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skzdarlings · 3 months ago

Text

everything ; skz ; werewolf!felix x reader

requested by @yongbbokkie: if possible, can I have Sunshine!Felix with the prompt/s: ❛ i'm waiting for your permission to let me have my way with you. ❜ and ❛ do whatever you want with me, i'm yours. ❜

((maybe it's a pining from afar situation and something puts them in close quarters and Felix just can't help himself anymore))

read on ao3

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: werewolf!au. friends2lovers. miscommunication and misunderstandings followed by resolution and smut. mentions of reader being in a past abusive relationship though the circumstances are not detailed. not omegaverse just werewolves but mentions of rut cycles and slightly different physiology.

this is, um, the wettest thing i've ever written. there is no other word for it. so much come, masturbating (reader walks in on felix), pervy masturbating using reader's stuff lol, massive breeding kink, multiple rounds, scenting, possessiveness, throat-grabbing, biting, pussy eating, squirting, dirty talk. did i mention come.

word count: 15800 words. (hope it makes up for the delay hehe)

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy <3

For a few moments, Felix is yours. There is no awkwardness, no reluctance, just dancing, just friendship.

The club is packed so tightly, the lights and music as roaring as lightning and thunder. The extra stimulation overwhelms the senses, even werewolf senses. He doesn’t think and neither do you. You just dance, finding each other in the bouncing circle of your half-drunk friend group. He smiles and you take his hand, letting him pull you across the dance floor and into his arms.

You’ve missed this smile. You’ve missed these arms.

Sure, Felix is still your best friend and he is never truly far. The distance is not literal, just emotional, and that is so much worse.

Ever since his werewolf genes kicked in, ever since a pack took him in, things have just been… different.

Right now, you can pretend nothing has changed. You are far away from ivory moons waning over woodlands, of werewolf packs and supernatural powers. His senses are diluted here, overpowered by so many moving bodies and so much wild noise.

Felix smiles, that wonderful big smile that crinkles his eyes so sweetly. Lights flash over him, his blonde hair nearly glowing, his freckles like stars. He’s your best friend again. All yours for a few precious moments.

He’s bigger than he was, you think, with a bit of a flush, as you dance closer to him, his arms circling your body. Or maybe I just never noticed before.

Felix is not very tall, but he is not small either, lean and athletic and confident in every inch of his body. It feels like he is everywhere. Every time a strobe light flashes over him, he seems a little closer. You breathe in his cologne, subtler than it used to be because his sense of smell is so powerful now, but still recognizable.

You are definitely not a werewolf, but you are captivated by that smell. Something oak, woodsy, masculine but pretty. So very Felix. You want to bathe in that smell, luxuriate in him. You spent so many nights curled into his side, sharing his bed, wearing one of his hoodies, that you associate that scent with everything good, safe, and home.

His hands dance up your sides very softly, his breath puffing across your cheek as you dance and dance. One song pours into the next. You lose track of time. In forgetting the world, you forget yourself. You slide your arms around his shoulders and press close to him.

You used to hug him like this so easily, but you have hardly touched him at all the last few months. Felix could never be cruel to anyone so he has not outright rejected your usual closeness, but it is obvious that your touch now makes him uncomfortable. The last thing you ever, ever want to do is hurt Felix. So you have followed his lead. Every time he accidentally pulls a face – a displeased twitch of his nose, an upset furrow of his brow – you have backed away.

It’s just the werewolf senses, you keep telling yourself. He’s more sensitive now, that’s all.

He still hugs the others. The werewolf boys love rough-housing, in fact, tumbling all over each other constantly.

That’s different. Yes, very different than this, right here, right now, his hands sliding down your sides – slowly, like he is memorizing the shape of your waist. He squeezes your hips and it fills you with heat. His hot face touches yours, cheek to cheek. The music is pounding, a frantic sound, but you are slow dancing, keeping to the rhythm of your heartbeats where they beat against each other.

You slide a hand up the back of his neck, into his long blonde hair. You feel the shudder move through his whole body. It makes your legs feel weak, realizing the effect you have on him. It seems impossible, especially with how much he has pushed you away, but there is no way he is shivering for any other reason. He cannot possibly be cold. The club is packed and, besides, he is not human. He runs hot.

So hot. He radiates it, burning where your bodies press together. Felix has always been the sunshine that keeps you warm, but this is a different heat. You know better than to succumb to it, knowing this moment will pass, but right now it is so easy to cling to him, to breathe him in, to feel like the world is just you and him.

The real world soon returns. It’s getting late so your friends call it a night.

“We’ll drop you off, yeah?” Chan says to you. Felix lives with him and the other wolves now. They all have their own apartments but they live in the same high-rise. You live a few blocks down, close, but not quite belonging.

“I don’t mind walking,” you say.

You do not want to intrude and you do not want to make Felix uncomfortable. He doesn’t even know Chan is offering you a ride because he standing so far away.

Felix is looking at his phone, slouched against the car while everyone organizes themselves. He is wearing a leather jacket, a white shirt, blue jeans, his long hair falling into his face. You want to brush it back, feel it between your fingers. You want to lift his face and see his smile.

But he doesn’t look at you. Now that you are outside, now that the heat has dissipated and the cold breeze carries your bland, dull, human scent, now that he can remember you are not special and not like him – now, he is someone else, and you are too, and it is cold and dreary and miserable.

“What?” Chan says. He is such a good pack leader and a good friend, but it makes him utterly oblivious to little dramas like this. “You’re not walking by yourself this late at night, don’t be crazy. Come on.”

The pack leader does not take no for an answer. Even though you are not in the pack, being human, there is no refusing Bang Chan. He grabs you by the wrist and drags you to his car.

Jeongin is in the front seat. Seungmin takes a back corner before Felix can lift his head, before he even knows you will be in the car too.

Felix looks tense when realizes he is trapped with you. Whether he takes the middle seat or the other corner, you will be beside him. If standing together outside is so intolerable, then being in a car is going to be torturous.

“I can walk,” you say to him.

“What?” He shakes his head. When he smiles, it is not his usual smile, not something real. You know the difference. His proper smile brightens you but this smile makes your heart sink. “Of course not,” he says. “C’mon. It’s late. Let’s get home, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, but he is already gone, taking all sense of home with him.

You take the middle seat. Felix rolls his window down and leans towards it. His eyes are closed the entire journey, the wind blowing across his tired face.

Seungmin is also a werewolf but he does not seem bothered by your human scent. Jeongin and Chan, the other packmates, likewise seem indifferent, chatting about everything and nothing, totally unperturbed. And you must cross paths with many werewolves during the day, but no one ever seems bothered by you.

Felix is the only werewolf who seems to have a problem with your scent. You do not know what it is that affects him so deeply. You have tried changing soaps and shampoos but nothing seems to help. It must be something natural to your human body. Humans do not smell like werewolves in general. Werewolves release pheromones that humans cannot smell, and it is important in forging interpersonal dynamics. That includes romance. Werewolves mate for life. You know they find their true mates through smell as much as the other senses. They are biologically wired to pursue their perfect match based on all those senses.

You are not a werewolf. You can never be his true mate. In the few months since he fully and rapidly developed his werewolf senses, Felix has withdrawn from you even though he promised it would never separate you.

You used to talk about what would happen if his werewolf genes activated. He comes from a family of werewolves but the gene lays dormant in certain carriers. Most werewolves develop in puberty if they develop at all. Some people never develop their wolven senses or powers. A minority, like Felix, are triggered by something in adulthood and succumb all at once.

It was always a possibility, however minute, but he promised things would stay the same. He said you were his person, that best friend did not even suffice as a word to describe your love.

You’re my world, you know, he said one night, speaking with the sort of earnest sincerity that only Felix could, his deep voice rumbling in your ear as you cuddled into him.

You wanted to say it back but you were hurting at the time. You ended a bad relationship a year earlier. It took your tender heart far too long to realize how badly your ex-boyfriend was treating you. When Felix found out the details, he was furious, though he kept it down around you. You had never seen your best friend so emotional. He became even more protective in the aftermath.

He showed you, time and time again, what real love is supposed to be. It doesn’t rush or demand, it doesn’t manipulate or coerce, and it doesn’t ask you to be small. He would hold you all night if that’s what you needed. He would make you laugh and let you cry.

You slowly realized true love had been in front of you, all this time, begging to be seen.

At least, you thought so. After such a bad relationship, you were taking it slow, and Felix never rushed you. You thought, maybe, one day…

But just when you were ready, everything changed. The werewolf gene unexpectedly activated. Felix was admitted to a wolven hospital and underwent his first transformation under a full moon. When he came home, he was different. Sure, he was still Felix, with his long dyed hair and his many freckles and his sun-kissed skin, but his brown eyes were so very different when he looked at you.

If he looked at you, which he avoids these days.

“Home sweet home,” Chan says, parking the car outside your apartment building.

Felix wastes no time getting out of the vehicle, practically spilling onto the sidewalk in his haste. He holds the door for you but averts his gaze.

You thank Chan, say good night to the other boys, then you shuffle across the seat and step out of the car. Felix still does not look at you, pretending he is distracted with something across the street.

You are a little tipsy, your emotions easily riled. You want to say good night so it will finally prompt him to look at you, but you are suddenly very choked up. Thoughtlessly, you touch his arm instead.

He flinches. It feels worse than a slap.

You do not look at him again, hurrying to the building before he can see the tears in your eyes.

Miraculously, you hold them in until you reach your apartment. You are one foot in the doorway when the tears spill, all the emotions you’ve suppressed over the last few months finally flooding free. The door falls closed with a slam and the whole world collapses under you.

You drop right there, knees pulled up to your chest and face buried in your hands.

You spent so many nights like this, crying all alone until you worked up the courage to tell Felix about your bad relationship. He was immediately understanding. It was so foolish to fear he would ever judge you. He put an arm around you and held you all night.

He is the person you want to call when you are hurting. It is agonizing to be without him. He is the one person you need and the one person you cannot call right now.

You let yourself feel sorry and miserable. When the tears have subsided and you are slouched against your door, empty and tired, you make a decision to end this. You have spent too much of your life collapsed on the floor and crying on your lonesome. You refuse to do it again.

As horrible as it is, you need to distance yourself from Felix. This slow deterioration of your relationship is excruciating. If he decides to reach out, you will be there, but you simply cannot continue to compromise yourself.

You somehow manage to wash up and get in bed. You sleep through the morning and rise late, delaying the inevitable a little longer by scrolling on your phone. Felix used to be the first text of the day but there is nothing from him. You would usually message anyway but today you put your phone aside and get out of bed.

So much of Felix is in your apartment. Borrowed hoodies, games, books, and so much more. Items are littered everywhere from the bedroom to the bathroom to the kitchen and back. It takes an hour and you are not sure you find everything because he is so inextricably woven into your living space. You do not even see it anymore because it – because he – is always there.

You fill a cardboard box. Your plan is to walk the couple blocks to the high-rise and return it with a vague explanation. You are not sure what to say. Perhaps it is best to opt for brevity. After all, this is not a break-up because you are not a couple.

No, you think, staring at the full box with watery eyes, this is worse.

You make it a few steps out your door before you drop the box. It is way, way too heavy for you to carry two feet, never mind two city blocks. Already panting with exertion, you stare at the box taking up a huge slab of the narrow corridor.

You really don’t want to ask him to come get it, nor do you want to make multiple trips. You are scared that if you give him the opportunity, he will try and reassure you that nothing is wrong and you don’t need to do this. You’ll believe him in the moment, but then it will start all over again.

Like ripping off a bandage, it has to go all at once. It’s time to heal.

You push the box, budging it down the corridor inch by slow inch. You reach the elevator and press the call button. You calculate the logistics of pushing and shoving the box for two blocks, mostly concerned the cardboard will rip if it snags on something outside.

Lost in thought, you don’t see a person in the elevator and accidentally shove the box at him. He yelps, a loud cry of surprise as he jumps aside. It makes you leap out of your skin, shooting upright to look at him.

Some of your despondency leaves at the friendly face of your neighbour.

“Changbin!” you say. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even see you there.”

“Hey now,” he says, winking, his handsome face plastered with a grin, “I’m not that short.”

“No, of course not,” you say, laughing along with him.

Changbin is a werewolf as well. There are a lot of packs on this side of town because the large national park is nearby. The wolves like to use the expansive forest when the full moon cycle swings around.

“Moving out?” he asks with an eyebrow quirk.

“Ah,” you say. “Not quite.”

You explain your predicament, that the box belongs to a friend and you need to somehow reach his apartment building two blocks away. Changbin, ever the charmer and ever the helper, immediately offers his aid.

“Oh, you don’t have to—” you start, but he has already swung the big box into his arms.

Werewolves do have supernatural strength. Changbin looks strong, with big biceps and a stocky frame, never mind the supernatural enhancement. He doesn’t even break a sweat. The box might as well be empty for all the difference it makes to him.

He is kind enough to walk two blocks to the high-rise. You chat on the way and find the conversation flows easily. You also can’t help but notice he has no problem with your scent. It really is just Felix who seems so repulsed.

You ring the buzzer for Felix’s apartment but there is no answer. You try a couple more times, embarrassed because Changbin is waiting. Fortunately, he is very non-plussed, humming to himself while you ring the buzzer.

After a few tries, you ring Chan instead. He answers promptly and you explain the bare bones of the situation, that you have a box for Felix and you would appreciate if he could pass it along. Chan agrees, of course.

Maybe it is for the best. You can leave the box with Chan and not even have to confront Felix at all.

Chan buzzes you into the building. Changbin walks you to the elevator where he puts the box down. You thank him profusely but he waves it off and states he was happy to help.

It looks like he wants to say something more, looking at you while he rubs the back of his neck. In the end, he says he will see you around and departs.

You exhale. The worst of your nerves have dissipated since Felix is not even home. You have been the one instigating your interactions the last few months so you figure if you just quietly step back, he won’t even notice.

It pains you to admit it, that you could disappear from his life and he would just… not care. You stuff those feelings down, down, down for now. You prepare a friendly smile for Chan so he doesn’t ask too many questions.

When you reach the pack floor, you give the box a good shove into the corridor. Chan lives directly across from the elevator so you don’t have far to go.

Except there are voices in the corridor. You turn towards the sound.

An awful chill freezes in your blood, your whole body going rigid at what you see.

Felix is home. He is standing in his open doorway, half-dressed in a pair of jeans and nothing more. His long hair looks more dishevelled than usual, like someone has been running their fingers through it.

Someone. He is talking to a young woman. You don’t know her too well, simply that she is the only female werewolf in Chan’s small pack. She is wearing more clothes than Felix but still very casual in shorts and a t-shirt, barefoot like this is her home. You suppose it is, much more her home than yours.

She belongs. You do not.

Her and Felix are standing close while they converse. So close. They speak to each other in hushed tones, her expression tender and sympathetic while Felix winces in seeming pain. The details of their conversation are inarticulate at a distance but their voices are nonetheless audible.

Your scent reaches Felix first. He straightens so fast it would be comical under any other circumstances.

Nothing is funny right now. You feel like a complete and utter fool, standing in his corridor with a box of his things like he cares about them at all. He has already moved on. You were in denial, a stupid little human girl still clinging desperately to old memories.

“I better go,” the woman says. She leans up and kisses Felix on the cheek, gives him a little wink and mumbles something only he can hear. She turns and walks into the apartment next door, giving you a genuinely friendly wave. She has always been polite to you and you have no reason to dislike her. You can only wave back pathetically.

Your hand slaps your side when she disappears into her apartment. You and Felix look at each other.

He looks guilty. Sweat dots his hairline, streaks his bare chest, and his face is flushed. It is very obvious what he has been doing all morning.

The thought of such a fantasy was once tantalizing. The sight of him, like this, would make you dizzy. You remember the last time he casually took off his shirt, the swoop of desire that moved inside you, a sensation you did not even know you could still feel after your bad relationship.

Now that swoop is just nausea. There is no pleasure in it at all.

You are completely mortified.

“Hey,” Felix says. His deep voice breaks on a high-pitched twinge. He clears his throat. “Um,” he says. He runs his fingers through his hair, mussing it even more. He can’t seem to bring himself to meet your gaze, eyes darting all over the corridor but never you.

You curl your fingers, nails pressing hard into your palm.

“Look,” he says, clearing his throat again. “We need to talk about—”

You don’t want to hear it. You can’t hear it. You are hurt and embarrassed and devastated. Why couldn’t he just tell you he wanted to pursue a werewolf? It makes sense, biologically, and you can hardly fault him for the desire. Honesty would have hurt but not like this. Now you have to suffer the rejection of the only man you ever truly loved and suffer the fact you were not even worth a conversation.

It is too late to talk.

“It’s fine, Felix,” you say. All your messy, menial scripts crumble in your mind. Emotion takes over, bitterness and pain and irritation. “I brought you your things,” you say, pointing to the box. His eyes dart there for the first time, brow furrowing. “If I find anymore, I’ll give them to Chan. He’ll pass them along.”

“Um, what?” He looks from the box to you.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you say, blinking back tears. Your feelings come out in fragments, word after word with little coherency. “After everything I went through last year – I just – this is too much. The werewolf thing – I just – I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t have you in my life like this. Thank you for your friendship. The memories will always be important to me. But it’s for the best we don’t see each other again.”

You had not planned on so much finality, but that was before. Now you need to leave. If you stay here another second, you are going to fall apart.

“Good luck with everything,” you say.

You turn to leave but he says your name. You suck in a breath, wait a beat, and slowly turn back around.

Felix walks partway down the hallway, his whole face screwed up with pain and confusion. His mouth is moving but no words are coming out. Finally he closes his eyes and shakes his head, slamming a hand into his hair.

“Hold on,” he says. “Hold on, I – what are you talking about? You – you don’t want to be friends? How can – You can’t—” That deep voice breaks again, fracturing with emotion.

A part of you knows that you are being too harsh, letting your own emotions dominate your words. Another part of you is too heartbroken to care.

“It’s for the best,” you say weakly, your voice barely more than a breath of a sound. “Really.”

“For the best?” he asks, voice pitching up again. He has not looked at you so intensely for so long. “How can you say that to me?”

Much to your horror, he starts crying first. His tears seem to catch him by surprise too, his expression puckering as he tries to stop it. A hand flies up, covering his eyes. He shakes his head rapidly.

“Felix,” you whisper.

“For the best?” he repeats. He drops his hand and takes a shuddering breath.

You avert your gaze. You can’t stand to look at his eyes so full of tears, his face so strained with hurt.

“Did something happen?” he asks, taking a few more steps towards you. “Was it – was it me? You said – the werewolf thing – Did I do something? Please, please tell me.”

He doesn’t even realize how much he has withdrawn from you. He is bad at controlling his face, as evidenced now, so he probably has no idea how blatant his repulsion has been. Maybe he thought he was being subtle. Maybe he thought you wouldn’t care, that you were just his friend and you would be content to relegate yourself to the sidelines of his life. Maybe that is all your fault after all.

If you were a better friend, you would have coped with his new feelings. You would have been happy for him. If you were a better friend, maybe he would have told you sooner.

“You deserve a better friend than me,” you say.

He looks at you like you are completely crazy, his head tilted, his eyes narrowing.

“What?” he asks. “Where is this coming from? Please, I don’t understand. You can’t be saying what I think you’re saying.”

“I already told you,” you say, as calmly as you can. “I just can’t do this anymore. Our lives are heading in different directions and I – I – I just need to go. I want to go. Please.”

You have known Felix all your life. You were children together, hapless youths on a playground that immediately loved each other with the easy, thoughtless affection of childhood.

He reminds you of that child now, innocently standing in the corridor with his arms hanging limp at his sides and so much bewilderment on his freckled face.

“You want to go?” he repeats, voice low, soft.

You nod. After a second, he nods back, bottom lip still quivering. A fresh stream of tears spill over his eyes. He hiccups on a sob, turning away and covering his face.

“Fine,” he says, speaking between shaky breaths. “Go. I can’t – I can’t keep you here if you want to go.”

“Thank you,” you say softly. The elevator is still waiting when you press the call button. You step onto it and say, “Good bye, Felix.”

As the doors close, you hear another choking sob. You name is lost in the sound.

The door closes.

The regret is instantaneous. You stare at your phone for hours and even debate returning to his apartment, but in the end you do nothing.

You replay every moment, from seeing him with the other werewolf to his confusion and your departure. It was a long, long walk home, tears streaming down your face as your mind went back even further, remembering every moment of your friendship.

How could this have happened? You and Felix have always been open with each other. He was the first person you confided in about your bad relationship and he immediately did everything to save you from it. But when it was the other way around, when the werewolf gene activated, he turned away from your friendship. You poured your heart out to him, trusting he would catch it and keep it safe, but he did not feel the same way.

Secrets, confusion, heartbreak. It plays on a loop in your mind.

It is the middle of the night when you get a text. He has not messaged in a while, not in a substantial way. If you scroll back on your phone, you can see the disintegration of communication, the days when he would send message after message with any and every thought slowly petering down to brief replies and a vague acknowledgement at the very best.

This message is more. You can hear his voice when you read it, can picture those dark eyes.

Tell me this isn’t real. Please.

You feel sick. You are angry at him for being the one to withdraw only to suddenly turn on his heel. You are angry at yourself for reacting so drastically and immaturely. Mostly, you are just sad.

If I did something, I’m sorry, he writes. I’ll never stop being sorry. I’ll fix it. I’ll keep my distance. Just don’t say I can never see you again.

You type a reply, then delete it, then repeat.

You say nothing. Every time you try, you see him and her in that corridor, you see him flinching from your touch, you see him recoiling at your scent. It twists and tangles with memories of warm nights and tender smiles. You wipe your tears and remember when he did it for you, his thumb so gently sweeping your cheek. He used to touch you like you were precious to him. Now he flinches from your touch.

He does not text the next day, or the day after, or the day after that. You are not sure if it is better or worse.

After about a week, he messages again, stating, I miss you.

You are at your work desk but he immediately seizes your full attention, as he always has.

You stare at your phone. You take a breath. You have had a few days to decompress, to let the wound bleed. It is still sore to the touch.

You write, I miss you too.

You do not check your phone for a while, listening to the relentless buzz as he sends eager message after eager message. It feels like the old days for a minute, but slows to a stop when you do not reply. You read them back later, his pleading, his sweetness. It makes you spiral, on the one hand wanting to take it all back, but on the other hand picturing his flinch, his disgust, knowing it is only a matter of time before your heart breaks again.

You do not reply. He takes the hint and gives you a few more days, then he messages, I still have your stuff in my place too, you know?

I know, is all you say. I have more of your stuff too.

As predicted, you have been finding his things all over the apartment. Even things which are technically yours are still stamped with his memory. He helped you move into this place after the break-up. He took you shopping and paid for so many things to get you back on your feet. Everything from blankets to cushions to plates make you think of him. This was just a room before he made it a home. Without him, it is just a room again.

There are a couple days of silence, then some of his packmates start messaging you. You don’t think he is sending them after you, as Felix would never manipulate or coerce you like that. They reach out of their own volition, curious because they have not seen you in a while. But it is all so overwhelming, so you throw your phone under a pillow and go for a walk.

That is when you run into Changbin again. His smile is charming as ever when he strikes up a friendly conversation.

“I was wondering,” he says, scratching the back of his neck, not-so-inadvertently flexing his big bicep when he does, “I was going to ask a couple weeks ago, when I helped you with that box – ah, I was kicking myself after because I didn’t see you for a while. But – I thought we had a nice conversation. Maybe you and me could do something.”

“Do something,” you repeat. It sounds like he is asking you out which is a little perplexing, because he is a werewolf and you are a human. Surely nothing serious can come of it. You used to think it was possible, as there are plenty of movies and romance novels to prove it, but your personal experience has led you to other conclusions.

“A date,” he clarifies, grinning that handsome smile. “You and me. My treat. No pressure. I just think you’re clever and, ah, very beautiful, and I want to know you better.”

A polite rejection is on the tip of your tongue. You are not in any emotional state to try dating someone right now. But you think of Felix and that woman in the corridor, and you think of your phone buzzing, and you think of another long, lonely night stewing in it all.

Changbin must be looking for something casual anyway. A werewolf would not truly settle down with a human. Maybe this is a good opportunity to put yourself out there.

“Sure,” you say. “I’d like that.”

Changbin takes you out a few days later. You actually do enjoy yourself. He is very charming and it is easy to talk to him, plus the date itself is very fun. He takes you out for food then to an arcade, flopping at every game in a hilarious spectacle.

“I’m a werewolf,” he complains later. “I’m strong! Those games were rigged.”

You giggle, wrapping yourself up in the jacket he leant you. You are walking back to the apartment building, the warm evening giving way to a cool night as you make the trek. It is enjoyable until you reach the building, at which point you start to panic. Does he expect to be invited into your apartment? Does he expect… more? The thought leaves you dizzy and not in a good way. Changbin is so very handsome and so very likable. Going out with him showed you that you can enjoy yourself without the crutch of a lifelong friendship.

You don’t need Felix.

But you still want him.

You try to go back and find the moment it all went wrong, try to picture a different ending, but it feels impossible. A foolish fantasy from a girl still clinging to the dying dredges of hope and affection. There is a wonderful, handsome man at your side, a werewolf at that, and your mind is somewhere else.

Changbin remarks on it, politely but nonetheless curiously. He gives you a penetrating look, like he knows something is wrong and there is no use lying.

You sigh.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I just… I recently broke-up with a friend.”

“With a friend?” he asks, eyebrows jumping with surprise. “What kind of friend?”

“A close one, very close,” you say. “We’ve known each other forever, you see. He’s the most wonderful person I have ever known. He’s good to everyone, open-hearted, kind, warm. I have truly never known a better man. He just makes every room a little brighter when he’s in it. You would like him, I think. Everyone does. He’s a werewolf but the transformation only happened for the first time this year. Since then…” You sniffle. “Things have been different. Werewolves are biologically wired to be with other werewolves and form packs… I think my human status just started affecting him negatively.”

“Biology,” Changbin says like it is a foreign word. He looks at you with a cocked eyebrow. “It exists, yeah, but werewolves still have hearts, you know? It’s nice finding other werewolves so you aren’t alone, but it isn’t necessary. Love is complicated.”

That does give you pause for a moment. A logical part of you knows it is true, that plenty of werewolves make relationships work with humans, but that is almost harder to accept. If it’s just biological, then it cannot be helped. But if it’s a choice—

“So he isn’t biologically wired to hate me now that he’s a werewolf,” you say miserably. “It’s just something he chose to do.”

“Now, I didn’t say that,” Changbin says. “But, if that is what happened, he’s an idiot. If you were that obviously in love with me, ah, I wouldn’t let you go that easy.”

“I’m not in love with him…” The lie tumbles without an ounce of confidence. Changbin just gives you an amused look. Embarrassed, you drop your gaze. “It doesn’t matter,” you say. “He doesn’t feel the same way. Believe me, I know how he’s been looking at me, or how he won’t. That’s why I walked away. I was holding onto a friendship that once was and a fantasy that will never be. It’s time to be reasonable.”

“Ah, I don’t think love is very reasonable,” he says. “But you should stay true to yourself and do what’s right. And, in the mean time, if you need a friend…”

You exchange smiles. A weight lifts off your shoulder as Changbin changes the subject to friendship between you.

“I would like a friend,” you say. “Thank you, Changbin.”

“Ah, it’s been fun. But give me back my jacket,” he teases. “Since we’re friends I don’t need to impress you. I’m cold.”

“I thought werewolves run hot,” you say, laughing. You shrug off the coat and hand it to him.

“Eh, a little bit, maybe more than humans. But the blood really only gets hot during a rut cycle,” he says.

It is a casual statement. He is too preoccupied with zipping up his jacket to notice you get a little flustered.

You know a bit about ruts, namely that werewolves have a cycle which span a few days every month. It’s a fertility and reproduction thing, pushing developed werewolves to find mates and, well, mate them. It is a common part of the werewolf lifestyle so it is fair for Changbin to so casually mention it.

It is not because of Changbin that you feel flustered. You are thinking about Felix that night at the club, how burning hot he was compared to everyone else. Now that you think of it, not even Chan felt so hot when he grabbed your wrist, nor Seungmin beside you in the car. Felix, though, was radiating heat. Was he starting a rut cycle? Perhaps that explains why he was so hot and sweaty the next day during your confrontation.

You remember the other werewolf in the corridor. Your heart sinks again. Was she helping him through his rut? Then again, she left the second you arrived. Why were they even in the hallway? If she was spending his rut with him, surely they would have been inside together, not yapping in the hallway...

“You look worried,” Changbin says.

You are gnawing your bottom lip, eyes darting around as you contemplate that day. At his words, you blink to attention, doing your best to shake the anxiety.

“It’s nothing,” you say. “I’m just confused about so many things right now.”

“You know, if this guy really is so great and wonderful – and I think he is, if someone like you loves him so much – then he will probably be happy to answer your questions so you don’t feel so confused.”

“Ugh.” You slap a hand over your eyes and shake your head. “Why do you have to be so decent and mentally competent and right?”

“Jutdae,” he says, then flexes an arm and squeezes a bicep through the jacket. “And lots of protein.”

You laugh again. With a few more words of thanks and a promise to catch up again soon, you give him one final good night hug. He says he might meet up with some friends so you part ways, Changbin strolling while you head inside.

You look at your phone, considering his words as you ride the elevator to your floor. Changbin is right. Giving Felix the silent treatment is not helping you or him. Even though the conversation will probably be uncomfortable in so many ways, you should talk to him. It might not repair anything, but at least you will have closure. That wound cannot heal so long as it is still bleeding and festering.

You are drafting a text message in your head when you step off the elevator.

Then you lift your eyes and stumble to a stop.

Felix is sitting outside your apartment door. He is wearing jeans and a blue flannel, a denim jacket on top of that. A habitual joke is on the tip of your tongue, seeing him so decked out in his favourite colour. It disappears at the morose look on his face.

His long blonde hair is down around his shoulders, neglected black roots peeking at the crown of his head. He looks a little wan and very tired, his head lolled to the side.

He scents you before he sees you, eyes fluttering closed for a second, then he looks at you.

He really looks at you.

Felix always has such a softness in his gaze, but this look is searing. It moves through you, a forceful heat twining its way around your insides. It holds you in captivated thrall as he stands, one black boot thumping against the ground with the force of his push as he straightens himself out.

That piercing looks crinkles as more of your scent registers to him. His face twists with revulsion, except it is even more severe than usual. It is so disturbed that it makes you think his past expressions were not disgust at all, because this face is so terrorized by whatever he smells.

“Where were you?” he asks.

You have been staring at each other in silence for so long that his voice reverberates loudly in the corridor. It makes you jump as the smoothness of his deep voice pours into you. It’s only been a few weeks since you last heard him speak, but somehow you forgot how profoundly that voice could affect you, especially when he drops it so deliberately.

“Out,” you say. You are so flustered that your body goes into defense mode, your tone sharp when you say, “I don’t need your permission for that.”

That softens the slash of his gaze. He shakes his head.

“No,” he says softly. “Of course not. I’m sorry.”

His apology is so sincere, eyes searching yours for something beyond the surface. You feel like he is speaking to you without words, somehow conveying a lifetime of love in the way he looks at you, saying, it’s me.

You soften too, in every way, your voice and your posture, your heart and everything inside you. So soft and malleable, all that heat expanding in every direction until you can imagine yourself radiating it like he did. It feels so inappropriate to be aroused when there is so much drama between you, when a serious conversation needs to be had. But he is looking at you so intensely, colours of emotions playing across his face. A shaking breath draws your gaze to his lips.

He says your name. It feels like a touch. You feel dizzy again, this time in a very good way, despite yourself.

You hear his sharp intake of breath as you step a little closer. Your scent is affecting him. It makes him do a double-take, looking at you up and down without any subtlety. It is blatant, searching. For lack of a better word, predatory, a wolf on the prowl, scenting something it wants, maybe needs. Your skirt is long, sweeping past your knees, but you feel like he can see past it somehow.

His eyes, low on your body, flick up to your face. Your knees knock. That hungry look twists into something repulsed again, his brow furrowing. It darkens his whole face.

Of course. He is disgusted with you and your boring human scent and he always has been. You cannot give into hopeful delusions.

“What are you doing here?” you ask in your most casual tone, striding up to him like you are unaffected by his presence.

He steps to the side, staring while you fumble around in your purse for your keys.

“I wanted to talk,” he says.

You stare into your bag, rifling through mint wrappers and lipsticks and bus tickets. You can feel his eyes, practically burning a hole in the side of your head. You want to be chill, want to laugh and tell him he’s acting weird, to knock it off. You want to be indifferent, remind him there is a distance between you now and his staring is not appropriate.

Then he puts a hand on the door, near your head. He moves around you, undeniably scenting you as he goes. His other hand comes around the other side, caging you between him and the door. Your back is to him but you can still feel his gaze, shivering when he breathes you in.

You swallow, cringing at the wave of arousal that moves through you when his nose brushes the back of your neck.

Werewolf instincts, you remind yourself, trying to find the resolve to snap him out of it, except that’s not what you want. You want him to press right against you and put his mouth on your neck, to taste everything he is scenting.

Until you remember he hates the scent. So much so, he makes a guttural noise that sounds like a growl, rumbling at the base of his throat.

You expect him to flinch and move away. You imagine him shaking his head as he abandons his efforts to reconcile because you’re just not worth it.

You are not expecting him to say, “Why do you smell like another werewolf?”

“What?” you say. “I – I don’t—”

“Yes, you do,” he says, taking another deep breath. “It’s all over you. Who is he?”

Oh, you have been wearing Changbin’s jacket for the last half-hour. You did not notice any smell but you are not a werewolf. To Felix, you must be utterly smothered in it. You wonder if it smells like a sex pheromone, given Changbin was taking you on a date, maybe permeating a desire your human senses did not notice.

Whatever it is, it has Felix riled in a way you have never seen before. He has been very careful to hold himself in check around you. The worst of his werewolf symptoms have been hidden from the start. It is part of why you are so hurt, that he would not trust you with it.

Now it overrides his good sense. His nose swipes the back of your neck again, his fingers curling against the door where his hands sit.

“He’s just a friend,” you say.

“A friend,” he repeats. “He doesn’t smell like a friend.”

“Well, he is,” you say. All your desire, heartbreak, and desperation swell inside you, bursting like a firework, hot and crackling. With a pounding heart, you turn around to face him, intent on confrontation when you snap, “Why would that even matter to you?”

You look into his eyes. He is so close, arms around you, that woodsy scent enveloping you. It feels like coming home, falling into his gaze, letting the heat wash over you as he stares back. There is something animalistic about his intensity, a predator with its hackles raised, sights set and hunger striking.

“Felix,” you whisper, voice heavy with a thousand questions that never manifest.

One hand leaves the door. He grabs the back of your neck, not roughly, not cruelly, but with an undoubted and irrevocable command. It makes another firework burst inside you. You gasp.

That gasp is interrupted when he dives in without any hesitation, his mouth thoroughly claiming yours in a hot, desperate kiss.

Whenever you dared to fantasize a kiss with Felix, it was always soft, a little brief, giving it time to grow. You never imagined so much heat overwhelming you all at once, that his mouth would be so ravishing. You didn’t even know a kiss could move through your whole body, that when he puts his tongue in your mouth it would feel like he is already fucking you, your body throbbing with want.

It is not just werewolf instinct because you react too. You drop your purse on the floor and put your hands on him, one on his chest and the other his neck, clinging to him like he clings to you. He takes it as invitation, his other hand leaving the door to hold your waist. His grip is powerful, but despite the supernatural strength it does not hurt. No, Felix would never hurt you. Oh, it was so stupid to think he ever would.

He makes a sound that has you whimpering in turn, the low grunt pressing at your most vulnerable places. The kiss is open-mouthed, hot and wet and messy.

He walks you back that final step, pressing you to the door. He cups the back of your head so you don’t hit it.

You grab the collar of his denim jacket and yank on it, pulling him even closer. You are completely delirious with him. Everything that has happened and everything that will happen is wholly unimportant as he slots his whole body along yours.

His leg pushes between your thighs, his hips pinning you to the door. The thought would have you terrified a year ago, but now it just feels right. Of course it feels right, because this is Felix, who has seen you at your most vulnerable and healed you, who has caught you every time you fall. He will always fix what hurts. He will always take care of you.

Your body knows it, begging for him, hips rearing towards him. It presses his thigh against the juncture between your legs, makes it so your flimsy skirt doesn’t matter at all. You are not thinking when you start to rock against him.

You forgot your body could feel so much pleasure.

“Oh, fuck—” he says, his already deep voice somehow even lower as he curses.

You squeak as he holds you against the door, deliberately rocking his thigh between yours with more pressure and speed than you could manage. It makes a torrent of mortifying sounds spill past your lips, but he gathers them all up lovingly, tastes them on his tongue as he chases down your gasping breath. Every little mewl, every breath, every squeaking hiccup is swallowed up by him.

“Come for me, please,” he whispers, roughly. It sounds like begging despite how much physical power he has over you. It would scare if it was someone else, but that supernatural strength doesn’t matter because it bends to you, waiting for your permission.

You just barely remember you are in the corridor. You hope no one chooses now to step out of their apartment. You wonder if the other werewolves on the floor can scent whatever pheromones Felix must be giving off.

It doesn’t matter. You’re hurtling towards an orgasm and you can’t stop it. You’re going to come on him, just like this, fully clothed but so wet that you can feel it gushing as he grinds his thigh against you.

You grab onto his belt, feeling the curve of his bulge just below your palm. It makes his breath stutter and it makes you surrender. Your body seizes and your pussy throbs as you come, a strangled cry in your throat while rocking desperately against him.

It settles slowly, the world coming back in increments. You are breathing hard, clinging to each other, bodies still pressed so tightly together. You can feel his heart beating hard and fast. It keeps rhythm with the lingering thrum below.

So much for conversation. Grinding all over Felix in a semi-public space was not in the plan at all.

“Oh my god,” you say, voice breaking as you are hit with realization. You push at him and he goes obediently.

“Fuck,” he says, rubbing his eyes and shaking his head. He runs his hands through his hair, shakes out the length of it while breathing erratically.

Your heart is still pounding. You put your hand over your chest like that will calm it down.

Felix looks at you.

You recognize this look.

This look – this is the face you have been mistaking for disgust. Now that you have seen him truly reviled, snarling at Changbin’s scent on your body, you realize it is not disgust, not at all. It’s pain, a wincing, cringing desperation as he fights to keep everything inside him.

It is barely contained right now, his chest still heaving, his fly still bulging, hands shaking at his sides as he stares at you with open need.

“Oh my god,” you say again. You lean against the door for support, closing your eyes to try and make sense of the world. You see the events of the last month play out, the months before that, going back further and further until you shake your head to clear your mind. “I just—” You open your eyes, meet his anxious gaze. “Just give me some time,” you say. “I – I need to think – I’m so—”

“It’s okay,” he says, hands out to placate you, but careful not to touch you. He forces himself to smile despite his own emotional tumult. Sweat breaks out on his hairline. “Take your time, I – I’m sorry, I didn’t come here to—I just wanted to talk—I—”

“I know,” you say. “I know.”

He nods sharply, clearing his throat as he turns awkwardly to the side. He points vaguely behind him, stutters something like, “I’ll go, um, I’ll just—”

He turns on his heel and walks away, taking the corner to the stairwell so fast that you blink and he is gone.

You can hear him bounding down the stairs. You stand there, listening until he is too far to hear.

With every limb shaking, you pick up your purse and finally fish out your keys. You manage to turn the key in the lock and step inside before you crumple to your knees.

This time your thoughts are a very different whirlwind, just as confused and just as emotional, but so conquered by sensation that you find yourself just sitting there, touching your lips, thinking of him.

There is a lot to think about.

You realize you have been wrong about so many things. You and Felix should have spoken a long time ago. You have both been skirting each other, tentatively regarding the other, worried you might hurt them. It resulted in you both getting hurt anyway.

You are so, so scared of making that hurt worse. It makes you hesitate.

A day goes by. Felix respects your space. On the second day, when you contemplate reaching out for a conversation – a real conversation – your phone buzzes.

You are surprised to see that it is Bang Chan.

Hey, he writes. I need to talk to you right now. It’s about Felix.

Your heart-rate shoots through the roof, terror obliterating every other emotion.

Is he okay? you write. What happened??

Look, I’m just gonna say it, Chan writes. Felix is in rut. You know what that is?

Yes, you say.

At first, you are relieved he is not hurt and it is something so mundane. Then you are flustered as you recall the other night. You remember the heat between you, the way you came on his body and the way he begged for it. Even now, you are more aroused than embarrassed, shivering as you remember the way he looked at you.

Right, Chan says. Look I promise I’m not asking you to sleep with him or something. I wouldn’t do that. You have no responsibility for anything. But you also gotta know that dumb kid is in love with you, right? Like… insane in love. Like… won’t let anyone else see him or help him even though he’s a new werewolf, hasn’t had that many ruts, and it hasn’t even been a whole month since the last one.

You watch as each text appears, your adrenaline building with every word. The phone shakes in your tight grip.

Didn’t someone help him with his last rut? You ask. I saw her at his apartment.

What??? Chan answers quickly. No. I sent her over to see if he needed anything, because he kept telling me to fuck off because I was telling him to call you. I’m telling him again but he still won’t listen. You know he thinks he’s a monster right?

You are still reeling from the revelation that he and the girl were not an item at all, that they were truly just having a conversation. He was flushed and sweaty because he was in rut, not because he spent all morning with her. You were the one racing to conclusions, not even giving him a chance to explain. You remember him stepping towards you, asking to speak, but you cut him off before he could. You assumed he just wanted to reject you.

Chan says Felix is in love you. Is it possible that after a conversation with another wolf, he was gathering the courage to tell you, only for you to say you never wanted to see him again?

Now you read the last message and your heart sinks, a painfully heavy weight in your gut.

A monster? you write. What do you mean?

That doesn’t even make sense. Felix is the kindest, most loving man you know. Assuming werewolves are monstrous is such a medieval thought that it never occurred to you for a second that he would feel that way.

Yeah, Chan says. Look, he never told me the details because he said it wasn’t his story to tell, but he told me that you went through something really hard and that was why he didn’t want to stress you out with the werewolf thing. It can be pretty intense, especially at the start, and especially when you’re already an adult. He spent his whole life thinking he was one thing only for everything to change really quickly. He was really scared of coming on too strong and losing you because of it.

You made his worst fears come true, you realize, numb as you stare at the screen.

You know Felix, Chan writes, He’d rather just suffer alone than have someone else feel it too. I told him to trust you more, that you would want to help, but there’s no getting through to him when he’s like that. I love the guy but he can be kinda stubborn.

You both have a stubborn streak. The last month of drama attests to that.

What do you want me to do? you ask. You have more answers but you feel just as lost as before, maybe even more.

Can you just talk to him please? Chan says. He holed himself up in his apartment and he won’t let anyone in. He stopped answering my messages too. Ruts are a Molotov cocktail of hormones. They’re intense even if you’re experienced and he isn’t. I just don’t want him to get hurt and not do anything about it because he doesn’t want to bother anyone.

You remember Felix in that corridor, arms hanging limp at his sides, looking at you with so much hurt and sorrow. Despite that, he didn’t pressure you to stay. He listened. He let you go because he thought you wanted that. He stood by himself in that corridor, crying over a box of his things that he thought had a home with you.

Tears blur your vision. You have to rub your eyes before answering Chan.

I’ll go to him, you write. I don’t want him hurt either.

I know you don’t, Chan says. You have a spare key to his place?

Yes.

Good, Chan says. He’s not answering his door so you’re gonna need it. Give the guy a smack for me, hey?

His joke makes you laugh, though it is strained. You give yourself a second to compose yourself then you are on your feet. You are in a loose house dress and tights, face bare and hair undone, but you do not waste another second. You know you can be yourself around Felix no matter what. You wish he understood the feeling was reciprocated.

This time, instead of running away, you run to him. This time, you will make him understand.

The two city blocks pass in a blur. You have never moved so fast in all your life, bumping into slow stragglers as you barrel down the street.

By the time you step off the elevator on his floor, you are warm and out of breath. You wipe a little perspiration off your forehead as you approach.

You were so frantic in your determination to arrive, there was no time for nerves to materialize. They strike all at once, twisting anxiously as you knock. You wait a minute but he doesn’t answer, just like Chan predicted.

You take a steadying breath and put the key in the lock. Hand over your heart, you push open the door and step into the apartment.

It does not look any different from the last time you were here. Even your slippers are still by the door. You disregard them now, stepping out of your shoes and venturing forward with a nervous little patter.

If you were a werewolf, maybe you would have scented a change in the air, but it smells and feels familiar. The apartment is very still, maybe a little warmer than usual, sunlight streaming through the windows.

You finally hear a sound. You leave the small foyer and make a very clumsy entrance into the room.

You can hardly blame yourself for stumbling. Felix is sitting on the couch in nothing but a pair of jeans. It looks like the same blue jeans from the other night. Yes, in fact, you are sure they are because you can see the faintest streak on his thigh. You were embarrassed to find you were so wet that it came through your panties and skirt. You wondered if it got on him.

You certainly have an answer now.

Felix is touching himself. He is slouched back on the couch, his bare chest damp with sweat, his knees spread apart. His jeans are pulled open and it looks roughly torn, the zipper snapped off the fly. His hand is wrapped around his cock. One of your t-shirts is clutched tightly in the other hand. He is holding it against his face, covering his eyes, mouth, and nose. He is clearly chasing the scent, knuckles whitening with how tightly he grips it.

His abdomen clenches as he approaches a climax. You watch as he quickly wraps the t-shirt around his cock, fucking the material. His eyes are closed, head thrown back.

You snap to the realization that he has no idea you’re here, so overwhelmed with your scent from the shirt.

You quickly cover your eyes with both hands and yelp his name.

His reply is a startled yelp as well. You peek at him through your fingers, watching as he frantically stuffs the t-shirt between the couch cushions. He tries to stand at the same time, fighting to close his pants over an uncooperative erection that does not seem to be going down.

“Fuck, sorry, I – hold on, fuck – I can explain—” he stammers.

“Um, me too,” you say.

He can’t get his pants closed but he gets himself tucked back inside. He keeps a grip on the fly with one hand, the other running through his long hair.

Then he is standing there, flushed and out of breath. You slowly lower your fingers from your face.

There is a moment of silence, both of you startled. After a bit of staring, he cracks a nervous smile. You tentatively return it.

His brow smooths out, his dimple poking into his cheek. He chuckles first, then you laugh, then you are laughing together. It feels good, letting out all the ridiculous tension.

“Why, uhh, why are you here?” he finally asks.

“Um, Chan texted,” you say.

“Oh, for the love of—” He cuts off his own tirade, shaking his head and exhaling heavily.

You twist your hands together, fingers budging in a nervous fidget.

“Um, he told me… he told me…” You forget your precise words because Felix meets your eyes, holding your gaze in his. You lose yourself in the depth of his dark eyes. You think your heart is beating loud enough to hear.

You look away, overwhelmed by the intensity of his stare. Your eyes stray to the couch, to your t-shirt poking out between the cushions. You are startled by a jolt between your legs, like a lightning bolt of arousal, the previous scene suddenly resonating with clarity.

“I—” You almost choke on your words, so much nervousness, so much fear, so much need in your voice. You meet his searching eyes, stepping forward as if compelled by them. “I thought my scent disgusted you.”

He blinks back at you, your words taking a moment to settle. Then he furrows his brow and tilts his head. A bit of hair falls forward and he tucks it back.

“Uhhhh, what?” he asks. “Dis—disgusted me? You thought—” He looks back at the couch too. He is very flushed, his rut no doubt keeping him suspended on a perpetual edge, and his ears darken with a richer tinge of red. “Um. No.” He laughs at the ridiculousness, looking at you with wide, blinking eyes. “I, uh, I definitely don’t – I think you – I mean—”

“Um, yes,” you say, clasping your hands together again. You rock a little on the balls of your feet. “Yes. I can see that, um, I think you’re not disgusted.”

“No,” it comes out on a breath. His eyes drop from your face down your body. You look so simple, but he looks at you like no one has ever been more beautiful. “No, I’m not disgusted. Why did you think that?”

“You, um, you make faces sometimes,” you say. It sounds so petty and silly to say out loud, but it’s time to get it all out there. “And you’ve been so distant, Felix. I thought that maybe, now that you’re a werewolf, you didn’t want anything more to do with me.”

His face scrunches up with bewilderment.

“Nothing – nothing to do with you?” he asks, voice breaking where it pitches up. It would usually make you laugh, but now is not the time as you stare back, all your insecurities and vulnerabilities on display. He does not laugh at them either, taking a small step towards you with a tender look on his face. “I could never feel that way,” he says. “You’re my whole world. I – I’ve told you that. You’re my – you’re my person.”

“Chan said you felt like a monster,” you say softly. “I wish you would have told me how you felt. I could have told you that you aren’t a monster, not at all. You’re my person too, you know.”

He exhales, shoulders deflating. He rubs the bridge of his nose, thinking of something to say. Eventually he shakes his head and drops his hand.

“I didn’t want to be a burden,” he says. “You’ve been through so much. I couldn’t – I couldn’t ask you to take care of me too.”

“Felix,” you say, throat cloying with emotion. You take a step closer as well. “Felix, you’re not a burden. I wanted so badly to take care of you. I – I love you.”

The word love resonates like thunder. It pierces the air, leaves a ringing aftermath.

“You – you love me,” Felix says, like the words are incomprehensible. “As a – as a friend – or?” He tries to look disinterested but completely fails, staring at you with all that intensity again.

You combat the instinct to make yourself small, to hide your vulnerabilities, to retreat into denial and just smile prettily. You hold his gaze. When you smile, it is honest and affectionate.

“I love you, Felix,” you say. “As more than a friend. As everything.”

“Oh,” he says. His hand goes back into his hair, untucking it from behind his ear just to tuck it back again. His eyes dart everywhere like he is replaying the scene and scanning it for answers. He blinks at you. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” you say, with a small laugh.

“But you – you never wanted to see me again,” he says, then lifts his brows, expression all at once understanding. “Because you thought I didn’t want you. Oh my god. I’m such an idiot.”

“I’m not the brightest either,” you tease.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, closing the distance yet again with another step. He forgets the state of his clothes and lets go of his pants, too wrapped up in his words to notice the startled drop of your eyes. Not much is exposed, just the shape of his hips and a stubborn bulge, but it still leaves you sweating.

“Look,” he says. “I – I can’t just say I love you.” Before your heart can sink, he continues frantically, “Because it’s not enough. I do, I do love you. The werewolf gene activated for you. The doctors asked if I had been in any dangerous situations that might have triggered it and I said no. They – they said it sometimes activates in peril, when you feel the need to protect yourself. That’s what happened to me. Except it wasn’t because I wanted to protect myself. I wanted to protect you.”

“Me?” you say in a small voice, like you can hardly believe it.

“Yes,” he says, smiling, both hands moving as he talks. “I felt so helpless, watching the way you were hurting. I wanted to protect you. I never wanted to see you suffering again. I tried to be calm around you but pushing it down just made the feeling more desperate. My wolf, it’s like my heart. It’s just an animal, you know? And it only understands loyalty and love. And the first time I changed, I didn’t think like a person, no, but I thought of you all the same. They could barely keep me contained in that hospital. I just wanted to run to you. I wanted to protect you. I wanted to keep you safe. Staying away from you… it’s been killing me.”

“Me too,” you say, so filled to brim with emotion you think you might burst. “Oh, Felix, me too.”

A laugh spills out of him, more of a release than humour. You take another step towards each other, this time close enough to clasp hands between you.

“I wish you would have told me,” you say. “But it’s my fault too. I know I’m still recovering in some ways. I’m quick to think little of myself. But I shouldn’t put you in the role of the mean voices in my head. I’m sorry too. So, so sorry.”

“How could you think I’d ever be disgusted with you?” he asks in a low voice.

When he cups your cheek, a shiver moves down your spine. You straighten, leaning into his touch, looking at him with wanting eyes. He swallows hard, staring back.

“It was silly,” you say. “I even thought you were seeing someone else. That werewolf lady in your pack. I thought maybe you wanted a werewolf mate and I wouldn’t be enough.”

“That’s crazy,” he says. “You’re my everything.”

“And you’re mine,” you say.

You touch his arm, just the lightest caress of your fingertips. His skin is so hot it makes you gasp. Your cool fingers must be a balm because his eyes close and a little sigh parts his lips.

“Uh,” he breathes, eyes still closed. “Sorry for what you, uh, saw, coming in— I promise I don’t usually – ruts are just—”

You step a little closer. You can feel his breath on your cheek when he breathes in and out.

His hands drop to his sides as you lean in and kiss his neck. It is just a chaste touch but it makes his eyes fly open. He looks at you and you swear his eyes have never been so dark.

“You want me,” he says. When you nod, he releases another deep breath, a massive exhale of relief. “Ruts are… intense,” he says.

“Mm,” is your gentle reply. Your eyes run down his bare skin, fingers itching to touch. You meet his gaze. “But it’s you, right?”

Some romances depict ruts as an out of control haze. Though Felix is certainly more intense, it is your best friend’s familiar eyes locked on yours. You realize it actually makes him the vulnerable one, all his desires so blatant, his needs on the surface, unable to hide them for a second. You understand why he held back, especially while you were in recovery. There is so much of him.

But that is what you love. You can never have enough.

“Yes,” he says.

His deep voice is so rough that it makes you whimper. His hand jumps at the sound, settles on the back of your neck like it did yesterday. Anticipation tingles from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes, every inch of your body aware of him, desperate for him.

“Yes,” he says again, staring at your mouth. “Yes, it’s me.”

Your breath catches when he squeezes your nape. In the back of your mind, you recall all those little courtship rituals of werewolves, the instincts that manifest between them and their mate. A gentle squeeze of the nape is a request for your submission, for you to put your trust in his strength and his affection.

You do, utterly. You rest your hands on his waist, your cool palms against his hot skin, making his eyes flash with hunger.

“What are you waiting for?” you ask, his mouth so close, kissing a tantalizing promise.

He smiles that real smile, eyes crinkling sweetly, sunshine radiating with all that heat.

“I told you, ruts can be intense,” he says. “I’m waiting for your permission to let me have my way with you.”

“You have it,” you say. Your eyes drop to his chest and you run your hand from his collarbone all the way down to his abdomen, watching the muscles tense under the caress of your fingers.

You smile at him, swiping at his hot skin with your fingertips as you step back. He lets you go, hands dropping to his sides. He moves when you do, like his whole body is tethered to yours, magnetized to your core. Each step you take, he follows with a fixated prowl.

“Do whatever you want with me,” you say, peeling down a strap of your dress. “I’m yours.”

His steps gain speed, his smile brightening. In a matter of seconds, he is chasing you into his bedroom, laughing behind your trail of giggles as you scamper ahead of him.

He catches you around the waist inside the bedroom, pulling your backside into his front. The straps of your dress are both lowered and you hold it to your chest with your hand, heart pounding from excitement and the little chase.

You make a sweet sound when his nose swipes your neck. You tip your head, offering more skin. It is a good thing his grip is so strong, because you tremble when he exhales, breath caressing your skin. He gathers your dress in his hands, plucking the fabric out of your grip. He pushes it down your body and it puddles on the floor.

“Felix,” you say on a sigh when he kisses the back of your neck while working his fingers under your bra. You help remove it, dropping it onto the floor. You rock back against him when he touches you. He uses both hands to cup your breasts and squeeze.

“Can’t believe you thought I was disgusted,” he says. “Like I didn’t spend my whole last rut in here thinking about you.”

“Y-you did?” you ask, with a little whimper, because his open jeans are not doing much to shield him and you can feel how hard he is against you.

“Yes,” he says, a hand coming up to circle your throat, gripping it possessively as he puts his teeth in your neck. It makes you jump in his arms, body shaking.

He holds you tight against him, the denim of his pants rough through the thin fabric of your tights.

“I’m sorry for all that,” you rasp. “I must have made it so hard for you.”

“Mm,” he says, grinning against your neck. “You made it very hard.”

“Pfft.” You slap a hand over your mouth when laughing. “That was a terrible joke.”

“Mm. True though.”

You squeak when he nudges you forward, so close to the bed that you stumble right onto it. He climbs up behind you, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your back.

“At first, I was just sad,” he says.

He leans back to grab something off his bedside table. You admire the length of his body as he does, the low-slung jeans, the sheen of sweat across his chest, and his subtle, slender musculature.

You meet his gaze when he comes back. He is kneeling over you, a cocky grin on his face. He gathers his hair and ties it with the band he just grabbed.

“Then I really thought about it,” he says. “Mm, yeah, thought about hunting you down.” He straddles your thigh, his hands planting on either side of your head. “I’d find you and I’d remind where you belong.” He leans down, kissing along your jaw. “With me. Under me. Moaning my name. Forgetting about everything else.”

“Did you—” You start but gasp, his mouth on your throat, biting, sucking, licking. You arch your back, leaning into his mouth as he works his way down your body. “Did you… like with my shirt… when I saw you before…”

“What? Did I get off to your scent?” he asks. “Yes.” His hand follows his mouth, fingers curling into the band of your tights. “I told myself I shouldn’t. The last few ruts I managed. It wasn’t fun, mostly too hot, but I got by. But – you weren’t coming back, were you? You left so many pretty things here that made me think of you…”

He abruptly kneels upright. He uses both hands to grab the waistband of your tights.

“Found one of your cardigans,” he says. “Soft, like you. Put it on my pillow and fucked my hand like I wanted to fuck you.”

He rips your tights open with little effort, tearing right down to the thigh.

“Put it on my face,” he says. “Tasted it. Like I wanted to taste you.”

You moan for him, threading your fingers through his hair as he gets between your legs and opens his mouth on your pussy. He licks right through the material of your panties, like he doesn’t care at all, tormenting you with the obstruction until it is soaked through. You say his name over and over, your thighs already shaking just from warming up.

“Mmm.” He pushes himself up again, his mouth wet, tongue sweeping over his lips. He grabs your panties by the waistband and tugs them down.

By now, his jeans have slid down his hips. He is so hard, beading at the tip, as wet for you as you are for him. You watch as he uses your panties to quickly jerk his cock, gathering the wetness at the tip, then tossing them over his shoulder.

He falls back on top of you, face between your legs, licking you with nothing in his way.

“Wanted to find you,” he says between teasing kitten licks, looking up at you, smirking with the flick of his tongue. “Wanted to make you come so hard – mm, fuck you so good…” He slips two fingers inside you. Even though it has been some time, they move with no hindrance, your pussy so wet that he sinks right in.

“Yeah,” he says, momentarily going cross-eyed with his face so close to your pussy, watching his fingers move in and out of you. He grins when you clench around him. “Show you we were meant to be,” he says. “Just like this.” He licks you again, fingers moving so quickly that it sounds as obscenely wet as it feels. “Wolf or not. Knew you were mine. Was gonna make sure you know too.”

“Ohh,” you say, tugging at the blankets beneath you. “Who are you and what have you done with my sunshine Felix?”

He laughs, a low chuckle, the vibrations moving in your pussy.

“Mm, I’m right here, sweetheart,” he says. “Right… here…”

Then his mouth is occupied, little licks replaced with broad strokes of his tongue, then a repeating pattern that has you swelling and gushing on his tongue. You come so hard that it makes you dizzy, head thrown back as you squirt all over his thrusting fingers.

“That’s it,” he says, kissing your wet thighs.

While you are recovering, he grabs you and moves you. He arranges you neatly in the middle of the bed, making sure you are comfortable. Then he lets down his hair and removes his jeans.

“Felix,” you say, though it is generous to describe your voice as anything but a needy whimper.

He runs his hands up and down your trembling thighs, coaxing you open with murmurs of sweet nothings. You let him in, stringing your arms around his neck as he fits his hips between your legs and leans over you. You feel the head of his cock against your pussy, still throbbing with aftershocks. You are clenching around nothing, needing him, so ready you could scream.

You don’t scream, but sigh, like you are relieved when he gets inside you, like this is what you have been missing all along.

He takes his time despite the fever of his rut. Maybe because of it. His senses are so heightened, the pleasure felt so strongly. He groans, eyes closed, putting his face in your neck and breathing deeply as he slowly rocks into you.

“What were you thinking,” he murmurs, lips moving on your throat, “Trying to run away from me?”

“I’m – I’m sorry,” you say, interrupted with a hiccupping little uh-uh when he rolls his hips and you feel him deeper, harder, faster.

“You thought I wanted someone else?” he asks. “Impossible.”

Your eyes are closed, head thrown back. He grabs your chin and pulls your face to him, says, “Look at me. Right now.”

You do, blinking your eyes open. His thumb rubs your bottom lip and you open your mouth. You don’t even need to think, instantly accepting the intrusion of the digit, sucking on it while holding his gaze.

It would have terrified you a year ago, with anyone else, losing yourself to instinct like that, opening yourself up so willingly. With Felix, it feels right, it feels good.

“It’s you and me,” he says. “You understand that?”

You nod, humming affirmatively around his thumb. It rubs over your tongue, opens your mouth a little more. You want to close your eyes with every rolling thrust into you, but he tugs your face back to him when you try.

“You’re my mate,” he says. “Just you. It’s always – always been you.” He groans on the second always, picking up some speed, making you whine against his fingers.

He is so hot, clearly in the grips of his rut fever, but you cling to him, accepting everything he has to offer.

“Gonna be mine,” he says. “That’s right, yeah?” You nod frantically. “Yeah. Gonna put a ring on your finger. You’re gonna be so good to me, aren’t you? Gonna let me take care of you. Gonna be my mate. Gonna have my children. You and me. Home. Oh, yes, sweetheart, that’s it—”

You clench so tightly at the mention of children. It catches you off guard, your body’s visceral and immediate response, faster than your brain compute can why. You have told Felix you want children one day, in the future, back when you were just friends and it was an abstract thought. Thinking of a home with him, having his children, making a whole life together, being bound so completely …

“Fuck,” you say, his thumb sliding out of your mouth. He cups your face to keep it locked on him, your lips brushing each other.

“Look at me,” he whispers.

You do, though you are so close that you barely see him. It feels like he is everywhere, everything, around you and inside you. You melt when he kisses you, stealing your breath as he claims you so completely. You kiss back, messy and haphazard, all heat and wetness, but it feels good.

“C-can’t get pregnant,” you say with a pout, a bit delirious from getting fucked, letting the words roll thoughtlessly off your tongue. “B-birth control.”

“I know,” he says. He moves a little, gets up so he can hold your hips and pull you onto his cock with every thrust. “I’m stronger,” he says, just as deliriously, watching where his cock moves inside you. “Yeah. Gonna fill you up so much, it’ll happen anyway. It can’t stop me.”

He holds your hips, keeps you in place. He thrusts into you deeply and says, “You’re mine,” and thrusts again, “You’re mine,” and thrusts again, “You’re mine,” and comes inside you.

It is not quite like all the werewolf pornography, with exaggerated knots on preposterously sized cocks, but werewolf physiology is still a little different than human. That difference is exacerbated on a rut. You feel it as he comes, the way he swells and gets harder, just enough that you feel your fullest as he releases. Pushing at you walls, stretching you around him, making you his without question.

He doesn’t really soften after, the rut sustaining him, but the swelling goes down. Even then, not entirely, as you feel a sharper burn when he pulls out of you. The flicker of pain is oddly tantalizing, a biting sensation on top of so many others. It ripples through you, makes you moan.

Your whole body is twitching, eyes closed as you come back to yourself.

You look up at Felix. His eyes are between your legs, his hand running up your thigh. You feel his thumb spread your pussy open, feel his release spilling out of you. That is the other different element; with a werewolf, there is a lot more of everything.

Though you know your birth control will function regardless, when you feel all that inside you… for a moment, you believe he might be strong enough to overpower it.

It makes you giddy, pleasure moving through your body. He smiles at you, all sunshine and sweetness. Then he takes control of your hips and puts himself back inside you. The refractory period on a rut is virtually nonexistent on the peak day, which is usually the second day, which is today.

“You okay?” he asks, rocking into you slowly even though he fits so easily now, your body made to take him.

You nod, sliding your hands over his shoulders. You scratch across his back then up in his hair, making him grunt and close his eyes. He leans down and kisses you, continuing to fuck you until you are making all those sweet sounds again.

“Good?” he asks, kissing your jaw, your neck.

“Good,” you say.

“Not too much?” he checks.

“Mm, no,” you say. You give him a teasing smile. “Not enough actually.”

“Oh, really?” He laughs, eyes big with playful incredulity. “Should I growl and bite more?” He makes a playful snarl like the werewolves in all the erotica.

It makes you laugh. You can’t remember the last time you laughed while having sex, but it feels so good, just as good as all the hot, desperate stuff.

“Hmm, maybe not,” he says, laughing too. “Maybe all the making-a-bitch stuff is a bit much, hm?”

It seems you will learn more about yourself than him over this rut, because that also makes you clench involuntarily. He blinks with surprise, mouth in a soft ‘o’ as he looks down at you. He laughs just a little at the look on your face, a low chuckle as his grin widens.

You cover your mouth, blinking innocently up at him.

“Oh shit,” he says. “I see.”

You pout when he pulls out of you, but there is little time to feel bereft because he flips you over onto your front. Your face lands in the pillows, then he yanks you down the bed.

Oh, it feels filthy suddenly, because the new angle opens you up and you can feel come dripping out of you. It catches his eye too, because he puts his fingers there and stuffs it back inside you.

With little effort, he gets you back under him, pushes down your shoulders and lifts up your hips. You feel him at your entrance again, pushing the tip past the rim.

“Is that it?” he asks, dropping his voice so low yet sounding so sweet. “You want me to make you my bitch, baby?”

He slams home, holding your hips up while pounding into you with relentless measure. You grab a pillow to hold, yelping and whining into it as he fucks you with wild abandon.

For a few seconds, you succumb to that single-minded animalistic pursuit, and you really do believe he can put a baby in you. You start babbling the desire – begging for it, asking him to fill you up.

“Please, please, please,” you say, gasping.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he says, draping himself over your back, not stopping his hips for a second. “I got you. I’ll give you a baby. So good for me. Made to take it from me, yeah, baby?”

You know you are going to come again, his angle and precision too much to withstand. Sure enough, you are coming all over his cock in a matter of seconds, squeezing him into another orgasm too.

He kneels behind you, throws his head back while coming. Then he grinds inside you like he is trying to get it as deep as possible.

“Oh, Felix,” you say, whimpering when he pulls out, still hard, the burn less this time because you are so filthy wet that he slides so easily. You can feel his release gush out of you, his fingers chasing it, pushing back into you.

He rubs at you until you are rocking your hips and coming on his fingers. It is so much stimulation that your eyes water and your nose starts to sniffle.

He rolls you over and cups your face. You open your mouth instinctively, tilting your head to expose your neck. He looks at you like he can’t really believe you are exist and that you are here.

“Wow,” he says. The hand on your face slides so he can put his thumb back in your mouth, letting you suck on it like it is giving you life. He clenches his jaw, makes a rough sound, presses down on your needy tongue. “Next time,” he says, while starting to put his cock back into you, “Your mouth. And my mouth. You’re gonna sit on my face for hours. I’m gonna take care of you. Oh—”

He is halfway inside you when you reach up, putting your hands on his chest. He stops immediately, pulling out, taking back his hands, looking at you with a concerned tilt to his head.

“Will you lay on your back?” you ask, voice hoarse.

He blinks, like for a second he doesn’t understand words, but then he obeys. His hair is in absolute disarray, a veritable lion’s mane. He rakes it back, smooths it down as best he can. He never takes his eyes off you, watching as you sit up, as you climb on top of him, as you put him back inside you and set a slower pace.

“My turn,” you say, smiling. “I want to take care of you too.”

He smiles, putting his hands on your hips but not guiding them. He lets you take the lead, moving on top of him, finding all the ways to make him moan and close his eyes and twitch inside you.

You make him come twice that way. After the second time, he finally starts to soften enough that you can take a break.

You lay down beside him, squeaking with surprise when you press down on your belly and a little more come gushes out of you. You look at each other, his face the picture of total innocence despite his hand in it. You swat his chest, rolling onto your side and putting your head on his chest.

He laughs, putting his arm around you, stroking your back.

“You know I do mean it,” he says, looking down at you. “I want everything with you.”

“Me too,” you say. You kiss his chest, then his neck, under his jaw, making him sigh contently. “I love you, Felix. Everything about you, wolf and all.”

“I love you too,” he says, pressing you close, kissing your forehead.

There is a long moment of content silence. He strokes your back, up and down, lulling you to a dozy state. It is too early to sleep and, besides, the sheets need changing before that – even though you suspect they will just be dirtied again.

You are contemplating these sweet mundane nothings when he says, “You’re in the pack, you know. As my mate. That makes you one of us.”

“Does it?” you ask.

“Yes,” he says. “I’m telling you this, because you’re a packmate and Chan is leader, but you’re my mate, so you have to take my side and tell him to fuck off when he tries to say I told you so.”

You laugh, shaking your head and playfully rolling your eyes.

“Sounds good,” you say. “Hmm, I might go have a shower before… the next… round…”

You do not have to look down to know that he is hard already, his blinking gaze revealing all. You giggle together and kiss again.

“All right, fair enough,” you say, eyes closed, exposing your neck obediently when he cups your nape. You press against him, moaning softly when he scents your neck then sucks a bruising kiss there. “It can wait,” you say, smiling. “We’ve been waiting for this long enough.”

“Mm,” he says, already slipping back into his feverish need. He grabs you and pulls you back on top of him.

There is not much talking for a while, but there is some laughter and plenty of smiles, and for the first time in a long time, you are looking forward to everything that follows after.

#lee felix x reader #felix x reader #lee felix smut #felix smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids x you #skz x you #yongbbokkie #valentinesdaystories

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osaemu · 11 months ago

Text

GOJO SATORU: ❛❛ IS IT OVER NOW? (IT ISN'T) ❜❜

.ೃ࿐ streamer!au: all good things come to an end, including your relationship—but don't worry, broken hearts can be mended, but only if you're both willing to try.

contents: fem!reader. you two break up and make up! you guys fight/break up over something that coulda been resolved with better communication. kinda suggestive ending, maybe i'll drop a part two if this does alright. satoru announces your break-up on his stream. longest fic i've posted so far, 4k words (kms).

author's note: the long awaited angst has finally arrived.. big thank you to @screampied for beta-reading!! tagging @yunymphs who read it early and @sutorus + @kentopedia who i both miss very much!!

ever since you first joined satoru on his stream, it’s gotten way more popular than either of you could’ve ever expected. before he brought you onto his live, he was averaging about eight thousand views per stream. now, his average was well over fifteen thousand—and that wasn't even including the publicity he got from other websites. when satoru accidentally left the camera on while you two made out, you two went viral on twitter. and when another user tried to swipe him away, the clip got over a hundred thousand views on youtube.

at first, satoru didn't mind the change his stream was going through—in fact, he welcomed it. but lately, things have been… different.

last week, while satoru was playing in some competition, he won first out of hundreds of equally proficient players. had it been anyone else, their comments would've been filled with congratulations and good job's, but in his case, all satoru got were messages asking where you were. that wasn’t the first time—ever since that very first day, when you showed up on his stream, satoru’s audience has entirely shifted. and honestly, if you were in his position, you'd be a bit annoyed. anyone would be.

but you had never expected that it would be so big of a deal that you and satoru—the "cutest couple on the internet"—would break up over it.

you walk along the chilly, suburban sidewalk up to your boyfriend’s house. satoru had just sent you a message asking if you could come over, and like always, you answered with an immediate yes. a flock of crows fly by, raven feathers providing a stark contrast between them and the pale gray sky around you. it’s gray and gloomy, but not unpleasant.

a sweet, romantic song plays in your ears as you knock three times on satoru’s front door. his familiar voice calls out “coming!”, and you can hear his footsteps grow louder and louder until he swings open the door. satoru smiles down at you, cheeks already rosy from the cold winter air. “hey.”

you tilt your head and smile back at him. “that’s all i get? hey?” you huff, walking into his living room behind him as the door closes behind you. “d’you have any hot chocolate? i’m freezing,” you say, licking your lips. satoru turns and pauses, an unreadable expression on his face. “satoru?”

after a moment, your boyfriend snaps out of it. “oh, yeah, sorry,” he says ruefully. satoru rubs his eyes with one hand and uses the other to open the door to his bedroom, and as you follow him in, you’re hit with a blast of warm air. “i’m just kinda tired, but yeah, i have some hot cocoa in here. c’mon.”

“anything i can do for you?” you offer, sitting down on the corner of his bed. you’ve been to his house so many times that it feels like home—maybe even more so than your own place. everything about satoru’s room is comfortable, from his plush chairs to the faux-fur blankets draped over every single piece of his furniture. you could probably fall over at any given point and it wouldn’t actually hurt—you’d just land on something soft and/or fluffy.

but that wasn’t all that made you so in love with his home. it was just the way it felt—words couldn’t describe the way everything was just so right and just so perfect, and you really did hope that you’d never have to see a time where you wouldn’t be able to spend time with your boyfriend here.

it really is a shame that all good things had to come to an end. at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself as satoru finally told you why he called you over. unlike nearly every other time, it wasn’t because he missed you or wanted to cuddle—it was quite the opposite, really.

“i don’t think this is working.”

six words that shattered the life you had come to know and love.

“is this a joke?” you try, an unnerved smile spreading across your lips against your will. he doesn’t reply instantly, which is so out-of-character for him that it makes you stiffen up. “satoru, this isn’t funny—”

“i’m not kidding,” satoru murmurs, looking away. he refuses to meet your eyes, and some part of you is still desperately trying to find reason in the chaos that’s slowly taking over your mind. how could it be that everything was just fine two minutes ago and now it’s anything but that? did something happen? did you say the wrong thing? did you—

“it’s not funny,” you insist, still somehow clinging onto your slowly-dwindling hope. maybe you’re in denial, but still, you were sure that everything was fine—no, that everything is fine. there was no past-tense, right? how could the glass home you’d built with your bare hands just crash down at the throw of a pebble?

satoru finally meets your eyes, and your breath catches in your throat. there’s no amused glimmer in his eyes, no “just kidding” in sight, and even worse, you can’t even see an ounce of the love or adoration you’d come to grow so attached to in just a couple months.

“what happened?” you whisper, miraculously managing to keep yourself together. you’d never forgive yourself if you just started crying over a breakup you weren’t even sure was happening—what little’s left of your pride is holding on. you allow yourself to wrap your arms around your chest, curling into your own embrace.

satoru doesn’t reply for a long second. right when you’re sure he just won’t reply, he does, and it all comes spilling out in a messy stream of words. “it’s just… i can’t do this anymore. i can’t keep going online and seeing everyone on my stream talking about you. i love you, i really do, but it’s just—” satoru shakes his head frustratedly. “i don’t know how to say it, but you know what i mean, right?”

your eyebrows furrow and you shake your head. “you’re breaking up with me because you’re tired of seeing me?”

“no, fuck,” satoru groans, running a hand through his hair. his previously cool and collected demeanor starts to fall apart as he takes a step back. “i don’t know how to explain it, but— shit, you wouldn’t understand.”

you swallow and start to stand up, still willing to try. “then help me understand, satoru, i—”

“you’ve seen the comments, and you’ve seen all the posts on twitter,” satoru says, tilting his head back and glaring at the ceiling. “it’s not your fault, but i really just can’t stand everyone disregarding me and turning my own stream into a youtube channel starring you.”

his words sting like alcohol in an open wound, and you fight the battle of your life to prevent the thousands of tears hiding behind your eyes from being visible. even so, your voice wobbles ever so slightly as you say “that’s a bullshit reason to break up, satoru—”

your boyfriend—is he even still your boyfriend?—scoffs and shakes his head, stumbling back and falling into his chair. "for you, it isn't. you wouldn’t understand. for me, it's like everyone's just... invalidating the three years i've spent on this shit. and i can't do it anymore, i just can't."

you blink slowly, backing away towards his bedroom door. "what does that mean?"

satoru exhales a bitter laugh and turns away, the back of his chair facing you. you think you can hear him take a soft, shaky breath as the room falls silent. neither of you make a sound before satoru turns back toward you, a blank look on his face.

he looks up at you, azure eyes devoid of the sparkle you've become so familiar with. satoru smiles sadly, but to your dismay, there's no real emotion behind it. it's almost like he's already accepted it when he says, "it means we—" he pauses and looks away. "this is over."

you reach out toward him, desperate to hold on to him—to the invisible string that ties you and satoru together, but he's just out of your grasp. "satoru, it isn't even that big of a deal, why are you—"

satoru turns and fixes you with a stern glare, and just like that, the string that kept you and satoru together for months, maybe years snaps, and you're left with a limp strand of what it once was. taking the hint, you walk out of his room in a daze, hardly noticing the way he says "i'm sorry".

and the worst part? he said he still loved you. but apparently that wasn’t enough.

satoru has every right to be annoyed that his stream is only growing because of you—his stream was the way he made money, and after all, it was never meant to be about you.

and maybe he was never meant to be for you either.

the walk home is cold and lonely. you slip a hand into your pocket—the pocket of satoru's hoodie, which you should probably return to him—and extract your earphones. it probably isn't a good idea to wear both outside as you walk home, but you do it anyway—this day can't possibly get any worse.

a soft voice murmurs words of sorrow and encouragement in your ear as the music takes you to another world. maybe this—the breakup—was meant to happen. maybe it was a mistake to date a boy with thousands of fans.

as soon as you get home, your phone dings softly. you pick it up and frown when you see it's from toru. you'd have to change that name later.

toru: idk if u blocked me already but i still have a lot of ur things, do u wanna come pick them up later?

toru: or i can drop them off tmrw ig

you miss the way he used to text you—with an obnoxious amount of exclamation points and an even worse amount of emojis. now, it's like all of the flavor's gone from his words, and it hurts. that's when it actually settles in, that this is really over. it hurts like an icicle being driven straight through your heart, and it stings like one, too.

satoru's texts are left on delivered for five whole minutes before you reply, and it's only with an "i'll come by tmrw". he likes the message less than a minute later, and you're left to wallow in your misery alone until you finally drift off to sleep.

the next morning, you open your phone to a notification alerting you that satoru’ll be live on stream in ten minutes. curiosity kills the cat, but in this case, maybe it’d be worth it to see what he tells his viewers about your breakup. after all, there’s no way he wouldn’t tell them—he always had something to say about you, and he’d probably rather tell them for sure rather than let them come up with ridiculous theories on their own.

so you hastily make a new account using some email account you haven’t touched since middle school, trying a couple different passwords until you remember the one that works. the website hits you with a hundred questions, asking you about your favorite games and who’d you like to subscribe to first. you choose satoru, albeit after a second of hesitation. two minutes later, sparklingzebra672 joins your ex-boyfriend’s stream. you wait a second, holding your breath as the live loads. a brief moment later, satoru’s painfully familiar face appears on your screen.

“hey guys,” satoru says, forcing a smile on his face. even from behind a screen, you swear you can feel his eyes on you. “how’s everyone today?”

the already unstable smile on satoru’s face falls when he opens the comments and gets greeted with a flurry of where’s your girlfriend’s. had you been anyone else, you probably wouldn’t have noticed the way satoru’s eyes dulled ever so slightly or the way he curled into himself, but being the girl who once knew him best, you could tell.

“oh, she won’t be back on here for… a while,” satoru starts, dancing around the topic. he leans back against his chair and tilts his chin up, azure eyes focused on the ceiling. “we broke up.”

nothing could’ve prepared you for the way satoru’s comments explode. it’s almost like you can hear the shocked gasps coming from all fourteen—no, twenty thousand viewers as the words nobody thought would ever they’d hear from satoru are spoken.

suguru-geto: holy shit im so sorry

toji-fushiguro: wait wtf r u kidding?? that's fuckin crazy

yuuji-itadori: omg i thought u guys were together forever :(

inumaki: chat is this real??

satoru shrugs, averting his eyes from the hundreds of comments pouring in, but you scroll through and read them all. everyone, even satoru’s haters, seems genuinely shocked. in fact, had this not been your own breakup, you would’ve been one of them, begging and pleading satoru for more details.

“yeah, we did,” satoru murmurs, eyebrows furrowing just enough for you to read his expression. now that you’re looking closer, you can see the subtle redness underneath his eyes—had he been crying too? and maybe you’re imagining it, but his hair seems a bit dishelved too. your ex-boyfriend shrugs, forcing his face back into his usual lighthearted expression, but it’s not fooling anyone.

satoru scowls at the new flood of comments asking him why you two broke up. some people are already hypothesizing—maybe it’s because you got jealous of his fame, or maybe he got sick of you. maybe you left him to go date some other streamer, or maybe—

“i’m actually gonna end the stream here, ‘cause i don’t really want to deal with all of this right now,” satoru says with a frown. his eyes are narrowed irritably as a couple users protest, still begging for more details. “you guys know that i’m a real person with my own life, right? fuck off.”

and just like that, the stream ends. you’re left with a blank screen and a message saying that satoru’s ended the live, so you shut your laptop. your stomach turns as you groan, just remembering that you have to go over to his place later to retrieve your things, and somehow, you’d have to pretend that you didn’t just stalk his stream to see if he’d say anything substantial about the breakup.

a couple minutes after the stream ends, your phone blows up—every mutual friend you and satoru have is messaging you about what he said, but you can’t bring yourself to open any of them. except for one.

suguru: r u ok?

you: yeah ig

suguru: do u want anything?

satoru’s best friend’s question catches you off-guard—there are a lot of things you want. you want this whole situation to go away. you want the world to disappear. and most of all, you want satoru back, without the online world attached.

but suguru can’t do any of those things, can he? so you leave him on read.

somehow, you fall back asleep, tossing and turning in your bed without satoru’s steady arms to accompany you. a couple hours later, you wake up again, wincing from the dim sunlight that pours through your windows and directly into your eyes. it’s just past five, so you figure that you might as well go down to satoru’s house and get your things. better to do it now than drag it out for an uncertain amount of time.

the walk is shorter than you remember, but maybe it’s just the absence of music pouring into your ears that makes it seem that way. you watch the wilted autumn leaves flutter in the wind, falling down onto the sidewalk like pieces into place. once upon a time, you had walked these very streets with satoru—it’s a fond memory you remember only all too well.

when you finally step onto your ex’s doorstep, the door opens before you even have a chance to knock. and there he is—the boy who’d once been the love of your life. satoru looks down at you with an unreadable expression. “hey.”

you think you’ve seem this film before, and you didn’t like the ending.

satoru spares you from having to reply by opening the door wider and beckoning you inside. “i already put most of your stuff into a couple boxes, but i thought you’d wanna check on your own. just in case i forgot something.”

you nod and walk past him, not trusting your voice to be steady. this was harder than you expected—much harder. in fact, you’re practically on the verge of breaking down when you step into satoru’s room and look around and see just how different it looks without the touches of you everywhere.

the fortnite poster you’d given him as a joke for the second anniversary of his stream was gone from his wall, and so were the two mini succulents that used to sit on the corner of his desk. the white cat plushie that used to rest on his pillow was gone, too—probably stuffed somewhere in one of the boxes outside his bedroom door.

after nearly a minute of looking around, you decide that whatever satoru possibly could’ve missed wasn’t important enough for you to have to stick around any longer.

you turn and start to exit satoru’s room so fast that you nearly crash into him when he suddenly appears in the doorway. “shit, sorry about that,” you mumble, trying to walk around him. but of course, because the universe is actually praying on your downfall, you and satoru both walk the same way at the same time. you awkwardly try to go around each other, and eventually, the humiliation is over.

“so, you got everything?” satoru asks, walking beside you with his hands in his pockets. you nod, bending over to pick up one of the two boxes. it’s pretty heavy, but not unmanangable. you just don’t really seem to know if you’ll be able to carry both back home at once.

“oh, uh, i’ll be right back,” you say tentatively. a flash of confusion appears in satoru’s eyes, so you clarify, “i’m gonna go grab my car. that’ll make it easier.”

satoru’s eyebrows furrow and he shakes his head. “no, it’s alright. your place isn’t far from here at all, i’ll just take the other and walk back with you.”

“no, really, it’s alright.”

“it’s the easiest option, ba—” satoru cuts himself off, stopping himself from calling you baby for the first time since you two had started dating. “sorry.”

“let’s just go.”

the walk back to your house is brutal. you walk side by side with satoru since the path is wide enough for you to do so, and you two just keep bumping into each other. had you still been dating, satoru probably would’ve dropped the box and scooped you up instead, kissing your cold face to warm it up. of course, that would’ve added five minutes to your walk, but it would’ve been better than the tense silence dividing you and satoru right now.

the wind whistles around you, brushing at your skin and making you shiver with every gust—there’s nothing more you’d like than to go home, plop on your couch and cry while watching the titanic for the hundredth time.

after what seems like three hundred awkward hours later, you and satoru finally make it to your house. “thanks,” you say quietly, setting down your box in front of the door.

satoru places his next to yours and slips his hands back into his pockets. he nods and replies, “no problem,” but still doesn’t leave.

you cross your arms, and tilt your head, meeting his eyes hesitantly. “umm, do you need anything else?”

satoru coughs tensely and shrugs. “oh, uh, not really, just—” his eyes drift down to your top, and your face grows warm when you realize you’re still wearing his hoodie.

“shit, my bad,” you mumble, internally cringing and resisting the urge to say every curse word you know. could this day really get any worse?

well, at least satoru looks equally as embarrassed. he shakes his head and gestures for you to keep it on. “it’s fine, it’s kinda cold anyways. keep it.” satoru hesitates, shuffling his feet before continuing, “if you want something… to remember me by.”

what you say next was done entirely against your will. “do you still love me?” you ask suddenly, not sure what otherworldly force prompted you to do so. you instantly regret it when satoru’s face goes even redder, and you can tell it’s not from the cold the way his blush spreads to his ears.

“i— uh, i mean—”

“answer me, satoru, i think i have a right to know.”

he looks away and mumbles something about needing to go back home, to feed his fish or something (he doesn’t have a fish), and you grab his hand just as he starts to turn away. “please, satoru, i need to know,” you breathe, squeezing his hand harder when he flinches.

ten silent seconds tick by, but you still don’t let go. so satoru sighs, a soft white puff of air coming from his lips. “yeah.”

your heart breaks again.

“then why did you—”

“because i don’t know how to do this,” satoru says, blue eyes darting all over the place. “i love you, i really do, but i just can’t— i don’t like having thousands of people thinking that i’m only worth looking at if i’m with you, it’s annoying and it pisses me off and i don’t want to accidentally take it out on yo—”

you cut him off with a kiss, ignoring the way he yelps a little in surprise. but thankfully, he doesn’t push you away—instead, his arms instantly wrap around you and pull you closer into his warm, warm chest. satoru’s lips are a little dry, but still minty as ever from the peppermints he’s constantly munching on. he kisses you back like a man starved of affection, and when you two finally break apart, his eyes are just as hungry.

“you idiot,” you whisper, trailing your fingers through his hair as tears prick at the corner of your eyes. “you shoulda just talked to me about it first.”

“i know,” satoru mumbles, looking down bashfully. “‘m sorry.”

“you should be.” you pause, watching satoru’s lips curve into a pouty frown. “i’m sorry too,” you murmur, and he looks up, confused. “i should’ve seen this coming.”

satoru shakes his head and presses his lips to your forehead, lingering for a couple seconds before pulling back. “i missed you.”

“i was gone for less than a day, satoru.”

“oh, so you didn’t miss me?”

“i did,” you admit, exhaling a puff of air when satoru smiles smugly. “shut up, it’s not a competition!”

“yeah it is, but fine, you win,” satoru gives in with a dramatic sigh, reaching down and twining his fingers with yours. his hands, which are significantly bigger than yours, instantly warm you up. “but only ‘cause i don’t want you to break up with me next.”

“i hate you, y’know that?” you grumble, leaning into his side and letting satoru kiss the top of your head. he hums in agreement, reaching out and opening your front door.

“i’m sure you do, baby. now c’mon, let’s get inside n’ warm up. i wanna make it up to you,” satoru says with a grin, bending over and scooping up both boxes.

“oh, yeah? how do you plan to do that?” you challenge, going inside first and holding the door open for satoru. once he’s inside, you close the door and instantly get pinned against it by satoru, whose hands are already creeping underneath your clothes. “satoru, your hands are col—”

he cuts you off by pressing his equally cold lips to yours, smiling against your mouth as he tugs at your clothes. “i know, baby. but i’ll keep you nice n’ warm for the rest of the night, i promise!”

6K notes · View notes

sigilslvt · 1 month ago

Text

HOW DEEP • SUGURU GETO

☣︎ Summary: It’s rush week at your college and your boyfriend chooses to put his prospective fraternity above your relationship. When you find out, you’re left devastated and, well… in need of a SERIOUS cover-up considering you’d gotten his name tattooed on your ass just two months ago. Good thing famed tattooist, Suguru Geto, has a shop by campus.

Pairing: Tattoist Geto Suguru x Fem Reader

Tags: modern au, pierced geto, tattooed geto, smut, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v, cam sex, squirting, creampie, marking

WC: 7.6k

Art: yoroz_roz on Twitter!

A/N: This was a lot longer than I intended, you’re welcome!

Rush week. You’d prepared yourself for this week to be stressful given the fact that you’re in a new state, far away from your family and friends for the first time in your life. You had decided to commit to the same university as your long-time boyfriend, Ryōmen, and so far, you guys have kept to yourselves and relished in the lack of parental hovering. The problem is, since rush week started, Ryōmen’s been busy with all things fraternity related and you’ve been stuck trying to figure out college life on your own.

Normally being away from him wouldn’t be so bad, it was always as simple as hanging out with friends from home or just cruising around your home state, but you’ve got no friends here and no idea where to go to keep busy. Hence the dilemma at hand and the reason you’re in sweats and a sweater sitting cross legged on your bed in your dorm on a Friday night, of all nights. Your music plays loudly in your headphones, a soft vibration playing against your skull every time the bass thumps just right, your body idly bouncing with the beat. You don’t even notice a voice sounding out until you feel a firm nudge against your shoulder, which makes you look to your side in surprise to see your roommate, Yuki, sitting next to you and waving to get your attention. Your fingers find the pause button on your phone and you slide your headphones down to wrap around your neck.

“Damn, girl, I was beginning to think you were in some sort of trance while praising the devil, jeez. What kind of music is that, anyways!?” She asks, her brows knitting together in both confusion and amusement as she looks at the song cover on your phone, shaking her head.

“S-sorry, sometimes I just need to drown the world out, y’know?” You sheepishly respond, chuckling and flipping your phone around, a bit insecure. Normally, you wouldn’t be so nervous— back home, you had your clique and your tastes aligned perfectly. There was never a worry about being an outsider when in a group of a bunch of goth-grunge addicted teens. But, this was different. You’re in California, now, and there’s nothing but sun, bright colors, preppy girls all around you. You were the odd one out, now.

“Girl!” Yuki snaps in front of your face, making you realize you’d drifted off in thought while she was talking to you.

“Sorry, sorry! What were you saying?” You ask, shaking yourself out of it and rolling your shoulders back, showing her you’re actively listening to whatever it is that she’s trying to say.

“I was saying that you CLEARLY need to get out and what kind of roomie would I be if I didn’t help you get what you need, hm? Get up. There’s a party at Phi Gamma tonight and you, my sweet shut-in, will be coming. No questions asked.” She tells you, already standing and grabbing your hand, dragging you to your closet and planting you there while she opens it.

One thing you’ve learned since getting here and meeting Yuki? Arguing with her is futile. If she doesn’t convince you to do something she thinks is for your own good the first go around, you bet your ass she’s gonna take you by the neck and make you do it. It’s sort of endearing, because you know she means well, it’s just not the type of personality you’re used to.

“Alright. Let’s see what you’ve go— oh? You’ve been holding out on me, I see! What’s with the constant sweats and sweaters when you’ve got style like this!?” She asks after opening your closet, her eyes wide as she sees the amount of clothes, most being pre-made outfits, you have in there. You’re grateful she doesn’t mention the amount of black in your wardrobe that’s only separated by bits of white and grey. “Here, this should be great, go shower and get ready. We leave in forty-five!” You feel the outfit being shoved against your chest before you even see it, making you chuckle at her eagerness before you head to the bathroom.

Thirty minutes later and you’ve showered, done your hair, and perfected your makeup. You’re wearing a black and grey striped sweater that stops mid-rib, dark denim shorts with torn fishnets beneath them, and Gaya 10-Eye Alt Doc Martens— your favorites. You layered some chains, a choker, and a long belt atop your outfit to top it off and switch your two nose studs and septum piercing to silver jewelry to complement the outfit. You do the same with your earrings, nearly forgetting to. Your makeup is dark and sultry, as per usual, a black lip paired with black eyeshadow and liner save for a pop of dark purple in the center of your lids and your under eye. Your hair is down, a black bandana keeping it back save for two strands of hair you keep out in front of your face.

You make your way out of the bathroom and Yuki turns to you, her mouth falling open at the sight of you. “What… the… fuck? Ok I see why your boyfie kept you cooped up here for two weeks after move-in. You’re hot, bitch! And these tattoos? They fuck. Hard.” She compliments you, making you chuckle. She gets closer to trace the cybersigilism tattoo that dawns your neck and collarbones, all the way down to the start of your cleavage. You raise your brow, a bit awkward given how comfortable she is, which she seems to realize, prompting her to step away. “Sorry! I’ve just never seen tats like that before! The ones on your legs are insane, I’d never cover up if I were you.” She shakes her head.

You shake your head and chuckle, but it does prompt a nagging voice in the back of your head asking you why exactly it is that you’ve been covering up head to toe. Was it because you’re scared of being an outcast? Is the weather too hot? No, that’s not it. You think back to a conversation you had with Ryō about being more tame while you were sat on your bed in your dorm. Something about not wanting to seem like the average college e-girl who gets around freshman year. You frown at the memory and shrug at Yuki. “Just haven’t had a reason to get dressed up yet.” You reason, making her shake her head, eyes still wide as she looks you over.

She stops ogling you to finish her own makeup, popping some lip gloss on before clapping once, turning to you. “‘Kay, let’s go!”

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The walk to Phi Gamma isn’t bad in the least and you’re grateful for the California heat persisting through the night. If you were back in Washington, you’d have icicles dripping down your nose right now given it’s ten at night in the beginning of October.

You walk into the frat house with Yuki and you’re immediately suffocated with the smell of hookah smoke, ear-ruining loud music, and so many people. Too many to fit in the house, that’s for sure, but that’s never mattered when it came to parties.

“C’mon, let’s get you loosened up, first!” Yuki screams close to your ear so you hear her over the music, taking your hand to lead you to the kitchen. She pours you a cup of something dark before grabbing a coke and moving to pour that as well, but you hold your hand up to stop her.

“‘M okay, I don’t like mixers or chasers.” You tell her, making her raise her brows and hold her arms up as if to tell you to suit yourself, making you smile widely. You both down your drinks at the same time and she pours another with you both downing them again. With that, she leans close to your ear, speaking loudly enough for you to hear over the music.

“I’m gonna go see if I can find some weed, you smoke?” She asks and you shake your head.

“Not weed.” You respond, reaching in your pocket to show her your pack of Marlboros, scrunching your own face up in disgust and shame. You’re slowly quitting, though, so you give yourself props for that.

She shrugs and heads off, leaving you to yourself. You look around, trying to find a good spot to hang out in before you head to it only to be stopped by a soft pair of hands. “Hey! You’re in my Neurophilosophy class!” You hear the girl say, making you shrug with a nod. “I didn’t think I’d see you here! Didn’t seem like the type to like frat parties! I’m Utahime.” She shouts, clearly a little tipsy judging by the red tint of her cheeks.

You offer her a kind smile and your name before you start heading toward the spot you’d sought out, but she catches your hand and stops you. “Wait! Wanna dance? It’s just that… you’re the only one here I know besides my dumbass friend who’s probably off somewhere bragging about being ‘The Honored One’ because he caught the Phi Gamma chicken for initiation. Apparently that warrants a parade in his name or something.” She says, rolling her eyes at said friend’s antics. When you raise your brow in confusion, she chuckles. “Every year during rush week, Phi Gamma lets out this cursed looking demon chicken from Hell for their pledges to catch. They say it never gets caught before making it back to its coop, but leave it to him to do it. First time in seven years. It’s silly, really.” She explains, waving the conversation away. “So, will you?”

You don’t know if it’s the alcohol, you pitying her situation, or just the fact that you’re happy to meet someone else who actively wants to hang out, but you find yourself saying yes and following her into the crowd of unbelievably sweaty frat boys and sorority girls doused in pink. Literally. Body paint everywhere. You’re sure to avoid stains as you dance with Utahime, chucking as she does the robot to get you to crack a smile. As time passes, you find yourself dancing so close to her that you’re sure you’ll merge into one being soon.

You let a bit more time pass before you decide on another drink, leaning forward to shout in her ear so she hears you. “I’m gonna get another drink, want one?” You ask, earning a head shake from her. Shrugging, you push through the crowd and find yourself in the kitchen again, pouring yourself another red solo cup full of alcohol. You sip on it, smiling to yourself because even though you miss Ryo, you’re still having a better time than you thought you would. That’s when you hear it.

“Bro, have you seen this shit!? No fuckin’ way did Zeta Nu initiate their pledges like this!” A guy shouts to his friend, your ears tuning into the sound of your beloved boyfriend’s frat name. You turn to see him showing his friend a video on his phone and you smile to yourself, happy the initiation is over and looking forward to being told whatever silly thing they had Ryo do.

“I fuckin’ WISH Phi Gamma would make us bang some sorority thot to get in! You think it was to count out whoever came first? Damn, look at bro with the pink hair going in like his life depends on this shit!” You hear the other voice speak up and your heart drops. A knot forms in your stomach and your hand gets clammy around your cup. Of course your mind is going toward the worst case scenario and before you can even think, your feet have carried you to the two guys, your other hand reaching for the phone the first one is holding.

“Lemme see this.” You say, the douche saying something about adding your number while you’re at it, but it’s drowned out into the background noise because you’re zoned in on one thing. Your boyfriend banging a sorority girl and smiling at the camera while flexing his fucking bicep. Flexing. He’s fucking living for this.

You feel bile creeping up your throat and you shove the phone against the guy’s chest, making your way to the door. The second you get outside, you hunch over and puke in the bushes, sobering up by the second. Your hand grasps at your chest and you feel it hammering so hard as though it’s trying to escape. Your other fishes your phone out of your pocket and you flinch seeing Ryōmen has texted you.

Him: I love you <3

You fight the urge to throw up again, your fingers typing back quickly.

You: I love you so much, Ryo. Miss you and wanna see you. May have drank a bit too much, hehe :3 Can I come see you?

You hit send, not even bothering to wait for an answer before you push yourself to head to his dorm, ready to use the excuse that you’re drunk and wanted to see him when you show up. Your phone pings and you open it faster than you thought humanly possible to see another text from him.

Him: Come to me, baby.

Before you know it, you’re at his door, knocking rather hard, if you were being honest, but you don’t care. Not seconds later, he opens it and pulls you into him, immediately moving to kiss your neck, which makes you want to shed your skin. When he doesn’t feel you reciprocate, he pulls away and frowns, eyes searching yours. “What’s the matter, hm?” He asks, head wobbling as the smell of alcohol hits your face. He’s drunk.

You walk into his room with an annoyed sigh, closing the door behind you and pacing for a moment before stopping in front of him. “Ryōm–”

“Y’look so hot, baby. Why were you out drinking looking this hot without me?” He asks with a frown, making you scoff unexpectedly.

“You really don’t wanna bark up that tree right now, Ryo. I need t–” You start, but he interrupts you again.

“And why d’you keep using my name?” He asks.

“Jesus fuck, Ryo. Let me talk!” You shout, your hands flailing for a second. He nods, mocking you with a stupid look on his face silently, making you seethe. “Tell me it isn’t true.” You say, earning a confused look from him. “Tell me you didn’t fuck some random girl to get into a fucking FRATERNITY, Ryo. Tell me you’re not that fucking insane.Tell me you didn’t just throw away YEARS with me after I came all this way to be with you.” You say, your voice firm. You surprise yourself with the fact that no tears have formed in your eyes just yet, the anger far more overwhelming than sadness.

His look of confusion turns to pure shock and it’s like a cold pitcher of water has just been flung in his face. “Who told y– babe. Babe, it was just a stupid fucking initiation thing, it’s not like I actually cheated. You’re my girlfriend, you should be happy, I’m in! I made it because I did what it took and that shows drive. Why the fuck are you even upset right now?” He asks and you have to do a double take to confirm what you thought you saw in his face. He’s genuinely pissed and confused that you’re upset right now.

That does it for you. “Are you saying… you didn’t cheat… because it was for an initiation? You want me to be HAPPY that you stuck your dick in someone that isn’t me? Fuck you, Ryōmen. I don’t know you at all. The boy I fell in love with would have been a man and turned the stupid fucking initiation down. This frat? Would have only mattered while here. Us? We were supposed to be together until death. Fuck you for choosing something so stupidly temporary. We’re done.” You spit out, rage bubbling in your core like you’re made from it. He grabs your wrist as you make your way out of his room, but you tear it away, every part of you in utter disbelief that you ever let a man like him touch you at all.

You make your way outside, your phone pinging again and again, no doubt messages from him trying to gaslight you into believing he did what he had to do for his future. You ignore them, sucking in the fresh air like your life depends on it and taking in your surroundings, still hoping in the back of your mind that they’ll all melt away and you’ll wake up from this nightmare. You, someone who’s always been mindful of your future and who has always taken care to do what’s best for you, are now in a new state so far from everyone you love all alone because of a boy. A fucking boy.

You take off the promise ring he gave you for your five year anniversary and toss it as far as you can, hating the idea of having a symbol of what you thought was true love with him on your body… and then you roll your eyes as you facepalm. Your fucking tattoo. Against the advice of literally everyone you know, you’d gotten a tattoo of his name on the top of your ass. “Fuck me…” You mutter to yourself, immediately googling a tattoo studio near you.

“Cursed Ink Studios…” You read the top result out loud, seeing it’s only a thirteen minute walk from here. With an annoyed shrug, you start making your way there, silently cursing yourself for assuming it’d stay warm all night. The cold nips at your practically exposed thighs and your nose turns its familiar shade of red quickly. You pick up the pace, hoping to find warmth in the studio.

A cigarette and a half later, you find yourself in front of the studio, snubbing out the last half of your cigarette and flicking it into the trash can. The bell above the door chimes as you make your way in and you’re greeted by a brunette woman who looks… worn down, to say the least. No doubt from the loads of drunken college students who’ve wandered in here tonight.

“Welcome to Cursed Ink Studios, my name’s Shoko. How can we help you tonight, babe?” She asks, leaning forward on the reception desk. You appreciate the fact that she doesn’t comment on the fact that you’ve thoroughly been done in by the cold wind that’s whipped your hair in every direction and kissed your nose until it’s red.

You shift on your feet, scratching your head. “I, uhh… I need a cover-up done.” You say, making her sigh as though she feels sorry for you.

“I’m sorry, babe, but cover-ups need an appointment ahead of time.” She says, earning a face palm from you. You nod and turn to head out, but a voice stops you.

“Wait. It’s fine, Shoko. I have time.” A smooth, deep voice sounds out from deeper within the studio and you turn toward it to see quite possibly the hottest man you’ve ever laid eyes on. His skin is like cream, hair half tied up letting the rest fall down his back and shoulders, his eyebrow is adorned with a piercing, and gauges are sported on his ear lobes. He’s wearing a black tank top that hangs loose on him, his arms both covered in tattoos, the most notable one being a large dragon on his right arm. He’s carrying keys, which lets you know he was likely about to head home and you feel guilt pooling in your stomach.

You can’t help but clam up at the sight of him and you gulp before shaking your head. “N-No, it’s okay, really, it’s late and I should have known I’d need an appointment. Y-You probably wanna get home, seriously, it’s okay.” You say, trying desperately to keep your voice steady. He chuckles, eyes closing as he shakes his head and you look to Shoko, who gives him a knowing look, rolling her eyes.

“Nah, you’re good. What’re you needing covered up, angel?” He asks you, making your heart flutter. You don’t know if it’s the alcohol in your system making you so flustered, but it’s a welcome feeling compared to the anger you feel when thinking of Ryōmen. Which reminds you…

“So, and I’m prepared for all the judgment you’re probably gonna throw my way, I got my boyf— EX boyfriend’s name tattooed on my ass cheek a couple months back. Turns out he’s a cheating dickhead, so I need to get it covered up. Preferably with something similar to my current tattoos. Maybe… uhh… maybe a—“ He chuckles and interrupts you.

“I got you. And I’ll spare the criticism of your choice to tattoo his name. Just fill out the forms with Shoko and I’ll go get set up in my room. I’ll sketch something out, too. Cybersigilism, huh?” He asks, smirking as he nods at you while walking backward to give you a once over before he heads to his station.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

After filling out the forms, you slowly walk to the room you saw the man head to and you find him working on an iPad, drawing. “You can sit down, angel, I’m just finishing up.” He says, gesturing to his tattoo bed. You take the opportunity to look around his room, gawking at all of the drawings and photos of tattoos he has splayed on his walls. The decor matches your tastes, goth-grunge styling everywhere. It looks like he specializes in cybersigilism and neo tribal tattoos, which helps to reinforce your confidence in him.

“Geto Suguru, by the way.” He says, suddenly towering above you. You hadn’t even noticed he stood up and looking up at him from this angle makes your heart race. You tell him your name and his face takes on a look that you can only assume is curiousness, but he quickly changes his expression to a smirk. “So, here’s what I’ve got. Noticed the hearts you’ve got around your knees and the eyes you’ve got on your neck, so I decided I’d go with a sword. Figured it’d be fitting.” He chuckles as he shows you the iPad, which manages to draw a quick laugh from you.

“Fitting is exactly the word I’d use. I love it. Let’s do it.” You say, genuinely surprised he could even come up with something so quickly.

“Alright, I’m just gonna need you to take those shorts and fishnets off, angel. You can leave your underwear on, I’ll just keep them out of the way with some paper towels. Stay standing after so I can put the stencil on, ‘kay?” He asks. You know it’s what he needs you to do in order to do the tattoo, but your face heats up at the thought of being half naked with him. He closes the door to his room and turns away to prepare the stencil, leaving you to do as asked.

Slowly and tentatively, you take off your shoes and then undo your shorts, pulling them down and stepping out of them carefully. Next is your fishnets, you’re careful not to rip them when you take them off and lay them on top of your shorts. You’re thankful you wore a thong tonight, knowing it won’t get in the way of the tattooing.

He turns around, eyeing you as though just trying to see where he needs to put the stencil, but you can see something else in his eye. Maybe he pities you? You sure fucking hope not.

“Alright, ‘m gonna place the stencil and then I’ll need you to just stand for a bit while it dries.” He says and you nod. He’s methodical in stepping forward, disinfecting, shaving the area, and then placing the stencil on you, being sure to perfect the alignment so the sword covers Ryōmen’s name entirely. His long fingers press down for just a second before he removes the paper and steps back to see the alignment from afar. “Fuckin’ perfect.” He hisses under his breath, but you hear. You tell yourself he’s just proud of his work and try not to acknowledge the pooling between your thighs. “How’s it look, angel? Don’t be afraid to let me know if you want anything changed.” He tells you.

You move to step in front of the mirror, turning to your side so you can see your ass better. It plumps up as you flex and you nod at the placement before looking up to see him with his eyes shut and his head up at the ceiling. “Y’know, you really don’t have to do this if you’re tired, I can make an appointment.” You say, feeling bad.

“Trust me, I’m very much awake. Made me question if I was dreaming when you walked in, angel, but I’m awake.” He says, your eyes going wide and your mouth falling open, but just as casually as he said that, he moves on. “Alright, ‘m gonna have you lay on your side facing away from me. Just poke your,” he grunts “poke your ass out toward me and I’ll get started.”

You do as told, your body hot and exposed and your mind reeling from how casually he’d just said that. Surely it must be for tips, you can’t imagine he’d want you. Not just because he’s built like a God, but he must be taken, right? There’s no way on Earth someone like him could be single.

“Ready?” He asks and you nod, breaking from your thoughts. With your confirmation, he smirks and leans forward, beginning to tattoo you. Him being so close to your ass makes you want to tense up, but you steel yourself and rip your eyes away from him so you can attempt to stop the wetness pooling between your folds like a bitch in heat.

“So. ‘M guessing this was recent, hm? The whole cheating thing. Not trying to pry, just curious. We don’t have to talk about it.” He says as he focuses on the tattoo, dipping the needle into the black ink he’d set up.

“Mhm. Couple of hours ago. Ran a train on a sorority girl as some fucking frat initiation. Piece of shit.” You spit, hearing him scoff and looking to see him shake his head.

“Ouch. Yeah, he’s a fucking idiot, to say the least.” He responds and you bite your lower lip, blushing and looking forward again, at the mirror.

“I’m the idiot. I moved from Washington all the way here with him so we could go to the same college and I had no idea he was capable of this. Now I’m away from family and friends and just… stuck here.” You roll your eyes, huffing.

“We can be friends. I mean, it’s contingent on you coming around more often, though. Think you can do that, angel?” He says, an undertone you can’t quite discern in his voice that makes your mouth go dry.

“Y-yeah. I mean, I plan to get more tattoos. If you do a good job, I mean.” You respond, nearly choking on your words because of that damned pet name he keeps calling you.

“Mmm, trust me, I’ll do you right.” He says and this time the undertone in his voice is so painfully clear that you feel yourself clenching around nothing, your eyes fluttering closed for just a moment. You decide not to respond, scared your voice will come out shakier than intended.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The next few hours go by in the same fashion. Small talk with him lacing in subtle compliments or flirtations. That goddamned pet name falling from his perfect lips. By the end, you were sure he’d feel the way your body was pulsing with need for him, all thoughts of Ryōmen out the fucking window.

“All done, angel. Tell me how you feel about it. If it’s good, and it looks damn good, I’ll put on some second skin and cash you out.” He says, standing up from his chair and stretching. Your eyes don’t miss his v line peeking out from his lifted shirt and you have to tear them away to instead look at your tattoo.

“Fuck, it’s perfect. God, yeah, I love it! Lemme just take a picture so I can post it and piss this asshole off before you wrap it.” You say and he chuckles.

“Mind if I take a few, too?” He asks.

Before you even realize what you’re saying, you respond, “What? For your spank bank?” By the end of the question, your eyes go wide and you mentally curse yourself out, about to apologize when he gives you a genuine laugh.

“No, angel, I won’t need a picture to remember an ass like that.” He quips back and you almost lose your breath. Without missing a beat, he picks up his phone and motions for you to take your picture before he takes his.

Once you do, you open your Lightroom app as he moves to take his pictures. It opens to a nude you’d put a filter on and you suck in a sharp breath, trying to exit quickly before he notices to no avail. He whistles and sucks his teeth and you immediately start to explain. “Sorry, I just like aesthe—“ He cuts you off.

“He’s definitely missing a few brain cells. You’re as good as it fuckin’ gets, angel.” He says, making your heart clench and stomach knot. “Y’know…” He leans forward. “There’s another way you can make him upset. I’m sure that picture’ll do the job, but don’t you wanna go above and beyond? I can help with that.” He says. You don’t miss his hand coming down to rest on the apple of your ass, making your core throb.

“I— how?” You ask, surprised your voice made it’s way out at all with how dry your mouth and throat are.

“Atta girl. First, you can let me bury my face between those pretty thighs of yours so you can take a picture, if you can even hold your phone steady, that is. Then, if you can think straight enough to still be thinking about him, I’ll make sure you can only think about how good I feel inside you. Maybe I’ll even record so you can send that, too. How’s that sound, angel?” He asks, thumb gently brushing the skin of your ass, voice smooth and sultry. You’re sure that with his voice alone, he could run a cult of people who’d do his bidding with no questions asked. And you’d be in it.

You nod at his suggestion, biting your lower lip and looking up at him through your lashes. He chuckles and leans forward, face inches from yours. “I don’t speak nod, pretty girl. Y’r gonna have to tell me out loud.” He says, his hand moving from your ass to grip your chin firmly enough to keep you looking up at him.

God, that statement alone makes your stomach do flips and, yet again, you’re breathless. “Yes, please yes.” You manage to get out, squeezing your thighs to try to alleviate the pressure between them.

“Good girl, using your manners.” He purrs before his lips mash against yours, earning a choked moan from you instantly. He tastes of cigarettes and mint, a flavor you find yourself more addicted to by the second. You feel his tongue flick against yours for just a moment before he pulls away and chuckles. “Been wanting to do that since you walked in. Been wanting to taste you, more, though.” He says, so you move to lay on your back, but he stops you. “Mm mm, don’t fuck my work up. All fours, angel. All fours.” He says, the command emphasized by him patting his hand on your thigh twice.

Doing as told, you rest your stomach against the cold leather and prop your ass up for him, your hands holding onto either sides of the chair. Your embarrassment at the knowledge that your thong is most definitely soaked is washed away when you turn your head to look back at Geto, seeing a prominent bulge straining against his jeans.

His large, ring-adorned fingers splay across your ass cheeks as he squeezes them, grunting. “Such a pretty ass.” He hisses, moving one hand to thumb at where he knows your hole is beneath your thong, pressing in just slightly to tease you, making you mewl out. “Shh, sweetheart. Unless y’want everyone outside to hear you, hmm?” He warns and you pull your bottom lip between your teeth to shut yourself up.

His fingers curl around the waistband of your thongs and he slowly peels them from your sopping wet pussy, leaving them down by your knees. The cold air hits your core and your eyelids flutter closed as you try to stop yourself from shuddering. “So fuckin’ pretty. You this wet already, angel? All for me?” He asks, chuckling as he slips a finger between your folds, teasing you as he soaks his it in your syrupy slick.

“Mmph, yes… fuck…” You moan out, feeling the pad of his finger press against your clit, rubbing in small teasing circles. Your eyes open and you look back to see him palming himself over his jeans. Your brows knit together in a needy frown and you pout. “Suguru, please!” You whine, needing more from him.

“Please what, angel? Please taste you? Please fuck you? Please finger you? Gotta tell me what y’want.” He murmurs and the look on his face tells you he loves this. Loves playing with you like a toy. To your surprise, you love it, too. He smirks at you and circles your achingly empty hole when you take too long to answer. “Hmm?” He hums.

You try to push back on his fingers, hungry for more, but he withdraws them, instead sucking your slick from his fingers, his eyes rolling back into his head at the taste. “Oh fuck, w-want all of tha— hnngh!” You cry out when he plunges a thick, ringed finger into your waiting hole. He shushes you and clicks his tongue, reminding you to keep your voice down. Nodding in response, you press back into his finger.

“Greedy girl. You’re gonna regret that later.” He says, beginning to pump his finger in and out of your cunt as he bends over and kisses all over one of your ass cheeks, then moves to get on his knees behind you. You can feel his breath on your slick folds and you want desperately to feel his tongue, your clit throbbing in need of attention. As though he reads your mind, he presses one quick kiss to it, grunting as your slick coats his lips. One swipe of his pierced tongue through your folds is all he needs to know he wants more. Much more.

You’re about to beg for it, too, but you feel his finger slip from your hole, being replaced by his long tongue, the muscle curving up and down and then swirling as if he’s trying to consume all of the slick you have to offer. Your fingers tighten on the chair, the leather squeaking in response. “Oh my God, S-Suguru!” You moan out, body shuddering in pleasure.

He pulls his tongue out to spit messily on your pussy, moving to finger you again, but this time adding two fingers. “M’gonna need to get you ready for me, ‘kay pretty girl?” He murmurs against your clit, earning a drawn out moan from you. You feel him remove his fingers and he replaces his lips with a harsh smack to your pussy that feels like pure electric pleasure. “Use your words.” He orders.

“Y-Yes! Fuck, yes…” You speak up immediately, eyes rolling back when he plunges his fingers back into you. You hear him hum in approval before his lips surround your clit again, sucking it into his mouth and caressing it with his tongue. He eats you out like a man starved and the sight combined with the pleasure makes your core tighten. His moans are muffled by you pushing back against his tongue. “S-Suguru, m’gonna—“

“Mm mm, baby, take that picture first. Gotta stay on task.” He tells you after breaking away from your clit to press sloppy open mouthed kisses on your thighs. You cry out a whine while your trembling fingers find your phone, lifting it to point it toward his mirror. You make sure to catch his face buried in your cunt when you snap the picture, making him grunt at the sound of the camera shutter. “That’s it, pretty, c’mon, cum… you can do that for me, right?” He coos and you feel him quicken his fingers inside you, the noises coming from your pussy absolutely fucking dirty as he does. His tongue starts flicking against your clit and the knot in your stomach snaps, your orgasm being clawed from you by this greedy man who pulls his fingers from your twitching hole to bury his tongue in it, lapping up your release.

You’re left panting when he finishes, eyes closed to stop the room from spinning around you. You feel his hands rub from the bottoms of your thighs up to your ass and he groans. “Fuck it, fuck the tattoo, need to see that pretty face while I’m inside you.” He grunts, flipping you around roughly and pulling your thongs off the rest of the way, tossing them to the side, making you yelp.

You open your eyes to watch as his deft fingers unbutton and unzip his pants, his other hand finding your mouth, pushing between your lips. “Taste.” He tells you and you suck the slick off his fingers happily as he pulls his cock out, your eyes widening at the sight. Suguru’s long and thick. Your expression is obvious to him and he winks, pulling his fingers from your lipstick ruined lips to grab you by the chin. “You can take it, right? You’re a big girl.” He taunts you by running his length between your folds, his tip nudging your clit deliciously.

“F-Fuck I… I can take it.” You say, lying, but knowing he’ll make you take it. Thanks to your orgasm, his tip is coated in your slick and he presses it against your entrance, making you wince. His free hand grabs one of yours and he intertwines his fingers with your smaller ones, pinning your hand above your head while he kisses you hungrily, tasting of you. At the same time, his tip slowly pushes past the first ring of muscles inside of you, a shaky moan coming from your lips and flowing into his mouth.

He grunts as he invades your cunt inch by torturously thick inch until he bottoms out, your legs shaking in response. He moves to kiss your neck before bringing his lips to your ear. “That’s my fucking girl, so goddamn tight. Gonna fuck you so good angel, be good f’me, okay?” He whispers in your ear before he sucks on your earlobe, withdrawing his cock to the tip before his hips snap forward in one sharp movement, making your mouth fall open in a silent cry.

He sets an unforgiving pace, his free hand holding one of your thighs up so he gets in at a better angle, his tip bullying your sweet spot with each thrust. Good was a fucking understatement, he was making you see stars. “Please don’t stop, ohmyfuckinggodddd!” You moan out, your bodies connecting violently, plap, plap, plaps echoing through his room.

His movements are so hungry, like he’ll never get enough of you as he moans at the feeling of your cunt trying to suck his soul from him. You feel him pull his fingers from yours and he stands straight, not letting up on his thrusts. You notice your phone now in his hand and the video capture sound plays, your face reddening. You can’t stop the way your pussy flutters knowing he’s recording now and he doesn’t miss it. “Such a slutty fuckin’ pussy, fuck! You like being on camera, don’t you, angel?” He asks, and you hide your face, nodding. That earns you one harsh thrust before he stills. “Mm mm, what’d I say about nodding. Thought y’were gonna be a good girl f’me?” He asks, making you whimper.

“Fuck, y-yes I like being on camera! Please keep going, please don’t stop, please don’t fucking stop!” You beg, snaking a hand down to try and relieve the feeling between your legs by rubbing your clit, but he smacks your hand away with the one that was holding your thigh before resuming his punishing pace.

“There you go, pretty, there you fuckin’ go. God, that ex is a fuckin’ lunatic, you’re SO. FUCKIN’. TIGHT.” He praises you, the last three words being delivered with snaps of his hips that push his cock so impossibly deep inside you that you were sure he’d rupture an organ. “Loo— ngh look, pretty girl. Look at me bulging you out like this.” He instructs, his hand moving to point at the spot below your navel that juts out every time his length is fully sheathed inside you.

You look down to see and your head immediately falls back at the sight, eyes rolling back, back arching off the seat. He rewards you by moving his hand back down to your clit, using the whole of his fingers to play with it in harsh motions back and forth and back and forth. “Mmm’fuck! Sugu, gonna cum, gonna c-cum!” You warn him, no longer giving a flying fuck if anyone hears you, you were too fucked out to think about it at all.

“Right behind you, angel. Where d’you want it, hmm?” He asks, earning a look of confusion on your dazed, fucked out face. “My cum. Where. Do. You. Want it?” He asks, accentuating the words with thrusts.

“H-hah! In-Inside! Please fucking cum in me, I’m cumming!” You moan, arms flying up to grip the head of the seat as your cunt clamps down onto his cock, loud squelches sounding out as you squirt all over him, making him groan and throw your phone on his counter, not bothering to end the video.

“Fuckin’ hell, m’gonna fill you up so good, shit!” He hisses, leaning forward and propping himself up on body fists, rolling his hips into you sloppily as his orgasm hits him and he shoots cum spurt after spurt into your greedy pussy that continues to spasm and milk him for everything he’s got. You notice strands of his hair have come free of his half bun and they tickle your face as he hovers above you, sweat beading on his forehead. “Fuuuck…” He groans, pulling out after a while of being buried inside you. It leaves you feeling painfully empty.

He watches as his cum starts to spill from your swollen cunt with a smirk, moving to finger it back inside of you, making you whine. He chuckles and grabs your thongs, bringing your legs back together so he can slide them back on you, patting your pussy when he’s done. “So you have something to remember me by on your way home. Actually… you trust me?” He asks and you’re too far into your mind to say anything but yes.

Before you know it, you hear him wash his hands and put on gloves before his tattoo gun buzzes to life. “M’gonna mark you so you don’t forget how deep I get. That okay, angel?” He asks and you almost nod until you remember his earlier commands.

“Mhm…” You hum out, earning a smile from him as he bends forward between your spread legs, tattooing a thick line under your navel with the initials ‘G.S.’ Next to it. You shake your head, still too blissed out to even realize that you traded your ex boyfriend’s name for a stranger’s initials. He wipes it clean and puts second skin on it, too, before he stands straight.

“Think you can stand well enough to get dressed?” He asks and you scoff, rolling your eyes. You stand from the chair, wobbly and definitely sore, but capable enough to put your fishnets, shorts, and Doc Martens back on. He marvels at you while you do so. Once you’re done, he grabs your phone and ends the video, going to your contacts and adding his number. He hands you your phone back with a grin.

You take it and follow him when he opens his studio door, suddenly feeling all of the eyes in the shop on you. You recognize a face there, now. Utahime’s standing, mouth agape, with Shoko and some white-haired drunk guy who’s also staring at you two with his piercing blue eyes. You find yourself hiding a bit more behind Geto as you walk to the cash register.

“Ring her up for seventy-five percent off. She already paid for the rest.” He tells Shoko as he winks at you. With that, he starts to walk away, but not before he turns to you one last time. “Remember, angel. We’re friends, now.” He smirks before heading back into his room, leaving you to pay.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The next morning, you wake up hungover. You’re wearing your favorite Kuromi pajamas— a crop top and booty shorts. You walk into the bathroom, scrolling on your phone and starting to brush your teeth when you see a text to Ryōmen with three attachments. A picture of Geto eating you out, the video of him fucking you, and lastly… the new tattoo. You look at yourself in the mirror to see the line with his initials and your memory becomes clearer as you look at yourself in disbelief. “What… the fuck?”

#geto suguru #geto smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen geto #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x y/n #geto suguru smut #suguru geto #suguru geto x reader #suguru x reader #suguru geto x y/n #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fic #jjk smut #jjk fic #jjk geto #jjk x reader

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seungfl0wer · 3 months ago

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Jeongin As Your Boyfriend

Contains Smut 🩷

-🩵

•I feel like he’s very nervous, especially at first.

•Constantly checking on you making sure anything he does is ok.

•Like kissing. He’s gonna ask you if “it’s ok” to kiss you.

•Because he’s afraid of making you uncomfortable.

•When y’all get past that phase he’s still asking sometimes however he goes for it more often than not.

•He’s not super big into skin ship.

•However that does not mean he’s not ever gonna touch you of course.

•Holding hands is his favorite.

•Or wrapping his arms around you in a back hug.

•He’s not into PDA so if you try to kiss him around the others.

•He’s gonna turn bright red.

•He’s very reserved in my opinion.

•I feel like since he likes fashion so much he’d honestly like those couple outfits.

•Not the “I love my boyfriend” shirts.

•But like same color shirts and stuff just simple cute couple fits.

•Will have you in his OOTD’s especially when y’all matching.

•Absolutely loves seeing you in his clothes too.

•Ugh it just melts him. Finds it so endearing.

•Has a playlist of songs that remind him of you.

•Loves taking you to different places with him so you can experience them with him.

•Teases you of course.

•However he’s very mindful and sometimes can overthink what he says.

•He’s just afraid of hurting your feelings.

•Cuddles.

•Like I said he’s not a big touchy person however.

•When you’re sleeping he’s pulling you so close.

•Tells you all the time how it’s hard to sleep without you.

•Sings trots songs for you.

•Likes karaoke dates a lot too.

•Will definitely send you pictures of their concepts before it’s out.

•He can’t keep things from you.

•It’s really hard for him to keep secrets even if it’s something like a present or surprise.

•He just tells you everything so it’s hard for him not to tell you these exciting things.

•Clumsy.

•You joke how you need to put him in a bubble.

•Or bubble wrap the house at least.

•He loves taking pictures of you too.

•Changes his background so much cause he takes such cute pictures of you.

•No matter how long y’all date for he’s still smiling when he sees your name pop up on his phone.

•Even old and grey he’s still all giddy with you cause he loves you.

•I feel like after he lets his wall down he falls really hard.

•His love is so very genuine.

•He’s just a soft guy under those fox eyes, whose only mission is to make you smile.

•To make you happy and to feel loved and he’ll always be there to do so.

︵‿︵‿୨Smut Below୧‿︵‿︵

•Again this man’s still a bit nervous.

•He lets you take the lead a lot.

•But when he gets comfortable you’ll see the real jeongin.

•He’s very much a switch.

•Loves when you take care of him.

•Calling him your “Sweet baby” makes him go crazy.

•Whimpers so much when he’s like this.

•”I’ve been so good for you please-“

•Morning blow jobs to wake him up.

•Lazy morning sex too.

•You’re still half asleep when he’s pushing himself between your legs.

•His head in the crook of your neck whimpering how he “needs you so much”

•When you respond he’s losing it.

•Lubing you up before pushing into your sweetness.

•On the other hand he can be very aggressive.

•A lot of the times it’s when he’s stressed.

•He’ll have you face down as up as he pounds deep into you.

•Those big beautiful hands leaving hand prints on your ass.

•Loves sneaking you into the dorms.

•Telling you how you “have to stay quiet”

•Gets off on the thought of the others hearing how good he’s making you feel.

•Also those hands I mentioned?

•The way he pushes them into your sweet hole it just-

•He curls them so perfectly hitting every sweet spot.

•He knows how much you like his pretty hands.

•Teases you about how you fall apart on them.

•Aftercare is a lot for him.

•He is always concerned he hurt you or pushed you too far.

•Constant “are you ok?”

•Runs to grab you towels, snacks and drinks.

•Just wants to make sure you’re completely ok.

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something

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seiwas · 3 months ago

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₊˚⊹｡ i'll stay on this drive for as long as you'd like | fushiguro megumi

wc: 3.2k

summary: megumi knows you a lot better than you think.

contains: f!reader in mind but can be read as gn!reader, non-curse!au, college!au, established relationship, hurt/comfort.

a/n: some songs for the vibe: streetcar - daniel caesar, the movies - nightly, night drive - red velvet.

part: 1 | 2 | 3 series m.list: by your passenger seat

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: acting like it’s okay when you know it’s too much

sponsored by @ceroseis and @itskilau for the @ficsforgaza initiative. please check it out and support if you can!

It’s on the drive back from one of your friends’ graduation afterparty that Megumi can tell something’s off.

The trees whizzing past your window begin to dwindle, commercial buildings replacing them bit by bit—a clear sign of your trip drawing further away from the party venue and closer to the bustling streets of home.

He looks over to you every now and then, your back pressed against the black leather seats of his sedan. That spot is yours, adjusted and fitted to your liking; on most days, you settle into it comfortably, but tonight, you sit with unease.

There’s a tightness around your shoulders that extends all the way down to your clenched fists, and if it still isn’t any obvious from that, it’s one look at how you bite down tensely on your jaw that gives you away completely.

Are you cold? He wonders, then checks the AC.

Spring has brought in warmer days, but the nights are unpredictable—

His brows furrow, one hand tightening around the steering wheel as he uses the other to increase the temperature slightly. Just in case.

—you’re still wearing the microfleece jacket he brought to the afterparty.

Only a few words have been exchanged between you two so far—which is not unusual. Car rides with you are typically silent, comfortable in that either of you can speak whenever you want; there’s never any pressure to fill in empty pauses and long stretches of nothingness.

It’s always a shared look, maybe a touch; a joint experience in enjoying each other's company despite not doing much.

But, this quiet is different. Tense. One that’s riddled with feelings you seem to be hiding.

Megumi can tell.

You pick your nails from his periphery, your lower lip caught between your teeth as you focus on the road straight ahead. On your lap rests your phone, filled with songs queued up for CarPlay—a task you’ve made your own since marking your permanence in his passenger seat.

A slow reverb plays as the accompaniment to your silence, and the song is familiar, one he knows full well exists in some of your vaguely named mood playlists.

“Sometimes you just want to feel something, y’know?”

And Megumi thinks that’s all fine and good; Kugisaki’s called him ‘moody’ more than a few times. But he watches you now and he can’t even tell what you’re feeling exactly, just that you don’t feel okay.

He hears you take in a breath.

In the years you’ve known each other, Megumi’s learned that you tell him most things, but only when you’re ready. It’s not a problem with him, it’s just your way of processing things—is how you explained it.

Still, something about the way you’d gradually curled in on yourself and avoided most of the night’s conversations makes him feel worried. It gives him the sinking feeling that if he doesn’t ask about it now, you’ll let tonight play out like nothing’s wrong; you’ll sweep it under the rug and when he asks about it next time, you’ll dust it off like it never happened to begin with.

Then he’ll never know.

And, that doesn’t sit well with him at all.

His eyes glance over at the directions on his CarPlay. The breath he takes is crucial, inhaled with contemplation before it’s released with his decision.

At the end of the song’s chorus, right before it changes key for the bridge, Megumi takes a detour. His palm lays flat on the wheel as he turns it to the left abruptly. An excuse waits at the tip of his tongue, ready to spill out for when you say—

“I think we were supposed to go straight…” your voice trails off, equal parts unsure and fragile.

“Gojo-sensei wants me to check out a property,” he lies, straight through his teeth. It doesn’t sound too far off from a real possibility.

“Oh,” you mumble, more resigned than usual as your fingers reach for the screen. “Do you want me to pin it?”

“No need,” he pauses, eyes momentarily flitting over to your hand.

The thought simmers for only a second before he reaches for your fingers with his own, interlacing them together and stroking your knuckles with his thumb; back and forth, gently.

It’s a habit he’s developed in well over the year that you’ve been together; a grounding sign of his affection that no longer flusters him as much as it used to. It means many things, but he hopes you can tell what he’s trying to say right now—

“I want you to tell me what you’re thinking,” as he rests your interlaced hands on your thigh.

The warmth on your lap causes you to look up, your lips curling up into a tight smile.

His grip on the steering wheel tightens.

Maybe you think it does the job, but Megumi knows you; he knows how you breathe when you’re anxious, knows the way your eyelashes flutter when you’re on the brink of tears. He knows when your smile isn’t any bit genuine, when it fails to reach your eyes and you turn away quickly as if to hide that fact.

He clasps your hands together and squeezes.

You hold your breath, turning your head to watch the view: city buildings reverting back to trees.

It runs down the side of the road in an endless stream, along with time, and the unease that settles in his stomach when you don’t respond to his squeeze with familiar grip.

He looks on ahead.

Megumi has no idea where the fuck he’s driving to; the directions on his CarPlay constantly reroute him back to your neighborhood, but he’s taking every wrong turn and crossing every road he isn’t supposed to just to buy some more time to stay in this ride with you.

“This is that new artist you’ve been talking about lately, right?” he attempts.

You only hum.

The car slows for a red on the stoplight ahead, and he tells himself he’ll give you this time and wait until it ends. If after this, you’re still quiet—

It turns green.

—”Is everything okay?” he makes sure to look at you when he asks.

When your eyes meet his, he can already tell what front you’re about to play up. It’s painful when he watches your face shift into something else, eyes forcibly widening as your smile pulls tightly at your cheeks.

“Yep! Why wouldn’t it be?”

He hates it.

How can you pretend to sound happy in front of him, of all people, too?

He turns away, eyes focusing back on the road. Your hand remains clasped in his, still unmoving; Megumi doesn’t know you like this—you’ve only ever squeezed back just as tightly, if not more, holding onto him all the way home.

The furrow between his brows deepens as his finger taps lightly on the wheel. Restless.

He allows the silence to stretch on.

A few more minutes find him driving past missed turns and wrong roundabouts, the scenery around you transforming into empty fields of tall grass dimly lit by lampposts. The lights fade in and out on repeat, casting itself as hazy, muddled hues upon your face.

Megumi glances from time-to-time, catching your reflection on the window of his passenger seat.

The expression on your face remains tight, pulled together in an effort to keep it together. And Megumi isn’t typically one to pry, nor is he the type to outright intervene with what others are going through—

But, he just wants you to tell him what’s wrong.

The feeling scratches at him, a quiet torture as it turns him impatient. He can only grind his teeth.

Your songs continue to play as he drives down empty roads, each one turning sadder than the last. And he wonders for a moment when it’ll end; if listening to these songs for long enough will make you feel any better—enough at least, for you to begin to open up.

In the midst of his rumination, you move, angling yourself away from him ever so slightly as you reach up to run your fingers through your hair, microfleece sleeve brushing against your cheeks lightly.

You don’t think he sees you, he’s sure, but he spots you on your reflection—

The window of his passenger seat is pitch black, already heavily tinted on its own, but exacerbated more by the darkness of the evening outside. It lends itself as the perfect blank slate to return any image that light casts upon it. Tonight, its subject happens to be you.

—with tears streaming down your face.

And it makes his chest ache, heart sinking straight to his stomach.

The breath you take is heartbreakingly still, a staggered inhale that is so careful and so considerate of the fact that you don’t want him to hear it hitch. Your lips are trembling, bitten down to keep in any sob that might spill out.

Megumi hates this the most, he’s decided.

He clenches his jaw.

Just a few meters ahead is a clearing lit up by another lamppost. The road is vacant enough for him to pull the car over to the side, still leaving room for other cars to pass by.

So he decides.

Pushing the hazard button and signaling to turn, Megumi slows the car down to a stop. You wipe at your face quickly when you notice, trying discreetly to fix yourself up before facing him.

“Did something happen?”

Your sniffle slips.

He doesn’t say anything, shifting the gear into park as he leans back on his seat. The leather squeaks under his movement, each noise amplified now that the car is completely still.

Megumi takes a deep breath.

“Nothing happened,” he starts, considering his next actions very carefully as he turns to face you.

His fingers reach up slowly, gently wiping at the tips of your eyelashes; your tears glisten at its tips.

Something in your expression shifts, the front you put up gradually turning into guilt.

(He knows; he’s noticed you this entire night.)

Time stops for Megumi in moments you never know: when you laugh, and your cheeks lift life to your eyes; when you hold him, by hand or by heart—he can’t tell the difference sometimes; when you tell him you love him, whether whispered against his collarbone or spoken through your lips locked in his.

You look pretty in all of them, you always do; even now, drowning in the fabric of his clothes with strands of your hair kissing your nose.

It’s enough to already make his chest hurt.

But then your tears begin to spill over, rushing down in streams over your cheeks, and he can’t put a name to this feeling—this immense pressure that sinks down to his stomach, twisting and aching. It’s worse than what he felt moments ago.

His thumbs press themselves to the dampness under your eyes, wiping away where he can as he cradles the rest of your face.

Megumi is the last person anyone would ever call to handle tears, but his body moves on its own when it leans towards you. It feels natural, right, when his lips rest softly against your forehead, fingers slotting themselves around your ears.

Your hands hold onto his wrists firmly, as if grounding yourself.

“Please tell me what’s wrong.”

He adjusts himself, quickly releasing his seatbelt to lean over the center console. It’s awkward and uncomfortable, and—

(It’s hard, you want to tell him. Nothing ever seems enough sometimes.)

You tuck your face in the crook of his neck, your arms hooking themselves around his back and onto his shoulders.

“Did I–” he starts, unsure, as he brings a hand up to cradle the back of your head, “Is it it me?”

You shake your head.

(Of course, it isn’t. How can it be?)

“I don’t know what to do, Megumi,” you mumble, choked up as you inch away from him to rub at your eyes.

He waits for you to continue.

“We just graduated,” your fingers grip at your pants, “I should be happy, and I am, but,” you hiccup, “everyone has all these plans and big dreams and,” a deep breath, “I don’t even know what I want to do.”

(Your tears soak through your speech, punctuating them in drenched uncertainty.

Everything throbs, a heavy thumping beating in your head. The only thing that cuts through is the familiar ‘click’ of the door unlocking, Megumi’s hand on the handle as you turn towards him curiously.)

“Let’s step outside,” he directs, his door already half-open.

When you move to follow suit, he turns off the engine before stepping outside.

The crisp air of spring is sharper in the evening, littering goosebumps down the sides of his arms. A breeze picks up and brushes against his ears, but being near you, in any capacity, has always been enough to make his insides feel warm.

He circles around the front of the car to get to your side, pausing a few steps in front of you, as if asking for permission.

You take a step and then another, tears welling up as you inch closer for a hug.

“I don’t know,” you admit, voice small as you slack in his hold. He tucks you under his chin, hand cradling the back of your head again. “I always thought I’d figure it out eventually,” you continue, “but we’re here and I haven’t, and…”

Your grip on him tightens.

“Did anyone trigger this earlier?” he asks softly, his finger rubbing against the nape of your neck.

(That’s the problem, though—there isn’t anyone in particular. You know Megumi is asking so he can steer you clear of any future interactions with said person, but that’s not the case; it’s all you and the things you’ve overheard. All you and the things you see on your social media feed—an insecurity that drowns out anything else around you.

People often mean well when they ask what you’re up to, but your response always leaves a bitter, acrid aftertaste when you feel like you can never give them an honest answer.)

You shake your head, digging your face deeper into his neck. Your lips tickle his skin when you speak, “Just overheard stuff.”

Megumi sighs, holding you closer.

He blinks once, taking in the clear open fields and the endless road ahead. Up above, stars splatter white against the sky, and if he listens closely, he’ll hear the faintest hiss of the springtime breeze.

“It’s all just… noise,” he mumbles, lips pressing on the crown of your head. “You always tell me…” in the depths of his mind he fishes for a memory as proof, “everything else is just noise when you have me and good music with you.”

He feels shy recounting it word-by-word, heat rising to his cheeks; but Megumi has never been good at comfort, and this is his honest attempt at that.

You chuckle sadly, a little watery as you reply, “It’ll just be me and the music when you leave though.”

And even though this is your honest attempt at taking the situation lightly, the statement hits him square in the chest with its gravity.

He hums and chooses to linger with you in the quiet, the occasional wisps of wind whizzing in the background.

There’s not a lot Megumi can say that’ll make any of his statements valid, because all his plans have been laid out since his third year in uni: work his way through his course (which he did, in flying colors, actually), bag an internship (which he also did, for an extended contract too), and eventually land a job offer (which he also just did, a few days ago for a company in Kyoto).

But, there is one thing he knows he can say with utmost certainty:

“We’ll figure it out together.”

Your head whips up quickly, brows furrowing as you give him a look.

(If it’s what you think he’s implying, you won’t allow it. He has to—)

“...’ll still go. You’ll kill me if I don’t.” he huffs, leaning back to get a better look at you.

You look confused.

(Megumi staying behind in Tokyo isn’t even an option for you; not when he has an attractive offer waiting for him in Kyoto, and most especially not when the only reason he’d be staying is because of you.

You’d been the one who encouraged him to apply and you promised yourself that you’d continue to support him all the way through. The fact that he’s leaving is sad, but you’ll never forgive yourself if you end up being the reason he’s held back from something so good.)

“I’ll visit,” he tucks your hair behind your ear, “or you can stay with me whenever you want while we figure something out for you.”

“You can lean on me.”

(His eyes meet yours sincerely, deep blue speckled with street-lit hues. It’s honest, and he only means to reassure you, but something inside you is saying—)

“You’re not… you’re not a failure, or a disappointment, or whatever, just because you’re having a hard time figuring it out by yourself.” he continues to speak, finding the right words as his hands fall down to press on your waist. “It’s why I’m here.”

(—you should still feel bad. Your life is your responsibility, and Megumi shouldn’t be the one holding onto all the pieces when you’re struggling to get it together. And yet—)

When you open your mouth to rebut, Megumi, somehow, already knows what you’re about to say.

“It’s not baggage, and even if you insist it is,” he pauses, as if working a way to verbalize how he feels. His eyes hold yours in this moment, tears welling up along your lash line; there is a weight to what he’s about to reveal.

He takes a breath, swallowing.

“I want to take it on with you.”

Your tears fall and Megumi catches them, his thumbs gently pressing against your cheeks.

(There are a lot more thoughts racing through your mind, but for now you focus on the peace he offers you. Megumi is rarely verbal with his feelings, so hearing him be so open like this means more to you than anything.)

“Okay,” you rest your forehead against his collarbone.

Megumi pulls you closer as you both stand by his car, his arms a steady stronghold that grounds you. He gives you a few more moments of quiet until he feels ready to ask, “Are you ready to head home?”

You lift your face from his chest, eyes puffed up and a little dry. Your hand searches for his, interlacing your fingers together when you find it resting against the small of your back.

“Can we drive for a little bit longer?”

He nods and his lips curl up into a smile, small and knowing as he opens the car door.

But before you go back in, his hands take hold of yours, rubbing them gently to heat them from the cold. He brings your fingertips up to his lips, the display of affection rendering him pink, still (to you, the look on his face never gets old); he kisses them lightly before he lets go, walking to his side of the car so he can stay on this drive for as long as you’d like, until you’re ready to go home.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed! thank you so much for reading 🥺 writing this was deeply personal, and writing megs will always be one of my favourite things 🥺

thank you notes: @pastelle-rabbit for thinking about drive megs with me and sending me songs! 🥺 + @ceroseis @mieiri for everything always 🥺

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

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mcondance · 1 year ago

Text

come close; hobie brown

getting high and talking about anarchy with some old 90's shit playing is a crazy way to fall for someone. but it happens.

pairing hobie brown x Black!afab!fem! reader

contents lots of weed, different terms for weed (mary jane, cess), talks of killing politicians (y’all r both anarchists so.), masturbation (both you and hobie), making out, fingering, riding, missionary, mating press, creampie, unprotected sex (they're horny man dwbi), dirty talk, cervix kissing, lotsssss of praise, porn with plot (sorry i love plot 🙏🏾)

words 4.7k.. back on my longer fic shit!

warnings reader wears lipgloss, barely proofread so if you see any mistakes pls shoot me an ask!, umm i use the n word once!, i’m also,, not that great at writing his voice yet so.. hope it’s at least sorta accurate :3

extras the form i wrote this in is kinda,, unique igs but it flows rlly well i feel.

song shoutouts special thanks to lipstick lover by janelle monae, come close by common and mary j. blige, and green eyes by erykah badu!

signing off happy father’s day to hobie 🫶🏾

—

not quite plug!hobie, but hobie who always has weed, who you smoke with the first time you buy from him.

you usually don’t smoke with randoms, but you hear some old 90's rap playing from inside his car, and he invites you in when you comment on it.

"what you know bout this?" you ask with a smile.

"a lot, actually. you wanna smoke and listen?"

not quite plug!hobie who's fine as fuck as he sits opposite you in his ride, tall and darkskin with cool ass hair. wild ass accent and even wilder style, but he makes it work. his music taste adds on to his overall allure.

but his political views? god. the charm in the shape of a little 'a' surrounded by a circle hanging from his mirror lets you know that he ain't like these other niggas.

he's an anarchist. so far, you're the only anarchist you know. it's so rare to find someone who has the same values as you.

not quite plug!hobie who's car you leave with music recs clumsily typed into your notes, and someone to talk about politics with, though you're too shy to text the pretty boy with the good weed, so you're sure it'll never happen.

not quite plug!hobie who texts you when you get home to make sure you arrived safely.

"driving while high ain't safe, ya know? you at home?"

"i've done it before. i made it home."

not quite plug!hobie who's so nice to you, complimenting your outfits and hair, even noticing when you meet him the 3rd time with a new style.

not quite plug! hobie who you find out has been giving you discounts when your friends ask if you ever bought from him after their recommendation, and you run them in on the details. you think it’s just cause y’all smoked the first time you ever bought from him and you bonded over political views and music. you don’t think nothing else of it.

not quite plug!hobie who you find yourself thinking about more and more often, ever since that first time y'all smoked together.

not quite plug!hobie who finds himself in the same predicament.

not quite plug!hobie who answers the door on your 6th buy in a pair of red sweats and a tight white t-shirt that hugs his lanky frame, hair tied up with a blue shoe string. he invites you into his crib, citing reasons of having no one else to talk to about his views with. after all, it's the first time you both have time to sit and talk and listen to music instead of a quick deal since that first time.

not quite plug!hobie who you get faded as fuck with, this time sharing a joint on his janky couch, heavy hands brushing against each other with each pass. he tries to ignore the aching in his very core every time you speak your mind, your aligning politics driving him crazy.

you mirror him, shaking off the.. arousal?.. no, it can't be. you can't be getting all heated just cause a man is an anarchist. whatever. just ignore it.

not quite plug!hobie who laughs when you tell him straight up, “people aren’t killing politicians anymore. that’s our fuckin’ problem.”

"really? you're wild. but i get it."

"course you do." you nod, taking another drag of the joint. erykah badu's "green eyes" is playing quietly in the background of your convo. hobie starts laughing.

"what?" you smile.

"song's called green eyes, right? well we got red eyes." it's corny and wouldn't be funny if you two weren't high as shit, but you are high as shit, so it's fucking hilarious.

not quite plug!hobie who's eyes linger on you as he pulls laugh after laugh out of your chest with his snarky little jokes.

not quite plug!hobie who walks you to your car after your smoke session, telling you to get home safely. he passes out after his head hits the bed, that after smoke sleep being some of the best he's ever had. he tries to chase you out of his mind as he succumbs to the cess.

not quite plug!hobie who lights a joint and then pulls his dick out the next day, hard and heavy, and strokes it thinking about his pretty little client— friend? whatever — hips stuttering as he wraps his hand around his thick base. he's tried to shake you off, went all day distracting himself with this and that, but it's not working.

not quite plug!hobie who cums in white spurts splattering on his chest to the thought of making you cum in a room filled with smoke, some old r&b playin as he dicks you down the way he's been wanting to since the first time your pretty ass came to him asking for some weed. he wants you bent over on the end of his bed, eyes low and red while he fills you up and fucks you good, gives you his dick like he feels you so rightfully deserve.

not quite plug!hobie who you seriously can't stop thinking of. last night's smoke session has you on edge, so you light another joint, but weed always gets you horny, so when you slip your fingers into your panties and touch yourself to the thought of the pretty darkskin boy with the piercings and cool hair pushing his fat cock into your pretty hole, you blame it on the mary jane sitting pretty in your veins.

the fault lies in the mary jane for making you think about him laid on top of you, talking you through it as he damn near kisses your cervix, his wiry hands roaming your body. the fault lies in the mary jane for having your legs shaking, imagining your pretty plug folding you in half and ruining you, leaving you and your cunt sore and satisfied and dripping his cum.

not quite plug!hobie who cleans up while telling himself that he can't do this again, that you're not interested in him.

not quite plug!hobie who you block out of your mind as you shower. what you did wasn't right. it won't happen again.

not quite plug!hobie who you don’t buy from for a minute, cause you’re trying to stop smoking so much, for a while. you still keep in contact with him, though. daily texts, funny memes, and of course talks of anarchy. one day, you call him “bee” instead of hobie, and it sticks. he likes it.

not quite plug!hobie… who you fuck yourself to again, this time slipping three fingers inside your greedy cunt to satiate the need for him. it’s almost every night, and it’s a different fantasy every time.

in the backseat of his car, bent over on his counter, pressed into his couch cushions. your head pressing into your pillows while visions of hobie’s lips pressed to your ear praising you endlessly for being his good girl and taking him so well torment you. you’re insatiable, but when you text you have to pretend like you don’t want his piercing scraping against your clit as he eats you like a man starved.

not quite plug!hobie who has the same dilemma as you.. he can’t even go a couple of hours without growing hard in his sweats, glimpses of you spread out on his bed with your thighs thrown over his shoulders, or you face down ass up, sobbing in pure ecstasy. it’s not made better by y’all’s constant texting, more and more of your personality being revealed to him each day.

you both share one brain, really. and that one brain finds each other attractive, of course, but it’s not just that. it’s not just pure lust. you two have more in common than anyone you’ve ever met, and that sinks ache and want so deep into you that every night and day is spent trying to rid yourselves of it.

not quite plug!hobie who you buy from again almost two weeks later, two weeks that were filled with funny conversations and deep discussions of politics through text. two weeks that solidify the growing feelings you have for each other. this time, he’s wearing a pair of blue sweats and a tight black tee, and his hair is tied up just like the first time you came to his house. this time, brandy’s playing throughout his crib.

you’ve only known each other for about two months, but it feels like longer, for the both of you. you take your seat on the couch as he grabs his stash and his papers, pulling out one paper to roll up.

not quite plug!hobie who sits a little bit closer than he did last time. he smells good. your head is swimming already.

not quite plug!hobie who lights up and then lets you take the first hit, watching you wrap your glossy lips around the joint like he doesn’t wish they were wrapped around his dick instead. you pass the joint to him and settle onto the couch, raking your eyes over his lanky frame, and what you swear is a hard-on. no way. it has to be the weed.

he settles back onto the couch too, extending his long arms on the back. his arm comes up behind your head, and you rest your head on it, smiling dopily when he directs his hazy gaze your way. his playlist must have ended. you're left with him and your thoughts.

“you’re funny, you know?” he says through a breath of smoke, passing the joint to you.

“yeah?” you reply, hitting it again. “everyone tells me i’m just corny.”

“you’re not corny. you’re pretty hilarious, if i’m bein’ honest.”

and there it is again.

not quite plug!hobie whose words light that fire in you again, the fire that you’ve been dousing every night for the past two fucking weeks. fuck, not here. not now. you grab the joint from him in an attempt to push more weed into your system to flush him out, but you meet his pretty fuckin’ brown eyes and they’re low and his lips looks so good and he smells so good and suddenly you’re asking not quite plug who you’re two seconds away from fucking!hobie why he’s been charging you less than everyone else who buys from him and why he invited you into his car and into his house, twice.

and not quite plug who really wants to kiss you right now!hobie can’t even joke and twist his way out of this one. he’s tired of cumming alone to the thought of you. the worst you can do is leave. but the best? god, so many things.

“'s cause i think you’re pretty. n' i really wanna kiss you right now.”

“then do it.”

not quite plug!hobie who tastes like weed and chocolate. the hand that was resting on the back of the couch finds it’s way to the small of your back, fingers drawing nonsensical shapes into it. your hands find his knee and his neck as you press your lips into his. you slide closer to him, and then he’s using the hand resting on your back to push you into his lap, hands settling on your hips as you settle above him, your hands circling around his neck.

“how long?” you ask between kisses.

“since the day you walked up to my car.” he responds quietly, cheeks heating up with embarrassment. he’s quick to trap your lips again.

god, he is hard. and he’s big, you can feel him pressing against the inside of your thigh. you hold your tongue, figuring you could deal with that later. right now, you just need to get out what you’ve been keeping in since the day you two met and you spotted the little ‘a’ hanging from his mirror.

the kiss grows deeper and he grows a little less shy, starting to use his hands gripping your waist to grind you against him. heat floods you when you realize that he's pulling you onto his cock, pressing your cunt against him, separated by the fabric of his sweats and your shorts.

you find his rhythm, falling into the pattern of his soft pushes and presses, a gentle lull of bodies moving against each other that makes you even more comfortable than you already are. soft little groans escaping the both of you, mixing with the smoke and infatuation in the air.

he lets you move the way you want, lithe fingers tracing up your back, hovering over where your hair falls onto your neck. he keeps kissing you for a minute, seemingly frozen. but then he's pulling away to speak, "can i- can i touch your hair?"

you stop moving with a smile. you nod. "yeah. thanks for asking." you kiss him again.

"course, love." he nods, and then he kisses you again. his long fingers snake into your hair, gently and softly. he strokes his hands through your locks, in time with your kisses and the movements of your hips that have started again. hands migrating from his neck, sliding down his chest, laying flat-palmed. your fingers slide under his tee, curling and gripping to pull him ever closer to you.

not quite plug!hobie who could kiss you forever. you could too, but you want more. you need him. so you pull away just a little, murmur "can feel you against me." chills rack through him at your words.

"i know. 'm so hard, darlin'." he pushes his hips up just a little, drawing a muffled whine from you.

"been wantin' you so bad.." you trail off. hobie takes it upon himself to move his hands from your hair to the waistband of your shorts, eyes fixed on yours, watching your every move. you nod, giving him permission to snake his fingers into your shorts, fingers that are met with no resistance.

"no panties? did'ya plan this, doll?" he smiles, slim fingers exploring your wetness, doing what he can with the limited space.

"mhm." you shake your head. "'s more comfortable." he hums in agreement. he circles your clit with his middle finger, dipping towards your entrance to collect more slick. you push down against his fingers, causing him to have to crane his wrist to reach you.

"can we take these off? can't touch you the way i wanna." you blush, averting your eyes to focus on the hand that disappears into your shorts.

"yeah." you breathe shakily, standing up and letting hobie pull them down your legs, hands on his shoulders as balance. your shirt is long, and it falls down to give you some modesty. hobie throws your shorts somewhere behind you before he leans back, giving you space to sit back down.

he looks so fucking good, brown eyes staring at you like you hung the stars in the sky. he reaches out for you, pulling you back into his lap by your hips. his hand disappears under your shirt while his lips find yours again, exploring you more freely this time.

"so wet, doll." he murmurs between one kiss and another, smiling when you whine. his fingers move at different speeds, pressing in different areas and circling at different speeds until he finds a combination that makes you jolt against him, whining "bee."

"thaaaaat's it, love." this time, you don't return your lips to his, instead tucking your head into his neck as you hump shamelessly against his hand, his cock pressing hard and heavy against your thigh. "keep going, baby," he urges, "show me how it feels."

and you do. you shiver and shake and whine and groan in pleasure, pressing kisses in his brown skin as he touches you the way he touched himself thinking about.

not quite plug!hobie who presses his thumb into your clit, sliding his hand farther down to tease your drooling hole. "'s wet, love. g'na feel so good 'round me." you moan loudly at that, at the thought of your fantasies coming true. you cant your hips down, sliding down his fingers until they're seated inside you, stroking gently at your sensitive walls.

pulling them out softly, he curls his fingers, twisting his wrist as you whine and mouth at his neck. "'s okay. you can bite." he nods, catching onto what you were holding yourself back from. you still don't, resign to licking and sucking instead.

until his fingers catch the spongy spot inside you, and your teeth are sinking into the column. "fuck," you damn near shout, pushing yourself onto his hand. he groans in response, pleased to be pleasing you and indulging in the pain you inflict on him. thumb on your clit and fingers playing with that spot, he brings his other hand from your hip to your hair to soothe you, to ground you.

it's sweet, really, his hand in your hair while the other one touches you the way you've been dreaming of. coos and hums meet your ears, soft sounds of affirmation egging you on to let yourself get lost in the pleasure he delivers you. arousal steadily dripping out of your hole, hobie's fingers sliding easier and easier inside you until he can pull out and slip right back in.

"you're so pretty, dove, fuckin' dreamgirl." he murmurs, staring down at your pretty face, arched eyebrows turned down in ecstasy, lips parted. the praise takes you closer and closer to the edge, his deep voice reverberating throughout your entire being, the pangs of arousal in your clit growing harder and faster. you're close.

you're so goddamn close to cumming for a boy you just wanted to buy from. his long fingers reach deep, deeper than you could ever even dream of. “hobie- i- i’m g’na-” you stutter against his neck, hips stuttering against his fingers.

“‘s okay, love, cum. i’m right here.” the rubber band snaps, and you're tightening your thighs around his hand while you shake and shiver, eyes closed tight with soft whines of "hobie, god it feels so good" tumbling from your lips. you tighten around his fingers, too, squeeze him so tight he winces, cause he just knows you're gonna feel so good wrapped around him. he pushes that thought away, though, focused on helping you ride out your orgasm.

fingers pressing into your clit and that spot inside you, he makes sure to milk every last second of your climax, eyes fixed on your ethereal features. aftershocks still racking through you, you finally open your eyes, and he takes it as a sign to gently pull his fingers out of you and wipe them on his sweats, and you shudder at the feeling.

"that was. . so much better than i imagined. n' i imagined it being pretty good." you smile and giggle, placing a kiss on his neck. he laughs in response, raising his eyebrows at your confession.

"bet i'm a better fuck than you imagined, too." the air in the room shifts again, and suddenly you're aware of his cock pressed against your thigh through his sweats again.

"bet you are."

you raise up, kissing him again as your hands find the waistband of his sweats and invite themselves in, meeting his dick that's been hard since you first sat down on his couch. "and i'm the one who planned this? you're free-balling." you murmur against his lips, and he mirrors your words from earlier.

"'s more comfortable, 's all— fuck." he's cut off when you pull his cock out of his sweats and run your finger over his pretty brown tip, dipping into his slit. his hips thrust up, chasing your soft hand. "g'na drive me crazy." he almost whines, jerking against you when you swipe your thumb against his aching tip again.

"just returnin' the favor." you shoot back, raising up to hover over him, swiping his leaking dick through your wetness. he wraps his hand around his thick base, moving in time with your teasing strokes. "you're big." you groan, hesitating to seat yourself on him.

"i know, doll, you can take it though. we'll make you take it." he speaks into your clothed chest, muffled and horny, and you’re sure he means what he says. you drip even more at his words, sticky slick wetting his fat tip.

not quite plug!hobie whose hands are on your hips as you sink down onto his pretty dick, whining into his neck as he encourages you. “you got it, baby, you’re takin’ me so well. god, she’s so wet.”

"she— fuck that's so hot," you moan, eyes rolling back at his words.

"mhm?" he hums.

you don't respond, too busy focusing on his fat cock pushing into you, focusing on the way you both make it fit, exactly like he said you would. finally, he bottoms out, your thighs resting against his sweats.

"g' job, babe. knew you could take me." you jolt against him, his heady words sending another pang of arousal straight to where you two meet.

not quite!plug hobie who you tell to move, raising your hips up as he pulls out, meeting him in the middle as he fills you back up. his hips slot against yours again, and his big chocolate eyes are fixed on yours, gazing upon you in adoration, while your eyes are fixed on where he disappears into you.

"so big, feels s'good. ." you whisper, meeting his gaze. the look in his eyes has chills running down your spine as you raise your hips again, choosing to connect your lips with his again. hobie starts to find a rhythm, now, wrapping his long arms around your waist. you swap spit with him as his hips meet your ass, taking over.

body bouncing with each of his thrusts into your pussy, arms wrapped around his neck. his lips slipping against yours, plump and wet. you both take it slow, basking in the feeling of finally being like this with someone you've wanted since you first saw them.

he fills you up so nicely, thick cock nestled in your achy walls, leaking tip just barely kissing your cervix as he thrusts just a bit harder and you push down a little more.

"y'feel me, darlin? 'm all the way in, at the end of you, god, 'm g'na make you mine." he babbles in pleasure, pushing his hips up even harder. still soft, but firm, and deliberate.

you nod against his lips, hand resting on his cheek. "feel you, bee, feel you in my fuckin' stomach, i swear." you feed off of him and he feeds off of you, kissing and slapping your hips against the others, wild and wanting. "fuckin' me so good, bee, makin' me yours."

"makin' me yours, doll, pussy's squeezin' me like she don't w'na let go."

"don't wanna let go, wan' you so bad." you confess, bringing your ass down onto his cock again. "i— fuck," you sob. his cock curves just right, and with his tip pressing against your spot now, hobie's found new determination.

"that it?" he asks, making sure to keep hitting that spongy patch of skin with every thrust, sheathing his cock in your wet heat.

"'s it, hobie, feels so good, shit." the high has worn off by now, leaving pure emotions and desire driving you two. you get tight around him again, cunt pulsing with every slam of his hips against yours. you feel so good around him, so tight and wet.

"'m g'na—, you're gonna make me cum, bee."

he moves one hand from around your waist at that, sliding between you two to toy with your clit, thumb rubbing wild shapes against the throbbing bud.

"fuck," you cry, grinding against his thumb and down onto his dick.

"you close again, doll? wan' you to wet me up, ma'me a mess," he encourages, big brown eyes fixed on yours like they've been the whole night.

"'m so close, bee, wanna cum for you, wanna wet you up."

"then do it." he mirrors your words from earlier, and the pleasure pulsing through your veins and infatuation swirling around in your blood gets to be too much, and you cum on his cock, still slamming your hips down onto him, meeting his thrusts in the middle. "thaaaat's it, doll." you hear hobie praise through the fog in your mind, bounces turned to messy grinds as you get all tight around him, cumming hard.

"y'alright, love?" he asks, moving your hair out of your face.

"mhm. w'na go again, you haven't come yet." he chuckles at your words, wrapping both hands around your waist and kissing you again.

"lay back, love." he murmurs against your lips, flipping you onto the couch. your back meets the smooth fabric as he lays you down, pulling his tee and his sweats off. you follow suit, stripping your shirt off and throwing it somewhere behind his couch. his watchful eyes fall on your face, then your tits, then your cunt, taking your body in for the first time.

he finds his place on top of you, balancing himself on his elbows as he kisses you again. he reaches down, but you stop him. "lemme do it," you urge, replacing his hand. you line him up with your sopping entrance, nodding twice to tell him to push in.

the stretch is so fucking good, his cock bullying it's way into your tight cunt again.

"fuck, that's it," he curses, watching your face as he seats himself in your once again.

"so deep. ." you trail off, looking down at your stomach, and oh fuck, no way.

"hobie, hobes, look," you urge, and he points his gaze to where you're looking.

"oh, love, look at that. can see myself, right there," he presses down on the bulge he creates, ripping a broken moan straight from your throat.

"fuck me, please," you sob, squirming under him. he nods, understanding, and finds his rhythm easier this time, lean hips slapping against you. your body jolts up the couch with every thrust, choppy whines of nonsensical sentences leaving your mouth.

not quite plug who's absolutely pussydrunk!hobie can't get enough of your cunt, the way you squeeze him oh so tight, the wet squelches of your heat drawing him further into madness. he needs to go deeper, needs to fuck you harder, so he raises up, throwing your legs over his shoulders, leaning back down to bury his cock deep inside you.

"baby, fuck." it's a gritted groan, head rolling back onto the couch as he mouths at your neck, licking and biting at your heated skin. his thrusts are slow and firm, dick kissing your cervix, the slaps sounding out through his living room.

you're both quiet this time around, too blissed out to do anything but fuck, allowing yourselves to succumb to pleasure. every inch of his cock fills you, driving you crazy, driving him crazy too. it's intimate, his lips on your neck, your fingers palming at his back, limbs tangled together. and you can feel it building up in you again.

"'m g'na cum, hobes." he moves one of his arms, bringing his thumb down to rub at your clit, still mouthing at your neck. he lets it happen this time, doesn't urge you or change anything he's doing, and you coast into your climax so gratifyingly that you almost cry, squeezing him tight once again. now, your focus is on making him cum.

"wan' you to cum, hobes."

"gotta pull out, love. we ain' even put a rubber on." he realizes.

"no you don't. 'm clean. jus' fill me up, please." in your right mind, you wouldn't let him, but you're not in your right mind, and neither is he. so he cums with a groan, shaking as he spills pressed against your cervix.

the air's.. different now, satisfied and calm. you both lay there for a while, until hobie's picking you up and carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up.

after, he lights another joint that you two share tucked under his covers, hugged up like a couple.

not quite plug!hobie holds you as you both fall asleep.

#hobie brown smut #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x black reader #hobie smut #hobie x black reader #hobie x reader #tw weed #ummmm yeah that happened #hope y'all like it #wrote most of this today :3 #OKAY TIME 2 POST

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chaoticallyfluffy · 3 months ago

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I want more of the JL acting like normal celebrities.

Batman and Chappel Roan working together on a competitive cooking show against teams of Kylie Jenner and Danny Devito, Kanye West and Kesha, Taylor Swift and Superman, etc. They are a surprisingly good team who work together great. They end up winning the whole thing and a bunch of wholesome memes start trending about the two of them adopting you after your awful parents kicked you out. Superman and Taylor Swift are surprisingly a TERRIBLE team. They’re disqualified because they never finished cooking their meals as they were too busy arguing. They are memed to be the parents who kicked you out and desperately need a divorce.

Wonder Woman going on a survivor-like reality show about a bunch of celebrities stuck on an island together and all the contestants are whining about things like “My hair is so frizzy and Chad is SO hot, I don’t want him to see me like this omg” While Diana has already chopped down multiple trees, used the wood to make a cabin for everyone, hunted a wild boar which is currently roasting over a campfire she also made with the leftover sticks and leaves, and cracked the coconuts from the tree. The rest of the show is mostly a normal reality show. The other contestants never have to lift a finger and can peacefully gossip and have drama while being well fed, housed, and hydrated. The only real difference is that every few minute the camera switches to Diana wresting a grizzly bear or catching fish with her bare hands.

The masked singer where there’s a person in a colourful parrot costume singing on stage and everyone has to guess who it is. People have guessed many celebrities like Oliver Queen, Bruce Wayne, or even Lex Luther, but they mostly guessed famous singers because the guy is GOOD and there’s no way he doesn’t sing professionally. He sang songs like “Party in the USA”, “Call Me Maybe” and “Never Gonna Give You Up”. People were going crazy trying to figure out who he is. The time finally comes for the reveal. The man slowly takes off his parrot head and... it’s Batman. The crowd goes wild.

The Flash (Barry) and Green Lantern (Hal) make a podcast and spend the entire time going on long rants about their respective interests. Flash talks about forensic science and chemistry for an hour while GL hums in interest or asks questions every once in a while. After that GL rambles about airplanes and engineering for another hour while Flash enthusiastically nods and adds in related stories every so often. Twitter diagnoses them with autism.

Captain Marvel has a TikTok account where he posts himself trying suggestions from his fans. Some of his most popular videos include him juggling a bunch of chainsaws (perfectly, btw), pranking JL members, bedazzling Mr Minds prison jar with fake crystals and speech bubble stickers that make it look like Mr Mind is saying things like “I’m DUMB”, and his most popular by far, citing The Santa Clause rules to Black Adam and convincing him that since he killed his father technically that makes him his new dad (the horror stopped Black Adam in place mid battle, giving Marvel the perfect opportunity to punch him in the face. The punch has been slo-mo’d and memed to oblivion). His Batman mandated PR team has been begging him to stop for months but in response he posts himself TikTok dancing (terribly) in front of a green screen in the background showing an image of the emails while asking for more suggestions.

If anyone has any ideas like this or fics to recommend plz tell me In the comments, I love the Justice League just casually being celebrities.

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scarletsknight · 4 months ago

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f*ck me like you’re famous

wc: 3.3k

pairing: eddie x fem!reader

synopsis: the man everyone wants only wants you

cw: 18+ mdni!!, rockstar!eddie, non canon au, smut, use of marijuana, mentions of alcohol consumption, established relationship, pet names, teasing, eddie's rings (y’all alr know), choking, fingering, oral sex (giving/receiving), orgasm denial, praising, hair pulling, reader has an oral fixation (lowkey), multiple orgasms, mirror sex (not really but kinda), lil bit of possessiveness, overuse of the word fuck, marking, sex while under the influence, unprotected sex, aftercare, fluff?

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts since my first acc got snipped and just never reposted 😭 but i lowkey wanna get back into writing for this account. pls don’t come for me if i don’t follow through tho life is just fucking crazy rn but i miss this blog and i miss you guys so i’ll try. but until then i hope y’all enjoy this!! 🫶🏽

Eddie wasn't expecting much difference when Corroded Coffin started playing at the Hideout on Fridays instead of Tuesdays. But the crowd more than quadrupled in size, and it seemed to keep growing every week they came back.

In the middle of one of their songs, Eddie spotted you not too far from the small stage.

You had been fixated on the band's lead guitarist since you got here, barely taking your eyes from him as he expertly moved his fingers over the strings of his instrument.

This is what Eddie's always wanted; playing for an actual crowd of people and not just five drunks. But now, as he hears the cheers and sees everyone headbanging along to the music, a dream he's had for so long, all he can do is focus on you.

After their set was over, Eddie was surprisingly quick to start loading their things into his van.

Eddie was getting no help from his bandmates as they were distracted by the group of girls that had come up and started talking to them. One of them even tried flirting with Eddie, but he quickly excuses himself once he finds you again, smoking.

He weaves his way past the people crowding the alleyway behind the bar, walking through clouds of smoke.

With your back turned to him, you didn't see him coming as you were in the middle of a conversation with your friends, passing a joint around.

Eddie's eyes slowly drank you in as he approached you.

To say you look good would be an understatement. Not that Eddie would ever think otherwise, but it was something about the fitting leather pants you were wearing that he was slowly growing obsessed with.

You feel two hands on your hips, and your back meets his chest. Eddie snakes his arms around you.

Resting your head against Eddie's shoulder, you turn your head to face him.

"My love," you lazily grin at him.

"Hi, angel," Eddie cupped your jaw and brought your lips to his. He could taste the faint traces of alcohol on your tongue and the smoke your lips still tasted of.

The friends you arrived with all commended Eddie and his band for their performance before you added onto the praises.

"You guys were fucking amazing," you tell him.

"You really think so?" he asks.

You turn your body toward him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Yeah, of course," you nod, "And I could tell your little groupies thought so too," you said.

Eddie scoffed, "Groupies? I don't have groupies."

"I beg to differ," you say. Eddie follows your eyes, looking at the same girl from earlier, watching you and Eddie, seeming a little mad that someone else has their hands all over him. But you don't give a shit; Eddie was yours first.

"You jealous?" he teases.

"Never. You're so fucking hot," you tangle your fingers in his hair pulling him closer as if there was any space left between you, "And I don't know, I kinda loved watching everyone go crazy over you, knowing you're gonna fuck my brains out later."

Eddie backed you up against the side of your friend's car, deepening the kiss as he held your face.

"Keep talking and looking at me like that, I'll take you right here," he threatens, and you laugh.

Eddie slid his leg between yours, making you hum against his lips, and you felt his thighs come into contact with your core.

"Eddie," you murmur. From the look in your eyes, he could already tell what you were thinking.

"Wanna get out of here?"

"Do you really have to ask?" you smirk.

You bid your friends goodbye, Eddie thanking all of them for coming and letting them know when and where Corroded Coffin is playing next. Walking to his van, hand in hand, Eddie opens the passenger side door for you after you said your byes to the rest of the band.

Eddie kept one hand on the wheel while the other rested on your thigh. Briefly looking over at you, Eddie feels his chest swell. He watches you roll a joint for him, not wanting to waste any time once you get home, and he couldn't be more in love.

Watching your face twist up in concentration as you wrap the paper around the bud, using the skills he taught you, only made something stir inside Eddie. His hand on your leg started inching higher and higher, firmly squeezing your thigh.

"Babe, don't start. I'm tryna concentrate," you said, rolling the paper between your fingers.

"Can't help it when you're the hottest girlfriend on the planet," he grins.

You glance over at him out of the corner of your eye. "Just shut up and keep your eyes on the road, Munson," you said.

But Eddie didn't miss the smile that stretched across your face from his words.

Once Eddie was parked, he hopped out of the van with the freshly rolled joint between his lips, still unlit. He was humming one of Corroded Coffin's songs as he waited for you with his held hand out for you to take as you got out of the van.

Knowing the whole place was empty, Eddie loudly sang as the two of you slow danced into his trailer. Eddie, dramatically swaying and spinning you around, had giggles spilling from your mouth as you made your way to his room.

Taking off his shoes and jacket, Eddie swipes a lighter from his desk before sitting at the edge of his bed and sparking the joint.

Eddie hummed delightedly as thick clouds of smoke entered his lungs. He fell back onto his bed, staring up at his ceiling, taking another drag.

Having gotten distracted by your boyfriend's immense music collection, not knowing what to put on, you finally make your way over to him.

Eddie feels the bed sink on either side of his legs as you climb on top of him. He rests one hand on your hip while he smokes with the other.

You pluck the joint out of his mouth, bringing the filter to your lips and taking a hit for yourself.

Both his hands are on you now, moving up to your waist. You readjust yourself in his lap, and you hear Eddie sigh. You start subtly dragging your hips against his as you expel the smoke through your nose.

Eddie looked up at you like you were a goddess he was more than ready to worship.

"God, you're so fucking perfect," Eddie said, "And all mine."

You would've clenched your thighs together if Eddie's body wasn't between them. You leaned down, grabbing Eddie's jaw and bringing his lips closer to yours. Eddie parted his lips as you blew the smoke into his mouth.

"And you're mine," you whisper, kissing his face.

You both sit up, your lips still connected to his.

"You know that I love you," he stared up at you, his big brown eyes drowning in adoration for you.

"I know," you lean your forehead against his, "I love you too," you tell him before pressing your lips to his.

"Ever since high school. The moment you walked into O'Donnell's class 30 minutes late wearing that goddamn skirt," Eddie slides his hands up your thighs.

You hum into his mouth, kissing him deeply.

"Just promise you won't forget me when you guys become famous," you joke.

"I would never," he says, "You think I'm crazy enough to give this pussy up."

"I hate you," you giggle against his lips.

"Didn't you just say you love me?"

"Yeah, well I change my mind and take it back," you teasingly say, getting out of his lap.

You turn your back to him, but Eddie doesn't let you get too far before he's on his feet too, wrapping his arms around you. Laughs spill from your lips as he holds you against his chest, burying his face into your neck.

"Tell me you love me," he said lowly in your ear, the raspiness of his voice causing slick to pool between your legs.

"No," you said like a moody child.

"Come on, sweetheart, just tell me."

Eddie's fingers found the buttons on your pants, starting to undo them. You wiggle your hips a little assisting Eddie in getting the leather down your legs. He slipped one of his hands between your thighs, stroking your clothed heat.

If Eddie's arm wasn't wrapped around your middle, your knees would've buckled. Between being high and having been incredibly horny for your boyfriend all night, you were extremely sensitive to his touch.

"Let me hear it," he rasps in your ear.

"Eddie," you let your head fall back against his shoulder.

"Mhm?" he hums into your neck.

"I-" the words die on your tongue when he slips his hand into your underwear.

You whimper, feeling the cool metal of his rings against your warm skin. He runs his fingers through your folds, letting your slick coat his digits, purposely neglecting your clit.

"All this for a man you hate?" he scoffs.

You whine, squirming in his arms, trying to move your hips against his hand. But Eddie's strength doesn't allow for it.

"Tell me you love me and I'll give you anything, baby."

You quickly drop the act, falling deeper into this headspace, desperate for Eddie to do anything.

"I love you, Eddie."

"See? That wasn't so hard, now, was it."

He kisses your cheek, starting to rub small circles on your clit. You practically melt against his body, and he falls back onto his bed with you between his legs. You turn your head to capture Eddie's lips in a kiss. At the same time, you're lifting your hips and pulling your underwear off, carelessly letting the piece of fabric hang from your ankle.

Eddie grabs your thighs, keeping them apart. He brings his hand back down to your pussy, lazily playing with your clit.

"Look at you, baby," you follow Eddie's eyes to the mirror by his bed. The sight of you between his legs as he toyed with your clit should've flooded you with embarrassment, but you were already too far gone to care. "So fucking beautiful." he kissed your temple.

"Eds," you start squirming.

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"Please," you grabbed his wrist, directing his hand where you really needed him.

"So so wet," the tip of his finger teasingly circled your hole before slipping inside you, "And so fucking tight." he then added a second.

You braced yourself with your hands on Eddie's thighs, your nails scratching the denim of his jeans.

"That feel good, baby?"

"Y-Yes. So good."

Eddie pressed his lips to yours as he found a steady rhythm for his fingers. He pushes his tongue into your mouth, and you moan around the wet muscle as he curls his fingers against your soft walls.

"Oh god, Eddie—please," you tell him.

Your legs threatened to close around his hand before he pulled them apart with his other hand. The same hand trails up your body, cupping your boob over your shirt, feeling your perky nipple beneath the material since you opted for no bra tonight. He tweaked the sensitive nub between his fingers, causing you to gasp and your pussy to flutter around his fingers.

"Fuck-m'gonna cum."

"Yeah? you wanna cum all over my fingers, pretty girl?"

"Yes! please please l-"

You let out a broken cry, feeling your orgasm being so abruptly ripped away. You heard Eddie laugh as your hips tried to chase his hand before he left you untouched.

"That's what you get for acting like a brat," he said.

That teasing little fucker.

Turning yourself around to face him, Eddie sees the pout on your face before it's taken over by a smirk.

"I'm sorry, baby," you slowly let your fingers trail down his chest, "let me make it up to you," you fluttered your lashes at him.

Eddie grinned as your hand reached the front of his jeans, palming his semi hard on through his clothes.

He pulled his shirt over his head, flinging it somewhere in the room. You quickly undo his jeans, slipping your hand inside his boxers and beginning to stroke his length.

"Fuck, princess," Eddie groans when you squeeze your fist around him.

You started pulling his jeans off along with his underwear, and Eddie kicked them off his legs the rest of the way. You positioned yourself between his legs, circling your thumb around the tip, smearing the beads of precum all over his cock.

You look up at him through your lashes before you take him into your mouth. You start slow, only sucking on the head, letting the salty precum land on your tongue while you wrap your hand around the base of his cock.

"That's it, sweetheart. Just like that," Eddie sighs, stroking the back of your head as you take more of him into your mouth.

Whether it was your high or just your infatuation with this man, you couldn't get enough of the feeling of Eddie in your mouth. The weight of his cock on your tongue and his breathy moans were enough to have you pressing your thighs together.

You run your tongue along the underside of his cock, coating his length in your saliva. Eddie ran a hand through his hair, brushing his bangs out of his eyes as if he didn't want to miss a thing. Even with tears in your eyes and spit pooling out of the corners of your mouth, Eddie still couldn't take his eyes off you.

The muscles in Eddie's stomach contracted as he started to roll his hips against your face. You slowly started taking more of him into your mouth, focusing on breathing through your nose as you relax your throat for Eddie. You didn't care about the limits of your gag reflex, taking Eddie's dick deeper down your throat.

Eddie tangled his fingers in your hair, pulling you off him. You whine, not just from the pleasurable pain throbbing from your scalp but the loss of his cock in your mouth.

"Shit, you almost made me cum," he said, shallowly breathing.

"So why didn't you?" you ask, ready to slide him back into your mouth.

Eddie's hold on your hair tightens as he holds you where he wants you.

He smiles as you weakly moan, "Cause as much as I love watching you take me down that pretty little throat of yours, I really need to fuck you."

You moan again, but this time at his words.

"Please fuck me, Eddie," you didn't care how desperate you sounded. "Please."

"I know, angel, I know."

Once every piece of clothing was discarded, your teeth clashed with his in a heated kiss. He pushed his tongue into your mouth, easily dominating the kiss. Your head met the pillows as Eddie's laid you down. He took his place between your legs, looking down at you.

Your eyes travel down Eddie's body, studying the ink littered all over his skin like you haven't hundreds of times before.

The muscles in his arm flexed as he pumped his cock in his hand, and you wanted desperately to squeeze your thighs together.

"How bad do you want it?"

"I want you so fucking badly, Eddie. Been thinking about having you all night. It was hard not thinking about getting up on that stage and letting you have your way with me in front of everyone, so they know who you belong to."

Eddie raises an eyebrow at you before you shrug.

"I told you, not jealous. Maybe just a little possessive."

"That's even hotter," Eddie tells you, "You're mine just as much as I'm yours," you felt his cockhead nudging into your entrance.

"Yours...Mine," you moan out the word as he slides into you.

You thought the feeling of Eddie inside of you, filling you up, would make you delirious.

"Fuck, baby, you feel so good."

"Eddie~"

Eddie started moving slowly, only rocking his hips into yours steadily.

Eddie knew you as well as the back of his hand. From every movement you make to the noises that spill from your lips, it's like he could tell what you wanted without vocalizing it.

He circled his arms under your legs, your calves resting on his shoulders.

"Yes—my fucking god, Eddie," you buried your head into the pillows.

You reach out to him, your nails leaving crescent-shaped indents in his skin as he folds you over, pressing your knees to your chest. Eddie's cock deliciously stretched your walls, feeling him so deep you were sure he was in your guts.

Eddie dropped your legs from his shoulders to kiss you. He swallowed your moans, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth.

"You're so fucking wet," he groans against your lips.

"You feel so good," you whimper.

Sitting back on his haunches, he spreads your legs wider, mesmerized by the way his cock disappears inside you.

His cock twitches against your soft walls, seeing you fucked out beneath him. Your tits bounce with every one of his movements. Goosebumps rose on your skin from his rings as he slid his hand up your torso. He didn't miss the chance to tease you, rolling and pinching one of your nipples between his fingers.

You grab Eddie's wrist, silently telling him what you want as you bring his hand to your neck. Eddie wraps his fingers around your throat, applying pressure to the sides, sure to not crush your windpipe.

Your eyes rolled back, and Eddie could feel your pussy pulsing around him. Feeling the stainless steel digging into your skin added to the euphoria coursing through your veins.

Eddie saw the smile etched onto your face as he pounded into you and thought he couldn't be more in love.

"Shit, angel, I don't know if I'm gonna last any longer."

"Please don't stop. I'm so close."

"You gonna cum for me, sweetheart?"

"Yes...Please, Eddie."

"I want you to cum with me," Eddie's hand finds its way between you, rubbing uncoordinated circles on your clit.

All you could do was weakly nod at him.

The music was barely heard over the sounds of your moans and heavy breaths with the obscene squelching coming from where your bodies connected. You blink your eyes to refocus on the man above you. Eddie's messy hair clung to his forehead and neck from the thin layer of sweat covering his skin. The guitar pick he has on the small chain around his neck dangles above your face, and you slightly tug on it to bring him back down and meet his lips with yours.

"I fucking love you," you said to Eddie as you came.

Eddie couldn't hold off any longer, cumming after you said those words to him. His cum painted your walls white, slowly thrusting into you as your pussy milked his cock.

"Fuck, I love you too," he mumbled into your mouth.

You lazily made out, the both of you taking your time to come down from your highs.

Eddie finally moved from between your legs, and you could already feel his cum start to spill out of you.

"Don't move," he tells you.

"Like I have a choice. Unless you want another addition to the collection of stains."

"Like you aren't responsible for half the stains on this bed."

You gasp dramatically, "And whose fault is that!?"

Eddie laughed, picking up his boxers from the pile of clothes on the floor before leaving the room. He came back shortly with a damp washcloth and took his place back between your legs.

You saw Eddie lick his lips as he stared at your pussy, messy with his cum.

"Baby, the sheets," you remind him.

"Right," he snapped out of his thoughts, "It's kinda hot, though," he said with a smirk, wiping your sticky skin.

"You're so gross," you shake your head.

"But you love it," he grins.

a/n: feedback is appreciated!! thank you for reading <33

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shaniacsboogara · 7 months ago

Text

jojo siwa claiming she's revitalizing gay pop and releasing 'karma' on the same night as conan gray's 'found heaven' and chappell roan's 'good luck babe' is so poetically ironic. it's like the universe WANTS to draw a comparison between jojo and queer pop artists.

the thing that makes queer pop compelling as a genre is the unique storytelling and experiences of queer artists told through their music. that doesn't necessarily mean every song by a queer artist has to be about their queerness. they don't have to scream "hey i'm gay!" in every single song they write. but claiming to be "reinventing gay pop" should mean you're telling interesting stories about your queer experience, right???

'found heaven' by conan gray is about growing up as a queer kid with religious guilt and disapproving parents. he equates being in love in an authentic way to "finding heaven", and the piece as a whole resonates with a TON of queer people in different stages of their lives. some people can look back at their childhoods and how much they've grown since then, some can relate because they're currently going through what conan's written about, and some people can sympathize with the way some queer people are treated, even if they aren't necessarily queer themselves.

'good luck babe' is a song about queerness and compulsory heterosexuality. chappell sings about a woman she was in a relationship with who decided to settle down in a conventional marriage despite being queer. the song reflects the denial a lot of queer people go through (specifically regarding the lesbian experience) and the unfortunate way a lot of them end up repressing who they are to conform to societal standards. it's fun, it's campy, but its message is still poignant.

as for karma… there's nothing inherently queer about that song. the music video for the original version, ‘karma’s a bitch’ by brit smith, featured a heterosexual storyline. jojo buying the rights to a song she didn't write isn't inherently a bad thing, a lot of mainstream artists do that all the time. however, if you're claiming to be a pioneer of the “gay pop” genre and your music doesn't reflect any queer themes or experiences, is it really “gay pop”? again, queer artists don't have to write exclusively about their queerness, but if you try to present yourself as a voice for the queer community without telling any of their stories, you're not going to be lauded as some revolutionary figure. if any of the songs on jojo’s album are actually about her experience as a lesbian or contain any queer themes, then i think she'd qualify as a “gay pop” artist. but so far, she's given us a faux edgy, generic pop song and tried to market it as some insane never-been-done-before feat. and honestly, if her entire album is like this and she continues to market herself this way, it's a slap in the face to all the genuine artists and storytellers in the queer community.

but let's stop talking about jojo siwa and start talking about the incredible queer artists who are truly breathing life into the "gay pop" genre: chappell roan, renee rapp, ben platt, conan gray, girl in red, kevin atwater, baby queen, mitski, clairo, dodie, and SO MANY MORE (feel free to add on some of your favourites because there are so many wonderful artists out there <3)

also: if you have a different perspective on this situation i would absolutely love to hear what you think and if you agree / disagree with this! i love discussing topics like this so feel free to reblog with your own take

#jojo siwa #karma #chappell roan #conan gray #queer pop #also the fact that this rebrand is a coverup for jojo's awful behavior #like be fucking fr #don't use the queer community as a sheild

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zegrasdrysdale · 9 months ago

Note

Hi! Could you do a Luke Hughes x reader where the reader still goes to UMich while Luke is in Jersey w/ Jack and she speculates he’s cheating on her? Angst with a happy ending, preferably? Thank you!

[ 604 miles ] l. hughes

paring : Luke Hughes x fem!reader

summary : after seeing Luke on Jack’s private story, his girlfriend begins speculating that he’s doing more than just playing hockey

warning(s) : angst ! but w a happy ending. mentions of cheating. reader still goes to Umich

author’s note : oooh this is gonna be juicy

༺═──────────────═༻

She trusts Luke. She swear she does, but she can’t help but feel the little pull at her heart when she watches him in the background of Jack’s private story.

A bunch of their mutual Michigan friends started to text her while she was doing homework. Even fans on social media have been posting about it and tagging her in posts.

She was confused, then she opened Snapchat to see what they were talking about.

In one video, Jack’s drunk and dancing to some song that she doesn’t know. In the background, she sees her boyfriend sitting at a booth with some blonde at his side. He isn’t touching her, but she’s sitting too close to him.

In another video, Luke’s in the background dancing with that same girl. She notices the smile on Luke’s face when he faces the camera.

It brings tears to her eyes as she jumps to an immediate conclusion. She’s been right every time so far.

She truly thought he was different than the other hockey players she dated. They all cheated on her too, and Luke promised her over and over again that he would never do that to her.

Well, here he is. Probably cheating on her and Jack is posting it all over his private Snap story for all their mutual friends to see. It’s embarrassing for her.

It took months for Luke to break down the wall she built around her heart. They met halfway through their freshman year at Michigan. It wasn’t until the beginning of their sophomore year that they started dating.

With her sadness turning into anger and tears rolling down her hot face, she calls Luke. It keeps ringing. And ringing. So she calls one more time.

And gets his voicemail.

“Luke Warren Hughes, you have five minutes to call me back or you’re going to end up without a girlfriend,” she says into the phone. “I mean it. And you better have a damn good reason you’re dancing with some random blonde girl on Jack’s Snapchat.” Then she hits the end button and puts the phone on her desk with the screen up.

A minute passes and her phone doesn’t ring. She doesn’t get a text.

Two minutes pass and her fingers are itching to call him again. She wants to stay true to her word because if Luke has a good explanation as to why he’s with some blonde then he’ll call her back.

Four minutes pass from the call. She drafts a text to Jack that she’s going to send in a minute if her phone doesn’t ring.

‘ tell luke i’m going to send him his things that i have in my apartment and that i want mine back. i’m done. ’

After five minutes pass, she sends the text.

It’s not the first time that this has happened, and it’s the last. Not only is she done with Luke, she’s done with any hockey boys in general. Too many times has she gotten her heart broken because the relationship had to go long distance. Too many times has she had too much trust.

Two minutes after she sents Jack the text, her phone rings. Jack is calling her.

“I really don’t feel like explaining why-”

“What do you mean you’re done?” Luke interrupts before she can finish her sentence. “What did I do?”

Her jaw drops. “You can’t be serious, Luke,” she replies. “I saw you in the background of Jack’s snaps getting too comfortable with a blonde girl. Sitting with her and a smile on your face while dancing with her? You told me you wouldn’t break my heart.”

“That’s not- baby, she’s a friend,” Luke tries to defend. “Jack’s friend if I’m being honest. He was busy hanging out with Nico and Dawson so she came to sit with me. She dragged me out onto the dance floor and told me to dance. I told her I had a girlfriend and she still dragged me to the dance floor and got close to me. I didn’t try to do anything with her because I don’t want to.”

Tears sting her eyes. “I gave you a chance to explain yourself,” she tells him. “I called you twice before I texted Jack. It took me texting Jack before you called me from his phone. You told me you’d never break my heart but you did. I don’t trust you, Luke. I’ve been told that same story over and over again.”

Luke stays silent. She has to dry her own tears that have rolled down her cheeks. She has to cover her mouth so she doesn’t let out a sob that he hears.

She’s standing her ground. She’s protecting her heart. The 604 miles between them should be enough space and make it easier to move on.

“(Y/N), I would never cheat on you,” Luke tells her. She can hear the sincerity in his voice but she still doesn’t believe him.

“Luke, I can’t right now,” she softly says. She’s pretty sure he can’t even hear her because of how loud it is in the bar or wherever they are. “I’m sorry.”

Then she hangs up. She shuts her phone off and crawls into bed, completely forgetting about her homework. All she wants to do right now is wallow.

His words are just words. She knows what she saw. Right now, nothing that Luke can say to her will change her mind about being done.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It’s nearly two in the afternoon when she hears a knock on her off-campus apartment door. She hasn’t gotten up out of bed in nearly forty-eight hours except to use the bathroom. Her phone hasn’t been turned on since her talk with Luke the other day.

Someone is probably coming to check on her since she has fallen off the face of the Earth for the moment. That is the only reason why she drags herself out of bed to go answer the door.

When she swings open the door, it’s the last person she expects to be on her doorstep. He actually supposed to be in California right now. They have a game to play in a few hours in Anaheim.

Luke holds a single rose out for her and a little basket full of snacks is in his other hand. “I was going to get a whole bouquet for you but I forgot to grab one at the store,” he tells her. “If anyone asks, I did not pull this from the bed by the front door of the building.”

“What are you doing here?” she asks. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I wanted to talk,” he replies. “You haven’t been replying to any of my texts or answering my calls. I told Lindy that I needed a few personal days and he told me that I can come back when I’m ready to. I didn’t want you to keep thinking that I was cheating on you or hurting you. That was never my intention.”

She rolls her eyes and walks into the apartment. Luke is quick to follow her and shut the door behind her. “You can say what you have to say then you can get on a flight to Anaheim to play tonight,” she tells him as she sits on the couch in the living room.

He sets the basket of snacks on the coffee table in front of her and sets the rose next to it. Luke pulls out his phone and taps on it for a second. She’s about to say something when he shows her his screen.

It’s a picture of the blonde girl that was with Luke, but she’s all cuddled up with Jack. Jack looks happy and is looking at her like she’s the only person in the world. It was taken at the beginning of the night because she can tell that there is something behind Jack’s eyes.

“It’s Jack’s ‘friend’,” Luke assures her. “They’re together but aren’t telling people they’re together but they make it obvious that they are. The reason she was hanging out with me for a little bit was because she wanted to know how to tell Jack that she’s ready to publicly be together.”

She looks up at Luke behind the phone. “You couldn’t answer your phone and just tell me that?” she asks.

“I left it in the car,” he tells her. He taps on the screen a few more times and holds up a screenshot of his and Jack’s locations. They weren’t together, and it looks like Luke was right outside the building.

It’s all making sense to her. Her and her trust issues were wrong this time.

A pout forms on her lips at the same time tears form in her eyes. “You really weren’t lying to me,” she mumbles. Her voice is incredibly shaky.

“I told you that I would never break your heart,” Luke tells her. “Not intentionally. I definitely wouldn’t cheat on you. I know you’re past with that and no matter how upset I am with you, I wouldn’t resort to that. Unlike everyone else you’ve been with, I’m more willing to communicate. Hell, I took time away from the team to come make sure we were okay.”

One of the tears rolls down her cheeks and Luke uses the back of his pointer finger to wipe it away. She leans into his touch and looks at him. “I’m sorry, Luke,” she says. It comes out as more of a sob than actual words.

He moves closer to her and throws an arm over her shoulders. She curls up against him and Luke kisses the top of her head. “It’s okay,” he assures her. “I know how you think so I gave you a little bit then came to talk to you. Just needed you to think with your head and not your past.”

She frowns and throws her legs over his lap. Luke holds her close.

“Do you want to go to Anaheim to play?” she asks as she looks up at him. “There’s enough time for you to make it for warmups.”

Luke shakes his head. “I think I want to spend a few days with you,” he replies. “I’m pretty sure they can handle a couple of games without me. I need a handful of days off where I don’t think about hockey. I haven’t been playing the best so a break sounds nice.”

“It’s your first season,” she tells him as she runs her fingers through his curls. “There is so much pressure on you because of your last name. You’re most likely feeling it without realizing it.”

He looks at his girlfriend. “I know,” he sighs. “Just give me a few days and I’ll head back to Jersey to play when they get back from the California trip.”

She leans forward and presses a long kiss to his cheek. “I love you,” she tells him. “I think you’ll grow into your NHL skates. You’ll have an insane season next season, or even for the last 20 something games of the season.”

“I love you too,” Luke replies. “Sorry I made you think I was cheating on you.”

“Got you to come see me so I guess I forgive you,” she teases.

It’s been a few weeks since Luke came to see her. They watched the All Star game together in the apartment. That was the last time they saw each other.

Luke gets comfortable on the couch. “Can we take a nap since we’re okay?” he asks. “I’m exhausted.”

“Only if we move to the bed because you are too big to share a couch with.”

༺═──────────────═༻

MASTERLIST

have a request ? check out the guidelines !

wanna be added to the taglist ? fill out this form !

taglist : @dasiysthings @axaslee @ithinkimokeei @dancerbailey3 @love4lando @mangoluver @prettyinsatiable

#hockey imagines #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction #hockey fic #hockey oneshot #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl oneshot #luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes angst #zegrasdrysdale request

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dollfacefantasy · 1 year ago

Text

Let Them See

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: leon teases you while you're at the bookstore. on the way home, he has to pull over to deal with it.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, oral (m receiving), daddy kink, praise/degradation, dubcon elements (reader is scared of being caught), thigh fucking, he cums inside, car sex, road head, teasing in public, crying, sub space (forgive me if i'm using that incorrectly)

word count: 4.9k

a/n: i feel absolutely depraved. thank you to @sleepyluxe for the idea. this does reference my other fic, but it's not important to the plot. just if you read that one, this is like a little sequel! if you sent me a request, i am working on it, please be patient with me. i hope everyone enjoys. special smooches to everyone who reblogs and comments and sends me asks :) you don't know how much it means to me <3

tags: @dwkfan @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @sleepyluxe @petitecolibri @death-paint @luniaxi @bizzarethirst lmk if you would like to be added to the list!

You gaze out the window of the car, looking around at the beautiful day outside the glass. You softly hum along to the song playing on the radio as Leon’s fingers rub tiny circles on your inner thigh. You occasionally look over at him to watch him drive, your eyes full of all the love in the world. Your boyfriend finally had some time off, and he was spending it with you.

The entire day so far consisted of the two of you going around and just doing whatever you wanted. Just having fun together. Now, you were on the way to the bookstore. You had no shopping agenda, it was just another stop on your series of activities.

He pulls the car into a parking space near the shop and shuts it off. He squeezes your thigh once more before leaning over to kiss your cheek.

“You ready, sweetheart?” he asks while stroking your face softly.

You nod and lean in for one more sweet kiss.

The two of you exit the car and head towards the store. Your hand finds his immediately, interlacing your fingers together. You lean your head against his shoulder as the automatic doors glide apart to let you in. His expression softens when you display your need to be close, and he kisses the crown of your head.

You wander the aisles together, looking through different sections and pointing out different things you’d read or wanted to read. Eventually, you end up in the romance section. Leon shifts his position to stand behind you and watch from over your shoulder. His arms circle your form, encasing you against his chest while he nuzzles the side of your head and kisses your cheek a few times.

You smile and turn your head slightly to give him a small kiss as you read the synopsis of the book in your hand. You guessed he had missed you lately since he’d been working so much. He was usually pretty attached to you right after coming home, and you never minded because why would you? If he needed extra affection, you would never deny him that.

Your intuition was half-correct because your boyfriend had missed you and did want to be in physical contact with you constantly right now, but the reason behind his current touchiness was a different type of longing.

He was so pent up from being away from you. A couple of days before he left for his last mission you had let it slip that you wanted to call him Daddy, and he had been feeling wild ever since. Sure, he’d fucked you until you couldn’t walk prior to him leaving and spent nearly all of last night inside of you, but it wasn’t enough. He craved you so deeply. He could feel every cell in his body yearning for you.

In his time away, it felt as if images of you clouded his mind in every waking moment. If he wasn’t actively fighting for his life, but even in those moments too sometimes, he was thinking of you. Your blissed out, flushed face, and your soft parted lips spilling entrancing sounds of pleasure. The way he could nearly see a physical change once you heard him praise you or remind you to be good for Daddy haunted him each minute he was across the globe from you.

It was like a new part of you had been unlocked to him. A side of you that looked at him with such reverence that he almost couldn’t stand it. He loved every facet of your personality, but this piece of you that wanted nothing more than to love him and be taken care of drove him up the wall.

He takes a deep breath while peppering the side of your neck with gentle kisses, inhaling your scent. He lets out a hum next to your ear, quiet enough so only you can hear, but in a tone to let you know what he desires.

Despite his hinting, you just smile again and give him another chaste kiss. You were still too focused on that book for his liking. He watches you flip through the pages and scan different passages. He is disinterested for the most part until a certain section of words catches his eye.

“His manhood glides into her sopping heat,” he reads with a low chuckle. He gives you another peck on your temple. “This what you read when I’m gone, honey? So dirty, but I guess I should’ve known.”

“Oh, shut up,” you say with a roll of your eyes. You gently jab your elbow back into his abdomen.

That makes him smile and hold you even tighter against his broad front. His hands slowly rub either side of your body while his warm breath is blowing over your neck.

“No, it’s ok, baby. I know you’re insatiable. You gotta take care of yourself somehow when I’m not there,” he says quietly against your skin.

“Leon,” you say in a warning tone. It wasn’t so much what he was saying that was starting to get you hot. It was the low rumble of his voice, his lips brushing your throat, and his thick biceps locked around you like boa constrictors.

“I can just see it. You in bed, book in one hand, the other down your shorts, those fingers playing with your pretty, aching pussy. Hips bucking while you bite your lip,” he breathes, “But it’s probably not enough, is it? No, I’ve got you trained so well, baby girl. I know you can’t cum without Daddy’s help. I bet you call out for me when I’m not there, wishing it was me buried between those cute legs instead of your hand.”

“Leon,” you say, trying to speak in a warning tone, but it comes out as a soft whine. Your cheeks felt hot and your head a little dizzy.

“Leon?” he mocks, “That’s not who you were crying for last night, sweetheart.”

“Daddy,” you correct yourself quietly, turning your head to look into his eyes. His lips curl further into a predatory grin.

“That’s it. Good girl,” he coos and kisses your nose, “Daddy’s girl is so smart, remembering things like that. Good to know you keep some of that mind after I fuck it dumb all night.”

The way he taunts you makes it feel like your knees are going to buckle. You try to plead with him through your eyes. The aisle you were in was empty and towards the back of the store, but your mind was running rampant with thoughts of someone else catching the words that left his mouth.

“What’s that look for, princess?” he laughs in a hushed tone, “I thought you loved when I talked like that.”

“What if someone hears?” you ask softly.

“Oh, baby,” he coos, “Are you afraid of someone seeing how pathetic you are for Daddy?”

Heat bunches in your lower abdomen making you shift a little. You nod.

“Scared of someone seeing how you rub those gorgeous thighs together? How you can’t meet anyone’s eyes? How you have to hold Daddy’s hand to feel ok?” he whispers before nipping at your earlobe, “And all just from a few words.”

Your breath hitches and you fight to keep the whimper blossoming in your throat inside. “We’ll get in trouble,” you say, your voice shaking.

“Aw, my sweet girl doesn’t want to get in trouble?” he teases, “Baby, we’re just talking. If you can just keep yourself under control, we’ll be fine. I know it’s hard for you though. You hear Daddy, and you become such a needy little slut.”

Your head hangs forward a bit. You stare at the ground trying not to let yourself lose it in public. You were slipping into that state of mind where all you wanted was to be good for him. You wanted to just drop to your knees and have him pet your head while you sucked him off.

He knows what’s going through your mind. He can read you like no other. One of his hands slides down to your stomach to gently caress you there. The book you were holding was long forgotten, and Leon smiles wide as you push it back onto the shelf.

“I mean, even if someone did hear me, it wouldn’t be that bad, would it? It’s not like they’re seeing you when we’re alone. When you’re whining and crying for my cock like a bitch in heat,” he rasps.

“Daddy, stop,” you whimper. You felt hot and achy with need. You just wanted him to hold you and fuck you until you couldn’t think, but you were stuck in the middle of this store with bright lights and people walking around and nowhere to be alone.

“Do you really want me to stop, angel?” he asks, “I know you love this. I know you love feeling all shy and needing me to make it better. I think deep down you want everyone to know what a whore you are for me. You want ‘em to know how I own you.”

You bite your lip. You were getting so turned on, you felt like you could cry. The mix of shame and arousal swirls inside your head and pushes all other thoughts out. It was just you and Leon right now, no one else mattered. Being seen like this was becoming less of a worry to you.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he says with a smirk, “I know you love it. I bet you if I put my hand down your pants right now, you’d soak my fingers. I just know you’re dripping from being reminded how pathetic you are for me.”

You turn around in his hold to hide your face against his chest. Your arms wrap around his body so that you’re as close as possible. If someone else saw you now, they might just think you were having a bad day and Leon was comforting you in earnest.

Your display of submission amuses him. His face is smug. He rubs your back and cradles your head.

“Aw, baby, are you gonna cry? Is this too much for you, sweetheart? Are you embarrassed I can get you this desperate from my voice alone?” he croons.

“Yes,” you say. Your tone is desperate, both for him and to leave the store.

“But why are you embarrassed, honey? You like being claimed, don’t you?” he coos and tilts your head up by your chin, taking in your flustered expression, “Yeah, you like when people see us, and they know that you’re mine just from one look. So what is there to be embarrassed about, babydoll?”

“I like it… but… I just… because-” you struggle to articulate yourself as you gaze into his piercing eyes and he begins rubbing his knuckles along your jawline.

“Because you don’t want anyone else knowing? No one else can see how much you like being controlled because it’s shameful, isn’t it? It’s humiliating to admit that you like me controlling everything, from the number of times you cum at night down to the clothes you wear when you wake up in the morning. No one else should know the infinite amount of vile, disgusting things you would do if I just asked you to,” he whispers and kisses your hairline.

He swipes his thumb across your lips slowly as he talks. When he’s done, he sticks the digit between your lips. You gently suck on it, maintaining eye contact with him all the while.

His eyebrows raise, indicating how pleased he is with you. “I really do have you perfectly trained. You don’t even think about it anymore. You feel any part of me in your mouth and you know to start sucking like a good little slut.” He pulls his thumb back out and smears your saliva over your lips.

“Can we just leave?” you ask softly, your eyes casting down again, “Please.”

“What? You don’t want to buy anything? You know I’ll pay,” he teases, knowing that shopping couldn’t be further from your mind right now.

“Please Daddy,” you whisper and look at him desperately. You were so soaked it would be uncomfortable if you stood there for any longer.

He presses a tender kiss to your lips, deciding to give you a break. “Yeah, beautiful. We can leave. I don’t think you could focus enough to read anything right now even if you wanted to.”

He takes you under his arm and starts to guide you out of the store. You keep your arms around him as you lean into his side.

“That’s my girl. My good girl,” he whispers and kisses the top of your head while the two of you walk through the exit, “You just need Daddy right now, don’t you baby?”

“Mhm,” you hum quietly as you make your way through the parking lot.

When you reach the car, Leon opens the door for you and helps you inside. He then quickly goes around to the other side of the car and gets in the driver's seat. He wastes no time turning it on and getting it into gear. The car whips out of the parking space and out to the road.

Your eyes continuously dart over to him. The urge to hop over the center console and into his lap was all-consuming. He briefly glances at you with a knowing look.

You take that as a signal and slowly reach across the car. Your hand lands at the top of his thigh and slides over his lap to palm him through his jeans. He was already half-hard from tormenting you in the store.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks teasingly.

You tentatively pop the button of his jeans open and tug the zipper down. Your eyes are silently begging while your fingers begin massaging the outline of his length over his boxers.

“Just need to feel it. Please,” you say as your fingertips continue their miniscule movements.

He shakes his head and lets out a laugh while adjusting in his seat to give you better access. “You need it, do you?”

You nod and maneuver your hand into his underwear for direct contact. Your fingers wrap around him, feeling the heat of it pulsing in your grasp. Your content with that for a while, but soon you want more.

“Daddy, can I please suck your cock?” you ask.

Hearing your soft and sweet voice ask for something so vulgar made his dick twitch with need for you, but he tried to keep his reaction casual.

“Look at you, asking like a good girl,” he teases, “Can’t wait until we get home? Did Daddy get you too worked up?”

“Yes,” you say timidly, “I just… I need it.”

“It’s ok, you don’t have to explain,” he says, “You can suck me off, my love. Just be good, so we don’t crash.”

You nod quickly, happy he wasn’t going to torment you on the way home too. After unbuckling your seatbelt, you shift and lean over to his seat to put your head in his lap. He splays a protective hand across your back as you get in position. Without hesitation, you get to task and pull him out of his boxers.

You lick the bulging head a few times, but then wrap your lips around it and sink down. You flatten your tongue against the shaft, feeling the veins as you lower your head. He groans and tightens his grip on the steering wheel. His other hand rubs your back in small strokes.

“There you go, angel,” he says, “Fuck, I could never say no to your mouth.”

You suck gently before bobbing your head slowly up and down. One of your hands cups his balls and kneads them carefully. The noises of the blowjob sound through the car’s enclosed space. Leon fights the instinct to buck into your throat. Your mouth was just so warm and wet and soft. Absolute heaven. It was hard for him to focus on the road in this condition.

It was easy for you to focus on giving him head though. You work your mouth over him, paying attention to all his favorite spots and taking him as deep as you can. You rest your nose against his pelvis as you hold him in your throat. His thighs tense and the car jerks a little when he accidentally pushes on the brakes too hard.

“Jesus fuck, baby. Ease up a little,” he grunts. His hand on your back coasts up to your neck and caresses the base of your skull.

Not long after he says this, you pull off to catch your breath. While you take your break, you purse your lips and spit a fat glob of saliva onto his cock. It drips onto the head and then slides the rest of the way down to where your fist is now gripping him. You start jerking him and spreading your drool around his shaft.

You press sloppy, wet kisses to his tip. Some of his precum coats your lips before you open your mouth and bring him inside again. You make muted gagging noises while you try to get him deep again.

He wants so badly to watch you, to see that adorable dedicated look on your face and your eyes tearing up as you choke yourself. It’s driving him crazy having to watch the street ahead of him. He can also feel the simmering build up of release which he doesn’t want to do so soon or while he’s driving. His hips twitch more while he white-knuckles the wheel.

“Babe, calm down,” he hisses pointlessly. You’re wrapped up in your own little world right now, “If you don’t quit it, I’m gonna cum and then you’re not gonna get to have any fun when we get home.”

You sort of register that comment, but you were absolutely fixated on getting him to blow his load down your throat so you don’t stop.

He realizes instantly that you’re not going to let up. He makes a split second decision to pull a sharp turn onto a less busy road. He steers the car off of the asphalt and off road a little bit. Once there’s substantial distance between your vehicle and the road, he throws it in park and yanks you up by your hair.

“When I tell you to do something, it’s not a request,” he states simply.

It takes a lot in him to keep up the serious persona and not smile at your face right now. You looked fucked out even though you hadn’t even come close to the main event yet. Saliva covers your lips and chin while your eyes project a dazed mix of arousal and guilt.

“But Daddy, I just wanted to make you feel good,” you say.

“Liar. I know you just wanted some cum down your throat cause you’re a greedy little slut, baby,” he chides, “Also, is it your job to ‘try’ whatever you want?”

You shake your head and look down like a puppy who’s been caught being bad. “I’m sorry Daddy,” you say softly.

“What is your job?” he asks, ignoring your apology.

“To be a good girl and listen to Daddy.”

“Hm, so you do remember. You’re not stupid then, just deliberately disobedient,” he says.

You open your mouth to dispute that but decide against arguing and shut it again. The way you were shrinking in on yourself made him want to ruin you even more.

“Good, at least it looks like you’re learning. I’ll have to remind you of the rest though,” he says and finally lets go of your hair, “Get your ass in the backseat.”

“But Daddy-” you start, about to repeat your fears from earlier about being seen.

“Enough with this ‘but Daddy’ shit. You wanna act like a whore, that’s how I’ll treat you,” he says, “Be grateful for the privacy you get. You’re lucky I didn’t just stop the car and fuck you in the middle of the street.”

Your inner thighs were slick with your arousal by this point. You could feel it when you began crawling past your seat to the back of the car. Leon slaps your ass as you make your way there, causing you to yelp.

He simply gets out of the car and enters the backseat through the door. He sits next to you and looks at you expectantly.

“What are you waiting for?” he asks, “Do you really need me to guide your every move? I know that’s not true because you just showed me it wasn’t.”

“I’m sorry Daddy,” you say again as you begin removing your clothes. You peel your top off and shimmy out of your pants.

“I know you are, baby. But I still have to teach you your lesson. You have to learn that Daddy knows best,” he says while taking off his own clothing.

You scoot closer to try and assist him, but he manages on his own and flips you over, pinning you to the seats. One hand is locked on the flesh of your hip while the other holds your head down against the leather. He’s kneeling behind you, hunched over due to his stature in the limited space.

He teases up and down your folds with the angry red tip of his cock, still leaking precum from the close call a few minutes ago. Your body yearns to be filled, but you keep quiet and try to appear patient.

“Do you even deserve my cock?” he asks as he bumps your clit. You would nod, but his hold on your head is strong. “I mean really, maybe I should be focused on training some patience into you. Teach you take what I give you and not vie for more.”

“Daddy, I’m sorry,” you whimper.

“I know, babydoll, that’s only the tenth time you’ve said that,” he mocks as he slides up and down through your slick, “But I can really show you what sorry is. Maybe I’ve been too lenient with you. What if, right now, I fuck your thighs? You keep those pretty legs together, nice and tight for me to use like a fleshlight.”

He pushes your thighs together like he described and begins slowly thrusting himself between them. He quietly grunts and kneads your ass.

“Please Daddy, no, I’m so-”

“Ah ah, don’t interrupt,” he tuts, not stopping his hips, “You’d probably still get off on it. You’re so whipped for me you’d probably cum if I smiled at you right.”

You stay silent. You knew he was teasing, but it might have been true. He knew all your buttons and just how to push them.

“Yeah, you know I’m right. My poor baby. You can’t help it. You don’t know any better, do you?”

“No…” you say quietly before your bottom lip juts out into a pout. The idea of him not fucking you properly while you were possibly the most horny you’d been in your life was deeply upsetting.

“No, you don’t,” he agrees in a condescending tone, “You just love Daddy so much. It’s not your fault your body is addicted to me. You don’t choose for your cunt to soak through your panties just from hearing my voice, do you? It just happens. Your heart knows it belongs to me.”

He speaks as if he’s comforting you which makes it feel so much worse and so much better at the same time. Your eyes water, the mix of emotion being a lot for you to handle in this state.

“It doesn’t care how pathetic you act because of it. All it knows is that you need your Daddy,” he says, his voice husky. He pulls away from the junction of your thighs and nudges your legs apart with his knees. He positions his cock at your entrance. “That’s why I’ll give you a pass, baby. You’re not a bad girl. You just need me to keep you in line sometimes.”

His grip has weakened enough that you’re able to nod. “Thank you Daddy,” you choke out as he pushes all the way inside in one go. You were so wet that he had no problem bottoming out immediately.

“Good girl,” he praises through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw, “So fucking wet, Christ.”

Everything felt right now that he was inside of you. The relief crashed on you like a wave. A couple tears leak from your eyes and your body shudders.

He starts pushing himself in and out, his head tilts back as he does. You clutch the edge of the bench while your eyes flutter. You felt like you were up in the clouds. The feeling of him twitching against your walls as he slid in and out was total euphoria. It was a little much to feel this way from a few strokes, but like he said, you couldn’t control it.

You bounce your hips back against his and he smacks it. You can tell from the sting that there will probably be a handprint on the skin. He lets you fuck yourself on it for a little while before he takes over again. He stares down to where the two of you connect, unable to tear his eyes from how your cunt sucks in his cock, your wetness gathering around the spot where your bodies link.

You whimper and cry as he picks up speed, pistoning into you. Your cheek feels numb from being squished on the cushion. Leon notices and leans down closer to you. It wasn’t unusual for you to get emotional during sex but seeing it always made his protective urges flare up. He wraps his thick arm around your neck from behind, putting you into a loving headlock. He lays some messy kisses on the side of your temple.

“I love my needy girl so much. You know that right?” he whispers while sensually rolling his hips against your ass, “I wouldn’t want you to be any other way. My sweet girl, so sensitive. I love you baby.”

“I love you too,” you cry. You lean into his kisses and lift one of your hands to rest it on his forearm.

Knowing you’re ok, he resumes his harsher thrusts, pulling you by your neck closer to him. He growls into your ear and nuzzles the side of your head.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, babe. Can’t last in this tight pussy, squeezing me like a fucking anaconda,” he moans.

You bite your lip and grip his arm tighter as you feel your own peak rising within.

“Where do you want it, baby girl?” he grunts in your ear.

“Inside, Daddy. Please,” you whine.

He chuckles and gives you one more kiss on the head for saying please.

“I don’t even know why I ask anymore. Course you want it in your pussy. Even though you look so cute with Daddy’s cum all over your face, no thoughts in that pretty little head. Just happy you got some attention.”

“I like it inside,” you defend before gasping.

“I know you do, angel,” he says, his voice strained as the ecstasy begins to bubble over, “I like it too. Stuffing you full of me. A little reminder of who owns you once we’re finished.”

You nod as best you can in the headlock before your body seizes and jerks. Your orgasm rips through you, making you shake and moan through tears. You claw at his arm with both hands now, brokenly whimpering for Daddy over and over.

He can’t take it anymore. The sight beneath him mixed with the bliss of your cunt fluttering around him, it breaks the resolve inside him. He snaps his hips against you roughly and tightens his arm around you. He growls and grabs the leather seats so hard you think he might rip a chunk out.

He pumps into you repeatedly, draining himself in the warm embrace of your velvety walls. You can feel the thick white ropes filling you up as the sweaty skin of his abdomen rubs against your back.

His hips spasm as he finishes. He rests on top of you for a moment afterwards, panting to catch his breath. He kisses your neck gently and then moves to your ear.

“My beautiful, perfect girl,” he whispers, “So good for me, baby, like always.”

He gets off of you so you can sit up. Once you do, he gently holds your jaw and wipes away any leftover tears and saliva on your face. He leans in and gives you a soft kiss.

“So pretty,” he mumbles against your lips.

The two of you dress in the backseat, pulling your clothes on haphazardly so you can actually go home. This time you get out of the backseat through the door and hop back in the passenger seat. You laugh when you see Leon stretching outside of the driver's door.

“You ok there, buddy?” you tease when he gets back in.

He smiles, raises his eyebrows, and starts the car up.

“I’m buddy now? Are you over Daddy?” he says, “This is the thanks I get for working hard to please you.”

“Thank you Daddy,” you say overly-sweet, leaning over to kiss his cheek as he pulls back onto the road.

“You wanna play around, but I’m not the one who was crying that ten minutes ago when she thought she wouldn’t get any dick,” he laughs.

“Oh, shut up, Leon!” you say and roll your eyes.

“It’s Leon right now, but I bet you when we’re home in five minutes, I’ll have you begging for Daddy again,” he says and smirks.

You smile and look away, knowing that he’s totally right.

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