#but you can’t have all three at once I’m sorry

[madamechrissy]

Cursed Promises

Pairings: Sukuna x Fem reader

CW: This chap, Sukuna fks reader with both his cocks in both holes ahem, (yayyy) lots of use of all his tongues and mouths OF COURSE, public sex, cockwarming, Sukuna calls you little bunny and slutty etc, soft Sukuna, he's falling in LOVE but is stubborn lol true form Sukuna, smacking (pussy, titties, ass, face- all of it lmao) THIS CHAP IS ALMOST ALL SMUT and fluff w/a little angst at the beginning

Summary: You have been promised to Ryomen Sukuna, King of curses, for as long as you've been alive, ostracized from your village, 'special'. Now you are to marry him, sight unseen. People everywhere fear him, but will you find yourself intrigued by him. Just who is the King of Curses to his new wife? Arranged marriage au

A/N: This is ALL fluff and SMUT lol, Four Parts (this is the final one) you're not gonna get much plot, I really wanted them being cute!? don't ask.- also I suck at writing powers, so sorry if I fk anything up that's canon lol! - WC this chap- 7.9k

Comments/ reblogs appreciated if you like this silly stuff, ty for all the love on these little parts they make me so happy❤️

<<<part three

Part Four- Final Part

Two weeks later

Why have you fallen in love with such an ass?

You had asked this question to yourself many times, finally Sukuna was back home, but you refused to go see him, hiding in your room instead. Sukuna had summoned you to dine with him, but you simply locked yourself in, fiddling with the brilliant necklace, the only thing he’d left aside from his infuriating note, watching how the candlelights reflect the facets of the gems.

Knock knock knock.

“I’m not coming, Uraume.” You say, knowing their knock now.

“The King is demanding you come, you must obey.”

“Then he can drag me out.” You hear their footsteps softly padding along the corridors, echoing in the halls.

You wanted to see him, you were dying to see him, but you were far, far too angry, too hurt right now to face him. The past couple of weeks of loneliness, of curling up in his throne and inhaling the scent he left, of being just pathetic over him, over everything he had said. He acted as if he could make you not love him, but that was completely impossible.

You fell for him, for the King of curses, who you have been promised to, the one that your powers are the antithesis of. The being so intimidating to all, but you knew what it was to have his arms around you, what it was to sit on his lap in the throne room like his Queen, which you were. You know what it was to be kissed so thoroughly, the little intimate moments he tries to brush off.

You’re in love with him, and you can’t face him.

Suddenly your door is being banged on, you tense just a bit, jumping now, breath coming in small pants when you hear his booming voice. “I’ll blast this door off the fucking hinges if you don’t come out, wife.”

You huff, scowling as your slippered feet gently pad across the cold marble floor below you, hand shaking as you touch the brass knob, you’re terrified you’ll fold once you face him. You have no willpower, he could just look at you and you’ll open for him, so pathetically, but you’re so angry with him too, you’re conflicted as you pause, knowing he’s right on the side of the door.

“I don’t want to see you.” You choke out then, hiding a sob and failing, Sukuna smacks the door again, making it vibrate.

“Open now, brat. I swear I’ll destroy your entire wing right now.”

“Why? You don’t even like me.”

“Psh, you insolent-”

“Go away, your Majesty.” You can practically hear him seething, feeling his energy so strongly then.

“You open this door now and eat. I command you as your fucking King and husband.”

“Ugh! Fine.” You open the door then, tears glimmering unshed in your eyes, Sukuna sees it then, the hurt on your face, the face he couldn’t get out of his head for weeks. Eyes that haunted him as much as they annoy the shit out of him.

“Do not dare cry.” He orders, you stand straight up then, fists clenched at your sides.

“Your audacity knows no bounds, you cannot constantly command me not to do things, to feel things. If it is so terrible just leave me be, you’ve more than had your chances to make an heir I’m sure. We’ll see if it takes.” Sukuna slams the door open when you try to shut it, walking in now, step by step.

“When were your monthlies?” He asks, you blink then, shaking your head as you try to think.

“I am due this week, so we will know soon if you must lay with me again.”

All four of his ruby eyes glare now. “If I must!?”

“Indeed. I’ll inform you, now… if you please-”

“Fuck that.” Sukuna shuts your door, turning and pressing you against it now, intimidating as his arms bar you, two on either side of your head, two cupping your face. “As if you don’t desire me.”

“I do, but I will not be hurt and dismissed like I’m some stupid child.”

“You basically are to me.”

“Then go. Concubines must miss you- ah!” Sukuna’s slammed his lips on yours now, melting you completely, you’re clinging to him so desperate as he lifts you like you are nothing, you’re just fucking dangling as he holds you so high, lips already swelling from his kisses.

“I am here, I want you, got it brat?” Sukuna speaks through his teeth, two hands gripping your ass rough over your robes. “I need you.”

“Need me?” Your brain short circuits, he’s kissing you desperate, it is needy how he’s all over you, you’re trembling, thighs shaking around his thick waist, tasting the sweet wine on his tongue as it devours your mouth.

“Need to be inside you, fuck I’ve missed it.” You gasp as he parts your robes with two hands while the other two press you against the door, his tongue on his bare abdomen lapping at your bare pussy, you’re whimpering at it, clit throbbing. “Missed your taste, gods.”

“Kuna… you’re…” His thick, long tongue is lapping at you, his lips back on yours again, you’re clinging to his bare shoulders, long nails are pressing against his skin, you’re shaking when he’s lapping at you, over and over, eyes rolling back.

“Need my cocks inside you, bunny. Waited too long.” He huffs, carrying you to the bed now, undoing his robes, you stop him, shaking your head and closing your thighs, earning his glare. “Excuse me, brat?” He shoves them open, only for you to close them once more, glaring right back.

“You left me with a stupid note and some necklace, as if that’ll make anything better! Don’t, I can’t think straight when you touch me.” You whimper those words, he’s cupping your face, red eyes dilated, lips hungry as he lays naked over you.

“I’ll buy you more things, anything, have you dripping with every gem in the fucking country, hmm?”

“No, Kuna. No. You didn’t have to love me back, but to leave me like that? To write your stupid note!? No!” You shove at him, tears falling from your eyes, your body and soul ache for him, but your heart is hurting, as you look at his face in the night, the lights casting shadows on all the hard planes of his face.

“You are stupid to think you do, have you not come to your goddamn senses? Why can’t you just enjoy it… enjoy this.” He’s slathering kisses down your ribcage, your tummy, nipping at your flesh with sharp teeth, his long black nails pressing into your skin, making you soaking wet with every stroke of his hand, of his tongues darting out from all his damn hands.

“If you’re… so… mmm… horny then go… to them- ah!” Sukuna slaps your cheek then, you slap him right back, then you’re devouring each other again, it’s insanity, you’re biting the King of Curses lip so hard you draw blood.

“I don’t want anyone but you, annoying pest.” He grips your chin then, kissing you with the blood all over his mouth, you whine into his lips now, hips arching.

“Why?” You whisper, he sighs, shaking his head. “Why? If you do not answer you will not lay with me.”

“You’re commanding me!?” He leans up on his arms, looming over you, and you’re nodding, watching his ruby eyes narrow. “I cannot explain why I only want a stupid bunny like you, but I do.”

“Is it because you care? At all?” He leans off you then, groaning and running a big hand through his pastel hair.

“I cannot fathom how I’ve come to have such an annoying, insolent girl. Perhaps I should lay with them, if you say so.”

“Go then!” You stand, shoving at the big luk of a damn man, he’s like steel under your palms, his jaw set.

“You want me to?”

“No!” You’re sobbing then, and he’s shaking his head, studying you, hating that you drive him to insanity, hating that all he wants is this brat who smacks him, who bites at him, how can he handle this? You’re making him so fucking crazy, he just wants you screaming in pleasure, not this. “But you should, if you don’t care.”

“I do care, foolish brat.” You shake your head even as he cups your face once more, thumbs brushing under your jaw line, feeling your fluttering pulse point. “Fragile little human, I’ve let you go on too much.”

“You keep trying to scare me away, it won’t work, all you’re doing is hurting me instead, hurting us.” You let him wrap his enormous fingers around your throat, he does it gently, hand shaking, losing his composure.

“What can I do to make you smile again?” He whispers, releasing your throat, thumb brushing your lower lip.

“Let me express myself without doubting me, without making fun of me for it. I know my own heart, you cannot tell me what to feel.” He curses then, looking up at the ceiling, despising the way he wants to make you happy, please you.

You’ve become everything he can think of and he despises that too.

“Must you say the nonsense?” He murmurs, and you smile just a bit, stepping closer, how insane are you, to have the King of Curses hand around your throat and not even flinch? No, you smile instead.

“I won’t constantly say it, but you needed to know how I felt. What if I never saw you again?” The guilt eats at him now, picturing you, the staff has said you’ve barely left the room, that you’ve barely eaten, he even sees your cheeks more hollow, your waist smaller under his touch, infuriating him further.

“I hear you’re refusing food, how are you to make an heir if you waste away?” He says terself, grabbing you tightly now by the waist.

“I was depressed, I cannot eat when I’m depressed.” You whisper.

“So you’ll eat now, even if I have to force food down your throat, got it?” Come to dinner with me.”

“What, you’ll feed me like some baby?”

“You are a dumb little baby. Now.” You stomp after him, tying your robes as he does, you sit far away from him, across the giant table, further infuriating him as you chew your meal.

“Happy, King?” You ask, sipping your water now, Sukuna scoffs, standing up and walking to you.

“Am I happy that my bride is the most petulant brat? No.” You smack at his hands when he starts trying to shove fork fulls in your mouth. “Stop it this instant.”

“I don’t need you to feed me, I need you… I need…” You shake your head, standing and turning, earning him yanking your back against his chest, two arms wrapping you now. “S-stop…”

“You’re aching for me, bet your cunt is soaked. Why fight this, you stubborn girl?” You gasp in pleasure as he cups you between your thighs, feeling your heat against his fingers. “You know you want me inside your slutty cunt.”

“I want you to not be an ass. Ngh!” Sukuna has you bent over the table now, one hand pinning your wrists as the other lifts your robes, your thighs tremble when he sinks two long fingers, curling them just so, you’re weakly whining out and dripping down his hand and wrist, head pressing against the tablecloth. “Mmm…”

“You want me to fill you, don’t you?”

“W-want you… not so fucking… mean.”

He laughs, leaning over you now, but his eyes catch yours, and something takes his breath away, making him gulp now. “Fine, say your stupid sentence if it makes you stop those tears. I only want you moaning.”

“You won’t g-get mad again?” You whisper, he shakes his head, continuing to move his fingers up and down inside your slick little hole, aching for his huge cocks so badly you can’t think.

“Just get it over with, bunny.”

“Love you.” He moans now, kissing you deeply, your words hit him so hard his usually steady hands tremble, he hates those stupid words, from your perfect lips, but he hates you sad much more. You exhale, sniffling, when he stands, turning you and picking you up, holding you tightly.

“Annoying.” Is all he manages, gulping then, you sigh, clinging around his neck now, kissing him softer, so soft he feels too much. “I need to be inside you, do not make your King beg.”

“Would it be so bad, you begging for once?” You whisper, he exhales, sitting you on the table, between your spread thighs, two hands shoving them apart while two fondle your breasts over your robes.

“You think I’ll beg? I’m a King.” You hum softly, trailing your hands down his hard body, finding one of his cocks under his robe, stroking then, catching his eyes as you feel his hard length, you watch his lip part, lashes lowering.

“Maybe you will beg for me. Beg to be inside me again?” You bring his tip against your soppy cunt, he grips you tightly, but you shove him back, smiling.

“You’ll not tease me.” He pulls you against him, but you shake your head, back to stroking him instead, he moans out, resting his head against yours. “You want me just as bad as I do, stop pretending.”

“You alright, Kuna?” You whisper now, teasing your clit with one of his leaky tips, he tries to pull you again but your free hand stops him. “What do we say when we want something?”

“I am so not fucking begging.”

“Hmm. Good night then.” You let go of him, hopping off the table, he scoffs, yanking you by your wrist now, yanking you back, leaning over you, he is intimidating.

“Your pretty pussy is aching, isn’t it?”

“Pretty?” You whisper.

“All of you is. Pretty and irritating.” He kisses you deeper, you feel it then, how much of himself he’s putting to you, and you want to cave so badly.

“Then why don’t you beg to come to my bed?” 

“Tch, no… you beg for me to fill you.” You’re whining out as his tongue slips against your clit again, your eyes roll back. “So stubborn, clit is twitching, pussy is drooling.”

“Sh-shut up.” Sukuna smirks though, carrying you up the stairs now, so quickly he has you there before you can blink, you get dizzy when he’s got you back laid on his bed, moaning when he parts your robes and gazes.

“This is where you belong, in my bed naked, constantly.” He huffs, watching as your hair splays out, your purple robes under you, you look so fucking pretty he can’t stand you, how bad his cocks hurt, the precum oozing out of his tips, decorating your inner thighs with white droplets,be spreads them across your skin.

“You need to apologize.”

“What!? Absolutely not.”

“Then we will just lay here.” Sukuna is infuriated now, shoving up off the bed to stare at you, as if you've grown four arms yourself.

“What do you want from me, woman?”

“To apologize for being a dick, leaving without saying goodbye.” He sighs and clenches his teeth.

“Cease that eye watering nonsense. Will you smile if I say it then?” You nod. “Fine, I'm sorry that I did not say farewell, and for… for finding your words foolish.” You stroke his face then, thumbs brushing over the sharp jut of a cheekbone.

“Thank you, Kuna. I missed you.” You whisper softly, you feel the warmth spread through your body, find yourself falling deeper and deeper.

“Your body missed me too, didn't it?”

“Did yours?” Your hand goes to his bare chest, where his heart thuds faster under your touch. He gulps, nodding just a bit, an imperceptible movement that anyone else might miss, but it emboldens you then. “Then lay on your back, my King.”

“Me on my back?” You can tell then, he hasn't done it, let someone have control. You stroke down his chest, his abdomen, trailing his tattoos.

“I'll make you feel very good, husband.” He does as you command, laying on his back, two hands behind his head as the other two find purchase in your hair while you're kissing down his throat, his chest, tasting the salt of his sweat when your tongue darts across a flat nipple.

“You’re an annoying pest.” He grumbles, you smile against him as your lips trail even lower, kissing along the black lines that slide across him, while your fingers set to tug and expose his cocks fully, earning his groan. “Stop teasing me.”

“Why can’t I? You certainly do enough, hmm?” You’re kissing the tips of him now, tongue flicking across the little slits that keep pumping white, inhaling his musky scent as you go.

“M’gonna shove them both in your insolent mouth at once.” He grumbles, but he doesn’t, he watches you with four dilated eyes, the lower ones so lidded they’re just slits that are glimmering in the soft candlelight of his room, which casts shadows across the wall so lewd, your head bobbing on one of his cocks now. “F-fuck…”

You enjoy sucking him, you’ve had much practice in a short time, enjoy the way his lips part, the way his muscles tense, how his hips buck up and jerk. You brace yourself with one hand on the bed, the other stroking his lower cock, his huge, muscled frame trembling under your caresses, his moans urging you.

“Take it deeper, brat, hmm? Can you?” He’s taunting you, but his voice is breathy, you feel him losing his control when his hands yank on your hair, and you take his cock deep in your throat, swallowing and moaning around it, making it vibrate. “Fuck! Need to be inside you, now.”

You pull back, cheeks hollowing, lips smacking and leaving trails of saliva like little glittery strings when you kitten lick his tip again. “Not yet, Kuna-ah!”

Sukuna uses his lower arms to drag you up now, holding you damn near suspended in the fucking air, you’re panicking as he’s chuckling. “Oh you little brat, you really think I can’t do anything I want to you?”

“Put me d-down this instant!” He’s chuckling at you, ass of a man, before he starts dragging your hips to slide across his cocks, between your soppy slit, you’re coating every inch of him, tears falling at how good it feels.

“You’re gonna get filled all night, bunny.” He slams you down on one of his cocks then, you’re screaming at the stretch, cunt throbbing around him, he hisses. “Loosen up, now.”

“C-can’t, m’gonna…” You’re getting eased off his cock again, then yanked back on the other, as his tongue from his stomach slathers your clit, you’re nearly sent over the edge, head falling back, hair falling like a curtain down it. “Ngh!”

“Wanna fill both your slutty holes.” He huffs, one of his tips pressing against your little puckered hole now, he chuckles at your expression. “Not yet, you’re too much of a frightened little prey.”

“M’not, ah- close, close… please…” You whine now, he’s just teasing you with his tips again, one slipping in your other hole, it feels so good you can’t take it, especially when his tongue is lapping at you again, two hands squishing your breasts.

“That’s it, cum all over me, now bunny.” He huffs, looking at you as you fall apart over him, you’re shattering while your cum is pouring all over, making a slick mess, body twitching when he sinks you back fully on one again. “There she goes, she loves being filled by her king, huh?”

“Yes, yes!” You’re over pretending to have control, just clinging to him as he fucks up into you, faster and harder, thrusts jostling you so much your damn teeth click, your pussy is pulsating all around him, your arousal pooling at the base of one cock, while he pummels into you.

“Perfect pussy, s’mine, hmm? Made f’me, made to take me.” You’re whimpering your answer, pathetically, and Sukuna’s thrusts falter, he leans up, kissing your lips, making you fall even deeper, as you struggle to stay on this plane of existence whatsoever, it’s like you’re floating and falling into the abyss that’s him.

“Mhm.” You manage, but it’s enough to urge him, to make his cock pulse for you, leaking against your cervix.

 “Gonna take this seed, fill your womb with my heir.”

“Please, please Kuna. Want it, w-want it.” He moans then, sloppy kisses between you both, as your cunt milks his cock for every spurt of cum that starts shooting up inside you.

“Feel m-me?” He’s exhaling, his voice a whisper, he can barely handle how good your cunt feels around him, how she’s gripping him, your eyes roll back in your skull, your mouth open, breasts arched against him when he stuffs you so full. He feels your cervix as he keeps pumping more and more cum. “Asked you a question, brat.”

His gentle smack on your face only makes you cum harder, he groans then, smacking your ass, your tits, little gentle thwacks that prolong you, while his cock stays buried. You’re a trembling goddamn mess, blinking blackness out of your vision as you struggle to focus on your King, sprawled under you, his eyes locked on every movement of your body and face.

“Kuna…” You whisper, blinking rapidly then, he eases out of you, moaning when he watches the mess pouring out of your hole.

“You’re wasting it again, tch.” You barely register how you are on your back, Sukuna’s long fingers stuffing the cum trickling all over into your sore cunt.

“Too much, mmh!” He laughs then, booming laughter that fills his chambers, easing his fingers out and shoving your thighs up, folding you in half. “Wh-what are you doing, I’m sore… ass of a man- ah!”

Sukuna’s thwap on your cunt stings, as he glares down at you. “I’ve had enough of your mouth running, you missed me filling you, didn’t you? Answer.”

“Y-yes.” You’re shaking when his face is between your thighs, despite all of his tongues, the one on his face was the sexiest when it laps you up, something about your little hands in his hair, his broad shoulders spreading you wide, just did more to you. Like he was worshipping you. “I’m sorry I was so… mad at you… my feelings…”

“Your feelings this and that, tch, you’re so needy aren’t you?” You scowl right back, but his tongue is swiping up your slit now, before he leans up, and your mouth eagerly opens, you swallow both of your tastes, earning his satisfied smirk. “Since you’re so needy, I’ll clean you, get you ready for more, yes?”

“Please, my King.” He is between your thighs again, lapping you up, shoving his tongue inside every bit of you, your cunt is pushing out all of his white ropes, which he greedily drinks. “Kuna!”

“Stupid name.” He huffs, tongue flicking your sensitive clit, he spreads your puffy lips wide, watching the little thing twitch with an amused smirk. “We taste so fucking perfect together, you know that?”

“We do… ah! Sensitive!” He’s grinning, sharp teeth against you as he exposes your clit, flicking his tongue over and over, while two of hands grip your hips, dragging you on his mouth. Your hips try to back off but he doesn’t let them, until you’re cumming all over his face again, which he has buried against you, orgasm wrecking your mind and any resolve you ever had.

“How many loads can you take in this tummy, hmm?” He looks up, face coated in your arousal, one hand pressing on your tummy now.

“As many as you want to give me.” Your words destroy him, to hear them from you? It’s like the dreams he’s been cursed with for weeks.

“Good bunny.” You eat it up, the praise, the way he looks at you when he is back to fucking your now sore pussy, his other cock stroking your clit, making you feel so much, too much, wh. “Good, good bunny. Take it all, greedy f’me aren’t you?”

You do, you take all of him somehow, you can’t figure it out, how she stretches to accommodate his length, his thickness, but she does. Your body is begging for more, your eyes glazed with pleasure, as his cock slams into your womb, filling you so deep you swear he’s fucking up your insides, and your cunt keeps greedily milking him, taking everything he’s got.

Sukuna flips you so suddenly you’re breathless again, climbing on top of you, two slick fingers slipping in your little untouched hole again, while he fucks you with one cock, his other arms wrapping your waist. His breath is against your ear while you’re crying out at the stretch, still pushing out remnants of his cum from earlier, dripping with your cum down his red blankets.

“Ready for me to cum in both your holes?” He murmurs, one hand cupping your face, turning you towards him you nod weakly, craving him, he moans into your mouth, tongues sloppy as they play, and he slips his other cock into that hole now.

“Kuna, too much… too big…” You’re crying out when he enters you, both cocks now, just their tips then a little further.

“Relax, bunny. You’re all mine, aren’t you?” You nod weakly, and it starts feeling so good, when he puts you on your knees, your ass arches for him, which he’s gripping brutally, spreading you wider. “Look at you, both your slutty holes begging for me.”

You can’t speak anymore, already weak from the orgasms, now he’s never even softened you don’t think, his cocks full of blood, when he sinks them further, you’re gripping the blankets, head buried, muffling your cries. He’s fucking both of your holes steadily, not going fully in, he’s maybe a few inches, but it’s so good, you’re so full of Sukuna.

“Feel me everywhere, you’re mine, all of you.” One of his hands entangles in your hair, messy already, as he feels both of your holes clenching him, your cunt is soaking wet, your ass so tight it’s strangling his cock, all while his balls are smacking your clit. “Hear it?”

“Y-yes…” You do hear it, the smacking of skin, the wetness of your cunt, making your ass arching up for more.

“Perfect f’me, fuck I missed you.” You tremble under him now, trying to turn your weak neck to look up at him, and he’s bending over you, big body taking you completely over, sinking deeper and deeper. “Yes, brat, I d-did.”

“Love you, Kuna.” You whisper, instead of yelling at you, he moans, kissing your mouth, a hand choking your throat, taking your oxygen while he takes you over, cocks moving easier and easier.

“Cum all over me, lemme feel it, you can do it hmm, my Queen?” At those words you’re ended, to hear how he professes them, you begin climaxing, ass clenching one cock while your pussy drools over his other, he has to pause, you feel so fucking good all around him.

“Kuna!” Your stupid nickname ruins him, as does how tight you’re gripping him, when he sees your pretty face all fucked out.

“Ready for me to fill you so full you can’t walk or run that mouth?” He huffs, you nod eagerly, and he’s pouring his seed in both your holes, the sensations just prolonging your orgasm. Sukuna’s grip tightens as he cums so hard, his teeth sinking into your shoulder, leaving a bruise, you love it, love the sting, love the way he marks you, the way he feels.

The two of you stay like that for a moment, his cocks still buried deep, your pussy and ass spasming around them, catching your breath now, as is your King. His eyes are closed, his breathing ragged, but his grip on you doesn’t loosen, not one bit, keeping you pinned, keeping you full.

“You’re mine, stupid little bunny.” He whispers, his voice hoarse, his teeth sinking into the back of your shoulder now.

“Yours.” You whisper back, your voice trembling with satisfaction, your heart fluttering at the possessiveness in his tone.

He pulls out slowly, a gush of cum following him, painting your thighs, your holes, all over until it’s a dripping mess, the wet spot under you growing, mixing with your sweat soaked bodies. He turns you, cupping your face and hovering over you, watching your breasts rise and fall, spreading your thighs and smirking at all the cum oozing from your holes.

“You called me… your Queen.” You whisper, and he rolls his eyes.

“Tch, that is what you are? Foolish brat.”

“I enjoyed that.” He smirks now, leaning down to hover over you, studying a face that’s become far too important too fast.

“Did you now?”

“I did. Thank you for… not telling me to stop saying it.” You manage, emotions in your throat, you don’t expect him to ever say it back, and that hurts, but you feel so connected then, in the quiet night under him.

“It’s foolish but I tire of your frown, that upsets me. With annoyance.” He covers up the truth, that your sad face breaks him.

You smile almost knowingly, as if you can read him so well. “My King, may I start the training finally, tomorrow?”

“You’re still set on that, huh?” You nod. “Fine, I’ll do whatever you wish, as long as you…”

“Smile?”

“That.” You do so then, brightening your face, making his stomach flip, he hates that you control him this way, still wondering just what powers or spells you’ve put on him. “Better.”

Soon you’re snuggled up to him after being cleaned up, bare against his naked frame under the heavy covers, Sukuna loves even your little cold hands and cold feet, but he sure wouldn’t be letting you know. “Warm them up, now you pest.”

“We’ve been through this, I need you to do that.” He scoffs, pulling you against his chest, one hand brushing your hair back soothingly, as you yawn. “I missed this, you holding me.”

“Shut it, brat.” You smile as you nuzzle him, and soon you fall asleep, while Sukuna stares up at the ceiling, the one painted with ancient wars, wars he’s participated in, and he doesn’t know how he’ll ever be able to live without you.

How annoying you are.

*****

“Sore, bunny?” Sukuna teases the next day, as you begin training, you glare at him now. “What?”

“You know I am.” You hiss, considering he’d fucked you twice last night, you’re sore in places also you can’t even explain, in ways that make your cheeks heat up while you walk.

“Weak little human.” He taunts, you hold your hands up then, focusing as he’s been showing you for hours. “Gonna do something, bunny?”

You glare when he taunts you, and then gasp as he begins to cleave several trees in half. “Holy…”

“This is why we needed to be outside.” He’s smirking sadistically, so very proud of his powers, you roll your eyes. “Try to stop me, bunny, close your eyes, don’t get distracted.”

You concentrate, feeling your own energy fill you, shutting your eyes, and positioning your hands just so, until you hear a grunt. You open them, realizing you’ve completely locked Sukuna’s arm up, he’s grinning though, nodding at you, and you use the energy to slam him into the ground.

“Fuck…” He’s huffing, you gasp now, running to him, letting your energy fall, only for him to drag you on him, laughing. “You are a witch.”

“A witch?”

“Yes, a witch. Dropping me to my fucking knees, making me stupid for you, haunting my dreams.”

“Your dreams?” You whisper, hair falling to the side, brushing his broad shoulders over his bare chest as he holds you on him, his head on the grass below. Trees are decaying, grass is withering, all from him, but you think it’s beautiful, the destruction he’s brought.

“All of you, endlessly irritating.” You smile then, realizing he cares just as much as you do, though he surely wouldn’t say that.

In his own way, this was it.

“Maybe I am bewitching you, one day you’ll fall in love with me.” He snorts, rolling all four eyes, shocking you when he has you flipped on your back, breathless.

“You wish, brat. Keep dreaming.”

*****

“Sukuna, you cannot leave me again. Please.” You’re pleading two weeks later, as he tells you he must leave for a few days again. “Take me with you, or send your damn armies.”

“A King must stand with them, you have me be a stupid bunny like you?”

“Stupid bunny!?” You use your energy then, crashing everything off the giant table with a clatter, earning his grin.

“You’re sexy when you’re using your flimsy little fucking powers.”

“Oh fuck you!” You stomp off then, but he’s got you in his arms before you can leave, holding you tightly. “Stop it. I’m angry.”

“You’re always angry, bunny really thinks she’s not just prey.” You shove at him now, knocking him back, only making him grin wider.

“Take me with you, please. I can help.” You see it then, the emotions in his gaze, he shakes his head at you. “You think I'm incapable?”

“Not at all, fuck you’re more capable than most of the dumb boys that fight for me.”

“Then why not?”

“Because I need you safe.” His roaring voice echoes in the dining hall now, he cups your face with rough hands. “I have to make sure you’re here, where I know no one can touch you.”

“I don’t want to be without you.” You feel tears streaming down your cheeks now, he swipes at them, the gnawing in his heart and soul growing with every moment he spends with you, with every look you give him. He can’t take it, all that he feels for you, building and building. “I feel sick.”

You rush out then, and he sighs, watching your retreating form when Uraume walks up. “Could you check on her? She’s angry again, little brat.”

Uraume nods, smiling just a bit, and soon finds you, throwing up. They blink in concern, coming up to you then, holding your hair, as you whimper miserably. “Has something upset your stomach, my Queen?”

“I didn’t even eat or drink, he’s got me s-so angry, Uraume. He doesn’t think I can help…” You’re sick again, and Sukuna is standing by your door, watching in concern as Uraume rubs your back.

“Something is wrong, when was your last monthly?” You blink then, rapidly, leaning on your knees, eyes catching Sukuna’s at the door.

“I haven’t had one since I’ve been here.” You touch your tummy then, smiling, and you see it, not a smirk or sadistic grin, it’s a beautiful smile from Ryomen Sukuna. “I am with child?”

“I’ll have the royal doctor examine you tomorrow. My King, perhaps we can put off the journey for a few days?” They ask, as they’re helping you clean up, you’re cleaning your teeth, even the water you drink after making your tummy hurt.

“For a few days then. Leave us for a moment, please.” Soon Sukuna picks you up carefully, in his arms, cradling you to his chest. Your arms wrap his neck, as you caress his face, so much unspoken between you both, you just study each other, breathless. “You’re carrying my heir?”

“I hope so, Kuna.” You admit, while he sits on the bed, still holding you across his massive lap with two arms, the others, brushing back your hair. “I want to have many heirs for you, I promise I will be a good mother, and a good queen.”

“I already know that, foolish girl. God help me if they’re stubborn like you.” Your eyes narrow, earning his laughter.

“I hope it will be a son for you.”

Sukuna hopes it’s a girl, one just like you, but he doesn’t say that, he shouldn’t say that, he’s a King after all, he needs male heirs. But as one hand rests on your still flat tummy, he pictures it, many children with you, emotions making his heart race faster and faster.

“You cannot come if you are, you know this, don’t be so stubborn.” You sigh, looking up at him.

“I know that. I can’t risk something happening.”

“Finally you see reason, pregnancy becomes you. Don’t glare at me, brat, come on now.” He pulls you against him you rest your head on his chest, nausea easing then as his energy consumes you both, surrounding you. “This baby, with both of our powers, will be a menace.”

“He will be sweet like me, thank you.” Sukuna smirks.

“We’ll see.”

*****

After confirming you were indeed pregnant, Sukuna put his journey off a few days, and he surprises you even when he’s gone, he has an entire nursery made by his servants, it makes no sense to this early but he’s so sure about it. All of his concubines also have disappeared, you’re not really sure where they went, and the servants pamper you.

But you miss him. When he does return weeks later, you’re curled up in his throne asleep, breaking his heart, he’s covered in grime and sweat from his trek, you look so fragile and tiny to him. He’s been consumed again by dreams of you, of fears of something happening to you, to the baby, so to see you so peaceful allows him to breathe for just a moment.

Sukuna gets down on one knee, kneeling for his sleeping queen, so beautiful in front of him, caressing your face carefully, brushing your hair off it where it’s fallen. You snuggle against his big hand, brows together, he notices your hand is on your tummy over your robes, he places his other hand there as you’re mumbling then.

“Kuna… miss you… love you…” You’re babbling, head shifting, your brows knitting together, and he exhales, leaning close, the words that have been stirring since he met you ready to spill.

“I love you, bunny. Infuriating, annoying, silly, stubborn brat.” His whisper is so quiet, and you’re still asleep, he exhales in relief that you don’t hear him yet, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You make me so foolish.”

You come to then, seeing him and your eyes widening, before they glimmer in tears and you smile so big at him. “You’re home!”

Home, the castle never really felt like a home until you, did it?

“I’m here, why are you sleeping on my throne?” He demands, you blush then in the night, shifting to sit up, looking into his glinting ruby eyes.

“I feel so close to you here.” You admit softly.

“I need to bathe, you’ll wash me hmm?”

“Yes, Kuna.”

You’re both in the onsen, it reminds you of the first time you were taken by him, memories in every bit of the steamy room, as you start cleaning him, sitting on the edge, your legs draped in the water. You frown as you find new scars have formed, although he heals quickly, these must have been deep. You tense as you trail your washcloth across his shoulders.

“They’re just scratches, bunny. Calm down.” He says, feeling it, your worry behind him. He can feel every bit of you, even when he’s gone, he turns then, seeing your beautiful body, smiling as he sees a little roundness of your tummy. “Look at you… this body, fuck…”

“It’s showing a little.” You smile, touching it now, Sukuna leans down, pressing a kiss against it, your hands stroking his hair, feeling it slick under your fingers.

“I need you, bunny. Now.” He tugs you in the water now, you gasp as he pulls you against him, tongue on his stomach thick and wet as it laps at you between your thighs. Your head falls back for his brutal kisses, his rough bites. “Your marks have faded, need new ones huh?”

“Need them everywhere, Kuna.” Sukuna realizes you didn’t hear him earlier, because you would have been boasting about his confession if you did, but you still seem to just know, infuriating in your ability to assess him completely. “What is it, my King?”

He’s looking at you this certain way, opening and closing his lips, you wonder then what he wants to say, but holds back. Your heart is racing as you cling to him, but he kisses you instead, muffling your cries while his tongue works your cunt over and over, sliding inside you, preparing you for him.

“Miss your taste.” He huffs, lips parted, little droplets falling from his lashes. “Missed your annoyance.”

“You missed me, hmm?” You’re grinning, he’s scowling, it’s what you both seem to do, but you love it, love when you’re stretched by his cock and pressed against the wall of the bath, water undulating around you.

“Do you ever shut up?” Your giggles turn into cries soon of pleasure, as his cock drags on your walls, and she’s tightening around him.

“Kiss me.” He does as you demand, desperate and hungry, four arms taking over every bit of your body as he destroys your mind, biting your lips until they’re swollen, sinking deeper into your welcoming cavern, so warm and wet for him.

“I love you, brat.” You gasp now, blinking rapidly as you stare at him. “I won’t say this nonsense again, got it?”

“You love me!? Ah!” Sukuna shoves his cock hard in you now, you’re trying to register his words, as he fucks all sense out of your mind.

“I’ll not repeat it. You know it, yes brat?” He cups your face, gripping your chin, as your heart races, you’re trying to form a coherent word, wondering if you’re dreaming. “Your King asked you a question.”

“You l-love me?”

“Tch.” He pulls out of you, making you whine. “You’re too cock drunk to focus, aren’t you? I said I’ll not repeat myself.”

“You love me too?” You’re laid down on the towels once more, he’s hovering over you with two arms, the others gripping your face.

“Yes, you’ve cast whatever spell, evil bunny. Do you know now?” You’re sobbing, but you’re smiling, confusing the shit out of him. “Are you sad or happy, fuck!?”

“So happy, so happy. I love you and our baby so much, my King.” He rolls his eyes, scoffing, but your words melt him.

“Enough of that. Now.” He sinks back inside your cunt, moaning as he feels your wet heat after weeks of not having it. “Need to feel you cumming for me.”

*****

Your arranged marriage with Ryomen Sukuna, King of Curses, was by far and away the best thing that happened to you. You’ve already had your first child now, a son named after his father, but Sukuna is determined to have more and more of them. When you feel insecure, he scoffs and demands you stop, before his tongues and hands worship your body.

He doesn’t profess his feelings too often, but sometimes when he thinks you’re sleeping, he’ll caress your cheek and whisper ‘I love you, bunny’ thinking you don’t hear him. And every so often when he cums, he cries out in your ear just so, you hear some jumbled ‘fucking love you’ before he catches himself.

He was still a force to be entranced by anyone, but he is soft with his wife, you, his Queen, he’s soft with his son, when he thinks no one sees. Sukuna is a conundrum, and you don’t know if you’ll ever get used to his duality, brutally dominating the world one moment, and the next he’s sweetly kissing your baby’s forehead, or caressing your face softly.

Now, having recovered from having the baby, Sukuna has you on his lap during his meetings with the council often, however this time, your devious husband has his cock inside of you, under your robes. Your cunt is gushing all around him as you try to maintain your composure, and he’s delighting in it, laugh soft in your ear, tickling you as you throb.

“Stay still now bunny, they’ll know what a slut their Queen is for her King’s cocks, hmm?” He taunts, you glare at him, only serving to make him jerk his hips up just so, your eyes roll back in your skull, being stretched like this on him.

“Y-you’re the worst, K-Kuna.” You whisper back, he chuckles again, two of those huge tattooed hands pressing your hips down, stuffing his full length inside you, his tip drooling against your cervix.

“I’ll put two babies in your womb this time. Need twins.” His words end you, the council are speaking now, and you’re trying so hard not to scream out, his other cock his pressing against your clit, you’re gushing down his muscled thighs, his veiny length, feeling so fucking good you can’t take it.

“Your Majesty, we-”

“No, I’m busy.” Sukuna fucking flings his subjects, you’d normally get on him about his antics, but you can’t speak when his cock is buried so deep. He rests his chin on one hand lazily, as the other people speak, and he keeps you still, warming his cock as the other drizzles precum on your belly.

“Kuna, please…” You whisper now, and he feels you tightening, scowling up as you make him sensitive.

“You brat, you mean to tease me?” You bat your lashes innocently.

“No, my King.”

“Keep going and they’ll have their next heir right here.” He hisses, serving to make your heart race, your cunt dripping all over, he sinks a hand under your robes, his tongue from his hand lapping it up, as you bite your lip, stifling your cries. “Want them to watch me fuck another in you?”

“N-no, sadistic ass.” He glares right back, someone is saying something, but the two of you are too consumed in each other to notice.

“Stay still, brat, and I’ll let you ride me right here when we’re done, if you don’t I won’t wait, you’ll have a royal audience.”

You make it through the meeting, just barely, and soon he’s got your robes parted, and you’re straddling him on his throne, taking both of his cocks, riding him, your hands braced on his strong shoulders. He’s sucking on your nipples as your breasts bounce in his face, letting you control the pace, letting you ride him, he won’t tell you but he loves it when you do.

“Going to keep you pregnant, brat.” He huffs, wrecking you with his words, you swear you hear an I love you when he’s cumming so deep, but you let him think you don’t.

“Love you, Kuna.” You murmur, it makes him melt, but he just glares.

“You can still talk, huh bunny? Need to fix that.”If Sukuna is a little softer these days, he has only his very bratty bride to blame, you.

A/N- aww this was so fun, I loved writing this fun little mini series here. It was fluffy and filthy and I enjoyed making Sukuna soft, idk idk lol!. Ty for the love on this little thing!? Ya'll I'm hooked on Sukuna fr lol (already wrote modern Sukuna nowww) so plenty more to come.

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[nkplanet]

UNCONDITIONAL

sam x fem!reader ft. dean cw suggestive, little bit of angst, set sometime in the early seasons bc i love baby sam, reader is shorter than sam, switch sam my beloved wc 1014

summary sam can’t get enough of you notes whiny sam ib this scene from house of wax

when dean had left the two of you alone in a motel room for the night, he hadn’t imagined he’d wake up to sam alone and miserable.

and yet, there he was.

“where’s-”

“she’s gone, dean,” his brother had huffed, “long gone.”

he hadn’t prodded any further. you were one of sam’s many soft spots. a hunter yourself, you knew the risks of getting close to people. sam had thought that with both of you being hunters it would offer some reprieve, would allow you to open up to him and begin something, anything. he was almost desperate for you, but you left anyway, claiming it was too dangerous.

of course, he knew that most hunters isolated themselves. bobby and gordon sprang to mind immediately.

still, he had hope.

you saw each other again some months later. this time, you’d helped the boys on a case, sticking around long enough for sam to get to know you somewhat better. it frustrated him to no end that he couldn’t get further than the walls you’d built up, but he understood.

you hadn’t spent the night together the way you had three times before then, instead parting ways at sundown with a kiss that could have rivalled romeo and juliet. sam was addicted to your lips, your eyes, your body. you weren’t faring any better; sam’s body on yours and the noises he made played on your mind constantly.

and then: radio silence. once again.

even dean was beginning to worry about you. you normally checked in with them, especially after a tough case, but they’d heard nothing for weeks upon weeks.

that was, until you showed up at their motel door.

dean had ushered you in out of the rain immediately after taking the necessary precautions (read: splashing you with holy water). you were tired, a little bloodied, and soaked to the bone, but otherwise okay. he sat you on a bed and brought you a towel, allowing you a moment of peace before he threw questions at you.

“you’ve had sammy worry sick, y’know,” he said, giving you yet another once over.

“i know, i’m sorry. i’ve been on a long hunt. no cell service for weeks,” you said, wringing out your hair.

“and?”

“a werewolf clan. six of them. had to pick them off one by one and the last one chased me here. i killed it on the border of town and by then i had nothing. no supplies other than the clothes on my back and weapons in my hand and god knows what in my pockets,” you explained.

dean whistled. “so how’d you find us?”

“i called-” you started, as the door swung open. you tensed, immediately relaxing the second you saw a mop of brown hair atop a lanky frame.

“sammy,” you whispered.

sam’s head snapped to you, which dean took as his cue to leave.

“hey,” you said lamely, standing.

“where have you been?” sam said immediately. you could tell he was torn between being mad at you for disappearing and worried at your complete absence from the world.

“a hunt. it’s a long story. i had no cell service for two weeks,” you said, stood stock still. you didn’t want to startle the man in front of you, instead letting him come to you.

“i’ve missed you,” he all but whispered, closing the distance between you and putting his hands on your waist.

“i’m sorry,” you replied. he leaned down to kiss you, one hand coming up to cradle your neck.

your lips met, beginning slow but soon moving towards something more like hungry. you’d been starved of each other for too long, and sam didn’t intend to let you go this time. he chased your lips as you backed away for air, moving once again to the bed.

“that one’s dean’s,” sam said against your lips, directing you to his own bed. you giggled, making your way over and allowing sam to sit on his bed. you stood inbetween his legs, craning your neck down a little to kiss him more.

he slipped his tongue in your mouth, pulling you impossibly closer to him. you ran your hands across his broad shoulders, down his toned chest, as his own danced up and down your back, occasionally reaching your ass. he moved back towards the headboard, pulling you onto his lap. you straddled his thighs with your own, practically crawling to him. you looked down at him through half-lidded eyes as he looked at you, nothing but adoration on his face. you leaned in once more, connecting again.

sam’s hands travelled further, spreading across your waist and against your stomach, settling eventually underneath your thighs. yours migrated down, feeling his abs and oh so carefully brushing his obvious erection. at that, sam let out a whine, which he tried to stop almost immediately. you smirked at him.

“haven't heard that one before,” you said, teasing him.

he rolled his eyes playfully. “yeah, well, i was on top last time.”

“maybe we should do this more often then.”

sam’s response was to pull you in again, to which you let out a gasp, making him smile into the kiss. he ran his hand through your hair and you moaned, at which point dean chose to enter the room again.

“c’mon guys, i don’t wanna see that shit,” he complained dramatically, covering his eyes.

you sighed and rolled off sam’s lap. he pulled a pillow onto it in your place to hide the bulge in his jeans.

“don’t just barge in like that then,” sam retorted, obviously annoyed at his brother.

“‘s not my fault you two chose to get it on in our shared motel room!”

you rolled your eyes at their bickering, leaning down to get the towel you’d forgotten the minute you saw sam and using it to dry your hair. looking over at sam, you knew it would be hard to leave him again. you couldn’t stay forever - all three of you knew that - but maybe this time you could stay for longer.

[na0koz]

can you pls write more toxic vi🤤

yes i Can!

the moment vi realised she actually likes you, your relationship instantly became impossibly more difficult. she avoids you even more and if you do hang out, she tries her best to keep your interactions to a minimum (fucking then leaving your apartment while you’re asleep).

after a couple of weeks of her acting up - somehow even more than she already had been - you called her about a thousand times until she picked up.

“the fuck do you want? christ…” she practically barked, running her hands through her hair as she leant on the front door of her apartment.

“i want you to hang out with me, violet! you’re acting even more like you hate me than usual recently, and i do not like it. if you want this to be over, just say it ‘cus i’ve had enough of you honestly,” you gush, sitting up in your bed and waving your hands around as if she was really in front of you.

there was a beat of silence, and you briefly thought she hung up on you when you brought your phone away from your ear. surprisingly, her contact was still displayed on the screen with the call still running.

“don’t call me violet,” her voice sounded softer than when she first answered your call. she sounded upset.

you scoffed loudly, “are you fucking kidding me? that’s all you have to say?”

more silence followed, and your patience was running thin.

“hello? i asked you a question.”

“don’t really know what you want me to say.”

you groaned at her tone of voice, bored and uninterested. “well for starters-“

vi was quick to interrupt you. “i don’t really have the energy for this. see you,” she hung up before you could even get a breath in.

in the following two weeks, you only saw vi once. even that was a result of her physically running into you by accident on a street near your apartment.

her eyes widened as she realised it was you who she’d bumped into, quickly changing her ‘watch where you’re fucking going’ to an ‘oh sorry’. she grimaced slightly at the way you gave her a horribly dirty look, clearly not too pleased to see her.

she swiftly made her way around you and hurried away. you could’ve sworn you heard her mumbling ‘fucking idiot’ to herself as she walked away.

about a week after that, you heard some loud knocking at your front door. groggily grabbing for your phone, you see that the time reads 4:23am. who the hell is at your door at this hour? you whine as you drag yourself up to answer.

swinging the door upon while rubbing sleep from your eyes, you’re faced with a slightly drunk vi leaning on your door frame.

“um?” you rasp, sleep clouding your voice.

“hey…” vi mumbles. “i.. i need you, [name].”

she slumped forward into your shoulder as she babbled, you trying your absolute hardest to hold her muscular form upright, hearing her whining out a ‘please’ as you reluctantly shut the door behind her.

“you can’t just show up asking to fuck after barely speaking to me for three weeks, vi.”

“what-? no no. i’m not here to fuck you. i need you, please.” she squeezed her eyes shut and groaned at the sudden brightness as you flicked the light on.

you couldn’t even muster anything to say, pushing her to sit down while you stand opposite her. she squints up at you in return, looking completely helpless. sighing at her messed up state, you decide to join her on the sofa.

“what?” you question, trying your best not to get annoyed with her for showing up unannounced like this for the millionth time.

“just-“ she interrupted herself with a burp. “just like… hold me. please.”

before you can react, she leans herself onto you, resting her head in the space between your shoulder and chest. her weight pushed you to lie down on your sofa and she took the chance to make herself more comfortable.

her leg wrapped around you as she clutched your waist with one hand, using her free arm to push you to put your arms around her. she sighed shakily as your hand relaxed onto her back.

“sorry princess, i jus’ need this, okay?” she said quietly, her eyes drooping in time with the rise and fall of your chest.

you don’t say anything in return. you know she’s drunk, you can smell it on her, but a small part of yourself feels like she’s serious. drunk words are sober thoughts, right?

but of course, you wake up cold and with vi nowhere to be found. the only proof you have of her even being there was a faint smudge of her black eye makeup on your shirt.

she got scared and bailed in the middle of the night. again. she’s embarrassed, and toys between the ideas of either blocking you, changing her number or going back to your apartment and telling you how she really feels.

in the end, she doesn’t choose any of them. she can’t lose you completely, but she’s way too much of a coward to express her true feelings towards you. shocker.

[peachhcs]

I need to see like Blair going to Samy for girl talk and relationship advice. I feel like they would have a super cute relationship.

you guys just read my mind so well because i also got another ask about this :) i feel like blaire is like mack asking will a hundred questions about his sex life but she’s just less blunt about it hahaha but of course samy is more than happy to answer the questions. it makes her feel like a big sister since she’s the youngest

au masterlist

the two girls sat together in the sap center thirty minutes before puck drop. they had been making small talk and talking about their semesters so far when blaire finally found the courage to ask samy the question she’s been thinking about all night.

“hopefully this isn’t weird but did you enjoy your first time?” the dirty blonde asked shyly, her voice low so the others around them wouldn’t catch the conversation.

samy, a bit caught off guard but smiled nonetheless, “yeah, it was fine. why do you ask?”

“oh, i don’t know. i’ve never really..gone that far with a guy before,” blaire admitted almost embarrassingly.

“that’s okay. i feel like people hyping up the first time is always so overrated because there’s no right or wrong way to do it. it’s however you want it to go,” the brunette shrugged a bit. hers wasn’t magical or anything, but the guy she did it with was really kind and made sure she was okay more than anything.

“your first time wasn’t with will?”

“no, it was with this guy i had a small thing with my junior year of high school. he was nice and we’re still friendly with one another,” samy chuckled thinking about tyler and she wondered what he was doing. all she knew was that he was at the university of delaware.

“did it like..hurt?” blaire couldn’t help but ask because obviously she didn’t have a mom to talk about this stuff with and her brothers were definitely out of the question.

“i mean..kind of at first? the pain usually subsides as you keep going but if it hurts at all and you wanna stop, don’t hesitate to voice that,” samy’s never really had someone ask her about this stuff before, but she was more than happy to answer blaire’s questions.

she even got a small wave of deja vu when she was 16 sitting in her kitchen asking grace all the same questions.

“i feel like mack and i wanna take the next step but i don’t think either of us really know how to because we’ve never..” she trailed off.

“it can be awkward at first to talk about it but i guess you just kind of go with the flow? see how everything plays out and if it’s something you really wanna do. once you do it the first time, it kind of breaks the barrier for all the other times.”

“yeah, that makes sense. sorry for bringing it up,” blaire flushed but samy quickly shook her head.

“don’t apologize. asking is important. hopefully i was somewhat helpful,” the brunette giggled and blaire smiled.

“you were, thank you. i feel like you and will are like our older siblings or something,” the thought made both of them smile. with samy and will being the youngest siblings, having someone younger than them look up to them was a nice change of pace after looking up to people all their lives.

“i always wanted a younger sibling growing up because i hated being the youngest,” the youngest hughes laughed.

“i can’t believe you grew up with three brothers older brothers. one was a lot for me,” blaire remembered all the times mason would bully her and carter and boss them around.

“it was definitely an experience, but i love them. they’re my rocks. i look up to them a lot,” samy grinned. she was glad they grew out of the being annoyed at one another phase and could actually get along because quinn, jack, and luke were the whole reason why she was the way she was.

she couldn’t imagine a life without them really.

“i’m glad you have that relationship with them. i wish i had that with mason. ever since our mom died and he went to college, he doesn’t ever talk to me anymore,” blaire frowned. samy frowned too and quickly squeezed her arm.

“i’m sorry.”

“it’s okay. i’m learning to be okay with it and maybe mason will come around one day,” the figure skater shook her head and managed another smile.

“well, you have us. i can only imagine how much the rest of our friends will like you whenever you meet them. hannah and julianne will love you, i know it,” samy grinned.

“your friends seem so cool. i see you guys interacting on instagram a lot,” blaire giggled, her wide smile returning.

“they’re so crazy, but a good crazy. will’s dev friends are some of my closest friends,” the brunette thought about the boys all the way in boston.

“i bet you get a lot of fans wanting like inside information about them or like rare pictures,” the two girls giggled.

“actually, i’ve learned that some people have found my vsco that i used to post a lot on in high school and they found the craziest old photos of the guys on there. a lot have also found my private spam account requesting to follow to get those pictures too,” samy laughed.

“that’s crazy.”

“yeah, those girls will do anything for pictures of their favorite hockey players. i don’t blame them though.”

“i feel like having a private instagram is so smart though. i’ve never thought of that,” blaire hummed.

“i made it a few years ago because i wanted to be able to post things for just my close friends. fans are crazy detectives though and have found it,” the youngest hughes said with a small shake of her head.

“wow,” blaire mumbled. the two girls glanced back out at the ice to find their boyfriend’s, puck drop getting closer.

they were skating around the ice getting last minute passes in. samy smiled seeing will down there locking himself in to play the sport he loved. her and blaire were sporting their boyfriends’ jersey’s tonight together. with samy there, a few fans recognized her and wanted pictures and with blaire slowly becoming more public, they started recognizing the younger girl too.

“okay, this might also be another weird question, but like..what does it feel like when the guy..you know..” the younger girl didn’t wanna finish the sentence in such a public setting and samy couldn’t help but laugh.

“uh..well..i guess..warm? i don’t know a better way to describe it. usually, you’d like…with them and it’s all just one big good feeling,” the brunette cringed at her words.

“how long does it last for?” blaire raised her eyebrow.

“uh..well..like..a few seconds at least?”

“i’ve heard that it’s normal for guys not lasting a long time,” blaire kept talking and samy flushed. she glanced around to make sure no one was really listening to them.

“your very first times, yeah. it’s fairly normal. some guys will try and build their stamina though,” the soccer player shrugged.

“how long do you and will..go for?..”

another blush coated samy’s cheeks, “it depends i guess. 5-10 minutes?”

“wow. that’s a lot,” the dirty blonde mumbled.

“it all depends on what you guys like you know? some people can go long, some people like to keep it short. will and i are in between i guess.”

“do you guys do it every time you visit one another?”

samy’s face had gotten so red she worried other people would notice, “maybe we can talk more about this in a more private space,” the girl giggled and blaire quickly flushed, forgetting for a moment that they were in a hockey arena full of fans.

“right, sorry.”

“don’t apologize, i like the questions. we’ll keep talking,” samy winked and blaire smiled.

[mister-girl]

You ever begin developing a crush on a guy who’s just a lil bit too conventionally attractive and are like on second thought mmm no thanks no thank you sorry my mistake

[hplonesomeart]

@scimagic Uhhh made this because I just think they’re dynamic is neat. Also completely agree with the Puzzle headcanon super fun silly and very on point. As we speak he is clinging for his dear life :))

I really enjoy seeing the illustrated storyline you have unfolding between the two and figured it would be nice to see this motorcycle sequence in motion. So tadaa here it is! In animated form! Now your obligated to make a full length written novel in-depth about their relationship /j

Sincerely though thanks for the creative inspiration and keep on being a swagger artist 👍✨

[sttoru]

ahh i just cant stop thinking of sukuna's fav concubine getting injured from the other concubines but she hides it because shes scared of being weak (in sukuna's eyes) and/or a burden ☹️☹️

 𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. true form!sukuna x concubine!female reader. fluff, sprinkle of angst n comfort. size difference. reader gets called ‘brat, woman, little one’ — ig this is a bit early in their relationship

“i’ve arrived, my lord,” you announce your presence once you step into sukuna’s quarters. the dimly lit room removed all the stress you currently had in your system—the knowledge that you’re safe in his space causes your shoulders to drop.

sukuna turns his head to look at you while he’s laid back on his bed, topless. all four of his eyes roam over your body, which isn’t anything unusual for you. he always does that.

“tch. took ya long enough,” the king of curses scoffs before gesturing for you to come closer, making that familiar motion with his fingers, “when i order y’ to come, you’re supposed to drop everything and rush to be at my service, woman.”

you hurry over to his side of the bed with a nod. “my apologies,” you mutter. you can’t tell him why you’re late, because hell would break loose within these walls. and also because you’re scared of what his reaction would be.

before being called over, you were in the kitchen, peacefully trying to get a snack, when two other concubines entered the room. you tried ignoring them, but that didn’t seem to be the smartest move. it wasn’t long before they threw derogatory remarks at you.

of course, you stood up for yourself and yelled some back. that’s when one of them pushed you backwards, causing the skin near your hand to get slightly burned by the fire on the stove.

if it weren’t for the maids around that went to report the ruckus to uraume, god knows what more would have went down in that kitchen.

“oi,” sukuna grabs your jaw and lifts your head up. he can immediately notice the vacant look in your eyes, which is unusual for you. you snap out of your trance and set the nasty memories aside—ignoring the impulse to scratch the injury on your wrist.

“i’m sorry, my lord,” you say again before slowly undoing your obi. you figure that is why sukuna had called you over, to do your job as his concubine. you halt your movements when you realise that undressing meant that he’s going to see the wound on your skin.

you hesitate. that same instant of hesitation doesn’t go unnoticed by the king of curses. a large hand of his moves to stop both of your wrists from pulling off your robes.

“. . .i’m giving y’ three seconds of my time,” sukuna narrows his eyes after allowing you to speak up and tell him what’s on your mind. he hears you whimper in pain when he holds onto your wrist, your facial expression clearly uncomfortable. “spit it out,” he impatiently huffs. he wants to hear you say what’s wrong.

you desperately shake your head, biting your bottom lip. you don’t want to tell him—even though you know you’re obligated to.

denying an answer to sukuna was your next big mistake.

“fuckin’ brat,” the pink-haired man grunts. he yanks your arms up to his face, harshly pulling down the sleeves of your kimono. all four of his red eyes immediately fall onto the wound on your wrist. you obviously hadn’t treat it yet, even though you should have done so long ago.

there’s tension hanging in the air almost instantly after your little secret gets revealed. sukuna’s grip on your hands tightens which causes you to flinch. you close your eyes and expect the worst. you can already hear the insults he’ll throw at you—how he’ll call you useless, weak, stupid and all that.

“look up at me,” his voice rings out in a firm tone. you don’t want to anger him more than he already is, so you obey. you open your eyes and glance upwards, your worried gaze meeting his.

sukuna takes a deep breath to contain the bubbling rage inside of him; a rare sight indeed. he doesn’t want to unnecessarily lash out at you when it isn’t needed. however, he can’t deny that itching urge in his chest, to get mad at whoever caused your skin to get tainted like that.

sukuna stares at you with an intimidating glare. when you expect him to yell profanities at you, the unexpected happens.

“who did this to you?” he asks, voice strained like he’s trying to hold himself back.

you blink a few times. the king of curses sounds pissed off, and when he’s in that kind of mood, you know he’s not to be played with. you look the other way and try to think of a proper answer.

will you snitch and cause unnecessary bloodbath, or will you spare the lives of the concubines who hurt you and lie?

you’re scared of being seen as useless by sukuna if you tell him the truth. if you lie, he’ll probably call you weak and stupid as well. it’s a lose-lose situation, you conclude.

you swallow the spit that has gathered in your mouth before parting your lips.

“m-miko,” her name echoes in his ears. you decide to be honest, because you know that there’s no fooling the ryomen sukuna. a second of silence follows and when you look up at him, he stares back at you with furrowed brows.

“ah,” you then realise that he doesn’t know his concubines by name. he has way too many women at his disposal and doesn’t find them worthy enough to remember.

however you have heard from uraume and the others that he does know your name��only yours. it makes you feel special.

you try to describe the concubine you’ve tussled with, “s-short blonde hair, uhm, mole under her right eye.. brown colored eyes—“

sukuna thinks for a moment before clicking his tongue once he faintly remembers who that’s supposed to be. without a word, he stands up and wraps one muscular arm around your waist, sweeping you off your feet and carrying you under his armpit like some package.

“uraume!”

his voice is loud enough to make the walls shake and it carries a clear hint of pure rage. everyone in the estate should have heard him by now, which means that they know what is going down in a couple seconds.

sukuna sounding this angry only means one thing; someone is going to die today.

the servants hurriedly scurry around, deeply bowing as he walks past them in the hallway with you still tucked underneath his arms. you let yourself be carried while your heart beats uncontrollably fast in your chest.

you feel your hands shake a bit. seeing someone like sukuna be this mad for your sake—to the point that he’s ready to turn the entire area upside down—is somehow thrilling. though, you can’t help but feel sick because of your own thoughts.

someone is going to die and there you are, cheesing about the king of curses.

you see the white-haired chef appear from a corner, their steps hurried. they glance at you and then back at their master. it’s like they immediately connect the dots.

“treat her in my quarters. don’t let her leave until i come back,” sukuna commands without even looking at uraume. he’s staring ahead, with an ominous aura emitting from his body, one that somebody can sense from miles away.

he puts you down next to uraume before glancing your way one last time. he lets out a deep sigh as he sees the worried expression you’re making. he lowers his head to your level so you’d be face to face.

“and you,” his warm breath hits your cheeks and sends a shiver down your spine. you gulp as sukuna’s hand reaches up to firmly tug at your earlobe, “i’ll deal with your ass later, yeah? i’ll make you feel what it means to hide stuff from me, little one.”

that sentence makes you even more nervous. you know you won’t be able to avoid the punishment sukuna has in mind, so you simply nod. “understood,” you reply in a squeaky voice. you don’t have the guts to disobey him—he’s already out to kill someone and you don’t want to be the next victim.

sukuna straightens his back again and continues his journey towards the concubines’ quarters. every heavy step makes the floors and walls shake, a sign of his unstoppable rage that’s about to be unleashed.

you feel slightly puzzled. you didn’t expect this outcome when you revealed your injury to the ruthless man. you expected to be belittled and mocked for not being able to prevent a wound from being inflicted on your body.

instead, there he goes, off to get revenge in your stead. you feel a twisted sense of satisfaction after seeing sukuna be this protective over you. actions like these demonstrate more than his dull words can do, even if it may seem like he doesn’t care about what could happen to a human like you.

[rafesweetie]

in which you’re forced into having a talk with your ex-boyfriend, rafe cameron, on the boat ride to morocco.

being a pogue and rafe cameron’s ex was not easy. although you dated shortly before he killed peterkin, and you were sure he barely even remembered your favourite colour, seeing him blatanly disrespect you and his friends, and go down a path you tried so hard to prevent him from, was hard to watch. but now he’s picked himself up since ward died. you thought you had another chance to at least be on good terms. sending flowers and a card to tanneyhill when ward died, smiling at him when you’d see him around. it didn’t work, he still hated you and your friends.

fortunately, he redeemed himself ever so slightly by volunteering to take the pogues to morocco. rafe had to find chandler groff, you guys wanted the blue crown. it was perfect.

until jj punched him, that is. he knocked him out cold. with a scolding “jj!” coming from majority of the pogues, including you, jj carries him down into the downstairs washroom and ties his wrists to a pole. they don’t trust him, which is fair. you don’t either — you shouldn’t, anyway.

rafe was down there quietly for a mere half hour until he woke up with a groan from his head hitting the ground earlier, followed up with yelling once he realizes he was stuck down there.

all touching your noses and saying ‘not it’ the minute pope suggests someone going down there to check on him, you’re the unlucky one who said it last. shutting up your protests, john b gently coaxes you downstairs, saying things like, “you used to mack on him”, “this is good, you know him”, “he won’t hurt you,” john b leaves you downstairs once you make it to the door of the bathroom. knocking gently, you timidly ask, “can i come in?”

there’s no answer. you can picture him. wrists tied, brows furrowed, eyes closed tightly as his head leans against the wall and towards the ceiling. his gorgeous stressed face. you slowly open the door, peeking your head in. “hi,” you say gently, timid around the scary and aggressive man you have the curse of calling your ex.

“…hey,” rafe says, voice rough as he shuts his eyes tight.

unsure what to say, you awkwardly stand there and stare down at him. “um, i brought asprin,”

“right, right, like i can fuckin’ swallow it. what, you gonna throw it in my mouth like a.. seal or something?” sassy, his upper lip lifts a bit as he thinks about it and isn’t very fond of the idea.

a second of silence as you figure out what to say. “…um, ill just set it down here,” you say, putting the container down beside him. “sorry about your head.”

“yeah, uh, your little boyfriend can’t control his fists, huh?”

“…not my boyfriend,” you correct softly, though you’re not sure why you feel the need to tell him that. “but no one really.. trusts you, rafe, so you kind of brought this on yourself—“

he quickly interrupts you. “bullshit. you know why that’s bullshit? because i was helping. who got you this boat, huh? me. i did. rafe. i’m the reason that you guys aren’t swimming, or some shit, to north africa. i’m being helpful and understanding, and this is what i get. you think that’s fair?” when you’re stood there in silence at his sudden raised voice, he repeats, “you think that’s fucking fair, y/n!?” he kicks a can in anger.

it’s like you’re his girlfriend again as you sit down next to him instantly instead of running. you get deja vu to the time three years ago when he was high on coke and got kicked out of the house. everyone ignored him except for you. “..um, okay, i’m gonna give you some asprin,” you say softly. “help your head. open,” you tell him, grabbing a pill as he gives you a look but opens his mouth. you pop it in his mouth and he dry swallows. “there.”

you two share a look. you don’t think it’s a bad look by any means. he looks frustrated still, but there’s an underlying gentleness in his eyes, as if he registers you’re still the same girl you were when you two were together. “…and, um, for the record, i don’t think it’s fair that you’re down here. you helped us, thats.. nice.”

the word ‘us’ when referring to you and the pogues makes him feel weird. “i don’t get why you hang out with them,” he mutters as he looks at the ground. “tried so fucking hard to keep you away from them when we were.. together.”

“i know,” you whisper, your gaze dropping as well, to his tied wrists. you feel awful. “trust me, your warnings still play in my head when i’m with them sometimes,”

“you remind me of sarah.” he says. you’re not sure what that means.

“you hate sarah,”

“nah, nah— i don’t hate her. hate who she’s turned into,” he adjusts himself. “she makes me sad. i’m sad for her, alright? she had so much potential.“ he shrugs. “but there’s no saving her. she’s in too deep,” he looks back up at you again. “i think there’s saving you, though,”

“…this is weird, rafe,”

“how?” he asks.

“because in the years we’ve been broken up, you’ve never talked to me about this. feels like it’s a… trick or something,”

“it’s not a trick,” he assures, voice still rough. “look, i’m out half a mill, i’m tied up in a bathroom, i’m probably gonna.. die or something. i got nothing to lose, may as well tell you my concern,”

“um, i appreciate it,” you say gently, unsure how to respond. “and i’m gonna go back upstairs.”

“hey— no, woah, woah, woah,” he stops you quickly. “stay. okay?”

“i should go up and help with dinner, though—“

“no, stay. i— i want you to stay, okay? i don’t wanna be down here alone, and i want you away from the pogues,”

he doesn’t wanna be alone. you feel bad for him all over again, nodding gently as you sit back down beside him. you always were so good for rafe.

you’re not sure how long you’ll be down here with him. maybe until it’s late at night and he’s asleep. so gently, after about five minutes of silence, to ease some of the tension and pass the time, you murmur a, “truth or dare?”

rafe just smiles.

[kisses4themissus]

A Foreign Love || In-ho x Reader

wc: 2.6k a/n: Ahh i had so much fun writing this request!! if you would like a happier ending do please send me a message or inbox me i don't mind warning: (spelling errors possibly?)

Requests are open!!

You nervously played with your hands as you walked around the room, every team had gotten a sixth player, it didn't help that you were seemingly the only foreigner there.

“Excuse me, could I join you all?” You questioned as you walked up to a group of elders. 

Player 100 scoffed and dismissed you with a wave of his hand. “Please sir, I see your team is short a member..” You tried to convince him. He groaned at you before turning towards you. “Can’t you take a hint and leave...entitled americans!” He scoffed at you, looking you up and down in disgust.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized before walking away. You sat down near the wall and let tears well up in your eyes. As you let out a shakily breath, covering your face with your hands. You didn't even want to play more games, all you wished was to go home.

As you cried, a gentle hand was placed on you shoulder, making you peek through your hands. Player 388 was squatted next to you. “Are you alright, miss?” He questioned, concern in his eyes, you nodded and wiped your eyes with your jacket sleeve.

“Do you have a team?” He asked, helping you stand up; You shook your head at him, “Everyone claimed to have a sixth player..” You explained, he nodded slowly at your words before motioning for you to follow him. 

Trailing behind him, he led you to a group of three older men and one girl around your age. “I have found our sixth!” He announced happily before stepping to the side to show you.

They all blinked as you waved to them, a small polite smile on your face.

“The foreigner?!” Player 390 exclaimed, one of the other men; player 456 smacked his arm before greeting you with a nod.

“In my game we had a foreigner, he did well, he just got given the wrong kind of person during a game...” Player 456 explained.

“Welcome!” Player 001 greeted, you smiled and nodded your head in acknowledgment “Thank you for having me.” You bowed slightly.

- - - - - - - - - - - 

You all sat together in a line as the games got announced. 

Ddakji, flying stones, gong-gi, spinning top, jegi and jacks.

“Jacks?” All of your teammates questioned. “You have to bounce a ball and collect little metal jacks and have to pick them up before the ball falls.” You explained, perking up. 

“Are you any good?” Player 001 questioned. You held your hand out and shook it side to side, “somewhat.” He nodded as the others began to claim the other games.

You all watched as the other teams went, before you knew it, you were the last team to go.

You all got up and waited as the guards chained you; Your team had done well til it had gotten to spinning top.

You groaned as he managed to toss it behind you all, he broke down, yelling at himself for his mistake, you leaned forward a bit and looked towards player 001, “We all make mistakes, maybe try your left hand!” You suggested, he nodded and winded the toy up before letting it go, you all waited with baited breath as it spun.

You all walked to the next mini game and began to hype player 456 up as he did jegi, you all moved forwards as both player 456 and 001 caught it with their legs that were tied together.

“You got this!” Player 388 smiled as the guard handed you the ball, you and your team squatted down so you could play on the small table, shaking you tossed the ball up, you had failed to catch the jack in time due to your shaking hands. You groaned, you had tried twice to get the jacks before the ball fell but failed, you were on the verge of a panic attack as you glanced up to the counter. 

“Calm down, we all make mistakes!” 001 tried to reassure. You just nodded and tried once more, you waited as the ball went up, with a swift hand you swiped up the mini jacks and the ball, you all yelled out in relief before running the fastest you could tied together.

You all cheered as you crossed the finish line; your beginning was cut short. Gunshots made you all flinch; The opposite team didn’t make it. You all stared horrified at the corpses while being unshackled.

- - - - - - - - - - - 

You all walked back to the dorm, everyone's eyes on your backs. You had linked arms with 222, she had explained she was pregnant at the beginning of the game, you had gained a need to protect her ever since. As you passed player 100 and his friends you stopped at his words, “Both the foreigner and the pregnant girl lived, they’re definitely not making it to the next round!” He laughed, you turned and went to open your mouth but stopped as 001 walked over to them.

“What does that say about you? Your team is all old men, who’s to say none of you don’t have heart failure in the middle of the next game? What kind of men are you all, denying an expecting mother and an innocent foreigner help?!” He scoffed as the group of older men stumbled over their words.

He wordlessly walked away to his bed by the others.

You unlinked your arms as 222 walked towards another player, leaving you to follow after 001.

He sat on his bed, sighing. You quietly approached his bed, watching as he rubbed his shoulder, trying to give his muscles a bit of comfort. “Thank you again mister.” You muttered out, earning his attention, he looked in your direction. 

“For letting me on your team, and standing up to that player…thank you mister!” You clarified, nervously playing with your fingers. 

“Someone had to put them in their place, it was a matter of time really.” He lightly chuckled, patting the space next to him on his bed, you sit down.

“Why are you in the game?” He questioned, you softly laughed. “I originally came here to study abroad.  emergencies happened in my home country, I trusted the wrong shady guy to send money to my family..” You explained, he listened.

“What brought you here mister?” you questioned, sitting up. “Hospital’s build up a lot of debt..” He sighed, you nodded. 

He snickered, making you look at him confused. “You don’t have to call me mister, it’s-!” As he went to give you his name the others walked over, talking about the next vote.

“I think I threw my shoulder out!” Player 290 sighed, moving his arm in a circle motion. “I’m sorry about earlier, everyone..” 001 apologized. You all dismissed his apology 

Player 222 had walked over and sat on the steps beside your shoes; she looked around as the group sat down together and talked. “Oh what about her ddakji  play, im surprised she didn’t break the ground when she threw it!” Player 290 laughed, she looked bashfully to the ground, a smile on her face.

“Or what about her jacks play, swiped them better than a thief!” 388 complimented making you giggle; Player 222 bowed her head as she looked at you all. “Thank you for including me on your team.” she thanked. You quickly nodded in agreement, “thank you, i’d probably be dead if i hadn't found a team in time..” They all nodded.

“I think we’re lucky you two joined us, we’d be lost with the jacks or stuck on ddakji forever.” 290 joked, earning laughs from everyone. 388 stood up in front of you all, “listen since we’re sticking together, i think we should learn each other's names, it would be a good idea right?” He questioned, waiting for someone to disagree but it never came, you all nodded.

“I’ll start, my name is kang dae-ho; dae means big and ho means tiger!” He grinned, you all nodded.

“That’s a very cool meaning!” You grinned at him. Player 290 cleared his throat, “My parents didn't give me a cool name, it's just park jung-bae. Righteous and twice.. I guess they want me to be twice as righteous.” He sighed.

“My name is kim jun-hee, i dunno what it means though..” She gave a soft look before glancing down to her hands.

“Jun-hee, once we get out of here you need to go see a doctor, stress isn't good for either you or the baby.” 001 told the young girl, who nodded.

“I’m oh young il.” He introduced himself, you all nodded. 

“It kinda sounds like your number!” You pointed out. “It’s easy to remember,” He laughed, before turning to 456.

“You’ve all heard my name, it's gi-hun.” He dismissed you all, “What’s your last name gi-hun?” Young il questioned. “It’s seong gi-hun.” He explained, earning nods.

“I’m y/n y/l/n, my name doesn’t have any meaning like your guys.” You smiled, earning a laugh from jungbae.

“Very american!” He commented, earning more comments of your nationality. 

“Is it true americans carry guns everywhere?” Jung-bae asked, earning a laugh from you. “Um, certain states..yes.” You grinned.

You all had continued talking till a loud buzz, out walked the guards with the voting machine, you all watched as they set it up and went over the rules once more.

You all looked at one another’s badges. Young il cover his as you looked at him with a slight frown. ‘I’m voting to leave this time.” He nodded at you. You grinned and nodded “Maybe when we get out, me and you can go for dinner?” You suggested, a smile on your face, he chuckled at you “I’d enjoy that.”

You grinned at him as he walked to the machine and pressed the X.

You watched as the screen counting the votes go up as more people voted to stay, you began to shake as gi-hun pressed the X but was outvoted, you swallowed a knot in your throat. 

You stood beside dae-ho and jun-hee in shock at the results, “I’m gonna be sick.” You muttered before running to the restrooms. 

In-ho waited til everyone had disbursed before signalling towards the guard in your direction, you were to busy trying not to vomit in the dorm to notice anyone gaze.

- - - - - - - - - - - 

Gi-hun had you all move your mattresses to the ground, he was on edge. He had told your group in his past game by the third game players had gotten violent during the night.

You sighed, laying down under the bed frame on your mattress. Slowly you had drifted off to sleep while the others continued to move more beds and set up a watch system.

You woke up during the night, having to use the restroom. You glanced over and saw everyone had fallen asleep. You quietly got up and walked to gi-hun, who watched for other players.

“I need to go use the restroom.” you told him, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. “It's dangerous out there!” He warned, you glanced around the dorm, no one was actively awake.

“I'll be ok, no one seems to be up yet either!” 

Before he could respond, you walked past and towards the side door and knocked. A triangle guard opened the small hatch, before you could say anything the door opened fully for you. “oh, thank you! I won't be long.” You thanked them, before walking into the restroom.

Gi-hun silently watched, holding back his yawns. A tap of his shoulder alerted him, in-ho smiled at the man. “Ready to switch off?” He asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes, gi-hun nodded and traded spots; In-ho waited til he knew gi-hun was asleep before getting up from the floor and walked to the side door and knocked in a pattern, the triangle guard bowed their head and stepped to the side.

- - - - - - - - - - - 

You yawned as you walked out of the restroom, as you went to leave back to the dorm, the guard stopped you, standing in front of the door, facing you.

“Can i get by please?” You motioned to the door with your hand. They shook their head at you before speaking. “Follow the guard.” 

You gave him a confused look, as you followed their raised hand you were surprised to see another guard, this guard was dressed different, his clothing was black and his mask had a sqaure. “Ok?” You quickly followed as the guard let you through the stairs, as you go to a certain part, they turned around and handed you a piece of black cloth. “Put it on.” They commanded, you nodded and tied it over your eyes, your heart began to pick up.

What did they want from you? Are they going to execute you? 

Your thoughts ran wild as the guard guided you through the halls. Finally you had stopped. The sound of shoes filled your ears.

Your blood ran cold as your vision was restored, you flinched covering your eyes due to the lights. You squinted at the figure.

“Who are you?” You questioned, your eyes adjusting to the room’s light, the man’s mask was matte black, it had a sort of 3D design to it.

“I am the frontman, owner of these games.” He introduced himself, your heart stopped. 

“Why am i here?” You questioned, too busy to see the guard grabbed rope and slowly approaching you. “I see you have gotten very close with one of the players…001.” You nodded, watching his every move.

“What did you do to him?” You questioned, the frontman stepping closer to you. “Nothing, just if your safe and away from him, he’ll do better at these games.” He explained, motioning for the guard.

As you turned your head the guard grabbed your arms and began to tie them together. You let out a yell as they pinned you and tied your legs together. “No one can hear you from here.” He explained, running one of his gloved fingers over your cheek as tears fell down.

He motioned to the guard to help move you to the bed he had in an adjacent room. You cried and thrashed the best you could.

He shushed you as you cried, he sighed, knowing it wasn't helping. He grabbed a remote he had on the bedside; he waited til the guard confirmed you were sacred in the bed before pressing a button, a small hiss filled the room. You stared at him in horror as gas filled the room. 

“Goodnight.” He nodded to you before shutting the room door, feeling drowsy, you tired to look around the room for any way out but stopped as your eyes forced shut.

- - - - - - - - - - - 

Gi-hun and the others were startled awake as in-ho yelled at the guards. “What happened?” Jung-bae questioned, rubbing his eyes and began to stand up to see the commotion.

“YOU TOOK HER, I  KNOW IT SHE’S BEEN GONE FOR 5 HOURS!” In-ho yelled, pounding at the door where the hatch was closed.

Gi-hun and the others ran over to him, concerned and confused. “What’s going on?” Gi-hun asked looking at his teammate who sobbed squatting down to his knees, playing the grieving act.

“Those masked guards took y/n, she had been gone for sometime and i went to see if she was there and-!” He sobbed, earning worried looks from the group.

“Player 129 has been eliminated!” The voice rang out in the room. 

Everyone stared at each other in shock. Jun-hee covered her mouth in shock. Gi-hun sighed and squatted down to in-ho’s level and patted him on the back in comfort. “Help stop these games for her.” 

In-ho nodded and wiped the tears away. “For her..” He repeated sadly, knowing full well you were peacefully sleeping in his bed at the moment.

[call-memissbrightside]

All I can think about is Katsuki dating someone with a baby—

His friends think it’s a bit odd since he’s in his early thirties and could still mess around before settling down but he’s not having it

You’re a bit nervous to tell him that you had a kid after a few dates, and you think he’s never going to hit you up again when he doesn’t really respond when you tell him, he just drops you off at your place with a emotionless look on his face.

You cry to yourself that night as you put your little girl to bed, and the two year old knows something’s wrong because she’s fussy through the whole night routine. You really liked Bakugou, he made you laugh and respect you but if he can’t accept your daughter than it's not going to work out.

Then the next morning he texts you that he got tickets for three to the local aquarium for the day. You call him, confused.

“That way we can take your daughter?” He’s confused by your question. “Why? Is she too little for the aquarium?”

You’re nervous as hell for him meeting Mai for the first time, but Katsuki is taken back at how your daughter looks just like you. She's adorable, and his stomach flipped taking in how you looked so beautiful in your jeans and simple shirt.

"Hi Mai, I'm Katsuki," He kneels down to the four year old's height but he's so big and the little girl immedietly burst into tears and hides behind your legs.

"Oh honey, it's okay," You coo at her, picking her up. Mai isn't convinced and hides away from Katsuki.

"I'm sorry, she'll warm up," You explain, but you weren't too sure. Mai had a shy personality, and was very attatched to you. You just hoped that Bakugou would be patient with her.

Mai started shedding her shy personality once you arrived at the aquarium.

"Mom, fish!" She yelled in excitement, tugging on your hand to get you to walk faster. Katsuki stands back and just watches you interact with your daughter. He knew he liked you, but seeing you be a mom did something to him and he imagined this being his life forever.

"What are you thinking about?" You asked when you noticed Katsuki seemed distracted.

He opens his mouth to answer but Mai interupts him when she squeals, "Mommy penguins!"

Katsuki was closer to her, and the little girl grabs his hand and drags him through to the penguin exhibit. Bakugou is taken aback, but quickly pushes back his fear of scaring her and kneels down to look at the penguins swimming as Mai squeals in excitement. She can’t pronounce his name correctly, so Mai just addresses him as ‘Suki which warms his heart.

It’s like a switch got flipped and Mai wouldn’t let go of Katsuki’s hand for the remainder of the tour through the aquarium. You stand back, smiling and snapping pictures, just watching as Bakugou showed a much softer side to him.

The day ended with Katsuki buying Mai the biggest stuffed penguin the aquarium store had, and the little girl could barely hold onto it as she fell asleep in her stroller.

“You didn’t have to get her that,” You said, feeling overwhelmed by his gesture.

Bakugou feels a string of anxiety pull in his stomach, wondering now if his actions were seemed as inappropriate.

“I-,” He tries to be truthful, “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked. Mai just seemed so happy and I wanted to get her something to remember me by.”

That melts your heart, and you kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you for being so sweet to my baby.”

Katsuki is blushing so hard, his ears are ringing as he helps you by packing down the stroller and putting it in the trunk while you tuck Mai into her car seat. The little girl was out, but still hugging her penguin.

Katsuki keeps the radio low as to not wake Mai as he drives you two home, holding your hand and already planning the next outing.

[homeslices]

Husband! Kento x fem!reader

A/N: Sorry I dropped off the face of the Earth again lol. Also sorry if this isn’t amazing I’m a little rusty.

Pairings: Kento Nanami x fem!reader

Warnings: Smut

Mdni

Word Count: 600

Husband! Kento who absolutely adores when his wonderful wife brings his lunch to his office when he completely forgot it at home.

Husband! Kento who can’t help but give you a sweet kiss to show his appreciation, I mean you went all out of your way to bring it to him, why shouldn’t he make his thanks known?

Husband! Kento who turned that sweet kiss, into two, then into three, and that led to your current situation of being bent over his desk, paper scattered everywhere, and your very dear husband roughly fucking you from behind.

“Ken!” you squeal.

Kento’s body was almost crushing you, covering yours completely as his cock pistoned in and out of you so fast, you could barely comprehend anything other than the thought, the feeling of him.

His hand moved quickly, shoving his middle and ring fingers in your mouth effectively gagging you.

“Shhh sweetheart,” Kento's lips brush against your ear. “You have to be quiet or someone out there might hear.”

Your watery, unfocused eyes immediately travel towards the locked door, which was the only thing keeping what Kento and you were doing private. The thought of someone in your husbands’ office finding out about the two of you being intimate was terrifying, but at the same time you couldn’t help but clench around Kento.

His hips stutter and he couldn’t help but let out a satisfied groan.

“You’d like that? You like the idea of someone out there knowing your being fucked dumb on your husbands cock?”

All you could do is desperately nod as the sound of skin slapping skin grows louder.

“What was that honey? I couldn’t hear you.”

A gagged “mhm” miraculously made it out of your lips, to which your husband only chuckled. Kentos hips roughly roll and you let out a choked moan as his hits that spongy spot inside.

“Is that the spot?”

The tip of his cock begins to brush against your g-spot over and over again. You claw at the edge of the desk barely able to hold yourself together as muffled whines make it past your husband's fingers.

At this point Kento gave up on keeping you quiet and decided to hold both of your hips tight enough that you’ll probably have bruises afterwards.

You were so close, writhing beneath Kento you could feel it building, and building, and finally, it snapped.

Your eyes roll back in ecstasy and your jaw drops in a silent scream as you tighten around Kento’s cock, and when his hips stutter you knew that he was finished too.

Kento lets out a growl as he empties himself in you, slowing his movements as he pumped his release into you.

Your head felt light as you leisurely came back down from your orgasm and the feeling of Kentos lips pressing against the back of your neck made you shutter slightly.

“You alright sweetheart?”

His voice cuts through the now quiet office. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth as you try to formulate a response.

“Yeah,” voice horse, you take a moment to clear it. “Yeah I’m alright.”

Kento hums as he carefully reaches down and pulls up your panties, effectively trapping the cum that has started to drip out of your now drenched cunt.

You take a deep breath to finally stand up and fixing your clothes that had, in fact, gotten wrinkled during your activities. Your husband took the time to fix your hair while you did so and once you both finished, gave you another kiss on your forehead.

“Thank you for lunch, my dear wife.”

[theragethatisdesire]

scary dog privilege - best friend!eren x reader one-shot, 18+!!

hellooooo i have had this in my wips for like two entire months and i am giddy and ready to share it. this hopefully will just be a one-shot, but you guys know i love to create a universe for each of my erens so god only knows where we'll end up with this one. best friend eren appears to be my angstiest, broodiest one yet, and i love him lol. wanted to make some use of classic fanfic tropes, so here we get best friend eren and fake dating!! woohoo!!

beware: this is absolute, pure filth once you get into it lol

pairing: eren jaeger x afab reader

wc: 9.1k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut, consensual hook-up, rough sex, biting, dirty talk, oral sex (fem!receiving), alcohol use, cussing, squirting, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, use of names (baby, pretty baby, my girl), crying, multiple orgasms, eren being a menace per usual, jean's an asshole (i'm so sorry you guys know i love him but it had to happen)

have fun ;)

-

This is a terrible idea, and it had been from the start. You know it and so does he, but you had insisted. Now that you’ve made your bed, you have to lay in it, you suppose. You press your forehead to the cold, tinted window of Eren’s ridiculous muscle car, ignoring the vibrations from the rock music he’s blaring and the consistent fluttering in your stomach, and think back to your conversation earlier that week.

“Come on, Eren. It’s just one night!”

“And what about after? When you run into Sasha at the coffee place or Armin after work? Did we just suddenly ‘break up’?” Eren scoffs, pushing past you to grab a Red Bull out of the fridge. You collapse into one of the barstools in his kitchen, having prepared yourself to accept defeat from the moment you posed the question.

“I just can’t face him alone,” you sigh, “it’s only been four months and Sasha told me he’s hooked up with not one, not two, but three girls already. I haven’t even had a drunken makeout at the bar.”

“So? Just because Jean’s been whoring around doesn’t mean you have anything to prove.” Eren's tone is thoroughly unimpressed as he pops the tab to his energy drink.

“You’re my best friend. I just need one tiny favor.”

“Who would even believe us? It’s not like it’s a huge party- we know everyone going.”

You cock an eyebrow. “How many times have Annie and Mikasa tried to con us into a double date? Connie’s been teasing us for years, not to mention the waiter at lunch the other day–”

“Fine!”

“Fine?”

“Fine. I’ll be your date for one night. But all of the explaining is up to you. And,” Eren takes a sip, leveling a glare at you over the top of the can, “I’m going on the record as saying that this is a bad idea.”

He may be reckless, arrogant, and a bit of a brat, but if Eren Jaeger is one thing consistently, he was right. You chance a glance at your “date”. He’s in his typical uniform: black hoodie, black jeans, the little silver chain he never takes off, key swinging over his chest as he turns the car. He looks good, appealing even. If Jean dares to show up with a girl, she won’t consider you to have downgraded, that’s for sure.

You consider your own outfit, an anxious fist tightening in your stomach at the thought of seeing Jean for the first time as an ex. He would have hated it. Your nothing-to-the-imagination outfit is all thanks to Sasha.

You had clued Sasha in on the plan; you hoped having one more agent in on your secret would help sell the act. Sasha had gone all out, lending you an incredibly low-cut black top and some black leather pants that would have caused at least a twenty-minute argument with Jean. Had he not dumped you, you remind yourself bitterly. Sasha had insisted you borrow her all-black outfit to match Eren’s typical attire “just to be cute”. In hindsight, her enthusiasm about this whole situation should have been a red flag, but you’ve already gotten everything lined up, and it’s too late for regret.

It’s far too late for hindsight, too; you’re already ten minutes into receiving the official girlfriend treatment from Eren. He had worn you down on picking you up, opening the car door, the works. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled out a bouquet of roses at this point. You can hear his obnoxious tone now: Even if you’re my fake girlfriend, you’re getting the full package. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Eren parallel parks smoothly on Armin’s quiet street, unusually busy with the buzz of a house party and lined with your friends’ cars. It’s Connie’s birthday, but Armin always hosts. It’s an unspoken rule at this point; you aren’t sure why he keeps volunteering, especially after Sasha had projectile vomited all over his bathroom at the last get-together, but again, dig your own grave and lie in it. You and Armin are in the same boat there.

When the car switches off, Eren takes a moment to consider you, wrapping and unwrapping his long fingers around the steering wheel, a nervous tic he’s had since high school. “You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh, reaching for the door handle. Before you can wrap your hand around it, Eren leans over and pinches you harshly on the thigh. “Ow!”

“I open the door, remember?” Eren says, visibly annoyed.

You roll your eyes at him.“Isn’t this a bit much?”

“You think I’m going to be caught dead letting my ‘girlfriend’ open her own door? I have a reputation to uphold.”

You decide to bite back a snippy comment about the many girls who cried over Eren in college and cross your arms over your chest, pouting instead. “Fine.”

If Eren can be dramatic, so can you.

As naturally as if he had done it a hundred times, Eren slings his arm over your shoulders on the walk up towards the door; the weight of it, both physically and mentally, is heavier than you’re willing to acknowledge. When you catch sight of Bertholdt, Reiner, and Annie peering through the window, a flutter of nerves erupts your stomach; you reach a hand up to play with Eren’s fingers, absentmindedly spinning one of his rings and trying to sell the look as best you can. “We better pull this off.”

“It’ll be fine, just follow my lead.” Eren pulls you closer, kissing your hairline. Goosebumps rise all over your body; not at the action itself, but how disturbingly easy the affection seems to come to him. As Eren knocks on Armin’s bright red door, you pack that thought away and shove it to the back of your mind to collect dust.

“Hi…guys?” Armin’s friendly smile upon opening the door falters in confusion as he takes you in, absorbing the sight of you two intertwined on his doorstep. Armin’s wide, blue eyes flick between the two of you, and you can see the gears churning in his head, trying to make sense of how awfully close you and Eren are. Pitting your fake relationship against Armin’s intellect is the perfect first test; a nervous sweat breaks out under your skimpy outfit.

“Sup, ‘min?” Eren smiles back, the very picture of nonchalance, extending his free hand to shake Armin’s shoulder.

“Come on in.” Armin, ever polite, turns to allow for plenty of room for Eren to pull you inside. He doesn’t outright ask why Eren’s holding you, but his eyes betray his suspicions. It seems like your plan, as terrible as it is, is working. One down, a dozen or so to go.

Never dropping his arm from around your shoulders, Eren steers you into the living room where one of Connie’s favorite bands is already blasting from the speakers. Annie and Mikasa are curled up together in Armin’s recliner, hands interlocked as usual; Sasha and Connie are positioned at Armin’s bar cart, violently shaking two cocktail shakers apiece; Reiner, Bertholdt, Marco, and Jean are on the couch, arguing over something sports-related. With a sinking stomach, you notice that there’s only one unoccupied seat left in the room.

“My two favorite lovebirds!” Sasha cries, abandoning her cocktail shakers and rushing over to give you a hug. Upon Sasha’s impact, Eren drops his arm and grabs your hand that’s closest to him as a substitute, never taking his hands off of you. His actions are pointed, purposeful; every pair of eyes in the room looks between the two of you in surprise. You can practically feel a hazel-tinted laser beam burning a hole into your forehead. “You guys are so late; honeymoon phase gotcha already?”

“Laying it on a little thick, Sash,” you whisper into Sasha’s ear, cheeks burning. To your chagrin, Eren only curls his mouth in response.

“What?” Connie frowns, still shaking his drinks. “How long has that been a thing?”

You pause, your heart nearly stopping. You should have made up a story, you realize, something to explain–

“Just a few weeks.” The still-strange weight of Eren’s arm around your shoulder returns, and his jade eyes rest on you, adoration beaming through his always-cool gaze. Against your will, butterflies start dancing in your stomach; apparently Eren’s quite the actor.

“Yeah,” you jump in, grateful for Eren’s lead, “we just wanted to feel it out before we told everyone, that’s all.”

“Sasha knew.” Mikasa raises a suspicious eyebrow. Annie smirks at the two of you, a knowing look on her face.

“It’s about time.” Marco appears from the kitchen with a huge bowl of tortilla chips in one hand and salsa in the other. “Good for you guys.”

You can’t help yourself, finally meeting Jean’s eyes. He’s openly scowling at you, which is to be expected; where Eren is a criminally smooth liar, Jean wears his heart on his sleeve. You recognize that face all too well: anger to mask heartbreak, the same face he wore when you used to fight. For the first time, it occurs to you how cruel this plan might be, how Jean might react to you moving on with a mutual friend. Guilt washes over you, cold and heavy.

“Thanks for giving me a heads-up before you moved in on my fucking girlfriend, Jaeger,” Jean snips, taking a long swallow of his beer.

The guilt drops away from you as quickly as your jaw; you’ve forgotten what a prick Jean can be. Eren has been slowly guiding you over to the singular remaining seat throughout the conversation, and after Jean’s comment, he tugs you down firmly onto his lap. He rubs a large palm over your thigh, a blatant gesture of ownership.

“Not your girlfriend anymore, Kirschstein.” You can hear the distinct note of pride ringing through his voice, hear the nasty look leveled at Jean without turning to face him. It’s been fifteen minutes of fake dating, car ride included, and you can already feel the friendship line blurring. Your head spins.

“Anyway,” Armin, ever the gracious host, interrupts, breaking the awkward tension that has settled over the room, “what bar does everyone want to head out to later? Connie gets the first pick, being the birthday boy.”

The conversation in the room picks back up into a familial bickering over the evening’s next destination. All of your friends have become accustomed to the occasional awkward moment over the years now that some of you have begun to couple up; Mikasa and Annie especially are notorious for bickering like an old married couple, no matter who’s around.

“I need a drink,” you murmur to Eren, moving to stand.

“Do you mind getting me one, babe? Don’t want to lose our seat.” Eren pecks you on the cheek, smiling up at you as if everything about your situation right now is normal, natural for him. Jean’s eyes follow you every step of the way, and your face burns.

Over the years you’ve been friends with him, it’s never been lost on you that Eren’s attractive, not after the dozens of women he ran through in his college years. Peeking over your shoulder now, however, feels like you’re seeing him for the first time, seeing him the way the world sees him. Heavy-set dark brows frame his bright eyes beautifully, his jaw’s grown sharp and severe, and his lips are soft and pouty, stretching into a wicked smirk with sharp canines. He had grown into a heartbreaker, and he’s your best friend and now fake boyfriend– you swat away your private admiration as soon as it comes, taking a deep breath to center yourself and rifling through the bar cart in a daze.

“Want me to make you one?” Sasha waves a bright red concoction under your nose. “Connie and I made them- it has three different types of liquor in it, and you can’t taste any of it!”

One sip of the tiny cocktail straw has your nose wrinkling in disgust. You’ve worked behind a bar since the day you turned twenty-one, and the drink Sasha’s offering you tastes like an overly-syruped nightmare. “Um…no, that’s okay Sash. I’ll probably just stick to beer.”

Connie sticks his tongue out at you. “Boring!”

Predictably, Sasha pouts. “Okay, but we’re definitely making you take a shot. We can chill it in the kitchen, want to help me get some ice?”

Holding up a bottle of tequila, she cocks her head toward the kitchen and wobbles her eyebrows madly. You almost laugh; anyone who can’t pick up on a hint from Sasha is walking around with earplugs and their eyes closed.

“Fine. Let me just grab Eren a beer, and I’ll meet you in there.”

“Ugh, couples,” Connie rolls his eyes, wandering over to fiddle with the dusty karaoke machine that Armin claims broke years ago. You’ve always been dubious as to the truth of that, but knowing your friends, you can’t blame him.

Opening the cooler, you smile to yourself; Armin remembered your favorite IPA from the brewery down the road and stocked the cooler accordingly, nestling a few Hazy Daze’s between Reiner and Bertholdt’s domestics. You pick your way through the haphazard seating arrangements back over to Eren, holding a cold Budweiser bottle towards him. He pauses in his conversation with Reiner, grabbing your hand that holds the beer and removing it from your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, brushing them over in a light kiss. He looks you up and down lecherously as he does it, a dangerous curve to his lips.

You return a weak half-smile, doing your best to not appear outwardly shaken by Eren’s behavior and keep the what the fuck? thoughts from showing plainly on your face. Eren waves you off to the kitchen with a light pat on your bottom, innocent as ever.

“How’s it going?” Sasha asks, safe now in the privacy of the kitchen. Her face is already full-flush with excitement and that awful cocktail she was sipping.

“I mean, it seems like everyone’s buying it. Jean looks pissed, though.”

“What were you expecting? He’s always thought Eren had a thing for you.”

“Everyone thinks Eren has a thing for me,” you roll your eyes, “at least it’s working in my favor now.”

Sasha fixes you with a glare, wobbling slightly. “If you don’t think Eren actually has a thing for you, you must be blind. Deaf, too.”

“Sasha–”

“I mean, even if you hadn’t told me, I would have fallen for it. Is it not, like, weird for you guys? That it’s just natural for you two to–” Sasha burps, interrupting herself, and giggles. “Just makes ya think.”

“Sasha!” Connie calls from the living room. “Let’s do Eye of the Tiger first!”

“Woo!” Sasha shouts, abandoning you and running into the room to take part in the newly-revived karaoke festivities.

You stand alone in the kitchen, shell-shocked by Sasha’s observations. The truly irritating thing is that she’s entirely right. Not only do Eren’s little kisses here and there, the constant touching, even the pet names come naturally, it almost feels…nice. It’s as easy for you to receive his affection as it is for him to give it. You peek around the corner, grimacing at Sasha and Connie’s amplified wailing, just wanting to look at him. Really look at him.

Kicked back, beer in hand and jacket thrown over the back of his chair, Eren oozes charisma. Even doing nothing but holding a conversation with Mikasa, the room gravitates around him. Jean’s angry glare never leaves him; Armin has switched to drinking Budweiser, even though you know he hates it; Annie’s nodding along with whatever Eren’s saying; even Sasha and Connie are angling their performance around him, alternating between singing together and holding their microphones towards him, trying to elicit a reaction. He has this undeniable magnetic force, one that you aren’t exempt from.

You’d met him nearly a decade ago, in high school, and initially couldn’t stand him. His hair-trigger temper had hardly cooled with age, and his ego had gotten unthinkably larger, but you grew to find both of them charming– to a degree. One thing led to another, and before you knew it, Eren was the one cleaning you up and getting you drunk after every bad breakup, introducing you to all of your favorite sports teams and lending you jerseys for the games; hell, he even read that smutty fairy fantasy series you’d been obsessed with in college. Had the man you attempted Star Wars marathons with until you both fell asleep really looked like that the entire time?

He catches your stare, beckoning you over with one long, crooked finger. As his girlfriend for the night, you have to obey, even though you would much rather roll your eyes at the cliche.

“Missed you,” he mumbles as you sit back on his lap, breath hot against the shell of your ear.

“You too,” you respond accordingly, wrapping your arm lovingly around his shoulder. Eren’s eyes flit down to your cleavage, but knowing him, it’s impossible to discern if it’s part of the act, or Eren being himself.

His hands rest comfortably over the casing of your pants, one on your thigh and one on the small of your back, one thumb rubbing circles into your soft flesh. Reveling in the drag of his rings over your clothed body, you couldn’t help but wonder how they’d feel on your bare skin, on your throat, on your–

Surprising yourself at the dirty direction of your thoughts, you swallow your beer too quickly, coughing. Eren, who had coincidentally been taking a sip at the same time, laughs at you mid-sip, choking beside you and spraying beer out of his nose.

The entire room bursts into laughter; Eren regains his composure and joins in good-naturedly. You giggle along, relief coursing over your body. Sure, Eren might look a little extra handsome tonight and be a bit touchy because you asked him to, but he’s still Eren.

“They’re practically in sync already.” Hitch, Marco’s girlfriend who had apparently joined the party while Sasha and you were in the kitchen, rests her face on her hand dreamily.

“It’s a little freaky,” Annie observes with narrowed eyes, but the slight curve of her lip betrays her. Not only were they believing your little farce, but they were happy for you. That’s enough to make you flush a little, realizing how naturally everyone’s just accepted your fake relationship. Everyone but one person, at least.

Jean suddenly stands, ripping a beer from the cooler and storming into the kitchen. The laughter dies as quickly as it had come, everyone exchanging nervous looks.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Eren offers, nudging you off of his lap. You blanch.

“Eren, I don’t know if you should-”

“It’s fine,” Eren drops a soft peck on your forehead, walking away before you can stop him. You meet Mikasa’s eyes, wide and concerned. To everyone else, Eren’s walking calmly, not a hint of aggression in his gait. But you know him, know him well enough to catch the anger simmering in his eyes, quiet, but there.

Jean and Eren have always been friends, albeit reluctant ones at first, but too similar where it counted not to get along. That had abruptly come to a halt when you had fallen for Jean. At first Eren had been confused, but over time that confusion had melted into constant irritation. Jean and you were wrong for one another, you know that in hindsight, but at the time, you had chalked all the fighting up to a passionate relationship. The constant tears had driven Eren nearly to a breaking point; multiple times you had begged him not to bring his frustration to physical blows. And now, your fake-boyfriend slash best friend and ex-boyfriend with the two worst tempers out of everyone you know are “talking”. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep the worry in your chest.

“Are you alright?” The question comes from Armin, who’s placed a steadying hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry that Jean isn’t taking the news well.”

“There’s no news,” Mikasa says low enough for none of the others to hear over the music, now standing directly behind Armin.

A neat little cross appears between Armin’s eyebrows. “They’re-”

“Faking,” she interrupts Armin, “they aren’t dating.”

Armin stammers, trying to correct her and apologize to you for her at the same time, but you just sigh. “How’d you know?”

“One of you would have told me,” she shrugs, “or at least I’d like to think you would.”

“It’s just…I couldn’t bear to show up alone, not with Jean here and apparently sleeping around since the breakup.” You cross your arms over your chest, grabbing your own shoulders tightly. It’s your fault, you know it is, but you had only wanted to feel a little less pathetic, a little less heartbroken. Drama had been an unfortunate and unexpected side effect.

“Why would Eren agree to that? It seems silly,” Armin muses, noticing your glare and immediately turning bright red, “I- I don’t mean you’re silly, just, you shouldn’t-”

“You know.” Mikasa bumps him. The slightest hint of a smile plays on her face, a knowing look directed at you. You frown, trying to look confused through the pink rising to your face.

A loud crash from the kitchen catches all of your attention, saving you from an uncomfortable line of conversation but making your heart beat that much faster. Dashing to the kitchen door, the entire house party hot on your heels, your thundering heart sinks.

Eren has Jean pinned up against Armin’s cabinets, forearm tight against the other man’s neck. Jean’s still seething at Eren, raw ego washing against the cool anger blazing in Eren’s eyes.

“Need to learn how to watch your fucking mouth, Kirschstein–”

“Eren!” Your voice is surprisingly firm, given the nauseating mixture of embarrassment, confusion, and panic swirling in your stomach. “Let him go!”

“Do you want to tell her what you said, or should I?” Eren hisses, nudging into Jean further. Jean’s eyes dart to you, back to Eren, and for a fleeting moment, you have hope that maybe this all can be resolved peacefully. And then Jean makes a fatal mistake.

He spits directly in Eren’s face.

Just as Eren swings, Reiner collides with the two, just barely catching Eren by his forearm before he can make contact with Jean’s cheek. Bertholdt, as always, is Reiner’s shadow, grabbing Eren by the shoulders and wrenching him away from Jean. It takes Connie, Reiner, Marco, and Bertholdt to restrain both of them, Armin standing in the middle and shouting how ridiculous the fight is above the curses.

“It’s my fucking birthday, Jean, come on bro!” Connie growls, pinning Jean to the cabinets with his back.

“Jaeger- back off!” Reiner manages to pull him back a few inches, hardly able to contain Eren, who’s struggling furiously, in his massive arms. Jean finally relents, slouching into the multiple arms holding him back. After several seconds, Eren does the same, never taking his eyes off of Jean. Into the shocked silence, Armin bravely speaks first.

“Maybe we should leave,” he suggests awkwardly, “take the party elsewhere.”

You pity him, poor Armin and his hosting inclination. Eren finally turns to face you. The wrath laid bare in his eyes sends a chill over your body.

“We are,” he spits, sparing Jean one last threatening glance before storming over, grabbing you harshly by the wrist, and practically dragging you towards the door.

“Eren, wait–” you try to reason with him and dig your heels in, but it’s fruitless. Eren’s strong, stronger than you, and you don’t stand a chance stopping him now that his mind’s made up.

He doesn’t drop the act at the car, ripping your car door open, waiting impatiently for you to step into your seat, and slamming the door behind you. As soon as he turns the ignition, the same angry rock music you had listened to on the way over blasts from the speakers; Eren makes no move to turn it down and neither do you. After so many years together, his temper rarely scares you anymore; it’s more of a nuisance than anything when it flares. You stare out of the window, seething with anger, arms crossed and foot tapping.

Five minutes into the drive, you realize Eren isn’t taking you to your house, but to his. What he’s thinking, you can’t be sure, but you go ahead and start making your plans to give him an earful and call your Uber the moment you get there. You just can’t wrap your mind around why he would attack Jean and embarrass you like that– Eren may have been a hothead, but rarely did he let his temper escalate to that degree, especially against a friend.

Eren whips his car into the driveway, parking with such force you nearly knock your head against the headrest. You reach for your door handle, ready to throw it open, but Eren’s faster. He hits the child lock button and slams his own door behind him, storming around the car.

“The fucking child lock button?” You leap out of your seat once he’s opened your door, glaring up at him with your fists curled by your sides. “Is that what I am, Eren, a child?”

“Come inside.” Eren’s voice is low, dangerous. You’re too angry to indulge his temper.

“No,” you snap, “I’m going home.”

No sooner have you pulled your phone out to call an Uber than Eren snatches it from you, sliding it into his pocket. He repeats himself, more forceful this time. “Come inside.”

You stand rooted to the spot for a beat, so angry you aren’t sure what you want to do more: run home, punch him, or kick his precious car headlight in. Eren simply glares down his strong nose at you, face unreadable as ever, rage still glittering in his eyes.

“Come inside, please,” Eren repeats himself again through gritted teeth. You decide you’ll indulge him and go inside, hear him out, and then punch him. At least it’ll catch him off guard, and you’ll have a better chance of getting your shot in. Without another word, you stomp up the walkway to his house, into the house, and into the kitchen, shoving your shoes off. Stupid fucking kitchens, you think to yourself, kicking your bare foot against the base of his kitchen island. Immature, but the little burst of violence feels good.

Whether Eren’s house smells like him or Eren smells like his house you’ve never been able to decide. The distinct scent of him envelops you: a boyish, sharp smell, laced with a hint of the weed he kept in the living room. Ordinarily it’s a comforting smell, but tonight, it nearly makes you sick with irritation. Fighting with Eren is something you do rarely, but you know the both of you well enough to buckle down. Arguing with Eren means you have a long, nasty, and emotionally gutting night ahead of you. You’re more than ready, fists shaking by your side.

“What the hell was that, Eren?”

He doesn’t answer, swinging the fridge open and grabbing a beer. He twists the top, tossing it aside carelessly and taking a healthy swig, bun bouncing on the back of his head, making no move to acknowledge your presence.

“Answer me!” Your voice rattles the cabinets. “Yeah, was the fake dating a stupid idea? Sure, fine, it was stupid, but starting a fucking fight with Jean on poor Connie’s birthday–”

“You didn’t hear what he said,” Eren says simply, still chugging his beer and avoiding your gaze.

“What could he have said to make you do that? What was so awful that you had to–”

“It was about you.” Eren finally brings his eyes to yours, staring you down through the little hairs that have escaped his bun with such intensity that it nearly knocks you clean on your ass.

Your heart stutters. “You– what did he say?”

“Told me if I wanted to taste your ‘slutty pussy’ so bad, I could just smell his breath. S’why he spit in my face.” Eren’s fingers wrap and unwrap around the beer bottle anxiously.

Your mouth drops agape, tears immediately springing to your eyes. No, you set your resolve, praying your body cooperates. “He…he said that?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been fucking him?” Eren spares you another scalding look. Your temper flares at his anger, one fire against another.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Eren snaps, “this whole thing was your idea. What am I to you, just some toy you can dangle in front of your pussyboy ex boyfriend? How long have you been fucking him?”

“I haven’t been fucking him,” you hiss, “he lied because he was jealous. And you’re not some toy, you’re– you’re my best friend. I needed you.”

Eren freezes, eyeing you across the kitchen. His expression has changed, infinitesimally so, a pinch of the fury fading from his face but none of the heat. It strikes you that in the years you’ve known him, he’s never looked at you like this before, not once. “Say it again.”

“You’re my–”

“The other thing.”

“I needed you.”

“Again.”

“I needed– fuck, Eren, what is this? Some kind of game?”

He stalks toward you, silhouetted by the light behind him and looking sinful, closing you in. He’s forceful and shameless as he backs you into the counter, as quintessentially Eren as he can be. “Say it one more time.”

“I…needed you,” you indulge him, brain slowing down to pick up each little detail. His cologne– when did he start wearing cologne?– musky and thick in the air, one of his tattoos peeking above the collar of his shirt, the tangible sensation of emerald eyes dragging along every inch of you.

“I like the way you say that,” his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. You stare blatantly. His mouth is red, pouty, and full, bottom lip a little chapped from where he was chewing it in the car. “That you need me.”

Words are lost on you; even if you could gather something to say, it would probably get stuck in your throat the moment it materialized. His presence is choking you. He brings one of those massive hands up, cupping your jaw, running a thumb over your lip. His posture, looming over you, is demanding, almost hungry.

“Do you still?”

“Still?”

“Need me.”

You blink, eyes still watery. “How?”

“You’re a smart girl,” Eren murmurs, hot breath laced with beer fanning over your face, “you know. You’ve always known.”

You do know. When he ghosted a hand over your thighs at the bar, when you fell asleep on his chest watching a movie, the way he had kissed your head, nearly fought Jean, protected you at every twist and turn. You had kept it relegated to the recesses of your brain, slid a hand between your legs and allowed it to simmer to the surface, maybe for a moment, before pushing it back down. You had always known. He has you on the edge of a cliff, and with a thin gasp, you understand him now: he wants you to jump. And so do you.

“I still need you. Now.”

Something critical snaps in both of you. The countertop digs into your lower back, a beautiful, aching pain blooming up your spine to meet the sting of his teeth sinking into your bottom lip. He’s kissing you; this magnetic, maddening man is kissing you, hard. It’s all tongue and teeth, fingers wrapping in hair, hands exploring familiar places in a new way. Greedy, demanding sounds slip through his teeth as he paws at your clothes, squeezes your curves through the silken shirt Sasha had lent you.

“This shirt is ridiculous,” Eren pants into your mouth, “wish I wasn’t about to rip it off of you.”

A little whimper leaves your mouth at that, and your knees buckle. Eren catches you, grabbing you by your torso and lifting you up onto the kitchen counter; you use the extra height to wrap your legs around his hips. A groan from deep in Eren’s chest rumbles against your lips as he rolls his clothed cock insistently against you. The low, simmering heat in your stomach catches fire; he’s big, even through both of your pants, rubbing himself into where you need him most. A hand creeps up your neck, grabbing a fistful of hair and forcing you to look up at him. It hits you how large he is; six feet and some change of taut, corded muscle, bad intentions, temptation.

His voice is quiet and controlled, so close to your face that his nose moves against yours as he speaks. “I’m going to take you to my room. If that’s not okay with you, I need you to say it right now.”

You nod urgently, relishing the burn in your scalp where he holds your hair tight. “I want it- want you.”

Eren slides you off of the kitchen counter and holds you firmly around his waist, making a beeline for his room. You mouth at his neck, enjoying the little grunts he makes against your ear. You drop unceremoniously onto the bed, left to watch as he tears off his shirt.

Oh, and do you watch. It’s difficult to comprehend that your best friend is the man standing above you. You’ve seen him shirtless countless times, but not like this: chest heaving, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, muscles flexing as he reaches for your shirt, ripping it from you and tossing it away. Your eyes draw towards the defined v leading down beneath his jeans, and you wonder how it might taste under your tongue.

Your bra comes next, Eren moving down to take your lips in his again as he deals with the clasp. He pushes you onto your back, kissing down your neck, sneaking harsh bites in between the gentle presses of his lips.

“Careful, Eren– you’ll leave marks,” you gasp, pulling at his hair.

“Good,” Eren replies against your neck, emphasizing his point with another deep bite to your neck, “you wanted everyone to think I was your little boyfriend, didn’t you? Let them see.” 

Your panties grow damp and hot against your core at that; you have no other response than to choke out a stunted moan.

“Fuck, you have no idea,” he growls, traveling down, teeth scraping the top of your breast, “what you do to me. How long I’ve wanted you.”

Your mind falters, caught in the crosswires of Eren’s confession and the way you’re clutching his head to your breasts, fingers desperately threaded in his dark hair and pulling him as close as you could get him. His mouth is so hot it burns, even against your feverish skin. 

“Remember…” Eren muses, mouthing his way down your stomach, “remember college? When you’d wear those slutty little dresses out?”

“I remember,” you breathe, impatient and urging him towards your lower half.

“Used to come home from the bar and jerk myself off, thinking about this sweet little cunt,” Eren tears your pants down your legs, panties following, “could practically see it in those short ass dresses. I’d cum thinking about how you’d sound when I stuck my tongue in it.”

A lewd whine rips out of your throat before you can stop it. Eren’s pressing your thighs open now, and his words and the quick little swipes he’s making across your clit are making you dizzy.

“Fuck…” Eren trails off, eyes wide, “got such a pretty pussy. Just look at you.”

“Eren, please,” you’ve never been the begging type, but the bright green eyes peering up at you from where your legs are propped open by broad, strong shoulders take your sense away.

“I’ve got you,” he shushes you, grinning as he leans into your center. A thick stripe of a lick up the center elicits a groan from you both. “So fucking sweet. Knew you would be.”

Eren hooks his arms around your legs, dragging you down the bed to be flush with his face. Eren’s no amateur when it comes to women, you know that, but you had never dared to let yourself imagine what that might translate to in practice.

He licks little figure-eights around your clit, not quite hitting it; he’s teasing you, the antagonist that he is. You tremble under him, little gasps and whimpers puffing out of your lips. Eren smiles contentedly against your pussy, nose flush with your clit, nudging against it rhythmically as he licks through your folds, circling your entrance. You bring your hands down your body, grabbing a fistful of dark hair and pulling him closer to you; you don’t even know what you want, the singular word more ringing in your head like a church bell.

Eren chuckles. “You need something?”

“Stop fucking with me,” you breathe, inwardly cringing at the desperation in your voice, laid bare for him to see. You brace yourself, looking down to meet his eyes, and instantly regret it. The anger has faded entirely from his face, replaced by an unyielding hunger. A wet, wicked smile plays at his mouth; you can physically feel your cunt dripping just at the sight of him.

“You want me to stop fucking with you?”

“Please, Eren, I need you–”

“That’s all you had to say.”

And then, like he does with everything else in his life, Eren licks into you like his life depends on it, like he’s trying to drown himself in you. His tongue pushes in and out of your hole, swirling around your clit, and you can distantly hear the most obscene sounds you’ve ever heard slipping from your mouth. He’s so good, better than you’ve had in years; you throw your head back against the bedspread, hardly able to focus on breathing.

Just when you think it can’t get any more intense, Eren slides one long finger inside of you, curling it against a spongy spot in your walls that makes you see stars. He chuckles at the loud, long moan that you let out.

“My girl likes being full, doesn’t she?” He pumps his finger slowly, testing your limits. Your walls clutch down on him, begging.

“M-more,” you stutter, barely able to form a coherent word through your panting.

“What was that?” You can hear the shit-eating grin on his face.

“I need– fuck– I need more.”

“Magic word?”

“Please, Eren, fuck!”

“Good, good girl,” he coos, pushing another finger into you, “so sweet and needy for me, yeah?”

Your eyes fly open at the stretch, the fullness of his fingers moving inside you. His other hand comes up to push on your lower stomach; your head snaps up, and you frown at him, panicked.

“W-what are you– oh,” you hate yourself for it, but you can’t even speak as he applies pressure onto your abdomen. You feel strange; it’s just right and too much all at once. The familiar bubble of an impending orgasm swells in the pit of your stomach, but it’s more intense, wetter than you’ve ever felt it. 

“Close?”

“Mhm,” you force out through gritted teeth. Eren moves his elbow slightly, just enough to bear down on your hip bone where you’re pushing your hips up towards him unwittingly. “But it- it feels weird…I, I can’t–”

“Sh,” he murmurs, mouth back against your clit, “you can do it, just for me, I know you can. It’s going to feel so good, you’ll see.”

Your eyes roll back in your head as you teeter on the precipice, blood roaring in your ears. You want to, you need to–

“Cum all over my fucking face baby, give it to me.”

The band in you snaps, your eyes rolling back into your head. You can feel your cunt spasming around his fingers, pushing something out. Liquid sprays from you, all over Eren’s face, soaking the sheets beneath you. You can’t even hear the lewd sounds coming out of your mouth, too surprised at the gushing orgasm. It finally winds down, and once you gather the energy, you shove insistently at his hand still pumping in and out of your sensitive pussy.

“You have the messiest little cunt,” Eren chuckles at you, wiping his face and kissing his way back up to your gasping mouth, “knew you were a squirter.”

He lands a few gentle taps against your sore pussy, and you flinch. 

“I–I’ve never…” you take a shaky breath in between every word, “never done that before.”

Pride illuminates his face. “Really? I knew you could do it– just for me, right?”

You nod, sitting up on trembling elbows. “Your cock, I– I want it in my mouth. Please let me.”

You reach down to fumble with the button of his jeans, but Eren grabs your wrist, pulling your hand up to kiss it gently. “Next time. I’d never forgive myself if I busted before I got to fuck you.”

Too overwhelmed to answer, you simply nod again, sitting back as he shimmies his pants off. Once you catch sight of it, your mouth waters. He’s big, bigger than you thought, wide enough to where your fingers wouldn’t touch if you grabbed it, and long enough to make you gag. The thought goes straight between your legs, cunt still throbbing and clutching around nothing, and a rush of anticipation washes over you.

Eren flips you over onto your stomach, shoving a couple of pillows underneath your hips to prop your ass up. “Christ,” he exhales, landing a sharp smack to your ass.

“Please, Eren- oh!” You jump; Eren’s circling your asshole, using the mess you’ve already made as lube to pop the tip of his thumb in. “Eren…”

“You’d let me fuck you there, one day, I bet,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, you think. Your body tenses in response, the memory of your first glance at his cock fresh in your mind. Eren swears under his breath. “Maybe next time, then.”

You hear him spit, hear the slick sounds of him lathering himself up. You have a brief moment to think to yourself, with the last glimmering shreds of consciousness in your orgasm-dazed mind, that this is Eren. This is your best friend, pinning you to the bed by the back of your neck, rubbing your lower back, admiring you, fucking you. And then the head of his cock is pressing into you, and that last little bit of hesitation gives way.

“Oh, baby,” Eren bends over you to growl in your ear, “never gonna forgive you for keeping this perfect pussy from me all these years.”

“Eren, it’s so– oh my god,” you trail off, eyes rolling back into your head as a few more inches of him sink into you. The way your body stretches for him, the way he fills you, is unbelievable, sweetened by just the slightest burning sensation.

“Fuck,” he hisses, pressing his forehead into the back of your neck, “you feel so fucking good. Best I’ve ever had.”

You whine at that, pushing your hips back into his and forcing him to bottom out. Eren swears against your skin, nearly collapsing on top of you. Your cunt pulses around him, desperately trying to hold him. You can hardly fathom the weight of him inside you; you’re just so full, the word runs through your mind on a loop.

And when he rolls his hips into yours– you nearly start praying. He drags against your walls so nicely, you nearly cum again then and there. He works up a torturously slow rhythm, grinding his hips into yours. You bite down hard on your bottom lip, trying your hardest to suppress the obscene groan about to leave your mouth. You taste blood.

“Never giving this pussy up,” Eren grunts above you, “never letting you give this to anybody else again. It’s mine, isn’t it?”

You nod into the pillow beneath your head, tears pricking at your eyes. He’s picking up the pace now, and the exquisite push-and-pull rhythm of Eren moving inside of you coupled with the fact that it’s Eren moving inside of you is destroying any semblance of intelligent conversation you can muster.

“Say it’s mine,” his face is beside yours now. A hand grabs your hair, turning your face towards him. You know how dazed you must look, mouth open in a permanent gasp, eyes watery and full of hearts. “God, you look fucking incredible. Say it.”

“My…my pussy is,” you swallow hard around the delicious knot of shame in your throat, “yours. It’s yours.”

“That’s my girl,” Eren sits back up, thrusting even faster, “my pussy, my girl. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you pant, canting your hips back against his, feeling your next orgasm approach embarrassingly fast. Eren understands, already knows your body as well as he knows you, and moves the angle of his hips just so to hit that spot he had found so quickly with his fingers earlier. You keen, drooling into the pillow, letting him fuck you stupid.

Eren shoves you over the edge for the second time that night. It’s toe curling, almost violent in nature, the way you cum around him, listening to him hiss as you tighten around him, vice-like. He fucks you through your orgasm for just long enough to see you through it, and flips you onto your back the moment you begin to twitch and shove at his hips, desperate for a break.

You slowly blink your eyes open in surprise, letting the tears roll down your cheeks, expecting to see Eren lining himself up, ready to fuck you senseless once more. Instead, he’s studying you, wiping a tear from your face, licking it off of his finger. There’s a moment happening here, an important one, one you don’t have the mental capacity to absorb right now.

“I want to see you now,” Eren says quietly, “need to see your pretty face when I cum, m’kay?”

You nod dumbly, not knowing how to respond to him in the thick air hanging between you. Before Eren can get any more words out of his open mouth, a loud ring startles you both.

Your phone is buzzing on the floor where it fell from Eren’s pocket; the name on the screen nearly stops your heart. Jean.

You stare into Eren’s eyes, a long, silent beat passes between you both. Your hazy mind is scrambling, grasping at anything you can say to take his mind off of the awkward interruption, but to your surprise, Eren cracks a grin. It’s a wicked grin, prettier than the devil himself and twice as evil.

“Your other boyfriend calling? Checking up on you?”

“He’s not my-”

“Better not be. Not after what I did to you tonight,” Eren’s voice drips with ego. Something in his eyes is territorial, carnal.

You find your words, but they come out quiet. “He’s not. Never again.”

Eren’s grin grows darker. He’s nudging your knees apart with his own, reaching down and pulling one of your legs to wrap around his waist. He’s pushing himself in now, the ringing of your phone fading into the background as the all-encompassing stretch of Eren inside you takes over your thoughts.

“Such a good girl,” he coos, thumbing at your bottom lip, “such a good mouth. Always telling me what I want to hear.”

You nod again, urgently this time, pulling your other leg up to hook them around his waist, hold him inside you, make sure he never leaves again. You’re addicted already; addicted to the pressure in your abdomen, addicted to the way his tip kisses your cervix, addicted to the taste of his sweat as you lick a strip of it from his face, cheekbone to temple.

“I…” you aren’t sure how to articulate how good it is, how good he is. A defeated laugh of your own making interrupts you. “You feel so fucking good. I feel so fucking good right now.”

“God, just look at you, all fucked out for me. You love it, don’t you?” Eren kisses your forehead, face to face with you after propping his elbows on either side of your face. “Love how I fuck you like a whore, don’t you? Tell me, baby.”

“I love it,” your voice is quivering, and you’re vaguely aware of tears streaming down your face. You’re overstimulated, you at least know that, but he just feels so good that asking him to stop seems more painful than letting him keep hammering into you.

“My pretty baby, you’re so fucking perfect,” Eren rambles, “so pretty when you cry for me.”

You can’t break away from his gaze, not through the tears or the rapid-fire speed of him fucking into you. Your legs are shaking so badly you can barely hold them up; Eren’s letting a flurry of little grunts and groans fly out, grabbing onto your cheek with one hand.

“Gonna cum soon,” he huffs, hips still pistoning into you hard enough to hurt, “gonna cum in your pussy, really make it mine, okay?”

“Okay,” you whimper, clamping down on him at the mere thought of it.

“Fuck, you like that don’t you?” He seethes against your forehead, thrusts beginning to falter. “You want to be mine? Want this pretty cunt stuffed full of my cum?”

You can feel him getting closer now, sloppy thrusts punching into your cervix, the ache of bruises forming on your inner thighs as he uses you, chasing his orgasm. You force your eyes open, meeting bright, hypnotizing green. Your voice is going to break, you know it, you hate it, you love him for it. “I– I want to be yours. P-please cum in me Eren, I need it.”

He slams into you one last time, holding his hips as tightly to yours as he can manage, cumming deep inside you with a breathless curse. You arch your back, relishing the feel of his cum in you, warm and filling. Even in your fucked-out mind, you know it’s a lot; you can feel the drip of it, seeping out around his cock and down onto the sheets. The leaden collapse of his body into yours, the gradual softening of him inside you, grounds you, pulling you down from the clouds and back into the bed.

It’s Eren on top of you, sweaty skin clinging to yours, his cum that you begged him for leaking out of your abused pussy. Your eyes shoot open. He’s incredibly heavy, your breath still coming out in short puffs as you try to catch it. He slides out of you; one last pitiful whimper leaving your lips as you find yourself empty.

“Holy shit,” Eren breathes out into the tension, a humorless and exhausted laugh punctuating his statement. As he rolls off of you, you’re overcome with the urge to smack him.

“That’s one way of putting it.” You scrounge around in the bed, trying to find the edge of the sheets to cover yourself with. Eren lays beside you, arm tossed over his eyes, as if the entire axis of your friendship hadn’t just flipped on its head. After a beat, you speak your mind, testing the waters. “I should probably call Jean back.”

That catches his attention. Eren sits up, scowling at you. “Why?”

“Maybe he wants to apologize.”

Eren snorts, rolling off of the bed and pulling you up with him, bridal-style; you aren’t sure where he’s taking you, but all the fight’s been fucked out of you, and you melt into his arms, eyes falling closed. “Who fucking cares?”

“I might,” you answer quietly, adjusting to the heat radiating off of his body. When your eyes open, you realize he’s carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up. Your heart thuds sadly in your chest, overcome with so many emotions you couldn’t begin to name them if you tried. You almost want to cry again, for a different reason now.

Eren sits you on the toilet, not responding to your small confession. He drops to his knees before you, reaches a long arm behind him over to the fixtures on his obscenely large bathtub, pushing the plug in and turning the water on. You draw your knees up to your chest, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed. Satisfied with the water temperature, Eren turns back to you, one hand placed firmly on each of your kneecaps.

“You don’t need him,” he says, solemn as you’ve ever seen him, “and from what I saw tonight, you don’t even want him. You know that now, right?”

There’s something about the way he says it, a hidden thread of pleading woven into his words. Your exhausted brain holds onto that, but your heart refuses to believe in it, broken and beating wildly in your chest.

“I just–”

“I meant it, you know,” Eren avoids your direct gaze, eyes flitting over every feature on your face, “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Meant every word of it.”

You pause, wondering absentmindedly if he can hear the pounding of your pulse. “Really?”

“We don’t need to get into it now,” he shrugs, “but you know that. You know I’d do anything for you. You know I’d treat you well. ‘M not a bad guy.”

Your chest aches. “I know, but Eren–”

“So that wasn’t the best sex you’ve ever had in your life?” He fixes you with a singular, raised eyebrow, so serious that you giggle in his face.

“You might have me there.”

“Better than horseface?”

“Watch it.”

The light returns to his eyes; it loosens a hard little piece in your chest, flooding you with warmth. It hits you just how much you love that little sparkle amongst the green, just how much you would give to see it as often as you can. “We won’t talk about it, for now at least. I’ll get us cleaned up, and we can go watch–”

“Mamma Mia,” you blurt, hopeful.

“No fucking shot. But we can watch something else of your choosing, if you let me eat you out again.”

“Eren!” You smack his shoulder, scandalized. Both of you laugh; your fake outrage is twice as funny considering the state of you right now, smeared makeup and bruises on your neck.

He grins crookedly back at you. “That’s not a no.”

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 3

in which spencer reid spends a rainy day teaching inexperienced fem!reader how to touch him. of course, her efforts don't go unrecognized, much less unrewarded

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings: inexperienced reader, softdom!spencer, sub reader, oral m receiving, reader swallows lol, a truly sickening amount of praise, like really, you JOKINGLY refer to each other as dirty sluts, r has longish hair, spit mentioned once, thigh riding (moans loudly), its filthy idk what to tell you, i feel like i've crossed the desert on foot i don't even know what else is in here, your honor they're in love, i take you to dinner first, this part is stupidly long a/n: had a fucking field day the three separate times i had to rewrite this el oh el... but think i like how it turned out?! anyway, if u like this PLS lmk bc writing it took a small piece of my soul, and yes there will be a part four!! take care of yourselves!! i love you!!!

You give Spencer half a minute or so before knocking on his door for a second time. 

It’s miserable outside, and though the hallway you’re standing in now isn’t terribly cold, you’d much prefer to be in Spencer’s apartment, where it will be the same toasty 68.5 degrees as always. Not that the heating will magically dry you. And not that you’ll be there for long, if the date you’d scheduled last week goes on as planned. 

You’re getting worried, about to knock for a third time when the locks finally click and the door opens to reveal a disheveled Spencer Reid—not at all looking ready for a date. You take in his ensemble; blue checked pajama pants, FBI Academy crewneck, the usual questionably paired socks. He’s rubbing his droopy eyes, which slowly widen as he notices your attire. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, our date! I mean—you look really nice. I look… like this. Why don’t you come in while I get ready to go?”

He holds the door open a little wider and you step through, relishing in the familiar warmth as you pull your hood down and excess water droplets spatter on the ground. 

“When did you get in?” you ask, hanging your raincoat up on a hook. You know he’d wrapped up a case yesterday evening, but you’d gone to sleep before the team left Cincinnati. 

Spencer pauses in the middle of the room, staring at the antique flooring like he forgot what he was doing. 

“Uh… four hours ago.”

“Wh—four hours? Spencer, you must be exhausted.”

He laughs awkwardly, running a tired hand over his face. 

“I mean… I’ve definitely felt better.”

You kick your soaked shoes off and cross the room until you’re toe to toe with him. Immediately his hands settle on your waist and yours find his arms. His eyes are kind, and he’s clearly pleased by your presence despite his lack of energy. 

“The weather’s terrible, anyway. Let’s just go out another day.”

His features have softened and you can see how tired he truly is—not just in his bleary eyes, but the way his fingers grasp weakly to you, the way his head bows slightly. It seems bone-deep. 

“But I haven’t seen you in a week. I don’t want you to go home.”

Your lips twist. A clap of thunder rolls in the distance and the rain starts coming down even harder against the windowpanes. 

“We could hang out here. We can take a nap!”

Spencer sighs—half resignation, half disappointment. 

“But we made such good plans,” he laments. 

You kiss his cheek. 

“Plans that can be rescheduled. The bookstore will still be there next weekend.”

It takes him a moment to settle into the idea, but you watch the exhaustion win. 

“Okay. But no nap. I want to be awake for you. Coffee?”

You nod enthusiastically, beaming at the prospect of getting to spend the day doing nothing with him. Spencer mirrors your grin, before pressing a kiss to your head.

“You’re so cute.” Heat creeps into your cheeks and you can’t think of a satisfactory reply, but in the end you don’t need to, as he tugs gently on your hands. “C’mon. Tell me what mug you want.”

The kitchen counter bites into your palms as you lean with your back to it, watching Spencer putter all around the kitchen as he works on the coffee. It makes you tired just to watch. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to take a nap? Caffeine isn’t a substitute for sleep, you know.”

“I do know,” he agrees, measuring coffee grounds. “But other than last night, I actually slept fairly well this week.”

“You seem exhausted.”

“I… am tired in lots of ways. Not all of which can be resolved with more sleep.” he admits.

Your heart drops ever so slightly at the way his voice weakens as he looks through the fridge. Sometimes you remember there are still things you don’t know about him—sides you haven’t met. His work side is one of them, and it more than a little intimidates you.

“Bad case?” you ask, voice quiet and crackling with nervous energy. 

Spencer nods, approaching and setting a carton of milk on the counter behind you—caging you in with his arms in the process. It’s hard to find the words when he’s this close, but you manage to stumble through them. 

“Do… do you wanna talk about it?”

Spencer hums, tilting his head before gently saying, “not right now. But thank you for offering, lovely.”

“Okay, well—if you change your mind… if there’s anything I can do to make you feel better…”

Finally he stops with the teasing—the unabashed staring at your lips, the faux-attentive nods—and drops his head to your level to kiss you properly. It’s obviously an attempt to get you to shut up, you’re not dumb enough so as to miss that—but you don’t really care why he’s doing it so long as he does it at all. 

“I feel pretty great right now, actually,” he murmurs against your lips, a hint of a smile coloring his words. “Do you want sugar in yours?”

“Um…”

Your eyes dart helplessly between his as he pulls away and you struggle to un-fluster yourself enough to answer his simple question. Spencer seems to delight in this. The longer it takes you, the bigger his perfect smile gets. 

“You took too long. You’re getting sugar.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” you plead later on the couch, for the third or fourth time, setting your mostly-empty mug on the coffee table. 

His eyebrows raise. 

“I’m sure, honey.”

“But I want to help,” you pout, pulling your knees into your chest. Spencer regards you for a moment from the other end of the couch, before beckoning you closer wordlessly. 

“You are helping,” he assures you, gently grabbing your wrist as you crawl into his lap. He rubs soothing circles into the delicate skin with his thumb. “You being here and being you is plenty.”

It’s the closest you’ve been to him since before he left, and while you’ve all but given up on asking him to sleep with you, it doesn’t mean you don’t think about it multiple times per day. It’s especially difficult to keep your thoughts PG when you haven’t seen him in a week, and his hair is all messy, and he’s got his pajamas on, and you’re in his lap, and he’s looking at you like that. 

“What are you thinking about?” Spencer murmurs, likely concerned by your lack of response and the glazed-over look in your eyes. You reanimate, averting your gaze to the spot on your thigh he’s now rubbing absentmindedly. 

“Nothing. I just missed you.”

“I missed you a lot, too.” You don’t even have to look up to know that his brows have twisted into a pleasant sort of bemusement, like you are a particularly complex puzzle—you can hear it as he continues speaking. “I’m still not used to having something external take up so much of my attention while I’m trying to do my job. I’ve never had that before. Not something good, anyway. It’s like every time I leave, I’m thinking about you more than the time before. And I was already thinking about you a lot.”

The corner of your mouth twitches as he rambles. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,” he chuckles. “You prove to be incredibly distracting even when you’re hundreds of miles away. Do you know how many nights I almost called you before realizing it was one in the morning?”

A slow smile spreads over your face. 

“Oh? Whatever could you have been calling about at one in the morning?”

You’re teasing him, and it works. He blushes adorably. 

“Um… probably exactly what you’d expect. In hindsight I think it’s best that I refrained.”

“What?” You grin, incredulous, forgetting your shyness and leaning closer. “You totally should’ve. I’ve never had phone sex before. I would’ve done it.”

“No, you wouldn’t!” Spencer laughs. “It would have just been me talking to myself with you on the other line. I don’t think phone sex is really up your alley.”

“Shut up,” you laugh as your lips meet. He smiles into the kiss. Before you get too lost in it, you pull away, leaning back when he tries to follow you. “I think you’re over-complicating it. It’s just dirty talk, right? I can totally do that. It’s just, like… blah blah blah, dirty slut, something something…”

You trail off as he gives you a look. Poker faced—aside from the slightly narrowed eyes sparkling with humor. 

“You want me to refer to you as a dirty slut?”

Maintaining eye contact is an uphill battle—you crack in a matter of seconds, resting your forehead against his and closing your eyes stubbornly. 

“No. For all you know I want to call you a dirty slut.”

It’s ridiculous, but he recognizes the bravado for what it is, still smiling slightly as he rubs your hips. 

“Right. I apologize for assuming. But just for future reference, I don’t want to be called that, and I don’t think I’d be comfortable calling you that, either.”

“But you can call me other stuff,” you remind your boyfriend, pulling back and still not looking at him. 

“Yeah? Like what?”

And just like that, you’re shy again. 

“I don’t know… nice things. I like when you’re nice.”

“I like being nice to you.” It’s so sincere-sounding that you meet his gaze, examining his face. His eyes are clear and soft on you, the only source of warm light on such a grey day, as his hands keep running slow lines over your sides. “Kiss?”

And how could you ever deny him anything? 

As has happened before, the kiss starts out innocent enough. And it’s not that it gets particularly heated, or anything—it’s just that it doesn’t end, and after a few moments your mouth slips open and so does his and that’swhat gets both of you worked up over a period of minutes. Pressure and heat that you’re becoming accustomed to build between your legs, and you don’t even notice that you’ve begun rocking back and forth in his lap until Spencer is attempting to still your hips with patient but assertive hands. 

“Honey, that’s—slow down, sweetheart.”

Finally he gets a grip on you and you realize as soon as you stop moving that there had been friction occurring—and you’re pretty damn sure you know what you were grinding against. 

Your whole body feels hot with arousal and embarrassment. 

“Oh my god—I’m sorry,” you mumble, moving your hands from his shoulders to cover your face. “That was an accident, I—”

“It’s fine,” Spencer assures you, squeezing your waist gently. “I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing because I know we haven’t… gotten there, yet.”

A moment passes—your hands fall to the FBI stitching across his chest, studying the letters without really seeing them. You haven’t gotten there yet… but why not? Why haven’t you touched him, or even seen him? You think back to the few times he’s touched you and realize that you had been too busy with either your own insecurities or pleasure to genuinely consider how it might be affecting him. He says your name gently, drawing your attention. 

“You okay?”

You nod haltingly, brow furrowed as you think. 

“I—yeah. I was just realizing that I haven’t, like… touched you, yet.”

It’s silent for another long second, and you glance up, to where he’s studying you with a dissonant kind of relaxed scrutiny—a knowing confidence that probably comes with a lot more experience than you have. 

“Do you want to?”

Woah. 

Usually you have to beg on hands and knees and prepare a slideshow presentation before he agrees to doing anything sexual in nature. He’s never so overtly invited or initiated it before. Not that you’re complaining by any stretch of the imagination.  

You nod shyly, still fiddling with the fabric of his shirt. 

“If you want to, I can show you how. But it’s also absolutely okay if you don’t.”

Show you how? 

Your brain is melting into sludge at the idea. 

“I do,” you admit, meeting his gaze again. It’s kind, and you know he really wouldn’t be upset if you said no—but now that you’ve thought about it, you feel deeply compelled to try. 

“Okay. Come here, first.” You lean forward expectantly, eyes fluttering shut as his hand finds the back of your neck and he pulls you into another soft kiss. By the time your lips separate again, your head is spinning. “We’re just trying something, okay? You’re allowed to stop whenever you feel like it. Really low stakes. Got it?”

You nod, still close enough that your noses brush as you do. 

“Got it.”

He presses one more chaste kiss to your lips before pulling away and leaning back into the couch. 

“Scoot back a little, angel.”

Wordlessly you do so, heart pounding with nervous excitement as he lifts his hips and slides his pajama pants down just enough to where he can comfortably pull himself out, and—

Your breath catches. 

Now, you may be about as virginal as they come, but you weren’t born yesterday. You’ve seen porn, you’ve received unsolicited nudes—it is the 21st century. Yet never before have you thought to yourself; wow, that dick is the pinnacle of beauty. Perfect. Breathtaking. But there’s just no other way to describe him. 

So that’s what hits you first—how unexpectedly pretty it is. 

The size sinks in a quick second later. 

You can’t tell with perfect accuracy how many inches he is, but you’re pretty damn sure he’s big. That’s meant to fit inside of you?

No, no—that’s a consideration for another day. Right now you need to stop staring like an idiot. You glance up at his face, and he’s sporting a cocky little half-smile which lets you know you’ve been caught. Motherfucker he’s so hot. It’s unnerving. 

“Do you have something you’d like to say?” he asks politely, quite obviously containing his amusement. But you can’t summon a sufficiently sarcastic response. 

Your voice comes so soft when you reply, “you’re pretty.”

Spencer melts, eyes impossibly softening. 

“Pretty?” His smile is earnest now. He strokes your cheek and you can’t not lean into his touch. 

“Mhm. I want to, um…” your lips twist to the side as you look back down, finding he’s not gotten less intimidating since you last checked. “But what if I’m bad at it?” you whisper. He chuckles, brushing hair over your shoulder.  

“It’s kind of a hard thing to be bad at. And I’m gonna help you, okay?”

It’s the honesty with which he speaks to you that makes you feel so safe. There are no hidden intentions or words that seem to mean one thing but really mean another. Spencer wants you as a person more than he wants you as a body and that’s been clear since the first time he touched you. You take a deep breath. 

“Okay. What do I do?”

“First, you’re gonna spit in your hand.”

You look up, alarmed. 

“You want me to intentionally get my spit on you? Is that not your worst nightmare?”

“Believe it or not, I’m not super worried about yours,” he teases. “But if you’d prefer, I can spit in your hand.”

“Actually, mine is fine,” you laugh nervously. 

Hesitantly, you do as instructed, even though it seems frankly bizarre. 

“Good. Now just wrap your hand around it, like this.” His voice is quiet, focused as he guides your hand downward. Your heart rate ticks up again as he encourages you to wrap your hand around the base of his cock. He feels much warmer than you’d expected—his skin is silken beneath your touch but he’s undeniably hard and that sort of eliminates any sense of him being fragile from the equation. 

“It’s gonna be less sensitive down here—and then, up here—” he slides your hand back up, covering your thumb with his own and swiping it just below the head of his cock on the underside. He hisses and you look up in fascination. “That’s the most sensitive part.”

Without further instruction, you do it again, keeping your touch light and watching his face for a reaction. His drawn brows twitch, furrowing deeper for a second, and his lips part. A heavy exhalation passes between them and quickly builds into a breathy laugh. 

“What?” you murmur, over-eager to please and very nervous to do something wrong. 

“Nothing. Just feels good, that’s all.”

“Don’t laugh,” you pout. Of course that makes him laugh again, and he leans forward to kiss your head. 

“I’m laughing at myself, angel. I’m a grown man fighting for my life from a handjob that you’ve barely started. I knew it would be different with you but I didn’t realize it would be this different.”

Heat rises in your cheeks and you look away. 

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”

“I’m not lying,” he urges, grabbing your free hand and encouraging you to uncurl your fingers. His thumb traces circles in your open palm, before capturing your entire hand in his. “Do you feel how much softer your hand is than mine?”

You frown, attempting to feel whatever it is that he’s pointing out. Despite the fact that you think he has very nice hands, you realize he’s right. By no means would you say that they’re rough, but you can tell where his gun normally sits in his hands, where his fountain pen rubs against his fingers. “Yeah.”

“Yeah. Anything you do is going to be perfect because it’s you.”

Spencer drops his hand to your leg, rubbing it soothingly. The other moves to cover yours—the one wrapped around him. 

“You’re gonna help me, right?” you ask quietly. Some adventurous part of you is very excited about this as an experiment—fascinated by the reactions you’ve already gotten from him and eager to push it. 

“I am. Little bit tighter, honey. I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

You do as you’re told, and he’s murmuring more praise—slowly encouraging you to begin moving your hand with his own. A shaky exhale catches your attention, drawing your gaze to his face. His eyes are, of course, cast downward, but his expression is hypnotizing. Those lips remain slightly parted, and suddenly you wonder if he makes noises like you do. In that moment it becomes your life’s mission to find out. 

For a while you continue letting his hand guide your movements, but he keeps things so slow for your sake that you’re getting impatient. You forgo his direction, picking up the pace but trying to keep the rhythm he’d instilled in the motion. His hand slackens around yours. 

“Fuck,” he hisses to himself. The hand on your thigh rubs achingly deeper into the flesh. “Angel, what are you doing?”

“I want it to feel good.” Suddenly shy again, you slow down. His hips stutter, which you think may be a sign that it was working. “Am I—was that bad?” Spencer looses a breath, looking almost… frustrated?

“No, I’m just—I’m weirdly close to coming.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“Well,” he mutters, “not usually. Mostly it’s embarrassing.”

You giggle, a release of some tension, and begin pumping your hand again. His breath hitches and he finally looks up at you, meeting your eyes with his own lust-glazed ones. Heat pools deep between your legs. 

“I want you to come,” you admit quietly as you twist your wrist, brushing that spot underneath the head of his cock again. His jaw literally drops, and a look that is part confusion, part pleasure, twists his features. You see the surprise sparkling in his eyes and it only spurs you to keep talking. “I’ve never seen how you look when you do, but I’ve imagined it. I bet you look so pretty when you come, Spencer. ‘Nd then I would know that I can make you feel good, too.”

“You… you are making me feel good,” he assures you. The way his brow furrows and his  lips are parted give you a feeling that’s entirely new. Normally, you’re the one falling apart under his touch—but when it’s the other way around there’s a whole new kind of pleasure in it for you. You feel kind of powerful. Maybe even close to confident. 

“Really? I’m not this quiet when you touch me.”

“I’ve ha—ah—had more practice not making noise.”

“But why?” you implore, ignoring the fact that he’s slept with other women and enjoyed the sounds they made, and opting to brush your thumb across that extra sensitive part he definitely shouldn’t have told you about. His hips buck up and he hisses, which is immensely gratifying to you. 

“Because I like to listen.”

“What if I do, too?”

In a moment of divine inspiration , you cover the tip of his cock with your hand, swirling beads of pre-come over your palm. Spencer moans and his hips jut up into your grip. It’s a beautiful sound, just as you’d hoped. 

“Jesus, fuck.”

You understand why he seems to enjoy touching you so much. It’s so rewarding to watch as his breathing picks up and pleasure contorts his face—to watch him get messier and messier and lose his composure a bit more with each stroke of your hand. It’s so simple but Spencer looks at you like you’re exercising some arcane deviant power over him and he’s not sure he should be enjoying it as much as he is. 

Distantly you think about how it felt when he had his hands on you—and then, in clearer focus, how it felt when he went down on you. Both were perfect, but something about his lips so gentle on the most intimate, vulnerable part of you had felt like ascension. Maybe it was the emotional component, or maybe it just felt fucking good. Regardless, it seems an irresistible thought. 

You keep stroking him until his head is lolling on the back of the couch as he groans.

“Spencer?”

“Yeah, baby?”

He sounds so destroyed it makes you clench around nothing. Without any indication that you’re going to do so, you stop touching him, and the speed with which he lifts his head again is almost comical. Immediately, while he’s utterly defenseless and desperate, you ask, “can I use my mouth?” 

His eyes widen, and then shut, as he processes your request with a tiny shake of his head—probably trying to clear the haze of pleasure from his mind before he answers. 

“Honey,” he rasps eventually, opening his eyes and smoothing a hand over your hair, “you don’t have to do that just because I do. That’s not why I do it.”

“But I want to,” you murmur, shy and mildly embarrassed by what feels almost like a soft rejection. “I don’t think I could do anything, like, mind-blowing, but… I want to try.”

Your face is hot by the end of the sentence, and you can’t meet Spencer’s eyes as his fingers twitch over your hip. A quiet moment passes—but it’s short-lived.

“Okay. Go ahead, baby.”

Wide eyes dart up to his. 

“Really?”

Spencer smiles fondly, brushing an invisible speck from your cheek. 

“I don’t think I’m capable of turning that offer down. Not when it’s you.”

“Okay—um, should I just—” Spencer watches on, finding your sudden enthusiasm completely adorable as you scoot off of his lap and gingerly kneel in front of him. Your eyes are big and glassy as you look up at him, hands set politely on his knees. You squint suspiciously, eyes darting between his face and his cock, now about as hard as it’s ever been due to your toying. He knows it’s probably intimidating for a girl who has never seen one in real life, and he feels kind of bad about it. You do terrible, wonderful things to him that he doesn’t understand. “Wow. So... it looks bigger from down here.”

“Please don’t try to choke yourself,” he instructs hurriedly, leaning forward slightly. “I really don’t need you to do that. It’s fine if you can’t fit it all, I just—” he exhales shakily. Spencer is most definitely strong-willed but he can’t pretend like the sight of you on your knees for him, inches from his aching cock for the first time isn’t impacting his cognition. Most importantly he doesn’t want to make you feel pressured. He’s trying to not let how badly he wants this show in case you change your mind. 

Spencer watches as you psych yourself out—wilting like a thirsty flower. 

“But what if I’m bad at this?” you mumble, hands curling into loose fists atop his legs. Spencer pushes your hair back, tucking it behind your ears. 

“What’s your worst case scenario?” he asks. Your answer is immediate. 

“That I’m so bad you make me stop halfway through.”

Spencer can’t help but laugh again. 

“I’m sorry—I just… honey, you are really underestimating how profound your effect is on me. I just almost came from a minute long handjob. I can assure you that I won’t make you stop halfway through because I’d rather not have your mouth on me. That is… that’s just not going to happen.”

You lean your cheek against his thigh. He might actually pass away. 

“Will you tell me if I’m doing something wrong?”

“Honestly, as long as you don’t bite, you’re in the clear.”

Your eyes squeeze shut and your lips pull into an embarrassed little smile. 

“Great. Thank you for that invaluable advice.”

“Of course,” he smiles. It fades slowly as you take a deep breath and look up at him, obviously steeling yourself, before leaning forward and taking him in your hand again. He watches with bated breath, repeating no sudden movements to himself over and over as your hand moves up and down a few more times and your head lowers. 

You delicately, so lightly trace your tongue from the base of his swollen cock to just underneath the leaking tip, mapping a vein, and his hips buck as you take him into your mouth experimentally. Only the first few inches fit but the sight of your lips wrapped around him, the way you’re looking at him is so unbelievably erotic Spencer knows he won’t last very long.

From a purely technical perspective—he knows he’s gotten objectively better head. Still, something about the way you’re so delicate with him, so soft and timid in the way you lick and kiss and take him into your mouth has him fighting not to come already. Maybe it’s wrong, but knowing that he’s watching you do this for the first time in your life is obscenely arousing. The idea that you’ve never trusted another person this much; that you’re letting him be the one to help you navigate something as new and as important as sexuality. The more he thinks about it, though, the more he realizes: it’s not your inexperience that turns him on. It’s just you. Everything you do is so undeniably you—he recognizes your mannerisms in every tiny motion, in every glance, and it’s killing him. You’re like a dream as you look up at him with big nervous eyes, (no, really, he has had this dream) and he remembers he wants to be reassuring you—not pondering life and human connection. 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, groaning and hips twitching as your cheeks hollow, wrapping his achingly hard cock in soft gentle warmth so sweetly it feels taboo. “So good, baby. So gorgeous like this.”

You whine around him, receptive as always to his obsequious praise, and he notices the way your hips wiggle as you seek friction. God, you must like this a lot. Spencer gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail, resting his hand on your head as you begin to bob it. That, he wasn’t prepared for. He’d have been satisfied with just kitten-licks and suckling but he won’t complain about this. It’s slow, and so intentional as you keep watching him for feedback cues. Ever his observant girl, you’re constantly paying attention. Aware of his reactions. He needs to keep telling you you’re good or else you’ll assume you’re terrible. 

“Over-achiever,” he whispers through a little smile as you down even more of him. 

Spencer is for the most part a kind and gentle person. For better or worse he is also a man, and he can’t help but fantasize about getting you all teary and drooly as he holds your mouth open and sees how much of his cock he can push down your throat. But again—kind. Gentle. So when you get a little over-zealous, attempting to sacrifice your comfort for his pleasure, he pulls your head back slightly. “That’s far enough, angel. That’s—fuck. God, you’re good at this.” The words are thoughtless, muttered to himself more than you as he watches through a haze while you look up at him with glassy, half-lidded eyes, slipping him in and out of your warm mouth, a little faster now as you gain confidence. 

You whine desperately around him, like you’re the one nearing orgasm and not him. The sound of your pleasure as you suck his cock makes him dizzy. His hips buck, pressing him a little deeper into your mouth. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he exhales. “Slow down, baby. I’m—” a louder moan from him like you’ve never heard as he thrusts shallowly turns you on profoundly. He’s so much more vocal than you’d have imagined—sonically and verbally. He breathes out a quick, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” pulling your hair slightly, and you’ve never wanted to touch yourself more but you know you can’t focus on both. Instead you work on making him come—you can worry about you later. He says your name, with an authoritative edge to his tone that makes you throb. “Honey, if you don’t stop, I’m gonna come—”

You swirl your tongue around the top of him like candy and he’s done for. Spencer tries to pull out, which only results in cum both in your mouth and on your face. The orgasm is his strongest in recent memory, and he grunts, watching your lips part and a little squeak escape as he comes all over your face—but you keep stroking him all the while. Once he’s 90% sure it’s over, he falls against the back of the couch, breathing heavily and looking down at you through hazy eyes. Oh, he’s going to feel terrible about this in a few seconds—but right now you look fucking perfect. Your eyes are wide, nervous as his essence drips over your face and down your neck—he groans when you swallow cautiously, averting his eyes to the ceiling lest he do another thing he regrets. 

“Baby, I am so sorry,” he mutters, forcibly clearing the haze of orgasm from his mind and sitting up, fixing his pants and looking around before locating the box of tissues on the side table. “I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” You look up at him attentively as he wipes himself from your face as gently as he can. 

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t ask you first. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

Spencer guides your head around by your chin, wiping your jaw and lips. 

“It’s okay, Spence, I—”

“No, it’s not,” he cuts you off, trying to at least turn his guilt into a learning experience for you. He’s not deluded enough to think someone like you will stay with someone like him forever, because sometimes he does things like that, and he’s reminded that there are certainly people out there more deserving of you. At the very least he can clarify that nobody should ever do what he just did to you. “It’s really not nice to do that to someone.”

“Do you care what I think at all?”

Spencer freezes, finally forcing himself to look you in the eye. Despite the fact that he’s mad at himself, he’s sure it’s coming across as being directed at you. And he knows you’re sensitive, especially about this kind of thing. 

“Of course, I do, baby. I’m sorry. Do you want to come back up here with me and tell me what you’re thinking?” he murmurs, cupping your jaw. Hesitantly you nod. The tissues end up on the table—which he will be thoroughlywiping down later—before you crawl back into his lap from the floor. Spencer helps you settle against him, hoping he hasn’t messed this up irreversibly. He keeps his voice quiet as he rubs your leg. “What were you going to say?”

“I was going to say,” you begin, “that it’s fine, because you’ll remember to ask next time. And because… I kind of liked it. I like when—when you do stuff like that.”

It’s a miracle he can hear you with the way your voice drops into an almost-whisper and you’re hiding against his shirt. 

“Like what?” he murmurs. Although he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle the answer. 

“Like… I don’t know. Like you can do whatever you want to me. Like I’m literally yours.” Each word makes you cringe further, but Spencer has to try hard to maintain a cool facade as he processes this. If he’s going to try and be chivalrous, you’ll have to move away from this topic—this revelation—immediately. Thankfully, you seem eager to move on. “So… how did I do?”

He almost laughs. It seems exceedingly obvious how you did, but as per usual, you require verbal reassurance. 

“That was really good, baby. You did well.”

You blossom. 

“Really?”

“I wouldn’t lie.”

“Was I the best girl out of all of the other girls?” 

I wasn’t in love with any of the other girls. 

Just barely, he manages to stop himself from saying it, pinwheeling his arms on the edge of a very steep verbal cliff. The realization that he’s been in love with you for a while hits him like a truck. But he can’t tell you that right now. He should wait until you’re less vulnerable.

Fuck. 

He really wants to tell you right now. 

“Actually—don’t answer that,” you decide, while all of this happens in his head in less than a few seconds. “I want to go back to pretending I’m the only girl you’ve ever seen in your life.”

“You’re the only one that matters,” he offers, relieved to express at least some portion of the much bigger truth. Then he frowns. “Not that the other women I’ve met don’t lead important lives. I actually know a lot of incredibly influential and intelligent people who are women. I have deep respect for all of them. Am I helping or making it worse?” he rambles. You giggle. He has his answer. “What about you? How do you feel?” he asks after a moment, tenderly, lowly, stroking your hair as you lean against his chest. 

It takes you a moment to deliberate, fiddling with the fabric of his shirt. 

“I feel good. I, um… liked it a lot more than I would have thought.”

“Well, that’s good. Much better than if you had hated every second of it.”

You hum in agreement, and he waits for you to say whatever you’re holding back. It comes sooner than he’d have anticipated. 

“I feel bad about the times before. How did you just… go to sleep after? Were you not, like—insanely turned on? Not that I’m, like, irresistibly sexy, or whatever—you know what I mean.”

Spencer smiles because he knows you can’t see him. 

“I wasn’t doing it to pressure you into feeling obligated to reciprocate, I guess. My line of reasoning was that it would be less intimidating if I didn’t even present it as an option until you wanted to try.”

“Oh.”

Spencer thinks he sees where this is going. 

“Why?” he asks, leaning back and encouraging you to look at him. “Are you insanely turned on?”

“Wh—that’s—I didn’t say that!”

Spencer can feel how warm your cheeks are as he presses his lips to the side of your face. 

“You can tell me if you are,” he murmurs, all smiley as he moves to kiss your lips. “If you want something, you need to ask for it. I’m not a mind reader.”

“Yes you are,” you grumble. “That’s literally what behavioral analysis is.”

Not quite true, but surprisingly, he doesn’t feel the need to explain to you the semantics of what he does for work right now. 

“What got you all excited?”

“You know what,” you mumble, trying to look away again. Spencer doesn’t allow it this time, gently grabbing your jaw. 

“Yes, I do. But I want you to tell me. If you want me to make you feel good, this is how you’re going to convince me that you deserve it.”

You whine wordlessly, looking at him with those big, lust-glazed eyes.

“You wanted me to teach you how to use your words, right? This is it. I’m giving you an opportunity. If you don’t want to, that’s okay. Maybe we can take a nap, like you said earlier.”

“No! I liked—um, I liked all of it. I didn’t know if I would, because I was really nervous. But when I first—you know—and you got all quiet… it was like you couldn’t even talk for a minute. I was kind of proud of that. Because normally nobody can ever get you to stop talking.” Spencer narrows his eyes incredulously, a small smile tugging at his lips. But he doesn’t interrupt—not when it seems you’re finally starting to get more confident in your words. “And I really liked the noises you made. I think that was my favorite part. I liked when you pulled my hair back, and how you spoke to me. And when… when you got me messy and I had to swallow it. I really liked how it felt because I couldn’t think of anything else, just making you feel good. I really wanted to… make you proud, I guess. Is that weird?”

Spencer shakes his head no, a fond smile on his face when your eyes meet his again. 

“No. It’s a pretty normal thing to feel when you’re nervous and wanting to impress someone you care about. And I would have been proud no matter what, for the record. You were being very brave.”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, watching him expectantly. Spencer should have known you’re too needy to truly absorb anything he says to you right now. Which is actually pretty cute. Everything you do is endearing to him. 

“Stand up.”

You frown. 

“But—”

“Just stand up,” he demands calmly, preferring to think of himself as firm and not bossy. 

You do, looking rather annoyed and confused as you plant yourself in front of him. 

“Why?”

“You are so full of questions.” His hands slip up the side of your legs, under your skirt, and hook in the waistband of your underwear. Spencer looks up at you meaningfully and you nod, swallowing. 

As he pulls down, Spencer can literally feel the resistance of the fabric clinging to your soaked core. Under his touch the skin of your thighs is warm and soft. He wants to feel it on either side of his face, he wants to hear you whine as his stubble rubs against it, he wants to feel it clamp around his wrist, he wants it between his teeth and he definitely wants it pressing against his hips as he—

But no. 

There will be time for all of those things—especially the last one—later. For now, he’ll reach between your legs just to see—

“Oh, my god,” Spencer half-chuckles, half-groans, upon feeling how wet you truly are for him. He drags his knuckles from your dripping entrance up over your clit, pinching very lightly and earning a squeak from you which he ignores. “You really did like having your mouth full of me, huh?”

“I told you,” you breathe, visibly relaxing some as he continues to play with you for a moment. Then he pulls his hand away again, patting his thigh. 

“Sit.”

“You want me to…”

“Yes,” he says, simply. 

“But is it not going to… am I not going to mess up your pants?”

“You are even more neurotic about messiness than I am. I can wash them, honey. Come here.”

Spencer guides your hips over his thigh, watching your pretty face twist with uncertainty as you fully settle on him. Fuck, he can feel your warmth through the fabric instantly. Already he’s getting hard again. 

“What am I supposed to do?” you whisper, bunching his shirt in your fists. Spencer slides your skirt up higher, revealing the way you’re nestled against his thigh. He spreads you a little further apart, exposing more of your clit to the material underneath you. Immediately you press against him—he watches the delicate flesh rubbing gingerly against him and  his grip tightens ever so slightly. 

“All you have to do is rock back and forth. It’s easy.”

Already you’re starting to do it—but he guesses it’s like earlier where you don’t even realize it’s happening. 

“But… I wanted your mouth,” you admit, quietly, slinging your arms around his neck and burying your face there. 

“Do this for me first. Just get yourself off like this one time and then you can have my mouth. You said you wanted to help me feel better because I’m tired today, right?

“Yes,” you mumble, squirming over him. 

“Well, there are a lot of days when I get back home and I’m tired. I’m gonna need you to be able to get on top of me, just like this, and make me feel better. And I know you don’t know what it feels like to have something that deep inside of you yet, but it’s gonna be a lot. Even once you know how it feels to have me inside when you’re underneath me. I need you to practice for me right now so you’ll be ready, okay?”

You could come from the words alone. You nod, dazed with need as you roll your hips in a circle, pressing his thigh against your clit. 

“Back and forth, baby,” he murmurs, guiding your hips forward with his hands locked around them. “Back and forth, just like this…”

You moan quietly, shamelessly, eyes fluttering as you look down and watch your clit dragging over the darkening fabric. It’s easier if you isolate your hips, grinding down without moving your legs or upper body at all. 

“It feels really good,” you whisper under your quickening breath. 

“Yeah? Does it?”

“Mhm.”

“Good, angel. You look like you know what you’re doing.”

It’s audible now, quiet and wet and dirty. 

“I don’t,” you breathe. He sucks in a breath of his own, stilling your hips with fingers pressed deep into your flesh. 

“Sit up, baby.” You really wish he would stop making you stop, but you don’t want to keep going in case he needs you to quit—so you rise slowly, thighs trembling as you kneel. Spencer groans at the strings of your arousal momentarily connecting your core to his pants before they snap, getting your inner thighs wet. There’s a dark, very wet patch over his thigh, shining like glass. He thumbs over your slick clit absentmindedly as he looks up at you like you’re a miracle. “You’re fucking soaked. I’ve never seen you like this. Is this all from making me come?”

You nod feverishly, hips grinding against nothing in search of friction. He sits you back down on his leg, allowing you to sloppily find your rhythm again. Spencer bounces his leg lightly and you cry out softly, buckling forward. His arms wrap around you, still pressing you down against his thigh as you rut against it. 

“You’re sweet. Maybe I should have known how much you’d like it when I came all over your pretty face. You really like hearing that you did a good job, huh? I bet you like it even more when I prove it to you.”

You moan a “yeah,” barely processing his words. 

“My good girl even swallowed on her first try. Took it so well. And now look at how you’re taking this. You’re gonna love riding, baby. Just going to be another thing you’re good at as soon as you try it.”

“Spencer,” you gasp, overwhelmed by the praise. He’s bouncing his leg at regular intervals and everything is so sensitive.

“I know it’s harder to finish this way, but just one time, remember? And then you can have my tongue for as long as you want. You are my only plan for the day. Just give me one like this.”

But it’s not really harder to finish this way. Then again, you’re so turned on you could probably finish if a breeze hit you just right. Regardless, the thought of him going down on you again pushes you even closer to the edge.

You don’t know how much time goes by like that, you rubbing against him like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do, him pressing up into you until the pressure is so taut it snaps. There’s no time to warn him, but you suppose you don’t really need to. You writhe against him, caught between wanting to keep going and not being able to take more stimulation. He lifts you up just slightly, trying to separate you from his leg. You exhale deeply as your body relaxes, already close to dozing off against his chest.

“We can’t have you tapping out just yet. I still have to fulfill my end of the deal.”

In the end, he fulfills it three times over, and you end up showing your appreciation in kind one more time—much slower and more comfortably in his bed. He gives you plenty of time to learn what he likes, taking your teasing and coquettish explorations like a champ and never so much as tightening his grip in your hair. Turns out, you don't exactly spend the day doing nothing.

And you do end up taking that nap after all. Just... much, much later. And with less clothing on.

-

part 3.5

[selfcarecap]

Lip Gloss [A.D.]

Art Donaldson x reader (x Patrick Zweig)

summary: Art loves when you kiss him while wearing lip gloss and it gets all over his own lips. What he loves even more is when you get on your knees for him and he ends up with lip gloss stains all over another certain body part of his.

warnings: smut 18+ (oral m receiving, fingering f receiving, handjob, reader and Art have sex next to Patrick who is asleep but they have permission, submissive-ish!Art, a bit of voyeurism from Patrick – he doesn’t ask but for the sake of this fic we’re assuming consent bc it’s fictional, m masturbation, spitting, cum eating, pet names: good boy, baby, reader says Art is ‘wet like a girl’), feminine Art (so dare I say canon Art🙂‍↕️) or at least he likes lip gloss lol, Art and Patrick are college roommates – attraction heavily implied between all three of them but only Art and reader are in a relationship, this was supposed to just be a drabble lol there’s no plot just porn, also i’m kinda intimidated by the challengers fandom lol idk but anyway here's my first challengers fic sddslkh <3

word count: 3.4k | gorgeous divider by @dollywons

When you first start dating Art, you always apologise for wearing lipgloss when you’re kissing him. You always wipe it off his lips after a kiss, pulling your sleeves over your hands to get it off his mouth. You’ve heard that guys don’t like it, but you like wearing lipgloss and Art has never complained. 

When you get more comfortable around him, you don’t always wipe the gloss off his lips, letting him do it himself. But he only does it because he feels like it’s what he’s supposed to do. Guys aren’t supposed to like the feeling of lip gloss. He’s probably supposed to tell you it’s annoying and ask you to stop wearing lip gloss, at least when you’re with him. 

But he doesn’t want to control you, and he doesn’t want you to stop wearing lip gloss. He just wants you to stop apologising for it.

“You don’t have to say sorry,” he tells you every time with a smile, but you still do it. 

“I know it’s sticky. I won’t put any more on tonight, don’t worry.” Art stops himself from pouting at your words. 

And yes, Art once applied the lip gloss that you left on his nightstand. He was missing you and the lip gloss was the closest thing to you that he had. He ran into the bathroom when Patrick came home, wiping it off furiously before his best friend could see. 

He likes keeping a shirt of yours at his place so that he can smell you even when you’re not there, but what he likes even more is to apply your lip gloss. It’s just a thin layer, but it makes him feel like he’s been freshly kissed by you. There’s nothing wrong with that, and there’s definitely no reason he does it other than to feel closer to you. 

-

You’re getting ready for the birthday of a friend one night. You’ll be going to a bar for a bit, nothing big. But you’re doing your make-up on Art’s bed with him sitting behind you, hands on your hips. 

“You look so pretty.” 

He says those words for every step of your routine. He wants you to know how beautiful you are no matter how much or how little make-up you’re wearing, even if it’s cheesy. Art grins when you show him the finished look, and his eyes stay stuck on your glossy lips, tinted a dark pink, almost red colour. 

He knows you can’t resist it when he looks at you like that, he never can when it’s the other way around either, so you press a kiss to his lips. Art knows that you’ll be wiping the sticky gloss off as soon as the kiss is over, so he deepens it to keep the feeling of lip gloss on him, even though Patrick is sitting in the bed right next to you. 

Knowing him, he’s probably staring and enjoying it; Art wouldn’t be surprised if he heard the sound of Patrick’s phone camera going off. 

You smile against Art as you part your lips for him, trying but not quite managing to bring yourself to stop kissing him yet. You have to physically take Art’s chin between your fingers and push his face away from you to stop. And yet, you give in again immediately, peppering his face in kisses before you pull away for good. 

You give Patrick an apologetic smile, even though you both know he doesn’t mind you and Art making out next to him. By the time you look back at Art, he’s already wiping at the lip gloss stains all over his face. Your cheeks heat up when you realise how many marks you’ve made on him. You forgot you put on a darker and more pigmented lip gloss than normal. 

“Wait,” you giggle, pulling away Art’s hand that’s already trying to wipe the sticky gloss away, “I’ll bring you a wipe.” 

“Doesn’t he look pretty like that?” Patrick comments before you have a chance to get up. Art throws a pillow at him. 

You look between them, at Art’s face littered with shiny, sticky stains. His lips are especially dark and shiny, as if you just put some lip gloss right on there, albeit a bit messily. 

“Of course he’s pretty like this,” you say, not looking away from Art.

 “Then just leave him like that, he likes it.”

“I don’t,” Art defends much too fast, and Patrick laughs. Art reaches for his pillow to throw at Patrick but remembers he already did. He’s about to stand up to go to the bathroom and get a stupid wipe himself, but you grip his t-shirt and he sits back down. 

“It’s okay if you like it, baby. It’s hot that you do,” you try to whisper the last part, and pull him in by his t-shirt to kiss him again, “Let me clean you up, and I’ll put some lip gloss on you properly.” 

“Only cause you think it’s hot,” Art calls after you weakly. 

Patrick laughs again. 

“Shut up.”

Art shyly tries to catch a glimpse of his face in the mirror. 

You sit back down in front of him, gently cleaning his face. You hold out the lip gloss afterwards, placing a hand on his face to apply it, the wet pop sounding when you undo the lid. 

“Wait,” Art leans back abruptly, as if you’re about to hurt him, “I want it from your lips.” 

You huff, smiling at him. You apply some more lipgloss to your own lips, taking your boyfriend’s face to give him a kiss to his pursed lips. You apply more and kiss him again. You both smile at the oddly innocent kiss – pursed lips against pursed lips. 

You wipe away the excess over Art’s cupid’s bow, grinning at his shiny, sticky lips. 

“You look so pretty, baby,” you tell your boyfriend, and he blushes. 

“Show me,” Patrick says, leaning forward to see Art from the front. Art turns his head away from his best friend, red up to the tips of his ears now. 

“Show him, baby,” you coax, reaching out for his chin to turn his head. You know Patrick likes to make jokes, but not when his best friend is like this – eyes like those of a puppy, genuinely embarrassed. 

It doesn’t have to mean anything, but Art has made it such a big deal in his head that he can’t like having your lipgloss on his lips that Patrick knows he needs encouragement right now. Patrick moves to sit at the edge of the bed to look at Art better. “Look at you, Artie, all pretty. Looks almost as good as on your girlfriend.” 

You roll your eyes – you should’ve known he can’t be fully serious. 

“You have to leave now, you’re already late,” Art reminds you, and you let him press another kiss to your lips. You’ll have to clean up the mess he’s made on your mouth on the way, but you don’t mind. You watch him enjoy the feeling of the sticky gloss on his lips a few more seconds before he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

You and Patrick share a look, rolling your eyes, and you blow a kiss to Art before you close the door.

 - 

You come back home early, before midnight. The birthday girl left to go see her boyfriend halfway through her own birthday party, so you’re back at Art and Patrick’s dorm. You’d be annoyed at your friend if you didn’t have your own boyfriend to go visit.

Patrick is already lightly snoring when Art opens the door for you – he’s in nothing but boxers – and you know what that means.  

Patrick has given you two permission to do whatever you want while he’s asleep, as long as you’re quiet. You’ve always wondered if it’s a tactic to secretly listen in on you and Art having sex, knowing that you would’ve otherwise never done it with him in the room. 

Art has a small light on next to his bed, and you join him on his mattress. A few leftover glitter particles sparkle on his lips, and you pull his face closer to yours. 

“Suits you so well, Artie. So pretty.” You swipe your finger over his bottom lip. He kisses it, stopping himself from smiling. He’s already looking at your lips, and you mentally pat yourself on the back for remembering to reapply your gloss just before you got here. 

You kiss him then, and Art licks into your mouth as if he’s been starved and waiting to eat you up since you left. You adjust your position to sit on top of him, and your knee grazes his lap. He’s already fully hard.

“Sorry.. couldn’ help myself. Pat fell asleep and I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“It’s okay, baby,” you grin, holding his jaw, “You want me to make it better? Want me to go down on you?”

Art nods distractedly, mumbling out, “please, baby. Need you”. Your thumb brushes the gloss on his lip, and Art opens his mouth. You pull your hand away before he can wrap his lips around your thumb, and you kiss him as a whine escapes his mouth, muffling his voice.

You press your lips against his until they’re coated in your shiny gloss, and then you slide a finger into his mouth. He sucks on it – pink, sparkly lips around your finger.

“You look so pretty. Should wear my lipgloss more often,” you tell him, and he turns his head away in fake-annoyance, your finger slipping out. You feel his hard cock against your leg again as he moves, and you pull at his chin to open his mouth.

Art moans as you messily push three of your fingers into his mouth to get them wet against his tongue. You pull them out and slide them down into the waistband of his boxers, and down the length of his cock.

You put your hand over his mouth before he has a chance to moan, and you nod towards Patrick. He’s asleep, his back to you, but it’s not going to take long for Art to wake him if he keeps being this loud.

You get up, and Art pulls his legs to the side of the bed as you sit down between them. He’s straining against his boxers, a tall tent pulling the fabric taut. You release Art’s cock, and it slaps against his abs. He’s glistening down his length from where you spread his spit on him, a small puddle of precum already at the tip. 

You giggle quietly, “So wet, baby. You’re wet like a girl.”

“Shut up,” he whispers back weakly, biting his lip to stop a smile from spreading over his face.

You kiss the wet tip, licking the precum, and begin to leave lip gloss stains all down his length.

“Feels so good, baby. You’re so good at this,” Art says not nearly quietly enough.

“Shh, baby. Don’t wanna wake Patrick up.”

Your boyfriend nods, but you don’t think he’s listening.

You take his dick into your mouth properly now, wet heat enveloping him as you take him deeper, and you look up to see how he bites his lip and lets nothing but a breath slip past his lips as he watches you.

“Good boy,” you whisper to him. He intertwines his fingers with yours by the side of his hip, and you look up to smile at him. You ignore how, when you look past Art for a split second, you can see Patrick clearly jerking his cock under the blanket, the movement of his arm making it obvious. 

You shake your head slightly, resisting the urge to roll your eyes at Art’s best friend, and you take your boyfriend deeper down your throat as your spit drips to his balls. Art looks down at you with such restraint on his face, it almost looks like he’s about to cry.

He manages not to make a sound when you suck his dick more eagerly, your lip gloss smeared over his cock as you jerk off what you can’t take past your lips. The only sound in the room is the wetness of your mouth and your spit around your boyfriend’s cock.

Art lets out a shaky breath as his abs contract, his hand squeezing yours, and you softly nod up at him, taking his cock as deep as you can. He whimpers pathetically when he spills his load down your throat, and you swallow it all as he keeps cumming and cumming in your mouth.

When you pull away, out of breath and with your lips wet, you take in the picture you created. Art’s cock is full of your lip gloss, his face shiny with a thin layer of sweat, his cheeks as red as the gloss you left on his lips earlier. You’re about to stand up and get a wipe to clean Art up, but he pulls his boxers back on.

He likes the glossy stains on his cock even more than the ones you leave on his lips. 

He pulls you up on the bed, lying you on your back. “Please can I go down on you?” he whispers, mouthing at your neck and down your chest, pulling your top down as much as the tight fabric allows, whining when he doesn’t get all the way down to your nipples.

As much as you want Art to eat your pussy, you won’t let him. He always gets messy and loud, moaning almost uncontrollably as he makes out with your wet pussy, and there is no way Patrick could pretend to sleep through that. 

If you thought Art was going to cry earlier from how good he felt, he reaches a new level of teariness now when you tell him no, eyes almost glassy.

“Tomorrow, okay? You can still use your fingers now.” Art looks at least somewhat assuaged at your offer, and lies down on his side next to you, unknowingly shielding you from Patrick. You don’t know if he came along with Art, or if he’s still jerking off, and that makes it even more exciting. 

You know Art would never cheat on you, but if you gave him permission to, and if he admitted his attraction, you’re sure he’d jump at the first opportunity to invite Patrick into bed with you two. You know Patrick feels the same. You like the thought of him listening in, making himself cum to the sound of his best friend and his girlfriend having sex.

“Here,” Art urges, holding a hand to your mouth, even though he knows you’ll be more than wet enough from giving him head. You spit into his open palm, and Art spits in too, the way he always does, liking the feeling of your combined warm wetness against his skin. 

Art reaches down your body and into your underwear, adding to the wetness. He rubs your clit in messy circles, kissing you even messier. You spread your legs for him more, but Art lets out a frustrated huff.

“Can I… want you naked,” he mumbles against your skin. Art watches with puppy eyes as you get up, taking off your tight top and grabbing your favourite oversized shirt of his instead, sliding off your trousers and panties only once you’ve put the shirt on.

“This is all you get.”

Art looks happy enough as you get back into bed with him, sliding a hand up your shirt now that he can comfortably get under the hem, and cups one of your tits.

“Can’t believe you’re mine,” Art says against your lips, hand moving back between your legs to play with your pussy, “So pretty.”

He circles your clit for a few moments before he pushes a finger inside while making out with you, remnants of his own cum still in your mouth, spit and gloss between you two as he continues to rub your clit.

“You’re the prettiest woman in the world,” he says, voice almost strained, and you realise he’s hard again, humping the mattress as well as he can while lying on his side, “Wish I was inside your pussy right now.”

You have to resist giving in to him – he’ll be insatiable the rest of the night if you let him fuck you even just for a few seconds – but you reach down to pull his cock free from his boxers, wrapping your hand around him.

“Can you focus if I’m doing this?” you ask pointedly, and Art nods eagerly.

“I’ll be good, I’ll be a good boy. I’ll make you cum,” he promises, slurring his words as your thumb swipes over the tip. But he’s not lying, he’s still fucking your pussy with his fingers. You’ve trained him well, so he knows what to do.

You can’t deny that you’re both getting loud now, if it’s not the moans you don’t quite manage to swallow down, then it’s the sound of your wet pussy and your slicked hand around Art’s cock.

You cum almost at the same time, Art rubbing your clit at just the right, albeit messy, intensity, and your thighs squeeze around his forearm when the orgasm flows through you, your own hand not stopping around Art’s cock. He’s breathing hard, reaching for the tissues on his headboard, but the tissue box topples over and falls against his shoulder and to the floor as he tries and fails to rip out a tissue.

“Here, I got you, baby,” you angle his cock to his abs, so that he won’t be spilling all over his own sheets, and you only have to jerk Art’s dick for a few more seconds before he’s shooting ropes of cum over his own skin. His abs glisten as his breath stutters, and he has to wrap his hand around yours to stop when he gets too sensitive.

“I love you so much,” Art huffs with a smile, and you kiss him briefly.

“I love you too.” You gather his cum off his abs, wiping it over your palm and holding it over his mouth. It drips and falls between Art’s parted lips. Art hums when you slip your fingers into his mouth, and he sucks the last drops of his load off them.

“Such a good boy,” you rub your thumb over his cheek, gazing at him in awe.

“I love you so much,” he tells you again, a soft smile on his face.

When you’re done and you look over, Patrick is back to quietly snoring, a freshly crumpled tissue by the side of his bed. You kiss Art before you can begin to smirk, and you briefly consider telling him. You decide it’s a conversation for another day. Art would definitely get hard again if he knew that Patrick was jerking off to you two doing it, and he’s already squeezed out two orgasms just now. You don’t need him that overstimulated tonight.

You remove your makeup and get one of the fresh pairs of panties Art bought for you to keep at his place. You walk back into the bedroom and find Art on his back, smiling at you all fucked out. 

You lie down with him, letting him cup one of your tits for comfort so that he can sleep better. You kiss his cheek and see that his lips are still shiny with glittery gloss. You decide not to offer to clean him up, now that you know he likes it like that. 

P.S. Thank you for reading <3 Reblog and comment for Art to come and kiss the gloss off your lips 🤭

[darkbluekies]

In the hands of a madman 2024 ver

Doctor!yandere oc x reader

Summary: a doctor is very peculiar about his favorite patient, and senses a threat once they disobey him.

Warnings: yandere, poison, murder, cuff restraints

Word count: 2.4k

You gag.

“Yes, yes, I know”, he coos, grimacing and removes the wooden stick out of your mouth. “I’m sorry.”

You're left with a bitter taste in your mouth. Why does he always stick that thing as far down your throat as humanly possible? You thank heavens that it’s not one of the needles extracting blood from your arm, although you’re sure that’s what’s waiting tomorrow.

“Still nothing?” you ask cautiously. 

He meets your eyes and you know immediately. You sigh heavily. Your heart sinks to your stomach. 

Every three months, he’s doing all sorts of tests to see if you’re getting better — or what’s what he’s saying. Every three months, Dr Kry has to check every vital sign on you to make sure that his sickness isn’t getting out of his control. But you don’t like them. They hurt. Badly.

“Will I ever get to go home? I want to.” 

Dr Kry sighs and sits down on his rolling stool, coming over to your bed.

“I know you do, but you that’s not possible”, he says apologetically. “You know that too.”

“Yeah, because you keep reminding me”, you mutter. 

“That’s better than giving you false hope, isn’t it? Wouldn’t that drive you insane?”

It would, but you don’t say it out loud. Doesn’t need to.

“I want to go home!” you say again, louder this time. 

“Saying it louder won’t make you better or me change my mind”, Dr Kry says. 

You sigh and press your palms to your eyes, trying to press the tears back into your eyes before they escape. You’ve been here for too long by now. You’ve been isolated for so incredibly long. ALl you want is to go home. You know no one, talk to no one beside him. The proper, sophisticated man who’s stiffer than a stick. Dr Kry sighs and moves closer. 

“I know that you’re disappointed”, he says and puts his large hand on your shoulder. “But this is for the best. “I don’t want you to get worse.”

“I hate these fucking tests! They hurt.”

“I know.”

He glances towards the white air purifier on the shelf beside the bed. The poisoned air purifier. He’s always making sure it’s not too much, not too little. Just the exact amount to keep you where he wants you — weak and vulnerable, dependent on him. 

“I know it’s hard”, he says encouragingly. “I know that you’re in pain, but you’re doing so good. You can always call for me if you need me, okay? I’m available all day and night for you.”

You press forward a smile, but can’t help but feel a wave of sadness wash over you. Why did this happen to you? Where did you go wrong to end up here? How could a sore throat get you bed bound in a hospital room? If only you knew. 

“Let’s get you tucked in again”, Dr Kry says and helps you lie down in bed. “You shouldn’t be putting to much pressure on your body.”

He pushes up your pillows, having you lie in a 45-degree angle. It helps you breathe at night. He always tucks the blanket close to your body, as if you were a butterfly in a cocoon. He gives you a small smile before standing up. 

“Please don’t go”, you whisper. “I don’t want to be left here.”

The man looks at you, studies you carefully before nodding and sitting back down. He wipes your lonely tear with his finger. He looks at his wet finger, thinking. 

“I feel helpless”, you admit. “I don’t think I’ll ever get well again.”

Little do you know that’s exactly what he wants. 

“It’s okay, Y/N”, he says. “I will take care of you. I will stay with you until you’re well again.”

He has to force back a smile. 

“I don’t want to do these anymore”, you say monotonously. 

“I know you don’t, but you have to”, Dr Kry says apologetically and moves closer to the bed on his rolling stool. “They’re important.”

“They hurt …”

“I know, but you’re doing so good, okay? I’m so proud of you.”

You give him a small, painful smile. 

“I’ll sit here until you fall asleep, don’t worry”, he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You close your eyes slowly. He fades out. 

He takes blood tests the following day. Needles, pain.

“Now, you need to take a nap”, he says and tucks you in. 

The daily afternoon nap. You hate it, but he insists. While you sleep, he’s out taking care of other patients that are not you. He hates it, hates wasting his time and skill on people that aren’t you. Those patients are one time patients that are there for surgeries, consultations or checkups. No long term patients that have to stay in the hospital. Everyone gets to leave after he meets them. Everyone but you. You stay. 

You keep your eyes closed until Dr Kry leaves the room. Quickly, you sit up and get out of bed. After all these fucking tests, you’re deserving of something else than the tasteless cardboard Dr Kry gets you. Just one brownie. Something that has sugar. And maybe some coffee for caffeine too. 

Quietly, you sneak out into the corridor. There’s something about these sterile passageways that makes the hair on your back stand on its end. Is it the dehumanized area or the fact that you’re never allowed here? Is it nerves or excitement? Whatever it is, you decide to speed up your steps and hurry towards the elevators before anyone sees you. They’ll tell him. Just as the doors are about to close, someone stops the doors. A boy dressed in a similar hospital gown as yourself forces his way into the elevator. He gives you a rushed, apologetic smile. 

“Sorry”, he says sheepishly. “I am in a hurry.”

“What happened to you?” you ask and smile halfly. 

“I escaped from the therapist. A real pain in my ass.”

You can’t help but giggle. The young man licks his lips and runs a hand through his hair. 

“Have you met her?” he asks. “The therapist?”

“No”, you say. 

You haven’t met anyone but your stiff and proper doctor. 

“Don’t”, the young man advices you and leans his back against the wall. “She’s mental. I honestly think she should be the one getting interrogated — not me.” He looks at you, eyes narrowing. “I haven’t seen you before.”

“Do you meet others?” you ask. 

“In the lounge. Have you been there?”

You shake your head and lower your eyes. 

“Did you just arrive?” the man asks. 

You shake your head again. 

“How long have you been here?”

“A while.”

The elevator stops and the doors open at your floor. 

“Are you going to the cafeteria?” the man asks. 

“Yes”, you reply. 

“I’m coming with you. Maybe you can help me blend in.”

“Okay.”

The boy seems frantic, but happy. Running on adrenaline and excitement. Together, you walk through the hospital to the cafeteria and realize that you don’t have any money. Your shoulders fall. Did you come here for nothing? 

“Aren’t you going to order something?” the young man asks. 

“I don’t know”, you reply quietly. 

Before you have the time to come up with a lie why you can’t order anything, you recognise something in the corner of your eye. A blonde man dressed in a white robe. You feel your blood run cold. 

“What do we have here?” Dr Kry asks and you have a hard time reading his tone or facial expressions. “What do you think you are doing out of bed?”

He walks over to you and grabs your shoulder. You flinch. His grip is … tight. Painful. 

“You’re supposed to rest”, Dr Kry says shortly.

He looks at the young man. His eyes seem to go right through him. 

“Where are you supposed to be?” he asks. 

He doesn’t answer. Dr Kry gives him a cold gaze before grabbing your upper arm in a tight grip. He doesn’t say anything as he starts to pull you with him. His steps are quick, steady. Angry. 

“Doctor …”, you try.

He doesn’t answer. Dr Kry pushes you into the elevator and presses the button. He doesn't let go of your arm.

“Doctor, I’m sorry”, you say. 

He still doesn’t answer. You barely dare to look at him. There’s something about his face that scares you. It's stoic, unreadable. But he oozes anger. Like a dark cloud.

The elevator stops, the doors open. His tight grip remains as he drags you back into your room.

“Lay down”, he instructs shortly.

You do, too scared to disobey. Dr Kry walks past you, to the drawers by your bed. He rips out two leather bands that look like belts for dolls. Before you're aware of what he's doing, he's strapped one of your wrists to the bed railing.

“Wait, doctor-”, you blurt out.

“Be quiet.”

He locks your other wrist to the other railing. You tug at the restraints, and find them secure.

“Are they too tight?” Dr Kry asks, still with that short tone that sends icy needles down your spine.

“Doctor, what are you-?”

“Answer the question. Do they hurt?”

“No.”

“Good.”

He turns to his desk, ignoring you.

“Doctor, I'm sorry”, you say.

“You broke my trust”, he says without giving you any attention. “It's important, for your healing, that you do not deceive me. I need to be able to trust that you do as I say. How many times have you done this?”

“Only this time, I promise.”

He doesn't answer. You feel how your eyes fill with tears. Your body is in such a vulnerable state that your body betrays you. You didn't want to upset him, didn't want to put your own health at risk by doing this. 

“I'm sorry, doctor”, you sniffle. “I didn't mean to break your trust.”

He sighs and turns his head to look at you. His blue eyes soften and he rises from his chair, coming over to your bed. He can't stay mad at you, not when you're clearly dumb. You don't understand, he can't be mad at you for not understanding. He should — and is — mad at himself for not foreseeing these situations and making sure you don't do it.

“You know that I only want what's best for you, don't you?” he asks and wipes your tears with his hand.

“Yes”, you reply.

“In that case, I want you to never repeat this mistake. Mistakes are forgivable, but they should be minimized, do you understand that?”

“Yes. Do you forgive me?”

He has to force back a smile. You're so unbelievably cute.

“Yes, I do forgive you”, he says. 

“Can you take off the restraints?”

“No. I might forgive you, but I need you to know what happens once mistakes occur. This is the consequences that follow. If I can't trust you to be where I want you to be, I need to take precautions to make sure you are.”

You lower your gaze.

“Who was that, by the way?” he asks. “That young … man. Why did you speak to him?”

“I don't know, he took the same elevator as me.”

“I don't want you to speak with him again. If he's the one they're looking for, I don't want you getting influenced by his reckless ideas.”

“I don't get to speak to anyone, anyways.”

“And that's how it should be. We don't know why you're sick, and you shouldn't contaminate someone else.”

“What about you, then? You can get sick too.”

“I'm ready to take that risk.”

He's too nice, you think. All he wants is to take care of you and you put his selfless risks to hell when you decide to disobey him. How horrible of you.

“Now, you need to take that nap for real”, he says. “I will sit by my desk. If you need something you can just let me know.”

He walks back to his desk and sits down, starting to file some paperwork. You tug at the restraints. You're not going anywhere.

When you’ve fallen asleep, Dr Kry makes his way through the hospital. They’ve captured that young man and put him back into his room … and Dr Kry wants a talk with him. He opens the door quietly. The young lays in bed, sleeping. Dr Kry circles around him, taking a good look at him. Did you find him cute? Hot? Did you like talking to him? Did you think that he was better than him? Did you enjoy those ten minutes with him more than these months with Kry? Do you want to meet with him again? He glares at the sleeping man. Dr Kry walks over to the supply closet, an identical to the one in your room, and takes out one of the spare pillows. Silently, he walks over to the bed, lifts the pillow and presses it over the young man’s face. He widen his eyes, pulled out of his slumber. He screams against the pillow, his voice getting muffled in the fabric. 

“Normally, I’d make this easy for you”, Dr Kry grunts as the man starts to fight against him. “Out of pity, but you don’t deserve that mercy.”

He screams in confusion, fear. Dr Kry can make out words. What. No. Help. Stop.

“Just give in and give yourself that mercy”, Dr Kry continues. “If you continue to fight against me, you’ll be in more pain.”

The man cries. Dr Kry breaks out into a smile. 

“You’re going to die either way, you can choose to end it quicker.”

The young man doesn’t seem to get the memo. He continues to fight, cry, plead. He drinks it all in. The horror, the helplessness. The dear in headlight. He has seen the light in people’s eyes disappear multiple times during his job as a doctor. To see the moment someone becomes just a piece of flesh. He has never enjoyed it as much as now. The man stops moving. Dr Kry removes the pillow and takes a step back, looking at the lifeless body. He breathes out. Finally, he can calm down. 

And now, all he needs to do is to make sure he can not be traced back. 

He finds you sleeping soundly as he comes back to your room, wrists still locked to the sides of the bed. You make his heart ache. He sits down beside you, brushing his fingertips over your cheek. 

I control your life, my little one. You’re going to say with me and I’ll take every repercussion to make sure you don’t disappear. 

[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.