#i tried not to mess it up but failed so bad ;;;;;

[midnghtprentiss]

Can I request for Jack Abbot x fem reader? Their child wanted pet(s) and Jack just wouldn't let him since he wasn't convinced that they would take care of it and he's busy with work and so does her. Their kid persuaded her and she tried to tempted Jack to give in. Doing everything just to let him say yes. Jack knew his answer but just wanted to mess you with them🫣. Kisses, fluff, suggestive. Thanks!! :))

a/n: this is my first request omg omg omg, i absolutely loved your request! i changed a few times but hope it matches what you wanted. have fun dear. sorry if there's some mistakes, english is not my first language. enjoyyyy :)

mission called convincing daddy to get us what we want - jack abbot

pairing: jack abbot x wife!reader warnings: jack as girls dad, suggestive content

Parenthood was amazing. You loved it more than you expected. You loved being a mom as much as Jack loved being a dad and he was really proud to be a girl's dad. Your twin girls were the reason for him to absolutely love the new version of him. 

Evangeline and Cecilia were his sunshine, his everything. He would die and kill if meant to make them smile. Even before they came to the world he was excited about the idea of having two versions of himself with the person he loves. He spent nights imagining how life would be so much cooler and brighter, he even confessed to you that he always wanted to be a girl dad but never had the chance to make it right before you. 

The whole pregnancy wasn’t easy, you had a lot of pain, restrictions and anxiety at the same time. Growing two girls at once was a hell of a full time job and apparently will be for a long time. You were eating more, sleeping more, feeling bigger than ever, you can’t even count how many clothes didn’t fit anymore. You started by doing less shifts and when you did, Jack made sure you didn’t work harder, which led you to a few fights. 

“Jack, pregnancy is not a disease. I am more than capable of doing my job and still have two children inside of me.” 

“I’m not letting you do everything you want so you can prove something to other people.” You laughed in his face.

“I am a doctor first and then a mother. So please, let me enjoy this moment before I’ll spend my days being known only as a mother.” 

Everything changed when you got to hold your girls for the first time and actually be a better mom than the one you have. It was a full time job, the hardest job you’ve ever had, 24/7 of being alert and on the edge of your seat for the smallest things. You didn’t showered for almost a week after you got to bring them home, you cried when they cried and the worst part of it all was the excruciating feeling that you were already failing. 

Jack was your number one supporter, your safe haven and he was happy to be there. He dealt with the sleepless nights like a champ, always holding the girls, giving them what they needed just for you to sleep for a while, he didn't even complain about being sleep deprived, he just accepted it. But he never told you how terrified he was of sucking at the only job he couldn’t fail. How he was afraid of sleeping and missing something important, or how anxious he was when they were out of his plain sight. He didn’t tell you he almost gave up being a doctor to stay with the girls. 

As they grew up, you both understood how to be better parents and that brought you closer than ever, creating boundaries and rules to make this right. You agreed on coming back to work at your own pace, making cohesive schedules and trying your best not to go home during shifts. You worked the day shift so he stayed with them and he stayed with the girls all day and he worked at night shift for you to be home during bedtime. 

Real teamwork.

Cecilia was like a mini version of Jack. She was bossy, talkative and had the same bad attitude as him, which sometimes made your life so difficult, but she was glued to you. Everywhere you went, she was there like a shadow. Evangeline was a whole version of you, she was sweet, calm and did her best to be nice to everyone and yet Jack was the only one who could calm her down when she wasn’t having a good day. 

There were nights Ange cried non stop because she wanted daddy and as a consequence Cece cried because her sister was crying. You have to call him at two in the morning, knowing he was busy with a trauma, trying your best to not cry on the phone, asking him to talk to her. Or when Cece was giving him an attitude because he wanted her mama so bad that everyone else was an enemy, he had to call you just for her to feel better. 

You decided to change your tactics again and put the girls to socialize in preschool. At first you hated the idea as much as Jack but eventually you decided to give it a try. They absolutely loved it. The first week was filled with tears and anxiety (from you, especially), the desire of bringing them home and putting the whole experiment behind. By the second week the girls begin to cry less and be more excited about going. It was a relief for your mind and both of you could focus more at work. 

At six years old you could see these girls were smarter than you imagined. They talked about what they learned at kindergarten and included details about everything they knew and saw. There was no better feeling than watching your favorite human beings embracing their personality. 

One day after school during a pick up, you noticed them speaking quietly and giggling with each other pointing at some drawings in their notebooks. 

“What’s happening here? Am I missing something?” Ange and Cece looked at each other and giggled louder. 

“Mama, we want a dog.” Cece screamed and lifted up her piece of paper. 

“Oh really? Why do you want a dog?” You asked curious. 

“Today Mrs. Sunny told us about responsibilities and she told us having a pet helped us with that.” Ange was so excited and her sister was agreeing on everything. “We are big girls now.” Big girls that made her father look under the bed every night for monsters.

“Girls, having a pet is a big thing. Me and daddy are really busy taking care of more things to have animals.” You tried to sound soft, knowing how emotional they can get. “Plus, I don’t if you’re ready for this kind of responsibility.” 

“We can help!” Cece jumped in, “We can give them food, water, snuggles and we can take them to our walks with daddy.” 

That would be fun, you think to yourself, Jack was going to have a stroke when you tell him that. Or better, you’ll let them speak to him. 

The idea of a pet was something you and him already talked about. During your pregnancy you had long conversations with your husbands on the subject, you grew up with animals and in fact helped you with the responsibility of taking care of the people you loved. He wasn’t against it, but you’re both busy and now with two kids taking a lot of attention and time, an animal would make it worse and more chaotic. 

“I agree with you, girls.” Of course you agreed with them, the smiles they gave you is more than enough. “We need to convince dad to let us have a pet, what do you think?” They squealed and laughed, starting to make some plans and creating some crazy scenarios where the pet was included. “I suggest you two work on something really good for him and we talk about this before dinner, alright?”

When you got home, Jack was already waiting outside. Crossed arms, polo shirt, faded jeans. What a view. The moment he opened the car door for them, they were already on him, talking about their day and showering him with hints about the conversation that would happen later. 

He just looked at you confused and nodding with whatever sentence was coming out of their mouths. You walked behind them, contemplating the sweet view of your family. 

While Cece and Angel were doing their homework, you were studying a few things for your lecture and Jack was making dinner. You approached him quietly and held his face to make him look directly at you. 

“We have a problem, a big one.” His heart almost stopped at your words. “They want a dog.” 

“Really?” He chuckled, going back to slicing the onions. 

“Something about Mrs. Sunny teaching about responsibility.” You poured yourself some wine and leaned against the counter. “They are on a mission called convincing daddy to get us what we want. It’s gonna be tough on you, buddy.” 

“What exactly did you say to them?” He put the knife down and stared at you. 

“I said the truth. We’re busy and getting a pet would add more chaos into our lives but I said yes.” You said quietly and he raised his eyebrows. “I can’t resist them, you know that!”

Dinner was chaotic. Cecilia and Evangeline were on fire telling all the good reasons for having cats and dogs. They even called themselves ‘doctor daughters’ and their specialty is love and snuggles. You held your smile the whole time, while Jack was so hypnotized by them he didn’t even blink. 

“Girl, I understand you really really really want that but we need to discuss it better.”  Their eyes were full of water and while he talked about their busy life, their school time and the extracurricular they do, a dog was harder. 

“But we are good girls, daddy.” You almost got up and went to the nearest shelter to get the damn dog. 

“I know, bug.”

After bedtime you were laying next to Jack, tracing lines in his chest and you couldn’t stop thinking about their wish of having an animal. Jack knew this conversation was about to happen for the way you tucked them in bed and he heard you saying you would try to convince him using your ‘supermom powers’. Before the conversation started he was already laughing. 

You smacked his chest and rolled your eyes, trying to focus on whatever you were about to say to him. 

“You know why we can’t have a dog.” You looked at him. 

“Why not? Are you afraid he will steal your prosthetic leg?” He burst out laughing holding your arm.

“You would like that, didn’t you?” He teased and your eyes studied his face. 

“Jack, we are raising two girls. A dog can make our job easier.” You think about your next words. “It can teach them responsibility.” 

“A dog can be dangerous.” He found it amusing how you rolled your eyes every time you disagreed. 

“Men are dangerous, a dog is the sweetest thing they can have. Besides, we can use that to make them stop asking for another sibling.” You reminded him, getting more comfortable against his body. 

“You have a very good point, love.”

“Of course I have.”

“A sibling?” You giggled, hiding your face between his chest. “They can have a dog and a sibling, then.” 

“Easy there, tiger. It’s debatable since I’m the one who carries the children here.” 

“Everybody wins something here, just saying.”

“You’re a trouble, Jack Abbot.”

“You married me.” He held your face, caressing your cheeks gently. 

It took Jack three days to get a dog. He talked to an old army friend of his that had the contact of a guy that had retired dogs and just like that, you got a dog - Luke. He’s the nicest, trained and responded very well to the girls clinging on to him. 

You’ve never seen them so excited and happy to have a furry friend and the best part is watching Jack pretending he’s not blusinh watching his girls run around the backyard. You were sitting next to him, listening to Angel and Cece squeal every time Luke licked their faces and screamed when he runs from them. 

“About the sibling situation.” He smirked and watched your face with the same look that got you pregnant before. 

“Not before bedtime, Abbot.” You pushed his shoulder. 

“Can’t wait for our talk later.” 

Maybe life is worth it for the moments like that where everybody is truly happy.

[levanterhaze]

SUPERNATURAL, BANGCHAN

♡  ― 󠀬󠀬producer!bangchan x f!reader praise kink, unprotected sex, rough sex, possessiveness, creampie, mention of anxiety, slightly toxic relationship, phone sex, dirty talk, fingering, thigh riding, overstimulation, masturbation (both receiving), angst and a bit of fluff bc why not?

♡ synopsis ― You left Bangchan to protect your heart. He waited, hoping you'd come back. A silent month, one crowded room, and the gravity between you never left. Some loves don’t vanish—they haunt, they ache, and if you’re lucky, they bloom again.

[14.3k words ]♡― guys, it was supposed to be a one-shot, but tumblr wouldn't let me post it all at once? rude. so i decided to split it in half and tomorrow i'll post the second part!

This love's possessin' me, but I don't mind at all It's like supernatural It's takin' over me, don't wanna fight the fall It's like supernatural

Bangchan never thought you’d actually dump him. Not him. Not when he spoiled you rotten, kissed every bratty little pout off your lips, and let you steal the covers every damn night without a single complaint.

But you did.

You broke up with him on a random Tuesday, mascara clinging to your lashes, pout on your lips, arms crossed tight like you were trying to hold yourself together. You didn’t want to leave — he could see it all over your face — but you did it anyway. Because apparently "love isn't enough when all we do is fight," or some other dramatic bullshit you said while he sat there blinking at you like you’d just grown two heads.

He laughed. Actually laughed.

"You're breaking up with me?" he repeated, like the words didn’t even make sense in the same sentence. You? Leaving him? The girl he practically worshiped? His spoiled pretty girl who threw a fit when he forgot to buy her favorite snack, but still made his whole damn world brighter?

Yeah, no. He wasn't letting you just walk away like it was some casual Tuesday errand.

But you were stubborn. Always had been. You slammed the door to his apartment like you meant it, like you weren't about to miss the way he pulled you onto his lap every time you argue just to shut you up with his mouth.

Spoiler alert: you missed it.

And Chan? Chan was a fucking mess. 

Studio sessions got longer. Songs got sadder. His friends started looking at him like he was one bad day away from showing up at your place with a giant boombox over his head. And honestly? He almost did.

You were still everywhere — in the worn hoodie you stole, in the coffee order he still got wrong because you weren’t there to fix it, in the damn songs he tried and failed to write without thinking of you first. You were the muse he never asked for but needed like oxygen. The bratty, perfect princess who ruined him for anyone else.

So yeah. You thought you could just walk out of his life? Cute.

Because Bangchan had a plan now: He was going to get you back — messy, dirty, stubborn and completely in love with you.

No matter what it took.

Luckily for him — or maybe unluckily, depending on how you looked at it — you had way friends in common. Which meant every time there was a party, Bangchan knew you'd show up. And he used every damn opportunity to haunt your space like a lovesick idiot with a cocky smile.

And fuck, did he miss you.

He missed your laugh, your stupid eye-rolls, the way you stole his hoodies and looked ten times better in them. He missed your mouth — talking shit, teasing him, gasping for him. He missed how you’d curl up against him at night and pretend you weren’t clingy. He missed how you were a pain in the ass and his favorite thing in the world at the same time.

He could make a fucking list. It would take him until sunrise. 

His spoiled little brat. His princess. His goddamn downfall.

One of those nights, after a brutal day at the studio, Bangchan stumbled home at nearly three in the morning, muscles aching, brain fried. He should've passed out the second his head hit the pillow.

But no. His brain decided to go into hyperdrive, and every single fucking thought led right back to you.

After a hot shower, he sat on the edge of his bed, hair dripping, sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips. He grabbed his phone like it weighed a thousand pounds.

He stared at your contact. The one still saved under that stupid nickname he used to whisper in your ear when you got bratty just to hear you whine. The one no one else would ever understand — your secret language.

He should’ve gone to sleep. He really should’ve. 

Instead, he muttered "fuck it" under his breath and pressed call.

Impulse. Stupidity. Loneliness. Love. Maybe all of the above.

But he just needed to hear your voice. Even if you hated him for it.

Bangchan honestly didn’t expect you to pick up. Especially not at ass-o’clock in the morning. But the second your voice floated into his ear — sleepy, annoyed, real — his heart damn near jumped out of his chest.

"Still awake?" he asked, voice low, rough with exhaustion and something else he didn’t dare name.

You sighed like he was the biggest inconvenience in the world. "What do you want?"

He leaned back against the headboard, squeezing his eyes shut, trying not to say the first hundred filthy, desperate things that came to mind.

"I miss you," he said instead, voice soft, almost boyish.

You didn’t answer right away. He heard the faint rustle of your bedsheets, imagined you curled up with your laptop, rolling your eyes so hard they almost got stuck.

"And how exactly," you said sweetly, "is that my problem?"

Chan winced, grinning despite himself. Damn, he missed that mouth of yours. The way you could make him want to kiss you and bend you over in the same breath.

"Ouch. Don’t be snippy, princess," he teased, letting the nickname slip, letting it cut you both a little. "We both know you don't actually want to be."

You bristled. He could practically feel it through the line. You didn’t want to be rude. You wanted to be angry. There was a difference and you were losing the fight fast.

"Are you done?" you snapped, fake-sweet. "I'm hanging up."

"Wait! Wait, princess, c'mon..." he rushed, sitting up straighter, hand dragging through his damp hair in frustration. "You really don’t miss me?"

Silence.

It was deafening. Torturous. Delicious.

He let it stretch just long enough before letting his voice drop, dirty and coaxing.

"Don't lie to me," he said slowly. "I bet you're sitting there all pretty in bed, pouting at your screen, squeezing your thighs together because you can't even think about me without getting worked up."

"You sound drunk," you hissed, but your voice was shaking.

"Believe me, I’m not," he chuckled darkly. "I just know exactly what you need, even better than you do."

You hated him. You hated how good he was at getting under your skin.

You hated that your body responded before your brain even caught up.

"Go to sleep, Chan," you muttered, but it sounded weak, pathetic even to your own ears.

"Not until you say you miss me," he pushed, voice downright sinful now. "Or better yet... say my name like you used to when I had you squirming under me."

Your whole body burned.

Bangchan grinned into the silence. He could wait all night if he had to. After all... when it came to you, he never fucking gave up.

"Bangchan, we're done. It doesn't matter," you said, trying — and failing — to keep your voice flat.

Your eyes flicked back to your laptop, pretending you could still focus on the blurry article in front of you. But all you could actually hear was him — that stupid voice, low and raspy and somehow everywhere.

"It matters to me," he said, softer now, almost cocky. "I miss you, you know. All fucking day."

It wasn’t what he said — it was how he said it. That wrecked, teasing tone like he was right there, mouth at your ear, smirking when he saw the goosebumps rise on your skin.

"Stop saying bullshit like that," you snapped, but it was weak. Pathetic. You hated how easily he could undo you with nothing but his voice.

Bangchan has always been your greatest weakness. And he knew it.

"I wish you were here," he rasped. Silence fell. Thick. Heavy.

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding way too fast. You slammed your laptop shut with a frustrated groan, tossing it to the side.

Studying was officially over.

"It's almost three," you hissed, hugging your knees to your chest like it would somehow protect you from how stupidly warm you felt.

"Exactly," he said, that cocky smile dripping through the phone.

Bangchan was sprawled out in bed, back against the headboard, sweatpants slung low. Eyes closed, hand fisting the sheets because just thinking about you — your bratty little voice, your body, your mouth — had him half-hard already.

"What were you even doing at this hour, huh?" His voice dropped, that slow, lazy slur that always meant trouble.

You rolled your eyes even though you knew he couldn’t see. "Studying. I have an exam next week."

Bangchan let out a low grunt of approval that vibrated straight down your spine. It made you shift uncomfortably, thighs pressing together on instinct.

"That’s my brilliant girl," he murmured, voice thick with awe.

Your stomach flipped. Your whole body burned. And you hated yourself for the way you smiled into the darkness like an idiot.

The words caused irreversible damage to your mind. Bangchan knew exactly what he was doing — that wicked, cocky little smirk playing on his lips like he could already feel your walls crumbling.

He knew how you loved being praised. How dirty words slid under your skin and stayed there, rotting you sweet.

"I'm not your girl," you shot back, weak, stupidly defensive.

He chuckled, low and dirty. "You’ll always be mine, princess."

God, that voice. That fucking voice.

It made your thighs press tight without permission, heat blooming under your skin like wildfire. The room suddenly felt suffocating.

"Bangchan, I'm fucking serious," you said through gritted teeth, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to will him  and yourself  into behaving.

"Yeah, same," he muttered, so casually it made you want to throw your phone across the room. Then he paused — and the silence wrapped around your throat like a velvet rope. "Do you still wear my clothes?" he asked, almost smug.

Your whole body jolted like you’d been caught red-handed.

Because yes, you were still curled up in his old T-shirt right now, drowning in it, still obsessed with how it smelled like him. Still stupidly aching for a boy you pretended to hate.

"No," you lied, instantly hating yourself for how fake it sounded.

Bangchan let out a lazy, knowing laugh. "Liar."

You rolled your eyes so hard they nearly fell out. "Actually, I burned everything," you snarked, sarcasm dripping off every word.

"Mhm," he hummed, voice thick and teasing. "I bet you’re wearing it now. Nothing else underneath."

He shifted on his bed, the mic picking up the delicious rumple of sheets.

"Fuck, just thinking about it..." His breath hitched. "You have no fucking idea what you do to me, princess."

You clenched the phone so tight your knuckles turned white, heat pooling low in your belly, unbearable and sweet. You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath.

"Want me to tell you what I’m picturing right now?" he asked, voice filthy, honey-thick. 

Like a devil whispering in your ear.

You should have said no. You didn’t.

"In my shirt. No panties," he murmured. "Squeezing those pretty thighs together 'cause you’re aching so bad for me." He chuckled darkly when you didn’t respond — didn’t have words anymore — like he could see straight through the phone how wrecked you were becoming. "I know you, baby. I know you’re wet just hearing my voice."

You whimpered before you could catch yourself, face burning. You buried your face in the pillow, mortified.

"I can almost feel it, you know," Bangchan rasped. "How tight you always get for me. Fuck. The way you used to whine when I fucked you slow, made you cry for it."

Your whole body trembled.

The desperate, humiliating slickness between your legs soaked through your panties, leaving you throbbing, aching for relief.

"Don't..." you gasped, so weak, so embarrassingly close to shoving your hand under the waistband and finishing yourself off to nothing but his voice.

"Don't what?" he taunted, smug as hell now. "Don't make you cum without even touching you? Shit, princess, you’re so easy for me. You always were."

You bit your lip so hard it hurt, a desperate little noise catching in your throat.

"If you were here," he groaned, the sound making you whimper, "you’d see the mess you made of me. Hard as a fucking rock for you. Only you."

You closed your eyes — and that was your first mistake.

Because the second you imagined him, sprawled out lazy and wrecked on his bed, cock tenting his sweatpants, leaking just from thinking about you, you were done for.

"I could fuck my hand," he rasped, voice thick and ragged, "but it wouldn't be the same without you. Should be your pretty little mouth drooling on my cock right now."

"Chan..." you gasped, helpless, your free hand already sliding into your panties like it had a mind of its own.

Fuck him. Fuck him for making you this way. Horny. Hopeless. So easy.

If that was his plan all along, he’d won.

Bangchan groaned softly at the sound of your breath hitching. He could feel you through the phone — could see you in his mind, legs spread wide, fingers playing with your dripping cunt, just the way he liked it.

Fuck. It should be his fingers knuckle-deep inside you, his cock stretching you open until you forgot your own name.

He reached into his boxers, hissing through his teeth as he wrapped his palm around his aching cock, smearing the leaking pre-cum around the tip with a slow, dirty twist of his wrist.

"Angel," he growled, voice ruined and low, "stick those fingers in your pussy. Let me hear you fuck yourself for me. Is that what you want? My fingers in your tight little pussy, making you drip all over my hand?"

A moan tore itself from your lips — raw and real — and his cock twitched at the sound.

"Yeah, fuck. Whine for me," he urged. "Say my name like I'm there, fucking you so slow it drives you crazy."

"That's wrong..." you whimpered, but your voice betrayed you — soft, needy, trembling.

And worse, he could hear the obscene slickness of your fingers moving between your folds. He could hear how wet you were.

"Fuck," he groaned. He squeezed the base of his cock, fucking up into his fist, pre-cum slicking him up, panting like he was already right on the edge. "Wish you were here, princess... wish you were on your knees, swallowing every inch like the good girl you are."

You bit your lip so hard it almost bled, hips rocking desperately into your own touch, mind blank except for him him him —

"How's it feel, baby?" he taunted, voice molten. "How's it feel to fuck yourself thinking about my cock splitting you open?"

"So good," you choked out, pathetic and ruined.

"Stick another finger in," he commanded, and you obeyed blindly, whimpering at the stretch, at the shame of how much you needed it. "Think of my fingers making you drip down your thighs. Making a fucking mess of you."

You rubbed frantic circles over your clit, needy noises spilling from your lips without permission, fingers pumping in and out of your tight, soaking hole.

It wasn’t enough. You needed him. Needed his weight crushing you into the mattress, his teeth against your throat, his cock inside you, claiming every inch.

"I'm so fucking hard, shit baby," Bangchan growled, breathing like he was seconds away from snapping. "Wanna fuck that snippy mouth until you couldn’t speak."

You whimpered, high and broken, hand moving faster and faster, chasing the blinding, hot rush pooling low in your belly.

"Fuck, I'm gonna—" you gasped, hips stuttering. "I'm gonna—Chan—"

Bangchan didn't stop, didn't let up.

"My pretty girl, cumming on her fingers like a desperate little whore for me," he moaned, voice all grit and pleasure. "Cum for me. Fucking cum all over yourself thinking about my cock fucking you dumb.”

A ragged cry ripped from your throat  “Oh fuck, yes!” as you felt hot slickness gush from your pussy, spilling over your fingers, making a filthy mess.

Bangchan’s mind spiraled, picturing you like this: spread open and desperate, cumming hard with his cock buried ass-deep inside you, slamming into you over and over, stuffing you full of his cum, ruining you exactly the way you needed — sloppy, dripping, and his.

The orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, brutal and mind-shattering. You cried out, his name ripped from your throat, body convulsing around your fingers as wetness gushed out, soaking the sheets beneath you.

Somewhere through the haze, you heard him groan raggedly — the unmistakable sound of him cumming too, thick ropes splashing across his stomach. You could practically see it — Bangchan flushed, sweaty, wrecked — all for you.

When you finally caught your breath, shame and heat tangled together in your gut. You snatched the phone from the bed, heart pounding.

"You're an asshole," you snapped, your voice still shaky and fucked-out. "Don't ever—" you gasped for air, "don't ever fucking call me again."

And then you hung up on him — before you could do something even stupider — like beg him to come over.

The next day was a full-blown disaster — because all you could think about was him. Not your to-do list. Not your deadlines. Not the fact that you were supposed to be a responsible adult with goals and ambitions. No.

 Just Bangchan — and the memory of last night, which was exactly what you didn’t need right now.

You had promised yourself you’d be serious this time. Work. Study. Prioritize yourself. Not get dragged back into Bangchan's orbit like some hopeless idiot with no self-preservation instincts.

What happened last night was a slip-up. A pathetically delicious, toe-curling, dignity-shattering slip-up.

Still, you got dressed like it was just another Tuesday. Skirt. Heels. Lip gloss. Maybe you spent a little more time in front of the mirror. Maybe your skirt was a little shorter. Maybe you were absolutely ridiculous. 

Who could blame you? Inspiration was a bitch.

Bangchan had always spoiled you rotten. He got off on it, honestly. Clothes, jewelry, shoes, lingerie, makeup, salon appointments — if it sparkled or looked good on you, he bought it.

You never even had to ask. You were his favorite luxury item. All he wanted in return was your heart, served on a silver platter, the way you used to give it to him without thinking twice.

And God, did he love fucking you after a long day. You, dripping in brand-new lace he had picked out himself — letting him ruin you in it.

He was simple like that. Didn't need much. Just you. Always you.

You were his girl. You always have been. And if he had to move heaven, earth, and your stubborn ass to make you admit it again, he would.

The day dragged on, but the routine was good for you. Work, study, grind — all the mindless stuff that keeps your heart on mute. And when it was finally over, when you powered down all your screens and the office emptied out, you just sat there — in the quiet, in the dark — pretending you weren't still thinking about him.

After wrapping up, you powered down your equipment and stretched, only to realize you weren’t as alone as you thought. Mingi was still there, jacket slung casually over his arm like some corporate heartthrob out of a drama.

“Hey, you heading out?” he asked, falling into step toward you.

“Yeah. I think I’ve hit my limit for today.” You smiled, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

“Mind if I walk with you?” Mingi asked, giving you a lopsided half-smile that, unfortunately, was very effective.

You couldn’t exactly say no. Not to Mingi — handsome, polite, alarmingly smart Mingi — who had always been a quiet sort of presence on the team. You worked well together, but you’d never really crossed into friend territory.

Which made this... surprising.

You ended up walking together toward the elevators, his stride easy next to yours.

“There’s a happy hour tomorrow,” he said, pushing up his glasses, brown hair falling slightly into his eyes. “Are you going?”

You hesitated. Exams were coming up. You really should prioritize studying over cheap drinks and questionable decisions. But also? You desperately needed to hit the mental reset button before you spiraled.

"Sure," you said, surprising yourself. "I’ll be there."

The cold slapped you the second you hit the building’s exit. You cursed under your breath for skipping the coat this morning — your legs bare and goosebumped, the cold air feeling a little too personal against your skin.

Going back home to grab a jacket and then heading straight to college? Yeah, that was going to be hell.

You bit your lip, stuck in a ridiculous debate with yourself over what to do next. That's when your phone buzzed.

Bangchan: Who the fuck was that?

You frowned, confused and immediately suspicious.

You: First of all, what the fuck are you talking about? Second, who said you could text me?

A pause. Then two rapid-fire replies:

Bangchan: So mouthy. Missed that.

Bangchan: The guy you left with. Don’t play dumb, angel.

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. He was insufferable.

You: Newsflash: not your business anymore.

A beat.

Bangchan: Cute. You almost sound like you believe that.

You swore under your breath, fingers flying over the screen.

You: I don't have time for your little tantrums.

Bangchan: Tantrum?

Bangchan: You looked real cozy with him. Thought maybe you needed a reminder.

Your stomach twisted, infuriatingly, traitorously.

You: Reminder of what? That you're insane? Pass.

Bangchan: Reminder of who makes you cum so hard you forget your own name.

You squeezed your phone like it personally offended you. God, he was infuriating.

You: Go fuck yourself.

Bangchan: Would rather fuck you, babe. You free?

You groaned, stuffing your phone into your bag like that could muffle your rising pulse. You told yourself you were done. Totally, absolutely done with him.

And yet... as you walked down the main avenue, your eyes scanned the crowd, the streetlights, the parked cars — searching for him.

You pretended the night air didn’t feel like knives against your bare skin. You pretended your phone hadn’t gone silent. You pretended you weren't half-hoping it would buzz again.

And then — because the universe hated you personally — a black sports car prowled up to the curb beside you, slow and steady.

You didn’t even have to look. 

You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly saw your brain. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

The window whirred down and there he was, grinning like the devil himself. “Get in the car," he said, casual, like he hadn’t been stalking you from the shadows two minutes ago.

“No.” You kept walking, clutching your skirt before the wind could flash half the city.

Horns started screaming behind him. Someone yelled something. Bangchan didn’t so much as flinch.

"Get in the fucking car," he repeated, inching along beside you. "You're gonna turn into a popsicle."

You whipped around, teeth chattering. "I would rather die of hypothermia than get in your stupid fucking car."

Another volley of honking. A guy behind him leaned out the window and made an obscene gesture that probably wasn’t in any official driving manual.

"You’re blocking traffic, you maniac!" you hissed, arms folded tight over yourself.

Bangchan just shrugged, infuriatingly unbothered. "Not my problem. My problem’s standing out here being stubborn and freezing."

He leaned in, smirking slowly and mercilessly. "I'll leave... if you get in."

You glared at him so hard your vision blurred, and for one perfect, freezing second, you honestly believed you might resist.

Then another gust of wind hit, cutting straight through your willpower. You muttered something that could generously be called a curse, yanked open the door, and threw yourself into the passenger seat.

"Happy?" you snapped, slamming it shut.

Bangchan just smiled. Slow, victorious and pulled back into traffic like he hadn’t just held half the city hostage for you.

"Ecstatic," he said.

The second you slammed the door, Bangchan hit the gas like he was escaping a crime scene. He kept his eyes locked on the road, which was impressive, considering your skirt had ridden halfway up your thighs — one of his favorite skirts, by the way.

He’d definitely fucked you in it. Several times.

“You’re so stupid,” you muttered, arms crossed like a bratty little princess.

Bangchan just laughed — that low, rough laugh that made your pulse misbehave — because of course he loved you like this. He loved all the versions of you.

“‘Thank you, Bangchan. If it weren’t for you, I’d freeze my ass off,’” he teased, pitching his voice higher in a brutal imitation of you. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I don’t owe you anything,” you snapped.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, veins flexing under golden skin, and you hated yourself a little for noticing.

Self-control, girl. Pull it together.

“You don’t have to owe me, princess," he said, voice casual but his knuckles whitening on the wheel. "You just have to get in the fucking car when I tell you."

You glared at him, arms still folded like a shield across your chest.

A beat. Then he said, way too casually: “That guy. Gonna tell me who he was?”

You let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh and whipped your head toward him. “Seriously? Who the hell do you think you are, Bangchan?”

He said nothing, just drove — jaw locked tight, tongue poking the inside of his cheek in that way he always did when he was about two seconds from losing it.

Good. Let him simmer.

“You don’t get to stalk me and interrogate me like some jealous ex-boyfriend,” you snapped. “You don’t even get to ask.”

Still silent. Still fuming. Still looking better than any man had a right to look while being told off.

You shifted in your seat, the silence between you thick and hot and dangerous, and for a wild second you wondered what it would take for him to pull the car over and remind you exactly how much he hated — and loved — being told no.

"I should fuck that bratty little mouth of yours, I swear to God," Bangchan muttered under his breath, but you caught every sinful syllable.

You forced yourself to roll your eyes, pretending that your thighs weren't already pressing together at the sound of his voice. Pretending that your pulse wasn’t hammering in your ears.

"You should fuck off to that precious studio of yours and stay there," you shot back sweetly, voice dripping with sarcasm. You flashed him a sugary, fake smile, the kind you knew drove him insane.

His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles whitening. "Or," he growled, "I could just drag you into my studio and fuck you against the soundboard. Shut you up properly. What do you think, princess?"

You let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "You're such a fucking idiot. Why am I even here? Stop the car."

Bangchan just laughed, that low, cocky rumble that sent unwelcome heat curling through your stomach. "I'm not stopping the damn car. Stop being a little pain in my ass and let me drive you to college, alright?"

You hated him. You hated him because he was still the only person who could talk to you like that and somehow make you want him even more. He kept his eyes locked on the road, cool as ever, while you stewed in your own frustration and something else much, much filthier.

When he finally pulled up in front of your college, you immediately reached for the door handle, desperate to escape. But click—he locked the doors.

You snapped your head toward him, glaring. "What now?"

"Don't you think we need to talk?" he asked, arching a smug eyebrow like he already knew you weren't going anywhere.

Your heart thudded against your ribs. You knew what he meant. He was talking about the night before—the filthy moans, the breathy whimpers, the way you'd fallen apart just from his voice. But you weren’t about to hand him that satisfaction.

"We have nothing to talk about. Now unlock the damn door."

Bangchan chuckled darkly, humorless. "Don't play dumb, angel. You think I forgot the way you said my name last night? Fuck, you practically begged for me."

Your face burned so hot you wanted to scream. You slapped your hands over your cheeks like that could erase the memory—or the way your body still reacted to him like a live wire.

"For fuck's sake, stop," you groaned, wanting to disappear into the seat.

He tilted his head back against the headrest, grinning like the devil himself. "Why? You love it."

You sucked in a shaky breath, slumping in the seat like you could somehow sink through it and escape him. He was impossible. Irrefutable. Catastrophic.

"Chan," you began, voice strained, "what happened yesterday was a mistake. I—I got carried away, and it’s not happening again. We’re over. You need to get that through your thick skull."

He turned toward you fully now, his playful smirk fading into something far more dangerous. His dark eyes raked over you, making your skin tingle.

"Funny you say that," he murmured, voice low and almost cruel, "when your body’s telling a whole different story."

You froze. Only then did you notice—your chest heaving, the frantic way you were breathing, the way you were basically squirming in your seat. Like a junkie itching for a fix.

His fix.

You ripped your gaze away, humiliated, scrambling for the door handle again. "Just—just let’s forget it. Please. I have to go."

Bangchan stared at you for a long moment, jaw tense, but in the end, he relented. He reached into the backseat, grabbed his jacket—his jacket that still smelled like him, still clung to him—and tossed it into your lap.

"Take it," he muttered gruffly.

You didn't argue. You couldn't. You just grabbed it, clutching the worn fabric between your fingers like a lifeline. You didn't even look back as you shoved the door open and slipped out of the car.

Bangchan didn't say another word either. He just watched you walk away, jaw clenched, hands tight on the steering wheel.

And you could feel it—the burn of his gaze drilling into your back the whole way inside.

You were so exhausted after the endless grind of the week that the idea of happy hour with your coworkers felt like salvation. 

As soon as the clock hit the end of the workday, you, Mingi, and the rest of the creative team slipped out and made your way to a cozy bar not far from the office—a place famous for cold drinks and some of the best barbecue you’d ever tasted.

It was another one of those freezy nights, the kind that wrapped around your skin like a second, unwanted layer. You grabbed your own jacket on the way out—your jacket, not the black one that still hung in your apartment entryway, quietly mocking you with Bangchan’s lingering scent every time you walked past it.

Everyone at work adored you, and you knew it. Women, men, it didn’t matter—everyone said the same thing: you were the prettiest damn girl the office had ever hired. Some of them said it shyly, others more bluntly, but either way, you never let it go to your head. You were too busy being genuinely grateful to them for welcoming you so warmly, especially your boss.

Mingi refilled his glass with another shot of soju, raising it in your direction. You clinked glasses with him and everyone else, laughing as the room buzzed with conversation and the cozy clatter of plates and glasses.

The food was incredible—juicy, smoky barbecue, spicy side dishes, sizzling meat still crackling on hot plates—and the conversation even better. You all talked about work, about who was secretly seeing who, about how much alcohol was "too much," and laughed yourselves stupid.

Soyeon, one of your colleagues, kept throwing not-so-subtle glances between you and Mingi across the table, hiding her giggles behind her hand. It was ridiculous—and a little hilarious. Apparently, the office fantasy was that if you dated someone like Mingi, it would somehow restore everyone's faith in love.

But Mingi was just a friend. A nice guy. Respectful. Safe. The kind of guy who smiled warmly at you and never, ever crossed any lines.

One shot led to another. Then another. And before you realized it, your vision blurred, the world spinning slightly every time you tried to focus. Everything around you—the colors, the lights, the sounds—smeared together into something loud and soft and dizzying, like a dream.

You saw a couple of your coworkers nearly face-planting into the table, and Mingi's blurry figure pacing nearby with a phone pressed to his ear.

"Are you okay? Can you stand?" Mingi’s voice filtered into your ears, strained with concern.

You blinked up at him, then giggled. "Of coooourse I can stand. Oops. Maybe?" you slurred, flopping back down against the table with a dramatic huff and knocking over two empty bottles with your arm.

Everything was so comfortable. You could have curled up there and fallen asleep if it weren’t for the loud thudding of boots approaching.

Footsteps. Voices.

You opened one eye sluggishly, just in time to see two dark figures approaching the table.

"Thanks," Some voice said distantly.

And then—suddenly—you were lifted off the ground like you weighed nothing at all. Strong arms cradled you against a warm, broad chest, and you blinked through your hazy vision to see familiar lips, a strong nose, and messy black hair peeking out from beneath a hood.

"Hey! What—what are you—" You shrieked, squirming uselessly in his hold. "Are you insane?"

"You love making a fucking scene, don’t you, princess?" Bangchan growled low against your hair. "Keep your voice down. I'm taking you home."

"I don't want to go home! I was having fuuuun and—and—" you sniffled, your voice wobbling embarrassingly. The bar, the lights, the laughter were all fading away as Bangchan marched toward the car, his pace determined and irritated.

"You’ve had enough fun for tonight," he muttered under his breath, as if speaking to a disobedient child.

The second he set you down inside the car, everything changed. The world turned softer, warmer. His hands were surprisingly gentle as he buckled your seatbelt, his fingers brushing your coat as he secured you in place.

You inhaled deeply, catching a whiff of something sweet and familiar—vanilla, musk, leather. Him. You sighed, feeling your body sink deeper into the seat.

"Why do you smell so good?" you mumbled, your lower lip jutting out in a pout as you crossed your arms stubbornly.

Bangchan just shook his head and laughed—a deep, throaty sound that filled the car. "You're adorable, you know that?"

And you were too drunk, too soft, too wrapped up in him to say anything back.

"That would be comical if you were sober," Bangchan muttered under his breath, slamming the passenger door shut before rounding the car and sliding into the driver's seat.

"Hey!" you protested weakly as he buckled in, his fingers brushing against his hoodie. "I didn't even drink that much."

Bangchan huffed a dry laugh. "Angel, you can’t even stand up straight. You’re like a drunk bambi on ice."

You groaned, slumping back against the seat. Ugh. As much as you wanted to argue, he wasn’t wrong. And it annoyed you even more that he was right. You tugged at the seatbelt uncomfortably and with a huff, pressed the button to roll the window down. The cold night air immediately hit your face, shocking your skin and making you shiver, but you welcomed it. Anything to clear your head.

The car smelled like him. Leather and something a little sweet—something infuriatingly comforting. You closed your eyes and tried to focus on the sharp, bracing wind instead of the fact that Bangchan was sitting just inches away, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel impatiently.

It stung, the kind of sting that settled in your bones, to think about how close you'd once been under different circumstances.

You met Bangchan years ago, back when the air between you still crackled with teasing and unsaid things. It took time — time and reckless choices — before you both stopped pretending it was harmless.

He was always brutally honest, almost cruel in how easily he wore the truth. You’d known it was him, long before you had the courage to admit it. And he had never cared about messy pasts or whether he was your first anything; he only cared that you were his last.

He met you through Jisung — who, true to form, stuck to your side like a second shadow — and it hit him like a punch to the ribs. That kind of sick, dizzy want that didn’t go away no matter how hard he tried to drown it.

Bangchan had been patient in the way only a man desperate for something real could be. Every party, every careless night out, he made sure he was there — close enough to touch, close enough to drive you crazy with it. Until you finally gave in and kissed him like he was air and you were drowning.

And he didn’t say it out loud — he wasn’t that kind of man — but he knew he’d won the fucking lottery. You weren't just beautiful; you were built from the same sharp, stubborn material he was.

You knew how to love him in a way that didn’t shrink him or tame him.And he loved showing you off — not because he needed to prove anything, but because he could.

Wherever you went — parties, concerts, rooms full of people who wished they were you — heads turned. You didn’t just look good together. You fit. Like some cruelly perfect puzzle, made to make everyone else feel like they were missing something.

You were the ‘it couple’ — not because people said so, but because no one could look at you and believe otherwise.

And now you had to pretend  like it was easy that none of it had ever meant anything. That you hadn’t once been stupid enough to build your whole heart around him.

The ride was quiet for a few moments, except for the hum of the engine and the occasional shuffle of your jacket as you shifted. Your head lolled slightly to the side, and even in your blurred state, you caught the way his knuckles tightened around the steering wheel every time he glanced at you.

"You always cause trouble," he said finally, voice low, almost fond. "Even when you don't mean to."

You scoffed. "You're the one kidnapping me from my fun."

"If I left you there, you'd either end up passed out on the floor or flirting with some idiot," he said coolly, not taking his eyes off the road. "Neither option sounded good to me."

"I wasn't flirting," you muttered, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself. "I was just... being friendly."

Bangchan snorted. "Yeah, well. You're mine. You don't need to be friendly with anyone else."

The words hit you harder than the cold wind. Your eyes snapped open, your heart giving a traitorous, unsteady beat. He said it so easily. Like it was just a fact of life, as simple as breathing.

You opened your mouth to say something, to argue, but no words came out.

And Bangchan just kept driving, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the dashboard.

When he pulled up outside your apartment, Bangchan didn't even give you a chance to reach for the door handle. He was out in a flash, slamming his door and rounding the car like a man on a mission.

You caught up to him, your boots clacking against the sidewalk in a staggered rhythm. He didn’t even bother to look back; he knew you were following like he always knew, smug bastard that he was.

"You think you're so clever," you muttered as you caught up, breath puffing in the cold air.

"Well," Bangchan said, shoving his hands deep into his jacket pockets. "That's because I am."

You rolled your eyes so hard you were surprised they didn't fall out of your head. Still, you brushed past him at the entrance, key in hand, making a show of being thoroughly unimpressed.

The door creaked open under your push, and you turned just enough to toss a casual, biting smile over your shoulder. "You coming in, or are you too scared I'll bite?"

Bangchan's mouth twitched, that almost-smile he saved just for you. "If I was scared of your teeth, princess," he said, stepping inside after you, "I wouldn’t be imagining all the places I'd want you to leave marks."

You slammed the door a little too hard behind him, the bang echoing off the hallway walls. Not because you were mad, because if you didn't, you might've launched yourself at him like a woman starved.

"You need therapy," you said, dropping your keys in the dish by the door.

"Probably," he agreed, kicking off his shoes like he owned your place, moving through your apartment with easy familiarity. "But you first."

You crossed your arms, leaning against the wall as you watched him with half-lidded eyes. "You’re awfully confident for someone who just manhandled a half-drunk girl out of a bar."

Bangchan grinned, throwing himself down onto your worn-out couch like a king claiming his throne. "I call it rescuing."

"I call it kidnapping."

He shrugged. "Semantics."

You hated—hated—how good he looked sitting there, manspread like he paid the rent, your hoodie bunching around his arms, the glint in his eyes daring you to push him. To challenge him. To keep playing the game you two were never quite able to quit.

"You’re so annoying," you muttered, peeling off your jacket and tossing it somewhere near the coat rack.

"And you're drunk," he said, patting the spot next to him without a hint of shame. "C'mere, princess. Let’s have a little chat."

"I’m fine right here, thanks."

Bangchan tilted his head, studying you with the kind of intensity that made you want to squirm. "You sure? ‘Cause you look like you’re one good glare away from either ripping my head off or climbing into my lap."

You scoffed, pretending not to trip over your own feet as you crossed the room and dropped into the armchair instead, curling your legs up under you.

"Dream on, studio rat," you said sweetly.

He smiled slowly, eyes dark and lazy and a little dangerous. "You call me names like that, and then wonder why I wanna ruin that mouth of yours."

The worst part? You did wonder. You wondered all the time.

You tucked your chin onto your knees, flashing him a slow, mocking smile. "Big words, Bangchan. Too bad that's all you're good at. Talking."

The spark that lit behind his gaze was damn near nuclear.

He leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees, voice dropping so low and smooth it wrapped around you like silk.

"Careful," he said, voice edged with warning and wickedness. "You poke the wolf enough, princess, don't be surprised when he bites back."

Your heart was beating so fast it was almost dizzying. And you knew—you knew—you should tell him to leave. Should tell him you needed to sleep it off. Should slam a thousand doors between the two of you before you made a mistake you couldn't take back.

Instead, you grinned like the little devil you were.

You batted your lashes like a brat, voice dripping sugar and spite. "What are you waiting for then? Afraid you’ll get bitten too?"

Bangchan let out a low, humorless laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were real.

"One of these days," he said, standing up slow, every muscle under his hoodie stretching and pulling in ways that made you bite your lip, "you're gonna push me too far."

You kept your smile in place, but your mouth was suddenly dry. "Promises, promises."

He came to stand over you, his shadow swallowing you whole. He leaned down, palms braced on the arms of the chair, caging you in without touching. Without meaning to, the chain around his neck slipped loose from his sweatshirt, dangling just above your eyes like a silent dare.

"You have no idea," he whispered, his breath ghosting across your lips, "what you're asking for."

Your heart pounded so loud you were sure he could hear it. Still, you refused to look away. You refused to be the first one to break.

Bangchan’s mouth curled into something feral, something proud, like he could see every stubborn, reckless thought in your head and loved you more for it.

He brushed his nose against yours, just barely, before pulling away.

"Go to sleep, princess," he murmured, backing off like it cost him something. "Before we both do something we'll regret."

You watched him move across the room, grabbing a blanket from the back of the couch and tossing it onto you in one smooth motion.

"Goodnight," he said, turning toward the door.

"Goodnight, asshole," you mumbled back, snuggling into the chair despite yourself.

Your head was pounding before you even opened your eyes.

The sunlight filtering through the blinds felt like a personal attack, and the taste in your mouth was proof that maybe you weren't as immune to soju as you thought.

You groaned softly, pressing the heel of your palm against your forehead, cursing every life choice that had led you to this very moment. 

Everything hurts. Your brain, your pride, your soul.

You didn’t even remember getting into bed. The last thing you recalled was sitting in the armchair in the living room, long after Chan had left. You turned your head carefully, expecting to find an empty room, expecting to be alone—like you always were after nights like that.

Instead, you found him. Curled up like a fucking angel in your beat-up armchair.

One arm slung lazily over his stomach, the other bent so his hand could half-cover his face, messy black curls spilling out from under the hood of his sweatshirt. His legs were awkwardly folded up to fit, his whole body making a kind of soft, exhausted nest in the chair way too small for him.

And God, he was beautiful. Ridiculously, stupidly beautiful.

Your throat tightened without permission. Because somehow, it hurt a little, seeing him like that. Vulnerable. Still. Peaceful, like he'd finally stopped fighting the world for five minutes.

You sat there blinking at him, trying to convince yourself it was just the hangover making you emotional. Definitely the hangover. Had to be.

Slowly, you shifted to sit up, careful not to make any noise. But even that tiny movement made Bangchan stir, his body tensing instinctively before relaxing again.

You watched as he buried deeper into the chair, pulling the hood lower over his eyes like a child hiding from the morning.

It was absurd. He looked like a stray puppy you accidentally fed once and now couldn’t get rid of.

And the worst part? You didn't even want to get rid of him.

You loved so many things about him — stupid, quiet things. The way he smiled, all crinkled eyes and wrinkled nose, like he couldn't help himself. The way his face looked when he just woke up, soft and defenseless, so beautiful you couldn’t resist tracing his skin with your fingertips, half-convinced he might dissolve like a dream.

You loved his curls too — how, beneath all that cocky, rough-edged swagger, he still looked like a boy you could never quite stop loving. 

You sat there for a few minutes, silent, just...watching. Taking in the ridiculous boy who drove you insane but still made sure you were safe. The guy who would argue with you all night but leave you his coat when he left. The boy who threatened to bite and ruin and wreck, but slept like a kid in your living room without asking for anything in return.

Your chest aches in that stupid, traitorous way you hated.

"Idiot," you whispered, your voice breaking the silence.

Bangchan didn’t stir.

You dragged yourself up off the bed, every muscle in your body protesting, and grabbed a blanket. With more gentleness than you’d ever admit to, you tucked it over him, careful not to wake him.

For a second, your fingers hovered over his hair, aching to brush the curls back from his forehead.

You didn’t.

Instead, you backed away, wrapping your arms around yourself, needing the distance before you did something even stupider. You padded into the kitchen and turned on the kettle, moving slowly, quietly.

Because you could be a lot of things. You could be stubborn and sharp and bratty as hell. But you weren't heartless. Not with him.

Not when he looked like that.

You were halfway through pouring hot water into a chipped mug when you heard the shift of fabric and the low, scratchy groan of someone waking up.

You didn’t turn around. You weren’t ready to see him awake yet.

Not when you were still trying to glue your heart back together after catching him sleeping like some exhausted little god on your chair.

Instead, you muttered, “Morning, sunshine,” as you dumped two sugars into your cup.

Bangchan’s voice was still thick with sleep when he answered. "You're alive, huh?"

He sounded way too pleased about that fact. You shrugged, sipping your tea. "Barely. And only because I’m too stubborn to die of embarrassment."

He chuckled behind you, the sound low and rough, and you cursed how good it sounded.

"You should be embarrassed," he said, stretching his arms above his head, making the chair creak. "You were one soju away from getting banned from half the bars downtown."

"Bold words for someone who kidnaps girls from happy hours," you shot back, finally turning around to look at him.

Big mistake.

His hoodie was bunched up around his waist, revealing a sliver of tan skin and the waistband of his sweats. His hair was a glorious mess, dark curls flattened on one side, and he had the nerve—the nerve—to blink at you like he wasn't aware he was slowly killing you just by existing.

You yanked your gaze away. "I need a shower. I feel like death."

"Yeah, you look like it too," he teased under his breath.

You flipped him off lazily as you padded toward the bathroom.

Inside, the hot water was bliss. You stood under the spray for long minutes, letting it wash away your headache, your regret, your dangerously soft feelings. Or trying to.

When you finished, you wrapped yourself in a towel and wandered back into your room, dripping wet, not even thinking.

That's when you saw him again. Through the mirror.

Bangchan was standing just outside the doorway, frozen halfway into a movement, like he hadn't meant to be caught. His eyes caught yours in the mirror’s reflection—and then flickered lower, to your bare shoulders, the curve of your back, the towel barely clinging to your hips, and your wet hair dripping water down your spine.

For a second, neither of you breathed.

He clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists at his sides, as if he could physically force himself to behave.

You smirked at his reflection, wickedly pleased at the way he was practically vibrating from the effort of not touching you. You snickered and sauntered toward your closet without another word, feeling his gaze burn into your skin the whole way.

By the time you made it back to the kitchen, fully dressed and mostly composed, the smell of something burning hit you in the face.

"Chan," you said, deadpan. "What fresh hell is this?"

He looked up from the stove, sheepish. A frying pan in one hand, a horribly mangled attempt at eggs in the other.

"I was trying to make you breakfast," he said, voice half-defensive, half-hopeful. "Y'know, so you don't die from alcohol poisoning."

You folded your arms and tilted your head. "You can't cook for shit, can you?"

He tossed the spatula into the sink with a clatter and scowled at you, but there was no real heat behind it.

"You're welcome, princess."

You plopped into a chair, grinning like a little devil. "Aw, you really do love me."

Bangchan grumbled something incoherent under his breath, ears turning slightly pink as he banged around the kitchen trying to salvage whatever dignity he had left.

You bit your lip to hide your smile. Because he could fight it all he wanted. You both knew exactly where this road was heading.

You were still towel-drying your hair when Bangchan’s phone buzzed across the counter.

He checked it absently at first — one glance — but then his entire posture changed. He straightened up, jaw clenching, and answered it with a tight, low, "Yeah?"

You hated the way your chest dropped before you even knew why.

From the kitchen, you heard bits and pieces. Another producer. Some “quick fixes” needed. A session that apparently couldn’t survive the weekend without him.

When he hung up, the room went heavy. He didn’t meet your eyes. He just shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his sweatpants, shoulders stiff with guilt.

You sat down with your mug of burnt coffee, the faint smell of your vanilla soap clinging to your skin. You looked... soft. Kissable. And for a wild second, Bangchan thought about crossing the room just to taste you — hair damp, cheeks flushed from the hot shower — to press his mouth to yours and make you forget the rest of the damn world.

But the words came out instead. "I gotta head to the studio," he said, voice almost apologetic.

You took a slow sip of coffee, then set it down harder than necessary, the sharp clack making both of you flinch.

"You’re seriously going to the studio?" you asked, too casual, too light to be anything but fake.

Bangchan finally looked at you. His eyes were heavy, tired. Maybe even sorry.

"Yeah," he said, like he hated himself a little for it. "Deadlines."

You hummed — a sharp, disbelieving sound — and tapped your nails against the mug.

"It's Saturday," you said quietly.

"And?" he shot back, more defensive than necessary.

You stared at him, really started, like you were trying to scrape something real out of him with your eyes alone. "And nothing," you muttered, voice tight.

He sighed, confused and already losing patience. "What? You want me to blow it off or something?"

You laughed, sharp and humorless. "Oh, no. God forbid you miss a day at your precious studio."

Bangchan blinked at you, and you saw it happen — the slow realization that this wasn’t about today, or even about the stupid phone call.

It was about every time before it. Every late night. Every broken promise. Every time you sat exactly where you were now, waiting for someone who never really came home.

"You’re mad," he said slowly, stupidly, like he was still putting it together.

"No. I’m not." you snapped, standing so quickly your chair screeched against the floor. "Maybe it’s a hangover. Or maybe I’m just allergic to the same fucking story."

His jaw tightened. "What story?"

You crossed your arms across your chest, feeling dangerously close to either screaming or crying.

"You," you spat. "You and your work and your excuses. The plans you cancel, the calls you forget to return. The way you make everything — everyone — secondary to your next big project."

Bangchan flinched, and for once, he didn’t try to spin it. He didn’t even deny it. He just stood there, breathing shallowly, like he was bleeding out and didn’t know how to stop it.

"That was different," he finally managed, voice rough. "That was when—"

"When we were together?" you cut in, voice low and sharp as a blade. You watched him wince like you’d hit him. 

Good. He deserved it.

"It’s easier to forget about someone when they’re still stupid enough to love you, isn’t it?"

He opened his mouth — maybe to apologize, maybe to plead — but you shook your head, feeling the final snap of something deep inside you.

"You should go," you said, barely above a whisper. "Wouldn’t want you to be late for your real life."

Bangchan looked at you for a long, breathless second. There was so much there — regret, anger, longing — but none of it mattered anymore.

He grabbed his keys off the counter without a word. You turned your back to him, rinsing your empty mug in the sink even though your hands were shaking.

You heard the door creak open.

He hesitated. Waited. You didn’t look. You didn’t move. You didn’t stop him.

Except—"Bangchan," you called sharply, almost involuntarily.

He froze, half-out the door.

When he turned back, there was a flash of hope in his eyes, quick and raw.

You crushed it without mercy.

You threw his jacket at him, hard enough that it hit his chest with a dull slap. He caught it reflexively, stunned.

"There," you said, your voice brittle and shaking. "Go save the charts or whatever."

Bangchan’s face darkened. His jaw flexed hard enough to crack. But he didn’t say anything.

Didn’t beg. Didn’t stay.

He just yanked the jacket on stiffly, avoiding your gaze, and left, the door clicking shut with a finality that made your stomach twist.

You stood there long after he was gone, feeling hollow and breakable and so, so stupid for still loving the sound of his stupid footsteps fading away.

You had sworn you’d stay in this weekend — locked away with bad TV and worse wine — but then Jisung, being Jisung, practically collapsed at your feet, begging you to come to a party some friend of his was throwing.

Apparently, the guy was rich, bored, and had a habit of throwing the kind of parties that made people lose entire weekends without noticing.

On one hand, it sounded like the perfect distraction. On the other, it meant risking running into the headache you were currently trying to scrub out of your system: Bangchan.

After the last fight, he'd gone radio silent. No texts. No late-night calls. No nothing. And, really, that was for the best.

If he wasn't reaching for you, it made it easier not to reach back.

You chose violence anyway — or at least the fashion equivalent — sliding into a rose-gold slip dress so decadent it felt illegal. Fendi and Versace had stitched the thing like they wanted you arrested. Paired with heels sharp enough to commit crimes and a final swipe of lipstick, you were ready to forget him, even if it was only for a few hours.

Jisung pulled up, grinning like he'd just pulled off the heist of the century. Almost on time. Almost.

The second you stepped out in front of the mansion — all cold marble and warm bodies packed inside — Jisung shifted nervously beside you.

"I should probably tell you something," he said, his voice too light, too innocent.

You gave him a flat look, elbowing him hard enough to make him grunt. "Spit it out, Han."

He winced, hands raised in surrender. "Bangchan... might be here. Maybe. Possibly. Almost definitely."

You stared at him for a beat, then shrugged, hooking your arm through his.

"Relax, Ji. I came here for you," you said, flashing a grin that maybe even you didn’t fully believe. "I’m going to have fun. With or without him."

Jisung exhaled like he'd just narrowly avoided death by your hand. And maybe he had.

The interior of the house was obscene in the best way: sleek, brutalist luxury. An infinity pool glittered beyond the glass walls, champagne flowed like water, and waiters glided around balancing trays stacked with cocktails too pretty to drink.

A guy passed by offering glasses of something pale pink with tiny flowers floating inside. You plucked two without hesitation. "Fancy," you muttered, raising a brow at Jisung, who just laughed and stole one from your hand.

The party belonged to some entertainment mogul — the kind of man who collected artists the way other people collected cars — and, apparently, he was old friends with Jisung, Changbin, and your ex.

Music production royalty. Big names. Bigger egos.

Wading into the crowd was like slipping into warm water: bodies pressed together, laughter sticky in the air. You felt it immediately — the stares. The second skin your dress had become. It clung in all the right places, caught the light like it was made to worship you.

You moved through the room like a knife through silk, cruelly aware of the way heads turned, conversations stuttered.

The music was loud, a beat that pulsed in your bones. You danced with Jisung, spinning, laughing too loudly. Letting the thrum of the night drown out the creeping awareness settling at the back of your neck.

Of course he was here. And of course you saw him.

You didn’t even have to look hard; his presence was magnetic — or maybe it was just the fact that you could feel his stare burning into your skin.

Leaning against the table like he had every right to be the center of the universe. Black long-sleeve shirt clinging to the brutal cut of his muscles, like sin wrapped in cotton. Chains glinting at his throat, sliding obscenely down the line of his leather pants.

It should have been illegal to look that good in anything. It should have been illegal to look at you the way he was looking at you.

And when your paths crossed — when you drifted closer on the tide of the crowd — his gaze sharpened, darkened, locked onto you with a slow-burning intensity that made your spine straighten involuntarily.

It took every ounce of your willpower not to react. Because you knew that look. You knew what it meant when Bangchan looked at you like that.

And it wasn’t fair.

Not when you knew damn well that dress — that very dress — had once been a gift from him. A whispered promise wrapped in silk. A secret only the two of you shared, stitched invisibly into every thread.

You could feel him watching you — his stare carving a path along your skin — but you refused to meet his eyes.

Instead, you let your gaze skim over every other face in the circle. Everyone but him.

“Ji," you purred, tipping your head toward him, "aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?” The sweetness in your voice was pure venom, and you knew it.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Bangchan's hand tightening around his glass. So tight the blood drained from his knuckles.

Changbin you already knew — he greeted you with a familiar grin — but the others were new: “Wooyoung, Yeonjun, Hongjoong,” Jisung rattled off, and each offered you a hand and a polite smile.

Musicians, all of them. Some of their biggest tracks? Produced by 3RACHA. Produced by him. Not that you spared him so much as a glance.

Bangchan stood there, rigid and simmering, a silent storm cloud just beyond the conversation. Acknowledging you only in the sharp way his jaw flexed. The faint twitch at the corner of his mouth.

You could almost hear the accusations unsaid: How dare you wear that dress. How dare you parade yourself around like that. How dare you pretend he wasn't standing right there — burning for you.

You tilted your glass back and drained the last of your drink with a careless shrug.

“I’m grabbing another,” you announced, lifting the empty glass between two fingers like it was something disposable. “Ji, want one?”

Jisung shook his head, distracted by something someone said.

You turned on your heel without waiting for an answer, feeling the hem of your dress flutter like a taunt around your thighs. You knew the way the fabric shifted when you moved. You knew exactly what you looked like walking away.

And you knew exactly who was watching you — fists clenched, jaw locked, fighting the losing battle not to follow.

You ordered a Sex on the Beach and leaned casually against the bar, tapping your manicured nails against the counter. The party roared around you — glittering, chaotic — and you welcomed the momentary lull.

That was when someone appeared. Leaning against the glass with the lazy confidence of a man who thought he had a shot.

"You here alone?" he asked, eyes skating over you without a shred of subtlety.

You tilted your head, lashes brushing your cheekbone in a mockery of innocence. "Why?”

"Would be a crime if you were." He smiled — all teeth and ego — and even had the audacity to bite his bottom lip.

You almost laughed.

He was textbook: handsome in that obvious, forgettable way. The kind of man who thought every pretty girl at a bar was just waiting for him.

The bartender slid your drink over. You took a slow sip before answering, savoring the citrusy burn. "Oh, yeah?"

"I could make your night a hell of a lot better," he said, stepping closer, his voice low. "If you come dance with me."

You barely smothered a smirk. Empty promises rolled so easily off their tongues, didn’t they?

"Then show me," you said, voice syrupy sweet, slipping your hand into his outstretched one.

He led you toward the dance floor, weaving through bodies under the pulse of strobe lights and pounding bass. The air thickened with sweat, perfume, and something wilder.

In the crush of the crowd, he planted a heavy hand on your shoulder, sliding it boldly — too boldly — down your spine to your waist. Guiding you into the rhythm like he owned you.

You let him. For a moment.

The music throbbed through you, rattling your bones. You moved your hips, eyelids fluttering shut, letting yourself drown in the beat — in the slippery feeling of rebellion and defiance.

Behind you, he pressed closer. His hands skimmed down the backs of your thighs, fingers hooking under the hem of your tiny dress, tugging it higher without shame.

Your jaw tightened.

You caught the stranger’s wrists mid-climb, dragging his hands back to rest just above your waist — a silent warning. You didn’t know what game he thought he was playing, but you weren’t about to be the pawn.

Another song bled into the air — a pounding, bass-heavy beat — and you let yourself sway lazily against him, pretending you didn’t feel the way he tried, and failed, to take control. 

It was cute, really. Men always thought they were the hunters.

After a few more minutes of indulging his wandering hands, you turned around, flashing a sugar-sweet smile that didn’t even reach your eyes.

"I really need to go to the bathroom," you purred, lips grazing the shell of his ear.

He grinned, clueless. "It’s okay, babe. I’ll be right here."

You gave him one last pitying look — poor thing — and slipped into the crowd, knowing damn well he’d never see you again if the universe had any mercy.

Bodies pressed around you, glittering, sweating, shouting. You ducked and weaved, humming under your breath to the song vibrating through the walls — Guess by Charli XCX — your hips still carrying the ghost of the dance.

The mansion was a maze of glass staircases and too many doors. People were tucked into dark corners, mouths on mouths, hands lost in hair, slipping into rooms to do things better left unspoken.

Finally, you spotted salvation — a guy stumbling out of a door, belt half-buckled. Bathroom.

You moved fast, fingers curling around the handle — only for a much larger hand to slam the door wide open, forcing you back inside with a jolt.

You barely spun on your heels before a wall of heat and muscle cornered you, the door clicking shut with a deliberate, dangerous finality.

His chest rose and fell like he’d sprinted through hell to get to you. His jaw was locked tight enough to crack, and those dark eyes…

You knew that look. You knew it too well.

Anger. Lust. Hunger.

The kind that never asked permission. The kind that didn’t need to.

He took a step forward — and the bathroom shrank into something much too small for the two of you.

"You think you're fucking funny, huh?" His tongue poked his cheek, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the way your stomach gave a traitorous flip. "Not in the mood for your little games tonight."

"Don't fuck with me, princess." His voice dropped, low, gravelly — as he crowded you against the marble sink. 

You had to lean back, your ass brushing the cold counter, because there was nowhere else to go.

"I didn't do anything," you shot back, biting the inside of your cheek to hold your nerve. "You're imagining shit."

He let out a humorless laugh, the sound scraping low in his throat. "Yeah? You didn't let that asshole put his hands all over you in my fucking dress just to get under my skin?"

Touché.

Maybe you had. Maybe you wanted him to burn. To suffer the way you had. Maybe you were desperate enough to crave this — the anger, the jealousy, the way it made his whole body vibrate with restraint.

Bangchan shook his head slowly, a wicked glint in his eyes.

"I always knew you were a little fucking attention whore, but this?" His gaze dragged down your body like a physical touch. "Dressed like a wet dream and acting like you're not desperate to be caught."

His mouth ghosted over yours — not a kiss, just a threat of one — and your fingers dug into the cold edge of the sink so hard they ached.

"What part of we're not together anymore you don’t fucking get?" you hissed, hating the way your voice cracked at the edges, giving you away.

Bangchan’s smirk deepened — like he knew exactly how close you were to losing it. Like he was savoring it.

And God help you, if he came even a breath closer, you would do something reckless and ruinous, like drag his mouth down onto yours, like admit that you were still starving for him.

As if he could read every filthy thought running wild through your head, his fingers brushed the hem of your dress, just skimming the bare skin of your thigh. Your breath caught — your whole body betraying you in a single, shivering heartbeat.

You squeezed your eyes shut for half a second, as if that would save you from the avalanche rolling through your veins. One month without him, and his touch still had you crumbling like a fucking amateur.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice dark silk as he pressed closer — chest to chest, heat to heat — the hard line of his body trapping you against the marble. His hand slid higher, fingers grazing your inner thigh now, so close it made your hips tilt on instinct. "Fucking glowing." The praise was venomous, devouring.

"You’re dripping for me, aren’t you?" His lips brushed the shell of your ear, almost tender, almost cruel.

"You think I'm gonna let you walk around like that—" his fingers inched up, grazing the thin, soaked scrap of your panties, "—let some other asshole touch what’s fucking mine?"

His hand flexed against you like he wanted to tear you apart.

Your cheeks burned, your body burned — your thighs, your stomach, your ribs — everything thrumming with desperate, unbearable heat.

And worst of all,  you were wet. God, you were soaked for him.

He could probably feel it without even sliding his fingers under.

You hated it. You hated him for knowing it. You hated yourself for wanting him to ruin you all over again.

You wanted him brutal. You wanted him careless. You wanted him to use you until you forgot your own name. But somewhere, buried deep under the throb of your pulse, that thin, pitiful thread of reality was still whispering:

You’re not his anymore.

He kissed you — but it wasn’t a kiss you were ready for. It was brutal, a quick, greedy clash of mouths that stole the breath from your lungs.

By the time you tried to react, he’d already pulled back, staring down at you with eyes so dark they barely looked human.

"I won't do anything you don't want," he said, voice dropping low, a threat wrapped in a promise.

Meanwhile, his hand dragged upward, maddeningly slow, fingertips grazing the inside of your thigh like he had all the time in the goddamn world. He ghosted over the thin barrier of your panties — a brush, a tease, not enough, never enough — and the pressure made your knees weaken.

His fingers barely pressed against you, just enough to make you ache harder, just enough to make you silently beg.

"Tell me to stop," he said, fingers still tormenting the edges of your sanity. "Come on, angel. Open your pretty mouth."

You couldn't. You couldn’t even think straight, not when he was touching you like that, not when your body was trembling with how badly you needed him.

It wasn’t fair — how he could burn through you with nothing but a touch.

He stilled his hand purposely, the absence of movement so punishing it made your stomach drop.

"I need to fucking hear it," he growled, forehead resting against yours, his breath ragged.

Your voice broke on the first attempt, your throat so dry it hurt. Finally, you swallowed hard and forced the word out. “No.”

The second it left your mouth, something snapped in him — like you had given him the keys to every dark, filthy thing he'd been holding back.

His mouth twisted in a smile that wasn’t kind at all — it was wicked, ruined. His pupils were so blown out, he looked possessed.

"Turn around," he ordered, voice sharp enough to cut.

Your body obeyed before your brain could even catch up. You turned to face the mirror, your hands gripping the edge of the marble sink like it was the only thing keeping you standing. The reflection was obscene — your face flushed, your pupils wide, your body vibrating with want.

And behind you — him — towering, overwhelming, the black of his clothes a stark contrast to the mess he was about to make out of you.

He shoved your back down with a firm hand, bending you over until the marble sink disappeared from view and all you could see was the cold, impersonal wall. Your ass lifted automatically, desperate to meet him, and Bangchan let out a sharp breath between his teeth at the sight.

“Fuck, princess.” His voice was rough, shredded with want as he shoved your dress higher, bunching the delicate fabric around your waist.

His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging hard into your flesh like he could brand you with them. He rubbed a slow, dirty circle over your panties, right where you were soaked for him.

“I missed this pretty little pussy,” he muttered, almost to himself, almost reverent.

You moaned under his touch, your whole body vibrating with the filthy thrill of being manhandled like this — like you were something he owned.

Bangchan smiled against your skin, because it was exactly what he wanted — your surrender, your desperate little sounds.

You gasped when he pressed his body against you, his erection thick and straining against the rough line of his pants. You couldn't help it — you pushed your hips back, chasing the friction, needing more, needing everything.

He bent low against you, lips brushing your ear as he ran two fingers slowly, maddeningly, along your lips. The fabric of your panties clung wetly to your folds, making the sensation almost unbearable.

“Suck them," he ordered, voice low and wrecked. "Make them nice and wet for me."

You let out a shaky breath, the filth of it lighting your nerves on fire. You twisted enough to meet his hand, parting your lips and taking his fingers into your mouth without hesitation. 

The second you did, Bangchan groaned — a raw, broken sound that made your thighs clench.

You wrapped your tongue around his fingers, licking slow and deep, dragging your mouth up and down them like you would if it were his cock. You sucked, sloppily, tasting yourself faintly on your own tongue.

Bangchan watched you with hooded eyes, his breathing heavy, his whole body coiled tight.

"Good girl," he praised, voice dripping with satisfaction. The words hit you harder than they should have, sending a fresh ache between your legs.

He pulled his fingers from your mouth with a slow, wet pop — a thin string of saliva stretching between them — and he smirked, absolutely wrecked by the sight of you.

The sight of you like this — desperate, obedient, filthy — was dangerous. Because all he wanted now was to fuck you so hard you'd forget your own name, until you were nothing but pretty, broken noises under his hands.

"Hold the sink," he commanded, voice low and dangerous. You spread your fingers along the cold marble, bracing yourself, every nerve in your body screaming for him to just touch you already.

Bangchan stepped closer, breathing heavily through his nose.

With a rough tug, he pulled your panties down, exposing you completely — slick, glistening, dripping for him. The second he saw you like that, he swore under his breath, his cock pressing harder against him like it physically hurt to wait.

He dragged two fingers slowly through your folds, gathering the wetness, coating his skin in you. You let out a breathy, involuntary moan, your hips twitching at even that minimal contact.

He watched, obsessed, as your body reacted to him, so easy, so natural — like you were made for this, made for him.

Three fingers circled your clit in a slow, maddening rhythm. You bit down on your lip, trying to muffle the desperate whine building in your throat.

It was useless. You squirmed under his hand, hips jerking against his teasing strokes, shamelessly greedy for more.

Bangchan laughed — low and cruel and possessive. "I'll show you who this greedy little pussy belongs to," he promised darkly.

Without warning, he slid two fingers deep inside you, filling you with a brutal, perfect stretch that tore a hoarse moan from your lips. Your knees buckled, the shock of it nearly sending you collapsing onto the sink.

On instinct, your hand shot up to cover your mouth, but Bangchan was faster.

He yanked his fingers free, leaving you clenching around nothing. Your head snapped up in frustration, but he was already growling in your ear:

"Hands on the fucking sink. Be a good girl and take it."

You barely managed a whimper of compliance. Trembling, aching, you placed both palms flat against the cold marble again, desperate to behave if it meant he'd touch you again.

Satisfied, Bangchan plunged his fingers back inside you — deeper this time, rougher. Your whole body jolted at the sudden invasion, a broken cry ripping from your throat.

He crooked his fingers ruthlessly, zeroing in on that perfect, devastating spot he knew too well.

You sobbed his name, helpless, lost to the overwhelming pleasure. Bangchan leaned closer, his chest flush against your back, murmuring filth against your ear while he fucked his fingers into you like he never planned to stop.

He knew your body better than anyone ever had. And tonight, he was going to make damn sure you remembered exactly who you belonged to.

"Want me to fuck your pretty pussy with my hand?" His voice dripped mockery, even as he thrust shallowly, barely letting you feel the stretch before pulling back again.

You moaned, your body shuddering against the marble. But it wasn’t enough. Not even close.

"Say please," he demanded, slowing his movements to a cruel, torturous crawl.

You gritted your teeth, rage flaring hot inside you. This was a punishment — and you both knew you deserved it.

Still, when he stilled his hand completely, your pride crumbled like sand.

"Fuck. Please." You whimpered, the word breaking out of you, raw and desperate. "Please, please, fuck me."

Bangchan muttered something under his breath — a filthy prayer or a curse, you couldn’t tell — before he slammed his fingers back inside you, hard and deep. You sobbed, the sound guttural, ripped straight from your chest.

He set a brutal pace, fingers pumping in and out of you, making a messy, obscene noise every time he bottomed out inside your dripping heat. 

It was filthy. It was everything you needed.

"More," you gasped, hips chasing every thrust shamelessly. "I need more."

He groaned low, a sound almost pained. "Fuck, princess. You're too greedy."

And then, without warning, he shoved two more fingers alongside the first — stuffing you so full you thought you might snap. Your body seized, a broken scream caught in your throat. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming stretch, the ache, the impossible fullness.

Bangchan didn’t give you a second to adjust. He moved slow at first, deep, devastating strokes that made you feel every inch of his hand inside you. You whined his name, nonsense spilling from your lips, your hips rolling uncontrollably against him, desperate for more.

"Stay the fuck still," he growled, pressing a heavy hand between your shoulder blades, forcing you down against the sink. You whimpered under his weight, blinking away the tears threatening to fall.

He shifted his stance, muscles flexing — and then he started fucking you fast, reckless, fingers slamming into you at a brutal pace that left you gasping, clenching around him, chasing an orgasm that was already boiling over inside you.

Your toes curled against the floor. That fire built and built in your belly, spreading up your spine until you were teetering right at the edge He didn’t let up for a second. Bangchan drove his fingers into you brutally, mercilessly, the slick, wet sounds of your body devouring every thrust filling the bathroom like music.

You were swollen, red, and trembling uncontrollably. Every nerve ending screamed with overstimulation, but the way he pressed you down — completely at his mercy — only made it filthier, made the pleasure spiral harder, darker, sweeter.

"Fuck," he groaned, voice rasping with something feral. "Look at how you take my fingers."

He leaned closer, tongue darting out over his lips, starving for the sight of you wrecked and desperate for him.

"I—I can't anymore—" you choked out, voice cracking in a whimper. "Chan!"

His hand moved faster, the thrusts deeper, knuckles brushing obscene against your insides.

"Are you gonna cum for me, princess?" he taunted, rough and low against your ear. "Show me. Show me who this greedy pussy belongs to. Cum for me."

It was a command you couldn’t disobey.

Like a snapped wire, your orgasm hit you so violently that your whole body jolted forward. Bangchan ripped his fingers free at the exact moment, flattening his hand against your clit and rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves with the heel of his palm. 

The sensation tore a scream from your throat, your vision whiting out.

He wrapped one thick arm around your waist, holding you upright while you convulsed, grinding his palm against your throbbing clit, prolonging every brutal, ecstatic wave of pleasure. You sobbed against the cold marble sink, tears streaming hot and fast down your cheeks.

"Look at yourself," he snarled, voice thick with pride and hunger. "Look at you when you cum for me. All fucked out. Mine."

His hand moved up, gripping your chin roughly, forcing your gaze to the mirror. What you saw made your knees almost give out: Your face flushed, wet with tears, mouth slack in a helpless moan.

Behind you, Bangchan looked like a fucking monster — wild-eyed, hair a mess, his body pressed possessively against yours.

And when your cum spilled down your thighs in thick, shining streams, soaking his hand, his grin was wolfish.

"That's it," he growled, dragging his wet fingers slowly over your skin, smearing the mess across your trembling thighs. "My girl. So fucking good to me."

You slumped back against his chest, your head dropping onto his broad shoulder, boneless and ruined. Bangchan stroked your waist like you were his prized possession, tracing the outline of your body with greedy, adoring hands.

"Taste it," he murmured against your temple, voice gentler now, darkly satisfied. "This is how good you’re, baby."

He shoved two fingers between your lips, pressing them flat against your tongue. You accepted them greedily, wrapping your mouth around him without a second thought.

Because deep down — as much as you tried to deny it — you belonged to him in ways that you couldn’t undo.

Bangchan stared at you like he was starving, his eyes black with lust, devouring the sight of you so eager to please him. His thumb dragged lazily across your bottom lip, smearing your gloss, leaving a wet, messy sheen all over your mouth like a mark he wanted the world to see.

For a split, torturous second, you thought he was going to kiss you.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your body tilting toward him instinctively, aching to feel his mouth against yours. One simple touch that would have undone you completely.

But he pulled away at the last second.

It was like being doused in ice water. The heat between you evaporated instantly, leaving a hollow ache behind.

You stumbled back, spine hitting the cold bathroom wall, every part of you trembling — not from pleasure now, but from something colder, crueler.

He stood there for a long, agonizing moment, his face carved into something unreadable, chest heaving like he was still fighting himself.

Then he said, voice hoarse and brutal, "Better clean yourself up, princess. You're a fucking mess."

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel, unlocked the door, and vanished into the pounding music and flashing lights beyond.

You were left alone, the door swinging half-shut, the air around you still heavy with the smell of sex and sweat. Staring at your ruined reflection — lipstick smeared, cheeks wet, eyes hollow — you barely recognized the girl looking back.

Destroyed. Empty.

Still aching for a man who had just reminded you exactly how much power he still held over you.

PART TWO TOMORROw!

[dollie-disaster-darling]

Higuchi and Chuuya fanart!!

Happy late birthday, Higuchi and Chuuya! I took too long, sorry ;P !

I originally planned to do them separately, but then I realized their birthdays are really close! And I really like the crumbs of interactions they have. Especially in wan. They're really cute!

It'd be funny if they kept running into each other for some reason. I just imagine them going to a karaoke place separately after work to sing out their feelings, but they just happen to see each other. Higuchi would be giving her heart out to singing sad songs about her failed marriage and upcoming divorce that she fully realized up in her head. And I know Chuuya is probably into hard or foreign rock, but I just really like the image of Chuuya belting out K-on songs, rolling the R's all the way.

Worse than the rest minis, but I like them ^^ We don't talk about the disappearances of the hat. I don't know why the lowest Higuchi looks like she's in the fish eye angle.

I just thought that Higuchi's lemon fit was cute and that it'd be cute if Chuuya ended up wearing something like it by happenstance. I call them the 'citrus colleagues' :DD !

There's this one dialogue where Higuchi says that Chuuya follows the law when it comes to driving normally, but during emergencies, he'd make his motorbike go vroom over buildings and yell 'Yeah!'. So I imagine that every time Higuchi hears a particular strong revving sound followed by a specific 'yeah!', she immediately knows that shit is going down.

^ the full thing. This is definitely messier than some of my other insubstantial creations and I tried drawing some things I can't really draw. I'm a little happy with it ^^ But I honestly revoke my right to be a Chuuya fan. I messed up his hair and colors bad. I swear, the haircuts in bsd are going to one day get me to stop ☠️☠️. And I don't like drawing guys because I suck at drawing them and I think I sucked at drawing the little guy here too ☠️☠️ I really am better off not drawing any guys forever. So much respect to the Chuuya fans and so much love to fellow Higuchi lovers! Happy (late) birthday to the both of them!!

[neonpigeons]

I really wish I had a better relationship with my parents. I wish they had been more patient and cared more about what was going on with me. and that I hadn't been told time and time again to keep bad things to myself

[wavebiders]

turn on your location Shar I just wanna talk

[unxpctedlygreat]

AU where Jasper doesn't die ? .... I am intrigued !!

It's usually more, "AU where he dies, has his Act 3 gay sequence with Hendrik, and then gets revived by Yggdrasil because that tree knows what's good (tragic childhood best friends turned estranged friends turned one-sided enemies turned two-sided enemies with regrets turned reunited gay dudes who do not know how to be normal about each other)

I just think Hendrik deserves his evil little gay catboy at the end 🥺👉👈

[tonycries]

The Way You Kiss Me - G.S.

Synopsis. The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Suguru’s sister! reader, childhood enemies to lovers, PINING Satoru, like really really disgustingly down bad, creampíe, oral (fem receiving), pússytalking, needy JEALOUS! Satoru, running away from it, spítting, punching is Suguru’s love language, mentions of aIcohol, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 7.4k (That’s wild)

A/N. BOO! Surprise upload. This was so fun to write omg.

“You sure this is how the grown-ups get married?”

“Duh, I know everything.”

“Nuh uh, Toru.”

“Yuh uh!”

The first time Gojo Satoru kissed you was underneath that dingy playground slide that the two of you always raced to after elementary school. 

Usually, your older brother, Suguru, would walk home alongside you two - but this time, he’d just so happened to have been held back for throwing paper planes at the teacher that day.

A sign from the universe, Satoru internally celebrated, something he’d learned from those sappy romance novels his mother left lying around the house. No matter that he was the one that made those planes.

You were six back then, standing in front of a determined Satoru - reaching up on his tip-toes, face pink, smelling of those cheap strawberry lollipops he’d sneak into class and taunt you with. At the much older and wiser age of seven, he’d insisted on being the first one to lean in.

Just barely even grazing your dramatically puckered lips before-

Satoru learned two things that fateful afternoon:

Even as a seven-year-old, Suguru’s punches really hurt. 

Never mess with you. Anyone but you. 

Life only seemed to go downhill from there - because that last lesson was proving to be hard along the years. Really. Fucking. Hard.

Little did Satoru know that this would be the start of some strange, unpredictable little dance of push and pull. No, you definitely weren’t his wife. Nor were you exactly best friends - not really, that spot was reserved for your brother. But you didn’t think you could ever be just that either.

And the punch that’d knocked his wobbly tooth out onto the playground floor that day was a painful reminder that whatever that was - whatever weird thoughts he had later in middle school about how you’d tasted like candy - didn’t matter. No matter how part some tucked-away little part of him wanted it to.

Hell, eleven years later and Satoru still can’t walk around that familiar block without feeling slightly queasy. Which is why, after that failed first kiss, he knew there wouldn’t be a second. 

Instead, he settles back to teasing your pouty self, pushing all your buttons, tugging on those cute dresses you wore. Face burning so strangely with- humiliation? when you bickered right back, calling his haircut a “tragic attempt at modern art.”

“So you’re saying I look like art?” A gangly, now-seventeen Satoru blocks the bustling high school hallway, ignoring the bell. Grin only growing at your frustrated huff, he half-jokes, “Aww, if you’re that soft on me, sweetheart, maybe we should go to prom tog-”

You slam your locker, effectively shutting both it and Satoru at the same time. “I’d rather go with Yaga.”

“...you would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would- Sugu–!”

And all Suguru can do is wrap two hands around his neck, mock-choking himself, wondering if it was really too late to embrace a quiet life as a monk. “You’ll both be MLA cited in my farewell note.”

He was used to it, though, forced to watch all this chaos since quickly mending his friendship with Satoru over ice cream the day after the punch. Convinced that this was some punishment for a past life’s misdeed.

With a squawk of protest, Satoru’s turning back to you, eyes crinkling with a hint of mischief you knew too well, “Would not.”

Your face burns, “Would to, Toru.”

You didn’t go with Yaga. but Satoru didn’t exactly count that as a win in his books, either, because you did show up that night hanging off the arm of some jerk from the football team. 

And there you were, all dolled up - which he very objectively noted - way too prettily for some bastard like him. Stars in your eyes, and everything he couldn’t have in that smile. 

Everything. 

Way too gorgeous, even when he finds you sitting outside the gymnasium later on in the night. Too busy bawling your mascara off to even throw out your usual greeting insult his way. Murmuring out wetly about “that asshole” and how he humiliated you by stranding you in the middle of the dance floor for someone else. 

“Well, he was a jerk anyway. Even Yaga would’ve been better, hell, I-” Satoru stops short to his horror at the way you only cry harder.

Way too irresistible, especially as his body moves before his mind - holding out an open hand before he knows it. “I’m a much better dancer than him and you.” And oh Satoru will forever remember the way his heart lurches as you blink your teary eyes up in confusion, “Well, aren’t ya gonna take up the challenge?”

Weirdly, it wasn’t weird at all. 

If anything, you had to hold back your laughter the entire time at the way the great “campus sweetheart” Gojo Satoru was so on edge.

Just a friend comforting a friend, right?

So why was he avoiding your gaze with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, summer blue eyes pointedly trained right over your head. That pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks reflecting the hands hovering in midair over your waist. So close - and yet, fear in each and every turn and swirl.

Yours were searing into his broad shoulders as you tried to guide him to the muffled music from inside. And shit.

That night ended with a second kiss. 

You don’t know who leaned in first, just that Satoru’s soft lips were just fleeting on your glossy ones - barely even a touch. And that shit shit shit- this was Satoru. This was you. 

Everything. 

But it seems that every time Satoru was about to kiss you dangerously close to the way some tiny, forbidden part of his heart wanted to - the universe throws an obstacle at him. An obstacle that was six feet and named “Suguru”, currently running at break-neck speed out of the gym.

“MOVE YOUR ASSES!” he cackles, “THE FOOTBALL TEAM ISN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT ME BREAKING THEIR STAR PLAYER’S NOSE.”

And not a word is uttered about the kiss as the three of you speed out of the school parking lot in Suguru’s busted-up black hellcat, the wind mussing up the hairstyle that took Satoru over two hours to perfect. Sneaking in glances at the sight of you singing along at the top of your lungs to some overplayed pop song on the radio. 

He learns another two things that night:

Apparently, Suguru’s right hook still really fucking hurt. And thank god for tonight’s casualties of noses, because it was a wonder that he didn’t look too hard at how close Satoru was with you. 

He didn’t…dislike the feeling of your lips on his. And judging by the way you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror - you didn’t either.

It’s mainly that last one that makes him gulp.

Neither of you remember the third kiss - though, Satoru’s sure that at least 80% of Shoko’s instagram followers did.

According to a very hungover Shoko, and the many, many forms of documentation, it had happened on the New Year’s eve during your third year in university. In which you were much more used to the raging parties that would be hosted at Suguru’s apartment, and only slightly less intimidated by them.

“And you’re a lightweight too, dumbass. You were gone.” Shoko sighs from across the café table, eye bags deeper than the last time he’d seen her. “Like gone gone.”

God, what a way to start the year.

Satoru bites back a remark about how “gone” Shoko herself had been. Sitting up straight in his seat, regret immediately hitting his senses faster than the guilty throbbing at his temples. He winces, managing out a semi-disbelieving groan of, “Gone gone?”

And she’s only nodding wearily, subconsciously tapping out the rest of her cigarette ashes onto his untouched plate of sweet pastries. 

“I’m talking dancing on expensive coffee tables and fighting to stop you from giving everyone there a strip show.” She cracks a smirk through a waft of smoke, “Though, she would’ve loved that I’m sure.”

“Har har har, you’d make even Nanami laugh with that one.”

“Eugh, gross.” Shoko taps through her phone briefly, swirling it around to show Satoru a few pictures that definitely gave him a mini-heart attack at 8:57 in the morning. “You look like you’re about to pen really bad poetry.”

And perhaps this was Shoko’s plan all along - to shock Satoru to the core hard enough that she can note it down as one of her sketchy psychological experiments. 

But he knew. Could feel it in the hazy fragments of memories - or, at the very least, in that entire highlight that Nanamin had oh-so-conveniently put up on Instagram titled, “Blackmail.”

You knew. 

You’d kissed him back. 

“I don’t have a-.” you slur, stumbling ever-so-slightly as you try to meet Satoru’s glassy eyes. Because shit the years have had him shooting up faster than you could look up. “-a New Year’s kiss, y’know.”

You were older - more gorgeous, if that was even possible now. That tight dress hugging your body so unfairly in a way that had him forgetting you were his best friend’s sister. 

The one person in this whole world that he couldn’t have.

But Satoru leans in closer, more because he wants to than anything - he could pick out your voice anywhere let alone over the thumping music currently filling his crowded living room. Lips loose as he tries to play up the cool-guy facade he’s been dubbed with since freshman year, “Hah, loser. Because I do.”

“Where?”

At this, Satoru is stumped - damn, you were good. 

“Not- uh here?” If he was in any clearer state of mind, he’d have been embarrassed at the way his voice cracks so traitorously as your unsteady hands pull him in closer by his overpriced button-up. 

Your body was flush against his now, so addictive. Gaze half-lidded and flickering between the sliver of milky skin exposed on his chest - from that impromptu striptease he’d almost started earlier - and the blue eyes that were currently locked you. You whisper a strained, “Liar.”

Close - too close. So dangerously close.

He breathes out against your lips, the smell of booze and you so heady in his mind. And the heavy words falling from his lips sound like lies, even to him. “Not.”

“Toru?” you hum, a sound that has him gasping. “Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And there went your New Year’s kisses. At exactly 11:37PM, if the photos were anything to go by. 

And holy shit were there many. All of which showed your arms looped around Satoru’s neck, crashing his lips to yours. His own, resting against your waist, a scandalously red blush - whether from the alcohol or you - adorning his cheeks. Looking more blissed out than he ever remembers feeling. 

“I’m a dead man, Shoko.” 

There’s a lengthy silence, leaving Satoru stewing in thoughts of how Suguru would react once he finds out. And whether or not he’d be able to rise from the dead just to see how pretty you’d look at his funeral.

Morbid thoughts broken only by Shoko’s cough, “Hey, can I keep your eyes for experimentation if he actually catches you?”

Subtly, he sends himself those photos from last night.  

Luckily for Satoru’s eyes, they never ended up being donated towards Shoko’s questionable contributions to the world of medicine. 

And by some grace of the gods above, Suguru never mentioned a word about the kiss that would’ve inevitably made its way to him. Or maybe it was because Satoru stole his phone until he managed to pester Nanami just enough to take down that highlight. But, semantics. 

His heart, however, might as well have been part of some experiment.

Because it’s been working overdrive since that night - mind reliving that moment over and over and over and- shit, he’s fucked. So, so fucked. 

Fucked enough that it took Satoru months just to muster up to even look in your pretty eyes once more, unless he wanted to get lost in them forever. Fucked enough that he dared to wonder again and again when there might be a fourth kiss - if there would be a fourth kiss. 

He just never thought it would happen the way it did - with you, standing outside his front door. 

“I’m sorry, Toru.” you mumble, “It’s just- I think we both need to grow up.”

You’ve freshly graduated now, looking more and more irresistible each time he sees you - even when you’re looking at him like that. 

Rolling his eyes, “Ha, is this another way of saying you want my secret to getting taller? Because the first thing is to-”

“I’m serious, Satoru.”

And oh how he wished you’d say something - anything - else right now. Call him anything but that. Maybe even throw an insult his way, tell him those new sunglasses look ugly, or about how you got that internship he would’ve died for. 

Satoru manages to choke out a heavy, “I don’t understand.” But that uncomfortable coil of something curling at the pit of his stomach said otherwise. And it causes him to finally breathe out a hesitant, “Maybe you’re right.”

As if that was all the answer you needed, you’re stepping out of the front door. Slow, and deliberate like you were giving him another chance - a thousand more. Sighing out a defeated, “It’s been years.” It has. “And we’re just running in circles.” You have. “I’m starting to think this is just some game to you.” It wasn’t.

“Wait!” he grasps your hand - soft. The look in your eyes even softer as you turn around to face his desperate face. “Please, sweetheart.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what words he wants to say - let alone whether they’d come out of his heavy mouth. 

So, instead, he’s crashing them into yours. 

Brief. Fleeting. Like each one before this. Too addictive, too short, that he thinks he’s almost imagining it as you pull away gently, until he sees that look in your eyes. 

“Toru, I have a date.”

The fourth kiss.

Satoru’s letting go of you like it burned - and, truly, it felt like some deep, dark part of him was burning down right now. “Great.” That should be hm that should be him that should be- “I’m…happy for you.”

And the last.

He fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

That first date turned into a second. The second into a third. And unfortunately for Gojo, eventually, you were nearing your one-year anniversary with that asshat you’d met during the early days of your internship. 

He’d seen the man himself once, briefly at another one of Suguru’s famous parties. Ducking out of sight before he could be introduced, yet long enough to know that he wasn’t as tall, or as handsome, or as absolutely fucking hilarious. 

What did he have that Satoru didn’t? 

The answer to that, Satoru’s reminded of every time he’s causing ruckus over at Suguru’s apartment, and sees you walking out of your room, tittering on the phone to none other than your boyfriend. So gorgeous. So not his. 

You, that loser had you.

“If you sigh again I swear I’m shoving this popcorn up your a-”

“It’s a sad movie, Suguru!” he defends, draped across your couch at another one of those movie nights you loved to organize. As usual, there was the popcorn, the god-awful movie (if Satoru picks it), and the arguments. The only thing missing, however, was you. Ugh, something about an “anniversary” and a “seafood date”. Seriously, it’s not like you even enjoyed that new seafood restaurant in town, and he’s sure that bastard didn’t know-

“Satoru.” his best friend’s deadpan voice cuts through his little reverie. “We’re watching Mean Girls.”

And he’s barely even opening his mouth to snark back before-

SLAM!

Suguru pauses the movie almost immediately, turning to the direction of the front door. “Uh oh.” 

And lo and behold - there was you in all your pissed off, beautiful glory. Throwing your keys on the table, your fiery glare passes over the two men as you stomp to your bedroom. 

“Seafood wasn’t that good, sweetheart?” Satoru calls out behind you, eyes sweeping down your figure. Heart stuttering in his chest when you turn around with your fists clenched, lower lip wobbling in a way that Satoru would both kill whoever made you feel this way and die to be on the other side of those daggers in your eye. 

Sniffing out an icy, “Fuck off, loser and loserette.”

Then in a whirlwind of rage, you’re gone - your bedroom door slamming only slightly more gently than you’d done with the front door. Leaving a deafening silence, and Satoru whining, “Why am I the loserette?”

“Deserved.” Suguru shrugs. Warily eyeing your door, as if it was about to pounce at any given second, “Let her cool down before you give her an aneurysm at least.” Unpausing the television, propping his feet back up, “S’enough having to deal with you on top of a boyfriend like that.”

And that has Satoru perking up in interest - both figuratively, and literally as he snatches the remote and pauses the movie. “Wait wait wait what-” Holding it way out of Suguru’s reach, “What do you mean a ‘boyfriend like that’?”

Scoffing, “Funny. Now give me back the remote.”

A beat of silence passes. One. Two.

Only then does it dawn on Suguru that this might just not be some strange prank to stroke Satoru’s ego, and he was actually  more serious than he’d ever seen him. Damn. 

“Bro, have you really never met the guy or something? He’s a complete tool. I don’t know what happened, but this breakup was a long time coming.”

Satoru blinks, feeling a red hot surge of anger. “What? Seriously? Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“You think I didn’t try?” he sighs, running a hand through his hair at the other’s uncharacteristic silence. “Hah, and just imagine, the man was talking about marriage, too. As if.”

And suddenly, Satoru’s hit with an image of you walking down the aisle. Not something he was a stranger to, but it still takes him aback. The sway of the fabric beneath his fingers, your lips against his. Hell, in that split-second he even dreams up how Nanamin would be crying very reluctant tears of joy. 

Everything. Everything that wasn’t his.

His fist tightens around the remote, until he could hear the cracking of plastic. Mind whirling with the thought of you and him and you. How he wished it was him and you. “I would’ve been better.”

Oh. 

Shit. 

“I- fuck this. Suguru, since elementary school I…”

And, well, Satoru’s so busy putting that extra physics seminar he took in university to work - trying to calculate the odds of surviving a jump out of this seven-storey window - that he almost misses Suguru’s low hum, a distant, almost barely-audible little interruption, “Well duh.”

“Hold on.” he’s snatching away the remote that had somehow slithered its way into the other’s hands once again. Ignoring his best friend’s croak of protests to pause in the middle of Regina George being hit by the bus - which, he felt was strangely enviable right now. “That was- what? YOU KNOW?”

“Huh? Even my parents know, the only one that doesn’t is her.”

“...”

Satoru didn’t know how Suguru seemed so calm, but he felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. Heart stuttering in his chest as he sideglances at your firmly shut door - like he was just waiting for you to jump out and tell him this was some elaborate prank. 

Begging for you to come - it would’ve hurt less.

But you don’t.

Fuck. 

And the only response he gets is a low whistle, before a phone is being shoved in his face - flashlight illuminating that crimson blush. “Damn, the great Gojo Satoru speechless? The groupchat is gonna love this, might even send it to my sister, y’know.” 

He didn’t care - didn’t give a shit if this video made rounds to Gakuganji himself. Only one thought racing through his mind right now. 

“But why aren’t you punching me like in elementary school?” 

And Satoru knows he’s smart - intelligent even. Hell, he was the valedictorian, the youngest employee to claw their way up to being on the board of directors. But he’s never felt more stupid when Suguru breathes out a bewildered, “Dude. That was for blaming me for the paper planes.” 

“Oh.”

Then the movie is unpaused. 

---

The last time you kissed Gojo Satoru was at the doorstep to that overpriced penthouse of his, exactly a year ago today. 

The last time you saw Gojo Satoru was just a few hours ago, lounging around your living room like he owned it. Honestly, he might as well have been part of the furniture at this point - like some expensive, fluffy couch. One that prattled on about your “dumbass boyfriend” and god-knows-what else to rile you up just for the fun of it.

Which is why it was odd to step out of your bedroom - eyes just a bit puffy, throat still tight - to a suspiciously quiet hallway. 

The lights were turned off, nothing but the pouring rain sounding from outside, television paused on some rerun of The Princess Diaries. Damn, you told those idiots not to start that one without you.

“Sugu?” you call, finding his bedroom empty. “Thought tonight was movie night?” Padding across the empty apartment, contemplating whether or not to get your phone and call him when-

Ding!

Ah, there. 

You roll your eyes as you head towards the front door, ready to give Suguru a piece of his mind for going out at this ungodly hour and forgetting his key. Seriously, what if you opened the door and he was hurt, or worse, or…

Satoru. 

Speaking a mile a minute.

Satoru.

“-florist was closed and the store clerk looked at me like I was crazy but I got this for-” he pauses abruptly, as if realizing something with a jolt. “-you.”

“You- what-” you don’t know where to look - at the drenched, disheveled Satoru filling your doorframe - rain in his hair, curtaining his frantic eyes, drenching his snug t-shirt. Or at the obscenely large bouquet of cheap strawberry lollipops being placed gently into your arms. 

What follows was an electric silence - and you have half the mind to tease Satoru for finally shutting the fuck up for once in his life. 

But, no. Instead, you eye the way he stands stubbornly at the doorway, fists clenched, blue eyes locked so intensely on yours that it was like they burned. 

Face flushed a familiar pretty pink that makes you realize that shit, he might be taller, voice deeper, broad shoulders tight against his t-shirt - but this was still the same boy that cried when you stole his favorite Digimon card in middle school. The same one that kissed you underneath a dingy slide, smelling of strawberry lollipops.

It’s the steady tap! tap! tap! of the water droplets from his hair that have you tearing your traitorous eyes from his see-through white t-shirt.

Guess you’ve both done some growing up since then.

“You loser.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

The pink wrapping of the bouquet rustles as your grip tightens. “He proposed to me today, y’know.” and yet, your quiet, even voice was the only thing ringing in Satoru’s ears. He jolts, as if some visceral, primal part of himself had been poked awake. Breathing heavy, fists clenching until he could feel the neat indents of his fingernails on his palm. Of course. He’s late. He’s late he’s late he’s late-

That is, until you’re plowing on, “I said no.”

“Huh?”

You think back to the stuffy restaurant, the man sitting from across from you - how wrong it felt. And all it took were those four words for you to realize that. “I said no.” 

Satoru snaps his head up, stepping close - so close. Voice strained like he wasn’t asking - begging. Praying, “Why?”

“We…” you raise a brow at the way Satoru flinches as you trail off. So desperate. A smirk makes its way onto your face, “...we haven’t divorced yet, right?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you. 

Fuck, you don’t know - nor do you really care right now. Not when Satoru’s got his lips crashing against yours for the fifth time in your life, kissing you like it would be the last. Big arms dipping down to your waist, pulling you so tight against his muscled frame that he had half the mind to wonder whether it hurt. 

“Love this. Love the way you kiss me- fuck-” he’s spitting against your lips, kicking the door shut behind him. “Oh- would ya get mad if I-” he tries to get out through kisses. Only to suck on your pretty lips with a pained grunt. “If I-” Again and again, like it killed him to part. “-hah- celebrated right now?”

“Yes.” You’re letting the bouquet fall to the foor, white-knuckling that useless, drenched excuse of a shirt. “Now kiss me properly, Toru.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Such a sloppy mix of teeth and hands and him. Shoving a knee between your legs, making up for years and years of late nights with nothing but his fist and the pretty thought of you. 

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart.” Satoru breathes out, as your urgent fingers that dispose of his shirt, feeling the gorgeous dips and curves of years of hard work to impress you. “Suck on m’tongue pretty- fuck-” His own fisting your shirt, pulling. Ripping.

“Toru!”

“I want you.” He’s letting the poor, tattered pieces drop in a pile on the floor, trailing a hand between your damp thighs before he can stop himself. “Oh how I’ve wanted you. And I don’t care if I have to buy fifty new outfits to make up for it.”

And it’s the feeling of his long index stroking up your sopping slit through your shorts that has you pulling away with a gasp. Delicate little strings of saliva snapping from Satoru’s kiss-bitten lips. “If we continue like this…” your voice wavers as he presses hot kisses along your collarbone. “-my brother’s gonna walk in.”

“...wouldn’t wanna relive that playground kiss, huh?”

It’s all he says before picking you up so easily, hands resting on your ass. Giving a playful spank ass you wrap your legs around his toned waist. 

And it’s sloppy.

Both his lips still hotly on yours and the way he’s stumbling urgently to your room through pure muscle memory. Pulling away only when you’re all splayed out so prettily for him on your mattress.

“Blue?” he breathes, pulling your shorts off. And it comes out strained - like the very sight of your panties - all soaked and flimsy with your slick - has whatever’s remaining of Satoru’s sanity flying out the window. “Blue? Oh, you’ve gotta have planned this, you little minx.” his hot breath hits your cunt as he shifts down the bed, tongue drawing languid, wet little circles on your inner thigh. “Because don’t tell me this was all for him?”

It was coincidence - or maybe fate - but that doesn’t stop you from giving Satoru a slow, teasing nod. Muttering out, “So what if it was?”

The only answer you get is thumb hooked around your shorts, pulling it just enough so that your brother’s best friend can spy your pretty pussy.

“Well then.” he chuckles at the way you jump when his fingertip just barely grazes your clit. “Guess I jus’ hafta prove m’better.”

A low groan is falling from his lips as soon as they meet your puffy ones, giving your pretty clit a chaste peck. Lingering long enough that he’s sure your sweet sweet juices cover his mouth.

And oh Satoru’s sure he’ll never forget the way your jaw falls slack, glassy eyes following his every move as he runs his tongue along his glossy lips. Savoring your candied taste, “Never kissed you like this before, huh?” 

Fuck, you’re sweeter than he’s imagined.

You whine desperately, something that has him smirking smugly, “Hah, what? Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re better when you shut up.” It’s all you can do to buck your hips into Satoru’s pretty face - not that you had to, because one taste of your dripping cunt and he was addicted. Surging forwards until he was nose-deep, locking your ankles around his head with a firm yank.

And you can’t lie - maybe you’ve imagined this exact scene a few times before on those lonely nights. But you just never expected Satoru to be so depraved. Desperate.

“Ngh- fuck, Toru-” you reach a hand down to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging his face up. But Satoru doesn’t stop - not even for a second. Tongue still dipping to spread your swollen folds with his tongue, looking you right in the eyes as he murmurs a strangled, “Mhm?” 

“Thought you were gonna prove you’re better, hm?”

So goading. So like you. 

At this, Satoru pulls back ever-so-slightly to laugh - laugh. His plump, glistening lips curling into a humorless little grin, “Oh I will.” Thumb circling your throbbing clit. Just dragging your twitching body across the silky sheets close to his, one hand pinning your hips down. Hard. “I will.”

Loving his new favorite place between your legs one hand toys with your clit, quick, messy little patterns. Tongue even more so. 

“Not just better.” he grunts, “Gonna make you cum so much harder, too.” Having your thighs shake with each word hissed out into your cunt, each turn of his deft fingers. “Till I’m the only thing on your mind. Me.”

And it’s all you can do to let out choked up groans of his name, back arching off the plush mattress to let him make out with your cunt deeper. Sloppier. So, so starved with the way he’s speeding up, tongue dragging across your walls. In and out in and out in and-

“Fuck! Hngh-” you angle his head - and he lets you. “There- Toru-”

Honestly, you didn’t even have to tell Satoru - he could feel it. Could feel it in the way your plushy walls are squeezing his hot tongue so harsh, until it was almost difficult to fuck your pussy so sloppily. In the way you’re letting out such delicious whines each time he grazes against those sweet spots. 

“There? Hah- I know.” he pulls away to muse, and your cute, disappointed whine goes straight to his already rock-hard cock. “Did he?”

He didn’t. And you’re shaking your head so pathetically - in a way you’d be embarrassed about usually. 

But that’s the last thing you’re thinking bout because you feel it - the cold, sinful feeling of Satoru spitting on your filthy cunt. Once. Twice. Blue eyes widening in delight at the way the mess of spit and slick drip down your slit. 

“Cute.” his tongue smoothes over the slutty pool, and the only thing your delirious brain can make out now is a low moan of, “So? Who’s better?”

It’s all you can do to choke out a broken little, “T-T-” Face burning at the way he was so clearly enjoying your struggle. And, well, no matter painfully hard it made his dick - he had to go just a bit easy on his girl, right?

“Shhhh, s’alright.” you flinch as he shoves two absolutely drenched fingers into your mouth, making so much more of a mess of it than necessary. Drinking in your cute gags, “I was asking her.” He’s making your head spin with the way he’s speeding up. “N’ she’s hah- very talkative.” Words muffled, and slurring together - like he was drunk off of you and your cunt. “Let’s hear what she has to ngh- say, huh?”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and squeezing into your sloppy entrance - like he couldn’t - didn’t - want to make up his mind. Oh, with your teary mewls strangled, the sound of Satoru making out with cunt is so loud. The squelches so obscene. 

“Fuuuuck.” he drawls. “Louder than I thought. I think she says I’m better, don’t you think?” 

You angle your head just right to catch the way his jaw grinds deeper into you, eating you out like his last meal. Your slick drooling down his chin so sinfully. 

“Ngh- fuck fuck fuck- ngh-” your yelps are dreamy, feeling like you were losing your mind with the way he was stretching you out. 

Like you were about to snap. Any second now. 

But Satoru’s only increasing his movements, drawing out your little moans. “And I think she’s saying…”  Getting sloppier. More erratic - and it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up now, cock aching with the need to be inside you. “-that she’s about to cum.”

You do - so hard and loud - both you and your cunt. 

You’re shaking, all but gushing all over Satoru’s mouth, tight pussy squeezing his tongue so hard. Barely even realizing the searing grip you’ve got on his hair as you drag your sloppy pussy all over his mouth.

But Satoru doesn’t mind - he gladly welcomes it, in fact. Tonguefucking your snug cunt senselessly, letting you chase your high as roughly as you wanted. Over and over.

Even when you’re vision isn’t as spotty as before, even when nothing’s coming out of your mouth but little whimpers. Your breathing dying down until all that rings in your barely-lucid mind were those obscene noises of Satoru’s lips all on yours. 

“T-Toru-” you whine, big fat tears pricking at your hazy eyes. “M’so sensitive.”

And of course this is Satoru, the same boy who’s been pushing your buttons for years just to giggle at your adorable reactions. Which is why he grins against your twitching cunt, “So?”

It takes everything in you to raise your head off the pillow that just seemed to be swallowing you whole, and even more to shoot Satoru a half-hearted glare. “So m’gonna ngh- assume you’re jus’ a pussy with a s-smaller dick than-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - he doesn’t let you. Because Satoru’s fumbling with his belt, peeling off those still-drenched pants just enough for you to admire his clothed erection. 

And, shit, admittedly you expected him to have a big dick - having been subjected to way too much locker room talk with your brother - but this was ridiculous. 

“What? Too big?” He flashes you that infuriating grin. Palming his rock-hard cock through his boxers at the way your beautiful eyes trace the outline of his cock, all swollen and big. So intimidatingly big. “Damn, sweetheart, if I knew that this was how I’d get that feisty lil’ mouth of yours to shut up then I’d have done it a lot sooner.” 

And you don’t even know if you’re breathing, the pads of your fingers dancing along his bulge. Tracing those prominent veins. Thumbing that little damp spot at his fat head. “You wouldn’t have.” 

He hisses as your soft hands dip into the hem of his underwear. Voice cracking slightly, “I wouldn’t.”

Then you’re gasping - in sync with Satoru’s low moan - as you finally let him spring free. Thick cock hitting his sculpted abs, red tip smearing precum in a lewd little pool. Weeping and so so angry at the sight of you.

At the heavenly feeling of your thumb teasing under his sensitive slit, “Oh, shit.” 

He’s throwing his head back when you give an experimental pump, all the way from his pretty tip to the tufts fo white at his hilt. Fist gliding all over the thumping veins. Bucking his hips up like such a slut into your touch. 

“O-oh fuck.” he cracks an eye open at the way your hand looked so small compared to his dick, how well you were taking care of him. “Been ngh- dreaming of this since I learned what handjobs were, y’know? Hah- shit- ya gotta stop before I fuckin’ pass out.”

And Satoru thinks he could cum right then and there at the way you’re bringing your soaked index up to your mouth. Batting your lashes as you suck on them with a lewd pop! “From jus’ that?”

“You have no idea.”

That’s all it takes for Satoru to throw your still-quivering thighs over his shoulders, effectively shutting up whatever tease is on the tip of your sharp tongue by kissing your swollen folds with his fat head. Giving it one, long drag. 

Your mouth is sagging open at the slow, torturous teasing. The sheer anticipation that had your mouth running, “S-so much for ah- jus’ being ‘friends’, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” And you’re flinching from Satoru’s deep, dark tone. The way he’s bracing his fingers so bruisingly on your hips, reeling all the way back till his tip was just kissing your hole. “We stopped being friends the day you married me on that playground.” 

And then he’s slamming in - pushing past that first, feeble ring of resistance, gummy walls stretching out so perfectly for him. As if he fit right in - and he tells you that. Pants it into your open mouth a little over fifteen times, in fact. 

“Shiiiit, look at you.” he can’t tear his eyes away from the side of your lips stretching so wide to try and milk him. Sloppy entrance stretching out like magic. “S’like you’re made for me, huh? This pussy is made f’me?”

“Ngh- fuck, Toru! S’too big-” you keen, feet flattening on the mattress. As if to escape. To maybe fucking breathe.  

Not even half-way in yet, but aleady torn between pushing away and sinking yourself down on his swollen cock for more more more-

“Don’t you dare run away.” he warns, looking up at you through his long lashes. “I’ve waited too long for this. N’ you’re not taking this pretty pussy away any time soon.” Inch by fucking inch. Grinding in short, sharps jabs - no rhythm of rhyme, like they were genuinely out of control. “Way too f-fuckin’-” All the way until your puffy folds was meeting his hilt. Finally. All the way in. “-long.”

And once Satoru had you split apart on his dick - had those tears rolling down your cheeks, cunt swallowing him so sluttily - it’s like something snaps. 

Because he doesn’t waste a second - he’s already wasted almost two decades, anyway - filling you up with his mean hips. Not fucking easing you into it because you always did bring out that part of him, the part that him looping two strong arms around your waist. Pulling. 

“Oh- f-fuck c’mere.” Satoru gasps, pressing your body so crushingly against his. Kissing your shaky shoulers, your sweaty forehead, the gentleness so contrasting to his hips.“God I’ve missed out- fuck fuck fuck-” 

You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru - campus sex symbol - so uncomposed. Eyes half-lidded, just boring into yours, mouth slack in a soft oh! as he drags his cock all over inside your gummy walls. And the sight is so heavenly that you make the mistake the mistake of cracking a minute smile.

Just barely curling your lips before - “Don’t smile at me like that.” He’s dipping down a hand to roll your ravaged clit between two bullying fingers. “Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me. Right?”

You keen at the- stimulation? The strech? The sheer embarrassment as you realize that Satou’s still talking to your sloppy pussy? Nodding so mockingly up at you as he plows on, “Mhm, she says you needa be ngh- knocked down a god, you’re tight- peg or two. So- get- ready-” 

He’s using this as an excuse to sit up on his knees, dragging you onto his lap so easily like some ragdoll. 

“That’s more like it.”

You’re sliding deeper down his painfully hard cock - all the way till his heavy balls rest beneath your ass, clit rubbing against his pelvis every time he bounces you like some slut.  

Deep. Ruthless.

“Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and you’re screwing open your eyes that you don’t even remember shutting. Trying so hard to stop crying out at the feeling of the curve of his dick massaging your walls. “Ya gotta hngh- see the o-only one who’d fuckin’ you properly, right?”

You squeal when he’s taking your clit captive once more. Finger quick, deft. “Y-yes.”

But that wasn’t enough for Satoru - it might as well never be. Because he’s only ramming his hips up further. Like he’s pushing into your stomach, your lungs, all the way into your cockdrunk brain. Fat head alternating between kissing your poor, abused cervix and all those sweet spots he’d mapped out with his tongue.

“Sounded unsure to me.” he’s pouty against your hardened nipples bouncing enticingly in his face. Fingers quirking faster on your clit, “Maybe I should ngh- stop then?”

“No!” Your hips stutter against Satoru’s. Nails clawing down the sculpted panes of his shoulders, leaving red angry marks for him to take as a sign tomorrow morning that no, it wasn’t just one of his dreams this time. “No no no- m’sure. You’re the only one makin’ me feel this way.”

You can feel the way he’s twitching wildly at your words, dick thumping harder inside your sensitive cunt. 

He punctures each word with a heavy, calculated thrust. Hand stretching and squeezing open your cunt from behind to let him slide impossibly deeper. “Hmmm, I’m not convinced.” 

Your stupid mouth is only capable of letting out broken, choked-up little moans of his name, ankles locking around those dimples at the end of his spine. “S’you–”

“Still not convinced.”

But he’s still speeding up his movements, just dragging you up and down his cock. “Who else made you hah- feel this good?” Sure to claim you from the inside out - to leave marks everywhere. Heavy balls on your ass, weeping tip on your cervix, lips bruised as you whimper at his murmured, “That ex of yours?” Biting down your neck, “That barista that always flirts with you?” Pulling away only to breathe into your lips, “Who?”

“ I- fuck it’s only you, Toru.”

“Sound convincing to you?” Satoru hums down at your cunt, biting his lower lip at the way you were milking him so good. Your slick soaking him all the way down to his balls - so needy in a way he never thought he’d see. “Yeah-” be breathes, nosing at your neck. “She agrees- fuck does this tight lil’ pussy of yours agree.” A few tears, a few gorgeous marks down his back, and he was finally convinced. “You’re mine.”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming, and Satoru doesn’t either.

Both of you too caught up in each other to recognize that familiar, white-hot pleasure running down your spine - all the way down to where he was so mercilessly buried in your cunt.  

And you’re well into the blood roaring deafeningly in your ears, the sight of Satoru - all wrecked - blurring as he fucks his hips up. Harsh. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he paints your quivering walls white. 

Cumming and cumming so hard that you can feel his seed dribbling down your thighs, making such a mess all over Satoru’s lap. Your poor, overfilled cunt soon bloated and unable to keep up with it.

“Toru–” you whine, like a prayer. Milking the fucking soul out of him while he gently paws at your messy hair.

“Shhh, I know I know, sweetheart.” Such a stark contrast to the way he was filling you up like his favorite sex toy. Not even bothering to move anymore, one hand on your hip, moving your limp body up and down his sensitive cock to fuck it deeper. The other still playing with your clit, “S’alright, my girl”

Satoru’s hands never leave you, and he prays that now that he got a taste - well, you better be alright with them not leaving you for as long as he lives.

“As long as you live, huh?” you chuckle groggily, a noise so dreamy that Satoru can’t even be mad that he said it out loud. “And all that riling me up these years. Do you have a degradation kink or something?”

“Well, only one way to find out~”

“Oh shut up you-”

SLAM!

“Yooo, I bought dinner from that- WHAT THE FUCK?”

There were only two more lessons to be learned:

Always lock the door. Always. And in case you don’t, a bouquet of lollipops will do the trick to a Suguru reeling from the newest addition to the family. 

Cheap takeout tastes better with an apologetic Suguru, and an ice pack to his cheek - and you to kiss it better.

A/N. Can you tell I kept listening to that one Artemas song while writing this?

Plagiarism not authorized.

[saymio]

Dae-ho headcanons | (NSFW)

Pairing: Kang Dae-ho (player 388) x Fem!reader

Genre: headcanons, smut

Warning: uhh daehho is rlly needy, kinda sub dae ho, idk TBH he's too normal for warnings LOL,

A/N: not proof read. I tried my best:( I'm used to writing darker stories with elements of dub/noncon, manipulation, etc..so hopefully I did his good personality justice.

kang dae ho, the man couldn't keep his eyes away from you the second he caught a glance of you. his eyes following your every move inside the room that everyone had just woken up in.

kang dae ho, the man that blushes like he had just been caught doing the dirtiest thing on earth (staring at you). getting somehow redder when you giggle at his 'confidence' crumble like a failed sand castle.

kang dae ho, the man that cant believe his eyes when you stand up from yourself and your group against men that were clearly bigger than you. showing immense confidence even when you could easily be overpowered.

kang dae ho, the man that always finds his gazes linger a little longer than they should. watching you closely when you stretch, feeling himself get hard at the sight of your stomach peeking past the shirt and soft noise you make when you stretch.

kang dae ho, the man that invites you to his team after the second round. finding you all alone after your teammates left you to die to form their group and getting fatally shot during it.

kang dae ho, the man that offers his milk to you. telling you that its "no big deal" with a shrug. even if he goes a little more hungry than usual.

kang dae ho, the man that will look at you for approval of something he just did. giving himself an internal fist bump when you tell him he did great.

kang dae ho, the man that will slip his hands into his pants and get himself off while he watches your sleeping form. he just thinks you look too gorgeous while the lights of the x and o illuminate off your face and rest of your body.

kang dae ho, the man that feels so bad for imagining what your delicate body looks under your clothes .. but cant help it when you just look so hot

kang dae ho, the man that will sneak into your bed at the middle of the night and cuddle you... feeling himself get a hard on at the feeling of your soft skin under his arms

kang dae ho, the man that will slowly start rutting into you in the middle of the night. waking you up surprised but not upset.. his moans and whines filling your ears to the brim

kand dae ho, the man that will fondle your tits n make out with you like a feral dog. as if you were his first girlfriend since 8th grade.

kang dae ho, the man that will cover his whines and moans with his hands while your jerk him off under the thin covers. trying his best not to make too much noise and wake anyone up..but there was probably that heard him either way.

kang dae ho, the man that will lick his fingers after you came all over them like a starving animal. savoring every drop of it that he can pick up with his digits.

kang dae ho, the man that decided to join the shoot out with the other guards in hopes it could get you out of this mess. even if you begged him not to go.

kang dae ho, the man that felt nothing but relief and warmth when you hugged him and held him in your gentle arms when he had a panic attack and couldn't get himself to go back

kang dae ho, the man that want nothing more but to spend the rest of his life with you.

A/N: this was rlly rushed n lazily made, I'm sorry :( I was out all day so I didn't find time to finish/continue my long fic but I still wanted to make something T T I think I might just stick to writing for characters that would more likely do darker things, I felt this was too boring :// sorry...

TAGLIST: @pollys-doublelife @gongyoosgf

[morganalatina21]

Too Sweet - OP81

When Lando tries to play matchmaker with his two friends, the negative response comes from someone he did not imagine

or

When Oscar wants to prove you wrong

warnings: English isn't my first language, not proofread, mentions of alcohol and weed, smut, unprotected sex, car sex. Smut have warning before it starts and after it ends! - MDNI!!!!

word count: around 2k

"What do you mean 'no'?" Lando looked at you as if you grown a second head. "Don't play nonchalant about this, that's his thing. I've heard you ramble about him before."

"Yep." You agreed, sipping your drink.

"So why the fuck not?" He crossed his arms. "You'd be bloody great together."

"Do you really think that, muppet?" You bit back, eyes still lifeless staring back at him. Lando nodded. "You don't understand man. I like him? Yes. Very much. So much is inebriating." You confessed, looking almost... tired?

"But I've come to the terms that we would never work." Your shoulders moved up and down. "We are so fucking different Lan, and you know that. He's like, kind and a ray of sunshine. I'm a mess, you should know this, I'm friends with you, that's telling."

"I'm gonna ignore this outrage statement because I'm on a bigger mission here." He continued, knowing you were deviating the conversation. "The fuck is that coming from?"

"When you like someone that much, you star to try and match your stuff with them." You shrugged, adjusting your hair on the mirror. "And as much as I want to, we just- don't. That's like you said, he is nonchalant, I'm way too chalant. He is so sweet, Im bitter. He is all composed and... I dunno... Like those fitness influencers who have insane wellness routines? You know. And I'm the entire opposite. He's sweet as a grape."

"Are you quoting Hozier's Too Sweet at me right now?" His green eyes looked at you in disbelief. "Are you for real?"

"Kinda."

"Okay I know you may be having doubts, but why not try? It's better than not try, right?"

"Okay now you're just quoting The Good Place at me." You mocked, hearing people bang on the door to the bathroom. "But you know that I'm way too down bad for him to just try and go along with it. I'm usually cool with this kinds of stuff, but... I know I'll just be delusional and want more with him."

"So make us both a favor and drop it, because I don't wanna have my heart broken, and you don't wanna hear me whining about it, sir Norris."

Oscar's eyes were trained on you the moment you left the bathroom with Lando at his house party. You and Lando knew each other since kids, and it was very obvious to everyone in that house, including him, that nothing would ever happen between the two of you.

You noticed his glance and just offered him a small smile before turning and starting a conversation with Max Fewtrell, yours and Lando's best friend.

"Thought you said that'd work." He commented when Lando came up to him. "I really shouldn't trust your matchmaking skills, remember the redhead you tried to hook me up with in Vegas?"

"Hey, she was hot! And liked koalas."

"She liked spiders."

"You grew up with both, mate, whatever." Oscar shooked his head with a smile on his face. "And she wants you, she's just worried you might not want her."

"What?"

"She didn't believe when I said you were down to meet her. She thinks I'm setting her up with someone who does not want her."

"Why would she think that? You did that before?"

"Not the case right now. She thinks that because she basically doesn't think she's good enough for you."

The softest "what" came out of Piastri's lips.

"Yeah, she even quoted Hozier at me."

"I... don't know what that means."

Later that day, when he was in bed, smeling a bit like alcohol and feeling his body light from the drinking, Lando's words came back to him. He was waiting to sober up more, although he was probably the most sober out of everyone in that party, including you, who at some point started trying to teach Pietra how to creepwalk, to which, you failed.

He kept watching you that night, from some distance, of course, to try and understand what you meant to Lando when you said "too different".

And to be honest, he kinda got that.

You weren't necessarily and extrovert, at least with those you didn't know, but with your friends, wow were you outgoing.

You and Max were doing shots at random moments of the night, a bet to see who would fall first. You'd drink whataver he drank, and he'd drink whatever you drank.

He smoked some weed, so you did too.

You took jello shots made purely out of the cheapest vodka you could find, so he did too.

Lando and Pietra were trying to keep up with the two of you, but it was in vain. You two were on fire.

And to be honest, Oscar liked that.

You probably didn't see it, but you were both bold, only on different aspects of life.

And he wanted to show you that.

So, phone in hand, he texted Lando, who was already on his own room, probably with some fling of his. The party had died down and only a few people were left, including you, who were downstairs probably playing truth or dare or never have I ever with the other survivors of the night, and him, who was in a guest room.

[What did u meant when you mentioned Hozier earlier?] seen 2:38a.m.

[she quoted his song to me]

[too sweet, look it up im busy] seen 2:40a.m.

[At least tell me the name of the song so i can search it, man] 2:40a.m.

[are youo actually stupid? the name of the song is TOO SWEET, im not compliemnting you mate.] seen 2:40a.m.

[i knew that] seen 2:41a.m.

[sure you did] seen 2:41 a.m.

Spotify open. He typed down those two words and sure enough, a song by an Irish man popped up. The beat was kinda animated, and he didn't though to bother searching up the internet to see what other thought of that song.

He took his own conclusion.

"If you can sit in a barrell, maybe I'll wait". In his slightly disturbed mind, that meant he still had a shot. He just needed to prove you two weren't so different.

And while drunk, he took an oath to do that.

.

For the 2024 season, Lando had hired you as his personal counselor, which was just an excuse for you to travel around the world with him.

The reason why? Oscar didn't knew, but he wasn't complaining.

That meant seeing you around the paddock a lot, even til the highest hours of the night after each race, post-debriefs and everything.

Today was one of those days.

It was after a session of FP1 and FP2 of the US Grand Prix, and the post-practice debrief had just ended, people moving around and starting to leave.

Oscar gathered his stuff and was ready to walk to his own car and leave.

That's when he spotted you.

On one of the halls from the McLaren hospitality, walking around in a jacket he did not recognize as any of the teams merch.

"Are you switching scuderias?" He asked, nodding the jacket direction, startling you.

You looked down, almost forgetting which clothes you were wearing. "Oh that's just from the next NASCAR winning team."

"You like NASCAR?"

"I was very frustrated when I realized Cars was about NASCAR and not F1, I might switch motorsports." You smiled.

"Good luck cheering for Joe Gibbs."

"Oh which one do you choose? Spire?"

"No, never. 23XI is way better."

You rolled your eyes at his statement, a small smile still on your lips, a huge one on his.

"I'll laugh to your face when Denny Hamlin ends Riley on track next cup, Piastri."

"It's on, Y/ln."

Two days later, after the Grand Prix, Oscar dropped the bomb on the interview.

"... Maybe we should just adopt NASCAR rules and end things on track." A knowing smile on his lips, looking at the camera.

He wanted you to know. He made sure of it, it wasn't just some comment, there was more.

"Mate, NASCAR rules? Are you insane?" Lando asked later, watching you perk up at that mention.

Oscar smiled and watched you, barely giving his teammate any recognition. You searched the internet, the key words you never thought would be put together: "Oscar Piastri + NASCAR".

And sure enough, there it was, the interview.

You looked up at him, slightly flabbergasted and changed your expression to a smile.

And God, did he love that smile.

.

"Disrespectfully, Fuck Papaya Rules."

Oscar phisically perked up when he heard that. He was strolling around the paddock and caught you talking with reserve McLaren driver, Pato O'Ward.

"Not only that's dumb, but honestly, fuck-ass name for a strategy."

He chuckled at that, hearing you from around the corner.

"Honestly I don't know if I'd follow that if I ever fill in for any of them." Pato admitted, shrugging. "I understand when it's for the Constructors Championship but Drivers? Fuck that."

"My favorite moment so far is when Oscar cut him right on the beginning, it was kind of a 'fuck your championship' moment, I live for that."

"Lando's gonna fire you if he hears you say that." Pato laughed. "Remember when you hit him because he didn't spray Oscar on the Hungary podium?"

"And I'd do it again."

"You hit Lando to defend me?" Oscar asked later that day, on the parking lot, as you were waiting for your friend.

You looked up at him and his smug smile.

That actually caught you unexpected. Oscar was coy, you knew that, but he was getting progressively bolder and more challenging.

It messed with your brain.

"You eavesdropping?"

"I just like to hear when people talk about me." He admitted. "Don't you?"

"No. I hate knowing what people think of me."

Oscar chuckled. That was kind of perfect, because he wasn't good with words.

"I promise I won't tell you what I think of you if I can give you a ride back to the hotel."

That was the main difference between you and Oscar: you were provocative, alluring, liked to get under people's skin, while he was straightforward, deadpan and liked to see people's reaction to brutal honesty.

"Sure."

.

It was the last race of a triple header, Brasil.

Five DNFs, the race and the quali delayed so many times, it was exhausting. Oscar finished P8, which, yes, was a bad position, but he was glad he at least finished the race, unlike five other drivers.

He was so tired, and it showed on his face.

No one even dared ask him or Lando how they were feeling because it was obvious, so he pratically slipped away from the mechanics and engineers.

And he found you. Sitting on the floor, back to the wall that separated his and Lando's driver room, texting rapidly.

He wanted so bad to have you to him, to talk to you before media duties, to have you on his driver room alone. But he and Lando weren't exactly on the best terms, so he couldn't just snatch away his friend.

Or couldn't he?

"Lando's gonna be late." He said, snatching your attention immediately. "If you want to come in."

"Yeah, in a sec." You went back to typing right away.

"You texting someone?" You nodded but answered back:

"Since when do you care?"

"I don't know, I just want your attention." There it was again, the honesty. "I mean, the person you might be texting can be cool and all but, do they drive at 300km/h for McLaren?"

You stopped, looking up at him, almost not believing those words actually came out of his mouth.

"He doesn't..." He smiled. "He actually drives for Mercedes and is a 7 time world champion."

"You're texting Lewis?" Oscar asked softly, smile vanishing. "Isn't he too old for you?"

"First of all, Lewis Hamilton could never be 'too old'. And second, It's not like you're thinking." You pushed yourself up, entering his room. "I'm just congratulating him on the Senna homage and asking what he wants to get me tickets for the next Kendrick Lamar concert."

"I don't know how many times I can offer to babysit Roscoe."

Oscar closed the door behind him, a sigh of relief leaving his lips.

He launched himself on the nearest armchair he could find and groaned, feeling his body ache, trying to stop the shakes on his body from being wet with the cold wind.

"Are you okay?" Y/n asked, voice dripping with concern.

"Yeah. My back's killing me, and I think I'm going to have a cold."

"Take a hot shower, I'll grab you some medicine." She instantly put the phone down, marching towards the door, but was interrupted when Oscar held her wrist.

"Stay." The word came out murmured, a gentle plea, his eyes closed. "Please."

It was weird seeing him like that, so vulnerable, so desirous, it made your heart fumble when he opened those soft brown eyes. So you nodded.

"But you're gonna lie down and get warm. I don't want you sick."

He obliged, draggin himself -and you on the processes, because he couldn't let go of you- towards the improvised bed he had on his driver room.

"But what if-" Oscar began, starting to lie down. "I get sick so I can escape from the media duties?"

"Can you do that?"

"It's worth a shot."

You smiled, pulling a chair to be close to him still, to which he thanked with a smile.

Surely after, Oscar fell asleep. You know it wasn't ideal, but you stood by and watched him peacfully sleeping. He was so soft, so cat-like, so pretty.

Your heart ached with how much you liked him.

And maybe, even though he didn't knew, he was showing you how you two could be a match.

When he woke up, half an hour later, you weren't there already, but he found the medicine you said he needed with a small note that said "You snore like a cat purrs (take care), Y/n."

He smiled ear to ear, almost all of the fatigue gone. He folded the note and tucked it in one of the pockets of his bag, leaving to the unfortunate meeting with the media.

Later that day, as Y/n was getting to her hotel room when she noticed something hanging from the doorknob.

It was a keychain in the shape of a cat, with a small note that read "To remember me".

Y/n rolled her eyes, but with a small smile on her face, that turned into a shock expression the moment she saw the things attached to it: two tickets for the Kendrick Lamar concert.

"Oscar Jack Piastri, you little devil."

.

"How was the concert?" Oscar asked, a knowing smile on his lips.

Y/n smiled widely. It has been a couple of months since Oscar Piastri started pursuing you; you ended up knowing what he was up to when Lando commented that he was determined.

And dear God, he was.

And it moved you.

You don't remember ever someone putting this much effort for you. That alone, warranted some points on his advantage.

"It was good, I actually ended up meeting Snoop Dogg also and we talked a lot about West Side." You rambled, watching his eyes get lost, trying to search his brain for any information about any of the words you just said. "I'm just messing with you. It really meant a lot to me so, thank you."

"Anytime."

"You need a ride to the hotel?" He offered. "Think Lando's not going back any time soon."

You looked back to the door for the party, the music still so loud, lights flashing in different colors and you could almos feel the smell of alcohol even from this distance.

Usually, you'd be inside going crazy too, celebrating that the team you work for had finally won the Constructor's Championship after so many years not knowing what that feels like.

But you were tired. So you took Oscar's offer.

His car smelt new, even though he had this car for quite some time now, his cologne, a strong woody scent mixed with the fresh odor of the seats.

"So, how does it feel, huh?" You asked right after he started driving. "Constructor's champions."

"It's amazing." He answered, and you could feel the tiredness and happiness from his tone. "It's exactly that, a reward for all the hard work."

"Driver's championship next?"

"For me I hope so."

"Next season's gonna be amazing." You smiled, hiding the sadness. "I mean, five rookies on the grid, Hamilton at Ferrari, hopefully Max's downfall?"

"May God hear you, Y/n."

"This sport was missing some emotion." Oscar stared at you from the side of his eyes as you entered the highway, which was completely desert due to high hours of the night. "I mean, to you guys there's always emotion but that's because you're driving, to us just watching cars go around and no overtakes, no fun business is kinda boring."

A mischiveous glint shone on Oscar's eyes as he pushed the throttle pedal further and further with each word you said.

"Osc, what are you doing?"

"Just thought you'd like a piece of the emotion like we have." He opened the windows, a huge smile on.

The adrenaline rushed through your muscles, eyes blown wide as the velocity increased, starting to grip the seat as you laughed. Oscar was so normal about it he was even driving with only one hand on the wheel.

"Fuck it, Imma act like a dog."

Oscar laughed genuinely as you loosened the seatbelt and propped your head out of the window, the wind forcing your skin and giving you goosebumps.

You could barely breathe but that was a whole part of the fun.

"Oh my God this is amazing!"

"Emotion enough for you?"

"God, how are you guys so normal after every race?" You asked, sitting back down, heart beating so fast inside your chest. "I'd feel like I'm on the top of the world, honestly."

The song on the radio pushed your pulse to quicken even more. You opted for keeping your head inside to talk to Oscar, but one hand was out, dancing with the wind.

"God, I'm gonna miss this."

"What?!"

Shit.

He wasn't supposed to hear that, not yet.

You sighed, putting a hand on high thigh, feeling him tense up. "You can slow down now." He did, eyes constantly darting back to your hand, touching him. "The reason I was flying around with Lando and the team was because he wanted to give me new opportunities. And I got one in Italy, as a fashion designer. This is my last night working for McLaren."

Oscar couldn't believe what he was hearing, all his effort, all that he was dreaming for, to have you by his side every race just like this season but this time, as his partner.

He kind of thanked you for telling him to slow down, because his head was spinning.

"Italy is close to Monaco, no?"

"It's in Milan, a three hour drive." You answered, lightly caressing his thigh. "Lando already knew of that possibility, no one was supposed to get attached to me. I'm sorry, Osc."

He parked the car in front of the hotel, both hands now on the wheel as he was trying to calm down and grasp the reality of everything going on.

You were leaving.

He felt your hand lifting up from his pants and immediately grabbed it.

"I'm not giving you up."

"Osc-" "No."

"I didn't come this far just to lose you, not now."

"You're not losing me." He looked at you. "I'll just- I'll be in the country next door." You smiled tightly. "But it's okay if you don't want someone who can't accompany you, I get it."

"You'd wait for me?"

"What?"

Oscar blinked, his grip on your hand tightening, eyes intense as if he was begging.

"Wait for me, to be back from the races, wait for the breaks?"

"Osc that's thing long relationships go through, we don't know if it'd work and-"

He held your face. Gently, sweet, almost too sweet.

"We have until March. I want to try. I could never ask you to give up on something you want so bad, so that's why I'm asking you to not give up on us."

Us. That knocked all the air from your lungs.

"I can see it in your face. You want this just as badly as I do." Oscar's voice was low, sending shivers down your spine with the way he talked. "I already showed you how much of a match we can be, let me show you we can make this work."

You shouldn't, you really really shouldn't. If it all went south you didn't know if you could recover from him.

But it was hard to think when he was this close.

So you made a decision.

Even if it slipped away, it'd have claw marks from you. You were ready to try and keep him in your life with all your strength.

So you launched yourself forward, capturing his lips.

SMUT AHEAD - YOU'VE BEEN WARNED

His kiss was desperate, hands full on launching themselves at your body and holding you tight, as if you'd start to slip away right this moment.

"Osc! On the car?" You laughed, breaking the kiss, to which he immediately bent his head down to kiss your neck.

"Just this once." He was almost begging, trying to get you free from the seatbelt and into his lap. "I've wanted you for so long, love, please."

Too sweet? No, just the right amount.

You clicked your seatbelt and pushed it away, hopping onto his seat, back meeting the steering wheel, chest to chest, knees barely on the seat from how big his legs were.

The impression was that Oscar was ravenous, like a hungry man, devouring every inch of your skin he could, levaing behind a trace of his saliva and maybe some hickies, but neither of you cared.

His breathing was uneven, hands roaming your body like it was the curves of a circuit he needed to remember and dominate.

"Osc-" You hummed, feeling his hard-on pressing against you, dry humping it, pulling moans from both of you. "Fuck!"

"Didn't peg you as a tits guy." You laughed upon noticing both his hands lodged around your boobs, guiding you through them to ride his erection.

"I'm a Y/n guy, everything about you drives me insane." He confessed, moving his right hand to your ass, moving your body around his lap, feeling your thighs shake against his hips. "Love, please."

Your hands traveled down his chest, nails grazing his skin on top of the formal suit he had on. He looked like a prince, even though he was ready to fuck you like a soldier. Finally, your hands worked fast to take his belt off and open his pants.

His cock, finally freed from his underwear, was so hard already and leaking with pre-cum. You smeared it around as started playing with his tip, feeling his hips buck upwards.

You were looking at his face atently, seeing his expressions falter at your touch.

Oscar's eyes found your and they were dark like never before.

"You're such a fucking tease." He complained, stirring around, trying to feel more of your touch.

"Someone has to take the lead, huh?"

A spark flew past his eyes, hand moving up and grabbing a fistful of your hair, yanking it harshly.

"Osc!" You whined, head thrown back as his grip didn't loosen even slightly, sending a heat wave down your body, allodging itself in your pulsating core.

"Someone has to take the lead, right love?" He snapped back, a huge smile on his face as he watched you shake. "Enough with the teasing, pull your panties to the side and sink on my dick."

Fumbling with your hands, you found the slit of your dress and tucked your hand inside, founding the laced fabric that was already drenched, pulling it to the side.

Oscar helped you lodge on top of him, lining up your entrance and his lenght, one hand still holding you tightly by the hair and the other moving your ass around.

"Fuck, love!" He moaned as you started sitting on him, caressing your head, making you shiver and tighten even more. "When you feel it all inside you, you can take the lead back, m'kay?"

Your lips met each other's, drinking the moans away.

The further you sank on him, the more he sank on the driver's seat, feeling all the tension leave his body, finally feeling your insides.

Fully inside, he let go of your hair as he promised and allodged both hands on your hips, gripping you bot not forcing you to move.

"Think you're gonna last?" You asked, opening the buttons to his shirt, positioning both hans on each side of his chest.

He opened his eyes, the dark hungry was still there, much softer now, he looked drunk and so languidly happy. "We can leave the torture for the next times, can't we love?"

You wanted to tease him, and say maybe, that now the lead was back to your hands, you were going to make him last painfully, but you felt the tight knot on your low womb, and knew even you weren't going to last.

"Okay, Osc."

And you started to ride him, watching him give in and just become a moaning mess, still holding tight to your waist but completely gone.

"Fuck, love, you're- you're too good!"

You also didn't thought Oscar was going to be so talkative during sex, given his nonchalant ways, but when given pleasure he turned into a bubbling mess, talking nonsense.

"So good, so worth the wait." He mumbled, pulling you closer and moaning in your lips as you two kissed again. "You ride me so well." He kept going, as you started kissing his neck, wanting to hear more. "Don't stop, please don't stop, love."

His hands restored to gripping your waist and travelling up sometimes to carress your tits on top of your dress.

"You should be wearing less clothes, love, you're so pretty." He complained. "Are you close?"

"Mhmm."

"So am I. Cum with me, love." He groaned, voice too raw for his own good, messing around with your head. "Come on, baby." His hips started snapping up, meeting you halfway your ride.

A strained whine left your lips, hugging his shoulders and propping your head on your arms, launching your moans directly into his ear, pushing him further down his high.

"I'm- I'm gonna-"

Both your bodies started to shake and his big arms hugged you, pulling you closer, locking you in him as his cum spurted inside you, your knot finally snapping.

"You okay?" He asked a few moments later, feeling you go limp on top of him. "Still with me?"

"Shut it, Osc."

"Yeah, you're back."

You laughed, hugging him one last time before pulling up from him, immediately putting your panties back in place and returning to the passanger's seat as he zipped his pants back on.

He turned on the AC to clear the windows that became foggy from the heat irradiating from both of you.

You fixed your hair as much as you could, knowing it'd probably be ruined again when you went up to his hotel room. He offered you his blazer, to which you happily took and let it engulf you, hiding the hickied left on your neck.

He went around the car to open your door for you, helping you on your feet as he noticed your legs still shaking. He had that smug smile you got used to on the beggining of your flirting and it made you want to kiss him stupid.

"You think your plan of convincing me we're a match was 100% successfull?" You asked, crossing the hotel lobby still holding his arm, heading toward the elevator.

He leaned into you, voice just above a whisper, only for you to hear. "My cum is leaking out your pussy, you tell me."

You suffocated a smile, desperately pressing the button for the elevator.

SMUT ENDS HERE- WELCOME BACK!

.

"Okay so, I need to know." Lando asked, it was the day after the celebration, you were sharing a breakfast on the McLaren private jet with the rest of the crew.

You were sitting beside Oscar, Lando in front of you two, a little hungover but still curious.

"We're not telling you anything."

"You owe me this, I had to sit through one hour meeting with the pr team about not fucking in cars in the parking lot."

You choked a laugh, tecnically your contract with Lando was over, and you weren't a part of the McLaren anymore, so you got to sleep while Oscar and Lando had to be awake for a very stern lecture.

"Honestly, if you keep doing shit like this I'm gonna make you two pay for my therapy."

"Bill me, mate." Oscar snapped back, a huge smile on his face as he took one sip of a milk glass.

"Fuck you!" Lando answered immediately, shock written all over his face. "Honestly, I should've never put you two together."

"You didn't do shit." You retorted, throwing Lando even further down the insane hill.

He started to ramble about how he was the first matchmaker, how he handled you two talking about each other to him and it almost drove him insane, while you and Oscar just smiled.

You layed your head on Oscar's shoulder, sighing.

He was sweet, but never too sweet for you.

You breathed in his scent, a sharp woody masculine perfume that mixed perfectly with your sweet one. Exactly how you two were supposed to be, boldness in sweetness and sweetness in boldness, completing each other.

And whatever was going to happen to the both of you, you'd fight it, like he fought for you.

april 6th, 2025

Reblogs and feedback are appreciated! ♡

[sttoru]

#𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔: “show me you’re shameless, write it on my neck, why don’t ya?”

cw. married!gojo satoru x female reader. smut, angst to comfort. cheating/infidelity. unprotected. crēampie. bréeding themes. soft angsty-ish sèx. petnames ‘baby, sweetheart, wifey’ not proofread !

satoru has never loved the woman he married. he’s never felt an ounce of attraction or affection towards her. it’s hard to be around someone who he’s supposed to love and cherish, when all he can think about is you.

it’s you he was supposed to end up with if it wasn’t for his damned clan. setting up an arranged marriage behind his back and only telling him last minute of their plans— a bunch of assholes they are.

satoru could’ve declined, disagreed, ran away. he had all the power to, but he had fully convinced himself that his actual soulmate - you - would never return his love, which is why he settled.

. . . he was proven wrong after it was already too late.

“i love you s’much,” satoru grits his teeth as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, his sweat trickling down his forehead. his hips move in a gentle rhythm, as tender as his arms are holding you. he never treated you roughly.

satoru wouldn’t do that to the love of his life. the one who he’s supposed to call his wife, his beloved. he’ll find a way to achieve his dreams. he’ll do anything to end up with you and escape this messed up arrangement.

but for now, he’ll love you like this. every day, behind the other woman’s back, for as long as he can.

“i love you too, ‘toru,” you sigh, tilting your head to give the white-haired man access to your neck. his tongue wets your sensitive skin before sucking on it. he’s claiming you as his— like he usually does whenever he manages to get ahold of you.

“say that again,” satoru whimpers against your throat whilst leaving soft kisses all over. the sounds of your bodies meeting bounces off the walls, the lewd noise of flesh hitting flesh is a melody that you both enjoy behind closed doors.

“please,” satoru pleads. you’re surprised by the vulnerability in his tone. he holds onto you - ruts into you - like he’s never experienced this before. his cock twitches and throbs within you, desperate to reach that aching release.

you swallow the lump in your throat. you feel bad doing this right on the bed that satoru shares with his wife, but you also couldn’t care less. “i love you, satoru, i really do,” you moan near his ear.

the sorcerer shivers at your pretty voice uttering those three words to him. his big hands hold onto your waist, fingers digging into your skin, leaving small dents. his breath hitches, “oh, fuck. y’do, huh?”

satoru curses as he lifts his head from your neck. the view of you beneath him while you take his dick all the way inside your sopping cunt is addicting. it’s also way too slippery because of the mixture of cum on your lower body and the sheets.

“ah,” you look down at the place your bodies meet the second you feel his cock slip out of your pussy. you reach a hand down and guide his tip back to your folds without much thought.

it’s a sight that makes satoru nearly bust a nut right then and there. “missin’ me already?” he tilts his head, that boyish smile on his lips reappearing again. his soaked, white bangs cover his ethereal eyes a little, yet you can still notice the playfulness in them.

“yeah, i do,” you sigh, whining a little as his cock slowly fills you up all the way again, “i always miss you, ‘toru.” you never fail to feel so full whenever you’re intimate with him— he’s big and knows just how to use that to his advantage.

satoru pouts at your words. he knows what you’re indirectly referring to amidst all the physical pleasure. he tries to make as much time for you as he can, without raising suspicion. though sometimes he fails to see you for days. balancing his work schedule, along with his many other duties and his private life was a hassle.

it’s frustrating when satoru is leading a double life, for both you and him. there’s nothing more in this world that he wants than to have you beside him forever. as his wife, not his secret lover.

one day, soon— he promises silently to himself and to you with a kiss.

“i’m sorry,” he breathes out, his thrusts resuming. two of his rough fingers roll your nipple between them, his tongue following to circle the sensitive bud while he drives his dick in and out of you repeatedly. “but i’m all yours tonight, yeah? only yours.”

you nod mindlessly. you trust satoru, he’ll figure this all out. for now, you’ll enjoy every single second you’re able to spend with him.

“mhm,” you hum before your eyes focus on his neck. you know he’s told you not to leave any marks on him, but tonight, you’re feeling shameless. your hand on the back of his head pushes him down until your lips touch his neck.

satoru’s eyes widen at your unexpected action. he can’t deny you anything, even if this is a risky thing to do. he moans when you suck and bite on his skin. you’re leaving hickeys he will have to hide from his wife.

“naughty fuckin’ girl,” he tries to groan, though it comes out as a choked up whimper instead. he bites his lip and his eyes nearly roll back when your legs wrap around his waist, all whilst you’re leaving those dark marks on his neck.

you softly giggle at your own bold move. satoru however, seems to enjoy this more than he thought he would. he allows you access to his neck while he focuses on his set pace.

“y’ just want me to get caught, hm?” the white-haired man clicks his tongue, his balls slapping against your ass, your juices sticking to his skin which makes the sounds of his thrusts even louder. lewder. satoru huffs, “want that woman to know jus’ how well i fuck you, sweetheart?”

you feel your body heat up, the knot in your lower tummy tightening. his increased dirty talk only could mean one thing; he’s close. and so are you. the pleasure of having satoru inches deep in your cunt after not seeing him for two whole days, is driving you insane.

“yes, fuck— yes,” you hiccup, feeling absolutely no shame at this moment. you don’t care how loud you’re getting, if satoru’s neighbours were to hear him have sex with a woman that’s not his wife.

the man himself doesn’t even seem to mind it either. not when he’s this close. he pants before pressing soft kisses against your forehead. the lingering feeling of your lips against his neck remind him of the hickeys you’ve left.

satoru moans against your hot skin. his dick twitches, his balls tighten and his arms wrap around you to cradle you against his bare chest. he’s going to fill you with his hot cum like you deserve. you deserve every single drop and he wouldn’t give it to anyone else but you.

“shit, g’nna cum,” satoru warns after a small whine leaves his throat, “take it, baby. don’t waste a drop, wanna breed you full.” his thrusts turn a bit erratic, body pinning yours to the mattress so you have nowhere to run. all you can do is lay there and take it— take his cum while you reach your own climax.

white dots appear in his vision as satoru releases rope after rope of hot, sticky cum inside of you. his hips are pressed tightly against yours— leaving no chance for his seed to trickle out of you.

the satisfaction that fills satoru’s chest is like no other. a small grin tugs at the corners of his lips as he leans his body weight on top of you slightly, catching his breath. your trembling frame rests beneath him while you’re trying to regain composure as well.

“there y’ go, atta girl,” satoru coos and kisses your forehead. he treats you so well, even after sex. he treats you like you’re his true wife. which you should be.

he rubs your sides with his hands to calm you down. his own breath is still shake as he looks down at you with a grin. a wicked idea pops up in his head once he sees the thick trail of cum that’s left on your slit after he pulls out.

“y’know how i told ya that i’ll make y’ my wife one day?” satoru hums, eyes focused on both your face and cum-covered pussy. he has told you before that he will find a way to officially make you his.

and he finally just realised the perfect way to do it.

“mhm,” you nod with a dazed look in your eyes. you wrap your arms around satoru’s shoulders and hug him, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. you can practically feel the smirk on his lips as his breath ghosts over your ear.

his hand travels down to your tummy, fingers splayed over the soft flesh; “good, ‘cause y’re gonna need to play the part for me already. gonna fill you up ‘til you’re nice and swollen with my kids, wifey.”

[rafescherie]

✮⋆˙ becoming super needy and clingy during ovulation with rafe.

warnings — 18+. MDNI. cunnilingus (f. oral receiving), mentions of ovulation + being extremely 'needy', fingering, overstimulation.

cherie's note — ily c:

you'd been following him around the house like a shadow all afternoon — fingers brushing over his lap, soft whines slipping past your lips, pressing your body up against him at every opportunity. he hadn't said anything about it at first, just watched you with that curious little tilt of his head, that crooked grin plastered across his face. but after the third time you wrapped your arms around him from behind, nuzzling your cheek into the firm muscle of his back like a clingy little kitten, he couldn't find it in himself to ignore it anymore.

there was something wrong — seriously, wrong.

"baby," he muttered, blinking down at you. "what the fuck's going on with you?"

you shrugged, cheeks hot. you couldn't explain it — you just needed. every nerve in your body felt like it was under your skin and screaming for his. you rubbed your thighs together unconsciously, letting out soft whines and frustrated sighs.

you were too warm. too tight. too empty.

so you climbed into his lap without a word, straddling him like you were supposed to be there — like your entire body was aching for the drag of his cock against your cunt and you couldn't stand another second without it. you ground against the bulge in his sweats with a breathy, helpless moan.

you blinked down at him, pupils blown wide, lips wet from where you'd been biting them. "what do you mean?" you asked, like your aching cunt wasn't already soaking through your sleep shorts.

"you've been acting weird all day," he said, trying — failing — not to look down at where your tank top had slipped off your shoulder, showing the swell of your chest. he tried his best to ignore the way your nipples seemed to pebble under the fabric the further his hands moved against your hips, reacting dangerously to his touch. "horny as fuck. all over me."

you just blinked again, lips parting slightly, then leaned in close and dragged your tongue up the side of his throat like you were trying to mark him.

"you smell so good," you whispered, voice shaky. "i can't help it…"

he jerked back slightly, brows drawn tight. "okay, what?"

but you didn't answer. your mouth was already moving again — lips brushing his neck, teeth dragging down to his collarbone. you rolled your hips into him again, slow and filthy, a broken little moan slipping out as the pressure caught your swollen clit just right.

"i've been aching all fucking day, rafe." you breathed. "i can't stop thinking about your fingers in me. your tongue. i need it — i need you so bad."

his whole body went still, cock hardening instantly under you.

"jesus christ," he muttered, half-stunned, half-turned on. "you've been walking around the house like a cockdrunk little slut all day, and this is why?"

"feel how warm i am, baby," you whined, taking his hand and dragging it between your trembling legs. you pressed his palm against your soaked pussy, the thin fabric clinging to your folds. "i'm so fucking wet for you. i'd let you fuck me raw right now — i don't even care."

something in him snapped.

"you wanna act like a bitch in heat?" he challenged, rough hands dragging your shorts down your thighs. "i'll treat you like one"

you whimpered as the fabric peeled away from your soaked core, the cool air hitting your slick skin and making you tremble. his gaze dropped immediately — the mess you had made of yourself only inches from his wet mouth.

he yanked down your panties without warning, the fabric stuck between your folds, clinging from how wet you were, and he groaned as he pulled them off.

"jesus, baby," he laughed teasingly. you couldn't help it — your hips rocked up toward him, needy and instinctive, your plush thighs falling open wide like your body was begging to be used. your cunt was glistening, flushed and swollen, twitching under his stare. "you're dripping."

you were already so fucking close.

rafe's hands slid under your thighs, fingers curling in a firm, possessive grip as he dragged you to the edge of the couch. he didn't say anything at first — just stared.

"gonna ruin you," he muttered.

rafe buried his face between your soft thighs. he didn't start gentle. didn't tease. just buried his tongue between your slick folds and licked like he'd been starving for it — long, slow drags that sent jolts of heat down your spine, your body jerking in response. arousal dripped from you, messy and obscene, and he groaned into your cunt like he loved it.

and the sounds — oh god, the sounds were disgusting. wet and obscene, the kind of sucking and slurping that made your face go hot with shame, even as your body arched up into him.

your thighs twitched around his head, but he didn't let up — shoved them open wider and held them there like a punishment, tongue circling your clit in slow, cruel strokes.

and then his fingers — two of them — slipped inside of your soaked hole, and you whined.

"god, rafe—! please—"

"this what you wanted?" he rasped, voice muffled between your thighs. "walkin' around the house actin' like a needy little fuckdoll? you want me to stuff you full, baby? fill up this messy little cunt?"

you nodded frantically, face flushed, tears threatening behind your lashes. "y-yeah — fuck! please—"

he grinned against you.

"cum for me, sweet girl."

he didn't give you a choice. his mouth sealed over your clit, tongue lashing fast and precise while his fingers fucked into you deep and hard, curling just right, just right—

the sound of your moans bounce off all four walls, body shaking, thighs clamping tight around his head as you gushed around his fingers. your head dropped back, mouth falling open in a silent sob, whole body locking up as you rode it out.

and still, he didn't stop.

"rafe—rafe—too much!"

he growled into your cunt, "you said you didn't care, remember? begged me to fuck you raw. don't act shy now."

your second orgasm hit before the first had even finished — more intense, more desperate, blinding — your slick dripping down to the cushion below you, your body convulsing as each of your limbs twitched.

"gonna give you one more," he murmured against your clit, voice wrecked. "just one. want you cryin' when i finally fuck you."

[goatgoesmbe]

poly!141 x f!reader idea

Where everyone is a loser, except for Gaz.

And you.

Gaz got all the rizz, he was definitely the one doing all the work to get them all together. It took a while, and it was agony for him. Long conversation of awkward flirting, quiet glances where they would look away if their eyes met, and don't even ask him about the sex.

But.. somehow, everything worked out in the end.

Then came you, the pretty thing who had just got recruited to the taskforce. You, who immediately became the talk of everyone on base, the cute medic that got everyone courting left and right. The new primadona.

Just like everyone else, Gaz had an eye for beauty. And it seemed like his lovers had the same idea from how they turned from a pragmatic, respectable soldiers to a pathetic, blushing mess just from your presence alone.

And just like before, it made sense for Kyle to be the one who would pursue you. To charm his way into your heart (and pants), before introducing you to everyone else.

Because Price thought approaching you to talk about work count as flirting. Thinking what was important was spending more time with you, no matter what was the reason. Hoping you'd eventually notice his feelings concealed in the questionable amount of paperwork handed to you.

Ghost would follow you around from a safe distance. Staring at you with that look. The kind of unsettling look he usually directed at his target, like you were an enemy's operative instead of a potential partner. Gaz didn't understand what his lieutenant's plan was, maybe he was trying to communicate with you telepathically? Gaz didn't know.

Soap was- well.. either he would embarrass himself so bad, or you would report him to the higher up for sexual harassment.

And with that, it made sense for Gaz to make the move. He was the best candidate- no, the only reasonable candidate for this.

He knew he was attractive, and charming. So this would be easy, right?

Nope.

What he didn't know was, you were so used to having casanovas trying to woo you. So it got boring after a while.

You preferred to be the player instead of the pawn. And so, you simply brushed off all of his advances. Because your type of man was actually the pathetic kind.

And so, Gaz could only watch as you took the drink he bought for you before approaching the others who tried (and failed) to act casual, like they weren't spying at all.

Price was focused with his phone in his hands.. which was upside down.

Soap was.. inspecting a wall like he was at an art exhibition.

While Ghost just stood still as if no one could see him if he didn't move.

...

If he was being honest? Gaz was a bit offended. It was kind of his first time facing rejection. But as they said, there was a first for everything.

And of course, he didn't make a scene, didn't give up on the game because well why should he?

He wasn't disappointed. Because in the end, whoever you chose first, you'd end up with all of them. They were a package after all.

a/n: despite whats written here- the fic is actually gonna focus more on Gaz x reader lolol- some kind of multichap porn rival to lover (?). well I said that but the porn with Gaz wont happen til the very end- does that make sense. probably wont write more than 2 short chapters

[ectoplasmer]

terrible horrible bad habit of looking at any of my f/os and going “pretty boy!!” over and over again almost instinctively

[girlrotterr]

— "𐒆𝛨 𝛣𝛢𝛣𝑌, 𝐶𝛢𝛮 𝑌𐒆𝑈 𝛨𝛦𝛢𝑅 𝛭𝛦 𝛭𐒆𝛢𝛮?"

𝑃𝛢𝐼𝑅𝐼𝛮𝐺: roommate!ellie x reader

𝘚𝑌𝛮𐒆𝑃𝘚𝐼𝘚: You come home earlier than usual to find your roommates door slightly ajar. You can’t help but peek inside.

You’re home earlier than usual, and the place is eerily quiet—no random guitar strumming or the faint hum of a video game in the background. Ellie’s always got something going on, whether it’s tinkering with her beat-up acoustic guitar or completely failing at some cooking experiment that leaves the kitchen smelling like burned regret. 

You shrug off your jacket, the familiar scent of scorched food hits you—a sure sign Ellie’s been at it again. 

You can almost picture the disaster waiting in the kitchen. 

Maybe she attempted a stir-fry or tried to get fancy with eggs, which, for some reason, she consistently messes up. You remember the last time: the pan had been abandoned in the sink, its bottom crusted with what could only be described as scrambled cement, and Ellie had offered you an apologetic grin as she flicked at her guitar strings, mumbling something like, my bad…

Still smirking at the thought, you head toward the kitchen, but surprisingly, the mess isn’t as bad as you expected. A single burnt toast sits abandoned on a plate, and beside it, a bottle of peanut butter left open, its lid placed on the edge of the counter. You grab a spoon to clean up, noticing that Ellie’s nowhere in sight. Usually, she’s hovering near her messes, trying to fix it or making self-deprecating jokes to play off the mess.

Curious, you wander down the narrow hallway toward her room, your steps thudding along  the old wood floor. You pass by her door, which is slightly ajar, and immediately slow your pace. 

It’s not like Ellie to leave her door cracked. 

Your hand pauses on the doorframe, a soft click as your knuckles accidentally tap against it. 

You hesitate, thinking maybe you should leave her be, but then—before you can make the decision—a faint noise escapes from inside, followed by a sharp, quick breath. 

Your brow furrows as you inch closer, pushing the door open a little more.

Ellie was sprawled across her bed, her head thrown back against the pillows, messy hair fanning out in every direction. Her breath came in uneven gasps, wet, squelching sounds filling the room. 

Fuck, she was too desperate to even bother taking off her clothes. 

Her brown jacket hung loosely off her shoulders, the fabric wrinkled and tugged from her movements. Her half-unbuttoned flannel exposed her perky nipples, her jeans were pushed down just past her thighs, the belt hanging loosely, the metal buckle clinking against her skin as her hips rocked. 

Your breath hitches, catching in your throat as you take in the sight of her hand pumping beneath her boxers, her movements quick, almost frantic. Heat floods your body, cheeks burning as your eyes lock onto her. 

"Oh fuck, yes," she breathes, her voice low and rough. 

You can’t tear your eyes away. 

Ellie spread her legs wider, her right thigh twitching slightly as her fingers pump deeper inside.  Your cunt began to ache as your eyes caught on what she was holding. It was your panties—your favorite pair—clutched tightly in her fist, the soft lace crumpled and wrinkled between her fingers. You swallowed hard, eyes tracing the wet patch staining the fabric, the glistening spot a clear sign that she had been grinding against them. 

“Just a little more…” she breathes, eyes fluttering shut as she loses herself in the moment, her lips parting slightly. “God, I needed this…” 

“Come on, don’t stop,” she murmurs, biting her lip, her brow furrowing in concentration. “Just a bit more… just like that.” There’s desperation in her voice, a plea.

“Fuck, why is this so good?” she gasps, her voice whining with need, eyes still closed, lost in the sensations of her aching cunt“Why does it feel so much better when I think of you?” 

“Ellie…” you breathe, barely a whisper, but she doesn’t hear you.

She’s too lost in her own fantasy. 

"God, I love this," she moaned softly, her voice husky, as her hand moved frantically between her legs. Her fingers pumped faster and faster, her perky tits bouncing with each thrust, the bed beneath her squeaking. "Can’t get fucking enough."

You knew you should turn away, that you’d crossed a line simply by staying. 

Your breath hitched, the air suddenly too hot, as your hand slipped beneath your waistband, trembling fingers brushing against the damp fabric of your panties. You shifted them to the side, biting your lip as your fingers found your aching clit, tracing small circles. 

You tried to keep your breathing shallow, hoping she wouldn’t hear you over her own sounds. Your soft moans mingled with the wet, squelching sounds filling the room. The heat between your legs became unbearable, a pulse that only grew stronger with each passing second. 

“Need you to fucking take it," Ellie breathed, her voice low and ragged. Her hips bucking harder, the pace of her fingers desperate. 

"Oh fuck," you whimpered, your voice shaky as the ache in your hole pulasated. The need was overwhelming, your hole throbbing with a desperate hunger you couldn’t ignore, your fingers moving faster to keep up with ellie’s pace. 

Ellie’s eyes narrowed, her brows furrowing together as her movements slowed. You watched, breathless, as she pulled her fingers out of her drenched hole, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Without hesitation, she pressed your panties against her soaked pussy, the lace clothing her cunt as her slickness coated the fabric.

With a low groan, she began to grind against it, her hips bucking, pressing harder and faster into the softness of the fabric. Her lips parted, a ragged breath escaping as her eyes fluttered shut, her head falling back against the pillows. The wet lace clung to her, the friction of it only making her grind harder.

"Love this... fuck, your panties... can’t get enough..." Her head fell back again, and she let out a deep groan, her fingers pressing the lace even harder against her aching clit.

A moan escapes your lips, quiet at first, but growing louder as the pleasure builds inside you. 

But in your desperation, you leaned a little too close to the door, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest. 

You and Ellie freeze, eyes locking in a moment of shock. 

Ellie’s eyes widen, her mouth agape.Her gaze drops slowly, lingering on your body, taking in the sight of your drenched pussy, your panties pushed to the side, the fabric clinging to your trembling thighs. 

You can hardly breathe. 

Oh fuuck.

You try to speak, to form a coherent thought, but all that escapes your lips is a breathless, “I…” 

Heat floods your cheeks, mingling with the aching throb of your pussy, pulsing with an urgent need. God— the way she’s staring at you, with that raw hunger in her eyes.

“Come here,” Ellie whispered, her chest heaving, struggling to catch her breath. 

You couldn’t resist it.

Ellie shuddered as you slid your hand between her trembling thighs. Shuddering as your fingertip circled her dripping entrance, her soft folds parting easily under your touch. With a needy moan, she guided your finger deeper, gasping as you penetrated her hole. The slick walls of her cunt clenched greedily around your fingers as Ellie bucked her hips, fucking herself on your hand with desperation.

"Fuuuck.." *she groaned, her eyes rolling back in ecstasy. Her cunt was absolutely drenched, leaking down her thighs as she rutted against you shamelessly. Ellie's needy whimpers filled the room, growing louder and more frenzied by the second.

"Fuck, just like that!" Ellie gasped, her hips bucking wildly. She gripped your shoulders tightly, her nails digging into your skin as she rode your fingers. Her juices flowed freely, coating your fingers and dripping down your wrist.

“Ohh fuckk mee…” She groaned as your fingers slipped out of her dripping hole. 

Without wasting a second, she quickly positioned herself above you, her slick folds hovering mere inches from your own. With a swift movement, Ellie slammed her cunt down onto yours, your aching clits rubbing together as your slick juices mixed. 

“ellie! please please please!" you moaned, tightening your grip onto her wrinkled bedsheets. 

"That's it, baby," she groaned, grinding her hips in tight circles.

She gripped your hips tightly, pulling you closer. The sounds of wet skin slapping against wet skin echoed, mingling with your moans and cries of pleasure. Ellie's perky breats bounced with each thrust, her hardened nipples grazing against yours. She gripped your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat, which she attacked with biting kisses and sensual licks.

"Atta girl," Ellie whsipered, "Take what I give you."

[bizarrelovetriangel]

i g o t y o u.

a little angst but mostly fluff. the classic scenario of reader/mc geting hurt and them taking care of you.

sylus

You forced yourself to limp through the dark, misty and empty street, leaving a trail of blood on the ground that matches the stain on your partly torn shirt.

Just then, a crow flew over your head and it was followed by heavy footsteps manifesting from the shadows.

He stepped right in front of you and his red eyes, clouded with worry and anger, studied you carefully. His jaw clenched and his lips moved, yet he failed to voice a single one of the many thoughts that rushed to his head. The only set of words that made it out were...

"Who did this to you."

His voice was low and cold, yet terrifyingly calm.

"It's not that bad." you laughed, only to wince at the burning wound on your waist. "You should see the other guy."

It was as if you'd defused a bomb. One grin on your face and his gaze softens, though concern remains.

Sylus shakes his head and sighs, letting out half of the tension in his body.

"Good."

You took a step towards him, or at least tried to, but your injuries prevented you from doing so. A sharp sting struck your waist and your legs wavered.

Sylus caught you before your knees could hit the ground. One arm carefully wrapped around your chest, just underneath your arms so that he could support your weight without touching your wound.

"I got you, sweetie."

He didn't let you go until you reached your apartment. He quickly punched in the passcode to unlock your door, then he guided you to your couch.

"I'm going to wash up - "

"Stay there." It was a demand, but his tone was gentle. "You'd make it worse if you make anymore unnecessary movements, as a wise kitten likes to tell me."

There were a couple of times when Sylus' injuries wouldn't heal quickly, and you'd often make a fuss when he brushes them off, telling him that he'd make it worse. Now, it's your turn to be stubborn while he takes care of you.

Once he saw that your injury was a graze from a bullet, he gritted his teeth as his mind forces him to imagine you getting shot.

"Tell me what happened."

While you told him about your encounter with a criminal that's been messing with protocores as well as targetting hunters, Sylus cleaned up your wound as carefully as he could.

He'd given you medicine for pain relief, too, after wrapping your waist with elastic bandages. Last but not least, but probably the most effective relief treatment: a kiss on the forehead.

"Now, open up." He was spoon-feeding you some food now.

"....I can use my hands perfectly, you know." You waved your hands in front of him to prove your point.

He playfully nipped your fingers with his teeth. "This is a once in a life time service, so take it or leave it, kitten."

"Hmph. I'll take it." You gladly took the food before softening up to look at him sincerely. "Thanks for taking care of me, Sylus."

He patted your head with one hand. "Thank me by getting better fast so we can watch that movie we were supposed to see tonight."

"Okay."

"For the meantime, help me choose the best songs in this record."

You fell asleep at the sound of his singing voice, and the smile on your face almost made it seem as if you never faced an enemy that Sylus came close to tearing apart.

It was a good thing that you got the job done, he thought.

You really are his girl.

xavier

He didn't make it on time.

Once he heard you scream, he teleported to your location and yet he couldn't find you. The hazy protofield affected his vision, making it difficult to see anything at all. By the time he saw you, your right shoulder had already gotten scratched up.

The blood on your clothes made him freeze for a moment, then he pulled himself together and picked you up. He did his best to ignore your blood on his hands, blocking out all the negative thoughts and unwanted memories that took over his mind.

Luckily, it wasn't deep enough to cause permanent damage, though it would take at least a couple of days for you to properly move your shoulder without adding further injuries.

You were taken to the hospital, and Xavier stayed by your side the whole time; however, he didn't say much. You were accompanied by a doctor, nurses and fellow colleague the whole time so you never had chance to question him until you returned home.

"Xavier, will you please tell me what's wrong?" you asked as you found him spacing out in front of your plants. "You haven't said much ever since the mission ended."

"It's...." He took one glance at you and held back on keeping his feelings to himself. "I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you fast enough."

You vigorously shook your head. "Don't apologize! It was my own fault for being reckless. And besides, it was a brutal mission that got the best of us. Even you."

You gently brushed your fingers over the minor injury he got on the side of his forehead.

"I'm just glad that we're both okay."

Xavier nodded and nuzzled his cheek against your warm hand. "Yeah. Me too." He instantly melted against your touch and almost made the mistake of burying his face between your neck and shoulder, but the bandages covering your skin made him jump away.

You looked at him with confusion as he pouted.

"What is it?"

"...nothing...." For as long as you're recovering, he won't get to nuzzle his face or kiss you anywhere near your shoulders, including a part of your neck.

The problem? He loves doing that. A lot.

"We need to get you healed up quickly." he declares like it's his own personal mission. "Let's start with food! You need to eat well so your body can get the nutrients needed to help you recover faster!"

He immediately goes to the stove and turns it on without even knowing what he's going to be cooking.

"Ahahaha.... maybe we should order takeout this time!" you exclaimed, turning off the stove and guiding him back to the living room. "After all, you're also injured. I don't want to make you do any hard work."

"Huh? But my arms are fine. It's just my head - "

"How about ramen?"

His eyes lit up brightly. "And karaage, please."

Xavier's next plan to help you heal quicker is: reading you aloud one of your favorite comics.

According to his logic, if you don't move your shoulders and arms to turn the pages of the book, you won't irritate your tissues and muscles and you'll get better faster.

"And he said, 'Dont worry, I'm the strongest.'" You can tell he didn't understand what was going on in that comic at all.

Not even ten minutes later, his eyes closed and the book fell from his hands and to the mattress of the bed. He rested a side of his face on the top of your head and his soft snores became a signal for you to turn off the lights.

No doubt about it, Xavier just being there will make you heal faster.

zayne

Zayne lost his composure the second you showed up at Akso Hospital with a sprained wrist. Not only that, but you were laughing at something Yvonne was saying, as if you didn't have specks of blood on your uniform.

When Yvonne saw him entering your room and caught the look on his face, she gave him a nervous smile. "Doctor Zayne..."

You beamed at him and had the nerve to wave your hand with the sprained wrist at him. "Hi, Zayne!"

"You...." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Even though I've gotten used to you dropping by with random injuries, that doesn't mean I can start brushing them off like you do."

"What? You mean this?" You eyed your reddening wrist. "It's really nothing! Tara insisted I get it checked, but I feel fine! I just had a mean brawl with a Wanderer, that's all."

Yvonne told Zayne, "She already took the necessary tests upon her arival. We're just waiting for her results." After he nodded in response, she left the room to give you two some privacy.

Zayne took a moment to scan your figure from head to toe, identifying what injuries you've gotten this time.

Fortunately, nothing looks too bad other than your wrist. He spotted minor injuries on your arms and face, so he'll make sure to carefully analyze your results for those areas too.

"Are you feeling any pain? If so, how bad is it?"

"Just some pain on my wrist. I can still use it just fine. See?" To demonstrate, you rotated your wrist and waved your fingers right in front of his face.

Zayne caught your hand and locked his fingers with yours to stop your movements. "You might make it worse."

He didn't let go of your hand after his statement. Instead, he held it against his chest while he gave you a stern look.

"Be more careful next time." he sighs at his own words. "Even if I say that, you'll still find a way to show up here and scare me." Zayne patted your head with his free hand. "I don't mind if you spontaneously drop by, though I'd prefer if you're not hurt at all."

You flashed him a smile. "I'm sorry. I really was cautious this time. It's just that that specific Wanderer was quite stubborn."

"That makes two of you." he chuckles before releasing your hand just in time for Yvonne to return with a clipboard.

"Here are some of your results."

The good news is your injury is mild and you received no serious damage from your mission. The bad news is, you still have to wait for a while to get your other results that are more time-consuming to get.

Well, to most people, it would be bad news. For you, you absolutely did not mind being at the hospital for a little longer. Anyways, you've been excused from your job for the rest of the day and tomorrow, so you had no place important to be in at the moment.

Especially not when there's a handsome doctor that's taking good care of you.

"Eat this cookie from the vending machine. It'll give you some energy."

Fifteen minutes later, he comes back with strawberry milk tea.

"I got this from the cafe. I thought you might enjoy it while you wait."

He got caught red-handed by Yvonne. "Doctor Zayne! Stop stealing my job." she jokes. "She's under my watch for now. I'll take good care of her, I swear."

Zayne's ears turns red. "Alright. I'll leave you to it." You enjoyed the way he awkwardly walked away, pretending to look busy all of a sudden.

He really is too cute for his own good and he has absolutely no idea how easy it is for him to make you smile like a lovesick idiot.

After another twenty minutes, the very moment Yvonne stepped outside to check on other patients, Zayne returns with more snacks.

"....I just happened to pass by the cafeteria again, that's all. I thought you'd like have something to fill your stomach since you might be getting hungry."

"Thank you, Zayne~"

You suppressed a laugh when Yvonne came back and caught him again.

But he didn't have to keep sneaking inside for long because you were finally free to go after clearing your test results and receiving all necessary treatments.

It just so happens that Zayne will be coming off work in just a couple of hours.

"Maybe you should stay around for a little longer." Zayne suggests, hands going up to fiddle with his tie. "Just in case any of your injuries starts acting up."

"Well, I can't deny doctor's orders, can't I?" you grinned, causing the corners of his lips to twitch up as well. "Where should I wait? The cafeteria?"

He took your uninjured wrist and kissed the back of your hand. "My office."

rafayel

You had accompanied Rafayel on a shady business trip (which was beneficial for you both) when a Wanderer showed up out of the blue and the people that arranged the meeting were nowhere to be found.

You and Rafayel fought side-by-side to get rid of the threat. While you sucessfully defeated the Wanderer, a surprise attack came from behind Rafayel.

You pushed him out of the way and took his spot when a knife that was meant to go through your chest was deflected and it sank to your right forearm instead.

Despite blood gushing from your flesh, you kept your arm steady as you shot a bullet from your gun, perfectly hitting the stabber before they could run away.

Rafayel gasped and weakly called out your name before moving towards you as the ground you stood on became painted in bright red blood.

"I'm fine." you told him reassuringly. "We need to get those guys and have them locked up. I just need to -"

The last thing you heard was Rafayel calling out your name before you lost consciousness. Once you woke up, you're back in Rafayel's house.

You're lying on his bed all alone. Your arm has been treated and wrapped in bandages, and you could feel pain radiating around the wound, though it was nothing that you haven't dealt with before.

"Miss bodyguard, don't get up!" Rafayel rushed to your side with a tray containing some food. "You might hurt yourself!"

You looked at him with amusement. "I appreciate the concern, truly, but only my right arm is injured. The rest of my body is okay, I can move just fine."

"But still!"

You glanced at the clock on the nightstand and saw that it's almost midnight. The whole incident occurred around seven-thirty, so you were out for several hours.

During that time, Rafayel must've taken you to the hospital to treat you, then had you brought back to his place. If you'd regained consciousness for some time in-between, you couldn't recall.

"Anyways, I was just about to wake you up though because I know you haven't eaten anything since our brunch date before the meeting."

Rafayel carefully put the tray by the nightstand.

"I ordered takeout, but I made the soup by myself!"

It looked like a typical creamy soup, though you could smell seafood and it certainly had you feeling hungry.

Also, since Rafayel looked so proud of his soup, you'd probably eat it even if your stomach wasn't in the mood for it.

"Alright, I'll dig in. Thank you for the food!"

"Wait, no!" Rafayel stopped you just as you started to move your arms. "You can't use your arms! That's what the doctor said! So I'll feed you instead."

"...but only one of my arm is - " Rafayel didn't waste another second in feeding you a spoonful of his soup.

it was hot.

but it was delicious.

"It's so good!"

Although he looked proud of it earlier, he now wore a shy expression on his face, with his red ears being the biggest giveaway.

"I should hope so. Talia told me how to make it. If you said it was bad, I was going to put the blame on her."

His eyes then shifted to the bowl of soup as he started to stir it with the spoon.

"It was the least I could do for you for saving me."

You smiled and patted his head. "I am your bodyguard, after all. Don't worry about it." As a response, he gave you a small smile. "Now, feed me more."

"Of course, cutie~"

Rafayel treated you as if you have a flu, but you weren't complaning. He was being so sweet and caring, you can tell he really was trying to make up for what happened.

Once every while, his eyes would go to your right arm, and you'd notice the way his lips would curl into a frown, just for a moment.

Mostly, he wants to keep the mood light, so he wore a wide smile just so you can match it. And with all the effort he's giving into taking care of you, how could you not?

He peppered your arms, hands, and face with kisses because he said they'd help you heal faster.

He even insisted on helping you out with your night time bathroom routines, but you promised him you'll only use your good arm and that you'll be extremely careful.

It was no easy task, but you were able to do everything just fine as long as you took your time with every action.

You expected Rafayel to be asleep already once you came out of the bathroom, but he's still wide awake on the bed, trying to find something to watch on the TV.

"What's this?" he asked, seeing the last watched media on your history. "A romantic TV series?"

It was one of your favorite drama shows that you've been rewatching lately.

"Yeah." You joined him on the bed and he automatically covers you with the blanket that he's using.

"Is this the show that you were talking to Talia about? The one with the supposedly 'hot' male lead?"

".....yes...."

He scoffs. "I bet he's not even that good looking. Let me see."

"You want to watch it?"

"Yes, but only so I can make fun of your bad taste in men."

"....."

"...particularly human ones." he added. "because we both know you have a good eye for fishies."

"Sure."

You two watched the show from the beginning, and Rafayel did not hold back on the comments. They only made you laugh, so you didn't mind it at all.

Especially since, by the end of the first episode, you could tell he already became interested in the plot.

"Is she really going to see him? Even if he's so mean and lame? Her friend seems way better. Also, her mom's never going to approve."

"Mhmm." You didn't want to spoil anything so you kept your answers to a minimum and just let the next episode start instead.

Three episodes later, you realized that Rafayel had stolen your pillow and put it on his back, sitting up higher so he could get a better look at the screen.

The episode was showing something dramatic and intense, he couldn't help but fix his posture so he could pay attention better.

"I thought you're babying me tonight. Why are you taking all the pillows?"

"I'm your pillow, cutie." He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and forced you to lay down on his chest. "Now shhhh. She's about to slap him so gooood, I need to hear the crisp."

He was so warm and comfortable, you ended up falling asleep while he stayed up to keep watching.

caleb

"- and then I had this spicy food for dinner with Simone -"

"Move your camera farther."

"What?"

Through the video call on your phone, Caleb narrowed his eyes. "Pip-squeak, I know you're hiding something. Your voice is lacking its usual energy, you're wincing at every minute, and you're way too close to the camera. You know I'll never complain about seeing your face up close, but you never put it this close before."

He was the smartest student in his classes for a reason. Also, he knows you better than anybody. Of course he'd notice something is off.

"It's nothing, really. Just a little scratch. anyways-"

"Really? let me see it, then."

You sighed in defeat and zoomed out the camera so the screen can capture your entire figure sitting on your bed, revealing your left knee that's currently being supported by a white knee brace.

Caleb was quiet for a moment. Then he asked, "Can you still move around?"

"Yeah! It hurts a little, but I can move! It'll heal in no time, so - "

"Stay inside your apartment and try not to do any heavy work. I'll see you soon, Pip-squeak."

"Okay - wait what?!"

You then faced a black screen that informed you that your video call has ended.

"Caleb?!"

You were woke up at seven in the morning by the alluring smell of breakfast food.

"...no way...."

The very second you sat up, you heard footsteps coming towards you and soon you were face to face with Caleb.

"Good morning, Pip-squeak." He ruffled your hair and laughed at the results.

"I can't believe you came all the way here all of a sudden! If it's because of my knee, I'm fine. It's not a big deal."

He nodded. "It doesn't seem that serious, which is good. But you have a history of worsening some of your injuries back then because you'd move around so much, thinking it won't be any harm. I'm here to make sure that doesn't happen again."

You can't even be mad at him for always caring about you. "You're right. Sorry for making you come here so suddenly."

"No need to apologize. Anyway, since you're up already, it's time to go eat! Come on!"

You let out a squeak as Caleb suddenly carried you, with one arm carefully placed under your legs and the other supporting your back.

"Caleb! I can still walk!"

"And I can carry you, so I'm doing that."

He brought you to the kitchen and sat you down on a chair. A plate full of warm food is already waiting for you.

"When did you get here?"

"Around four in the morning."

It's way too early for you to try and figure out how it was possible to travel so quickly from Skyhaven to Linkon, so you made no comment about it.

As you started eating, Caleb knelt down on one knee next to you. He observed your knee brace for a moment before taking it off.

"What are you doing?"

He gave you a grin as he held up a newly bought knee brace, still in its package. "I got you a better one that'll speed up your recovery. I've had a knee injury before too when I was at the Academy, and this is what I used. Healed me in no time."

"You injured your knee before?! When?!" you gasped, using your right index finger to poke his forehead. "Why didn't you tell me and grandma?!"

He chuckled. "Because you would've done the same thing I did. You'd go over there and make a fuss. I wouldn't have minded it, but you would've been quite a distraction."

Distraction not only for him, but for other the guys in the academy, too. Sure, a lot of his friends already knew who you were and they really believed you were already his girlfriend due to all the times you'd pretend to be a couple.

Still, knowing how they acted, they'd be stealing your attention, which he prefers to be kept all to himself.

Besides, he wouldn't want you to travel far just to take care of him. He prefers to go to you. It doesn't matter where you are, or how far the distance between you two is. He'll always come to you.

"And grandma would be scolding me while you copy her expressions while standing next to her." Caleb continues, smiling as he recalled some memories of him getting scolded after getting hurt. "I would've gotten the double-disappointed glares."

Caleb took off the white knee brace that the hospital put on you. His eyes lingered on your knee for a moment and gently brushed his fingers against your skin. Then, he gave your knee a quick kiss.

You tilted your head as you looked at him curiously, holding back a smile.

"You know when people say, 'Kiss it and make it better'? It actually has some logic to it."

"Really?"

As Caleb puts on the red knee brace that he got for you, he explains. "Firstly: saliva has healing properties, so it really does help small wounds recover faster. Secondly: kissing in general induces hormones that relieves stress and brings relief and happiness, which overall is good for a healthy healing body."

"Spoken like a true nerd."

Caleb pressed your cheeks with only one hand. "And this nerd's going to make sure you heal very quickly."

He dives in to kiss your lips.

Again and again and again.

And just when you were ready for a deeper and longer kiss, he pulls away and goes back to the stove to cook some more.

"To do that, I'll make sure you eat all your food, including your fruits and vegetables so that your body can be healthy and recover fast."

You wanted to throw an apple at the back of his head, but you know with past experience that never works out well. Even without his evol, he somehow always knows and catches it.

You also quickly lost your motivation to hit him for teasing you because when you look down at the brace on your knee, there was a small doodle of an ugly smiley face on it.

Caleb smirked, scooting a chair right next to you before sitting down to join you for breakfast.

"If you want that gone, you better do your best in recovering fast. Otherwise, you'd be stuck with it, along with me and my special healing methods. Or maybe....." He leans his face close to you and his lips hovered yours but doesn't make contact with them at all. "Or maybe it can be your reward for when you get better. What do you think, pip-squeak?"

Maybe you do want to throw an apple at him.

[wonderjanga]

Marvel and the YJ

So, Marvel in the YJ. He’s one of their den mothers and all that. So like, in this AU, and in fact in all of my posts so far, Billy’s kept it under wraps that he’s a kid. So, as a result, the YJ think he’s just this really cool big brother (dad (they just don’t know it)) type of dude. Like he’s so nice. And he’s so nice to them especially. Like, he treats all of them the same way he treats adults. He doesn’t doubt their abilities, and when they fail, he’s still there to encourage them to get back up and he doesn’t even make them feel bad about it.

Like, the one time he was asked to spar with the YJ cause they wanted to for funsies I guess, he positively whooped their asses and somehow, someway found a way to still compliment their abilities, even if they didn’t last that long because the battle was a little one-sided. To be fair though, they had asked him not to go easy, which he didn’t. In the end, he got promptly scolded by Canary heavily when she found out he quite literally used Kid Flash as a rag doll and threw him at Aqualad. She said that the entire tape of him having a “friendly spar” with those kids, was essentially just him bullying them. To which Billy tried to defend himself by saying those kids were plenty capable. The defense didn’t work.

Then, there was this time Kon mentioned he couldn’t fly and Marvel offered him a lift. This somehow ended up with Marvel sort of T posing mid air as Kon and Robin hung on one arm, Artemis and Aqualad hung on the other arm, then Kid Flash held onto one leg while M’gann held onto the other.

Flash: “Wow.” *looking up at the YJ and Marvel* “That’s… actually kinda majestic, not gonna lie.”

Superman: *also looking up at Marvel and the YJ* “Is it though? What if one of them falls?”

Flash: “Eh. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Kid Flash proceeds to almost slip off and fall, which almost gives both the speedster and Kryptonian a heart attack. Thankfully, he catches himself by moving his feet really fast to boost himself back up. Worst part in their opinion is that Marvel didn’t even seem to notice.

Then, there was the time M’gann with Robin about something. Batman was also working nearby on a computer.

M’gann: “Hmm… We need advice.”

Robin!Tim: “We need an adult.”

Batman: *keeping an ear out cause he’s always happy to help one of his kids*

M’gann and Robin!Tim: *thinking before they speak up at the same time* “Marvel.” *they then both walk out of the room to find the Captain*

Batman: *a little upset that Tim did didn’t come to him for help but also a lot more concerned as to why they thought Marvel was a suitable choice to ask for advice, especially considering the fact that just earlier that day, he had caught the man scribbling on one of the meeting tables like a 5th grader scribbling on their desk*

Contrary to what Bruce thought might happen (I.e. something going wrong) apparently Marvel’s advice wasn’t too bad, seeing nothing had gone wrong yet. (He later found out that the two had asked for the best advice on how to incapacitate your enemy quickly. He found this out when he saw Tim throat punch a man. Said man went down almost immediately. When prodded for information for as to why he did that, he proudly proclaimed “Cap taught me”)

Also a little tidbit from the Marvel Cursing post about the YJ thinking that Marvel called one of them a dumb cunt. Courtesy to @helps-the-writing-brain-go

Billy’s recently noticed that the kids are acting funny. Though, he supposes it’s not a bad funny. If anything, whatever’s got them acting weird has got them doing better on missions, but still. It’s weird. What’s weirder is that whenever he compliments them, they shine twice as brighter than they normally do. What’s even weirder than that is that whenever they’ve messed up recently they look twice as nervous. Speaking of which, this was one of the moments they’ve messed up.

Marvel: “So… Uh- that didn’t go so well.”

YJ: *obvious signs of anxiousness on some and subtle on others*

Marvel: “But that’s okay! But that’s okay.” *trying his best to make the anxiety in them disappear* “We just have to try to be better next time. Like, and I hate to say this, maybe try calling in an adult next time? Like me? I could’ve zoomed over and helped you guys.”

YJ: *look at each other*

Artemis: “Wally’s the one who said that we shouldn’t call you in a try to do this on our own.”

Kid Flash: *dramatic gasp* “You know why I said that! It would’ve helped us all if Kaldur had tried to put the fires near the gas tanks out with his water powers!”

Aqualad: “I was busy being attacked by nearly five different people.”

YJ: *dissolve into arguing*

Marvel: “Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wally what did you mean by it would’ve helped you all? Me not being there would’ve been good?” *confused*

YJ: *immediate silence*

Kon: “Wally found out that you think one of us is dumb cunt.”

Kid Flash: “Dude! You guys need to stop ratting me out!”

Marvel: “What.” *stares in befuddlement*

M’gann: “And then he told us. So we’ve been trying to think of ways to not be uh… dumb cunts.”

Marvel: *blinks rapidly* “Again, what? Wally, where did you get this information from?”

Kid Flash: “When you were making cookies! I heard you say blah blah blah, what a dumb cunt.”

Marvel: *still staring in confusion*

Kid Flash: “Then, when I asked what you were talking about, Mary said you were talking about our performance on missions.”

Marvel: “…Okay. I’m going to be completely honest with you. I don’t remember a thing of what you’re talking about.”

Marvel then goes on to make a speech about how they’re wonderful heroes who shouldn’t let one person’s words guide them, especially in risky situations like a mission. He then told them that he was now going to stress bake and make some Minnesota cool whip, jello, fruit, not really salad, salad. (Courtesy to @jedipirateking) On the bright side though, the speech did leave the teens feeling better.