#i also love the hands on his heart when he says ''i love you'' and the and how his smile drops when she doesn't respond

[cosmictheo]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 | kang dae-ho

—summary: a sudden closeness of you and player 333 makes dae-ho's usually sweet mood swing in the opposite way, triggered by pure jealousy. why would you ever need anyone else when you've got him right there? —pairing: kang dae-ho/player 388 x female!reader —word count: 4.5k —contains: +18, smut !!! (minors dni), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, descriptions of the reader having female genitalia, some porn with some plot, really passionate sex, voyeurism, public sex, sub dae-ho!!! (canon), slight praise kink if you squint, he talks to you through it, jealous and possessive behavior, fluff, dae-ho being so in love with the reader.

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

Kang Dae-ho had been protecting you ever since he had helped you survive Green Light, Red Light, the first game of all this hell in disguise as a promising new opportunity.

Not knowing you from absolutely nothing, he stepped right in front of you, stretching a hand out to the back to hold yours and guide you across the arena, playing human shield until together, you had crossed the finish line. 

And that basically summed up the kind of person Dae-ho is; kind-hearted, courageous, selfless, caring. He was one of the best people you had ever met and he was making this whole calvary into something much better, something brighter, something to keep fighting for until you made it out of there.

Since that, he had stuck by your side, practically standing as your own shadow, constantly putting you first, looking out for your well-being and safety. Without him, you would probably be dead by now, devoid of purpose.

The other players had already gotten used to seeing the two of you together, always watching each other's backs and fooling around and strategizing. Through thick and thin, you were together.

It was only a matter of time —hours—; before something else began to spark between the two of you, growing every time your hands brushed, or when he wrapped an arm around your shoulders or when your bodies cocooned in each other's warmth at night when you slept. A tension was just starting to build, an emotion that for some reason, would always make Dae-ho nervous and flustered, whenever you'd smile at him or clasp his bicep to be by his side every time Gi-hun related a story from his past experience at the games, or when you'd lean your head on his shoulder or when you'd hug each other every time a game ended.

Whatever it was, out of the same feeling, Dae-ho sensed a heaviness in the pit of his stomach, feeling as if his guts were constricting like a viper, every time you chatted with the 333 player.

He looks at you from the distance, frowning slightly as you laugh at something the guy says, he doesn't even know why he dislikes him so much... he just does.

“Why are you all puckered up?” Jung-bae questions him, pausing his own story to express concern for his teammate's face, following his gaze until he finds you, naturally.

Dae-ho clicks his tongue, shaking his head gently, his tone of voice fluctuating between disbelief and annoyance, "Why is she even over there? It's dangerous"

“Dangerous? Buddy, she's just talking to him. He saved her in the last game, remember?” Jung-bae answers him, confused by the uncharacteristic grumpy attitude of the younger man, used to the sight of him being so cheerful and jovial and optimistic.

“If it weren't for him, she wouldn't be here,” Young-il adds, also glancing at how you whisper with player 333, “She's just being polite.”

But Dae-ho huffs humorlessly, forcing his eyes to drag from you to Jung-bae standing in front of him, his fingers still grasping his fork tightly, not really feeling like eating lunch today, “Bullshit, I would've saved her anyway. She didn't need him.”

Gi-hun rolls his eyes, sitting by his side as he quietly observes the whole scene, chewing a mouthful of rice, “You're just jealous, man, admit it,” he pronounces with his mouth half full, eyes attentively scanning Dae-ho's reaction.

The whole group of men laugh upon seeing Dae-ho's face morph to one of embarrassment and some offense, cheeks blushing furiously at Gi-hun's fake allegation.

“I'm n-not jealous” he tries to defend himself with a stuttering voice, looking frantically around the amused faces of the men around him, his fingers letting his fork drop by his twitching and nervous state, attracting the attention of a few players who were nearby, including yours, which only makes Dae-ho to blush even redder.

Jung-bae smiles playfully, picking up the fork that had fallen to the ground, “And you're being overdramatic.”

“I am not!” Dae-ho squeals, his brow furrowing as he stands up and yanks the fork out of Jung-bae's hand. As the whole group laughs at him, his eyes again search for you in the crowd, finding you in record time, and his whole face darkens again as he notices the way your hand is resting down the player 333's forearm, like you would usually do with him.

He sighs heavily and for the first time, he seriously considers the words of the older men.

Time passes unnoticed within that place, hours perhaps, days? No one really knows.

But the warning that the lights go out in thirty minutes usually means that you should lie down and rest for the next event that the monsters who created this have planned for you all.

The first thing you notice when you arrive at the bed you share with Dae-ho, is that he is lying on his side with his back to you, which concerns you a little, since he never had his back to you when he would sleep.

Something is off.

“Dae-ho?” you call out his name in a gentle whisper, sitting down on the bunk and looking across the broadness of his back with worried eyes, “Are you okay?”

No response.

“Hey,” you try again gently, thinking that maybe he's not exactly having a good day, considering the current situation you're stuck in.

Dae-ho is feeling his chest heaving as he senses your hand laying on his shoulder, fingers delicately squeezing his flesh beneath the tracksuit jacket. 

And suddenly, he's cracking up.

“I'm trying to sleep” and yet, he replies to you curtly, without showing even the slightest sign of rolling over and wanting to actually look at you.

You admire his back with unconvinced eyes for a moment, lying down on the bed and resting your head on the pillow, your hand moving from his shoulder, down his back, across his shoulder blades, before dropping to the surface of the bed.

“You sound off.”

Dae-ho considers his options; whether to just keep talking to you in that oh-so-ungentlemanly way —which made him physically cringe—; whether to express everything he was feeling or just stay quiet and pretend to sleep.

In any case, he acts on impulse, rolling over so he can finally look at you, his eyes softening the instant they meet yours, his heart beating hard and fast, pounding in his ears.

“It's not good for you to associate with players outside our group,” he suddenly blurts out and sees how you just stare at him with further confusion washing over your pretty face, “It could be dangerous.”

“What do you mean?” you inquire, silently urging him to elaborate on his point. You are quick to notice how deadly serious his face is, his lips lightly pursed and his eyes solemn, a look that is unusual on him. You don't like to see him like that, like everyone there usually acted.

“Player 333,” he replies, jaw clenched, his eyes following you as you sat up again on the bed, looking down at him in sheer confusion, as if somehow, you aren't recognizing him, “I saw the way he was looking at you.”

He sounds... hurt? Disappointed?

“Lee Myung-gi” your face turns enlightened, finally understanding what he's referring to now.

Dae-ho deflects his gaze away from yours, slightly rolling his eyes. Whatever that idiot's name was...

“I was just talking to him. He saved me in the last game, Dae-ho,” you explain in an overly naive tone, a little smile curving the corner of your lips, “I went to thank him”

“But I am the one doing that, that's why I'm here. You didn't need him, you have me,” he retorts back to you instantly, your name being pronounced by his lips like a plea for mercy, gesturing to himself with his hand for emphasis on his words. Your brow furrows at the same time as his, your lips turning into a small pout, feeling like a scolded child, “I was going to save you anyway! You only need me, no one else...”

His voice fades the more he speaks, shaky hand brushing through his loose hair. And now you notice it, the betrayed and hurt expression on his face, his eyes hiding something more than friendliness, something much deeper and bigger.

He is jealous.

“Why are you acting like this all of a sudden?” you are questioning him, getting more comfortable on the mattress, your voice keeping low so as not to wake the others, but also firm on your side of the little argument. You had done nothing wrong, “He was just being a good companion—”

“He didn't seem to be performing the good companion role,” Dae-ho interrupts you, spitting out the words as if they were venomous, rising himself up to also sit on the bed and face you, gesticulating with his hands, his tone of voice is fueled by sarcasm and subtle irony now, “I didn't like the way he was looking at you... neither how you were touching him with your hand.”

He crosses his arms and resembles a sulky kid who's had his favorite toy taken away, but you're too pissed off to pause and laugh at him.

Instead, you roll your eyes, starting to unbutton your jacket, feeling too hot all of a sudden, Dae-ho's eyes follow your fingers as they pull down the zipper, “You're being overdramatic.”

"I'm not!" he gasps-whispers, expression offended, he genuinely does seem to be feeling betrayed by what you had done. He leans close to you, so close that you feel the natural warmth of his body, but you stand your ground, looking at him with baffled eyes, his gaze remains soft yet aching, “I'm just looking out for you.”

“You'd rather I touch your arm then?” you raise an eyebrow on your forehead, dropping the jacket by the bottom of the bed, holding his gaze, “Is that what this is all about?”

The effect of your words in instantaneous on Dae-ho, blushing and causing him to pull away from you rather abruptly, brushing his hand through his hair again like a maniac.

“Yes,” he replies with certainty, the word barging into his throat before he could even think of a reasonable response, so he shakes his head slightly, “I mean no— I mean yes—” he cuts himself off, flustered by your attentive gaze, “—that's not the point! The point is that you don't need to go to anyone else when you have me right here.”

He gulps hard, eagerly waiting for your reaction through desperate, sheepish eyes.

“I know,” you whisper, letting out a soft sigh from your mouth, switching to a more empathetic postur. Then you nod your head and stretch out a hand towards him, who wastes no second in reaching out to take it and pull it close to his chest, nuzzling your knuckles with his thumb, “But he just dragged me with him, I couldn't do much,” you offer him a small apologetic smile, “I know you would have saved me anyway, Dae-ho.”

“Of course,” he murmurs your name, bringing your hand to his mouth to press his lips onto your knucles, kissing your smooth skin, “You're not alone, you're with me. You are everything...”

Without saying anything, you move closer to him and hug him. Dae-ho is more than happy to reciprocate your embrace, wrapping his beefy arms around your waist and hiding his face in your neck, breathing in your sweet and comforting scent, the scent he so adores. You feel his warm breath against the sensitive skin of your neck and a shiver runs through you from head to toe.

One of your hands goes up to his head, caressing his hair, fingers sinking into his dark long locks, the soothing and so intimate touch making him sigh.

“You're jealous,” you murmur after a moment of comfortable, heart-warming silence, and he stiffens, his body freezing, you can feel the way his muscles tense against yours.

Dae-ho pulls away from you just a little, far enough to be able to look at you, offering you a sheepish little smile, his cheeks blushing from all the attention and touch and closeness, the way you're talking and looking at him has him breathless.

“Maybe a little,” his expression shifts to one of shame as he dares to confess, valiantly enough to hold your gaze, letting himself fall into the gentleness of your eyes, always so lively and playful, but as beautiful and sparkling as a pair of gemstones, with your long lashes brushing your cheekbones every time you blink.

His hands gently squeeze your waist, contouring your curves and fitting into them perfectly, as if crafted for him to touch and hold.

“You don't have to be jealous, sweets,” you assure him, like a promise, a complicity, leaning into him again.

Dae-ho swallows loudly, squeezing his eyes shut as he feels your beautiful soft lips press down onto his throat, kissing his bouncing Adam's apple. He can feel himself in heaven, letting himself be swept up by the way you are treating him, the way your hands run down his body, passing down his chest until they stop at his midsection, just at the moment your tongue traces across his skin, making him hiss, feeling all the air being knocked out of his lungs.

“Fuck— ngh,” he whimpers, his whole body aching with heat, his heart pumping hot blood into his crotch, heartbeats matching up with each of your wet kisses on his neck.

His big hands wander over your waist, lightly caressing your lower back, fingers barely grazing the curve of your ass above the fabric of your tracksuit pants, clasping the flesh, pressing you helplessly against his body. His touch is needy, but nonetheless respectful, as gentlemanly as ever.

“Is this okay?” comically enough he's the one to ask as your mouth reaches his chin by a wet trail of soft kisses through his skin and he almost feels himself cumming into his boxers by the way you open your eyes to look up at him, pupils dilated in pleasure.

You sigh out a soft chuckle and your breath crashes against his half-open lips, needily breathing in your air, breathing you in. Your fingers fiddle with the edge of his jacket.

“You want this?”

It's stupid that you even had the mere thought of that question.

“Yes, please, baby— please,” Dae-ho rushes to answer, hands squeezing everything they could grab from you, desperately, “Can I kiss yo—”

Before he managed to formulate the question your lips are on his and from one second to the next he pulls you close to sit on his lap, making you feel his erection press against the underside of your thigh.

Frantically, between kisses, tongues recognizing each other and hands grasping what they can of the other, he helps you to remove his shirt, breaking away for just a moment to pull it over his head, looking at you with eyes darkened with desire.

He groans against your mouth as you kiss again, your teeth nibbling gently on his bottom lip.

“Shh...” you coo against his lips, pushing him down to make his back lay against the bed, “You don't want the others to hear, do you?”

A playful smile stretches at the corner of his lips, squeezing your butt once you leaned over him to begin kissing his chest, his eyes rolling back in pleasure, feeling the way your back arches.

“I wouldn't mind if 333 listens—”

“Dae-ho,” you name him disapprovingly, but your eyes are heavy with playfulness and longing.

He gazes adoringly up as you take off your shirt, eyes roaming down your neck, across your chest, down your stomach.

“You're so pretty, fuck— come here,” he tugs you closer to him to kiss you one more time, his hands detaching from your hips to lift his own, pulling down his pants and his now, wrecked boxers, clumsily sliding the waistband of the cloth down his thighs.

His dick springs free and it has you open-mouthed, staring down at it with eyes of raw longing and adoration. His mushroom-shaped, leaking, needy head bumps barely against his lower abdomen, lining up with his happy trail.

Dae-ho blushes under your gaze, one of his hands caresses your hip to attract your attention back to his face.

“Can you handle it, baby?” his tone of voice lowers sheepishly.

Your cunt pulsates around nothing from his words only and in less than ten seconds, you're stripping off your pants too, pulling your soaking wet panties aside. He can actually feel how wet you are when your pussy barely brushes against his bare crotch, he has to resist to keep from cumming right there.

“I can— fuck, yeah— I can handle it,” you babble tremblingly through gentle gasps as he reaches his cock, stroking it three times before he aligns it with your inviting hole, rubbing it slowly up and down your slit to scoop up all of your wetness, and use it as a natural lube.

Dae-ho bites down on his lower lip to muffle a moan that ascends his throat, feeling the head of his cock push up into the tight entrance of your pussy, plunging between your slick folds.

He leans his forehead flat against your chest, nestling right between your breasts, his whole body trembling from a riot of pleasure, muffling his moans and noises against your skin.

“Shit, y-you're— h-hah— you're so wet,” he raspes out into your bare skin, his lips slurring insults and name-calling you like a prayer, a poem through your sweaty skin, his tongue rolls out from between his parted lips, coating your skin with his drool. 

His hands are roaming over your hips, each digit digging into the fat of your ass, never applying weight, giving you all the time you needed to settle onto his size, yet his voice was desperate and eager with anticipation, “So tight— so pretty.”

Your lips are pressed against the crown of his head, breathing shakily as you begin to lower yourself into him achingly slow, drawing a gasp from both of you. Your palms squeeze his broad shoulders, suppressing the urge to cry out with every inch he is pushing his way inside you, your pussy fluttering and squishing him deeper.

“Yeah, just like that, that's it,” Dae-ho is praising you, pressing sloppy kisses all over your tits, fingers caressing your lower back while his other hand pats your ass appraisingly, “just a little more, baby, a little m-more and I'm all yours— I'm yours.”

His words really touch your very core, hand sliding up his neck to sink into his hair and pull it, making him hiss as he licks your nipple. Your pussy swallows another inch of him and you feel him in your fucking guts by now. He feels your squishy walls clench around him like a vice and he refuses to even think about the possibility of a life without feeling like this again.

“Dae-ho,” you whimper his name as the bulging tip of his cock reaches a particular spongy spot and instantly your whole body reacts as well.

“Mh-hm,” his lips lick and kiss your collarbone all the way up your neck and then he kisses your lips, “I'm here. I got you, I always got you,” his eyes finally lock with yours again and you nearly feel every single muscle and organ in your abdomen twitch when you notice tears being held back in them, all from the flood of pleasure and bliss your body is giving him.

He can feel himself in heaven, beneath you, his hips grinding up into yours as his cock is plunged so deep inside you.

Dae-ho kisses you again, intoxicated, a thread of spit remains connecting your mouths once you part.

A few more long seconds and you're all the way down sitting on him, his heavy, throbbing balls pressed flush against your ass. Your pussy envelops him thoroughly, molding into his shape as you breathe a deep sigh and Dae-ho breathes out as well when your nails dig into his shoulder blades.

“There you are, my baby, you're doing s-so good,” he croaks, fondling your backside affectionately, feeling your dampness dripping down his thighs, “Holy shit you feel good... I'm so deep—”

And when you start to move on top of him, he has to close his eyes, his sweaty palms pawing your ass, hopeless for your mercy. 

But you have no mercy, your pussy, your thighs, your fucking hips, the way you look down at him and ride him, giving him whiplash with every bounce. And he can swear he knows you from another life, from the way his cock forms a shape inside you, reaching parts within you that no one else has been capable of reaching before, as if your body was made for him— no, as if he was made to fit your body.

“My God—” he hiccups and you press your forehead against his, seeking his lips with yours to silence you both, pushing him down until he's lying flat on the mattress.

The bunk just barely creaks beneath the relentless sway of your hips slamming into his, ass bumping hard down on his thighs, taking him all the way down and up again, so deep that every time you bottom out you feel him in your fucking throat.

“You feel so good, baby,” you whine, looking down at him and all of his body is reacting to the petname.

You take in the gorgeous sight that is his face flushed with utter pleasure, eyes squinting, sweaty arms wrapping all around you and holding you impossibly close, his lower belly tensed and cramped.

He looks so pussy drunk, drinking and drinking in your body and essence, everything you provide. The tought makes you feel your insides flip, squeezing into a knot. And Dae-ho feels it too.

You bend down, lips falling onto his shoulder, trailing down to the tattoo on his side and when your tongue traces the black ink, exactly when his engorged tip brushes against your fucking cervix and your ass does a particularly powerful bounce on his thick thighs, he starts to feel his body twitching, reaching that exquisite release. He begins to cum, wracked by a rush of erotic bliss that has him seeing stars in the pitch-black.

His hips begin to meet yours in mid-between your wild bouncing and your pussy squelches around his cock, ready to take in all he has to give.

“I'm cumming— hah— b-baby, where—” he babbles through breathy hiccups and whimpers, his body is flushing, seeking your gaze with half-closed eyes, his chest gasping fast.

You kiss his tattoo one more time before answering him, having the nerve to smirk, as if you aren't jumping his bones, “Inside— mhm— fill me up, Dae-ho,” your eyes finally meet his and you squish his biceps, “please,” you beg him, with tears on your eyes.

“Holy shit— you don't have to convince me, love” he growls out hoarsely, and you have never hear him insult so much in such a short span of time. He kiss the corner of your lips messily, “I'm so fucking deep, you take it so well, baby— fuck.”

He chokes on his own voice and squeezes your hips until his palms are molded into your flesh. His tip touches that special squishy spot inside you again and you're cumming with him, both of you riding your own high, sinking into each other's bodies, souls becoming one. Straight into the core of the storm of pleasure.

His trembling fingers eventually loosen his grip on your ass, but his imprint stays right there, flushed. His cock softens deep inside you and you can feel it still spurting hot ropes up into your womb. Dae-ho whimpers flush against your mouth, gasping for breath. And you know you might as well die right there, tangled with his body.

Your head is empty, blurry with him and only him, your hips keep rolling on their own motion, slower. Your pussy squelches, full of him, the friction only makes him chant your name over and over in raspy whispers, like a hymn. Your orgasm is rough and strong, rocking your body like an earthquake. It makes you moan his name and he cuts you off, kissing you senselessly.

“Thank you, thank you...” he mumbles repeatedly against your mouth, hissing once you stop all movement on top of him. And he kisses you again, appreciatively, lovingly.

Dae-ho throws his head back on the bunk, trying to catch his breath, his hands drop to your thighs, always with a possessive hold, groping around for your ass, pressed down on his trembling thighs.

And it's ridiculous how absolutely majestic he looks there under you, in an afterglow that has him breathless, eyes narrowed and lost stare, gazing upwards as if he's suspended in paradise. His entire abdomen is sweaty and you hold back the urge to run your tongue across his cute little tummy, since your body is slowly beginning to give in to exhaustion, your legs wobbling.

You are satisfied with tracing your fingers along his sweaty skin, touching what were strong muscles, now softened under your thumbprints. Your hand makes an appreciative path up his pecs and he comes back to reality with the touch, looking up at you and patting your ass lightly, his gaze softening as he met your eyes amidst the darkness. The look of love.

“Don't do that, I'm about to get hard again,” he murmurs in a playful voice, a little sheepish smile growing on his lips. He is blushing, like he's not balls deep inside you, his cum leaking out of your cunt and trickling down your thighs.

You let out a sleepy chuckle, leaning down and snuggling close into his chest, his arms wrap around your shoulders and he tugs a blanket over the two of you.

“I had to take you on a date first,” Dae-ho blurts out suddenly, sounding more like he's talking to himself than to you, but you do manage to hear him, yet not really understanding what he's trying to say.

“What?” you ask curiously, still a little dizzy, fingers tracing light caresses on his chest, right where his heart is.

He clears his voice, bowing his chin so he can look down at you, gaze full pure love and adoration, his fingertips soothingly caressing your spine as he answers you in a hushed whisper, “I was supposed to take you on a date before.... all of this.”

You smile bashfully against his chest, looking up at him with big, soft eyes, “Well, we're not exactly in a position where having a date is doable, Dae-ho.”

But he is confident on the subject, fingers drawing little circles on the small of your back, “After we get out of this, I'll pick you up at your house and take you to the fanciest restaurant.”

You kiss him tenderly. 

And he smiles like he's actually in love.

“I'll be waiting for you in my best dress, then.”

[thef1diary]

hi!! first of all wanted to say that i LOVE your work! I'd like to request a smut <3

so i was thinking about carlos w a somno kink, praise kink and some dacryphilia. i'd also like an innocence kink so maybe like inexperienced!reader. oh, and aftercare too! thanks ^_^

Deep Dark Desire | C. Sainz

warnings: 18+ content, dark!carlos, non-con, possessive!carlos, hint of stalker behaviour, manipulation, carlos sneaking sleeping pills in food, somnophilia, oral, fingering, innocent!virgin!reader, praise kink, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, mentions of pregnancy, aftercare.

wc: 6.5k

— this is a dark fic! please read the warnings and do not read this fic if any of the topics make you uncomfortable. Don’t like, don’t read!

The aroma of something sweet and savoury greeted you the moment you stepped through the door. You let the weight of the day melt off your shoulders as you kicked off your shoes, too tired to process anything beyond the simple comfort of being home. Carlos was already in the kitchen, his dark hair slightly tousled and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows as he stirred a pot on the stove.

He turned at the sound of your soft footsteps, his face lighting up with a smile that was all warmth and devotion. “There you are, princesa,” he said, setting the spoon down to cross the room to stand in front of you. His hands found your shoulders immediately, his thumbs pressing gently into the tense muscles there. “Long day?”

You nodded, leaning into his touch with a sigh. Carlos had a way of making you feel cared for in ways you hadn’t known you needed. He always seemed to know what you wanted before you did—what to say, how to look at you, how to touch you just enough to make your heart flutter but not so much that you’d question the boundaries of your relationship.

“I made dinner,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing as he guided you to the kitchen table. “Sit. Eat. Let me take care of you.”

You sank into the chair, too weary to protest. Carlos placed a steaming plate in front of you, the dish carefully prepared, every detail perfect. You couldn’t help but smile at the effort he’d gone to, even after such a long day himself.

“You’re too good to me,” you said softly, meeting his eyes.

His smile deepened, but there was something in his gaze—something you couldn’t quite name. It was too intense, too knowing, as though he were looking at more than just your face. It made your stomach twist, though you quickly dismissed it as exhaustion.

Carlos sat across from you, his elbows resting on the table as he watched you eat. His presence was comforting, grounding. And yet, there was an edge to his attention that you never noticed, a shadow lurking beneath the surface of his affection.

Because while you saw only his patience—his endless sweetness, his gentle guidance—there was so much more to Carlos that you didn’t see. That he didn’t let you see…yet.

You didn’t see the way his hands tightened into fists every time someone else’s name—especially a man’s name—slipped into your stories from work. You didn’t hear the quiet, possessive promises whispered into the stillness of the apartment when you were sound asleep. You didn’t know how carefully he kept track of your every habit, your every move, until he knew you better than you knew yourself. It was how he managed to charm you into a relationship with him in the first place. 

From the moment he saw you, he was smitten. Carlos loved you. But as time went on, the more he found the extent of your innocence—the very one that made you pliable and trusting. He loved that you let him lead in all aspects, oblivious to the dark currents beneath his tenderness. It was those very thoughts about you he held close that turned his love for you into a crazed obsession.

You had no idea that the man who seemed so devoted, so perfect, would do anything to keep you his—even if it meant crossing lines you didn’t yet know existed.

“Eat, nena,” he said softly, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. His fingers brushed your wrist, lingering just a moment too long. “You need to keep your strength up.”

And as you took another bite, smiling faintly at his concern, you missed the way his gaze darkened, the way his lips curved into a smile that wasn’t sweet at all.

Carlos rested his chin on his hand, his dark eyes fixed on you as you took careful bites of the meal he had prepared. Your free hand held his other hand, his thumb tracing slow, soothing patterns. Every so often, you’d glance up at him, smiling softly, touched by the care he had put into it. The flavours were rich and comforting, the kind of food that made you feel safe. You wondered, briefly, how you’d gotten so lucky to have someone like him in your life.

But as you ate, a question tugged at the back of your mind. You set your fork down gently and tilted your head. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

Carlos’ lips twitched into a faint smile, and he shook his head. “Not yet. This one’s special. Just for you.”

There was a sincerity in his voice that made your cheeks flush slightly. You didn’t even consider questioning him further. Of course, he would do something like this—go out of his way to make you feel cared for without expecting anything in return. That’s just how Carlos is.

Still, there was something about the way he said ‘special’ that lingered in your mind, a weight to the word you couldn’t quite place. But the thought slipped away as a wave of exhaustion rolled over you, your body suddenly heavy and your eyelids drooping.

You blinked rapidly, shaking your head as if to clear it. “I don’t know why I’m so tired,” you murmured, dropping his hand and rubbing at your temple. “I wasn’t this bad earlier.”

Carlos’ expression shifted instantly, his brows furrowing with concern as he leaned closer to you. His hand found yours again—not able to handle the sudden loss of warmth—his thumb brushing soothing circles over your skin.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked, his voice low and gentle. His other hand reached out, fingertips brushing your forehead as if to check for a fever. “You’ve had a long day, mi vida. You need to rest.”

You wanted to smile at his worry, to reassure him that it was nothing serious. But your head felt so heavy, the corners of your vision blurring as your body sagged further into the chair. You fought against the haze, focusing on the soft lines of Carlos’ face, his worried eyes, the way his lips pressed together in a tight line.

If only you’d known the truth behind that worry. If only you’d seen the darkness that twisted through the depths of his concern.

“Here,” he murmured, reaching for the glass of water on the table. He pressed it into your hand, guiding it to your lips. “Drink this, cariño. And then go lie down. I’ll clean up.”

You shook your head weakly, your grip on the glass faltering as you set it down. “No, I’ll finish my food first. You put so much effort into this for me…”

Carlos’ hand hovered near yours, as though ready to steady you if you faltered again. His smile was small, patient, but there was a flicker of something sharper in his gaze—something you didn’t notice in your foggy state.

“You’re too kind,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. “Always thinking of others. But I just want you to rest.”

You managed a faint smile, brushing off his suggestion as you picked up your fork again. “Just a little more,” you mumbled.

Carlos didn’t protest, leaning back in his chair as he watched you with an intensity that should have made you shiver. But you were too distracted by the growing weight in your limbs, the way your head felt as if it were floating. Bite by bite, your exhaustion deepened, and you didn’t realize that the cause wasn’t your long day at all—it was the food, his careful planning, and his quiet, calculated patience.

He rested his chin on his palm once more, his smile widening ever so slightly as you struggled to keep your eyes open. “That’s it, nena,” he murmured, his voice almost tender. “You’re doing so well.”

And you, sweet and trusting as always, didn’t think to question the strange satisfaction in his voice.

The room seemed to spin slightly as you set your fork down, the last few bites of your meal left untouched. You blinked, trying to focus on Carlos’ face, but even that felt like too much effort. Your head lolled to the side as a sleepy giggle escaped your lips, the kind of unguarded sound that came when exhaustion stripped you of your usual composure.

“Carlos, baby, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you murmured, your words slurring slightly. “I’m so… tired.”

He was already by your side, his hands steady as they slipped beneath your arms to lift you from the chair. “Shh, nena,” he cooed, his voice soft and soothing. “Let me take care of you. You’ve done enough today.”

Before you could protest, he scooped you up effortlessly, cradling you against his chest as though you weighed nothing. Your arms looped lazily around his neck, and you let out another sleepy giggle, your breath warm against his skin.

“I can walk, you know,” you mumbled, though the comfort of his hold was undeniable.

Carlos chuckled, the sound deep and warm, “you’re barely awake, mi vida. Let me spoil you a little.”

He carried you to the bedroom, his movements careful and deliberate as though he were handling something fragile. The dim light of the room seemed to blur at the edges as he set you down on the bed, his hands lingering on your waist for a moment too long.

“Let’s get you comfortable,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He helped you out of your clothes, his fingers brushing against your skin with a tenderness that made your heart flutter even in your haze. You didn’t question it, didn’t register the way his touch lingered, how his gaze darkened as you were left in nothing but your undergarments and put into one of his long shirts.

He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. It felt like a dream, the world around you fading as you slipped deeper into the heavy pull of sleep.

“Goodnight, princesa,” he whispered against your lips, his voice velvet-soft.

But as your eyes fluttered closed and your breathing evened out, Carlos lingered. He didn’t even manage to pull the blanket over you before he noticed how still you’d become, how utterly weightless you were in the depths of sleep. He called your name softly at first, his hand brushing your cheek, but there was no response.

His lips curved into a slow, dark smile, the shadows in his expression deepening as he realized you were completely at his mercy.

“So perfect,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent. He traced a finger along your jawline, down the slope of your neck. “You don’t even know, do you? How much I crave you.” 

His hand paused, hovering over your collarbone as his breath hitched slightly. “So innocent,” he whispered, his tone laced with something heavier, something darker. “And mine.”

Carlos let the words hang in the air, savouring the weight of them as he gazed down at you—his perfect little captive in a dark world you’d never even imagined existed.

There was a fragile innocence to the way you looked now, the soft lines of your face unburdened by the day’s worries, the slight parting of your lips as you breathed peacefully. He reached out, brushing his knuckles gently along your cheek, his touch featherlight as if you might shatter beneath anything stronger.

“You have no idea how beautiful you are, mi vida,” he whispered, his voice a low murmur in the quiet room. “How much I—” his words faltered, caught between his throat and his heart. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to exhale slowly. “How much I adore you.”

His fingers traced a path down your arm, stopping just above your wrist, where he lingered. You were so trusting, so unguarded with him. It filled him with an overwhelming ache, a desire to protect you, to shield you from the world. Yet that same trust was a double-edged sword, cutting deep into the darker corners of his mind where thoughts twisted into obsessions he could never confess.

Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger there. “You’re too good for me,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “Too kind. Too pure.” Each word carried the weight of unspoken truths, emotions he’d buried due to fear of frightening you. You deserved someone gentler, someone who wouldn’t feel this burning need to keep you so close, to ensure you never left his side.

But you were his. You just didn’t know how much just yet. 

A pang of need coursed through him—deep, consuming, and utterly unrelenting. A lazy smirk graced his lips, his hands wandering over your body more than he’s ever done before. He didn’t stop, after all this was all part of his plan—his carefully crafted plan that would allow him to do whatever he pleased with you.

“You have no idea how much I want you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, almost as if confessing to himself. His hand moved instinctively, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, his touch so tender it could’ve been mistaken for reverence. “How much I need you, completely.” 

His mind wandered to your words from a few months ago, when you first began dating. You had sweetly confessed in a meek tone that you wanted to wait until marriage for any intimacy. At the time, he had nodded, reassured you that he understood and respected your decision. And he had, for a while. But with each passing day, every innocent touch from you, every fleeting moment of closeness, the restraint he prided himself on was unraveling. 

“You’re mine,” he whispered again, the words heavier this time, steeped in a quiet obsession. “You’ll always be mine.”

Carlos leaned down, his lips hovering just above your temple. He kissed you there softly, lingering as he inhaled the faint scent of your skin. The thought of you saving yourself for some abstract moment in the future felt intolerable now. A ring? A ceremony? Those things were meaningless to him. You were already his in every way that mattered. Every way but one, which he had planned on changing tonight. 

“It doesn’t matter, right princesa?” he whispered as if conversing with your unconscious body. “A piece of paper won’t change what we are. What we’ll always be.” 

You were an angel in his eyes—pure, untouchable—and yet he couldn’t stop acting on the darker thoughts that had crept in his mind. “You’ll let me take you now, right?” he asked, a wicked smile tugging at his lips when you didn’t respond. 

“You’ll understand one day. You’d forgive me because you love me,” he spoke, relieved, finding a justification for what he was about to do. Love. 

His fingers trailed down your body, finding the hem of your shirt. He inhaled deeply before pulling it up, revealing your bare skin underneath. The glow of the moonlight streaming through the curtains bathed you in a silver hue, making you seem almost otherworldly in his eyes.

He leaned forward, his knees sinking into the mattress as he settled between your legs, his body close but not touching yours just yet. Carlos lowered his head, his lips brushing against the curve of your stomach in the gentlest kiss. The warmth of your skin beneath his mouth sent a shiver coursing through him, and he allowed himself a quiet sigh, his breath fanning over you.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, his voice filled with reverence and something deeper, darker. His hand rested lightly on your hip, his thumb tracing small circles over your skin. The rise and fall of your breathing was steady, unbroken, and he couldn’t help but marvel at how serene you looked, so trusting, so utterly unaware of the storm of emotions raging within him.

Carlos trailed another kiss just above your navel, the soft press of his lips lingering as though he could imprint the moment into his memory. His free hand slid up along your side, fingertips tracing the delicate lines of your ribs as he murmured softly, “I’ll make you feel so good.” 

Carlos continued his trail of kisses, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin of your lower stomach before stopping just above the edge of your panties. He nearly hesitated, letting the intimacy of the moment build, before pressing his lips firmly against the soft cotton. The barrier of fabric only spurred his imagination further, and he closed his eyes as if savouring the moment.

His teeth grazed the edge of the fabric, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Carefully, he bit down, trapping the waistband between his teeth. He tilted his head, pulling the material taut as it lifted slightly away from your skin. 

Carlos released the fabric, letting it snap back against your skin with a quick sound that sent a shiver of satisfaction through him. His hand, which had been resting on your side, slid down to your hip, his grip firm but not overbearing.

“You don’t even know how perfect you are,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. His lips hovered just above your skin as he let out a soft exhale, his breath warm against your bare stomach. “Every inch of you, so soft, so untouched. You drive me insane, mi vida.”

His fingers ghosted along the inside of your leg, his touch featherlight yet deliberate, igniting a trail of warmth beneath his fingertips. He traced the edge of your panties, his thumb brushing over the thin fabric that covered the most intimate part of you. The part he was never allowed to touch. 

The heat radiating from your body made his breath catch in his throat. His hand dipped lower, his fingers pressing lightly against your cunt, feeling the warmth and softness beneath the barrier of fabric. A low hum of satisfaction rumbled in his chest as he pressed a single finger against your covered clit, moving in slow, deliberate circles.

Carlos lowered his head, his lips so close now that his breath fanned over you, hot and unsteady. He paused, savouring the moment, before pressing a kiss right where his fingers had been, the contact soft yet deliberate. The fabric between you only added to his desire, a fleeting barrier that made the moment feel even more tantalizing.

Filled with dark intent, he glanced at you, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest to confirm you were still asleep. His hands moved with purpose now, his fingers hooking onto your panties. Carefully, he pulled the fabric to the side, his movements unhurried as if he had all the time in the world with your pliant body. His eyes darkened, breath hitching as he finally saw you all in your glory. He dragged his fingers over your now bare pussy, teasing the slit, separating your delicate folds. 

The sight of your glistening pussy was too tempting to resist. He swiped his tongue across his lips, aching to taste your sweet cunt. “See, I knew you’d like this,” he whispered, watching your wetness grow with each slide of his fingers, coating them completely. “I wouldn’t have to do this if you just let me have you, nena.” 

He collected your slickness on his fingers before bringing them up to his mouth. His eyes fluttered shut as he slipped them between his lips, his tongue swirling around them greedily. The taste of you consumed him, rich and intoxicating, and he groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through the quiet room. 

“You taste so sweet,” he murmured against his fingers, as though tasting you had confirmed something he’d always known. His gaze flickered back to you, his expression filled with a mix of awe and hunger. 

His hand returned to your thighs, holding you gently yet firmly in place as though you might stir and pull away. But you didn’t move, your body relaxed and unaware under his touch. He let his lips press against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, leaving a trail of slow, deliberate kisses as his other hand returned to your pussy. His fingers traced over you again, teasingly light, as though memorizing every moment. 

“Dios mío,” he whispered, his voice thick with awe. “You’re even more perfect than I imagined.”

Finally, he pressed a lingering kiss to your bare pussy, his lips soft and warm against your folds. He started slowly, careful not to jolt you awake, his tongue tracing a gentle path along your slit. A low groan escaped him, the sound vibrating against you as he savoured every second. 

“You’re so sweet,” he murmured against you, his voice muffled by his proximity. His tongue flicked over your clit with teasing precision before returning to lap at you more fully, his movements unhurried and methodical. Each stroke of his tongue was a worshipful caress, his hands holding your thighs steady as he worked. 

Carlos alternated between firm, deliberate licks and soft, teasing circles over your clit, his mouth devouring you with a hunger he could no longer restrain. His fingers dug into your thighs, hard enough to leave bruises behind. 

“Absolutely perfect,’ he said between kisses, his breath warm and ragged against your skin. He tilted his head slightly, his tongue delving deeper as his lips sealed over you, sucking gently before pulling away with a soft, wet sound. 

A low groan bubbled from your throat, making him pause. He glanced up at you from between your legs but you were still sucked into the depths of sleep. He chuckled, almost in awe at your subconscious reaction. “Mm, there we go, I know you like this.”

While he continued flicking his tongue over your clit mercilessly, his fingers teased your hole. He couldn’t believe it’s been untouched all your life—even you hadn’t dared to learn how to please yourself, leaving it up to your future husband. He found it rather cute, so innocent. He wished you allowed him to fuck you while you were conscious just so he could see your eyes rolling back, your lips parting as a soft sweet moan would’ve escaped when he slid his finger inside. 

Instead, he had to settle for a groan that came from him when you shifted just an inch. Your pussy swallowed his finger greedily, clenching around him as it struggled to decide if it was a welcomed intrusion or not.  

Carlos retreated his finger, briefly glancing at the wetness that coated it before pushing back in. He set a steady pace, allowing your body to become accustomed to the unusual intrusion before adding another finger. He curled them inside, and if you were conscious, perhaps you would arch your back as pleas left your lips. 

His hardened cock ached to be released from the confines of his boxers, precum staining them yet he focused on your pleasure first. He might’ve chosen to take you in a vulnerable moment, one in which you had no say, but he wasn’t cruel. He settled on moving his hips against the mattress, allowing temporary relief while he prepped you to take him. 

He was now three fingers deep in your cunt, scissoring and curling them inside to prepare you for the inevitable stretch his cock will provide. Leaning closer, he wrapped his lips around your clit again, sucking sharply in time with his quickening thrusts. Wetness gushed around him, coating his lips and fingers, even dripping down to stain the sheets beneath you. Pressing one last kiss to your cunt, he retreated his fingers completely, watching your pussy gape before clenching around air, searching for the lost pleasure. 

“Patience, nena, I know what your pretty little pussy needs,” he murmured breathlessly. 

He leaned back, kneeling on the bed as he hooked his fingers in his sweatpants and boxers in one go before sliding them down together and tossing the clothes aside. His hard, leaking cock ached to be inside you, enveloped by the warmth that only your virgin pussy would provide. His fingers dipped inside your cunt, collecting your wetness before wrapping his hand around himself. He smeared your slickness all over his cock, mixing with his precum that dripped from the tip. 

Carlos dropped his head back, moaning shamelessly as he worked his hand over himself. Whispered curses left his lips mixed with murmurs of your name as he neared the edge rather too quickly. He shut his eyes tightly when he forced himself to slow down his pace, not wanting his fantasy to be over before it even properly started. 

When he opened his eyes, he looked at you—still unaware, softly snoring away. He smiled as he trailed his gaze over your body, but when he reached the beautiful sight between your legs, he trapped his bottom lip between his teeth, preventing another moan from being unleashed. 

He couldn’t wait any longer, almost overcome with another wave of dark intent swirling in his mind. Holding his cock in one hand, he lowered his body, settling between your thighs again. The first swipe of his tip along your cunt had him shuddering with pleasure. 

Separating your delicate folds with his cock, he nudged your clit a few times. Your pussy twitched around him, and feeling that sensation through his cock only reaffirmed his reasons as to why he chose to do this. He was already obsessed, but that one taste of your cunt turned him feral, unable to restrain himself any further. He was too far gone, and he wouldn’t stop until he was buried deep inside you. 

He slid his cock lower, guiding it towards your hole. Inch by inch, he pressed inside. Your tight cunt almost naturally pushed him out, your sleeping state squirming at the thick intrusion. He didn’t relent, he was going to have you one way or another. Bringing his free hand closer, his fingers circled your clit slowly, allowing you to open up to him. 

“C’mon, princesa, I know you can take all of me,” he gritted through his teeth, your tightness almost overwhelming for him. 

He pulled out until only his tip remained inside before pushing back in, forcing you to take him an inch deeper this time. His pace on your clit remained merciless and as he repeated his movements a few times, he was soon completely buried inside your pussy. 

A low exhale left his lips as he savoured the tight walls of your cunt holding him inside, the heat welcoming him graciously. He held himself above you by his hands on each side of your head, his face hovering close to yours. “Thank you, mi vida, I knew you wouldn’t let me down,” he whispered almost reverently to your sleeping state. 

Inhaling deeply, he began moving slowly, barely pulling out before burying himself to the hilt again. Burrowing his face into the crook of your neck, he set a steady pace of his hips moving back and forth. He placed lingering kisses below your ear, murmuring low praises in between his moans. 

Your pussy greedily sucked him back in every time, earning a dark chuckle from him. “Oh, my sweet girl, if only you hadn’t made me wait so long.” 

He slammed his hips into yours sharply, angling deep inside you to earn a twitch of your body. “I tried, you know, I really did,” he confessed, his breath ghosting the shell of your ear. “But every time you wore those—mierda—skimpy clothes around me,” he panted softly, “it was too hard.”

He continued whispering all his deepest, darkest confessions in your ear, knowing you weren’t awake to listen. “Had to jerk off so many times in the shower, thinkin’ ‘bout your sweet voice, to the way you say my name.” 

As his words turned filthier, mingling with scattered praises, he picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming borderline brutal. Your body squirmed beneath him, jolting with the movements of the mattress shaking due to his weight. The headboard slammed against the wall with each thrust, but he was lost in the pleasure of your tight cunt to notice. 

“I love you so much, mi princesa, and I promise I’ll give you a ring,” he reasoned, his thoughts melting into one jumbled mess. “Jus’ couldn’t wait.” 

Suddenly, a loud broken cry left your lips as your body jolted beneath him. His movements faltered, watching you with wide eyes as you forced yourself to wake. When your gaze met his, a shroud of horror overtook your emotions. “Carlos—” you gasped, your mouth dropping open as you slowly realized the vulnerable position you were in. 

He should’ve stopped, should’ve slipped out of your cunt the moment he realized you were awake—too early, he noted—but he didn’t. Sliding out almost completely, he slammed his hips into yours, his cock forcing itself into your cunt. 

You screamed, horrified, yet it was tinged with a hint of pleasure—the only reaction he focused on. “Mi vida,” he tried, only to be met with a sudden force of your arms trying to push him away. 

He merely chuckled, watching as you grew impatient with each shove yet you were still too weak, slowly coming to from the effects of the sleeping pill he had slipped into your meal. Tears filled your eyes when you realized he wasn’t relenting, your lip wobbling as fear filled your body. 

He clicked his tongue in disapproval, bringing his fingers to your face, lightly brushing your cheek. “No, don’t cry, nena, I only want you to feel good,” he cooed.

His words clashed with his actions, his voice still dripping with sweetness but his cock continued to bully to your pussy. “Why?” you croaked, eyes nearly rolling back as an unwanted wave of pleasure coursed through you. 

“Because I love you,” he simply replied, but it wasn’t the words you were hoping to hear. How could he love you and still force his way into your cunt, without your permission? 

This wasn’t the Carlos you fell in love with, no, he was kind and caring. But now, trapped beneath him, you only saw desire in his eyes, those very eyes that once looked at you fondly were now replaced with the reflection of every dark thought that lodged its way into his mind. 

His fingers returned to your clit, circling in time with his thrusts, earning a broken moan from you. A wicked smile graced his lips as he finally heard the sweet sound of your pleasure. “You like this,” he said calmly but you didn’t agree. 

You began shaking your head violently, trying to contain the moans leaving your lips but it was too hard. This was the first time you were bestowed with such pleasure, enveloping you completely. You never expected it to happen this way, your virginity taken not by your husband on your wedding night but stolen from your boyfriend with cruel intentions. 

“No, no, no, please stop,” you pleaded, but your actions weren’t cooperating with your words. Your legs tightened around his waist as you inched closer to the edge of your very first orgasm.

“Make up your mind, nena, you say you don’t want me, and yet…” he trailed off, angling his hips differently to thrust deeper inside, earning another moan you couldn’t contain. “...you’re clinging to me so desperately.”

“Please,” you cried, tears spilling down your cheeks. 

“Please what? Let me make you feel good, like you deserve,” he punctuated his words with deliberate thrusts. Pleasure coursed through your veins like a spark, clouding your better judgement as you fell closer and closer to giving in. 

When you didn’t respond, he doubled down, slipping his cock out of you for a brief moment, earning a cry of loss from your lips. He grinned, knowing he nearly had you exactly where he wanted you—begging, pleading to let you cum. “You’re mine, we both know that, why wait?” 

He didn’t give you time to process his words, his strength overpowering yours as he flipped you over effortlessly, pressing you face down into the mattress. His hands gripped your shoulders with firm control, guiding you back onto his cock with a deliberate and unyielding force that left you breathless. 

Each thrust of his hips drew muffled moans from your lips, the sounds swallowed by the soft embrace of the bedding as you buried your face to stifle your cries. Any semblance of dignity you had clung to slipped away completely, shattered the moment his hands claimed you with ill intentions—so dominating, so consuming that resistance felt futile. 

His chest pressed flush against your back, the heat of his skin searing into yours as he slowed his pace, trading relentless urgency for deep, deliberate strokes. Each thrust felt more intense, his cock filling you completely, dragging out every sensation as he ground himself deeper with agonizing precision. 

A shiver ran down your spine as his lips brushed against the back of your neck, soft and teasing as first, until he began trailing kisses lower. His lips moved with purpose, leaving a blazing path over the curve of your shoulder blades, before his teeth grazed your skin. 

You gasped in surprise when he sucked harder, his mouth marking you with a bruise that promised to linger long after this moment. The sharp sting melded with the overwhelming pleasure, leaving you caught in a haze of sensation you couldn’t escape—ones he wouldn’t let you escape. 

Each kiss, each bite, each slow, grinding thrust made it harder to think, harder to hold on to anything but the raw desire pooling in your core. 

Your body trembled beneath him, every thrust breaking down the last of your defences, leaving you raw and exposed. The slow grind of his hips was torture, pushing you to the brink only to pull back, keeping you on the edge until the need became unbearable. You clawed at the sheets, your whimpers turning into desperate pleas as the fire in your core burned hotter, threatening to consume you. 

“Please,” you gasped, your voice muffled against the mattress. “Please, I can’t take it anymore. Just—just take me. I’ll do anything.”

Carlos chuckled darkly, his lips grazing the back of your neck as he drove into you harder, his pace quickening, his control slipping. “Anything, huh?” his voice was rough, dripping with amusement and something darker, something that made your entire body shiver. “You’re finally giving in, princesa? Finally ready to stop pretending you don’t want this?” 

“Yes,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as you surrendered completely. “I’m yours. I’ll do whatever you want—just don’t stop, please don’t stop.” 

“Good girl,” he growled, his grip on your hips tightening as he thrust harder, deeper, making you cry out. “That’s what I wanted to hear. You, begging for me. Pleading for me to fuck you.” 

Your pussy clenched around him, the coil of pleasure winding impossibly tight as his words sent sparks of heat racing through you. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t focus on anything but him—his touch, his voice, the way he owned you completely. 

“Gonna fill you with my cum, nena,” he rasped, his voice thick with lust. “Gonna get you pregnant with my babies before I even put a ring on your finger. How’s that for waiting ‘til marriage?”

The filthy promise made your head spin, the image too vivid, too overwhelming. The heat in your core shattered, a cry ripping from your throat as your orgasm washed over you, leaving you trembling and gasping beneath him. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, his pace growing erratic as your cunt milked him, dragging him to the edge. “You’re so perfect—so fucking perfect.” 

With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you, his release spilling into you in hot pulsing waves. His forehead pressed against your shoulder, his breath ragged as he let out a low, guttural groan. 

“You feel that?” he murmured against your ear, his voice still rough, still full of that possessive edge that made you weak. “That’s me, claiming you. Making you mine.” 

You couldn’t utter a word, your thoughts racing through your mind before you could comprehend them. Your body was still trembling as he stayed there, buried deep inside you, his hands never letting go. Finally, he eased out, earning a low, almost silent whimper from you. He carefully turned you around, able to see your tinged cheeks stained with tears. 

He gripped your chin tightly, forcing you to meet his gaze. His cock twitched at the sight of your teary eyes, and the dark intensity in his gaze made your heart race, even as a sly, satisfied smirk spread across his lips. 

“See, I know exactly what you want, what you need,” he said, his tone teasing but firm. “Don’t ever try to deny me again, nena, because this? This is just the beginning.”

His grip loosened, fingers brushing over your jaw as his smirk softened into something almost tender. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, and all-consuming, his tongue coaxing yours into submission. It wasn’t rough like before—it was possessive in a different way, claiming you in the quiet aftermath of his dominance. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours as the intensity in his gaze began to soften.

“You took me so well,” he murmured, his voice low and warm now, threading a hand through your hair. “Better than I could’ve imagined. You’re perfect, nena, just like this.”

He eased you back against the mattress, his body still covering yours but lighter now, more protective than overwhelming. His thumb stroked over your cheek, wiping away a stray tear as his lips brushed against your temple. 

He cupped your face, tilting it up toward him again, his expression softer, though the possessiveness still lingered in his eyes. “Stay here,” he murmured, pressing one last kiss to your lips before slipping away.

You heard the sound of water running, the rustle of fabric as he moved around, and when he returned, he had a warm, damp cloth in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. He settled beside you, his touch impossibly gentle as he cleaned you up, murmuring soothing words each time you winced from the sensitivity.

“You did so good for me, princesa,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over your hip as he worked. “Took everything I gave you like you were made for it.”

When he finished, he set the cloth aside and pulled you into his arms, wrapping you in his warmth. His chest was solid against your cheek, his heartbeat steady and grounding as he stroked your back in slow, comforting circles.

“Gotta make sure my girl’s okay,” he said softly, the edge of dominance in his voice replaced with something deeper, almost protective. “You’re mine, nena. Mine to protect, mine to love, mine to ruin in all the ways you crave. And I’ll never let anything or anyone take you away from me.”

[svtiddiess]

Show 'Em How It's Done

Synopsis: Everyone assumes Mingyu is the submissive one when it comes to bedroom activities, so he proves them wrong.

Pairing: non-idol!Mingyu x afab!reader

Genre: smut, oneshot, established relationship, non-idol au

Rating: mature

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: penetrative sex, unprotected sex (don't do this!), creampie, semi-public sex, exhibitionism? (they're in a different room but can still be heard), dom!Mingyu, big dick!Mingyu, lemme know if I missed anything!

Note: This was requested! I hope you enjoy it!

Thank you so much to @seokgyuu and @okiedokrie for beta reading!

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Read on ao3

Reblogs are appreciated ♡

.ᐟMinors/blank/no age indicator blogs will be blocked.ᐟ

Your eyes light up as you see the cabin you're staying for the weekend come into view. Mingyu, your boyfriend, had planned this trip with his friend group—a much-needed escape to the woods. Thanks to Seungcheol's generous use of his credit card, they managed to rent a spacious and stunning cabin tucked away in nature.

At first, you assumed Mingyu wanted a boys-only weekend, but to your surprise, he was adamant that you join them. Despite your repeated refusals, he insisted this was the perfect chance for you to finally meet and get to know his closest friends. He also claimed that he'd be extremely sad and lonely if he spent an entire two days without you, a reason that made you snort. Eventually, you gave in, and Mingyu’s excitement over your agreement was downright infectious.

After a gruelling four-hour drive, you sigh and stretch, glad to finally move your stiff limbs. Your gaze shifts to Mingyu, who’s focused on reverse parking with one hand resting on the back of your seat. Your cheeks heat up—it’s ridiculous how even after six months together, he still makes your heart flutter over something so simple. But really, who could blame you? It's not your fault your boyfriend is so hot.

"Thanks for driving, my Mingoo," you say with a smile, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek.

"You missed," he pouts, tapping his lips with his finger.

Laughing, you lean in for a quick peck, but before you can pull away, Mingyu places a hand on the back of your head and deepens the kiss. A surprised squeak escapes you, followed by soft giggles against his lips.

"Did you really think I’d let you off the hook with that weak excuse of a kiss?" He teases, his grin playful.

"You’re such a baby," you huff, rolling your eyes.

"Your baby," he counters smugly.

Still chuckling, you climb out of the car and stretch again as Mingyu unloads your luggage. Your jaw drops as you take in the sight of the large cabin before you. It’s impressive—definitely worth thanking Seungcheol for later.

"Looks like some of them are already here," Mingyu says, nodding toward the other cars parked nearby.

Suddenly, the realisation hits that you’ll be meeting most of his friends for the first time, and nerves start to bubble up. You’ve met Seungcheol and Wonwoo before, but this will be your first encounter with the entire group. Mingyu has been close with them since high school, and despite going their separate ways for college and work, their bond has remained rock-solid.

Sensing your unease, Mingyu sets down the bags and walks over to you. He takes your hand, his touch steady and comforting, and flashes you a reassuring smile.

"Don’t stress, babe. They’re going to love you. I promise," he says softly.

"But what if I embarrass myself? What if the first impression I give them is of me being a total idiot?" you groan, your palms growing clammy.

Mingyu chuckles, shaking his head. "Babe, trust me. You can’t out-dumbass them. They’re the biggest idiots I know," he says with a laugh. "So relax, okay? You’ve got nothing to worry about."

His words, paired with the kiss he plants on your forehead, manage to soothe your nerves a little. You sigh, nodding reluctantly. Mingyu squeezes your hand one last time before returning to the luggage. Taking a deep breath, you follow him inside, determined to make the best of the weekend.

Getting to know Mingyu’s friend group has been…an experience, to say the least. He wasn’t kidding when he said they were idiots but in the best possible way. They’re warm, welcoming, and a little chaotic—a combination that instantly makes you feel at ease. In fact, Soonyoung, Seungkwan, and Seokmin even "initiated" you into their inner circle. You’ve officially become one of the boys.

Right now, the entire group is sprawled across the living room, all varying levels of drunk, playing games. You’re sitting on the floor between Mingyu and Vernon, caught up in a lively game of Truth or Dare. Currently, Jeonghan has dared Joshua to get slapped in the face with kimchi, and to everyone’s delight, Joshua actually went through with it.

You’re doubled over, clutching your stomach in laughter, tears streaming down your face as Joshua wipes kimchi off his cheek with an exasperated expression. Jeonghan, of course, looks beyond pleased with himself.

It’s Soonyoung’s turn next, and judging by the mischievous glint in his eyes and his unsteady giggles, the alcohol is fully in charge now. He spins toward Mingyu with a maniacal grin.

"So, Gyu. Truth or dare?" he asks, practically bouncing in place.

Mingyu, who’s only slightly tipsy, shakes his head with a laugh. "Truth. I’m not risking anything."

"Boo!" Soonyoung pouts dramatically, earning exaggerated groans of disappointment from the rest of the group.

"Buzzkill!" Seokmin calls out from the couch.

"I’d rather not get kimchi-slapped by Jeonghan," Mingyu quips, casting a wary glance at Jeonghan.

"Hey, it’s an enlightening experience," Joshua deadpans, still dabbing his face with a tissue. Jeonghan simply laughs.

Soonyoung suddenly gasps, his eyes wide as if he’s just discovered the secret to the universe. "Oh my God, I got it!" he shouts, his grin downright unhinged. "Gyu, is it true that you’re the submissive one in the bedroom?!"

Your jaw drops. The room instantly explodes with laughter.

"W-What?!" Mingyu stammers, his brows furrowing in shock.

"You heard me!" Soonyoung giggles. "You’re the submissive one, aren’t you?"

Mingyu scoffs, shaking his head. "I’m not."

"Aw, come on, Gyu. Don’t be shy about it," Jeonghan teases, his grin only fueling the chaos. The laughter around you grows louder.

Your face burns as the conversation continues, the guys piling on the teasing with no mercy.

"Guys, seriously, can we not?" Mingyu whines, clearly flustered.

"Not until you admit it!" Seungcheol grins, leaning forward with mock intensity.

"It’s true, right, Y/N? Mingyu’s the submissive one in the bedroom, isn’t he?" Seungkwan chimes in, his laughter contagious.

Your cheeks heat up even more, and you hide your face in your hands, which only makes them laugh harder.

"No need to be shy, Y/N. We all know Gyu’s a massive simp for you—in and out of the bedroom," Joshua says with a wink.

You giggle softly, finally giving in. "Well…he is a huge simp for me."

The room erupts into chaos, everyone howling with laughter.

"She admitted it!" Soonyoung screams, practically rolling on the floor.

"So it’s true! He is submissive!" Jun adds, laughing so hard he has to wipe his eyes.

"I knew it!" Chan chimes in, grinning from ear to ear.

Mingyu groans, his face buried in his hands. "Babe~," he whines, looking at you with a pout.

You offer him an apologetic smile and lean in to kiss his cheek. "Sorry," you murmur, trying to stifle a laugh.

Mingyu grumbles and pouts as the rest of the boys continue to roar with laughter.

The game carries on, but you notice your beer is empty. Announcing to the group that you’re heading to the kitchen to grab more, you stand up and make your way into the next room, separated from the living area by a wall.

You open the fridge and grab a bottle, then reach for the kitchen drawer to find a bottle opener—only to discover it’s missing. With a quiet grumble, you crouch down to check the lower drawers, rummaging through them in hopes of finding what you need.

That’s when you feel it—a presence behind you, someone pressing up against your back. You gasp softly and straighten up quickly, attempting to turn around, but the person behind you cages you in, their arms trapping you against the counter.

"So… it’s true, huh? That I’m the submissive one?" Mingyu’s voice is low as he whispers in your ear.

Relief washes over you when you realise it’s just your boyfriend. Letting out a soft laugh, you shake your head. "Gyu, they were just messing with you," you say, amused at how hung up he still is on the topic.

"But you didn’t deny it," he murmurs, his voice tinged with mock offence. "You told them I’m a simp for you."

"That’s because you are a simp for me," you tease, glancing at him over your shoulder.

"I am," he admits, his tone unashamed as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. His face nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "But I’m definitely not the submissive one."

Before you can respond, Mingyu rolls his hips against you, his movement deliberate. The sudden sensation draws a surprised gasp from your lips.

"Right, babe?" he teases, and you can feel the smug grin spreading across his face as he continues his little game.

You bite your bottom lip, your body warming under his touch as he grinds against you, the growing pressure unmistakable. "Gyu, not here," you mumble, your voice barely above a whisper. "They’ll hear us."

"That’s the whole point, sweetheart," he purrs, his voice dripping with mischief.

"Fuck, Gyu," a soft whimper escapes your lips at a particularly hard grind, causing Mingyu to chuckle.

"What if I just bend you over and fuck you right here? You would like that, wouldn't you, sweetheart?" He chuckles.

"Gyu, I-" A loud moan escapes your lips, and you quickly bite your lip to prevent any more sounds from escaping.

Grabbing your hips, Mingyu starts guiding your hips against his, pushing your ass against his hard cock. You feel your mind start to get fuzzy as you feel how hard he has become.

"Beg for it, sweetheart. Beg for me to ruin you with my cock," he purrs in your ear.

"Gyu, please… I need it," you whisper, your cheeks flushing with heat.

"Need what, babe?" he asks, his tone playful, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. Your soft whine only makes his grin widen.

"Need you to ruin me with your cock," you mumble.

"Good girl," he whispers before placing a kiss on the shell of your ear.

Without warning, he bends you over the kitchen counter; a yelp escapes your lips as your cheeks make contact with the cold marble. A slow, teasing hand runs down your back, leaving goosebumps in its trail; you can't help but let out a small whine of frustration, eliciting a chuckle from Mingyu.

"So impatient," he smirks as he slaps your ass, drawing a gasp from you.

He unbuckles your pants, and you help him shimmy it off of you, shivering as the cold air nips at your bare legs. He hums as he rubs a finger on your panty-clad pussy, making you whimper.

"So wet already?" he teases with a low chuckle, his tone dripping with mockery.

"Gyu, please," you plead, your voice trembling with desperation, unable to endure his relentless teasing any longer.

"Admit it," he growls softly, his lips brushing against your ear. "Admit that you're the submissive one in bed."

"I'm the submissive one in bed," you cry out, your cheeks burning. "Now, please, just fuck me already!"

Laughing at your impatience, Mingyu slaps your pussy, making you mewl as a sharp wave of pain and pleasure wash over you.

"Such a good girl. My good girl," he growls before unbuckling his pants and slipping out his cock.

Moving your panties to the side, he teases you by rubbing his dick against your folds, coating the tip with your juices. Desperate to feel him, you arch your hips back, seeking more, but Mingyu firmly holds you in place, pressing you tightly against the counter with ease. You let out a frustrated whine, wiggling your hips in a futile attempt to gain some control, but Mingyu’s strength easily overpowers you. Helpless under his grip, you surrender, letting him take the lead like the good girl he knows you are.

He spits on his cock, using it as lube, and gives it a few pumps before slowly inserting it into your tight hole. Your eyes roll back, and your mouth goes agape as you finally feel his cock inside you; his cock stretching you out deliciously. Mingyu's big, the biggest you've ever had, so every time he fucks you, it feels like the first.

Grunts escape his lips as he tries to restrain himself from slamming into you; you feel so good wrapped around him. A choked whimper escapes your lips when you feel his tip kiss your cervix. He pulls out halfway before slamming back into you, stealing the breath from your lungs.

Without hesitation, Mingyu picks up the pace; each thrust rough and relentless. Broken moans and soft whimpers spill from your lips, your mind too clouded with pleasure to focus on anything but the way he fills you so perfectly.

"That's right, sweetheart," he purrs against your ear, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "Be loud. Let everyone know how good I’m making you feel."

"G-Gyu," you manage to moan, your voice trembling. "S-so good… feels so good."

"Only I can make you feel this good, isn’t that right, sweetheart?" he growls, his voice rough with possession. One hand moves to grip your neck, holding you firmly in place, while the other steadies your hips.

"Yes! You—only you!" you cry out, your voice shaky as the overwhelming pleasure pushes you closer to the edge.

"Gyu, I'm so close! Please—please, please!" you beg, your words tumbling out in desperate sobs as you plead for release.

The hand holding your hips shifts to circle your clit with precision, and you scream out his name. The knot in your stomach finally unravels, and your vision blurs as a wave of euphoria crashes over you. Pleasure ripples through your body, leaving you breathless as you chant his name like a prayer. Mingyu doesn't let up, his movements steady as he thrusts into you, guiding you through the intensity of your release. After a few more thrusts, he cums inside you, filling you up; your fluids mixing together.

You both take a moment to catch your breath, the room filled with nothing but the sound of your heavy breathing. Slowly, he slides out, a soft whimper escaping your lips at the sensation. Pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder, he adjusts your panties back into place. You cringe slightly, feeling the fabric cling uncomfortably to your skin.

"Keep my cum in you; I'll make sure to fuck it back into you later," he purrs, making you blush.

He helps you stand and gently guides you back into your pants before slipping into his own clothes. Running his fingers through your messy hair, he smooths it down before wiping away any drool and sweat from your face. Then, he leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. You smile into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. When he pulls back, he nuzzles your nose with his, drawing a soft giggle from you.

"Ready to head back?" he murmurs, his voice low and affectionate.

You nod, grabbing your now lukewarm beer before following him back into the living room.

"Did we miss anything?" Mingyu asks casually as he takes a seat, acting as if he didn't just fuck your brains out a few minutes before.

"N-Nothing, you missed nothing," Soonyoung stammers, awkwardly clearing his throat as he tries to hide his very obvious boner.

Your gaze sweeps across the room, and you realise the rest of them are just as flustered, each one failing miserably to hide their boners. You burst into laughter at their awkward state, and Mingyu joins in, clearly enjoying the moment.

With a smug grin, Mingyu looks around at his friends before cupping your face and pulling you in for a deep, possessive kiss. The room fills with groans and exaggerated complaints.

"Get a room!" someone yells, earning more laughter from the both of you.

You giggle into the kiss, relishing the playful teasing, while Mingyu smirks against your lips, clearly pleased to have proven their earlier jabs entirely wrong.

Taglist: @tinyelfperson @gyuguys @stay-tiny-things @tomodachiii @unlikelysublimekryptonite @miyx-amour @iamawkwardandshy @codeinebelle @brownbunnyb @do-you-remember-summer-127 @sclovreina @theidontknowmehn @toplinehyunjin @gyuhao365 @mysticfairies @cherrylovescheol @cookiearmy @4shypotato @lxnnrobin @aliiikareed @jennwonwoo

[gothicfied]

Bf!Nam-gyu / Player 124 Headcanons

Pairing: Boyfriend!Nam-gyu x fem!reader (No Squid Game AU)

Warnings: Mention of drug use/withdrawal, other than that it's just fluff (maybe a teeny tiny bit of angst), not proof read (english isn't my first language)

જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Nam-gyu.. who you met at the club he worked at during a night out with your friends. He took one look at you and knew he was in love immediately — Your makeup, your dress, your hair, that you spent hours trying to style it, just everything about you was perfect. He genuinely had to stop what he was doing for a second to get his thoughts straight.

જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Nam-gyu.. who just couldn't help but give you drinks on the house, trying to make small talk with you. The music was loud, blaring out of the speakers not far away from the bar, but he didn't need to hear you. For him, it was enough to see you up close, to see you smile and laugh at his cheesy attempts at pick-up lines. He laughed along, trying to overplay his nervousness, which didn't quite work.

જ⁀➴ It wouldn't have been the first time that Boyfriend!Nam-gyu took a girl back home with him that he met at his work, but you were different. He wasn't staring at your body, looking down your cleavage when talking to him, no, he was actually interested in getting to know you. During your short conversation, he could just tell how kind and lighthearted you were. After all, not every girl would entertain his flirting.

જ⁀➴ After a few times seeing you around the club again, Boyfriend!Nam-gyu had secured your phone number, which you wrote down on his hand with a little heart next to it. You couldn't exactly tell why you liked him this much, hut he was weirdly charming and appreciated the fact that he wanted to take you out on a proper date some time. He was cute, you couldn't deny that, so you took up on his offer.

જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Nam-gyu.. who stayed true to his word and texted you right after his shift, setting up a date and time for a meeting outside his workplace. He already had everything thought out in his head, perhaps even imagining little scenarios about you before falling asleep.

જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Nam-gyu.. who could now actually introduce himself as your boyfriend after a couple of dates, long phone calls and deep talks late at night when you'd stay over at his place. The two of you had developed a strong bond in no time, finding out that you had more in common than you first thought. And, in your opinion, he was the best partner you could wish for. Nam-gyu was attentive, always noticed if you felt bad and cheered you up, funny.. what wasn't there to love about him?

જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Nam-gyu.. who you helped get clean and also get a better job. The first few weeks of withdrawal weren't the easiest on him nor your relationship, but you absolutely made it work. You'd comfort him during a breakdown, wiping his tears away for him and hold him against your chest. Your nails would scrape the back of his neck, making him let out a shaky sigh.

"I'm.. sorry about that, baby-" Nam-gyu sniffled, taking a deep breath before looking up at you. "There's nothing you have to apologize for," you replied back, a bit shocked about the fact that he would think he needed to say sorry for crying. "I'm here for you, okay? I love you, don't forget that."

જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Nam-gyu.. who would frequently buy you your favorite flowers. You'd always ask him what the occasion was and he'd always just shrug, claiming that he didn't need an occasion or a reason to maks you happy.

જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Nam-gyu.. who would try to help you while baking something, but would mess everything up he was involved with. Cookies came out burnt, brownies didn't fully bake through.. whatever it was, it just didn't work out. But, you two had fun while doing it and that was all that mattered. Well, not all the time maybe (you reaaaaally wanted those chocolate chip cookies).

જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Nam-gyu.. who kisses you awake every morning, even if you could sleep in. Whenever he has to wake up before you, he'd pepper kisses all over your face, partially to also annoy you.

You slowly opened your eyes at the feeling of Nam-gyu's lips against your, turning your head away from him. He laughed and tried to lean over to give you another, but you weren't having it. "Leave me alone!" you blurted out, eyes still closed and all.

"Jesus, can't I kiss my girlfriend goodbye anymore?"

"No."

"Why? What did I do?"

"I hate you."

"Good morning to you too, princess."

[3amfanfiction]

For the worms: Johnny prescribing to the idea “sharing is caring” when his newest girlfriend makes it past the two months mark (something previously thought impossible), don’t worry guys, it’s not “my girlfriend” she’s “our girlfriend”

Oh Temp you know the way to my heart. I love a good 'our girlfriend' moment. There's something so delicious about the entitlement of it, it lends a certain flavor that tickles my fancy. poly 141 x fem!reader. 7k words about (unknowingly) being the team's girlfriend. This is nothing but smut, enjoy!

~~~~

He knew you were the one the first time he met you.

You got him, in ways no one else ever had. You got his energy, his excitement, his need for stimulation. He knew he could be a lot but he also knew he'd never been too much. He'd just been waiting for someone like you.

He never listened when the guys wanted to dog on him saying no one would put up for long with how much he talked. He was a chatty guy, okay? He had a lot of thoughts running through his head and he wanted to share them with people. You never knew which thoughts were going to be strokes of genius until they're spoken after all.

And while he would talk about anything under the sun, he talked about his team most of all. Probably more than he should if he was being completely honest but it was hard not to talk about the people he loved. He was talking about you to them just as much after all. The two halves of his life overlapping as often as he could make them.

But you loved it. You loved him. It was obvious every time you told him to make sure he ate lunch as he was headed out the door, lunch bag swinging from his hand, bursting with goodies you'd packed up the night before. Every time you texted him first, took his trash with yours to throw away, brushed your hand down his arm in greeting, always winding up with your fingers tangled together as he pulled you in for a kiss. Your whole existence showed how much you loved him.

It was fate. It was perfect. It was another sign it was meant to be that it was your 2-month anniversary when you broke the news to him as you were walking him to the door one morning. He'd stayed over the night before because he knew he was going to be working late tonight so you both celebrated one day early. And what a celebration it had been. He'd stolen his three kisses at the door and was getting ready to step over the threshold when he realized just how big your heart was and the fact that you truly were listening whenever he spoke.

"Tell your team I said hi," you said, smiling sweetly up at him, sleep shirt rumpled and hair a gorgeous mess, "there's extra muffins for everyone in your bag."

Oh.

He hadn't realized—but that was okay—he should've noticed—poor lass, had he not been holding up his side of the relationship? The part where you support your partner and their needs and wants? He hadn't seen what you wanted but he understood now. You'd made your feelings known and who was he to stand in the way?

Beaming down at you he peppered your face with kisses, holding your cheeks firmly between his wide palms. Words broken up with the showering of kisses, "I'll tell them love, don't you worry—I'll tell them."

Best anniversary ever.

—

You were pleased with how your day had gone. You'd spent it picking up the house, doing a grocery run, you spent a good few hours on your hobby, and started on a dinner that would get you through lunches for the rest of the week. Your day left you feeling good so you threw on your comfiest t-shirt and sleep shorts combo and camped out on the sofa while dinner finished in the oven.

It startled you when you heard a key being inserted into your lock but you were reassured when you heard Johnny's voice on the other end. You weren't sure how he managed to talk his way into getting a key to your house so quickly but he had a way of lovingly worming his way into any opening you left. He had nearly convinced you to move in with him just last week before you realized what he was doing and put a stop to it. The man had a golden tongue.

In more ways than one.

You popped up over the couch to say hi when you were met with more than just your boyfriend. Another person stood looming at his back, dwarfing the man who made you feel small. You weren't sure what face you were making as you looked up at them, unsure of what was going on but not immediately worried. Johnny had told you enough stories that you were able to clock the man standing with him almost immediately.

"Love, this is Simon."

Right on the money.

"He's come for dinner. The other two were jealous they were gonna miss out on your cooking but they had prior plans. Just know they'd be here if they could."

What? Why was he making it sound like a hallmark moment? You tilted your chin up for a kiss as he came over to the couch, holding still while he cupped your face and pressed his hungry mouth to yours. You pulled away abashed at the racy kiss in front of company. Putting your hand to Johnny's face when it was clear he was coming in for a second go you addressed them both.

"I didn't realize either of you were coming for dinner." Your voice dropped to a whisper, "Johnny! I'm not even dressed."

"You look perfect love," he assured, looking over your outfit. "Besides, it's only Simon. And I've seen you in less. Much less." He leered at you with a smarmy smile and you couldn't help but laugh. He had a point, and you were decent, just a little rattier than you'd prefer when meeting someone for the first time. Hopefully Simon wouldn't hold it against you.

You climbed off the couch and went to greet your guest before moving to the kitchen, calling out to Johnny to set the table and get drinks ready. You hadn't planned on feeding anyone other than yourself tonight but with a creative side dish or two you had enough to go around. You'd just need to find something else for lunch but that was a problem for tomorrow. For tonight you had people to feed and you wouldn't let them go hungry.

By the time dinner was over you had a new appreciation for your boyfriend's teammate. While not particularly verbose he wasn't shy about making his opinions known. And his opinions seemed to be overwhelmingly positive.

"That was the best meal I've had in ages, dove."

You felt your cheeks heat as you smiled at him, "Thank you, Simon. It's one of my favorite dishes, I'm glad you liked it."

You looked over to see Johnny beaming as he looked back and forth between the two of you, happy as a clam to see you getting along so well. He looked like he was mentally patting himself on the back at the successful dinner. Like he had orchestrated something that was finally coming to fruition. It would be worrying if you didn't know your boyfriends penchant for good naturedly dipping his fingers into things. Nothing to do but wait and see what scheme he was cooking up in his brain.

—

You had piled the last dish into the sink when Johnny came up and wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing along your neck. It sent a shiver down your spine at the unexpected touch, goosebumps popping up all along your arms before you relaxed back into him.

He was warm—heat radiating off him in waves as he pulled you to stand in front of him, turned to face him with a smile. He grinned back at you, overjoyed at having your attention.

Raising your arms you looped them around his neck, pressing close as you leaned up for a proper kiss. For all that he had sprung company on you, you were happy to see him and you had missed him today. You'd quickly found that he carved a niche out for himself, wiggling into your psyche like he belonged and conforming it around him. Now when he was gone you were left staring at an empty hole that used to be filled.

Your thoughts were pleasantly scattered, a warm contented haze settled over your mind when you felt another body slide up behind you.

You yanked your head away from Johnny only for the back of it to thud against Simon's shoulder, him penning you in between the two of them. Your felt a little like those sheep you saw in videos, held in place by a machine while they were manipulated to their owners liking. You tilted your head with a frown, trying to push back on him or away from Johnny, whichever would get you a little bit of space.

"What are you doing?"

You froze as one thick arm curled around your waist, big hand spread wide over the pudge of your stomach while the other snaked its way up your torso. He gripped your chin firmly from behind, moving you to face Johnny once more.

"Don't stop now, it was just getting good."

Johnny didn't hesitate for a moment to dive back down and press his lips to yours once more, moaning into your mouth and humping his hips forward subconsciously. You tried to turn your head to catch your breath but Simon kept you still, holding you trapped in the heady spill of Johnny's tongue and lips as they devoured yours.

You were limp by the time he eventually pulled back, a panting mess with spit-slicked lips and blown-out eyes. You looked up at him with your mind reeling until you felt another set of lips making their home on the column of your neck.

You flinched . . . or you tried to. You didn't get far with how Simon was pinning you back against his body. You turned worried eyes up towards Johnny, sure this was about to set him off, maybe start an argument about boundaries and how you were with him, Simon wasn't allowed to swan in and start taking liberties for himself.

Instead what you saw was Johnny's pupils eclipsing his irises as he strove to burn the image into his retinas. Greedy want was present in every line of his face as he watched his teammate kiss along his girlfriend's neck. That look mixed in with the shock of teeth Simon had just introduced caused you to let out a ragged gasp, filling the quiet kitchen air with your sound.

"Fuck LT," Johnny croaked, "Just like that."

"Johnny, what—" your voice wobbled as you squirmed in place—Simon finding every sensitive spot along your neck with ease. "What's going on?"

"I'm sorry, lass. When you told me this morning . . . I hadn't realized this was something you were wanting. I didn't see it." He looked contritely down at you, eyes flickering over to where Simon was pressing hot, wet kisses just behind your ear before darting back to yours, "But we're here now. All of us—as a team."

"I don't understand, I never said I wanted thi-IS." You ended on a yelp as the man at your back took the tip of your ear between his teeth and pinched. You swatted back at him, pushing against his forehead as he chuckled. It was almsot mean, like he liked the sound of your squeal.

"Settle down," he smirked, releasing your ear after a moment, holding it long enough to drive home that he was releasing you of his own will. "no need to cause a commotion. Like he said, we're here now."

The to stay was heavily implied by the weight of his words.

Before you knew it Johnny had leaned down once more, taking your mouth in his while Simon made headway on covering every inch of your neck with his teeth and tongue. It was a whirlwind. Groping hands slid under clothing to pull them off while trailing kisses on every new bit of cleared skin as they urged you to the bedroom. By the time you were sprawled back on the center of the mattress you'd been stripped as bare as the day you were born. Limbs akimbo. Chest heaving with gasped breaths. Unsure how you ended up here.

You watched the two men finish removing the last of their clothes before they crawled in with you, bodies pressing a wash of hot skin to yours, causing you to arch into the sensation. Simon took possession of your mouth while Johnny dove headfirst between your legs.

Your gasp at the first long stroke of his tongue along your seam was all the opening Simon needed. Caught between the double sensation of tongues, it was no surprise you quickly became a panting mess. You attempted to keep your hips from hitching but it was a losing battle, your body's instinctive reaction to get closer to the source of euphoria.

Meanwhile Simon had coaxed your tongue into his mouth and was nibbling and sucking on it in turns, your jaw cradled in his wide palm, tilting you exactly as he wanted. When you pulled your tongue back into your own mouth he took that as leave to begin tracing your lips with the point of his, dipping just inside to take sips at your mouth. Acting as if you were something to be savored. Enjoyed.

He reached down to pinch at your nipples, tugging them into hard peaks only to soothe them with his thumb when you complained. The first time you pulled away with a yip he pressed apologizing kisses down your neck and collar, ending at the abused nipple to take it into his mouth. He laved the sensitive flesh, whispering sweet words into your soft skin.

"Sorry, pretty girl, didn't mean to be so rough." Kisses and light nips with his teeth. How were his kisses so good? "We'll start gentle, yeah? Only soft touches for you tonight."

Moving back up to your mouth once more, he held you still while Johnny had you moaning, keeping your mouth fused to his, not letting you pull away for a single breath. You had to suffice yourself with stealing air when you could, an endless battle between your need to breathe and Simon's consuming kisses. You were lightheaded and woozy by the time you were able to properly pull away.

Drinking down greedy gasps of oxygen—anything to stop your swirling head. You looked down your body to see Johnny perched between your thighs, his bright blue eyes visible as he looked up at you from the cradle of your hips, paused to watch the two of you with adoration. You reached a free hand down to grab his hair, holding him in place and grinding your cunt against his mouth. Your fist clenched tightly as he went back to eating with gusto.

It was impossible for you to stay still, continuously squirming and humping your hips up into his face, chasing your high. Simon reached down and pressed a firm hand to your pelvis, pinning you in place.

"Don't you know how to keep our girl still? Do you let her squirm like this whenever I'm not here?" At Johnny's broken protest he scoffed, "Christ, I knew you needed direction, Johnny boy, but I never realized it was this bad."

Johnny muffled his dissenting keen into your wet heat at his words, humping down onto the mattress like he was the one unable to stay still. Simon looked at you and grinned meanly.

"Well, doll? How about it? Does he give you what you need or does he let you walk all over him?"

You were unable to do anything but shake your head in negation, no verbal response forthcoming. Simon turned to look down at Johnny once more.

"Well? Do I need to show you how to do it properly?" He cocked an eyebrow as he looked down his nose when Johnny drew back from your warmth, separating to draw in a few deep breaths, "It doesn't look like you know what you're doing down there." Simon reached down and palmed the back of Johnny's head, pushing him further into your cunt. "Get a good taste. I wanna see drool dripping down your chin by the time you're done. You should have slick up to your ears and she should be drenched down to the bedsheets." He ignored both of your moans, "Didn't realize I'd have to order you around in the bedroom too, just an unruly little pup, aren't you?"

The constant flow of words from his lieutenant only caused Johnny to become more fervored. Licking into you with abandon, he shifted to free one hand, moving up to press two fingers all the way to the knuckles in one fell swoop. Your wetness ensuring he slid in with no difficulties, a smooth glide with only the stretch to betray the insertion.

You couldn't help the moan that slipped out. A great climbing thing that started deep in your chest and worked its way out of your throat with a rumble. It was the work of moments for you to be right on the edge standing at the precipice, looking down onto your first orgasm of the night.

"There we go Johnny, you've got it now. That's just what she needed, huh? Needed a couple of fingers stuck up into her, something to squeeze. We can help her out with that."

Listening to Simon continue to rumble filth into the air and watching him lean down to press his mouth to Johnny's ear, whispering murmured words you couldn't make out was all you needed for that final push.

The heat that had been steadily building coalesced in your lower back and thighs, the visual of the two of them all the spark you needed to set it alight. Your toes curled and your back arched as you tried to get closer to where Johnny was sucking on your clit with pursed lips. A sobbed Johnny! all you were able to verbalize through the onslaught.

Coming back to yourself you were met with Johnny and Simon watching you with avarice, greedy for every expression that crossed your face. You focused on Johnny and saw an absolutely drenched face. He heard what Simon had said about slick from ear to ear and had made sure to accomplish it. Order received and all that. You would be mortified if you didn't feel so good.

You were limp as they moved to rearrange you, Simon sliding in behind your back as Johnny moved to kneel between your thighs, hard cock bobbing in the air. You felt Simon's wet head kissing the small of your back and tried to grind back—give him some sort of satisfaction in this ménage à trois you had happening.

He reached down to snag your hips, stilling you and pressing his mouth directly to your ear, hot air brushing the sensitive skin as he murmured, "None of that now. My turn will be later, we're focusing on Johnny this time."

And focus on Johnny you did. He shuffled himself forward, wasting no time in sinking home into your wet heat. Dual groans punched out of both of your chests as he fully seated himself in one go. You panted—breathing through the stretch as he did the same, trying to stop himself from reaching the finish line prematurely.

Simon didn't wait for you to regain your composure, he held two fingers up to your mouth tapping on your lower lip, "Suck pet," before he dragged them down to your clit, circling the puffy bundle of nerves still sensitive from Johnny's prior ministrations. He picked up a steady rhythm as Johnny gave the first tentative thrust. You couldn't help but clench down, enjoying the hitched moan it pulled out of him.

He recovered quickly and set out to pull those same moans from you, wanting every sound that dripped from your lips. He was relentless in his chase, making sure to use all the tips and tricks he'd picked up over the last couple of months to wring out every iota of satisfaction he could. He leaned forward, pinning Simon's hand between your bodies.

"Tell us how it feels, love," he panted into your mouth, pressing bruising kisses to your lips. "How good is my cock making you feel?"

Try as you might, you couldn't do more than chant his name, a steady stream of Johnny falling from your tongue. He was consuming your every thought, everything bound up in a tangled snarl that was added to with each slick glide of his cock.

Simon pulled his fingers away from your clit but didn't move his hand, keeping it pinned as he reached further down to do something to Johnny. All you were witness to was the way his eyes went wide and unfocused, a little furrow making its appearance on his brow as he paused and pressed into Simon's hand. He let out a sharp yip at whatever Simon was doing before finally moving back, giving the other man room to return to strumming your clit unimpeded.

You were caught between the push and pull of the two of them. Simon resting at your back to whisper lewd words directly into your brain while Johnny made his home inside of you, carving out a space that would always remember him.

It was overwhelming.

You normally turned into a pile of putty with only Johnny's hands on you. Now that there were two of them? You felt like you never knew where the next touch would come from. You would only just find a way to breathe with the circling of your clit for hands to suddenly make their appearance at your nipples. Come to terms with fingers at your nipples just to feel teeth latch onto your neck. They kept you guessing with each movement.

Johnny was doing an admirable job of building you towards your next peak, soft rolls of his hips stroking every sensitive spot inside of you, but apparently it wasn't enough for Simon.

"Hitch her hips up, Johnny. I want you fucking her like you mean it." He stared Johnny down, "If you can't put your back into it then I can relieve you."

"I know how to do it," Johnny sniped back, "Don't forget, I've been in her bed a lot longer than you have." You jolted, unused to having such a harsh tone in your house, let alone in your bed.

Simon saw your jerk and quipped back, "Behave, pup. I won't have you barking and growling around our girl." Simon slid out from behind you, laying you gently back on the pillows with one lingering kiss before coming around to Johnny's side. "Now are you going to listen to what I say or do you need me to step in?"

Johnny chewed on his words, still slowly pumping into you with soft propels of his hips. For a moment you were certain he was going to push back, to dig his feet in and argue with every word that came out of Simon's mouth. Your boyfriend was sweet, but not exactly levelheaded. It surprised you when he came to a decision and listened to what he was being told. You'd have to sneak aside later and get tips and tricks from Simon before he left. Anything to make your life a little easier.

Taking your hips he stuffed a pillow underneath, angling you upwards as he slid back inside. Your matching moans at the new position caused something almost gleeful to cross Simon's expression.

"There we go, I knew you had it in you to mind. You just needed someone bigger to put you in your place, didn't you?"

Johnny had no rebuttal beyond the stuttering of his hips at the comment, swallowing heavily before resuming his rhythm. The steady thwaps filled the humid air of the bedroom, playing background to your whines, Johnny's harsh pants and Simon's filth.

"There we go, just like that," he murmured, voice low and soft, "You're taking it so well sweetheart, is our boy doing a good job for you?"

"Yes," you panted, eager to agree to anything as long as they didn't stop, "So good."

"You hear that Johnny? Said you're doing a good job."

Johnny outright whimpered at the praise, hips stuttering and breath catching in his throat. Simon leaned over Johnny's shoulder and pressed his lips right against his ear. You watched his jaw move as he spoke—voice too low to make out any of the words. Johnny's face was a rictus of pleading pleasure. His expression frozen except for small twitches of his eyebrows, gaze shuttered and staring at your face as he panted. He lasted a few more thrusts before burying himself deeply with a low cry.

Simon laughed scornfully, "Ah poor Johnny boy, did you come already?" He listened to Johnny's overstimulated whine as he grabbed his hips and kept Johnny pushing into you, the wet squelch only proving that he was fucking his spend deeper inside. "Well I don't care if it's too much. You came before our girl, we can't have that." He gave a mean smile, "you're gonna keep fucking her until I tell you to quit."

"I—I can't Simon," Johnny panted, overstimulated nerves causing his muscles to spasm and twitch. "I can't go anymore."

"You want to stop? Then ask me nicely. Go ahead," Simon taunted, a wicked grin curving along his mouth, "Beg."

It was exactly the right wrong thing to say. You watched as Johnny's mouth fell open and his head tilted back, shiny tears springing up along his waterline to spill out from the corners as you felt another warm wave of heat inside. His second orgasm seemed to wring every bit out of him—his face locked in a pained grimace.

He tried to jerk backwards, tried to pull his hips from yours but Simon wasn't having it. He dug his fingers tightly into your hips, arms wrapped around either side of Johnny's waist and pressed firmly against his back, pinning Johnny between the two of you and not giving the whimpering man an inch of space.

"I told you, you're not done until she comes." Using his own hips he helped propel Johnny into you, helping you move to grind on Johnny's dick at the end of each thrust. "You know what you need to do to finish this."

"Please," the other man burst out, unable and willing to withhold any longer, "Please, Simon, need your help. Need you to help me." Tears continued rolling down his cheeks.

"That's all I needed, sweet boy."

Moving one of his hands he dropped his thumb onto your clit after swiping up along your slit, pausing to tease right beneath the head of Johnny's cock on a pullback just to hear him whimper again. With the slick pressure rubbing your sensitive bundle of nerves combined with the relentless fucking and stunning visual you were falling apart within moments.

Light burst behind your eyes and your ears started ringing. You knew you were clenching tightly around Johnny's cock but you were unable to spare the thought to see what he looked like as you came. You fell back into your body as the sensations died down, literally falling back onto the bed where you had been arched so sharply only your shoulders were still touching.

As you became aware of your surroundings you watched Simon allow Johnny to pull back, both of you whining at the sensation of him pulling out completely. He flopped to one side of the bed while his chest heaved like bellows, a ruddy flush covering his face and chest. Shiny sweat lined his brow, glistening in the dim evening light.

You didn't have time to rest or take in your boyfriend for long before you were grabbed by the hips, Simon's fingers digging into your plush sides as he pulled you into a position he liked.

Your legs were thrown over his forearms before you realized it, feet dangling in the air and hands coming up to grasp onto his shoulders. As he leaned forward you acutely realized how powerless you were, pinned completely beneath his bulk, no leverage to be seen to get you out.

You looked at him with wide eyes, your own heaving chest causing your pebbled nipples to brush up against his torso, teasing little flicks of sensation to add to everything running through your body.

He notched himself at your entrance with a groan, swiping back and forth, coating the head in your wetness. Finding an angle he liked, he began pushing in.

You whimpered at the burn as he stretched you, even still after Johnny had just had you. You shuddered thinking about taking him without being stretched first, likely a harrowing undertaking. He continued rocking back and forth with small thrusts, each one inching deeper and deeper. Each withdraw causing more of both yours and Johnny's come to escape.

"I know it's a lot, but you can take it. All the way in, all the way to the back, sweetheart."

It knocked the breath out of your lungs when he seated himself inside. A heavy weight felt through your pelvis as his length pried apart muscle to make room for itself. You were afraid you'd feel him inside for the rest of your life. Another gaping chasm when he wasn't there.

It took him the space of a few heartbeats to get situated before he began to move with rhythm, a strong, steady roll of his hips knocking you up the bed with each drive.

Whatever remaining thoughts you might have had spilled out your ears. Nothing able to penetrate the fog he was putting you in with his movements. Your brain became a haze—no worries, no fears—nothing but the feelings he was stoking inside you.

Each time he slid in full you felt him kiss your cervix at the back of your channel. The quick pinch only increasing the pleasure you felt. The mix of the two giving gradients that weren't usually seen, hues bursting behind your eyelids at the sensation.

Proportionately large, he touched every soft spot inside of you simultaneously, a constant wave of endorphins flooding your brain and leaving you a gibbering mess. You clawed at him looking for purchase but unable to find any, inescapably swept away in his tide.

How did you end up here? Under the body of your boyfriends best friend. Because he was his best friend, no matter that Simon would never verbalize it. They were two sides of a coin—better together.

You let your head flop to the side, looking at Johnny passed out and half hanging off the bed on the far side, snuffling breaths a steady back-drone to the slap of skin on skin from you and Simon. You were out of your mind with pleasure, brain unable to spark two neurons together to come up with a thought. It was all white noise to you, unable to focus on anything other than the sensations Simon was drawing from your body.

That was why it was so jarring when two more bodies made their presence known standing beside you on the bed, wide shoulders blocking out the light leaving them draped in shadows.

You let out a huff of a startled scream, no breath in your lungs to get proper volume when hands came up to tweak your nipple and tuck your hair back from your sweaty forehead.

Simon gave a rumbling groan as all your muscles clenched and you bucked up in fear, tossing your head to try and get them off of you. You started to whimper and bat haphazardly at their hands trying to pull yourself away from Simon at the same time but the grip he had on your hips didn't allow you to go anywhere.

"Shh," he gentled, "you're okay, nothing here's gonna hurt you, sweet girl." He never slowed his thrusts, "It's just the rest of the team. That's Gaz and that's the captain." Bone-jarring thuds as his pelvis met the fat of your backside, sharp slap slap slaps echoing through the room.

"What?" you stammered, "I—I thought that—"

"Didn't think we'd let anything happen to you, did you?" he asked with furrowed brows, "Let something happen to our girl?" he scoffed in amusement. "Try again."

Oh. That's—that wasn't—you weren't—

But you couldn't verbalize any of your thoughts. You'd thought you'd been at the end of your stamina before but these two men brought fresh energy to the bedroom. Looking at both of them you recognized Kyle and John from all of Johnny's stories.

"Have you been taking good care of our girl, Simon?"

"Yes sir, Johnny gave her two and I'm working towards a third."

"Good man."

With the team complete the dynamic subtly changed. Where before it had been Simon giving the orders, he now defaulted to his captain, happy to let him take the lead as he directed Kyle and Simon to his own beat.

It was the work of minutes for John and Kyle to strip each other and climb into the crowded bed to join you.

You were too fucked out to muster any proper response so you let them move you as they pleased, content to be a doll placed into the perfect position.

Kyle moved to cuddle up to you up near your face, the cut of his abs all you could focus on for a second before you dragged your gaze up to his face. He smiled down at you charmingly, perched up on an elbow to hover over you, ensuring he was all you could see for a moment.

"We've heard so much about you," he murmured, holding his smile while looking gorgeous enough to stop your heart. "I can't believe we're finally all here together."

Heard so much about you? What had Johnny been telling them? What had he been sharing about your personal life to his team that they thought this was normal? You didn't get a chance for the thoughts to make more than a fleeting impression before they were gone again—the finger on your clit requiring your full attention.

You looked down past Kyle to see John with a hand between your thighs, stroking at the bud before dipping down to gather the wetness that was still being pulled out of you by Simon who hadn't paused. He ran his fingers along where you two joined, dampening his fingertips before resuming his stroking. You couldn't keep still at the sensation, legs jerking and jumping as your nervous system tried to make heads or tails of what was happening to it.

He made short work of coaxing you back into another orgasm, sparks lighting up behind your eyelids as you convulsed, squeezing Simon between your legs and gripping the hand that Kyle had threaded through yours for dear life. Your hips stuttered in their movement, caught between chasing the last sparks of pleasure and pulling away from the steadily overwhelming sensations John was easing out.

It was a relief when he pulled away, letting you begin making headway in catching your breath once more. You watched him reach up with his slick hand to clasp Simon by the back of the neck.

"All right, my boy, now for you."

Simon took this as all the permission he needed to chase his own end with a vengeance. He rutted into you with no finesse, using you for his own gratification as he allowed himself the orgasm he had been denying. It took no time at all before he sunk as deeply as possible, holding there as he emptied himself into you. You felt the heat of him filling you, his cock acting like a stopper keeping it all tucked tight and high inside your channel.

When he eventually pulled back a wave of fluid came with him, dripping down to the bed and coating your thighs. You couldn't do more than gasp—still working on catching your breath. Your head flopped over to look at Kyle, holding your hand clenched in his. He smiled at you and came in for a kiss.

At this point you didn't even think of turning your head away. You simply laid there and let him into your mouth, this man who you technically hadn't even met but who you felt like you'd known for years. All of Johnny's stories doing a wonderful job of painting these three men in such a way you were sure you'd met them a hundred times before.

Kyle's kiss was all consuming. He masterfully played with your lips and tongue, keeping you chasing him while he devoured you. It was wet and obscene and so, so good. He tasted faintly of peppermint, remnants of gum or a mint he had chewed earlier. It had you searching the corners of his mouth, looking for his flavor.

He smiled into the kiss before pressing two quick pecks to your lips and pulling back, giving you space to think. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been fucked six ways from Sunday," you managed, cueing a round of laughter from the three men. By now you'd caught your breath and were watching them with wide eyes, waiting to see what they'd do next. Simon had moved to sit over next to Johnny as John patted at your hip.

"Do you think you have one more in you or are you calling it?" he asked, looking unbothered by what your answer might be. Like he knew this wasn't the only time he'd have you in this position and being lenient was no trouble.

You nodded your head firmly, "I can keep going."

"Atta girl."

You felt your face heat at those words as your gaze darted away, embarrassed at how much you liked it. Even while you were spread out bare for them to view this felt like a peek behind the curtain, a glimpse of something too personal to make light of. You had a feeling you could climax from him whispering those words in your ear with his deep rumble at just the right time.

Without a doubt John realized what effect his words had on you if his amused grin was any indication. Thankfully he let it be, not calling attention to your expression. You didn't know he was shelving the thought until later; he had no intention of not pursuing the lead.

Helping you up he turned you so you were on your hands and knees facing Kyle with John's heat radiating into the back of your thighs. He checked in with an Okay, sweetheart? which you reassured him on before he pressed close as Kyle shuffled forward. Slotting his hips into yours he dragged his leaking cock through the mess between your thighs, the damp head bumping against your clit in a tease with each thrust.

"We've heard a lot about you," John noted, trailing a hand along your spine, enjoying the feel of smooth, soft skin. "Soap has practically talked our ears off since you met. Along with how amazing you are, he makes sure to tell us how pretty you are and how nice you smell." You felt him leaning over you and pressing his nose to the crown of your head, "I've gotta say, he was right on all accounts."

A shudder worked its way down your spine at the praise.

Pulling back, he lined himself up with your opening and slid inside in one smooth stroke. As your mouth dropped open to moan Kyle tapped the tip of your tongue with his cock, encouraging you to stick it out for him. He pressed inside when you did and you groaned deep in your throat at his flavor, salt and musk invading your nose as he cupped your head gently between his two palms, holding you steady.

You thought you had been done before, no longer able to continue, to ride the wave of ecstasy any more. They proved you wrong with their wandering hands tweaking nipples and strumming your clit.

It felt like it had been years and minutes both as they bounced you between the two of them. You would grow accustomed to the shape of Kyle in your throat only for John to pull you back, rearranging your organs with the strength of his thrusts.

You didn't know which way was up, your only concern was timing your breaths to Kyle's thrusts, keeping your teeth tucked away from any sensitive skin. Hollowing your cheeks you fought to keep suction, John doing his level best to ensure you couldn't find a comfortable rhythm.

The whole time you were spinning tighter and tighter. A wave building down deep behind your bellybutton, fed with each thrust from the two men. Your body welcoming them in.

The wave continued to build, higher and higher. Larger than you'd ever thought possible. It was awe-inspiring and terrifying in equal measures.

What was going to become of you when it crashed? Were you going to be able to be put back together or would you be destined to live out your life as shattered remains, always thinking back to the last night you'd been whole, the last night you hadn't needed others to hold you together like Kintsugi.

John continued thrusting behind you, never stopping, never faltering. He was relentless and driven and you were the finish line he had set his eyes on. You were the end goal that he would see through, come hell or high water.

It sparked something dark deep within your psyche. Something decadent.

Your last climax of the night rolled over you. Starting down low in your abdomen it grew and grew, fed into by each of the men that you had let into your bed tonight. It became too large to ignore, this gaping maw of want that was flooding your blood and your brain, changing your chemical makeup in its wake. You were pretty sure you screamed.

Both of their pants came harshly now as they fought for some semblance of control beyond the tight clutch of your cunt and throat.

John finished next, stamina no match for the silken glide of your cunt, sucking the oxygen from his blood with each press inside of you. But Kyle was shortly behind him. If you didn't know any better you'd say the sight and sound of his captain coming is what pushed him over the edge.

Certainly something to think about later.

It's comforting hands that helped you lay down once you were done, tucked between Simon and Kyle, Johnny still passed out with his foot and arm draped off the side. You were curled into Kyle's chest as you watched John pull on a pair of boxers.

"I'll go get us some water and towels, you all stay put."

You were far to exhausted to think of the ramifications of what had happened here tonight. Instead you were content to curl into warm skin and enjoy the feeling of Simon's arm thrown around your waist.

When John came back with the water you had a moment of laughter when you realized the bed was packed full with the four of you currently and there wasn't a spare inch for John to lay down. Instead he went to sit at the foot, tapping Kyle's feet so he would curl his legs up a bit.

"Anybody broken?" He asked, staring at you while he spoke. It was clear he expected you to be the one to voice any discontent.

"Nope," you yawned, crashing hard now that you were laying still, "right as rain."

"Good. We'll talk this all over in the morning sweetheart. For now, sleep."

Kyle kissed your forehead while Simon curled around you tighter. Tomorrow. You could figure it all out tomorrow. That sounded like a wonderful plan considering you were already drifting away to the soft sounds of breathing.

[captain-huggy-bear]

Guard Dog

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Spoilers for the Washington Capitals game (Jan 2025), anger/conflict, derogatory commentary towards Reader

Summary: You are feeling particularly protective of Quinn after the game against the Washington Capitals and run into Dubois.

Notes: I was ready to throw hands at Dubois for purposefully seeking out and trying to hurt Quinn so...

Apologies to Dubois but he's now my arch nemesis and if I was actually dating Quinn I know I'd hold a grudge, sorry, I'm sure you're a great guy but...not today. Reminder that I am writing a fictional version of these people and what I do write is not representative of them in real life. Don't sue me, Dubois, this is fictional you, not real you. 👀

Also I don't think Quinn is generally violent or aggressive but I do think that if he felt someone he loved was being treated in a way that was disrespectful/aggressive, that he wouldn't avoid conflict. Protective boy in my eyes.

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

You wanted to say that you were used to watching how violent hockey could get, especially when that violence was directed at Quinn, but that would be a lie.

Watching as Quinn was practically attacked by Dubois, watching him be targeted had you gasping and jumping to your feet in an instant. The way he knocked Quinn to the ground had your heart thudding in your chest and you'd gotten to your feet instinctively like you could physically go out and defend him, like you had any ability to do something when in reality you were completely helpless, stuck behind glass.

That intense feeling of protectiveness had only increased as Quinn was pulled from the scrum by Dubois again like he was being hunted down, targeted. It grew almost unbearable, a protectiveness mixed with anger, as you watched Quinn try to keep his distance, shoving away from Dubois even as he tried to hold him close, as Quinn tried to protect himself while avoiding roughing himself, only to receive a penalty anyway. That anger grew watching the way Quinn was stuck in the penalty box, the way he was desperate, standing, wanting to get out after his 2 minutes, only to be stuck because play was ongoing for another 3 minutes.

You had never hated a player before. Players had upset you in the past, annoyance at the way they'd dealt with something or how they'd behaved towards Quinn, but you'd never seen someone so determined to hurt your boyfriend. It was that sheer targeting, the way Dubois followed Quinn, gunned for him for no reason, especially given he was still sporting a hand injury, that had you hating him immediately. It had you itching to say something, do something for the entirety of the game. You could barely concentrate on the actual game, too amped.

You couldn't help the way your leg bounced angrily the entire game, the way you bit your lip, the way your mind ran through all the things you'd like to say to Dubois about his behaviour. That feeling didn't disappear as the game ended and you waited outside the locker room for Quinn, if anything it grew from how hard you tried to suppress it. You felt a little like a ticking time bomb.

That anger boiled over the moment you saw Dubois coming down the corridor towards you after the game. Dubois was freshly washed and changed, laughing with his teammate, Roy, like he hadn't been trying to hurt your boyfriend for half the game. You tried to keep your comments to yourself, but couldn't keep the angry glare, the deep scowl, from your features as you leant against the wall, arms crossed. You knew you were giving him the evils, that if looks could kill he'd have died five times over, but you couldn't force your face into neutrality, not when you felt that buzz of anger in your chest. It was dangerous for him to target Quinn like that, it was unfair, it made you wish you were 6ft 8 and built like a brick shit house so at least you could throw a punch in Quinn's honour. Instead you had been absolutely helpless, unable to do anything but watch.

You heard it muttered, whispered, an exchange of 'what's her problem?' and 'that's Hughes' girl...', that had you almost vibrating with anger. Dubois should have left you well enough alone, should have read the room and let you cool down. He shouldn't have assumed he could mess with you in that moment. But, since when have hockey players ever missed a chance to chirp?

You watch him stride up to you, a glint in his eyes that spelled trouble and only served to push more adrenaline through your body.

"You got a problem with me?"

"Walk away." Your voice is clipped, short, an attempt to maintain a sense of decorum, to control your anger because the last thing you want is to embarrass Quinn by getting into a fight with a rival hockey player on the same night his team lost a game. The last thing you want to do is make matters worse and in the words of Marie from Aristocats 'ladies don't start fights'.

"Or what? You going to cry cause I grabbed your little boyfriend?" His sneer reminds you of every bully you've ever known your entire life. Brutish, stupid, and with a deep desire for power and control, the sort of desire that causes them to be nasty, be mean, to try to hurt people because it shows that they can. It only makes it harder for you to control your feelings, nails digging into the palms of your hands as you clench your fists tight, like that will help keep you back.

"I'm telling you to walk away because I will not be responsible for what I say or do if you don't. Walk away." It was probably comical to him, the way you stepped forward and squared off with him, a man well over 6ft tall. You were relatively small in comparison. It didn't matter to you though, all that mattered was the fact he'd gunned for Quinn, for your lovely, kind boyfriend who avoided fights at all costs and tried to always be a reasonable, decent player. Your boyfriend who tried to play clean. Your boyfriend who was still injured. Your boyfriend who was under an insane amount of pressure right now. Your boyfriend who had only just come back off of rest for his injury.

"You've got some balls on you, lady, more than Hughes does at any rate."

You're certain your eye twitches, certain you're one bite away from causes your bottom lip to bleed. Certain that you've dug half moon circles into your palms. Certain that murder doesn't seem quite that bad of a crime right now and that you could survive prison.

"Walk. Away. Now."

"So you're the man in your relationship, huh? Is Hughes your pretty princess?" It's the hateful, misogynistic attempt to demean Quinn that causes you to snap. It's his refusal to just walk away, the goading, the pushing, the way he steps closer into your personal space, leers over you in an attempt to intimidate you with his size that finally does it. But, he doesn't seem to realise that you're too angry to be intimidated, you're not really thinking about yourself, about the situation, about the fact he's twice your size. So it doesn't matter that he could break you if he wanted to. It doesn't matter that he should be scary. He's not in that moment, because you're simply too angry, vibrating with rage.

"You're a vile, disgusting human being,y'know that? He's still injured, you fucking knew that and fucking went for him? What the fuck did he do to you? You trip him, you gun for him, you then try to pull him from the scrum?! What the fuck is wrong with you?" You could each infraction off on your fingers as you move into his space and push the two of you further into the centre of the corridor.

Maybe it's how loud you are or maybe it was just good timing, but Quinn and Boeser step out of the locker room just in time to see you yelling in Dubois' face, to see the grin on his lips like he's enjoying it. It's honest to god fear, mixed with a protectiveness that he always feels for you, that has Quinn practically sprinting the short distance to you.

He's pretty sure you don't realise you're shaking with anger or how close you've gotten to Dubois, practically nose to nose, leaning up while he leans down, until his arms are wrapping around you and pulling you back against his chest. Even in his arms you're shaking with adrenaline, eyes fixated on Dubois like a look is enough to put him in the ground.

Dubois' eyes shift to him, and Quinn can't help the set of his own features, the stern glare that he directs to the other man even as he's smirking back at him. If anything the way he seems to be enjoying this makes Quinn's expression sterner.

"Keep your little plaything on a fucking leash, Hughes." The grin Dubois sends his way is toothy, predatory, the sort of grin that tells Quinn he knows what he's saying and he knows what reaction it'll get. It doesn't stop Quinn's shoulders from tensing, it doesn't stop the tightness in his chest and it certainly doesn't make it easier for him to keep his usually cool head.

"What did you just say?" It's almost whispered, low, quiet, and it makes you stop shaking in Quinn's arms because there's something deadly about it, something that tells you not to push him right now even when you're not the one it's directed at. Something that makes you still in surprise.

"I said keep your little plaything on a fucking leash."

There's a prolonged pause, one in which Quinn looks back behind him, eyes finding Boeser, a silent sort of conversation happening between them, an agreement reached.

"Brock?"

"I got her." The blonde man steps forward as Quinn turns you in his arms and pushes you gently to Brock, Boeser pulling you into his own arms and away from the other two men.

"Quinn?" You're not sure what's happening other than the fact that the fear is starting to set in. All that anger, the adrenaline that had kept you so focused on Dubois, had started to fade. It left behind a shaky sort of anxiety, as reality hit you, that this was not just a simple argument anymore.

You gasp and move back into Boeser as you watch Quinn turn back to Dubois and just as suddenly grab him by the collar of his suit jacket, slamming him back against the wall. While Quinn is shorter, he's certainly not small or weak by any stretch of the imagination and Dubois doesn't expect it as he's shoved full body into the wall behind him, his feet struggling to keep up with the harsh movement backwards.

Quinn is nose to nose with him, glaring up at him with a look you can only describe as murderous, "You ever talk about her like that again and I will break your fucking nose. You don't ever talk to her or about her like that. Do you hear me?" The interesting thing about it, is how Quinn doesn't have to yell. In fact, his voice low, but it's the edge to it, the way it feels sharp enough to cut that makes his feelings clear.

"Oh? Now you think you're a big man, what you gonna do with that hand of yours?" Dubois' eyes shift to the brace on Quinn's left hand, the one that you can see trembling under it's own grip. It upsets you, that he's hurting himself for you, that you started this, as much as part of you preens under his protection.

"My right hand is just fine, Dubois. Yours won't be if you don't back the fuck down." Maybe it's the way Quinn's eyes narrow. Maybe it's the way his teeth grind together. Maybe it's the way he shoves Dubois even harder into the wall or maybe it's something else entirely, but something seems to make Dubois realise that Quinn is serious. That Quinn has every intention of fighting for you if he has to, if the disrespect is not corrected, if Dubois doesn't back down.

Maybe Dubois simply doesn't care enough or maybe he's intimidated by Quinn because he mutters, "Whatever...", hands shoving Quinn's away from his collar, one last glare exchanged before he and Roy walk away, whispering the entire time.

You're practically shaking in Brock's arms, Brock who releases you gently once Dubois and Roy walk away, Brock who backs away to the locker room with one last look to Quinn, leaving the two of you by yourselves.

Quinn's shoulders drop, relax as he watches the two men turn the corner and disappear out of sight, before green eyes shift to you, features softening into something affectionate and gentle. A stark contrast with his expression mere moments before.

He's the one who reaches for you, stepping until he's in your personal space, hands resting on the sides of your face like he thinks you might physically be hurt.

"You okay?" His voice is soft, sweet, as his thumbs brush your cheeks, green eyes darting over your features, trying to assess how you are and if he needs to chase after Dubois and teach him a lesson or two.

Quinn will openly admit he's not a fighter nor does he want to be, but the strong surge of protectiveness in him overrides his usual aversion to violence. He'd fight anyone for you, if it meant you were respected, protected, safe. He doesn't care that Dubois gunned for him out on the ice, all he cares about is the way he got into your face out in the corridor.

"Am I okay? Are you okay? He almost took you out on the ice!" Even as you say it your voice is shaky. Quinn knows you better than he knows most people, he can hear that shake a mile off, knows that that shake is a sign you're not okay, that that shake usually comes before a break.

It's why he doesn't answer you, it's why he pulls you fully into his arms, wrapping them around you until you're chest to chest.

So he asks again, "Baby, are you okay?" Only to feel the way your body starts to shake aggressively in his arms, like your body has just caught up to the situation, like the adrenaline has fully left your system, leaving only the after effects.

His voice is soft as he mutters to you, "Oh, you really worked off instinct, huh? Just now realising you nearly fought a 6ft 2 hockey player for me?" Quinn's quick to pull you tighter against him, a full body crush, rocking you side to side as his cheek presses into your hair. His hands rub up and down your back, attempting to sooth you as the reality of it all fully kicks. As you realise how stupid it was of you to do that, how scary the situation actually was, how you should have just walked away.

"Fuck...did I just really do that?" Your voice is shaky, almost wet, like you might start crying.

"Uh huh...yeah, you did, baby." His voice is almost amused, sympathetic, now the worst of it is over Quinn can't help but find your actions endearing. The way that you, of all people, decided you'd go toe to toe with a massive hockey player on his behalf.

"Fuck." You press your forehead against his chest, letting out a shaky breath as he rocks you from side to side. You don't regret it, not really. You'd defend Quinn to the death, you love him and that meant protecting him, just like he'd protect you. But, you have to admit, it wasn't perhaps your smartest idea or your finest moment.

"It was kind of hot, baby, but please don't do that again. I nearly had a heart attack seeing you nose to nose with him." Quinn's actually certain his heart stopped when he walked out of the locker room. You'd seemed so...fragile in comparison to Dubois and while he knew you, knew you weren't weak, it had scared him. The idea of you getting hurt was one of his nightmares, even more so you getting hurt because of him.

You pull back as far as he'll let you which really isn't very far, tilting your head back to look at him, "You nearly fought him for me..." your voice is almost disbelieving like you can't understand why he'd step in like that for you, his girlfriend.

"Yeah, I did.." Quinn's smile is soft, loving, eyes crinkling at the corners as you practically gape at him.

"But you don't fight." You look so confused that it almost breaks his heart because who taught you that you were unworthy of protection, who taught you that the people who love you wouldn't step in when needed?

"I'd fight for you. Any day. Any week. Any time. I'll always fight for you, baby. You're my girl." He says it like it's just a fact of life. Like 2 +2 = 4 or that water is wet. He says it like it is the most natural thing to exist.

"But...you don't like to fight." He hates fighting, you know because whenever he gets in one on the ice or has to break one up, he complains when he gets home. You know because everything about Quinn is gentle and soft, always slow to anger and quick to find a diplomatic solution.

"Yeah, I know." Quinn smiles at you amused, "But I love you and if the choice is between protecting you or not fighting, I'm always going to pick you. That's what you do when you love someone. You'd protect me, right?"

"Of course." You don't even hesitate because it's like breathing, that instinct to look after him because you love him because he's your person.

"Then there's your answer, sweet girl" He watches the way you nod like it is starting click, like it makes sense. His hands brush cross your shoulders, tugging you into his side, twisting so his arm is slung over your shoulders. Your shaking has long since stopped and whatever anger both of you felt has since faded under the sweetness of realising you're both loved, both protected.

"You wanna go back to the hotel? Enough excitement for one night, huh?"

"Mmm, yeah...You're okay though, right? Your hand?" You shift under his arm, eyes looking to his left hand and the brace there, watch the way he flexes his fingers as if to remind himself he can.

"I'm okay, baby, especially knowing I have you to fight my battles for me." Quinn kisses the crown of your head, the scent of your shampoo filling his nose as he pulls you tighter to his side.

In that moment the hotel room sounds great, home would sound even better, but you think home might actually just be Quinn and wherever he is.

[bombuni]

a super whiny reader with seonghwa that lovessssss someone who whiny. i think he could have like voice kink? if thats makes sense

lose your breath

summary: seonghwa knows every square inch of your body and understands the detailed map of your mind. he just thinks it’s fun to toy with you, his perfect doll. genre/pairing: bf!seonghwa x fem!sub!reader, soft smut. warnings: smut 18+ mdni, mommy!seonghwa, bratty reader, sort of humiliation kink & dacryphilia, hwa is a munch bom note: im sorry this took so long :( but i hope this exceeds your expectations! also fuck drugs u ever been addicted to mommy!hwa that shit will kill u 💔

It’s been 2 days without a single touch.

There’s a look in Seonghwa’s eyes, a telltale twitch in the upper corner of his lips every time he moves towards your lips, leaning over you so gently but so oppressively it’s as if he’s trying to melt into you. As soon as you move an inch towards him, he backs away again, smirking and pretending as if there’s not a tent in his pants with the way your eyes well up and your breaths shake.

He loves this. Hearing how you’re broken down to your senses with just the thought of getting to kiss him. He especially loves hearing your complaints, your shaky and meek voice calling his name timidly. You quietly beg for something, anything, but it takes you another bit to realize the game he’s playing.

It’s a slow morning. Seonghwa has the day off, and you’ve both decided to use it to watch the Star Wars prequels (per his request.) The marathon is just about to start as you both prepare snacks in the kitchen, moving around each other like you’ve been programmed to move in a certain pattern.

“Hmm, do we have popcorn, Hwa?”

He unwittingly smiles at the way you say his name, “There should be a bag in the cabinet above you, pretty.”

You reach for the cabinet, but find that it’s impossible to even touch the handle, “Hwa, I need your help…”

“Ah, you do? Whatever for?” The teasing lilt in his voice tells you he knows exactly what you’re asking for, but he just wants to hear you ask. Maybe even make you beg a little.

You pout at him which only makes him smirk and cross his arms. You’re stuck in a stand off now, with both of you refusing to give in to the others wants. Seonghwa knows that eventually you’ll give in. He likes waiting until you can’t take it anymore. Until it’s bubbled up to the boiling point inside you and there’s nothing left to do but let it spill out.

“Agh, you’re so annoying, Hwa! You won’t even kiss me unless I beg and now you’re making me-“

Ah, there it is. He just enjoys torturing you. A glare of your eyes grants you a chuckle from him.

He raises a brow, smiling devilishly as he cocks his head to the side, “You’re cute when you’re being a whiny baby, ya know?”

“I’m not being whiny, you’re just mean…”

“Cute, cute, cute,” he mumbles mostly to himself. Seonghwa’s hands land on your cheeks as he moves closer to you, squishing them together until you feel like you’re gonna pop.

You grumble, but finally feeling his hands on you (in the most innocent of places) sends you into overdrive. Your knees buckle, catching yourself against Seonghwa’s strong chest. The feeling of him against you, hearts beating and pressed together, his bulge standing at attention, and his sparkling eyes watching you like you’re the only one he needs is…overwhelming.

After he’s staved you off of him for days, he’s so full of ecstasy and a certain buzz only you can give him when you finally, finally beg in the adorably pitiful way he loves so much.

There’s already tears in your eyes, “Mommy…”

Your voice sends chills down his spine, “Sweet, sweet thing, tell me what you need exactly. Use your words.”

“Need to-“ you pause to emphasize your words with a drag of your hips against his, “feel you,”

He chuckles at you to disguise the moan that threatens to slip out, “Really? Already? Couldn’t go any longer without Mommy inside you?”

You blush at his harsh words, “Hwa-“

Seonghwa gives you a certain look, one that tells you you’re in a world of trouble if you continue your bratty, combative attitude. It’s enough to remind you to be good for him.

“Sorry, mommy…”

Your meek voice and the way you shrink into him makes him swoon. A drive to destroy that sweetness and leave you a broken, moaning mess takes over him.

“Hmm. I think you’ve waited long enough. Do you want your reward?”

The prospect of getting anything from him fills you with an overwhelming need to obey his every command. He is your owner, and he’s made that very clear so far with the feelings he manages to evoke in you.

“Please, mommy, just need anything-“

Seonghwa thinks it’s cute how your chest rises and your breath quickens as he pushes you onto the counter. His arms squeeze you as they lift you, burning where your skin meets his, sending that trail of warmth down to your core. He throws you around like a doll and undresses you like it’s nothing to either of you. He gets so careless when he’s like this, only fueled by your pathetic nature and reaping the rewards he’s been waiting for this entire time.

Just his bratty, needy, doll ready to take what he decides to give.

He runs his cold hands down your sides, watching you shiver at his touch. His slender fingers reach under the waistband of your panties, teasingly snapping the elastic against your skin and watching as you twitch at the feeling. You whine impatiently as he teases you like this, massaging your tits while he gently kisses down your jawline as if he had all the time in the world. His soft lips reach down to your collarbone as he pulls the collar of your shirt to ensure every part of your skin feels his lips. He chuckles when he feels the vibrations of your moans against his mouth.

“Ok, enough teasing then,” you exhale as if finally relieved of a great weight on your shoulders before spotting that same perverted smirk, “…But can you beg for mommy again? Just one more time?”

He encourages you with a wet kiss on your pulse point, nuzzling your skin to fog your brain with him, “Hah-it’s- embarrassing, mommy,”

You feel his smile against your neck, “But you know I love it, right, pretty? You just sound so cute when you do,”

Seonghwa finally drags his lips down to where you want him the most. His hot breath fans against your core, taking in the hypnotizing sound of your eager and aching whines, as he finally drags your panties down to be greeted with the sight of your pretty pussy.

He can’t resist himself, pressing a kiss to your clit and chuckling as your body jolts just like he knew it would, “My pretty doll. So behaved for me, so perfect. You always listen to Mommy, don’t you?”

He punctuates his sentence by licking a long stripe along your slit, “Hah-Yes! Yes, Mommy, I’m always good for you-“

Seonghwa talks to you in between licks of your slick, enjoying the taste of you and the sound of your unashamed submission. Finally getting you like this, with you so sex-crazed and clouded by his touch that you don’t even realize how pathetic you sound, is his favorite thing in the world.

His mouth explores the parts inside you he knows overwhelm your senses. His lips swallow you whole, tongue darting all over and inside you to drag out those sounds he loves. His left hand comes up to rub your clit, following what he knows your body likes. It’s like a ritual to him. The blatant way he follows your body’s signals and your whines is just another testament of his love to you.

He feels your body tighten, your hands coming down to his hair to pull and urge him to let you off that cliff. His eyes roll at the harsh tugs you give, your raw desperation to reach that high rubbing off onto him.

Your trembling, breathless voice sounds out, “Mommy, c-can I cum?”

“Yes, baby. Come on, you wanna be good, don’t you? My pretty doll, so behaved, don’t disappoint me now…”

Seonghwa’s words reach towards your insides, pulling at the strings of your soul and releasing that knot he’s built. Your body shakes against his mouth, which still eagerly clings onto you and cleaning up the mess he caused. He caresses you through your aftershocks, adoring the little twitches your body gives as you come down to Earth.

Your watery eyes meet his fervent ones as he wipes his mouth clean, looking all too joyful to stew in your embarrassment at this sight.

Seonghwa decides that just a little more teasing won’t hurt, “You got through the The Phantom Menace. Think you can make it through Attack of the Clones?”

[acesofspadess]

Track Walk {2}

landoscar x content creator!reader

part 1 // part 2 // part 3

series summary: You were invited to the Miami GP for your Track Walk series on social media, what follows after you run into a certain Papaya boy, no one could prepare you for...

series warnings: cursing, angst, smut, making out, mentions of people you may not like, mmf, threesome/throuple, if there is more let me know... ;)

a/n: this a long 4 part series, but the chapters will be released daily!! also... there is no hate to anyone mention in this story, it is a work of fiction and any hate towards the characters/people will be deleted.

Singapore 2024

So here you were, the Singapore GP. The past 5 days were eventful to say the least. Your body was covered in love bites from each boy, there was no telling who gave which. Apparently the entire grid and the wags knew, which helped them cover up to the media. You walked in with Lando and Oscar, laughing at a stupid joke Lando said. To anyone besides the drivers, it was a very fun friend group, but you were sure it would stir something up. “Hello, hello, hello.” You waved with a large smile at the camera. “We don’t usually do evening walks do we? But Singapore is the beginning of the night races so get used to it…” The track walk and the weekend went just as planned. During that weekend you met Max Fewtrell for the first time. It was very scary for you. This was someone Lando had grown up with, someone he had chosen to be one of the important people in his life, and you knew how this could look to an outsider- an F1 creator dating not one, but two, of the most prized drivers in the sport. But you two immediately hit it off. “I just know Oscar is enjoying not being the only one having to handle his mess.” He laughed as you guys watched Free Practise. “It’s not even the mess though, Max, it’s the food!...”

The entire weekend was looking favorable for McLaren, and then when Lando kept his position into the first lap, you knew it was game over, another McLaren win was pending. And right you were. “Lando Norris can stop hearing about his starts, and start hearing about his finishes! For the third time Lando Norris takes the chequered flag…”

You bounced up and down with Max as Lando screamed into the radio. “That's a double podium finish for McLaren!” You screamed and he laughed with you before giving you a hug. “They’ll want to see you.” He told her and she shook her head. “Too much attention, they’ll see us after.” She said not wanting to leave Max behind.

The music thumps through the club you all decided to go to after you finished at the track, vibrating the floors as colorful lights flash across the crowded room. Lando, Oscar, and you move through the throng of people, your body already buzzing with the high of celebration. Lando’s win had electrified the night, and the three of you are ready to let loose—carefully.

Lando’s arm stays draped over your shoulder as you make your way to a private booth near the dance floor, Oscar trailing closely behind. 

Around the booth, the other drivers and their girlfriends are scattered—Carlos and Rebecca, Max who was running solo, Charles and Alexandra, Pierre and Kika—all laughing and cheering. The energy is high, but there’s an unspoken understanding between them. They know. “I would say cheers to Lando’s amazing race-” Carlos started, “but you only won because of her.” Lando and Oscar shook their heads as everyone around you laughed.

You laughed too, cheeks heating as Lando pulls you closer. "You’re not wrong," he teases, brushing a quick, casual kiss against your temple. It’s brief enough to pass as friendly, but the way your heart skips betrays its meaning. Oscar slides in on your other side, his hand finding your knee under the table and giving it a gentle squeeze, hidden by the dim lighting and shadows.

They’re subtle but deliberate, their touches igniting sparks that make your heart race. The conversation swirls around you, but the trio only has eyes for each other. When the music shifts to something slower and sultry, Lando tugs your hand. "Dance with me," he says, voice low and irresistible.

You follow him onto the dance floor, Oscar not far behind. Lando’s hands find your waist, pulling you against him as your bodies move in sync. Oscar presses in from behind, his chest warm against your back as his fingers brush your arm, sending a thrill down your spine. It’s intoxicating—the heat, the music, the feel of both their bodies surrounding you.

But you have to be careful. Lando shifts slightly, turning you just enough to keep you shielded from prying eyes, and Oscar’s touch drifts away whenever someone looks too closely. The tension grows with every near-miss, every stolen glance, and every lingering brush of fingertips.

Lando leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "You’re ours tonight," he murmurs, voice rough with desire. Your pulse quickens as Oscar’s lips skim your shoulder—quick, subtle, and hidden in the dim lights—adding to the heat coiling low in your stomach.

The three of you move as one, but always just discreet enough to keep your secret. The world blurs around you—flashing lights, the beat of the bass, laughter from your friends at the booth. None of it matters. All you can feel is the heat of their touches, the fire in their eyes, and the promise of what the rest of the night will hold.

f1gossipofficial

liked by user45 and others

f1gossipofficcial The papaya boys went out to celebrate last night with other drivers as well as their girlfriends, but pictures show the papaya boys very close with each other. This comes after a recent video McLaren uploaded where Oscar and Lando were seen holding hands at one point and being very touchy… 

user45 oh this is crazy

user67 how do papaya rules work now’

user18 they had a good time last night

user4 how about we stay out of there lives and not dissect and try to out people who clearly don’t want to be outed

user68 landoscar was too good to be fake

user49 i for sure thought one of themm was going to get with Y/N

user23 i thought it was Lando user90 i thought it was Oscar user62 am i crazy for saying both user23 user62 yes user49 user62yes user90 user62 yes

“This sucks.” Oscar said into her neck. They were at the airport saying goodbye because they wouldn’t see each other for another month. “I know, I’m sorry love.” You giggled softly at his dramatics. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, finger scratching the strands of hair at the top of his neck. You looked at Lando who watched the scene unfold. Oscar wasn’t much of a showy person, so seeing him show anything they never took for granted. 

“Osc, you okay?” Lando asked seeing his shoulders raise and then drop deeply. “I just feel so complete with her here, I don’t like when she isn’t.” He told his boyfriend who rubbed his back. He finally pulled off letting Lando hug you around your waist lifting you up. “Gonna miss you baby.” he said kissing your cheek knowing people were around. “I’ll miss you both so much. But we’ve done it before right? Osc you’ll see your family. Lan you’re going to Portugal with Max. We’ll al be so busy, it won’t feel like a month will it?”

Lando and Oscar nodded holding onto each other. You checked your RM watch, one the duo had gotten for you this previous weekend. “Time to go, babies.” you sighed. They scooped you into one big hug. “See you soon.” You kissed both of their cheeks before they walked off to their own gate, leaving you at yours. 

The month at home was supposed to be a time to recharge, but it only left you restless. Your days blurred together in a haze of casual errands, late-night shows, and constant texts from Lando and Oscar. The messages were frequent and full of love—updates about their time apart, teasing remarks, random photos, and sweet "miss you" notes despite the time zones. Even with their busy schedules, they made an effort to check in, and it always left you smiling.

Then came the post.

Your best friend stormed into your shared flat, phone clutched in hand. “Y/N, you need to see this,” she said, eyes wide with urgency. She handed you her phone, and your stomach dropped.

There, on a gossip page, was a photo of Lando and Magui faces and bodies very close to each other with big smiles on their face in company of Max and Pietra. The caption read: “Lando Norris spotted looking cozy with Magui and friends. This is after rumours of them earlier in the year were clouded over by new friend Y/n L/n and his teammate Oscar Piastri that Lando has been seen getting very flirty with...”

You froze, the phone trembling in your hands, the three of you already saw the airport photos of your group hug. It was what it was to you three though. “What the hell?” you whispered, voice barely audible.

Your mind flashed back to when Lando and Oscar had confessed something about Magui. They’d told you they’d once considered inviting her into their relationship, but something had always held them back. Then they’d met you, and everything changed. They knew immediately they wanted you.

You pushed the memory away, your chest tightening as you stared at the picture.

Without a second thought, you dialed them both. They picked up almost immediately, Lando’s voice warm and his face smiley. “Hey, baby,” he greeted.

Your throat constricted. “I’m not coming to the next GP,” you blurted.

There was a pause. “What? Y/N, what are you talking about? We planned this together.” Oscar cut in confusion on his face.

“I just can’t,” you said, your voice breaking and eyes filling with tears. You didn’t want to bring up the post, unsure if Oscar even knew.

“Wait, what's wrong?” Lando asked, concerned about lacing his tone as he saw your eyes fill.

You shook your head, not trusting yourself. “I’ll talk to you later.” You hung up before they could say more.

That night, your best friend held you as you cried, her arms wrapped tightly around you. “They don’t deserve you if they’re going to pull this shit,” she murmured. But her words only made you cry harder.

The next day, your phone erupted with notifications.

From Lando: "Baby, I swear it’s not what it looks like. Please call me." "I would never do this to you. You have to trust me. Nothing happened." "I’ll explain everything if you just call me. Please, Y/N."

From Oscar: "Y/N, I didn’t think this would get so out of hand. I’m sorry." "You mean everything to us. Don’t let this ruin us." "Please, let’s talk. I’ll tell you everything."

From Max Fewtrell: "Y/N, you know Lando wouldn’t do this to you. He’s losing his mind right now. Please talk to him."

From Alexandra: "Hey, I saw the post. Are you okay? Call me if you need to vent."

From Rebecca: "Y/N, this is so unfair to you. If you need to talk, I’m here."

You ignored them all, until finally, you caved and called Lando and Oscar. They answered on FaceTime, both looking worried.

“Nothing is happening with Magui,” Lando said quickly.

Oscar nodded. “We wouldn’t do that to you. You have to know that.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell us?” You sighed aggravatedly. “If you knew she was going to be there why wouldn’t you say anything? Why would you get close with her again knowing someone's eyes are always on  you.

But then, Lando and Oscar got very silent, you could have thought the screen froze, and something passed between them. It was subtle, but enough to make your stomach churn. “What?” you pressed.

Oscar sighed. “I knew she’d be there. I thought it would be fine.”

Your chest tightened as Oscar's words hit you like a punch. "You knew?" you whispered, barely able to contain the hurt. "You knew she'd be there and didn’t say anything?"

Oscar hesitated, looking like he wasn’t sure how to answer. "I didn’t think it would be a big deal," he said quietly. "I thought it’d just be... fine."

"But it is a big deal!" you snapped, your voice rising, frustration bubbling over. "If you had just told me, I wouldn’t be upset. I could have handled it, but now it feels like you’re hiding something. Like you’re trying to have your cake and eat it too."

Lando’s voice cut through the tension, softer but still desperate. "Y/N, that’s not it. We didn’t want you to feel like this. We didn’t mean for it to look like we were hiding anything from you."

"You did hide it, Lando," you shot back, shaking your head. "You knew she was going to be there, and you didn’t tell me. It makes it seem like you wanted to keep me in the dark while keeping her close, like I’m some backup plan."

Oscar looked pained, and Lando seemed to be searching for the right words. "It’s not like that," Oscar said quickly, but there was an edge of panic in his voice. "I didn’t think this would happen. I thought it’d be fine."

"But it’s not fine," you responded, your voice cracking slightly as the weight of it all hit you. "You’ve betrayed my trust, Oscar. And Lando, you should’ve known better. If you had told me, we could have figured it out. But now? Now I feel like everything we shared was an act, something to keep you occupied while you figured your feelings out."

Lando opened his mouth, clearly struggling, so Oscar spoke up in a low voice. "Please, Y/N, we didn’t mean to hurt you. We just... didn’t think—"

"Exactly," you interrupted, your voice soft. "You didn’t think. If you had, we wouldn’t be here right now. I know it's only been a few months, but I thought our relationship was stronger than this. I thought I meant more to you than this, but you’ve shown me I don’t."

“No Y/N-”

With that, you ended the call, the sound of the FaceTime disconnecting echoing in your ears. You sat back on the couch, your heart aching, but you knew this was the only way to handle it. They had crossed a line, and now you had to protect yourself from the mess they had made.

Max Fewtrell texted shortly after: "Y/N, I know what it looks like, but I promise Lando wouldn’t do this to you. He’s doing his head in and acting erratically, please talk to him. He’s about to go into a race weekend." 

Hattie messaged, too.. “Oscar fucked up, but I’ve also never seen him this upset with himself. He is so sorry, I’ll never tell you what to do, but just know he really cares.

You ignored everyone.

Of course you watched the triple header, you were still their girlfriend, and before that you were their number 1 supporter. Track Walks were not as fun to you during that time, everything reminded you of what happened. They still texted you everyday, telling you about their day, about their thoughts on the race, saying they missed you and they were so sorry.

But Brazil was a disaster. The rain poured relentlessly, creating dangerous conditions on the track. Both Lando and Oscar struggled, and a red flag giving those who hadn’t had a pitstop a free one essentially knocked Lando out of the Drivers' Championship contention, but besides that, out of a win. Your heart ached watching it all unfold, tears falling down your face slowly, but you stayed silent, refusing to reach out.

A few days later, Max went live on stream with Lando. Lando sounded tired, wanting to stay muted when he didn't have to be heard, his voice hoarse. He admitted he’d been eating old food from months ago and wasn’t feeling well. Max F texted both you and Oscar after the stream: "Lando needs you. He’s not doing well at all."

Oscar replied immediately: "I’m on my way."

You stared at the message, conflicted. It wasn't until the next day when you were eating lunch that Oscar's text messages were blowing up your phone,

Osco: Baby, I know you don't want to talk to us, but Lando really isn't doing well.

Osco: I've spent all morning with him crying into my arms, degrading himself, it hurts so much to hear. He thinks everything is over, he needs you baby. I need you. 

Finally, you texted Alexandra and Rebecca, asking what you should do. 

Mes Amours 💗

You: Help…Oscar’s been texting me about Lando this morning. He said he spent the morning crying, degrading himself, and thinks everything’s over. I want to be there, but I’m so hurt. I don’t know what to do.

Alexandra: Wow… I knew things were rough for them, but that’s heavy. You’ve got to take care of yourself first though. If you’re not ready, you’re not ready.

Rebecca: I get that, but… it won’t get better if you don’t talk to them. And, Y/N, I’m going to be honest here: Carlos is worried about Lando too. He told me Lando’s been completely off lately—barely eating, barely talking. He’s spiraling.

Alexandra: Wait, really? I mean, I knew they weren’t doing great in Brazil, but I didn’t think it was that bad.

Rebecca: It is. Carlos says he hasn’t been himself for weeks. And honestly, if Carlos is worried, you know it’s serious. Lando needs you, Y/N. Even if it’s just to talk. You don’t have to forgive them yet, but they need you right now.

You: I’ve missed them so much, it hurts. But I’m scared. What if I go back and things still don’t feel right? What if they don’t really understand how much they hurt me?

Rebecca: Then you tell them. You lay it all out there. But Y/N, we know how deeply you care for them, and it’s obvious they care about you too. I think they understand, they just need to see you in person.

Alexandra: Whatever you do, we are holding your hand.  Taking a deep breath, you texted Max Verstappen: Can I use your jet?

[secriden]

There's something so wondrously momentous about Style only saying his "I love you" now, when he realises that all the secrets he was keeping from Fadel are already laid bare.

He says this a significant time after Fadel has said his (and, in the context of the wider narrative, after Kant and Bison) and for the character we have seen as prone to glibness, exaggeration and flippancy with his words, that feels incredibly intentional.

Because this confession was the only truth Style had left to give.

Fadel is finally done playing his (poorly thought out) game, done with his (already cracking at the seams) charade, done with giving Style more opportunities to pull at his heartstrings with his earnestness lies.

Fadel is demanding the truth, and tells Style exactly what truth he wants to hear.

And the thing is, there is truth in this: Style's motivations at the start were wrapped up in a deception specifically targeting Fadel.

I know we, as a fandom, harp on about Style "doing all that for a car", but something I would like us all to revisit is what Kant actually says to Style when he first asks Style to "hit on" Fadel:

Kant: You need to help me. You know I don't usually feel this way about someone. And then shortly later, after Style refuses: Kant: Hey, hold on. (Kant grabs Style's hand.) What do I have to do to for you to help me out? Should I pay you?

(Please forgive my inability to gif and watch Style's reaction to this.) Style is visibly surprised and intrigued. Kant seems to be serious about this request, and I think Style decides to test just how important it is to Kant by asking for the one thing he knows Kant will not give up.

Just look the expressions on Style's face. We didn't have the context of knowing Style back then as well as we do now, but this is the look Style gets when he's throwing out a challenge (to Fadel), when he's trying to ferret out some new insight (from Fadel), when he wants to see how someone (Fadel) will react to whatever outlandish (provocative) thing he's said or done.

And when Kant agrees, Style even checks again if Kant is serious about going through with it -- and it's this that convinces Style of the sincerity of Kant's request.

Yes, the car was a factor, and yes Style also wanted revenge and to humble Fadel, but at the centre of Style's motivation has always been a plea for help from a friend.

In episode 1: Kant: Under one condition. You have to make him head over heels in love with you. Style: I'll do it. Not just for the car, but someone like him needs to be humbled by someone like me.

But in agreeing to help Kant, Style really was damning Fadel to play the fool because Fadel's feelings (his heart) was a commodity that Style was fully willing to play with back then.

And there are aspects of truth here too. When Kant tells Style about Fadel (and Bison) being hitmen, Style decides he's done and wants out. Kant reasons that it's more dangerous for Style to break up with Fadel now, because it would look suspicious, but crucially this isn't enough to convince Style.

So Kant, once again, makes the plea to friendship and to his need for Style specifically, and it is this that causes Style to finally cave.

But in doing so, the things that Style agrees to are:

Kant: Work with me. Help me get more information about them. Once we get that, it's done. Captain puts them in jail, and we walk free.

So while Style may not be directly working with the police, he is working with Kant who he knows is working with the police. By proxy, Style is involved with the police, but in front of the empty pool, he makes it clear to Fadel just what that involvement actually entailed:

Style: Kant asked me to take you out so you could leave him alone and he could freely investigate. Fadel: What did he get out of it? Style: I don't know! That ain't my business! All I was asked of is to take you out.

And this, too, actually is true! Since finding out, Style has literally not discovered a single thing that could be remotely useful to the police investigation:

He's found out that Fadel likes to gym at night. He's found out that Fadel uses tenderloin in his burgers. That he runs in the morning before going to the market. That he attends a grief support group.

But these were all things Kant also already knew and could have given the police if it were in any way useful for the investigation.

Even his attempts to get Fadel to confess to his "other job" (something the police also already know) were clearly in service of wanting to save Fadel and/or convince him to give up the life of crime in the hopes that Fadel wouldn't have to be sent away from Style to prison.

But the truths are tangled up in misunderstandings and Fadel's own assumptions now; and also further tainted again by Bison's own hurt over Kant's betrayal. And Fadel literally cannot see -- because his eyes are filled with tears [see: @thisautistic's gifset + my tags] (good grief, Joong, the actor you are) -- the honesty Style is bleeding from the marrow of his bones.

Because the truth is that along the way Style has also found out that Fadel is a good older brother. That Fadel is still hurting and bleeding inside because his parents were murdered. That Fadel wears his favourite bands' make up in secret because he cannot bear the thought of other's judgement. He's found out that Fadel misses Style, wants Style, and hates himself for it. That Fadel is afraid to love. That Fadel is acutely aware of his own darkness and cannot comprehend an existence that would not involve someone (Style) rejecting it. That Fadel does not believe that 100% trust is possible, but that he will get himself drunk so that he can offer Style as much vulnerability as he can physically make himself give.

Because the things that Style did find out were all the ways Fadel's heart is soft and tender and precious and worthy worthy worthy of all the love Style has to give.

And Style will stand firm on this truth because this is the only thing he has left to give Fadel.

Because Fadel knows, now, all the ways Style was unworthy of his trust, but crucially has not figured out the most important truth:

Because in all the ways that Fadel has ever known he should want, Style actually IS worthy of his trust. Style knows the truth Fadel is hiding, knows what this man is capable of, knows the danger of being in his arms, knows the likely nonexistent future Fadel has to offer him -- and wants him anyway. -- Quoted from my meta post on the "One day, I'll be your 100%" line.

And as I alluded to in the tags on @yinwaring's insightful post: Style fully embodies the belief he espouses; because even in the face of a gun to his head and Fadel threatening to kill him if he will not admit that this, too, is a lie, Style refuses to give Fadel anymore dishonesty.

And this is because Style knows that the truth matters; now more than ever.

Because Style has had days to grapple with his worry after Fadel's disappearance. Style has had a week's worth of checking the diner only to face the regret he feels about not handling things differently. Style has had to recognise the terror of thinking he had lost something he never even knew he wanted in the first place.

And while Fadel had his realisation back in episode 4, Style never had to face this until Fadel vanished from his life and left a gaping hole in the shape of the absence of Fadel's smile.

So if this is what it takes, if this is the penance that Fadel demands of him, then it is a price Style is most happy to pay.

Because Fadel does not realise is that Style, too, now knows what it means to lose a love worth fighting for.

And in the war Fadel now feels compelled to wage against Style (because, yes, that's definitely still going on), the one damning thing Fadel has failed to recognised is that his only true weapon was leaving Style behind.

Which is why Style has already won. Not because Fadel's walls have crumpled again or because they don't still have a ton of things to talk through and work out (they really, really do), but because Style has already been stripped bare (and I mean this literally, like we all recognise THAT was the reason why Dunk is only in boxer shorts in that scene, right?? Like, I know we were joking about it, but seriously, that was so very intentional and a visual representation of Style being both stripped and, most importantly, freed from the lies he felt compelled to tell Fadel) and this means he has nothing holding him back.

And Fadel can wield his gun and his words and his anger and his hurt, but Style will die on the hill of the truth that he knew and understood and chose to love Fadel anyway, and saved this last confession for when he knew he could tell Fadel the truth without any lingering deception; and when the time is right, when Fadel is finally ready, Style will be there to welcome him back with open arms and, without any hesitation, an open heart.

[smallfisheyes]

one suggestive paragraph hehe.

nanami kento who just doesn’t love you.

he tries. really. you are so easy to love, but he just can’t seem to love you more than admiration; more than the god-awful belittling role of a friend.

you are kind. he has seen you pick children from rubble. you had single-handedly halted an impeding panic attack that consumed the fushiguro boy. you pay out of pocket so that the children can do normal student activities: arts and crafts, team building activities, classroom and party decorations. he’s watched you be the most beautiful human that he has had the privilege of watching, defending innocents with, laughing with, but for some reason, he just can’t love you.

nanami kento who makes you cry because he says he loves you. trust him, he loves you so much, but as a friend. you had confessed your love for him. he broke your heart.

it was in the parking lot of your favourite post-mission meeting spot: the convenience store. (it’s family-owned, kento had said to you on your first visit as he gently took you by the elbow. it was his retreat. it would be yours too. you cradled the side of your face, your one eye badly bruised and rapidly swelling. you’ll like it here, he insisted. i promise).

the son was at cash that dark morning. kento would get the egg sandwich and coffee, you a banana milk and noodles.

“i’m on a mission to try every flavour,” you had declared one night, feet kicking and humming into your first dinner.

you had shrimp-flavoured noodles that fateful early morning. it was around 2:00 a.m., two second-grade curses with paired techniques. the following day, nanami turned down the offer of a sushi lunch with shoko. he wouldn’t be able to stand seeing shrimp tempura.

nanami kento who understands why you can no longer look him in the eye when you pass each other in the halls. you walk a tempo faster, a cold wind whisked up from your sudden distance and speed. it stings as you pass by. it stings when you rush to exit the staff room when he enters. he only dares to watch you when your back is turned and retreating far, far away from him. something under his sternum aches. he misses you. don’t you know?

it’s so hard to avoid him. he’s so big and he’s everywhere. he’s at work, he’s in the staff office, he’s in your mind. curses, he’s always in your mind.

before, fleeting images of nanami passed by. his small smiles. the big ones you managed to pull because “your humour is so childish,” so ridiculously stupid, but so stupid it makes him laugh anyway. the rumble of his voice that soothes you to sleep, especially the hard nights.

there are also the nights that you cannot sleep, and your hand sneaks below the covers, then the hem of your pants, and thoughts of him doing less than innocent things to you. it floods your mind, and suddenly, you can’t sleep. the only solution is to keep going until you’re tired. yes, that’s reasonable. besides, how could you not, not when he looked like that.

“what’s with you?” nanami would ask the next morning, then the morning after that, then every morning. it took you about half an hour some mornings (then most) to look him in the eye, your hands trembling around the mug he handed you. did he do something wrong? did he make you uncomfortable? should he back off? (or get back on?). stop thinking like that.

so, why can’t you seem to hate him?

you have seen him pick children from rubble. you have watched nanami perform four black flashes in succession during the black parade when it mattered most: students injured left and right. he pays out of pocket for lunches: yours and the students, with an exception of gojo. (he has a black card, kento ranted into his black coffee. he doesn’t need charity, just an ego check). you’ve watched him be the most beautiful human that you’ve had the privilege of watching, fighting with, laughing with, but for some reason, you love him and he just can’t love you.

if he does not love you, you fear who he does love. would she have long hair? short? curly hair? straight? does she have an excellent taste in fashion? is it more refined or street fashion? lolita or office-type? does she stand taller than you? is she funnier? does she have a million degrees and you’re out on the field doing the exact job nanami despises and fears? is she skinnier? prettier? the woman he would love (loves?) would just be better. he deserves better.

you cannot blame nanami kento for not loving you.

unknowing to him though, he does.

nanami kento stands at the till at the (your) convenience store.

“where’s your buddy?” it’s the son today, the one in desperate need of a haircut. he looks to be in his twenties. he scans nanami’s items: egg sandwich, transparent bandaids, a single carton of banana milk.

“by buddy, if you mean my partner, she is not with me,” nanami notes.

buddy. nanami wants to scoff. what an odd way of describing you.

“sorry, man.” the boy holds his hands out in apology. “didn’t realize you guys were together.”

there is a brief shock that pulls at nanami’s eyes. they widen, his mouth narrowing. together. why was that a less odd way of describing you?

nanami doesn’t notice his chest rising and falling rapidly. “she is my partner at work,” he corrects. he speaks in a murmur, eyes downcast. he studies the yellow carton on the till counter. banana milk. he didn’t even like it that much. a childish drink; childish humour. so full of energy but only experienced by a select special few. (why did you think he’s so special?)

“hmm,” the boy hums. “thought you guys were together. she seemed super into you. she looked at you like,” the boy shrugs his shoulders nonchantly, pressing buttons on the till screen, “like you meant a lot.”

nanami’s stomach sinks. he has to be the worst.

the convenience store bell tolls when nanami exits, paper bag in hand. the coolness of the night hits him. from this far out, he can see the speckle of the stars.

partner, nanami muses. the name suits you. it suits you and him: a pairing. together, as friends.

but not for long.

sorry guys but does anyone else wonder what would happen if nanami didn’t love you? and you love him? i do it all the time lol. if i feel it y’all have to feel it >:)

also it’s 2:00 am here please excuse the thought vomit.

[rafedarling]

cause Rustyn is first child in Starkey household, i would love to see 5 first things with him (ex: first comes homes, first smile, first word, first walking, first christmas, etc) i know every time Drew and wife see it they always cry of joy cause they also first time parents 🥹

𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭

pairing: dad!drew starkey x mom!reader

summary: rustyn is your and drew first baby, making every moment with him monumental. from labor pains to first smiles, words, and celebrations, every “first” becomes an emotional milestone for the starkey household. as first-time parents, you and drew navigate the overwhelming love, joy, and challenges of parenthood, cherishing every step of the way.

warning(s): fluff, mentions of childbirth and postpartum recovery, and some mild language.

au: like, reblog and feedback are much appreciated. discussion can be send through my ask box, please feel free to send in anything. ⭐️ taglist | tagging: @rubixgsworld @rafeyslamb @bisexualcvnt @tracymbcm @maybankslover @anamiad00msday @stuffyownswrld @httpsdrewstarkey @mileyraes @enjoymyloves @akobx @noobmazter69 @victwrvale @xoxohoneymoongirl @xoxosblogsblog @wearemadeofstardust0 @saviorcomplexrry @percysley @littlelamy @winniemoe @emberaurora @watercolorskyy @kravitzwhore

The first time you feel the labor pains, you have to admit it’s unbearable. It starts slow, a dull ache in your lower back that you brush off as Braxton Hicks, but within hours, it grows into something that has you gripping Drew’s hand like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

Drew stays by your side through it all, wide-eyed but calm, whispering reassurances as the nurses coach you through each contraction.

When Rustyn finally comes into the world, all the pain melts away the moment you hear his cry. Drew, who’s been nothing but strong, openly cries when the nurse places Rustyn on your chest for the first time.

“He’s perfect.”

Drew whispers, his voice thick with emotion, his forehead pressing gently against yours as you both marvel at the tiny life you created.

The drive home is surreal. Drew drives cautiously, you can’t help but glance back at him every few seconds, your heart swelling at how small and peaceful he looks.

“Home sweet home.”

Drew murmurs as he unlocks the front door, stepping aside to let you walk in first. The house feels different now cleaner, quieter, and somehow brimming with the promise of new beginnings.

You settle onto the couch, Rustyn snug in your arms, his tiny fists balled up as he sleeps. Drew kneels beside you, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“Why don’t we get some rest while he’s still sound asleep? You’ve had a long few days.”

He suggests gently.

You nod, exhaustion tugging at your eyelids, and let Drew guide you to the bedroom. He carefully places Rustyn in his bassinet, lingering for a moment to watch him sleep.

“Drew,” you whisper, your voice heavy with fatigue,

“Come to bed. I need you to lay with me.”

With a soft chuckle, Drew tears his gaze from Rustyn and joins you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“First night home.”

He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your soft hair as you drift off to sleep.

Rustyn’s first smiles, it’s pure magic.

You’re sitting on the floor of the nursery, playing peekaboo while Drew fiddles with his camera, determined to capture every milestone. Rustyn’s little lips curl upward, and his whole face lights up in a way that takes your breath away.

“Oh my god, he’s smiling!”

You exclaim, your voice full of excitement.

Drew scrambles to snap a picture, but he’s laughing so hard that the camera shakes.

“Did you see that? He smiled at you first,”

Drew says, his pride evident in his voice.

You scoop Rustyn into your arms, nuzzling his chubby cheek.

“You’re such a charmer already,” you coo

That night, Drew uploads the blurry picture of Rustyn’s first smile to a private album labeled Rustyn’s Firsts. It’s not perfect, but to you and Drew, it’s everything.

Rustyn’s first word takes you both by surprise to be honest. It’s just a lazy Sunday morning, and the three of you are cuddled up on the couch, watching cartoons.

Rustyn is perched on Drew’s lap, babbling away as usual when suddenly, he says it clear as day.

“Dada.”

Drew freezes, his eyes wide as he looks at you for confirmation.

“Did he just…”

“Yes! He did!”

You squeal, clapping your hands in excitement.

Rustyn giggles at your reaction, completely unaware of the monumental moment he’s just created. Drew pulls him close, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“You’re going to make me cry, little man,”

He says, his voice thick with emotion.

Of course that night when you and Drew are getting to bed, Drew can’t stop replaying the moment in his head.

“Dada,”

He whispers to himself, grinning like an idiot.

“Best word ever.”

But Rustyn’s first steps are a bits of chaos.

You’re in the living room, encouraging him to walk toward you while Drew hovers nervously behind him, ready to catch him if he falls.

“Come on, baby, you can do it,”

You urge, holding out your arms.

Rustyn wobbles, his chubby legs unsteady, but then he takes one tentative step, then another.

By the time he reaches you, Drew is cheering louder than a sports fan at a championship game.

“You did it! You walked!”

Drew exclaims, scooping Rustyn into his arms and spinning him around.

You laugh, a single happy tears streaming down your face.

“He’s growing up so fast,”

You say, your voice tinged with bittersweet pride.

Drew kisses your forehead, Rustyn nestled between you.

“We’re doing a good job, aren’t we?”

The first time Rustyn got to experience of sit on grass is an unexpectedly hilarious moment. It’s a sunny afternoon, so you and Drew decide to take Rustyn to the park for a picnic.

You’re excited to let him experience the outdoors, imagining him giggling and crawling around in the soft grass.

Rustyn, however, has other plans.

As you set him down on the grass, his chubby legs tucked under him, he pauses. His tiny hands pat the ground tentatively, his face scrunching up in confusion.

Then comes the big reaction a deep frown, followed by a whimper as he looks at you with wide, questioning eyes.

“Oh no, what’s wrong, buddy?”

Drew asks, crouching down beside him.

Rustyn lifts one hand and shakes it, clearly unimpressed by the damp, poky grass sticking to his fingers. Then he lets out a little huff, as if to say, What is this nonsense, and why did you put me here?

You can’t help but laugh at the dramatic expression on his face.

“I think he doesn’t like it.” You say, trying to stifle your giggles.

Drew shakes his head, grinning.

“Come on, Rustyn, it’s just grass! Look, Dada’s sitting on it too.”

He plops down beside him, patting the grass with exaggerated enthusiasm.

“See? It’s not so bad.”

Rustyn isn’t convinced. He lets out a squeaky protest, lifting his feet one by one as if the grass might suddenly disappear.

When Drew tries to encourage him by rolling a ball his way, Rustyn leans forward, reaches for it, and then freezes, looking down at the grass beneath him like it’s a trap.

“His face, oh my god,”

You laugh, pulling out your phone to snap a picture of Rustyn’s pouty expression.

“This is going in the album.”

Drew chuckles, scooping Rustyn up into his arms.

“Alright, alright, we’ll try again another day,”

He says, pressing a kiss to Rustyn’s forehead.

“You’re going to have to get used to it eventually, little man.”

Before you leave, you try one last time, sitting cross-legged on the grass and placing Rustyn on your lap. With you holding him, he seems to relax a little, his tiny hands gripping your shirt as he looks around.

You pick a soft blade of grass and gently tickle his palm with it, and though he gives you a skeptical look, his lips curl into a small smile.

“There we go,” Drew says, snapping a picture.

“Your first encounter with grass, a love-hate relationship.”

Later, when you head home, Rustyn babbles in Drew’s arms, clearly content now that he’s no longer sitting on the offending grass.

“Well,” you say, leaning into Drew’s side, “at least we know one thing: he’s got a lot of personality.”

Drew laughs, kissing the top of your head.

“That he does. And I wouldn’t change a thing.”

[moonstruckme]

Mae I feel like we always see the boys doting on reader and I love it! But also I would love a lil fic where may be James or Sirius gets sick or injured and it's reader just taking care of him and being so cautious and loving and doting on him

Thanks for requesting!

cw: modern au, MCL injury, James is not good at recovery

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 912 words

Your senses prickle at a sound from the sitting room. 

“James,” you call warily, hands stilling in the dishwater.

“Yes, my angel?” 

“Are you sitting down?” 

A brief silence. 

“I found some exercises—” 

“James.” You round the corner to the sitting room to find your boyfriend lying on the floor, looking up at you with eyes big and guileless. You wipe your wet hands on your jeans. “You’re only supposed to be icing it,” you sigh. 

“There’s no harm in getting an early start on recovery, right?” He grins his lopsided grin, hopelessly endearing. “I found some exercises online and the website says I can start right away. They’re very gentle.” 

“I don’t think the website knows more about your knee than your team’s PT, lovely,” you say, kneeling beside him. You soothe your fingertips over the velcro edge of his brace. 

James gets injured fairly often playing rugby. That’s no new thing to either of you, but he’s not used to needing to take such a long break after an injury. He tore a ligament in his knee during a match last week—you don’t remember the exact name of the ligament, but the word collateral had seared itself into your brain, recognizable and frightening—and apparently that is one of the few things the team’s PT requires players to actually take a substantial leave for. James is due to start recovery therapy in a few days, but for now he’s only meant to be resting and icing the injury. He is not taking it well. 

“You could make it worse by doing more than you’re supposed to,” you tell him gently, stroking his calf below the brace. “Don’t, okay? I really don’t like seeing you hurt.” 

James’ expression softens. He sits up, giving you a nice kiss. “I’m okay, sweetheart.” 

“Don’t make it worse,” you say again. 

“Okay. I won’t.” 

“Thank you.” You kiss him in return, stroking the hair that curls by his ears. “Will you come sit back on the couch, please? Where are your crutches?” 

James makes a low sound, caught anew. “Upstairs.” 

“You didn’t even bring them down?” 

“I get along just fine without them,” he says, pecking your chin placatingly. “Don’t worry.” 

You sigh and coil his curl around your finger. James gives you a smile, sweet and hopeful. Don’t be mad, it begs you. 

Your lips turn up a bit in response as you stand and reach your hands down to him. “Come on, then.” 

James lets you help him back over to the couch. He flops down onto the cushions dejectedly, taking the ice pack when you give it to him and holding it to his knee. Sympathy swells in your ribcage. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I know you’re bored.” 

“It’s not your fault that it’s boring. I just wish I could do things I want to, like usual.” He tries on a grin for your benefit, a poor approximation of the real thing. “I know it won’t be for long.” 

You chew the inside of your lip. You know you have to get back to the dishes, but you can’t stand to leave him like this even to go to the next room. 

“What would you do, if your knee was like normal?” 

James’ grin turns wry. “I’d go to training.” 

“Okay, right.” You roll your eyes, leaning your hip against the side of the couch. “But while you were at training, all hot and tired and stuff, what would you be wishing you were doing instead?”

James lifts his eyebrows, contemplative. His gaze moves to you. “I suppose,” he says, “I’d be wishing I was here with you.” 

Your heart warms. “What would we be doing?” 

He grins. 

“You’re not cleared for that, either,” you say quickly, laughing. 

“Fine, fine.” He feigns annoyance, but his smile gives him away. “In that case, I’d settle for a film and a good cuddle.” 

You nod, stepping closer to the couch. “I can do that,” you say. “I don’t know how good it’ll be, but…” 

“Oh, you haven’t got anything to worry about there, angel.” James takes your hip once you’re close enough, tugging you down beside him. You’re careful not to fall too close to his injured leg. “You’ve got an excellent track record.” 

“Do I?” 

He hums, kissing you. 

“I’m not hurting you, sitting here?” 

“You’re perfect,” he assures you. He gives your hip another tug to bring you closer. “Get comfortable, I’ll tell you if it’s too much.” 

You do as he says, still cautious as you cozy up to his side, encouraging him to lean into you. James rewards you by nuzzling his face into the side of yours, happy as a clam. His voice softens as he drops it to a more genuine register. 

“I’m not keeping you from anything,” he asks, “am I?”

You shake your head. “The dishes can wait. I’d rather be with you.” 

“Christ, lovie. I can still do dishes.” 

“You’re supposed to be resting!” 

James makes an amused huffing sound. “Okay, new deal. After the film, I’ll go do the dishes while you handle the more laborious task of laundry or something. Sound fair?” 

When you’re silent, he laughs. 

“You can’t force me to sit on this couch forever! I’ll atrophy!” 

“Maybe we can see how you feel after the film.” 

“You’re ridiculous.” He stamps a kiss on your cheek. “I’ll sneak and do the dishes in the night if I have to.” 

“You will not.”

[solardrop]

take a picture,

aaron hotchner x reader

summary: at least Hotch has a picture of you when he misses you. tags: smut. 18+ mdni, reader isn't actually here hotch is just having fun by himself. he's just jerking it idk what else to tag here sorry. not proofread word count: ~0.8k a/n: I keep saying I want to practice smut sooooo i attempted to practice. I hope you like it! you can also read it on ao3!

This was a normal reaction to missing you.

At least, that’s what Aaron tells himself, glaring down at the proof of his arousal. You’ve been gone for less than a week. But he was like this. He’d just gotten off the phone with you. Your voice was darker, raspier than last time. Your boss was really running you ragged on that work trip. It broke his heart.

He lets out a deep sigh, spitting into his palm with a grudge before slipping his hand into the elastic waist of his boxers. His cock was painfully hard from just a phone conversation. Just a few soft, “I love you’s” riling him up to an embarrassing point. He wraps a strong hand around himself, humming at the relief the simple touch gave him. There was no point sitting here, frustrated, missing you, when he could take care of himself now before bed.  

He starts off slowly, lazy strokes just along his shaft. He doesn’t squeeze at the head just yet — you wouldn’t do that, not yet. You’d make him wait, bring him as close as possible to the edge before pushing him over it. 

He could almost feel it, your perfect hands gripping his length as you pull him into a leaking mess. It was silly, really; How many times you beg to have him just like this. How everytime he erupts in your hands you thank him earnestly. Whispering praise and sweet words into his good ear, making sure he could hear every filthy, honeyed word that falls out of your mouth. 

He pulls himself out of the confines of his boxers, reaching for the drawer of the nightstand with his opposite hand. His pace increases, the wet sound of him working himself filling the room as he rummages blindly in the dresser. His face prickles as his fingers land on the leather. He shouldn’t keep doing this. It was embarrassing, and frankly disrespectful for him to do. 

But God did he miss you.

He flips open his wallet, slipping the small square photograph out of its pocket. His dick throbs as soon as his fingers touch the shiny surface. 

It wasn’t his first time doing this, tending to himself while looking at this picture of you. The thumbprint permanently embedded into the laminated coating was enough proof of that. But it didn’t make him feel any less guilty about it — if only his cock had the same shame. 

He knows the picture isn’t particularly sexy or intimate. It was just an extra headshot from work you slid his way. But you were always apart for so long. And he always wanted to see you. Until one day he realized he just … could. 

He told himself it was just one time. By the third time he said it was the last time. But by the tenth time he realized he couldn’t finish without seeing you. It was wrong, defiling an otherwise innocent photo of yours like this. He knows he really needs to stop.

 But right now? You were just so, so pretty. 

He finally shifts his attention to the head of his cock, grunting at the sensitive shock that runs through him as he spreads the gathering precum down his shaft. His eyes trace your features as he pumps himself. Your face was so bright, a beaming smile and confident eyes shining back at him. You looked so cleaned up, professional; your hair slicked back and tamed precisely. He smiles. Pressure building inside of him. Only he knows the hell that went into the simple snapshot. You curse up a storm at every curl and tuft that just wouldn't cooperate the day of. 

He really just loves everything about you. 

LIke how your eyes always pierce into his as he’s pressing into you, just like right now. 

Or how your brows are relaxed, face content; just like when you come down from your orgasms. 

Especially your lips, how they stretch around him perfectly just like- Shit. 

He pants as he grips himself at the base, screwing his eyes shut. Grunting out your name with a string of curses as he wills himself to last a bit longer. But he fucks up. Glancing at you far too soon. He makes eye contact with you, and he’s finished. His hips buck, fucking into his hand as his balls tighten almost painfully. His thighs tense as he cums, the thick spurts landing everywhere, warm drops decorating his hands and stomach. He continues to squeeze, moaning your name out into the empty walls around him. 

The tension in his belly finally fades, relief and warmth washing over him. He still strokes his softening flesh, despite his body starting to shake with sensitivity — It’s what you would do if you were here anyways. He brings the picture of you up to his face, ready to look at it once more before tucking it away again when he chokes. His skin blazes as he realizes a bit of his spend landed its way onto the small cardstock of your face. His groin whirls with excitement, again. He catches himself laughing before he could stop himself. 

At least he already has his materials out this time.

[multific]

The Crown’s Weight

Lucius Verus x Reader

Summary: Your marriage was for politics. But he couldn't ignore your presence, especially your kindness.

The Emperor's chambers were filled with ornate details that spoke of duty and power. 

At first, that’s all your marriage to Lucius had been, a strategic arrangement, nothing more. 

Yet, over time, the lines of duty began to blur.

Lucius carried the Empire with unwavering strength, much like how he won in the Gladiator games, but you began to notice something else underneath his facade. 

At first, your moments together were brief, a quiet exchange during a meal or a passing glance. He barely looked at you. 

Slowly, something deeper began to form. Something, you didn't notice at first.

One evening, you found him on the balcony, the moonlight glowing on his handsome face. 

You hesitated before stepping closer.

“Can’t sleep?” you asked, your voice hesitant.

His head turned slightly, and he gave a small nod. 

“Not tonight. The weight of the Empire doesn’t lift at night.”

“It’s a heavy burden to carry alone.”

His gaze lingered on you, a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes. 

For the first time, you reached out and touched his arm, a simple gesture that seemed to break through the walls he built around him.

“Thank you,” he murmured, the words quiet but genuine.

From that moment, the nature of your relationship shifted. 

Another time, you had found him alone in the library, the strain of his duties evident in his posture. 

You placed a cup of tea beside him, and his fingers brushed yours.

"Thank you," he would say. No other words were exchanged that day.

Another time, you walked through the gardens together.

A simple walk, which he invited you on.

“Which flower do you like best?” he asked suddenly, his voice softer than usual but not unnatural.

“That one.” you pointed at the lilies. "I like their colour." 

The next day, you found a vase with the same flower on your desk. He didn’t leave a note, but he didn’t need to, you it was Lucius who sent them.

These small moments developed into something deeper, even if neither of you had said the words. 

But the Empire often found its way between you, sparking tension.

After one particularly heated argument about a decision for the provinces, you paced your chambers, your frustration palpable. 

Lucius entered, his expression was wild.

“I’m trying to protect the future of this Empire!” he snapped but didn't yell.

“And I’m trying to protect you!” you shot back. “You can’t do this alone, Lucius. You don’t have to.”

The silence that followed felt like an eternity. Then, his features softened, and he stepped closer.

“This marriage was supposed to be for the Empire,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But somewhere along the way, it became something more.”

“What do you mean?” Your heart raced as you processed his words. 

“I mean,” he said, his hands gently cupping your face, “I love you. Not just as my Empress, but as the one person who truly knows me. The real me.”

“I love you too, Lucius. It is why I worry so much." you admitted and it felt so good to say those words aloud. Because you did love him.

He pulled you closer, his hand resting on your hip as the other held your face.

The kiss he gave you was tender yet full of emotion, a promise that you weren’t just a partner in duty but in love.

When he finally pulled away, he didn't move back and looked into your eyes. 

“Whatever comes, we’ll face it together.”

“Together,” you echoed his words. "I have to ask you to share your worries with me. It is too much burden for you to carry. I understand you are... strong, but I'm your wife. I want to help."

"I will if you promise we will share sleeping chambers from now. We are no longer how we were when we met. I wish to sleep with my wife."

"I thought you would never ask." you smiled at this.

You always loved his strong he was. You used to watch him fight, his body was impressive. Little did you know that his mind was also like that.

But here he was now, an Emperor.

Gladiator II Collection

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief  

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen @brevlada24

@mel-vaz @akamitrani @ange-olras @nicholaschavezslut69

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[notlongtolove]

to get it anyway

a steel case to the face. that's the last thing you remember seeing. spencer’s voice, shouting your name. gunfire in rapid succession. you remember hearing sirens. maybe. you’re not entirely sure. hands, trembling, cupping your cheeks.  then, nothing.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff, hurt comfort

content: slight mentions of stitches and wounds. bau!reader gets hurt during a case and spencer is worried out of his mind—maybe even worried enough to confess his feelings for her???

word count: 2.3k

note: love the linked poem... also need someone to confess their undying love for me rn rn rn (also is this considered fluff? im not too good w tags)

a line: He cradled your head in his hands, shielding your body with his own when the gunfire went down. His world tilted on its axis—Instinct overtaking reason.

the final sour cherry we kept politely pushing onto each other’s plate, saying, No, you. But it’s so good. No, it’s yours. How I finally put an end to it, plucked it from the plate, and stuck it in my mouth. How good it tasted: so sweet and so tart. How good it felt: to want something and pretend you don’t, and to get it anyway. - cristin o’keefe aptowicz

A steel case to the face. That's the last thing you remember seeing. Spencer’s voice, shouting your name. Gunfire in rapid succession. You remember hearing sirens. Maybe. You’re not entirely sure. Hands, trembling, cupping your cheeks. 

Then, nothing.

Spencer’s pacing down the hallway, his hands restless at his sides as he calls out for the doctor who’s only just walked out of your room. Before he can get far, he feels a hand clamp down on his shoulder, firm enough to stop him in his tracks.

“Hey,” Morgan says, his voice low. “Hey!” he says again, louder, forcing Spencer to look at him this time, “You gotta slow down.”

“She—she was hit. In the head!” Spencer twists under his grip, his eyes darting toward the room where you’re lying behind a closed door. “Do you know how fragile the human skull is? She could have a concussion or—or intracranial bleeding, or—I need to—”

“What you need to do—is calm down,” Morgan interrupts. His tone is stern, leaving no room for argument. “You pacing and panicking? That’s not helping her. And it’s not helping you. You’re worried. We all are. I get it.”

But Spencer isn’t just worried. He’s terrified. He’s bone-deep, mind-numbingly terrified. You all get hurt sometimes—Occupational hazard. Duh. Everyone knows that. But it’s rare for any of you to actually end up warded in the hospital, rarer for it still, to be a two-hour wait with no definitive answers. The doctors had been maddeningly vague: We’ll let you know as soon as possible. No reason to worry. But how could he not?

“Don't tell me to calm down, I—” Spencer’s voice cracks. His chest feels tight, constricted. “Even small blows can cause severe brain damage. Nobody knows how fast—how fast neurons can start to—”

“Reid,” Morgan repeats, his grip not letting up. “They checked her. Twice. You saw it yourself. You saw them go in. I promise you—They’re on it.”

Spencer doesn’t reply. He doesn’t tell Morgan that 3.6% of hospital deaths occur because of medical negligence—A staggering 1.8% of those linked to head injuries. Doesn’t tell him how many journal articles he’s read on misdiagnosed head trauma or the cascading complications that can go unnoticed until it’s too late. The numbers run through his mind unbidden anyway.

“I’m gonna let you go now,” Morgan says carefully, studying Spencer’s face. “But you gotta stay calm, kid. You hear me? Hotch is already looking.” 

Spencer forces himself to look where Morgan’s nod directs him. Hotch is speaking to a local officer at the end of the hallway, eyes already darting warningly towards them. “I’m calm,” Spencer mutters, though his chest feels like it’s caving in and his breaths are shallow and his heart is pounding so hard he thinks it’s a wonder Morgan can’t hear it. Nothing about this feels calm at all. Not even remotely. 

He drags himself to the bench in the hallway reluctantly. As it turns out, sitting does little to settle him. His leg bounces uncontrollably and he bites at his nails, a nervous habit he hasn’t indulged in since childhood. Old habits resurface when the mind is in distress, he recalls. He doesn’t even glance up when Morgan comes by again with a peace offering in the form of a cup of coffee. Not even when Hotch had come to pass on his well wishes, a pressing call waiting for him back at the bureau. 

The minutes crawl by and Spencer counts each one. Sixty. Seventy. Eighty. At ninety-three, a doctor finally approaches. Spencer bolts upright, standing so fast that his head spins a little. You’re stable. Visitors are allowed. Two at a time. He barely registers anything else that the doctor says.

You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.

The sharp antiseptic smell hits him first. Then it’s you, eyes blinking blearily as you try to grab a cup of water from the overbed table. The motion makes you wince and Spencer is at your bedside in an instant, his knees bumping gently against the frame as he leans down. 

“Stop I—I’ve got it, I’ve got it,” he says softly, scooping up the cup before you can strain yourself any further. 

“Thanks, Spence,” you whisper, your voice hoarse. You take the cup from him with a weak smile and lift it to your lips for a small sip.

Spencer’s gaze flits involuntarily to your temple. Stitches, eight of them, subcuticular running sutures, from what he can see. They start at your hairline, tracing a clean path down just shy of your cheekbone. He tries to tell himself it’s a good sign—clean wound edges, minimal scarring expected. He wants to say something but the sight of you, pale lips, fragile in the oversized hospital gown, usual biting sarcasm and saccharine teasing nowhere to be found, makes his heart ache. 

“How do you feel?” he finally manages. Even he knows it's a stupid question the moment it leaves his lips. 

“Like I got whacked in the face.” Ah, there you are.

Spencer chuckles meekly though ​​his attempt at lightness falls flat when he catches sight of the stitches again.

“S’not as bad as it looks,” You say tiredly, noticing his line of sight. “The nurse told me it was barely a concussion. A mild one at worst.” 

“Oh yeah? Would’ve been nice to know ‘bout two hours ago,” Morgan interjects, cutting into the quiet moment. Spencer startles slightly, having completely forgotten he was there. “Pretty sure our poor boy wore a hole in the tiles from all his pacing.”

The flush creeping up Spencer’s neck is immediate, spreading to his cheeks as he goes a little crimson. Regardless, he’s thankful for the soft laugh it draws from you. Eyes crinkling, lips curved. You look a little more like yourself now, even if the weariness hasn’t fully dissipated. It makes Spencer feel a little fuller, a little lighter. 

Spencer’s liked you since the first day he met you. 248 days ago, to be exact—But it’s definitely not like he’s kept count or anything. 

He thought he’d like you when he read over your application file. You’d cited winning a local checkers tournament at age 11 as one of your ‘greatest accomplishments to date’.

He knew he liked you when he caught you trying to explain the concept of gravity to Henry at his fourth birthday party using a juice box and a cookie.

When you quoted Aristotle in an attempt to convince Hotch to get a new coffee machine for the unit? Spencer was certain he’d fallen in love right then and there. Pleasure in the job puts perfection in the work. Doesn’t it, Spence?

“Aw, Spence,” you coo softly, your voice carrying that honey sweet lilt he’s grown so fond of. “M’fine. Really.” 

For a fleeting moment Spencer almost believes you. Because the way his heart flutters when you reach over to squeeze his hand in reassurance makes him think he’s the one who should be hooked up to those machines instead. Your thumb brushes gently over the back of his hand and Spencer feels his breath hitch, swallowing hard. He swears he goes a little dizzy for a moment so he promptly takes a seat in the chair by your bed.

“It’s good to see you awake, pretty girl. You really had us worried there for a minute,” Morgan says. Spencer nods fervently in agreement. After a beat, Morgan just can’t seem to help himself, adding, “Well, some of us more than others.” Spencer’s certain Morgan’s thoroughly amused by how flustered he is—More so that you seem blissfully unaware. 

“I’ll leave you two to it.” Spencer pretends not to notice the pointed glance and shameless smile Morgan throws his way. “Don’t let this one fuss over you too much, though. He’s got that down to an art form.” The door clicks shut behind Morgan, and the room grows quiet again, save for the faint hum of the machines and the soft rustle of sheets as you shift slightly in bed.

“Do you remember anything? Before? After?” Spencer asks. He’s painfully aware of how your hand hasn’t moved from his. 

“Not much,” you sigh, your eyes downcast. “Lots of shots… shouting.”

Spencer nods grimly, his jaw tight. If he were being honest, he didn’t remember much either. The moment he saw you go down, his mind had gone blank, aside from the fuzzy static screaming in his ears. He’d lunged toward you as your body crumpled to the ground. The scuff on his pants and the sting of his elbow attest to that fact. His knees had scraped against the concrete as he cradled your head in his hands, shielding your body with his own when the gunfire went down.

His world tilted on its axis—Instinct overtaking reason.

FBI protocol was clear: never abandon your weapon, never turn your back during active gunfire. Subsection 28A, paragraph 2, page 36. Spencer knew it by heart. (He knew the entire handbook by heart.)

But Spencer also knew that if it ever came down to it, he’d take a bullet for you without hesitation.

“I remember you,” you admit softly, your voice a little stronger as you glance up at him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“M—me?”

“Mhmm,” you hum, “I remember you calling my name. You holding me.” A faint smile tugs at your lips. Your fingers trace gentle circles into his palm as you sigh, “I only remember you, Spence.” ​​It sends a flip through him, right down to his toes—He short circuits. 

“I care about you,” Spencer blurts. His mind feels foggy, his words slipping out before he can overthink them. “Like, really care about you.” He winces internally. Filler words? Really? But with the way you’re looking at him—kind, expectant, devastatingly patient—he can’t seem to summon anything better. 

“I like you,” he tries again, his voice just a tad firmer. “A lot. More than I probably should. I—I really like you,” he adds in a rush. Real smooth, Spencer. 

You tilt your head, biting your lip to suppress a grin, and Spencer hopes you can't feel how sweaty his palms are.

“I know,” you say simply.

“Y—you do?” His voice comes out shakier than he likes.

“I do. Kinda guessed it from the teasing and stuff.”

Silence.

It stretches just long enough for Spencer to start panicking. He’s briefly comforted by the fact that even mild concussions can cause memory lapses and wonders if there’s any other way to make you forget this humiliating confession. 

“I’m sorry,” he stammers, rushing to fill the quiet. “I’m being insensitive. You’re probably overwhelmed enough as it is—I shouldn’t have—”

“I like you too, Spencer,” you say softly, cutting him off. 

“You—you do?”

"I do," you nod unabashedly, utterly unflustered. “I have for a while now, actually.”

His eyes widen. “You have?”

“Yes I have, and I do, I really like you too,” you say with a sheepish smile, laughing. “But if you keep making me repeat myself you’re gonna give me the headache the doctors keep saying I'm lucky not to have.” 

“S’not funny,” Spencer mutters, but he smiles anyway. The brightest smile he’s had today. Maybe even this week. Possibly even this year. “Don’t joke about that. I was really worried.”

“I know,” you reply warmly. “Something about pacing holes into the tiles, if I recall.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, a boyish laugh slipping out. He hadn’t imagined this moment unfolding in a hospital room, of all places. To be honest, he hadn’t imagined this happening at all. 

You’ll probably be out in three days. Maybe two if you’re lucky. He’ll ask you out then. Properly. Dinner at that Thai place you both love. A trip to the library you’d mentioned two months ago but never got around to visiting. He’ll take you to the park where he plays chess every Saturday. He’s going to do it all. The thought makes him absolutely giddy. 

Unbeknownst to the two of you, outside, Morgan hasn’t budged. Not an inch. He’s standing by the blinds, peering in through the narrow sliver. The panicked clatter of heels on the tiled floor announces Garcia’s arrival before she’s even turned the corner. Her face is the epitome of panic, teary eyes wide with worry.

“How—how bad is it?” she blurts, her voice shaking. “Oh god, did she make it? Reid called and—”

Morgan silences her with a gentle finger to her lips. “Shhhh. She’s fine.”

“Fine?! But—But Reid said something about brain trauma—and her neurons and—”

“Babygirl, you and I both know how he gets when it comes to her,” Morgan chides, “Nurse said it’s barely a concussion.”

Garcia lets out a deep, shaky breath, her shoulders sagging dramatically as relief washes over her. “Oh, thank god,” she utters, pressing a hand to her chest. “Oh, I’m gonna kill that boy, d’you know what he told me?! He said—” 

“Hold that thought,” Morgan says, cutting her off with a smirk. “Our boy genius is a little… preoccupied right now.” He steps aside slyly, gesturing toward the blinds. “Take a peek. You’ll thank me later.”

Inside, Spencer has moved his chair closer to your bedside. One of his hands holds yours securely, fingers interlocked now, while the other traces soothing circles along your forearm. His smile is blinding, proud even, as laughter fills your face. When you shift, a strand of hair falls across your face, and Spencer gently brushes it aside, his hand lingering on your cheek.

Garcia visibly melts at the sight. She lets out a soft, adoring sigh as Morgan starts to steer her gently down the hallway.  “You know, when I told you last week that she wouldn’t know Reid liked her even if it hit her in the face, I didn’t mean it literally,” she quips, amused. 

“I know babygirl, I know,” Morgan chuckles, shaking his head as he places a hand on her shoulder. “Now, come on. I think I saw some jello in the cafeteria.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: magnets by niki soft spot by keshi

[revelboo]

This bad boy finally arrived, I've waited for him for 2 weeks with D-16~ and couldn't wait to show him to you(⁠~⁠￣⁠³⁠￣⁠)⁠~

Ahhh! He’s gorgeous. Mine finally hit stateside, so maybe this week!

Everything Is Alright Pt 108

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Laying your head against his shoulder, you feel Starscream's servos tangle in the hair at your nape. Holding you to him as the hum of his spark spills into you and soothes away the tension, familiar and comforting. "When's the last time we've been alone like this?" He murmurs and you smile, looking up at him to find those red optics watching you. And his answering smile is uncertain and rueful. Lowering his head to brush his cheek against yours, mouth right there, feeling him venting softly. "We could just go. Just us." Those optics snare you, your heart aching with his words, with how his raspy voice almost breaks. "No Soundwave. No Megatron. No war. Just you and me." Smiling up at him, you know as lovely a dream as it is, one you'd have agreed to without hesitation not that long ago, you know it's just that. A dream. That he can't let go of his own hunger for power and you can't just abandon Soundwave now.

• Optics shuttering when you reach up to cup the side of his face, before your lips ghost against his own. "You know we can't," you whisper, and he leans his head against yours. Wants to argue with you, but knows you're only telling the truth even though he hates it. Feels your thumb slide against his cheek. Hate himself, too. Still believes in the Decepticon cause. That he can lead them to the world they all dreamed of. Rise up and reclaim Cybertron once and for all. And that thought jars him. Realizing he does still dream of returning home. Just assuming that he'd bring you along with him. Nothing changing. You'd still be so small and helpless, but far from your own kind. Would you come to resent him eventually? Would you go with him willingly or would he be stealing you against your will again?

• "You know I love you, right?" Going still as his optics open and find you, you realize it's as close to an actual 'I love you' as he's ever gotten. Maybe as close to being vulnerable as he can be. When you'd been tangled in his spark, you'd seen everything all at once, drowning in him. The weight of all his insecurities and fear suffocating. But it's not like you hadn't known what you were getting into. Had known he was insecure and egotistical when you first started talking to him. Learning that he was also clever and quick-witted, his real smiles fragile but so warm. Head nudging your own, his servos feather through your hair. "That everything I do now is for you? For us?"

• "I know," you say. And there's nothing he won't do for the future he's desperate for even as the details keep shifting. No longer as sure about what he wants, only that he wants you at his side. Needs you there. That there's nothing he won't do to keep you safe and in his arms. Those gentle eyes stare up at him. Trusting. Because to protect what he has right now? He'll burn the world down if he has to. Rule over a kingdom of ash if it means you'll be safe. Protect you from any threat, even yourself or your other bond mate if need be. Because that bond with Soundwave isn't complete, is it? It can still be severed.

• "Trust in me then. Only me," Starscream's mouth slides against yours, coaxing without any heat or hunger before rubbing his cheek against yours as you relax against him. Because you want to. Want to be able to trust him. To believe that he won't abandon you again as you lay your head against his shoulder and he lays his chin on top of your head. Feel his servos capture your hand and bring it to his mouth to press a kiss against the inside of your wrist. "I'll keep you safe."

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