#he needs to click and jingle when he walks

[wraithsoutlaws]

my dream mod is actually getting dagger's spurs in game

[carnalcrows]

SWEET AS SIN - THE SALESMAN

pairing: the salesman x ftm reader

synopsis: A humble baker’s life takes a dark turn when a mysterious customer becomes dangerously obsessed—until one night, he wakes up bound and trapped.

content warnings: 18+, dubcon (borderline noncon), reader has a vagina, gun play, squirting, drugging, kidnapping, dead dove do not eat.

word count: 1.0k

The first time you saw him, he was just another customer.

It had been a slow morning at your bakery, the scent of freshly baked bread filling the air as you wiped down the counter. The bell above the door jingled, and in walked a man in a crisp suit, his slicked-back hair perfectly in place. There was something oddly magnetic about him—the way he carried himself, the confidence in his steps, the way his piercing eyes scanned the shelves like he was hunting for something more than just bread.

“Morning,” you greeted, forcing yourself to break the silence. “What can I get you?”

He smiled—a sharp, calculated thing. “Something simple. A loaf, maybe.”

You nodded, wrapping up a warm loaf and placing it on the counter. He paid in cash, his fingers brushing against yours as he handed over the bills. His touch was cold, yet his grip lingered a second too long.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” he mused, glancing around as if memorizing every inch of the shop.

You shrugged. “Pays the bills.”

His eyes flickered back to you, something unreadable in them. “I’ll be seeing you again.”

It wasn’t a question.

And true to his word, he kept coming back.

Days turned into weeks, and the suited man became a regular.

He never gave his name. Never asked for anything specific. But each visit followed the same routine: a loaf of bread, a polite exchange, a lingering look that made your skin prickle with unease. He never overstayed his welcome, but his presence stayed with you long after he left.

There was something off about him. Something… unsettling.

And yet, you couldn’t deny the thrill that crept up your spine whenever he walked through your door.

One night, you closed up late. The streets were empty, the moon casting long shadows over the pavement as you locked the door behind you. You barely made it a few steps before a sharp prick stung your neck.

Your vision blurred. The world tilted.

And then—darkness.

When you woke up, the scent of flour and something metallic filled your nostrils. Your head throbbed, and as you tried to move, the unmistakable bite of rope burned against your wrists.

Panic shot through you. You were tied to a chair. The dim glow of candlelight flickered around the room, casting eerie shadows on the walls.

And then you saw him.

The salesman sat across from you, legs crossed, hands folded neatly in his lap. He was watching you, like a predator savoring the moment before the kill.

“Finally awake,” he murmured, tilting his head.

Your heart pounded. “What the fuck is this?”

He sighed, standing up and pacing toward you with slow, deliberate steps. “You must know by now. I’ve been watching you for weeks, admiring you… wanting you.”

Your breath hitched. The air was thick, suffocating.

“You kidnapped me.”

He hummed. “I prefer to think of it as… securing what’s mine.”

Your pulse roared in your ears as he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to tilt your chin up. His touch was almost gentle—almost.

“You belong with me,” he murmured. “You just don’t see it yet.”

Your lips parted to curse him, to fight back, but then—click.

The cold press of metal pressed against the side of your temple.

A gun.

Your entire body went rigid.

“Shh,” he whispered, his other hand sliding to your throat, his grip firm but not tight. “No need to be scared.”

Scared? You were terrified.

But there was something worse—something worse than the fear, something you hated yourself for. The way his breath ghosted over your lips. The way his fingers pressed into your skin, possessive, demanding. The way the heat between you was suffocating, intoxicating.

And then—he kissed you.

It was slow at first, teasing, testing, his lips moving against yours with a dangerous kind of patience. The gun stayed at your temple, a silent warning, a reminder that he controlled everything. You wanted to recoil, to push him away, but your traitorous body betrayed you.

The kiss grew hungrier, his grip tightening as he deepened it. His teeth scraped against your lower lip, drawing a gasp from you.

He chuckled, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. “See? You fit so perfectly against me.”

Your breath was ragged, your mind a whirlwind of fear and something worse.

He roughly tugged down your pants and boxers, leaving your lower half exposed– making you shudder.

“Hm? What’s this?” he questions while his glance moves to your puffy cunt– leaking and gleaming with the dim light of the room. This certainly wasn’t something that he had expected.

Before you could answer– you took a sharp intake of breath. He had slid the gun from the side of your temple all the way to your pelvis– resting near the clit. Your heartbeat thundered in your ear drums, the fear and tension muddling up your brain.

He dragged the gun to your cunt at a painstakingly slow pace, before pushing the tip in. You moaned, your head falling back against the chair. God you hoped the gun wasn’t loaded.

Without waiting for you to take in a breath, the man pushed the gun almost all the way up your hole, making your thighs involuntarily cave inwards. He used his other hand to push your thighs back apart, as he watched with fascination as the dark metal worked its way in and out of your sopping wet cunt.

This was so, so, wrong– but then why did it feel so good?

The hand that was holding your thighs apart made its way to your clit– rubbing circles around the overstimulated bud. You writhed in the rope’s grasp– the pleasure being way too much

Soon– you felt your orgasm (whether you wanted it to happen or not), wash over you like a raging stream. You screamed as you practically squirted your release all over the man’s hand and his gun.

The man adjusted his posture before sliding the gun out of your cunt and pressing it back to your forehead, before bringing his other hand back to your face– pulling you in for another kiss.

“You’re mine now,” he murmured, trailing his lips down your jaw. “And I take care of what’s mine.”

The gun pressed just a little harder.

And deep down, you knew—there was no escaping him.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[misswynters]

Christmas Present

featuring. viktor x afab!reader

warnings. MDNI SMUT (18+), reader wearing lingerie, riding, praising, unprotected sex, blowjob, creampie, viktor being obsessed with hearing the bell you are wearing, soft sex, bondage (m. receiving), breeding, begging and whining, aftercare at the end

requested by anon (combined the christmas and the riding viktor requests)

a/n. got lazy at the end :(

The workshop was unusually quiet for the evening, a rare stillness settling over the room. The only sounds were the faint hum of machines idling in the background and the soft creak of Viktor’s cane as he approached the workbench. You could hear his measured steps echoing off the walls, the rhythm unhurried, likely lost in some grand idea. You smiled to yourself, anticipation bubbling as you sat in his chair, carefully positioning yourself for the reveal.

The lingerie you wore was festive yet bold, a delicate mix of red and green fabric that hugged your curves. A small, golden bow sat perfectly in the center of your sternum, just above a jingling bell that chimed softly with every shift of your body. You felt equal parts daring and nervous, unsure how Viktor might react to such an unconventional “gift.” But you knew him, beneath his composed exterior lay a man brimming with emotions he often kept restrained. Tonight, you intended to bring those emotions to the surface.

Viktor called your name, his voice carrying an affectionate cadence as it bounced through the workshop. “Are you here? I thought we agreed to meet for dinner, not…hide in my workshop.” His words were laced with amusement, though there was an edge of curiosity.

You waited until you heard the soft click of the door closing behind him before turning the chair around slowly. His amber eyes widened at the sight of you, his steps faltering as though he had forgotten how to walk. For a moment, he simply stared, his mouth parting slightly before snapping shut. His fingers gripped the handle of his cane tightly, and you could see the muscles in his jaw flex as he struggled to find words.

“Viktor,” you said softly, your voice laced with playful confidence. “Merry Christmas.”

He took a shaky breath, his eyes roaming over you. It was hesitant at first, as though he were unsure if he was allowed to look, but soon lingering on every detail. The red and green satin, the bow, the golden bell. It all seemed to render him completely speechless. His cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and when he finally managed to speak, his voice was a hushed whisper.

“Y-you look stunning,” he stammered, his accent thick, each word tinged with awe. “I did not expect this. You are…my present?”

You nodded, your lips curving into a teasing smile. “Do you like it?”

His steps were hesitant as he moved closer, his cane tapping lightly against the floor. When he reached the chair, he leaned down, his hands gripping the armrests tightly, knuckles white with the effort it took not to touch you. His breath was warm against your face, and his amber eyes, usually so focused and calculating, now shimmered with a mix of love and unspoken need.

“You are beautiful,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. His gaze flickered to the golden bell resting against your sternum. A small, almost mischievous smile played at the corners of his lips as he reached out, his fingers brushing the bell lightly. The soft chime it produced sent a shiver down your spine, and Viktor’s eyes darkened at the sound. “Thought of everything,” he said, his tone warm yet trembling slightly. “Even this small detail…too much for me, my love.”

You reached up, your fingers curling around the edges of his vest and tugging him closer. His body stiffened for a moment before he gave in, leaning closer until your noses were nearly touching. His gaze flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes, his internal battle written all over his face.

“Are you just going to stand there and admire me, or are you going to do something about it?” you teased, your voice a soft purr as your fingers trailed down from his shoulders to his chest. Lowering down to his stomach.

Viktor let out a shaky laugh, his lips twitching as though he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. “Taking my breathe away,” he said, his voice low and filled with a mix of reverence and amusement. “You know this, yes?”

“Of course,” you replied, your eyes locking with his as you leaned back slightly in the chair, giving him a better view of your figure. “Now, are you going to unwrap your present, or should I do it for you?”

Viktor’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he simply stared at you, as though trying to commit every detail to memory. Then, with a determination that sent a thrill through you, he straightened and moved his hands from the armrests to your thighs, his touch was light. His fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns against the satin fabric, his movements reverent.

“My pretty gift,” he said softly, his voice filled with emotion. “Not just tonight, but always. How did I ever deserve you?”

“You don’t have to deserve me, Viktor,” you replied, your voice equally soft as you cupped his face, your thumbs brushing against his cheekbones. “You just have to love me.”

“I do,” he said, his voice firm now, his amber eyes locking with yours. “More than I can ever express.”

You smiled, your heart swelling at his words. You tugged him closer again, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was slow at first but quickly deepened. Viktor’s hands gripped your thighs more firmly, his restraint slipping as he poured every ounce of his love and need into the kiss. The bell at your sternum chimed softly as you shifted, the sound blending with the faint hum of the workshop’s machines. Viktor pulled back slightly, his lips brushing against yours as he whispered, “The sound… It is perfect. Just like you.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, and you smiled against his lips. “Merry Christmas, Viktor,” you murmured.

“And to you, my love,” he replied, his voice full of warmth and promise as he leaned in for another kiss, the workshop fading away as the two of you lost yourselves in each other.

Viktor's breath lingered against your lips as he leaned in again, his hand cupping your jaw delicately. His kiss was featherlight at first, as though he were savoring the taste of you, committing every moment to memory. The softness of his lips, the way his thumb brushed against your cheek. It was achingly tender, his care evident in every movement. Time seemed to stretch as the two of you stayed like that, exchanging gentle kisses that grew slower, deeper, more meaningful with each passing moment.

Viktor's free hand found its way to your shoulder, his fingers lightly tracing the edge of the delicate strap of your lingerie. His other hand remained steady on your jaw, holding you as if you might disappear at any moment. When he finally pulled back, it wasn't far. His forehead rested against yours, and his amber eyes gazed into yours. His breathing was uneven, each exhale mingling with yours as the two of you stayed in this shared bubble of intimacy.

"You are..." he started, his voice hushed but thick with emotion, "you are more than I could have ever dreamed of. Sometimes I wonder if this is all some invention of my mind."

You chuckled softly, your hand rising to brush a strand of hair away from his face. "This is very real," you murmured, your voice filled with affection. "And so am I."

His lips curved into a faint smile, but the look in his eyes was serious, filled with love and awe. He nodded slightly, his gaze sweeping over your face as though he were memorizing every detail. Then, without another word, he leaned in again, this time closing the distance with a kiss that was anything but hesitant. It was as though a dam had broken. His lips moved against yours with a new passion, every kiss filled with a need that had been simmering under the surface. His hand left your shoulder to slide down to your waist, pulling you closer against him. The kiss deepened, his tongue brushing against yours, and a soft hum of pleasure escaped you, which only seemed to spur him on.

Viktor pulled back briefly, just long enough to catch his breath, his eyes darkened with desire as they met yours. "You make it hard to think straight," he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent, sending a thrill through you.

"Isn’t that the point?" you teased, your voice soft but breathless as you pulled him closer, your arms wrapping around his neck. "Seems like I’m doing something right."

His response was a soft laugh, but it quickly dissolved as he dove back into the kiss, this time with even more passion. His hands slid around your waist, holding you firmly yet gently, and with a surprising strength, he lifted you out of the chair. Your body pressed flush against his as his arms wrapped around you, holding you as though you were the most precious thing in the world. You yelped his name, surprised by the sudden action.

He only smiled, his eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and something deeper. "Sure, full of surprises tonight," he murmured, "but two can play that game."

He turned, carefully sitting back in the chair while positioning you to straddle his lap. The new position made your breath hitch as your knees settled on either side of him, your bodies impossibly close. His hands settled on your waist again, holding you steady as his gaze roamed over you, lingering on the golden bell nestled against your chest.

The corner of his mouth quirked upward, and he reached out to flick the bell lightly again. The soft chime it produced seemed to echo through the workshop, and his eyes flicked back to yours, filled with mischief. "I like this sound," he admitted, his voice a little rough. "I may want to hear it more."

Your cheeks heated at his words, and you couldn't help the small laugh that escaped you. "You'll have to work for that," you teased, your fingers slipping under the edge of his vest, brushing against the soft fabric of his shirt.

Viktor's breath faltered as your hand brushed against him, his fingers tightening around your waist with a quiet intensity. "Everything about you is a temptation," he said softly, his voice laced with both admiration and desire.

You smiled up at him, a hint of playfulness in your eyes. "I think you're just weak for me," you teased, your voice tender and full of warmth.

His only response was another kiss, this one searing in its intensity. Your hands wandered further, slipping under his shirt to trace the lines of his torso. His body tensed slightly under your touch, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he deepened the kiss, his hands sliding up your back and pulling you even closer against him.

The golden bell jingled softly with every movement, a reminder of the festive occasion, but the two of you were far too lost in each other to notice much else. Viktor's lips left yours to trail down your jaw, his kisses soft but deliberate as he moved to your neck. You tilted your head to the side, giving him better access, and a soft sigh escaped you as his lips found a particularly sensitive spot. You whined slightly, your hands tangling in his hair as he continued his care.

"Yes, my love?" he replied, his voice a soft whisper against your skin.

"Keep going, please-" you begged, your voice barely audible but filled with need.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your neck. "I had no intention of doing so," he assured you, his lips trailing back up to capture yours again in another passionate kiss.

Viktor’s hands slid down to your waist, gripping you more firmly as he pressed you closer against him. The movement was slow but deliberate, and your body instinctively followed his lead, your hips shifting to meet his. The only thing separating the two of you was the thin layer of fabric you wore.

He smiled faintly, though the intensity in his gaze never wavered. One of his hands trailed upward, brushing against the small of your back before settling there, holding you steady as he encouraged your movements with a subtle shift of his hips. The friction elicited a soft moan from you, and Viktor’s grip tightened slightly in response.

The sound of the golden bell ringing faintly between you only heightened the moment, the delicate chime contrasting with the growing intensity of your shared passion. Viktor’s lips left yours to trail along your jawline, leaving a path of warm, lingering kisses. When he reached the curve of your neck, his lips hovered there for a moment, his breath hot against your skin.

“...so perfect,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of reverence and longing.

Your heart swelled at his words, and you tilted your head to the side, giving him better access. “That's sweet of you to say,” you replied, your voice soft but playful.

Viktor let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating against your neck. “Sweet, hmm?” he said, his tone laced with a teasing edge. “You may find I am not so sweet after all.”

“Viktor,” you breathed, your hands gripping his shoulders for support as you leaned closer, your lips brushing against his ear.

His response was a shaky exhale, his head dipping forward to press a kiss to your shoulder. “It is you,” he said softly, his voice rough with emotion. “You make everything, every moment, so much more.”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face, your hands moving from his shoulders to cup his face. You guided his gaze back to yours, your thumb brushing lightly against his cheek. Viktor didn’t need to be told twice. His lips found yours again, and the two of you lost yourselves in each other, the rest of the world fading away. The chair creaked softly beneath you, but neither of you paid it any mind. All that mattered was the shared warmth between you, the unspoken promises conveyed in every kiss, every touch, every whispered breath.

His hands began to roam your body, not leaving a single part untouched. You began reaching down to undo the buttons of his trousers, and when you finally undid all of them, Viktor stopped. Looking at you in the eyes with a soft and kind expression. “My love, do you want to continue?

Then you slowly began stroke his cock starting with the tip, your thumb pressing lightly. This earned a ragged groan from him as he leaned his head back against the back of the chair.

“Y-you have… experience in everything don’t you? he whispered against your ear as your hand moved down to the base, pumping him a few times. Now that you actually look at it, it’s longer than what you thought. It has been so long since you found time to do this. He would always be so busy with his inventions, meeting with the council, etc.

Taking his now hard cock into your hand, you hovered over his hips. Your arousal was sticky, the soft layer that separated the two of you, clinging to your body. Then Viktor looped it around his finger, moving it to the side. “Go on,” he whispered his amber eyes looking at your with such love and desire. He took your smaller hand into his, helping you align his cock between your folds. “Let me help you.”

Oh, how you loved the way he looked at you. Maintaining eye contact while intimate always made you blush inside. Viktor began to slide it between your slick folds a few times, collecting the wetness that lingered before setting the thin fabric aside again. He pushed his tip slowly and antagonizing, as the two of you moaned softly. Leaning forward you flushed your chest against his, resting you head of his shoulder. He got ahold of your hips with a firm grip, slipping the palm of his hands towards the bottom of your ass.

He looked at you as he leaned toward you, his head laid on yours. Kissing you temple, as his lips brushed against your ear, reassuringly. “Doing alright, my love?”

You didn’t want to respond. Well, more like you couldn’t the overwhelming pleasure was too much for you so you just nodded in agreement. With that he began to lower you down, his cock slowly filling you up to the hilt. His long length being wrapped tightly by your walls, he wanted to let out a moan. But all that came out was a shaky sigh.

He slowly pulled out and pushed back in, each thrust causing soft, wet squelching sounds as your bodies met. The sound of your skin slapping was a reminder of how deeply he was filling you, every thrust a testament to the care he took in making sure you felt each inch of him. His pace was measured, slow, but intense. He was lost in the way your body responded to him, how tight and warm you were around him.

Every time he thrusted upwards, the golden bell that laid on your chest rang more loudly. It was like it ignited something in his that make his go slower but harder. He wanted to hear that bell ring more. The harder you bounced on his cock, the louder the bell rang. His chair creaked at the hinges from each impact.

Viktor kissed you slowly starting from the edge of your shoulder towards the end of your collarbone. Leaving wet kisses as he traveled up your neck, and finally reaching your jawline. His hand moving up between the valley of your chest. When he reached the precious bell, he flickered it with his fingers. Ding Ding Ding.

You had an idea, very brilliant one. Slowly you lifted yourself up from his hips, his cock falling limp. He looked up at you with curiosity.

He cupped your gently, “Where are you going?” he said softly, that it make your heart flutter even though you were in a compromising position. You didn’t say anything yet, thinking about how you were going to put your idea into words. A few seconds had passed before you could get the courage to ask.

“Where’s the ribbons at?” you asked, looking away shyly, not making eye contact with him.

“The satin ribbons we used for wrapping some of the presents?-” he replied, pondering trying to reach the depths of his mind to see if he can remember where he last placed them, unaware of your intentions.

You nodded yes, as he pointed towards a wooden cabinet near the table the two of you sat by. Walking over, with your legs trembling and weak, you reached the doors opening them with a creak. It was an old cabinet for sure. There were the ribbons, in the center with its pink satin colors slightly glowing with the dim lights. You picked it up and walked towards Viktor who was still siting in his chair, with somewhat of exhaustion lingering in his face.

Trying your best as you maintained eye contact, you lightly tied the ribbons around your chest. Once it was softly secure against your body with a bow finishing it off, you sat on his lap again.

Viktor’s hands, still gentle yet trembling with restraint, hovered over your waist as his lips ghosted over the shell of your ear. The soft golden glow of the workshop lamps illuminated his tousled hair, casting shadows on his face that only deepened the intensity in his eyes. His breaths were shallow, and though his posture remained collected, you could feel the weight of his emotions beneath the surface.

“I… cannot do this to you,” he murmured into your ear, his voice thick. Accent curling around every word like a warm embrace. His eyes darted toward the ribbon tied loosely around your chest, the bell at its center giving a soft chime as you shifted.

You tilted your head, confused by the sudden hesitation. “Why not?” you asked, voice teasing but with curiosity.

Viktor pulled back slightly, his gaze meeting yours with an intensity that took your breath away. “Because…” He hesitated, his lips parting as if searching for the right words. “You are no gift to be unwrapped and claimed. You are so much more than that. I cannot bear to treat you as though you are anything less than my equal.”

His confession caught you off guard, your heart squeezing at the sincerity in his tone. There was something achingly vulnerable in the way he spoke, as if the very idea of reducing you to a “present” was an slur to the depth of his feelings for you.

The playful grin on your face softened into something more tender. “Oh-,” you whispered, running your fingers through his hair, your touch gentle. “That might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

A flicker of a smile touched his lips, though his blush deepened. “I mean every word,” he said softly, his fingers brushing over the edge of the ribbon with reverence. “But…” His gaze turned quite mischievous, his golden eyes glinting with newfound confidence. “If it must be someone, then tie me up instead.”

Your eyebrows raised at his suggestion, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You?”

“Why not?” His tone was soft, but his words carried a daring edge. “If you are to tease me like this, then it is only fair I surrender myself to your whims. Let me be yours.” The image of Viktor, bound in ribbons and entirely at your mercy, sent a delicious shiver down your spine. You leaned forward, your lips brushing against his in a featherlight kiss before pulling back, your smile playful.

“You’re serious?”

His gaze never wavered. “For you? Of course, I’m always serious.” The boldness in his reply sent warmth flooding through you, and without hesitation, you reached for the loose ribbon on your chest, pulling it free with a gentle tug. It slid from your skin, the bell giving one last soft chime before you wrapped it around your hands.

“Let’s see how you handle being my present,” you slightly teased, looping the ribbon around his arms. Strapping them to the arms rest of the chair. Once you finished tying him up (with the finishing touches being bows on each side), you went on your knees placing you hands on his thighs. Caressing them upwards until it reached his glistening length.

One of your hands eagerly ran from base to shaft, the other resting comfortably on his thigh as your lips eagerly sucked on the tip. Biting your lower lip, you pulled your eyes away just for a second to glance at how evident he was. His length had gained its strength. You just can’t help the smile that breaks over your face. You were staring up at him through your eyelashes as you work your hands and mouth. His breath is shaking, as you go to lick up his length he quickly brings a hand towards your hair to curl into your head.

“Fuck.” he whispered out, so much pleasure building already with the added height of fear of someone walking in at anytime. Bursting through the door, like someone would always do.

Removing yourself briefly you locked eyes with him. “You are sure enjoying yourself, huh?” you let out a small chuckle, lightly scraping your teeth while looking back up at him with am innocent smile.

“S-stop teasing-” he softly stuttered, his hand laced back into your hair pushing you back down on his length.

You pressed your lips against the head of his cock, tongue darting out to taste the precum there. You gave kitten licks, wrapping your hand around the base and giving his length gentle pumps.

You maintained the eye contact, looking up at him while kissing his sensitive skin. Your free hand massaged his leg, up and down his thigh to ease the pain there and earning you another pleased sigh from his lips as his eyes fluttered shut.

He groaned, sagging back into his chair. As you continued, your hand found his, lacing your fingers together to ground himself. He let out soft moans, bucking his hips a bit as he muttered sweet nothings you couldn’t understand.

Taking his tip into your mouth, you began to lap and suck it before pushing yourself further. As you continued, he got louder without hesitation (though it wasn't loud enough it could be heard through the door) and more whinier.

He whined, moaning your name as softly. His muscles tensed as he gripped the arms of the chair, hard enough to make his knuckles go white. His chest moved upwards, voice breaking as he begged you to slow down between more broken begging of your name.

You ignored them, tears beginning to build and spill from your eyes as your own body demanded an end to the constant badgering at the back of your throat. He groaned loudly; your only warning before he was coming, thick, hot streams jetting into your mouth. You whimpered slightly.

His eyes are soft, almost shy. “Let me return the favor,” he says as he lifts up his head to look down at you, his voice low, warm. With careful movements, you stood up from your knees which were slightly red due to the hard floor as you straddled him once again.

You melted into him, feeling safe and loved. “Is there anything you want for Christmas?” Viktor asks, his voice hesitant, as though he’s unsure of what you’ll say.

You think for a moment, a soft smile tugging at your lips. "I want you to be a father," you say quietly, your heart full of warmth as you look into his eyes.

Viktor’s face flushes a deep red, his grip tightening gently around the chairs armrest. He looks at you as if processing your words, his expression both surprised and touched. Slowly, he adjusts you, making sure you’re comfortable as you straddle his lap once more. then you remembered that you hadn't came yet, so its a perfect opportunity.

Sinking down his sensitive length you let out a moan, your hands gripped the bottom of his vest. Viktor began to breath heavily, matching yours perfectly. Burying himself deep inside of you, wanting so badly to pull you into a hug. Sadly, his hands were still restrained. He whined against your lips, "C-can you untie the bows, Please-"

"Sorry Goldie, No can do," you said teasingly with a soft voice, wiggling your finger no towards his face.

He kept hitting the perfect spot, over and over again. It felt amazing. You leaned towards him, hands resting on his chest. Then you laid your head over his shoulder as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He desperately wanted to hug you back that it was painfully noticeable. How he moved his head, caressing it against your arm. Smelling your scent of vanilla bean and coconut oil as he ran his big slightly curvy nose bumping on your forearm.

“Can you please untie me, my love” he begged once again, his hips bucking against yours delicately. The way he looked at you with the softness in his amber eyes. Oh, you couldn’t resist much. Barely lasting more than 5 minutes having his hands tied up, such a desperate man. Leaning back slightly with his cock still inside of you, you began to untie the bows. Luckily, you didn’t tie them tightly around his wrists so they easily came off in seconds.

Immediately, his hands went straight to your ass again, like earlier. This time however he spread them wider, the pleasure overwhelming his senses unable to fully control his grip on you. As he thrusted upwards, he set a slighter faster but nevertheless harder pace.

Viktor's hand slip up to the small on your back, pulling you towards his chest. All you could do was lay against him as he continued his pace. Occasionally you would bounce on him, nearly pulling out before going back down. But it was very difficult to keep up with him as he desperately tried to find his own release inside of you after a longing of teasing. This would also will be the first time tonight for you. The ringing of the bell intensified with every thrust.

Clutching at his black button-up shirt, now stained with your tears of pleasure and a bit of drool. As you finally started to find your own release, the lewd squelching sounds were present in the room. Moans and soft gasps were all that could be heard from the two of you alongside the whispered of encourage he would speak into your ear.

You’re doing so good.

Taking me so well.

With every second that passed by, the closer your climax was. It was a close call though seconds apart, but you were the first one. Squirting on his cock with some of it dripping down to his pants as it spilled out of you. Then he came inside of you, shooting his load deep inside. Filling you up to the brim, hoping that with this your Christmas wish would come true in the next 9 months.

He caressed your back as he pulled you off him, sitting you back on his lap. Soaked by your arousal, luckily his pants were black.

“Best gift ever.” he simply said as he smiled, looking at your face that rested on his shoulder in exhaustion. Ringing the bell on your chest with his slender fingers, once again.

You sat on his lap, your legs tucked to one side, cradled securely by his strong arm wrapped around your waist. His other hand rested lightly on your thigh, his thumb brushing idle patterns your soft skin. Your head rested against his shoulder, and his faint scent surrounded you into the present. Viktor’s heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, and the rise and fall of his chest matched your own.

"You’re quiet," he murmured, his voice soft and slightly raspy. "Are you alright, my love?"

You tilted your head to look up at him, his amber eyes meeting yours with a mix of concern and adoration. "I’m fine," you whispered, your lips curving into a small smile. "Just...happy."

A rare, genuine smile tugged at Viktor’s lips, and his hand moved to cup your cheek, his fingers gentle and warm. "Good," he said simply, but the weight behind the word spoke volumes.

His eyes studied you, his gaze lingering on the faint flush of your cheeks and the way your lashes fluttered as you looked at him. "You take such good care of me," he continued, his tone tinged with both gratitude and guilt.

His thumb brushed over your cheek, and his expression softened further. Viktor’s hand slid from your cheek to your back, pulling you closer until your foreheads rested together. The warmth of his breath mingled with yours, and you closed your eyes, letting the world outside the lab fade away.

"Stay like this a little longer," he whispered, his voice a gentle plea.

"I’m not going anywhere," you promised, your hand finding its way to his chest, where you felt the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

His lips brushed your temple in a featherlight kiss, and you felt him relax further beneath you, his body molding against yours as if you were two pieces of the same puzzle. For a man who often carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, you holding him close to your heart, was the best gift you could ask for.

taglist. @simsaelies @urboylys @nanamea @luneariaa @minagrayson @aliives @jinxsfavoritepookie @gxrextxgaidk @anna1-1 @bl-0-ndi-3

[yoiisa]

Can we get a pt.3 of wbk reacting to you getting beat up by another gang, with Sugishita and Umemiya? Maybe Endo too if you feel like it?

AHHH YES OFC OFC!! I love how this is turning into a little series :)

wbk reacting to you getting beaten up by a rival gang .𖥔 ݁ ˖

w/ SUGISHITA KYOTARO, UMEMIYA HAJIME, AND ENDO YAMATO

Tags: mentions of injuries and blood (nothing to graphic), mentions of fighting/violence, angst, hurt/comfort this is part 3!! part 1 (w/ suo, kiryuu, and kaji) and part 2 (w/ sakura, togame, and uryu) are here!!

SUGISHITA KYOTARO ⋆˙⟡

Sugishita is always draped over you like a blanket and always holding your hand. He purposely orders more food than necessary so that you would never go hungry. He's always lending you his hoodies and jackets if you were out somewhere at night. After all, he would rather freeze to death than let you shiver for even a second.

All that being said, his favorite way to show you he cares is by giving you things. He doesn't give you anything overly expensive or flashy, but small items: smiskis, rings he finds in thrift stores, or tiny ceramic keychains of your favorite foods. You have a whole drawer in your dresser dedicated to the trinkets he gifts you.

One day, he was out with Umemiya and Tsubaki when his eyes zeroed in on a small poster card with artwork from your favorite anime. He froze, causing the older boys to bump into him.

"Sugishita-? Oh," Umemiya grins when he sees what Sugishita is staring at. "You should get it for her."

"Oh, that reminds me!" Tsubaki says, pulling something out of his purse. "I found this bracelet she might like as well. Here, here, take it to her as well."

Sugishita takes Tsubaki's bracelet and nods, before walking over to pick up the poster card. After checking out, he parts with his seniors, heading over to your home. He twirls the bracelet in his hands, watching the charms on the chain catch and reflect the sunlight. A tiny smile graced his face as he imagine holding you hand while it jingled on your wrist.

He gets to your front door and knocks, but he's met with no response. He tries again, but still nothing. She must not be home, he thinks, turning on his heel. However, just as he does, a giant crash sounds from inside your house. Sugishita whips around and starts pounding on your door again, calling out for you.

"[name]? [name]? Are you okay? Are you home?"

The door lock clicks and the door swings open. Sugishita's eyes widen as he takes in your appearance. You have a nasty gash on your forehead and your hands are all scraped. Your ankle is swollen as all hell, he's wondering how you're even upright.

Despite it all though, you still look up at him and with a small smile and a tiny voice you whisper, "Hi, Kyo."

"What the hell happened to you?" he asks, his voice hoarse. He walks inside and instantly picks you up, carrying you to the couch. He lays you down, then rushes into your kitchen, looking for a first aid kit.

"I was walking home," you say sleepily, "and someone . . . jumped me? I was wearing your Furin jacket and they thought maybe I was a student? I don't know. Once they realized they got a girl though they ran away."

"Where?" Sugishita asks, kneeling in front of you and working quick to bandage your hands and head. You shrug and your eyes start to droop but he shakes his head. "Hey. Stay awake. You might be concussed."

You watch him through lidded eyes as he works. When he's done, you grab his hand and lace your fingers. "I came straight home after it happened. I haven't seen a doctor. Can we go?"

He nods and you beam. "Thank you," you say as he moves you onto his back.

UMEMIYA HAJIME ⋆˙⟡

You gotta keep walking, that's all you really know. Every single muscle in your body is screaming at you to just collapse on the floor and get life over with, but no. If you did that now, you'd be done for. You need a doctor. You need a hug.

Pothos can't be too far from here now. If you could just drag your feet another few blocks you'd get there for sure.

Your side from where you got kicked in hurts and your head is pounding, but finally, the sign comes into view. It's refreshing, and gives you the last little bit of energy you need to make it into the cafe.

"I'm sorry, we're closed- [name]?!" Kotoha cries as she looks over the bar counter. "What the hell?"

"Don't tell Hajime," you say as you collapse onto the tiles, the warmth of the cafe completely draining you of any leftover energy you have.

"Don't tell me what?" a voice calls out from around the corner.

"Shit, hide me!" you whisper shout to Kotoha. She's quick to try and shove you under a table, but not fast enough.

Umemiya shows up a second later, his face bright and cheery. He looks ready to hug you, but then he opens his eyes. His face immediately falls.

"Umemiya-" Kotoha starts, holding her arms up to try and calm him.

"Hajime-" You mirror Kotoha.

"What are you doing on the floor?" he asks, his voice hard as steel. His jaw is tense and you stiffen as he approaches. He helps you up and sets you on the cushioned seats in the booths. He turns to Kotoha and says, "Get the first aid kit."

She rushes off and he turns back to you. His blue eyes are icy as he says, "So what was this about not telling me?"

You sigh and lean forward, resting your head on his shoulder. "I didn't want you to worry."

"Not worry?" he asks incredulously. "You look like someone sent you through a meat grinder!"

You whimper and you feel his frame relax a little. He's trying to become softer for you to be more comfortable and you smile. He's sweet . . .

"Kotoha's back," he whispers, reaching up to pet your head. "Lemme bandage them at least."

"In a minute," you whispers.

Kotoha sets the kit on the table next to you and says, "I'll really quickly make you some food. Y'know, to help you get your strength back."

You nod, but then your body erupts in shivers as exhaustion settles in on you. Umemiya's breath catches as tears touch his neck.

You choke out, "Hajime . . . I was so scared."

He furrows his brow and kisses your temple, where a bruise is beginning to form. "It's okay, you're here now. I'm here now."

ENDO YAMATO ⋆˙⟡

"Hey," Endo growls as he stands at the entrance of the alleyway. "What the hell is this?

The four men who were looming over your body freeze as they hear his voice. You have an arm up over your face, but drop it when you hear Endo talking. You turn your head and see him with Chika too. Oh fuck, these guys are screwed.

"What's it to you?" One of the boys ask, trying to feign bravado. "We're just having a little fun with her."

Endo smirks, but it's void of any humor. He takes a few steps forward, quickly eating up whatever distance is between him and your attackers. Without a second thought, he smashes one of their faces into the wall.

"Hmm? What's it to me?" Endo asks, before tightening his grasp in the boy's hair and punching him. "Not much, right? Only- oh wait! That's my girlfriend."

The boy Endo had a grasp on crumples to the floor, and your boyfriend fixes his gaze on the remaining three. "Now," he says. "Let's have some fun right?"

They scatter like bugs, and Endo at first doesn't seem like he'll give chase. He turns to look down at you, and his smile turns from malicious to loving. He pats your head and says, "Wait here, okay? I'll be back in just a sec~"

You watch as he darts off after the trio. Chika walks up to you and you flinch back. The boy is silent as he picks up the knocked out form of your assailant and drags him out of the alleyway. Chika dumps him on the sidewalk before coming back to your side. He slides down the wall next to you and stares at you, assessing your injuries.

"It's not bad," he says. "Didn't get much 'fun' in before we got here."

"I'm sorry," you whisper, "if it's a bother."

"Endo's the only one bothered. That's why he's off running after them," Chika explains, before opening a bottle of peach juice. He takes a sip and then holds it out to you. "Want some?"

"No thank you."

He nods.

A few minutes later, Endo's back. He's panting slightly, but he has this glint in his eyes that only ever comes out after a fight. His nose is bleeding and his knuckles are scratched, but aside from that he looks completely fine.

"They can run, the little fucks," he says, wiping his nose.

"D-did they hit you?" you ask shakily.

"Nope," he grins, crouching in front of you. "I was running after them and slipped in some trash and crashed against the wall. But I'm fine, don't worry."

Endo looks over at Chika, then back at you. "You don't want Takiishi's juice?"

You shake your head and he chuckles. "Okay, let's get some food then."

He draps his jacket over your shoulders and pulls you into a hug. You close your eyes and sigh as Endo kisses your shoulder, before pulling the jacket on tighter.

"Come on," he whispers. "There's a good bar not too far from here. I'll carry you."

a/n: idk why these got progressively shorter, but oh well lol

[lazysoulwriter]

under arrest. - pedro pascal ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: explicit smut, dom!Pedro, handcuffs (Javier Peña’s from set), rough sex, oral (f!receiving), dirty talk, teasing, slight roleplay, power play, aftercare.

You hear the door close, soft thud and keys jingling, and Pedro’s voice drifting through the apartment with that signature rasp.

“Baby?”

“In the bedroom!” you call, flipping a page in your book.

You hear the bag hit the floor before he appears — hair messy from the breeze, black hoodie halfway unzipped, grin already playing on his mouth like he’s got a secret.

“What?” you ask, suspicious. “Why are you smiling like that?”

He tosses something on the bed beside you.

Clink.

Your eyes flick down. Your breath catches.

“…Are those—?”

“Yep,” he says. “Handcuffs. Real ones. From the Narcos set.”

Your mouth parts. “Pedro—”

“Peña’s actual cuffs,” he adds. “They were wrapped in a prop bag and I just… forgot to give them back.”

You snort. “You’re a thief.”

“I’m resourceful.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And what do you plan on doing with them?”

He shrugs off his hoodie, walks closer, his eyes dark now. “Use them. Properly.”

You sit up a little. “What kind of Javier Peña cosplay is this?”

“The filthy kind.”

Before you can answer, he’s climbing onto the bed — slow and deliberate — and takes your wrists in his hands. Gently. But with purpose.

“You trust me?” he asks, voice low.

“Always.”

The cuffs click into place. Cold steel. Not too tight. But firm enough that your wrists are pinned to the headboard, stretched just enough that you can’t touch him back.

He stands, watching you.

Licking his lips.

“Fuck, look at you.”

You’re already breathing faster, thighs pressing together, eyes fixed on his hands as he undoes the button on his jeans.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he murmurs, crawling back over you. “You, tied up. Needy. Dripping. Nowhere to run.”

“Pedro—” you gasp, arching into him, desperate for any kind of contact.

But he takes his time — mouth teasing down your throat, his fingers slipping under your shirt, peeling it off. Kissing each inch of skin like it’s sacred.

He yanks your panties down, tossing them to the floor, then spreads your thighs with two firm hands.

“You’re already wet?” he chuckles. “Jesus. I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“Touch me now,” you whimper.

But he doesn’t. He slides down the bed, his mouth finding your inner thigh instead — licking, kissing, ignoring your begging until you’re writhing.

Then finally: His tongue. His mouth. You.

He eats you like a man starved — slow and filthy, teasing your clit until your thighs are shaking, then sucking hard when he feels you close. His hands pin your hips down, mouth relentless, beard scratch delicious.

You cry out when you come — gasping, panting, your wrists pulling against the cuffs as your body arches off the bed.

But he doesn’t stop.

He keeps going.

Another orgasm builds, faster this time, and you’re blabbering his name like a prayer, thighs clamped around his head.

When he finally pulls away, his mouth is soaked, eyes wild.

“Fuck,” he whispers, stripping fast now, cock already hard. “I need to be inside you. Now.”

He lines himself up, then pauses — hovering, teasing.

“Gonna take it for me, baby? All tied up, nothing to do but feel how deep I get?”

You nod, dazed. “Please.”

He thrusts into you hard. You scream.

It’s rough, and hot, and perfect. He holds your legs open, your arms still cuffed, your body completely at his mercy. You can’t grab him. Can’t pull him closer. And he loves it.

“Such a good girl,” he growls, pounding into you. “You look so fucking pretty like this. All mine. No one gets to see you like this but me.”

You’re crying — overwhelmed, overstimulated, gone.

“Come again for me,” he murmurs. “Do it. Just like this. Let go.”

And you do. Harder than before. Clenching around him until he groans, hips stuttering.

He cums inside you with a deep growl, his head dropping to your shoulder, breath hot and fast.

For a moment, there’s just silence.

Then:

“…So,” you pant. “You’re keeping the handcuffs?”

He laughs against your skin, unlocking them gently, kissing the raw marks on your wrists.

“Oh yeah,” he whispers. “They’re mine now.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

---

taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @joelmillerpascal @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk @hotdadlvr95 @lnnysnts @pedropascalfan221 @queenofklonnie22 @christinamadsen @ilovecheriies @stvr-bloom @m4yb3-k3tlyn3 @umadirectioner @barnes70stark

[dontpulloutman]

spring seventeen (2).

tags: owen taylor x reader. the starling girl. Owen Taylor Is His Own Warning. a/n: *clicks post and runs* … i hope u guys like this

(masterlist)

On the next field trip with the youth group, you take the chance to slip away. The yellow shirt itches on your skin. If you let your eyes close for too long, if you let your mind wander too far, you'll start thinking of Owen. How he left when he used to promise that he would never leave you alone.

He's a liar.

Your reverie is broken by the jingle of a bell above you. Behind the counter, a girl in her early 20s with bright blue hair looks up from her phone. You can feel the heavy stare on your shirt. Then she looks back down as casually as she could. With a deep breath and shaking hands, you walk up to her. Chest and palms pressed against the cold display case, you clear your throat.

"How can I help you?" She takes her attention away from her phone.

"I've been feeling sick a lot lately. And I threw up a few hours ago."

She takes a clipboard from beside the cash register, "Any allergies?" you shake your head no. "Fever?" you shake your head again.

She takes another quick look at the text printed on your stupid yellow shirt. "Sexually active?"

You take a pause. The lump in your throat refuses to let you speak. Through tears, you catch how her own eyes soften. You're speechless when she opens a drawer and places a rectangular box on the counter.

"There's a bathroom near the back."

"Satan has its grasp on you," she moves her accusing finger from your face to the small swell of your belly, "And that creature is its abomination. You are ruined!"

"Momma," you raise your hands, palms open, pleading, "Please, momma..."

She flinches back as if your touch would burn. As if you were the devil itself. "You stay away from me!" she shrieks. Gasping back a cry, you try to get closer to her. You're sorry. You're so sorry. You haven't been sorry yet.

"Get out of my house."

It brings a chill down your spine. Like a coward, you shrink into yourself. Like a mother, you move your hands to protect and cradle the life growing inside you.

"You better leave before your father comes back. Lord knows what he'll do if he sees you like this."

Your spine goes rigid. And then, almost stubbornly, you turn away. And then, you run. You run like its all you've ever known to do.

"What a raging bitch!"

You curl into the pillow pressed against your chest. Eyes following the girl pacing across linoleum tiles. It's only been a week since that fateful day, but she already has platinum streaks in the blue of her hair.

You didn't expect her to be so accommodating. Showing up at her parents' pharmacy on a random Wednesday evening. She quickly brought you in, ushered you into her basement bedroom, screamed a "Don't disturb us!" before she prodded at you to tell her what's going on.

"I can't believe she'd do that to her own daughter!" You can feel the rage in her voice.

"It's fine," you try to placate her. It doesn't work.

"No, the fuck, it isn't! I mean–" she stutters, at a loss for words. She parts her lips to continue her tirade, a new string of curses toward your mother, when she realizes the tears forming in your eyes. She immediately sags at the look on your face.

"What do you wanna do?" She says. Instead of more hate, more profanities, more choice words about your 'cunt of a mother'.

"I want to keep the baby."

"You have other options," she gently reminds you. But the thought of it is bitter. Less than five weeks, and yet you know you won't ever let this child go. The babe is a sacrament of the love you once had.

"I can't... I want... I need to keep it."

Joanna sits on the bed beside you. Slowly, but with such tender care, she places a hand on your knee. "Okay, babes. That's your choice."

There's a moment of silence.

"Do you know any way to contact the father?"

He's completely and utterly fucked. Waking up alone on a random motel bed, only to find that his truck (his one-way ticket out of dodge) was missing from where he parked it last night. He's tried to call the cheap cell he bought for Jemima, only for it to beep in his ear. Out of service, out of range. He's in deep shit. Running his hands through his hair, he lists down all of his options.

Hell has to burn over before he returns back home. And without his truck to sell, he won't have enough money to afford a ticket back to Puerto Rico. Unless... He's quick to go through his duffel bag, deep into its inner pocket, where his old notebook lays tucked away.

In it, there's a slip of paper. Worn and tattered, an envelope with its seal still intact. The words inside having been accessed by a letter opener. Obvious through the jagged cut at the seam. Like a source of salvation, the light at the end of the tunnel, there it is.

It was sacrilegious. But with the taste of his gasps and the press of his lips, you knew you were on sacred ground. Leaning across the console of his truck, with his hands in your hair, and the dangle of your Benedictine medallion, you are reborn.

Owen pulls away, his palms against your cheeks. There’s a furrow to his brow. With a gasp, your cheeks turn red. His jaw moves, chewing. “Is this gum?”

You nod. How sordid to think of it. Candy passing from one’s lips to another. It’s downright sinful.

“I didn’t notice you chewing it the entire drive,” he comments, almost thoughtful while he plays with the candy in his mouth.

“I like mint.”

He chuckles, looking out the window. “You always taste like mint.”

(Are you chewing gum? Spit it out.)

Infatuated, like a school girl with a crush, you bashfully ask, “Do you like it?”

He’s leaning across the console again, grin on his lips before he kisses you once more, “I love it.”

He’s probably lost. Following the return address scrawled in your writing, he ends up in front of a pharmacy. He looks up at the sign, blue and white with the paint chipping. Above the pharmacy, he sees floral patterned curtains on brick-lined windows. With a breath, bracing for the unknown, he steps into the store. A bell rings above the door. There’s a lady with pink hair behind the counter. And a little girl sat beside the cash register. The lady looks up from where she was babbling at the girl. Owen doesn’t miss the way her eyes widen for a second. And then, she lifts the girl, placing her down on the hardwood floors.

“Sweets, go to your momma.”

The little girl, chubby fingers clutching on rubber teethers, nods with a smile before disappearing behind a curtained doorway.

“How can I help you?”

His lips part to speak, but he’s interrupted when someone else bursts into the store.

“Jo, these just came in.”

And there you were. With a box pressed against your hip, eyes focused on a piece of paper. His mouth dries. You’ve always been so beautiful.

“It’s the antibiotic we ordered last week—”

After years, your eyes finally reunite with sinful blues.

“Owen?”

He’s rushing forward. You’re numb, almost unseeing while he cups your face between his hands. He’s trying to get you to listen. “I’ve looked for you everywhere,” he says. “I missed you. I tried to go back,” he insists.

“What are you doing here?”

He pauses at the cold of your voice.

“I came back for you. I missed you.”

“You came back for me?”

You notice Joanna leaving the room, giving you privacy. Knowing her, she’s probbaly waiting by the curtained door. One ear out just in case something happens.

“Yes, baby. My darling girl,” he presses his forehead against yours. Your fingers tighten around the corners of the box you hold.

“You came back for me?”

Harsh and biting, a deep-seated rage bubbles inside you.

“It’s been three years. Almost three years. You only came to me now?”

His fingers are desperate, palms cupping your jaw. Thumbs rubbing into your cheeks. “I tried. I couldn’t get out of Puerto Rico for a while. I did everything I can to get back to you.”

His thumbs catch the salt tears running down your cheeks. The kiss he presses between your brows is solemn and pleading. The anger in your heart turns down into a simmer. You will always succumb to him.

You kiss him. It tastes like salt and relief. Desperate in how he tries to take it further. With one hand, slowly, softly, you push him away. His forehead presses against yours. Nose breathing you in. Quietly, almost scared, you whisper, “There’s someone you need to meet.”

[adelliet]

Joel Miller x f!reader

NEW THERAPIST

Part 1 | Part 2

Summary: Joel’s therapist is very sick, and you’re new in town — since you’re licensed, you decided to step in as a replacement. Joel was hesitant at first, not one to open up to strangers easily, but when he finally gave it a try, he didn’t regret it.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, age gap (Joel in his 50s, youre age is not mentioned, but it's legal!), anxiety, masturbation, verbal harassment, oral sex (m & f receiving), unprotected sex (piv), changing positions, praise kink, nicknames, strong language

A/n: Hi! I am not even trying to convince myself anymore to bealive that this isn't long asf. I really love to write a good plot yk, anyways if you have any ideas, suggestions, or anything else, feel free to text me. Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or phrases that might not make sense—English isn’t my first language :3 But I hope you enjoy the story! <3

Mastelist

It was late morning when Tommy stopped by Joel’s house. He knocked twice and then let himself in, as he always did — brothers didn’t need permission in Jackson. Joel was in the middle of buttoning up his flannel, looking freshly showered but not entirely awake. His hair was still damp, and he moved slowly, like every motion cost him something.

“Hey,” Tommy greeted, holding a folded piece of paper in one hand. “Got those patrol maps you wanted.”

Joel took them with a grunt, gave them a glance, then placed them on the kitchen counter without a word. He reached for his mug, sipped cold coffee, and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair.

“I gotta go,” he mumbled, mostly to himself, slinging the jacket over his shoulder.

Tommy tilted his head. “Where you headin’?”

Joel hesitated, clearly not eager to elaborate. “…Therapy.”

That made Tommy pause. His brows lifted, confused. “Uh, you sure about that?”

Joel’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Yeah. Same time as always.”

Tommy gave him a strange look and shifted awkwardly. “Joel… She’s sick. Like, real sick. She stopped seein’ people. Some kinda respiratory thing — folks say she’s not comin’ back for a while.”

Joel froze. The keys in his hand stopped jingling. “What?”

“Yeah. Word’s goin’ around. They say at least three weeks, maybe more. I figured you heard.”

Joel shook his head slowly, frown deepening, jaw tightening. He looked like someone had pulled the ground out from under him — not that he’d ever admit that.

“I… didn’t,” he muttered, voice low and tight.

There was a long pause before Tommy scratched the back of his neck, pulling something from his pocket.

“Look, I know you don’t like this kinda thing,” Tommy said carefully, “but there’s someone new in town. Moved here a few weeks back. She’s licensed, she’s smart… young, yeah, but folks been sayin’ good things.”

Joel shot him a skeptical glance, the corners of his mouth twitching downward. “Young?”

“Not that young,” Tommy chuckled. “Just… younger than your usual shrink. But hey — she works from home, keeps things real low-key. Thought maybe it’d suit you.”

Joel didn’t respond, just stood there looking at the card Tommy handed him. A simple business card. No frills. Just a name, a soft-colored print, and an address.

Tommy caught the look in his brother’s eyes and backed off.

“Hey, just… think about it, alright? You ain’t gotta go. But don’t sit around and bottle this shit up either.”

Joel didn’t answer. He watched Tommy leave, the door clicking shut behind him, and then looked back at the card in his hand. He turned it over slowly between his fingers. Thought about throwing it away. Thought about the ache that hadn’t left his chest for months.

He sat down at the table. Stared at the wood grain. Rubbed his thumb over his temple. The silence in the house felt heavier than usual.

And he sat there. Thinking. For a long, long time.

Eventually, he ended up going.

Against his better judgment, against all the tight, thorny doubts clawing inside his mind, Joel found himself walking through Jackson’s quiet streets, shoulders hunched, head low like he was trying not to be seen. He already regretted it. Every step closer felt like one more chance to turn around and go the hell back home.

But he kept walking.

It wasn’t the idea of talking to someone that rattled him, not really. It was the idea of talking to you. Someone new. Someone who didn’t know his history, who hadn’t been there when his walls were higher than ever. He didn’t know what to expect… didn’t even know if you were going to be kind, or cold, or too damn young to understand any of what he carried.

But the worst part was how exposed he felt. Every glance from a neighbor, every quiet “hello” from someone passing by, it all made his skin crawl. Like they knew where he was headed. Like they were silently judging him for needing help. Of course, they weren’t. Nobody cared. But Joel’s anxiety didn’t exactly listen to logic.

He finally reached the address. The house looked… normal. Inviting, even. The kind of place you wouldn’t expect someone to open up their deepest, darkest shit inside. And maybe that’s what made it even harder.

Joel stared at the door for a moment, frozen mid-step. His hand hovered in the air, curled into a loose fist, just inches from knocking. But he didn’t move. He stood there like a damn statue, fighting himself all over again.

Just leave, his brain hissed. Just walk away. You’ve made it this long without this. You don’t need—

He exhaled. Loud and heavy, before he slowly, knocked.

He waited. At first, it was only a few seconds. But then those seconds stretched into something longer, heavier. Joel started to feel stupid - standing there like some lost teenager, like someone who knocked on the wrong goddamn door. Maybe you weren’t even home. Maybe this was all just a mistake. Hell, maybe you were home and just didn’t want to deal with some grumpy old bastard knocking on your door uninvited.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose and stepped back. One foot already turned to go, hand dropping from the air like he’d imagined the whole thing.

And that’s when the door opened.

The soft click of the handle. The creak of the hinges. And then, you.

Joel stood there, rooted to the spot, eyes fixed on you like he’d forgotten how to breathe. You were smiling — that soft, sweet kind of smile that didn’t feel forced or polite, but real. You looked calm. Warm. And Joel? He was completely fucked.

His brain short-circuited. His first thought wasn’t “she looks young,” or “she looks kind.” No. His first thought was “she’s beautiful.” Not in the distant, poetic sense — no, not the kind of beauty you admire from afar and then walk away from. It was the kind of beauty that grabbed him by the throat and whispered, “You’re mine.”

His eyes flicked down for half a second, just a second, but that second was enough. The soft shape of your chest under that casual shirt. The subtle curve of your hips. The bare skin of your legs, the way your mouth moved as you said hello, lips plush and so fucking inviting it made his teeth clench.

And suddenly, his mind wasn’t where it should be. It was picturing things. Fast flashes. You underneath him. The way your voice might sound when it wasn’t professional — when it was breathless and messy and gasping his name. The way your hands might clutch at his shoulders. The way your body might arch, needy and open for him.

Jesus fucking Christ.

He blinked. Once. Twice. Forced himself to look you in the eyes. But even that wasn’t safe. There was a spark there, something intelligent, a little playful. You weren’t shy. And somehow, that was the most dangerous part.

He hadn’t said a single word. And he already knew he was in trouble.

You tilted your head a little, still holding the door open with one hand, the other tugging down the hem of your shirt instinctively. “…Sir?”

“Oh—shit, I’m sorry,” he muttered, voice low and rough like gravel. “I… I’m Joel. Joel Miller. Tommy gave me your card.”

You blinked. “Oh! Right. The therapy sessions?”

He gave a slow nod, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly a little embarrassed now. “Yeah. I wasn’t sure if I should come by but, uh… figured I’d give it a try.”

You stepped back and smiled, waving him in. “Come on in. You’re actually my first today.”

As he stepped past you into the warmth of the house, you noticed the way his gaze flicked briefly down to your outfit — an oversized t-shirt and a pair of short cotton shorts, your long warm fuzzy slippers making gentle scuffs against the floor as you moved.

It was freezing outside, but the heater was blasting and the tea was steeping, so this was your comfort zone. Still… not exactly professional.

You glanced down at yourself and laughed softly. “Sorry. I should’ve probably worn something more appropriate for a client…”

Joel looked up at you with something unreadable in his eyes — a twitch of amusement, maybe, or something darker, heavier.

“Nah,” he said simply, shaking his head. “It’s fine. Doesn’t bother me.”

You nodded and motioned toward the cozy living area just off the hallway. “You can go ahead and take a seat. Want anything to drink? Tea, coffee?”

Joel hesitated, then gave a small shrug. “Coffee’s good. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not at all,” you said, already padding off toward the kitchen. “Make yourself comfortable.”

He watched you disappear around the corner, the sound of the kettle starting up filling the silence behind him. As he settled onto the couch, his fingers brushing against the soft fabric of the throw pillow beside him, he let out a slow breath.

When the coffee was finally ready, you brought it over with a smile, carefully placing the pastel purple mug in front of him. “Here you go,” you said, the warmth of the mug almost making the room feel cozier. “I hope it’s to your liking.”

Joel gave a small, grateful smile, his hand brushing against yours for just a second as he took the mug. “Thanks. Smells good,” he muttered, his voice slightly raspy, as if the warmth of the coffee was just what he needed to break the cold barrier that had settled between the two of you.

You nodded and slipped into your chair, pulling your notepad and pen from your bag. The soft rustling of paper filled the air, your legs crossing comfortably as you got ready for the session. However, the moment you crossed your legs, Joel’s eyes flicked down, just for a second, but long enough for him to catch a glimpse of the soft juicy thights and-

His throat tightened a little, and before he knew it, he was coughing slightly, almost choking on the coffee he’d just taken a sip of. The damn thing went down the wrong way, and he couldn’t help but cough harshly, slamming the cup back down on the table, his face reddening with the embarrassment.

You laughed softly, leaning toward him. “Oh my god you okay?”

Joel cleared his throat, shaking his head, trying to recover his cool. “Y-Yeah, I’m fine.”

You gave him a reassueing smile, sensing his awkwardness but not letting it rattle you. “It’s alright, happens to the best of us.”

Once the tension had passed, you set your notepad in your lap and folded your hands over it, looking at him with a more professional air. “Alright, so… to start, I’m just going to ask you a few basic questions, just so I can get a better idea of where you’re coming from.”

He nodded, his gaze flicking to your face, trying to stay focused but still feeling that lingering heat from his earlier slip-up.

“Okay, so first off, tell me a little bit about yourself. I know you’re Joel… how old are you?”

“Fifty-six,” he answered, his voice low, but steady now. He had clearly gotten himself under control.

You scribbled that down, nodding. “Got it. And, uh… what about your family?”

Joel shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It was obvious that even though he was a man who’d seen more than most, talking about his family was still a sensitive subject. He hesitated before speaking, his voice dropping a little. “I have a brother… Tommy. He’s… important to me. Got a daughter too, Sarah. She’s… she’s gone now.”

You paused, noting the weight in his words. “I’m really sorry to hear that, Joel,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his in a quiet show of empathy. “That must be really hard.”

He gave a slight nod but didn’t say much more about it. You sensed he wasn’t ready to go deeper yet.

“So, what brings you to therapy today?” you asked, trying to steer the conversation gently back to the reason he was there. You hadn’t expected him to just unload everything all at once, but you hoped to start pulling out the layers, one by one.

Joel ran a hand through his hair and leaned back in his chair, his eyes darkening slightly. “Well… mostly just… I’ve been having trouble. With, uh… things. Life, y’know?” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat again. “It’s been hard. Haven’t really felt like I’ve had much control over… well, anything.”

You nodded, the silence between you feeling comfortable enough to allow him space without pressure. “That sounds difficult. But it’s good that you’re here. I know it’s not easy to take that first step.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just stared into his coffee, and you could feel the weight of his words hanging in the air. You made a mental note to keep the session light for now, to let him open up when he was ready. You could sense this wasn’t going to be a quick fix — that this was going to take time, patience, and a lot of trust.

The quiet moments that followed were filled with the warmth of the coffee and the soft sounds of your voice as you guided him through the session, making sure he felt heard and understood.

As you continued, you couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of connection with Joel — even if it was subtle. He wasn’t saying much, but the little gestures, the brief moments when his eyes lingered on you, the way his voice softened when he spoke about the hard things… it all made you realize that, maybe, this therapy thing was going to be a lot more complicated than you’d originally thought. And maybe, just maybe, there was something else simmering just beneath the surface.

Time had slipped by quietly, like the gentle ticking of an unseen clock. You hadn’t even realized how quickly the hour passed until there was a lull in the conversation—a natural pause that signaled the end.

Joel shifted on the couch, clearing his throat as if to bring himself back to the present. You offered him a small, warm smile as you closed your notepad and tucked your pen behind your ear. “That’ll be it for today,” you said softly. “Do you have a way to pay, or…?”

Joel looked at you for a second. And then, without a word, he reached into the pocket of his worn jacket and pulled out a small ziplock bag filled with a generous amount of dried weed. He held it out with a completely straight face, as if this was the most normal form of payment in the world.

You blinked once. Then twice. Your lips parted slightly in surprise as your brows lifted. “Seriously?” you asked, your voice somewhere between amusement and disbelief.

Joel didn’t flinch. “Well I suppose you don’t take cards,” he muttered, a hint of defensiveness laced with deadpan humor. “Figured this might do.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head, but your hand reached forward anyway. “You realize this isn’t exactly standard practice,” you said, taking the bag from him between two fingers, the contact brief—but still electric.

“Neither is showin’ up to therapy in fuzzy slippers and shorts,” he shot back with a slow smirk.

Touché.

You tilted your head, smirking right back, but you didn’t reply. Instead, you walked over to your bag and casually dropped the weed inside, your movements slow, deliberate. When you turned back around, Joel was already watching you with that same look in his eyes—somewhere between curiosity and hunger.

“I guess we’re even,” you said quietly, your voice a little lower now, like it belonged in a different kind of conversation.

He didn’t answer, just stood there. Big. Still. Tense.

You walked him to the door, silence trailing after you both like a second presence. As you opened it, cold air swept in from outside, brushing over your skin, raising goosebumps on your thighs.

Joel didn’t step out immediately. He lingered, turning back to face you, eyes flicking over your face like he was memorizing something. Or maybe just trying to convince himself not to do something he’d regret.

“Thanks,” he said. His voice was soft now. Almost intimate.

You nodded. “Of course.”

The air felt tight. Like something had been said without actually being spoken.

And then he left. The door clicked shut, and you exhaled.

For a long moment, you didn’t move. You just stood there, the quiet of your home closing in around you, but your thoughts loud as hell.

Joel Miller had this… presence. Something raw, heavy, carved out of scars and silence. He was clearly complicated—guarded. But under all that gruffness, there was something else. Something that made you want to crack him open and see what was underneath.

And maybe that was exactly what scared you.

He was your client. And that alone should be enough to slam every door inside you shut. But your heart didn’t seem to get the memo. Because it was still beating hard. Still remembering the way his voice dipped low when he thanked you. The way his eyes flicked down your legs. The way his hand brushed yours when he handed over the weed.

You bit your lip, suddenly aware of how warm your skin felt. No. No, no. You couldn’t let yourself feel that. Not for him. Not now.

Still… the scent of his jacket lingered in the air. And so did the strange ache in your chest.

And deep down, where you wouldn’t even let the thought fully form, you wondered: What would happen… if those lines blurred?

The next day…

You were still adjusting. To Jackson. To the cold mornings and quiet streets. To the fact that life here, while safer than the world outside the gates, still pulsed with tension. People wore their grief like layers of clothing, and every client that knocked on your door carried more than just pain—they carried stories they didn’t know how to tell.

You were getting used to that, too.

The morning had been busy. Three clients before lunch, each one with their own shadows. You were sipping lukewarm tea, organizing your notes, when there was a knock at the door. You glanced at the clock. Not your usual appointment window. You opened the door.

And there he was.

Joel.

Again.

He looked the same, rough edges, tired eyes, that same guarded posture, but something about him felt… different. Softer, maybe. Or maybe you were different, now that you’d seen the way his eyes softened when he smiled. The way his voice dipped when he said your name.

This time, you were dressed more… professionally. A soft knit sweater that hugged your waist, black jeans, cozy socks. No shorts. No slippers. But his eyes still flicked over you in that same slow, burning way.

“Hi,” you said, smiling. “Didn’t expect you back so soon.”

He shifted his weight, cleared his throat. “Hope that’s not a problem.”

“No,” you said quickly, stepping aside. “Of course not. Come in.”

He walked past you with that heavy, confident step, and for a second—just a second—you let your eyes trace the shape of his back. The way his shoulders moved beneath the fabric of his shirt. The worn denim that clung to his legs a little too well.

You closed the door and followed him into the room. He didn’t sit right away. Just stood there, looking around like he was taking in your space again. He glanced at the small candle flickering on the shelf, the books stacked on your desk, the mug of tea you hadn’t finished.

He looked at you.

“You changed the slippers,” he murmured.

You laughed. “Figured I should look like a professional, at least once a week.”

Joel’s mouth twitched into something that almost resembled a smile. Almost.

Once he was seated, you grabbed your notebook and sat across from him, legs crossed at the knee—but not as carelessly as last time. Still, his eyes caught the movement. You felt it. That flicker of awareness. That quiet hum beneath the surface.

“So,” you started, clicking your pen open, “two sessions in two days… should I be flattered?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you. “Didn’t have much else to do,” he muttered.

You raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like a glowing review of my therapeutic technique.”

His lips curved slightly. “You’re better than you think.” Your cheeks warmed, and not from the candlelight.

As the session began, it felt… different. More open. Joel still spoke in fragments, in low tones and unfinished sentences, but he let himself be a little more present. He let you ask more. He even answered a few things without looking away.

You talked about routine. About Jackson. About Ellie, vaguely. About the cold. And somewhere in there, between the casual and the careful, you realized you liked having him there. You liked the sound of his voice when it got quiet. You liked the way he sat—arms loose, legs apart, so confidently in his own skin.

And you hated how aware you were of it.

You were his therapist.

But he was… him.

A man who looked at you like he wanted to figure you out just as badly as you wanted to peel away his walls.

You didn’t let your mind wander too far. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice the way his gaze lingered on your hands. On your lips when you spoke. On the curve of your neck when you leaned over to write.

He wasn’t good at hiding that kind of thing.

And when the session ended, and he stood up again, the air felt heavier. Like something had built between you. Something you were both pretending not to feel.

He said goodbye quietly. Not rushed. Like he wanted to stay. You closed the door behind him. Pressed your back to it. And breathed. This was going to be harder than you thought.

He hadn’t planned it like this. He hadn’t planned on coming every goddamn day.

At first, he told himself it was just necessity. He needed the help. Needed someone to listen. Someone who wasn’t Tommy, who wasn’t Maria, who didn’t already have a whole image of who he was supposed to be.

But deep down, he knew. It wasn’t just about talking. It was about you.

Every morning, he woke up with that same battle inside his chest. Don’t go. She’s too young. She’s too good. You’re just another broken old man.

And yet, by noon, he was knocking on your door.

You never said no. Never even hinted that he was a bother. You smiled every time, led him inside, sat across from him with that soft, warm look that made the walls around him crack just a little more each session.

And somehow, after a week, you had more in your stash of supplies than half of Jackson.

Joel didn’t always have cash, or whatever passed for it these days, but he paid you with what he could. Bottles of whiskey. Extra ammo. A damn nice winter jacket one time.

He wasn’t sure if you actually needed all of it.

But you took it. You smiled. You made him feel like he wasn’t just a burden.

Today, when he knocked, you greeted him in a cozy-looking sweater, leggings, hair tied into bun but with a few strands loose around your face. Casual. Effortless. Dangerous.

He sat down, like he always did, heavy boots thudding against the floor.

He noticed, without meaning to, that he didn’t feel as stiff anymore. His arms weren’t crossed tightly over his chest. His jaw wasn’t clenched into stone.

You smiled, scribbling something into your notebook. “You’re getting more comfortable,” you said, almost like you were thinking out loud.

Joel grunted, not trusting himself to say much more. He knew he was softening around you. He just wasn’t sure if it was a good thing.

You started the session, asking him about his week, about Ellie, about the community. And then, you noticed it, something shifted in his expression. Something dark passed through his eyes.

“You okay?” you asked gently. Joel hesitated.

“It’s stupid,” he muttered finally, shaking his head.

“Nothing’s stupid,” you said. “If it’s bothering you, it matters.”

He leaned back, rubbing his palms over his jeans, a nervous habit he didn’t even realize he had.

“It’s just… ain’t easy. Bein’ around people. Even now. After everything. I keep thinkin’ I’m just gonna fuck it all up somehow.”

You nodded, your voice soft and steady. “That’s a very real fear.”

You let that sit for a moment. And then, before you could stop yourself, you asked:

“…Can I ask you something a little more personal?”

Joel’s eyes flicked up, guarded but curious.

“Sure,” he said gruffly.

You cleared your throat. Your fingers tightened just a little around your pen.

“How… how has everything affected your, uh… intimacy? Relationships? Sex life?”

The moment the word sex left your mouth, it was like you set off a bomb in the room.

Joel’s entire body stiffened. He blinked at you like he hadn’t heard right. Like you’d just punched him in the face.

And then, the images hit him so fast he barely had time to react. You. Bent over that little couch. Your soft sweater riding up your hips. His hands all over your skin. His mouth on your neck, your thighs, your—

Shit.

His face went red. His leg started bouncing uncontrollably. He scratched the back of his neck, shifted in his seat. He couldn’t even look at you.

You, meanwhile, tried to keep your face professional, casual—but inside, your stomach was flipping over itself. You had asked questions like that a hundred times before. But never like this. Never with him.

“Sorry if that’s too personal,” you said quickly, trying to save him. “It’s a common question in therapy. It’s important.”

Joel finally managed to clear his throat.

“No, it’s… it’s fine. Just caught me off guard, is all.”

His voice was lower now. Rougher. He still couldn’t meet your eyes. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, trying to focus. Trying not to imagine what he had imagined when you said that word.

Joel shifted again, the denim of his jeans pulling uncomfortably tight against him. Jesus Christ. He needed to get out of here.

You gave him a way out, changing the subject, making a small note in your notebook without pushing him further. But the damage was done.

When the session ended, Joel stood up a little too quickly, mumbling a goodbye. You watched him go, heart pounding for reasons you didn’t want to admit. Joel barely made it down the steps before realizing he was fucking hard.

He cursed under his breath, tugging at his jacket, willing the blood to go somewhere else. Anywhere else. All because you had said one word. One word. And now, he was ruined.

He couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Ever since he’d left your place, he’d been a fucking mess.

The cold air bit at his skin, the crunch of snow under his boots was deafening, but none of it registered. All he could see was you.

The way you’d looked at him when you asked that question. The way your tongue had peeked out just barely to wet your bottom lip. The way your legs had crossed, that slow, lazy move that had damn near stopped his heart.

He felt sick, alive, starving. Every thought in his head was of you—and half of them were so filthy, so wrong, he should’ve been struck down on the spot. Goddamn old man, get a grip. But he couldn’t.

He got home fast, faster than usual. Slammed the door behind him like he could shut the images out.

He tossed his coat onto the nearest chair, paced the room like a caged animal.

Coffee. Maybe coffee would help.

His hands were shaking as he fumbled with the kettle. He poured himself a cup, burned his tongue on the first sip, cursed under his breath.

But the warmth did nothing to calm the fire raging in his blood. Your voice kept replaying in his head.

Sex life. He pictured you whispering it. Moaning it. Screaming it. His cock twitched painfully against the seam of his jeans.

“Fuck,” he hissed.

He tried sitting. Tried distracting himself, staring at the fire crackling in the hearth. But his mind betrayed him—again and again. He saw you across from him, not in leggings and a sweater, but naked. Skin flushed, eyes heavy, mouth parted.

He imagined his hands on you, calloused fingers sliding up your thighs, teasing the soft, sensitive skin until you begged him—

Jesus fucking Christ.

He couldn’t take it anymore. Joel stood, breathing hard, palming the heavy bulge in his jeans. There was no dignity left. No sense in fighting it.

He staggered to his bedroom, barely managing to shove his jeans down over his hips. His cock sprang free, thick and aching and already leaking at the tip. He wrapped a rough hand around himself, the touch making him groan deep in his chest.

Head tilted back, eyes fluttering shut, he started stroking. Slow at first. Long, tight pulls, just enough to ease the pressure without giving in fully.

But the images kept flashing behind his eyes. You, straddling his lap, grinding down against him. You, hands twisted in his hair, guiding his mouth wherever you wanted it. You, whimpering his name. His strokes sped up.

His thighs tensed, muscles flexing. His hips jerked up into his hand, chasing the friction. He bit down hard on his lip to keep from making noise—but a few low, broken moans still escaped.

“Fuck… baby…” he growled into the empty room, voice wrecked.

The firelight flickered across his bare chest, highlighting the taut lines of muscle, the sheen of sweat breaking out across his skin. He squeezed tighter, pumping faster, chasing that edge.

His hand was rough, almost punishing, but he didn’t care. He deserved the pain. Deserved the shame. He thought about your soft, warm cunt wrapped around him. Thought about what you’d sound like when he finally pushed inside.

That did it.

Joel’s whole body seized up, a shudder ripped through him as he came, thick ropes spilling over his fist, down his knuckles, onto the floor.

“Goddamn—fuck—” he groaned, riding it out, hips jerking uncontrollably.

He sagged back against the bed, panting, heart hammering in his chest. For a moment, he just laid there. One arm thrown over his eyes. Breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps.

The guilt crept in almost immediately. He shouldn’t have done it. Not over you. Not over someone so kind. So pure.

But even as he wiped his hand on a rag and dragged his jeans back up, one thing was terrifyingly clear: He was fucked. And not just because he couldn’t get you out of his head. But because he didn’t want to.

Joel hadn’t even planned on coming to this stupid ‘party’. Truth be told, crowds weren’t his thing anymore—too many people, too many memories.

But Tommy had dragged him out, shoved a drink in his hand, and told him to at least pretend to be part of the community. So there he was, leaning against the wall with a half-empty glass of whiskey, feeling like a damn ghost watching life happen around him.

And then you walked in. Joel’s world fucking stoppe. You were dressed… Shit, he didn’t even have words for it. It wasn’t flashy or revealing. You weren’t even trying. But you were stunning. Soft and effortless and so goddamn beautiful it made his chest ache.

Joel swallowed hard, feeling that familiar pressure start building low in his gut. You spotted them, him and Tommy, and made your way over, a warm, shy smile lighting up your face.

“Hey,” you greeted, voice a little breathless from the cold outside. “I think we’ve met,” you said, nodding toward Tommy. “You welcomed me my first day.”

Tommy grinned wide, gave a little dramatic bow. “That’s me. Jackson’s official welcome wagon.”

You laughed and then turned to Joel.

“And of course,” you added, softer now, “I know Joel. From… work.”

Your eyes flicked to his and something charged the air between you. Joel stiffened. He managed a grunt that was supposed to be a greeting but sounded more like he was choking.

After a beat, too long to be normal, you excused yourself politely, weaving back into the crowd. Joel stared after you like a man who’d just watched salvation walk away.

Tommy elbowed him hard in the ribs.

“You blind, or just stupid?”

Joel blinked. “What?”

“She was lookin’ at you like you hung the damn moon, man,” Tommy said, incredulous. “Christ, Joel. She was bitin’ her lip, twiddlin’ her damn fingers, swayin’ like she was hopin’ you’d just throw her over your shoulder right then and there.”

Joel glared at him. “You’re full of shit.”

Tommy just laughed, slapped him on the back. “Keep tellin’ yourself that, old man.”

Joel tried to shake it off. Tried to act like his heart wasn’t beating out of his chest. But now he couldn’t stop watching you.

You joined a group of women near one of the tables, smiling, laughing, tucking your hair behind your ear in that way that made his gut twist painfully. Joel sipped his whiskey, pretending not to look.

Failing miserably.

He watched you laugh at something one of the women said, your head tilting back, that smile crinkling the corners of your eyes. He wanted to be the one making you laugh like that. Wanted to be the one you looked at with that kind of light in your eyes.

And then, a man joined your group. Joel’s stomach dropped. The guy was young, maybe early thirties. Tall. Smiling too damn wide at you. Joel’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

Every time you laughed at something that punk said, Joel’s blood boiled hotter. He gripped his glass tighter, fingers whitening around the rim. He should’ve looked away. Should’ve had some damn self-control. But he couldn’t.

Every move you made, every glance, every soft smile, was a hook digging deeper under his skin. And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it.

Across the room, at the bar, Ellie and Dina were getting harassed by some drunk asshole spitting slurs, sneering like a damn fool.

He stiffened, instincts firing before his brain even caught up. Ellie stepped toward the guy, pointing at that man, eyes blazing.

“The fuck did you just say?!” she snapped, voice sharp and cutting. Joel didn’t wait.

His body moved on pure muscle memory. He crossed the floor in a heartbeat, grabbing the guy by the collar and shoving him with brutal force—so hard the bastard hit the ground with a grunt.

The man glared up at Joel from the floor, his face twisted in anger. Joel stared him down, his voice low and lethal: “Get the hell outta here.”

The room was deathly silent now.

Maria helped the guy stand up from the floor, both of them disappearing into the crowd without another word.

Joel finally looked at Ellie. She was standing frozen, blinking like she couldn’t believe what had just happened.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” she barked, voice loud enough to carry. Joel didn’t answer.

His jaw was locked tight, muscles ticking under his skin, and his fingers flexed helplessly at his sides.

“I don’t need your fucking help, Joel!”

The words hit harder than any punch. He looked around, saw the judgment, the confusion, and then his gaze locked on you.

You were standing frozen by the table, one hand over your mouth, wide-eyed. He hated the look on your face. Hated that he’d been the cause of it.

Joel dropped his eyes, shame burning hot under his skin.

“Right,” he muttered roughly, voice almost breaking, and without another word, he pushed through the crowd and disappeared into the cold night.

You couldn’t move for a second. Couldn’t even breathe.

The way Joel had looked at you, like he was breaking apart right in front of you. You whispered a quick apology to the group you were with and slipped out into the cold night after him, heart pounding in your chest.

You didn’t know what you were going to say. Didn’t even know if you could fix it. But you had to try. Because somehow, somewhere between those stolen glances and charged silences, Joel Miller had carved out a place inside you that you couldn’t ignore.

You hurried after him, boots crunching over the snow, your breath forming shaky clouds in the freezing air.

“Joel!” you called out, but he didn’t turn.

He just kept walking, his broad shoulders tense, hands stuffed deep in his jacket pockets.

You picked up your pace, heart pounding—not just from the cold—and finally, when you were close enough, you reached out and touched his shoulder.

Joel flinched. He stopped in his tracks and turned around sharply, his face hard, eyes stormy—

But the moment his gaze landed on you, his expression softened. The anger drained from his face like melting ice.

For a few long seconds, neither of you said a word. The world around you seemed to fall away, swallowed by the soft hiss of falling snow and your own uneven breathing.

Finally, you found your voice, small and uncertain:

“Are you… okay?”

Joel exhaled a heavy breath, visible in the cold, and gave a stiff nod. That was all he could manage.

You shuffled your boots awkwardly in the snow, feeling stupid, feeling young in a way you never had before.

Like your presence was supposed to fix something—but you had no idea how.

Still… just standing there next to him, it somehow made things a little less heavy. A little warmer, despite the biting air.

Joel looked at you again, his eyes flickering with something unreadable.

“You cold?” he asked, voice rough.

You shook your head quickly. He nodded once, lips pressing into a thin line. And then he said it, low and reluctant: “I should… head home.”

He was already turning away when your voice stopped him.

“Wait—”

You shifted nervously on your feet, then blurted out before you could second-guess yourself,

“Do you… want some company?”

The moment the words left your mouth, panic bloomed in your chest. Was that weird? Was that unprofessional? Was that even allowed?

Joel froze.

You could almost see the war playing out inside him—the instinct to say no, to stay distant, battling the overwhelming pull he felt toward you.

But in the end, he couldn’t tell you no. He just jerked his head slightly, beckoning you to follow.

Joel unlocked the door and stepped inside, holding it open for you. You slipped in, your fingers already fumbling to untie the soft jacket he’d once traded for his session.

Joel silently helped you, his calloused hands brushing against your arms as he slid the heavy fabric off your shoulders.

You shivered, definitley not from the cold.

The door closed behind you with a soft click, sealing you both inside a bubble of tense, humming silence. Joel cleared his throat, glancing at you awkwardly.

“Uh… coffee or tea?”

“Coffee,” you said quickly, needing something, anything, to do with your hands, your mind, your heart hammering against your ribs.

You sat down carefully at his small, worn kitchen table, feeling absurdly out of place.

The chair creaked under you, the faint smell of coffee and old wood wrapping around you like a too-tight blanket. Joel busied himself at the counter, his broad back facing you.

You watched the way his shoulders moved under his jacket, the way his fingers fumbled slightly with the coffee canister.

He wasn’t as steady as he wanted to seem. And neither were you. For the first time in your life as a therapist, you had no idea what to say.

No idea how to reach the man standing a few feet away without falling headfirst into something neither of you would be able to undo.

Joel was in hell. Not just because of tonight—though that alone had probably shattered what little trust Ellie still had in him, and would no doubt make him a target of whispers in Jackson for weeks—

But because you were here. Sitting in his kitchen. Looking at him with those wide, worried eyes that made him want to fall to his knees.

He clutched the edge of the counter tighter, knuckles whitening. If he made one wrong move, if he let himself feel too much—

He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to stop. And he wasn’t sure he even wanted to.

Without saying a word, he grabbed two chipped mugs and poured coffee into each, the rich aroma filling the heavy silence between you.

Once he finished, he shrugged off his jacket, hanging it carefully on the hook right next to yours — so close, almost touching.

Only then did he return, walking back over to where you sat, still quiet, still unsure.

He handed you one of the mugs, and as you reached out to take it, your fingers brushed against his.

The contact was brief, feather-light, but it sent an electric jolt through your body — and clearly through his, too.

Both of you froze for a fraction of a second, your eyes locking, breath caught between you.

It was so quick, so subtle… but so undeniably there.

Joel cleared his throat lowly, trying to brush it off, and finally sat down opposite you, his large hands curling around his mug like it was his only lifeline to reality. The steam rose between you two, swirling in the cold air that seeped through the old house’s walls.

There was a long pause — neither of you seemed to know how to start — until suddenly, both of you spoke at the same time.

You stopped. He stopped.

An awkward, soft laugh escaped you, and Joel gave a small huff of amusement through his nose, the faintest ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

“You first,” Joel said eventually, nodding toward you, his voice gruff but surprisingly gentle, always the gentleman, even now.

You shifted slightly in your seat, taking a breath.

“I just… I just want you to know,” you started carefully, your fingers nervously tracing the handle of your mug, “that what you did back there? I get it. You were just trying to protect someone you care about. And… you shouldn’t feel bad for that.” Your voice was soft, earnest.

Joel let out a rough, disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head like he couldn’t even begin to accept your kindness.

“I fucked everythin’ up,” he muttered, voice low and cracked. “Don’t even know how to fix it now.”

Then, with a defeated sigh, Joel buried his face in his hands.

The sight made your chest ache — you had to physically stop yourself from reaching out, from covering his rough, work-worn hands with your own.

Not now. Not when he was so vulnerable. You couldn’t cross that line… not yet.

Your heart was pounding painfully against your ribs when you suddenly remembered something. You had brought a little “emergency” with you to the party, just in case, and it seemed like the perfect time for it now.

Without thinking too much, you jumped up from your chair, making Joel lift his head in slight surprise.

You fumbled through the pocket of your jacket, finally pulling out a small bag of weed with a victorious grin.

Joel quirked an eyebrow at you, the corners of his mouth twitching up in faint amusement.

“Seriously?” he asked, voice half incredulous, half fond, when he saw what you were holding.

You nodded enthusiastically, the grin not leaving your face. And for the first time that night, Joel genuinely smiled.

You ended up sitting closer together on the old, battered couch, sharing a joint, letting the slow haze of warmth and laughter ease the tension that had been suffocating both of you all evening.

The conversation flowed easier now, soft jokes and even softer glances exchanged between you two. Joel’s shoulders, always so rigid, finally started to relax. His laugh, low and raspy, filled the room in small bursts.

And you felt a kind of peace you hadn’t known you were missing. For a while, in that little pocket of time, it didn’t matter what had happened at the party. It didn’t matter how badly Joel thought he had ruined everything.

It was just the two of you. Just coffee-stained mugs cooling on the table. The laughter between you faded into a lingering quiet, warm and a little awkward, as if neither of you wanted to be the one to break it.

You leaned forward slightly, reaching for your cup, your fingers brushing the ceramic as you brought it to your lips for a small sip. The coffee had cooled a little, but the warmth still felt good in your hands.

As you set the cup back down, a few loose strands of hair slipped into your face. Before you could lift your hand to brush them away, Joel moved. Quietly, instinctively.

His fingers were rough, calloused from years of work, but the way he touched you was anything but.

He tucked the loose strands gently behind your ear, his knuckles barely grazing your cheek. Your eyes met. Locked.

The air between you turned electric, heavy and trembling like a taut string ready to snap.

Joel’s gaze flickered, your lips, your eyes, your lips again, his breathing shallow, heart thundering so loudly he was sure you could hear it. You didn’t move. Neither did he.

His hand lingered, sliding almost hesitantly down, until his palm was resting at the nape of your neck. Large, warm, protective.

Holding you there like he was afraid if he let go, you’d vanish. Your breath caught in your throat.

Joel swallowed hard. His thumb moved ever so slightly, brushing against your skin, the softest, slowest motion—intimate beyond words.

Every fiber of your being screamed for him to close the distance.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, suspended in that fragile space between hesitation and surrender.

And then, Joel leaned in. Slow, deliberate. His forehead almost touched yours. His nose just grazed your cheek. His breath, ragged, fanned over your lips.

He waited, giving you the chance to pull away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

And when your mouth met his, it was soft at first, trembling, full of all the things that had been left unsaid for far too long. It was barely a kiss. Joel’s lips just brushed yours, the softest ghost of a touch, as if he wasn’t sure if he had the right.

The moment he felt your slight intake of breath, your stunned stillness, he immediately pulled back.

His hand left your neck in a flash, and he leaned away, guilt flashing across his features.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, voice rough, almost pained, his eyes darting away.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve—”

But you smiled. A slow, mischievous, almost dangerous curve of your lips. Maybe it was the weed, or maybe it was just him—but suddenly you felt bold. Hungry.

“You know,” you said, voice dropping into a teasing murmur, “in therapy, touch is supposed to be strictly off-limits.”

Your eyes glinted, a spark of wickedness dancing there. Joel blinked at you, completely thrown off by your shift, struggling to catch up.

“And yet,” you leaned in closer, your breath brushing against his jaw, “sometimes… rules are made to be broken, aren’t they, Mr. Miller?”

Before he could say anything, before he could ruin it with another apology, you kissed him.

Properly, this time. Your mouth pressed firmly to his, tasting him, demanding him.

Joel groaned against your lips, low and guttural, like something deep inside him finally snapped free.

His hands found your waist, strong fingers digging into your sides, desperate to feel more of you.

You moved instinctively, climbing into his lap, straddling him without even thinking, your thighs bracketing his hips.

The second your body settled over him, he let out another soft, broken sound, and you could feel him, already hard against you, hot and throbbing through his jeans.

You rocked your hips just a little, testing, and his hands clamped down harder, a silent plea for you to stop torturing him.

He was kissing you now like he couldn’t get enough—slow, then deep, then messily hungry, tongues tangling, teeth grazing.

His palms were everywhere: your back, your thighs, your waist, exploring every inch of you like he needed to memorize it.

You felt his heart pounding against your chest, matching your own racing pulse.

You were both half-wild already, and yet somehow still trying to hold on, trying not to fall into it too fast. But it was no use.

His salt-and-pepper beard scraped deliciously against your mouth, rough and warm, sending little sparks of heat down your spine every time he shifted closer.

You could feel the slight burn of it on your lips, your cheeks, even your jaw, and it made you crave more. More of him, more of this brutal tenderness he gave you without even thinking.

Joel wasn’t letting you breathe. He wasn’t letting you go. His big body caged you in, his strong hands gripping you like he was terrified you might slip away. But the truth was, you didn’t want to go anywhere. You wanted to drown in him.

The coffee still hung faintly in the air, mixing with the deep scent of Joel’s skin—warm, musky, and grounding.

Outside, the snow was falling harder, the soft hiss of it against the windows making everything inside feel even hotter, even heavier.

The world had faded away, leaving only the frantic beat of your hearts crashing together.

You whimpered against his mouth when he kissed you harder, rougher, desperate.

And you were already so wet, feeling the damp heat pooling between your thighs, your soaked panties sticking uncomfortably against you—but it only made you ache for him even more.

Both of you knew this was wrong. You knew there was still time to stop—to pull away, to breathe, to talk. But neither of you even considered it.

You were already too far gone, drunk on him, on the weed, on the days of tension finally snapping like a brittle thread.

Your hands tangled in his greying hair, pulling sharply when he bit at your lower lip, and Joel groaned—a deep, guttural sound that vibrated right through your core.

He shifted his grip from your face to your hips, hauling you closer against him, grinding your body against his aching hardness.

His palms slid lower, kneading your ass, fingers digging in possessively, making you shudder and moan against him.

Between ragged kisses, he muttered against your lips, voice rough and breaking apart:

“Goddamn… been waitin’ so fuckin’ long for this…”

Another kiss, deeper, hungrier.

“Dreamt about this… ‘bout you…”

Each word hit you like a lightning bolt, setting your whole body on fire.

You answered by kissing him even harder, almost feral now, desperate to feel every inch of him, every ounce of need he poured into you.

The air around you was humid and heavy, thick with the scent of coffee, weed, sweat, and snow-melt leaking from your clothes. It was suffocating in the best way. It smelled like Joel. It smelled like home. And you couldn’t take it anymore.

Your hips started moving on their own, grinding down against the hard bulge in Joel’s jeans. The friction made your head spin, sparks of unbearable pleasure shooting through your core with every slow roll of your body.

You whimpered into his mouth, feeling the way his whole body stiffened under you—and that was it.

That was all it took to make Joel snap.

A low, dangerous growl rumbled in his chest, and in the next second, he attacked your neck with a hunger that stole the breath from your lungs.

You cried out his name, loud, raw, desperate, your fingers clawing at the fabric of his shirt, digging into the strong muscles of his back.

He didn’t stop, he licked, sucked, bit into the tender skin of your neck like he was branding you, leaving dark, possessive marks that you were going to wear for days.

Your throat, your collarbone, even the top of your chest—he left no space untouched. And all the while, your hips never stopped moving.

Your body was chasing the friction shamelessly, rolling and grinding against him as Joel buried his face in your neck, groaning, losing his fucking mind over the way you felt on top of him.

The air around you turned even thicker, hotter, electrified with raw, animalistic want. Every breath you took was shaky, every sound you made was ripped straight from your chest.

When he finally tore himself away from your neck, both of you stared at each other—wild, disheveled, drowning in need. No words were spoken. They weren’t needed.

Your hands were trembling when you reached for the hem of his shirt, and Joel didn’t even hesitate.

He grabbed the back of it and yanked it over his head, tossing it somewhere across the room. The sight of his bare chest—broad, scarred, covered in coarse dark hair—made your knees weak.

You couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out, running your hands over his warm, hard skin, feeling the raw strength hidden underneath.

Joel hissed through his teeth when your palms slid over his ribs and up to his chest—but when you brushed your thumbs over his nipples, he growled, low and dangerous, and grabbed you again, desperate and rough.

Now it was his turn.

His fingers tugged at your clothes, fumbling with the buttons, the zippers, the seams—every new inch of bare skin he uncovered made the room spin faster, made his touch rougher, needier. Your shirt fell to the floor. Then your bra.

Joel’s calloused palms immediately covered your breasts, squeezing them, kneading them, making you whimper and arch into his touch.

His eyes were dark, hungry, absolutely wrecked as he stared at you like you were something holy and forbidden all at once.

Each piece of clothing that hit the floor made the air thicken even more, made the space between your bodies buzz like a live wire.

You could feel it with every trembling breath, every desperate glance—the terrifying, undeniable truth: there was no turning back now.

Joel couldn’t keep his hands off you anymore.

He slid his rough palms down your sides, gripping your hips with a strength that made your thighs tremble.

His mouth was all over you—lips, teeth, tongue—claiming every inch he could reach.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he rasped against your skin, his voice low and reverent.

“Could stare at you all damn day… could spend the rest of my life touchin’ you.”

You whimpered at the sound of his praise, your entire body lighting up, clenching with desperate need.

Joel’s hands slid between your thighs and with a sharp tug, he ripped your panties apart like they were made of paper.

“Joel!” you gasped, looking down at the ruined fabric in horror.

“Those were expensive!”

He just chuckled darkly, tossing the torn lace somewhere behind him without a second thought.

“I’ll get ya a whole goddamn drawer full of ‘em,” he said, voice thick with hunger.

“Right now I need you more than I need my next fuckin’ breath.”

You barely had time to recover before he dove between your legs, leaving open-mouthed kisses up the inside of your thigh, growling against your skin.

Your hands fumbled with his belt, desperate, needing to feel all of him.

Joel helped you, cursing under his breath as he shrugged out of his jeans.

What you saw made your heart stutter.

The bulge straining against his underwear was massive. You froze for a second, mouth dry, staring up at him in awe. Joel noticed, of course, and that shit-eating grin he gave you almost made you combust on the spot.

“What’s the matter, darlin’?” he teased, voice full of wicked amusement.

“Didn’t expect me to be this big?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but no sound came out—only a needy whimper. Joel just laughed, low and cocky, and slid his underwear down.

And holy fuck—you weren’t sure if it was the weed still fogging your brain or just the sheer size of him, but the moment his thick, heavy cock sprang free, your mouth watered instantly.

Without even thinking, you slid off his lap and dropped to your knees between his legs. Joel’s eyes widened slightly, his chest heaving.

“Darlin'… you don’t have to—” he started, but you cut him off with a soft, hungry smile.

“I want to,” you whispered, voice wrecked with need, locking your gaze with his.

You wrapped your hand around his thick shaft, feeling how hot and heavy he was in your palm,

and then you leaned forward, flattening your tongue against the head and swirling it teasingly.

Joel cursed violently, his hands flying to your hair.

“Fuck, baby… that’s it… just like that,” he groaned, threading his fingers into your hair but letting you set the pace.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl for me… goddamn.”

You bobbed your head slowly at first, taking him deeper inch by inch, feeling the silky skin over the steel hardness underneath.

The salty taste of precum spread across your tongue, making your core clench even harder.

Joel’s thighs tensed on either side of you, his breathing turning ragged. “That’s it, sweetheart… look so pretty with your mouth full of me…”

You hummed around him, sending vibrations up his length, and Joel’s hips jerked involuntarily, forcing a deeper thrust into your mouth.

You moaned in response, the needy, desperate sound vibrating against his cock.

Joel’s fingers tightened in your hair, but he was still careful, letting you control how deep you took him.

The whole room was filled with obscene sounds-wet, messy, desperate. The way you sucked him, the way Joel’s ragged groans filled the heavy, hazy air. It was primal. Raw.

A need that had been building for what felt like a lifetime—and now it was all crashing down in this one electric, filthy moment.

Outside, you could barely hear the wind howling against the windows,

but inside, the only storm was the one raging between you two.

The smell of coffee, sex, and Joel’s own rugged scent filled your lungs with every gasping breath you took.

And Joel couldn’t stop looking at you, couldn’t stop moaning your name in that broken, reverent way that made you feel like the center of his whole goddamn universe.

Your lips wrapped tighter around Joel’s cock, feeling just how massive he really was. Your jaw ached slightly from the stretch, but you didn’t dare stop, didn’t want to stop.

The thick weight of him filled your mouth obscenely, the silky skin sliding against your tongue with every slow, deliberate pull of your lips. The taste of him was salty, heavy, and completely addictive.

Your hands slid up his thighs, feeling the way his muscles were tense, locked tight like he was struggling not to move. His skin was burning hot under your palms, every tiny twitch betraying how close he already was.

Joel was breathing harshly above you, his chest rising and falling in ragged bursts. He had one hand still tangled gently but firmly in your hair, letting you take the lead, but the other hand reached down, grabbing your wrist, squeezing it tightly as if to ground himself, to stop himself from losing control.

“Fuck, baby… so good… so fuckin’ good…” he hissed between clenched teeth.

You hollowed your cheeks and took him deeper, feeling the thick, pulsing vein along the underside of his cock drag against your tongue.He was impossibly hard, but his skin was velvety soft, warm, and alive in your mouth.

The weight of him made your lips stretch wide, drool beginning to spill from the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin.

Joel groaned—deep, guttural—and threw his head back against the couch, the muscles in his neck straining as he fought the urge to buck his hips into your mouth.

But he couldn’t hold back completely.

Every so often, his hips jerked forward sharply, driving his cock deeper into your throat, and you gagged lightly around him, tears springing to your eyes.

“Shit—sorry, I—” he panted, voice breaking with restraint.

“Can’t fuckin’ help it… you feel too damn good…”

You whimpered around him, the vibrations making him curse again.

Your thighs rubbed together desperately, because the way Joel was falling apart for you was driving you insane. The aching, throbbing need between your legs was unbearable, slick dripping onto the floor beneath you, but you stayed focused, desperate to make him fall apart.

Joel’s hand in your hair tightened just slightly, not forcing, not controlling, but anchoring himself, like he needed you to keep him tethered to this moment.

His balls were heavy, full, drawn up tight against his body.

You could feel the way they shifted as he struggled to hold himself back, his whole body shuddering under your touch. His fingers caressed your wrist, a silent worship, almost trembling with how badly he wanted you.

Joel’s breathing grew heavier, rougher, more desperate by the second.

You could feel it in the way his thighs trembled under your palms, the way his hand in your hair tightened—not rough, but pleading, as if he was begging for release.

His cock twitched against your tongue, swelling even more impossibly thick as his whole body tensed.

“Fuck… gonna—” he gasped, the words tumbling out broken and raw.

You quickened your pace slightly, swirling your tongue around the sensitive head, and that was all it took. With a deep, guttural groan that seemed to tear itself straight from his chest, Joel came.

His hips jerked up uncontrollably, and thick, hot spurts of cum filled your mouth, salty and slightly bitter, coating your tongue and the back of your throat.

You moaned softly at the taste—musky, masculine, entirely him—and swallowed instinctively, wanting to take all of him in.

Joel cursed again, a low, broken “Jesus…” escaping his lips, his voice hoarse and wrecked.

His head fell back, exposing the strong line of his throat, his chest heaving with every ragged breath. Every muscle in his body was drawn tight, trembling under the intensity of his orgasm.

He kept one shaking hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping the edge of the couch so tightly his knuckles went white. You pulled back slowly, letting his softening cock slip from your lips with a lewd, wet sound.

A little bit of his release dripped from the corner of your mouth, and you wiped it away with the back of your hand, cheeks burning with heat and pride.

Your eyes met his, Joel’s were dark, wild, overwhelmed, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was his heavy breathing and the distant hum of the night outside.

He reached for you blindly, pulling you up onto his lap, cradling you against his chest as if you were something fragile he needed to protect.

“You’re fuckin’ incredible,” he whispered against your hair, voice still shaky.

“So damn good…”

You nuzzled into him, heart pounding, still trembling yourself, not from fear or doubt, but from the raw, electric intensity of it all. You had made him come apart at the seams. You had him falling apart for you.

And god, it made the pulsing ache between your thighs almost unbearable. Joel’s hands slid slowly up and down your back, steadying himself as much as you. But you could already feel it: the way his body was starting to react again, the slow, inevitable reignition of need simmering between you both.

He wasn’t done, and neither were you.

Still perched in Joel’s lap, your breathless laughter barely settled from what you just did, you leaned in closer, your lips brushing the shell of his ear.

And in your softest, filthiest voice, you whispered, “You know…I’ve had a lot of clients, but none of them ever came this fast before, Mr. Miller.”

The moment the words left your mouth, you felt Joel’s whole body stiffen under you, like you’d lit a fuse. A low, almost animalistic growl rumbled deep in his chest.

Without a word, Joel flipped you over in one fluid, controlled movement, so now he was the one kneeling in front of you on the couch.

You gasped, startled, but before you could even think to say anything, Joel shot you a dark, wicked smirk — the kind of look that said you were absolutely, completely fucked — and grabbed your thighs, spreading them wide apart.

You barely had time to suck in a breath before Joel ducked down and devoured you. His tongue was hot and messy and desperate, lapping at your soaked core like he’d been starving for you for years.

The first stroke of his tongue up your slit made your entire body jerk, a strangled, broken moan ripping from your throat.

He groaned against you, the vibrations making your head fall back against the couch, your fingers immediately flying into his hair, grabbing at the silver-streaked strands in pure desperation.

Joel was relentless. His mouth was everywhere—licking, sucking, teasing your clit with maddening circles before sliding lower to dip into your entrance, tasting the very core of you.

You were already dripping, wetness coating his lips, his beard glistening under the soft, golden light of the room. He didn’t care. He wanted it messy. He wanted all of you.

Your thighs trembled uncontrollably around his head, but Joel only growled and pulled you even closer, locking his arms around your hips so you couldn’t get away. As if you’d ever want to.

The texture of his tongue was perfect—slightly rough, silky, impossibly skilled as he switched between broad strokes and tight, focused flicks. Your clit was throbbing, every nerve ending on fire, your whole body arching into his mouth.

Joel muttered filthy praises against your pussy between strokes, things like, “Taste so fuckin’ sweet, darlin',” and “Could stay down here forever,” each word sending a new rush of heat through your blood.

You sobbed his name, voice high and cracked, hips grinding helplessly against his mouth as the pressure inside you coiled tighter and tighter.

Joel felt it, he knew you were close, and with a smug, satisfied hum, he slipped two thick fingers inside your fluttering hole, crooking them just right to hit that sweet, devastating spot.

The combination of his fingers stroking inside you and his mouth sucking mercilessly at your clit had you unraveling, fast.

Your body locked up, muscles spasming uncontrollably, a wild, broken cry tearing out of you as you came harder than you ever had in your life.

Joel didn’t stop, not through your shudders, not through your gasps, he licked and kissed you through every wave of your orgasm, savoring every last drop of your release.

Your wetness coated his chin, his lips, dripping messily onto the couch, onto his hands, but he didn’t fucking care.

You collapsed against the cushions, panting, utterly wrecked, your whole body still twitching from aftershocks.

He lifted his head from between your thighs, his lips glistening with you, and in his eyes burned that unbelievably dark, proud look.

He kept caressing your inner thighs for a moment longer, tracing slow, soothing circles with his fingertips to ease you through the lingering waves of pleasure.

Then he leaned closer and murmured in a rough, praising voice:

“Good girl… You did so fuckin’ good for me, sweetheart.”

Your body almost trembled at his words — but both of you knew this was far from over.

Joel gave you a moment to catch your breath, his heavy breathing matching yours in the thick, charged air between you. You were glistening with sweat, skin flushed and trembling slightly, but to him, you were the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen. His cock, still painfully hard and throbbing, twitched at the sight of you spread out on the couch — all messy and ruined because of him.

He couldn’t wait any longer.

With a deep, desperate grunt, Joel climbed onto the couch, his strong hands sliding under you effortlessly. He shifted your body with ease, guiding you until you were lying flat beneath him. His massive frame hovered above, shadowing you completely, and for a moment, you just stared at each other.

Your glassy, tear-filled eyes met his — his were dark, wild, predatory. Like a starving wolf finally facing the meal he’d been denied for far too long. His broad chest heaved with each ragged breath, muscles taut with restraint.

Before moving further, Joel lowered his head slightly and gave you a subtle nod, silently asking for permission. And with a shy, eager little nod back, you gave it to him.

Joel lined himself up, his thick cock rubbing against your slick folds, and slowly began to push in.

The stretch was intense — he was so damn big that your walls fought to accommodate him, making you hiss sharply through your clenched teeth. Your nails instinctively dug into the hard planes of his back, leaving angry red scratches in their wake, but Joel only groaned at the feeling. He welcomed it. He wanted it. Proof of how good he was making you feel.

He paused for a moment, his forehead pressing against yours, whispering a low, gravelly:

“Breathe… I got you…”

Then, with a deep, primal growl, Joel pushed the rest of the way in, bottoming out inside you.

You whimpered at the sudden fullness, your thighs trembling against his hips, but fuck — the feeling of being completely stretched around him, the heavy weight of him deep inside you, was absolutely addictive.

Joel pressed a tender kiss to your sweaty forehead, a shaky attempt to comfort you, to ground you.

And then, he started to move.

Slow, deep thrusts at first. He wanted you to feel everything — every ridge, every pulsing vein of his thick cock dragging along your sensitive walls.

Each push knocked soft, helpless little whimpers from your throat. Each pull left you feeling devastatingly empty, only for him to fill you up again — harder, deeper, more desperate each time.

Joel kept one hand anchored firmly on your hip, the other sliding up to intertwine with your fingers above your head, pinning you down in the most delicious way.

His lips brushed your temple, whispering words between ragged breaths:

“So tight for me… made just for me, ain’t ya, sweet girl?”

Your mind was a whirlwind — your heart pounding so loudly you could barely hear anything else, your body trembling under the relentless, steady rhythm Joel set.

The sounds between you were filthy: the wet slap of skin against skin, the soft creak of the couch under your shifting bodies, and the desperate, broken moans that neither of you could hold back anymore.

Outside, the night was quiet, the cool breeze whispering against the windows — but inside, the heat between you burned hotter than anything else.

A pulsing tension coiled tighter and tighter in your belly, fueled by Joel’s low growls and the constant, overwhelming friction of him dragging against your most sensitive spots.

He noticed it, of course he did — he could feel your walls fluttering around him, trying to pull him even deeper, to keep him inside forever.

Your second orgasm hit you like a violent, breathtaking wave.

It was louder this time, messier — a raw, guttural scream of Joel’s name tearing from your throat as your body seized and spasmed uncontrollably around him.

The world tilted violently, your vision swimming with stars, a sharp ringing filling your ears.

Your entire body was on fire, but at the same time — cold shivers raced down your spine, leaving you trembling and gasping for air like you’d been dragged under a riptide.

Your nails clawed desperately at Joel’s broad shoulders, leaving red, angry marks in your wake as your orgasm wracked through you.

Joel cursed under his breath, the sound low and almost desperate, as he drove into you a few more brutal, stuttering thrusts.

Then, with a deep, broken groan torn straight from his chest, he buried himself deep inside you one last time, and came hard.

His hips jerked against yours, pushing as deep as he could go while thick, hot pulses of his cum flooded your clenching core.

He couldn’t hold back, filling you up so completely it almost hurt, his whole body trembling with the force of his release.

A strangled, guttural version of your name spilled from his lips as he collapsed forward slightly, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing heavily through his nose.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

The world around you was nothing but your heartbeats hammering violently against each other’s skin, the room spinning slightly from the exertion — and from the lingering haze of the weed you’d both smoked earlier.

Joel finally shifted, gently easing out of you, and a messy mix of both of your releases immediately began to leak from between your legs, dripping onto the couch cushions below.

He hissed softly at the oversensitivity but didn’t move far — instead, he gathered you carefully into his arms, pulling you close against his sweaty, trembling chest.

You both collapsed back onto the couch — or what was left of it — tangled together, naked, sticky, sweaty, completely and utterly exhausted.

Joel wasn’t young anymore, and after what felt like an eternity without this kind of raw, consuming sex — it was hitting him hard.

You, overwhelmed from the double orgasm and the intense intimacy, could barely keep your eyes open.

Your head spun lazily, your body still twitching slightly in the aftermath, and the only thing grounding you was the heavy, protective weight of Joel wrapped around you.

There was a slow, sticky warmth still dripping between your legs — the mixture of your own release and Joel’s seed slowly seeping out — but you were both too far gone to care.

Joel’s cock, still slightly leaking, twitched weakly against your thigh as he finally gave in to sleep. You let yourself drift off too, tucked safely in his arms, surrounded by his scent, by the overwhelming sense of safety and belonging that you hadn’t even realized you were craving this badly.

The first thing that woke you up were the warm beams of sunlight slicing through the window, landing right across your closed eyelids.

You groaned softly, stretching out your sore, heavy limbs under the covers — and that’s when you realized…

You were in a bed. Under a blanket wearing a shirt. Your fingers brushed the fabric instinctively, recognizing the slightly worn, soft cotton and — unmistakably — Joel’s scent.

Earthy, musky, with that sharp trace of woodsmoke clinging to him like a second skin. It was his shirt, no doubt. Confused and groggy, you sat up, looking around in slow, cautious movements.

How the hell had you gotten here? As you pieced the memories together, it hit you all at once — like a slap across the face. The night before.

Joel.

The sex.

The weed.

You had slept with your client. Your older, rugged client you’d only known for about a week. You had slept with a man old enough to be your father. And you had gotten high as fuck with him beforehand.

Guilt and panic churned violently inside your gut, making your hands tremble as you dropped your face into your palms, groaning miserably.

What the fuck had you done?

But after a few moments of spiraling self-hatred, you forced yourself to pull it together. You needed your clothes. You needed to leave.

You stood up carefully, the oversized shirt barely covering the tops of your thighs, and looked around the room. Your clothes were nowhere in sight.

Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs as you tiptoed toward the door. The moment you opened them, the smell hit you. The rich, bitter coffee and Joel.

You froze for a moment before cautiously moving closer to the kitchen.

Joel was there, bustling around, wearing a loose, comfortable T-shirt and jeans, sleeves pushed up, the muscles in his forearms flexing with each small movement.

When he heard the door creak, he immediately turned around, his whole face lighting up with a soft, easy smile.

“Morning,” he drawled, his voice still deliciously rough from sleep.

He gestured to the chair across from him at the small kitchen table.

“Come sit’.”

You hesitated for a split second — your mind still a chaotic mess — but eventually shuffled over and sat down awkwardly.

You were honestly stunned.

Not just because of everything that had happened… But because Joel was still here. He hadn’t run off. He hadn’t left you alone, confused, and abandoned. He stayed. He even made coffee.

The conversation started light, typical morning chatter. He asked how you slept, if you were hungry, if you wanted sugar in your coffee…No mention of last night. No mention of the sex.

Just that soft, lazy morning vibe like you were… normal.

You sipped the rich, hot coffee, smiling shyly at him across the table, and he smiled right back, warm and genuine.

Your eyes eventually flicked to the worn leather watch strapped around his wrist, noticing the bullet hole scar near the band, and then panic suddenly punched you in the gut again.

What time was it? You had work!

You shot up from your chair, mumbling frantically about needing to get dressed, about being late — but Joel just chuckled under his breath, calm as ever.

“Relax,” he said, voice low and reassuring.

“I called Tommy. Told him you’re takin’ the day off. He let all your clients know. You’re good.”

You stared at him, stunned, not quite believing it.

But the way he said it, so confident, so casually protective, eventually made you sink back down into your seat, your heart still racing but slowly beginning to calm. You sipped your coffee again, feeling his steady gaze on you.

The silence that followed was… thick. Not hostile, not cold, just full. Only the quiet clink of a coffee cup being set down or the occasional creak of the wooden chair broke through it.

You both avoided each other’s eyes for a while. It was awkward, in the worst possible way. Because you knew. You knew you couldn’t just ignore last night forever.

So eventually, as a professional, as someone who understood the weight of unspoken tension, you broke the silence. Your voice was low, careful.

“About… last night—”

Joel looked up sharply and lifted a hand, stopping you gently but firmly.

“I get it,” he said, his voice calm, steady.

“We were both high. It just sorta… happened.”

You nodded once, lips pressing into a tight, almost guilty line. He wasn’t wrong. But he wasn’t exactly right either. The quiet returned for a moment, a little softer this time. Then you cleared your throat.

“Uh… Do you happen to know where my clothes ended up?”

Joel nodded, a low breath left through his nose before he stood up.

“Yeah, I got ‘em.”

He disappeared into the hallway and returned a moment later with your neatly folded clothes. You stood up, took them slowly, your fingers brushing his as you did.

You didn’t look him in the eyes, but you felt his gaze, heavy and lingering, sliding over you like he hadn’t just seen you bare and shaking under him a few hours ago. Then he spoke again, voice softer now.

“Look… if you’re still okay with it, I’d like to keep meetin’. I mean, professionally. I think it’s… helpin’.”

You finally looked at him — really looked at him. There was something behind his words. Something uncertain. But also hopeful.

You nodded, lips curling just barely.

“Sure. We can keep meeting.”

He gave the smallest, almost imperceptible smile. Like something inside him had unclenched.

You turned and headed toward the guest room to change, feeling the heat of his gaze on your back the whole way.

And the irony wasn’t lost on you, how you now moved through this house wearing his scent, still sticky between your thighs, pretending like this was normal.

Like you hadn’t just let him tear you apart with his mouth, his hands, his— You stopped. Breathed. Got dressed.

When you finally came out, dressed, hair tied up, a little more composed, Joel was leaning against the counter, sipping his coffee. The silence between you stretched heavy, charged with everything that had happened the night before, and everything neither of you had said yet.

You cleared your throat softly and said, “Well… I guess I should probably go.”

Joel didn’t respond at first. But the way his expression shifted, just slightly, told you everything. Surprise, a flicker of disappointment… maybe even hurt. Like he’d expected you to stay, to share this morning with him. But he didn’t try to stop you. He understood. Maybe you both were still processing what the hell last night even meant.

He simply nodded and walked with you, until you reached the front door. He opened it for you, stepping aside.

You stopped in the doorway, hesitating. Then you turned your head just slightly and said with a soft, knowing smile, “Just so you know… I wasn’t that high.”

Joel froze. You didn’t wait for a response — you just walked off, the sunlight catching your hair as you disappeared down the street.

Joel stood there for a second, the echo of your words still ringing in the air like a shot. Then he let out a low chuckle, shook his head in disbelief, and muttered to himself,

“Goddamn woman…”

Hiii, thank you so much for reading!

I hope you guys enjoyed it! If you have any suggestions, don’t hesitate to let me know! I’d also be super happy for any feedback; whether it’s a reblog, comment, like, or even a follow.

Have a nice day!

LOVE YA🌸💗

[ariestrxsh]

sub!bsf!matt x bsf!reader

𖦹 content warning: smut, mutual masturbation, voyeurism/exhibitionism, edging, squirting, getting caught

𖦹 summary: matt makes a bold claim that squirting is a myth, and you prove to him that he's wrong

dividers by the one and only @vxnitra 𖦹

TUNNEL VISION

"I don't believe for a second that it's real. It's just something they show in porn to make it more exciting," Matt's voice broke the silence of the room as he came walking through the front door with his two brothers after filming their car video.

"That's a bold claim," Nick smugly responded, rolling his eyes. "Just say you're a virgin, Matt. It's less syllables." Nick started up the staircase, leaving behind the conversation that didn't really concern him at all.

"Squirting is totally a real thing, Matt. You're just dumb," Chris blankly stated. "How would you know, Chris? You ever seen a girl squirt?" Matt shot back, raising his eyebrows and shrugging his shoulders. "No, I haven't seen it, but you'd have to be an idiot to think it's a myth," Chris huffed, heading off towards his room. "Whatever," Matt mumbled under his breath.

"Hey, thanks for letting us use your car for the video. Sometimes I worry that mine is too recognizable when we take it out around here," Matt turned his attention towards you, tossing you your keys. "Yeah, don't mention it," you reached out with both hands, and they landed in your palms with a loud jingling sound.

Matt ran his fingers through his hair and plopped down on the couch beside you with a sigh. You let out a chuckle as you shook your head at his naivety. "What? What's so funny?" Matt wondered, furrowing his brow and narrowing his perfect blue eyes at you.

"Did you say that squirting isn't real?" You inquired, trying to stifle your laughter. "Yeah, why?" Matt innocently asked. "I have to show you something," you declared, standing up and grabbing him by the hand. "What?" Matt skeptically questioned you, completely caught off guard by you pulling him to his feet. "What are you going to show me?"

"Shhh," you hushed him, turning around and holding a finger to your lips. "You can't tell anyone. Just follow me." You led him out the front door and into the warm, summer night to your car that was parked in the driveway.

You demanded that he get in without any further explanation, and he climbed into your passenger seat with a perplexed look plastered to his face. You moved your chair back and lifted your hips, tugging down your pajama bottoms.

"What are you doing!?" Matt exclaimed, staring wide-eyed at you. He couldn't help but let his gaze wander over your exposed legs, awaiting your response as you discarded your clothing onto the floor of your car. "Squirting is real, and I can prove it," you answered him, looking around to make sure there were no witnesses.

"Y-you're gonna sh-show me?" Matt asked, blinking rapidly to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him. "Why not? I love any chance I can get to prove you wrong," you arrogantly responded, a sly smirk forming in the corner of your lips.

You clicked on the overhead light, and you turned your body to face him to give him a better view of the show you were about to put on. Finally, you reached for your vibrator that was stowed away in your center console, making Matt's jaw drop.

"You just keep that in there?" Matt wondered, imagining how differently the car video would have gone if any of the three of them had stumbled upon it. "Yeah, I never know when I'm gonna need it. It's come in handy quite a few times," you admitted, winking at him and slowly parting your thighs.

His curious blue eyes immediately dropped to your bare cunt that was already slick with arousal. It immediately became his object of focus, holding him in a trance. "Wow," he whispered, admiring the way it glistened in the dim lighting.

He instinctively reached out to touch it, but you playfully smacked his wrist. "I said I can make myself squirt, not you can," you teased him. "This is purely for educational purposes." He just sat there silently with his jaw hanging open and his eyes wide as he nodded and pulled back his hand.

"You know what would really help me, though?" You asked, switching on your vibrator. "W-what would that be?" Matt wondered, his gaze still locked on what you had between your legs. "You should do it, too," you suggested, trapping your bottom lip between your teeth and glancing down at the tent that was taking form in his sweats.

You shuddered, and your leg twitched as you rested the buzzing toy against your clit. "You want me to..?" Matt asked, his voice trailing off as he reached for his bulge. You bit down on your lip a bit harder and nodded as you gazed into his blue eyes. "Please, Matt. It'll make me squirt so hard if you do it with me," you cooed in a soft voice that Matt couldn't say no to.

"O-okay," he stammered, reaching into his waistband and pulling out his half-hard dick. You eyed his swollen, mushroom-shaped head as he wrapped his fingers around his shaft. His mouth fell open and a strangled moan left the boy as he started to massage his cock for you. It immediately grew in size, blood rushing to it. A bit of clear fluid pooled at his slit as his hand moved up and down over his length.

"It's so pretty, Matt," you told him, gawking at the way his precum started to drool down the side of his tip. He blushed at your compliment. He'd never touched himself in front of a woman before, never mind a woman who was also touching herself, but in this intimate moment the two of you shared, he was beginning to learn new things about himself. He loved watching and being watched.

The whole time, his gaze flickered between your weeping hole and the way your face was contorted in a look of sheer pleasure. The vision that played out before him was completely hypnotizing.

He wet his lips and let out another pretty sound as he watched you take your free hand and start lining your fingers up with your entrance. He gasped and started to stroke his cock faster as he watched them disappear inside of you. He couldn't look away even if he wanted to.

You turned your toy up to the next setting, causing you to shiver again. A needy whimper unfurled from your pouty lips as you started swiveling your hips for a deeper sensation while your rode your fingers.

Matt started paying close attention to his tip, gently making circles on his most sensitive spot with his thumb and using his precum as lube. His eyebrows knitted together as he indulged in the lovely sensation. "Oh, fuck," he groaned as his cock twitched beneath his touch.

You couldn't get enough of the sight before you - his pink-tinted cheeks, his parted lips, and the look of bliss inscribed on his face as he started to stroke his length again. His blue eyes were glossy with lust, and they didn't stray from your bare pussy that was on display just for him.

The two of you watched each other intently, getting off on the other's pleasure while you each sped up your movements, both of your delighted sounds filling the car. "You're doing such a good job, Matt. You're making me so close," you whined in-between your satisfied moans. He squeezed his fingers around his shaft as he moved his hand up and down, feeling the pressure begin to build in his lower stomach.

Suddenly, you shut off your toy and removed your fingers. Despite pausing your movements, you continued to clench around nothing. Matt slowed his strokes and swallowed hard. "W-why'd you stop?" He stammered his way through his sentence, worried he'd done something to kill the mood.

"Don't worry, baby. I'm just getting started," you responded in a seductive voice, your eyes flickering up at his. You turned your vibrator back on, sinking into the wonderful sensation of being watched while you played with yourself again. You took your two fingers and inserted them once more, slowly picking up speed.

"D-does that make you squirt harder? When y-you edge yourself?" Matt nervously asked, lazily massaging his cock as he admired your delicate folds. "Mhmm," you purred. Matt had secretly always wanted to see you like this, and the reality of it exceeded his expectations.

He brushed his thumb over his sensitive tip again, sending goosebumps across his skin as a breathy groan fell from his lips. "You're so.. responsive," you told him, watching the way his cock throbbed against his palm.

"Does it feel good?" You wondered, knowing it must have but still dying to hear him say it. He bit down on his lip as his bedroom eyes raised to meet yours. "So good," he softly replied before his gaze dropped down to the way you methodically fucked yourself.

"I can't wait to cum all over my fingers for you," you whimpered, turning your vibrator up to the highest setting. Matt lifted his hips up off of the seat and started thrusting his cock into his tightly closed fist, pretending it was you. The sounds he made became more urgent, and his eyelids grew heavy as he watched you.

All of a sudden, you withdrew all stimulation again, and Matt watched as your pelvic muscles rhythmically contracted around the emptiness. "Oh, fuck. You're so wet," Matt commented as he watched your pussy drool onto the leather seat beneath you. You managed to chuckle through your panting. "I know, and it's all your fault, baby," you purred, turning your toy back on.

You took a few deep breaths, trying to slow your heart rate and maintain control as you were teetering on the brink of orgasm. Your fingers found their way to your entrance again, and Matt watched as you stretched around them.

"O-oh, fuck. I don't think I can t-take much m-more," Matt whined as he fisted his cock as fast as he could, rutting his tip into his palm as he drove his hips upward. The way Matt was tripping over his words and falling apart in front of you made it nearly impossible for you to hold off much longer.

The moisture of your combined breathing started to lightly fog the windows. You watched Matt's cock twitched before white ropes of cum squirted out of the tip, painting his hand, his clothing, and the leather interior of your car.

A string of moaning and incoherent babbling streamed from his lips as he finished in front of you. The way his face looked as he reached his climax coupled with the pretty sounds he emitted were enough to send you over the edge. Your head fell back against the driver's side window, and you slammed your eyes shut as you came unraveled.

The low hum of your vibrator reverberated throughout your whole being, leaving you at the mercy of your climax. You felt a familiar sensation, the knot in your stomach getting ready to snap. You voluntarily tensed your abdominal muscles, squirting as you finished, and Matt watched in awe as you sprayed the window behind him.

"Oh!" You exclaimed, trembling as the milky substance gushed from you again, making the most beautiful mess Matt had ever seen. "Holy fuck," Matt whispered in shock of what he'd just witnessed. You removed your fingers and shut off your toy, slowing your breathing as you recovered from the intensity of your orgasm.

"I stand corrected. That was impressive," Matt admitted, nodding in approval. At the same time, you both glanced up over his shoulder to see your arousal scattered across the glass of the passenger side door.

That's when you both noticed him. On the other side of that glass was a shocked-looking Chris, his mouth agape and his eyes bigger than you'd ever seen them before. Matt grabbed his cock again to hide it in his hand, and you slammed your legs shut, reaching to turn off the overhead light as Matt started to slowly roll down the window.

Despite the moisture that had started to steam up the car, Chris had seen everything and was just as mesmerized by your hypnotic movements as Matt was. Chris' wide stare flickered between the two of you. "I was, um, showing Matt that squirting is a real thing," you murmured under your breath.

"Yeah, I got that. Um, I just came back to check to see if I left my phone in here when we did the car video," Chris nervously replied, still looking like a deer in the headlights. You bit back an embarrassed smile as you reached for your bottoms that were on the floor.

"Uh, here," Matt said in a shaky voice as he reached for Chris' cell that was stashed in the cupholder that neither of you had noticed until this very moment. He handed it to his brother through the partially open window with a trembling hand, and Chris quickly grabbed it from him.

"Uh, thanks," Chris responded, blushing hard and glancing at the both of you one more time before he headed back inside. Each of your hearts were pounding in your chests as you made eye contact one last time before the two of you erupted in a fit of laughter at the absurdity of the situation.

"Well, now Chris can say he's seen a girl squirt, too," you chuckled.

[reveriebae]

Power Course [part 2]

pairing(s) : Jung Wooyoung x reader x Song Mingi

word count : 4898

summary : After days of silence, Wooyoung and Mingi show up uninvited at your house, unable to resist the temptation of your tight skirt, stockings, and glasses. The night spirals into a filthy, possessive, and addictively passionate threesome filled with jealousy, obsession, worship, and brutal pleasure—ending only after they completely ruin you on the bed with a series of intense, porn-level positions. Tender aftercare follows, showing just how truly theirs you're become.

genre : smut

warning(s) : Heavy smut / threesome, Hard dom!Mingi / Soft dom!Wooyoung, Obsession, possessiveness, and mild degradation, Stockings & glasses kink, breast worship, oral (f and m receiving), Fingering, deepthroating, throatfucking + choking, Double penetration, creampie, squirting, edging, overstimulation, Sex in multiple locations (couch, kitchen counter, bed) and multiple positions, Aftercare, praise, softness at the end. Let me know if I missed anything!

part 1

Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!

🪐smut under the cut 🪐

You were barely through the door.

Heels clicking across the floor, keys jingling in your hand, a sigh slipping from your lips after a long shift. Your skirt was riding up your thighs, the sheer black stockings hugging every curve, and your white shirt was clinging too tight from the humid night air.

You reached for the lamp.

And froze.

Two silhouettes were already inside.

One leaning on the kitchen counter. The other sitting lazily on your couch—legs spread, eyes locked on you like they’d been waiting.

You blinked.

“M-Mingi? Wooyoung? What the—how did you get in?”

Mingi smirked, head tilted. “You left a key under the fake rock. Real creative, kitten.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

Wooyoung stood up slowly, his eyes raking down your body like he was peeling layers off with just a glance.

“Damn, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You were gonna keep this outfit to yourself?”

You looked down—then remembered.

The tight pencil skirt, just barely covering your ass. The thin blouse, a button undone too low. The stockings clinging to your thighs. The black glasses perched on your nose because you ran out of contacts this morning.

You crossed your arms, flustered. “What are you guys even doing here? I didn’t—”

“You didn’t invite us?” Mingi cut in, stepping closer. “And yet you look like this?”

“I just came home from work!”

Wooyoung tsked, walking behind you. You felt his fingers graze the back of your thigh, slow and deliberate, brushing the sheer stocking.

“Mmh,” he whispered, “these are gonna drive me insane.”

“You like stockings that much?”

“I like them when you wear them.”

You turned to protest—but Mingi caught your jaw with two fingers, tilting your chin up until your eyes met his.

“And the glasses?” he murmured. “You really thought you’d walk in like that, looking like a naughty little office fucktoy, and we wouldn’t do anything?”

“I didn’t know you were here,” you whispered, voice trembling.

He chuckled.

“Oh kitten,” he purred. “We’re always watching.”

Your back hit the couch with a thud, legs still pressed together as if modesty could save you now.

Mingi stood in front of you, dragging two fingers down the center of your blouse with an infuriating calmness. His eyes were dark—wolf-like.

Wooyoung crouched between your legs, his breath already hot against your inner thigh.

“You gonna be good for us tonight?” Mingi asked, tilting your chin up, fingers grazing the arm of your glasses.

He didn’t take them off.

Didn’t even touch them.

He just smirked. “Leave these on. You look like you need to be ruined in them.”

You gasped when Wooyoung's hands slid up your skirt. He hummed, rubbing over the stocking-clad curve of your thighs with both palms, mouth hovering just above the skin where fabric met your hip.

"These drive me crazy," he whispered. “Fuck… I’ve been thinking about them since the moment we walked in.”

His fingers tugged gently at the top band. You thought he was teasing.

Then—ripppp.

You jolted.

"Woo—!"

He tore right through the stocking at your inner thigh with both hands, like he needed to see your skin, like the fabric offended him. His breath hitched as he exposed the smooth flesh beneath.

“You hear that sound, sweetheart?” he cooed.

He brought the torn edge up to his lips and bit it. “That’s how desperate I am for you.”

Mingi knelt down beside him, one hand gripping the back of your neck to keep you arched. “Don’t worry,” he growled, “we’ll buy you new ones—after we ruin these.”

The second leg was next. This time?

Ripped. Slow. On purpose.

The sound filled the room—filthy, violent, delicious.

“Your stockings are done, kitten,” Mingi murmured, “and you’re next.”

Your voice trembled. “You guys are insane.”

Wooyoung looked up, lips brushing your inner thigh. “Then what does that make you—huh?”

He licked a stripe up your thigh, now bare, wetting it just before Mingi pressed his fingers to your already dripping heat.

“You let two obsessed men break into your house, tear your stockings, and finger you on your living room couch,” Mingi chuckled, voice low and dark. “Don’t pretend you’re not soaked for it.”

You couldn’t keep still.

Your skirt was hiked up to your waist, your torn stockings hanging in shreds around your thighs, and Wooyoung’s fingers were pumping inside you at a relentless, wet rhythm—two knuckles deep, curling with every stroke like he was mapping the shape of your cunt by memory.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he groaned, eyes dark and blown wide. "You're sucking me in like you're starving."

Your back arched instinctively, hips grinding against his palm, helpless moans slipping past your bitten lip.

That’s when Mingi leaned over.

One palm flattened against your belly to hold you still while his mouth devoured your chest.

“Goddamn, kitten,” he breathed, voice raw against your skin. “You know what I love most about you?”

His tongue flicked over your nipple, slow and teasing before he took it into his mouth with a wet pop. He sucked, deep and possessive, while his other hand kneaded your other breast like it belonged to him.

“Look at these tits,” he muttered between kisses, “big, soft, real—”

He bit gently, then licked over the spot to soothe it. “I love my women like I love my diamonds,” he whispered, eyes locked on yours from below.

“Beauty in the core. No lab, no science.”

You whimpered, breath hitching as Wooyoung’s fingers sped up, his thumb rubbing tight circles over your clit while your slick coated his palm.

“She’s already clenching,” Wooyoung said with a grin, curling his fingers just right. “So fucking wet. You this desperate, baby?”

You nodded frantically, glasses slipping further down your nose. “F-Fuck, yes—please—don’t stop—”

Mingi growled, moving to your other breast, his tongue dragging circles before he sucked your nipple harder this time, pulling a cry from your throat.

“Kitten,” he said lowly, breath fanning your wet skin, “you taste better than I dreamed.”

“And you dream about this?” you gasped, legs shaking.

“Every fucking night.”

Wooyoung added a third finger, stretching you open as your hips lifted off the couch. “She’s gonna come just from this, hyung. Wanna bet?”

Mingi pulled back, eyes glinting. “Don’t let her. Not yet.”

Your moan turned into a plea as Wooyoung slowed the thrusts down to a cruel, shallow pace—still deep, still hitting the spot, but never fast enough to let you tip over.

“Not until we say so, sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss your thigh again. “This body’s ours tonight.”

Your thighs were shaking.

Your hands clutched at the couch cushions, eyes wide behind fogged-up lenses, lips parted in a breathless moan. You looked wrecked already—skin flushed, chest gleaming with Mingi’s spit, legs twitching every time Wooyoung’s fingers hit that spot just right.

And then Mingi leaned in again, thumb brushing under your glasses to wipe the tear that slipped free.

“Tsk,” he smirked. “Fogged up already?”

He carefully slid the frames off your face, then pulled a silk handkerchief from his back pocket—like he planned this, like he waited for this. He wiped the lenses clean, slow and precise, like he was polishing something sacred.

Then he put them right back on your face.

“Much better,” he whispered, cupping your cheek. “Wanna see every second of how filthy you look when you break.”

Wooyoung chuckled, tongue trailing up your inner thigh again, lips brushing the curve of your folds. His fingers slid out with a soft, wet squelch, and he brought them to his mouth—sucking them clean one by one.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this taste.”

You whimpered, hips jerking up toward his mouth instinctively, already chasing the warmth of his tongue.

“Not yet,” he teased, blowing cool air against your wetness. “Patience, sweetheart. You look so pretty when you beg.”

Mingi kissed the side of your neck, one hand massaging your tit, his thumb stroking slow lazy circles over your peaked nipple. “Let her feel it now,” he murmured. “She’s soaking the fucking couch.”

Wooyoung didn’t hesitate.

He dove in—tongue flat, wide, filthy.

Licked one slow, deep stripe from base to clit, then sucked your clit into his mouth with a low groan that vibrated straight through you.

You screamed, hands flying to his hair, thighs clamping around his head.

But he didn’t stop.

He held your hips down with both hands, fingers digging into your plush thighs as he devoured you like a meal he’d been starving for. Moaning into your pussy, licking everywhere, tongue fucking you slow and deep then flicking cruelly fast over your clit.

Your body writhed.

“M-Mingi—fuck, I—he’s—please—”

Mingi sat beside you now, kissing the curve of your breast while one hand traced down your belly, watching every twitch and moan you made like he was addicted to the sight of you falling apart.

“You look so fucking pretty like this, kitten,” he murmured, lips brushing your jaw. “But don’t you dare come yet.”

“I—can’t—” you cried.

Wooyoung pulled off just long enough to growl, “You will wait, sweetheart. Or we’ll start all over again.”

Then he was right back on you, tongue fucking into your clenching heat, moaning like he was the one losing his mind.

You were soaked. Trembling. Your legs threatened to collapse if he stopped holding you down. Your glasses fogged up again. Your lipstick smeared. And the room was filled with nothing but wet sounds, breathless moans, and possessive groans from the two men ruining you.

Your legs were barely working.

Your stockings were ripped to hell, panties bunched around one thigh, and your glasses were sliding down your nose. Mingi had to half-carry you, one big hand gripping your waist, the other cupping your tit under your stretched shirt.

“Almost there, kitten,” he whispered, his voice rough. “Be good for us.”

Wooyoung followed behind, smug as fuck, two fingers still glistening with you. “That pussy’s got a death grip. She came close, didn’t she?”

“She was about to fucking explode,” Mingi growled, “but she didn’t. That’s our good girl.”

You whined, stumbling when they turned the corner into the kitchen.

“Wait, wait, I c-can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” Wooyoung said darkly. “You’re gonna.”

And they bent you right over the kitchen counter.

The cold surface kissed your thighs. Your chest flattened against it. Mingi’s palm pressed between your shoulder blades, pinning you there while Wooyoung knelt again behind you, spreading your legs wider with a gentle push of his palm.

“Still so wet,” he muttered. “Still fucking clenching.”

You gasped when Mingi tugged your shirt higher and gripped both your tits in his hands, thumbs rubbing the sensitive peaks. “God, look at you,” he groaned. “You know what I said earlier, kitten?”

You blinked up at him through foggy lenses. “W-What?”

“I love my women like I love my diamonds.” His hand came down, hard, smacking your ass. “Natural. Real. Fucking perfect. No lab, no science. Look at these tits, fuck—"

He pressed his cock, still clothed, against the curve of your ass. “Swear I could worship you for hours.”

Below, Wooyoung’s fingers hooked into the band of your panties and finally ripped them off. Just—tore them. The sound was delicious, and your body jolted.

Then he groaned. “God. Look at this hole.”

He leaned in and licked a long, slow stripe from your soaked folds to your ass. “Dripping for us, and we still haven’t let you come? That’s cruel, sweetheart.”

You sobbed, trembling, fists clenched on the counter.

“I need it—I can’t—please, please—”

But Mingi grabbed your jaw and turned your face to his. His voice dropped an octave.

“Not yet. Say it,” he growled. “Say: I’m a good girl who waits.”

You choked on a whimper. “I—I’m a good girl who waits—!”

“That’s right.”

Then Wooyoung spat on your pussy.

It dripped between your folds, mixing with your slick, and you screamed. Your legs almost gave out, and both of them growled like animals.

“She’s gonna break,” Mingi said.

“She’s ready,” Wooyoung replied.

And then—without warning—Wooyoung plunged two fingers back into your soaking cunt, curling exactly right, while Mingi pulled your bra down again and sucked one nipple into his mouth, moaning low and desperate against your skin.

“Fuck. I could live right here,” Mingi muttered, teeth grazing your nipple. “These tits were made for me.”

“I can feel her clenching,” Wooyoung groaned. “Her pussy’s fucking twitching. She’s gonna lose it—”

And just before you tipped over the edge—again—they pulled back. Again.

“NO—!” you sobbed, trying to grind back, chasing friction.

But they didn’t let you.

Your body was shaking, so close, but they held you still like wolves toying with their prey.

“Not until the bedroom,” Mingi whispered into your ear.

“Not until you beg us to ruin you properly,” Wooyoung added.

Your legs were jelly.

You could barely think, let alone walk, but that didn’t matter. Mingi leaned close, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “Crawl, kitten.”

You blinked up at him, dazed. “W-What?”

Wooyoung crouched in front of you, eyes dark, lips curled into a slow smirk. He ran his hand through your hair like you were his favorite pet.

“You wanna come, don’t you, sweetheart?”

You nodded, swallowing around a needy sound.

“Then be a good girl and get on all fours.”

That did it. Your pride crumbled. You dropped to your knees, fingers brushing the cold floor as you crawled forward—glass still askew, shirt riding up your waist, your ruined panties hanging from one ankle.

They followed you slowly, like hunters watching prey that’d already surrendered.

“Look at that ass,” Mingi muttered. “Still wearing that tight little skirt, fuck.”

“She’s leaking down her thighs,” Wooyoung added with a groan. “She’s gonna soak the sheets.”

When you reached the bedroom, they didn’t even give you a second to breathe. Mingi was the first to grab you, hoisting you up by your hips and tossing you onto the bed like you weighed nothing. You landed on your back, hair splayed out over the pillow, legs open.

Wooyoung’s hand slid up your thigh, brushing your stocking garter.

“These stay on,” he said. “Even if we tear the rest off.”

You could only nod—barely even human anymore, just trembling, aching want.

Then Mingi crawled up the bed and loomed over you. Still fully clothed, chest rising under that tight black shirt, he pressed his cock—still hard and straining beneath his pants—right between your thighs, rubbing it against your soaked center.

“Fuck,” he growled, voice low and dark. “Feel that?”

You nodded frantically, reaching for him—but he caught your wrists and pinned them above your head.

“Uh-uh. Don’t grab unless we tell you.”

And then he leaned in, tongue sliding over your lips before he growled, “We’re gonna take turns, kitten. But you don’t get to come until we say so.”

Your entire body clenched.

And that’s when Wooyoung settled between your legs again, pushing Mingi’s hips back just enough so he could bury his tongue in your folds. No mercy this time.

He moaned loud against you, nose pressed right where you needed it, and your back arched off the bed.

Mingi leaned down, sucking your nipple into his mouth again. “God, you taste like addiction,” he murmured against your skin. “How the fuck are we supposed to stop?”

You moaned, twisting under them.

“I-I need—I need—”

“Not yet,” Wooyoung said between licks. “You’ll know when it’s time.”

And fuck—this was only the beginning.

You were shaking, wrists pinned above your head by Mingi’s big hand while Wooyoung licked you like he was trying to memorize every twitch of your pussy.

But then—suddenly—he pulled away with a loud slurp and stood up.

Mingi groaned, lips wet from your nipple. “Why’d you stop?”

“Because,” Wooyoung said, already undoing his belt, “we both want to fuck her, but only one of us is going first. So let’s settle this like men.”

“…What the fuck does that mean?”

Wooyoung glanced down at you, grinning. “Sweetheart, sit up.”

Still breathless, you blinked. “W-Why?”

“Because you’re gonna judge this competition.”

You didn’t even have time to ask—suddenly Mingi was pulling you up by the waist and Wooyoung was already shirtless, pants unzipped and—

Oh my god.

He was hard, flushed, cock resting against his abs and throbbing.

“Look at that vein,” he smirked, gripping the base. “It’s angry. She wants me.”

Mingi scoffed behind you. “Please.”

He shoved Wooyoung aside, dragging his own pants down just enough to reveal his cock—thicker, darker, twitching like it had a heartbeat.

“You see this? That’s a highway. Her pussy wants to ride this.”

You gasped, eyes wide—head spinning at the view of both of them, fully hard, both veiny and leaking, both arguing over who gets to ruin you first.

“Kitten,” Mingi said, voice gravel-low, “look closely. Which one of us is pulsing more?”

“Sweetheart,” Wooyoung cut in, “you want the one that curves just right. I’ll hit your spot every time.”

They moved closer, cocks in hand, standing at either side of the bed now, both thick and heavy, practically vibrating with need. The heat coming off their bodies made your thighs clench.

“I—I don’t know—” you whimpered, overwhelmed.

Wooyoung grabbed your chin. “Use your hand, baby. Pick. Winner gets to bury it in that pussy first.”

Mingi smirked. “And loser gets to fuck your throat while he watches.”

You sat there, cheeks flushed and lips parted as you reached forward with a trembling hand. Both cocks stood tall in front of you—hard, twitching, leaking, veins like roadmaps of pure filth.

Mingi’s was thicker, heavier, almost intimidating—the kind of cock that made your legs shake just thinking about it.

Wooyoung’s was a perfect curve, the vein bulging on the underside like it was begging to be sucked, flushed tip glistening with precum.

You touched them both—one in each hand.

Wooyoung hissed. “Fuck—your hands are shaking, sweetheart.”

Mingi grunted. “Pick already, kitten. You’re dripping all over the sheets.”

And you did.

Your fingers wrapped around Mingi’s, giving it one slow stroke as you looked up through your lashes. “This one… I want this one inside me first.”

Mingi growled like a wild animal.

“Turn around,” he ordered, voice dark with hunger. “Ass up, kitten.”

Before you could blink, he grabbed your waist and flipped you over, pushing your face into the pillows while dragging your hips back. Your soaked pussy clenched around nothing, begging—needy—aching.

“Still wearing your little skirt?” he said, breath hot against your ass. “Good. I wanna fuck you through it first.”

And he did.

He shoved the fabric up, no time to undress you, only to split you open on his cock, inch by inch. You gasped, crying into the mattress, already stretched beyond sense, already drooling into the pillow.

“F-Fuck, it’s too—”

“Take it, kitten. You chose this cock, remember?”

Behind you, Wooyoung groaned as he watched his hyung sink deep into your pussy. His pants were open, cock glistening with need.

“She’s so fucking loud,” he said, walking around to the front. “Let’s put that mouth to work.”

He grabbed your hair, pulling your face up off the bed. “Open up for me, sweetheart.”

You obeyed—eyes wide, lips wet—and he slid his cock into your mouth, moaning loud when you wrapped your tongue around him.

And just like that—you were double stuffed.

Mingi was fucking into you from behind, his hips slamming into the backs of your thighs, his balls slapping your clit with every deep thrust.

Wooyoung was gripping your jaw, slowly rolling his hips as he face-fucked you, wiping tears and spit all over your cheeks.

“Look at this little whore,” Mingi growled. “So cockdrunk she doesn’t even know who to please first.”

“Fuck, she’s shaking,” Wooyoung gasped. “You gonna come already, baby? Just from getting used like this?”

You were.

So close—walls fluttering, throat clenching, drool leaking past your lips as your body bounced between them.

And they weren’t stopping.

“Breathe through your nose, sweetheart.”

Wooyoung’s voice was gentle—almost loving—as he held your throat in one hand and his cock in the other, slowly forcing it deeper into your mouth.

Your eyes rolled back.

Your throat flexed, gag reflex trembling as he stuffed your mouth full of him, soft “shhh” sounds dripping off his tongue while you struggled to stay still, drooling and twitching between both of them.

Behind you, Mingi was fucking brutal.

He didn’t care that your pussy was quivering, stretched open and leaking around his cock. Didn’t care that your skirt was still bunched around your waist, half-torn, or that your glasses were hanging off one ear.

He just gripped your hips, spreading your ass wider with both hands and plowed into you over and over, hips smacking against the fat of your cheeks, loud and wet and relentless.

“You’re fucking squelching, kitten,” he growled, voice ragged. “That tight little hole can’t take it, huh? She’s too fucking full.”

You tried to cry out—but Wooyoung just tightened his grip around your throat.

“Shh, shh, don’t panic, sweetheart.” His cock shoved deep into your throat until your vision went fuzzy. “Breathe through your nose. You can take it for me, can’t you?”

Your lashes fluttered—tears streaming down your cheeks as your whole body convulsed between them.

The air was thick, your own scent clinging to everything, and the sound—filthy.

Mingi groaned behind you. “Fuck, fuck—she’s close.”

Your pussy clenched, back arching from the overwhelming pressure inside you, like you were going to explode—

And then it hit.

You screamed around Wooyoung’s cock as your orgasm snapped like a whip—squirting hard around Mingi’s cock, thighs shaking violently while he kept slamming into you. Your cum sprayed across his hips and down your thighs, soaking the sheets beneath you.

“Fuck yes,” Mingi hissed, “Look at this mess. I’m not stopping—gonna ruin this pussy until it can’t close again.”

Your legs almost gave out—but he caught you by the waist and kept going, pounding into your overstimulated cunt while Wooyoung pulled your head back.

“Swallow it, baby,” he whispered, fucking your mouth a little faster now. “Use that pretty throat like it’s mine.”

Your whole body burned—your mind gone, completely wrecked, spit leaking, ass red and sore from the endless slaps of Mingi’s hips.

You were crying, squirming, moaning—but they still weren’t done.

Not even close.

The room is still thick with the scent of sex.

Your thighs are trembling, your slick still sticky down to your knees, and the band of your ruined stockings clings to your legs like a badge of filth. Your shirt is wrinkled, your tight skirt bunched around your waist, and your glasses—somehow still on—are fogged, askew, cracked at the edge. You look wrecked, and they both look at you like you’re art.

“We’re gonna fuck you like it’s your debut scene, kitten.”

He kneels, grabbing your thighs and folding you in half.

Your knees are shoved against your chest. Your ass is lifted. Your glistening hole is on display. You whimper when you feel his cock slap between your folds—heavy, hot, veined.

“Look at you,” Wooyoung murmurs by your ear, kneeling beside your head. His hand caresses your cheek, gentle contrast to the way Mingi spreads your pussy lips with two thumbs.

“You look so pretty like this, sweetheart. Wrecked and ready.”

You scream the second Mingi sinks in. One long, slow thrust—filling you to the brim, stretching you out until your walls clamp down hard.

“Goddamn,” Mingi groans. “Look at her stomach.”

Your lower belly rises, bulging from the sheer pressure. He palms it and presses lightly—your eyes roll back.

“She’s gripping me like a fuckin vice.”

“You’re shaking already, baby,” Wooyoung coos, tracing your nipple with the pad of his finger.

“You gonna cum from just this? From being stuffed like a toy?”

You moan, back arching, and Mingi starts moving. Slow thrusts at first, but each one hits deeper, harder. Your tits bounce, and Wooyoung leans down to suck one into his mouth, tongue circling as his fingers tease your clit in perfect rhythm.

“Kitten,” Mingi pants, “take it. Take all of it. This pussy’s mine.”

“She’s dripping,” Wooyoung mumbles around your nipple, “fucking addicted.”

The orgasm creeps up and crashes down hard—your whole body twitching, your thighs shaking, slick gushing around Mingi’s cock.

They flip you before you can even breathe.

Your cheek’s pressed to the mattress, one leg lifted and hooked over Mingi’s shoulder. You’re bare, splayed open, glistening. Mingi groans at the view.

“Tight again already?”

He slaps your ass hard—skin stinging. He grunts, massaging the mark he left.

He plunges back in, deep and brutal.

Mingi’s pace never slows—his balls slap your clit, his hand fisting your hair to arch your back more.

“She’s gonna squirt,” he grunts. “She’s clenching so fucking tight.”

And you do. It hits all at once—wet, violent, uncontrollable.

Your body trembles violently as you squirt down his thighs. He pulls out just to watch your tongue loll out, coated in spit, your eyes barely focused.

You’re whimpering—fucked dumb—but they don’t care.

They flip you again, spreading your legs into a perfect side split, one knee to your chest, the other pinned down.

You’re a limp, pliant mess on the mattress, mascara smeared, glasses barely hanging on.

Mingi lines up with your pussy. Wooyoung presses behind you—cockhead brushing against your ass.

“Ready for both?” Wooyoung whispers.

You can’t even speak. You just nod, eyes glazed.

“Good girl.”

They push in—together.

You scream, body clamping tight, both holes stuffed, filled to the hilt. It burns. It stretches. But it’s so fucking good.

“So tight,” Mingi hisses. “She’s losing it.”

“Say you want us both,” Wooyoung murmurs, pressing his chest to your back. “Say it while you cum.”

Your voice breaks as you sob out, “I want you, I want both, please—don’t stop—!”

They fuck you in perfect sync.

Your back arches. Your cunt spasms. Your ass twitches from every slap of their hips. Mingi kisses your ankle. Wooyoung bites your shoulder.

“You’re ours now, kitten.”

“Our precious sweetheart. Our dumb little fucktoy.”

You break again, louder than before—clenching around both cocks as your vision whites out. You sob their names, jerking through your orgasm, until your voice gives out.

They keep going. Slower. Deeper. Then fill you—together.

Your holes overflow, sticky cum dripping onto the sheets.

And you?

You lie there, twitching, legs still spread, pussy quivering, ass red and leaking.

Your body is twitching, bones jelly, soaked in cum and sweat and spit.

You can barely think. Every nerve is still buzzing, too sensitive to even move.

So they move for you.

“You good, kitten?”

Mingi’s voice is husky, low, but suddenly so fucking gentle. He brushes your sticky hair off your cheek, and you nod against the pillow, breathless.

“That’s my girl,” he smiles, then leans down to press the softest kiss to your lips. “So fucking perfect.”

Behind you, Wooyoung is already wiping the mess from your thighs with a warm towel, careful and slow like he’s handling fine glass.

“Sweetheart,” he coos softly, “breathe with me, yeah?”

You do—shaky inhale, trembling exhale—while he gently cleans the mess dripping from both holes. “There you go, pretty baby. Just like that.”

Mingi helps you sit up, cradling you in his arms like he owns your exhaustion.

“Let us take care of you now,” he whispers, running big warm hands down your back. “You gave us everything. Let us give it back.”

They don’t stop touching you.

Wooyoung places soft kisses down your neck, rubbing lotion into your sore thighs.

Mingi massages your scalp with one hand and kisses your temple, whispering praise like a broken mantra:

“So good. So tight. So brave for us.”

“You took us both, kitten. You’re fucking incredible.”

“My perfect girl. No one else could do that.”

They carry you to the bathroom next—you don’t even have to walk. Mingi lifts you bridal style, Wooyoung trails behind with a fresh towel and a soft oversized shirt.

“Gonna run you a warm bath,” Wooyoung hums. “We’ll wash your hair and rub your legs, and then feed you, yeah?”

You don’t even respond—you’re too dazed. But you smile, eyes fluttering, heart so full.

Mingi kisses your cheek.

Wooyoung kisses your thigh.

And in that bathroom, full of steam and scent and warmth, they treat you like the most precious, delicate thing on earth—even if they just split you open on the bed like a damn porn star.

“You’re ours now,” Wooyoung says softly.

“We worship the ground you walk on,” Mingi adds, grinning.

“And the bed you fuck on,” they say together.

[777bae]

HIS JERSEY WILL SMITH

Summary :: Will wasn’t expecting to find you curled up in his jersey, but the sight stops him in his tracks. What starts as teasing shifts into something unspoken—a quiet claim, a piece of him that now belongs to you. (REQUESTED :: prompt 25)

Warnings :: none

Word count :: 2.5k

The apartment is quiet, save for the soft hum of the TV playing a rerun of some show you don’t particularly care about, the kind that’s easy to leave on as background noise. The comfort of the silence wraps around you like a warm blanket, the world outside your apartment fading with every lazy minute. You’re curled up on the couch, the soft cushions cradling you as you sink deeper into them. Your legs are tucked under a pile of blankets, the weight of it all settling perfectly against your skin. It’s the kind of night you don’t get too often—one where you can completely let go, allow yourself to just be.

The room feels like a sanctuary—warm, inviting, cocooned from whatever chaos may be happening elsewhere. The walls seem to hum with a quiet energy, and the dim lighting casts long shadows that dance lazily around the space, creating a sense of peace you didn’t realize you were craving until now. Your breath slows, your mind quiets, and the small comforts of home—blankets, the faint aroma of coffee still lingering in the air, the soft whir of the fridge in the other room—become everything you need in this moment.

It’s then you realize you’re wearing his jersey.

The realization doesn’t come as a shock, not exactly. You’d noticed the familiar fabric draped over the back of the chair earlier, and without thinking, you’d pulled it on, reveling in its softness and how easily it swallowed you. It’s too big on you—sagging loosely around your shoulders and flowing down over your thighs—but it’s comfortable in a way nothing else is. The fabric feels like it was made for this, made for you to wear in this space, in this moment of complete relaxation. And even though you hadn’t expected him home yet, it feels right, like a part of him has been woven into the fibers.

The faint scent of him clings to the fabric. It’s a blend of ice and cologne, sharp and fresh, with just a trace of sweat from the game still hanging in the air. It’s the scent of him when he’s just finished skating hard, his body still buzzing with the adrenaline, his presence still lingering even after he’s left the rink. You find yourself tugging the jersey closer, as if that scent could somehow ground you more, hold you tighter in the warmth of this moment.

You hadn’t expected him home so early, not with his usual routine after a game. The late-night practices, the media stuff, the need to unwind with the guys after everything winds down. You figured you’d have more time, more space to just sink into the couch, stay hidden under the blankets in your own little bubble. But then, the quiet rhythm of your world shatters.

The front door clicks open. You hear the jingle of keys and the familiar sound of a bag being dropped by the entrance. Your heart skips a beat—shifting from lazy contentment to sudden alertness. The door creaks as it pushes open, and you hear the soft shuffle of boots against the hardwood floor.

And then he steps inside.

Will.

You don’t need to see him fully to know it’s him—his presence fills the space before his face even appears, an easy confidence that always seems to follow him in whatever room he enters. The scent of him—colder now, but still unmistakable—seems to fill the doorway as he walks in, the cool air from outside trailing behind him. His hair is damp from the post-game shower, still dripping slightly, the dark strands sticking to his forehead in a way that only seems to make him look more effortlessly disheveled. He’s wearing a pair of worn jeans and a loose hoodie that looks comfortable, but it’s the way he carries himself that commands attention. His eyes scan the room for a moment, settling on you when he spots the jersey you’ve pulled on.

It’s like the world slows for a second, his gaze locking onto you. You can’t help but notice the way his posture shifts when he notices you—slightly straightening, that familiar grin tugging at his lips. He’s surprised, but there’s something else in his expression too. Something softer, quieter. Like he’s just found something he didn’t know he was looking for.

For a beat, neither of you says anything. The door shuts behind him with a soft click, and he stands there for a second, just watching you.

Then, he speaks.

“Well, well.” His voice is a little rough from the game, low and gravelly in the way it always gets when he’s just walked off the ice. “Didn’t think I’d be coming home to this.”

It’s playful, teasing, but there’s something in the way his eyes linger on you that makes your breath hitch. His gaze drifts over the jersey that hangs too loosely around your frame, like he’s taking in every detail of you, and it feels oddly intimate.

Your hands instinctively tug at the hem of the fabric, unsure if you should pull it tighter or let it hang. You were comfortable before, relaxed in the warmth of the jersey, but now, with him standing there, so close, it feels different.

You try to keep your voice steady. “You weren’t supposed to be home yet.”

He raises an eyebrow, and that signature smirk of his begins to stretch across his lips, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. There’s something about the way he watches you that makes the air around you feel heavier, like the space between you both is shrinking, becoming charged with unspoken understanding. “Clearly,” he says, his voice low and effortlessly confident. The way he lets the word hang in the air tells you he’s already figured it out, and for some reason, the realization makes you feel a little exposed—though you don’t quite mind it.

He drops his bag by the door with a soft thud, the sound breaking the silence, but he doesn’t rush. He takes his time, each step toward you deliberate, measured, like he’s savoring every second of this moment. There’s no hurry in his movements, no rush to break the distance. It’s that slow, easy swagger of his—one that always makes you feel like he’s got the world under control, like he knows exactly what he’s doing, where he’s going. And now, it feels like he’s walking directly into your space, right into your bubble of comfort that you’ve carefully crafted all evening.

He stops just short of you, so close now that the air between you seems to pulse. Your heart skips a beat, caught between the unexpectedness of his arrival and the quiet tension that’s suddenly settled into the room. His eyes—dark and warm—are locked on you, and in that moment, it’s like nothing else exists. He leans down over the back of the couch, his frame towering over you as his face inches closer. You can feel the heat of his body now, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the sharp, fresh smell of post-game sweat. It’s intoxicating in a way that makes your pulse race a little faster, your breath hitching in your chest.

He hovers there for a moment, his eyes scanning you, lingering on the way his jersey hangs on your frame. There’s a flicker of something playful in his gaze, but then it shifts—just for an instant—into something deeper. Something more intense. His lips curve into that familiar, teasing grin, but it’s softened now, edged with something unspoken. And then, as though the weight of it all hits him, he asks in a voice that’s a little quieter, a little more intimate than before:

“That mine?”

His words seem to hang in the air, his tone a little lower than usual, like he’s considering something more than just the obvious question. His eyes move over you, not in the usual way, but with a kind of focus that makes you feel both exposed and utterly seen. He’s not just looking at the jersey—he’s looking at you, taking in the way it fits on you, how you’ve made it your own, how it’s become a part of you in this moment.

You want to act casual, to brush off the weight of his gaze, but your heartbeat picks up, skipping erratically in your chest. You can’t quite keep your voice steady, but you try. “No,” you say with a light laugh, even though your throat feels dry. “I went out and got my own personalized Smith jersey.” The words feel almost ridiculous coming out of your mouth, because you both know that’s not the truth.

Will lets out a soft laugh, rich and warm, and the sound wraps around you like a comforting blanket, but it’s the way he says the next part that makes your stomach flip. “Looks good on you.”

His words settle between you both like a quiet confession, a whispered truth that wasn’t there a second ago. You weren’t prepared for the weight they carry, for the way they shift something in the air, in the way you feel. He says it with such ease, like it’s the most natural thing in the world—like it’s obvious, undeniable. The way he’s looking at you now, with that half-smile still playing at the corners of his lips, makes your breath catch in your throat. His eyes don’t leave you, they linger there, and suddenly, the room feels smaller, the space between you both much less comfortable than it was just moments ago.

Your skin tingles under his gaze, a heat rising to your cheeks that you can’t quite explain. You want to brush it off, to pretend like it doesn’t matter, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you—so effortlessly and with such intensity—that makes you feel like you’re both standing on the edge of something.

You roll your eyes, trying to play it off, but even as you do, you know it’s half-hearted. His grin is contagious, that knowing, easy smile that makes your lips curve despite your attempts to resist it. The playful spark in his eyes pulls at you, and before you realize it, you’re tugging the jersey down a little further, trying to hide behind the fabric, but it doesn’t really work. Will isn’t looking away. He’s still watching you closely, his focus sharp, like he can see straight through the act.

He doesn’t say anything, though. Instead, he just shifts, his body moving closer, closer until his hand brushes against the back of the couch where you’re sitting. The light touch is enough to send a shiver down your spine, the air around you suddenly charged. He settles down beside you, that easy confidence never leaving him as he leans back against the cushions, his knee brushing against yours in the most casual way, but you feel it all the same.

“Hope you weren’t too comfy,” Will teases, his voice warm and playful as he stretches his arm across the back of the couch, the movement casual but somehow deliberate. His knee grazes yours just as he settles in beside you, the faintest touch that sends a jolt of warmth through your body. He’s making himself at home—his presence completely filling the space in a way that only he can. The familiar ease with which he claims the space beside you makes everything feel… different.

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes your lips, breathless and slightly nervous, but it feels good—genuine in its lightness. “I was fine until you showed up,” you admit, glancing up at him with a half-smile, feeling the quiet shift in the room, like the atmosphere has become just a little bit heavier.

Will shrugs, his movement effortless, the way he always does, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. But then his fingers reach for the blanket, pulling it more firmly around you both, his arm curling just a little closer to you. It’s subtle, almost instinctual, but there’s something in the way his hand brushes the fabric that feels different, like an unspoken promise. “Well, now you’re stuck with me,” he says, his voice light, but there’s a softness underneath the words, an undercurrent that makes you pause, your breath catching for just a second. The playful glint in his eyes is still there, but there’s something more behind it now. Something steady and quiet.

You shift slightly on the couch, trying to adjust your position, but the feeling of the jersey—his jersey—around you feels suddenly more charged, more intimate. You hadn’t noticed before how the fabric clings just a little more to your skin now, how the weight of it against your body seems to amplify every small shift, every breath you take. It feels like a piece of him, like something that’s meant to be close. But you’re not sure if it’s the jersey itself or the way he’s leaning into your space, closer now, his presence surrounding you completely.

His gaze doesn’t leave you, that same confident but knowing look in his eyes, like he’s made some quiet decision that this moment, this space, belongs to both of you. You can feel it without him needing to say it aloud—he’s not rushing, not forcing anything. There’s a calm, patient certainty to him as he watches you, and it makes something stir inside you.

Then, as if to seal the unspoken promise between you, he leans in just a little closer, his voice quieter, his words hanging in the air. “Keep it,” he says, and there’s no playfulness this time, no teasing edge—just pure sincerity. “It looks better on you anyway.”

His words hit you like a soft wave, unexpected and gentle, but somehow grounding. The way he says it—so matter-of-fact, like it’s an obvious truth—makes something inside you shift. You weren’t prepared for that. Not for the weight those words carry, not for the quiet implication that goes beyond the jersey itself, beyond what’s happening between you in this moment.

For a heartbeat, you blink, your breath catching in your throat as you process it. You’d expected him to joke, to keep up the playful banter, but instead, there’s a vulnerability in his eyes now—a softness that you hadn’t seen before. It’s not just about the jersey anymore. It’s about something more—something deeper between you, something unspoken, but heavy with meaning.

The words feel like a quiet confession, a little piece of something shared between you both, something that feels real in a way you weren’t prepared for. You didn’t know what you were expecting when you threw on the jersey, but you sure as hell didn’t expect it to feel like this. The fabric still hangs loosely on you, a little oversized, the edges of it crinkling around your thighs, but now it feels right. It feels like it belongs—like this moment belongs.

The world outside fades away, and in that quiet stillness between you, everything feels perfectly aligned. You don’t need to say anything more. There’s no need for words when the weight of the unspoken feels like it fills every inch of space between you, when the simplest act of wearing his jersey feels like a connection that goes deeper than anything you’ve shared before.

[biteyoubiteme]

busy signal

fem!reader x huening kai x choi yeonjun

synopsis: yeonjuns away on a trip and sends you a suggestive photo leaving you needing the help of your other boyfriend kai to take care of you.

warnings: 🔞!! established relationship, throuple/poly, no mxm, phone sex, breeding kink if you squint, size kink if you squint, praise, nipple play, fingering, multiple orgasms (f!rec), oral (f!rec), unprotected sex, creampie, use of the name baby, love, and the word slutty is used once.

wc: 4.7k oops

an: this is my first post on tumblr and first time writing anything with k-pop idols. feedback is appreciated :)) [m.list]

in the middle of class your phone gave a deafening jingle in the silent room. for the better part of the day your phone had not gone off meaning you didn’t know the ringer was waiting to interrupt your lesson. waiting for the perfect time to make you flustered as you tried to dig it out of your over-cramped bag to shut it off. 

by the time you grab it, the class is watching as your cheeks turn pink stitching it to silent. the professor clears their throat to catch everyone’s attention again as you look at the message that embarrassed you. 

thinking of you <333

the photo attached is enough to make your blush burn your ears. Yeonjun had an away game this week in Chicago. Kai and you were unable to make it because of your class schedules, and every time he went away with the hockey team he made sure to fill your phone with lude photos and audios. in his words to “make sure you don’t forget about me.”

so now you were not only embarrassed for the outburst but feeling needy all at once. Yeonjun was leaning back shirtless on his hotel bed fisting his hard cock through the thin material of his underwear. 

you clicked your phone off as fast as you could hoping no one saw the photo and if they did it had been too quick to know exactly what it was. but you knew instantly because it was one of Yeonjuns favorite poses and he knew it was one of your favorites. 

You still had thirty minutes in class left and a bike ride home where you were sure to call Yeonjun to chew him out knowing he has your schedule memorized. for now you slumped in your seat pushing your thighs together to relieve yourself, if only slightly because as class went on the only thing you could think about was Yeonjun and his teasing. 

when you do call Yeonjun he chuckles over the line “I’m sorry the time difference has me all messed up,” 

“I was so embarrassed,” your tone is on the edge of a whine and you can practically hear Yeonjun smile. 

“Did I make you all hot and bothered in theoretical physics?” 

“junnie,” you drag the name out and he chuckles again.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you can hear one of his teammates calling for him, “I’ll call you tonight maybe I can walk you through your little problem,” 

“I don’t have a problem,” but it’s a lie and he knows it. your bike ride having made it all the more obvious how needy you really are, the seat pushing the seam of your jeans right against your clit uncomfortably. 

“liar,” he sings, “if you can’t wait until tonight you do have Kai waiting at the apartment.  he could fix your problem,”

“I don’t have a problem for anyone to fix,” you say, making it to your apartment and locking your bike up. “and kai is busy you shouldn’t be making me his to handle when you did this to me,” 

“So you admit it,” grin in his voice. 

“Yeonjun-“ 

“yes yes I know no teasing you cross country but hey you have two boyfriends for a reason. now I have to go, I love you!” he hung up before you could reply. 

kai, Yeonjun, and you have been a trouple since high school and friends for far longer. it was not unusual in your relationship for Yeonjun to pass you off to Kai seeing as both of you tended to be a bit shy around each other when it came to sex unless it was the right circumstances i.e being drunk or just being extra clingy. kai and you are always cuddling and close. you love it when he touches you but Yeonjun is usually there to guide the two of you together, that one extra push to set the two of you in motion. you mostly think this is because the three of you started this way in the first place making it the norm. 

you push open the door to your shared apartment kicking off your shoes and handing your keys on the hook. Kai's penguin keychain is already in its place showing he’s home. The only light coming from the office down the short hallway, the curtains closed against the setting sun. Padding your way over to the office you see Kai with his rumpled brown hair typing on his keyboard. He had a long paper due by midnight and had been working on it the past week, even last night he had only made it to bed around two in the morning. 

you toss your school bag next to your empty desk on the opposite side of Kai’s before leaning over his seat to wrap your arms around him in a hello. “working hard huening?” you ask, pressing the side of your face into his hair. He tilts his chin in a way signaling to peck his check all without him taking his eyes away from the screen. 

“nearly done,” 

“Have you been staring at the screen all day?” you ask, taking in his squinted eyes and dark circles. “Did you eat anything since I left this morning?” 

“some jelly I found in the fridge,” he nods. 

“You can’t survive only on jelly,” you press on more kisses to his cheek before pulling away, “I’ll order takeaway for dinner but for now I’m going to try and nap,” he nods away, never leaving the essay the entire time. you are halfway out the door when he speaks up, “Did you talk to Hyung? Did his game go well?” and you’re brought back to the photo on your phone. kai would have been able to see how red you had gotten if he had looked your way. you weren't wearing a bra under your sweatshirt, your tank top being sufficient enough but your nipples are hard and uncomfortable against the martial. 

“His game was good, he um, interrupted my class with his messages,” your voice was weak but unnoticed by Kai. 

“oh good,” and you rush to your room to pull off your clothes. first the jeans digging into you then your sweatshirt. but as you lay down in your empty bed you can’t find anything to calm your racing mind. you grab your phone from the nightstand trying to scroll aimlessly but you keep thinking about the photo. 

tossing and turning you end up on your stomach too hot to be under the covers even in only your panties and tank top. you open the text chain with Yeonjun and it’s the first thing you see. the sly little “thinking of you” message eating you alive. it was so unfair that he was so easily satisfied when away from you but you couldn’t get off by yourself and not that you hadn’t tried many times before. your hands weren’t the right feel, too short fingers, too soft, too much to think about. but you needed to get off now, looking at him with the veins in his hands showing off. you were uncomfortably wet and aching. you hadn’t even noticed the small whines you were letting out as you rolled over to your back pulling your knees up to rub your thighs together. 

you wanted to call Yeonjun and beg him to walk you through an orgasm, wanted to beg Kai to take over with his mouth even if he was exhausted. but you dug your grave earlier and wouldn’t hear the end of it from Yeonjun if you fessed up to being so turned on by the photo. 

This conundrum leads you to the file you had saved with all the previous photos Yeonjun had sent for this very purpose. there was no forgetting him now and not ever when he made you feel this way hundreds of miles away. 

you hadn’t even noticed how late it was getting, how the room was dark and you were still stuck lying in bed looking for a release you couldn’t give yourself. and not for the lack of trying you just couldn’t make it to the end. Every missed orgasm made you tear up your soft whines suddenly pulling Kai’s attention from the other room. 

The office has an adjoining wall and he was too focused on his paper to see what time it was or to see that the only light now was from his screen. He hit submit flicking off the monitor to hear your soft whimper. 

he remembered you saying you would be taking a nap and then ordering food. but now seeing the time you had slept for way longer than you usually napped for after class and he would know because it was one of his favorite after-class activities to nap right along with you. 

he picked himself up from his desk making his way into the dark hallway following your desperate whines. When he made it to the dark bedroom the three of you shared he flipped the switch that only lit the far corners lamp. and There you were with your hand in your pale pink panties eyes screwed shut, skin hot and flushed. you gave a weak sob before tugging your hand back still unaware of Kai in the doorway. 

Kai was frozen, face turning all different shades of pink. He was tired before but now he was awake, the swell of his cock clearly seen through his gray sweatpants. He has always reacted easily to the sight of you and he was fast to try and push those feelings away. He was needy and always believed himself to be too needy and he wanted to keep you from that. Let Yeonjun take over sexually and let Kai take over emotionally. 

but now here you are teary and writhing in the bed. your phone is next to your head and without warning it rings startling both you and Kai, who you finally notice. 

 both of you are still as the ringtone sings alone in the silence. “answer it,” Kai’s voice is thick in his throat and you lean up on your elbows to grab the phone, shutting your knees to try and hide the wet spot on your panties as if he hadn't already seen it. 

“I almost didn't think you would pick up,” is the first thing Yeonjun says, the sound of his crinkling sheets on the other line telling you he was tucking in for the night. 

“I was…” another tear sliding down your cheek, eyes locked on huening who gives nothing away. “busy,” the phone pressed to your ear. 

“busy? working out the problem I gave you?” he says it as a joke but you’re already too needy to take it well. your voice shakes ready to burst into tears, “You’re the worst you already know I can’t do it myself,” you blink up to the ceiling trying to hold back any more tears from slipping and to avoid Kai’s gaze. 

“Where is kai? I left you in perfectly capable hands,” 

“he was busy and I didn’t want to bother him,”

“But where is he now, you said was, so he must be done. His deadline was a few minutes ago,” you peek over to huening, his arms crossed still standing in the door watching you, eyes trying to see right through your legs. “He's here,” you whisper shyly. 

“put me on speaker,” 

“junnie,”

“put me on speaker,” no room for argument. you follow instructions balancing the phone on your knees so you can rest your elbow back down on the mattress. “I leave for three days and you guys can’t live without me?” 

“Hyung-“

“huening we’ve been over this before if she needs to be taken care of she gets taken care of,” 

“I’m not a house plant,” you quip, “ and I don’t need to be forced onto any-“ 

“you’re never forcing me,” Kai cuts in, “if you had asked I could have…” but he shakes his head not knowing how to continue.

“use your words,” Yeonjun pushed after Kai trails off, “You both get nowhere without asking, again we've been over this. kai you know what you're doing and she likes it, loves it, hell we both know she likes your fingers over mine,” 

“junnie,” your blush is all down your chest now made to look worse by your white tank, your nipples are straining against the fabric. you don’t know why you always felt so shy around Kai, maybe it was because he was so much bigger than you even if you were a little older. he stood over you, took up space in the doorframe, and completely wrapped himself around you when you hugged, that added with the fact he too was shy only worsened the effect you had on each other. even after knowing each other for most of your lives. 

Kai had already made it to the bed sitting right on the edge close enough to hear the phone better. “Pick yourself up, use your words, and ask for what you want. if I can’t even see you and I know exactly what it is you want then it should be easy for the two of you to grasp,” 

“But what if…” Kai starts and you know he wants to bring up the one time he didn’t make you finish. It was years ago in high school when the three of us were still new to sex. Yeonjun was there to make you cum but it made Kai scared ever since and it only worsened his fear of repeating that night when Yeonjun wasn’t here to make up for him. 

“huening that was like six years ago and I’ve seen you make her cum so hard she couldn’t form words before. Do you need me to walk you through it?” 

Kai placed a hand around your ankle at the question sending a bolt to your core. your knee jerking in response sending the phone flying from your knee and onto your stomach still face up. “could you?”

“What's she wearing?” 

Kai drags his hand up your calf and you clamp your knees together. “hardly anything,” his voice is throaty, his pupils blown. “the blush pink panties and a spaghetti strap tank,” 

Yeonjun hums over the phone approvingly. “Summer always makes her dress so slutty,” he groans, “not fair I don’t get to see,” 

“facetime?” Kai asks leaning over to place a feather-light kiss on your knee. 

“you guys won’t be able to hold the phone the way I want to see,” he shuffles again in bed. “is she wet?” 

you whimper at the question keeping your knees pinned together but Kai already knows the answer, “soaked even though she’s trying to hide it,”

“am not,” and Kai raises his brows but doesn’t push it, only lays another stomach-fluttering kiss on your knee. 

“always wants to deny deny deny,” and Kai chuckles,” Pull her legs open I’m sure you will have to hold her thighs down,” 

Kai follows his instructions, butterflying your legs to either side, hands eating up your thighs. Kai pulls himself onto the bed fully laying down to be level with your clothes core. you can feel his breath through the wet fabric and you try to wiggle away. 

Kai squeezes the meat of your thigh again in warning. “take your time before taking her panties off,” 

kai blows cool air onto your clothed wet center making you buck your hips so sensitive from the strain of the day. Kai keeps you pinned before leaning in to rub his nose over the sodden fabric, the tip brushing your clit sending a chill up your spine. He gives a little smile at your reaction, your teeth digging into your lip. 

“I want to hear you baby,” Yeonjun took the words right from his mouth. Kai needs to hear your moans now with your tears drying on your cheeks, your desperate whines turning into desperate pleas. 

Kai gives the smallest kiss to your clit and you try to chase the sensation. “Kai,” your pout is unheard as he lifts a finger to pull back your panties to reveal you to him. 

and no matter how many times he’s faced your pussy it will forever be his favorite sight. your puffy lips begging to be sucked, clit swollen, and you never fail to be drenched and glistening. He licks his lips, you had mentioned him needing to eat and now he’s faced with his favorite meal. 

“slow huening you always give her what she wants so fast let her wait,”

“junnie please, I’ve been waiting all day,” you try to roll your hips to meet Kai’s face but he pulls away keeping his finger hooked in your panties. it’s hard to completely move with his chest on your feet but it doesn’t stop you from trying when he latches onto your thigh leaving a trail of kisses and bites. 

“Please,” you breathe and the chorus of both of them moaning makes your stomach flutter, they always make the prettiest noises. 

Kai quits his teasing and gives you one last clit kiss before suddenly licking a path from your entrance to your clit where he latches on and gives a harsh suck. the sensation makes your knees jerk up and you reach a hand out to tangle in his hair, tugging hard. “oh fuck,” are the only coherent words Yeonjun can make out over the phone. 

in Chicago, he’s spread out on his bed phone in one hand and his cock in the other. gripping the base to relieve some pressure but not jerking off just yet. 

kai works your clit just the way you like and you can feel your impending orgasm building with how close you’ve been all night. kai let’s go of your thigh with one hand before gathering up your slick and prodding your entrance. your back arches giving him better access and you moan as he slips a finger in and then another. 

“She's close,” Yeonjun breathes. He and Kai both know the change in your whimpering. 

kai nips at your clit and you cry out as he presses the sweet gummy spot inside you that makes you see stars. you cum hard enough to have tears leaking again, your hand pulling Kai down harder on your clit before it’s too much and you have to let him go. 

kai pulls away but not before licking you clean leaving you twitching. your pussy was swollen and he couldn’t wait to feel you strangling his cock the second he got it in you. 

“See I told you that you didn’t have to worry,” Yeonjuns light laugh from the phone is followed by a weak moan. “legs up, fold her in half,” 

Kai doesn't follow his orders first, picking up the phone and placing it on your chest. you were already spilling out of your tank so he took the opportunity to tug the straps down and reveal your tits to him. Kai bites his lip before leaning down to give you soft pecks all along your chest. “I didn’t even kiss you first I'm so sorry baby,” he mutters into your neck kissing up your jaw and to your mouth. 

before you can say anything in return his mouth is in yours and you can taste yourself on his tongue. Now with him hovering over you your legs are free to wrap around him. tugging his sweatpants-covered cock closer to your entrance. He moans into your mouth before his large hand takes hold of your breast tweaking your nipple. “huening,” you moan, throwing your head back when he ruts into you. He leans down to latch his lips around your untouched breast, nipping you as he rolls his hips forward again. 

the phone is close to Kai’s mouth and Yeonjuns breathing is labored on the other end. “I can’t wait any longer,” Yeonjun spits into his palm giving himself one loose tug, “I want to hear her cum again,” 

Kai nods even if he can’t be seen over the phone and he pulls away from you tugging off his shirt by the back collar and throwing it behind him. he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his sweats, a wet spot where he has been rubbing against you, tugging them down to let his cock slap his stomach. The release makes him moan, knowing just like Yeonjun he couldn’t wait and he needed to hear you moaning again. he wastes no time in tugging your ruined panties down your legs before placing his hands in the pit of your knees and bending you in half like Yeonjun suggested. your ankles are on Kai’s shoulders and he has the perfect view. 

your hair all over the pillows, eyes half-lidded, you had taken over with tugging on your nipples, your tank top now a makeshift belt around your center, phone stuck to your chest from the sheen of sweat you now had. 

you watched Kai drag a hand over his cock, hard and red waiting for you. He almost buckled at the feeling, his free hand wrapping around your thigh to pull you open. “Look at you,” he whispers, taking the tip and dragging it through your wet folds. the sound is loud and Yeonjun chuckles “She sounds ready,” 

but Kai’s not moving to slide into you he’s now back to teasing, running the head of his cock back and forth from your entrance to your clit without enough pressure. you roll your hips whining, “Hyuka please,” he shudders at the nickname before notching the mushroom tip of his cock inside you. it always amazed you how he could fit all of himself in you when before you had always believed you would never be able to take all of him. but he proves you wrong again as he pushes in inch by inch both of you moaning loud enough for Yeonjun to buckle all the way in Chicago. “fuck fuck fuck you sound so good,” he’s trying to go slow with the rhythm he tugs but he can’t keep himself in check the way you do for him. 

kai bottoms out leaning forward and bending you properly in half before burying his nose into your neck to try and catch his breath. 

you can feel him so deep you can’t think straight. his arms hugging your legs to him as he places an open palm over your ribs, the heat of his skin on yours letting you sink into the mattress. kai kisses the swell of your collarbone before pulling out an inch and pushing back in. You whimper at the sensation, weaving your fingers in his dark hair and pulling the strands. both of your boys loved their hair to be played with during sex or just resting next to each other. 

kai pushes himself up placing his free hand next to your head for leverage, holding you still by your side with the other. he pulls out almost all the way and you try to chase him making him giggle, “Patience love I’ll give you more,” he slowly inches in and you hum arching into him. “look at you, how did I get so lucky? hum?” the praise makes you preen and Yeonjun approves, “so willing for us,” he grunts the soft sound of his hand slapping heard. 

kai picks up the pace to match the sound, he's knocking the cradle of your legs, heavy balls matching the beat on your skin. ”deeper,” it’s a throaty ask from your lips but Kai hears you and sinks his hips, elbow bending slightly as his other hand tugs on your tank top using it like a handle. and he goes deeper and you swear you can feel him in your throat, your moan not even sounding like you anymore. kai is now pounding into you finding the heady rhythm Yeonjun set with ease, fucking into you so well that the phone slips from your chest into the crook of your neck pressing the speaker into your ear. Yeonjuns moans are louder making your toes curl your second orgasm building heavy in your stomach. “I want it hyuka please cum in me,” 

Kai’s movements falter at your plea, his arm holding him up buckling from his stutter. “Beg,” Yeonjun mutters knowing exactly what Kai needs, if anything Yeonjun thinks huening has a thing for hearing you beg and whimper and that’s why he holds out so long when it comes to you after you both have overcome your shyness. but jun knows that when you both get to this point in the night Kai needs you to beg for him. 

“Please I can take it,” Kai’s head falls to your ear, his moans in one and Yeonjuns in the other, “please I’ve been good,” 

“no she hasn’t,” Yeonjun groans, “she was looking at dirty pictures in class,” 

Kai almost can’t take the accusation, the trembling in his arm traveling down his spine, he wants to cum, knows it’s going to happen at any moment but he wants you there with him. “p-pictures?” He can hardly get any words out. 

“I wasn’t,” you shake your head before crying out as Kai delivers a powerful thrust. 

“she was and I don’t think she should cum now since she’s denying it,” 

“Yeonjun please,” you have tears threatening to spill. your hand in Kai’s hair pushing him closer to your throat your other one scratching at the back of his neck, “please hyuka I wasn’t, please I want to cum please please pl-“Kai takes his thumb and shoves it into your mouth to quiet you, your tank top now forgotten as you suck his finger. “promise to take it all,” he’s breathless hot air fanning over your skin. 

“I want it please hyuka,” you whine when he takes his thumb back to wedge between the two of you to press on your clit. you jolt at the contact and somehow he sinks deeper between your legs, both of you trying to chase the feeling again. 

you can feel him twitch inside you, the sign he’s about to cum. “junnie?” 

“I’m right there baby,” his breathy moans growing louder by the second. 

Kai presses down on your clit stilling inside you as he cums. his moans pressed into your ear. The heat of him as he gives weak strokes to ride out his high triggers your orgasm right after your head falls back into the pillows, legs shaking as your pussy flutters around Kai. Yeonjun follows right after, his curses stained. 

the room is silent as Kai finally lets his arm go, letting his full weight lay on you. your legs are numb as you feel Kai's light kisses behind your ear. “you did so well,” your happy sigh is enough to make Kai grin against your skin. 

“I made a mess,” Yeonjun mutters, “I wish I had my girl to come lick me clean,” 

“junnie,” the image making you pulse around Kai’s softening cock, it wouldn't be the first time Yeonjun had made you follow the trail he left up his stomach. 

kai finally rises back up letting your legs fall as he pulls out. the steady leak of your combined cum warm and staining the sheets. 

you’re completely limp in the bed as huening moves to grab a wet rag to wipe you up. “I can’t wait to see you tomorrow night,” Yeonjuns smile heard over the line. 

“I can’t believe you told Kai I was looking at dirty pictures,” your hand falls over your eyes as you feel huening spread your legs, the warm rag soothing to your heated flesh. 

“you did look at my dirty photo”, 

“It was like a flash bang i wasn’t expecting it while in class,” 

“So you were looking at dirty pictures in class,” Kai laughs, kissing your inner thigh before guiding your legs into a new pair of clean panties. He had already put on new briefs himself before tugging off the soiled comforter to toss in the wash later. He was always so meticulous in picking up after sex where Yeonjun could easily have snuggled in dirty sheets and all. 

“not really,” you sit up to tug your tank top back into place pulling your phone along with you. “just hurry back already, and let’s not bring it up again,”

Kai pulls the spare blanket from the closet before pulling himself under with you. “yeah hyung hurry back the bed feels empty with only the two of us in it,” 

[nemo-writes]

𝗮𝗯𝘀𝗼𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 I chapter ten

(dr. jack abbot x nurse!reader)

⤿ chapter summary: time passes without a whisper of danger—yet your nerves remain coiled, the calm louder than any threat, and even the smallest unraveling leaves you raw. and then—a reminder. a sweet and scruffy one.

⤿ warning(s): discussion of medical procedures, medical inaccuracies

⟡ story masterlist ; previous I next

✦ word count: 1.7k

Night settles over The Pitt—still damp from the days-long storm, but humming with the restless energy that always spikes when day hands off to graveyard. You and Jack step from his truck into a crisp mist, the hospital’s glass façade beading with rain that looks silver under the loading-bay floodlights. New security lamps flare along the sidewalk—Gloria’s latest decree—and a pair of guards linger at the doors, radios murmuring.

Inside the vestibule, you barely have time to swipe your badge before Margot’s unmistakable laugh echoes off the tile. She’s striding out with Bob at her side, keys jingling on his belt loop. They both slow when they spot you. Margot’s smile goes soft around the edges, the charge nurse façade slipping just a hair.

“Look who decided to grace the night shift with her presence,” she teases, but her eyes rake you head to toe—inventorying. Bob lifts the insulated tote he’s carrying, waggles it like contraband.

“You didn’t think we’d let you start a shift without pre-approved carbs, did you?” he says. The tote is clearly stuffed with fresh clothes, some snacks, and your favorite thermos. 

You accept with heat prickling your eyes. “Thank you guys. For the other stuff too.”

“No problem,” Bob says. He steps close, dipping his voice. “You doing okay?”

You expected the question, will expect it a dozen more times before dawn, but gratitude still stirs. “Hour by hour,” you answer. “Tonight feels…manageable.”

Margot hooks her arm through Bob’s, visibly relieved. “Good. Because we left a stack of elbow-deep charting for your meticulous little heart.”

Jack snorts behind you. “Translation: Ellis kept things imploding, but she’s threatening to duct-tape Shen to the inventory closet.”

Margot laughs, reaches out, and squeezes your forearm, her thumb pressing reassurance into your sleeve. “Call if you need anything—security code or emotional rescue.” Then she tips her chin at Jack. “And you—don’t let her do all the lifting.”

He lifts a hand in casual salute. “Roger that.”

With a final wave, the two of them disappear into the night, headed toward the staff lot where morning routines and normal sleep still exist. You watch them go until the door hisses shut, muffling the outside world.

Jack turns, clinks his badge against yours like a toast. “Ready?”

You draw a breath—clean antiseptic, distant coffee, the ever-present ozone tingle of the sterilizers. The hall ahead is bright and chilled, monitors already chiming in their peculiar midnight harmony. Security cameras pivot softly overhead, tracing every angle.

“Ready,” you say, and together you step past the threshold—back into fluorescent light, controlled chaos, and the shifting constellation of night-shift hearts that are already orbiting, waiting for your steady gravity to settle them.

. . .

The first night back feels like wearing stiff boots over half-healed blisters—every step deliberate, the pinch of memory always there. You track every clipboard, double-lock every med cart, and tense when a pager shrieks too close to your ear.

Yet nothing happens.

By the second week you’re still cataloging every unfamiliar face, but you’re also teasing a new nurse when he mislabels a drain and walking a med-student through a central-line checklist without your voice wobbling. The scanner Ramirez installed on the staff entrance clicks each time you badge in, a small mechanical reminder that the perimeter is tighter now. You and Jack trade five-minute hand-offs at the clean-utility alcove—his shoulder bump, your muttered “hydrate”—and the shift rolls on.

Weeks braid into a measured rhythm. 

By November, the south wing glows with early holiday lights and the trauma corridor carries a faint, persistent whiff of pumpkin-spiced coffee. You’ve also reclaimed your “midnight Bento” ritual—onigiri for Parker, hot miso for Shen—while Jack complains there’s still no chili oil. 

That same week Gloria corners you outside Sterile Core, her heels clicking a decisive cadence. She’s carrying a color-coded staffing matrix and a look that means business. “Security metrics have held thirty days,” she says, flipping to a highlighted column. “If you’re ready, I’m clearing you for day shift—and your old surgical slot. We’ll keep the enhanced badge checks, but the board trusts the system.”

You swallow, nod, and realize your pulse doesn’t spike at the prospect—only hums with something like anticipation.

And just like that, Veterans Day circles the calendar, and with it comes Jack’s rare PTO request: one personal day to breathe outside hospital walls, visit the memorial, recalibrate. On the eve of it, the shift starts hot and only climbs.

By mid-morning you and Ellis are juggling a dehisced abdominal wound when a flustered volunteer wheels in a couple clutching a gasping toddler. Triage tags them for you—shortness of breath, fever, no documented vaccines. The boy’s ribs see-saw with each breath; his O₂ reads 86. You hustle him onto oxygen while Ellis pages Respiratory, but the parents block the door, insisting the pulse‐ox is “rigged.”

“We keep our kid clean,” the father snaps, arms folded like a blockade of plaid. “No toxins.”

“Toxins are what he’s choking on right now,” you answer, trying to slip a thermometer past the mother’s swatting hand. The toddler wheezes, small fingers scrabbling for your scrub pocket. Two techs arrive with a nebulizer; the mother accuses them of “pharma poisoning.” 

Your patience thread frays. Security hovers outside at the ready.

Ellis finally edges the parents into the hallway by sheer force of Latin terminology, leaving you and the RT inside with the wheezing boy. You press the mask to his face, voice dropped to a lullaby, while through the cracked curtain you hear the father call Ellis “brainwashed.” 

By the time the parents cave in (at the last minute) and the the kid’s sats climb to 94, sweat slicks your spine. Security is also quick to escort the parents to registration; they leave paperwork crumpled, still muttering “government numbers.”

Ellis hands the child off to Pedi ICU, all while adrenaline jitters your wrists, and you return to find the med cart disassembled by a float nurse who wanted “just in case” morphine. It feels like one long violation—the parents’ disbelief, the cart chaos, the weight of fixing what should never have broken.

So you focus on rebuilding the drawers, alphabetical dividers snapping into place a little too hard, each click an exorcism. It’s in this raw, ragged pocket of the day that Jack appears in the med alcove to remind you again of his veterans-day absence.

“Hey,” he says gently. “Quick reminder—tomorrow I’m off. Ramirez and Parker know to be on—”

“Jack, I know,” you snap, vial tray clattering as you shove it home. “You’ve told me three times already. I’m not a stray left at the pound.” Your heart hammers; embarrassment floods in behind the anger but can’t dam the tears springing hot to your lashes. “I’ll be fine. You don’t have to hover just because I’m today’s damsel-in-distress.”

The sudden silence swells; the fridge hums. Jack’s gaze flicks to the re-ordered drawers, traces the tension coiled in your shoulders.

“I know you’re not fragile,” he says, voice even but warm. “I just care where my foxhole partner is standing.”

“That’s the problem,” you bite back, pulse still hammering from the parents’ tirade. “You’re always gauging my location like I’m a breach in the hull. I don’t need a minder every time you leave the building.”

He exhales through his nose—patience fraying—but keeps calm. “Listen—”

Your laugh cracks like brittle glass. “Spare me the pep talk. I’m holding by dental floss, and you hovering makes me feel like I’m seconds from splintering.”

Jack’s jaw tightens. He looks both ways, then curls two fingers into your scrub sleeve and steers you toward an empty bay. The curtain snaps shut behind you.

“Jack—”

“Quiet.” His voice is low, trembling with its own edge. “You just fought conspiracy parents while rebuilding a med cart like it’s Jenga. You skipped lunch and tore up your cuticles until they bled. I’m not hovering out of guilt—I’m hovering because I watched you hit the floor once and I’m not scheduling an encore.”

You open your mouth, fury and embarrassment tangling. “Stop making this about you feeling heroic. I will survive one day without—”

“That’s not what this is.” He steps closer, heat rolling off him. “You want proof?”

Before you can snarl another word he cups your face—hands firm but reverent—and kisses you, full and unhesitating. His stubble scrapes your skin in a rough, almost electric drag that somehow feels exactly right, grounding fury into something warmer. The shock blazes through anger, through exhaustion, until only the thunder of two heartbeats and antiseptic-scented air remain. His thumbs keep stroking your cheekbones, as if re-anchoring every fracturing part.

He pulls back just far enough to speak, breath ragged. “That is why I need to know where my foxhole partner stands. Not to monitor—” another kiss, softer, “—but to come stand there with her.”

This is months of unspoken wanting distilled into a single, wordless confession. His hands frame your face as if he’s chiseling truth into stone, and every press of lips says I love you, I love you, I love you without needing breath or syllables.

Tears cool on your cheeks, but they carry no fear—only the stunned relief of mysteries solved. “Fine,” you whisper, voice ragged but sure. “Go honor your day. I’ll hold the line.”

Jack’s answering smile is small, fierce, eyes shining with everything the kiss already said. 

“It’s been a long time since we claimed the roof,” he murmurs, voice husky from the confession that just burned across your lips. “Maybe we trade the foxhole for a bird’s-eye again. Day after I’m back—and after your first day shift—I’ll be up there at change-over like we used to. Deal?”

Something expansive blooms in your chest, bigger than relief, sharper than hope. You answer by wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him so fiercely he rocks on his heels.

“Deal,” you breathe against his collar. “Rooftop. After day shift. Tea included.”

He chuckles, warm and certain, and presses a final kiss to your cheek before slipping away at the shouted call of his name, the curtain whispering closed behind him. You let your lungs fill at last—still bent, still bone-weary, but no longer so tightly woven. When you push the curtain aside and step back into the buzzing corridor, the feeling of that stubbled kiss settles over your heart like fresh-forged armor, bright enough to carry you through the rest of this night—and all the way up to the rooftop tomorrow.

divider credit

[greengoblinswifey]

Hi, I’m new to your blog and I love your content, congrats :)

By the way, I read this and I’m obsessed https://www.tumblr.com/greengoblinswifey/764724824935432192/swim - would you ever be interested in writing more about them?

pairing— dad’s best friend!rafe cameron x fem!reader

summary— Ever since fucking your dad’s best friend during a family vacation, you and Rafe have been sneaking around, unable to resist each other. Over the weekend, with the house to yourselves, things escalate.

warnings— age gap(rafe is 40, reader is 20), unprotected sex, creampie, choking, nipple play, degrading kink, praise kink, daddy kink.

a/n— i don’t usually write part 2s of fics written long ago but just this once, enjoy <3 original fic here.

It all started on the family vacation. Your dad’s best friend, Rafe Cameron, had joined your family for the trip and you ended up in his hotel room, with his cum inside you by the end of the night. After you had returned back to Kildare, you and Rafe found yourselves alone on your balcony. The air was thick with sexual tension, the kind that had been built since everything that took place. “We can’t keep doing this,” he had murmured, but the way his eyes lingered on you told a different story. His resolve faltered the moment you kissed him, and from that night on, everything continued.

Since then, it had been a series of secret moments and hushed exchanges. Late night meetups, stolen kisses, and hook ups in the shadows of your dad’s house became your new normal. One night, you slipped into the kitchen for a glass of water, knowing Rafe was still downstairs. As you tiptoed pass, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you into the pantry. “You’re gonna get us caught,” you whispered, but the way his lips grazed your neck made it impossible to push him away. Footsteps echoed down the hall, and your dad’s voice called out, “Rafe, you still here?”

Clearing his throat, Rafe pulled back from you but his hand slipped to your pussy. “Yeah, just grabbing a snack,” he answered smoothly. You stifled a moan as your dad walked past, completely oblivious to what was happening just a few feet away from him.

Another time, you told your dad that Rafe was giving you a ride to a friend’s house. Instead, he drove you to his place. “You’re terrible,” you teased as he pulled you inside, his hands already roaming your body. “You love it,” he shot back, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that left you breathless. He didn’t waste any time, lifting you onto the couch, his fingers tracing the edge of your shirt and ripping it off along with the rest of your clothes. He fucked you on every surface of his house that night—the kitchen counter, the hallway wall, the bathroom counter, even outside on his balcony.

The closest call came when you and Rafe were tangled up in his bedroom. He had you under him, his mouth on yours and fingers in your pussy, and you were too caught up in the moment to hear the sound of your dad’s car pulling up outside. The jingle of keys snapped you both to attention. “He’s here,” Rafe hissed, grabbing your clothes and ushering you into his closet. You pressed your back against the wall, heart pounding, as the bedroom door opened.

“I swear she’s hiding something,” your dad said, his voice low but firm. “She’s been so jumpy lately. You don’t think she has a boyfriend, do you?”

Rafe’s voice was calm, steady. “She’s a good kid. Probably just going through a phase. She’ll be fine.”

Your chest tightened as you heard your dad sigh and leave the room to hang in the living room. The door clicked shut, and Rafe opened the closet. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, but the smirk on his face told you he wasn’t complaining.

A family dinner at Rafe’s house carried on, the table filled with laughter and chatter. You had been stealing glances at him all evening, your dad oblivious to the fire crackling between you two. After a while, you excused yourself, saying you needed to use the bathroom upstairs.

A few moments later, just as you were fixing your hair in the mirror, the bathroom door opened quietly, and Rafe stepped in, locking it behind him. Your heart raced as you turned to him. “Rafe, are you crazy? Everyone’s downstairs!” you hissed, but the smirk on his face silenced any real protest.

“Couldn’t help myself,” he murmured, stepping closer. “You’ve been driving me insane all night looking so fucking sexy.” His lips brushed against yours, and before you could respond, he had you pressed against the sink, his cock slipping inside you.

“Daddy,” you moaned as hands slid down to your clit rubbing firmly, louder than you intended.

The next second, your dad’s voice echoed up the stairs. “Sweetie? Everything alright?”

Panic flooded you, but Rafe was faster. His hand clamped gently over your mouth, his lips grazing your ear. “Answer him,” he whispered, his voice low and commanding as he thrusted inside you.

You struggled to find your voice, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Y-yeah, Dad. Everything’s fine!” you called, your voice trembling.

Rafe chuckled softly, his hand dropping from your mouth and back to your clit. “Good girl,” he murmured, though the teasing gleam in his eyes made your pulse quicken. He pressed his lips to your neck again then picked up the pace inside you, making you moan softly, “Daddy,” before you could stop yourself.

His hand quickly covered your mouth again, smirking. “Careful, princess,” he murmured, his voice filled with amusement.

Once you both came, you quickly adjusted your dress and hurried downstairs, still flustered. Your dad looked up, giving you a curious glance. “You okay? You look off.”

You waved it off, trying to sound casual. “Just tired,” you muttered, avoiding eye contact.

A few minutes later, Rafe strolled in, calm and collected. He poured himself a glass of water, catching your eye briefly with a knowing smirk. You refused to look at him, your heart still racing, as you silently prayed no one had noticed anything.

Your parents had left for the weekend, trusting Rafe to keep an eye on you and your little brother while they were away. It was your dad’s idea, of course. “Just make sure they don’t burn the house down,” he had joked before leaving, clapping Rafe on the shoulder. Rafe, ever the perfect best friend, had agreed without hesitation, offering his usual smile.

Your brother barely stuck around. The moment dinner was over, he was out the door to meet his friends, leaving just you and Rafe in the house. You could feel his gaze on you from the moment your brother left, and by the time the sound of the car pulling out of the driveway faded, you knew exactly where this night was headed.

“You’ve had my dick hard all day,” Rafe said as you walked past him in the living room, his voice low and teasing. Before you could respond, he caught your wrist and tugged you gently onto his lap. “You’re such a tease, you know that?”

“I haven’t done anything,” you replied, though your smirk gave you away.

“Exactly,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your jaw. “It’s the ‘nothing’ that’s killing me.”

The kiss started soft, but it didn’t take long before it deepened. His hands were everywhere, on your waist, your thighs, your ass—as he pulled you closer, as if he couldn’t get enough. “Daddy,” you gasped between kisses, “not here. My mom will kill us if anything happens to her expensive couch.”

That was all the encouragement he needed to scoop you up effortlessly, carrying you to the kitchen. He placed you on the counter, his lips finding yours again. His hands gripped your thighs as he pressed his hard cock between your legs.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your lips. “Can’t believe you’re all fucking mine.”

He couldn’t wait. Usually your hook ups were a barrage of his lips all over you, including on your pussy but he needed you immediately. He’d have the rest of the weekend to make you feel his mouth and his fingers in your pussy and your mouth slobbering all over his dick.

“Fuck,” you both gasped, your foreheads pressed against each other as his big, thick, cock penetrated your tight pussy. No matter how many times he fucked you, your pussy couldn’t get used to how big he was. Those were the perks of being with an older man, your dad’s best friend.

When you finally adjusted to his size, he began rolling his hips to meet yours steadily, his muscular figure flexing and towering over you. You could be as loud as you wanted and your moans echoed throughout the kitchen.

“That’s it, I love hearing you moan. My dirty fucking girl, so fucking dirty letting me fuck you on your parents’ kitchen counter,” he panted, his signature smirk making its way to his lips.

“Mhmm—you can fuck me all over their house too,” you croaked out.

The twitch of his cock inside you told you the idea was daunting and turned him on. His thrusts sped up and he leaned down, ripping the sorry excuse of a crop top you had on and sucked on your tits. You ran your fingers through his hair as he did, spreading your legs even wider to take his dick.

“F-feels so good daddy, I love it when you suck on my tits,” you murmured.

He moved to the other, swirling his tongue then taking it between his teeth, his pace relentless as he pounded into you.

“Cum for me, cum for you daddy, I can feel how tight you’re getting,” he growled, leaning up to wrap his hand around your throat.

At his command, your entire body shook and your release hit you like a truck. You cried out, the sound bouncing off the walls as you squirted on his cock and the counter but he wasn’t finished with you.

He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he brought you into the hallway that led to the stairs. He pushed you against the wall, lifting and slamming you onto his cock.

“Oh my God,” you mewled, nails dragging across his back surely to leave deep red marks.

You held on for dear life as he slammed up into you, his cock stretching you out and making your pussy quiver.

“Fucking take it like a good girl,” he growled, “you can fucking take it. You love my cock.”

He held under your ass, slamming you down on him as he thrusted up into you, your tits bouncing wildly.

“Yes daddy! I love your cock!” you moaned.

Only he could have you like this—screaming while he fucked you. Your brother could be home any minute but you didn’t care, all you cared about was Rafe fucking you rough.

The kitchen, the back patio, the hallway—he didn’t seem to care about stopping himself, letting the thrill of the moment guide him. Each time you came, he’d fuck you on a different surface again, he was relentless.

When you finally made it upstairs to your bedroom, you were both breathless, laughing quietly as he stumbled inside. Rafe closed the door behind him with his cock still inside you and your legs wrapped around him, his forehead resting against yours. “I’m going to hell because of you,” he murmured.

“Good,” you teased, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Then we’ll go together.”

His grin was devilish as he pressed you back against the bed. “I’ll make it worth it,” he promised, his hands roaming your body.

The night continued as he pushed your legs to the back of your head, thrusting so deep, you could feel him in your cervix.

“You’re fucking me so good daddy,” you moaned.

“I know baby, I’ll never get tired of this tight pussy.”

He held your legs behind your head as he continued pounding into you. He felt your pussy flutter around his cock and he knew you were about to cum for the fourth time.

He reached down, rubbing rough circles on your clit as you sobbed.

“C-can’t,” you managed to say, the pleasure becoming almost unbearable.

“Yes the fuck you can,” he growled, “sluts who let their dad’s best friend fuck them will cum as much as I want them to.”

With that, you let go. Your body arched off the bed and your fingernails dug into his back, trailing all over as you writhed and shook from the soul crashing orgasm that took you over. Rafe continued fucking you as you squirted, soaking the sheets below and all over his abdomen.

“That’s my dirty fucking slut, good girl, I’m so proud of you baby. Now it’s time to take daddy’s cum,” he cooed.

He pounded into you, groping your tits as he did and before long, you could feel ropes of his cum spurt deep inside your pussy.

You both moaned in pleasure and you lay tangled together in the sheets, your head resting on his chest as his fingers traced circles on your back. “Doing this is so risky,” you murmured sleepily, though you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it.

Rafe kissed the top of your head, his voice soft and affectionate. “Worth every second.”

The rest of the weekend was nothing short of chaos, though not in the way your parents might have imagined. You and Rafe couldn’t keep your hands off each other everytime your brother left the house. Every room became a new playground—kissing in the hallway, tangled sheets in your bed, the two of you reveling in the freedom that came with an empty house.

Rafe had you memorized, and you him. His hands traced every inch of you, and yours left their mark, quite literally. Long, red scratches adorned his back from when you couldn’t help but dig your nails into him while he fucked you. He wore them proudly, a smug grin every time you glanced at them.

By Sunday afternoon, reality set in. Your parents were due home, and the house looked like a tornado had swept through. You scrambled to clean every surface with your cum, laughing as Rafe teased you. “Who knew you could actually clean?” he joked, watching you wipe down the counters.

“I’ll throw this at your head,” you threatened, holding up a sponge, though the smile tugging at your lips softened the blow.

By the time your parents walked through the door, the house was spotless. Your mom looked around, pleasantly surprised. “Wow, you actually cleaned?” she said, raising an eyebrow at Rafe. “No maids this weekend?”

Rafe, ever the smooth talker, grinned. “She wanted to surprise you. Thought you’d appreciate a break from the usual.”

Your mom beamed, clearly impressed. “Well, it’s a nice change. Thank you, both of you.”

Later, the whole family gathered by the pool—your dad, your brother, his girlfriend, and Rafe, who lounged shirtless in a chair and your mom cooking. You tried not to stare, but the marks on his back were a glaring reminder of your weekend.

Your dad noticed too. “What the fuck happened to your back?” he asked, squinting. “Did you get into a fight with a cheetah?”

Rafe, completely unfazed, smirked. “Nah, just got into a sex fight with this hot chick.”

Your dad burst out laughing, shaking his head. “Well, I hope I get to meet her someday.”

Rafe chuckled, his eyes flicking to you for the briefest moment. “We’ll see,” he said.

You chose that moment to walk by, your hips swaying just enough to catch his attention. You didn’t look back, but you knew Rafe was watching, his grin widening as he took in the sight of you.

[sturnsdarling]

She's the coolest person I know.

fratboy!matt tries to play it cool about him and smartand'mean'!reader spending alot of time together, but fratboy!chris and Nate aren't convinced

vibe check: chris and nate being idiots, nate not knowing what an emo is lol, fratboy!matts version of fluff

1k words

A/N: this concept was born from and is my take on the wonderful, amazing and ridiculously talented @sturnioz fratboy!matt and fratboy!chrisxshy!reader au. THANKYOU SO MUCH FOR ALL OF THE LOVE ON MY TOUGH GIRL FIC OMFG. this is a lil blurb I cooked up as a finishing touch to my contribution to cas' au. also I just love this pairing so much it makes me unwell

love and cigs, merc

Matt quietly shuffled into the front door of his frat house, tucking his car keys in his pocket with as little jingle as possible in hopes of sneaking past Chris and Nate on the sofa. He clicked the door shut and the boys’ ears perked up. 

“Fuck” Matt whispered. 

“Matty boy! You’re back! Where the fuck have you been” Nate craned his neck round, a canon joint hanging from his mouth. 

“He’s been at y/ns house” Chris answered for Matt, turning to smirk at the boy as he shifted his weight between his feet by the entrance of the living room. 

“Y/n? Isn’t that the emo chick that’s best friends with your girl?” Nate asked, pointing to Chris. 

“She’s not emo dickhead, she’s just a bit… grungy” Matt piped up at your defence immediately, knowing Nate meant it as an insult.

“and s!r/n is not my girl” Chris responded to Nate’s accusation 

“She’s totally fuckin emo dude she wears fishnets and walks around lookin’ like she’s gonna kill someone” Nate snickered, “and, she’s definitely your girl” he looked back to Chris who was rolling his eyes. 

“You’re with her like everyday, kid” Matt folded his arms over his chest, taking this perfect opportunity to get the subject off of himself. 

“And you get all gushy over her like she’s some little pretty flower whenever she’s around” Nate laughed, looking to Matt who was nodding his head and joining in the laughter.

“Okay, both of you shut the fuck up, yeah? When did this become about me? Matt's the one sneaking in after spending the last three days with his little pet emo” Chris scoffed, leaning forward to ash his joint in the glass tray before taking a long drag. 

“She’s not fuckin—“ Matt gritted his teeth, “she’s not my pet you freak, we’re just hangin’ out” He shrugged. 

“That’s not what it sounded like the other night” Nate raised his brows at Matt, a childlike laugh erupting from his mouth as he blew weed smoke into the air. 

“UH! FUCK! MATT! YOU’RE SO BIG! UH” Chris moaned, making fake orgasm faces as he shifted his weight so it looked like he was getting fucked. Nate curled over in laughter, slapping his knee with his free hand. 

Arms folded over his chest and eyes firmly rolled to the back of his head in annoyance, Matt felt a vibrating in his pocket, ‘Arabella' by the Arctic Monkeys blared from his phone as he pulled it from his pocket. 

“Both a’you shut the fuck up before I break your fuckin’ jaws” Matt said before quickly answering the phone, your voice like honey on the other end. 

“Hi Matthew” you said, sweetly

“Hey angel, what’s up?” He said, turning away from the boys. 

The sound of the sofa shifting against the floor grabbed his attention back to them, he was met with the sight of Chris pretending to fuck the side of the couch, slapping the leather arm as if it’s an ass and Nate, pretending to give a blowjob to the end of his dying joint.

“You uh, you left your english lit book here, thought you’d wanna know in case you think you lost it or somethin”

“Oh, shit, did I?” Matt asked, leaning down and taking his shoe off, throwing it full force at his idiot brother and best friend making obscene gestures and noises only a few feet away from him, “I’ll come get it now, sweetheart, m’gonna need it” Matt said, his words focused on you but his gaze firmly on the boys as they curled over in laughter, dodging Matts flying trainer. 

“Okay, text me when you’re here, I’ll buzz you in” You responded. 

“Alright angel, I won’t be long” He said, ending the phone and shoving it into his pocket. 

“BYE Y/N” Nate screamed across the living room, giggling and rolling into Chris like a child 

“Are you two finished?” Matt said, kicking off his other shoe and humming it at them, they ducked out the way and their laughter continued, not yet tired of the bit they were doing. 

“You just got home from hers and you’re going back? Kids pussy whipped” Chris said, shaking his head. 

“Y’know what Chris, I think our boy likes her” Nate said, raising his eyebrows a couple times. 

“oh you definitely fuckin’ do! you actually like this girl” Chris responded, turning to Matt who’s cheeks had flushed a bright red 

“So what if I do? Is that a problem?” Matt said, near enough squaring up to the boys. 

“Nah man, it’s cool, she’s cool” Nate shrugged, sensing they may have struck a nerve. 

“Yeah she is fuckin’ cool, she’s cool as fuck actually, probably the smartest person I’ve ever met, on top of being unbelievably fuckin' hot and she’s easy to be around, unlike you two shit talkin' idiots” Matt sounded off, throwing an arm up in frustration. 

“Kids in love” Chris scoffed, cocking his head towards Matt as he looked at Nate 

“For real, he’s obsessed” Nate chuckled, “fuck baby keep doing that, you’re so sexy oh my fucking god” Nate mocked Matt, laying back on the sofa and holding his hands over his crotch, pretending to be holding a girls head there as she sucks him off. 

Chris laughed and smacked Nate’s hands away from his dick, slapping his palm and dapping him up in agreement. 

Matt rolled his eyes and tensed his jaw, shaking his head as he turned to walk towards the front door. 

“When I get back m’gonna kick the shit out’a both of you” Matt said, pushing his feet into his sliders and opening the door in a huff, slamming it behind him, making the whole front room shake. 

“Whatever you say, angel!” Chris said, mimicking Matts nickname for you. 

Matt strode down the path towards his car in a huff, almost ripping his car door off its hinges as he slammed down into the passenger seat, taking a deep and fast breath. After a few short seconds of sitting with closed eyes to ground himself, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and called you.

"how the fuck did you get here so fast?" your voice a soothing balm to his anger on the other end of the phone.

He chuckled, "I haven't even left my driveway yet, angel, just wanted to call you and let you know i'm staying at yours again tonight" he said, putting his keys into the ignition and starting his car.

"okay, s'fine. any particular reason or?" You drew out your final word

"jus' rather be with you than at mine" Matt said, shrugging.

"Awh, Matthew, you're so cringe" your cadence was insulting but Matt could feel your cheesy smile through the phone.

"watch your mouth, tough girl, or i'll fill it" his threatening tone sent a jolt up your spine

"Is that a promise?" you asked, seductively, a quick change in demeanour that Matt adored.

"you're a deviant, y'know that right?" Matt shook his head as he smiled at your response, it was like he built you in a lab.

"Just shut up and get here, I miss you, idiot" you hung up the phone before he could respond, not wanting to face the teasing that would inevitably follow admitting you miss him after barely an hour of being apart.

Matt opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by the sound of you hanging up, a grin crawled its way onto his face and he couldn't help but relish in the way you made him feel. He meant what he said to his brother and Nate, you really were the coolest person he knew.

[junhanism]

Skincare and lotion - Han Taesan

.pairing : han taesan x reader

.genre : fluff, established relationship, reader taking care of tired taesan, tiny tiny bit of angst if you squint (mention of taesan shutting off when overwhelmed) but really its full fluff

.warnings : none

.wc : 712

From your bedroom you heard the front door open then close, the jingling sound of keys was soon replaced by pure silence.

You checked your phone ; you had received no text saying he was on his way nor did you hear the familiar, cheerful sound of his voice telling you that he was home. And just from that you knew it was one of those days.

So instead of getting up and greeting him at the door like you usually did, you stayed sat on your bed, giving him the space he needed.

You’ve known Taesan long enough to know how he handled these stressful days and the answer was simple : he didn’t.

He just shuts off from the world, including you, and try to deal with his problems alone. Even though you told him many times that you were there and that he could rely on you, he simply declined your offer, insisting that he could figure things out on his own.

You respected his choice and gave him space, only interfering when you deemed it necessary or when he’s been isolated for too long. And he was very grateful for that. As bad as he felt for putting you through this you always reassured him, telling him that it was not a daily occurrence and that you could put up with it.

The door to your bedroom creaked open and Taesan walked in, dropping his bag to the floor and simply sitting next to you on the bed.

You briefly took a look at him, analyzing the situation and taking note of his tired eyes and slow movements.

It was silent, only the typing of your keyboard resonated through the room. The boy next to you closed his eyes, basking in the warmth radiating from your arm against his and enjoying the well awaited silence after a long day.

A couple of minutes, maybe ten, passed in the comfortable silence that took place. With one last click you closed your laptop and set it aside, now getting up and walking over to your shared bathroom.

You came back to the room with a few bottles in hand and sat next to your tired boyfriend, who still had his eyes shut.

Grabbing the makeup remover, you poured a reasonable amount of it on a cotton pad before carefully swiping it across his face. Your hand reached for his hair, putting his bangs aside to get better access to his forehead.

The boy physically relaxed as you removed the leftover makeup on his skin.

« Wanna talk about it ? » you broke the silence, your voice soft and careful.

His eyes slowly opened, blinking a few times before finally locking with yours for the first time tonight. He just stared at you, giving you no answer but you didn’t push it, instead you sent him a soft, understanding smile as you grabbed the lotion, twisting the bottle cap and pouring some delicately on his face. As you gently patted his face Taesan observed your face, analyzing your features —which made you a little self conscious but you tried to remain calm— before blinking slowly at you, as if speaking through his eyes and searching for yours.

« Hm? » you asked, putting the bottle cap back on and putting the lotion aside

« Thank you » he spoke, his first words since he got home

« Of course, Taesan » you smiled

He simply looked at you, eyes filled with so much love and admiration, like you hung all the stars in the sky.

« I mean it » his voice was barely above a whisper but you were able to catch it

« I know you do » you placed a small kiss on the top of his nose which caused a smile to form on his once pouty lips.

You went back to the bathroom and quickly discarded all the skincare items before joining Taesan in bed, who was waiting for you with open arms.

Sliding in his embrace you made yourself comfortable as he readjusted the covers around your bodies.

Placing a loving kiss on the top of your head, Taesan then whispers a small “good night” before letting his tired eyes close, falling into dreamland.

[mintmatcha]

OMG MINT please continue bc kiri saying again … was he picking up the pieces before w reader ??

cw: Reader is a high school in this part, reader is said to not be conventionally attractive.

Kirishima remembers the first time Sero ever saw you.

He's fumbling with his key ring in the most obvious way he can, letting it swing and jingle around his fingers.

"My parent's won't be back until late tonight, so we can do whatever." Kirishima isn't one to brag, but there's still something cool about being a latchkey kid. He doesn't have Bakugo's big house or all of Denki's gaming systems, but he's got the coolest hang out spot because he has all the privacy they could ever need.

"You bozos should actually study this time-" Bakugo says, slinging his backpack across his shoulders.

Denki groans. "You're so lame-"

"Your grades are lame!"

Kirishima unlocks the door to the apartment when another door across the hall opens. He doesn't turn at first, thinking it's just Mr. Yagami leaving for the night shift-

"Eijiro-"

Kirishima turns at the sound of your voice. Catty corner from him, you're halfway out of your apartment door, still dressed in your wrinkled school uniform. The smile you flash him is timid, mostly covered up the doorframe.

"Hold on, guys."

He walks over to you with a little wave and you produce a familiar set of containers, perfectly cleaned and polished, just like always.

"Tell your mom thank you," you mumble, adjusting your glasses as you speak. Kirishima thinks it's weird that you're being so quiet today, but then your eyes flicker to the group behind him. School's hard for you, he thinks, the other kids aren't very nice to you most of the time. At least, that's what his mom says when you aren't around.

"It was really good, thank you."

"Yeah, don't mention it," Kirishima points back to his gaggle of boys. "These are my friends from school, by the way. Bakugo, Denki, and the tall one's Sero. They're all really cool."

Your face goes weird when he says Sero's name. Not sour or stressed or something he knows, just... funny. Like you've swallowed a lemon whole.

"I'm the only cool one here," Bakugo says.

"Aw, don't listen to this big grump-" Sero throws an arm around Bakugo. "We're pretty okay."

"Hi." With a little wave, you duck back inside your place and let the door close. Kirishima starts to go back to his friends, but for Sero to stop him.

"So, who was that?" Sero asks, a bit too interested for Kirishima's liking. Bakugo bumps his shoulder into the dark haired boy, then shoves his full body weight. Even when Sero stumbles, he keeps looking.

"She's cool, just super shy. My mom gives her food sometimes." He shakes the Tupperware for effect. "She lives by herself because her school's around here."

"Ask her to hang out with us," Sero says.

Denki groans again. "Why would we want some weirdo girl-?"

Sero's already slunk across the hall. Bakugo and Denki share a look and roll their eyes; last summer's growth spurt didn't only give Sero a couple extra inches of height-- it gave him too much confidence and too strong of an interest in girls. Denki could kind of relate, minus the confidence. Thankfully, Bakugo didn't seem to care about women at all.

(Kirishima was thankful for that.)

The blondes both go inside the apartment when Kirishina opens the door, but Sero has already knocked and peeled you out of your shell.

"Hey, we were just thinking-"

That funny look comes over you again- a strained, sloppy smile, own that-

It clicks in Kirishima's head the second Sero leans against the doorframe, one arm extended above his head. You think he's cute.

You think he's very cute.

Sero seems to know it, too.

"I- uh- I-" You're fumbling each word. "I have cram school-"

"Aww-" He runs a hand through his hair with a cool little smile. "What a bummer."

Kirishima's stomach twists at bit, mostly on instinct. He doesn't have strong feelings towards you or anything, but he suddenly feels a surge of protectiveness, like an older sibling watching the younger get whisked away.

You're not even cute, Kirishima thinks, not in the ways that Sero usually goes for. He usually goes for girls without glasses or braces, the types that win beauty pageants and don't have stutters-

Flirting with you just seems... cruel in comparison. It's a game he knows he can win.