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bitchlessdino · 5 months ago

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demon's play 2: devil's intervention (m)

Original - Demon's play Pairing: devil!wonwoo x demon!seungcheol x demon!chan x afab human!reader Genre: smut Word count: 10k tags: plot heavy, some fluffish moments, perpetual fear, ikea employee!reader, dom!wonwoo, sub!reader, verse!chan, verse!seungcheol, cum drunk!demons, violent graphic imagery (death, lashing, sacrifices), mentions of blood, Voyeurism, biting to the point of blood, MLM themes that is not based off of any implications of reality, hair pulling, choking, spitting, double fem head, biting, mentions of holes (referencing anal play), mentions forked tongue and sharp tail (and it being used for some kind of hitting), oral (giving and recieving), handjobs, degradation, multiple orgasms bc girls its possible i swear, cum swallowing, nipple play, unprotected sex Summary: it's been some time since Chan and Seungcheol abandoned the underworld for you, a simple human. The ruler of the underworld does not too kindly to distractions, even ones so prettily packaged such as yourself. It was time he took matters into his own hands. author note: yall remember this? I just wanna give my utmost gratitude to @multi-kpop-fanfics for reading my fic front to back, beginning to end, rough to final, the whole nine yards and boosting up my self-esteem like no other. I am so excited for this bc i think this is the dirtiest yet (with room to improve) so thank you so much my lovely demon babe zeta.

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @cottoncheol @embrace-themagic @kaiser211 @pantumin @unlikelysublimekryptonite @channiesliquor @i4kt

The world has made most people believe that the devil was born out of evil and hate. By word of mouth, the devil has become the most vile most disgustingly despicable spirit imaginable and that’s why they were cast as ruler of the underworld, that only he could conjure up the world’s most cruelest and grueling punishments for the above-ground world’s sinners.

The one thing Wonwoo despised the most was that assumption. The true history of its origins was that he and his predecessors were chosen ones. Not so much made to be the devil but rather he had been nurtured to exist as one, much like how humans grow up on the Earth’s crust. Wonwoo, following the footsteps before him, was no fallen angel.

He was god’s favorite—that was at most correct—but for being the most impartial and like-minded to them. The only other person to rule a world such as the light land, heaven according to humans; or the underworld, also known as hell. His status was a gift but over time became a curse, a burden by god who bestowed it upon him.

A truly dedicated and impartial person would understand the severity of sinners and their stories. Particularly, the proper punishments. A lifetime of ruling the underworld had made him numb. Only power and order kept him sane.

The moment those two things decline, so does his patience.

Not one, but two, of his dutiful service demons disappear in a matter of 4 Earthly months. Had it been in the initial era of his ruling, he would not pay it a single second where they went, but after a millennium of the sickening sights he’s swallowed, he would not stand for this inconsistency. The one thing that he looked forward to was the company, no matter how annoying and clingy they can be.

Wonwoo hadn’t stepped onto Earth in an indiscernible expanse of time and it was unlike what he remembered, one thing was clear, the underworld was infamous for its inferno weather, but Earth weather was another kind of disgusting. The vessel he took on made it intolerable, perspiration beading revoltingly on the back of his neck. He adjusted his glasses, slipping his hands into his pockets, and sought to discern an energy unlike any he had encountered among the feeble humans thus far.

He succeeded in isolating a unique energy signature, yet the absence of his demons momentarily cast doubts upon his intuition. Then, he found you, standing in what he determines to be a reliquary of transcribed lore, the incubus scent growing stronger as he drew closer. You seemed no different from any other human, vulnerable and defenseless against his indomitable power, and utterly ordinary.

So why had he started crying?

In the recesses of his consciousness, fleeting images of a countenance reflecting yours danced like ethereal flames. The memory of your smile–or one like yours–gentle yet insistent, reached out and seized at the very core of his being, unfurling layers he never fathomed existed. It had been eons since he last experienced such human-like tethering since he too was bound to Earth by the fragile ties of blood and flesh.

However, your presence was the catalyst for their absence, a glaring aberration in his otherwise solitary existence. And that singular realization meant only one course of action: the inexorable termination of your existence.

Wonwoo observed you from afar, studying your every movement, your predictable patterns of behavior, and the places you frequented like clockwork. Everything from your favorite place of consumption to the branding of hygienic production you purchase at a typical brick and mortar were all meticulously cataloged in his mind. The striking similarity between you and this entity from a bygone era stirred an unsettling disquiet within him, sending shivers down his spine with each passing moment. The longer he observed, the more his curiosity swelled, growing into an insatiable hunger for understanding you beyond what you present on the outside.

By now, Wonwoo had deduced just one aspect of your culinary predilections: a fondness for toasted bagels generously adorned with a creamy spread of a concoction called cream cheese and sprinkled with chopped chives. After a series of meticulous trials, he affirmed that this particular combination was not only pleasing but also a sensory delight to his refined palate.

However, your brewed coffee, fused with thickened dairy and doused in sugary syrup, was an entirely different story. Its sickening sweetness overwhelmed his taste buds, rendering it utterly unpalatable—a mere shadow compared to the gods’ divine ambrosia.

Humans truly were deserving of hell, you were no exception.

Wonwoo persisted in his quest to unravel the complex layers of your being, methodically tracing each footstep until they guided you back to the comforting confines of your earthly sanctuary. Veiled within the shadows, he seamlessly merged with the enigmatic darkness surrounding him, his gaze fixated on you with an intensity that pierced through the veil of mundane reality. With unwavering focus, his eyes followed the subtle movements of your fingers as they danced across the surface of a seemingly ordinary sentinel interface, a portal to the realm of security and protection.

‘0717.’ A rather simple yet familiar sequence of numbers in a form of security.

With a precision honed through meticulous observation, he deftly navigated the labyrinthine corridors of your mortal dwelling. Transfusing effortlessly with the darkness, he moved through with a silent grace, his spectral presence a mysterious entity amidst the Earthly realm, devoid of any physical embodiment to shroud himself. With each passing moment, he attuned himself to the subtle rhythms of your routine, mastering the delicate interplay of light and dark until he could foresee your every movement with unmatched accuracy.

Finally, he discerned their voices, those traitorous whispers that pierced the silence.

“You’re home, pet.”

Wonwoo's gaze bore into the flesh embodiment of the young demon, seething at their shameless behavior before arms snaked around your mortal form. "I've missed you dearly," Chan cooed, his fingers delicately parting your hair from your face.

"I'm sorry for making you wait," you apologized, the sincerity evident in the softness of your voice. Your eyes held a glint of warmth as they met Chan's, a mixture of affection and contrition swirling within their depths. With gentle fingers, you reached out to adjust the folds of his human attire, intimacy amidst the sensual warmth that polluted the entraped space.

"Today was a longer day than usual, too many distractions. Please don’t be mad," your words laced with earnest.

"Oh, darling. I could never be mad at you," Chan responded tenderly, his gaze softening as he drew you closer. His touch is a comforting anchor amidst the hidden chaos swirling in the corner of the room, undetectable by the human and demon.

Seungcheol emerged from the kitchen, his form draped in a simple mortal garment that seemed unfit for his eternal significance. The cotton apron, stained and worn, clung to him like a tattered shroud, its once vibrant colors faded into a dreary mortality. As he approached you, a wave of revulsion washed over the Devil beneath his hiding space, his senses assaulted by the sight of such lowly attire adorning one who should command awe and reverence with his masculine presence alone.

With an unsettling blend of kindness and audacity in his gaze, Seungcheol dared to step into the embrace, his very presence a direct challenge to Wonwoo's finely honed sensibilities. The devil recoiled inwardly, a wave of repulsion washing over him at the proximity of this figure seemingly draped in the mundane fabrics of ordinary existence. Meanwhile, you found yourself ensnared within the comforting embrace of Seungcheol, willingly inviting him into your sphere despite the tension radiating from Wonwoo's silent disapproval.

"Supper awaits you," Seungcheol declared, his voice nauseating and unsettling to Wonwoo's refined ears, reminiscent of the sound of nails scraping across a chalkboard. Each saccharine syllable felt like a direct challenge to Wonwoo's perception of the demon he thought he knew. He observed, with a mixture of surprise and disdain, how Seungcheol appeared to have embraced the mundanity of domesticity and the mortal realm, embodied in the form of you, a mere lowly human.

For the first time in a millennium, Wonwoo felt sick to his stomach, as if it were possible with his immortal being.

He resigned himself to endure the ordeal for the sake of continued observation, silently watching from their concealed vantage point as the scene unfolded.

"You smell..." Chan's words trailed off as he inhaled deeply, allowing the complex tapestry of your scent to envelop him. "Delectable. Far more enticing than that banal perfume the servitude coerces you to wear." With each breath, he discerned the delicate interplay of notes that bespoke your essence, a symphony of subtleties far richer than any artificial fragrance. As he drew you closer, he marveled at the intoxicating allure that emanated from your pores.

Wonwoo, too, found himself captivated by the depths of your natural aroma. Beneath the manufactured layers and demon essence, he detected the faint traces of your natural aroma—an intoxicating blend that beckoned with a magnetic allure, stirring a primal fascination within him. The embodiment of your rich humanity. It was a scent that spoke volumes, weaving a narrative vulnerability that resonated with him in an unexplainable way.

"No one's forcing me to wear anything," you reassured. "It's simply to smell pleasant during 12-hour workdays."

"You already smell pleasant without it! Even better, in fact!"

"Keep your voice down, Chan," Seungcheol cautioned.

“I apologize, pet, but at least only we get the pleasure of having you to ourselves.” The demon’s hand trailed deviously over your figure, a smile dancing against his features. "The supper wouldn't satisfy me the way you could, my darling.”

Wonwoo swallowed, keenly observing your reaction. The pebbling of your skin, your internal temperature rising beneath Chan’s fingertips, the moan hitched in your breath. Wonwoo clenched his fists, gaze hardening as the young demon’s filthy hands traveled further down your body, only watching as his hands cupped your heat hidden underneath layers of articles of clothing. Beneath the demon’s grip was thick arousal, soaking through your undergarments, drawing both demons–as well as the Devil–into a simple, yet powerful, spell.

"Allow the poor mortal to eat, you insatiable boy,” Seungcheol interjected, against his better judgment. “If you're insistent on nourishment, ensure they are in good health for feeding. Otherwise, their stamina would dwindle away as if it was nothing."

Chan scoffs, gently unhanding you but bridging the gap between his lips and your cheek, undoubtedly blistering the skin of your face from his heat of a thousand suns. “Fine, after you’ve eaten then. Then there’s no stopping my ravishing.”

The unlikely trio committed what seemed unfathomable to Wonwoo: they shared a meal and engaged in proper communication. The sight was bewildering; never in his wildest imaginings could he have conceived of two of his most loyal eternal servants obeying the commands of someone of your ilk. To Wonwoo, it felt like a humiliation, an erosion of the boundaries he had meticulously established. Yet, neither Chan nor Seungcheol appeared to share his concerns. As he watched them interact with you, he was taken aback by the unexpected humanity in their eyes, the warmth and devotion that seemed out of place in their demonic existence.

All Wonwoo desired was for them to consume the human and resume their demonic duties. The fact that the human remained alive contradicted all expectations; by all rights, they should have perished by now. Yet here they were, challenging his understanding of their loyalty to him, the lord of the underworld.

Seungcheol, renowned for his icy demeanor and unswerving commitment, had long served as Wonwoo's steadfast right-hand man. Like an unyielding pillar of iron, he stood unmoved amidst the ceaseless torments endured by countless unfortunate souls. His stoic resolve had been a constant in the chaos of their realm.

Seungcheol was now in a role entirely unfamiliar to him. Gone was the facade of impassivity; instead, he delicately spoon-fed you soup, his normally unyielding countenance softened by a rare display of tenderness. It was a startling departure from the sternness that had characterized his every action until now, leaving Wonwoo to ponder the stark change unfolding before him.

As for Chan, laughter was reserved for the aftermath of whoever was his next meal or the spectacle of sinners being skinned alive in the fiery depths of the inferno, his favorite daytime event. There was a time when Wonwoo harbored an intense disdain for Chan and all that he represented. Every fiber of his being recoiled at the mere thought of Chan's existence, a visceral reaction fueled by a deep-seated revulsion.

He was once nothing but a vile, loathsome creature, radiating an aura of wretchedness and abhorrence in every aspect of his being. However, that was common for a demon. Wonwoo has not only grown used to the young demon’s cruelty, but he found the passion admirable. Now, Chan found himself utterly entranced by your...simplicity, his typically impish demeanor cushioned with the gentle stroke that swept your hair away from your face, careful not to disrupt your meal with any discomfort.

Wonwoo was perturbed. The devil waited for no one. He knew he must take them back at once. He could not stand for this no longer. The world was standing on the edge of crisis if these two lowly demons do not dare come back to the underworld, they would face his wrath. He had to force he hand until they were begging him to take them back.

Yet, he stood still as he watched them enter the bedroom. Immersed in his silent fury, it dissipates in the unraveling of your clothing, each article falling to the ground like blossom petals in the spring or leaves in the fall. Seungcheol had managed to find the column of your neck in an abrasive squeeze between meeting your lips in a wet and ravenous liplock. Your moan was trapped down your throat, mumbles of submission in its stead, and your hands roamed over him at a hungry pace, tracing over every muscle pulsing under your palms.

Chan wasted no opportunity to cease your defenseless behind, his throbbing erection prodding against you as he reclaimed your heat now melting against his fingers. His teeth gnawed against the back of your neck, breaking skin, and exposing blood into the thick air. His tongue, catches its taste of iron, humming in delight as his fingers plunge inside you with conviction.

Wonwoo was not new to sexual acts, clearly. Nor, was he a man of celibacy in the slightest. Yet, the moment your voice broke into the charged air, he felt something enter his immortal body and churned stomach, then he was clutching his metaphorical pearls of chaste as he swallowed a lump of regret. Despite his egregious power, the scene made him frozen where he stood, feet plastered to the ground.

He didn’t find a second where he could intervene, thinking study was necessary before he could deliver his final strike. Of course, that’s all this was. Nothing else.

“You’re starving aren't you,” Seungcheol growled. “I could smell your arousal for me before you even entered the apartment.”

“Tell me about it,” Chan joined, immersed in the air around you wafting in his nose. “There’s lust in these veins of yours,” his tongue swiped over the blood on his lips. “Don’t tell me you’ve been thinking about this all day…We fuck you every waking day of your life, and that’s still not enough. Isn’t that right?”

A “No,” barely made it past your lips before they were crushed under the weight of Seungcheol’s, and then you were the one starting to taste iron. Its aroma was as strong as they claimed, and Wonwoo fell under the same impression.

Chan tucked your hair behind your head, tugging you in his direction as his teeth skins into the base of your neck, his cock exposed in an instant and hugged between the plush felt of your ass. Your eyes retreated to your skull, trembling as Seungcheol’s cock pressed against your stomach. A shatter sigh broke out from your throat and you let them take over control of your feeble body.

They folded you forward, your lips mere inches away from the head of Seungcheol’s cock–teasing you in its glistening glory–as Chan’s precious weapon was ready to take the plunge. “Take it,” the young demon demanded with an underlying of a growl. “Then you will feel enlightened once again, pet.”

It didn't take you much longer to oblige, allowing Seungcheol’s size to be swallowed between and past your lips, hitting the back of your throat. Seungcheol’s fingers flossed through your locks, gripping at the root, and buried himself inside you as his eyes glowed at the glisten of yours. He could taste the power coursing through him, gently bobbing you up and down as you strained to fit all of him.

“That’s it, beautiful,” he softly encouraged, “does it hurt?”

You muffled an answer, one of confirmation.

“But you’re gonna try taking it all, aren’t you?”

To which, you mimiciked the sound before, twice as gingerly.

Your legs parted wide for Chan to make himself known in your sopping cunt and not a moment too soon, his slamming of his hips commenced, watching the cushion of your ass recoil against him. Your whimpers were muffled around Seungcheol as your arms were torn from control and roughly pinned behind your back in a vicious grip. Your eyes shot back Seungcheol in impulse, vibrating up his skin as Chan pounded your body back like dough, eyes and cheeks burning helpless yet complying tears.

The elder demon sent you no look of pity, only a smile of arrogance as he thrust faster, savoring how every inch of your body reacted in a delicious symphony. He has marveled at the tenderness and sensitivity of human skin before, but your flesh; it moldable like clay, looking almost edible, a fitting meal for one who craves the most tender of meat. Both demons groaned of ecstasy, letting you take the lashes of their hips at either of your welcoming ends. Even Wonwoo had to admit it was a sight to behold.

The back and forth of pampering and degrading ultimately led you to what happened every night since the three have been acquainted, blood curdling screams that could be mistaken for cold murder. In most cases for Wonwoo, the assumption wasn’t off, but tonight it was reserved for another sinful act. One that Wonwoo particularly was inexplicably intrigued with.

There seemed no end to your thirst for physical and sensual sanctity—no matter how rough and humiliating—and before any of them knew it, it had been hours since it’s been initiated. The devil stared at your body, glowing in your human perspiration, bare chest rising as falling to the pattern of your breaths, and cunt dripping in every fluid imaginable.

Alive and well. Elated even.

Impressed wouldn’t be the word coating the tip of the devilish intruder’s tongue, yet he can’t help but applaud you and your endurance. It made him wonder what it was that’s in you that made you this way.

Wonwoo decided an investigation was in order, and no, that did not mean another scandalous showcase of how deep one’s mortal throat and taking two demonic phallic pieces at once.

“Can I help you find anything you’re looking for?”

Your voice, like velvet, strokeed his eardrums, allowing him to inconspicuously and gently avert his feigned attention from mortal furniture that could not compare to the material in the existence of the depths of the underworld, let alone from of the light land it so obnoxiously claims when exclaiming ‘like Heaven’s clouds’. The corner of his lips quipped upwards curiously as he briefly absorbed your features upclose, seeing the overwhelming facade of hospitality dance its somehow subtle waltz. From the soften of your brow and gentle pucker of your parted lips, he could sense how your poised demeanor melted under his presence now towering over you.

“I’m actually looking for, um, things in my new apartment.” He imposed a chuckle, something lighthearted that emulated a false sense of security. “New place, new furniture. Not sure where to start. I’m used to people making that decision for me.”

Wonwoo hadn’t lied, it was true the underworld had been built in a way he couldn’t touch or alter, he just would have anything from this furniture store—let alone its air—in the residence that he’s long occupied in.

Afterall, the store was chaos embodied. The humans ran havoc with their tedious wonder and overzealous catalogs of boisterous furnishing as their spawnlings running up and down long corridors, jumping on fortresses of slumber with their filthy footware, and making a mockery of wreck of a merchant shop. No amount of coffee bitters and undercooked fruit pastries from its cafeteria would change that.

Nevertheless, Wonwoo was playing his part of lowly human, looking for a change in his sanctity, parting way for a furniture store in his aid.

“Of course.” You grinned tightly, eyes creasing as your cheekbones rose to the surface, bitten by the crisp ventilated air. “Well, we have an amazing selection of couches from leather to tweed, bookshelves made of the finest wood or strongest steel, anything you can possibly imagine. Where would you want to start first?”

Wonwoo honestly could not fathom such extensive assortment of furnishing, experiencing what buyer’s fatigue for the first time in his immortal life. He had trailed behind you and your guidance incessantly, playing on the charade of interested clientele, hoping at some point it’s come to an farewell and he could end his pursuit already.

God, were humans tediously boring.

“And that about does it. Any that pique your interest?” You asked, rather hopefully. “I do remember your attention lingering on the antique wooden desk with secret compartments.”

That faired the most interest of his out of any of the pieces here. Like made of magic, it held more than an entity could handle and store, perfectly adorn and crafted with the most intricate carvings that would take day–no, weeks–to perfectly master. Standing on a wooden easel, the light perfectly captured graining, almost enchanting in its own simple way. It was…acceptable for mortal furniture.

“It looked alright,” he managed to muster. “I may have to come back sometime again to get a better look. I’m just looking around for now.”

“No problem. If you change your mind, I can just take you to some of our kiosks and ring you and have it shipped to you in one to three business days.”

Your radiant smile illuminated even the most mundane tasks, leaving Wonwoo to ponder if your vitality extended beyond mere physical prowess. Such boundless energy and brilliance seemed incongruous within the confines of your modest frame. Perhaps there were depths to your character that he had yet to fathom.

"Um," he faltered, his voice wavering like the uncertain breeze in the depths of darkness in the darkest corner of his realm. Unlike the practiced guile he had wielded before to ensnare your confidence, this hesitation was genuine, born of a deep-seated unease. "Do you visit this cafe often?" he inquired, gesturing with a trembling thumb toward the dimly lit alcove nestled within the labyrinthine market, its air redolent with the tantalizing aroma of spiced venison and frothy elixirs.

You softly chuckled, clearing taking his soft tone as friendly conversation. “On occasion. Their dessert are a hit or miss, but the meatballs. Some say its overhyped, but its meat in my mouth, I’m not complaining.”

Your choice of words rendered you motionless, frozen in a sudden onset of shock, a hand instinctively leaping to cover your mouth. “I–that sounds so…”

Wonwoo interrupted you with a sincere smile and subtle ripple of mirth. I’m sure you very much welcome it. “I think I get what you mean.”

“Please don’t—just forget about the words that came out of my mouth.”

“Hard to forget to but,” Wonwoo pretended seal his lips with a zipper, invisible to the naked eye, while grinning impossibly hard, “as you wish.”

“I’m so embarrassed. My mind hasn’t been in the most…nevermind, but yes, the food is good. Drinks are worth a try. Avoid the cherry danish and substitute it for the cheese.” You attempt an escape, hoping to conjure a locker room out of thin air to hide in, knowing very well it across the other side of the building.

“Maybe, you could give a more indepth review,” He offered, his footsteps lightly treading towards you. “You seem to know the menu very well, and I have to say, I’m getting a bit hungry.”

You gazed upon the devil, unknowingly drawn by curiosity, your feet rooted to the ground in a mingling of shame and intrigue. The handsome stranger's invitation beckoned you. Eating on the job was a big no-no, with the only exception being the attempt to make a sale. Yet, beneath the weight of quotas and obligations, lingered the prospect of forging a new acquaintance—one that had captured your attention the moment you laid eyes on him.

“I could help you out with that.”

By no means was it a feast fit for the gods, but it stirred a ravenous hunger within the devil. Hearty, yet unassuming. A blend of ground meat, breadcrumbs, and spices, molded into spherical perfection and coated in a rich, savory sauce. It was the epitome of culinary simplicity—a revelation that Wonwoo had long forgotten food could possess such goodness.

“Wow.”

“Right? How do they do it? Some people even just come by for lunch.”

He continued to devour every inch of his plate. The meat. The gravy. The peas. The potatoes. He was in another world at the moment.

“Why is it so cheap?” He pondered out loud.

“So the customers would feel more compelled to buy furniture. A little reward for all your stalking of the right furnishing.”

“The marketing is genius,” he exclaimed softly, as he scarfed down more, ready to order a plate of 18.

“Wow. I don’t think I’ve met someone as into them as I am.”

He faltered in his movement, now forking over them curiously. “They are good. Like you said.”

You sighed, your gaze drifting over the glossy sheen of the brown coating on your chosen morsel. "Yeah, but I guess, I like this because it reminds me of home. My mom always made me a plate after I got home from school. It’s kind of nostalgic. I mean, sure, I can make some of my own, maybe even better than this, but having it made in a building with fake rooms that look like parts of a house reminds me of home. Weird, huh?"

Wonwoo remains silent. The only home he has ever known was the underworld, and any memory before that has dissipated as if it never existed. The closest semblance to it was you, a figure from his fleeting recollections of a past life. Someone who had begun to resurface in his once vacant vessel.

“Maybe that just amplifies their goodness,” he finally quipped, taking another mouthful.

You smiled, strangely comforted by his words. You didn’t think you’d enjoy having lunch with a stranger this much, but your surprise, there was more that meets the eye. And you had yet even learned his name. “If it's that good, you wouldn’t mind lunch here again? Maybe I’ll finally convince you to get that antique desk and-or even a sofa?”

A soft chuckle slipped from Wonwoo's lips. "Maybe.”

His ‘maybe’s turned into more when he started visiting every day with very little prospect of purchase and gradually the familiar musk of his demons no longer clouded your actual scent, etched into the depths of his weathered mind. You sat together, sipping drinks and discussing imaginary furniture as if you were lifelong companions, sharing laughter as if it were the most ordinary and natural thing in the world.

Occasionally, Wonwoo would let his eyes travel, slowly dropping to the bareness of your exposed clavical, lingering over a shirt that seemed to have mysteriously unbuttoned one or two buttons too many, guiding his eyes to the gentle slopes of your breasts cradled beneath the weight of your crossed forearms. For some inexplicable reason, he found himself mesmerized, your beauty increasingly captivating, stealing away minutes and hours in your presence without him even noticing. And yet, he didn't mind one bit.

"You're gonna have to buy something eventually," you teased, raising an eyebrow.

"Then who's going to come to work and make your job a little easier every day?"

You softly scoffed, tearing yet another meatball but now dipping it in the bitter sweetness of the jam provided. "I don't need my job to be easier, I need to make money.”

He softly quirked up a corner of his lips in an impish smile, "Then stop having lunch with me then.”

"Not until you buy a couch.” You sternly refuted, failing to subdue the smile on your face.

You always would use that excuse, excusing work as purpose, and drawing the line between the two. Salesperson and customer.

Before Wonwoo knew it, it had been a week since the first encounter, and strangely enough meeting you in a prompt sales pitch was something he was starting to look forward to.

“Maybe today’s the day. Maybe the couch of my dreams is in this store.”

You gazed at him with a straw between your lips, smiling knowingly at how untrue his proclamation was. He had never come close to making a purchase, yet you entertained him every time he walked past those double doors. The question is, why? Why does he insist on teasing you with the temptation of business and humiliate you by going against your expectations? What does he have to achieve by this?

“You’re breaking my heart here, Mr. Wonwoo.”

He chuckled at your nickname, growing rather fond of his name making past of your lips. How delicate you made him sound to be.

“I think you rather enjoy my company.”

“That has nothing to do with our little…arrangment.”

He leaned forward, mesmerizing eyes piercing back at you in a way that made your heart chase. His bottom lips softly dropped to speak before he gently observed your features, convincing you he could notice from the shift of your throat to the halt in your breath. He met your eyes once again. “What is our…arrangement?”

You exhaled, sipping your drinking and hearing the obnoxious slurp of your now empty cup, and somehow your throat was still dry. “I think its pretty obvious.”

“Obvious? You give me too much credit.”

“Well, you’re here for furniture but have yet bought any.”

“Does that culminate a dispute between you and I?”

“Not exactly, but–”

“And aren’t you paid regardless if you spend time with me?”

“Yes, but–”

His laughter was light, a hint of mischief lingering. “Then I don’t see the issue. You enjoy my company, you get paid to do your job. Win-win.”

He had a point. You had no reason to complain, he made your work days rather easy in comparison to other days he isn't present. Not to mention, shortens the day drastically because you could talk to him all day without a fuss. Nonetheless, this was a job. Not high school.

Plus, how would they thought if they knew of this?

“Tell me, Wonwoo. What is it you here for? If not to help me earn commission?”

“Perhaps…I’m simply drawn to you. I want to know your name, what you eat, and what takes up most of your day. Maybe I have stopped thinking about you since I first laid my eyes on you and I can’t help but make it a routine to see you on a certain amount of days during the week so I don’t miss you.”

You didn't expect this, at least not a proclamation this powerful, yet jarring.

“Then, maybe we should stop while we’re ahead, especially considering we know it’s going nowhere.”

“Is that really how you think? Or are you scared you don’t know what to expect from me?”

“...I–”

A deep chuckle escaped him, rising and dropping his chest as it tried suppress his laughter from becoming something more. “I’m kidding.”

“Not very funny, Mr. Jeon.”

“I apologize. My humor is not understood by most, but they laugh anyway. Probably scared if I’m serious.”

“Well, you could’ve fooled me.”

“Well, I think for the hard work you’ve done you do deserve a sale, so…I will be buying a couch today.”

Your eyes jumped in size. “Seriously?”

“There’s some things I take lightly but not people’s livelihoods.” It was natural the devil had boundaries, although, he wasn’t sure if he was truthful about the pretainment to jokes.

“Wow, um. Let me take you to a payment kiosk, we can ring you up.”

Wonwoo ran through the catalog, seeking a specific name amongst the millions of others until his eyes landed on it. The Amelia sectional couch with soft high-density foam seating, a rolled arm on either end, built on top of the sturdiest hardwood, and crafted in the most luxurious cream leather. A stand-out piece for any home. You raved about it, dreaming of one day owning a piece like it yourself one day. Then you would have truly made it.

“That’s an excellent choice. I’m seeing you’re taking my advice after all. Although, I am surprised with this choice since you eyed the Selzar in maroon more. I thought it rather suited you compared to the Amelia.”

“You’re right, it doesn't suit me.” He swiped the credit card he foraged from his pocket, before turning the screen away from him, facing it toward you. “Your address.”

“W-what?”

“Well, the store will need it for the couch to be sent to your home.”

“Wonwoo, I cant let you do that.”

“Why not? It’s a gift. For all your hard work.”

“It’s too much.”

“I’m making the purchase, you get your commission, a new couch, and all the more reason for me to visit.”

“Why would you do this?”

He didn’t say anything, only smiling just a hint before turning the screen back toward him when you dont respond, making you wonder how did he ever figure out your address. However, that was the least of your worries.

The couch arrived the next day: your day off, and familiar faces of your coworkers grinned at you as they installed the pieces of the furniture in the middle of your apartment, playfully jabbing at you about the grand gesture of Wonwoo, the infamous customer that always seemed to have your attention. No matter how much you dismissed the matter, they persisted until the very second they were done, now leaving your apartment as a new owner of the most beautiful piece of furniture you ever thought about owning.

You thought were still dreaming ever so as you ran your hand over the buttery smooth leather and feeling how cool and malleable it felt under your body. You softly moaned as the fabric grazed your cheek, buzzing at the fulfillment of your new furniture, falling in love with it like a new lover.

“Careful now, pet. Jealousy should not be extended towards inanimate objects.”

You softly giggled before Chan decided to join you to embrace your sides as he also grew into the comfort that was the new mysterious gift. A crackle of a moan escaped his lungs and he held you tighter, as if this single piece of furniture was somehow magic, enchanted to trap you both in a sealment of comfort. “Fine, I concede. This is amazing.”

“You’re so silly,” you teased before hugging your chest to his, eyes lifting up to stare at his brewing in a storm of stars and darkness. “Isn’t it the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever laid your eyes on?”

“Well, no.” His fingers went on to trace your jaw, lips parting and he imagined himself biting down, marking your skin with his canines. “That title is reserved for you. Would've thought you learned that by now.”

“Sure, but isn’t it fantastic? It’s beautiful.”

He chuckled at your awe, a soft sigh drawing through his nose, his hunger intensely garnering the longer he stared. “Where did you get such a grand, boisterous thing, darling?”

Your breath ceased for a moment, mustering up a proper answer, “Oh, just someone from work gifted it to me.” You weren’t lying. It did come from work and you did meet Wonwoo at work and he did gift it to you. It was harmless.

“Working hard, I see? Mmh,” His hand combed through your hair, eyes full of mirth twisting into burning fire as he didn't drop his gaze. “Maybe I should reward you as well. Perhaps by—how you say—‘break in’ your new gift?”

You softly let his name resonate on your tongue, feeling his passing hand cup over the spill of the flesh of your ass as he squeezed. You tensed, drawing yourself closer in wary caution. “You won't actually break my new couch, will you?”

His lip quirked up in a grin. “Well, I guess that’d make the furnishing rather short lived, but that doesn’t mean I can’t try breaking you.”

Chan devoured the quiver of your lips–tasting their feverish want–just as quickly as he tossed you on top of him, the friction of your clothes causing the muffled sounds of aches vibrating against his lips. In a flash, he ripped off your cotton shirt, his supernatural strength ruining another mundane piece of clothing just as he was ready to ruin you into oblivion.

Your tight peaks brushed against his chest before he held your valleys in his hands, kneading them ravenously, and curling the tension in your gut. You twitched into his touch, riding high against his thigh as he took control, burying yourself in the plush of his lips, and feeling his primal, ravenous instincts be what’s only left of his immortal body.

Seungcheol did not come up short at the sight. Coming from the neighborly laundromat after offering to wash your clothes of its filth, he equaled his footing as he engaged against your backside, slipping his hands through your pants as his nails, now sharp as daggers, scrapped against your thighs. “Having fun without me, I see.”

You barely placed his name until he stole you from the younger demon, rolling you to his side as his nails plunged into your flesh and struck an agonizing groan from your throat.

He chuckled lowly. “I’ll make sure to make up from lost time, my sweet.”

You heard Chan scoff from behind you, branding your lower back with his cock burning against you as his thighs held your ass to his crotch in an iron grip. “About time you caught up, old man.”

“Just wait till my name is the one that they’re screaming tonight, boy.”

You could never remember how you lose your clothes so quickly, rather you were much more intrigued by the passage each demon would take. There has always to be a not-so-friendly competition when it came to these two, no matter how long they’ve managed to coexist in this place. They seemed to have found a perfect medium in self-gratification and your pleasure, as long as either one had their turn and you were a willing prey.

“Come on. You can do it. Just slide on top of me, pet.”

You took Chan’s gentle hand before climbing into his lap and hovering over his tip, swollen in impatience. A shattered breath took wind as you remained cautious as you always have, readily adjusting to the supernatural size as it invaded your vulnerable heat. His teeth collided with the back of your neck, his hands coming up from behind you and palming your tender breasts and caressing them as if they belonged to him, and perhaps in a way they did.

“That’s it,” he ushered, a hand lowering to pad over your clit, feeling the tender squeeze of your heat wrap about his shaft.

Your hips moved naturally, arms stabilizing over the couch and Chan’s shoulders, while you let your desires take course as he thrust inside you. Your breasts swayed and bounced with the weight of gravity, having your lover’s lips then wrapping around a hard nipple, lapping the texture in heat.

You felt weightless. Euphoric. You’ve lost count of the times sex had took place in this apartment with these two immortal beings alone, but you could never recount it the same way. It was always promisingly rhapsodical.

As Chan pierced you with every inch–grunting in your ear softly, but not struggling at all–Seungcheol took between your legs. His wide eyes were enflamed with the fire to destroy acres of land, while a smile graced his lips. His hand on either of Chan’s thighs, he leveraged up from the ground, eyes feasting on the force of the younger demon’s hips plunging in your cunt while your arousal dribbled down his peer’s thighs.

“Look at you, precious.” His hand glided between your thighs, mouth aching to gnaw on your plush flesh. His cock was a being of its own with how much it throbbed to be inside you. “It never cease to make me how you look…sound…smell with lust shooting up through your veins.”

He held your thighs against his hands, billowing you up and down towards Chan, and he glimpsed at the pulsating walls, locating your heartbeat and how it resided in your cunt just as much as it did in your chest. “Fucking brilliant.”

Seungcheol inched closer, devouring you with his other senses before then came his mouth, then came the flicker of his tongue, and finally his lower lips finding home in your pussy, not minding the cock already resided inside. His tongue traveled however it deemed fit and Chan didn’t mind, he rather relished in it.

Your curses melted into whimpers, pleasure masquerading as pleads, and your body molding to them like wet clay. Your mind seemed to wander with their heavy gaze as you expected to stare into space but instead, met eyes fiery just as either demon before you standing in the corner of the room. Curiously, you gazed at their stillness, slowly processing the familiar body it came with.

Instead of frightening you or involuntarily tearing a scream from your throat, they somehow soothed you. It enthralled you that someone dared to watch and without a word leaving their lips.

Suddenly, the younger demon’s pace hasted. A sigh turned to a moan and you felt Chan buck his hips harder into you as his impish chuckles tickled your cheeks. “I love this pussy so fucking much.” His fingers spread your lips apart, feeling the viscous arousal form on his fingerprints and between crevices. “Aren’t I lucky?”

Your torso would’ve fallen over if not for Chan’s steady grip. Your eyes would not stray from the intruder—no matter how tense—realizing without his usual spectacles his eyes burned louder than you’ve ever seen. His smile was devastating, posture domineering. It was then you realized, you weren’t just a show. You were a showcase.

You almost whispered his name, drifting towards his silent beckon, but the demons held you down, bringing you to completion and your eyes forced shut. You tugged from the root of Seungcheol’s head and you lost yourself in the explosion that was your release. Chan’s lips broke from your skin reluctantly, easing his pace to the rhythms of your breaths. “Fuck, I can feel your cum. Try to warn a demon, will you?”

Seungcheol further buried himself between your legs, striking your inner thighs, and moaning into your heat, “Don’t you stop, boy. I need to tap more of their syrup.”

“Fuck,” Chan whimpered feeling the older demon tongue glide against his shaft while inside you, brushing harsh stripes along his pulsating thick veins, and for once he doesn’t argue, thrusting in you at top speed as Seungcheol’s full muscle collected your release.

Now Chan felt as if he’s the one to break lose out of control. His teeth plunge in your neck, canines breaking skin, and your voice gave out as you feel billions of his droplets shoot into you like a rapid stream. Your eyes fluttered as you twitched in his clutch, tears pouring out of your eye sockets, your cum mixing with Chan’s, and you’re stripped from signs of life besides a beating heart.

“Now it’s time to join your brethren, young demon.”

His voice boomed, bouncing off every wall and stunning both Chan and Seuncheol in spots. Fear reigned Seungcheol’s features as it did Chan’s and if you were mentally well enough, you’d notice the sweat pilling their skin not from fatigue, but from horror.

“M-my lord.” Seungcheol stammered, dropping your body against Chan and turning to the sound of the devil, recognizing him immediately as the devil’s eyes pierced and burned through his entire body. “How…” He swallowed as if doing away with his betrayal, but knowing its ineffectiveness. “We didn’t mean to–”

“Silence,” Wonwoo commanded.

Chan’s lips quivered, tears running down his cheeks, paralyzed as you laid limp on his body. “We were going to come back.”

“As you were instructed to months prior to your quest on the Earth’s crust? Don’t filth your mouth of lies any more than you already have, vile creature.”

“What’s happening?” You breached while in recovery.

Seungcheol then kneeled at Wonwoo’s feet, his naked body taut in respect, forcing his gaze to the ground. “We accept your punishment in all forms. We are ashamed of our actions and deserve the utmost repercussions, but please, do not harm the human.”

The devil slowly approached, foot placed on the crown on the demon’s head before he displaced his weight, “Do not descend your face to the ground or I shall show you no mercy…This human. They mean a great deal to you both, yes?”

“Yes, my lord,” Seungcheol answered without hesitation, struggling under the weight of Wonwoo’s foot.

“Y-yes, lord,” Chan softly cried.

Wonwoo’s smile curled, an arrogant breath expelling through his nose at his laughed curtly. He took his booted foot off of the demon’s head and instead claimed his hair, pulling up his features into view and seeing determination and defiance wrinkle his skin. “You’re foolish. You don’t deserve any ounce of immortality that you were gifted.”

Seungcheol’s head was shoved away, and relief bellowed in his chest from coming out unscathed, huffing air as if it was scarce before his chest tightened. “Does that mean the human will be left free?”

“...No,” Wonwoo strode until facing you in Chan’s arm, the younger demon softly grasped your body, unwilling to let go. “I have a…peculiar matter I would rather tend to. Now, young demon. Join your brethren.”

Chan shook his head furiously. “Promise they’ll be safe from your wrath, lord. I will follow you until the depths of the Earth, suffer every lashing, and scar you may dealt me. Please, let the human be free from your cruelty.”

“Let me finish. Join your brethren on the ground and place the human back delicately on this new furnishing you’ve already defiled.”

Chan shut his eyes with remorse and did as the devil asked, pressing a kiss to your cheek as his body followed to the space occupying his fellow demon, awaiting punishment.

Wonwoo huffed, feeling his power surging through him. “Now feast.”

Both demons gazed upon their lord of the underworld in confusion, but he only repeated himself. “Feast. Do as Seungcheol has done together. My judgment will be halted until then.”

“Feast on the human?” Chan blinked. “In order to…sacrifice them?”

“No. To enjoy them. I’m letting you both finish what was started. Do not disappoint me. Do I make myself clear?”

Their heads bowed in gratitude, mouths dropped slack in disbelief and hunger. They nodded their heads, muttering gratitude before reuniting with you at your feet. Seungcheol propped you tenderly against the couch and carefully parted your legs. “Let’s cherish these moments, precious. We don’t know if it’ll be the last.”

Your eyes fluttered softly. Having observed everything, you’re still confused, but your brain has melted from the intimacy. You didn’t think about properly processing his words, simply living in the moment.

Seungcheol took your left side as Chan took your right. The demon’s eyes met in comraderie, nodding before inhaling your scent for what they believed is the final time. Their tongues tangled with one another, both either plunging inside you or running against you. You bucked up your hips at the sensation, lips parting in ache as you felt their warmth stimulate you and you feel the tension in your stomach coiling tighter as one sucked against your clit.

“So, mmh…good.”

“Fuck, I really do love this pussy so much,” Chan whined sucking against your sopping folds.

Seungcheol moaned around your clit, the vibrations running up your body and pebbling your skin. “I don’t ever want to stop…”

Caught in the highs, Seungcheol's fingers ran through Chan’s hair and pressed him deeper between your legs, hoping to find gratification in a form of your voice regaining power. He tenderly massaged Chan’s scalp, gently stroking his locks, thinking to himself, if he were to share you, it had to be done right, and his tongue darted lower to double pierce through your cunt.

“Oh, god…” You clawed against the leather. “Don’t…stop…”

Their arms wrapped around your thighs tightly, fueled by your unquenchable arousal, their tongues collaborating in you to taste every warm inch inside and out. All the sweat, moisture–all the cum either yours or Chan’s–the demon enslaved on it, worshiped it, cherished it with every fiber of their dark empty pits that replaced their souls. There was never enough and they weren’t for a second complaining.

“Spit on it, Seungcheol,” Wonwoo said, “Spit on their wet cunt.”

The demons paused and Seungcheol did just as told, spitting a fat load of saliva on the center of your core, to which you winced in surprise despite the warning.

“Push it in them, Chan.” And Chan obeyed, his tongue targeting the fluid and pushing inside you in practiced thrusts, glistening eyes staring back at you with tear-stained flushed cheeks.

“Repeat.”

They started alternating, Seungcheol spitting inside you to allow Chan to fuck it back in you. It was unreal, more reward than divine punishment and you clenched around the tongue. Then there were both tongues in your holes again as your thighs parted like two unhappy lovers, their mouths made love to them over and over, fingers pounding in you as perfect tools before you spilled cum in their mouths for more than the nth time. There seemed to be no end.

If one demon were more selfish, they’d collect more than the other, and if one were to fight back, they’d collect directly from the other's mouth. Chan often found himself to be the former, being caught fueding with Seungcheol in fits of passionate lip lock for fair distribution. They were so cum drunk neither cared who won because they always went back for more: your cunt and each other.

“Selfish demons. Neither one of you has taken a moment to breathe. Just how insatiable, are you?”

Wonwoo stood closely behind the males, taking a more observant authoritative approach, knowing his words don’t hold the power they’re used to when incubi feed on their perfect prey. Still, he grinned smugly at the sight. His eyes met yours, finding you staring back at him, seeing more questions in your eyes than answers, massively clouded by the raging ache of your body being undone at the hands of the demons. “I hope you’re enjoying the gift, darling, you look pretty getting eaten up.”

“Wonwoo…how—oh…”

Seungcheol’s free hand instinctively reached for your breasts, teasing your nipples and rolling them between the pads of his fingers. “Be careful speaking, sweet…he’s not not an average human or demon.”

“Demon?”

“He’s right,” Wonwoo say, knees dipping into the couch next to you.Your eyes followed his movement, seeing how his shirt was slowly cascading off his body with every button unlatched. “I am not something you simply speak in a passing moment. I hold more power than anyone in this room, but you’re getting to know that. I have forgiven you.”

He parted your hair from over your face and cupped your cheek, red eyes burning back at you as they ran over your face. Although he’s almighty and powerful, his touches were gentle and smile deceivingly kind, calling you toward him like ships to a lighthouse.

“I always wonder what this face would look ruined inside and out.” Wonwoo gripped your chin and forced you to face him, “It’s fascinating seeing a face like this construe into something so sinful, yet satisfying.”

His lips claimed yours hungrily and you could taste rage, power, and a tongue shaped like no other. It had girth, abnormal length, and was split at the center, each end slithering through the inside of either of your cheeks.

It was then you realized it was a forked tongue. One unlike any done artificially. The pieces finally came together. You were tongue wrestling with the devil and you enjoyed it. He moaned against your mouth, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. “You’re so damn sweet, it’s infuriating. It’s no wonder these demons are weak to you, so weak to this pussy and these lips.”

He reunited with your lips, exploring you deeper as his hand wrapped around the stands of your hair and gripped, and you swallowed his grunts, while his tongue flickered at the back of your throat. “How many times have you released in their presence? A hundred? A thousand? A million? It’s never enough for you either, is it?”

You shook your head weakly, eyes begging for more as you were already addicted, feeling him awaken something in you that can’t be sated.

“I’m an all immortal being, so I know. Just like I know you wonder what I look like beneath my clothes…what I taste like…how I’d fuck you.”

“Fuck,” Chan breathed into your pussy listening in, reaching down for his cock that’s doubled in size, stroking himself to the sounds of Wonwoo’s vulgar language. Seungcheol joined him, but he didn't stroke his own cock, he held Chan’s, and their gazes were brought together as their tongues shared residence inside your heat.

“You’re tantalizing, darling little human, and as you see it doesn’t go unnoticed. I say I see for myself the issue, learn ways to…Manage it. Satisfy it. To put back in order the underworld.” He grinned. “You’ll do me honor? Yes?”

You had no reason to say no, physically unable to, fighting waves of an incoming orgasm, but you made a feeble attempt of a nod as he kissed you deeper, the forked tongue prying your mouth and intruding at the back of your throat once more, if not deeper. Your shaky hands went to claim him, your mind so willing to submit to whatever his desires are, and not caring of the consequences. This was your everest.

It took a snap of Wonwoo’s fingers to divert the situation and he’s the one between your legs now as either demon appeared on your left and right of the couch. Their parted lips glistened from the mess, clear signs of moisture trailing down their chins and Adam’s apples, awaiting the instruction of the devil, but eyes locked with you who gifted them such an exhilarating experience.

“Return these insatiable demons the favor and I see to it that I…study your inner workings, mortal. Do I make myself clear, boys?”

“Yes, lord,” they answered, sitting up on their knees and presenting their throbbing erections to your face. You grasped at their shafts, tongue darting out of your mouth and rub the tips of their cocks along your mouth before switching off from one another.

Seungcheol’s hips gently thrusted towards you at his turn, a hand running towards your chest to tease your breasts as the other teased his nipples, pinching them to feed his arousal. “Oh precious, don’t you look darling?”

Taking your other breast, Chan softly whimpered, feeling his cock slide against Seungcheol’s, watching your face contort trying to fill up on both. “Fuck, rub our cocks together like that. You dirty little thing.”

The demons moved closer towards each other, staring down at you in astonishment and you inhaled them both with pleasure. Meanwhile, Wonwoo made himself comfortable, revealing the devil body with muscles, spade tail, and thick horns to match. You caught a glimpse of the view between the crack of sandwiched men, reveling in his positively delicious full form, and ached to know how he planned to use you.

“You look just as pretty eating as you are being eaten,” The devil kindly praised.

The tip of his tail feathered over your thighs before it flickered over your clit, seeing you respond weakly with twitching hips. He grabbed the base of his cock, growing in his palm before lining up to your slit, rubbing it against your swollen folds. The spade of his tail then slapped your clit, jerking your hips forward, and mouth sampling only just a sliver of his size. That’s when you thought to yourself you could cum right then and there, without hesitation as if you had been untouched for centuries. “So sensitive,” Wonwoo cooed, condensation on his tone.

He finally pushed inside you, stretching your walls unforgivingly, and hearing your moans muffled against the cocks in your mouth. Wonwoo bared his teeth, thrusting his cock and massaging your walls before his tail snapped at you again as it does every passing moment. And he absolutely melted at the effortless way your body responded.

You expelled a shallow breath before sucking the demon duo’s cocks harder–pushing them deeper–and fisting them in either hand, as Wonwoo’s presence grew inside you, pumping into you like an object meant to be used. And yet, it left a permanent smile of your face.

“Shit, come over here, old man.” Chan retrieved Seungcheol by the hair before shoving his tongue down his throat, passionately exploring him and ensuring he did the same. You stared up at them. Their moans were uncontainable, their lip moving in sloppily in raw, primal need—only bourgeoning your intense fixation—and your hips flicked back at Wonwoo as they continued to worship you all the while they started worshiping each other.

Chan teased Seungcheol’s nipples and Seungchcheol traced over Chan’s abdomen, both thrusting deeper in your mouth until they hit the back of your throat. They reeked of hunger and bliss, tongues buzzing against one another, and the only thing between them was you and their inseverable heat.

You winched as they stretched your mouth before you winched at Wonwoo’s size, having never felt so full in your life. It’s a symphony of sin and desire with no end, just as Wonwoo anticipated and he showed you no mercy as he took advantage. His hips snapped back at you like a whip, finding the spot burning the most fire and abusing the sensitivity over and over. Your legs were practically handlebars for his rage, taking out on you his frustration and impatience, plummeting his thrusts slick and thorough, practically jewels deep inside you.

If your mouth was free you’d ask for more but you didn’t need to as Wonwoo jackhammered into you, sensing your cum about to erupt around him. He scoffed, tightening his grip on your thighs. “That’s it, cum, you wretched little mortal.”

His eyes shut in pleasure, feeling you cum around to him in bursts while he was close. It was until he felt your dam burst in final flood reaching from your thighs to the vinyl floor that he pulled out without his climax, a layer of your cum coating his entire shaft and dripping off the head. His gaze ascended to the demons in passionate exchange, halting them with a single word. “Chan.”

The demon broke their bond, separating in a translucent string of saliva. His gaze averted to Wonwoo, noticing the shifting eyes of his superior and he bent over, taking his cock in his mouth. His mouth runs over Wonwoo’s explicitly loud, slurping necessary as he inhaled his entire shaft in one gulp and tasting you on him. “Tastes…perfect…lord.”

Wonwoo gently guided Chan by the back of his hair, brimming in delight as the demon boy vibrated around him, sucking and licking him clean Wonwoo of both your cum and lingerance of his. The young demon’s interest was palpable as he gazed at the devil with not only a sense of respect and fear, but a wordless lust untold in his round, glistening eyes. His hips–full and strong–gave into his aches, jerking into nothing but the ground as his cock swelled.

“S-shit,” Your voice gave out, marveling at Chan’s obscenity and growing envious as you desired to fit Wonwoo’s cock in your mouth. You fell to your knees, crawling over in a primal state to occupy the space beside Chan and taking a closer look, leaning into the demon’s vulnerable touch as you laid your hand on his waist.

“Don’t be shy, little one. Take it. Take my cock in your mouth.”

Chan aided you. Resting his hand on your cool shoulders, he raked through your hair, guiding your mouth over Wonwoo’s cock, and watched as your lips wrapped around him, engulfing as much length as you can take. “That’s it. Seek his forgiveness and you’ll taste his cum, pet.”

Chan’s lips brushed against your neck, exploring your skin and he tugged Seungcheol’s arm to do the same. You were at the mercy of the devil as the demons were at the mercy of you, kneading your flesh and memorizing the lines and curves of your body, tightly holding you in place.

You could feel the tension build running your tongue flat up his shaft and his tail’s tip tenderly brushed over the curve of your cheek. His eyes shifted dramatically as he gritted his teeth, hips taking your mouth at anxiously fast pace, and he threw back his head before his tail wrapped around your neck and tugged you closer. You winced when you realized the spade was as sharp as a blade, feeling it slice a sliver of skin against your neck. Neither you or Wonwoo paid it mind as Chan has already gone and licked the wound too, serving this whole ordeal more delicious than painful.

Wonwoo may have been the devil, but he was starting to explode like any other human or demon when it came to his climax and you took him deeper in your efforts, cheeks hurting and eyes watering from the pain knowing that the pleasure would outweigh it. Yet, there was more surface area you haven’t covered, and with that you can’t help but feel a bit of shame. You were still human yourself.

“Take his cum, precious…”

“Let him ruin your mouth, pet.”

“He’ll fuck his cum back in your mouth and it all be better.”

“You won’t have to worry about anything else ever again.”

Finally, Wonwoo could control his strength no longer and his hot load pushed in your mouth and down your throat, seeping past your lips as it streamed down your chin. Chan’s tongue licked the cum’s trail: off your lips, your chin, your neck, while Seungcheol stole it from your mouth, scrapping Wonwoo’s reminisce in every crevice of your mouth with his tongue, even what’s down your throat.

“Wasn’t that pleasurable? Very well. Now. The punishment.”

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bg-brainrot · 8 months ago

Text

More than Vampiric Charms (Astarion x Tav)

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Summary: After some banter between Astarion and Jaheira goes too far, you (Tav) take some time to remind Astarion that he is so much more than a pair of fangs.

Tags: POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Fluff, Comfort, Vampire Spawn Astarion, set in Act 3, Astarion is Bad at Feelings, Blood, Blood Drunk, blood as a coping mechanism

A/N: Thank you to everyone who voted for this banter in my last poll! This was a fun one c:

Word count: ~3.2k

Walking through the streets of Baldur's Gate is always an adventure with your group– a particularly fraught adventure on this day, as Jaheira and Astarion seem hellsbent on trading barbs.

It had started out playfully enough, with a snide remark from Astarion, "Oh that building used to be a delightful little sweets shop about a hundred years ago. Though I suppose the crone would remember that, wouldn’t she?”

Jaheira, used to remarks about her age, often being the one to start them, was ready with a quick quip back, “Was that before or after your hair turned gray? With my old age, I can never remember.”

Astarion visibility bit back a remark about this being his natural hair color when you glared back at both of them. “Could we focus a bit please? You two can reminisce after we’ve seen to this latest bloody basement.”

One trail of blood, a disgusting array of corpses, and a piece of clown later and the two of them were at it again.

“Jaheira,” Astarion had started in a light tone– a clear indicator that he had no intent to focus. “Have you considered taking on the role of Dribbles the clown yourself? The makeup might help cover all those pesky wrinkles.”

The druid had snickered, appreciating the comment, and shot back, “I think you would be better suited to the role, given you are already a fool.”

That time, Karlach had interrupted, “Don’t either of you dare! No one could replace this Baldurian hero.”

“Which is exactly why we’re helping to piece him back together,” you’d confirmed with a nod. “Besides, you’re both cranky enough to make the children weep.”

“Darling!” Astarion had gasped, an offended hand on his chest. “How could you say that about me?”

You’d ignored his question, instead choosing to deposit a quick kiss on his pursed lips. A soft, effective bandaid that left the man with crossed arms and a reluctant smile.

Moments later, you were ushering the group out of the building and into the city. Insults forgotten, everyone began trudging the familiar path back to the Elfsong to clean up.

Now, along this very path, you hear Jaheira strike up a new conversation with Astarion– one that has your ears perking up, even as you continue to lead the way ahead.

“It seems that you and our leader are closer than ever,” the woman observes, a smile in her voice.

There’s a moment of silence, and you can practically see Astarion’s suspicious expression in your mind’s eye as he assesses the situation. “Yes, you could say that,” he finally replies. “What can I say? I am, after all, quite charming.”

“I am glad it is your non-vampiric charms our friend has fallen for, Astarion.” A short, thoughtful pause follows before she asks, “It is, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” Astarion responds, his voice reaching a comically high pitch– one that almost makes you laugh. You want to hear this conversation more than most though, so not a sound escapes your lips. The vampire scoffs before he continues. "Is it so unbelievable that they would simply like me?"

There’s a clear hesitation as Astarion’s words hang in the air.

You wonder why Jaheira isn’t responding, what her expression must be– but before you can turn around to find out more, Astarion is speaking again.

“If you insist on prying,” he starts, clearing his throat a bit pointedly. “Perhaps you’d care to join us. And see how much we enjoy one another.”

The insinuation in his tone is almost enough to have you spinning around– teasing Karlach or Shadowheart is one thing, but Jaheira? Gods, you can feel the heat rising up your neck– “Why?” Jaheira snaps back. “Do you require some instruction on how the deed is done?”

“I’m sure even I could learn some new tricks from an old veteran such as yourself,” Astarion replies, mirth shining through in his tone.

Wait, is he actually inviting her?

You know you need to stop this conversation before it mortifies you any further. “Stop it, both of you!” you say, turning your head back, trying your best to keep a stern, not-at-all embarrassed expression on your face. “We don’t need the next installment of ‘Love at First Knife’ getting any more convoluted.”

There’s some grumbling from Astarion, an amused smile from Jaheira, and a chortle from Karlach, but otherwise your group makes it back to the Elfsong without tearing each other– or their clothes– apart.

That evening, Astarion slips away.

It’s not an unusual occurrence– some days his hunger is harder to ignore than others, on some you hadn’t found nearly enough evil to suck dry. Ultimately, he never wanted to take too much blood from you, so he chooses to forage as he has taken to calling it.

As a result, you think nothing of it at first, settling into bed after dinner with a book propped between your hands. After all, Cazador is dead, and Astarion is more than capable of taking down some of the most fearsome enemies in the city– he should take all the time he needs to himself.

But the hours pass, and Astarion has yet to return. The candles around you begin to dwindle, words begin to swim on a page you haven’t turned in quite some time, and sleep slowly but surely starts to drag your eyelids down.

It has almost claimed you when the door to your shared room at the Elfsong slams shut. You hear groans from around the room as those who were similarly drifting off to bed are shocked awake, everyone expecting yet another unwelcome visitor. You almost don’t have time to react before an armor-clad vampire lands atop of you.

You do react though, instinctively striking at the man with the spine of your book, a loud ‘thwack’ letting you know that your contact was true.

“Oof,” Astarion mutters, now fully splayed across your torso like a stretching cat. “Darling, must you be so violent?”

“Astarion?” you ask, putting down your book, shaking off the beginning throes of sleep as you realize what’s transpired. “Weapons down everyone, it’s Astarion.”

After a few affirmative grumbles from around the room, you turn your attention back to the vampire, “Are you alright? Did you get injured?”

“Mmm,” he murmurs, burying his face in your blanket, and rubbing at the spot where you’d hit him. “Nothing's the matter. Everything is perfectly dandy.”

His words slur though and something seems to be amiss. His movements are fluid, his body weight is completely and utterly relaxed onto you.

Almost as if…

“Are you… drunk?” you haven’t seen him like this since the bear he drank near the grove. When you’d asked him the question then, he’d shrugged it off– but it was certainly the closest to drunk you’d ever seen him.

“Not strictly speaking, no…” he drolls, tilting his head slightly to stare at you with one eye. His cheeks are flushed, a telltale sign of his recent feeding, and his eye is glazed over, its blissful sheen telling you all that you need to know.

“Have a good dinner, did you?” you ask, smiling down at him wearily. You can hardly fault him for indulging, especially after the couple of weeks you’ve had.

He chuckles, his one visible eye crinkling a bit. “Oh yes. A rather large bugbear. Hardly knew what bit him.”

You run a hand through Astarion’s hair, and respond, “Well done, my sweet, bloodthirsty vampire.”

Normally, such sweet words of unabashed flattery would elicit a smile, a laugh, maybe even a kiss– but tonight Astarion freezes under your touch, his eye going wide before he tucks his face back into the bedding.

“Astarion?” you ask, your previous worry about injury now promptly replaced by a worry of a much deeper hurt.

“It’s nothing,” he mutters, voice sounding distant.

You scratch at his scalp, a bit, trying to encourage him back toward you. “Love, you know you’re a terrible liar. What’s wrong?”

He gives a soft, annoyed huff– an endearing, drunken noise were it not for the fact that he seems determined not to look at you. And continue to crush you with the full weight of his body.

“Astarion,” you say again, with a bit more emphasis, shaking his head a little with your next scratch. “If nothing is truly wrong, I will wake up Karlach. You know she would love to see you in this state.” As if to punctuate your point, a snore sounds from a few beds over, where you know the barbarian slumbers.

“Please don’t,” he murmurs, finally turning around to look at you fully.

You’re surprised to see his eyebrows furrowed, his lips turned down in a truly melancholy frown– always an expressive man, it seems that Astarion’s intoxicated demeanor is twice as exaggerated. Cute, you think. But also concerning. “Love,” you whisper, running a hand along his face. “Talk to me.”

Astarion hesitates, his watery eyes wincing as he debates his next words. Those same red eyes show an unexpected amount of vulnerability– all that bugbear blood is keeping his expression open, his entire face a rosy hue. His mouth opens, closes, his body shifts, and he fumbles with the latches on his armor as he thinks. You simply lay there, playing with his curls until he’s ready.

When he finally speaks, his words take you by surprise.

“You don’t just like me because I’m a vampire… do you?”

“What?” you ask, eyebrows raising in disbelief. Surely, you misheard him.

“You know,” he continues, waving a hand about the air. “My vampiric charms. The fangs. The blood sucking. The mysterious allure?”

“Why in the nine hells would you think that?” You reach a hand out to grab his, tugging on it gently to try to get him to sit up.

Astarion’s eyes drift away from you, but he does sit up, legs draping over your stomach. “Just… because of something Jaheira said.”

Oh. The conversation you’d been eavesdropping on.

“Do you mean what she said earlier? On our way back to the Elfsong?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Well, yes,” he mutters, still not looking at you. “Though I can’t help but notice you haven’t answered my question…”

“Astarion,” you start, releasing his hand, only to place it on the slightly flushed skin of his cheek. “No, I do not only like you because you’re a vampire.” Your words are firm, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

His eyes meet yours again, and still you can see so much doubt, so much unmitigated fear. “Are you certain? You truly do seem to enjoy it when I bite you.”

“Well, that’s true,” you admit with a small wince. It does feel rather… good when he bites you, it would be a lie to say otherwise and, besides, you’ve told him as much before. “But that’s not why I like you, you fool.”

Astarion’s bottom lip slips into a small pout and he moves away from your hand. “You’re not very convincing, you know? Especially when you call me a fool.”

You scooch out a bit from under him, leaving your legs under his. With all of the severity in the world, you reply, “If it makes you feel better, I’m a fool too.”

“You are?” he asks, curious despite himself– easily falling for your little trap.

“A fool for you.”

The noise that escapes him is half groan, half chuckle, and his mouth pulls into a lopsided little smile that you’re not certain you would have earned were he not a bit blooddrunk. “Gods, how the hells did I fall for you?”

“Now you’re asking the right questions,” you respond with a smirk on your face. When you place a hand on his knee, the smirk turns into a small smile. “But I’m being genuine– I don’t like you because you’re a vampire. And before you ask, I don’t love you because of your vampirism either.”

He gives a small huff. “Well, Jaheira made it sound as if there wasn’t much else to care for.” An uncharacteristic admittance from him– normally he would brush off such a statement with a proud declaration of how phenomenal he is. But it seems that Jaheira’s words cut deep– and that blood has loosened his lips.

“Jaheira, despite all of her many, many years of experience–” you enjoy the full laugh that elicits. “simply doesn’t have my refined taste. There are so many reasons to like you, love. In fact, vampirism doesn’t even make the list.”

“Oh, you’re keeping track, are you?” he asks, folding his arms and body over his legs and smiling up at you.

“Maybe,” you murmur, leaning forward toward him. “Would you like a sampling of reasons?”

The look he gives you then is hopeful, but more than a little dread slips through in his shining red eyes. When he answers, his voice is barely above a whisper. “Only if you mean them.”

This withdrawn, unsure Astarion isn’t a common sight to you, but, like every other facet of the man before you, he’s no less lovable. So you lean forward, placing a kiss on his pale forehead, and say, “I mean them with my whole heart.”

“Then… I suppose I ought to be lavished with them," he murmurs, and you spot the blush intensifying over his cheeks, now also coloring his ears.

Coupled with his fluid, inebriated state, his heart laid bare before you, you want to scream the reasons from the roof of the Elfsong, if only for him to believe you. But, as it is, the soft snores of your companions keep your voice hushed, your face close to his as you begin.

“Let’s see… should I start with the first thing that stood out to me?”

He hums in agreement, and closes his eyes, as if preparing to listen to the sweetest tune known to the entirety of Faerun.

“Well, it started with your first lie, I think,” you start.

Astarion gives a disapproving groan, but doesn’t open his eyes.

“My dear, you said you said you had a ‘brain thing’ cornered– I hope you know the smile on my face wasn’t from confidence,” you say with a new, fond smile at the memory. “I just knew from that moment on, you didn’t much care for what others thought of you, as long as your goals were met. A kindred spirit. Or so you said that day.”

At that, he reopens his eyes. “That’s not true.”

“We’re not kindred spirits?” you ask, an unexpected tinge of hurt blooming in your chest.

“That’s true,” he says, balming the hurt quickly. “It’s not true that I don’t care what others think of me. I do. Well, maybe not everyone.” His eyes dart toward Gale’s bed and you stifle a snicker. “But I certainly care what you think of me.”

You look into his crimson eyes, a bit clearer now than when you began talking– the blood seems to be working its way through his system. His words come from a place of honesty, not a lack of inhibition.

“Then, let me assure you here and now,” you murmur, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. “I think–” Another quick peck on his lips. “you’re the funniest–” A kiss to his nose. “the most deft–” A brush of lips against his temple. “creative, endearing, brave–” Each word comes with a kiss along his jaw. “man I’ve ever met.”

Astarion’s eyes look at you, his face still for a moment as he considers your words. When he finally speaks, it’s a quiet, choked up question, “Oh, is that it?”

“Would you like me to keep going?” you ask, lips perched just above his eyebrow, ready for another round.

He shakes his head ever so slightly. “No– no need or you’ll be here all night, surely,” he says, posturing as best as he can while still looking at you with fearful eyes. Almost as if your candid praise is simply too much for him to bear.

It may be too much, and you’re not one to push it.

“Very well,” you say, pulling back. “But I didn’t even get to how good you look covered in blood…”

The man gives a light laugh at that, some of his nerves melting before praise he understands– his appearance is a source of comfort, one that brings him back to himself. “Oooh yes, I do look dashing in red, don’t I?” he purrs, a content smile forming on his face.

“That you do,” you assure, with your own warm look. You wish he would accept all praise this easily, but you suppose this is all you can do for now.

So little of what matters to you is his vampirism, his looks… but for a man like Astarion, for whom a kind word felt like a double-edged blade for two centuries? Well, you’re reminded that regardless of how many times you may tell him, whether now when he’s a bit fuzzy around the edges or when you’re in your cups, he may never truly believe you.

No matter, you suppose. I’ll simply keep finding new ways to show him how much I care for him…

“So Jaheira was kidding, right?” Astarion asks, sitting up and finally beginning to remove his leathers.

You nod, moving to help him remove his greaves. “Naturally. I thought you’d been enjoying the conversation, actually.”

“I had been,” he replies, thoughtfully. “But the more I remembered how sinfully you shiver under my fangs…”

He’s dodging before you can so much as flick his ear. “Excuse you. Is that any way to treat your most reliable source of sustenance?”

Astarion smirks as he leans away from you in the bed. “Oh darling, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. After all, you can’t help it.”

“Astarion–”

“Ehem!” You hear from somewhere behind you. It’s followed shortly by Shadowheart’s annoyed voice, “Would the two of you please keep it down? Some of us are trying to rest.”

If by ‘rest’ she means ‘reach the end of her copper novel’, then you suppose she’s right. Either way, you whisper back, “Sorry, I was defending my dignity.”

“What dignity?” she murmurs back. “And in case you’re wondering, you’re both utter fools.”

Oh great, she’d heard everything.

“Shadowheart, were you eavesdropping?” Astarion asks, crawling over you to glare at her from the edge of your bed. He’s half-dressed and still somewhat out of sorts, so you just lean back against the pillows and accept your fate.

“Is it really eavesdropping if I can hear it all clearly?” the cleric says, and you hear her book snap shut. “Besides, Astarion, if you really needed someone to reassure you, you should have asked me.”

“You?” he asks, incredulously. “And why should I ask you?”

“Because,” she starts, and you can hear her wicked smile in her tone. “I can confirm without a shadow of a doubt that there’s no such thing as ‘vampiric charm.’ I’ve never felt less charmed in my entire life.”

You can sense Astarion is just about ready to light Shadowheart’s hair on fire, so you tug him back down from the divide. “Thank you for that clarification, Shadowheart,” you call, biting back a laugh. “And I’m starting to realize none of us really have private conversations, do we?”

“No, we do not,” you hear Gale reply from a few beds away.

With that, Astarion gives an exasperated sigh and the two of you finish removing his armor in silence. When you’re both finally ready for bed and you whisper to him, “Goodnight.” Shadowheart, Gale, and Wyll all respond, “Goodnight!”

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transparent-peach · 3 months ago

Text

Hey loves! Hope you’re all having a great morning/day/night. Okay so here we go again. I can't put down my phone when it comes to writing so let's go. Yeah i kinda went deep into writing and i am glad i did. Hope you’re all feeling the same! Today i bring you another one with our man James.

warnings: smut, bit of ch0king, curse words, alcohol, tobacco products

James McAvoy x Reader <3

it is a bit long, hope you don’t mind it!

(more than 3k words)

Drunk In Love

Luckily you were invited for the after party of the premiere of Split, since you worked with the crew. You are a set designer. You were a bit nervous to be in the same exact room with the whole crew of move Split. It was sweet to remember all the actors from the set of the movie, and how much they were so different. Especially James. He seemed to be very enthusiastic about his job. You looked up to him because of this.

———————————

I was anxiously fidgeting with my empty hand since the other was full of with a glass of expensive champagne. I was wearing a nice black dress with red bottomed high heels. My necklace sparkled in the yellowish light as i walked past the actors. I sat down to the table that had my name tag on it.

"How are you my beautiful Y/N?"

My smile grew bigger as i looked at Elizabeth, my coworker. She was my favourite woman in the whole set. Eliza was in her fifties but if i didn't know, i wouldn't tell.

"Kinda nervous. You know i get nervous when i smell too much millionaires."

I joked around as i took a sip from the champagne.

"It is okay, darling. May you join me for another one?"

She raised her glass up a bit so i could see it. It was empty. I nodded.

We went for drinks and I knew that if someone recognise her we must have to stop and have a chat. It happened that way. She was a very talented designer so she gained some fame along the way.

"Enjoying the gathering?"

A man came up to her and stroked her arm.

"Yes James, thank you. You were amazing in the movie dear. I knew yellow was your colour. Especially when you were half naked. Not so unfortunately that happened many times. We liked it, didn’t we, Y/N?" She let put a small laugh as she was toying around with me, poking the side of my torso. I smiled, tried to hold back my laughter, looking down to my shoes. "Are you enjoying this shitshow?"

She winked. She was a very charming woman and she had huge confidence in her hands. One more thing about her. Her husband was the director.

"Yeah, kinda enjoy it, yes. And you, Ms.?"

He was basically asking for my name as he turned to me.

"Yes Mr. McAvoy."

I held out my hand.

"Y/N Y/L/N."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, i think we have met before..." He held it, instead of shaking it he gave a short kiss to my hand.

"Okay kids, i will go enjoy my drink from a nice distance. Get to know each other."

And i haven't mentioned... She read people like books.

"Yes, we met before. I was the woman who rushed back and forth with the props. I think i helped Elizabeth with your clothes when you played… Hedwig i guess."

"Yes! I remember now. Sorry, there was so many things happening on the set."

He scratched his head and smiled a bit awkwardly because of the fact he forgot me.

"It's okay, Mr. McAvoy. I'm not that recognisable and memorable human being."I smiled at him as he shook his head.

"No it's nothing like that. You are an amazing artist, love. You know... Fuck it let's have a drink. It would be a pleasure if you join me for a cigarette too."He looked at me with questioning what i want.

"A scotch please." I searched for the pack of cigarettes in my purse. As i came to realisation i don't have it in there i just took the glass of bourbon.

"Am i not scotch enough for the lady?" He joked around as he opened the back door for me.

"Trust me, you are scotch enough." I laughed softly at his comment. He gave me a cigarette, and he took one out for himself too.

"I'm not a big smoker, i just do it occasionally." He started to explain it to me like i was a parent of his.

"Okay, Mr. McAvoy, i deeply understand you at this point, thank you." I joked around with him until he lightened my cig.

"Call me James, sweetheart. I like it when women are saying my name like that, but i guess it is just a weird kink of mine." He looked me in the eyes and we remained serious for a couple of seconds before he burst out laughing at the same time as i did. After the fifth glass of whiskey i was having a really great time. I let myself go with his flow, i took all of his dirty jokes very well. When i shot back with an even dirtier one, i enjoyed watching his eyes grow wider. It was always the mixture of surprise and amusement on his face. I thought he was as unpleasant as the other millionaires i have ever met but it was a a pleasant surprise that James had more up his sleeves than other people. It was like two totally freak laughing their ass of in the first step in a concrete stair. He was charming, he made me blush a lot. But i never let him know that i enjoy him doing that. It was my body that told him. And his body told me some things too.

"Well, James. I must say i had a great time with you, but i guess it's time for me to go." He gave a small, bitter laugh before he refuted me. He was admiring me. His eyes was scanning the whole body of mine. I stood up, his eyes were following my silhouette and he copied my activity.

"Where do you want to go love?" He placed two fingers under my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes. His fascinating ice cold blue eyes.

"Well, i don't see a ring on your finger." I said with a smile, completely ignoring his question.

"No ring. Yet." He took a step closer, closing the gap between us, and placing his hands on my sides, gently pressing me against the cold wall of the building behind me. He leaned in, his breath brushing against the shell of my ear, whispering.

"If you want to enjoy my company for the rest of the night, i had to make sure." I looked into his dreamy eyes as it darkened under the weak lighting. He was breathtaking in that suit. He let his hands rest on my hips as he let out a small chuckle at my statement. His fingers curled into the fabric of my skirt.

"And now, that you know that I am very much single..." His gaze grew more intense as it traveled down my body to the hem of my skirt, his eyes lingering there for a moment before looking back up.

He gave me a passionate kiss, as i leaned closer to his body.

"Yeah, James. You may take me home."

His arms tightened around my body and a sly smile played upon his lips as our kiss deepened. In that moment, James could scarcely believe his luck meeting such a beautiful, captivating woman, who was all too willing to leave the boring party with him. He pulled back slightly and met my gaze, his voice dropping to a lower register.

"Let's go, darling."

I totally forgot about how drunk we were, but he had a private driver anyway. We quickly and inconspicuously got into his black Mercedes and he told the driver to take us home. He couldn't keep his hands to himself. The whole ride was overheated with sexual tension between James and me.

We arrived at his place, actually, that was more like a palace. He opened the door for me, and turned the lights on before he suddenly got on my lips.

He couldn't get enough of me. His hands roamed over my body as if they had a mind of their own, desperate to feel every inch of my soft skin. He leaned in close, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of my neck, whispering breathless words against my skin.

"You're addicting as fuck."

At this point i couldn't decide if he was speaking from his mind, his heart or his erection. Or this was all about the big amount of alcohol in his system. "You can't complain either."

"If i remember correctly... I never did."

'What a sassy bastard. I think i like him.'

He lead me to the bedroom of his, unzipping my dress while he was stealing kisses from me. His eyes darkened with desire. It didn't take long to reach a bedroom, his mouth never leaving me for a moment. He took my dress of, as his eyes filled with lust and admiration. I began to unbutton his shirt, and the moment i took it off of him, i nearly gasped in ecstasy. He pushed me gently onto the bed, his body hovering over mine as his hands began to explore the curves underneath him. His fingers danced across my skin, sending shivers down my spine as I wrapped my legs around his waist. He chuckled softly, the vibration of his laughter tickling my stomach. He whispered sweet nothings in my ear. I felt his hardness pressing against me, I couldn't help but pulled him closer.He's got a wicked grin on his face, eyes locked onto mine. His fingers brush against my skin, sending shivers down my spine.

"Ah, you're gettin' bold, lady." he whispers in that smooth Scottish accent of his.

He leans in close, lips inches from mine.

"I want you."

I whispered to his lips, as i caressed his naked upper body. He took off his pants and tossed it to somewhere in the room. He leaned closer for a kiss and i pulled over a bit. I was teasing him so hard, he almost lost his mind. He chuckles, a low, husky sound, and his eyes flash with desire.

"Oh, you're a wicked one, aren't you?"

He leans in closer still, his breath hot against my skin as he whispers.

"I've got just the thing for a ladies like you."

His hand slides down to cup my sex through my clothes, his fingers tracing the outline of me through the fabric.

"God damn, James."

I let out a small moan. He went lower than i expected, slowly pulled down my red panties. I slide fingers through his hair as he left kisses on my stomach. He looks up at me, his eyes burning with intensity, as he continues to leave a trail of kisses down my stomach.

"Ah, you are so bloody beautiful," he whispers, his voice husky with desire. His fingers slide further down, parting my folds and finding the source of my pleasure. I feel his tongue playing with my clit. He found just the right spots in and out for me to almost lose my mind. I was moaning in pleasure as the scottish went down on me. He looked me into the eyes and i saw a little egotistical smile on his face. I felt everything at once, and it was magical. He's got a wicked glint in his eye, and he's clearly loving every second of this.

"Ah, you're so responsive, Y/N" he whispers, his voice muffled by my flesh. He continues to lick and suck me with renewed intensity, sending me spiraling into a vortex of pleasure. He suddenly got up and i almost lost my shit. I looked up to him in absolute disbelief. He let out a charming chuckle as he got back to kissing my lips. I felt his hardened cock against my womanly part, made me blush.

"Look at you."

I wiped off my remains from his beard and pulled him back to my lips. He lifted up his head as he pressed two of his fingers inside of my mouth. I was soaking wet already, but when he ran his fingers covered my own saliva along my pussy, i moaned for him. He was doing something right and i felt my heart racing. He grins down at me, clearly enjoying the effect he's having on me.

"You are so fuckin' hot when you moan for me like that." he growls. He positions himself between my legs, the head of his cock teasing my entrance.

"Tell me how badly you want it" he demands, his voice low and commanding.

"So bad. I want it so bad James."

I licked my lips and ran my fingers through his beautiful brownish hair. He sent shivers down my spine as he slipped his cock inside. I felt every inch pounding inside of me. We both moaned as he buried his head into the meeting of my shoulders and my neck. I couldn't take my eyes off of his veiny arms which had attractively tense muscles. He's got his eyes closed, lost in the moment, as he starts to pump into me with a slow, deliberate rhythm.

"Ah, you are so tight" he whispers against my skin. His hips flex and release, sending waves of pleasure through my body.

"Look at me." he growls, his voice low and husky. He opens his eyes and meets mine, our gazes locked in a fierce connection. He keeps pounding me. The rough kisses and the excellent work of his waist pushed me to my edges. I deepened my red nails into the skin of his back, making him moan. My legs started shaking and my back arched for him, just for him to make faster moves and bite my shoulder. I was looking at him with playfulness in my eyes, as i took a deep breath. After catching my breath from the lack of oxygen, i turned the situation around. I was straddling him and looked deeply into his eyes. He was sweating, his lips were wet and a bit apart from each other. He was catching his breath too. But i couldn't let him as i sit comfortably onto his cock. He's got a look of pure lust on his face, and he's clearly struggling to keep himself in check as I start to move on top of him.

"Fuck." he groans, his hands gripping my hips tightly. He looks up at me with those intense eyes of his, a smirk playing on his lips.

"You are so fuckin' hot like this." he growls. His fingers dig into the flesh of my hips as I continue to ride him, slowly building towards our shared climax.

"Yes, James!"

I let out a loud scream as i looked up to the ceiling. His hand was on my throat, grabbing it just right.

"Or should i call you Mr. McAvoy now? "

I slowed down and lead closer to him. Our lips were inches away. I loved teasing him. He chuckles darkly, the sound sending vibrations through my core.

"I think you can call me whatever you like," he purrs. His hand slides from my throat to cup my face, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip. "You are in control here, sweetheart " he whispers. But even as he says this, his hips are starting to buck up into me again, a telltale sign of how close we both are. I leaned toward him to invite him to a playful, passionate kiss. I started to ride him faster and i placed my hands on his chest. I almost cried out loud when he hit my most precious spot inside of me. I felt his hand tightened around my neck, made me feel hornier than ever.

"Oh god, James! Oh god..." I shut my eyes in pleasure, moving my hips a little slowly. He's got a triumphant grin on his face, and he's clearly loving the fact that he's got me right where he wants me.

"Ah, you are so close." he whispers against my ear. His hand tightens around my neck just a little more, and I can feel his cock pulsing inside of me as he starts to come. "Open yer eyes," he growls. I do as I'm told, meeting his gaze with mine as we both reach our climax together. He chuckles, a low rumble that vibrates through his chest. I got back to bed. Lying next to him was a dream. I placed my head on his chest and felt my heart pounding like crazy. He caressed my head as i drew little circles on his abs with the tip of my fingers. I felt his heart too. It was beating fast, but then again so calming. Feeling the temperature of his body, his breath was getting back to normal.

"I guess i haven't really had the opportunity to say i like your accent." I said with a calm tone. I still couldn't raise my head up.

"Ah, you're a wee bit of a charmer, aren't you? You could've just say it while i was inside of you." He laughed at his own joke, made me chuckle. His hand continues to caress my head, and I can feel his fingers tracing gentle patterns on my scalp.

"I'm glad you like my accent," he says, his voice warm and husky. He pauses for a moment before continuing. "I've always thought it was one of my best features."

"Yeah. It is one of the best feature of yours. There's another one that i cannot say now."

I playfully let out a small chuckle and finally looked up to him. I couldn't help but started to think about this time we spent together. It wasn't that long but i enjoyed every second with him. He made me feel comfortable and happy. It made me kinda unpleasant to think it was just another one night stand. He raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Ah, I think you're getting a wee bit too comfortable with me, love." he says, his voice low and teasing. His hand slides up to cup my cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of my jaw.

"But don't worry about it being just another one-night stand," he whispers. His gaze is intense and serious for a moment before softening into a warm smile.

"I've got plans for you."

"Is that a problem? Me being comfortable with you?" I playfully raised an eyebrow. "I guess we were more than a bit comfortable with each other."

He chuckles, a low and husky sound. "Aye, we were more than comfortable with each other" he agrees. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles. "Problem? No, not at all," he says. His hand slides down to wrap around my waist, pulling me closer to him. "I rather like it."

"I like you. " I gently put a kiss on his lips, and take a deep breath. "Crazy scottish."

He laughs, a warm and happy sound.

"Ah, you're a wee bit crazy yourself" he says, his eyes sparkling with amusement. His lips curve into a smile as he wraps his arms around me, pulling me close.

"I like you too" he whispers against my ear.

#james mcavoy x y/n #james mcavoy #james mcavoy x reader #james mcavoy smut #writing #james mcavoy stories #split movie #smut #writblr #writer stuff #actors

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featguler · 3 months ago

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one of those things ────── aurélien isn't ready to let you go.

♡ ────── pairing : aurélien tchouaméni x reader ♡ ────── tags : reader's gender, ethnicity, nationality, and appearance is not specified, but they are described to be smaller than aurel. no smut but aurel is very touchy here... viewer's discretion is advised. kiiiiinda toxic idk they're exes and also drunk. aurel is sorta an asshole but idc he's so hot omfgggg sorry he is JEALOUS. important to mention that he's a bit forceful here but reader (& me) lowkey likes it... NOT proofread!!! it's a bit messy sorry ♡ ────── wordcount : 1,431 ♡ ────── notes : i am blushing as i write this. there is no plot to this, it's literally just banters. the stranger can be whoever you want but i am imagining trent from lfc omggg hes so fine. i GOTTA stop talking so much on the tags. not based on cowboy like my by taylor swift, but i was listening to it the whole time i was writing this ♡ masterlist.

“Stop looking at him.”

Aurélien has his lips hovering against the side of your neck, glowering at the general direction of the bar, like he was a wolf trying to protect his slaughtered prey.

“I’ll look at whoever I want,” you roll your eyes, hands gripping his arms—much bigger, much stronger—that are wrapped around your waist, trying to pry him off you. He has refused to let go of you ever since his drunken gaze spied you on the bar, biting your lips as you tug on the sleeve of a stranger of a man you’ve met only tonight.

You were flirting with him, because obviously you were.

It’s a club. It’s 1 A.M. And you are single.

Why wouldn’t you flirt with the next piece of hot ass you see?

“Come on,” Aurélien whispers, focusing all his hazy attention on you. “Should I go over and talk to him? S’that what you want? What do you think, baby?”

The fun banters were cut short when you felt an all too familiar farm wrapped around your waist, whisking you away.

And before you know it, you are settled on your ex’s lap, thirty feet away from the stranger on the bar, somewhere between his footballer friends, too busy with themselves and too accustomed with Aurélien’s antics to pay you any spare attention.

“I think,” you keep your eye contact with the man in the bar, fingers trying to slip between Aurélien’s hand, “you’re drunk. And stupid.”

“Drunk?” he chuckles, fully burying his face into your neck, an enticing feeling that you haven’t felt in a while, as he breathes in your scent. “Maybe.”

You shift on his lap, knees aching to get up, but he holds you down.

“But I’m not stupid, baby—”

“Don’t call me ‘baby’.”

“—don’t call me stupid.”

“Don’t call me ‘baby’,” you repeat, leaning away from his head, trying to push his face away from the tender skin of your neck. Ex-lovers definitely shouldn’t be all over each other like this. “We’re over, Aurélien. Remember?”

“Remember?” He chuckles, still keeping his chin on your shoulder despite your eagerness to get away. “Ouch.”

“Get used to it.”

You glance back at the bar as Aurélien’s fingers find their way to the hem of your shirt, ungodly intention laced in every stretch of his muscles before your shaky hand stops him, somewhat affected by the couple of shots the stranger had bought you too.

“Fine,” he murmurs, pouting, as though you will melt for that age-old trick. “I’ll apologise for calling you ‘baby’, and then we’ll go home and have some fun.”

You scrunch your nose at his offer, turn to glare at him, only to meet his lazy grin.

“I’m not—”

You breathe in a deep sigh, and you can feel his jaw clench.

“—If I’m going home with anyone tonight, it won’t be you.”

“Why not?” He whines, pulling you in even closer, if possible, and you bite your lips as your ass rubs against his crotch, the friction causing you to shut your eyes as the blood rushes away from your brain.

The night just gets more hazy.

And seeing you distracted, Aurélien steals the moment to continue his way under your shirt, his fingers digging deep into the side of your torso.

“Aurélien,” your murmur, your voice drawing out to a drawl. You almost forgot about the stranger in the bar—when you look back at him for a short second, he is holding a glass of shots against his lips, a smirk etched on his lips like he’s enjoying the show Aurélien is putting on for him.

Aurélien grits his teeth, grazing them against your neck when he notices that your attention is centred on the guy more than on him. “Answer me.”

You huff, gripping his wrist over your shirt. “Because we’re over. We broke up.”

An irritated sigh escapes his lips, somehow returning his lips on your neck, nipping softly on the skin. “You’re being stubborn.”

“I’m being stubborn?”

“Come on,” he pretends that he isn’t in denial. “I’ll take you home and I’ll fix whatever was wrong with us, yeah?”

His hand continues to knead on your flesh, lips moving up your neck, to your jaw, to nip on your earlobes.

“That’s not,” your grip on his wrist tightened, “how it works.”

“Of course it is,” he whispers, pulling you back. “That’s exactly how it works. We’ll talk, just you and me, back at my place.”

You shake your head, one hand on the velvet couch beneath you two, to find leverage as your feet find the floor—a sad attempt of getting up. “I want nothing to do with you.”

“You sure about that?” His hand leaves your shirt, and finds itself gripping your thigh to pull you back down. He sounds inviting, and you almost fell for the alluring tone of his words. “Don’t make me prove you wrong.”

You slant your eyes. “Don’t be a dick.”

Aurélien laughs, seeming to enjoy riling you up, like he wants to see you break.

“Or what?” He cups the side of your hips, rocking you, his fingers drawing aimless patterns against the fabric of your jeans. “You gonna do something about it? Gonna punish me, baby?”

You grit your teeth, drawing in a sharp breath, a hot sensation stirring in your chest—a mixture of exhilaration, and annoyance, and interest, and anger.

You can backtrack. You can forget about your break up, and go home with him, and let the alcohol take over the night. But your ego is higher than whatever pedestal Aurélien has decided to put you on.

And you? Well, you are just not the type of person to get back together after a break up.

It’s pathetic. It’s embarrassing.

Aurélien tilts his head at the way your bottom lip juts and pouts as you rake your brain for some sort of response. He can’t help pushing you over the edge—that feeling of dominance over your feeble resolve, having you on his lap, small and bothered; he loves it.

And he loves you. He is pretty sure that he does. And he’s pretty sure that you would come running back to him if he just pushes the right button.

“Cat got your tongue, huh?” He kisses your cheek, and you don’t miss the way his eyes dart towards the bar for a second. “I’m tryna talk to you, baby. I can’t have you go home with ‘nother man, now can I?”

“Fuck,” you jolt when you feel him dig even further into your hip, “I’m fuckin’ sick of you, Aurélien.”

He chuckles. “Say it again.”

You scoff, throwing your gaze away, trying to distract yourself with the arbitrary coloured lights on the dancefloor. “You got a sick kink?”

“I do,” Aurélien laughs, fond of the way you are feisty, of the way you hold back out of pride. “Only for you, though.”

It’s what he likes about you, he guesses, you keep it interesting for him.

“Say you want me back,” he coaxes, his breath hot against your neck, lips just inches away from the one spot he had been lapping on all night. He would love to see you tomorrow morning—he just knows that his bite marks will develop into pretty bruises tomorrow, and the thought latches his teeth on the skin above your collarbone. “I know you want me, baby.”

“You’re dreaming,” you sneer, though it leaves your mouth more like a whine. He raises an eyebrow. “M’gonna say this—last time I’ll ever say it. We broke up.”

Aurélien groans, shutting his eyes, annoyed. “You’re so difficult.”

His large palm rubs against you, returning once more to the warm skin under your shirt, nails lightly scratching on it.

“You’re not protesting against me, though,” he points out. “You still love me, dontcha?”

You bite your lips, and it takes two seconds too long to answer him. “No.”

The way you whine, the way you shift—deliberately or not—on his lap. Aurélien murmurs, “You’re a shitty liar.”

“Fuck off.”

“Ohh, that’s not the language that a pretty baby should use,” his drunken slurs scold. You feel annoyed—and helpless—just listening to him. “Shouldn’t you mind your manners, considering you’re sitting on my lap?”

“Well,” you swallow, turning to look back at him. “Maybe you should consider letting me go.”

“And let you go back to him?” Aurélien shoots another murderous look at the bar. “No. Besides, I’m not done with you.”

You sigh, biting your lips, and a small smirk sprouts on his lips. You’re in for a long, long night.

#໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა : 𝑬𝑼𝑷𝑯𝑶𝑹𝑰𝑨 𝑺𝑶𝑳𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑨 #aurelien tchouameni #tchouameni #aurelien tchouameni x reader #tchouameni x reader #real madrid #real madrid fic #real madrid x reader #football x reader #football fic #one-shot #aurélien tchouaméni #aurélien tchouaméni x reader #tchouaméni x reader

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miraclewoozi · 1 year ago

Text

DRIVE. - l.c

DRIVE -- or, the night you realise it's actually very hard to stay mad at the guy who shows up at your house, throwing stones at your window on a Thursday night, to try and fix something that was your mistake in the first place.

pairing : chan x fem reader. content : fwb > lovers. angst, smut (MINORS DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT), fluff. more or less in that order. they’re both dumb as hell. not explicitly put in any detail but this was written with a more 70s vibe in mind so feel free to bear that in mind when thinking of the car/tech/styles etc if u like. w/c : 7.8k warnings : lots of swearing. it’s all a big fuckin misunderstanding because i am a whore for that. weed & alcohol mentioned (neither party is drunk or high at the time of this taking place). mentions of past cheating (neither mc or chan are the cheater). some pov switching because i said so. let me know if i've forgotten anything. proofread exactly once so if there's a typo, no there isn't. SMUT TAGS UTC. notes : dino. get the fuck off my ass. i’m so serious i am not strong enough to handle the very real feelings i have for you. go away. notes 2.0 : i listened to halsey’s drive for some inspo for this & took that as the title, so feel free to give it a listen if you want!

SMUT TAGS : dom!chan. car fuckin', making out, hair pulling, grinding/dry humping, fingering, finger sucking, dick riding, marking/scratching, unprotected sex (make good choices), overstimulation, multiple orgasms. praise. chan calls reader ‘baby’ & ‘sweetheart’. he’s a BIG talker during sex (sorry).

You’re not stupid. You heard his car pull up outside your house almost an hour ago.

Since then, at random intervals ranging anywhere between thirty seconds and five minutes, there have been clinks of a thrown stone at your bedroom window, a piece of the gravel that lines your driveway. Each time, it makes your jaw tense, makes your fingers tighten in the bedsheets you pulled all the way up to your chin in a foul mood at 8pm. It’s been the same now for almost two weeks — you’ve been getting home from work, showering the day away, eating your dinner and retiring to your room as early as you possibly can. Your roommate tried to find out what was wrong around day three but you very promptly shut her down — she’s since learned that the best she’s getting out of you currently is a dismissive wave of your hand or some kind of a grunt. She joked one evening that it was like she’d adopted a teenager; you scowled so violently that she went to her room.

Hardly any of your other friends have seen anything of you, either, despite the fact that several have come knocking to check if you’re all right.

You’re very much not all right, as it happens. This is perhaps the most upset you’ve ever felt, and that’s going quite some way. The angriest, too. It’s worse than when that middle aged woman threw her entire bucket of popcorn at your head when you gave her salty instead of sweet, and you were picking kernels out of your hair for the rest of your six hour shift. It’s worse than when your nasty supervisor ‘forgot’ you were in the bathroom and ended up locking you inside the cinema overnight, because you didn’t have your own set of keys to get out and the people whose numbers you remembered weren’t answering their phones.

It’s somehow even worse than when a summer crush from a few years ago broke things off by telling you that he already had a girlfriend back home and that you were basically just a means to pass the time and get his dick wet. God, and you thought that was the lowest you could possibly be.

Here you are, though, so far beyond all those things it would be comical, if it didn’t hurt. Chan has really done a number on you, and you’re not sure how you ended up getting so emotionally involved in your situationship with him that this is what you’ve been reduced to. For days now, you’ve been swallowing back tears of frustration (both with yourself and with Chan), rolling around in your bed night on night, unable to get to sleep because all you can think about is him.

Him, and the way he sounded genuinely horrified when his friends asked about the ‘movie girl’, and he laughed, ‘God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen’. It was impressive, how quickly your face fell, in no way aided by the squealing giggles that rang through the house as a very, very drunk girl came running out of the living room and shut herself in the toilet, drowning out a chunk of the conversation you were listening in on. Somehow, it hurt even more when he went on to say ‘besides, there’s… someone else’.

And when you have managed to drift off after hours of staring at the walls and the ceiling, hearing those words on a loop on your fed up brain? Of course he’s been in your fucking dreams, too.

In your defence, all you were trying to do was use the mirror in the hallway outside the kitchen he and his friends were standing in, readjusting your top to cover the hickey that he had so kindly left on your collarbone just the night before. It wasn’t as though you sought him out to listen in; it was a coincidence. And okay, fine, maybe you should have walked away when the conversation turned to the topic of Chan’s love life. Maybe you should have not crept closer and held your breath to be able to hear them all better. Maybe, even, you should have stayed around long enough to ask what he meant by it then and there instead of hopping in a taxi and going home without saying goodbye to anyone.

Hindsight really is a beautiful thing.

Never gonna happen. Well, Chan seemed quite happy to ignore the fact that it already had happened. Several times. At least four of those being in the very car currently on the street outside your home. The car he’s used on countless occasions to drive you up to lovers’ lookouts in the dead of night, letting one of his many mixtapes play through the tinny speakers, where he’d kiss you breathless and cradle your face between his palms, as his fingers would delicately explore beneath your clothes, as his broad shoulders would slot between your thighs, as his hips rol–

And maybe you aren’t stupid, but Chan seems determined to prove that he sure as hell is. He came to pick you up from work the day after the party like nothing had happened, and couldn’t figure out why you said you would rather walk home in the rain than get in with him and stormed away without any further explanation. Then, he showed up on your doorstep on the morning of your day off with your favourite coffee and a breakfast bagel, asking if you could talk. He still didn’t realise what he’d done to upset you, so you slammed the door in his face. Finally, just earlier today, he ran after you in the mall, persistent as you’ve ever known him to be, and laid a hand on your shoulder when you didn’t turn around to just the sound of his voice calling your name.

You pushed him off so hard he almost fell over.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?!” You had barked, shrugging your shoulders to try and realign your jacket. “I don’t want to talk to you. What’s not clicking?”

His face resembled that of a scolded pet when he took a step back and frowned at you. “I just wanted to–”

“I don’t care what you want, Chan,” you spat. “Give it up. I’m done.”

You could see the desperation swimming in his eyes as he scrambled for what to say and your heart felt like it was being weighed down all the way into your stomach. You supposed that was the part of you that was causing all this ache in the first place, and further that it was to blame for your current state of misery. But you steeled yourself and stood your ground nonetheless. He wasn’t going to win you over with puppy eyes and a pout. Not this time.

In his silence, you only then noticed how hard your breaths were coming, each slow and long but still dangerously unsteady. You lowered your voice, top lip curling at him as you muttered, “You’re embarrassed of me enough to lie to your friends? Fine. I don’t give a–… but shit, next time, tell a girl that to her face instead of behind her fucking back.”

It’s been seven hours, and you keep replaying the last thing he said to you as you stormed away (how his voice got quieter when he realised you weren’t turning back; how he sounded so hoarse, so sorry).

‘I’m sorry if I hurt you - I— I never meant to.’

If. If. If. Were you not making it completely fucking obvious that he had, most definitely, hurt you? Part of your brain is even now starting to go down the route that he’s doing this on purpose, that it’s some twisted sort of damage control, that he hopes maybe if he plays dumb for long enough, you’ll forget what you were mad about or maybe start to second guess what you heard. But if that’s what he thinks, he obviously doesn’t know you very well at all. That’s never going to happen.

Hell, for someone you were being so careful to keep in the appropriate lane in your head, Chan really has you thinking yourself in circles. You’re sick to your back teeth of him, and his stupid voice and his stupid smile and his stupid –

Clink.

Stupid. Fucking. Stones.

A groan loud enough to definitely catch the attention of your roommate sounds from deep within your chest at this interruption to your spiral and you finally, finally concede. Whatever argument he’s so clearly longing to have at 11 o’clock on a Thursday night? Fine. He can have it. If it means he backs off for good, you’ll give him his one last ruck.

You pull the window open none too gently and lean enough through it that Chan comes into view. He isn’t even looking up, you realise, too busy sifting through the driveway trying to find his next little projectile, and you hiss his name to get his attention. It startles him so much that he drops the indiscernible bundle in his right hand. He blindly scrambles to pick it up, those big, earnest eyes gazing at you as if you’re floating in midair before him.

“What the hell are you doing?!” You ask him, trying not to raise your voice too loud but at the same time, needing to generate enough volume for him to hear. He holds the bundle in both hands, now, and they catch the light of the lamp by your front door. Flowers, you register, squinting to try and make them out, your brows furrowing so much that your forehead hurts.

Black dahlias.

You choke back a laugh. Ah, the joys of fooling around with the son of a florist. Are they all so damn dramatic? (Or does he just know that they’re your favourites?)

Whichever it is, you tell yourself that’s not going to work. You won’t let it. Through gritted teeth, you say, “go away. I’m serious. I’ll call the cops on you.”

He shakes his head, begging as he steps just a little closer so his face is more visible in the amber light too. “Please–” he hurries, biting his bottom lip. “Please, don’t– just… tell me what I did. I want to make it right. Please.”

He never begs like this. In all the time you’ve known him, you swear Chan has said ‘please’ to you fewer times than you could count on your fingers. Which is by no means a bad thing — that’s just always been the very comfortable nature of your friendship, and later, the -with-benefits tag that you ended up sticking on the end.

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, pinching the bridge of your nose and fighting not to shiver in the cold nighttime air. Note to self: don’t do a Romeo and Juliet in the middle of the fucking winter without layering up, first. “What does it even matter?”

“What do you mean, what does it matter?” He asks, looking down at the bunch of flowers in his hands, then back at you. “I-... you know I’d never hurt you. Not on purpose. Please, just… if I did something–”

“There’s someone else,” you echo, fed up with his pretending. He’s a fair actor, you’ll give him that – he might even have been able to convince you, if you hadn’t already heard the other half of this tale he’s doing his best to spin in his favour.

His face screws up, thinking he’s misheard. It’s his turn not to understand now. If you’re telling him you’ve met someone else, he’s got questions, because you’d promised to be open and honest with each other if that ever happened, so that you could call things off and go back to being just friends without it becoming a big deal. That was always supposed to be a calm conversation, not… whatever this is. You talked about it, right at the start. But… those are the words you’re saying, aren’t they? And why would you be mad at him if you were the one whose circumstances had changed?

“What?” he asks, finally. “What do you mean?”

“God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen. Besides, there’s… someone else!” You raise your voice without really meaning to, before swallowing hard and glancing back inside your room. “You said that, Chan. Don’t piss me off by coming here and pretending like you didn’t.”

Chan starts to look like he’s trying to figure out an algebraic equation in his head while only having half the required information; his eyes fall down to the gravel, his lips move without any sound coming out of them, his features tighten until there are definite lines between his eyebrows. Then, it clicks. The lightbulb moment. He slaps one hand to his face and shakes his head furiously, and you just know he’s going to wake up with an ache in his neck tomorrow because of it.

“Oh fuck,” he curses. “No, no, no, no, no – that’s not–”

“What did I just say?” You spit down at him. “Don’t piss me off–”

“Listen!” He shouts, and you gesture with your hand for him to lower his voice, interrupting his flow of thought and rendering him silent for a moment. “Fuck, please. Come down here and talk to me. That’s not what you think it is.”

You’re in every mind to slam your window shut and leave him out there in the cold. It would work if you got out your headphones to drown out the sounds of him trying to get your attention, which you have absolutely no doubt in your mind that he would do. And maybe then he’d get the hint; maybe then he would understand that you’re not just some pushover who he can just pick up and play with when it suits him.

But he’s still holding those fucking flowers like they’re a lifeline, still looking up at you without a single lick of anger on his face. Not stress at having been discovered, which you would have expected him to be swimming in right about now. He looks… kind of beside himself, as if nothing could possibly be worse than what you’re threatening to do.

All this, for you? It just doesn’t make sense.

“Please,” he says again, quieter, weaker. For the first time, you pick up on the hint of a shiver in his voice, and you swallow. Whether you’re gulping back your pride, or your resolve, or the last remnants of your sensibility, you don’t know.

Does he deserve for you to hear him out? You’re not sure.

But does he deserve to be stuck out in the cold in just his stupid leather jacket and a pair of jeans?

With regret, you think, no. He doesn’t.

All you give him is a scowl before you disappear from view entirely, pulling the window closed and drawing your curtains again. Faster than you think you ever have before, you throw on a sweatshirt over your pyjamas, grab your keys, and hurry down the stairs as silently as you possibly can.

He’s stood in exactly the same place when you edge outside and pull the door closed behind you. Up-close, you can see the tiredness on his face: this is a man who has exhausted himself in worry, you think, and yet he still smiles a little when he sees you in full. He still holds the flowers out for you to take. He still purses his lips and blows out a stuttered cloud of air. Nervous, and not in the way you think he ought to be. So when you walk straight past him and don’t take the dahlias out of his hands, instead standing by his car and waiting for him to unlock it for you, you start to feel overwhelmingly guilty.

Chan is many, many… many things. But he really isn’t this good of a performer, no matter what you’ve been telling yourself all week. For God’s sake, why is it so much easier to be angry at him when he’s not standing right in front you?

You slip into his passenger side as he fumbles to set the flowers down on his backseat again, and he joins you up front just a few moments later. His hands are shaking when he sets the keys into the ignition. His whole body is. When you cast a real look over at him, the tips of his fingers are pale and his lips are lacking their usual rosy, pink hue. Your own teeth are chattering despite only having been truly exposed to the cold air for a matter of seconds; you dread to think how frozen he must be.

“Are we driving?” You ask to break the silence. Since he got into the car and fiddled with the heating settings to try and warm things up a little, he hasn’t said a word. It’s awkward. It’s horrible. You already miss the comfortable way you’ve been able to sit for hours together, barely talking, just watching the lights of the city and the cars travelling through it.

You already miss him. Which is a strange thought, seeing as he’s only about ten inches away.

“If– if you want,” he says, stuttering through the frost in his lungs. “We can go—...”

“Drive, Chan,” you say. It’s not just because you want him to stop falling over his words – which, to be fair, you do. Chan has always been very confident, carrying himself with the air of someone who knows exactly their worth. It’s one of the things you treasure about him. So this? Is fucking weird. But a big part of it is that you know his car will heat up faster if it’s in motion, and right now, you think maybe he’s at risk of losing a finger or two if he doesn’t get some circulation back.

He steps on the gas and the car pulls away from your home. It’s the first time you’ve ever been in his car without there being some sort of music playing, whether that’s historically just been the radio or a tape he put together with the help of one of his older friends. (The tapes that always had your first initial on them. The tapes that he never failed to ask your opinions on when he dropped you home – as if he’d compiled them with only you in mind.) The silence feels jarring and you can hear every rumble of the engine, every squeal of the brakes he definitely needs to get serviced.

But the car does warm through, and you sigh out relief as the bones in your hands move a little easier, as your fingers curl and uncurl to less resistance from your taut muscles. Chan feels it, too; his body relaxes, his breaths stop coming out in fractions, his face gets some colour back. The timing feels a little less awful when you finally say, “go on, then.”

Chan glances over at you as he drives down an unlit street. Only for a second, like he’s checking you’re still there, before his eyes train back on the road. He’s going to one of your favourite spots. It isn’t a lookout – it’s somewhere completely shut off from the rest of town, hidden by the trees near the railway tracks, somewhere you’ve never had to worry about being seen or heard. Maybe he’s anticipating a screaming match. Maybe he’s expecting something else. Maybe, even, he just cares about how much you love it there.

“I didn’t know you heard that conversation,” he starts, sheepishly. You want to roll your eyes, reach over and thump him, ask if that makes what he said okay, but you don’t. You stay looking out the front windscreen too. Waiting. “I… all right. I was out of my ass drunk.”

You click your tongue, pressing it afterwards against the inside of your cheek, but again, you stay quiet.

“I don’t think you heard what you thought you heard, though,” he goes on to say. “‘Cause– ‘cause it wasn’t…”

But you can only be quiet for so long in the face of this mess. Especially when he’s apparently working towards a doctorate in beating around the fucking bush. “I heard you tell your friends that it was never gonna happen with ‘movie girl’.”

Chan’s face brightens, and you can’t help but wonder what on Earth is wrong with this man. Why does he find that funny? Why is his chest moving like he’s trying not to laugh?

“And you… thought you were movie girl,” he says, nodding. “Okay. Okay – shit. I’m sorry.”

You look at him properly, now, as he indicates to the right and takes the turn that leads him down the lane to your spot. “What are you talking about?”

“I get it,” he says. “You work at the–... but you’re not movie girl. Not that movie girl.”

“Stop talking in riddles before I get out of this car, Chan. It’s too late for this shit.”

He holds a hand up as if to apologise and settles back against the head cushion, suddenly looking far more comfortable than he did thirty seconds ago. He clears his throat, running his tongue over his lips, before sucking in a breath and letting himself go on.

“You’re not movie girl,” he says again, successfully clarifying nothing. “There’s this chick I used to dance with — years back, before… God, when we were in school, like, forever ago. She moved away when we were sixteen.” As he talks, he reaches your destination and sets the car into park, before he unfastens his seatbelt and turns to face you. You do the same, shifting your weight to tuck one leg up beneath you, and with your undivided attention, he goes on. “I ran into her recently. She’s back in town now, I guess. It was like, two weeks—?”

“I’m gonna be all-over grey by the time you finish telling this story,” you interrupt, raising an eyebrow. “Can you please give me the short version?”

“Not if you want it to make sense,” Chan shrugs. Begrudgingly, you let him keep talking. “She said it would be cool to hang out, maybe catch a movie or do lunch or something — and look, I didn’t know she was asking me on a date, I thought she was just being nice, y’know? Trying to be friends, but… you weren’t working that day, it was when you had that… that stomach thing going on? And I brought you the soup my mom made, remember?”

You nod; of course you remember. At the time, you wondered why on Earth this grown man’s mother was making you food — you asked yourself whether he’d told her about you, or if she thought it was for someone else. In the end you decided he must have just been bringing you leftovers. But you’d been too worn out to start asking questions; instead, after you’d eaten, you let yourself fall asleep with your head in his lap as he patted your hair and hummed his favourite songs. You hadn’t let yourself think too deeply about it since.

“Anyway. We were sat watching the movie and she, uh,” he glances down at his lap, tips of his ears burning pink. “She put her hand, sorta, on my thigh? And then I was like, shit, I didn’t read this right, like… at all. So I moved it off and she took the hint — and after it ended I said to her, you know, I was flattered, right? But I wasn’t interested. And then I went home and got that soup and—… yeah.”

He came straight to see you. To look after you. Hell, you didn’t even fool around that night; in retrospect, it was all uncharacteristically domestic. And slowly, the pieces you’ve spent days struggling to fit together start to fall into place. It makes sense. The only question that remains is do you believe him?

Well, tell a lie.

There is one more.

“You said there was someone else,” you add quietly.

You’ll die before you admit it, but this is secretly the part that was hurting you the most.

You can’t even look him in the eye, right now; your cheeks are burning with the embarrassment of even caring. As much as you want to tell yourself that the only reason you’re pissed is just because of the dishonesty, you can only stare at yourself in the mirror and point-blank lie so many times. Someone else. You hate it.

Just the thought of him seeing somebody else, taking them out on dates, smiling at them, laughing with them, kissing them the way he kisses you, touching —

A shiver runs the length of you and you cross your arms, thrusting your sleeve-covered hands under your armpits.

Chan takes a deep breath in and exhales it slowly, like he’s blowing smoke out of his lungs. “There is,” he admits, nodding slowly, avoiding your eyes, too. “There is someone else.”

“When were you going to tell me?” You ask.

Chan doesn’t respond straight away. You don’t notice, but eventually his eyes do land back at you; it’s only when he clears his throat to get your attention that you look at him long enough to realise he’s quite deliberately staring. His lips are lifted on the right in a lopsided smile, his eyes soft as he reaches across the seats towards you. You stare blankly down at his hand until he wiggles his fingers, and you think briefly that this is the most fucked up ending to a situationship you’ve ever been through.

You drop one of your hands down and let him hold it, though, staring at his face as his thumb brushes over your knuckles and you wait for him to finally say it out loud. For him to announce that he’s fallen for somebody and that he can’t see you anymore. To put the nail in the coffin. Don’t tell me their name, you think. I don’t want to know anything about them. Please, just don’t.

“For someone so frustratingly smart, you’re really fucking dumb,” Chan says, finally, swallowing around his words and squeezing your fingers. Whatever stoic expression you had forced onto your face at the start of this conversation dissolves into irritation and you snatch your hand away from him again, letting his own fall and collide with a thunk against the handbrake.

“Oh, sorry that I didn’t realise you were sneaking around behind my back when that’s the one thing we promised we wouldn’t do,” you snap. “God. The only stupid thing I’ve done here is get involved with you in the f—”

“You’re the someone else.”

Oh.

“I’m—?”

“You.”

The admission hangs heavily between you, as does your nonsense, unfinished insult. Neither of you really know what to do with yourselves except sit perfectly still and try to somehow deal with your increasingly dry throats. When Chan moves, it’s only to turn down the heating dial when his cheeks burn a bit too hot; you appreciate it, in part due to the bead of sweat currently running down your back, but you don’t say so.

“You could have started with that,” you say weakly, wrestling with all your strength to keep even some of your cards close to your chest. It’s not working though. Your attempt to conceal your elation is a bit like throwing a single leaf on top of a bison and calling it camouflage.

Chan commits to laughing, finally, your sentiment breaking him too. Now, you do crack that smile, albeit mostly just at the sound that comes from him. It’s bright and airy, lighting his whole face up as he drops all the way back and leans against his car door, pushing his fingers through his hair. “I was trying to build to a moment! It’s not my fault you hit every branch of the anti-romantic tree on your way down.”

“I am not anti-romantic,” you scoff in protest.

“Yes — you are.”

“Am not!”

“Are too.”

“No, you’re just an idiot.”

“Says she who didn’t realise her fuck-buddy had feelings for about six months, Jesus.”

“Chan—” You start, your voice laced with a playful warning.

“Here I was thinking I was making it completely obvious,” he rambles on.

“— oh my God, just shut up and kiss me.”

“Dropping hints left and r—” … “Huh?”

He stops short a fraction of a second after you finish, stumped and silent, frozen with everything but a little buffering symbol above his forehead. Kiss me, you said. Chan, […] just shut up and kiss me. All right, you’ve asked him to do that before, but not like this. Not as if you’ll wither away should you not get a taste of his lips this instant. It takes him some time to process it, but he does move in first, eventually. The way he always does, closing the distance between you like he’s been shot out of a cannon, one hand either side of your face, crashing feverishly against your mouth.

Every now and again, he’ll be happy to let you take charge and set the pace: mostly just if he’s feeling lazy or especially generous. Tonight isn’t one of those times, however. He holds you and kisses you possessively, like you’re his, like this is how he finally gets to lay claim on you, licking between your gasp-parted lips after he moans straight into your mouth. He’s spearmint sweet, edged with that one cherry flavoured chapstick he stockpiles as he grins up against you, rolling his body fluidly with every separation for air, every changing angle.

He pulls your sweatshirt up over your head and throws it down into the footwell on the passenger side, straight away hurrying to kiss you hungrily again, hands cupping your neck. His tongue is in your mouth once more, there’s no way you could possibly differentiate your breaths from his: you’re one, in every way you can be with your clothes still on, but it’s not enough.

“Want you,” you whimper as he nips at your bottom lip and pleasure rushes through you from head to toe.

“You’ve got me,” he groans with his eyes still closed. “I’m all yours.”

“No,” you insist, whimpering when his cute little nose drags across your cheek until he’s pressing hot kisses to your jawline. “I— fuck—” He suckles on the sweet spot below your ear and your spine tingles, head tilting to give him better access. “Chan, I want you.”

Chan settles back from you, his usually bright, sparkling eyes now darkened with desire. All he gives you is a singular glance sideways, but you know exactly what he’s suggesting. You nod, breathing deep, biting the inside of your cheek; he turns off the headlights and it’s all systems go.

There’s a rush to scramble into the back of the car. Chan takes the keys out the ignition and climbs through the gap in the seats; you opt for the less hazardous approach of getting out of the vehicle entirely and re-entering it instead. Not that it bothers him — no sooner is the door closed behind you, Chan’s hands are on your hips and he pulls you on top of him, your leg knocking the dahlias off the leather and onto the floor in the process. You gasp and glance down but he averts your attention with two fingers under your chin, guiding you to look back at him.

“What? You think this is the last time I’ll bring you flowers?” He asks, capturing your lips as he leans up to you; at the same time, his hands drop low and he starts to slide open the buttons down the front of your pyjama shirt. “Baby, m’gonna get you so many more.”

You sigh at the affectionate name, at the change in its use; until now, Chan has only called you baby while he’s buried inside you, bruising you inside and out with sharp thrusts and rough-gripping fingers. But as much as you can feel him growing hard against the inside of your thigh while you try to get comfortable, one knee planted either side of his hips, you can’t help but feel as if this time, it means something different.

(He’s had feelings for six months: it always meant what it does, now. You know that, deep down.)

Somewhere in amongst the never-ending sloppy kisses and constantly travelling hands, you manage to strip both his jacket and T-shirt off him and you’re pressed bare-chest-to-bare-chest with Chan, feeling every little hitch of his breath in his lungs, every thump of his heartbeat, every tiny increase in the temperature of his skin. Your desperate search for friction between your legs has you rolling your hips down against his hard-on, drawing grunts and making him squeeze at your tits when you rock against him the right way. His head eventually drops to your chest and he replaces one hand with his mouth, freeing his fingers to slide down the front of your pyjama bottoms.

It’s honestly rarer for Chan to get straight to the point than it is for him to tease you a little first, so when he flattens his palm against you and brushes his fingertips over your already aching clit, you let out a squeak of surprise. He shivers, releasing your nipple from between his teeth for a moment; once he’s collected a little more arousal to ease the friction, he continues to rub at the bud, slowly building the pressure inside you.

“No panties?” He asks, struggle clear in the roughness of his voice.

“I was in bed,” you gasp, eyes rolling back. It’s for the best that it happens out of pleasure, really, because you’re not sure you’d be able to stop yourself rolling them in exasperation at his remark otherwise. You shuffle a little, lifting yourself up on your knees more, breath hitching when he uses the newly granted space to dip his hand lower and press a finger against your hole. “Please, Chan — this can’t be comfy— just…”

“S’fine” he argues, shaking his head, despite the fact that the angle of his wrist is actually kind of painful, right now. The truth is that he can’t bring himself to care: not when he can smell your fabric softener on the shirt still hanging off your shoulders, the shampoo in your freshly washed hair, all so pretty mixed with the damp scent of your desire. Not when you clench around him as he slides his finger in and out of your cunt. Not when he could get you to soak all the way through these pretty satin pants.

Your arms snake around his neck as he dips a second finger inside you to join the first. The way your thighs tighten around his hips could — should — be embarrassing, the fact his sturdy lap holds you open enough for your pussy to be toyed with even more so. You almost always do this too music, too — for what might be the first time ever, you can hear every single wet sound your body makes, every hitch of your own breath, every grunt he gives even though he’s not the one being pleasured.

You don’t even realise how you’re rocking up and down against his hand until Chan licks from the base of your neck to your jaw, smirking over your pulse point and says, “gonna ride my cock this good too, baby?”

And if it was anyone else talking to you like this, you would be embarrassed. Mortified, at being so needy you’re here doing all the work for him. At the cry you give as he splits and scissors his fingers to stretch you out. But instead? You feel another rush of arousal drool out of you as you press your nails into his shoulders and nod, bouncing harder and watching how his bicep tenses up solid with the effort of keeping his arm steady for you to use.

“Wanna,” you gasp. “Want it so bad, Chan—”

Despite your pleas for this to move further, when his hand pulls back out of the elastic of your waistband, you feel like you could throttle him. The urge ebbs away when his soaked fingers press to your lips and he quirks an eyebrow at you, though — you end up suckling them clean, licking up every trace of your own slick. You lock eyes with him as you do, slumping on your thighs so your drenched core sits right over his tweaking length, the seam of your pants giving just enough friction to your clit for it to feel good as you grind down on him again.

“Get those off,” he instructs, trying to sound hard and dominant. Which would work, perhaps, if his voice didn’t crack in the middle of the sentence. “Now.”

Even though you’re overcome with a need to tease him, the desire you have to be split open on his length outweighs it, so you do as you’re told and hold it in for later. It’s not easy, but you manage to manipulate yourself in his lap to work the satin down your thighs and past your knees. He helps you tug them the rest of the way past your ankles and feet, shoves them onto the floor — Chan’s hands settle back on your hips and yours skim down his stomach at the same time, fingers grazing over the little hairs that trail from his bellybutton down into his jeans.

“Can I?” You ask, playing already with his belt buckle.

He hums assent and you slip it all the way open, tugging as he moves his hips underneath you so you can pull it free from the loops. Between you, you manage to get his jeans unfastened, to pull both them and his boxer shorts down over his ass and to his knees; finally, fucking finally, his cock sits pretty and leaking and free between your stomach and his. It’s getting cold in the car now the heating isn’t on, but you’re already burning up in anticipation for him to ruin you; the way his abs ripple as he takes his shaft into his hand and strokes himself a couple of times to prepare tells you he’s in the same boat.

It’s like clockwork, from here. You shift into position as easily as you settle into bed after a long day. Chan rubs his tip through your folds, feels the warmth of you and hisses through his teeth with fluttering eyes. Just like always. This never changes. He can’t ever get enough of that first feeling of his cock against your pussy: it’s like the first hit of a blunt, like the first sip of a cold beer, the first full-body stretch early in the morning. He’s sure it’s what arriving at the gates of heaven must feel like.

You sink down onto him slowly, fluttering around his tip and stilling to give you both a moment to get used to the feeling. He’s thick inside you. Thicker than his pretty, dainty fingers have ever been able to stretch you enough for. Even as wet as you are, you still need to suck a deep breath into your lungs before you can relax your hips further and let your heat swallow him all the way to his base.

Chan’s head is tipped back in pleasure, he’s biting his lip at the sting of your nails pressing hard into the back of his neck. He loves it, though — loves how the pain shoots in waves down his spine, how it tingles in his brain, how he knows you need to anchor yourself this way or you’ll lose control. He kneads at your ass as you sit against his thighs, listening to you whimpering at how deep he is inside you.

“So fucking tight around me still,” Chan groans, focusing all his willpower into keeping his hips down on the leather beneath him. “Shit, baby — you feel so good…” His neck softens and his head drops forward again as you start to move, rising and falling over and over. He kisses your throat and down to your collarbones while you work up to a rhythm, sliding his palms up your back, hugging you close to him.

He isn’t even the one putting in the hard work, but within minutes of this, his soft, fluffy hair clings to his forehead. A light sheen of sweat makes him radiant under the moonlight breaking through the trees. He’s breathing heavily, the top of his toned chest painted a soft pink — you don’t think he could possibly look prettier. Not until he cups your jaw with his hands and you look upwards: you land on his smiling face, those plush, swollen lips, his devilish but sweetly glittering eyes. The sight of him, looking at you like you’re some kind of Goddess, makes your pussy tighten and your tiring hips stutter. You slip your pyjama top all the way off your arms and curl your fingers into his hair, meeting him in an open-mouthed kiss, through which you’re both just beaming.

You’ve never kissed him this much. When it all started out, you sort of had a rule against it, but now? Neither of you can stop. As he starts to fuck up into you, taking the reins and letting your burning thighs rest, he keeps your face steady with his hands and freely allows his lips to slide against yours. It’s not refined. It can’t be. Not with how hard and fast his movements quickly become, not with the onslaught of curses and moans and babbled praise coming from the both of you. One particularly sharp thrust makes you yelp out a squeak of his name and he just swallows it down, making a point to keep aiming for— and hitting— that same spot inside you. You’re a mess.

He could do this all night. When your orgasm bubbles inside you and he starts pinching at one of your nipples, sending you over the edge, he’s nowhere near finished. Even though your cunt massages at his length, throbbing and pulsing through your climax; even though your voice is so high by now that only dogs can hear you; even though you nearly collapse on top of him with almost all your weight in his lap, and he has to work twice as hard to keep this going, he barely slows. He definitely doesn’t stop.

“You can gimme one more, right sweetheart?” He asks, grunting into your neck. “Always feels so fucking good when you come.” You choke up an ‘mhm’, to which he responds by slipping a hand between your bodies and down to where you’re connected. His thumb presses against your clit again — not moving, just applying enough pressure to make you stutter when you say his name.

Your thighs are still twitching when you try to lift yourself a little, try to meet his movements as he chases his orgasm too. The “problem” with Chan is that his stamina is otherworldly. You couldn’t keep up if you wanted to.

“Relax,” he says, tensing his jaw, doing the opposite himself. “Fuck — lie down.”

It’s pretty cramped and hard to move, but you lift yourself off him and only slightly lament at the sudden emptiness between your legs. There isn’t time to get too upset, however: moments after you get comfortable on your back, Chan shoves his jeans the rest of the way down and stands with one knee planted on the seats, lifting one of your ankles up to rest it on his shoulder. He slips back inside you easily then, gripping around your calf to keep you both steady. From the word go, his pace is relentless. You scrabble around for something to hold onto but the entire car seems to melt away; you ball your hands into fists at your sides instead, your eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“Mm-mm. Look at me,” Chan hums, tightening his grip on your leg. “Wanna see those pretty eyes.”

You obey, opening your lids to look up at him while he pounds into you hard enough to make the car shake. Over, and over, and over, and over. Rougher. Faster. For how long? Who even knows. All you’re truly aware of is how good it feels. How the windows grow foggy with the steam of your laboured breaths. How his sweat mingles with your own.

When his fingers on the other hand get reacquainted with your clit, when he bites down on his bottom lip, when his thrusts start to get messier and more erratic and the veins in his arms start to bulge out, you know he’s getting close. He doesn’t need to tell you out loud. The smirk he wears speaks for itself.

“Where d’you want it, baby?” He asks you, pressing a kiss to the inside of your ankle.

“In— mmh, in-…side me—” you stammer, hips jolting as you near your second orgasm to match his first. “Please, Chan — want it all…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah—”

Well, he must’ve been holding himself back something spectacular, because a few thrusts later you watch all of his muscles contract as he tips over the edge, and you go hurtling with him. It’s all so much. All your nerve endings feel like they’re on fire and your vision starts to blur at the edges; it’s not long before you have to close your eyes to shut one of your overworked senses out, completely. Your muscles are sore. Your throat hurts. Even your lungs ache.

God, he hasn’t gone that hard in so long, you don’t know what to do with yourself. You can barely speak — it’s going to take you a week to recover from this, minimum.

He stills deep inside you, feeling his cock throb with the last pumps of his release. Your leg slips off his shoulder and your foot lands down with a thud onto the car’s (thankfully clean) floor; he bends forward to kiss you, still breathing heavily against your lips. You’ve come over completely boneless and reaching up to thread your fingers into his hair again feels like running a marathon at sprint pace. You’d fall asleep right here, right now, if you could, but with sweat cooling rapidly against your skin, you know that’s probably not up there as one of your finest ideas.

“You really think getting involved with me was stupid?” Chan asks, nudging your nose with the tip of his own. He’s never been less serious than this in his entire life, which stops you feeling too bad when you lightly slap at his rock solid chest and try to push him off you.

“Yes,” you lie, attempting to reach to the ground for your pyjama shirt while he grips your chin and attacks you with tiny little pecks all over your face. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

(Chan chuckles to himself and thinks that he’s quite happy to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, really. He can stay that way, as long as you promise never to stop.)

thank you so much for reading. i hope you enjoyed it - likes, feedback, comments, reblogs are all so appreciated.<3

#dino smut #lee chan smut #dino x reader #seventeen smut #svt smut #svt x reader #kpop smut #j writes.#*#this description is ass we're gonna pretend it isnt. ok THANKS bye <3

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bigball-thefrog · 7 months ago

Text

In The Captains Cabin:Shanks X Reader

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Finally back from writers block and I come back with the longest thing I've written and it's smut! I hope you enjoy and I hope I don't get writers block again for awhile

Warnings and Tags:

Smut

Some fluff

Oral

Reader has female genitals but gender is not stated

Rough sex

Soft sex

It's reader's first time and they're nervous

Experienced Shanks

Both are slightly intoxicated but both are consenting

Usage of safeword

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Reader POV

After being on the crew of the Red Haired Pirates for almost six months, I never expected to be here in the captains quarters with his hand firmly gripping my hip while his tongue was deep down my throat.

There isn't much back story to this, we were all drunk again and while I was feeling bold and tipsy, Shanks invited me to sit down with him and I decided to sit on his lap. We joked about it but I ended up moving around too much and now here I am about to lose my virginity to my captain. His hand moved from my hip to my ass as he gave it a playful slap before pulling away from the kiss, "You ready for this sweetheart?" he askes as he moves his hand to hold my chin. "Can we maybe just establish a safe word before we start?" I ask sheepishly. He chuckles and pinches my cheek, "So cute. Of course sweetheart, whatever will make you most comfortable." He kissed my forehead before thinking, "How about.... Rum?" he suggests. I nod in agreement, "Rum... It's good, just as long as there's a safe word to use." "Alright, so Shall I begin sweetheart?" I nervously nod and Shanks smirks.

He leads me to his bed and pushes me on it. I lay down on my back with my legs hanging over the sides. Shanks gets closer and places himself between my legs as he starts to get undressed. He unbuttones his shirt, revealing his toned upper body. He caught me staring and chuckled, he took my hand and placed it on his chest, "Just feel that Sweetheart." I ran my hand over his chest and he let out a soft moan and smirked. I brought my other hand up and started feeling up his body. It just felt... So nice touch. The skin, the hair, a few scars here and there. It was almost hypnotic to touch and squish, so distracting that I didn't notice the sound of Shanks unbuckling his belt and dropping his pants. Shanks whistled to get my attention back and when I looked at him he gestured for me to look down. I did so and was met with the sight of a good eight inches in front of me. I froze up a bit and just looked back at Shanks, who was just laughing at my reaction, "You're cute you know that? This is my favorite part with people's first times, they never expect it to be so big and when they see it they get second thoughts. So I'll ask again sweetheart, do you want to continue darling?" he asked with a smirk. I nervously nodded and he bent down and gently grabbed my chin, his face becoming serious, "I need your verbal consent sweetheart." "Y-ye-" "With confidence dear, so I know you're absolutely sure about this." I took a deep breath before speaking again, "Yes, I am ready for this." He smirked again and took his hand from my chin down to my pants.

He teasingly played with the hem of my pants and underwear before ripping them off, leaving me exposed to his eyes. His eyes narrowed and his smirk grew from the sight of my already wet entrance, "Already so wet for me darling? You might be more excited about this than I am~" he said as he brought himself closer and placed the tip of his penis against my entrance, "Just remember, the safeword is rum. And if absolutely anything I do makes you feel uncomfortable then use it, alright darling?" "Yes Shanks." He nodded with a satisfied grin before placing his hand on my hip. I tensed up my body as I felt him move his hips closer and before I could properly mentally prepare myself he thrusted his entire length inside me causing me to gasp and causing him to moan, "Fuck sweetheart... You feel amazing~" I only managed to let out a shaky whimper in response, he chuckled and gently rubbed my hip before gripping it firmly. He gave me one last look of reassurance before he began thrusting inside of me. He started at a slow pace, letting me get adjusted to his size, it was kinda painful and not really feeling good at first, but after a few seconds I quickly started to get used to it and the arousal started to grow, but the pain was still there. After seeing me relax a little, Shanks started picking up the pace, little by little and after about two minutes of speeding up his thrusts he was now going deep and fast inside me, hitting my sweet spot each time but also making it more painful. I thought it was apart of the process and thought I would get used to the pain but it just wouldn't go away so I was really starting get uncomfortable. Shanks was just enjoying himself as he continued to thrust fastly into me while gripping my hip firmly. I was really getting uncomfortable now and the pain was getting borderline unbearable, causing me to tear up, Shanks saw this and thought I was just getting close to my orgasam, "You like that sweetheart? Feels good doesn't it?~ I just squirmed and whimpered, still feeling too overwhelmed to do anything. At this point the dirty talk and the painful thrusting was just getting so bad so I finally just snapped.

"RUM, RUM. PLEASE JUST STOP!!!"

Shanks instantly stopped and pulled out, looking shocked and concerned as he helped me sit up, "What's wrong sweetheart? What did I do wrong?" He softly asked as he began caressing my head to calm me down, "E-everything! It all hurt and just felt uncomfortable, I felt like I was going to be split in half!" I cried out. Shanks brought me closer to let me cry on his shoulder while he pondered what I said. A minute later he put his hand under my chin and made me look up at him, "Alright, I think I just got too excited when you said it's your first time. Being someone's first time is always exciting and I kinda got too caught up in the excitement of taking your virginity that I forgot that this was also supposed to be an amazing time for you too. I'm sorry sweetheart." I nodded in understanding and he gave my chin a little squeeze, "If you give me a second chance I'll be better this time." He said now with a soft smile rather than his previous lustful look. I was nervous to try that again but he seemed genuinely sorry for being too rough. "Okay.... I'll try it again." Shanks smiled and kissed my forehead before getting down on his knees, "I'll get you in the proper mood first this time." I looked down at him curiously as he brought his face closer between my legs. Gave my thighs a few kisses before he planted his mouth on the folds of my pussy, I shuddered a little and after a small moan from him he stuck his tongue out and began eating me out. I gasped and tried to close my legs but Shanks used his hand to pry my legs back open. He lapped up my wetness and moaned in delight, he moved his hand from my thigh and to my pussy and stuck two fingers in. I moaned this time which caused him to smirk as he kept lapping up my juices. He rolled and played with my cunt gently, causing it to swell and turn red, making me start to really feel aroused.

I began moaning more frequently now really starting to enjoy it, Shanks sped up a little bit but looked up at me every so often to make sure I was still enjoying myself. I could start to feel a weird feeling start to grow down in my stomach and it was growing quickly. I started moaning louder, "Shanks, somethings happening, my stomach feels weird.." "Shhh, don't worry darling, just let it happen." Shanks reassured me and continued eating me out. My moans grew more desperate and the feeling in my stomach was growing fast. Then I threw my head back with a loud moan as a feeling of ecstasy came over me. I squeezed my legs around Shanks' head as I rode it out and when it finished I unclenched my legs from his head and just layed back panting. Shanks moved his head from between my legs, also panting, his mouth glistening from my slick. He removed his fingers and licked them clean, he moaned and looked back at me, "You taste amazing darling~ I think it's about time we move on with the foreplay and try again at what we first did hmm?" I hesitantly agreed and he got up from his knees. This time he put my legs up over his shoulders, "You sure you want to do this?" "Yes, I think I'm too flustered to stop." He smirked and leaned down for one last kiss before trying to insert his cock back inside me. This time he gently pushed himself against me, taking it slow this time, and after the foreplay it slid in much easier and hurt less. "Much better now that you're all wet my dear." He whispered before beginning to thrust again, but due to his size it became uncomfortable again and said the safeword again. Shanks sighed before pulling out and scratching his head, "We're not going to get anywhere if you're still uncomfortable. Are you really sure you want to do this?" "Yes I am, I'm just scared..." Shanks sighed and looked around his cabin trying to find something that would help, his face lit up as he moved to his drawers to get something. After digging round for a minute he came back with something in his hands and stood back in front of me. He then placed pink teddy bear on my chest and smiled, "A little friend for you to squeeze your stress away while we do it." I take the teddy bear in my hands and put it close to my chest, it does help me relax and I let out a sigh of relief I didn't know I was holding in. Shanks rubs my hair reassuringly and speaks, "There we go, do you think we can try again now?" I nod and he got back into position again.

With my legs back over his shoulder he trusted back inside of me, I clutched the teddy bear tightly and it actually helped me relax a little. Shanks waited for me to tell him to carry on and I nodded. He thrusted at a slow place and didn't go any faster, the uncomfortable feeling from his length started coming back but this time I hugged the teddy bear and it helped me calm down. Soon the uncomfy feeling went away and I got used to his size, I now started enjoying it and moaned. Shanks smirked, "How are you feeling darling?" "B-Better. You can go a little faster." Shanks sped up his pace and placed his hand on my stomach. He kept at this pace, not too slow and not too fast, just perfect. He bent over and started kissing me from my tummy to my neck, being as gentle possible. His hand moved from my stomach to my thighs, gently squeezing and caressing them as he continued at the same pace. That feeling of ecstasy started building up again making me start whimpering. "You close baby?" Shanks asked. "Yes, very close." I mumbled out. "Me too baby, just try and hold it a little bit longer, I wanna cum with you." I nodded and tried to hold back the growing feeling but it was growing quickly and was very overwhelming. Shanks started moving faster to get us both to cum faster, which it just made it more overwhelming to hold back. Shanks' hand went to my hip and he gripped it tightly, "Come on baby, come for me." He groaned out and with that, I buried my face in the teddy bear and practically screamed out in ecstasy as Shanks and I both came at the same time, his seed coating my walls white and filling me up. Once we both rode out our high, Shanks pulled out and collapsed next to me. After a minute to recover he properly got in the bed and pulled me up next to him.

"You were amazing sweetheart~ How was your first time sweetheart?" "Good.." "Only good? Guess I'll have to try harder next time then darling~" I blushed at his implications that this wouldn't be the only time, I hugged the teddy bear tight and burried my face in it again. "So cute~" Shanks said as he wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close to his chest. "Get some rest sweetheart, and tomorrow I'll make sure your body recovers from tonight

#one piece #one piece anime #oneshot #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader #one piece smut #shanks #one piece shanks #shanks one piece #op shanks #shanks x reader #shanks x you #shanks x y/n #shanks smut

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bebebelll · 1 year ago

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does anyone know her dad? daniel ricciardo smau (part 1)

pairing: daniel ricciardo x toto's secret child!reader / daniel ricciardo x schumacher and wolff!reader warnings: cursing and some general fandom hate wags get note: first time doing this i dont know if this right but lets go! part 2, part 3 and part 4

mickschumacher happy birthday to @ynquads !! sorry for crashing into the cake! mama said she'll make you another

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 122 498 others

gina_schumacher thanks for almost cropping me out of the picture

mickschumacher it's about yn!! ynquads i though i was you favourite cousin gigi :( why u being so mean to me :( i'll go tell my parents micschumacher ill tell mama you're being mean to yn username123 always love seeing mick and yn be annoying little siblings

maxverstappen1 congrats! is it enough to say it here or do i have to make my own post? ive given you a present

ynquads bring me cowboy boots from austin and you dont have to

username cute cute cute cute cute cute

username honestly schumacher genes dont even feel real anymore

username right!?!?! i want yn to win the figure skating grand prix but then i remember that video where she went karting with max username like a billion drivers and a skater and the good looks in ONE family? god really does have favourites

lewishamilton happy birthday! it's been great seeing you grow up

username excuse me sir? what do you mean grow up?

ynquads visited japan for a wedding and now i'm all ready for skate america!! let's gooo cricket club!!

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, susie_wolff and 112 666 others

username YOU GOT INVITED TO YUZURU'S WEDDING

ynquads i even got to bring daniel🤭

danielricciardo it was a lovely wedding❤️❤️(ours is gonna be better)

username excuse what the fuck lewishamilton actually you're not allowed to marry her without our permission danielricciardo whose permission would i even ask? lewishamilton every german speaking driver and like three team bosses good luck

username ARIANA (our queen & god susie wolff) WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

maxverstappen1 daniel's being gross make him stop

danielricciardo am not! ynquads lmao throw bread at him danielricciardo all the love ive given you and this is how you repay me? ynquads ooh i'll repay you 😏 maxverstappen1 dont be weird under my comment

username oh she has time to fly to japan but not go to a single race ever

username babes danny has not been in the since zandvoort. theres been no race to go see him username they've been together for like three years and she's only been to less than ten races username like seriously cant she ever be supportive username you people do realize she's an athlete too?

ynquads we got silver!!!💪🥈🥈🥈congrats to kaori sakamoto 🥇 and isabeau levito🥉 (also thanks uncle lewis for dinner)

tagged: lewishamilton

liked by maxverstappen1 and 237 274 others

nicorosberg he gave you alcohol?

ynquads i have never actually drank alcohol at all in my entire life (also dad was there i was not even allowed to get food that had rum in the sauce) maxverstappen1 oh yeah we did not at all just get drunk ynquads shut up before nico goes to talk to my DAD

username are we all just gonna ignore that she calls lewis "uncle" like seriously how disrespectful is that

username calm the fuck down she calls him and all the older grid (especially sebastian) uncle so it is not new

danielricciardo why you holding your head like that? is it heavy from all the pretty? i can hold it for you

nicorosberg this is who you choose @ynquads danielricciardo why are you bullying me too??? ynquads hes funny onkel nico (uncle) username how is nico rosberg here dragging danny ric? you dont even follow him?

username EVERYBODY CALM DOWN THIS IS NOT A DRILL WE HAVE A CHANCE TO HAVE YN WIN THIS YEAR'S GRAND PRIX PLEASE BE ON EVERY PODIUM

susie_wolff congrats honey! we're really proud!

username i still think it's so damn weird she just hangs out with the older grid. how does she even know then to go on dinners

username okay but when the hell did this even happen? i follow yn and she trains in toronto and during summer is in germany or england. she doesnt attend the races? how the fuck is she and DANIEL RICCIARDO together babes

username i bet my life that max introduced them i can feel it in my bones that he planned this username "oh sorry i won by 30 secs and you have a shitbox to drive, wanna meet my friend she's great gf material? you have no chance without help" ynquads i mean.... username OH MY GOD

username she's such a shit girlfriend honestly. she dates daniel for publicity and then drags lewis down too

username what the fuck are you smoking??

username how the FUCK did daniel ricciardo bag the talented pretty QUAD QUEEN MISS YN SCHUMACHER!!! thats my wife actually! what about our kids and three lambs??

f1wagsupdates paparazzi has released a video of mercedes team boss toto wolff exiting a restaurant and driving off with a young woman. even though she tried to cover herself, the woman was quicky identified as yn schumacher. she is a figure skater and 20+ years younger. in an interview from home yn can be seen walking around the wolff kitchen in little clothing. is this the ending to toto's perfect looking marriage with fellow motorsport boss susie wolff?

liked by 10 385

username if i dont read it, it doesnt exist. no one's cheating ever

username toto and susie's kid is like 5 how could he throw that away??

username its always the goddamn family men fucking over their wives and kids

username this is such bullshit. toto and susie have been together since like 2011 this is so horrible

username little clothing? she's wearing like pajamas

#formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo insta au #formula 1 social media au #daniel ricciardo #toto wolff

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btsydtrash · 2 months ago

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Euphoric Endeavors [20]

vampire bts, poly ot7 x uni student yn

Through a series of curious happenstances, the Boys of Bangtan - your campus’ most popular and most handsome group of individuals - set their sights on you, a regular student with a stubborn streak and a wayward mouth.

Strangely enough, the mere sight of them sets your instincts off, red-lights flashing in your brain - danger, danger, danger, danger.

It’s too bad that they can’t seem to leave you alone, though. They like you too much.

(angst / smut / yandere / fluff / gore)

Masterlist / i dont have a tag list / find me on twitter / word count: 5.06k

(AN: Hi, all! This story is actually already posted on AO3. But, I decided to post it on here. I have almost 50 chapters of this story up over there, so I’ll slowly be adding them onto here too)

tw: mentions of physical abuse, abandonment issues, allusions to masturbation, anger issues

Waking up the next morning, the last thing you expect to see is a wall of honeyed skin bracketing you in place.

Hoseok’s sleep-slack face is above you. The older man is laying on his stomach, one arm bent so his cheek can rest on it, the other stiff by his side. You notice, idly, that he looks infinitely younger when he’s asleep. There’s no bravado here, just him, resting, relaxed – at peace – and you wish you could see the sight every day, considering how beautiful he is.

Unconsciously, you catalogue his features, burning the slightly pointed tip of his nose in your brain. His high cheekbones and sleep-swollen lips imprint themselves in your head, and you couldn’t forget this sight even if you tried. His lashes are dark and long, and his hair is a mess of curls atop his head, exposing his forehead. He had put a headband in, apparently to keep the strands from his eyes.

Entranced, you reach up, barely touching his skin, to trace from the corner of his eye to his jaw, reverence practically shining in your eyes. He sniffs in his sleep, burrowing deeper into the safety of his arms

“Are you awake now?” A rough voice asks from behind you, making you jump out of your skin. Yoongi is staring at you from where he had been laying, content to just watch you sleep. When you had woken up, you had twisted away from him, making him pout childishly. Now, though, your attention was back on him, his lips quirk up in a private smile as he remarks, playfully, “You look like you had a good night.”

“My head hurts,” you complain, pathetically, wanting to cover your eyes with your hands. You ask, frowning slightly in confusion, “How did I get here? Why am I in bed with you guys?”

You don’t feel even remotely unsafe, but the fact that the last thing you remember is jumping onto Jungkook’s back in the back yard is disconcerting.

“You’re awfully clingy when you get drunk,” Yoongi remarks, light-heartedly. He sits up, the sheets pooling at his waist, and you notice that his shirt is too big, showing off the pale expanse of his collarbone and shoulder. It makes your mouth feel drier than before. “You wouldn’t let Hobi go to sleep on the couch, so he spent the night in bed with you.”

With burning ears, you feel yourself frown. You really ought to stop drinking so much.

Still… something about the set up of the bed makes you snicker.

“That doesn’t explain why you’re in bed with us too,” you remark.

He shrugs, expression passive. “It looked comfortable.”

“And, was it?” You enquire, rolling onto your side to glance up at him. “Comfortable, I mean.”

He glances at you, meaning imbued heavily in his gaze, and he nods. “Very.”

Cheeks pinking quickly, you drop your eyes to his shirt and you finger the smooth material, to distract yourself. “Is this Joonie’s shirt?”

He looks down at it, pulling it away from his body, before sleepily nodding. His eyes are puffy, almost half-way closed, but he seems well-rested, still floating contentedly in the vestiges of slumber. He explains, “We always wear each other’s stuff. No big.”

Feeling somewhat envious, you simply nod and move to sit up too. Hoseok’s grip tightens on your waist and he makes a noise of dissent in his sleep, brow instantly furrowing.

“He’s just as clingy as you are,” Yoongi says, a rough chuckle tumbling from his lips. He slides out of bed, scratching his scalp, messing up his already chaotic blond nest and mumbles, “I’ll go get you something to eat.”

“You don’t have to, Yoon,” you reply, cosying up to Hobi. You feel like being lazy and being so close to the dancer’s warmth makes your stomach-ache feel more manageable. “I feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”

The blond snorts, giving you an uninterested look that has you shutting up with an audible clack of your jaw. He rests his knee on the bed to press a finger to your nose, mischievously, before he comments, lightly, “I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to, sweetheart.”

And then he’s gone, backing out of your space and disappearing to the kitchen to whip up a quick breakfast for you to eat in bed.

Hoseok makes a soft noise in his sleep, like a mix between a sigh and a groan, before he snuggles up closer to you, so your back is flush with his chest, arm tossed over your middle. You relax into his hold, letting the soft puffs of his breath against your ear lull you back under the fuzzy blanket of exhaustion. You feel yourself succumbing to the urge to fall into your own dreams once more…

That is, until you tense up all over when you feel something hard and hot poke in your lower back.

Jerking away from the throbbing heat, you feel your face flood, instantly, in embarrassment. You curse yourself for being so skittish, but you aren’t used to being in such an intimate setting with another body, used to a quick and mostly unsatisfying romp in the sheets, followed by a swift exit and an awkward Uber ride back to your dorm room. This, however, feels intimate.

You think, mind whirring, it’s just the morning, he can’t help it. It’s perfectly natural. You’re the one making it weird. Just get up normally and he’ll let you g-

“Don’t move so much,” Hoseok grumbles, voice thick and rough and so deep with sleep that you feel tingles break out all over your body. His grip only tightens fractionally around your middle and you feel him pull himself closer to you, if that’s even possible. “You’re so warm, sunshine.”

“Mphm, Hobi,” you grumble, struggling to worm your way out of his steel-like grip. For someone who’s half-asleep, he sure likes to hold on tight. You feel bad for the plushies that Joon says he steals off his bed. You say, quickly, trying to avoid rubbing against his arousal, “I need to pee!”

“Liar,” he whispers against the skin of your shoulder, dry lips pressing briefly against your skin, so light that it feels as if he’s kissing you. He still sounds out of it, disorientated even. “You just want to leave me.”

Huffing, you wiggle harder, actively pulling yourself away from him, but he only lets out a growl of disapproval. You say, “When you wake up properly, you’re going to be so embarrassed.”

“Nothin’ to be ‘barrassed about,” he sulks, nosing into your neck, as if burrowing for more warmth. “’s normal for me to hold you like this.”

That’s where you snap, nails gripping into the meat of his forearm and shake him.

“Pressing your hard dick into my back is the antithesis of normal, Hobi,” you snap.

At that, he lets you go as if your body had just spontaneously combusted, nearly throwing himself away from you, a wall of cold air replacing the blanket of warmth that you had just been swaddled in. You barely have time to miss the feeling before you see his face crack into something you could only liken to horror.

“’m sorry!” He stammers, sitting up but covering himself with a pillow, cheeks so ruddy that you are sure that if you touched them, they would be burning with warmth. He mutters, twisting his fingers in the deep green covers, “It’s morning and I- I wasn’t thinking.”

Feeling guilty over his embarrassed appearance, you say, “It’s fine. No harm, no foul.”

He slides out of bed, shivering a little at the cold of the bedroom, before jerking his thumb to the bathroom, awkwardly. He avoids your eyes as he mumbles, “I’ll go, uh, take care of this.”

If you didn’t think your cheeks could burn any hotter, you were wrong.

“Jerk!” You toss the plushie at his head, which he ducks out of and, giggling, disappears into the bathroom.

The shower flicks on in the distance and you drown out the potential sounds of the bathroom by getting out of bed and exploring the house. Your head aches, but there’s two tablets and a bottle of water on the bedside table that you neck down instantly.

“Thanks for the medication, Yoon,” you say, softly, as you walk into the kitchen. The blond had been standing at the sink, his slender back facing you, draped in a mass of material and his narrow waist hidden from your sight, as he chewed listlessly on some of Taehyung’s mango chips.

He offers you the bag with a small smile and the two of you giggle, remembering the time Tae almost killed you in the backseat because you ate them all without asking. Well, Yoongi took most of the blame, but you definitely enjoyed more than your fair share.

“Sit with me while I cook,” he declares, and even though it should sound like a question, you wouldn’t be able to deny him even if you tried.

You hop onto the sideboard and kick your feet as you watch him expertly flit around the kitchen, snapping off the yellow washing up gloves after he had finished hand-washing the mess from last night and moving to the oven. Open flames burst from the hob and within minutes, he has a mass of bubbling hobs on the go, without issue.

“There’s a reason why I’m not allowed in the kitchen by myself,” you joke. “I would have burned myself to high hell already.”

He glances your way, briefly. “You don’t cook at all?”

“I try,” you say, before tossing another mango chip into your mouth. “My Mom says I’m hopeless with anything domestic.”

“That’s okay,” he answers, unbothered. “I’ll teach you. And anything I can’t teach you, I’ll do for you. There – no problem.”

You don’t know why but his words make your stomach feel as if a medley of butterflies had just been released and you can barely hide your smile before you ask, “Can you sew?”

“For that, you’ll have to ask Jiminie,” he says, begrudgingly. “He’s always been the one to adjust our clothes since we were kids.”

You inquire, curiosity piqued – the idea of a mini-Jimin sewing up holes in the knees of Joon’s scruffy jeans, or the split seams of Jin’s shirts when he started growing too big for his clothes, making you coo internally. “Who taught him?”

“My Mom did,” a voice calls from the hallway. Jimin saunters into the room, already dressed, hair still damp and a towel draped around his shoulders. He looks at you, eyes bright with concern. “Are you feeling better? I heard our baby got too drunk last night.”

The nickname doesn’t even give you pause anymore, considering the medley of monikers they’ve given you against your will. Despite the fact that you’re actually older than Taehyung and Jungkook, and therefore the furthest from the baby of the group, you feel warmed by the pet name.

Pouting, you nod. “I feel much better. Yoon made sure I got tablets, and he cuddled me last night. Hobi, too. It was nice.”

“And I missed out on that?” He asks, quirking his brow as he approaches you. He nudges your knees apart in a surprisingly daring act, and wraps his arms around your middle, pressing his nose to your collar. “You smell like hyung.”

“I did sleep in his bed,” you mutter, shyly. Unable to stop yourself, you grab the tail end of the damp towel and sop up the trails of water that have dripped from his hair and lead down the neck of his shirt. You complain, “You’re going to catch a cold.”

“You’ll keep me warm,” he murmurs against your skin. “Sleep with me tonight, won’t you, YN?”

Yoongi snorts from where he’s frying some kimchi pancakes in the small pan. “Now that you’ve started this tradition, I hope you don’t plan on sleeping alone any time soon, YN.”

Jimin huffs at him. “Don’t start, hyung. You got to sleep with her, so did Hobi-hyung. And Joonie got to sleep in her room. I haven’t even been in her room. You guys are being so unfair.”

He’s practically stamping his bare feet on the linoleum before you let out a light giggle at his childish, bratty antics. “Fine, fine. I’ll sleep with you tonight. I hope you don’t mind that I talk in my sleep.”

He looks at you, skin glistening and smelling faintly of aloe and eucalyptus, directly into your eyes, holding your gaze for a beat. “As long as you’re with me, honey, I won’t mind if you do anything.”

////

After breakfast in bed with Jimin, Hoseok and Yoongi all piled around you like a pack of baby bears, watching one of Hoseok’s shows on Netflix (“Shut up, Jimin! If I miss any more of this because of your infernal mouth-breathing, I’m going to shave your eyebrows off. Again!”), you find yourself being whisked away by a well-dressed Jin.

“I’ve got a meeting with my father,” he says, once you make a face at his expensive suit and tie, even though it’s definitely Saturday and it isn’t even noon. “Do I meet your expectations, petal?”

You roll your eyes at his smug expression, but you nod, excitedly. “You really do look like an idol.”

“God didn’t give me this face for no reason,” he says, gesturing to his puffy lips with a wink. “Isn’t that Jungkook’s shirt?”

You look down at the button up that you had been handed by a sleepy Taehyung (really, he’d shoved it into your hands before he fell back asleep in your lap, dribbling into the crease of your thigh), and nod, vaguely. “Maybe?”

“It smells like him,” he comments, lips turning down. “I should have given you my shirt. Quick, YN. Get changed into mine.”

“Why?” You ask, laughing at his conspiratorial look. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I just- I want you to smell like me, is all,” he replies, pouting. “You spend so much time with the others… I don’t get to be with you as much.”

You move to deny his statement, but honestly, you can’t. You say, reaching for the sleeve of his blazer, “How about… After your meeting, how about we go for some food together? Just us?”

The way his eyes glitter at your words makes it all worth it. Despite the rolling of your stomach, the brilliance of his smile makes you feel as if you had somehow saved the nation.

“Let’s go, YN,” he says, grabbing your hand and leading you out of the apartment. He doesn’t let go of your hand the whole drive to his Dad’s building, holding it over the console, running his thumb along the seam of your index finger, only letting you go to change gears, before swiftly knitting your fingers back together, as if it had always belonged there.

Arriving at his father’s building, you feel significantly out of your depth.

“It’s huge, right?” The tall man says, staring up at the skyrise with barely concealed repugnance in his eyes. “Just being here brings my mood down. Knowing it exists makes me feel sick.”

You let out a soft sigh, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. He looks down at you, as if realising you’re still by his side. “I’ll be here for you, you do know that, right?”

He lets out a barely-there smile before setting his jaw. “I’ll be back out in an hour or so. You can sleep in the backseat, if you want.”

“I’m not coming in?”

He looks over at you, surprise raising his brows to nearly his hairline. “You want to meet my father?”

“I mean… I’m not opposed to it,” you mumble, feeling strangely put out. “You don’t want me to meet him?”

His smile dims slightly. “I want a lot of things, petal. I can’t get all of them.”

Then, he’s off, jaw hard and his expression so distant that it makes your heart clench in your chest.

You grab your phone and fire off a text to the only person you can think to ask.

Joonie… Jin and his dad have a bad relationship, right?

He replies within moments. Is he with him now?

He just left for the meeting.

Shit… Okay, after the meeting, he might be a little scary to you, or distant. But he doesn’t mean it, okay? His Dad brings out the worst in him.

Can I ask why?

Jin-hyung is the only one who can tell you that, baby girl.

Okay. Thank you for being honest.

Anything for you.

Deciding to sleep rather than stress out over the occurrences in the room hundreds of meters in the air, you slide off your shoes and curl up, using your coat as a blanket. You don’t think Jin will be back for a while, so with that thought in mind, you end up drifting off, the image of a happier, content Seokjin being the last thing you see.

The door slams open and closed with such force, the car shakes, waking you with a start. You look over, eyes still bleary with sleep, to see a murderous-looking Jin, eyes black with rage and his jaw wound so taut, you’re sure it hurts.

“Jin-”

“Not now,” he growls, tone clipped and ice-cold.

The sight and sound of him makes your jaw snap closed, shoulders stiffened with discomfort and, honestly, a small bit of fear. You care for Jin, a lot more than you feel is normal, but this side of him, you aren’t used to.

He glances at you, briefly, before letting out a soft sigh, wincing at the sight of you – withdrawing from him. He reaches across the console, and with a quick squeeze of your hand, he says, quieter, “Please, YN. I don’t want to take it out on you, so just… give me some time, okay?”

You nod. “Okay.”

His eyes plead with you to understand. “Petal…”

“I’m giving you space, Jin,” you say, removing your hand from his and curling it in your lap, the skin burning.

He sighs, returning his hand to the steering wheel and pulling away from the building. Although you are moving away from the cause of his stress, it feels as if the stiffness in the air only grows the longer you are both in the car. Rather than moving towards the dorm, you realise that Jin is driving you in a direction that you’ve never been before.

“What-” You catch yourself before you make another mistake by bothering him, crossing your arms over your chest and glaring, obstinately, out of the front window. You drive and drive and drive, until you start to feel sleepy again. And it’s only when you actually do drift off that he puts the car into park and you hear him shift his body to face you. You glance around – you’re in a fairly empty car park atop a hill, overlooking the Seoul mid-afternoon skyline. You can imagine that it would be awfully beautiful at night.

“Can you look at me, petal?”

You refuse, staring straight ahead.

He lets out a frustrated sigh. “Please, YN.”

A small part of your anger melts at the way he says your name.

He twists his hands in his lap, nervously, and shifts in his seat. “I don’t want you to be mad at me.”

“Then, you shouldn’t have spoken to me like that,” you reply, simply. “I didn’t realise me being here would have put you in such a bad mood. I wouldn’t have come if I knew.”

“Don’t say that,” he implores, weakly. “I always want you around.”

“Sure, you do,” you sass back.

He reaches, limply, for your wrist, and you against your better judgement and bruised ego, you let him take it.

“You’re so precious to me, to all of us. I just-” He lets out a disappointed noise in the back of his throat, holding onto you like a lifeline. “Sometimes, I wish I had never been born.”

This piques your interest, having never experienced this side of him. “What do you mean?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes, simply choosing to focus on the veins beneath your skin, tracking them obsessively with his eyes. Not in hunger, but as a reminder that you are here, that you are present and with him in the moment.

He continues, “I’ve always been the oldest of our cluster, meaning I had a lot of responsibilities from a young age, like most hyungs do. I did what I had to do, I loved my little brothers and cared for my cluster, following Namjoon’s orders and being the best I can be. But… Why is it never enough, YN?”

You turn to him now, brow puckering as his eyes lose focus and he becomes consumed with his thoughts.

“Why is it never enough for him? Nothing I do, nothing I say. It’s always nothing but shit to him. He looks at me like he wishes I were dead,” he says, and the honesty in his expression blows a hole in your chest. You feel as if he’s ripped your heart out with his bare hands. You knit your fingers with his, shuffling forward slightly so your knees are touching.

“I told you my brother is supposed to be CEO of the company in my father’s stead, right? Well, that’s unlikely to happen, considering he’s busy fucking through half of Europe, blowing our Dad’s money on hookers and expensive blood stimulant drugs. He won’t have to take that responsibility until he’s ready, just because he’s the oldest. But me? I’m forced to go to a university I hate, study a degree I despise for a man I would much rather never see again.”

“Jinnie…”

“He never sees my brother as in the wrong, no matter what he does,” he complains, grip tight on your hand. “But me, if I get anything less than a hundred on a test, or if I miss class because I have to work because I would rather starve than take his fucking money, I won’t hear the end of it for days.”

“He tears me down until there’s nothing left,” he growls. “He makes me so angry, and then I do the same thing that he always does. I get distant. I feel nothing inside, because that’s better than feeling everything and breaking down so pathetically like this.”

“You aren’t pathetic, Jin,” you tell him, pushing some of his dark hair out of his watery eyes. “You’re so strong and so important to me. To all of us.”

He lets out a shaky breath, hands trembling. “Just living in that apartment, knowing that he’ll willingly throw it back in my face, makes me so angry. But I do it. Because the boys need somewhere to live. And I wouldn’t forgive myself if I let them suffer because of my stupid pride.”

He cards a hand through his hair, forehead damp with sweat. He’s overwhelming himself into a panic.

“I hate him, YN. I hate how he never acknowledges anything that I do. I hate how he always takes my brother’s side,” he says, and when he finally looks at you again, his eyes are laced with pain and you practically feel his soul crying out for you. You grab his hand tighter when he chokes out a sob. “I hate that I keep wanting him to be proud of me.”

“It’s okay, Jin,” you soothe, crawling over and opening your arms for him to wrap himself around you. Patting his back, gently, you rub your hand in small, rhythmic circles, and whisper sweet nothings into his ear. “It’s okay to want his approval. He’s your father, this successful mogul, and the person who you have been looking up to for your whole life. You don’t have to feel stupid for wanting him to say he’s proud of you.”

He lets out a broken whine at your words, pulling your hand to his lips as he breathes against the skin. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

You pull him in close, pressing dry kisses to his temple and letting him rest his face in the crook of your neck. The angle is awkward because he’s so much bigger than you, but he seems to need it regardless.

“You’re okay.”

“You’re safe.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“You aren’t alone.”

“We care for you.”

“You’re so strong.”

You keep the one thing you can feel bursting from behind your lips to yourself, too scared to ruin the atmosphere of trust that he had given you. You feel his tears stain your shirt, but you pay it little mind. This is about Seokjin – the one person who you had always looked at as a pillar of strength and playfulness. Little did you know, there was a maelstrom of pain and anguish hidden behind his bright smile.

Once his breathing calms and the tears have dried on his cheeks, you take a good look at him, watery eyes, pink cheeks, red-raw lips from where he’d bitten them to keep the sobs at bay, and you feel your earlier displeasure dissolve into nothingness. How stupid must you have been to have held something so petty over his head when he had needed comforting so much.

“Honey…”

He scoffs, lightly, scrubbing at his face with his sleeve, staring down at his large hands. “You and Jimin are the same, only using that nickname when you feel sorry for me. Or, when you want something.”

“I’ll call you honey all the time from now on,” you promise, reaching for his hand. He looks at where your hands are joined, sniffing a little more, and your heart aches at how much of a pathetic figure he seems, all scrunched up in the corner of his car. “You can talk to me, honey.”

He groans, staring at the roof of the car. “My brother isn’t exactly business-friendly. He’d wreck my Dad’s company in a year, tops, but my father has a very traditional mindset. He thinks because hyung is older, he deserves to run the company, no matter how bad his personality is. Unfortunately, that means I’m the one who has to pick up the slack, as his younger brother.”

He turns your hands over, playing with the ring on his finger, idly. “I didn’t want to do business, you know.”

“I can tell,” you say, softly, stroking his fingers in a gesture of comfort. “What did you want to do?”

He lets out a humourless laugh. “I wanted to act.”

And, honestly. It makes sense. Jin’s personality favours the ostentatious, the bright and the loud, the melodramatics of theatre fit his persona perfectly.

You ask, “Wanted, as in past tense?”

He glances at you. “It’s not like there aren’t supernatural actors. Lee Minho is a selkie.” His eyes widen, slightly, and he murmurs, contritely, “Oh, I shouldn’t have told you that. Well, you won’t tell anyone. I trust you.”

It doesn’t even surprise you anymore, so you simply smile at his admission and continue to draw soft shapes on the back of his hand.

“The first time I saw my father laugh was the day I told him I wanted to act,” he says, resentfully. “He said that there was no way someone as uninteresting as me could entertain anyone. He said that I should only focus on what I was good at – studies – and that I should throw my stupid dreams of acting out of my mind before he beat some sense into me.”

You decide, instantly, that you hated his Dad more than you’ve hated anyone else in your life.

Cautiously, you ask, brow puckering, “He didn’t ever… you know, hit you, did he?”

“Sometimes,” Jin replies. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. It wasn’t like I didn’t deserve it. I was a flighty kid, even more than I am now, so… Yeah.”

“Nobody deserves to get hit, Jin,” you tell him, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I’m really… I’m just sorry this happened to you.”

He smiles, softly, and wipes his thumb across your cheek, catching a stray tear and flicking it away. “Don’t cry for me, YN. I’m made of tougher stuff.”

“I’m not,” you grumble, holding his hand a little tighter. “I’m upset for you.”

He chuckles, wetly, at your scowl, bringing your hand to his lips and pressing a quick kiss there. “You’re so cute.”

His smile slowly disappears as he stares out at the city in front of the two of you, hands intertwined over the console in the car, before he sits up a little straighter. “Once I graduate, I’m leaving.”

The bottom of your stomach falls out at his words, instantly, at his words.

Drawing away, slightly, you ask, “W-What do you mean ‘leaving’?”

“I don’t want to stay here anymore,” he admits, quietly. “I’ve already talked to Joonie about it, and he’s willing to let me go.”

“Seokjin.”

He looks over at you, surprised by the hard tone of your voice, and his eyes widen even more at the sight of the tears in your eyes. “What’s wrong, petal?”

“You can’t leave us,” you tell him, gripping his sleeve, as if he’s getting ready to go away now. “W-What are we supposed to do?”

“I’m not leaving forever, petal,” he says, softly, reaching to tuck some hair behind your ear. “Just a year or so. To find myself, you know? It’ll be good for me.”

You still can’t make sense of the agony rushing through your system. The idea of not seeing Jin, of not hearing his loud laugh or seeing the mop of dark hair poking out of the burrito of blankets in the living room at 3am when both of you can’t sleep. Or, holding his hand in the dark under those same sheets and feeling his slow heartbeat pulse against your ear, lulling you to sleep.

You can’t say anything, not wanting to guilt him for wanting to explore, but also being unable to force yourself to support him either.

You simply can’t imagine him being absent from your life, it just doesn’t make sense.

- end -

(1), (2), (3), (4), (5), (6), (7), (8), (9), (10), (11), (12), (13), (14), (15), (16), (17), (18), (19), (20)

#euphoric endeavours #bts fic #ee taehyung #ee smut #ee jimin #ee jin #bts abo fic #bts x reader #bts x yn #bts x you #ot7 x reader #bts college au #bts supernatural au #supernatural bts fic #vampire bts fic #vampire ot7

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