hand with a warm smile that momentarily lit up the elegant room. But as he leaned in closer to introduce himself the glass of red wine that grace, had ordered from the bar tipped over, spilling its contents across his Fendi black suit.

 

"Oh no, not again," he exclaimed, his eyes widening in surprise as he quickly lifted the glass, but it was too late. The dark crimson liquid soaked into the fabric, threatening to leave a permanent stain.

 

Almost instantly, a waiter in a crisp white shirt and black bow tie appeared by your side, looking flustered. "I'm so sorry, sir," he said, his face flushed with embarrassment as he bent down to help with the clean-up. He hurriedly grabbed a stack of napkins and began to dab at the fabric, his movements quick but careful.

 

"We will get you another glass," the waiter added, waving his hand to signal the bartender to come over and replace the drink.

 

Chan shook his head, a hint of amusement in his eyes despite the situation. "No, no, it's quite alright, truly. This was all my fault. I really don’t need another glass, thank you," he replied, waving dismissively.

 

His gaze shifted back to you, and he hesitated for a moment before continuing. "But perhaps, miss—" He glanced at you with an inquisitive expression, silently asking for your last name to complete his introduction.

 

"Y/L/N," you replied with a playful smile, confidently shaking your head. "But no, thank you—I don't drink," you said, watching as the waiter redirected his attention to the bartender.

 

A soft "good girl" slipped from Chan's lips just as he attempted to wipe the wine stain off his jacket.

 

"Wait, don’t rub it! Dab… let me handle that," you said, leaning in closer, the thrill of the moment pulsating in the air. He met your gaze, his eyes lingering on you, drawn in by the tantalising view.

 

He carefully extended the jacket towards you, his fingers brushing against the fabric as he offered it. "Thank you, but you really don’t have to go through all this trouble," you replied, though your hands had already instinctively reached for the coat. With a napkin soaked in water from your glass, you began gently dabbing at the dark stain that marred the material.

 

He watched you intently, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. "It’s important to act quickly; it stops the mark from spreading," you explained, your voice calm yet serious.

 

Just then, Grace, with a resigned sigh, pulled the clasp of her handbag shut with a decisive snap. "Well, this is off to a swimming start… I think I shall be heading out now," she announced, her tone laced with Amusement. Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel, her heels clicking against the polished floor as she made her way toward the restaurant door, her exit as swift as the unfolding drama around you.

 

"I'm really sorry she had you come all the way out here just to meet me," you said, brushing your hair back to clear your view.

 

He glanced at you, a hint of surprise in his wide eyes. "Honestly, I'm not," he replied, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

 

You caught his gaze and offered the jacket, carefully passing it back to him. "Just remember to use some stain remover when you get home. Let it sit for about 20 minutes, then give it a soak."

 

He grinned, taking the jacket, placing it behind him. "Stain remover, let it sit, then soak—got it! Thanks for the tip!"

 

"So, have you visited this place before?" he asked, a nervous itch at his shoulder blades giving away how he was feeling.

 

Leaning in closer, you locked eyes with him, feeling the weight of the moment. "I'm going to cut to the chase," you said, your voice low and confident. "I know Grace mentioned that I’m looking for a dom, but honestly, after our conversation, I don’t think your quite suited for that role."

 

Chan raised an eyebrow, a hint of disbelief curling his lips into a smirk. "Oh really? … What makes you think that?" His sudden loss of composure intrigued you, a thrill running down your spine as you recognised the shift in his demeanour.

 

With a playful giggle, you tilted your head slightly. "Well, for starters, you seem to be struggling to keep it all together," you teased, enjoying the way his confidence wavered under your gaze.

 

He chuckled, a charming smile spreading across his face as he glanced back down at his menu, the playful banter intensifying the electric tension between you. "Well… you might just have to be the one to keep it together for both of us," he replied, a glint of mischief lighting his eyes.

 

Curiosity bubbled up inside you as you contemplated where to go from here. With a gracious smile, you leaned back slightly, wanting to gauge his reaction. "Should we hit the reset button on this conversation?" you asked, your voice infused with intrigue. It was clear he was not one to back down easily; the playful challenge hung in the air, inviting exploration.

 

"I'm Y/N," you said with a warm smile as you extended your hand, ready for a handshake.

 

"Chan… or you can call me Chris for now," he responded, his eyes locking onto yours as he firmly grasped your hand. There was something reassuring in his grip, a blend of confidence and approachability. "So, tell me, Y/N… what do you like to eat? It's on me, obviously," he added, a playful smirk spreading across his face as if relishing the chance to treat you.

 

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in your eyes. "Hmmm, if you're paying… I think I might just go for the lobster." A grin broke across your face, the thought of indulging in a luxurious meal making your stomach flutter with anticipation. He chuckled softly, seemingly unfazed by your choice, his gaze wandering back to the menu as he scanned the options with a thoughtful expression.

 

Suddenly, the same waiter who had attended to you earlier approached your table, a notepad in hand and a charming smile on his face. "Are you ready to order?" he asked, his tone professional yet friendly, clearly accustomed to the rhythm of the restaurant. The atmosphere was filled with the soft hum of conversation and the clinking of dishes.

 

“I’ll have the eye fillet” Chan said, flashing a warm smile as he looked up at you, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

 

"And Y/N will have the lobster, right?" he added, confidently placing the order for you. The thought of him being willing to pay for your $100 lobster meal sent a thrill through you, a mix of excitement and disbelief.

 

"Oh yes, please!" you replied, returning his smile with one of your own, sweet, and grateful as you addressed the waiter. He nodded politely, jotted down your orders, and then disappeared into the bustling atmosphere of the restaurant, leaving you and Chan in a cosy bubble.

 

"You honestly didn't have to order me lobster... I could have picked something else," you admitted, leaning in closer to him, the intimacy of the moment warming your cheeks.

 

Chan leaned in too, a mischievous glint in his eye as he lowered his voice slightly, creating an air of secrecy between you. "The truth is… I'm secretly hoping you don't eat it all so I can have some." The playful confession made your heart flutter; you loved how he relaxed in your company, the tension that once lingered starting to fade away.

 

"Maybe Grace was right about you," you teased, taking a sip of your water, savouring the cool refreshment as you tried to read the expression on his face, delighting in the rapport that seemed to blossom effortlessly between you two.

 

"Oh, you think so... hmmm, interesting," he said, leaning back in his chair, his fingers interlaced thoughtfully. “So why did you leave your last dom?” His gaze was steady, encouraging you to share more.

 

“He uhhhh... he was a sadist,” you began, you voice trailing off as memories flooded back. “I left him because he burnt me pretty bad." The weight of your confession hung in the air, a heavy reminder of a past that felt both distant and achingly close. As you recalled those terrifying times, it felt as though it all happened just yesterday; the emotional scars still fresh in your mind, a painful reminder of a relationship that had spiralled out of control.

 

 

"How severe is it?" His voice carried an undertone of concern, mixed with a curious edge that hinted he was trying to grasp just how serious the situation really was. The furrow in his brow and the intensity in his gaze suggested he braced himself for an answer that could change everything.

 

"Let's just say my back tells a story, “You replied, your tone deliberately flat. The scars weren't merely physical; they were haunting reminders of a past you rarely revealed. You wondered if he would probe deeper or gracefully allow this moment to linger in silence.

 

"So, fire is definitely a hard boundary for you, then?" His voice softened, now cautious as he delicately navigated a sensitive topic. It was evident he wanted to understand your limits without pushing you into uncomfortable territory.

 

"Yes, absolutely," you replied, a slow smile breaking through as you started to warm to the idea of Chris as your master.

 

"Noted," he said, folding his arms thoughtfully. "Did he ever mention anything about being into sadism?"

 

"No, not at all. He started off charming and sweet. I never would have agreed to play if I’d known. But over time, as our relationship deepened, his obsession with sadism began to surface."

 

"I'm truly sorry he treated you that way," Chris said softly, his voice filled with empathy as he reached across the table to take your hand in his. His gaze was intense, penetrating your eyes as if searching for a connection. "But if you decide to be with me…I promise I will never put you in a position like that." There was sincerity in his tone that made your heart flutter.

 

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of his words settling over you. "But it's your turn now," you said, eager to learn more about him. "Why did you leave your last partner?"

 

A flicker of vulnerability crossed his face. "She left me... There were just certain expectations I couldn't fulfil, things she wanted from me that I couldn't overcome," he explained, his voice tinged with regret. "We came to the conclusion that it was best for her to move on." The admission stirred some unease within you, prompting you to dig deeper. "So, it sounds like… you weren't firm enough for her?"

 

A nervous tension sparked in the air as he pulled his hand away, his expression shifting as if he were retreating into himself. Just then, the waiter approached with the meals, momentarily breaking the atmosphere.

 

"Excuse me, sir… would you mind placing both meals in the centre of the table?" you asked, giving the waiter a warm, inviting smile. He nodded in agreement, carefully setting down the beautifully plated steak and lobster in front of you.

 

"Thank you so much. I truly appreciate it," you said, watching the waiter depart with satisfaction. As you turned back to Chris, you noticed a flicker of admiration in his eyes.

 

"Here, allow me," you offered, excitedly reaching for a lobster tail. With deft movements, you placed it beside the generous steak. You then sliced the steak in half, transferring one piece onto the lobster plate. After artfully arranging lobster tails atop the steak, you drizzled luscious lobster sauce over the entire presentation.

 

Once you had skilfully crafted the dish, you presented it to Chris, who looked genuinely captivated, his eyes wide in disbelief.

 

As he snapped out of his daze, a soft chuckle escaped your lips. "I believe they call this surf and turf."

 

His smile faltered, replaced with a thoughtful expression. "Thank you. I must be honest with you… I would like to discuss the possibility of a contract."

 

Chan POV

 

"Chan, come on, you really have to move on from Vanessa," Changbin asserted as he dramatically dropped onto the well-worn studio couch, the cushions sinking under his weight.

 

"I’ve moved on, seriously," I scoffed, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

 

"Then what’s the big deal about going on this date?" Changbin asked, tilting his head slightly and shifting to the edge of the couch, his curiosity evident in his expression.

 

"I don’t know, man... I’m just nervous," I admitted, running a hand through my hair in frustration. "What if she doesn’t like me? What if it all goes wrong? She doesn’t even know it’s supposed to be a date," I continued, my voice trailing off as I felt the weight of uncertainty settle in my chest. As I spoke, Changbin began packing up his headphones, clearly trying to focus on my dilemma.

 

Changbin was staring at me, his brow slightly furrowed and his eyes wide with confusion, as if he were trying to piece together a puzzle that didn’t quite fit.

 

"It's someone that Grace arranged for me to go on a date with," I explained, trying to keep the details vague. I didn't want to delve into the specifics of how the matchmaking had come about or share my mixed feelings about it.

 

"Oh, your hot friend Grace," he said with a smile. If only he knew what she was like, she would eat him alive. "When are you planning to hook me up with her?" he continued.

 

"I'm not… you're not her type" I mean, I wasn't lying. She liked women. 

 

"You just want her all to yourself," he said, his voice laced with a hint of jealousy as he fixed his gaze on the ground, his brow furrowing slightly.

 

"Anyway," I replied, meeting his eyes with a light smile, trying to shift the conversation away from the tension. "What do you think I should wear? We’re going to a really fancy restaurant, and I want to look the part."

 

He paused for a moment, considering my question, before finally saying, "Your black suit is stylish. It always fits you perfectly."

……

This brings me to the point where I find myself saying, "I would really like to offer you a contract," and I can't help but wonder, Chan, why do you always act this way? She barely knows you, and here you are, making a complete spectacle of yourself. I couldn't help but notice the advice about the stained shirt—I mean, it was a bold move on her part to share that with me. And the way she offered me half of her food was so generous. I realise that if I don't seize this opportunity now, I might never encounter another submissive like her again.

 

She smiled politely, a hint of amusement in her eyes, and replied, "I'm flattered…but don't you think you should get to know me a bit better first?" As she said this, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her gesture both casual and intimate, making me realise just how much I wanted to learn more about her.

 

"I'll be right back," I promised, glancing at her as a smile spread across her face. I knew that Vannesa always kept a stash of hair ties in my car, a little quirk of hers that I had come to appreciate. With a quick stride, I made my way to the parking lot, the cool evening air brushing against my skin.

 

Once I reached my car, I opened the glove compartment with a soft click. Inside, neatly tucked away among a few scattered receipts and an old parking ticket, were the hair ties — a colorful assortment that Vanessa loved. I picked out a bright pink one, its elastic still strong and ready for action.

 

"Perfect," I murmured to myself as I closed the compartment and locked my car's door. I turned and made my way back to the restaurant, my heart a little lighter with each step.

 

As I re-entered the warm, inviting space filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses, I spotted Y/N sitting at our table, her hair slightly tousled. "Here," I said, extending the pink hair tie toward her. "Please… take this."

 

Her eyes sparkled with delight as she reached for it, the tension in her features easing with a grateful smile. In that moment, I could see how the small gesture meant the world to her.

 

A faint blush crept across her cheeks as she glanced down, an awkward smile breaking through her initial embarrassment. "Oh wow, thank you… I, umm, totally forgot to bring mine," she admitted, her voice light yet laced with a hint of self-consciousness.

 

I chuckled softly, remembering my own past. "You know, my ex used to always keep spare hair ties in the glove compartment of the car. I completely forgot they were even there until I saw you struggling with your hair," As I spoke, I took a decisive cut into the perfectly cooked steak on my plate, savouring the moment while trying to ease her discomfort.

 

"Well, thank you," she replied, returning my gaze with a warm smile.

 

As she tied her hair up, I couldn't help but notice how the sleek strands came together in a polished ponytail, accentuating the graceful curve of her neck. There was something undeniably captivating about her look, and I found myself drawn to the way the lighting caught her hair, making it shimmer. "I really like you with your hair up," I remarked, feeling a rush of warmth spread across my cheeks as her eyes lit up with my compliment. Her smile widened, and in that moment, the world around us seemed to fade away.

 

……

 

 As I glanced down at my watch, the glowing numbers caught my eye, and a sense of urgency washed over me. The night had slipped away faster than I had anticipated.

 

"Well, Chris…" she said softly, a hint of reluctance in her voice as she reached across the small table to grasp my hand. Her touch was warm and grounding, making it difficult for me to let go of the moment.

 

"I'll walk you to the car," I replied, hoping to prolong our time together just a little longer. After settling the bill, I led the way out of the cosy restaurant, the sound of our footsteps echoing off the sidewalk.

 

As we walked beside each other, the cool evening air wrapped around us, filled with the faint sounds of laughter and clinking glasses from nearby establishments. We made our way around the corner, where her car was parked under a lamppost, the light casting a gentle glow over its sleek silhouette. I couldn't help but steal glances at her as we walked, cherishing each second of this fleeting encounter.

 

"Thank you for tonight," she said with a warm smile, her eyes sparkling with the soft glow of the overhead lights. "I assume Grace gave you, my number?" She laughed lightly, the sound as familiar as a favourite song. She and Grace had a long-standing friendship, a connection that made me feel a little more at ease.

 

"Yeah, she texted it to me during dinner," I replied, chuckling in return.

 

"Well… call me, please," she continued, her voice shifting from casual to something more serious yet undeniably inviting. There was a warmth in her tone that caught me off guard. "I'd love to discuss your proposal." Did I really hear that correctly? Did she just express genuine interest in talking about the contract? My heart raced at the thought, the prospect electrifying.

 

In that fleeting moment, I felt a powerful surge of desire to convey just how much she intrigued me. I could almost visualise those soft, inviting lips of hers brushing against mine, the warmth of our kiss igniting something deep within. Yet, amidst that longing, a voice of caution echoed in my mind, reminding me that rushing into anything too quickly could scare her off. I took a deep, steadying breath, trying to find the right balance between my yearning and the need to nurture a genuine connection.

 

"You can kiss me, Chris," she said with a playful smile, her hand resting lightly on my chest, sending a jolt of electricity through me. I gently tilted her chin upward, ensuring our eyes locked in a moment that felt suspended in time. With a soft, steadying breath, I leaned in, my lips hovering tantalizingly close to hers. "I will, but only when you sign that contract, missy," I teased, a playful smile breaking on my lips as I held her gaze, savouring the tension that crackled between us.

 

Y/N  POV

 

You couldn't believe it, but Grace was right about him. As he strolled away towards his car, a warm smile spread across your face, a blend of excitement and disbelief. Everything about him seemed to resonate with you, from the way he carried himself to the charming glint in his eyes that sparked a quiet hope for what might unfold.

 

Just as you were lost in your thoughts, your phone buzzed in your pocket, pulling you back to reality.

 

**Ting Ting**

 

An unknown number flashed on the screen, and with a curious frown, you opened the message. It read: 

 

"Meet me at my office on Monday at 9 a.m. (address included). We will discuss the contract terms then - Master."

 

Y/N 

"Yes, sir, I look forward to it." 

………

 

Sunday morning dawns, and you are jolted awake by an insistent pounding on your door. Groggily rubbing your eyes, you mutter, "Jesus Christ," to yourself as you swing your legs over the edge of the bed and shuffle toward the door.

 

Swinging it open, you find Grace standing there, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "Oh good, you’re up!" she exclaims, brushing past you into the apartment without a second thought. "So, how did the date turn out with Chris? Isn’t he just delicious?"

 

Sitting down on the couch with a resigned sigh, you can't help but smile at her excitement. "He’s nice," you reply, playing with the hem of your shirt. "But... he’s an absolute mess." You lean back against the cushions, recalling the chaos of the evening you just survived. Grace plops down next to you, eager for the full story.

 

"Look, I know Chan pretty well," she said, settling onto the couch with a decisive thud. "He was a bit nervous earlier, which is unusual for him. You must understand, he’s a very sought-after dom in our community. He doesn't just take on any submissive; he’s quite selective. If he's offering you a contract, trust me, you should seriously consider it."

 

Curiosity piqued, I leaned in and asked, "What makes him so special?"

 

She raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by my question. "Excuse me? He is the perfect dom…. If you're looking for a soft pleasure dom, he's one of the absolute best out there."

 

My mind raced as I processed that. "Wait, he’s a pleasure dom?" It felt like an incredible revelation. Pleasure doms are rare gems in this community, and to hear about one of his calibres was intriguing. It's no wonder he had such high demand—his reputation preceded him.

 

"Absolutely, big time," she affirmed, her eyes lighting up with excitement. "He hasn’t had a submissive for over eight months now, which is practically an eternity for him. I’ve never seen him so anxious about meeting someone before. He must really like you—there's no other explanation for his nerves! So, when does he want you to sit down and discuss the details of the contract?"

 

"Tomorrow," you said, turning towards her. Suddenly you feel nervous. What if you can't please him like he wants. 

 

“Shit, he’s moving fast,” she exclaimed, her voice tinged with disbelief. She shook her head, her brow furrowing as thoughts raced through her mind. “Look, nobody knows Chan like I do… There’s no way he’d just turn around and ask a girl he met to sign a contract like that.”

 

Her tone shifted, urgency seeping into her words. “So, what should I do, Grace?” you asked, anxiety creeping into your voice.

 

“Listen to me… You need to hear him out, alright?” She leaned in closer, her eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. “Do you trust me?”

 

“Yeah,” you replied, your gaze unwavering as you searched her eyes for assurance.

 

“Good girl,” she said, a sultry undertone lacing her words, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips, as if she knew she had you right where she wanted you.

 

………

**Monday**

 

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, you took a deep breath, your fingers carefully wrapping a curling wand around a lock of hair. “Why am I so nervous?” you muttered, forcing yourself to focus on your reflection. The soft morning light streamed through the window, highlighting the mix of excitement and anxiety etched across your features.

 

“Okay, Y/N… You’ve done this before,” you reassured yourself, smoothing down the front of your blouse. “Just strike out what you’re not comfortable with.” You ran through your mental checklist, contemplating the plans for the evening, and mentally discarding any doubts that surfaced.

 

Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you grabbed your handbag—a sleek black purse that felt just right in your hand—and headed for the door, taking one last glance back at your apartment. With a quick exhale, you stepped outside into the crisp air, feeling a flutter of nerves in your stomach.

 

As you approached the curb, your heart raced a little faster. There, parked majestically in front of your building, was a black Range Rover. Standing beside it was Chris, an easy smile lighting up his face as he spotted you. “Oh good… I was afraid you wouldn't show up,” he chuckled, his warm demeanour instantly easing some of the tension you felt. The sound of his voice made you grin.

 

"So, you actually came to pick me up?" you inquired, your voice laced with curiosity as you approached him.

 

Chris stepped aside with a flourish, swinging open the door of his sleek black car. "After you," he replied, a hint of mischief in his eyes. You couldn’t help but wonder what had prompted this unexpected gesture. Wasn’t he supposed to have his own driver? The thought lingered as you climbed into the plush leather seat, the scent of fresh upholstery filling your senses.

 

Inside the car, an uncomfortable silence settled between you, heavy with unspoken words. You caught glimpses of the city lights reflecting in the windows, your mind racing as you tried to make sense of the situation. Just as the tension began to feel unbearable, Chris reached over, his hand enveloping yours with a warmth that both surprised and calmed you. He threaded his fingers through yours, creating an unbreakable connection. "You don't have to be a nervous baby girl," he said, his tone both gentle and commanding.

 

You let out a nervous chuckle, shaking your legs to release the anxious energy coursing through you. "I can't help it," you admitted, feeling the flutter of excitement and anxiety battling within.

 

"Spot that," he said, his voice taking on a stern edge as he fixed his gaze on the road ahead. There was a seriousness in his tone that made your heart race, but a part of you felt comforted, knowing he was there.

 

You sit perfectly still in the passenger seat, fixing your gaze straight ahead, your heart racing as you decide to remain silent for the remainder of the drive to his office. The moment you arrive, the name "JYP Entertainment" slips from your lips, your tone laced with surprise and intrigue.

 

With a playful chuckle, Chris swings open the car door and steps out, the sound of the vehicle’s door closing echoing in the quiet lot.

 

“Here, allow me to help,” he offers, extending his hand toward you with a warm, inviting smile. You can feel a slight flutter in your stomach as he firmly locks his fingers around yours.

 

He leads you through the entrance of the building, its sleek, modern design taking your breath away. "I've booked a meeting room for us," he states, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. You can’t help but notice the briefcase he holds, its professional elegance hinting at the serious nature of the meeting ahead.

 

"This way," he continues, his voice bright with enthusiasm, as he guides you toward the elevator. The polished metal doors slide open, and you step inside, both of you sharing a moment of anticipation as the elevator begins its ascent.

 

As the elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, you stepped inside alongside him, feeling the heat of his presence nearby. His hand trailed along your lower back, a gentle yet possessive gesture that sent a shiver down your spine.

 

The soft hum of the building faded away, leaving just the two of you in a bubble once again. You settled into a chair, the plush fabric contrasting the excitement that swirled in your stomach, while he turned to pour you a cup of water from a sleek glass pitcher on the table.

 

“have some water,” he commanded, his voice firm but not unkind, echoing authority that sent your heart racing.

 

With a playful glimmer in your eyes, you shot back, “You’re not my dom yet, Chris… I don’t have to listen to you.” Your tone carried a cheeky defiance, a challenge laced with a hint of flirtation.

 

In response, he leaned closer, closing the distance between you until he was mere inches from your face. His breath tickled your ear as he whispered, “Do you want to repeat that?” The thrill of his proximity made your pulse quicken, mixing a touch of mischief with a growing sense of exhilaration that hung heavily in the air.

 

You take a gentle sip of water, the cool liquid soothing your parched throat as you try to quell the anticipation bubbling within you. He leans closer, his presence both comforting and electrifying. "That's my good girl," he murmurs, pressing a soft, tender kiss just below your ear. The warmth of his lips against your skin sends an involuntary shiver cascading down your body, igniting a thrill that dances through you.

 

"Alright… shall we get started?" he asks, shifting into a more businesslike demeanour as he settles down next to you. With deft movements, he opens his briefcase, revealing a neatly organised array of documents inside.

 

He pulls out two contracts, the crisp paper brimming with promises and stipulations. "Let's begin with the limits," he states, his voice steady as he hands one of the contracts to you. With a flick of his wrist, he opens his copy, revealing a series of terms and agreements laid out before him. "I took the liberty of striking out fire," he says, glancing at you to gauge your reaction.

 

You nod appreciatively, feeling a sense of control in the negotiation. "Okay, also animal and age play… those need to go as well," you respond assertively, catching his eye momentarily. There's a moment of understanding between you two—a silent assurance that both of you are on the same page. "And you should add… I will not refer to you as anything other than Chan, Chris, Master, or Sir."

 

He smiles as he acknowledges your added stipulation, a glint of approval in his eyes. "Okay, yeah, that works for me," he replies, his tone lightening with the shift in energy. Then, with a teasing lilt, he leans slightly closer and raises an eyebrow at you, asking without words if you have any further limitations in mind. "Sooooo noooo..." His playful inflection hangs in the air, inviting a deeper exploration of the intricate boundaries you’re both establishing.

 

“No use of the word 'Daddy,'” you say with a slight frown, your eyes narrowing playfully.

 

“Okay, okay, that’s fine with me,” he replies, raising both hands in mock surrender, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

 

Curiosity piqued; you lean in closer to examine the document spread out on the table. “What is this down here… am I meant to move in with you?” The words hang in the air, and you can’t help but feel your pulse quicken at the thought.

 

“Uh, well… only if you want to,” he stammers, his cheeks flushing slightly. He reaches for a pen, ready to strike that line out, but you swiftly grab his hand, squeezing it gently to stop him.

 

“How about we start with just weekends, okay? Besides,” you add with a teasing grin, “I have to work during the week.”

 

Chris's expression brightens at your decision. The tension eases, replaced by a shared excitement as he nods, clearly pleased with the compromise.

 

……

 

As the hours ticked by and you delved deeper into the intricacies of the contract, a sense of comfort began to wash over you. Chris had truly anticipated every detail, which was both reassuring and exciting. Eager to break the silence, you turned to him and asked, “How long have you been a master?”

 

A warm smile spread across his face, and he met your gaze with a glimmer of pride in his eyes. “I’ve been a master for five years now," he replied, his tone light yet filled with a hint of nostalgia. He looked away for a moment, as if lost in a memory, before continuing, “Before that, I was a sub.”

 

“Oh, really?” you interjected, genuinely intrigued. “What made you decide to make that transition?”

 

A soft chuckle escaped him, and he leaned back slightly, his demeanour becoming more relaxed as he reminisced. “It was my dom… She inspired me in ways I never expected. She was incredibly smart and stunningly beautiful, but she had this fierce temper that kept everyone on their toes,” he admitted, the warmth of his memories evident in his voice.

 

You leaned in a little closer, your heart racing with anticipation. “So, is that what I can expect from you?” you challenged playfully, feeling a flush of excitement as you pressed your legs together tightly. The prospect of uncovering more about Chris and what it meant to be under his guidance stirred a rush within you.

 

"I make it my priority to be fair in all situations," he states, a playful smile dancing on his lips. "But I must warn you upfront—I only provide one chance when it comes to behaviour. If you test the limits, punishment will follow, and trust me, I don't take chatting back lightly." He observes you closely, noticing the hint of mischief in your eyes that suggests a bratty side lurking beneath the surface.

 

"Oh really? Hmmmm... that sounds intriguing. Have you ever successfully tamed a brat before?" you reply, your voice laced with seductive curiosity, a challenge glimmering in your eyes.

 

"I have," he replies, his tone firm yet teasing. "Just remember, even though I have a softer approach as a dominant, I won’t tolerate bad attitudes for long." He continues flicking through the contract, his focus partially on the words, but mostly on you.

 

"I wouldn't dream of testing you, sir," you say, a slight smirk playing on your lips. Chris's expression shifts at your use of "sir," a flicker of interest igniting in his eyes.

 

"I'd love to see your house before I sign the contract," you add, your tone growing more enticing.

 

"Absolutely," he replies, gripping the paper tightly, his curiosity piqued. "Do you have time to check it out right now?" He leans forward, eager to show you more than just the words on the page.

"I actually need to go to work", you smiled. Very convenient timing. 

 

“Perfect, I’ll drop you off,” he said with a tone that caught you off guard. You felt a rush of heat spread through you; after all, you worked at a sex shop, and the last thing you wanted was for him to discover that little secret in such an unexpected manner.

 

With a gentle smile, he led you down the path to the car, his presence both reassuring and slightly intimidating. As he opened the passenger door, you hesitated for just a moment before sliding into the plush seat. The driver, who had been waiting patiently, turned to you expectantly as you recited the address.

 

As you spoke, you glanced over to find Chris looking increasingly astonished. “You mean the sex shop on the corner?” he asked, his eyes widening in disbelief.

 

A light laugh escaped your lips, barely able to conceal the amusement bubbling within you. “Yeah, is that a problem?” You tried to keep your tone light and playful, enjoying the unexpected turn of events.

 

He shook his head, attempting to maintain an air of nonchalance, though you noticed the hint of a blush creeping up his cheeks. “Nope… not at all,” he replied, though the way he fidgeted with his hands and avoided your gaze gave away his intrigue. You could tell he was trying to play it cool, but it was hard to miss the excitement fluttering beneath the surface.

 

Your workplace is about twenty minutes away, nestled in a bustling part of town. As you pull up outside the shop, Chris undoes his seatbelt with a determined look on his face.

 

"What are you doing?" you exclaim, a wave of panic rising in your chest. The thought of him entering the shop sends your mind racing.

 

"I’m coming in…. I want to look around… and I might pick up some toys for later when I come to get you," he replies, his voice casual but his eyes glinting with mischief.

 

"Don't you dare," you retort, giving him a warning look. His expression shifts, and he shoots you a challenging stare, the kind that reminds you how stubborn he can be. Realising you’ve lost this battle, you slump back into your seat, resigned but still slightly irked.

 

"Let’s go," he says with a playful grin as he steps out of the car, extending his hand toward you.

 

You take a deep breath, roll your eyes, and push the door open, hopping out reluctantly. "Fine," you mutter, but there's a hint of amusement in your voice. As you take his hand, you can’t help but feel a mix of exasperation and affection for his spontaneous nature. Together, you walk toward the entrance of the shop, the bell above the door jingling as you step inside.

 

Chan  POV

 

"Did she really just roll her eyes at me?" I thought, feeling a mix of irritation and intrigue. "Be careful, Channie... she's not yours just yet," I reminded myself as I walked beside her, the anticipation of the moment hanging heavily in the air. Though the urge to discipline her for her blatant disrespect bubbled beneath the surface, I knew I'd have to bide my time.

 

As we approached the store, I reached out and intertwined my fingers with hers, the warmth of her hand sending a jolt through me. She paused momentarily, her surprise flickering in her eyes, before she confidently led me inside. "Good morning, Noah," she greeted cheerfully as we entered, her voice brightening the room. I cast a glance toward Noah, who stood behind the counter—a striking young man with long, flowing blond hair that framed his chiseled features, and piercing blue eyes that seemed to capture the attention of everyone around him.

 

"Morning, Y/N... Who's this?" he asked, extending his hand toward me with a mixture of curiosity and charm.

 

I grasped his hand firmly, my grip slightly stronger than normal, as if to assert my presence. "This is my friend Chris," she said, her smile a beacon of warmth as she looked up at me, the friendly tone in her voice stinging a little. Just a friend? A surge of possessiveness surged within me; I yearned to show her just what kind of "friend" I could be.

 

Y/N then walked behind the counter, placing her bag with a practiced ease that suggested familiarity, while I observed her every move. There was an effortless grace to the way she navigated her surroundings. Once she returned to my side, a playful smirk danced on her lips. "Okay, you can leave now," she playfully dismissed me.

 

Taking the moment, I gently lifted her chin with my index finger, a gesture that was both tender and commanding. Drawn in by the magnetism that crackled between us, I leaned closer and pressed my lips against hers. The softness of her plump lips sent a rush of warmth through me, and I couldn't help but smile as I pulled back, feeling victorious.

 

I turned to Noah, whose expression of shock illuminated the space between us—clearly, he hadn’t seen that coming. With a sense of satisfaction swelling within me, I stepped out of the store and headed back to the car, a grin plastered on my face. "That'll show him... she's all mine," I muttered under my breath as I settled into the driver's seat. Opening my phone, I glanced at the time and said, "Okay, can we go back to the company?" My mind was already racing ahead, planning the next moves in this intricate game.

A:n thank you again to all that have read my rewrite for master

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