#i had to lighten it up so i could see anything

[queensunshinee]

So sweet- part 2 || Patrick Zweig x reader, Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (mention of p in v sex, oral sex), mention of an eating disorder, family drama, death in the family, cheating. It's a mess.

Word Count: 7.9k

(Part 1)

So sweet- part 2:

Art leaned against the doorframe as he looked at you. Since your back was to him, you hadn't seen him yet, and he felt like he had the upper hand. As if he didn’t need to be defensive. As if he was still part of your life. Your hair looked shorter than the last time he saw you. But then again, the last time he saw you, you told him you never wanted to see him again, so maybe he didn’t remember all the details as well as he’d like to.

Maybe he felt that "never" was subjective. That everyone could choose what to take from the word "never." That a year and a half without speaking to you was enough "never" for him, and you'd be a hypocrite if you said it wasn’t for you too. "Are you going to stand there much longer, Donaldson?" Your voice sounded the same. He'd recently discovered he hated a lot of things, but at the top of his list were all the times you called him by his last name instead of his first.

"You really do have eyes in the back of your head," he tried to joke, but he didn’t hear you laugh, not even a chuckle. He hadn’t seen your face yet, but he could guess you weren’t even smiling. "Aren’t you supposed to be in Atlanta?" you asked. If he didn’t know you, he might have thought you were fine. That this was just polite conversation between two acquaintances who hadn’t seen each other in a while and ran into each other by chance. "My first match isn’t for another two days. I couldn’t miss the funeral," he said quietly. "I’m really sorry for your loss, you know that, right?" He took a few large steps and sat on the bed next to you, hoping you’d give him this moment. Hoping you wouldn’t be angry. Not when he was trying so hard.

"She was a mean drunk," you muttered. "Not a huge loss," you added, glancing at him for a second, allowing yourself to surrender to the moment. He recognized the piercing gaze. Maybe a wrinkle that wasn’t there before, but your eyes were the same eyes. You were the same girl he used to love. Used to. Used to. Used to. Before he went on his path in life and you on yours. Before he made a decision, and then you made a decision, and then both of you made decisions. Before words were said. Before he left and you stayed. Before he opened up and you shut down. Used to.

"You’re a grown man, you should know how to tie a tie by now, don’t you think?" you asked, probably trying to lighten the sadness that filled your childhood room, located right across from his childhood room. He wanted to thank you for that. But he never knew how to talk to you honestly. Why would he start now? "Tashi usually does it," he said quietly, and you stood in front of him, starting to adjust the damn tie. You had no idea what you were doing to his heartbeat. "I’m sorry about your grandmother. I was at your parents’ house afterward. I don’t know if they told you," you mumbled.

He was so angry at you for not coming to the funeral. Because by what right did you take his tragedy and make him consumed with thoughts of you? About your absence. About your hand that could’ve held his tightly, just like you did when he was eight, and Jameson died. Instead, he held Tashi’s hand. She didn’t squeeze. She let go after a few minutes. He was so angry that at his grandmother’s funeral, more than anything, he missed you. So now, a few minutes before heading to your mother’s funeral, he squeezed your hand for a moment while you adjusted his tie, looking at him with big eyes filling with tears you refused to let fall. "Better," you said.

He didn’t think it was better. He didn’t want to argue. He just nodded. . . . Patrick couldn’t focus. Every time he hit that stupid ball, he thought about the fight he had with his dad a week ago and the dumb argument he had with you before leaving for Atlanta. He hadn’t told you yet that his parents decided to cut him off from the trust fund. He hadn’t told you that he was basically broke. Sometimes Patrick thinks you’re the only person in the world who looks at him like he understands something about life. Like he’s capable of pulling off magic at any given moment. Sparkling eyes and a smile. He wonders when was the last time you looked at him like that. It’s been a few good months. He can’t deliver. Not the damn ball and not in real life.

He hesitates. Everything he does comes with a certain delay. He knows that at 24, he’s expected to understand who he is and what he wants from life. But what he wants from life doesn’t want him back, and that’s something he’s not willing to accept. He blames his parents for the fact that he’s too spoiled. That he doesn’t know when to stop. That he can’t let go of dreams. That he has to be the best, even though he’s drowning in his own mediocrity. He moves too fast between knowing how good he is at what he does and the harsh slap of reality that comes with each of his failures. Every tournament he loses in the second round, every person who was once in his life and doesn’t want him anymore. They found something better. Something more put-together.

He saw Tashi from a distance for the second time in the last two days. Always alone, Art wasn’t with her. He wondered why Art wasn’t here. He knew Art was competing. Everyone knew Art was competing. The rising star of American tennis. Motherfucker. His dad screamed it at him when he lost it a week ago— “I wish Art Donaldson were my son, maybe then I wouldn’t be so ashamed.” Patrick won’t tell anyone that it hurt. Not because he cares what his shitty dad thinks of him. Not because he cares that Art is succeeding on an international level, breaking into the world’s top ten. Fulfilling all the dreams they once dreamed together. Patrick cares because he knows that at any given moment, he could beat Art. He’s better than Art. So how is it that Art is ranked eighth and Patrick is a nobody? No one takes him into account.

“You planning to embarrass yourself in another tournament?” Tashi’s voice crept up behind him. “You know that if he competes against me, I’ll win, right?” he asked. Overconfident. Always overconfident. “I know you’re ranked 243rd, and he’s ranked 8th. It doesn’t matter who wins this, you’ll still be a loser, and he’ll still get a Nike campaign. They asked us about a winter collection.” She was trying to hurt him. He couldn’t understand why it was so important to her—to hurt him. But he thinks only two people can: you and Art. Tashi isn’t on that list. He doesn’t think Tashi comes close to being on that list.

He thinks Tashi is beautiful. Maybe the most beautiful woman he knows. Maybe you’re the most beautiful woman he knows. He doesn’t really know- it’s blurry and messy. But hearing you moan or say his name softly, sweetly, is the most beautiful thing he knows. So maybe it’s the same thing. Maybe he measures beauty differently than he did four years ago. “Sounds good. I promise to buy a jacket with his name on it. Do you need anything, Tashi?” he tried to end the conversation. He didn’t want her to see the pathetic training session he was having with himself against a wall. “I don’t know, maybe to ask why you’re here?” She shrugged like it was obvious. Like she cared about the useless existence of Patrick Zweig. Like he mattered. “I’m competing, just like Art-” he started, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, but Art’s not here. How is it that you are?” she cut off the monologue he was about to throw at her. “I don’t know why Art isn’t here, Tashi.” If it were possible, his eyes would roll so far back into his skull they’d get stuck there. “Because he’s at a funeral, obviously. She’s your girlfriend last time I checked- how are you not there?” The furrow of her brows showed she was genuinely confused. But now he stood in front of her, terrified too. Whose funeral? Who the fuck died? “What are you talking about?” he muttered, feeling his heart pound. Every muscle in his body tensed. “(Y/N)’s mom passed away, Patrick. How am I the first one telling you this?” She doesn’t understand. But he does. And right now he hates Tashi. And Art, who’s with you. And himself- mostly himself- because after four years, he’s still a selfish bastard who only cares about himself. . . . You’re not crying, and you suspect it bothers your father. He looks at you strangely. As if you’re making things difficult. Because this is an event. A funeral is an event, and you need to behave the way you're expected to behave. You just can’t seem to do it. Because you don’t think you have a warm spot in your heart for the woman you called Mom for the pathetic 24 years of your existence. To anyone else, it would sound sad. Pathetic. You don’t say it out loud very often. You don’t want to make things harder for anyone. You don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. You considered cutting an onion before you left, just to save yourself from the weird looks from the extended family you haven’t seen in years, but Art fucking Donaldson hasn’t left you alone since the second he heard she kicked the bucket.

His hand held yours like his life depended on it. Maybe yours. Someone’s life depended on it. Definitely not your mother’s. She’s dead. You wonder if the need for sacrifice died with her. You wonder if your constant need to make everyone feel comfortable all the time died with her too. It’s exhausting. You wish you could be less like that. Your hand is sweating into his. He probably thinks it’s disgusting. He probably doesn’t like it. You miss the time when your whole world was making sure Art Donaldson was comfortable. His parents hugged you, and you’re pretty sure his mom left lipstick on you. He’s been staring at you for an hour straight. Maybe two. Maybe your whole life. You can’t know; it’s an emotional day.

You try to move your hand away from his; there’s no way this is comfortable for him. He grips harder. Doesn’t let go. Doesn’t leave you alone. Your father says the Kaddish, everyone responds "Amen" and cries. You don’t. Maybe you really are crazy, like she hinted at a few times when she got drunk and called you at an inappropriate hour. Maybe you really are the reason for every problem she ever had. Maybe you didn’t sacrifice enough. Maybe you didn’t love enough.

Maybe you just don’t know how to love, and then it makes sense that you don’t deserve to be loved. Not really. Not unconditionally. Not like your father loved your mother. Not like Art loves Tashi. Not like Patrick loved Tashi. Not like Patrick hated you. Maybe he still does- sometimes you’re not sure. Patrick isn’t here. Art’s hand keeps holding you both steady. You finally cry.

When you walk into the house, your extended family is already there. Uncles, cousins- you think you saw the grandfather of someone your father goes to synagogue with. All you wanted was to sit quietly in your room for a second. Take off the heels and the damn dress. You felt the thong digging into your ass. That’s what happens when you let a dead woman dictate what you'll wear to her funeral. A woman who had conditions for her own funeral. Who told you what dress to wear. What underwear to put on. Sometimes you wonder how many years ahead you’ll keep dragging her advice, her judgmental looks. The tongue clicks. The general dissatisfaction with the world, wrapped in fake smiles. Maybe that’s where you learned to fake so well. To fake who you are down to your core. To fake and fake until you don’t know what you want or from whom.

“You disappeared. I figured you’d be here.” Art walks into your childhood room like it’s his. Like he always did. “You’re still here?” you mutter, and he hands you a plate of food he picked up from downstairs. “Where else would I be?” he sighs. As if that’s the only answer that makes sense to him. As if you two were in touch. As if you know anything about his fancy life or he knows anything about your painfully mediocre one. “In Atlanta,” you answer and place the plate on the nightstand beside you. “When’s your flight?” you ask, not looking at him as he sits next to you on the bed like he did before the funeral.

“I can stay-” he starts quietly. You know he’s looking at you, almost begging you to see that he means it. "Ridiculous,” you mumble to yourself, but you know he hears. “When’s your flight, Art?” you ask, your voice steadier, looking at him with an almost hollow expression. One that doesn’t show any emotion or maybe shows all emotions at once. A look that scared him. A look that worried you. A look you’ll think about a month from now. You’ll sit at home, writing the structure for one of your classes, and you’ll think about Art Donaldson and the empty look you gave him when your mother died. Embarrassing. Everything is so fucking embarrassing.

“Tonight,” he sums up. You glance at your phone’s clock. Sixteen missed calls from Patrick. Instinct says to call him. But it’s 6 p.m., and his first match is at 8 in the morning. “Don’t you need to pack?” He rolls his eyes, ignoring your attempt to dismiss him. “What are you doing?” he asks quietly. “Excuse me?” you snap back, not understanding the direction of the conversation. “Now. In general. What are you doing?” His gaze surrounds you from every direction. You can’t look anywhere that isn’t Art Donaldson. He reflects off the damn mirrors in this room. “Trying to sit quietly in my room, clearly,” you reply stiffly.

You remember how all your conversations used to be warm. Soft. You’d talk about dreams. About books you’d write. About tournaments he’d win. You’d kiss. He’d touch you. You’d touch him. There was curiosity. There was love. Or at least that thing you’ve spent years believing was love. The thing where you become exactly what he wants and needs and disappear when he needs something else, something better. That was the unwritten contract between you. Lately, you’ve been thinking that’s the unwritten contract between you and everyone you know. A depressing thought. You try not to dwell on it too much. On the way you please people in your suffering. Please in deprivation. Please to the point of tears, and more tears, and more tears. You try not to think about all the dreams you had when Art Donaldson -maybe- loved you. You try not to think about the joy of life. About how much you loved seeing him happy, how much you loved making him happy. How much you loved being responsible for his happiness. "Why isn’t Patrick here?" He quietly asked what he really wanted to know. He wanted to understand if you’d broken up. If you were alone. If he could laugh and say he told you so. That he told you; you had no business being with Patrick Zweig. "Because he has a match tomorrow at 8 a.m., and he trained too hard to miss it," you said it coolly, without breaking eye contact. As if it made perfect sense that you hadn’t told your boyfriend, the person who was supposed to be your confidant, that your mother had died. "He didn’t want to come?" Art continued, confused. Ice. That look again. The immediate shift in his mood confuses you, but it doesn’t throw you off balance. You know him. For the past four years, every time he’s seen you, all he’s tried to do is confuse you, to knock you off balance. It never works, at least not in his eyes.

"Hedoesn’tknow," you mumbled the words as if they were one. Quietly, knowing that what you’d done didn’t make sense. Wasn’t reasonable. Wasn’t acceptable. Didn’t fit into the unspoken rules of a relationship. "You’re an idiot." He stood up and started pacing back and forth. "A fucking moron, really." He was angry, as if he was the one who hadn’t been told your mother had died. If it were up to you, he wouldn’t have known either, but his mother told him. Whatever. "I’ll tell him when he gets back from the tournament, it’s not a big deal," you said and shrugged. Art stopped and looked at you like you’d just fallen from the moon. Like you were some natural phenomena. "If you did that to me, I’d kill you. If you thought some shitty tennis tournament in shitty Atlanta was more important to me than you, I’d murder you and then die myself. I don’t like what you have with Zweig, God knows I hate it, but how could you not tell him? Do you even understand the concept of a relationship?" He let out this Shakespearean monologue while looking at you with a half-pitying, half-angry expression. Maybe he was sick. Maybe he thought you were Tashi.

"Art, I’m not your problem. Do you remember that?" You didn’t know what else to say, so you said the only thing you knew for sure in a defeated voice. Art Donaldson was not a part of your life. "You’ll always be my problem. You should know that by now," he said, half despairing at himself. As if wondering how you both got here. As if wondering if there was anywhere else you could be. . . . Patrick was beyond frustrated. He won his first match after two and a half hours, barely. It didn’t come easy. All he could think about was how nothing came easy for him anymore, and how everything used to be so easy.

The thought that you didn’t tell him your mother had died, and then didn’t answer his calls either, hovered over his head like a rain cloud focused solely on him. He didn’t know how to approach it. He knew why you didn’t tell him- because unlike what Art thought, unlike what your dead mother thought, he knew you. He knew how you thought. He understood the mechanics behind your strange decisions. He hated that he had become someone you had to overthink things for.

That afternoon, he went to one of the courts and caught Tashi and Art’s practice. They both saw him sit down. He thinks it made Art play better. He wondered if Art imagined his face when he hit the ball. He thinks he does. Because when Tashi checkmated his relationship with Art, Patrick wrapped his life around yours as if that was how it was always meant to be, while everyone involved knew it wasn’t. While everyone involved knew that you had embroidered Art’s name on bags from the moment you learned how to stitch. While everyone knew that Art Donaldson didn’t know how to exist in the world without you.

So, Patrick took you for himself. Most of the time, he didn’t think of it as something technical, as a game he was playing against Art. Most of the time, he looked at you, really looked at you. Most of the time, he tried to make you laugh and understand the world through your own eyes. Most of the time, he tried to protect you from complex emotions you couldn’t express, from hunger. He tried to protect you from yourself, the way you protect some helpless creature. In some way, you were. In his eyes, you were helpless.

When you first started sleeping together, Patrick treated you with kid gloves, in a way he had never treated anyone before. Like you were porcelain. Like you could shatter and crumble in his hands at any moment. You had gestures and habits, ones you thought no one noticed. But he always saw. You tried to please everyone all the time. You switched from a smile to a sad look in a second, for the sake of the feelings of whoever was in front of you, for the sake of what you thought they wanted from you.

But Patrick didn’t want anything from you. He wanted to give you all the orgasms that you missed and for you to eat at least three meals a day. Some days, he didn’t know how to make you do it. Some days, he raised his voice. When he was desperate, he cried. When he was really desperate, he asked you to eat for him, so that he would be happy. That was the easy way, it always worked. He exploited a destructive mechanism someone had embedded in you (he suspects your dead mother) and used it to get you to do something he thought would be good for you. He wanted to throw up.

Art was playing well. He was playing against Tashi in front of him, and he was playing well. Too well. Patrick no longer thinks he can beat him. Not something he would ever say out loud. He wanted to ask him how you were. He didn’t want to admit that you hadn’t answered his million calls. He didn’t want to admit that he was a loser who didn’t know where his life was going. Not when Art had been with you at the fucking funeral of your awful mother. He hated that woman with everything he had. More than he hated his own father, and that had to be some kind of record. Art looked at him for a moment. The moment passed. Patrick thinks Art won. He’s not sure. . . . Patrick finds Tashi alone in the evening. Completely alone in the middle of the lobby restaurant. She suddenly looks small and fragile to him, holding a drink he can guess is whiskey or cognac or whatever it is that Tashi Duncan drinks these days. He doesn’t know anything about her anymore. Only that a few years ago, he thought he loved her, and in return, she took his best friend away from him.

When he stands in front of her, he is like a streetlight- impossible to ignore. It dawns on him, belatedly, that he is wearing her shirt. She must think he’s pathetic. He feels pathetic. He doesn’t think he cares about being pathetic in front of her. Because he sees her for what she is right now, and she is miserable. She doesn’t have much in life. She clings to what Art has. Which is fucked up on so many levels, but that’s reality. They both cling to things they shouldn’t be clinging to, and his eyes wander to her ring. Massive. Flashy. A bit like her, like the woman she tries to be when she’s not half-drunk and pathetic in front of him.

He places his hand over hers just as she’s about to take a sip of her drink, stopping her. He doesn’t know what he wants. Not from her, not from himself, but his lips find hers within seconds, and she doesn’t resist. He knew she wouldn’t resist- he saw it on her face. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. Maybe more. And what a thought that is- that Tashi Duncan wants Patrick Zweig more.

They exit through the back door of the restaurant, go up to his room. Naturally. As if more than four years haven’t passed since the last time he was with Tashi. He wishes he knew what he was doing; it would make this easier. But it’s not particularly difficult, either- otherwise, he wouldn’t be pressing Tashi against the wall. Otherwise, his lips wouldn’t be kissing every inch of her body he can reach.

Hunger. Patrick feels hunger. It’s the only emotion coursing through him as he looks at her. He thinks he wants to hurt Art. He thinks about how Art was there for you at your mother’s funeral, and that was supposed to be his role, but you didn’t call him. So he strips Tashi of her shirt. Only to discover she isn’t wearing a bra. He compares her to you every few seconds. You never go without a bra. He can barely convince you to just be at home, without clothes, without defenses. Just be. He doesn’t think you’re capable of that. He doesn’t think you know how to feel at ease. That worries him more than he’s willing to admit.

“You’re thinking about her?” Tashi’s voice is almost angry as she kisses his neck. “No.” A lie. A complete lie. He can only think about you. He realized that a few years ago and stopped fighting it. You and tennis, as if that’s all there is in the world. What else even exists? What else even matters? “You’re a terrible liar,” she mutters against him, and somehow, the ugly shirt he’s pretty sure was Tashi’s -he doesn’t even know why he wore it- ends up on the floor. ‘You’re not thinking about Art?’ he should have asked, but he’s not here to ask questions. He’s here because he’s angry. At Art, at you, at Tashi for telling him, at the world. So he’s here. And they’re both shedding more pieces of their clothing and maybe their souls, because what they’re doing now has no way back. No forgiveness. They are bad people. Patrick knows it. Tashi knows it.

And after he wrings a heavy moan from her, one that follows an orgasm, she quietly tells him she thinks Art loves you. Patrick stares at the gaudy ring stuck on her finger, the ring that, in another universe, Art would have placed on yours. “Why do you think that?” Patrick asks softly, because what else is left to do? “I didn’t want him to go to the funeral. I wanted him to stay and train, but he went anyway,” she mumbles. Patrick says nothing, just nods. He would have done the exact same thing, and that’s why you didn’t call him. He would have come. Despite the dreams. Despite the tennis. Despite everything.

And Patrick remembers all the times Art called you sweet. All the times Art never wanted to tell him anything about what happened between you two. All the times Art didn’t want to talk about you. And it wasn’t because it wasn’t good. It wasn’t because other girls were better. It was because there was depth Patrick can only put his finger on now. So much happened beneath the surface- so much that Art had no words to describe it. So much that Art drowned in his own emotions. Repressed them and kept them bottled up until he found something shiny to bury his feelings in. Until he found Tashi.

And Tashi is safe. With Tashi, you can’t get lost. With Tashi, there’s a plan. With you, he just has to be himself. He doesn’t know how to be anything else. And that’s terrifying.

For the first time, Patrick understands Art in absolute terms. He lies in a hotel room, stroking the hair of a woman who isn’t you, and understands everything there is to understand about life. Mainly, he understands again- that you are so fucking sweet. And that there’s no way he can win. . . .

You're going over tomorrow’s lesson when you hear the door open. Without turning around, you already know it’s Patrick. Who else could it be? His scrutinizing gaze doesn’t waver from you, even when he says nothing. “How was it?” You find yourself breaking the silence, lifting your head toward him with a smile. He doesn’t smile back. He looks exhausted. The message Art sent you lingers in the back of your mind; He’s cheating on you. -Art Donaldson- Art has his reasons to make something like this up, but you doubt he’d be cruel enough to lie about it. Not while you’re mourning your horrible mother. No matter how angry he is at you. No matter how angry he is at Patrick. You don’t think Art is capable of that. You want to believe he isn’t capable of that. Then again, you also want so badly to believe Patrick wouldn’t do it. That Patrick wouldn’t cheat on you. That he wouldn’t find someone prettier, better, more cheerful and do all the things with her that he probably can’t do with you. You don’t want to think about the possibility that you haven’t sacrificed enough. That you didn’t try as hard as you were taught to. Your fault, your fault, your fault. You don’t want to believe it’s your fault. That another love will slip through your fingers, as if you’re trying to hold water. So, you choose to say nothing, because even if it’s true, even if he was with someone else, he came home. And home isn’t big, to say the least, not grand, not dazzling. But he came back. He’s right in front of you. You’re not alone. He knows you. He knows such ugly parts of you that sometimes you’re scared to acknowledge they even exist. He knows what you refuse to recognize in yourself, and sometimes he reminds you that you deserve more than you think. Which is a bizarre thought in itself. But you let him think it, you let him believe it enough for him to believe it for the both of you. “I lost in the third round. To Peter Michelson,” he says shortly, and you nod. “No choice but to make a voodoo doll with Peter Michelson’s face,” you try to joke. He usually laughs. At least smiles. He does neither. He just stands there like a block of wood, with the same expression. “I’m sorry you lost. I wish I’d been there,” you mumble, not knowing what else to say. “What about you? Anything special happen this week?” he asks, his gaze never leaving you.

Now you could tell him your mother died, but there’s no way to say it without it turning into a fight about the fact that you didn’t tell him the moment you found out. “No, nothing special, you know. My routine is boring.” You shrug and shift your focus back to the lesson you’re supposed to teach tomorrow. The Great Gatsby. A shitty book. “Nothing special at all?” he presses. “If you count the fact that Mr. Grace forgot to put in his dentures on Monday -again- and I had to sub for his class, then no.” It’s a half-lie because the thing with Mr. Grace and his dentures did happen, just not this week. Most of this week, you were at your parents’ house, helping your father deal with shiva and all the people who came by. He was completely heartbroken.

You see Patrick shake his head slightly and close his eyes. You know this is something he does when he’s trying to restrain himself. When he doesn’t want to lash out. When something is bothering him, and he doesn’t want it to turn into the biggest fight in the world. He has a bad history with fights that spiral out of control. “No one was born? No relatives died? I don’t know, maybe the woman who gave birth to you?” he says, his piercing gaze back on you. “Shit,” you mumble. Because what else is there to say in this situation? “Yeah, shit,” he stays exactly where he is, making you feel like a child being scolded. Like you dropped a lollipop and won’t be getting a new one.

“I’m sorry-” you start. “My mom isn’t dead; your mom is dead. I think I’m the one who’s sorry.” Patrick hated when you apologized. He said it was irrational with you. That you apologized more than was normal and more than people around you deserved. “Patrick,” you sigh, scrunching your nose as you try to think of a good way to explain it. “I really need to understand this, (Y/N). When were you planning on telling me your living mother was no longer alive? Another month? Two months? Two years? What was the timeline in that head of yours?” His words drip with sarcasm, like the way he used to talk to you before you became you and Patrick. Before you learned to love who he was and before he started treating you like you weren’t the worst person in the world.

“I didn’t want you to withdraw from Atlanta. You trained for it so hard.” You sigh again, quietly. This time, you’re the one closing your eyes, not wanting to look at him- and in doing so, you miss the fact that he moves toward you in giant strides. “I wish you’d told me, Little Dove. I wish I’d been with you instead of being there.” His hands cup your face as he crouches in front of you, looking up to catch your eyes. “I’m sor-” You stop yourself mid-sentence when you see his displeased expression. “How do you feel?” he asks, and you shrug in response. Because what you feel isn’t something you can say out loud, not even to Patrick. It’s not okay to feel relieved. A lot of sadness, of course. But also, relief.

“Tell me,” he insists. He has a habit of knowing the things you don’t want to say. He can look at your face and catch the slight twitch of your left eyebrow to understand what you’re feeling. To see what you try so hard to hide. You can’t beat him at this. You can’t lie to him, not too much. Not about your feelings. Not when he spent years of his life learning what to hate about you, and then a few more years learning to love it. “She wasn’t the nicest woman in the world,” you murmur quietly, like you’re confessing the most forbidden secret. Like it’s a secret that could start a world war. Like Patrick would tell someone.

“She didn’t like me.” Patrick lets out a dry chuckle, his eyes glassy as if he’s remembering something. “She used to call me Art all the time and then correct herself, like it was an accident, but she did it on purpose. So I’d know she wanted me to be Art.” His jaw tightens slightly. You can see the anger and frustration behind the fake lightness in his tone. “I’m sorry,” you say because you don’t know what else to say, and he sighs. His large hands wrap around you in an almost crushing hug. Almost making it hard to breathe.

But that’s how Patrick is. Everything he feels is out in the open. Everything he thinks, he says. Everything he wants, he does. And most of the time, he wants to be present in your life, which is ridiculous because there is no one more present in your life than him. He still acts like he needs to prove something to you. “I wish you’d let me take care of you, Little Dove. It would be easier.” He whispers into your hair, not letting go for a second. You can almost feel him thinking, almost see him guessing what might help you. “I know you care about me,” you say, shifting slightly to look at him, to show him that he doesn’t need to prove anything. That you’re okay.

“Did you eat?” he suddenly asks, stepping back slightly, scanning you, then moving toward the half-empty fridge. “What did you eat?” he follows up. “I don’t know, Patrick. I don’t keep a journal,” you roll your eyes. “Don’t give me that bullshit. What did you eat, (Y/N)?” He doesn’t let up. “A sandwich,” you mutter the first thing that comes to mind. “Since this morning?” His eyes stay locked on you. “Patrick, my mother just died. Can we not focus on what I eat for one second? It’s exhausting,” you roll your eyes and cross your arms, turning your face to the side as he steps toward you and nods. . . . "What do you want to focus on?" he asked. Patrick felt guilty. He looked at you and saw nothing but the fact that just a few days ago, he had been with Tashi. While you were mourning your unbearable mother, he was busy fucking Tashi in a fancy hotel room, at a tournament he lost and that Art Donaldson would probably win. "You," your voice was small as you looked at him, almost pleading for a break from the interrogation and the anger. He hated when you made him the center of your focus, when you tried to do what you thought he wanted you to do. So he nodded and placed a small kiss on the crown of your head, knowing exactly what he needed to do.

Patrick felt like a man on a mission as he dropped to his knees in front of you. "Pat-" you tried to protest, to tell him he didn’t have to. You always tried. As if going down on you was a burden to him, as if all it would take for him to spend a lifetime just like this was for you to fucking ask. "Baby, can you take these off for me?" It was a question, but there was no question mark at the end. Not in that tone. Not when he was looking up at you like that, completely in control of the situation.

So you slid your pants down slowly, trying to hold on to the last bit of control slipping away with every second he stared at you like that. He took care of your underwear himself. Leaving you bare in front of him. "Fuck, Pat," you mumbled, closing your eyes for a moment, leaning back against the wall, making him look up at you one last time with a smirk stretched across his face. And then he got to work.

His lips explored you like you were his source of oxygen. Like his natural place was buried under you, his mouth inside you. "Baby, I’d eat you for the rest of my life. Every day. Every fucking day." His grip on your thigh was ruthless. Patrick felt like he was holding on for dear life, like this was all there was left to do. Like it was all he knew. "Sweet fucking pussy," he kept mumbling into you, until his face was coated with his own spit and your slick. He was ready to take it all, everything you gave him. In these moments, everything that was yours became his, and the little that was his became yours.

So he was milking it. He licked your clit in slow, agonizing strokes- for both of you. He took his time. The euphoria would come, but he was going to enjoy it until it did. Your small whimpers made him growl directly into you. "Patrick, Patrick, Patrick," like a prayer. He felt it. He felt divinity in all of it. He sped up and slowed down and sped up and slowed down. Merciless to the near-sobs escaping from you. "You're so sweet, baby. Do you want to come?" And he wasn’t asking if you wanted to come for him, because he wanted you to come for yourself. Because he wanted you to always, always come for yourself. He wanted to be a vessel. He wanted to erase all the stupid patterns in your head and make sure every orgasm you had was yours and for you. "Patrick." He thought that was the only thing you were capable of saying coherently, and he was fine with that. He was selfish enough to be satisfied if his name was the only word you could say forever.

And when you came with a moan he had learned to recognize and nearly worship, he told you how good you were. How rare you were. That he was yours and that he would always take care of you. He looked up at you from below, saw the tears slipping down your face, and pressed another kiss to your thigh. One that emphasized the word always. Because he didn’t think he could ever let this go. He was too selfish to ever let this go. . . . Art peeked through the door of the room every few seconds, searching for you among the guests. At this point, he didn’t even bother lying to himself about it. Because he didn’t know what else was left for him besides admitting the truth to himself- things he was never able to admit before. Lately, he’d been thinking a lot about the nights he used to lay beside you. When you didn’t even fuck. When you just lay in that rickety twin bed in his dorm room. He was willing to take that. He was willing not to fuck you if it meant you’d hold him again. More than that, he was willing not to fuck anyone ever again. But you were too sweet, you wouldn’t let him go through life without sex. The thought made him chuckle for a second. But he was nervous. So fucking nervous.

He was about to marry Tashi, and she didn’t cross his mind even once. He accidentally saw her dress, even though he told her that he hadn’t really noticed it was there. He knew she would be a stunning bride. That months from now, people would still be talking about Tashi Duncan in a wedding dress. He knew people would envy him, he knew everything. His mind knew everything.

But all he could think about was what kind of wedding dress you would have chosen. He was almost sure it would be something less extravagant; you’d try to draw as little attention as possible. But the Art he was today wouldn’t have let you. He would’ve told you that you deserved all the attention the universe had to offer. That you deserved to be seen. He hated himself for how long it had taken him to realize that. Only when you truly weren’t there. Only when you belonged to someone else. Only when you chose Patrick Zweig of all people.

Patrick Zweig, who hated you with every fiber of his being. Patrick Zweig, who Art was almost certain had cheated on you with Tashi. It should have hurt him much more than it did. But all he cared about was figuring out if this would be the thing that made you get up and leave. You had to know you deserved better. That if not him- if not Art, the guy you both knew you loved with all your heart- then at least someone who didn’t want anyone else. That was the bare minimum you deserved. For years, he’d wondered if he had something to do with how little you thought you deserved, with how low your standards were.

He convinced his mother- who probably loved you even more than he did- to take upon herself convincing you to come to his wedding. Which was almost sadistic of him. Maybe masochistic. Maybe both. But he had to see you. He hadn’t seen you since your mother’s funeral. Sometimes he dreamed about that day and how his hand held yours, he wanted it again and again and again. He wanted everyone to die if it meant he could hold you like that again. If it gave him an excuse.

He noticed that everything about you required an excuse. It hadn’t been like that when you were his. Except you were never really his. He didn’t even understand why it had been so complicated- why you hadn’t told him that’s what you wanted (though he could have guessed). And more than anything, he didn’t understand why he hadn’t known what he wanted. Why it hadn’t been clear to him that you were his person. That you knew the deepest parts of him.

He saw you walk in and texted you, almost begging you to come to the room where he was. You could tell him to go to hell, but that wasn’t your style. No, you were sweet. So sweet that all you did was knock on the door and push it open. Looking at him while he already had his eyes on your little black dress. While he was already studying the red nail polish. While he was already focusing on the lipstick he so badly wanted to wipe off of you.

“Your mother asked me to prepare a speech. Was that your idea?” you asked. There was no coldness in your voice, which made him happy. You stepped closer and started fixing his tie. He wanted to close his eyes, but at the same time, he wanted to see you. To remember you like this; in a little black dress, in heels, standing in front of him, helping him with his tie. “What can I say? You’re my best friend,” he said. And it wasn’t a lie, just as much as it wasn’t the truth. “That’s really sad, Art,” you said, probably referring to the last four years you spent apart. “Are you saying you have a better friend than me?” he asked, hoping you’d deny it because a yes might make him break down crying.

“It’s a mediocre speech. I didn’t know what to say at your wedding,” you sighed, confessing a secret. “Saying you don’t want me to get married would’ve been a good start,” he said, taking a risk. Because he calculated the timing, and you were late, so he had a very short window for this risk. “Don’t be ridicul—” you started, quietly. “If you tell me not to do this, I won’t get married. Tell me not to do it. Tell me it’ll be okay. That we’ll be okay,” he whispered. Not looking away from you.

The silence in the room was deafening, and the chuckle that escaped him was bitter. Fake. He felt pathetic and small and miserable, and maybe he was all those things because he never knew what he wanted in time. “I’m sorry,” you murmured. Not knowing what else to add, because what was left to add? He could see the wetness in your eyes. He knew how unfair he was being. “I’m sorry,” he echoed. He didn’t think he had ever told you that before, but he really, truly was. “Did you write something good about me?” he added. “That you’re my best friend. And that my soul will always love yours,” you said, letting a single tear fall as his rough hand wiped it away with whatever gentleness was still left in him.

It was a nice speech. Everyone applauded. Art cried. . . .

Here we are- the second part of So Sweet! Hope it turned out good enough. Thanks for stopping by and reading what I write, it means a lot. Let me know what you think. Love you guys, stay sweet! 💕

[booksmood]

I humbly offer you a (kind of long) sneak peek of the fanfic I’m cooking up following the latest 19 days chapter

(I’m hoping to have the full thing posted on my ao3 @ sun_monsterz later this week, once my midterms are over and I can finish writing it!)

Mo had kept everything.

The proof was laid out right in front of him, yet it was still so hard for He Tian to believe. His old sweater. Their photos together. The studs Tian chose for him, and the piercing gun along with it. Even the note he’d written on scrap paper in middle school, a confession of sorts: ‘I don’t want you to like me more and more. Those words were lies.’

It was crushingly sentimental for Mo. Their relationship had been built up over the years on wordless affection rather than proper communication, especially surrounding matters of the heart, so Tian always had to assume that the love he felt was mutual.

Now, seeing all of this? It was as close to a confirmation of feelings that he thought he might ever get considering the new distance between them.

Following Tian’s sudden return, Mo seemed to have his guard constantly raised. Any hint of affection was met with immediate pushback, and any playful insinuations shot down with what Tian hoped were just harsh words that lacked truth, meant to hurt him as much as he now knew his departure hurt Mo.

Sometimes, when Tian tried to lighten things between them, he could see hints of the internal battle happening inside Mo. A blush that he tried to hide, or his increasingly delayed annoyance in response to affection. It made Tian hopeful that Mo still wanted him in this way, even if he didn’t trust Tian enough to accept being together again.

He knew everything that was broken between them was his fault, and that he didn’t deserve Mo’s forgiveness. Even still, the idea that he might no longer occupy a part of Mo’s heart remained an ever-growing fear that constantly ate away at him.

They desperately needed to talk, but neither of them wanted to make the leap towards that level of vulnerability. Communication was always where they faltered, but with Mo’s defences raised ever since he returned, and the finding of this box of keepsakes, Tian ached to be near him. To spill the contents of his heart until there was no doubt in Mo’s mind that he loved him unconditionally and always would.

It was all too much.

He couldn’t make himself look away from the box and its contents, the sides taped and re-taped several times over. It was clear that Mo had been through its contents with careful hands; everything was in pristine condition, as if handled delicately, though every remnant of He Tian’s face was carefully covered with thick white tape.

Tian picked up his old middle school ID card, feeling an overwhelming wave of emotion hit his chest. He swallowed down the emerging lump in his throat, his composure slipping away as the realization that he was remembered—that he could mean something important to someone—washed over him.

He knew he shouldn’t be seeing any of this. Mo had told him not to touch anything before leaving for work. It was just Tian’s luck that the first box he’d opened contained likely the most sensitive things of Mo’s that he would find in the apartment.

These were all the fragmented pieces of their past together. The fact that Mo still held on to them proved all of Tian’s desperate hopes, and simultaneously all of his fears. Because this was evidence that at some point and maybe even still, Mo really did love him. He hadn’t forgotten about Tian like he pretended to. The contents of this box proved that Mo treated their memories as something precious, not something to be discarded or forgotten.

But it was also clear that at some point, Mo decided he wanted to forget. The erasure of Tian’s face from every photo was telling of that deep hurt. Mo’s heart had been thoroughly broken by his indefinite departure, yet even still, he never let himself be completely rid of these special pieces of their past.

Tian decided he would never forgive himself for all of this brokenness he’d caused. As much as he feared being forgotten, he hated himself more knowing Mo was struggling with whether to remember him and live with the hurt of his absence, or let go and live peacefully.

When the tightness in his chest eventually became too much to bear, Tian placed the ID card back atop the pile of their memories, and slid himself backwards on the floor, further away from the box.

He buried his head in his arms and rested them on his knees, letting himself feel everything for the first time in years. It was a terrible truth, knowing Mo had been suffering through all the time they were apart. He felt a wash of shame for it, but even worse was the small part of him that grew sickly exhilarated, knowing the desperate love filling his chest was very likely reciprocated.

It felt like his heart would burst with all the warring emotions inside him. He was both desperate to see Mo, and terribly ashamed, wanting to hide from him until he could convincingly pretend he had never seen this memory box and learned the true contents of Mo’s heart. He wanted to kiss Mo until he knew Tian loved him like he would never be able to love another person, and he wanted to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness knowing he would never truly deserve it.

After a few minutes of sitting in silence, regulating his breathing and scrubbing away the faint traces of wetness on his cheeks, he began moving himself around the tiny apartment unit in a blurry daze.

Minutes turned into hours as he made and remade the bed, cooked something barely edible with the leftover ingredients from last night, and eventually settled himself back on the floor, staring at Mo’s number on his phone as he contemplated calling him just to hear his voice and know that this man—impossibly—still cared about him.

He thought he should probably go outside, take a walk and get some fresh air to clear his mind, though he didn’t want to be away from Mo, and this place held all the traces of his presence. It was selfish, but learning of the box made him need Mo like the air in his lungs. The scary thing was, he didn’t think Mo needed him anymore.

He stared at his phone for another long moment, and then gave in and called.

[thequeenwechoose]

Daemon & Caraxes arrive at Harrenhall

[tonycries]

Hope They Catch Us - G.S.

Synopsis. When you’re on-screen, it’s always a rivalry to see who’s best - you just never thought that it would be the same struggle in bed.

Pairing. Actor! Gojo Satoru x Co-Star! Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, rivals-to-lovers, co-stars to lovers, unprotected, oral (fem receiving) slight exhíbitionism (stuff with cameras), marking, praise, Satoru is actually down BAD, cúmplay, tabloids, lowkey fluffy at the end, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.5k

A/N. YA GIRL IS BACKKKK ;D Also happy belated three months to this blog hehehe.

Lights, Camera, Drama: Gojo Satoru and Leading Lady’s Off-Screen Feud to SINK Box Office Darling?

“They’ll Kill Each Other!” Insider Source Spills All on the Royal Rivalry Between Hollywood’s Hottest Bachelor and Bachelorette.

Enemies of The Century or Publicity Stunt? Recent Cast Outings Sets Fans Speculating!

---

You hated him. Oh, how you hated him. All because of a red-hot rivalry that had sparked ever since the two of you took the industry by storm. And everyone from Hollywood’s bigshots to your adoring fans knew that no matter where Gojo Satoru goes, you were sure to never be within a ten-mile radius. 

Well, usually. 

“I…shit- I’m in love with you.” 

Because avoiding Gojo like a plague really isn’t saying much when said plague was currently sitting right next to you. Eyes boring into yours, signature smirk plastered on his face while he rattles off a disgustingly sweet confession - all on the set of your latest movie. 

Somehow, in a cruel twist of fate, your co-star. 

And to add insult to injury, this wasn’t just any movie - it was only set to be the biggest romance film of the summer. So not only did you hate to tolerate Gojo, you had to pretend to be in love with him. 

Perfect. Great. Wonderful. If only the check wasn’t as tempting as it was, you think he would’ve successfully driven you to an aneurysm already. Especially considering that the scene tomorrow was-

“CUT!” 

That snaps you out of your little reverie, bringing you back to the still very ongoing film shooting. You risk a glance at the disgruntled director, cheeks aching from the sappy fake smile you had to hold for this scene.

“Something wrong?” you bat your lashes deceivingly innocently. You knew exactly what was wrong. And one look at Gojo - dressed to the nines and huffing sulkily at being interrupted in the middle of his monologue - told you that he did as well.

“It just doesn’t feel real.” The director shuffles his script, voice dropping to a sigh at your confused gazes. “The spark, it doesn't feel real.”

“What?” you silently thank your years of acting for keeping your voice steady. You squirm in your seat the longer the silence stretches. This cozy little café they rented out too tight, Gojo’s fingers intertwined with yours too hot. Too soft. 

“C’mon. You are in the perfect romantic set-up.” the other man gestures wearily at the café, at the dim-lighting and the proximity of your seats. “So why do you two look like you want to just- strangle each other?”

“Ooo kinky~”

It’s the first time Gojo’s spoken up since the scene was ended early and honestly that was enough to have you fulfilling the director’s suspicions. 

“That.” you give him a pointed stare. “That is probably why.”

And that just draws out such an infuriatingly light chuckle from Gojo, as he sprawls all over his chair with the audacity of someone that owned this entire set. “Lighten up. You’ve told us, n’ in the next take I’ll fix it. Easy peasy.”

If only it was that “easy peasy”. The director was anything but satisfied, running a hand through his hair frustratedly. “It’s not just me, even the public is worried whether your ‘feud’ will get in the way of such intimate scenes. You-” he jabs a finger your way. “-better pretend like you want to kiss him senseless and you-” whirling now to Gojo. “-better act like you’ve wanted nothing more for years- Not to mention tomorrow’s sex scene-”

Ah, right. The sex scene. 

How could you forget? It might not be a walk in the park to giggle and make heart-eyes at Gojo, but to actually pretend to have sex with him? All on camera? Curse whoever wrote this damn script. You could’ve almost laughed at the universe’s absolutely awful sense of humor if it hadn’t been for your paycheck - and the next words that tumble out of Gojo’s pretty mouth. 

“We’ll ace it, you just watch.” 

You hurriedly snap your eyes to meet Gojo’s, sending him a look that says “behave”, in a way that very much makes him not want to. Twinkling with such dangerous mischief that makes your stomach flip as he hums, “Or- I’ll ace it.”

God, was it a battle to remain professional. The only thing stopping you from snapping back being the way he squeezes your hand mockingly reassuringly - to which you send him a death grip back, of course. 

“Oh? Care to elaborate, Mr. Gojo?” the director asks, eyes flitting between the two of you. And you can’t even laugh at the rest of the staff for almost toppling out of their seats in an attempt to hear his answer - because you are, too. Mind whirling as you lean closer, wondering just what nonsense would come out of Gojo’s mouth. 

“Well, you could say…” he trails off suspensefully, like the smug bastard he is. Looking right in your eyes as he flashes an unfairly pretty smile your way. “I’m irresistible like that.”

Exactly the type of nonsense that would come out of Gojo Satoru, of course. And one glance at the director told you he was thinking the same thing. He was going to be the death of you. You can’t help but breathe out shrilly, “You fucking-”

“My apologies, director, but our leads have a scheduled interview soon. Rest assured, we will be early on set for filming tomorrow.”

You were definitely giving Nanami a raise after this. 

Because if looks could kill then Gojo would be six feet under and you’d be dancing on his grace already - and you let him know. A little over twenty times, actually, as the both of you are hastily escorted away from the set for an “emergency interview”. 

It was a flimsy excuse, you both knew, but Nanami hadn’t exactly felt like cleaning up a crime scene today. Instead, settling for a swift escape, the director calling out after you two to “Look like you’re gonna rip the clothes off each other tomorrow.”

Rip the clothes off each other, huh?

With the way things were going, you couldn’t be surprised if you ripped him a new-

“C’mon, sweetheart~” Gojo gets out through giggles, that familiar cackle echoing in the narrow hallway leading to your trailer. “Y’know I was just having a little fun with that ol’ man.”

He saunters unhurriedly behind your brisk pace, easily blocking the way you swing the door shut in his face. Letting it shut with such infuriatingly smooth nonchalance. 

“Fun?” you scoff, jabbing an accusing finger right in the middle of his sculpted chest.“Do you even realize the mess you could’ve made?”

“Easy there, m’not insured for these pecs just yet.” Gojo clasps your hands together. Some strange little part of your skin burning at the touch in- anger? Something else? But you don’t think too hard about it, because he’s plowing on, “Besides, a little teasing never hurt anyone.”

Such a shame he was so pretty with the stupidest mouth.

“A little teasing? You practically declared to everyone in that room that we’re gonna fuck this up.” you move to pull him down by the collar instead, clearly unimpressed.

But oh you shouldn’t have done that - because he’s so close now. Too close. Hot breath fanning your face, looking so smug as he murmurs unrepentantly, “Do you?” Chuckling lightly at your little head tilt, “Do you think we’ll fuck it up?”

You clench your jaw, trying to keep it all together. “...No.”

“Exactly. We’re good then.” he winks. 

“No. We’re not fucking ‘good’.” you grit out. Wondering exactly how difficult it might be to bother the director into completely recasting the male lead for the movie. Looking up at that million dollar smile and- yeah, it would be very difficult. “You’re so insufferable. I don’t know why they cast you.” 

“My good looks? My charisma? The way I’m the-” he trails off with a sigh at your glare. “Well, you’re not exactly a ray of sunshine, sweetheart.”

“At least I can act and-.”

He whines dramatically, cutting off your rant. “Me too!” 

This conversation was so ridiculous - but, hey, the great Gojo Satoru always did bring out the worst parts of you. 

“Nuh uh.” 

“Yuh uh.” 

“Then why are you so stiff when acting like you’re in love with me?”

Somehow, that makes Gojo shut up. Mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water - gasping out a strangled little, “B-because- well-” And if you didn’t know any better you’d say that was a light blush dusting his ears.

Only for a split-second, though, because he’s grabbing you gently by your shoulders, more seriously than you’d ever seen him. “Fine. Listen, we both want the same thing right? To have pretend-sex and ace this film to win like five Oscars?”

And maybe at the heat of his newfound proximity, maybe at the way he was looking at you so goddamn intensely - you feel something hot and prickly pooling in your stomach. Swallowing thickly, you manage to get out, “I’ll be the one winning the Oscars...but yes.”

Gojo’s gaze roams all over you - from the quirk of your eyebrow to the dress hugging you so sinfully tight. “Then we’ll do it. Ace the scene.”

Traitorously, a shiver runs down your spine. And because the universe loves to play jokes on you, Gojo notices - of course, he does. Eyes lighting up with amusement and something you really didn’t want to decipher as you blink up questioningly, “How?”

“Method acting, silly.” he rolls his eyes, as if he wasn’t implying something that wasn’t seen in even the cheesiest of romcoms. “Think of it as running lines.”

If there was ever a moment where your life flashed behind your eyes then this just might be it. 

“You-” you gulp, so hot all over. “You better shut the fuck up and pray your face is insured because-”

At this, Gojo throws his head back and laughs - loud and boisterous. And usually you’d have a thing or two to say about keeping his voice down so as not to let anyone outside hear, but shit you were mesmerized. Damn, a weird little part of you kind of understood why directors loved him onscreen. 

“Feisty,” he muses. “But how can I shut the fuck up when they’re second-guessing the two best actors in the game?” 

“The best? Me, maybe.” you lean in closer, mouth as bitchy as ever - even when you’re so obviously crumbling bit by bit under his gaze. And he knew that. “But not you.”

“Well, only way to find out is with tomorrow’s scene, right, sweetheart?” 

He drove you mad - everything from his heady cologne, to the way that overpriced button-up clung to him like second skin. But, don’t pull away - how could you? Not when he inches closer ever-so-slightly. Not when he lets those overpriced glasses slide down his nose, eyes locked so heavily on you.

Fighting to keep your words steady, “There’s nothing special about that scene, just fake moan in front of the camera, right? We don’t need any…‘method acting’.”

Gojo only raises a brow in amusement, lips curling into a grin that really makes you too aware of his little dimple by the corner. “Then why…” His eyes flicker down from his hands, searing on your shoulders, to yours - still grabbing his collar, just grazing the soft skin of his neck. Not pulling away. “...can’t you let go of me, sweetheart?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you, you really don’t give a fuck. The only thing running through your mind being that shit this was Gojo bane-of-your-existence Satoru, and he tasted so…sweet. Like those cheap lollipops he often snuck on-set. Strawberry, you think.

But you don’t get to confirm, because suddenly he’s pulling away mere millimeters. Whispering hotly, absolutely dripping with something dangerous, “Sooo, is that a ‘yes’ to running lines?”

“Ugh, shut up.” your lips ghost his. “And just fucking kiss me.”

And, well, Gojo doesn’t have to be asked twice. Because it only takes a split second for his lips to find yours again. 

Yeah, definitely strawberry lollipops.

You hadn’t filmed any of the kissing scenes just yet, but damn you didn’t expect him to be so hot and messy - like he was drunk off of you. Licking at the seam of your candied lips, groaning softly like he wanted more more more-

“Sh-shit, Goj-” 

“Call me ‘Satoru’ when we’re fucking.” he cuts you off. “Or, my bad. When we’re ‘running lines’.” 

Shameless. Though, you guess you weren’t any better - not as you press yourself closer running your hands all over his sinfully thin shirt, feeling every bump and curve of his abs. “You talk too much, Toru.” you hiss, muffled against his lips. 

Oh that cute lil’ nickname had all the blood rushing to Satoru’s cock, you were so unfair. 

“You little minx.” Like a little punishment, he’s biting down on your bottom lip, tugging lightly at your surprised squeal. “You’re gonna regret that.”

“Hmm, I doubt it.”

And then your back is hitting the couch before you can react, bouncing lightly at the sheer force. And you’re so swept up in him - the way he hovers over you, arms looping around your waist, his knee wedging between your legs - that it almost hurts for you to pull away.

“Patience.” you huff out a laugh at Satoru’s disappointed whine, eyeing those pretty pink lips mere inches away from you. You just wanted them on yours. So badly. But no, there was something more important you had to do right now. “Jus’ thought we should record our little rehearsal, whaddaya think?”

“Record it?”

“Record it.”

“Record it, hmmm?” he’s whispering, more to himself than you. Fumbling with the zipper of your dress. “So you’re sayin’ we tape it, let the camera see how pretty you look all fallin’ apart f’me.” Kissing down your neck, letting the flimsy fabric fall down, “N’ then we improve for the pretend sex. Shut all those snobby directors up by giving them the best fucking sex scene they’ve ever seen.”

“Y-yes?” you mutter, as he starts tweaking your hardened nipples through your bra, clearly having way too much fun with this. “Unless-”

“Fine by me.”

The fabric hits the floor before you even realize what’s happening. Head spinning too much from the idea of being fucked on camera - by Satoru of all people, it takes you a second to realize that this bastard fucking ripped your dress off. 

“You probably broke-” 

“I’ll buy you a new one.” muffled, as he kisses down your navel, blindly fumbling with his phone. 

“It was expensive.”

With an impatient sigh, Satoru sets the camera up on the coffee table beside the couch. “Five new ones.” Angling it just right to perfectly capture you - in all your disheveled, horny glory, and Satoru, smugly seating himself between your thighs. 

“Ready?” he asks, finger hovering over that damn red button.

Well, it’s just for rehearsal, right? Right? 

“Do it.” you manage to get out, voice getting stuck in your throat at the faint ding! that rings throughout the heady room. “For my Oscars?”

“For my Oscars. N’the camera’s gonna know.”

And whatever retort on the tip of your tongue dies when he rocks his hip against yours, grinding his cock against your soaked panties. Rock-hard and so damp with precum already - so big that any and all rational thinking flies out the window.

Which is probably why you’re letting out such a pretty gasp, ‘S-Satoru, I want-“

“What?” And Satoru only flashes you a devilish grin, hands spreading your legs as far as they’d go on the couch. “This?”

He licks a long, long stripe up your inner thigh, all the way till he just meets the hem of your drenched panties. Teasing. So hot and depraved in the way he breathes in your scent. 

“Oh fuck, sweetheart.” Satoru grunts, looking down in awe at the damp fabric, so flimsy and see-through with your sweet juices. You slick beading through so sloppily, just a hint of the state you were in. “You don’t know how you drive me mad.”

Rip! 

He’s so fucking starved that he’s just tearing your poor panties clean off. Throwing them behind him to God-knows-where before spreading your swollen folds with his thumb, showing off just how wet you were for him. 

“You’re a tease.”

“And you’re fucking addictive. Look how fuckin’ wet you are. For who, huh?” he slurs, breath hot against your cunt. Circling your entrance just barely with his fingertip, teasing you like he was addicted to those frustrated moans coming out of your pretty lips. 

“S’for you-” you whine, “All for you, Satoru.”

“Exactly what I wanted to hear.”

And that’s all that needs to be said before he’s burying himself nose-deep. Drunk off your pussy as he licks long, languid movements. And it wasn’t enough - never might be, actually, because only one taste and Satoru was like a man possessed. 

Bullying his tongue between your folds, just dipping into your sloppy hole in a way that had your slick smearing all over his pretty face. Letting out such deep groans that had you clenching around his hot tongue. 

Shit, if you knew that this was the way to shut up the great Gojo Satoru then you would’ve done it a lot sooner. Because for one in his life, Satoru’s too entranced with something else to run his mouth, so fucking satisfied between your thighs. 

“Fuck- hah- think I like you better w-when hngh- you’re like this, Toru.” you purr, breath hitching as he bullies his tongue between your folds. 

Maybe you were an idiot - maybe you were a genius, because that only sets him off more. 

And suddenly Satoru’s pulling your body closer onto his hot mouth, like you were weighless. Pushing himself so impossibly closer while he makes out deeper with your wet cunt. 

“Ah! Hngh- Satoru-” you keen, tugging at his soft locks. As delirious as Satoru was pussydrunk. Drinking in all your cute lil’ whines of his name, angling your hips to lick all over like he couldn’t decide between fucking your sloppy hole or toying with your poor, ravaged clit. 

“Mhm?” he murmurs, the vibrations making you squeal.  Eyes rolling to the back of his head as lets your sweet juices slide down his throat. “Ya like this?” Stretching you out on his tongue, thrusting in and out of your sloppy hole. Over and over- “Like when I tonguefuck your pretty pussy?”

“Ngh- love it- s’good. Ah fillin’ me up s’good.” you squeal, bucking your hips desperately into his pretty face, broken little whimpers leaving you at each rough push of Satoru’s tongue. 

And oh Satoru thinks he wouldn’t mind being on his knees every day if it meant he got to taste you like this. “Tell the camera too, sweetheart. Practice how you’ll come around my tongue.”

Those words send a jolt up your spine - or maybe it was the way Satoru was sucking harshly on your clit. “F-fuck off.”

“Mhmmm, n’ this is why I’m the better actor..”

Ugh, this fucker. And with that you fight to turn your head - looking right in the camera. Feeling so fucking lewd as you let out such pornographic moans.

“Yeah- feel s’good.” you whimper, “Wanted this for so long, ever since I first saw- ngh- you-”

And shit were you so fucking evil - at least warn a guy! Because that has Satoru’s heart lurching, almost jumping up from between your legs before it hits him with a pang - ah, right, you were just quoting your character’s lines. Of course.

Well, two can play that game.

“Yeah?” he mutters into your folds. Two fingers plunging knuckle-deep in your pussy, massaging your plushy walls. Roaming around for that one spot he knows will have you falling apart so deliciously. “Can’t believe I waited s’fucking long. Y’know how hard it was to hold back? With you wearing all those slutty skirts f’me?”

Your body is jerking violently, both at his - practiced - words, and the way he was devouring you like you were his favorite meal. His favorite taste.

So eager and in-character with the way he was setting such a dizzying pace on your poor cunt. Slick trailing down from his fingers, all the way to his wrist. So sloppy and- Pressing down. Hard. “Found it.”

And you can only sit there and take it, such cute little whines of Satoru’s name leaving you as he leaves no mercy. Jaw grinding deeper and deeper, maddening. Aching as he rolls and swirls his tongue against your clit over and over. And you were so-

“Close?” Satoru’s grunting and smacking his lips against your own. Truthfully, he didn’t even have to ask - if the way you were trembling and squeezing so fucking tightly around him was anything to go by. “Go on darling. scream my name. Show off f’the camera like you do best.”

“Sh-shit. Toru- fuck yes-” you’ve got an iron-tight grip on his hair now, pulling and angling him as you pleased for more. Barely able to let out those strained lil’ moans, definitely not with the way he’s dragging your sloppy pussy all over his face. Fingers cramping up from how rough he was going - but still not stopping. 

“Go on. Cum f’me.”

And then you are. Letting out such a teary, strangled moan of Satoru’s name as you cum all over his face. 

And it’s not just for the camera either - because this orgasm is probably the best one you’ve had in a while. So hard that you don’t even realize you’re arching and rocking your hips into Satoru, white-hot pleasure behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. Using him. 

And he doesn’t stop you. Why would he? You were so pretty falling apart all because of him. He wishes he could see this more often…

“S-Satoru.” you mewl, overstimulated. Jolting with each flick of his tongue, trying to close your legs but you can’t - he won’t let you. Greedily lapping up all your sweet juices, everything that you give him. 

“Nope.” he drawls, finally pulling away, delicate strings of your slick snapping as he does. Looking so fucking drunk off of you that it makes your cunt quiver exhaustedly. “C’mon now, sweetheart, you were s’pposed to say my character’s name. S’how the scene goes.”

Oh. Shit, you got too caught up. But one look at Satoru - eyes half-lidded, hair disheveled, your juices glistening all over the bottom half of his face so prettily - tells you he was much the same. 

“Well…” you huff, voice shot. “According to the script you were supposed to stuff that-” pointedly eyeing the achingly hard cock straining his pants, “-in my mouth first before eating me out. So here we are.”

With a chuckle, he rises slowly. “Touché.” Looking you straight in the eyes - and probably into your very soul - as he pops his fingers into his mouth. One by one. Groaning at the taste of your sweet sweet juices while he sucks them clean. “But I don’t think I’d last one second with those pretty lips wrapped around my cock.”

And it almost makes you want to tease him for it - one of Hollywood’s biggest It Boys but you can’t handle a lil’ blowjob? But all of that gets stuck in your throat as Satoru starts peeling off his shirt ever-so-slowly. 

Shit, you think. All mouthwatering curves and dips, all the way from his toned, milky shoulders down, down, down to those neat tufts of white peeking out from the hem of his underwear. Sculpted like he was handcrafted so meticulously - a fucking masterpiece, you had to admit. 

One that made you wish you took a longer look at all those shirtless magazine covers instead of throwing them out. One that had your thighs squeezing in such anticipation.

And Satoru seemed to be admiring you just the same, eyes locked on your pussy, the way it glistens and clenches around nothing - so ready for him. Distinctly aware of how pathetically needy you were being in front of the blinking camera, you crane your head to glance at it. Was it really capturing-

“Now now, first rule is to never look at the camera during this scene.” Only for Satoru to squish your cheeks together, forcing you into an embarrassing little pout as he turns you back to face him. “Look at me.”

And oh you can’t not look at him. 

Especially when he tugs his pants down, just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, so fucking long and pretty. Smearing glossy precum all over his abs, flushed your favorite shade of pink, rock-hard and so so angry. Shit, he was so hard it looked like it hurt. 

“Satoru…” you breathe, legs wrapping around his slutty waist to pull him closer. Only needier despite that little nagging voice wondering how the fuck you’d take his sheer size.

“Sweetheart?”

“I remember he didn’t do a lot of waiting in the script.”

And God were you right - but Satoru doesn’t think he could’ve kept this act of restraint up any longer even if you weren’t. Too impatient, too starved, his sanity dancing away from him with each second his fat cock wasn’t stuffed inside your pretty cunt. 

“Mhm.” he purrs, one hand reaching down to drag his fat head up and down your slit. Heavy balls squeezing painfully at the way your lip wobbles in frustration. Up and down up and up and- “You’re right.”

And then it’s like something snaps.

Because it only takes a split-second for Satoru to start splitting you apart on his massive cock. Big fat tears pricking at your eyes at the feeling that he was pushing all the way into your lungs. 

“Sh-shit, s’fuckin’ tight-” he lets out a low grunt at the slight resistance, taking everything in him to not just fuck into your snug pussy and use you like his little plaything. “You gotta hah- relax, pretty girl.”

You needed to relax more - to breathe maybe, just something. You weren’t even in the right state to wonder whether that little nickname was in the script - and God was Satoru thankful for that. Because all you can think of is how you never imagined what the bane of your existence would look with his cock stuffed in your dripping cunt - but now that you’ve seen it, you think you’ll imagine it for many lonely nights to come. 

“Hey, now. Don’t get camera-shy just yet.” Satoru gives your ass a playful smack. “After all, this is only the best- part-”

Each word is punctuated with shallow, mindless little thrust to fit himself inside your dripping pussy. Such cute lil’ whines leaving your swollen lips that he really can’t help but tease you a bit. Leering down at your fucked-out face with a smirk, “Or- my bad. Forgot such a scene would be hard for a rookie.”

Oh, did he know how to press your buttons just right. 

Because immediately, you’re blinking away the delirious haze in your eyes, voice so adorably shaky - but determined - as you grit out, “Bring it on, you B-list wonder.”

That’s all that has to be said before he’s finally bottoming out inside you, mercilessly. Inch by fucking inch. You gasp as his twitching balls smack your ass so lewdly, feeling his veins beat in such a slutty lil’ thump! thump! thump! against your heavenly walls. 

“T-Toru- big- ngh- too fuckin’ big. M’gonna break mpf-” his lips claim yours. Partially because it’s been way too long since he’s kissed your pretty lips, and partially because Satoru might just cum right then and there if he let you run your mouth. 

So he lets his hips do the talking instead. 

Cooing into your mouth at each little ah! ah! ah! every time he stuffed you full of his dick, quick, experimental thrusts to try and find that one spot he knows will have you falling apart so prettily.

“Sounds so beautiful, sweetheart.” rocking his hips faster into yours. So hard you were sure he’d leave marks. “No camera in the world can pick up how fuckin’ perfect ya are. Can’t ngh- pick up those cockdrunk lil’ heart eyes.” Angling your chin just so that your sinful expression is caught on camera, “Shit do ya even know you’re doing those? Might just make me lose it for real tomorrow. Might just make me sneak you off to the dressing rooms n’-” Manicured fingers digging into your hips while he fucks you in jagged, purposeful strokes. Hitting that one spot. Hard. “Fuck you all over again.”

You flinch as he uses you like some object. Dangerously liking it more and more as he smugly hits that magical spot over and over- 

And it was so sloppy - so filthy with the way Satoru still had remnants of your slick all over his lips, matching the way you were soaking his cock. Fingers moving down to draw erratic little patterns on your clit, making it even messier. 

Close - too close. 

So, so desperate and debauched.

“C’mon. Show the camera. Tell the camera how much you love it.” 

“Ngh- f-fuck you.”

“Oh? Who’s fucking who now?” he’s laughing at your absolutely wrecked state. You can feel Satoru twitch inside you as you mumble out such delirious little praises to the camera - were they coherent sentences? You’ll never know, because the next words that fall from his lips have your mind reeling. 

“God, m’addicted to you, my girl.”

“That’s not- ah- in the script, Toru.” you hiss. Close. 

“I know. And neither is that.” he leaves such uncharacteristically gentle kisses down your neck. Miles away from the relentless place on your poor, abused pussy, fucking you deeper and rougher every time despite already bottoming out. “Does it have to be?”

“Th-that doesn’t ngh- make sense.” you gasp into his open mouth. 

“Doesn’t have to.”

Maybe it’s the way Satoru’s panting those words against your lips. Or maybe it’s the way he’s looking right in your eyes while he says them - like it would kill him to pull away. Maybe even that fleeting little kiss he leaves against your lips. 

Because before you know it, you’re cumming and cumming so hard that you wonder whether you’d make it out alive. The only thing you can do is throw your head back and take it, thighs quivering, Satoru’s names spilling from your lips in such broken little whines while he thrusts so sloppy. Once. Twice. 

“Ah- this is gonna have me fallin’, huh?” And then he’s letting out such a low, muffled moan of your name, filling you up with rope after rope of his cum. 

What? 

It’s so messy - his cum overfilling your poor pussy, spilling out and coating his twitching balls. Shit, you can’t even worry about whether it would stain that overpriced couch below you. Not when Satoru’s whispering out sweet- lines from the script?

“Fuckin’ beautiful underneath me. Always was.” Hips still fucking into you - not even thinking at this point. “Always will be. Such a vision onscreen, sweetheart.” So thick and hot, and dribbling all the way down your legs with every movement.

And then Satoru’s lips are finding yours again, tasting so unfairly sweet while he drinks in all your cute breathless gasps. “Such a vision f’me.”

Those weren’t from the script either.

Something soft. Something scary. Something that has you looping your legs tighter around his waist, letting him collapse onto you. Pulling him closer, in fact, because now that you know the weight of his body on yours, it just felt so right.

It takes a moment of silence for you two to catch your breaths, the still rolling camera being the last thing on your minds. Neither willing to speak first, because shit Satoru might’ve gone to countless red carpets and film sets but this - you are what strips him away from all the glamor and fame. Until he was just, well, embarrassingly Satoru.

The Satoru that was now shifting shyly in your arms, trying to get up. “Uh- Hell of a way to run lines, huh? Better check the camera n’ see where to impro-”

He might be one of the biggest actors in modern Hollywood, but Satoru didn’t fool you - not one bit. So without a word, you’re tugging him back to rest against you. Heart lurching just a little bit as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. Like a little hideaway - from the camera, from the world, hell, maybe even from you.

“Y’know,” he flinches ever-so-slightly at your teasing tone, giving you a playful bite. “I have one area of suggestion and it might just be that you’re too good at ‘running lines’.”

“...Good enough to win those five Oscars?”

“No.”

“Then guess I better prove it to ya, huh? Is the camera still on, sweetheart?”

Just then, some weird little part of you thinks that, hell, maybe you don’t hate Gojo Satoru after all.

Not anymore, at least. 

---

The Enemies-To-Lovers Trope of The Century?! Hollywood’s Biggest Rivals Sport Matching Hickeys (And Smiles) On-Set of Upcoming Film.

Oops! Gojo Satoru's Phone Wallpaper Accidentally Exposed: Surprise, Surprise It’s His Leading Lady! More on Page 6.

“No Comment. Though, I Have Moved Trailers. Twice.” Anonymous Manager Speaks on Latest Movie Rumors.

Director Is All Smiles As He Raves About Upcoming Romance Movie. “Hell, If I Didn’t Know Any Better I’d Say They Were Really-”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

[ghstzzn]

helping hand

pairing: bsf!lee heeseung x fem!reader

synopsis: heeseung had an unusual ritual before every competition as a professional league of legends player. one that his ex-girlfriend could no longer fulfill for him, leaving him desperate enough to ask for your help as his best friend.

tags/warnings: SMUT! MDNI! barely proofread lol, heeseungs a professional gamer… idk shit about that tho, you’re his best friend, league of legend mention, oral (m. rec), face fucking, deepthroating obv, praise? heeseung whimpers and whines here and there, name calling bc he calls her a perv hehe, reader touches herself and orgasms bc of his whimpering, cum swallowing, first time writing JUST a blowjob & ball fondling hehe and more probably! [3.3k words]

🖤: im so scared this was only supposed to be like 1k words but i cant shut the fuck up ever.

MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT!

it’s been awhile since you’ve had heeseung linger around your apartment for hours or even days like this. between his time spent with his now ex girlfriend and his professional gaming career, you had rarely seen him. only relying on occasional short lunch meetings or quick coffee runs.

it’s not that his ex disliked you, but more so disliked that you and heeseung happened to be an extremely attractive pair of friends and hated that people would confuse you both as a couple rather than heeseung and her.

you missed your best friend, and it comforted you that he returned those feelings. 

before heeseung had stepped foot into a relationship with his ex, he would spend half of his time at your apartment. especially when he had a competition that was near. 

“are you nervous?” you ask him, watching as he packs little things he left at your apartment into a small suitcase for the gaming league. it was only one city away but these sorts of things take an entire weekend. 

heeseung hums, “i’m confident.” you know he’s not lying either. there’s not much you know about gaming, or specifically, league of legends—but according to your mutual friends, heeseung seems to be a god at the game. yet, he seemed so antsy about something.

“so what are you gonna do about your little pre-competition ritual,” you hope to lighten his mood, easing him of whatever that was on his mind.

“what ritual?”

you clear your throat, “oh, um. your blowjob ritual..?”

the question was asked in a light hearted way, but heeseung didn’t react in such a way at all. the ritual, as you called it, was something heeseung accidentally created a few years ago when he had first gone pro. his situationship at the time gave him head right before he left as a sexy goodluck and a reminder of what he had waiting for him when he got back, but that day he had carried and won the competition for his entire team. 

the next year after that he had gotten with his girlfriend and had shyly asked her to suck him off, to which she agreed and it had officially become a routine for every competition, including smaller, less meaningful ones.

“you okay, hee?” 

“can i ask you something?” he suddenly speaks up, voice way louder than he intended, causing the both of you to cringe at the volume. “s-sorry.. i just need to ask you something.”

you nod slowly, “yeah, anything. is everything okay?”

heeseung thinks for a few moments before speaking again, “it’s a little personal and it’s okay if you are uncomfortable with this and you absolutely do not have to say yes but i need to at least ask you.”

“heeseung just say it.”

“can you give me a blowjob before my competition this weekend?”

your reaction comes in three stages. the both of you stare at each other in silence for about three minutes before you burst out in laughter, which also lasts about three more minutes. but when you see heeseungs panicked expression, you go silent again.

“wait… seriously?” 

heeseung swallows before shaking his head timidly. he debated laughing along with you and passing it off as a complete joke but he felt the need to follow through. the room is silent again. your fingers subconsciously play with the zipper on his suitcase as you think about the question he just proposed to you. 

your best friend, whom you’ve experienced half your life with, just asked you if you could give him head before one of his league of legends competitions.

what was the right answer here?

“you.. you don't have to,” heeseungs heart feels like it’s about to fall out of his chest. why on earth would he ask such a thing to his only female friend? no less, his best friend.

it was a joke. yeah, a joke! oh my god, why would i ask that, you pervert! you should’ve seen your face! you guys joke like this all the time, this is no different. he could totally play this off coolly. 

“it’s fucking stupid, i know. but it seriously helps me and you know she would do it for me everytime.” he begins rambling without even realizing it. the air is so thick you would have to take a chainsaw to it. “y-you aren’t her, yeah, but i don’t know—it genuinely gets me through the competitions.”

heeseung lets out a shaky breath, “just forget it. ignore what i said.”

“well, no heeseung,” you cut him off, “i can’t just forget that you seriously asked me something like that.”

“please don’t make this awkward. you can say no and we can forget this happened.”

you could tell heeseung wanted to rip his tongue out, and to see your best friend this distressed over something so silly made you want to drop everything and get rid of those feelings for him. 

“i mean, i never said no, did i..?” 

heeseung looks up, meeting your gaze with a shocked expression, “what?”

“yeah,” you nod, “it doesn’t hurt to think about it, right? it’s not like you’re asking me to completely fuck you—a blowjob wouldn’t hurt us right? especially if it’s going to help you.”

he blinks. heeseung might think you’re going insane, and he’s the one that asked you for the blowjob. no way you were actually considering this for him.

what did he do in his past life to gain such a supportive, pretty best friend.

“so… you’ll think about it?” your best friend's voice is quiet when he asks, like he’s scared to speak up any louder. “like, seriously?”

“yeah,” nodding your head, you flash him a reassuring smile. agreeing to suck off your friend before his professional video game competition, a totally normal request.

when heeseung leaves your apartment, you immediately cuss yourself out. why the fuck would you practically agree to that? 

but when you think about telling the boy no, your heart cracks. why? you don’t know. but what you do know is that you would rather die than look at his big sad brown eyes when you tell him you can't give him a special blowjob for his special day.

you were no pro at sucking dick, but you were dedicated to this friendship.

heeseung bounced his leg with nervousness and anticipation. you texted him that you were on the way to his hotel, which would’ve been normal and completely fine considering you attend all of his comps, but today was different.

you never answered his question.

he wonders if maybe you forgot about it. he also hopes you didn’t forget. ever since he asked you the big question, heeseung couldn’t get you out of his mind.

every night leading up to today, he’d lie awake staring at his ceiling trying to push every image of you sitting pretty between his legs out of his mind. the feeling of his cock hardening to the thought of you made him want to dive out of the nearest window.

it’s not like he didn’t think you were hot or that the idea of being intimate with you disgusted him, but it’s the fact that he promised to never be like every other guy.

the two of you were very close. from cuddling while watching movies to holding hands in a crowded area to heeseung beating up creepy men at dive bars for you—you both had a tight knit friendship. and he always promised that he would never cross that line. he might be a total loser but he liked to consider himself a gentleman at the same time.

that day, he did. yet you were still attending something that meant the world to him when you could’ve told him to fuck off and die.

four knocks at the door rips heeseung away from his thoughts.

with sweaty hands and knees that felt like jelly, heeseung grips the door knob and opens it, plastering the fakest smile he could muster up. “hey.” did his voice crack? fuck my life. 

“hi!” you hold up two bags filled with a variety of snacks with a large smile on your face, “i brought some stuff for this weekend.”

he clears his throat and steps to the side, letting you enter his hotel room. heeseung averts his gaze to the ceiling as you walk by him, afraid of letting his eyes stay on you–what if he accidentally looks at your ass?

“what time does it start today?” you ask, completely unaware of the emotional distress your male best friend was going through. so nonchalant and unmoving. maybe you did forget afterall. 

heeseung takes a seat at the desk in his hotel room, where he had a temporary p.c. set up in case he needed a practice game. “uhh, it’s at six this time.”

“jeez… you guys won't be leaving until late then.” you glance at the clock and back to him. he has to leave very soon. how do you casually start giving your best friend a blowjob within the next fifteen minutes.

“yeah, you know of all people that these things can go for hours. you’re gonna be there for the last few rounds right?”

you nod, wondering if heeseung could notice the way you’re practically gawking at him. was he always this hot? it’s stupid question when you’re fully aware of how attractive heeseung was and currently is. maybe it was the way he was dressed up for his competition tonight, or the way he leaned back on his hands and spread his legs comfortably. 

the baggy black hoodie that you knew he was wearing by itself with nothing underneath paired with his baggy jeans that sat so perfectly on his hips. you were fully aware that you were checking out your best friend. he’s fucking hot, why else would you agree to do any of this?

you wonder if he’s thought about this as much as you have. is he nervous? is he vocal? how long does it take for him to get hard and how big is he?

“hey,” you don’t know where the confidence is coming from, but you find yourself kneeling in front of him with your hands on his knees, “you’re gonna do great and win this. like you always do. i’ll make sure of it.”

heeseung almost chokes on his own spit when you suddenly slip between his legs, “wha- what are you doing..?”

“did you not want my help? or did you forget?” you ask him, genuine confusion. “i-if you already-”

“no!” heeseung cuts you off, grabbing your hand with his. “i mean, i still do. i just didn’t think you were down.”

you rub your other hand up his thigh, fingers mere centimeters away from his crotch area. so close to where he needs you, yet so far. “of course i am. what good are best friends if they can’t help each other out?”

heeseungs breath hitches when your hand grazes the zipper of his jeans. he lets go of your other hand and you take it as a cue to keep going.

“just let me take care of you, hee.”

and for the first time ever, that nickname made his cock twitch.

just the view he had of you sitting pretty between his thighs, hesitant but still full of confidence as you softly palmed him through his jeans was enough for him to be leaking.

“can i…” you ask quietly, fingers on the button of his jeans. he nods once and gulps as you immediately pop the button open and move to the zipper. it feels like hours before you’re finally pulling his jeans down below his hips. 

you can’t lie and say the bulge of his hardening cock, covered by his calvin kleins, wasn’t making your mouth water. you push his hoodie up slightly, the way your cold fingertips hit his lower stomach as you grab the waistband of his boxers has his stomach tensing under your touch. you let out a small gasp when his cock almost springs out of his boxers.

your best friend is packing. 

heeseung almost chuckles when he catches your reaction. 

“don’t laugh.”

“i’m not.”

“i can see it!” you argue back.

heeseung rolls his eyes, “please just continue.” 

“i won't if you keep up that attitude. you know we have less than fifteen minutes.” you retort after hearing him scoff. 

“i can miss rehearsals.”

“heeseu-”

“god, please let me just fuck your mouth.”

oh my god? were you supposed to be turned on? you bite your lip and look down in his lap, taking his cock in your hand with a soft but firm grip. you lean forward and let spit slowly drip from your mouth as you start pumping him. 

heeseung lets out a quiet groan and you look up at him—wide eyes that are practically asking, is this good? you continue to gently fist his cock, getting him nice and hard before you start using your mouth on his. 

“i hope you win.” is all you say before you kiss his tip and sink your mouth onto him.

the boy is practically seeing stars. you just started and he’s already moaning like a bitch. it felt so good, he can’t rip his gaze from you, watching the way your lips wrap around him tightly and your cheeks hollow out as you literally suck him in. 

“fuck, like that…” his hand finds sanctuary wrapped around your hair, not yet pushing you down on his cock completely, but more so as guidance. 

you let go out his cock with a pop and continue pumping him with your fist, licking the underside of his base as you make direct eye contact. he lets out a groan and lets his head fall back.

“you don’t have to hold back heeseung,” you mumble, but the lust was evident in your tone. “don’t be gentle, this is for you.”

“holy fuck, don’t say that.” you giggle at his response and smile against his tip before taking him back into your mouth. heeseung grips your hair tighter and pushes you further down his cock per your request. he can hear you inhale deeply through your nose as you attempt to take all of him. but of course you can’t. 

you stroke what you can’t fit and let heeseungs hand guide you up and down his cock. he uses all self control to not thrust into your mouth. heeseung hisses through his teeth every time your lips tighten around the tip of his dick, feeling somewhat more sensitive than he usually is. 

a guttural moan rips from his throat when your hand comes up to squeeze his balls, offering a helping hand in making him cum soon. time was ticking. but heeseung did not care whatsoever, especially after that move.

he almost wishes he knew how fucking good you were at giving head before all of this. your mouth was so warm, wet and tight around his cock–he was in heaven. heeseung genuinely thinks this is one of the best blowjobs he’s ever gotten. his hips buck, suddenly pushing his cock deep inside of your mouth and hitting the back of your throat. you cough around his cock in surprise but it only spurs your best friend on.

maybe it was the fact that you’re his best friend. sure, it’s not taboo by any means, but there are lines that are never to be crossed in these sorts of relationships–holy shit, heeseung was on cloud 9. 

“oh my god,” he whines, “you’re so good at this. fuck–god, don’t stop.”

his words, his moans, his whines–they all send tingles down your spine and straight to your core. you can’t deny the throb in your cunt though. 

you continue to squeeze and fondle his balls as you let heeseung completely guide your head deeper onto his cock, thrusting his hips upwards and meeting your mouth halfway. your other hand grips his thigh, keeping you stable and relaxed as he abuses your throat with the head of his cock. 

the groan that leaves your mouth when he tugs your hair tighter is accidental, you look up at heeseung. he looks beautiful like this. a pink blush across his cheeks, damp forehead, and hazy eyes. you were surely dripping through your panties now. 

“yeah? you like t-this too, huh?” heeseung spits out. now you’re almost jealous of every woman he’s managed to pull, because fuck did that just turn you on even more. “want me to use your mouth however i want?”

you moan in response, nodding your head. heeseung lets out a long exhale as he shoves your head down his cock again. tears line your eyes and threaten to spill over, trying to relax your throat to take him completely. 

“y-you’re taking me so good, y’know that? so good, baby.”

immediately, your hand that was once on heeseungs thigh is making its way down and into your shorts. you were soaked. 

heeseung lets out another choked moan when he notices your hand in your shorts, circling your clit as you let him fuck your throat. how badly he also wishes you would just take those stupid shorts off and let him see exactly what you’re doing, he yearns to see you play with yourself one day. 

“playing with yourself while you let me use this pretty mouth…” heeseung groans, lifting your head for a mere second before pushing you down his cock again. your hand tightens around his balls and he almost whimpers at the sensation. “you like this just as much, fucking pervert.”

you let out a whine, tears falling down your cheeks, you were already so close.

heeseung gets rougher, guiding your head much faster than before. your lips were burning and there was spit completely covering your other hand. but still, you continue to suck and lick at his cock as if it were your last meal, letting him force his way down your throat. 

“‘m so close. so fucking close.” now you're both whimpering. “fuckfuckfuck, gonna cum soon, baby. keep going, please, hah–you feel so fucking good.”

his words were enough for you to hit your peak, an orgasm washing through your body immediately. you’re squirming and whining, sending vibrations down heeseungs cock. 

“ah, fuck,” he continues to let words fall out of his mouth in the form of broken moans, “y-yeah, ‘ts so good. feels so good.” heeseung suddenly pushes your head all the way down, your nose making contact with the soft hair as the base of his cock, and he cums. 

thick, hot ropes of cum covering the back of your throat. you’re gagging and choking at the full feeling, wanting to pull back so badly, but he doesn’t stop–not until he’s milked dry. 

after what feels like an eternity, he lets go and you pull back, gasping and coughing but swallowing most of his cum in the process. your hands fly to your neck as you massage it and catch your breath.

heeseung on the other hand was breathing heavily. that was the best orgasm he’s ever had.

“holy fuck.”

you look up at the male, who seemed like he was about to pass out, “hee, you have to go.” your voice is raspy and weak. 

“i can’t.” he responds, out of breath. “that was amazing. i can’t move.”

you stand up and pull him up with you, balancing him when he stumbles forward. “seriously, you have to go now.” now you’re putting his cock away for him, he hisses loudly at the feeling but you ignore it and zip up his jeans. “now.”

heeseung sighs and looks down at you, “did you.. get off like that?”

you tighten your lips and nod hesitantly.

“god. god, you’re amazing.” he breathes out, wanting nothing more than to throw you down on the bed and fuck you until he physically cannot. “please, please be here when i get back, i’m literally begging you.”

you nod at him, reassuring him that you’ll be here when he’s done as you usher him out of the hotel room. “i will, hee. just go.” you suppose this is what best friends are for after all.

“and do not show up to the comp tonight or i will be hard the entire fucking time.”

[poguehearted77]

Baby Steps

Summary: You and Rafe are expecting your first child and decide to take a trip to the beach, not expecting to be joined by a guest with chubby cheeks and pull ups.

-some more domesticated rafe as per your request-

The golden hues of the late afternoon sun stretch across the horizon, casting a warm glow over the beach as you and Rafe arrive. You smile at the feeling of the hot sand between your toes.

The waves lazily lap against the shore, creating a serene soundtrack to your special day. It was a beautiful day out, for sure. With the cooler gripped in one hand, with the umbrella on top, and the box containing a special mini cake in his other hand, Rafe is already in full preparation mode.

“Here, let me help with that,” you offer, but Rafe shakes his head, his grin both charming and determined. "You're already carrying something valuable, let me handle the rest, okay?" Rafe reassures you as he places the items down in a nice vacated space.

Far enough from the waves to not get wet, but close enough to still hear the water cracking against the sand at an amplified volume as the perfect white noise for you to do some beach reading. You glance down at your rounded belly, letting your left hand rest over the precious cargo he's referring to.

"I'm only four months, babe. I can still carry things. Just let me help you set up at least." You hold onto the muscle of his upper arm with a soft frown and he can't resist. An idea visibly dawned upon him. "Yeah, you know what." He props open the cooler and pulls out a chilled bottle of water, "I need you to drink this, I don't want you to get too hot."

Your eyes roll and you take the bottle, about to ease yourself down onto the beach chair when Rafe is suddenly behind you, a guiding palm on your lower back to lighten your load as you sit down. "Rafe, you're joking, right? I know how to sit down by myself." You huff and he sees you're starting to get frustrated.

He crouches down to be near you, "Look, baby. I'm sorry, okay? It's all just so new to me and I don't want anything to happen to you or the baby especially not if I can help it." Your arms unfold, and your composure melts under his apologetic gaze.

How could you be mad at him? He was just so cute and excited to be a dad, he wanted to make sure you had the safest, most comfortable pregnancy possible, and he made sure of that at all times. He set up everything while you didn't lift a finger.

You'd even slipped into a light nap as he did so. Waking up under the shade of the beach umbrella and almost certain there was an extra layer of sunscreen on your arms that wasn't there before.

Your towels laid out on the sand in front of you where Rafe knelt, the cake now put away in the cooler as he organized the supplies in the first-aid kit he insisted on bringing along.

"Is this all you're gonna do all day?" You mumble, lifting up your sun hat a bit to see him better and he smiles. "Well, you fell asleep on me, so I was keeping myself busy." Taking that as your cue to stand, leaving your hat behind on the chair and untying the flowy coverup you'd been wearing.

"I'm up now, let's get in the water." He's right behind you as your heels kick up sand with your eager steps to the ocean. Your laughs blend harmoniously in the water. Playful splashes and stolen kisses fill your afternoon for the next hour until you're ready for lunch.

Now Rafe was lounging under the shade, sunglasses covering his sky-blue eyes as he relaxed on the chair. Meanwhile, you enjoyed the warm sun kissing your skin as you sat on the towel, preparing some sandwiches for you both to share.

That brings you to now, the two of you sitting on the sandy towels with satiated appetites and a pleased smile on your faces, enjoying each other's company. "You ready now?" Rafe proposes, referring to the mini cake in the cooler which had either a pink or blue filling. You shake your head.

"Not yet, I need more time." He laughs, "At this rate, you'll find out when the baby comes." He says casually and your brow arches, "Only me? Don't you mean the both of us?" His head shakes, "Uh uh, I'm eating that cake with or without you." He jokes and you swat at him, causing him to spill some water from the bottle he was sipping before putting it away.

His attention was stolen from you and focused on something behind you, before you could even turn your head, Rafe's reflexes are shown as his arms reach out for the tumbling toddler who'd tripped over the uneven terrain and it seems she'd been running at a pace faster than her chunky legs could keep up with.

"Woah! Hey there, pudding," The nickname rolls off Rafe's tongue so naturally you hardly even recognize it, she looks up at him from within his stronghold. "Hi!" She waves and Rafe smiles so big it warms your heart to see.

"Where are your parents?" He follows up but she busies herself with the chain around his neck, blabbering the words 'Dada' in the sweetest voice you'd ever heard.

Rafe's eyes crinkle at the corners with his smile as he looks at you, mouthing the words, "She's so cute" and you mouth back, "I know," "I wonder where her parents are." You say, checking the tag on her swim top for any signs of identification but nothing. The two of you stand, the toddler hanging off Rafe's side, having the time of her life with a cheeky smile.

The two of you paced the beach, up and down. "I know her parents are worried sick," You mutter, checking your phone for any services you can contact for a 'lost baby on the beach please help!'

"If they don't come back, do you think we can keep her?" Rafe inquires and you laugh, "It's probably every parent's nightmare to hear a stranger say that as you're holding their missing child." You say, stopping in your tracks and placing your hands on your back with a sigh, worn out from all the walking.

"Are you okay?" Rafe checks in and you nod, "Maybe we should just go back and wait? Her parents might be walking around too and we keep missing them." Rafe agrees and the three of you walk back to your place on the beach, each of you holding her hand as she had insisted on being put down.

You kept her busy once you returned to your spot, building sand castles and giving her some water and sunscreen to keep her hydrated and protected from the slowly setting sun.

"How old are you?" Rafe laughs at your attempts to have full conversations with who he assumes is a two-year-old, but your guess was three. "Me Ava." She says and your eyes widen. Your initial question remained unanswered but now you had other answers.

"Ava! Hi Ava!" You coo, tickling her tummy until she's a bundle of fits and giggles, completely oblivious to the longing look Rafe has on you. "Tummy!" She says, and you laugh, not sure what she's talking about until she places a hand on your belly. "Big tummy!" She repeats and Rafe can't help but stifle a laugh at her direct observation.

"That's right. There's a baby in here." You explain but her head tilts, lost. "Baby?" You gave the soft waves of her hair a gentle pat, admiring her innocence, "Yep, it's either a girl baby or a boy baby." To your surprise, she begins chanting for a 'boy baby'. "See, Ava gets it." Rafe teases, always taking the opportunity to talk about having the boy he so desperately begs you for as if you had any say in the matter.

"Hungry," She whines and that sends Rafe digging into the cooler for snacks. You let her decide which fruit she wanted but her eye had caught sight of the mini container of cake that had been taken out in order to find the other items.

"Looks like she knows what she wants," Rafe smiles and you think about it, "We can't give her sugar, Rafe. Here, do you want some watermelon?" Her focus now is on the juicy red fruit you presented to her on a plate.

She must be fond of it, slurping up the juices and making a mess of her top. Fortunately, it was later washed off with the salt water when Rafe insisted on playing with her after she'd digested her food.

The sun was slowly beginning to set and the three of you had been lounging around for the last thirty minutes or so, when Ava made a loud shriek, "Mama!" She yelled, hopping off the towel and into her mom's arms.

Ava's mom graces you with a tight hug and a desperate stream of never-ending apologies and gratitude. She congratulated you on the little one you were expecting, confident you'd be amazing parents. "Now, what do you say to the nice people who watched you, Ava?" Her mom prompts, with what you could imagine is a very secure hold on Ava's hand, ensuring she doesn't slip away again.

"Thank you!" She beams, showing off her tiny baby teeth and you feel a twinge of sadness at the thought of her leaving. The last two hours, though chaotic, gave you the reassurance you were looking for with the whole parenting thing.

You wave them goodbye and you take a deep breath, "I'm ready," You don't have to explain anything more and you're both walking back to your spot to cut the cake. Only to see a toddler-sized footprint in it that Ava must've caused as she got up, denting the container and the contents inside smushing against its confines.

Pink.

"Wait…" You say, in disbelief, kneeling down with Rafe doing the same. "Are we-" He says, eyes misting over and you call him out, "Hey, I thought you wanted a boy." He holds you close, "I thought so too, but I'm honestly just glad it's with you." He brings you in for a kiss on your forehead. She's so loved already and she doesn't even know it.

[greengoblinswifey]

Little Do You Know—Player 001/Hwang In Ho x Fem!Reader

summary—after making a passing remark on the possibility of the front man being attractive, your crush on young-il who unbeknownst to you is the front man, boils over. based on this request.

warnings— flirting, oral(f&m receiving), praising, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie.

The group sat gathered around with a small meal, the kind of makeshift dinner that felt comforting despite the bleak circumstances. Gi-hun leaned back, his arms crossed, recounting some story about the Front Man. “I’m telling you, he has cameras everywhere. He probably sees and hears everything we’re saying.”

The mood was tense, as it often was when the Front Man became the topic of conversation. But your lips twitched upward, a thought making you suppress a giggle.

Dae-ho, ever the curious one, caught it immediately. “What’s so funny?” he asked, narrowing his eyes in your direction.

You waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, nothing. It’s silly. Forget it.”

Young-il, sitting across from you, tilted his head slightly, his expression soft. “Come on,” he said gently, his voice soothing in a way that made you feel oddly safe. “Anything you have to say, we’ll appreciate. Don’t hold back.”

Encouraged by his tone, you hesitated for just a moment before shrugging. “Alright, but don’t judge me.” You exhaled a breathy laugh, looking down at your lap for a second before glancing back up. “What if the Front Man is, like—really hot?”

The reaction was instant. Dae-ho choked on his milk, sputtering, while Jun-Hee’s eyes widened slightly before she went back to eating as if she hadn’t heard you. Even Jung-Bae, usually laid back, looked at you like you’d just grown a second head.

“Seriously?” Gi-hun said, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s what you’re concerned about?”

“What?” you asked defensively, your shoulders lifting in mock innocence. “I’m just saying. It’s possible!”

Gi-hun groaned, covering his face with his hands. “We’re talking about a guy who might be orchestrating all this madness, and you’re worried if he’s good-looking?”

Before you could respond, your eyes flicked to Young-il. Everyone else was either laughing awkwardly or shaking their heads, but Young-il wasn’t saying a word. Instead, a subtle smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, almost imperceptible to anyone else. Almost.

Your gaze stayed on him for a moment, your brow quirking as you tilted your head slightly in return, a silent question hanging between the two of you. His smirk deepened just enough for you to catch the meaning, amusement, maybe even intrigue, but he quickly smoothed his expression before anyone else noticed. He was hot too, you thought.

Gi-hun, still shaking his head, muttered, “Out of everything you could be thinking about.”

“Well, excuse me for lightening the mood,” you shot back playfully, rolling your eyes. “It’s not like I said I wanted to marry him or something. Geez.”

As the group moved on, you couldn’t help but replay the moment in your head. Maybe you were overthinking it, but wasn’t Young-il’s smirk a little too knowing? Or maybe it was just your ridiculous crush on him twisting your perception. You’d never admit it out loud, but you found yourself drawn to his quiet confidence, the calm authority he exuded even in casual moments like this.

It was ironic, really, here you were crushing on Young-il while joking about the Front Man. Little did you know, the very man you were teasing about might as well have been sitting right in front of you, wearing the mask in plain sight.

You shook the thought off with a small laugh. Overthinking, as usual. Still, when Young-il glanced your way again, his gaze warm and unreadable, you couldn’t stop your stomach from fluttering.

The night had settled into a familiar stillness, broken only by the occasional shuffle of someone shifting in their sleep. You couldn’t sleep, your earlier exchange with Young-il replaying in your mind. That smirk, so brief, had lodged itself in your thoughts.

You were still awake when he appeared, his footsteps quiet as he approached where you lay, tucked into a dim corner of the quarters. He didn’t say anything at first, just crouched down beside you, his dark eyes searching yours.

“Can’t sleep either?” he asked softly.

“Guess not,” you replied.

He tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Still thinking about the Front Man being hot?”

“I didn’t mean to make it weird,” you said laughing and flustered.

“You didn’t,” he assured you. “But if I didn’t know better, I’d say you might have a type.”

Your cheeks warmed under his words, and you rolled your eyes, trying to deflect. “Oh, come on. I was joking.”

“Were you?” he teased, his smile widening just a bit.

You were about to retort, but something in his expression stopped you. His hand, warm and steady, brushed against your cheek, lingering for just a moment before he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“You know,” he said, his tone teasing, “if you wanted to get something off your chest, now’s the time.”

Your breath hitched. “What are you trying to say, Young-il?”

“Just that I’m here,” he replied, “If there’s something you want.”

His words sent a jolt through you, and before you could second guess yourself, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his. The kiss started slow, testing the waters, but quickly deepened as his hand came up to cradle your face.

The thought of the games seemed to fall away as you lost yourself in the way his lips moved against yours. His hands were firm but gentle, holding your face as the kiss turned hungrier, more insistent. His fingers found their way into your hair, tugging slightly, drawing a low moan from him that you quickly stifled.

“Quiet,” he murmured against your lips, a teasing smirk playing on his face as his thumb brushed over your cheek. “We wouldn’t want to wake anyone, would we?”

Your heart raced as his lips moved to your neck, his hands on your waist as he guided you back against the small bed. He trailed kisses down your chest, his kisses slow and savoring every moment.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

A soft gasp escaped your lips as his kisses grew bolder, trailing lower. He pulled off your bottoms and your lace panties, tongue licking from your hole to your clit. The way he did it so suddenly, so smoothly, made your pussy throb. You instinctively bit down on your lip, your hands fisting the fabric beneath you as you fought to keep your composure.

“Relax,” he whispered. “Let me taste you.”

His hands slid down your thighs, spreading them open as he adjusted your position. He glanced up at you, his dark eyes meeting yours with a glimmer of mischief and tenderness. You pressed your lips together tightly, his skilled tongue flicking your clit then moving to your leaking hole.

“Don’t hold back too much,” he murmured, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “I want to hear those pretty moans, just a little.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, his tone leaving you breathless. You felt the warmth of his fingertips on your thighs and the tenderness of his kisses on your pussy, and his praises were a quiet balm to the storm of emotions swirling inside you because of the game.

“You taste so fucking good,” he whispered. “You’re perfect.”

Your fingers gripped his shoulders as he continued ravishing your pussy, mouth engulfing you and sucking as though the meal from earlier wasn’t enough. He was attentive to your pleasure, fingers pumping steadily inside your pussy as sucked and flicked your clit with precision. The precision you expected and appreciated in an older man. No one had ever made you feel this good. The pleasure was otherworldly and your legs shook from it all.

The coil in your abdomen and euphoria built with every passing second and you had to clamp a hand over your mouth to keep quiet. His words and actions blurred together, creating a warmth that left you trembling. When his tongue brought you to your peak, you bit down on your lip to stifle a cry, your entire body shuddering as he pressed a soft kiss to your clit.

“You did amazing,” he said softly, his lips brushing against your ear as he leaned closer.

You gently nudged Young-il to lie back, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “My turn,” you murmured, your fingers grazing the waistband of his bottoms.

He raised an eyebrow, a chuckle escaping him, but there was no mistaking the lust in his gaze. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you interrupted softly.

Slowly, you slid his bottoms down, taking in the sight of his, long, thick cock with a mixture of nervousness and determination. He was big, but you could take him. His sharp inhale was audible as your lips wrapped around the head, his hand instinctively brushing against your cheek as you went down.

“You’re too good to me,” he whispered, his voice low and tinged with awe.

Your fingers wrapped around his girth, careful and deliberate, and you began to stroke as you sucked with a rhythm that earned a quiet moan from him. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, but you focused, letting his quiet praises guide you.

“Just like that,” he murmured, his fingers threading in your curls. “You’re doing so well.”

You glanced up at him, mouth full, eyes watering and saliva mixed with pre cum dripping down your chin. Your cheeks warmed from his words and the darkness of his gaze. The way he looked at you like you were the most beautiful little thing in the world as you took him down your throat made your heart race. You bobbed your head faster, using as much tongue as you could on his thick shaft, your actions conveying what words couldn’t.

The effect was immediate. His head fell back against the pillow, a low moan escaping him as his free hand gripped the fabric beneath him.

“God, you’re incredible,” he said, his voice rough. “That pretty face of yours, how will I last?”

You couldn’t help but smile with his cock buried in your throat, your movements continued, now slower and purposeful as you went up and down. His breathing grew heavier, and his hand in your hair tightened slightly as he struggled to maintain composure.

“You’re too good,” he managed, his voice breaking slightly. “I—”

Before he could finish, the coil in him snapped, and his praises were replaced with a low, drawn out moan of relief. You swallowed the ropes of hot cum, watching as he tried to catch his breath, his gaze locking with yours almost immediately.

“You’re perfect,” he said, his tone full of affection and disbelief. He reached out to cup your face, pulling you closer until his lips pressed against yours, savoring the taste of himself on your lips.

Your confidence emboldened by the way he looked at you with dazed, lust filled eyes. His hands still rested on your waist, fingers brushing your skin as you leaned into him, your voice soft but teasing.

“Can I ride you?” you asked, pussy aching for him.

His lips curved into a smile, his thumbs drawing slow circles on your hips. “Anything you want, princess,” he murmured.

You bit your lip as you shifted, settling over his hard cock with a nervous laugh that he silenced by cupping your cheek. “Take your time,” he said.

When you finally sank down onto his length, his hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding you with a steady rhythm that sent shivers down your spine. The quiet moan he let out made you even wetter, and you instinctively leaned forward, resting your hands on his chest for balance.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice rough but filled with admiration. “You ride me so well, just like that.”

His praises made you bolder, and you bounced on his cock with more confidence, your breathing shallow as he let his hands roam, one sliding up to gently cup your tits. The warmth of his touch made you bite back a moan and his eyes darkened as he noticed.

“You’ve got to be quiet pretty girl,” he whispered, his hands still steadying you. “Think you can do that?”

You nodded quickly, though the feeling building inside you made it harder with every moment. His grip on your hips tightened, and he thrusted up into you, the two of you finding a rhythm that made it impossible to focus on anything but how he stretched your pussy. He was so big, your pussy was sure to remember the shape of his cock after you were done.

“I want to cum with you,” you admitted breathlessly, leaning down so your lips were close to his ear. “Inside me.”

Young-il’s breath hitched, his eyes meeting yours with pure lust. A slow smirk spread across his face. “Beg for it,” he whispered.

Your cheeks burned, but the desire in his gaze made you bold. “Please,” you murmured, leaning closer. “I want you to cum with me. Please.”

He groaned softly, his hands gripping your hips even tighter. “Good girl,” he praised, his voice unsteady. “Just hold on to me.”

The pleasure between you reached its peak as his praises and your whispered pleas filled the air. When the release finally came, it was almost overwhelming, and you buried your face against his neck to stifle the moan that threatened to escape. His hands held you firmly in place as he came with you, cum spurting inside you while you soaked his cock, his breaths ragged but filled with relief.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured after a long pause, brushing stray strands of hair from your face. His gaze softened as he pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You couldn’t help but smile, your heart racing as you settled against him. “So are you,” you whispered back, letting the moment linger in the quiet comfort of his embrace.

[littlepeach-world]

 Which Boyfriend Calls Back First?

Pairing: Frontman/Hwang In-Ho x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and your friends test your boyfriends' responsiveness with a playful TikTok challenge, and naturally, your devoted boyfriend In-ho is the first to call back.

Warnings: Fluff, Cute!inho, Clingy!Inho, Protective!Inho.

Word count: 1k

You and your four friends—Yuri, May, Chaein, and Hayoung—gather around the dining table, each of you armed with your smartphones. The room buzzes with a mix of excitement and nervous laughter as you all prepare to join the latest TikTok trend: determining which of your boyfriends will respond the fastest to a missed call.

"Okay, ladies, are we ready?" Yuri asks, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Ready!" everyone chimes in unison.

You steal a glance at your friends, feeling the collective anticipation building up. "Alright, on the count of three: one, two, three!" you call out.

You all dial your respective partners simultaneously and then quickly hang up, creating what’s known as a "flash" call. The five of you place your phones back on the table, the screens facing up, and exchange amused and curious glances, eager to see which boyfriend will react first.

May leans back in her chair, crossing her arms with a smirk. "I bet Mark will call me back first. He's always so quick to respond."

Chaein laughs, shaking her head. "Oh please, Sunoo is definitely the fastest. Just wait and see."

You feel a familiar flutter of excitement as you look at your phone, fully confident in In-ho’s attentiveness. "Well, let’s just see about that," you say, grinning.

"Honestly, In-ho will probably call back first because he's so obsessed with Y/N. I mean, I'm surprised he even let her come out tonight," Yuri jokes with a knowing smile. 

It was no exaggeration; you and In-ho were practically inseparable. He despised being apart from you and would become upset if you were away for even a few hours. Heading out tonight to spend time with your friends had been an uphill battle, as he did everything he could to persuade you to stay with him instead. His unwavering devotion and the way he always wanted to be near you were endearing, adding a touch of romance to your relationship that made your bond even stronger.

Within moments, your phone lights up and starts ringing. The screen displays In-ho's name, and your heart does a little flip. You catch the surprised looks from your friends and can't help but laugh.

"Damn, In-ho’s fast!" Hayoung exclaims, genuinely impressed.

You pick up your phone, feeling a surge of warmth. "Hello?" you answer, trying to suppress a giggle.

"Is everything okay?" In-ho’s voice comes through, filled with concern.

"Everything's fine, love. It was just a little game we were playing," you say, your voice softening.

In-ho is renowned for his authoritative role and his emotionally guarded demeanor, but in moments like these, the depth of his love for you becomes undeniably clear. Despite the demands of his position as the Front Man, where he commands control and garners respect from everyone around him, you are the exception to his rigid exterior. Even amidst his busy schedule, he always ensures to carve out time for you, willing to drop anything at a moment's notice just to be by your side.

The room fills with light-hearted groans and chuckles as your friends mock-complain about losing the lighthearted competition. "Looks like Y/N's the winner," Yuri concedes with a playful pout.

You walk into another room, still on the phone with your love. In-ho's concern is palpable, yet there's a gentle humor in his voice as he says, "I could hear those groans and laughs—sounds lively over there."

"It's definitely lively," you reply, a soft laugh escaping. "We're just caught up in a silly game right now. But everything's all good, nothing to worry about."

There’s a brief pause, and you can imagine him thoughtfully staring into the distance, just as he often does.

"Are you having fun?" he asks, his tone lightening.

You smile, "Yeah, it's a lot of fun. We're all really into these goofy challenges."

"Good," In-ho replies, a warm undertone in his voice. "Do you need me to pick up anything from the store before you come back home?"

You think for a moment and then smile. "Actually, could you grab some snacks for later? You know, our usuals."

"Consider it done," he says with a hint of amusement in his voice. "Anything else?"

"No, that should be it. Thanks, love," you say, feeling grateful for his thoughtfulness. "Just get yourself home safely."

"I will," he promises. "I miss you."

Your heart swells at his simple admission. "I miss you too," you reply softly. "I'll see you soon."

As you hang up, your thoughts wander to the unique dynamic of your relationship with In-ho. You know that most people would probably find having a clingy, overprotective boyfriend suffocating or annoying. They might complain about the constant check-ins or the way he always wants to know you're safe. But for you, it's different. His attentiveness and concern are like a warm blanket on a cold night—they wrap you in a sense of comfort and security that you've come to cherish deeply.

You love how every call, every message from him is a small reminder that you are loved and valued. In a world that often feels chaotic and unpredictable, his protective nature provides a reassuring constant. In-ho has a way of making you feel like you are the most important person in his world, and it's a feeling you wouldn't trade for anything.

Your mind drifts back to a conversation you had with him not long ago. He had confessed that he had never been this way with anyone before. "I've never felt the need to be so protective," he had admitted, his voice soft but sincere. "But with you, I just want to make sure you're always okay."

His words had struck a chord deep within you. Knowing that his behavior wasn't a default setting but something unique to your relationship made you appreciate it even more. It was as if you had unlocked a part of him that had remained hidden until you came into his life.

Rejoining your friends, you can't help but smile, the warmth of In-ho's recent call lingering like a tender embrace. The noise and laughter around you feel a bit more vibrant, the evening a bit more enjoyable, all because of the love and devotion you know is waiting for you at home.

[mrsbarnesblog]

unspoken

masterlist

summary: after a heated argument, Rafe is terrified he’s pushed you too far and that might actually lose you

word count: 1.6k

warnings: allusions to sex, hurt/comfort, insecurities, fear of loss

The room was only lightened by the bedside lamp, casting long shadows over the bed where you and Rafe lay tangled in the sheets. The air was thick with the weight of the situation. Your small argument, just a simple misunderstanding, somehow quickly took the wrong turn, and you both said things that you didn’t mean to.

You were fighting, pouring all the pent-up energy and exhaustion from work, and Rafe’s stubbornness didn’t exactly make it easier. It felt raw and vulnerable, and then suddenly it all led to you stumbling into your bedroom and ripping your clothes off each other. 

Your breathing was still heavy, and your body was still feeling hot and tingly from what had happened just a few minutes ago.

Rafe's chest rose and fell beneath the sheets, his arm thrown across his forehead as he lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He hadn't said a word since the argument in the kitchen, which was so unusual of him. His kisses and the way he touched your body weren’t in his typical longing and teasing way; they were angry, almost desperate. Now, there was a silence hanging between you, thick and almost suffocating.

And you knew that partly it was your fault. Blinded by the rage and hurt, you said something that you would’ve never said in the right mind. Something that you should’ve never used against Rafe, knowing his sensitiveness about this topic. But the words about you better get out of his life and you not even knowing why you were still there left your mouth before you could actually process it. 

You instantly regretted it. Seeing the sudden change in his face and eyes and the way his posture became more tense, another sharp reply died on his tongue. You wanted to say something else, soften the situation, but it was too late when Rafe dealt with the problem the only way he knew—he kissed you with all he had, not allowing you to say anything else. Pulling you flush against his body, he gripped the back of your neck until you answered him with the same energy. 

Your words felt like a bucket of cold water, and he panicked, knowing that it might be it. Rafe knew that sex was not a good way to solve a problem, but it was the only thing he thought he was genuinely good at. He wanted to please you, to beg you to stay, so he led you to your bedroom, even if he felt empty inside, even he couldn’t say anything out loud because of the lump in his throat. 

Now, as the argument faded away, when it all seemed too stupid to even argue about, it was weirdly uncomfortable. Rafe’s mind was spiraling. He was too scared to even look at you, too afraid that the simple move or word might push you to get up and actually leave.

You slowly turned onto your side, as if afraid to make noise in the dead silence of your bedroom, your heart pounding with guilt and worry, unsure of where to even begin. You could feel the emotional distance between you two, and it stung. Rafe wasn’t usually the type to get vulnerable or emotional, yet you knew that he took everything too close to his heart. This time, something had shifted in him, and it left you unsettled because you were the reason. You could feel his presence next to you, but it was different.

Slowly, you reached out and laid your hand on his chest. He flinched, but then, after a moment, his hand covered yours, squeezing gently and letting out a shaky breath. He didn’t say anything, but the tension between you was palpable.

"I didn't mean it." You whispered, your voice thick with regret. "I didn’t mean to make you think that was the end. I just… I was angry, and I didn’t know how to say what I really felt. But I’m not going anywhere. I don’t want to leave you." You stopped for a second, noticing the way he clenched his jaw. “I’m so sorry.”

The words seemed to hang in the air for a beat before Rafe finally moved, turning to face you. His eyes were raw and tired, and there was a certain despair in them that made your heart ache. He reached up slowly, his hand trembling as he gently traced your cheek with his fingertips, as if trying to reassure himself that you were still here and that you weren’t slipping away from him.

“I thought… I thought you were done with me.” He murmured, his voice thick with emotions. “I thought I’d messed up too much, that I’d pushed you too far. And I couldn’t take it, I couldn't imagine not having you in my life.”

You felt his breath hitch as his thumb grazed the corner of your mouth, his gaze softening with a mix of relief and still-present fear.

“Oh, Ray…” You said gently, reaching up to cup his face, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. “I’m not going anywhere. You’ve never pushed me too far. We fight, we argue, but I don’t want to lose you. I love you. I love you too much to just walk away.”

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he blinked them away quickly, but it was too late—you saw them, the rawness in them that he was trying so hard to hide.

His chest tightened, and he exhaled shakily, a sob escaping him before he could stop it. He pulled your still naked body close, burying his face in your neck, his hands gripping you like he was afraid if he let go, you’d vanish.

“I’m sorry.” He choked out, sneaking one hand around your waist to find some comfort in the feeling of your skin on his. “For being so difficult and stubborn. I don’t know how to be better. I don’t know how to make you understand how much you mean to me.”

You held him tighter, your hand running through his hair as you soothed him. “You don’t have to be perfect, Rafe. You just have to be you. And that’s enough for me. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

For a long while, you lay there, wrapped in each other's arms. The anger had faded, replaced with something deeper, another level of trust and vulnerability that were new for your relationship. With how hard it was for Rafe to open up and express himself, it was a big step, and you wanted to do everything in your power to make him comfortable.

Rafe still wasn’t entirely sure of himself, but you could feel him beginning to trust in your words as his body relaxed against yours, his breath slowing. His hand never left your face, his thumb still tracing the curve of your cheek like he was trying to memorize every detail of you.

“I was so scared.” Rafe murmured, his voice trembling as he buried his face in the curve of your neck. “I thought I’d lost you... and you’re my entire word.”

You felt his breath warm against your skin, and your heart ached at the tremble in his voice. You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, your fingers brushing the stray hair from his forehead. “You’re not going to lose me, Rafe.” You said softly, your voice carrying all the reassurance you could muster. “Not tonight, not ever. I promise.”

His jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line like he was trying to hold something back. But then he shook his head, his blue eyes locked on yours, glassy with unshed tears. “You’re the only thing that makes sense in my life. I don’t know what I’d do if you—”

You didn’t let him finish. Leaning in, you kissed him deeply, your lips catching his in a way that was tender but still confident enough to show that what you said was true. His hand slid up to cup the back of your head, his grip firm like he needed this connection to anchor himself. When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together as the weight of the moment settled around you.

“You’re stuck with me, Rafe Cameron. And don’t think that you can get rid of me this easily, even if you’re annoying me sometimes.”

A quiet laugh escaped him, shaky and uncertain, but it was a laugh nonetheless. “Good.” He said, his voice barely audible. “Because I don’t think I could handle it any other way.”

You smiled, your hand smoothing over his back in slow, comforting strokes as his body began to relax against yours. He exhaled a deep, shuddering breath, the tension that had gripped him loosening with every beat of your heart.

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy anymore; it was warm and allowed you to finally fully enjoy the presence of each other. Rafe pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering there as if savoring the moment. And as the hours stretched on, the night wrapped around you like a cocoon, and you both were too lost in each other to care about the outer world. 

For the rest of the night, words became unnecessary. Instead, there were soft kisses, quiet touches, and the unspoken promise that no matter what, everything is going to be okay. Wrapped in his arms, you felt the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek, and for the first time in what felt like forever, there was peace.

[adelheidvonschicksal]

Frowny Face

Summary: Nobara and Itadori try to figure out the similarities between Megumi and his son. They manage to find that the infamous Zen'in frowny face is a dominant trait.

Tags: Megumi x F!Reader, Humor, Fluff, SFW, 1200 wc

Notes: I had this drafted for weeks. After seeing the epilogue and the grandkids, wish I had posted sooner, I felt there wasn't a more appropriate time for this. Happy belated-birthday 'gumi.

“No, no, look again, he definitely has his eyes,” Itadori points out.

Nobara lowers her face towards the baby currently blinking at the two of them from the comfort of his plush crib. Megumi stands off to the side, arms loosely crossed over his chest and an increasingly spreading scowl as his two friends, if he could call them that right now, poke and prod at his kid.

Nobara was the first one to point out how much his child was growing and starting to resemble his parents before noticing that his new emerging features leaned heavily to your side of the family, leading to this search to pick out their similarities.

“I’m not seeing it,” Nobara disagrees, failing to find the hint of dark blue that Itadori swears he can see in the baby’s right pupil. To her, all she can see is black all the way through both eyes, like the majority of the Zen’in clan geezers from those centuries old family books she helped Maki trash; unfortunately, this didn't include Megumi so they couldn't even count it. With a hand on her hip, she turns to Megumi. “Sheesh, he doesn’t resemble you at all. The misses really said copy and paste, huh?”  

Megumi huffs, about three seconds away from shooing them into the kitchen where you’re making dinner. That’s until Itadori pipes up, “Sure he does.” And for a second, Megumi thinks they’ll finally drop this silly discussion. “He has the same grumpy face his dad does.”

Megumi sighs. He should’ve known better.

“Now that you mention it,” Kugisaki can barely contain her laughter as she reaches into the crib and gently pinches a chubby cheek. Your son makes no expression at her playful squeeze or poke to his belly. His tiny legs kick the same way any other baby would when tickled, but the flat line on his face refuses to budge. “This is the least smiley baby I’ve ever seen,” she concludes while Itadori nods in agreement as he goes in to tickle the baby’s foot – just to make sure.

Megumi knows the two idiots don’t mean any harm by it, being the person to receive the brunt end of their jokes and observations over his life, the kind that can only be made out of innocent obliviousness and overconfidence, but he can’t help but feel more defensive when it’s his kid.

“Do you two have nothing better to do than to shame a baby?” he gripes. “It’s late, go home.”

“Oh, lighten up, we were only teasing. He’s adorable,” Nobara dismisses as she notes how much bigger her future-partner-in-crime has become over the past few months. Looking back on it, she can’t recall any time she’s heard him laugh or much of anything. Sure, she’s seen him get fussy while babysitting, but she’s rarely heard him cry. “But you have to admit he isn’t very expressive…for a baby,” she mentions with a hint of concern, concern that isn’t needed from Megumi’s point of view.

“Maybe you two just aren’t funny,” he says, watching the way Itadori attempts to get his son to laugh by making silly faces; it results in little more than a fist full of pink hair getting tugged.

“I’m being serious. I mean…” she tilts her head, trying to word it delicately. “Does he smile at all?”

Megumi nods. “He smiles.”

“Does he?” Itadori presses, craning his neck as he struggles to free his hair.

“He does,” Megumi repeats, his eyes softening at the memory of that innocent and joyful giggle he first heard like an unimaginable dream come true. “It’s just when you’re not around.”

Nobara rubs at the back of her neck apologetically. “Sorry. I didn’t mean any offense by it. He’s a good baby,” she compliments before moving to help free Itadori’s hair from his iron-like grip. “And strong too,” she adds, looks at him, and clicks her tongue when she once again fails to find the bit of blue Itadori mentioned earlier, but it provides an opportunity to cut through the awkwardness they unwittingly created. She fakes a sigh. “Unlike your genes. I don’t think they even had a battle plan.”

“Very funny,” he puffs out between their chuckles then he hears another voice coming from the direction of the kitchen.

“That’s not true,” you say as you pad into the room with a milk bottle in hand, the grin on your face trembling as you try not to laugh with them. “They have a lot in common.” You begin to list off on your fingers. “They both like the same fruit and animals, he really likes books when you read to him, and do you think his hair maintains itself?”

Nobara breathes out an "oh" at your explanation. “So, he gets mom's good looks to balance out dad's aloof personality? Makes sense."

Your resistance breaks as you let out a giggle, ignoring the pout on your husband’s face. “Are you guys staying for dinner?”

“No, we should really get going,” Nobara states with a small yawn. “Mission reports won’t write themselves.”

You nod, handing Megumi the bottle of milk as you walk the others to the door and wave them off.

“Have a good night,” Itadori calls out while Nobara makes you promise to phone her tomorrow and to come hang out if you’re free.

Locking the door, you walk back in and head towards the crib.

“You really shouldn’t entertain them when they get like that," Megumi reminds you.

“You know they only do it to mess with you. It’s how they show they like you.”

“You mean they’re idiots.”

“Yet you open the door right up every time they come over.”

Megumi gives you a doubtful look. “Not by choice. It’d be like trying to stop a rampaging bull from barging in,” Megumi states, and you let out an amused huff. 

No matter how much he complains and comments that they haven't changed one bit after leaving school, he enjoys them. You remember how excited he seemed when Itadori called to ask if it was okay to pop in since they were nearby. Well, excited in that he immediately started to straighten out the house even though he had already cleaned earlier that morning. It's cute little quirks that often gives him away and the ones that make you like him even more.

“If it makes you feel better, I think you have a great personality and good looks,” you compliment with a brush of your hand over his hair. You look down at your son, who still seem unmoved by all the events of the evening. It makes you laugh because Nobara and Itadori were right. Your son does have Megumi’s ever-dull facial expression. 

“And both my boys have the cutest frowny faces,” you say, holding up your son to your face to nuzzle his nose. As you pull him away, your eyes brighten at the wide smile that flashes on his face followed by a warm giggle. “Hello to you too,” you coo and cuddle him again, causing another fit of giggles to fill the room, and the sound resonates in his chest and makes him forget any problems that arose on the way to getting to this point in his life.

“You forgot to tell them one thing,” Megumi says, coming forward to kiss your temple. As he told the others, his son does smile, and Megumi does too. “They both smile when they see mommy.”

[luveline]

Hey lovely !! <3 could we see Spencer’s bombshell! Reader going into labour at the BAU but trying to downplay it like Pam did on the office !! (So sorry if you’ve already done a request like this) <333 have a lovely day ☺️

thank you <3 pregnant!reader, 1.3k

“Spencer?” 

Spencer groans into his pillow. 

Your hand slips onto his stomach. “Spencer, can you wake up?” 

“No,” he mumbles, lifting his head off of one of the many pillows of your bed. He thought his bed at his apartment was comfortable, but Spencer has never slept so well as he does in your new bed, in your new home, with you warming the sheets beside him. What a miracle to live with you, the rush to get everything done before your due date complete. 

You make a strange noise, hard to see in the dark as he opens his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asks. 

You struggle into a sitting position. Angel, he thinks sympathetically, you’re fit to burst, your baby bump as big as it’s going to get and awfully heavy. He sits up with you, putting his hand behind your back. “Baby?” he prompts. 

“I think,” —you sound meek, not yourself, each word said reluctantly— “that I’m having real contractions.” 

Spencer’s head isn’t working. He takes a few seconds to hear you, and then another few to realise what you’ve said. “Are you sure?” 

“They’re really painful.” 

Braxton Hicks (which you’ve had, and not enjoyed) aren’t usually really painful. They’re also irregular. “How many have you had? Has it been long?” he asks. 

“Maybe five. They’re like…” You take his hand. “They’re like, they go on for ages. I’ve never felt anything like it.” 

“So you’re in labour,” he says, grasping your hand back. “Definitely. Let me get my watch, I need to time your contractions. Are you okay?” 

“Oh, no,” you say, shaking your head. “I’m not in labour. I’m going in to labour.”  

“It’s the same thing,” he says. He has boxes and boxes of mental knowledge explaining the difference, but he’s too excited to catch your strange tone. “I’ll be right back.” 

He races from the bed to the bathroom where he’d left his watch. You should be having contractions far apart at this point, around fifteen to twenty minute gaps, but it could be much further or far sooner, and Spencer doesn’t know when you had your last. He needs to time them properly so he knows when to take you to the hospital. 

“Good thing we packed your bag yesterday morning, huh?” he asks, sliding back into bed with a huge smile on his face. “And you showered last night, you’re ready to go. I have all our things in the trunk, but Morgan’s gonna have to come and do the car seat, I forgot all about it.” 

You shake your head again. 

He worries it’s from pain. “Is it starting?” 

“No, no, I’m not having any. I think it’s just cramps, actually.” 

“What?” He puts his hand on your bump. “That’s what they feel like, honey, it’s cramps, it’s your cervix contracting, it feels just like a cramp.” 

“No, I don’t think so.” 

Spencer cups your cheek, his fingertips sliding softly to the corner of your eye, his thumb by your nose. You look younger without any makeup on, younger still with your creeping frown. “Hey,” he says, his voice half breath, hoping you’ll look him in the eye, “hey, what’s going on?” 

Your eyebrows start to pinch down. “It’s not labour.” 

“Is something wrong?” 

“I’m not having her.” 

“She had to come out some time,” he says, attempting to be funny and lighten the mood. 

“I really think it’s fine. I’m just having those Braxton Hicks again, it’s too far from my due date–”

“Angel, it’s a week away. We knew it could happen now.” He strokes your cheek again. “We don’t have to go yet. Let me time a couple of your contractions and see what we’re working with.” 

“It’s not…” You duck your head. The catch of pain gets you, and Spencer checks his watch. Four minutes past four in the morning, the longest hand at five seconds. Then he looks for your hand again to hold in his, his own panic backseated by your denial. “They’re not that bad,” you say stiffly. 

“That’s good, honey, but they’re going to get worse. Remember what we said, huh? The pain will get really bad, but there’s nothing to be afraid of. We have a plan.” 

“It’s not real.” 

“Baby,” he says, tugging your hand imploringly to his chest, his voice having descended to a place it so rarely goes, “what are you scared of?” 

“That I can’t do it,” you say. 

“Is your contraction over?” he asks, noticing the laxening of your fingers. 

“Yeah.”

He’s silent for a few seconds. 

“Is there anything in the entire world that you can’t do?” 

You sniff. 

“Seriously. I can’t name a single thing you can’t do. This isn’t different. It’s going to be scary and painful, and it’s not something I want for you, not really, but you’re about to have a baby.” He rubs your thumb, ducking his head in the hopes that the movement will make you raise your own. “Our baby. We’ve waited such a long time.” 

“Nine months.” 

“Thirty nine weeks and two days. That's two hundred and seventy five days waiting. This is a good thing,” he says, meeting your eyes the moment you raise your head. “The waiting is over. This is the fun part.”

“‘Cos our girl is coming,” you say. 

He grins. “Exactly! I know you’re scared, but thinking you can’t do it? Of course you can. And I’m gonna be with you the whole time.” 

“You promise?”

“Of course I do.” 

You wipe your eyes with the backs of your hands. Spencer lets his palm fall onto your thigh. It really is going to hurt. It’s gonna be pain like you’ve never felt before, and he’s terrified of everything that could go wrong, but what’s important now is making sure you know you’re going to be alright. 

“You’re going to be a beautiful mom,” he says, rubbing your thigh, softer from time spent resting. “I’m so excited I can’t describe it. This time, the day after tomorrow, we could be here with her. We’ll be putting her down to sleep in the nursery in her newborn onesie we picked out, the–”

“Little rabbits,” you say, the hint of a smile on your lips. 

“I can’t wait to see her face.” 

“Her little fingers.” 

“Her nose, her eyes–”

“You said babies have their moms hands.” 

He smiles. “I have my mom’s. Can you imagine? And we get to find out today.” 

You let him touch your stomach. “I know what you’re doing.”

“You always do.” 

“I’m so scared.” 

“Sweetheart, let me be the scared one.” 

“You’re not gonna dilate ten centimetres!” 

“You’ve probably already done one,” he says. “Just nine more to go.” 

His joke doesn’t land. To his horror, you end up sniffling and locked up with panic. He rubs your back in long sweeps, feeling younger than ever kneeling in bed at your side, minutes droning on. He’s pulling your head into his neck thinking he’s completely out of your depth when you say, “It’s starting again, Spence.” 

He checks his watch. “That’s eleven minutes.” 

Your contractions will get worse soon, and closer together. You probably don’t have long until it starts, and labour might go on for hours. To do this, you're going to have to believe That you can. 

Spencer takes your face into his hands and looks you right in the eyes. “You can do this. I know you can.” He pecks you gently. “Angel, if anyone in the world can do this, it’s you.” 

You take a deep breath. He watches your nerves turn to determination, turn to love. “I know.” 

“Is there anything you need me to do before we start getting ready to leave?” 

You give a soft smile. “Kiss for luck?” 

He’s gonna need it. 

[nymphoheretic]

Synopsis: You were always so curious about Rafayel's tail when he's in his Lumerian form. But what you wasn't expecting was the slit in the front and your curiosity got the best of you and you slip a finger down it…

Warnings: Monsterfucking, Siren!Rafayel with two cocks, sex on the beach, fingering, multiple orgasms, double penetration in one hole, squirting, oral sex (fem!recieiving), handjob, hinting at oviposition (Rafayel says he'll fill reader up with eggs), breeding, overstim unprotected sex, sex under water, mild breath play (lemme know if I missed anything!)

Word Count: 6.2k (fuck, it was supposed to be a drabble/blurb)

Pairing: Rafayel x fem!reader

A/N: This is my first time writing for Love and Deepspace, so I hope I got Rafayel down okay 🥺 I apologize if he's ooc

You were always curious about Rafayel’s mermaid form. You’ve seen him in his Lumerian God of Sea form many times during fights with wanders. But you’ve never seen his tail and his pretty scales he got during his weak days of the month always intrigued you. So today was going to be the day, you were going to ask him to see his tail during your trip to the beach.

Rafayel stretches his arms above his head, his face lifted to greet the salty air of the beach with a tender smile on his lips. It felt good to be in the presence of the ocean after a long day of fighting wanders with you. This was a well needed treat and being with you was a plus, too. “What made you wanna invite me out today, Miss Bodyguard?” His voice was teasing at best as he sent you a smirk. 

You huff a little before moving over and flicking him on the forehead and crossing your arms over your chest. “Maybe I just wanted to treat you to an outing on the beach.” You lift your chin up at him, peeking open an eye to see him pouting as he holds his forehead tenderly while whining softly. A giggle bubbles up in your chest at his expression. Rafayel was always so cute; his purplish eyes swirling with flecks of blue. 

Biting your lip as you place your hands behind your back as you rock gently on your heels. Your eyes shine with a curious glow. “Hey, Rafayel?” You hum out his name, your hands moving to grab his in between your palms. When he looks down at you, his head tilts in acknowledgement. “I have a request for you.”

“A request from me? Now why would my bodyguard request anything of me. Unless....” His lips curl up into a teasing smile as he turns to face you, his long arms moving quickly to wrap around your waist as his hand moves to grasp your chin gently. “My Cutie is the one asking.” His eyes lighten to a purplish pink as he stares down into your eyes. “Hmmm? Well which is it? Miss Bodyguard or Cutie? Answer quickly the offer is limited.”

You puff your cheeks out at his teasings and reach up and grab his cheeks in your fingers in retaliation. “You cheeky Lumerian!” You yelp out as the two of you turn it into a contest of who could squeeze the other’s cheeks longer. During the brief duel, you had forgotten what you were going to ask him until you slipped on a patch of slippery sand due to the water’s edge and the two of you came crashing down in a splash of ocean water.

Rafayel had quickly pulled you closer to him as he turned so that most of the impact would be on him as you landed against his chest. His infectious laughter fills the air around the two of you. He wraps his strong arms around you and hugs you closer to his chest. “Are you okay? If you wanted to be on top of me, all you had to do was ask, Cutie.” He winks at you as his hands slide up your back to cup your neck. He slowly tilts your face down towards him to lay a kiss to your lips.

“W-wait! Rafayel! My request!” Your hands shoot up and cover his lips as your eyes widen. You shiver when his eyes narrow just the tinies bit, darkening before lightening back up to that playful purplish-pink. You feel something warm and wet swipe across your palm and you snatch    your hand back, glaring down at Rafayel. “Why you?” You grab his cheeks in your hands once more and pinch them until he laughs and apologizes. “Now, let me ask my question.” You grab his wrists in your hands and pin his arms down by his head.

“Oh? This intense?” He teases, his eyes flashing teasingly before he cringes when you huff and dig your nails into his wrists. “Ow. Ow. Ow. Okay. Ask your request, Miss Bodyguard?”

You suddenly grow shy and nervous as you sit up on his lap, your hands still gripping his wrists as you bring them to his lap. “I- Will-” You choke on your words, becoming flustered. You thought about how pretty he was in his Sea God form, those iridescent scales that were so well placed on his face and those intricate markings that swirled over his body. Your thighs hug together as you think about just how handsome Rafayel was.

“Can you show me your tail?” You blurt out your question, heat rising to your face as you close your eyes. You could feel the way Rafayel stiffened under you and you peek your eyes open to see him looking up at you with a serious glow in his eyes; the blue flecks spreading until his eyes were almost completely cerulean. “Rafayel...” You whisper timidly, a bit afraid that you broke some sacred Lumerian rule about asking to see their tails. You let go of his wrists to cup his face gently. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I was just...”

“Curious.” He finishes your sentence for you as his large hand encompasses yours, fingers cool from being pressed into the damp sand and the ocean water licking at them. He pulls one down to his lips, his Lumerian fangs biting down on the fleshy part of your palm causing you to wince slightly and try to pull away from him, but his grip holds firm. Slowly, he rises back to his feet, arm locking around your waist pulling you up with him. 

Rafayel takes a step backwards, slipping his shoes and stripping his clothes off as he walks into the cool water of the sea. “Weren’t you curious about my tail? Then we’ll need to be in the sea for me to show you.” His voice was muffled a bit by your palm as you gasp at the cool water lapping at your ankles before he pulled you in deeper. The water reaches your neck and you gently kick your feet to stay afloat. A misty blue glow surrounds Rafayel as those pretty iridescent scales start to form on his face and neck. The wispy energy curls around his ears, giving them the illusion of being pointed like that of a Siren.

“Rafayel, I-” your words are cut off in a gasp as he begins to glow, his body shifting. His muscles grew and bulged slightly as his form became slightly more muscular and you could feel scales under the palms of your hands, some soft, others sharp enough to cut your skin if you weren't careful. You close your eyes when the glow flashes brightly, bathing you both in a brilliant blue glow. Moving your hand away from his forearm to cover your eyes from the light, the light temporarily blinding you.

You open your eyes as your mouth parts in a gasp as you take in his form. His once short purple hair had grown, the long strands floating on top of the water. His eyes glow a bright and beautiful blue as the whisps of energy darken around his ears. You jolted as you felt something wrap around your legs and when you looked down you could see the watery shadow of a long tail winding around your legs as Rafayel kept you close to his chest. “Oh...you're beautiful.”

His lips curled up into a sly smirk as he raised his hand, each finger tipped with a long blue claw and caressed your cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Excited? Hold on.” With the flowing fins of his tail, he propels the two of you through the water, smiling when your arms and legs wound tighter around him. Rafayel brings you into a hidden cave, lifting you out of the water to sit you down on the shelf ouf the mouth. “Here. I don’t want anyone but you to see me like this, Miss Bodyguard.” He winks at you as he places his hands on the space next to you and lifts his upper body out of the water.

Your eyes widened as a long iridescent blue tail trails after him, hints of pink and purple scales scattered throughout the length; they gave an illusion to his eyes. His long purple hair sticks to his skin from the water and those intricate light blue markings that graced his skin when in his God of Sea form glow faintly in the dim lighting of the cave. You reach out your hand in morbid curiosity and lightly trail the tip of your finger over the soft scales at his hipline were his waist faded into his tail. When he trembles, you pull your hand away, thinking that you hurt him. “I’m sorry. Did that hurt?”

Rafayel’s heart beats fast in his chest, a blush covering the bridge of his nose all to the tips of his ears as he grabs your hand gently in his as he shakes his head. “No. Keep going. You wanted to see me like this.” The gossamer fins at the tip splashed in the water, making it ripple slightly.  He places your hand back at his waist, guiding your fingers over the scales that led down the front of his tail. His fangs threaten to break the skin of his bottom lip as he lets go of your wrist to allow you to freely explore.

You nod your head, trailing the tip of your nail down his waist before pressing down with the pad of your finger. Your eyes never leave Rafayel’s face until you reach a long...slit in the front of his tail. Your curiosity only grows as you circle your finger around the softer scales around it. “R-Rafayel...? What’s this?” Underneath it you feel something wriggling around just below the surface and it makes you withdraw your hand again.

“Oh no, Cutie...” He purrs, grasping your wrist in his hand while the other takes your chin. Rafayel brings your face closer to his as his lips drop upon yours in a sweet, tender kiss. His tongue swipe over your bottom lip before prying your mouth open to explore its depths. As he feeds you his tongue, he guides your hand back to the slit just below his abdomen, easing your finger along the edge before slowly pushing it inside the warm, slick opening.

An audible gasp leaves your lips that Rafayel quickly swallows up as the slit opens under the pressure of your finger and you feel something slip out. You manage to pull away from his lips, eyes darting down to see not one, but two wriggling fleshy tentacle-like appendages slipping out of the vent. “Wh-what is...Rafayel...” Heat bloomed to your cheeks as you came to realize what the slit was for. It was meant to hide away his cocks. You were forced to look back up at Rafayel when his hand squeezed your jaw in a firm grip, turning your face back up to his.

“Go on. Touch them. Isn’t this why you were so curious about seeing my tail, Miss Bodyguard?”

His voice was a teasing mockery of his once gentle tones, his Sea God persona taking over as he guides your hands back to the pale pink appendages. The instant your small hand wraps around the flared base of one of his cocks, his head drops forward as an appreciative moan rumbles in his chest. When the sound reaches your ears, you grow a little more confident as you stroke your hand up from the wide base to the narrow tip, gathering the slick that coated them on your palm to help you give a few more pumps. The sticky sounds echoed off in the cave as Rafayel lifted his hips in effort to thrust into your soft hand more. You gasp when the other cock rubs against your other hand as if begging for attention too.

“Oh? Didn’t you know I can control them in this form, unlike my human form.” He brushes the left one against your hand once more, chuckling at the wide-eyed expression on your face.”Go on. Touch it for me. Make me feel good and I’ll return the favor.” Rafayel’s eyes were glowing blue as he pressed his hand against your chest and guided you down onto your back. His hand slides back down over your belly, claws gently raking over your skin as he brings your thigh upward and pushes it towards your abdomen. “Relax for me, Cutie.You do want this, right?”

Breathing in through your nose, you look up at Rafayel, admiring just how pretty he was above you as a curtain of his long hair falls over his shoulder to blanket you in its softness. You nod your head as you tighten your grip on his cock, moving to wrap your other hand around the second one. You stroke your palms up and down then slowly at first picking up speed as they begin to grow harder in your hands and Rafayel’s soft desperate moan echo off the walls of the cave.

Rafayel’s eyes slide close as he fights off the urge to rip your undergarments away and shove both of his cocks into your warm little cunt. But he had to prepare you first. His fingers slide down your thigh, long claws gently scraping over your skin until he reaches the pretty white lace of your panties, a bit sadden that the water from the ocean had washed away any evidence of your arousal, but his sensitive nose could still smell you. The tip of his claw draws down the slit of cunt, making your hands stutter in their motions. “Don’t stop.” He slips his finger under that thin strip of fabric, his claw catching it and slicing cleanly through it.

His thumb easily finds that hidden pearl nestled between your soft lips and strokes it gently, feeling your body jolt underneath him. Rafayel knew just how to pluck the strings to your body to get you singing for him rather quickly as he retracts the claws of one hand so that he wouldn’t hurt you as he pressed his ring and middle fingers at your clenching hole. His hips buck up into your soft palm as you tighten your grip back around the thick flared base of his cocks, your soft moans edging him on.

Rafael pushes his fingers inside, relishing in the feeling of your slick popping and bubbling around the longest digits. He lets out a low curse as a pressure builds up in his cocks as they stiffen more in your grip as your strokes become more confident, the sticky sounds of your palms gliding up and down them ringing out in the cave. He was not about to be beaten. Rafayel curls his fingers upward, searching for the rough, spongy patch of flesh and hooks onto it while thrusting and twisting. 

Your back arches, hands opening and closing around his cocks as a shiver rolls down your spine. Hips lift off the sandy ground, your greedy walls trying to suck his fingers in deeper as you toss your head back deeper into the sand as your lips part in another keen of his name. You slide your hands back down his cocks, squeezing at the flared base and making Rafayel’s body go still as he fights off the urge to cum. 

“Enough.” He whines, pulling your hands away as they slip back inside the vent as his eyes glow blue with need and want. Rafayel slides his body back into the water while using his free hand to push your other leg up to your chest. His face nuzzles your thigh, strands of his bangs sticking to the damp flesh. “You smell so good. Better than fresh salt sea breeze on a beautiful morning. Let me have a taste, my Cutie. Shall I up the ante now?”

Before you could say anything, Rafayel’s long, thick tongue lolls out of his mouth, the pointed tip circling your clit. He looks up at you with lustful eyes as warm breath fans out over your glistening cunt and saliva pools on his tongue. He parted your pretty lower lips with his thumbs and watched as the stings of arousal spread with them. "Such a pretty pussy and it's all mine."  With those words, he dives in, sucking gently on your labia before tonguing your hole. The sounds of your moan were beautiful, sounding better than the cries from the angels of heaven.

His tongue slips into your clenching hole as his fingers slip out to ease back the hood of your clit, revealing the pretty nerve to the elements. His thumb brushes over it as he delves his tongue in deeper, licking and curling it through your slick folds. He maps out every little gasp and moan you make, taking note of every little thing he does that makes your body shake and tremble for him. He was thirsty for a drink of the sweetest elixir you had to offer him and he'd stop at nothing until you were squirting it down on his tongue.

“Haaa.” He breathes as he lifts his head, glowing eyes finding your face and admiring the blissed out look on it.

Rafayel leans back down and licks a long stripe through your slit, gathering as much of your essence as he could on the flat of his tongue. “So delicious.” He moans against your pussy as he pulls at your hips to make you cup your thighs around his head as he ate you like a starving man devouring his last meal. Two of his slim fingers press into your entrance, scissoring them to find the soft spongy spot deep inside you as he tongue slips out to lap at your sensitive little clit.

“Fuck, Rafayel!” You scream out, your fingers digging into the soft sand under you as you buck your hips.

Rafayel didn’t stop. The need to feel you cumming and drenching his face in your cum sparking a fire in his chest. His licks become more desperate as his lips close over your pulsing clit and sucks harshly. He hums in response to each broken sob you let out as you desperately try to keep still despite the overstimulation of your cunt.

There was a tightening in your belly as your clit throbs. Even though you couldn’t keep up with his pace,  you rolled your hips over his mouth. That hot coil winding tighter and tighter as Rafayel's relentless tongue and fingers dig out your orgasm. “M’g’nna cum, baby. Rafayel!”

The speed of his fingers and tongue, fucking into you like his cocks would and increases at your warning as obscene squelching noises mixed with your saccharine moans filled the tiny space of the cave and his greedy ears. He wants —no, he needs you to wet his face and let him drink up everything you had to offer. “Give it to me, Cutie, I need it.” Rafayel draws out the letters for his name on your clit as he vibrates his tongue as he switches them against, thrusting his fingers back into your hole with a loud squelch.

Your mouth falls open as you give one last jolt. Your walls clench and flutter, spasming around his thrusting fingers. “Oh my fucking god...” Pleasure washes over you as your essence leaves your body to pool in his awaiting mouth. “Rafayel...” you moan softly as your chest heaves, your body giving out and your head rests back on the sand.

His body gives a violent shudder at the sound of his name falling from your lips as he catches every last drop of your release on his greedy tongue. Rafayel laps at your heat, licking and drinking everything you have to offer. Subtle, but feral growls vibrate in his chest as his eyes roll back as the taste of your orgasm settles on his taste buds. “One more, Miss Bodyguard. I know you got another one in there for me.”

You whine as you try to un-straddle his head, but he locks his arms around your legs.  Rafayel then pushes his hands against the backs of your thighs, pressing your knees to your chest and melting between your thighs as his mouth latches back onto your slick cunt. Each overstimulated whine you give only edges him on even more.

Tears begin to burn at your eyes as the pain of overstim settles on your already throbbing clit. You push at Rafayel's head trying to wiggle away when he pulls away and slaps your pussy with the flat of his fingers. “Rafayel!” You scream out his name when his fingers press firmly against your sore little clit one more time.

“Don’t run from me again. I’ve waited so long to have you with me again. You owe me this, Cutie..” Rafayel growls before pulling on the thin fabric of your already ruined panties, snapping it off your body as he returns to his feast. Your body was shaking by now, quivering with the approach of your orgasm. His tongue slides over your clit once last time before a stream of hot clear liquid pours down on his mouth, which he eagerly drinks up. “There it is. Squirt for me right on my tongue, baby."

Your thighs were trembling as your clit twitches from the over stimulation, “Fuck...” Your body feels weightless as you squirt, your hot juices spraying out of you in an almost violent stream, what he didn’t catch soaks down into the sand. Your chest heaves as you feel his tongue gently swipe your folds, cleaning you up from the sticky mess he made you make.

Rafayel watches you with hungry eyes, all fucked out and drooling — a pathetic writhing mess under him and he hasn’t even put them in yet. He loved seeing how your eyes roll back until they were damn near white, drool seeping from the corner of your mouth as your body trembles from the aftershocks of your orgasm. His hand rubs your cunt gently as you’re slow to come back down for your high. Rafayel knows that he should feel bad for overstimming you, but he doesn’t. He always gets what he wants after all.

“Are you okay?” He questions, placing his hands on either side of your limp body to pull himself back out of the water, his tail pressing against your core, soft scales slipping over you puffy wet lips, When you jolt, trembling under him, he smiles softly before leaning down to kiss your lips, his long tongue prying your mouth open so that you could taste yourself as his fingers move to grip the material of your shirt. Rafayel quickly pops open the buttons of your blouse, deft fingers find your nipples and twisting them.. He feels his slit open once more as his cocks wriggle out, crawling up the length of your leg.

The tips find your clit and circle the sensitive nub until you were trembling and pushing at his waist to get him to stop. “What’s wrong? Can’t handle it anymore?”

You cover your face with your hands, heat burning low in your belly as your squirm underneath him. “Rafayel, stop teasing me! You’re such a brat!” You bemoaned, both loving and hating it when he teases you with what you want. You knew that he wouldn’t give you what you want unless you told him directly or tease him back until his patience finally wore thin. But as boneless as your body felt from squirting so hard, you had no desire to tease him back. 

“Pul-please Rafayel...I need you.” You peek through your fingers at him as you whine out softly, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him in closer.

Unable to resist you any longer, Rafayel places his heavy tail between your thighs, forcing them apart and begins to slowly push his cocks inside you and has to pause for a second as his mind grows fuzzy from the feeling of your welcoming pussy surrounding his cocks, both sucking him in deeper and trying to push him out. Your hands find purchase on his biceps, nails clawing at his skin. The pointed tips just slipped inside, but that was nowhere near enough for him. Your sweet little cunt felt too good.

“Fuck...” You whisper as he slides in deeper, stretching your walls out to accommodate his girth and length of twin cocks that weren’t meant for humans, his thumb ghosts over your clit, trying to help you relax more so that he could slide in even easier and causing you to shudder. Your back arches off the sandy floor as you draw in a quick intake of breath, eyes rolling back and letting out a breathy moan of his name.

You couldn’t help yourself. Even if you had just cum twice, you were greedy for more. Your mind was too far gone, lost in the painful pleasure. “Oh god...” you moan out, nails digging further into his biceps as he continues to push in even deeper. Your hips move of their own accord, trying to pull him even closer. “More....” you whisper, staring up into his glowing blue eyes as one hand comes to cup his face in your palm. You want — need more; you need to feel him moving thrusting deep inside you.

That was all Rafayel needed to hear. That breathy plea for him to continue. Within your slick walls, they twist together, the girth doubling as they thrust even deeper inside you, making you dig your nails into his forearms and leaving red crescents in his skin as he snaps his hips into yours.  His hands come to cup your cheeks as he laid out on top of your body, his cocks never stopping their thrusting into your perfectly tight little snatch. Thumbs come up to wipe at the tears that were prinkling at your lash line.

“You’re okay, Cutie. You can take it. Just listen to her.” He pauses for a moment, letting the lewd squelching of your pussy echo off the walls of the cave as he fucks deeper into you. “She’s taking me so well, Miss Bodyguard. Isn’t this what you wanted after all?” Rafayel’s fingers pinch and tug at your nipples, as he picks up the speed of his strokes. The pointed tips kiss your cervix with each deep penetration, making you cry out louder and squeeze down on his dicks, the thick flared base stretching you to your utmost limits. "That's it, baby. Clench down for me. Make my cocks nice and wet, yeah?" The sounds of your moans and whines mixed in the wet sounds of his cocks entering your gushing heat were like music to Rafayel’s ears. And it made him greedy for more. 

You could only stare up at Rafayel as he fucks into your sloppy pussy, drool leaking from the corner of your mouth. The burning hot coil in your belly intensified as your moans became even louder, forcing Rafayel to cover your mouth with his lips, swallowing and muffling your screams with his tongue.

Breaking away from his lips, you plead with him. “W’nna cum! Please, baby. Make me cum.” Your voice was a high pitch keen as Rafayel thrusts in and out of your aching pussy, giving fast deep strokes. You could feel that thread pulling tighter and tighter but each time it was going to snap, Rafayel would slow down, grinning down at you teasingly as he edges you. “Rafayel, please, lemme cum on your cock, baby. Let me make it so wet f’you.”

“Yeah?” Rafayel challenged in that flirtatious teasing tone of his. “You wanna cum on my cocks, pretty girl?” His fingers move down to grip your chin, tilting your face up to his as he pulls you in for another sweet. Wet and sloppy, full of tongue and desire. His cocks pump in tandem, one in and the other pulling out. Fucking you slowly as your pussy stretches to accommodate them; your fingers coming up to curl into his long purple hair as your legs hang open weakly. “Go on and cum for me. Wet up my cocks like a good girl.” His thumb finds your clit once more, circling the slick nub in quick rubs.

Your pussy clenches tightly as your walls begin to spasm. Your clit twitches as your thighs tremble. “Oh fuck, m’g’nna...g’nna. Cumming!!” Your release leaves you in a gush of creamy liquid that creates a thick ring around Rafayel’s dicks, streaking down the lengths as he never stops his thrusting. His thumb continues to circle your sensitive clit, wanting to extend your orgasm for as long as he could.

“Good girl. Just look at the mess you made on my cocks. Creaming them and making them so wet.” He watches as your chest heaves, trying to bring air into your lungs. Rafayel pauses in his thrusting to give you a second to regain your composure. When you look up at him with those big, wet eyes, he lets out a groan, sliding his cocks out and pulling you up. Wrapping his arms around you, Rafayel pulls you into the water. He shushes you with a single clawed index finger. “You trust me?”

You peer into his eyes; eyes as blue as the sea, and see that while his pupils were blown wide with lust, you could see the love he always held in them for you. Folding your arms around his neck, you place your forehead against his and nod. “I trust you, Rafayel. I wouldn’t have let you do this to me if I didn’t.”

He smiles as the soft gills at his neck open. Rafayel’s cocks slip up your legs and one teases your clit while the other nudges at your slick little opening. “Take a breath.” That was the only warning you got before his lips close over yours and he pulls you both under water. His tail propels you both so that you were stationary under the gentle waves of the sea as his cocks then slip back inside your aching cunt. Rafayel spins the two of you around in the water as he breathes for you while simultaneously stealing the very air out of your lungs with every desperate moan you give.

Your eyes clench tightly together as you allow Rafayel’s tongue past your mouth and take in the air he blew into your lungs, giving it back in a keens and cries of pleasure as his cocks thrust in and out of weeping cunt. You whimper against his lips as the thick pointed tips brush against your cervix, wriggling against it like they were going to slip past it to fuck directly into you aching, womb. Your lower belly clinches as heat heats through your veins. You buck your hips against his wide tail, the soft scales of his slit rubbing against your labia and tickling your clit.

Rafayel swallows every last moan, whine, and whimper you let out as his hips meet yours thrust for thrust. He uses his fin to help guide him through the water, his eyes peeking open to see where you were. His cocks felt like they were going to explode inside you at any moment, but he wanted to make you cum again before he even thought about cumming. His fingers find your nipples again, tugging and twisting them between his index and thumb as he speeds up the momentum of his cocks, fucking your tight cunt in such a pace that it nearly made you break away from him.

You whimper against his lips, almost breaking away from him if his hand hadn’t immediately pressed against the back of your neck to keep you close. You suck in a desperate lungful of air only to let it out in a muffled scream of his name as you come hard, your sensitive little clit twitching and throbbing against his soft scales as they rub against it. Bubbles pop around your head as your scream echoes in the water around you two. Finally just as your heads break through the surface, he lets you break away.

Sucking in quick breaths, your chest heaving from the back to back orgasm as he never stops pumping his dicks into your poor abused little hole, you claw at his chest. “Rafayel! I can’t anymore!” You bemoaned, balling your fists up to hammer them against his chest. Gasping when he grabs one and brings it to his lips, his Lumerian fangs grazing over the artery in your wrist.

“You can, Miss Bodyguard.” Rafayel murmurs as he swims over to the waters’ edge and lays you down on the sand. He pulls out for a moment and turns you to lay on your belly as his guides his tail between your thighs, using his weight to spread them. “Yes, you can, Cutie.  Just one more for me. Then I’ll breed this sweet little cunt like I always do. Such a good girl you are, Miss Bodyguard. That what you want? - For me to breed you and fill you with my eggs?”

You whimper out when he lifts your hip easily, the tips of his cock slipping against your entrance. His words were like silk to you - soft and velvety as they caress your ears. His praise warms your skin as he slowly brings you back up on his cocks. You wiggle your hips, grinding against him as you take in inch by delicious inch of cocks not meant for humans, but neither of you cared. “Oh fuck...baby...” you whined out as he stretches your sore walls out once more. Fingers slips past your lips to press down on your tongue as his other hand grabs the fat of your hips and fucks into with slow, deep thrusts, his scales rubbing against your swollen labia.

“Good girl.” Rafayel purrs as he feels you immediately suck on his fingers as he bottoms out with a low grunt. “Such a tight little pussy no matter how many times I fuck it to the shape of my cocks.” He could feel his high approaching as he slams his hips into you over and over, faster and faster.  “Fuck, baby girl, you’re gonna milk me so fucking good.” He took his fingers from your mouth, trailing the strings of saliva that clung to them down your belly to your swollen clit. 

Wrapping his free hand around your throat, Rafayel locks you in place when you jolt and try to squirm away from his deft fingers on your clit. His mouth finds your pulse point and his lips close over it to suck a his marks into your flesh, fangs brushing against your jugular. “Gotta cum for me, Cutie. Only then will I fill this sloppy pussy up to the brim with my cum.”

You let out a loud whimper of his name as he fucks into harder, faster as your fingers dig into the soft sand under you, burying them deeper into the slippery earth. “Fuck, Rafayel! ‘S too much.” Your eyes waters as he tightens his hand around your throat as you could feel him swell inside you and you knew that he was close. Turning your head so that your lips were to his ear, you moan out sensually. “Rafayel~ Fill me up, please? Wanna cum together with you. Breed me and let me carry your eggs.”

That triggers something in Rafayel as his hips stutter hearing you wanting him to fill you up with his eggs (even if that was impossible) makes his cocks twitch  “Cum with me, please, my Cutie.” He thrusts into once, twice, three more times before he cums, spraying your insides white with his sticky seed. He groans when your own release hits you as you squirt hard, the hot liquid drenching his fingers and pools underneath you on the beach. “That’s my girl.”

Your breathing comes out in quick pants as Rafayel slowly brings you back down from your high, kissing your shoulder gently and rubbing his hands over your breasts soothingly. His hips rocks gently into yours, the mixture of his and your cum spilling down his softening cocks. Rafayel rolls off of you, light shimmering around his body as his tail morphs back into his human legs. “That was...” You breathe as you turn over to rest your head against his chest.

His lips nuzzle your hair gently. “Amazing. I know. We can do it again once we’re home in the bath tub.” Rafayek laughs when your fists smack his chest before you reach up and pinch his cheeks. “Ow, ow, ow, I was kidding.” He rises to his feet, his clothing still scattered along the beach and pulls his underwear and pants back on. He looks back and notices something drifting up onto the land. Rafayel quickly scoops it up and places it in his pocket. Just as he did that, you sit up and button your blouse back up and smooth back down your damp skirt.

“Rafayel, what did you do with my panties?

His thumb brushes over the ruined lace in his pocket, a teasing smirk spreading over his lips. “Would you like to know, Miss Bodyguard? Let’s get you home and dry before you catch a cold.”

2022-24 nymphoheretic - I do not give permission to copy, edit, alter, or distribute my work. Do not adverse on tiktok. Do not repost on any other platform.

Taglist: @linpunny, @ryomance @bleach-your-panties, @m00nchildwrites, @celestialforce, @tkeuphoric @yandere-kou , @hellkaiserinphoenix , @quaranweeb

[cinnamqnx]

pairing. spiderman!rin x f!reader

💌 the five times you encountered spiderman ( knowingly & unknowingly )

ONE | the first time you met rin itoshi was on your first day at a new school unbeknownst to you that he was the anonymous hero who was currently going viral all over the papers and news. you had opened your pencil case, accidentally flicking your pen off your desk to which rin had impressively caught despite it going at 1000mph before handing it back to you.

“oh, thanks.”, you let out a half laugh while your brows sort of scrunched up, shocked at how he was even able to catch that.

he didn’t say anything in return, but gave you an awkward smile and a small nod.

TWO | the second time you came across him was when shidou was picking a fight with him. now, you was made very aware of shidou by his constant flirting and attempts to ask you out so it didn’t shock you when you saw him causing a fight on the school yard with rin.

“just leave him alone, shidou. this doesn’t make you ‘cool’ at all.”, you say, air quoting the word cool.

he lets go of rin’s collar, walking over to you with his goofy grin he always has when he sees you, “hey, pretty.”

you scoff, “not today.”, walking away from him, causing him to follow you like a lost puppy and lose all attention to rin, who was silently thanking you for stepping in.

THREE | the third time you met him wasn’t as rin, but as spiderman. the city was in chaos due to a villain who called himself the green goblin destroying buildings and landscapes, all to enact ‘revenge’ on spiderman.

you felt like your heart was beating out of your chest, all you wanted to do was go shopping with your girls, and now you wasn’t even sure if you’d be making it home.

as you stood on the highest level of the shopping mall, you felt the floor beneath you begin to crumble. panicking, you tried running to any exit as it continued falling at a rapid pace.

you began to brace yourself for the fall, knowing how this would end, your feet no longer on a solid ground. before you even got the chance to scream, you felt a firm grip on your waist, looking up to see the one and only spiderman.

you knew the fangirls he had were crazy, and you always thought it was the most ridiculous thing. but, after you suddenly felt your heart lighten from the previous dread, all because of him, you could understand why.

he quickly put you down somewhere safe, checking you over, “are you okay?”, he asks quickly, knowing he was needed elsewhere.

“yes.. thank you.”, you stumble your words, still slightly shocked.

“be careful, y/n, okay?”

“..okay.”, you nodded, but wait, did he just say your name? no.. it must be the shock, surely.

FOUR | the city was holding a parade for spiderman after managing to save countless people against the villain the country had come to know as green goblin. you decided to attend to show your appreciation. after all, he had saved your life; you was eternally grateful to him. after the parade began to die down and the children being taken home, you were met with an upside down spiderman right in your face after walking towards a more private area in the centre of the city.

you jump slightly at the sight of him, “hi.”, you say breathlessly.

“hi.”, he replies, you felt awkward, not expecting to see him like this.

“sorry. thank you, so much for the other day. i genuinely thought that i’d-“

“i know.”, he cuts you off.

you smile slightly, “i wish there was some way i could make it up to you.”

“…how about..?”, he mutters behind his mask while pointing to his lips, so quietly you almost didn’t hear him.

you thought it was cute, but was also surprised by his sudden request but who was you to turn him down. you smiled softly, gently lifting up his mask past his lips, “like this?”

he nods, feeling the softness of your lips on his. it wasn’t a passionate make out, but it was sweet and innocent. rin thought it was perfect for his first kiss, and especially with the girl he had the biggest crush on.

FIVE | by now you’d had enough. who was spiderman? you felt like everyone had been asking this question for months but it felt way more personal to you. there was something so familiar about the hero you kissed but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“stop!”, you yell running through the rain which eventually lead you down a back alley.

spiderman actually did stop to your surprise, causing you to slowly walk closer towards him as if he was a skittish cat, “who are you?”

“uh.. spiderman.”, he states, his tone a little awkward.

“no, that’s not what i mean and you know it.”, you stepped even closer to him, hesitating before reaching for his mask and to your surprise he didn’t stop you.

you gently lifted his mask, only leaving his lips exposed, leaning in slowly and gently kissing him like you did back at the parade. and of course, he kissed you back.

you began to unravel the rest, pulling it over his head, still kissing him softly. with his eyes screwed shut, opening your own, you moved back to get a good look at his… wait- is that rin fucking itoshi?

[downhillrepose]

an old love

overview : father charlie mayhew reunites with an old lover he was head over heels for before he began his journey into priesthood.

pairing : father charlie mayhew x fem!reader

word count : 1152 (and it’s still ASS)

a/n : this is my first fic so please excuse.. everything… while i try to figure it all out! xx

it was an early sunday evening when father mayhew was interrupted while planning his next sermon. the doors to the church pushed open, the loud hinges and heaviness of the door stirring him from his concentration.

father mayhew looked up from his altar to the entrance of the church, not necessarily surprised to have someone else join him in the holy place, but startled nonetheless by the sudden intrusion.

a frazzled young woman stumbled in, her wide eyes looking around to the tall pristine ceilings and stained glass windows before settling on father mayhew’s tall figure on the stage.

though a sin, father charlie swore his heart stopped beating when his eyes finally settled on the woman in his church. could it really be? no… no, it’s not possible.

“charlie?”

charlie’s eyes widened beyond belief, definitely sure this time that his heart stopped beating. “Y/N..? is that.. you?” his voice was breathless, rough with disbelief.

“oh, charlie,” you beamed, quick steps scurrying over to the altar, stopping short before the steps. “i’m so glad to see you..” your eyes raked over his attire, “oh! i’m sorry, father charlie.”

frozen, charlie just stared at you before he somehow got the courage to say something. “Y/N.. what are you doing here? it’s been..” he trailed off, not wanting to say how long it had been since he’d seen the woman he fell in love with.

“forever?” you finished for him,

“yea, forever,” he gulped, slowly moving from behind the altar to descend the steps. his eyes never left your frame.

your gaze followed him as he made his way toward you. the closer he got, the faster his heart beat. is it about to come up his throat?

“i’m sorry to barge in on you like this it’s just that i got word that you were here and had to see for myself,” you softly smiled. how are you smiling right now? how are you not in complete and utter pain like he is?

charlie just blinked, finally in front of you now.

“right, i have to explain myself, god, oh! GOSH,” you corrected yourself, hand over your mouth. “i’m so sorry, i’m an idiot.”

this finally made charlie’s face lighten up, you hadn’t changed at all. “it’s okay, Y/N, really,” he felt his lips tug upward. you were still the cutest thing in the entire world.

you just blushed, embarrassed. “i.. i just finished my degree abroad, you know...? anyway, when i got back home my dad said that you were a priest now and i… well, i had to see you. couldn’t believe it.”

charlie raised a brow, “how come?”

you clasped your hands in front of you, “nothing, really, i just always envisioned you to be out of this old little town.. traveling.. doing whatever your heart desired. like you said you would…” your gaze flicked to the floor, your shoes suddenly very interesting.

charlie hummed, “no, i couldn’t leave this place.. trust me, i tried.” charlie’s gaze suddenly turned to a dim one. a dark, glum cloud seemed to hover over his head.

you raised your head at that, eyes locking with charlie’s once more. you opened your mouth for a moment before abruptly closing it. you contemplated for a moment before forcing a smile on your face.

“well i’m just happy to see you, charlie” your eyes flickered over his face, almost as if you were trying to imprint the image of him in your mind so you would always have it.

charlie didn’t say anything at that. he opened his mouth just to close it, too. he shook his head slightly, hand coming to comb through his hair.

“are you sure?” he clenched his jaw.

your eyes widened at that, flinching at his brazenness. “of course i am, charlie..” your hand moved to his arm before hesitating, tucking your hands behind your back in tight fists.

charlie saw this, his jaw clenching even tighter, he was sure his teeth would fall out. “i’m sorry it’s just hard to believe when i’ve been here the whole time.”

“charlie..”

“no, Y/N, what are you doing here? really?” his tone became defensive, building a wall around his heart right in front of the woman who helped him tear it down all those years ago.

you didn’t say anything, eyes wide looking up at him.

“i never left, Y/N.. i never left…” his voice was barely above a whisper, eyes hardened in faux credence.

your lower lip quivered, looking away.

“i’m sorry.”

“for what? for abandoning us? or for never coming back?” charlie bit out. according to his beliefs, charlie should forgive, but something inside him still ached from when you left, it wasn’t that easy.

“everything, charlie.. everything.” your eyes were glistening with tears when you looked back into his. charlie’s heart sped up at the sight, hand itching to take your face in his palms.

as the first sob of yours was let out, charlie couldn’t stop himself, pulling you into his arms and into his warm chest.

“shh, shh, baby.. don’t cry.” his hand caressed the back of your head and neck, head coming to rest atop of yours.

your heart clenched in your chest. “i’m so sorry, charlie.” the words were slightly muffled against his chest, but he knew what you said.

palms coming to cup your cheeks, he wiped your tears with his thumbs, eyes locked on your red and watery ones. “shh, it’s okay..”

you shook your head, “no, it’s not.”

charlie’s eyes softened even more, if that was possible, “sweetheart… come here.” he brought you back into his arms for another embrace.

“missed you so much, charlie, i just.. i couldn’t face you after what happened. please. you knew i missed you, didn’t you?” you raised your face from his chest, neck craning up to look into his eyes.

“well, i do now…” his ring covered hand came to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “just wish you came back sooner.”

your eyebrows crinkled up again, “i know, i’m sorry i just thought you hated me and i couldn’t bring myself to face you.”

charlie brought his forehead to yours, “oh, sweetheart, i could never hate you..” his palm caressed your cheek. you leaned into his touch, releasing a heavy breath.

the two of you stayed like that for a while, the silence of the church engulfing you, making it seem as though you were the only people in the world.

charlie broke the silence first, eyes soft looking down at you, “what do you say we get something to eat? that diner is still open, and you can tell me everything..”

you softly smiled, sniffling, “i’d like that a lot.”

with your arm locked in charlie’s as he led you out the church doors, he realized something:

a million years could go by without seeing or hearing from you, but his connection and devotion to you will never falter. ever.

so… that’s it! im so sorry the ending is so rushed and just. bad? im sure grammar and the present and past tense verbiage was annoying asf pls forgive me :,,) im new to writing (writing my own stories i mean) and am open to criticism! constructive pls..

[kingkat12]

art on art (eric draven x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, piv sex, oral sex (female receiving), drug mentions, nasty fluff tihi

summary: why hasn't Eric reached out after leaving rehab yet, and how long does it take for marker ink to fade?

word count: 5,272 PART 1, PART 2, PART 3

a/n: this is part 3 of my Eric Draven fanfic draw you! thanks again for the overwhelming support of this series, and enjoy!!<333

Some broken part of me never expected to see Eric again. I knew that the previous men in my life would leave the second they got what they wanted out of me, so why should I hope for this one to be different?

I had been out of rehab for exactly two weeks now, and I knew this meant that Eric was out as well. He had my address, he had my number, and he weirdly enough also had my email address... yet I hadn't heard anything from him. Not a single thing. I wasn't quite sure why my heart was breaking at the realization I had been thrown away again-- I should be used to this.

In actuality, I knew exactly why my hopes were up.

The last time I saw Eric, had been right before I was about to leave rehab. We were standing in my room, the guards no longer watching me as I was technically excused and only there to get my stuff. I was packing everything into a big cardboard box, unable to meet Eric's green eyes as he sat on my bed-- he just looked so damn sad, I couldn't bring myself to watch. 

At the same time, I couldn't believe that he was upset about me leaving; no one had ever cared for me like that before. "Why do you look like that?" I eventually asked, stuffing his drawings into a book so that they wouldn't get ruined during the move. 

"Like what?"

"Like I'm about to shoot a puppy,"

Eric snorted, a slight smile finally forming across his lips. "Just thinking about how shit these next days are going to be without you here,"

I dared to gaze at him, watching his chest rise and fall in a long sigh. Even while doing the simplest act of sitting, Eric looked downright gorgeous. His dark hair had grown even longer during the time we had known each other, which allowed slight curls to form along his forehead. Draped in pink, tattoos peeking up from the collar of his jumper, green eyes soft with feelings-- the sight was almost enough to make my breath hitch.

"Oh, you won't notice I'm gone," I mumbled, trying to lighten the mood at the same time as I tried to be discreet about shoving my underwear down into the box. "Time will fly by, don't you worry."

Eric shifted, moving closer to the edge of the bed. He stopped me from picking up the next batch of my stuff, leading my hands into his as his rounded eyes sunk into mine. "You're saying that as though I won't miss you,"

I held my breath, unsure what to say. 

Eric noticed my hesitance, squeezing my hands; "I will miss you. Do you understand that?"

Oh, I most certainly did not understand that. Not at all. But it didn't stop my heart from swelling, beating harder than it probably ever had before. It also didn't get any better when Eric led me between his legs, letting go of my hands so that he could put his against my waist. He looked up at me through his thick, long lashes, clearly trying to make me understand the longing lingering in his body. "Will you miss me?"

There was no question in my mind that I would. I'd miss him every second of every day, as I already did. However, I wasn't sure whether it was smart to tell him this, or whether that would make him lose interest like my previous flings. But weirdly enough, something told me I could trust this guy-- or was that just his pretty face doing the talking? "I will," I said, taking his face into my hands, brushing my thumbs over his cheeks in a newfound sense of affection.

Eric's previously glossy look suddenly became a hopeful one-- he pulled me even closer, my hands going up into his hair as he buried his face against the crook of my neck. 

There was something so sincere about him, that I couldn't help but smile. Even now, as I remembered it. Was I stupid to imagine that it had all been real? That he hadn't acted like he would miss me just out of pity?

This was definitely my insecurity talking. I needed to get it all out of my head-- which is exactly why I ended up going out tonight, my friends by my side as we made our way into our usual spot at the club downtown. Being back in the darkness of this place, music blasting through my ears, brought a lot of memories back; specifically the dark ones. 

However, I wasn't drinking. I wasn't taking anything, and I wasn't planning on doing so. In the back of my mind, I kept imagining a scenario where Eric would finally reach out and find me relapsed... and that was certainly not ideal. Then he'd definitely not want to be with me.

Maybe I just needed to forget about him?

And so I began trying-- it didn't take long before I sat down next to some guy trying to tell me about his life story. I had never been this disinterested in my life, allowing him to put his arm around me as I stared up at the light-show on display across the roof, lost in thought.

I wondered where Eric was. What he was doing, who he was with, where he was. Whether he thought about me at all. It quickly hit me that being sober at a club took away all the fun, and with alcohol floating around right before my eyes, I wondered whether I should bother staying sober or not. I didn't exactly have anyone to stay clean for, as I thought I would. 

And just as I was about to ask the guy next to me whether I could have the tiniest sip of his beer, I spotted a familiar tall frame across the room. I blinked several times, straightening up in my seat as though I was a woman possessed. I was sure it was him-- I immediately knew the second I saw the tattooed poem on his back peeking through the top of his shirt.

As though I had heard a gunshot, I got up from the couch, my whole body tingling with unexpected excitement. This was an adrenaline surge unlike anything drugs could give me, and it only grew stronger as Eric seemed to be leaving. 

Panicked, I sped up into a light jog despite being in heels, making my way through the crowd on the dancefloor. It didn't take long before I caught up to him, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt.

Eric had a bewildered look about him as he frantically searched who it could be that had held him back from leaving. When his big, green eyes finally landed on me, they widened as he broke out into a look of relief. "There you are!" he exclaimed, his large hands grabbing my shoulders. "I've been looking for you all over!--"

I was sure I would've started crying if I hadn't reached for the collar of his shirt, tugging him down to my level to press my lips against his in the neediest kiss I had probably ever shared. I flung my arms around his neck as he pulled me closer, both of us letting out relieved sighs at our reunion. 

I wanted to stay like this forever, swimming in the bliss of being reunited with the man who had haunted my every waking thought. However, I couldn't let myself revel in the joy before I got the answer to my question; "You never called!" I said, my hands now at the sides of his face. "You never fucking called!"

Eric hummed, connecting our foreheads as he closed his eyes. "I did... just from a different number. You never answered, so I had to track you down all the way here,"

My thumbs stroked over his cheeks, my anger simmering down into a slow ache. The thought of Eric calling without getting a response made me feel worse than bad. "How?" was all I was able to say, leaning forward to kiss the tip of his nose.

Eric blushed a little before pulling away, and I was unsure whether the reason for my sudden dizziness was the loud music or his smile. God, he was gorgeous. "Our dealers are cousins," he said, wrapping his arms around my waist as we swayed on the dance floor. "And your guy told me I could find you here."

"I see," The loving look in Eric's eyes nearly made me melt— it was clear that he had missed me as well. But my questions kept coming to me; "Why did you get a different number? Is everything alright?"

With that, Eric's smile faltered just a little. His grip around my waist tightened as he brought one hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear in a loving gesture. "I... suppose there's a lot I have to tell you, now that I've come all this way,"

I could sense that this was serious— I had seen enough of those guilty eyes for one lifetime. "I see," I repeated, pulling him in for another kiss, reveling in the feeling of tasting him again. There was nothing I had missed more about rehab than this. "Let's talk it out somewhere else, then?"

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

It wasn't every day that I brought back men from the club— my policy was no men at my place at all, just in case I encountered a serial killer in disguise. But this thing with Eric was different; he could've moved in for all I cared. He could also proceed to burn it all down, rip me apart with his bare hands, and I'd let him.

However, the difference between Eric and the other men in my life was that I knew, deep down in my heart, that he would never hurt me; which is why I let him into my apartment.

I watched as Eric took a look around, his hands tucked into his front pockets as he whistled; "Quite the place,"

Shrugging, I made my way towards him as he towered over everything in my living room. "Sure is,"

Eric turned to me, a raised brow on display. "You're telling me you're loaded?"

I felt a bit embarrassed— I knew that once Eric found out the truth, he'd think of me just as all the other ones did. The spoiled girl who had nothing else to do but turn to drugs to get a high out of life. I couldn't help but grow nervous, unsure how to explain the truth to him; "Well... It's my parents' money,"

Eric nodded to himself, stepping towards me. "Are they around much? I didn't see them visiting you in rehab,"

The truth stung. "They don't want to look their biggest disappointment in the eye," I mumbled, my gaze falling to my feet. "But they make sure I'm still alive, I suppose. So it's not that bad."

There was a silence before I suddenly felt Eric's long, slender fingers beneath my chin, tilting me up so that I could meet his gaze. I wasn't sure what I was expecting to see, but it certainly wasn't this; compassion. "Their loss," he said, the emerald green of his eyes engulfing my being with unexpected kindness. "At least you got a great apartment out of it."

I let out a warm laugh, now keening against the palm of his hand as he placed it to my cheek. "I've missed you,"

As Eric smiled down at me, it was obvious that his heart fluttered at the sight of me. I had never thought someone would ever look at me like that. "I've missed you too," he breathed. "Thought about you during every waking moment of every day. You have no idea how glad I am that I found you."

I could barely believe this was real— didn't stuff like this only happen in movies? "If only I had known you called," I mumbled, placing my hand on top of his. "Being without you was just hell... What happened?"

Eric inhaled a sharp breath, an unintelligible emotion swimming in his eyes. "I want to be honest with you, but... I'm afraid you'll run,"

In a flash of desperation, I placed his hand against my heart. "I have nowhere else to run but to you,"

Eric's green eyes rounded out, his lips parting in confusion— was I maybe not the only one stunned by the confessions of complete and utter love tonight? "I— Fuck," 

With that, Eric's strong hands gripped my waist, pulling me towards him as our lips came together in a hungry kiss. The sheer force of it, along with the element of surprise, nearly had me stumbling a few steps back. But Eric only followed; I nearly moaned out as I felt his tongue against mine, my hands flying up into his dark locks and pulling him closer. I had missed him more than I had ever missed anything in the world, including drugs— all my swarming feelings of never-dying love had me pushing away all my needs for an answer from him regarding his phone, and I let my back hit the surface of the couch as Eric hovered above me.

"Missed you," he breathed in between kisses, a slight growl to his voice. Something told me Eric was trying to melt himself into me to make sure we would never be apart again— it only made my need for him stronger. I clung to him, my legs wrapping around his tall figure as I attempted to pull him even closer than he already was. 

Fuck, his lips were so soft. Deadly soft. The way Eric was nipping at my lower lip, occasionally sinking his teeth into it to draw out a whimper, was making a familiar knot form in my lower abdomen. I barely registered that my dress was gone before I watched him discard his shirt somewhere on the floor— now that we finally had time, I let my fingers run over his tattoos, smiling into the next kiss as I realized we would finally have that messy morning I was promised. I couldn't wait to lie in his arms, tracing every piece of art on his skin, taking it all in— this was heaven. Everything about finally being alone with Eric was heaven. 

"Missed you too," I eventually managed to moan out, feeling him grow hard against the apex of my thighs. "I don't ever want to be without you again." My breath hitched as Eric left wet kisses down jaw, neck, breasts, and stomach, knowing exactly where he was heading. I drew my hand towards my mouth, gently biting down to suppress a rather girly squeal. 

"You'll never be," Eric purred against my skin, sinking his teeth gently into my thigh to evoke a sound. "If you think we're ever going to be apart from now on, I need you to scour that pretty little brain of yours once more."

It was impossible not to smile, and I squirmed against the couch before Eric's big, strong hands grabbed my hips, holding me in place as he pressed a kiss against my clothed sex. However, I couldn't shake the feeling that he was doing this to avoid telling me what had happened in the moments we had been apart. Despite wanting to give in to the pleasure, let him tease me and keep me on the edge through the night, my mind wouldn't let me.

In the moment Eric threw my underwear to the floor, now kissing up my thighs and leaving me breathless, I propped myself up on my elbows; "Hold on," I breathed, reaching down to run my fingers through his hair in hopes of getting his attention. "Eric, wait--"

As he looked up at me through his brows, eyes wide with confusion as he paused for me, I didn't know whether I could go through with it. This moment was so damn precious, something I had been longing for ever since the moment I saw him; so why couldn't it wait? With a sigh, I laid back down. 

"You okay?" Eric asked, his thumb rubbing a soothing circle against my hipbone. "Wanna stop?"

That was definitely not it-- I let in a lazy breath, my eyelids drooping over my eyes as my body shivered at the feeling of his hot breath against my cunt. Everything about this situation was making my brain shut down. "No... I don't want to stop," My hands reached for his, and Eric let out a hum, his free hand now ghosting over my sex. "Just wondering whether you drew it or not."

"Drew what?"

"What we did in that stairwell,"

Eric's eyes sparkled with amusement as he laughed, placing a wet kiss against the inside of my thigh. "You bet I did,"

"Will you show me?"

He hummed against my skin; "Later... I'm a little busy here, as you see," Eric hooked his arms around my legs, dragging me closer to him as I yelped. I could only laugh, the realization that I had finally gotten all I had ever wanted hitting me just as I felt the warm trickle of spit running down my cunt-- my hips bucked up in surprise, my breath escaping me. I was about to prop myself up on my elbows for a second time, hoping to get a look at what the fuck he was doing, but as he ran his tongue up between my folds with a ridiculously soft touch, I could only whimper.

The memory of Eric saying he would take his time with me when we were out of rehab suddenly dawned on me-- I was in for the long run.

It didn't take long before he had me writhing beneath him, a whimpering, panting mess. With every swirl of his tongue around my clit, every time he sucked in my aching bud between his plush lips, I held back the urge to buck my hips up against him. It got increasingly hard to keep still, especially when Eric pulled away to simply breathe down on my sex, knowing exactly where he had me. 

"Fuck," I cried, reaching down to run my fingers through his hair-- I did my best not to tighten my grip, fighting the urge to use his dark locks as handles. 

I could feel Eric smiling against me, leaning down to press a soft kiss against my clit; my breath immediately hitched, bucking up against his mouth in an attempt to beg for more. His fingers dug themselves into my thighs, driving my legs further apart as he made space for his broad shoulders. I whined at the loss of friction when he tilted his head to look up at me, and a shiver ran up my spine at the look of his face, slicked with my arousal. 

A mischievous smile spread across Eric's plush, glistening lips; "Someone's impatient,"

I could feel my cheeks redden with embarrassment, lolling my head back down against the couch-- looking at him only made it worse. "Can you blame me? You're doing this on purpose," 

Eric hummed, one hand leaving my thigh to lazily rub soft circles around my clit, using my slick as a lubricant. It only made me squirm, letting out a shaky moan as my back arched slightly off the couch. Even worse, was that I started to feel a small tremble appearing in my hands. "Can't handle a little teasing?" he said, biting his lip as he watched me attempt to suppress my noises. "You keep saying you've waited for me... What happened to your patience?"

I held back the urge to simply kick him-- but that thought immediately slipped out of my mind the second Eric flattened his tongue against me, licking a stripe all the way up to my swollen clit. It was impossible to suppress the hitch of my breath, and the tug I gave his hair in response was purely instinctual. It surprised me further to hear him enjoy it; I decided to keep that observation stored for later.

I had a feeling Eric knew my mind was buzzing, that he wouldn't be able to toy with me much longer. There might've been a few giveaways that I was at my wit's end-- all of which left me feeling like an even bigger mess than I already was beneath him. "I- I can't," I whined, my words leaving me as Eric sucked me in once more. "Wait, please!--"

He hummed against me, now pressing his lips against the crease of my thigh as a chuckle built in his throat. "Fine, fine," he said, playfully sinking his teeth into my skin, his green eyes watching my every move. "I suppose I'm dragging this out... I don't know why I'm feeling nervous."

Nervous? Eric didn't look very nervous to me. "It's just me, though?" I tried, attempting to catch my breath as I laid my hand on top of his. My next words came out shakier than anticipated, especially now that he was kissing his way back up my body; "You don't need to be nervous."

Eric hummed, his large, tattooed hands kneading my chest, kissing along the hem of my bra. "It's just... When you left rehab," he started, his lips pressing along my collarbones. "I realized it took me days to recover after a dream with you in it."

The rush of joy surging through my veins reminded me of a hit of amphetamine-- it was all-taking, consuming, and I wanted nothing more than to press him so closely that we'd melt together. "Eric--"

"I've drawn you over and over," he breathed, kissing up my neck with a toe-curling softness. "In every way possible. Imagined the way you'd look at me after waking up in the morning, how it would feel to kiss your pretty little face good night..." Eric's lips hovered above mine, our shared breaths hot and shaky against one another as he continued; "I want you to burn into me like warm glass, mold into one. It sounds insane, but... how else can I ensure we stay together?"

My eyes were wide, finding his, as my hands reached up to cup his face. Like this, I finally had the time to admire the tattoo above his right brow, the deep scar on his cheek, and the tattoo above it. I stroked my thumb over the ink, holding back from connecting our lips just yet; "If you think I'm ever leaving you, I need you to scour that pretty little brain of yours" I breathed, watching his pupils dilate as I bit back a smug smile. "Do I need to remind you that I'm all yours?" My fingers now ghosted over his lips, still wet with my slick, as an idea suddenly hit me. "Actually..."

Eric watched in confusion as I shifted beneath him, now reaching for the table right by the couch. There, I had left a marker which I had previously used to write a birthday card, and I took it into my hand before laying back down, looking up at the puzzled look on his face. "I'm not able to physically melt into you, but..." 

Eric's green eyes widened further, watching as I popped the cap and drew a tiny little heart on the peak of his shoulder.

I met his gaze, beaming up at him; "I can leave my mark,"

The most unexpected thing happened-- The sight of Eric welling up in tears was not something I had counted on when I let my impulses take the lead. For a second, I got genuinely worried I had overstepped all boundaries until he pinned my hand above my head and pressed a needy, passionate kiss against my lips.

I couldn't control the moan that escaped me, my hips bucking up against his, feeling his hard length grind down and brush up against my clit as our chests came together, pulling each other in as close as possible. The need I felt for Eric was undescribable, ravaging through my being-- I had never wanted anyone as bad as this. 

Mind dulled by anticipation and pleasure, I barely registered that he had managed to pry the marker from my fingers and pull it into his hand. Eric disconnected the kiss, pressing his wet lips against my cheek before propping himself up on his knees, scanning his canvas. "I'm definitely dreaming now," he whispered, mostly to himself, hovering above me as he drove the marker tip to the point where my ribs met on my chest. 

I could only smile, watching my favourite artist at work with admiration blossoming in my chest. Knowing I would be decorated with his work made me even more hot and bothered; I did my best to get a look at what he was drawing without disrupting his process. 

Eric drew a line down my chest, a few leaves scattered along it-- it dawned on me that he was drawing a rose. A beautiful, big rose, with that same scratchy style that I recognized from his previous creations. I watched him dart his tongue out, keeping it between his lips, focused; I couldn't help but find it endearing.

"Art on art," he breathed, pulling away to drink in the sight of what he had drawn on my body. Eric's green eyes found mine, his shy smile returning to his plush, glistening lips. "You're beautiful. You're so beautiful."

"So are you," I held back the urge to cry happy tears, my hands reaching out for him. "I love it, Eric. I'm scared of needles, so I won't be able to get this tattooed... Meaning you'll have to draw it over and over. Would you do that for me?"

Eric let out a choked laugh, eyes glossing over as he put the cap back on the marker, discarding it somewhere before returning to his place above me. "I'd do anything for you,"

I hadn't smiled so brightly in what felt like years. Like this, at this moment, I was sure this was it. He was it. 

Before I knew it, we were completely lost in the fiery kiss that ensued-- Eric's tongue against mine, hands lost around my waist as my fingers hooked into his dark locks, our chests heaving at one another. I was so gone, so dizzyingly aroused, that when I felt his thick cock pushing past my sopping entrance, I could only gasp. 

Eric let out a grunt, both of us moaning into the kiss at the immediate relief-- I could barely believe that this was real, that we were back as one. In a sense, this was the melting together that we had both craved so badly. 

My nails dug into his back, leaving crescent marks in their wake as I let him push further into me. Eric buried his face in the crook of my neck, letting out a breathy groan against my skin when he finally moved. His cock stroked my walls the same way it had that one evening in the stairwell, the exact feeling I had chased as I buried my fingers deep inside of me every night since-- I had forgotten how the real deal had felt. How mind-numbingly good it felt to have Eric in me.

I whimpered as I felt his cock throb upwards, immediately hitting my sweet spot, and I wrapped my legs around him, wanting nothing more than to stay like this forever. Knowing I bared his mark on my chest, knowing he had dreamed of this as well, only strengthened the electricity running all the way up to the tips of my fingers. I didn't know how I was supposed to last long at all, especially when I heard Eric moan out my name-- I shivered, pressing my lips against the heart I had drawn on his shoulder. 

I noticed a blush creep up his cheeks before he connected our lips once more, but it was hard to kiss properly when we were both in a heavy daze of pleasure-- we ended up mostly breathing against one another, Eric's green eyes watching as I let out a string of moans with every stroke of his cock. 

"You're everything," Eric rambled, nipping at my lower lip to suppress another grunt. "You're everything, you're-- Fuck!--" His hands dug into my hips, fucking me properly into the couch as he deepened his thrusts. 

My heart fluttered in my marked chest as I realized we were both looking down to watch our union-- the sight of Eric's cock pumping in and out of me, the wet sounds of our love filling the room, was almost enough to bring me over the edge. I also caught a glimpse of the petals drawn over my body, realizing I was admiring both the art and his body against mine. 

My back arched off the couch as Eric shifted, angling his thrusts upwards-- now, he was dead on pumping his cock against my sweet spot, which had me mewling out against his lips. "Eric, I-- I'm not gonna last, a-ah!--"

With glossy eyes, I watched a smirk spread across Eric's lips; "Let go if you need to," he cooed, his dark hair now kissing his forehead as he let out a laboured grunt. "We'll go again, baby-- hah, don't worry."

That was all I needed-- my heart fluttered, realizing we had all the time in the world to fuck all through the night. 

Forever, if we wanted to.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧��• ｡ﾟ

This was nice. Stupidly nice. Nothing in my life had prepared me for this moment.

The softness of his fingers running up my bare shoulder, the kindness with which he bathed me-- I didn't even know this existed before now. I looked up at Eric, my head nuzzled against his broad, tattooed chest as we lay in post-coital bliss. I reached out to trace the heart I had marked him with, and I wondered what else I could draw on his beautiful body.

However, I knew I had to ask the question he hadn't been willing to answer yet. I had to look past how heavy his beautiful lashes looked in his drowsy state, and how badly I wanted to reach out and trace the upward slope of his nose, to ask what needed to be asked. "Eric?"

He hummed, glancing down at me. 

It was incredibly hard to take my eyes off his kiss-swollen lips. "You never told me,"

"Told you what?"

It felt as though we'd had this conversation about three times now; "You didn't tell me why you changed your number. Or why you waited to reach out. Or, better yet, why you didn't just show up here... I even gave you my address," I couldn't stop the imminent pout appearing across my lips-- I had forgotten how upset I was about this. "I waited for you. I nearly drove myself crazy thinking I'd imagined it all."

Sighing, Eric's gaze diverted to the ceiling. "I'm sorry. I will tell you everything. Just... could I have one more day?"

"What?" Something told me that his secret was a lot more damning than I initially thought-- why was he so reluctant to tell me? Did he think it would change how I felt?

"One more day," he echoed, his tattoed hand mindlessly traveling up into my hair as his eyes glossed over.  "Just give me one more day..."

I didn't know what to say, at a loss for words. Instead, I popped the cap to the marker in my hand, realizing I wouldn't be the one to deny him his one wish. Eric closed his eyes with a sigh of relief as he felt the tip of the marker against his skin once more; time was a gift I was willing to give him.

I was willing to give him absolutely anything he'd ever want-- I just hoped it wouldn't be the death of me.

(a/n: PART 1 and PART 2 linked here<33 thank you for reading!!)

[https-lvesick]

CAUGHT ON CAMERA — starring f!reader x na jaemin (ft. jeno and haechan, the perverts)

jeno and haechan know they can always count on their best friend, jaemin, and that's why they borrow his camera for a project. they just didn't expect to get the wrong camera... and enjoy every second of it.

content 𖹭 jaem!big dick, sex tape (size diff, breeding, stomach bulge, fingering, slight nipple sucking, m!oral + cum eating), m!masturbation

notes 𖹭 another big thanks for my baby @sinisxtea for proofreading this!

it wasn't unusual to see na jaemin walking around the campus carrying a camera and photographing everything he found cool. the devoted photography student had an unique artistic view, in his mind, anything could be turned into art. ordinary objects, situations and even some students were his objects of art, but there was only one thing, precious enough to worth his devotion: you. jaemin's object of adoration. he was so committed to you and to show the beauty of every single thing you'd do, he bought a camera exclusively for you.

that camera was special. It could only support videos and photos of you. you could be doing anything. playing with stray cats, eating, painting your nails, putting on some makeup, but his favourite moments were the intimate ones.

jaemin just... he couldn't handle your preciousness. in every aspect, he felt the need, the urge to capture and keep your beauty. especially when you put on a little show just to show him your new lingerie set. or maybe when you were choking with his cock down your throat, your makeup smudged all over your face. fuck... he could list every video that the camera had ever captured.

and knowing how committed, na jaemin, a third-year photography student, was to his major, donghyeok, his roommate, thought he could borrow one of his cameras for a project.

“did you even ask him for it, you dumbass? what if he took his camera with him?” jeno comments, leaning on the door frame, watching his friend search for one of the most valuable items for jaemin.

“wasn't he just driving his girl home? why does he need a camera for that?” the younger cusses, messing with jaemin's drawer.

“sure, but you know how in love he is and how he just keeps anything she does.” jeno rolls his eyes, almost giving up on convincing his friend to find an object he didn't even ask permission to use.

“finally!” donghyeok laid his eyes on something deep in the closet. he takes the camera and closes the doors.

“i still think that's the worst idea you've ever had. what if jaemin sees a picture of you there? especially if it's on the camera that, again, was deep in his closet.” jeno emphasizes his last words, trying to knock some sense into his friend, but knowing he wouldn't listen, he just adds: “at least check to see if it's charged.”

“that's what i'm trying to do...” donghyeok says focused. the two guys were already sitting in the corner of jaemin's bed. he turned the camera on and you are the first thing they saw, wearing a flowy light blue dress. jaemin and you were on a date and you were showing how to make your boyfriend's favourite sandwich. “how can someone be so pretty...” he murmurs, sighing.

“i don't know...” jeno says, letting himself get lost at the sound of your voice and how your beaming smile could lighten up his whole day. honestly, they can get where all of jaemin's adoration comes from. if he had a girlfriend like you, he'd also keep every single moment to himself. then he realized what he was thinking. “but she's our best friend's girlfriend, right? the camera is fully charged, we can see it, then c'mon.” he stands up, but donghyeok immediately pulls him to sit again.

“c'mon jen, we're already here. this might be the camera he dedicated to her. don't you wanna see more of this... damn sculpture? you sure?” the younger lee skips some photos and videos, stopping at a video where you're wearing a bikini. you were laughing with jaemin while taking off your sundress, talking about going to the water. the focus goes all to your ass, while you walk to the water and they can hear jaemin's mischievous laugh along with a perverted comment.

they knew it wasn't cool to desire their best friend's girlfriend, but were they the ones to blame when you looked that pretty? you looked like some fancy masterpiece sculpted by michelangelo in his peak of inspiration. are they the ones to blame when you looked like aprodithe's daughter yourself, being allowed to live among those poor and useless human beings, gifting them your graciousness? you must be the girl of every guy's dream and they're lucky to have a best friend good enough to win a lotto. at least they get to see you often.

as donghyeok passed the videos, the two guys found themselves more and more immersed in you. and jaemin is completely right to be obsessed with you.

“holy fuck...” haechan whispers, licking his lips before biting his lower lip. jeno comes closer, eyes wide open when he notices what's happening on the video.

“come here.” Jaemin's voice is heard and you comply. you crawl to the corner of the bed, where your boyfriend was, and sit still.

you were wearing an expensive lingerie set that was driving not only one, but three men crazy. the bra hugged your breasts so prettily that they wondered if they'd fit that good in their hands.

“nana... your cock...” you let out a whiny plea. almost purring like a cat. your sparkling eyes, begging your boyfriend to stop flauting you to the camera and to let you suck on him.

it's not that hard to deduce that jaemin may have been lowering his pants.

“haechan, enough.” jeno warns, trying to be rational, but yet his eyes were glued on the little screen that was showing you, kitty licking jaemin's tip, teasing him. you were even rubbing his cock between your breasts, slobbering on it.

“fuck it, he's not here to see what we're doing.” donghyeok says in a low voice, holding the camera in one hand, as the other was lowering his shorts.

“haechan, what the fuck!” the older lee exclaims, completely shocked with his friend's attitude.

“jeno, if you don't wanna stay, then leave. and you better don't open that fucking mouth of yours to jaemin.” he spits on his palm, before dragging it along his shaft, lubricating his length. “but you can't deny the obvious.” haechan laughs, looking at jeno’s pants, before turning his full attention to the video.

jaemin's hand was guiding your head, sucking him off as if it was your life goal. you sucked his tip, forcing your tongue on his slit, making your boyfriend cuss, and squeeze lightly his full balls. he's so fucking good at what he's doing, and so are you. shortly after, he's pulling your hair, prying you off of his cock.

“open that pretty mouth of yours, huh?” he asks, jerking off right on your mouth. In a matter of few seconds, you can taste his salty cum on your tongue and you swallow when he spills more on your boobs.

jeno was standing, thinking about this whole situation. he looked at his friend having fun and looks at his own problem, getting more uncomfortable. the way donghyeok looked so satisfied watching whatever was happening on the screen awakened his interest and desire. fuck, she was his best friend's girlfriend, but... she was fucking pretty and when would he get any opportunity like that again?

“this might be harassment or something like that…” he mumbles, retaking his place beside his friend and frees his cock out of his pants. jeno could see haechan's mischievous smile, so he said first: “don't you even get started, you nasty dog.” even with that said, donghyeok didn't seem very offended, after all, who is he to say anything?

by this time you were already laying in bed, your legs spread for jaemin and the camera, consequently, the two perverts watching that. your glistening cunt gushing your juices, while your boyfriend collected every drop of it with his long fingers, teasing your slit.

“how many?” jaemin asks, threatening to insert the tip of two of his fingers, but never doing it.

“three, nana…” you whine, biting your lower lip, watching your boyfriend smile and tease you, the same way you'd do to him. that's until he inserts the three fingers you requested, all at once.

haechan was sure that sweet, languid, moan would linger in his mind forever. jeno, on the other hand, was sure he will never be able to look at his friend and his girlfriend again. he'd rather throw himself off of the window. as soon as he cums.

with each movement of jaemin's fingers, the wet squelching sound could be heard. it made your eyes roll while jeno and haechan make it an opportunity to fasten their own movements. jeno gulps, looking straight at your wet hole, salivating. fuck, he imagines how good it must be to feel you. he's sure you're tight and nice to be inside of. he tighten his grip, forcing his cock on a tighter hole. haechan also salivates, watching how good you take jaemin's fingers. he stops his hand's movements, thrusting his hips up, imagining it was your pussy he was fucking.

jaemin takes his fingers out of you and the boys could suppose what he was doing. he was tasting you on his own fingers. haechan curses, caressing his balls, and closes his eyes, catching his lower lip between his teeth. jeno slows his rhythm, tracing his fingers along his abs.

your boyfriend hovers over you and kisses you. his free hand traces your body, searching for your bra's clasp, undoing it. you discard the piece, feeling jaemin's wet kisses on your skin, and then you feel his plump lips wrapping around your nipple. you shiver feeling your boyfriend's warm tongue, hugging him.

“jaem…” you call, almost like crying, and jaemin smiles against your skin, understanding well your wish. he pulls the mound of flesh between his teeth making you hiss.

“how could i deny you?” he mocks and stands up, taking off his pants. when he resumes his position above you, he rests his cock on your tummy.

and that's when they realize how smaller than jaemin you are.

“no fucking way! this won't fit, no shit.” donghyeok smiled, clearly having fun. “this might be better than some cheap ass porn i've ever watched in my life.” his eyes lighten up with excitement. jeno only nods, lost in pleasure.

jaemin rubs his tip on your slit, forcing himself slowly. “no matter how many times i fuck you... will you ever open enough for me, darling?” he growls, getting even further inside you.

“jaem, it's too big!” you whine, gripping the bed sheets and closing your eyes, arching your back.

for a moment, your boobs shake and donghyeok loves it, almost losing it. he considers replay that part, but maybe another time, when he's alone.

when jaemin is fully inside you and the bulge is perfectly visible, jeno cums with a grunt. haechan laughs, teasing his friend. “good job, jen! hit it that fast?”

“shut the fuck up, lee donghyeok.” jeno grits his teeth. the truth is, jeno has a thing for bulge. it was the first thing he searched for when he was trying to relieve some stress. it was the first thing he thought when getting laid and now... knowing you were so small that a bulge was surely made on your belly made him see stars.

jaemin moves. starts slow, helping you get used to his size, even if you had done it plenty of times before, he was too big for you, no matter how many times when you were fucked by him, but then he picks up his pace. his hand presses the bulge on your stomach for a while, before gripping your thigh. his rhythm is rough, intense, so much that it makes your breasts move at each snap of his hips. and haechan felt like he was in heaven.

your moans starts to get more desperate and high-pitched. you call your boyfriend's name like a mantra while resting one of your hands on his stomach. jaemin doesn't stop, only picking up his pace, getting even rougher. he feels your pussy gripping his cock, identifying your orgasm. your eyes roll to the back of your skull and your mouth remains wide open for a while until you feel it dry, feeling jaemin squirting all of his seed inside of you.

“you fine, love?” he asks, slowing down his pace, only so you can come down off your high. you can just nod.

jaemin finally turns his camera, focusing right where your bodies meet. he thrusts a few more times, before getting out of you. the moment his cum is seen dripping out of you like a cascade is when haechan loses it, cumming with a whiny moan.

jaemin says something else, but the boys could care less, so donghyeok turns off the camera, putting it on the bed. jeno and haechan remain in silence for a moment.

“this might be the best thing my eyes have ever seen.” “that must be the gayest thing i've ever done.” they say at the same time.

“what?” haechan says.

“c'mon, i saw your cock. plus, i had to hear you moan like a whore. i'm getting insane…” jeno stands up angry, covering his dick again.

“oh, right, 'cause you moan like an alpha, huh?” the younger lee also stands up, bringing the camera with him.

“where do you think you're going with this, haechan?” jeno questions, watching his friend walk past him with the camera in hands.

“if you think i'm not enjoying this pretty little thing right here while i can, you're stupid. and you better not to try and jerk off with me. once was enough.” he says, leaving the room and an astonished jeno behind.

poor jeno, little does he know that haechan won't only watch. maybe he can upload some videos too. seeing jaemin's cock was a little price to pay when he was able to see all of you, spread and wet again.