#but then ON TOP OF ALL THAT‚ he plays bass???????? and ON TOP OF ALL THAT‚ he looks amazing in a suit????????

[ghostchems]

thief - silco x female!reader - part five

you're stuck at the last drop waiting for silco

tags: drug addiction, drug abuse, shimmer, shimmer abuse, vaginal sex!!! all day every day. 18+! mdni! 4.2k words. part one/two/three/four. ao3 link.

The door to his office has been shut long past the beginning of your scheduled time. Your fingers tap along the bar, eyes focused on it. Usually it���s cracked - an invitation for you to wander up the stairs. You wonder what's keeping him: a meeting running late? Some urgent work? Another… appointment? Your body tenses at the thought. It wouldn't be so shocking - he's made no promises to you, after all - but you don't want to consider that possibility. Not when you're already on edge from waiting.

You can't help but wonder if you've somehow managed to disappoint him, if your hesitation has finally worn his patience thin. During your last encounter, his intensity was unmistakable — the way he spoke about harnessing the raw potential that shimmer offers, about wielding that dangerous gift. You've indulged in it, yes, allowed yourself to experience the intoxicating rush of power that courses through your veins with each dose. The euphoric high, the feeling of invincibility — those you understand all too well. But actually putting that power to use, turning it into a weapon or tool? That's territory you've deliberately avoided, a line you've never felt comfortable crossing.

But Silco is… convincing.

You've been here for an hour and The Last Drop has begun to come alive. The music pulses through the floorboards, a heavy bass that matches the anxious thump of your heart. Bodies press in around you as more patrons fill the space, leaving only a scattered few empty stools. The ruckus of conversation and clinking glasses swells, threatening to drown out your thoughts - though perhaps that wouldn't be such a bad thing right now.

“Are you going to drink something?”

Her voice carries an edge of annoyance. Your eyes drift to Sevika. The two of you haven't exactly hit it off—after all, she nearly slammed your head through your bedpost during her last "collection" visit. A cigarette hangs from her lips, wisps of smoke curling up around her face. Her mechanical arm pulses with faint shimmer as she leans against the bar, the glow casting strange shadows across her features. Those sharp eyes stay fixed on you, waiting for an answer.

You're tempted. What else is there to do while you wait? "I'm just waiting for his office door to open," you explain, gesturing vaguely upward.

"Might as well drink. You'll be here a while." There's something in her tone that makes you pause, a knowing edge that sets your nerves on edge.

You study her face, wondering what she knows, but her expression only twists the knife, her lips curling into a shit eating grin. The words echo in your mind: you'll be here a while. Your stomach tightens with uncertainty.

"Fine," you relent with a sigh. She nods, already reaching for a bottle.

The amber liquid she pours glows softly in the dim bar light. "On the house," she says, sliding the glass your way. "Consider it a peace offering." There's still that knowing smirk playing at her lips, but something in her demeanor has softened slightly.

You take a careful sip, letting the burn of the alcohol wash over your tongue. Maybe this will help quiet the anxious thoughts swirling through your mind. At the very least, it gives your restless hands something to do besides drumming against the bar top.

The Last Drop has transformed into a heaving mass of bodies and noise. The music throbs through your bones now, each beat a reminder of how long you've been sitting here. Shouts and laughter compete with the thundering bass. You've lost count of how many times you've glanced up at that firmly shut door.

A fight breaks out somewhere behind you - nothing unusual for this place, but the sound of breaking glass and angry voices adds to your growing unease. You catch Sevika rolling her eyes as she dispatches someone to handle it. The crowd shifts and surges around you like a restless tide, and you find yourself gripping your glass a little tighter, as if it might anchor you in place.

Your drink is nearly empty now. The warm buzz of alcohol does little to dull the sharp edge of your mounting frustration. That door remains obstinately closed, a silent sentinel mocking your patience.

"Want to throw some darts?" Sevika's voice cuts through your brooding. You glance up to find her gesturing toward the worn dartboard on the far wall. "Better than watching you stare holes through his door all night."

You consider declining, but the thought of continuing to sit here, nursing your drink and your wounded pride, suddenly seems unbearable. "Sure," you say flatly, sliding off your stool. "Why not?"

She grabs a fresh set of darts from behind the bar, their metal tips glinting dangerously in the low light. As you follow her toward the board, you can't help but notice how the crowd parts for her - whether out of respect or fear, you're not quite sure.

"Fair warning," she says, testing the weight of a dart in her mechanical hand, "I rarely lose."

“That’s fine because I’m not good at this.”

She laughs at that, a short bark of amusement. "Perfect. Makes it more fun for me." She positions herself at the throwing line, mechanical arm whirring softly as she takes aim.

The first dart whistles through the air and lands with a solid thunk - in the wall beside the board. Your second throw at least hits the outer ring, though nowhere near where you were aiming. Sevika's smirk grows with each of your misses.

"You weren't kidding," she says, stepping up to take her turn. Her mechanical arm moves with deadly precision, landing three bulls-eyes in quick succession. The darts cluster so close together they're practically touching.

You shrug, retrieving your scattered darts from the wall and board. "Told you I was bad at this." Your next throw goes wide again, drawing a few snickers from the small crowd that's gathered to watch.

"At least you're consistent," Sevika remarks dryly, her next trio of throws forming another tight grouping near the center. "Want some advice?"

"Sure, why not? Can't get much worse."

"Keep your eyes on the target," she says with exaggerated seriousness.

You groan. "Wow, revolutionary. Is that what I've been doing wrong this whole time? And here I was trying to throw with my eyes closed."

Her lips twitch, clearly amused by your sarcasm. "Smart ass. Fine, figure it out yourself."

Your next throw surprises even you, landing solidly in the inner circle with a satisfying thunk. Sevika's eyebrows raise slightly.

"Lucky shot," she says, but there's a hint of approval in her voice.

Before you can process what just happened, a man in an enforcer's uniform storms down the stairs from Silco's office. The atmosphere in the bar shifts instantly - conversations hush, music seems to fade into the background. Even Sevika's posture changes, though subtly. The enforcer's fury is evident in every rigid line of his body as he stalks across the floor. His face is twisted in barely contained rage, fists clenched at his sides.

The door slams behind him as he exits, and slowly, like a held breath being released, The Last Drop returns to its normal cacophony of noise and movement. Your eyes are drawn upward, where the office door now stands slightly ajar - an invitation you've been waiting for all evening.

Anxiety rises in your chest, taking your breath away. You’re almost frozen, feet cemented to the ground as your mind catches up.

You cast a quick glance at Sevika before weaving through the crowd and ascending the stairs. You can feel their eyes following you—they must know by now. After all, you're here at the same time every week.

You push the door open slowly, stepping into the familiar office. Smoke curls lazily from behind his high-backed chair, but he remains hidden from view. The floorboards cream beneath your feet as you near. Below, the music from The Last Drop thrums through the walls, a distant pulse that matches your quickening heartbeat.

Silco lights his cigar and sinks deeper into his desk chair. What a fucking fiasco—yet Marcus's sudden show of backbone doesn't surprise him. Everyone goes through phases, and this is one of Marcus's recurring ones. Suddenly the uniform matters, and fraternizing with Undercity scum is beneath him. It took threats and persuasion to keep him on payroll, and Silco resents wasting so much time on it.

His thoughts drift to you, waiting downstairs all this time. How long has it been? An hour, maybe two? The corner of his mouth twitches - he enjoys making you wait. There isn’t any doubt that you’re coming up the stairs right this moment like the good girl that you are. Silco’s frustration starts to dissipate much like the smoke in the air, melting away only to be replaced by the anticipation of having you again. He takes a long drag from his cigar, keeping his chair facing the window as he listens to your footsteps approaching. The smoke drifts lazily upward, catching the dim light filtering through the glass. He makes no move to turn around.

"That enforcer seemed... pissed when he left." Your voice sounds smaller than intended in the heavy silence of his office. The smoke continues its lazy dance through the air, but he doesn't immediately respond.

"Nosy, aren't you? And drunk, too?" His voice is a low rumble, gravelly yet somehow light, almost playful despite the edge underneath. He’s pleased you’ve spent time in his establishment.

"I had one drink," you reply, bristling slightly at his tone. Always on the defensive.

A dark chuckle rumbles from behind the chair, the sound rich with satisfaction at your obvious discomfort. "Mm, good." The tension in your voice only fuels his growing appetite. "Apologies for the wait. I had business to attend to." His tone carries a dangerous edge, deliberately stoking your anxiety as he imagines how deliciously it will translate to desperation later.

The leather chair creaks as he rises. Your breath catches when he moves toward you with deliberate steps. This isn't how it usually goes—normally he makes you come to him, crooking a finger wordlessly to command you. But tonight something's different. Tonight he wants you as desperately as you want him. Silco takes another deep inhale of his cigar as he inches closer, your pulse quickening. He stops in front of you, blowing the smoke directly into your face. You exhale, already feeling your cheeks start to turn rosy

His hand finds your jaw, fingers pressing into your skin as he tilts your face up. Your eyes meet, and he sees the flicker of fear and uncertainty in your gaze - a sight that sends a thrill through him. There's no gentleness in the way he claims your mouth, lips crushing against yours as his tongue demands entrance. The taste of smoke and whiskey floods your senses as he deepens the kiss, leaving you dizzy and breathless.

Lips locked, he groans as you grip his lapels, your fingers curling into the fabric. His desire is unmistakable. He guides you backward across the room, his hands firm but controlled on your waist, until the back of your legs hit with the couch cushion. Without hesitation, he presses you down onto the couch, watching you fall with wide eyes staring up at him. Silco’s good eye flutters, a deep sigh falling from his lips. He withdraws just long enough to reach over and carefully place his still-burning cigar in the ashtray on a nearby table, thinking for half a second about putting it out on you.

“Silco… are you—“ He cuts you off with another searing kiss, hungry and demanding. The weight of his body pins you to the couch as his hand works between your bodies, fingers deftly unbuttoning his pants. There's an urgency to his movements that takes your breath away - this raw, unrestrained need. He frees himself with a hiss, cock pulsing in the low light.

“Don’t look so surprised, girl. It’s been a day and the thought of you beneath me has crossed my mind more than once.” Silco yanks your pants down roughly, the fabric bunching around your thighs. You reach for him, desperate to touch, wanting to run your fingers through his unkempt hair but he catches your wrist in a vice-like grip and brings it to his lips. You whimper at the sharp sting of his teeth against you. His grip on your wrist tightens, holding it captive. His other hand wraps around himself, stroking deliberately as he positions himself above you. Your free hand clutches at his shoulder as you watch him through heavy-lidded eyes.

Silco eases himself inside with agonizing slowness, a long, shuddering breath escaping his lips that makes your cheeks burn. Your back arches as he fills you inch by torturous inch, a heated whimper falling from your mouth. He starts with languid, measured strokes, each deliberate movement making you ache for more. The sound of your breathless gasps mingles with his deep, controlled growls of pleasure. He pins your wrist above your head. His good eye locks with yours, the teal iris nearly consumed by his dilated pupil.

You're both still fully clothed, his suit barely disturbed save for his open pants. Usually he orders you to strip while remaining dressed himself, maintaining that calculated distance. The desperation in his movements betrays how much he wants you, needs you, right now - propriety and usual protocol forgotten in the heat of the moment.

His control starts to give, his hips beginning snap forward with brutal force. Each thrust pushes you deeper into the cushions until you're practically melting into the couch. Your moans grow increasingly feverish. He presses his forehead against yours, both of your gazes heavy-lidded and unfocused with pleasure. Your lips brush together with each thrust, sharing heated breaths and broken moans between you. His pace grows frantic, almost punishing, as he chases his pleasure and yours.

"I want you," you gasp out suddenly, the words tumbling from your lips before you can stop them. "Please, I need you to fill me." Your own boldness makes you flush with heat, but the admission draws a feral growl from his throat. He drives deeper, harder, each thrust pulling intense cries from your throat. His breathing grows ragged and hot against your lips. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, needing more. The new angle has you seeing stars, every thrust hitting perfectly.

"That's it," he growls, his voice thick with need as he releases your wrist to grab your hip instead. "Take what I give you. Just like you always do.” You cry out as your newly freed hand immediately tangles in his hair. He buries himself deep with a loud, guttural moan that echoes through the office - louder than you've ever heard him before. His release fills you as his body shudders above yours, his head dropping to the crook of your neck, breathing ragged and harsh.

For a long moment, the only sound is his heavy breathing and the distant thrum of music from below. His weight presses you into the couch as he comes down from his high. "I needed that," he murmurs against your skin, his voice carrying its usual composure despite the lingering breathlessness. He shifts his weight off you but remains connected, his body a heavy warmth against yours. The couch creaks beneath you as he adjusts his position. His hand traces idle patterns on your hip, the touch possessive.

Silco’s cool gaze settles on you, that familiar calculating look returning to his features. "You haven't begged me for shimmer yet." He tilts his head, studying your face with clinical curiosity. "I find myself wondering why."

You swallow hard, trying to find the right words. The mention of shimmer sends an electric tingle down your spine, but it's different now. "I..." Your voice trails off as you gather your thoughts, heat rising to your cheeks. You avert your gaze, fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sweatshirt. "I… like this part.”

A knowing smirk plays at his lips. "Interesting." His fingers trace along your jawline. "And yet you can't deny how it calls to you. I see it in your eyes whenever it's mentioned." His thumb brushes across your bottom lip. "The way your pupils dilate, your breath quickens... much like when I touch you."

The observation makes your cheeks flush with embarrassment—he's right. Both sensations—his touch and the thought of shimmer—lights something within you in different ways, and you crave them both.

"Do you..." you hesitate, voice soft. "Do you enjoy it more when I'm on shimmer?"

His lips curve into a predatory smile. "I enjoy seeing how it affects you," he says, voice low and gravelly as his hand slides up to cup your throat. "The way it makes you lose control, makes you desperate." He leans closer, his breath hot against your face. "But I don't need shimmer to make you fall apart for me, do I?" His thumb slips past your parted lips, pressing down on your tongue. Your breath hitches at the intrusion, eyes fluttering up to meet his heated gaze. There's something darkly possessive in the way he watches you, his pupil still blown wide with desire.

"Such an eager little thing," he purrs, pressing his thumb deeper. His other hand slides up to cradle your jaw, holding you still as he explores your mouth. You feel his cock twitch inside of you. His fingers grip your jaw tighter as you whimper around his thumb, your tongue instinctively curling against the digit. The raw hunger in his gaze makes your body tremble with anticipation, knowing he's not done with you yet. A low growl rumbles in his chest as he withdraws his thumb, replacing it immediately with his mouth in a bruising kiss. His slick thumb finds your clit, already sensitive and swollen. He swallows your moans, his skilled fingers working in tight circles that make your thighs tremble. His other hand remains firm on your jaw, keeping you exactly where he wants you as he devours your whimpers of pleasure.

"That's it, darling. Show me how much you want this," he growls into your mouth as your hips buck against his touch, caught between the overwhelming sensations of his thumb and his now hard cock still buried deep inside you. He breaks the kiss to watch your face, clearly enjoying the way you writhe beneath him. "I want to watch you ride me," he commands, using his free hand to guide you up and into his lap, the shift in position making your toes curl as he sinks even deeper.

"Fuck..." you moan, head falling back as the new angle sends sparks of pleasure through your body. The curse draws an appreciative growl from his throat, his fingers tightening possessively on your hips. His hands settle on your hips while his thumb continues its relentless circles against your sensitive clit. A low groan escapes his throat as you roll your hips experimentally, testing how much control he'll allow you.

"Do you enjoy this?’ He rasps, fingers digging into your flesh as he guides you into a steady rhythm that has you gasping.

"Yes," you gasp, the word coming out as a breathless moan as you rock against him. Your hands grip his shoulders for leverage as you ride him with increasing confidence, finding a rhythm that has you both panting. "God, yes..." The dual sensations of his cock hitting deep inside while his thumb works your clit make your vision blur, each downward motion drawing breathless whimpers from your lips. His eyes remain fixed on your face, drinking in every reaction with predatory intensity.

"That's it, come for me," he demands, his voice thick with desire as the coil of pleasure in your core winds tighter and tighter with each movement. Your thighs begin to tremble as you chase your release, your rhythm becoming erratic. His thumb speeds up against your clit, and that's all it takes to send you over the edge. You come with a cry of his name, your walls clenching around him as waves of pleasure crash through your body. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you ride out your orgasm, his grip on your hips bruising as he holds you steady through your release.

He watches you fall apart with dark satisfaction, drinking in every gasp and shudder. His thumb continues its torturous circles until you're squirming from oversensitivity, only then does he finally show mercy and still his movements. His hips snap up to meet yours as his own release builds, his fingers digging painfully into your flesh. With a final deep thrust, he comes undone beneath you, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he fills you once again. His body shudders beneath yours as he rides out his pleasure, his breathing harsh and ragged.

You collapse against his chest, both of you panting heavily in the aftermath. His hands move to stroke lazily up and down your back as your breathing slowly returns to normal. Usually by now he's already. In this moment, there's an unexpected tenderness in the way his fingers trace patterns through your sweatshirt. Your body feels heavy and satisfied, mind pleasantly fuzzy in the afterglow. The steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you is oddly comforting, and you find yourself wanting to prolong this rare moment of intimacy for as long as he'll allow.

Eventually, he shifts beneath you, reaching for his abandoned cigar in the ashtray. He takes a long drag, the ember glowing bright in the dim office as smoke curls lazily around you both. His hand stills against you, his voice taking on that familiar commanding edge. "I haven't forgotten our arrangement," he murmurs, smoke curling from his lips as he speaks. "You've shown such promise. Such potential…I still intend to make you strong. To give you what you need." You gaze back into his orange iris, having trouble focusing on his words. Your mind still feels pleasantly hazy from his touch, body languid and satisfied in his lap.

“So I can keep punching holes in walls?”

His lip curls in mild annoyance at your flippant response. "If that's all you think this power is good for, perhaps I've overestimated your potential." The edge in his voice makes you shrink slightly in his lap, though his hand remains possessively on your hip. The silence stretches between you, thick with tension. His expression softens almost imperceptibly as he takes another drag from his cigar, the ember casting a warm glow across his features.

"You prefer to flirt with trouble, don't you?" His voice carries a note of amusement. "I've been thinking about our first... encounter. Most thieves who dare to steal from me don’t make it out the front door. And yet..." His fingers trace your jawline thoughtfully. "The way you moved through my club like a ghost, how close you came to succeeding. If I hadn't caught found you in that alley..." He trails off, taking another long drag from his cigar.

Your nose brushes against his, a daring move that makes his breath catch slightly. "And what exactly would you have me do?" you murmur, your voice low and teasing despite the way your heart pounds.

"Whatever I ask of you," he replies, his good eye darkening at your boldness. His fingers trail up your spine, making you shiver. "I need you to make deliveries. Small, important ones. Those that require... discretion. You have such natural talent," he murmurs, his voice a low purr that sends heat through your body. "The way you move through shadows, how effortlessly you blend in... it would be a waste not to utilize those skills." His fingers trail up your neck possessively. "And you've proven yourself so very eager to please."

The intensity of his gaze makes your breath catch, his words of praise wrapping around you, intoxicating and addictive. You know exactly what he's suggesting—he wants you to be his courier, carrying his secrets through the shadows of the undercity. "Are you sure?" you ask hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper. "About me?"

His fingers trace along your jaw as he considers your question, that calculating look never leaving his face. "You've proven yourself quite... obedient," he purrs, the word sending a shiver down your spine. "And your performance has been more than satisfactory."

You swallow hard, trying to ignore the way his praise makes your heart flutter. There's a voice in the back of your mind screaming caution - reminding you exactly what kind of man holds you in his lap. You've seen the cold calculation in his eyes, heard the rumors of his ruthlessness. He's dangerous, manipulative, offering you purpose and direction when you're at your most vulnerable.

And yet... what else do you have? Your life before this feels distant, meaningless. Here, in his arms, with his promises of power and purpose - at least you feel something.

[madlyney]

Spiderwho?! Chapter one

Megumi said WHAT?!

Spiderwho?! mlist

The crowd erupts in cheers and claps as White Noise has just finished their concert of the season. The atmosphere is lively, as everyone screams and cheers for their favourite members, some even asking for an encore.

You let out an offended gasp when someone bumps into you, not apologising as the girl was too busy screaming and shouting as if her life depended on it. "Geez, these people have no manners at all," you grumble to your friends.

Miwa laughs. "I doubt anyone ever cares when White Noise just dropped the best concert on campus ever? Like, are you seeing all the confetti?! " she gushes animatedly. "Their new songs are so addictive that I play them on repeat!"

"I won't be surprised if White Noise is one of your top artists on Spotify Wrapped this year, " you hum, raising your eyebrows in amusement. You don't hate their music, a couple of them show up in your personal playlist as well.

"Hey hey!" Toge yells into the mic, earning a lively response from the crowd, which also caught you off-guard, "Have you enjoyed yourselves so far?" Another loud reaction from the crowd. You swear your eardrums might’ve burst from the screaming in your ears.

Maki nudges Nobara. "Great job styling their outfits, Nobara, " she says with a slight smirk on her lips.

Nobara chuckles, crossing her arms across her chest with a proud huff. "Of course! When Yuuji told me that this concert was gonna be like no other, I knew I had to go all out this time!" As a student in the design course. Nobara was chosen to be White Noise's stylist from time to time, as recommended by Yuji. No surprise though, this wasn’t her first time.

"Nobara, I didn't know you were their stylist!" Miwa gasps. The girl is so excited you fear that her heart would just jump out.

"Aw shucks, it's nothing..." Nobara chuckles sheepishly. You find it funny how one moment, Nobara acts all proud, the next she’s shy because an acquaintance compliments her.

On the stage, Toge says something about how each of the members would say something short to show their appreciation and gratitude towards the audience–a tradition done by White Noise at the end of every concert. He adds on a few brain-rotten comments, along with a few jokes which had the crowd laughing and cheering. 

“Toge Inumaki,” he begins charismatically, “and I'm the vocalist of White Noise!” He blows a kiss to the crowd, earning a whole lot of screaming(in a good way or bad, it’s up to you). 

Toge hands the mic over to the bassist. “My name’s Yuta Okkotsu, and I’m the bass player of White Noise,” he says into the microphone politely. “Thank you all for your support, and for allowing us to make this happen.” Yuta’s kind words filled with appreciation had gotten girls swooning over him—nothing new. 

“I’m Yuuji Itadori!” He cheers, beating his drums a couple beats enthusiastically. “Thanks for coming tonight, you all are the best!” With Yuuji's lively demeanor, he is like a puppy. Ending his word of thanks, he plays a couple more beats on the drums which earns another loud roar from the crowd.

"Megumi Fushiguro, the guitarist of White Noise,” he says when it is his turn. “Uh, thanks for all your support." He backs away from the mic and looks at Yuta, who narrows his eyes, making Megumi sigh, and plays a couple of notes on his electric guitar. For someone as dry and nonchalant as Megumi, he's quite popular. Even Toge was in disbelief that Megumi was the first to receive a fan edit when they first debuted.

"That was so dry, Megumi!" Toge whines. "How do you even manage to be the most popular in the band? " He turns to the audience off-stage, a look of disbelief plastering all over his face. “I swear, I’m going to lose it if you guys vote for him in this month’s popularity ranking!”

٩(˃̶͈̀௰˂̶͈́)و

"I'm so hungry," Panda groans as he pats his stomach. The concert has ended, and people are already making their leave. 

Maki snickers, "Fatass," she mutters. Panda gasps in offence. 

"Wait!”  A voice could be heard. Yuuji and Toge approach you guys, panting as if they had just been running. The pink-haired boy’s gaze flickers amongst you guys. From you to Nobara, Maki, and then Panda. He smiles widely.

“I knew I recognised some familiar faces in the crowd." He then notices Miwa, who looks as if she is about to pass out from excitement.

"Woah, who's this?" Toge asks, approaching the blue-haired girl, as if to hit on her. Protectively, you push him away, making him yelp. “Hey! Let me have my moment!”

You click your tongue. “Smear your brain rot somewhere else, Toge,” you hiss. Regaining your posture, your expression returns neutral, a small smile appearing. “Anyways, this is my friend.” 

Miwa straightens her posture, then dips into an almost 90-degree bow. “I’m Kasumi Miwa, pleasure to meet you!” She begins, and you chuckle at how she is practically shaking, a mixture of nervousness and excitement to be able to meet her idols so up close. 

Before the two boys could say anything, another voice could be heard a little further away. “You both! We were supposed to have a meeting with Gojo after the concert!” The voice source comes from another member of the band, Yuta. He approaches them both and begins pulling them by their ears like elementary school students.

“Owwowoowo Yuta!” Yuuji whines, who desperately tries to save his ear from being torn off. 

You notice a familiar yet unpleasant figure trailing behind Yuta. You almost scoff at the sight. “Didn't know it was a real thing that the Megumi Fushiguro actually appears off-stage, given his annoying presence that might make me want to pull my ears and gouge my eyes out,” you mutter under your breath with a snicker, but loud enough to reach his earshot. 

Megumi swears he can hear a vein pop in his head, and it’s barely been two minutes since he left the dressing room. “Can’t keep your mouth shut even for a second I see,” he retorts back. “The only reason I don’t go out here after concerts is to avoid meddling idiots like you.”

Miwa raises her eyebrow, noticing how you and Megumi are internally strangling each other. 

Ignoring the tension between you both, Toge approaches Panda, bumping his fist twice against his white stomach. “Eating well?”

“No,” Panda pouts(never a sight to see). “I’m being starved by these women.”

Nobara smacks Panda’s arm. “What do you mean being starved?! You’re emptying the fridge every single day as if you’re paid to do so!”

“Like a fucking rodent,” Maki murmurs.

“I heard that!”

૮꒰ ‘⁠◉⁠⌓⁠◉⁠’⁠ ꒱ྀིა

The band is walking back to the meeting room backstage, where Gojo awaits.

Yuta looks over to Megumi, who has an annoyed, grumpy expression from the previous banter between you both. “Getting along with Yn back there, huh?”

“They were getting along? I swear I could see murder in their eyes,” poor Yuuji is clueless. 

“It was sarcasm, idiot.” Toge nudges Yuuji with a snicker. 

“Oh…”

Megumi scoffs. “I think I’d rather chop my dick off and eat it raw than touch her with a ten-foot pole.” Hearing nothing but just silence, he looks up, instantly noticing the mixture of emotions in his bandmates’ faces. “I’m kidding. But never in my life would I get along with her.”

“I think that’s the most disturbing thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” Toge murmurs.

Yuta raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you always say the most disturbing/outrageous things?” 

Yuuji nods in agreement. “Yeah! Didn’t you mention how you’d do Chris Hemsworth raw—“

“Won’t you?”

Tuning out his friends’ disturbing discussion, Megumi looks back to see you laughing with your friends. Thankfully, you didn’t notice him. He returns his gaze forward, the annoyance in him growing. Maybe he should go to that place to cool off. Maybe bring her along this time.

ಥ_ಥ

Tossing and turning in his bed, Megumi could not sleep for whatever reason. Perhaps it is the remaining adrenaline rush from the concert earlier, but that’s impossible. It normally wears off during the shower after that. 

With a small groan, he shifts himself so he lays on his side. Megumi picks up his phone, which is charging on his nightstand and begins scrolling through it, aiming to just kill time until he feels sleepy.

There are countless tweets from his friends, acquaintances, fans, about the concert, latest gossip, etcetera. But what catches his eye is your tweet. With a small ‘tch’ of irritation, he scrolls through the replies of your tweet(partially hoping someone would have the same thoughts as his). 

Megumi couldn't exactly pinpoint why he hates you, it’s just an automatic system for you both. “What a freaking chatterbox…” he mumbles quietly. His gaze stays on your username for a little before letting out a small huff, putting his phone on DND and placing his phone on his nightstand. “She never gives up, for fuck’s sake.” and with that, he manages to doze off, the adrenaline from the concert (or what he suspected) finally wearing off.

Behind the scenes...

-yn and megumi actually follow each other on social media despite their hatred for each other, mainly for stalking purposes!

-toge dm’ed miwa that night after the concert. Miwa left him on read(she forgot to reply.)

-I imagine Yuta flopping on his bed with a long sigh from exhaustion because of the shit he deals with the WN members every single day. Oh, along with their manager, Satoru! 

-WN members slept till noon that night!

Taglist: @qtnfer @greenday-bingus @walllflowerrrsss @saltypuffin1040 @starrysho @nothegemstone @1l-ynn @applepi25 @q2uq2u @mbekgsv @reblogwhoreowo @dilucsleftshoelace @quack-quack-snacks @kasumitenbaz

[le-velo-pour-dru]

Did you guys know. I'm in love with Dallon Weekes :3 🩷

[trans-ylvania]

to be roasted to this level is almost aspirational like they fucking GOT his ass in printed media

[astrxealis]

my dad just played a bit of Nothing Else Matters just now on guitar he's so cool

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - ONE

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: none (angst) chapter two┆ chapter three ┆ chapter four

The bass from the speakers rattled the glass in your hand as you leaned against the porch railing, eyes scanning the backyard for him—Rafe.

It had been a long month.

Longer than you thought it would be. Usually, when you and Rafe had your little “breaks,” they lasted about a week, maybe two at most. It was always something stupid, a screaming match that ended with slammed doors and his truck peeling out of your driveway. But it never lasted. It couldn’t. You’d known each other too long, been through too much, and deep down, there was this unspoken truth—he’d always come back. Or, you would.

But this time was different.

This time, he wasn’t calling or showing up at your window in the middle of the night, eyes tired and sorry, pulling you into his arms. The space between you had been growing wider since his dad died. And sure, maybe it was your fault for what you said after Ward’s death—But it was the truth.

Still, you hadn’t expected him to shut you out completely. Two months. Two months of silence. And the only thing you’d heard about him since was through Ruthie, Topper’s new girlfriend, of all people. A random comment at Mase’s place—something about how Rafe had been hanging around some pogue girl named Sofia.

You’d rolled your eyes at that. Rafe? With some Pogue? Yeah, right. You’d pretended not to care when she tossed it out like it was nothing

You weren’t stupid.

You’d always known Rafe wasn’t the easiest guy to love. He was complicated, angry, reckless—but so were you. And in some messed-up way, that’s why you two worked. Or at least, why you thought you did. You were just as stubborn, just as damaged. But now, as you sipped your drink and looked around, something felt off. Your gut was tight, and that nagging feeling that’d been growing restless under your skin since the breakup only grew stronger the longer you stood there.

You pushed yourself off the railing, discarding your drink on a table before moving through the crowd, past people you knew but didn’t bother with. Your mind was set on one thing—Rafe. You were done with the break. You had your space. It’s time to get back together. It was never even really a question. It was just the way things worked with you two.

But then there was Ruthie—blocking your path, her wide smile dripping with the kind of smugness that set your teeth on edge. She looked like she was reveling in your misery and that little giggle she let out only made it worse.

"So glad you could make it!" she sang out, her voice too sweet, too bright. Her eyes flickered over you like she was sizing you up, taking stock of every inch of your perfectly put-together outfit.

You forced a smile, “Yeah, well, wouldn’t miss a party like this,” you said, keeping your tone casual.

You weren’t in the mood for whatever game she was playing.

“Oh, I just bet,” she replied, her smile growing wider. She stepped closer, her breath reeking of cheap wine, and you had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. Ruthie always drank too much at these things.

What the hell was her problem? She always acted like she knew something you didn’t, like she held the keys to all the dirty little secrets in Kildare, and she loved dangling them in front of people just to watch them squirm.

“Ruthie, I swear to God—” you began, but she cut you off, her grin widening.

“Oh, honey,” she cooed, her voice dripping with fake sympathy, “don’t get mad at me. I’m just the messenger. You should really be talking to Rafe about this.” She took a step back, still smiling, and glanced over her shoulder. “He’s around, you know. You can go find him yourself. See how cozy he’s gotten with her.”

You bit your tongue, jaw, forcing yourself to stay calm. She was trying to get under your skin, like the snake she’d always been. You couldn’t believe Top was lonely and horny enough to finally fall into her claws.

“Thanks for the tip,” you gave her a tight lipped grimace, brushing past her, didn’t try and wait for her reply.

You only caught glimpses of empty rooms along the way. You hadn’t seen him since the break, and part of you didn’t want to admit how much that messed you up. How much he messed you up. Your steps slowed as you neared the hall that led to the back of the house, the sound of voices filtering through the air. You recognized some, laughed at the drunken ramblings, until one voice cut through the noise. Rafe’s.

And then you heard hers. No fucking way.

You didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You told yourself you just needed to see him, just talk to him, tell him this break had gone on long enough, that you were done with the games. That’s when you heard it again—her laugh. It was light, flirtatious, the kind of laugh that made your stomach turn into a million different directions because you knew exactly what it meant.

She was there, with him.

You moved forward, the hallway barely lit as you reached the half-closed bathroom door. Your breath hitched, hands trembling as you peeked through the small crack, unable to stop yourself from looking.

There they were.

She was smiling, laughing softly at something he’d said, her fingers brushing through her hair as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Your breath caught in your throat as you watched his hands move, tying the knot in her bikini with such gentle precision like he’d done it a thousand times. The kind of softness he used to have with you. And then he said it, his voice teasing, amused like this was some kind of inside joke between them.

"God, this is just landing right in my lap, isn’t it?"

You froze.

He laughed quietly, his lips brushing against Sofia’s shoulder as he tied the last knot, and the way he touched her—like she was something to be savored—sent a rush of pure, burning humiliation straight through your chest.

You stumbled back, your heart pounding in your ears as Rafe’s words repeated over and over in your head. Landing right in my lap. What the fuck was this?

Your heart clenched, vision blurring as what you were seeing slammed right into you. You backed away, your hand flying to your mouth to stop the sob from escaping. But it didn’t help. Not even à little. The tears burned, and you turned quickly, practically running back through the house and out the door before anyone could see the humiliating mess you were becoming.

It was real. He moved on. In two fucking months.

That’s all it had taken for him to replace you. To be done with you. He was over you. Just like that.

After everything you’d been through together, after all the times you had to pull him out of his own darkness, after the nights spent in his arms when you thought you couldn’t breathe because your whole family was gone—after years of being his and him being yours—how the fuck could he move on when you’d been rotting away in self loathing for pushing him away?

Your head spun as you stumbled down the steps, out to the street where your car was parked. You couldn’t breathe. Your breaths were coming out too fast, too shallow, and your hands were shaking so hard you had to press them against your knees to hold yourself up.

What the hell was wrong with you? You hadn’t even had anything to drink.

But your stomach was rolling, twisting in knots so tight you could barely stand straight. You leaned against the side of your car, the cool metal grounding you to reality for a second before a wave of nausea hit, forcing you to double over and retch onto the pavement. Tears stung your eyes as you coughed, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

You felt dizzy, disgusted even, everything you thought you knew, everything you thought was yours, had been ripped out from under you.

Without a single warning. Not a text, not a stupid call, just pure indifference. No respect or regard for you. None of them. Everything you’d just seen replayed in your mind—Rafe, her, the way he touched her like she meant something to him.

“Look who’s still standing!” Topper’s voice. He was laughing as he strolled over, hands shoved in his pockets, that same carefree grin on his face that he always had at parties. “Jesus, what did you have to drink? You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

Normally, you might have had something to say back, maybe a fiery insult or a roll of your eyes. But right now, everything felt like too much. You couldn’t say a word. You could barely breathe.

Your cousin stopped beside you, his grin dropping as he finally looked at you. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He leaned down, trying to catch your eyes. “You good? You look kinda—"

You cut him off, the question was heavy, like a lump lodged in your throat. “Did you know?”

He blinked, the confusion spreading across his face. “Know what?”

You swallowed, your heart hammering in your chest as you forced the words out, your voice shaking. “About Rafe and Sofia.”

You hated saying her name.

Hated that you’d been forced to know it by heart. Topper’s smile dropped, his expression changing.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to, you knew him well enough to read his micro expressions. You clenched your fists, it felt like you were the only one in the island who’d been let out of the secret.

Surely, your friends, your only family would’ve told you something right? It’s not like you were on a remote island away from them. You’d spent the last month in New York, not in the fucking jungle. You visited occasionally. You were a call away.

“Did everyone fucking know?”

Topper exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, we didn’t think it was serious. You know how it is with you two—you’ve done this before. Played with other people…”

Played with other people. Like you and Rafe were just some game, a revolving door of heartbreak and hookups. It didn’t make sense. You’d always known how it worked, understood how these things went—sure, you’d had your minor flings, and he’d had his, but it was never real.

You stumbled back, feeling like you might collapse. “Oh my God, I’m going to be sick again.”

He reached out, obviously concerned since he hadn’t seen you in this desperate state in years, “Hey, hey, calm down. Look, it’s not like it means anything. Rafe’s just—he’s going through a lot with his dad dying, and he… he’s just messing around. You know how he gets.”

But the words did nothing to soothe you. They only made it worse—how everyone knew. How they’d all watched Rafe move on, while you were stuck, still reeling from the breakup, thinking he’d come back like he always did. And he was just out there, with her.

With someone else. You pressed a hand to your stomach, your head hurting. The idea of Sofia, of Rafe being with someone else in ways that only you knew—ways that had always been yours—made you feel like you were being torn apart.

Topper was still talking, still trying to rationalize it, but his words were like static now, blending into the noise of the party behind you. “It doesn’t mean anything,” he was saying. “You know how it goes. You always end up back together. He’s just doing whatever to distract himself.”

That word. Distract himself. Like your entire relationship could be boiled down to that—a series of distractions until you decided to come back to each other, to pick up the pieces and pretend everything was okay.

You could still remember the night your life changed—the phone call, the horrible, gut-wrenching moment when you learned that your family’s private plane had gone down. Your parents. Your sister. Gone. Just like that. And Rafe had been the one to pull you through it. He was the one who had held you as you cried so hard you thought you were going to die, who sat with you in silence when you couldn’t bring yourself to speak, who stayed with you every single night because you were terrified to be alone in a haunted mansion that now felt like a mausoleum.

You had been seventeen, and losing them all at once had killed something inside of you. But he was there. He wasn’t perfect—far from it—but he knew what it was like to grieve.

He knew loss. He understood. Because you’d been there for him two years earlier, when his mom lost her battle to cancer. You could still see the look in his eyes that day—fourteen years old and already drowning in so much anger and sadness, like the world had ripped something essential out of him.

The way he cried at her funeral when he thought no one was watching, and you’d found him, sat beside him in the cold, letting him cry without saying a word. You hadn’t started dating yet, hadn’t crossed that line, but something had changed between you two in those moments.

A connection, a bond forged in shared pain, in the kind of trauma that no one else really got. Maybe that was why you were so obsessed with each other. Maybe it was fucked up, but you couldn’t imagine anyone else understanding you the way Rafe did.

How could it all come down to this? To you standing here, feeling like the world was ending while he moved on, laughing and touching someone else like nothing you had ever been through mattered?

Was that it? Did that one moment, that one argument about Ward, erase everything you’d done for him?

All the times you’d been there, the way you had comforted him when he felt like his life was spiraling? You remembered exactly what you’d said a month after the funeral, when your boyfriend blamed everyone but Ward for his own death. "He wasn’t a good person, baby. I know he was your dad, but you can’t pretend like he didn’t fuck you up."

You hadn’t even said it to hurt him, not really. It was just the truth. Ward had been a terrible father, controlling and manipulative, and you’d spent years watching Rafe try to live up to some impossible standard, chasing his father’s approval like it would ever be enough. But that didn’t make it easier for him to hear. You should have known better. You should have known how raw he was after losing his dad, how complicated his feelings were.

But instead, you’d been brutal. Honest, but brutal.

And now, two months later, here you were—staring at the empty street, wondering if you’d pushed him too far. If that one moment of honesty was enough to make him forget everything else. Now you were just the ex, the crazy one who didn’t know when to keep her mouth shut.

“Fuck, why did I say that?” you whispered to yourself, voice shaking. Why couldn’t you have just let it go?

But then another clarity of anger took over you, pushing away the guilt that had been building inside. So you’d been too harsh about Ward. So you’d said what everyone else had been too scared to say. It wasn’t like you’d been wrong. Ward had messed Rafe up.

Everyone knew it. He knew it, deep down.

You gritted your teeth, staring out at the dark street, the low hum of the party still buzzing faintly behind you. You were never going to get that picture out of your head. Like they hadn’t just met, like you hadn’t spent years learning how to calm Rafe when he spiraled, how to hold him together when he couldn’t hold himself.

Your chest tightened again, a bitter taste rising in your throat.

You could still feel the weight of his head on your shoulder that night, years ago, when his mom passed. The silent sobs that shook his body, the way he’d held onto you. That was the real Rafe—the one he hid from everyone else. The one who was lost and broken underneath all the anger. And you’d seen him, really seen him in ways no one else ever could. Not Sofia. Not anyone.

"Look, you're emotional, okay? I get it. Maybe it's that time of the month or something. You know how you always get when your hormones go crazy."

The words got to you, but not in the way he probably thought they would. At first, it pissed you off, like it always did when people tried to downplay your emotions. Everyone always said you felt too much. That you were out of control.

But then…

You stopped moving, blinking rapidly as his words spiraled around in your brain. ‘Time of the month’, he'd said.

Your heart started doing summersaults, your stomach dropping as the idea settled in. You grabbed your phone, hands trembling like leaves as you opened the calendar app. You scrolled, trying to think, trying to remember when you’d last…fuck.

You hadn’t had your period in… so long.

Almost two months. No. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. It had to be some kind of fucked up joke.

You felt light-headed as you reached for your car again, your body shaking so badly you could barely stand against the door. "Shit."

How could you not have noticed?

Topper noticed the change in you instantly, his brow furrowing. "What’s wrong with you?" he asked, his tone softening a little. "You okay?"

You couldn’t even form a sentence. Your brain was too full of what-ifs. Two months late.

You hadn't even thought about it until now—everything had taken so much space in your head that you hadn't noticed the most obvious sign. This wasn’t possible. Your hand flew to your stomach, almost instinctively. You had no idea what to do with the panic creeping up your throat.

“Shit,” You hissed, this time louder, trying to push the growing dread down. But it wouldn't go away.

He was still staring at you, “What? What’s going on? You’re freaking me out.”

But you were already backing away, shaking your head, “I—I need to go,” You mumbled, barely hearing yourself.

Your cousin moved quickly to block your path as you tried to make your way toward the door. That kind of protective streak only made you want to shove past him even more.

"You’re not driving in this state." he warned you, voice firm, his hands up like he was trying to physically stop you.

You just glared at him, “Fucking watch me.”

He didn’t budge. "You get in that car and I'm calling Rafe," he said, sounding dead serious.

You couldn’t believe it. Your head was already spinning, and he was trying to guilt-trip you like this was some kind of helpful thing to do? You threw your hands up in frustration, voice rising, cracking. "He’s too busy fucking Sofia. Knock yourself out."

The words felt like venom in your mouth, the bitterness rolling off your tongue. You didn’t care how harsh they sounded. You didn’t care about anything anymore except getting away from this suffocating stupid place. Before he could say anything else, you made your move. You pushed past him with all your strength, chest hurting with the urge to feel something other than this suffocating mess of emotions and confusion.

Your hands shook as you fumbled for your keys. You managed to unlock the door, sliding into the driver’s seat, the cool leather biting into your skin.

You needed to think. But all you could think about was that one, terrifying realization: you might be pregnant.

Your breath hitched, terror swirling around your chest. The calendar app was still open on your phone, the dates staring back at you like a flashing red warning sign, daring you to confront the truth you’d been ignoring. Two months. Two months without a period. And you hadn’t even noticed. You pressed a hand to your stomach again, heart pounding as if it was trying to escape your chest. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not like this.

You weren’t thinking clearly—shit, you weren’t thinking at all, but you couldn’t stay here. Not with Topper trying to baby you, not with him out there, living his best life like you didn’t even exist.

You turned the key, the engine roaring to life, and just as you gripped the wheel, ready to peel out of the driveway, Topper bolted in front of the car, planting himself right there like some kind of human roadblock. Fucking idiot. His arms were stretched out wide, like he could somehow stop you by sheer willpower.

“You’re not doing this, I swear to God, you’re not!” he yelled, his voice frantic, echoing off the dark street. He looked panicked, pleading even, like he was convinced you’d actually go through with it.

You gritted your teeth, eyes narrowing on him through the windshield. “Top, I swear, you have three seconds before I run you over.”

“Are you serious right now?” he yelled, his voice cracking with disbelief. But he didn’t move. “You think I’m letting you drive like this? You’re out of your fuckin’ mind!”

Your fingers gripping the wheel so hard it hurt. You weren’t bluffing. You were too wound up, too out of control. The only thing keeping you from flooring him was the fact that, deep down, you knew your cousin didn’t deserve it.

You just needed to get out of here.

“Move!” you screamed, “I’m not joking’, Topper. Get the fuck out of my way!”

His face twisted with frustration as he looked over his shoulder, something catching his attention. He started waving, yelling at someone, his voice cutting through the night, “Rafe! Dude, get over here!”

Your brain stopped. It was like everything had been sucked out of you. Your hands froze on the wheel, your entire body locking up as you looked to your right and saw him—Rafe. Right there in the yard.

And she was with him. He had his arm draped around her casually, like she belonged there.

Like he belonged there, just standing in the open, so stupidly comfortable in his new life. His head turned when he heard Topper call out, and your eyes locked for a less than a second. A moment too long. A moment that broke something inside you.

While Topper was distracted, his attention on Rafe, you made your move. You slammed your foot on the gas, tires screeching as the car lurched forward, swerving just enough to dodge Topper’s stunned figure. You heard him yell after you, but his voice faded into the background noise as you sped away.

You didn’t look back. Not at Top, not at Rafe.

The only thing you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, drowning out everything else. You hated this. Hated that you were crying. Hated that you’d let yourself get to this point.

“God, what is wrong with me?” you muttered, your voice quavering as the words tumbled out. “Why the fuck am I crying over him? I shouldn’t be crying over him.” You slammed your palm against the steering wheel, angry, disgusted with yourself.

You’d told yourself you were stronger than this—that after everything you’d been through, you didn’t need him or anyone else. But here you were, falling apart like some pathetic excuse of a mess because of him. Because he had always been there, hadn’t he? After the crash, after you lost everything, he was the one constant, the one person who kept you from completely losing it. You’d relied on him so much. Too much.

“Fuck,” you hissed, tears streaming down your face. Your throat burned as the memories came flooding back, memories of all the nights you’d spent together, of him holding you while you cried yourself to sleep, of the way he’d pulled you out of the gloom when you thought you’d never get back up again. You thought he’d always be that person for you, the one who understood your broken pieces because he had his own. You’d always fit together perfectly.

You pulled into the parking lot of the nearest drugstore, your hands still shaking as you put the car in park. The tears had dried up on the drive over, replaced by a cold determination. You didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to even think about what you were about to do.

The moment you stepped out of your car and into the harsh fluorescent lighting of the drugstore, you felt completely out of place—like a stranger in your own skin. You hadn’t even thought about how ridiculous you must’ve looked until you caught your reflection in one of the store’s glass windows. Your hair, still perfect from earlier, framed your face in soft waves, and your makeup was flawless, despite the crying. The designer dress you were wearing—sleek, red, and worth more than half the shit in this store—with its sticky floors and white lights, it made you feel like an alien. Like you didn’t belong.

You caught the eyes of a couple of people loitering outside the entrance as you walked in, their stares lingering a little too long, murmuring to each other behind smirks. You knew they were talking about you. They always did, kook queen, overdressed, out of touch, bitch, whatever they wanted to call you.

The sliding doors let out a grating beep as you entered, and the air inside was stale and heavy, reeking of floor cleaner and cheap perfume. You adjusted your grip on your purse, strutting past the aisles with your head high even though everything inside you felt like it was falling apart.

You always did this—dressed to kill, head up, like armor. But there was no real glamour in buying pregnancy tests from some random pharmacy in the middle of the night. No way to mask the deep, growing hysteria in your bones.

The girl behind the register clocked you the second you stepped up to the counter, her eyes dragging over your like she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. You could almost hear her thoughts: What the hell is someone like you doing here?

You didn’t even look at her. You just wanted to pay and leave without a scene. But of course, people always found a way to make things worse. She hesitated before scanning the tests, looking like she might say something. For her own good, you prayed she didn’t.

You threw the money on the counter before she could open her mouth, two crisp hundreds on top of the total. The cash hit the counter with a sharp thwap and you gave her the bitchiest look you could muster. “Take it. Keep your fucking mouth shut.”

She swallowed hard, her hand trembling as she slid the bills into the register. You didn’t care that she was young or nervous. You weren’t here to make friends. You weren’t here for anyone’s sympathy. The extra money would make sure she didn’t talk, that was all that mattered.

You walked out, your heels clicking against the linoleum, head high, even though every nerve in your body screamed for you to disappear. You slid into your truck, slamming the door shut, the silence finally hitting you. For all the designer clothes, the makeup, the money—none of it meant shit right now. You felt so small. So scared. Terribly lonely.

You sat there for what felt like forever, staring at the stupid bag in the passenger seat like it had the power to ruin your whole life—which, to be fair, it kind of did. You didn’t know what the fuck you were going to do. Not about any of it.

Your foot tapped nervously against the floor mat, the sound too loud in the quiet car. The bag crinkled as you glanced at it again, your stomach twisting all over again. A bunch of pregnancy tests. How had it come to this?

Rafe. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself not to think about him, not to picture his face when he found out. If he found out. Shit, what the hell was he going to do? He was with Sofia now, right? So was this going to ruin his life too? Did he even deserve to know?

It was probably nothing, you told yourself. Maybe the separation anxiety had gotten to you. Maybe your body was just fucked up from all the stress. Maybe your period was just late because you’d been so all over the place lately. There could be a million reasons. You didn’t even want to think about what would happen if it wasn’t nothing.

You didn’t want to cry anymore. Not after all of this. Not over Rafe. Not over your life turning into some fucking soap opera you didn’t even want to be a part of.

The second you were inside your house, the walls closed in around you. Your perfectly decorated place—the one you’d spent so much time making into a refuge, an escape—it didn’t feel like that anymore. Every designer pillow, every carefully chosen piece of art, mocking you.

Your phone buzzed in your bag, you reached for it. Of course, it was Rafe.

“I don’t know what the fuck that was but save the fucking dramatics, okay?”

The nerve. The fucking nerve of him to act like he was the center of your universe, acting like you were some inconvenience. Months of silence and this was the first thing he decided to text you? Knowing how much you despised when people called you a drama queen? Fucking piece of shit.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, a thousand different responses running through your mind. You wanted to tell him to shove something up his ass. But you did the only thing that felt right in that moment.

You blocked him. You stared at your phone, half expecting it to buzz again, half dreading that it wouldn’t. It was done. You cut him off, at least in that tiny, virtual way. You sat there for a minute, gripping the phone, trying to remember how to breathe.

This was supposed to feel empowering, right? You told yourself it would. That cutting him out would help you get back some control. But your mind wouldn’t settle. Those damn pregnancy tests were sitting in the bag next to you.

You were tired.

Exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with how late it was or how emotionally spent you were. You kicked off your heels, letting them clatter against the hardwood floor as you sank into the plush couch. Your house felt cold and unwelcoming tonight. Like a showroom. No comfort to be found. Not here, not in the muted tones of beige and white. Not in the sleek lines of furniture that were supposed to exude elegance and sophistication.

Maybe tomorrow you’d feel differently.

Maybe you’d wake up with a clear head, ready to take the stupid tests. Maybe you’d be strong again like you’d been so many times before.

Tonight, you were just tired. You leaned back against the cushions, closing your eyes for a moment, willing the noise in your head to quiet down. Sleep. That’s what you needed. Just a few hours to clear your mind, and in the morning, you’d deal with everything.

All of this would go away.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige @rafebb

@rafesbbyy @whytheylosttheirminds @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron @serrendiipty @sunny1616

@yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog @psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2 @starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols

@icaqttt

[rainrot4me]

Ticci Toby General Headcannons

Summary: Basic, SFW, and NSFW head-cannons. My personal thoughts, feelings, and opinions about Toby as a character.

TW: NSFW below the cut, minors dni! Above the cut is sfw!

Words: 1.6k

A/N: NSFW is reader with female anatomy.

Basic:

- Even though he is socially awkward and tense, he’s a master at people watching. Can read a room and know more details about a person within seconds of watching them interact.

- Likes his alone time.

- He would probably say Tim and Brian are his closest friends, the same can’t be said about Masky and Hoodie, however.

- A pro at zoning out. Takes you waving your hand in his face before he snaps back.

- Bipolar? More-so emotional switch. Tends to be soft-spoken and awkward, trying his best to keep conversation while fidgeting his hands, looking anywhere but at your face. Otherwise, he’s an in-your-face, aggressive, no emotional resistance when that flip is switched. Lots of teeth gritting and yelling, swings his ax around like it’s a toy to intimidate. It takes a lot for him to get to that point, but it takes double the time for him to come back down from it.

- Not easily scared. Will throw himself into a fight and come out victorious somehow.

- Sleeper build. Wears lots of baggy clothing and layers so you can’t tell, but secretly he’s jacked. He may look scrawny, but don’t be fooled. Really strong shoulder and chest muscles from dually swinging his ax and dragging bodies around. He doesn’t think it’s all that impressive. Wishes he was bigger.

- The worst posture you’ve ever seen.

- Let his facial hair grow out from time to time. Thinks it makes him look too mature, but appreciates the compliments he gets.

- Has a secret hobby of playing a guitar he found on a mission. His tics mess him up a lot, but it’s worth the trip out deeper into the woods where no one can hear to practice a little.

- A little shit.

- Hates the heat. Would rather freeze to death than spend one moment in the too hot sun. Favorite season is late fall, around the first snowfall time.

- Big on territory. Never had privacy or respect as a kid so he values having his own things and belongs that nobody else can touch.

- Definitely shy, but not in the “UwU” way, in the “Can you get this from the gas station for me? The girl in there looks mean.”

- Bites his nails, the skin around his nails, and his cuticles LIKE A MF.

- Very light sleeper. Unless he’s absolutely dead beat exhausted, he’ll wake up from just the floorboards creaking. Has to be physically exhausted to actually rest.

- When listening to music, he needs it as loud and close as possible. Headphones are a must and they must be at max. He wants to feel that bass.

- A stray animal lover, feels similar to them in a way.

- Breaks down a lot. Hard to console or even talk to in those moments but some time alone in his room will do the trick.

- Has the education level of a middle schooler.

- Enjoys Gorillaz, Rainbow Kitten Surprise, and surprisingly, older country artists like Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson. “Outlaw shit.”

Dating Him/SFW:

- “Love” “Y/N…” “Baby”

- Loves when he touches you and you don’t pull away. Like when his knee accidentally rests against yours or his elbow bumps your arm while sitting on the couch and you don’t tug away, just sitting there letting him rest. He gets all giddy.

- Playing with your hair. Currently trying to learn how to braid.

- “Wait. O- Okay, so, right th- then left? No? F- Fuck, okay…”

- Favorite sleeping position is with you wrapping around each other, legs and arms tangled together as he hooks his chin onto the top of your head, rubbing your back. Even though you both get extremely hot and sweaty after a while, Toby enjoys the moment before you eventually shove him off.

- Likes to feel your body weight on him, whether it’s laying or sitting, he just likes the pressure and warmth you give.

- Big on physical touch, could really care less if he’s mad or not, just needs to have some part of his body touching yours.

- You could wear or look like absolutely anything and he’d still think you’re the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen.

- Loves how you smell after getting out of the shower, can’t get enough of it while he kisses your warm, damp skin.

- Loves the way it feels when you comb through his hair with your fingers, practically purrs as he melts into your warmth, angling his head so you have better access.

- An admirer for sure, stares even when you catch on, studying every freckle or sunspot on your cheek.

- Self conscious about being your boyfriend. In reality, he’s an amazing lover, but he’s been conditioned his whole life that he’s not good enough and that ideal carries over.

- Tried to lick you through the hole in his cheek once, you both freaked out.

- Sensitive to high stress situations or loud noises so constantly reaches for your hand or crams himself into your side to block out the panic he can feel oncoming. You really help.

- Slasher movie date nights are always a bust because he’ll describe just how inaccurate that blood splatter was, followed by what would actually happen in detail.

- “If he c- cut the arm like that, it wou- wouldn’t spray out that far. This g- guy doesn’t even l- look like he’s ever even he- held an ax before.”

- Didn’t have a favorite color until you told him yours. Says his is the same, just cause it’s your favorite.

- Very immature in the sense of relationship problems. He thinks everything can be solved if he just avoids it, and that includes you. It takes a lot of bickering and patience, but he’ll eventually get over himself and force a solution.

- Doesn’t open up about anything ever. You’ve gotta fight tooth and nail for him to even mention his mother’s name. Will tell you all about his latest mission, however, whether you want to hear or not.

- Throws things or hits you playfully just to turn around and go “Who did that??”

Dating Him/NSFW:

- Boobs. Tits. Breasts. He needs them in his palms immediately.

- A big biter. Will never bite hard enough to draw blood but gets so turned on at seeing his teeth marks in your skin. Big territory thing.

- “Mine. See, I m- marked ‘ya. You’re mine.”

- His dream is to fuck your tits, too shy to ask though.

- Always been a “jerk off as fast as you can” kind of guy, fisting his cock fast to just get off. So when you slowly slide down his cock for the first time, taking your time to adjust and grind your hips at a steady pace, he nearly cums on the spot from how overwhelming it is.

- Bisexual, definitely.

- Starts at a fast pace at first, thrusting and grinding until both of your hips hurt, but then slowly his pace changes, more intentional movements and sinking deeper, more focused on stretching you out then getting deep. Just wants to get you dizzy before he gives you the good stuff lol.

- “Th- That feel good? You’re sq- squeezin’ so tight, ah-”

- His fingernail imprints all over your skin from how hard he holds you.

- Pervert but not in a creepy way. Pervert as in gets a boner from just watching your ass as you walk across the room. Has to clench his fists every time you bend over or raise your shirt up. Can barely breathe if you’re showing too much skin.

- Not big on degradation, but is very big on affirmation, loves to be told he’s doing good.

- Secretly, sooooo secretly loves the idea of anal. For both you and him. He wants to be buried in your ass, your back laid into his chest as he shoves his fingers into your cunt, panting into your neck. But at the same time, wishes you would just read his mind and push your fingers into his, fisting his cock as you stretched him so well.

- Surprisingly, very flexible. Whatever position you’re in he can easily contort to get the best angle to sink his cock in.

- Jealousy sex. Another resident of the mansion catches your glance for too long and suddenly you’re shoved into the bathroom, pants at your ankles as the brunette swipes the pads of his fingers against your clit, biting against your shoulder as he ruts into your ass.

- “Mine, mine, m- mine, nobody els- else makes you feel this good. Right? R- Right? Yeah?”

- A WHINER. Grade A pro at burying his face into your neck/pillow/chest and just sobbing his pleasure through tears and moans. He’s so loud, obnoxiously groaning and huffing as you slap your hand over his mouth. It doesn’t help though, as soon as your hand pushes down his tongue is already out and licking your palms.

- You in his hoodie? Yeah, it’s the only thing you’re wearing while he snaps his hips, pushing your knees back as far as they’ll go to get even deeper, mewling about how good you look.

- Loves to sit back and watch you suck his cock, his fingers pushing strands of hair out of your face as you try to take it all in, eyes twitching the further down you get. He’s not insanely big, just lengthy enough to make you choke and reach all the best parts. Likes to put his goggles on your forehead and watch them dangle as you bob up and down.

- Cumming in you? No. Cumming on you? Every single time. Goes absolutely crazy when he sees his seed shot across your stomach or thighs, your flushed skin and post-orgasm twitches getting him so turned on he can’t focus.

- “You ju- just look so good… Couldn’t he- help myself, okay? Sorry… Can we, u- uh… Can we go ag- again?”

Thank you for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

[personapeters]

𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬

— a rafe cameron one shot (1 of 2) part one • part two

✰ you’re at a party with your ‘best friend’, rafe, when things suddenly turn sour, and he’s not afraid to fight for whats his.

rating: sfw — cw: alcohol, physical assault, blood

if y/n was somehow convinced that the rafe cameron could have simply walked away from a situation as such — she was terribly mistaken. the mild taste of alcohol burning in the back of his throat became overwhelmingly bitter as he shoved his phone back into his pocket, his knuckles aching in sheer anticipation.

his mind raced for a moment as he stood, rage gradually bubbling in his stomach as a burning sensation overtook his skin. they weren’t ‘official’ by any means — he wasn’t even sure if she saw him the way he did her — but in his mind, that truly meant changed nothing; whether she was simply his closest friend or his girlfriend, she was still someone of his — his.

he downed the rest of the weak mixer in his red solo cup before throwing it down onto the already trash cluttered floor. his narrow eyes scanned the crowed of moving bodies surrounding him before they landed on a familiar head of dirty blonde.

“aye — aye, top!” he called out, weaving his way through the living room with minimal care for the people he was shoving before fully approaching his friend. “yo, rafe, you good?” topper questioned with immediate concern, noticing the all-too-familiar look on the older mans face as he placed a hand on his shoulder.

“where’s your man?” rafe asked through gritted teeth, attempting to keep his composure — he knew exactly who y/n refered to, he just needed to find him. “wha- who?” topper replied with a genuine confusion, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. “that short fuck you invited, topper,” rafe seethed with mild annoyance, his patience wearing extremely thin as he watched his friend take another swig of his beer, “the blonde — where is he?”

“mmm,” topper hummed in recognition as he pulled his lips from the bottle and took a swallow, “mikey? uh, out back with kelce, last i seen ‘em.” needing nothing more, rafe swiftly stormed off with a clenched jaw, exiting out of the back porch door with a slam while ignoring topper’s questioning calls from behind.

the sandy backyard was almost as populated as the inside, the once pounding music now a muted bass as he furthered himself from house, his head on a swivel as he searched the sea of people. once again, he roughly pushed his way through party-goers, his height playing to his advantage as he peered above their heads, scanning the area. it took all of a minute before he spotted kelce and a few others gathered around a fire, laughing amongst themselves.

he felt a twisting heat build in his core as he neared them, his fists balled tightly as he held them stiff by his sides, knuckles white from the intense pressure. kelce noticed rafe approaching out of the corner of his eye, a bright smile on his face as he prepared to greet his friend that was quickly wiped away when he noticed his hostile demeanor.

“aye, what’s-,” kelce started, but was cut off abruptly as rafe brushed past and violently shoved the lanky blonde beside him to the ground. “yo, what the fuck, rafe?!” kelce yelled, stepping in between the two men hastily, eyes widened as he glanced between them both — once again, rafe simply brushed past him.

“y’think you can just try ‘n force girls to fuck you? keep fuckin’ with her ‘till she puts out?” rafe seethed at a moderate volume, towering over a heaving michael who was attempting to regain the breath that was knocked out of him. rafe used the plural term ‘girls’ loosely as he only really cared for the one girl in particular — he wasn’t afraid to admit that, either.

“what are you talking about, dude?” the man in the sand exclaimed, though rafe knew he was feigning ignorance. “what the hell is going on?!” kelce added, though through everything he was hearing, he began putting the jagged pieces together.

“can’t get pussy without beggin’ for it, right? ah, that’s it,” rafe taunted with a malicious half-grin, one that could send a static chill down one’s spine and make them question what it’s owner was capable of. some would say rafe cameron always had a hint of crazy in his eyes, but now it was prominent and on full display. “c’mon, rafe, just chill,” kelce reasoned, or attempted to, pushing his friend back by his biceps as michael clamored to his feet.

“yo, get the fuck off me!” rafe barked, swiping both of kelce’s arms away with a single motion, his eyes still locked onto his target. “y’like puttin’ your hands on girls, yeah?!” rafe hissed, marching across the sand and pressing his broad chest to michael’s lesser one, his breaths hot and rapid as they fanned across his opponent’s face. a crowd had formed as the altercation became louder and more evident, encouraging chants emitting from the herd of college students surrounding who drunkenly anticipated the unconventional entertainment.

admittedly, rafe liked — no, loved that everyone was watching him make an example out of the unfortunate soul who crossed him. anyone who had an ounce of sense knew never to mess with rafe cameron or his people, especially not his girl — his name was written all over her. yet, seemingly, not everyone got that very important message; though, he knew it would soon be made exceedingly loud and abundantly clear, as it should be.

“dude, i-i don’t know what the fuck you’re talking ab-,” the blonde began to babble but rafe wasn’t in any mood to listen, abruptly interrupting him in his fit of rage by swinging back a heavy fist and letting it crack against mikey’s jaw. the shorter man stumbled backwards, the sand beneath his feet making it harder to regain his balance as he plummeted to the ground. he gripped his chin as a thin stream of warm blood began to pour from his mouth before yelling, “what the fuck, dude?!”

“what—you don’t like that?” rafe mocked with a sickeningly sweet tone, watching with an ice-melting gaze as the man clamored to his feet. “tell me to stop,” rafe snarled, lunging forward and taking another loaded swing, connecting it straight into michael’s ribs, “nah, you like it, don’t you?” he doubled over in pain, letting out a strained groan as he placed a hand over his sore abdomen.

“yo, that’s enough, rafe,” kelce intervened again, stepping in between the two men in an attempt to distinguish the fight. rafe ignored his friend’s plea, roughly brushing shoulders passed him as he advanced once again. “c’mon, tough guy, don’t be a bitch,” he taunted again, “put your hands on somebody who wants ‘em.”

suddenly, a voice from within the large huddle of bystanders was heard, topper emerging from the mass with urgency. “hey, hey! what the fuck is going on?!” he asked frantically, his eyes flickering between rafe and the battered man before him. “why don’t you ask your buddy over there, huh?” rafe hissed, enough anger boiling in his blood to heat the very surface of his skin, his adrenaline at an all-time high.

“i ain’t do nothing, alright?!” michael defended breathlessly, and rafe felt as though his body could have burst from rage. “nothing, huh?” rafe muttered, surprisingly calm as an overwhelming, animalistic urge to tear the man apart limb from limb began to overtake him even further.

“beggin’ to crack girls who don’t want to fuck you is nothing, huh?” rafe projected as though it was an announcement, loud enough for everyone surrounding to hear, “getting your dick in a twist when they turn you down, leavin’ marks on ‘em — that’s nothing? you’re a fuckin’ pussy.”

“alright, you watch your mouth,” michael spat through gritted teeth, striding forward with a pointed finger, stopping it a mere inch away from rafe’s stoic face; rafe found it almost comical. “or what?” rafe rebutted, a small smirk pulling at the corner of his rose tinted lips. the volume of the crowd raised once more as the momentum picked up, the watchers on the edge of their metaphorical seats as they awaited a fight they knew rafe would deliver.

“you guys needa just-just chill out — calm down,” topper coaxed, attempting to play peacemaker, though his efforts were deemed futile when michael suddenly pulled his fist back and pounded it against rafe’s bottom lip, catching him off guard. the pink, supple flesh split instantly, blood trickling over his chin and trailing down his neck, the fabric of his shirt soaking it up and painting itself crimson.

rafe darted forward, virtually unfazed by the newfound gash on his face, grabbing michael by his collar with one hand and striking him in the jaw with the other. the crowd gasped while others cheered, their phones tight in their grasps as they recorded the brawl — this is what they were waiting for. rafe felt multiple pairs of hands on his back, tugging at his shirt as they attempted to pull him off, but rafe could only stop when he wanted to.

he planted another jab into michael’s side, which was quickly reciprocated when a set of knuckles collided with rafe’s torso, causing him to stumble. although michael was noticeably smaller, his brute was still nothing to be undermined, especially when being used against a girl like y/n. considering that only pushed rafe further off the edge — the idea of anyone trying her made him irrevocably livid.

“you’re a coward,” rafe yelled as he swung once again, this time knocking michael off his feet and onto his back with a sand-cushioned thud, “a fucking coward!” he kicked the fallen man in his side with the entirety of his strength, causing him to roll over in agony as he hugged himself. “ain’t even man enough,” he gritted out while kicking him again, “to own up to it,” and again, “wanna touch my girl,” and again, “fuckin’ joke.”

in the near distance, a loud siren was heard followed by the hue of red and blue lights washing over the front of the house, causing the gaggle of bystanders to all flee in various directions. “that’s enough,” topper insisted with a hand yanking rafe back by his shoulder, frankly only concerned for him after digesting the entirety of the situation, “the cops are here — we gotta go.”

rafe ignored his warning, stalking towards the blonde on the ground with an unwavering desire to make his face utterly unrecognizable. moments like these made him wish he could guarantee getting away with murder, completely removing the problem from his island. he crouch down slowly, grabbing michael by his dirtied polo before roughly pulling him upwards, their faces inches apart as he left him with a final message warning:

“don’t come back here again. if you ever — ever even so much as fucking speak to her again, i promise… i will fucking kill you.”

 personapeters 2024 — all rights reserved • masterlist

[ugh-yoongi]

hi. i would like to request seungcheol (obviously). all i request is enemies-to-lovers. you may do with this what you wish. i leave it up to you to decide exactly how you will ruin my life 😌

tysm for the request my beloved !! he is so enemies to lovers coded i had TEWWW many thoughts (and started three separate wips oops), but here we are. i hope u enjoy this !! can't wait to get the collab fics out of the way so i can torture u further with baseball dk. i picked dodgers hat!cheol just for u. ♡

— we need to talk

pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader summary: sometimes the only way to win the game is to not play, but sometimes it's not a game at all—sometimes it's four years of emotional build-up with nowhere left to hide. genre: enemies (kinda) w benefits to lovers; frat/university au; smut, angst?, fluff rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. warnings: frat boys. gendered language and insults. swearing. mentions of drugs & drug use (vernon is literally a drug dealer 🤷🏻‍♀️) as well as alcohol. possessive, jealous seungcheol who is extremely down bad and kind of an asshole and would be toxic af irl but is fine in fanfiction probably. this is maybe more "people who used to fuck and started disliking each other along the way bc they can't figure out their feelings" to lovers than enemies. there are very slight, very meaningless mingyu x reader undertones here. jeonghan is a bastard. feelings you think are unrequited but alas! this got softer than i intended oops. smut warnings: seungcheol truly is a man driven to the brink of madness bc of pussy idk what to say. kissing. hair pulling. mentions of masturbation. the dynamics shift in this one a lot, but to be overly cautious i will say dom!cheol and slightly dom!reader undertones that are not implicitly stated or defined. seungcheol uses the term "whore" once, sorry. oral sex (f. receiving). pussy slapping. unprotected sex. if i missed any pls lmk. wordcount: 8k. no i do not know what a drabble is, leave me alone. author's note: title from the song of the same name by waterparks but this was actually brought to you by "i'll never stop" by nsync bc it's their best song and fit the vibes perfectly. anyway, i still do not love writing smut but i am insane over this man so whatever, we persevere. everyone go shower mj in lots of love bc she's the best and deserves it. also everyone say thank u @the-boy-meets-evil for looking over this for me. i did not look at this again after she beta'd it so any mistakes are of my own stupidity. <3

Seungcheol is incensed.

What in the fuck are you thinking, showing up here? Ignoring him, walking by him with nothing more than a brush to the elbow and that sultry, electric gaze? A pair of painted-on jeans and a sheer top?

Who the fuck had invited you?

He looks around the room, gaze heavy under his furrowed brow. Bass thumps in his ears, the music so loud he can feel it in his chest. Still, his feet stay planted on the floor, already sticky with spilled alcohol and god knows what else. He needs to find Vernon—just needs something to get through this very unexpected (and very unpleasant) surprise, take the edge off.

But he can’t see through the sea of people. They’re everywhere, occupying every inch of available space in the house, but he just needs a glimpse of that mop of cornflower blue hair. If he could just—

Instead, he sees a streak of white-blond in his peripheral vision. “Soonyoung!” he calls, grabbing the man by the arm. “Hey, have you seen Vernon?”

Soonyoung stares up at him with glassy, bloodshot eyes, his breath already stinking of alcohol as he shrugs and says, “Dunno, hyung. Think he’s upstairs.”

Fingers still wrapped around his bicep, Seungcheol heaves a sigh. “Go find Jeonghan. He’s on babysitting duty and you’re already fucked.”

“I’m fine,” Soonyoung argues, slurred words giving him away immediately.

Seungcheol scoffs. “Bro, you can barely stand and you reek of shitty vodka. Go drink some water.”

As he sends Soonyoung away, he can feel eyes boring into him, tension wound tight in the center of his back that refuses to dissipate no matter how many times he rolls his shoulders. He turns slowly, already knowing exactly what he’ll find, but knowing does little to stop the hitch of breath as he takes you in.

And he hates it. Fuck, he hates the effect you have on him more than anything.

Hates that he’s still pining after you. Hates that all you have to do is look at him and he’s putty in your hands. Hates that you’re the first person he looks for in a room, the last person on his mind before he falls asleep. Hates you, hates that all of this is unreciprocated, because if Choi Seungcheol is anything, it’s proud. He’s rich, he’s good-looking, he’s pre-law, and the president of this fraternity, for fuck’s sake—he should not be hung up on a girl.

But he’d been doomed from the beginning. Ever since you’d been assigned to him as a challenge to overcome, an impossible task to conquer, he’d been helplessly, pathetically smitten with you.

And fuck if you didn’t know it, too.

So, it’s a game now. A lifetime’s worth of pining for Seungcheol all because his frat was misogynistic and refused to keep up with the times. They’d nodded in your direction and laughed at the confusion on his face, the knot between his brows. Seungcheol couldn’t figure out why his initiation was to fuck a girl, one his brothers wouldn’t even address by name, but when he’d approached you at a party and you’d immediately told him to go fuck himself, he’d figured it out pretty quick.

Call it determination, call it a stubborn streak that refused to quit, but the two of you soon came to a reluctant agreement: you would let Seungcheol lie to his frat, figuring he was attractive enough that people thinking you’d slept together wouldn’t be complete social suicide, and he’d owe you a favor you’d keep in your back pocket for as long as it took to cash in.

Which hadn’t taken long. The stress of finals that first year had gotten to all of you, and it wasn’t long before you were at his door looking for his drug-dealing roommate and a quick fuck.

That was the second time Seungcheol had been doomed to hopeless pining, because once he had you, he knew it’d be impossible to let you go.

Short of outright saying the words, he’d all but told you as much during some alcohol-induced brain shortage junior year. And, in turn, you’d all but laughed in his face.

Right.

Of course.

That was to be expected.

So, you’d continued your… well, whatever this is: quick fucks when both of you were bored or lonely or horny, usually under the influence of something illegal; a mutually tense but beneficial relationship for each of you, because you had been Seungcheol’s initiation and the initiation itself awarded him connections and opportunities. You got a back-up plan. A safe body and warm bed to retreat to when the need arose—one who clearly wanted it to be something more, but was, all things considered, fine with the current arrangement. Didn’t pressure you.

But, as was also to be expected, it was never going to be that simple when feelings got involved. When he started feeling slighted. When he wanted you so bad he ached with it sometimes and it was beneath you to care. Which is why he really, really needs to find Vernon. If he’s going to endure an entire party with you, he’s not going to do it sober.

He takes the steps two at a time, feet stumbling onto the landing as soon as he reaches it. Vernon’s door is the third on the left, and he can hear a separate, distinct bass line from the one booming downstairs that hums louder the closer he gets.

And Vernon knows. Of course he does, because he’s yanking his door open before Seungcheol has even raised a hand to knock, the stench of weed seeping out into the hallway, and all he needs is a quick look at Seungcheol before he pulls the door open wider and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States of America,” as if he’s speaking into a microphone. When Seungcheol doesn’t react, he awkwardly tacks on, “Hi, hyung. I’m assuming she’s here.”

Seungcheol nods, dumbly, and stands as awkwardly in the center of the room as someone who’s about to ask their roommate for drugs tends to be. “Yeah.” Shoves his hands in the pockets of his overpriced jeans so Vernon can’t see the sheen of sweat.

“You looking for somethin’ specific?” he asks, rifling through the top drawer of a tall dresser. “Like, is this an I’m about to fuck her the rest of the night visit or an I need something to help me forget she doesn’t actually like me visit?”

The words come like a reflex. “Fuck you,” he seethes. Vernon’s not wrong, per se, but he didn’t have to go and just… say it like that.

Vernon just shrugs, one side of his worn-out collar slipping down his shoulder as he does so, and Seungcheol can’t tell if he’s actually dressed for the party or not. “Gonna guess it’s the second one, then.”

Seungcheol scoffs. “Well, it’s not,” he insists, knowing damn well he should let it go, that he’s just digging himself a bigger hole, but the truth sits in the pit of his stomach like lead.

And, really, he knows he just needs to accept it. That little strand of hope hasn’t brought him anything but more pain—allowed him to delude himself into thinking it could be something more, something tangible—and it’s time to let it go.

You don’t want more.

You don’t want the label and the relationship.

You don’t want him.

He knows this, but it still tastes sour in his mouth. Still tastes like the chill of autumn when you’d first showed up at his door all that time ago. Tastes like all the blunts you’ve shared and the liquor from all the parties you’d snuck away in the middle of. Tastes like the sharp notes of your perfume, the ones that’d coat his tongue when he’d kiss down your neck—the same notes that stain his bedsheets.

Mostly, it’s the pitying look Vernon’s giving him that hurts the most. He’s above pity. Doesn’t need it, especially not from Vernon Chwe, but it hurts all the same to be on the receiving end of it.

“Give me whatever you’ve got.”

Vernon’s face quickly morphs into surprised concern. “Uh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I mean, I’ve got some pretty heavy shit here.”

Heat flares in his belly. The pity was bad enough—now he wants to be patronizing? “Then give me whatever the fuck you think I need,” he snaps. “I don’t care. I don’t have time for this shit.”

“Well, you definitely need to chill,” Vernon mumbles. “You want some dabs?”

“No. Something…” The word feels thick in his mouth. Stronger implies that Seungcheol does heavy drugs, and that’s not true. “Else,” he finally finishes.

Vernon sighs as he continues rifling through the drawer. “Your dad would fucking kill me if I gave you my real heavy shit, so…” He pauses, eyebrows raising in triumph as he finds what he was looking for: a small baggie filled halfway with some nondescript powder. “You want a bump?”

Maybe he should be ashamed at how quickly he agrees, at the urgency and greed with which he grabs the baggie from Vernon’s fingers, but he just needs something. Needs the distraction, the brain fog. He shoves it in his back pocket next to his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

Vernon wrinkles his nose. “Nah. Consider that one a freebie. No offense, but you’re a real piece of shit when you’re like this.”

The implication only pisses him off more. Seungcheol is loaded—he can afford to pay his drug dealer, thank you very much—but he’s not like anything. “I’m sorry?”

True to his nature, Vernon barely shrugs. “I’ll put it on your tab, hyung,” he says in a way that implies he’s not at all going to do that and is only saying so to get the fraternity president off his back.

Jeonghan (23:12) Better come get your girl. Kim Mingyu’s dick looks like it’s halfway up her ass by now. Jeonghan (23:12) Uh oh! I think I just saw a testicle

Seungcheol stares down at his phone, hands trembling in anger. Of course it’s Mingyu. That pathetic loser has been taking up residence on the subs bench ever since you’d made out with him months ago in an admittedly successful attempt at payback. Seungcheol had hooked up with some downgrade at a party one time and you’d gone and made out with his friend. It was hardly a fair trade.

Seungcheol (23:14) Good for Mingyu, he can deal with her then Seungcheol (23:14) I’m busy Jeonghan (23:14) Doing what? Jerking off in the upstairs bathroom again? Jeonghan (23:15) Do you know what size condom he wears btw? Looks like I might need to fetch him one if you don’t want to take care of another man’s baby Jeonghan (23:16) Although, to be fair, you might want to sit this one out. He has way better bone structure than you. Might be a blessing in disguise Seungcheol (23:16) Fuck you Jeonghan (23:16) Better be nice to me, Choi Seungcheolie~ that might be the only fuck you get tonight

Seungcheol needs better friends. He needs a lot of things, really, but number one on his to-do list is to never let Jeonghan be on babysitting duty ever again. Somehow he’d forgotten how obnoxious Yoon Jeonghan is when he isn’t stoned and half-asleep on a couch somewhere.

For now, he just stomps down the hallway; locks himself in his room and doesn’t bother to turn on the light. He’s not going to be here long. Just enough time to do this line, change his t-shirt, and come up with a game plan, because he’s not going to let Mingyu even entertain the thought of being able to have you but he also can’t appear desperate. Not just to you, but to everyone else. Choi Seungcheol is not clingy, especially not over a girl.

Especially especially over a girl who doesn’t even want him like that.

But the longer he sits in the dark, the more trouble he has finding his resolve. Can’t bring himself to dig that baggie out of his pocket. Can’t drag his t-shirt over his head. Can’t bring himself to think about anything other than Mingyu’s hands all over you, and fuck, does that image drive him insane.

Does he touch you like Seungcheol does?

Does he coax those same jagged whimpers from your mouth like Seungcheol does?

Does his semi-hard cock feel as good pressed against you?

God, he’s so fucked. Utterly and completely fucked. And he wonders if this would be as bad if he’d just kept his mouth shut, took that secret to his grave instead of fooling himself into thinking it could be more. If it wouldn’t have devolved into… this. You’d always told him not to get attached, that sex was just sex and there was no need to ruin a good thing. But Seungcheol is a selfish man, always has been, and what if? is a dangerous question.

Jeonghan (23:36) Wow, you’re a fucking pussy. Stop hiding in your room like a little bitch. Seungcheol (23:36) Fuck off

He can’t go down there. Not because he’s a coward, but because he’s barely tethered to his sanity as it is. Something about you brings him out of his mind, makes him toss whatever good judgment he has left to the wind. Seungcheol is far too impulsive when it comes to you, reckless in ways that have all twenty years of his social training weeping in a corner; have alarm bells ringing in his brain. So, no, he can’t go downstairs right now because he knows he’ll do something stupid. Stick not only his foot but his entire lower body in it. He should’ve listened, yet here he is, dick pulled halfway out of his jeans because the thought of you alone gets him hard but his pride won’t let him jerk off to the image of anyone touching you that’s not him.

Forget whatever Jeonghan had called him. He’s a fucking fool. A moonstruck, delusional fool who’d tricked himself into thinking he could swim when he can barely tread water.

You (23:41) Something wrong?

Oh, here we fucking go, he thinks. Because this is Seungcheol’s game—one he’d perfected years ago, the one where he’s coy and chilly, never too eager, never committed. Just a little bit of a tease. Barely enough to keep them on the hook, a little needy; still enough to keep them coming back. But you’d taken one look at him all those years ago and had him pegged immediately. Figured out his game and learned the rules, used them against him. Now you watch him flounder with a smile on your face.

Seungcheol (23:42) Never knew you were so needy baby. First you show up uninvited and now youre missing me?

But just because there’s now a player two doesn’t mean he’s doomed to lose. He knows how you look when you’re on your knees for him. Knows how you sound when you’re begging to cum and stuttering out his name like you’re singing hymns. Knows how you look with your eyes rolled back after he’s fucked you dumb. Kim Mingyu doesn’t know shit.

Seungcheol knows he’s the only one fortunate enough to experience you like this.

And god does it kill him.

You (23:44) Don’t act stupid

A pleased exhale of laughter, an equally-smug smirk. Yeah, this is still Seungcheol’s game, the crown still sitting atop his head. You can let Mingyu grind his dick against you all you want, but Seungcheol is still the one you’re seeking out, pouting at the fact he hasn’t come to find you yet.

You (23:44) Mingyu invited me

Oh, you’re good—know just which buttons to press and how much pressure to use. Whatever smug expression Seungcheol had been wearing slides off his face immediately, tongue pressing into his cheek.

Seungcheol (23:46) And yet youre looking for me? You (23:47) Don’t have to look for you to know you’re upstairs sulking in your room because Jeonghan tattled on me like a fucking five year old Seungcheol (23:49) Maybe you should come up here then Seungcheol (23:49) Away from prying eyes

You don’t reply immediately. It’s just long enough for Seungcheol’s brain to conjure up something indecent—the way you’ll straddle him, the way his cock will feel pressed against the apex of your thighs; the goosebumps that’ll raise on his arms when you work your tongue along his neck, that spot near his collarbone you know he likes. His cock throbs against the confines of his jeans when he thinks about the devastated look on Mingyu’s face when you make up some excuse to get away from him, to traipse up the stairs and fall into Seungcheol’s bed, when he realizes he’s not going to have you.

You (23:56) It’d be pretty rude to leave my date, don’t you think? You (23:57) If you want me so bad, come down here and get me yourself

Seungcheol doesn’t play games; doesn’t compete because he has no competition. He’s always been given whatever he wants on a silver platter, no questions asked, so he’s wholly unprepared for this turn of events. What he knows he should do (respond to your text and tell you to fuck off, that you know where he is should you stop being a brat and change your mind) is not what he does (tucks his dick back in his jeans, finally throws on a clean t-shirt, and takes his time descending the stairs so he doesn’t look too eager), because logical thought gets tossed out the window entirely wherever you’re concerned.

“Ah, if it isn’t our resident pissbaby making his grand re-entrance.”

Seungcheol clenches his jaw for the nth time and glares. “Fuck off, Jeonghan.”

The man in question laughs—the annoying raspy one that grates on Seungcheol’s nerves—and hands over a cup of something brown and pungent. “Well, judging from your attitude, and the fact you’re barely hiding that boner you’ve got, you clearly didn’t spend your time away jerking off. What finally got you down here, the promise of cheap whiskey I nicked off some freshman or the fact that your girlfriend’s about two seconds from getting a public indecency charge courtesy of Kim Mingyu?”

Well. Jeonghan may be an asshole but he’s not wrong. Even through the crowd of people and the haze of whatever’s in his cup and a contact high, Seungcheol spots you immediately. Your back is pressed against Mingyu’s chest, his fingers gripping tight at your waist as you roll your hips in time with his. Whatever manufactured filth he’s whispering to you draws a smile, causes you to reach up and tug sharply at his hair. Fuck, Seungcheol can almost hear Mingyu’s moan from across the room, and his blood quickly heats to a rapid boil.

Another chuckle from the demon beside him. “Stop fucking laughing,” Seungcheol snaps, still unable to take his eyes off of you. “Fuck this. I’m going back upstairs. Make sure everyone’s out of here by three. I’m not paying for another noise citation.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “I’m absolutely not going to do that.” He shoves a bottle of something in Seungcheol’s hand. “Take this and think of me when you’re crying yourself to sleep because Mingyu stole guaranteed pussy right out of your hands.”

“Why do you do this?” Seungcheol asks, shoving at Jeonghan’s shoulder roughly. “You never know when to fucking quit.”

Another streak of white-blond. “Hey, no fighting!” Soonyoung slurs, trying his best to push Seungcheol to the other side of the kitchen with his useless, limp arms.

This attracts the attention of Joshua, who struts into the room looking straight out of Fashion Week, much like he always does. He hasn’t even broken a sweat. “Aw, are Mom and Dad fighting again?” he asks, his lips tugged into a smirk. He ignores Seungcheol’s scowl as he fixes himself a drink. “You know Mingyu only does it to get a reaction out of you,” Joshua adds, quieter this time, as if he’s telling Seungcheol a secret only meant for the two of them to share.

“What’s her excuse, then?” Seungcheol fires back, because even if he doesn’t like it, Joshua’s right. This is exactly the kind of behavior he’d expect from resident campus whore Kim Mingyu, but he never expected you to go along with it.

Joshua cocks an eyebrow. “She doesn’t need an excuse, Cheol. She’s not your girl.”

Even though it’s a truth he already knows, it somehow hurts worse being spoken in plaintext, a hushed conversation in a crowded kitchen. Being let down gently. Seungcheol knows he needs to make a decision. He needs to let you go and start moving on with his life; can’t be having these quasi-meltdowns during frat parties anymore. Can’t be possessive and spiteful. You don’t want him. Everyone knows you don’t want him, so that’s all there is to it. Maybe you’ll want Mingyu and he can finally wash his hands of this forever, scrape the jealousy off his tongue.

He steels himself. Rolls his shoulders back, cracks his neck. Navigates the crowd in the living room until he reaches you and your so-called date. Grabs you by the elbow—gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt but firm enough to send a message—and says the two of you need to talk. Upstairs. Now. Mingyu just smiles like he knew this was coming and presses a pointless, wasted kiss just below your ear. Seungcheol tells him to fuck off, too, and Mingyu grins wider, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

As he guides you to his room, he doesn’t think about the way your hand fits in his. Doesn’t think about how this is going to be the last time he has you. Doesn’t think about who’ll have you after. Doesn’t bother to wonder if you’ve finally changed your mind like he had all those other times he’d walked this same familiar path with you in tow. Because it’s the last time. Whatever happens once it’s over is out of his control.

Perhaps that’s what it’d always been about. Seungcheol has always been spoiled and selfish and so terribly, terribly desperate to prove he’s more than his family name and family money. So, yeah, he’d wanted the control; wanted what was never his for the taking. You’d always been the opposite—his perfect little counterpart. Always so pliant and careless and free: everything Seungcheol tried so hard to be but couldn’t, and that’s where the switch flipped.

Someone like you isn’t meant to be controlled.

What he used to want so badly now tastes rancid in his mouth.

The door locks behind you. Seungcheol doesn’t meet your eye as he says, “You got what you wanted. Are you done being a fucking brat?” It’s not a tone he usually takes. Usually he’s dirty, a little possessive, willing to let you set the pace. He doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches. “I asked you a question.”

“Seungcheol—”

He clicks his tongue, stalks closer until you’re nearly in his grasp. Your eyes close instinctively as if you’re expecting his mouth on yours. Instead, he threads his long fingers in your hair and pulls. “What’s so hard about answering a simple yes or no question? Did you really want Mingyu’s dick so bad you’ve gone dumb all of a sudden?”

You gasp. “No.”

“No what?” Seungcheol chides. “No, you’re not done being a brat? Or no, you weren’t just downstairs acting desperate and pathetic for mediocre cock?” He runs his thumb across the seam of your lips, follows their movements as you speak.

“I wasn’t—”

A low, mocking chuckle. “You were, baby.” Sounds condescending; speaks to you like you’re a stupid child. He’s so close to you now. Can smell the tang of your skin, the sticky notes of your perfume. Feels your breath fan against his own sweat-slick skin. Still avoids your gaze, because as domineering as he appears, he knows he can unravel just as quickly. “Take your clothes off. This is the last time I’m gonna fuck you and I’m not going to ask twice.”

Now you truly look caught off-guard. “What?” Still he ignores you, expensive silver rings clinking into a dish on his dresser one by one, expensive watch following. “What do you mean the last time?”

Deft fingers play at the buttons on his shirt. Not silk, but just as expensive. “Shit. You’re really testing my patience, you know.” You’re still standing at the edge of his bed, staring dumbly as if he’s just going to start spilling all his secrets, give you some kind of explanation. “I believe I told you to strip.”

Unlike Seungcheol, your fingers tremble as they work at buttons and zippers and hemlines, push down denim and remove heels. It’s clear you’re trying to work out what he’s playing at—if this is some punishment for fucking around with Mingyu or if he really means it—but you’re not going to risk asking. Things between the two of you are already tense as it is. Seungcheol has never been wound this tight, never been so ready to snap.

“That’s it,” he praises once you’re left in nothing but a skimpy underwear set you know he likes. “Look at you. Fucking gorgeous. I bet that’s why you think you can get away with embarrassing me, huh?” He grabs your chin, forces you to meet his gaze for the first time since he’d dragged you up here. “Get on your knees. I’m getting tired of repeating myself.”

It’s not an unfamiliar sight—as it is, you usually leave Seungcheol’s room with bruised knees on a good night—but it settles differently in his gut this time. Because he’d dared a glance at you once and knows he can’t do it again, so he watches the top of your head as you fumble with his belt buckle and looks away whenever he thinks you might risk a glance upwards. Finds some point on the wall to focus on. Hisses through his teeth when you pull his cock from his briefs, your hands cold against his flushed skin.

All he wants to do is kiss you. Draw this out. Give you a memorable last time, maybe mark you up a little. He really wants to savor the feeling of your tongue on his cock, but all he can focus on is the fact that he’ll never be enveloped in that wet heat again. He’s never going to feel your mouth working him over, feel you humming around his length because he knows you love the weight of it, you love wrenching away that little bit of control, turning him into a mess.

But he’s not going to dwell. He’s going to thumb at the hinge of your jaw, force it open just wide enough for his cock to fit inside. Then he’s going to fist your hair into a makeshift ponytail, grip it tight, use it to guide your mouth until there’s only an inch of space between you. He’s going to stare down at you, silently revel in how fucked out you look already even though he hasn’t touched you. He’s going to watch the way your fingers dig into your thighs because they can’t touch him. Then he’s going to say—

“Beg me. Beg me to let you suck my cock.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation. Seungcheol doesn’t talk to you like this. This is not the kind of dynamic the two of you have, and Seungcheol finds himself wondering if things would be different if it was. If he’d never started going so easy on you. Would you want him then? Or would you have left a long time ago?

He’s half-expecting you to do that now. You look ready to bolt, to pull your clothes back on and tell him to go fuck himself on the way out. Probably go straight back to Mingyu, let him fuck you hard but routine, the way Seungcheol usually does, the way he knows you like. He expects you to leave, and this is the last time, anyway, so he figures he has nothing left to lose.

“I’m going soft,” he snaps, the admonishment harsh on his tongue. When you look up at him, his jaw is clenched, eyes narrow. “You have one fucking job and you can’t even do that properly? Who’s going to want a dumb little whore that can’t follow simple instructions?”

He watches your eyes squeeze shut involuntarily. Wonders if he’s gone too far before deciding he doesn’t care if he has. It’s the last time, anyway, so it’s not like it matters. Watches the indents in your thighs grow deeper. Watches you inhale and try to steady your breathing.

Watches your eyes snap open, any trace of hesitation long gone. “Did you make that other girl beg for you?”

Seungcheol snorts, amusement showing all over his face. “Is that what this is about? You’re still mad I hooked up with some other girl so you act like this?” He clicks his tongue at you, fists his cock, slicking it up. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” you answer simply, “I’m just trying to figure out why you think you can speak to me however the fuck you want.”

Seungcheol’s hand stutters along his length before it stills, your words sharp and immediate against his skin. He should’ve known. Shouldn’t have thought something like this would work on you, that you’d like it, and he’s halfway to soft and throwing his hands up and tucking his dick back into his briefs when you say, “Answer the question.”

“What?”

You tsk. Move your hands from your thighs to his, nails pressing just deep enough to leave crescent moons behind that match your own. Something for someone else to see. “Did you make her beg for you?”

Seungcheol’s brain power decreases the higher your palms go, when your thumbs press into the dimples of his hips. Can barely choke out a hissed yes, yeah, fu-fuck when your hand covers his, fingers wrapping tightly around his own as you guide it back and forth, up and down the length of his cock. “What did you make her beg for, Cheol?”

“To—to to-touch me.”

You hum. Tighten your grip on Seungcheol’s hand and laugh as his hips roll involuntarily, seeking the friction. “Touch you how? Like this?”

“Yeah—fuck, yes, like this.”

“Did she? Did she listen to you like a good girl?” Your hand leaves Seungcheol’s only to collect the precum at his tip. “Don’t get all shy now, Cheolie.” You suck your thumb into your mouth and he whines. “Was she a good girl for you?”

You sit back on your haunches. Watch him jerk himself off. “Yeah,” he finally says, word cracking in the middle. “Boring, though. Not like—not like you.”

“No one is like me,” you admonish. “I could’ve told you that for free, before you went off and fucked someone else.”

“Not an idiot,” Seungcheol replies, the pace of his hand quickening. He’s playing a dangerous game; approaching the cliff edge at a dangerous pace. “No-nothing comes for free with you.”

All you do is smile, lopsided and smug. “Mm, that’s true. Guess your little dom moment earlier can just be chalked up to momentary stupidity, hm?” Seungcheol wants to nod, wants apologies to tumble from his lips until you shut him up, but his palm is so slick against his dick, fist tight enough to white out his vision. “Did you make her beg to suck your cock?”

Truth be told, Seungcheol can’t remember much of anything right now. He’s perilously close to coming, right at that precipice, and each filthy word that slips from your mouth just pushes him further to the edge. He remembers Chan inviting him to a party. He remembers a few drinks, a few hits from a blunt, compliments of Vernon; he remembers a girl making eyes at him from across the room—eyes that had looked a lot like yours in the haze of his crossfade. He remembers a locked bathroom and the sound of his voice as he told that girl how to touch him so it felt like you. He remembers her doing whatever he told her to, remembers how eager and submissive she was, how she didn’t mouth off to him the way you always do—

Remembers how unsatisfying it’d been when he came.

You’ve ruined him.

Not a revelation. Not even close to one. Seungcheol has known this for a long time, but that doesn’t mean annoyance doesn’t flare in his belly at the reminder. You don’t want him. Being so hung up on you isn’t doing him any favors, just means he’ll have a longer drop when this is all over. God, what the fuck is he doing?

He wants you so badly he’s aflame with it. He wants you so badly he can barely look at you anymore. He wants you so badly it consumes him, drives him insane, has him all fucked up and seething. He wants you, he wants you, he—

Loves.

Reality washes over him like a cold wave. Knocks him backwards, drowning, desperately trying to remember how to breathe. In, out; in, out—and none of it changes a goddamn thing.

Four years of this. Four years of touches exchanged in the dark, behind locked doors. Four years of yearning and trying and failing. Four years of everything getting lost in translation, because it’s hitting him now, but shouldn’t he have felt it before? Shouldn’t all those ‘drive me fuckin’ crazy, can’t fucking stand you’s he spoke into the crook of your neck rang hollow?

“Cheol—” you say, because you asked him something, tried to play along with this whole stupid charade, and he knows he’s frozen, just standing there, hand still wrapped around his cock, and he needs to say something, he needs to fix this—

“I’m a liar,” is what he comes up with. You’re still staring up at him, brows furrowed, pinched in the middle. Move, he wills himself, but nothing happens. “I’m a liar,” he says again, because if he says it enough you’ll believe it. “I’m sorry. I’m—”

“What are you talking about?”

He swallows. I’m in love with you, he wants to say. Feels the weight of the words on his tongue, heavy and pressing, and he thinks you should know. Even if you don’t feel the same, he thinks you deserve to know, but the way you’re looking at him—

He can’t bring himself to say it.

But he can—“Can I show you instead?”

Slowly, you nod. Seungcheol nods, too, still feeling off-kilter as he cradles your face in his hands, thumbs in the contours of your cheeks. Moves them down your neck, your shoulders, down the length of your arms. You meet him halfway, twining your fingers together, and he helps you stand, careful and considerate. At full height, he places a hand in the small of your back to tug you closer, kisses you like it’s the end of the world. Whines into your mouth at your familiar taste, and if he lets himself be delusional enough, he can pretend there’s form and substance to those sounds, that their edges are squared-off to form the words he wants to say.

Because it really might be the end of the world. Seungcheol has never known how to play the cards he’s been dealt when it comes to you. Always gets it wrong. Feints one way when he’s meant to go the other, takes the field with two left feet, always playing catch-up. Maybe the mistake was treating it like a game. Maybe the mistake was strategizing, only playing to win, because he lays you gently on his bed, fits his body in the space you create for him between your legs, and realizes he already won a long time ago.

He won the first time your eyes met. He won the first time he’d kissed you, more nerves and teeth than anything else. He won the first time you tucked yourself against his side and stared at his bedroom ceiling, half-smoked joint between your fingers, and made fun of the stupid flag he’d hung up. He won every time you took all the bullshit he threw at you and dished it right back. He won every time he had the privilege of tracing mindless shapes into your soft skin.

Every second of your time you chose to give him—all victories.

He presses in further. Groans when your hands move to his shoulders and grip tight; when your nails dig into the skin of his back. “I’ve been so stupid,” he says, punctuating his words with a nip at your ear. Smirks out of the corner of his mouth at your shuddering breath. “Haven’t I?”

“Yeah,” you answer, rolling your hips upward. He grabs at you desperately, tries to keep you still; hisses when you swat his hands away and redouble your efforts. “You’ve been a fucking asshole for a—for a while.”

You can’t see the way he pouts. Wonders, too, if that would work on you, if it’d earn him one of those rare moments of tenderness. “Well I’m trying to—shit, baby—trying to make it up to you, but you seem pretty determined to make me bust right now.”

He can see the way you roll your eyes. See the way the corners crinkle after as you laugh softly, breathlessly, still trying to chase a high Seungcheol refuses to provide. “You deserve it. You tried to dom me, you dickhead.”

Embarrassment sits obvious on his ruddy cheeks. He hides his face in the crook of your neck so you don’t see it, don’t have something to poke at him with later, but you’re having none of it. You thread your fingers through his hair and tug gently, forceful enough to have him pliable, and there it is: there are stars in your eyes as you stare up at him, tender and soft just like he hoped you’d look, and he misses the feeling of your nails on your scalp until you’re tugging at the delicate chain around his neck and pulling him closer. “Just kiss me and we’ll call it even.”

This is how it feels to get struck by lightning, he thinks. Every part of him is on fire, and he’s content to burn as his lips find yours. He sighs happily into your mouth, hikes your thigh higher around his middle, presses in to lay claim to what little space is left between you. Seungcheol is so close he can feel the rapid pace of your heartbeat, because this is not the way you usually kiss. What used to be dirty and quick, a means to an end, now has intent, purpose. He’s kissing you like he wants to steal the air from your lungs to replace it with something better.

Trails those same kisses down the length of your body. Open-mouthed at your neck, your collarbones, the space between your breasts. Teasing and slow in the space between each rib, just to watch the way your skin pebbles. Hungry and insistent at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, because if he’s feeling this unhinged, he wants you right there with him. Can’t bear the thought of still being in this alone. Not anymore.

“Legs over my shoulders.” You listen immediately, and Seungcheol mutters a quiet fuck at the sight before him. “God, you’re so wet.”

“No shit—”

He swats at your clit, delighting in the way your body jolts. “Hush. The only thing I wanna hear out of your smart mouth from now on is my fucking name.” And then he’s diving in.

He eats you out like a man starved; like he could do this every day for the rest of his life and he still wouldn’t be satisfied. Can’t help but rut against the mattress at the way you taste, the way your thighs tighten around his head, the sting as you pull at his hair. Places both hands beneath your ass to lift and drag you closer to his waiting mouth—licks at you wet and feverish, all of this seemingly more for him than it is for you, and you’ll get tired of it soon, just like you always do. You’ll tell him—

“Do it right, Cheol, please—”

And he’ll pull away and tsk, swat at you again. His responding laugh will be cocky and derisive when your body trembles again, frantic with the need for more. “What did I say, baby? Do you not trust me to make you come?” You cock an eyebrow, torn between throwing some sarcastic remark at him and following the rules long enough to get what you want. His voice grows serious as he presses a soft kiss to your core. “I will always take care of you.”

The rest is muscle memory.

The rest has a chorus of Cheol, Cheol, Seungcheol spilling from your lips as he suctions his own around your clit. The rest has you grinding your pussy against his face. The rest has him groaning at the way he’s so wholly consumed by you: the taste of you on his tongue, face soaked, two fingers pressed deep into your cunt. The rest has him saying that’s it, baby, come on my face, I know you can and feeling delirious when he finally pushes you over the edge; when your walls clench around his fingers, breathing fractured, when you grab at him until you’re eye-level and you’re licking into his mouth to taste yourself.

Tastes a lot like I love you.

“Want you to ride me,” he says, gaze half-lidded and pleading. You whine as he moves his thumb back to your clit, tracing slow, slow, slow circles, oversensitive. “Will you do that for me?”

The party seems so far away. Grows even further away when you nod and straddle his lap. Seungcheol sits up, tells you to wrap your legs around him. Can’t stand not touching you; needs every inch of his skin to be covered by you like a bruise—something deep that’ll last for days, weeks, months. The mottled colors will change, but it’ll still be there.

“Need you, Cheol,” you whisper, kissing his eyelids. He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes.

“You have me,” he answers, but it sounds foreign to his ears—sounds wretched, like the words have been punched out of him. It sounds like forfeit. “Always have.”

You pull back. Study his face. Run over his plush bottom lip with your thumb. It feels like an eternity of silence before you speak. “No, I haven’t,” you insist, tone insistent but delicate, like you’re trying to convince him of it, too. “Not like this.”

I love you.

You lift your hips just enough to sink down on his cock. Seungcheol’s moan is loud and unabashed, not afraid to let anyone hear the way you make him feel. All he can think is familiar: he knows your blinding white heat; has made countless homes in your tight grip he still holds the keys to; has done this so many goddamn times it’s second nature.

He was an absolute fool to think he could ever walk away.

You roll your hips, taking him deeper like you’ve got something to prove, body moving on its own sinuous accord. Seungcheol loves you like this, when you know exactly what you want and aren’t afraid to take it. When you press sloppy kisses to his neck, the column of his throat. When he grabs at your hips, tries to move you faster along the length of his cock, and you swat his hands away. When your rhythmic up-and-down turns into a slow grind that has you gasping and breathless, pussy spasming around him.

“Goddamn, I love this pussy,” he chokes out, fingers gripping tightly at the sheets since he can’t touch you. He’s mindless with pleasure, feels himself start babbling nonsense he can’t make sense of, and it’s overwhelming, having you like this. Isn’t sure how he’s survived this long, but maybe you were right.

Maybe it was never like this before.

Usually he’d take you from behind, quick and dirty, hands digging into the meat of your ass, palm cracking down on it every now and then, imparting white heat of his own. Usually he’d have you beneath him, knees pressed to your chest, all condescension as you told him, eyes rolled back, that he was too deep, that you couldn’t take it, and he’d rub at your clit and tell you you could as he dragged another orgasm out of you. Usually he’d be so frenzied and worked up he’d take you against the door, sweats pushed to mid-thigh, forearms straining as they held you up.

So, yeah—this is different. This is a patient, sensual dance to the finish line. This is Seungcheol in his rawest form: a live wire, vulnerable, anxious. This is the unknown, because something has to come after but he doesn’t know what it is.

This is Seungcheol throwing caution to the wind, leaning in close enough to taste the salt on your skin, and saying, “I love you.”

This is Seungcheol planting his feet and fucking up into you, unwilling to hear your response. Sometimes ignorance is bliss, but sometimes bliss is just bliss, and he’ll willingly take either.

This is you coming undone on his cock, breathing rapid and ragged, pupils blown wide as you stare at him in awe.

“Say it again.”

Someone slams into the wall just outside Seungcheol’s door, and all at once the real world creeps back in: the thrumming bass line of the music downstairs; laughter, shouting, and yelling; fists banging on shut doors—but he hears you loud and clear. Presses each word into your mouth this time and groans when you swallow them. Barely makes a sound as he spills inside of you, feeling like every nerve in his body is aflame.

The two of you are quiet for a time as you try to catch your breath. Seungcheol only moves to grab his duvet and wrap it around your shoulders, smiling fondly at the small thank you you mumble, seemingly still bogged down, well-fucked.

He presses a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Okay?”

You nod, push at him until he lays back and pulls you with him, lets you use his firm chest as a pillow. That flag you’d made fun of before isn’t up there anymore, but Seungcheol feels warm at the memory anyway, almost laughs at the comment he imagines you’d make.

Clears his throat. Tries to find his courage. “I really am sorry,” he tells you again, because it doesn’t matter if he loves you if he doesn’t know how to be good at it.

“I know, Cheol,” comes your easy reply. You’re tracing shapes on his stomach that have his muscles contracting. “I know you love me, too.” You sigh, press your lips to his rib cage. “Who knew it’d only take making out with Mingyu to get you to admit it.”

A wild laugh tumbles out of him. “Fuck off.” He can feel your grin.

“You got a fucked up way of showing it, though.”

He hums, holds onto you a little tighter. “Go easy on me, I only figured it out about an hour ago.”

“An hour?” you faux-gasp, make like you’re about to leave. “I’m outta here. I know my worth. If I’m going to say it back to someone, they need to be in love with me for at least two.”

He chokes at the implication, heart threatening to beat right out of his chest and into yours. He knows he looks exactly like the moonstruck, loved-up loser he is, and he coughs to cover it. “That’s what I said,” he lies. “Two hours. You must’ve heard it wrong.”

No, it was never like this.

[stuntgirlatthevampiremansion]

.

[icekkeugf]

pairing: prof!heeseung x volleyball player!reader

genre: porn without much plot

warnings: heeseung is reader's professor but neither of them know that when they engage in sexual activity, slight dom!hee, kissing, cunnilingus against the wall, blowjob, boobjob, facial, use of the petname "pretty girl"

wordcount: 2,790 words

note: koko is back ~~~ i am not sure if this is up to mark but i really hope enhablr enjoys this! reblogs are much appreciated and so are comments/feedback! happy reading ♥︎ ~~~

it's raining, soft droplets sprinkling over your already wet skin, soaking in sweat as you huff, doubling over to place your palms over your knees. slippery, it is, palms sliding down the smooth of your knees as you try your best to contain your breath, composing yourself when you notice your teammates pass by. "so, y/n, excited for the shift into university?" your volleyball captain asks, prompting you to wince. this causes concern, her brow raising and her wrist lifting to rest on your shoulders, "not a good time?" she sympathises.

"just a bit scary, not too sure how i will mingle with the people there and if i will join a team as good as ours." you mutter, playing with your stretchable wristband. the girl laughs, patting your shoulder painfully hard with a smile, "hey, your university is known for its sports department! i wouldn't put it past me to find a well equipped club and carefully handpicked members. who knows, you might make it national!" she reasons, patting the top of your head with a crooked smile.

you try not to make eye contact with the man as he introduces himself and shares his email with the students for future assistance. however, when you look up to sneak a glance at him again, you see him staring right at you, wide eyed. you're fucked and not quite literally.

"say what, are you free tonight?" she asks, looking over at the other teammates with a sneaky smile. and when you look up dazed with a slight nod, she's dragging you over to seat you on the nearest bench. "i sent you a text, be there at 7! bye, y/n!" just like that, all your teammates trickle out the training ground, snickering amongst themselves to have finally caught you in a trap, always having refused to meet them outside training.

7:06PM. still waiting, feet nearly cramped up in those narrow toothed stilettos. bad idea to show up in stilettos after vigorous training? yes, but, the location your captain had forwarded had a strict dress code to adhere to this night. right as you bend over to adjust your heels, you're met with the vision of several pairs of similar looking stilettos. "there! early as always, our y/n, let's go in!" one of your teammates urges you inside a shady looking building.

you're met with instant chaos, loud and blaring music sinking into your eardrums, the bass making the floor vibrate and your heart thump in rhythm to the music. "stay right here, tia and i will get us all some drinks!" you're left by some of your other teammates you're not too close with, merely acquaintances that play volleyball together, you'd say. excusing yourself with a smile despite being met with "they asked us to wait here!", you shake your head, reassuring them you'll be fine and right back.

it's a few minutes later that you find yourself seated by the secluded island of what seems to be a kitchen. "a house party." you figure out, still unsure if you should've placed blind faith in your captain and teammates. "not your usual scene?" comes a voice prodding its way beside you. you jump, just a little, turning around to meet hazel brown eyes that crinkle mischief at you. the man before you is donning an all denim fit, it makes you wonder if he's not close to blushing red in this humidity but you let it pass. "not really. i assume this is your usual scene though." you quip back, the man before you throwing his head back in a silent giggle.

"heeseung." he extends his hand which you take a little hesitantly. it's not long after you exchange names that you find yourself introduced to heeseung's friends, all of them welcoming and sweet, out of which, jay confirms himself to be the party host. both heeseung and you don't stray too far into private lives of eachother, maybe that is what attracts you to him, the mystery. you can't deny that he is more than decent looking, plump pink lips, doe looking eyes that may otherwise fool you into thinking he carries this weirdly sinister vibe. a sharp jawline too, you're almost sure he knows he serves a face that women and men would line up for alike.

the attraction, though, is mutual. or so, heeseung convinces you to think as his fingertips meet your satin clad hips with ease and familiarity. he leads you towards the same secluded corner, "dance with me?" he asks and you oblige, not questioning why it has to be here, infact, you're glad it's here rather than in the midst of sweaty teenage bodies that are not yet ripe enough to enter parties like this. what snaps you back to reality is his hands, that need no permission as it follows a trail circling your hips, pulling you flush against his.

maybe it's the alcohol that heeseung offered before or maybe it's the intimate proximity you two keep dancing around but the heat in the air, whether the temperature or the tension, is palpable, almost shocking in a way that it sends hot sparks down your spine. resting your head against his shoulder, you wrap an arm around him, his warm, intoxicated breath fanning over your ears. no words exchanged, really, just the synced beating of your hearts and need to feel eachother up that finally has heeseung snapping.

exhaling shakily, you nod when he asks to take you somewhere else. he's gentle as he encloses your wrist in his palm, pulling you towards the stairs that was strictly prohibited for others. perks of being jay's best friend, you reckon. the moment you enter an unoccupied room, his lips are on yours before he pulls away in a jiffy, panic settling onto his face, "is that okay, y/n?" when you nod meekly, he shuts his eyes for just a second, muttering a "fuck" under his breath before he's pushing his lips onto yours and maneuvring your body behind until your backside meets the wall. "so pretty," he murmurs into the kiss.

you roll your hips involuntarily into his, it has heeseung gritting his teeth, jaw slack and eyes purely filled with desire. "just like that, baby, do that again—you listen so well to me, pretty girl." heeseung is sure he's rambling by now, oh, he definitely is as he tells you how to rut against him pathetically. the sultry lighting of the room only enhances your need for one another, you've never felt the urge to ravage someone like this before and you know you have to ravage heeseung before this night ends if you don't want to wake up the next morning with a guilty and regret filled heart.

he coaxes your lips to meet his again, this time the contact utterly messy and just downright filthy. you can almost taste the very remnants of his drink from earlier if you shoved your tongue down just a little deeper. meanwhile, heeseung is quick in feeling you up, pushing at your knees, "spread 'em, baby, that's it," he begs, instantly losing all self control and falling to his knees when you whine, asking him to ease the ache between your legs. "wider...there you go, atta girl." he praises, soft hands cupping your knees as his lashes flutter when he looks up at you.

with a lopsided grin, he hooks a finger at the hem of your dress, lifting it just enough for your panties to peek at him. he grunts at the little wet patch that dampens and soils the middle of your panties, leaning in to disgustingly sniff at it before licking once, twice, thrice, enough to taste you through the cotton. you're shaking, beyond control and unable to balance your body by yourself so you place your hands at his shoulders, pulling him needily into you as your back arches into the wall.

pushing your entire weight onto heeseung, who only groans as he ruts his increasingly evident boner into the ground, you hook your legs around his neck. he holds onto your thighs desperately, a whimper escaping his kiss swollen lips as his tongue slithers through the side of your panties to lick at your cunt. he delicately plants a kiss over your clit, making you shudder with a broken moan, as he finds his head heavy with the need to taste you, to make you cum. so, he does just that.

heeseung finds a comfortable pace at licking through your folds, dragging his wet muscle from side to side, then up and down. he repeats the action before nipping at your clit gently, soothing the prick with a prod of his tongue. "so sweet, just like honey, baby. that's it, you gon' cum for me?" he asks sweetly against your sopping pussy, nose glistening with your juices. "look at me, y/n, my pretty girl. want you to watch me as you come undone on my tongue, okay?" you struggle to open your eyes, nodding before you do anyway.

rapid strokes of his tongue have you unstable, shaking and withering under his touch while you try your best to keep your eyes open and in contact with his as he licks at you until no end. "say my name, baby, don't be shy. let me hear your pretty moans." you let a moan rip through the confines of your throat, rocking your hips messily against his face. "no, don't move." he hisses with a displeased smirk, shaking his head to show his disapproval. "let me do all the work, just sit and take it, got it?"

just like that, the ebbs of your orgasm crash against the little pebbles, rocking you through, only for heeseung to hold you still as he continues to devour you as you come down from your high. with a final suck of your clit, he parts from your cunt, face absolutely marred by your release. "good girl, did that feel good?" he coos, tapping at your thigh, signalling you to carefully put down your leg as he makes much effort to stand up.

when you nod, pulling him into another kiss, he chuckles, trapping you against the wall yet again. "yeah? in that case, shouldn't you return the favour?" he presses a few kisses down your neck, leaving a trail of sparks in its wake. "let me make you feel good, hee." you answer in words this time, making heeseung widen his eyes but he nods, eyeing the floor once before he looks up at you, "kneel." dropping to your knees, your fingers work quickly as they unzip his denim pants. a tent visible as you cup his clothed length, you lick your lips eagerly as you imagine feeling him fill up the entirety of your mouth.

you tug at his boxers, leaving it bunched up at his knees, immediately pressing a hasty kiss at the head of his veiny cock. you notice how it is curved at the tip, pink and angry. this forces heeseung to snake a hand into your hair, clutching the strands at the roots warningly, "don't tease, pretty girl, get on with it." he doesn't have to say it twice before you are nestling his cock in the home of your wet and warm cavern. you let it soak in there for a while, not attempting to please him just yet as you adjust to his size.

soon after, flattening your tongue, you hollow your cheeks as you start to set a steady rhythm into bobbing your head for him. licking at the underside, you ensure not an inch of his cock is left untouched by you, the part that doesn't fit in your mouth caressed by your soft hands. "just for me to ruin, fuck, yes!" heeseung is blessed, really, to have a girl truly attentive to his needs, the way he wants to be touched and pleased, repeating the actions that seems to make him teeter at the edge of his orgasm. lucky bastard!

right when you think you should fasten your pace to meet with his cum painting the insides of your mouth, heeseung abruptly pulls at your mouth, his now semi soft dick covered in your spit resting at your lips, "can i cum on your face, pretty girl?" with no answer, you unzip the back of your dress, letting it pool at your hips. unclasping your bra, you hold your tits up, motioning him to slide his cock in between. this causes heeseung to let out husky groan, trying not to bust right then. he loves the way you're so proactive, he can't help it!

he squirms from the sudden increase in stimulation as you use your tits as a makeshift fleshlight, wrapping it around his now hardening cock tightly as he fucks into the space you provide him. letting a sliver of your tongue peek out, you lick at his tip each time his cock almost lodges against your lips, instantly making him cum. he sucks in a sharp breath as he spills all of him that's worth, over your tits and the lower half of your face. pretty, he thinks, fingers unconsciously reaching for his phone.

"can i take a photo of you, pretty girl—" the door to the room the two of you are in is knocked upon fiercely, "heeseung, you in here, man?" upon hearing jay, heeseung scurries to bring out tissues from the bedside table, "yes, what's up?" in three swipes, he cleans you up, cursing when his finger is also stained by his release. before he could wipe it off, though, you bring up his cum glistening finger to your lips, tongue darting out to lick it clean. "fuck, you're gonna be the death of me!" he whispers, pressing an open mouthed kiss at your lips, tasting himself in the process. "niki has been throwing up nonstop, man, i can't find the others, hurry up, will you?" you two hear the receding footsteps of a rather pissy jay, laughing into eachother once you're sure he's gone.

easing into eachother, "can we do this again, y/n? i'd really like to fuck you open, if you'd let me." he asks, his brash words lighting up a reddened blush on your cheeks, "yes, i'd love that." before you could exchange numbers though, jay knocks yet again, an impertinent cockblock, you suppose. "i have to go—see you around?" you nod, smiling at heeseung who leans down to kiss your cheek. "see you around, heeseung."

you don't remember how you get home that night after having freshened up in the room's attached restroom. all you think of for the next few days is heeseung's lingering touches, his whines and soft exhales, the way his hips bucked into your touch when you sucked him right. safe to say that you haven't been able to contact him either, having used your god given stalking skills on instagram to no avail.

it's been a few weeks, having been busy with volleyball practice and packing to move to your campus dorm. now, it's d—day! there's cardboard boxes piled up, with two suitcases of yours filled to the brim with clothes you can't bring yourself to leave behind in your childhood home. after a tearful parting with your family, you find yourself cuffed with the seatbelt on and your bestfriend driving you to the university to help you move in. while you do have much unpacking to do, it is also your first day at university!

bidding goodbye to your friend once they had helped you get your boxes and suitcases in, you change your outfit for the first class, not wanting to be late. after a whirlwind of trying to find your class, which happens to be your homeroom hour, you settle into one of the desks in the spacious room. although it's just the first day, the room is still loud with whispers and chatters about the exciting life at university. the class, however, hushes at some point, and while you were preoccupied on your phone, you hear a familiar voice.

"goodmorning, guys! how has your first day been so far?" your heart races erratically in its place, unsure if you've just misplaced the voice and its owner or if you're really doomed. slowly looking up, you find yourself glancing at heeseung, who looks at his phone for a split second before he pays attention up front. he hasn't noticed you yet, smile just as charming as it was when he first greeted you. as if on cue, all the memories from a few weeks ago flood in to liven up the black of your mind.

you try not to make eye contact with the man as he introduces himself and shares his email with the students for future assistance. however, when you look up to sneak a glance at him again, you see him staring right at you, wide eyed. you're fucked and not quite literally.

all rights reserved to @/icekkeugf 2024! please do NOT steal/copy/translate my works.

[itsminjify]

(🪽)⋆ ࣪ 午 : RICH BOY ENHYPEN CHASING YOU ────𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽.

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝑖𝐒 ✶ rich boy!enhypen x fem!readerㅤ｡｡ fluff suggestive. & 14OOwc. : kissing, skinship, petnames ── ARCHiVE

( minji says ) : my first sfw fic ㅠㅠ, some of these are based on real-life scenarios !! i had a rich boy pinning after me before back in my 1st year at uni... it was not as cute as this though

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚

he leans against his car, arms crossed, that stupid smirk playing on his lips. the soft glow of the streetlights dances across his face, making him look unfairly good. rich boy charm and all, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. you roll your eyes, but the heat creeping up your neck betrays you.

"you’re late," you say, trying to sound annoyed, but your voice wavers.

heeseung chuckles, low and smooth. "relax, princess. i’m here now, aren’t i?"

"don’t call me that," you snap, but the way his eyes flicker down to your lips tells you he won’t stop.

he pushes off the car, closing the distance between you. his cologne wraps around you, far too familiar. "why not? you like it," he murmurs, voice dipping lower.

you glare up at him, though it’s weak at best. "you’re insufferable."

he grins, "and you’re beautiful when you’re mad. what a pair we make."

before you can respond, his fingers brush against your wrist, tugging you closer. "admit it," he whispers, his voice soft but daring. "you missed me."

"heeseung, i swear—"

"swear all you want, baby," he cuts you off, his lips hovering near your ear now. "but you’re here. and you look way too good to be mad at me for long."

damn him. and damn the butterflies in your stomach.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚

“you’re hiding from me again.” jay’s voice cut through the noise as he found you tucked into a quiet corner of his sprawling house. the party was in full swing, the bass rattling the walls, red cups littering every surface like decorations.

“i’m not hiding,” you muttered, taking a slow sip from your drink.

he raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe, a red cup dangling lazily from his fingers. his tie was long gone, and the top buttons of his shirt were undone. goddamn why was he so attractive?

“baby, you disappear every time my parties get a little wild.” he smirked, stepping closer, the faint smell of cologne and alcohol trailing him. “what, too many people for you?”

“too many people for you,” you shot back, glaring at him over the rim of your cup. “you’ve been all over the place.”

he laughed, tipping his head back slightly, his golden hair catching the light. “jealous, sweetheart?”

“hardly.”

but he didn’t buy it. he crouched down to your level, his free hand finding your knee. “you know, it’s hard to have fun when the only person i want to drink with keeps running off.”

you rolled your eyes, trying not to shiver at his touch. “then maybe you should stop throwing these ridiculous parties.”

“where’s the fun in that?” he grinned, pulling you to your feet with a firm but playful tug. “come on. let me make it up to you. we’ll drink together—just us. deal?”

and somehow, with him looking at you like that, you couldn’t say no.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡

"you’re such a pain, jake," you groaned, standing on the curb while he leaned against his stupidly shiny aston martin like he owned the world. which, to be fair, he kind of did.

"but i’m your pain," he shot back, twirling the keys around his finger like some kind of movie villain. “now, get in. i’m bored.”

"it’s midnight," you deadpanned, crossing your arms. “normal people are asleep.”

he grinned, full of trouble. "good thing neither of us is normal. come on, sweetheart. just one ride. you, me, and 600 horsepower."

you raised an eyebrow. "and what happens when we crash because you’re too busy flirting to look at the road?"

"oh, you wound me." he pressed a hand to his chest like you’d insulted his honor. “i’m an excellent driver. but if you’re scared, i could always hold your hand.”

"you’re so annoying," you muttered, but your feet were already moving.

"that’s my girl," he said, throwing open the passenger door with a flourish.

"i’m not your girl," you shot back, sliding into the seat anyway. the leather was ridiculously soft—of course it was.

he climbed in, tossing you a wink as he revved the engine, the car practically purring. “keep telling yourself that, doll.”

and then he took off, speeding through empty streets like he was allergic to rules, laughing every time you yelled at him to slow down. but when he reached over, casually lacing his fingers with yours on the console, you didn’t pull away.

"admit it," he said, grinning like the devil. "you’re having fun."

you rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. "shut up and drive, jake."

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡

you shouldn’t even be here. sunghoon texted you two hours ago: “you free?” and now you’re in a chanel store watching him do what he does best—flaunt his ridiculous wealth.

“these?” he holds up a pair of earrings you barely glanced at five minutes ago.

“yeah, they’re pretty,” you reply, trying to stay unbothered.

fifteen minutes later, he’s signing off on half the store. you cross your arms, glaring as he grins, a devilish glint in his eye.

“what the hell is wrong with you?” you hiss. “i didn’t ask for all this!”

“you didn’t have to, sweetheart.” he steps closer, his hand brushing your arm like it’s casual, but it sends a shiver down your spine.

“sunghoon,” you warn, but your voice falters when he tilts his head, studying you like he’s amused by your attempt at resistance.

“don’t act like you don’t love it,” he murmurs, his tone low, teasing. “one little compliment and i’m ready to buy out the whole store. what does that say about me, huh?”

“that you’re an idiot,” you quip, even though your cheeks are warming under his gaze.

he chuckles, stepping into your space. “an idiot who knows exactly how to make you melt.”

his fingers trail down your arm, his smirk deepening when you don’t pull away. “relax, baby. it’s just a little fun.”

“you’re trouble,” you mutter.

“and yet,” he says, leaning in close, “you keep coming back.”

the worst part? he’s not wrong.

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗪𝗢𝗢

you’re scrolling through your phone when it pings—a text from sunoo.

sunoo: speeding to your house rn. 30 seconds, pretty girl.

you blink at the screen, heart skipping a beat. you barely have time to process before the doorbell rings.

opening the door, you’re met with sunoo’s ridiculously perfect smirk. his car, some expensive foreign model, is parked crookedly in your driveway, headlights still on. he’s dressed in a white button-down, sleeves rolled up, and jeans that fit too well.

“didn’t think you’d actually show up,” you say, trying to sound unimpressed, but the way his eyes flicker over you, taking in your oversized hoodie and bare legs, makes your face heat up.

“what can i say? i missed you,” he drawls, leaning casually against the doorframe. “besides, you look way too cute to be sitting home alone. couldn’t let that happen, could i, pretty girl?”

you roll your eyes, but your stomach flips at the pet name. “you’re insane. what if i wasn’t home?”

he grins, stepping closer, his cologne clouding your senses. “then i’d wait. or maybe climb through your window. dramatic enough for you?”

“absolutely not.”

his fingers brush your chin, tilting your face up. “oh, come on. you love it when i’m dramatic. admit it.”

“sunoo—”

“shut up and say you love me,” he interrupts.

you hate how he leaves you breathless every time.

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡

jungwon leans against the sleek black car parked outside your favorite boutique, arms crossed, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. the sunlight hits his tailored shirt just right, giving him that effortless rich boy glow. you hate how good he looks.

“this one?” you hold up a dress, simple but elegant, and he tilts his head like he’s considering it.

“try it on,” he says, voice low, but there’s a glint in his eyes that screams he’s already imagining you in it. “actually, try all of them on. i’ll decide which one i like best.”

“jungwon,” you sigh, giving him a pointed look. “i don’t need you to buy me anything.”

he steps closer, the space between you shrinking as his cologne wraps around you like a second skin. “but i want to,” he murmurs, his lips quirking up. “you’re not gonna deprive me of seeing you look drop-dead gorgeous, are you, baby?”

your cheeks heat at the pet name, and you swat his chest lightly. “you’re insufferable.”

“and you love it,” he quips, grabbing your wrist gently before you can pull away. his fingers brush against yours, lingering just enough to send a shiver up your spine. “besides, you deserve nice things. let me spoil you.”

he leans in, his voice dropping to a whisper near your ear. “just admit you like having me wrapped around your finger.”

“who said that?” you shoot back, but your smile betrays you.

“me,” he replies smoothly, grinning as he takes the dress from your hand. “now go try this on, sweetheart. i want to see my girl look perfect.”

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜

your birthday party is too crowded, the kind of rich-kid chaos you can’t fully escape. you’re by the dessert table when you feel him before you see him—riki’s cologne, his stupidly expensive leather jacket brushing your arm.

“happy birthday, sunshine.” his voice is all smooth confidence, and when you glance over, he’s already smirking at you.

“what are you doing here?” you ask, pretending not to notice the way his hair looks unfairly good, messy like he rolled out of bed but somehow perfect.

“celebrating, obviously.” he pops a chocolate into his mouth like he owns the place. “where’s my birthday kiss?”

you scoff. “it’s my birthday.”

“exactly.” he steps closer, his voice dropping. “so i’m giving you one.”

“absolutely not.” you narrow your eyes, trying to ignore the way his hand casually settles on your hip, thumb brushing circles over the fabric of your dress. “who even invited you?”

“your mom loves me, didn’t you know?” he grins, all teeth and trouble. “she said, ‘riki, please crash her party and make her blush.’ her exact words, promise.”

“you’re so full of it.” you shake your head, but your pulse quickens when he leans in, his breath warm against your ear.

“admit it,” he murmurs, “you’d miss me if i wasn’t here.”

you hate that he’s right. but before you can retort, he tilts your chin up, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “happy birthday, sunshine,” he whispers, and just like that, he’s walking away, leaving you standing there, flustered and furious.

[chlorinecake]

✰ don’t give me that look | l.at oneshot

pairing: switch! producer boyfriend! anton x sub! f. reader

🇨​​💿 ​​🇳​​🇹​​🇦​​🇮​​🇳​​🇸 ꗃ SIZE KINK, kissing, lap sitting, tit & clit play, anton records a sex-tape in the studio, unprotected sex (back shots), roughly 1.8k words … !?

a/n: for @antonitty and her delusions - hope u like it bae !!

You sat idly on the studio couch, admiring your boyfriend from afar as he silently toggled with the sound desk, mixing a few rhythms.

Crossing your legs, you eyed him up and down, taking in the view of his focused frame.

“You’re pretty good at flicking and twisting those knobs, y’know?… I wonder how nice it’d be if you used that same energy to please me…”

He let out a soft breath, eyes still trained on the soundboard as he spoke, “Babe, you know I’d rather spend time with you… I just have to produce this track sample before tomorrow…”

“And then?…”

“I’m all yours,” he finished, flashing you a promising look through his shaggy bangs.

“Fineeee,” you agreed in a sarcastic tone, slightly rolling your eyes at him, “but can you let me try something on the record first?… it might help…”

Anton quirked a brow, turning to meet your face with his own intrigued one, “You mean like… singing?”

You simply nodded in response, just before promptly getting up from the couch to sit on his lap at the music desk.

He didn’t know what to do with his hands now that you were this close to him, so he simply rested them at each arm of the spinning chair.

“You might even learn a thing or two from me if you pay attention,” you went on, knowing that he’d smile at your playful words.

“Go ahead then, superstar… blow me away,” he whispered tauntingly, keeping his thighs firm as you adjusted yourself on top of him.

With his headphones secured around his head, Anton prepared himself to hear whatever it was that you wanted to add to the track project.

Pressing the red “record” button, you let the instrumental play for a few moments as you got a feel of the beat, this one sounding more R&B compared to his usually chill rhythms.

You started by toggling in a few bass notes on the drum-pad, watching Anton’s reflection in the soundproof screen ahead for any sign of reaction.

So far, he only bobbed his head slowly, still anticipating your next move.

That’s when you picked up the mic, bringing it to your lips and letting out the most pornographic moan you could muster.

Anton’s hands flew from the chair arms to take off his headphones, reaching forward to pause the track recording as you suddenly burst into a fit of giggles.

“Babe, what the hell?” He blushed, covering his face with one hand as butterflies rushed through his stomach, the sound of your moan replaying in his mind over and over, “this is serious, y’know?”

You turned around in his lap, taking in your boyfriend’s shy demeanor as you fought to hold back the laughter growing in your chest.

“What? Was it bad? I can do better if you want me to…,” you pouted, batting your eyelashes at him as he put his hands behind his head, slightly smirking at you despite the evidently nervous red flush of his cheeks, “you can even help me...”

“Don’t give me that look, ____,” he sighed, voice sounding a bit more raspy while still maintaining its usual softness.

Was it nerves?

Was he horny?…

Either way, it didn’t matter to you because he sounded so fucking hot right now—

“What look?” you pressed with a feigned expression of innocence before very intentionally wiggling in his lap a bit.

“Like you wanna be fucked,” Anton said with a wince at your actions, letting his eyelids fall slightly while looking down at you with a clenched jaw.

You couldn’t believe those words had left his mouth so smoothly, his confidence alone causing you to squeeze your thighs together, already feeling so eager for him…

You couldn’t handle it when he behaved so switchy with you… starting off all shy before gradually becoming more and more bold.

His eyes eventually wandered back to the soundboard, so you took it as an opportunity to change the subject.

“You never told me if it was bad or not,” you started in the silence, mind just now becoming aware of Anton slowly getting harder beneath you.

“Well,” he hummed, letting his hands leave his head and slip down to your hips, “it was a solid 50-50, if I’m being honest…”

You scoffed dramatically, an offended hand flying to your chest, “How so?”

“Because… I always love the sounds you make for me, but not when you force them…”

His grip on your hips was firm now, holding you in place before just barely rocking you against his lap in skilled motions.

Despite the simplicity of his actions, your body started to feel dizzy with desire, mind fogging up as his clothed tip continued grinding beneath your core.

“Anton—”

“Shhh,” he interrupted, the feeling of his breath below your ear making you internally shiver, a feathery yet steady groan escaping his lips.

“Can I try something now?” he asked breathlessly, even though the question sounded more like a declaration than a proposal of permission.

“Mhmm,” you nodded submissively, eyes feeling heavy as the warmth amongst your bodies only grew, thanks to how stuffy the studio was.

Clicking the sound desk back on “record,” Anton slipped his headphones over your head, feeling himself get even hotter at how cute you looked in this moment, his chunky earmuffs barely fitting around your much smaller head.

By now though, Anton had easy access to your lower half, given the high-pleated-skirt you decided to wear that day.

You almost felt like half of your body escaped to another planet when Anton’s touch started to wander lower, his hands practically covering the entire expanse of your exposed thighs given how big they were.

His breath remained steady in this moment, despite how his heart kept stuttering like a broken record.

Or perhaps, a sexually excited one…

The subtle movements of your legs helped Anton to shimmy your panties down past your hips, all the way down to your ankles, and eventually the floor.

You sat with your soaking wet core atop your boyfriend’s lap now, two of his fingers soon finding your clit in slow, circular motions.

The thing was, Anton had finally let his intrusive thoughts win, having wanted to get a genuine recording of your moans for a while.

The idea always meddled in the back of his mind whenever you pranced into the studio while he was working on beats…

However, the only issue now was that you were feeling a bit shy with the recorder on again…

“C’mon baby, lemme hear you,” the boy nearly begged, words sounding a bit mumbled with the way he was kissing along your neck.

“I know you want to,” he taunted, free hand sliding up to grope your left tit while his other hand continued toying with your pussy, “no wonder you wore this slutty skirt for me today…”

His voice… it practically intoxicated you… the way it sounded so pure yet so condescending at the same time…

“F-fuck,” you stammered with a moan, furrowing your brows as his fingers applied pressure to your clit, the other hand slightly pinching your nipple as he knew just how to get you to those pretty sounds that he wanted out of you.

“Good girl~,” he whispered in a cooing manner, “but I know you can do better than that…”

He guided you to stand up on your wobbly legs, his fingers meddling with your slick as he towered behind you.

And although your ears were still muffed with his headset, you could clearly make out the sound of his belt unbuckling with tingly clinks, your pussy only pulsing with need.

Before you could even beg to be fucked, you felt one of Anton’s hands hike up your skirt, the other forcing your back to arch over the sound board as his hard length pressed between your folds.

He was way too fucking big, but part of you liked the idea of him potentially breaking you.

It wasn’t easy, but your boyfriend eventually slipped himself inside, letting his tip tease along the ridges of your heat before picking up the pace, the soft pants and occasional groans from his body sounding loud and clear thanks to the headphones you wore.

There was also something about hearing your own moans so audibly on top of his… hearing how he turned you into a whiny mess so easily…

Anton’s hazy eyes met your fucked out reflection in the glass screen ahead, your own vision wandering off to the sound wave reader on his music board.

The way it’s lines heightened with each desperate moan that left your sweaty bodies did nothing but crazy things to the knot tightening in your stomach.

“Touch me, Anton,” you practically whimpered, voice coming out in small hiccups given how hard he was pounding into you.

His hands were already so tight around your waist, but your whiny request let him know exactly where you wanted him… where you needed that extra intensity.

He went to grope your tits, lifting your body away from the sound board with ease as the sight of his flexed biceps nearly made you drool.

The pace of his hips remained fast and controlled as he continued fucking into you, the tip of his cock reaching so deep that you’re sure you felt it in your belly button.

Looking down, Anton saw that the recording had reached just over 3 minutes, despite how your pussy desperately clenched around him, a clear sign that you were close to finishing.

His mouth was full of saliva, not even remembering to swallow given how pleasure drunk he was right now.

And somehow, you caught onto this, turning your neck at an angle and guiding his plush lips to kiss you, only a few seconds passing before he inserting his tongue, grunting into your mouth.

“You sound so pretty, baby,” he said in between kissing you sloppily, right before taking his headphones off your head and tossing them on the couch, still connected to the music desk by a thin black wire, “listen…”

He whispered the last word against your lips, maintaining the most gentle look in his eyes as he kept bouncing your ass on his cock.

You meant to say something, but the weak cries of pleasure kept stalling your speech, the words becoming a jumbled mess in your head.

Anton’s strength helped to hold up your shaky body just as you felt your release gush around him, a bit of it seeping onto his thighs as he continued thrusting.

It didn’t take long for him to cum after that too, a beautiful series of moans spilling from his lips as he panted over you, letting his hand slide away to end the recording.

The screen read ‘5:18s’ before Anton reached over to save the track, leaving both of you shocked that you even finished that fast together…

Still a panting mess, your boyfriend held your hips close to his, letting his weight fall back in the spinning chair with you on top of him.

“We should totally do quickies in the studio more often,” you huffed tiredly, leaning back against Anton’s chest as he hugged you close, still inside your pussy.

“Not that I’m disagreeing with you, but maybe after I install an air conditioner in here, we can plan something,” he smiled, not even bothering to wipe the sheen of sweat from his face that inevitably kept your hot bodies clung together.

Your hand found his, fingers idly toying with the rings he wore as he adjusted himself beneath you, “I should probably let you get back to work now since I’ve distracted you enough already—”

“Let’s just stay like this for a little longer,” he interrupted, almost yawning at how comfortable he felt buried inside you in this moment, “please?”

“Of course, superstar,” you replied playfully, nestling into his warmth and letting your eyes fall shut as you listened to the sound of his gentle heartbeat…

✶ taglist: @squoxle, @nikisdubblchococake, @wonbinisbabygurl, @ashgonedash @yourmomscuntis2tighy @watamotee33 @ot7sevenlvr

✶ 🎀 ✶ check out more works like this on my RIIZE masterlist !!

[cherryblossom-heart]

Responsibilities (6.5/8)

bestfriend!Nanami x Reader

What happened at the birthday party?

Content warning: ANGST, Toji Fushiguro is his own warning, Kento having something with an unknown female character.

A/N: I am soooo sorry for this angst but is necesary so we understand everything that happened at the party. Don't worry, part 7 will be fully smau and its coming soon. If this is the first you see of this series please go to the previous parts to catch on. You're welcomed to send me an ask with any comments, questions, etc., you have on this. Also if I missed anyone in the taglist let me know 😊

Word count: 3.2 K

<Previous Chapter Next Chapter>

“Shot, shot, shot.”

A small smile spread across Kento’s lips, his eyes focused on your display. Glass after glass, you emptied all six of them in front of you with a grin on your face. The small group of people that surrounded you cheered, the echo of their acclamations competing with the bass of the tacky house party playlist Gojo had put on.

Nanami stayed by the sidelines as always, never a fan of crowds or even reunions like this one. But every rule has an exception and to Nanami’s life you were the exception for everything.

He hadn’t noticed when it had begun. Maybe it had been when you were kids, your hand covered in dirt touching his clean and polished one to drag him out to play with the other kids. Or in your teenage years, your fingers entwined with his as you dragged him to another house party he hadn’t intended to go. Perhaps it was in college when he let you sleep at his place when you had been assigned a roommate from hell and every now and then you would end up falling asleep on his shoulder as you tried to finish whatever assignments you had.

The truth was, no matter how much he tried to explain it, there wasn’t an exact logic to his actions. He hated parties but he enjoyed going with you, your carefree dancing always igniting something deep in his chest. He hated loud music, but he loved the way your eyes would close as you sang to the top of your lungs as he drove you around.

He hated immature personalities, Gojo’s antics only being tolerable for minutes. And yet he found himself amused by your quips and shenanigans you would drag him along with, his heart beating out of his chest as the mischievous grin you wore tore his defenses away.

Nanami couldn’t say when everything had begun, but he knew exactly when he first noticed it. The harsh, undeserving words that had drifted you apart for weeks had been enough of a wakeup call, the pain in his chest had left him in a panic at the moment. Once you had given him a second chance his lungs could finally take a deep breath, free from the strange constriction your apathy gave him.

He had tried getting you out of his head to the point he had downloaded a few dating apps hoping he could find someone else to occupy his thoughts. The second he had matched with someone his fingers quickly deleted the app leaving him with the realization he tried to avoid.

He was in love.

No, it was more than that. Your name was carved in his heart, his soul belonging to the set of bright eyes that laughed at his dry humor as if he was the funniest man on earth. It belonged to the smile that would always welcome him whenever he entered a room or the soft fingers that would run through his hair as his head laid on top of your lap

Nanami had never been a man to believe in soulmates, but if fate would have it and they turned out to be true he believed you were his. And not even then he could explain the extent of his emotions, the crushing weight of his love for you could simply not be measured.

Loving your best friends carried its consequences as Nanami would find out sooner than later.

Green eyes and a scar had become an instant sign of anger for him. The broad, tall, muscular man always carried his characteristic smirk, a trait that also bothered Kento to his bones. But perhaps the thing that he hated the most was the way his hands would wander along your body, fingers always finding a patch of uncovered skin where he could trace senseless figures. Your lack of a negative reaction was enough to tick him off.

He saw it the night he had ended up intoxicated and crashing at your place, the almost too insignificant glint in your eyes as you looked at the blacked haired man. Your smile was almost as bright as the one you always wore when you talked to him.

Kento hated the pit that formed in the bottom of his stomach every time you would mention him.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Beautiful, Kento’s mind recited as his eyes met yours

Your breath was raggedy, beads of sweat trailing down your cheeks. Your makeup was no longer intact, a couple of smudges trailed down your eyes, mascara specs darkening your eyes. The lipstick shade you wore was almost gone, a faint tone left behind.

“Keep your penny, it’s nothing too interesting.” Nanami’s answer came as you scooted over next to him, his right arm surrounding your frame.

“I highly doubt that. Everything about you is interesting, Nanamin.”

Kento’s breath got kicked out of his lungs. How was it possible for you to make him feel this way without even trying?

Were you aware of the effect your words, your soft touch, your sweet glances had on him?

Were you aware of his love for you?

“I believe I owe you a dance.” You extended your hand gesturing for him to take it.

“If I remember correctly, you owe me as many as I want.” Kento said, fingers entwining with yours.

You smiled, a bright beautiful smile that made his world stop.

“Well, let me start paying my debts.”

Minutes later Kento found himself in the middle of Gojo’s house, surrounded by the same crowd he had been trying to avoid as he held your body against his. You had guided him through the crowd of people, several of them stopping you along the way to congratulate you on your birthday. You would acknowledge them, perhaps exchanging a couple of words with them along the way, but your attention remained on him, your hand squeezing his every now and then to make sure he was alright.

Your hips moved to the rhythm of the music, the tune belonging to a song he hadn’t heard before, your arms were up in the air, fingers dancing along the air as if somehow you were making the most beautiful painting with them. Watching you dance was like staring at a work of art, every little movement you made was a sight to be seen.

Nanami’s body wasn’t sure how to move, his feet didn’t seem to want to follow the beat of the music, his arms felt uncomfortable as he tried to move them around. His body had begun to tense up the more he analyzed his own movements. You must’ve noticed it as well as you had stopped your movements only to get closer to him, your hand finding his again.

Cold fingeres reached to caress his face, carefully putting back in place a strand of his hair out of place. With a tenderness so foreign to him yet so familiar when it came to you, your hand cupped his cheek.

You looked at him and suddenly everything was alright.

“Relax, Kento. Just grab my hand and follow the music.”

Nanami’s left hand held onto yours while the right one fell on your waist, pushing you against his chest. If someone else would’ve seen, you two it wouldn’t have made sense to them. You two weren’t following the music, your pace not even close to what the rest of the people around were dancing to. Yet it didn’t matter, it was as if a bubble had appeared, separating you from the rest. Kento and you were following music that no one else around could hear, your head falling to his chest as the song changed.

For a moment, Nanami felt braver than ever. Maybe it was the intimacy of the moment what fueled him as he was convinced you had never looked at someone else the way you looked at him. Or maybe it was the fact that, as he pushed you closer to him, the more you seemed to nestle on his chest having caught you smelling his favorite cologne that you had gifted him.

Whatever it was, it made Kento brave enough to make you look at him. The hand that held onto yours lifted your chin, his touch leaving goose bumps on your skin. He stared into your eyes, for the first time not being shy of appreciating your beauty. Your eyes held galaxies of thoughts and emotions, and he was more than happy to explore all of them.

“Thank you for this, Ken.”

Ken.

A nickname he hated but he loved the rare times you’d say it.

He wanted you to say it forever.

“Don’t thank me, it’s the least you deserve.”

Your arms surrounded his neck.

“Be careful, Ken or I might start thinking you like me.”

Your name left his lips in a whisper, his eyes flickering from your lips to your eyes. He was surprised when he found you doing the same, your eyes lingering longer on his lips.

“Kento…” you whispered, inches away from his lips. “I— “

“Happy birthday, party girl!”

Gojo’s words rumbled across the room, bringing attention to you. Nanami’s hands fell to his side as you jumped away from him looking like a deer caught in headlights. Satoru made his way to you along with Shoko and a cake he wasn’t sure was enough for everyone in the room.

Nanami made a mental note on researching what the easiest way was to get rid of a 6’3 body.

The crowd pushed you away from him, guiding you to the table where Satoru had placed the cake. You tried talking to them, your eyes searching for his in the sea of people. When you finally found him, Nanami just gave you a small smile and a nod, gesturing you to enjoy your celebration.

You mouthed a small “I’m sorry” to him as you turned your attention to the cake.

Kento let out a sigh as he made his way back to the kitchen bar, leaning against it. A gigantic sparkling candle decorated the middle of the cake making your eyes open wide in surprise. The tune of Happy Birthday started playing, everyone around joining in the celebration making you cover your face in embarrassment.

Adorable.

“How long have you been in love with her?” A deep voice asked next to him.

Kento looked at the green-eyed man that had silently slithered his way next to him.  Fushiguro carried a solo red cup in his hand, his face still carrying that same awful smirk that irked Kento. Toji’s eyes were focused on you, but Nanami could tell his attention was on him, expecting a response.

“I– “

“Don’t try to lie, it’s written all over your face.”

Kento sighed, he was right. There was no point in lying, yet he couldn’t bring himself to say it, not to him. Not before he could tell you.

“It’s none of your business.”

Fushiguro laughed as he took another sip from his drink

“It is when you’re trying to get with my girl.”

The flames of anger began rising in Kento’s chest, a bitter taste settling in the back of his tongue.

“I believe she isn’t aware she is ‘your girl’.” He quipped. “I don’t think she wants the title, or else she wouldn’t keep insisting your relationship is casual.”

Toji’s grip tightened around his cup, the sides of it cracking slightly at the pressure. Now it was Nanami’s turn to sport that idiotic smirk.

“Well, you certainly got me there.” Fushiguro conceded. “But it has to hurt still, doesn’t it?”

“You– “

“I mean, you guys have known each other for how long? Over fifteen years and nothing has ever happened. Not a single kiss, nothing even close. I’ve known her for less than two months and I’ve already fucked her all over her apartment.”

Nanami could count with a single hand the number of times he had restored to violence; the last time he had gotten into a petty fistfight being when he was still in high school. Afterwards he would compose himself and regret his actions, embarrassed of such a public display of his anger.

None of those times Nanami had ever felt such rage, the only thing holding him back being your birthday celebration. As much as he hated the man, he would hate it even more to ruin the night for you.

“You should learn to keep your mouth shut about her private life.”

Toji snorted. “What? You’re going to play the “best friend” role again? Come in your white horse and defend her honor? Try to woo her with your gifts and hope she fucks you?”

“Better than playing the role of a man with two kids who can’t seem to find a stable relationship at his age or keep himself out of jail. Are you trying to get her to play the stepmother role as well?”

“Well, it seems that’s what gets her going, isn’t it?”

Finally, the two men faced each other, both scrutinizing each other under their gaze. Kento knew as much anger as he held inside, he could see his feelings reflected on the other man. He couldn’t blame him, any man would be lucky to get your attention, let alone a man like him.

The crowd cheering drifted away the men’s attention, your wide smile as you blew out the candles reminded Kento the reason why he was there, the flames of anger beginning to dwell as the warmth of his chest expanded through his body. He had already wasted enough time with Fushiguro.

“I don’t intend to ‘steal your girl’ Fushiguro, I cannot steal something that isn’t yours to own. She’s grown enough to know what she wants and that’s not for us to decide. Whether it is you or whoever else she is with I will always respect her choices.” Kento looked back at the man next to him, his eyes darkening with his last words. “But I will tell you that if you hurt her, I’ll make sure your stay at prison will feel like a spa visit, do I make myself clear?”

A moment went by without an answer and Kento thought the conversation was over, but as it is with a man with Toji’s personality, he always had to have the last word.

“Understood, boss.” He crashed his cup in his hands, throwing it away in the can behind the kitchen bar. “You know, I asked her once if anything had happened between you two. I mean, I had to make sure you weren’t an ex or something, especially with all the gifts and how close you guys are. You know what she said?” Kento didn’t give an answer, knowing well he was going to talk anyways. “She laughed. You should’ve seen her, it was as if I had asked the funniest question ever. I swear I saw tears in her eyes.” He chuckled. “She said there wasn’t and there never would be anything between you. That you were like the brother she didn’t have and dating you would almost feel incestuous.”

Toji’s attention went back to you, as everyone started to clear off from you as they got a slice of cake. His hand brushed his hair in place as he passed in front of Kento. “I think you have more of a shot with her.” He nodded to a girl Nanami hadn’t noticed before, her gaze turning as his hazel eyes connected with hers. Toji patted him in the shoulder before he left, not before getting his last lick. “I’d take it if I were you champ, it’s not like she’s going to care if you sleep around with other people.”

The green-eyed man made his way to you, his hand falling to your hips as he brought you in for a kiss.

For the first time in his life, Nanami felt his heart breaking. The longer your kiss lasted the more he felt a wave of unknown emotions drowning him, tearing every part of his heart that you ignited.

Fushiguro might’ve been a bastard, but he was right. There was never a time you had looked at him in any other way other than a best friend, let alone a romantic partner. He was an idiot for thinking your words meant anything, that your flirting was anything more than friendly, as it was you had always been a flirtations person. He wasn’t especial.

In an attempt of self-preservation for what remained of his heart he took a shot of vodka, hoping the burn would be enough to make him forget for a little while. He looked around the room, looking for anything that could help him, an easy way of distracting. That’s when he saw her again, the unknown girl he had never seen before.

Nanami didn’t remember how he had gotten himself in a bedroom in Gojo’s house, or when he had taken his shirt off as a girl whose name couldn’t even remember straddled him. He didn’t remember how her lips tasted or the tone of her voice as she had introduced herself to him. He couldn’t even remember the color of the girls’ eyes as she kissed him.

Her hands traveled along his body until they found his crotch making his head roll back. He allowed his hands to explore the girl’s body, slowing cupping her ass as she tried to undo his pants. This situation should’ve brought him some comfort, the sensations of every kiss, every touch should’ve been enough to help him in some capacity. Yet the only thing on his mind was you and the guilt building up in the back of his throat.

Everything about this felt wrong and he couldn’t explain why until he opened his eyes and the person in front of him wasn’t you.

Every time he kissed her, he pictured your lips, soft and delicate against his. Every time he touched her, he pictured your tender skin against his expecting the smell of your body wash to linger on his nose, instead a foreign scent invaded his nostrils. He expected to hear your voice with every pant of his name, but the unfamiliarity of the girl’s tone made his muscles tense up. This wasn’t what he wanted, he couldn’t fool himself into do it.

Then, the unthinkable happened—the very thing he had feared all along.

The light and commotion from the hallway caught his attention as he realized someone had opened the door. He pulled himself apart from the girl, moving his face to the side so he could see the uninvited guest. He only had a second to react before you shut the door with a slam, it’s echo filling the room.

He pushed her away, not caring for pleasantries as he scrambled to get his things together. He could hear the girls angry tone complaining, undoubtedly labeling him as an asshole. None of it mattered though. Not when he had seen the pain in your eyes as you saw the scene in front of you.

When he finally found his phone, he saw the plethora of messages you had sent him, all of them relating your trial until you finally found him. Before he could start typing, two new messages popped up.

Oh

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.

Vile rose to his throat as he pleaded you to come back.

It’s ok Nanami, I’ll catch you later.

Have fun

<Previous Chapter Next Chapter>

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Taglist

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[reidrum]

all yours if you want me | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

a/n: i think i really like this but if i proofread it one more time im gonna hate it so im just putting it out now lol. this is the full version of the sneak peak i posted last week woohoo ! also this is my first time writing smut so im sorry if it sucks but i hope y'all like it <3

summary: bau's got their first day off in weeks, and you're heading straight to the club to have some fun, you just didn't expect your coworker/crush to also be there while you're trying to forget him.

cw: 18+ minors pls dni, smut, p in v (dont be silly wrap ur willy), munch!spence, lowkey softdom!spence, suggestive dancing in public spaces, minor insecure reader, reader is afab and wears a dress and heels

wc: 4.6k

pls let me know if i forgot anything and let me know your thoughts pleaseee xx

it was the first friday night off you and any of the team members of the bau had in a long time, and you all were determined to spend it well. jj and hotch immediately went home to their families, penelope and emily decided they were going home to get some well needed rest, rossi went to a cigar club, not really sure what derek and spencer ended up doing, but you knew what you were doing tonight.

you’d had a long standing invitation from one of your college friends for a club night, and at first you’d decline because you’d get swept away on a case, and because you were hopelessly pining after your hot nerdy coworker dr. spencer reid.

spencer was smart in many ways, three PhDs, countless published papers, not to mention that eidetic memory of his. there was one thing that spencer was just fucking dumb at, and it was your shameless flirting at him.

like it annoyed you how clueless he was. you’d bring him coffee in the mornings with hearts drawn on it, fall asleep on his shoulder on the jet rides back, even complimenting his outfit or looks which made him flustered, but still nothing. your harbored crush seemed to stay just that, a crush. and while you’d hope he would get the hint he just hasn’t.

so you pull out your phone to text your friend. 

“barry’s at 9?”

“oh my god FINALLY. i’m there i'll pick you up at 8:30.”

you grin to yourself, this was good. you needed to get out and unwind for once.

you drive home quickly to hop in the shower before your friend comes to get you. throwing on a silk slip dress as your outfit of choice, you slipped your heels on and met your friend in the car.

walking into the club, you’re met with the thumping bass of the music playing and the staunch smell of alcohol, sweat, and sex.

it made you think about the last time you got laid, which was a really long time ago. and honestly you wanted to sleep with spencer so bad you hadn’t been making advances elsewhere. but that was going to change tonight, you were determined to have good slutty fun, and hopefully get laid.

your friend grabbed your hand and beelined to the bar, ordering two tequila shots each. once you downed them you moved to the dance floor and started preying for a target. as you’re scanning the room, you notice a familiar looking mop of brown hair standing next to bald headed man. a combo you knew all too well.

-

derek morgan was a player. and before he’s a player, he’s a damn good friend. which was his reasoning for dragging spencer out of his apartment to come out to the club and have fun.

“but i can have fun at home by myself morgan.”

“kid, you need to let loose once in a while. you are young, i’m just helping you take advantage of it.”

-

so now spencer’s at the club (a sentence he still struggles to believe) wearing trousers and navy button down shirt to which morgan had popped the top buttons open because ‘it gives the ladies a sneak peek’. he just rolled his eyes and went with it. he’s nursing a shirley temple at the bar, perusing the environment when he comes across a pair of eyes he knows like the back of his hand.

when you recognize the amber eyes you couldn’t believe your luck. of course, on the one night you’d decided to explore other options he shows up in the least expected place for him to be. so much for getting over him, you think. shyly raising your hand to wave, spencer returns the gesture. morgan takes note, “who are you waving t- oh, pretty girl is here huh pretty boy?” he nudges him.

a blush raises on his face. spencer thought you were attractive, like really attractive. you were a great addition to the bau and he admired your work ethic a lot, the day you walked into the bullpen wearing a fitted pantsuit had his own pants growing real tight. he still remembers when you introduced yourself and he couldn’t even get up without exposing himself. you thankfully didn’t think it was weird, and spencer was relieved when it was finally time to go home. he’d be lying if he said he didn’t have nights where he wished you were the one finishing him off and not his rough hands. he didn’t think you’d like someone like him, and took all of your ‘advances’ as morgan calls them, as acts of kindness.

morgan laughs as he watches spencer’s iq deteriorate to below 50 staring at you, “do you what you gotta do man. but you better be going home with someone tonight okay?”

spencer nods and nurses his drink a bit and looks back to morgan to realize he’s already off dancing with some girls in the corner. damn.

after your distanced encounter with spencer, you decide it’s time to move on and have some fun on your own. you couldn’t be hung up on him anymore, at least not tonight. tonight was for bad decisions.

good thing bad decision walked up to you asking to dance, whatshisname leads you to the dance floor and puts his hands on your hips, swaying to the beats of t-pain and pitbull.

you didn’t know, but spencer was watching every move you made. he watched you get led to the dance floor, the way he placed his hands right on your ass and squeezed, and how he turned you around so you were dancing on his front with your back. he gripped his glass so tight the bartender had to tell him he’d have to pay if it breaks.

he gets it, you’re attractive. this is the kind of thing that happens to people who look like you. who wouldn’t want you? but then he watched it happen a second time. and a third. and a fourth and fifth, till he just stopped counting at nine for his sanity.

spencer was not used to the green monster taking over him, but oh god was he fucking seething with jealousy.

you realized spencer was watching you by whatshisname number five. he hadn’t moved from his spot and he was constantly staring in your direction. deciding to do a little experiment, you played up your dancing a lot more, acting more flirtatious, dragging the guy’s hands further down, and letting out open mouthed moans that you knew spencer couldn’t hear but could definitely see. you watched as his jaw shifted and his knuckles turned white as you danced with each guy, realizing the growing effect that you now had on him.

by whatshisname number nine, you casted your hook. making sure to face spencer and meet his eyes, you watched as they darkened when he realized you were looking right at him. spencer might’ve brushed it off as a coincidence, but then you winked at him. and he realized what you were doing—you were taunting him, and fuck was it working for him. the bulge in his pants grew uncomfortable that he had to stand up to not draw so much attention to it under the bar lights. 

you watched him stand up and adjust himself and you threw your line. when he looked back up at you, you made a come here motion with your index finger and a bite of your lip. spencer’s eyes darkened impossibly more, he paid for his tab and strode over to you.

sinker.

he pulled you from the man behind you, who muttered a ‘what the fuck’ and moved away. spencer pulled you flush to his chest and with a low voice in the crest of your ear he whispered, “what do you think you’re doing?”

“i don’t think i know what you’re talking about dr. reid, could you explain it to me?”

spencer tightens his hold on you and ghosts over your ear once more, “this is a dangerous game you’re playing, sweetheart.”

“a game you joined the second you walked over here.”

he looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes, and matched the small smirk on your lips. game on.

the song changed to something with a more sultry beat, and you used the opportunity to wrap your arms around his neck and let his hands guide your hips to the music. while he wasn’t much of a dancer, he could definitely keep a beat. it didn’t prove to be so difficult when your chest was pushing up on his own that he was just waiting for them to spill out. he realized he could feel your hardened nipples through your slip, the nubs rubbing friction through the fabric of their clothes. he moaned internally while he gripped your hips to pull you even closer. it was clear spencer seemed to be getting comfortable with moving your body and holding you close, but you couldn’t let that happen.

before the second chorus you turn around in his arms so your back is pressed up against his front, and you start dancing on him.

spencer’s taken by surprise, something you felt when his hands faltered the confident rhythm it kept up, and while he watched you dance just like this with all those guys it’s like his mind is blank now.

you recognize the song playing, collide by justine skye & tyga, and use the sultry beat to your advantage. you move your ass hard on his front, feeling his length pressed between your cheeks. you gesture for him to lean his head down and he lets out a low groan as you whisper in his ear, “all that for me?”.

a primal instinct starts to take over spencer’s being, and he grips your hips to meet his rutting from behind. spencer was desperate for any friction that could soothe the growing ache in his pants. you grinned as you felt take what he needed from you. it was quickly wiped off your face when you felt his hands inching dangerously close to where you really wanted him.  you place your hands on his with surprise and look at him, “what are you doing?”

“i don’t think i know what you’re talking about, sweetheart,” he threw back at you, “but if there’s something you’d like me to do, i’m all ears.” spencer grazes his fingers under the hem of your dress, toying with the lace band of your panties and slipping his fingers below it to stroke your inner thighs.

fuck. he turned it on you so fast it almost gave you whiplash. the provocative dancing was something you could handle, hell everyone on that dance floor was doing the same thing as you both. what you weren’t sure you could handle was him about to touch you in a public space. but, your body betrayed you as it turned you on to another plane. you look up at him with lust filled eyes and let out a breathy moan of his name. spencer collapses internally and stands his ground, “if you want something, beg me.”

spencer thinks he’s won the upper hand, and he’s feeling so smug behind you. he still thinks he has the upper hand until you reach down and place his middle and index finger in your mouth, circling your tongue around the digits.

“touch me.” you moan out, releasing his fingers.

spencer is dumbfounded how he’s the one about to burst out his pants when he made you beg for him. it should make him feel embarrassed at how close he was, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. not when you in his arms pleading him to do something. you sounded so pretty, and who was he to deny a pretty thing like you?

his fingers continue their journey down, outlining the lace trim resting on your thighs. he hooks his fingers on the fabric to pull it aside and slips into you, going at an aching pace to gather the wetness and groaning out, “jesus, you’re so wet, was this all for me? you needed my attention that bad, baby?”

you whimper and grip his hand even tighter because you’re not sure if your legs are holding out any longer. it’s all so overwhelming—having his hands down your panties in the middle of the dance floor, the lewdity of the noises in your ear, the hard length pressing desperately on your ass. this is all you’ve ever wanted from him, to want you. and now it’s happening, and your brain can’t fire the neurons fast enough to process the moment. instead your body responded with your skin heating up with anticipation, heart beating out as much adrenaline to keep up. the daze is getting foggier by the second as he trails his fingers up and down your slit, spreading the wetness and circling your clit on the way up. and you think you’re about to get accustomed to the pace he’s set, when he delves between your folds and you moan out loud so abruptly that the nearby patrons looked around wondering where it came from.

you can feel spencer’s shit eating grin behind you as he moves his head down to leave love bites on your neck. if he can feel your bluff dissipating, he’s not saying anything. his fingers set a painfully slow rhythm, and you grind down trying to get any more friction to reach your peak. he’s hitting you in all the right spots that make you see the stars and beyond, leaning your head back on his chest as you barrel towards your climax. you feel yourself mere seconds away from reaching, and spencer suddenly pulls his fingers out, making you whine out in protest, “wh- what are you doing?”

spencer grabs your wrist and starts dragging you through the sweaty bodies surrounding you, tightening his grip with a small smirk as he passes a few of the guys you were dancing with earlier. suckers.

he pushes the doors open with a force and while the cool air is attempting to return your body to homeostasis, the anticipation of where he’s going overtakes you, “spence, where are we going wh-“ you cut off your sentence with a gasp as he handles you flush to the door of his car. then it’s just silence for a few moments. no loud bass or weird dudes, just the two of you. the only sound that can be heard are your breaths competing for prominence. you look up at him and focus on the details of his face illuminated by the moonlight, trying to read his expression. his honeyed eyes have fully darkened to a lustful hickory, and suddenly you felt like a gazelle being preyed on by a lion.

he reaches into his pocket and unlocks the car with a soft beep. it’s the focused eyes on you that drive you to open the door, but it’s the subtle silent nod of his head towards the car that makes you move inside waiting for him to join you. he climbs in after you, shutting the door and locking it.

spencer moves to the middle seat and allows his legs to spread open, he taps his thighs and faintly says, “come here.”

you shuffle closer and swing your legs over him, your dress rising up a little as you fully sit on his clothed crotch. and now you realize the corporeality of the moment. it’s like, really real now. all this time pining after the boy genius with no luck and now he’s got you in the backseat of his car and your panties crooked, waiting for you to move. the bravado you wore and so tightly held onto for a majority of the night comes crashing down like a shattered vase, and you’re not sure if you have any more in you to salvage the pieces. you may be a profiler, but try as you might you are not a mind reader, yet you so desperately want to know what he’s thinking. is it too much to ask what this means? will it overwhelm him to say you’ve dreamt about this moment for many nights, and how those dreams went on till the early morning when he’d stay and brush your hair back with a temple kiss. the whispers of sweet nothings sticking to you like honey as you got ready for the day. are these questions you even want to know the answer to?

you may not be a mind reader, but he is dr. spencer reid, who noticed your demeanor change after too long of a silence.

“hey,” he holds your chin delicately to your eyes, “it’s okay if you want to stop, i’m sorry for tak-“

it’s your turn to cut him off, “no! no i, i still want this, i just,” you falter.

“just what, baby?” he coos softly.

it makes tears well up in your eyes, you hope he can’t see them, “i’ve just wanted this for so long, and it’s probably embarrassing that i’m admitting this now of all times, but i don’t know if i can handle this meaning more to me than it does to you.” you confess quietly.

spencer listens to your admission and gingerly resecures his arm behind you, a position he thinks is starting to become second nature. he rubs soft shapes into the small of your back, “what makes you think that?”

“because i basically threw myself at you tonight, and it seems to be the first time you noticed me.” you say halfheartedly. 

“you think i don’t notice you?” he whispers, leaning in to leave soft kisses in the crook of your neck. spencer is dumbfounded, confused at how you reached such a conclusion. but as a man of science, he feels there’s only one way to prove himself. he breathes your name out, “can i show you how much i notice you? please?”

you nod, at least you could commit this moment to memory if it was all you’d have left of him. he presses his lips to yours for the first time that night, your breath faltering as he becomes more feverous with his attacks. slotting his tongue with yours, your hands move up to his silky hair to take purchase in. he lets out a groan as he pulls back from you, “i need to taste you.”

he guides your body to lean back on the center console, the only way his tall figure would be able to accommodate this position. your legs are still split on either side of his legs, using your hands to prop yourself up to watch his movements. he hooks his fingers on the sides of your panties and slowly slides them down, moaning at the way your slick causes resistance as he pulls them off your legs. wrapping his arms under your thighs to lift you up to face level, he places small kisses on your inner thighs as he makes his way to your core. he places a final kiss on your center before licking a long stripe up to your clit. moaning out wantonly, he continues his ministrations and kitten licks all over you, circling back up to your clit after each round.

“spence..” you whine out. he moves his focus to your clit, circling and sucking till you’re squirming in his arms so much has to grip your thighs. your hands are fussing through his hair, gripping and pulling to find something to ground you. spencer then slips his fingers into your core for the second time tonight, and you lose it.

he’s pumping his fingers in and out, that all you can hear is the squelching noises of your cunt. adding another one, you’re unable to stay still anymore, as if you were before.

“oh my fuck, spencer. i’m gonna cu-, cum. please don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.” you moan out filthy.

spencer unlatches his mouth for a moment, “come for me, baby.”

your orgasm crashes down on you like a wave breaking on the shore. it’s all consuming, leaving you shaking and breathless and he lifts his head from between your legs and you see his chin glistening with you in the moonlight. the sight itself is so pornographic, you can’t help but shuffle back onto his lap to crash your lips back to his, tasting yourself on his tongue. he tangles his hands in your hair as you move yours between you both, unzipping his trousers to palm him through his boxers.

he breakily moans in your ear as you slowly pull back the band to take him out. the sight takes you by surprise, you knew he was big, you felt it on your ass while you were dancing. but seeing how it compared to your hand had you bulging your eyes.

“you’re so big,” you whisper. how the hell was that fitting inside of you?

spencer the mind reader places his hand on top of yours as you lazily stroke him, “we’ll go slow, don’t worry.” he can’t help but feel his ego inflate to the skies, he can’t remember the last time he had someone look intimidated by him.

nodding faintly, you gather the spit in your mouth and let it fall between you both to land on the flushed pink tip. you spread it up and down his length, setting a slow pace that had him moaning expletives in your ear.

“oh-, ohhh, fuck baby. you’re so good at that holy shit,” he says trying to hold himself together. you give him a few more pumps before lifting your hips up to guide him inside you. you move his tip to your entrance, rubbing it teasingly before spencer places his hands on your sides to stabilize you, and slowly sink you down onto him.

the second his tip pushes past your folds, you both moan out in harmony. placing your hands on his shoulders you leverage yourself to sink down further inch by inch, until your core is flush with the base of his thighs.

spencer is a man of many words, maybe too many. but right now the only word he can remember is your name as he watched you take his length whole inch by inch slowly losing any restraint he had left. the pressure his cock had inside of you was heavenly. you’d never felt so full, and you could tell he was trying so hard to stay still as you adjusted above him.

when you bottom out spencer throws his head back against the seat, “oh that’s it, good girl,” you clenched around him. “you okay?”

you nod in response, ignoring the way the term of endearment sent flutters to your heart, and attempt an experimental rock of your hips, causing spencer’s head to whip up and meet your lust blown eyes with his own. he adjusts his hands on the sides of your thighs and starts helping you move up and down on his length, setting a brutally slow pace.

you rest your head and moan into the crook of his neck as he continues his movements, “spencer, please, more, i can take it.”

he still can’t believe what’s happening right now, all those days he spent thinking about you in the bullpen, at home, everywhere really, and here you were begging on top of him to fuck you good.

“you still think i don’t notice you?” he says into your ear, “i have dreamt about what you’d look like bouncing on my cock, and you are blowing any idea i had out of the water.”

you whimper as he continues, “and when i’m not thinking about ruining you, i am in awe at how you walk through life. you bring so much joy everywhere you go, it’s a blessing to be able to experience you.” he says through shaky breaths.

the praise goes straight to core, with some traveling to your heart again, and you’re not sure how much longer you can hold on before you unravel physically and emotionally.

his hands are guiding you up and down at a harder pace now, “so,” thrust. “you still think,” thrust, “i don’t notice you?” he thrusts into you once more and holds you down, making sure you’re looking directly at him, “it was never an option to brush past you, you are everything to me. i didn’t know how to show that without overwhelming you. i’m sorry.”

tears well up in your eyes again, spencer notices this time and presses a small kiss on your forehead. all your senses feel like they’re in overdrive, unable to comprehend anything right now. your skin feels like it’s on fire as he rolls your hips faster to meet his ruts.

“spence, i- i’m so close.” you whine desperately. 

he slips his hand between you both to rub your clit, “i know baby, i’ve got you. let go for me.”

his words were enough to break the dam, your second climax of the night hurling towards you. the white hot feeling overtook your whole body, shaking and clenching above him. your grip on him was threateningly vicious, probably leaving deep crescent marks in the nape of his shoulders. you wish the euphoria would last forever if it meant having spencer like this. as you came down from your high, the two of you were still moving together, slowly rocking your hips to meet each other. once you were grounded again, you pushed through the sensitivity in your core to rise up on his length, just barely leaving the tip in before you slid back down fast and hard, now focusing on spencer reaching his peak.

“oh jesus, fuck.” spencer moaned out brokenly.

“come on spence you can do it,” you taunted as you clenched down, “come inside me, make a mess of me please.” a rush of confidence flowed through as you whispered into his ear, and spencer held your hips to help you bounce faster on him.

spencer let out a loud groan as you felt the hot spurts coat your insides, he was leaving matching crescent marks on the sides of your hips as the ones on his shoulders, making sure all of him was left in you. feeling him soften inside, you remained on his lap with him sheathed in you. you both are breathing heavily, leaning back to hopefully give you both some relief from the sex filled air. looking around the car you realize that all the windows are fogged up and let out a tiny giggle.

“what’s so funny?” he looks up at you slightly amused and very out of breath.

“no it’s just, the windows are such a dead giveaway for what we just did in here.” 

“eh, i don’t really care what people think.”

“gasp, dr. reid wants to let the world know he has car sex with random girls?”

he leans in to bite your neck playfully, “random? did nothing i said during all that register for you?”

you yelp and attempt to play dumb, “actually i don’t remember a word, you might have to jog my memory. maybe even recreate the circumstances to help with cementing it. i read about situational memorization where certain scenarios are easily remembered when there’s a big event to anchor it to.”

he swears he could’ve melted on the spot at you explaining a concept you’d read about to him, “careful sweetheart, calling it a big event might inflate my ego a little too high.”

“i mean, i can tell it worked,” you tease as you feel him harden inside of you again, “so tell me genius, how many times does a scenario have to happen for me to remember the information?”

“i guess we’ll have to find out, don’t we?”

[rafecameronssl4t]

i miss thornton!reader so bad!!! can we get one, maybe reader got hurt by barry and topper fights rafe about it! love uuuuu

Protective || Rafe Cameron x Thornton!reader

A/n: I've missed writing Thornton!reader :(

Warnings: suggestive, slight angst if you even call it that lol, other than that nothing rlly

Word count: 3,417 (longest fic i've written so far lol)

MASTERLIST (rafe x Thornton!reader au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

The music thrummed through the house, filling every corner with a heavy bass as Kelce glanced around the crowded room, his brows furrowed. He leaned closer to Topper, who was lounging on the couch with a half-empty beer in hand. “Yo, where’s Rafe? Haven’t seen him all night,” Kelce shouted over the noise.

Topper, barely looking up from his drink, shrugged lazily. “Probably off somewhere with my sister,” he muttered, taking a slow sip. Just as he said it, the sight of you and Rafe caught Kelce's attention, and Topper turned his head. Rafe appeared at the top of the staircase, hand firmly gripping yours as the two of you descended.

His expression was smug, almost victorious, while you walked carefully beside him, your legs unsteady, a faint flush still lingering on your cheeks. The subtle tension between you didn’t go unnoticed. Topper narrowed his eyes, rolling them dramatically. “Where were you guys?” he started, though a moment later he held up a hand, groaning.

“Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t even wanna know,” Topper groaned, his eyes narrowing as he sank deeper into the couch, clearly regretting the question. Rafe’s smirk only widened in response, that signature arrogance playing on his lips as he pulled you closer, his hand sliding possessively to the small of your back.

“What’s wrong? Not havin’ fun?” Rafe’s tone was taunting as he sat down, effortlessly pulling you into his lap. You settled against him, your body fitting into his like second nature, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the alcohol in the air. Topper’s response was a dry scoff, his eyes cutting away, tired of the banter.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” He took another sip of his drink, clearly unimpressed with the scene unfolding in front of him. You glanced at your brother, trying to lighten the tension. “Where’s that girl you were seeing? Natalie or something—” you began, but Topper’s cold voice sliced through your words, shutting them down.

“Broke it off with her. She was a bitch anyway,” he said, his tone harsh, dismissive, like the whole thing had been a waste of his time. There was a chill to his words that left an awkward silence between you, broken only by the sound of the party continuing in the background. You exchanged a quick glance with Rafe, who simply shrugged, his expression unbothered, like the drama swirling around him barely registered.

Rafe’s fingers, however, were far more interested in the hem of your dress, teasing the fabric between his fingers as he leaned in closer. “I’m having a smoke. You comin’?” His voice dropped lower, intimate, a subtle invitation. You glanced towards the patio door, the thought of stepping into the cold night air making you hesitate. “But it’s so cold out there,” you pouted, your lips curving into a playful smile.

Rafe chuckled, his eyes dropping to your legs as he gave your thigh a teasing pat. “I told you it wasn’t a good idea wearin’ this dress,” he murmured, his voice filled with amusement as he traced lazy circles on your skin with his thumb. “Oh, it was a bad idea, huh?” you quipped back, tilting your head slightly, a smirk playing on your lips as you met his gaze.

You could feel the electricity between you, the unspoken tension that always lingered just beneath the surface. Before Rafe could respond, Topper groaned again, loudly this time, clearly done with the back-and-forth. “Get outta here, seriously. The two of you are disgusting,” he muttered, rolling his eyes so hard you were sure he was going to walk out. You held up your hands in mock surrender, laughing softly.

“Alright, alright, we’re going,” you teased, sliding off Rafe’s lap. Rafe stood, wrapping an arm around your waist, tugging you closer as the two of you made your way outside. The night air hit you immediately, crisp and cold, but Rafe didn’t seem to mind, pulling you against him as if he could keep you warm just by being close.

~

Rafe leaned back against the side of the house, the dim glow of the porch light casting shadows across his sharp features. A cigarette hung loosely from his lips, the faint trail of smoke curling lazily into the cool night air as he gazed down at you. He wasn’t really paying attention to the words spilling from your mouth, your voice a pleasant hum in the background, but his eyes were locked on you—specifically, the way your glossy lips moved as you talked.

You were leaning casually against the wall, your phone in hand, gesturing slightly as you yapped about the latest gossip swirling around Figure 8. Your voice was animated, every detail about who hooked up with whom and who got into another petty fight filling the air with energy.

Rafe, however, was only half-listening, his attention drawn more to the subtle curve of your lips, how they glistened under the soft light each time you spoke. The way your mouth moved was more captivating than any story you could tell. He took a slow drag of his cigarette, the embers lighting up briefly as his gaze drifted lower, trailing from your lips down to your neckline, his mind wandering.

You didn’t seem to notice his distracted state, too engrossed in the details of your latest story. But to Rafe, it didn’t matter what you were saying. He was content just watching you, the way you moved, the way your presence filled the space between you both.

You continued talking, the glow of your phone illuminating your face as you swiped through the latest drama on social media. “So apparently, Anna broke up with Drew,” you said, your voice filled with excitement as if it was the most riveting thing that had happened all week. “And get this—she’s already seeing Chase. Like, they were spotted together at The Wreck, can you believe it?”

Rafe exhaled a slow puff of smoke, his eyes lazily following the movement of your lips, still half lost in his own thoughts. “Mm-hmm,” he mumbled in response, barely processing the names you were tossing out. His mind kept drifting—your lips, the way your hair fell over your shoulders, the subtle scent of your perfume mixing with the cool night air.

You didn’t seem to notice his lack of enthusiasm as you scrolled through your phone, continuing. “And then there’s Claire—God, she’s still with that guy from The Cut. You know everyone’s talking about it, right? Like, what is she even thinking? She could do so much better, but nope, she’s still with him.”

Rafe took another drag of his cigarette, flicking the ash off to the side before responding, his tone casual and almost uninterested. “Yeah, she’s an idiot,” he muttered, his gaze still fixated on your lips, completely disconnected from the gossip itself. You sighed, exasperated by how uninterested he seemed. “Are you even listening, Rafe?” you asked, shooting him a playful glare, though you knew this was how he always acted when you talked about Figure 8 drama.

He smirked, letting the cigarette dangle from his lips as he finally met your eyes. “I’m listenin’,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “I just don’t care about half the people you’re talkin’ about.” You rolled your eyes, leaning in just a little closer. “You should care. It’s your crowd, Rafe. You act like you’re too cool for it, but you know you love it when someone else’s life is falling apart.”

Rafe chuckled, his hand firmly tugging you closer by the waist. “Nah, I just like watchin’ you get all worked up about it,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on your lips as he tossed his cigarette aside, his focus now entirely on you. You sighed, tucking your phone into your back pocket, arms crossing over your chest as a shiver ran down your spine.

“Can you hurry up? I’m freezing my tits off out here,” you groaned, leaning into Rafe for warmth. The night air was biting, and the flimsy dress you’d chosen was doing nothing to help. Rafe smirked, wrapping an arm casually around your neck and pulling you against him.

“Quit whining. I already warmed you up earlier,” he teased, his eyes twinkling as they glanced down at you. His hand rested possessively on your hip, the cockiness in his tone making you roll your eyes. You were about to fire back a snarky remark when a voice cut through the darkness. "Rafe!" someone called out, the tone sharp and angry.

Before you could turn to see who it was, you suddenly felt a rough pair of hands grab your shoulders and shove you aside with force. The world seemed to tilt for a moment as you let out a startled shriek, your body stumbling as you lost your balance, crashing into a bush. The cold leaves scratched against your skin, the shock of the shove still fresh as you blinked, trying to regain your composure.

“What the fuck, Barry?!” Rafe’s voice exploded with fury as he shoved the man back, his stance immediately tense, ready to throw a punch. But before he could escalate, he turned back to you, eyes wide with concern. He was by your side in an instant, one hand gripping your arm, steadying you as you struggled to get up.

“You okay?” Rafe asked, his voice softening, all the teasing from before gone, replaced by genuine worry. His hands moved to gently brush the dirt and leaves off you, his eyes searching your face for any sign of injury. You took a deep breath, still a little shaken, but nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you muttered, your voice quieter now.

But your eyes were narrowed, darting to Barry, who stood a few feet away, his face twisted in a malicious grin, his energy dark and threatening. “Oh, my bad, Princess,” Barry sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he glared at you. “Just here to let your boy know he’s gotta pay up. Real fuckin’ soon.”

The tension in the air was palpable as Rafe instinctively moved you behind him, his body blocking yours in a protective stance. His jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed in confusion and anger. “Pay up? What the fuck are you talking about?” Rafe snapped, his voice rising with frustration. “I already gave you the money—what more do you want?”

Barry chuckled darkly, taking a step closer, his eyes flickering with something dangerous. “Yeah, you gave me some of it,” he growled, his tone low and threatening. “But we both know that wasn’t the full amount, Cameron. I don’t like bein’ shortchanged.” Rafe’s posture stiffened, his fists clenching at his sides as he squared up to Barry, tension rippling through his body. “You got what I owed you,” Rafe hissed, his voice laced with fury.

“I’m not giving you a goddamn cent more.” Barry took another step forward, his gaze shifting from Rafe to you, a wicked smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Better be careful, Rafe,” he taunted, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent. “You wouldn’t want Princess here to get caught in the middle of your little debt, would you?”

Rafe’s entire body went rigid, the implication in Barry’s words sending a jolt of rage through him. He stepped closer to Barry, his voice low and dangerous. “You keep her out of this,” Rafe growled, the muscles in his neck tightening. “Or I’ll make sure you regret it.” You stood behind Rafe, your heart pounding in your chest, the weight of the situation finally sinking in.

You could see the barely contained fury in Rafe’s stance, the way he was holding himself back from lunging at Barry right then and there. Barry gave a mocking shrug, stepping back with a grin still plastered on his face. “We’ll see about that,” he said casually, turning on his heel as if the conversation was over. “But I’ll be back, Rafe. You know where to find me. Don’t make me wait.”

He shot one last look over his shoulder before disappearing into the night, leaving you and Rafe standing there in the cold, the air heavy with unsaid threats. Rafe exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before turning to you, his expression softening only slightly. “Are you alright?” he asked quietly, his voice still tight with lingering anger.

You nodded, but the unease in your chest didn’t go away. “What the hell was that about, Rafe?” you asked, your voice a mix of concern and frustration. He sighed, pulling you into his arms and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s nothin’ you need to worry about,” he muttered, though the look in his eyes told you it was anything but nothing.

"Why the fuck was a drug dealer walking through my house?" Topper’s angry voice sliced through the tension, making both you and Rafe turn toward him. His face was red, brows knitted together in fury as he stormed up to the two of you. The pulse of the party inside was distant, but the rage in Topper’s voice filled the silence outside.

His eyes landed on you, taking in your disheveled appearance, the dirt on your dress, and the lingering shock in your expression. “The fuck happened to you?” he demanded, his gaze sharp and piercing, searching your face for answers. You swallowed hard, trying to shake off the remnants of the altercation with Barry.

“Nothing,” you mumbled, brushing a hand over your arm as if to wipe away the discomfort. “Bullshit,” Topper snapped, cutting you off before you could even try to explain. His anger shifted, his eyes narrowing as they darted to Rafe, who was still standing protectively in front of you. “I told you to take care of my sister,” Topper growled, his voice low but filled with fury.

“I don’t want her around a fucking drug dealer, Rafe!” Rafe straightened up, his expression hardening. “Topper, calm the fuck down,” he shot back, his voice steady but laced with annoyance. “It wasn’t like that.” “Oh really?” Topper scoffed, taking a step closer. “’Cause from where I’m standing, it sure as hell looks like it was like that. What the fuck is Barry doing here, and why is my sister gettin’ shoved into a goddamn bush?!”

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated. “Barry’s deal is with me. I’m handling it,” he muttered, but the tightness in his voice betrayed the weight of the situation. “I didn’t know he’d pull shit like that.” “That’s not good enough, Rafe,” Topper spat, his voice rising. “She’s not some collateral damage in whatever fucked-up deal you have goin’ on.” You stood between them, feeling the heat of the argument escalating, the tension rolling off both of them in waves.

“Topper, seriously, I’m fine,” you tried to interject, though your voice was drowned out by the two of them squaring up. Rafe shot a glare at Topper, his patience thinning. “I told you, I’ve got it under control.” Topper barked out a laugh, disbelief in his voice. “Under control? My little sister gets shoved around, and that’s you havin’ things under control?”

Rafe’s jaw clenched as he took a step forward, his temper flaring. “Watch it, Top,” he warned, his voice dark. “Barry’s my problem, and I’ll deal with him. You don’t need to worry about her.” But Topper wasn’t backing down, his protective instincts kicking in as his eyes darted between you and Rafe. “You better,” Topper seethed, his voice dangerously low.

“’Cause if this happens again, I won’t just be worried—I’ll make sure this thing between you and her is done. I don’t care what you two have going on, Rafe. If she gets hurt because of your shit, I’ll end it myself. She deserves better than to be dragged into whatever mess you’re caught up in.” Your jaw dropped, disbelief flooding your face. “You don’t mean that—” you began, your voice trembling as you searched Topper’s eyes for any sign that he might back down.

But the fierce determination in his gaze made it clear he was dead serious. “Oh yes, I fucking do,” he snapped, his voice sharp as a blade, unwavering in its conviction. “And I’ll tell Mom and Dad.” The threat hung in the air like a storm cloud, heavy and suffocating, charged with unspoken tension.

A chill raced down your spine, and your heart pounded violently in your chest at the thought of your parents getting involved. They had always been skeptical about your relationship with Rafe, questioning his intentions and whether he was truly good for you. You could almost hear their voices in your head, echoing their concerns “He’s trouble,” and “You deserve someone better.” The idea of them finding out about the chaos swirling around you made your stomach churn.

“Topper, wait—” you tried to interject, stepping forward to bridge the widening gap between them. “You can’t just threaten Rafe like that. It’s not fair—” “Fair?” Topper shot back, cutting you off with a glare. “What’s not fair is that my sister is getting mixed up with someone who can’t keep her safe. This isn’t just about you two playing house; this is serious!”

Rafe stepped in, his voice steady but edged with irritation. “I get it, Topper. You’re trying to protect her, but you’re not seeing the whole picture. I care about her. You think I want any of this to happen?” “Then act like it!” Topper snapped, his frustration boiling over. “You’re letting this shit happen right under your nose. If you truly cared, you’d make damn sure it never came to this.”

The intensity of the moment hung between the three of you, a taut string ready to snap. You glanced at Rafe, searching for reassurance, but his jaw was clenched tight, frustration and anger warring in his expression. “Topper, please,” you pleaded, your voice softer now, desperate to diffuse the situation. “You know how much Rafe means to me. He’s not like that—”

“Not like what?” Topper interrupted, his voice rising again. “Not like a drug dealer? Not like someone who can’t keep his life together? You’re smarter than this, and I refuse to watch you throw yourself into the fire just because you think you can handle it.” Your heart sank as you realized that his anger was coming from a place of love, a protective instinct that had always been there.

But it still hurt to see him turning on Rafe, the person you cared about deeply. Rafe’s expression softened slightly as he looked at you, and for a moment, it felt like the two of you were the only ones in the world. “Topper, if you really want to protect her, then trust me to do the same,” he said, his voice calmer, but the fire still simmered beneath the surface. “I won’t let anything happen to her. I promise.”

“Promises don’t mean shit when you’re dealing with guys like Barry,” Topper shot back, his voice taut. “You need to figure this out, Rafe. Because if you can’t, I’ll step in, and I won’t hesitate to make it clear to everyone—including Mom and Dad—that you’re not the right guy for her.” Rafe's lips part slightly as he glances at you, his brow furrowed with concern as he notices the tears welling up in your eyes.

“And you both know that the only reason this even works is because I’m allowing it. Mom and Dad are already skeptical enough about this whole thing. If anything goes wrong, you know it’ll be on me to explain why I let it happen” Topper says, his voice laced with frustration as he narrows his eyes at both of you.

He glances at you one last time, his expression a mix of anger and disappointment, before he turns and walks away, leaving the tension hanging in the air. As soon as he’s out of sight, the tears spill down your cheeks, warm and stinging. “Rafe…” you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion, but Rafe doesn’t respond with words.

Instead, he pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you tightly, enveloping you in his warmth as you quietly sob against his chest. “Shh, it’ll all be fine, don’t worry about it, okay?” he murmurs softly, his voice a gentle balm against your hurt. His hand caresses your hair, fingers weaving through the strands in a soothing rhythm as you cling to him, seeking comfort in his presence.