#can't you see how much i show you that i love you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mandalhoerian · 2 days ago

Text

(6) 🦭 signed, sealed, delivery pending...

When a last-minute opportunity presents itself to become a distraction from the shame of not attending the reunion of your university friend group, you take it. One thing, though, yes, you might have been wrong for chickening out. But falling overboard in a storm, almost drowning, and getting saved by the biggest oddball of a skinny dipper out in the wild is a bit too much for instant karma, you think.

genre: fluff, comedy | word count: 13k | read on ao3

< previous | next (wip) >

note: apologizing for late chapters is getting old now i know, but i swear it would have come out earlier if it hadnt been for tumblr's ridiculous mature content label flagging issue . i've been wrestling with that bicth now ever since that update dropped on the 11h. all seal raf chapters are FLAGGED and i cant get them out of superhell. and apparently its their image recognition bot, i had to change the banner image. god if i have to deal with this bs AGAIN im crashing out i hope you enjoy the chapter

The wetsuit is half-zipped, clinging damp against your hips, something that doesn’t quite want to let go. You’re sitting on the flattest rock you can find near the lip of the cove, knees drawn up, elbows balanced on them, phone balanced precariously between your fingers. The mist is still stitched thick between the cliffs, and the morning sun hasn’t quite managed to cut through it yet. Cold air brushes against your bare arms, lifting the baby hairs, biting gently. Your knees are cold. Your mind is worse.

The group chat lights up again.

You scroll without reading at first, just watching the little cascade of names and icons — familiar and sharp-edged in ways you can't explain. It’s watching someone else’s memories keep moving while yours have stalled out in the same old frame. Same island. Same ferry. Same breath caught in your throat.

Yesterday’s conversation still occupies your mind, and you read through it once more.

"F4NT4STIC 4 REUNION ERA" (Yesterday, 13.37) [ tara ♡ ]: LADIES . YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT ISSSSSSS [ simone (👹🤙) ]: girl i already took the days off. if yall flake i’m showing up to macie’s with a suitcase anyway [ fleetwood mac ]: LMAOO i mean my living room is still 80% cardboard boxes but sure, suffer [ simone (👹🤙) ]: if there’s karaoke i’m unplugging the speaker with my teeth [ tara ♡ ]: also HELLO??? miss ferrymaster of heartbreak bay??? [ tara ♡ ]: we see you reading and not respondingggg [ tara ♡ ]: THE WAY SHE’S STILL NOT ANSWERING [ fleetwood mac ]: come online and disappear if you're alive. don't write anything if you’re still in love with your ex [ fleetwood mac ]: you’re still in love with him???? [ fleetwood mac ]: damn it didnt work [ simone (👹🤙) ]: she’s gonna come back in like six hours and act like nothing happened [ simone (👹🤙) ]: literally text back. we're not mad you couldn't come. stop acting like this is a break-up !!!

(Yesterday, 23.35) [ you ]: sorry. alive. extremely salty. [ you ]: had to scrub barnacle residue off my soul before texting back. [ fleetwood mac ]: SYBAU girl you disappeared like a victorian child into the mist 😭 [ simone (👹🤙) ]: anyway. macie's wine count is at 3. tara made a playlist. theo hasn’t cried yet [ you ]: bold of you to assume he won’t [ fleetwood mac ]: we placed bets. i give him until desert [ tara ♡ ]: also you were right, he brought the seal mug he made in his pottery course. Unironically. [ you ]: I feel the emotional blackmail all the way from over here … [ fleetwood mac) ]: i had to leave the room. i was spiritually unprepared [ you ]: move it like half an inch every time he looks away and pretend like nothing happened to freak him out that paranormal shit is going on. for my sake. please [ tara ♡ ]: That's horrible. How do you come up with stuff like this? Do you want us to get kicked out if he makes a scene? [ tara ♡ ]: I'll send you pictures 😘 [ simone (👹🤙) ]: we set a place for you vtw. it’s got a rock on it. and a fork. [ you ]: that’s exactly how i would’ve wanted it <3

Your thumb pauses above a message. Just names. Names that once belonged to cramped dorm rooms, midnight indomie, and mutual breakdowns in libraries that smelled of old glue. The kind of friendships that were lifelines — loud and chaotic and necessary. And they still are. But you’re quieter now. Less sure what part you should play in their world.

Tara’s already published several scientific papers, both on her own and with her teacher — ResearchGate profile overflowing with content. Simone’s backpacked solo through South America and made it look unreal the entire time, every photo gold-dusted and cinematic and you’re sure she lives in an indie travel documentary. Macie just got picked up for a docuseries pilot. The one who shall not be named passed his bar exam and launched a website in his name that has to be surely coded by a tech god and branded by a Parisian design firm.

And you?

You still have this wetsuit from sophomore year. A freezer full of discount frozen meals. A collection of ferry schedules memorized down to the second.

You still work shifts that stretch into your bones. Still sleep in the room with the glow-in-the-dark stars you stuck to the ceiling at fourteen. Still get asked by tourists if you ever get tired of paradise. As if it’s not the same damn shoreline every day. They don’t know paradise comes with guilt-paid free health insurance and the inability to look into your parents' eyes without sweating through your shirt.

The museum front desk application sits untouched on your desktop. The deadline came and went while you were distracted by nothing in particular. There’s a half-written email to the local heritage center still sitting in your drafts. Volunteering was mentioned once, briefly, in passing, and never again.

You told your advisor you were taking a year. Time to figure things out. To recalibrate. To breathe.

But the year kept slipping. One month into the next. One season curling into the other. You started taking the same walk every morning. Then you stopped bothering with a route. Some days, even brushing your teeth was something that had to be earned.

You tried to make plans. Tried to start a spreadsheet. Color-coded your week and pretended it meant something. It lasted three days. Then the shame of seeing your own optimism undone by inertia sent you spiraling into the sea with your phone on do-not-disturb.

Sometimes you wake up already disappointed in yourself. Sometimes you manage to coast until lunch. The rest of the time, it sneaks up in strange places: folding laundry, stirring pasta, passing your own reflection and not recognizing anything urgent in your own eyes.

You keep saying you’ll get out. That it’s temporary. That you’re not stuck. You tell yourself that so often it’s started taking the shape of a prayer. Or a dare.

But every time you scroll, you feel it. That sharp, quiet pinch in your ribs. You're watching a starting line recede in the distance while your legs stay tangled in the sand.

A sharp twist of your mouth curls before you can stop it, too bitter to be a smile, too wry to be pain. You toss your phone a few inches further across the towel, willing the distance keep the elephant in the room away for a while longer.

And Theo. Of course he’s there.

Ha.

You sit still. A breath leaves your nose. The rock beneath you is cold, uneven, your palms flat against it. Wet grit clings to your fingers. You focus on that. The gulls loop overhead, shrieking into the pale air. Below, the tide moves against the rocks in shallow bursts, licking foam into the cracks and pulling it back again with a hiss. The world hasn't stopped, but it’s ignoring you on purpose.

No, you're ignoring it on purpose.

A sleek head breaches the surface a few yards out, rising between two fingers of rock where kelp sways below in long green ribbons. A huff leaves him in a pfbbbth sound — short, damp, unimpressed — and he glides forward in a meandering path, stirring flecks of foam in his wake. The water around him flattens, then rolls behind his body in lazy spirals. Even the cove is used to making space for him.

You don’t smile. It almost happens, your face twitches because it wants to. But it doesn’t make it all the way. He’s watching you, waiting, head tilted just slightly.

"Someone’s a little restless today," you mutter.

He barks again. Short. With an imaginary question mark at the end of it. Surely it’s because he hasn’t received his usual cooing greetings and your, “Hi, hi, hi, my cutie pie,” — but your spirits are as gray as the weather. You can’t summon the cheerfulness.

"Yeah, yeah, I’m coming."

You slide into the water slower than usual, the cold biting at your ankles and climbing. Raf circles once, then again, but doesn’t dart off the way he normally does. He floats closer instead, trailing you as you wade out to the deeper part. When your feet finally lift from the sand, you turn toward him.

"I should’ve just gone," you say. "I don’t know why I’m so scared of a little get-together. Who cares if I’m not working yet? I should just say I’m taking a gap year… Like for uni graduates. Or say like I’m looking into Work and Travel but haven’t really liked any of the choices or something."

He tilts his head. How clueless and cute. Smooth brain. No ridges or lumps, no valleys or bumps; all ideas slide right off.

"You don’t even know what LinkedIn is," you mumble. “You’ll never have to. I’m so jealous, you don’t even know.”

Raf makes a bubbling snort.

You hate how bitter it makes you, sometimes. Hearing them talk about opportunities and networking and beautiful apartments with friends who leave them soup in the fridge. And you smile, as you’re supposed to. It’s good news. You’re proud. You are.

But it still seeps into the spaces between each of your vertebra, shapes you into a shrimp before the stateliness of ambition and purpose, making you feel small for not having more to offer, and worse for resenting even a flicker of it. There’s something sour in you that can’t be sweetened into a lemonade.

And you don’t want to be that person. You don’t. But you are. Quietly. Privately. The kind of ugly that you don't admit aloud unless you’re alone. Or talking to a seal.

"I hate that I get annoyed," you say under your breath. "Every time one of them says they’re doing great, I get that twist in my stomach like I swallowed a rock. Even when I’m proud of them. Even when I love them. What does that make me, huh?"

Raf offers no reply. Just a slow blink and inquisitive, a train’s choo-choo sounding breathing from his flaring nostrils.

"It makes me pathetic. That’s what."

Your throat tightens. You wipe your nose with the back of your glove and look up toward the cliffs, eyes still hot.

"There’s something you’re unlucky with. You know what?" you say, voice hoarse. "Of all the fish in the sea, you ended up with me. Should’ve gone for a marine biologist. Or a rich heiress with a yacht."

Raf surfaces again, blinking at you with deliberate slowness that mirrors a cat’s. Then, with a low chuff, he glides closer and presses the side of his head against your shoulder. You’re still floating when he wriggles around, flippers flopping clumsily, and half-latches onto your side, a wet, overgrown toddler trying to hug a pool noodle. His whiskers tickle through the neoprene.

You flip onto your back and float, arms out, hair fanning around your head with a seal glued to you. The sky above is pale and empty, the kind of soft gray that feels too big when you're already too full. You drift for a moment with your ears half-submerged, the world muffled except for the splash of Raf's flippers somewhere nearby. Clouds move. You don't.

"Watch. You’ll get discovered by some cute environmental documentary crew next and leave me behind. Get famous. Start an OnlyFans for your flippers."

Pause.

“OnlyFins,” you snort to yourself.

Raf lets out a long, wet blort, and disappears underwater with a cute bloop.

You barely have time to curse before something nudges your ribs — hard. Then again. And then you’re yanked downward, the flipper hooked around your waist is basically an overly confident tugboat.

You surface with a gasp and a splash, hair in your eyes, sputtering.

Raf bobs a few feet away, grinning in the smug way only a seal can, going "AUUUUU," over and over again, following that up with a performative spin and a slap on the water.

"No more jokes, fine," you cough.

He dives again, leaving a trail of bubbles — pops up, and pauses, twisting back to look for you. His head bobs once. Twice. Then he disappears again, darting just beneath the surface, drawing a path for you to follow. A loop, a spiral, a flourish. He resurfaces ahead with a sharp snort and flicks water in your direction.

You blink water from your lashes. "Okay, okay, I get it. Impatient little show-off. Seashells aren’t going anywhere, let me go get my gear, damn."

He dunks under again, tail flippers wagging just enough to be smug about it.

And after your preparations, you follow.

Because if anything makes sense — if anything ever feels whole — it’s this. Salt in your mouth. Raf’s stupid flipper smacking water like an impatient bunny stomping his foot. A sky so wide you can’t get your arms around it.

You may not know how to move forward. But here, right now, you don’t need to.

Here, you can just be.

By the time the end of the day rolls around, the dive with Raf has dried to salt on your collar, and your limbs are already back in work-mode — anchored, alert, one hand on the wheel, the other near the comms, watching the weather shift with a sailor’s instinct and a whole life of knowing exactly when things stop making sense at sea.

The last round trip of the day is quiet in a different way today, though. No commuters or tourists, and no one but you on board.

A rare fluke of timing: your dad tied up with engine trouble on the backup skiff; the senior deckhand down for the count after slipping on ice during today's last unloading shift and sent home limping; the second deckhand called out with food poisoning from bad market shrimp; the engineer out for two weeks recovering from wrist surgery after trying to fix a rusted coupling by himself; the backup engineer already covering freight route duties on the north side; and the high schooler who usually mans the snack kiosk bailed last-minute for a school recital he 'forgot' to mention until this morning. Even the part-time lookout who mostly just watches Raf from the upper deck found a way to slip away.

You’d said yes before your dad even finished the ask instead of just cancelling the entirety of the day off — if a perfectly fine excuse for why you didn’t show up at the reunion made itself available to you, you would take it without question. It was serendipity, why let it go to waste?

And it was only one run, the weather wasn’t supposed to break yet. You knew the route. You could handle it.

Though, frankly, it felt good to be trusted with something this real and just empty your head for the rest of the day.

So it's just you, the hum of the engine, and a stretch of sea that's growing moodier by the minute.

You clock it before it starts showing.

The pitch is wrong.

Movement is expected, up-down, up-down, sometimes with more vigor and distance. No, it’s not that. It’s the angle, the timing, the tension underfoot that rolls in just a half-second too late. The swell pattern doesn’t match the forecast, the wind has teeth it wasn’t supposed to, and the gulls have gone silent over the water.

You glance up from the console, watching the sky fold itself into layers. That soft lilac haze from earlier has gone bruised at the edges. There’s a kind of waiting baked into the air now, the hush before the sky opens its mouth and howls.

You should’ve already turned back. You know the signs. You’ve trusted them before.

But the timing’s tight, and you know the shape of this route better than the lines in your palms. If you hold speed and cut between the outer channel markers, you might beat the worst of it. The system’s moving in fast — but not fast enough to make you fold early. Not if you don’t have to.

Besides, there’s only one round trip left back home. The radar isn’t red yet. The pressure’s dropping, but the water’s still got give in it. Dad made worse calls in tighter windows.

So you stay the course.

Pushing until everything starts pushing back.

The ferry bounces over a swell so hard you almost lose your grip on the wheel, rattling the life preservers along the wall with a thwack loud enough to echo inside your skull. Water sprays white across the decks, and something about the sound makes your bones ache. For a moment, you swear you can taste seaweed. Feel the drag of sea lines on your wrists, rough as rope burn.

But you catch yourself. Stabilize your footing, hands steady on the wheel, leaning into the rise and fall as they taught you in driving school all those years ago. The first day your father stood beside you and showed you how to balance the revs and the brakes on this machine, how to feel each part working together to drive, how it wasn't about forcing the craft, but guiding it with trust — it’s all muscle memory.

Trust the machine. Trust your gut. Trust your judgment.

So you do. And you guide. Until the storm arrives. Until the weather begins to roll in dark as tar — resentful black clouds, brindled with light, coiling together as if building, brewing, churning in unison above. Eerything then becomes curtained with rain and water, a shower splintering against the ferry roof. Sheets of water cut across the deck is a fog obscuring everything further than a foot away. Wind batters against the sides of the hull, shrieking louder and louder every minute, whistling shrill through every seam and corner and vent, and by now the ocean is actively trying to shove this boat off the face of the earth.

Everything turns sideways for one split second, and your heartbeat almost rips out of your throat, and when the ship steadies itself it takes several painful heartbeats of thinking I fucked up, I fucked up before you regain equilibrium and resume steering.

Everything starts to make sense.

Raf had been strange from the moment you showed up this morning — clingy, louder than usual, almost pacing the cove. He kept making pup noises at the tide, splashed too close to shore while you suited up, and refused to go too far in the open water — his favorite thing was to drag you out further before. When you finally entered the water, he didn’t dart ahead the way he usually does. He hovered, brushed against you, circled you so tightly you had to push him off just to move forward.

You didn’t think much of it. You were too busy rereading texts, too busy spiraling over group photos and inside jokes and what-the-hell-was-he-thinking-by-showing-up.

Raf��s insistence was a complication you didn’t have room for when you’d been already feeling stifled enough. Even underwater, he kept doubling back to check on you, tapping your hip with his nose, making strange high-pitched whines that only made you more irritated.

When you got out, he followed you up the hill, paralleling you from the sea. Right up the ramp. Flopped against the loading zone and refused to budge, and not in the usual cute way. He clung to your boot when you tried to walk. Grabbed the hem of your jacket and yanked. Made noises so loud and pitiful that a couple tourists pulled out their phones to call wildlife protection. They thought he was hurt.

You shoved him back toward the cove and joked that he was a diva — a barnacle, a stage-five clinger.

He bit Elias when the poor old guy tried to help nudge him off the deck.

You didn’t look him in the eye when you closed the gate. Didn’t even wave, muttering something about spoiled animals and going inside. Because you had a job. Because you were on the schedule. Figuring out how to phrase it, how to make ferry work sound intentional, how to talk about staying without admitting you failed to leave. You practiced the words, hoping the right ones would dull the sting.

You didn’t notice how restless he went in the way he took the lead once the engine started.

You didn’t want to.

You'd practically ignored him the entire day for being annoying. To entertain the idea he was like that because he sensed the incoming weather... but you were too wrapped up in the reunion and your own spiraling thoughts to notice what he was trying to tell you. He knew something was coming — you’re sure of it now — and you hadn’t listened.

Too busy nursing your own useless grief.

And now you’re the only one out on the water when the storm decides to bite, regret and fear coiling around each other snakes in the pit of your stomach. The poor little man must be terrified wherever he's hiding. You hope he's tucked away safely somewhere sheltered and cozy, not roaming around trying to find you and ending up hurt or lost or trapped. If something horrible happened to him during this storm, it would be all your fault.

And now, as the radio crackles to life, a sharp burst splinters through the chaos, and all those words ash-scatter.

"—ayday—day—fishing boat—toward—Devil’s Teeth—repeat, Dev—no powe—can’t steer—"

It cuts out, sharp as a snapped line.

Your hand’s already moving. Mic in hand before the words even sink in. "Copy, how many aboard?"

Nothing. Just static, thin and needling, buzzing against your skin.

Your heart doesn’t lurch. It drops clean and heavy, straight into the pit of your stomach.

You flick your eyes to the GPS. The rocks are close — less than a kilometer to starboard. But you don’t need the chart to tell you that. You can already see them, those serrated black silhouettes clawing up from the water ribs punched through the ocean’s skin.

The Devil’s Teeth. The name alone carries some horror. They don’t forgive. Sharp enough to sheer a hull clean if you come at them wrong, but deceptive enough to trick even seasoned sailors into thinking they’re safe.

Above the water, they jut out like gap-toothed palisades — almost orderly, almost safe. From a distance, they seem to mark a clear path, multiple narrow channels that promise passage. But beneath the surface, the truth spreads wide and uneven, masked by the shifting tide, what looks navigable from above is a maze fanning out is a hidden reef below, disguised by the illusion of space, a trap waiting to splinter anything that trusts too easily.

Now, you watch from the waterboarded windshield as the ocean breaks against them sideways, spray exploding into the air in fractured bursts, mist swirling breath from something alive and restless. You’ve seen them before. Too close once, from a rescue boat.

You know the pattern they form, the way they beckon, offering what looks to be safe passage only to tear apart anything foolish enough to trust it. And you know the names of the people they’ve taken.

You flick the comms again, voice tighter now, a thread of instinct winding tight in your chest, tugging you toward the danger. "Any vessel transmitting, identify yourself.”

The wind shrieks through the cracks, high and thin, something caught between teeth. Water lashes the glass, streaking down in frantic rivulets as the ferry pitches harder, the deck groaning with the weight of the sea.

Your breath catches as you scan the horizon, nothing but the vertical outlines of the Devil’s Teeth. Black knives from the churn. For one terrible moment, everything slows. The sea draws back, coiling, holding its power just a beat too long. Waiting.

And then it breaks.

You move, but it’s not a choice. It’s reflex tangled with terror, the wheel wrenching in your hands as the ferry shudders beneath you. The shift is too sharp, the hull protesting with a low, gut-deep moan as it fights the turn. Your muscles burn, braced against the pull as the deck tilts hard, balance slipping for half a heartbeat. The bow dips — just a fraction — before you correct, knuckles losing color where they grip the wheel.

The spray blinds you for a moment, mist shearing across the windshield. But you blink, steady, locked on the path that doesn’t exist but has to be there. The space between those treacherous spires where, if you’re off by even a meter, the sea will swallow everything.

Raf knew. He tried to tell you. Fuck, you hope he’s not out here. He’s too much of a smart cookie for that, but still, you hope to god he’s safe.

The comms hiss softly, a broken thread of sound lost in the roar that fills the wheelhouse.

"—adrift—can’t—hold—taking on water—drifting t—engines are—"

Static. Again.

But you don’t need to hear it. The truth is already laid bare on the horizon.

Your eyes are locked on the shape just beyond, the battered fishing boat barely holding its own against the waves. A thing too small for this weather, its hull pitching wildly, the wind tossing it like it’s a toyboat in a child’s pool.

You flick the comms again, voice tight. "Vessel approaching Devil’s Teeth, do you copy? Repeat, do you copy? I need the status of anyone aboard!"

The answer is silence, thick and pressing.

But the sea answers instead.

Each wave shoves the boat closer to the rocks, their sharp edges barely visible between the peaks of the swells. You can make out three figures, barely, blurred shapes clinging to the railing, fighting against the chaos, one at the bow, steady but strained, another near the stern, slower, unsteady.

And the third—

A hollow space where someone should be.

"Shit," you breathe, throat tight.

You throttle down, the ferry groaning as the engine strains against the push of the current. The bow swings wide, cutting across the waves, too close but angled just right to shield the smaller boat from the worst of the wind. The wheel vibrates in your grip, the metal cold and damp, the pulse in your fingertips matching the beat of the sea.

The deck is bobbing harsher under your boots as you cut the engine to idle. A deep, unsettling quiet follows, the kind that means the sea is holding its breath.

You shove the throttle down, setting the engine to idle, the ferry rocking in protest as it fights against the churning sea. You can’t leave it drifting for long, but there’s no choice now.

The door to the deck slams open under your hand, wind tearing through as if the sea itself is trying to conquer its way inside. Salt spray slices across your face, cold and biting, nails and claws of an animal trying to get you. You barely register the sting. Your focus is on the deck below, where the equipment locker sits by the stairs. The rope should be there.

You swing down the short, steep steps, boots skidding slightly as the ferry shifts beneath you. The locker groans as you yank it open, cold metal biting into your fingertips. The rope’s there, coiled tight, damp and heavy.

You haul it out, the weight dragging at your arms as you push back up to the deck, boots pounding on slick metal, breath burning in your throat. The rope is rough and solid in your hands, the damp fibers biting into your palms as you step toward the railing, eyes locked on the men still fighting the sea.

"Line! Now!" Your voice barely carries, but the men on deck move. One of them, older, face lined with years of fighting the ocean, catches your eye, and you know you can trust him with this. He knows. He moves fast and nimble as you toss the line, and he hauls hard, pulling the boat closer inch by inch.

The younger man beside him fumbles, hands trembling as he secures the line, but his eyes are wide and fearful, darting between the shifting boats, the storm reflected in them. You can't have him slipping.

"Hold!" you shout, stepping to the edge.

The fishing boat rocks violently, a wild thing barely clinging to the world. But it holds. For now.

"Get them across!" You wave the first man forward, stretching your hand. His grip is iron, calloused and cold, and he hauls himself over with a grunt. The second follows, shaky but determined. His boots slip, but you grab his arm, steadying him as he clambers onto the ferry.

"One more!" The older man’s voice is barely audible over the wind. He points—

And you see him.

Near the stern. Slumped, half-draped over the edge. Too still.

"I’m going." Your words are lost in the chaos, but you’re already moving.

The wind slams into you the moment you step across, boots slipping on slick metal. You grab the railing, knuckles white, muscles straining as you pull yourself onto the listing deck. The world tilts beneath your feet, the boat rocking harder as if it knows it’s losing.

"Come on," you mutter, heart pounding.

He’s heavier than he looks. Deadweight. His clothes soaked through, dragging with seawater. Your fingers slip against the slick fabric as you grip his arm, muscles screaming as you try to pull him up.

"Help!" You barely need to say it. The older man is there, hands grabbing the man’s other arm. Together, you drag him inch by inch toward safety. The wind howls, the sea pushing harder, trying to reclaim him.

You’re so close.

"Almost there," you breathe, arms burning with the weight.

The man’s head lolls, his breath warm against your neck, but it’s faint. You brace, dragging harder, the metal beneath your boots slick and treacherous. Every muscle in your body screams for relief, but you hold on.

"You hang on, girl!" The older man shouts, his voice raw, but the younger one is there now too, reaching to grab the man’s collar and help.

"I’ve got him—" You don’t finish. The deck tilts—

The ferry shifts—

And the wave hits.

It’s not a push. It’s a blow. A force that tears you off balance, rips your grip from the man, and sends you weightless for a heartbeat before the world crashes back in. Or, you crash into the world. It resembles falling on solid ground from considerable height, except that it swallows you right up.

Cold.

Needles slip beneath your skin, knifing past layers of wool and overalls until nothing is left but frost-bright pain. Nothing blazes brighter, burns colder; the sea owns it all, every sensation, every heartbeat, every flicker of memory, snuffing them out one by one until all that remains is fear. Cold, bone-deep, blinding fear that has you kicking and flailing.

The water wants you. It pulls without pity, claws without remorse, wrenches without warning. Everything happens at once: pressure and chaos, liquid ice tearing at your lips and choking down your throat. The current twists around you, a tangle of unrelenting hands dragging you deeper even as you fight.

Down. And down. Until light bleeds away, dissolving like ink in water.

Something flashes just outside your blurring vision—

Then something else—

And another—

Infinitesimal silver glints cut through the dark. Shifting shadows dart between the pinpricks of pale light as shapes coalesce above. Thin silhouettes slice through the dark, through the gloom as you fall farther from safety. The pressure builds, crushing against your skull, a terrible humming filling your ears as if the entire ocean is singing an ode to your demise. Your chest begins convulsing fiercely, throat contracting in response as you begin thrashing around, lungs on fire and desperate for oxygen. Drowning in the sea, alone, terrified and hopeless, primal instincts demanding you do everything you can to stay alive, struggling uselessly to kick upwards towards the surface.

Wherever that is.

You reach upward desperately with a lone hand, vision having tunneled from lack of oxygen and panic combined. In that brief moment, something soft brushes the tips of your fingers. Like... fur...?

There's no way to know. Darkness has already consumed your consciousness, the struggle to survive giving away to oblivion and acceptance the moment your lungs breathe in water.

Singing.

Somebody has been singing to you.

Nearby. Simple, wordless, a melody winding slowly through the haze. Notes rise and fall around you — lavender smoke, crocheting your consciousness together bit by bit. You think maybe the song sounds familiar, that you could remember how it goes if only you could focus enough. As it is, your pulse stirs in time with the tune, waking limbs that were limp and numb as they thaw, muscles flexing as if remembering the shape of themselves.

Warmth comes first. Gentle heat kissing along the edges of your senses before bleeding inward in honeyed tendrils. Softness next: fur beneath your chin, blankets pulled tight across your chest.

The quiet of snowfall settles around you after that, muffling, easing, cushioning every inch of you as reality drifts into your awareness.

Everything returns in increments: salt crusted to your lips, drenched clothes wrapped around your frame, a layer of sodden clay. Beneath you: sand. Matted to the backs of your arms, your calves, the hollow of your throat. Behind your shuttered eyelids, sunlight filters softly. Red glow, distant orange. Sunglow, the color of melting copper. There is sky above you and beach below, but most importantly — there is breathing inside you again, each exhale shuddering as your pulse struggles toward normalcy, softly but surely.

Slowly, ever so gradually, you pry your eyelids open.

A canopy of branches, feather-soft green interspersed with golden brown, stretch overhead in a gentle dome. The bark glistens in the morning light, sticky still from the previous storm. Below the shelter, sand stretches outward in a sweep of endless shoreline, punctuated only by tufts of grass and gnarled driftwood that form a natural barricade from any casual passerby. The tide ebbs gently just past that barricade, washing fizzy seafoam high up the shoals before sliding back out lazily in a smooth curl, and further still, the horizon stretches — spun cotton candy, pink on blue, melted into haze at the edges, mingling seamlessly with the sky. And you're tucked carefully among the roots of one of those great trees, cradled and swaddled by the same fur-coated bundle your cheek is pillowed on, wrapped protectively in its embrace and held secure.

It takes your brain a full minute of groggily attempting to piece together these strange details before you realize there's a figure in the water, maybe twenty feet out, half-shrouded by the hush of early light.

Your brain coming back to you is akin to hitting the floor after falling for some time. You flinch. Sit up too fast.

A tangle of dark gray, thick hide spills from your shoulder, pooling in the crooks of your elbows. You shove it off with a gasp, limbs sluggish but panicked, fingers catching in the strange texture. It hits the ground with a muted thump, heavy as wet rope but somehow dry and fluffy at the same time. The cold hits you immediately then, skin pebbling beneath the cling of soaked denim and wool and the frigid touch of salt wind. A full body shudder grips you, hard, teeth rattling in your skull, blood singing through your veins faster.

But not even that kind of cold is enough to distract you from the sight before you.

There’s a person waist-deep in the shallows, facing the sun.

Long hair drips like spun violet ink down a narrow back, plastered in curling sheets to sharp, bare shoulders. You've never seen natural hair that long in your life, it trails all the way down her body to fan out against the waves, streaming in shimmering bands over the crests of each swell, lit gold in the early sun. She tilts her head back to face the dawn fully, and you can only see the barest hint of her profile from the angle, the delicate slope of nose, the lushness of parted lips. There’s something arresting about the stillness of her, the way the sea seems to hush around her body. A statue the tide forgot to reclaim.

For a breathless, silent moment, she simply stands there, perfectly balanced, completely undisturbed, arms spread at her sides as if greeting the daybreak directly, skin glittering in the light, slick with seawater and—

A scar. A slash across one side of her shoulder, pale even against her skin tone, stretched tight as though dug deep enough to make bone.

Huh, you absentmindedly think. I think it's the same side as Raf's?

You break out of your trance with a loud gasp with the thought of your seal friend, which causes her to whirl around to face you, startled and wide-eyed.

Which brings another revelation. The person in question is a man, not a woman.

Skinny dipping, at that.

Your brain catches up to your eyes in a rush of static and shock. This is a Family Feud moment.

Name something a burglar would not wanna see when he breaks into a house.

The contestant yelling it with his whole chest. Naked grandma!

Naked HUH?

The buzzer in your head goes off.

Question: What’s the last thing a girl wants to see when waking up alone on an unfamiliar beach after falling unconscious?

Answer: Naked man.

You make a strangled noise and scramble back so fast the pelt half-slides off you, and at the same time, sharp pain lances through your right side, turning the motion into more of a hunch than a duck and roll. The sudden flare knocks what little breath is left out of your lungs, knocking sense back into you in the process.

Wait, what happened? Why does it hurt?

"Easy! Easy." The naked dude darts forward through the surf without missing a beat, water splashing everywhere with his hurried strides. The sound of his approaching footsteps makes you instinctively curl inward, arms hugging tight around your midsection while wincing. You don't look up, mostly out of embarrassment, and your thoughts immediately go brrrr when you become hyper aware of the fact you're definitely going to see things you won't be able to unsee. "You'll bleed again if you keep squirming like that! All my hardwork's gonna go to waste!"

You flail one arm between the two of you in a futile barrier while the other cradles where the injury is, still keeping your face down and staring down furiously at the ground to avoid looking anywhere higher than knee level. "Ah-ah-ah! Stop, stop!”

The sloshing of jogging doesn’t stop.

“Just — man, don't charge at me, I don't know you!"

He stops short as though you've thrown a rock at him, legs cutting off mid-stride with a chaotic splash. For one blessed second, all is still again — except for the water lapping at his shins and your pulse banging against your teeth.

Then, a noise.

A half-choked sound that might be a laugh. Or a cough. He doesn’t come any closer. Just stands there, suspended mid-motion, your words having pinned him in place. The water stills around his legs. The surf hesitates, then draws back with a hush. You're still locked on a particularly blurry patch of sand wet with the red of your congealed blood like your life depends on it, but you hear the the tiny inhale that catches weird in his throat, and the breeze picks up with a stutter again.

He erupts worse than a volcano all of a sudden. “You’re joking! What? You don’t know me? You don’t know me? After everything — you just made me go through, that’s—”

“—a very reasonable response!” you shoot back, your voice high in octave, blood rushing so rapidly to your head that you’re not even comprehending properly.

“Wow,” he says, all affronted drama and wounded pride in one breath. “It's not like I'm gonna eat you. Humans aren't even safe for consumption anyway!"

"Whoa-hoh—" you start, but he steamrolls over you before you can properly get a word in.

There’s the wet slap of a foot shifting in the surf, heralding that he’s gearing up for a rant. “Most people say thank you, you know. Or ‘hey, cool of you to make sure I didn’t die horribly’—"

"You're naked, random guy!" you shout hoarsely, throwing out a pathetic arm to shield you from any and all compromising views. This is the politest way you could have put it. The next best thing was to shout, 'Don't come near me with your dick out.' Which. Yeah.

An awkward pause follows the admission, thick enough to make you glance up before thinking twice about it. You get a flash of purple before you look away once more, clutching the strange gray fur to yourself as some sort of feeble shield.

"—der why," he mumbles, more to himself than anything else.

"Excuse me?"

He deadpans, stopping just short. “I said, so now you’re body-shaming the guy who literally rescued you from certain death?”

“I’m shame-shaming the fact that you’re approaching me with your — your — entire situation out in the open!”

"You have my pelt," he says, with almost childlike seriousness, expecting you to be able to read his mind from the tone of his statement alone.

"Uh, okay?" you respond articulately, weirded out by how the conversation was lacking common sense. "What does that have to do with your clothes?"

This time, the quiet stretches out like taffy.

“I want you on the other side of this damn island if you’re an exhibitionist, I swear to god don’t think for a second I’m not capable of—”

“I am not!” The way his voice changes pitches has to be studied. “Have you lost your mind in the ocean? I can’t believe you’d suggest such a thing after everything I’ve done for you—”

You tune out his yapping. Yeah, this isn't getting anywhere. You're stranded on an island with a man you don't know, politely asking him to put his penis away, which, he won't get the hint for some reason and making it a 'I am who I am,' moment. Do you have to yell "Pervert!" at this guy for him to get a move on? Things couldn't get more absurd.

You rub your forehead wearily and groan in defeat. Is there something ironic about this exchange? Because you sure feel there should be something ironic here. There is probably supposed to be a joke somewhere here. The universe loves to deliver them in bundles.

An idea strikes you.

"Here, hold on," you say, shakily standing up while keeping your face diverted elsewhere. Your side does hurt, but the burn doesn't stretch as bad as when you felt it at first. "Just... turn around, please. No sudden moves."

"No sudden moves?" He answers with audible skepticism, the shuffling on the sand giving away his complying after a moment. The nervous waver in his words does manage to placate you somewhat. An exhibitionist wouldn't act this way. “I’m turning my back to you. How am I gonna know what you’re doing? For all I know, you could be ogling me with your squidlike human eyes, which, mind you, I wouldn’t blame you for—”

God, he loves the sound of his own voice, doesn’t he?

Muting him out once more, you pick up the fur coat blanket thing from its dropped position with an audible, "Hup!" It's bulky in your grip, almost too thick to lift, yet remarkably light at the same time — trying to pick up water without getting wet.

“—I’ve been told I’m distractingly shapely in the flesh, but I didn’t exactly wake up today planning to be admired in the wild. And it’s not even my best side, you know? My shoulders are uneven. I think. They used to be non-existent—”

You're in no position to be in awe right now though, so you brush off all possible questions concerning the bizarre phenomenon until later. With as much caution as you can muster, you raise it up like a curtain until the only part you can see of the man is his luscious hair, and start walking up to him.

“—Not that I’m implying anything. You are not the ogling type. Then again, I once trusted a cormorant and it stole my entire lunch while I was mid-swim, so what do I know? I’m just out here, my back wide open, accosted, and trying very hard not to hold a grudge—”

Then, you drape the cloak of fluffiness onto his shoulders in the gentlest manner you could possibly afford, avoiding touching his skin. The pelt closes around his back, reminiscent of the wings of a giant bird closing protectively, encasing him from neck down to calves. A gasp slips out of him. So small you might've missed it if you hadn't been holding your breath, waiting for any negative reaction.

His own hands come up to pull the flaps snugly closed, then he slowly looks over one shoulder at you with such stunned wide-eyed silence you almost want to crack a smile at him, but promptly freeze in place as soon as you lock gazes.

Not only does he have the most enticing eyes you've ever seen with vertical heterochromia transitioning from blue to pink like a bi-color tourmaline, but he has such an attractive facial structure that is both masculine and delicate all in the same breath it punches all of your buttons in one go and oh god — it is so not helping this entire situation. This stranger is the epitome of beauty. Handsome face and lovely features and soft bone structures and everything you didn't expect from a random naked dude on a beach you couldn't recognize as a local.

And the hair. You'd seen it from afar already but... it reminds you of strands of ashen lavender blossoms dripping with morning dew, wet waviness disappearing underneath the collar of the pelt. You'd kill to have this Rapunzel hair. It's unfair how a man—

You snap back to attention with a hard blink as the initial shock wears off.

"There you go, now I won’t get flashed," you exhale with obvious relief, trying to will yourself to act casually so you don't seem weird to the stranger who probably saved your life.

His head tilts, just barely. Long strands of wet hair slip over his shoulder as he stares down at the pelt wrapped around him — your handiwork. The fur shifts slightly under his touch, and he goes very still, watching it settle again. You wonder what he’s waiting for.

“You gave it back to me,” he says.

The words come out soft, a little too careful for something so simple. He looks at you, expecting the world to shift around what he just said. He’s silently saying this should mean something to you, too — but it doesn’t. And that mismatch only deepens the quiet between you.

You blink.

He lifts the edge of the fur in his hands, shaking it, then looks at you like the answer should be obvious.

A pause. “Right,” you say slowly. “And… that’s important to note because?”

He shifts his weight, brows drawing together in a look that’s too serious for the situation. “You could’ve kept it.”

"Wet as my clothes are, you need it more than I do.”

He is surprisingly docile and red in the face now that he has something on for modesty and can’t quite look you in the eye. The tips of his fingers peeking from all the fur in his grip are fidgety.

You give a wry grimace before remembering the manners Dad always told you to have around new acquaintances. "Yeah, um — uh, thanks. For saving my life.”

You tell him your name, and bow your head a bit in acknowledgment. His shoulders pull in tight at the sudden gesture of goodwill — though you aren't quite sure why — but relax after a breath as he meets your stare squarely, searching for something. The intensity throws you off balance; those odd and piercing mismatched shades fixed solely on you make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end in both curious and fearful wonderment.

"And you are...?"

"Oh," he says, as if the question took him off guard, too. One hand comes up to brush through damp locks. Almost self-conscious, if the look on his face is anything to go by. There’s some sort of a faraway look in his eyes. "Raf — Rafayel."

"Were you the third guy on the fishing boat, Rafayel?" You recall that last crew member was slumped half overboard and passed out, prompting the rescue attempt that sent you both to sea in the first place. If Rafayel was wearing his pelt when you attempted to pull him up, the added weight could have been a factor in tipping both of you over. You find it's all a blur in your memory, though, and suppress a shudder. "Did you fall with me or—"

A shadow passes over his features as quickly as the changing tides. When he speaks, though, it's measured, almost cautious. "Yeah, I—" He pauses, shakes his head. Locks those impossibly colored eyes on you again, bright in the early morning light. "How are you feeling, though? Still hurts?"

"My side feels bruised like I was elbowed in the ribs but besides being chilled to the bone from falling into the ocean, I'm alright," you supply honestly. "I saw the blood on the sand, though. It feels unreal that I'm up and about right now. How can a scrape bleed that much?"

Rafayel's mouth goes flat as a line, looking you up and down with a concerning intensity deepening his tone. "You're lucky I was able to pull you back from the worst of it."

Shallow as it is, your wound isn't even dressed, but you decide not to engage in a conversation about the technicalities, patting him on the arm once in thanks and walking around him to get out of the forest line's shadow.

The beach stretching wide and strange before you is a postcard you don’t remember collecting. The sand is darker than you're used to, siltier, almost gray, and littered with glinting shells you don’t recognize, long and spiraled in augers, brittle as glass. Pale reeds jut from the shore at uneven angles, hissing faintly in the breeze, and the driftwood here is stripped bare, almost white, tangled in patterns that look too intentional for nature.

The water itself is clear, almost iridescent, casting strange reflections across the shallows, warped ripples that shimmer pink and green, an oil slick pretending to be pretty. And further out, offshore, strange half-drowned statue-shaped stones loom out of the surf.

You know this archipelago better than most, its coastlines and hidden inlets, the soft-bellied coves that tourists miss, having traced its map with your own hands, ferry lines, rock clusters, the way sandbanks shift after storms. Usually, it takes you seconds to place yourself. A curve in the shoreline, a type of dune grass, the slope of a treeline, something always gives it away.

But this place doesn’t register. No matter how long you stare, it refuses to sort itself into something known. The landscape’s been scrubbed clean of every tell you’re trained to read.

The most logical possibility is Seolhwine’s Hook — the island nearest to the Devil’s Teeth. That makes the most sense, right? You were heading back when the squall hit, and it’s the only one close enough for a current to drag you to overnight, and for Rafayel to be able to swim with you. But even then… even that doesn’t feel right. You’ve docked at Seolhwine’s before. This doesn’t match.

“I hate to say it but... Do you know where we are?” you ask finally, turning to him.

"My aunt's," he answers with a straight face.

You pause mid-shiver, your brain tripping over the simplicity of the statement.

You give him the flattest look you can afford, eyebrows lifting slowly. The pelt is clutched too high at his chest, his fingers wound tight in the fabric, you think he might be afraid of dropping it, though it doesn’t seem he notices he’s doing it. You can’t tell if he’s being deliberately evasive or if he genuinely thinks this is the helpful version of an answer.

"What?"

"Look, I’m all for jokes usually, but right now I need an actual place name — not just that your aunt lives here. I’m cold, I’m tired, and I just want to figure out how to get home—"

"It's my aunt's island."

You blink. Once. Twice. The explanation hangs in the air, weirdly self-satisfied. And it’s not satisfactory at all. Not even close.

What’s with the serene confidence of someone stating the color of the sky, as if “my aunt’s” is a perfectly normal answer to what island are we on? As if those two words magically orient you on a map?

You wait for more. Anything. The punchline. The name. Even a smirk. But there’s nothing.

Is he joking? Is this some elaborate bit? Or does he genuinely think that’s helpful?

The frustration in you sharpens. You’ve had to deal with flaky locals and clueless tourists and broken ferries before, but your patience is thinning by the second. You’re exhausted, still damp, still bleeding a little, and now stuck playing twenty questions with the world’s most uncooperative pretty boy.

"My aunt’s island."

He says it again, but there’s a slight shift in tone — firmer. He's correcting you. Thinks you’re the one being slow. And somehow, that makes it worse.

You stare at him. This time longer. He looks so damn earnest about it, truly believes he’s given you a helpful answer. It’s not smug. It’s not sarcastic. It’s not even deliberately vague to give away he’s fucking with you just to be a tease. It’s literal. Painfully, infuriatingly literal.

You’re trying to get directions from a very impatient child who only answers exactly what you ask and nothing else. Nuance is definitely a foreign language he never got taught.

But something tugs at the edge of your thoughts.

Because as stupid as it sounds — and it does sound stupid — it’s not impossible.

You look around again, really look this time, and you realize something’s been bothering you since you first stood up. It’s too pristine. Too quiet. There’s no old trailhead, no ferry dock, no graffiti-scuffed boulder where kids have carved hearts. No signs. No fishhooks, no cigarette butts. Just wind, tide, trees.

It clicks.

They’re marked on the maps you’ve seen, but only just. Annotated with little circles and names like SH-07 or East Ellinor. Places people like you aren’t supposed to go. Places the ferry routes steer around.

You’ve never been to one. You’ve never had a reason to. The people who owned them had their own transport, their own staff, their own little worlds with locked docks and private everything.

That’s why you didn’t recognize it. It’s not not on the map. It’s just never been part of your map.

You exhale, slow. Let the realization settle.

"So you're saying this is one of the private islands."

Rafayel’s brows lift in vague approval and he nods fervently. "Yes! That. Exactly. It's very private."

You rub your forehead, as if that’ll push the absurdity back into place.

Of course it is. Of course you almost drowned and then washed up on a privately owned island like some shipwrecked stray. Of course the first person you meet is a socially weird, mostly-naked man claiming ownership through familial inheritance like it’s a perfectly casual thing to drop.

You stare up at the sky for a moment, trying to piece together how the hell you even got here.

None of the private islands are anywhere near the Devil’s Teeth — most of them are tucked deep in the inner chain, clustered where the water’s calmer and the currents don’t rip you sideways. But this? This place isn’t close to any of that. You were unconscious, but you remember the storm. You remember going overboard, water in your lungs, panic in your throat, and then nothing. Blackout.

But you weren’t alone.

Rafayel said he pulled you out. Which means he swam you here.

You glance at him again, still draped in that ridiculous pelt and giving you weird pointed looks conveying that he wants to tell you something so bad. He doesn’t look winded enough for someone who hauled another body through open water during a storm. But if he did — if that’s how you got here — then he swam farther than you can make sense of. And maybe lost his clothes in the process. Somehow the latter makes more sense compared to the hypothetical that precedes it.

You were near open sea. This doesn’t add up. Even if he unexpectedly took you somewhere else than Seolhwine's, it just happening to be his aunt's private island is no coincidence.

You look back at him, more confused than before.

"Come," he says softly, extending his hand toward you with palm upward. "I'll take you to her. We'll help you get home. I promise."

A dozen different responses crowd your tongue as you stare down at his offered hand. All the questions rattling between your ears, each booking it for your lips faster than the next. None make it far. Suspicion should be there, but your instincts are unresponsive. They don’t find anything worth questioning about the situation despite the red flags.

Sure, maybe a weird randomly naked guy saved your life, brought you to a secret beach that doesn’t look on any travel maps, and claims to have ties with some rich aunt that owns the whole damn thing...

But he isn't dangerous.

You know that fact unequivocally. Call it a hunch, maybe? Gut intuition. It makes no sense considering your rational side has zero interest in jumping through hoops to trust the random person that literally dragged you out of the ocean to the least convenient place he ever could — but then again, life tends to toss the strangest circumstances and situations your way whenever you least expect it.

What matters most is getting back home, your parents have to be dying of worry — a search party must be out there wasting resources. Having someone who seems oddly comfortable on the island lead you directly to shelter would certainly speed things along.

"Hey," he gently adds when you're quiet for too long, breaking the train of thought running rampant inside your mind. The softness in his tone brings your attention back to him entirely, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

He offers his hand a little higher, which draws your focus back on it with curious clarity. How smooth it lookd, even from this distance, perfect nails without a single scratch or imperfection, fingers delicate, elegant bones visible under the pale skin. "I just want to help. You're safe with me. I won’t hurt you."

You stare at his hand, then at his face, then back again. The tone is soft, the words gentle, but something about it scratches at the back of your brain. The kind of voice usually reserved for nervous animals crouched under porches. Any second now, he might start whistling and offer a treat.

Though the weird phrasing shouldn't work its weird magic on you, it does. Maybe because it sounds so nostalgic and familiar in a way that it invokes a sense of safety in you? Or maybe because you're tired, soaked to the bone, bleeding lightly still, and sore all over and this guy seems too nice to be anything less than honest?

Perhaps both. Probably both. You really have no business trusting strangers who wear big pelt blankets instead of actual clothing and give basic information away akin to some kind of social anxiety sufferer with performance issues, yet here you are, contemplating on the idea of taking his hand.

What the hell, you think eventually. Sure. What alternative is there? If the worst comes to pass, you intend to make him have one less limb to his name — it would be his own fault for walking around like a Resident Evil nude mod. How did that one text post go? Boy put that boaner away lest a sloppy little critter grabs hold of it.

But you’re not that sure what kind of answer you expected when you ask him where you’re headed, but he doesn’t so much point as let his hand drift outward, loose and imprecise — more communion than instruction, as though the land might whisper the route if you stand still long enough. He plants himself in the emptiness with the ease of someone who’s never needed a map, naming vague landmarks with the casual grace of someone expecting the road to rise just because he’s ready to walk it.

As someone who has mastered the art of minding your own business, you don’t call out this behavior. As long as he gets you someplace you can call help from, Rafayel is free to be a weirdo.

But you do press him for information.

“She has lavender near the steps, and her door is the color of the sea,” he offers, like that narrows it down. “The path smells of sage sometimes, if the wind’s right. And there’s a stone shaped like a sleeping dog near the turn — you have to squint a little. The house groans when it’s too warm. There’s a wind chime that only rings when someone she doesn’t like shows up. And the garden gate bites if you don’t know how to open it.”

Not helpful. But then he refuses to add anything else more along the lines of fucking common sense and normal people direction-giving. What does he expect, the scent alone pulling you in the right direction if you just walk long enough?

And maybe he's right. Maybe you're the weird one for expecting something as formal as an address out here. If this really is a private island, there might only be one house. Maybe 'lavender and a blue door' is all anyone needs. Maybe people out here remember things by the curve of the land and the way the air smells after rain.

It isn’t a real plan. It’s the shape of a promise, just strange enough to follow, just vivid enough to believe in for a little while. The way he speaks about it, there’s no room for doubt, and you’ve learned to believe in the word of a local in all your years of living around the archipelago.

So you follow.

The pelt shifts when he moves, catching bits of drift and sand, trailing slightly as he walks beside you through the underbrush. He doesn’t shiver, unlike you. And that makes sense, considering how warm and cozy you were when that thing was your blanket when you first woke up.

The morning light hasn’t yet burned the fog from the trees, and the forest path ahead is dappled in grey. Your boots sink into the softened moss with a squelch. His bare feet barely make a sound, but your skin does hear something because of your wet socks.

You glance sideways at him. No wince, no flinch, not even when he steps straight on a gnarled root that would have you cursing in three languages.

“Seriously?” you mutter. “You don’t even feel that?”

“I’ve walked stranger paths,” he says. Great.

You stop walking with a groan. The wind catches your soaked clothes, cutting straight through to the bone. Your arms are already shaking.

“Okay. New plan.”

He watches as you crouch in front of him, back turned.

You look over your shoulder with an encouraging gesture for him, “Climb on.”

He tilts his head. “Huh?”

“Piggyback. You're barefoot, this path is hell, and I'm freezing. Carrying weight warms you up.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You're not that heavy, and I’ve hauled crates bigger than you off ferries for years. So. Just. Climb on.”

He makes a strangled noise. “I didn’t learn bipedalism just to be carried like a pup by you!”

Such drama. There really is no time for this and you’re not in the mood for negotiations.

You grab one of his wrists and tug it over your shoulder. His entire hand twitches in response. “If it makes you feel better, this is entirely me being selfish. I want to get warm.”

He hesitates, and it’s not pride, he keeps glancing at your side, where the torn side of your turtleneck still clings damp and darkened. His hands hover like he might stop you.

“You’re not healed,” he mutters. “Not properly.”

You hitch his arm higher on your shoulder. “It’s fine.”

“That wound’s still raw.”

“So are my fingers. Cold does that.”

He makes a frustrated noise.

“Listen, enough with courtesy stuff, okay? I don’t care, I’m freezing,” you cut in. “And you don’t have shoes. We’re both going to be miserable either way, so pick your poison.”

He sighs, dragging it out. Eventually, he caves, muttering something under his breath that could be an insult but could also be a compliment. He hoists himself up, arms settling uncertainly around your shoulders, pelt-covered legs bracketing your hips, and you make sure he won’t slip away from your grip because of the material. You’re trekking along the forest in no time, feeling pleasantly distracted from the cold.

“This is deeply undignified,” he mutters.

“And being inexplicably naked in front of a stranger isn’t? Where and why did you lose your clothes anyway? You still haven’t told.”

There’s no response, except from a huff he lets out from his nose, which fondly reminds you of Raf. It must be a tale particularly embarrassing for him to tell, and he did have the fur to make it up for, so you once again don’t pry. Master of minding your own business.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Get comfortable.”

He doesn’t. He sits stiffly at first, as though unsure how much weight he’s allowed to give you. Then he starts shifting. Sighing. Squirming. Grumbling under his breath about the jostling, the pace, the way your shoulder bone is probably bruising his ribs.

"You walk uneven," he complains after the first bend. "See, it hurts after all, yeah? Put me down."

"It's a forest," you grit out. "The ground walks uneven."

"I wish you would listen for once."

"That's a wasted wish on a star. You've known me for like what, fifteen minutes?"

He exhales through his nose again, slow and beleaguered. No witty answer to that one, it seems.

The longer you walk, the more he settles. His complaining slows into occasional muttering, then thoughtful silence. The forest begins to close in around you. Damp leaves brush your arms. The world smells of pine sap, wet bark, and something almost metallic beneath the rot. The silence here is dense, broken only by the soft rhythm of your boots against the ground and the occasional rustle of something unseen in the undergrowth.

Then his voice, soft and close beside your ear: “Do you name the trails you take at sea? Or are they just known to you?”

“What?”

“The water routes. The ones you steer the ferry along. Do they have names?”

He’s talking about sea lanes. You’re about to question how he doesn’t know these things, considering he’s a fisherman, but remember he might not be one. His aunt owns an island. This is a rich kid who probably wanted to fish and got the locals involved in his request.

“They’ve got designations. Letters, numbers. Eights and alphas and things like that. But most of us just… call ’em what we call ’em.”

“Like?”

You think a moment, breath fogging in the damp air. “There’s Shiverstretch. That’s the fast cold current between Dolos and Ternhook. Everyone calls it that ’cause it’s a backslap to the face, especially on the morning runs. And there’s Dead Hour Channel — no wind, no sound, just this long, empty drift. Makes you paranoid that something’s watching. I don’t like that one.”

You feel him shift slightly on your back, listening.

“There’s Longshout,” you add. “Named after a guy who tried to boat through in a storm and ended up yelling for help the whole way ‘til he ran aground on Fallow Reef.”

Rafayel snorts quietly. “That one sounds personal.”

“It is. He still works the east docks. Won’t shut up about it.”

“How do you find your way around, then? I always wondered. Do you read the water like seals do?”

“Reading the water is one way to put it, I guess. They’re charted. We use navigation systems. Landmarks. Depth markers.”

A pause. The trees rumble, disturbed by a sudden gust of wind, brittle leaves dropping pebbles onto the path in front of you. Rafayel shifts awkwardly behind you, almost toppling off to the left before righting himself with a steadying grip.

"Question," you say. "What indicators do you use? Chip on a tree or something?"

He whispers eventually, cheek lightly pressed against yours. You feel his eyes on you. "Smells."

You blink, twisting around to glance at him. He seems surprisingly somber all of a sudden. "Uhhh...."

"Just focus on the road, we're almost there. You'll see."

The path winds past the last of the scrub grass, and then it opens.

The trees fall away in a hush of damp leaves and saltlight, and there, cradled in the middle of the forest-clad small valley, is a sprawling, mansion of a house that doesn’t quite belongs to any century in particular. Can't be called old or modern. The word you’re looking for is neo-classical architecture made to be a beach house. Pale limestone, veined and sun-bitten, gleams beneath the overcast sky. Its walls are streaked with wind-carried brine, but the stone holds strong, weathered soft rather than worn down. And there is the giveaway Rafayel was talking about: blue door.

Lavender spills along the pathway in loose drifts, unruly and fragrant, tangling with sea-thrift and clover like the garden grew itself wild. Carved wooden shutters hang half-closed against the morning chill, and a curved archway frames the entry looks the part of a half-remembered temple. There’s something mythic about it, a story you were almost told once. A place that holds onto memory whether you want it to or not.

And then there’s the scent, ocean first, bright and sharp, but something warmer curling beneath it. Resin, maybe. Incense burned into the beams. Citrus oil in the wood grain.

You adjust your grip beneath Rafayel’s knees as you approach the door. Acting as a barrier between your bodies, his pelt is still slung down your back , trailing behind like a second spine, damp at the edges. He hasn’t said much since the last hill. Just rested his chin between your shoulder blades and hummed, quiet as tidewash.

You reach the first step. Hesitate. The house isn’t grand in the usual way, no columns, no gates, but there’s a heaviness to it. Not unfriendly, but expectant.

You knock.

Silence falls. The melted caramel of sunlight scatters through the dark glass in the windows. Rafayel shifts on your back, going rigid so suddenly it almost jolts you. His breath stills sharply against your spine, and in that single suspended moment, you can feel the piano wire of tension strung through his bones.

You don’t get the chance to ask why. Wood cracks loudly within the doorframe, and there's a pop, a groan, and then a soft, sweet creak as the lock disengages, allowing the door to slowly swing inward with an audible squeak.

The scent hits first, warm and strange. Spiced velvet, a whisper of cloves, dried orange peel, and something more ancient baked into the lintel wood. Then the figure behind it, unexpected.

For an “aunt,” she looks barely older than him. Mid-thirties, maybe, though it’s hard to tell. Her features are sharp, dignified, and her presence is a light cloud, wrapped in layered satin and lace shawl, white and lilac, all shot through with shimmer where the light catches on glinting jewelry. Her hair is swept back, rich violet and pinned with silver shells, and her eyes—

Dusty purple brightening with shock.

“Rafayel?” she breathes, her grip whitening on the frame. Her gaze darts down, takes in the sealskin clinging to your back, the way his taut arms still drape over your shoulders like iron bars. “Gods, is it really you? Look, look at you! Oh... oh!"

Rafayel slides off you, and she practically throws herself out the door as soon as the initial shock wears off, taking two long steps across the threshold until she's directly in front of you, cupping his cheeks with hands that only tremble the smallest bit. He meets her halfway, tilting his forehead to rest against hers as his own hands come up to gently caress her elbows, cradling them lightly. His motions are hesitant at first — touching with clear clumsiness, as if handling glass. But the moment she exhales an astonished little laugh, something changes, he pulls her close, tightening his grasp not to let her blow away on the wind. The woman leans fully against him then, looping her arms around his neck with a relieved shudder that shakes both their frames.

And you're there, a comical stick figure at the background of a well-drawn manga panel with a big arrow pointing at you.

You hope they won't hunt you for sport. Private island. Two eerily good looking family members. Girl who got deliberately delivered there when a closer island was the most blatant option. This has the potential to be a horror movie premise.

But no. Nope. Too late. She glances past his shoulder as soon as her embrace is complete and the silent reunion done with, locking eyes with you, and your soul flees your body, trying to squeeze itself back through your pores like some furtive worm to avoid the full brunt of her curious scrutiny.

She raises one perfectly shaped brow, but before either of you can exchange any words or reactions, Rafayel says something.

You say something, because it's in a language you don't know, one that doesn't bother to make itself easy, sharp at the edges, rounded at the core. It rolls out of his mouth, mist over moorland — thick, tangled, hard to follow. The stone-teeth syllables grind against each other, but every so often, they break open into something strange and sweet, the howl of a reed pipe carried on sea wind.

It just plays into the horror movie vibe because why would he blatantly switch language to probably speak about you, judging from the glance thrown your way, as if you aren't there? Probably conspiring how to eat you! You do feel like tenderized meat.

The woman hums again, a thoughtful note this time, and the conversation carries on in murmured exchanges of tone and gesture — softness here, a flicker of frustration there. And yet you can pinpoint the exact moment everything changes. Rafayel says something. But she draws back, cups his cheeks in her hands, and stares at him hard, searching. Whatever she finds isn’t enough, because she shakes her head once, firm, decisive. He asks again. Another shake, stronger this time, more insistent. Her fingers flex tight against his skin as if she means to hold him there, but he speaks again, something softer, fainter, and her hand relaxes, trembling on the edge of defeat. A faint frown crosses her face, a small downward curl that somehow turns the lines at the corner of her lips into parenthesis, closing off the shape of whatever she might have said next.

"Hey, uh," you finally intervene when their staring contest becomes too intense. They both startle, seeming to remember your existence at once. You smile nervously, holding one raised palm up in defense and nonthreatening greeting. "Sorry to interrupt, ma'am, but could I, um..." Your free hand gestures vaguely to indicate the general situation you find yourself in. "Use your phone? I don't mean to intrude or anything, I just. I got thrown over board during the storm, I don't even know if my ferry was capsized and I really, really need to get back—"

Rafayel says something else under his breath, hasty now, almost tripping over his words.

Her brows furrow in mild concern at his rambling. "Oh dear, I apologize, yes! Do forgive me for being impolite, I forgot myself for a moment there."

You nod politely in acknowledgment of her apology, lowering your arm hesitantly. "Not a problem, it happens."

"It's been so long since our house had guests," she admits candidly, placing an elegant hand over her heart in embarrassment. "Come, come in, please, you need a hot shower and change of clothes." She takes you by the arm and guides you inside. "You're drenched! Look at those goosebumps. Oh, you poor thing."

She leads you into a grand hallway filled with golden hour sunlight spilling through windows framed by sheer white curtains billowing lazily in the breeze, and it is not unlike stepping straight into the interior design section of an expensive department store. You could smell the money dripping off every nook, cranny, wall, and corner. If your wet socks were making muddy imprints on the flooring you knew you'd pass out from mortification on the spot. The floors here look pristine and polished enough for you to see your reflection clearly on its surface. Even the vase tucked neatly into the center of a glossy dark wood console table is worth more than your boat. Everything about this mansion is clean and orderly, it must be heaven on earth for a neat freak like your dad.

"He needs clothes the most, I think," you try to joke, letting her steer you through the main hall with wide curious steps and an awestruck stare. Rafayel, wherever he is behind you two, remains silent. You think he might have disappeared somewhere.

Her grip tightens around your arm like a mother hen dragging her chick into a coop to shelter from winter, her nails lightly digging into the sleeves of your sweater with a pleasant firmness that feels strangely grounding. "Don't worry about him, you focus on getting warmed up now."

"Thanks, ummm..." you begin, hoping it's polite to ask for her name while inside her home. But before you could continue, she turns to regard you with a serene smile — so gentle and graceful she could've been sculpted from marble if it weren't for her very lively personality. She smells nice, too. Floral. Very floral. The same kind of perfume bottle your aunt kept on display near her sewing machine that you stole a few sniffs of when Grandma wasn't looking.

Her attention is summer afternoon sunbeams on your chilled skin. "You can call me Talia.”

228 notes · View notes

woozinhos · 1 day ago

Note

okay but like boxer hubby cheol with his pretty little wifey and them getting freaky after he won cuz he’s a champ 😵‍💫

My Champion|| Choi Seungcheol

Notes: stop I actually love this concept it’s so hot

Seungcheol steps into the ring, his muscles rippling under his skin as he squares off against his opponent. You watch from the sidelines, your heart pounding with excitement and pride. He moves with deadly precision, dodging and weaving as he lands blow after blow. His boxing skills are impressive, and you can see the crowd is captivated by his performance.

As the match goes on, Seungcheol gains the upper hand, finally knocking his opponent out in the final round. The referee raises his hand in victory, and the arena erupts in cheers. Seungcheol grins at you as he's presented with the championship belt, his eyes dark with desire. "Come here," he calls out, gesturing for you to join him in the ring.

You climb up to meet him, your heart racing as he pulls you into a passionate kiss in front of everyone. The crowd goes wild, but all you can focus on is the feeling of his strong arms around you and the heat of his body pressed against yours. Seungcheol smiles at you through the blood and bruises, his expression fierce and possessive. The cut on his nose and split lip only add to his dangerous appeal.

"I did it for you," he says, his voice rough as he holds you close. "Won the championship so I can provide for our family." You run your fingers over his bruised knuckles, your heart swelling with love and admiration. "You're incredible," you whisper, leaning in to kiss him gently despite his injuries.

The crowd continues to cheer and chant his name, but Seungcheol only has eyes for you. "Let's get out of here," he says, his hands roaming over your body possessively. "I need to celebrate with my wife." Seungcheol walks out of the arena with you by his side, answering questions from the press as he shows off his championship belt. His arm is wrapped tightly around your waist, a constant reminder of who he did all this for.

"I have to thank my wife for being my biggest supporter," he says, smiling at you. "She's been my rock through everything." The reporters clamor for more, but Seungcheol only has eyes for you. "We're going to celebrate now," he tells them, pulling you closer as he guides you towards his car. The paparazzi snap pictures of the two of you, capturing the moment of his triumph and your loving support. As you get into the car, Seungcheol turns to you with a hungry look in his eyes. "Time for my real prize," he says, his voice dripping with desire.

"You should really get those cuts looked at," you say softly, reaching out to touch his face gently. "They look painful." Seungcheol chuckles, catching your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm. "It's nothing I can't handle," he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "But if it makes you feel better, I'll get checked out when we get home." You nod, relieved that he's being reasonable. The adrenaline from the fight is starting to wear off, and you can see him wincing slightly as he shifts in his seat.

"You were amazing out there," you say, intertwining your fingers with his. "The way you moved... it was like watching art in motion." Seungcheol smiles at your praise, his grip on your hand tightening. "All for you," he repeats, his voice filled with affection. "Always for you." Seungcheol parks the car in the driveway and turns to you, his eyes dark with desire despite his injuries. "Let's get inside," he says huskily. "I need to show you how much I want you right now."

You can see the tension in his body as he struggles to contain himself, his hands flexing restlessly on the steering wheel. The sight of him so wound up is making you ache with need. As soon as you're inside the house, Seungcheol pushes you against the wall, his mouth claiming yours in a desperate kiss. "I need to be inside you," he growls, his hands roaming over your body as he presses his hardness against you.

"You're mine," he says between kisses. "My champion's prize." Seungcheol's movements are rough and urgent, his adrenaline still pumping from the fight. His hands are possessive and demanding as he strips you out of your clothes, not caring about the buttons that pop off in his haste.

"You drive me crazy," he mutters, lifting you up against the wall and grinding his cock against your wetness. "Watching you in the crowd, knowing you're mine... it makes me want to take you right there." You wrap your legs around his waist, clinging to him as he bites and sucks at your neck. "Take me now," you whisper, digging your nails into his shoulders. "I'm yours to claim."

He thrusts into you in one swift motion, groaning at the tightness of your pussy. "Always so wet for me," he grunts, setting a punishing pace as he pounds into you against the wall. Seungcheol's strength and stamina are evident in his rough lovemaking, his powerful body slamming into yours with every thrust. He's strong enough to hold you up against the wall with one arm, the other hand moving to rub your clit as he fucks you.

"You feel so good," he growls, his voice rough with exertion. "Like a dream come true." You can feel the power in his muscles as he holds you, his body rippling with tension as he approaches his climax. The cut on his lip has started to bleed again, the metallic taste of blood mingling with the salt of his sweat as he kisses you hungrily.

"Cum for me," he commands, his fingers working faster on your clit. "Let me feel you squeeze my cock." You gently stroke Seungcheol's face, mindful of his injuries despite the intensity of the moment. Your touch is tender and soothing, a contrast to the rough passion that's consuming both of you.

"Beautiful," you murmur, tracing the lines of his face with your fingertips. "My champion." The tenderness in your voice makes Seungcheol's eyes soften for a moment, his expression vulnerable beneath the layers of masculinity and strength. He leans into your touch, his movements becoming more gentle as he pushes you closer to your orgasm.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice cracking slightly as he fights to hold back his own climax. "More than anything." Seungcheol buries his face in your neck as he struggles to maintain control, his breath hot against your skin. "You're too good to me," he mutters, his voice thick with emotion. You can feel his body trembling with the effort of holding back, his muscles taut as he tries to prolong your pleasure. "Let go for me," you whisper, running your fingers through his hair. "I want to feel you lose control."

He growls low in his throat, his hips stuttering as he finally lets go. "I'm going to fill you up," he groans, his cock twitching inside you as he fills you with his cum. You follow him over the edge, your body convulsing around him as you come hard. The two of you stay connected for a moment, breathing heavily as you come down from your high.

Seungcheol slowly pulls out of you and carries you to the bedroom, laying you down gently on the bed. He curls up beside you, his body still trembling slightly as he holds you close. You cuddle up to Seungcheol, your bodies fitting together perfectly as he holds you close. He nuzzles your neck, inhaling deeply as he breathes in your scent.

"I'm sorry if I was too rough," he murmurs, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your skin. "I just... I needed you so badly after the fight." You shake your head, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "You were perfect," you assure him. "Always are."

Seungcheol smiles softly, his eyes closing as he relaxes against you. "I'm lucky to have you," he says quietly. "You keep me grounded when I feel like I'm on top of the world." You run your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp soothingly. "And I'm lucky to have a champion like you," you reply, your heart full of love and pride. "To call my own."

286 notes · View notes

midnightloversmusic · 2 days ago

Note

Hey baby! Can I request something where (sub) james potter and reader are best friends and one day he confesses to her that he wants to know what sex feels like (cause hes a virgin lol) and she’s like “i can… show you?” 🙏🏻🙏🏻😣😣 imagine him all subby fucked out not being able to handle how her pussy feels so much better than his hands

omg thisssssss!!!!! sub James is literally all I think about. I Hope you like ittt!

James Potter x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT

1.8k words

--------

It's a typical Saturday night. James had texted you earlier asking if he could come over; apparently there was a new movie he wanted to see. Sirius had already seen it and Remus was too much of a movie critic so that left you as James' movie companion tonight.

You and James’ friendship was comfortable. You’d known him since you were kids and you both knew almost everything about each other. Almost. James was a person who thrived on physical touch, so that meant holding hands in public, spooning while taking naps together, and cuddling while watching movies. As you were right now.

The movie James had picked was action packed and not typically what you’d put on, but you weren't upset about it. You were just happy to spend time with him. He had gone to visit his parents the week prior, and although you had other friends to hang out with while he was away, nothing compared to the complete comfort and ease you felt with him. You two had a rhythm, you worked around each other seamlessly, you don’t even need to think when he's around.

As the movie progressed through fight scenes and dramatic love confessions it eventually blurred into messy kisses and a very steamy sex scene that you should probably feel awkward watching while laying on top of your best friend–but it's never awkward with James.

You are busy watching the movie, not worrying about the boy beneath you until you hear a sharp inhalation of breath.

You scrunch your eyebrows and tear your vision away from the screen where the two main characters are going at it on their kitchen counter.

“James?” you question

All you get is a strained “mhm?” in response

“... are you alright?”

You watch him take a deep breath. You even see a slight blush cover his cheeks. Strange.

“I just-” he stops himself and looks back at the TV for a moment,

“I just wish I knew what sex feels like.” he murmurs quietly

You nearly choke on your own spit. You don’t mean to laugh at him, you really really don't. The giggles escape you involuntarily.

“James, what are you talking about?”

He has to be messing with you, it's the only explanation your slightly dumbstruck mind can come up with. There is just no way your hot, muscley, kind, stunning bestfriend is a virgin. There's absolutely no way that's true.

But, you think back on all the times you have discussed sex with James. You both tell eachother everything, so why can't you come up with a single memory of him talking about his sex life? You have told him about yours plenty of times. You have told him about the guys that weren't able to make you cum, he’d made fun of them profusely. You told him about the guys that did make you cum, you told him about the hot shower sex you had, about a one night stand that submitted to you so well you swore it was the best sex of your life, you seriously didn't shut up about that lay, and yet throughout all of these stories James just nodded along. He didn’t add to your stories, he never added his own input or told a story of his own.

Your realization must show on your face because James sinks a little further into the couch and his face flushes.

“No, no, no. No. James, baby it's okay!” you nervously laugh

“God, I'm so sorry. I really didn’t mean to laugh it's just-” you stop yourself and take a deep breath,

“You're just you. You know?” “I Mean James you're hot, I mean like ridiculously hot, and jacked and I just didn't expect you to be a virgin that's all!”

After you finish your rambling James seems to lighten up a bit,

“You think I'm hot sweetheart?” he wiggles his brows at you

You roll your eyes at him and push at his chest. Even through his teasing you think back to what he said. I wish I knew what sex feels like. He sounded so vulnerable when he said it and god, you just wanted to give this man whatever he wanted.

Your friendship was so open, it wouldn’t be weird. You knew each other inside and out. He knows you’d take care of him and you know that he’d take care of you so, why not? You’d be willing if he was down.

“James” you say with a tone suddenly serious.

You shifted so that your knees were straddling either side of his waist and looked down at him. Suddenly you felt nervous. That feeling was quickly shaken from your mind as James reached out for your hand. He took it in his and laced his fingers with yours.

“I-, I can…show you?” What sex is like I mean. If you want to of course! You don't have to-”

James cuts of your rambling with a simple “Please”

When you look back down at him his eyes are glossed over. And fuck. You wanted to give him everything.

You lean down and hover your lips just above his,

“Is this okay baby?”

“More than okay, please please please pl-”

You cut off james’ begging with a kiss. It's firm, a little sloppy, but so so so good. You experiment by grinding your hips down into his and he whimpers into your mouth.

You can feel his hard cock through his trousers and it makes you go slightly feral. You pull away from the kiss, it’s filthy, and a string of spit connects both of your mouths. You're both panting, James looks undone and you just started.

“Lets go to my bed okay? You think you can do that for me?”

He lets out a grunt, but nods nonetheless. You get up off of his lap and he whines at the loss of contact. He throws his legs off the side of the couch and begins to stand as you reach for the remote to turn off the now forgotten movie.

You start moving toward the bedroom, James follows. When you arrive you pull James down by the roots of his hair and whisper into his mouth,

“Good boy, James”

James is surprised he doesn’t come on the spot, he lets out a sinful moan just as your lips reconnect.

You walk him backwards toward the bed and push him down. He scoots up closer to the headboard and your hands come to his jeans. You start to unbutton them as he pulls his shirt over his head. You ogle him with no shame. After you've pulled his jeans and boxers off of his legs you let your hand roam. They move over his chest, watching as his back arches as you brush against his sensitive nipples, you run them over the ridges of his abs and move down. You narrowly avoid his cock deciding you want to tease his thighs instead.

He whines and squirms on the bed as you run your hands over his thighs, leaning down to bite and nip at them. He begs you for more. You don't think you have ever heard a prettier sound.

Eventually you decide to have mercy. You crawl up his body to give him a kiss. You look into his watery eyes as you coo

“Aw James youre looking so fucked out and I havent even touched your pretty cock yet” You fake a pout

“Please, please y/n! I need you to touch me” he pushes his hips up, looking for friction, but you lift up before he can get any.

“Oh I know love, I've been a little mean havent I? My good boy deserves to be touched isn’t that right Jamie?”

“Yes! Yes ill be so good I promise, just touch me!”

You don’t even wait for him to finish before wrapping your hand around his cock. Hes big. Again making you question just how in the hell your sweet boy is a virgin.

“So big Jamie, so pretty” you whisper as you begin to move your hand up and down in painstakingly slow strokes

He whines in the pillow where he buries his head. His hips lift to meet your hands movement and as you move to rub your thumb over his leaking tip he shouts,

“‘M going to cum! Stop! I need to be inside you. I don't want to cum yet please!”

You lift your hand off immediately, and although he asked you to stop, he sobs into his pillow and releases a frustrated moan.

“It's okay Jamie, you're doing so well for me. You want to be inside me?”

“Yes!” he sobbed out

You strip off the remainder of your clothes and settle on top of him. He looks up at you with his teary eyes and grabs your waist. You reach behind you and pull his cock to your folds. You run his tip through your wetness, teasing him. He's already moaning and shaking from the minimal stimulation.

“Please!”

With his request you sink down on him. The sound he makes is utterly indecent. Your sounds mix together as you adjust to his length. You haven't even started to move yet but his eyes are squeezed shut and he’s chanting don’t cum dont cum dont cum to himself over and over again. You let out a slightly evil giggle as you rotate your hips and begin to move up and down on his cock.

He lets out a strangled moan and gasps.

“Shit! Fuck fuck fuck.” he lifts his head off the pillow to get a better look at where your bodies meet but had to throw it back against his pillow in a few second.

He is completely overwhelmed and filled by the sensation of your heat wrapped around him. It's better than anything he's ever felt before. His hand could never live up to this and he doesn't know how he'll ever go without this again.

He tries to last, he really really tries, but it's all too much and he barely has the mind to tell you,

“Cuming- I’m cumming fuck”

“Inside me” You pant out.

And that's all it takes. He cums with a strangled cry. You think he has never looked better. He looks completely and utterly debauched. His hair, usually unruly, is somehow even more of a mess, his face is scrunched up from pleasure, and he's covered in love bites.

You slow your hips movements and rub your hands soothingly down his sides.

“How was that baby? Did it live up to your expectations?”

He looks up at you with a look full of admiration

“Live up to my expectations? Honey, you took my expectations and knocked them out of the park. That was the best thing I've ever felt. Ever.

You let out a giggle and lean down to give him a quick kiss. When you pull away he's frowning

“Oh god, what now pretty boy?”

“You didn't get to cum.” He states,

“I need to make you cum, it's not fair-”

You stop his ramblings

“How about we save that for next time, yeah? I'm okay, I'm just happy I got to make you feel good. Lets get cleaned up, okay?

“Next time?” he questions,

“Next time.”

#marauders #the marauders #marauders x reader #james potter smut #jamespotter #James potter #james potter fanfic #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x you #james fleamont potter #james potter imagine #james potter x reader #james potter x reader smut

210 notes · View notes

cherriicou · 10 hours ago

Text

thinking ab fratboy! joshua who literally chokes on his drink when you asked him politely to take your v-card.

‘come on,' your hands grip harder on his hair, lips swollen and cheeks flushed from the rough kisses. he cups your face with one hand, thumb brushing against your bottom lip with a smirk, 'baby, you're not ready,' his sweet voice only haunts you more, thighs squeezing against his. you're straddling his lap so cutely, skirt riding up your ass while one of his hands holds onto your waist for you not to move.

you whine and throw your head back playfully, 'am too,' your little pout makes him smile in awe. you were such a pretty girl. one he'd always notice in his classes, but felt you were too good for him. yet, here you were perched so nicely on his lap, begging him to fuck you.

'just the tip,' he groans into your mouth, your soft pleas making it so much harder to deny your wants. 'you and me both know that won't last,' you smile against his lips as you grind harder on him. both his hands land on your waist as he lays you down on your back. he makes sure a soft pillow is there for your head then places small kisses all the way down to your cunt :3

he takes off his stained pants from both your wetness and his, fully showing you his hard length. a breathy gasp leaves your lips, eyes shaking when you see him get closer to you while spreading his pre-cum all over his cock. 'ready?' he asks softly, locking eyes with you to make sure you were okay. you nod, eyes moving from him to his cock that's rubbing against your folds. both of you moan as he enters just the tip inside.

'fuck,' the small stretch was killing you, 'so perfect,' you moan at his praise. with one hand grabbing onto the sheet, 'do it,' you plead. he smiles calmly, hands placed back on your hips, staring straight at your face as it slowly starts to scrunch cutely. he was fucking big, too big. he's stretching you out completely now, 'shua!,' you yell, hand grabbing onto his forearm.

'want me to st-.' you shake your head immediately, no. 'more, please,' and that is all it takes for him to lose all the self-control he had. he continues to slowly push his length into your pussy, 'fucking taking me so well, princess,' oh, you were definitely his now. he wasn't ever going to let anyone take his precious girl away from him. those thoughts only growing while you scream his name out loud. you are just a mess beneath him, begging for him to go harder on your already sensitive cunt :<

he gets closer to your face, pounding ruthlessly now like a madman. his sweat starts dripping on your neck as he groans near your ear while pushing himself deeper into your cervix, and you're loving this. it's so perfect how his gentle aura is now gone and he's whispering the dirtiest things in your ear; calling you his, saying how tight your cunt is, how he's going to use you all the time now, how your body was made to be fucked by him. it's all driving your body crazy.

'cumming, shua,' you grab onto his shoulder, biting into his soft skin. you can't see him but he's enjoying the fuck out of this, he loves how needy you're body is to him now, so all he does to respond is latch his mouth on your nipple, still riling himself into you. and you feel yourself come undone, your pussy clenching hard on his cock and it feels so good. 'aw my baby finished,' he coos into your neck, letting you and your body calm down from its first release.

you breathe in and out, your cunt is so sensitive as he stays still in you until you feel his hands snake around your torso, 'joshua!,' you're now laying on your stomach then pulled closer to where your back is arched and your ass is perfectly aligned for his cock to slip into your pussy, 'but i'm not done with you.'

author's note; hey guys! quick little imagine bc im studying for finals and older bf!svt is gonna be on a very short hold :< i do read all of your requests and trust me i will be doing all members hehe... thank you for all the recent support, it encourages me a lot! p.s. this is not proofread, so excuse any mistakes :0

also been thinking about dino and shua a lot lately.... wtf is going on with them, they've been giving me strokes.

160 notes · View notes

realcube · 6 hours ago

Text

AT THE SAME DAMN TIME!

hot w/ hq duos! (pt 2)

ft.. ushijima + tendou // kuroo + kenma // kageyama + sugawara // bokuto + atsumu + sakusa // matsukawa + hanamaki

tws & tags.. nsfw minors dni. threeways (mmf). fourway (mmmf). specific warnings before each.

note.. click here for part one.

★ USHIJIMA + TENDOU

tw & tags.. vaginal, praise, begging, size kink, implied sex worker ! reader

it may have taken a decade, but the oppertunity finally arises wherein ushijima is able to visit tendou in paris. that's not to say they haven't seen in each other in ten years, but due to ushijima's commitments and contracts with the schweiden adlers, he is very bound to japan even during his time-off, which is why tendou most often flies home for them to meet.

however, ushijima eventually managed to arrange a trip to france. tendou showed him around the city, and most importantly, the chocolaterie he opened. he worked for an employer for seven years before he opened up a shop of his own; his pride and joy, and it was currently performing very well, business-wise. ushijima was more than impressed by his old friend.

while planning the journey, ushijima was going to book a hotel but tendou urged him not to waste his money, stating that his penthouse has a spare room for wakatoshi to sleep in. he embraced tendou's kind offer, and hence, at the end of their first day in paris together, ushijima joined tendou as they travelled back to his apartment.

what he wasn't expecting though, was a random woman roaming around the penthouse when they arrived. tendou didn't seem jarred or disturbed by your presense, so ushijima assumed your weren't an intruder. but equally, you weren't cleaning or cooking, so you couldn't be hired help. did tendou have a girlfriend he failed to mention?

when he turned to his friend to question your occupany in his apartment, tendou explained that he gets quite lonely while in paris — far away from his family and most of his friends — so he pays someone to keep him company. and you do your job very well, keeping him warm inside and out.

ushijima is still quite confused by his friend's explanation, so tendou suggests a demonstration.

though, tendou knows yourtimid and don't like visitors or guests — and hence his nickname for you: 'moody kitty' — so it takes some convincing, but you eventually agree.

your bent over the crytsal top coffee table, with your face and tits smushed against its cool surface while ushijima and tendou, stood next to each other, take turns ploughing into from behind. your skirt has been ripped off, so your bare ass and glistening pussy are on full display to both of them.

currently tendou is balls-deep inside you, sloppily rutting into your cunt over and over, while his familiar, slender fingers rub your folds and tormet your sensitive clit. your melodious moans ring throughout the room and highly overpower his low grunts that emit from his gut with each sporadic thrust. "mph, what a pretty, pretty kitty." he muses. "you've got nothing to be shy about. wakatoshi thinks your sexy too, right?"

"yes." he replies bluntly. ushijima stands aside and strokes his cock, mesmerised by the way your perky ass bounces and your entire perfect body quivers around tendou's dick. meanwhile, tendou doesn't seem to care about the fact he's got your brain fried from his tip repeatedly bumping your cervix. he just continued to rut into you, despite how your twitching figure and squelching pussy indicate that you can't take much more.

"ngh, fuck, sa— hah, satori! too much.." you whine against the table, the beads of saliva forming at corner of your mouth, sticking to the table, "m' so close!"

usually that would be a trigger for tendou to fuck you even harder, but in this instance, it reminds him that he has a guest present and signals that it is time for you to switch handler. "mmh, sorry about this, sugar.. you know i love to see your pretty pussy cum but.." without warning, he jerks himself out and motions for ushijima to take his place. "wakatoshi's turn now, princess. ya ready?"

you gasp at the unexpected action; your entire body suddering at how the cold air floods your previously conjested pussy. the burning sensation in your abdomen momentarily dies down, but it's short-lived, as the gape is soon filled by ushijima bullying his fat cock into your soaked cunt.

thankfully, tendou's actions and foreplay has made you sufficiently wet and lubricated, otherwise there would be no way in hell he'd be able to fit that monster dick inside your tight hole. even you laid there, shocked that it was fully inside you, as you could feel the way it protrudes from your tummy and pushes against your walls.

"mmph, too big! too full.. i can't!" you mewl, clawing at the smooth glass surface of the table to cope with the deliciously agonising stretch of your cunt. while ushijima and tendou simply pass entertained smirks to each other at your sweet cries.

"yes, you can, kitty. don't be shy." tendou purrs while stroking your plump ass, almost patronisingly. "be a good girl for wakatoshi like you are with me. show him how well-bahaved you are. c'mon, he doesn't bite."

ushijima does far worse than bite. you most definitely weren't ready for the way he fucked you. it was like you were being repeatedly impladed, yet somehow it was the best thing you've ever experienced. he had your eyes rolling back in your head and your tongue shamelessly hanging out from your mouth.

meanwhile, an entirely amused tendou slithers under the glass coffee table and lays on his back. that way, when he looks up, he can fuck his fist to the sight of your obscene facial expressions as you get your guts rearranged by his friend.

a smirk flickers over his lips, "not so shy anymore, are we, princess?"

you can't even pretend to grant his question with a sarcastic response as your mind can't even begin to form a coherent thought, from the way ushijima's bulbous tip tortures your g-spot. his dick raking against your spongy walls over and over until they are woefully sore from having to swallow him again and again.

since you were already high from sex with tendou, less than a minute with ushijima's dick inside your pussy already had you begging for a sweet release, "p-please! it's too much.." you cry, steaming up the glass under you with your hot breath, " 'm, ahh!— gunna cum!"

tendou's face burns as his hand furiously tugs at his cock, your gorgeous face and tits serving as perfect jerk material — not to mention your pornographic moans and drenched noises from your poor cunt. "nuh-uh, (y/n). can't cum til you ask wakatoshi for permission." he coos, meeting your lust-clouded gaze from beneath the glass — he can tell how badly you need to finish but unfortunately he loves teasing you even more. "c'mon. be good n' ask. use your words, kitty."

stringing together an intelligble sentence felt like an impossible task, but as you squeezed your eyes shut, and tensed your cunt around wakatoshi's lethal dick — relentless slamming into your pussy, you somehow manage to choke out, "mmmph, please, ushi— hah, fuck!" you spluttered, barely completing two words before an overwhelming surge of bliss overcame you again, throwing you off. but you found it in you to persevere, "can i cum? please can i finish?" you hastily breath out your inquiry as if it were all one word. your chest pressing against the glass with each deep breath you heave while stifling your impending orgasm.

ushijima continues his rythmic pace, his dick throbbing with in the confines of your homey walls as he feels his own climax fast-approaching. ".. yeah." he grunts.

but now it is your turn to shock him. as soon as merely utters the golden word, your cunt immediately clamps down on him, as you let your fiery high blissfully roll over you and totally embody the lust brimming in your abdomen.

and due to this, you even elicit a quiet groan from ushijima as he succumbs to his own climax and fires his hearty load into your hole. it's the best he's every had; he lets his vision glaze over as he's transported elsewhere. somewhere hot and soft. as he revels in the way your convulsing cunt desperately milks him dry, as though it were trying to savour every last drop of his precious seed.

even once you're both done, and you start coming down from your high, he remains buried in your snug cunt. he can't bring himself to pull out.

while ushijima stands there panting, tendou takes a break from pleasuring himself to crawl out from under the table to stand at the opposite end of the coffee table, where your face is. "how's that? good, isn't she?" tendou chuckles at his typically stoic friend appearing to visibly fucked-out.

wakatoshi nods breathlessly.

tendou hums in agreement as he slips his fingers under your chin to prop it up, as he uses his other hand to manoeuvre his cock into your glistening lips. he gazes down at you, and smiles warmly as you obidiently accept his length into your mouth, "she's perfect."

★ KUROO + KENMA

tw & tags.. power dynamics, inappropriate workplace relations, cockwarming, meanie! kenma, degredation, slight analplay, praise, handjobs, good cop/bad cop

kuroo and kenma have important work to do. recently, bouncing ball corp and it's affiliates have signed a contact to run a major event with the japanese volleyball association, led by yours truly. hence, there was less than a week less until the event and still mass amounts of work needing done.

there were heaps of paper work in kenma's office that required filing, while kuroo had thousands of emails to respond to and marketing to clear as head of the jva promotional division. together they decided that they needed to tackle this backlog head-on and pull an all-nighter together at kenma's office in tokyo. there they could have peace and quiet to simply focus on all the duties that required their attention.

they begun work at around 9AM and kept going until 5PM. then they took a one hour dinner break before resuming the grind. however, they ran out of steam again at around midnight, despite the multiple coffees and energy drinks they had gone through.

something stronger was nessecary to keep them focussed. and thankfully kenma had just the thing.

his cute secretary usually clocked out at 5PM but kenma was weary of the fact him and kuroo were going to stay late today, so he scheduled you a night shift instead.

kuroo was skeptical at how a secretary would be able to help with their workload, but he kept his inquires to himself while kenma summoned you to the office.

you arrived around ten minutes afer he texted you, and when kuroo laid eyes on you, it was like he had been instantly awoken, but mostly below the belt. the way your white blouse clung to your alluring figure, and your skirt was inappropriately tight and he could leer over every curve of your perky ass.

"ten minutes? what the hell.." kenma chides, but with a lot less force than usual — he's too tired to spank you like he usually does.

"sorry! i fell asleep at my desk again.." you clasp your hands together and apologise profusely, "i am really sorry. i put a special ringtone for your texts too that's really loud but i still slept through it.."

"again.. do i need a shock collar or something?" he stresses, fidgeting with the pen in his hand as he slouches against his desk. "or how about a vibrator? and i can keep the controller for it."

you blush at the idea, and kuroo is also thoroughly scandalised upon hearing the way kenma talks to his assistant. surely that violates lots of workplace harassment laws, he thinks to himself. however, his view will change once he starts to understand the special nature of the relationship you have with your boss.

"kenma, be nice." he comments. but kenma just rolls his eyes.

"this is kuroo, the head of the promotional divison at the jva." he introduces you to kuroo, then does the reverse, "and this is my secretary, (y/n)." his head snaps back round to glare daggers at you, "be polite, (y/n). don't embarrass me."

you nod nervously under his piercing amber scrutiny and rush over to shake kuroo's hand. "hi, nice to meet you, sir." you splutter.

kuroo smiles up at you warmly, "nice to meet you too." he's got a strong grip but you don't let go until he does first. then, you glance back at kenma for his approval, but all you see is him motioning for you to come closer to him.

which you do, wordlessly. once you are within arms-length, he yanks you forwards and pulls your skirt up, revealing your supple ass and your black thong. "you call that underwear? that's dental floss, slut.."

he spreads your cheeks and runs his slender fingers over your cute asshole, entranced by the way it subtly quivers at his cold touch. "kenma.. stop.." you whine, and kuroo watches in dismay as this happens.

little does he know, you are completed accustomed to and accepting of kenma's perverted antics. you're just a lil' shy when it comes to ass stuff. but even then, you have a safe word with kenma and it certainly isn't 'stop'. kuroo is too horrified (and turned-on) to utter a single word. he's petrified.

kenma lets go of your ass and for moment kuroo believes he has come to his senses, until kenma commands in a low voice, "strip." then kuroo's jaw virtually falls to the floor. and he's even more shocked when you actually do it.

they both watch intently as you sensually pull your skirt down then follow it up by tugging your panties off to reveal your entire ass and pussy. you also unbutton your blouse, then undo your bra and let your tits fall out. your nipples visibly pebbled and erect due to the cold air. and finally, you slip your heels off and shuffle awkwardly in place, awaiting further instruction.

midway through your little show, kenma begins to pull his trousers down to free hardened length. when he holds it in his hand, he doesn't even need to say a word, he just gazes up at you with that risque glint in his eye and you are already trained on what to do next.

usually he'll suck your clit a bit first or play with your nipples to dampen you enough to take his cock, but he hasn't this time, hence you especially struggle to sink down on him. but being the helpful man he is, he pushes you down by the shoulders until your sat nicely on his lap and he is balls-deep inside you.

"nngh, kenma, hurts.." you stutter, your nails digging into the thick material of his shirt. your growing increasing wet by the second, your juices even dripping down his shaft, but that hardly takes away from the strain on your walls.

"of course it does.." he mutters, picking up his pen in one hand and resting the other on the small of your back. "just stay put, okay?"

at some point during that suspicious encounter, kuroo was able to put the pieces together and realised that your relationship might not be entirely professional, like he had initially thought. which was a relief; he worried he was going to have to file an urgent report to HR about his childhood best friend.

"kuroo.." kenma spoke softly, "come over."

kuroo was unsure at first, but perhaps it was due the growing tent in his pants, or maybe his lust-clouded judgement, but he gave minimal resistance before he stood up from his chair, and dragged it over to kenma's side of the desk.

he then took a seat again, but right beside you and kenma. your face was hooked over kenma's shoulder, nuzzling into his bleached hair, while kuroo admired your naked figure, tenderly tracing your exposed spine with the pads of his fingers.

despite this attention, you paid no mind to kuroo whatsoever, causing a gasp to be ripped from your throat when kenma smacks your plump ass. "(y/n), what did i say about being polite?"

you pout at his harsh words then turn to kuroo with glossy eyes, who can only dote over your adorable expression. he cups your cheek in his hands and coos, "aw, don't be so mean to the pretty girl, kenma." he directs his first comment at his friend, then the latter at you, "you're tired, sweet thing, aren't you?"

you nod at his understanding, then nuzzle into his neck instead. he chuckles at this, "yeah? we're all sleepy, huh." you quickly realise he's more buff than kenma, from the way his muscles flex against your skin as he rubs your back. also, he smells like a man; an expensive man. you don't know what cologne he's wearing but it's intoxicating and so romantic.

kuroo starts to undo his fly and pull his cock out from the parition in the fabric of his trousers, but kenma — cold stare not averting from the paperwork in front of him — is quick to warn, "careful. she's a messy slut." he accenuates his point by shifitng his spare hand from the small of your back to under your ass, where he lift you slightly to reveal the creamy ring of essence you've left at his base.

kuroo, opting to save his trousers from being soiled, pulls them down to his knees. "not a slut," kuroo correct gently, as he works on freeing his dick from his briefs, "just excited."

you nod, gaze dropping to watch kuroo rub his long, exposed shaft. his other hand toys with your nipple, playfully but firm enough that it forces your body to face him. he huffs a chuckle at the way you gawk at his impressive length, "think you can help me out too, beautiful?"

"mhm." your hand wanders over his beefy thigh before you fingers cautiously wrap around his cock. his fierce eyes are fixed to you with a glaring precion, soaking up your every move. from the way your bare tits sway as you lean forward, or how you swallow a lump in your throat formed due to kenma cock still nestled up within your walls.

once you have him fully in your grip, you begin to pump his cock gently — stroking it, more than anything. and kuroo lets out a satisfied sigh at the stimulation. however, kenma must have misinterpreted it as a sigh of frustration, as he urges you, "(y/n), go faster. why're you being so lazy today?"

kuroo shakes his head, relaxing back into his chair, and holding your face into his neck by cradling your head. "it's fine, kenma. she's doing perfect." he reassures, pressing a benign peck on your temple, smiling into your skin, "you're too harsh."

kenma rolls his eyes, not averting his feline eyes from the work afore him even once, "she's not your secretary; i know she can do better." kenma argues, in his signature monotone, on accentuated by his tired voice, "maybe you're just too nice to whores."

"awh, don't listen to kenma, sweetheart. you're not a whore." he musues, admiring the way your pretty hands tug at his dick, and how your gorgeous naked body looks sprawled out across him and kenma. he could just eat you up; starting with those cute tits. "maybe you should come back to the jva headquarters with me. i have a lot of things i could use your help with."

"stop that." kenma spits.

kuroo titters at his half-assed attempt to poach his friend's secretary, then leans forward so he can reach his laptop. the rest of the night goes on like this, with kenma's cock planted inside your pussy, and kuroo occasionally grunting under his breath while you stroke him at a very mild rate. it's awfully intimate, and although you anticipate the encounter will escelate once kuroo and kenma finish their work, unfortunately you all fall asleep before that happens. and the janitor has a nasty surprise when he walks in on you all in that position.

★ KAGEYAMA + SUGAWARA

tws & tags.. oral (m receiving) , tit jobs, rough sex, handjob, sex worker! reader, degredation, praise and general messiness

the schweiden adlers scheduled a practise match against another team in their base location, and even though kageyama didn't anyone to watch, sugawara heard about the match through the grapevine and decided to attend — since he was in the area and had the day off work — in order to surprise and show support for an old friend.

suga appears in the stands with only around thirty other people watching, since it was only a practise match. around halfway through the game, kageyama noticed his familiar face in the small crowd, and they briefly flashed each other smiles of acknowledgement.

after the match, suga approached kageyama and they caught up a little bit. talking about what they've been doing since graduation and how things have been going in their personal lives. their conversation was cut short though as kageyama was being urged to shower and change out of his jersey by his coach, and suga happily offered to walk with him to the changing room.

as they walked through the hallways of the sports centre, they continued their idle chatter. suga brought up, "being a professional volleyball must be stressful, huh?"

"eh. not really." kageyama shrugged.

"huh?! seriously?! i mean, i work at an elementary school and i'm stressed out, like, all the time. i've already started finding grey hairs!" suga explains frantically, "so, i have no idea how you cope as a volleyball player. when there's so much pressure for you to perform well at matches, in front of millions of people."

kageyama is a bit perplexed by the 'grey hairs' comment, but he glosses over that and instead replies, "i guess it is a lot of pressure sometimes. but i deal with it pretty well."

"how?" suga asks desperately, anticipating kageyama to introduce him to some sort of intricate zen technique, or a life-changing diet regime. and naturally he was extremely disappointed when tobio responds with,

"there's a janitor at home base who gives blowjobs for ¥4000."

suga simply stares with his mouth hung agape, astounded. taking bjs off some old crusty janitor was not the solution he was seeking at all. however, kageyama must've interpreted his stunned silence as curiosity, as he added, "c'mon, i'll show you." as he makes a b-line down some random hallway, which was clearly not the direction they were meant to go in for the changing rooms, and suga has no choice but to follow him as he can't navigate through this building on his own.

albeit, he makes his intentions very clear as he marches after kageyama, "i'm not going to pay some random guy for a service like that. and you shouldn't be doing that either, it's messed u—" as he drones on, kageyama halts outside a random door and knocks on it, and suga is left truly speechless when the door creaks open and stood there is you in your tight-fitting janitors outfit.

suddenly, suga was reaching into his wallet to see if he had ¥4000 on him.

after an awkward interaction (followed by a smooth monetary transaction), your kneeled down in the janitor's cupboard with suga and kageyama stood in front of you. your bare chest was exposed but you kept your pants on, unlike the two of them who were eager to jam their dicks down your pretty throat.

kageyama was as rough as usual, making full use of your hair in order to maneuver you around to his will, forcing you to deepthroat his cock when he felt like it. "just like that, fuck. keep fuckin' going." he'd heave angrily, brows furrowed together in hedonistic fury.

he loved seeing the imprint of his dick in your neck, or against your puffy cheeks. and the way your eyes would screw shut whenever you got a taste of his bitter precum that would seep onto your tongue as you sucked. "better not stop.."

sugawara was far more adept at feigning kindness. he wouldn't grip your hair the way kageyama would, no, whenevr he wanted your attention, he'd gently cup your chin and guide it so you were gazing up at him. but it was all an act really, because he was far more perverted than kageyama every was. like a wolf in sheep's clothing.

whenever you were pleasing tobio, suga would lean over and fondle your tits while you'd pump his cock. he'd tug and pinch at your hardened nipples and smirk devilishly whenever he'd get any reaction from you. and he was up for far more than bjs, he'd bend his knees slightly so his dick slid perfectly between your tits, and when you'd press your girls together, he audibly groaned at the soft sensation.

through heavy lidded eyes you met the doting hazel stare of suga, who smiles down at you, "you're so pretty.." he muses, leaning over to cup your cheek in his hand, gently grazing your burning skin with his thumb. "such soft tits. you're a dream, dear." the kindness was foreign to you, thus you smiled up at him, while he continued to drag his dick between your tits, bumping your chin occassionally.

kageyama was quick to notice that your mouth was currently unoccupied, and hence seized the oppertunity to snap your head round towards him by your hair, causing you to yelp. "go on," he urged, guiding his cock back to your closed mouth and tapping his leaky tip against your lips, "get to work. swallow it, slut." he growled, a mocking smirk playing on his features.

tobio wasn't usually so forceful with you. he was abrasive, sure, but never rude. there was something different about him today, but admittedly, you kinda enjoyed it. the sinister glint in his ocean eyes caused a canal of heat to stir in your core, and pool in your panties, as you gazed up at him and obidently accepted his length back into your adoring mouth. all while sugawara was still thrusting his dick between your plush tits.

you pushed them together even further, causing a stifled whimper to be pulled from suga. "uhh— that's perfect, angel. thank you — acht, so much." he heaves, unable to suppress a delighted grin at your adorable little face, all stuffed with kageyama's cock, and your gorgeous tits which engulf him so well. "you're too good at that.."

kageyama's cock is shoved virgously down your throat, and he basically uses your mouth as his very own fleshlight. piloting your movements with his fist balled up in your hair, as his hips rock against your sloppy mouth. "heh, you look like a fuckin' whore like this." he blabbers through gritted teeth, "shit- might be cause you are one." and you can tell by the way his grin disappated and his eyes grow watery that he's getting close to his high.

but suga beats him at the chase, as his dick twitches against your chest and before you are given any time to prepare, he unloads his seed between your tits. and being the kind woman you are, you use your hands to push them together to keep his cock wrapped up tight as he climaxes, even if that means your entire chin, neck and tits are all coated in a layer of his semen.

he's got quite a hefty load, and he only pulls away once you are thoroughly painted. his eyes were screwed shut while he came, but once he is able to pry one open and look at the sticky mess he has made of you, he can't help but snicker to himself. "acht, sorry, angel. i've made an awful mess of you, haven't i?" he hums, talking to you in a disturbingly clement tone, "don't worry, it'll be easy to clean. we are in a janitor's cupboard, there should be something that could wi—"

"don't. she looks hot like this." kageyama states bluntly. during sugawara's orgasm, kageyama mercifully reduced his pace and allowed you to slowly bob back and forth on his length and lick his shaft. but not to make it easier for you or anything, of course not; it just happened naturally as kageyama was more entertained by watching sugawara cover you with his hot cum. it was so filthy.

"hah, look like even more of a whore now. covered in cum." kageyama huffed out a chuckle and began to increase the rate at which he was thrusting his cock into your mouth, with such intensity it was such to leave your lips bruised. "bet you like that, don't you? don't you?"

"mmph!" was all you were able to respond as kageyama frantically slammed you against his cock over and over, right until his thick cum unexpectedly shot down your throat. warm and suffocating, threatening to stick to the walls of your throat if you don't swallow it all — so you do, tentatively.

meanwhile, kageyama and suga's eyes did not part from you, not once. "yeah, drink it all up." kageyama groans, stumbling in place from his euphoric high, "savour it and don't miss any. not a drop."

you choke it all down like he orders, then open your mouth to show the proof. kageyama exhales in satisfaction, while sugawara pats your head, "wow, what a good girl, eh?"

you nod, pleased with your work, and believing that the session was coming to a close, you are about to stand upright from your knelt position on the floor, until suga uses his hand on your head to push you back down. "not so fast, angel. you're not done quite yet." he sings, reaching for his wallet which he sat on one of your shelves, "there's another ¥8000 in it for you if you want to go again."

you press your lips together and furrow your brows contemplatively. it's a tricky decision, and suga can detect your hesitancy, and thus he attempts to further persuade you, "c'mon, i think you'd look so pretty covered with some more of our cum, eh?"

★ MATSUKAWA + HANAMAKI

tws & tags.. analplay, vaginal, fingering, shower sex and just general pervertedness.

what you did not realise was that becoming matsukawa's girlfriend and moving in with him and hanamaki meant you were signing up be a live-in sex doll for both of them. and they were so so mean to you.

despite still living together, you didn't quite grasp how close they were prior to moving in together. they were certainly a dynamic duo. it's like you couldn't even have sex with just matsukawa anymore, it always had to be a threeway. which you didn't mind at first because double penetration is always fun, but it often gets to a point where you are so overstimulated, you can no longer tell if the cock stuffed balls-deep into your mouth is your boyfriend's, or someone else's. and the copious amount of cum dribbling out of your ass might've been his too.

and they weren't just meanies in bed either. matsukawa had a fasination with your tits and would pinch your nipples or tug at them while you were trying to cook dinner — or when you were trying to do anything in peace, really. hanamaki was more of an ass man, but when it came to you, he was just an all-round provoker. whenever you wore a skirt he'd always try to pinch your clit or tease your pussy in any way he could. it drove you crazy but you also loved it.

and it was impossible to escape them either, since there was usually always at least one of them in the house. and they were both constantly on. you can't even watch a movie together in peace; when you are at the most climactic part, and you assume they are both super absorbed into the film, they'll both start trying to finger your holes out of nowhere.

hell, you can't shower alone any more, they need to insert themselves in there too. even if they just had a shower that same morning.

so, here you all are together, squeezed into the one shower cubicle because they can't seem to seperate themselves from you for twenty minutes. you're all nude and pressed up against each; mattsun is standing in front of you, facing you and rubbing shampoo into your hair, while hanamaki is stood behind you, his erect cock sliding betwen your plump thighs.

you smile into your boyfriend's buff chest, as he caresses shampoo into your scalp, while you work on exfoliating your arms. he chuckles at the sensation and tilts your head up so he can press a long, sensual kiss upon your lips, which you happily return.

as your lips intimately weave together, you feel one of soap hands attach itself your tit and begin fondling it. you can't help but giggle at how typical that is, but you keep kissing and allow him to continue, as he still uses his other hand to massage your scalp. "got such cute tits, baby." he groans against your lips.

"you say that all the time.." you whine, and he only laughs.

"'cos it's true." he briefly pinches your nipple, causing you to mewl, "they're perfect. you're perfect, (y/n). got the best body i've every seen." his kisses trail from the corner of your lips to your jaw, to your neck, until your head is tossed back and you're moaning as he sucks deep hickeys into your skin. now his grip on your head is just being used to keep you close.

"barf." hanamaki grunts to himself while rolling his eyes. he was originally lathering shower gel on your back, be he seems to have descended to massaging your ass cheeks.

you cry even louder as matsukawa's fingers travel from your tits to between your thighs. he toys around with your labia and aggressively rubs your clit a little to warm you up, but due to all the lubrication from the shower, he doesn't need to wait long before he is able to slip his two digits right up your pleading enterance. "nghh— issei, don't stop, please!"

"i won't, baby. this desperate cunt need me that bad, huh?" his mouth frees itself from your neck, leaving marks that will surely blossom into pigmented hickeys by the morning, and he begins to kiss you again. but this time much more feverishly, shoving his tongue into your mouth and grinding your bodies against each other as he rapidly fingers you.

your legs even part slightly to grant him more access, and he takes this as a sign to speed up. lethally thrusting into your pussy and curling his digits against your spongy, sensitive walls until your basically sobbing for mercy into the kiss. "ahh— fuck, issei. 'ts too good! faster, faster please, issei! i need you.."

"course you need me, baby." his honeyed words are hot against your earlobe, "who else is going to fuck this greedy pussy everyday, huh? tell me." naturally, one of your legs ended up hooked around his hips; not only to increase the closeness but also so he could reach your g-spot with ease. however, hanamaki interpretted that as an oppertunity for himself. you paid no mind at all when you heard him getting on his knees behind you, no, you were far too involved with the wet make-out session with your boyfriend and the way he expert finger slid feverishly in and out of your cunt.

but you had no choice but to notice his actions when you felt hanamaki's tongue worm into your tight ass. instinctually you jerked away from the kiss to gasp and writhe at the strange sensation, but matsukawa held you very still in his strong arms.

"awh, baby, what's wrong?"

it didn't take a genius to figure out what his friend was doing to you, and he couldn't help but be entertained by it. the way your little face screwed up at the intrusion yet he could tell your eyes glinted with excitement at the foreign sensation. your even bit down harshly on your bottom lip as though you were trying to prevent your tongue rolling out and giving away how much you truly liked it. so fucked out you couldn't even respond to his simple question.

"look at that face. aren't you just the cutest thing?" he swiped one of his soapy hands across your nose, leaving a trail of foam in it's wake. not that you cared, you were too overcome by the feeling of hanamaki's tongue gliding in and out of your ass, and his soft lips working expertly against your puckered hole. "feel good, baby? want more?"

you hesitated, looking up at your boyfriend with a slight grimace, and he contiued, "no point in lyin'. i can see it all over your face. you like it, dont you? you don't need to be ashamed, pretty girl. we're here to take care of you, okay?" he got increasingly closer to your face as he spoke, and at the end of his question, he locked his lips with yours. and kissed back, despite the shrieks caged at the base of your throat from how good hanamaki's mouth was making you feel. in tandem with your boyfriend's fingers still sloppily thrusting into your messy cunt.

when hanamaki eventually pulled out, you were only spared a momentarily rest, as the power of matsukawa's fingers was growing by the second. perhaps you had been given relief from the tongue inserted into your hole, but the force of matsukawa's fingering was ready to lead you to your climax at any moment. and you were moaning desperately and frantically against his lips in preparation. "issei, please, please! 'm so close, fuck me faster. please, issei."

meanwhile, hanamaki had grown painfully bored. it wasn't fair that his friend got all of you attention — and why? just because the two of you were dating? rubbish.

he thought maybe while in the shower he should focus on cleaning himself. he searched for a bar of soap, then a luffa. during which, he saw one of those luffa's attached to stick hanging from the shower caddy. the stick part was likely to aid in the luffa reaching one's back, but it gave him a bright idea.

he reached over and grabbed it. and just as your insides were ready to spill all over your boyfriend's fingers stuffed into your pussy, hanamaki jams the handle right up your tight asshole. as much of the length as he could manage in one push.

"takahiro!" you squeal, your voice echoing off the walls of the shower as you finally come undone over your boyfriend's fingers. your own fluids ejecting from your pussy mixing in with the lukewarm water already dripping all down your legs.

"takahiro?" matsukawa defensively jerks his fingers straight out of your pussy upon hearing you call his friend's name instead of his own. "who has been fucking your cunt this whole time?" he argues, completely oblivious to what is going on behind the scenes.

"you like that, (y/n)?" hanamaki muses cockily, toying with the stick a tiny bit. observing how moving it only slightly would elicit such large reactions from you. "want my dick in there too? huh?"

"what?" matsukawa snips.

★ BOKUTO + ATSUMU + SAKUSA

tws & tags.. oral (m + f receiving), anal, breeding kink, impact play, rough sex, degredation, praise, squirting. won't make sense unless you read part one.

sakusa subconsciously twitches at the delicious sight of you completely bare, bent over in front of bokuto, and your glossy lips wrapped firmly around the base of atsumu's cock.

invited into the ordeal, regularly he'd turn his nose up at something like and scornfully report the indecency to the coach, but there was just something so alluring about you in this state. that's how his legs moved on their own to carry him towards your body, specifically situating himself beside bokuto and promptly kneeling down.

as he does so, his eyes are lasered to your gorgeous, gently shivering body, all bare and exposed for them. his gaze is especially stuck to your pretty, glistening cunt, currently stuffed with bokuto's beefy cock and drooling around it.

bokuto and atsumu are both in a state of shock. they're still out of breath as they were coming down from their imminent, unfulfilled orgasms, due to sakusa's rude interuption. but they can't find it in themselves to be mad or frustrated. in fact, they briefly share a look of relief with each other, due to sakusa opting to join their little tryst instead of rebuking them for it.

however, evidently some shuffling needs to be done in order to accommodate for sakusa's desires. he's on his knees beside bokuto, clearly wanting to get a taste of your pretty pussy (thankfully before it was soiled with bokuto's cum.) so bokuto, very kindly, pulls out with a lewd squelching noise, to allow kiyoomi to shuffle over between your legs so his head aligns with your cunt.

"you okay if kiyoomi joins in, baby?" atsumu asks mockingly while stroking your hair, snickering when your reply is entirely muffled by his cock stuffed in your mouth.

"she doesn't mind, do ya?" bokuto asks rhetorically, grabbing a joyous fistful of your ass as he does so. "this pussy's wet enough for all of us, huh?"

"yeah, you're a brave girl, you can handle three guys, right?" atsumu looks down at you with a condescending smirk, as he strokes your head with his thumb, "we'll be gentle with this delicate body, promise."

"you know we take good care of ya." bokuto smiles, holding his cock which has been smeared with your fluids. not that he minds, only makes it easier for him to relocate and slip it straight into your tight ass, along with the subtle forewarning, "incoming." before he jams it right into you.

atsumu laughs as he watches you eyes screw shut and your mouth twitches around his dick. "that hurt, baby?" he teases, not expecting a response. he can read it all by the mere expression on your face. it was the most sultry agony, the congestive sensation created a infectious pleasure that pervaded your entire nude body. every inch of your exposed flesh pricked in delight at how bokuto's fat length felt in your snug ass.

"shit, she's tight.." bokuto gritted, barely leaving you with any time to adjust before he automatically began rolling his hips against your ass, "don't think you'll ever pull me out of her.." he panted with a ghost of a smile.

the pace began to pick up, in every hole. atsumu held your face in place as he always did, while he fucked into it. while bokuto marvelled in the newly discovered sensation, groaning uncontrollably while slowly thrusting into your pristine asshole — very sedate and savouring every inch of you.

the new addition, sakusa, was planted between your legs. his big hand captured your thigh to hold it in place and ensure your legs were sufficiently parted. his thumb dug into your supple skin while his other hand worked at your folds, spreading them wide so he could admire your splayed pussy for a moment. then, he buried the flat of his tongue deep against your labia, and pressed his lips against your cunt — exploring your pussy thoroughly with just his mouth, investigating every dip and lapping at each part.

he was quick to locate your sensitive nub and paid it all sorts of attention: from vibrating his tongue against it to sucking on it to kissing it tenderly. all of which caused you to whine as atsumu continued to shove his cock down your throat.

"fuck— ki— mmph, kiyoomi, what're you doing t'her?" he grunted, tossing his head back from the way your mouth reverberated around his dick. "the bitch won't shut the fuck up— mgh, that slutty mouth."

sakusa didn't answer. though you did feel him smile against your juicy cunt. this confirmation was enough to persuade him to venture further. his furious make-out session with your damp pussy was halted when he abruptly chose to dive inside your hole, swiftly shoving his tongue past your entrance and worming around in your homey walls. all while his lips still moved against your puffy folds.

since he had been teetering on the edge of an orgasm right before sakusa had entered the changing room, it wasn't long before atsumu's pumping into your mouth became sporadic, and he began to lose stamina, due to his impending climax clouding his mind and draining his energy. "ah, shit, baby. you've got me so close; so god damn close. finish me off quick and i won't make a mess all in this pretty hair, mkay?" he joked (or at least, you hoped he was joking.)

"y-yeah, me too.." and bokuto was the same, although since your clenched little asshole was basically suckling on his cock, his pace had steadily been far more relaxed, holding onto your plush ass cheeks while he leisurely dragged his cock from and into your hole, exhibiting a prolonged groan each time. "shit.. look, your ass won't let go of my cock. hah, guess i gotta cum inside. you don't mind, do ya, (y/n)?"

"nah, she's used to being our cumdump." atsumu huffed a chuckle.

"damn right she is." bokuto panted with a harsh slap on your ass, causing you to clamp down on his cock which pried a stifled whimper from him. "shit." he cursed under this breath.

the bubbling pool of hot liquid within in your stomach was also growing exponentially every passing second. you were just so full; stuffed to the brim with appendages jammed into each of your pleading, desperate holes. there was no breathing room left. bokuto's monster cock was forced so far up your ass that you were left straining to try fit him all inside, a lewd stretch of your hole each time he'd push into you. along with atsumu's length, which required you to deep-throat whenever he carelessly shoved it as deep as he could physically manage.

at the cherry on top was sakusa's expert tongue rummaging around your spongy insides as though he searching for something. and he was, and you had hell to pay when he found it; your g-spot. his merciless tongue abused that shit to an unholy degree. you were only spared a break in ten second intervals when he'd yank his tongue out of your cunt so he could kiss and lap at your wet pussy, devouring your folds and licking up your juices, but that relief was fleeting, before he would dive right back into your hole and resume his torture on that gummy, sensitive spot inside you.

you weren't sure what his agenda was. why he was so adament on making you feel extraplanar levels of ecstasy, and how he possibly got off on that, but you weren't left with much time to contemplate before you were furiously orgasming aginst his face, squirting your fluids onto the floor and into his mouth while your entire body convulsed.

bokuto and atsumu quickly followed suit. "shit, (y/n), let go— your too fuckin tight— hah—" the way your ass cleched around his cock was enough to tip him over the edge. vision filled with stars, bokuto unloaded spurts of his hot seed into your asshole, filling it all up to the brim, enough cum to peek out your puckered enterance after he pulled out. "oh, fuck.. that grip.. was insane."

meanwhile atsumu experiences a similar flurry during his finish as ropes of his sticky cum are shot down your throat. his head tips back and he grinds your face down on his dick as he finished, until the tip of your nose was brushing his base, "ah, just like that, sexy. drink it all up.. keep suckin' til i'm dry, baby. i'll tell you when to stop." he blubbered all sorts of nonsense when he was high.

by the time he removed his cock from your mouth, you were too paralysed from pleasure to even move and inch, still bent over with cum sliding down your throat, and filling up your asshole too. not to mention sakusa's lips which were still locked to your pussy, but thankfully his tongue had given your g-spot a break.

bokuto motion for atsumu to come round the back, so he lurched over. bokuto spread your cheeks and planted a big hand on the small of your back to keep you bent over, as he displayed his conquest to his friend — the sight of his cum peeking out of your puckered asshole. "so damn cute." bokuto expressed triumphantly. then he tilts his head and comments, "reminds me of a cream filled donut."

"hah, fatass."

while they were engaging in their mindless patter, sakusa had finally stopped working on your pussy and stood up straight, aiding you in doing the same. when you are upright, he snakes an arm around your lower back and pulls you close against him, gazing down at you with a hungry glint in his eyes you've never seen from him before. "while they are flaccid," his hot breath tickles your lips, while the firm tent in his pants grinds against your thigh, "do i get you all to myself?"

#sakusa smut #atsumu smut #kuroo smut #bokuto smut #haikyuu smut #kageyama smut #kenma smut #matsukawa smut #sugawara smut #ushijima smut #tendou smut #haikyuu x reader #atsumu x reader #kuroo x reader #ushijima x reader

116 notes · View notes

perceivenoone · 14 hours ago

Text

Rancher! Simon

CW: age gap! (reader in 20's, Simon in late 30's) unprotected p in v sex, oral sex (f! receiving), mentions of pregnancy.

Male/Female relationship depicted. Usage of female genitalia terms.

Rancher! Simon who bought a plot of land after retiring from the SAS. He had animals of his own ranging from horses to chickens, some were for companionship while others were for eating.

Rancher! Simon who lived in the middle of nowhere and had eight feet tall fence around his property, didn't really like too much social interaction and valued his privacy.

Rancher! Simon who found you sitting off the side of the road with a flat tire, hands on your hips as you stared at the deflated tire.

Rancher! Simon who pulled over to help a poor lass out, parking his Ford truck off to the side as he changed your flat tire.

Rancher! Simon who let you stay the night at his place as it was getting dark soon and the next town was a four hour drive, can't be driving in the dark as a lone woman traveler. It wasn't safe for someone like you.

Rancher! Simon who cooked you dinner for the both of you. As he cooked the chicken in the pan he told you how he slaughtered the chicken himself, how he owned a small farm in his backyard.

Rancher! Simon who showed you the guest room where you will be staying the night. It was just down the hall from his own bedroom in case you needed anything in the night.

Rancher! Simon who laid awake in his bed, his hands down his briefs as he could help but chub at the thought of you just down the hall. How you were so close, yet so far away.

Rancher! Simon who heard the door to his bedroom click open, seeing you standing at the doorway with a gaze to your eyes.

Rancher! Simon who had you bent in half as he ate out your cunt as if he hadn't eaten at all that day. Spit dribbling down his chin and staining the sheets below, groaning as he slobbered all over your country.

Rancher! Simon who had your legs over his broad shoulders, making your muscles stretch as he pounded into you. The sound of skin slapping echoing in his bedroom as the bed creaked in protest and the headboard slamming into the wall.

Rancher! Simon who spoke to you as he held your jaw in his large, calloused hands, "F...Fuck, luvie. Thank goodness for your flat tire or I've never get a taste of how good yer cunt is. Gonna make me bust like a bloody teenager, fuckin' hell!" Groaning as he hovered over you, his body so wide he drapes a shadow over you as you lay boneless beneath him.

Rancher! Simon who cums inside of you so much it spills as he bucks his hips, making sure you take all of it. "Gonna breed you til the crack of dawn, sweetheart. Yer not leavin' this bed anytime soon."

Rancher! Simon who is a man of his word as you went multiple rounds up until you heard his roosters crowing at the crack of dawn.

Rancher! Simon who told you were his lassie now, needed a lovely wife to wake up to in the morning by sinking his cock into her tight cunt.

Rancher! Simon who spoiled you with whatever you wanted. You wanted a new Prada bag? You got it. Wanted to go see your favorite band that was performing in the next town? You got front row seats and a VIP pass. You wanted to travel to some exotic location? The trip was booked and ready.

Rancher! Simon who made sure you had a ring on your finger. He couldn't have you walking around with no ring to tell any blokes to fuck off, plus he couldn't knock you up before marriage.

Rancher! Simon who didn't want a huge wedding, but he understood how it always has been your dream to have an extravagant wedding and went along with it.

Rancher! Simon who bent you over the nearest service as soon as the wedding was over. He was dead set on getting you pregnant, wanted mini versions of you walking around.

Rancher! Simon who fucked you all day every day, so it wasn't a surprise when the pregnancy test came back positive just a mere month later.

I hope you liked my first ever drabble! I haven't written fanfiction in quite a while, so apologies if this was written pretty badly!

I also apologize for any typos or grammer errors, I literally just skim through it when finishing up! Please let me know of any mistakes!

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #perceivenoone works

105 notes · View notes

springseasonie · 23 hours ago

Note

Very pretty please: can I get a Park Jisung smut who likes cute little girls, a bit younger than him (18+ tho HELO), shy but pervy, Jisung being a big tit lover and is submissive, gets red and shy when his girl is getting a bit sexyy and shoves his face into her boobs- 😀🧎🏻‍♀️‍➡️

Running Late (M)

Warnings: sexual content, thick fem reader, big tits (obvi), lots of spit, nipple play(kinda), unprotected sex, sub/shy jisung

Word count: 2,2k

A/N: took way too long to write sorryyyy I hope you like it though 🤭🤭 enjoyed writing this freaky ass req as a big tit haver

“Baby, if you don't hurry we're gonna be late,” Jisung yells from your shared living room.

“We have more than enough time.”

Jisung can hear your heels clicking on the floor of your bedroom. All the time, he's confused as to why a girl like you would even be with someone like him. Jisung is the textbook definition of a nerdy shy guy. From the way he dresses to his body glasses to his obsession with video games. You're not that much different from him but, you're like a god in his eyes. Men would fight for you despite your sheepish nature. Your timid and shy attitude is the cutest , but a complete contrast to your outer appearance.

Jisung hears the door open, your footsteps nearing closer and closer to him.

“Okay, so what do you think?”

He looks up from his phone, the funny video still playing when he feels himself almost about to faint just at the sight of you. If this were an anime, he would definitely be having a nose bleed. Jisung always loves your figure. He can't help but admit that's his favorite thing about you. You're curvy, thick thighs, tiny waist, big tits. He can feel himself heating up, palms beginning to sweat as he fixes his glasses. Your tits are out, cleavage spilling from the seem, your bra barely doing any work.

“Ji? Do you like it,” you ask again, this time feeling a bit nervous. Your usual wardrobe consists of frilly skirts, silly sweaters. You never really wear things like this, especially not in public, but you wanted to dress up for him, show yourself in a new light.

Jisung jumps at the sound of your voice, forcing himself to remove himself from his fantasies. He opens his mouth to speak. The image of you in the shortest dress in your closet paired with your favorite heels is making him horny. Too horny.

“Y-yeah I like it,” he answers. Jisung feels like a pervert, unable to stop staring at your large chest. Jisung watches as you're about to respond when you just so happen to drop your ring. You bend over, your chest now pouring out of the fabric, cleavage even more intense once you stand back up. Jisung gulped, unable to control his eyes at this point.

“Are you sure? Is it not too short or anything?” You turn around, showing him the back of the dress, your ass cheeks slightly peeking out from the bottom of the dress.

Jisung could barely comprehend the words coming out of your mouth. The poor boy has no idea what to do with himself. All he could do was sit there, watching you completely enamored by your presence. His Adams apple bobbed, eyes scanning your body trying to regain his composure.

“I-its a little short,” he says, clearing his throat after.

Tilting your head, you look at him confused. “you don't sound too sure.” You spin again, this time keeping your eyes on him. That's when you see his expression change, eyes darting from your ass to your chest. It might be a little short, but he sure isn't going to complain.

He can feel himself starting to get stiff in his pants. He hates that he can get hard so quickly off of something so little, but you love it. You love how horny you can make him and you love when he tries to hide it. But Jisung is the most obvious man on the planet. “Do you like it Ji?”

“I..uh..” his face goes red, snapping his eyes shut as you smile at his shyness. You step forward taking this hand as you pull him out of the seat. Jisung rose to his feet, but not without pressing against you like a wall making your chest press on his. The plumpness and softness of your body almost make him moan, the sheer look of them against his body made him want to stop these plans.

you take a step back, spinning for him again hoping it would help him from being so distracted, but it only made it worse. Jisung could only think about ripping the dress off of you.

“I just never seen you in anything like this before.”

“Well I wanted to wear something different for a change,” you said. Your face goes hot, eyes averting his gaze as you speak. “And I wanted to look pretty for you,” you mumbled.

Jisung's heart pounds watching you get shy in the sexiest outfit. It's like you want him to pounce on you

“But you do like the outfit, yes? And it's not too much,” you say, trying to gauge an honest answer.

“I like it…but your ass is out and I would rather it not be,” he says, laughing nervously.

“Yeah but…It looks like you don't mind.” Jisung gawks at you, tongue poking his cheek as he fixes his glasses. Your eyes flicker between his face and his bulge, his hard on visible. “I can help you. We don't have to go…only if you want.”

Jisung gulps, staring at your lips as he nods slowly. You take his hand, dragging him back to the couch, the shy older boy staring up at you when you climb on top of him like you were his goddess. His eyes went from your face to your chest, breast directly in his face making him all the more hard.

“I want you to touch me Ji,” you said in a quiet voice.

Jisung didn't have to be told twice. His hands immediately went to your chest, brows furrowed as he squeezed the mounds of flesh spilling in his fingers.

“Good boy,” you whispered. “Wanna see more?”

“Y-yes.”

You move Jisung's hands, taking the thin straps of your dress off your arms. Jisung watches as you reach back, unclipping your bra with anticipation. He still feels like a virgin every time he sees you undress. His senses tingling, can't wait to get his hands back on you. Your heavy chest falls, nipples perked and hard just begging to be touched.

“Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath.

You toss your bra to the side, eyes never leaving the damn beneath you. Jisung watches you, a smile tugging on your lips as you push your breast together, leaning into his face. Jisung threw his glasses off within an instant, throwing his face into your chest like a magnet. He was so hard, practically pulsing underneath you. Precum leaked out his tip, absolutely fucking up his boxers. He could honestly cum right now, face in your tits, ass on his cock. You're not doing anything but offering yourself on a platter telling him he's good, begging him to touch you and he loves it.

His lips attacked your chest, wet sloppy kisses being left all over your skin. Jisung replaces your hands with his own, staring at you as he sucked your tits, tongue swirling around your nipples. He kneads the flesh in his hands, watching as you bit your lip at his actions.

“Aw shit,” he groans softly. You're grinding on him, thong so thin it feels like your bare pussy is on his pants. He doesn't know how much he can take like this, tits in his face and your ass on his lap. He might explode. A soft moan slips from your lips as he sucks your nipples harder, brow furrowing.

“Feels so good,” you sigh breathlessly. “Keep touching me, just like that.”

Jisung's big eyes looked at you, staring for approval. His pretty lips were wet, chest heaving having you on top of him. He was beginning to lose himself in you and you could tell. His moaning as he sucked and licked your nipples, his rough grip on your breast, hips rutting into yours trying to get himself off in his pants.

You like watching him be so desperate under your body, looking down on him, the pitiful look in his eyes. “Let me sit on your cock baby,” you mumble, Jisung nodding earnestly. Jisung quickly undid his belt, unzipping his pants immediately after. You watch his hands fumble as he reaches in his boxers taking his hard length out. You always loved how big and thick he was despite his personality. Never cocky or arrogant about it.

“C'mon baby get up for me,” he mumbles, raising your hips from his lap. You watched as he lined himself with your pussy, plunging his thick cock deeper into you.

He wasted no time attaching his lips back onto your chest, your hips moving up and down. You felt full, the lips on your chest almost being too overstimulating.

“Fuck keep going just like that,” he groans, brows furrowed in pleasure. You watch him, becoming even more aroused as you watch him stick his tongue out allowing saliva to drip from the muscle all over your breasts. One hand on your hip and the other on your back pushing you closer to his face. Jisung sucks your nipple hard, flicking his tongue on the hard bud right after.

“Feels so good,” you moan breathlessly.

His big hand moves from your back to the back of your head, pushing your head to his as he kisses you rough and hard. You decide to test the waters, moving your hand from his shoulder to his neck, wrapping it hesitantly.

“You like that Ji?”

“Fuck yes.” He groaned in your mouth, moans and pants spilling all over your lips as you ride him harder, you ass slamming into his lap. Your makeup smudged on his face, pink lip gloss all over his mouth. He leans back down, your breast in hand as he kisses the skin, more spit falling from his tongue making the scene messier than before.

Through the moans and panting, you hear your phone buzz on the couch, the sound slightly breaking your immersion. You slow down, Jisung looking up at you with furrowed brows then at your phone.

“Fuck, it's Mark,” you say, breathing heavily. Your phone lights up with another call, then messages.

Mr. Fucking Lee: hey we've been here for 40 minutes

Mr. Fucking Lee: you guys almost here??

Mr. Fucking Lee: just text me when ur here we're getting a section

Your eyes remained on the phone reading the notifications. You reached for your phone, but Jisung pushed it away. He wrapped his arms around your body, breast wet with spit smother all over his face as he started to thrust in you again.

“Jisung,” you whimpered, hands gripping his shoulders. “Fuck, I'm so close baby.”

Jisung whimpers in your chest, the feeling of your body on him making his senses tingle. Your thick thighs on either side of him, the weight of your body on his as you begin to lose strength is satisfying. Being able to feel you lost in pleasure makes him hornier than ever, not slowing his hips for anything.

You look down at him, sweat making his hair stick to his forehead. The visual of him stuffed between your breasts makes you want him even more, and you'll let him have you.

“Baby please cum in me,” you whine, hips rocking with his as he thrust.

“Y-yes,” he moans breathlessly. “I love you so much.”

“Yeah? You love me?”

Jisung nodded fast, brows knit as he felt his orgasm approaching. You squeeze around him, moans getting louder and louder by every passing second. The second you cum, your body shakes, legs quivering violently as he fucks you with much more vigor. Jisung is desperate, his orgasm closer and closer with every thrust.

“Cum for me baby, fill me up,” you whimper.

Your whimper instantly made him fall apart, his hands gripping your body tight as he painted your walls white with a loud moan. He threw his head back, the feeling almost too intense for him as his dick twitches inside you. Jisung finally lets go of you, hand prints in your skin but you love it anyways.

You lift your body off his, your breasts finally done suffocating him. Jisung looked like he's been through hell and back. Hair messy, face and lips red, tears you didn't even notice standing his cheeks. He looked so pretty like this.

“You feel better baby,” you ask, staring down at him with kind eyes.

He nods, hands naturally making its way to your waist. “Fuck…that was amazing.”

Your face gets hot, reaching for the phone he pushed away earlier. It was definitely too late for the both of you to clean up and continue with your plans. “Damn, I don't think we have enough time to get ready,” you mumble.

“We don't have to go baby,” he says. Jisung licks his lips, scanning your face and chest. “We can just stay…want you to stay here with me.”

A smirk slides on your face, leaning down to kiss your boyfriend softly. “You're so cute,” you say, voice soft on his lips.

Throwing your phone to the other side of the couch was all Jisung needed to get the green light. And for the rest of the night, neither one of you answered a phone call or message, wrapped in each other's bodies.

#nct #nct fanfic #nct u #nct oneshot #nct smut #nct scenarios #nct x reader #nct dream #nct dream fanfic #nct dream jisung #nct dream oneshots #nct dream smut #nct dream scenarios #jisung #jisung fic #jisung oneshot #jisung scenarios #jisung smut #nct jisung

113 notes · View notes

obsessivel0v3r · 1 day ago

Text

Ask game:

"Anon level"

❤️‍🔥: I'd burn everything else so it'd be only you and I.

🖤: My heart is dark and twisted, but you're the only one who softens my edges.

🤍: I could love you in a gentle sense if you'd ask.

💫: You're the only thing in my mind when I wake up and fall to sleep.

👥️: I stalk your blog often, wishing to know you as well as I can.

👤: I think I adore you, my asks may be anon, but we're not really strangers to each other.

🍒: Can I confess how insane you really make me feel?

🍦: I melt with every post you make, you're the highlight of my day.

🧁: They say too much sweet is bad for you, but I can't help but take in all you give.

🎀: I think about the worst things I could do to become your favorite.

🎭: I put on a friendly show when we chat, but I'd put a target on ever other ask you get if the chance ever presented itself.

♠️: I've done some things that involved you which wouldn't be approved by others if they knew, but it's an unhealthy devotion, what can I do?

👑: I'll send you threats so alarming until you finally give in and say you'll be mine.

📸: I seek to know you religiously, seeing/liking your posts. Finding hidden meanings in your reblogs. Memorizing every detail in your tags.

(Made by: @obsessivel0v3r)

109 notes · View notes

furioussouls · 2 days ago

Text

LADS boys and their love for you as Hozier Songs

Credit: @incorrectloveanddeepspace <3

Summary: LADS boys and their love for you( MC) as Hozier songs.

ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ

Xavier:

• NFWB

When I first saw you, the end was soon

….

Give your heart and soul to charity

'Cause the rest of you, the best of you

Honey, belongs to me

….

Ain't it exciting you, the rumble where you lay?

Ain′t you my baby?

Nothing fucks with my baby

Nothing can get a look in on my baby

Nothing fucks with my baby

Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing

If I was born as a blackthorn tree

I'd wanna be felled by you, held by you

Fuel the pyre of your enemies

- Xavier could save his people by sacrificing your life ( “your heart“(l.2)) and yet.. he doesn’t. His protectiveness (l.8 f.) and love for you won’t allow it. Xavier’s love for you is too much, to blindly and overwhelming.

Zayne:

• Francesca

Do you think I'd give up

That this might've shook the love from me

Or that I was on the brink?

How could you think, darling, I'd scare so easily?

Now that it's done

There's not one thing that I would change

My life was a storm, since I was born

How could I fear any hurricane?

If someone asked me at the end

I'll tell them put me back in it

Darling, I would do it again, ah, ah

If I could hold you for a minute

Darling, I'd go through it again, ah, ah

I would still be surprised I could find you, darling

In any life

If I could hold you for a minute

Darling, I would do it again, ah, ah

…..

I would not change it each time (I would not change it each time)

Heaven is not fit to house a love (Heaven is not fit to house a love)

Like you and I (like you and I)

- illustating the tumultuous relationship between Zayne and Astra. It doesn’t matter, Zayne doesn’t regret a single thing second with you. It doesn’t matter what pain he‘ll be put through.

Rafayel:

• Hymn to Virgil

I would burn the world to bring some heat to you

I would burn the world to bring some heat

You are the reason I went through it, oh

The only meaning as I knew it, my-yeah

I can only do my best, I do not do this for myself

I'd walk through hell on living feet for you

I wouldn't be seen walking through any door

Some place that you're not welcome to

You stare at the faces smiling from somewhere warm

Some place the sunlight won't come through

- Rafayel lost his home and people in Lemuria, all for you (l.3). He‘ll do anything for you, give you his everything. You’re the keeper of his heart, after all.

Sylus:

•It will come back and Almost (sweet music)

Don't give it a hand, offer it a soul

Honey, make this easy

Leave it to the land, this is what it knows

Honey, that's how it sleeps

Don't let it in with no intention to keep it

Jesus Christ, don't be kind to it

Honey, don't feed it, it will come back

….

It can't be unlearned

I've known the warmth of your doorways

Through the cold, I'll find my way back to you

Oh, please, give me mercy no more

That's a kindness you can't afford

I warn you, babe, each night, as sure as you're born

You'll hear me howling outside your door

….

I′m almost me again

She's almost you

…

Be still, my foolish heart

Don't ruin this on me

…

I got some colour back

She thinks so, too

I laugh like me again

She laughs like you

- you were the first human to show dragon Sylus gentleness and affection (l.1-3). You should’ve known what the consequences of that would be (l.7). Of course, he can’t let you go. How could he? He‘ll return to you, for the warmth of you is the only one he knows (l. 8-14)

In your current timeline, he‘ll see glimpses of your old self (l.15 - 16) and he feels himself starting to become his old self again. Slowly but surely.

Caleb:

• Work song and Take me to church

There′s nothing sweeter than my baby

I'd never want once from the cherry tree

'Cause my baby′s sweet as can be

She give me toothaches just from kissin′ me

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

…..

My babe would never fret none

About what my hands and my body done

If the Lord don't forgive me

I′d still have my baby and my babe would have me

When I was kissing on my baby

And she put her love down soft and sweet

In the low lamp light I was free

Heaven and hell were words to me.

……

I'll tell you my sins, so you can sharpen your knife

Offer me my deathless death, oh, good God, let me give you my life

No masters or kings when the ritual begins

There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene

- Caleb adores you. He worships you. He always has and always will. His love for you fulfills him (l.3-4) and nothing can keep him from you. Not even his alleged death. He‘ll crawl back to you if he must (l.5-8). He’s not ashamed of his love for you, not anymore (l.9-16), however he wishes you both could share the sin of the intensity of your love (l.20)

ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ

A/N: When I’m in a yearning competition but my opponents are the LADS boys or Hozier.

#lads sylus #lads caleb #lads zayne #lads xavier #lads rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace sylus #zayne love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #lads x reader #love and deepspace #hozier #caleb x reader #sylus x reader #rafayel x reader #xavier x reader #zayne x reader

87 notes · View notes

severance-posting · 2 days ago

Text

I just keep thinking about how the short timespan in which they've known each other is just such a juicy part of the story.

They met each other as the purest, most distilled part of themselves. They immediately connected.

They fall in love over a short time span because of this. Their connection is so clear and strong because there's no pretense, and nothing else there, really, besides the walls and mind numbing work. If the Innie is who they are at their core, to be in love as Innies is to be in love with each other at the deepest parts of themselves. Two people who wouldn't normally even meet on the outside.

Yes, he was still seeing Gemma as Ms. Casey fairly regularly for the entire time he was there.

Is that not dramatic? Is that not inherently interesting? Why does the deepest part of himself not find himself drawn to the wife he misses so much? This is a work of fiction, so what is the story trying to tell you with this?

It's more than just about cheating. It's about acknowledging who you are as a person. Mark Scout has been self medicating with Alcohol, numbing himself to the world as an outie, and numbing himself to the world when he can't be actively drinking (work).

So, the only lucid part of him is the only one processing anything, innie Mark. The only one that's been putting in any work (literally and psychologically) for the past two years.

I'm just . . .

This story is so good. How am I gonna wait a year? How am I going to have to eventually "break up" with this show when it's done?

I wasn't even incensed by the ending.

I was sitting there SURPRISED that what I wanted was happening. It wasn't something I knew I wanted, but other shows would end it with the main protagonist couple breaking up, literally or just physically for the story. It was the opposite of the s1 finale where I was on my feet and had to pause because of the stress.

I'm, like, getting what I've deserved for all my years as a fan watching shows trip over their own feet — competent storytelling. Storytelling that loves all the characters. Even the ones who were shafted, because now their storyline is more interesting, too.

I want the show back but I don't want it to end?

It’s funny how some people dismiss imark and helly’s relationship simply because “they’ve only been together for like a month.” their relationship dynamic is what mark and gemma should have experienced. imark and helly actually communicate. when imark is acting out, helly calls him out, and he listens. imark helps helly stay grounded. when helly feels insecure, he reassures her. they don’t let problems linger, they tackle them head on and sort it out.

their relationship is so beautifully written. the narrative deliberately wants the viewer to see this, but people are completely missing the point and dismissing the significance of their relationship.

233 notes · View notes

readerihardlyknowher · 1 day ago

Text

In Every Universe | Pt. 6

Can't believe Amanda's going to be a mom for real now oml

Spencer Agnew x Reader Warnings: None WC: 1,824 Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Pt. 5, Pt. 6

“Hello, welcome to Smosh Mouth. I’m Shayne-” “-and I’m Amanda, and we have a very special guest here today: Y/n Y/l/n!” Both of the hosts look at you, and you wave to the camera, saying hello. “And today we are going to be talking about romance, is that something you know a lot about Y/n?”

“Oh wow, romance,” you chuckle, a little nervous. This is the first time you’ve been able to come onto Smosh Mouth. “Yeah actually, I do. I mean, I’ve had romances before, and I recently rewatched Pride and Prejudice.” Amanda gasps at this.

“The one with Colin Firth?” “No, the one with Matthew Macfayden. From Succession.”

“Right, okay, and was it any good?” Amanda’s perpetually enthusiastic voice makes you smile. Talking with her just feels natural, which is why it’s good she’s one of the hosts.

“Yeah, actually. I mean, it’s one of my favorite movies. I can’t lie, I love a good fairytale ending where everyone’s just happy and in love.”

“Same. I love seeing people happy and in love,” Amanda’s excited voice agrees with you, before looking at Shayne with an expectant look.

“Yeah, I mean I’ve watched my fair share of romance movies, and there’s some good ones out there.”

The rest of the podcast continues on in a much similar manner. Amanda and Shayne ask you questions about shows, games, and even basic questions about your romance life, like your first kiss and whatnot. You share more than you thought you would have, but nothing too intimate or personal. Gotta keep some semblance of privacy on the internet. Eventually, Amanda’s face breaks into a smirk, looking down at her paper before back up at you.

“So, you’ve had many on-camera romances with our favorite Spencer.” You chuckle at this, having known from when she first mentioned romance that it would lead to here.

“Yeah, I have. I mean, I’ve also had a few romances with other cast members in other games, but I think Spencer and I have had the most romances. I mean, besides you and Angela.” You throw it back to her, with a smile, which she laughs at.

“She’s my wife, man!”

“Your work wife,” Shayne throws out.

“Yes, my work wife.

“Anyways, Y/n, we wanted to know straight from you how it feels to be shipped to such a degree. All of us here have been shipped with other cast members many times in the past, but how do you feel about it?” You go silent for a moment to think about it, trying to give a sort of political answer to the question. Honest, but nothing to stir the pot.

“I guess I don’t really mind it. I mean, even if I did mind, it wouldn’t stop anything. Besides, what girl hasn’t been shipped with her boy best friend at some point? But really, it’s no different than how Amanda is with Spencer, so I really don’t get why I’m the one getting shipped. I know you’re married and I’m not, but still,” you finish with a smile, feeling a little hot under the heat of the lights.

“To be clear,” Shayne begins, “we do have it on record that Amanda does in fact have a crush on Spencer.” This comment makes your face heat up more, smiling nervously and shaking your head.

“Oh right, well nevermind that comparison then. What I meant was that we’re just really friendly with one another.”

“Yeah I mean,” Amanda scratches behind her neck. “There’s just something about Spencer that makes everyone love him. It’s so weird.”

Shayne chuckles at that. “Oh yeah, I mean even back in the Defy era everyone loved him.”

You can’t stop smiling throughout the conversation, and you know it must look a little silly to the audience. The truth is just that you love your best friend, everyone does. He’s a very lovable guy, nothing “weird” about it. But what is weird is how your heart flips when you hear what Amanda says next:

“Which is why we’re bringing on the one and only Spencer Agnew to join us here today!”

Immediately you turn your head and watch Spencer as he walks up on set from behind the cameras. You hadn’t even known he was there and silently you wonder if you’ve embarrassed yourself. You have half the mind to move your chair over as he brings one of his own to sit next to you, between you and Shayne.

“Hey, how’s it going guys?” Spencer says to the two hosts before looking over at you, his familiar, all too comfortable grin on his face. “Hello, my wife.”

You huff out a laugh and return the smile. “Hello, my husband.”

“Guys,” Amanda’s voice draws your attention. “Knock it off. There’s too much chemistry already and we haven’t even gotten to the question we’ve all been wanting to know.”

You both pause at that, turning to face her, expectantly waiting for her to continue.

“Where did the marriage joke come from?”

At that you both turn to each other, smiling and silently asking who wants to be the one to tell the story. It only takes a second before Spencer looks down, a little embarrassed.

“I’ll tell. So, back when we were working as editors with Defy, we were good friends. So, one day we’re about to start a shoot, I’m helping to set up, Y/n’s across the room working on something else and she calls my name. Now, I don’t know what was with me that day, but I said ‘Yeah, hun?’ in front of EVERYONE there.”

“And that’s what got us our first trip to HR.”

Amanda “aw”’s at the story. Shayne merely chuckles and shakes his head. Amanda’s brows crease as a question enters her mind.

“Wait, but why did you call Y/n that?”

Spencer can only shrug as a response before laughing. You catch him glancing over at you and can see a light dusting of red on his cheeks.

“I don’t even know, man. If I’m remembering correctly, it’s because that’s what I was calling the girl I was with at the time and was super tired coming into work, so I just slipped up.”

“And that’s called a freudian slip,” Amanda says, nodding. This causes Spencer to laugh and put his head in his hand, saying her name under his breath in exasperation. You step in to continue the story.

“So yeah, then after that, people on set thought we were together. Once they realized we weren’t they just turned it into a running joke that we’re the married couple on set. But I guess that title now has to be handed off to you and Courtney now,” you say, directing the energy back to Shayne who nods.

He ends up telling a story of his own about how the people at Smosh were told/found out about them dating, and how they wondered at first whether or not to ever tell the audience, but ended up settling on telling them once they got married. It’s a nice change of pace at this point in the podcast, getting to listen to a sweet story. Eventually, the conversation falls back into the topic of romance movies, in which they end up asking Spencer what his favorite is.

“Excluding Attack of the Clones? I’d have to say Princess Bride right now. Y/n and I rewatched it about a month ago and it still holds up.”

Amanda “ooh”’s at that choice, agreeing that it’s such a good movie. Shayne takes this time to turn towards the camera and speak.

“So, just for you guys at home, Spencer and Y/n like to watch movies and shows together in their free time.”

“Hey, we’ve invited you two to join us sometimes and you always blow us off!” You say playfully. It’s true though, when watching a movie you knew one or the both of them loved, you would ask if they wanted to join, but most of the time they end up being too busy.

“I come whenever I can. Mostly though, after a long day I like to hit the gym and relax with Courtney,” Shayne responds, a slightly offended tone with his first statement, before going back to the casual style he speaks with. Amanda nods and looks as though she’s about to speak before you feel Spencer’s warm hand through the sleeve of your shirt, resting just on your upper arm.

“Yeah, gives me more time to relax with my wife as well,” his smooth voice replies to Shayne. You turn and shoot him a confused smile before smacking his hand.

“Get your Mountain Dew fingers off of me,” you huff out as he pulls his hand away with a smile.

“See what I have to put up with? Women, amiright?” Amanda immediately boos Spencer’s comment, Shayne putting his head in his hands.

Pretty quickly, the topic turns back to movies and TV shows, Amanda talking about her love of Turkish dramas, and you talking about your favorite movies. Shayne turns to you once you’re done talking.

“So, Y/n, aren’t you and Spencer having your movie night tonight?” You nod and hum as a response to his question. “Do you know what movie you’re going to watch?”

The two of you turn and look at each other, silently wondering if you should share it, before you take in a breath and turn back to Shayne, a giggle in your voice as you speak.

“We’re actually watching The Notebook.”

“My choice,” Spencer adds. Amanda gasps and holds her hands to her chest, while Shayne hums and nods.

“Oh my gosh, such a good movie.”

“Well, I think that we’re nearing the end of our episode here,” Shayne’s voice calls to attention. You had hardly noticed how quickly time had passed since you first sat down, Amanda and Shayne’s energy, as well as Spencer’s presence being so welcoming. You almost wished this episode would never end, however, it does comfort you to know that you and Spencer will be seeing each other later tonight.

“Thank you for having us, I hope to get invited back soon. You guys were amazing as always,” you say, being nice for the end of the video. Amanda looks at you with an excited look on her face.

“Yes, and you have to tell us more about your movie nights,” Amanda teases you, which makes you a little flustered but you brush it off. You’re about to speak before Spencer talks first.

“No way, if you want to know about our movie nights, you’ve got to come when we invite you. What happens at movie night stays at movie night.”

Amanda opens her mouth to protest, and you realize this is just going to prolong the end of the video, so you turn to the camera, a playfully panicked look on your face.

“Quick, cut the video now! They’re not going to stop otherwise!”

Tag list: @lisiliely, aliceblxck, burrowedinnature77, 65percentleg

#smosh fanfiction #smosh fic #spencer agnew #spencer agnew x reader

84 notes · View notes

mountquokka · 2 days ago

Text

100 follower special: You can’t go up

Woosan X fem!reader

Word count: 3,883

Warnings: Co-CEO husbands woosan, dom San, switch Wooyoung, sub reader, jealous receptionist, threesome, mxm, oral (f and m receiving), degradation (slut, cockslut), nicknames (princess, baby, babyboy, love), daddy kink, sir kink, spit roasting, sucking cum off fingers, dirty talk, swallowing/cum eating, face riding, mentions of double penetration, woo getting fucked from both sides at once, woo gets needy and desperate, face fucking, choking, begging, facial, some hair pulling, let me know if I missed any

Summary: What will happen when you get denied entry for the way you dress to visit your husbands and they show you how wrong she was?

Notes: I keep switching between Woo and Wooyoung because I kept getting lazy to type out his name 😭 Also definitely the longest fic I’ve ever written so far🤭

Taglist <3: @hongjoongtime117 @lee-sang1625 @wontini

You had walked into your husbands' company excited to surprise them. You decide to be comfortable and wear San’s hoodie and the sweatpants Wooyoung loves much. You walk up to the front desk wondering why the normal receptionist wasn't there. Then you remember that she had recently had a baby and was on maternity leave. You walk to the desk and noticed the new receptionist side eye you. You ignore it and continue what you were doing.

"Hi I'm Y/n and I'm here to see San and Wooyoung" the receptionist scoffs and replies "do you have an appointment?" "no I don't, I usu-"

"Then I'm sorry, you can't go up. MR. Choi and MR. Jung only take appointments. You see they are very busy men" You were caught off guard by her response and tried to explain. "I know they only take appointments but they know me and Nayoung knows and just lets me up."

"Yeah sure. I totally believe that they know you. There's no way such successful men like them would know someone like you" "what do you mean someone like me?" The receptionist laughs "oh honey have you looked at yourself? You’re in a business dressed like that? No one would ever take you seriously"

You started getting annoyed with her attitude and responded "you aren't understanding, I'm with them." There was a slight pause. Then she starts laughing harder. "YOU?! With them?! That's fucking hilarious. Like they would ever be with a bum like you. They would want someone more sophisticated, like me" you were beyond pissed now. Not only did she just insult you, she said she'd be a better fit for them. You walk away from the desk and pull out your phone. You open your group chat with the guys and send a message:

You: can one of you come down to get me from the lobby? The receptionist won't let me up😒 Woo🖤🐈‍⬛: oh you’re here?🤩 Woo🖤🐈‍⬛: wait why not?🤨 You: yeah I was trying to surprise you You: because "I don't have an appointment" and some other shit I'll talk about when we get back up to your office San⛰️💜: I'll come get you princess You: thank you Sannie 😘 San⛰️💜: of course ❤️

You walk back to the desk and smirk at the receptionist. She gave a stank face and asked "what are you smiling about?" "about how fucked you are" Her face changed to one of confusion "what are you taking ab-" Before she could finish her question, the elevator dinged and San walked out. He was dressed in his signature black suit, looking as sexy as ever.

"So what's going on here? Why won't you let her up?" the receptionist heard the slight aggressiveness in his voice and tries to answer innocently "because she doesn't have an appointment sir, I was told not to let anyone up if they don't have an appointment." she tried to give some sort of puppy dog face to get him to not be mad at her. "She doesn't need an appointment and I would like you to make note of that from now on. Am I clear?" San declares completely ignoring her pouty face. The receptionist was completely shock and you smile at the look. "But sir- " "AM I clear?" he asks more sternly. She nods and glares back at you. You go over to San and grab his hand and he interlocks your fingers together. You turn around to see the look on her face and it was exactly what you expected. Complete disbelief. You chuckle and turn back towards the elevator. Of course you reach up to kiss San on the cheek before going in to really piss her off.

When you got to their office on the top floor of the building, you go over to Wooyoung and give him a kiss on the cheek. "So what happened?"

You take your seat on Wooyoung’s lap and start explaining. "so basically she said I can't go up cause I don't have an appointment AND that I didn't belong because of how I was dressed. I tried to explain that I'm with you two and she just laughed at me saying that successful men like you wouldn't be with ‘someone like me’”

San was pissed at what he was hearing and goes to his phone on his desk. "Sannie what are you doing?" you asked. He didn't answer and dialed a number. “hey Yuri? Can you pull out the list of hires for the temporary receptionist position… No you can hold them I'll come pick it up... Thank you" he hangs up the phone. "That bitch is gone" "that was kinda hot " Woo say chuckling, while playfully biting his lip. "San did you just?” he nods "no one talks to our wife that way and gets away with it"

You go over to him and gives him a kiss. You pull away and smile lovingly at him. "Thank you Sannie. I love you." He smiles and kisses her forehead "I love you too Princess” Their moment was interrupted by a throat clearing. "And I love you Woo" He smiles and replies "I love you too baby" you go back over to him and take your spot on his lap and kiss him as well so he's not left out.

You make yourself comfortable while the men work. You just casually play on your phone with Wooyoung occasionally kissing your cheek and forehead. Then the words popped into your head that the receptionist said to you.

"They would want someone more sophisticated, like me"

You then got a major wave of possessiveness and cuddle closer to Wooyoung. You bury your face into his neck and start giving light kisses. Wooyoung noticed your change in behavior but didn't say anything and let it happen.

The subtle kisses started to turn to kisses, bites and licks. Wooyoung started to let out quiet groans but tried his best to ignore and keep working. Until you full on bite his neck; knowing he's weak to bites. "Fuck" Wooyoung groans "baby I'm trying to work, can't you wait just a little longer? It's almost lunch." You get off his lap and move to straddle his thighs. You look at him with big doe eyes and a pout "please sir? I want you"

Wooyoung groans at your little begs and really tries to refuse but you just look so cute he can't say no. "Fine baby. But only for a little bit I really need to finish this report" Wooyoung moves his chair away from his desk and squeezes your ass. "Did you wear these just for me?" you nod. He smirks and continues to squeeze them. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a kiss. The kiss quickly deepens and you both let out soft groans into each others mouth.

Wooyoung pulls away from your lips and starts kissing down your jaw and to your neck. You let out soft whines as he leaves a trail of kisses. He removes a hand from your ass and slides it up underneath the hoodie and squeezes your breast and plays with your nipple. He hums as you moan softly at the action and switches to the other. Then he slides his hand down into your sweatpants and make direct contact with your dripping wet core. "No bra or panties? So bold of you. You naughty little slut” you moan a little louder at his words as he starts moving his fingers against your slippery folds. "Please Woo I want your fingers. Please?” "what's my name baby?" he asked as he starts to rub your bundle of nerves. "Fuck please sir" he smirks and takes one of his fingers and slowly pushes it into your heat. You slowly start grinding against the finger and let out little whimpers. Wooyoung watches you fuck yourself against his finger with darkening lust filled eyes, slowly adding a second finger. You moan a little too loud and Wooyoung grabs your throat pulling you to his lips in a sloppy kiss "you have to stay quiet baby or do you want the whole floor to hear how much of a slut you are for me?" “Fuck I'm sorry sir. it just feels so good" he bites his lip as you move your hips faster.

San is fully aware of what's going on. But he has such good self control, he keeps working, even though he's twitching constantly due to all the sounds happening right next to him. He tries to subtly adjust his pants but it doesn't go unnoticed by Wooyoung. "Do you want to join Sannie? That looks a little painful" "you know I can't… as much as I really want to." Wooyoung starts thrusting his fingers faster them pulls them out of you causing you to whine from the emptiness.

"Oh come on Sannie, just look how much she's dripping for us” he knows he shouldn't look because he'd give in but he does anyway. He instantly groans at Wooyoung's glistening fingers, all self control gone. He goes over to Wooyoung’s chair and pulls the fingers into his mouth, sucking off your arousal. You whine at the action in front of you.

“Fuck, you know I can never pass up a chance to taste our princess” His eyes are filled with lust as he grabs you by your throat and pulls you into a desperate kiss. Wooyoung continues to squeeze your ass and play with your nipples causing you to moan against San’s mouth. You both pull away to catch your breath. “Please daddy, sir please?” “Please what princess?” San asks stroking your cheek gently with his thumb. You whine “I want you both” Both of the guys smirk at your response. San pulls you off Wooyoung’s lap and turn you so your back is to his chest. He moves your legs to hang over Woo’s and gets onto his knees. He starts pulling your sweatpants off “It’s a good thing you’re here baby. It’s lunchtime and I seem to have forgotten my lunch today. You wouldn’t want your poor Sannie to be hungry now would you?” You shake your head and bite your lip. He smirks and lowers his head to your dripping core. You moan at the contact and your hands instantly goes to his hair. Wooyoung leaves kisses and bites on your neck as his hands go up and down your body. He removes your hoodie, leaving you completely naked in their presence. He plays with your nipples before going to your clit.

You whine at the stimulation arching your back off wooyoung’s chest. "does Daddy's tongue feel good baby?" San groans at Wooyoung calling him daddy "y-yes it feel s-so good. Fuck~" he smirks and rubs your clit faster. You almost scream as you get closer to your high. “I'm so close. Fuck~" Wooyoung looks down over your shoulder at San who is looking back at him and subtly nods. "cum for us baby. Drown Sannie in you sweetness" you moan at his words and release into san’s mouth. San lapped up everything and pulls away, face glistening. Wooyoung takes the fingers that was rubbing your clit and sucks off your arousal groaning at the taste. You whimper as you come down from your high.

San gets up from the floor and goes to Wooyoung. He pulls him into a deep passionate kiss, groaning into each other's mouth as they savor your taste on San's tongue. After completely coming down from your high, you take in the scene going on next to you and whine. You reach to both of their prominent bulges in their suit pants and palm at them. They both groan in each other’s mouths and pull away from the kiss, a string of saliva still connecting their lips together. "someone's really needy today, aren't you princess?" you whimper and continue to palm at their twitching lengths. "please. I wanna feel you both”

San moves to the side and Woo taps your thigh for you to get up. You land on the ground on shaky legs. San held you against him so you don’t fall. Woo stands and stretches before going to the couch in the opposite corner of the office space. He makes himself comfortable leaning up against the arm of the couch. He starts to unbuckle his belt and you whine at the bulge in his suit pants, barely being contained behind the zipper.

San carries you over to the couch and places you between Woo’s legs. You paw and the waistband of his pants, waiting for him to keep going. Woo smirks at you and slowly undoes his button. You start to get impatient and decide to take matters into your own hands. You make yourself level with his constrained member and start mouthing at it over his pants. Woo’s eyes widen and groans at the feeling. He tries to push your head away but it felt so good finally getting attention that he just lets it happen. But San wasn’t having it.

He pulls you away by your hair and Woo whines at the loss of your warm mouth. “Relax, you’ll have cock in you soon. Be patient” He lets go of your hair and Woo pulls his pants down to finally release his member and your mouth waters. The tip glistening with precum just asking to be devoured. You decide to not waste anymore time and take it into your mouth. Both you and Wooyoung moaning in unison. You take him in inch by inch until your nose hit his pelvic bone. Woo reveling in the long awaited feeling of your deliciously warm mouth.

San watches as you take Wooyoung deep in your throat. He grinds his boxer covered member against your ass. “My needy babies” he moans as his grinds turn into soft thrust, imagining you gripping his cock. As they started to speed up, you beginning to meet his thrust. “You want it princess?” You moan around Woo’s member and release with a pop. “Please daddy, please fuck me” San slaps your ass as he pulls down his boxers. He glides his throbbing cock against you, the tip grazing your sensitive clit. You whine again against Woo and he moans at the vibration.

San lines himself up and slowly pushes in. He groans at how tight you are, despite taking them both just last night. He starts off slow with his thrust, savoring in the warmth. He feels you clench as you gag on Woo’s dick and starts to speed up his thrusts. He continues to thrust into you as you keeping choking and gagging on Wooyoung. “Fuck~ I’m gonna cum keep going baby” Woo groans as the tightness in his lower stomach was close to snapping. San speeds up to an inhumane speed causing you to take Wooyoung deep in your throat as he releases with a whiny groan. You don’t hesitate to swallow all of it.

The sound Woo makes, along with the sound of you dripping core, push San over the edge. He cums deep into you causing you to cum as well. Milking his cock with every clench of your spasming pussy. “Your pussy feels amazing as always princess” you moan at the dirty praise. San pulls you up so your back meets his chest and kisses you. His tongue entering your mouth, tasting the remnants of Wooyoung’s cum. “You should saved some cum for me. Greedy girl.”

Your make out session was once again interrupted but this time by a whine. Both you and San look at Wooyoung, catching your breaths. “I’m still here too” San chuckles at his pouty husband. “Aww does my babyboy feel left out? Hm?” Wooyoung blushes at the nickname and pout “maybe I do” “come here love”

You and Wooyoung switch places so that he’s in front of San. San takes his chin in between his thumb and index finger and pulls him into a passionate kiss. San licks his bottom lip, asking for entrance which Woo immediately accepts.

They pull away after a while to catch their breath. “Why don’t you clean princess’s juices off my dick” Woo wastes no time getting on his knees on the floor in front of the couch. San sits on the couch and Wooyoung takes his place between his open legs. He admired San's glistening cock and licks his lips. He licks a strip up from his balls to the tip, moaning at the taste of your sweet juices.

He takes San deep into his throat, rolling his eyes back as he gags. “Good boy. You like being daddy’s little cockslut don’t you” Woo pulls off his dick with a pop and looks at him with lustful eyes. “Yes, yes I love it so much daddy, please fuck my face” San grabs Woo by his hair and pushes him back onto his cock. He moans feeling the tightness of Woo’s throat around his tip. San starts his thrusts slow then picks up knowing he can take it. Nothing could be heard except for gags and groans from the two men.

The guys stop for a moment when they hear little whines coming from the side of them. They look over at you, you’re slowly rubbing your swollen clit as your cum filled hole leaks out San's cum. They both groan at the sight. Woo gets up from the floor and back onto the couch. “Sit on my face baby. We can’t let that delicious cum go to waste”

You take your place, hovering over Woo’s face on shaky legs. He pulls you down, your pussy making direct contact with his tongue. He wastes no time sticking his tongue inside and licking out the cum San left behind.

As Woo shows you no mercy, San settles between his legs and takes a freshly lubed fingers and teases Woo’s hole. Wooyoung whimpers into your pussy as he slides 2 fingers into him. He stretches him open as Woo continues to eat you out. When San deemed him stretched enough, he lines himself up and thrust into him all at once, know he loves the pain.

Your moans start to get louder and San pulls you into a kiss to quiet you down. He pulls away and wraps his hand around your neck. “Didn’t Woo tell you to be quiet? If you do that again, I'm telling Woo to stop and I know you both don’t want that.” “Fuck~ no please I’m sorry~! His tongue feels so fucking good please don’t make him stop” He hums at your begs and tightens his grip on your throat “Then shut the fuck up and take it” He pulls you back into a kiss as he speeds up his thrusts into Wooyoung. The office was filled with the sounds of slurping from Wooyoung’s mouth and San’s balls hitting Woo’s ass.

“I’m s-s-so close!” You whine and Woo suddenly stops right before you could reach your peak. You whimper as your high starts to fade. “No no why’d you stop” Woo moves you from his face, panting “I want to feel you cum on my cock. Please baby? I wanna feel you clench me as you cum” you moan at the thought and move off the couch, barely keeping balance. San pulls out briefly so he can flip Woo onto his stomach. You lay on your back on the couch and Woo lines himself up to your pussy. He pushes in with no hesitation and starts thrusting slowly. San lines himself back up to Woo’s hole. Pushing him down so you’re both chest to chest as he begins to thrust into Woo, causing him to thrust into you. You both moan in unison, beginning to make out to keep each other quiet.

San's thrusts pick up, thrusting faster and harder. Woo’s cock hitting deeper into you, kissing your cervix. Both San and Wooyoung’s names leave your mouth at the wonderful pleasure you’re feeling right now. Woo’s own moans and whimpers leave his tongue as well, being in his favorite position. In between the two people he loves more than anything in the world.

“Aww does it feel good Woo? Does it feel good getting attention from both sides?” Wooyoung couldn’t even speak anymore, only whines so he nods instead. “Yeah? I know it feels good cause you’re clenching the fuck out of my dick right now. Mmm such a good boy. My good boy. I know you’re close to cumming, cum for me babyboy.” Woo releases into you with a almost pornographic moan. San pulls out and Woo slows his thrusts starting to feel the overstimulation. “Don’t stop now love, our princess still has to cum” San explains as he slowly strokes himself.

Wooyoung whimpers as he continues to thrust into you, trying his best to fight the sensitivity. You whimper his name as you started to get close again, begging him to go faster. “Please sir I’m so close. Please go fas-” Wooyoung grabs you by your throat again and pounds into you at an inhumane speed. “I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna-” “cum for us baby” you cum hard, Wooyoung following right behind you.

You lay there catching your breath as your highs die down. “You both were so good for me. I think I should give you a reward. On your knees now” you both immediately get to the floor, knowing what was coming (it’s San btw 🤭). He stands facing the both of you and strokes his leaking cock in your faces. You and Woo open your mouth and stick out your tongues with desperate looks, wordlessly asking for San’s cum. He groans as he releases onto both of your faces, some landing into your mouths and you both hum in satisfaction.

When San came down from his high, Wooyoung was the first to start licking your face clean of the sticky liquid. You return the favor. Then Wooyoung pulls you into a kiss passing the cum back and forth between your mouths. “Alright that’s enough. I don’t have energy for another round. Not when I haven’t had food.” San chuckles at his lovers.

You all get cleaned up and back into your clothes. San grabs the folder with the list of potential temporary receptionists and you all head down to the lobby. You walk up to the desk, shit eating grin on your face and your husband right behind you.

“Time to pack up your stuff bitch. You’re done.” The look of shock on her face at your words was priceless. “You both are just going to let her say that to me?” They both shrugged with emotionless faces. “I’d just do what she says, before we have security escort you out.” Wooyoung said sternly. “This is bullshit, I fucking quit” “well you were getting fired anyway so that makes my life easier” San said unamused. She then storms off after grabbing her stuff.

“Ok can we go get food now? I actually did forget my lunch at home and I’d like to eat it” both you and Wooyoung laugh at Sans’s pouty face.

“Ok Sannie let’s go get you some food”

#atz fanfic #atz smut #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez smut #ateez san #ateez x reader #ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez wooyoung #ateez woosan #woosan #wooyoung #choi san #kpop fanfic #atz

118 notes · View notes