#honestly wild how surprised it is at three like. having had friends. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hoshigray · 8 months ago

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based on this post by @stnexus; the truth is so good I had to cook.

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Nanami x afab/fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - sitting + missionary position - breast fondling + nipple play - oral (f! receiving) - [un]protected sex - impact play (spanking) - clitoral play (licking, sucking and swiping) - overstimulation - cervix fucking - pet names (angel, cutie, [my] love, sweetpea) - shit bout to get active (nasty) - implied multiple orgasms - creampie - mention of drug/alcohol abuse.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.9k

“Sigh, poor Yu.”

“Mm? I’ll be fine, sweetpea.”

“Pfft, not you, silly. I meant Haibara, he’s so shit-faced that he’s practically glued to the bucket.”

“Ahh, that’s true.” Nanami chuckles.

“And you, I thought you knew how to control your alcohol; what happened?”

Honestly, your blonde husband is too under the influence to tell you. All he knows is that what was supposed to be a pleasant and chill outing with his coworkers, Ino and Ijichi, at a Korean barbeque place somehow turned into a wild yet fun night of drinks and stories. But that’s to be expected when Yu Haibara comes out to join the crew—yet who is Nanami to diminish the entertainment of his best friend?

Needless to say, all three of them–minus Ijichi because someone’s gotta drive everybody home–got quite drunk from the ordeal, surprising you the moment you opened the door and saw the blonde and brunette stumble into the shared apartment. You shook your head with a smile, taking the men in and preparing the couch for Haibara to sleep on, along with a bucket he’ll eventually hurl in. Then, you lead your husband to the armchair after taking off his blazer, placing a cup of water on the end table for him to sip.

Nanami grumbles, putting his hand on his forehead. “I don’t know…I know I was drinking light until Yu started buying cognac and scotch.” Fuck, my head is pounding like crazy… “I think I tried that Brown n’ Orange cocktail like—hic—four times. Heh, it was delicious.”

“Cocktails and scotch?” You inquire while helping him take off his dress shoes off his manspread legs. “How many drinks did you have all together?”

“Mmm, more than five?” He chuckles lightly at the sight of you peering with concerned eyes. “More than ten.”

“Jesus, Kento, no wonder you’re all flushed.” He leans into your palms as you’re stroking his light rosen cheeks and ears. “Drink that water; I’ll try and find something for you to snack on.” You stand and head to the foyer to drop his shoes off, and he slumps onto the armchair with a sigh.

It’s been a long while since Nanami had been in more than a tipsy state. The buzz has his head ringing, the rose of his cheeks getting hotter, and the tiny grunts of his best friend on the couch humor him; at least I’m not that wasted. God, albeit the night’s fun entertained him, he most certainly didn’t miss the aches of his head—and he knows it’ll get worse in the morning. So, to distract him, he watches you coming back into the scene and entering the kitchen.

It was late into the night, the hour hand touching midnight, so you were walking around the place in your usual sleep attire: an oversized shirt and some shorts. You looked too cute, waltzing around, scrummaging through the fridge and pantry. Smelled good, too; definitely finished putting on your lotion and skin care after a shower. Holy hell, you looked so beautiful; the glow of the ceiling lights made your skin too luscious to resist. He swallowed thickly at the sight of your hips swaying as you moved and his breath at a halt once you stride back.

Your fingers touch his forehead, checking his temperature. “My my, Ken, you really outdid yourself.” Your giggle was music to his ears. “Totally unlike you to go past your drinking number.”

“Hmm, I know,” he grabs for your wrist and places gentle kisses on your fingertips to lick. “Might as well take advantage of me; who knows the next time I’ll be like this.”

You notice the teeny glint of his mocha brown eyes, scoffing faintly with a grin. “So you’re drunk and bold tonight, huh.” He brings his face in to kiss your cheek, following down to your chin. “What about poor Yu?”

His “poor” friend in question is currently snoring his drunkness away, cuddled up on the couch with the blanket you placed over him. “I wouldn’t worry about him.” He whispers to your ear before a kiss. “But you should worry about me.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because, all I’m thinkin’ about,” his hands sneak into your shirt. “How soft you feel in my hands and how crazy the smell of that lotion is making me.”

You can’t lie; with how hot he was looking, there was no way you could decline. His sandy bangs draped down to his forehead, chocolate eyes gleaming with wanton, and his warm touch squeezing the flesh of your breasts. Pulling him up and leading him to the bedroom was all you could do.

“Ahhh, ahhh, yess, yeessss!!”

“Hnngh!! Ughh, shiit, y’ feel so good, love!”

Once the bedroom door is closed, Nanami plans on having you glued to him the entire night. It might be the bubbly feeling still in his bloodstream; however, right now, nothing beats the feeling of having your cunt clenching on his cock.

You sat on his lap, both his pants and your shorts on the bedroom floor—makes it easier for the flesh of your ass to meet his pelvis as you bounced on him. Your knees trapped atop his thighs, your lower regions free range for his length to burrow inside your warmth. Meanwhile, his hands roam either inside your shirt to play with your breast or swipe on your clit to make more cute sounds to escape your puffy lips.

You jolt, his chest and abs exposed from his shirt, now touch your back. “Fuuuck, yesss!” Nanami kisses your neck as he tweaks your nipple and clit concurrently. “Like thaaat, keep going…!”Your words do things to him, bucking into your hips to release more moans suppressed within you. “Ohhh, Kentooo!”

“Shhhh, not so loud, angel,” he whispers to your ear, hissing at the twitch of your vagina. “Don’t want Yu to wake up…Mmmph!”

So he says, yet the grip of you is driving him insane. Maybe it was the alcohol–it had to be–but you felt sooo fucking good. His head gets dizzier as your chasm constantly contracts around him with every graze of your upper wall, his senses more enhanced than ever as the cold bedroom air juxtaposes with the shared heat of your bodies.

“OhoooGod, ahaaa!” Shaky shrieks erupt from light pinches to your clit. “OhhhKennn, I’m gonna cummm…!”

“Shit, me too, baby,” Nanami burrows his face into the pit of your shoulder as he ruts upward with no resistance. More silent screams derive from your mouth as your climax crashes on you like a wave, clamping onto Nanami’s cock until your body stops trembling. And he keeps going until he’s at his limit as well, pumping his load into the condom.

As you two pant heavily and sink into the feeling, Kento’s hand comes up from the south, and you take his fingers to meet your tongue. The sight of you tasting yourself only furthers the thirst your husband has quenched.

…So he has his fill of you.

“—Ghhh, Kentooo, yer tongue…! Go slooow!”

But he can’t, not when you taste so good.

He has his face stuffed so deep between your legs, his mouth and tongue latching onto your labia to drink every last bit of your fluids. An action that’s futile as all that does is persuade more to seep your folds and his tongue. But that’s even better, the taste of you refusing to leave his tastebuds.

You throw your head back to the pillow when Nanami pushes your knees further, and more slurping noises venture down as he laps relentlessly on your cunt. You’re wailing, “Ahhhh, slow doownnn! I’m gonna b-break..!!

His tongue comes to your clit to dance around. “Sorry, love; you just taste so good to stop.” He sucks on your bud to make your toes curl immediately. He chortles, “Cutie…”

You grab tuffs of his golden hair as he pushes his tongue inside your vagina, whining at the feeling of the wet muscle dredging into your sensitive insides. Violating you with pleasant rubs and licks within your inner channel, it’s tough to think straight for the both of you. You smelt way too fucking good to stop, and your adorable mewls let him know that he’s doing his job in pleasing you. He wanted more—a greedy desire, of course, but it was a need.

“Kennn, d-don’t! I came already,” you plead, but the hands pushing and pulling his head further down tell a different story.

“One more, sweetpea,” he coos with a kiss to your slit. “One more time for me, okay?”

However, if you find it hard now, imagine how it is the next time he plunges his cock inside you once more. Because–trust–he becomes way needier than before. Pajamas completely stripped off your nude frame, along with the dress shirt stinking of alcohol, your husband has finally let loose and has his way with you for the final moments of the night.

He has you now under his bow, watching how your figure recoils from every push of his hip work. Sweat glistens across your skin, your legs coming around his waist, and more alluring sounds flying out your lips that prompt the man to pound into you lovingly. Your beautiful folds, mixed with saliva and your essence, now are stuffed with his shaft and his come he expelled into you the moment he inserted himself the round before. Having you bare on his dick is unreal, the booze taking its effect and making the sensation way more titillating than the last. If he hasn’t already, Nanami is about to lose himself.

“Hahhh, ahhh, holy shit,” his eyes look to the union of the sexes; the white ring that shows on the base sends shivers.

“Ohhhh, Jesus, fuuck,” you whimper aloud, eyes sewn shut as the pleasure improves the haze in your head. “’O good, f’eel sho gooood…”

Slow ruts to your chasm dial to a faster pace. “One more, let me go for one more…Hnnnmm.” He brings your hips up a bit to pull up a bit; the angle is better for his length to plow deeper into you. You scream abruptly at the jab of your cervix, and he instantly bends to your ear for comfort.

“Ahhh! Hoooh, Kent—Ohhh!” Your arms come around his neck, bringing him intimately for guidance. “T’oo muuch, it’s too muuch!”

“I know, angel, I know,” he utters hoarsely, placing more kisses on your neck to leave hickeys for later. “Almost there, okay?”

You can only take his words for what they are as he continues to thrust into you mercilessly; more pokes to your cervix bring even more choked gasps of air. With your walls clutching around him, Nanami will come again within seconds—inevitably so, as he’s way too deep to call quits now.

But before that, he wants to feel you one last time. He drops one leg to have a hand come to your clitoris to swipe on again, motivating your excessively engaged body to undergo more onslaughts of satisfying pinches. With a howl, you release yourself and submit to another orgasm, the flutter of your walls pulling Nanami into a crescendo of his own.

Heaving bodies, pant desperately for air, the blonde man trembling with the shocks that travel up his spine. He gives way and rests his sweaty frame on yours, syncing his breathing with your pattern.

“What has gotten into you?” You titter breathlessly. “I haven’t seen this side of you since our honeymoon.” Your jest does its job, making your husband chuckle in jagged breaths.

“Guess I should have whiskey cocktails more often.”

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star2fishmeg · 2 months ago

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oooooh for your 1K celebration could i request scenario 133 with jack hughes pretty pls and thank you :)

Thank you for requesting <3

SCENARIO #133 Bffs 'practising'

📞 dialling…

“Are you kidding?” Jack asked in surprise, eyes almost burst straight out of his head, pushing off his headboard to lean closer to y/n opposite him on his bed.

“Jack, stop, it's so embarrassing.” She hushed urgently, hoping Luke couldn’t hear anything from the room next door. Heat flushed to her neck, and she buried her face in her hands. “People didn't like me like that, okay?”

He leant back again, jaw agape and mind trying to process the information. Out of all the years they’d known each other, he couldn’t comprehend how he didn't know she’d never been kissed before or how he never knew about it. What rattled him the most was that he knew guys who would have gone through the trenches for y/n back in high school, yet nothing ever came of it. His ride or die, y/n? Never been kissed?

He pushed his hair off his forehead, the locks getting longer just the way he knew she liked it, “But college? You're saying you did three years of college and nothing? I'm finding it hard to believe that someone as pretty and cool as you had nobody who wanted to kiss you, sweets.”

Her hands fell to her lap, fiddling with the ends of her pyjama bottoms, stomach flipping anxiously at all the two memories of when she almost had a kiss, but could never bring herself to go through with it. It just didn’t feel…right.

“Ah, well, my friends were more approachable, I guess. I don't even know what the fuck to do anyway, like how do you even make-out?” She chuckled, peering up to give him a quizzed look.

Jack didn’t need to think, didn’t need to hesitate, the first thought that came to mind hit him like a brick and was a risk he was willing to take, the tightness and excitement in his chest needed relief or he would end up facing the anguish of not taking the risk.

“I can teach you.” He said, quickly with his unwavering confidence across his lips, eyes flickering to her lips. “For real, I'll teach you how to kiss. Come on, it'll be fun and it's just me. You know I won't tease you.”

“You don’t have to, J. Honestly, you don’t have to pity me.”

“It’s all good, sweets. I’ve got you, c’mere.” He patted his thigh twice, inviting her in with a confident grin on his face. She wasn’t sure if he was confident or finding amusement in the whole thing.

She exhaled, crawling towards him and straddling his lap, the new position sparking a funny excitement in her stomach, heat surging over her body. His hands held her hips, firm but not bruising, enough to reassure her that, he was sure. Y/n’s breath fell shaky, she’d been face to face with him before but not in that position, where his thumbs rubbed her hipbones gently and her hands wound around his shoulders.

“Don’t be nervous, princess,” he murmured, “tilt your head to the left and follow my lead.”

She did, closing the space between them. He pressed his lips to hers tenderly, slotting perfectly. In those brief, six seconds it felt as if the world burst into colours around her, butterflies swarming around her stomach and finally understanding how addicting it was to taste another. Without much thought, she slid her hand to his nape, pulling a groan from Jack’s throat.

Y/n pulled away, lips still parted but eyes searching his for any speck of mutual desire that washed through her, hands still holding each other but she felt his fingers sneak under her t-shirt with feathery touches.

“Do…do you normally make noises like that when you kiss girls?” she asked quietly, a wild glint in her eyes, one that Jack struggled to contain himself over. He shook his head honestly, hands slithering further under her shirt but doing nothing but running his hands over her waist. “J, I think I wanna make-out with you.”

His lips quirked up in the corners and he licked his lips, “Me too. It’s gonna feel weird, but move your tongue against mine, just follow my lead, ‘kay?”

She nodded, eyes fluttering closed and leaning into him. He pressed his mouth to hers again, swiping his tongue over her bottom lip, feeling her open cautiously before sliding his tongue further. Jack was right, not that she didn’t believe him but his tongue finding hers and lapping against it was alien, yet she followed him. His hand moved up her back, the other arm still wrapped around her waist and keeping her secure to his body, lips moving in a slow rhythm, his chest fizzling at the little moans emitting from her shamelessly as they licked into each other. For someone who’d never made out with anyone before, she learned fast, ignoring the saliva drooling from the corners of mouths.

Jack hummed when she looped her other arm around his shoulder’s tighter, unknowingly rolling her hips into his crotch, their rhythm becoming hungrier, hotter and heavier until they had to pull back, gasping for air.

Jack rested his forehead against hers, the pair falling into giggles. Twirling a strand of his hair around her finger, she smiled. “How was I?”

“Good, but I think we’re gonna have to go again just so I can be sure.”

He rolled them onto their sides, Jack propped up by his elbow with y/n tucked underneath him, kissing her hard with his hand soothing over her waist and hiking her t-shirt to her ribs. She moaned into him with a slight smile to her lips, one hand tucking his hair away from his face meanwhile her arm held onto his shoulders. Love, lust, hunger and comfort during three separate kisses, yet three attempts at showing how deep down they knew they were meant for each other.

#≡megs1kcelly #≡jh86 #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader

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luvismenu · 2 months ago

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stream #02 — boxing ✒️

pause or play ,, JJK — series m.list

warnings: just streaming yk, boxer jk, some tension, some confusion, jk being a baby loll

wc: 3.17k

you reached jungkook’s new gym, taking in the expensive space and sleek, high-end equipment. it’s bigger, more polished, and clearly more expensive than his last one. but it doesn’t surprise you. jungkook has a taste for the finer things. he’s humble when he needs to be, sure, but he wouldn’t deny it if someone called him rich.

you’ve known him for what feels like a lifetime. you were seven when his family moved into the house next door, and he was just three. your families clicked immediately, and soon enough, the two of you were practically inseparable. almost like family, people would say.

jungkook was always the adventurous one, the chaotic to your calm. you were there for him as he grew up, through every scraped knee and every wild idea. somehow, the two of you became the closest of friends. but no matter how close you were, jungkook never wanted to be seen as your little brother.

even when people around you assumed it—his parents included—he refused to let the title stick.

you still remember the first time it really hit you. you were 14, and he was 10. you’d casually called him your little brother, and he was furious. “don’t call me that!” he’d snapped, arms crossed and a pout on his face. you didn’t think much of it at the time, figuring he’d grow out of it. but he didn’t.

even now, he hates it. he doesn’t want you to see him as a younger sibling, and honestly, you don’t mind. you’ve always treated him like your equal; your best friend. that’s all that ever mattered to you.

there are times when he makes it hard not to think of him as the annoying little brother. but, nonetheless, you love him.

and eventually, the two of you grew up and started carving out your own paths. you found your place in tech, and he found his in streaming. but through it all, you never stopped believing in him. you always knew he had something special, a spark that could light up any room.

and now, here he is, one of the most successful streamers out there. watching him grow into who he is today fills you with pride. a quiet, steady pride that you don’t think will ever fade.

you’re proud of him. you always have been, and you always will be.

“jji! right here!” jungkook’s voice cuts through your thoughts. you spot him, waving at you. he’s in sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, his hands wrapped with bandage tape, his hair messily falling into his eyes.

you walk over, shaking your head at the sight of him.

“did you start the stream yet?” you ask, instinctively reaching out to fix his hair. he bends slightly, letting you smooth it down.

“no, not yet,” he says, gesturing towards the cameras and equipment nearby. “i was waiting for you.”

“waiting for me?” you raise a brow, smoothing the last strand and pulling your hand back.

“of course,” he says with a sly grin. “need to prove to you that i’m a man, remember?” his eyes lock onto yours, and you pause for a moment, caught off guard.

“you’re still on that?” you tilt your head, frowning slightly but with a soft smile. “i thought you weren’t serious.”

“oh, i’m dead serious, jji,” he says, flexing his fingers as he adjusts the tape on his hands. “today, i’m gonna show you what i really am.” his confidence is almost infectious, but you just shake your head, amused.

he's so cute.

“right, sure,” you mumble, turning toward the equipment to set up the camera.

this isn’t new to you. every time jungkook streams outside his usual setup, you’re somehow involved. you don’t mind, though. in fact, you’ve grown to enjoy it. jungkook has this way of making everything feel natural and comfortable, even when you’re in front of a camera.

“oh, by the way,” jungkook pipes up, motioning towards a man walking in. “this is sangwon hyung, my trainer.”

the man gives a polite bow as he approaches, and you return it with a small one of your own. “nice to meet you,” you say, smiling and he gives you a quick nod before moving toward a desk stacked with boxing gear.

jungkook steps behind you, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “isn’t he cool?”

you scoff, a quiet laugh escaping you. “sure, he seems cool.”

“he’s also funny,” jungkook adds, nodding towards sangwon, who’s busy sorting equipment.

you glance back at him with a teasing grin. “are you in love with your personal trainer?”

jungkook rolls his eyes, stepping back with an exaggerated sigh. “it's called admiration,” he shakes his head as if he's teaching you something very obvious, but there’s a small smile tugging at his lips as he walks to his trainer.

jungkook adjusts the camera and starts his stream, his usual confident grin lighting up his face.

“what’s good, chat?” he greets, his voice full of energy and the chat goes wilddd

@/kookiebaby: WE MISSED YOU !!!!

@/jkenthusiast: OH MY GOD IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS STREAM FOR AGES

@/darlingxo: YOU LOOK SO HOT

@/jaykaysslut: SHOW US THOSE ABS DADDY 🥵

“yes, yes, i know you guys have been waiting for the boxing stream ever since i dropped those pics of me with the gloves. and well, here we are!”

he gestures toward his trainer. “this is sangwon hyung, my trainer. say hi, hyung.” sangwon waves shyly, smiling before he starts prepping the equipment.

jungkook’s eyes flicker to his monitor, catching a comment in the chat.

“oh, you guys want text-to-speech on?” he asks, glancing at you for confirmation.

you’re already a step ahead, nodding as you enable the setting with ease. “done,” you say, giving him a quick look.

“thanks, jji,” he replies with a grin before turning back to his chat.

almost immediately, the donations start pouring in, the robotic voice reading out the messages.

text-to-speech:

“hey jungkook, i missed you!”

“how was your break?”

“finally, boxing stream time!”

jungkook chuckles as he responds while wrapping his hands. “missed you too! break was good, but i’m ready to be back now. thanks for waiting.”

his trainer joins him, checking the gloves and pads as more messages roll in.

then a donation catches your attention: “is ___ with you?”

you’re not surprised. his chat is used to you showing up during his streams. you smile softly, glancing at jungkook, waiting for his response.

“yes, ___ is here too,” jungkook says casually, then turns to you with that boyish grin. “come on, jji, say hi to chat.”

with a small sigh but a smile nonetheless, you walk in front of the camera, giving a little wave. “hey, chat. been a while,” you say warmly, and the chat immediately explodes with excitement.

text-to-speech:

“__, we missed you!”

“looking good as always”

“i missed my favorite couple”

“mommy and daddy are back”

you can’t help but laugh quietly. it’s not the first time chat has assumed you and jungkook are a thing, and at this point, it doesn’t even faze you. jungkook, on the other hand, just smirks as he slips on his gloves.

jungkook starts with some warmup exercises, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders before shifting into jumping jacks. his movements are fluid, showcasing the effort he’s been putting into training.

after a few minutes, when everything is settled.

jungkook steps into the training zone, fists wrapped tightly, as his trainer holds up two padded gloves for him to strike. he begins his routine, throwing punches with precision and focus.

it’s impressive to watch, when jungkook gets into something, he doesn’t just dabble. he trains so hard that whatever he does ends up looking flawless.

the chat explodes with excitement, emotes filling the screen as viewers cheer him on. you glance between jungkook and the chat, managing donations and comments as they flood in. as his head moderator, it’s part of the job, but you don’t see it that way. for you, this is just another way to be there for him— supporting him like you always have, as his best friend.

after a few rounds, jungkook takes a break, sitting down in front of the camera. his breath is heavy, his hair a tousled mess, and sweat clings to his skin.

you lean closer, reaching out instinctively. with one hand, you smooth his hair back into place; with the other, you use the edge of your sweater sleeve to gently wipe the sweat from his forehead. he closes his eyes, leaning into your touch, his breathing gradually evening out.

the text-to-speech voice cuts through the moment:

“that was so intense! please take care of yourself.”

jungkook’s lips curl into a smile as he opens his eyes, catching your wrist in his hand. you blink, slightly startled, as he intertwines his fingers with yours. the chat goes crazy, even though all they can see is your hand.

“thank you,” he says, turning his attention back to the camera. “i am glad i have ___ to take care of me.”

he glances up at you, the corners of his mouth lifting into a teasing smirk as he adds a wink.

you roll your eyes, an amused look on your face. mouthing, “shut up,” you try to pull your hand away, but he just chuckles softly.

he lets go after a moment, standing up and stretching as he gets ready for the next round, leaving you to shake your head at his antics, a small smile tugging at your lips.

after what feels like two hours of intense training, breaks, and chatting with his viewers, jungkook is visibly exhausted. his movements are slower now, his hair sticking to his damp forehead, and his breathing is heavier than before. you can tell he’s pushed himself to his limit for this stream.

the chat, however, is still buzzing with excitement, donations pouring in faster than ever. jungkook glances at the screen, his tired eyes attempting to scan the messages, but it’s clear he doesn’t have the energy to keep up.

“jji,” he mutters softly, leaning back against the chair he's on, his voice hoarse. “can you handle it?”

you nod, stepping in without hesitation. pulling up a chair beside him, you start reading the... more wholesome donations and messages out loud.

“‘jungkook, you’re amazing! take care of yourself, please!’” you read with a small laugh, glancing at him.

he gives a tired smile, wiping the sweat from his face with a towel. “thank you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

you continue, “‘jungkook, that was so cool! but seriously, drink more water’” you say and immediately hold up his water bottle to him.

he chuckles weakly, taking the bottle and sipping from it.

the chat seems to notice you’ve taken over, with messages like, “thank you, ___, for taking care of our kookie!” and “we stan mommy ___,!”

“okay, guys, i think it’s time to end the stream,” you say, looking directly at the camera with a small smile as jungkook sits slouched on the chair beside you, clearly drained but still listening.

the chat explodes with protests.

“nooo, don’t go!”

“one more round daddy please”

“aw, take care !”

“love you jungkookie! thank you”

“thank you, ___ !”

“our favorite couple frfr.”

“waiting for the next stream already”

you smile, muting the text-to-speech for a moment. “alright, send your final messages and love to jungkook before we sign off.”

jungkook leans forward, waving weakly at the camera. “thanks for watching, guys. you’re amazing, as always.”

you add, “take care, everyone. we’ll see you soon!”

with that, you end the stream, the room falling into a quiet hum. you turn to jungkook, who’s still sitting on the chair, looking utterly spent.

“ready to go home?” you ask, crossing your arms.

“carry me?” he jokes, flashing a tired smile.

you always carried him when he was a kid, whether it was because he’d fallen asleep during movie nights or he’d hurt himself. back then he was smaller than you.

but now… you glance at him, leaning back into the chair again, his broad shoulders and muscular frame taking up way more space than they used to. he looks.. big.

still, if he wasn’t so big and heavy now, you’d probably still carry him, just like old times. but even thinking about trying to lift him now makes your back ache.

you laugh, shaking your head. “let’s go.”

his house, as always, has that comforting vibe—nothing too flashy but enough to show his style. it’s a place that’s just... him.

you and jungkook head straight into the kitchen. despite how exhausted he seemed earlier, he’s already bouncing back. aside from the faint sheen of sweat on his skin, he looks completely normal, his usual energetic self.

you grab a bottle of juice from the refrigerator and walk over to the kitchen counter. before you can even start pouring, he’s right behind you, reaching for the bottle.

“i can do it,” he says, his hand brushing yours as he tries to take it.

you pull the bottle away with a small smile. “i know you can,” you reply, already unscrewing the cap and pouring the juice into two glasses.

he scoffs softly, shaking his head as he leans against the counter, watching you. there’s a certain fondness in his eyes that you don’t notice, too focused on pouring.

you turn around and hand him one of the glasses, keeping the other in your hand. he takes it, holding it up toward you.

“cheers,” he says

you smile and clink your glass gently against his. “good stream,” you say in unison.

you take a sip while he tilts his head back, chugging the entire drink in one go. your eyes widen slightly at the sight, but you quickly recover, shaking your head with an amused smile.

“fuck, that’s good,” he groans, setting the empty glass behind you on the counter.

you take another sip of your drink, watching him carefully as he takes a deep breath, clearly about to say something.

“so, what did you think?” he asks, his eyes focused on you. you blink, distracted by your drink for a moment before meeting his gaze.

“hm?” you tilt your head slightly, unsure of what he's referring to.

he clears his throat, straightening up and looking at you with a serious expression. “do you believe me now?”

you furrow your brows, genuinely confused. “believe you? what do you mean?”

before you can process it, he steps in front of you, raising his arms and flexing them dramatically.

that's when it hits you.

you try to hold back a laugh, putting your half finished glass on the counter as you try to control yourself. his serious face only makes it harder for you to stop.

he frowns at you, his arms dropping as you laugh softly. “hey! what are you laughing at?” he asks, not understanding what's so funny.

you cover your mouth, trying to smile less. “oh, yes,” you manage, “point proven, mr. big man jungkook.”

his face falls, clearly thinking that you don’t take him seriously. “god,” he says, rolling his eyes. “you still don’t get it, but i’ll prove it to you someday.”

your brows raise slightly. “you know you don’t have to, right?”

he stares at you for a moment before exclaiming, “i do!”

you blink in surprise as he sighs. “i really do.”

you sigh, walking closer to him, reaching out to cup his face cheek gently. “hey,” you say softly, “you might be a grown man now. but, to me, you’re still that little crazy stubborn jungkook from when we were kids. you know that, right?”

but he doesn't like that.

he looks at you, then scoffs, holding your hand and pulling it down gently. “but that’s not what i want you to see!” he whines, his tone almost childlike.

you cross your arms, trying to hold back a smile. “okay, you’re being dramatic now,” you reply. “why are you so adamant about proving something that doesn’t need to be proven?”

he steps closer to you, “because—” but then stops himself before saying anything.

you wait for him to finish, but he just stands there, silent.

“because i just have to!” he says suddenly, exasperated.

you let out a long sigh, frustrated with the whole thing.

“don’t sigh at me like i’m a kid,” he snaps immediately.

you try to argue, “i am n—”

but he cuts you off again, “you were.”

you look at him, taken aback. he meets your gaze, and you can’t help but smile. leaning a little closer to him, you tease, “are you mad?”

he’s still standing close enough that you can feel his presence, and you reach up to ruffle his hair, trying to lighten the mood. “we can get takeout, maybe—”

before you can finish your sentence, his hand grabs your wrist gently, but firmly enough to stop you. you stumble back, your back hitting the counter as he steps closer, his other hand placing itself beside you on the counter to trap you there.

you blink, unsure of what’s happening. his gaze is intense, but he doesn’t speak. you can feel some kind of weird tension building, the space between you two quickly dissapearing.

as he leans down slightly, his body completely trapping you on the counter, and you can see the way his arms flex with every movement. you gasp softly. your noses are so close, just inches apart. his breath brushes over your lips, and you can feel your heart beat a little faster.

your breath hitches, and you open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. what is he doing? why is he acting like this? did you say something to upset him?

his eyes flicker down to your lips for a brief moment, and then back up to your eyes, his gaze sharp and serious.

“jungko—”

he pulls back suddenly, his posture changing. “i need to take a shower,” he says, his voice calm but slightly awkward.

“huh?” you respond, still processing what just happened.

he clears his throat, stepping back, his body relaxing as he looks down at himself. “i stink right now, look at all this sweat,” he says casually, as if nothing happened.

you blink.

you glance down at his shirt. “oh... yeah,” you reply, your mind racing to catch up with the situation.

“takeout sounds good,” he adds, snapping you back to the present. “you take care of it, and i’ll be back soon,” he says before turning to head towards his room.

you’re left standing there, still leaning against the counter, completely stunned.

what the fuck just happened?

note: yeah jungkook's gonna be banging his head on the wall in the shower cuz bro was CRAZY FOR THAT—

💌 series taglist: @dna-black-and-blue @vrsltz @jkvamp @dieforkoo @myjungkookthighs

💌 permanent taglist: @internetrando64 @jkvias @lovieku @deluluisdasolulu @ddanasjk @onlyforyoukook @diamondjeon @nnybtitts08 @lil0u0 @butnotmontana @fr0ggieth1nk @minimoninini @whoa-jo @lola75111 @iswearimover5feetall @rispwr @genevieveeeee

@134340-kr @mar-lo-pap @fluttershypoo @kyuupii @https-mei @elinaki92 @jungkookmyoneandonlybaby @hoseokteardrop @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @jaykay-world @jmscaffeine @libra04 @beigerin @nikidream24 @svnbangtansworld @mimi1097 @kookoo-kachoo @junecat18 @iheartchanelle @rrosiitas

#jungkook x y/n #fanfic #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook smau #bts fanfiction #jungkook fic #bts fic #jungkook fanfic

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wvffles · 2 days ago

Text

ahh, alex this is amazing !!<3 i'm so in love with this ♥️

lots of incoming thoughts lol, sorry in advance :')💘

Biting the inside of your lip, you can’t help but take him in, here in the raw light of day as he lays peacefully on his back. His head lolls to the side on your usual pillow. Your eyes roam over the bow of his lips, the dark eyebrows, lightish brown hair that's softer than it should be between your fingers.

I wish he was real at least once a day, I wanna give him a bunch of little kisses all over his face so bad 😩💗

It starts at Sam Winchester’s joint bachelor-bachelorette party at a nice hotel downtown.

I loveee this. <33 honestly the concept of traditional bachelor/bachelorette parties make zero sense to me, like wdym last night of freedom??? i'd simply cancel the wedding, go be free lmaoo 🙂‍↔️🤚🏽

They look beautiful in their lithe, strapless little cocktail dresses. You’ve had to give up chocolate, bread, and cheese for three months straight to fit into this dress, something slinky and red that drapes over your thicker, curvy figure. But you’re proud of the fact that you’re letting yourself eat cake tonight, even though you’ve often felt like Mrs. Doubtfire while standing for pictures next to Lisa and Jo.

ohhh I felt this to my coreeeee 😭 ( those 'fake nice' mean girls are the worst like it gets to a point you'd just prefer them to be straight up lol)

He can almost imagine that he’s coming free inside you, that you’re milking his cock for every drop, until there’s nothing left for him to give.

now I understand that this is probably a wild thing to highlight, however, it's making me giggle so bad after knowing how the rest of the chapter goes 🤣 his intuition is on point lmfaooo

with that being said, I truly adore their connection. 💓 it's so genuine and comfortable <33 and that spiceeee, it had me blushing ❤️‍🔥🫠 so good 🫶🏽

“And you didn’t even fucking call her. See? This is why I don’t set you up with any of my friends anymore,” Sam bitches at him from his side of the small two-seater dinner table.

you tell him sammy !! I completely understand focusing on training but a simple text message could have sufficed dean ._.

“You know, Dean, I’m pretty busy with my job right now. I just started here a couple of months ago, and I think I just need to focus on that right now,” you say. Part of it isn’t a lie, even though your soft heart is stinging.

I understand why she did this but still, aagh ☹️ my hopeless hearttt lol

Two months later, Dean has taken Sam’s dating advice to heart. A week or so after you turned him down, he ran into Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, while he was at the grocery store buying beer and Twizzlers. She was a smart, sharp, sexy brunette. A yoga instructor, he soon found out. So he took a chance on asking her out. They’ve been going slow and steady ever since.

deeeep sigh 😔 (nothing against canon lisa lol)

“Dean, I’m pregnant,” you confess.

considering the lovely story banner I should have guessed, but this really did surprise me somehow lollll 😭 (perhaps the gif distracted me 🤣)

“What did he say when you told him?” Sam asks. His gaze is firmer. You get the idea that if he doesn’t like what you tell him, then he’s about to go grab his brother by the ear himself.

aww sammy 🥺 he's such a sweetheart, I love him. also I can totally picture that 💀

Dean can tell that he knows, just in his Big Bird body language. He’d also recognize that accompanying Bitch Face anywhere.

lmfaoooooo dean pls 🤣 gotta love that sibling analysis

Lisa greets you with a “polite” smile at best, but she does offer you water at least. You really can’t blame her for not liking you though. She found out her boyfriend got another woman pregnant right before he started dating her. Really, she has more balls than you for staying with him.

i'd be blaming her for sure because how is she gonna be mad at something that happened before she was in the picture, then continue to be mad as if she's not actively choosing to stay, which is wild to me considering it's only been two months 💀 (she low-key reminds me of mona from friends 😩)

“So, you’re what, six months pregnant?” she asks.

this could just be my anger issues talking but the urge to bitch slap her has appeared and it only intensified the more she talked 🤠 nothing more irritating than thinly veiled insults and backhanded comments. and how dare she do this, not just to another woman, but a pregnant woman? i'd cuss her out so quick like ho is you cool?? pack it up and put it away nobody asked for your projections negative nelly 🤚🏽

She gets up quicker from the couch than you, greeting her boyfriend with a kiss. You avert your gaze while you begin to get up yourself. Dean reaches out to help you, grasping your arm in support.

oh god my patience could neverrr 😭 it may be a bit irrational, but I would be so upset like you just kissed your gf, do not touch me sir. 🤠more importantly though, how are you going to juggle a new relationship with another woman and be truly committed to all the responsibilities of a new baby? :/ oh dean

“Bye, hun. Hope you have a good appointment,” Lisa says, giving your shoulder a pat. You give her the most genuine smile you can muster as you thank her. It's possibly that she's one of those women who don't realize when they're being cunty, but you find it highly unlikely. She's too smart for that.

oooo I woulda smacked her hand away, like don't touch me you sneaky wench 🤺

“And after the birth, I’m just going to be an even fatter slob who can’t take care of her baby,” you sniffle and weep, trying in vain to wipe your eyes and get ahold of yourself.

awww, i wanna give her a huuuuuug :((

His jade green eyes are firmly set on yours, and he gestures between you and him with a pointed finger. “The reason you and I are here right now, is because the minute I saw you, I wanted you.”

honestly he's so real for this lolll

this was a great first chapter! the preview for the next part has me intrigued, and a bit confused 😅 i’m really looking forward to seeing how this plays out <333

IF I STAY - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

AN: Yes, here’s another firefighter AU! Based on a request from one of my lovely Patreon members: @redhoodieone. She requested pretty much all the major beats of this story, so hopefully I did her request justice! This is also partially inspired by Fools Rush In, a beautiful movie with Salma Hayek and Matthew Perry (Rest in Peace, King).

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis

Word Count: 8.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, thick thirty, hints of body insecurity, but also body appreciation, angst, and hurt/comfort.

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Part 1: Fools Rush In

Slowly, your eyes slide open into the waking world. Your head is resting on something warm, firm…and a little sweaty. You pick your head up, despite the disorienting, muddy feeling of a slight hangover.

A groan bubbles in your throat. Your gaze travels downward, and you realize that what you’re looking at is more of a who.

Your eyes widen. Oh…my…God…

Not only are you very naked, but your firm pillow is too. It happens to be your best friend’s brother.

Yes, holy fucking shit! You slept with your best friend’s brother.

He’s painfully handsome. There’s a slight hesitation in your touch, but you softly trace the cut of his jaw and the stubble spread across it. That roughness feels familiar, and not just under the pads of your fingers, though the thought makes you blush. You begin to remember the night before, almost like a movie reel through your mind…

Ooooh, right. That’s what happened.

It starts at Sam Winchester’s joint bachelor-bachelorette party at a nice hotel downtown. He and Eileen aren't the "strippers and coke" kind of party couple. They're more the "wine and brie en croute with pickled olives" on the expensive crackers you can't afford—kind of couple.

They look perfectly in love, if a bit long-suffering while Dean gives a hilarious, somewhat inappropriate, but still ultimately heartwarming toast to their happiness. After lowering the glass of champagne from his lips, his gaze catches on yours in the crowd. You suck in a subtle breath.

Technically you’ve met him already, being one of Eileen’s bridesmaids, but there’s something about his green eyes that pin you to the floor. When he hands over the mic to Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, his head turning away from you to offer her a smile breaks the spell. It allows you to breathe.

Dean later finds you by the bar. You’re drinking a rum and coke with your slice of cake, trying not to get a single crumb on your dress. You've put a lot of work into affording it, let alone fitting in it. He leans his elbows casually on the counter and looks over at you.

“Hey, how’s it going?” he nods at you with a smile, subtly taking you in first. Then, his eyes go to your plate. “Ooh, red velvet. Gotta get me some of that.”

You smile back at him. “It’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, looks good in your hand,” he says, adding a teasing wink for good measure.

You don't know why that does it for you, but a half-flattered, half-nervous laugh tumbles out of your mouth. Sam has warned you before about Dean. Apparently his older brother is a bit of a flirt; a ladies’ man.

A man whore, are the words Eileen used.

You’re honestly surprised he’s talking to you when Eileen’s other bridesmaids, Lisa and Jo, are sipping martinis together down at the other end of the bar. Guess they didn’t want cake.

They’re Eileen’s friends, not so much your crowd. No matter how much you’ve tried to get to know them while helping the wedding planning in whatever way you can, you still get a high school clique vibe from the women, if with more “polite smiles.” Then they’ll typically go back to talking about crystal centerpieces—or whatever in-depth conversation they were having before you were there.

But right now, Dean’s focus is on you. When he asks you more about yourself, you tell him about recently earning an elementary education degree.

“Ah, but you already knew that, because Sam told you we graduated college together,” you realize, with warmth tingeing your cheeks. That subject came up pretty quickly when he introduced you to his brother.

Dean’s smile confirms your suspicions, so you just keep filling the silence on reflex.

“Well, I actually just started teaching my first ever semester of second graders. They’re a bit of a handful, but overall, they’re really sweet.” Your smile falters. “Except for this one kid who likes to put little tacks on my chair. He’s kind of a menace, but I think if I bribe him with enough lollipops, he’ll give it a rest. I mean, it’s a behavioral issue and I should probably call his parents. But it's kind of hard to tell them their son is trying to make my ass into a pincushion."

Dean's laugh comes out in a sharp burst, like he wasn't expecting what just came out of your mouth. You didn't either, honestly. You giggle more out of embarrassment, ducking your head.

"He’s in second grade, you know?" you say, in between laughter. "I don't think that little footnote needs to end up on his permanent record. But then there's Micah. He's so friggin' smart. He can read at the fifth grade level already. Can you believe that? And I know I'm not supposed to have favorites, but his grades on his spelling tests get him a spot in the comfy bean bag chair pretty much every Friday. Honestly, I think that's what I like about working with kids. I get to see that spark on their face when something just finally clicks for them. Their little faces get all bright and happy and…ugh. God, I'm sorry. I'm rambling, right?”

You stop yourself with a hand sliding over your mouth, not quite covering your smile of embarrassment.

Dean’s grin just widens, making the corners of his eyes crinkle.

"It's okay. I kinda like it," he teases.

You duck your head, biting your lip against a groan. He chuckles and reaches out for your hand, earning your nervous glance. He quirks his head.

“Hey, you're passionate about what you do, helping kids. That's nothin' to be ashamed of,” he says, brushing his thumb over your hand. “But sweetheart, I gotta ask. Am I making you nervous or something?”

God, yes, you think, especially at that sweetheart thing. It’s making your heartbeat tick up a syncopated rhythm, but you shake your head, biting the straw of your rum and coke.

“No, not at all,” you say, in a hopefully “breezy” kind of way. You touch your fingers to his wrist. “Tell me about you though. Sam mentioned that you’re a firefighter?”

“Ah, yeah. Firefighter in training,” he says, with a more genuine smile.

He just started at the Fire Academy, and he tells you about all the drills he’s had to learn and all the training he’s had to do to be able to keep up with his classes. You subtly eye him while you sip at your drink, and you notice the crisp cut of his buttoned-down shirt and leather jacket, the definition of muscle across his thighs under the slacks, even while he casually sits.

Your gaze subtly travels down his long bowed legs, smart dress shoes. His cologne is woody and masculine, but not overpowering; maybe bergemot and sandalwood. It pleasantly wafts under your nose every time he gestures with his hands while he talks.

“Aw man, I can’t hold out anymore. I think I need to get me some of that cake before it’s gone,” he says, getting up from his chair.

You’re a bit disappointed that he’s leaving, until he stops short.

“You want another piece?” he offers, gesturing at your empty plate that’s been resting on the counter.

You blink in surprise, but you shake your head. “Oh, no. I probably shouldn’t.”

“Why not? It’s a party,” Dean reasons. His grin is too damn infectious. It has you smiling, and begrudgingly agreeing.

Not only does he bring you more cake, but you watch him eat three whole slices before he asks you to dance.

The rest of it flashes through your mind like strobe lights—the way he’d started small and respectful with his larger hand closed over yours and the other along the curve of your waist. He guided you closer and closer, until you were turned around into his arms, and you could feel his warm breath on your neck.

You felt his lips teasing your skin. Then those hands tantalizingly drifted down your every soft curve, as if showing you a preview of everything he could do to you, and every way he’d make you come apart. You believed him.

And when he whispered in your ear, asking if he could take you home, you let him.

You let him drive you in that big black piece of history he drives. Used to be my dad’s car, he said. A Chevy something. You couldn’t really remember much when his hand was drifting up and down your thigh like that.

His presence burned hot at your back when you two eventually got to the front door of your apartment, your hands just barely shaking as you got the key in. Twist and click—

He waited until you flipped the lights on. Then he turned you around slowly in his arms and pulled you in close, all the while asking you with his eyes and raised brows. This okay? You want this?

“Do I still make you nervous?” he asked, his lips twitching at a smile when yours do.

You nodded, uttering a small giggle. “In a good way.”

That was when he finally kissed you, hot and slow, like he meant to devour you whole. He moaned at the taste of you, at the feel of your ass squeezed in his hands. You clung onto him strong, breathing into his kiss and trying to meet every single demand of his lips.

It soon became a fiery tear to your bedroom, one lamp flicked on, hot breaths and nice clothes crumpled to the floor. You didn’t feel self-conscious even once when he guided you under him on the bed, because he wasted no time in taking you apart, inch by inch.

His lips kissed and licked and sucked a burning trail down your neck, over your collarbone and between your breasts. You felt his hardened length trapped between your bodies while his hands explored you, teasing your breasts and sensitive nipples, and he mapped his way down with his lips.

You explored every part of him you could—every dip of muscle, firm shoulders and the slopes of his back, and then back up to tangle in his hair. Your heated gasps and whimpers filled the room when his sinful mouth found what it was looking for between your legs.

It wasn’t often that you had a strong pair of shoulders to rest your thighs on, but Dean’s grip was hard enough to leave deep fingerprints of pressure on each thigh while he slipped his tongue through your folds and feasted on you.

“D-Dean, oh God,” you gasped. Every sound you made was a sensuous symphony in his ears, washing over his skin and making the well of his desire churn hot in his lower belly. He had to roll his hips into the mattress for some relief for his aching cock, even while he moved his mouth up to your clit, circling the swollen bud with his tongue. He had enough room to slip two fingers deep inside your sopping wet channel, exploring you deeply, stroking and twisting to find what you needed.

Your thighs trembled and squeezed tight on either side of his head. When he sucked your clit tight between his lips, you uttered as gasping moan as that coil snapped its release. Your inner walls fluttered around his fingers. Yours clenched tightly in his hair, threatening to rip out a few strands.

Dean stroked you all through your first orgasm, giving slower licks to your clit. He seemed to sense when you couldn’t handle anymore though. You tugged more sharply on his hair, and he finally pulled away, moving back up your body to gauge your reaction.

You’d collapsed boneless against the bed, but you still managed to smile up at him as you caught your breath.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked. But his self-satisfied grin almost made you laugh. You took his glistening face between your hands and pulled him down for a grateful kiss.

After a moment to savor your lips, he broke away for a second to catch his breath himself. You stroked his back all the while.

“You know, for a minute down there, I thought you might not let me come back up,” he teased.

You choked on a laugh, covering your face in embarrassment.

“Honestly wouldn’t have minded if you did suffocate me,” he chuckled, accompanied by a slap to your left ass cheek. You squealed, and blushed hotly at the way he was grinning down at you.

“Ready for more, baby? Or you want to call it a night?” he asked. His tone was playful, but it was actually a serious question. You blinked in surprise. You’d never had a guy be this, well…generous, and not expect anything in return, especially not for just a hookup.

But you shook your head and sat up, slipping a hand behind Dean’s neck. After a beat of hesitation, you guided him down to you for a slow, sensuous kiss.

“No, I don’t want to call it a night,” you whispered. Your hand drifted down his bare chest, and lower still. You showed him just how well you could return the favor.

And now, come the morning, you’re blushing down to your neck as each scene flashes through your mind. You feel the ghost of his hands all over your body, and how you’d never quite felt quite as bold and sexy and beautiful with a near stranger as you had with Dean effing Winchester. Your best friend’s brother.

You begin to worry your bottom lip with your teeth. How the hell are you going to tell Sam? Especially after he warned you about exactly this. Plus, there’s a reason you don’t typically do the one-night stand thing, and this has the potential to become something very complicated.

You know what, it’s fine! you think. We’re two consenting adults. We’re both single. And maybe…maybe it could be more than a hookup. Maybe we can see each other again, see where it goes.

“What’re you thinking so hard about?” Dean says, his voice croaking with sleep.

You look down at him in surprise. His eyes have cracked open and he has your hand captive, stopping you from continuing to idly trace patterns on his bare chest. You smile in embarrassment.

“Sorry,” you say. Again, you bite your lower lip. “Um, good morning.”

“Morning, sweetheart,” he grins lazily. “You sure wore me out last night.”

Your smile becomes more genuine, even if you turn your face away somewhat shyly.

“Aw, don’t do that,” Dean says. He slides his hand up your arm and behind your neck, tangling into your already tangled hair when he guides you down to his lips for a kiss. “You were awesome.”

You giggle against his lips. “Really?”

“Hell, yeah,” he says, kissing you again.

You shake your head a little. “You were…”

Amazing. Unbelievable. Probably the best night I’ve ever had.

“Perfect,” you decide. Because it’s the truth. The word comes out of your mouth before you can filter yourself though, making you pause. Dean does too, but after a beat, he slowly smiles.

“Oh yeah?” he asks.

You lick your lips, and you nod. “Definitely.”

“Well, then,” he says. His hand moves down to squeeze your hip. “You down for a repeat performance?”

You smile. “Only if I get a turn.”

Bracing your hands on his chest, you slide your thigh across his lap so you can straddle his hips. Dean grins and goes along with your idea. He gets a nice healthy handful of your thighs and helps settle you on top of him. But first, he reaches over into your nightstand drawer and finds another condom, ripping it open with his teeth.

Just like you did for him last night, you take the packet, as well as his generous length in your hands. You gently stroke him to full mast, smiling pleased at his groan of pleasure. Then you carefully fit the condom over him.

“You’re so gentle with me,” he teases.

“Just returning the favor,” you quip, just before you position him at your wet entrance. Slowly, you sink down over his cock.

You both moan at the feeling of him stretching you again, warm and thick and fitting perfectly nestled deep inside. There had been moments last night where he wasn’t all that gentle, actually, but his passion had only spurred yours on more. You know you’ll probably find fingerprint marks on your thighs and ass, but it’s fucking worth it, you think, as you begin to bob a rocking rhythm that serves you both.

Dean arches his back underneath you, his knees coming up to press against your ass.

“Goddamn, baby. Givin’ me quite a show,” he says, in a panting voice that’s deep as sin.

You utter a breathy laugh.

Dean means it though. He’s enjoying the way you brush your hair out of your face, your beautiful tits in his face while you truly let loose for him. He guides you by the stronghold he has on your hips, his fingers pressing into your soft flesh as he ruts up into you, meeting your thrusts.

Your breath quickens, your nails digging into his chest on reflex, and your heart races as that delicious pleasure builds. But when Dean snakes a hand between you and further parts your folds to massage tight circles over your clit, your vision flashes white. You utter a scream of pleasure on his name, your inner walls choking him tight as you throb around his cock. His release hits him like a goddamn freight train.

“Aw, fuck,” he grunts.

He slams your hips down hard, making your thighs slap against his. A ragged groan escapes him in a rush. His hands move to your thighs just under your ass, where his fingers press into flesh hard enough to leave forensic ID, giving him leverage to bury himself deep into your pussy as he spills a hot release into the condom.

Goddamn…

He can almost imagine that he’s coming free inside you, that you’re milking his cock for every drop, until there’s nothing left for him to give.

The thought surprises him. It almost takes him out of the moment, honestly. That’s not a thought he’s ever had before—not with a woman he barely knows (which is most of his hookups, if he’s honest).

In that delicious, fractious moment just after it hits, it’s like those few seconds are suspended in zero gravity. Your arms are shaking, and your forced to collapse against his chest. Dean welcomes you there for a little while, letting you come down while he smooths a hand over your hair.

Though he can't help the urge to let his big hand drift down over your dewy skin, down the gentle slope of your back and over the curve of your generous ass. He gives one cheek a teasing slap. The sound echoes in the room.

"Goddamn perfect ass," he says roughly, smirking at your squeal. You end up grinning hard against his neck.

"'S that my new nickname?" you quip.

He chuckles deeply, moving you along with his chest. "Hell, sweetheart, if you want it to be."

Eventually, you lean back to give him a smile and one last kiss before you pull away from him. You slip off his lap to find your robe, at least. You definitely need a shower.

“So I’m thinking, after we get cleaned up, I could make us some breakfast,” you offer. “Or if you want, maybe we could go somewhere. I know a little diner down the block.”

“I like the sound of food,” Dean agrees with a smile. Ge reaches over for his phone on the nightstand, to check the time. His eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”

He has to get his ass over to the Fire Academy. He has class in barely twenty minutes.

He tears out of bed and nearly trips on the coiled sheets.

“Sorry. Gonna need to take a raincheck,” he says. He hurries to find his clothes strewn all over your bedside floor.

“What’s the matter?” you ask with wide eyes. You cross your arms under your breasts, but it’s more like you’re hugging yourself over your robe. You watch him tear through your bedroom in a tempest of movement.

Dean spares you a glance, but not much else as he yanks up his slacks and belt and dress shirt.

“Gotta get to class,” he confesses. Thank God he has his uniform in the trunk of his car for exactly these kinds of emergencies. He grabs his phone, wallet, and keys, and quickly kisses you on the cheek. He gazes down at you apologetically. “Sorry I gotta cut and run, sweetheart, but it’s been fun.”

Your smile barely reaches your eyes. He’s pressed for time, but he still notices.

He slows himself down and cups your cheek. “Hey.”

He gets your pretty eyes looking up at him, and he gives you a real kiss, nice and slow. He cradles your cheek and brushes his thumb across your skin.

“Thanks,” he says. His now familiar grin manages to make you smile. “And I mean that.”

You shake your head at him. “Okay go, Mr. Future Fireman. Be safe out there, okay?”

He gives you a playful salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

You can’t help but laugh. This guy’s too much. But you don't think you've had this much fun having sex in...

All right, let's not put a timeframe on it.

You watch him leave your apartment, even though you have a sinking feeling in your chest. You knew this was just a hookup for him, for both of you. Part of you just couldn’t help hoping that it could’ve led to something more.

Dean means to call you.

He really does.

After that truly awesome, you shook me all night long, kind of a night, he thinks about you more than he’d like to admit over the next few weeks. However, he finds himself locked into his training. He’s so close to finishing strong and earning his badge, he just can’t afford any more distractions.

Still, he should’ve known that Sam would find out—either through Eileen, or through you directly. He also should’ve expected the way his brother let him have it.

“And you didn’t even fucking call her. See? This is why I don’t set you up with any of my friends anymore,” Sam bitches at him from his side of the small two-seater dinner table. They still share an apartment, though in just a month and a half, Sam’s going to be moving out. He and Eileen already found a house that they’re moving into after the wedding.

“Look, I was going to call her, man. They’ve just been bustin’ my ass at the Academy!” Dean argues.

“Bullshit.” Sam levels him with the same finger that holds his beer.

Dean’s brows raise, high and annoyed. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I’m calling bullshit. Because if you really liked her, respected her, and respected me, you would’ve made the time,” Sam says.

That falls heavy between the brothers for a moment while they eat their pizza.

“Look, I know her. She doesn’t do hookups that often, which means…she probably liked you,” Sam adds. “And honestly, when are you going to give it a real try with someone? You can only visit that free clinic so many times.”

Dean shoots him a glare. He’s had a clean bill of health from said clinic for six months straight.

“Jesus Christ. Enough, all right?” he grouses. “What’re you, Mom?”

“I’m just saying,” Sam says, lowering his crust to the plate. He levels his brother with a more earnest look, lightening up from his anger. “Look, if it’s about what happened to Dad—”

“What, you mean the way he drank himself to death after Mom died?” Dean says. His voice cuts through whatever softball glove Sam is trying to handle him with. “You think that’s the kind of thing I should be looking for in my life?”

“Oh, and what, do you think I’m making a mistake marrying Eileen?” Sam counters.

Dean sighs, shaking his head. “Damn it, don’t put words in my mouth. That’s not what I’m saying, it’s just…I don’t know. Maybe that kind of life—the house, the wife, the 2.5 kids and the dog. Maybe that’s just not my life, okay?”

Sam gives him a long look. He lets go of a deep breath, and he shrugs.

“Okay,” he says. “If you think hooking up night after night for the rest of your life is going to make you happy, then fine.”

Dean nods, glad that they can put an end to this little After School Special.

“Okay.”

Still, he can’t finish his third slice of pizza. He keeps picturing your face when he left you that morning. No matter how you tried to hide it, he still saw the tinge of disappointment in your eyes. It brews something uncomfortable in his stomach, and a sting in his chest.

You’re eating lunch alone in your classroom, finally on your break, when an unfamiliar number flashes across your phone screen. You look down at it in confusion, but with all the caterers and florists and things you’ve helped Eileen with on the wedding, you figure it could be important. You pick up the call and greet whoever’s on the line.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”

You drop your ham and cheese on your keyboard, gaping in surprise.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he chuckles slightly. “Sorry, I know it’s been a minute.”

You frown, because you’re confused more than anything.

“Yeah, like almost a month,” you reply. You put the call on speaker so you can grab up your sandwich and quickly brush off the crumbs from your keyboard. You struggle to say something cool, clever, sexy even. “I’m okay. Just, um…what’s up?”

Smooth, real smooth. You cover your eyes with your hand.

“Nothin’, I was just thinking of that night,” he says. “I had a good time.”

Your frown deepens, despite the beginning of a blush warming your cheeks. If he’s calling you just for another hookup…

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.”

And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition.

“I could make us some burgers, toss in a couple of beers and a movie night,” he adds.

That part throws you though, you’re not going to lie. What, is this a Netflix and chill situation—with a side of fries?

You consider it. You weigh pros and cons at a frightening speed in your mind, almost like Sherlock Holmes contemplating the layout of a dead body and deducing within moments that his wife committed the murder, despite the man no longer wearing a ring.

You want to let yourself be bold and spontaneous and carefree...but it's just not who you are at your core. You're a planner, a cautious person who looks three ways before crossing the street. Letting Dean take you home that night was certainly one of the most spontaneous, wild things you've done since your friends took you out to a strip club after you aced your final round of exams back in college.

(Sam hadn't been there that night, but he did get an embarrassing drunken text from you at 3:00 a.m., along with a few shame-ridden pictures fueled by questionable substances. Yes, he still had the evidence.)

You just don't know if it's smart to let yourself hookup with Dean again. Mostly because you know your heart has the tendency to get attached, no matter how much you warn it not to.

“Ah, okay. Yeah. I get that,” he says. You hear his disappointment too. “But I just need to say, I really am sorry for not calling you sooner.”

Your lips tug at a smile. “It’s okay, Dean. Look, you’re Sam’s brother. I just feel like, maybe it’s better if you and I stay friends.”

“Friends, huh?” Dean says wryly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t have three rounds of steamy hot sex with any of my friends.”

Your blush comes swiftly again, burning in your cheeks.

“Be that as it may,” you say, “I just don’t want to do anything that will distract from Sam and Eileen’s wedding.”

“Oh, I’m a distraction, huh?” Dean says flirtatiously.

You begin to smile in earnest. “I think you know damn well what you are, Dean Winchester.”

His deep chuckle practically resonates through the phone and into your chest, going straight down to your pussy. You clench on nothing just at the sound of his voice, making you cross your legs under your skirt. Dear God…

How are you supposed to be even remotely normal around this man now?

But for Sam’s sake (and your own), you’ll have to try.

Dean hasn’t heard from you since the rehearsal dinner, but he sees you again at his brother’s wedding. All the bridesmaids are wearing long, royal blue dresses that drape off the shoulders and hug the bust and waist, flaring gently at the skirt. Lisa and Jo wear it beautifully, their hair perfectly smooth and coiled.

But when you step out into the hall outside the church ballroom to join them, Dean actually pauses in what he’s saying to his brother. He nearly double takes when you enter his line of vision—mostly because he hasn’t seen you in a dress since that night. You were sexy as hell then, a lady in red.

Today, you’re absolutely stunning.

After greeting Sam with a warm hug, you turn to him with a nervous kind of smile. “H-Hey, Dean.”

With that, he snaps out of it. Dean smiles, eyes crinkling, and goes over to give you a hug as well.

“Good to see you,” he says, trying not to inhale too much of your nice perfume. It’s even in your hair.

“You too,” you reply. Your smile is a little brighter, more genuine. Though there’s something behind your eyes that he can’t quite place.

What he doesn’t notice is the way Lisa is watching you and her boyfriend, a hint of suspicion on her face.

You do though. You pull away from Dean and assemble into a line with Lisa at the helm. As the Best Man, Dean stands with her, followed by Jo and Brady, another one of Sam’s buddies. You and Benny bring up the rear. Benny’s dad used to work with John, Sam and Dean’s father, on the police force.

According to Sam, John Winchester worked a beat for twenty-six years before his liver finally gave out on him. Dean almost went to the Police Academy to follow in his dad’s footsteps, but Benny, already working his way up to Lieutenant, suggested Dean become a smoke eater instead. The suggestion stuck.

Benny Lafitte is slightly shorter than Dean, but just as broad-shouldered, his auburn beard neatly trimmed. Even though you might’ve thought he was rough around the edges at first, his kind blue eyes spoke the contrary. He offers you his arm like a gentleman.

“Well aren't I lucky, getting the prettiest girl on my arm,” he says, with a charming smile.

You smile, and even begin to blush at the way he subtly takes note of you from head to toe.

“Well, thank you. You’re very handsome yourself. Although, hold on.” You slip your arm out of his for a moment so that you can fix his tie. It’s slightly crooked. You make sure that it lays flat under his collar, smoothing down all the edges and picking off any small dust particles that landed on his collar. Benny watches you with an indulgent smile.

“Am I good?” he asks.

“Very,” you reply.

“I appreciate it, thank you,” he says. You don’t know if he means to sound flirtatious, but his voice is a deep drawl that washes over you pleasantly. You find yourself blushing down to your neck as you slip your arm back around his.

You also don’t notice how Dean glances at you and Benny over his shoulder.

As much as you love Sam and Eileen, it’s difficult for you to keep your mind from spinning into fractals as the ceremony goes on. You can’t help but glance at Dean. He stands there behind Sam dutifully, but you see brotherly pride in Dean’s eyes, in his smile. It makes you smile too. You too love Sam like a brother, and it brings a well of happy tears to your eyes to watch him have his moment with his new wife.

It just also reminds you of what you need to do.

After the ceremony ends and the bridal party files out behind the bride and groom, you excuse yourself from Benny apologetically. You wait until Lisa and Jo go off to take pictures with Sam and Eileen, and you grab Dean’s wrist, pulling him aside.

“I need to talk to you,” you whisper.

Dean gives you a confused look. “They’re gonna need us for the pictures.”

“I know, but this is important,” you say. Your voice trembles with nerves, and so do your hands. Dean notices, frowning in concern. He grasps your arm to try and steady you.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Just come with me,” you implore him. You take his hand and lead him into the women’s dressing room attached to the church sanctuary you all just came out of.

Dean raises his brows at the mess you and the rest of the bridesmaids have made of the room—pantyhose and makeup and clothing litter the floor and most available surfaces, while leftover breakfast sandwiches, grapes, salami, and cheddar cheese cubes are splayed out across one of the vanity counters. Dean is tempted to steal a morsel, but he focuses on you first.

You close and lock the door, which makes his brows raise high again. You know he has a girlfriend now, right?

“Uhh, look, I’m not sure what’s going on here, but—”

You heave a sigh. Again, you take his hand and guide him to sit with you at the vanity. The old stools squeak, the overhead lights a bit too bright. This is not where you want to do this, but you can’t hold it in anymore.

“Dean, I’m pregnant,” you confess.

He freezes. His breath stills in his lungs. His eyes slowly widen as the words click in his brain.

“What?” His head tilts, as if he didn’t hear you right.

You squeeze his hand; to ground him or yourself, you’re not sure.

“I’m about two months pregnant. I found out last week.”

Dean swipes his free hand over his mouth while he tries to compute. He squeezes your hand, tighter and tighter. He points to himself.

“It’s…it’s me? It’s mine?”

You give him a weary smile. “You’re the only one I’ve been with in the last few months. It could only be you.”

Oh fuck. The man’s face begins to pale as he descends into shock.

“But we…I used a condom,” he reasons. “All the—all the times!”

You bite your lip. If you weren’t freaking the fuck out yourself, you’d probably be laughing right now. Granted, you’ve had a bit more time to process this than Dean.

“I know, I was there,” you reply, releasing yet another sigh. “One of them probably broke. That’s all I can think of… Honestly, Dean, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I just didn’t want to disrupt the ceremony or cause a scene before the wedding. But now you know.”

Dean falls silent then. He hasn’t let go of your hand, which you think is a decent sign. He’s likely forgotten that you’re still holding it as he stares off into the middle distance for several seconds.

Eventually, he shakes his head and returns his gaze to yours. He looks uncertain, his handsome face the true epitome of holy fucking shit.

You know the feeling.

But he asks the most important question.

“What do you want to do?”

Briefly you close your eyes as you take a breath. You squeeze his hand before you let go of him.

“I’ve thought about this a lot, and…I’m keeping the baby,” you tell him, though you raise placating hands. “I don’t want money, or anything like that. I just wanted you to know that it’s yours. How much you want to be in his or—or her life, that’s up to you.”

Dean takes a beat before he answers, but you don’t have to wait so long holding your breath.

“Okay. Okay, yeah. I’ll help you. Don’t worry,” he says.

And just like that, all the time you spent giving yourself pep talks for this, telling yourself that you’ll need to be strong no matter what he says, all of it crumbles into relief. Your lower lip trembles, and your body shudders as you break into tears. You try covering your face to hide your shame, but Dean grasps your shoulders.

“Hey, hey. It’s all right,” he says. He tentatively pulls you into a hug. “It’s gonna be okay.”

You nod into his dress shirt, probably staining him with your running makeup.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “Thank you so much.”

He holds you a bit tighter in response.

You and Dean agree to keep this to yourselves for now, at least until Sam and Eileen get back from their honeymoon. It’s difficult to explain why your eyes are all red and your makeup is smudged, but you promise Sam that you’ll tell him later. You know it’s pointless to lie to him though. As a lawyer, his bullshit meter is far too high.

However, you also know that he’s half guessed it by the time you all make it to the reception. When you and Dean came out of that dressing room to join the bridal party for pictures, you're sure that you looked emotionally wrecked. Dean had looked pale as a sheet, his body coiled and tense, as willing himself to seem normal. Sam had clocked both of you with a raise of his brow, but he didn't say anything then, especially after you gave him a pleading look.

While Eileen greets her family without him for a moment, Sam pulls you aside. He notes your glass of diet coke, in a moderate sea of guests drinking champagne and cocktails.

“Are you okay?” he asks knowingly.

Tears well up in your eyes again. You don’t know if it’s your damn hormones going haywire, or just the way Sam asks you, with the love of a friend in his eyes. He squeezes your shoulder gently, prompting you with your name.

“Yeah, I think I will be,” you say.

"Is it the same reason you're not drinking?" he asks. "You and Dean earlier..."

You hesitantly confirm with a nod. Sam blows out a harsh sigh, raising folded hands to his mouth as he processes. You begin to look around on reflex, trying to see if anyone's watching you and Sam have this conversation in the middle of the reception. To your relief, everyone around you seems occupied with drinks, hours d'oeuvres and conversation.

“What did he say when you told him?” Sam asks. His gaze is firmer. You get the idea that if he doesn’t like what you tell him, then he’s about to go grab his brother by the ear himself.

You grab his wrist and give a placating squeeze. “He said he's going to help me, be there for me.”

“Damn right. So will I,” Sam nods, and glances back at Eileen, his new bride, with a smile. “We both will.”

“I know,” you nod as well. “I’ll be okay, Sam. You don’t have to worry so much. Just enjoy your wedding day. It’s the only one you’re gonna get. Well, you know…hopefully.”

You tease him with a wink.

Sam laughs, cupping your cheek. He kisses your other cheek.

“I love you, you know that right?” he says.

You give him a trembling smile through your tears.

Meanwhile, Dean has a beautiful woman in his arms. He turns Lisa on the dancefloor, trying not to trip on his own dress shoes, all the while knowing that his brain isn’t here in his body. It’s across the ballroom, watching you talk to Sam. Dean can tell that he knows, just in his Big Bird body language. He’d also recognize that accompanying Bitch Face anywhere.

“Dean, what’s wrong,” Lisa asks him, and not for the first time. She’s getting annoyed, he can tell. She finally looks over to where he keeps glancing, and she notices you with a frown. It’s also not the first time she’s caught him staring at you tonight.

“What was that earlier in the dressing room? She didn’t really get food poisoning, did she?” she asks pointedly. “What, did you two used to date or something?”

He gives a wan smile. “Yeah, kinda. We…had a thing once.”

“What kind of thing?”

Dean closes his eyes and tries to keep himself calm. He’s pretty sure if he tells her the truth right now, she’s going to find the nearest cocktail and dump it over his head.

But shit, here it goes.

“Well…”

After a long day at school, you drive over to Dean’s apartment. You’d agreed to meet there and wait for him to get off his shift at Firehouse 83, where he just started as a full-fledged firefighter on probation. When he gets home, he’s supposed to go with you to an important appointment with your OB-GYN.

You were hoping he’d already be done with work by the time you got to his place, but Lisa's there to open the door for you. Apparently, he’d already given her a key.

Moving kind of fast, but okay, you think. A second later, you could’ve rolled your eyes at yourself. Pot, kettle, me. Got it.

Or she really loves him. The thought sobers you as you lower yourself down to the couch beside her. Both of you sit there in silence for a moment, trying to figure out something to talk about.

“So, you’re what, six months pregnant?” she asks.

You correct her in thinly veiled annoyance. “Three months, actually.”

“Oh, wow. I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t know why I thought it was six.”

You have a feeling her awkward chuckle is fake, however. She knew good and damn well that you’re not six months pregnant. In her eyes, you must be the size of a parade float.

“If you want, I can recommend a holistic diet to help you get your body back after the baby’s born,” Lisa offers. “No pills, no chemicals. Just good clean weight loss.”

You feign interest. Honestly, you’d like her to cram that offer right up her hooch.

“I can even give you a discount if you want to try out yoga,” she says. “It’s low impact, but you burn plenty of calories. I have a beginner’s class, not too strenuous. Even my least flexible clients manage to do the poses.”

Is that why Dean likes you? Because you’re bendy? Bet if I sat on you, you’d pop like a fucking balloon.

You hide all of these thoughts behind a “polite” smile of your own.

“That’s really nice of you, thanks,” you reply. It’s non-committal enough, but hopefully it’ll get her off your back.

No such luck.

“You know, maintaining a healthy diet is really important for the baby’s health too,” Lisa adds. “It’s not just about avoided raw fish and dairy products. Oh, and processed food is obviously a no-go. Like, I’m sure you haven’t been hitting Taco Bell and all that stuff, right?”

As a matter of fact, you’ve been eating clean since long before you got pregnant. Not that it’s any business of hers whether you enjoy the occasional quesadilla or not.

Your temper snaps at its leash. You open your mouth to reply, when the front door unlocks and opens to Dean, stepping in through the threshold.

Thank God, you and Lisa both think. She gets up quicker from the couch than you, greeting her boyfriend with a kiss. You avert your gaze while you begin to get up yourself.

Dean reaches out to help you, grasping your arm in support. You shoot him a smile.

“I can still get up by myself,” you snip.

“Yeah, all right. Just in case,” he says with a smile. “Ready to go?”

“Oh, yeah. Let’s rock and roll,” you say, trying to hide your worsening mood. You’re exhausted, and irritated, and probably more than a little hangry. Except now, the idea of food just has you feeling guilty for even being hungry.

You follow Dean out the door and over to his car, big and black and sleek as you remember. You settle into the passenger seat with your arms crossed in silence. Dean switches the cassette to one of his favorite Led Zeppelin albums, though he notices your grumpy face.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

You give him some side-eye, but you’re reluctant to say anything. You just shake your head. As irritated as you are, you don’t want to be the friend who badmouths his girlfriend.

God, are we even friends? You wonder. Or am I just his knocked-up baby momma?

And again, you realize that this whole situation is probably hard for Lisa. You just don’t know if she’s jealous, or if she just…doesn’t like you.

“I’m okay,” you tell Dean.

He raises a skeptical brow. Looks like Sam isn’t the only one with a finely tuned bullshit meter.

“All right, how about this,” Dean says. “Let’s grab some burgers after this, huh? From your favorite spot. Shake Shack, right? Side of fries, frozen yogurt. I think I’ll get chocolate this time… Hmm, I doubt Lisa will want anything. She’s gone on an all-vegan kick or something.”

For one shining moment, you were happy and touched at his consideration. But now your body stills in your seat when you remember Lisa’s words. Tears well up in your eyes with a hot sting, and a sob escapes your throat.

Dean is cut off from thinking about getting extra bacon on his burger. He looks over at you in alarm. “H-Hey, what’s the matter?”

You scoff at him through your tears. “Are you kidding me? I can’t eat burgers anymore, Dean. I was already fucking fat. Now it’s just gonna get ridiculous.”

“What?” Dean’s brows knit together in confusion, along with his deepening frown. It gets worse as he tries to watch the road ahead, while at the same time, watching you continue to crumble.

“And after the birth, I’m just going to be an even fatter slob who can’t take care of her baby,” you sniffle and weep, trying in vain to wipe your eyes and get ahold of yourself.

Dean grits his teeth, his jaw twitching. Fuck it.

He turns the steering wheel sharp enough to startle a gasp out of you.

“Dean!”

He pulls the car over onto the side of the road, ignoring the honking SUV behind him. He shifts into Park and shuts off the radio—a big red flag, in your opinion. He’s upset too, and fucking serious, more so than you’ve ever seen him. You stare back at him with wide eyes.

“I’ve never once heard you say that you’re fat,” he says.

You blink at that, but eventually, you’re able to get your tongue to unstick from the roof of your mouth. You wipe the remnants of tears from your cheeks. Your face is already hot from your upset, now tinged with embarrassment.

“You haven’t known me very long,” you say quietly.

It doesn’t help. Dean’s jaw ticks again.

“Well, I’ve never thought it. Not even once,” he says. His jade green eyes are firmly set on yours, and he gestures between you and him with a pointed finger. “The reason you and I are here right now, is because the minute I saw you, I wanted you.”

One corner of his lips kicks upwards. “And that night, you didn’t disappoint.”

Your mouth falls open slightly. You don’t know how to respond, but you do know that a full blush is warming your face and neck. His words have power, and unbidden, they bloom a similar warmth between your legs. You swallow a bit nervously as you bite your bottom lip.

Dean glances down at your mouth when you do. He can remember what your pretty mouth did for him that night. Oh, he remembers all too well. He even had the shade of your lipstick streaked across his skin until he showered up at the firehouse.

He locks that all away when shifts the car back into Drive. If you’re going to make it to this appointment on time, he needs to get going.

And you both have to leave whatever that was right here by the side of the road.

AN: Woo! 😮‍💨 Yep, this is only Part 1, friends. Lisa is a bit different in this. My take was that without Ben in her life, she might be less mature and a bit more catty. As we get into Part 2 I'll leave it up to you to decide why she decides to stay with Dean, and perhaps more importantly, where the reader and Dean can go from here as co-parents. 🤔

If you enjoyed Part 1, please let me know!~

Next Time in Part 2:

“Hey, you okay?” you say, resting a gentle hand on his arm.

Dean shakes his head. “Look, I…I’m sorry for tossing a giant friggin’ monkey wrench into your life. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

If possible, your heart softens even more. You slide your hand down to grasp his.

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don’t regret anything.”

Dean stares back at you incredulously. He can’t believe you could really say that to him. He doesn’t know what to say. He only knows what’s in his mind, and what he feels compelled to do in that moment.

He leans over and kisses you. It’s a firm meeting of his lips to yours, and achingly familiar.

⋆˙⟡ Read Part 2 on Patreon now!

⋆˙⟡ Coming to Tumblr/Ao3 on 3/23

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simplyraeblue · 5 months ago

Text

hunter and hunted (jjk)

college (summer) break au: a fic in which y/n is pining over Yuji's older brother Sukuna, while unbeknownst to her, Choso is doing the same thing for her. contents: sukuna x reader, choso x reader, modern college AU, yuji and choso are brothers, sukuna and yuji are brothers, smut warning, fem reader

chapter warnings/tags: mild angst, swearing, filthy raunchy smut, oral (reader receiving), squirting, p in v, creampie, i was diabolic writing this, choso's an oral god, use of "angel" A/N: oh my god I can't believe we've come to the end... how? how how how? it feels like just yesterday I started this hot mess of a fanfic and now it's complete. if you hated it; sucks for you. if you loved it; thank you so much. THANK YOU to all who have commented, reblogged, and showed continous support for this mini series! ദ്ദി(ó﹏ò｡) i love you all so much muah muah MUAH! I've got a little treat in store at the end of this for you, so stay tuned!

index part fourteen | the end no more sorry

master list

part fifteen word count : 5,764 (+ 635 in bonus content)

two months later

school was in full swing again, and the weather was shifting; sandals were swapped for boots, and ball caps into beanies. students flooded the campus in heavy coats, clutching their textbooks, but not everyone could adapt to the change.

your breath formed a fog in front of you as you hurried through campus, realizing you were late. oh so fucking late. Yuji was already waiting for you at the library, ready to scold you for neglecting your studies – though really it would be Megumi doing the actual scolding.

your phone buzzed in your pocket, and as you pulled it out to check the message, you let out a frustrated sigh. of course, Nobara was skipping the study session. she always preferred wild Thursday nights to hitting the books. honestly, you kind of wished you had done the same.

after rushing (silently) through the library, you finally spotted Yuji and Megumi in a study room. you pushed through the door and immediately felt Megumi’s disapproving gaze. “you’re late.” he said with a tut.

Yuji groaned, sliding him a small bill, and your jaw dropped. “you bet on whether I’d be late?” you asked, setting your things down a bit harder than necessary.

“not if you’d be late, but how late.” Yuji clarified as you took a seat. you quickly flipped open your textbook, trying to catch up to where they were while both of them just stared at you.

you glared at them, eyebrows furrowed. “what? you’re looking at me like I committed a crime by being late.”

“we were just wondering…” Yuji started.

“…if you wanted to skip studying and join Nobara.” Megumi finished.

you gasped. “Megumi Fushiguro, you want to party instead of study? what has gotten into you?”

Megumi rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of amusement in his expression. “don’t act so surprised. you know how important studying is to me, but even we need a break sometimes.”

you crossed your arms, pretending to be annoyed. “sure, but you’re the last person I expected to suggest ditching our study session. what’s next, are you going to start dancing at parties?”

Yuji chuckled, nudging Megumi playfully. “hey, maybe we could both use some fun. besides, Nobara always knows how to make things exciting. it could be a nice change of pace.”

you hesitated, glancing back at your textbook, then at their eager faces. “but what about grades?” pfft yeah right.

“they’ll still be there when we get back.” Megumi said, his tone surprisingly persuasive. “just one night won’t hurt.”

you took a deep breath, weighing your options. part of you wanted to dive into your studies, but the thought of a spontaneous night out with friends was tempting. finally, you sighed, a smile creeping onto your face. “alright, but only for a little while! we’ll come back and study after.”

“no we won’t!” Yuji joked as he patted Megumi’s back and stood from his chair.

so now, here you were, three shots deep into a bar with your friends. “I can’t believe you convinced Megumi to come out!” Nobara shouted over the music, arm slung around your shoulder.

“actually, it was his idea!” you responded with a grin. everyone was surprised, truly, but you weren’t complaining.

the last two months had been nothing short of dreary, and you didn’t mean the weather.

moving out of Yuji’s house had been the right choice. it felt like you could finally breathe again, even though each breath still carried a twinge of pain in your heart. while you were relieved to escape the heavy tension between Sukuna and Choso, you missed the latter with every fiber of your being.

it wasn’t for lack of effort on his side. for the first month, Choso had begged Yuji for your address, but found that his brother was under strict orders not to share it. he called and texted constantly, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to respond to any of it.

you were determined to stick to the belief that he would find someone better without you.

Sukuna, on the other hand, had been much more persistent. by the third week of living in your new apartment, he showed up on your doorstep. despite your protests, he somehow ended up on your couch, enduring nearly an hour of your yelling.

in the end, he accepted defeat. you vividly remember the relief you felt when Sukuna asked, “can we just be friends?”

friends. yes, you could manage that. any feelings you had for Sukuna had faded away during your relationship with Choso, and while you hadn’t fully realized it at the time, you were sure of it now.

now here you were, being nagged by both Yuji and Sukuna, urging you to reach out to Choso. how had you gone from hating the eldest brother to listening to him go on about how you’d made the biggest mistake?

“do you realize how this has affected him?” Sukuna asked one night over a pint of beer at a pub. “while I could drown out my heartbreak-“

“oh, sure.” you rolled your eyes.

“-excuse me. get over my bruised ego, then.” Sukuna smirked at your reaction, though he meant what he said. he understood now wasn’t the right moment to delve deeper. “I could go out, pick up a woman at the bar, and bring her home. Choso, though? he hasn’t done any of that. I haven’t seen him talk to a woman once.”

“yeah, right. Choso could walk down the street and charm any girl.” you joked, but the thought made your stomach churn.

Sukuna chuckled. “doesn’t matter. he’s barely left his room.”

“oh.” was all you could manage.

since that day, the calls and texts from Choso had stopped. whether he had given up or found happiness elsewhere, you chose not to think about it.

instead, you decided to spend tonight drowning your feelings with Nobara, Megumi and Yuji. no thinking of Choso, no thinking of Choso, you repeated the mantra over and over just as you’d done over the past two months.

Nobara spent half the night shoving you gently in the direction of other men, trying to get you to flirt and have fun. no matter how many times you tried to dissuade her, she kept telling you that it was time to move on. but even when a guy would be trying to sweet talk you, you kept having to shake away images of those twin black buns and tattoo striped across the nose. how could anyone compare?

Yuji and Megumi tried to lift your spirits as well by forcing you to dance with them. but eventually, their sweet romantics would make you feel even worse, to no fault of their own. you were just remembering the night Choso saved you from that creepy guy in a bar.

“Yuji…” you whined, leaning heavily against the bar with your head in your hands. the music blared around you as Nobara tried to slide another drink your way, but you waved it off, no longer in the mood. “did I really fuck up? just be honest with me.”

Yuji offered a sympathetic pat on your head, a gesture that only irritated you more. he’d taken to doing it since your breakup; it made you feel like a helpless child, vulnerable and lost. “I think you did what was best for you.” he said softly, but the words felt hollow and you could see past the fake bullshit he was spewing.

“but… I don’t know anymore.” you really didn’t. the weight of uncertainty settled in your chest. moving out had felt like the right choice, but breaking things off with Choso? that was a different story. “I just really miss him.

“then why haven’t you talked to him?” Megumi interjected, his expression neutral as if he were presenting the most logical solution in the world.

“I can’t. he’s better off without a brother-fucking girlfriend.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” Yuji grimaced, shaking his head at your remark. the thought of you being… intimate with either of his brothers still made him a little queasy. after a moment, he leaned in closer. “he’s not better off without you. trust me, I know my brother. he might act like he’s fine, but he’s a complete mess without you. his music’s gotten louder – like he’s trying to drown out the silence – and he spends all his time in the dark in his room. I haven’t heard him touch his xbox in weeks. he’s just… an empty shell now. honestly, he’s even more emo than before, if that’s even possible.”

maybe Yuji was right. maybe you hadn’t necessarily made the wrong choice at the time, but the long-term effects felt crushing. you wanted Choso to be happy, that was why you left. if you were happy, great. if Choso was happy, even better. as you often reminded yourself, it was with or without you. but the idea of him suffering made your heart ache.

“I just keep thinking about the good times.” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I remember how he used to smile when I’d surprise him with his favorite snacks, or how he’d get lost in his music for hours. it’s like I can still hear him playing those songs in my head.”

Yuji watched you closely, his expression softening. “but it’s not just about you and him any more, it’s about what you both need. sometimes love means taking a step back, even if it hurts.”

“I thought I was doing the right thing.” you said, feeling the sting of tears threatening to spill over. “but now it just feels… empty. I thought I’d feel better, but I don’t.”

Nobara returned with yet another full drink, her eyes flickering between you and Yuji. she placed it in front of you, but you just stared at it, not ready to take another sip but not pushing it away either. “you can’t keep punishing yourself for wanting what’s best for both of you.” she said, her tone more supportive than judgmental. “I don’t see why you can’t just talk to him.”

“but what if he doesn’t want to talk to me? what if I end up just making things worse?” the anxiety twisted in your stomach, each possibility feeling heavier than the last.

Yuji suddenly placed both hands on your face, squeezing slightly to get you to turn and focus on him. “listen, you are my best friend in the world – sorry Nobara – and you deserve to be happy. I won’t sit here and listen to you agonize over whether you made the right choice. obviously, if it still bothers you, then you didn’t. I can say with certainty that Choso would want to talk to you, he’d probably cry if he got the chance for one minute to see you. so, get off your ass and talk to him.”

Nobara and Megumi’s jaws dropped, and you could only nod in shock. “I’ve never seen Yuji be so firm.” Nobara muttered to Megumi.

“I know, it’s hot.” Megumi felt the sharp jab of Nobara’s elbow in his side, causing him to chuckle.

finally, after your little pep talk from Yuji, you were stumbling back to your apartment alone, and all you wanted was to think about Choso. what was he doing right about now? was he blaring music through the speakers in his room? maybe he was playing video games or watching a movie. Yuji had said he wasn’t doing any of that, but you could only hope for the best.

you grew nauseous at the thought of him with anyone else tonight.

as you dug for your keys in your purse, you tripped over something right outside your door. fuck, had someone’s food delivery got sent to the wrong address again? “oi, what the hell?” you grumbled as you looked up from your purse, only to stop breathing.

Choso shot up from the ground, buns tousled and eyes puffy. he opened and closed his mouth, struggling to find even a simple “hello” only to give up and shut his lips tightly.

“what are you doing here?” you asked, your voice trembling as your palms grew clammy at the sight of him. your heart raced in your chest, aching for him.

“I had to… I needed to…” Choso stammered, caught off guard that you were speaking to him. he hadn’t expected to run into you; he thought he’d just swing by and maybe catch of a glimpse of you if luck was on his side. “I don’t know what to say now that you’re right here.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle, unfazed by his awkwardness. “do you want to come in?” you slid your key into the door, and Choso nodded firmly.

maybe it was the alcohol, or just the shock of seeing him after two months apart, but your resolve was slipping.

he followed you inside, mentally letting out a sigh of relief at just being able to speak with you. Choso had begged Yuji every day for even the smallest hint of your new address. to his surprise, it was Sukuna who finally let it slip.

you moved to the kitchen, trying to give Choso a moment to gather himself. “can I get you something to drink?” you asked, glancing back at him.

he shook his head, still looking a bit shell-shocked. “I just… I didn’t think I’d actually see you.”

you turned to face him full, leaning against the counter. “why did you come, then?”

Choso took a deep breath, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I can’t stop. I can’t stop thinking about you, about everything that happened between us. I can’t move on from you.

“Choso…” you whispered, your heart sinking at his words.

he stepped closer, his hand reaching out but hesitating halfway, as if unsure of how to bridge the gap between you. “I can’t move on from us.” he continued, his voice trembling slightly. “I’ll never be able to move on from you.” his hand slowly moved until it rested just above yours on the counter. “I think…” he took a breath, and the vulnerability in his eyes made your heart race. “I think I’ll love you forever.”

your resolve crumbled, scattered like leaves in the wind, as the warmth of his presence enveloped you. “I think… I’ll love you forever too.” you confessed, the words spilling out before you could hold them back.

Choso’s expression shifted, a longing flickering across his face as he fought the urge to pull you into his arms. he wanted nothing more than to kiss you, to hold onto you tightly and never let go, but he held back, willing to let you lead the way. if you wanted him to leave, he would do it, even if it meant breaking his heart all over again.

but standing so close, you felt that pull to him that was impossible to ignore. you didn’t know if you’d regret it, but your body was responding to his proximity, urging you to bridge the gap. “are you going to kiss me now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Choso’s breath caught at your question, his eyes widening with surprise and a flicker of hope. “is that what you want?” he asked, searching your face for any sign of hesitation.

you nodded, a nervous excitement fluttering in your stomach. “yes.”

that seemed to break whatever restraint he had left. in an instant, he closed the gap, cupping your face gently with his hand as he leaned in. his lips brushed against yours softly at first, as if testing the waters. the kiss was tentative, filled with months of longing, but it quickly deepened, igniting a warmth that spread through you both.

you melted into him, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer. it felt like coming home after a long trip – a familiar warmth that wrapped around your heart.

Choso broke apart from you, breathless, as he rested his forehead against yours. his eyes searched yours, looking for something within them. “this can’t… I can’t handle it if this is just a one-night stand.” he murmured, breath warm on your face.

you shook your head against him, a small smile forming across your face. “I don’t think I can let you go again.” as you whispered the reassurance, Choso groaned out in relief before pressing his lips to yours again.

where the first kiss had been cautious, patient, his lips now moved against yours with a fervent need to feel every inch of you. Choso’s tongue dipped past your lips to tenderly caress yours as he pulled you closer into him, heaving chests flush together as your hands fisted the back of his shirt.

“angel…” he moaned lowly, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip as you panted into his mouth. you felt like you were on fire, his hands leaving trails of flame on your body while they roamed and grabbed at whatever he could get his hands on. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too.” you whimpered as his lips found purchase between your neck and jaw. he peppered kisses along your skin before you felt his teeth bite into you before sucking a mark. “missed you s’ much.”

the two of you became a tangle of limbs as he tugged you toward your bed, so conveniently close in your studio, until your legs hit the bed and you both tumbled backward onto the mattress. Choso landed on top of you with a thud, causing you to let out a laugh with the extra weight.

“somethin’ funny?” Choso asked with a grin as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I missed that laugh. thought I’d never hear it again.”

looking up at him, your heart raced, urging you to speak before thinking. he was so beautiful, watching you with a love-filled gaze, that you couldn’t help but melt under him. “I love you, Choso.” the words slipped out softly from your lips but you had no regrets – you did love him, with your whole heart.

Choso’s eyes went wide, shining so bright that you were blinded by the emotion pouring out from his expression. he was shattered when you’d left. you’d taken the sunshine with you, leaving him to hole up in the darkness of his broken heart. but with those three words, you’d started to piece him back together.

his lips crashed into yours, teeth clattering together with the force of it, as his eyelids fluttered close with furrowed brows. “I….” he started between your lips “… love…” a nip at your tongue “… you.”

nothing was holding him back anymore from pulling his shirt over his head with one fluid motion, before latching his lips onto your neck and dragging out the sweet little moans he loved from your mouth as he marked you with his teeth. he’d heard them in his dreams, through his blaring music, every day he heard your voice, and now he wanted to make sure he’d hear it until he went deaf.

Choso trailed kisses down to your collarbone before pulling your shirt off and then unclasping the back of your bra. needy lips found your perked nipples, latching on roughly as he sucked one into his mouth. he made sure to leave bruising red marks on the plushest part of your tits as well – just in case the one on your neck hadn’t taken. this skin was softer, easier to brutally bite and suck, dragging the most incredible noises he’d ever heard from you. with every scratch of his teeth against your skin, you moaned out in a mix of pain-pleasure, and your pulse raced under his touch, shivers running through your bones as he continued his path down to the hem of your pants.

it felt like the first time all over again; the need and desire taking over both of you. he was relentless with his hands dragging over your body, scratching and gripping everywhere they paused. but his hands would only pause for a moment, before moving on to somewhere else, desperately aching to touch you, feel you, taste you.

“wan’ t’… need t’ taste you, angel.” he murmured against your skin as his fingers worked apart the button, then the zipper, ultimately forcing the pants down your legs and ripping them from your ankles to toss them somewhere on the floor. he had a one-track mind right now – tasting your sweet cunt on his tongue. “miss the taste of you, been goin’ through withdrawals.”

your face flushed at the filthy words babbling from his lips as he kissed your inner things, making sure to leave bite marks there too. “Choso, that’s so gross baby.” you whined in embarrassment and tried to shut your thighs, only to have them forced open by his hands pushing your knees apart. “it’s not that great, I’m sure.”

Choso looked up from where his chin was nestled between you, eyes half-lidded as if he was drunk off you already. “it is that great, it’s perfect. could do this all day if you’d let me.” and with that, he licked a stripe up your already slick folds and let out an animalistic groan at the taste. “s’ good, tastes s’ good angel. can’t get enough.”

as he began to eat you like a man starved, spit and arousal coating his mouth and chin, glistening over his face tattoo you loved so much, you fisted his dark hair in your hand at the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you. it had been so long – too long – and you were overly sensitive to every nudge of his nose against your clit as he pressed his face deep into your core.

“Cho, s’ too much.” you whimpered when he plunged a single-digit knuckle deep into your warm walls and curled it into your g-spot. your hips instinctively bucked against his mouth, and he let out a pleased hum at your reaction.

he pulled his mouth away from your clit with a plop! and smirked up at you through his lashes. “feelin’ good, angel?” he asked, but he could feel the answer on his fingers as he stuffed another one deep into you. your gushy walls were as tight as his pants were around his constrained throbbing cock, no doubt already leaking with pre-cum at the sight of you coming undone from his tongue. “wan’ you t’ cum on me, need t’ taste it before I get inside you.”

“please – hah – please wanna cum s’ bad!” your moans were pornographic at this point as the hot knot in your abdomen tightened into a coil ready to be snapped. as you practically rode his tongue to chase your release, Choso’s eyes rolled to the back of his head at the addictive taste of your cunt, deciding that if he died with his head between your legs and your cum on his tongue, it would be the perfect end to his life.

“that’s it, cum f’ me ‘kay?” Choso urged before his tongue caressed your clit in circular motions while his fingers curled against your g-spot just right. your orgasm came crashing through you, two months’ worth of pent-up need for him and only him coursing through your bones as you came on his face with wild thrashes of your hips.

he had to wrap his arm over your hips, forcing them to be still as he didn’t give up his pursuit of the most spectacular orgasm he could give you. even though your body felt like it was on fire, he was unyielding in his torment on your sensitive clit. you were still coming, screaming his name as you tried to scramble away from him in a desperate attempt to escape the overstimulation, but he kept you pinned in place with his bicep, growling into your dripping heat every time you tried to move.

“s-stop, ‘s too much!” you yelped as he continued scissoring his fingers inside of you, forcing open the tightness of your walls as he slurped your clit into his mouth and sucked repetitively. you were going to explode, maybe even die with every wave of release that just kept crashing, the warmth tingling through your body traveling down down down until you felt like a dam had burst, and you heard the squelches of your cunt squirting all over him.

Choso was ecstatic, and absolutely feral to feel your pussy juices spray onto his face and coating his tongue. you tasted heavenly, his cock twitching at the sight of you writhing at his touch – he wanted to lap up every bit of you, but even then, he knew his need wouldn’t be fulfilled.

just as you were coming down, body still twitching with overstimulation, Choso stood up and shoved his pants down to reveal his leaking dick, red and irritated from the confines of his pants, ready to feel you wrap around him. “please, need you to fuck me, Choso.” you begged as you reached for him, wanting him inside of you this instant or else you’d implode.

“don’t worry, gonna make you feel real good again, baby.” Choso pumped his cock with the same hand that was coated in your release before lining up his tip with your cunt. he kissed your lips, and you tasted yourself on his tongue. of course, he’d never wipe his face of your delicious juices. “missed this s’ much, been dreaming ‘bout it every day.”

with one deep, steady thrust, Choso bullied his dick through your wet walls and bottomed out, balls deep within you and letting out the loudest groan you’d ever heard come from his lips. you gasped at the fullness, somehow forgetting just how large he was when he was pressed against your cervix and filling you so deliciously. he took no time in rolling his hips into yours without pause, ready to feel every inch of you coating his cock.

“fuck, Choso it’s been too long.” you gasped as his tip continuously kissed your cervix, loud and wet squelches coming from your cunt with every thrust he drove into you. your hips bucked to meet him, need, desperate for him to keep going keep going keep going. without a doubt, you’d be sore and achy tomorrow, but you couldn’t give two shits as long as he was fucking you this good.

your name was a panted-out prayer on his lips as his hands cupped your face to look at you while he fucked into you, primal instinct taking over and urging him to fill you with his cum over and over. every ignored ache of his cock from the past two months had built up to this, and he wasn’t going to let it go to waste. no, he’d pull more orgasms from your pretty cunt, and fill you up over and over until you could never forget the feeling of him.

“shit – hmph – missed feeling your cunt wrapped around me. look at you, so pretty underneath me, like my own personal angel.” Choso murmured through his pants as his thrust became sloppier. to compensate for his lack of control and quickly oncoming orgasm, he slid his hand down, fingers pressing against your clit in slow, deliberate circles to get you to cum on his cock.

as the knot began to tighten in your stomach again, your eyes snapped open to look at Choso above you – black hair already sticking to his forehead, twin buns coming loose, pupils blown out from pleasure, and mouth agape as he watched you move underneath him. “I love you.” you whined, turning your head and softly kissing his hand that was against your cheek. “holy shit, I love you!”

at your confession, Choso’s pace on your clit picked up and brought you over the edge, your second release racking your body as you trembled beneath him through it. he could not only feel it, but he could hear it too. your warm walls clenched around him like a vice, lewd wet squelches echoing with every thrust of his cock, and your slutty moans of his name had him crumbling. god, you were perfect to him, so soft and pretty and you felt. so. fucking. good.

he felt like an animal, rutting into you with all of his strength to get himself off, desperate to release himself inside of you. his orgasm found him as you were halfway through yours, and he groaned out, “I love you!” before smashing his lips into yours as his hips stilled to be as deep as he could inside of you, spirts of his hot cum coating your walls as he shuddered on top of you. “I love you I love you I love you!”

he fucked you through both of your orgasms before crashing down on top of you, head buried in the crook of your neck as you both struggled to catch your breath and come down from the high. “I love you, Choso.” you whispered now, brushing his bangs from his sweaty forehead and kissing him.

“I love you, angel. forever.” Choso murmured back in response, a soft smile taking over his wet lips as he nuzzled closer to you, breathing in deeply through his nose against your skin. “never gonna stop loving you.”

“that’s okay with me.”

it was Christmas time now, fresh white snow coating the ground as you hurried down the sidewalk. you were late, oh so late, again. you could already picture Megumi’s disapproving glare, and you almost lost your footing on a particularly slick patch of ice at the thought.

when you finally burst through Yuji’s front door, panting and flushed from the cold, Megumi gave you the expected side-eye. but then Yuji bounded over, a huge grin on his face. “you made it! thank goodness. if I had to deal with mr. grinch for one more minute, I might’ve pulled my hair out. and I like my hair – everyone likes my hair!” he rambled on, tugging you in the living room and practically forcing you to sit on the couch beside Megumi.

“who’s the grinch this year? Megumi?” you asked playfully, a teasing grin spreading across your face as you glanced at the raven-haired boy. you then turned your attention to the other side of the room. “or is it Sukuna?”

Sukuna, lounging comfortably in an accent chair with a mug that you guessed was filled with heavily spiked eggnog, shook his head and let out a low chuckle. “take another wild guess.”

you raised an eyebrow, confused, until Choso rounded the corner wearing the most hideous Christmas sweater you’d ever laid eyes on. the sight nearly made you gasp. “oh my god.” you breathed, struggling to stifle your laughter.

“don’t. say. a fucking. word.” Choso grumbled, shooting a pointed glare at Yuji who was wearing a matching outrageous sweater.

“you look so cute!” you exclaimed, unable to contain yourself. you jumped off the couch and rushed over to him, planting a fat kiss on his lips. “I’ve never seen you wear so many colors!”

Choso’s face turned pink as his gaze dropped to the enormous, puffy reindeer on the front of the sweater. “you like it?” he asked quietly, a hint of shyness creeping into his voice as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“I love it.” you replied sincerely, and when he looked back up at you, a radiant smile broke across his face. “and I love the man wearing it even more.”

“of course, when his girlfriend shows up, he’s no longer a grouch.” Yuji huffed, arms crossed and feigning annoyance as he watched the exchange between his brother and you.

“you know you love it.” Megumi teased, wrapping his arms around Yuji’s shoulders and planting a soft kiss on his temple, a playful smirk on his face.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” Sukuna declared, pinching the bridge of his nose in exaggerated annoyance before taking a long gulp from his mug.

you settled back onto the couch, still riding the high of Choso’s blush, when he reached into the pile of gifts stacked beneath the tree. his eyes sparkled with excitement as he pulled out a small, wrapped box with a red bow on top.

“for you.” he said, a shy smile spreading across his face as he handed it to you. “Nobara helped me pick it out, so I can’t take all the credit. she also threatened me to make sure I told you that.”

you snorted out a laugh and took the box from him. you carefully peeled off the wrapping to see a small velvety box hidden underneath, and your breath caught in your throat as you opened it. inside lay a delicate, silver necklace featuring a mountain with two stars atop it.

“Choso, it’s beautiful!” you gasped, tears pricking your eyes as your fingers brushed over it.

he smiled and gently took the necklace from the box. “while it’s not wall climbing, I thought it would remind you of our first date… and, well, us being the two stars. since… y’know, we went climbing, even though we didn’t do it on a mountain and -”

you looked up, meeting his gaze and causing him to pause his rambles at your expression, and felt hot tears freely sliding down your cheeks at the sweetness of it all. “it’s perfect. I love it.” Choso softly smiled before leaning closer and carefully helping you clasp the necklace around your neck. the pendant settled just above where your heart raced beneath your skin.

Yuji and Megumi exchanged knowing glances, and Yuji elbowed Megumi playfully. “look at you two, all sweet and mushy… makes me sick.” Megumi teased with a tiny smirk.

“I’m sick of all of you.” Sukuna grumbled from his spot, but beneath the mug pressed to his lips, you could see his mouth curving up into a small smile.

Choso’s cheeks flushed again, but he didn’t take his eyes off you. “I just wanted to give you something special.” he said quietly, the sincerity in his voice making you melt. “I love you so much, angel.”

you sniffled slightly, reaching up to touch the necklace that you knew would never be taken off. “I love you too, Choso.” you replied before placing a soft kiss to his lips.

in that moment, everything felt perfect. you were in love, surrounded by some of the people that you cared about the most on the holidays. and for now, you knew that everything would be okay – more than okay.

Sukuna’s POV

months later

he’d never say it to anyone else, but Sukuna’s therapist knows damn well to take the secret to their grave. sure, he’d been in love with you, or some semblance of love at least. so forgive him for being a tad heartbroken that he wasn’t the one chosen after everything.

his therapist had told him not to ruminate over it, that he had sought forgiveness and worked towards being a better person. but had he truly? he’d spent the better part of the cold season getting over it, and while he ultimately had, he was still nagged by the dread of never finding someone to look at him that way again.

he was happy that everyone else was happy. he’d royally fucked up, he knew that, and he deserved to not be the one chosen in the end. all he could do now was move forward and continue trying.

try try try.

it was the mantra he’d carried into the new year, seared in his brain every second of every day. it’s all he ever did nowadays.

well, that and drink himself into a drunken stupor whenever he got the chance. and tonight was no exception – having ditched Yuji’s little party at the house to escape the suffocating romance between everyone but him, he found himself at a quiet bar two pints in, desperately hoping for a mild buzz at least.

he felt like a pitiful fool, drinking away his feelings. this wasn’t like him, or it used to not be. he wasn’t so sure anymore. he still felt the same – angry at the world, annoyed by those lesser than him, but in a way, he was more mature. mindful of the people around him and how he affected their lives. he guessed that was what growth did to a person.

but he couldn’t let his old attitude consume him. he’d try and try and try to be better for everyone else around him.

that was until he met her.

“oi, get your fucking hands off me!” he’d heard a voice shout from just outside the bar. it sounded distressed yet confident at the same time. he wasn’t sure what was going on until he heard two other deep voices, chuckling and hurling derogatory insults in the air as if it didn’t matter.

today, it would matter to him.

Sukuna abruptly stood from his stool, causing it to fall to the ground with a loud crash as he stormed out the door of the bar. underneath the streetlights, he saw her – small and fragile, surrounded by two drunken men reaching their hands out for her. and yet, despite her predicament, Sukuna couldn’t help but smirk at her, rearing back a fist, ready to knock someone out.

she hadn’t even heard the crash from the bar, focused solely on the annoying assholes bothering her. all she'd been doing was walking home, alone, like an idiot of course. but a little recklessness never stopped her. she doubted her punch would do much damage, but it was worth a shot anyway.

“I said leave me the hell alone, twatbags!” she shouted, fist shaking but staying firm in a pulled-back position. if they made one more move, she'd muster up the courage and hit one of them. she hated guys like these, her office was filled with them and now she couldn’t even get a reprieve walking down the street.

suddenly, both men went wide-eyed in front of her. hah, so her scare tactics worked, she thought. she'd have to pat yourself on the back later for this achievement. “aw, little ole me got you boys scared? looks like you’re about to wet your pants.” she smirked, crossing her arms in triumph.

until their eyes traveled from hers, to over her head.

“these guys bothering you?”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . taglist: @nighttwingg @sweetsformysoul @casualpoetrytaco @lvingd3adg0rl @haikomaiko @csolya @deathlypink @sad-darksoul @elisedylandy @jinxiewritings @aldebrana @ravester @futuristiccurlyhair @san-it-is-i-guess @marie-is-in-the-dark @llovergirlll @iseeyouuu @makingtimemine @spicykimchii @shxhari @ratcoone @mollyrocks420 @willybillyletsgetsilly @distinguishedpenguinbread @ren-ni @sugar504 @runfrme @sukuna-for-life @theclassbookworm @avidreadee123 @tibibibi123 bro. just... BRO. we're at the end ｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡ i can't believe it!!!! I really really hope I did the end of the story justice, and that everyone is happy with the ending! if not, at least I'm happy about it. THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO'S FOLLOWED, LIKED, REBLOGGED, AND COMMENTED through this whole short story!!!!! and to everyone who's requested to be tagged you have my WHOLE heart. ugh, I'm getting emotional again... but it doesn't make me too sad considering... Sukuna spin off coming soon! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ obviously her will turn into you in the next writing, was that obvious enough? no? damn. anyways, hope to see you all later! ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

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familyvideostevie · 10 months ago

Note

alright, hear me out. i looked through the prompts list and can we give roommate!steve a little airtime beCAUSE—

trying to not hit anything or each other, when there is a power outage and it’s way too dark

— is SO steve coded. i wanna see this man during a power outage. please and thank you. i love you.

hi baby. here you go. sorry it took so long. it is the first thing i have written in about 6 weeks so apologies for it's roughness. i adore you. thank you for helping me give steve Harrington his triumphant return. | fluff, 1.3k, roommates!au

Summer storms in the Midwest always take you by surprise. The never-ending expanse of blue sky becomes crowded with swirling grey clouds without warning and everything stills, like the very fabric of time is holding its breath. Until the dam bursts and rain pounds on your windows, the roof, the pavement with wild abandon. Deep, rumbling thunder follows bright flashes of lightning.

You find it relaxing. A steady, reliable chaos into which you settle without complaint.

Well, usually. Your roommate, Robin -- a talkative and whip-smart girl who makes you laugh-- enjoys storms just as much as you do. It's one of the only times she settles, so you often read side-by-side in companionable silence. Sometimes, if you're feeling bold, you'll both dance in the rain.

But Robin is on some six-month trip for brilliant people and she's left you with a subletter.

"My best friend Steve," she'd said. "Come on, I talk about him all the time. You basically know him."

It's true. Robin is full of stories and this Steve is in most of them. A funny, brave, well-intentioned guy who is a bit of an idiot and has a great head of hair.

And now he's living in the other bedroom. And he's hot. And he always does his dishes and remembers to put the seat down after you scolded him once for doing otherwise and you have a crush on him.

It's annoying. He's been here for like, three weeks and keeps asking you where the spoons are and you like him.

But Steve? You are learning that Steve does not like summer storms.

In the few you've had since he arrived you've noticed that he paces, or sits in the living room with the television turned up high, or something noisy. You've never asked him about it because honestly, he could be much worse as far as roommates go.

You can hear his radio through the wall and it's making it hard to focus on your book. You should really go to sleep but this chapter is really good and does he have to be so loud? Maybe you should get up and ask him to keep it down --

A flash of lightning makes it seem like daylight in your room for a brief moment and then everything is dark. Everything.

"Fuck," you say. The power must have gone out. A clap of thunder so loud it feels like your building shakes startles you. You hear a shout from the other side of the wall.

It's not as hard as you'd expect to feel your way to your bedroom door in the dark. You manage to do so without injury apart from bumping your hip on your dresser.

But when you open your door you smack into a solid wall of warmth. Your fingers grasp for purchase and find none -- only bare skin.

"Jesus Christ --" Steve says. He manages to prevent you both from falling over and holds you at arm's length in the dark. "What are you doing?" His voice is tight and he squeezes your shoulders once before releasing you.

"Uh," you say. You're certain that he's not wearing a shirt. You can feel that he's not wearing a shirt. "The power went out."

He huffs. "Wow, thank you. I had no idea."

You wish it wasn't dark so you could see his face. Three weeks hasn't been enough time to learn all of his expressions. "Were you sleeping?"

It feels like a dumb question considering how loud his music was.

"Yeah," he says. "Obviously I was sleeping. It's like, 1 am."

"Just go back to sleep. If you can, under the volume of your radio."

You imagine him wincing. "Sorry," he says. "I don't, uh. Sleep well during --"

Lighting illuminates the hall and you see him for one brilliant second, messy hair, bare chest rising and falling, boxers slung low. Boxers with...are those...bananas? Then: darkness, thunder. You sense his flinch.

"That," he says flatly.

A smile creeps its way onto your face and you allow it because he can't see. The fact that this guy, your temporary roommate, your sort-of crush, is afraid of thunderstorms fills your chest with warmth. It's endearing. It's adorable. It makes you like him so much more.

You ease past him and into the dark of the rest of the apartment.

"Woah, woah," Steve says. "Where are you going?" You hear him follow you and immediately run into something. He curses. You keep your hands out to avoid the same fate.

"You okay?" you call back.

"Why do we have so much furniture?" he grumbles. "Fuck, that hurt."

You don't correct him that we actually means you and Robin.

"Watch where you're going," you say lightly.

"Oh, ha, ha."

Careful steps take you closer to your destination. "Go look for candles in the kitchen," you tell him. "They're in the drawer by the trash."

"Uh, okay," Steve says. He bumps into things with quiet curses on his way as you look for the matches that should be in the closet. "Why? You could just go back to bed. I'm fine."

You chew on your lip. He's right. But you want to hang out with him. The dark makes you honest. "The thunder is loud," you say. "I won't be able to sleep. We might as well hang out."

He laughs, the first genuine one all night. "Oh, you want to hang out? In the dark? You know what this sounds like, right?"

Ah, the famous Harrington charm Robin has told you about. It makes your cheeks feel hot and you can't hide a smile. Steve ruins the moment by running into something again.

"Fuck! Jesus --"

"Steve, be careful."

"I can't see anything!"

You sigh and finally find the matches. Box in hand, you carefully make your way to the kitchen, your eyes adjusting just a little and making it easier.

Steve is looking in the wrong drawer. You should just tell him so, but instead you reach for him, fingers circling his wrist and dragging it to the right one. His skin is warm under yours, the back of his hand softer than you'd thought it would be. You open the drawer together and hear the candles roll around inside.

His face is a dark outline but you focus on the dark and think you see his eyes. You wish you could see him.

"Found them," he says. You're much closer than you realized, so close you feel his breath on your cheek. Steve leans in -- or maybe it's you, you have no idea, and your noses brush. He puts a hand on your hip, fingers sliding under the hem of your sleep shirt and burning you like a brand.

Your eyes slide close and you miss the flash but not the boom that follows, sending you both about a foot in the air and away from each other.

"Shit," you gasp. Steve laughs and you join in, giggling in the dark like teenagers.

Maybe this is a one-night thing, the darkness making you both a little lonelier and a little braver. But you've got months more of him and the idea of spending that time being something more than just roommates? It's appealing, to say the least.

You reach for Steve in the dark and he must have been doing the same because your fingers tangle without much effort.

"Come on," you say. "Let's light the candles and sit on the couch. I'm sure the power will come back on eventually."

He squeezes your hand and you squeeze back. "Okay," he says, a smile in his voice. "Don't let me run into anything."

You grin at him in the dark and hope that come morning he'll be familiar with it in the light, as well. "Don't worry, Steve," you tell him. "I've got you."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

#emmas5kgarden #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harringotn fluff #stranger things fanfic

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kaiijo · 2 years ago

Text

CERTAINTIES — SHIDOU RYUSEI

pairing: shidou ryusei x gn! reader content: pro soccer player! shidou, pr manager! reader, shidou and kaiser’s behavior is a warning and of itself, shidou calls reader “sweetheart” and “sweets,” one suggestive joke notes: i <3 unhinged men

You’ve learned that there are very few certainties in this world. The trains are not always on time, your hair is not always how you want it to look, your coffee order is not always what you want it to be.

But if you can be certain of one thing, it’s that Shidou Ryusei is a walking PR nightmare.

Your colleagues all warned you about taking him on as a client. His reputation precedes him: he’s loud, generally pretty rude, and absolutely unpredictable; he had cycled through no less than five PR agents in just a month. One of his previous agents, who sits in the office besides yours, came back in tears one day, huffing and sniffling that she “can’t work with him anymore!” because “he’s an absolute maniac! A total psycho!”

But if the various first place trophies and medals that were displayed in your childhood home for spelling bees and baking contests and even a few sport competitions mean anything, it’s that you never back down from a challenge. And, not to be too self-congratulatory, but you’ve been in the job for three months now — the longest of any PR agent — and you’re fairly sure you’re not anywhere close to being fired or run off by Shidou.

You sit on the sidelines of the field, watching the practice match between PXG and Bastard München with heavy eyelids. You got very little sleep the past few days after having to mitigate a “Shidou Ryusei Disaster,” as your team has taken to calling whatever scandal Shidou stirred up. Your eyes slid shut for a few seconds before the shrill of the whistle indicating halftime break made you jump, pitching forward. You would have definitely eaten grass if the man sitting beside you, Harada Kaito, hadn’t grabbed your shoulder and pulled you back.

You and Kaito work at the same agency with Kaito representing the actual PR angel, Yukimiya Kenyu. You can’t say you’re close friends but you get along well and enjoy chatting with him when PXG played against Bastard. “You okay there?” he asks, brows furrowing in concern.

You sigh heavily, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your palms. “Yeah, I’m fine. Had to put out some fires in the last few days so it’s been kind of hectic.”

“Right,” he says with a nod. “You spun it well. Saying that Shidou’s outbursts are products of overwhelming passion for soccer that’s just a little misplaced sometimes is honestly genius. Might have to steal that from you one day.”

You snort, “Yeah, right, Yukimiya’s a saint. I’m sure you’ll never have to put out a statement like that.”

He chuckles, leaning back. “Probably.”

“You wanna go, Rat Tail?” Both you and Kaito whip your heads over to see Shidou toe to toe with Michael Kaiser of all people. Of all people, he has to choose Michael Kaiser to fuck with today. Kaito gives you a pitying look as you run a hand down your face, standing up and heading over to douse this blaze before it can turn into another Shidou Ryusei Disaster.

“I’ll squish you like the insect you are,” Kaiser bites back, mouth pulling into a vicious smile.

“How about I exterminate you like the rat you are?” And you already see the way Shidou shifts his weight, the way his eyes grow sharper and his gaze more wild, and you know you’re a millisecond away from pandemonium, broken bones, and a potential lawsuit.

“Shidou Ryusei, if you even think about it, I’m never making you yukhoe ever again!”

Kaiser and the small crowd of soccer players that had formed around him and Shidou look a little surprised to see you a few feet away, clearly unaware that you had been practically sprinting across the field to get to them. Shidou, on the other hand, looks like he expected it and there is something smug about his expression that makes your eyes narrow. “Ah!” he croons, only needing two strides of his long legs to reach you. “So you were paying attention to me!”

“What are you on about?” you huff, crossing your arms.

“Well, you were falling asleep on the job. And then you seemed a little preoccupied with your little boytoy over there.” His eyes slide over to Kaito, who’s checking something on his phone.

You roll your eyes. “We’re colleagues, Shidou, you’ve met Kaito before.”

“First name basis? Are you sure you’re just colleagues?” He throws a nasty grin at you but there’s a look in his eyes that doesn’t quite match the simper.

“Yes.”

“You don’t sneak into the conference room together for a little rendezvous?”

“No.”

Shidou tilts his head and rocks on his feet, balancing on his toes and leaning in close. His nose almost brushed yours and your face heats up to an unhealthy temperature. Then, he smirks and pokes your cheek. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

You swat his hand away. “Shut up.”

“Aww, that’s not a very nice way to talk to your client.”

“It’s not very nice to go around physically assaulting people.”

“I beg to differ, sweetheart,” Shidou says with a wink. Your face burns more.

You massage your temples and instead turn to Michael Kaiser, suddenly acutely aware that the first strings of PXG and Bastard München are all witnessing your interaction. “I’m sorry about his behavior.”

Kaiser raises an eyebrow and you think he’s going to give you a hard time but he only walks over to you, brushing past Shidou, and offers you a charming smile. “I don’t blame you,” he says, placing a placating hand on your shoulder and glancing at Shidou derisively over his shoulder. He looks back at you. “Feral animals are hard to train. My suggestion is to get them a leash and muzzle.”

You frown at Kaiser and peer over his shoulder to look at Shidou, but his eyes are glued to the hand on your shoulder. “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” Shidou chuckles but there’s something flat and unsettling about his tone. It shifts into something colder. “And get your hand off them.”

“Oh?” Kaiser smirks. “I don’t see them asking me to.”

“They’re too nice to say it. I, on the other hand, have no qualms ripping it off.”

“‘Qualms,’ that’s a big word for a little insect.”

“That’s enough,” you say, finally stepping out of Kaiser’s grip. You check your watch; there’s still a little time in the halftime break. Your eyes zero in on Shidou and you give him a stern glare. “We’re going to have a talk. Come with me.”

You turn on your heel and you don’t need to look back to know that Shidou’s following. Kaiser calls after the two of you, “Aww, finally decide to obey like a good dog!”

And much to your chagrin and great embarrassment, Shidou fucking barks back.

You lead him into the hallway that lead from the locker room and you say, “You can’t just go around kicking your teammates, you’re going to get into real trouble one day!”

“Aww, you care that much about me?”

“It’s literally my job to care about your public image.”

“Don’t got breaking my heart like that.”

You roll your eyes and scowl. “I literally just cleaned up one of your messes, Shidou. I need you to take it down.”

Shidou studies you for a few moments, eyes roaming your face. You squirm a little under his scrutiny and then Shidou takes a step towards you. You instinctively move back a step. One step forward, one back. Forward, back.

You grunt a little when you hit the opposite wall, Shidou crowding you against the wall. He leans in close, mouth right next to your ear. “I’ll tone it down on one condition.”

Your heart is about to beat out of its chest. “What is it?”

He smiles slyly and purrs, “Let me take you out.”

You dare to meet his gaze, shocked by its intensity. Your reply is so quiet, like it’s meant just for Shidou to hear. “Okay.”

His eyebrows raise and he asks, “Really?”

Your traitorous mouth lifts into a soft smile. “Yeah.” And Shidou beams.

You’ve learned that there are very few certainties in this world. But if there’s one thing you’re very certain of, it’s that (for better or worse) Shidou Ryusei can make your heart race.

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #shidou x reader #shidou ryusei x reader #blue lock scenarios #blue lock imagines #.𖥔 ݁ ˖ kaiijo writes

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imhappierthanever · 5 months ago

Text

After the Sweat Tour

Warnings: Smut, use of strap, Billie, Charli and reader.

(Filing this under things I’m never going to tell Charli lmao)

__________________________________________

How did you get here? Those were your only thoughts as you were being led away from the concert.

Billie, your girlfriend decided to make an appearance at Charli’s sold out sweat tour L.A. to perform “Guess” with Charli, and you couldn’t have been anymore excited. You loved Charli and Billie knew you did too. And she knew what that song did to you.

After the show ended, Billie came and found you, bringing you backstage. You waved at Troye and saw Charli’s childhood best friends Twiggy and Sam as they congratulated Charli on another amazing show. You had met Charli before. Plenty of times. But for what ever reason, something about this moment felt…different.

“Me and Charli have a little surprise for you.” Billie said giving your waist a squeeze as she whispered into your ear, Charli staring dead at you.

“Okay.” You managed to choke out, feeling Billie grab your hand, leading you out of the room, and Charli following close behind.

“Where are we going baby?” You questioned your girlfriend. Checking behind you to make sure you weren’t dreaming when Charli was STILL there. You smiled at her as she caught up to you both. All of you sliding into a black SUV. Your mind was going wild. What were you doing? Where you going to the Sweat after party? Were you going to Charli’s house? Your mind burned with questions.

Not long after you found yourselves back at Billie’s house. You sighed, relief swallowing you, and some sort of comfort taking over you. You weren’t in the mood for some place new anyway. You just sang and danced your heart out and you were tired. You figured they were going to make something new together and you were going to watch but you couldn’t have been more wrong.

When you got into Billie’s house she pressed your body against a wall as Charli made herself more comfortable. “How would you feel if you had me and Charli tonight angel? Would you like that?” Billie asked, her blue eyes piercing your soul as her fingers began their journey on your body.

You loved Charli sure. You thought she was stunning. But you never let you mind go any further than that. You never knew you would end up in a situation like this one. And quite honestly, you didn’t think about anyone but Billie. So when you saw Charli undress, shedding all her clothing on the soft white carpet your breath caught in your throat. She was undeniably everything. You didn’t have to answer for Billie. Your body did for her. Your eyes told her everything she needed to know. And when she let her fingers slip into your lacy black panties, completely teasing you, gathering your wetness on her fingertips, you both knew a no was out of the question.

Billie used that same hand, caressing your body underneath your clothes, bringing her lips to your neck before she began to undress you, taking off her own clothing too, not wanting to waste time. Once you were all open to each other, she led you over to Charli who also began kissing you as she took you in her arms. Never in your wildest dreams did you think a moment like this could exist as she pulled you closer to her perfect body, easing you down onto the carpet.

Billie watched as she retrieved a strap. Your favourite one of course. She strapped it on, laying her body down as she pulled your body back towards hers. Charli was still kissing you, her tongue dancing with yours as her fingers traced circles around your nipples. You couldn’t think about anything besides the pair of them. Besides all three of you together and how amazing it all felt already.

Billie lined herself up to you, entering you earning a moan from deep within you. You arched your back, letting your hands rest on her upper half as her hands found your head, pulling back as she thrusted into you. Slow at first, letting you adjust. But soon turning into an ungodly speed they your hips soon followed.

Charli pulled you into her, kissing your lips, letting her hands caress your ass. Billie took this as her sign to sit her body up, spreading her legs more, driving her cock into you so perfectly as she used her hands to hold herself up. When she had enough of Charli all over you, she pulled your body back down, your back pressing against her perfect breasts as she continued to thrust into you.

Billie had always been selfish with you, so you couldn’t believe she even let someone into your alone time where she wanted you the most. But you couldn’t think of that right now. All you could think about was the way it all felt. Billie moving flawlessly inside of you, making you hers over and over again. Not letting you forget for even once second. And Charli, now running and punch in your clit as you thrusted into her face slightly. When Charli began to lick you, you thought you would fucking explode right then and there. But you didn’t want this moment to end. You would hold out as long as you could. Besides, you knew Billie and she wouldn’t allow it. You were going to be there all night. The three of you, trying everything. Trying each other. Having your very own little afterparty.

#billie eilish #charli xcx #billie eilish x you #billie eilish fanfiction #billie x reader #guess remix #sweat tour

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nap-thym3 · 4 months ago

Text

I’ll Eat You Whole

Bob Velseb/Reader | Ch: 1, First Encounter

• Word Count: 5,217 •

When a scare-actor comes across the real-deal, you barely manage to escape by the skin of your teeth. However, in the aftermath of your encounter, you’re left with more questions than answers.

Who was he? Why didn’t he kill you when he had the chance? And why was he kinda…

Anyways. Now caught in a deadly game of cat-and-mouse, you have to quickly figure out what role you play. Will you survive? Or will you be swallowed whole?

Wild cackles spill from your throat, disjointed and borderline hysterical. A giant chainsaw roars to life in your hands, the bloodied business-end a warning. The constant vibrations from the motor making your very bones feel tingly and near numb with pins and needles.

The blood coursing through your veins feels electric, super-charged in a way that you only ever feel when you’re giving chase.

For all intents and purposes, you were dressed to kill.

Ahead, a group of teenagers shriek for their lives, pushing and shoving at each other in a desperate mad scrawl to escape.

Giggling dementedly, you cheekily taunt the pair. Some cheesy one-liner that you’ve already used maybe thirty times tonight.

In response, the blond, shaggy haired boy unkindly shoves at his friend, looking honestly a little pale. God, you hoped he wouldn’t vomit. The last thing you needed was for this kid to puke in your section.

“Damn it— move Craig, move! They’re coming right this way!”

Craig, you’re assuming, laughs mischievously. Arms and legs spread out wide and hooked onto the exit’s doorframe like a human barricade. Effectively blocking his friend from passing through, reveling in the panicked shouts and desperate pleas to move.

“Chill! They’re not even that scary!” Craig manages between full-bellied chuckles.

You cluck your tongue, bouncing from foot to foot impatiently. You had a strict schedule, and didn’t really have the time to play a game of chicken with these two before the next group passed through.

Panting, you try to subtly rub your face against your shoulder, sweat-slicked baby-hair clung uncomfortably to your clammy skin. Slowly, as to not alert the oblivious pair as they squabbled, you crept forward. Quietly making your way over, inch by inch, until you were only a meager three steps away.

“Fuck you Craig! I swear to god, if you don’t move in the next five seconds, I’m gonna—“

Reaching down, you cut the power to your chainsaw. The pair, still oblivious and too caught up in their back and forth, fail to notice the abrupt silence.

Before anymore grating arguing can spill, your reach out, gently reaching over the blonde’s shoulder and gently poking the troublemaker with your index.

The pair, having momentarily forgotten all about you, whip their heads around. The action is done so quickly, you’re half surprised they hadn’t snapped their necks. Their eyes were wide and terrified as they watched with bated breath. You offer nothing but a playful little finger wag; deceptively casual, before lunging forward and delivering a scream so fried, most metal-heads would’ve applauded.

You barely have enough time to clear your throat before the teens are tripping over one another, a messy pile of limbs as they half-crawl on all fours. Before then remembering that, yes, they did indeed have legs. And that yes, they should probably use those.

Man, you loved Halloween.

Hours later, and the haunted house’s endless waves of shrieking crotch-goblins and thrill-seeking teens had finally slowed to a light trickle. Granted, it wasn’t all that surprising. With it being the busiest night of the year, after all. The attraction had been at near full capacity all night, guests squashed together like canned sardines with seemingly no end in sight.

It wasn’t until just a little after midnight when the non-stop traffic of people had finally slowed to a trickle, that you realized just how loud it had been. The abrupt quiet left only the looping audio of groaning ghouls playing from outdated speakers hidden in dark corners. You’d honestly forgotten there was any background ambience to begin with, when all you could hear for eight long and grueling hours was the screams of the horrified.

God, you were so glad you had the foresight to bring a bottle of Tylenol with you.

With little more fanfare, the annual haunt had officially closed for the year. The end of the final shift was marked with exhausted high-fives, sighs of relief, and more than a few of your coworkers tearing off sticky prosthetics like their skin had been itching something fierce for hours.

Quickly, actors were dispersing and heading home for a well-earned night’s rest. But not you.

No, you’d gone and volunteered for one last task: the final sweep.

It was your favorite part of the job. Wandering through the darkened maze of the building, making sure no drunk idiots had keeled over and passed out in a coffin or gotten stuck between the walls of the mirror maze. Occasionally, you’d even find a late-night straggler who thought it’d be the bee’s knees to hide and loiter around until everyone left. Those ones were the best. Scaring the hell out of someone who thought they were smarter than the rest? Totally oblivious that they weren’t alone, and wouldn’t have the last laugh?

Better than any therapy session. Free, too.

Tonight felt different, though. The air seemed heavier in the aftermath of the long season, as if the building itself was holding its breath. But maybe that was just your imagination. It was all too easy for these dark corridors to play on your anxiety.

Shaking it off, you adjusted your grip on the prop chainsaw you carried, the dull heft of it a grounding weight. Despite the fact that it wasn’t real, it still gave you an illusion of safety.

As you tiredly shambled your way through the maze of halls, fantasizing about your plush mattress waiting for you back at home, you trod into a room chalk-full of fog. The familiar, smokey scent a pleasant balm over your pulsing migraine. Someone must’ve forgot to turn off the fog-machines, you figure. You couldn’t really find it in yourself to blame them for wanting to go home as soon as possible after tonight.

Turning a corner, you stop dead in your tracks as your eyes hone in on a distant shape.

Ahead, barely visible in the foggy gloom, was the hulking silhouette of a person.

Your heart gave a little leap of excitement. A straggler, ripe for the spooking!

Grinning, you bend your knees into a half-crouch, keeping close to the wall as you quietly crept forward. The flickering lights overhead did little to illuminate the figure, but you didn’t need to see much. You knew this maze like the back of your hand and could strut these halls blindfolded. No dumb teens stood a chance against you.

Close enough now to start feeling the ramping rush of adrenaline, you gave the chainsaw in your hands a few hard tugs. It sputters. Once, twice, before roaring to life on the third pull. The sound of the faux engine roaring to life bounces against the walls of the narrow hall, creating a cacophony throughout the desolate space.

The figure, hunched over something on the ground— please don’t be vomit, please don’t be vomit— straightened slowly. And kept straightening up, reaching a towering height all the while remaining completely unbothered by your approach.

Well. That wasn’t the reaction you’d been expecting. Usually, this was the point in time where people screamed, turned tail, and ran. Or at the very least flinched in surprise.

Real or not, people had a tendency to allow fear to overtake their rationality. It was hard not to, when somebody was chasing you, swinging around a chainsaw in an enclosed space. There was little time to think, just scream and run. Which was great for you.

Annoyed, you take several menacing steps closer, brandishing your chainsaw and revving the engine promisingly. It typically made even the most jaded customer uneasy. But the figure didn’t even react. Was this guy deaf?

“Alright, tough guy,” you muttered under your breath, squinting to get a better look at them.

Through the flickering lighting, you could just make out a worn, burgundy turtleneck and a matching devil mask to boot. Pointed horns perched atop their crown, casting jagged shadows across the walls. In one hand, they held a cleaver—large, wickedly sharp, and dripping with what looked unmistakably like blood. Thick, dark rivulets of it that clung to the blade and fell in slow, pattering drops onto the floor.

Oh. So maybe not a guest.

Sighing with slight disappointment, the muscles in your legs that’d been tensed in preparation to give chase slackened.

“Nice getup,” you called out over the rev of the chainsaw, lowering it slightly before cutting the power off altogether in order to be heard more clearly.

“Sorry— thought you were a guest. Y’know, we closed like… Half an hour ago, right? You can go home.”

The figure tilted their head, confused maybe, before turning towards you fully. Behind them, something was sprawled across the floor—a crumpled, unrecognizable heap in a pool of blackened liquid.

You squinted, trying to make sense of the shape. Some kind of prop, probably. From your vantage you could just make out bone-white, jutting ribs blooming from the gorey mass. Indescribable lumps spill from the open cavity, glistening in the low-light. Most likely meant to look like exposed guts.

Your stomach roils unpleasantly at the sight. That was some pretty convincing stuff. Not typically what you saw in here, considering this haunt advertised itself as nothing too intense— for the younger audience.

Your attention is redirected, when the stranger shuffles closer.

“Didja know,” they spoke— tone baritone and unmistakably male, with a honeyed southern drawl, “human meat tastes most similarly like pork?”

You shuffle in place awkwardly as the man completely ignores your previous words. Your brain buffers, struggling to formulate the right words. Quickly, you decide to go with the tried and true method when dealing with odd social encounters. Polite enthusiasm.

A nervous laugh bubbles up in your throat, forced and strained.

“That’s… uh, great trivia,” you stammered, looking around, confused. Why was he insisting on dragging out the bit? It was just the two of you. Right? “Um. You really don’t have to keep acting though. Like I said before, we’re done for the night, so…”

You trail off as the man took another lumbering step closer, his boots squelching in the messy viscera underfoot.

You stepped back instinctively at his unhurried advance, your gaze darting between the cleaver in his fist and the mangled body behind him. It wasn’t real, right? It certainly didn’t feel real.

Yet all the while something kept nagging persistently in the back of your skull, your gut telling you something was deeply wrong here.

Why don’t you remember this guy? Surely you would’ve seen him at least once in passing if he worked here? Yet try as you may to recollect your scrambled thoughts, you can’t for the life of you recall.

Faintly, you heard the ‘whoosh’ing of the overhead fan as it was powered to life. One of you had tripped the motion trigger, a practical effect meant to disorient you. Bombard your senses and overwhelm the intended target for a better scare— or something along those lines. The finer details escaped you in this moment.

It was only as a fresh burst of circulated air wafted in your direction, that the smell hit you. You were expecting something mildly sweet. Like liquid corn-starch and colored food-dye.

The scent that assaults you instead, is anything but. Coppery and acrid, like licking a battery.

This was real. Like, really real.

It hits abruptly, and it hits you hard. The chainsaw in your hands suddenly felt too light, too useless. You took a half-step backwards, swallowing hard as a cold dread crept up your spine.

The pounding war-drum of your pulse roared in your ears as panic began to set in. “Okay,” you said, your voice thin and wispy.

You swallow again, clearing the cotton-dry feeling in your mouth and try injecting some authority back into your tone. You don’t think you quite hit the mark. “Okay. Uh, You’re— You’re not supposed to be here, man.”

The stranger says nothing. Just smiles and stalks forward, cleaver raised and poised to slash.

Alarm bells blare in your head as you backpedal, frantically twisting to turn back the way you came.

He lunged.

You barely had any time to throw the chainsaw up between you as the cleaver arced through the air. A resounding ‘crack’ rippled through the air as steel met cheap plastic, the force of the swing knocking the prop straight out of your hands. As it clattered to the floor, useless, you only had one thought.

You were so screwed.

You scramble to keep your balance and maintain a sliver of distance as the man advanced, his movements slow but deliberate. Like a cat batting around a mouse.

In one sudden move, he swung again, forcing you to dodge with a wild stumble to the side. The motion sent you skidding on the slick floor, your shoes struggling to find traction on the grimy surface smeared with blood.

Turning your head to the side, you just now notice the man’s sweater-clad arm brushing against your cheek— caging you in.

He’d missed— No, that’s not right. You’d dodged.

The giant cleaver was stubbornly embedded into the wall beside you, right where your head had been not even a second previously. And it was stuck.

With a panicked noise, you duck under his right arm. Narrowly escaping him as his left hand had just barely brushed against the back of your costume.

“Shit!” you hissed, your heartbeat thundering in your chest. The acidic stench of gore clawed at the back your nostrils— it’s real, it’s real!—, threatening to gag you as you struggled to wrangle your limbs into cooperation and go.

Behind you, you catch the sound of the man grunting as he ripped his weapon of choice out of the wall. Quickly followed by his deliberate steps behind you, steady and unhurried. Completely sure of himself.

It only served to spur you into a clumsy, mad sprint.

The maze of hallways felt suffocatingly narrow, the walls pressing in on you with every corner you turned. Your mind scrambled for an escape route, or-or a familiar face, for anything at all that could give you an edge. But the layout, once so familiar, now felt like a disorienting trap.

Behind you, the man’s steps falter, the sound echoing faintly in the cavernous space.

You turned your head, just a cursory glance over your shoulder to gage his distance, but that split-second look had cost you.

Your foot hit something—a stray, thick cable for some electronic or another. Your balance vanished, and you went down— hard. Your palms shot out before yourself, slapping the cold and sticky floor. Pain shot up your wrists as they took the brunt of the impact, but it barely registered in your panic-addled brain.

The heavy thud of boots snapped your attention back to your aggressor, and you looked up to see him closing the distance. The cleaver raised high, winking promisingly in the stage-light.

Feral and desperate, you crawled back on your elbows. No other thought in your brain except to get away.

Another step forward, and his foot caught on the same cord that had betrayed you. His confident stride faltered, his boot sliding out from under him.

It would’ve been a comical sight in literally any other circumstance.

As he stumbled forward with a startled grunt, his massive frame pitched off-balance as he wildly swung his arms outwards in a desperate search for purchase.

It wasn’t much of an opening, but a split second decision needed to be made.

Adrenaline pumping through your veins, you surprise yourself.

Instead of taking the opportunity to keep running, like literally any other sane person would do in your situation, you’d leapt. Right on-top of your attacker.

Your arm whips out and catch’s his neck, capturing him in a headlock. Or it would’ve, if the damn guy wasn’t built like a fucking rottweiler.

The man lets out a noise between a half-aborted chuckle and cough at the unexpected restriction. Large hands scrabbling for purchase against your forearm, nails raking angry red lines across your skin. You curse at the slight sting, yet remain firmly saddled to his broad back, legs firmly locked at his sides. Even as he wildly thrashes, you hold on with all your might— like you would on a bucking bull at the carnival. Knowing you’d be facing pain far worse than a few scratches if you failed, you swing your other arm around, firmly clasping your hand against your opposing wrist and pulling it taut as hard as you could. The muscles in your arms burn at the prolonged stretch, but no matter how much it aches and feels like your arm could pop out of its socket at any moment, you hold firm.

“Feisty lil’ treat, ain’t’cha?” The mysterious man manages through a gasping grunt, meaty digits wriggling between the space of your arm and his reddening neck.

White-hot anger sears at the forefront of your mind. Just who the hell did he think he was? You did the scares and crappy one-liners around here, bitch.

With a snarl against the nape of his neck, his onyx hair tickling your nose, you act on impulse.

Before anymore teases or taunts can be made in that southern drawl you’re quickly coming to despise, you bare your teeth and bite down at the exposed clammy flesh just peeking above the burgundy sweater smattered with someone else’s blood.

Your attacker gasps, stumbling backwards as he vainly attempts to reach behind himself and dislodge you. All the while you clamp down harder, teeth aching with the force not meant for your blunt pearly-whites.

The acrid, metal tang of iron bleeds onto your tongue— a bitter taste that you’re thankfully not subjected to for long as the mountain of a man loses his footing once again. The wires looping around his ankle in the struggle. Sending him stumbling backward one, two, three paces before his back harshly met the wall.

Ergo, you as well.

The abrupt force of the entirety of the man’s weight hitting you like a freight train, pinning you against the wall, is already bad enough. What makes the shitty situation even worse, is that your aggressor wastes no time in taking your momentary shock and striking.

Lighting quick, you don’t even have time to shout or attempt rolling away as an elbow jabs into your diaphragm with startling accuracy.

The response is instantaneous, as the muscle in your chest seizes— momentarily paralyzed.

You crumple inwards, leaning against the grimy wall for support as you gasp and heave for air. All the while uselessly clutching at the collar of your shirt, struggling and fighting for oxygen that your lungs are seemingly incapable of drawing in at this moment.

Faintly, out of the corner of your eye, you recognize the stranger as he stalks forward. Knife clutched in an angry, white-knuckled fist.

As you’re kneeling hunched on the floor, breathing in harsh pants— but breathing, nonetheless— your eyes dip downwards. Catching the slim portion of skin peeking just above the collar of his stained turtleneck, nearly as red as the devil mask he dons as a result of the damage you’ve wrought.

‘Bites and strangulation’s a good look on him.’ You think to yourself deliriously, as a toothy, blood-soaked grin tears proudly across your face.

The man, taking notice of your face smeared with his own blood, cocks his head to the side. Considering.

Defiantly, you jut your chin upwards. Wordless in your challenge but a challenge nonetheless.

Devil-guy chuckles at your show of bravado, his own smile hitching impossibly higher, the pinks of his gums winking at you.

With a thudding step, and another, he shambles towards you. Stalking. Slow and steady, completely unbothered. He’s got you backed into a corner now and he knows it. Wants you to know it, too.

Feeling hopeless, you can do little more than press yourself flush against the wall. With nowhere else to go, and sufficiently crowded by this guy, you brace for impact.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you feel the heavy, damp breath fanning over your sweat-slicked face as he leans over you. Even without your eyes open, you can feel the lofty weight of his unabashed staring. Despite this, you resist the urge to kick or swing. You already knew it was futile, and anymore resistance would surely be met with a swift rebuttal.

The moment stretches on, a long silence filled with nothing but your intermingling pants occupying the cramped space. Faintly, you hear the looping audio of the haunted-house’s ambient audio. Previously, you’d already had a strong dislike for the downright cheesy moans and groans of the supposed supernatural, interspersed with distant howling. However, in this moment, you despise nothing more. As for the umpteenth time, a distant shriek pierces the quiet. It feels mocking, somehow.

Something warm and wet drips onto your cheek, rolling down your flushed face. Goose flesh erupts along your shoulders as you nearly jump out of your skin at the unexpected sensation. Thankfully however, you do nothing more than flinch, before cautiously peering through squinted eyelids.

Above you, your attacker openly drools. Spittle forming and accumulating along his bottom lip, before trailing down his chin. All while his wobbly pupils minutely shift, raptured and ravenously watching every micro expression flitting across your face.

Nervously, you gulp. Before reflexively wetting your own lips in a practiced, anxious habit. It’s not until you taste copper that you remember you still have flakey, dried blood staining your maw. Gross.

The man above, however, has clearly different opinions as he erupts into a full-bodied shiver. The tips of his ears flushing a bright pink.

Okay. Noted.

He lingers, eyes eagerly raving over the dried streak of blood on your lips with unnerving intensity. You squirm, uncomfortable and feeling like a pinned frog, ripe for dissection. Something feral flits across his expression as you wriggle, a startling hunger, before he raises a hand to wipe the drool from his chin with the back of his sleeve.

“Look at’cha,” he mutters, his voice low, husky. There’s a disconcerting undercurrent of amusement beneath the words, like he’s speaking more to himself than to you. “Wild as a bearcat. ‘Love it when they got a bit of fight in ‘em.”

He squats down to your level, his massive frame moving with surprising grace. You’re keenly aware of just how little space exists between you, his knees nearly brushing yours as his free hand, fingers wide and blunt, presses firmly to the wall beside your head. A cage. One he doesn’t intend to let you squirrel through this time.

Seeming content to just stare at you for the moment, cleaver still clutched in his other hand and catching slivers of light. Angling it lazily, almost conversationally, near your face.

At your clear terror, he withdraws. You relax— at least, as much as you’re able to in this guy’s presence—, a shaky exhale leaving you as he does so.

It doesn’t last long though, of course. As you’re once again tensing up all over again, breath hitching as he raises it to his own mouth instead, the flat of the blade skimming his lips. He slurps at the excess there, his tongue then darting out to lave over the steel, before finally pulling it away. His smile widens, and he makes a soft sound, thoughtful. Like he was out taste-testing cheese and not savoring the blood of the innocent.

“You—” your voice cracks, chest aching, lungs still struggling to catch up. You cough and try again, forcing as much venom as you can muster into your words. “You’re sick.”

“And yer stupid,” he counters quickly, his grin unwavering, a flash of teeth that gleam wetly in the pale light. “But I don’t reckon that’s news to either of us.”

A tense moment of silence passes.

“Ya bite hard,” he muses, disrupting the momentary quiet. As though that’s a normal thing to compliment. Is it a compliment? “Bet’cha I bite harder, though.”

The words sink in slowly, and your stomach twists, blood flushing up your neck. Something in your expression—your attempt to recoil while still pressed helplessly to the wall—delights him further. Like you’re tethered together by a string, he follows your pitiful attempt for personal-space. Never letting you forget for even a moment how helpless you really were.

“Ya weren’t s’pposed to be here, treat.” His free hand lifts from the wall, fingers brushing against the sweat-slicked edge of your jaw. The touch is light, deceptively gentle. However, it’s ruined by how his hands feel like a loaded gun against your skin. Knowing that at any moment, he could snuff you out.

He drags his thumb down your jaw, just barely grazing the space between your lip and chin. The blade stays in his other hand, ominously idle but never forgotten.

You jerk your head to the side with a sharp inhale, dislodging his touch, and finally manage to spit out a weak, “Don’t.” You didn’t even really know what you were refusing. The nickname? Touch? Your inevitable demise? Maybe all of the above.

He chuckles fondly—a deep, guttural sound that reverberates in your chest, too close, too intimate. “Sure thing. Treat.”

Your fists clench at your sides, nails digging into your palms hard enough to leave stinging crescents in their wake. “What do you want?” you snap, the edge of your voice sharper now despite the wobble. You’re desperate to gain back some sense of control, some foothold in this surreal nightmare.

His grin softens, just slightly, into something more contemplative. “Want?” he repeats, as though tasting the word on his tongue. “Don’t’cha see, darlin’? I already got what I want.” He leans in even closer, his forehead almost brushing yours.

The words hang in the air like a death sentence. Your stomach flip-flops, dread curling tight in your abdomen as his hands wander again, finally transferring off and away from you.

His proximity feels suffocating, but despite every rational instinct screaming at you to do something—anything—you find yourself frozen. Not just in fear, but in something else. Something other than self-preservation.

He’s terrifying, sure. But there’s something about the way he looks at you, a wild fascination that unsettles you to your very core, yet holds you immovably still. That kind of obsessive attention fixated solely on you, like you’re the only thing that exists in this moment. You’ve never had someone look at you that way before. It was frighteningly addictive.

“Ya feel that, don’t’cha?” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a near whisper, almost conspiratorial. “Yer lil’ heart, pounding away? That’s a once ‘n a lifetime feelin’, treat.”

Yeah, because he fucking kills them right after.

“I could kill ya right now, y’know,” he says it so casually, as though he read your mind. His grip on the knife shifts, and he raises it just enough for you to catch a glimpse of that glinting steel once again. “Wouldn’t even be hard. Like squishin’ a baby bird.”

Your nose scrunches, but you refuse to buckle and give him the reaction he’s clearly fishing for. “Then why don’t you? Hurry up and get it over with, prick.”

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t get the chance to, actually. As a scream echoes down the hall, back the way you came. Sounds like somebody found the body. Er- what was left of it, anyhow.

However, your would-be killer doesn’t even deign to spare a glance in that direction. Instead, he grunts, irritated at being interrupted. Eyes drinking you in , as if committing you to memory.

For a split second, you fear that he isn’t going to move. Quickly, knowing time was running out, you open your mouth. Wether it was to shout or maybe offer some snarky quip, you’ll never know.

Because with the strength of a kicking mule, he shoves you, cutting you off before you could make a sound.

A winded ‘oof’ is punched out of your abused lungs, balefully watching as he rises from his haunches and finally tearing those near-black irises away from you.

And just like that, he’s gone. The weight of his presence lifts as he stands to his full height, towering over you for just a moment longer before turning on his heel. His boots thud against the slick floor as he saunters off, leaving you trembling in the silence. Nothing but the sound of voices down the hall, panicked and steadily growing closer. Something about calling the cops.

Your breath comes in short, ragged bursts as you stare after his retreating silhouette, equal parts relief and confusion flooding your senses.

You get the distinct feeling this isn’t over.

Going home is a complicated ordeal. After your manager found you, you’d been a little shell-shocked, to say the least.

And utterly exhausted.

You didn’t really know the haunt-manager that well. It seemed like a different organizer every year, and to be honest, you weren’t all too keen on getting to know them anyway. They seemed nice enough, though.

“—And-! Where’s your car? Don’t tell me you walked here!” She frets, hands coming up to grasp you by the shoulders, before thinking better of it last minute.

“I’m fine.” You grouse, idly thumbing your sternum that still aches. That’s going to be one nasty bruise, you’re sure.

In the distance, you can just make out the red and blue lights strobing down the streets. You really didn’t want to deal with that headache right now. You were never a fan of cops, having your own complicated history with them that you weren’t really interested in reminiscing on.

“Look, Ms-“ you pause, just realizing you’ve forgotten her name already. With an awkward cough, hoping she didn’t catch on, you continue “it’s been a real long and shitty night and I really just want to go home. I’m leaving.” Stiffly, you turn on your heel. Robotically marching down the steps and towards the sidewalk. You weren’t typically a very tactful person on a good day. So if you were a little more terse than you intended, you don’t think you could be held entirely at fault. Tonight had been overwhelming.

“Wait- No, you can’t just walk away! Someone died tonight, there’ll be questions-and-and-“

You pause in your tracks, aggravatingly, she was right. No matter how much you just wanted to go home and forget about tonight, you could potentially get into a heap of trouble for just walking out. Afterall, it’d probably look awfully suspicious of you to try slinking off after a murder.

A murder. It didn’t feel real, hearing that someone really did die tonight, and that it wasn’t some hysteria-induced hallucination.

You should’ve been dead too.

You clear your throat, uncomfortable. Deciding to save yourself the future migraine, you fish out your trusty bottle of Tylenol. Swallowing two pills dry.

The haunt-organizer looks a little on edge, despite her insistence that you came back. Dragging your feet back up the steps, you notice her slightly backpedal from your immediate vicinity. You suppose you can’t really blame her. What with you still dressed in uniform, ratty hair, and features smeared with patchy face-paint. You must look pretty ratchet right now.

With a long, suffering sigh, you fall back onto your rump. Leg bouncing anxiously.

Well, it’s not like tonight could get any worse.

Hope ya’ll enjoyed. I got bit by the Bob-Velseb-Bug after playing Tender Lovin’ Cannibal. So this was born :,)

Also-Also, I will not be posting future chapters to this Tumblr, so if you’d like to read more please consider checking out my Ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/60694933

#bob velseb #spooky month #Bob Velseb x Reader #fanfiction #tender lovin cannibal

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sl-vega · 22 days ago

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[ 💌 ] - KISS, KISS, FALL IN LOVE! - 600 follower event!

-> message from vee!

hi hi! so, after about a year-ish(?) of being on tumblr, you guys have helped me reach 600 freaking followers! words cannot begin to express how grateful i am (and how sorry I am for making y'all wait for this event-) for everyone's support! and due to basically delaying this event since i've reached 300 followers, i've decided to make three events total for y'all to enjoy!

🍓 EVENT ONE; build a shoujo !

-> in this event, send me info about your selfship/oc x canon (via ask off anon or dm!) , and in return i'll make a concept for a shoujo/romance anime series for them!

you give me:

your preferred name/oc name

preferred pronouns

your f/o / character you wanna request

dynamic

hcs about your relationship

any specific genre you'd want/genre to avoid

any particular au as well?

and any other info!

in return, you get:

a customized netflix header just for you!

a mood board for your series

a synopsis of the plot

head canons about your show

what I think the op and eds for your series would be!

a personalized playlist!

-> rules:

this only applies to the fandoms I write for, if you don't know what I write for, check my request rules post

this is only for my followers! (no follow no service since this IS dedicated to all of them after all)

i would prefer if you sent me your info via dm, but if you would prefer to do it via ask, it must be off anon!

only one series per person!

please include as much info as possible! (makes my job a LOT easier)

🪽 EVENT TWO; smau-ing for dummies !

-> so I mainly got my semi amount of fame on here due to my genshin smaus, and I thought I may as well impart my wisdom onto aspiring smau authors because lord knows I needed someone like that when I was starting out!

rules:

ask me whatever you want!

^^ must be smau related ofc

be nice in my ask box/it might take me a while to answer if I'm busy so don't spam me with the same question!

even though all my longer smaus are genshin ones, my advice is meant to be generalized! even if you aren't a genshin author don't be afraid to ask me!

i'm not a professional writer by any means, so don't take my advice as if i'm an expert! I just want to help some newer authors/writers who want to try something new learn from my past mistakes/experience!

even though this is part of an event, you can honestly ask me for tips and tricks whenever you want!

🌸 EVENT THREE - about the author !

-> despite being on here for a while, I feel like I don't really talk about myself that much, so I decided to make a little ask game to help my moots/my followers get to know me a little better!

ABOUT VEE! - ask game !

🌸 - surprising fun fact about yourself?

💌 - fandom that people don't know you're part of/ would be surprised you're part of?

💖- your oldest fandom + your newest one?

🍓 - a hobby you really want to get into but haven't?

🪽 - favourite anime?

🧸 - fictional character that you relate to the most?

🌹 - favourite movie?

💄 - favourite video game?

🌺 - something you wish your friends/moots would get into

🌷- songs you have on repeat?

🍉 - artists you've been listening to lately?

🪷 - favourite blog theme you've had so far?

💮 - blog theme ideas that you have planned for the future?

🪻- favourite work that you've written?

🍬 - favourite Pokemon?

🍭 - random pet peeve?

💝 - your ideal romantic partner?

💐 - your favourite character to write for?

💞 - an underrated favourite character of your's/one you like but don't talk about a lot

🦄 - wild card! ask me whatever you want about myself (within reason)

divider creds to: @anitalenia @dollywons @h-aewo

-> THIS EVENT WILL PROBABLY RUN INTO THE END OF MARCH, DON'T BE AFRAID TO INTERACT/PARTICIPATE!

🍓 tagging: @shrii-kk @freyao7 @analiee6 @thetwinkims @bellflower1257 @blvdmrcnry @bloukoup @yuan1819 @fishii28 @yourstrulymauki @fungaltoehehe

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luckyroll3 · 2 months ago

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Quid Pro Quo: Chapter 1

Masterlist and Summary

Warnings: This work of fiction is intended for 18+ audiences only. Includes explicit sexual content, graphic language, some violence, etc. Author chooses to not extensively tag in order to preserve some elements of storytelling.

Word Count: 9,558

You sit at your usual table in the bustling student center, absentmindedly twirling a pen as you wait for your new tutee to arrive. You glance at your watch for the third time in as many minutes. You look back over to your floormates Jess and Sam sitting across from you.

"Did you hear about Sarah hooking up with Matt at the party on Friday?" Jess leans in conspiratorially, her voice a dramatic whisper. "Apparently they were all over each other on the dance floor."

Sam rolls her eyes good-naturedly. "Knowing Matt, he probably sweet-talked her with some cheesy pickup lines. That boy is shameless."

You chuckle at their antics, enjoying the lighthearted gossip session. Jess launches into another scandalous tale about someone called Josh from the Business School.

"I'm telling you, he's slept with half the cheerleading team already," Jess whispers conspiratorially, her eyes wide with gossip. "Lisa said he's got some special move that drives the girls wild."

You roll your eyes, suppressing a grin. "And I'm sure Lisa has firsthand experience, right?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Don't encourage her," Sam interjects with a knowing smirk. "You know how Jess loves to embellish."

The three of you dissolve into giggles, the easy banter a welcome distraction from your waiting. The person you were supposed to be tutoring was already 5 minutes late.

Suddenly, a smooth voice cuts through your laughter. "Excuse me, I'm looking for my tutor. Any chance you lovely ladies can point me in the right direction?”

You look up, the words dying on your lips as you take in the sight before you. Tousled bleached blonde hair frames a face that belongs on a magazine cover, complete with deep dimples, a broad nose, thick pink lips, and warm brown eyes that crinkle at the corners. The casual jeans and black hoodie hug his athletic frame in all the right places. You’ve seen him around campus and at parties – he’s kind of hard to miss – but you’ve never actually spoken to him before. He holds his phone out to you, and points at a name. Your name.

"That’s me," you say, clearing your throat. "I'm your tutor. You must be Chan?"

You notice Jess and Sam exchanging meaningful glances, eyebrows raised. They clearly recognize him too and must have gossip about him like they do about everyone. Interesting.

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise as he takes you in, a slow dimpled grin spreading across his face. He clearly had not envisioned someone who looked like you. "Wow, I wasn't expecting... I mean, you're not exactly what I pictured when they said, 'best math tutor on campus.'"

Funny how the men always seemed to be caught off guard. And you're never sure whether to be flattered or offended. "And what exactly did you picture?" You propped your fist up under your chin.

Chan's grin widens, revealing perfect white teeth. "Honestly? Some nerdy chick with thick glasses, a pocket protector, and maybe corrective shoes." He shrugs as he pulls the chair out and sits next to you. “And certainly not stylish.” His eyes take in your pink crop top and dark gray wide legged jeans that hugged your hips.

You can't help but laugh. "Sorry to disappoint. My pocket protector’s in the wash. I’ll be sure to have it with me next time if that makes you feel more comfortable." Chan smirks at your joke, his eyes never leaving yours. “This is Jess and Sam,” you say, pointing towards your friends.

“Hey Jess and Sam,” he says, flashing them his smile before turning back to you.

“Hi Chan. Uh, we should get going,” Sam says hastily. “We were just keeping her company while she waited…” She and Jess hurriedly gather their things.

“Have fun studying,” Jess calls over her shoulder as they scurry off, leaving you alone with the blonde bombshell.

You watch your friends as they walk away, whispering between the two of them as they continue to glance back at Chan. Turning back to him, you clear your throat. "So, shall we get started?"

Chan's cocky demeanor falters slightly as he lets out a frustrated sigh. "I have to admit, I’m really struggling in differential equations. I kind of bombed my first exam. Like, spectacularly. I’ve never failed anything before. I’ve never even gotten below an A- in any of my courses! My professor suggested I get some extra help."

You nod understandingly. "That's why I'm here," you reassure him. “Let me give you a quick rundown of how I tutor and my rates, then we can dive in."

For the next hour, you pour over Chan's exam, dissecting each problem he got wrong. Your passion for the subject shines through as you enthusiastically explain the underlying concepts, using real-world examples to make the material come alive.

To your pleasant surprise, Chan listens attentively, absorbing your words. As Chan explains his frustrations with the material, you find yourself impressed by his intelligence despite this particular academic setback. He asks thoughtful questions, determined to grasp the ideas fully. His brow furrows adorably as he works through a particularly tricky concept. He seems to genuinely care about improving his understanding. Plus, the intense focus in his captivating brown eyes is rather attractive.

"Okay, let's break this down step by step," you say, leaning in closer to guide him through one of the problems. The subtle scent of his cologne teases your senses, and you silently chastise yourself for noticing.

Over the next hour, you lose yourself in the elegant dance of numbers and variables, your voice growing more animated as you explain the intricacies of differential equations. Chan proves to be an attentive student, his initial bravado melting away to reveal genuine curiosity and a quick mind.

But your session is interrupted several times. A perky brunette approaches your table, her eyes fixed on your tutee. "Hey Chan," she coos, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "I didn't know you studied here."

Chan's demeanor shifts instantly, his smile widening as he leans back in his chair. "Only when I have a beautiful tutor," he says with a wink in your direction.

You roll your eyes, but can't help the small smile that tugs at your lips. "Flattery will get you nowhere, especially not in differential equations, sir," you quip as you tap your pencil on his textbook, earning a laugh from Chan.

Twenty minutes later, two more girls stop by, batting their eyelashes at him. You observe with amusement as he effortlessly juggles their attention, his charm cranked up to a thousand.

"Ladies, ladies," he says after a few minutes, "As much as I’d love to continue our chat, I'm in the middle of a very important tutoring session."

You snort. "Oh, now it's important?"

Chan grins at you, his eyes twinkling. "Always has been. How else will I impress you with my mathematical prowess?"

As the girls reluctantly drift away, you can't help but admire Chan's ability to navigate social situations with such ease. It's like watching a performance, and despite yourself, you're entertained.

"Wow," he says as he finishes working through a complex problem at the end of the session. "You really know your stuff. I think I actually understand some of this now."

You flash Chan a warm smile as you gather up your notes. "That's great! I'm glad I could help. If we keep meeting regularly and you keep putting in the same effort you showed today, we'll have you acing these exams in no time."

Chan leans back in his chair, giving you a smoldering look. "With a tutor as brilliant and stunning as you, how could I not be motivated to give it my all?"

He winks flirtatiously and you can't help but chuckle. Throughout the session, you noticed how Chan turned on the charm anytime a cute girl walked by your table, making them blush and giggle. But you see right through his player persona.

"You should save your cheesy pick-up lines for the girls over there eyeing you," you tease, nodding your head towards a group of freshmen near the cafe counter who keep glancing your way and whispering. "I don't mix business with pleasure."

"Pity," Chan sighs dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "And here I thought my devilish good looks and witty remarks were winning you over."

"Keep dreaming, Casanova."

“Unlike Casanova, I’m 100% clean. I get tested monthly,” he says, cocking his head to the side with a sly smirk. “Hey! Did you call my pick-up lines ‘cheesy’??” he asks, in mock offense, followed by a smile. “That’s certainly a first.”

“Yup!” You roll your eyes playfully as you slide the textbook back into your bag. "I will say, when you weren’t distracted by ass and tits, you were a very attentive student today. Here’s what you owe me.” You hand him the invoice.

Chan's eyebrows raise as he examines the total. “Ouch,” he says, but he pulls out his wallet without complaint. "But I'd say you're worth every penny... and more," he adds suggestively.

You simply shake your head in amusement as you accept his payment, immune to his flirtations after years of dealing with cocky jocks, handsy frat brothers, and other self-assured fuck boys who became humbled when they needed your help to pass math and physics. Still, you have to admit there's something magnetic about Chan's presence, a spark of intelligence and humor beneath that bad boy exterior that intrigues you. And damn, he is cute. The problem is he knows it.

"Seriously though, thanks for being so patient with me. Same time next week?" he asks, flashing that dimpled smile that you're sure has broken countless hearts.

Shouldering your backpack, you give him one last appraising look. "Yup. Don't forget to do the practice problems I assigned."

"As you wish." He grins roguishly. "I await our next meeting with bated breath."

You laugh again, before turning and walking away, very aware of Chan's eyes following your every step. This is going to be an interesting semester, you think to yourself as you head to your next class.

Later that evening, you're sprawled on your bed in your dorm room. Jess sits in your desk chair and Sam is on the floor eating chips. The two of them rehash the day’s events. The conversation soon turns to your new tutee.

“I can’t believe you’re tutoring THE Bang Chan,” Jess says incredulously, pausing in the middle of painting her toenails a vivid red.

“Do they really call him that? Bang Chan?” you ask curiously. You know his full name is Chan Bahng.

Sam jumps in. “Yes, Bang Chan. As in the notorious fuck boy who’s probably slept with two-thirds of the girls on campus.

The room erupts into giggles and excited chatter. "Oh honey," Jess says with a grin. "Everyone knows Bang Chan. He's only the biggest player on campus!"

Your eyebrows shoot up. "Really? I mean, I noticed he was flirty, but—"

"Flirty?" Sam snorts as she sets down her bag of Ruffles, leaning forward with a conspiratorial grin. "Girl, you have no idea. That boy is trouble, with a capital T. Fuck, all the letters are screaming at you! He’s broken more hearts than I've had hot dinners. They call him the 'One Night Stand King'. He never hooks up with someone more than once."

“You would know this if you didn’t spend all your time in the physics building or with your boyfriend at the Phi Theta Nu house,” Jess says as she points the nail polish brush in your direction.

“That’s why I hang out with you bitches! So you can catch me up on all the campus drama and gossip I miss.” Jess and Sam laugh at you.

As your friends launch into increasingly outrageous stories about Chan's exploits, you feel a strange mix of fascination and disbelief. Could the attentive student you tutored really be the same person they're describing?

“I heard he slept with three of the sorors from KEK in one week, and not one of them knew about the others!” Sam continues. “And they all lived on the same floor!"

"Oh, and get this," Jess leans in, her voice dropping to a whisper as if the three of you weren’t alone. "I heard from my friend who fucked him freshman year that he's absolutely mind-blowing in bed. Like, earth-shattering good." She tightens the cap on the nail polish bottle and sets it on the desk.

Sam nodded her head vigorously as she popped another chip into her mouth. “I’ve heard that too. That he works hard to get each girl off. That’s a miracle in and of itself, given how awful and selfish most of these guys are when it comes to our pleasure.”

"That part! And apparently, he has a magical tongue, if you know what I mean," Jess adds with a salacious wink.

The three of you devolve into loud laughter. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t noticed Chan’s devilish smile and the sinful way he bit his plush lower lip. You're about to ask for more details when a knock at the door interrupts the gossip session. The scent of yummy food wafts in as your boyfriend Changbin enters, bags of takeout in hand. His handsome face breaks into a sweet smile at the sight of you.

"Hey babe," he greets, pecking you on the lips before holding up the food. "I brought dinner.” Changbin's eyes sweep over the room, taking in your friends and the remnants of your gossip session. “I didn’t realize you two would still be here, but there’s enough for everyone," he offers.

“Best boyfriend ever,” you declare as you move to help him with the food.

"Mind if I join the party?"

Your friends eagerly accept, and soon you're all sprawled across the floor, plates balanced on laps as the conversation flows. The aroma of spicy chicken and savory noodles fills the air, mingling with laughter and playful banter.

After a few minutes of catching up, Changbin raises an eyebrow. "So, what were you all talking about before I got here? I could hear you laughing down the hall!"

Sam giggles, swallowing a mouthful of food. "Oh, we were just filling her in on Bang Chan's reputation."

Changbin's expression shifts, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. "Chan? I know him. We play soccer together sometimes in the pickup games on Saturdays."

You lean in, curious. "Really? What do you think of him?"

Changbin shrugs, his muscular shoulders rolling beneath his fitted shirt. "He's actually a pretty nice guy. Killer on the field, but always fair. I’ve also heard from a couple of my frat bothers who are also engineering majors that he’s really fucking smart. Why? What have you ladies heard?" Changbin turns his attention to Sam and Jess, fully aware of their gossip queen reputations.

As your friends launch into a recap of Chan's notorious exploits, you find yourself torn between their salacious stories and your own experience. "He was my tutoring student today," you interject. "And yeah, he was flirty, but he was also polite and seemed genuinely interested in learning. I could tell he was also very intelligent."

Changbin nods, a thoughtful look on his face. "That tracks. He's got quite the reputation, but I've never seen him be disrespectful or mean. Just... very popular with the ladies." He ticks his head to the side and smirks before shoving a forkful of noodles into his mouth.

“Does it make him a bad guy that he likes fucking around?” you ask sincerely. “He’s apparently single; from what you all have shared he offers nothing more than sex, then moves on. As long as he’s not tricking or forcing anyone, I don’t get why it’s a big deal.”

“True, true,” Sam agrees.

Jess doesn’t look too sure. “It’s probably more about the volume and that he also fucks friends,” she adds after thinking about your comment for a few seconds.

Changbin doesn’t really care and just continues eating, grabbing an eggroll from your plate with a cute smirk. You make a face at him. “What,” he says after taking a bite. “You know you’re not gonna eat it.”

As the conversation shifts to other topics, you can't help but ponder the complexities of Chan's character. Your mind wanders, comparing him to Changbin, wondering about the different types of men and relationships that exist in this world, especially considering the whirlwind of rumors surrounding Chan. You push the thoughts aside, focusing on the moment at hand, but a small part of you remains curious about the enigma that is the ‘Bang Chan’.

Later, after your friends have left and your dorm room is quiet once more, you and Changbin settle onto your bed. His strong arms encircle you, pulling you close as you cuddle together. Having a single this semester means that the two of you get to spend a lot more alone time together. The familiar scent of his cologne envelops you, comforting and enticing all at once. You rest your head on his sturdy chest as his fingers trail gentle patterns along your back.

"Can you believe it's almost our one-year anniversary?" Changbin muses, his deep voice vibrating beneath your cheek. "Time flies when you're with someone as amazing as you."

You tilt your head up to meet his warm gaze, your heart fluttering at the open affection shining in his eyes. "I feel the same way. Being with you has been the best part of this whole college experience."

Changbin's hand comes up to tenderly brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "I want to make our anniversary special, baby. Is there anything in particular you want to do to celebrate?"

Nibbling your lower lip, you contemplate his question. In truth, all you really want is to spend uninterrupted quality time with the man you’ve been falling for over the past 10 months. No distractions, no studying, no gossip about cocky fuck boys with sinful smirks...

Just you and Changbin, savoring each other's presence, and maybe… something more.

You snuggle closer, relishing the feel of him. "Just spending time with you is enough," you reply softly. “I don’t need anything fancy. I just honestly want to disconnect from everything and everyone but you.”

Changbin's pink lips curve into a soft smile. "That sounds perfect.”

He leans in, capturing your mouth in a tender kiss. Your eyes flutter shut as you melt into him, relishing the gentle pressure of his lips on yours. It's chaste and sweet, just like most of the kisses you've shared over the past year.

And yet...

A tiny, secret part of you can't help but yearn for more. To feel the heat of desire, the intensity of passion, the urgency of wandering hands and fervent kisses. Your thoughts stray to the erotic stories your friends shared earlier, of Chan's alleged prowess in the bedroom....

Mentally chastising yourself, you force those illicit musings away, focusing instead on the warm solidity of your boyfriend's frame against yours. Changbin is perfect – caring, respectful, patient. He deserves your full attention and devotion.

As his fingers continue to trace lazy patterns along your spine, a shiver runs through you. You can't help but wonder if Changbin wants more from your relationship. Over the past year, your physical intimacy has been limited to these chaste kisses and some gentle petting, and you're acutely aware of how accommodating he's been to your general lack of interest in intimacy, despite having sex with his previous partners. A perfect gentleman.

Gathering your courage, you tilt your head back up to meet his gaze again. "Binnie... do you want more from our relationship?"

His dark eyes soften as he looks at you, a mix of tenderness and desire in their depths. "I only want what you want," he says sincerely. "My priority is making sure you're happy and feel safe. We can take things at whatever pace you're comfortable with. There’s no need to rush anything."

“Okay,” you whisper.

His words fill you with a comforting warmth, like slipping into a hot bath on a cold night. In that moment, you make a decision, one that feels both monumental and inevitable. Silently, you promise yourself that for your anniversary in two months, you'll take things to the next level with Changbin. He deserves it, and if you're honest with yourself, you want it, or rather him, too. You want his touch, his closeness, the deeper connection that comes with truly giving yourselves to one another emotionally and physically.

No more holding back, you tell yourself. You have just over two months to prepare, to get comfortable with the idea. As a sign of this new commitment to yourself and your relationship, you gently slide Changbin’s hands from your lower back to your ass. The movement is slow and deliberate. “That’s better,” you whisper. Your breath catches in your throat as you wait for his reaction.

Changbin lets out a low, appreciative chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your body. He squeezes gently, testing the waters, and you feel a spark of arousal shoot through you. His lips find your neck, and he begins to pepper it with light, teasing kisses, each one sending a tingling wave of sensation down your spine.

You close your eyes, savoring the moment, the feel of his strong hands and warm lips. This is what you want. To be closer to him, to experience the physical side of your feelings for him. As you lay there in his arms, your mind drifts to thoughts of what that next level might entail. You try to imagine what it will be like when you finally cross that line: the heat of his skin against yours, the weight of his body, the mingling of your breaths. It’s a tantalizing thought, and a mix of excitement and nervousness flutters in your stomach.

****

The library hums with quiet activity as you settle into a table towards the back. You’re looking forward to seeing Chan again. Despite his reputation, you enjoyed talking to Chan, and he was a fun and attentive student last time. Maybe there’s more to him than meets the eye.

Speaking of the “fuck boy” in question, you see Chan approaching, his blonde hair slightly tousled and a grin playing on his lips as he struts towards the table like he owns the place. Which, let’s be honest, he might as well. Every woman in the building, young and old, cast him longing glances as he passes by, but his eyes are only on you.

“Hey tutor,” he drawls, flashing that alluring grin, “ready to help a desperate man?” As he slides into the seat across from you, you catch a whiff of his cologne – a subtle, woodsy scent that's oddly enticing. “Oh, and before you say it, I know I’m irresistible. I just can’t help it.”

"Hello, Chan," you say, feigning exasperation, but you can't help the little upturn of your lips. "I'll help you, but only if you promise to behave yourself."

"Scout's honor," he says, holding three fingers up playfully.

"Heh, good. Ready to tackle some more concepts?"

Chan's eyes light up with a mix of enthusiasm and mischief. "Absolutely. I've been practicing, you know. Might even impress you today."

You raise an eyebrow playfully. "Oh really? Let's see what you've got, blondie."

As you dive into the session, you're pleasantly surprised by Chan's progress. He's quick to grasp concepts that stumped him before, and you find yourself laughing at his clever quips between problem sets.

The next two hours fly by in a flurry of notes, examples, and Chan's near-constant, yet surprisingly endearing, banter. He's actually put in the effort and it’s clear he’s been studying.

"See? Told you I'd impress you," he says with a wink as you wrap up.

You roll your eyes but can't suppress a grin. "Alright, alright. Don't let it go to your head."

As Chan reaches for his wallet, his expression shifts, turning serious for once. "Hey, um... about the payment," he starts, his usual confidence faltering, a flicker of discomfort crossing his features. He hands over the bills in his hand. "I hate to ask this, but... is there any chance I could get a discount?” An uncharacteristic blush creeps up his cheeks.

"Chan, if you can't pay today, it's fine," you assure him, offering the cash back. "We can work something out; you can get it to me next week. We also don’t have to do two hours every time."

He shakes his head. “No, that’s yours. You earned it.” He meets your gaze. “I… I can’t pay for any more sessions at this rate after our next session.” Chan runs a hand through his hair, clearly embarrassed. "Yeah, it's just... I'm here on scholarship, you know? Most of what I make from my campus job goes back home to help my family. I totally get it if you can't give me a discount, though."

His admission catches you off guard; you’re surprised by this sudden vulnerability. So, the infamous "fuck boy" may have a heart after all.

As he speaks, you notice how he's trying to maintain his cocky demeanor, but there's a genuine worry in his eyes that tugs at your heart. Suddenly, an idea strikes you – one that makes your pulse quicken with both nervousness and excitement.

"Actually," you begin, your voice lowering conspiratorially, "I might have a proposition for you." You pause, thinking about the best way to phrase your question. "But first, I have to ask... what's the deal with your reputation as the campus 'fuck boy'? I heard they call you ‘Bang Chan’?"

Chan's eyebrows shoot up, clearly not expecting this turn in the conversation. Then he lets out a laugh, his dimples deepening. "Wow, straight to the point, huh? I like that." He leans back in his chair, a glint in his eye. "Well, I won't deny it. The rumors are true. I am, for lack of a better term, a fuck boy.”

"And you're okay with that label?" you press, genuinely curious.

He shrugs, still smiling. "Look, I don't think there's anything wrong with it as long as I'm upfront about my intentions. No false promises, no declarations of relationships or love, no repeat customers, no broken hearts – just fun between consenting adults. I’ve never seen the point in stringing women along or pursuing those who aren’t interested when there are so many who are willing to hook up with no attachments if you just come right out and ask."

As he speaks, you feel a mix of admiration for his honesty and a flutter of anticipation in your stomach.

“I like how practical you are about it. And you’re right. Despite what society tries to tell us, women’s sexual drives are just as high, if not higher than most men’s.” He nods in agreement, clearly impressed with your non judgemental take. You take a deep breath, preparing to make your unconventional offer. You lean in towards him. “How about we… negotiate?”

His interest piqued, Chan leans in too. "I'm listening."

You lower your voice. "Okay, here's my proposition. I'll waive your tutoring fees for the rest of the semester if..." You pause, your heart racing. "If you agree to teach me about… intimacy."

Chan's eyes widen, his usual cocky demeanor faltering for a moment. "Wait, what?" He searches your face, as if trying to determine if you're joking. You’ve shocked him for the second time in less than 5 minutes.

"Well, here's the thing," you say, biting your lower lip. "I need to... gain some... experience."

Realization dawns on Chan's face, and a sly grin spreads across his lips. “Really?!? Not sure what I was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t that!”

"I'm serious," you say, surprised by how taken aback he seems by your request. "I want to take things to the next level with my boyfriend, but I have zero experience. Who better to learn from than the campus expert?"

Silence settles between the two of you. Chan runs a hand through his tousled blonde hair, his expression a mix of surprise and interest. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "This is... unexpected," he says finally. "But I’m intrigued. Give me a minute to think about this."

As he considers, you find yourself holding your breath. You anxiously twirl your pencil as your mind races with thoughts of Changbin, of your upcoming anniversary, of the potential benefits and consequences of this deal. You turn your focus back out externally to notice Chan's eyes roaming over your body. He just smirks when you catch him.

After what feels like an eternity, Chan leans forward, his brown eyes locking with yours. "Alright, I'm in. But we need to set some strict terms."

You nod eagerly. "Of course. What did you have in mind?"

"First," he begins, his tone suddenly businesslike, "this is purely transactional. No catching feelings, no strings attached. I’m assuming you’re a virgin?”

“Yes,” you say, unashamed. “Will that be a problem?”

He sighs. “I usually don’t fuck virgins because they tend to get…”

“Clingy?” You finish for him.

“Yes. They tend to get clingy. If either of us starts developing feelings, we end it immediately. Agreed?" And by ‘either of us’, you assume he means you and your clingy virginity.

"Agreed," you say without hesitation. "I have no interest in complicating things. This is just about learning. No clinginess, no drama. It’s simply not my style. I’m coming at this from a completely practical perspective. Just mutual… assistance."

Chan nods approvingly. "Good. So, in exchange for diff eq tutoring, I'll teach you about sex – from kissing to... well, everything I guess." He smirks, his confidence returning. "That means we’ll spend time alone together, and we’ll have to touch and other things, building our way up to fucking, if that works for you."

You feel a blush creeping up your neck, but you maintain eye contact, determined to convince him that it’s not a big deal. Because it’s not in your mind. Simply a quid pro quo – your services for his. You talk about sex all the time; you’re just not having it and it’s finally time to rectify that. "Understood. You get what you need from me to pass your class and I get what I need from you to confidently seduce my boyfriend. Shake on it?"

Chan extends his hand, and you take it, feeling a small thrill at the contact. "Deal," he says, his signature charming smile returning. "Now, let's figure out our schedules. One diff eq session and one... ‘intimacy’ session per week?" You nod.

As you pull out your phone to compare calendars, you can't help but wonder what you've just gotten yourself into. But the thought of surprising Changbin on your anniversary pushes any doubts aside.

****

The following week, you meet Chan at the house he shares with 3 other guys to continue your tutoring.

You stand on the porch, your heart racing with a mix of anticipation and nervousness. You take a deep breath to steady yourself before knocking on the door.

Chan answers almost immediately. The door swings open, revealing him in a fitted black t-shirt and jeans that hug his muscular thighs. His blonde hair is slightly damp, as if he just showered. The scent of his soap, a minty eucalyptus smell, washes over you.

"Hey tutor," he greets with that signature dimpled grin. "Come on in."

You follow him inside, taking in the typical college guy decor – mismatched furniture, video game systems, posters. But you can’t help but notice how tidy the place is; everything is surprisingly clean and organized. It’s the opposite of what you’d expect in a place where 4 college-aged boys live.

“Who’s your housekeeper,” you ask.

"Impressed?" Chan asks, noticing your wandering gaze. "It’s me. My roommates are fucking slobs, but I think after a year, I’m finally rubbing off on them," Chan explains as he leads you to the kitchen.

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a Mr. Clean.”

“There were no housekeepers in my neighborhood. We all had to chip in at my house.”

“Same in mine,” you say as you take a seat at the kitchen table. “My friends all had housekeepers, but my parents didn’t believe in that shit. They both grew up poor and didn’t want my brother and me to think that having money meant other people did basic stuff for us. We washed dishes, we did our own laundry, we did lawn maintenance…”

“Damn, even we didn’t have to mow the lawn!” Chan laughed. “But that’s cool of your parents to keep you guys humble.”

The two of you dive into the session, reviewing his notes from this week. You're pleasantly surprised by how quickly Chan grasps the new concepts you introduce. His face scrunches adorably in concentration as he tackles each question, only occasionally glancing up to catch your approving nods.

After returning from the bathroom, you lean over Chan's shoulder, pointing out an error in his calculations. "See here? You forgot to apply the chain rule."

Chan's brow furrows as he studies the problem. "Ah, I see it now, shit! Thanks.”

As you explain the correct approach, you're acutely aware of his proximity. You retake your seat and continue to watch him erase and scribble as he works out the problem.

"You've really been practicing," you comment, unable to keep the surprise from your voice.

Chan looks up, a hint of pride in his eyes. "Well, I've got a pretty great tutor motivating me," he says with a wink.

You roll your eyes playfully. "I told you, flattery will get you nowhere, mister."

"Oh really?" Chan leans in closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Because it usually gets me everywhere." He smirks.

"Alright, alright.” You flip a few pages in the textbook. “Try this next one on your own," you say, sliding the textbook towards him and pointing out a particularly tricky problem.

As Chan works through the equation, you can't help but notice the way his t-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, or how his tongue darts out to wet his lips when he’s in deep concentration.

"Okay, I think I've got it," Chan says triumphantly after solving it. He looks up at you, his brown eyes sparkling, as he slides his notebook in front of you. You review it, nodding.

“Nice work.”

“You’re impressed?” He leans back, placing his hands behind his head and quickly arching his eyebrows several times.

You can't help but smile. "I am. You've clearly been putting in the work." You hand him back his notebook and close the textbook. “Let’s call it.”

As you wrap up the math portion of your meeting, a nervous energy settles between you. Chan clears his throat, his cocky demeanor faltering slightly.

"So... I guess it's time for your lesson now?" he asks, his voice lower than usual.

You nod, your heart rate picking up. "I guess so."

Chan stands, looking at his watch. "Let's move somewhere more comfortable. Plus, I think a couple of my roommates will be home soon."

He leads you to his bedroom and motions for you to place your things on his desk.

You stand awkwardly, your heart pounding. Chan leans against the wall, his brown eyes studying you intently.

"Don't look so nervous. I don’t bite... unless you ask me to.” His lips curve into a mischievous smile, causing you to shake your head at his ridiculousness. “We'll start slow." He walks over to stand directly in front of you. "So," he says, breaking the tension. "Show me how you usually kiss. Don't overthink it."

You take a deep breath and step closer, Chan's scent filling your senses. You place your hands on his shoulders and press your lips against his, holding them there for a few seconds before pulling away.

Chan's dimples appear as he smiles warmly. "That was... gentle. Sweet, even. But let's work on technique."

You feel your cheeks burn. "That bad, huh?"

He chuckles. "Not bad, just inexperienced. Here, let me show you."

Chan cups your face with one hand, his thumb grazing your cheek. "First, create anticipation," he murmurs. His eyes flick to your lips, then back to your eyes. You find yourself holding your breath. “Start exactly how you did before, soft and gentle, but then let it develop into something deeper by opening your mouth slightly, using your tongue to slightly tease, and when they part their mouth in response, slip your tongue in and massage theirs. Like this.”

As his lips meet yours, they are soft and gentle, yet determined. He moves slowly, deliberately, guiding your mouth to part slightly and tilting your head for a better angle. Your body instinctively leans into him, craving more. You feel the gentle probing of his tongue against your lips, and you respond by eagerly accepting it. His tongue explores every nook and cranny of your mouth, and you press yours back against his.

Changbin has kissed you like this before, but never for long. He never wants to seem like he’s pressuring you to do anything. But the way Chan is kissing you is so sensual, yet intense, you actually feel like your knees might buckle. You can see why all the girls on campus are so taken by him.

After a moment, he pulls back. "See the difference?"

You nod with your eyes closed, a bit dazed. "Definitely." He laughs at your response.

"Now you try," Chan instructs. "Remember, it's about connection, not just pressing lips together."

As you lean in again, you think, I can do this. It's just practice, like math. But when your lips meet his this time, it feels anything but clinical. You replicate what he just showed you. At the same time, you feel him clasp your hands, which are hanging lifelessly at your sides, and bring them behind his neck. You interlace your fingers in the new position. After a few moments, you pull your lips away.

“Good. And remember to touch him. Rub his back, grab his ass, and if your hands are around his neck like they are now, run your fingers through the hair at the nape.”

You slip your fingers up into his hair, toying with the curls forming at the back of his neck. “Like this?”

“Just like that,” he whispers with a smile. “Now the functionality of this shifts with the position.” He retakes your hands in his and leads you to the bed. He sits and motions for you to get on him. His hands settle on your hips. “If you’re straddling your partner, it’s similar to standing. Wrap your arms and legs around me and go again.”

You bring your lips back to his. The kiss quickly deepens, and you sigh lightly when you feel Chan’s hands slide to your lower back, continuing on to your ass. Chan smiles against your lips at your reaction, which causes you to laugh and break the kiss.

“Sorry,” you chuckle. “You just caught me off guard.”

“That’s okay. Just get comfortable with it.” He squeezes your ass playfully. “Your boyfriend doesn’t grab your ass? It’s a great ass.”

“He’s pretty respectful. If I told him to grab it, he would.” You lazily twirl your thumbs on the back of his neck.

“Keep doing that. That feels good.” He leans back in to continue the kiss. After a few minutes he leans back on the bed, pulling you on top of him. “Don’t stop,” he whispers against your lips. And you don’t. He eventually rolls so that you’re both on your sides, facing each other. “You’re a quick learner,” he says when he finally allows you to come up for air.

"Well, I've got a pretty great tutor motivating me," you smirk with a wink, mimicking his comment from earlier.

“Ha! Well, you do! I am the best.” He readjusts both of you, pulling your body closer to his, and repositioning your top leg over his hip. “Now when you’re lying down, kissing can get uncomfortable. But if both of you are into it, it shouldn’t matter. And rolling around usually helps. Got it?”

“Got it.” You don’t wait for him to tell you to try again, you just dive in. His positive feedback has helped you grow your confidence in a short period of time, and you’ve surprised yourself by how comfortable you feel making out with him, when you’ve never really done it with anyone before.

****

That weekend, you and Changbin sit in his car after a tasty dinner at your favorite Italian bistro. The restaurant's neon sign casts a soft glow through the windshield, illuminating Changbin's face as he leans toward you. His eyes, warm and inviting, flick down to your lips before meeting your gaze again. Your heart races with anticipation.

"I had a great time tonight," Changbin says softly, his hand reaching for yours.

You smile, gathering your courage. "Me too."

As he leans in for what he expects to be his usual gentle peck, you surprise him by cupping his face with both hands. You hold him in place, tilting your head slightly as you deepen the kiss. Your tongue traces his lower lip before easing into his mouth.

Changbin makes a small sound of surprise, then leans into the kiss, his hand moving to the back of your neck. The console between you digs into your ribs, but you barely notice, lost in the sensation of his lips moving against yours.

When you finally pull away, both slightly breathless, Changbin's eyes are wide with pleasant surprise. "Wow," he breathes. "That was... unexpected. But amazing."

You can't help but grin, a mixture of pride and excitement coursing through you. "I've been practicing," you admit, then quickly add, "In my head, I mean. Imagining. And watching porn." You grin.

Changbin chuckles, his thumb caressing your cheek. "Well, your imagination is impressive. What else have you been imagining?" And after a beat he adds, “and what kind of porn???”

“Don’t you worry about that!” you laugh. “I don’t ask you about your porn, you don’t ask me about mine.”

“Deal!” he says with a chuckle. “Cause some of my porn is pretty cringey!”

As he starts the car, you ask softy, "Hey, Changbin? Can you stay over tonight?"

He glances at you, his expression a mix of excitement and concern. "Are you sure? I thought you had to study."

"I'm sure," you nod, your heart pounding. "I can study tomorrow."

Changbin happily agrees, his face breaking into a wide grin. He’s slept over before, but usually, the two of you only cuddle. You want to do more tonight.

After washing your face and changing into your PJs, you climb into bed with Changbin. He’s in his undershirt and boxers, his muscular arms and legs on display. He cuddles you like he’s done many times before. "So, what do you want to do?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

You take a deep breath. "I want... I want more," you say hesitantly.

Changbin raises an eyebrow in surprise. "What kind of ‘more’?"

You blush, feeling suddenly shy about voicing your desires out loud. "I want... to... make out with you," you say in a small voice.

"Okay then," Changbin whispers before leaning in to kiss you again.

This kiss is deeper than the one in the car, filled with unspoken promises and longing. His hands roam over your back as yours tangle in his hair, drawing him closer. His hands wander slowly down your back. You gently guide one of his hands to your ass and encourage him to squeeze, like you did the week prior. He’s hesitant at first, but then he grabs two handfuls of flesh, making you yelp.

“Sorry,” he whispers against your lips.

“It’s okay. I liked it,” you whisper back with a smile before you playfully nip at his lip. He laughs and resumes kissing you. One of his hands moves to cup your breast through your shirt, making you moan into his mouth. It feels so good. You pull him on top of you, and the two of you spend a few hours making out heavily.

As you wake the next morning, your lips throb and tingle delightfully from last night's passionate kissing. You're surprised by how much you enjoy the slight discomfort, not realizing that your lips could get sore. But it makes sense, you rationalize in your head, since there must be muscles there that help them to move and pucker.

While you eat lunch, you can't stop smiling at the memory of Changbin's happy face as he left your dorm room. His gentle kiss goodbye still lingers on your lips and in your heart. If this is what you’ve been missing out on with him, you can’t wait to explore more.

****

You can barely contain your excitement as you settle into your usual table in the student center for your next session with Chan. As soon as he arrives, flashing that signature dimpled smile, you blurt out, "It worked!"

Chan's eyebrows shoot up as he slides into the seat across from you. "Someone's in a good mood," he teases. "What worked?"

"The kissing techniques," you whisper, leaning in conspiratorially. "Let's just say my boyfriend was very impressed."

Chan's laugh is warm and genuine. "Look at you, becoming a master seductress already." He winks, then adds, "I did pretty well too. Aced my last quiz."

"That's fantastic!" You hold up your hand for a high five, which he enthusiastically returns.

As Chan starts on his homework, you can't help but notice biting his lower lip again when he's thinking hard. It's... distractingly cute.

The rest of the session flies by, the two of you falling into your easy rhythm of banter and problem-solving.

"So," Chan says, as you're both packing up. "Ready for your next lesson?" His voice drops an octave.

You nod, trying not to appear too excited. "Where to, professor?"

Chan grins at the nickname. "Um… let’s go to the Sandbar. It’s still early, so it will be pretty quiet before happy hour starts. Perfect for... practical demonstrations. Plus, my roommate is the bartender, and he’ll hook us up."

At the bar, Chan introduces you to one of his roommates, Minho, who drops off a pitcher of beer and two chilled pint glasses to your booth tucked away in a dimly lit corner towards the back.

As Minho walks back to the bar, Chan moves to your side of the booth and leans in close. "Foreplay," he murmurs, his breath tickling your ear, "is all about building anticipation. It starts long before you hit the bedroom. It's in the way you look at your partner, the casual touches."

"Show me," you whisper.

"The key," he whispers in your ear, his voice a sensual purr, "is taking your time.” Chan's fingers trail lightly along your arm, barely touching. "It's also about suggestion," he explains. "Hinting at what's to come." His hand moves to your neck, fingertips grazing your skin. "Teasing them until they're aching for your touch. How does that feel?"

"Tingly," you admit, your voice slightly breathless. "Like little electric shocks."

He nods approvingly. “Explore every inch of your partner's body, paying special attention to their erogenous zones. Graze, nuzzle, kiss."

His skilled fingers move to your lips, brushing lightly against them before trailing down your chin to your sternum. Your breath catches as his hand grazes the exposed skin of your cleavage, followed by his thumb circling your sensitive nipple through the fabric of your tank top, which immediately hardens by arousal.

He smiles approvingly. "Moans are your best friend," he huskily informs you, his lips grazing your earlobe. "They let your partner know what you like."

As if on cue, a low moan escapes your lips when he pinches your nipple, spurring him on. His mouth follows his hand’s path, leaving a trail of feather-light kisses down your neck, over your sternum, and onto your cleavage, making your knees weak and pulling more sounds from you.

"See?" he murmurs against your skin, satisfaction lacing his voice. "Communication is key."

With that, he claims your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue invading your mouth. His hands slip beneath your tank top, his fingers teasingly brushing against the heated skin of your belly, sending sparks of pleasure straight to your core.

Over the next hour, Chan walks you through the finer points of foreplay – the art of the tease, the power of anticipation, the importance of paying attention to your partner's responses. He demonstrates each technique with a clinical detachment, but there's no denying the heat that simmers between you, the way your body responds to even his most innocent touches.

"Now, your turn. Show me what you've learned."

Emboldened by the beer coursing through your system and the heady rush of new knowledge, you slide closer to him. Taking a deep breath, you extend your hand towards him, feeling the heat emanating from his skin, letting your fingers dance along his forearm and trace his defined muscles. You lean in, nuzzling slightly against his neck, your lips barely brushing his skin as you whisper, "Like this?"

You feel rather than hear Chan's sharp intake of breath. His voice comes out husky when he responds, "Exactly like that." A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you hear the approval in his tone.

You pepper a few soft kisses on his neck as your hands tickle the skin around the waistband of his jeans, causing him to sigh. "Fuuuck.” His head falls back against the seat. “You catch on quickly."

“Thanks,” you say giddily. As you pull back, you catch a glimpse of something in Chan's eyes – a flash of heat, quickly masked. It makes your heart race, and you wonder if you're getting in over your head.

The moment passes, and Chan rotates his head lazily to stare at you while he leans back in the seat, his signature dimpled smile returning. "Not bad for a beginner," he teases, raising his glass in a mock toast.

You laugh, feeling the tension dissipate as you clink your glass against his.

As the weekday happy hour crowd starts to arrive, your conversation drifts away from the intimate lesson and into more casual territory. You find yourself genuinely enjoying Chan's company, surprised by how easy it is to talk to him. As you talk and laugh together, you’re also surprised at how much you’re opening up to him.

"So, what made you decide to go into mechanical engineering?" you ask, sipping your drink. "Was it always your dream?"

Chan shrugs, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the tabletop. "Not exactly. My parents always pushed me to excel academically, I've always been good at math and science, and I like to build things. Engineering just seemed like the logical choice."

"But is it what you want?"

He's quiet for a moment, considering. "I don't know," he admits finally. "I mean, I'm good at it and I’m interested in designing roller coasters. But sometimes I wonder if there's more out there for me, you know?"

You nod, understanding completely. "I feel the same way about my major sometimes. Like I'm just going through the motions, doing what's expected of me."

"Exactly." Chan's eyes meet yours, a spark of connection passing between you. "It's like, is this all there is? Studying and working and just... existing?"

"Right. There has to be more to life than that," you agree. "Yeah, I want to work for NASA, but I also want to travel, to experience new things… to fall in love." The words slip out before you can stop them, hanging in the air between you.

Chan's gaze softens a bit. “NASA huh?” He smiles and you’re appreciative of him ignoring your last comment.

“You want to make roller coasters, I want to study black holes.”

“That’s pretty fucking cool! I’ve also thought about building rockets and spaceships, but it felt too far-fetched.”

“Not at all. Tons of mechanical engineers are hired by NASA. But only if they pass Diff Eq,” you tease with a smirk.

“Ha, ha,” he says sarcastically as he refills your beer.

As the night wears on, you find yourself losing track of time, too caught up in the thrill of deep conversation, shared dreams, and this apparent friendship you and Chan are developing. Around you, the bar begins to fill with folks interested in cheap beer and discounted food. Clusters of college students talk and flirt and dance to the music spilling from the jukebox.

You become increasingly aware of the looks you and Chan are getting – curiosity, envy, speculative whispers. A group of girls at the bar, in particular, keep glancing over, giggling behind their hands. Chan seems oblivious, his attention focused solely on you.

"Does it ever bother you?" you ask him, nodding towards the onlookers.

He follows your gaze and chuckles. "The attention? Nah, I'm used to it. It’s a burden looking like this," he adds with a wink, followed by a deep laugh. You roll your eyes but can't help smiling. "Besides, it's not like any of what they’re thinking is true tonight."

After the two of you finish a third pitcher, the pressure in your bladder becomes impossible to ignore. "I’ll be right back," you say, tapping him on the shoulder to let you out. “Bathroom break.” You slide out of the booth.

He nods, his eyes crinkling with a smile. "You’re breaking the seal, lady! So dangerous,” he says with a laugh. “But, hurry back. I’ll be lonely without you," he coos as he sits back down.

As you wait in line for the ladies' room, you can't help but notice the girls a couple spots ahead of you in line. They're eyeing you with blatant curiosity, whispering.

Finally, one of them turns to you with a bright smile. "Hey, are you here with Chan?" she asks across several people, her eyes wide.

You blink, caught off guard. "Oh, um. Yeah, kind of.” You stammer. “I'm his tutor, actually."

The girls exchange knowing looks, giggling. "His tutor, huh? Is that what he's calling it these days?"

“No, really,” you say with a smile. “I’m tutoring him for his differential equations class.”

She raises an eyebrow, looking skeptical. "Really? You don’t look like a tutor.” She shifts from one leg to another as she sizes you up.

“And yet, I am. Physics major; top of my class.” You’re always slightly irritated that people assume you can’t be cute AND smart.

“That's amazing!" the other girl gushes. You’re not sure if she’s being facetious or channeling some girl power energy.

You nod and give them a fake smile.

They turn back to their conversation and a couple seconds later they walk into the bathroom. After 5 more minutes it’s finally your turn and your bladder is fucking thankful.

As you head back to the booth, you spot Chan standing next to the bar chatting with one of the girls who had just spoken to you. His charm is on full display, dimpled smile flashing as he leans in close, leaning his ear towards her to hear her over the music. Her hand rests on his arm as she laughs at something he says.

You roll your eyes and snicker. You’ve been gone for less than 10 minutes and he’s already on the hunt. This is your signal that it’s time to go. You’ve already taken up a lot of his time tonight.

You grab your bag and approach Chan at the bar. "Hey, Chan," you interrupt, "I'm heading out. Early class tomorrow."

Chan looks up at you in surprise, his brow furrowing, his smile faltering slightly. "What? Nooooo! Stay; have a couple more drinks," he pleads, those expressive brown eyes locking onto yours. He flashes you that charming, dimpled grin, the one that would make your knees melt if you were into him like that.

You hesitate, tempted by his request since you were enjoying chatting with him. But then you catch the other girl's side-eye, clearly indicating that she wants him all to herself, and make up your mind. "No thanks,” you say with a smile. “I really do need to get some studying done. How much do I owe you for the pitchers?”

Chan opens his mouth as if to protest, but instead adds, “Don’t worry about. Min took care of it for us.”

“Cool,” you say nonchalantly. “Tell him I said thanks and I’ll see you at our session next week, okay?"

“Yeah, okay.” He watches you as you leave.

“Have fun,” you call out over your shoulder with a wink.

“You too! And be careful not to give buddy a heart attack this weekend!” he replies with a chuckle before diving right back into his flirting.

As you walk away, you can't help but feel a little excited. You've learned so much tonight, and you can't wait to try it out with Changbin. The thought of his intense eyes softening as you put your new skills to use sends a shiver down your spine.

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anonymous-dentist · 2 years ago

Text

Five weeks out of prison, and Cellbit is buying his sick son cough medicine from the haunted convenience store down the block. It's late at night- too late at night, probably, so it's just him and the two employees and an old lady in an old fur coat...

"I said, put your fucking hands in the air!"

...and the guy in the giant moth fursuit robbing the store.

The girl behind the counter chews her gum and slowly, boredly, raises her hands. The other employee has his AirPods in and either can't hear the villain or doesn't care. The old woman is deaf. And Cellbit... well.

Cellbit picks up a bottle of NyQuil and adds it to his basket. The villain hasn't noticed him yet, so he doesn't have anything to worry about.

Tonight's villain is a low-rank street thug going by 'Moth Man'. He can fly, but only at night, and he sounds like he smokes eight packs of cigarettes a day.

Spiders, Cellbit hears as he sneaks to the next aisle over. It makes sense. Moths, spiders, they aren't exactly friends in the wild.

Of course, Cellbit considers as he picks up a box of tissues and silently slips it in next to the medicine, Moth Man could be scared of a different spider. The different spider.

He watches, mostly unconcerned, as Moth Man waves his Moth Gun in the clerk's face.

"Check it out, guys," he sleezes, leaning in close and shoving his phone right next to the gun's barrel. "She's totally freaked right now."

Moth Man is also a vlogger. More specifically: he's a TikTok streamer, and he's a pretty popular one, too. Honestly, Cellbit's surprised that the Federation hasn't shut his account down yet. (But, really, that would require them actually doing something fucking useful for once.)

Censors, Cellbit hears, and that one makes a bit more sense. He grabs a big bottle of hand sanitizer and adds it to the basket. Algorithm failure, face reveal, doxxing, spiderspiderspiderspiders.

"Absolutely terrified," the clerk unconvincingly says. "Do you want me to empty the register out, or what?"

Dogs, Cellbit hears from her. Needles, knives.

Moth Man's cheap plastic antennae flop embarrassingly as he nods, all fake enthusiasm. He looks down at his phone and thanks someone for the donation, another for a rose.

"No, it's real," he tells his chat. "See?"

He raises his gun to the ceiling, and he fires.

Cellbit jumps, nearly dropping his basket. He swears under his breath and kinda maybe hopes that Moth Man doesn't have super hearing, too, because he needs to get home. His son is sick, he doesn't have time for wannabe-villains in cheap costumes.

Horrible costumes.

Moth Man's felt wings flutter behind him as he lowers his gun and points it back at the shaken clerk.

"See?" he sneers. "Now give me the money."

Terrible costumes.

Honestly, villains these days are just kind of stupid. Where's the anonymity when everyone knows your shadow? How are you supposed to sneak around causing problems and slitting throats when you have giant neon green felt moth wings sticking three feet out of you? And those goggles had better be night vision, or poor Moth Man is going to walk face-first into a lamppost the second he leaves the store.

Cellbit shakes his head and goes to find the soup. Back in his day...

"I was!" the clerk shouts. "Here!"

She opens the register, and then two things happen in quick succession:

1. Cellbit picks up a can of chicken noodle soup. He's not a huge fan himself, but Forever swears by it, and Richarlyson's cold is bad enough that Cellbit's willing to try anything. (He's only had this kid for five weeks, but he thinks he'd kill for him, and that's saying something.)

2. A brilliant flash of red and blue crashes through the store's front display window with a whoop.

Spiders! Cellbit hears. He smiles despite himself, licks his lips just briefly before catching himself and biting his tongue back into his mouth.

Spider-Man's poses are maybe one of the more badass things about him. He lands on the counter in a classic pose, crouched with one hand flat on the counter and the other pointed directly at Moth Man's face. His forehead is pressed against the gun's end, and he's probably smiling under his mask, the freak.

"S-Spider-Man!" Moth Man squeaks. "What are you doing here?"

Spider-Man tilts his head. "Uuuuuh, kicking your ass?"

And then he punches the fucker right in the nose.

Moth Man skitters backwards, crashing into a rack of newspapers. His finger slips and he fires his gun right into the register, sending the clerk screaming onto the floor. Good, she doesn't need to be involved.

"What the fuck what the fuck-" Moth Man breathes.

He jumps to his feet and points his phone's camera at Spider-Man, who doesn't so much as give him enough time to start narrating before slinging a web and stealing the phone right out of his hand.

Silently, Cellbit slips his own phone out of his pocket and starts recording. Just for himself, really. He'll add it to the Google Doc later.

Spider-Man turns Moth Man's phone over in his hands thoughtfully.

"Dude, is this an iPhone?" he asks. "Since when do you have iPhone money?"

"Fuck you, I have money!"

He fires his gun again, this time on purpose. Spider-Man easily dodges the bullet, not even looking up from the phone's web-covered screen.

"With that costume?" Spider-Man snorts and shakes his head. "No way, man."

"My costume is awesome!" Moth Man snaps. "Fuck you! Die, Spider-Man!"

He's terrified, Cellbit can smell the fear coming off of him in waves. It's sour and black and foul and gut-turning, but it could be stronger. This guy might be dumb, but he's also too stupid to realize he's in a fight he can't win. It's embarrassing.

But, really, it's none of Cellbit's business. He's just gonna sneak out as soon as he-

A screeching Moth Man flies past him, his bare hand grazing Cellbit's nose, crashing into the back row of freezers. Cellbit flinches back a step, fumbling with his phone. He gets it level just as Spider-Man pounces on the villain from above with a happy little cheer.

Inexplicably, Moth Man screams and curls into himself, dropping his gun and cowering and muttering to himself.

Whoops.

Spider-Man stands above him mid-kick, confused.

"Dude," says Spider-Man, "what the hell is wrong with you? Come on, get up!"

Cellbit starts sneaking his way out, slipping away as Spider-Man tries getting Moth Man to get up and finish their battle properly.

None of his business, he tells himself. It's none of his business. He got his footage, it's none of his business. One step at a time, tonight is not the night for an interview. He has a sick son to take care of. Investigating can wait.

...He stops in the doorway to take one last video, this one of Spider-Man chasing the poor terrified Moth Man around the store practically begging for him to stop being weird, what kind of fight is this supposed to be?

Camera off, slip out onto the streets and start the trip back home.

Forever's gonna be pissed about the shoplifting, but at least it isn't murder anymore. Cellbit is trying to set a good example.

Based off of THIS AU

#a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#deli superhero au #this is really rough but i'm not editing it #i just wanted to write today so! here something is!

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r4inyclouds · 6 months ago

Text

You can take Steve Rogers out of the fight, but you can't take the fight out of Steve Rogers.

I heavily recommend putting ya glasses on for this ride of a rant. A... practically an essay on how Steve was out of character in Endgame:

Look, I still wholeheartedly believe that Sam deserves the title of Captain America, but even before that Steve dropped that shield, that title in the Civil War movie, for Bucky, in respect for Tony. Captain America wasn't even his label for years after that. Surprising how many didn't realise Steve in the endgame movie was Nomad, not Captain America.

But, he still fought, didn't he?

So people who say "Steve will always be THE Captain America!!" can go cry about it for all I care. Sam is the hero that he deserves to be. Yet, I suppose we're all entitled to our own opinions.

I don't even think the producers at the time even read the comics they were basing their large franchise on. That Steve in Infinity War wasn't Steve.

He was born a stubborn fighter, he was meant to end as that stubborn fighter we knew from 'The First Avenger'. It's in his nature how he was meant to be articulated as a person. It's in the comics, that hell- I haven't even exactly read most nor possess many of them! It's a joke, a jest; it's funny but not funny 'haha hilarious', but funny, odd, peculiar and perplexing. But from what I've seen from the fans on this side of the debate who have read the comics thoroughly, they all explicitly state that Steve would never do this or abandon anyone. I could, respectively, not care that the MCU was never, and never will be, canon to the comics, but they couldn't even keep one thing, an aspect that's similar or alike in any particular way to the comics, and that's the whole nature and personality of one of their most main focused characters, diverging from the whole point, centre, heart of Steve.

Steve never needed a label that told him he was a hero even when he was some twink before the serum, his whole arch, his whole goal was to become someone who helped, it wasn't from the start to settle down with a woman he was at a high school situation ship with, maybe, just maybe it could've worked if they attempted to even build and develop their relationship for it to make that little sense. Steven Grant Rogers admitted to being that stubborn little thing, and in a sense, he was like that, someone who determined to not be a coward and went against his non-spoken word.

And no, this has nothing to do with the fact I'm a HUGE Stucky shipper, I exclusively tried to avoid talking about Bucky in this half of the rant for a reason. I love Peggy, she's in my top 5, and I love domestic Steggy. It's just it was never right for Steve.

Steve will never, ever be able to run away from what he is. He is THE fight, with or without a useless hero label.

Now since I'm a bucky glazer, and he's my favourite character (I'm putting him in a jar once I get my first-ever Funko pop) I will go on to talk about Steve and Bucky, now, I'd understand if someone would not want to read this part because I'm 'just a wild Stucky shipper!' Who's own priority is trying to keep the ship afloat (I'm also occasionally a Sam x Steve x Bucky shipper but that's besides the point) But in this segment, I will be talking about them in an otherwise platonic sense; it doesn't even need to be romantic for me to say this. And, honestly, if the character of Bucky never existed in this universe, I would've still had this rant on my Tumblr about why Steve leaving is just... odd.

Okay, Steve spent THREE, THREE, I REPEAT THREE, HIS WHOLE DAMN TRILOGY, having at least one huge plot point just purely based on Bucky in each of his movies.

1. He went against whole military orders to get Bucky back, had a whole depression episode thinking he was dead, and then had another depression episode when he died, and then kind of just offed himself after that (Now, am I saying he offed himself for no reason for other than his friend?... yeah, so, there's a deleted scene where Rhodey asks Steve about how he practically died, and why he didn't just jump out into the water before he crashed, I'm tellin' you if you search it up it's there, now, people suspected that the reason it's a deleted scene is that it, well, opens a plot hole, and it just kind of seems like... he killed himself because bucky's dead? Like, ya know, there's no other reason to why he did this. But I might just be reaching there) God. So that point just says a lot about how the producers didn't even think for one second about him going back in time.

2. Nearly got killed by him, but when he figured out it was Bucky he went a berserk kind of insanity and risked his life as he put his trust in a man who was about to knock the shit out of him. Then, like- went for months on end to get Bucky back just because he left him on the side of the beach to not let him drown. Yeah, okay, sir. Also, does everyone just... Like, all silently agree not to talk about how they casually just drop platonic wedding vows to each other in every movie? Like, what do you exactly mean by "I'm with you 'till the end of the line", every time I hear that quote I go "WRITE THIS DOWN, WRITE THIS DOWN!" (not like I'll be getting married though)

3. How am I meant to summarise this with detail without just saying the few words in my mind that would just tell you the whole plot? [Squints eyes, checks notes]... Guess I gotta. 'Bro split Avenger for bro, Avenger no longer, Captain America? No longer for bro, bro picks bro up, bro says wedding vow, bro sad Wakanda.'

Then, now, I apologise sincerely for using this analogy, but he kinda, just, ya know, abruptly left to get the milk. He dropped everything once he got the chance to go back and left poor Bucky wide-eyed like some traumatised puppy with attachment issues they newly developed after shown that much devotion and affection from an owner who'd treat them right, and then was suddenly dropped into a random field of an environment, unfamiliar, they don't recognise it, as they then watch the rustic car they were once rescued from becoming a blur, speeding off into a distance he couldn't possibly ever trace back to. What in the holy fuck was that waste of three movies then.

(DEEP FUCKING BREATHS, RAIN, HOLY SHIT DEEP FUCKING BREATHS)

I hope people can't tell I'm a fanfic writer; this is the shittiest thing I've ever written, I swear my fanfics are more descriptive and crap, but I'm foaming from the mouth right now; I think I permanently disrupted my breathing pattern, well done me.

Sigh, okay, well.

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inoreuct · 1 year ago

Note

Since it’s spooky season, may I request a demon Sanji offering Zoro some food?

i was supposed to post this for friday the 13th, but it got way more dramatic than i planned… thank you for the ask!

Y’know, when Sanji became a demon, he hadn’t expected to have to deal with moss infestations.

He is aware that that sounds rather ridiculous and makes little to no sense. The long and short of it is, he got himself cursed. Dumb, yes, he’s aware of that too, but how was he supposed to have known that the rare herb garden he’d stepped into was guarded by a territorial (and rather unhinged, in his humble opinion) occultist?

But as far as curses go, this one really isn’t so bad. Sanji had just sort of… accepted it, after a while, and it certainly hadn’t hurt that the whole becoming a demon gig came with its own massive underworld castle filled with invisible servants. He shudders, peering into a mirror and brushing an invisible speck of dust from his horns. He could have been turned into a goat, or something. How the hell would he cook if he was a goat?

Back to the topic at hand, he has a visitor. A human, of all things! Wandering about the underworld! Sanji’s scrying bowl had offered him a view of short green hair and three swords hanging from a belt, and honestly? He doesn’t know what to make of it, and now the man is hovering in his entryway, poking at a 6th century vase that Sanji is fairly sure holds some Roman emperor’s dead body. He checks his reflection one last time, sucking at his teeth before he phases into shadow, hovering just outside the edges of the foyer. The flames of the candelabra flicker in an invisible wind and the man whip his head around, looking for a threat that isn’t there—

And Sanji coalesces right behind him. “Hello, little huma— Ack!” A sword swings for his neck in the space of a breath and he leans back on instinct, not putting much effort into it—

The tip nicks his throat and draws blood.

Sanji’s eyes go wide. Oh, this just got interesting.

Regular blades can’t hurt him. Can’t even touch him; they pass right through his form like he’s made of liquid shadow, but he feels this cut. The faint sting, the hot trickle over his tendons, the smell of his own blood thick in the air. He hadn’t even heard the sword unsheathe.

The man is backing away, eyes wild; Sanji huffs a laugh and melts into the shadow again, reappearing just in time for the man to bump into him with a loud swear. Sanji needs to stop calling him The Man. “What’s your name?”

The Man scowls as he holds his sword ready, and it pulls at the vertical scar over his left eye. “Like hell I’ll tell you. I’m not gonna let you use me for whatever— witchy shit you wanna do.”

Sanji raises an unimpressed brow. “First of all, I’m a demon, not a witch. And second, it doesn’t work like that. You need my name for spells and such.”

“Which is?”

“Now why would I tell you?” He grins, sharp and sweet like the song of a blade through the air. “You’ll know mine when I know yours, Marimo.”

“Marimo?” his visitor scoffs, and Sanji shrugs with a genial smile even as Marimo bristles. Better than The Man.

He turns around, gliding through the foyer more for the sake of having something to do than actually trying to go anywhere, and of course Marimo follows. “Don’t you have anywhere else to be?” he sighs, side-eyeing the man as he squints warily at a bust of some sort of cat with seven eyes.

“Nope.”

“What’s the deal, then? A human all the way down here? Hell isn’t exactly the most popular vacation spot, y’know.” Sanji pauses and gives a pointed look to the weapon that had drawn his blood. “And that is not a normal sword.”

Marimo’s eyebrows twitch, the only sign Sanji gets that he’s surprised. “Cursed blade,” the man grumbles, rubbing a thumb over the hilt. “And I’m looking for someone.”

“…In Hell.” Sanji’s skeptical.

“My best friend got himself kicked through a portal, alright?” Marimo protests, lip curling in irritation.

“Ha! Good luck with that,” Sanji huffs, walking again. “Nobody new’s been down here except—” Wait. He spins on his heel, and Marimo narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Dark hair, chatty as anything, about… yea high?” he asks, lifting his hand as an estimate, and he lurches back when Marimo leans all up in his face with his eyes like sharp granite.

“You know something.”

“One of my… acquaintances said something about it, yes.” Mihawk had mentioned a guy suddenly popping up. Monkey something-or-other. Loofah? He opens his mouth to speak right as he hears an odd growl, and Marimo pulls back with the tips of his ears turning red. A huff of a laugh slips out without Sanji’s permission. “Alright, come on,” he decides, creating a shadow door and waiting for the other man to follow. “Can’t find your friend on an empty stomach.”

They walk straight into the kitchen, and Sanji gets to work whipping up a plate of omurice. He was a chef before, and he still is one; he’ll feed anyone who’s hungry. He might not be human or alive (or is he? He still isn’t sure) anymore but he refuses to let go of the values that he’d lived and breathed by, no matter how… questionable his unexpected guest may be.

He is done in a matter of minutes. “Eat.” The plate scrapes as he slides it across the countertop with cutlery, but Marimo just glares. “What? Don’t like eggs?”

“Isn’t there some rule about getting trapped here if you eat?”

Sanji resists the urge to roll his eyes, because Hell’s bells, this man is stubborn. “Look, that’s all bullshit, alright? Eat, or I’ll make you. This is the only place around for leagues that has food you could possibly digest. Or would you rather go hunt for elephant scorpions?”

The man recoils. “The fuck are those?”

“You don’t wanna know.” He nudges the fork and spoon closer, crossing his arms with an expectant eyebrow.

Marimo raises one right back, but he hesitantly picks up the cutlery and digs in. “…So you eat human food,” he mutters after a while, and Sanji looks up from where he’s washing the dishes.

“Yes? Why wouldn’t I?”

“Dunno,” the other man muses, taking another bite. The dim light of the wall sconces makes his three golden earrings gleam, highlighting the gnarly scar across his chest. “What with the whole demon thing.”

“Not all of us have a taste for mortal flesh,” Sanji sniffs, examining his cuticles coolly before getting back to scrubbing.

He’s feeling a little strange. Maybe it’s the human interaction after so long of being down here with just his invisible friends and other demons for company, but it’s making something hurt right behind his ribs, where his heart beats more slowly than it has any right to. He’d missed this. Cooking for someone else. Banter. Companionship.

He takes a shaky breath and plunges his hands into the water, grabbing a frying pan and scouring it viciously. No use reminiscing and chasing pipe dreams.

“Oi.”

Marimo’s voice catches his attention, and he rinses the sponge. “Hm?”

“How’s the—?” The man gestures vaguely to his neck, and Sanji’s fingers fly up to his throat to feel for the cut.

“Oh, that.” It’s already mostly healed, and he tilts his jaw to the side to show it. “S’fine. See?”

Marimo grunts, turning back to the last bites of his food. “Sorry.”

Sanji stills, something wild flaring hot in his ribcage before he mentally wrangles it into submission. He wouldn’t have expected an apology from anyone— much less this man. “It’s no big deal.”

“Still,” Marimo says gruffly, sliding the plate back over, the ceramic scraped clean. “And thanks.” He blinks for a second before nodding to the empty plate, as if it isn’t clear enough. “For the food.”

What the fuck. Sanji takes it, feeling like he’s in a bit of a daze. Marimo had seemed like a bit of a brute at first, with his scars and his close-cropped hair and his physique and the stupid shirt that was open halfway down his damn chest (Sanji, don’t look, it doesn’t matter how many muscles he has), not to mention the three swords. He’s bullheaded but obviously skilled, and— who the Hell is this guy?

“Who sent you,” Sanji breathes as he sets the plate down, something sinking in the pit of his gut. He readies one hand behind his back. There has to be a catch.

Marimo frowns. “Nobody sent me, I told you I’m looking for my—”

He lunges. His claws are around the man’s neck in less than a second, digging up into the soft part of his throat. Marimo’s Adam’s apple bobs against the pad of his thumb. “Who sent you,” he hisses again, and it comes out less steady than he likes.

Sanji doesn’t know why he’s affected. It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. He has not fallen so far that the thought of this small bit of— of courtesy, of company, being a farce should feel like such a betrayal.

So why does it?

He tightens his grip, gaze boring into eyes that have gone granite-dark in the low light, and yet Marimo does not pull away. The man tips his chin up, allows the point of Sanji’s claw to dig just beneath his trachea. “Nobody sent me,” he repeats evenly, chest rising and falling with his breaths, and Sanji holds back a snarl. He has been alone for too long for some human to come waltzing in and fucking up his life with— whatever this is, only for him to get butthurt because it wasn’t real. It’s not even that big of a deal and he feels fucking ridiculous.

“If you’re lying—”

“I’m not.”

And it seems like he really isn’t. Marimo’s pulse is rock steady, his gaze unflinchingly neutral, tracking Sanji across the room even as the demon slowly pulls away.

“I’m sorry,” Sanji mutters, leaning back against the sink and pressing a hand over his eyes with a tired exhale. “I apologise, I— I lost myself.”

“S’okay,” Marimo says cautiously. His swords clatter against each other as he stands and pushes the stool in with his knee. “I should… get going.”

“Yeah.” Taking a deep breath, Sanji shakes his head a little and smoothes his hands over the front of his blouse. He snaps his fingers, and a shadow door materialises in front of the other man. “This will take you to the acquaintance I was talking about, Mihawk. He’s your best bet at finding— What’s his name?”

“Luffy.”

“Luffy. Right.”

Marimo hesitates, and Sanji feels like something’s gotten caught in his throat.

“It gets lonely here, doesn’t it?” the other man asks abruptly, turning to face Sanji properly.

He swallows. “…Sometimes,” he concedes, keeping his tone light. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Marimo gives an aborted jerk of his head, like he hadn’t been able to decide whether to nod or not. “Luffy’s appetite is crazy. He’ll be hungry when I find him.”

Sanji can’t help but laugh. It seems to be becoming a recurring problem. “You asking if I’ll feed him?”

“Yeah. Because I think you’ll say yes.”

A smirk pulls at Sanji’s mouth, and he lets it lean sharp. “Do you have a death wish, planning to come back to a demon’s castle?”

“Maybe,” Zoro mutters, but he matches Sanji’s expression tooth for tooth. “But the food’s good, and the company’s… decent.”

Sanji really does roll his eyes this time. Unbelievable. “You’ve got some nerve, Marimo.”

“Zoro.”

Zoro. It echoes around in his skull, sets something sparking up under his skin. “Zoro,” he tries, cocking his head before he nods to the shadow door. “Get going, idiot. That isn’t going to stay open forever.”

Zoro takes a step backwards. “You haven’t told me your name.”

Sanji purses his lips to hide his chuckle. “Come back with Luffy, and maybe you’ll find out.”

The last thing he sees is the swordsman’s grin before the door dissolves, leaving him alone in his kitchen with a feeling in his chest that he hasn’t felt for ages. Fuck, this Zoro is trouble.

Sanji drags his hands over his face and groans, but he’s smiling.

All he does in this damn castle is laze around and cook for himself. If it means cooking for someone else, and decent company… Well, a little trouble couldn’t hurt.

#zosan #zosan au #one piece zosan #zoro x sanji #roronoa zoro #black leg sanji #sanji #one piece sanji #zoro #one piece #ino’s ask box

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