#his fucked up bangs endeared me

[tonycries]

She's My Vitals!

Synopsis. The best part about a séx ban? When they’re broken!

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, séx bans, bondagé, PÚSSYDRUNK BOYS, creampíes, CÚMPLAY, spítting, true form! Sukuna, dp, pússy-slappíng, chokíng Nanami, BRÉEDING, markíng, making him whíne, talking to her, jealous Nanami, fínger-súcking, NÉEDY boys, “just the típ”, heinous things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. LAST LEAK DAY HOW ARE WE FEELING BBYGIRLS??

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - 1 week…almost

“Oh god…” he’s rasping out, skimming a thick thumb over where your flimsy panties were the most translucent. Just the sticky sheen of saturated slick makes him salivate, neglected cock throbbing with how much he’s missed you. “Y’really got me begging, huh, naughty girl?”

Now, Toji Fushiguro doesn’t ask for attention - either you come to him with that cute pout of yours, begging him to fuck you full of his long, solid inches or you don’t. Toji Fushiguro doesn’t grovel - he’s never just barely lasted only a measly week since being punished with a sex ban. Banging at your door soon after, strong arms just wrangling his pretty girl to the ground right then and there. 

But here he was. 

“S-so eager.” you’re humming, the hardwood floors of your hallway chafes lightly underneath your arched back. Your nails dig into his muscled shoulders, holding back a giggle at the way he’s already so gone. Eyes droopy, abs flexing, panting. “Affected so much by-”

“-just a week?” Two rough hands knead at your ass, dragging your body forwards to grind his angry cock in a sultry push. “A week of hell, you mean.”

There’s a soft smack! gifted right onto your puffed-up clit, and Toji has the audacity to laugh - laugh, all low and humorless when your needy cunt gushes out in another way of your syrupy sweet juices. 

“Though…” he circles his thick, reddish head over your quivering entrance, gliding over the glistening mess you’ve made. Coating around your puffy teasingly with every ribbon of his thick precum, “-seems like I wasn’t the- hah- only one all desperate n’ shit for you.” That sinful scar positioned on his lips grazes jaggedly against yours in a lazy kiss, “Missed me, woman?”

You’re rolling your eyes, “Real rich coming from-” And Toji can’t do anything but watch when your hand dips down between your two pressed-up bodies to wrap around his fat hilt. He throws his head back, swearing when you just slot his leaky tip between your swollen folds. Sensitive and so swelteringly hot. “-the same man that almost broke down my door at two in the m-morning because he missed me too much, Toji.”

Fuck- fuck, Toji doesn’t think he even heard whatever just came out of your mouth. No, he was way too busy trying not to fucking pass out. Humping you pathetically as if in heat now, gulping at the dripping wet squelches from down below. Shit, his favorite song.

“Say it.” You’re feeling two of his thick palms come up to rest atop your head, lacing those thick fingers of his slowly. “Say my name again.”

It was almost endearing how tough he still tried to sound. Acting like his body wasn’t wracking with a jolting shudder every time you’re grinding your hips up in steady gyrations against his rock-hard cock. 

“Say what now?” you purr, silky sweet. Peppering a lingering kiss against his forehead, his scar, only to have him bite down on your lower lip in warning. “Toji? The same Toji that was so mean to me - ignoring me for some stupid mission? The same big, bad Toji Fushiguro who took less than a week to crack-”

“M’sorry!” And usually you’d love to tease Toji more for the way he was cutting you off so much, but he just sounded like he was in utter wreck. Lips wobbling, a baritone ah! ah! ah! leaving with each sopping glissade of your cunt across his twitchy shaft. “There! I said it. Won’t- won’t miss another one of our hngh! d-dates for a job, m’kay? Fuck this sex ban- I’ll even answer your cute calls in the middle of finishing off a target if I have to just please-”

Ah, there it was.

The heady hallway - fuck, you two hadn’t even made it to the bed, yet - rings out with the soft thwack! of Toji’s heavy, cum-filled balls against your ass. Only increasing in volume with each greedier and greedier little half-thrust into your snug cunt. 

“Ngh! Toji- Toji f-fuck.” you’re keening at the feeling of all the air in your lungs being thoroughly pushed out. “Y-you’re lucky you’re so convincing-”

And he feels so hot, dizzy head being flung back at the heavenly suck of your pussy swallowing him up. Being stretched so gapingly open, it’s like his girth is contorting your velvety walls to his very shape. Stretching you out so much, massaging your sweet spots without even trying, reaching for your very womb-

“Ha-ahh- so tight- fuck- no wonder I almost broke yer damn door down.” he’s breathing out. The words finally registering, “Is it me that’s convincing or is it-” His biceps bulge with effort, rippling as the vice-like restraint above you is pushing you down, down, down to his hold. “-is it this?” 

You can’t even form an answer if you wanted to - because Toji was hunching over his hulking body to bully his fat cock into you in thorough, jagged ruts of his hips. Keeping you stuck in his vice-like hold, fully in the face of all his pressurized thrusts.

“What? Cat got yer- ngh tongue?” Toji smiles, smugly. Obscenely. “I missed your p-pretty voice just as much as this cunt, y’know? Why don’t ya use those words f’me, doll?”

Your entire body just jerks upwards when one of his soft palms plant back down on your clit, giving another simpering smack!

“Yes!” you’re spitting, and there’s such a supple satisfaction in Toji’s movements now. “M-missed this- missed you so much…”

“Tha’s fuckin’ right. Never gonna let ya forget it.” He’s grunting throatily at your answer, the soft, rounded pads of his fingers swirl over your stinging clit, eager to give another playful slap. He stills - and you whine, grinding down pleadingly. Exactly how he wanted it. “So why dontcha fuck back into me n’ show me, you lil’ tease?”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - 17 days

There’s a slow, syrupy puddle growing on your inner thighs - not between them, no, on top of them. Glossing down your skin in a milky ooze, Nanami’s red, achy cock right in the center of it all. Rubbing and grinding rawly between your thighs, he’s rutting forward like he’s out of control-

“M-my love.” Even those words sound so wrecked, Nanami’s soft baritone cracking, a few octaves higher than usual. “Are you- hah- doing okay?”

Your kiss-bitten pout makes his thick length jolt in interest, surging forwards to kiss them. “I am, Ken. Which is why I r-really want you to break the-”

“No!” he’s gasping, and there’s another harsh glissade of his glisteningly wet cock just across your puffed-up folds. Two firm hands hold your squirming hips still while he fucks your thighs even sloppier. Drowsy, almost. “No no no- we can’t. Don’t wanna overwork my gorgeous wife, sh-she’s already had such a long month at work, no?”

You shake your head stubbornly, pulling on the loosened end of his favorite speckled yellow tie to just drag Nanami even closer. “M’not-”

“But- the project-”

“Told you m’not overworked, okay, Ken?” Within only a few moments, you’ve got your trembly legs hooked around muscled hips, feeling his dick reach every single one of your hidden sweet spots and crannies with just the single inch he’s sinking in. Accidentally - but oh, an accident never felt so good. “Besides…e-even with this annoying new project, the month’s been even hah- longer because of this sex ban. I really, really miss you inside me–”

“Oh…better not have told me that.” He breathes into the crook of your neck, hiding away that rosy blush high on his cheeks. And before you can comfort your dear husband - or maybe make him even more flustered - he’s giving one, solid thrust into the depths of your awaiting cunt. Slowly. “After- after so long. Fuuuck- you shouldn’t have told me that.”

Giving a steady roll of his hips until you were just gasping at the sheer thickness. Nanami’s long girth leaving you spotless, swiveling his fat head easily against your g-spot.

“F-fuck-” he’s still muttering to himself, jaw clenched tight with all the strain of not devouring you whole after so long-

“So do it.” 

Your words make him still in his unforgiving pace, cocking a head in confusion. The sight of him - all disheveled and blushing an innocent red, eyes drooped in pussydrunk pleasure, mouth parted sweetly - has you giggling. “Seriously- aww, Ken, you didn’t even realize you were talking out loud?” Your palms smooth their way over his blue button-up, too impatient to have stripped out of it. “Do it. Dontcha think the best ngh! de-stressor during a long work project would be this-”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence - and you didn’t have to. Because Nanami is doing exactly that. 

“You’re not good f’me-” he draws a greedy thumb over your clit in tight, methodical circles. Pressing sweet peck after peck on your sagging open lips, “You have- no idea- how I- hah- was holdin’ back all this time.”

Each squelching thrust has the pool of cum and your saturated slick expanding ever-wider. Drenching into the once-fresh sheets, your skin, forming a creamy ring around his heft base. It stands out so starkly against the neat patch of blond and his red, red shaft.

“Seein’ you walking around the office in those godforsaken short skirts.” he growls, sharp gaze honing in on the mess of fabric in tatters on the floor. “Havin’ those interns making eyes at you- Meanwhile I couldn’t even fuck my cute wife.” All those frustrations he’s channeling into his hips, fucking you deeper and deeper into the bed, you swear in the morning you’d be able to see the markings of his tight balls against your ass, his v-line against your thighs. “All because of some shitty project I couldn’t give less of a shit about.”

“S’almost- hah-” you’re hiccuping when his thumb strokes even harder, matching his lewd pace. “-s’almost over anyway. And I al-already filed the-”

“My love…” Nanami gently cuts in, just quelling your worried excuses with another jittering ram of his hips. Pressing expertly into where he already knew would make you squeal. “-this cockblocking project is the last thing I wan’ hear about right now-” He’s sucking gently on your lips in a sloppy kiss - his favorite type - “-I’d much prefer to finally hear you cum-”

And this was so unlike your dear husband. 

He was never this rough when throwing your legs over his broad shoulders, not giving you anything but a second to adjust before bending down, down, down to fold you into the meanest mating press possible. Never this hoarse with his words, wrenching out of his shot throat with each bludgeoning push into your cunt. Just ravaging you from the inside out. 

Soon enough, it gets too much.

And Nanami’s pants turn into heaves, his pressurized cadence turn into nothing more than languid, sloppy ruts back and forth back and forth back and-

“K-Ken-” Your fingers find their way to his tie again - pulling so hard that it makes him lightheaded. So tight it cuts a red indent into his golden skin. “M’so close-”

You’d heard about the type of orgasms so sudden that you don’t even realize you’re having them. Because no sooner are the words out of your mouth that you’re cumming. So hard, so aggressive, even that Nanami has to bite back his own groans. 

Head falling backwards at how almost-difficult it was to drive into your snug cunt now, velvety walls constricting with pleasure. Milking him so fucking good- “Yeah- yeah fuck, choke me. Choke me while you cum, darling.”

In a split-second, the pads of Nanami’s fingers on your clit shove themselves between your lips. The honeyed cum and slick pooled thickly in a candied coat that makes you throb. 

“That s’for not hngh! telling me sooner about the project almost being done. And this-” It’s followed by a gentle peck to your forehead, and an absolutely not gentle twitch of his weepy cock inside you. His fingers tighten inside your mouth, yours tighten around his tie, “-is for all the overtime m’gonna hafta make up for.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - 8 days

It’s been too long - way too long. A week- fuck, maybe more? 

Geto doesn’t know, can’t even think right now with the way each and every slow, smooth glissade of your puffed-up pussy down his long shaft have him losing his mind let alone his train of thought. Gritting his teeth, he tugs even tighter around the cool leather restrain pinning him down to the plush bed, “Th-this has already gone on for a week- hngh- don’t you think that’s enough teasing, gorgeous?”

Fuck him and his stubborn streak.

“Over a week of you giving me the cold shoulder, Sugu?” Oh your saccharine sweet hum is enough for the curve of his cock to twitch up. Bumping lewdly against your clit, “I think m’being more than generous.”

Your leader’s dark brows knit even deeper in frustration, the need bleeding into those heaving shudders of his. “Aww, c-come on—” And if you didn’t know any better you’d have said that Geto Suguru was whining - whining. The headboard rattles loudly when he pulls, “Y’know I didn’t mean it- was jus’ a lil’ lesson because y’d-didn’t finish your duties as my second-in-command. I already give you ‘nough pretty privilege, don’t I?”

“Oh yeah?” you’re huffing, leaning forward until he gets the perfect view of your perky tits. Geto can’t help the way his tongue lolls out to suckle gently on your nipples. Handsome cheeks hollowing out with each swirling movement. “And I’m gonna give you a muzzle next if you don’t stop running that mean mouth.”

Shit, Geto blames it on not having you for a while now - fuck this sex ban - because he can already feel his weepy cock gush out in a fresh coat of syrupy precum. Steamy and sticky between your thighs, it was almost fucking embarrassing.

“Yes, ma’am.” he gasps out, sounding as disoriented as you looked right now. There’s a candied string of spit between his glossed-over lips and your tits that snaps around his almost leering smile. “Anything for you.”

If you felt his admission was mocking, then you didn’t say anything. And Geto was so fucking thankful, because just then you’re positioning his achy cock right at your slobbering entrance. Coating down his angry, angry shaft in your sweet juices before sinking down - slowly. So, so torturously slow. 

“Fuck!” Geto’s biting his lip when your silky soft walls give an experimental squeeze, tugging the rest of him even deeper into your tight channel. Throwing his head back, lazily - this was heaven. “I’m so- C-can’t you hurry-”

“Nope.” you grin, popping the “p”. Your gyrating hips falter into stillness, until your filthy cunt’s just barely cockwarming him at this point. Hands ghosting up his flexing abs, the plans of his bulging pecs, up, up, up until they wrap so prettily around Geto’s milky throat. “Why dontcha do it yourself since you want it so bad, hm?”

Ah, he’s in love.

“Anything for you.”

Jaw tensing, his eyes are locked on the way your pussy lips part around him. Straddled and sat so prettily on top of him, he’s planting his feet onto the silken sheets without a second thought. Long fingers intertwining deftly with the chain on those cuffs, leveraging you just right and-

Snap!

Both of you gasp in surprised synchronization when those expensive handcuffs - custom-made, mind you - shred easily. Raising your eyes to look at Geto and- oh, fuck. You were fucked. 

“That wasn’t on the plan but…” his dark eyes glint with such a predatory spark, plump lips curling into an easy smirk. He soothes over the stinging red where he’d been held, greedy gaze locked on you. And only you. “...neither was havin’ my cute lil’ assistant tie me up, hm?” 

In all of two seconds, you’re just being slammed down onto the hard ridges of Geto’s defined hipbones. Bruises sure to blossom up on your skin when his two rough palms grab a ravenous handful of your ass. Reeling your pliant body up, up, up till the very tip of his velvety cock kissed teasingly at your hole, and down. 

“O-oh!” Your hands come down to his sculpted chest, skin heated against his soft puffs of breath. And it’s just about all you can manage to get out, mouth salivating at all of the thick inches of him filling you up, so dreadfully bullying with his thrusts.

“Shit- shit shit shit, fuckin’ missed this. Must’ve had a lotttt of fun hngh! playing around with your leader, huh?” Geto lingers in hot pecks at the corners of your eyes, tasting the salty sting of your tears. “Treatin’ me like I was second-in-command. Did it get you wet, gorgeous?”

He’s leaning back to get a better view of the way your pussy was being split open, glistening and winking up at him. “Yeahhh, it sure did- jus’ look at you. You’ve been hating this petty sex ban as much as I have.”

Just the thought is enough to have whatever blood is left in his body to rush even more feverishly into his painful cock. Bulbous tip blushing a rosy red, his ravaged cock gushes sensitively with hot precum after so long, growing even girthier inside you.

You’re whining at the feeling of your already-contracted walls being stretched even more like elastic around him. “I- I did-” 

He fucks out whatever poor cry is on the tip of your tongue with a harsh thrust, arching into a perfect curve of his body against yours. 

“Awww, I know, pretty girl. I know–” Geto soothes, gliding away your glossy pout with his thumb, before pressing such a tauntingly sweet sweet kiss. “N’ we’ve gotta make up for th-those hah! eight days, right?” At your barely-lucid nod, he only grins wider. Fuck yeah, he missed this. And he’s never letting you out of his sight. “And afterward- we can talk about a little ah- promotion, how about that?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - 2 days

“Just the tip.” Choso’s hushing hotly against your ear later into the night, eyes double-checking at his locked door before rutting his hot, hefty erection against the globes of your ass. “Just the- hah- tip, baby please. Feels like m’gonna die if I don’t get just a feel of your cute cunt already.”

It’s only been two days visiting his family, and Choso feels like he’s just about ready to burst. All those soft moments babying his little brother, those stupid lil’ jokes from his uncle about adding another Itadori to the family - they were swirling up inside his hazy mind and flowing straight to his achy cock. Rock-hard and leaking saturated precum all over the back of your soft cotton sleep shorts. 

Choso wanted you - and he wanted you now. 

“Baby…” his drowsy kiss drags along your lips. A calloused hand comes up under your leg to slot his achy cock between them, rubbing and grinding in smooth, slow gyrations. Shuddering, “Don’t care if we’re loud I- hah- r-really just wanna fuck a baby into ya.”

“Shh shhh, go ahead, Cho.” you giggle, whirling over your shoulder to teasingly peck at the tip of his nose. “But jus’ the tip, m’kay?”

Your sweet boyfriend’s nodding before you’re even finishing your sentence, not having the patience to even take your pajamas off. Just hooking a long, pale finger along the side of the fabric, throwing his head back against the pillows to take an even close look at the gloss of slick sticking to your inner thighs. 

“O-oh, baby. My baby–” his deep voice cracks. Biting back guttural groans when the very flushed thick tip of his cock dips so perfectly around the corner of your sopping slit. Frantically, he claps a hand over his loud moans, “Just…just the tip. Right?”

Whether he was asking you or whether he was asking himself you have no idea. Because Choso wasn’t wasting even a millisecond more, he’s rubbing in velvety glides at your swollen folds. So dripping wet that it takes him a few whimpering grinds to bully his fat head at your hole without sliding right across. Slowly. 

“Shit- missed this. J-juuust-” he’s heavily panting, kissing down your spine with each inch after fucking inch massaging inside your gummy walls. Throbbing heavily because shit, it might not have been long - but it’s felt like forever. “-the- the-”

Choso’s blabbering words only slur out even more through the gaps in his fingers, honeyed tone becoming more simpering. And you could count the hitches in his breath, the shake in his thighs when he’s disappearing between your legs. After not having you for a whole two days, he was pussydrunken already.

“Something wrong, baby?” you purr, tugging on his long strands of hair, now damp with sweat. “You look tense.”

“Tense?” Choso gasps, voice pitched up higher than usual with disbelief. “Wh-what are you ah- shit, don’ squeeze me like that- what are you t-talking about, m’not tense.” 

But your smug smirk only tugs wider at the jittery way his free hand locks onto the small of your waist. Pushing and pulling in a sultry pace, massaging your snug channel with the upwards curving divot on the very tip of his cock. Feeling just the very peak of that prominent vein he has down his creamy middle. 

“Are you sure?” you hum, hearing him outwardly gulp. And you know that you should go a little easy on him - your poor boyfriend did just spend the entire weekend being cockblocked by his family, after all. You know you should be mindful of the soft creaking of the bed, the ever-growing groans wrenching from Choso. “I would much rather you just-” Your nails leave ravaged red trails down his milky thighs “-breed me the way you’ve been wanting to these past two days, Cho.”

Oh, Choso could cry, he could moan, he could cum. 

And - tears pricking at his dewy, dark eyes, cheeks burning with embarrassment - that’s exactly what he does. You’re letting out a mewl at the feeling of Choso’s sweltering hot tip just gliding across the spongy bottom of your cervix. Glossing over your insides with a thick coat of his cum, dredge after dredge of creamy white that fill you up so much. Seeping down through the corners of your sloppy hole and forming a milky ring around the tufts of black at his hilt. “Fuck- fuck m’blamin’ being cockblocked from this heavenly pussy f’this.”

“Fuck! Wasn’t even that long, Cho. I can ah- feel you all the way-” Your fingers slide up to about halfway at your stomach, pressing down on that familiar nudging divot, “-here.”

That’s all it takes for his weepy cock to just gush more spurts of seed again. Again and again and again- Immediately, his large hand covers your mouth, fully muffling those pretty moans. 

“F-fuck, pretty- m’y dad is j-just hah- the door over.” he’s almost bawling out, hips uncontrolled with the way he’s rutting up in deep, thorough pushed of his slender hips. “So loud.” But Choso makes no move to quieten either of you. Crashing his lips into yours to let your sweetened moans vibrate away into his mouth, heavy balls smacking against your skin in a heady thwack! thwack! thwack! “So messy.” 

You feel so sluggish being stuffed to the very brim like this, limbs aching with how close Choso was pinning you back against his muscled chest. There’s only so much that your cunt can take before it’s spreading out into a messy puddle below you two, adding to the gripping squelches. Shit, you two were definitely facing hell tomorrow - namely, a too-smug Sukuna. 

“Baby…” Choso drags out, in a way you already knew didn’t bode well. Two of his fingers swipe at the mess beading out, “Since m’being so loud…why don’t I busy my mouth with something else?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 5 hours (but he won’t admit it)

That pretty pout of yours was too irresistible, the way you’d kissed him goodbye too sultry - Sukuna knew your game. 

And here - teeth gritted, thighs bouncing in frustration under the table, anger flaring when his court meeting drags onto around the fifth consecutive hour - he also knew he was playing right into it.

Yeah, fuck that.

Which is why there isn’t even a shred of regret in his smirk when he finally reaches his breaking point - a click of his fingers and he’s no longer in the royal meeting room. Instead, nestling up to your side at his chambers, smothered amongst all the expensive silken sheets. 

Not even the tiniest speck of embarrassment in his next words to you, “On all fours, brat.”

“Kuna- you’re back- fuuuck-” your honeyed moans sound out over the way he had one large hand smushing you deeper and deeper into the cushiony pillows. “-you’re back e-early?”

“Don’t act like you didn’t have anything to hngh! do with it, woman.” he spits, and the mattress dips when he’s hiking up a powerful thigh. Using the leverage to pressurize each jarring, determined little half-thrust inside your gaping hole. “Teasing n’ toying with your king. You’re hah- r-real brave for a lil’ human y’know that?”

You’re whining, “A-all it took was f-five hours of a sex ban-”

Another one of his big, beefy arms swipe down your arched spine, dipping down to spread open your puffed-up folds even more. “Silence.”

So what if the king of curses couldn’t last five hours without your pretty pussy? Was that a crime? 

The vice-like grip on your head was forcing your bleary gaze down to where he was feeding your cunt with each of his massive inches. Two absolutely engorged cocks with twin reddish tips, glossing all over your poor entrance with matching gushes of hot precum. Just barely even halfway in - but you could already feel him bulging at your very stomach. “Heh…wouldya look at that. Didn’t even prep her as much as u-usual and she’s already this ready to take me. Are ya always such a slut?”

You can’t stop yourself from bowing even deeper into his hold, the upwards curve of your spine pushing you even closer to his stacked bases. 

“Answer me.” His deep baritone snaps you out of your little haze, and two hands prop you even closer. You could feel every heated gust of his words against the shell of your ear, “Speak, if you don’ wanna displease your king, little human.” 

And oh Sukuna can’t deny that stirring pride in his chest when your jumbled-out words spill out, body trembly, needy - but still so eager to please him. 

“I- I just-” Your breath hitches wetly in your chest when one of his four hulking arms dip downwards, toying with your swollen clit between two thick fingers. It takes a branding smack! to the fat of your ass to remember what you were trying to say again. “-just knew I was gonna miss you at the meeting today, Kuna.”

And if the way he jolted inside you wasn’t an answer - the raw divots of his cocks jostling inside you to crash into your g-spot - Sukuna gasps - gasps. Voice so simperingly silken when he asks, “You missed me?”

You’re nodding - but that isn’t enough for him, fuck it might never be. 

In retaliation, your pussy is being gifted with another few of his long thrusts. Two hands tightening roughly around your waist to keep his pretty girl from escaping.

“Like I said- u-use your hngh- words, doll.” Followed by such a mean bump of both rounded curves of his fat cockheads against your g-spot, making you cry out in your sweetened voice that he loved so much. “Clearly you’ve still got the voice, heh-”

The royal bed is creaking so loudly that Sukuna has half the mind to wonder whether the fools in the meeting room not too far away could hear. Ah, fuck them. Right now he couldn’t care less about anything other than you.

“I did miss you.” you’re mewling, big fat tears pricking at your eyes each time he’s drilling in. “Missed you so much, Kuna.”

There’s a sudden, sloppy squelch! And before you know it, he’s buried all the way in until the sensitive skin of your ass rubbed rawly against those rough patches of pink at his toned pelvis, Sukuna’s heavy balls kissing snugly against your thighs. 

“Ahh–” he’s heaving out, while you can do nothing but scramble towards the headboard, the sheets, anything. Peaking in the thumb rolling over your clit to take a good, long look at how your stuttering pussy was so obscenely stretched and molded around his cocks, all the way down to those ringed tattoos on his thick bases. Gapingly full. Doubly sucking him up. “Fuck the sex ban- beats that stupid fuckin’ meeting tha’s for sure.”

And you didn’t know whether it was possible to forget how big Sukuna truly was in just five hours. Because his every throb only seems to drive him even deeper against your cervix, thickening so maddeningly to stretch out your insides. 

“Yeah yeah- atta girl. Take it all- fuck, take it all f’me.” He croons through your high, squelching movements only speeding up. There’s an element of such raw, primal need in what he does, like he’s just dragging out every dredge of pleasure out of you. You’re just gulping when a hand makes its way into your black-tinged vision, wrapping snugly around your throat to pull you backwards against his every ram. “Now, let’s see if this pretty pussy can squirt before they come around tryna find me for the meeting.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - 15 minutes

“Sweetheart-” Gojo whines, rosy lips downturning into the most perfect pout you’d ever seen. “Sweetheart please- I know I was-”

“Stupid? Impulsive?” you’re rolling your eyes, despite the vice-like hold he had on you. Sitting you down so prettily on his lap, manspread as far as his office chair would allow him. “An absolute idiot?”

Fuck, at that last insult, Gojo’s cock only hardens impossibly inside your gummy walls. Marking out each and every divot and vein down his furious shaft, he throws his head back with a groan at the taut feeling of your clingy walls being stretched all around him. 

“Seriously?” you’re gasping, to which he only curls his lips up into the most unabashed grin. 

Not even a moment later, he’s bouncing his thighs, jostling you precariously on top of his frame. It makes your hips just squeeze downwards in smooth, swiveling gyrations that massage his throbbing cockhead. “Aw come on- I take back what I said about No Nut November can we just-”

“Yeah? After what-” Your eyes dart over your shoulder towards the clock at the very end of the room, “-fifteen minutes? You dragged me all the way out of a meeting after only that? Come on, Toru, you’ve gotta make to at least twenty-”

“Please.” 

You’re pausing in surprise, and that’s the last thing that Gojo wanted right about now. So with a huffed-out groan, he’s back to placing two greedy palms that smooth over the curve of your hips, up and down up and down. Soothing you over for when he just rams you down recklessly on his achy cock. 

He bites up the column of your neck, all the way up to that sweet spot at your earlobe. “Already said the magic word, didn’t I?” Before using all of his inhuman core strength to bounce you all the way down in another thorough thrust. “What? Wan’ me to say pretty please, my girl?”

The strongest was just begging at your feet, because laced with his tease was a very real, nervous tremor. Voice lilting up higher than normal, drunken eyes darting between your own and the very obvious little grind of his pulsing length.

Buried so brandingly inside you, like he wanted to make you memorize him from the inside out. Body bowed into yours like it hurt to be apart more than just a few millimeters, he was stuck against your side. Only pushing deeper and deeper and-

“I’ll- I’ll make it to twenty minutes next time-” he giggles deliriously, already tinged with such smugness. “Maybe even thirty- please- please just’, fuck- need your cute cunt.”

And you were a strong sorcerer in your own right - but seated like this, Gojo definitely had the advantage. He was still so much taller, so much broader, muscles rippling through the thin fabric of his black t-shirt. Biceps bulging out with each stuttering slam into your hips, it’s like he wanted to be as sloppy as possible. 

To have your cunt drooling down every inch of his angry, red cock glistening a sweet sweet coat of juices with every single squelch. It drips down from where your skirt was bunched up, down onto the wooden floors. Shit, you definitely weren’t going back to the meeting like this. 

“So wet, huh?” He smiles, a snowy brow rising at the sight. And Gojo’s tall frame sags even deeper down his steadfast chair to get an even better long, swallowing deeply. “Damn- you’re makin’ me so thirsty, sweetheart.”

You smack his chest, “S-so filthy, Toru.” But you can’t hide the slight moan in your scolding, the way your clit grows even more heated - and he notices, of course. 

“I got you- I got you, girl.” He rolls an eager thumb right over where you wanted him the most, bringing a kiss over towards the underside of your jaw, your cheeks, your mouth. “N’ of course m’ filthy- what’d you expect?” Gojo’s free hand occupies itself with guiding your cunt down at a maddening pace. Squelching so loud that times like this he was thankful for six eyes, for all the amplified sounds of your huffs and cunt clamping down around his girthy cock. His next words are whispered against your tongue, “M’the fucker that couldn’t last fifteen minutes without your pretty pussy, of course.”

He’s not even waiting to ask at this point - he’s already lost, he’s already broken the sex ban but fuck, did defeat feel so sweet. 

There’s a stuttering squelch, your slick glossing down his entire wrist when Gojo’s fingers sped up on your poor clit. Circling and tugging teasingly, his fingers were so deftly making you writhe. 

It simply makes your toes curl, white-hot pleasure sparking behind your eyes with each unwavering clash into your g–spot. And if you were in any better state of mind, you’d be almost embarrassed at how it only takes a few clamoring rummages at your insides, a few steadfast thrusts right into the bullseye of your sweet spots, before you’re cumming and cumming so hard it makes you gasp.

“Fuck-” Your nails dig ferociously into Gojo’s strong wrist, stationed on one side of your waist, fucking downwards to meet his sloppy staccato. “Fuck fuck fuck- m’cumming- m’cumming, Toru–”

“Heh, easy girl.” he jests, dragging his plump lips down the sensitive side of your neck. “Made fun of me f’being so needy but look at you.” Running his pretty mouth a mile a minute, you could tell he’s nearing the end of his sanity, as well. Each sensitive twitch of his long shaft massaging deeper and deeper into your g-spot. “Cum f’me then- fuck- cumming- cum.”

Your velvety walls are just milking each of his gummy thrusts, gripping onto you through each and every wave of pleasure. Bolts of electricity zap through your veins, and Gojo’s flinging his eyes shut, mouth parting to groan out your name with each spurt of his thick, potent cum. Over and over-

“Fuck- fuck, yeah tha’s right.” he slurs, a hand just slamming down on his nearby desk. Like he wanted to break. To ruin. Whispering against your ear, “Now how about we go a few more times to see if I can make twenty minutes without this pretty pussy next time?”

“Thirty.”

“Deal.”

A/N. Hope y’all have a lovely lovely week <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

[heavenbarnes]

I wanna make it (so badly)

Art Donaldson x Fem Reader

Warnings/Contains: reader is AFAB with she/her pronouns, swearing, inappropriate employer/employee relationship, dry-humping, a lot of heavy petting, implied age gap, effective-infidelity (reader tested, tashi approved), oral sex (f!receiving), art is a bit of a pervert and mega-pathetic (endearing), references to religion (worship).

Word Count: 5.8k

i white knuckled the steering wheel on the way home from this film thinking about art donaldson- this is, essentially, an ode to that

Youth tennis lessons, $20/h, call for details

Finding work was hard, keeping work was harder.

Cleaning, baby-sitting, pet-sitting, pet-walking. There was virtually nothing you hadn't tried.

Odd jobs, odd hours, and the occasional odd employer.

You'd played tennis for the last couple years of college. Nothing remotely competitive but you and your friends had looked cute in the skirts and they'd give you whole hours out of class to play.

You were above average with a good arm and better patience.

Another odd job to add to your growing list.

You'd been particular about where you'd posted the ads, the neighbourhoods you'd chosen. Only the ones with manicured lawns and white picket fences.

Tacking the paper to boards in upmarket cafes, fancy supermarkets, ladies-only gyms.

The kind of people that want their kids playing tennis and could find their way to increase your pay- if you did well.

You always did very well.

So your little car looked a little out of place in this neighbourhood, fingers holding the scribbled post-it note with the address. Your scrawling handwriting detailing the "Donaldson's" were enquiring within.

Pulling up outside the house, you had a quiet inkling that you might've been out of your depth. Whoever owned this house deserved more than an above-average-ex-college-student that only learnt the sport to spend time with friends.

But they'd requested you, you'd have to let them come to that conclusion on your own.

Your knuckles only hit the door once before it was being swung open by someone that looked destined to be a security guard, like he'd come out the womb with his future decided.

What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

He'd left you in the "formal lounge" to sit smack-bang in the centre of a couch that wouldn't even fit in the lobby of your apartment building- let alone the apartment itself.

As you admired a painting on the wall that you'd only ever seen in books, high heels on the stone floors made you jump in your seat.

The most beautiful woman you might ever see in your life appeared before you and said your name in a way that had you standing from your seat.

Your face faltered just enough that you hoped she didn't notice. There was something about her that told you she noticed everything.

Fuck me, that's Tashi Duncan.

If you know a thing about tennis (or even just watched the news) you know exactly who this woman is. You remember her more from your childhood but you remember her all the same.

The woman that once held the world by the balls.

She apologised for her husband's absence, that he was busy. It wasn't lost on you that the "husband" she casually referred to was Art Donaldson, US Open champion.

The Donaldson's.

Ah fuck.

Tashi went on the explain that they were wanting to begin lessons for their daughter Lily. You assumed this was the one you could hear running circles around the informal lounge.

"With all due respect, am I not the least qualified person in this home for that?"

You watched a perfectly formed cheekbone lift in what was nearly a smile. Strangely enough, something in the pit of your chest was dying to make her do that again.

There was something about her that demanded to be impressed.

You were no exception to the rule.

"My husband and I have seen some of your matches, we liked what we saw."

How? Your 'matches'- if you can even call them that, were nothing of note. You don't even think faculty bothered to watch them. You weren't quite sure why they'd even recorded them.

A silly part of you began to wonder how they'd even got a hold of them- until you remembered who they were.

The Hermes and Peitho of tennis.

"You did? I always thought of myself as more of a casual player."

"And that's what we liked, we know better than anyone how brutal tennis can become. We want someone to help Lily enjoy the game."

Oh, okay then.

You'd made a quasi-college-career out of purely enjoying the game. You were sure you could foster the same spirit for the six-year-old performing the entire 'Encanto' soundtrack in the other room.

Tashi laid down a tight schedule, Monday to Friday, 3pm to 6pm. You would teach Lily the wonders of the game on the court behind their home.

Their home you'd come to find out was a luxury rental when you'd complemented Tashi on another of the art pieces that'd apparently come with the place.

You'd also come to find out they typically live in hotel rooms, but they'd settled in this area for the time being as Art had a good thing going with a regular playing schedule and a sporting-goods deal.

You nodded along like you could begin to understand a life like that.

As she showed you back to your car (the one you suddenly felt humiliated for her to see you own), she called your name one last time from the doorway.

"You undersell yourself, we'll give you eighty an hour."

She left you choking on your tongue with one foot in the car and the other on an Italian cobblestone.

You were never going to walk or sit another dog again.

Lily was going to win her first Grand Slam by ten if that's what they'd pay you.

As your peeled your car from their turn-around area, you watched a Jeep Wrangler slow as it passed you. You couldn't see through the tint but you just knew it was him.

And you knew he was watching you.

-

The minute you'd told your roommate the situation you'd come into, she'd called bullshit.

A few texts from Tashi's now saved icon and a weird little photo you'd taken from inside the guest bathroom, it'd been enough to convince her.

"Fucking hell, are you God's favourite or something?"

You'd argue you were quite the opposite, she of all people should know. She'd seen some of the states you'd come home in after your other random jobs.

Felt good to be the winner.

Even just once.

In the air of some girlish fascination, she brought up a Youtube video of "Tashi Duncan Career Highlights" courtesy of "tennisguy779."

You'd protested it, rolling your eyes while feigning disinterest. No use, the minute you caught her out the corner of your eye- you were captivated.

It was entirely possible to imagine she hovered above the court, like there was a greater force placing her exactly where she needed to be, exactly when she needed.

It was even easier to believe she was just that good.

As you watched her play, listened to the sounds the game could draw from her- you wondered if this was how she and Art had felt.

Had they curled up in their informal lounge like you were right now? Had Tashi studied your every move meticulously like you assume? Had Art passed comment on your form? Did he think you were any good?

Tennisguy779's lineup changed quickly to "Art Donaldson Career Highlights" and you felt your chest constrict. An inexplicable feeling washed over you.

Like you'd been caught with God's forbidden fruit.

Your roommate had tried to question why you'd effectively flown off the couch, only to be met with a muttered 'goodnight' as you shut the bedroom door behind you.

Thin walls meant you drifted off to sleep that night with the rhythmic sounds of Art, grunting his way through an ATP Challenger.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

-

The Donaldson's tennis court was down a steep set of stairs, set back into an oasis of lush greenery.

Perfect for a 6-year-old's first lessons.

You didn't know if it was the grand balcony that overlooked the court or the fact a well-manicured Tashi stood atop it, but you felt positively observed.

Lily was in the midst of showing you how she could do a cartwheel (she couldn't) when the voice in the back of your head started echoing a promise of $80/h.

"Alright, lets channel some of that into your elbow."

Give a six-year-old a racquet half the size of her and she's going to blow effective chunks, but at least she has the spirit. Maybe it's her energy, maybe it has been a while since you've been on the court-

The kid's running you ragged.

Coupled with her height, you're spending more time bent over than you are up straight and it's all going to your head. All you can hope is Tashi isn't up there watching you stumble after the ball.

But you're sure there are eyes on your back.

Lily is a quick learner and you work out a tradeoff of one tennis skill for one spinning heel kick (mandatory that you watch).

Roll on 6pm and she's dog-tired, however, she's managed to hit the ball at least twice. Surely that's earned your keep. She lays star-fished on the turf and murmurs something about a piggyback.

You know you're about to earn your keep.

By the top of the staircase, you're more than happy to hand over a Lily-shaped-sack-of-potatoes to Tashi's mother. As you emerge from behind an ornate gargoyle, your suspicions proved correct.

Art Donaldson had been watching your every move.

Left alone on the balcony with him, you're acutely aware of the fact he's standing between you and your exit, and he's just had a full show of you bent over and flitting about his tennis court.

That and you still haven't said so much as 'hello' to the man.

You dwell on it for a moment and then there's that feeling back in the pit of your stomach, like any minute you'll be caught with fruit in hand- in throat.

The Original Sin.

Luckily, Art made the decision for you, crossing the space to shake your hand. If he noticed the way your hand trembled, he didn't seem to mind.

"It's nice to finally meet you."

You wished you had more to say to him, or maybe something more intelligent. Something better than a quiet "and you."

He was the better conversationalist, thankfully. Head motioning to the court, he looked down his nose at you when he spoke.

It should've felt condescending. It didn't.

"How did she go out there?"

"Yeah, really good- not a Disney character I can't name now."

He laughed.

Really laughed, like the joke was better than it was.

Like there was a preening little flutter inside you that said "do it again!"

You shrugged your shoulders like making him happy came naturally as you squinted up at him, as if he was the sun.

"You were watching? You must've seen her picking it up?"

Because he was the expert. Because he is the champion.

He hummed as he nodded, eyes skywards like there might've been something more important behind the clouds.

"Must've been distracted."

Within an instant- his eyes flickered to your own and you were sure he watched them change. He must've seen something he liked, the corner of his lip quirked up before he spoke again.

"Come on, I'll sort your payment and then we'll let you get home."

And for whatever reason, his hand fit perfectly in the small of your back as he lead you inside.

-

And how quickly did you become a strange piece of furniture in the Donaldson's home- in their life?

An ottoman for Tashi to rest her tired feet on.

An abstract piece on the wall for Art to admire when he passes it.

A projection of constellations across the ceiling to keep Lily bright behind the eyes.

At least you belonged- there was no doubt that this was where you belonged.

That wasn't to say your tennis skill had improved any, lesson after lesson you still couldn't wrap your head around why they'd even signed you on, let alone kept you.

"Ok, don't watch that one either- maybe just do what I say and not what I do."

You hadn't nailed a single one, at this point you couldn't blame Lily for skipping around pretending her racquet was a horse.

Wasn't like she'd be learning anything if she was paying attention.

"Ok, here we go just- ok right, when your parents ask how today went, please be kind."

"Your elbow is too low."

It was a miracle you didn't scream.

Art entered the court with a swagger that you could only assume struck fear when he was your opponent.

Right now it struck pure embarrassment and Lily wasn't helping.

"Daddy, she didn't hit a single one!"

"Alright, I don't think daddy needs to know that-"

"Daddy knows, daddy's been watching."

Daddy really needs to stop calling himself that.

Lily and her racquet took off for another tour of The Grand National as Art approached you with quiet determination.

It was like waiting for impact, his eyes never wavered off his daughter as he made towards you. At the last moment, he snapped his attention in your direction- with a smile that should've felt condescending.

It wasn't.

"If your elbow is too low you lose topspin and power."

If you deserved the $80/h you were earning, you might've known that.

As Art stepped up to you, the turn of the planets on their axis slowed down and it could've been entirely possible to believe it was only you two.

And Lily upon her trusty steed.

The gallops of her tennis shoes thinned out as Art placed one hand around your elbow, lifting it higher. His other hand held your waist as he pulled your back flush to his chest.

"Lily, go find grandma."

Then it really was just you two.

Your heart hammered against the shell of your ribcage, blood rushing around your ears as you felt Art's chin perch at your shoulder.

"If your elbow is high enough," His hand lifted it up and you let it stay there. "And your hip is turned."

He didn't have to say it with the gravel in his voice, but he did. He didn't have to hold your hips as he moved them, but he did. He didn't have to stay without so much of an inch between the two of you, but he did.

With one hand in the curve of your waist, he tossed the ball into the air with the other- then he whistled.

Like the obedient thing you didn't know you were, you raised the racquet and sent the ball flying through the air without even blinking.

As the streak of green hit the court and rolled away, you found yourself lying in wait, as if you were waiting for something- your next command?

"Good girl."

There it was.

Under the all consuming effect that Art Donaldson just seemed to have on people, you'd entirely forgotten you were in a position you could be 'caught' in. By his all consuming wife, of all people.

So, you should've moved.

Quite honestly you should've straightened up and cleared your throat and thanked him and told him it was time for you to go home.

You should've moved.

But Art wasn't moving. If anything he was staying purposefully still at your backside.

Obedient thing you seem to be.

"Show me that again?"

So,

You teach Lily the bare basics of tennis for three hours and receive $80 on the hour.

Then Art spends three hours of his spare time teaching you to perfect your swing- in a way that couldn't ever vaguely resemble professional.

A simple transactional arrangement.

Your tennis improves on a slow but sure basis and he gets the most off-court action he's seen since college.

Even if it is just heavy petting on astro-turf.

A hand under the hem of a tennis skirt. A pressing hip against your own. A deep breath as your hair brushes past him.

You figure Art will take what he can get.

And it's never enough to raise alarm. Sure, there's that fluttering in your chest that warns you might get 'caught' but you're never quite sure what one might 'catch' if they found you out.

It's undoubted who that 'one' is though.

The one who holds the cards- holds the throat, maybe.

Tashi, who's presence precedes her perhaps more than her reputation. Even when she isn't there, she's there.

So, when Art's hand lingers too long on the outside of your thigh and you think you can feel it verging into the territory that'll change everything- it's Tashi on your mind.

You're beginning to think your conscience sounds a lot like Tashi.

-

Who are you if not obedient to the Donaldson's?

Chasing Lily around a court.

Adhering to Tashi's every request.

Being Art's fantasy.

Being Art's.

Most of the time, anyway. Three hours a week.

Something to keep him bright behind the eyes, maybe. Something to keep him happy. Something to keep him-

Winning?

He tells you he plays better with you around. The way he says it makes you giggle, a girlish little noise that sort of just slips out. He serves the ball with his eyes on you and, sure enough, it lands smack where he wanted it too.

Everything where he wants it. When he wants it.

Shy and inconsequential touches and glances shared just between you.

Until, well- until they weren't.

"Would you like a coffee?"

Tashi's mother had taken Lily off to bed, leaving you and Art separated by an island. Kitchen island.

He braced both palms against it as he watched you watch the door, wondering if you should cut and run, wondering if someone else might come through it.

Talking yourself out of it. Whatever it might be.

"Yes please."

Even he looked surprised, brows raising an inch as he turned to the Nespresso machine. You took the moment to watch his back, the muscles moving under the cool-dry fabric of his shirt.

You spent all your time pretending not to notice him that actually allowing yourself the chance to study him made you lightheaded.

Had he always looked this captivating?

He broke your focus with a coffee cup, sliding it towards you as he rounded the bench. His eyes didn't even waver off you as he took a sip of his own.

It wasn't lost on you that he managed to tongue foam off the tip of his nose.

This was the longest you'd stuck around after a tennis lesson, longest you'd allowed yourself to be in his presence. You weren't quite sure how big this thing could get.

Your mouth was opening before your brain had decided it was a good idea.

"Mr. Donaldson-"

"Art."

"Uh, Art- I really appreciate the help you've been giving me- uh, you know- with tennis."

He placed his coffee mug down, nodding as he did it. "My pleasure."

Naturally.

That brain of yours was still firing off at a mile a minute. There was a very tiny voice right at the back that said it was up to you how this night would end- you had a choice to make.

Placing your coffee mug beside his, you scanned his face to find him already looking at you. Perhaps the choice was already set.

Maybe it was fate.

All he said was your name, it could've been the way he said it- but your whole body was losing the rigidity it'd formed when he first asked you to stay longer. When he'd made the choice.

Crossing the small gap between you two, Art was careful to keep one hand on the kitchen bench as the other hovered beside you. Not touching you,

Yet.

One step closer and the tip of Art's nose was touching yours. You think you might've been able to smell the coffee off his breath.

It thinned out- leaving you with his sweat. Musk. Art.

A sudden surge of morals overcame you, your voice broke out as a gasp.

"What about Mrs. Donaldson?"

"Actually, it's still Duncan."

You screamed.

Right in his face.

Tashi's voice made you jump out of your skin.

However, Art didn't move. As you turned your head to gauge the way his wife stalked across the kitchen, you felt his nose brush against your cheek.

Tashi retrieved a tall bottle of Pellegrino from the fridge, taking a poignant sip as her eyes flitted between the two of you.

What a fucking sight.

Her husband, eyes shut and face pressed pathetically to their daughter's tennis instructor- his hands itching to close around your waist.

You, young and bleary eyed looking utterly caught. Staring up at her like she might decide your fate.

It took all your strength to find your words.

"I’m not here to teach tennis, am I?”

“No, of course not. You’re frankly terrible at tennis.”

There's the Tashi you were expecting.

Her words should've stung, but they didn't. They couldn't, not when her husband was laying his hands against your back and rubbing soothing circles down the length of your spine.

Not when his lips were mouthing wet kisses along your cheek.

Not when she was right. Spade's a spade.

"Why am I here?"

She snorted, a real dissatisfactory sound- like she hoped you were smarter than that. She was halfway to her bedroom before she cut you loose.

"Careful, he makes that sound before he cums."

-

And he had, just like she'd said.

Art had cum in his shorts, pressed up against your thigh with his face still smushed against your own.

And you'd taken it, obedience in spades.

You'd stood there and let him hump your leg like a bad dog and you'd even pat his head and whispered kind words in his ear after the mess he'd made.

Then you slipped out the front door to your car and you'd pretended not to notice that there were two bedroom lights on upstairs.

You hadn't even divulged the freaky details to your roommate when you got home.

But the showerhead knew all about them.

Visions of Art on the clouds of steam- replayed in your head the sounds he'd made right in your ear.

How he'd whimpered your name when he splashed his boxers like a fucking teenager.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

You even showed up next day, valiantly. You didn't run for the hills or even straight to a tabloid about how weird the Donaldson's really were.

And maybe that's why you hadn't told your roommate either.

Because telling someone what Tashi allowed? What Art liked?

That'd mean you'd have to admit your dirty little secret.

You loved it.

When you showed up, something was different. No usual chatter in the house, no shoes by the front door. You checked out the front window to see what you'd missed when you arrived.

Tashi's car was gone.

"She's taken her mom and Lily to the ballet."

At least you didn't scream this time.

You were lucky your back was to him, lest he see the self-righteous little smile that broke when the words settled.

"Oh, ok."

"I'll see you on the court."

Oh, ok.

Lest he see the disappointment that took over.

Following him close behind, you didn't know why you were effectively surprised that he still wanted to continue with your lessons. You'd half expected- hoped, he'd bend you over the kitchen island.

Tennis was fun too, you guess.

Thinking about it, something that bold didn't seem the style of the man who'd nearly blacked out rubbing up on you. Beckoning you onto the tennis court with two fingers and a wry smile did, however.

You fell into your usual position, hip turned and elbow curved on your side of the court. You waited for him to appear behind you, chest melding into the curve of your back.

It never came.

Art took long strides towards the net, vaulting it in one smooth motion. He ended up parallel to you, waiting with a ball and racquet in either hand.

The smile had left his face, a rather blank expression taking over as he sized you up. And there was that fear- knowing what it felt like to be on the wrong side of him.

This was going to hurt.

From the moment he pressed the ball to the neck of his racquet, it was all over. Your feet were never in one place for more than a second, your arms burned above you, your head permanently on a swivel.

Art didn't look like he'd broken more than a sweat.

You knew he had, you could see it in the neck of his shirt. But he didn't look it.

He looked calm, he looked in control, he looked-

Like he was enjoying himself.

For every rally that you managed, you thought you saw an inkling of pride set in his features.

For every serve that you missed, you knew you saw unbridled lust.

Not a point scored in your favour, you hit the ball towards him one last time before you collapsed to the turf. Flat on your back, reminiscent of your first lesson here.

You watched the clouds shift over your head, listening to your pulse thick and fast in your ears. Just underneath it, you could hear footfalls approaching.

No hurry, but impending.

Soon, the sun above you was eclipsed by Art Donaldson. His golden hair shone with the halo of light behind it.

Now this was God's favourite.

"You can't be giving up this easily?"

Forcing a laugh, you threw your arm up and over your eyes. "Wanna bet?"

Turns out he did- turns out Art struggled to do anything but win.

Somehow, you found it within yourself to stand back up. This time it was only a practice, you weren't brave enough to face off against him another round.

This was more your speed.

The hand that wasn't holding your elbow was curving around your front, the pleats of your tennis skirt lifting over his fingers. You felt a warm hand slowly moving across the front of your underwear.

Two fingers migrated south, pressing against the seam of you- he must've felt the pure heat radiating beneath his fingertips.

Turning your head even an inch, you found the curve of his nose pressing into your cheek.

"I didn't give up."

He hummed, the vibration rolled across your shoulders.

"Mmm, you didn't."

The hand sans-racquet dropped between your thighs to press his palm into your cunt. It was Art who flexed your fingers and cupped it.

"Where's my prize?"

There was no trophy, no podium, no medal.

But there was Art between your legs, slinging a knee over each shoulder like he might've been the real winner.

You'd never been inside the 'changing shed' behind the court, of course it was nicer than your actual home.

Your head made contact with the hard wood behind you, bench digging into your ass as you felt a hot mouth moving against the seat of your underwear.

Running your fingers through his hair, your gripped the ends of it- tugging him closer until you felt the flat of his tongue through the thin fabric.

Needy fingers tugged the ruined garment down your thighs, tucking him into the pocket of his shorts. You knew all too well that you'd never see them again.

You were sure Art would be seeing a lot of them.

His tongue ran up the split, one long stroke before you felt the curve of his nose press to your clit. The ridge of it moved as his tongue retreated back to your entrance.

With everything he had.

Your eyes had been rolling back in your head as you arched your back, the moment you were able to find a semblance of control- your gaze fell before you.

Naturally, Art was already looking up at you. Two hands splayed across each side of your hips as he pulled back to wrap his lips around your clit.

You couldn't help the hazy little smile on your face as you watched his eyes.

Utterly devotional.

The more you tugged on his hair, the hungrier he seemed. Pulling from the root seemed to spur him on, seemed to tell him 'good job' and he was responsive.

His tongue flicked beneath your clit, pressing it to his upper lip as he brought two fingers to your entrance. He stroked a couple times, making your hips twitch against him, before he sunk in to the last knuckle.

Turns out Art had a style about him. One he brought to the tennis court and, seemingly, to the floor of his changing shed.

The style was calculated.

Every move he made was engineered to get something out of you- a reaction, a whimper, a twitch. He was doing what he did best.

Playing a game.

Art struggled to do anything but win.

"Fuck- Mr. Donaldson."

"Art."

Even muffled against your cunt, you were good at following his orders. Even more so when he was the decider of your imminent orgasm.

You threaded your fingers in the sides of his hair, pulling his face flush against you so you could ride his mouth. Taking every last thing from him you could.

It drew the most pathetic moan you'd ever heard, straight out of his chest and hit you straight at your core. The burning coil tight within your stomach was unraveling quickly.

You heard the murmurings of words, among the blood rushing in your ears. Easing up just enough, you let him pull back to speak.

"Tell me this feels good, please."

Your chest thumped, the sight of Art helpless between your legs was one thing. Hearing him beg?

You might black out.

"Art- you feel so fucking good," Dragging him right back where you needed him, the tip of his tongue drove against your clit. "You're gonna' make me cum."

He whined.

A heady drawn-out sound that quite literally sent you over the edge. Your hips lifted off the bench, the heel of your foot digging into his back and making his whine turn into a whimper.

Your orgasm broke you apart until it felt like white-hot flame licking up your sides. Of course, Art never relented, drinking in everything you could give him- literally.

The moment you felt the peak begin to subside, the urge was ramping right back up. Like he knew what he was doing, his eyes locked back onto yours as he sucked at your clit.

He was going for gold.

A quick second orgasm hit, seemingly out of nowhere. Your thighs clenched around Art's head, his hands coming to each of them.

You relaxed yourself a bit, feeling like it might be too much- until you felt him pressing your thighs even harder to either of his ears.

Oh, ok.

Art Donaldson knew what he liked.

You physically had to push him off you, watching him fall back on his outstretched palms as you let yourself breathe for what felt like the first time.

Wet eyes, wet chin, chest rising and falling like he'd run a marathon- Art sat sprawled out before you like he'd stumbled upon an alter (he had).

Breathless, you gestured towards him. Your hand dropped a little as your eyes fell between his legs, wordlessly offering a deal.

A deuce.

His cheeks flushed, more so than they already were. His eyes fell an infinitesimal amount before he spoke up.

"Uh- I already have."

Of course he had. He makes that sound before he cums.

Instead, you heard him shuffle back onto his knees as he all but crawled towards you. He draped his upper half into your lap, head resting against the soft cotton of your skirt.

Coming off the other side of a high, the reality of your situation began to settle for you. Why they'd really called you here- what purpose you really served.

All you could do was gently stroke a hand across Art's head, feeling him go limp against you. Boneless, but not spineless.

He must've known you were going to speak, he must've heard the intake of breath or just felt you shift. He cut you to the chase- beat you to the punchline.

Art nuzzled his face further into your lap as you felt him mumble against your thigh.

"I can't lose- you."

[heartbeetz]

Literally real. Girl let me do all the pastry work idc if it's my day you should stick to savory stuff. Also I love you sm ♡

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | ch 1 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader, Hoseok x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter contains mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: alcohol, curses, jungkook is lowkey a cocky asshole but we love him, mentions of ghosting (reader to Hoseok), mentions of frosh week, mentions of Nabi spraining her ankle, a frat party, beer pong, Sam Hwang, peach, explicit content: overhearing someone having sex, female masturbation, sex toy (vibrator), praising, nipple play, hickeys, dom!Hoseok, sub!reader, degradation, Hoseok likes being called sir (lmao), whip (sorta, with a belt), choking (with a belt), safe word, oral sex (male receiving), mouth fucking, balls fondling, jerking off, spitting in the other's mouth, Hoseok does not believe in aftercare (rip)

☆word count: 11.8k

☆a/n: CHAPTER ONE!! LET'S GET THIS JOURNEY STARTED BABY!!! thank you to @moonleeai and @jessikahathaway for beta-ing, you guys are the best <3

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here!

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Thursday, January 17th 

If there is one thing you’ve figured about Jeon Jungkook, it’s that he is an insufferable prick, yet an endearing one. As your older brother’s best friend, Jungkook has taken a liking to teasing you, treating you like his own little sister. It was weird at first – the day you  met him, you were struck by his looks. Who wouldn’t be? Jungkook is tall, has a sleeve of tattoos, and he rocks an eyebrow and two lip piercings. 

It took you all but three days to realize that he is a too full of himself asshole. And had you known what you were signing up for when Taehyung suggested that you move in with him when his friend Jimin moved out to live with his girlfriend, maybe you wouldn’t have accepted.

You love Taehyung. He’s an incredible brother, has always taken care of you when you were younger and your mother was never home to do so. You love him enough that you didn’t mind moving in with him even though there was a third party you didn’t know.

Jungkook, that is.

It’s been months now. Months of living with Jungkook, of waking up to his insufferable smirk and even worse teasing, whenever Taehyung is not around. Because, of course, when your brother is here Jungkook is an angel, never once saying anything to you that could be taken the wrong way.

Thing is, Taehyung has always dreamed of studying abroad, in Paris. Has always wished to experience the French lifestyle, to wake up to eat croissants and gaze at the Eiffel Tower in the distance. So when he got the opportunity to do his winter semester over there, of course he jumped on the chance. 

You’ve been living alone in the same apartment as Jeon Jungkook for less than a month and you already wish May to be at your door and for Taehyung to come back.

It’s late. Sometime close to two am, and the bed creaking in the room next to yours, the one banging into the wall, has been keeping you up.

Or maybe the intermittent high-pitched clipped moans are what are keeping you up. Because, mind you, the walls of your apartment are paper-thin. So paper-thin sometimes you think you’re in Jungkook’s room while he’s ramming some girl he probably doesn’t even know the name of. Sometimes, you think you can almost picture him. Almost see the muscles of his back move under his skin as he jack-hammers into yet another girl, almost see his powerful thighs slap on hers each time he pushes in, almost see his fucked-out face when he comes with that loud grunt of his…

You miss Taehyung being around because Jungkook wasn’t as loud then. Still brought girls home every Thursday like clockwork, but made sure he wasn’t loud enough for the whole building to hear him. With Taehyung gone, Jungkook has stopped caring, and you have been suffering the consequences since then.

In truth, it hasn’t been that long. Less than three weeks, and you’ve heard Jungkook fuck like four times? You reckon it could be a lot worse… but he could also be respectful and not fuck people when you’re trying to sleep because you have a nine am class the next day.

The first time it happened, you were mortified. You listened to music, hoping you wouldn’t hear it anymore but, the thing is, his headboard bangs against the same wall your headboard is against. So you still felt it, and you suffered through the whole ordeal hoping you would disappear through the floor.

The second time it happened, you were annoyed. You considered knocking against the wall to tell him to shut the fuck up – or rather to tell the girl to shut the fuck up – but you resisted. Solely because you didn’t want to stir shit with Jungkook. You considered asking Taehyung to tell Jungkook to be more respectful, but it sounded childish and stupid so you eventually let it slide.

The third time it happened, you were… aroused. Maybe because it had been a long time since you had sex – the last time being in late November with Hoseok, a guy studying in the same major as you, though he’s Jungkook and Taehyung’s age. Yet, even though you felt aroused, you focused on all the ways you were going to murder Jungkook the next day.

Today… today the arousal is winning the game. It’s been making your heart run wild, and your grip on your sheets has your knuckles turning white, skin stretched taut over how hard you’re clenching your fists. 

And when you hear Jungkook say something that definitely sounds like “Good fucking girl”, you lose it. You’re too aroused, dripping from just hearing him, and you need to have the coil inside of you snap if you want to be able to sleep tonight.

With all the sounds emerging from his room, you doubt Jungkook is going to hear you. So you shamelessly rummage through the top drawer of your night table, searching for your vibrator, smiling in victory when your hand closes around it.

You’re wearing PJ shorts, and you quickly rid yourself of them as the girl lets out a short-clipped moan that makes you think you’re listening to porn, and not to your roommate fucking.

Though you reckon sex with Jungkook really does sound like porn.

You lie back in bed once you’re rid of your shorts, taking a hold of your vibrator. You turn it on, adjusting it to your favourite setting. You feel strange doing so, like you’re doing something you really shouldn’t be doing, but you can’t help it.

The second you press the vibrator on your clit, you forget all about how what you’re doing is wrong. All you can focus on is the pleasure that radiates through your body, and your eyes close tightly, images of Jungkook swirling in your brain.

When the girl moans again, and Jungkook tells her that she’s ‘taking it so well’, your free hand shoots to your breast, pinching your nipple through the fabric of your t-shirt. It’s not enough, and you’re quick to move it under the shirt. You pinch hard, and you let out a breathy sound as your thighs instinctively close on your wrist.

Jungkook’s headboard starts banging against the wall even more, and your brain produces an image of Jungkook between your legs, fucking you until all you can think is his name. It has you pushing your vibrator inside of you, and you lightly moan again at the pleasurable intrusion. 

You let go of your nipple, moving that hand to your clit instead, and your fingers expertly start drawing circles on it. You listen to Jungkook’s grunts all along, to the girl’s moans, and maybe you’re a little too blissed out to realize they’re done, but when you reach your high you can’t help the broken moan you let out, a little too loud for the paper-thin walls of your apartment.

As you’re coming down from your high, you realize the apartment is eerily silent, and you swallow the lump of awkwardness that’s formed in your throat. You wipe your vibrator with some tissue, knowing you’ll have to actually clean it on the morrow, but you don’t want to kill the silence of the night just so you can put your vibrator back in its hiding spot right away. 

But you’re not stupid, and you know you need a trip to the bathroom anyway. You put your PJ shorts back on, grab your phone to use it as a flashlight so you don’t bump into a wall on the way to the bathroom, and you tiptoe all the way over there, hoping to be as soundless as possible.

You have to walk in front of Jungkook’s room to get to the bathroom, and then halfway across the living room. You notice his door is closed on your way, and you peacefully make it all the way to the bathroom. You quickly pee and clean yourself up, washing your hands before you open the door.

Which, you reckon might have been your demise. Because when you open the door of the bathroom, it’s to let out a high-pitched startled yelp at the sight of a shirtless Jungkook on the other side. The sound of the faucet must have hidden his footsteps.

You stare at each other for a few seconds, and in the dim light, you’re pretty sure Jungkook is smirking.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks after the silence has started to stretch into awkwardness.

You clench your jaw, gaze dropping to the ground. “You were disturbing my sleep.”

He chuckles, cocking his head to the side. “Was I now?”

Your eyes shoot back to his face at the low huskiness of his tone, and you wish with all of your heart that you had the courage to punch him in the face. But you don’t, so all you reply is, “You need to start fucking your hookups somewhere else.”

His smirk falls into a pout. “I won’t go over to the girls’ places. But I can make sure they’re more silent next time.”

Your brain can’t help but wonder if he means ‘they’ as in he was fucking two girls or just they as in generally referring to a single person.

You obstinately remain silent for a moment, holding his gaze with surprising defiance. “Please do,” you finally choose to say, and the smirk makes its way back to his features.

“I promise,” he says, voice low once again, and you hate how it has something tightening inside of you once more. 

You hate it so much that you escape, wishing him good night as you walk around him. You feel the warmth of his body on the way, and you’re thinking about ways to stab him in the back when he says, “Sleep well, peach.”

Saturday, January 19th

You’ve taken to referring to last Wednesday night, or early Thursday morning, as The Incident. At least that’s what you call it when you talk about it with your friends, Ria and Nabi. Ria, who’s always had some sort of a crush on Jungkook is absolutely flabbergasted each time it’s mentioned, and Nabi thinks he’s proven that he’s the biggest asshole in college.

You relate to both, and mostly agree with Nabi. 

You’re supposed to go to some party later tonight. Ria convinced you to pre-drink at the girls’ dorm before you go, considering it’s closer to the party than your apartment, and the three of you are sitting in a circle on the floor, with music playing in the background. Needless to say, Nabi has been complaining ever since you got there, because she doesn’t usually do parties, and Ria is so excited she’s got you convinced that tonight will be the best night of your life.

Almost.

“Shots?” Ria asks as if you haven’t already taken two shots each.

She’s holding the bottle of tequila up, a red flush to her cheeks and mischief lighting her gaze. You don’t find it in you to say no, because you know that without the tequila Nabi is never going to make it to the party.

“Let’s do this,” you say, offering her a smirk as Nabi hides her face in her hands.

“You girls are going to kill me,” she complains. 

“Come on,” Ria says, playfully pushing her on the shoulder. “Maybe that cute guy you like is going to be there!”

Nabi has had a crush on someone from your major, Kim Namjoon, ever since you met her at the beginning of Frosh week last semester. He’s a tall guy, with dimples whenever he smiles, and you can see why she’d have a crush on him. Thing is, Namjoon has been dating someone ever since then, and Nabi has just been suffering in silence.

You still remember the moment you saw the crush bubble to life. It was day three of Frosh Week, and Namjoon was in charge of your team, along with Hoseok. You, Nabi, and three other first years were winning the relay race, figuring out the puzzles so quickly you had a good advance on the other teams. In a leap of happiness, Nabi jumped over a small stone wall on campus. One of her feet got tangled, and she ended up spraining her ankle.

Namjoon had been right by her side, asking her if she was okay. And Nabi has been in love with him ever since that day, though she’d never dare say it aloud.

“I don’t like anyone,” she grumbles, but the way her cheeks flush red is telling.

“Namjoon, Namjoon, Namjoon,” you singsong, offering her a shit eating grin. 

She retaliates by saying, “When’s the last time you’ve fucked Hobi? Didn’t you say he was the best lay of your life?”

Your mouth falls open in surprise, and Ria lets out a loud laugh.

“We stopped fucking in November, you know that!” you burst, feeling yourself turning crimson. “And it’s not like I have a crush on him, I stopped because it felt like he had a crush on me.”

Nabi has a winning smile on her lips. “And what’s so bad about that?”

“I mean…” you trail off, shrugging your shoulders. “The sex was good, but I didn’t feel like dating him. Simple as that.”

“Why not?” Ria asks, tequila forgotten. “You never told us.” She adds a pout to her sentence, trying to get you to explain.

There’s no explanation. You just didn’t feel like it. You tell them as much, but Nabi doesn’t buy it. Ria, on the other hand, lets out a sound that has both you and Nabi startling.

“I know why!” she explains.

You cock an eyebrow. “Why?”

“You live with fucking Jeon Jungkook, of course you don’t want to date Hobi. Especially after The Incident.”

You laugh, as it’s just as ridiculous as you expected it to be. “Not at all. Jungkook is Tae’s best friend.”

Both your friends look at you, as if what you said was the stupidest shit they ever heard.

“What?”

“What does it change?” Nabi asks with a small voice. 

“Well,” you let out, because you don’t really know. It’s just weird to you, and you don’t know how to explain it. “For one, I’m pretty sure Tae would kill him if he ever laid a finger on me.”

“Tae is in Paris,” Ria innocently says.

“Irrelevant,” you say, chuckling. “He’s going to be back in just a few months.”

“A lot can happen in a few months,” she adds, wiggling her brows suggestively.

You roll your eyes before reaching out between the two of you. “Give me the tequila.”

“I’ll fuck him if you don’t,” she teases, and she cradles the tequila to her chest. “As a matter of fact, maybe I’ll try to fuck him tonight.”

“Have fun!” is all you answer before making grabby hands at her. “Now, give me the alcohol, let’s get plastered before we get there so we don’t have to drink the crappy frat booze.”

*****

The frat house hosting the party is wild. Has always been – you’ve always found they go too far with most of their parties. But they also host the most memorable parties, and you know tonight will be a blast the moment you set in to see the strung LED light, shining different patterns of colours around the main room. A table in the corner is stacked high with every bottle of hard alcohol imaginable, and there are three coolers you assume are holding beer or something of the sorts. 

One of the guys – Dave? – shows you three where you can leave your coats, on a bed in the upstairs bedroom, and then he walks you to the alcohol table, offering to pour you some shots.

Nabi giggles, because by the time you left their dorm, she got quite drunk, claiming she needed it if she were to run into Namjoon after what you and Ria had said. She accepts the shot she’s handed, though half of it has spilled on her hand by the time the guy gives you yours. He puts salt on your hands, carefully, as Ria makes fun of Nabi, and you look around, scanning the crowd. You recognize a few people from your class, along with the usual party crowd of your college. You smile at two guys you’ve spoken to before at least once, before resuming your attention on Dave (?) as he hands you a slice of lemon.

When the four of you are ready, you lick the salt, knock back the shot, and then bite in the lemon to chase the taste of tequila away. It’s cheap tequila, and even with lemon the taste lingers while you prepare vodka cranberries for you and your friends. And though Ria loves dancing, you and Nabi win as you choose to head to the kitchen, where you know the music isn’t usually as loud.

The first thing you notice when you enter the kitchen is the beer pong table in the middle. Jeon Jungkook is currently playing, along with Jimin, another of your brother’s friends. As he sees you, Jimin raises his glass, offering you a wide grin, and then he punches Jungkook in his side before motioning to you.

Jungkook notices you then, and he offers you a smirk as he eyes you up and down. You feel shy for half a beat, though you know you look good. You’re wearing a green corset along with a pair of black leather pants, and you know the two pieces of clothing hug your body perfectly. Plus, Ria did your makeup, and Ria never fails when it comes to makeup. So you wait as Jungkook looks at you, hoping the foundation Ria put on your face is thick enough for him not to see you blush as The Incident inevitably comes back to your mind.

You look away, and then you see Hoseok hovering by glass sliding doors, along with Namjoon and their other friend Yoongi. Hoseok is busy with a conversation, and when he bursts out laughing you can hear it clear as day.

Why didn’t you want to date him? You don’t know. You actually really don’t know, because he ticks off all the boxes. But something was missing, you presume, and sometimes you hate yourself for it.

He must have sensed your attention, and he turns his head towards you. You don’t miss the way his smile falls a little, and he nods once in recognition. When you smile, his mouth closes to offer you one of those awkward tight-lipped smiles, and your gaze drops away to the cup in your hand.

Of course, Ria has a nefarious plan in mind, because she hooks her arm with yours and Nabi’s, pulling you towards the trio of guys. You’re fully aware that it’s mostly for Nabi, and that it’s stupid because last you’ve heard, Namjoon is still dating his girlfriend, but you let your friend pull you towards the men, gaze still stubbornly hiding in your cup.

You watch the liquid slosh around as you stop in front of them, and Namjoon greets you. Hoseok falls eerily silent, and Yoongi asks you all how you’ve been doing.

You only join in the conversation when you’ve taken a long sip from your cup to ease your nerves. Not that it really helped, but you reckon just standing there in silence would probably make things more awkward than anything else.

“Nabi is pretty drunk,” Ria is saying when you finally look up from the cup. 

“Am not!” Nabi insists, voice slurred. “Or maybe just a little.”

Namjoon laughs, while Yoongi chuckles. “As long as you don’t fall and sprain your ankle again, I think you’re alright.”

“Won’t fall again,” Nabi promises. “Not with these two with me.” She says that motioning to you and Ria, and it somehow brings Namjoon’s attention to you.

“I saw your essay on the synthesis and control of energy metabolism,” he tells you, a dimpled smile on display. “It was pretty good.”

You can’t help but slide your eyes to Nabi, who wrote a far better essay on human health and bacteriophage in your opinion, and you don’t miss the way her gaze drops to the ground.

“Thanks,” you reply to Namjoon nonetheless.

He’s started TA-ing to help out Seokjin, one of the biochemistry grad students. All of you are biology students, except Ria and Yoongi. Ria is in administration, and Yoongi studies music, his concentration being piano and producing.

There’s an awkward silence, and you glance towards Hoseok, feeling the weight of his gaze on you. He’s good-looking, even though he’s simply dressed in a T-shirt with some graphics on the front and a pair of discoloured jeans. Knowing him, he probably has a crazy jacket upstairs, because you know he’s good when it comes to fashion.

It’s what attracted you to him in the first place.

“How are you?” you ask him, and you notice Yoongi’s pointed gaze on you. It’s disapproving, you think, but the question left your mouth without you even wanting it to.

“I’ve been great,” Hoseok replies, though it’s a little colder than what you know him to be.

You nod, gaze dropping to the ground as Ria strikes a conversation with the three others, clearly trying to give you and Hoseok some space. It has the two of you just standing in aimless silence, until the sound of whooping behind you attracts your gaze to the beer pong table, where Jimin and Jungkook are celebrating a win. “I’m…” you trail off as you turn back to look at him. “I’m glad. How are your classes?”

He sighs. “They’re harder than first-year classes.”

You don’t miss the ghost of a teasing glint in his eyes, and you immediately latch onto it. “Oh, please, you struggled in molecular biology. I got A+ in the class.”

He chuckles, and you physically relax. Because you haven’t really talked since you ended things in November, finals coming in the way of partying and other events where you would run into him. So you didn’t know before today where you stood with him, and you’re relieved that he doesn’t seem like he’s holding a grudge.

“You weren’t in Lester’s class,” he points out. “Even Namjoon almost failed Lester’s class.”

You gasp in fake outrage. “No way! And now he’s the biochem TA.”

“I know,” Hoseok says, slightly shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

The renewed complicity between the two of you is easy, you realize, and when he suggests playing a game of beer pong, you immediately agree. Or maybe you only agree because you don’t know where Nabi, Ria, Yoongi and Namjoon went, only that they aren’t next to you anymore.

 Jungkook and Jimin are still undefeated at the table, and when Jungkook catches sight of you moving closer, he winks before shooting.

You’re not surprised when the ball goes right in a cup, leaving only one on the table. Jimin laughs as their opponents claim Jungkook cheated, and Jungkook shrugs his shoulders.

“You should know better than to call me a cheater, bro,” Jungkook says, and he runs a hand in his hair.

An infuriating small strand falls in his big doe eyes, but he seemingly doesn’t care. He glances at you once again, eyes trailing between you and Hoseok.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks when his gaze settles back on you.

You don’t miss the way his eyes dip to your cleavage before moving back to your face.

“I’m here to beat your ass,” you reply, and you offer him a shit-eating grin.

He laughs, and he sets his attention on Hoseok. “I hope you’re good, bro, because she’s just declared war.” And then he looks at you, smirking that insufferable smirk once more. His doe eyes narrow threateningly, and you find yourself wishing you had never heard him fuck before.

Because all your brain can picture right now is how you came to the sound of his grunts a couple of days ago.

“What?” you can’t help but say, though he looks away from you as the two other guys shoot, completely missing the three cups left in front of Jimin and Jungkook. 

You notice Jimin looking at you with an eyebrow cocked, and the smile on his lips means nothing good. You furrow your brows, because you know how much of a gossip he is, but thankfully enough for you, he has to throw.

You watch as he does so, landing it right in the last cup. Jungkook of course throws right in the cup too, claiming the victory for them as the two other guys grumble and leave the table, leaving the place free for you and Hoseok.

You meet Hoseok’s gaze, offering him a small smirk. “I hope you’re ready to get fucked.”

You only realize how crude your words sounded, especially considering your history with him, when he starts laughing, that contagious laugh you’ve always found cute.

“I mean, I’m a pretty good shot,” he says once you’ve calmed down. “Are you?”

You wince. “Once in a while I’m good,” you answer truthfully. “Most of the time I suck.”

“Well hopefully you’ll be good tonight,” he teases, gently nudging you with his elbow.

You offer him a determined nod, before turning to face Jungkook and Jimin. You quickly put the solo cups back in position, as Jungkook watches you with a half-smile on his lips. You don’t know what to make of it, so you ignore him.

A small, tiny, minuscule voice at the back of your head tells you he probably knows about The Incident, but you ignore it entirely like you’ve been doing for the past few days.

Turns out Hoseok really is a good shot. He lands all of his shots, but of course, it has to be the day you suck. You don’t land any, up until the redemption that brings you back into the game when Jungkook and Jimin are about to win.

It makes you scream in happiness, and you throw your arms around Hoseok’s neck, right as his hands lay flat on your waist. He pulls you close, laughing in your ear until you let go, and you have the decency to feel bad.

You’re pretty sure you broke his heart in November, and you’re pretty sure you’ll only end up breaking it again. But there’s just something in the way Jungkook is staring from the other side of the table, smile gone, that makes you want to cling to Hoseok. So you do, and when he stands behind you to help you with your next shot, you let him put one hand on your hip.

Your gaze meets Jungkook’s, and you watch as his eyes dip to the fingers on your hip. He cocks his head to the side, wets his lips, and then an infuriating smirk lights up his features dangerously until you feel like you need to look away or else you’ll combust. So you glance at Jimin, who is just smiling prettily because when is he not, and then you focus on the lone solo cup you have to aim for.

“What you want to do,” Hoseok says, leaning so he can speak in your ear. You’re infinitely aware of how his pelvis brushes your ass, and your breath catches in your throat. He continues, “is to throw in a parabola. That way you won’t hit the rim of the cup”. He grabs your wrist, lifting your hand. “From this height, it should work.”

You nod, because you don’t think you can answer, especially not as you can hear Jungkook snickering from where he’s standing. Instead, you really focus on the cup, and when you’re about to throw, Jungkook speaks up.

“Put it in, baby.”

Your brain short-circuits, and it’s no wonder you miss by a good, few inches. Jimin is a giggly mess next to Jungkook, Hoseok can’t resist his laugh, and all you can do is glare at Jungkook’s satisfied smile.

“What the fuck?” you let out.

He winks at you. “Gotta learn to not get distracted, peach.”

You hate the nickname. He knows that you do, and it’s the reason why he’s been using it for months now. Ever since one late night where you played Mario Kart together with Taehyung and Jimin, and you kept choosing Princess Peach as your character. When you went in the kitchen to grab a drink, Jungkook followed you and teased you about it, and now the nickname has stuck.

Though evidently never in front of Taehyung.

You wish you had a snarky retort in you, but all you can do is think about The Incident, and pray he can’t tell that your cheeks are burning up because of him and not because of the alcohol.

You end up losing the beer pong game, and you cringe internally as you watch Hoseok dapping Jungkook and Jimin up. You begrudgingly congratulate them, as Jungkook teases you for the loss.

“Would have thought your brother taught you better than this,” he says, nudging you with his elbow.

You roll your eyes, glancing at Hoseok, but he’s striking a conversation with Jimin. 

“Tae and I didn’t spend all that much time together, Jungkook,” you remind him. “You know I just moved in with you guys because you needed someone after Jimin left.”

Jungkook shrugs. “You seem pretty close to him.” 

He falls silent, pulling at his piercing as you glance at his features. You’ve left your liquid courage somewhere on the table, and you really wish you had it with you right now. Only so you could avoid the sudden wistful look in Jungkook’s haze, though it disappears so quickly you think you might have imagined it.

“He’s really protective of you,” he comments as you too remain silent, not knowing what to say.

You chuckle, because if there is a thing that is true, it’s that your older brother is an overbearing asshole. “That he is,” you agree, and you both laugh.

“Hey, do you want a drink?” Hoseok suddenly asks, and you realize that Jimin has disappeared. 

You’re pretty sure Jungkook is eyeing him up and down when you reply, “Please, I need a new drink.”

Hoseok beams, and you make to move towards him when Jungkook grabs your arm to stop you. Your eyes widen, The Incident flashing in your mind, but his tattooed fingers let go of you as you throw him an inquisitive look.

“I’m not drinking tonight,” he admits. “I came with my car, thought I’d offer to drive you home.”

At that, your eyebrows shoot towards your hairline in surprise. “What?”

He shrugs, corner smile back on his pink lips. “As long as you don’t get sick, that is.”

You ponder for a time, because you were supposed to sleep over at Nabi and Ria’s dorm tonight. You reckon heading home would probably be better, especially now that Hoseok has caught your attention again.

Maybe you can give Jungkook a piece of his medicine.

“Ayt,” you tell him, moving closer as a secretive smile moves on your lips, brought up by the evil plan that is just starting to form in your brain. “I’ll find you later?”

Jungkook looks down at you, tongue pushing on the inside of his cheek as he tilts his head to the side. A smirk moves on his lips and he glances at Hoseok before settling his doe eyes back on you.

He looks nothing like a doe when he says, “I’ll be waiting for you.”

And then he’s the one that walks away, and you can’t breathe for a few seconds as Hoseok waits patiently, either unaware of the situation or not caring. Though you know he knows Jungkook is your roommate – he probably just thinks Jungkook is being nice.

You inhale deeply, before turning to look at Hoseok as you let out your breath. “So, drinks?”

He smiles, genuinely, nodding his head as he offers you his hand to take. To your surprise, he pulls you close to him, and the way his gaze looks down on you makes you all too aware that you used to fuck him, and he used to fuck you good.

“What are you drinking tonight?” he asks, head dipping so he can ask the question in your ear.

“What do you want?”

His smile turns a little dangerous, and he looks over your head to the doorway to the living room. “Shall we?”

You laugh, nodding your head enthusiastically, and you let him pull you behind him. He guides you to the drink table in the living room, where he makes you a rum and coke as you scan your surroundings. You spy Ria and Nabi dancing, and you only understand why when you notice that Namjoon is nearby too, with Yoongi who’s just standing to the side, scrolling on his phone as if bored.

You know Hoseok likes to dance. That’s how you first kissed all those months ago, so you don’t hesitate to ask if he wants to join your friends after you’ve both drank a couple of sips from your respective solo cups. He obviously agrees, and you take his hand to guide him to your friends. You’re painfully aware of how Yoongi raises his head when you get closer, eyes dropping to your entwined hands. He furrows his brows disapprovingly, and you wonder if he’ll speak up.

If he’ll speak up and ruin your plan for you. 

He doesn’t, instead meeting your gaze as if daring you to do something. It makes you feel bad for a split second until Hoseok lets go of your hand to rest a hand on your hip as he nestles his lean body against your back.

“You know,” he says in your ear, and you look away from Yoongi, refusing to acknowledge his challenge. “I always wondered why you ghosted me.”

You gulp, and you follow his lead as he makes you sway your hips against him. Ria whistles and your eyes widen a little as if to say ‘please not right now’.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, and it’s true. “I didn’t really mean to ghost you, just got busy and…”

He laughs, and you’re surprised to hear it ring true. “Y/n,” he says. He leans even closer, and his lips brush your ear. It makes goosebumps rise all over your body, right as he continues, “You can say you got scared. I gave you plenty of reasons to be scared.”

Because you had agreed on no feelings, and he still had developed some, hadn’t he?

“I’m still sorry, ghosting you was shitty of me.”

He chuckles, and you’re starting to recognize the man that he is in the bedroom. His voice is low, husky, when he says, “Should I punish you for it?”

The Incident and Jeon Jungkook are thousands of miles from your thoughts when his words settle in, making heat pool at your core.

“You’d still want to do this?” you ask, breathlessly.

He nibbles at your earlobe, and you instinctively tilt your head to the side to give him better access. He kisses under your ear, tongue darting out to taste your skin, and this time Ria fully hollers in front of you.

You glare at her, only to see that she and Nabi are having the time of their life watching you.

“I haven’t been able to forget how good your pussy feels wrapped around my dick,” Hoseok replies after he’s sucked a hickey on your neck. “Trust me, if I can fuck you again, I’ll do it.”

You don’t hesitate when you turn around, resting your forehead against his. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

And you know you would. Especially considering how tense he was when you first talked to him tonight. 

“Sweet of you,” he comments, and a smirk grows on his lips. He pulls away from you, taking a sip of rum and coke. “I wasn’t catching feelings for you, if that’s what you were worried about.” He pauses as his face falls fully serious. “You just don’t like when people treat you right.”

You’re insulted. You really are, yet… he isn’t entirely wrong. The minute a guy gets too close, you dip – you blame that on the fact your father abandoned you and Taehyung when you were still kids.

“Is that why Yoongi is glaring at me?” you ask, a little colder than intended. 

The message still passes, and Hoseok shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t care what Yoongi thinks. He always thinks he knows me better than I do but, trust, he doesn’t.”

You’re surprised at just how bitter Hoseok’s sentence sounds. You always thought Yoongi and he were best friends. It’s strange to think that maybe they aren’t, or at least maybe they aren’t close enough to be.

“Anyway,” Hoseok adds when you remain silent for a little too long. “If you’re willing to fuck again, I’d be down. I haven’t found another pussy like yours since the last time we fucked.”

Which coincidentally is the last time you had sex with anyone. You’re not surprised Hoseok fucked some other people after you – with his easy charm, you know he can have anyone wrapped around his finger pretty easily. 

And if he wants to participate in your evil plan so willingly, who are you to tell him no?

“The night’s barely started,” you point out. “But maybe you can come back to my place later?”

You’ve never invited him over before, because if there’s a thing that scares you more than anything in this world, it’s Taehyung hearing you having sex with some guy. But now that your brother is in Paris, you figure it doesn’t matter.

Plus, if you want Jungkook to get a taste of his own medicine, you have to bring Hoseok home.

“Deal,” Hoseok tells you, and he seals the deed with a searing and unexpected kiss.

You still kiss him back, hungrily, your body remembering just how good Hoseok can make you feel. You just have to make it through a party – with Jungkook driving you home, you know it’s likely you won’t leave until the party is starting to dwindle down.

When you pull away, Hoseok licks his lips once, as if wanting to remember the taste of you, before saying, “I’ll find you at the end of the party”.

You nod, and begrudgingly let him leave when he walks over to where Yoongi is standing, now joined by a baffled Namjoon, who glances between the two of you a couple of times. You ignore him, instead focusing on Ria and Nabi as they drunkenly pull you away, laughing wildly.

“What the fuck was that?” Ria asks in between two sets of laughter as you emerge in the kitchen. “I thought you said you didn’t want him anymore.”

You don’t want to jinx your plan, so all you can think to do is shrug your shoulders nonchalantly. “It just happened.”

In a weird moment of soberness, Nabi says, “Please don’t lead him on. He’s a decent guy”.

You tell your friends what he told you, and they both seem taken aback, yet they don’t question it. After all, the amount of alcohol in your blood is enough to make it so it’s a little hard to think profoundly, and inhibitions have flown out the window before you even got to the party.

After the conversation is over, your two friends insist on playing beer pong, claiming that they need you to encourage them. You recognize Dave at the table – you think that’s his name – and you all cozy up next to him as you ask to be next. You linger behind, mostly because you’ve noticed someone you’ve been avoiding ever since you got to college last semester, and you hope he doesn’t notice you.

Maybe he’s one of the reasons why you’ve been struggling with people treating you right, like Hoseok mentioned. Because Sam was your first love, and he played you immensely.

If he notices you, he doesn’t look like he does, instead keeping his arm tightly wrapped around the girl next to him. You don’t know her, and you wouldn’t even care if you did – you stopped caring about Sam a long time ago. But you’re still a little put off at the sight of him, and when you catch sight of Jungkook and Jimin by the backyard’s sliding door, breathing in some fresh air, you decide to join them.

Which, you reckon, is a very stupid idea. Because they are Taehyung’s friends, not yours, but they feel safer for you than being in the vicinity of Sam Hwang right now.

“Weren’t you sucking face with what’s-his-name just a second ago?” Jimin asks straight away as you stop next to them.

You snort in your cup, taking a long sip from your drink. “Maybe,” you say once you’ve swallowed.

“Tae would have killed him,” Jimin jokes, looking at Jungkook.

You don’t miss the way Jungkook’s gaze is focused on a spot on your neck, and you rub it mindlessly. 

“Good thing he’s in Paris,” you point out. “And I can trust you two to not tell him?” 

You say it like a question, though you know it’s useless. Jimin is the biggest gossip you know, and you expect Taehyung to be scolding you by the time you wake up tomorrow morning.

Though that attracts Jungkook’s attention to your face, and he meets your gaze with that same infuriating smirk he was sporting earlier. 

“Lips sealed,” he says, uselessly because both of you know that Jimin is the real danger.

Before anything else can be said, Jimin points towards the beer pong table. “Didn’t feel like playing with your friends?”

You shrug, taking another sip of rum and coke. “They don’t need me.”

“Pretty sure you’d be a liability anyway,” Jungkook teases.

Jimin and he laughs at your expanse, and you’re stuck glaring at Jungkook, right as The Incident takes the forefront of your thoughts again.

You wish it would stop haunting you. Wish it would leave you alone, because you feel like it was the cataclysm to a series of bad decisions. The first event of a butterfly effect that is threatening to push you over the edge of the cliff.

“I did get the redemption shot,” you point out, and Jungkook playfully nudges you again.

“Doesn’t count, your little boyfriend got all the other shots for you.”

Your gaze widens. “He’s not my boyfriend!” you quickly defend.

Admittedly a tad too quickly.

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, wetting his lips before playing with his piercing. “Of course not.”

You narrow your eyes at him, though you remain silent because you feel like saying something else would be far too incriminating. 

“Leave her alone,” Jimin jokes. “She did her best.” And then his gaze settles on you, and you balk at the mischief burning in his eyes. “Not her fault if her best sucks.”

“Bruh,” you let out, and you all burst out laughing.

After that, the conversation moves on easily, as you ask Jimin about his girlfriend. He starts gushing about the girl – he always does whenever Sera is mentioned. He tells you about her latest publication, and Jungkook looks bored out of his mind by the time something catches his attention, and he walks away from you and Jimin.

You watch him leave, somehow disappointed, but you entertain the conversation with Jimin for longer still. And Jimin is fun to be around, easy to talk to, and you don’t realize but an hour has passed before he glances down at his phone.

“Shit, I gotta go,” he admits. “I told Sera I wouldn’t be home too late.”

Your solo cup has been empty for half of the hour, so you raise it and say, “Go home, I’m going to get a refill.”

He hugs you goodbye, though you both walk together towards the living room. You part ways as you head to the drink table, once again scanning the room in search of your friends. They are nowhere to be seen, so you set on exploring the house after you’ve made another rum and coke for yourself. 

You find the stairs, and you head upstairs thinking they might have needed to settle in a calmer environment. Knowing Nabi, it is to be expected, yet you don’t find them anywhere upstairs. There’s a closed door leading to what you think is a bathroom, but you refuse to look in there.

You almost let out a startled yelp as it opens, and Jungkook steps out, pretty lips swollen red as he leads a girl behind him. At the sight of you, he lets go of her hand, and she looks between the two of you curiously. As both of you remain entirely silent, she furrows her brow but then dips, running a hand through her visibly tangled-up hair.

You can easily imagine what she and Jungkook were doing just a moment ago.

“Really?” you tell him.

His tongue pokes his cheek, and he laughs. “You asked me not to fuck at home anymore.”

You purse your lips, actually surprised that he took your word into account.

“Didn’t expect you would respect it.”

He doesn’t fake the offence that paints his features. “I’m not an asshole, peach.”

The nickname is said condescendingly, and you reckon you should feel a little bad. Because you’re still set on bringing Hoseok home tonight, no matter if Jungkook decided not to fuck anyone at home again.

“Sorry,” you apologize, not knowing what else to say.

Silence moves between you, and Jungkook leans against the doorframe, arms folding on his chest. He watches you carefully, as if he’s never really seen you before and, frankly, you wish he’d looked at you like this before.

It’s a treacherous thought, and you push it away as best as you can. 

“Jimin went home,” you tell him, feeling the need to fill the silence with something, anything.

Before he can reply, a group of people move upstairs, talking loudly. Jungkook pushes up from the doorframe, walking towards you.

“Do you want to go home too?” he asks when he’s right next to you.

He’s tall. You have to tilt your head back to be able to hold his gaze, and damn you, you’re hypnotized. You don’t want to look away, don’t think that you can.

“You already want to go home?” you answer, wetting your lips, and his eyes drop to your mouth.

He scoffs, as if it’s an inconvenience, before shrugging his shoulders. “I’m not drinking, I don’t see why I’d stay longer.”

Right.

“Why aren’t you drinking anyway?” you ask, genuinely curious. 

He smiles, with no hint of that infuriating smirk for once. “Got morning shift at the library tomorrow.”

The fact he works in a library still makes no sense to you. Though he’s claimed it’s because that way, it’s easy to approach all the pretty, intelligent women who don’t go to parties. Easy targets for a fuckboy like him.

“Ah,” you let out. “Well…” you glance at the group of people as they get out of the room where the coats are. When you resume your attention on Jungkook, you’re struck thinking he’s moved even closer. “My friend is supposed to sleep over, can I go find him?”

You say it innocently, and you don’t miss the way Jungkook frowns slightly. “Who?”

You force Hoseok’s name out, mostly because the way Jungkook is looking at you right now is making you want to disappear through the floor.

“Ah, the guy you played beer pong with,” Jungkook comments. “Thought he wasn’t your boyfriend.”

You furrow your brows. “He isn’t.”

A smirk grows on his lips. “Then why are you bringing him home, peach?”

Your own smirk is easy to come to your lips as you reply, “I’ll let you imagine.”

“Your brother wouldn’t approve.”

As he licks at his piercing, you can’t help but look down at his lips. “Good thing you’re not my brother then.”

He doesn’t reply, only looks over your head as you hear the unmistakable laugh of Jeong Hoseok. It makes you take a step back, and you turn to see Hoseok appearing at the top of the stairs. To your surprise, he’s accompanied by Ria, Nabi and Namjoon, but Yoongi is nowhere in sight.

Namjoon is helping Nabi walk, as she’s clearly gotten even drunker since you abandoned them downstairs. You wince at her sight, knowing she’s going to be a nightmare tomorrow. 

Ria catches sight of you and Jungkook, and her gaze widens.

“Here you are!” she shrieks. “We were looking for you everywhere.”

You don’t miss the way Hoseok looks you up and down, and you thank your stars for making this so easy. “I was thinking of heading home,” you tell the group, and you glance over your shoulder to confirm it with Jungkook.

He’s got an unreadable expression on his features, one that makes you think you’re going to enjoy your payback way too much.

When you look back to the group, it’s to see Hoseok cocking an eyebrow as if to say ‘Am I still coming?’ You nod, and you take a few steps towards him, interlocking your fingers with his. Ria watches as if it’s a scene from her favourite movie, and you all enter the room with the coats. 

You find yours in the mess on the floor, fast enough to catch sight of Jungkook as he’s waiting outside the door. You recognize his coat in the mess, so you grab it before bringing it to him.

“Here,” you tell him.

He chuckles. “Thanks, peach.”

Hoseok is next to follow, and the two guys eye each other before you hear Namjoon say, “Are you sure you’re fine with getting her home?”

You look into the room – Nabi is now lying on the bed, laughing to herself.

“Hopefully, yeah,” Ria answers. “I’ve already called an Uber.”

Namjoon is watching Nabi with a strange expression on his features when he says, “You guys are still at the dorms?”

“Yeah, we are,” Nabi slurs. “Where else would we be?”

Namjoon chuckles, and he glances your way. You immediately look away, right as he says, “I’ll come with you guys, then.”

Your thoughts head to his girlfriend for a few seconds, feeling bad for the girl, though clearly, Namjoon is just trying to be a gentleman. When you see Jungkook and Hoseok waiting patiently for you, you forget all about Nabi, Ria, Namjoon and his hypothetic girlfriend, especially as you see the not-so-genuine smile on Hoseok’s lips, and the dark look in Jungkook’s gaze.

Maybe your plan was a little too evil after all.

*****

The night is cold outside ─ arctic ─ and you wish you were drunker. That way, you’d barely feel it, but no, you’re forced to a shivering mess as you walk behind Jungkook towards his car, which he was forced to park a few streets over because of a recent snowstorm. All that can be heard is the sounds of your shoes crunching in the snow and the distant buzz of the highway. Up above, the stars twinkle in the night, and smoke moves from your mouth to create a cloud over your head.

You hate winter. Always have, and always will. Especially when it’s so cold you feel like your face will fall off, and you reckon tonight is one of the coldest nights in a while. 

Your eyes trail to Hoseok, and you smile in relief – at least your bed won’t be cold tonight.

You finally reach Jungkook’s car, and he unlocks the doors, the sound reverberating through the cold air. You sit in the back seat with Hoseok, pushing Jungkook’s gym bag to the side, and Jungkook is quick to turn on the engine, blasting the heater on. He meets your gaze in the rearview mirror as he waits for the engine to be warm enough to actually start driving. 

For a moment, you forget Hoseok is next to you. All you can focus on is Jungkook’s gaze. Where it’s usually wide, big and innocent, his eyes are narrowed now, as if he’s eyeing you. Judging you, even. Judging your choices, and you think he’s full of shit for it – he’s the first one to fuck around whenever he has the opportunity, after all.

A moment later, he deems the car finally ready, and he looks away, focusing on the street instead. He turns up the music on the stereo, and you watch as he taps his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat. You do so until you feel Hoseok’s hand landing on your thigh, which attracts your attention to him.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Hoseok says, not too loud, but clearly Jungkook hears because his fingers stop tapping on the wheel.

You smile, glancing down at Hoseok’s lips. They look chapped from the cold, yet when he smiles that bright smile of his back, you can’t help but think they are still inviting.

“Please don’t judge the state of the apartment,” you whisper, leaning closer to him. “This idiot doesn’t know how to –“

Jungkook slams the brakes, and you whip your head towards him as the aftershock sends you back into your seat. His eyes are gleaming with barely concealed mischief, and the infuriating smirk graces his lips.

“Sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t seem apologetic at all.

You roll your eyes, but that kills the conversation until you arrive at your apartment, which thankfully isn’t too far away from the party. Jungkook parks out front, and you all file out of the car, walking up the stairs to your door. You unlock it while the two men stand next to you, and you’re not sure what’s colder – them, or the actual winter night.

You’re not sure you want to know the answer either.

Warm air wraps you in its embrace as you open the door and step in, and you quickly shut it after the two men to make sure the cold doesn’t come in too much. By the time you’ve turned back around, Jungkook’s already halfway to his bedroom.

“Good night,” he says over his shoulder. 

For some reason, you expected him to be more of an ass about the situation, but you’re reduced to thinking he actually doesn’t care all that much. You watch him until he disappears in his room before your eyes slide to Hoseok.

He’s been observing you all this time, and the moment your eyes meet, he smiles.

“We can hang our coats in the closet,” you tell him as you unzip yours, and he follows your motion.

You grab a hanger for him, handing it to him before taking off your coat and hanging it. Once that is done, you head towards your room, pit-stopping in the kitchen to grab glasses of water. You reckon you didn’t expect him to be so silent, and it makes you slightly uncomfortable.

Even when you’re in your room, and you’ve plugged in your fairy lights, Hoseok still doesn’t say a thing. 

“You good?” you ask him, doing your best to calm your sudden nerves.

Was it a good idea to bring him here after all?

He grins, nodding once. “The apartment isn’t as messy as you let it sound like.”

Not expecting that at all, you let out a small laugh. But he isn’t wrong – out of the three of you, Taehyung is by far the messiest. And now that he is gone, Jungkook and you have managed to keep the apartment tidy and clean, though sometimes Jungkook does leave some dirty dishes around.

“Oh,” you let out, and you chuckle. “Yeah, we cleaned this week.”

Last Wednesday, actually. Right before Jungkook had his pussy appointment, it turns out.

Hoseok looks around, and you gaze at his honey skin for a time. It looks warm in the lights, and his smile is still just as blinding when he offers it to you.

“Like your room.”

You scan it as if you haven’t lived here for months now. You’ve brought most of the stuff you had at home – except your collection of plushies. Polaroid pictures of you growing up are hung on threads over your desk, which is a little messy from the project you were working on yesterday. Your laptop lays there unattended, screen black, and you walk over to shut it absentmindedly. 

“It’s not much, but it’s home,” you tell him, and you don’t have time to turn around for him to put his hand on your hip like he was doing earlier at the party. 

You take a long swig of water, before putting the glass down on your desk. Hoseok imitates you, and then his other hand finds a home on your waist.

“Feels like you,” he whispers, head dipping down so he can say the words in your ear.

You shiver, eyes fluttering shut, as he moves your hair out of the way before kissing on the hickey he sucked on your skin at the party.

“Yeah?” you breathe out.

He nods, and you feel him move against your neck. He pulls you closer, and your breath itches in your throat when you feel his dick against your ass.

“Fuck,” he curses. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you again for so long.” He nibbles at your earlobe, and one of his hands moves to your neck, holding you firmly into place. “But you had to run away, thinking you knew me. Baby,” he pauses, as his fingers dig in your arteries, making your head swim with the lack of oxygen, “you don’t know me at all. And I’m going to fucking punish you for it tonight. Understood?”

He releases his hold on your neck, and you suck in a sharp breath. “Yes.”

“Mmh?”

You know exactly what he wants, and it makes your insides boil again. “Yes, sir.”

He smirks against you, before biting at the skin of your neck. “You’ll be a good little slut for me?”

You nod, entirely unable to form a sentence. You’ve completely forgotten that the goal of tonight is to make Jungkook pay for how he’s been having loud sex. All you can think about right now is the man behind you.

“Then turn around, baby. Strip out of your clothes.”

You obey, mostly because Hoseok brings out a submissive part of you that just craves to do what he wants. Yes, you’ve always been more on the submissive side. But with other people, you can’t help the brat in you.

You fear being a brat with Hoseok would be a very dangerous game to play.

You don’t break the eye contact as you take off your clothes, slowly. He doesn’t look away from you, though he wets his lips as if the sight of you is making him hungry. 

Hoseok has a duality you have rarely seen before. Where he is an incredibly sweet person in his regular life, his bedroom self turns into a demon, a force to be reckoned with. No wonder sex with him is always so good.

When you’re finally naked, panties pooling around your ankles, Hoseok offers you a smirk. He doesn’t say anything, but he slowly undoes his belt, before motioning for you to get closer.

Only one step separates you from him, and then you’re standing right in front of him. He raises his hand, making you tilt your head back, and then he captures your mouth in a hungry kiss.

You can’t help but moan when he swats the belt at your side, the leather making your skin tingle. He pushes his tongue in your mouth, and your hands instinctively grab onto the hem of his shirt.

“Nu-uh,” he tuts, making you let go of it. “Get on your knees, baby.”

You drop to your knees, eyes darting to the bulge in his pants once before he makes you tilt your head back again. You gulp, right as he wraps his belt around your neck until the buckle is pressing against your skin. He doesn’t make it tight enough to hurt, but your hands still shake a little at being so vulnerable in front of him.

“You remember the safe word?” he asks.

“Red.”

He nods appreciatively. “And if you can’t speak, you tap my leg, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fuck you look so good like this.”

Not knowing if you can touch him, you just smile up at him, wetting your lips.

“Want to get a taste of me?”

You already know where this is going to lead. Hoseok fucked your mouth more than once in the three months you had casual sex with him. So you answer, “I want you to come down my throat.”

He smirks. “Good girl.”

With his free hand, he unbuttons his pants, before pushing them down his legs. He doesn’t step out of them, instead palming himself through his boxers. You watch the imprint of his dick, salivating at the sight, especially as precum is already wetting the fabric.

Hoseok doesn’t have a particularly big dick. But whenever he fucks you, it feels like he’s the biggest you’ve ever had, mostly because he knows how to use it. Knows how to move and snap his hips in a way that makes you think you’re seeing into the future. It also makes it so sucking his dick doesn’t hurt your jaw too much, so you’re able to do it for a longer period of time.

Tonight, you have an inkling that you’ll be doing it for a while.

He pushes his underwear down, freeing his dick. Your eyes drop to it, not surprised to see the angry, swollen tip. He looks like he’s about to burst, but you know it’s a trick of the eye – Hoseok has more stamina than one would think.

Holding the base of his dick, he brings the tip closer to your face. Your mouth falls open, expecting him to push his cock in, but he instead taps your cheek with it.

“I want to ruin you,” he says in a low voice. “I want you to never be able to fuck another guy because you still think of me.”

You gulp, tongue darting to wet your lips. He gets the cue, and he brings his dick to your mouth. You don’t hesitate before licking at his slit, the salty taste of his precum filling your mouth. You then wrap your lips around the head, giving a tentative suck as your tongue plays with the underside of it.

He grunts, cocking his head to the side. And then he starts pulling on the belt – just a little, not enough to hurt, but enough to make it so it’s a tad harder to breathe. He’s usually pretty safe in his sex practices, but you feel like this could be dangerous.

You only then understand what he really meant by punishing you, and it makes your pussy drip on your thighs.

You moan around his dick, before slowly pushing forward until he hits the back of your throat, and your eyes water. You swallow around him, keeping the gag reflex at bay as he circles his hips. You pull away from his cock to move to his balls instead, still not using your hands as you lick at the spot between them, licking up his dick at the same time.

“Hands on me, baby,” he commands.

As per usual, you obey. One of your hands moves to fondle his balls, and the other wraps around the base of his cock so you can jerk him off as you suck. And then you get to work, eyes shutting as you concentrate on pulling grunts out of him.

He doesn’t let you do it for a long time. He’s quick to pull on the belt more – it’s a leash more than a belt, is it? – which makes you pull away, lips parted as you struggle to suck in some air.

“Eyes on me,” he tells you. “I want to see you cry as you choke on my dick.”

When he guides his cock back towards your mouth, you keep your eyes on him, ever so a good girl, and you let him thrust in your mouth. The first two times he does it, your gag reflex doesn’t show up, but the third time you gag, spit rolling on your chin as he pulls away. A line of drool connects his tip to your mouth, and it breaks as he once again taps his cock on your cheek. Tears water your eyes, and he watches you blink them away, slightly shaking his head in disapproval.

You know that was your last chance when he pushes his dick in your mouth again, establishing a steady yet hard rhythm that has your gaze blurring. You moan against him, right as he grunts, whispering filthy curses entwined with mentions of your name. And when he starts going faster, the sounds of you choking get louder. It’s indecent, pornographic, and tears roll on your cheeks as he throws his head back, grunting loudly.

“Fuck, baby.”

He stops at the back of your throat, looking down at you. He wipes some tears on your cheeks as you swallow around him. His dick twitches inside your mouth, but you know he’s not about to come.

Soon, perhaps, but not just yet.

“You’re okay?” he asks, because even though he’s pretty rough, he always does care about his partner too. 

He lets you pull away to catch your breath, releasing his tight hold on the belt too. You breathe raggedly, throat feeling raw from the intrusion.

“Yes,” you breathe out. 

“Good.” He licks his lips, offering you a dangerous chuckle. “You’re going to let me come down your throat?”

You nod, and he taps the tip of his dick against your sealed lips. You don’t remember shutting your mouth, so you open it wide again for him. He pushes forward, slowly, until all of it is embedded in your mouth, head pushing against the back of your throat. He remains unmoving long enough for you to gag, and then he pushes forward even more before pulling back.

When he starts fucking your mouth again, you know he’s chasing his high. So you fondle his balls, moan around his dick, try not to choke whenever he hits the back of your throat. Evidently, you still do sometimes, and tears roll down your cheeks by the time he growls, “Open your throat up for me, baby”.

You moan one last time, as he pushes all the way to the back of your mouth, grunting loudly as hot spurts of his cum fills your throat. As his dick twitches, he pulls out a little, and you know better than to swallow right away. So you patiently wait as he finishes, before fully pulling away. 

He grabs your jaw, and forces you to tilt your head back. “Open up.” You do, and he spits on top of his cum before saying, “Swallow”. You do that too, and the next time you open your mouth, it’s fully empty. Only then does he let go of your jaw, and he also quickly takes his belt off from around your neck, letting it drop to the floor.

It falls with a loud thump, and you breathe in deeply for the first time in a while. Your throat aches, and you massage your neck where the buckle left an indent in your skin. Concern grows on his features as you chuckle awkwardly, getting up from the floor.

Your knees are already hurting, and you know you’ll have bruises by the time you wake up tomorrow.

“Is your neck okay?” he asks.

You drop your hand, and his fingers ghost over the spot. “Yeah,” you reassure him. “It’ll be okay.”

“Good.” He smirks, and then he captures your lips in another heated kiss. One of his hands moves between your thighs, and he feels your wetness, groaning in satisfaction. “You’re dripping for me,” he says as he pulls away from the kiss, resting his forehead against yours.

“I am.”

He licks at your mouth, before saying, “Too bad you won’t be getting some tonight, mmh?”

And he moves his hand away from your core to settle it on your waist instead.

“What?” you let out.

At this, he laughs, and it’s a little mean. “You think I’ll make you come when you’ve ghosted me for a few months?” He pauses, letting his words sink in. “Nah, you’re going to have to work for it, baby.”

You want to curse him, but somehow it just turns you on further. “When can I see you again then?”

He ponders for a time, pulling away so he can meet your gaze. “What about next weekend?”

You’re disappointed, but you try not to let it show. “Any chance you’d be available during the week?”

“Maybe,” he says, cocking his head to the side. “Will you be nice and not touch yourself until then?”

You bite at your bottom lip, nodding once. 

“Then yes, we can hang out this week,” he concludes. He frees your lip from your teeth with his thumb, before gently tapping your cheek. “But I’ve got to go now.”

It surprises you. Back when you were friends with benefits, you always stayed the night at his place, so you expected him to stay tonight. But he immediately steps away from you, putting his clothes back on quickly as you just stand there, naked and awkward.

“You’re leaving?”

He glances at you as he’s putting his belt back on. “Yeah, won’t have you think I’m into you like that again.”

It hurts just a tad little bit, but at the same time you agree with him. Not sleeping over is a good way to avoid feelings, so you decide to throw on a pair of sweatpants and a sweater so you can walk him to the front door.

Hoseok kisses your forehead once when you get there, before grabbing his coat. You watch as he slides his arms in it, draping it on his shoulders before he bends down to put his shoes on too. When he straightens, he offers you a hug and you gladly embrace him as he wishes you good night.

You’re somehow confused as you shut the door behind him, and you stay there for a few seconds, almost expecting him to come back. He doesn’t, and you’re left heading to the bathroom to brush your teeth, only so you can get rid of the taste of him, and then you head to your bedroom.

And as you lie awake in bed, the only thing you can hope is that Jungkook didn’t hear you after all. You’re ashamed of what you did, but you’re far too tired to think about it deeply. All you can do is stare at the wall in front of you, hoping that sleep will take you.

It doesn’t, not until the early hours of the morning, when the sun is starting to kiss the horizon, turning the sky to liquid gold.

Teaser | Chapter 1.5 | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

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[angelbarelywrites]

♡ tommy gets jealous | oneshot

♡ fandom; Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2003/2006)

♡ characters; Thomas Hewitt

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡cw; mentions of kidnapping and violence, don’t date people who want to slash you irl not a good foundation for a relationship

♡notes; I put on my big boy panties and wrote something other than a bulleted list!!

I just love a good “i trust you but i sure as fuck don’t trust anybody else” type jealously trope. Also some Tommy doing ASL!! We love a (selectively?) mute king.

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

You were an oblivious person. Most of the time, anyways. You’d been totally shocked when Luda Mae didn’t let you leave the night you arrived at the Hewitt house, totally shocked when Charlie told you Thomas was obsessed with you, and more surprised still that Charlie had been right.

You weren’t stupid— you put two and two together that these folks were cannibals as soon as you saw the basement. You nearly talked Monty into letting you go, and you slipped your restraints a couple times before you were settled in. You’d done well in school and still could read a book in one sitting.

Maybe… socially inept was a better word, harsh as it sounded. It was only people that you had a such a hard time with. You trusted them, but you could almost never wrap your head around what they were thinking.

Like the customers that stayed too long . It happened a lot. Bikers and tourists and all sorts of folks would stop in when you were working in the convenience store, and usually more than once a day a man would stay leaned on the counter, chatting away until his buddies were about to leave him. Sometimes they’d be alone, and Luda would give you a break early and they’d go off looking all huffy.

It very rarely occurred to you that the men were trying to flirt. You didn’t think of yourself as someone that happened to- and treated all customers the same. Why would they think you wanted to bang em when all you did was smile? Being nice was part of your job.

Luda Mae payed no mind to the men or your conversations. If there’d been any cause for concern, she’d be able to quash it very easily. But she found it endearing, especially your confusion and apathy when they did get balls enough to be blunt . In her mind you were so devoted to Thomas that other men were just nuisances.

That’s why no one had mentioned it to Thomas. He rarely came up to help now that you were there to help Luda Mae, but today there was extra stock, and her joints had been aching from the weather. You were on register, Luda Mae relaxed in a rocker on the porch, and Tommy stalked the aisles and put out trinkets and canned food and all the other junk you sold. You were trying not to go distract him and stood leaned over the counter, doodling on some scrap paper between customers.

“Well hello darlin,” A man drawled, hands on his belt buckle. He was trying too hard to be a real Texan, but he wasn’t from up North like you. “You got any cigarettes back there?”

“Sure do! Let’s see… got Camels, Lucky Strike- I really like these ones, the Salems, they’re menthol-“

“You look too sweet to smoke. I’ll take the Camels,”

“Well, only do it on special occasions,” you shrugged, not paying much attention as Thomas stalked towards the front “Anything else?”

“Well. That depends.”

“On?”

“If you’re free or not tonight.”

You blinked, then furrowed your brow “You tryna ask me out?”

“Well I- oho shit!” The man laughed uncomfortably as he noticed Thomas right behind him “You scared me there big guy-“

He huffed and slunk behind the counter as the man nervously tried to get back on topic “Anyways… ahem…so about that date-?”

You huffed and out a hand on your hip “Well, depends?”

He perked up a bit “On what?”

“If you can beat my boyfriend in a fight.” On cue Thomas wrapped his arms around you from behind, growling as he hooked his chin on your head.

The man quickly turned tail and mumbled something about being out of practice, forgetting the cigarettes completely. You could feel Tommy relax and turned to let him pick you up and set you on the counter. Even then you weren’t eye to eye with the giant of a man…but it was closer, and you liked feeling tiny anyway.

“…hi baby.” You cooed and loosely wrapped your arms around his neck. He huffed and nuzzled you, as he often did as a form of reassurance. You giggled and pecked his mask “Annoying, right?”

He nodded and scowled, keeping his grip tight on your hips

“…what’s wrong?”

He hesitated but pulled back to sign ‘Mine. All mine. Right?’

You giggled again “Of course! All yours- always.”

He smiled softly- the sort of expression only you could coax out of him ‘Always’

[jayparked]

85 and 92 with jake pleasseeeee 😩😩

loud moans push past your lips despite how hard you try to suppress them. you hate being in this position, hate how easily he gets you here, and hate how much you like it. the only good thing about jake sim is that he was somehow blessed by the finger banging sex gods. the way his digits piston in and out of your aching cunt has your thighs shaking, hands grasping onto him for some sort of leverage. it pisses you off that you even have to hold onto him, or look at him for that matter. but dammit he just makes you feel so, so good.

"try not to be so noisy, yeah?" chuckles jake, a little too smugly.

"shut up, jake. we agreed no talking," you bite back.

he leans closer to you, lips brushing against your ear as he drops his voice down to a coy, sultry murmur, "aw, c'mon. you don't want me to whisper sweet nothings in your ear while you get off on my fingers?"

fuck. fuck fuck fuck. that should not turn you on more. that should not have you shutting your eyes tight to avoid them from rolling back. which you're able to resist from doing. every part of your body is under your control. that is, except where it matters most.

"oh, baby look at you clenching around me. you like that? do you like the sound of my voice?"

"shut. up." you say through gritted teeth. you're half tempted to knee him in the dick. but that would mean acknowledging the very obvious tent he's sporting and if you think about that- fuck. you're already thinking about it. how girthy he is, the way you can feel his veins against your walls as he pushes his mushroom tip to the deepest parts of yourself

"c'mon, sweetheart. drop the spiteful act just this once. you can pretend we're not enemies just this once, can't you? for me?"

you consider it for a moment. just a moment.

"nice try but i'm not falling for it. just hurry up and make me come so we can go our separate ways like always."

your eyebrows furrow together as jake pouts, fingers slowing to a stop inside of you.

accepting that things are ending here, you grab your bag and pull your pants back up to your hips, swallowing how annoyed you are as you walk away from him.

"wait! y/n!" jake runs after you and grabs your arm, turning you back to face him.

"get used to the view, sim. i look best when i'm walking away from you.

"actually, i think you'd look even better under me. please let me properly fuck you. i'll show you i'm not a waste of time."

"if that's what it takes to get you to stop begging." you laugh softly, trying hard to ignore the feelings of endearment and flattery that are bubbling up to your chest.

"oh baby i'll beg for you all day if that's what you like. just say the words i'll be on my knees." and without hesitating, jake is on his knees, hands clasped together and shaking back and forth. those puppy eyes are impossible to resist, you can't deny it. so you laugh nervously instead, looking around you to make sure no one is seeing this pathetic sight.

"what happened to being enemies?" you say with a smile you just can't mask.

jake gets to his feet, brushing his hands on his clothes before looking at you with a wide, dorky smile.

"i'd like to skip to the lovers part. if that's okay with you."

for part of my 1k follower celebration send me a member and a number from this list and i'll write a short drabble about it ♡ masterlist

[hyuckmov]

haechan — settle down (rockstar hyuck) | part 1 of 3

wc: 22k (!!!!!!!) genre: angst, smut (18+ minors dni), fluff warnings: loss of virginity, very soft sex (hand-holding during sex), lots of kissing, protected sex, haechan fucks...a lot, fingering, oral (f receiving), very faint corruption kink, JEALOUSY, possessiveness (marking, signing on your body), handjob, car sex, cumplay, spit, exhibitionism (!), slight dumbification, slight degradation, titty-sucking etc, sweet aftercare a/n: i worked a lot on this and i really hope u like it.... i really hope it's hot... i hope u like rockstar haechan...please let me know what u think... (fic playlists) | browse the fic tag :)

he's been staring at you all night.

the bass thrums insistent in your chest, overriding your heartbeat, as you cling onto the barrier between the stage and the crowd. lights flash before your eyes, almost blinding you with how fast they blinked, and you can barely make out the faces of the boys onstage as they play their last song of the night. the air is damp, excitement riding high over the crowd in waves of endless screams that never seem to stop. 

and the boy on the far right, fingers moving deftly over the strings of his electric guitar, hasn't taken his eyes off you for the last five minutes. 

a sharp smile tugs at his lips, smokey makeup making his gaze ever more piercing as he looks down at you through his overgrown bangs, hairs at the nape of his neck unruly and wild. the lights throw the features of his face into high contrast, the tattoos curling on his neck and hip screaming for attention, as do the glint of jewelry scattered everywhere on his body. you feel smaller and smaller under his gaze, something lewd about the way he runs his tongue over his lips, eyes practically undressing you. he never seemed to stop moving his body as he played, bouncing on his toes or letting his body lean away from the sound, the music fuelling and becoming one with his movements as if he were a dancer.

as the music crashes and swells towards the end of his solo, his eyes slide over to yours with a practiced precision, as if he had memorized your position in the crowd. swaying his hips from side to side, his eyelids droop just slightly into a half-lidded stare, as he ruts his hips playfully against his guitar. 

the screams of the other fans are deafening, but you can hardly hear it over the rush of your heartbeat in your own ears.

haechan finally looks away, a small smile on his face as he signals to his bandmates towards the song's ending. you feel almost empty as the weight of his attention lifts off of you, pressing yourself up against the railing on tip-toe to try and catch his eye again before sinking down and feeling like an idiot. 

he was just doing fanservice for an audience member, nothing more. you try not to find his actions endearing as he slings his arm around the lead singer, mark, his surprisingly boyish laugh making your heart flutter in your chest as he waves towards his fans one more time. 

people are leaving the venue, the sounds of their excitement getting further and further away, but you stand there, reeling, clutching onto the metal barrier, sure that if you took your hands off it you would fall. finally, glancing up at the stage one last time, you're just about to leave to find your friend, the only reason you were even here, when –

"leaving so soon?" 

the boy is sitting on the stage right in front of you, leaning forward so you can see his face clearly. up close, he's even prettier than before, delicate almost doll-like legs wrapped under ripped skinny jeans, leading up to thick and toned thighs, his slender waist shadowed under his large leather jacket ridden with buckles and straps. without the bright stage lights, you can see the moles on his skin, tracing a dangerous path under the collar of his shirt. 

at your lack of response, he raises his eyebrows. "i asked if you were leaving, princess." 

"i have to find my friend," the words come out rushed. "um…jaemin? your band hired him tonight as the photographer." 

"i remember," he nods. "so…you're not a fan?" 

"no." he nods, silence filling the space between the both of you. you can see him start to formulate a goodbye, his heart-shaped lips parting, but you don't want the conversation to end, you don't want him to stop looking at you. "- but…i really enjoyed your show." 

he looks a little surprised, and a genuine smile spreads sweetly across his face. "why?" he challenges. 

"what?" 

"what did you like about our show?" his eyes glint, and you know he's teasing you. 

"the songs were good," you mumble. 

"yeah?" he licks his lips, a slight hint of nervousness showing on his face as he clears his throat. "who was your favorite member?" 

"huh?" 

"your favorite band member," he repeats, tilting his head to the side. "jeno, he's our drummer, mark's the lead singer, jisung plays bass and i…" he waves his hand absentmindedly towards his guitar, on the stand, still onstage behind him. "i'm haechan," he adds. 

if you wanted to get to know him, it wouldn't hurt to show a little of exactly how much you liked him, would it? "you were my favorite," you admit. "you…you have really good stage presence," you blurt out. 

"stage presence?" 

"yeah. when i'm in the crowd…i can't really pay attention to anything else. and you…" you swallow, heat burning up your cheeks, but the way his eyes were looking at you with curiosity making you finish your thought. "you make the audience feel like they want to please you." the unspoken truth, that you, as part of the audience, wanted to please him, hangs in the air. 

your embarrassment, at saying something so suggestive and raw, is quickly washed away by the smile tugging at the corner of his lip, a smirk that quickly spreads across his face into a grin. you're so mesmerized by it, that you're taken aback by the way he suddenly shifts, hopping down the stage lightly and standing in front of you. 

"princess," he says, softly, placing his hands on the railing next to yours so the sides of your fingers barely brush. "do you want to come to a party?" 

you resist the urge to immediately say yes. "what party?" 

"there's one after every show. jaemin will have been invited, he can take you." the venue has emptied out, even his bandmates have left the stage. and yet, his voice is pitched low as he leans in, body warmth radiating off of him, and you are so close, you can see the smudged eyeliner on his lower lash line, can make out the grey of his colored contact lenses. "you can find me there." 

"but…" you feel lost. "why can't you just take me?" 

"if we show up together, it'll seem a little like we're dating, no?" his voice is quiet, but firm. 

hurt and confusion blossoms in your chest. was it really that serious? keeping your voice as nonchalant as possible, you ask, "would that be so bad? for…for us to date?”

but you know it's the wrong thing to say. 

he exhales slowly, a brief look of pain flitting over his features. he hated doing this, hated reaching the point in conversations where rules and boundaries had to be discussed. nights where he found his girls at the party were the easiest, letting body language and long glances do the talking, as few strings attached as possible. 

but today he couldn't stop looking at you, in the front row, couldn't help sliding his eyes over and checking to see if you were watching him, a pleased thrum burning in his chest every time his gaze found yours. it seemed logical, to spend his time with you tonight. but if he'd known you'd felt like this, he never would have waited onstage. 

"what's your name, princess?" 

"y/n."

"y/n, i'm not making you my girlfriend," he states, bluntly. "i can't, and i don't want to. you can meet me at the party later, but we'll just fuck – nothing else." 

his words make you feel small, his tone harsh compared to his previous meandering way of speaking. even then, the thought of letting him walk away, to never see him again, to end this story on this moment, made you feel worse than anything.  

at the look on your face, he softens slightly. 

"i'm sorry if you thought this was going to be more," he says, quietly. "you don't have to do anything you don't want to." 

"i do," you correct him. frustrated, he sighs, and you rush to clarify. "i'll meet you at the party. just…nothing else." your end off hesitantly, unwilling to echo his crude words.

"are you sure?" you think you see his gaze darken, the tension suddenly heightening as he places one of his large hands over your own. his guitar-calloused fingertips are rough as they slide against the back of your hand, drawing shapes that burn into your skin like tattoos. you nod, but he shakes his head — slowly, sweetly patient. "i need to hear you say it," he murmurs, and the words go straight to your gut. 

"i'm sure." your voice comes out as a whisper, but he doesn't seem to mind. he leans in, and just when you think your lips are going to meet, your mouth parting expectantly, he tilts his head and kisses you softly on your cheek. 

"make sure no one sees you, princess," he murmurs, low in your ear, before straightening up. "don't make me wait too long, hm?" 

—

"did anyone follow you up here?" 

haechan sits with his legs hanging off the edge of the roof, arms slung over one of the lower rungs of the railing. he doesn't spare you a glance as he takes another drink from his bottle of red wine, knowing that you're hanging onto his every word. 

"no," you reply, voice barely louder than a whisper. you repeat yourself again, louder, hating the way your voice shakes with hesitance. "no, i don't think so." 

he exhales, shrugging off the leather jacket that hangs large over his frame, his shoulderblades moving under his white shirt, veiny arms pushing the bottle to the side as he shifts himself backwards fluidly so he's further away from the ledge, his long legs stretched out. 

"well?" and now he turns to look at you, dark eyes framed with makeup searching for yours, his gaze heavy. the piercing on his eyebrow glints in the moonlight, and when he leans his weight back on his hands, his shirt rides up so that you can see just the hint of a tattoo curling low on his hip. "are you ready?" 

feet unsteady, you shuffle over to him, standing over him as he watches you through hooded eyes. unsure, you start to sit down next to him, but a hand quickly reaches out to touch your knee, dragging his touch up the back of your thigh, the cold scrape of his rings on your skin feeling rough and claiming all at once. his lips part almost mockingly, commanding you without words to stop. 

he flicks his gaze down to his lap, eyes flickering back up to yours. eyebrows raised, as if in a challenge.

slowly, you lower yourself onto his lap, hands hesitantly grasping for his shoulders. his arms come to steady your waist, slipping under your shirt and touching bare skin, feeling the way your body shifts and moves. it's only because your body is pressed up against his, his hands are roaming up and down your thighs, that he notices something which makes him halt his movements, licking his lips. 

"you're shaking," he murmurs, now brushing the hair out of your eyes, tucking a strand behind your ear as he studies you, taking in the way you're all tensed up, the uncomfortable way your legs are folded, goosebumps erupting every time his fingertips brushed your skin, muscles trembling.

you swallow. "i've never done this before," you admit. 

his eyes widen, now removing his hands from you entirely, letting them fall. "you're a virgin?" 

you nod, heart pounding in your chest. he's looking away, his jaw set, his gaze hardened. did he hate that you had no experience? or would he enjoy that? "i can…" the words come out in a jumble, "you can teach me, i want… i want to-" 

"no." with surprising gentleness, he motions for you to move off his lap, and you follow his actions mindlessly, docile under his touch. 

"do you think i won't be good enough?" you ask, hating the way your voice comes out wounded and achy, hating how weak he made you. 

he pauses, tongue poking into the side of his cheek, and you think you can see a flash of something deep in his eyes. 

"y/n…i can't be your first time." 

"but i want –" 

"you need to be with someone who will take care of you." despite his words, his voice is cold, and clear. "i don't do that." he dusts off his jacket, shrugging it back on as he takes another drink from the bottle, eyes closed, unwilling to look at you for another second. "go home, y/n. i'll see you at the next show." 

you don't move. you kneel there, next to him, eyes desperately searching for his. 

"go home, y/n," he repeats, harshly. 

"i want to stay here," you bite back, stubbornly, hurt making your voice brittle. 

"then you'll have to watch me fuck someone else." lazily, he reaches into the pocket of his jacket for his phone, and you can see him scroll through his messages, faces and names blurring as you barely decipher him type out another message. his fingers moving across the keyboard, as the anonymous responder sends a series of heart emojis, eagerness palpable through the screen. he locks his phone, the click sound startling you out of your daze, and he puts his phone down on his lap, the action somehow mocking.

"so?" he's still not looking at you, staring straight ahead into the night. "do you want to watch?" 

and as you make your way down the stairs, shame burning at your neck and tears burning hot down your cheeks, you can swear you feel his eyes follow you all the way down. 

—

the feeling of embarrassment curdles in your stomach, and leaves a sour taste in your mouth every time you look in the mirror. it's what leads you to skip the next show, making an excuse to jaemin about 'having other plans'. and then the other, and then the other. and then it's been a week, and your friend has finally managed to drag you to one of their after-parties, pushing you through the door with a little too much enthusiasm. he knows something is bothering you, and he wants nothing more than to help take your mind off of it — but he has no idea that the something is currently leaning against the archway leading off into the living room, nursing a bottle of beer in his hands, and brushing his hands around some girl's waist in a way that made you feel sick. 

jaemin introduces you to mark, out on the balcony. mark is sweet, and friendly, a regular boy-next-door who happens to have face gems twinkling next to his eyes and leather pants tight around his thighs. he asks you about college, and work. he talks about the songs he's writing on his guitar. he catches your drink when you almost drop it over the railing, an easy smile on his face when his fingers brush yours passing it back to you, and a shy grin when he reaches out to lace his fingers with yours properly.

"i'm really busy, but i'd love to talk to you more," he says, sincerely, as he takes your phone from your hands to key in his number. he texts himself so his contact is at the top of your messages, making you promise to text him when you get back. he looks at you meaningfully, squeezing your hand before dropping it to go back to his party. 

there's a moment, where you think to follow. 

but then all of it – every touch, every glance, every speck of light you counted reflected in marks' wide eyes, — all of it is wiped clean the moment you hear a familiar low voice.

"trying to get with my friends now, princess?" 

when the light illuminates his silhouette, hurt registers before anything else. 

hickeys bloom across the side of haechan's neck, trailing down to his chest. only a simple mesh top lies underneath his leather jacket, and you can see the shadows of a few more bruises on his torso when his arm shifts, tugging the jacket open just slightly. his hair is a mess, tugged this way and that by desperate hands, and you think there may be a smear of bright pink lipstick at the corner of his lips. you can smell the reek of flowery perfume, cloyingly sweet, all over his clothes, as he leans back against the railing, eyes turned towards the party happening behind the sliding glass doors.

"i thought you said i was your favorite band member," he murmurs, a mock expression of sadness on his face. "mark's nothing like me." 

"why do you care?" you will yourself to sound more confident, letting the hurt dissolve into defiance. 

"i don't." the pout has melted off his face, a burning intensity now in the way he stares at you, making you shift uncomfortably. a moment passes, where he studies your face, eyes flicking across your features almost methodically. "so am i?" 

"what?" 

"am i still your favorite?" his voice is bitter, as if he knows the answer before asking and he doesn't like it. 

"are you seriously asking me that?" 

"princess –"

he's interrupted by a chime from your phone. the both of you glance down at it at the same time, the text and the sender unmistakeable on your otherwise empty lockscreen. 

mark <3 : thanks for talking to me today :) let me know when you get home safe! 

there's a pause. 

"mark has a girlfriend," haechan blurts out, his voice coarse. 

"what?" you look up at him, trying to figure out if this was a joke, but his face is impassive. 

"he cheats on her all the time with girls from his parties. it's his thing." haechan's still looking at your screen even though your phone has turned off, resolutely not meeting your eyes. 

it takes you a moment to gather yourself, every one of mark‘s actions and words suddenly flashing before you like a flipbook, sweet memories crumpling into dust. "are you lying?" you ask, shakily. 

"why would i?" he finishes his beer, veins shifting on the back of his hand as he crushes the empty can, the crunch of metal dissonant against the warm summer night. his next words are just as rough. "whether or not you get with mark means nothing to me. i don't care. i don't even know you." 

his words ring true, as he pushes off from the railing, leaving you alone on the balcony without another word. the abrupt end to the conversation has you turning, eyes following him as he steps back into the party, looking away a little too late as you see him gesture someone over with a flick of his fingers, her long hair covering both their faces when their lips meet. 

jaemin finds you crying on the balcony, but he can't figure out the reason. you delete mark's contact off your phone the moment you get home, and jaemin promises you he's never taking you to any other show or party with the band ever again. 

—

"there should be an empty room somewhere." the man lets go of your hand, at the foot of the stairs. "can you wait for me inside one? i'll find you in a minute." 

it's only when you're halfway upstairs, when you realise that you're really about to give yourself to a stranger for your first time. 

he has a bright smile, sweet dimples showing each time his lips turn upwards, each time he calls you baby. he's not much older than you, but there's an easy authority in the way he takes your cup from your hands and tells you to stop drinking, getting you glasses of water instead. his body dwarfs yours in size, and when you put your hand on his thigh, you see something shift in his expression that tells you he may not be as gentle as he seems. 

and when you tell him he'll be your first time, his throat bobs as he swallows, eyes dragging up and down your body with a newfound hunger. 

you've never really cared about who you lost your virginity to, not considering it a big occassion or anything to make a fuss over. your mind flits back to two weeks ago, when some boy had cared way more about it than you did. 

"you need to be with someone who will take care of you." 

anger flares in your chest at the thought of it, as you climb up the stairs two steps at a time, and it's just when you're just reaching the first landing, when you suddenly coming to a crashing halt because —

the sound of microphone feedback makes you put your hands over your ears, instinctively, the shrill sound piercing the air. 

a loud bass suddenly starts up, vibrating under your feet. did they hire a live band? the song that booms from downstairs is familiar, and with a jolt, you realise that you know it a little too well. 

that honey-sweet voice, the bitter bite to his words soothed over by the sweetest of tones – drifts up from the speaker, a haunting melody that echoes up the empty staircase, punctuated by a screaming crowd.

as if to further prove it was him, he lets out a laugh at the end of his line, the tone of it dark and sarcastic, the crowd going wild at the sound of it. 

was it a studio recording? it must be, because there was no way this band was downstairs, performing live at this random birthday party, there was no chance…

… except now mark is speaking into the microphone, greeting the audience, asking for the birthday girl. unease stirs in your stomach as you trace your steps back down, a dread that fills you up as the makeshift stage comes back into view, where the DJ had been just a moment ago. 

to where haechan stood, guitar on its stand, eyes already trained on yours, an expression of white hot anger on his face. 

—

"him? really?" 

you can still feel his touch on your arm, from how he dragged you into the bedroom. 

you're frozen on the steps. 

haechan signals to mark, ignoring the questioning looks from the members and protests from the boy as he steps off the platform, making a beeline for the stairs. his brows are furrowed, his teeth gritted as he glares at you. 

"you wanna go upstairs that bad?" he murmurs. "lead the fucking way, princess." 

he starts towards you, and you take a step back, body colliding with the door. the sound seems to ground him, and he takes a deep breath, trying to calm down, finally turning away to sit on the bed, the space allowing you to relax just slightly.

"i thought," he starts, patiently, swallowing hard. "i thought i told you to find someone to take care of you, for your first time."  

the reminder of his words feels like a stab in your chest. "i thought you didn't care," you shoot back. 

he ignores you. "did you come here with your friends? where's jaemin?" 

what the fuck was wrong with him? "who are you to tell me what to do?" 

his lips part, but no words come out. sighing, he rubs his face with his hands, still trying to calm down. "y/n," he starts again, voice pained. "i don't want to see you get hurt."

"how do you know he would've hurt me?" 

his eyes meet yours. "did you tell him?" he asks, quietly. 

"tell him i was a virgin? yes." anger seeps into your tone, as you glare at him. "he reacted very differently from you." 

"y/n that's not a good thing!" he stands up, his voice raised. "are you that desperate to get fucked?" 

you step back in alarm, tears forming in your eyes. fear, of the situation you almost put yourself in, of the boy in front of you, makes your throat close up, and you can't help the way your body tenses. the cruelness of his words settles in a little too late, an acidic burn in your chest. 

haechan feels the tips of his fingers go numb as you start to cry, guilt flooding his mind in a way he rarely felt. his face crumples, and he does't know what to do when you curl in on yourself, every sound you make feeling like a punch to his ribs.

"i'm sorry," he whispers, reaching for you tentatively. when you don't pull away, his arms circle around you, and he makes sure to leave enough space for you to breathe or break free if you wanted to. "i'm sorry," he repeats again, as you sink into his chest, needing his warmth as much as you hated his presence. 

"take it back," you mumble. "take it back right now."

"i take it back," he says, immediately. "i didn't mean any of it. i'm sorry." 

"you don't get to reject me," you start, voice shaky, "and control who i choose to be with."

he sucks in a breath, gripping onto you a little tighter. "y/n –" 

"it's…it's fucked up," you hiccup, fisting at the fabric of his shirt, crumpling it in your fists in frustration.

"i know," he breathes. "i know." 

his hand comes up to stroke your hair, and you hate how it really does manage to comfort you, your breaths steadying as he pats your back clumsily. when you think you've calmed down enough, you place your hands on his chest, and he backs away instinctively, looking down at his feet. never meeting your eyes.

"i'm tired, haechan," you whisper. "i don't want to play whatever game you're playing." he doesn't respond, so you continue. "you don't want to fuck me, but you don't want anyone else to." 

"i do." his response is so quiet, you barely catch it.

"you want other people to fuck me?" 

"no, i don't." he lifts his head, his expression conflicted. "i…i want to be your first time." 

"what?" 

when he doesn't respond, you sigh, agitated. "haechan, i already told you i don't want to play your games anymore –" 

"not a game," he cuts you off, softly. "i'll take care of you." the gentleness of his voice makes you feel small. it's almost overwhelming, the way he looks into your eyes, without his usual apathy and bitterness. 

"i thought you said you don't do that?" it takes you all your willpower to not give in. 

"i don't," he breathes. "but with you i will." he's starting to think he has no choice – that there's no one else in the world who's going to take care of you the way he knows you need. he doesn't know when he decided to give in, in between watching you place your hand on that man's thigh, and you standing in front of him now. all he knows is that he either had to do this, or make you disappear from his life entirely. 

the words hang in the air. even now, feeling so torn and hurt and tired, your body can't help how much you want him, hyper-attuned to the little details in his appearance: the messy black nail polish scrawled on his nails, smoky eye make-up that makes his gaze all the more intense and devouring. there's a heady smell hanging onto his skin and clothes, rich and indulgent vanilla and musk, filling up your senses with a giddy desire. long legs in a pair of ripped skinny jeans, his thighs stretching out the fabric in a way that almost looked like it hurt. 

"okay," you mumble. his lips part, but you answer him before he has a chance to ask. "please take care of me." your voice is small, yet each word seems to catch fire, incinerating the air between you. 

his tongue darts out, wetting his lip. "yeah?" 

you nod. finally giving in to the pull of your body, you take a step closer, looking up at him through your lashes. 

"i'm sorry…about all of it." he murmurs. "thank you for trusting me, still." 

you can't think of anything to say, so you nod again. it feels like your heart is in your throat. 

he swallows. "do you…you shouldn't…" his eyes dart around the room. "we shouldn't do it here. in…in some strangers bedroom." gently, he touches your arm, looking at you hesitantly. "would you feel comfortable if we did it in your apartment? or i could bring you to my shared apartment with the band…they wouldn't be back yet. but we might have to be quick…"

your head feels like it's spinning. 

at your lack of response, he rambles on, eyes focused on yours, trying to discern your thoughts. "w-what do you think? or…if you really want to get comfortable i don't mind booking a hotel, it's a little last minute but-" he bites his lip. "do you want to meet somewhere else or i could take you in my car? i haven't drank much, i swear, but if you don't trust me-" 

"stop," you blurt out. 

he freezes, the hand grazing your arm dropping to his side, fingers playing with the rips in his jeans. 

"i'm sorry," he says, softly.

"no, i mean…stop asking me questions." you exhale. "i trust you," you repeat, softly. every word of it was true — despite everything, you were still the same person sitting on his lap up on the rooftop. "just…take care of me, however you want." 

he swallows. "you sound…" exhaling, he shakes his head to clear it. "okay. is your apartment empty?" 

"yes," you whisper. "jaemin's away for tonight." 

"i'll drive," he murmurs. and now he takes a step closer to you, until he's all you can see, the room melting away. "but before that…can i kiss you first, princess?" you nod, transfixed by him, as he leans in. 

haechan kisses soft. 

his lips are plush, and soft, taking your bottom lip between his own sweetly. he tilts his head slowly as if he's afraid he'll overwhelm you by moving too fast, his lips parting as he invites you to do the same, his hands going to the back of your head to guide you. a soft sigh escapes the back of his throat when your lips part and he can taste you, and you can taste him — vanilla like how he smells, with the slight bite of alcohol. your hand comes up to touch his round cheeks, surprisingly soft too, and he smiles into this kiss. 

he's the one to break apart from you, with a patience that feels rehearsed. he's taking care of you, as he leans in so your noses brush, your breaths mingling. 

"haechan…" he hums, encouragingly. "i…you know this isn't…my first kiss, right?" 

a pause. "i know," he murmurs. 

"so… so you don't have to be gentle." you squirm slightly as his touch grows heavier, eyes darkening at the implications behind your words. 

he backs away from you, hands pulling you with him as he sits down on the bed. his eyes flick down to his lap as he lowers his gaze, before dragging them painstakingly up to yours again. 

"sit, princess." 

this time, when he feels you tremble against him, your knees caging in his hips as you straddle him, all he does is lean in and kiss you — just as sweet as he did the first time. 

"i'm gentle with you because i want to be," another kiss, his tongue sliding against your bottom lip. "not because i have to." his fingers guide your chin upwards, baring your neck to him as he leans in and leaves a kiss on a spot under your jaw. and then a longer, more lingering kiss. and now he's making his way down your neck, each press of his lips on your skin longer and rougher than the last, and now you're sure he's sucking marks onto your neck, especially when you feel a slight sting of teeth. 

you're shifting against him restlessly, body hardly your own as you fall under his touch. you don't know how long you spend there, in his lap, as he works on your neck, taking breaks to kiss you on the lips, his sighs echoing into the cavern of your mouth as it falls open with need. it's when he sucks lightly on your tongue, almost boyish in the way he backs away with a small smile, when a soft sound escapes your lips. 

"yeah?" he murmurs, leaning in again, letting the tip of his tongue brush against yours gently. "you like that?" 

you nod. 

"you sound so pretty," he breathes, as he slots his lips with yours again, humming against yours as you let out another small whimper. 

"haechan-" you mumble, and he draws away, looking at you expectantly. "i think i'm ready." 

"really?" his hands on your waist give you a light squeeze. "you want me to take you home now?" 

you're still giddy from the heat radiating off his skin, your lips craving his contact again now he's stopped kissing you. you nod, and he smiles, gently guiding you off his lap as he unlocks the door. 

he's gentle the whole way down – as he leads you away from the main staircase so you wouldn't be seen, the crowd still distracted by the band. he cradles you carefully against his side all the way out of the back gates and into his car, and when your breath catches as he leans over to buckle your seatbelt for you, he's gentle even as he presses into you for a spur of the moment kiss, tongue licking into your mouth with more fervor. 

it's not a song that plays in the car as he drives and you try to remember the way to your apartment, but rather it's a low and sultry beat — bluesy harmonies stretched out over pulses. part of you wonders if he played it on purpose, because imagining his voice set against it already had you melting against the leather seats.

it would all be rather sweet – how gentle he's being, the soft way he smiles at you in the dim lights of your lift lobby, the way he holds your hand and lets you lean against him as you head higher and higher, the space around you feeling like a vacuum of trapped adrenaline and lust. 

but there was also no denying the fact that he jolted at the slightest sound, his grip on you tight and slack all at once, the tenderness in his eyes here one second and gone the next. a hurt you could almost taste on your tongue, that you were holding onto something so fragile, and that to him it seemed the worst thing that could happen would be if he were found with you.

—

but all of it changes, when you're alone in your room. the weight of his attention, that you'd felt even as one person amidst a screaming crowd, seems to intensify tenfold as he lets his jacket slide to the floor, eyes on you. 

he reads the apprehension in your body, the way you hover near your bed, waiting for him to guide you. 

"let me know if it's too much, okay?" he murmurs, as he pulls you in for a hug first, feeling you warm against him as you cling on to his embrace. "you can tell me to stop whenever, and i will." his hands rub circles up your waist, teasing on the silver of skin between your top and your skirt. 

you nod, but he shakes his head – a thumb brushing across your cheek. 

"use your words," he murmurs. "so i know you mean it." 

"okay," you breathe, now guiding him to the bed yourself, curiosity getting the better of you. you had almost forgotten, in the midst of everything, why exactly you went to the party, and the familiar need sparks back to life in you. 

haechan sits down against the headboard, pulling you into his lap, the movement feeling even more natural now. he can see that you're nervous and eager at the same time, hands fumbling with the soft material of his shirt, unsure what to do as you shift around on top of him. 

"can i kiss you?" in the soft lamp light of the room, the sharp-cut edges of his face seem to blur, large doe-eyes looking up at you kindly. it makes you want to lean in, so you do — slotting your lips with his boldly, kissing him the way you wanted from him. it surprises him, the way you press your lips against him harshly, the gentle graze of your teeth against his plush lip. 

he lets out a small laugh, and kisses you back just as fiercely, the atmosphere in the room melting as temperature skyrockets, until it's almost unbearable to be separated from you by layers of fabric. 

"may i-" he mumbles, tugging at the hem of his own shirt, and when your voice chokes out an affirmative, he's quick to yank it over his head, movements rough, exposing beautiful skin, his body warm and solid under your palms as you lean into him. 

your cheeks warm, and he notices – a small smile on his face as his hands cup your cheeks, and he gives you a sweet kiss, abruptly different from the others. suddenly, it's almost too tender, the way he looks up at you with endearment in his eyes, kissing you chastely, and you sink into it a little guiltily, enjoying the innocence of it. 

when you feel your heart reach its boiling point, your own hands go to the hem of your shirt, and you pull it over your head. you don't mean to slow down your movements, not meaning to tease or entice, but the way his eyes darken looking at your body made you wish you did it on purpose. 

"pretty," he praises, head dipping to press a kiss between your collarbones. and another one, lower done, almost reaching your cleavage. the bra you had chosen mindlessly that morning was a thin bralette, and it did little to hide how aroused you were, your nipples poking stiff peaks through the fabric. 

but still, he doesn't make any move to remove it, peppering kisses on your bare chest, over the slope of your breasts, almost slobbering at your skin, lips dewy and wet. his arms are firm around you, meeting each one of your movements and steadying you, helping you rock your hips into him as desire surges in your body. 

"haechan, –" his name had never sounded so breathless falling from your lips.   

"yes, baby?" 

the term of endearment makes you feel smaller in his lap, the only thing making you feel better was the way he was just as heated as you, his breaths coming hard and fast. he wanted everything to be perfect, he never wanted to rush you into anything you weren't comfortable with, his hands staying firm on your lower back. 

you tug at the bralette covering your chest impatiently, the fabric never feeling more uncomfortable on your skin. 

"you want me to take it off?" he asks, head nuzzling into your neck as his fingers wander up your back. you feel it loosen around you, his finger expertly fiddling the clasp open, dragging it down and accidentally brushing against your hard nipples, making you hiss.

"i'll make you feel good," he promises, softly, lowering his head, kissing down the slope of your breasts. he makes eye contact with you, searching your eyes for any form of discomfort.

"be gentle," you murmur, nodding for him to continue. "they feel sensitive." 

"of course," he mumbles, before starting to lightly kitten-lick at your nipple, the feeling all at once new and arousing, making you pulse against him in his lap. he circles his tongue around your areola, being as gentle as possible, opting not to flick at your nipples but rather suck one into his mouth, heart-shaped full lips sinful against your chest. the heat between your legs is overwhelming, as he switches to your other side, his hand coming up to knead your breast, warm palms moving over skin and making you giddy. 

"please," you whimper, as he laps at you. "please, i need you, please –" 

"you have me," he murmurs, one of his hands reaching out for yours blindly, scrabbling against the back of your hand from where it's pressed against his chest, flipping it over and interlocking your fingers. "i'll take care of you. lie down for me?"

he moves you off his lap, guiding you onto your back, propping up pillows you can rest against. the familiar feeling of your bed is only faintly there, your senses filled with the sweet heady smell of haechan, from the perfume and lotion clinging onto his skin, as you watch him remove the numerous rings on his fingers, placing them carefully on your bedside table. 

haechan kisses his way down your body, suckling on your skin, leaving longer, lingering bruises on your hips, finally reaching your thighs as he lowers himself down. he guides your hips up with a heavy hand, sliding a cushion carefully under as he situates himself between your legs. you're so sensitive, that the feeling of his long hair against your skin has your thighs sliding together, squeezing around his head accidentally. 

"you okay?" he murmurs, as he kisses your thighs again, patiently easing your thighs open. 

you suddenly feel shy, knowing he was about to see you so intimately. even when you had agreed to let him take care of you, even as you trusted him completely, you had never imagined seeing him in between your spread legs like this, somewhere you hadn't even explored much yourself. would he be disappointed or disgusted? what if he didn't like what he saw or felt? 

"baby…." he rubs a hand carefully on your thigh, tips of his fingers slipping just under the hem of your skirt. "is this okay? do you want to stop?" 

"i don't want to stop," you admit, and you find that its true. 

haechan looks at you, studying your face. after a moment, he crawls back up your body, brushing the hair out of your eyes before he brushes his lips against yours softly, as if asking for permission. you grant it, lips parting as his warm mouth meets yours, a welcome taste in your mouth that's become familiar. you kiss for a while, his hand finding yours in the mess of sheets and intertwining your fingers, until you feel confident enough to slip your other hand to the zipper of your skirt. 

you tug it off your legs, haechan breaking away from the kiss to help you, moving down your body. 

"i'll take care of you," he whispers, his hand never letting go of yours. "these are so pretty, baby," he whispers, a finger tracing over the lacy pattern on the front of your panties. you've never been more aware of your own arousal seeping out of you, as he places a kiss low on your hip, and then another just on the waistband of your panties, and suddenly, you want nothing more than for them to come off. 

your fingers tug at them impatiently, and he takes hold of your hand, kissing your fingertips lightly. "let me," he murmurs, and you hear something low and raw in his voice, something that maybe wasn't there before. sitting up slightly, he pulls your panties down your legs, assuming his position as quickly as he'd left it once the fabric was out of the way, rearranging your legs so they're spread open for him. 

the tension in the room fills your lungs up like smoke. you barely mumble his name, beg him to do something, before you feel a soft touch against your clit, making your hips jolt and you let out a sharp exhale. 

"let me hear you," he encourages, gently, as he starts to rub circles into your sensitive nub, dipping down to your entrance and spreading your wetness all over your cunt. your hips keep shifting around, so he pulls his arm around to press down into you, keeping you still for him as he slowly pleasures you.

"t-this feels…" you start, lost in your own head. you've touched yourself before, but the sensitivity seemed to be heightened to an exaggerated amount once it was someone else touching you. he looks up at you, face still wickedly beautiful, the gentlest look in his eyes laced with something like desperation.

"can't believe i got so lucky," he murmurs, suckling a kiss close to your heat, high on the soft skin of your thigh. your legs clamp around his head, and it makes him groan, breath heavy against your cunt. "you're pretty everywhere, baby. can't believe i'm the only one." 

the words flood your veins with a dark thrill, the idea of being his, of him taking all your firsts. "hypocrite," you mumble, cutting yourself off with a moan as he applies more pressure to your clit. 

"maybe a little," he admits, shyly, as he dips his head back down and flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue, his fingers sliding down to your entrance instead. 

you cry out at the foreign feeling, the wet muscle of his tongue stroking your clit expertly while his slender finger slips past your entrance. his name, strung along by curses, echoes from your mouth as he teases his finger in and out of your entrance, tongue lying flat and wide as he laps at your clit in a way that made you feel like you were already close. 

stiffening his tongue, his flicks your clit with the tip, humming into you just as he curls his finger against your walls in a come-hither motion. he knows when you cum — back arching as you seemed to chase for stimulation above you, your walls sucking tightly around his finger and kneading it eagerly, making him groan as he imagines the feeling of you tight around his cock. he lets you ride out your orgasm on his face, his nose bumping your clit and eliciting another drawn out whimper, tongue teasing your entrance. 

when your hands push at his head, he backs away easily, once again making his way up your body to check on you, the warmth of his bare chest against yours making you feel safe. 

"good?" he kisses you, tongue moving against yours, inviting you to take a taste. "did you like that, sweetheart?" 

you nod, gasping. "haechan…"

"you did perfect for me, baby." his hands run up and down your sides as he kisses down your neck, enjoying the way your body wraps yourself around him, arms pulling his weight down into you. 

"i still need you," you murmur. the pleasure from before had only satiated you for a little bit, and the feeling of his hard length poking at your thigh was making your head spin with a whole different level of desire, as you grapple for his belt. "please, i've been good-" 

"you're perfect." he comforts you with a kiss. 

he guides your hand away from him gently, unbuckling his belt and letting his pants slide onto the bed as you lie back down on your pillows. tugging his underwear down, you swallow as he squeezes his thick length, the pink tip leaking clear liquid. he watches you watch him spread it on his length, pumping himself slowly, drawing out the pleasure as he moans, a sweet tenor sound that rings lewdly in the air. you watch, mesmerized, as he thrusts his hips forward a few times, stroking himself with a slight twist of his wrist before letting go abruptly, letting his cock slap up against his lower stomach. 

fishing around in the pocket of his discarded jeans, he takes out a condom wrapper, opening it quickly and rolling it onto his cock. you're sure you're making a mess of the sheets, you can feel your arousal and his saliva on your thighs, can feel another gush of wetness seep out of you as he lowers himself over your body and slides his cock against your folds. 

he grinds himself on you, hoping to get you wetter so it may be less painful when he enters you. his fingers find your clit again, this time he rubs it urgently, with just the correct amount of pressure to have you shaking and lifting your hips into him. 

"stop me anytime," he reminds you, as he lines himself up to your fluttering entrance. "you have to relax for me, baby." he pitches his voice lower now, and you can't tell if he's comforting you or if he's slowly being pulled under by lust too. he makes soft shushing noises, nipping at your lips with gentle kisses as you whimper, feeling the bulbous tip of his cock slowly stretch you open, his fingers resuming his movements. the head of his cock still feels shallow inside you, when it suddenly brushes against a sensitive spot, and his fingers on your clit glide just right, making you cum, hard. he feels you clamp down tightly around his tip, and he hisses, eyes squeezed shut. his mind wiped clean for just a second as pleasure thrums through his entire body, an aching pain that makes his mouth hang open.

"'m sorry," you whimper, tears prickling to your eyes as you interpret his expression as annoyance. "i'm so sorry, it just felt so good —" 

"baby…" he looks at you, his face morphing into panic when he sees the tears in your eyes. "don't apologise, please, you have nothing to be sorry for." 

you still look unconvinced, so he reaches for one of your hands, holding it in his and kissing your fingertips. "you are so pretty when you cum," the filthy words sound sacred the way he says them. "and you felt so fucking good around my cock," he murmurs, voice sinking low again.

you begin to relax again, sniffling slightly as you adjust your legs around his waist, feeling him slide a little deeper into you. he coaxes you into taking more of him, kissing you sweetly as he slips in further and further, until finally the both of you are groaning, his body shuddering slightly against yours as he feels your warm gummy walls tight around him. 

"so tight," he groans, cursing again under his breath as he circles his hips, drawing a moan from you as your thighs tense. "how are you so tight?," he panted, tone still teasing despite him trying desperately not to buck his hips into you. "has no one ever fucked you before or something?" 

you don't have it within you to tease back. 

"only you, haechan." the words are reverent, hushed. it strips him of any of his cockiness, his teasing, his boldness — his features softening at the way you look up at him, trying to maintain eye contact even as the ache between your legs drove you insane, not wanting to waste a single moment of this, in case it never happened again. 

"haechan…" your nails rake against his back, drawing him out of his daze. "please fuck me." 

"fuck," he breathes, as he slowly starts to move in you, obsessed with the way the words sound in your voice. his thick length drags against your walls, heavy inside you, the wet sounds of your arousal seeping into the room. you feel full and stretched out, sated by having him so close to you, it feels like you can feel him deep in your gut the way he's thrusting into you, especially when he hikes your legs higher on his waist, drawing a long moan from you as he manages to stimulate a spot inside you that has you seeing stars. 

he changes his pace, now barely pulling himself out of you as he nudges the head of his cock against your sweet spot. licking a long stripe from your neck up to your ear, one hand tangles itself with yours, while the other ghosts over your sensitive nipples. 

"i'm cumming," the words come out rushed as you barely hold onto your senses, cumming harshly for the third time, your body thrown into pleasure as your muscles tense. he succumbs to the feeling of your walls kneading his length and squeezing tight around him, eyes going unfocused and hazy as his lips part, a moan drawn out from his lungs without conscious thought. he's aware of the way your muscles tense as he fucks both of you through your highs, relishing in the sting of your fingernails on his back as he slows down his movements. he draws out both your highs by leaning in and sucking on the mark he'd left behind earlier that evening, letting his moan buzz and fizzle on your skin. 

you feel dazed and tired, arms never letting go of him, legs unwilling to unwrap from his waist as you cling to him. he rolls you both onto your sides, caressing your body sweetly and stroking your hair, mumbling questions and concerns that you can't register, nodding to everything in a blur. the weight of him feels good, his body warm and solid against your back, and once again that feeling of safety, that feeling of complete trust, washes over you. it makes you feel whole even as he pulls out of you with a wince, discarding the condom in the trash by your bedside. 

you cling to him, and he knows you need it — so he doesn't let you go, heavy hands patting your back clumsily, slightly rough and out of rhythm, just like the way your heart beats against your ribcage.

when he feels your arms loosen, relaxing finally after the high of hormones and adrenaline, he slips away quickly to the bathroom, putting on his underwear as he goes. he grabs a towel, turning your tap on to warm water and checking the temperature with his wrist as he washes his hands, his face, cleaning himself up. running the towel under the water and squeezing it dry in the sink. his movements methodical, as he slips out of your room and into the kitchen, looking around for a glass of water. 

he immediately races back the moment he hears a sound from your bedroom, shutting the door behind him just as you sit up, your expression clearing once you see him again. pulling his shirt from where it's discarded on the floor, he slides into bed, kissing you on the cheek. 

he cleans you up with soft strokes, the warm towel soothing on your skin even though he hadn't really been rough. he makes you drink from the glass of water, watching you drain it carefully. finally, slipping his large shirt over your frame, swallowing at the way it envelopes your body, a feeling stirring in his gut that he ignores. 

"y/n? are you with me?" when you don't respond, wide eyes looking up at him, he touches his fingers to your cheek. "baby?" 

each brush of his skin against yours felt like trails of fire, lingering warmth even after he pulls away. every look he gave you through his lashes, the slight pout to his lips when he broke away from a kiss, made you feel like you were caught in a riptide, your pulse out of your control. you wanted to crawl into him and make a home in his chest. you never wanted him to look at you again with his shuttered eyes, to have to dream yourself into the skin of someone else as he touched them. 

you had to tell him. "haechan…haechan i…" you reach for him, and he pulls you into his embrace, shushing you softly. you try to speak again, lips parting, but he envelopes your lips in a gentle kiss, nipping at your mouth each time you part, swallowing all your sounds with the sweep of his tongue. 

"princess…" his voice sounds raw, and coarse. "don't say anything you don't mean." 

"but-" 

"you don't know me." was it regret in his voice, or your wishful thinking? "you don't know me at all. what you're feeling right now…" he touches a hand to your chest, brushing a kiss on your cheek. "it's because of the sex, alright?" 

you shake your head. 

your next words come out slurred, your eyelids starting to droop as sleep begins to tug at your mind, threatening to pull you under. "but…why can't i know you?"  

he takes a deep breath. "i don't want you to."

"but i don't want this to end." 

he holds you tighter against his chest at your words. 

"this?" he questions, quietly. he keeps his voice light, but it still pierces your heart like a shard of glass. "there isn't a 'this' princess. this isn't happening again." 

"why?" 

"i don't want you to get attached." he cradles you even more carefully against him, freckling mellow kisses onto your forehead, the contrast between his words and his actions ringing dissonant in your ears. "besides… why would i spend the night with the same girl twice, hm?"

sleep softens the hurt from the words he's saying. his voice fades slightly, his touch against your skin roaring ever louder in your ears. "you know i won't be here when you wake up, right?" his fingers brush against your forehead lightly, pushing hair away from your eyes. 

you knew. 

but you still cried in the morning all the same — the golden-orange sunrise beautiful and terribly cruel, just like the boy you were perhaps falling in love with. 

—

you spend the weekend alone. 

you spend the weekend wondering if haechan thought of you at all, after he left. thinking if what he said was real, and it was just adrenaline and lust, then why did your heart ache at the thought of him? at his face on posters outside the small concert venue, inviting you to a show next week? why did you always turn at the slightest hint of his voice? 

you try to forget him. you try to tell yourself he wasn't worth it. but deep down all of it, a part of you still hopes, which is perhaps why you were letting jaemin drag you past the poster of haechan, into the alleyway that led backstage.

"are you sure you need me there?" you pull at jaemin's sleeve, your other hand holding onto his spare camera carefully as he guides you into the venue.  

"i do," he insists, pushing through a set of doors leading to the stage. "mark wants extra photos for their social media page and i can't be doing all of that at once." 

you can hear the boys talking just around one of the curtains, sprawled out onstage, a cacophany of sounds as they absentmindedly plucked at their instruments. you were going to see haechan again. you can't tell if it makes you want to run towards them, or go back home. that familiar sense of hope, the kind you experienced in the crowd that first night, on the balcony, in the bedroom and in the moonlight, fills you up slowly, sweet and light. maybe, if he just saw you again…

"y/n-" jaemin puts a hand on your arm, stopping you gently before you could rush onto stage. 

"yes?" you prompt. 

"i know i dragged you here, but if you're feeling uncomfortable," he starts, and you start to slip away, but he only tightens his grip. "let me finish — if you're feeling uncomfortable, or if any of them are hurting you, let me know okay?" 

you hadn't told him about haechan, something close to shame seeming to rise up and choke you whenever you tried to bring it up. all jaemin knew was that the last two times you had come into contact with the band it had upset you badly, and as your best friend and roommate he never wanted to see you crying on the balcony again. 

"what would you do? beat them up?" 

"i would leave." his serious tone doesn't change, unaffected by your attempt to lighten the mood. 

"but the money –" 

"no job is more important than you being okay," he insists. "i don't want to work for them if they hurt you. okay?" 

"okay." 

even though he looks unconvinced, his grip on your arm loosens and he takes your hand instead, pulling back the curtain with his other. 

you can hear him say something to mark about today's shoot, hear him greet the rest of the members. you guess that mark is rising to greet him, hear something like jisung and jeno standing too, but everything fades to white noise when the sight you're looking at clicks in your mind, the one member of the band who's voice you hadn't heard, who hadn't bothered to turn around at jaemin's arrival.

or rather, the one boy who was too pre-occupied to — considering he had his tongue in a pretty girl's mouth. 

haechan was facing away from you, away from the rest of his bandmates, you could really only see his broad back under his denim jacket, but the careful tilt of his head as he kissed her was all too familiar, as was the movement of his arms around her waist. and when she shifted in his lap, his hands pulling her hips down unto his, you can feel your heartbeat in your ears, a sharp pain searing at your chest in emotions you couldn't pinpoint. 

"fuck, sorry about that –" mark's voice is flustered, and now a tall boy, the bassist, jisung, is stepping in front of you, blocking your view of him. 

"sorry," he echoes, and you're momentarily caught off guard by how deep his voice is - husky and quiet. you blink up at him, fog slowly clearing in your mind, and he smiles shyly. "he doesn't usually do that." 

"who?" 

"um, haechan…" he looks back briefly, and you see haechan helping the girl to her feet, her body crumpled into his like she couldn't bear to be separated from his touch. you feel a wave of second-hand shame again – was that what you had looked like? 

and then jisung turns back to you, towering over you again and blocking everything from view. "he usually only does this after the show, but today…" 

"it's fine," you say, faintly. 

jisung looks at you, carefully. "you're jaemin's friend y/n, right?" 

you nod, half your mind still on what could be going on right now. behind jisung, you see mark pull haechan, now alone, towards a corner of the stage, whispering angrily at him. haechan is slouched lazily, picking at his nails with all the look of someone who couldn't care less about what was going on. 

"i saw you at our last show," jisung continues. "i was going to…i was going…" he breaks off, a little embarrassed, fumbling with his words. "are you sure you're okay?" 

"i'm fine, jisung." you repeat, your voice a little more firm, as you finally look back at him.

he blinks. "you know me?" 

jisung still looked worried, but there was something sweet about the way he shrunk a little under your attention, eyes darting all over your face and around his surroundings, blush tinging his cheeks.

this you were comfortable with – something completely different from the way haechan's eyes always tried to drink you in, or the way your vision would go blurry at the edges when he would stand in front of you. talking with jisung was easy, the confidence that haechan drained from you seeping back and settling in. 

he had meant it, when he said you shouldn't get attached. you just had to learn it before it brought you more hurt you couldn't justify.

"jisung," you emphasise. "of course i know you. you play bass, right?" 

"y-yeah," he stammers, pointing unecessarily at his dark blue bass guitar on its stand. "i don't know, i guess i always thought people didn't really know me even if they knew the band." he fiddles with the hem of his shirt, black hair falling over his eyes. "people usually choose to stand where haechan or mark are." 

"you usually stand on the left?" 

he nods, bashfully, and a smile tugs at your lips. 

"i'll make sure to stand there, later during the show." 

"wow, okay." he pauses for a moment, steeling himself. "how about after?" 

"what do you mean?" 

"would you want to meet…after the show?" he hesitates, voice soft. 

your brow furrows slightly. "do you mean the party?" 

"we don't have to go," he blurts out. "i don't mean…i don't mean like what haechan usually does after the show."  

his name is an unwelcome sting, but the way jisung sneaks glances up at you from where he looks down at his feet makes it a little easier to forget. "then what do you want to do?" 

"w-we can get something to eat." he says it like he just suggested robbing a bank. 

oh. "like a date?" 

mortified, his lips part, and you can tell that he's frantically trying to read your tone, trying to figure out if the idea of it made you uncomfortable, whether you were suggesting because you wanted it. it's so endearing, watching him start his sentences and stop them, the hem of his shirt crumpled and worn out by his nervous fingers. 

eventually, he takes a deep breath, and settles for a question. "d-do you mind if it's a date?" 

did you? 

was there any hope in waiting for haechan, when he had made it so clear that you would never have him again?

jisung is still looking at you like you have all the power in the world to hurt him. 

"i don't mind," you say, softly, feeling a hum of satisfaction in your chest at the way it makes his lips part in blissful surprise. a beat. "do you want it to be…?" 

"yes," he blurts out. "please," he adds, shyly. 

the awkward silence between the two of you feels good, the lightness of it familiar and giddy, like a schoolgirl crush. jisung can't stop smiling, biting his lips slightly as he turns to face mark, who's crossed to the front of the stage to speak to them. 

" — jisung, jaemin will start with your photos first. we'll just be shooting the rehearsal process today, so there's no need to-" he breaks off, brow furrowing. "jisung why are you so red?" 

"i-it's w-warm in here." 

"well you should cool off before jaemin takes your photos." jisung nods, flustered, and he walks offstage with jaemin to prepare. jeno too, strolls away with a wave to mark, leaving him alone at the front of the stage. 

with you. 

mark glances over at you, his eyes darting over your face, trying to read your expression. you can almost hear haechan's voice from that night, the ghost of the hurt still palpable in your bones. but the moment you take a step back, thinking that you should find jaemin and jisung, mark seems to have made up his mind — his face set, he starts to walk over to you, and you find your own footsteps falter.

"um, y/n, can i speak to you for a second?" 

you take a deep breath. "is this about the photos for later?" 

"no…not exactly." he clears his throat. there's a pause, as he seems to pick his words. "y/n, did i do something wrong?" 

you blink at him. "what do you mean?"

"i mean, i know it was a while ago, but i thought we were getting along fine at the party," it feels like he's rehearsed this to some capacity, or perhaps it was just the confidence of being a lead singer. "but then since then every time i saw you…i feel like you've been avoiding me." 

"i haven't been avoiding you." you take a deep breath. "mark, do you have a girlfriend?" 

his eyes widen. "are you…are you asking me out?"

"what?" you balk. "no!" 

"oh." his face falls. "i mean…i just thought…"

"that's just too bad, markie." 

it’s practically deja vu.

haechan stands behind you, his body radiating warmth, and you inhale sharply. surprisingly, he doesn't smell saccharine, the way he always does with the girls he chooses — his skin smells like baby powder and fresh linen. your body is doing that thing again – where you hone in on his presence and the whole world dissolves, and you're hyper attuned to the way his arm hovers near yours, his breath on the back of your neck. anything you were about to say to mark completely lost in your brain. 

exasperated, mark runs his hand through his hair. "haechan…don't be difficult." 

"i'm not." you feel almost numb when his hand touches your elbow, sliding down to hold your hand tight in his grip. "y/n and i have to talk about something." 

"can't it wait?" 

"it's urgent," haechan says, sarcastically, giving you a sharp tug towards him. your feet stumble as haechan starts to walk off, and you turn one last time to see mark standing there, looking a little forlorn, suddenly small under the bright lights of the stage. 

"sorry, –" you mumble out. mark frowns, starting towards you. 

but now haechan really pulls you along, yanking curtains aside and accessing a short flight of stairs. you can feel the intensity of his emotions radiating off him in waves, making it a little hard to breathe as you try to keep up, afraid of what he'll say if your hand slips from his grasp. 

he guides you along a corridor and through a doorway, stepping into the warm light of a dressing room, the door slamming shut behind you as haechan pulls you in. 

you're almost afraid to look at him, but you do anyway. 

he's slightly breathless from the walk down, stooping slightly to lock the door with careful hands. when he straightens and steps towards you, the lights hitting his features, you can see that he's covered up the hickeys on his neck with makeup. something mark made him do, no doubt. 

"haechan -" 

"park jisung? really?" he sneers, backing you into the dressing table. 

 "what?" 

"don't lie to me," he demands. "i saw you." 

"really?" you fold your arms across your chest as he moves in closer, planting both hands on the table on either side of your hips, caging you in. "you looked busy. where did she go, hm? did mark send her away, or did you?" 

haechan rolls his eyes. "that's none of your business." 

"jisung said you don't usually bring girls to the rehearsal," you continue, watching the way his tongue pokes into his cheek in annoyance. "what happened?" 

"you two talked about me?" he demands. "what else did you do? make plans to fuck after the show?" 

"i'm not a virgin anymore," you remind him, your voice laced with a warning. "i thought you only cared about my first time." 

haechan groans. seeing you talk to jisung out of the corner of his eye, seeing your hands brush and his friend's head duck shyly to the side, gave him a weight on his chest which grew heavier each time he took a breath, each time he had to hear one of jisung's small laughs. 

"if you want to have mediocre sex then i couldn't care less," he snaps. "just know that you're going to have to fuck a lot of people before you forget me." 

you can see that you're losing him, the familiar closed-off look coming back to his face, anger dissapating into indifference. 

"what is there to forget?" you ask, hurt and anger making your voice shake. 

haechan is staring at you, his face now so close to yours if you leaned in just slightly your lips would brush. 

"you don't mean that," he says, quietly. 

and just like that, all the fight drains out of you. 

"haechan, jisung just wants to take me out on a date." his features tense, and he bites his lower lip harshly. "would you ever ask me out on a date, haechan?" 

he doesn't respond.

"would you?" 

"i told you," he breathes. "i don't do that." 

"you told me you didn't want to be my first time, and you took it back," you remind him, quietly. 

"that's different." you can't help the disappointment that wells up inside you, and you know he can see it from the way his face falls too. 

"don't look at me like that, princess." he sinks into your touch easily, warmth once again circling your body.  

you don't know if you wished haechan was a liar, or if you wished he wasn't. if he was telling the truth about everything, it would be easier to let go of him, to walk away from someone who could only cause you pain, from someone who played with you over and over again. 

but maybe if he was lying it would all make sense – the way he said he didn't want you and yet kept showing up, the jealousy and the conflict in his voice, all of it would have some sort of plausible reason, one that would mean that maybe he cared for you. 

"i don't want to do this anymore," you mumble, hands placed on his chest. you only push at him lightly, but he backs off all the way to the opposite wall, your words feeling like salt in his wounds. "i can't do this with you, haechan."

"y/n-"

"you have a show soon," you mumble, turning around to look in the mirror. you comb your hair with your fingers, trying to calm yourself down. behind you, haechan's eyes flash with frustration, his jaw clenched and his eyebrows drawn together as he looks up at your reflection. 

"i'm trying to talk to you." 

"are you?" it's a genuine question, and it makes him falter, a response half-formed on his lips. when it's clear he won't finish his thought, you close your eyes. 

"you need to go," you say again, quietly.  

"will you be there?" 

you don’t respond, and he repeats himself, urgently. 

"will you be there? at the show?" 

"i will," you say, hesitantly. 

"i'll see you then." his voice is controlled, and steady. somehow it feels like the calm before the storm. 

but before you can turn around to try to talk to him, persuade him to calm down, ask him what's wrong, he's already left the room, the sound of his heeled boots echoing down the hall. 

—

"is everything okay?" 

"why are they taking so long?" 

"are they late?" 

unease settles in the pit of your stomach as you stand in the crowd, the voices all around you whispering anxiously. it had been 15 minutes since the show was scheduled to start — but the lights on the stage were dim, and the pre-show playlist had just restarted for the second time. you had situated yourself on the left side of the stage, where jisung usually stood, and you bounced on your toes, hoping that everything was alright backstage so jisung could come out and see that you had kept your promise. 

and then there's a low rumble, as lights finally flood the venue, the crowd sighing with relief as jeno and mark appear – jeno waving at the crowd, his drumsticks in one hand, while mark smiles reassuringly, walking over to the mic and checking that it's at the correct height. he apologizes lightly for the delay, looking to the side of the stage nervously as he murmurs a quick introduction of the band into the mic.

haechan strides onto stage, electric guitar slung around his neck, as the crowd's screams reach an all-time high. he stops abruptly at the left side of the stage, right in front of where you stood, nodding at the crowd and cocking his head from side to side, as if preparing for a fight. he keeps his face level as his eyes find yours, that same burning intensity you felt in the dressing room unwavering as he held your gaze.

and then jisung appears, footsteps faltering where haechan stood, the grip on his bass going slack.

"haechan." jisung's voice is soft, you can barely hear it from where you stand so close to the stage. you can tell that the crowd behind has no clue what's going on, but some fans are looking at each other confusedly, pointing at the two boys, and the position on mark's left where haechan usually stood, now empty. 

"yes?" haechan's not looking at jisung, fingers running phantom chords up and down the fret board. 

"w-why are you standing here?" jisung whispered, embarrassment evident in his tone. "aren't you supposed to be on mark's left?" 

haechan's eyes briefly flick up to yours. "not today." 

distressed, jisung makes a sound. "haechan." guilt fills up your lungs like smoke, making it difficult to breathe, a twist in your chest as jisung looks over at you, lost. 

"run along, jisung," haechan murmurs, softly. "don't want to keep the fans waiting." 

mark, not wanting to draw attention to them, keeps smiling at the crowd, starting to ask them a few questions. jisung only tries a few more times, haechan resolutely ignoring him, before finally accepting defeat, casting his eyes over to you — his gaze wounded and confused, as he walks off with his bass. he assumes haechan's position, and the crowd cheers encouragingly. the boy manages a smile. 

when mark starts to introduce the first song, haechan finally looks up, a faint smile playing on his lips as his eyes lock with yours again. just like the day you met. 

and just like the day you met, you felt yourself fall under his spell, yet again. 

—

"haechan, i think we —" you gasp out, in between the kisses that haechan is pressing to your lips. 

he gives a non-committal hum, his legs framing your body as he holds you close to his chest. his lips are warm and soft, tasting slightly of cherries, as he opens you up little by little, chaste kisses turning into open-mouthed ones, his tongue darting out and gently licking into your mouth in a way that was intoxicating. 

you grip onto his arm harshly, trying to ground yourself, and he inhales sharply, breaking away. 

"haechan –" you pant. "we should-" 

but then he's kissing you again, smothering your words with his lips and his tongue. his hands rub at your lower back, guiding your movements as you shift against him, his hips grinding upwards almost lazily. 

"jisung, –" you start, but now he gives a groan, rumbling through his chest almost like a roar. slumped back against the car door, he glares at you, touching the corner of his wet mouth with his thumb.

"you did not just fucking say my bandmates name while you're on me." 

"we should apologize to jisung," your words come out in a rush. 

"for?" he catches the look on your face, and rolls his eyes. "fine," he mumbles. "i'll talk to him." leaning up towards you, he starts to pepper kisses down your jaw, sucking a little harder on the mark he had left before. "kiss me?" he mumbles, and you have to stop yourself from caving in. 

"haechan," you press on, as haechan licks boldly at your collarbone. "haechan –"

"keep saying my name," he murmurs, hands roaming up your shirt, teasing over the clasp of your bra. 

"mark, —" 

"fuck." breaking away agian, haechan tips his head back, lips stretched out and puffy as he tongued his cheek. "you want me jealous princess? is that it? because it's fucking working –" 

"haechan, we keep hurting people." you place both hands on his chest, trying to calm him down. 

"what?" 

"today we hurt mark too. although, i don't really know why–" you break off, thinking about how he looked as he tried to follow after you and haechan. how jisung's cheeks burned red as he walked across the stage. "haechan, they're your friends." 

"you wanna hurt jeno too?" he raises his eyebrows, his own hands now mindlessly scraping against yours. "you can lead him on, and then we can fuck while he watches. although he'll probably like that –" 

again, he takes in the way you frown. "fine. sorry. jeez." 

"i don't want to hurt people because of us," you say, softly. 

"well," he exhales. "they're only hurt because they can't have you, princess." he tucks your hair behind your ear from where its come loose. "there's nothing we can do, hm?"

you shake your head. "you're not being fair," you whisper. 

"how so?" his hands slide down. there's something possessive in the drag of his palms, the way he squeezes your waist. 

"you don't call me yours…but you also don't let them near me." your voice is small, but it rings loud in the silence of the car all the same. the streets outside were empty and deserted, and you think you can hear your heart beating in the still air as your palms stay pressed on his firm chest. "haechan…i need you to choose."  

it's a long time before haechan responds. he's tired from the show and all the adrenaline, you can feel it in his slow breathing, in the way his eyes blink slowly up at you like an afterthought. but his eyes are what give it away – his gaze is sharp and calculative as his eyes roam your body, his touches not quite as drowsy as he appears, fingers tingling against skin. 

you wait, your heart in your throat. you wait and you hope. 

his full lips part, his eyes meeting yours. 

"so…this is our last time together?" 

of course that's his choice. the disappointment spreads like cold, an ache deep in your bones. "if that's what you choose." your voice is flimsy. "haechan, —" but nothing leaves your mouth, just a wounded sound. everything rushing up inside you like a waves breaking over the shore, memories flooding your senses. 

the hurt on mark's face. haechan's hands on your skin. the blush that burned at jisung's skin as he watched haechan pull you to his car, his figure growing smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. haechan's lips against your ear as he held you. 

"shhh," his arms hold you against his chest, smoothing down your spine as he comforts you as if you were a baby, you clinging on tight to him as if he were going to disappear. "it's okay," he murmurs. "we'll just have to make it count, hm?" gently, he guides your face out of his chest, relieved when he realizes that you're not crying yet, at least. kissing your cheek gently, he brushes his thumb against the apples of your cheeks. "are you alright? do you want me to take you home?" 

"s-stop it." you manage to steady your breathing enough to repeat yourself. "stop being gentle with me, haechan. stop leading me on." 

"stop getting hurt," he replies, a little teasing, but his tone aches. 

"kiss me?" 

this time you do, letting him guide your movements, as he pulls you down into his body as if he were trying to pull you all the way through him. 

his kisses are slow and sweet, tilting his head almost shyly, the tip of his nose bumping against yours as he leans up into you. his tongue carefully slides over your bottom lip, before he's nudging your lips apart with his own again, tongue gently moving over yours, pulling away with a small smile when you chase after him, tongue stuck out slightly, chasing the warmth of his mouth. 

"cute," he mumbles, and you pull your shirt up over your head just so he won't see the way your cheeks burn in the dark. 

his movements become a little more urgent as he unclasps your bra, letting it slide to the floor of his car as he surges towards you. his lips begin to suck marks onto your chest, hands now squeezing your soft breasts, mapping your body indulgently. his tongue licks slowly around your right nipple, before giving it a gentle flick with his tongue, your body shifting restlessly against him as it sends a wave of arousal down to your core. he hugs you against him to steady your movements, lapping at your nipples and guiding each roll of your hips down into his. 

your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him away from you. before you can tell him to stop teasing, he's kissed you again — placating. sweet like he knew everything you were about to say, before you even said it. 

you raise your hips as his hands smooth over the pleats of your skirt, before flipping the soft material upwards. you hadn't worn anything special, not having the courage to, but the way he looked at your simple white panties, thumb running carefully over the pink bow in the middle of the waistband, made you feel warm all over. you hurry to pull them off, just to break the moment, but he catches them right before you tug them off your ankle. 

"can i keep these?" his doe-eyes blink up at you. you can see the brown in his irises, almost gold in the light. you nod, and he lets out a laugh, kissing you through his smile as his fingers wander up your thighs. 

he starts with slow circles on your clit, stroking the nub gently, feeling the way your hips shift at the feeling. when he speeds up his motions, fingers teasing along your slit and catching at your entrance a few times, your hips begin to pick up a steady rhythm, rocking into his hand. 

"do you just want to cum like this?" he asks kindly, placing a bit more pressure on the tips of his fingers. he wants to be inside you badly, his erection almost painful from the lack of contact, but he knew that it might do more for him than it did for you.

this was how he wanted you to be taken care of for your first time, for your second time — this is why he didn't want you to slip away from him into rooms with men who wouldn't know what you needed, wouldn't care what you wanted.

or at least — it's what he tells himself to keep him sane. 

"'m close," you mumble, your movements uncoordinated, neediness driving your hips into his hand, pleasure that you didn't quite know how to handle. "feels so empty, haechan, please –" 

he slows down his movements, a hand sliding over your waist to rub at your lower back, eliciting a warm sound from you that radiates into his chest. he slides a finger into your tight entrance, feeling the way you tense around him, slowly slipping the finger in and out, curling against your walls carefully. his thumb comes up to press your clit, and you inhale sharply as the pressure in your abdomen builds. 

"more…" 

"baby, you're doing so well," he praises. freckling careful kisses on your neck to distract you, you feel another finger catch against your entrance, his hand breaking its rhythm to carefully slide in, stretching your hole out even more. with a lewd suck on the base of your neck, he curls both fingers against your walls, a slick finger slipping on your clit, and you feel yourself crash headfirst into your high, thighs clamping around his hand in sensitivity as you moan. he murmurs praises against your ear, kissing your jaw sweetly between each one. 

he removes his hand from your core with a wet sound, and you drop down into his lap, feeling weak at the knees even though you weren't standing. he lets out a groan, feeling your wetness and warmth through his jeans, and he can feel his cock twitch under the fabric. but still, he waits until your breathing evens out, using his cleaner hand to stroke at your sides, humming lightly under his breath, the reassuring sound filling the car. his breaths sync with yours as you come down from your high, and together you let out a shaky exhale. 

"do you mind?" he asks, quietly, hands going to his belt slowly, trying not to startle you. "we don't have to have sex. i just really need to take care of this now…" you nod, flustered, crawling backwards down his legs, and he leans forward to kiss the crown of your hair. against the soft sounds of your breathing, the sound of him unbuckling his belt, letting it drop into the shadows, and the rustle of fabric as he tugged his jeans and underwear down as much as he could, were endlessly arousing. you felt yourself begin to pulse with need again, your thighs squeezing together when he pulls out his cock, thick and heavy against his palm, the tip blushy and leaking. 

he gives himself a tentative stroke, spreading pre-cum over his length before squeezing the base and hissing at the feeling as he tries to stop from cumming too soon. as if in a trance, you reach out towards him, your hand curiously wrapping around his shaft. he groans, low, as you give him a tentative stroke, although the sound is cut off by a high whimper when your fingers rub the head of his cock, silky under your fingertips. 

"baby, you don't have to –" he's cut off by another moan as you squeeze his length, applying more pressure as you stroke. "fuck, jus' like that," he mumbles, weakly, as you twist your wrist a little on a downstroke, palm slippery with pre-cum. after a few more strokes, watching haechan's head loll this way and that, twisting with pleasure, you pay more attention to his tip, thumbing just under it, fingers rubbing his slit. haechan's hips are restless, thrusting into your hand, his body shaking and the muscles on his abdomen clenched tight. you give him a few more strokes, and his whines fill up the car, raspy and sinful in a way that made you crave him even more. 

mimicking his movements, you slide your hand back down to his base and squeeze. he blinks hazily up at you, lips still parted, panting breathlessly. 

"baby…" 

"i need you," your voice feels broken, desire pulsing through each syllable. "please haechan," you add, as he swallows harshly, his cock twitching slightly against the warmth of your hand. 

pulling you towards him, he kisses you again, fingers wandering down to your heat and stroking your folds. "so wet from touching me, baby?" he teases, smiling against your lips as he slips a finger in, and then another, your walls sucking him in easily. he finds your soft spot immediately, your thighs shaking around his hand as you whine. it's a sound embarrassing to your own ears, but it's like music to haechan's ears, as he lets out a low groan. 

"it's too bad it's your last time with me," he murmurs, lightly, as he takes a condom out from the glove compartment, his hands moving swiftly as he tears open the package and rolls it onto his cock. "i would love to record your pretty sounds…" your voice lets out another small whimper, as if proving him right, as he adjusts you on his lap so the head of his cock lines up with your entrance. slowly, you sink down on him, clutching onto his body for support as you feel him fill you up tightly. 

"breathe," he coaxes, letting his own head sink back against the seats, the hazy feeling of you wet and warm around him intensifying as you take all of him inside you. he continues on, trying to distract you by peppering gentle kisses all over your cheeks. "would you like to hear your voice in a song, sweetheart? all the girls in the crowd wondering who's pretty voice is on the track, wondering who's making her feel this good…" he hisses, when he feels you pulse around him. "you want that?" 

your lips part, stuttering out jumbles of half-sentences, yes-es and nos. "'m just teasing, baby," he coos, as he thrusts his hips upwards experimentally, bouncing you on his lap. you lean into his body, feeling muscle firm under your palms as you raise your hips and grind against him, sensitivity making your thighs shake as the movement stimulates your clit. 

responding to your need, his arm loops around your waist while his fingers wander towards your clit, stroking and rubbing it expertly as he continues to thrust up into you, the car jolting with his movements. his strong thighs tense as he moves, barely pulling out before stuffing himself into you again, your walls kneading his length in a way that makes his body feel hot with need, chasing his climax. your soft sounds each time his tip grazes your soft spot are an aphrodisiac, and he feels himself growing impossibly harder inside you, so aroused it almost hurts. 

"haechan, i'm cumming," you moan, and his fingers put more pressure on your clit, as you bounce on him, eager for release. 

"keep saying my name," he breathes, pulling you close, your bodies moving frantic and unsteady against each other, as you cum, mouthing his name against his skin. he empties himself into the condom soon after, hips still jolting as he helps you ride out the aftershocks of your climax, your breaths echoing loud in the car.

you almost wanted to ask for round 2 — and you were sure he would give it to you, if you had asked. instead you stay silent, feeling emptier than ever as he pulls out, your body draining of his warmth as he cleans you with wipes from his glove compartment, kissing you sweetly whenever your eyes met. the water bottle he procured from the passenger seat of the car making you wonder if this was his plan all along, as you sipped quietly, as he put your address in his phone to take you home. 

—

you can feel him slip away from you on the drive back. 

a sea of red and green lights move across the planes of his face as you watch him drive, one hand on the wheel and the other touching your hand softly on the centre console. you give his fingers a faint squeeze and he smiles, bringing your hand up to his lips and pressing a light kiss to your fingertips. 

when you reach the next intersection, he pulls his hand from yours and puts it back on the steering wheel. 

when he makes his next turn, his shoulders start to tense and the easy, relaxed expression on his face morphs into a stony one. 

and when he finally pulls up in front of your apartment building, turning to face you, the glowing streetlights illuminating the outlines of his face do nothing to soften the blow of seeing him like this again — looking at you with half-lidded eyes, almost lazy in his power. 

"are you coming to the next show?"  

"i want to," you respond, your voice small. "...should i?" 

"it doesn't really matter to me." his fingers tap against the wheel, restlessly. "i just hope you know you shouldn't wait around afterwards." 

you bite your lip. "i know." 

he nods. "so you know this is over?" 

"i know." 

"good girl." it feels like a punch to the stomach, and you inhale, sharply, hands gripping the handle of the car door. waiting for him to dismiss you, as he always did. 

but then he's speaking again, breaking the silence. his voice is softer, a little more hesitant – "do you need me to walk you up?" he's not looking at you, eyes trained on his dashboard. "will you be okay?" 

it's cruel, the way your heart stutters in your chest. you take one last look at him, trying to memorize everything — the sharp line of his jaw, his collarbones, the joints of his fingers, the way his pinky finger crooks slightly to the right. the faint smell of vanilla and something darker, mixed with his warmth. you try to memorize it because you're sure this is the last time you'll be so close to him again, both in proximity, and in the way his voice aches with something close to tenderness. in that moment, you know if you told him you needed him, he would turn off the engine and open your car door, holding you safe against his chest and walking you up to your apartment. but what for? for him to shut off on the way up the elevator, and turn into a stranger at your door? 

"it's fine," you murmur, and you don't wait for a response before stepping out into the warm night. 

—

your ribs press against the barrier, and you wince slightly. the crowd screams loud in your ear, as the boy in front of you looks up from his guitar at the crowd in front of him, dark gaze sliding over faces, tongue poking at his cheek and puffy lips stretched. 

his eyes briefly meet yours, and your heart skips a beat. 

and then he's looking back down at his guitar again, lips pursed in concentration. 

the next time he glances up, the familiar glint is back, eyebrows drawn together. there was something strange about the way he was looking at you, not exactly meeting your eyes. was he looking at your clothes? your hair? or… 

"oh my god!" 

you shoot a brief glance back, at the girl who's just let out a squeal. she claps her hands over her mouth, eyes shining as she stares adoringly at haechan, unblinking. you don't have to check to know he's staring right back — you know the look on her face a little too well. 

the disappointment and jealousy weighing on your chest is entirely unjustified, but you feel it heavy in your bones, anyway. 

he had meant every word: it was truly over. 

–

"did anyone see you?" 

"no," you whimper, as he mouths over the seat of your panties, tongue lapping at your folds through the fabric. 

"good girl," he pants, letting out a satisfied groan when he tugs them down your legs, burying his face in between your legs with a lewd moan. 

but if it was truly over, why did he find you after the show last week, – slipping by you to tell you to meet him in the upstairs master bedroom, where he fingered you open in front of the mirror?

if it was truly over, why did a stagehand stop you from leaving after the next show you went to, passing you a note that told you to wait at the back entrance of the venue? 

"fuck fuck fuck-"

and if it was truly over, why was he currently in between your spread legs, his mouth and chin covered with your juices as you lay on his bed?

"need you now, princess." his fingers brush your clit, and your thighs shake with overstimulation. "are you okay? i can wait-" 

"don't wait," you plead, pulling him towards you. he follows, propping himself up on his arms as his face reaches yours, his lips gently nudging your own apart, letting you taste yourself on his tongue when he kisses you. his sticky hands stroke your sides, leaving trails on your skin. "haechan –" 

he interrupts you with another kiss. freckling more kisses down your neck, he smiles against the mark he left days ago, fading slightly now. "i missed this," he murmurs, and your heart stings, a collection of memories surfacing in your mind – of his eyes avoiding yours at shows. of him waiting onstage for someone else. of him smiling at you cordially, face blank as if he were greeting you for the first time when he talked to you in front of other fans. 

"did you really?" 

he doesn't respond, latching his lips to your skin with a hum, hands cupping your breasts in one swift motion, fingers teasing over your nipples and making your body arch into his touch. 

"haechan…"  

"what do you want, princess?" he wanders lower, licking at your cleavage. your mind threatens to blank when he circles a fingertip around your areola, puffy wet lips closing around a nipple and sucking wetly. "hm?" 

"want you to fuck me…" your voice is shaky, but you press on. "like how you were gonna fuck that girl."  

his hands still for just a brief second. you can see your words hit him, understanding and lust flickering in his responding laugh. he focuses his eyes back on your face, hands now coming up to brush your lips, caressing your cheek, smoothing over your skin almost lovingly.

this is how he was going to fuck her? 

"open up," he murmurs, fingers pressed to your bottom lip. as if stuck in a trance, your lips part. 

a wet mess of saliva, still mixed with traces of your arousal, drips down from his tongue into your mouth, connecting your lips with his in a glossy sheen. his lips tug into a smile as he sees your blown-out pupils, arousal completely overriding his every thought. 

his fingers trace your jaw. "swallow," he commands, sweetly, and as always you do exactly as he says. 

you feel something shift against your upper thigh, your hips rising on instinct to buck against his hard length, still trapped behind his ripped jeans. 

his low groan is interrupted by a sharp rattling of the doorknob, followed by a thud against the door. both of you still, eyes focused on the locked door, straining your ears to hear the voices outside. 

"are you sure no one saw you?" haechan asks, quietly. "did jisung see you? mark? jeno?"

"i don't think so," you mumble. 

that was the arrangement you had come up with a little over a week ago, discussed in heated kisses and bliss-induced haze. you could keep seeing haechan, as long as you never saw the rest of the band again. on nights when he knew he wanted you, you would slip through crowds like a ghost to make your way into warm beds and cold bathrooms, saving him from the jealousy, and saving you from the questions. 

of course, there were a few nights where no message would find you, where he wouldn't grab your wrist as you brushed past him in a hallway, his hands distracted with someone else. those nights used to make you cry, your entire being aching for his attention, his indifference just as bruising as his care. 

the doorknob rattles again, and there's a knock on the door. 

"haechan? are you in there?" 

mark's voice. 

"they're back early from the party," haechan mumbled. to your shock, he ignores them and tugs off his shirt roughly, revealing delicate tanned skin dotted with moles, looking soft-to-touch. 

"haechan," mark's voice is exasperated. "i thought we agreed not to bring girls to our apartment." 

haechan rolls his eyes as his hands go to his belt, ridding himself of his pants and underwear. you can see the muscles in his thighs tense as he makes his way up the bed, hands holding your hips.

"you wanted me to fuck you like the other girls?" he murmurs, low so only you can hear. "well. on your knees." 

"but mark is –" you break off, seeing the way his eyes narrow, something dangerous flickering in his pupils. "but…but they're outside," you whisper. as if to prove your point, mark bangs on the door again. 

and then jisung's voice, low and urgent comes through the door. "who is he even with? the girl he left the show with was alone when i saw her."

"god, are they all outside the door?" haechan grumbles, focusing his attention back on you when you let out a small sound of distress. "forget about them," he soothes, leaning in to kiss you on the lips. his mouth moves over yours searingly, possessive and all-consuming in the way he pushes his tongue into your mouth. "on your knees," he commands, quietly, against your mouth. "i won't ask again." 

a thrill runs down your spine as you flip over, his large hands adjusting you so your back arches, head pressed into the pillows as he holds your hips up. he presses a kiss to your back as he reaches off the bed for a condom, rolling it onto his hard length with a soft groan. you look over your shoulder, see him stroking himself, mouth hanging open. 

"hurry," you plead. you can feel slick on your thighs from the way he ate you out earlier, growing wetter from anticipation. "please." 

he ignores you. "can you be quiet for me?" he mumbles. outside, you can hear the boys discussing something heatedly, voices low so you can't make out the words. "don't want anyone else to hear you."

"yes," you promise, meekly. 

"good girl." he lines himself up to your entrance, reaching around to rub your clit as he runs the tip of his cock against your folds. you let out a shaky breath at the feeling, trying hard not to let it catch your vocal cords. 

one hand on your hip and the other stroking your lower back, he pushes in slowly, letting you adjust to his girth. you feel a sting as he stretches your walls, filling you up deeply while burying himself inside you. he murmurs for you to relax, listening to you take shallow breaths, the way your hole flutters around his length making him want to thrust forward, relieve his own ache. 

"haechan, are you asleep?" 

there's a sharp rap on the door, and haechan curses as it makes you tighten around him, gummy walls gripping him like a vice, as if begging for his cum. 

"you liked that, baby?" his voice is low, and mocking. you whimper. "you like the idea of them coming in and seeing you like this? letting me take you like a slut?" 

"haechan, we know you're in there." now it's jeno's rough voice, devoid of its usual warmth. "we saw the shoes at the door. we need to talk." 

haechan pulls out until only his tip is still inside you, and slams back in aggressively, filling you to the brim. he starts to build a rhythm, thrusting deep and slow inside you, letting you feel the drag of him against your walls as he strokes your clit with his fingers. he was taking his time with you — pausing to lean forward and press kisses to your shoulders, mouthing messily over your skin. 

"haechan, please -" you try to keep your voice quiet, but he chooses this time to fuck you a little harder, picking up the pace, and your mouth hangs open as your aborted whimpers turn into drawn out moans.  

"hm?" he prompts, faking nonchalance. but you can feel that the pace is affecting him too, his breathing growing heavier as he speeds up a little more. 

"harder," you mumble, words feeling thick and slow in your mouth. "faster. fuck," 

a bang on the door. the loud sound makes you jolt, and haechan hisses as you clench down on him harshly again, your thighs inching closer together, creating a tighter fit around his thick cock. 

"i wonder why they're not coming in yet." his voice in your ear is low, sultry. the kind he uses on-stage when he's teasing the crowd. 

"i-isn't the door l-locked?" 

"sure…but it's a really old lock. i know mark could open it if he really wanted to. he's done it before when i'm late for rehearsals, ah fuck-" he's slamming himself into you, barely pulling out before pushing in again, wet sounds filling the room. "fuck, you must really like that. how do you just keep getting tighter and tighter, hm?" 

"haech–" 

"maybe i'll ask them to come in…" he muses, his tone sickly sweet. "i just know you'll cum hard on my cock when they open the door, right? let them see how filthy you are?" 

"don't –", you choke. 

"should i tell them not to come in?" 

"no," you gasp, and he laughs, darkly. 

"no, i should tell them to come in?" he asks between breathless pants, pace unrelenting as the lewd sound of skin against skin fills the room. "you want me to talk to them baby?" 

you let out an incoherent mumble, no longer sure of anything. 

he coos at that. "dumb already, princess?" his hand wanders up to your chest, blunt nails haphazardly scraping across your nipples. your hips push back onto him instinctively, fucking yourself onto his length, your hips chasing pleasure from the sensitivity as you cum. 

"haechan, i'm not leaving until you open the door." another thud, as mark sits down. 

"fuck…" haechan's only half listening to mark as he throws his head back, murmuring curses as he feels you clench around him, milking his cock. it takes all the self control he has to place his hands on your waist, stilling your movements as he pulls out of you. he's so hard that it hurts, and he knows his release is close, but he still shifts your body until you're lying on your back, and he can see your tear-streaked face, drool smeared all over your chin. 

you mouth his name soundlessly, fresh waves of tears gathering on your waterline as you see him move away from you, and you try to sit up to keep him in your line of sight. 

"haechan, –" 

"i'm here," he murmurs, one hand immediately finding yours and squeezing, the other grappling for the water bottle on the bedside table. he unscrews the cap with one hand as he moves towards you, helping you prop yourself up against the headboard. "drink." 

he holds the bottle up to your lips, but you shake your head. "want you," you whisper, even though your mouth feels warm and sticky, your throat dry from moaning. you can't focus on anything except for the emptiness inside you, your clit throbbing whenever you shift your thighs together slightly. you're focused on his hard length, the slope of his shoulders down to his slender waist. you shake your head again, knocking the bottle against your lips and spilling a little bit of the water onto the sheets. 

"don't be a brat." his voice is low, a dangerous sort of patience in his tone. "drink, or i won't give you what you want." 

you swallow, his voice washing over you, pulling you under. this time when he raises the bottle to your lips, you hold it with shaky hands, letting water trickle down your throat. his own hand comes up, touching two fingers to your neck gently, making sure you were drinking instead of pretending by feeling for the movement of your throat.  

"done?" he watches you lick your parted lips, dewy with water and saliva, and takes the bottle from you, placing it back on the stand. "do you want to keep going?" 

you nod, slowly. 

"use your words," he commands, quietly. 

"please don't stop," you plead, shuffling towards him. it feels like the fog has cleared slightly in your head, the water making the heat haze dissipate. vaguely, you're sure that mark, jisung, and jeno must know what you were doing – must have heard the headboard thumping against the wall, haechan's low groans and your breathless whimpers. 

you wonder what mark is thinking now, outside, not leaving and yet not breaking in like haechan said he could. it sends a wave of arousal down to your core, some part of you wanting him to see the way you break for haechan, completely and wholly his. your way of rejecting him without having to see his face – your way of explaining why you ignored him whenever he caught your eyes during shows and after-parties. 

haechan reads you easily, observing the way your eyes flicker to the door. he's torn between opening the door himself — letting mark see you on his bed, fucked stupid by him, or stepping outside and telling mark to leave because no one should see or hear you like this but him. 

"do you want me to tell mark to leave?" 

"n-no," you hesitate. "don't."

he raises his eyebrows. "why?" 

"w-want him to know that i'm yours," you mumble, a hand wrapping around his thigh and squeezing. 

haechan's eyes darken. “mine?” he echoes, quietly, almost gently.

you're so focused on the shift in his features – the set of his jaw, the way he tenses, that you barely notice he's sliding off the bed and picking you up effortlessly so that you cling to his upper body, legs gripping his waist. his lip curls into a smile, head tilted mockingly as he starts to walk, strong arms holding you up.

your back hits solid wood, and you gasp. 

"haechan?" mark's voice is crystal clear on the other side of the door. 

haechan adjusts his grip, pushing you against the door as he slides his tip along your dripping cunt, making you squirm in his hold. 

"be good, hm?" he whispers, as he pushes into you, eyes squeezing shut and jaw dropping open at the feeling of your walls sucking him back in, pulsing along his length and making his cock throb. when he opens his eyes again, his gaze is unfocused, hazy, and you can see that this situation is heightening his arousal, causing his thrusts to be sloppy and unfocused as he chases his own high. each time he pushes into you, the weight of his hips snapping against yours pushes against the door, and you hear it jolt a little, the lock jiggling.

mark's shouted expletive rings against your ears, mirrored by haechan's own as he captures your lips in a kiss. the feeling is familiar and new at the same time, his tongue sliding languidly over yours, swiping against your bottom lip. at the sight of your parted mouth and wet lips, he moans again, and without hesitating he spits into your waiting mouth, sloppy and messy, causing it to dribble past your lips and down your chin. 

the rhythm against the door is unmistakable, and you can hear footsteps as mark runs off. haechan laughs, a pleased hum in his chest that vibrates against your own as he leans into you, and he mouths down your neck, biting at your shoulder and letting his low groan scrape against his throat as a growl. you cum when your stiff nipples brush against his chest, the tiny bit of stimulation just enough to throw you over the edge into your orgasm, your thighs clenching around him as you sob, your core aching. 

the feeling of your walls rippling around his length is too much to bear, and he barely lets you ride out your orgasm on him before he's pulling out of you and carrying you back to his bed. haechan tugs off the condom urgently as you lie there, tired and spent, watching as he strokes his length, fast, eyes fluttering open and shut with lust, his hips thrusting forward uncontrollably. his thumb ghosts just under the head of his cock, and then he's cumming all over your stomach and chest, sticky white spurts pooling on your skin. 

you watch him out of half-lidded eyes as his breathing slows, collapsing next to you in a heap. the high from the sex hasn't faded yet – the consequences of being heard by all his bandmates hasn't hit you, as you bask in the temporary glow of being his. 

a finger traces along the cum on your stomach, haechan transfixed by the sight. curious, your hands grab for the small mirror on his bedside table, and he comes out of his daze, handing it to you wordlessly. 

in the moonlight, the marks he's made on your skin blur with the shadows. no part of you looks untouched — your tear-streaked face and kiss-swollen lips, bruises on your hips and the sting of the bite mark on your shoulder. your hands tremble a little as you focus the mirror on where his fingers play with his drying cum on your skin, tracing lines and curves. 

"'m yours," you mumble out. 

"yeah?" he chokes. "mine?" 

dazedly, you point to your neck. "yours." 

he groans, just watching you, eyes roving over your body. "you're beautiful," he whispers. you think he means it.

"more." your voice is quiet. 

"no more, baby," he murmurs, looking up at you with concern. "it's too much for you." 

you shake your head. "these could be from anyone," you point at the marks on your neck. his body tenses, hands stiff on your skin. "i want to be yours." 

slowly, your words settle over him. he looks at you with an unreadable expression, the kind you see right before he strikes his first chord, the moment his eyes find yours in the crowd. a dark sort of determination, in the way his holds your gaze. 

he reaches over, and opens a drawer. you can hear the sound of things knocking around inside as he roots his hand around, finally emerging with an eyeliner pen. through the mirror, you can see his hands splayed out over the space just under your breasts, pulling the skin over your ribcage taut. his tongue pokes out into the lower corner of his mouth as he places the tip of the pen to your skin. 

he loops once. skids the pen downwards. jerks it up harshly, ending off with jagged motions, each brush trailing ink on your skin. 

when he's done he leans backwards, raising his eyebrows, asking you wordlessly if this was finally enough. his signature on your body, next to the bruises and marks and last remnants of his cum on your skin. 

—

"haechan?" 

he doesn't respond, but a part of you expects it already – you've memorized the way he leaves. 

"why didn't you fuck that girl tonight?" 

he takes his time, taking a long sip from his bottle of wine. from where you lie on the bed, you can just see the broad frame of his back, his side profile as he looks out of the window and at the moon, bright in the sky, the milky glow illuminating his skin. without his makeup, he looked like just a boy – pretty features almost dainty on his face. it's his hands which break the facade, calloused and rough, with veins that make your head spin when you think about them for too long, holding the bottle up to his lips. 

"didn't feel like it." 

you think about his answer, blinking slowly from the sleepiness. "why did you fuck me?" 

he faces forward, away from you. "felt like it."  

"why?" 

"i'm beginning to question that too," he replies, bluntly.

hurt aches in your bones, as silence rings loud in your ears. "if you don't want me here i can just go," you say, softly, and you're sure your voice sounds as wounded as you feel. "you've cleaned me up. i can leave if you want." 

you can see him stiffen, his shoulders tensing up. 

"where's jaemin?" 

of course. sitting up, you wince at the ache between your legs. "he's probably asleep," you answer, bitterly. "but i can just call a cab –"

his back muscles tense, and then he's shifting from where he sits on the edge of the bed. sliding into the space next to you, he rests back against the headboard, legs stretched out over the sheets. a hand wraps around yours. 

"ask me easier questions," he mumbles, turning your palm over so he can lace your fingers together, giving them a reassuring squeeze. 

your breath stutters. 

"what did you talk about? with the band?" 

after cleaning you up and tucking you into bed, haechan had finally stalked out of the bedroom to talk to mark, jisung and jeno. he hadn't said a thing when he returned, holding a bottle of wine, placing it on the bedside table before stepping into the bathroom wordlessly to remove his makeup. 

haechan blinks down slowly at your intertwined hands. "they asked me what was going on." 

"what?" 

"i've been losing focus," he mumbles. "during shows and during rehearsal. and jeno noticed i kept ditching girls at parties, said it wasn't like me to not be fucking around at all." 

a beat. 

you bite your lip. "you're…you're losing focus?" 

but he just shakes his head. "they're wrong." 

you can see that the topic is upsetting him, so you rush to ask another question. "do you write any of the songs that the band play?" 

he raises his eyebrows. "so you care so much about the band now? does that mean you're a fan?" 

he ignores your mumbled excuse, squeezing your hand again to let you know he was teasing. "mark usually writes the songs," he answers. "i don't have much to write about." and then, with a little more force, "ask me questions about me, not the band."

"what does this tattoo mean?" you place the tip of your finger just below his ribcage, where there's a small doodle of a bear paw. 

"people say i look like a bear," he mumbles, a little shy. even in the moonlight, his pouty lips and round cheeks are evident, his shoulders broad as he slumps against the headboard. 

"i see it," you confirm, and a smile flickers on his face. 

"yeah?" he looks over at you, and his free arm loops around your shoulder, squeezing you into his side. his affection buzzes in your veins, as you try to divert his attention with another question. 

"and what does this tattoo mean?" your other hand comes up again, now to trace at the sunflower peeking out from the base of his neck, trailing down to his shoulder. 

he takes a deep breath. "my sister picked it." 

"sister?" 

"baby sister," he adds, softly. "she just turned six. this is her favorite flower." 

"oh." 

"why?" he tilts his head, bumping your own gently. "do i not seem like an older brother?" 

"i think…" you hum, contemplating. "not when you're onstage," you decide.

"do you think i'm different? from when i'm onstage?" 

"i don't know you enough to judge," you say, truthfully. aside from the sex, and from the brief moments right after when it felt like he was truly there, holding you, the haechan you knew was mostly the one flooded with stage lights, the kind of boy you had to beg to earn his attention. 

haechan goes quiet, his hand on yours stilling, and you turn to look at him. tension is filling up the room, slow and thick like a fog, and you can't breathe against the weight of everything — the weight of his gaze, the almost boyish way his eyes flick down to your lips and back up to meet yours. 

"do you want to?" 

you bite your lip. 

maybe two weeks ago your heart would have leapt, maybe you would have begged for the opportunity to have him closer. 

but your body has already had time to learn disappointment, to defend yourself against his callousness and his cold, learning the art of slipping in and out of intimacies. every line crossed, every boundary blurred. 

"do i want to?" you echo, and you see him falter. 

maybe his own words held more weight than he'd anticipated. 

"you don't?" 

or maybe he was just scared to hear your answer. 

"will you let me?" you reflect the question back to him. his fingers twitch against your shoulder where he's still holding you.

there were some nights where it felt as if he was taking his adrenaline out on your body, or where he was making you forget the fear of being caught by overriding your senses with pleasure. there were others when you fell so deep into a headspace, that he would care for you gently, something romantic and tender in the negative space between your bodies. 

and ultimately all of these nights ended the same – the same curl of his lip, his face closed-off, his voice too steady and unfeeling.

"how would you let me know you?" it's only when he flinches when you catch the harshness to your tone, your own words leaving a bitter aftertaste in your mouth. "by barely letting things slip every night?" 

"y/n…" it's not meant as a warning. your name is spoken softly, with an ache in it that makes goosebumps rise up your arms. "i thought you were fine." 

"i am," you insist, feeling defensive. "i'm fine with you pretending you don't know me, or when you disappear on the drive home." 

"y/n, –" 

"just…don't say things if you don't mean them," you finish, mumbling your words to mute the hurt in them. 

there's a long silence. 

and then, his voice, so delicate and fragile, like he was afraid his words would bruise the space between him and you. 

"we're playing at a bar this friday." 

you make a sound of confusion, and he continues on. "it's only for a few fans who won some sort of a lucky draw. they get to talk to us and get autographs." 

"i didn't enter," you cut in, but still he continues on, as if he was trying to get the words out before he lost his nerve.

"i'm inviting you now. and….and afterwards i'll leave with you and we can go to my place." he swallows. "my real apartment. not this one i share with the band." he lets out a shaky breath. "i don't… i don't usually bring girls there, if you can't tell."  

"but…" the wheels in your head are turning slowly, as you try to catch up with what he's saying. "but if i'm there… and it's such a small crowd…the band is going to see that i'm there. 

"they will," he confirms quietly. 

"they're going to know you invited me. because i'm not a fan." 

his lips twitch. "but you like me, no?" 

"i do," you concede, absentmindedly. "but i thought you said…the band…" 

"i don't think i really care about that anymore." his thumb dips low, brushing over the space under your ribs where his name is temporarily tattooed against your skin. "i…" he hesitates, before his thumb swipes against your skin again, and he takes a deep breath. "i told them about you. just now." 

you feel like you're falling – a sense of vertigo making your head spin.

"what did you say?" 

"just that…there was a you," he finished, lamely. "that we see each other more, but it's nothing." his hand squeezes yours, a gentle pulse. "nothing yet, anyway."

"i'll take it," you murmur, holding his hand clasped in both of yours and kissing him lightly on his fingertips. his face crumples, his chest caving in on itself with the weight of the tenderness he feels for you in that moment, and he leans in, tilting his head, eyes fluttering closed. 

he kisses you like it's a promise, close-lipped and earnest. it feels almost like the two of you are finally on even ground. 

— 

"what are you trying to do?" 

you jump, as the light in the small kitchenette flicks on. dirty dishes pile up in the sink, mugs scattered over the countertop, and the boy leaning against the fridge focuses his gaze on you. his voice is gentle, a mellow sort of sweetness undercut by the deepness of his voice. not in the way jisung's was deep, but a bass to it that gave it authority, one that the boy seldom had to use. 

"what do you mean?" 

jeno tilts his head. "y/n, do you know why haechan likes to fuck girls after his shows?" 

the sweetness on your tongue from haechan's kiss decays into bitterness. 

jeno doesn't seem to care. "he gets high off the feeling of the crowd. it's something he doesn't want to let go of, so he finds someone who adores him and makes them prove it." his eyes bore into yours, unblinking. "he doesn't care who he's with, y/n. he just likes the way they sound, screaming his name." 

"but why doesn't-" you choke. it  feels almost like you're betraying him. "why doesn't he date?" 

jeno raises his eyebrows, and you feel pathetic. it’s a long time before he finally answers.

"all the girls are only after the version of him onstage. it's him they like, and haechan's just extending the performance. would you want to date someone who only liked one side of you?"

"but i don't just like that side of haechan," you protest, weakly. even then, you don't know what other sides you're alluding to — was it his gentleness with you? how he always held you after? the one who let his baby sister pick his tattoos?

"y/n?" 

a soft voice sounds out from the corridor leading off into the bedrooms. sleep-ridden syllables mumbling out into the still air, calling your name. 

"where are you? is everything okay?"

jeno's looking at you with someone like pity in his eyes, the way your body turns towards his voice like an instinct. "haechan isn't even his real name, did you know that?" 

he crosses over to you, and places his mug into the sink behind your back. "try not to get too loud," he murmurs. "we're all tired." 

and as haechan pulls you into his warm embrace, palms wandering over your skin, you bite your tongue and keep as quiet as possible.

—

haechan's head snaps up as he sees the door swing open again and more girls wander into the bar. there are excited squeals and shouts as they spot the band, he can hear mark's warm laugh and see jisung's wave out of his peripheral vision. behind him, jeno's methodically checking on his drum kit, and haechan can feel his eyes on the back of his neck, as if he knew. 

his eyes scan the crowd again, praying he was wrong. but deep down he knows he would recognise your voice anywhere, be able to spot your features even in total darkness. 

and right now, you weren't there at all. 

his body goes on autopilot, muscle memory kicking in as he plays the chords, does his solos, nods along to the music. the crowd is frenetic, watching the way his eyebrows are drawn together, tonguing at his cheek, his lips downturned — the anger tense in his body making them whisper to themselves, wondering why this was part of his performance today. he keeps his expression slack as he signs autographs, nodding curtly towards fans as they bid him goodbye timidly, intimidated by his stormy gaze. 

he doesn't understand why it makes his insides twist, each time he searches the crowd and darts his eyes back to his guitar. maybe he'd just gotten used to seeing you front row at his shows. maybe that was all this was — and you were a bad habit he should have broken. 

it's what he tells himself as he lets his hands brush against the girl's as she holds her poster out to him, smiling a close-lipped smile, eyes dragging up and down his body excitedly. he lets her think it's a part of the performance, as he rails her in the bathroom of the bar, his eyes squeezed shut as she moans his name into the sink, trying to ignore the way her body didn't react at all like yours did, that his hands couldn't find purchase on her skin at all, and her voice made him want to crawl out of his skin. 

you were a bad habit he should break — at least that's what he tells himself to keep him sane.

-> part 2 here!

taglist: @neochan, @ahncosette, @18shy @kittydollzz @jenoslutie @pussymode @yyfka @cheolctrl @jaeminsballs @mysummerhyuck @strawberrytyong @rosiejunnie @nctzen4eva @haechskies @wickedrei @sundamariis @simpforarmihn @liliansun @lanadreamie @nodisdino @angelwonie @foxydumps @manooffline @moonsmias @skzct7 @iscocohere @ficrecnctskz @smwhrinthehaze (sorry there were q a few i couldn't tag!)

[babyleostuff]

jealousy, jealousy | choi seungcheol

fluff (+ a bit of angst) 𐙚 established relationship 𐙚 idol!cheol x gn!reader 𐙚 wc: 1.1k

. . . seungcheol getting jealous of a fictional character

“cheol, it’s just a fictional character,” you sighed, trying to explain for the tenth time since you got out of the movie theatre that, yes - the main lead was hot, but no - you wouldn’t ever leave seungcheol for him.

sometimes you wondered if he was turning thirty or ten next year. 

you didn’t mean to be all heart eyes at the movies, but it wasn’t your fault the main lead was good looking, not that it even mattered - seungcheol had his celebrity crushes too, but you didn’t go around and whine about it. “you know it doesn’t mean anything, baby,” reaching over, you ran your fingers through his hair, like you always did whenever he was stressed or anxious, turning him into a puddle in your arms in a second.

“mhm,” your boyfriend mumbled, and gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter, not sparing you a single glance. you sighed and dropped your hand. 

any other time you’d find this situation quite amusing - cheol jealous of a fictional character you happened to gush over, if not for the fact that you knew exactly how this would end.

with a silent treatment and an extremely pouty boyfriend.

normally you found that side of him very endearing, but dealing with a jealous coups was not an easy task, partially because your boyfriend happened to be one of the most stubborn people in the world.

now it was him and his pout against the world.  

“you know i love you,” you said, and turned your body away from him towards the window. 

if he was going to act like a child, then so be it.

“i’m a fucking idiot” seungcheol grumbled to himself, pulling his shirt over his head with a bit too much force, hitting himself in the head in the process. “fuck.” 

he couldn’t get the image of your soft gaze and gentle voice out of his head, when you tried to cheer him up in the car after he acted like a complete asshole. he was the last person that deserved your sweet affection, and he was so mad at himself for acting like a fucking toddler instead of pulling the car over and throwing himself into your arms to beg for forgiveness. 

“are you okay?” suddenly your voice pulled him out of his thoughts. you peeked through the door, and rubbed your eyes, already wearing his t-shirt that you always wore to sleep. the genuine concern in your eyes, and your adorably sleepy expression made seungcheol want to bang his head against the wall. 

how could he be so stupid, and get jealous and angry at you for finding a fictional character attractive? 

"uh, i'm fine, i just hit my head," he said quietly, not really looking at you. usually you’d immediately coo at him, and kiss the spot where he hit himself - of course you knew how much seungcheol loved your attention when he injured himself, even if it was just a scratch, but now he could only watch as you nodded and left without a word. 

he sighed, picking up his toothbrush to finish up his bedtime routine. there was no way he’d sleep in your bed tonight, seungcheol wouldn’t be able to lay next to you knowing how much he hurt you.

besides, there was so way you’d allow him to cuddle you after how he acted, and that was something he would not be able to stand. 

looking at his reflection in the mirror for the last time, seungcheol turned all of the lights in the bathroom, and padded over to your shared bedroom to take his pillow, and a blanket from the closet. 

he’d take the couch, it’d be less painful than sleeping in the same bed without being able to hug you. 

“what are you doing?” you suddenly asked, your voice laced with sleep. you pushed yourself up to take a better look at your boyfriend, who was standing at his side of the bed with what looked like his pillow and a blanket, his expression reminiscing one of a kicked puppy. “you have to be kidding me, choi seungcheol.” 

you looked so disappointed, and… annoyed? that was his last straw, and fuck every part of his dignity he had left - he’d beg on his knees for you forgiveness if that’s what it took. 

“ ‘m sorry, okay?” he said, his voice breaking. you could bet that if you turned the lights you’d see your boyfriend all teary eyed, not that it would surprise you - seungcheol was usually quite emotional when it came to you and your fights.

“i know there was no reason for me to get jealous and act like the biggest asshole about it, you didn’t deserve any of it,” he gripped the pillow tighter as if it would help. “and then i got so embarrassed of myself, i didn’t have the guts to tell you how sorry i was. please forgive me baby, i’m so sorry.” 

“oh, cheol,” you sighed and opened your arms. without a second thought, the boy threw the pillow aside and ran into your embrace, his strong arms wrapping tightly around your waist as if he was afraid that you were about to run away.

“i'm not mad at you,” you pressed your cheek against the side of his head, tangling your fingers in his hair. “okay, maybe i was at first, but that's only because you seriously act like a child sometimes.” seungcheol groaned, as if he didn’t know that already. 

you sat like that for a moment - your arms wrapped around his strong shoulders, with his head buried in your neck where he placed gentle kisses, just like the fight never happened. 

"did you seriously want to go to sleep on the couch?" you asked, kissing his forehead.

cheol leaned back, revealing the pouty lips, and his big doe eyes you knew so well. you could swear some day he’d be the death of you. "yeah, i wanted to. that was the plan," he admitted shyly, his thumbs running over your exposed hip.  

"you're so dramatic, cheollie," you sighed and shook your head, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. "why didn't you want to sleep with me, though?" 

your boyfriend groaned again, hiding in your neck like it was his safe space, pushing you back onto the bed with the force that he tackled you in. "i wouldn't be able to cuddle you," he murmured after a short while, like he was scared to admit it.  

"again, i didn't hear you." the truth was you heard him perfectly fine, but what was better than making your usually confident boyfriend shy and blushy. 

"i wouldn’t be able to cuddle you!" he huffed, looking at you again. "happy?" 

"very much, darling," you smiled at him. “now stop being a drama queen, and come to bed.” 

seungcheol nodded like a child that was just promised an ice cream, and scrambled out of your embrace, quickly grabbing his pillow from the ground. you smiled to yourself, watching your big teddy bear of a boyfriend crawl back into bed. 

“no more fighting, okay?” you murmured, your cheek pressed against his chest. “we just wasted a perfectly fine afternoon on your whining, you big baby.” 

seungcheol knew you didn’t mean to make him feel bad about what happened, he was sure you were probably used to his antics by now, but it didn’t change the fact that if it was up to him he’d spend the night worshipping you in every way he could just to show you how much he loved you. 

“i’m really sorry.” 

“it’s okay baby. let’s just sleep, yeah?” you said, and snuck your hand under his t-shirt, dragging you nails over his tummy. “and you know i’m yours, right? and that won’t change. ever.”

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @jeonghansshitester @soul-is-a-strange-kid @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @itza-meee @eightlightstar @immabecreepin @whatsgyud @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @vicehectic @dkswife @uniq-tastic @marisblogg @aaniag @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @isabellah29 @f4iryjjosh @bangantokchy @mrswonwooo @bangtancultsposts @lllucere @athanasiasakura @chillseo @onlyyjeonghan @haecien @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @hannahhbahng @valgracia @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @mirxzii @hhusbuds @wonranghaeee @rosiesauriostuff @gyuguys @aaasia111 @tomodachiii @veryfabday @lilmochiandsuga @asasilentreader @mrsnervous @bewoyewo @sharonxdevi @wondipity

[sofiascripts]

how izuku gets the girl! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

teacher midoriya x reader

izuku midoriya is determined to mend the growing rift between you, desperate to prove how much you mean to him. with the support of his friends, he embarks on a series of grand gestures, each one more elaborate than the last. from awkwardly coordinated serenades to overly complicated surprise plans, his well-intentioned efforts keep falling short. despite their best attempts to help, his friends’ involvement only adds to the chaos. as midoriya stumbles through each attempt, sinking deeper into a mess of his own making, the question remains: will his efforts be enough to win you back?

✎ wc: 8,409... got a lil carried away guys

⤑ tw: ik eri isnt in hs yet but i didnt want to make any oc’s </3 als did not proofread, might proofread tmr morning tho so ;d also for the ending i sweat there was a reason i put him in there and had him say that but i FORGET FUCK so pretend its just cute and makes sense...characters may be ooc btw...

⤑ guess whos BACK (me) time to update that band one and this is inspired by how you get the girl by taylor swift! and gsonys izuku art on insta ;p

.・。.・゜✭・❤・✫・゜・。.

you were getting ready for bed, the house calm and quiet after a long day. a sudden, urgent knock on the front door startled you, pulling you from your relaxed state. glancing at the clock, you noted the late hour—unexpected visitors were rare at this time.

slipping on a robe, you shuffled to the door, wondering who it could be. as you opened it, your eyes widened in surprise. standing on your doorstep was midoriya, drenched from head to toe. his dress shirt clung to him, almost transparent from the rain, and water pooled at his feet, creating a small puddle on your porch. leaves and twigs were tangled in his usually neat green curls, and some wet strands were stuck to his forehead. his tie hung crookedly, and his dress pants were plastered to his legs, making him look like he had been caught in a torrential downpour.

each step he took made a squelching sound from his soaked socks, adding to the awkwardness of the moment. his breathing was uneven, each inhale a shaky gasp from his run. normally so composed, he now appeared as a soaking, disheveled mess, which was both surprising and oddly endearing.

you couldn’t help but stare, trying to reconcile this soaked figure with the usually neat and controlled midoriya you knew. he raised a trembling hand, his fingers shaking from the cold, and his knock came with an unsteady rhythm.

“izuku? are you insane?” you asked, bewildered.

midoriya, catching his breath, looked at you with a mix of determination and embarrassment. “it’s been a long six weeks,” he stammered. “i was too afraid to tell you what i wanted.”

.・。.・゜✭・❤・✫・゜・。.

4 weeks earlier.

midoriya sat in the faculty room, a stack of paperwork spread out in front of him. the late afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, casting long, soft shadows across the room. the air was thick with the usual quiet that filled the space during the end of a school day. across from him, aizawa leaned back in his chair, adjusting his scarf with a mix of impatience and concern.

“you’ve got to be tougher on your students, midoriya,” aizawa said, his voice carrying that familiar edge of seriousness. “i’ve seen you let them off too easily. it’s not helping them grow.”

midoriya glanced up from his paperwork, a frown tugging at his brow. “i don’t think i’m being too easy,” he replied, “i'm just trying to create a supportive environment. they need to learn, but they also need to feel encouraged.” 

aizawa sighed, rolling his eyes slightly as he straightened in his chair. “you can be supportive without coddling them, midoriya. there’s a balance you need to find. letting them skate by on half efforts isn’t doing them any favors in the long run.”

midoriya bit his lip, mulling over aizawa’s words. before he could respond, the door to the faculty room suddenly burst open with a loud bang, startling both teachers. a group of students rushed in, their faces flushed with a mix of frustration and urgency. they barely stopped, practically tumbling into the room, completely ignoring the large no students allowed sign outside.

“midoriya-sensei, we need to talk!” one of the students blurted out, breathless, their words tumbling over each other in their haste. midoriya’s eyes widened as he recognized the group—some of his own students, including koda and eri. he glanced at aizawa, feeling a mix of embarrassment and concern as he began to sink into his seat, eyes drifting to the ceiling. he could feel aizawa’s silent stare, a reminder that maybe his softer approach wasn’t as effective as he’d hoped.

feeling the tense air from mr. aizawa, the students silently communicated with each other, deciding who should be the first to speak. “ms. y/l/n has been really tough on us during training,” eri spoke up, her voice tinged with concern. “we were hoping you could... calm her down or something?”

midoriya’s expression shifted, confusion evident. “calm her down? i didn’t even realize she was upset.”

aizawa raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “well, maybe you’re just too used to midoriya’s leniency. y/n is an excellent teacher, but she’s always had high standards. maybe you’re all just not used to it.”

as if on cue, the door to the faculty room creaked open again, and you walked in. your usual warmth seemed to fill the room, and you greeted everyone with your signature cheerfulness. “hello, everyone!” you called out, your voice bright and welcoming.

but the moment your gaze landed on midoriya, your expression shifted. the smile that had lit up your face moments before disappeared, replaced by a look of dismissiveness. “mr. midoriya” you greeted him curtly, your tone clipped and formal. there was no warmth, no friendliness—just a cold acknowledgment of his presence.

midoriya felt his heart drop. you didn’t linger in the room like you normally would, chatting with the other teachers or sharing a laugh. instead, you turned on your heel and walked out just as abruptly as you had entered, leaving the room in a stunned, almost eerie silence.

the students exchanged nervous glances, their eyes wide with surprise. a low murmur spread through the group as they tried to make sense of what they had just witnessed.

“okay, that was definitely weird,” one of the students finally said, breaking the awkward silence that had settled in. “she’s usually so friendly with you, sensei.”

midoriya’s brow furrowed deeply as the pieces slowly began to fall into place in his mind. “yeah, that was strange,” he muttered under his breath, his voice quieter now as he stared at the door you’d just exited through. “she’s been distant lately, hasn’t she?” he continued, still muttering to himself, lost in thought. unconsciously, he reached up to rub the back of his neck, a habit of his when he was anxious. though he wasn’t speaking loudly, it was enough to catch the attention of everyone in the room.

the room grew quieter as the students slowly began to file out, their chatter subdued and filled with concerned whispers. but midoriya didn’t notice. he was too busy muttering quietly to himself, replaying each interaction with you in his mind, trying to piece together what had gone wrong.

aizawa narrowed his eyes as he watched midoriya. even he had to admit that your sudden shift in demeanor was odd. just as he was about to call out to midoriya, the younger hero suddenly stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.

“i’ve got to talk to her,” midoriya mumbled, more to himself than anyone else, but it was loud enough for aizawa to hear. aizawa’s eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise. it wasn’t often he saw midoriya this shaken, especially over something non-hero related.

without waiting for a response, midoriya strode toward the door, his footsteps quick and determined. aizawa watched him go, releasing a quiet sigh as the door clicked shut behind him. the room was left in a contemplative silence, the weight of midoriya’s resolve lingering in the air.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

later that day, during lunch, midoriya gathered his courage and approached you as you sat alone at a corner table. he offered a hopeful smile, trying to bridge the growing gap between you.

“hey, y/l/n,” he began, his voice warm and sincere. “want to join me for lunch? it’s been a while, and i thought we could catch up.” he kept his tone light, hoping to ease whatever tension had built up between you.

you glanced up briefly, your expression guarded. the usual warmth that lit up your face when you saw him was gone, replaced with something distant. “no, thank you,” you muttered quietly, turning back to your meal, effectively cutting off the conversation. midoriya stood there for a moment, his smile faltering as your rejection hit harder than he’d anticipated.

from a nearby table, a group of students watched the exchange with bated breath. as soon as midoriya walked away, they quickly gathered around him, their concern obvious.

“what did you do?” eri asked, her voice laced with alarm.

midoriya ran a hand through his hair, his frustration and confusion evident. “i don’t know! i really don’t,” he replied, exasperated. “i thought we were on good terms. i didn’t mean to upset her.”

the students exchanged worried glances. “well, you’ve definitely done something,” koda said, crossing his arms. “you need to fix this.”

midoriya sighed, pulling out his phone to message his friends. as he walked away, his thoughts whirled with memories of your interactions over the past few weeks—every clipped response, every avoided glance, every time you’d left a room just as he’d entered. he replayed those moments over and over in his mind, trying to pinpoint when things had started going wrong—how had he not noticed something was off in the first place? when had it gotten this bad?

“was it something i said? or maybe something i didn’t say? did i miss something important?” he mumbled to himself, oblivious to the awkward stares he was receiving from the students nearby.

the students exchanged uneasy glances. they were used to midoriya talking to himself when he was deep in thought, but this time, it felt different—more personal, more troubling.

aizawa, who had been observing from a distance, narrowed his eyes slightly. he could see midoriya spiraling, lost in his thoughts. with a resigned sigh, he cleared his throat, snapping midoriya out of his daze.

“midoriya,” aizawa called out, his tone calm but firm, “whatever’s going on, you need to address it directly. stop overthinking and talk to her. otherwise, it’s just going to get worse.”

midoriya blinked, realizing that he’d been muttering to himself in front of everyone. embarrassment colored his cheeks as he looked around at the concerned faces staring back at him. “you’re right,” he said, his voice more resolute now. “i need to talk to her. i have to find out what’s going on and fix it.”

with a determined nod, midoriya set off to figure out what had gone wrong. 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

midoriya decided to meet with his friends to discuss the situation, hoping their insights could help him understand what had gone wrong with you and how to fix it. he figured that since they had all spent time together, they might have noticed something he missed. they settled into a cozy corner of a café, their faces reflected a mix of concern and curiosity.

todoroki raised an eyebrow, studying midoriya closely. “you haven’t figured it out yet?”

midoriya shook his head vigorously, frustration evident. “no clue. i didn’t even notice that something was wrong. my students pointed it out.”

kirishima, usually cheerful, took on a serious tone. “this is a big deal. you don’t know what’s upsetting her or how long she’s been feeling this way. could be serious.”

midoriya nodded, determination clear in his features. “i’ll talk to her. i just need to understand what went wrong so i can make it right.”

kaminari, who had been quietly listening, leaned forward. “just talking to her isn’t going to cut it. if you really messed up, you need to go big.”

midoriya frowned slightly. “yeah, but what if the grand gesture is too much?”

“better to go overboard than underboard,” kirishima said firmly. “if she’s really upset, a grand gesture might show her how much you care. it’s about being a man and showing that you’re genuinely sorry.”

todoroki nodded in agreement. “think of something meaningful. show her how much you value her.”

“no half-assed attempts,” bakugou added, his tone serious. “if you’re going to do this, make it count.”

midoriya’s resolve strengthened with each piece of advice. “i’ll come up with something that truly shows how much she means to me. i want to make sure she knows i’m serious about fixing this.”

his friends exchanged approving glances, satisfied with midoriya’s determination. as they continued brainstorming ideas, the café buzzed with the energy of their discussion. midoriya’s mind raced with possibilities, each more elaborate and heartfelt than the last. he knew he had to pull out all the stops to make things right with you, and he was ready to put everything he had into it. the grand gestures was the way to go, and he was determined to make it unforgettable.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

the first idea had come from aoyama. somehow, word had spread through their old class about midoriya’s dilemma, and each of them had ideas on how to help. aoyama, being aoyama, suggested something extravagant.

“a grand piece of art!” aoyama had said with flair. “something beautiful that she can walk through and admire. she’ll be swept off her feet!”

with todoroki’s help, they crafted an elaborate display of ice sculptures—each one representing something meaningful to you. the sculptures were delicate, intricate depictions of your favorite things: a particular book you loved, a scene from a memory they shared, and even a tiny version of your favorite flower.

as midoriya stood beside todoroki, his face glowed with anticipation. “thank you so much for helping with this,” midoriya said, his voice brimming with gratitude. “i really appreciate it.”

todoroki nodded, though he seemed slightly uneasy. “no problem. i’m sure she’ll love it.”

when you arrived, you looked hesitant but curious. midoriya guided you forward with a flourish, eager to see your reaction. but as you came into view, the excitement drained from his face.

instead of a beautiful display, you were met with a scene of puddles and half-melted ice sculptures. the intricate figures that todoroki had so carefully crafted were now just watery blobs.

midoriya stood by your side, looking disheveled and panicked. he glanced around in confusion, noticing that the ice was melting faster than it should have. “but... it’s winter,” he muttered, his brow furrowing.

you stared at the mess, disappointment and frustration washing over you. “what is this?” you asked, your voice tight with irritation.

midoriya, clearly distressed and flustered, stammered, “i thought it would be something special, but—”

he didn’t get to finish. glaring at him, you turned on your heel and stormed off, leaving him standing there, drenched in disappointment. todoroki and their friends, who had been watching from a distance, exchanged helpless glances as midoriya stood amidst the puddles of his failed gesture.

it was then that midoriya and todoroki noticed a group of first-year students practicing their fire quirks. the heat from their flames had warmed the ground, causing the ice sculptures to melt rapidly.

todoroki sighed, running a hand through his hair. “she was not happy.”

midoriya’s shoulders slumped. “i wanted to make her feel special, but all i did was mess things up.”

“don’t give up,” todoroki said, trying to reassure him. “there’s still time. just... maybe something simpler next time.”

but simpler didn’t come easily for midoriya. with each new idea suggested by his friends, he found himself spiraling further into chaos.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

midoriya had decided to take a bold step to make things right, following iida’s suggestion. he arranged a surprise staff meeting to publicly apologize to you, hoping that a formal and heartfelt apology would finally bridge the gap. with iida’s help, everything was set: the time, the place, and the carefully crafted speech midoriya had prepared.

however, midoriya overlooked one crucial detail—unbeknownst to him you had a doctor’s appointment scheduled for the same time as the meeting and couldn’t attend. unaware of your absence, midoriya proceeded with the plan.

as the meeting time approached, midoriya arrived early, his nerves jangling with anticipation. he had meticulously rehearsed his speech and was ready to make his apology. iida arrived shortly after to help set everything up and work the slideshow. the rest of the staff arrived, each person taking their seat, eager to hear what midoriya had prepared.

when the time came, midoriya stood at the front of the room, his speech in hand, only to realize that you were missing. a quick check with iida confirmed that you were indeed not present, and midoriya’s heart sank. he had planned to address you directly, but with you absent, he was at a loss for how to proceed.

in a moment of panic, midoriya decided to go ahead with the meeting anyway. clearing his throat, he began, “uh, thank you all for coming. i, um, had prepared a speech for ms. y/ln, but it seems she couldn’t make it today…”

the staff exchanged confused glances, some shuffling in their seats, unsure of what to do. midoriya, now the center of attention, tried to salvage the situation by improvising a general discussion about recent events and updates at the school.

he spoke about new curriculum changes, upcoming events, and even shared some amusing anecdotes to fill the awkward silence. what was intended as a formal apology session transformed into an impromptu staff meeting, with midoriya as the flustered host. iida attempted to assist by passing around random papers with topics, but this only added to the confusion.

as the meeting dragged on, it became evident that midoriya’s heartfelt apology had become an unintended and rather chaotic discussion. the staff, initially puzzled, became engaged in the unexpected meeting, though with a sense of bewilderment.

when the meeting finally wrapped up, midoriya stood at the front of the room, feeling a mix of relief and frustration. his attempt to make things right had resulted in an unplanned staff meeting.

you returned from your appointment later that day, only to hear about the mix-up from your colleagues. they filled you in on the unexpected turn of events. meanwhile, midoriya was already plotting his next grand gesture, determined to find a way to properly convey his apology and make things right with you.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

after the previous grand gestures were a flop, midoriya decided to try something simpler yet still meaningful. with the help of momo and uraraka, he picked out the perfect bouquet: a mix of your favorite flowers, complemented by blooms in colors he knew you liked. the vibrant petals were arranged with careful attention to detail, each one chosen with thoughtfulness and care. midoriya’s heart raced as he made his way through the hallway, clutching the bouquet tightly, hoping this gesture would finally break through the wall between you two.

as he approached the corner where you were about to turn, midoriya took a deep breath, holding the bouquet out in front of him. his nerves were on edge as he hoped you’d see the effort he’d put into this simple but heartfelt gesture.

but just as he was about to step into your view, a loud crackle filled the air. one of the first-year students, still struggling with their electricity quirk, had lost control, and sparks began to fly uncontrollably. midoriya’s eyes widened in horror as a stray bolt shot out and zapped right through the bouquet in his hands. the once-vibrant flowers were instantly reduced to nothing but charred stems, the bright colors now a dark, ashy mess.

 you turned the corner just as midoriya was standing there, holding what looked like a bundle of burnt sticks. raising an eyebrow, you stopped in your tracks and stared at him. “uh… what’s this supposed to be?” you asked, trying to make sense of the scene in front of you.

midoriya’s face flushed bright red, and he stammered, “i… i had flowers for you, but…” he trailed off, glancing down at the destroyed bouquet. his shoulders slumped in embarrassment, and he shifted awkwardly, feeling the sting of failure.

you sighed, the hurt in your eyes evident. “well, thanks, i guess? never been given stems before.” your voice was laced with a mix of sadness and irritation as you shook your head. with that, you turned to walk away, leaving midoriya standing there with a sinking feeling in his chest. he felt like he’d only made things worse, once again.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

midoriya decided to try another simple approach to make amends. remembering your favorite coffee shop and the drink you loved, he headed there with a hopeful heart. the bell above the door jingled as he walked in, and the rich, comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped him. he approached the counter, his nerves making his voice slightly shaky.

“hi, i’d like to get an iced latte with hazelnut and caramel, please. it’s for someone special,” he said, trying to keep his tone light and friendly.

the barista nodded and started preparing the drink. midoriya watched with bated breath as the machine whirred and hissed, the caramel and hazelnut syrup swirling into the coffee. he could almost see his hopes and apologies taking shape in the cup.

just as the barista handed him the cup, the machine let out a loud, mechanical groan and then abruptly stopped working. the barista’s face fell as she glanced at the now silent machine.

“wow, you’re really lucky,” she said with a sigh. “the machine’s down, and we won’t be able to make another one of these until our manager gets back to check it out. probably won’t be able to make another one of these for another two hours.”

midoriya’s heart sank slightly. he felt a flicker of relief that he had managed to get the coffee before the machine broke down, but the frustration of his situation made his shoulders droop. he thanked the barista and took the cup with a shaky hand, his excitement tempered by worry. he hoped this gesture would be enough to bridge the gap between you and him.

just as he was about to step out, a kid darted past him, bumping into his side with a jolt. midoriya stumbled, and before he could react, the cup flew from his grasp, the precious coffee spilling in a slow-motion cascade onto the floor. the liquid pooled around his shoes, the ice cubes and caramel syrup mixing into a dark puddle.

his heart sank as he stared at the mess. “oh no,” he muttered, feeling a wave of frustration and embarrassment wash over him. he glanced back at the counter, where the barista was now talking to another customer.

“we can’t make any more of those for now. that lucky guy just got the last one,” the barista said, pointing directly at midoriya.

midoriya’s head snapped to the woman in front of the register, and he saw you. your expression shifting from confusion to surprise and then to dismay. your eyes widened as you took in the sight of the ruined cup and midoriya’s mortified face. you had somehow slipped past him while he was waiting, and now you stood in front of the register.

“oh, great,” you said, your voice tinged with frustration. “this just keeps getting better.”

midoriya, now red-faced and utterly deflated, stood there feeling the weight of his failed attempt to make things right. his mind raced as he wanted to apologize, explain, and make it up to you, but all he could do was stand there, feeling utterly deflated.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

it was the start of the school day, and midoriya was busy preparing his classroom for the students. he was in high spirits, excited to tackle the day’s lessons and he felt good about his plans to work things out with you. however, his optimism was abruptly interrupted when a group of students burst into the room, their faces flushed with a mixture of urgency and panic.

“sensei, we need to talk!” one of them exclaimed, practically breathless from running.

midoriya looked up from his desk, surprised by the sudden intrusion. “oh, don’t worry, guys! i know you’re eager to start and all, but you still have another half hour before homeroom begins.”

“no, this is urgent!” another student insisted, their voice tinged with anxiety. “it’s about ms. ms. y/ln.”

midoriya’s eyebrows furrowed in concern. “what about her?”

the students quickly gathered around him, pulling out their phones with frantic gestures. midoriya’s heart sank as he watched the video they played. it showed you in a training session, ruthlessly taking down a dummy with a green wig and a set of freckles. the dummy’s resemblance to midoriya was almost comical, and you were using a variety of improvised weapons—bats, metal rods, and even a few random objects that had no place in a school setting. your movements were executed with a dramatic flair and an intensity that was both impressive and alarming.

midoriya stared at the screen, his eyes widening with disbelief. “you guys came to school early just to show me this?”

“yeah,” one student said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “we’ve noticed that ms. y/ln has been a lot more relaxed with us lately. she’s been back to her old self, but you’re still clearly on her bad side. we thought you should see this to understand why.”

midoriya tried to keep his tone light, despite the unsettling nature of the video. “gee, thanks. this is... uh, definitely something.”

another student nodded, their expression serious. “yeah, sensei. you really need to figure out what you did. we like you a lot, but i wouldn’t want to be that test dummy. she’s clearly still holding onto something.”

midoriya’s face fell into a mix of worry and determination. “i’ll talk to her and figure this out. thanks for letting me know.”

as the students left, midoriya remained at his desk, replaying the video in his mind. the exaggerated way you had taken down the dummy made it clear that you were still very upset with him. he was more determined than ever to find out what had gone wrong and make things right before your frustration led to even more extreme demonstrations–and hes nervous for the day that you decide you need a human target.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

midoriya had been feeling increasingly desperate to make things right after his previous attempts ended in disaster. he remembered a conversation he’d had with todoroki after the ice sculpture mishap. todoroki had suggested, “a carefully written note might be the best way to communicate your feelings without risking another embarrassing mishap.”

at the time, midoriya had thought a note would be too simple and struggled with the idea, especially since he wasn’t quite sure what he was apologizing for. but the test dummy incident had pushed him to his limits, making him realize he couldn’t afford another failure.

determined, midoriya spent hours crafting the perfect message. he poured his heart into every word, making sure you understood how much you meant to him and how genuinely sorry he was for everything that had gone wrong. the note was sincere, filled with his deepest apologies and hopes for understanding.

the library seemed like the ideal place to leave the note—quiet, private, and somewhere you were likely to find it without interference. midoriya waited for the library to clear out, his nerves on edge. when it was finally empty and still, he walked in, his heart pounding.

he spotted your folder resting on a table and took a deep breath. with a mix of nervous excitement and hope, he slipped the note inside, feeling a small sense of victory as he did. as he walked away, he felt a renewed sense of hope, convinced that this time, things might finally go right.

but later that afternoon, as midoriya walked down the hall towards the teachers’ lounge, he overheard two students talking animatedly.

“did you hear?” one student said, their voice filled with excitement. “a love note ended up in mr. aizawa’s folder!”

midoriya froze, his heart racing as he processed the shocking news. “mr. aizawa?!” he thought, his mind whirling with panic. he hadn’t seen you since the incident, and now he was horrified to discover that his apology note had ended up in aizawa’s folder instead of yours. his face went pale as he realized the note was meant to be a sincere apology, not a confession. he had never intended to make his feelings for you so obvious, and now he was mortified to find out it was interpreted as a love confession.

as he continued down the hall, he felt a pang of relief that the note hadn’t ended up in your folder, since it would have been even more awkward for you to see it that way. but that relief was overshadowed by the embarrassment and frustration of his mistake. midoriya’s stomach churned as he realized the mess he had accidentally created. desperate to correct the situation, he quickly rushed into the lounge, his face pale with worry and his thoughts racing.

he began pacing around the room, knowing he had to act fast. he needed to find a way to rectify the situation with aizawa and still make things right with you. his heart pounded as he brainstormed how to salvage his heartfelt gesture before it was too late.

i take it this note was meant for y/ln?” aizawa’s voice cut through the room, startling midoriya.

midoriya jumped, his heart leaping into his throat. he turned to see aizawa standing in the doorway, his usually stern expression replaced by an intense, almost intimidating gaze. midoriya’s face went pale, and he stammered, “yes! i’m really sorry about this, aizawa. i didn’t mean for it to get this messy.”

aizawa’s eyes narrowed slightly, his tone dropping to a low, almost menacing growl. “you know, midoriya, if you’re going to mess up, you should probably make sure it doesn’t involve the entire faculty.”

midoriya swallowed hard, a cold sweat forming on his forehead. he felt a rush of anxiety as he tried to explain himself. “i didn’t want to cause any trouble. i just thought—”

“do you like her?” aizawa interrupted, cutting through midoriya’s nervous babble.

midoriya blinked, taken aback. “well, yes, i do. i mean, i—”

“do you like her in a romantic way?” aizawa pressed, his gaze unyielding.

midoriya’s face flushed bright red. he began to ramble, “uh, yeah, i guess you could say that. i’ve liked her for a long time, and i’ve been trying to show her that, but everything keeps going wrong. i mean, i’ve been messing up left and right, and—”

“how did you get that idea?” midoriya finally blurted out, stumbling over his own words.

aizawa’s eyes softened just a bit. “this seems like a big apology for a coworker,” aizawa said, his tone shifting slightly. “sounds like a confession to me.”

midoriya’s eyes widened, and his face turned beet red. “oh, well, yeah, you could say that. i’ve been scared to tell her how i feel because i didn’t want to make things worse. i keep screwing up and pushing us further apart, and—”

“you’re overcomplicating things,” aizawa said, cutting through midoriya’s anxious rambling. “maybe it’s time to just talk to her directly.”

midoriya nodded, determination settling on his face. he knew he needed to take a straightforward approach to make things right. with a renewed sense of purpose, he prepared himself to finally confront the situation head-on, hoping that this time, his genuine feelings would come through and truly make a difference.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

midoriya was rushing out of the school building, determined to go home and prepare for a straightforward conversation with you. his plan was clear: find out what he’d done wrong, ask how he could make things right, and confess his feelings. he was nearly at the exit when kaminari, kirishima, todoroki, and bakugou intercepted him.

“hey, where are you rushing off to?” kaminari called out, blocking midoriya’s path with an eager grin.

midoriya came to a halt, his frustration evident. “i’m heading home to get ready for a talk with y/n. i really don’t have time for this.”

“perfect timing, then!” kaminari said, his grin widening. “we’ve got a plan to help you out.”

“a plan?” midoriya asked, eyeing the guitar kaminari was holding. “what’s this about?”

and that’s how midoriya found himself standing in front of your house, flanked by bakugou, kirishima, kaminari, and todoroki, all ready to serenade you like a group of love-struck lunatics. the whole situation felt surreal to him. he turned to kaminari, wearing the same skeptical and apprehensive expression he had earlier when they had intercepted him.

“are you sure this is going to work?” midoriya asked, trying to sound confident but clearly nervous.

kaminari, holding his guitar with a grin, shrugged nonchalantly. “works on jirou all the time. chicks love when you sing to them. it’s like some kind of chemical thing, I think.”

“okay, okay,” midoriya said, taking a deep breath. “let’s just get this over with.”

kaminari strummed the opening chords of the song, and midoriya took his place in front of the group, awkwardly adjusting his stance. he started singing, his voice wavering at first but gradually gaining confidence as he got into the rhythm. the lyrics were heartfelt, a mixture of longing and apology, expressing how much he missed you and how desperately he wanted to make things right.

as midoriya sang, his initial discomfort slowly faded, replaced by a genuine emotion that he hoped would reach you. kirishima and todoroki added their backup vocals, harmonizing with the main melody, while bakugou stood off to the side with his arms crossed, trying to look disinterested but clearly invested in the performance.

just as the song hit its emotional peak, the front door of the house swung open. an elderly man, clearly not you, stormed out onto the porch, his face red with irritation. “what in the world do you think you’re doing, making all this noise at this hour?!”

midoriya froze, his heart sinking as he realized their mistake. the old man’s eyes narrowed, and with a powerful gust of wind from his quirk, he sent them stumbling back. the sudden force knocked them off balance, and midoriya barely managed to stay upright.

“run!” kaminari yelled, already sprinting down the street. the others scrambled to follow, scattering in every direction as the irate old man pursued them with surprising vigor and speed for someone his age.

“it’s only seven o’clock at night!” kaminari shouted, his voice tinged with panic as he was flung into the air. midoriya and the rest of the group could only watch in horror as their friend was tossed around like a rag doll by the furious old man.

the old man’s face was a deep shade of red with rage. “it’s late enough! get off my lawn!” he bellowed, his voice amplified by the force of his quirk. gusts of wind howled around them, whipping up leaves and debris.

three houses down, you were grading papers when the commotion outside drew your attention. the sounds of shouting and the rush of wind made you step onto your porch, where you were met with a scene of utter chaos: a group of boys being chased by your 80-year-old neighbor, who was shaking his cane with fierce determination and unleashing his wind quirk with surprising strength.

through the flurry of wind and movement, you squinted and recognized the familiar green-haired figure. as realization dawned, you couldn’t help but burst into laughter at the absurdity of it all.

midoriya, flailing mid-flight against the gusts of wind, finally spotted you. panic and embarrassment flashed across his face as he was propelled toward your direction. when his eyes met yours, his expression softened into a sheepish smile.

seeing him so disheveled and helpless only made you laugh harder. you hesitated for a moment, then gave him a small, wavering wave. your smile blended amusement with sympathy, recognizing that this wild spectacle was all his doing. 

as midoriya was swept past, he saw you retreating back into your home, closing the door behind you. despite the chaos, he managed to hold onto that sheepish grin. your smile, amid the disaster of the serenade, gave him a flicker of hope. 

midoriya felt himself being yanked out of the wind’s path and looked up to see bakugou standing over him with a smirk. “looks like you finally got her attention, nerd,” bakugou said, his voice dripping with a mix of amusement and satisfaction.

midoriya, still disoriented from the chaos, brushed himself off and looked around at the scattered group. kirishima and todoroki were catching their breath, while kaminari was sitting on the curb, looking dazed and slightly battered. the gusts of wind had finally ceased, but the ruckus had left its mark.

midoriya’s thoughts raced as he tried to piece together what had just happened. “how did we get the house wrong?” he muttered, he looked up at the house they had just been harassing, his eyes finally taking in the number on the mailbox: 109. realization hit him hard. “we’re at 109, not 106!” he exclaimed, his face falling in disbelief.

the group turned in unison to kaminari, their collective frustration apparent. “you got the address wrong, didn’t you?” bakugou growled, glaring at him.

kaminari’s eyes widened in panic. “it was just a mistake! I didn’t—”

midoriya’s realization was quickly overshadowed by another gust of wind. the old man, still fuming and clutching his cane, had spotted the group again and was gearing up for another attack.

“run!” kirishima shouted, causing midoriya and the others to jump into motion. they scrambled for safety, but the old man’s wind quirk picked up speed, howling as it blasted toward them.

amid the chaos, kaminari, who was still dazed from the earlier commotion, stumbled and tripped over his own feet. “guys, wait up!” he yelled, but his plea was drowned out by the roaring wind.

without a second thought, the rest of the group sprinted away, leaving kaminari behind. the old man’s quirk grabbed kaminari and sent him flying into the air. midoriya, glancing back, saw kaminari flailing helplessly as he was tossed around like a ragdoll.

“sorry, man!” kirishima shouted over his shoulder, guilt evident in his voice as he continued to run.

kaminari’s screams echoed through the night as the old man, now thoroughly enraged, spun him around with impressive strength. “try and sing now pretty boy!” the old man roared, hurling kaminari high into the air before catching him again and sending him spinning.

midoriya and the others continued to flee, their pace slowing as they glanced back nervously. the old man’s furious wind gusts faded into the distance, and with each passing moment, kaminari’s screams grew quieter.

they ran behind the cover of trees and bushes, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. midoriya’s heart pounded in his chest, not just from the exertion but from the fear for their friend. kirishima, breathing heavily, kept turning his head, his face a mix of worry and regret.

“is he still…?” kirishima began, but his voice trailed off as the group strained to listen. kaminari’s cries, once sharp and panicked, had dwindled to distant echoes.

“i don’t hear him anymore,” todoroki said, his voice low and tense.

“he should be alright,” bakugou said, his tone brimming with frustration. “he can take care of himself.”

midoriya swallowed hard, unable to shake the image of kaminari being tossed around. “we need to go back,” he said, his voice determined but weary.

“no way,” bakugou countered. “we need to stay out of sight. we can’t help him if we get caught too.”

they continued to move away, their steps slow and cautious as they kept glancing back toward the fading sound of kaminari’s distress. the screams eventually faded completely, leaving only the haunting memory of their friend’s ordeal.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

the four boys made their way to todoroki's apartment, the closest and most convenient refuge after their chaotic run-in with the old man. as they settled in, todoroki offered drinks and snacks while they waited for kaminari to arrive. they sent a steady stream of text messages to their missing friend, updating him on their location and asking him to join them as soon as possible.

as midoriya was deep in thought, trying to piece together the troubling realization, the front door to todoroki’s apartment burst open. kaminari staggered in, drenched from head to toe. his clothes clung to him, and he dripped puddles onto the floor. the room fell silent as the others turned to see their soggy friend, a mix of relief and confusion on their faces.

“dude, you’re soaked!” kirishima exclaimed, rushing to grab a towel for kaminari.

kaminari, still catching his breath and shivering from the cold, looked around at the concerned faces. “you guys won’t believe it. there’s a huge storm outside. i got caught in it while the old man was still throwing me around. the wind was so strong it messed withhis quirk. managed to escape when he got distracted by the storm.”

as kaminari finally managed to get himself mostly dry, he glared at his friends, still visibly shaken. “i can’t believe you guys left me behind out there!” he exclaimed, frustration and disbelief clear in his voice.

kirishima tossed a towel to kaminari, shooting him an apologetic look. “we didn’t exactly have much of a choice. the old man was going to blow us all away!”

todoroki nodded in agreement. “yeah, and you kind of tripped over your own feet, making it hard for us to help.”

bakugou crossed his arms, smirking. “it’s not like we planned for you to get caught. it’s your fault for messing up the address.”

kaminari’s eyes widened. “are you seriously blaming me for this? you guys should have double-checked!”

despite the lively discussion, midoriya’s attention drifted. sitting cross-legged on the floor and leaning back against the wall, he stared at the flickering embers of the fire. the warmth from the fire contrasted sharply with the turmoil in his mind. lost in thought, he replayed the events of the night over and over. his heart sank as he remembered a crucial detail from weeks ago—a fleeting moment he had brushed off at the time but now seemed significant. it was something you had said or done that had seemed minor then, but now it loomed large in his memory.

his eyes widened as the realization struck him with the force of a freight train. his heart dropped, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. the truth of that moment made everything about their disastrous serenade make sense, and the weight of his mistake felt heavier than ever.

it was a few weeks ago, right before fall break. you and midoriya had been sitting at your dining table, grading papers together. the room was filled with the soft sounds of pens scratching against paper, and outside, the leaves were a brilliant mix of oranges and golds. he remembered how content you seemed, how you’d smiled at him, saying, “you know, izuku… this is kind of nice.”

he’d looked up, confused but curious. “what is?”

“just… this.” you’d waved your hand at the table, the papers, and the two of you sitting together. “it’s nice. we should do it more often.”

he’d smiled back, completely missing the undertone of your words. “yeah, i think so too! it’s a lot easier to get through all this work when we’re doing it together. makes it less boring.”

he could see it now, the small shift in your expression as you nodded, pushing on despite his obliviousness. “exactly. it’s… comfortable, being here with you. like, i wouldn’t mind doing this… more often.”

he’d laughed, still clueless. “definitely! actually, i was just thinking how much easier this would be if we had uraraka and iida helping out too. we’d be done in no time!”

the way your smile had faltered, how your eyes had dimmed slightly as you tried one last time. “well, i’m just glad it’s you here with me. it wouldn’t be the same with anyone else.”

and he’d laughed again, unknowingly brushing off what had been a confession of sorts. “haha, thanks! i guess we do make a pretty good team. we’re like the ultimate grading duo!”

he saw it so clearly now—the way you’d sighed, looking deflated, your words trailing off as you muttered, “yeah… a good team.”

and he had just continued grading, thinking everything was fine, not realizing that he’d hurt you, that you’d taken his response as a gentle rejection.

it hit him like a punch to the gut. how could he have been so blind? the way you’d smiled at him that night, the vulnerability in your voice—he’d completely missed it. and in doing so, he’d hurt the person he cared about most.

pacing around todoroki’s apartment, midoriya was a whirlwind of anxiety. his thoughts were racing, and his pacing left an impression on the floor.  "i... i messed up," midoriya said softly, almost to himself. but the others noticed. the chatter in the room stopped as they all turned to look at him.

bakugou was the first to speak. "what the hell are you babbling about now, deku?"

midoriya ran a hand through his hair, his fingers trembling slightly. "there was this night... we were at her house, grading papers. she said something that i—I completely missed the point. i thought we were just talking about work, but now... i realize she was trying to tell me something."

kirishima raised an eyebrow. "what did she say?"

midoriya exhaled shakily. "she said... 'i’m just glad it’s you here with me. it wouldn’t be the same with anyone else.' and then... i just said, 'yeah, we’re a good team!' and moved on like it was nothing."

there was a beat of silence.

kaminari let out a low whistle. "dude..."

todoroki nodded slowly, piecing it together. "you didn’t realize she was talking about more than just grading, did you?"

midoriya shook his head, his face turning pale. "no... i didn’t. i thought she was just talking about us working together. i didn’t even think... i didn’t realize she meant that i was special to her. that being with me was different for her."

bakugou scoffed. "you’re such a damn idiot, even this half and half loser was able to put it together. she practically laid it out for you."

midoriya’s face flushed with embarrassment. "i know... i know, i was an idiot. but at the time, i just didn’t see it. i didn’t think... i didn’t think someone like her would... feel that way about me."

kirishima’s grin softened into something more understanding. "man, that’s rough. but hey, it’s not too late. you can still do something about it."

midoriya looked up, determination sparking in his eyes. "you’re right. i have to fix this. can’t just leave things like this."

“thats the spirit buddy! while you were being all weird in the corner we managed to track down a few people who are willing to do a flash m-”

midoriya was barley registering what kaminari was. his mind was fixated on you and what he needed to do. without a word, he bolted for the door, leaving the others staring in confusion.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

midoriya stood at your door, a soaked mess of a romantic cliché. the rain had pounded him relentlessly, leaving his dress shirt clinging to his skin, almost see-through from the downpour. water dripped steadily from him, forming a small, glistening puddle on your porch. leaves and twigs were tangled in his green curls, sticking out like a wild, untamed halo, while some damp strands clung to his forehead. his tie hung askew, probably snagged during his frantic sprint, and his dress pants were plastered to his legs, heavy with rain.

each step he took produced a miserable squish from his soaked socks, echoing the awkwardness of the situation. his breathing was uneven, each inhale a shaky gasp from the run to your house. normally so composed, midoriya now stood there, a sopping wet contradiction to his usually neat appearance.

he raised a trembling hand to knock, his fingers fumbling with cold and nerves. when you answered the door, your eyes widened in shock. the sight of midoriya was like something out of a slapstick romantic comedy—his usually neat hair was a wild mess, and his clothes clung to him in a way that was more tragic than suave.

“izuku? are you insane?” you asked, bewildered.

midoriya, still panting from his run, looked at you with a mix of determination and embarrassment. “it’s been a long six months,” he stammered, struggling to catch his breath. “i was too afraid to tell you what i wanted.”

you raised an eyebrow, taking a step back to survey the drenched mess in front of you. “what are you talking about? you look like you swam here.”

midoriya took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “that night we were grading papers, you said something that i didn’t understand at the time. you said, ‘i’m just glad it’s you here with me. it wouldn’t be the same with anyone else.’”

you blinked, still processing his soaked appearance. “yeah, i did. no need to—”

“i thought you meant you were just glad to have me as a coworker,” midoriya interrupted, his voice trembling with vulnerability. “but now i realize you were trying to tell me something much more important. i was so focused on keeping you as a friend that i didn’t realize i missed my chance to be something more.”

your eyes widened, and you took a step back, your mind racing. “wait, so… you like me?”

“yes, i really do,” midoriya said, his voice trembling with cold and nervousness. “i’m sorry it took me so long to figure this out. i want you in my life, no matter what. i know i’ve messed things up, and i want to make it right. you mean so much to me, and i’d wait as long as it takes to prove that. i like you, a lot.”

you stared at him with a mix of frustration and relief. “oh my god, i thought you hated me! you tried to give me flowers, then there were the puddles, and the coffee—”

midoriya’s eyes widened in realization. “the flowers…the puddles—those were all me trying to show you how i felt!”

you groaned in disbelief, “and you didnt understand my way?”

midoriya’s face turned a deeper shade of red. “i’m sorry. i thought—”

you cut him off, frustration clear in your voice. “i thought you didn’t care! after i tried to confess, i needed some space, and you acted like nothing happened. then all these weird things kept happening, and it felt like you were mocking my feelings for you.”

midoriya’s shoulders slumped, his eyes filled with regret. “i was trying to show you how much you mean to me, but every time, something went wrong. i thought if i kept trying, it would get better, but it just made things worse.”

he stepped closer, the rain drenching his already soaked clothes. “i’m here to make things right. i want you to know how much you mean to me. i’m not just sorry for misunderstanding—i’m sorry for not realizing how special you are until now.”

he reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he took yours. his gaze was full of hope, his green eyes reflecting the soft glow of the porch light. “please, give me a chance to show you how much i care. i want to be more than just a good team. i want to be someone you can count on, someone who truly understands you.”

midoriya’s hand, cold and trembling, felt reassuringly warm against yours. the droplets cascading down his face highlighted the emotion in his expression, his eyes locked on yours. every sound around you—the distant rumble of thunder, the soft patter of rain, and the steady beat of your heart—seemed to magnify the intimacy of the moment. 

it felt as if the world had come to a standstill, holding its breath for this delicate, significant moment between the two of you. as you took a shaky breath, the weight of the past weeks seemed to lift, replaced by a fragile sense of anticipation.

with a small, tearful smile, you finally found your voice. “okay.” the word was barely a whisper, yet it carried the weight of your emotions. it was a simple affirmation, but it felt profound in the context of your shared experience.

midoriya’s face lit up with a mixture of relief and joy as he stepped even closer, the warmth of his presence nearly overwhelming despite the cold rain soaking through his clothes. droplets of water dripped onto your porch as he gently squeezed your hand, his thumb tenderly tracing over your knuckles. his eyes were filled with nothing but pure adoration, and before you knew it, he pulled you gently into his embrace, his soaked clothes pressing against you. the cold of the rain was undeniable, and you shivered as the chill seeped into your warmth.

“izuku, you’re freezing,” you managed between giggles, squirming slightly as the coldness of his wet clothes made you shudder.

he chuckled softly, his breath warm against your ear despite the rain-soaked predicament. “i know, but i just couldn’t stay away.”

midoriya pulled back slightly, his arms still around you but loosening just enough to gaze into your eyes. his smile was wide, his expression a perfect blend of admiration and pure joy. he took a moment to fully appreciate how beautiful you looked, even as you laughed and tried to escape his embrace. the rain highlighted the sparkle in your eyes and the joy in your smile, making the moment feel even more special. he was overwhelmed with how lucky he felt to be here with you, sharing this perfectly imperfect moment.

slowly, midoriya cupped your face in his hands, his fingers brushing gently against your cheeks. the warmth of his touch contrasted sharply with the chill of the rain, and you could feel the delicate tremor in his fingers, a sign of how much this moment meant to him. his gaze was tender, his eyes holding a mix of admiration and vulnerability that made your heart flutter.

you could feel his breath mingling with yours, each exhale warm and soothing against the cool, damp air. his closeness was both comforting and electrifying, the sensation of his presence enveloping you completely. midoriya’s gaze lingered on your lips for a moment before he leaned in slowly, giving you ample time to pull away if you wished. when his lips finally met yours, the kiss was gentle and tender, a stark contrast to the cold rain that drummed against the porch.

the kiss deepened gradually, each movement slow and deliberate, as if he were savoring every second. the warmth of his lips, paired with the lingering chill of the rain, created a stunning contrast that sent shivers down your spine. as his kiss conveyed both an apology and a promise, you felt a wave of warmth flood through you, banishing the chill of the downpour. the connection between you was profound, a blending of emotions that left you breathless.

midoriya’s hands, still cradling your face, were careful and reverent. the world outside—the rain, the noise, the chaos—seemed to dissolve, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of shared warmth and connection. his lips lingered against yours, his touch gentle as if he were afraid to break the spell of this perfect moment.

when he finally pulled away, his eyes were still locked on yours, and his smile was filled with pure, unrestrained happiness. he opened his mouth, seemingly ready to say something heartfelt, but before he could speak, loud cheers erupted from the bushes nearby.

“so manly!” “let’s go, young midoriya!”

the sudden outburst startled both of you. midoriya turned, his expression shifting from soft adoration to surprise as kaminari, kirishima, todoroki, and bakugou emerged from their hiding spots. kaminari was grinning widely, fist-pumping the air, while kirishima gave midoriya an exaggerated thumbs-up. todoroki offered a subtle nod of approval, and bakugou, arms crossed, smirked and muttered, “finally got her izuku.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

an: reach out?? the embers?? guys did i eat or what like tf anyways guys i have so many ideas so much i wanna write but why does it take so LONG FUCK but anyways enjoy this while i try to shit out some band au stuff (i love my band au plotline so much but i cant do any of the in between stuff its like a partial writers block)

[urhoneycombwitch]

Ok ok hear me out I have a different idea now after reading your phone sex blurb

What about after Eddie comes back from his tour they're out with friends and some other girl is chatting him up, trying to rub up on him in front of reader. And she wants to stake her claim but she can't because he's not hers, not technically; and he isn't into the other girl's attention because he just wants reader, but he can't be too earnest about that bc it'll scare her off.

Do I want them to grind on the dancefloor or have sex in the bathroom? Yeah maybe

foreword: more roommate!Eddie x reader filth. secret situationship fucking at a party style. ty anon <3

wc: 1.8k

cw: secret FWB, Reader with breasts + vagina, femme pet names used, fingering (R receiving), the return of Eddie Cums-In-His-Pants Munson, wee bit angsty, lots of hidden longing

____

This party is the most sound your apartment has ever heard- speakers thrumming bass lines through the floorboards, drunken friends’ laughter echoing off walls.

You and Eddie planned ahead, started plotting weeks ago to bribe various neighbors in the building to avoid catching a noise complaint- scratch brownies for the floor below, some pre-rolls handed off across the hall, party invites extended to whoever was in earshot.

Informal karaoke kicked off around midnight, as the room rose in heat from extra bodies and alcoholic flush; Robin and Steve are bringing down the house on the other side of the bathroom door, charming the crowd with a belligerently intoxicated rendition of a Beastie Boys hit.

Eddie’s got you pressed against the sink, your ass to the unforgiving marble of the counter while he teases his teeth over the skin of your neck.

“No marks,” you whisper, fist seizing up at the root of his hair, tugging. He stifles a moan into your skin while you continue to tell him off, voice just under the protective layer of music. “It’s bad enough there’s only one bathroom in this place. Someone’s bound to notice we’re both gone-”

Eddie suddenly drops to his knees, nosing at the strip of skin above your jeans that he lifts your shirt to reveal. Your breath stutters, and he grins before popping the button with his teeth, chocolate eyes eclipsed by the black-lust of his pupils.

“No one’s gonna hear you, ‘cuz you’re not gonna make a sound. Got it?”

The gush of arousal that meets Eddie’s fingers is invitation enough. You rock into his hand, and he angles his fingers up- you take two of them like a dream, as if your cunt had just been waiting to be filled by those long, dexterous digits, cold rings quickly warming to the skin-temperature of your thighs.

“That’s it,” Eddie mumbles, never more mouthy than when he’s face to face with his favorite pastime. And then, as if reading your mind- “Been waitin’ for me all night, hm? Poor thing. So wet…”

Outside, the song rises into a fast guitar solo bridge, quickening along with your breaths. Hoping there’s enough sound barrier, you brace yourself with one hand on the counter while the other buries itself into the heat of Eddie’s scalp.

Soft, dark curls slip between your knuckles, your thumb brushing gently under the layer of bangs to touch the bare skin of his forehead. It’s too tender, too endearing for what the moment calls, in direct contrast with the way Eddie’s plunging into you, the insistent, budging slope of his nose near the pounding apex of your thighs.

“Becca’s gonna notice.” Your thumb tracks a path to Eddie’s temple, so now you’re just cradling his head as he fingers you into oblivion. “You know- ah- Becca? The girl from down the hall that you invited, specially?”

If it wasn’t for the public setting, you’d take more time to calculate which buttons of Eddie’s to push; as it stands, you’re sort of flailing around in the dark, hitting random ones and seeing what lights up.

Seems to do the trick, though- in one fluid motion, Eddie shoves your jeans the rest of the way down and takes one of your knees over his shoulders, giving himself enough room between your legs to dip forward and latch onto on your clit.

His plush lips suck, fervently, in time with the rhythm of his curled fingers, managing to hit into that gummy spot that buckles your knees.

“Well Becca- isn’t- here, right now,” Eddie says, around lapping mouthfuls of you, hand on your hip near-bruising with the force it takes to keep you upright. “Besides, she invited herself.”

“I dunno… you seemed pretty excited to see her.” The muscles of your abdomen clench, then release, your head tipping backwards to thunk against the mirror.

There’s an arch in your spine, now, enough space for Eddie’s hand to migrate from your hip to low back, pulling you more insistently onto his tongue and fingers.

In response, the spot behind your navel tightens again, pleasure swelling with the music. It’s irritating that Eddie thinks you’ll drop the subject in favor of an orgasm, so you aim for another button, lashes fluttering at the ceiling, voice stretched thin as your resolve- “She gonna stay the night? Use the same bathroom you’ve finger-banged some other b-”

The wet, hot pressure on your clit disappears, a whine of protest crawling from your throat before Eddie can smother it with his palm. Luckily, the living room speakers are kind of shitty, crackling with feedback as the song reaches fever pitch volume.

Eddie’s fingers still within you, stretching to depths that make your eyes roll back as he rises to cover the length of your body with his own. His hand is big and warm over the lower half of your face, breath an angry huff by your ear as he growls, low- “It’s probably in your best interest to not finish that sentence.”

It’s some consolation that you have the option to bite. Tempting as that is, you let your glare speak for itself, brows knitting together as Eddie draws back to look at you.

There’s a bead of sweat running down the side of his jaw, disappearing into the curls he’s let loose for the night. The eyeliner you’d carefully applied for him pre-party is blurred from the humidity and exertion, a rosy flush in his cheeks to match.

Eddie crowds your vision, close enough for you to note the tiny freckle under his left eye twitch, and for a moment, everything is just him- all you can see, hear, touch, smell, dopamine flooding in a head spin of hormones that respond despite your best efforts to tamp them down.

The background noise fades away, and it’s just you and Eddie, panting and straining against the other. A squelch, as he adds a third finger, your breasts pushing into the solid expanse of his chest as you squirm up, mindlessly seeking release.

“Be good and come ‘fore this song is over,” he’s saying, thick fingers scissoring, your resounding moan stifled by his palm. “Then I’ll kick everyone out and let you come again.”

It’s the promise of another that undoes you, thighs shaking with the growing wave, lashes tickling Eddie’s knuckles as your eyes slam shut.

He keeps all the points of pressure that you need, plus more- hips pinning the frenetic rolls of your torso, tips of his fingers coaxing bright spasms from the channel of your cunt, forehead pressed like an anchor to your own as your body sings.

The whole time, he’s talking you through it, deep timbre just for your ears with rasping praise and encouragement. “Oh, fuck, sweetheart, that’s it. That’s it. Good. Let it all out. S’just me here, yeah? Just you and me. Fuck…”

By the time your hearing returns, Eddie’s dotting soothing kisses up the curve of your neck, apparently trusting you enough to let his hand drop from your mouth. You take a few deep, shuddering breaths, hand still buried in Eddie’s hair like a lifeline.

He doesn’t seem to mind, taking his sweet time pulling out of you, disentangling himself with lingering touches to any remaining bare skin.

While he tugs your shirt back into place, you turn to face the mirror, smoothing over flyaways and making sure you look somewhat presentable. You let Eddie’s hands roam as your heart rate stutters, working itself back down to normal while he refixes the button of your jeans.

His chin settles on your shoulder, arms twining around your middle; you let him take some of your weight, relaxing into his hold, eyes catching his in the mirror as you ask, quietly, “You want me to wingman for you? She seems nice. And it’s never a bad idea to sleep with someone who lives in your building.”

Eddie snorts, your dry attempt at a joke working wonders, grin on its way to devastating greeting your reflection. “You seriously think I’m the one who needs help? After the time I just showed ya?”

“Well based on my limited data-” your hips grind backwards without warning, and Eddie stiffens, smile slipping from his face as your own wicked grin takes over- “-I’d say you’re the one who came in his pants just from touching me.”

You wriggle in his arms to turn around, noses bumping, lips hovering in a not-quite-kiss as you whisper, “Say please and I’ll run and get you some new pants. Hand-delivered.”

Even with the wall of party noise, there’s a distinctive click as Eddie’s jaw ticks. He acquiesces, though, stopping somewhere just shy of grateful to grit out, “Please.”

You hum, pleased and thoughtful, leaning out of his space to lift a brow- “I think Becca’s into blue-collared boys.”

This fact, you’re basing off the one time you saw a UPS guy at your neighbor’s door. Sounds a lot better if you act like you know what you’re talking about, though, as if the list of things you know about Becca is longer than black hair and occasionally receives packages.

Distance, safety, one and the same, even though what your body begs for is to get closer, to soak all your senses in Eddie again. You wind a particularly pretty curl of his around your index finger. “Those khakis you wore once to Robin’s grad party and then never again- bottom drawer?”

When Eddie nods, he fixes you with a glare, nostrils flaring like he’s about to tell you off.

Before he can, though, you’ve wriggled from his grasp, reaching for the door handle with strict, hissy instructions about locking it after you’re gone and only opening for your special knock.

He obeys, deadbolt sliding into place, door swallowing the noise of the party in your absence.

It’s just Eddie now, leaning into hands over the sink, breathing hard like he hasn’t already blown a load three minutes ago.

The entire length of his middle fingers shimmer in the light, still coated with your arousal.

Eddie’s mouth waters. He thinks about you; how for a second, you were the only thing on his mind, how rare that is, for him to be so singularly focused.

Then he thinks about Becca. And stupid tight fucking dress pants.

The sink water gushes to a start as he jerks the handle on, sudsy hand soap scrubbing away at the smell of you, carrying it down the drain.

By the time you’re back, dreaded pants in hand, Eddie’s fixed an easy smile on his face, bickering at the ready. Almost normal, and certainly familiar.

It’s just simpler to keep some distance. Close quarters aside.

[lovebugism]

Okay maybe Eddie bought a silly couple costumes for himself and r (something cute with “Why aren’t you wearing a costume?” and “I’m not wearing that.”) 🩷

ty for requesting lovie! happy fictober! ily! — eddie buys you a costume you don't feel pretty enough to wear and the gang crashes your cuddling session (hints of smut, hurt/comfort, established relationship, 2.5k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Your bare bodies stick together beneath a decade-old quilt. Eddie’s nice enough to let you use his lanky bicep as a makeshift pillow while you cuddle on the couch. His other hand hovers over your face, smoothing out the subtle furrow between your brows with the pad of his thumb.

“What’s this face for, huh?” he singsongs into the heavy, golden, post-sex silence of the trailer. His smile is swollen and crooked and barely there. It’s a very hushed sunshine compared to your distant pout.

“‘Cause I still feel bad,” you confess, voice so soft it’s nearly inaudible. Your feet knock with Eddie’s when your anxious legs entwine with his. “I made you miss that movie.”

“You didn’t make me miss shit,” Eddie laughs, assertive but not unkind. His warm palm spreads over your cheek. His chocolate eyes dance between both of yours. “I stayed in ‘cause I wanted to, alright? I wanted to spend time with you.”

“You called me a succubus,” you tease with a gentle giggle.

He had, though he doesn’t have much recollection of it. You looked far too pretty underneath him, and he’d been far too close to his orgasm. 

His hips rutted sloppily against yours, his rhythm gone totally stupid after feeling you gush around him. “Fuck— oh, fuck,” he babbled into the sticky skin of your neck, voice tighter and higher than usual. “You’re a goddamn succubus, you know that, baby? Pussy’s so good… I’d fucking— I’d do anything you wanted me to— shit.”

His legs are still numb from the mind-blowing climax he had a moment later.

Eddie’s chuckle is louder and more boyish than yours. It fills the trailer with sunlight. “Well, yeah. ‘Cause you are. Which means I’d much rather be here with you than at The Hawk with all those other schmucks.”

He kisses you to seal his promise — a chaste peck upon your smiling mouth. It’s beautifully innocuous compared to how good he was making you feel hardly more than five minutes ago.

“I know you don’t like those movies anyway, so…”

“That’s not true,” you argue with a very believable pout.

His gaze goes sympathetic. “Babe… You almost cried when we watched Nightmare on Elm Street the other day.”

“No, I didn’t!” You most certainly did.

“You said you weren’t gonna sleep ever again.”

“I like horror movies ‘cause you like horror movies, dummy.”

The term of endearment makes him grin. He likes it when you get all mean, though you never really mean it. “Is that so?” he lilts with raised brows that disappear behind his fuzzy bangs. The ends of the umber strands are damp with sweat.

You nod lazily against his arm. His fingers are starting to tingle with numbness, but he loves you too much to move.

“Mm-hmm. That’s how relationships work. Compromise. I tolerate horror movies, and you tolerate—”

“Your Harrison Ford obsession?”

You lose your firmness and get all sheepish. “Shut up…”

“I’m pretty sure they were showing Return of the Jedi in the theater over, right after Sleepaway Camp,” Eddie observes suddenly, brushing stray strands of your wild hair from your temple. “We coulda had a double feature tonight, but you wanted to stay in with little old me.”

“That’s ‘cause I love you a whole lot more than some guy I’ve never met.”

Eddie beams at your words. His eyes start to glitter like he’s won something, and his cheeks speckle pink with pride. He’ll never get tired of hearing you say that. He’ll never get tired of you loving him.

“I’m flattered,” he singsongs and means it.

You smile and lean in to kiss his grin. The boy gasps before you can. He springs up from the couch at a moment’s notice, climbing over you with naked limbs. He flashes you his bare ass just before he tugs on the crumbled pair of boxers left forgotten on the floor.

“What are you doing?” you wonder aloud, eyes narrowed in curiosity and mouth quirked in amusement. You twist on the couch so you’re propped against the back of it. You clutch the heavy quilt to your naked chest.

“I forgot something,” Eddie mumbles, halfway to himself, then sends you a lighthearted glare over his shoulder. “Don’t move!”

You still, grinning softly at the boy as you peer at him from beneath your lashes. You watch him while he rifles through a plastic bag beside the TV stand. “I got us something while I was at the Halloween store with Harrington earlier,” Eddie explains over the noisy crinkling sound.

“Oh, god…” you murmur.

Eddie laughs and looks at you over his shoulder again. “C’mon, babe. Have a little hope, would you?”

He returns to the couch with a smirk and something he hides behind his back. He grins like a kid when he reveals them to you — two packages of Star Wars themed costumes held in both his hands. 

Pictured on one is a guy who looks eerily like Han Solo — complete with the vest, blouse, and holster triad. The other is an uncanny Leia Organa in a skin-tight white suit, beige knee-high boots, and a flowing cape.

You blink at both of them, then at Eddie. 

“…I don’t know what I’m looking at.”

“Our Halloween costumes!” he exclaims with a beam. “See, I’m gonna be Han Solo— ‘cause I’m, you know, charming and sarcastic and handsome.”

“Don’t forget humble,” you joke with a lovesick grin.

“—And you will be my beautiful, hard-headed Leia Organa.”

You glance again at the package in his right hand, at the pretty woman on the cover. You know you won’t look nearly as good in the costume as she does. Your soft smile flickers. 

“Eds…” you mutter in a wavering lilt.

A frown forms between his bushy brows, similar to the one you’d been sporting earlier. “What?”

“I told you I wasn’t gonna dress up this year, remember?” you remind him, shifting awkwardly on the couch and clutching the blanket closer to yourself.

“But it’s Halloween, babe! Why wouldn’t you wear a costume?”

Your mouth opens and closes as you stammer out an excuse. “Because— I don’t know— I’m too… indecisive. Like, that’s a lot of pressure.”

“That’s why I picked for you!” Eddie grins, totally oblivious.

You laugh. It’s a bit cynical but not totally unkind. “I am not wearing that.”

He pouts, like a child or a hurt puppy. “But why not?” he wonders with a crestfallen inflection.

Again, you stammer. “Because— I mean— Just look at her, Eds!” you gesture to the package he holds with a significant focus to the girl on the front. “I don’t look like her!”

He grows from sad to confused. His brows pinch as he tilts his head to the side. His wild curls tickle his bare, pale shoulder. “Oh… kay?” he mutters, trying his best to understand you but not getting it completely.

You huff. Your chest stings as you explain it all to him.

“I’m… I’m not gonna look like the girl on the cover. You know that, right? I’m not— I’m not Princess Leia kind beautiful, you know?”

“Yeah,” Eddie shrugs, seemingly agreeing with you and smiling all over again. “You’re a you kind beautiful. That’s what makes you so damn sexy.”

He leans down over you with the intention to kiss you. 

Still pouting and inwardly aching, you pull back from him.

“Eddie…” you murmur, still gentle but obviously sadder.

He concedes with a small sigh. The couch cushions dip with his weight when he sits down beside you. He leaves the packages abandoned on the other side of him and gives you his full attention. 

“Look… You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to, alright? We can stay in for Halloween for all I care. I just… I think it’d be a lot of fun, you know?” the boy rambles with a seriousness that’s typically foreign to him. His palm smooths across your knee over the thick quilt. His lips quirk into a crooked grin. “And I think you’d look… very pretty as my Princess Leia.”

His chocolate eyes twinkle with an undeniable sincerity. It makes your chest feel so warm it burns.

“Yeah?” you mumble, not quite believing him but wanting him to hear him say it anyway.

“Totally,” he scoffs like it’s obvious. He presses a lingering peck to your lips, then melts when he tastes leftover sex upon them. 

A switch flips within him then. His belly twists, and his eyelids get all heavy. His smirk is weighed down by lust as he pulls back from you and shrugs. “I think I could show you better than I could tell you, actually…”

Across the living room, the door busts open. 

Sunlight explodes throughout the dim trailer, making the two of you squint. 

Steve enters first, knocking on the open door to announce his arrival. “Phone’s off the hook,” he observes, pointing to the telephone lying face up on the table beside the front door. 

Eddie had two fingers inside you, and the thing just wouldn’t stop ringing. He grumbled in annoyance when he had to part from you to hang it up.

Steve puts the thing back on the hook while Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, and Argyle walk in behind him.

Mortified, you watch with wide eyes as your uninvited friends file in. Your grip tightens around the blanket. You use one hand to make sure every inch of your naked body is covered with it.

Eddie doesn’t seem nearly as bothered by it as you are. Instead, he huffs in annoyance and spreads his arms along the back of the couch. They were the ones barging in, after all. If they had a problem with his pale, lanky figure and his thin, plaid boxers, then that was on them.

“Oh. Come in,” he hums, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. “Make yourselves at home.”

Robin’s got a thousand-year stare in her eye and a blue, red, and purple mouth. “Can I use your bathroom?” she wavers, voice strained. Her fists are clenched beneath her baggy flannel. They tremble beside her baggier jeans.

“Uh, yeah. Knock yourself out.”

She’s already rushing down the hall before he can get the words out.

The two of you watch her leave and then turn to Steve. He’s an expert in all things Robin Buckley nowadays. He shrugs and tells you, “She had, like, four slurpees while we were waiting on you guys at The Hawk.”

You shift awkwardly like you’re getting scolded. Eddie only laughs.

As all the gang settles around the trailer — Jonathan on the recliner, Nancy on the arm of it, and Steve sitting on the adjacent table — Argyle is the only one without a place to sit. He idles beside the couch, smiling at you with rosy lips and rosier eyes.

“How are you doing today, amigo?” he wonders with a curt nod, as mellow as ever.

You smile up at the boy, not nearly as fazed by the bright style and long raven hair as you used to be. Actually, you’ve grown quite fond of his slurred jokes that don’t really have a punchline because halfway through, he realizes he’s forgotten it entirely.

“Good,” you respond, crossing your arms over the quilt you’ve got bunched at your chest. “You?”

“I’m peachy, brochacho,” he nods back at you. He grins, but the bright expression is weighed down by the weed. The skunky smell entwines with his musky cologne, creating a deep earthy scene that’s much more bearable than the weed alone.

“Not that I’m not thrilled you guys showed up—” Eddie starts with an inflection that would imply otherwise, wide eyes flitting around the room. “—But what the hell are you doing here?”

“You’d know if you answered the phone,” Steve retorts with a scrunched nose, flipping through a random car magazine. The Beemer on the front matches the sunshine yellow of his sweatshirt.

“Well, I was a little busy, Harrington—”

You nudge Eddie before he can finish the stupid joke. Everyone could already hear it anyhow — “I was a little busy, but you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” 

He shoots you an innocently confused look. You give him a half-hearted glare in return.

“You guys flaked on movie night, so we brought the movies to you,” Nancy singsongs with a sweet, pink smile.

Jonathan unrolls the folded-up paper bag between his feet. The flimsy cardboard crackles loudly as he rifles through it. He pulls out a number of unblanketed VHS tapes with handwritten stickers glued to the front of them. 

“Uh… We got Sleepaway Camp, obviously,” the Byers boy mutters in his usual Byers way. He waves the tape in his hand and sits it off to the side. He reaches into the bag and grabs two more. “Twilight Zone and, uh, Return of the Jedi.”

Eddie is as grateful as he is confused. Movie night wasn’t totally gone, and both of your movies had been seemingly carrier-pigeoned to his trailer, but neither should be out on VHS yet. “How…?” the boy trails off with pinched-together brows.

Argyle answers. “Let’s just say I know a guy, who knows a guy, who knows a guy…” he smirks, then swirls his features in puzzlement. It looks like he’s trying to do math in his head. “…Who knows a guy.”

“I can pop some popcorn if you guys wanna, you know, make yourselves decent,” Steve teases with a feigned maliciousness as he hops off the square table. The old thing squeaks under his weight.

Eddie’s retort doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh. Right. My bad, Stevie. It’s not like you totally barged in on us or anything.”

You shake your head at their bickering, though you’re still smiling quietly to yourself. Eddie shields you while you rise from the couch. You wear the heavy quilt like a dress as you shuffle down the hallway to his bedroom. The thing trails behind you as you go.

“Sorry about them, sweetheart,” Eddie apologizes as soon as the door clicks closed. 

He’d wanted to say something earlier, but kept his mouth shut instead of making it a bigger deal. He knew you were bound to be embarrassed — because you almost always tend to be, anyway. He didn’t want to draw attention to the situation, or least of all to you, and make it that much worse.

“’S okay,” you shrug and drop the blanket on the carpet. 

Eddie tries not to go all teenage boy at the sight of your naked body, but he nearly loses his mind when you bend over to pick up one of his t-shirts from the floor. 

“We did sorta flake on them,” you reason as you tug the cotton over your head. The baggy fabric falls over you like rain.

Eddie shakes his head, mostly at himself. He couldn’t love you more if he tried.

“Only you would blame yourself when those assholes walked in on us,” he laughs, walking the short distance to you and wrapping you in his arms from behind. He presses a sweet kiss to your neck. You smell like flowers, sex, and his cologne. 

“You’re too sweet for your own good, baby. No wonder those schmucks won’t leave us alone.”

Robin’s voice seemingly comes from within the walls — ‘cause the bathroom is only one room over, and the walls are especially thin. “Rude!” she grouses, voice muffled. “I mean, it’s true, but still.”

[steddieas-shegoes]

not while i’m on my knees

for @corrodedcoffinfest popup event prompt ‘lust’

rated e | 666 words | cw: sexual content, semi-public sex | tags: established relationship, famous corroded coffin, love confessions, blow job, hand job, interrupted sex

😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈

Eddie bites back a moan as Steve’s tongue does something magical around his dick. They’re in the bathroom of the dressing room for the opening show of Corroded Coffin’s tour and the guys aren’t even 15 feet away. They’ll hear any noise louder than a whisper.

Eddie’s never quiet when Steve’s mouth is on him. Or when his cock is inside him. Or when his hands are-

“Jesus!” Eddie exclaims as Steve manages to take him all the way, the head of his cock hitting the back of his throat. “Shit, Stevie.”

Steve pulls off and holds a finger to his lips. A reminder, but one that won’t be enough if Steve keeps pushing him to his limits.

He knows how hot Eddie thinks it is when the guys are nearby, could hear anything.

They could hear him begging Steve for more. They could hear Steve whimpering into his own hand. They could hear the wet sounds of spit making the glide of hands easier.

Steve continues even though Eddie doesn’t reassure him that he can be quiet. Steve knows he can’t. He’s just teasing him.

“Couldn’t wait to get your mouth on me, huh?” He gasps out as Steve sucks on the tip and takes him back down his throat.

He looks up at Eddie and raises a brow. He’s such a bitch. Eddie loves him with his entire heart.

“It’s okay, baby. I know you’re a desperate slut,” Eddie leans his head back against the wall. “‘S why I love you.”

Steve pulls off of him and glares. “This is not gonna be the first time you say that to me.”

“Hm?” Eddie looks back down at Steve’s bright red cheeks and watery eyes. “Say what?”

Steve stands up and pushes Eddie’s entire body further into the wall. He’s grinning, that feral look that he gets when he’s hungry for Eddie.

“If you love me, then you say it when I’m not on my knees. You look me in my eyes and hold me and show me that you do.”

Oh shit. Okay.

“I do love you,” he says again, looking in Steve’s eyes and wrapping his arms around him. “I was gonna say it normal, I swear.”

“Did my mouth feel too good? Got you acting dumb?” Steve teases, but there’s fondness heavy in his voice. It settles deep in Eddie’s chest, curls around his heart and leaves him warm and content.

He nods.

He loves when Steve bites. He loves being seen and known in a way that no one else quite understands. He’d never make it through this tour without Steve there to remind him he’s just a guy in love with his boyfriend and no amount of fame will ever change that.

“Will you fuck me?” Eddie asks, whines. They don’t have time; Eddie’s supposed to be on stage in less than ten minutes. He’s not even prepped. He doesn’t even think they have lube in here.

Steve smirks. “You want it to hurt, baby?”

Eddie doesn’t not want it to hurt. He’s willing to sacrifice if it means having Steve inside him before he performs.

Someone bangs on the door.

“If I have to listen to Steve fuck you, you owe me $100,” Frankie yells through the door.

“$50 for me!” Gareth yells.

“Why less?” Frankie asks.

“Because Steve sounds hot when he comes.”

Steve laughs. “You won’t hear me fuck him!” He yells through the door.

Eddie groans. “You couldn’t let me have this?” He lets his head fall back against the wall again.

The moment is gone even though he’s still hard as a rock and could probably come the moment Steve touches him.

Steve’s hard too, he sees when he looks back down at his own leaking cock. They could get off together.

“Please,” Eddie pouts.

Steve smiles, less mean now, more endeared. His hand wraps around both of them.

“Say it again,” Steve whispers, just for them.

“I love you,” Eddie says just for him.

[dashielldeveron]

cunning | shinsou x reader

Shinsou x Fem!Reader. BNHA spoilers for chapter 425. Note: written in a fervent haze backstage at a show I’m working and posted from mobile, so it’s much more casual than my normal stuff. ~1k words

You dragged Shinsou by his tie down the corridor towards the entrance to the stairs, and the moment you rounded the corner, you slid your hand up to grip the tie’s knot to yank his mouth down to yours. Shinsou flailed for a split second, as he always did when you initiated, as if he’s perpetually shocked that you would be so desperate for him, but he recovered, pursing his lips to return the kiss, casual, almost lazy about it—and he chuckled under his breath.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” You said with a huff, bitter you had to tear your mouth from his to speak, so you settled for pressing kiss after kiss along his jawline. “Couldn’t tell your girlfriend that you were finally transferring into the hero course—“

“It’d be suspicious if you’d been the only one without a reaction to Aoyama’s leaving, now, wouldn’t it?” Shinsou placed his hands, featherlight, on your hips and slid them up to your waist, where he tapped his fingers in a ripple. A vein in his neck visibly throbbed when you gave his tie another pull, and with a sly grin, he tilted his neck to expose more of it.

“Oh, you slut.” But you conceded, finishing your path to just before his ear and then trailed down his neck. “God, fuck,” you said, releasing his tie to wrap your arms around him, reaching up to grip the hair at the base of his neck, “I can’t—can’t believe after all of this, you wouldn’t share any shred of good news; God knows we need some after all of this—“

“I know, baby.” Shinsou pressed his lips to your forehead and nuzzled into your hair, guiding you back against the wall. “Am I not allowed a surprise every once in a while?”

“Shut—shut up,” you said, biting your lip, “You’re lucky I love you. Otherwise, your cunning nature wouldn’t be endearing. You’re a frustrating little sneak, y’know?”

“Yes, I like to think so,” said Shinsou, grinning toothily in the moment before he lifted your chin with a tap of his finger to kiss you again. This time, he returned your fervour, connecting his lips to yours, varying pressure as he pleased, letting your tongue flick at his coconut-pear chapsticked lips before finally opening his mouth. His tongue pressed against your gums in that slow, teasing way he liked, and he tilted his head to the side to reach the roof of your mouth.

When he suddenly broke from you, you let out an honestly embarrassing whine, and he rubbed his thumb over your kiss-swollen lips. “How can I stop teasing you when I get looks like this afterwards? You’re adorable.” Shinsou’s eyes, full of mischief, flicked up to catch yours. “Want me to make it up to you?”

He always thinks he can talk his way out of trouble with you, and to be fair, he usually could. You couldn’t stay mad at this man. “Sure. Surprise me.”

“With pleasure,” said Shinsou, sliding his hand to cup your cheek, and when a crooked grin stretched across his face, the haze of his quirk floated through your mind.

Feeling light.

Distant.

But very, very happy. And teeming with affection.

For you, Shinsou’s quirk always felt like he was cradling you tightly, like his love could touch you. Like you were safe. Still cogent, still in the moment, but acutely aware you’d do what he’d tell you. Others probably felt scared under Shinsou’s quirk because he was scared of them.

Shinsou traced a circle over the edge of your cheekbone. “You with me, baby?” When you nodded, Shinsou kissed you again, slow to pull away, half-lidded eyes unbearably fond. “Then get close to orgasm. But don’t you dare come.”

You inhaled sharply. “Oh, you rat bast—“

And the hazy buzz of a building orgasm flooded you all at once. It’s shocking, really, an electric sort of whizz-bang, when it comes on so quickly—and you gasped, impulsively hunching over and knocking clumsily against Shinsou’s cheek, then clutching at his blazer lapels to hide in his chest. Warmth and static and fog and gosh, you were tripping over your own feet, and you’d thought Shinsou was trying to steady you when he gripped your hip, but no, his hand kept going to the swell of your ass and down to the underside of your thigh to yank it upwards, hooking it over his own hip. Staring you down while you struggled to even keep your eyes open, Shinsou rolled his hips into yours, and you just about cracked in half.

You clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle the honest-to-God sob from how good it felt, how intense the blur and haze was combined with the distant-floatiness of his quirk, and Shinsou laughed to himself again before he buried his face in your neck, breathing you in, feeling you tremble while he ground into you, taking your other hand in his to lace your fingers together. Fuck, you were close; you were so damn close, but it’s like he’d set a lock on you, like you’d keep rolling that boulder up that hill, like—

“Ahem.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at Aizawa-sensei clearing his throat, but Shinsou didn’t rush as he dropped his brainwashing and surfaced from your neck, blinking blearily at your—your shared homeroom teacher, with crossed arms and Bakugou and Todoroki in tow, the former tactfully (embarrassedly?) looking away and the latter unable to tear his gaze away from you.

“Shinsou,” said Aizawa-sensei, as Shinsou dropped your thigh and disentangled himself from you, with heat burning your face to oblivion but Shinsou appearing annoyingly calm, “I was going to discuss your move into the Class A dormitory, but considering whom I had next door—“ Aizawa’s eyes slid over to you. “—I may have to do more planning.”

[yourfavepookiebear]

Hii, can i make a request? Yandere and self aware twisted wonderland please?

So the characters could hear the player after some time, although it is very difficult unless you pay attention, they actually don't know the appearance of the player!

But yeah, yandere Heartslabyul with a player who's pretty expressive? Like whenever something frustrates them they'd almost always curse out loud, when something makes them happy and satisfied they'd yell out a "Yes! Oh my god bro", etc

Okay so basically a player like me (and many others), cool, got it. (Im panicking I suck at writing for heartslabyul) I fucked up at ace's part idk what to write for him

God the old hag is waking up

Rushed asf

Riddle Rosehearts

You're pretty easy to read, at least on the terms of mood and emotion, which could be considered a good thing for him ?

At first he didn't believe it, because how could the player be anything but perfect ?

But then he realized that you don't need to be emotionless to be perfect.

Now this vaguely depends on whether we're talking about before OB or after OB Riddle, but if it's after OB then he doesn't mind it much

In fact, he likes hearing you mumble in frustration whenever you lose or see something irritating, it makes him...melancholic, in a way. Because these are all the signs that you're pretty normal just like them, you feel. It reassures him sometimes, to know that.

It's pretty cute and funny to him, but he won't show it

Hates that you show that side of yourself to others, he wants to be the only one to see this, but alas..not much can be done.

At least, not within the rules.

Cater Diamond

A bit like Riddle, it's sorta funny for him. God he wishes he could tease you, but he can't because of the damn programming..

Will definitely sneakily film it or record it he can't pass up on such an opportunity !

Depending on his mood he may or may not post it as well, but most likely on his private account

Can't have anyone else seeing such a cute thing, can we ?

Trey Clover

Now this is a bit complicated (more so than the others)

He wouldn't show it on the outside ofc, but he finds it endearing. (everyone does.)

May or may not crack a little smile when he sees you jumping in joy (or banging your head on the wall in frustration)

Doesn't care what others think about it, he will listen to your little outbursts with all ears.

And if anyone dares to comment about it, they better get ready for hell.

Deuce Spade

Doesn't really know what to think about it,

Ofc like everyone else he loves to hear you jump in joy or excitement, but frowns when you whine or complain about something

You deserve the very best !! If he could, he'd do anything to make you happy, just to see your little smile

God he wishes he was with you, but he can't...except-

Right, maybe draconia could help him with this.

Ace (I forgot his last name)

Oh well.

Seeing how expressive you are, he would definitely sneak in a few teases in his dialogues.

You know that cheeky smile of his ? Yeah, that's the one he has

Unlike a few others, he doesn't care if you're jumping in joy or in sadness, all he cares about is hearing you, seeing you..

Don't worry, soon enough, you'll be right next to him. So if you one day wake up to find yourself locked up in a room, just know that he means no harm

He can't help but wonder what you look like...ah, no use thinking about that since you'll be here soon.

This sucks ass ngl, my writing is trash right now but whatever

I did better than I thought since it's been a few months since I last wrote anything

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[evielmostdefinitely]

darkened shadows |young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader|

prompt: a single earring from the past causes turmoil in coryo's present with you.

contains: dark!coriolanus. manipulative, obsessive coriolanus. past mentions of lucy gray, sejanus. coryo's past. angst.

A single earring, worn- judging by the yellowish tint to the pearls that crested the thin gold hoop; that single earring that sent your world into a spiral. Cleaning your home, a gift from your parents after you announced your engagement to Coriolanus, after six months of courting during his time at University. You just wanted to be good, a prim and proper housewife, devoted just as he was to you, like your mother before you- until a single earring shattered your world. 

“Darling,” Corio’s voice traveled through the grand spiraling stairs, heavy soled shoes clacking against the marble with every climb. “My love, where are you?” His tone held an edge, a jagged sense of urgency that would usually have you stiffening, running to coax him, soothing his worrisome mind. 

Not this time. 

You could hear his heartbeat, heavy in his throat when he spat out your name. No terms of endearment, no breathy gasps between it like this morning, when you were tangled beneath the bedsheets, his hands in your hair, toes curling with pleasure. 

Frantic eyes piercing through the low light of your bedroom, falling onto you. His hair was longer now, coiffed all the same, but the curls you loved returned when Coryowould let them. “Did you not hear me calling for you?” Coryo huffed, a white knuckled grip on his satchel. 

You didn’t answer, lips pursed, legs crossed from your perch on the edge of the bed. Coriolanus frowned, pulling the strap from over his head. “What? What’s wrong? Is it your mother again-” 

“-No.” You snapped, nose scrunching in annoyance. 

Coriolanus paused, unsure. His mind scanned, raced through facts and dates- had he missed a date? An event? Fuck, dinner with your parents? His calendar had been cleared, it was why he stayed late in the lab with Gaul. 

“Why are you upset?” Coryo frowned, tired of the guessing game. He hadn’t meant to bark it out the way he did, but his heart skipped in his chest, squeezing too tight for his own comfort. 

You scoffed, a manicured hand smacking the bed, fist curling around the object. Corio’s eyes followed, the way your white knuckled grip held the object, screwing the sapphire ring off your own ring finger. “Here,” You spat, dropping the engagement ring at his feet, the single earring banging around his shining shoes. “Since you love collecting jewelry so much, you can add that to your lover’s stash.” Your voice drenched in a sarcastic venom that had his stomach twisting. 

Coryo tracked the sapphire, jaw setting. The ring- your engagement ring he’d given to you the night he poured his heart out into yours, in your parent’s garden- had been his mother’s before it found its new home on your finger. One of the few items his Grandma’am had let him have of hers, one of the few she hadn’t sold. There it was, settled next to Lucy Gray’s earring. The cursed object, when she’d betrayed him, tore his heart out in the woods of District Twelve. At the time, keeping it felt right, anchored to him like a cruel reminder. He’d forgotten about the thing, truly, stored away in a drawer far from his mind now that you took up most of the space in his head. 

“You went through my things?” Coryo clipped through gritted teeth, bending to pick up the two pieces, one in each hand. 

You gawked, spinning on your heel furiously to face him. “I was cleaning-” 

“-You were snooping.” Coryo snapped. “We have maids for cleaning-” 

“-And you told them not to come yesterday” You hissed, eyes narrowed to match his. “You wanted to spend the day in bed. Not let them in.” Your finger jabbed in the air towards him accusingly. 

Coriolanus’ mouth tightened into a firm line, frowning towards you. “You still had no right to go through my things.” He huffed. “Cleaning the drawers?” 

“I was putting your father’s compass away.” You sneered. “I didn’t want it out, and I thought you would want the same. You’re always going on and on about how the help will steal it if given the chance.” 

Coryodidn’t respond, eyes piercing through you. “So I take it’s true?” You scoff, hoping your snarl of a tone would disguise the hurt lingering through your chest. “You’ve taken a lover before the wedding?” 

“What? No.” Coryo ran a hand down his face, heart hammering. “How dare you say-” 

“-How dare you.” You snap, taking a step towards him. “Make a mockery of me, of us. Embarrass me this way.” Tears of fury blur your vision, turning before he could see. 

“It’s not- she was from before.” Coriolanus felt his composure withering away with every stomp of your foot. 

He’d rationalize his despond that he was worried about his own title, his own future. Without your family, he might as well be back to living off of scraps in the worn down family home, cracks in the foundation. He’d worked hard but your father’s good graces were securing him his spot as President after the wedding. 

“Before?” You scoffed, throwing your hands up. “Before the engagement?” 

“No,” Coryo shook his head, a strangled huff caught in his throat. “Before-Before I even knew you.” 

“So you kept it around?” You snarled, turning on your foot so quickly it had him flinching backwards. “Pieces of another woman? Another lover lying around in our home?” 

“It’s not like that. I-I didn’t even know I still had it.” Coryo was faltering, stuttering uneasily. He wasn’t used to not being in control, not being able to con himself out of any situation. The truth was, you held the upper hand; he needed you more than you did him. 

“Darling, please, just-just let me explain.” Coriolanus begged, voice lilting higher and higher. “It was before I met you. When-When I was a mentor.” He reached out a hand for you, your dramatic step back making him flinch. 

“Oh? So it’s Clemensia’s? I knew you two were more than you said. And you tried to tell me you-” 

“-It’s not Clemensia’s.” Coryo shook his head gently. “It-It belongs to someone I want to forget about now- I have forgotten about now. At the time, I-I wasn’t in my right mind. I was manipulated and cheated and played to be a fool by this-this girl.” 

That seemed to pique your interest, brows quipping carefully, watching him with caution. Vulnerability, Coryo wasn’t good at that, but he would have to be or try to be. Still, to keep you, keep your family and all his power into place, he’d have to be. 

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you.” Coriolanus said slowly, eyes taking in every quip, every pull and fall of your emotions. Your breath stilling, hitching in your throat, though you tried to keep yourself steady, calm. 

“In the past.” Coriolanus added quickly, his own voice teetering on a frantic tone that he despised, heart thudding loudly in his chest. “Let me be clear, I-I’ve never betrayed you.” 

Your shoulders seemed to relax though your eyes stayed hard, challenging. “I went to District Twelve because I was sent there as punishment, that was true.” Coriolanus started, hand closing around the pearl earring, the hook piercing into his palm. “But I also went there looking for… someone.”  

“Someone?” You repeated. 

Coriolanus nodded. “You have to understand, I-I was coerced. Tricked by this- this woman, who used me.” His lips pursed, eyes lifting to yours. Your features softened, pulling into a look of sympathy. 

“She used me. Used me and my wealth to escape.” 

“A district girl?” You whispered like you were scared, frightened that someone might hear, even in the room with just the two of you. “Coriolanus-” 

“-I know.” Coryo nodded, turning with the shake of his head. “You-You see why I didn’t tell you? I’m ashamed, my love. This,” He took a shaky breath, turning to look over his shoulder at you. “This is the darkest secret I’ve ever harbored. Not a soul, no one, knows of this.” 

You stood still, unsure, finger twisting around your ring finger, absent of the ring you’d grown so fond of. Coriolanus watched you carefully, over his shoulder, hoping you’d believe him. You’d forgive him. He was so close, so close to his inauguration. Your father had practically promised it when he asked for his permission to marry you. “You take care of her, I’ll take care of you. Make sure you give my darling girl the life she deserves, and I’ll make sure you get the life you deserve.” Coriolanus prayed you hadn’t told your father any of this. 

“But… The earring.” You looked at his closed palm. “Why would you keep it if she was so horrible to you?” 

Coriolanus paused, letting his mind still. He was close, you were close, inching towards forgiveness. Towards forgetting the Baird girl who haunted his dreams. 

“Truthfully, my love, I-I didn’t even-” Coriolanus ran a hand down his face, and out of the coroner of his eyes he saw you take a step towards him. “I didn’t know.” 

“You didn’t know?” Your brows furrowed, halting your quiet crawl towards him. 

“I was in such a state of-of distress.” Coriolanus shook his head, swallowing the hard, burning lump in his throat. “You have to understand, I shamed my family getting kicked out of University, my friend, Sejanus, he-he was hung, found out to be a traitor-” 

“-The Plinth’s son?” Your wide eyed, sympathetic gaze melted Coryo’s heart. Nearly felt it to be too much. Nearly made him feel guilty. 

Nearly. 

“Yes.” Coriolanus nodded slowly, a wave of pain washing over his features, eyes dropping at the name of his fallen friend. “Yes, all of that.” Coriolanus swallowed, eyes gleaming in the low light of the apartment. “And this deceptive, devious girl, she used that. Took advantage of my weakness. Used me.” 

Your small hiccup of a gasp, heart wrenching in an ache that Coriolanus shared with you. Burned in the fact that you felt so strongly for him, chest swarming in an unfamiliar heat. 

“I was so… distraught. Positively sick with grief and-and betrayal.” Coriolanus’ eyes met yours, closer now, with every silent step over the carpet. “I can’t tell you why I kept it. What possessed me, truly, I had forgotten about it entirely, because-” Coriolanus let himself fall silent, eyes cast to his freshly shined shoes on the carpet, so bright he could see his own reflection. 

“Because why, Coryo?” You whispered, stepping so your house slippers were touching the tips of his shoes. Your hand soft, cradling his face sweetly. “Tell me, please.” 

“I met you.” Coriolanus said softly, his hand cradling your own, the engagement ring pressed between your skins. It made your knees weak, swooning at his softness, his kindness. 

“I didn’t lie, petal. From the moment I met you, my life has known nothing but joy.” His eyes held yours, repeating the very same words from his vows weeks before, on bended knee in your parent’s rose garden overlooking the Capitol. 

“She is a sad, dark spot in my past, but you,” Coriolanus’ free hand moved, letting the earring fall to the ground, cupping your face. “You, my love, are my world. My bright, shining future. The sun, the stars, everything to me.” 

Your lip wobbled at his words, eyes shining with tears, moved by his words, the sincerity in his eyes and in his tone. Coryo’s stomach settled, relaxed at your sincere reaction. He let the ring fall in his hand, holding your hand in his, slipping the ring back onto your finger- and you let him. Of course, you let him, how could you not? 

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was lying, like I was withholding the truth.” Coryo’s hand wrapped around your fingers, thumb ghosting over your ring, pressing it into your skin. “It pains me to talk about, to even think about.” 

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, your hand squeezing his affectionately. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“You didn’t, my darling.” Coriolanus bit back the smile that threatened to grace his face. It was easy, too easy to convince you. You leaned into his hold, eyes lingering over the dazzling sapphire on your finger. 

Coriolanus swallowed. “Thank you.” He muttered, your eyes flashing to him in surprise. 

“For what?” You frowned carefully. 

“For putting my father’s compass away.” Coryo hummed, fingertips trailing down the shell of your ear, over your own earrings- clusters of diamonds and emeralds, not cheap freshwater pearls like the other, a stark difference between the two of you. 

“For being kind to me, always.” His eyes met yours, icy even in the burn of affection. “So forgiving and gentle.” 

You blushed, cheeks burning in his hold, heating the palm of his hands. He grinned, lips brushing over yours, taking you in slowly. A soft kiss that crescendoed into a passionate one, pressed into the wall, hands grabbing, fisting at the others clothes, hair. Shoving and pulling clothing, limbs, breathy whines and whispers into your skin, his skin. Fingers intertwined with every thrust of Coryo between your legs, teeth grazing over your delicate pulse points, primal. 

The earring stayed on the floor, discarded like his feelings for Lucy Gray- for now, anyways. 

Coriolanus stood over the earring the next morning, the light of the day catching the bits of gold in its rays. Coryo’s jaw set, tongue running over his teeth. In the mirror of the hall, he could see you- still in the bed, sprawled onto the pillows after he’d had you that morning, rougher than the night before. 

Memories of Lucy Gray flashed before him, how she’d never let him do the things he wanted to with her, never let him be himself- not like you. You embraced him, every part of him, welcomed it and celebrated it, where she had rejected it. 

A polished shoe hovered above the earring, Coryo’s body weight pressing down fully, satisfied with the crunch he felt under his sole. A snap, a crumbling and shattering of pearls, the thin gold snapping in half, leaving a shattered disaster under his feet. The earring was her mother’s, and her mother’s before her, passed down through her family. Now, destroyed, discarded, and forgotten just like her family. 

Just like Lucy Gray. 

[gilverrwrites]

omg what kinks would tim have? (i'm going through a tim phase rn)

Ahhh~ Tim ✨

Tim is definitely the most down for experimenting. He reads a lot and wants to try everything with you, but here's just some of my favourites that come to mind.

I think Tim likes to take photos. Nothing digital that can be found by a hacker. Physical photos, mostly polaroids, sometimes film. Things that he can keep locked up somewhere safe until he’s missing you, until he wants to remember how you look on your knees with his cock resting on your smiling face, or your torso, mid-bounce as you ride him.

He doesn’t do it a lot, just when he catches glimpses of you looking so… so perfect, he just has to capture the moment forever. Sometimes you’ll see it coming, you get that embarrassed little grin on your face and try to hide from him, but he cups your wrists so gently in one hand, fawning as he coaxes you to show off for him. “Please baby, for me. You’re so pretty, just one more. Smile!”

Dirty talk. He has such a praise kink, it makes him look dumb. Which is fitting cause he also has a teasing kink. Give him whiplash by praising and degrading him in the same sentence.

“You sound so pretty Timmy, you like it when I ride you like this? Yeah? Yeah, you do, keep making those slutty noises for me.”

“You’re so greedy Tim, eating me like this. Feels so good, don’t stop, god don’t stop.”

Keep going till he’s turning pink, curling his toes, gripping onto you for dear life as he chases that sweet, sweet release. Just beware, cause Tim gives just as well, if not more than he takes.

“You’re so cute when you’re begging for my cock. Keep it up and I might give you what you want.”

“You’re so needy baby, milking me like you’ve never been fucked before. It’s so hot.”

Brainybird works a lot of long hours, often staring at a myriad of screens. Cockwarming is great for him. Allows you to spend time together, and maintain a level of physical intimacy without taking him away from his work for long periods of time. The style of warming can vary depending on your moods.

When he's really under pressure, he likes you quiet and out of the way almost. A pillow on the floor, blankets, anything to need to keep you comfy while you're on your knees, mouth silenced by his semi-hard cock resting heavily on your tongue. He can play with your hair, or look down at his perfect girl/boy/partner/whatever when he needs a rest from the screens. Your dreamy eyes looking back at him keeping him grounded. When it's been a lonnnggggg mission, he might have you on his lap. Cock buried in your sex, head on your shoulder, chest to chest in an embrace as he wraps up what he's doing. Chatting idly to you, asking your advice, humpfing when you complain that it's getting late. And of course, sometimes he does it just to tease. Doesn't matter the position, he just likes to slip his full length inside you and see how long it takes for you to crack. Biting his lips, trying not to laugh at your fidgeting, calling you the tease when you pull his hair or kiss his neck to try and get his attention. Cruel boy.

On that note, hair pulling. I just know he’s so sensitive. A sure-fire way to turn him on, be it just a little tug on his bangs, or a real wrench from the back of his scalp. Anything is sure to have him letting out a shameless moan and turning such an endearing shade of pink.

And this last one is specific to Arkham!Tim, and him only. I know it's f a t, and he likes to bully that thing into you, stretching you out, filling you up. Until your legs are jelly and you're begging him for mercy. Then, when he's done he likes to admire his work. Likes to spread your abused hole apart with his thumbs and see just how much you're gaping from his thick cock.