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sunsburns · 3 days ago

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track 10 — mark grayson (invincible) !

⟢ synopsis. you totally don't have a thing for mark, that would be crazy ... unless

⟢ contains. 18+, mark grayson x afab reader, nsfw, oral (m & f receiving), cunnilingus. mark is kinda subby, friends with benefits but they like each other, reader is so down bad it's embarassing, and mark isn't any better, gets a little nasty when it comes to cum, mark is a proud moaner, mentions of porn, both mark and reader are lowkey pervs.

⟢ wc: 15k+

⟢ author’s note. mark is an eater, sue me. there's stupid jokes thrown in here, just a long written work of me pushing the casual sex with mark idea. i also like the idea of having an alien boyfriend and making mark more alien than human. a lot of it was inspired by this work from ao3!

You’re such a pervert.

At least, that’s what Mark and William would call you if they saw the way your eyes trailed, lingered, on the way fingers slipped into the holes of bowling balls, your gaze locked on the flex of forearm muscle tightening beneath warm, sandy skin. Veins rising just under the surface. The smooth way wrists rolled as they brought the ball up, perfectly casual, totally unaware.

You exhaled slowly through your nose. The warmth in your stomach was beginning to simmer into something heavier, something you refused to name in the middle of a public bowling alley, under neon lights and the scent of cheap nachos.

Mark would turn scarlet if he caught you. You knew the exact look—eyebrows shooting up, eyes wide and blinking, stammering over his own breath like a shy bastard. And William? God, he’d never let you live it down. He’d smirk like the devil himself, a wicked grin twisting on his face as he realized you’re not so different from him, seconds away from pointing across the lane with an audible gasp like he’s scandalized.

You huffed and slouched deeper into the worn leather seat, folding your arms across your chest like it might shield you from the shame of your own libido. Or at least from the sight of Mark, now lining up his shot.

Why did you even agree to this again?

Third-wheeling William and Rick’s bowling date for the millionth time had officially become the sad little cherry on top of your tragic sundae. You were no longer just the single friend. You were the perpetually single friend. The “don’t worry, you’ll find someone eventually” friend. It made you want to tear your hair out of your head.

Worse still was when Amber and her new boyfriend showed up. You’d run out of excuses not to come by then—tried “midterms,” “period,” even “funeral” once, which William did not find funny. (You still do.)

Maybe that was an exaggeration because you know how competitive William and Amber get so there wouldn’t be much love to go around if the game was close, but still!

And maybe it wasn’t always like this. Maybe they didn’t completely leave you out. They included you in the group cheers, the trash talk, and even the occasional victory dance when one of you got a lucky strike. You weren’t invisible. Just… orbiting. A little too aware of the way everyone else had someone to orbit with.

But tonight was different.

Because Mark Grayson was here.

You hadn’t expected it—had already accepted your fate as the designated third wheel, again—but when William pulled up and you opened the car door, there he was. Sitting in the back seat. Tugging at the sleeves of his sweater. That stupid, kinda cute grin on his face when he saw the shock on yours.

Mark Grayson. The best friend turned part-time cryptid. A guy you maybe saw once every other week if the planets aligned and there wasn’t a kaiju climbing out of Lake Michigan. These days, he showed up in the group chat typing out things like “Sorry I’ve been MIA, was in space lol” or “brb gotta swim in a volcano for endurance training :(” like it was completely normal and not the kind of thing that made you feel a weird cocktail of secondhand stress and... butterflies.

He was still the same guy who sent you videos of raccoons screaming into bird feeders at 2 a.m. Still remembered to say “hi” to your mom over text. Still promised you he wasn’t dead every now and then. But sitting beside him in the car—seeing his knee bouncing, his jaw shifting with a soft grin like nothing had changed—it hit you just how much had.

He looked… older. And maybe you looked older too but it was like he’d seen things and hadn’t told anyone. His eyes had that faraway shine he got when he was lost in thought, and even with the quiet hum of William and Rick’s shitty playlist and the greasy scent of drive-thru fries between you all, you could feel the shift in the air. A little quieter. A little heavier.

You had to play it cool. Pretend your entire body hadn’t immediately started sparking like faulty wiring the second he said your name and nudged your knee with his. You had to stop smiling so hard that your cheeks hurt.

You had to act like this was any other night. Like he wasn’t the reason your stomach had butterflies and your thighs had opinions.

You leaned your head against the window, hiding your face, hoping the dark would swallow the flush climbing your neck. You muttered something sarcastic about “the prodigal son returning,” and Mark just chuckled, that same warm, dorky sound that always made your stomach twist.

He said, “You act like I’ve been gone for five years. It’s only been, like, two weeks.”

You gave him a flat look. “You missed two birthdays, Mark.”

He winced. “Okay, technically I was there for William’s. You just couldn’t see me.”

“Yeah,” William piped up from the front seat, smirking. “Because you were in orbit.”

Mark shrugged with a guilty laugh and you were smiling the whole car ride.

Not because he was saying anything particularly funny—though he did, at one point, launch into a truly terrible pun about black holes and bowling balls—but just because he was there. And you wouldn’t have to sit alone all night, nursing a soda while Rick and William played footsie over the ball return.

By the time you all reached the bowling alley, cheap neon lights flickering overhead, you were already white-knuckling it through the evening. The floors stuck just a little to your soles, gum-slick and soda-stained, the way only old alleys could be. It felt like someone turned the heater up to just uncomfortable, and you were nearly sweating through your shirt despite the chill of your drink between your hands.

You’re trying your best not to blare your teeth because neither Rick nor Mark would understand how badly you need to sink them into something. And the last thing you need is William playing Cupid again. If he catches even a whiff of this (and he will, the man could sniff out sexual frustration like a fucking bloodhound) you’ll spend the rest of the night dodging his attempts to set you up with someone’s cousin. Or sibling. Or roommate. Or ex.

So instead, you cross your legs, pressing your thighs together like a lifeline, grateful for the thick fabric of your jeans creating friction, if nothing else. You chew furiously on the nachos Rick ordered for the table, salt and fake cheese mixing with the lingering taste of your own desperation, pretending to be invested in the score.

You tried to have a little shame with the way you were staring—really, you tried. But your casual glances across the lanes kept narrowing, funnelling, zeroing in on one person. And the way Mark moved tonight was ridiculous.

You were practically biting your fist, hating how much you loved the way his shoulders shifted under that stupid sweater—the very same one he used to wear in high school. Still threadbare in places. Still soft-looking. Still familiar. Except now, it clung a little tighter to the broader frame he’d grown into, hugging his chest and upper arms like a secret he hadn’t meant to keep from you.

You don’t even think that yellow button-up he used to pair it with would fit anymore. Not unless he wanted to pop a few buttons and really give you something to talk about in therapy.

Mark had filled out in ways you didn’t quite expect—broader shoulders, a thicker chest, and maybe, just maybe, he’d gotten taller too. It was subtle at first, the kind of change that didn’t register until he handed you his old, beloved Seance Dog t-shirt one afternoon like it was nothing. You remembered how the sleeves used to sag on him, how the shirt had always hung a little loose, and yet it had fit obscenely tight the last time he wore it. The fabric had clung to his torso like a second skin, sleeves straining around his biceps, the hem inching up every time he moved, flashing bare slivers of skin that had no right being that distracting.

You still kept that shirt. Obviously. You told yourself it was sentimental value.

But he looked good tonight. Unfairly so. Maybe he’d always looked good and you were just blind before. Or maybe being away from him for so long had cracked something wide open. Or, worst-case scenario: your hormones were finally staging a mutiny.

Mark kept adjusting the sleeves of his sweater, rolling them up to his elbows like he didn’t know what he was doing. As if the sight of his forearms—tan and veined, the muscles shifting under his skin—wasn’t actively short-circuiting your brain.

You tried to be normal about the way you watched him walk over to the ball return, fingers ghosting across the slick surfaces like he was reading them in braille. You watched his hand pause on the biggest ball available, the one no one else bothered with, and he lifted it like it was made of foam. You felt your pulse stutter at the way his fingers—pointer, middle, thumb—slid into the holes like they belonged there, like they knew what they were doing. His forearm flexed, slow and subtle, and something deep in your stomach clenched in a way that made you feel both ashamed and violently alive.

His skin barely shifted from the strain. Just a soft pull. A ripple. The gentlest whisper of effort. But you admired it all the same. The slight dip of muscle at his elbow. The veins running up his arm. The quiet strength of his grip.

You tried not to imagine Mark’s hands on your hips. Or in your hair. Or in your mouth. Or worse—inside you. You tried not to think about what kind of sounds he might make. Was he a moaner or does he just groan? Would he whimper? Would he say your name like it meant something?

Would Amber tell you if you asked her?

She probably would. She’d smirk, hand you a drink, and tell you to stop being a pussy and go find out yourself.

You shift in your seat again, squeezing your thighs tighter, desperate for relief, for control, for anything other than this maddening ache.

Mark throws the ball. It gutters. Again.

He looks back at you immediately, face scrunching like he’s trying to play it off, but you catch the flicker of embarrassment behind it. You give him two exaggerated thumbs up, all supportive sarcasm. He returns the gesture with just as much sass, which makes you laugh, which makes your heart thump, which makes everything worse.

God, he really does hate bowling. He’s terrible at it. And somehow that only makes you want him more.

If you had a dick, you’re sure you’d be dealing with a painfully obvious hard-on by now. Instead, you’re left to wonder how wet your jeans are getting and whether the people around you will just assume your nipples are hard from the cold. (You wore a bra tonight. Thank God for small mercies.)

You shouldn't be thinking about one of your friends like this. Not someone you barely get to see anymore. You don’t want to ruin this with whatever’s going on in your head. But it’s too late, isn’t it? You’re already undressing him in your mind, mouth full of nachos, pupils blown wide.

You take another bite, chewing mindlessly, trying to remember when exactly this started. When Mark became more than just your high school buddy. When the sight of him made your lungs forget how to work. When you stopped seeing him as just Mark—and started seeing him as something else. Someone else. Someone you wanted.

“I suck.”

You hear Mark huff as he comes back from the floor. His frown is apologetic and self-deprecating as he drags his feet.

“And blow.” William snickers, rising from his spot next to Rick for his turn. His teasing tone is sharp and playful, drawing laughter from you and Rick alike.

“Fuck off,” Mark retorts, his irritation softening the moment—and then, like it’s nothing, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, Mark makes his way to you. And it’s stupid, the way your breath stills just a little. Just a second.

His face shifts when he gets close, softer now. “Hey,” he says, with that quiet little smile of his.

“Hi.” You try not to sound breathless.

“I suck at bowling,” he says again, collapsing into the seat beside you.

Now, being close enough to catch even the faintest trace of his cologne—the familiar scent that you and Debbie painstakingly chose for his birthday last year. You remember that bottle, both of you debating over what “smelled like Mark.” This one had lingered on your coat for days after he hugged you once. Reminds you that some parts of him have not changed at all.

Mark reaches for the biggest nacho on the plate, of course, he does, and he ignores your reminder that the centre nacho was meant to be saved for last.

“Too late,” he says, crunching into it, unbothered.

Your eyes dart over to the flickering scoreboard. There, Mid-game Mark is branded with a lowly score of twenty-five—a number so absurd it makes you laugh at his expense.

“Jesus,” you snort, trying to hide your smile behind your hand. “How does that even happen? I thought you had powers or something.”

“Doesn’t matter if I do. William knows I’m shit at bowling.”

That makes you smile, and you tease, “And you’re still here.”

“Where else would I be?” Mark shrugs, his tone light, but then he adds, “Besides, I’ve missed you.”

Your stomach does a sharp little flip.

“Have you?” You arch an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he says, without hesitation. His eyes don’t leave yours.

Then Rick laughs at something William shouts from the lane, and Mark seems to remember where he is. The spell breaks. He coughs, awkwardly. “I mean—I’ve missed all of you guys. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” you echo, smiling despite yourself.

And god, maybe it’s not a big deal. Maybe it’s nothing. But maybe it’s also everything. Like the way he always used to wait for you to catch up in the hallways. Like how he still texts you song lyrics when he can’t sleep. Like how he sat next to you without even asking.

To try to muster up all your courage, hoping you do not sound like a loser.

“If you’ve missed me so much,” you tease, bumping your knee against his, “we could’ve just gone out ourselves, you know. I wouldn’t make you suffer like this.”

Mark looks at you then. Really looks at you.

“Are you free tomorrow by any chance?”

Your heart stutters. You pretend not to notice. “I don’t know.”

His face falls, just a bit. The corners of his mouth twitch like maybe he’s bracing for a punch. “Seriously?”

You shrug with a stupid grin that threatens to betray every thought swirling beneath the surface, and you almost feel bad—but not really. “I might have to move a few things around. Very demanding schedule, you know.”

“Right,” he says, eyes flicking upward in that way you remember so well, a glint of playful hope that sends your stomach into a flip. “If you push doom scrolling till after seven, do you think we could get lunch and boba? There’s a new store that opened up near my place.”

You pretend to think, tapping your chin. “That might work.”

“My treat.”

“Would you look at that,” you breathe, smiling so wide it aches. “My entire day just cleared up.”

He grins, “Uh-huh. Cheap ass.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “What was that?”

“I don’t know,” Mark says with a shrug that’s far too casual to be innocent, looking anywhere but at you. “Must’ve been the wind.”

It takes everything in you not to laugh. God, you’re hopeless. Every time he looks at you like that—like there’s some inside joke only the two of you share—it hits something soft and dangerous inside your chest. It shouldn’t feel this personal. He’s always like this with you. Right?

Before you can fire back something smug or clever, William calls your name like he’s been waiting for the perfect moment to interrupt. You roll your eyes but the irritation’s fake—your bark never really had any bite when it came to Mark, not when he looks at you like that. Not when he smells like that. Not when you’re sitting so close, you’re painfully aware of just how wet your panties are from… from what? A smile? A little eye contact? Pathetic.

Still, you’re smiling like an idiot when you hop off the bench and head to the lane. The energy in your chest is all fizzy and too much, too fast, but you try to channel it into something, anything else.

You take the ball and accidentally hit a strike. A perfect one.

You blink. “Holy shit.”

Laughter and chaos erupt behind you, and Mark shouts, “You fucking cheated!”

────────────

You don’t have a crush on Mark. You really don’t.

Because if you did, you probably would’ve told Amber not to go out with him after she asked if you were cool with it.

If you had a thing for Mark, you definitely would’ve wallowed in self-pity with your sad Spotify playlist and your arms elbow-deep in a bag of chips that one night he posted a photo with Eve in the middle of the jungle or wherever.

If you liked Mark—even a little bit—you probably would've pulled your hair out strand by strand when you found out he started dating Eve for real.

But that didn’t happen. So. You don’t have a crush on him. Obviously.

Totally.

And whatever weird, fluttery, buzzy feeling that’s dancing through your chest and your stomach right now? It’s definitely just the boba. Or something they put in the syrup. Maybe the taro’s gone off. Definitely not the way Mark’s eyes crinkle when he’s smiling at you. Not the way he showed up to your little lunch date(?) wearing that stupid shirt you always teased him for owning five of. Or how he paid without even asking, the casual kind of chivalry that makes your heart thud and your brain scream (even if he already told you it was his treat).

Your relationship with Mark has never been anything extraordinary. It’s… simple.

As simple as being friends with a half-alien can be.

You’ve always loved Mark’s company, though. You love the way he talks about all the dorky, nerdy shit that made him a bit of a loner in high school—the same stuff he still brings up now with zero shame. You like listening to him talk about it, even when you don’t understand half the words. Even when you know you’ll never, ever watch that weird Super Dog cartoon he keeps insisting would change your life. Not until he finally watches that limited-run K-drama you’ve been begging him to get through since last summer, anyway.

But anyway, you enjoy those moments you get with Mark—even if they’re rare. You enjoy spending time with him, catching up, listening to his stories, and then trying to make your own mundane ones sound even half as cool. You know you’ll never top the time he went to Mars. That story lives in a league of its own. But you still love the way his voice softens when he talks about spending a quiet afternoon with his mom, or the way he lights up when Oliver does something new—like picking up skateboarding or learning a dumb trick that’s only impressive because he’s small and determined.

Mark tends to set the bar pretty high without even trying.

And not just with stories. With everything. With how he lives, how he treats people. Without ever meaning to, Mark’s somehow managed to ruin dating for you. He’s set your standards insanely high. You’ve caught yourself comparing people to him—his kindness, his loyalty, his dumb sense of humour. You still wince when you remember William’s reaction to the last guy you matched with on Tinder.

“He’s like… a whiter version of Mark.”

You haven’t opened Tinder since.

“You okay?”

Mark’s voice cuts through your spiral, pulling you back. You blink like you’ve just come up for air.

“Sorry, yeah,” you say too quickly, shifting in your seat like that might shake the embarrassment off. You meet his eye for just a second—he’s already looking at you, head tilted, brows pulled together in quiet concern.

Your fingers tighten around your cup, the condensation beading under your skin. It’s cold. Which is helpful. Because you’re warm. Too warm. For no good reason. Definitely not because of how intently he’s looking at you, like he’s trying to read between your pauses.

You clear your throat. “Wait—so Cecil had you training on the moon?”

There’s a tiny hitch in his rhythm, just for a beat. You think he might’ve been expecting you to actually answer him, to say what’s on your mind. But Mark lets it slide. He shifts in his seat a little and starts talking again, picking up the thread of his story like it’s no big deal.

And you try to listen. You do.

You don’t get many chances like this—just you and him, no one else around. No William. No supervillain attack halfway through a sentence. Just… a booth, a couple of half-finished drinks, and him.

You want to soak up every second. But he makes it so damn hard for you.

You catch bits of the story—something about the new suit being way more annoying to get on, something else about Oliver cracking the concrete trying to ollie down the front steps—but you’re barely keeping up. Your brain is foggy and not in a cute, dreamy way. You’re kind of just… watching him.

The way he talks with his hands. The way he smiles halfway through a sentence, like he already knows the punchline’s only funny to him but he’s gonna say it anyway. The way he leans in a little when he’s excited, like he’s trying to make you feel the moment with him.

You laugh when he laughs, even if you miss the joke.

Because as long as he keeps talking, you don’t have to say anything.

You just get to sit there. And pretend like this is enough.

The thing was, Mark has always technically been an attractive guy. Tall, kind of annoyingly fit, with that sharp jawline that only got better with age. Charming in a way he didn’t even realize. At least you’d always known it. But you never thought you’d live to see the day (or the week… okay, the past few months—maybe even the year) where you’d start to see him that way.

Like, really see him. In that oh no kind of way.

You’d brushed it off for a while—blamed it on nostalgia, on hormones, on whatever. But bowling last night had been a bit of a breaking point. Something about the sleeves pushed up his forearms, the way he leaned over to aim, that boyish little grin when he finally knocked a pin down—it undid you. And you hadn’t exactly been subtle about the way you were gawking.

Still, it didn’t really hit you until this morning. When you woke up a little dazed, sheets tangled between your legs, and the ghost of a dream clinging to your skin. His voice had echoed in your head, low and warm and familiar. His touch—blurry, but undeniably his—lingered along your shoulder, your back. Your neck.

You’d jolted up like someone caught you.

So. Yeah. Maybe you had the hots for your best friend. Maybe your body wanted something more than side hugs and occasional shoulder touches and the familiar comfort of leaning into him during movies. But that didn’t mean you had a crush or anything. Right?

…Right.

So what if you’d taken a little longer getting ready today? Or if you picked a nicer perfume—the one you usually saved for special occasions—and spritzed a little extra behind your ears, just in case. Not because of him. Just… because. And if you fixed your hair in the mirror three separate times before leaving? Totally normal.

You tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything.

Except it’s really hard to hold onto that thought when he’s sitting across from you looking like that.

His hair’s messier than usual, the curls a little looser like he ran his fingers through it instead of brushing it out. His light blue shirt clings in all the right places and you’re seriously starting to wonder if any of his clothes still fit him properly or if he just enjoys tormenting you. His biceps look like they’re threatening the seams and you hate how aware of it you are.

He's rambling about something now—probably a mission, or a weird encounter with a reporter who keeps calling him the “hot one.” He laughs, wide and open-mouthed, and you try to focus on his words but you’re too busy watching how his lips move. How easily that laugh bubbles out of him. How pretty his eyes are when they squint at you like this, catching you staring.

You should say something. Anything.

“You’re, uh—” you blurt out, then immediately regret it. He glances up, curious. You clear your throat and gesture vaguely at him. “You look nice. That’s a good shirt on you.”

He blinks. “Oh. Thanks,” he says, smiling like it’s no big deal, but his ears go pink. “Didn’t even realize—kind of just threw it on this morning.”

Of course he did. Of course he looks like this with zero effort. Meanwhile, you were practically putting on war paint to get your eyeliner even.

“It’s a good colour on you,” you add, a little quieter. Your fingers pick at the sleeve of your own jacket, trying to act like you’re not slowly disintegrating under the weight of your own thoughts.

There’s a beat. You feel his gaze again—steadier this time. Like he’s trying to see through the cracks.

“You got all dressed up too,” he says casually, elbow on the table, chin resting on his palm. “Special occasion?”

You scoff. “What, like I can’t look decent unless it’s for something?”

“I mean,” he teases, lips twitching, “you’re usually in sweats when we hang out.”

“That’s because you’ve seen me in every stage of human degeneration. There’s no mystery left.”

Mark laughs, deep and genuine. “There’s still a little mystery.”

You’re not going to ask what he means. You’re not.

Instead, you take a sip of your drink to hide the flush in your cheeks. You focus on the way the cold clings to your fingers, grounding you. Because if you let yourself keep staring, you’re going to do something stupid. Like, ask him if he wants to come back to yours. Or kiss him right here across the table.

You sneak another glance at him. He’s already looking at you. Again.

You want him so bad it’s physically painful.

And yeah, sure—maybe you’ve imagined what it’d be like if you were just a little bit closer. Not just physically. Closer in a way that means good morning kisses and bad jokes whispered into collarbones and brushing your teeth side by side, sleep-crinkled eyes and soft Sunday smiles. All those tiny, stupid, quiet things that make you feel like you belong to someone.

And if you let yourself feel it for just one second longer—you know exactly who you want to belong to.

You hope that whoever glances your way in this too-cute, hipster boba café thinks you’re on a date. God, you hope so. The way the two of you are sitting, drinks in hand, talking in that soft, familiar rhythm of long-time friends—it has to read as a date. Right?

Some unhinged voice in the back of your head keeps whispering that it is one, even if you never officially said it. Even if you didn’t dare call it that aloud.

You tried to drown that thought out while getting ready. Told yourself over and over—it’s just lunch. Just boba. With Mark. Your friend. One of your best friends. Who you’ve known since middle school. Who’s saved your life and seen you ugly cry at three in the morning. Who also happens to be alarmingly hot and stupidly nice and smiles at you like you’re some secret he’s been keeping warm in his pocket.

And who, to your absolute horror, you’ve recently started thinking about in ways you should not think about Mark Grayson.

He was already seated by the window when you got there. The sunlight poured in softly, and his forearms rested on the table. He was already sipping something dark with brown sugar pearls stuck to the side of the cup and scrolling on his phone, brow furrowed just a little.

You cringed remembering the way you froze at the entrance. Really froze. Long enough for a group of teenagers behind you to shuffle awkwardly around and brush past with a few muttered “excuse me”s and half-laughs. Embarrassing.

When you finally slid into the booth in front of him, Mark looked up and smiled, “Hey.”

And damn it if that stupid word didn’t do something to you.

“Hey,” you said, trying to sound normal. “You beat me here.”

“I was excited,” he said, with that casual, open honesty that always got you. “Sue me.”

He then pushed a drink toward you. You hadn’t even realized he ordered for you—but it was your usual.

“Thanks. You remembered?”

“Course I did.” He shrugged like it was nothing. “Not that hard to remember the most annoying boba order in existence.”

You kicked him under the table. “Bitch.”

He grinned, totally unfazed. “Affectionately.”

You bring your forearms up to rest on the table, leaning in just slightly. The move feels natural—too natural—and you let your head tilt as you look at him, willing yourself to snap out of the storm in your head and focus. Present moment, please. Now would be nice.

The sunlight through the window catches the edge of his jaw, carving golden light into soft angles. His lashes cast shadows. His fingers tap lightly against his cup, unhurried. Your own drink is already gone—sucked down while you tried not to have a crisis about whether or not this felt like a date. Because it does. It really, really does. It feels like one in the quietest, scariest, most electric kind of way.

You’re trying not to jump across the table. God, what the fuck is wrong with you?

You’re insane, that voice in your head shrieks. Clinically. Emotionally. Hormonally.

Your eyes fall—again, helplessly—to his lips. And it hits you that this might be the first time you’ve ever really stared at them, but it also feels like you’ve always known them. You could probably sketch the shape from memory: the soft dip of his top lip, the way the corners twitch up just before he smiles, the slightly darker flush of colour when he bites down to keep from laughing.

You know them the way you know your favourite songs—effortlessly, intimately, over and over.

And it’s only then, maybe a little too late, that you realize his mouth isn’t moving.

Shit. What was the last thing he said?

You snap back to his eyes, expecting to find a look of confusion, maybe amusement. Maybe even irritation. You’d deserve it. You’ve been undressing him with your eyes the entire afternoon.

But you’re surprised when you find a peculiar, absent look on his face.

Mark’s face is distant. Still. His brown eyes are half-focused like he’s listening to something very far away. His hand continues tapping slowly on the side of his cup, but he’s not drinking it. Hasn’t drank from it in a while, actually. Probably because he’s been talking this whole time and you’ve been too busy losing your mind to pay attention.

“Mark?” you say, softly.

He doesn’t react.

Which is strange. Because you know how sharp his senses are, superhearing and all, he could probably hear a raindrop land five cities over if he tried. But right now, he’s staring so intently, so deliberately, that for a split second, you actually worry something might be wrong.

Until you shift. Just a little. Barely an inch.

And his gaze follows the movement, dragging downward like it’s magnetized.

You glance down.

Oh.

Right. The neckline. You forgot you picked this shirt. Or at least, you forgot what it might look like sitting across from someone like Mark.

Your stomach twists with something that’s equal parts heat and embarrassment. You want to roll your eyes—of course this is what’s got him so distracted. For all his superhero nonsense, you’re still friends with a guy.

“Mark,” you say again, this time with a little more bite, trying not to smile.

His eyes flick up from your chest, blinking rapidly. His mouth opens in a small “oh,” a hum catching in the back of his throat as he scrambles to respond, but doesn’t quite manage it in time. A second later, the realization hits, and his entire face ignites. His cheeks go so red you almost feel bad for him. But you find it sort of adorable.

He coughs, clearly trying to recover. His hand rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” He says, smiling meekly at you. His hand drops back to the table. “You just— I mean, I— You look really... goob. I mean boob. Good. I mean good. You look good.”

A shy grin splits your face open as your skin starts to warm. “Thanks. You look goob, too.”

He lets out a breathy laugh, groaning, biting down on his straw. “Fuck off. I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, no,” you say, waving him off with a laugh. “I’ll allow it. That was... actually kinda sweet.”

He smiles at you, all shy and embarrassed. A little crooked. Like he knows what he just did and has no idea what to do with himself now. You’re pretty sure your heart is about to explode into a thousand glittering pieces right there on the table.

You sit there, breath caught somewhere between your ribs, watching him as he ducks his head, and chews on the boba pearls like they hold the secret to surviving this moment. And all you can think—loud, panicked, impossibly clear—is:

You want to kiss him.

And not just kiss him. You want him in a way that’s full-bodied and reckless. You want him with the force of every stupid dream you’ve ever had. You want him in that dizzy, hands-in-hair, clothes-on-the-floor kind of way. You want to ruin this whole perfectly lovely friendship in the worst possible way.

And maybe it’s the way he’s still not meeting your eyes. Or maybe it’s how warm your skin feels. Or how the sunlight is pouring in too golden and soft and romantic and cruel.

“Mark,” you say.

He looks up at you, eyes wide and mouth disgustingly full. “Yeah?”

“I think we should fuck.”

He chokes. Immediately. You watch in real-time as he sucks his drink the wrong way and practically launches into a coughing fit. A splash of tapioca pearls and brown sugar milk flies out of his nose and hits the table.

“Oh my god—” you mutter, reaching across to grab a stack of napkins.

Mark is flailing. Coughing, sputtering, waving a hand like he’s trying to say something but also very much trying not to die. His face is bright red. He’s laughing and coughing at the same time. It’s a mess. A scene. People are staring.

“I’m fine,” he wheezes, between hacks. “I’m—you—what?”

You try to smile, a little nervous. “I said I want to have sex with you.”

Mark goes absolutely still.

He stares at you, wide-eyed, stunned into silence. His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. You watch his gaze dip—just barely. Lower. Lips. Throat. Chest. Then back up again.

“You—what—where is this coming from?” he finally blurts.

“I don’t know,” you say honestly, fingers playing with your straw wrapper. “It just sort of... fell out of me.”

“Fell out of you?” he repeats, completely scandalized.

“I... I've been thinking about it for a while now...” You're starting to feel dread sink into your stomach, thick and slow like honey, but bitter like poison... or puke. What the fuck have you just done?

Your words hang there, dangling over the edge of a cliff you just shoved both of you off of. You can’t look at him. Not properly. Not when your face is on fire and your chest is tight and the booth feels too small. Not when the air feels heavier with every second he doesn’t say anything.

You’re seconds away from bolting. Or vomiting. Or both.

“It's been driving me crazy, believe me,” you manage, voice thinner now. “But uh, if you want to say no, say no."

“Oh my god. You’re serious.”

“...Yeah.”

“Like you want—”

“Yes.”

“Me?”

“Yes, Mark, you.”

He leans back slightly in the booth, and he looks away for a split second—at the window, the floor, anywhere that isn’t your face—but it doesn’t last. His eyes are back on you before you can even blink. “I just...” he starts but then trails off again.

“Can you just... like, reject me?” you finally puff out, cheeks burning. It comes out too quickly like you’re trying to outrun the silence. Your voice is too casual to be convincing, but you try anyway, like saying it first makes it sting less.

“Reject you?”

“I’m... I’m sorry I just threw this on you. I wasn’t thinking.”

“You want me to reject you?” His voice is quiet now, but not confused. There’s something else in it.

“So I can like, move on. Change my name. Move to a different state, maybe.”

The joke lands like a dying leaf. Your laugh is brittle. Empty. It’s all just armour at this point.

But Mark huffs a soft laugh of his own,

“I’m not... I’m. not gonna reject you.”

"You're not?"

He shakes his head slowly like he's still trying to believe this is real. His eyes meet yours, and this time he holds it. Locked in. No flinching. No looking away. All that stunned awkwardness melts into something steadier, something careful. Measured. Wanting. Like he’s finally letting himself consider what it would mean to say yes.

“No,” he says. “That would be stupid. And William would never let me live it down.”

The tension cracks just slightly, pulling a small, breathy laugh from you—something trembling and alive. Your pulse spikes. Your throat’s dry. You're still not sure you're breathing right.

“So... you want to—?”

“Yeah,” he says. Quick. Blunt. No room for misinterpretation.

Then again, softer. Like he’s scared of how much he means it.

“Yeah.”

Internally, you’re both reeling—because that “yeah” didn’t sound like a joke. It didn’t sound like some impulsive sure why not. It sounded like he meant it. All of it.

Mark glances down at his hands like he needs something to look at besides you. “I’ve been thinking about it too. Just didn’t think you were—y’know, thinking about it.”

“Well, I was. I am,” you admit, heart pounding. “And it was... getting really hard to just not say anything.”

He leans forward slightly, elbows on the table, voice lower now. This is no longer a conversation for public ears.

“So what... we just do this?” he asks.

“We could... just try it. See if it works.”

His eyes flick to your mouth again, and it makes your stomach flip.

“Like, casual?” he asks, but there’s a quiet tension under the word. Like he’s testing it out on his tongue and it doesn’t quite fit.

“Sure. Casual. For now.” It comes out a little breathless.

Mark smiles, but it’s not a smug one. It’s nervous. Small. “Right. For now just friends. Who, uh... sleep together.”

You nod, mirroring that same small, nervous grin. “Exactly.”

“But we’re still friends,” he says.

“Of course.”

“And more if we like it.”

“Definitely.”

“So I can take you on a real date if all goes well?”

“Please, do.”

He nods. “So, for now, we can still hang out. And do stupid shit. And eat takeout and talk about movies and—”

“—and maybe also make out sometimes,” you add, trying for lightness, though your voice wavers with the weight of wanting.

Mark pauses. “And definitely do more than make out.”

You blink. “You’re getting bold all of a sudden.”

He shrugs, but his eyes are glued to you now. “I just... don’t want to mess this up. But I also really don’t want to go home without kissing you.”

You inhale sharply.

“Well,” you say, grabbing your drink as an excuse to hide your grin, “your place is closer than mine.”

His expression flickers—first surprise, then realization. “Oh, so like... now? We’re doing this right now?”

You nod, trying to act like it’s nothing, like your insides aren’t vibrating with panic and anticipation. He stands before you do, waiting like he’s afraid you might change your mind if he moves too fast.

When you join him, you don’t touch—but your whole body is practically leaning toward him, every nerve tuned into his orbit. You leave the shop like that: side by side, hearts hammering, skin buzzing, still pretending this isn’t happening. But it is. Oh, it is.

The short walk to your car is deceptively casual on the outside, but inside, you’re spiralling. Spiralling and floating all at once. You’re aware of every breath, every step. A storm of want and nerves and what-ifs spinning in your stomach.

By the time you’re seated behind the wheel, your hands are trembling slightly on your thighs. You try to be subtle about it. Meanwhile, Mark slides into the passenger seat with a blush high on his cheeks—bashful, like he’s already guilty of something. Like the thought alone is enough to make him flustered.

He fiddles with his phone, plugging it in like it’s the most important task of the century. He scrolls through songs like his life depends on picking just the right vibe, and maybe it does. You pretend not to watch him, even though you feel like you're burning a hole through the corner of your eye. He’s acting like everything’s totally normal, like the two of you didn’t just agree—very plainly—to have sex. And god, that boyish fake-casual routine of his is so unfair.

Your breath hitches when the music finally starts. Some song you barely recognize filters through the speakers, but you barely process it. Your fingers twitch around the wheel.

You’d started the engine but never shifted into gear.

Mark glances at you.

Fuck.

That’s it. That’s your last straw.

Because he’s looking at you like he’s waiting. Like he’s curious and soft and a little bit shy, and it cracks something open in your chest. You’ve seen this man punch meteors. You’ve seen him dent walls and bleed for people he loves. And right now, he looks like he’d melt if you so much as leaned in a little closer.

So you do.

You lean (jump, really) across the center console, breath shallow, no hesitation left in you, and press your mouth to his—hot, urgent, not the least bit gentle (you could’ve broken your nose against his steel skin).

He lets out a muffled, surprised sound that you feel more than hear. But he kisses you back immediately, like his body was already on the edge, just waiting for the signal to move. His hands come up to your sides, cradling your ribs so carefully it hurts, like he thinks he’ll crush if he squeezes too hard (he can).

He leans into it fast. His nose bumps yours, and there’s a soft gasp when your lips part. It’s messy. Desperate. Hungry. You sigh into his mouth, tilting your head, and his fingers twitch against your waist. Then his lips part wider, and that’s your cue—your tongue finds the seam of his mouth, dragging across his lower lip before slipping in.

He groans.

Low, breathy, and real.

One of his hands slides lower, skimming the hem of your shirt, the very edge of his pinky brushing against the exposed skin of your side. It makes you tremble. He’s so gentle, like he doesn’t quite trust himself with you yet. Like he’s holding something precious.

You don’t know how long it goes on—seconds, minutes. But the car rocks faintly when he shifts in his seat, and that’s when you start to pull away. Slowly. Breathlessly.

You look at him—his lips parted, eyes still shut, like he’s chasing the kiss even as it slips from him. And god, you’ve seen that look before, but you never let yourself believe it was real. Now you can’t deny it.

Mark blinks at you. Once. Twice.

Then he leans in and kisses you again.

It’s different this time. Short. Sweet. A soft press of lips. Like punctuation at the end of a sentence you’ve both been trying to say for months. It tastes like sugar and burns fire.

He leans back into his seat, finally, hands settling awkwardly over his lap. You notice the way his fingers twitch—nervous, restrained. You could scream. From the heat in your blood. From relief. From how right it all feels.

“Sorry,” you say, even though you’re not. Not at all. You’re still tasting him on your lips. Still humming with the knowledge that he wants you—wants you—the same way you want him.

The way your voice lilts upward, a little smug, is what makes him scoff, eyes rolling.

“Yeah, sure,” he mumbles, shifting in his seat. “Just couldn’t wait, could you?”

You roll your eyes right back at him, grinning as you finally pull the car out of the parking lot. “Yeah, yeah. Fuck you. You said you didn’t want to go home without kissing me, so—I did you a favour.”

“Oh, did you?” he fires back, all sass, and the way he says it makes your stomach flutter.

You scoff, but it’s affectionate. And even though you’re driving now, even though the moment has passed, you can still feel it, thick in the air between you—the tension, the promise, the want.

“Yeah,” you say again, quieter now. A little breathless. “Yeah, I did.”

You park in front of his house and kill the engine.

Neither of you move.

“…So,” Mark says, finally.

“So.”

His head tilts toward you, a slow grin tugging at his lips. “Race you inside.”

“What?”

You don’t get the chance to say more before he’s already yanking open the door, half-tripping over himself in his rush to get out. You watch him scramble up the walkway, basically vaulting over the three porch steps. You just blink, mildly stunned—and vaguely reminded that he could’ve flown the two of you back to his house if he hadn’t insisted on you driving. Your car sits quietly behind you, utterly abandoned, as you step out and lock it with a flat expression.

He’s waiting for you at the front door, breathless and smug.

“I win.”

“You cheated,” you mutter, strolling up behind him.

“Nuh-uh.”

His hands fumble with the keys, like he’s suddenly forgotten how locks work. You wait behind him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his back, the way his shoulders tense slightly when you’re that near. It makes something in your chest squeeze, soft and wild.

The lock finally clicks. He pushes the door open and steps aside dramatically, gesturing for you to go in. “Milady.”

You roll your eyes but smile as you pass him.

Inside, it’s quiet. Familiar. You’ve been here a million times. Your gaze flicks around automatically. Debbie must’ve gotten a new carpet recently—soft beige with delicate lines you don’t remember from the last time you came over. You hum softly under your breath, grounding yourself in the domestic detail. Always a little surprised, somehow, by the size of this place. It’s modern and clean, tastefully decorated. It smells like laundry detergent and something faintly citrusy. It smells like him.

You turn around and he’s right there. Looking at you like you hung the stars and accidentally knocked one loose when you kissed him in the car.

And then he kisses you again.

No hesitation this time. Just Mark, pulling you in by the waist, cupping your face and his mouth finds yours with a kind of aching slowness—soft, cautious, almost reverent.

You melt into him instantly. Your fingers fist into the front of his shirt, knuckles brushing his chest as you pull him closer, grounding yourself in the warmth of him. He lets out a sound—a mix between a sigh and a groan—and it sinks low into your belly, heat blooming there with terrifying ease. He kisses you deeper, more sure now, like he’s already memorized the shape of your mouth.

His hands slide down your back, warm and soothing.

“Mom’s out with Oliver,” Mark murmurs against your lips like he knows you were about to ask. His voice is low, rough from disuse and want. “Won’t be back for a while.”

“Lucky us,” you mumble, and you barely finish the words before he kisses you again, harder this time, lips parting yours with such gentle insistence that your knees almost give.

He makes this delightful little sound, hands shifting to cradle your head gently, fingers threading through your hair like he’s been waiting a lifetime for the chance.

“So lucky,” He agrees, regretfully breaking away when your body tenses in a silent request for air. You’re disappointed too. Who needs breathing, anyway?

“Did you wanna watch a movie first?”

He’s not even out of breath.

“Not really,” you reply with a breathless laugh, cheeks already sore from grinning so much. Your hands are still resting against his chest, fingertips twitching with the need to keep touching him. He grins back, nodding once, and starts guiding you backwards through the house.

He’s careful with you. You’re walking blind, caught in the middle of another kiss when he gently redirects you away from a stray shoe, his hand tightening briefly around your waist to steer you around Oliver’s skateboard left smack in the middle of the foyer. You barely notice it. All you can focus on is his mouth, trailing kisses to the curve of your neck, the press of his lips to the slope of your shoulder. You shiver when his teeth graze your skin.

He doesn’t stop.

Not until you’re pressed up against the wall at the bottom of the staircase, both of you panting between kisses that grow hotter, messier. His hands bracket your hips, thumbs stroking small circles that send sparks crawling up your spine. He groans when your hips roll forward again his, instinctive, your body reacting before your brain can catch up.

You think you hear him whisper your name.

You’re tugging at the hem of his shirt, desperate to feel more skin, and when your fingers slide beneath it and skim along his stomach, he freezes. Not with fear—but like he’s overwhelmed. Like he’s trying not to fall apart from something as simple as your touch.

And then, in a breathless pause, he pulls back just enough to speak. His forehead leans into yours, eyes fluttering closed as he exhales shakily.

“I imagined this being sweeter,” he pants. “I’m sorry.”

You nearly melt on the spot.

Because the way he says it—it’s not embarrassed. It’s earnest. Vulnerable. It takes everything in you not to scream with joy.

God, if he knew how often you’d imagined this too—how many nights you’d curled up thinking of how it might feel to kiss him, touch him, have him like this—he’d probably panic and fly halfway across the city.

Instead, all you manage is a broken little whimper as your fingers twist in his shirt, dragging him closer. “God, Mark, that’s so hot.”

His eyes blink open, stunned. “It is?”

“Yeah,” you say, breathless.

And that’s all it takes.

You don’t even remember deciding to move, but suddenly you’re being rushed up the stairs, feet stumbling as Mark pulls you with him. Your shoes get kicked off somewhere mid-way, lost in the blur of hands and mouths and shared laughter.

He’s hovering, quite literally gliding over the ground, but he seems to barely notice. His feet skim the steps, weightless with something that appears like joy.

Mark fumbles the doorknob twice before finally swinging the door open. Since he’s still kissing you, still pushing you gently forward, you almost tumble inside. He catches you easily, a strong arm firm around your waist, the other bracing himself against the doorframe.

He doesn’t even seem like he notices all that much, floating upwards for a moment before he’s kissing you silly all over again. It’s hot and wet and when he opens his mouth slightly, you follow, your lips parting just enough for your tongues to meet.

Your body fits against his like it was made for it, warm and pliant, your cheek brushing against his as he angles his head and deepens the kiss. You think you never want to stop kissing him. It’s addicting. He’s a drug and you’re hooked, irrevocably.

You think you might be trembling, just a little.

You decide, boldly, to shove him backwards.

He lets you.

He trips over something in the mess of his room—could be a book, a shoe, or a part of his suit. You don’t get the chance to look. He stumbles until his back hits the wall beside his closet, half-collapsing against the old Seance Dog poster, and you swear he grins against your mouth.

You pull back just enough to breathe, just enough to look at him. Mark’s lips are kiss-swollen and flushed pink, cheeks dusted a deep red. His eyes are heavy-lidded, pupils botched wide with want. He chases your mouth again, barely containing a whine when you press your hands a little harder against his chest to keep him in place.

“Oh, Mark,” you murmur, lips brushing the corner of his mouth before trailing down to his jaw, then his throat. You press a hot, open-mouthed kiss beneath his ear and feel him shiver. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

“I—” The breath he exhales is ragged, shaky. You feel the way his pulse jumps strangely beneath your tongue as you mouth at the delicate skin of his neck. The slight scrape of your teeth draws out a sound you could get drunk on.

The afternoon sun floods into the room in slats, casting golden stripes across his skin. Everything smells like him. The colour of his t-shirt matches his walls, and the thought makes you smile stupidly as you glance up at him again. He’s smiling too. It’s infectious.

You can still feel the strength of the heat rolling off of his skin. “No one’s ever called me pretty before,” he mumbles against your mouth.

You pull back, eyebrows furrowed. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not…”

A frown tugs at your lips as your hands drop to the hem of his shirt with a wordless plea. He pulls it off obediently, albeit somewhat distractedly. “That’s fucking criminal.”

Where it lands doesn’t even matter—your eyes are fixed on his chest. His bare chest that you’ve been given permission to properly ogle at. You swear you feel your mouth salivate a bit.

“I feel like I should’ve known sooner,” he teases, breathless.

You blink up at him. “Known what?”

“That you liked me. I mean—look at you.” He gestures toward your face with a sheepish grin. “You’re drooling.”

“I’m not drooling,” you huff, making a face even though your cheeks are warm. “I’m admiring. Big difference.”

Mark quirks an eyebrow at you.

“And yeah,” you say, fingers dancing along the waistband of his jeans now, just teasing. “You’re pretty stupid for not knowing sooner.”

He scoffs, but the look in his eyes is warm and soft and maybe a little reverent. You don’t let him say anything else.

“Stupidly pretty,” you murmur, crashing back into him, pressing your mouth to his again with more heat than before. You lick into his mouth, then drag your lips along the column of his throat, down to that same aching spot on his neck. You feel his hands tighten on your waist, and he exhales a shaky, desperate breath like it’s the first one he’s had in minutes.

Your hands roam more freely now, gliding across the newly exposed skin like you’ve earned the right. You’ve seen Mark shirtless before—countless times, actually—but never like this. Not with your breath catching in your throat and your hands trembling just slightly with want. Not with your mouth practically watering as you finally get to touch him like you’ve always wanted to.

Well… unless that one time you helped him put sunscreen on his back last summer counts.

Because this is different.

This time, he’s letting you feel. Explore. He lets you be a little mean and even tug at the trail of hair leading under his pants.

He’s warm in the way fresh sunlight is; comforting, radiant, and magnetic. Your fingers trail down the groove between his pecs, slowly. You knew his body is obviously muscled since his Invincible suit doesn’t leave too much to the imagination, but it’s different feeling warm, sculpted skin than the cool spandex (or whatever it’s made out of.) You trace the faint outline of each muscle, letting your hands dip lower until you reach the ridges of his abs.

And just beneath them—your hand pauses.

You feel it. A soft, rhythmic thrum under your palm. Not quite a heartbeat. Not quite human. It’s steadier than a pulse, more like a hum—like something alive and electric and ancient ticking in the hollow of his chest. It makes your breath hitch.

How alien is he? You wonder.

But the thought doesn’t scare you. If anything, it makes your stomach swoop. You press your hand flat against the faint, vibrating sensation, mesmerized.

Mark watches you, breathing a little heavier now. His hands are wandering too—palms gliding down your sides with more confidence than before. You gasp when he gropes your ass, hard, the pressure unexpected and firm. He pulls you flush against him, and you yelp, catching yourself on his chest with a small, surprised laugh.

His chuckle is low, rumbling beneath your cheek as you bury your face in his skin. It’s so warm. You want to wrap yourself in it.

Then his lips are back—just behind your ear, kissing that soft spot that makes your thoughts short-circuit. You feel yourself sway forward, dizzy with heat and hunger.

Your mind flickers between two options: Pull your shirt off or pull him to the bed.

Instead, your knees hit the carpet before your brain can stop you.

His hands dart forward to pull you back up, brows furrowed with concern, but you’re already reaching for his belt.

“Oh,” he sighs, startled and wide-eyed. “You don’t have to—”

“I wanna,” you murmur, voice dripping with intention as your hand palms him over his jeans. “Please let me.”

You press your cheek against the bulge, coddling it like it’s already yours, your breath catching as you drag your nose slowly along its length. You mouth at the fabric, teasing him with slow, open kisses, and then you look up, eyes wide and sparkling and pleading.

“Please, Mark.”

His knees nearly buckle.

“Yeah,” he exhales, voice hoarse. “Yeah. Okay. Yeah.”

He looks stunned, dazed, like he’s dreaming something too good to be real. His hands cradle your face so gently it makes your stomach flip, thumbs brushing your jaw.

He’s like a furnace, radiating heat in waves. Like a lantern in the dark. Bright and alive and everything in you aches to touch him more.

You kiss his clothed cock again, slower this time, almost reverent, and he shudders. You can hear the faint rasp in his breath, the catch in his throat as your fingers finally undo his belt and tug his jeans down.

He steps out of them awkwardly, kicking them to the side—and that’s when you notice the blur of colours on his boxers. You blink. Then squint.

And laugh.

“Is that…” You grin, tugging the elastic waistband back with a finger to get a better look. “Seance Dog?”

Tiny cartoon super dogs dance across the fabric, all in different poses—one in a wizard hat, a few riding on yellow stars. You let the waistband snap back against his skin with a cheeky pop.

Mark’s ears go red.

“It was laundry day,” he mumbles, flustered and pink.

“I think it’s cute,” you giggle, ducking forward and pressing a kiss right above the stupid little dogs. “So stupidly cute.”

He tries to say something in return, but you’re giggling all over his very real, very hard dick, kissing at the shape of it, and whatever excuse he was about to make dies a quick death.

“Whatever,” he mutters under his breath, trying and failing to glare at you.

You flash him an innocent look, resting your chin on his hip. “I swear, it’s cute.”

“You’re just saying that because you have me half-naked.”

“Maybe,” you smirk, batting your lashes. Then: “Are you gonna let me suck your dick, or…?”

He groans. His hand flies to his face to hide the actual whimper that comes out, and when he peeks between his fingers at you—grinning like you’re the devil—he can’t help but laugh. A breathless, half-embarrassed noise that melts into the warm air between you.

“Are you gonna stop teasing me, or what?”

You decide to be nice. Because honestly, you're not sure if you'll ever get the chance to be here again. A jagged breath escapes Mark’s lips when you finally tug his boxers down and free his cock from the cotton confines. He’s flushed deep and aching, and the heat low in your stomach tightens at the sight of him. He basically springs out, and you actually flinch a little as it bounces against his stomach. Hard, red, and glistening at the tip with precum.

You blink. Wow.

Okay. Wow.

He's pretty everywhere, but this is... a lot. In the best way. Surpasses all of your expectations. 10/10.

It twitches in front of your face and you feel the warmth radiating off him like a space heater turned up too high. Your hand hovers—hesitant for just a second—before you wrap your palm around him, slowly, carefully, like you’re holding something precious.

He twitches again.

The muscles in his stomach tense, flexing like a ripple under his skin, and you can’t help it—you smirk. Have you mentioned how insanely good he looks right now? That gorgeous, pink-tinged flush creeping down his chest, all the way to the tip of his cock?

Your brain short-circuits. Just pretty boy, pretty boy, pretty boy playing on repeat in your head like a broken record.

Mark exhales a shuddering sigh, and it punches straight through you. “Warm…” he whispers, dazed, eyes hazy and half-lidded. He looks drunk off you already.

“William wasn't kidding,” you mutter, half to yourself as you breathe again.

Mark blinks. “What?”

“He said you had a big dick.”

Mark chokes. “William—he’s never—what?”

“Said you guys used to stand side by side and measure them.”

“Fuck off—he did not say that—”

“Is it true you used them as lightsabers?”

“Oh my god—” Mark groans. He sounds like he’s dying. You don’t know if it’s the secondhand embarrassment or the way your thumb brushes right across his tip.

Maybe both.

“Shut the fuck up, asshole,” he mutters, playfully pushing at your face. You bite your lip, triumphant.

Without thinking, you tighten your grip. Just a little. Just enough to make him keen.

His laugh dissolves into a broken sound, somewhere between a moan and a whimper, and the hand that had pushed your face away now finds a new home buried in your hair.

You lean in and press a soft, teasing kiss to the flushed tip. His cock twitches again.

Mark’s breath catches in his throat.

Your hand never stops moving, a slow up-and-down that has him trembling. You kiss him again, right on the slit, and feel the heat pulsing against your lips. You run your tongue up the underside of his cock, tracing that thick vein from base to tip, and Mark makes a strangled, broken sound—like he’s holding on for dear life.

You push back his foreskin with your thumb and swirl your tongue in a lazy circle around the head. A droplet of precum smears across your lips and you hum against him, taking your time.

You glance up at Mark, checking back in.

“That’s good,” He affirms, voice breathy. “That’s really fucking good.”

Every sound he makes engraves itself into your brain.

You trail kisses down his shaft, your tongue learning every ridge, every pulse, every twitch like you’re memorizing him. Your pace is slow and calculated, and Mark is panting now, legs tense, body twitching under your every touch. You glance up—and fuck—he’s flushed all the way to his ears, lips parted, eyes glassy.

You wrap your lips around the head and sink down.

“Fuuuck,” he whispers, throwing his head back, and staring at the ceiling. His hips jolt upward, pushing deeper into your mouth. It’s a messy rhythm at first, but you welcome it, the way he shivers and gasps when he hits the back of your throat.

You work what you can with your mouth and use your hand on the rest, pumping steadily in time with the bob of your head. Your spit slicks his cock as you move faster, drool dripping down your chin and his shaft.

His thighs are shaking, abs tensing with every gasp. You can feel his restraint fraying—see it in the way his fists clutch the cushions, how his hips start jerking forward, chasing more of the heat and wetness of your mouth.

His cock pulses, thick and hot on your tongue, and he’s babbling now—words half-formed and strangled:

“F-fuck- shit, shit, shit—I’m gonna—ah, fuck me, yeah, f-fuck, I’m— wait shit—”

He pulls your head off at the last second, the hand in your hair tugging, gentle but frantic. You let him, breath caught in your throat, barely registering it until he’s panting and his cock twitches one more time before he cums.

Hot, white ropes spill across your face.

The first hits your cheek, thick and warm. Another lands across your nose, streaking upward toward your brow. It catches on your lip—your open mouth still parted. You blink in surprise but stay still, a little stunned by how hot your skin suddenly feels under each drop.

His moans taper off into little whines, his breath catching in his throat as he watches—eyes wide, pupils blown out wider and darker than you’ve ever seen eyes do before. It’s a strange feeling when you’re reminded that Mark isn’t fully human, even though he mostly looks like it.

You watch his pupils shrink back to normal size and he shakes his head like he’s trying to focus. And his voice cracks. His thumb brushes along your jaw, then dips lower, gently dragging through the mess he left on your chin like he's trying to process the sight of you. Like he can’t believe what he’s done to you.

“Holy shit,” he gasps, blinking down at you. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to—I should’ve warned you—sorry.”

You look up at him, breathless, heart thudding loud in your ears. A grin starts to creep onto your face before you can stop it. You try to fight it—you should be playing it cool—but you can’t help it. Your smile is slow and sweet and so telling. You fucking freak.

“That was…”

“Gross. I know. I’m sorry.” he interrupts, still flushed red and clearly panicking a little.

“I was gonna say hot,” you murmur.

Mark exhales hard, something unsteady and relieved loosening in his shoulders as he leans down to pull you up. You don’t complain when your knees sting, don’t comment on the ache blooming in your thighs. You barely notice it.

His hand comes to cradle your face, and you brace for a kiss—maybe something soft and grateful. Instead, Mark kisses you like he’s starving. Tongue sliding against yours, mouth open and frantic, tasting you, tasting himself. He licks your teeth, then your lips—wet and shining—and then your cheek, dragging his tongue through his own cum, whimpering into your mouth when he tastes it again.

Get a load of this fucking freak, Jesus Christ.

He doesn’t stop. Licks across your skin with deliberate, dirty reverence. Over your chin, your cheekbone, even the curve of your nose—slow and deliberate, like he’s savouring it. His cum. Your skin. You.

He whimpers. Literally whimpers. God. And then he moans. Loud.

You just laugh, soft and dreamy, trying to stay grounded even as every nerve ending in your body feels like it’s sparking to life, flames consuming you. You’re still dressed, and yet you’ve never felt more bare. More downed.

Mark steps out of his boxers and pants, bunched around his ankles. His skin is slick with sweat, flushed with exertion, and glowing with something golden. You’ve never seen anyone look more gorgeous in your life. You realize, with a quiet sort of devastation, that you’d do anything to stay in this moment.

He leans in again, kissing you hard, both of you ignoring the sticky trail still clinging to your face. Your mouth, your skin—it’s all his. And he kisses like he knows it.

You kiss him back like you need him to know it’s mutual.

The ache between your thighs throbs now, sharp and insistent, but you almost forget it when Mark groans—a deep, low sound that vibrates in your chest. He cradles your jaw in both hands, pulling back just far enough to whisper, “Keep kissing me. Don’t ever stop.”

You nod, dazed, breathless. “I won’t.”

You kiss him again. His lips. His cheek. His nose. His forehead. He shivers under each one. You want to kiss him until your lips go numb, until time forgets the two of you ever existed as anything other than this.

And then—without warning—Mark starts to float again.

You feel it before you see it: the weightlessness, the subtle lift of his frame. His hands never leave your face, but his body hovers, high enough that you have to crane your neck to meet his lips. He laughs breathlessly, as though he forgot he could even do this, and he takes you with him—gently, almost reverently.

Your back hits the bed seconds later, soft and warm, and you sprawl out beneath him. Mark hovers above, eyes shining with something deep and giddy and overwhelming. His smile is wide and blinding.

Your heart thrums beneath your ribs, loud and full and dizzy, and you grin back up at him, dazed, knowing he can hear it.

You reach down, fumbling with the button on your jeans. Your fingers are clumsy, adrenaline and nerves making them tremble, and you curse under your breath. Mark dips down to help, but he’s no better—his hands fumble too, and the both of you dissolve into breathless, giggling laughter. His body presses into yours as he tries again, lips brushing yours between chuckles, and eventually, together, you manage to get them off.

He tosses them behind him with a careless flick—there’s a loud crash as something topples off your nightstand. You both flinch, wide-eyed.

You glance toward the sound but don’t move. “What was that?”

Mark snorts against your lips. “Lamp. Maybe.”

Neither of you moves to check. Not when his weight settles over you again. Not when his hands find your waist and slide beneath the hem of your shirt, warm and certain. His touch is steady now, smoothing up your sides, slipping along the curves of your ribs like he’s mapping out every part of you.

He pulls away just enough to look at you, a funny-looking grin on his face as he watches his hands ruck up your shirt gently. When he lifts the top higher, the fabric bunching at your ribs, you raise your arms to help, and for one breathless second, your hands meet midair—yours and his, tangled in the cotton.

Mark yanks it off with a breathless little laugh and lets it fall off the edge of the bed.

His gaze drops. His smile fades.

There’s a beat of stillness where he just looks at you. Really looks. His eyes drag over your chest—mismatched bra and all—and he blinks slow, like he’s committing it to memory. You swear he stops breathing.

His thumb lifts, brushing along the strap of your bra where it sits on your shoulder. He plucks at it gently, eyes fixed on the way the fabric moves beneath his touch. He does it again, slower this time, dragging the pad of his thumb over the edge of the cup. The way he stares—it’s not even lust, not exactly. It’s something softer.

The intensity of his gaze makes you want to shy away for just a second. You sit up and jab his side.

He jerks with a yelp, eyes flying back to yours.

You raise a brow, fighting your smug grin. “Who’s drooling now?”

Mark rolls his eyes, mock offended, but the flush on his cheeks betrays him. He opens his mouth to respond, and you swipe your thumb across the corner of his lips like you’re wiping something away. Annoyed, he groans loudly.

“Yeah, yeah. I get it.”

He catches your fingers in his hand. Brings them to his mouth. Nips at them playfully. You squeal, and then he kisses your knuckles so soft it makes your stomach swoop.

And suddenly, the teasing slips out of you like air from a balloon.

You lie back without thinking. Just melt into the bed. Mark follows you down, still holding your hand. He kneels between your legs, gaze pinned to you like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. When he finally lets go of your hand, it’s only to cradle your face in one palm, thumb brushing along your cheekbone like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you.

“You’re so beautiful.”

The words are quiet. Like a secret. Like he doesn’t even mean to say them aloud.

You flush hard, suddenly self-conscious in your bra and underwear—the colours don’t match, the cut’s nothing special, there might be a stain if he looks hard enough—but Mark’s eyes don’t so much as flinch.

You swallow, trying to think of something to say. “Says you,” you manage, reaching up to tug him down. “You were wearing Seance Dog boxers not five minutes ago. And I still almost cried from how good you look.”

He lets out a breath of a laugh, forehead bumping yours.

And then you kiss him sweetly. His lips press to yours like he’s trying to say something through it, like he’s trying to give you all the things he doesn’t have words for. One of his hands roams lower, down your side, curving around the bend of your thigh. He hooks your knee up and around his waist like it’s instinct, fingers digging into the plush skin just beneath your ass, and pulls you closer so he can grope your ass and do some other decidedly not-so-sweet things.

He discovers you’re wet under his palm through the rough fabric of your panties. No surprise there for you, you’ve been wet for a while now, but a deep sound tear from the back of his throat, so far that it almost sounds like a growl. It’s hard to separate your thoughts from him. Kissing him, sweet and warm, blazing and getting hotter.

You barely have time to think of anything else but your beautiful friend who happens to be an alien superhero. Your head’s too full of him to do anything but gasp when he moves again.

A ghost of a touch—just one finger dragging down the centre of your panties, light enough to drive you insane—pulls a small, breathy sound from your lips. And then he’s doing it again, tracing over your clit, featherlight and teasing. You’re not sure if your face simmers from embarrassment or sheer eagerness, but it’s hot either way. Your breath stutters. Your hips twitch, helplessly.

“Y’like that?” Mark mutters against your mouth, voice thick and a little rough, and you nod against his lips without hesitation, a soft whimper slipping past them.

“Good,” he breathes. “Good… lemme know if I’m doing this wrong.”

The words hit you like sunlight breaking through clouds—so warm and sweet it makes your chest ache like a cavity. That twist of pleasure low in your stomach tightens a little more, and you have to resist the instinct to roll your hips against his hand. He’s being so careful, and it just makes you want him even more.

“I don’t think there’s anything you could do wrong, Mark,” you sigh, and he kisses you again, deeper this time, his tongue brushing yours in a way that makes your toes curl.

You pull away on a light, breathless hum, licking your kiss-swollen lips as you blink up at him. There’s the tiniest flicker of disappointment on his face, quickly replaced when your hands slide up to the straps of your bra.

“Take this off?” Phrased like a question, secretly a plea, a demand wrapped in velvet and you’re verging on begging. Mark huffs, pretty lips curving upwards.

His hand slips away from between your thighs, trailing heat across your skin as he reaches behind you to unclasp your bra. The second the strap loosens, he watches you slide it off, his gaze dropping like gravity’s pulling it down.

His pupils dilate in that weird, telltale alien way they do as he takes in the sight of your tits.

A warm palm comes up to cup one breast, his touch tender, adoring—and then he leans in and bites. Not hard, just enough to make you hiss and gasp, the shock of it sparking in your chest. Your nipples peak to attention. His mouth is everywhere all at once, licking, sucking... marking you. You barely recognize the sounds leaving your throat, broken and wanting.

You’d caught a glimpse of yourself in his mirror earlier—faint love bites trailing across your neck, purpling and pretty—and now you can feel him adding more. You wonder idly if he’ll wear the ones you gave him too, or if his body will heal them away before sunset.

Mark drifts lower, slow and steady. You sink your fingers into his hair, threading through soft, inky black strands, and he rewards you with a kiss pressed just beneath your breast. Then your ribs. Then the centre of your belly, nose bumping your navel as he licks slow, warm stripes up and down your skin, teasing just along the underside of your boobs again.

It’s almost too much. You’re breathless from how soft he’s being. From how much he clearly wants you. From how he’s taking his time.

You look down at him, chest rising and falling. He’s already looking at you—of course he is. You follow the line of his nose, the curve of his jaw, the soft arch of his eyebrows. There’s this little furrow at the corners of his eyes you know is from years of smiling, and your heart just about splits open at the sight of him.

You have it so bad for him that your hips jerk up instinctively, needing more contact—needing him—just because his eyes catch yours and hold.

Mark presses a soft, sweet kiss to your knee. “I’m so excited I think I might pass out,” he mumbles, voice thick and a little shaky, the words dragging warmly over your skin. The tip of his nose nudges along the inside of your leg, tracing a slow, lazy path downward—knee to thigh—his breath fanning across sensitive skin.

Then his mouth finds you.

One gentle kiss through the thin fabric of your panties, right against your cunt. You twitch, a sweet noise pushing past your lips.

He follows with a slow lick, dragging his tongue in a teasing stripe over you, the wet, thin barrier of your underwear doing nothing to dull the pressure. You huff breathlessly, your brows drawing together as he hums low against your clit.

The duvet crinkles beneath you as you sigh and sink into it. There’s a low throb curling deep in your gut, spreading like wildfire.

“Mark,” you sigh his name like it’s a prayer.

He hums again, this time lower, rougher. His fingers dip beneath the elastic of your panties, warm and tentative, but he doesn’t pull them down just yet. His mouth moves lower, nose pressing in just right, and it steals the air from your lungs, your exhale lilted with a moan.

“I feel like we should have music playing,” he murmurs.

“Music?” you echo, half-dazed, raising an eyebrow you’re pretty sure he can’t see. His only answer is the smirk you feel more than see, pressed right into your skin.

And then he moves the gusset of your panties aside.

He groans—an actual, full-bodied moan—like the sight of you just knocked the breath out of him. He dips a finger into his mouth, wetting it, and mutters something under his breath about giving you a heads-up, that he’s not exactly an expert and most of it comes from the porn he watches (those homemade ones, the amateur videos couples post on Twitter which he swears are genuine clips of what sex is like).

You almost laugh—almost. You're about to tell him not to worry, that you probably know even less—but then his finger presses against you, tentative but eager, and slowly, carefully, he sinks in and you can’t help the soft groan that burns through you.

“Fuck, Mark,” you gasp, the words catching somewhere in your throat. He withdraws immediately, eyes flicking up to yours in question, and sucks his newly wet digit finger into his mouth.

“Good?” he asks.

You nod frantically. “S’good. So good.”

“Fuck—can I?” He asks, and you nod. You don’t know why he’s asking, you gave him a green light ages ago, but your hips lift to help him anyway as he hooks his fingers in your panties and pulls them down. “Y’taste so good,”

Mark leans down and puts his mouth on your hot cunt again. Every slow, willful stroke of his is timed perfectly to the beat pulsing through you. His hands hook under your thighs and pull your legs apart wider, his mouth slanting over you in a way that makes your back arch off the bed.

Your hand tangles in his dark, inky hair and tightens reflexively when he finds your clit again. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t slow, even when you tug. His tongue moves with growing confidence, and the velvet heat of his mouth spreads slick across you, every pass making you ache harder.

A breeze from the window flutters the curtains, the only sign the outside world still exists. But in here, everything is warm and golden and humming—all soft sheets and quiet gasps, all Mark Grayson.

If the tug hurts, Mark doesn’t show it. He hums again, deep and greedy, and your hips rock helplessly against the slope of his nose. Your fingers tighten, your eyes squeeze shut.

“Oh god,” You whine prettily. “That’s— uh— fuck, that’s really good.”

Between your thighs, you hear and feel the moan Mark gives back. Your thighs twitch, caught in that impossible pull whether to close around his head and warm his ears or keep them open just to feel more. Your hips continue to move instinctively, helpless rolls up into his face. And he takes it appreciatively.

His tongue drags down your folds, and he sucks and slurps, slow and purposeful before flicking at your fluttering entrance. It makes you squeal, a sound you barely recognize as yours.

“Fuck,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to speak. His voice is hoarse, soaked in arousal. “You’re so wet.”

You can only blink, dazed, caught somewhere between disbelief and bliss. Mark sounds like he’s in heaven, like this is as good for him as it is for you—maybe even better. And god, if he keeps talking like that, you’ll never recover.

His chin and lips are slick, shining in the low light. You don’t know if he’s been talking to you the whole time, but you can’t dwell. Not when he’s back on you, plush lips locking around your clit and lavishing across the length of your slit. He moans into you, tongue dipping deep, greedy and soft and insistent.

The pressure in your core coils tighter, the pleasure winding up like a string pulled taut. Your chest rises and falls in sharp, shallow breaths. Your voice dissolves into a string of high, breathy little “yes, yes, yes,”s and Mark’s name, over and over, like a mantra.

He mutters something again, something messy and mumbled into your cunt. It takes you a second to realize he’s tapping at your hand where it’s buried in his hair. You lace your fingers with his, and he sighs like you just gave him oxygen.

“Please,” he says into your skin, almost frantically, “please cum on my face. Please, please, s’only fair.”

Your mouth parts, breath catching. He’s so beautiful—messy hair, flushed cheeks, his lips swollen and wet, eyes dark and heavy with lust. He glances up at you, and for a second, his eyes meet yours. But then his lids flutter shut, a shiver rolling down his spine as he moans again into your pussy.

“Fuck,” you swear.

“Yeah?” Mark hums before slowly sinking a finger inside you again. It’s slow, precise. Intentional Pumping the digit in and out of you with ease.

“Yeah, yeah,” you whisper.

“On my face?”

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Pinky promise?”

“Fuck yes, Mark,” you snap, voice rising. “I’ll cum on your fucking face—shut up!”

You see it then—that look on his face. A smug, delighted one. The same one he wore last night at the bowling alley when he finally knocked down a pin after guttering every ball. But now, it’s laced with morale, more self-satisfied, delighted, proud. Like he knew what you’d say. Like this was always going to happen.

And he just wanted to piss you off.

“Fuck you,” you mutter.

Mark chuckles, wicked and low—and then he adds a second finger.

A pressure builds low in your belly—slow at first, like a ripple pulling tight across your core, until it's urgent, searing, and impossible to ignore. Every movement Mark makes intensifies it, the flick of his tongue, the curl of his fingers inside you, the way his mouth works your clit. It’s not subtle anymore. It’s all-consuming. Flickers of starlight burst behind your closed eyelids, and you feel like you’re floating—no, caught, tethered to the sheets by his arm locked firmly over your hips.

“…Just like that,” you whisper, breath hitching. The words spill out instinctively, barely more than air. But they light him up—you can feel the way he doubles down, how he hones in on every sweet spot with sharper focus. “Keep going. ‘M close… so close, Mark. Please, don’t stop. Please just—”

Your mouth drops open. Not a sound escapes. Not even air. You go still, caught in that heart-stopping moment where everything tightens—every nerve pulled taut.

Then it rocks through you like lightning—white-hot and blinding. Your whole body jerks, legs trembling as the orgasm washes over you with no restraint. A whimper bursts from your throat, then another, and then it’s just breathless moans and helpless groans as you claw for something—anything. One foot presses into Mark’s back, anchoring you. Your fingers tangle in his hair again, desperate. The sheets twist beneath your spine,

Mark moans into you, a sound that hums right through your bones. He doesn’t let up—he licks you through it with soft, steady strokes, like he knows exactly what your body needs. Gentle. Sure. So fucking sweet.

When you finally manage to push him away, trembling and spent, he pulls back slowly—like he hates to leave you. He drags his fingers out of you, and plants a soft, lingering kiss to your swollen clit. A farewell, like he’s grateful for it. When he lifts his head, his face is shining with slick, lips pink, eyes dark and dazed.

His grin is crooked, eyes sparkling. “I think I did good.”

“Could be better...”

He rolls his eyes and leans in slow, almost shy. Like he’s giving you the chance to pull away. You don’t. You kiss him back eagerly, tasting yourself on his lips.

“You should sit on my face and suck me off next time,” he says, his voice low and serious. “After our date. Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

The idea of a date and a possible next time sends a thrill right through you, low and giddy and a little unhinged.

“I wanna fuck you first,” you murmur, your breath still uneven, chest rising and falling against his. The words come out raw and honest, no hesitation, and it sends a shiver down Mark’s spine. You feel it, the way he literally trembles.

He groans softly, tucking himself into your side, arms curling around your waist like it’s the most normal thing to do. “Maybe next time,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to the curve of your neck. His eyes are shut tight, and he clings to you like your words rewired something inside him.

“You need a minute?” you ask, fingers stroking along his back.

“Just a minute… You?”

“…Yeah.”

“Okay, good. I don’t have condoms anyway.”

You snort, eyelids heavy as you nuzzle into him. “When’s your mom getting home?”

“Probably not for another couple hours.”

You glance at him, still breathless, still kind of high off him. “Wanna fly to the store and get some? Pick up takeout on the way?”

He groans dramatically. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You grin. “We can plan out our date after, too. I’ll even read an issue of Seance Dog.”

Mark grins back, a lazy, cocky tilt to his mouth. “Fuck yes. Can I pick the takeout?”

“Sure, you’re paying anyways.”

#mark grayson x reader #mark grayson smut #invincible x reader #invincible smut #faye’s writing ⭑.ᐟ #mark’s empire

1K notes · View notes

baby-yongbok · 2 days ago

Text

"Let Me Make You a Mommy"

SKZ Hyung Line x Reader

⤷ Smut | drabbles/hard thoughts

⤷ WC - 1.6k [total]

⤷ CW - Breeding kink, praise, teasing, overstimulation, anal sex, unprotected sex, power play, body worship

⤷ A/N: I started writing for one and then I just decided to do all of them... Maknae line will be posted next friday!♡

⋆｡‧˚ʚ Masterlist ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Chan

He’s buried deep inside you, slow and low, with his forehead pressed to your shoulder, groaning your name like a prayer that keeps getting answered.

You’re both so gone - sweat-slicked, sheets ruined, nails raked down his back. He’s been talking the whole time, voice dropping into that raw, ruined register that makes the filthiest things sound like gospel/

So good, so tight, fuck, I missed this, made for me, you’re mine.

And then-

“Gonna make you a mommy.”

It slips out so fast he doesn’t even realize it at first. It’s not until your breath catches and your body freezes that he catches himself. And then he’s frozen with you, silently trying to find a pathetic cover up he knows won’t work. You pull back just enough to look at him, wide-eyed.

“What…?”

Chan blinks. His mouth opens -then closes.

“I -uh…” A breath. “I didn’t… mean to say that.”

But you heard it. The way his voice cracked, the way his hips stuttered like the thought of it nearly made him come.

“You sure?” you ask, soft, curious. Not judging. Just listening.

He groans, burying his face in your neck. “Don’t do this to me,” he mutters.

You laugh. “You did it to yourself.”

He’s still inside you. Still hard. Maybe harder after what he’s said. So you press your hips up just a little, clench around him, and ask, “You want to make me a mommy, Chan?”

“No,” he growls. Then again - less convincing, “Yes.” Then, quietly, “God, yes.”

He kisses you like he’s overflowing, confessing a deep dark fantasy. Maybe he is and it’s hot. The look in his eyes as he conjures up every single thought he’s ever had about breeding you full.

“I think about it,” he admits. “When I’m alone. When I’m fucking you. When you smile at me in the kitchen like I wouldn’t drop to my knees for you.” His voice drops to a whisper. “I want you full. Round. Mine.”

You’re soaking now. And he feels it.

“You’re not letting this go, are you?” he murmurs.

You smile. “Not a chance.”

He growls again, grabs your wrists, pins them above your head.

“Then I guess I better make it worth it.”

And this time when he says it - “Let me make you a mommy” - he says it on purpose.

Minho

“You want it that bad?”

Minho’s voice is honey laced with venom, seeping into your spine as his hand pushes you down, face to the sheets.

He’s been working you open for what feels like hours, patience laced with punishment. Slick, stretched, and aching - but he still hasn’t fucked you where you need it most.

No - he took your other hole instead. Buried himself deep there, groaning like a sinner at the altar, while you writhed and begged beneath him.

“God,” he mutters, dragging out slowly, just to push back in with a ruthless roll of his hips, “this tight little ass’s already trying to milk me. But you want more, don’t you?”

You whimper, trembling, broken open and empty.

“Minho, please - please-”

He stills. Entire body locking up, voice turning cold and dark.

“Say it right.”

You blink, dazed. “W-what?”

His thumb brushes your lip from behind, a cruel mockery of softness. Then he thrusts just deep enough to make your eyes roll back.

“You want me to fill you up?” he asks, low and cruel. “You want my cock in your soaked little pussy? Want me to fuck you full and watch it take?”

You’re dizzy with it - with him - slick pooling between your thighs, untouched, throbbing. He knows it. You’ve been clenching around nothing all night.

“Say it,” he growls. “Say what you want.”

And then he drops it - just above a whisper, but it crashes through you like a bomb:

“Let me make you a mommy.”

You gasp - wrecked.

“Minho-”

“Say it,” he hisses. “Or I’ll finish right here. You’ll be dripping down your thighs, and you won’t get what you’re begging for.”

You're trembling. Desperate. You choke on it.

“P-please,” you whisper. “Make me a mommy.”

He groans - so loud it echoes in the room.

And in one breathless, brutal motion, he pulls out and thrusts deep into your soaked cunt, bottoming out so hard your body jolts. The stretch, the fullness, after so much denial. You scream his name like it’s a confession.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he moans, heady and deep like his pace - already punishing. He’s got one hand in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. “Should’ve said it sooner.”

You’re sobbing now - too much, too good - each thrust tearing you in half and stitching you back together.

“Gonna fill you up so deep,” he pants, losing control now, “gonna stuff you full like you’re meant to be - fuck, baby, I’ll give you everything -”

You can feel it coming - his orgasm, yours, both tangled into something molten and terrifying.

And as you fall apart beneath him, tears streaking your face, voice shaking, he leans in close, breath hot against your ear.

“You’re my baby” he whispers, so sweet it hurts. “All mine, full and leaking.”

Changbin

He holds you like you’re breakable - even though you’ve already begged him not to be gentle.

The sheets are a mess. Your thighs are sticky, trembling from your second orgasm. Changbin’s flushed and breathless above you, gaze flickering between your eyes and the place where your bodies meet, like he still can’t believe this is real.

“You okay?” he whispers, thumb brushing your cheek, sweat-damp curls sticking to his forehead.

You nod, breath hitching as his hips roll again, cock dragging against your soaked, swollen walls.

“Too good,” you manage, “Feels too good - Binnie, I can’t-”

“Yes, you can,” he says, leaning down to kiss your jaw, your throat, your collarbone. “You always take me so well.”

Then he slows, presses deep, and stays there, buried to the hilt, eyes locked on yours.

And in the quiet, he says it:

“Let me make you a mommy.”

You blink, stunned still.

His voice is soft. Barely a whisper. But it shakes.

“I want it,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours. “I want to see you round with me. Full of me. I think about it all the time.”

Your breath catches in your throat. He’s still inside you. Still hard. Still there - every inch of him trembling with want.

“I want you like this forever,” he murmurs, slowly moving again. “Messy and mine. I want to come so deep you feel me for days.”

You moan his name, hips rising to meet his.

“You’d be such a good mom,” he groans, thrusts picking up. “So beautiful. So fucking sexy.”

“Binnie-”

“Let me give it to you,” he gasps, panting into your neck. “Let me fill you ‘til there’s nothing left but me.”

You come again with a choked cry, clutching at him like he’s oxygen. He follows seconds later, voice breaking as he spills inside you - hips stuttering, arms locked tight around your waist like he’s anchoring himself to the idea of you, forever.

And when it’s over, when your bodies are tangled and quiet, he’s still there. Still holding you like a promise.

Still whispering, “I meant it.”

Hyunjin

Hyunjin touches you like art. Slow, careful, like you’re something sacred he’s not sure he’s worthy of touching.

His hands move like he’s sculpting you, thumbs pressing into the wet between your thighs like he’s shaping something that’s already his. His eyes are wide, lips parted, gaze so tender it makes your chest ache. Every breath is drawn out like he’s memorizing you all over again.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispers, kissing your belly, your hip, the soft underside of your breast. “I want to give you everything.”

You press into him, breath hitching, and he just melts - forehead to your chest, hands gripping hard at your hips like he’s scared you’ll slip away. “Shit,” he whispers, voice shaking. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

He lines himself up, cock thick and heavy, dragging through your folds until you're gasping, aching.

“Breathe,” he tells you. “I’ve got you.” Then, he’s pushing inside - slow at first, like he’s afraid to break you. His mouth presses to your throat, his breath warm and shaking.

“Fuck - you feel like heaven,” he says, voice already cracking. “Every time.”

He starts slow, almost too slow - hips rolling like waves, each thrust deliberate. It builds heat low in your belly, that unbearable pressure that keeps you pinned under him. You’re nails skin into his shoulder harder with each time he sinks into you, making love.

And then - something shifts.

You say his name, soft and wrecked. You beg him to go faster. You wrap your legs around his waist and meet his thrusts with your own, and that’s when the calm snaps.

“I want it,” he pants, his voice breaking against your skin. “I want to fill you up - want to feel you take all of me.”

Your hands claw at his back. He thrusts again, losing the rhythm, chasing something primal.

His grip tightens.

His pace turns brutal.

And his mouth finds your ear, breath hot and ragged.

“Let me make you a mommy,” he rasps, voice wrecked and raw and so, so honest. “Please - let me fuck it into you, let me give you everything - every fucking drop.”

You moan, breathless, trembling under him, and that’s all it takes.

He breaks.

“You want that, don’t you?” he pants, fucking you hard now, rhythm punishing. “Want me to fuck you so deep you don’t know where I end and you begin?”

Every thrust is frantic now - deep, bruising, like he’s trying to imprint himself inside you. His moans turn into whimpers, praise falling from his lips between curses.

“So good for me - fuck, you’re perfect - gonna look so pretty carrying my baby, fuck-”

When he finally comes, it’s with a shattered cry of your name, forehead pressed to yours, his whole body trembling as he pours everything into you like it’s a prayer. A promise

And you believe him.

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snail-day · 2 days ago

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Satoru doesn't do well with the idea of leaving you. Never has. Probably never will.

Even the short missions are enough to make him sulky, but the long ones? The ones where he’ll be away for days, maybe weeks? He turns into a whining mess. You wonder if he's always been like this, just never voiced it aloud to anyone before.

Packing takes three times longer than it should. Every time he tries to fold a shirt or zip his carry on, he ends up abandoning the task halfway through just to wrap his arms around you from behind, pressing his face into the crook of your neck with a pitiful little whine.

"I don't wanna go," he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin, maybe saying it enough times might make the whole thing mission disappear. "You’re my little Pokémon, y'know? I should be able to just catch you in a ball and bring you with me."

You laugh, warm and breathless, reaching up behind you to card your fingers through his snowy hair. "You could try," you tease, and he groans dramatically, squeezing you tighter.

It’s not just joking, though. When you offer to come with him, he always gets a little quiet. A little stuck in his mind. Turning you around and pulling back just enough to look at you, and the way his bright blue eyes shimmer... God, it breaks your heart a little. He wants to say yes. You can see it in the way his hand trembles against your side. The way his pretty eyes scan your face. It's on the tip of his tongue.

But instead, he just shakes his head slowly, a wobbly little smile on his lips.

Because the thought of something happening to you, curse or no curse, makes his heart ache. Makes his mind wander a little too far for his liking.

What if he’s in the middle of a fight and someone targets you?

What if he’s too far away to reach you in time?

What if...?

"Can’t risk it," he finally says softly, thumb brushing back and forth against your hip, memorizing the feel of your soft skin. Maybe your scent will eventually be engrained in his mind. "You're... you’re everything, baby."

Already pulling you against his lean chest again, holding you so tightly you can barely breathe, mumbling "I love you" over and over against the crown of your head. His palm rubbing up and down your back in loose patterns. You almost think he's tearing up.

"I love you. I love you so much. Don’t forget, okay?" he murmurs between kisses to the top of your head. "Be safe. Call me if you even think something’s weird, kay? I’ll come running, promise."

You have to physically pry him off you just to get him to finish packing. And even then, he keeps glancing back at you every five seconds. Begging for one more hug. One more kiss. One more chance to touch you before he has to drag himself to the door.

By the time he actually gets to the door, he’s somehow hugging you again, despite your giggling protests, rocking you gently side to side in his arms, mumbling about how he’s going to miss you so bad he might just quit being a sorcerer and become your full-time house husband. (He’s only half joking.)

Finally, after a hundred kisses and whispered I love yous, he leans down one last time, nose brushing against yours, voice soft and almost trembling: "Be here when I get back, 'kay? I don’t wanna come home to a world without you."

But then, quieter, so quiet you nearly miss it he adds: "...And don’t... don’t forget about me either, yeah? Don’t find someone normal while I'm gone. Someone who doesn't leave. Someone who can give you the kind of life you deserve."

It’s said with a half-laugh, light and teasing, like he’s trying to play it off, but you can feel it in the way his arms tighten around you, the way his voice wavers. That tiny, hidden crack in the foundation of Satoru Gojo: The fear that being the strongest might mean ending up the loneliest too.

And even as he finally forces himself to step away, flashing you that big, blinding smile. You catch the flicker of sadness he tries so desperately to hide. Because no matter how strong he is, when it comes to you, Satoru’s always afraid that someday you’ll realize you deserve more than a man who keeps having to leave.

#Angst friday #Some fluff #Based on my husband going on a work trip and his small complaints #😈 but I get the bed to myself #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #Gojo x reader #Gojo satoru x reader #Satoru x reader #Gojo satoru #Satoru gojo #Gojo #Satoru #Gojo jjk #jjk gojo

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myownwholewildworld · 2 days ago

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gif by @\pedrospascaled

“for emergencies only” — an oldman!joel miller drabble

main masterlist | ao3 pairing: oldman!jackson!joel miller x f!reader summary: joel has a lil' accident, but you know exactly how to help. or joel cums in his boxers a bit too early and you feed him a blue pill for endurance. a/n: uhm... yeah, hi? i promise you this fic wrote itself, i almost had nothing to do with it. i am so fucking feral over this man, can't flush him out of my system. lord have mercy... 🙇‍♀️ tags/warnings: 18+, mdni. pwp. filthy smut. joel cums in his boxers like the old man he is. mortified!joel but you make him feel good i promise <3 use of viagra. kneading the bulge, kissing the bulge, worshipping the bulge. pussy eating. face/nose riding. squirting. fingering. your slick is his hair gel (scent marking? idk). blowjob. you go cowgirl on him because the poor man can't do extraneous exercise, protect his bones. unprotected piv. creampie. age gap, no age gap, your choice. petnames. no description of reader other than afab. w/c: ~4.2k

Joel let go of a big sigh, knees cracking as he sat down on the couch. Even taking a shower was damn exhausting at his age—he preferred it when you scrubbed his back in the bath, massaged his biceps and forearms, gently squeezed his dick while the movement created rippling waves in the water.

He’d only managed to comb through his dry, silvery curls, to throw a worn shirt and some loose boxers on, before he needed to take a break. He was getting too old to go on long, extenuating patrols. Perhaps Joel should take up Tommy’s offer and solely focus on managing the construction in Jackson. He’d have more time with you that way too.

His mind was drifting away, thinking about all the things he would do to you in his free time, when his most delicious desire materialised in front of him. His precious little thing—you.

“Why are you so lonely over here, handsome?” you teased, lips curling into a sinful smile.

You lost no time, sitting beside him, snuggling up to his side. Joel’s arm draped around your shoulders instinctively, his fingertips tracing lazy circles on your collarbone.

“I dunno, someone didn’t want to join me in the shower…” he pouted slightly, a laugh tearing up your throat as you poked his ribs with one finger.

“I told you to wait for me, but you’re a grumpy old man who has no patience,” you reproached jokingly.

His eyes rolled back in exasperation, but you were right. He’d just wanted to hop in the shower as soon as he got home, ready to dust off the fatigue of the day.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, shrugging.

His hand slowly moved away from your collarbone up to your neck. Carefully, his fingers dug around your throat, just enough for you to look up at him and gape for air—the sweet pressure on your trachea making you gasp like a little fish out of the water.

“Give your old man a kiss, will ya?” he husked, bowing down his head.

You reached up to him, mouth agape, almost touching his lips. You froze there, your sight simmering with need, awaiting his permission… and when his eyes flicked with lust, you closed the distance and pressed your lips on his.

The kiss quickly became sloppy, your spit coating the stubble around his mouth. Muted, needy moans bubbled up your windpipe—an irresistible call of nature, silently begging him to give you what you wanted, what you needed.

How could he resist you? Joel simply couldn’t, especially when your hand landed on his knee and the making out session came to an end, the tip of your nose tracing his jawline before you pressed a kiss to his beating jugular and buried your face in the crook of his neck.

Your palm squeezed the back of his hairy knee, slowly sliding it up his thigh whilst he manspread on the couch. His brown eyes tracked your every move, his legs’ muscles tensing as you playfully approached his groin. A pull in his soft tummy made him flinch when you reached the dip between his crotch and thigh, his cock hardening at the seductive tease.

A throaty moan rumbled through his chest when you tightly gripped the flesh of his inner thigh, thumb lazily stroking the outline of his shaft over the boxers.

“You’re a bit starved for touch today, aren’tcha?” you nudged him, lips pressed against the shell of his ear.

His cock twitched.

“And whose fault is that?” he snapped back, nerves on edge.

You simply giggled, shaking your head as your hand finally cupped his growing bulge. Gently kneaded him, massaging his aching balls over the fabric. Joel could feel the warmth of your touch seeping through the boxers, compelling him to grow bigger, harder, thicker.

Your palm rubbed against the covered length of him, then dropped to his sacks again—and, irremediably, his hips bucked up, bare heels dug in the wooden floor. He thoroughly enjoyed it when you cupped his balls like that—lovingly, languidly, exquisitely, taking the weight off him so he could find some bliss.

Seeing you so locked in on his pleasure, your tongue darting out to wet your lips… It just added to your appeal, another reason to love you. Because he did—fuck, yes he did, with all his fucking heart.

Suddenly, you squeezed his balls a bit too harsh, holding your grip as if your life depended on him, kissing his jawline. The unexpected squash on his testicles forced a moan out of him—and something else.

A firing pulse took a hold of him, surging down from his spine directly into his balls, and inevitably his cock throbbed with releasing strength. Joel couldn’t have stopped himself even if he wanted to. He first felt the sticky warmth soaking his boxers, and his eyes quickly shot down to his lap.

There was a wet, growing spot on his underwear. He’d fucking cummed in his boxers like an inexperienced teenager—or the old man he was, despite how adamant he was to deny it—and he wasn’t even fully hard yet.

Embarrassed wouldn’t even start to cover it. Joel was fucking mortified.

His mouth ran dry, heartrate throbbing in his eardrums like a shameful cacophony. This had never occurred before—cumming way too early in his loose boxers, the proof right there for you to see, staining the grey fabric. It happened so fast, so intensely, Joel hadn’t had the time to rein in his own orgasm.

His face flushed with abasement; the tips of his ears hot as embers. Unwrapping his arm from around your shoulders, Joel leaned back, his head slacking back and resting on top of the couch. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his free hand tight in a fist, before a trembling sigh escaped his lips.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he whispered, unable to look at you.

“Oh, it’s okay, baby,” you replied reassuringly, your tone too sweet for the circumstances you both were in. Your hand wrapped around his wrist, forcing his hand out of his face. “This just proves how much you love me, so much you can’t even resist me. It’s hot.”

Joel finally had the courage to look you in the eye, a cocked brow showing his disbelief.

“Hot? You think it’s hot I just came in my boxers with a lil’ tugging?” he repeated out loud, unable to believe what you just had said. “I’m not even hard, sweetheart. It’s… humiliating.”

You nodded to his question, your top teeth sinking in your plump bottom lip. Your eyes locked in on his as your hand travelled down his frame, your thumb stroking the obvious wet spot in his underwear.

“Mhm,” you cooed with a playful grin. “Very hot, not humiliating. And I can fix that. Fix him so we can have a good cuddle.”

“I don’t think I can…” you silenced him with a kiss before you got up from the couch and disappeared into the kitchen without another word.

A minute later you were back, towering above him with a sinful little smirk, one hand hidden behind your back.

“Open your mouth,” you requested.

“Huh?”

“Just open it for me, please?” you dragged the last word, blinking rather exaggeratedly.

Joel huffed his disagreement, but ended up obeying. His tongue slid out, patiently waiting for whatever you had in mind. With a flourish, you opened your fist to reveal a blue pill. His eyes lighted up in understanding—he thought he had run out of viagra.

“I always keep a secret stock,” you confessed, reading his mind. “For emergencies only.”

Slowly, you set the pill down on his tongue, your thumb caressing the tip of his wet muscle before you retreated to let him close his mouth. Before Joel could swallow, you bowed down to kiss him, your tongue pushing the pill down his throat with a little needy moan.

His Adam’s apple bobbed, the pill secure in his belly now. It was just a matter of time, but meanwhile…

“Let me make it up to you, sweetheart,” he growled, the taste of your sweet cunt haunting him. “You deserve to be eaten out—so thoughtful of your old man. It’s what you enjoy most, right? Having your swollen pussy drooling all over my face, leaking into my mouth…”

His words had an immediate effect on you. Joel knew exactly how to get you off—not that you needed any more encouragement. Your clit was already palpitating, your hole gushing for his attention. The promise of a good pussy eating was everything you’d hoped for after feeding him that viagra pill.

You straightened your back, ready to get started, and Joel slithered off the couch until he was sat on the floor, his achy back leaned against the bottom part of the sofa. He sat back a little, his head resting on the edge of the couch while your pants and underwear dropped to the floor.

“Someone’s eager,” he taunted when you kicked off your clothing to one side.

“Oh, that’s an understatement,” you exhaled sharply.

Joel curled one long, thick finger at you to invite you to sit on his face, and that was exactly what you did.

You knelt on the sofa, his head right between your thighs, and you anchored your hands to the back of the furniture. His warm breath fanned your pussy, a shiver running up your spine. His broad, calloused hands ran up the back of your legs, coaxing your ass cheeks apart so your slit would crack open for him.

“My sweet girl… You’re already so wet,” he tutted at you, pecking your perineum, the tip of his aquiline nose tickling your entrance. “You really like your old man, don’tcha?”

You were about to answer when Joel lapped your entire seam in one smooth motion before his mouth latched onto your pulsing clit. You sobbed audibly, head lolled back, fingers curling tightly around the cushion of the backrest. Only managing a hushed “mhm,” Joel suckled on your throbbing nub again, pulling the hood back with his tongue.

A myriad of stars danced behind your eyelids when Joel gently nibbled at your bud, his middle finger sliding in your tight hole to rub that precise spot inside your cunt. He ate you out diligently—sucked, licked, bit, flicked your clit… rinse and repeat. Your pussy fluttered around his finger, your moans louder than they should have been considering the thin walls of the house. Sensing your desperation, Joel’s finger slipped out with a pop, to quickly fill your drooling entrance with his tongue.

It was too much—deliciously so. When you thought you’d had the best head ever, Joel always outdid himself. His wet muscle thrusted in and your pussy reciprocated with stuttering squeezes on his tongue. He didn’t falter, not even for a breather—as if he was trying to pull something out of your cunt.

“Jo-Joel…” you mewled, half whimper, half prayer.

You were so drenched, you could feel a flood forming in your womb—a heap of your arousal waiting to drip into his mouth. A tight coil low in your belly with a strangling force, so intense your shut eyes were tearing up, the drops of your silent cries sliding off your temples. Joel didn’t leave a spot unattended, worshipping your puffy pussy lips, your gushing hole, your thudding clit with his tongue and teeth.

Unable to rein in your own lust anymore, you dropped one hand and fisted his hair, forcing him to stay put, still between your trembling thighs. Your body was asking to take control, to let go of the tethers of decency—not that you had much left anyway.

“Wanna ride my face, hm?” Joel muttered with a shaky laugh.

“Mhmmm,” you moaned, shaking your head yes, your bottom lip twitching.

“Go on, baby, use me,” and then he rolled your bundle of nerves between his teeth.

That was the last straw—his words, your undoing. So you did exactly that. Still anchoring his head to the couch, you rocked your hips on his face, just once. His nose traced the entirety of your slit, catching on your clit, and you whined. A second later you were completely sat on his face, almost smothering him, while you rode not only his face, but specifically his nose.

Looking down, you saw his forehead reappear when your hips moved back. Every time you glided over him, the coil tightened and the flood dropped further down in your uterus. Stilling, you circled your waist on his mouth, and then resumed the riding.

It happened too quickly. Suddenly, the dam in your pussy just gave way, and you squirted all over his face while the most wanton moan tore up your throat, your vocal chords feeling raw from so much screaming. The biggest wave—no, tsunami—of your life washed over you, your thighs quivering like crazy while you locked them shut around his head.

Joel eagerly drank everything you offered him, groaning below you like a thirsty man who had not tasted water in days. For a long minute you couldn’t control the spasms of your cunt, dripping onto his nose, mouth and chin, your slick running down his neck and wetting the neck of his shirt.

Heaving, all your muscles finally relaxed, and you dropped to one side to release Joel from the imprisonment of your thighs. A side glance at Joel told you that he was licking off your juices from anywhere his tongue could reach, and that vision made you whimper again.

“I… Uh…” you mumbled, incapable of finding the words to describe what had just happened. “That was… the best head you’ve ever given me, you handsome old man.”

“You mean the best head you’ve ever had, full stop. Right?” he joked while he planted his hands on the edge of the couch to push himself up and sit besides you, his knees loudly cracking.

You laughed, nodding vehemently as you curled up to his side. His face was still wet from your cum, so you swept off some of it for him, kissing it away. The curls freely hanging over his forehead were damp with your slick too, and just that sight made your clit throb again. Raking your fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair, you combed it back with the product of your arousal.

“You don’t need hair gel if you’ve got me,” you said with a smile, and Joel tsked before letting go of a hearty chuckle.

“My personal hairdresser,” Joel quipped.

His laugh died in his mouth when your taunting hand flew to his bulge again. This time, he was extremely hard. Balls loaded and heavy, cock drumming.

“How’s my toy doing? Ready?” It was a rhetoric question, you could feel how ready he was.

“All… yours,” his words hitched, eyes darkening with a burning desire.

Without wasting another second, you knelt before him on the floor, his thighs spread open to house your frame. You couldn’t resist to lean forward and kiss the wet spot on his underwear, stealing a quick taste. Licking off the stain, you gazed up at him.

Joel was watching your every move with predatory attention, his tight fists resting to either side of him. Trying to convey calmness, but you could feel the eagerness simmering under the surface.

You buried your face in his bulge again, rubbing him over the fabric with your mouth, lips and cheeks. Kneaded him with worshipping heed, pulling the textile between your teeth, drunk with the crispy, sticky sound the wet boxers made when they unglued from his damp cock. Feeling his heartbeat, you inhaled keenly—his scent swarming your senses.

You could spend hours like this, with your face tucked away in his groin, feeling the length of him hardening against your cheek. But you were anxious to shove him down your throat.

Your fingers curled around the waistband of his old man’s loose boxers, and Joel lifted his hips off the pillows just enough for you to pull them down his legs, tangled around his ankles. His dick sprung free, swaying in front of you like a tasty lollypop. Cockhead flushed and painfully red, the vein on his underside visibly pulsing, his heavy, full balls tightened up into the base of his dick. And then the cum he’d been so embarrassed about, topping his mushroom head and sliding off his shaft.

It really was a beautiful sight. You pushed his girthy length against his soft tummy and lapped at his balls first, to then find your way up his shaft until your lips sealed shut around his angry cockhead, cleaning off all his nutty spent.

Joel groaned above you, shifting his position ever so slightly, and was gentle enough to caress your cheek with his thumb before he gave you a soft smack.

“Careful not to choke, sweetheart. Take it easy,” he growled, words dying off when you pushed him down your mouth, the hoarse curls at the base tingling your nose. “Easy does it.”

With your mouth full, you gave free rein to your instincts. Took him out completely, a bridge of saliva linking your lips to the tip of his cock, and then shoved him down your throat again. You gagged and whimpered at the same time, precum and spit overflowing from the corners of your mouth. How the end of him hit your uvula, breaching past it… it was the most elated you had ever felt.

Your pace quickly picked up, and soon enough you were bobbing your head on his lap to the point that tomorrow you’d have a stiff neck. But it would be completely worth it. Sucking him off, your tongue swirled around his leaky cockhead to then nip at it. Closing your mouth, you slid his tip over your clenched teeth and lips, making a mess of your face.

“Eaaaasy… Fuck, stop,” Joel tugged at your hair.

You had been so lost in the moment, you looked up at him bewildered. You didn’t want to stop, you could never have enough of him. But realisation quickly hit. His balls were twitching against your chin, a sign that Joel was about to lose it.

“I could have my dick in your mouth all day and night, sweetheart, but I need your pussy now,” he husked, half plea, half threat.

Joel relaxed against the couch when you got up to your feet and straddled him, your knees sunk in the pillows to either side of his legs. Reaching behind you, you grabbed at his throbbing cock, gliding it over your entire slit until it hitched in your entrance.

Biting your lip down to stop a slutty moan from coming out, you locked eyes with him. Watching his façade tumble down every time you descended on his lap was one of the most beautiful sights. So slowly you impaled yourself, taking in how Joel’s face loosened up, his hands firm on your hips—how the crows’ feet kissing the corners of his chocolate eyes would smooth out, how his cheeks would flush, how his nose would do a cute little scrunch, or how his lips would part, letting out a heavy sigh.

Joel tried to fuck up into you when you lifted your hips and you tutted at him, pinning him down so he wouldn’t move.

“Nuh-uh. I’m doing all the work tonight, baby. You just lean back and relax, let me fuck you,” you warned him, an edge to your tone advising him to refrain from complaining.

He’d been on patrol out all day—you knew how tired he was, how his old man’s bones would crack with the gentlest of moves.

“But—”

“No, no buts. If you stay still and behave, I’ll let you come inside. Be good for me, please,” you cooed, your mouth moving against his with every suggestive word.

Joel finally grunted in agreement, and the smile on your face couldn’t be wider—even your cheeks hurt. Despite how badly you wanted to say “good boy,” you didn’t press your luck. Joel was quite dominant, but you enjoyed these subtle shifts in your relationship when he was very tired. So tired you could boss him around with no reprimands.

Once he had settled down, you began riding him, his reassuring hands kneading your hips for encouragement. At first it was slow-paced, his cock lazily swallowed by your labia only half-way through. With every pump, you let him slide a little bit deeper, sweet desperation building up behind his adoring eyes.

And after a few minutes, you were bouncing up and down on his throbbing shaft with heavy, quick dives. You laced your hands behind his neck for support, your forehead resting on his, your sweats mixing. Every time he exhaled, you inhaled his needy groans, high with the passion burning between you two.

His cock filled you up to the brim, especially when he was fully seated in your crying cunt. His tip would kiss your cervix, sending firing signals up your spine, numbing your mind. He was so girthy, your inner walls parted like the Red Sea to greet him, to house him. Every time he pulsed inside, your pussy squeezed him hard—as if they were talking to each other. Joel was the perfect fit to you, in every fucking sense.

His cockhead dragged along your anterior wall, putting pressure on the exact spot that always had you gushing. You were so close to nirvana, you could almost touch the sky with your fingertips. Understanding how close you were—probably because your pussy was uncontrollably fluttering around him—Joel took it upon himself to tip you over the cliff of your pleasure. One of his hands flew to your clit, pressing tight circles on your nub as you, quite literally, jumped on him like a demon possessed—and your whole brain short-circuited right there and then.

“Come for you old man, sweetheart. Squirt all over my cock, drench my lap. Wanna feel her sing around me, milk me fucking dry until my balls are completely empty,” Joel husked against your lips, his thumb quicker on your clit now, pushing back the hood to expose your bundle of nerves to his incessant touch even more. “Can you do that for me, hm?”

You did exactly that the moment Joel stopped petting your clit and, instead, he gently tapped at it with four fingers, the squelching sound driving you crazy. The clapping of skin on skin driving you wild. You finally came, screaming at the top of your lungs, while your hips stuttered above him. Incapable of maintaining any pace now, you sat on his lap—his thudding cock buried down to the hilt in your quivering pussy, the best orgasm of your life hitting you at once.

Your entire body was quaking, your pussy flitting arrhythmically as the last squirts left your insides. Joel was throbbing inside you, grown to a point you thought he might explode. And with the last bit of energy, you clamped down on him as strongly as you could, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

“Fuck, that’s it, sweetheart,” Joel moaned loudly, head tilting back against the couch.

He pulsed one last time, and then finally filled you up. His cum flooded your pussy with long, thick ropes—so much that it was soon gushing out, mixed with your own arousal. It was warm and comforting, knowing that his seed was safe in your cunt. You squeezed once more to completely drain his balls, and he gifted you with some more drops.

You hummed in approval, so satisfied you almost felt sleepy. Joel smacked your right buttock and then hugged you around the waist, feeling your weight on him like a blanket. Neither of you moved, his cock still snug inside your pussy, your breathings loud and heavy.

“We still have a couple of hours before they serve dinner in the community hall. Can’t go anywhere in this… state,” Joel snickered, kissing your cheek.

“Gonna have to take care of this for you, ain’t I?” you whispered, batting your eyelashes at him before you grinded your hips on his lap. Your clit twitched in response, overstimulated. “I need a minute though, I feel like my whole nervous system is on fire right now.”

“Take as long as you need, sweetheart. I could be here all day right until the last minute,” he muttered, his hands gliding over the sweaty skin on your back.

“You’ll need to at least take a shower before we leave. I made a mess of your hair,” you laughed, nudging the vein on his neck with the tip of your nose.

“No, I like this hair gel better. I ain’t washing my hair.”

Your eyes shot up to him. The mere idea of him leaving the house with your slick dampening his hair, him being in public bathed in your pussy scent… while talking to others, fully claiming him as yours… Right then, you brain chemistry was changed forever.

Your clit throbbed, and you purposefully clutched around his still hard shaft.

“I’m ready again.”

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madamechrissy · 23 hours ago

Text

Baby You're a Star- chap three preview

Pornstar Gojo WILL be out tomorrow!!! One more preview <3 Do NOT read if you haven't read part two!

Pairings- Pornstar! Satoru x shy f!reader

Warnings - NSFW- oral sex (m recieving) mentions of cum, Gojo's dick is broken bc of reader poor baby! Mentions of sex, filming porn, dom/sub undertones -taglist closed but everyone on it will get tagged in the update! rough draft and not edited so excuse any typos!

It's here

“Fuck, I’ve made a mess, need someone to clean me all up.” Satoru whispers, while you barely are able to hold up the camera any longer, the livestream is avid with questions, namely - who is filming Satoru Gojo? And offers from many viewers to lick every bit of him up.

Satoru should stare at the camera, but he’s looking up into your eyes instead, stroking his cum soaked length slowly, just pumping more cum out of his tip, so much it’s ridiculous, dripped down to his balls and inner thighs. You swallow nervously, tummy clenched with desire, knowing you needed to stay quiet for the stream of curious viewers.

Satoru murmurs cut then, and you do just that, shutting off the feed, and setting down the phone with a shaky hand, clearing your throat. “They loved it I think.”

“C’mere.” He crooks two fingers, and you eagerly obey, walking up to him now, tempting him to no end with the way your eyes drink him in. “On your knees, sweetheart.”

You obey again, eagerly in fact, looking up at him under lowered lashes as his clean hand slips up the side of your pretty neck, then around to the nape of it, entangling in your locks. Your soft whine and shift of your hips are all he needs to know you’re enjoying it, your hands obediently on your thighs, as if waiting for his every order, so sexy he feels his cock twitch back to life.

“Do you want to clean me up?” He asks softly, but the command in his tone is there, you nod and he exhales, tugging you towards him then. “Then do a really good job, sweets. Lick every bit clean like a good girl, and I’ll reward you.”

“I’ll do a good job.” Your whisper wrecks him, as he guides your head down, and you suck him, still hard, into your hot, eager mouth. Your soft whine vibrates around him, his head falling back as your mouth moves.

He can’t help but think of earlier.

A date, you were gonna go on a date, and he hates the idea, no, he fucking detests the idea in fact, the rage alone making him fuck your throat deeper, harder, feeling you gag and choke on him instead of anyone else. He shouldn’t feel possessive over his friend, a friend who’s sucking his cum, who’s swallowing him up, all he can think is his, his, his.

But you weren’t his.

How could you ever be?

Satoru’s never felt anything better than your throat, except he’s a million percent sure your cunt is better, he knows it would suck him up so greedy. When tears fall from your pretty eyes, it’s hotter than any blow job he’s had on set, the eagerness and desperate need to please far surpasses experience, your glasses fogging up when you pull back to take a breath then.

Satoru looks at his slick, spit covered cock, to thin trails of saliva disintegrating between your lips as you pull back, swiping at your lower lip. “How did I do?”

“Perfect.” His whisper is genuine, the words feel too good, you know you should stop, that you already wish he was yours, but you’re too addicted to how those blue eyes make you feel like you’re the only girl there is.

Even if it’s an illusion, a trick of your brain, or a practiced look.

The feeling is too euphoric not to be corrupted by it.

“You did such a good job, look at it, not any cum left. You sucked it all down, so greedy huh?” His hand comes under your chin, squeezing your neck gently yet so possessive, he wants to say it - his - but he knows he can’t. But it’s too easy to teeter off the edge, when your breaths come faster, breasts pressed up in that dress, rising and falling with each one.

“Satoru… I can keep going.” Your soft voice nearly ends him, little hand stroking his cock again.

“I was thinking of something, but if you don’t want to, it's okay.” You blink a bit then, tilting your head, tendrils falling against your bare shoulders.

“What is it?”

“A scene with me, but not showing your face at all,” your gasp and pull back makes him sigh. “It’d be like me eating your pussy, we could have it zoomed so no one sees your face.”

The thought, along with Satoru's sweet cum down your throat makes your tummy clench, while he brings out more and more of you that you did not know existed. Your hands tense on his thighs now, taking a shaky breath, fingers along the downy hair on his thighs. “I don’t… Satoru you have a million options for costars-”

“I want yours. It’s the prettiest I’ve ever fucking seen.”

“Satoru…”

“It is. Wanna argue about my expertise here?” You just get more flustered and flushed, looking down nervously, but he tilts your chin with his big hand, angling your gaze upward. “I’ll split all the pay, you get eaten out, and anonymously. I’d never tell anyone, I’d never risk your career or anything. But I do need to do one, and I hate the thought of it not…” Satoru trails off now, the words sinking in.

“You like eating me out that much?” Your whisper makes him chuckle then, nodding and swallowing nervously.

“That pussy is perfect. How about we film it, and you watch it, and if you don’t want to, I just keep it to jerk off to…” Shit, he said that.

He’s so desperate and pathetic.

I'm exciteddd, it's almost done bbs <3 It's gonna be angsty, smutty and MESSY

perm tagsss- @alt--er--love @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @indiewritesxoxo @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoao-main @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie @oinksa @grignardsreagent @shokosbunny

#satoru gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #satoru x reader #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader #satoru smut #jjk gojo #story preview #current wips

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p1astr81 · 3 days ago

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hii could you please write something with oscar x reader, where they are visiting his family in Australia and his sisters are basically are all the time with them and this irritates Oscar a bit but reader thinks is so so cute to see him with the girls because she maybe has all brothers who think she’s another boy. Seeing him being an older brother melts her heart. And he thinks it’s a bit funny because he was doing all of that just so they could leave the two of them alone. Totally not projecting 🙃😀

I’m not sure if this is what you were looking for I apologize if not😔

It was the off-season and Oscar was missing the nice weather so he booked the both of you tickets to visit his family in Melbourne.

He should’ve known he wouldn’t get any free time with you. Should’ve guessed it from the very moment his sisters decided to greet you and ignore him when you arrived.

They’d been attached to you since you arrived. You didn’t mind. You only had brothers so it wasn’t often you got to really feel like a sister. Oscar, on the other hand, felt a little irritated.

Now he sat with you on a sofa in the living room, you curled against his side, watching a movie. His sisters had dragged you from his bedroom, begging for you guys to join them. It was late in the afternoon, past dinner. You were getting tired and craving something sweet. “I really want some ice cream.” You said, head tilted back to peer up at him.

His hold on you tightened. “We don’t have any, but I can go get you some.” He offered.

“Could we go to that parlor down the road? They have good ice cream.”

Finally, an opportunity for you two to get some alone time—away from his sisters. “Yeah, let’s go.��

Nicole was sat on the other side of the room. He got up, standing at her side and said as quiet as he could, “y/n and I are going to go get ice cream.”

Apparently, not quiet enough.

“I want ice cream!” Mae chipped in. Then of course came Edie, and then Hattie.

Which is how he found himself driving his mom’s suv with four girls as his passengers, singing loudly to the music.

And acting as their butler after they’d put in their ice cream orders, chatting off to the side while Oscar waited by the serving counter.

“Mae,” he called, holding out her ice cream. She hadn’t heard him. “Mae.” He called again, still calm but louder this time.

You’d tapped her shoulder and redirected her attention. He gave her an annoyed smile while she plucked the cone from his hand.

His sisters weren’t home. He’d complained to Nicole about their neglect to give the two of you personal space, and she took them to the beach.

You were in the kitchen, making cookies together. He scooped the ingredients and you mixed everything together. Flour dusted your cheeks. He laughed with his arms around you.

And then the girls came home, spoiling his moment. “Ooh what are we making?” Edie said upon seeing you. He sighed as the girls crowded around you.

Hattie handed his phone to him, “can you put this on the charger for me?” She requested.

He wasn’t happy about it, but he did it anyway. You watched with a soft smile as he disappeared down the hallway to her room.

Mae unwrapped the chocolate bar—they didn’t have any chocolate chips handy so you asked her to chop the bar up into bits.

But she’d nicked her finger with the knife. Not badly, but there was a little blood. Oscar’s head snapped to her when he heard her hiss.

He took the knife from her hand, holding her hand in his and analyzing the cut. You watched as he eyed her with worry, wrapping her finger momentarily in a paper towel. He came back from the bathroom with a bandage in one hand and peroxide in the other.

“I’m gonna clean it just to make sure it doesn’t get infected. You can squeeze my hand if it hurts.”

The scene made you feel soft inside, seeing him be so careful with her. Your brothers had never treated you like that, only rough housed with you then laughed when you got hurt.

It was just meant to be you and him going shopping, but like every other time, his sisters just had to tag along. He wanted to say no, but you agreed before he could get a word out.

So now he was buying anything they wanted on the promise they’d leave you and him alone for your last 3 days in Australia. Thankfully, his sisters weren’t the type to abuse his generosity, so they weren’t trying to buy every item in the stores. Only those they really wanted.

You stayed on his arm while leaning over jewelry cases. “That one’s pretty.” You pointed to a necklace with a diamond heart dangling from the chain. The girls crowded around you, agreeing with you.

Oscar turned to the salesman, requesting the object. “Hey! I didn’t mean for you to buy it!” You looked at him like he was crazy. It was a near two thousand dollar piece. He just shrugged.

By the end of the night—when you were back at his house, curled up in his bed and dozing off—you offhandedly commented, “you’re gonna make a great dad.”

His hand froze on your back. “What do you mean?” He panicked. You couldn’t be- no, you were on birth control. There was no way-

“You’re such a great brother for your sisters, like with Mae when she cut her hand, and buying them stuff today to make them happy. I just know you’ll be the same way when he finally decide to have kids.”

The panic eased, and he laughed lowly. “I only did that today so they’d leave us alone the rest of the time we’re here.”

You twisted to meet his eyes. “And here I was thinking you were just so sweet.” You shook your head.

“No, this heart is ice cold, baby.” He joked.

You leaned up and kissed him, laughing against his lips.

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 blurb #f1 fluff #op81 #f1 x you #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri one shot #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader

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prythianpages · 2 days ago

Text

Take Me Home | Azriel x Reader

Azriel x Reader | When Azriel gets drunk, he forgets he has a wife.

warning: drinking, drunk & fluffy Az

a/n: You can thank tiktok for this one. It inspired me to take a little break from all the angst. I literally have never written a fic so fast before, this took me a little more than an hour. Just something short & sweet (1K words.)

Azriel liked to drink every now and then. Rarely, would he get drunk. He preferred maintaining control, always mindful of his surroundings and alert to his ever-listening shadows.

But when he did get drunk, he'd sometimes forget he had a wife.

Normally, it was Azriel who stayed at your side. He was the hand that always found yours under the table when your words began to slur or the gentle pressure at the small of your back keeping you upright as you stumbled through the crowd. But tonight at Rita’s, something in his shoulders told you he needed to let go.

So when Cassian ordered shots for the table, you passed yours to Azriel with a playful grin, silently telling him, “your turn.”

He hesitated but after a few teasing remarks and a chorus of encouragement from the rest of the Inner Circle, he tipped the glass back and knocked it down in one go. Then another. And another.

You watched the shift in him slowly unfold. His shoulders began to ease from their earlier tense posture. Though it was dark, you could see the inky tendrils of his shadows twitching and rippling less against his skin. Almost as if, they too, were content.

You knew he was tipsy the moment he let Cassian drag him onto the dance floor without so much as a protest. And you knew he was drunk when he nearly tripped over nothing and just laughed before catching himself.

Across the table, you met Rhysand’s gaze. He was lounging back with a smirk, swirling his drink lazily in his hand as he watched the scene unfold.

“Should I stop him?” you asked, though your voice lacked any real concern.

Rhysand raised his glass in salute toward Feyre, who had joined Cassian and Azriel on the dance floor. “No. Let him. This is the most relaxed I’ve seen him in weeks.”

Sensing your mate’s gaze on you, you turned your head back to the dance floor only to see Azriel shying away from your gaze. Oh yeah, he’s definitely drunk. Rhysand chuckled, mirroring your thoughts.

Rhysand was right, though. This was the most relaxed you’d seen your mate in weeks and your heart ached a little with how much he had needed a night out like this.

Azriel continued to sneak glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking. He didn’t last much longer on the dance floor. Cassian’s spinning and swaying became too much, and eventually, he slipped away from his friend. His steps were a little uncoordinated.

Then, his eyes found yours. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at you like you were the only steady thing in the room. The grin that spread across his face was boyish and a little lopsided as he approached the table.

“Hey,” he said, swaying slightly.

“Hey.” You grinned back up at him, a hand reaching out to push back his hair. The stool you sat on gave you just enough advantage in height to do so. His wings shuddered in response, making your grin widen at how easily flustered he got when drunk. You adored it, reveling in being able to make him feel that way.

Azriel’s shadows danced lazily around his shoulders like they, too, were drunk. He leaned down, one of his wings casting a small shadow over you, offering some privacy in the midst of the noise.

“My friend over there,” he whisper-yelled, breath warm against your ear and his scent washing over you, “thinks you’re cute.”

You blinked, pulling back to look at him. “Friend?”

Before you could even process, he pointed to the side. You followed his hand, confused, just as a soft whoosh sounded beside you.

And there he was.

Standing a few feet away with the same grin on his face, exactly in the spot he had pointed to you. You pointed your hand at him and silently beckoned him back to you. With a dark glimmer of shadows, he vanished from across the room and stumbled right back in front of you. You hopped off the stool, catching him with both hands on his chest and helping in steadying him.

“Tell your friend I’m really flattered but I’m taking my husband home.”

You showed him your ring, lifting your hand in front of his glazed eyes. He blinked at it, brows pulling together. Something like disappointment flashed across his face, his wings drooping slightly behind him.

“Oh.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, your heart melting as you gently reached for his hand. You lifted it, bringing it up the same level of the hand flashing your wedding ring. The matching silver band to yours gleamed on his finger, and you gave your finger a little wiggle for emphasis.

His eyes widened. “Oh.” A pause. “Me?”

You nodded, your fingers lacing with his. His whole face lit up, that grin of his brighter than ever and reaching all the way to those hazel eyes you loved so much. He turned to the person closest to you both, Rhysand, “I have a wife!”

Rhysand raised his brow in mock surprise. “Just wait until you find out you have a mate, buddy,” you heard him mutter.

But Azriel didn’t hear. Or maybe he did, and chose to ignore it. Either way, he turned back to you, stepping a little closer. You released his hand and Azriel was quick to place both his hands on your waist.

“Well then, my wife,” he said, pulling you flush to him, his tone and touch possessive in a way that made your stomach flutter.

He dipped his head, his forehead resting against yours, nose brushing yours in a gentle nuzzle. His eyes flicked to your lips, lingering for a beat too long, before lifting back to yours.

“Take me home.”

You laughed softly, cupping his cheeks and placing a chaste kiss to his lips. “Okay, my husband.”

He looked at you like he was falling for you all over again and then, his lips were chasing yours for another taste. Warmth bloomed in your chest, the bond between you thrumming with love and adoration.

Because even if Azriel forgot he had a wife when he was drunk, his heart always knew.

At the end of the night, in every life and every state of mind, he always chose you.

a/n: Hope you enjoyed this silly little fic! & kudos to you if you recognized the tiktok that inspired this.

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444 @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette

@alwayshave-faith, @xadenswhore, @kodafics

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #azriel fluff

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randompiecesofwriting · 2 days ago

Text

Wrong Name

Summary: Reader visits her partner Jack in the ED to drop off his lunch catching the excited attention of all of his colleges much to his chagrin

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: None! Just super cute fluff

Author’s Note: My first Pitt Fic! Basically, a short simple grumpy x sunshine reader cause I had the idea. Everyone in the Pitt loves the reader and Jack pretends to hate that, but everyone knows better. Again my first Pitt fic so any and all feedback appreciated and I hope you enjoy!

To say Jack was surprised to see you at Dana’s desk was an understatement.

He had just left you a little over an hour ago, a silent kiss to your temple, a murmured I love you into your hair, a cup of coffee left in his wake on the countertop so it was cooled down by the time you got up, the same as every day. You were still asleep when he left could you have woken up with something? Did he miss something last night?

His head was so full of the hypothetical he didn’t take the extra second to acknowledge how at ease your body language was as you leaned against the tall desk, a soft smile on your lips as you nodded along to whatever Dana was saying.

Instead, he immediately crossed the ED in a few steps, sliding a hand to the small of your back to grab your attention, cutting of Dana’s story without a second thought.

“Hey what’re you doing here are you okay?”

Your eyes flickered briefly to his, the corners of your mouth pulling up slightly at his appearance as you grabbed his bicep and gave it a small squeeze. “Yeah don’t worry I’m fine” before immediately refocusing on Dana, silently signaling her to continue.

Dana, however, as she normally does, knew better, a look shared between the two women as she stayed silent and instead focused on Jack, the man himself having not moved his gaze from your form for a second.

Pinching your shirt at the waist softly he gave it a small tug, physically pulling your attention back to him as his eyes scanned your face “is it that headache you had the other night? Is it back? I can bump you up the CT line”

“Honey” you cut him off with that small laugh that always had his chest warming “I promise I’m fine I texted you like an hour ago to meet me in the parking lot, you just forgot your lunch”

He could physically feel the relief hit his system at your words, his shoulders dropping as he finally took a deep breath, his next words tumbling off his tongue before he could put any thought to them “you didn’t have to-“

But just as he knew you would, you cut him off with a shrug and the same words you always used when he tried to dodge being taken care off “I know but I wanted to”

He couldn’t have fought the fond smile off his face if he had tried, something he knew he was going to get shit over from Dana and inevitably Robby later. “Why didn’t anyone tell me you were here have you been waiting long?”

“No I’ve been talking to Dana” And it was so entirely you the way you stated it like it was obvious. As if this little act of kindness in going out of your way to get him food hadn’t hijacked your entire morning. He was nearly overwhelmed by the desire to pull you into him, barely registering the way you pivoted back to Dana at the mention of her name.

“A conversation we absolutely will be finishing” spoken like a threat that had the charge nurse chuckling, “drinks later? Location and time TBD?”

“Sounds good kid”

And maybe it was a little selfish of him to want you just to himself in that moment, to pull you out of the Pitt to get even just two minutes of you alone. But Jack had found over the past year that he liked being selfish when it came to you “Oh and Langdon was looking for you earlier if you haven’t seen him yet”

“You spoke to Langdon too” he’ll admit to only faking part of the exasperation in his tone that had you giggling.

“He’s got a new puppy” you protested with a grin “what was I supposed to do? Not ask to see photos”

“You’re right ridiculous question” he conceded easily, “now aren’t you supposed to be at work”

And Jack relished the way he knew what your exact reaction would be seconds before you made it, the way your eyes widened almost comically before you reached for his arm, pulling his watch specifically into your line of sight, Jack using the momentum to press a quick kiss to your temple before he could think any better of it.

“Shit I’m gonna be late” You groaned softly, Jack chuckling at the action.

“I mean it, you didn’t have to bring my lunch in today”

“Please we both know you wouldn’t eat anything if I hadn’t” you brushed him off thoughtlessly before brightening and exclaiming “oh before I forget”. Suddenly you were pulling back from him, reaching deeply into your bag and rummaging slightly before pulling out a fistful of protein bars “give these to Dennis”

“To Dennis” he repeated with a raised brow as you pushed them into his chest.

“Yeah Dennis, well except for the chocolate ones”

“You want me to give these to my med student” he repeated with another exasperated sigh.

Again you responded exactly like he hoped you would, a giggle and a teasing push against his chest “yes except for the chocolate ones he doesn’t like those he likes the fruit ones. He won’t tell you that though, he’ll gladly take them all but he’s just being nice about it because he doesn’t want to offend you”

He couldn’t help but appreciate how well you seemed to fit into his life. How you’d forged relationships with each member of the Pitt’s team that existed wholly outside of him. It was tough now to believe there existed a time when he had been hesitant to introduce you to the chaos of the Pitt given how you now had seemed to adopt each member of his chosen family on your own.

His train of thought was effectively cut off as he watched your gaze suddenly deviate from him to something behind him, the corner of your mouth ticking up as you took one of the bars back from his grasp and yelled across the room “Dennis”

The poor kid looked terrified for a brief moment as he spun around before breaking out into a relieved grin once his eyes landed on you.

That was all the acknowledgement you needed before you were throwing the bar at him, Whittaker to his credit only looking panicked for a brief moment before he was effortlessly catching the bar, grinning down at his new snack appreciatively once he had it “Thank you Mrs. Abbot”

“Not my name” you corrected breezily with a wave “but bug Jack if you want more I’m giving him the rest”

“Great now if you’re done upsetting the natural order of my ED don’t you have work to get to” Jack cut in with fake exasperation.

“Natural order of the Pitt” you scoffed “that’s an oxymoron if I’ve ever heard one”

Your comment had Dana snorting as she didn’t even bother to try hiding the fact that she had been eavesdropping on your conversation up to this point.

“Yeah yeah now get out of here” he rolled his eyes with a fond smile “one of us has to make sure our bills our paid this month”

“I’m going I’m going” you groaned with a matching eye roll, pushing up slightly onto your toes and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, pulling away much too quickly for Jack’s liking with a whispered I love you.

Then you were gone, headed back the way you came leaving nothing but the soft scent of your perfume in the air around him as Jack forced his eyes down to the chart in his hands, pointedly ignoring Dana’s gaze.

Just when he thought he was going to be trapped in the inevitable teasing of his charge nurse Dr. King came running up to the station, Jack more than happy to turn his attention to her and ready to distract himself with whatever case had her moving so fast.

Instead, however, Mel’s expression with brimming with barely contained excitement, her gaze searching everywhere around Jack but never properly landing on the man himself “Was that Y/N I heard? Is she here?”

With a disbelieving huff, Jack went back to his chart “you just missed her”

“No she’s by the door with Robby” Dana cut in with a smile, enjoying the way Jacks neck nearly snapped as he whipped his gaze across the ED to where you now stood with Robby, talking animatedly about something while the older man listened with a smile on his face and hands in his pockets, looking much more relaxed than the two of them usually saw him within the department.

Mel peeled off without a second word to either of them, the pair watching the way your expression lit up once more as you recognized her as she approached.

“You gonna correct that” Dana nodded vaguely in your direction, her and Jack leaning onto the counter of the nurse’s station from opposite sides watching you give Mel an enthusiastic high five over whatever story she had rushed over to tell you.

“Probably talk to everyone at some point” Jack shrugged in response “the Pitt can’t afford to come to a screeching halt every time she so much as walks in the doors”

“No dumbass” Dana admonishes with a dramatic groan “it’s good the way everyone brightens up when she’s here. God knows we could use some positivity around here. I mean Whitaker’s comment about the wrong name”

“I mean she’s already told him to call her by her first name but I could talk to him-“

Dana silenced Jack with a glare, the attending turning his attention back to you from across the room as you eagerly talked to Mel and Robby.

“Was thinking about asking Robby to go ring shopping with me this weekend” he admitted softly “Scale of 1-10 how bad of an idea is that”

“Not where I thought this story was going but love is love so I support-“ now it was Jack’s turn to silence Dana with a glare, the charge nurse enjoying way too much the way the tips of his ears colored at the admission.

“a seven” she mused with a shrug, turning her attention back to you as you finally said goodbye to the two doctors “maybe a six” she let the silence settle around them and watched as Jack eyed her with a skeptical glare from her periphery “invite me along and I can keep it below a three”

Jack studied her for a second, crossing his arms over his chest before nodding softly “done”

Dana fought to keep the grin off her face as Robby finally started to make his way towards the two of them, Jack catching him slipping an awfully familiar looking protein bar into the pocket of his sweatshirt “Jesus how many of those does she have”

Robby shrugged with a chuckle, eyes casting up to the board above the desk as he did so “she mentioned something about having extra chocolate ones”

“I saw her slipping Santos bags of trail mix earlier if you’d prefer that” Dana chimed in with a smirk as Jack huffed dramatically.

“did everyone get to talk to her but me this morning?”

“You get her every day, stop being so selfish” Robby clasped his shoulder with a smug grin, giving it a soft shake.

“Selfish” Jack repeated under his breath with a shake of his head, eyes going up to the board to pick out his next case as he did so “god forbid I want to spend time with my future wife”

He hadn’t even realized he said it out loud until the Pitt around him seemed to go unnaturally quiet. Casting his gaze back down he caught Robby and Dana sharing pointed, amused looks before turning their teasing grins back on him.

All he could get out was a simple “no” before he was storming off to the closest room, refusing to acknowledge the way Robby yelled out a threat after him “We will be talking about this later”

#jack abbot x reader #dr. jack abbot x reader #dr. abbot x reader #jack abbot x you #jack abbot #dr. jack abbot x you #jack abott #the pitt #the pitt x reader #the pitt x you #jack abbot fanfic #the pitt fanfiction #fanfic #x reader #reader insert #jack abbot x female reader #dr. jack abbot x female reader

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maskedbyghost · 2 days ago

Note

i have a breeding kink but at the same time i have a terrible fear of getting pregnant to the point where ive had nightmares about it and anxiety attacks (especially now that abortions are no longer a constitutional right in the US). yeah, not a great combo when in bed lol

just thought maybe my woe would spark some kind of lil story for ya :)

thank you for the request anon, hope you like it :) cw: breeding kink, smut, +18 content below

You shouldn’t want it... Not like this.

You’re on your back, thighs spread and shaking, and Simon’s weight is pressing down over you, with his hands under your knees, pushing your legs open wide enough that you can feel it in your hips, that sweet ache where stretch meets surrender—but all you really notice is the way he’s looking at you.

A little wild. A little too pleased. Like he knows exactly what’s going on in your head.

"You’re fuckin’ dripping," he mutters against your throat, dragging the thick head of his cock through your folds, teasing you with it, slowly. “You want me to fill you up, yeah?”

Your body screams yes. It pulses with it. You tilt your hips, chasing the friction, heat curling sharp in your belly. That filthy little corner of your brain lights up like a match—the one that wants to hear him say it, again and again. That he’s going to put a baby into you. That your body’s his, made to take it.

But just behind that is the fear. Always is.

The kind that hits in the dead of night, heart racing, breath stuck in your throat. The kind that makes you double-check your pill pack and panic at a missed period. That terrible, breathless dread of being trapped in your own body. Waking up from a dream where you were pregnant and sobbing like it had already happened.

Your fingers grip the sheets, tension building under your skin, about to snap.

Simon feels it. Of course he does. He always knows.

He stills, just slightly. Doesn’t let go of your legs, doesn’t pull away—he just watches you, his brows pulling together. "Hey."

You blink, trying to smile, but it doesn’t work. “I’m fine. I want it. Just keep going.”

He doesn’t move. "You sure?"

“I am,” you say too fast, then softer, “I think I just… my head’s being weird again.”

That look he gives you—the one that feels like a fucking hand on your heart. He leans in, nose brushing yours, eyes locked on you like nothing else exists, and in that moment, it doesn't.

“Tell me,” he murmurs. “Whatever it is. We don’t play unless it’s good for you. Yeah?”

You swallow, heart hammering. You hate admitting it. Hate feeling like your brain’s betraying your body.

“I like it,” you say quietly. “The dirty talk. The whole—breeding thing. I need it sometimes. But I’m also terrified. Like, terrified of actually getting pregnant. It’s… bad. Nightmares, panic attacks...”

His jaw ticks. Just once. That barely contained fury that only shows up when he’s angry on your behalf.

“Fuck,” he says. “Alright. Come here.”

He pulls you in, lets your legs wrap around his waist, chest to chest now, holding you close, grounding you. One big hand slides up your back, the other gripping your thigh, his voice right at your ear.

“You trust me?”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“Then let me take care of you.”

You nod against his shoulder, and that’s all he needs.

“Good girl,” he breathes, then pulls his hips back, just enough to push his cock against you again. “Gonna give you everything you want, every filthy fuckin’ word. Gonna ruin you like I’m tryin’ to knock you up. But I won’t. I won’t do anything to you that you don’t want, yeah?”

You whimper. “Yes, Simon. Please.”

“God, you sound so sweet like this,” he groans, sliding in, inch by inch. “So needy. You like when I talk like that, don’t you? Gets you so wet, you don’t even care how wrong it sounds.”

He bottoms out with a growl, and your back arches off the bed. You’re already close, tension thrumming under your skin, clenching around him like your body’s begging to be used.

“Look at this little cunt,” he pants, pulling out halfway just to slam back in. “Taking all of me like it wants it. Like it’s fuckin’ desperate for it.”

You’re gasping now, fingers digging into his back, losing yourself to the rhythm, to the stretch, to the low, filthy sound of his voice.

“You want it, don’t you?” he whispers darkly, lips against your jaw. “Wanna be full of me. Wanna let me fuck you raw and finish inside, over and over until you’re leaking, stuffed, ruined.”

“Yes—Simon, yes—”

“But you don’t have to be scared,” he says, voice dropping lower, sweet and vicious. “You’re safe with me. I’ve got you. Always.”

And somehow that undoing feels different.

Like you can want it—really want it—and still be safe.

He fucks you through it, one hand on your belly, pressing down just a little, groaning when you flutter around him.

“Feel that?” he growls. “That’s me. Deep as I can go. Where I belong.”

Your eyes roll back. You're shaking under him, every nerve lit up, body raw with pleasure.

And then he’s coming too, face buried in your neck, groaning your name like it’s the only thing he knows how to say.

He pulls out slowly and carefully. Your thighs are trembling, slick between them, and he’s already wiping you down with a warm cloth before you can even blink. No words—just his soft hands.

Then he climbs back in behind you, draping a blanket over both of you, pulling you into his chest.

“You’re not wrong for wanting it,” he says against your temple. “Wantin’ that kind of surrender. You just need someone who knows how to give it to you right.”

You smile, slow and sleepy. “And you’re that someone?”

He huffs. “You fuckin’ know I am.”

And yeah, you really do.

--------------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x female oc #simon riley imagine #simon riley #simon riley smut #cod smut

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erenists · 2 days ago

Text

BREAKING NEWS: MEN CAN WHIMPER?

Synopsis: Situations where JJK MEN whimper! MDNI 18+

Warnings: Sub!Gojo, Sub!Geto, Sub!Toji, Sub!Choso, Sub!Sukuna, Sub!Nanami

Overstimulation (m receiving), riding, bondage (ribbons), sex toys (vibrator), teasing, orgasm denial, begging, whimpering, crying, humiliation, praise/degradation, multiple orgasms, orgasm control.

WC: 3k

Gojo Satoru 𝜗𝜚

The grip he has on your waist doesn't loosen, in fact it tightens not to get you to keep going like he usually does but to try and stop you.

"agh— sweetheart m-mind slowing down hah?" You only smirk looking down at him with your eyes lidded as your hips keep snapping down onto him riding him like you've got places to be.

"S'ok toruu, you can handle it big boy" cooing you take his face into your hands pressing a soft kiss on his forehead making him groan.

"Keep going and I might jus—" Before he can finish his sentence your hips roll in a certain way making him jolt his grip tightening and eyes squinting his jaw falling slack. "ohh fuck baby s-so good" He can already feel himself coming and you can too.

you speed up and he comes with a loud groan finally he can rest he thought — until you kept up the pace quickening. "Holy shit fuck fuck— baby w-wait fuck wait" He lets his head fall back tapping your hips trying to get you off. You shake your head grinning and then Gojo whimpers he whimpers like a lost puppy and you feel your pace falter a little. "toru.. did you — did you just whimper..?" You ask your pupils dilated and the look in your eyes scares Gojo half to death as he hesitantly nods. You lick a stripe on his neck and that's when you feel your hips bouncing like never before Gojos forced to dig his face into your neck not being able to hold himself back. "Haah— s-so fast b-baby soo good best pussy ever t-thank you fuck fuck cant handle thisss" you rub your clit to his whines nodding at his incoherent words hes spewing. one final strong bounce of your hips and both of you are gone, Gojos thighs shake his nails digging into you as he's cumming deep into your womb while you're squirting all over him.

"mmmm — we should do this again toruu~" You trace little shapes on his chest laying on him and grinning, you peek up and your grin falls into a soft smile seeing him sound asleep.

Geto Suguru 𝜗𝜚

Your boyfriend was so beautiful, his long hair was always so shiny and healthy, his face always clean and smooth and god did he look divine tied up with your pink ribbons against a chair, his cock out begging to be touched, best birthday gift ever.

You smile, approaching your boyfriend bending to your knees so you're at eye level with as he stares at you with a desperate look in his eyes.

"you should see yourself right now suguru, you look delectable" You drag your acrylic nail down his bare defined chest and he smirks up at you.

"Oh? is that so sweetheart, perhaps you should take a bite of me hm?" He purrs and you grin resting your free hand onto his head before slowly and softly dragging it down to grip onto his chin and tilt it upwards.

"Might just have to" Your tongue runs over your lips before you smash them on to his.

"Sugu — I got mph" you moan trying to speak in between the kisses but he really doesn't let up until you pull away. He stares up at you, his lips still chasing yours.

"as I was trying to say.. I got something I wanted to try on you sweetie..." His eyes lighten up with curiosity and excitement. "What is it sweets?" he tilts his head and you get up walking towards a small bag and pulling out a box.

"Are you ready to see sugu?" He nods slowly and you open the box revealing a vibrator. Getos eyes furrow before looking at you."Oh. Are you going to.. use that? on me??" Your sweet smile drops.

"No good?" "No s'not that just — whatever s'fine let's just try it out" It's not that Geto was entirely against using a vibrator on him it's just that Geto knew he was gonna have to prepare himself for a long night. You smile widely.

"YAYY thank u suguu~" You engulf him in a hug, his face pressed against your chest and to that he softly smiles. Who knows maybe you'll have mercy on him? ...

"Fuuuuck — I caant~ no more darling I'm all d-drained gagh-" He whines loudly thrashing around in the chair, the highest level of the vibrator abusing his tip. it was no use his pleads just fueled you to keep going.

"Sugu.. you promised me one more tho-" You look at him through your lashes and Geto swears he can feel a whimper brewing up as he shakes his head.

"I caaant" He's tearing up at this point not shutting up his whines on blast your smirk widening.

"S'ok keep going baby~ almost there mhmmm" You cheer Geto on and his teary eyes find yours. The look in your eyes has him squeezing his shot as his moans grow more and more pathetic.

"Haah — s'to much t-to much gonna fuck explode..." His brows stay furrowed, a look of bliss fully painted on his face and you slide the vibrator up and down his shaft.

"Goood boy..." His cock twitches at that and you don't fail to notice,

"Does someone like it when I call him a good boy? hmm..??" You start sliding the vibrator faster and faster and he swears he's about to meet god. "yesyesyesyes love it so agh m-much love you so hah much" he's straining against the ribbons and regretting agreeing to being tied up as your gift. He tenses before his cum shoots out flying all over you as he screams out.

"MOMMYY FUCK" your eyes blow open wide before smirking and he digs his face into your chest out of embarrasment.

"wow Suguru.. you did s'good for me huh? Give me another one?" You smile innocently and Geto actually sobs at that last question of course how could he say no to his princess on her birthday though? Toji Fushiguro 𝜗𝜚

You’re perched on top of Toji, completely in control, thighs pressed tight around his waist while he’s the one staring up at you like you’re a dream and a curse. He’s panting, trying to keep still, but his big hands flex like he’s dying to grab you.

“Aw, poor baby,” you hum, cupping his face, “too big for your own good, huh?”

Toji groans, clearly trying not to thrust up into you. “You’re so fuckin’ small, I’m gonna break you—”

You tighten around him just to hear him choke on a moan. “Don’t be silly, sweetie,” you whisper, lips curling against his ear, “I’m the one doing the breaking here.”

You roll your hips again and he sighs like he’s trying not to sob. His brows furrow, jaw clenched like he’s holding onto the last threads of control. But his thighs tremble under your hands. His cock twitches inside you.

You grin. He’s already close.

You lean in, pressing your chest against his, so slow and sweet it makes his breath stutter. “Look at you,” you murmur, grinding down just enough to make him twitch. “All those muscles, all that strength... and you’re just lying here. Letting me use you.”

Toji’s eyes flutter shut and his hands grip the sheets like a lifeline.

“F-fuck, I’m tryin’,” he chokes out. “Tryin’ so hard, but—shit—can’t hold back when you’re so—”

“Say it,” you purr, rocking your hips in slow, deep circles. “Say what I am.”

He lets out a sound soft and broken.

“Perfect,” he whispers. “You’re fuckin’ perfect, you feel so good, I—”

You shut him up with a slow drag of your cunt down his cock, your walls fluttering around him as his voice breaks. He gasps, a desperate little whimper catching in his throat. “There it is,” you smile, your voice like honey. “That sound I wanted.”

Toji whimpers again, louder this time, and his whole body tenses under you like he’s about to snap. His face is flushed, slick with sweat, lips parted as he moans helplessly with every motion of your hips.

“You gonna cry for me, big boy?” you tease gently, rubbing your thumb over his cheekbone. “Wanna see you fall apart. Wanna hear how pretty you sound when you’re mine.”

“Yours,” he moans without hesitation, hands still clenched into fists. “Yours, fuck—I can’t, I can’t gonna cum—”

You clench around him and he shouts, hips jerking up involuntarily, eyes squeezing shut.

“No,” you command softly, grabbing his chin and making him look at you. “Ask.”

Toji’s lip trembles. You’ve never seen him like this—wrecked and obedient, so desperate he might lose his mind.

“Please,” he gasps. “Please let me cum, baby—I’ll be good, I’ll do anything, I-I can’t—please”

You hum, so sweet, so cruel.

“Good boy.”

And when you finally let him, when you start riding him like you mean it? He falls apart completely whimpering, moaning, shaking underneath you as he spills into you, cock twitching wildly.You ride it out, watching his eyes roll back, his mouth open in silent shock. And even when he cums, even when he thinks he’s done—he isn’t. Not until you’re finished. Choso Kamo 𝜗𝜚Choso is already breathing heavily beneath you, lips parted in a silent moan as you slide down on him slowly, dragging your nails up his bare chest as his head tips back.

“You okay, baby?” you whisper with a smile, even though you already know the answer. His hands are shaking. His thighs are trembling beneath yours. His whole body is tense from trying not to fuck up into you.

He swallows thickly, nods. “Y-yeah. M’okay.” You roll your hips once just once and Choso whimpers. You tilt your head, grin. “You sure?” His hands grip the sheets like they’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Y-yeah, I promise—just... fuck, just don’t stop.” You hum softly, cupping his cheeks in both hands and leaning down, your breath hot on his lips.

“You sound so sweet when you’re like this, y’know that?” You trail your fingers down his chest again, stopping to brush across his nipples—and his whole body jerks.

“A-ah—wait—” he gasps, squirming as you circle one with your thumb. “Sensitive, I—fuck—” You pinch gently and he lets out a high sound, eyes wide and glassy.

“Choso,” you murmur, mouth brushing his, “why’re you acting like you can’t take it when I’ve barely started?” He blushes hard, but he doesn’t look away he never does. He wants you to see him like this. Wants to give himself up completely.

“I can,” he whispers, desperate. “I can take it—just need you, need you to ride me—need you to use me—” You moan softly at how wrecked his voice sounds. You grind down again, this time more purposefully, and he shudders, hips jerking beneath you. His fingers dig into the sheets.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, “I’m gonna cum—please—please let me—”

You stop.

His whole body jerks at the denial, brows pulling together like he might cry.

“Not yet,” you whisper. “want you to wait a little more”

He whimpers again, a shaky, breathless thing that leaves his lips like it snuck out before he could stop it. His chest rises and falls rapidly as you start to move again, slow and deep, grinding your hips just right until his hands are shaking.

“Feels so good,” he gasps, staring up at you like you hung the stars. “I c-can’t think—‘m gonna cum, please let me cum, please—”

You lean down, kiss his cheek, and coo in his ear, “Then cum for me, baby. Be my good boy and let go.” And the second you say it? He breaks.

Choso cries out, clinging to you with trembling hands as he spills inside you, his thighs shaking uncontrollably. His whole body twitches with aftershocks, his head buried in your neck, panting like he’s run a marathon. You’re still moving, still grinding into him, milking him for everything he has.

“Good boy,” you whisper as his whines grow higher, more helpless.

It’s perfect.

Sukuna Ryomen 𝜗𝜚

He hates how good you make him feel.

The King of Curses reduced to this. Chest heaving. Lips bitten red. Fingers curled so tight in the sheets his claws have shredded the fabric. And worst of all? You’re smiling down at him like he’s the pet.

"You’re really gonna cum again?” you murmur sweetly, grinding down on him slow and steady. “Tsk. Didn’t even give me permission yet.” Sukuna bares his teeth at you but it’s all bark. His hips twitch up helplessly. He’s trembling. “F-fuck off,” he growls, trying to hang on to that last shred of dominance.

“You think you control me—?” You cut him off by rolling your hips just right tight, wet, perfect and he chokes on a moan. Loud. Desperate. So unlike him. You lean down, pressing your body over his, hands framing his flushed face.

“I don’t think, baby,” you whisper. “I know.” Sukuna’s tongue flicks out, panting, red eyes darting down to where you’re riding him like you own him which, by now, you kind of do. “You’re fuckin’ lucky I let you do this,” he hisses, voice cracking at the end. “Should tear you apart—should make you beg”

You slam down on him with a sharp snap of your hips and he gasps, eyes rolling back.

“Oh, please,” you scoff. “If you could take control back, you would’ve by now. But look at you.” You trail your fingers down his chest, scratching lightly. “Look at what I’ve turned you into.”

His skin is covered in bite marks. Scratches. Bruises from your fingers. He looks ruined, stretched out and stuffed full of you, whining like a toy wound up too tight.

“F-fuck,” he breathes, “too much—can’t—can’t—!”

“You can,” you purr, rolling your hips slow and deep now, savoring how his thighs tremble under your grip. “You will. Because I said so.”Sukuna’s fangs dig into his lip and his face scrunches up in frustration and humiliation lust. He doesn’t know whether to spit in your face or cry. And then you say it.

“Be a good boy for me.” Something snaps. He gasps, jerks forward, and cums with a half-strangled moan, shaking under you like he’s been shocked. His claws dig into the ruined bedding. His back arches up. He whimpers. You laugh softly.

“Aww. There it is.” Even after he cums, even as he’s still twitching from it you don’t stop. He lets out a wrecked sound, eyes wide with panic.

“N-no—wait, wait—fuck, too much—!”

“Shhh,” you coo, dragging your nails across his stomach as your hips keep moving, chasing your own high now. “You wanted to act like a king, baby. But look at you now. Crying for your queen.”

And the worst part?

He loves it. Nanami Kento 𝜗𝜚

Nanami’s always so composed—so serious. But now, under you, he’s a mess.

His usually steady breath is ragged, chest rising and falling beneath you as you slowly grind down onto him. His grip on the sheets is tight, knuckles pale, and his gaze is torn between pleading with you and still trying to maintain some semblance of control.

“You okay, Nanami?” you tease, keeping your pace slow, just enough to make him twitch but never enough to drive him to the edge. He looks up at you, face flushed, and his lips tremble.

“Please,” he pants, voice tight, “don’t tease me. I can’t—I can’t take it, please.” You hum thoughtfully, leaning forward, your breath hot against his ear.

“You’ve been so good for me, Nanami. I can see how badly you want it.” His body jerks under you as you slow your movements. His eyes squint shut, fists tightening.

“Fuck, please—” He’s begging now, desperate. He’s so proud, so used to being the one in control, but all of that cracks when you smile and lean down to kiss him, slow and deep.

“Shh,” you whisper when you pull away. “You’re doing so well for me, baby. So obedient.” That praise makes him shudder. His breath catches in his throat as you start moving again, this time a little faster just enough to get a strained moan out of him. His head falls back, and his hands fly up to grab your hips needy.

“Please, I’m—I’m so close,” he gasps, eyes wide. “I can’t—don’t make me wait—” You slow down again, watching him twitch beneath you.

“Don’t make you wait?” you tease softly. “But you’ve waited so patiently, haven��t you?” You circle your hips slowly, deliberately, watching Nanami’s face twist with frustration. He’s trying to hold it together, but you can see it—he’s losing it. He needs it so badly.

“God, fuck, don’t tease me like that,” he grits out, chest heaving. “I’ll do anything—please, I just need to—”

You cut him off by leaning down and kissing him, long and slow, pulling back just before he can get too comfortable. His eyes follow you, heavy with need, as his mouth opens again, and the whimper that escapes him is so soft, so broken.

“I’ll let you cum, Nanami,” you say, your voice smooth and sweet. “But not yet. I want to hear you beg for it a little longer.”

His hands shoot out to grab your thighs, holding you in place as his hips push up, desperate for more friction. His body is already trembling from the need, his face red, his voice small.

“Please,” he gasps. “I—I can’t wait anymore, I—please.”

You let him squirm under you for a few more seconds, drawing it out, until finally, you give him the release he’s been begging for. You start to move faster, your hips slapping against his in a steady rhythm, and his body reacts immediately—crying out as his cock twitches and he’s finally spilling into you, his whole body shaking from the force of it.

“That’s it, baby,” you murmur softly, kissing his forehead. “You did so well for me.”

He lets out a broken, desperate sob of relief as he comes down from his high, face buried in the crook of your neck, body still shuddering beneath you.

“Thank you,” he breathes, barely audible. “I’m yours...”

A/N: i have been so busy this week im so sorry about lowkey going ghost lol I hope you guys like this tho!! 😝

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saatorus · 2 days ago

Text

almost yours — a satoru gojo fic (teaser)

pairing — college satoru! x reader

synopsis — when you and your best friend seiko agree to split a too-big, too-expensive apartment, her hot older brother—who you definitely don’t have feelings for anymore—offers to move in to ease rent. what could possibly go wrong?

teaser wc — 1.4k

expected wc — 15 - 20k

taglist status — open

warnings — explicit sexual content, tiny bit of angst, yearning (ur downbad for him), satoru is kind of a gym himbo in this one, nerdjo turned fratjo (physics major satoru), will add more as i go along

authors note — well. so.... uh... hi i'm too giddy reading what i've written so far so here i am, releasing a snippet because why not <2

“You go down there!”

“No, I already went when I went to get some chips, it’ll look awkward if I did it again.”

“Okay, let’s both go down there together then!”

“Fine, but you’re gonna have to talk to Suguru on your own, his earrings are scary—”

“Wait but I’m scared too—”

You don’t wait for a response, already on your way out the door before Seiko can trap you into her nerves again. She’s panicking about Suguru’s earrings and his intimidating smirk, and you can’t afford to get tangled in her spiral—not when your own is spinning just as fast. Your heart’s pounding in your chest, the way it always does when he’s downstairs. Loud and stupid and unstoppable.

Satoru’s here.

That’s the real reason you said yes to coming over today, and you know it. You knew it even when you told Seiko, “Yeah, totally, I’ll help you go over functions again,” like you were some loyal academic comrade. She said she wasn’t in the mood to start until later—“We’ll just chill for a bit first”—and you nodded like that wasn’t the exact outcome you were counting on.

He was going to be here. You’d overheard her say it in class on Friday, casual, “My brother’s back for the weekend before his flight. He and Suguru are crashing at mine until Sunday,” and your body reacted like it heard a fire alarm. Instant adrenaline. Sweaty palms. A weird twist in your stomach like you hadn’t eaten all day.

Her older brother.

The one who used to help you with math back when you and Seiko were dumb little middle schoolers with pencil cases full of glitter pens and zero dignity. He never laughed when you got your decimals wrong, never treated you like you were slow or irritating. He’d just nudge the worksheet toward you with a little grin and say something like, “Wanna try that again, hm? You accidentally turned your eight into a three.”

He was kind. And cool. And way too old for you, even back then.

He used to wear big, floppy hoodies with strange anime prints on them, crooked glasses that slid down his nose, and he always smelled faintly like fabric softener and shampoo. He’d ruffle your hair as he passed by the dining table where you and Seiko did your homework, like you were some tagalong puppy. And every single time, you’d sit there for at least ten minutes after, heart pounding, replaying the exact way his hand felt through your hair like it was forensic evidence.

But he doesn’t look like that anymore.

Not since the summer after his junior year. Something changed. You don’t know what, exactly—maybe it was just time, maybe it was something else—but when he came back from his trip with Suguru that August, he was… different.

Taller. Way taller. His shoulders had filled out like crazy, broad and solid under tighter shirts. He didn’t wear his glasses anymore—got contacts, Seiko said, rolling her eyes like it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing. It changed his whole face. His eyes, already bright, looked sharper, clearer. His jaw had become something out of a magazine, all sharp lines and clean edges.

And he got hot. Objectively, unavoidably, annoyingly hot.

So hot that suddenly he was everywhere at school. Seniors above you whispered about him in the hallway. Seniors with perfect nails and shiny hair giggled when he’d be in the cafeteria with his group of friends. Even the teachers liked him. Everyone did. Liked him in a normal way.

Except you—you liked him in that humiliating, unbearable, long-standing way that made your chest ache and your stomach twist and your voice go all weird and high-pitched when he so much as looked at you.

You remember the first time you saw him again after the summer. You’d put on lip gloss—strawberry-scented, sticky as hell—and you’d worn that white, metal supported bra not your bright, training ones—even though you’d barely matured enough to form… well, boobs—even though it dug into your ribs and made your shoulders itch.

And there he was in the hallway, laughing with Suguru, hair pushed back, earbuds hanging around his neck, and you remember thinking—Oh. I’m in trouble. I have the fattest crush on him and he won’t even look at me.

It didn’t matter. You were sixteen now. Practically an adult. And he was actually an adult. Second year of college— physics major—nineteen years old. Except now he was going to this stupid 3 year accelerated scholarship program with Suguru in Japan.

Now here you are, halfway down the stairs, hovering just out of sight with your heart going insane in your chest like it’s trying to physically escape your body.

Suguru’s the first thing you see—sprawled across the couch like royalty, all black clothes and nonchalant confidence. His hair’s tied up half-assedly, dark strands falling into his face, and he’s twirling something silver in his fingers. Probably a ring, or maybe a lighter. He looks dangerous and beautiful, and honestly, you get why Seiko’s so worked up.

And then—there’s him.

Satoru’s on the floor, legs folded in a messy tangle, like he hasn’t grown a day since he was twelve, except that he has. So much. His plain white t-shirt clings just a little too tightly to his chest, sleeves hugging his biceps in a way that feels like a personal attack. His hair’s a little wild—fluffier than usual—and he’s wearing mismatched socks, one black, one striped, like he got dressed in the dark and couldn’t be bothered to fix it.

He’s laughing at the TV—some variety show with screaming and subtitles—and the way his head tilts back as he laughs, the way his jaw catches the light—

Your heart actually hurts.

You stand there a little too long, shameless, helpless, your entire body screaming don’t look, don’t look, but your eyes refuse to obey. You feel twelve again. Small. Invisible. Watching from the sidelines like always.

And then he speaks. To you.

“You creeping or coming down?”

Your stomach plummets.

“I—what?! I wasn’t—I wasn’t creeping,” you splutter, stumbling down the last few steps in a panic, cheeks already burning. “I was—just walking!”

Satoru looks over his shoulder, grinning lazily. He scoots over and pats the carpet beside him. “Come on. Sit. You’re just in time—Suguru’s getting smoked.”

Suguru flips him off without looking. “This trivia show’s rigged.”

“You just suck at memory games.”

You lower yourself onto the floor, trying not to hyperventilate. You’re acutely aware of how close his knee is to yours, how warm he feels even from here, how his scent is something minty and expensive and a little too much for your nervous system.

He tosses the chip bag into your lap without looking. “How’d that mock exam go?”

You blink. “The—what?”

“Math. You had that calc practice test last month, right?” He glances at you, amused. “You and Seiko were complaining about it for like a week straight.”

You feel yourself short-circuit. “Oh. Uh… kind of ass?”

He laughs, reaching for a chip. “Figures. You always made the dumbest faces doing fractions. Like the paper personally offended you.”

You scoff, mostly to hide your dying brain. “Well, maybe if I had a better tutor—”

“Excuse me?” He gasps. “I was the best tutor in a ten-mile radius. Ask Seiko.”

“She failed.”

“That’s on her. I saw her bingeing dramas at 3am instead of studying.”

“I HEARD THAT!” Seiko’s voice rings out from upstairs.

You all crack up. Even Suguru snorts.

And for a moment, it’s perfect. Easy. Like it’s always been this way—like nothing’s going to change.

But you know it is.

He’s leaving. He’s going halfway across the world, and this stupid little crush, this years-long secret you’ve carried like a favorite book, is going to stay just that—yours, and only yours. He won’t remember this night. He’ll have new friends, new people. And you’ll still be here, sixteen-going-on-seventeen, sitting on the floor of your best friend’s house pretending your heart isn’t breaking just from how his knee brushes yours.

Then—

“Hey,” he says suddenly, quiet, leaning in slightly.

You look up, startled. “What?”

His eyes search your face, like he’s seeing something he’s not used to seeing there. Then he reaches out and tugs lightly on the ends of your hair.

“You’re growing this out?”

Your voice almost fails. “Uh… yeah?”

“It looks good,” he says, simple and real, and you can feel your entire bloodstream catch fire.

He’s still watching you.

But then the moment breaks—Seiko barrels down the stairs yelling about Suguru’s Instagram story, and everything shifts back into chaos. He turns away, laughing again, and the quiet slips between your fingers like sand.

Still. You tuck it away.

Into the little folder labeled him.

Because you’ll remember this night.

He won’t.

But you will.

authors note ; wow i love writing this should be my full time job tbh. also dw reader is not 16 in this fic the snippet is like a small flashback sorry jus had 2 make that clear and yes i said brothers bestfriend in my previous posts but bestfriends older brother is so much hotter so i tweaked what i've currently written to all ts sybau pmo icl yo gurt ok bai

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fuddaround · 3 days ago

Text

HOME › paige bueckers x fem!reader

⌗ summary : paige makes sure to see her ex girlfriend one last time before leaving for dallas.

⌗ warnings : mentions of other people, arguing, toxic, cunnilingus, slut shaming, slapping, strap-on (r!receiving), degrading.

⌗ word count : 4.5k

⌗ kay’s notes : pazzi one is coming trust😓

you’re still fixing your shorts when the front door opens.

no knock. no heads up. just unlocked and walked the fuck in.

you freeze in the hallway, half-dressed, barely done saying bye to the girl who just gave you the worst head you’d had in weeks—and there she is.

paige fucking bueckers.

standing in your doorway like she lives there.

her eyes flick from you to the girl behind you. the one adjusting her top, all flustered and confused, like she just walked into some shit she shouldn’t be a part of.

“oh,” paige says. flat. emotionless. “you’ve been busy.”

you don’t answer.

you’re too busy trying not to argue with her right there.

the girl mumbles something awkward, grabs her phone off the table, and slips past paige without even looking at her. the door shuts soft behind her.

then it’s just you and paige.

your heart’s still racing. your lips still swollen. and she’s just standing there with that look on her face.

arms crossed. jaw locked. eyes burning.

“you fucked her,” she says.

“you’re leaving,” you shoot back.

wrong move. her eyebrow lifts.

“you know damn well that’s not the same thing.”

you roll your eyes. grab your water off the counter like you’re not shaking inside.

“you didn’t call. didn’t text. didn’t say shit. what, you thought i was gonna sit around and wait for you to come crawling back?”

she steps closer.

“i wasn’t gonna come crawling.”

“clearly.”

you both stare at each other for a second too long. it’s heavy. old.

you’re both breathing hard. and not because of the girl who just left.

“why are you here, paige?”

“you know why.”

you snort. look away. sip your water even though your throat’s dry as it possibly be could be.

“what, one last fuck before you go play house in texas?”

“nah,” she says. “i wanted to see if you’d say that shit to my face.”

you look back at her. and there it is.

that look.

the one that used to make you fold mid-argument and drop to your knees without a second thought.

you hate how fast your body remembers.

she notices. of course she does.

“did she make you cum?” paige asks, voice low. loaded.

you don’t answer.

“nah,” she smirks. “she didn’t. you’re still wound up. i can see it.”

“fuck you.”

“you tried.”

you slam your cup down. too hard. water splashes onto the counter.

“get out.”

she doesn’t move.

just watches you. eyes soft now. like she knows she’s already won.

“i’m not here to fight, baby.”

“then what are you here for?”

she walks over. real slow. stops in front of you, close enough to feel her breath.

“you already said it.”

you don’t even realize you’re shaking ‘til she touches you.

thumb brushing your jaw. hand sliding into your hair. soft, but not gentle.

never gentle.

“one more,” she says. voice barely above a whisper. “then i’ll go.”

you swallow.

“one more fuck, and you leave for real?”

“if that’s what you want.”

you stare at her. chest tight. throat burning.

because you don’t want her to go. and you hate yourself for that.

but you nod anyway.

because you do want her.

and she knows it.

her hands are on your hips before you can blink.

strong, sure. like she’s done this a thousand times. probably with a thousand girls.

she lifts you up like it’s nothing, like you’re nothing without her, and sets you on the kitchen counter. hard enough to make the cabinets rattle.

your thighs spread on instinct.

and she steps between them like she never stopped belonging there.

you don’t say anything.

just breathe hard as her hands slide under your ass, squeezing until you whine into her. its like she’s pissed that someone else got to touch you. taste you. fuck you.

her mouth crashes into yours, all tongue and teeth and heat. you kiss her back just as rough. desperate. angry. dizzy from the way her lips move like punishment.

she pulls back, breathing heavy, lips slick with spit.

“so,” she says. low. dangerous. “you let that bitch fuck you on our couch?”

you look away. jaw clenched.

wrong move.

her hand snaps up. grabs your chin. not hard, but enough to make you face her.

“answer me, baby. use your words.”

you blink at her. your whole body’s on fire.

“yeah.”

she smirks. slow. mean.

“that’s crazy.”

her fingers trail down, brushing the hem of your shorts.

“you ride her face?”

you flinch.

“paige—”

“nah, mama. don’t start actin’ shy now. you looked real bold when she was zipping up her jeans. so go ahead. tell me what you let her do.”

you squirm. her fingers press harder. not inside, not yet. just enough pressure to make you feel every damn word.

“she ate me out.”

“how long?”

you breathe through your nose. feel your pulse in your throat.

“not long.”

“yeah,” paige scoffs. “figured. probably didn’t even know how to hold your thighs right. probably had my girl so uncomfortable.”

you bite your lip.

she leans in, mouth brushing your jaw.

“did you cum?”

you don’t answer fast enough.

she slides one hand into your waistband. knuckles pressing into your pussy. not moving, just sitting there.

“did you cum, baby?”

“no.”

“fucking knew it.”

she kisses your neck. bites it.

“she ever make you beg?”

“no.”

“make you cry?”

“no.”

“make you say please like a good fuckin’ girl?”

you shake your head, eyes glassy.

paige grins.

“thought so.”

then her fingers slip under your shorts completely.

no panties again.

“damn, ma,” she breathes. “you’re so fuckin wet.”

you gasp when her thumb finds your clit, already swollen and aching.

“see what happens when you stop fuckin around and let me handle it?” she murmurs, dragging her mouth along your collarbone. “pussy’s throbbin for me.”

her fingers slide lower. she teases your entrance. just circling. not giving in yet.

“you gonna let her see you like this again?”

“no.”

“you moan for her like this?”

“no.”

“you save it all f’me, huh?”

you nod. frantic.

“say it.”

“saved it for you.”

“that’s right, baby. my pussy.”

her fingers push in slow.

and your whole body folds into her.

she shoves her fingers in deeper. slow at first. deep. steady. then rough.

your hips jerk. you choke on a moan. her hand grips your throat, light but warning.

“keep fuckin still.”

you nod, trying. but she curls her fingers just right and your body bucks.

“needy ass bitch.” her voice drops. full of heat. venom. love. “you let someone else warm me up? really, baby?”

you gasp.

she slaps your tit. quick. sharp.

your back arches off the counter.

“answer me.”

“i—i didn’t mean to—”

“nah,” she spits. “you meant to.” her fingers slam into you harder. your thighs shake. you claw at the counter.

“you wanted someone to touch you,” she growls. “you just picked wrong.”

“paige, fuck—”

she slaps your other tit. watches it bounce.

smirks.

“look at you. such a fuckin mess for me.” her thumb finds your clit again. circles slow.

“you like that? huh?”

you nod.

“yeah, you do. such a slut, aren’t you? sittin here drippin like you didn’t just cum for someone else.”

“i didn’t—i didn’t cum—”

“damn,” she laughs. dark.

“you let her eat you out and you didn’t cum?”

you shake your head. tears welling.

“then why the fuck you let her touch what’s mine?”

you don’t know what to say. you don’t even care.

“you wanted to feel something,” she mutters. “but this the only thing that ever made you feel, huh?”

she thrusts deeper. faster. you scream.

her hand claps over your mouth.

“shut up.”

your eyes roll. you nod.

“that’s right. take it.” her fingers keep going. relentless. you’re so close it hurts.

“gonna cum?” she asks.

you nod, frantic.

she pulls out.

you whimper.

“aww,” she mocks. “poor baby.” she taps your clit. soft and taunting. your legs tremble.

“you don’t get to cum yet.” slaps your pussy. just once. you jolt.

“slut.”

you bite your lip. sob.

she pushes her fingers back in. slower this time.

but deeper. crueler.

“you know why i do this?”

you blink up at her. lost. wrecked.

“’cause nobody else can.” she kisses your jaw. your ear. “nobody else will.”

you moan. desperate.

she licks your neck. grins against your skin.

“you gonna cum for me now, baby?”

you nod. crying. grinding against her hand.

“you better make a mess.” her voice is thick. rough. serious. “i want it on my fuckin fingers. on the counter. everywhere.”

you cum hard. loud. shaking. clenching around her like your body was waiting for this all damn week.

and she doesn’t stop. she fucks you through it, hand tight on your throat. your eyes flutter. body going limp.

“my nasty little whore,” she whispers. “always knew how to make a scene.”

you’re still shaking when she pulls her fingers out.

slow. wet. dripping.

she kisses your forehead, soft and warm.

too gentle for how she just ruined you.

then she picks you up. arms under your thighs, chest to chest. like you don’t weigh a thing.

you bury your face in her neck. you’re still twitching. still soaked. she smells like sin and safety.

“you good, baby?” she murmurs.

you nod against her skin.

“words.”

“yeah,” you whisper. “i’m good.”

she carries you into the bedroom. lays you down easy. like you’re breakable.

paige brushes your hair back. kisses your cheek.

lets you breathe. lets you settle. then sits on the edge of the bed, hand on your thigh.

“what’s the color?” she asks.

you blink up at her. already floating.

“green.”

“you sure?”

you nod, “green, mama.”

her jaw tightens like she’s proud and she’s starving.

“you want more?”

you nod again, “please.”

she leans down, kisses your mouth slow, “good girl.”

she kisses you once more. then stands up, eyes raking down your body like she’s starving.

“look at you,” she says. low. thick. filthy. “laid out for me like. i only wanna see you like this for me.”

her fingers hook in the waistband of your shorts.

pulls ‘em down slow. slow like punishment.

her eyes never leave yours. not even when she drops to her knees.

“this body?” she mutters. “this shit’s only mine, mama.”

your thighs spread on instinct. she licks her lips.

“fuck,” she whispers. “you’re so pretty when you’re ruined.” kisses your inner thigh.

“bet she didn’t even look at you like this.”

a kiss higher.

then a bite.

you gasp.

“bet she didn’t worship this pussy.”

her tongue presses to your clit, light. a tease. a warning.

you whimper.

she pulls back. grins. “yeah. that’s what i thought.”

then she devours you.

mouth locked. tongue ruthless. not sweet. not soft. just raw.

she eats you like she’s pissed. like she needs to make you forget anyone else ever existed.

your hips jerk. she throws her arm over your stomach. holds you down.

“don’t run, baby. take it.”

her tongue circles, flicks, drags over your clit.

you’re already shaking. already crying.

she moans into you. moans. like she’s the one getting off.

“fuck, ma,” she breathes. “tastes like you missed me.”

you grab at her hair, mind gone.

“she didn’t even know what to do with this, did she?” another slow lick.

you sob.

“you let her try?” she spits on your pussy. sloppy. filthy. rubs it in with her tongue.

“but you saved this mess for me.”

your thighs close around her head. she slaps the inside of your leg.

“open.”

“yeah. that’s it, mama. let me ruin you.”

she starts sucking your clit. hard. wet. relentless. no rhythm. just chaos.

you’re already close. too close. you cum with a scream. loud. raw.

but she doesn’t stop. just keeps licking. teasing. working her fingers in now. slow. two deep.

you cry out. your whole body jolts.

“one’s not enough,” she mutters. “this pussy’s just so greedy, huh?”

you nod. crying. shaking.

“fuckin perfect. all of it.” she kisses your stomach. your hip. then goes right back to sucking your clit while her fingers curl inside you.

you cum again. it rips out of you. like your body’s got no choice.

she still doesn’t stop. over and over.

“you’ll never let anyone else touch you again,” she growls. tongue dragging down. “they don’t deserve you.”

you try to pull away. she grabs your thighs. pulls you back to her mouth.

“don’t you dare.” she slaps your pussy again, making you cry out.

“take it, slut.” she grinds her tongue into you. you’re soaked. ruined. gone.

“my mess. my girl. my fuckin pussy.” each word is a followed with a kiss. a thrust. a claim.

“say it.”

you sob, “yours.”

“louder.”

“yours.”

she kisses your clit one more time. soft, like a thank you.

and you collapse. eyes fluttering. body twitching. completely gone.

you’re still shaking when she climbs off the bed.

your thighs glistening. twitching. pussy pulsing.

you whimper when she moves away. voice all broken. soft.

“where—where are you going?”

paige smirks. glances over her shoulder.

walks to your drawer. her drawer. where the strap’s already waiting.

“calm down, baby,” she mutters, digging it out.

“actin like i’m not about to ruin you again.”

your breath catches. eyes wide. pupils blown.

“but i want you now,” you whine, so soft. so sweet.

she raises a brow.

“oh, now you want me?” straps it on slow. cock heavy, mean-looking. snug against her hips.

you nod, lip trembling. “please.”

she chuckles. low. condescending.

“you don’t even know what you’re beggin for.”

walks back over. lazy. cocky. like she’s got all night to break you.

you spread your legs, still leaking.

“look at you,” she mutters. grabs your hips, flips you over. you yelp.

she presses your face to the mattress.

“needy fuckin brat.” spits on her hand. strokes the strap. lines it up with your soaked pussy.

“you sure you can take it, mama?”

you nod. whiny again, “please, i need it.”

“oh, you need it?” she leans down. mouth by your ear. grinds the tip against you. not in. just teasing.

“say that shit again.”

“i need it. i need you. please, paige—”

that’s all she needed.

she pushes in slow.

you gasp. arch.

she grabs your waist, pulls you back onto it.

buries it deep.

“there you go,” she growls. “take it. just like that.”

you’re already moaning. can’t help it.

“f-fuck, it’s big—”

she laughs. dark. “nah, ma. you’re just tight. ain’t been fucked right in a minute, huh?”

you whine. nod into the sheets.

she starts thrusting. slow at first. deep. rough. her hips smack your ass, rhythm mean.

you’re sobbing again. back arching.

“what happened to all that shit you were talkin earlier?” a slap to your ass. sharp.

you cry out.

“you was bold when she had her tongue in you.”

another slap, “now you’re just my whiny little slut again.”

“i am—i’m yours—”

she grabs your hair. yanks your head back.

bends over you.

“say it like you fuckin mean it.”

“i’m yours,” you cry. “all yours. nobody else—”

“that’s right.” she lets go. slams her hips in harder.

“this pussy’s mine. this body’s mine. this fuckin mouth—” leans down, kisses the side of your face.

“mine.”

you’re clenching around her. it’s too much.

you can’t stop whining.

“shhh, baby,” she coos. mocking. gentle. fucks you through every moan.

“you wanted this. remember?” drives it in deep. holds it there. you scream.

“you fuckin asked for this.” pulls out. slams back in.

your legs give out.

she grabs your waist, holds you up. makes you take it.

you’re babbling. nonsense. praise. desperate apologies.

“you look so pretty like this,” she mutters.

“gettin fucked dumb. can’t even think straight.”

you sob. eyes rolled back.

she slows, just a little and rubs your lower back.

“you good, mama?”

you nod. barely conscious.

she kisses your shoulder. then starts up again.

paige slows down just to watch it. her hands spread across your ass, big and possessive. thumbs pressing into the dimples on your lower back.

“god damn, baby.” she moans like she’s the one getting fucked. like your ass alone could get her off.

grinds her hips into you, slow and deep. drags the strap all the way out just to slam it back in. your whole body jolts forward with the impact.

she stares down, eyes glassy. obsessed. you’re leaking down your thighs. ass flushed, moving with every thrust.

“look at this fuckin ass,” she breathes. rakes her nails down your sides.

you whimper, barely holding yourself up.

she smacks it. loud. sharp. the sound bounces off the walls.

you moan like it’s your name.

“you know how long i missed this shit?” another slap. harder. she grabs both cheeks after, spreads you wide.

“nobody else gets this view,” she mutters. “nobody else even deserves it.”

your face is buried in the sheets, crying, ruined.

“you been walkin around actin like this ass don’t belong to me,” she says. starts fucking you harder. deep, cruel strokes.

“but i know it does.” she’s panting. voice cracked.

you’re babbling again, sobbing into the bed.

“you hear that?” slap. grind. thrust. “that’s mine, mama.”

her hands stay on your ass. one gripping, the other slapping. then both squeeze hard enough to bruise.

you whimper into the sheets, “too much—”

she grabs your hips. yanks you back. the strap drives in deeper than before.

“don’t care.” her voice drops. deadly calm. “you wanted me, remember?”

you nod. choking on your moans.

“wanted to fuck one more time before i leave.” another hard thrust. your legs almost give out.

“this what you wanted, right?” she pulls out. slaps your pussy with the tip.

you sob.

“answer me, slut.”

“yes—fuck—yes.”

“yeah you did.” she slams back in.

you scream.

“nobody ever gonna fuck you like this again.”

her hands trail up. grabs your tits from behind. pinches your nipples.

“not like me.” she bites your shoulder.

you shiver. melt.

“they don’t know this body. and won’t ever knownit like i do.” her hand reaches down. rubs your clit slow while she fucks into you hard. over and over. like she wants to imprint herself inside you.

“you know why you keep lettin me back in?”

her voice is ragged. desperate.

you shake your head. can’t even speak.

“’cause this pussy belongs to me.” she leans forward, cock buried deep. grinds into you. you feel her everywhere.

“this ass—” grabs it again, spreads you wider “all mine.”

you’re losing it. legs twitching. body soaked.

she starts fucking you faster. rough. hard. unrelenting. her hips slamming into your ass like she wants to live there.

“cum for me,” she growls. “make a mess all over my cock.”

you try. you fight it.

she slaps your clit. just once.

you explode. scream into the sheets. body collapsing.

she doesn’t stop.

“that’s my girl.” thrusts slow now. deep. lets you feel every inch.

“fucked dumb. used up. perfect.”

you can’t move. can’t breathe.

she finally slows. pulls out. watches your hole twitch. open. dripping.

“so so beautiful,” she whispers.

she leans down. kisses the small of your back.

“you still mine, baby?”

you nod into the mattress, “always.”

she lays over you, still in the strap. lets you feel her weight. mouth against your spine.

“my good girl.”

you’re still shaking when she rolls onto her back.

chest rising slow. cock still strapped in, glistening with you. hands behind her head. eyes smug.

“come sit, mama.” voice low. taunting. like she didn’t just break you for the billionth time.

you blink down at her. ruined. but something in you switches. snaps.

you crawl up. slow. straddle her waist. reach back and grab the strap.

her brows raise, “you got more in you, huh?”

you line it up. sink down. both of you gasp.

“fuck,” you whisper.

“yeah,” she grins. “that’s it.”

you start to move. hips grinding slow.

she doesn’t touch you yet. just watches.

“look at you,” she mutters, “bouncin on my dick like you ain’t just get your soul snatched.”

you roll your eyes, “you act like you’re the only one who knows how to fuck.”

she laughs. smug, “prove me wrong then.”

you start riding harder. hands on her chest, using her for balance.

“don’t worry,” you pant. “i will.”

she reaches up, grabs your tits. squeezes. plays with them, “these still mine too?”

you slap her hands away, “you wish.”

she grabs them again anyway. harder.

“nah, mama. they always been mine.” leans up, mouths at one. sucks hard. you moan, grind down rough.

“you’re so cocky for someone i made cry like a lil bitch ten minutes ago.” she pulls off your tit with a pop. smirks. “you’re still crying.”

you are. you don’t care. you’re still fucking yourself on her.

“maybe ‘cause you talk too fuckin much.” you dig your nails into her chest.

she laughs again. cocky. feral.

“keep runnin your mouth, baby. all you do is prove how much you love this dick.” she grabs your hips now. helps you grind. just to watch your face crumble.

you try to stay mean. but it’s too much. she’s too deep.

you stutter out a moan. hips slowing.

“tired already?” she taunts. “thought you had somethin to prove.”

“shut up,” you breathe.

“make me.”

you lean down. kiss her hard. bite her lip.

she moans into your mouth. hands still on your tits. still playing. like they’re hers.

“fuck, ma,” she groans. “this pussy was made for me.”

you bounce harder. faster. chasing it now.

“you ain’t shit without me,” she whispers. “just some messy lil slut that needs my dick to feel whole.”

you hold onto her chest, “and you ain’t ever gonna fuckin leave me alone.”

she grins. wild. possessive.

“never.” her thumb finds your clit. circles it.

you gasp.

“you’re mine, mama. all of you.”

you start falling apart again.

body jerking. mouth open.

“cum on it,” she growls. “right now. let me feel it.”

you do. hard. violent. you scream her name, claw her biceps.

she grabs your ass while you’re twitching.

presses you down. keeps you there.

“fuckin knew it,” she whispers. “can’t fuckin leave me.”

you collapse on her chest. shaking. wet.

“i hate you,” you mumble. voice hoarse.

she kisses your temple. “i know, baby.” grins. “i hate you too.”

you’re still on her. chest to chest. breath ragged.

cock still buried deep inside you.

she’s got one hand on your ass, squeezing. other in your hair. but you’re glaring.

“so who the fuck was that girl?” your voice is cracked. still breathless, but angry now.

paige blinks. scoffs.

here we go.

“seriously?” grips your waist tighter. ruts her hips up once. sharp.

you moan. slap her shoulder.

“don’t fuckin dodge it, bueckers.”

she laughs under her breath. that condescending one.

“you were literally getting fucked when i walked in.” another thrust. deeper. “and you’re seriously worried about me?”

you flinch. gasp. but you don’t stop riding. if anything, you slam down harder.

“you didn’t look bothered,” you spit. “walked in like you still owned the place.”

“i do have a key still.” her voice is flat. eyes sharp.

you grip her shoulders, nails digging in.

“you fuck her?”

she grinds up into you slow. smirks, “you want the truth?”

you hesitate.

she leans up. mouth to your ear. thrusts slow, brutal.

“nah. i didn’t. but i could’ve.”

your whole body tenses.

“fuck you.” you start riding again. angry. fast.

she groans. loves it.

“you’re so full of shit,” she mutters, palming your tits again, rough.

“actin jealous while this pussy’s still mine.”

“you don’t own me.” you’re breathless. grinding hard.

“nah?” she sits up. wraps her arms around you.

starts fucking up into you, rough now.

“then why you still let me in here?” kisses your jaw. your neck.

you moan, try to pull away.

“why you still let me fuck you like this?” bites your collarbone.

“because i love you, dumbass!”

that makes her pause.

just for a second.

then she slams up into you again.

you cry out. nails in her back.

“say that shit again.” her voice is low. cracked.

“i love you.” you’re sobbing. grinding on her like you need it to breathe.

she groans. throws her head back.

“fuck, mama.” hands on your ass again, bouncing you.

“you love me like this?”

slams up harder.

you nod. gasping.

“you love me when i fuck you like i hate you?”

another thrust. mean. deep.

“when i own you?”

you sob out a yes.

“you love me when i’m a fuckin problem?”

“always,” you cry. “always, paige.”

she pulls you down. kisses you hard. all teeth and tongue.

“mine,” she growls. “mine forever.”

you fall apart in her arms again. crying into her mouth. clenching around her.

“say it back,” she demands.

“yours,” you breathe. “always yours.”

she fucks you through it. slow now. deep. possessive.

“i love you.” she whispers as she kisses your neck. “don’t ever forget it.”

she wipes you down with your favorite towel.

the one she bought you. kisses your thighs like an apology she’ll never say out loud.

wraps you in her arms after, still naked.

still inside the mess of it. you’re both quiet. just breathing.

“i’m gonna fuckin miss you,” you whisper.

barely more than a breath.

she pulls you closer.

“i never stopped.”

you blink.

“what?”

“missin you,” she mumbles, lips against your shoulder, “even when i was right here.”

you turn to face her, press your forehead to hers.

“don’t be soft now,” you whisper. smile cracked, eyes glossy.

she shrugs, “too late.”

you kiss her. slow. tired.

she stays the night, arm over your waist, face buried in your neck. you both pretend it doesn’t hurt. just for a little longer.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers fanfic #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x reader #kay’s fics ⊹ ࣪ ˖#kay writes ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ #wlw #lesbian #wlw smut

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smileysuh · 2 days ago

Text

no face

🌙 starring. Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. Wonwoo is even more gorgeous than you’d ever imagined the anonymous No Face being, and this time, when you close your eyes to listen to the cam boy moan, you imagine your history partner above you, his hand down your pants as he rubs you closer and closer to the edge.

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, mutual masterbation, mention of cam shows/watching cam shows, extreme dirty talk, alter ago dom cam boy Wonwoo, pussy eating oral, multiple reader orgasms, overstimulation, praise, encouragement, multiple sex scenes, fingering, body/breast worship, etc… I pet names: (hers) baby.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 7.6k

🍭 aus. Svt cam boy au, frat au, university au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. This is part 1 of a 3 part cam boy svt au. Each story can be read as a stand alone, but exists within the same universe :) Wonwoo is April, Seungcheol is May, and Mingyu will be in June. As soon as all 3 are up, a masterlist will be created, which will then be linked here.

Prologue:

You never thought you’d be the type of girl to enjoy watching men get off through a computer. But then someone had recommended a cam boy to you, and one video had hooked you unlike anything else.

Being in university isn’t easy. It’s stress on stress on more stress and then a little bit extra stress just to round things out- and sometimes, a girl just has to get her rocks off without worries.

To you, cam boy No Face is the perfect distraction.

This faceless man, who usually films from the shoulders down. There’s something so specific and endearing about him. His pretty veiny hands, forearms showed off by black compression shirts with the sleeves rolled up-

His sounds are also like heaven, and sometimes you close your eyes and just listen to him, imagining he’s the one getting you off.

People talk about the dangers of porn, but fuck it, being a tad addicted to No Face is your own kind of dark chocolate and red wine, and no one is going to make you feel bad about needing an outlet for your pent up sexual energy.

He’s a gamer too, a faceless one the likes of Corpse Husband and Dream (before the face reveal of course), and you love the fact that he’s multidimensional.

When you’re studying, his gaming streams are in the background, and when you’re done studying and ready to reward yourself, it’s straight to his OnlyFans.

Recently, he’s taken to wearing a neon blue accented purge face mask, and you love the way his dark curls obscure around the plastic.

He’s a handsome man, you can just feel it in your bones, and you can feel your orgasm roll through every inch of your entire body every time you cum with the help of No Face.

One:

History classes can be a bit of a bore at times, and as someone of a recluse, you don’t get the joy of friendly chats with other girlies. No, history is your solitary work load, which is why you’re dreading the group project that’s being set up today.

The teacher gives students the benefit of choosing their own partners. This isn’t high school, and your professor knows most people already have connections that work well for this sort of thing… most people.

You look around as people pair up, and you feel like there’s a frog in your throat. You don’t have it within you to make that leap, to ask someone to be your partner-

Which is when you notice the other antisocial person who sits at the back of the class. He’s handsome, with an angular bone structure. You’ve never once seen him smile, and that mirrored recluse nature throws you off a bit.

To make matters worse, he has dark curly hair, just like your No Face, and everytime you look at him, your mind conjures up whispered words of encouragement to throw you over the edge, and your panties get wet in history, which is a very inopportune time to be getting horny if you’re honest with yourself.

His eyes meet yours, and you immediately look away, but you can sense him standing up to talk to you.

“Do you have a partner?” he asks.

“Uh… not really.”

“Me neither.”

There’s an xawkward silence for a moment, and then you release a sigh, looking up at him. “So… should we do the project together.”

“Guess that makes sense.” He nods.

You tell him your name, and he introduces himself as Jeon Wonwoo. You exchange details and as he speaks, there’s something even more familiar about him, but you brush it off.

“So… when are you free?” Wonwoo asks, pulling you out of your daze.

“I could do the library after my last class ends, let’s say four oclock?”

“I’ll see you there.”

Two:

Wonwoo is easy enough to work with. He’s not very opinionated, and he has let you choose what topic you wanted to work on for your project. Now, the two of you are getting preliminary readings out of the way, looking into the online research that would provide the backbone of your argument for the essay portion.

You find yourself looking at him very frequently, after all, he’s a striking man, and you’re a horny girl who has been so busy doing university courses that you haven’t had the time to get laid in forever.

Your gaze dips, and you stare at his hands as he toys with his pencil. It must be some sort of anxiety calming repetitive behaviour, the way he flicks it, traces his thumb and pointer down the wood, then flicks it again.

As you’re looking at him, you notice the details of his fingers.

Although No Face’s cock is significantly - significantly - bigger than this tiny pencil, the phalic shape is the same. You’ve watched so many No Face videos, and Wonwoo’s fingers are undeniably the same as your favourite cam boy’s.

You feel like you’ve choked on air, and you look up at Wonwoo, imagining him with that neon blue purge mask.

He’s got the dark hair, the curls- he’s even wearing a black compression shirt today.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, drawing his attention immediately.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, fuck, uh-” You look away, feeling your skin heat with embarrassment. “It’s just hot in here.”

Wonwoo simply gazes at you, and you find yourself standing up.

“I’m just going to pop outside for some air,” you tell him, not even waiting for a response as you grab your phone and dart away.

It’s only once you’re under the blue sky, feeling the cool air against your skin, that you’re able to take a moment.

You’re in a group project with your favourite gamer boy OnlyFans model, and you’re going to have to pretend as if you haven’t cum to his videos countless times.

If this is how you’re going to react every time he’s around - skin heating, heart racing, hands getting clammy - well, you’re in deep shit.

Three:

“No, I swear to God, Tina, my history project partner is No Face!”

Your friend is silent for a moment, simply watching you. “But like… how sure?”

“Tina!” You narrow your eyes at her with exasperation. “You know I watch him religiously!”

Tina nods. “I mean… there are rumours that some of the Sigma Veta Tau frat guys are into the whole cam thing, some of the sororities too.”

“Rumours?”

“Nothing confirmed, obviously, if any of them are in on that whole OnlyFans world, they’re smart enough to not show their faces.” Tina releases a sigh. “There’s a frat party tomorrow at SVT actually, maybe… we should go and I can see Wonwoo for myself.”

“Okay, but! Tina, I’m calling dibs.”

“You can’t call dibs! I showed him to you!” Tina argues.

“This isn’t time for girl code or anything else, I know you watch multiple streamers- No Face is the only one I watch, no one else has ever interested me. And I’m the one who made the connection! Tina, for real. Please.”

She releases a deep groan. “Fuck it. Fine. I guess. But if he hits on me, I’m going for it.”

“I guess you’re wearing a full sweater and showing no skin at the party tomorrow then.”

Four:

Wonwoo’s shocked to see you at his frat for a party. From being in classes with you for the first part of term, he’s pegged you as a shy and quiet type, much like himself. All month, he’s never seen you speak to anyone. You show up, take your seat at the very back of the room, and don’t open your mouth for anything.

Luckily for Wonwoo, he’s into the shy and quiet type. While his best friends are loud and boisterous, he could never see himself with a party girl, which is why he doesn’t have much of a social battery for being at his frat parties for longer than absolutely necessary.

Mingyu - the aforementioned loud and boisterous best friend - is next to Wonwoo, and Wonwoo can feel his gaze.

“Are you checking out that girl?” Mingyu asks.

“I have a class project with her,” Wonwoo responds casually, sipping his beer.

“She’s cute.”

Wonwoo simply shrugs, not wanting to divulge too deeply into his interest of you just yet. He’s a careful type, and with his scandalous online alter ego, he has to be.

“You should go get her a drink,” Mingyu continues.

“She’ll be fine.”

“If you don’t get her one, I will.”

Now Wonwoo turns to look at his friend, and the challenging gaze he receives in return makes him sigh. “Fine.”

“That’s my boy!” Mingyu grins, clapping Wonwoo on the back.

Despite Wonwoo’s confident persona online, he doesn’t have much experience with women. He’d gotten into the gaming scene first, learned how to be social and how to talk to followers of all types. Somehow that had translated to making an OnlyFans.

Choi Seungcheol, frat president, had seen his follower number on Twitch, and had suggested the creation of OnlyFans. Sex sells, and the business major had run the numbers. Cheol had broken down that if even one percent of Wonwoo’s following made the transfer to OnlyFans, Wonwoo could be making serious bank every month.

Both men were shocked to find a whopping five percent of Wonwoo’s followers had initially made the move with him to OnlyFans, and since then, that number has only grown.

Wonwoo tries to channel that confidence as he approaches you, and he kind of likes the way you jump when he gently touches your elbow to gain your attention.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you respond, eyes wide. You look like a frozen deer, caught in headlights, and Wonwoo’s not sure if he wants to swerve, or hit this whole thing with full force.

“Want a drink?”

You nod, and Wonwoo leads you to the kitchen, where he finds you a beer.

“I’ve never seen you at one of these things,” he notes, stepping closer to you so you can hear each other over the loud music.

“I’ve never been to one,” you admit.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Wonwoo asks next, although, he suspects he already knows the answer.

“Uh… it’s loud.”

“Do you want to move somewhere quieter?”

He notes the way you swallow thickly, the way your pupils blow- but you nod, and Wonwoo once again grabs your arm to gently lead you to a different destination in the house.

His room is on the third floor, and he’s one of the lucky few that doesn’t have a roommate. The sound dies down significantly as soon as the door is shut behind the both of you, and Wonwoo welcomes the reprieve.

“I like your set up,” you tell him, looking around at all the neon blue and the PC set up.

“Yeah, I’m a bit of a gaming fan.”

“I can see that.” You’re quiet for a moment, and then you ask, “What are your favourite games to play?”

“Call of Duty is fun, League of Legends, Fortnite, all the usual ones,” he responds, moving toward his bed, where he takes a seat.

“Ah, right.” You nod, taking a sip of your beer.

“Do you game?”

“I watch gamers more than I play, you know, something to have on in the background while I study.” Your eyes meet, and you quickly look away.

There’s something in your body language that is throwing Wonwoo off, and the fact that you’ve just mentioned you watch streamers is a bit of an indicator that things might not be all that they seem with you.

Could you know who he is?

Was bringing you up here a mistake?

If you’ve ever seen one of his Twitch streams, will you be able to make the connection between him and the room?

It’s not like his streams show a lot of the room, but they show enough- and neon blue is a bit of a signature colour of his.

Neither of you say anything, and then you take a quick breath. “Anyways, I’m here with my friend Tina, and she’s probably wondering where I am-”

“You should get back to it then,” Wonwoo tells you.

“Yeah. But uh… we’re still on for our library study thing on Monday, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Five:

When No Face puts up a new video on his OnlyFans, you take the opportunity to get a better look at his bedroom.

Two seconds into the video you’re convinced that your quiet history partner is, in fact, the notorious faceless gamer turned cam boy, and it makes your stomach turn into knots.

Is it bad to keep watching this, knowing what you now know?

Is it… disrespectful to Wonwoo to be watching him? To have your hand slowly snaking into your pants as your pussy gets wetter by the second?

Do you have any chance with him?

Is this whole thing a dream?

You’ve been obsessed with one gamer/cam boy in your life, and suddenly he’s your history partner?

You thank whatever God is out there for this coincidental and miraculous turn of events, and you let out a breath as you begin to toy with your clit, relaxing against your pillows.

No Face has such a pretty cock. It’s the perfect size, and it looks even better with his long, slender fingers wrapped around it.

You listen to his quiet moans, and they urge you to echo them as you masturbate in your room.

Wonwoo’s only ever filmed himself. He’s a strictly solo man… there’s a possibility you have a chance with him romantically - or maybe even just sexually. If he gives you any chance at all, you’ll take it, everything else be damned.

Wonwoo is even more gorgeous than you’d ever imagined the anonymous No Face being, and this time, when you close your eyes to listen to the cam boy moan, you imagine your history partner above you, his hand down your pants as he rubs you closer and closer to the edge.

Six:

You need at least one citation from a physical book for your report, so today, you and Wonwoo are perusing amongst the shelves, searching for a few titles you have identified for possible quotes.

Your heart is racing just from being near Wonwoo, and you sense his gaze more often than not.

“You okay?” Wonwoo asks.

“Hmm?”

“You’re quiet today.”

“I’m always quiet,” you retort… quietly.

Wonwoo releases a chuckle, and you think it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him smile. The sight of his pretty pearly whites, the sharp canines, the way his eyes crinkle- it has your stomach erupting with butterflies.

“More quiet than usual,” Wonwoo corrects himself.

“I think you’re more talkative than usual,” you point out.

“Maybe.”

You take a breath, wondering if you should tell him that you know who he is.

If you tell him, it’s an admission that you’ve seen his Twitch or his OnlyFans- and you wonder if that will make him uncomfortable.

The two of you are quiet for another couple of minutes, but finally, you can’t take it anymore.

“I’m just going to say it,” you blurt out, drawing his eyes. “I know who you are.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re No Face, aren’t you?”

Wonwoo is quiet.

A groan escapes you. “Fuck, this whole thing is so uncomfortable, I shouldn’t have said anything, because now it’s going to make you uncomfortable-”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” he interjects.

“You’re not?”

Wonwoo shakes his head. “Just wondering which platform you’ve watched me on.”

Your heart lurches violently in your chest, and your throat all but closes up again. You choke a little on your response. “I, uh- I-”

“I’m guessing both,” Wonwoo concludes.

You’re gaze moves down the floor immediately, that familiar heat blooming through your skin, a sign of the embarrassment that surges through you.

“It’s kind of hot that you’ve watched me before,” Wonwoo sighs. “How could you tell it was me?”

“Your hands,” you say meekly.

“My hands?” You can hear the shock in his voice. “Wow, you must watch me a lot.”

“I do,” another half whimpered response, an embarrassed admittance of your cam boy loving ways.

“Don’t be shy about it,” Wonwoo tells you, and he steps closer. You instinctively move back, only for your shoulders to bump into the shelves behind you. It’s interesting how suddenly your history partner has changed from shy boy Wonwoo, to confident cam boy No Face, and you can feel your core getting wetter with each tension fueled moment. “I appreciate you being transparent with me.”

You finally look up at him, and you catch Wonwoo’s gaze dip to your lips.

Before you can even register what’s happening, Wonwoo is leaning in, and your body reacts on it’s own accord.

Your arms throw themselves around the back of his neck, and you press your lips to his. Your chests meet as Wonwoo wraps you in his embrace, his mouth hot as it moves on your own. He pushes you back against the shelves and you can’t even find it within yourself to care that you’re making out with him in a library.

There’s no shame as you make out with Wonwoo, accepting his tongue into your mouth with a delighted groan, there’s only intense pleasure, and an ecstasy like feeling of absolute elatedness that you’ve never experienced in your whole life.

Then- a sound in the periphery of your surroundings makes you jump, and you pull away from Wonwoo, looking around wildly.

“Shit,” you whisper, tearing yourself out of his embrace. “This was- uh, that was- um… I have to go!”

You find yourself running away, and you’re not even sure why. All you know is that you’re completely overwhelmed, and once again, being in the presence of the notorious No Face has you needing air like a fish out of water needs H2O.

Seven:

You shouldn’t be shocked when Wonwoo sits next to you in history class. He doesn’t say anything, but half way through the seminar, his hand moves to your knee.

Your heart is racing in your chest, a mix of anxiety and excitement. He hasn’t reached out to you since you ran away from him in the library, and you have no idea where you stand with him, so instead, you just stare at his hand.

There’s this general sense that you both deeply want each other, and it distracts you all the way until class is over.

As students stand up around you, hurrying to their next engagements, you turn to look at Wonwoo.

“What are we doing?”

“A project.”

“You know what I mean,” you sigh.

“We’re doing whatever you want.”

“Okay,” you take a breath. “But I’m shy, I don’t normally do hookups, and-”

“I don’t do hookups either.”

“You don’t?”

“There’s a reason I do solos,” Wonwoo points out.

“I guess that’s true.”

“Does the whole No Face thing bug you?” he enquires.

“Not really,” you admit. “I mean, in this day and age, most people have done it. Not me, but, you know, most people.”

Wonwoo lets out a chuckle, then it dies down. “So… do you want to be there for my next stream? You know, sitting behind the camera, watching?”

You swear it’s as if there’s a flood in your panties, and your heart leaps like a professional olympic high jumper.

“Yes,” you squeak.

Wonwoo smiles broadly. “This will be fun.”

Eight:

You’re sitting on Wonwoo’s bed, body tense with anticipation.

His camera is set up, and it’s the only thing between the two of you as he lounges in his gaming chair.

The neon blue purge mask is obscuring his features, but you can feel his eyes on you. He’s hit the record button, and you’re committed to being a silent watcher as Wonwoo visibly slips into his No Face alter ego.

There’s something about the way his shoulders drop, the way he tilts his head back, exposing his pretty throat as he gets comfortable in the chair.

Wonwoo’s hand drops down to the front of his pants, and he palms himself gently, releasing a sigh.

“Feels good,” he muses, voice deeper than it usually is in every day life. “Wish it was your hands touching me though.”

Your body tingles with the realization he’s talking to you. Sure, he dirty talks for his shows all the time, but today, it’s different.

Today, No Face is literally talking directly to you, but all his words will be eaten up by his subscribers too. It’s your very own personal cam show, and no one else ever has to know.

“Are you going to get started too, baby?” Wonwoo asks. “I can’t be the only one getting off, and we both know you’re here watching this because you want something in return. So don’t be shy.”

You swallow thickly, heart racing in your chest.

“How about this, I strip tease for you, and in return, you get yourself ready for me?” he suggests.

It’s almost hard to breathe now, but you nod, staring directly at Wonwoo. You know his eyes are on you. At this point, it’s clear he’s ignoring the camera completely, but with his face obscured by the mask, his subscribers will be none the wiser to the true event taking place.

Wonwoo starts by gently lifting up his shirt, exposing hard abs and a lean muscled body that has your core already throbbing with need.

Compression shirts are part of his brand, so Wonwoo stops the teasing there, hands instead dropping to the belt of his black jeans. He’s slow with undoing it, slow with the way his long fingers toy with his button and zipper.

He releases a sigh as he lifts his hips, pushing his pants down to his knees. His thighs bulge where they press against the black leather of his gaming chair, but the bulge in his underwear is even bigger, and it makes you unconsciously lick your lips as your eyes stay glued to every motion.

“Come on, baby, be good for me,” Wonwoo tells you, and it snaps you out of your trance.

You realize you need to be doing something too- that’s the whole intrigue of this. Wonwoo gets off on camera, and you get off behind it. Mutual masturbation, in the sexiest possible form.

Truly no hands on, just self gratification while watching the other pleasure themself.

You remove your shirt, and Wonwoo lets out a groan. “That’s it.”

Deciding to keep your bra on for now, your hands slip to your own pants, and you carefully take them off.

“Want to see you,” Wonwoo says, palming himself through his underwear.

Your hands are shaking as you remove your panties, body alight with energy. It’s not shyness per se- more like shock that you’re even in this situation.

You want it, so fucking bad, but it’s a truly difficult thing to wrap your head around. This situation is unlike anything you could have imagined in your wildest dreams, and you’ve never been more turned on in your entire life.

You’re now bare on your lower half, and you relax against the bed, lifting your legs so your feet are on the mattress, your pussy spread for Wonwoo.

He releases another deep groan, shifting his own underwear down.

His beautiful cock slaps up against his stomach, and he immediately wraps a hand around it.

There’s a bottle of lube next to him, and you watch him spurt some onto his palm, when he brings it to his cock again, you begin to touch your pussy.

You start with your clit, drawing slow cirlces while Wonwoo strokes himself, matching your pace.

“Mmm, that’s good,” Wonwoo muses, relaxing back against his gaming chair. His head lolls back, but you know his eyes are still entirely focused on you. “I know you’re feeling good too, aren’t you, baby?”

Since he’s on camera, you know you can’t make a sound, but you nod aggressively, swallowing the lump in your throat as you apply more pressure to your clit.

“That’s it, rub harder,” Wonwoo encourages you. “Bet you’re all nice and wet for me already, huh?”

It’s hard to hold in the moan that threatens to escape you, but you nod again, biting your lip to force yourself not to make a sound.

“I can just imagine your mouth on my cock, sucking me so good,” Wonwoo says. “How I’d grab your hair and help you find a rhythm. Bet you’d kind of love choking on it, love the way tears roll down your cheeks as I use you.”

Your toes curl at his words, and you rub your clit even harder, the knots in your stomach tightening deliciously.

“When you got me to the edge, I’d switch things up. I’d lay you down on the bed, eating you out until you cum on my tongue, until your thighs are shaking around my head. I’d hold you down too, because I know you’d like that. Something tells me you want to be dominated, and I could show you what that’s like.”

It’s as if he’s read your mind, as if he knows you better than you know yourself.

“Once you’re good and ready, I’d finally give you my cock,” Wonwoo groans, increasing the pace of his strokes along his length. “Bet you’d love that, wouldn’t you? Love to have me spreading open your insides and fucking you stupid.”

Your breathing is shaky as you rub your clit, your heart racing in your chest. Your eyes close a little as you focus on the overwhelming sensation of pleasure that’s beginning to blossom inside of you.

“I think you should slip a finger in, baby, imagine it’s mine.”

Your eyes snap open again as you stare at him.

“Come on, do as I say.”

With a shaky hand, you bring your fingers to your core, slipping one into your obscenely wet hole.

“Hmm, that’s it,” Wonwoo groans. “Bet you wish it was bigger though, huh?”

You nod, biting your lip even harder in an effort to control yourself.

“Add another finger then. They’re still not as big as mine, but you can dream, right?”

God, you were not mentally prepared for this.

To be the sole focus of No Face is the most sinfully wonderful thing you could ever experience, and the way your body reacts to his commands- following through without your mind even registering it now-

Wonwoo has you in a daze, and you kind of love it.

“Fuck that pussy with those tiny fingers, baby,” Wonwoo encourages you. “I wanna hear it.”

You’re so wet you’re almost afraid his camera will be able to pick up the sound of your squelching pussy, but fuck it- he’s given you a command so you’ll follow through.

“That’s it, feels good, huh?”

You can see he’s stroking his cock harder, and it makes your mouth begin to salivate as you watch.

“Do you think you’re close, baby?” Wonwoo asks.

You nod.

“I’m close too, something about this has me hornier than usual. Thinking about tasting you, about fucking you with my fingers then railing you with my cock- you’re doing something to me, baby, and I know I’m doing something to you too.”

You nod again, more enthusiastically this time.

“Rub your clit again, want to watch you cum for me.”

You do as he says, and you bite hard on your lip again, throwing your head back, eyes closing as you focus on the feeling.

Wonwoo begins to moan as he watches you, and you’ve seen enough videos of his to know that this is a sign he’s near the edge too.

You can hear the wet slapping of his lubed hand now, and you know he’s beating himself off hard and fast- you bet he wishes it was your pussy on his cock right now, and it makes your toes curl again as you get closer and closer to your own high.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Wonwoo moans. “Come on, you can cum for me.”

You nod, muscles tightening to an impossible limit-

“That’s it, that’s it-”

Wonwoo’s encouragement throws you over the edge and you fall backward onto his bed, grabbing a pillow to put over your face, muffling your moans as your orgasm washes through you.

Your whole body is throbbing with sexual energy, thighs already shaking as you continue to rub yourself through it- having not received a command that you could stop.

You pray to God that the pillow is enough to muffle your sounds, because the whimpers escaping you are no longer something you can keep in- especially when Wonwoo releases a grunt of his own, a sign that he’s cum too.

A shiver of tingles errupts through you at the notion that he’s tipped over the edge, that the two of you have cum together in a situation like this.

Your mind is practically blank except for this moment, and as your orgasm dies down, you can’t ignore the racing of your heart in your chest.

“That’s a good girl,” Wonwoo groans, voice drawing you back to reality.

You move the pillow away, pulling your hand from your core as you sit up again, blinking at Wonwoo.

He’s cum all over his chest, and it’s a big load too- fuck, part of you wants to just lick it up.

“You were a good girl for me tonight,” Wonwoo says. “Such a good girl.”

He’s gently toying with his cock still, but finally he stops, and after a deep sigh, he turns off the camera.

The two of you sit there in silence for a moment, and once Wonwoo has the cap back on his camera’s lens, he pulls off his mask.

His skin is flushed, and he looks absolutely beautiful. There’s nothing like a post orgasmic glow to bring light to someone’s eyes.

“You good?” he asks, voice returning to its normal tone.

“That was amazing,” you whisper.

“I can’t believe you’re seriously okay with all of this,” Wonwoo admits with a sigh, running a hand through his unruly curls before reaching for some tissue to begin wiping up his mess.

“I am.”

He chuckles. “I can tell you’re overwhelmed though.”

“Maybe a little,” you admit, anticipation bubbling through you.

“I think it’s best if we call it a night.” Wonwoo says, and something sinks within your chest at his words. “I want to fuck you, I do, but… I want to give you time to think about all of this.”

“I have thought about all of this,” you counter.

“You’ve thought about fucking No Face, but off camera, I’m just Wonwoo, and I don’t want you to be disappointed with… the reality of me. No Face is a persona, and I need to know you understand that.”

You consider his words, and nod. “I’ll spend some time thinking about all of this.”

“But we’re still on for studying in a couple of days, right?”

“Regardless of us, we have a project to finish,” you nod.

Wonwoo smiles. “Thanks for coming today, it made a difference.”

Nine:

The two of you are studying in Wonwoo’s room, and as hours pass by, it’s getting harder and harder for you to focus.

There’s a tension in the space that you could cut with a knife, and your panties have been wet since you arrived.

In the past couple of days, you’ve given the whole situation a lot of thought… and you may have rewatched the camshow you did with him about a hundred times too.

“Wonwoo?” you ask, putting your laptop to the side.

“Hmm?”

“I wanted to talk to you about us.”

He gives you space to continue and you take a breath.

“I know that the whole No Face thing is a persona, and while he’s not you, he’s still part of you. Despite that, I like who you are too. You’re calm, and smart, and level-headed- and respectful too. Most men wouldn’t have done what we did and let me go home to process the situation. You could tell I was overwhelmed and you didn’t take advantage of me, which shows you’re respectful too. I think… you and I are kindred souls, and I’d like the opportunity to get to know you better, the real you, not No Face.”

Wonwoo nods, and you can tell he’s thinking about what you’ve just said. “I want to know you better too. I never thought I’d find a cute, shy girl who would be okay with the whole OnlyFans thing. You’re quiet, but you’re kinky, like me, and I really like that.”

Your skin heats at his words, and a smile works its way onto your lips.

“Doing this project has been great,” Wonwoo continues. “We work well together, and yeah… I like you a lot. I want to give it a try too.”

“Good.” You take a breath, sitting up to move closer to him. “So… I think we’ve done enough studying, don’t you?”

Wonwoo chuckles. “Feeling needy, huh?”

“You’ve got a half chub already, so don’t talk to me about feeling needy,” you tease with a grin.

“Talking back, are you?”

“You said it yourself, you’re not No Face, you’re Wonwoo. No Face is a dominant, but Wonwoo… I’m getting vibes from you that you’re something else.”

He cocks his head to the side, looking at you with a smile. “I guess you know the real me better than I realized.”

“You talk a big game about being a dominant on cam, but… my guess is you’re softer in person, softer like this.” You reach out to stroke his face, and Wonwoo leans into your palm.

“Are you okay with soft?”

“I’m okay with a mixture,” you tell him. “Whatever feels right in the moment.”

“Part of me wants to fuck the shit out of you,” Wonwoo notes. “But… as a first time, another part of me wants to just be nice.”

“Then be nice, you can be rough later, I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

“You better.”

You move his laptop out of the way, swinging your leg over his hips so you can mount him where he’s seated on the bed.

His hands find your waist, and he looks up at you. God, he truly is so beautiful.

You’ve kissed him before in the library, but that had been all fire, all passion, all pent up tension- as you lean down to press your lips to his now, you get the sense that everything about this interaction will be softer.

He’s not playing off as his alter ego, he knows you accept the real him, that you want to experience Wonwoo tonight, not No Face.

As amazing as No Face was, you don’t want him to think that’s all you’re here for.

He kisses you gently, one hand moving up to cup your cheek. His tongue is tentative as it runs along your bottom lip, asking for entry instead of demanding it.

You tilt your head a little to make things easier as the kiss deepens, his fingers digging into your hip.

You begin to grind down against him, enjoying the pressure on your clit. He’s already hard, and you know he wants this as badly as you do, which lights a fire in the pit of your stomach.

With one movement, Wonwoo has you both rolling, and you end up with your back pressed to the bed, Wonwoo on top of you.

Now it’s his turn to grind down against you, and you kiss him harder, whimpering against his lips.

One of his hands snakes up to your breast, and he squeezes you through your shirt, groaning at the way you fit in his palm.

“Can I take care of you?” he asks.

“You can do anything you want,” you assure him, heart beating rapidly in your chest.

Wonwoo’s lips move to your throat, and then the swell of your cleavage. You throw your head back, closing your eyes and enjoying the sensation.

He’s gentle when he removes your shirt, followed quickly by your bra, and then his mouth is on your chest again. His lips are soft as they suck on your nipple, his tongue flicking the sensitive bud.

Your hands find their way to his hair, tangling in his curls as you enjoy the worship he’s providing you. Wonwoo takes his time with your breasts, and you can feel your pussy throbbing- you wonder if this is what blue balls feels like for men- this insatiable need to have attention on your core instead of the erogenous zone he’s currently enjoying.

Soon, Wonwoo’s mouth is moving down your body, and he slips onto the floor next to the bed. He takes off your pants and panties, moving slowly as if to give you time to change your mind.

But you’re not going to change your mind.

You want this more than you’ve ever wanted everything, and as he drags you to the edge of the bed, intent on eating your pussy like he’d talked about on cam, you give yourself over to him fully.

His hands massage your legs, and he peppers kisses up your calf, tickling your knee as he moves to your thighs.

Your legs adjust over his shoulders, and his hands grab at your hips as he leans in for his first lick of your pussy.

The contact of his tongue on your clit has you releasing a squeal of delight, your entire boy tingling with pleasure.

You can feel Wonwoo’s eyes on you as he begins to eat you out, his tongue pushing into your wet pussy before flicking back up to your sensitive bud again.

“Feels good!” you tell him, muscles already beginning to tighten with pleasure.

His fingers get a better grip on you, one hand moving to your thigh to hold you in place as he devours you.

He sucks your clit into his mouth and it’s a sensation that has your entire body reacting, the cord in your stomach tightening even more-

No one has eaten you out in practically forever, and to be having a man worship you like this- it’s getting you closer to the edge, faster than anyone else before.

“Shit,” you whimper, tangling your fingers in his hair again, back arching as the pleasure begins to build.

Wonwoo doesn’t relent, he eats you out like a starved man, his eagerness only growing with each second-

Your whimpers are getting louder, the sensation building more and more-

“I’m gonna cum!” you announce, eyes clenching shut as you teeter on the edge-

Suddenly two fingers are slipping into your pussy, crooking up so his digits can touch your sweet spot, at the same time, he sucks roughly on your clit and that’s all it takes to make you cum.

You gasp, your orgasm exploding inside of you unlike any other.

It’s all consuming in the best possible way, your body throbbing with unknown pleasure.

Wonwoo continues to finger fuck you, working you through it as wave after wave of ecstasy consumes you.

Your clit is almost too sensitive now, your thighs shaking, muscles beginning to hurt from the power of your high.

“Fuck, Wonwoo-” you whimper, pushing at his head.

He pulls away from your clit, his fingers slowing inside of you, and you can feel his eyes.

“You good?” he asks.

“Fuck, that was so good-” you groan, another shiver erupting through you when he strokes your inner walls again. “Need more.”

“Need what?”

“Your cock,” you tell him. “Need it so bad.”

“I’ll grab a condom,” Wonwoo muses, pulling his fingers out of your pussy only to plop them into his mouth.

As he stands, you freeze. “Wait! I’m on birth control!”

He stops, looking down at you. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure I’m on birth control, yes.”

“No, I mean, are you sure about unprotected sex?”

“Well… I’m clean,” you point out. “I haven’t had sex in forever-”

“Me neither,” he admits. “Other than, you know, sex with my own hand.”

You stare at him for a moment, and from the way he cracks a smile, you know he’s making a joke. So you begin to laugh too.

“How have we both not gotten laid in a while?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Guess we’re both pretty shy.”

“And school is busy,” you point out.

“School, gaming and OnlyFans is definitely a lot,” he agrees, pulling off his shirt then kicking down his pants. “Move up to the pillows for me, want you to be comfortable.”

You do as he says, watching eagerly as he gets fully naked for you.

God, his cock is even prettier up close, and you bite your tongue as he gets onto the bed with you. Your legs wrap around his hips instinctively, and you pull him in for a passionate kiss.

He begins to grind down against you, stimulating your oversensitive clit in a way that has you squealing with delight.

“I like your sounds,” Wonwoo muses, lips moving to your throat and ear, where he gently bites your lobe. “Was a shame I didn’t get to hear them during the cam show.”

“I tried to be good and quiet for you.”

“You were very good for me,” Wonwoo groans, voice dropping into the No Face cadence, which has your stomach flip flopping, pussy getting even wetter.

Wonwoo reaches between your bodies, adjusting the tip of his cock to your pussy. “You said you haven’t been fucked in a while,” he muses, “so if this hurts, or you need me to go slow, or stop-”

“I’ll be fine,” you assure him, cupping his face. “Just fuck me, please.”

Wonwoo kisses you then, slowly pushing his rock hard cock into you as you whimper and claw at his shoulders.

He fills you so well- your inner walls finally receiving attention from a real sized cock after way too long.

Your fingers - hell, even his fingers - don’t do his full length justice, and it feels like heaven once he’s fully bottomed out.

You both release a low groan, your toes curling with pleasure.

“I’m good,” you tell him, pressing kisses to his throat as your fingers explore his broad shoulders. “Feels good.”

“You feel good,” he counters, beginning to move.

The drag of his cock along your core has you groaning, eyes closing as pleasure consumes you.

“Shit,” you whimper, holding him tighter.

“Shit,” Wonwoo echos again, picking up his pace.

You lay there, enjoying everything he’s giving you. As himself, Wonwoo’s not much of a talker, but you’re okay with that. The two of you simply gasp and moan as conversation, and you enjoy the feral aspect of sex, the part where you’re both overcome by the feeling of each other, so overcome that words aren’t even necessary.

Wonwoo presses his lips to yours again, kissing you fiercely as he fucks you harder and harder, until his bed is rocking and you’re scared people outside his door will be able to hear you moaning.

But part of you doesn’t even care, you don’t want to hold yourself back with Wonwoo anymore, not like you did when he was on cam. No, you want him to hear every whimper, every groan, every squeal of pleasure as he fucks you better than anyone else ever has.

There’s a connection here, a spark, and it lights a fire inside you as Wonwoo fucks you for the very first time.

It’s passionate as you remain lip locked, your hands grabbing at his strong shoulders.

You don’t even care that it’s clear this will be a one position fuck session. Missionary has always been one of the more boring ways to fuck, but with Wonwoo- it’s downright magical. There’s nothing like it, being pressed chest to chest- as close as you can be as you do this.

Wonwoo’s groans are magic too, and they have your pussy throbbing depserately around him-

Then he slips his hand between your bodies, rubbing your clit-

Your pussy clamps down on him, a gasp escaping you as you break the kiss to look up at him.

“Want you to cum with me,” Wonwoo groans. “Please.”

You can’t respond, all you can do is focus on the building sensation- and in no time at all, you’re tipping over the edge with a loud moan.

Wonwoo returns your sound with a grunt, burying his face against your throat as he cums with you.

Your pussy throbs around him, milking Wonwoo of all he’s worth as he moans in your ear, fucking you through it all.

His hair is tickling your cheek, but you can’t even care as the orgasm swells through you like the waves of a warm summer ocean.

Your chests are still pressed together, and you can feel the beating of his heart. It’s almost dizzying, feeling this connected to another person, and it leaves your mind blank as you enjoy it.

Your arms are wrapped around him, cuddling Wonwoo close as his motions come to a stop, and then you just pant together, doing your best to catch your breaths.

You stroke his hair, releasing a deep sigh.

Wonwoo presses one last kiss to your throat before pulling away. “How do you feel?” he asks.

“Perfect.”

Wonwoo grins. “Me too.”

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! This was so fun to write, I can't wait to explore this au more in other chapters!

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below!

🔮 preview. You know there will be no more rough housing, no more use of the paddle, because No Face might be somewhat of a sadist, but Wonwoo is a pussy whipped softie, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, foreplay, dirty talk, blow job, pussy eating, hand job, commanding/dominant alter ago Wonwoo, use of paddle, impact play, pain kink, fingering, slight sadism Wonwoo, multiple reader orgasms, mentions of sex toys, creampie, etc… I petnames. (hers) baby.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3k I teaser wc. 110

🌙 starring. Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader

bonus

You love Wonwoo. You love him for all that he is, No Face and all, and you also love that despite his online alter ego, he’s very soft and giving in bed. However… sometimes, you just want to be man handled and dirty talked until your head spins, and your lovely boyfriend is more than willing to provide that for you on special occasions.

Today is your birthday, and after you’re done classes, you go back to your apartment to shower and get ready.

You’ve bought a very sexy outfit. Garter connected fishnets, a black push-up bra, a corset, sexy high heels, and a thong to complete the whole look.

☀️ to read the full fic AND 3k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here

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