#every night i stare at the ceiling and go | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kekewrites · 9 hours ago

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Tw. dark content, noncon, obsession, toxic, possessiveness, abandonment issues, sloppy blowjob, throat fucking, manipulation, size kink, overstimulation, name calling (cock-sleeve/warmer/bitch), multiple creampies, cunningless, slapping (baby slap though), baby-trapping, angst(?), coercion, dead dove do not eat

***

Thinking about being the manager of a yandere!Idol

You found him wandering in the streets, empty eyes and blank expression on his pretty face. If you didn't look hard you might've missed his tall figure. Being a newbie, you were finding it hard to recruit people but as you were about to go home, you caught sight of his attractive yet hopeless face.

The first time you approach him, he was wary and suspicious of you. Naturally so. But you persevere, introducing yourself as an agent recruiting handsome guys like him in the streets for a chance to become a trainee and become an idol.

"Fuck off. Scram."

That was the first words he said. Harsh. But he was all bark and no bite, like a puppy being defensive. After scuffling for a few minutes you managed to give him your card and phone number, convincing him to at least try.

Then a week later, he called and said yes. His voice was low, hesitant—like he didn’t fully believe in what he was doing, but was too tired of the streets to keep saying no.

You met up with him that same evening, in the same place you first found him. He looked cleaner, but still lost. You took him in without question, gave him food, a place to sleep, and most importantly, a reason to wake up.

For the first few days, he barely spoke. He just slept, ate, and stared at the ceiling like he was trying to remember who he was. You didn’t push. You just stayed nearby, gave him space, but made sure he knew, he wasn’t alone anymore.

Weeks turned into months. Slowly, he started coming back to life. You took care of him, through the bad days when he’d lock himself in his room, through the training sessions where he’d collapse from pushing too hard, through the nights he’d wake up in a cold sweat and pretend he was fine.

And you were always there. With water, with snacks, with a shoulder to lean on.

You watched him grow. From that broken boy on the street into someone who sang with soul, danced with fire, and spoke to crowds with a confidence he never had before.

He became an idol. And every time he stood under the lights, every time fans screamed his name, he always looked for you in the crowd.

Because you didn’t just recruit him.

You saved him.

And that’s when it went wrong.

At first, it was subtle. His smiles came more often when you were around, his tone soft and sugary. He’d cling to your side during breaks, crack jokes, brush your hair out of your face with that charming little smirk. You thought maybe he was just grateful, maybe he was trying to show affection in his own awkward way. After all, he’d been through a lot.

But then, it turned into something else.

He started showing up unannounced. Hovering around your office when he had no schedule. Getting visibly annoyed when you spoke too long with other trainees or staff. The sweet words never stopped, but they started feeling… off. Like they were laced with something heavier. Something darker.

The possessiveness crept in like a slow poison. At meetings, he’d glare at anyone who tried to sit next to you. He'd interrupt your conversations, redirect your attention, cut in with sharp remarks masked as jokes.

You tried to keep it professional, gently reminding him of boundaries, of roles, but he didn't like that.

"Why are you always talking to him?"

"Do you really need to be with them all the time?"

"I'm the reason you’re even doing well now, aren't I?"

And you saw it, in the way other staff avoided him, how they started whispering when he walked by. He was getting harder to work with. More demanding. More unpredictable.

But in front of cameras? He was perfect. The golden boy. Smiling, dazzling, every fan’s dream. But behind the scenes… the boy you once saved was slowly becoming someone else. Or maybe this was who he had been all along, buried beneath the brokenness.

And now, you weren’t sure if you had saved him…

Or created something you couldn’t control.

As his fame skyrocketed, managing him became nearly impossible.

He was everywhere, magazine covers, variety shows, drama cameos. His schedule was packed from sunrise to well past midnight, and you were running yourself ragged trying to keep up. But more than the logistics, it was him. His moods became harder to predict. Some days he was gentle, clinging to you like he used to when he was scared. Other days, he’d snap, throw things, or go cold for no reason.

You were still new to the game. Everyone could see you were trying your best, but it wasn’t enough, not for the industry, and definitely not for him.

The company made the call.

“We think it’s best to assign him a senior manager. Someone with more experience managing top-tier idols.”

They dressed it up as a strategic decision. And honestly? You agreed. Things had gotten too messy. Your once-close relationship had turned into something twisted, confusing, and emotionally draining. You told yourself it was for his own good, that maybe distance would help him reset.

“I’ll still be around,” you told him, forcing a smile. “But someone else will be taking care of your day-to-day.”

He stared at you. Didn’t say anything for a long while. Just stared.

Then, softly, too softly, he said, “You’re leaving me.”

You shook your head. “No. I’m just stepping back. This is better for you. For both of us.”

But he didn’t believe you. You could see it in his eyes. Something in him snapped that day, not outwardly, not immediately but you felt it. Like a quiet storm gathering behind the clouds.

You thought giving him space would help him unwind. Hoping he can finally indulge in the fame he had, probably get a secret girlfriend

You didn’t expect it to be the thing that finally made him unravel.

***

After that, you finally left.

Your first real break in years. You cashed your paycheck, packed your bags, and disappeared for a while, far from rehearsals, stress, and the boy you once pulled off the streets. It felt… weird at first. Empty. But you told yourself it was needed. Long overdue.

You didn’t keep in touch. Not because you didn’t want to but because it felt like the cleanest way to let go. Still, everywhere you went, there he was. His face lit up LED billboards with that same smile the one from when he had just debuted. Back when things were simpler. Sweeter.

You’d stop and stare sometimes, stuck between nostalgia and guilt. Wondering where it all went wrong. Was it the fame? The past he never healed from? Or… was it you?

But even through the ache, you hoped he was doing better. Independent. Stable. Happy. He wouldn’t have a hard time finding a girlfriend, not with that face, that charm, and a fanbase that worshipped the ground he walked on.

You were walking home from a quiet dinner one night, city lights buzzing around you, when you passed another ad of him huge and perfect lighting up the side of a building. You paused without meaning to, lost in your head.

That’s when your phone rang.

You didn’t even check the caller ID. Just answered, out of habit.

“…Hello?”

Silence. Then a voice you hadn’t heard in what felt like forever.

“I missed you.”

You froze.

And then, a shadow stepped up behind you.

A cap pulled low, sunglasses covering most of his face but you knew. You felt it.

He leaned close, his breath warm against your ear.

“You think you’re gonna escape from me?”

Your heart dropped.

Before you could react, he grabbed your wrist, firm, but not violent. Still, it sent your pulse racing. People were around, but no one looked twice. Just a couple under the lights.

“Wait—what are you doing?!” you whispered, trying to pull away.

He smiled, too calm, too practiced.

“Let’s talk. Somewhere quieter.”

***

He didn’t say a word as he dragged you through the maze of streets, only tightening his grip whenever you slowed down. You wanted to pull away, to yell, but something in his silence kept you frozen.

Eventually, he led you into a sleek hotel, one of those high-end discreet places celebrities used when they wanted to disappear. You were too stunned to resist, your mind racing with every step.

The elevator ride was silent.

He pushed the door open, guided you inside, and shut it behind you with a soft click. The curtains were drawn. City lights barely filtered through the fabric.

He finally let go of your wrist and walked ahead, pulling off his cap and tossing it to the couch, glasses following. You watched as he ran a hand through his hair, agitated, pacing the room like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“I looked for you,” he finally said, voice tight. “Every day.”

You said nothing. He turned to face you.

“Why didn’t you call? Text? Anything?”

“It wasn’t my place anymore,” you answered softly. “We needed space. You needed to grow.”

He laughed bitterly. “Grow into what? A product?”

You flinched.

He stepped closer. “So that’s all it was, huh? A business deal? Get the pretty boy off the streets, polish him up, sell him to the world then cut him off once he gets too hard to manage?”

You swallowed, your voice barely above a whisper. “It was never just business. I cared about you. But things got—”

“Complicated?” he snapped. “Yeah. You left when things got complicated.” His voice cracked, the anger just barely covering the hurt underneath. “So your life with me,” he said, slower this time, like each word hurt, “was really just a job?”

You took a step forward, your chest tightening.

“No. It was real. I-I just... you changed.”

“And you didn’t?” he whispered, eyes shining with something fragile anger, betrayal, desperation. “You walked away like I meant nothing.”

"You matter to me—"

“That’s what it felt like. You gave me everything, then took it all back the second I started needing you too much.”

“I didn’t take anything back,” you said, stepping back instinctively. “I was trying to help you. You were becoming... unstable. You needed someone more experienced. I just wanted you to be okay.”

His hands balled into fists.

“Okay? I was only okay when you were there. You made me." His voice rising with desperate anger. In a flash, he grabbed your wrists and dragged you towards the bed, forcing you down onto the plush mattress. Before you could react, he climbed on top of you, straddling your waist and pinning your arms above your head.

"G-Get off me..." you gasped, struggling beneath him. But he was too strong, too determined. His eyes burned into yours, wild and unpredictable.

"No," he growled, one hand still gripping your wrists while the other tugged at his belt. "You don't get to leave me. I won't let you."

He yanked his belt off and tossed it to the side. Then his fingers were at your pants, popping the button and dragging the zipper down. You tried to close your legs, but he forced them open, settling himself between your thighs.

"No, wait-" you started to protest, but he silenced you with a brutal kiss, his tongue invading your mouth, claiming you. His cock was hard and insistent against your stomach, and you knew he wouldn't stop.

"Please," you whimpered when he let you catch your breath. But it was a lie and you both knew it. He'd never listened to your pleas before.

"Shut up. Shut up... Shut up."

He grabbed your hair and pulled your head back, forcing you to look up at him as he undid his jeans and shoved them down just enough to get his cock out. It bobbed in front of you, angry and hungry and so fucking hard.

"Open," he commanded, his grip on your hair tightening painfully.

You hesitated, your lips pressed firmly together. He cursed and slapped your cheek lightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to sting.

"Open your fucking mouth," he snarled.

Tears stung your eyes at the sharp crack against your cheek, but you parted your lips just as he slammed forward, shoving his cock past your teeth and into your mouth. He didn't wait for you to adjust, just started fucking your face with hard, brutal thrusts.

Hurts... He's hurting me...

You choked on his cock, gagging and sputtering as he forced himself deeper and deeper down your throat. Saliva flooded your mouth and spilled out over your lips as he used your mouth like a fuckhole, grunting and groaning above you.

Why is he always... mad at me?

He fucked your face hard and fast, not caring about your comfort, only chasing his own pleasure. Tears streaked down your cheeks as you gagged and choked around him, your throat constricting around his pistoning cock.

He used your mouth ruthlessly, slamming into your throat and pulling out just long enough to catch his breath before plunging back in.

You knew he wouldn't stop until he was satisfied, until he'd emptied his balls down your throat. All you could do was try to breathe through your nose and pray it would be over quickly.

Mine. Mine.

He chanted it desperately under his breath, eyes glazed over with lust and obsession as he continued to viciously fuck your face. His hips slammed against your chin with each brutal thrust, your neck bulging obscenely each time he hilts inside you.

"Gonna...fucking...ruin this...cunt of a mouth..."

He was breathing hard, sweat dripping down his face, lost in his own manic pursuit of release. He needed this, needed to take back control, to reclaim you. You had left him, abandoned him, but now...now you were his again. His to use, his to ruin.

Always wanted...to fuck this...painted whore mouth...of yours...

He could feel his balls tightening, his climax building from the base of his spine. He was going to come, going to fill your belly with his seed, mark you from the inside out. You were going to choke on his cum, swallow it all, and maybe then you'd understand. Maybe then you'd realize you belonged to him, and him alone.

"Fuck! Take it all, you...cock sleeve!"

His fingers tightened in your hair, yanking your head back even further as his hips slammed forward one last time. He hilts inside you, his cock pulsing and jerking as he started to come, flooding your throat and mouth with string after string of hot, thick cum.

Manager... Manager. Manager. I fucking love you.

He groaned long and low, his eyes rolling back in his head as he emptied his balls inside you. His cock jerked and spasmed as he pumped load after load of semen directly into your stomach, your throat bulging obscenely.

"Fuck!" he roared, his voice echoing in the room. "Fuck, yes! Take it all, you fucking...cock warmer!"

He held you in place, forcing you to swallow every last drop, his grip on your hair almost painfully tight. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he pulled out, his softening cock slipping from your abused lips with a wet pop.

He collapsed next to you, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling. You turned your head to the side, gasping for air, your throat sore and raw. Tears and saliva and his own essence coated your face.

"I...I'm sorry," you whimpered, voice hoarse. "I didn't mean to leave you. Please...forgive me..."

He turned to look at you, his expression unreadable. But his eyes, ah his eyes...they were haunted, desperate. Lost.

"Forgive you?"

He reached out and grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, smearing his own cum back into your mouth. You flinched at the taste, but he held you firm.

Forgive you?

His other hand slid down your body, over your breasts, your stomach, to cup your mound possessively. He squeezed, fingers digging into your tender flesh.

"You'd have to do more than that if you want me to forgive you. I won't let you go again. Ever."

H-Huh?

Before you could catch your breath, he yank your hips up and pulls down your pants and panty. You felt the cool air on your exposed ass and pussy.

"No, wait-" you started to protest, trying to crawl away. But he grabbed your hips in a bruising grip, pulling you back onto his still-hard cock. He rubbed the thick head up and down your slit, coating it in a mix of your spit and his own cum.

"Shut up," he snarled, voice ragged with lust and desperation. "Stop fucking fighting me. Stop resisting!"

With one brutal thrust, he slammed forward, spearing your cunt on his throbbing shaft. You screamed at the sudden intrusion, your walls clamping down around him like a vice. He was too big, too hard, splitting you open.

Hurts... He's being... cruel.

"Fuck!" he roared, starting to piston in and out of your helpless pussy. "Take it! Take my fucking cock!"

He set a punishing pace, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Each thrust jolted you forward, your tits swaying beneath you. Tears poured down your face as he used you, brutalized you, his hips slamming against your ass with every stroke.

But then, he slowed. His grip gentled, fingers kneading your ass almost lovingly as he rolled his hips into yours. He leaned down, lips brushing the nape of your neck, breathing raggedly against your skin.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he murmured, voice hoarse. "So tight. Like you were made for me..."

He peppered kisses along your shoulder blades, his touch almost tender. You shuddered, confused, not understanding the sudden change. He rocked into you, each thrust measured, deliberate, like he was savoring the feeling of your tight cunt gripping his cock. Fuck, so fucking perfect.

"Manager... You're mine, ok? No one... No one can touch you but me!"

But just as suddenly, he changed again. His hips started moving faster, harder, the room echoing with the slap of skin and the creak of the mattress. He hooked an arm under your waist, hauling you back onto every stroke, forcing you to take every fucking inch.

"Yes, fuck!" he bellowed, sweat dripping onto your back. "Gonna...fucking ruin this pussy. Gonna make it mine."

He was panting harshly, his rhythm faltering. You could feel him growing even harder inside you, his cock throbbing erratically against your battered walls. You knew he was close, that he was going to come again.

But then he paused, buried deep inside you, cock pulsing urgently. He gripped your hips, fingers sinking into your skin hard enough to bruise.

"Gonna...fucking...knock you up," he growled. "Breed this cunt. Pump you full of my fucking seed."

You shook your head frantically, a strangled cry escaping your lips at the thought. "No! No, please...don't..."

He ignored you, starting to move again, thrusts growing more intense, more desperate. "Yes," he hissed. "Yes, gonna make you...mine. Gonna keep you...swollen with my child..."

His voice rose with each word, until he was nearly screaming. You could feel his cock jerk and twitch, his climax approaching. He was going to do it, going to come inside you, maybe even...

"Take it!" he roared. "Fucking take it, you bitch! Gonna...fucking...breed you!"

He slammed into you with a last, brutal thrust, his cock erupting deep inside your unprotected womb. You screamed as you felt the hot flood of his seed gushing into you, painting your insides with his come. He groaned long and low, body shuddering, emptying himself inside you.

He panted against your neck, sweat-soaked and sated.

"Manager... You won't be able to run away from me now."

You lay still beneath him, tears leaking from your eyes, a sense of dread washing over you.

He rolled you over, cradling you against his chest, your tear-stained face pressed to his sweat-slicked skin. His arms wrapped around you, holding you so tightly you could barely breathe.

Tilting your chin up, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart clench. Gone was the wild, crazed look from before. Now there was only a solemn, almost reverent expression on his handsome face.

"Manager, you're the only one for me," he murmured, voice low and intense. "My heart, my soul... it all belongs to you. Don't leave me again, alright? All the luxuries, all the fame and wealth... it's meaningless without you here with me."

His thumb brushed over your cheek, catching the tears that still leaked from the corners of your eyes. He leaned in closer, forehead pressed against yours, breath mingling with your own.

You want to refuse. Want to push him away, but you're eyes gets blurry with tears, getting overwhelmed. Why you?

He pressed open-mouthed kisses along your neck, your shoulder, your spine, worshipping every inch of your skin like the devoted disciple he claimed to be. Tears leaked from your eyes at the tenderness of his touches, the heartfelt sincerity in his tone.

It's like the old him...

But even as you lost yourself in the gentle glide of his lips, you could feel the desperation radiating off him in waves. This calm, this tenderness...it was a fragile thing.

He's always been such a fragile boy.

His hands roamed your body with a hunger that was almost painful in its intensity. He was trying to memorize you, to burn every dip and curve into his mind.

He hitched your leg up over his hip, opening you to him. You could feel his cock, already hard and ready again, nudging against your thigh, making you freeze.

He... He's still ready?

He was insatiable, this man. He would never be satisfied, would never have enough of you.

His eyes were wild again, pupils blown wide with renewed lust. He notched himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pushing demandingly at your folds.

"Feel this, Manager?" he whispered hotly, pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers. "Feel what you do to me? How much I just want to... Fuck you, need you..."

"I-I'm still sore... Please, I'm sorry."

"Stop saying that and just let me in your cunt, ok?"

He surged forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. You cried out, back arching off the bed, your nails digging into his shoulders. He was so deep, so hard, stretching you in ways that made you see stars. He's deeper this time?

"Wah... Your cunt still so tight, you're squeezing me dry~"

He started to move, hips rolling into yours with a force that shook the headboard. Each thrust punched the air from your lungs, left you gasping and mewling beneath him. He was lost in the heat of you, in the way your cunt gripped him.

"Tell me you need it, Manager," he urged, his cock slamming home and stilling, pulsing urgently inside you. "Tell me you want this... want me... as much as I need and want you!"

He pumped harder, faster, chasing his pleasure, his release. The room filled with the crude slap of skin against skin, with your choked cries and his grunts. He was going to come again, you could feel it in the erratic jerk of his hips, in the way his cock pulsed and throbbed inside you.

"Fuck!" he roared, slamming into you one last time. "Fuck, Manager, fuck!"

"N-no! Don't do it inside again!"

You bit your lips, muffling your ecstasy as you felt the hot rush of his come flooding your womb, your own orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your vision swam, your body shaking with the force of it.

He's gonna come inside... I'll get pregnant at this rate...

And then, with a long, guttural groan, he was coming again. His cock erupted like a fountain, pumping spurt after spurt of his hot cum deep into your hungry womb. The sensation was too much... too intense... and you felt yourself plummeting into oblivion, the darkness claiming you as his release seemed to go on and on.

The last thing you heard as you drifted off was his ragged voice, panting your name like a prayer.

"Manager... Manager... Manager! I love you! I love you! I fucking love you!"

***

You stared up at the ceiling, the memories of the past playing out like a movie reel in your mind. You could see him there, a young and nervous pop sensation, gripping your hands tightly as you offered him words of encouragement and support.

"You've got this," you had said, squeezing his fingers reassuringly. "Go out there and give them the performance of a lifetime. They're waiting for you."

"Okay," he nodded, squaring his shoulders with newfound determination. "Okay, Manager. I can do this. With you by my side, I can do anything."

He stepped out onto the stage. The crowd had gone wild, their screams and cheers a tangible force that seemed to lift him up and carry him forward. He had shone under the hot lights, his voice ringing out clear and strong, his movements confident and sure.

And you had watched from the wings, your heart swelling with pride and love as you beheld the man you had helped to create. He was more than just your client, more than just your star - he was your greatest achievement, your crowning glory. You had taken a scared and scrawny boy and molded him into a god among men, a king among the elite.

But now, as you lay there in the dim light of the bedroom, you could feel the weight of that responsibility crushing down on you. It was your fault, after all, that he had become this twisted and broken creature, this monster who would dare to touch you without your consent, to hold you against your will.

His arms tightened around you, crushing you against his chest, his breath hot and heavy against the back of your neck. He was saying all the right things, murmuring all the right words, but you could feel the dark intent behind them. The gentleness was a lie, a mask he wore to hide the cruelty that lurked beneath.

"Shh, it's alright," he cooed, his lips brushing your ear. "Don't cry, I'm here now. I'll always be here for you, no matter what."

But you didn't want him here. You didn't want his comfort or his affection or his twisted version of love. You wanted him to let you go, to release you from the nightmare that had become your life. You wanted to be free of him, to run until you couldn't run anymore, to disappear and never be found again.

But you knew it was impossible. He would never let you go, would never allow you to leave him. He needed you too much, depended on you for his every breath and his every heartbeat. And as long as you remained by his side, as long as you stayed in his life… he would never stop hunting you, never stop pursuing you until he had claimed you completely.

It was a bitter realization, a cruel twist of fate that left you feeling hollow and empty inside. You had once believed that you could save him, that your love and your guidance could be enough to keep the darkness at bay. But now… now you knew the truth. You knew that you had been the one to nurture the seeds of his madness, to feed the flames of his obsession until it had grown into an all-consuming inferno.

And so you lay there, trapped in his embrace, tears leaking down your face as you prayed silently for a miracle, for some way out of this nightmare. But deep down, you knew that there would be no miracle, no divine intervention to come rescue you from the man you had once called your star.

You had been his manager, his guide, his friend… and his downfall. And now, you would bear the consequences of your choice for the rest of your days.

With a sob catching in your throat, you closed your eyes and surrendered to the darkness, praying that when you opened them again… you would be somewhere, anywhere else. But far away from here, and far away from him.

Though, you only have yourself to blame.

You were the one who scouted him after all~

Stupid manager.

363 notes · View notes

dior-luxury · 1 day ago

Note

the way u write is like 5 a star cuisine where u feel like exploding from how satisfied you are after eating. PLEASEEEE I’m begging for another wind breaker!pinning boys! I’m not picky abt which character so go wild with it :]] (but maybe umemiya if u can—🥹🙏🏼)

—munchieschomp

How'd They Pin After You

( ✧ ) ────── crush stories . fluff - gn!reader .

- [𝐜𝐡.] sakura . suo . mitsuki . sugishita . ren . umemiya

- [𝐩:𝐬] jealousy . possessiveness . negative thoughts . the boys being convinced you're out of their league

Note: Thank you so much for the compliments, munchie! ^^ And I included umemiya just for you! (＾▽＾)

Sakura Haruka

At first, Sakura doesn't even realize he likes you.

He's too busy being… himself — blunt, guarded, always picking fights and refusing to show vulnerability. But then one afternoon, after a brawl outside a convenience store, you show up without fear, patching a scrape on his knuckles with the small first-aid kit you always seem to carry.

“Idiot," you mutter as you tape gauze over his hand. “You’re going to get yourself killed one day.”

Sakura feels a strange, hot sting in his chest, stronger than any punch he'd taken that day.

For the first time in forever, someone wasn't looking at him like a weapon or a problem to be fixed — just... someone who needed taking care of.

From that moment, he becomes hyperaware of you. When you’re around, Sakura stands a little straighter. His fists tighten at his sides when someone talks to you too casually.

He'll shadow you from a distance, pretending it's "just in case" trouble shows up, but really, it’s because the thought of you getting hurt churns his stomach.

He tries to offer you things — a drink he bought but pretends he doesn’t want, his hoodie on chilly nights (gruffly tossed over your shoulders without a word).

But the worst part for Sakura is the jealousy.

One afternoon, he sees you laughing with Suo and a few of the Bofurin members. It's not romantic, but the easy way you smile at them sends a roaring, ugly fire through him.

He disappears for the rest of the evening, picking fights just to bleed out the frustration.

At night, lying on his bed staring at the cracked ceiling, he replays every interaction with you. Every glance, every accidental brush of hands, every small smile you saved just for him.

He tells himself he's fine. That he's strong enough to ignore it. But then you show up after another one of his street fights, worry in your eyes, stubbornness in your voice as you grab his arm—

“You don’t have to do this alone.”

And that’s when Sakura realizes:

He’s already lost.

You're inside his ribs, inside every stupid breath he takes. He's in love with you, and he has no idea how to tell you — only that he’ll protect you with everything he’s got, even if it costs him everything.

Suo Hayato

Suo knows almost immediately that he's drawn to you. It’s in the small things — the way you listen to people, really listen, without judgment or rush.

The way you stand your ground, no matter who’s pushing. The way your laugh feels like summer sunlight.

At first, Suo watches from afar, quietly folding himself into your world. He always seems to show up at the perfect time — helping you carry something heavy, offering an umbrella when rain catches you by surprise.

He doesn’t push. He never rushes.

He treats your friendship like the slow blooming of a rare flower.

When he falls, he falls silently and completely. There’s a soft sort of longing in the way he watches you when you’re not looking.

A small smile playing on his lips when you rant about your day or get excited over something silly.

He memorizes the little details: Your favorite snacks. The way your hair falls into your eyes when you're focused. The songs you hum under your breath.

And Suo supports you in a thousand unseen ways — fixing the broken strap on your backpack without telling you, subtly stepping between you and drunken strangers at street festivals, cheering the loudest (but most politely) when you accomplish something you're proud of.

But oh, the ache of it.

The nights Suo lies awake, wondering if he should tell you. If risking your friendship is worth the hope clawing at his chest.

When you’re close, he finds it harder and harder to keep up the calm facade. There are times his hand brushes yours and he aches to just hold it. Times he catches you smiling at him and has to look away before he gives too much away.

One day, sitting side-by-side on a quiet rooftop, sharing a bottle of soda, you lean your head on his shoulder — tired, trusting, unguarded.

Suo closes his eyes and lets the moment wrap around him like a secret promise.

Even if he never confesses, he thinks, he'll stay by your side. Always.

Mitsuki Kiryu

Mitsuki Kiryu is composed — always.

Cool voice, sharp eyes, a smile that never quite reaches the corners of his mouth. He’s the kind of person everyone trusts but few really know.

So when he realizes he's drawn to you, he doesn't panic. He studies it — like a problem to be solved. He watches the way your eyes sparkle when you’re excited, the way your face crumples slightly when you're worried.

And the more he watches, the more he realizes: He's in trouble.

Mitsuki handles his crush like he handles everything: with intense, ruthless control. He tells himself it’s fine — he’ll just stay by your side, keep you safe, protect your smile.

And he does. You start to notice him more and more — how he always seems to know when you need a break, a snack, a quiet moment.

How he watches over you during fights like an iron wall, stepping in right before something could hurt you without making a big scene.

But inside? Inside, Mitsuki is a storm.

Late at night, alone in his apartment, he leans against the kitchen counter with a hand over his mouth, hating how much he aches for you.

He clutches his phone, staring at your last message, debating if he should text you goodnight, or if that would be crossing a line he can’t uncross.

Sometimes, his mind drifts — to the thought of holding your hand, of pulling you gently toward him during one of your casual walks home together.

Of brushing your hair behind your ear, of finally letting himself feel.

But he doesn't.

He stays in the shadows of your life, a silent guardian, convincing himself it’s better this way — better if you never know how much he burns for you.

Because if you knew, and didn’t want him back? It would break him.

Sugishita Kyotaro

Sugishita is used to big emotions.

He lives loud, he feels loud — fists flying, voice raised, loyalty tattooed into his very bones.

So when he starts falling for you, it's like being hit by a truck he saw coming but didn’t dodge. It’s violent, overwhelming, immediate.

At first, he’s a disaster. He snaps at you for dumb things. If you tease him even a little, his whole face goes red and he stutters through excuses. He picks fights with anyone who even looks at you sideways — even if it’s just a glance, even if it’s harmless.

And you? You smile at him like he's just Sugishita.

Like he’s not clumsy and stupid and reckless around you.

It kills him.

Sugishita doesn't know how to flirt. Instead, he becomes... louder.

He invites you to training sessions with him, showing off like an idiot, pretending to be casual when he’s watching you out of the corner of his eye the whole time.

He gives you his hoodie without asking when it’s cold. He buys you your favorite snacks but pretends it was “just extra.

He says things like, “Dumbass, don’t make me worry about you!” when what he really means is, "I can't stand the thought of you getting hurt, even a little."

At night, when he’s alone and the world is quiet, Sugishita curls his fists in his bedsheets, desperate to tell you.

He imagines blurting it out — yelling it into the sky, grabbing your hands in his calloused ones, shouting how much he cares.

But every time he sees you laugh, sees how easily you move through the world without needing him, his heart cracks a little.

He tells himself: You deserve better than a loudmouth like me.

Still, he stays by your side. He’ll fight the whole damn world for you. Even if you never see how deeply he's already yours.

Ren Kaji

Ren Kaji doesn’t fall easily. He doesn't trust easily, either. But you — you tear through his defenses without even trying.

It starts with the small things. The way you look him straight in the eyes when most people shy away. The way you speak gently, without pressure or demands. The way you see through the cool, detached mask he wears like armor.

He doesn’t understand it at first. Why his pulse quickens when you’re near. Why he memorizes the way your voice sounds when you're tired versus when you're laughing.

Ren handles it badly. He pulls away — keeps conversations short, keeps his distance — not because he doesn’t want you near, but because you make him feel too much, too quickly.

He starts to notice the way your presence makes the noise in his head quiet down. How your touch — a hand brushing his sleeve, a casual nudge — sends shockwaves through his system.

When you look worried for him, his chest tightens until it physically hurts. And when you smile at him? It feels like forgiveness for a crime he hasn’t even committed.

But Ren refuses to act. He watches you from across the room, quietly aching. He notices when you're upset, when you’re tired, when you need someone — and he’s there, without you needing to ask.

He tells himself like Sugishita:"I don't deserve them."

Instead, he pours his affection into little acts: Fixing your bike when you’re not looking, leaving your favorite snack on your desk, pretending it was someone else, and stepping in if someone gives you trouble, but fading into the background before you can thank him.

At night, lying alone in his room with only the hum of the city outside, he lets himself imagine a world where he’s brave enough to reach out. Where he could hold your hand without fear, without guilt.

But then morning comes, and Ren folds himself back into silence — pining from a distance, quietly breaking every day he keeps his feelings hidden.

Umemiya Hajime

Umemiya Hajime is pure light.

He’s the easy grin in a crowded room, the steady hand in a fight, the soul that refuses to turn cold no matter how cruel the world gets.

So when he starts falling for you, it’s immediate, blinding — like stepping into sunlight after a lifetime of rain.

He notices everything about you. The way your eyes light up when you talk about your passions, the way your nose crinkles when you laugh too hard, the way you treat even strangers with a kindness most people reserve for friends.

Unlike others, Umemiya doesn’t hide his affection. But he doesn’t rush it either.

He’s patient. Content to walk beside you, matching his pace to yours, letting the bond grow naturally.

He teases you endlessly, but always with a softness underneath. He protects you in fights without making a show of it, letting you be strong while making sure you never have to stand alone.

He cooks extra portions of food and claims he’s "just used to big meals," when really, he loves seeing you eat something he made.

But for all his confidence, he gets scared too.

Sometimes, when you lean against him after a long day, when your laughter rings too close to his heart, he feels terror seep into his bones.

What if he’s not enough? What if you deserve someone calmer, quieter, less messy?

Those fears crawl up his throat late at night, when he replays every small moment between you, wondering if he’s imagining the way you seem to drift closer to him, piece by piece.

But Umemiya is hopeful by nature. He believes in the possibility of things. In second chances. In building homes inside each other’s hearts.

And he knows — with quiet certainty — that one day, he’ll tell you everything.

Not with grand declarations, but with a hand held out, steady and sure.

"Whenever you’re ready," he’ll say.

"I’m here."

And he will mean it with every broken and healed piece of himself.

#𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐑-𝐋𝐔𝐗𝐔𝐑𝐘 #windbreaker scenarios #windbreaker imagines #wind breaker scenarios #wind breaker imagines #wind breaker x reader #sakura haruka x reader #suo hayato x reader #mitsuki kiryu x reader #sugishita kyotaro x reader #ren kaji x reader #umemiya hajime x reader

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jays-bonnie-on-the-side · 3 hours ago

Text

WHAT’S DONE IN THE DARK, COMES TO LIGHT

PAIRING : sam winchester x fem!reader | dean winchester x fem!reader

SUMMARY : sam and reader have been together a few months. after a night out with her friends, she comes back to the motel, determined to have sex with her boyfriend. too drunk to notice, she climbes into the wrong bed.

WARNINGS : estalished relationship. strong language. fluff. angst. smut. unprotected p in v. daddy kink. misunderstandings. violence. cheating. pining. mutual jealousy. mentions of alcohol.

A/N : had this idea in the archives for a while and thought it was time to share it. hope you like it as much as i did. also, if you need a clue: y/f/n-your friend’s name, y/o/f/n-your other friends’s name. y/n/n- your nickname

You and the boys had a case close to the city your best friends lived in. So, after the gruesome hunt, you catch up with them at their favorite bar. The brothers decide to join, eager to celebrate your victory while meeting your childhood friends. You walk into the bar, hand in hand with your handsome and tall boyfriend, his brother following behind as you search for the girls. Their eyes land on you, and their faces drop.

“Hey!” You shout as you see them making their way through the small crowd.

Letting go of his hand, you wrap your arms around your two best friends. They squeeze you tight, having not seen you in almost a year. It felt so good to be in their presence. You loved the company of the Winchesters, but it was due time to see your girls. And with luck on your side, they dropped all their plans to get together.

“Ugh, I’ve missed you guys!”

They let you breathe, pulling away from the embrace. “We missed you!”

“We’re glad you made it in one piece!”

They knew you were a hunter. You couldn’t lie to them. When you dropped out of college after learning about the supernatural firsthand, you couldn’t find an excuse good enough to tell them why and where you were going; You didn’t want to either. They begged you not to join the life, but they knew that whatever they said, wouldn't stop you.

“Thanks to these two,” You turn and intertwine your fingers with his before facing them again. “Guys, this is my boyfriend, Sam.”

Their eyebrows raise, and their lips curl. “Boyfriend?”

Sam extends his free hand for them to shake. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

“You too,” they say as they each accept his strong hand.

Dean stands beside you, eyeing up the girls. You glance toward him, swallowing your annoyance as you introduce, “And this is his older brother, Dean.”

Like every straight woman, they stare at the gorgeous specimen with hungry eyes. You knew your friends well enough to know what they were thinking. You couldn’t blame them; He’s magnificent to look at. When you began working with the boys, you had the same thoughts, but they vanished once you started dating Sam.

Like his brother, he reaches and shakes their hands. You felt a strange tinge in your body when Dean’s touch lingers. Unsurprisingly, the girls liked it, and pretty soon, they were paying more attention to him than you. After ordering drinks, everyone moves over to the pool table, to play a game of Cutthroat. The match wasn’t much of anything; Dean took turns with them, his arms wrapped around theirs, taking his sweet time to show them how to align and hit the ball just right.

You roll your eyes, feeling jealous, and you aren’t sure why. After prying your eyes away from the scene before you, you lean into Sam. He wraps his strong arm around your waist, kissing the crown of your head. Given he’s much taller, you tilt your chin to the ceiling and meet his gaze. He gives you a small smile, already knowing your request.

He clears his throat and calls over to his brother, “Hey, man, it’s getting kinda late. I’m gonna head out. You ready?”

Dean looks up from your friend and over at Sam. “Late? It’s only 10:30.” Your boyfriend gives him a look, and he takes the hint. “Oh, right.”

“Well, I’ll catch up with you boys later,” Sam pulls you into an embrace, and you whisper in his ear, “Don’t wait up.”

He plants a sweet kiss on your lips before turning his attention to your friends. They smile and give him a quick discussion on the consequences of what’ll happen if he doesn't treat you right. Sam chuckles at their attempt to be threatening but understands where they’re coming from. He would never hurt you, and you knew that. They exchanged their goodbyes with your boyfriend before turning towards Dean.

“Well, ladies, it was nice meeting you. I hope to see you again soon.”

“Maybe we can catch up tomorrow,” “You know, somewhere more private.” They purr in his ear.

It had been a while since his last threesome, and though the attractive women were tempting, he had his eyes on another girl, one that already belonged to someone else. He knew he could never make a move, and he had no choice but to be okay with it. After all, he only has himself to blame for constantly putting his brother’s happiness before his own. He plasters a fake smile and shakes his head at the proposal.

“I would, sweethearts, but the world ain't gonna save itself.”

"You're so brave," one of them fawns.

You roll your eyes for what feels like the tenth time. Hell, you’re surprised they haven’t rolled out of your head already. However, you’re the tiniest bit relieved when he declines their offer. You wouldn’t know who to be more angry with: him or them. Your friends weren’t the kind to have one-night stands but Dean never would’ve guessed. Knowing so, they would’ve gotten attached if they weren’t already. He says a final goodbye before walking towards you and Sam.

“Let’s go before I regret it.”

Sam gives you one last kiss, one that leaves you wanting more, earning a side glance from Dean that no one catches. “Have fun.”

With that, the three of you watch as the handsome brothers leave.

“They’re so hot.”

“How you get any work done is beyond me.”

With a chuckle, you shake your head. “It ain’t easy.”

“I could take them both and not in a fight,” Y/F/N says.

Your eyes nearly pop out of your head at your friend’s quip. Y/O/F/N laughs in agreement. Your mouth had fallen open, taken aback by her blunt honesty. Could you blame her? Not one bit.

“Well? Aren't we all thinking it?”

“Of course not!” You squeak.

“So you’re telling me that you wouldn’t have a threesome with them if the opportunity arose?” she asks, eyebrow raised.

“I mean…” You shrug your shoulders, not wanting to lie but not wanting to tell the truth either.

“Ha! You totally would!”

Shaking some sense back into your head, you speak over the loud, drunken individuals. “I love Sam. I don’t think I’d be with him if Dean and I ever…”

“Fucked?” Y/F/N finishes.

“Yes.”

“I could!” Your second friend shouts.

“I’ll drink to that!” says your first one, holding up her shot glass and waiting for you two to do the same.

You clink glasses and down the hard liquor. The alcohol burns in your throat, almost making you regret drinking it in the first place. You missed your girls. You adored Sam and Dean, but you couldn't get as rowdy and loose in front of them as you needed to sometimes. A few hours had gone by, and you each had switched to water after one too many shots of tequila.

“You’re telling me…tha you‘n Sam…haven’t donnit yet?” Your friend slurs.

You nod but stop when your head begins to spin. “Not once. I think ‘e wants to take it ssslowww.”

“Nuh-uh! You have ‘ta have’a drink from that talllll glass’iv wat-ter.” Your other friend says before raising her empty glass to her lips. She frowns and waves the bartender over. “Can I have’a tall glass of waterr?”

You three burst into laughter at the “coincidence.” The fading alcohol makes you all tear up a bit, making the not-so-funny joke hilarious. The bartender comes over, and sets your friend’s hydration on the counter in front of her, paying half a mind to your boisterous trio. A few minutes had passed and the joke began to die.

“Seriously, Y/N/N. You need to’ride that man, like yesterday!”

“Yeah! You go back to that motel ‘n get dicked down!…Dick him down!”

Despite her words, you knew exactly what she was saying. With confidence, you stand from the bar stool. “Youknow what? I willl! ‘M gonna go and do my boyfriend!”

“Yeah!” The cheer.

After downing the rest of your water, you throw your share onto the bar. “All right, bitches. Ima go get laid,” You wrap your arms around their necks and pull them in for a hug. “I’ll see ya guys, tomorrow.”

“We want alllll the details.”

“You b-better not hold out on us.”

“I promise!”

Fortunately for you, the walk wasn’t long. The motel was down the street from the bar they chose. The cool air helped sober you up, not much but enough to see straight. Once the Impala’s in sight, you smile to yourself. You pull the key out and silently struggle to get it in the keyhole. Finally, you hear the lock click.

“Aha!” You exclaim before shushing yourself.

You push the door open to the dark room. Sam had gone to sleep over an hour before you showed but Dean was wide awake. He couldn’t sleep. He hadn't been able to since he realized he had feelings for you, his brother unknowingly beating him to the punch. The moonlight shined across the floor, eliminating the foot of the beds. You quietly shut the door, and stumble to your duffle bag near the table.

Assuming the Winchesters were asleep, you don’t bother going to the bathroom to undress. You kick off your shoes, holding on to the table to keep your balance. Dean squints in the dark and sees your shadow, watching in secret. You pull your shirt over your head and his eyes widen. He looks away, knowing he shouldn’t watch, but he can’t help himself.

You wiggle out of your jeans, and Dean practically drools. Though the darkness engulfs you, the moonlight peeks through the thin curtains, casting a perfect glow over your curves from where you stand. You were in nothing but your undergarments, causing his pants to tighten. He knew he was wrong for watching you, for wanting you, for being so turned on but it wasn’t his fault. He can’t be blamed for how he felt, especially when you were almost naked in front of him.

Unsure if it was the confidence from the alcohol or the anticipation, you eagerly stroll between the beds. Dean closes his eyes, fearing that you’d catch him staring. You lift the bed sheet and the mattress dips softly beneath your weight. He stirs, forcing you to stop. Once he stills, you move again, this time between his legs. You kneel in front of him, grabbing the front of his jeans. His large hands stop yours, squeezing gently.

“What’re doing?” He whispers.

You push them away, whispering back, “I want you.”

With haste, you unbutton his jeans and yank down his zipper, allowing his boner room to grow. You lower his boxers, enough to expose his untrimmed hair, and though he wants to stop you, his mind clouds with lust as you pepper his pelvis with kisses. He wanted nothing more than you to take him into your pretty little mouth. To feel your lips around him, your cheeks hollowing as you suck harder and harder—no! You couldn’t.

“We can’t, sweetheart.”

“Why not?”

“You’re drunk.”

He heard the drunken drawl and figured you only wanted him while under the influence. Though a pang struck his heart, he would never take advantage of you. Even if that wasn’t the case, even if you did want him, his brother was in the bed beside yours. No, he thought. We can't. He sighs, hating his decision but knowing it was the right one.

“But I’m sober enough to know I want this.” You straddle his hips, setting your heat on his erect and clothed member.

“We shouldn't…” He weakly fights but a gasp escapes once you move.

“Please,” You grind, enticing him with every word. “I want you so bad, baby. I’ve wanted you for sooo long. I’ve dreamt of your perfect cock inside me, filling my pussy with your cum. Please don’t make me wait any more. I need you.”

He bites his lip; He could spill his load right now if he chose to let go. Fuck! You had him so whipped. He couldn’t say no to you, not like this. But his brother invades his thoughts.

“But what about—?“

“What about him? I want you.” You feel his hesitation so you curl your fingers around his shirt, pressing your palms to his abdomen and sliding them up to his chest. You lean down and kiss his tattoo. “Don’t you want me?”

Without missing a beat, he answers, “Fuck, princess, I want you so bad.”

“So fuck me,” You sit up and grab his hand, bringing it to your damp panties. “I’m so wet for you, baby.”

He huffs in shock; You weren’t exaggerating. You were drenched, just for him. His thumb rubs against your folds, smearing the wetness against the soaked underwear. He runs his digit upward, applying light pressure to your aching clit, eliciting a quiet moan from your impatient body. He couldn’t fight it anymore. He needed you just as much as you needed him. He nods, and you see the shadow before you agree.

You nearly squeal with excitement but the quietness reminds you why it has to stay that way. After all, you didn’t want his brother waking up to the intimate and long-awaited scene. You return to your previous position and eagerly pull both his boxers and jeans down. With your face so close, his erection pops out, lightly smacking your cheek. The harmless slap goes directly to your core making it tingle with anticipation.

All you want to do is pounce and bounce on him, but you desperately want to swallow what he’s packing. You drag his pants to his ankles and he quickly kicks them off. Your hand wraps around his member and you’re thrilled by the size. He was thick but not too thick, long but not too long; Like you suspected: He was perfect.

He forces himself to keep still, letting you take charge. His breath quickens as he feels your own fan against his sensitive sack. You take his tightened nut into your hot mouth, sucking gently. His body flinches, not out of discomfort but out of immense pleasure. You stroke his twitching cock as you show love to his other testicle.

His breathing comes out in huffs; He isn’t sure how much longer he’s going to last and you haven’t even taken him in your mouth yet. As if you read his mind, your mouth travels upwards, your tongue licking the underside of his dick until it reaches the tip. Your mouth swiftly closes around it, tasting his delicious pre-cum. His fingers weave through your hair, desperately wanting you to go further but not wanting to rush you.

You get his unsubtle hint and take him down your throat, inch by inch. He throws his head back, loving the way your mouth feels. Needing air, you retract and breathe through your nose. You go down again, your cheeks beginning to hallow. Soon, you determine a steady pace, sucking harder with each bob.

The longer you pleasure him, the wetter you get. Your saliva escapes your mouth, traveling down his shaft and over his balls. He was so close, closer than he wanted to be. He was half tempted to cum down your throat but held off, wanting to fill you elsewhere. You’re so lost in giving him the best head he’s ever received, that you’re confused when he pushes you back.

“W-what? What’s wrong?” You whisper, dazed.

“Get on, sweetheart.”

Your pussy flutters at his words. Finally, you thought. Fingers hooked on the hem of your black lace thong, you drag it down your legs and toss it on the floor. You move so your knees are beside his hips and you hover above his erection. His tip brushes against your drenched folds, causing you to whimper.

His hands fly to your hips, helping you maintain your balance while trying to hide his eagerness. You’re so close to fulfilling his, and your, dreams of being deep inside you. Sure, he was always respectful of you, never objectifying you, but he’s a man after all. Yet, it was more than wanting sex. He wanted that connection; He craved it.

You reach between your legs and take hold of his awaiting phallus. Without prolonging it any longer, you align him with your entrance and slowly ease down. Your head falls back as you each moan softly, finally getting the touch you desire. His wet member and your soaked pussy allow a smooth acceptance and you’re damn thankful for the preparation. Your core meets his base, and you smile at being able to take him fully. After all, he’s bigger than what you’re used to.

He sheds his shirt and rubs your thighs as you adjust to one another. You place your palms against his torso, readying yourself to move. He positions his hands on your hips again, prepared to assist. You lift yourself, and he glides out of your tight hole. His breathing quickens as he watches himself disappear.

The pain of him stretching you out is drowned by the alcohol in your system. If it wasn’t for the liquor, you could’ve sworn you were just drunk on him. It doesn’t take long before you create an unholy rhythm. He was captivated by you. The way your hips roll and your body bounces…It was intoxicating. The line between the best ride he’s ever gotten and it being you was blurred. No, it’s definitely her talent.

What he wouldn’t give to see you and not your shadow. His hand cups your covered breast, squeezing lightly. When it doesn’t suffice, he reaches around and unhooks your bra. After tossing it with your underwear, his fingers twiddle your hardened nipple. Groans and quiet moans fall from both your lips but once his other hand moves to your front, you forget why you were trying to remain silent. His thumb instantly finds your clit, eliciting a loud whimper.

“Shh, sweetheart. ‘Don’t want to wake him up, do you?”

“No, Daddy,” you whine. “‘M sorry.”

The nickname sent chills down his spine and he wanted more. It wasn’t the first time a woman had addressed him that way in bed but you were the only one he wanted to hear it from. It egged him on, so much so that he found himself thrusting up into you, taking control. I’ll show her who her daddy is, he thought.

You moan again, just above a whisper. The hand he used to fondle your breast goes back to your hip, guiding your body up and down, up and down. His hips meet yours and his thumb adds more pressure. You begin to squirm above him, the pleasure raking over your body as it also builds in the pit of your belly. Heavy pants mix with the sweet sound of skin slapping—a symphony to your ears.

With his rhythm so vigorous, and your aching thighs, you were ready to topple over. His thumb rubbed harsh circles on your sensitive clit, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. You were so close and so was he, but he refused to cum before you did. His hips snap up, hitting your G-spot with every thrust. Your nails dig into his skin, as you teeter on the edge of your most powerful orgasm yet. Fuck, keep going, Daddy, you thought what your mouth just couldn’t say. Just like that. He knew you were close by the way your walls clenched around his shaft. Just a few more—

“Dean, seriously? You—“ The lamp between the two beds is switched on, blinding you and your partner.

Your high’s disrupted. You squint in the light, and when you see your boyfriend sitting up and across from you, your eyes widen. W-what the—? Your head whips to see the man still buried deep inside your guts. D-Dean?!

Suddenly, you become very sober. With a gasp, you push yourself off your deceiver. His mouth was agape, a mix of shock and guilt. We weren’t that loud, were we? But that wasn’t the point. No, he just had sex with his brother’s girlfriend.

Sam’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head. The combination of moans, the collision of skin, and the mattress bouncing had awoken him. He groaned to himself, annoyed his brother would have sex in the same room he lay asleep in. Unable to ignore it, he decides to stop the fornication. What he didn’t expect was to find you on top.

“What the fuck?!” He shouts, throwing off his covers.

“Baby, i-it’s not what you think.”

You’re terrified. It wasn’t your fault, you thought Dean was Sam. In a way, it wasn’t Dean’s, either. He assumed you wanted him. You begged him. It didn’t matter. It was both of your faults. You should’ve known it wasn’t your boyfriend and he should’ve told you no and stuck to it.

“Sammy,” Dean holds his hands in defense. “Hold on a second—“

Sam leaps toward the bed, striking Dean across the face.

“No!” You cry, trying to pull your boyfriend away.

He lands another punch across his brother’s face. And again. You continue your pleas but he doesn’t listen. All he can see is red. You and Dean try to stop his violence but his strength overpowers you both.

“Baby, stop!” You tug his arm once more but he shoves you away.

He doesn’t mean to do it so hard. The force pushes you off the mattress. The room spins, not because you hit your head, but because of the alcohol and complexity of the situation. The possibility of you being hurt, of him hurting you, breaks through his fit of rage. He stops his punishment against Dean’s countenance and checks on you.

You sit up and see Sam with a worried look. Seeing you’re fine, he steps into his shoes before grabbing his duffle bag, and the keys to the Impala. With as much haste as you could gather, you begin to stand. He stomps to the door, throwing it open then storming out. You quickly wrap a sheet around your body before running out of the motel after him.

“Sam, wait!” You jog towards him, trying to catch his attention. “I swear it’s not what it looked like.”

He stops abruptly, and you run into his back. You stumble as he turns on his heel, “Really? ‘Cause it looked like you were fucking my brother!”

You shake your head frantically. “I thought it was you!”

“What? How the fuck do you get him and I confused?!”

“I—It was dark, I was drunk—I am drunk. I forgot which bed was ours,” he stared at you wildly. “Baby, I would never cheat on you. I’m yours, only yours.”

He chuckles darkly, sending shivers down your spine. “Yeah, well, not after this.”

Sam spins around and in a few strides, he’s beside the Impala. The door creaks open and he throws his bag into the passenger seat. He hops in and shuts the classic door behind him. You run towards the car, and put your hand against the glass. Tears begin to well in your eyes, afraid he’s serious. How could he not be? His girlfriend and his brother…the perfect recipe for disaster.

“Please, don’t go. We can work this out,” You plead, your eyes reflecting the desperation.

He ignores you and starts the engine. It roars to life and you’re petrified of the sound. You know if he drives away, it’ll haunt you forever. And that’s what he does. You begin to pound on the window, following the car as it backs out. The tears spill over and your breathing is erratic.

“Don’t go! Please! Sammy, don’t leave! Please, baby, I love you! No, no, no!”

Your boyfriend peels out of the parking lot, leaving you a crying mess. You didn’t know what to feel most ashamed of: The fact you cheated on your loving partner or how good it felt before the light turned on. Back in the motel room, Dean gets dressed. He touches his sore cheek, flinching from the pain. He had heard your confession and he couldn’t have been any more devastated. You thought he was his brother.

What was he thinking? He should’ve known better. It wasn’t the first time he’d taken the girl Sam liked away but this was the first girlfriend. He couldn’t help himself; He’s in love with you. You should’ve been his for the start.

He isn’t sure which is worse: That he might’ve lost Sammy for good, or that he doesn’t regret what happened.

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callikari · 17 hours ago

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CHAMPAGNE COAST

before debut, you and heeseung were something quiet and unfinished. now, years later, your comeback is all anyone talks about — until a single look at a fashion event brings him back into the spotlight with you, and suddenly, the past you buried doesn’t feel so distant.

OO1. before the spotlight

the air in the hybe trainee building was thick with ambition and uncertainty. late nights spent in dimly lit practice rooms, the sound of footsteps echoing down the halls, and the hum of exhaustion that accompanied every move. but amidst the chaos, there was a certain warmth you found in heeseung.

you’d been training for a while, still a fresh face among the countless others, just trying to carve out a place for yourself. the other trainees were all competitors, some more serious than others, but heeseung… he wasn’t just any trainee. he was your best friend.

you’d met him shortly after you both joined. neither of you had been quick to trust, but there was an unspoken connection, something that made you two gravitate toward each other. while everyone else was busy trying to stand out, you and heeseung stuck together, laughing at the awkwardness of it all.

it was strange, how easy it was.

you didn’t have to be perfect with him. you didn’t need to compete or pretend to be someone else. when you two trained, it was like the world around you faded away. it was just you and him, sharing little moments of understanding without saying a word.

heeseung had that way about him — a quiet confidence that made people gravitate toward him, but when he was with you, it was just a soft, calming energy.

“hey, you’re staring again,” heeseung said one day, snapping you out of your thoughts.

you blinked and looked up, realizing you had been watching him from across the practice room. he was sitting on the floor, stretching his legs, and smiling at you.

“i wasn’t staring,” you mumbled, shifting your gaze away.

“sure, sure.” he grinned, teasing you. “you do that a lot, you know.”

you rolled your eyes, feeling a blush creep up your neck. “it’s not my fault you’re so distracting.”

heeseung laughed softly, a sound that always made your heart flutter, even now. “distracting, huh? i’ll take that as a compliment.”

he always knew how to make you laugh, even on the hardest days. whether it was a silly joke or just the way he’d look at you when you were feeling down, you never felt alone with him.

you two were inseparable.

“you know,” he said after a moment, stretching out his arms, “i think we make a pretty good team.”

you smiled at him, that familiar warmth settling in your chest. “yeah, we do.”

it wasn’t just about training. it wasn’t just about becoming idols. you two had a bond that felt unspoken but real, something you both relied on. when the pressure got too heavy, when the exhaustion started to take its toll, heeseung was always there, ready to crack a joke, share a moment, and remind you that you weren’t alone.

“so, when we debut,” he said casually, looking up at the ceiling, “you think we’ll still be friends?”

you blinked, caught off guard by the question. it was one of those rare moments when he got serious.

“of course,” you replied without hesitation. “we’re best friends, right? nothing’s going to change that.”

heeseung smiled at you, a soft, genuine smile. “yeah. best friends.”

you didn’t know it then, but that was the moment things began to shift. there was something in the air, something unspoken, that hinted at the future — a future neither of you were ready for. but for now, all you had was the present, and that was enough.

the world of idols, the competition, the fame — it all felt so distant in that quiet, simple moment. it was just you and heeseung, the only constants in a world that was constantly changing.

and maybe that was all you needed.

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fadedpiink · 2 days ago

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after everyone's asleep

txt x gn!reader

somewhat specific nights with txt

genre: fluff / comfort / slice of life / soft boyfriends / established relationship. warnings: none. just soft and warm. just the kind of night where the world slows down and you remember what it feels like to be safe.

author's note: this has been in the drafts for 2 weeks cus i wasn't sure if i liked it fr BUT this is my first time writing for txt/kpop in general! :3 so lmk what u guys think

soobin — windows cracked open, the sound of crickets and a soft breeze sneaking into the room. you’re both tangled in a mess of limbs, too lazy to fix the blanket even though it’s half falling off the bed. soobin’s voice is sleepy, low and mumbly.

“why’re you still awake... come here.”

his arms tighten around you, pulling you impossibly closer. his cheek rests against the top of your head, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back. the moonlight slices through the blinds, but neither of you move to shut it out. it’s quiet. peaceful. the kind of night where the world could end and you wouldn’t even care, not as long as you’re in his arms.

yeonjun — the air conditioner is humming but his body is always warm against yours, especially when he lets you steal his oversized t-shirt to sleep in. his hand finds yours under the covers and absentmindedly squeezes it, his thumb brushing over your knuckles like muscle memory.

“you’re comfy,” he mutters, half-asleep, “think i’m gonna keep you forever.”

you’re both stretched out on the couch, feet tangled under the throw blanket, some random drama playing on mute because the real entertainment is whispering nonsense back and forth until one of you drifts off. the room smells like popcorn and laundry detergent. safe. soft. home.

beomgyu — your window is open and the fan’s blowing but the summer heat still sticks to your skin, so he’s sprawled on the floor, you curled up next to him, both too lazy to move. every so often his hand reaches out to brush against yours, like he just needs to remind himself you’re there.

“wanna go get ice cream,” he mumbles, staring at the ceiling. “it’s 1am.” “...so?”

the night feels endless, like you’re both the only two people alive. your laughter fades into soft humming, and eventually into silence, both of you just existing together in the glow of streetlights sneaking through the curtains.

taehyun — soft lo-fi playing from the speaker, a half-empty glass of water on the nightstand, and his hoodie hanging off your frame because he noticed you shiver once. your legs are tangled under the blanket, arms free, and he’s holding your hand under the pillow like it’s second nature.

“are you warm enough?” he asks, brushing your cheek. you nod. “are you?” his lips twitch into a tiny smile. “i am now.”

the night passes slow, calm, full of quiet conversations about nothing and everything. the kind of night you wish you could bottle up and save for when the world feels too loud.

huening kai — the windows are fogged up from the rain, the room dim except for the string lights he insisted on hanging. he’s laying on the floor with you, both staring at the ceiling like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

“do you think the stars miss us when it rains?” “what?” “just wondering.”

he turns his head and smiles at you, soft and sleepy. your hands find each other in the space between. the rain taps against the glass, steady and slow, and you both drift off right there on the floor, warm skin against warm skin, hearts beating slow and safe.

masterlist hope you enjoyed! please like + reblog to show support, and feel free to leave feedback and comments through rb tags or anon messages!

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lilangelbud · 1 day ago

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Idea….. daddy x daughter sex after built up tension n daughter cries during or after bc she wants daddy so bad and it feels so good but she knows it’s really wrong too n she feels guilty and gross and daddy talks her through it n comforts n soothes her and tells her it’s okay n makes her feel good to get her mind off it n just really tender and gentle daddy <3

“I can’t do this,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she pulled away, her body still flush against his. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over as she shook her head, her breath hitching in her throat. “It’s wrong. It’s so wrong.”

He cupped her face in his hands, thumbs brushing away the tears. “Shh, it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, though his own heart was racing. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

She choked back a sob, her hands gripping his shirt like she was afraid he might let go. “But… but it’s you. It’s us. It’s… it’s not supposed to be like this.”

He leaned in, pressing his forehead gently against hers, his breath warm against her skin. “I know,” he whispered. “I know it’s wrong. But it’s also… it’s also right, don’t you feel that? Don’t you feel how much I love you?”

She hesitated, her body trembling as she searched his eyes for reassurance. For something, anything, that could make sense of the storm raging inside her. “I do,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. “But… but what if we can’t stop? What if this ruins everything?”

He kissed her forehead, his lips lingering there as if he could absorb all her fears. “It won’t,” he promised, his voice firm now, though still soft. “I won’t let it. I’ll take care of you. I’ll always take care of you.”

Her breath hitched again, and she nodded, her body relaxing slightly against his. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Okay.”

The tension had been building for weeks. Months, maybe. It had started with glances that lingered too long, touches that felt just a little too deliberate. At first, she tried to brush it off, telling herself it was just her imagination. That she was reading too much into it. But then, one night, he had reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and his fingers had brushed against her cheek, and something had shifted. Something she couldn’t ignore.

She had pulled away then, her heart pounding in her chest, and he had looked at her with an expression she couldn’t quite decipher. “Sorry,” he had muttered, his voice gruff, and she had nodded, pretending it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing. It couldn’t be nothing.

After that, it was impossible to ignore. Every time he was near, she felt it—the electricity, the heat, the ache that settled low in her belly. She tried to push it down, to bury it deep where it couldn’t reach her, but it was too strong. Too persistent. And then, one night, she had broken.

It had been late, the house quiet, the kind of quiet that made her feel like she was the only one awake in the world. She had been lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, when she heard his footsteps outside her door. She held her breath, waiting, and then the door creaked open.

He stood there, silhouetted in the dim light from the hallway, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, he stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him. “I can’t sleep,” he murmured, his voice rough with exhaustion—or something else.

She sat up, her heart pounding. “Me neither,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

He crossed the room in a few quick strides, sitting down on the edge of her bed. She could feel the heat radiating off him, could smell the faint scent of his cologne, and it made her head spin. “I’ve been thinking,” he said slowly, his eyes searching hers. “About us.”

She swallowed hard, her mouth dry. “Us?”

He nodded, his hand reaching out to brush against hers. “Yeah. Us. About… about how I feel about you.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she shook her head, trying to deny it, to push it away. “You shouldn’t,” she whispered. “You can’t.”

He leaned closer, his hand cupping her cheek, and she felt her resolve crumbling. “I can’t help it,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve tried, but I can’t. I love you, sweetheart. I love you so much it hurts.”

She wanted to protest, to tell him he was wrong, that this was wrong, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she found herself leaning into his touch, her body betraying her mind. “I love you too,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “But it’s not supposed to be like this.”

He kissed her then, softly at first, his lips brushing against hers like a question. She hesitated, her heart pounding, and then she kissed him back, her hands gripping his shirt as if she were afraid he might disappear.

It was slow, almost tentative, as if they were both afraid to take the next step. But then, his tongue brushed against hers, and she moaned softly, the sound muffled against his mouth. His hands slid down her back, pulling her closer, and she could feel the hardness of his body pressed against hers.

She should have stopped him. She knew she should have stopped him. But she couldn’t. She didn’t want to. All she wanted was him—his touch, his kisses, his love. And as his hands slid under her shirt, his fingers brushing against her skin, she knew there was no going back.

He undressed her slowly, his hands trembling as he pushed her shirt up over her head, his lips trailing kisses down her neck, her collarbone, her chest. She shivered, her body arching into his touch, and when his mouth closed over her nipple, she gasped, her hands tangling in his hair.

She could feel his need, his desire, but he was gentle, so gentle, his hands and lips exploring her body like it was something precious. Something sacred. And when he finally slid inside her, she cried out, her body trembling with a mix of pleasure and guilt.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice soothing as he kissed her tears away. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

She nodded, her body relaxing against his as he began to move, slow and steady, his thrusts deep and deliberate. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and he groaned, his forehead resting against hers.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, his voice rough with need. “So perfect.”

She moaned, her hands gripping his shoulders as he continued to move, his body pressing against her in all the right places. And then, the guilt crept in, threatening to ruin the moment.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

He kissed her, his lips soft and reassuring. “Don’t be,” he murmured. “Don’t be sorry. Just feel. Just let me love you.”

She nodded, her tears mingling with her moans as he continued to move, his hands and lips everywhere, leaving no part of her untouched. And when she finally came, her body trembling with release, he held her close, whispering words of comfort and love as she cried.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his hands stroking her hair. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ll always have you.”

#fauxcest #fauxc3st #1cky family #!cky thoughts #dad k!nk #dad kink #dad k1nk #dadcest #dadcon #dad x daughter #dad daughter #1cky daughter #1cky d@d #1cky d4ddy #!cky k!dd0 #!cky daddy #!cky k!ddo #!cky daughter #lilangelbud

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velmalav · 16 hours ago

Text

The Giver - Frank Langdon pt. VI

masterlist

day one // night one // day two // night two // day three

synopsis: being the selfless person you are, you agree to travel to a 3-day conference with your biggest competition - dr. langdon. sixth and final part.

excited to be wrapping this one up! I'm open to requests for Langdon, Robby, and Santos!

warnings: 18+ SMUT, cursing, oops there's only one bed, enemies to lovers

night three - f.l.

Animosity is a strange thing. Sometimes, it’s white hot, clarity driven. Other times, passive, indirect aggression. And so much more in between that. One minute, you can be singing praises about someone, the next screaming at each other over something as simple as which kind of bread to get at the store. Or, in my case, stomping on a fellow intern’s foot only for four years of resentment to dissipate into him feeling me up in an elevator.

This lust between us has been brewing for days. Every moment, big or small, imprinted in my mind as permanent as the laws of gravity. Without realizing, I’d been wanting this for longer than I’ve allowed myself to believe. On the walk home, all I could think about was Langdon’s hands, but now I’m thinking about everything all at once.

His mouth is on my neck, hands on my hips. Don’t get me wrong, it feels good, but there’s something bothering me. After so much time for this kind of contemplation at the conference, it’s frustrating to be having this problem now. I stare up at the ceiling of the elevator, tracing patterns on the marble, trying to bring myself back down to reality. I should be relishing this. I should be letting it all go.

“You okay?” I turn my face down. Langdon’s staring at me, eyes full of concern. A look I’ve seen many times, but never because of me.

I bow my eyebrows and then nod quickly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

His concern deepens, palm pressed against the elevator behind me, his other still resting on my waist. “Bullshit, what is it?”

There’s a flicker of panic that shoots through me. I feel like I’m interrupting a long-awaited moment, and I can’t even identify why. The thoughts are so loud and he’s studying me too hard. I break eye contact, shaking my head.

“I don’t know,” I murmur, pushing the hair from my eyes. “I just can’t shut my brain off. Something feels wrong.”

Langdon drops his head for a moment. Contemplating. When he looks back up, his concerned expression remains, but something else lingers there. “You know, we don’t have to do this. If you’re uncomfortable or having doubts.”

“I know,” I say simply, finally looking at him. Really looking at him. Before either of us can say anything else, the elevator door opens to our floor. Silently, we walk to the room and enter, a heaviness loitering in the air.

Langdon takes his suit jacket off, tossing it on the tv stand. I sit at the edge of the bed, fidgeting with the rings on my fingers. “This whole trip, I don’t think we’ve had one honest conversation.”

Taking off his bracelets, he huffs out what sounds like a laugh. “If you don’t count the brutally honest talk we had last night.”

“Did you mean what you said about me?”

It’s not a question I’d been actively stirring over, but I didn’t realize how much it’s been weighing on me until now. Every syllable still swimming around in my mind, Because all you’ve ever done is think about yourself, and it’s just fucking gross.

“I was feeling so shitty that night, I don’t even really remember what I said,” he murmurs, and though his bracelets are free from his wrist, he continues to stare down at them. Shame laces his voice.

“You…you called me selfish,” every word feels painful to say. Too vulnerable to especially say to him. “You actually said I was so selfish it disgusted you.”

Langdon glances at me, blinking. I don’t know what my face is telling him, and it scares me. But I have realized why this all feels wrong. This is new territory for both of us. We aren’t playing games anymore, this is real. Every experience with each other up until this point has been either conflict or teasing, neither of which involves connecting on a deep level.

“Well, I don’t think that,” he says. “I’ve never thought that. It’s actually more of the opposite.”

“Then why did you even say it?”

“To hurt you,” his voice is just above a whisper now, and I can tell this conversation is hard for him, too. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of person to talk things out, just avoid and bottle and keep trekking. Or at least that’s all I’ve seen these past few years. “I was jealous, yeah. And pissed about not waking me up. But it was more than that for me.”

I swallow hard. Langdon tosses the bracelets in the same place as his suit jacket and takes a seat beside me. Our thighs and shoulders touch. He clasps his hands in between his knees, then rejoins our eyes.

“Ever since I got in trouble, my confidence has been…” he searches in my eyes for the words but gives up. “I don’t know. And ever since we got here, I’ve just been reminded of it over and over. The people, the pamphlets, the talks about patient care. You.”

Taken aback, I fumble for words, “You…m-me?”

Langdon nods. He seems…sad. As vulnerable as I’ve ever seen him.

“For as long as I’ve known you, I’ve felt like I’ve had to prove myself a lot more,” he breathes, shifting uncomfortably. “You’re good. With the medicine, with the patients, with our coworkers. I said ‘brutally honest’ about our fight not because I was being honest. What you said, about you having what I don’t, you were right. And instead of learning from you, I’ve been trying to tear you down.”

The confession is not what I expected from this conversation at all. I said what I did to hurt him, too, and that’s it. Up until now, I didn’t think I had the capability to truly rattle him. Langdon’s always seemed so resilient, confident. Like a brick wall.

I gingerly rest my hand on his thigh. “You’re a good doctor, Frank. I’ve spent the entire four years I’ve known you trying to keep up with you. Because…I thought I was the one who needed to prove myself.”

He searches in my eyes for something. Maybe for honesty, maybe for the reassurance I’m trying to show in my words. “So you’re telling me we’ve both had it out for each other for the same reason.”

The tension in the room shifts into something lighter. Our eyes both brighten just a little. “I guess so,” I reply, fighting back a smile.

Langdon breaks first, a strained laugh leaving his mouth before he can stop it. And then I’m laughing, too. We sit there, giggling like school children for God knows how long, leaning into each other’s shoulders. Until we have tears in our eyes, faces bright red.

“This is ridiculous,” I finally say, wiping the tears before they can fall. “And kind of pathetic.”

“And don’t forget it took four fucking years,” Langdon responds, and we both double over again, feeling a little loopy at this point.

Once the moment dies down, we remain there, both in our own heads. I feel steadier now, comforted now that I know my nemesis turned out to be one of the only people who understands the frustration and insecurity I’ve felt this whole time. Resting my head on his shoulder, I intertwine our fingers, feeling the calmness between us. This is the real truce, the burst of solace I now know we’ve both been craving.

“Why did you volunteer to come with me?” Langdon suddenly asks, head resting on mine. “I know it wasn’t for this.”

“Definitely not,” I laugh. I feel his chest rumble against me, and it brings comfort. “I felt bad no one else wanted to. It was a self-sacrifice type of thing.”

“Noble of you,” he jokes, turning his head to put his lips on my forehead.

“Yeah, so please never call me selfish again. I’m the reason this happened,” I bite back, the words laced with amusement. Langdon laughs again, and it makes me realize I like making him laugh.

“You know I really didn’t mean that, right? As frustrating as you can be, I’ve always known you’ll put anything and everything before yourself,” he whispers against my hair. “I always thought if I was ever forced to say something nice about you at work, that’s what I’d say.”

I sit up at that to see his face, confused. “When would you ever need to do that?”

“Oh, c’mon. We were two shifts away from being forced into a mediation exercise. Had to come prepared,” Langdon says, as if that’s not an insane thing to think. It reminds me of myself, of all the conspiracies about him and our games I’ve made up.

“You’re insane,” I say, my grin showing him it’s not a dig.

“Insanely hot, maybe,” he quips without hesitation. “Or at least you think so.”

Fighting back the urge not to fall into familiarity and argue with him for the sake of arguing, I instead lean towards him, inches from his face, “Yeah, I do.”

Langdon smiles so wide it reaches his eyes. For once, I backed down willingly. His response is to close the space between us, hand running through my hair immediately. I giggle against his mouth, moving until I’m straddling his lap. Cupping his cheeks in my hands, I deepen the kiss.

Now that we’ve settled our differences, the nagging feeling I had earlier has evaporated. I allow myself to let go, to let Langdon take whatever he wants from me. For the first time, I’m okay with him calling the shots as long as his hands are on me. I trust him.

He grabs hold of my arms and lifts them so he can slide off my blouse, our mouths only separating in the time it takes for us both to remove our tops. Then my arms are thrown around his shoulders, fingers making impressions on his shoulder blades. It’s like I’m studying every part of him I can as if he’s going to evaporate, too.

Langdon relocates his mouth from mine down my throat, stopping in the space where my neck meets my shoulder. Sucking and nipping, leaving marks wherever he can. I tilt my head back, lips parted, imagining all the other places he can touch me like this.

I interrupt him by pushing my weight onto him until he’s flush against the bed. It’s like a choreographed dance the way flips me so I’m the one on my back, calculated and effortless. He slips my skirt off, leaving me only in my bra and panties.

“You’re fast,” I’m breathless, tracing the fresh bruises on my neck as I stare down at him.

As a way of responding, Langdon smirks before he plants his lips just below my sternum. He peppers them lower, lower, until he reaches my panties. He makes sure to keep our eyes locked as he takes them off. Despite how lewd this is, his stare adds a layer of vulnerability I wasn’t prepared for. It’s like he can see right through me.

I feel the need to say something to squirm from this feeling, but before I can find the words, he’s buried between my legs, lips surrounding my clit. Suddenly there are no words, just bliss muddying my vision. Langdon sucks, tongue finding a rhythm as I fall back onto the bed, moan ripping out of my throat. “Shit,” I breathe, fingers locking into his hair.

He hums into me and then pulls back. “I want you to look at me,” he utters matter-of-factly. I prop myself on my elbows to see his eyes boring into me, mouth hovering just above my clit. I give him a very unconfident nod.

As soon as he makes contact again, I fight to stay upright. But the way he looks at me is so intense that I stay put. I focus on the strand of hair framing his forehead until another wave of pleasure hits me and my head is tilted back to the ceiling. “Fuck, just like that.”

Langdon places one hand on my hip to hold me down as I squirm around him. He makes a point by using his other hand to grab mine and relocate it back into his hair. He must be into that, then.

With newfound confidence, I wrap my fingers in his hair and tug in the same way I do the bed sheets. He moans into me, and it feels so good I can’t help the string of curses that leave my mouth. Just when I think I’m on the brink, Langdon slides two fingers in as he makes work of my clit, and I completely lose my grip, falling back onto the bed and straight into my high.

“I’m cu—” I can’t even get it out, legs trembling, body writhing. There’s no point in trying to hold back the ridiculously dirty moans I’ve been stifling, so I let them go as I ride it out.

Breathing hard, I slowly start to return to reality. Langdon climbs up to kiss me hard, tongue dominating mine, and I can taste myself on him. He pulls back to lick his lips, sliding his thumb past my lips. “I didn’t get to see your face,” he murmurs, eyes flickering from my eyes to my lips. “I need to see it this time.”

“Okay,” I reply, grazing my teeth on the tip of his thumb. The corner of his mouth twitches at the sight of me nipping at him. “God, you’re so fucking hot.”

I hum in response, unbuckling his belt without breaking eye contact. Once he’s undressed, he reaches underneath my back to unclasp my bra and chucks it somewhere on the floor. We stare at each other, fully naked, faces flushed, eyes needy. “I’ve been waiting long enough,” I whisper, tracing patterns down his throat, reveling in the ridges and slopes I feel beneath my fingers.

“Impatient,” Langdon huffs, sloping down to bite just above my left breast. I gasp, smacking the side of his head. He laughs. God, I love the sound of it.

He grabs the condom he fished out of his pants moments before and tears it open with his teeth. To make a point, I watch his every move, hoping he can feel my eyes on him. Then he’s lining himself up, one hand above my head, and just before he pushes himself inside, his eyes flicker to mine.

Our moans harmonize as he begins to thrust, and I notice he’s finding it hard now not to break eye contact. Eyes half-lidded, full of want, but fighting to stay open. I wind a finger around his one strand, yanking it gently to tug him closer. His hot breath mingles with mine, moans growing louder as he picks up his pace. “Fuck, I’m so wet for you,” I rasp out in between moans.

“Shit,” Langdon growls, nose tapping mine in rhythm to match his pace. Beads of sweat glisten at his hairline, his lip between his teeth. “I’ve thought about having you like this so many times – fuck – you don’t even know.”

Every word he says just makes me more crazed, my moans slurring into whimpers. He slows his pace, but his thrusts become harder, his stare becoming more concentrated. He watches every subtly on my face, every shift at his movements, as if he’s studying for some kind of test. Fingers materialize on my clit, causing me to throw my head back with a gasp.

“Oh my god,” I hiss. Langdon pushes into me faster, and faster, and then his hand is gripping my chin and tugging it towards him.

“Look at me,” he commands softly, thumb resting on my chin.

Ecstasy begins to fog my vision again, but I force it down to stay focused on him. He murmurs praises as I keep eye contact, which just gets me worked up even more. “Doing so good,” he says, tracing my jaw. Then his mouth is on mine again. It’s feverish and sloppy.

Choking down moans, I lean into the kiss. I can tell he’s holding back, too, and then all of the focus starts to fade and we’re just there, fumbling to get as close as possible, movements becoming careless and frantic. All of the holding back is gone; we’re moaning and cussing and gnashing teeth, not a single care in the world.

I feel myself approaching the edge, head twitching back on the bed. I reopen my eyes to lock back onto Langdon’s, and if the circles on my clit and the ridiculously fast pacing of his thrusts weren’t enough to do it, the defenseless look in his eyes sends me into my orgasm like a tidal wave. I cry out his name, my walls clenching around him, and I manage to do the one thing he asked of me; keep my eyes directly on his.

And that’s what ultimately unravels him. He lets out a grunt, whimpers my name, and lets go. We ride it out together, his thrusts slowing down, but through it all, we never break eye contact. It’s intimate, the most intimate moment I’ve ever shared with anyone. And of all people – Langdon.

Once we’ve both come down, he collapses beside me, shoulder to shoulder. He’s quick to grab my hand, placing a soft kiss on it and then resting it on my chest. I graze the sweaty skin with my finger, gazing over at him.

There are no words to describe what I feel when I look at him. He’s like an old painting, lines messy and haphazard, but comes together to be something beautiful. Hard to believe I’ve ever not seen him like this.

“How did we take so long to figure it out?” it’s almost as if he’s read my mind.

“No idea,” I murmur, brushing the strands of hair from his forehead. Langdon leans into my touch, softly, expression much of the same. “But I’m glad we did.”

I roll toward him so we’re both on our sides, facing each other. This moment, this feeling, I want it to keep going forever. It’s what I’ve been chasing. There’s a prodding fear that it can’t possibly last forever, but I push the thought away. Because we’re here now. Black sky out the window fading into an early morning, grey, bed sheets ruffled beneath us, the docile understanding between us, the smooth skin under my fingertips.

“You’re so beautiful,” Langdon whispers, kissing my hand as it pulls from his hair. He grabs it, fiddling with my fingers, and then jerks my entire arm so I’m right up against him. He kisses me, one, twice, then three times.

“I could get used to this,” I joke into his mouth, earning yet another wonderful laugh from him. “Much better than the constant bickering and tension we’re used to.”

He smiles, pecking my lips again. “I agree. We’ll make sure the next time we argue, we save that tension for the bedroom.”

I laugh, nudging his shoulder. “You know it’s a foolproof plan,” he adds.

“Whatever you say,” I concede.

Langdon fidgets with the necklace around my throat with a look on his face I’m all too familiar with. “You know, I’m already missing our games a little. It was kinda hot.”

“They’ll be back. Give it a couple shifts,” I deadpan, but my eyes are full of amusement.

“Good, because I’m already imagining all the super-hot hate sex we’re gonna have.”

“I’ll be counting on that.”

#frank langdon x reader #langdon x reader #the pitt fanfiction #dr langdon x reader #the pitt x reader #frank langdon #the pitt fanfic

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bitchinbarzal · 4 hours ago

Text

The Goodbye That Wasn’t | T Meier

summary: After pushing you away to protect you, Timo realises too late that life without you is no life at all.

You didn’t beg him to stay.

You should have.

God, you should have.

But when Timo said it—“I think you deserve better than me”—the words hit like a punch you hadn’t braced for.

They knocked the breath out of you, and all you could do was stand there, arms wrapped around yourself, heart splintering in your chest, and watch him leave.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And with it, everything else collapsed.

You learned how to fake a smile faster than you ever thought possible. Girls’ nights. Brunches. Carefully curated posts online. You played the part of a woman who was healing, who had moved on, who wasn’t still checking her phone at midnight for a message that never came.

But the nights were the worst. Lying awake, your ceiling fan whirring uselessly above you, wondering what part of you hadn’t been enough. Wondering how long it would take to forget the shape of him beside you.

Timo had thought hockey would distract him. It didn’t.

The rink felt emptier without your face in the stands. The road trips lonelier without your sleepy goodnight texts. Even winning felt hollow, like drinking water after salt. His game was fine—good, even—but he wasn’t there. Not really. He went through the motions with the heavy weight of missing you stitched into every breath.

Playoffs came. The world shifted into the frantic, desperate energy of it.

He watched teammates meet their girlfriends and wives after wins, wide smiles and bigger kisses, whole families swarming the tunnels. He didn’t have anyone waiting for him.

He caught himself scanning the crowds sometimes, just out of habit, searching for you like a fool.

You weren’t there.

Worse—online, you looked happy.

Photos with friends, bright cocktails in hand, golden light spilling across your skin.

Sunsets captioned “healing.”

Laughing at a brunch table, head tipped back, a flash of the woman he used to make laugh like that.

Timo saw it all, and it gutted him.

He tried to tell himself this was what you deserved. Freedom. Lightness.

But there was a hollowness inside him that grew every day, gnawing at his ribs, whispering that he’d made the biggest mistake of his life.

When they lost in the second round, he didn’t even pretend to celebrate.

He sat in the empty locker room long after everyone else left, his hands still wrapped tight around his stick like it could hold him together.

There was no one to call. No one to collapse into. No one to tell him it was okay to fall apart.

That night, alone in a hotel room that smelled like defeat, Timo left you a voicemail he barely remembered recording.

“Hey. I know I’m the last person you want to hear from. I thought… I thought letting you go would protect you. Make you happier. But it didn’t make me happier. It ruined me.”

There was a hitch in his voice, the sound of someone trying not to cry and failing.

“I miss you. I miss your voice. I miss your laugh. I miss your stupid coffee order and the way you steal the covers and the way you say my name like it’s a prayer.”

“I love you. God, I love you so fucking much. Please. Please call me back.”

He didn’t expect you to.

And for two days, you didn’t.

The voicemail sat unopened in your inbox, a flashing, unbearable reminder.

You didn’t listen to it at first.

You didn’t trust yourself not to shatter completely.

But sometime around 3:00 AM, with your heart bruising your ribs, you pressed play.

And you cried harder than you had the night he left.

You never stopped loving him.

Not for a second.

Even after he broke you.

Two days later, there was a knock at your door.

You knew.

You didn’t know how, but you knew.

When you opened it, Timo stood there looking wrecked.

Baseball cap pulled low, hoodie wrinkled, sneakers scuffed.

His eyes were hollow, rimmed red from exhaustion or crying or both.

Neither of you spoke.

For a long moment, you just stared at each other, the hallway light buzzing faintly between you.

You felt it then: the love, the hurt, the grief, the staggering loneliness you had both carried.

He stepped forward first.

One broken step.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

You cracked open.

“You left,” you said, voice shaking, the tears already slipping free. “You left me when I needed you most.”

“I know.” He pressed his fists against his thighs like it physically hurt to stay still. “I thought—I thought it would save you. That you’d be better without me. And all it did was…”

He broke off, breath catching.

“It destroyed me.”

You pressed your palms into your eyes, furious at the way your body still ached for him.

“You don’t get to make that decision for me,” you said, voice raw. “I didn’t want perfect. I didn’t want easy. I wanted you.”

“I know,” he said again, voice rough. “I know. I was scared. I still am. But I’m more scared of living without you now.”

For a moment, you hated him.

You hated him for making you feel this much, for unraveling you, for still being the only place that felt like home.

And you loved him.

God help you, you still loved him.

You reached for him at the same time he reached for you, a tangle of desperation and forgiveness and fear.

He caught you against his chest, his arms banding around you so tightly you thought he might never let go again.

“I’m here,” he whispered against your hair. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You can’t just say that,” you gasped against him. “Not if you’re going to leave the second it gets hard again.”

“I’m not leaving,” he said fiercely. He pulled back enough to cup your face, forcing you to look at him. His hands shook. His mouth trembled. His heart beat against yours.

“I’m done running. I’m done pretending I don’t need you like air.”

Tears streamed freely down your cheeks now, but you didn’t care.

You nodded, a small, broken sound scraping out of you.

You believed him.

You wanted to believe him.

You kissed him—messy and wet, full of too many emotions to name.

He kissed you back like he was memorizing it, like he knew he’d nearly lost the chance forever.

Later, tangled together on the couch where you used to binge shows and fall asleep half on top of each other, he pressed his forehead to yours, breathing you in like oxygen.

“I wanna come home,” he whispered.

You threaded your fingers through his hair, still feeling the tremble in him, still knowing how easily both of you could break again.

But this time this time you weren’t afraid.

“You are home,” you whispered back.

And this time, he stayed.

One Year Later

The arena roared around you, a deafening tidal wave of sound that rattled your bones.

But you barely noticed the noise.

Your entire world narrowed to the man skating across the ice, a grin splitting his face wide open, eyes locked on you.

Timo had just scored the tying goal.

The playoff game was hanging by a thread.

The entire season balanced on moments like this.

And still—still—he looked for you first.

He didn’t celebrate with the guys right away.

Didn’t pound the glass or beat his chest or throw his arms to the crowd.

Instead, he lifted his stick, pointed it straight at you, and tapped his heart twice.

You gasped, hand flying to your mouth.

Around you, the other WAGs and families screamed, high-fiving and hugging.

But you couldn’t move.

Couldn’t breathe.

All you could see was him.

Timo Meier.

The man who once thought he had to leave you to protect you.

The man who came back, broken and bleeding and begging.

The man who stayed.

Tears blurred your vision as he was swarmed by his teammates, laughing and shouting, dragging him into the chaos of the bench.

But you knew the truth.

You were the reason he played like that.

You were the reason he smiled like that.

You were the reason he was still fighting—not just for hockey, but for life.

When he looked at you again, slipping his helmet off, hair sweaty and messy, he mouthed three words across the rink like a promise:

“I love you.”

You pressed your fingers to your lips and mouthed them back.

“I love you too.”

And somehow, in a sea of thousands of screaming fans, it still felt like it was just you and him.

The girl who stayed.

The boy who fought his way back.

The goodbye that never really happened.

The forever that was just beginning.

#timo meier x reader #timo meier imagine #nhl imagine

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jacksonekennedy · 2 days ago

Text

Alice had leaned forward, too. If only there wasn’t so much space between them. The space was technically only a few feet. Nothing, really, but Jack was dramatic and it felt like such a large gap.

At least they were holding hands still.

She hadn’t understood what he said, but she thought it was really lovely. If she liked that, Jack thought about the other things he could whisper into her ear, in the middle of the night, when it was just the two of them.

Like now, but under the cover of his bedsheets instead. Skin to skin.

Jack couldn’t entertain those thoughts for very long. They felt wrong when she was sitting across from him, smiling at him like that.

"You could call me every terrible name in the book, in French, and I wouldn't care."

Jack shook his head. He squeezed her hand one more time, before letting go first. His hand felt like it was on fire, and he couldn’t help the way it twitched as he tried to subtly swat the burning sensation away.

But it was bone deep.

Jack reached for his wine, took another sip.

“I would never do that,” he replied, and he hoped it came across as sincerely as it felt to him in that moment.

Jack stacked a few more chips onto his lobster roll, took another bite. He'd been neglecting the asparagus, so he took a bite of that, too. Once he'd finished chewing, Jack tilted his head to one side.

"Your turn," he said. "Alice fact, Alice lore, Alice pet peeve. But. Well. I want to know something."

Well, duh. He'd have to elaborate. He wasn't the writer.

"Like, something substantial. Something special. Not that what you told me about camp wasn't. It was really fuckin' cute, if I'm being honest, but."

Jack sighed, tilting his head back in obvious defeat. His body went limp in the chair, out of sheer frustration. He probably looked ridiculous. He rubbed at his abdomen, staring at the ceiling fan overhead. He stayed like that for a few moments of silent reflection.

Finally, he sat upright again.

"I don't know. I want to know you."

Jack wouldn't bother snapping his fingers. It would've probably been a little condescending, coming from him, rather than charming.

"Tell me everything. Anything."

So instead, he added a very gentle: "please."

Alice took it as a good sign— the squeeze he gave her hand before his mouth twisted pensively, as if in thought, eyes narrowing as he did.

No playing cards before wine, apparently.

'So, I guess … hmm. I better say something good.'

If her hand were free, she'd probably clap with an embarrassing amount of gusto. Heart bared. Earnest in a way that felt almost vulnerable.

Calm down, Alice. Calm down, and don't drool the second he starts speaking.

'Tu as un beau sourire.'

Oh.

Whatever the fuck that was, Alice loved it— he could have been cursing her family name, could be listing off the first ingredient for the lobster rolls, and it still would have made Alice's abdomen heat and flutter like a flame come to life.

'Et les lèvres.'

His mouth. It was really nice, watching his mouth like this. It was always animated, always moving in some way even when Jack wasn't talking, but it was especially attractive, Alice realized, watching his lips form around a language that sounded so fluid and relaxed.

Jack leans forward as he talks, and as if compelled by some spellwork, Alice does too.

Who cares if she's straining a bit— who cares if the edge of the table is digging in hard to her belly.

Someone could drop an anvil on Alice's head and she'd be too enraptured to feel any pain.

'Les yeux les plus parfaits.'

She swallows. There's a good chance that her mouth is hanging open, lax and gobsmacked and a little panting from hunger, so Alice takes a deep sip of wine to compensate.

"I mean—"

More wine!

"I honestly don't know a lick of French... but ... that was very lovely."

Alice ought to just say it— it was hot. And enchanting. It made her want to lay down in some field somewhere with him, and that thought alone makes Alice squint at her wine— not for the thought itself, but for the way it keeps bubbling dangerously close to the surface of her tongue.

Did Jack know what he was doing? Part of Alice wants to drag him in front of the mirror and asks him if he's aware of what he's doing— the rolled sleeves, and those blue eyes, and the French. She'd gesture to all of him, just for good measure.

Did Jack know what he was doing when he was doing things that felt so outrageously romantic?

"You could call me every terrible name in the book, in French, and I wouldn't care."

#003

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sansofhumor · 2 years ago

Photo

this can’t be autobiographical because i cant incinerate my bed when im having insomnia.

#f[art]s #sans undertale #gaster blaster #comic #linear comic #undertale #sans #uh #every night i stare at the ceiling and go #''princess and the pea had a point huh''

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sai-int · 2 months ago

Text

[ pt 1 ] fwb!simon pt 2

you blink at him. once, twice, four times over, trying to make sense of the words he just said.

i’m in love with ya.

the words hang heavy in the air, thick enough to choke on.

“oh,” is all you manage at first. then, when the silence stretches too long and he’s still looking at you like that—like he’s waiting for something, hoping for something—you force yourself to shake your head.

“simon, i’m sorry,” you say, voice quiet, careful. “but i don’t feel the same way.”

you think saying it plainly will be best, will make it hurt less. but you watch his face, watch as the flicker of something in his eyes dims, and you realize there’s no easy way to crush a man like him.

he merely shrugs. nods. like you just told him it’s going to rain later.

so you nod, too, because what else can you do? you reach for your shirt, slipping it back over your head, shimmying into your shorts with hands that shake just a little. the silence is unbearable now, a thick, suffocating thing, and it only gets worse when you clear your throat and ask, barely above a whisper—

“do you want me to leave?”

his answer comes immediately. “yeah.”

you freeze for a second, embarrassment creeping up your spine, then you nod again (you’ve seriously got to stop just nodding) and scurry out of his room and to his front door, yanking it open and slipping out into the hallway. your heart is in your throat, your face burning as you rush across the hall to your own apartment, slamming the door shut behind you before pressing your back against it.

fuck.

fuck, that was so embarrassing.

you spend the night drowning in self-pity, staring at the ceiling as everything replays over and over in your head like a bad movie you can’t turn off.

why didn’t you stop it sooner? why didn’t you shut it down the second he started calling you baby instead of slut? why didn’t you flinch when he pressed his forehead to yours, when his hands stopped gripping and Çstarted holding?

you didn’t just let it happen—you basked in it. soaked it up like a sponge, let it fill you—let him fill you—and now you can’t tell if that was just muscle memory, a latent yet insatiable reaction to being wanted, or if it actually meant something.

fuck, if you weren’t already embarrassed, that would do it.

meanwhile, across the hall, simon doesn’t sprial. doesn’t even wallow in the face of rejection.

he pours himself two fingers of his finest bourbon, sits back on his couch, and sparks up a cig. inhales deep, lets the smoke curl through his lungs before exhaling slow.

he's got a plan.

the next evening, your phone buzzes.

simon: come over. door’s open.

you stare at the message for a long minute, heart thudding, stomach twisting itself into knots. this is it. this is where he tells you it’s over, where he curses you out for being a selfish cunt, for leading him on, for taking all he gave without giving anything back.

and you deserve it.

so you brace yourself, tugging on a light sweater, slipping into your shoes. every step across the hall feels heavier than the last, and by the time you’re standing outside his apartment, you have to take a deep breath before pressing your palm to the door.

you push it open.

instead of anger, instead of harsh words or something hauled at your head, you’re met with the warm, rich scent of something cooking.

what the fuck?

your brows pinch together as you step in deeper, looking around cautiously. “simon?”

no answer, but then you see him—standing at the small table in the center of his apartment, just finishing setting it. two plates, two glasses, candles flickering dimly in the low light.

what the actual fuck?

your stomach drops. maybe he poisoned the food. maybe this is how you’ll die.

“what’s going on?” you ask, wary, eyeing the plates like they might explode.

simon pulls out a chair. just looks at you, waiting.

you hesitate, then slowly pad over and sit. your hands fold in your lap, your throat feels tight.

he lowers himself into the chair across from you, elbows on the table, fingers laced together.

he watches you.

you both eat in silence.

the only sounds are the soft clinks of silverware against plates, the occasional scrape of a chair as one of you shifts. you force out a weak, “this is good,” because it is—really, it is—but also because the silence is suffocating.

simon just grunts. keeps eating.

so you do too. fork to plate, bite after bite. the food is great, but you barely taste it past the tight knot in your throat.

when you're both done, he wordlessly stands, gathering the plates and taking them to the sink. you watch him move—watch the way his muscles ripple under his fitted t-shirt, the way his blond hair is perpetually tousled, the way his face, bare of any mask, is set in quiet concentration as he rinses the dishes.

you don't even realize you're staring until—

thwap.

you flinch as he flicks your forehead, his thumb and middle finger snapping against your skin just hard enough to jolt you back to reality. you blink up at him, startled, as he stands in front of you, hand extended.

you hesitate, then slip your fingers into his.

he pulls you up, and before you can register it, he's on you—his hands firm on your waist, his lips swallowing yours entirely

you squeal at first, but his lips are so soft, so sweet and full of something heavy, something deep.

you melt into him.

and that's just stage one of simon's plan, to woo you.

that night he fucks you so good you can’t even think about leaving his bed, let alone moving. He splits you open on his cock, ravishing you to the nines. he takes his time, makes you feel it, makes sure you can feel every ounce of his devotion each time he makes you cum (6 times in one night, a new record)

by the time he's done, you're ruined. wrecked in the best way possible

when morning comes, you're knocked, body heavy and sore, limbs tangled in his sheets. you don’t even stir when he rolls out of bed, grabs your phone from where you dropped it the night before.

he types out a quick message to your boss

you: sorry, got covid. can’t come in for two weeks.

sent—delivered—read—probably fired, too (you won’t be needing a job with him around, silly)

you shift slightly, murmuring something incoherent, but you don’t wake.

simon smirks to himself, tossing your phone onto the nightstand.

(don’t ask how he knows your passcode)

stage two is integration.

the next time beckons you over to his place, you notice something’s… off.

your favorite coffee beans are sitting next to his cheap instant shit. your shampoo, your conditioner, your body wash—all neatly lined up in his shower. there’s a hoodie you thought the building’s dryer must’ve gobbled up weeks ago, just neatly folded on his dresser. The chapstick he’s tasted on your lips countless times now sits atop his bedside table.

you blink at the sight of it all, brows furrowed. you pick up the chapstick, turning to him with a questioning look.

he doesn’t even try to deny it.

“figured you’d be 'round more often,” he says, completely casual, completely simon about it.

like it’s the most natural thing in the world. like you’ve already signed a lease and are moving in next month (you are, you just don’t know it yet, doll).

you should argue. you should tell him ‘no, we’re not doing this’, but you don’t. instead, you swipe the chapstick over your lips, put it back where you found it, and pretend you don’t feel his eyes on you the whole time.

he smirks to himself, taking your silence for what it is. acceptance.

stage three of his plan? move out!

oh, but not him.

you wake in your bed (for once) to find simon standing in front of your dresser.

your dresser.

he’s holding one of your shirts—some thin, worn-out thing you only sleep in—twisting the fabric between his fingers.

you rub the sleep from your eyes, voice groggy when you ask, “what the hell are you doing?”

he doesn’t even turn around. “doin’ you a favor.”

“a favor,” you repeat, voice flat.

he glances at you over his shoulder. “yeah. consolidating.”

and that’s when you notice—your drawers are open, half-empty, your closet missing key pieces. your things are gone.

panic flares in your chest. you throw the blankets off, stomp over to him, grab the shirt from his hands. "simon. where the fuck is my stuff?"

he shrugs, completely unbothered. "my place."

“your—” you cut yourself off, taking a deep breath, hands clenched into fists.

“figured it’d be easier this way,” he continues, like he’s explaining something obvious. “y'know, since y’spend all your time there anyway.”

you gape at him, dumbfounded. “you stole my shit?”

he tilts his head, considering. “nah,” he says finally. “just moved it.”

“without asking me.”

he steps closer, towering over you, eyes heavy-lidded and knowing.

“would you ‘ave said no?”

you want to say yes. you should say yes.

but the truth is, you don’t know. because when you think about it, when you really think about it—you never liked sleeping alone. never liked waking up to an empty bed.

and simon—your simon—he knows that. knows you better than you know yourself.

so instead of arguing, instead of pushing him away, you let him tip your chin up with two fingers.

“mine. got that, pet?,” he murmurs.

you nod.

{ people that expressed interest/taglist }

@pyxrin @xxrsi @skeletonsucker @spaceinvadernelly @coeurbrule @forgotmypasswordagain

#♱ angel’s writing #I hate this tbh pt1 was better #I actually wrote this properly on a google doc though #everyone be proud #simon ghost riley #simon riley imagine #simon riley smut #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley headcanons #simon x reader #simon riley #soap x ghost #ghost riley #ghost call of duty #ghost smut #call of duty

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gutsby · 8 months ago

Text

Make It Stick

Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel never thought he’d need a vasectomy. Then, one night, he accidentally finishes inside you.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected-peepaw-p-in-v (I’m sorry). Accidental creampie. Age gap. Cumplay. Breeding kink. Ovulation has led me places I wouldn’t go with a gun.

Note: Convergence is a painting by Jackson Pollock. We studied it in high school and I thought it looked like jizz idk

Word count: 4.7k

Prequel | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

He should’ve gotten snipped when he had the chance.

Should’ve taken the plunge, faced his fears of needles and fluorescent-washed doctor’s offices like any man his age could have done and gotten the damn vasectomy. Now he was here, nearly two decades older and still none the wiser in this cold, dead world with a pretty young thing like you between his sheets. In lieu of elective surgery, Joel Miller had only to grit his teeth, bite hard, and repeat over and over again in his head, desperate:

‘Don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, DON’T—’

Words like those normally worked. With women that weren’t you, they tended to serve him exceedingly well.

But you were just so tight. And wet. And welcoming. And try as Joel might to pretend like he got laid on a regular basis, the truth was that he didn’t. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t seem to think straight when it came to this fixation he’d developed for you, so, instead, he let his dick do all the decision-making whenever he found himself around you. Ten times out of ten that ended in:

“J-J-Joel—oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—I’m gonna CUM.”

And that made it worth every last life-endangering drop.

Feeling how your flushed, lithe body came apart beneath his touch. How you needed him. How your eyes grew to half the size of your face and you gaped up at the man, lips parted, like you couldn’t even comprehend how the friction of seven inches could make you feel so good.

If he had it his way, he would’ve loved nothing more than to show you that feeling every night, and twice the next morning if his hip wasn’t giving him too much trouble.

But, at present, the man had bigger fish to fry. Like not becoming a new father at fifty-nine if he could help it.

With the last two fluttering pulses of your heat, and almost going cross-eyed from the pleasure as he felt it, Joel yanked his big, slippery cock out of your body and made a fist around his member as he always knew to do. Tugged and pulled and grunted above you—‘Sweet girl, you’re so fuckin’ good to me’—and watched your tits and your belly for the milky white ropes to ensue.

Strangely, though, your skin stayed the same.

No cum-spray Convergence appeared before him, no opaque and cloudy fluids dribbling down your ribs, nothing. Your stomach was as bare as the rest of you, save for a few beads of sweat, and that was all there was.

Joel shook his dick harder, confused. Beneath him, you were still coming down from your high smiling ear-to-ear and staring blissfully at the ceiling. Your chest rose and fell, rose and fell in quick succession, and while you endeavored to recollect your mind, Joel was losing his.

Where the FUCK was his cum?

In no naked horizontal tango to date had Joel simply…cum without noticing. Shit like that just didn’t happen to men, least of all to ones his age, so when he’d wrung his poor cock like a sodden towel and still saw nothing come out, he felt his stomach turn and plummet inside him.

He dropped to his hands and knees in less than a moment and lowered his head between your legs.

“No, Joel!” you squealed, giggling. Kicking your feet, “Another round and I’m gonna combust, you old perv!”

But Joel wasn’t looking to get his dick wet again. He was inspecting you. Or trying to, anyway. Quickly realizing he couldn’t see a thing in the darkness, he let out a breath through his nose and lifted you off the bed. Your naked frame thrown over his shoulder, bare hip beside his head and your strangled, muffled cry of, ‘What the hell, Joel?!’ hardly seemed to register with the man carrying you off.

You were toted to the bathroom. Joel was about to ease you down on your feet. Then, appearing to change his mind at the last second, he set you onto the sink instead. Your skin bristled with indignation, anger. A little arousal.

“Last time we did it on a sink we broke the faucet,” you reminded him, feigning more dismay than you really felt inside. If anything, you liked it when your fossil-age fuckbuddy switched things up. You were just exhausted.

Heedless of your words, Joel kneeled on the floor and pried your legs apart before him. When you swatted at his silver-flecked head, he brushed your hand away.

“Hold still,” he grunted.

“How come?”

“‘Cause I said.”

How quickly he commanded that tone of a father.

“Wanna sleep,” you groaned, about to roll your eyes.

But you couldn’t deny you liked being doted on by him.

Joel’s touch was gentle. Probing. Spidering down the most sensitive parts of your bare lower half, between your thighs, and slowly coaxing you closer to the edge of the sink. Your breath hitched when you saw his head tilt.

He appeared to be deep in thought—a rare sight for anyone who’d seen Joel Miller in the postcoital state. Most every time he’d blown his load before, the man was dead asleep within ten minutes. His joints could barely hold himself upright after a half hour of plowing the back forty, much less carry you, too, so you were puzzled now.

He thumbed at the seam of your cunt, and you whined:

“Jo-el—”

“Can ya…push, baby?” His eyes flitted up quickly.

“Push?”

“Yeah, just…” With a look you couldn’t quite read, he placed the palm of his other hand on your belly. Then, pressing, “Like this. Like you’re squeezin’ somethin’ out.”

You cocked a brow in muted confusion but did as he asked. You watched his gaze, and it stayed on you.

Or, rather, on that soft and pliant spot between your legs the old man seemed to favor so much. On any other occasion, in a position like this, he surely would’ve been wearing a smile. Tonight, his lips curled into a grimace.

And twisted even further when you ‘pushed’ like you did.

At first you felt nothing. A gentle clench of your walls supplied little more than a sense of having been stretched—no novel concept to you, who’d spent the last three-and-a-half months or so getting fucked by the finest AARP affiliate alive most every night. It wasn’t until you clamped down again that you got the feeling there was something else. Something thick and warm and slow as molasses trickling out from between your folds.

You let out a low, tender, ‘Mmph’ without meaning to; it felt kind of nice. Beneath you, Joel’s face turned grave.

He watched as his spend oozed out of your freshly-fucked hole and thought of vasectomies again.

You were young—too young to know better. Too sweet and naïve to see any peril in spreading your legs for a man like him, in a world like this. And Joel swore he’d be careful. But no post-apocalyptic birth control method was perfect, or even close to it, and it was clear he’d relied too heavily on reflexes to keep him from cumming inside you. Joel was old—too old to be doing this shit.

Too grown and well-versed in sex to be making mistakes as stupid as that. His brow pinched in, and he drew his next breath as if the air around him was growing scarce.

“Joel, what’s—”

“When’s the last time you— you— uh…bled?”

Hardly more in control of his face than the rate his heart went thudding in his chest, Joel winced at the end. This time, you were the one to knit your eyebrows together. You could tell by that tight, discomfited tone he wasn’t talking papercuts, but were still unsure of his purpose.

“Like two, two and a half weeks ago. Why?”

Well, fuck.

Joel buried his face in his hands. You scooted closer to the sink’s edge, thinking little of his cum leaking out.

“Why?” you tried again. Softer this time.

An old, weathered head lifted to greet you. It was bleak.

“You see this?” Joel paused. Swiping his finger through the viscous white substance that had trickled out on the counter, in a puddle now, “Y’know what it means, right?”

You let his look, and the question, remain suspended in air for a second. Then another. Then you shrugged.

“Yeah. But…you’re old,” came your answer at length.

You’re old.

Joel and you both knew as much, but the former wasn’t quite following your train of thought. Still wanting to try and mitigate damages while he could, though, Joel reached for the roll of toilet paper that was fastened to the wall and tore himself a strip. He bunched it up and, reaching for one of your knees to spread you further for him, took to daubing the tissue across your entrance.

“What’s me bein’ old got to do with anything?” A little sharp, then, seeing you flinch when he drew too close to your clit, “‘m sorry, baby, just— gotta get this out of you.”

You made a face but let him continue anyway. Your eyes followed each movement of his hand, and reflexively, the muscles in your thighs tightened. Why bother with this when the man has so many better uses for his hands?

For a second, your eyes fluttered half-shut.

“Maria says old folks are, uh…infertile. Got something to do with a middle pause,” you said, breaths labored.

Joel stopped just long enough to shoot you a look.

“Menopause,” he corrected, all too matter-of-fact, before returning to his work, “is a woman thing.”

What the hell were they teaching in Jackson’s sex ed classes, anyway? Then Joel remembered how his brother sincerely believed that women peed out of their vaginas until he was twenty-three, and the thought of you not knowing the ins and outs of male virility wasn’t the most far-fetched idea in the universe. Besides, sexual health wasn’t exactly the community’s highest priority when the world around it was in a perpetual state of decay and hordes of fungus-faced fuckers ran rampant in the wild.

He curved a tender, careful finger against the ring of muscles framing your sex, trying to absorb more cum, and your grip on the edge of the countertop tightened.

“S-So, you—” You swallowed, throat constricting a little too, “You’re sayin’…men can make babies…whenever?”

You sounded so innocent as you said it. Joel wanted nothing more than to club himself over the head for being the cause of this predicament—of being such an instrumental part of the perceived corruption, as it was.

Meanwhile, your head was swimming in filthier thoughts.

Deeper, Joel, keep…pushing in…dee-e-per. You would have scarcely had more luck giving a fuck what Joel was talking about now than if he’d just said the room was on fire. By his voice, you knew you should’ve been paying attention, but the dexterity of his fingers was too much. He was caressing the first couple inches of your inner walls, attempting to scrape what bits of his release he could get unstuck from the flesh, but it seemed he was succeeding mostly in just turning you on. Rendering you deaf to the drone of his words as you pictured him pushing something else inside your tight, throbbing—

“—whole lotta problems for us if you’re, uh…ovulating,” Joel finished, expression taut and oblivious. You hadn’t heard the first part of that sentence and didn’t care to.

“Ovulating,” you repeated slowly. Indifferent.

Joel carried on without a hitch.

“Kids just ain’t fit for this world. I know you know that.”

You nodded along, not hearing a word.

“And if you’re— if y’ever did consider, maybe…”

Your lungs took an extra sharp inhale when Joel’s fingers coaxed out a warm, sticky glob of his load, and he petted your folds with his thumb. Then let out a breath himself.

“…y’oughta start a family with someone your own age—”

That part snagged your attention. Too swiftly, it came:

“My own age?”

Sighing, in spite of those welts of pleasure so heightened by his touch that the space between your legs began to throb and ache. Hardly possessed of more sense to form words that weren’t just echoes of his own, you tried communication from a simpler source—your foot.

You nudged his shoulder, and Joel looked up.

“What?”

Parroting was, evidently, a hard habit to kill. Your toes curled into the bare skin of Joel’s shoulder, and when he re-inserted his finger, you ground your heel even deeper.

“When’s that ev…ever stopped us from doing it before, hm?” you said, tone strained but laced with some humor too, “Thought you liked sayin’ you’d make me a mama.”

Joel’s face flooded pink at the recollection—as a matter of fact, there had been several such memories. Instead of answering immediately, he just averted his gaze again. He anchored one hand to your thigh, and with the other teased out another string of your shared arousal before wiping his finger on the tissue, clinically, and repeating. All he had to offer in reply after was: ‘That’s different.’

And it was, to some extent. Joel wasn’t blind to the sea of uneasy looks that trailed behind you both whenever you walked the streets of Jackson together. How wide the eyes would get when instead of observing some filial display of affection play out before them, as expected, you’d loop your arms around his waist and take his lip between your teeth as you kissed—‘Can we please go home now, baby?’—that Joel was certain he’d been cemented as the resident pervert among everyone in town. Just how much worse that reputation was liable to get if there ever happened to be a round and swollen belly between that embrace someday was unthinkable. Dirty talk was one thing; parenthood another entirely.

This is for the best, became the low, grating refrain in his skull. Why he dug so hard, pushed so far inside the wet, velvety interior of your body without a thought for his own desires in that moment; he had to cull every trace of himself out of there, before he had half a chance to think.

“Baby, hey, hey, no—” Joel cut in a second later, abrupt.

No, no, no. You weren’t thinking either. Wrapping your hand around his wrist, pushing his fingers deeper inside.

Smiling a little, too.

“What are you— no, honey, don’t— you can’t,” Joel’s words splintered in every direction, watching you plunge his own index and middle fingers into the slick and the warmth he’d just been trying to get his cum out of. He looked up and saw your lids were heavy, about to close.

“What are you doin’? This ain’t…no, baby, it ain’t…safe.”

Back to sounding like a dad in no time at all.

“What’s wrong with leaving it in a bit longer? Feels nice.”

You had no idea what you were talking about. Joel pulled back on his hand and, in less than a second, had it freed.

“I just told you,” he huffed, “You’re too young—”

“I’m plenty old, Joel,” you returned, eyes snapping open, “You’ve shown me that more times than I can count.”

Joel was silent, stunned. He rose to his feet as your eyes seared holes into his, and for a second, he was uncertain whether to take a step back or reach out for you again.

“Baby…”

To his surprise, something like hurt surfaced behind your eyes. You set your lips in a tighter line, and your grip on the counter grew firmer just the same. He would’ve taken that move as his cue to lean in gently, slot his body between your thighs, and venture an apology of some sort, when the next thing you did stopped him cold.

Without a word, you slipped your free hand between your legs—eyeing Joel closely, almost scornfully, as you did.

You took your middle and ring fingers and sank them into your cunt. Not intending to let a drop of his spend leak out, you wedged them in as far as they’d go. Joel watched. Gawked. Once sufficiently pleased with the look of shock taking over his handsome, aged features, you withdrew the fingers. You brought them up to your mouth, wrapped your lips around the tips, and sucked.

It was a rare thing to get a taste of you and Joel together like this, so you savored it. You moved your mouth further down to drink it all in, peering up with wide, indulgent eyes and a look that was meant to punish.

Feels nice.

Tastes alright, too.

You’d licked the last bit of this glaze off your hand when your stomach clenched. You knew it would happen. Full as you were, you feared your body still hungered for more. As such, it hardly came as a surprise when next your muscles tensed, and you shifted closer to Joel.

“Maybe I don’t want babies with someone my own age.”

Either one of your knees were nudging his hips. Drawing him in. Joel appeared to waver for a second, unsure, but the look on his face made it clear this was mostly a matter of a delayed reaction. He couldn’t get his legs to move because the rest of him was still in awe. Staring at your lips, where the residue of his spend was glistening, then to your eyes, which were no less inviting, then up to the crown of your head and over it, to fix his stare on the mirror behind it. You watched him watch his own reflection with a look that was both hard and unkind, breathing slow. When he didn’t stir from that position after a minute, you touched a hand to his lower stomach.

And, brushing the heel of your palm against what felt like a hundred grey hairs in the old man’s happy trail—your favorite ones—you smoothed a caress along his belly, back and forth, before moving it left. Your hand came to rest on a mound of muscle and fat sitting right above his hip. Love handles, Joel had remarked one morning with vague distaste. Love handles, you’d repeated, beaming. You held on tightly now, appreciatively, and used your well-loved wall of flesh to pull him closer. As with any beckoning of yours, Joel didn’t have so much as half a mind to resist. He did, however, refuse to meet your gaze while you tilted your hips and spread your legs wider, before winding your ankles around the backs of his legs.

“Don’t you think I’d look pretty?” You pouted up at him. Your folds made a light, warm suction rubbing along the front of Joel’s cock—of course he’d grown hard again, and you could hold him, point him down to that wet embrace awaiting him patiently at the edge of the sink.

Joel cursed under his breath.

“‘Course I do…” he said, voice hoarse, “Y’always look—”

“I mean…with your baby inside me, Joel. Right here.”

As if to put a finer point on your words, you nestled the head of his cock inside the first inch of your body. Joel had to seize the laminate underneath you and grit his teeth to keep from letting out a groan too loud. That tip may as well have been a first-rate conductor of heat, and your warmth the thing that might send him spilling again

“You don’t—” Joel choked out, nearly incensed, “—don’t know what the hell you’re sayin’, baby. What that means.”

In truth, there wasn’t a world Joel Miller could imagine where a girl like you could give more than a passing thought to getting knocked up by him—a man his age. What good would it do? You had your whole life laid out before you like a four-course dinner spread; there was no sense whatsoever in letting the meal go to waste on him.

He communicated as much by moving to pull out.

You met the effort with a push of your own, sinking down another inch or two on his shaft and smiling when you saw his eyes roll back in his head at the dizzying friction.

“I know more than enough, old man—” Grin stretching ear-to-ear as you dug your heels in his ass and tugged him deeper, “—who do you think taught me all this?”

Of course, it had been Joel.

Always, always him—the only one, in fact.

Your walls drew him in like a hug. For once, Joel conjured up the strength to take a look between your lower half and his, and when he did, the next moan was inevitable. It trickled through his lips. Your body looked sublime swallowing a third of his cock, and it was almost as though a maggot had crawled into his brain, chanting:

‘Make her full. Make her yours. Tell any man who’d even think of looking her way she belongs to someone else.’

He couldn’t.

Joel would never be so selfish. Just think of her youth.

But when his gaze drifted back to yours, every thought and any word besides seemed gently to melt away. Beneath him, your eyes were two pools of desire.

“You like this…don’t you, Joel?” Your voice was tiny.

“I do.”

In fact, he loved it.

“Then why can’t we?” Why shouldn’t we?

Minuscule now, the words that reached him barely exceeded a whisper. It was as though the moment itself had drained all fear from your face—and out of Joel, all common sense from his brain—leaving you both to stare at the other with shared, stupid, anoetic looks of bliss. The man who had you beat by thirty-odd years seemed nearly of the same mind, with almost identical ignorance.

Idiocy.

“Just once?” Joel croaked.

Somewhere underneath, unseen, you smiled.

“Just one?” you murmured back.

He sank in another inch. When your walls contracted around him, Joel’s hands found your hips by force of habit and pushed your back against the glass behind it. The mirror was cool, and inside you, Joel was throbbing.

“Once,” he repeated, not thinking too deeply.

“One,” you said, with a world of more purpose.

Joel relinquished the last three inches, and with it, all of his resolve. The handsome, scarred, and plainly greying features all twisted as one, and the expression that you knew too well to mean that the man was feeling good took on the slightest hint of guilt. He gripped you tighter.

“One?” Joel panted. Confused.

He pulled out halfway just to find his home again. Your pearly slick mixed together with his spend, and both coated over Joel’s shaft in a pretty, generous sheen.

“One more of you, I mean.” You sounded too sweet. There was no way in hell you’d actually meant it.

Joel’s cheeks flushed again, but he didn’t stop, either.

“Baby…” he trailed off instead. He pushed in, pulled out, felt your tender little hole make an ‘o’ around his shaft, and then he kissed the edge of your left cheek—maybe to rein in the need in his words before he spoke again: “One’a me takes and I’m givin’ ya fifteen more, y’hear?”

The smile he received told him as much as he needed to hear. He probably wouldn’t have believed it even if you’d said the words yourself. Joel’s thrusts sped up, and as the pleasure distended in the pit of his stomach with the friction and the feel, his words flowed a little more freely.

In disbelief, “Wanna be a mama that bad for me, huh?”

Your grin grew bigger. You nodded your head.

“Make your old man a daddy, is that it?”

Exactly. Senseless as it was, your look said it all.

To have slipped between the grooves and ridges of Joel’s brain and caught wind of even a fraction of the things he wanted to do to you then, a smarter girl would have run. Would have shoved him back out as swiftly as she’d let him in and told him no, that’s gross, and gone home. And, had the grey matter floating inside your own skull not been so completely dominated by primal need and wanting, that’s likely what you would have done, too. Instead, with a head full of lewd, youthful stupidity, you seized the black-grey curls dangling at the nape of his neck and drew him closer. You spread your legs wider.

“That is what you’ve wanted this whole time, right?”

Under his scruff, a muscle tensed as Joel bit down.

That’s all he’s ever wanted.

Let the neighbors talk.

Let them say what they wanted to say—it was probably all true to the point they were trying to make, anyway. That Joel was a pervert, of course. That you were naïve, also true. That you would look too good not to stare in a white cotton frock with a bump underneath, absolutely. These were the ideas permeating your brain and his while Joel took a firmer hold of your sides and brought his nose to rest against yours. With every stab of his hips, he pressed kisses to your soft, parted lips, speaking low:

“That what you want, too, darlin’?” More serious now.

The head of his cock nicked a sensitive ridge inside you, eliciting a whimper, but you nodded. You nodded again, feeling the brush of his stubble at your mouth and your chin, and nodded again when he bottomed out, stuffing you tight. It felt a little more momentous than any other time in the past, now that you were picturing a fullness that wasn’t just him. Him and you: a concrete being to soothe the sting of his absence long after Joel withdrew.

Something to stick.

“Please say it, baby.”

Someone to call yours.

“I want it,” you said, sounding desperate.

A coil was just starting to form in the place you felt him. Drifting up, pulling tight, making your eyes go glossy and wide while they stuck to Joel’s and begged him for more.

“Want what?” He sped up, and his thrusts got sloppy.

“Want you,” you breathed, “Inside me, Joel, please.”

As if predicting your next thoughts, the man lowered his hand to your belly. You hadn’t even noticed the smallest bulge had taken shape beneath the skin. Joel slowed, momentarily, then rubbed the base of his palm against the mound where your body was obliged to make room for his cock inside you. He drew soft, tender circles there and, with the motion, sent stars flying before your eyes.

“Good girl,” he murmured, “Right here?”

“Ri— right there. Right there.”

Joel adored that sound. The soft, elated look, the gentle knoll of flesh in a bump below his hand, the whimpers rolling off your tongue repeatedly, quicker and quicker the more the pleasure inside you continued to build. Joel’s release was coming soon, too. For the hundredth time that night, he silently wished he were a little younger; so he could fill you up once, twice, twenty more times until your insides were stuffed and painted white. As if reading his mind, as he had for you, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

“Hope our baby has your eyes,” you murmured to him.

It shouldn’t have had such a strong effect—but of course, it did. Joel pictured the small, sweet infant with irises that shone a bit like his, and his stomach caved in.

Tonight, tomorrow, or ten months down the line, he was getting you pregnant. He’d clear his whole schedule for it

“That right?” And now he couldn’t stop the smile as he spoke, leaning even further in, “What about their nose?”

He kissed the tip of yours.

“Hope they get this.”

He kissed either one of your cheeks.

“These too.”

You had to fight back a laugh while his scruff tickled skin. Two deep strokes away from the brink of release and he still somehow always stayed in tune with your needs.

The threat of your peak was perilously near. Joel’s spend and your slick, tender glaze made a chorus of sounds at each thrust, and the deeper he went, the bigger it swelled. Your smiles couldn’t stay for much longer when the feeling inside you both was being amplified like that. Sensing this, Joel took hold of your face and slipped his touch to cup your chin. He made you tilt your head up to him, as if to ask again, ‘Are you sure?’ and when you nodded, his lips twitched again. A fleeting hint of a grin, like he couldn’t be more eager to finish now if he tried.

Holding your face, cock swollen and throbbing and desperate between your walls, he felt a familiar twitch.

There it is.

#IN CONCLUSION……….WE MAKIN BABIES #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel tlou #the last of us fic

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itsoutrageouss · 4 months ago

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Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley being ready to go on his knees for his favorite nurse… but he has no idea how to show it.

Then he sees you at the pub.

It settled inside of him as a feeling of uselessness because he’s so used to knowing what to do. He takes action. He fixes things. And now he gets all flustered when you tend to his wounds, absentmindedly stroking his thigh and talking to him so so sweetly. Calling him a good boy when you finish the stitches, biting your lip as you focused on making them as neat as you could for him. He would stare at you the whole time, his cheeks heating because no one ever showed him this much care and you didn’t even seem to struggle with it- it was all natural.

You had labelled him ‘favorite patient’ in your phone but he didn’t know that. He figured you behaved like that with all the soldiers who came in- the reason you were such a good nurse.

After a well succeeded mission, the task force and the bases Staff all crowd down to the nearest pub. It was an excuse for you to finally be out of your work attire, adorning a black lacy top that made you feel sexy along with your glossy lips. He was already there, leaned back in a booth with Soap and Price as you walk in, looking around nervously.

He has to grit his teeth as he sees you. Fuck fuck fuck. This was gonna be a long night. He fisted his hands beneath the table.

This feeling of hopelessness, of not knowing what to do was so foreign that it bubbled into anger. Price frowned, noticing the rigid way his Lieutenant suddenly sat. Soap was too busy telling some story to notice anything, slamming down a hand, the beers rattling. Your colleagues crowded you into a booth that so conveniently faced him.

Why did he look at you like that? He was positively fuming, glowering, brows lowered and face set. You cowered under his gaze, eyes flickering away nervously.

His lips parted in soft surprise. Why did you look so nervous? Had he done something?

Because of course he was no clue how damn intimidating his so called love stare stare is. He follows you as you walk to the bar, leaning over, your skirt riding up. He has to blink up at the ceiling because it felt simultaneously like a gift from above, being allowed to see you like this, and like a curse from hell.

“Oh he’s down bad for her ain’t he, that fucker?” Soap exclaims, finally catching on as he lets out a hearty laugh. Simon glares.

“I think LT needs another pint” Price muses. Soap, ever the sergent he is, groans and gets up, patting Simon heavily on the shoulder before walking up to the bar next to you.

“You got him weak in the knees, Bunny” Soap grins casually, ordering the pints. It takes you a few seconds to comprehend before you lean backwards slightly, catching Simon’s gaze. This time he averts his eyes immediately. He was fucking fuming inside, not knowing how to get these feelings to go away. The only solutions he could think of were violence or sex. And violence he’s had enough of- and he’s sure the training dummies had too. Every damn night these past days he’s been punching his knuckles bloody, hoping it would satiate his restlessness. It didn’t.

And as for sex… he didn’t- well he didn’t not want that but that’s not where he wanted to start. He always threw himself into hookups or fiery flings that burned out too quickly, leaving embers he didn’t care for. He didn’t want that with you. He wanted to be genuine, slow, proper. And he had no idea how. He didn’t like not being good at things.

Your eyes stay on him, forcing his head to turn back to you. Your expression is unreadable, his fingers curling beneath the table before he rapidly stands up. You almost jolt at the action, the floor creaking from his weight as he stalks over to you and Soap, grumbling something.

Soap leaves, Simon trying to casually lean his elbows on the bar. “Just gonna wait for the pints” he tells you, then his jaw ticks because why did he say that? You probably don’t give a fuck what he’s doing there.

You smile softly, intrigued. “How’s your shoulder?”

It startled him, his head whipping to yours like you said something totally out of sorts. His shoulder? Right— It takes him way too long to answer.

“Fine. You did a good job. As always,” he said gruffly, looking down at the chipped wood of the bar, drumming his fingers impatiently.

“You look good.” The words slip past his lips, eyes quickly giving you a once over.

“I know.” He looks at you, sees a small glint in your eyes and the smile you smother. He wants to groan out loud at the sight.

A dry, almost laugh escapes him, shaking his head softly. “F’course you do.”

There’s a long, awkward silence where you both look anywhere but at each other, spines straightening, then slumping, then you both look at the bartender to keep busy.

He places your drink in front of you, three pints clattering in front of Simon. Neither of you move to take them.

“So I’m gonna go” Simon rumbles and turns, the pints clutched in his hands. He was overheating, fumbling in ever possible way he could and he couldn’t take it. You opened your mouth but he was already halfway across the room.

The pints rattle as he sits down. “So?” Soap asks as he leans forward. Simon grumbled that this isn fucking high school. But it’s not Soap he’s mad at. It’s himself. He had you right there.

You can’t focus the rest of the evening, laughing hollowly and sipping your drink with disinterest. Did he not find you interesting? It was so hard to read him that you started to doubt if he was playing with you. Maybe this was just the way he… was.

You hadn’t noticed everyone going out for a smoke. You hadn’t noticed the way he looked at you through the window like some kind of fucking stalker, only the glow from his cigarette giving colour to his shadow.

You down the rest of your drink, pulling your coat around you. The night is crispy, air poking your cheeks like needles.

“Are you ever going to ask me out? Because if not then I’d like to know- I don’t really know if you don’t like me or if I scare you or if there’s something entirely different at play but you cannot just stare at me and expe-“ a cold, chapped pair of lips silence you. They’re gone as quickly as they came you Simon’s eyes are wide, dropping his cigarette to the ground.

“I’m sorry- do you wanna- can I ask you out? I didn’t mean to do that but you talk a lot” he said bluntly, stuttering his way through his own mortifying actions.

He kissed you. To shut up your mindless yapping he… you shake your head in disbelief.

“You are unbelievable” you say, but there’s absolutely no malice in your tone- only wonder.

“Is that a yes?” He asks, his throat feeling tight.

“Yes. It’s a good technique you have there- do you do that on everyone? Kiss them when they talk too much? I can just imagine how Soap would rea-“

He did it again, eyes closing and inhaling sharply as he covered your cold cheeks with his hands. Christ you were a talker but he didn’t mind so much, if he was allowed to quiet you like this from now on.

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cuntyji · 2 months ago

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will be writing this as a full-length fic soon…..amen!!

your relationship with nanami kento is the definition of ironic.

the office sees him as the perfect gentleman—level-headed, dependable, the very image of an ideal husband. meanwhile, you? you are the sweet, naive darling of the workplace, someone who gasps at crude jokes and stumbles over words when discussing anything remotely risqué. ‘a match made in heaven,’ they all say.

except, unbeknownst to your dear colleagues, you are a raging nymphomaniac with a one-track mind and a concerning dedication to testing nanami’s limits.

and unbeknownst to you, nanami is a retired playboy who has seen, done, and invented things that would make your little schemes look like a child's game of seduction.

case #1

it’s after work, and you two are in the break room. you “accidentally” drop your pen, bending down waaaayyyy too slow to pick it up, making sure your skirt rides up just enough to be suggestive. when you glance up at nanami, expecting maybe a sharp inhale, a slight stutter, anything—he just averts his eyes politely and sighs. “you should be more careful,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee.

…excuse me? that was textbook seduction! and all he’s giving you is a life lesson? “right,” you mutter, picking up the pen and standing up. he hums in response, unbothered. internally, you are seething. externally, you giggle and twirl a strand of hair around your finger.

but, on the other side of things—inside nanami’s mind, sirens are blaring. red alert. red alert. his eyes are on the ceiling. his knuckles are white around his coffee cup. he is chanting sutras in his head because he is one wrong move away from pinning you against the fridge. but no. no. he will not be like his past self. he will not ruin your innocence with his past perversions. “next time, hold onto your pen properly,” he adds.

you nearly choke. that sounded so suggestive. was that suggestive? but his face remains neutral. damn it.

case #2

one morning, you decide to test the waters by “accidentally” wearing one of nanami’s dress shirts to breakfast. you stretch a little tooooo much while reaching for the honey, making sure the fabric lifts enough to tease him. “oh no,” you say, “i think i grabbed the wrong shirt! it’s so big on me, kento.” you add a slight pout for effect. nanami doesn’t even blink. “ah, my mistake for folding it with your laundry.”

you stare at him. that’s it? not even a pause before responding? no flustered reaction? what is this man made of?????

meanwhile, nanami is gripping his fork like it’s a stress ball. the sight of you in his shirt is awakening something inside him that he spent years suppressing. memories of past flings, of long nights and tangled sheets, of being far from the gentleman he’s known as today—no. no. he is different now. he is refined. composed. civilized. “you should eat before your food gets cold,” he adds, stuffing a piece of toast into his mouth before he can say something dangerous.

you slump in your chair. you’re starting to think your boyfriend might actually be asexual.

case #3

you opt for the classic “watch a horror movie together” trick. the goal? get scared and cling to nanami, maybe “accidentally” bury your face into his chest. standard. foolproof. except—

“you’re shaking,” nanami notes. you look up at him, eyes wide and watery. yes. yes. take the bait. comfort me, kento.

he reaches for the remote.

“huh?”

he turns the movie off.

“i don’t think this is good for you,” he says. “we should sleep.”

…you are speechless.

meanwhile, nanami is on his last thread of sanity. if you keep clutching his arm like that, he is going to fold. but he will not. he cannot. he must protect your innocence. even if it kills him.

case #4

one rainy evening, you come home completely drenched from forgetting your umbrella. hair dripping, clothes clinging to every curve—you look like the lead actress of a romcom who is about to get thoroughly ravished by the male lead. nanami, who opens the door for you, malfunctions. but on the outside? his face remains blank. “you should change before you catch a cold.”

what. the. fuck.

“c-can you lend me one of your shirts?” you try, shivering. “of course.” and with that, he disappears into the bedroom, returning with sweatpants and a hoodie.

A HOODIE.

where is the white button-up? the gray sweatpants? you take the clothes in silence. this is your lowest point.

meanwhile, nanami is pouring himself a glass of ice water. his soul is escaping his body.

case #5

you decide to take a break from your antics. maybe you were reading into things too much. maybe nanami truly is just that reserved. maybe…maybe he just isn’t interested in you that way.

that night, nanami is in bed, scrolling through his phone when he stumbles upon a post:

"when a man truly loves you, he will control himself so he doesn't ruin you."

he stares at the post. then at the ceiling. “ah,” he mutters.

so that’s why.

in the darkness of your shared bedroom, you both lay in silence—both believing you’re the one restraining yourself for the sake of the other.

a tragic comedy. a love story with too many misunderstandings.

a match made in heaven.

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xosannie · 7 months ago

Text

3:00 am

☆Genre: Smut 18+ MDNI

☆Pairing: roommate!Seonghwa x fem!reader

☆Word Count: 4.1k

☆Warning: pwp (?), gentle/soft Seonghwa, unprotected sex (be safe horny ppl), needy reader, fingering (f receiving), pet names (princess, baby), some dirty talk, praise, fucked from behind, (lmk if I missed anything) if you see any typos no you don’t

☆Summary: It’s late and you’re too horny to sleep. Luckily you find your roommate up late as well. Come to your surprise he’s willing to help you.

—————————————————————————

You let out an exaggerated sigh of annoyance, shifting on your back after tossing and turning for a while. You stare up at the dark ceiling, admitting defeat after trying to fall asleep and failing miserably. You checked the time, looking over at the clock on your bedside table.

3:04 am

It was late at night, and here you are laying restless on the bed, aching between your legs. You didn’t know why, but you just felt so horny. Earlier you tried to do something about it, but your fingers weren’t enough to get you close. You tried to ignore the feeling between your legs, but every time you shut your eyes images of dirty scenarios pop into your head.

You kick the covers off you, the cold night air biting into the flesh of your bare legs. You slowly pull yourself off the bed, well if you couldn’t sleep might as well get yourself a little snack. You stepped out the room and into the hallway, quietly walking past your roommate, Seonghwa’s room.

You cocked your head to the side when you noticed a small light emanating from underneath his door. Oh, Seonghwa is awake, why is he up so late? You knock on the door and slowly turn the knob when you hear a low “Come in”, from the other side.

Seonghwa sat at his desk, lamp shining brightly beside him. He was wearing his black, silk pajamas, back facing you as he focused on the legos in his hands. You roll your eyes, entering his room and sitting on his bed.

“Are you really building legos at 3 am?”

“Yup,” he says popping the ‘p’ sound.

“Why?”

“Can’t sleep,” he shrugs.

“That makes two of us,” you mumble.

You plop backwards on his mattress, arms sprawled out on the covers and you hear Seonghwa chuckle deeply.

“Why can’t you sleep?”

You pause for a moment, well you certainly can’t tell him the real reason. ‘Oh well I’m so horny, it’s preventing me from sleeping.’ Seonghwa doesn’t need to know that.

“Just… restless.”

You hear a small scoff coming from Seonghwa, he still doesn’t turn your direction. He was too fixated on attaching one of the Lego pieces together in the correct spot.

“I don’t believe you.”

You propped yourself on your elbows to look at Seonghwa, shooting him a confused look.

“What?”

“You’re a horrible liar.”

He puts the legos down and finally turns around in his chair to face you.

“What’s wrong? You know you can tell me anything.”

You seriously debate if you should tell the truth or not. I mean, you and Seonghwa have talked about personal stuff before. You guys have lived with each other for while now so you know each other like the back of your hands. Seonghwa raises his brows at you, watching you intently as you pondered.

You let out a sigh and sit up straight. Seonghwa turned his chair around so he could face you better.

“Well… ugh, don’t laugh okay.”

“I’m not gonna laugh, what’s up?”

You take a deep breath, cheeks started to feel warmer from what you were about to say.

“I’m just… horny. So I can’t sleep.”

Seonghwa blinked at you, a little taken aback by your words.

“Oh.”

You let out a groan, falling back on the bed and grabbing a pillow to hide your face in. You heard Seonghwa chuckle a little and you kicked him.

“I said don’t laugh.”

“I’m not laughing at you. You have me worried for a second, I thought it was gonna be something serious.”

“This is serious!”

Your voice was muffled from the pillow, Seonghwa couldn’t help but find your embarrassment endearing.

“Just go masturbate or something.”

“I tried, but I couldn’t get close.”

You finally sit up, throwing the pillow back on the bed. Your body slumped forward as you frowned.

“Don’t you have some sort of vibrator or something?”

“It’s dead and I lost the charger,” your mumbled.

Seonghwa laughs softly again, he reached up to ruffle your hair and you glared at him.

“Seonghwa, stop that.”

You shoo’s his hand away and he smiles.

“Well I don’t know what to tell you. Just try to ignore it.”

He sits back in his chair crossing his arms. You glare at him again, not enjoying the smug look on his face.

“You want me dead.”

“So dramatic,” he rolls his eyes.

Seonghwa thinks for a moment while you sulk on his bed. He bit his lip, taking in a breath before speaking.

“Well… I have an idea, but i don’t know how you’ll feel about it.”

Your head perks up, at his words. You felt like you were so desperate for release that you would do anything so you could sleep.

“What is it? I’ll do anything at this point.”

“Well… maybe you need a helping hand.”

You cock your brow up, what did he mean by that?

“Helping hand?” You ask slowly.

“Yeah, a second person…”

Your heart started to race a bit faster. What did Seonghwa mean by that? And why was his request only making the ache between your legs grow stronger.

Seonghwa stared blankly at you, waiting for your reply. He rolls his eyes when you remain silent, he can see you weren’t fully grasping his words.

“I’m saying you need to be fucked.”

“I mean… yeah I do but I don’t necessarily have anyone. Especially since it’s 3 in the morning.”

“I can do it.”

Now it was your turn to stare blankly at him. You body froze and your eyes wide, but on the inside you were screaming ‘WHAT THE FUCK SEONGHWA? WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’LL DO IT? WAIT, WHY DO I WANT TO SAY YES?’

Seonghwa snaps his fingers at you while calling your name. You snap back to reality, not realizing that you just short circuited.

“Sorry for a second there I thought you said you would fuck me.”

“I did.”

“Seonghwa!”

“What?! I’m just trying to help. Look if you don’t want to that’s perfectly fine.”

Seonghwa waves his hands in defense, feeling a little embarrassed for suggesting such a thing. He was ready to just pretend like nothing happened and shrug off your rejection, but then you spoke.

“I never say I didn’t want to.”

Seonghwa looked back at you, feeling his heart race faster at your words. He clears his throat and stands up off the chair. You look up at him, suddenly feeling small while he towered over your sitting form.

“Then, let’s get started. The faster we finish the faster you get to sleep.”

Seonghwa sat on the bed, back pressed against the head board as he gestured you to come sit in his lap. Your body moved on auto pilot, crawling over to him and straddling his lap.

“Are you sure this is okay, Seonghwa?”

“It’s okay, I’m just trying to help my friend. If you don’t want this.. just tell me and I’ll stop.”

You felt his fingers graze your cheek as he cupped your jaw. You were already so needy that the gentle touch sent electricity through your body.

“No… I want this. I need this.”

“Alright then.”

Seonghwa smiles feeling relieved at your words. He looked down at your body, admiring how you looked in your oversized shirt and small shorts. His hands ran up your bare thighs, he chuckled when he sees the goosebumps rising up on your skin.

“You look very pretty like this. I always love it when you wear these small shorts.”

His hands reach up to grip your hips. The small touches make you feel more needy, and you couldn’t help it when a whine escaped your lips.

“Seonghwa, please I need you now. Don’t tease me.”

Seonghwa pouts at you, brushing your hair out of your face. He shows mercy, after all you’ve been needy for so long (he also couldn’t wait any longer, he needed to feel you.)

“Aww baby, don’t fret.”

He leans forward, placing soft kisses on your neck. You reach up, gripping at the silk material of his pajama shirt. You let out a sigh, enjoying the feeling of his plump lips on your hot skin. He gripped your hips to pull you closer and you let out a small yelp.

Your pussy ached, Seonghwa swore he could feel you throbbing through the thin material of your clothes. That made him feral, he didn’t know what took over him when he gripped your shorts and pulled them down your hips.

You gasped, shifting slightly so Seonghwa could slide the shorts off your legs. You let out another whine when his long, cold fingers slid through your wet folds. Seonghwa groaned against your neck.

“Fuck you’re so wet baby.”

“I told you I’m horny.”

“You’re so cute.”

His praises only make you feel even needier. His voice was so soft when he spoke to you and his warm breath against your neck sent shivers down your spine. You gently pulled at the hair on the nape of his neck when he licked a warm strip on your jaw.

You felt Seonghwa slowly rub circles on your clit with ease. You couldn’t help it when your hips started to grind down against his fingers, his digits sliding against your folds in the best way possible.

“Oh you’re such a needy girl grinding on my fingers like that.”

You nod and hummed in agreement. Never in a million years did you think your roommate would be touching you this way, but right now you didn’t care. All you cared about was Seonghwa and his gentle touches. The whole time you were enjoying yourself Seonghwa was admiring you, you’re so beautiful it’s mesmerizing.

“Why don’t you say it for me princess?”

“Hm?”

“Tell me you’re my needy girl.”

You felt your core ache with need at his words. Subconsciously, you began to grind harder on his fingers, your hips moving faster the more you grew desperate. Seonghwa smiles to himself at the sight, feeling his own arousal building up in his pants.

“I’m your… needy girl Seonghwa. Please take care of me.”

Seonghwa groaned at the sound of your voice. He pulled his fingers away, grabbing your hips and gently moving you on the bed. Your body felt like putty at this point that you moved without resistance, letting Seonghwa control your body however he wanted.

“You sound so pretty, I’m gonna take real good care of you okay? Then you can sleep so well.”

The only response you could muster was a small whine and a nod. Seonghwa didn’t mind though, he knew you were probably already too lost to even form words.

Seonghwa had you laying on your stomach, you cheek pressed against the pillow and your legs spread wide. His hands slid down your body, cupping your ass while he placed a soft kiss on your shoulder blade.

“Can you move your hips up darling?”

You nod, moving your hips while Seonghwa pulled you up simultaneously. You were now ass up, legs spread wide and pussy on full display. What a sight for sore eyes. Seonghwa couldn’t feel his dick twitching in his pants just by looking at you.

He noticed the way your folds glistened with arousal, he moaned at the sight, taking two fingers and sliding them in with ease.

You whine in the pillow, rocking your hips on his fingers. He slowly started to pump them in and out, holding your hips to keep your still.

“You’re so wet… and warm. What got you this horny in the first place?”

You shrug, turning your head to speak clearer.

“I don’t know…. I just started to feel this way. But once you began to touch me…”

You let out whines between your word and Seonghwa watched you endearingly. He smiled at you softly as he continued to thrust his fingers as deep as they can go.

“Did my touch make you more needy?”

You let out a long whine, nodding against the pillow. Seonghwa felt his whole body ignite with desire at your reaction. He needed you, badly. And the fact that you felt the same was doing something to Seonghwa.

He wanted to keep touching you, and give you all the pleasure you deserve. But the more he looked at you and the more he played with you, he just grew too needy. And by the way your hips were desperately trying to fuck back against his fingers, he’s confident to say you were feeling the same.

“Oh god. I’m gonna fuck you now. Is that okay?”

You nodded eagerly, gripping tightly to the bedsheets beneath you.

“Yes yes please. I can’t wait any longer.”

Seonghwa chuckled at your neediness. He slowly pulled his fingers out, groaning when he saw the slick of your arousal glisten on them.

“I got you princess, I won’t make you wait.”

He pulled the waistband off his pajama pants down to his mid thigh. He grabbed hold of the base, his dick literally throbbing in his hand. He rubbed his red tip against your hole making him moan and you whimper at the feeling.

“I can’t wait to feel you baby. I’m gonna put it in,” he warned.

Once he saw you nod against the pillow he was ready to go. Seonghwa placed his hand flat on the small of your back, the head of his cock prodded at your hole before he slowly pushed it in.

You let out a gasp, finally feeling what you’ve been yearning for all night. Seonghwa took in a sharp breath, head falling back as he slowly pushed his dick inside you. You were both letting out long moans, and you felt you legs start to tremble already.

Seonghwa wasn’t the biggest in the world, but god did he feel amazing. He was the perfect size just for you, and when he fully bottoms out and you feel his pelvis pressed against your ass, you were filled just right. No pain, no discomfort, just bliss.

“Oh my god,”you whispered.

You both stayed that way for a moment, Seonghwa leaned forward with his chest flushed against your back. His arm wrapped around your waist as he pulled you impossibly closer and you can feel his warm breath on the nape of your neck.

“You have the most perfect pussy. Feels so good,” he mumbled.

You were going to reply, but your words got caught in your throat when you felt Seonghwa start to rock his hips back and forth. Your whole body was filled with pleasure and you felt your mind start to cloud. Seonghwa rested his hands on either side of your head, hovering over you. He chuckled when he saw your expression change from desperate needy, to a blissed out face.

He was so close you could feel his long hair tickling your cheek. He leaned down to kiss your head, whispering praises in your ear. His room was filled with lewd moans, the bed squeaking and hitting the wall. But his favorite, was the sound of his cock pounding deep inside your wet pussy. He tried to keep his own moans down, wanting to only hear yours, but it was hard when you started to clench around him.

You gripped at the pillow beneath you, hiding your face in it and letting out muffled moans. Seonghwa was fucking you just right, hitting all the spots you could never reach on your own. Seonghwa tsked at you, watching the way you hide away into the pillow.

“No no baby let me hear your pretty moans.”

You whine, turning your head to the side to let out clearer moans. Seonghwa pulled away, you felt a rush of air hit your skin. You already missed his touch. You turned to look over your shoulder, ready to let out a protest. But before you could Seonghwa gripped tightly to your hips and drilled into you.

You let out a yelp and you head fell back on the pillow. The bed squeaked louder beneath you, it wouldn’t be a shock if you hear a complaint from the neighbors the next morning. You reached behind you to grip Seonghwa’s hip, pulling him against you to feel him even deeper.

Seonghwa groaned, he was mesmerized at the sight of you sucking up his length with ease. He watched intently, grabbing the flesh of your ass and spreading them apart to give him a better view.

“That’s it baby take my dick, you deserve it. You deserve to get fucked.”

“Seonghwa you fuck me so good. I love it… please don’t stop.”

“I’m not gonna stop princess. Not when you look this good…fuck and feel this good.”

Your legs trembled uncontrollably and Seonghwa noticed. He cooed at the sight rubbing his hand against your back.

“Aw baby are you getting tired?”

You whine, nodding with a small pout. You felt so weak your legs would give out in any moment. He chuckled, pushing you down on the mattress.

“Lay down pretty girl, you did so good just lay there and take it.”

You whimpered, your body fell fully on the bed but Seonghwa didn’t stop. He repositioned himself she could fuck you at the new angle. He hovered over you again, resting his weight on his hands beside you head, You whined and cried into the pillow, you couldn’t control any of the sounds leaving your lips. At this point you didn’t care that it was near 4 am, and neither did Seonghwa.

With the new position you felt impossible tighter around Seonghwa’s dick. He wasn’t gonna last very long, he grunted loudly cursing in your ear. You felt your own orgasm creep up, you have never came from another man fucking you. Seonghwa just felt so good, he filled you up just right it was like his dick was made for you.

You reach up behind you, cupping the back of Seonghwa’s neck. Seonghwa leaned in to kiss your cheek, jaw, neck any place he could reach.

“Seonghwa baby I’m close. Please don’t stop please I’m gonna cum for you.”

Seonghwa groaned at your words, his own orgasm dangerously close as well.

“Yeah? You gonna cum for me? Cum on my dick.”

You moaned louder, nodding your head. You turned you head back to the best of you abilities. You and Seonghwa stared into each others eyes, you don’t know what came over you, but the way his lips parted while he panted and his brows furrowed with pleasure. You couldn’t stop yourself when you pulled him down to connect your lips together.

Seonghwa moaned in the kiss, gripping your jaw with one hand. He snakes it down to wrap around your neck. He didn’t apply pressure, he just wanted to hold it there. A small reminder that right now you were his. The moment you felt Seonghwa slide his tongue in your mouth you were ready to be pushed off the edge.

Seonghwa whimpered when you tightened around him, he knew your were close. He needed to see it, needed to see you unwind on his cock. He whispered against your lips in a low seductive voice.

“Cum for me baby, you deserve it.”

And with that, your body let go. You pulled away to fall against the mattress, hiding in the pillow as you moaned loudly in it. Your body felt like it was on fire, and your eyes rolled in the back of you head. Seonghwa gripped tightly to your hip when he felt you cum on his cock. His own hips faltered, and he pulled out to release hot cum all over your ass and lower back. His moans were so beautiful, so soft yet sexy.

You felt like you were on cloud nine, panting against the pillow with your body feeling weak. Seonghwa stared at you, fucked out and limp on his bed. He chuckled breathlessly, leaning in to kiss your shoulder.

“Good girl.”

You let out a weak whine, the sound being muffled by the pillow. He pushed your hair to the side, leaning in to kiss the back of your neck. He caressed your body in a soothing manner, that was probably the best sex he’s ever had and little did he know you were thinking the same thing.

Seonghwa reached to his bedside drawer to pull out some baby wipes. You shivered when the cold, wet wipes made contact to your skin while Seonghwa cleaned you up. You giggle against the pillow, turning back to look at Seonghwa.

“Thank you.”

Seonghwa smiled back at you, throwing the soiled wet wipe in the trash. He adjusted your shirt so it could cover your body again, giving your some decency. You giggle at the action and shift around so you were on your back. Seonghwa pushed his hair behind his ear, trying not to look at you body (even though he just fucked you against the mattress). You noticed him suddenly get shy, and you reached up to hold his hand.

“I enjoyed it, thank you Seonghwa.”

“Me too.”

Seonghwa smiled brightly at you. He grips your hand tightly, holding it in his lap. You both suddenly felt a weird tension in the air. Did that really just happen? You sit up, scooting closer to Seonghwa.

Seonghwa stared into you eyes, he wanted to reach up and kiss you again but he didn’t want to possibly make you uncomfortable (again, he was just thrusting his dick in you a few seconds ago). You both stared at each other for a moment, having a new revelation about one another.

“So… that was new.” Seonghwa spoke.

You giggled and nodded. You could see Seonghwa relax a bit at the sound of your laugh.

“Very new.”

Seonghwa looked down at your hand in his. You followed his gaze and gripped his hand tighter.

“It was a good new,” you assured.

“Good.”

You both stare at each other again and you clear your throat when you notice the tension creep up again.

“Well, I’m actually really tired now. So thank you for helping me.”

Seonghwa nodded, almost forgetting the whole reason why this started in the first place. He felt a small pang of disappointment when you pulled your hand away and he felt you shift on the bed, ready to get up and go.

“Wait… you’re leaving?”

You looked back at Seonghwa’s, your heart ached when you saw the disappointment glint in his eyes.

“I just thought maybe you would want me to sleep in my room.”

“No, stay here. Sleep with me.”

He gripped your hand again to pull you closer. You felt relief at his words, glad he didn’t want you to go. You stood in front of him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“If you’re okay with it then… I will.”

Seonghwa chuckled, pulling you back in bed. You squealed at the sudden action and you felt the fluffy pillow beneath your head.

“Obviously I’m okay with it. Don’t treat me like one of your one night stands.”

You giggle at his words, you pulled him down so he could hover over you. You cup his cheek and hold him close.

“No I would never do that. Besides I live with you I have to see you.”

Seonghwa chuckles. He glanced at your lips, wanting to kiss them again. He pushed your hair out of you eyes, his touch was so gentle it made your stomach flip. You could tell he was getting shy again, damn he’s so cute.

“Seonghwa you don’t need to act bashful. You just fucked me so deep and now you’re too shy to kiss me.”

Seonghwa bursted out laughing at your remark, hiding his face in your neck. He felt his ears burn in embarrassment.

“Leave me alone,” he whined.

You chuckled, pulling him up and placing a soft kiss on his lips. He kissed you back immediately, cupping your cheek gently. How could he be so caring and soft when a few minutes ago he was passionately thrusting into you. Now that’s a man with duality.

“Let’s go to bed, it’s really late.” Seonghwa mutters against your lips.

You nod, pulling Seonghwa in for one last kiss.

“Okay.”

————————————————————————

The next morning you woke up in bed, but it wasn’t your bed. Deliriously, you examined Seonghwa’s room, it was dim due to the curtains shutting out the bright morning sun. You were a little sad when you felt the bed was empty with only you in it. You picked up the phone to read the time but you were met with a text from Seonghwa.

Nerd (Seonghwa): Sorry I had to leave for dance practice :( I had fun last night though, I’ll see you when I get home <3

You smile after reading the text, plopping back down on Seonghwa’s bed with a content sigh.

“Damn it Seonghwa. What did you just start?”

a/n: I’m writing a new fic and I’m really excited about it >_< (ofc it’s another Mingi one Oop- who should I write about next?)

#ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #ateez #ateez oneshot #ateez x reader #smut #ateez fic #ateez hard thoughts #seonghwa fanfic #seonghwa #park seonghwa #seonghwa smut #seonghwa imagines #seonghwa hard thoughts #seonghwa hard hours

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