#if I ever do rotating shifts fucking sHOOT ME

[burnedself]

Finally quit my job and I'm gonna make it everyone's problem

[heartfullofleeches]

loser darling having to schedule times to fuck all of the demons. honestly i think it’d be a loser’s (my) heaven to be able to fuck and cum into so many demons.

"I can't... do this anymore...."

These beasts were going to be the death of you. It's only common knowledge that idols of lust would be insatiable when draining their prey, but this was too much for one human to take. Rather than a one and deal, these devils had chosen to latch themselves onto you for the rest of your mortal days and possibly long after when they drag your immortal soul down from whence they came. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if there was only just of them. There were three - three devils sucking you dry at all hours of the day. When one finished their meal another would take the sloppy seconds - if they weren't piling on top of you at the same time. If they smelled another human on you your torment was amplified - tongue fucked through half-assed apologies or edged into orgasming right as one tells you exactly how they slit the homewrecker's throat. Even asleep, you couldn't escape their wrath - waking to the exhausting sight of one of them between your legs more times than you could count.

The demon hanging off the end of your bed raises its head from the mattress. "Hm?~ What was that, baby? Couldn't hear you when your legs clench around my neck like that. Thought you'd snap it right in half this time...not that I'd complain."

You yank the demon up by its horns as you drag your spent body into an upright position. It mewls at your harsh grip, plush lips ghosting your jawline as its claws dip against the curve of your hip.

"I. Can't. Do. This. If you whores don't give me a break, I'll be dead within a month. Granted, it's probably the best way to go, but there's more I'd like to do before I die."

An arm shoots around your neck, pulling you towards the bust of the demon on your right now roused awake by the fuse. It kisses at your neck; moist tongue lapping at your skin and it takes all of you not to ride the savage's face like it so desired. "Have we fallen out of your favor, love? You're the one that's always complaining about your love life - when you have us right here. If anyone's hurting right now, it's us."

"I never said that. All I'm asking for is some recovery time every once in a while."

The demon in your lap hums in thought. "Hm. How about this? One of us gets to play with you when you wake up, one in the afternoon and finally right before you go to bed. We can rotate those times during the week and on weekends we get to have you whenever we'd like. Everything in between is all yours, but if you ever need us - you know were we'll be. Sound good, babe?"

"I...." You sigh. It's not much different from your current arrangements, but the best you'll get for now. "...fine."

A sleepy voice sounds from your left, peeling what remained of your night shirt off your shoulders. "Dibs on the first shift."

[byechristopher]

Quiet [0.2].

-MATT STURNIOLO SMUT.

PART ONE.

Author's note: Y'ALL, I have been gone for more than a month, oof.. anyways, I still love y'all. I like to believe that I am back now.. but we'll see. I am a very spontaneous bitch, you see. Enough with the rambling. Matt smut. Part two. Let's go. Do not copy/steal my work. :)

Warnings: long, filthy smut, car sex in the middle of nowhere, matt is a dom, etc. Minors dni! Also, didn't proofread.

I hated how much I wanted more, straight away. I can still feel his fingers inside me and still, that isn't enough. Once the movie ended, he retained his embrace, a gesture I welcomed. The cool touch of his silver chain on the back of my neck and the gentle pressure from the rings on his fingers created a sensation, not quite reaching the point of discomfort.

"Tell them you gotta leave." Matt whispers in my ear and I realise that he wasn't lying earlier – we're going to his car. Good God.

I don't have to respond, not even nod, I just get up (after making sure I'm wearing my pants correctly, of course) and head to the kitchen, where my other friends are.

"Y'all, I'd love to stay for another movie but I have to leave. My roommate has locked herself out."

Lies, lies, lies. But I didn't care enough to feel bad, not when I was about to get eaten by Matthew.

Speaking of the devil, "I can take you home. I have to leave too anyway."

And with that, we were out of the apartment. Not wasting any time, we almost run towards the car and Matt starts driving almost right away. Despite still looking appealing, his hair appears noticeably more disheveled than earlier in the day, and he seems slightly flustered.

My hand lands on his clothed thigh gently, rubbing it up and down, and he gives me a warning glare, "I'm driving."

"I know." is the only thing I say before my hand travels up to his crotch.

He casts me a disapproving glance, yet he refrains from stopping me; he's curious about the extent of my boldness. What he doesn't know is that, in his presence, I disregard all limits. With that determination, I unzip his pants, gradually lowering both his pants and boxers to expose him. The image of Matt glancing between me, the road, and his attempts to drive with his dick hard against his tummy, is one that I doubt will ever fade from my mind.

I spit in my hand and wrap my fingers around his cock, earning a soft moan of relief from him. I start moving my hand up and down, rotating my wrist while looking at him.

"Be careful, Matty." I whisper, leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek and I know he would probably fuck the shit out of me now if he could.

"Fuck.." he grunts, knuckles turning white on the steering wheel, his hips bucking.

I lean down to wrap my lips around the tip and he almost loses control; I give it a sloppy kiss and then pull away, returning back to my seat as if nothing happened.

Matt shoots me one of his infamous death glares before abruptly pulling over. His actions unfold too quickly for me to fully grasp; he hastily adjusts his pants and signals for me to shift to the backseat, a command I promptly follow.

Without uttering a word, I observe him as he exits the car and then moving to the backseat as well, internally appreciating the fact that he owns a large, spacious car. I am sitting on the middle seat, he hooks his fingers under my panties and pants, pulling them down and then completely taking them off.

"You think teasing me is funny?" he hums, he spreads my legs wide open, placing my feet on each seat, fully exposing me to him. His hands move underneath my butt, his fingers digging into the soft skin as he pushes my hips upwards – my pussy a breath away from his hungry mouth.

"You know, I kept thinking.." he whispers, his hands caressing my thighs, "..when you came on my fingers.." he continues, his fingers dangerously close to my core, "..how much I wanted your juices in my mouth instead." he looks at me, giving me a small smile.

"Matty, please.." I sigh, I can feel my wetness dripping down already.

"And you know, I get anything I want." he nods, his index finger pressing my clit, earning a loud moan from me. He starts rubbing small circles on it, placing soft kisses on the lips.

Now teasing my most sensitive part with his thumb, he leans in, sticking his warm tongue out to lick my wet entrance, moaning. With his fingers on each side of my pussy, he spreads it delicately as he presses his tongue flat against my clit, rubbing it while letting the tip of it poke my entrance.

"Matt.. fuck.. please!" you can hear a mixture of frustration, anticipation and pleasure in my voice, but it most certainly doesn't make Matt move faster.

"You're dripping, sweetheart." he chuckles, amused. His tongue reaches all the way down, and then up to my clit, eventually wrapping his lips around it and sucking it.

I let my head fall backwards, pulling my shirt up to reveal my breasts – I quickly grab both of them, pinching the nipples while Matt is licking hungrily down there, as if he hadn't eaten for days. He pushes his tongue inside of me and I almost cum right then and there; he notices that, so he takes his tongue out slowly and then shoves it back in. He keeps doing that while teasing my clit with his thumb.

"Yes, yes, yes.. please.." I plead and whimper, I don't exactly know what I'm pleading for.

I let go of one breast to grab a fistful of Matt's hair instead, tugging at it and pushing his head towards my core even more (not that it was even possible, Matt was practically buried in my pussy, tongue inside of me, his nose pressed against my clit). I can feel him moving his tongue, still fucking me with it as he rubs and pinches my clit with his fingers – his free hand moves to my other breast, squeezing it and smacking it.

"Matty.. Matty, I – I'm.. fuck!" I cry out but he never stops, "I'm cumming.. I'm – yes.." and with that last word, I shake and tremble underneath his touch, finally letting go on his tongue, which he embraces with love, making sure not a single drop of my wetness goes to waste.

"That's my baby.." he praises and if I wasn't so lost in pleasure, I would've blushed.

He carefully grabs my legs, placing them on his shoulders as he presses kisses all over my thighs, making sure I calm down before we do anything else.

"Matt.." I moan gently, looking at him.

"Don't look at me like that. Your voice already makes it hard for me." he hums, squeezing my legs every now and then.

"Can you sit down instead? I wanna taste you." my hands squeeze my breasts.

"Can I ever deny you when you're looking at me like that, hm?" it is a rhetorical question but it still makes me laugh.

I move to the other seat while he takes my place, quickly taking his pants and boxers off, leaving his with his hoodie on. Before i start anything, he cups my cheeks and pulls me closer, kissing my nose and then my lips. I get down on my knees, in the same place he was earlier, almost drooling at the sight of his cock. It looks big and hard, and wet, and red. Hell.

"Come on, baby." he encourages, smiling while his hand grabs my chin, bringing me closer.

I nod, smiling, leaning in to grab the base with my hand, bringing his cock closer to my mouth and then eventually wrapping my lips around it. I move my mouth up and down the tip, just to tease him a little, looking up at him as I push my head further down. The more of him I take into my mouth, the more it stretches around him, making me drool all over his dick.

"Mmm, princess, that's it. You can take it." I'm not sure if it's a statement or a disguised warning but I take it either way.

He cups my cheeks and pushes me down on him, my watering eyes struggling to maintain eye contact. He looks at me with pride, almost, as he keeps my head in place while moving his hips, pushing his cock in and out of my mouth. I choke and gag around him but thay doesn't stop me, nor him.

"I'm close.. fuck." he groans, biting down on his bottom lip as he lets go of my head, moving one arm behind the seat and grabbing my hand gently with his free hand.

I move my mouth up and down, sucking his cock hungrily while looking at him, almost feeling it throb in my mouth – my free hand squeezes his thigh and my other hand, squeezes his.

"That's it.. that's it.." he moans, "..open your mouth, stick your tongue out.." he orders and I obey, jerking him off instead, "I wanna see your pretty mouth filling with my cum." he says and I moan just at the thought.

I move my hand up and down his cock, mouth open and tongue sticking out just like he ordered, looking at him the whole time. With a loud moan and groan from him, I can feel his warm cum landing on my tongue, slowly but steadily filling my mouth.

"Fuck.. baby.." he moans, caressing my hair, not daring to look anywhere else but me, "..open your mouth, let me see." he says and I know he wants to see a clean mouth. So that's exactly what I show him; he grins, "mm, such a good girl, aren't you?" yet another rhetorical question but again, it makes me smile either way.

He leans in to grab me and pull me into his lap, hugging me close to him as he lets me bury my face into his neck, breathing in his delicious scent, "you good, darling?" he whispers.

"More than good." I mumble against his skin and I can feel him chuckle, his hands rubbing up and down my back, his lips placing kisses on my head.

"You taste amazing." he whispers to tease me and it works; I can feel the blush creeping up my cheeks and I'm glad he's not able to see me.

"So do you." he pulls away just a bit to give me a kiss on the lips.

[darkworkcourier]

I was wondering, could you write Ghost x fem!reader hand to hand combat training that leads to them making out

YES'M COMING RIGHT UP

reader doesn't have a nickname or any identifying features other than, idk, having hair i guess? also no real warnings except for making out and some suggestive stuff. y'know, promises on the horizon. 👀 i didn't want to go much further in case all you wanted was just makeouts.

---

"No. Hands here. Right. Just about level with your chest."

It's hard to focus with Ghost's hands on your wrists, guiding you into a stance that feels off. You're accustomed to one particular style of defense, and he shifts you into another that makes your muscles ache.

You furrow your brow. "Is it supposed to feel like this?"

"Like what?"

"Like I'm about to throw my rotator cuff out?"

He shrugs, resuming his original stance—one where his hands are lower, parallel to his waist, arms spread like he's going to hug you. "Just means you're using muscles you're not accustomed to exercising," he replies.

"You saying I don't exercise?" you joke.

"Just hold your hands there."

You do, and he gives you about two seconds of warning before he comes at you.

Going up against Ghost in hand-to-hand combat is terrifying. There's no other word for it, no way to describe it outside of using terms like 'pants-shittingly scary'. He's a wall of muscle garbed in black, mask cementing the vision of a very buff Grim Reaper launching himself at you, dragging you into death in some judo move. You're still not accustomed to it, even this many months into your assignment with the 141. The second he moves, that fight or flight instinct screams flee, idiot! and you flinch.

He stops before touching you, sighing like an overburdened elementary school teacher. "You did it again," he says.

You fall out of the stance and raise your hands helplessly. "What do you expect me to do? You ever see yourself in a mirror?"

He ignores that latter question. "I expect you to defend yourself," he replies. "You're gonna meet people far bigger than me out there."

Doubt it, you think. You don't need to remind him that you have gone into the field before, and that you earned your place in the 141 through skill and tenacity. However, at this point, you still haven't seen someone like Ghost out there.

"Okay," you say, rallying yourself and raising your hands again. "I got this. Big, scary dude coming at me. No problem."

You think he raises a brow at you. Not something you can see, but you feel it. "You sure?"

"Yeah. Yep. Totally good."

Ghost goes back into the first pose with his arms out. He hunkers down, looming at the edge of the mat like a very large specter of the imminent end, and yet all you can think is can you use those arms for something else, please.

Which is why you miss the two second warning, and promptly get knocked off your feet by a skeleton-garbed missile of a man.

Because it turns out that he only corrected your stance from the waist up, and you completely forgot what to do with your legs. You didn't brace, didn't set your feet shoulder-width apart to lower your center of gravity and make you more solid. That, and Ghost has such a size advantage of you that it feels a hell of a lot like someone shooting a grenade launcher at a lawn chair.

All to say, you topple and hit the mat hard. Air whuffs out of your lungs, compressed under the sheer weight of Ghost. Sparks dance in your vision for one hot second before you come back to yourself, registering aches in brand new places and the feeling of one of Ghost's (impressively beefy) thighs between your legs.

Unfortunately, robbed of all oxygen, all you manage to eke out is a sad wheeze.

"Fuck," Ghost groans. He manages to hoist himself up on his forearms, lifting the stone weight off your chest so you're not getting compressed like a panini. "Ugh. You okay?"

It takes an embarrassingly long time to get your breath back, and a moment longer to work around the ache in your ribs from having a bulldozer of a man on your chest—not even in a sexy way. "Yeaaahhh," you force out, gritting your teeth and blinking away the last jittery sparkles in your vision. "Gimme a second."

He does, but you register that he's not getting off of you. In fact, he's holding pretty damn steady and not doing something in the name of good teamwork like, say, standing up and helping you off the mat, or asking if you need medical assistance, or making fun of you. Instead, he's most definitely staying quiet, and when you look at him, you suddenly feel pinned anew.

Because he's staring, and it's made so much more intense by the greasepaint around his eyes, drawing out his dark eyes by contrast. You feel his gaze like added weight, and it keeps you still, unable to scoot out from under him even though he's given you room to do so.

Your breathing's back online, but it's not steady, and your mouth is very, very dry.

"Um," is all you can say, and you're proud of yourself for getting that much out.

His eyes flick down, watching your mouth move. They widen when you lick your bottom lip to give it some reprieve.

There's no training for to do in this situation.

And there's certainly no training for— for lifting up his damn mask and revealing a mouth that you're pretty sure you've had wet dreams about. Plush lips, faint silvery scars, fine stubble. God damn, and he was keeping this a secret.

"Ghost," you try again, searching for anything to say. Any word, any question, any kind of affirmation that can give you a litmus test on what the hell is going on here.

Rather than explaining himself, his eyes find yours again and he says—in the lowest of low rumbling voices, "Is this okay?"

How do you say yes or, perhaps, fuck yes without sounding desperate? It's like he reached into your head and plucked out those fantasies you've kept under lock and key since you joined on and saw him for the first time. Hell, you're not totally sure this isn't one of those dreams right now.

So you nod. Just two quick jerks of the head, fabric on the mat definitely fucking up your hair. You can hear the static next to your ear, but you could care less.

Because once Ghost's lips are on yours, nothing matters.

He's so warm, lips deceptively soft (what did you think, they were going to be as calloused as his fingers?), the tang of sweat on his skin, his forearms bracketing you. He's in every direction, kissing you and siphoning out the air again, leaving you gasping when he pulls back.

One breath.

Two.

And he kisses you again, like a confirmation that yes, this is very real and it's happening to you. He didn't trip and fall and kiss you on the way down. His right arm comes up so his fingers brush against your cheek, and then he cups the side of your face with his enormous palm. You open your mouth against his, tasting him, hearing his heavy breathing in tandem with your own.

At the same time, your mind rushes to make all the connections to figure out how you got here, how Ghost is on top of you when he's supposed to be teaching you how to defend yourself. How—

How you missed all of those signals.

Too-long glances at meetings; hands brushing yours when he passed you documents, ammo, rations, a radio; the way he kept close to your six so it was never undefended; every nickname from him teeming with a little more whimsy than you thought him capable of. Never once did you stop and consider if that was how he treated everyone in the 141, or if that was saved for you.

You never asked the question, but you're sure as hell getting an answer.

His tongue brushes against yours, sealed between your lips, teasing whines out of you. He hums in satisfaction, or possibly pleasure; vaguely, you wonder if he's wanted this just as badly, or if this is a spur of the moment decision and he's enjoying the payoff. Regardless, you can't ignore the slight pressure of his thigh between your legs, riding up higher and higher until—

Until you get an incredibly stupid idea.

He doesn't get a two second warning. What he gets is your arms around his back—the hug you wanted and now he gets—and the sudden upward jerk of motion that sends him flailing backwards. In a move you had no idea you were capable of, he's now on his back, mask still riding up to his nose, eyes wide, expression damn near cartoonish.

"Wh—" is all he gets out before you're kissing him.

You're the one bracketing his hips with your thighs. You're the one pinning him down and making him breathless. And, damnit, once you pull back enough to get a look at his face, you're the one getting him to look up at you like he's seeing you for the first time.

You grin, leaning in close and whispering, "Is it supposed to feel like this?"

He licks his lips, and your eyes trace the trail of his tongue. "Like what?" he asks, quieter now than you've ever heard him.

Your answer is another firm kiss, the ache in your muscles shifting course and alchemizing into something far hotter, liquid heat settling between you. And you pull back one more time, dropping your head so your lips brush his ear. You swear you feel him shudder.

"I think we have a few more forms to go through," you say.

[fictionalcharactersaremypassion]

Liam and His Ickey

Set around s5 I guess

In the show, Liam doesn't really talk until he's older so he doesn't really say much here

4 +1

///

“Carl, don’t shovel it in like that, you’re going to burn your mouth,” Fiona frowns in disapproval. She’s made a big batch of potato soup for dinner, and honestly, it’s really fucking good. Mickey’s not used to home cooked meals. Him and his siblings are either eating what little is around the house or whatever they manage to steal. 

“I’m hungry,” Carl says in between mouthfuls. 

“Jesus,” Ian mutters. 

It’s mostly quiet around the table. Debbie chatters about school and fucking Lip adds in a thing or two about his own life that Mickey couldn’t find it in himself to give two shits about. 

Even so, it’s kind of...nice he supposes, to sit around the table like this. Fuckin’ weird, but he’s never really had this. Back when his mom was around, they never ate together. She was always sprawled out on the couch, passed out and intoxicated. 

Ian’s fingertips leave a ghostly trail on his leg. The electric current shoots up Mickey, leaves him tingling, and he flushes, hoping nobody else notices. 

“Mmm,” Liam says suddenly. He looks up at Fiona with a toothy grin, soup around his mouth. “Mmm.” 

She laughs. “It’s good, huh?” 

He nods and mmms, again. 

“Well, at least I have Liam’s approval,” she says to the rest of them humorously. 

“He’s just trying to get on your good side,” Ian teases, “so you don’t give him a bath.” 

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Fiona groans. “I think it’s my turn.” 

“Glad it’s not mine,” Debbie says. “I hate doing it now. He splashes too much.” 

“I don’t mind,” Carl pipes up now that he’s almost done with his bowl. “He makes it look like a waterpark in there.” 

“Yeah, that’s just what we need,” Fiona deadpans. 

Lip wipes his mouth, takes a drink of his beer. “I think Mickey should have a turn,” he says, and Ian and Mickey’s head swivel in his direction. “It’s only fair now that he’s living here.” 

Fuckin’ asshole. Mickey glares at him. 

“No fucking way.” 

“Come on, Mick,” Lip must have a fucking death wish. “Haven’t you bathed a kid before?” 

“Lip,” Ian says warningly. 

“What? I’m just saying. We always rotate the chores.” 

“Mickey helps out around here,” Ian says firmly. Yeah, he fucking does. Doin’ the laundry, the dishes and other shit. He never did any of that at home. “If he doesn’t want to bathe Liam, he doesn’t have to.” 

“Ian’s right,” Fiona agrees. Huh, Mickey takes a second to blink. “He doesn’t have to.” 

“Okay, okay,” Lip grumbles, holding his hands up in surrounder. “It was just a suggestion.” 

“Yeah, a stupid ass one,” Mickey interjects. Lip rolls his eyes. 

Silence falls over them again. Their spoons clink against the bowls, chairs creaking whenever someone shifts. 

“Ickey,” Liam pipes up again. All heads turn his way, expressions flicker with confusion. 

“What did he say?’ Ian asks. 

“Ickey,” Liam repeats. 

“He said Ickey...” Debbie furrows her brow. “Is he trying to say Mickey?” 

“Ickey,” Liam emphasizes. This brings forth a laugh from Fiona and Ian. 

“It’s fitting,” Lip quips. Mickey scowls. 

“What the fuck ever.” He digs into his bowl, taking a large scoop and ignoring them all. 

Fucking assholes. 

*

Mckey thinks it’s a one and done kinda thing. For a while, Liam doesn’t say it again, and the others make a few jokes for a couple of days before they move on to something else. 

Of fucking course it isn’t that simple. Liam waits for the perfect opportunity to strike. He’s a fucking sadist, Mickey’s sure. 

Today, Colin and Iggy drop by. His brothers are starting to be around more since Mickey came out. It’s uncomfortable as fuck, even though Ian beams like it’s the most fucking precious thing he’s ever seen. 

His boyfriend really is gay as hell. 

“What do you fuckheads want?” Mickey demands, His words don’t have as much heat to them, not really, it’s just how he talks. 

Iggy tosses a plastic bag his way. “He’s more of your clothes, Stupid.” 

“What brought what we could,” Colin shrugs. “Terry burned most of it.” 

“Asshole,” Mickey mutters. 

Iggy nods a little too enthusiastically. “Shoulda seen it. He made a huge fire pit in the backyard.” 

“Whoop de fucking doo.” 

He’s pretty sure both his brothers are complete idiots, because Colin glances around, not even trying to be subtle here. “Where’s your boyfriend?” 

There’s this change to his tone at the word boyfriend, like it’s this strange new thing for him to grasp. Mickey supposes in a way it is. 

“None of your damn business, that’s where,” he retorts. 

“Cool it, Mick,” Colin rolls his eyes. “I’m just askin’.” 

“He’s just protectin’ his boy, ain’t that right?” Iggy grins. 

“Do you wanna fucking die?” 

He staggers back when Colin uses the palm of his hand to push his chest. 

“You forget that we changed your diapers,” his older brother snorts. “We’re not scared of you.” 

Iggy nudges Colin. “Remember when he used to get mad if he thought we didn’t hug him enough before bed.” 

“I never did that!” Mickey snaps, his ears going pink. 

“God,” Colin shakes his head. “He used to throw the worst tantrums. Worse than Mandy ever did.” 

He doesn’t need any of that information to get back to the ears of any Gallagher. “If you don’t have anything else for me then get the fuck out,” Mickey orders. 

“Aw, Mick-”

“We were just messing around, dumbass.” 

“I don’t give a shit,” Mickey folds his arms. 

At that moment, they all hear thudding coming down the stairs. Mickey assumes it’s Carl until he turns to find Liam all dressed in his pajamas. 

“Liam, come on. It’s time for bed,” Fiona’s voice is getting closer. Kid musta ran right outta the bathroom. 

Unfortunately, he has really bad timing. He spots Mickey, beams and says, 

“Ickey!” 

Fuck, Mickey sulks while his brothers crack up laughing. 

“Did he just call you Ickey?” Colin howls. 

Iggy is laughing so hard he leans against Colin for support. Liam giggles too, even though he probably doesn’t know what’s so funny. 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Mickey sneers. “It’s real fucking funny.” 

*

“Ickey.” 

“Mickey,” he enunciates slowly. “Quit forgetting the M, kid.” 

They’re sitting at the kitchen table where it all started, just him and Liam. Ian comes down the stairs, shooting Mickey this shit-eating grin. He comes over to the cabinet to get himself a glass, filling it with kool aid. 

“How’s the spelling lesson going?” He asks lightly, taking a seat beside him. 

“Fuck off.” 

Liam just doesn’t listen no matter how many times he tries. Mickey thinks it’s a Gallagher trait. 

“Mickey,” he repeats. 

“Ickey,” Liam says solemnly. 

Ian snorts. Mickey contemplates strangling him. 

“It’s not Ickey,” Mickey says through grit teeth. “It’s Mickey.” 

Liam does not agree. “Ickey!” He exclaims defiantly because that’s all these Gallaghers knew how to do. 

“No!” Mickey barks. 

“Has anyone ever said you’d be a good teacher?” Ian says. 

Fuckin’ Gallaghers. 

“I’m never touching your dick again if you don’t shut the fuck up,” Mickey threatens. 

“You make a really compelling argument,” Ian says, not at all sincere. 

Remind him again why he chose this dumbass? 

“You know, if you keep bringing attention to it, he’ll keep doing it,” Ian continues. “Just ignore it.” 

“No,” Mickey shakes his head. “Cuz he’ll think he’s won and he didn’t win.” 

“He’s three, Mickey.” 

“So what? You think your ginger ass wasn’t annoying at his age?” 

“You didn’t know me at three,” Ian says, amused. 

“Don’t have to know you. You’ve always been fucking annoying,” Mickey says. “Nah, I ain't gonna acknowledge it unless he says it right.” 

Ian rolls his eyes. “Seriously?” 

“Seriously, Firecrotch.” 

“You’re at war with a three year old, you know that right?” 

Mickey ignores that. He knows he can win this. He ain’t gonna be outsmarted by a damn kid. 

It goes quiet. Liam loses interest in the conversation so he goes to color in the living room. Mickey accepts a beer that Ian offers him, and they just sorta sit there, close and enjoying that the house isn’t currently being overrun with a million Gallagher brats. 

Few minutes or so pass when Mickey feels a tug on his jeans. 

Liam has a picture he wants to show him. “Ickey, look!” 

So he deliberately turns away. 

“Oh my God,” Ian mutters. 

“Ickey,” Liam repeats. He frowns when Mickey doesn’t respond in any way. “Ickey!” 

“Seriously?” Ian sighs. 

“Ickey!” Liam starts to poke him incessantly. Mickey takes a deep breath. He won’t let himself be bothered. 

Except it does bother him. 

Poke, poke, poke. 

“Ickey, Ickey, Ickey-” 

“What?” Mickey explodes, whirling around in the chair to face him. His outburst startles Ian a bit but Liam is unfazed. He’s grinning and holds up the drawing. 

“Look!” 

Ian stands up, bringing the cup to his lips as he passes by to put it in the sink. “I guess Liam won,” he comments nonchalantly. 

*

Now he’s not just goin’ around calling him Ickey. He’s been sayin’ My Ickey too. 

“My Ickey,” he’ll say at random times, just pointing to him. 

Maybe it’s because they’re around each other a lot. Him and Gallagher stay at the house whenever Mickey’s not working while Ian tries to get adjusted to these new meds. So he sees them two more than anybody else. 

Ian says Mickey is partly to blame, he shouldn’t be saying, “No!” whenever the kid says it because it’s just encouraging him. 

What the fuck ever. 

Like now, while they’re trying to watch TV, Liam decides he should be the one in the middle. 

“My Ickey,” he says to them seriously. 

“You wanna sit next to Mickey?” Ian grins. Liam nods. 

“Too fucking bad,” Mickey says blandly. “Stay there, Red.” 

“He’s just a little kid, Mick-”

“So what?” 

Liam becomes impatient from a lack of action. He pushes his way onto the couch, trying to separate them. Ian laughs and scoots over. Mickey wishes he wouldn’t. He’ll fucking murder somebody if they knew but he liked having his redhead right there with him. 

Once there, Liam leans into Mickey, hugging his arm. “My Ickey,” he says, strangely firm for a kid. 

“I think I have competition,” Ian snickers. 

“Ay, Kid,” Mickey tries shaking his arm but Liam has a good grip on it. “Let go.” 

Liam ignores him. 

“Face it, Mickey,” Ian says cheerfully. “You’ve won the hearts of two Gallaghers. How’s that feel?” 

“Fuckin’ great,” Mickey deadpans, although there might be some part of him that warms ever so slightly. It’s not like he’s used to people seeking him out other than Ian. 

That warmth floods him from head to toe when Laim squirms his way into his lap, his head against Mickey’s chest. He’s pretty sure Ian’s giving them those heart eyes right now. 

Whatever. This Ickey shit still has to go.

*

He’s trying to sleep. He’s nearly there when he feels a tug on his shirt. 

“Wha-” he mutters sleepily. 

Liam’s beside the bed, clenching a stuffed bear that’s seen better days. 

Ian’s sleeping soundly as is Carl. Mickey sits up slowly so he won’t wake his boyfriend. “What’s up, Kid?” He yawns. 

“Ickey,” he chews on his lips. From the moonlight, he can see tears in Liam’s brown eyes. 

“You have a nightmare?” Mickey says, hushed. 

Liam nods. 

“Fine. Go on,” Mickey jerks his head towards the bed Liam’s using, the one that Carl used to sleep in back when Lip was here. 

The kid climbs onto the bed and Mickey follows. Liam’s been having a lot of nightmares recently, and with no one else up at this hour to tend to him, that falls on Mickey. 

“What happened this time?” Mickey whispers. 

“Monster,” Liam sniffles. 

“Ay, it’s okay,” Mickey pulls the blanket up so it’s covering Liam again. “There ain't no monsters here. No unless you count that goofy ass red giant over there.” 

His words do little to comfort the kid. 

Come on, work with me here, he thinks. 

“Look,” Mickey says, “even if there were monsters, we wouldn’t let ‘em get to you, alright? We’d let ‘em eat Lip if we had to.” 

This makes Liam giggle. It makes Mickey start to smile unconsciously. 

“You good now? Think you can go to sleep?” 

Liam considers this, and nods. 

“Good.” Mickey doesn't kiss him goodnight or anything, he just starts to get off the bed when Liam throws his tiny arms around his neck to hug him. 

“My Ickey,” he whispers. 

Mickey sighs, a smile emerging against his will. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, for once not at all annoyed like he should be. “Your Ickey.” 

[artofhazbinhotel]

A short story about Valentino being a dick and flirting with an innocent bystander Alastor just to piss Vox off

Vox paced back and forth the Vee tower, mumbling to himself, he seemed to be stressing over something but neither Vee cared, Velvette was on her phone and Valentino was drinking, this was common. Vox was just obsessing over the thought of facing Alastor in an hour. The last time they crossed paths, he had made a fool of himself on live TV, and the memory was still fresh and humiliating. The overlord meeting was so soon and it was his turn since they rotate, but he couldn't do this alone, he wanted Valentino.

"You have to come with me to the overlord meeting." Vox eventually said, rushing to the couch to lean over the taller demon, his voice filled with desperation.

Valentine lounged on their luxurious sofa sipping a glass of wine, he looked mildly annoyed. "You know I hate these meetings, why do I have to go? Don't be a baby."

"Because Alastor will be there." Vox's response was immediate.

The other overlord raised an eyebrow and just smirked, "Ah, so that's what this is about? Is my Voxy scared and needs his big bad moth to protect him?" He teased.

Vox's face flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment, he cringed at the tone. "I don't want to fucking deal with him, okay? Please."

After a long pause, Valentino sighed dramatically. "Fine, I'll go, but you owe me tonight."

Vox breathed a sigh of relief, but a knot of anxiety remained in his stomach the entire car ride. As they approached the meeting, Valentino's expression shifted from annoyance to something more calculating. An idea had sparked in his mind that actually made him look forward to this. When they entered the room, Vox's anxiety skyrocketed as he saw Alastor sitting comfortably and chatting with other overlords, but Valentino just sauntered over confidently and took a seat right next to him.

"Val, what are you doing???" Vox hissed, his voice an angry whisper.

But Valentino ignored him, turning to Alastor with a charming smile. "Alastor! It's been ages. How have you been?" He extended his hand.

Alastor, always the picture of politeness, took the offered hand. "Valentino, how unexpected. It’s... been a while."

As their hands touched, Valentino yanked Alastor closer, whispering in a seductive tone, "How about we catch up? Alone."

Alastor’s eyes widened, he looked like a deer in front of a car and his ears flattened against his head. He pulled away quickly, wiping his hand on his pants. "I’ll have to decline. Busy schedule and all-"

Vox’s blood boiled. He wanted to scream, to lash out, but he knew it would only make things worse. Instead he stormed out of the room, fuming.

Val followed after quickly, feigning ignorance. "Baby, what's wrong?" He asked sickly sweet.

Vox spun around, shoving Valentino against the wall within seconds with enough force to rattle a painting. "You know what's wrong. Alastor?? You think he's better than me? Is that it?" He accused.

Valentino’s eyes gleamed with amusement. He didn’t answer, instead leaning in closer to where their mouths were almost touching "Are you going to punish me, my powerful overlord?"

Vox’s grip tightened for a moment before he backed away, not wanting to give Valentino the satisfaction. But Valentino wasn’t done. He wrapped his arms around Vox’s waist from behind, whispering in that low tone again, "No one is better than you at anything. This was a favor. Now Alastor will focus on what I did instead of you."

Vox’s anger subsided slightly as he thought about that. "I still want to kill him." He mumbled before whispering. "If you leave me for him I'll rip your wings off and display them on my wall."

Valentino shuddered at the thought and his breath was hot against Vox’s neck. "If you ever leave me in general I'll shoot you in the stomach and watch you bleed out."

God only knows what their 'tonight' will be like.

[princessamericachavez]

It’s not that Maddie creates a group chat specifically to check in on Buck. The group chat without him existed already for abysmally different though not completely unrelated reasons. So when Eddie sees the group change from the sober Hospital Updates to the playful Operation Keep Buck From Going Nuts it does startle a chuckle out of him. It reminds him that Buck is alright, at home, and finally free from his visitors.

Still… he is not entirely sure he is on board with the whole schedule thing. Not like it’s his place to say much, though. Maddie is Buck’s sister, she has seniority in the department of looking after her brother, and Eddie does understand where that instinct comes from. Hell, didn’t he drop Christopher on Buck’s lap last time he was forced off work to get his mind off his own convalescence? Still…

You’re not gonna get into the Buck Watch rotation? Chim’s texts him privately, after nearly everyone else has picked a day and time to drop by the loft.

Eddie purses his lips downwards. If Chim is texting him about this, Maddie must have brought it up (much like Buck and himself, there isn’t much those two don’t share with each other). He wonders if he’s being judged by it. No one commented on his absence in Buck’s room during their long vigil hours at the hospital, but they must have noticed. Now this. He knows what it must look like.

Did you want a parade of people at your place last time you almost died? He shoots back.

Yeah, no, that’s a good point. Chim’s reply is quick. I tried telling her, but she’s still worried…

Eddie sighs. Opens the group chat. Ignores de 148 unread messages: Hey, sign me up wherever you need to cover. If it’s after school, I’ll take Chris over.

Chim replies privately before Maddie does in the grupo with a string of thumbs up emojis and a final (probably accidental) rainbow.

He ends up in one of the last “shifts”. Something on the weekend so he can use Chris as an excuse. Like he’d ever need an excuse to drop by Buck’s for a beer. The schedule is so tightly packed that he knows Buck will notice far before it comes to his turn. He gives it four visits, max, before he starts feeling like a child being babysat. Chris would hate it, and he’s a teenager, not a grown man who just spent way too long stuck in a hospital bed.

But Eddie doesn’t get suspicious texts from Buck, complaining about the roaster of visitors, he doesn’t get a call to gossip on whatever excuse Hen used to come over, doesn’t really get much until the knock on the door…

“Please, don’t ask me how I’m doing,” his friend says and walks in. No invitation or excuse presented. They never needed any to barge into each other’s lives like they are the same shared territory.

Eddie watches him walk in, barely repressing the smirk that spreads across his face.

“Want a beer?” He offers, like part of his brain isn’t still processing the fact that Buck is here, alive, that he gets to just offer him a drink like two weeks ago he wasn’t sure he’d never hear his voice outside of his dreams.

“Probably more than one,” Buck huff, already settled in the couch, like he’s always belonged here.

“All that company must have worn you off,” Eddie says with a smirk and even with his back turned on his way to the kitchen, he knows that he can’t hide the petty satisfaction in his voice.

All those visits, all that family, all that attention and fussing and love… but Buck came here. He chose to come here. Eddie feels more than a little vindicated. He feels fucking giddy, actually.

Even when he comes back and Buck is sleeping in his couch, and he’s left hanging with two cold beers and the excitement to share some time with his best friend, the warmth in his chest persists. He sits down, quiet as he can be, and smiles when he hears the first familiar snore. There’ll be time for that. Buck is here, he chose to be here, and they have all the time they need.

[spurious]

okay but john having to deal with rodney's ability to rapidly assimilate information and practice it to muscle memory re: weapons training

so i've been rotating this ask in my brain ever since it arrived in my inbox because it makes me think about many many things. (thank you)

here is one of the things i have been thinking:

Rodney thinks weapons training is a waste of his time and unnecessarily militaristic for a civilian expedition, until the third--or is it fourth? Could be the fifth--time that his ability to competently operate firearms under pressure is one of the only things standing between him, his team, and certain death.

After the dust settles from their latest far-too-violent adventure, he goes to Sheppard, not so early as to run into people in the halls, but not so late as to worry (much) about waking him up, and says, "Alright, you win."

Sheppard blinks, gives him what Rodney's pretty sure is just his normal sleepy-eyed look, not a sign that Rodney had woken him, and says, "Well, that's great." He tilts his head, shifts from foot to foot in that restless, hippy sort of way he has. "What'd I win, exactly?"

"I'm agreeing to submit myself to weapons training," Rodney says, impatient. "And we're doing it now because I'm not going to the armory when it's full of people."

"Dunno if I'd call that winning," Sheppard mutters, but he's already slipping socked feet into his half-laced boots, so Rodney doesn't particularly care if he wants to complain on the way.

--

John's won something, that's for fucking sure, he thinks to himself as he watches Rodney's hands quickly and precisely disassemble his sidearm. Rodney had watched John do it once, had asked a series of extremely detailed, rapid-fire questions, and then proceeded to try it for himself four times in quick succession, each iteration becoming more competent, more assured.

"It really is just simple mechanics, in the end," Rodney's saying, and he's been murmuring to himself the whole time, even as John's trying to act casual, his mouth dry and his body prickling with terrible heat.

They're alone in the armory, most of the lights not even on, it smells like metal and cordite and gun oil and John is thinking about doing something extremely ill-advised, something like pressing Rodney up against the shelving and licking into his mouth, or dropping to his knees and seeing what those hands would feel like in his hair, guiding his mouth around a hot hard cock.

"Alright," Rodney announces, jarring John out of his fantasy. He stuffs a hand in his pocket, tilts his hips in a way that he hopes makes things a little less obvious--not that Rodney seems to be looking. He's holding up the gun, a lopsided smile on his face. "Now I shoot something?"

John thinks about stepping in close, about putting his hands on Rodney's thick arms to correct his grip, about being close enough to smell his skin, and says, trying not to sound strangled, "Yeah, Rodney, time to shoot something."

[jorisjurgen]

43 for the jurgen-crepins? These characters have been living in my brain recently haha.

@dullard bc he also asked this, in his ask

43. What do they commonly misinterpret because of their own upbringing / environment / biases? How do they respond when realizing the misunderstanding?

I had to sit down and think about this bc like that's some Deep stuff here...

Joris: Has no fucking idea what Kerubim is doing most of the time. It feels like a batshit insane chessgame. Is he wanting him to wash the dishes? Is he wanting him to stay at home and going at it in the most insane way? The world may never know. He knows well if Kerubim is feeling well or not, but his intentions always elude him.

He tends to assume the worst of people in general, because of his involvement in politics, and immortality. But it's easy for him to adjust to the knowledge that someone actually meant well, because he likes to give people chances (if they're willing to take them).

Otherwise, someone he thinks of as good turning out to be bad doesn't surprise him in the least. He's involved in courts. He's seen hundreds of sweet little princes and princesses grow up into kings and queens and commit warcrimes. He will come to kingdoms, be polite, give a gift or two to the royal family, all the while thinking of how aware he is, of the possibility. Though there are times when it stings, even now, to see someone grow into a worse version of themselves.

Also, he probably has a tendency to read into parent-child relationships and being relentlessly judgemental. I think in s4 he was trying to explode Eliatrope with his mind.

Kerubim: He's blind to any bad parenting that isn't outright physical/psychological/emotional abuse. He respects helicopter moms for their Passion, he respects neglectful parents for The Freedoms they provide, and he affectionately tells Joris that they're "best friends", and all of that is like, because of Ecaflip, even though on some level he does know he was mistreated.

He's very well at social stuff, when it doesn't concern his own personal life, — because when it concerns his personal life, he is chronically convinced everyone will leave. On some level, this delusion persists even 600 years deep into the codependent nightmare blunt rotation (though now not in a "they will leave :(" way, but in a "they can't leave me even if they want to :(" way.). He carries a lot of guilt about Atcham and Joris, so, he tends to catastrophize any of their bad moods, but also — he knows that he catastrophizes, so he has to gaslight himself that he isn't anxious (he's too proud to ask for reassurance) (his cluster-b swag...)

I think every time it is brought to his attention that Joris or Atcham don't like something he did, he deflates and begins feeling violently suicidal and nauseous and in physical pain. Which isn't his fault, but is the reason Joris doesn't ever bring anything up.

Atcham: EVERYONE IS ALWAYS OUT TO GET HIM AND HE NEEDS TO SHOOT THEM BEFORE THEY SHOOT HIM AND THEY ARE LAUGHING AT HIM. Besides having homicidal thoughts towards tired store clerks because they're looking at him weird (after a 10-hour shift), and reading too much into any conflict, — I think he's bad at getting it when someone dislikes him. He'll often think that someone who's acting polite out of fear/disgust Loves him. (Bad social skills from having no friends as a child + The 'tism)

If he is informed that someone he thought liked him actually hates him, he isn't surprised. Just angry. Angry at not being told out of the gate. When he's informed that someone doesn't hate him, he's pleasantly surprised. Like "oh they're jussst... annoyed today? not becaussse of me? hm." and he thinks about it for like a week.

600 years deep into the codependent nightmare blunt rotation, he is mostly out of this never-ending paranoia nightmare (he's too happy to be thinking about this shit anymore). He still doesn't get it when someone dislikes him, but it doesn't bother him as much if he realizes he's disliked, because that person is wrong and stupid, and doesn't deserve his glorious self anyway, and if nobody got him, then Joris and Kerubim got him.

Off-topic, but 1. He's kind of like Laios in terms of social skills and being creepy and off-putting. Except our guy's special interests are dismemberment, swords, and wig making. They have the same type of "my hungry ass could never be a brain surgeon 😭" autism. 2. I think he is anomalously good at detecting bad parenting that isn't physical/psychological/emotional abuse. Mostly because he likes to make fun of Kerubim, and it makes him predisposed to want to poke holes in Joris's Happy Childhood Memories. Makes him weirdly suited to give Joris DIY therapy. ("And did the sssstupid sssshelf ever fall on you? Ever sssstubbed your toe and landed on a russssty nail?" "Oh shut it-- I-- He got me vaccinated against that! After the first time" "SDDFGFAFS😭😭😭😭")

[realmofimagines]

The Skyhook Experience || Elliott ‘Mirage’ Witt ||

Request: Smutty session with the one and only himbo bamboozler Mr. Mirage during a match?Mirage and reading maybe,, camping in a building before ring close and well,,, ya know

Pairing: Mirage x f!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: SMUTTY SMUT and a praise kink somehow snuck itself in there so lmaooo

A/N: hello hello! I have a blast with this, by default I write with female reader but I will be uploading and gender neutral version on AO3 and will link when I’ve done that! :) <3

“Fuck!” Her shouts echoed through the mostly abandoned streets of skyhook, a hand pressed hard over the wound in her shoulder. The blood dribbled through her fingers and onto the ground below her, she was convinced that the gunshot wasn’t too bad and could’ve ended worse.

At least the team cleared out their enemies before holding up in one of the many buildings. According to the duo's maps, they were secure in the current ring rotation and had quite a while to go before it would push the teams out of it, in their direction.

“Hold still,” Mirage’s voice was only slightly panicked, happy he didn’t have to pull off a revival in the middle of a 1v2 and grateful his teammate was merely injured. He pulled out the syringe, holding his teammate in place up against the wall with a hand steadying her.

It was painful, but with modern medicine and technology, the syringe did its job by stunting the bleeding and numbing the area of effect until she could get proper help… Or until she was eliminated and sent off to the respawn chambers.

The numbed shoulder didn’t render her arm completely useless, allowing her to move it minimally. She was grateful that it wasn’t her preferred arm that had been shot, so she was still capable of shooting a gun when the time came.

“How the hell do you not have a scratch on you?” Her voice was exhausted and it masked how impressed she was that by the looks of things, Mirage was completely clean of any visible wounds. The trickster checked himself out in the reflection of the window, confirming his partner's words as he offered her a meagre shrug.

“Just don’t get shot,” he winked at her, reloading the gun in his hands and double checking his inventory, “where would you be without me?”

She rolled her eyes, resisting the urge to bite back at him. They duo had undeniable chemistry that far exceeded the confines of the ring in the plethora of arenas. It’s what prompted them to perform better when paired up for duos, or most importantly teamed up in trios.

Whether either parties liked it or not, the fans were crazy about the two and enjoyed their shenanigans outside of the ring as much as they enjoyed them inside the ring.

It had just been lucky for both individuals that they found each other's company rather enjoyable and fun… the latter seemingly being part of the majority of the time they spent together.

“Ring isn’t closing for a while, and by the sounds of it, it’s just the two of us… But I can make it three,” he winked, arms folded across his chest as he leaned up against the wall beside her. A sly smirk pulled at the corner of his lips, eying the woman as she set her gun aside.

“You seriously wanna do this… now…” She turned to face him, a similar playful glint in her eye that definitely didn’t go unnoticed by him. He shifted closer to her, placing his hands on her hips and swaying with her ever so subtly, watching the way she was thinking hard about the implications of what they could do.

“Yeah — I mean, didn’t you say you had a dream about us fucking in the ring? I say, chase your dreams.” He dipped his head to pepper soft kisses up along her neck and jawline.

Her face flushed bright red, recalling that she did indeed have a dream — more like a fantasy about the two of them together in the ring. While she cursed herself for even saying anything to him, she couldn’t help but feel enticed by the idea of it, especially by the way his beard tickled her skin as the more kisses pressed against her flushed skin.

The smallest of whimpers fell from her lips, giving the man a complete headrush in both directions. He loved the reaffirming sounds that came from his partner, it offered him a sense of validation that was from someone else for a change rather than him having to reassure and keep up with the insufferable charade that he loved himself all the time. Some days he truly didn’t, but his partner made sure she was there to pick up on the days where he didn’t like himself.

Because regardless of shitty banter and jokes, she really did love him and made sure he knew that. Even if they were just casually screwing around for sex a lot fo the time.

She pulled back, staring at him with eyes clouded in lust, “c’mon… at least if someone barges in here we might have a chance if we take this over there—,” she had pointed at the small room situated behind what were the remnants of an old administration desk.

Mirage gave her the look, with care and delicacy he gripped her wrist and pulled her toward the desk until she was firmly sandwiched by his pelvis and the edge of the desk. His head motioned toward the two entry points into the building, a shimmer of blue omitted from his suit as two decoys manifested from within him and took positions by the doorways.

“No ones disturbing us babe,” he said with great confidence, stroking her face delicately.

Looking at now three Mirages, she raised a brow in content and gripped the fabric that adorned his chest with ferocity, yanking him even closer to her, “well then, we better get to it, hmm?” Her voice had captured the seductive tone that made him melt previous times before.

She pressed her lips against his with a hint of desperation, taking the time to unbuckle the belts and holsters strapped to her, they all hit the desk and floor below her with a loud clatter. Joining the pile on the floor were her tactical gloves and munitions packs, alongside his own. She had made extra care to place her wingman on the desk beside her because you never know.

Now her hands cupped his face, feeling his skin on the pads of her fingers and his beard tickle her tips, sending that all too familiar electric feel through her body and to her lower region.

They never broke away from the kiss for too long, taking short breaks to breathe but they went straight back to it. He bit down lightly on her lower lip before pushing his tongue inside her mouth, his hands ran up and down her sides before settling on her ass, giving it a squeeze and pressing her groin into his ever present erection.

He strained a moan into her mouth, the pressure alone was giving him the head spins.

She unzipped her jumpsuit, shimmying out of the top half, letting the sleeves hang down past her hips. Underneath - much to mirages surprise - was nothing but her bare naked chest. He had pulled away at this point, admiring her body and how flustered she looked.

“If I knew you were naked under your suit the whole time I woulda done this a long time ago,” he breathed, a goofy smile across his face like he had just won the lottery. His hands trailed up her bare torso, cupping her breasts firmly, eliciting a very faint exhale from his partner.

“I think it's just your lucky day I was running late,” she winked, her hand stroking the apparent tent in his pants. His reaction was instantaneous and incredibly hungry with lust, taking the time to swiftly take off his own suit and letting it gather around his ankles.

He spun her around with ease, pressing her back hard up against chest and bringing his lips to her ear. His breath was hot and sent shivers down her spine, goosebumps forming on her skin as he spoke, “do you know how hard it is to win a game when you look so fucking good all the time?”

Leaning her head back, she let him do whatever he pleased, “speak for yourself, it’s hard enough getting through pressers when all I see is you post game,” her voice slowly got more breathy as he layered wet kisses down her neck and one hand began teasing the bud of her nipple while the other slowly trailed down her stomach and to her groin.

His movements were tantalisingly slow and deliberate, prompting her to squeeze her thighs together to elicit some relief. Before she could sustain any sort of ease from the friction, his fingers dipped into her underwear and stroked her pussy to hear the music that came in the form of moans from his partner.

The heavy feeling pooling in the pit of her abdomen as the sensations from both her breasts and pussy sent her into a drunken lust. His erection was hard against her ass as he pressed against her to alleviate his own relief while he focused on her.

She brought a hand up from her non injured arm to tug on his hair as his fingers circled her clit. Her knees buckled slightly as the feelings began to intensify, pulling on his hair to reflect how well he was doing, “fuck, you feel so good El… you’re so good.” Her breathless words of affirmation and praise caused him to moan in response.

He loved validation, but none more than from his sexual partner.

It was all beginning to bubble into a climax at the current pace, her slickness provided enough lube on his fingers to increase his speed. His other hand preoccupied with her breasts switched nipples so as to not overstimulate one to the point of pain, all this feeling jolted aches in her lower abdomen which was almost becoming too much.

“S-stop…stop.” She gasped out, causing him to immediately pull away and spin her around, he wasn’t sure what he did but he wanted to check if she was okay nonetheless.

“Are you okay? We can — we can stop,” he searched her eyes for anything to confirm his statement but was met with hungry eyes as she smirked at him and brought a hand to his face.

Her pussy throbbed at the loss of contact, and she was always one for slight theatrics when it came to intimate moments like this. In fact, half the time she was the one initiating sex between the two of them.

“Yeah — I just want you to fuck me over this desk,” her voice was low and blunt and her chest heaved as she still recovered from the almost climax she just had.

Nothing more needed to be said between the two, he spun her back around, pulling down her underwear fervently. He couldn’t resist and simply had to leave a mark, bringing his bare hand down on her ass in a satisfying crisp slap. A hand on the back of her neck guided her down toward the desk, her ass and pussy now out and exposed to him. A bright red mark left behind from the skin that was slapped, now forming.

He pulled his own underwear down, stroking his length with the help of his precum. Lining himself up with her pussy, both parties moaning in unison as both their sexes touched each other, he pushed himself inside her.

His partner moaned out, taking all of him in at once, gripping the edge of the desk as they remained unmoving while the two readjusted.

“I said fuck me, El.” Her voice was already strained enough as it were, but feeling him inside her elicited more of a struggle. She was never demanding too much, but today she felt particularly on edge in the sexual frustration department and wanted nothing more than to get some relief.

Without so much as a warning, the man obeyed her orders and began slowly thrusting his hips several times before picking up the pace. Her body jolted against the desk causing it to shake underneath her with each thrust. She didn’t care, all she cared about was how good he felt.

Her knuckles were white with how monstrous her grip was on the desk, her pussy clenching around his cock as pleasure shuddered through her. Mirage threw his head back, the sensational feeling rupturing through him with each thrust and the way her ass bounced with the jarring movements.

His hand came down one more time, slapping her ass to release the unchecked excitement bubbling around him. She moaned in response, biting her lip intensely and squeezing her eyes shut.

“You’re such a good boy,” she groaned out despite the strangled moans caught in her throat. He cursed under his breath, followed by a moan by her words of praise. She smiled at hearing his staggered breaths, “you make me feel so good, baby… You’re the only one who knows how to get me off this good.”

Her words were like music to his ears, prompting him to deepen his thrusts as the rush began to boil over for the both of them. She always had a way to reach him, her sweet words of praise were always a turn on for him.

“C’mon baby… cum for me.” Her airy tone, accompanied by the way her walls clenched around him was almost too much. As he approached his last few thrusts, one of the doors that was supposed to have been on watch by one of the decoys burst open. Considering how vulgar the blueprint the decoys were based off was, it was genuinely no surprise that they got sidetracked by the literal free porn in front of them.

It was abrupt and no doubt a shock for the unsuspecting enemy duo, but she was quick on the draw, thanking herself before for leaving her wingman on the desk at arm's length. Shooting two shots with perfect precision and nailing the enemies in the head for them to no doubt wake up in the respawn chamber with a lot of questions later on.

When the two finally processed what happened, she strained her neck to look at her partner, “did you just cum?!”

He shrugged, throwing his hands up in defence and pulling himself out of her, “that was fucking hot, babe,” he justified, an aloof grin on his face. She turned herself slowly over, leaning on the desk with her elbows perching her upright.

“Y’know those two dickheads will have questions, right?” She gestured lazily over to the two bodies in the doorway. Mirage took the time to clean his partner off with a rag which she appreciated immensely. He looked over at what was most definitely Octane and Fuse, splayed out on the floor in the doorway.

“Oh let them have their fantasies about us, we are a good looking pair to behold anyway.” He winked at her, poking the end of her nose with an accompanying ‘boop’.

[kickingitwithkirk]

Frau Perchta or Krampus's Gal-Pal is a Bitch

Characters - Dean Winchester x Witch!Reader x Witch!Sam Winchester

Summary - Its Christmas-Winchester style

Word Count - 2735

*This story contains Dark!fic content-do not read if subjects listed in warnings triggers you

Warnings- Cursing, angst, injury on job, flirting, WIIWD, D/s tone, witchcraft. evil entity, stalking, voyeurism, attack with knife, attempted murder, imprisonment

A/N -for @spnfanficpond @mrswhozeewhatsis #SPNFanFicPond Secret Santa

Story gift for @negans-lucille-tblr

Bingo Squares Filled: @j3bingo -dungeon @spnmixedbingo -Christmas @anyfandomgoesbingo - “screw consciousness, that’s what I say”

A/N II- WIIWD (What it is we do) TPE (Total Power Exchange)

I ran down a flight of stairs heading deeper into the Bunker to lure the evil that has invaded into the Dungeon so I could trap in the heavily fortified room.

One week earlier

“This place is creepy,” I commented looking at rows upon rows of wooden crates haphazardly stacked nearly to the rafters in the large, dimly lit, dockside warehouse we were standing in after a hunter named Gerald contacted us about picking up a case he had to bail on, “it’s like that government storage facility in Raiders. How the hell are we supposed to find whatever it is in all this?”

Dean came up behind me and gripped my waist, sucked on the bruise one of them left on the back of my neck making me hiss, “that’s what we brought Sammy for.”

Sam flattened his lips shooting his irritable little brother face at Dean getting handsy with me on the job flipped through the log-in book again, “the crate is stored in Row Y, #256.”

Two hours of searching later..

“Don’t worry he said, it’s gonna be a cakewalk..” I mumbled to myself trying to find a foothold while climbing up another stack of crates searching the stamped info for the so far elusive one.

“What was that sweetheart?”

Shit, “nothing..my foot slipped.”

“Uh huh, do you remember what I said your punishment for lying would be the next time you did it?” Dean asked me in the tone.

“Yes Sir.”

“That didn’t sound very remorseful. I know he put that panel gage and flogger in his duffel.”

Hearing Sam’s voice I looked down and saw him standing at the base of the stack dusting off his shirt glances around making sure Deans not within sight since we’ve kept the fact I’m a natural witch a secret before gesturing to his eyes, “you see it?”

“No, it must be stored somewhere else, “ I replied, starting to climb back down. I barely set my foot on a crate I’d used coming up when a hellacious cracking noise drowns out whatever being shouted at me.

At the sensations my burgeoning consciousness is allowing I move to touch my head when he grabs my arm, speaking low, “don’t move, you might have injured your spine.”

“Jesus fuck Sam!” I wanted to spit out with venom but came out a bit slurred instead. Sam’s face wars between pissed and overly concerned boyfriend as his eyes change colors giving me a quick go over, “I can feel my everything,” then we heard..

“Is she waking up!”

He quickly shifts his eyes back to normal as Dean appears on my left side clutches my hand, “fuck babygirl don’t scare us like that again! ”

I slowly sat up with their help, rotating my sore shoulder and groaned, “well that’s one way of getting out of punishment for my lippiness.”

I watched the brothers do their oft annoying silent communication, “what makes you think you’re off the hook?”

Smirking, I pointed over the remnants of shattered wood, “cause my spectacular acrobatics found us the crate.”

The Bunker’s Library

When we got back the guys hauled in the symbol covered trunk that was concealed within the crate, sitting it on the table then hustled me into the shower room and did a very thorough examination of my personage for hidden injuries.

Afterward Dean rubbed the ointment I concocted into my shoulder and decided it’s bad enough to bench me.

We found Sam busy going between his laptop, several books containing symbols and his ever present legal pad, “so get this, according to Gerald’s email, the information he came in possession of wasn’t complete and he has no clue what’s actually in it.”

Dean frowned, “doesn’t look like a curse box, don’t recognize any of these symbols so for all we know we could be opening a Cracker Jack Box.”

“Or Sex Toy Box.”

They both gave me the same look.

“What? They both contain fun surprises.”

“That’s two sweetheart. You’re coming close to a red ass to match your shoulder.” Sam informed me and I demurely lowered my eyes as my cunt clenched at the mental image of him sitting on his bed, clad only in jeans and me face down across his lap as he doled out the punishment with his huge hands.

***

Dean and I had been playing for a while when Sam found out and explaining that we were more WIIWD than BDSM, since neither of us would go completely TPE being hunters, was an interesting conversation and depending on the circumstances, i.e. someone screwed up on a hunt or stepped over the set limits, we switched.

I shocked both of them when I asked Sam if he was interested, knowing Dean could be a possessive bastard and Sam was the only other person he’d allow to partake.

After some negotiations, thanks to Sam’s detail-oriented brain, we took our fledgling steps into a polyfidelitous relationship.

***

“Let’s crack this sucker open,” Dean sets his beer down picks up the large hammer hitting the old lock twice before tossing it on the table and cautiously lifting the lid peers in then makes a face, “WHAT THE FUCK..someone has a sick sense of humor!”

He pulls out the most nasty, vile, hideous, revolting, loathsome, repugnant, abominable, stomach-churning object ever created at the hands of the human race and trust me, having seen what I have, that’s saying something!

I screamed scrambling from my chair so fast it fell over and I’m gone before either brother knew what's happening.

“Y/N please open the door.”

“..”

“Okay, can you tell us what happened back there?”

“..”

“Sam quit trying to reason with her.”

“Dean, for whatever reason that scared her and I don’t want to..”

*fist hitting door*

“Open this damn door right now cause if I have to break it down you’re gonna be edging yourself whenever and wherever for the next two months and not be allowed to cum!”

“Dude, we don’t play that hard ..”

I slowly open the door keeping my gaze downward from embarrassment, not submission, “sorry for freaking out, you guys must think I’m a complete idiot.”

“No we don’t,” reassuring me Dean pulled me into a quick hug and kissed the top of my head then handed me to Sam, who wrapped me in his arms and said, “we all have something that wigs us out.”

“Yeah, your clown thing is..” Dean makes that face.

“Hey!”

“Guys don’t start, can we just figure out what..that was doing in the box so we can get it dealt with?”

Sam walked into the kitchen late the next day with a book in one hand going straight for the coffee pot.

“From what I can decipher so far, the markings are some warning against imbibing in cultural taboos.”

I laughed, ”we’re fucked cause probably what, ninety-nine percent of what we do is considered that.”

“Still not sure what the el..”

“Hey,” I snapped, “what’d I say about calling it by its name?”

“Sorry, still not sure what the thing has to do with cultural taboos let alone imbibing in them.”

“Think about what it was created for.”

Sam looked over at Dean for clarity. He nonchalantly shrugged and went back to making his sandwich.

I shook my head walking towards the door at how someone so smart could also be so dense, “whatever. I’m gonna search in the grimoire since Dean finally removed the thing from the library.”

Sam waited to the count of twenty and asked, “you did relock it in that trunk?”

Dean sat down across from him and took a big bite not answering when I ran back into the kitchen pointing an accusatory finger at him, “you asshole, I know you did it!”

“Did what?” Dean asked around his mouthful and I spit out, “put that thing by the Katana sword!”

“Dude, you said you’d secure it in the trunk.”

He raised his eyebrows and kept chewing.

Sam made a disgusted noise and got up giving me a quick kiss, “I’ll take care of it,” picked up his book and mug headed out.

I turned to Dean to tear him a new one and froze.

He continued eating with this look in his green eyes, normally they exude a warmth he’d never verbally express ‘cause, hello, it’s Dean, but they're scrutinizing me in a calculating manner that I haven’t seen since he had the Mark of Cain.

The scrutiny continues over the next few days.

Dean avoided physically interacting with me. It also wasn’t the last time I would find that thing innocuously sitting around the bunker watching me, coming to the conclusion this was his way of punishing me for getting injured.

What should’ve been the tip-off that something wasn’t right was his surliness with Sam but we were too caught up in research to ponder the warning signs.

**

I walked into the library and Sam, not looking up, started telling me about how he’d decipher a few more symbols. I moved next to him and leaned against the table playfully joking they probably weren’t a warning but a dirty limerick.

Sam looked up from the laptop, “dirty limeri..ooh,” his eyes roved over me, drinking in the amount of skin I’ve got on display in nothing but his unbuttoned flannel.

“Do you contribute anything around here besides your three holes?”

I spun gripping the shirt closed, “what the fuck is your problem? You’ve been acting like a complete douche nozzle!”

“My problem? Ever since we got back the only thing I’ve seen you do is spread your legs distracting my little brother from his responsibilities.”

“Dean, that's enough!” Sam got up glaring and Dean taunted, “of course you’d come to the damsel in distress's rescue Sammy..”

“I don’t need anyone to come to my rescue and you damn well know I more than pull my fair share around here,” I snapped, “and I suggested we enter new parameters into the algorithm Charlie created to speed up deciphering that gobbledygook. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna take all my holes and see if your laundry is done,” walking out I yelled, “and between the three of us I’m not the one who’s a whore Dean.”

Christmas Day

I had run into Lebanon early on a last-minute errand when I got a text from Sam that the translation was complete replying I’d be back asap.

I was putting the stuff up in the kitchen when I spotted a smear of blood that made my instincts kick in. I pulled my gun and cleared the hallway. Entering the map room scanning the crowsnest and stairwell for any threat.

Not finding any progress towards the library where I see Sam slumped over at the table softly calling out, “Sam?”

He doesn’t respond, not even a twitch and my stomach seized in anxiety as I slowly climb the three steps checking the reading nooks move towards him hear drip drip drip over the always humming electrics drawing my attention to the dark crimson pool between his feet.

Placing my gun in my waistband I grip his shoulders and pull him upright. His head lulls backwards, once expressive eyes dulled, staring at nothing, as his life drains from where he’s sliced open in disembowelment.

I slap my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming, not knowing where whatever did this is.

Taking a steading breath, I touch his forehead finding a spark of his essence still there and place my hands over the gaping wound begin intoning the healing spell Rowena used on Amara.

Mahday, eelohtah sahn.

Serloh, eelohtah.

I can feel his skin moving, the wound knitting itself together when he takes a gasping breath regaining consciousness rasps out, “Dean..” suddenly his eyes flash and lunging forward tries to get up but instead ends up taking both of us to the floor.

“Sam, you’ve lost too much blood, you need to stop.” He lays back grimacing but stills, “why would Dean attack you?” His eyes drift towards the destroyed books, shredded notes, smash phone and laptop lying broken on the floor, useless.

I lightly stroked his temple, “can you show me what the translation said so we can figure out how to stop him?” He nods then I place my middle and forefingers against both temples and see disjointed images of his hands moving, writing words when a name surfaces.

Perchta

I pull out my phone googling it, finding numerous sites containing similar info.

“Fandamntastic, so when Dean opened that trunk and touched that thing he got possessed by a pagan goddess who likes to punish sinners by splitting their bellies open.” I plopped down on my butt next to him, “and boy do we fall into that category.”

Sam hooked his pinky finger around mine using the connection started projecting, “okay, we have the binding symbols to contain her so all we’ve gotta do is figure out how to extract her from Dean and re-trap her, which isn’t gonna be simple cause she’s got access to Dean’s memories and knows our tricks.”

“That's just awesome but the first thing we’re gonna do is find somewhere to hide since you’re in no shape to fight and pretty sure our abilities have attracted her attention.”

I decided Castiel's room would be the best place to hide since Dean doesn’t know that he had me add some specialized warding to his personal space. It was slow going and when we got to the curve of the hallway I saw the thing sitting in one of the doorways gave me an idea.

I link our fingers again, “I’ve come up with plan H.”

Sam vehemently objected but it was the only thing left in our arsenal.

After I got Sam settled in his room, I took a moment to reach out to see Dean/her moving through the bowels of the bunker smashing stuff in frustration and the thing randomly popping up trying to find us seized the opportunity to sneak into a storeroom for the items I needed.

***

My hands were shaking uncontrollably as I approached the thing sitting on a shelf, so deceptively innocent looking in its red Christmas outfit and saccharine expression.

“Alright you bitch, you want me, come and get me!”

I snatched that elf off the shelf and ran through the bunker with the pounding of boots closing in on me, down a flight of stairs heading deeper into the Bunker to lure the evil that invaded into the Dungeon so I could trap it in the heavily fortified room.

He/she cautiously entered the room finding me standing in the middle of the devil's trap skyclad, Dean's green eyes having a sanguinary glint matching the long knife they're carrying slowly walking around the circle's outer ring trying to suss out what I’m up to.

“You will not stop me from fulfilling my purpose.”

“You no longer have a purpose, that's why you were locked up. And using a thing that's supposed to bring happiness to spy on people,” pointing to the elf sitting on the shelf, “is wrong on so many levels.”

Dean/she sneers at me and tentatively sets a foot across the trap’s ring. When nothing happens, they get bold and come right at me flipping the knife around to slice when I snapped my fingers cutting off the lights revealing the room, and me, painted in glow-in-the-dark binding and protection symbols from the trunk.

“I did my research; you only have power during the Twelve Days of Christmas and you can’t damage the vessel you’re inhabiting. So, on January 6th at 12:01 a.m. when Dean’s body expels you, I will gank you and your little elf doll too.”

He/she laughed, taunting me that during confinement Dean’s soul will be her plaything.

“I don't think so,” holding up a receptacle incantate, “capare!” then walk out shutting the door on a cursing Dean/her and cast an enchantment on the door to only reopen on the specified date and time.

I scrub myself raw in the shower room and setting Dean's soul on the night table collapse next to Sam on the bed and hear him mumble, “screw consciousness, that’s what I say,” knowing he wants to forget the horrors of the day that seem to be the hallmark of a traditional Winchester Christmas.

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx @lyarr24 @flamencodiva @b3autyfuldisast3r

Sam/Jared @idreamofplaid

Dean/Jensen @thoughts-and-funnies @stoneyggirl @akshi8278 @beabutterfly987

[gaiuswrites]

World's Best

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader

Summary: Not every day is easy. Frankie makes it better.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 2.2k~

Warnings/tags: smut, vague-ish descriptions of depression/mental health, hurt/comfort, fluff

Notes: Do y'all ever get into a funk and then attempt to write yourself out of one? Well, this is the v self-indulgent product of said instance heh. I have tagged a random assortment of potentionally interested people but obvi no pressure? idk? :) Sending so much love and well wishes to you guys. x

Masterlist | Read it on Ao3!

A sea of knotted sheets spans between you—as tangled as your legs—too tired, too leaden to unweave. The fan rotates in the corner, blowing stale air your way every few clicks. You dangle a foot off the bed, skin prickling as the weak breeze sweeps over you and a bead of sweat licks from your knee to slope down your calf. Morning sun leaks through the window— the finch perched on the tree just outside it chirping once, twice, before flitting off.

You’ve been reading the Sunday paper for a solid twenty minutes—which, in all honesty, is an overstatement; you started and quickly abandoned the Sudoku after a measly ten, and you’ve been staring at the same sentence in the local section for the other half, blinklessly hovering over the fine print.

You’re not here today. Not all of you.

There’s this sinking feeling, hollowing you out and unmaking you. It’s as if something unseeable is oozing over you - dripping - something treacle, something thick. You’re far away from yourself—far from the cornflower blue walls and the framed photos hanging on them—the happy faces in the pictures smiling back at you— far from the plants basking in the tines of filtered light by the sill, far from the body lying beside you.

You’re not always this way. Not every day drags like an inky smear, your mind meandering sluggishly in circles, holding you hostage in a prison of your own making; but you can’t say it’s foreign to you either. It’s old, familiar—like that sweater in your closet you’ve had for centuries and rarely wear, but can’t bring yourself to get rid of. You know it well, this slog—you have unwillingly memorized it’s sodden intricacies, and today you feel it. You feel every single one of your days—each grey hour— weighing heavy on your very bones.

heavy heavy

heavier, still.

If you’re not careful, you’ll sink straight through the mattress. You’ll nestle deep into the springs and make a home in the down. You’ll sleep there until you become it. Comfortable. Catatonic.

Frankie sips his coffee. He doesn’t look up from the email he’s skimming. “What’s wrong?”

The baritone of your boyfriend’s voice sucks you back to the present—to the tick of the clock marking the seconds, the whir of the fan. The paper crinkles as you lay it to your chest—big eyes feigning ignorance as you blink up at him, chewing your lip. “Hmm?”

“Baby, I know that face.”

“What face?”

“The one you’ve got on,” he replies, “that’s your ‘I’m-upset-and-I’m-trying-to-hide-it’ face.’”

“I-” you frown, “no it’s not.” Gingerly, you pat a hand around your temple, your cheek, as if you could see your expression through touch.

“Uh huh.” Frankie rolls his digit upon the mousepad, clicking and scrolling down the webpage, and your vision glazes over again—ugly thoughts fogging up the panels of your mind—

“You gonna talk to me about it?”

You blink, swallowing, “nothing to talk about.” You flap the paper, ironing out the pleats, and scan for that pesky paragraph you never managed to finish.

“Mhm,” he replies absentmindedly, bringing the mug to his lips and drinking with an all too obvious slurp.

“Really, I’m fine,” you say weakly. You’re not that convincing—you barely convince yourself.

“Sure, sweetheart. If you say so.”

He’s too casual; he’s letting it all go too easily and God, he’s gotten good at this—at coaxing the truth out of you. He doesn’t even have to try any more. He’s so kind and open and sincere, all he has to do is crack the door ajar—tempt you with an inch of space, with only a sliver of leeway—and immediately you want to plunge through it and chase after him, like a dog and a bone.

He makes you want to share; not because of what he says, but by everything he doesn’t—the welcoming gaps he leaves you with, the gaps you’re urged to fill. This happens every time—it’s pretty damn annoying, actually. You’re so miserably predictable. After three and a half years together, sometimes you think Frankie might know you better than you know yourself.

A scary thought—wonderful, too.

“I’m just-” You run a hand over your face, pressing into the bridge of your nose and you grunt, frustrated. Exhausted. “I’m just tired.”

Frankie settles his coffee cup on the hill of his sternum, closing his laptop quietly. He swivels his head to you, hair mussing into the wall.

“Of anything in particular?” he asks, linen soft.

“No, yes—I don’t know,” you heave—an errant thing fluttering around in your chest as you fold the newspaper, letting it float to the floor with a splat. “It’s just-” you worry the inside of your cheek raw, fumbling with the blur of your emotions. You shake your head. “It’s just a bad brain day.” Your voice is small as you slump into him, letting your body go limp.

“I’m sorry I get like this. I’m okay—I’ll be okay,” you mumble, face burrowed into his arm. He smells summered, like sweat and heat and the promise of long days fading into even longer nights, and you take a heady drag, inhaling his scent.

You hear him sigh, stretching as he sets the mug and computer down on the side table. He shifts back to you, snaking an arm under your body as you coil your own around his center, hugging him close.

“You know, it’s alright if you’re not,” Frankie murmurs into your hair, planting a kiss at the crown of your head. “And you know you don’t have to hide from me when you aren’t.” His thumb finds your arm, the chewed nail bed scratching soothing circles along your skin.

Your gut somersaults, flipping and purring, and all you can do is press your lips to the cottoned shoulder of his tee shirt—the one with the holes in the collar and motor oil stain on the hem; all you can do is tighten your grasp, wringing around his cozy waist.

“And you know that nothing you say is gonna scare me away, right? I’m always going to be here for you.” Frankie gives your forearm a reassuring squeeze.

God, this man.

You nuzzle further into his chest—snuggled and swaddled in the safety of his warmth—and you mumble something incoherent, muffled against his relaxed body. His beard catches on your fly-aways as he dips to hear you better. “What was that honey?”

“I said,” you crane your neck, lifting out of his side, “you really are the ‘world’s best uncle’.”

A ripple of confusion twists over his features before you bat your eyes up to meet his, shooting a glance over to that exact phrase wrapping itself around the ceramic cup beside him.

You got stuck with it at some terrible white elephant exchange last Christmas. It’s fucking tacky and aggressively large—not even you - you, in all your caffeine dependency - can chug that much coffee fast enough in one sitting without it going cold— and neither of you have any nieces or nephews to speak of…

Naturally, it’s become your favorite mug.

Frankie barks out a laugh, his stomach flexing against your grasp. “Oh yeah? Is that all I am?” he smirks, a glint of mischievousness reflecting in his irises as he bores down at you.

You quirk an eyebrow, a coy tug blooming across your lips. “I dunno,” you drawl sweetly, “you going to prove me otherwise?”

His face is split into a grin now, wide and aching and unnecessarily endearing. His hair is a mess, wavy tufts jutting out every which way, and his eyelids are still puffy from what little slumber he was lucky enough to get in your hot, cramped apartment.

You really can’t keep putting it off—you need to buy an AC unit.

His focus dances from your eyes to your mouth, breath hitching as he watches you skip your tongue over the plush mound there. “I just might,” he growls playfully, maneuvering you onto your back with one broad swoop, pinning you to the bed.

/

He makes love to you like a man unburdened - untouched - by time. He fucks into you slowly, unhurriedly—at a pace that’s mind numbingly measured and patient. Frankie devastates you, dragging himself through your walls from head to hilt, letting you feel every ridge, every vein of him; filling you up so impossibly well—his thick cock sauntering in and out, and in and out again. Each roll of his hips makes you gasp, his blunt tip brushing against that deep, uncharted chasm within you that tempts you into oblivion. Your legs are locked around him, crossed at the ankles, and the perspiration at the pits of your knees slicks his sides.

Frankie’s palms dimple the fitted sheet as he brackets your head, burying himself into the crook of your neck. He moans—hot breath ghosting over the prickled skin there, babbling disjointed strings of guttural praise into your ear.

Fuck baby—fuck you feel good

How’d I get so lucky, how’d I-

God, you’re a— fuck

You’ve got the perfect pussy—made for me

Made for me, made for me, made for-

You turn your head and capture his mouth with your own, whimpering into him as he nips at your bottom lip and bites. You scrape your fingers through his scalp, pulling at his locks, and Frankie whines a tortured noise—giving an especially hard thrust that pries a yelp from your throat. He rears his head back, catching your gaze, a concerned line creased into his brow. “Y-You okay?”

“No- nono, yes Frankie. Again, right there,” you beg, lashes fluttering.

He darkens—the timbre of his voice made husky and raw as he drinks in the sights and sounds of you mewling for him, splayed and needy. “You like that?” Frankie drives into you again, sharp and searing as he bottoms out, the smattering of curls at the base of him soaked with your gloss. “You need it hard, baby? You want it rough?”

You whimper, clawing desperately at the nape of his neck. “I just—I just want you, all of you,” you pant as you hold his stare—the gorgeous, chestnut gleam of it—and the wordless expression that crests over his features makes you want to cry. The precious indent in his cheek, the stubble littering his jaw, his sculpted nose and clever lips, the sad rings under his eyes—the grooves he thinks you don’t notice, the grooves he tries to mask by always taking care of you, always putting you first, even when he shouldn’t.

Fuck, he’s so beautiful—he’s so beautiful you could weep.

“You have me,” he rasps breathlessly, bowing to meet you in a messy whirl of tongue and teeth before breaking away—forcing himself up off his hands and back onto his shins. He hooks an elbow under your knee, letting the other frame the outside of his hip. “I’m right here—you have me, you have me-”

Frankie’s hips are frantic now, pulsing in short, strong bursts as he grinds into you. He dips a hand to your center, pad of his thumb working erratic, sloppy flicks over the sensitive nub of your swollen clit. Your feet arch, the muscles there constricting as the tension in you mounts.

“Babe.” You’re whining now, vulnerable and shaking and fuck, you’re going to come apart—any moment now, any unbearable second, you’ll snap. “F-Frankie, baby oh god—”

You clamp a hand over your mouth, eyes screwing shut as you shatter. Like a vase crashing onto kitchen tile, you break into a million jagged fragments. Your cunt seizes, legs spasming against him as he fucks you through your orgasm, and it doesn’t take long for the tight contractions of your heat to yank him right off that same ledge. The both of you—tumbling and fracturing into terrible, perfect shards—to be intermingled and scattered among each other’s glass pieces.

Indiscernible. The same.

When you glue yourself back together again, you will find parts of him there - here, within you - filling your jigsawed cracks like golden ore.

Frankie slips out of you with a squelch and a huffed groan, collapsing to the mattress in a panting heap. His cum dribbles from your apex and you shiver at the feeling of it—at the feeling of him, warm and wet and lingering inside you. He rests his cheek on your breast while you both catch your breath—rising, falling. Waxing, waning. Two pitter-pattering hearts beating in time.

The sheets have been sloughed, lazy and forgotten, to a crumpled pile on the wood floor and the steam once rising from the mug on the nightstand has long since disappeared. It’s too muggy for you two to be this entwined—his leg draped over you, a big arm slung across your belly—but neither of you dare move. Neither of you have the energy, never mind the desire.

The clock whispers in the morning quiet.

A new bird claims the branch the finch left—she sings now, roosting there in the birch.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur sleepily, drawing patterns into the valley of his spine, mapping out his freckles and moles and scars. “Thank you,” you say. Thank you for putting up with me, thank you for understanding me, thank you for listening even when I cannot speak. “I love you so much.”

Gently, silently, Frankie tilts his head, bristled hair peppering your flesh as he mattes your skin with his lips; laving along your breasts, across your clavicle and up the plain of your neck—each kiss a response, each kiss a truth.

You don’t have to apologize

You don’t have to thank me

I love you

I love you

I’m right here

I love you

tags:

@pedros-mustache @roxypeanut @frannyzooey @djarinsbeskar @read-and-rec @keeper0fthestars @krissology @greatcircle79

[aenaxes]

lo-fi

[crosshair & tbb x afab/f!reader] it's been a tough campaign, so you and crosshair decide that the boys in the field can listen in, as a treat.

warnings: unprotected vaginal sex, consensual exhibitionism/voyeurism, polyamory, improper use of comms, crosshair being snide

w/c: 3.9k

a/n: phone sex? broke. comm sex? woke. rip @ u when the rest of the boys get back to the ship :/ (ps: thank u for 130! big mwah)

“Area’s been cleared. No sign of any seppies here,” Hunter’s weary voice wakes you with a start, crackling over your comm as you lift your head off the familiar height of Crosshair’s shoulder. “We’ll set up camp and head back at first light.”

“Better use the ‘fresher when you get back; you’ll stink up the whole ship,” Crosshair drawls back from beside you and evades you with an easy grin as you sleepily jab at his side.

Mean, you mouth at him with a frown, and the sniper simply shrugs back.

“We’ll see you soon. Love you all, y/n over,” you say, leaning over into Crosshair’s comm.

You receive a slightly disoriented chorus of ‘love you, too’s and ‘love you, cyar’ika’s from the brothers in the field, all blended together over frequency static and the sheer exhaustion of four rotations trekking through the marshy Balnab underbrush. Luck on your side, as navigator, you had escaped the dreary fate of noxious swamp gas and heat rashes in the unlikely case that the boys might need a quick exit.

But luckier still, Crosshair had stayed behind with you, citing your very real lack of combat training as grounds to have at least one of the brothers stay behind and stand guard. After all, volunteer corps boot camps could only teach you so much. And donning that trademark grin that made you either want to kiss him senseless or smack him upside the head (depending on your mood), Crosshair had innocently claimed that if he couldn’t see through the gaseous atmosphere, how could he know where to aim, much less shoot?

(You use your karkin’ scope, shitwad, Echo had said with the sickliest smile possible, and even he couldn’t help but join in when you and the boys all erupted into uncontrollable laughter.)

Suffice to say, Crosshair had spent the last two days holed up in the Marauder with you, a couple games of gin rummy, and a few steep new favors owed to his brothers’ grumbling.

For all the cool circulating air and dehumidifier settings in the Marauder’s helm, with the viewport fogged by the greenish atmospheric haze and your only task to wait for either a distress or all-clear signal, the little card games had gotten predictable after the second day. You had been tempted, out of some combination of boredom and fantasy, to prompt a game of strip poker (though Crosshair’s various bits of armour would have given him the indubitable upper hand, even with his horrible poker face).

Tempted, not even tried. You were all too aware of the uneasy stress of the mission outside, that low-lying tension and anticipatory dread staving off any coy desire to take advantage of your time alone with Crosshair.

But now, with the all-clear signal loud and clear through the comms, there’s little holding your inhibitions back when Crosshair reaches up and ruffles your hair after you click off his comm. Regardless of how innocuous his touch may be, heat rushes to your cheeks as you lean into his palm.

“Needy,” Crosshair chuckles, quick to catch on to your preening under his hand.

“I’ve been so patient,” you exhale a grand sigh, your voice carrying the petulant playfulness that never fails to pull Crosshair into the chase. And based on the lopsided grin twisting over his lips, you’ve got him exactly where you want him. “Don’t tell me you aren’t feeling at least a little bit of the same.”

“You’re insatiable,” he snarks. But he’s already rising to his full stature and crowding you back against the nearest surface, his hands firm and insistent over your waist as the backs of your knees meet the cool holotable steel.

“Right,” you retort, lifting your chin and baring your neck to him when he dips his head low to kiss over your pulse. The first touch is always careful—it comes with the territory, sharpshooting, all calculated movements with little space for error—but Crosshair’s intentionality is no less desirous, mouthing over your skin as you feel one hand drag slow and heavy up from your waist to your neck. “I’m the needy one.”

“You’re the enabler,” Crosshair mumbles into your skin, and you can’t help the dreamy sigh that passes your lips when you feel his fingertips knead soft, slow motions over the base of your neck. “I’m just running with the punches.”

“Maker, you suck at talking sexy,” you laugh, brighter still when you feel Crosshair’s soft exhale over your skin as he stifles laughter of his own.

“Then let’s not,” he says and lifts his head to offer you a wry smile. Before you can humor any more dry banter, Crosshair pulls you flush against the hard lines of his chestplate, one hand curled over the base of your head and the other sliding around the small of your back, and swallows any words you had with his tongue.

Second nature, you lift your arms to curl over his shoulders and anchor him close.

Crosshair takes your invitation with ease, pressing his tongue over your lips before he gently shifts you up to seat you on the holotable edge and slots between your thighs. It doesn’t take the firm weight of his hand to have you rocking forward to meet him in a slow grind, and you lift one knee, hooking your calf over the hard edge of his thigh guard and pulling him closer still.

He pulls back, and you respond with a petulant whine, weakly tugging on his hip with your leg. Crosshair laughs, little but a soft huff, but one that has equal parts desire and frustration rising in your chest. Seeming to have caught on, Crosshair only leans forward enough to meet you with a chaste touch of his lips, but, desperate for more, you take the brief window of opportunity to reach up and tug his head to yours.

“Don’t be a fucking tease,” you mumble insistently, punctuating your request with a soft nip over Crosshair’s top lip. You gasp when you feel his gloved fingers grab, twisting your hair tight under his fist and tearing you from his lips.

“Don’t be fucking rude,” he snarks back, his brows raised in playful challenge. “You take what you get,” he snarls, his lips curled up in a sharp grin as he yanks your head to the side and he dips close. You feel his breath fan over your skin, a brief and heady warning before he crowds you close and drags his tongue from the edge of your jaw to the highest crest of your cheek.

Desire, sweet and cloying, curls over your spine as he steps back, leaving you in a dazed sort of stupor as you watch him make quick work of the plastoid secured over him. It takes you a moment to collect yourself, ready to launch a snide remark his way, but whatever you intended to say is far beyond coherent thought, let alone expression. He finally closes that small distance between you, presses the hard lines of muscle and sinew close between your thighs, and your head falls back against the cold tabletop as you sigh.

He’s overwhelming, intoxicating, and you can’t get enough.

It’s different between each of them. There is careful intention with Hunter, playful and boyish glee in Wrecker’s arms, the stern edge of authority when Echo presses you against the wall, Tech’s rosy warmth when he kisses you sweet. But Crosshair offers you the snide challenge, the push and pull of teasing one-upmanship when he shoots you a smug grin, pushes your thighs open, and spits onto your cunt.

“Probably didn’t need to do that,” he says a bit mildly as he brings two calloused fingers up against your cunt and gently parts your swollen sex. You might have mistaken his soft exhale as laughter when you clench down around achingly empty space, but you know better. As he lifts his hand to your lips and pushes your own arousal past your lips, watching you take his fingers deep and suck, you know better. (It’s awe.)

“Fuck off, and fuck me,” you moan around his fingers, gently nipping over his skin.

“Are you really in any position to be making demands?” Crosshair snorts and pushes his fingers down against the flat of your tongue. You bite his fingers a little harder in response, and vindictive justice crows over the haze of lust in your chest when he hisses through a grin.

“Oh, please. You want this more than I do,” you roll your eyes, crinkling your nose as he smears your own spit over your lips before he pulls away.

Catching the slight part in Crosshair’s lips, you ready another snide retort. There’s an art to foreplay with Crosshair’s cynicism. But any coherent thought promptly dies on your tongue when, instead of a snappy comeback, Crosshair kneads one hand tight over your hip, presses the blunt head of his cock up against your cunt, and pushes.

It doesn’t get old—you don’t suspect it ever will—the satisfying burn pooling warm in your gut when Crosshair anchors you to the holotable and stretches you open. For that one, long moment, the clever, biting banter you share has vanished, leaving only slow, hitching breaths and the cresting ache of want to fill its place. You don’t hold the same playful joy of victory over his head when you open your eyes to see him groan, too enraptured by your own pleasure, by the gorgeous picture he presents you, his brows furrowed and eyes fluttered shut, to poke fun at how he bows over the table edge and braces himself over you with a stuttering inhale.

You cry out with him when you finally feel him press as deep as he can, the trembling muscle of his thighs molded up against your skin. Crosshair dips low, close enough that you feel his every heaving inhale brush against your chest, and you only see love, love, love, raw and tender and so, so good when you look through your lashes and catch the warmth in his dark eyes.

That this was it, that you were as good as it would ever get.

“Ready?” he whispers, play hinting at the edges of his voice as he strokes his thumb over your hip.

“Is that even a question?” you giggle.

Silent discretion isn’t necessarily something you strive for, not since the boys heartily accepted your trembling confession that one just wasn’t enough. You’ve long since learned to dismiss any flare of bashful embarrassment that might have you clap your hand over your mouth when Echo pulled you into the nearest room or Wrecker decided that he couldn’t wait for the few quick steps between the armory and the bunk hall. But it’s obscene, the sound that bubbles up from your throat when Crosshair abruptly pulls out of your dripping cunt and shoves himself back in full.

Too high on the euphoria heavy and thick in your throat, you barely register the soft kiss he presses to the corner of your mouth before he rises up and begins fucking into you in earnest. Your eyes flutter open when you feel his rough fingertips dig into the junction of your thigh and hip, trailing low for a brief, uncertain moment before he finds your clit and presses firm over where you part around him. And when you strain your ears above the breathy whines spilling from your lips, when you squeeze down around him with a soft sob, you hear him gasping with you.

This was really as good as you would ever need it to get.

“Wait,” you laugh a bit breathlessly, squirming under his touch. “Wait, let’s call them.”

Crosshair fixes you with something like morbid intrigue, his gentle, firm movements over your clit falling still so he can offer you the unspoken question behind a quirked brow.

“The area’s clear; they’re tired; morale’s low, you know. I think it’d be fun,” you rationalize as a coy smile grows on your lips.

“Is this what you’ve been thinking about this entire campaign?” Crosshair finally asks. Despite the almost disinterested drawl in his voice, you both know it’s a weak cover for the mischievous delight at the prospect of teasing desire in front of his field-weary brothers.

“Maybe,” you breathe, breath hitching as he rolls his thumb over your clit.

“So vulgar,” Crosshair chuckles, rolling his eyes when you blow him a kiss and fall back onto the tabletop.

But he’s already reaching for his discarded commlink and shuffling it back on. He secures the plastoid snug over his forearm, and when he shifts forward to steady himself as the locks snap into place, he shifts up and presses firm against the spot in your cunt that has you arching off the holotable with a low whine.

“Save it for them, yeah?” Crosshair chuckles, and he presses for Tech’s comm.

“Crosshair?” Tech mumbles groggily, apparently having just awoken to Crosshair’s impromptu call.

“So good of you to answer,” Crosshair drawls into his bracer. As much as you’d like to sit back up and swat his audible smirk off of his lips, the snark dies on your tongue when he shifts forward hard, the firm lines of his hips connecting firm against your ass as you sink your teeth into your arm to stifle your sob.

“Is everything alright?” Tech asks through a yawn. And you would laugh at his sleepy obliviousness if you weren’t quite literally seeing stars, blinding iridescent comet trails across your field of vision, when Crosshair slips his free arm under your waist, secures you tight, and pushes his cock impossibly deeper into you. All you can do is bite down over your uniform sleeve and wonder if your high whine reaches the comm feed.

“Fine, really,” Crosshair says with a breezy flippancy that you don’t currently have the mental capacity to find irritating. “Mind telling the others to pick up?”

“Maker, this better be for a good reason,” Echo’s frequency crackles to life, albeit somewhat sourly. Following his voice, you register a hearty yawn from Wrecker’s line, and not a moment later, Hunter’s light quietly blinks on.

“Is y/n on?” Tech asks.

“Mm, she is,” Crosshair punctuates his words with another sharp thrust that has your toes curling in your boots as your legs jerk over his arms. The saccharine tenderness of earlier gives way to the smug tone you have grown to (begrudgingly) adore. “Come on, say hello.”

“H-Hi,” you whimper into your comm, trembling as Crosshair digs his fingers over the soft skin of your thigh and slowly pulls out of your cunt, just until the ridge of his cock catches on your stretched lips. This time, when he thrusts forward there is no measured, careful deliberation—only raw and rapidly unraveling need as he sheathes himself inside you with one smooth motion and crushes up against that soft spot inside you that has you sobbing over your comm.

If they hadn’t heard your soft, muffled noises before, they certainly have, now.

The collective feed goes quiet.

“Holy shit.”

And then all at once, it’s a staticky blend of voices when the realization finally sinks in and exhaustion has all but been forgotten for the night.

You hear Wrecker groan just above Hunter’s gasping, flushed “oh,” and you’re fairly certain you catch Echo and Tech synchronize a low, drawn “fuuuck” as you sigh. But Crosshair gives you little space to register the sudden and raucous desire over the channel when he cants his hips forward and fucks into you deep.

This may have been your idea in the beginning, but whatever control you thought you had has long gone as you scrabble for purchase over the cold holotable top. The teasing game, dangling the possibility of having in front of the boys in the field, is now simply a show out of your hands as you moan into your comm.

“How does she feel?” Wrecker asks, his voice breathy and low.

“So fuckin’ wet,” Crosshair laughs, angling another sharp thrust against the spot that makes you see stars.

You grip tighter to the edge of the holotable with a choked moan. There’s something so indescribably rousing to hearing them speak over you as if you aren’t even there, rutting desperately back against Crosshair’s hips as you sigh and moan into the commlink clutched over your wildly beating heart.

“Our poor little cyar’ika went four whole days without being touched—she’s dripping. Tell them how much you needed this,” Crosshair croons, a mocking sharpness curling at the edges of the gentle tone of his voice. “Tell them how much you need them.”

You tremble under him as his hips meet yours hard enough to knock the air from your lungs, unable to do more than whine as you feel him snake his arm up your chest and curl his fingers around your neck.

“I—I need you!” you manage, your words only soft sighs pulled from what little breath Crosshair affords you through a steady, devastating pace. “Maker, I miss you so much—!”

Eyes squeezed shut, you fight the urge to quell every noise that claws at your throat. As obscene as it makes you sound, your boys are nowhere near as close as Crosshair, able to do little else but close their eyes and dream of you through the modulated channel frequency alone. It’s the least you can do, you think, and you moan as Crosshair shifts his hips up hard.

“He makin’ you feel good, cyar’ika?” Hunter’s voice crackles over the channel. “Pretty baby, you feelin’ good?”

“Mmhm!” you whimper, nodding wildly as if they’re not camped out a few hundred klicks from the ship, as if they’re there, bearing witness as Crosshair pulls you apart with every insistent, heady motion he makes.

“You’re a big girl,” Crosshair sneers, digging his fingers into the soft skin of your waist as he fucks into you sharp enough it punches the breath from your lungs. “Use your words.”

“So—” Your voice wavers over a gasp. “Feels so good!”

“Attagirl,” you hear Echo groan.

You can’t imagine how much of a mess you must look, jaw slack and eyes rolled back into your head, drunk on nothing short of hedonistic joy in its purest form, legs jerking over Crosshair’s arms when he fucks a particularly deep thrust into your cunt. Maybe you’ll try a call over the holo next time.

“Close,” you whimper.

But as soon as the words leave your tongue, you realize your mistake, panic flooding in your throat when Crosshair raises his brows, a wicked grin on his lips, and simply. Stops.

“Are you, now?” Crosshair chuckles, and if you weren’t there, dangling at that precarious precipice, so, so close to the kind of pleasure that wracks through your body so hard you forget your own name, you might have slung some acerbic jumble of words his way. But you are there, twisting your hips for any sort of purchase while Crosshair offers you a knowing smile.

“I’m going to kill you,” you hiss, only to be cut short, your words swallowed by your wailing moan when Crosshair fucks into you, a shallow thrust that pushes you closer, closer to the aching pleasure just out of reach.

“Oh, that wasn’t nice, was it?” Crosshair taunts.

The boys murmur over the channel, all soft laughter while they imagine your flustered desperation, wishing it was them back on the ship, stuck to lookout duty, blessed with the cool air of the helm and your warm cunt fluttering around them.

“What do you say?” Crosshair laughs breathily into his comm, dragging one slow finger over your throbbing clit, firm enough that it sparks want through your chest but too light to do little more than tease. You sob under his touch. “Does our girl deserve to come?”

“Let’s ask her,” Echo rasps, and when you squeeze your eyes shut, your mouth waters at the hazy mental image of the eldest’s lidded gaze, his cock fisted heavy in his hand as he whispers into his comm. “You think you deserve it, cyare?”

“Please,” you gasp. It’s more than a simple response, rather, a plea for something, anything, that little bit of more to push you over the razor thin edge between teasing pleasure and release.

“Gotta answer the question, little one,” Wrecker chokes out past a straining chuckle.

“Maker, you know what I mean—!” you whie, shuddering at the jolt of pleasure that laces up your spine when Crosshair wraps his arm over your thigh and presses deeper than you thought possible.

“Answer it,” Tech breathes.

“Fuck—I deserve it!” you finally sob, and your thighs clench when you hear Hunter groan over the channel. “Maker, I deserve it!”

You’re not sure if it’s your own confession ringing in your ears or the sensation of Crosshair squeezing his hands over your waist that finally tips that delicate balance between your excruciating anticipation and release, stirring wild and devastating from low in your stomach as you arch off the holotable and scream. It crashes over you in an endlessly overwhelming wave, swallowing you whole in nothing but simple, luxuriant pleasure fizzling at your fingertips and blurring your vision with euphoric tears while Crosshair shudders, head hung low as you clench down around him.

“That’s it,” Wrecker croons. Somehow, you’re still able to catch his adoring praise over the frequency, your focus turned to the way Crosshair continues to coax your pleasure, drawing it long and desperate with what thin strands of composure remain.

A final, stuttering thrust, and Crosshair drapes himself over you, burying himself as deep as he can in your fluttering cunt and groaning softly as he fills you with warm, heavy spurts of come. All you can do is whine and pulse around him, losing yourself to the mercy of every passing sensation that sparks delirious pleasure up your spine.

“We’ll be back soon, sweet thing.”

You weakly turn your head to face the blinking comm light beside you, reduced to a blurry spot of red muddled by the lingering tears in your eyes. It’s a miracle you can hear Hunter’s voice over the dull buzz in your ears at all, but even through your exhaustion, his voice strikes want, warm and deep, through your core.

You mumble something unintelligible to your own ears in response, little more than a sign of life as Crosshair steps back and clicks off your comm.

“Quite the show,” Crosshair laughs softly, leaning close to curl his palm at your jaw and thumb at the tears beaded over your lashes. He presses his lips to your temple, and you bask under his touch. “Did such a good job, cyare.”

“When I can’t walk in two days,” you rasp through the dry itch in your throat from your (retrospectively) embarrassing show of being as loud as humanly possible over the comms. “I expect you all to take turns carrying me everywhere.”

Crosshair snorts, tapping the soft skin of your inner thigh to carefully drag his fingertips through the mess of come and slick smeared over your cunt. “Two days? It took them four to get out to the mark.”

And he’s right. The soft, fluvial wetland outside was far from conducive for fast travel, even with a clear mark and sharp navigation. But all things considered, you wouldn’t be surprised if the boys were packing up and leaving camp now, all for the chance to board and throw you onto the nearest bunk a few odd days faster.

“Four credits they’re leaving right now,” you laugh.

“Let’s make it four credits they’ll make it back in two,” Crosshair offers. He dips low and brushes his forehead close against yours, sharing soft laughter as you reach up to stroke over the back of his head.

They make it back in one.

[hotmesshapa]

VIP • Bang Chan

pairing: bang chan x female reader

genre: smut • DJ!chan x stripper!reader

rating: 18+

word count: 4.6k

warnings: strong language, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, slight jealousy, very light orgasm denial and spanking, a bit of fluff

a/n: this is the first fic I’ve written in literal years and I have no idea what I’m doing, so I’m sorry in advance lol. also shoutout to these lovelies for being interested from the start 🖤 @mikoto-ica-fics @missskzbiased @bratforbin​ @jungkooksbroski​ 

There are three strict rules in the club: no touching the strippers, no romantic work relationships, and absolutely no sex in the club. Your manager had everyone sign off on his rules for a reason; you didn’t even want to imagine the chaos that could ensue if everyone was allowed to do whatever they desired in the club.

However, whenever Chan was DJing on the nights you worked, you always considered blowing off those rules. But you knew better. You both enjoyed your jobs at the club and wouldn’t risk getting fired over something as stupid breaking the few rules, despite the obvious sexual tension between the two of you. It’s not your fault that he always came into work wearing tight shirts that clung to his muscles in ways that made you drool. It’s not your fault that he flirted back whenever you playfully hit on him while handing off your playlist for the night. It’s not your fault you noticed the way his eyes hungrily stared you down whenever you were on the main stage, or the way his jaw clenched in jealousy whenever you took a guest to the VIP room.

But rules are meant to be broken, right?

Tonight starts out no different from any other work night: greeting the other girls and bartenders, taking a quick shot of tequila for an extra boost of confidence, and digging through your purse trying to find your flash drive of songs you want played for your routines.

“Got anything new for me, babygirl?”

You snap your head up at the sound of the handsome DJ’s voice. “Hello to you too, Chan,” you reply, rolling your eyes. He shamelessly checks you out and gives you a cocky grin that you can’t decide if it makes you want smack him or pounce on him “You know if Minho hears you speak to me like that, you’re in a world of shit.”

“Then it’s a good thing he’s not here tonight. But even if he was, he wouldn’t dare fire me. I’m the best DJ this club has.”

“Well then, fuck my drag,” Changbin pipes up from behind the booth, shooting a glare at Chan. “If you’re so great, set up your own table then.”

“Don’t listen to him, Binnie,” you giggle as you go back to searching for your flash drive, “He just likes to think he has all the power around here.”

Changbin scoffs as he continues to set up his mixers. “Only when you’re around. The other girls would kill to have him flirt with them.”

You feel your cheeks flush at the comment, but try your best to ignore the feeling as you turn back to Chan and hand him your music. “I have some new songs for tonight. Feel free to play whichever ones you want to watch me dance to.”

“Jesus,” Changbin rolls his eyes, “get a room, you two.”

You shoot Chan a quick wink, earning a smirk from him, and turn around to head to the dressing rooms, well aware his eyes are glued to you as you leave.

You close the door behind you and set your purse down on the vanity, checking your phone and cursing at the time. You hadn’t realized that your mini flirting session took up more time than expected, and start frantically getting ready, changing into your black satin two-piece that left very little to the imagination and applying a generous amount of body highlighter to every exposed part of you.

As you stare at yourself in the mirror, you can’t help but think about what Changbin had said. You and Chan flirt all the time, and normally it doesn’t affect you, but something about Changbin’s comment has your head spinning. Something about discovering Chan only flirts with you just makes you want to break the rules even more, but you don’t want to risk your jobs just because you desperately want him to dick him down. You wouldn’t do that to him. You sigh and slip into your stilettos, checking your appearance one last time before stepping out onto the main floor for your night to begin.

The night had been running smoothly as usual: three pole routines with the songs Chan chose from your collection (all by The Weeknd, of course), and a few rotations around the club flirting with guests, giving a couple of lapdances. You have a generous amount of bills tucked into your thong and bra, and you pull them out to count, trying to smooth them out and make them look somewhat presentable. You make your way to the DJ booth, where you find Chan leaning against the wall beside the booth, scrolling through his phone and sipping on a beer, while Changbin is behind the table, engrossed with the set he was playing.

“Here,” you say, handing Chan his tip. “You made some really good choices tonight. I had a feeling you’d choose The Weeknd.”

“What can I say,” he smirks, “You can’t just give me the option to play his hottest songs and not expect me to do anything about it. Especially when I get to watch you dance to them.” 

He suddenly leans in, closing any space there was between you two. “By the way, your routine to ‘Life of the Party’? So. Fucking. Hot,” he purrs, looking straight into the eyes.

“Chan,” your voice falters for a second, your eyes unintentionally dropping to his lips, before bringing them back up to meet his stare. You clear your throat in efforts to recover, desperately trying to ignore the heat rising in your core. “You’re gonna get us in trouble.”

“Come on, Y/N, would that be so bad?”

“God, I can’t leave you two alone for one set, can I?” Changbin slides himself between you and the other DJ, throwing an arm over your shoulder and playfully wiggling his eyebrows at you both.

You elbow him in the ribs, earning a dramatic cry from him in return, and you can’t help but giggle. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Three shots? Maybe four? I don’t remember.” He hums in appreciation as you hand him a wad of cash. “I can’t believe I’m gonna pay this month’s rent with your ass money,” he laughs, trying to shake off as much body glitter from the bills you handed him before sliding them into his wallet.

You roll your eyes. “I can give you tit money, if you pref-“

“There’s my baby!”

The three of you spin around at the familiar voice, coming face to face with a young man, his dark hair grazing his eyes as he shamelessly checks you out.

“Jisung! I was wondering when you’d show up!” Changbin greets the man with a typical bro handshake, before swinging an arm around his neck. “Here for the usual?”

“Of course,” Jisung smiles at you, “It’s not a Friday night without a visit with Y/N.”

Jisung was one of your regulars; he came in every Monday and Friday to book private lapdances with you, and only you. The first night he booked you, he almost immediately admitted how enamored he was with you, and ever since then, he refused to book with any of the other girls. And to be fair, you might have allowed him to break one of the rules, letting him grab your ass, hips and breasts as you danced, especially since that always earned a better tip from him. But now, while he still did request lapdances every now and then, he mainly booked you just to talk, and fortunately for you, he still tipped generously. He was an assistant to a big-time music producer, a job that came with a handful of stressors that he just needed to rant to someone about, and you were always willing to be there to listen.

While the relationship you and Jisung formed over the past year is strictly platonic, that hadn’t stopped Chan from developing a slight sense of jealousy. And to make matters more complicated, Jisung was well aware of that tension and loved to push the DJ’s buttons, much to your chagrin.

Jisung shifts his focus to Chan, giving him a cocky smirk that you know will be followed by a snarky comment. “I’ve been dying to see this pretty lil’ lady all day. You don’t mind if I steal her away, do you?”

“Of course not,” scoffs Chan, rolling his eyes. “You don’t need my permission. She doesn’t belong to me.”

“Awww. And I know that must be difficult for yo-”

“But she doesn’t belong to you either.”

Jisung says nothing for a moment, before cocking his head at the DJ with a smirk and stepping towards him. “Oh? Is that so? I don’t see anyone else going to the VIP room with her the nights I’m here.”

“Guys-” you feebly try to take control of the situation, but your words fall on deaf ears.

“Y/N is a human being, not a fucking dog, Jisung. Nobody ‘owns’ her.” Chan crosses his arms against his chest, looking the younger man dead in the eye. “If anything, considering you’ve been coming here and paying her the big bucks, for what, a year now? I’d say she’s the one that owns you.”

Jisung smirk immediately disappears and you swear you can feel the air between the two men flood with tension. But within an instant, he smiles again, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Now, now, there’s no need to get your panties in a twist. But don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her and have some fun for the both of us. If you want, I can tell you all about it later.”

You quickly glance at Chan, his fingernails digging into the skin of his biceps, his jaw clenching so hard he looks like he could bust a vein in his neck.

“That’s enough,” Changbin interjects, massaging his temples in frustration. “Come on, Chan, you’re in the booth next. And Jisung? Just remember the club rules-”

“I know, I know,” Jisung rolls his eyes and turns back to you. “Shall we, baby?”

You nod, silently praying that Changbin will calm everything down once you leave, and the two of you head to the VIP room. Jisung opens the door follows you inside, jumping in surprise when you slam it shut and shoot him a glare, and he only laughs in response. “What? If you can tease him, why can’t I?”

You sit on the maroon leather couch in the VIP room, counting your tips and mentally making sure you had enough to pay your upcoming bills for the month. Jisung had left about twenty minutes ago, and the lack of muffled music from the main floor indicates that it’s finally 3am and the club is closed for the night. You release a long sigh, slouching in your seat and resting your head back on the couch. You close your eyes, your mind still reeling from everything that happened. Everything about tonight shocked you. Usually, Chan was good at hiding his jealousy, since the last thing both of you want was to scare away potential guests, or for Minho to notice. But Chan talking back? His reaction to Jisung’s last jab before leaving for the VIP room? Those were new.

You have never seen Chan that jealous, and if you’re being completely honest with yourself, it was fucking hot. Thoughts of Chan not only standing up for you, but also being possessive of you, and what he could do to you out of jealousy filled your head, and you feel a sudden tingle shoot down to your core. Everything in you knows that you shouldn’t fuck Chan. There are rules, but you can’t stop your mind from imagining all the possible sinful acts you could do with him that you would do anything for at this point. You know that would be a bad idea, but the delicious wetness pooling between your thighs shoves any inhibitions you previously had out the door.

Fuck the rules.

You walk out onto the empty main floor, letting out a breath of relief to find Chan packing up his mixers - alone. You tap on the booth to get his attention, giggling when he jumps in surprise.

“You’re still here? I’d thought you’d be gone by now.”

“I was just counting tips,” you reply as you glance around the club, making sure you two were truly alone. “Chan… about earlier-”

“Yeah... sorry about that.” He lets out a long sigh and runs his fingers through his dark, messy hair, the tips of his ears turning pink in embarrassment. “I don’t know what came over me. I just... you know I get a bit jealous sometimes, and that prick was being extra annoying about it tonight.”

“Not gonna lie though, your clapback was pretty great. And hilarious,” you nudge his arm with your elbow.

He laughs. “Yeah, well I’m glad you thought it was, because Changbin sure as hell lectured me about it for a solid 15 minutes.”

A comfortable silence falls between you both as Chan goes back to packing up the table. You chew on your bottom lip, trying to figure out the best way to ease any tension that might be lingering, and to bring up what you truly want from him. “Chan... Jisung and I just talk when we’re in the VIP room. Nothing happens-”

He shakes his head, keeping his focus on his current task. “You don’t need to tell me, Y/N. It’s honestly none of my business what you do with the guests. Like I said earlier, you don’t belong to me.”

“But what if I want to?”

His head snaps up to meet your gaze, and you have to bite down on your bottom lip to keep yourself from giggling at the look of utter confusion on his face. You lean in closer, lips inches away from his, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Y/N… w-what are you doing?” Chan shakily asks, his stare flicking between your eyes and your lips.

“Something I’ve been wanting to do for ages.” With that, you close this distance between the both of you, and you practically feel him melt into your touch. His wraps his arms around your waist to pull you closer to him, kissing you with such an intensity that ignites a fire in your core. He backs you up against the wall of the DJ booth, pressing his hips against yours and gently rolling them into you, making you moan against his lips.

Chan hesitantly breaks away from the kiss, breathing heavily as he searches your eyes for any sign of uncertainty or regret. “Y/N. The rules. I don’t want you to get fired-”

“I honestly don’t give a flying fuck about the rules at this point,” you purr, placing kisses along his jaw and neck. “Do you?”

He breaks into the biggest grin you have ever seen, and it makes you smile in return. “Fuck no.” His lips come crashing onto yours, deepening the kiss to the point where it’s a mess of teeth and tongues, indicating how desperately  both of you have been wanting to do this.

His head snaps up to meet your gaze, and you have to bite down on your bottom lip to keep yourself from giggling at the look of utter confusion on his face. You lean in closer, lips inches away from his, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Y/N… w-what are you doing?” Chan shakily asks, his eyes flicking between your own and your lips.

“Something I’ve been wanting to do for ages.” With that, you close this distance between the both of you, and you practically feel him melt into your touch. His wraps his arms around your waist to pull you closer to him, kissing you back with such an intensity that further ignites the fire in your core. He backs you up against the wall of the DJ booth, pressing his hips against yours and gently rolling them into you, making you softly moan against his lips.

Chan hesitantly breaks away from the kiss, breathing heavily as he searches your eyes for any sign of uncertainty or regret. “Y/N. The rules. I don’t want you to get fired-”

“I honestly don’t give a flying fuck about the rules at this point,” you purr, planting kisses along his jaw and neck. “Do you?”

He breaks into the biggest grin you have ever seen as he brings a hand up to gently cup your cheek, and you can’t help but smile in return. “Fuck no.” His lips come crashing down onto yours, nipping and sucking at your bottom lip, asking for entrance which you instantly give him. You can feel his hard on growing beneath his jeans as he rolls his hips against you once more, making the knot in your stomach tighten.

“Hey, so I’m done-”

Changbin’s voice abruptly interrupts your heated rendezvous, making you frantically scramble out of Chan’s arms and dive underneath the table, while Chan quickly pretends to continue breaking down the DJ booth.

“You guys are literally the least discreet people I know. It blows my mind that you haven’t been caught yet.” You can’t see him, you just know Changbin is shooting Chan one of his signature death glares, intended for the both of you. You poke your head out from behind the booth, which only gets you dramatic eye roll from the other DJ. “Just don’t make a mess and don’t forget to lock up,” he grumbles as he turns to leave. “Oh, by the way bro, you got shit on your face.”

You glance up at Chan, giggling at your lipstick smeared along his lips, jaw, and neck, the bright red color prominent against his pale skin. He narrows his eyes at you, and you innocently mouth the word “whoops”, grinning as he rolls his eyes.

As soon as you hear the doors close, Chan pulls you to your feet, lifting you up and pinning you to the table. He attacks your neck and collarbones with rough kisses, but thankfully not rough enough to leave any marks that’ll need to be covered up for your next shift. Desperate for more, you wrap your legs around his waist and grind your hips up against his, smirking against his lips as he groans into your mouth.

Chan begins to plant wet kisses down your stomach as his hands frantically move from your hips to his belt. He begins to undo the buckle before you grab his hands to stop him, which only gets out a small whimper in confusion from the man. “Not here,” you lean up to pull him closer and playfully nip his bottom lip, before grabbing the hair at the nape of his neck and pulling it so he’s looking you straight in the eyes. “The VIP room.”

Chan’s eyes darken with lust as he harshly kisses you again, deepening the kiss to the point where it’s a mess of teeth and tongues, but it makes the heat between your legs grow by the second. You let out a yelp in surprise as he lifts you into his arms without warning, making his way to the infamous room where he’s watched you lead guests into night after night.

The second he steps into the VIP room, it’s as if both of your desires are kicked into overdrive, the desperation for what you’ve been waiting for all this time becoming almost unbearable. You take his bottom lip between your teeth again and tug on it lightly, relishing the way his grip on your ass tightens exponentially. Chan kicks the door closed, not breaking the kiss for one second as he sits down on the leather couch, positioning you so that you’re straddling his lap. You can feel his prominent bulge underneath the rough material of his jeans as he ruts up against your clothed heat, and you whimper as you grind against him, desperately wanting more and trying to indicate how much you want him need him now. You feel his hands firmly hold you in place, halting your motions and making you whine in frustration, which only earns you a low chuckle in response.

“Use your words, Y/N. Tell me what you want.”

You roughy kiss him and swivel your hips against him, smirking when he releases a throaty groan against your lips. You take a hold of the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him away from you so you can look him in his lust-filled eyes. “I want you, Chan. All of you.”

Chan smirks, giving you a quick kiss before lifting you off his lap, pulling down his jeans and flinging them off to god knows where. You hastily rip off your two piece and toss it haphazardly across the room, giggling when Chan pulls you back into his lap the second you’re bare in front of him. His gaze is locked on your form, taking you all in before looking back into your eyes. He stares at you as if you are a goddess, and you feel your cheeks flush from the attention.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he mutters, his hands sliding up and down your sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He brings one hand to your jaw, pulling you into a searing kiss, his other hand taking hold his rigid member and sliding it through your sopping folds, making you shameless moan aloud. “Ride me babygirl,” Chan mumbles as he begins to kiss and nip at your collarbone, “take what you want from me.”

With that, you slowly lower yourself onto his cock, keening at the way he deliciously stretches you out, finally giving you the taste of what you’ve been wanting for so long. Chan throws his head back, screwing his eyes shut, a sinful groan falling from lips as you sit on him completely. Giving yourself a moment to adjust to his size, you wrap your arms around neck and pull him back so he’s meeting your gaze. You take his hands and intertwine them with yours, pinning them behind his head as you begin to ride him, slowly lifting yourself off him before quickly dropping back down. A string of illicit moans and curses falls from Chan’s lips, his hands firmly gripping yours, desperately trying to keep himself from breaking your grasp and taking control. He trails wet kisses down your chest, licking your nipples before taking them into his mouth and rolling them between his teeth, making you whimper and lean into his touch. You pick up for pace, admiring the way his face contorts into different expressions of pleasure as he throws his head back and looks up at you with glassy eyes.

“S-shit babygirl...”

His bout of self control doesn’t last much longer, because the next thing you know, Chan rips his hands from your grip, placing them on your hips as he begins to thrust up into you, meeting your movements halfway, hitting you in just the right spot. He moves a hand from your hips to rub firm circles against your clit, making you cry out in pleasure.

“F-fuck... Chan- oh my god...”

You try your best to continue to ride him, but you feel your thighs getting weaker and weaker with every thrust. You feel the pressure in your core building to the point of complete euphoria, when he lifts you off of him completely. You whine in frustration, feeling your high fade, hating how empty you feel without him buried inside you.

“Don’t worry baby,” Chan chuckles at your protests, suddenly flipping you around and positioning you on all fours on the couch. He places a tender kiss on your shoulder blade, before moving up to nibble your earlobe. “You’ll get to cum soon enough.”

He aligns himself with your entrance and eases into you, the new position allowing him to fill you deeper than before, making you both release illicit moans at the feeling. Chan slowly retracts his rock hard member from you, only to instantly plunge back into you, taking no time to pick up the pace, slamming into you at a rate that’s making you see stars. The momentum of his actions force you forward on the couch, making you cling desperately to the armrest in attempt to stable yourself, praying your shaky legs won’t completely give out underneath him. Suddenly, a sharp slap comes down on your ass, making you cry out and clench around him.

“Fuck... you like that, baby?” He massages where his hand had landed, only to spank your ass once more.

“G-god, yes Chan... p-please... harder.”

You feel another slap, come down on your other cheek, this time much harder, and you can’t help but moan loudly at the feeling, the delicious sting causing your grip around his cock to tighten exponentially. You hear him let out a low groan as his hips begin to slap against yours at a brutal speed, and you feel the knot in your stomach begin to unravel again.

“C-Chan, I’m... I’m close...”

“I know, babygirl, I can feel you.” Chan leans over you and plants rough kisses against your neck. “Go on, Y/N, cum for me.”

With his permission, you come undone around him, your release white hot, hitting you like a train and making your mind go completely blank as he continues to roll his hips into you, helping you ride out your high. Your legs feel useless under you, but thankfully Chan’s firm grip on your hips keeps you from collapsing from exhaustion. His thrusts start to become more and more erratic, desperately chasing his own high, groaning at the feeling of your tight pussy still throbbing around him. You can tell he’s close, and clench around him hard, smirking as you hear a string of curses fall from his lips, his hips rutting and quivering against you as he paints your walls white, and you hum in content at the warm feeling.

Chan slowly pulls out of you and falls back on the couch, gently pulling you so you’re laying on top of him. You leans up and playfully nip at his bottom lip, making him chuckle.

“That was...”

“Amazing,” you giggle, burying your face into his chest.

A comfortable silence falls between you two, and you eyes flutter close as you bask in heat the radiates from his body. He absentmindedly run his fingers lightly up and down your back, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head.

“Did you mean what you said earlier?” He quietly asks, as if he’s hesitant to bring it up again. “Do you want want to belong to me?”

You look up at him, and you swear you can feel your heart expand at the way he’s staring back at you with so much hope and adoration. “I do... god I really do, Chan, but you know we can’t. We barely manage to flirt without getting caught, so this has to be one-time thing-“

“I got offered a job at a different club,” Chan quickly blurts out. “It has better hours, more creative freedom since I wouldn’t be DJing for strippers... If I took it, would it change things?”

“You’d do that? But you love this job.”

“I do, but not gonna lie, I mainly love it because I get to see you.” His comment makes you blush, and you bury your face in his chest again if efforts to keep him from noticing, which only gets you a soft laugh as he gently tips your chin up to face him again.

“Honestly, if it means I can do what we just did with you whenever we wanted, without having to worry about stupid rules or anything, then fuck yeah I’d take another job. The only downside is I won’t be able to watch you dance when I work.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you, laughing when you just roll your eyes at him.

You sit up, positioning yourself so that you’re straddling him once more. “That just means you’ll have to come back here as a guest.”

“Hmmm...” he mumbles as his eyes travel up and down your body, his hands reaching around and lightly squeezing your ass. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to follow the club rules though.”

“Don’t worry about those,” you purr, leaning down and nibbling on his ear, earning a quiet moan from him. “If you become my regular, all the rules are off the table.”

“I like the sound of that.” Chan gently cups your jaw and pulls you into a tender, but passionate kiss.

You smile against him, running your fingers through his hair, before pulling away slightly, your forehead resting against his. “Then I’m yours, Chan.”

“And I’m yours as well,” he whispers, pressing one more kiss to your lips, before wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you off the couch, earning him a yelp from you. He lays you down on the couch, hovering over you with a mischievous smirk plastered on his face. “What do you say, let me show how I can really treat you in the VIP room?”

[mummybear]

Help You Out

Words: 3483

Warnings: Massage, Swearing, Smut, Major Dirty Talk (Really Guys What’s New?), Girl On Top, Topping From Bottom, Oral (Female Receiving), Biting, Slightly Possessive Dean, Multiple Orgasms. Think that’s it.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader, Mentions of Sam Winchester

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean’s back hurts after so many nights in different motels, so when he and Y/N are forced to share a bed she offers him a hand to get rid of the ache, will he agree to her help when he’s been so distant with her lately?

A/N: @spndeanbingo Square filled - Motel Room. And a big thank you as always to my amazing beta @negans-lucille-tblr

Dean grumbles something under his breath, shifting awkwardly in his seat as he drives, mere minutes away from the motel. You couldn’t wait to get inside the room and take a shower, you were still feeling a little grimy from the previous motel, but luckily Sam actually seemed fairly impressed with the ones at this motel, and Sam Winchester was very rarely wrong when it came to showers.

“This bed better not be as bad as the last one, my back still hurts, damn lumps, I miss my-” Before he can finish his grumbling complaints, you cut him off already knowing what he’s going to say, safe to say this was far from the first time you’d heard it even in the past ten minutes.

“You miss your memory foam mattress back at the bunker, yes I know, and yes I also know that it remembers you.” You sigh loudly, before continuing with a lighter tone to your voice. “Look Dean, we’re here now, we can sleep for a bit then hit the road in the morning, okay?” You try and reason, doing your best to keep the annoyance from your voice.

Dean wasn’t much fun to be around when he was cranky and tired, nor when he was hungry for that matter. They were two of Dean’s biggest weaknesses. He kept insisting he was fine, but Sam and you had known better.

The two of you climbed out of the Impala and headed over to the main office, where a grumpy looking old man was thumbing through the paper.

“Good evening, could we get a double room please,” you ask as nicely as possible, the guy looks up and barely grunts, so you try a different tact, “two beds. One room.” You tell him, trying to keep the edge out of your voice.

“Only one double bed, one room.” The man tells you barely above a mutter, “take it or leave it.”

“We can go somewhere else,” Dean mutters quietly, turning to walk away from the counter. You frown in confusion looking back at Dean, with the key already in hand as you shake your head at the elder Winchester’s behaviour.

“We’ll take it.” You tell the man begrudgingly, not missing the slight hint of panic that flashes across Dean’s face when he looks back at you. You watch Dean with confusion as he turns and leaves you behind. You can’t put your finger on what the hell is wrong with him, and the last few days it has only gotten worse, but you follow him out of the office regardless.

-

You both grab your duffle bags from the Impala’s trunk, an uncomfortable silence surrounding the two of you, which was something you weren’t used to when it came to Dean, no matter how grumpy he was the two of you never really seemed to be affected, but the last few days you noticed there had been something that changed between the two of you.

When you stepped inside the room it already looked at least a little better than the last one you’d had to stay in. From what you can see the bathroom is cleaner and the bed looks a lot more comfortable and sanitary, though you were sure not all things would be coming up roses.

“You take the bed, I’ll take the sofa or something,” Dean offers, tossing his bag onto the small sofa, which was most definitely not going to work for a Winchester, not in a million years.

“Don’t be silly, Dean, we can share. We’re both adults. Or you can take the bed and I’ll take the sofa, because you couldn’t fit on that even if someone cut your legs off at the knees,” you half laugh, making your way into the bathroom with your own bag. Dean follows you to the doorway and leans against it. “Dean, it doesn’t make sense for us to stay here if you can’t even sleep. And I guarantee you, there is no way that you’re getting any sleep on that couch,” you reason, as you adjust the temperature of the shower and pull the curtain closed.

Dean scratches at the back of his neck and shifts awkwardly on the spot, “I uh, move a lot in my sleep, especially when I’m tired. Wouldn’t wanna hurt you or somethin’. I can just go sleep in the car.”

“Don’t make me throw you on that bed, we both know I can do it,” you warn him playfully, a little confused when you see a blush on his cheeks. You pull off your flannel and drop it to the floor.

“Now go get your butt in bed, please, we can share. But I draw the limit at you watching me get undressed.” You see him shift on the spot again. “I promise, if you get too aggressive at any point then I can sleep on the couch,” you assure him, finally earning yourself a slight nod.

“O-Okay, if you’re sure,” Dean stutters his half answer before stumbling out of the door and closing it behind him.

“So adorable sometimes,” you laugh to yourself, now fully undressed you climb into the shower, letting the hot water take you away for a little while.

-

By the time you come out from your shower Dean has collapsed on one side of the bed, fast asleep on his stomach, his jeans still clinging to his ankle as he groans something into the pillow his face is squished into.

You can’t help but admire the way he looks, even with his face pressed into the pillow he’s still one of the most handsome men you’d ever met. Those strong legs and the curve of his firm ass in those boxers, or the strong lines of muscle which are more visible in his back from this position, then of course, there’s dimples at the base of his spine that you’d never noticed before. His arms are under the pillow beneath his head, but you can see the defined muscles in them. You’d always had a thing for Dean’s arms, even though you’d tried not to let yourself look for too long, for fear he or Sam would catch you.

You shake yourself from your slight daze and throw your duffle down alongside Dean’s. Carefully tugging his jeans from his ankle and leaving them with the rest of his clothes, before pulling the covers over his body.

You freeze as he shifts in bed, worried that you’ve woken him up, but instead he curls slightly into the covers and onto his side, one arm beneath his pillow as he gets comfortable again. You breathe properly again when he settles, and you climb into your own side, pulling the covers up.

Dean’s body warmth and his light snores eventually lull you into a surprisingly peaceful sleep.

-

You practically jump awake from your peaceful sleep, it takes you a minute to remember where you are, then you hear that noise again, Dean’s angrily grumbling something beside you as he tosses and turns in bed.

“Dean? What’s wrong?” You ask quietly, voice still heavy and thick with sleep as you turn to look in his direction.

“Jus’ my fuckin’ back, sweetheart, sorry, go back to sleep,” Dean growls in sleepy irritation, throwing himself onto his back again.

You sigh and sit up, turning on the bedside lamp, “turn over, lay on your stomach. I can give you a massage. I’ve had to do it before, Dean, when I was on a hunt with a friend of mine who fucked up her shoulder.”

“I’ll be fine. Just go back to sleep. Besides, massages never work on me,” Dean argues, only annoying you that much more.

“Dean, stop arguing, just let me try and help for fuck's sake.”

“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he grunts shifting onto his front.

You feel him stiffen beneath you as you straddle his ass, “just shut up grumpy ass. Listen to me, close your eyes and take a deep breath, relax,” you tell him as quietly as you can, trying to keep your voice soft, your ass hovering above his as you lean forwards and firmly grip his shoulders. He’s so tense and as you move your thumbs over his knotted muscles, you can tell you might be here a little while. Dean lets out a groan as you press and rotate your thumbs at the base of his neck, slowly making your way down his spine, digging into the knotted muscles as you move.

Well fuck, that may have been the sexiest noise that you’d ever heard. You try and ignore the way his groan shoots arousal straight between your legs, but you have to bite your own lip when you watch the way his hands fist at the sheets beneath him.

“How’s that feel?” you ask him, just above a whisper as your thumbs press into the muscles around his shoulder blades. Dean turns his head to the side and moans as you press against a particularly stubborn knot. You have to fight with yourself not to roll your hips against his ass.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’ve really got somethin’- Oh God,” he groans deeply and you swear your heart is pounding when he continues to talk in that same deep voice. “Your hands are like fuckin’ magic, I’m gonna have to listen to you more often.” He moans again as you move lower, sliding down so you're sitting on the backs of his thighs, your thumbs pressing into the bottom of his spine and the top of that firm ass of his.

You hate how shaky your voice is when you reply and how uncomfortable your panties have become. “Yeah, I guess you will. Glad you’re finally seeing sense.”

“You could charge for this, damn,” Dean rasps, as you lift yourself off of his thighs, terrified he’ll be able to feel how damp your panties are against his skin. You gently pull down the top of his boxers, digging your thumbs into the firm muscles feeling him relax under you. Then your hands move down further, gently pressing your thumbs under the curve of his ass and down his strong thighs.

“Holy fuckin’ shit, Y/N,” he all but growls and it takes every ounce of self control you have not to moan his name, practically biting into your tongue.

You take a deep breath and tap Dean’s shoulder gently before you lose your nerve, feeling the lump pressing at the base of your throat.

“You wanna turn over? So that I can do the front,” you explain just above a whisper, feeling him stiffen beneath you.

“That might not be such a good idea, Y/N,” he warns you, his voice taking on a deeper and rougher tone than before.

“Please Dean, thought we agreed you should listen to me more often,” you joke shakily; even you’re not sure if this is a good idea anymore. You think that you might know the reason he doesn’t want to turn over, but the thought alone only makes you want him to do it more.

“Okay, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he rasps, as you sit up a little higher, allowing him to turn onto his back beneath you. As soon as they’re able to, his big green eyes lock on yours, looking a little panicked, and you quickly notice that his face is flushed.

You gasp as you lower yourself into his lap, feeling the impressive bulge that’s currently pressing between your thighs. You do your best to ignore it as you press your thumbs into the front of his shoulders and down his collarbone and over his pecks, before looking into his eyes again. Safe to say that was a big mistake.

His big hands grip your thighs when you involuntarily roll your hips against him, feeling his thickness press against you clit. Your nails sink into his pecs and he moans your name, “feel better, Dean?” you ask barely above a whisper as his hands drag roughly up your thighs and grip your ass tightly, finally pulling a whimper from your parted lips.

“Oh yeah, so much better, sweetheart,” Dean all but growls, nails sinking into your ass as his grip tightens.

You slump forward, letting your hands rest either side of his head as you look into one another’s eyes. “Is this why you’ve been weird around me lately? Because your back hurts? Or does it have more to do with the raging hard on between your legs?” you question him, unable to stop the smirk from curling at your lips when his cheeks blush bright red.

“I uh… I guess the last one,” he tells you quietly, swallowing hard and squeezing your ass harder. You cock your eyebrow in confusion as you look down at him, “look, don’t laugh, but I’ve kinda had this… thing for you lately,” he tells you quietly, a look on his face that tells you he’s worried about what you might say.

“Show me then,” you tell him, biting into your grin.

You squeal in surprise when he practically throws you onto your back and is hovering over you seconds later, a smirk stretching over his plump lips.

“Oh, I’ll show you alright,” Dean all but growls, the nervous side of him has seemingly disappeared as he kisses his way down your neck. You whimper as he sucks a mark into the skin, and drags his teeth over your collarbone, continuing to leave his marks across your body.

Dean settles between your legs and tugs them over his shoulders. You sit up, unable to stop yourself from watching. His eyes remain on yours as his thick tongue moves through your slick, the heat in his gaze makes your stomach roll, and you can’t help but moan his name desperately when his tongue circles around your clit slowly.

Your fingers thread through his hair and your breath catches in your throat when he finally sinks two thick fingers into your wet heat. It’s been ages since you’ve been with a guy, and even longer since you’d been with someone who knew what he was doing - safe to say Dean was a guy who knew what he was doing. With that perfect mouth of his, he's alternating between kitten licks and nibbling and sucking at your sensitive bundle of nerves, and your entire body feels like it’s on fire.

“Dean, get up here, please, I need you inside me,” you whimper as he starts curling his fingers inside you, stroking against that spot which makes your toes curl and your eyes roll back.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, and Dean’s groan vibrates through your pussy, causing a shiver to edge its way up your spine.

He finally relents, easing his fingers from inside you and sucking them between his lips, throwing you a wink as he pulls them free with an audible pop.

“Want my cock that bad, do ya sweetheart?” Dean chuckles, kissing and sucking at your skin as he crawls back over your body.

“Yes I do, you dork. Now get up here and fuck me.”

You giggle when he practically pounces on you, his lips immediately finding yours in a frenzied kiss. Dean shifts between your legs and you hook them over his hips as the tip of his cock nudges at your dripping entrance. Your hands grip at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, as he pulls away from your lips letting you both gasp for much needed breath.

Dean sits up on his knees, spreading them with his big hands and pulling you closer until your legs are pressed against his chest and your ass is resting on his thighs.

“Fuck, look at you sweetheart, so perfect, can’t wait to feel your tight little pussy wrapped around my cock.” Dean groans as he pushes forward slightly, and you feel your pussy stretch around the wide head of his perfectly thick cock.

You cup your tits, feeling your nails biting at your skin as Dean pushes forward a little further, until he’s fully seated inside you. Dean grips the tops of your thighs as he starts to move, slow and calculated, his grip tightens on you when you try to rock against him.

“Fuck, Dean, more please,” you whine loudly, feeling him hitting that spot repeatedly.

“Don’t worry baby girl, you’re gonna fuckin’ come all over my cock real soon,” he rasps, turning his head to nip at your calf as his thrusts speed up, one of his hands splaying over your stomach, and you swear you can feel his cock bulging under your skin. You look up at Dean in awe, feeling that familiar feeling rising fast, your pussy fluttering and your stomach tightening.

“I can feel my cock against my hand sweetheart, so fuckin’ deep inside your sweet little cunt. You gonna come for me? Wanna watch you bounce on that cock, you gonna do that for me, baby?” Dean rasps as his thumb starts to rub at your clit.

“Oh… oh God! Dean! Fuck anything you want… I’m gonna-” You cut yourself off with a silent scream, feeling your entire body go rigid as you gasp for the breath you don’t even know if you need.

You’ve not even had time to come down from your orgasm when Dean rolls you both over, so you’re on top and he’s on his back, a cocky smirk on those perfect lips of his. You slump forward slightly with your hands on his chest, still panting hard.

“So sexy when you come for me,” Dean purrs as you start moving your hips over him, rocking back and forth.

“Love your big cock, Dean, fills me so good,” you whimper, already feeling another orgasm burning just out of sight.

Dean brings his legs up higher on the bed, so his legs are spread slightly behind you. Your nails bite at his skin when you start to rise and fall over him, feeling his thickness fill you and leave you repeatedly, quickly picking up speed. Dean cups one of your breasts and pinches the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. The slap of your skin against his mixes with your moans and whimpers and Dean’s grunts and groans.

“Gonna make me come, sweetheart, so fuckin’ close. Can’t wait to fuck you full baby girl, you’d like that wouldn’t you, huh? Wanna feel my come dripping from this tight little cunt? Wanna remember who made you scream like a little slut while we’re drivin’ home, don’t ya?” Dean all but growls, snapping his hips to meet yours with the end of every question. His fucking mouth and his perfect cock have you close to losing your damn mind.

“Yes Dean, please. I want it, wanna feel your cock for days. Give it to me, Dean. I need it, please, only a little slut for you,” you whimper feeling your arms shake as he pulls you flat against his chest.

His grip is unyielding as he grabs your ass tightly in those big hands of his, “gonna fuckin’ ruin you princess, ain’t nobody gonna fuck you like me.” He grunts possessively as his hips begin to slam up into you at an inhuman rate. You’re sure your heart is about to thud out of your chest, all you can hear is Dean and the blood that’s rushing through your ears.

Your orgasm sneaks up on you out of nowhere, squeezing tight around Dean’s throbbing cock. White light explodes behind your eyelids, but Dean doesn’t stop moving until you’re practically shaking on top of him, feeling his come trickling down between you.

“Fuck.” You gasp against his sweat slick chest, feeling his fingers running through your hair as he shushes you.

You’re surrounded by him in the best way, and you can feel your body beginning to calm down.

“One word for it,” he chuckles breathlessly, before finally opening his eyes and looking at you.“You okay?” he asks, voice still deep and thick with something so sexy you involuntarily shiver again as Dean rolls you both onto your sides.

“Best I’ve ever had,” you tell him honestly, watching the grin that spreads across his lips. “So, are you finally gonna quit acting weird around me?” you ask with a teasing smile.

“Probably not, sweetheart. You drive me crazy, in every way possible. Anyway, can’t be that bad if it got us here,” Dean grins, pressing a chaste kiss your lips.

“Well, I guess you got me there. You ever want another massage you know where to find me.”

“Oh, I will definitely be taking you up on that.” Dean smirks pulling you against him, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Now sleep, we’ve got an early start. I wanna see if we can make my memory foam remember you too.”

If you would like to be tagged in any of my taglists guys just ask! 

All Fic Tags: @chewie-redbird @julzdec @lettersofwrittencollective @stiles-o-dylan24 @mogaruke @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @dylanholyhellobrien @desireepow-1986 @lilulo-12 @22sarah08 @cockslut-padalecki @deanwanddamons @simsadventures  @charmed-asylum @nicole-lynne @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @defenderrosetyler @emilyshurley @foxyjwls007 @mylovelydame21 @sunshineandwings86 @akshi8278 @peaches007 @stylesismyhubs @peachyyybabyy @fantasy-myth1

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[doyumacy]

ʜᴀᴇᴄʜᴀɴ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ (fwb) pt. 2

ɢɪꜰ ɴᴏᴛ ᴍɪɴᴇ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴊᴏʜʜɴʏ, ᴍᴀʀᴋ, ᴊᴇɴᴏ, ꜱɪᴄʜᴇɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇɴ. ꜱᴍᴜᴛ (ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀɪɴɢ, ᴏʀᴀʟ ꜱᴇx ᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰ ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠɪɴɢ. ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx.) ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴏꜰ ɢᴏʀᴇ; ɴᴏꜱᴇ ʙʟᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢ, ꜱᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ, ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ, ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ ᴄᴏʟʟᴀʀʙᴏɴᴇ, ʜᴏꜱᴘɪᴛᴀʟ.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 7,7k

ᴘᴀʀᴛ 1 ʜᴇʀᴇ

Doghyuck doesn't call you the next day as it was expected. You are walking to your next class when you see him talking enthusiastically to a girl; she has her back leaning against the wall and he has one arm at the side of her head. You sigh and keep walking without being noticed by him.

You know Donghyuck and know the playboy he is. You know it might don't mean anything. Donghyuck is a flirty person by nature, and you can’t even begin to list the number of girls who’ve had their hearts broken by him. And yours might get added to that list.

You shake your head and enter the classroom placing your backpack on the floor. Someone sits next to you and you see Johnny. He smirks at you. “Hey, baby girl.”

Johnny is also a natural flirter, but not a player. You smile. “What’s up, Bravo?”

“Ha! Johnny Bravo,” he beams. “That’s a nice one.”

You shrug, smiling. “You know, my birthday is this weekend and you’re of course invited to the party.”

“I’ll be there,” you nod.

Johnny tilts his head in surprise. “Wait, really?”

You laugh. “Why do you look so surprised?”

“Because it normally would take me 5 hours to convince you to go…” he glances at you.

“That’s not t…” you frown. “Okay, maybe it’s true, but this time I really wanna go.”

He raises his hand and places it on your forehead. “Are you sick?”

You giggle and remove his hand. “I’m okay. I just need a distraction.”

“You okay?” He looks at you.

You sigh. “Yeah, don’t worry.”

“You know, if you ever need to talk to someone about anything I’m here,” he smiles at you.

“I know, thank you.”

(...)

"Hey Soo," you call your roommate.

She turns to you, taking her headphones off. "Yes?"

"Can I borrow your white dress?" You ask.

She nods. "Sure, where are you going tho?"

"Johnny's party," you smile. "He invited me and I haven't gone shopping in months."

"Oh, then no. You can't borrow that one," she gets up from the bed walking to her wardrobe.

"Okay..." you frown.

"You better wear this instead," she pulls out a long-sleeved pink latex dress, with a deep neckline ending at the waistband enriched by a hexagonal buckle. Your mouth drops open. "Woah, that's so..."

"I know," she beams.

"Aren't I going to look like a dominatrix?" You laugh.

She giggles. "Of course not. You will look very hot."

"Fuck it," you say, grabbing the dress. "I'm gonna wear it."

“Donghyuck is gonna lose his shit,” Soo laughs

“Huh?” You look at her confused. “What do you mean?”

“I might be dumb but I’m not blind,” she smiles. “You always sneak out and the way you two look at each other pretty much say you two been fucking….”

You choke a whine. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t,” she pats your shoulder.

(...)

"Wow..." You sigh as you compare this amazing mansion to your house in your mind.

"Impressive, yes yes, whatever," Johnny grabs your hand, walking through the people inside the mansion.

"Where are you taking me?"

"You need a drink," Johnny smiles, "Goddamn, you look so hot tonight."

You fiddle with your hair and your necklace, hiding your face so he can't see you're blushing. "T-thanks."

When you enter the kitchen, all eyes are on you, or rather in your cleavage. You recognize a few people that are there and you greet them, smiling.  "My, my, aren't you pretty!" A boy practically sings, flipping his dark hair as he talks.

He's gorgeous. Johnny hands you a drink and you have a sip. "Ignore Yuta, he can't keep his hands to himself."

You giggle. "It's okay, I came because I wanna mingle."

Johnny tilts his head in surprise. "Weren't you dating Donghyuck?"

You almost choke on your drink. "What? W-where did you get that from?"

Johnny scratches the back of his neck. "Taeyong is Donghyuck's neighbor in the dorms and I once saw you, or heard you two doing things."

You blush and cover your face. "Oh, my God."

Johnny laughs at your reaction. "Taeyong didn't see you, don't worry. So, is your boyfriend coming?"

"He's not my boyfriend," you sigh. "We are... fuck buddies. We have been fucking our souls out."

"Nothing wrong with that," he quips.

You laugh. "It is when you catch feelings for him."

"Oh..." Johnny wiggles his eyebrows.

"Yup," you shake your head. "Whatever, I'm done. I can't keep doing it."

“Okay, lets go dance and hopefully I can introduce you to someone,” Johnny grabs your hand again, leaving the kitchen.

After Johnny and you dance a couple of songs, he invites you to play beer pong. You have one ball in one hand and a drink in the other, trying to land the damned thing in one of the red solo cups arranged across from you. You shoot and you miss, which you swear loudly at. Yuta, who is your partner, laughs. "You're the worst  beer pong player I've ever seen."

You groan. "Give me a minute."

After everyone shoots and misses, it's your turn again. You take the ball in your hand again and suddenly your sight gets lost in Donghyuck and the same girl he was flirting with days ago in the hallway. Is she his girlfriend? Was he fucking you and dating her? You wanna throw up.

You drop the ball and leave the dining table trying to find the closest bathroom. Someone grabs your arm, making you turn. It's Johnny. "Hey, you okay?"

"You invited him?" You give him a questioning look, almost angry.

"Who? Donghyuck? No!" He looks at you. "I did invite the girl he is with... she's in my marketing class. I didn't even know they were together."

You growl and yank yourself free. "I need a drink."

Johnny shakes his head in disagreement. "Come with me. I want you to introduce you to someone."

"I don't need more guys, Johnny!" You glance at him.

"He's not a guy, he's a man," he smiles, dragging you to the living room. "Hes our age, but hes everything but a guy."

"You sound whipped for him, you should date him instead," you mock him.

Johnny chuckles. "Not my type."

In a matter of seconds, you're in front of a 'man' with round eyes, small mouth, a lot of cheekbone. Small nose too, with a sort of endearing hint of crook at the bridge. Permanently surprised eyebrows, one half-hidden under black hair, styled back but for a curl coming down on the right side. He's truly beautiful.

"Hey Mark, this is y/n. y/n this is Mark Lee," Johnny smiles. "You both like ice cream and sushi. Mingle, bye!"

And Johnny disappears from the scene. You stare at Mark for a couple of seconds and then laugh. You scratch your forehead and you can tell Mark is trying to keep his eyes up from for cleavage. Nice.

There's an awkward silence until Mark breaks it. "I actually hate sushi. Anything raw."

You sigh in relief. "Me too. I hate it."

You both laugh again. "Anyway," Mark continues, "it's cool to like, actually meet you finally? Johnny talks about you a lot so I feel like I kinda know you already, haha."

"Oh really?" Which means Mark spends significant time around him. You wonder where.

"Yeah! I mean, I don't go to the same uni as you guys but we met when we were on an exchange program in America," he smiles.

"Oh that's great!" You smirk. "So you're the guy who kept him away from me when he was away?"

"I think I am? I apologize," he places a hand on his chest.

"You're forgiven," you sigh and he smiles.

Your favorite song Pour Up by Dean ft. Zico starts to play in the background and you look at him. "I love that song. You wanna go dance with me?"

"You kidding? That's my favorite song too," he grabs your hand walking to where the rest of the people are dancing.

It's not like you wanted to give Mark a lap dance, but the song is too sexy for not to do it (or maybe you did, but that is an advanced level of courage and you are not known for being a bold person). It's not like Donghyuck didn't see you with a stranger, dancing so closely and got jealous of him because that could be him.

Mark rotates his hips, running his hands up his sides and swaying. He glances over you, who are doing the same.

You roll your body provocatively, remembering just how tight the dress looks on your ass. The next move prompts him and you to face each other for a moment as you rise back up, rocking on your heels and swaying. He winks at you jokingly and you smirk.

Donghyuck finds the scene repulsive. He wants to drag you out of the house and beat the shit out of Mark. Who the hell did the guy think he is? Donghyuck gets pulled out his thoughts when his date grabs his arm. "Babe, I want another drink."

Donghyuck gives you a last glance and sighs turning to his date. "Let's go."

When the song's over, Mark and you step out of the crowded 'dance floor' and you lean against the wall. He stands next to you. "Uhm, did you hear he's having a concert next weekend?

You nod. "Yeah, I wanted to go but tickets got sold out."

He bites his lips. "I have an extra ticket, would you like to go with me?"

You look at him. "Really?"

"Yeah, you seem to enjoy his music and you're nice. And of course, I'd like to know you better," he smirks.

You beam. "Okay, I'd love to. Thank you, Mark."

Back in your dorm, you text Mark you've arrived safely and he wishes you a goodnight. You take off the dress and put on your pajamas.

Right when you're about to turn off the lights, you get a text message from Donghyuck.

𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛?

And just like that, minutes later you open the dorm door finding him on the other side of the door, shifting his weight from foot to foot. His eyes then turn into slits as he glares at you.

“Had fun with your date?” He questions and you can see his jaw set: muscles clenching tight.

"I did," you reply.

Donghyuck gets inside your dorm and shuts the door behind him. He attaches his lips to your neck which draws a soft moan from you, he harshly sucking and peppering soft kisses on the expanse of the skin of your neck. His hands running at your sides smoothly and gradually getting closer to the underside of your breasts with each pass, when he finally cups your breasts you arch in his palms further pushing yourself closer to him. "Look at you, you're all needy by me just kissing your neck."

You want to slap him, but he's right. “Why can’t you understand that I am the only one who can make you feel this way?"

You taste the residue of vodka on his lips when he kisses you and walks to your bed without breaking the kiss.

You find yourself lying naked on your bed where you two have laid your back many times but he never stayed over the night. As he slips your pajama pants down your body, your eyes water and pools in your eyes ready to spill over. ‘This is the last time,’ you tell yourself. He discharges his clothes at the other side of the bed. You manage to swipe the tears that gathered in your eyes and look at him.

Placing himself over you, he is a sight to behold and you trace the line of his body with your eyes, caressing the dips on his collarbones and the line that leads down to his cock as his face coils into a smirk smug with the knowledge that he can turn you into a whimpering mess.

His thumb is drawing circles on your clit which make your moan and your pussy clench on nothing. You hate that he is the only one who can make you feel this way, reducing you into a pleading mess as you move your hips to the rhythm that he has set.

He inserts his length into you slowly, while you grip your sheets until your knuckles turn pale. He always feels good. So good.

He knows your body so well; putting the right pressure and hitting the spots that makes you throw your head back repeatedly, moaning. You can feel his quick thrusts and knows that he is near his climax. Donghyuck makes a sound at the back of his throat when he orgasms and you follow him when he falls.

He snuggles into your neck, trying to catch his breath again. You rest beneath him and hug him, placing kisses on his shoulder. "I came inside," he tells you, rolling next to you.

"I'm on the pill," you stare at the roof.

He nods. "I should go."

You laugh. Of course he has to go. He always has to go. "Whatever, lock the door when you leave."

You cover yourself with your sheets, turning on your back. He frowns as he gets dressed. "What's up with you these days?"

"What do you mean?" You turn to face him.

"You're acting... weird," Donghyuck shrugs.

You want to yell at him and tell him that you're over heels for him. That you love him. That you've been in love with him for a year and being cold to you only hurts you more and more.

You shake your head. "Just... go."

He finishes putting his clothes on and grabs his phone. "Is this too much for you? Us fucking?"

Yes. "No."

"Great, because we're supposed to have a great time," he leans closer to you and gives you a kiss. "You know where to find me."

You nod and right after he shuts the door, tears plops down your cheeks. He doesn't love you the way you love him. And he might never do. You hate him, but you even hate yourself more. You don't want to ever see him again.

(...)

“y/n! Mark's here!” You hear Too call you.

You smile, grabbing your jacket as you hurry out the door.

Mark is standing in the doorway and you draw closer, he smiles at you. “Hey.”

“Hey,” You smile back taking in Mark's attire. He is dressed in black ripped skinny jeans, a white shirt and a denim jacket. “You look great.”

“You do too.” Mark offers you a charming grin, head tilted slightly to the side, “You always look great.”

“Oh he’s good.” You hear Soo murmur teasingly, “you two have fun.”

Mark flashes the tickets to the security guy at the entrance of the venue, the music is pumping in your ears and the flashing lights of the stage. A crowd has already found their seats.

You know how to maneuver through a crowd almost completely undetected. You seem completely in your element, the multi-colored lights dancing off your hair, as you two of them maneuver through the people. You finally find your seats and Mark sighs, relieved.

Minutes later, the artist finally gets on stage. You two are moving to the beat, the show is so good.

You catch yourself staring between songs, Mark is truly beautiful.

You're surprised when he glances over and notices you are mouthing the lyrics. He smiles watching you. "That's our song."

"Wanna dance with me again?"

"Definitely," he smirks.

You two dance to "Pour Up" again, grinding to each other. Mark feels good pressed against your back.

After the concert is done, you two stay still waiting for the rest of the people to leave the venue. Someone lets out a roar from somewhere on your left, a second later something collides with your face, hard enough to knock you more into Mark. Mark catches you before you end up face first on the floor. The second you gain your footing back, Mark turns towards the guy that hit you, furious.

“Watch it!” Mark's voice comes out harsh as the other concert attender snorts and waves him off. You feel something hot run down your face from your nose. You reach up your hand in time to catch a few drops of blood. You feel Mark shift his weight before tugging you through the crowd away from the stage, you try to follow your movements, having some difficulty with the daze of being hit.

Mark helps you over to a more secluded part of the venue. After a while Mark sets you down on a bench. You let out a groan as you raise your hand to your face, trying to keep the flow of blood from staining your clothes.

“Wait here.” Mark turns on his shoes and dashes across the venue. You look up to the roof, after some time you hear Mark's hurried footsteps behind you. He kneels next to you in the flow, handing you a handful of paper napkins for your nose.

“Thanks,” You murmur as you take the pile. Your blood easily soaks through the first few layers of paper before you get it under control. You try to pull your head back when you feel Mark's hand on the back of your head directing you forward.

“Lean forward, not back.” Mark directs as you do as told. After a few seconds you feel Mark's hand move down to your back, rubbing gentle circles as the two of you sit in silence. After a few minutes you feel the blood flow slow down.

“So, think my nose is broken?” You ask as you gently wipe the blood from your face.

“Nah, definitely not broken. You’re going to have one heck of a bruise though.” Mark warns. After a few seconds you feel something ice cold touch your cheek. You let out a surprised yelp as you lean away from the touch. You look over to see Mark handing you a cup with ice in it.

“Here, so it doesn’t swell.” You sit back up and take the cup with your free hand and gently press it on your face where you were struck.

“You’re… kinda good at this first-aid thing.”

“I've been playing hockey for years, you learn these type of things.” Mark scoffs. His eyes soften as you move the napkins from your nose, showing the bleeding has almost stopped. “Sorry you took an elbow to the face. I didn’t even see that guy come up to you.”

“Neither did I.” You admit as you pull the bloodied napkins away from your face, using one of the clean ones to clean any extra blood from your hands and face. “So, be honest, how bad does it look?”

“Like I said, you’ll be bruised tomorrow, but, it doesn’t look that bad.” Mark offers with a small smile. “The ice helped, at least your face isn’t swollen.”

“Thanks for the ice.” You offer as you look down at the cup of ice Mark had handed you, you frown a little when you see the logo on the side of the cup. “Did you…run all the way to the other side of the venue?”

“… Yes.”

“Thats-” Mark glances in the direction of the hallway, “At least two hundred meters away.”

“… Yes.”

“You ran.”

“…I don’t see what you’re getting at.”

“You-” You can't help but break into a little laugh, “You, are trying to be modest about running across the arena just to get something for my nose and face.”

“You were bleeding,” Mark points out.

“Yeah, but I could’ve used my shirt or something. You didn’t have to run like…half a mile to get something for me.”

“I run on ice pretty much everyday" Mark scoffs, shaking his head at you. You smile, standing up and reaching out for Mark.

“Come on, let’s go for a walk.”

Mark stares at you for a second before taking your hand. You pull him up and tug him along the arena, finding the exit. "So you say you play hockey?"

He nods, "Yeah. I'm the captain of the team," he smirks.

"No shit," you say.

Mark laughs. "What?"

"Nothing," you shake your head, "its just curious because my best friend is the captain of the hockey team in my uni."

"Cool, what's your friend's name?" He asks.

"Uhm Lee, Lee Donghyuck," you say.

He stops walking and he stares at you. "Dickhyuck is your best friend?"

You burst out laughing at the nickname he has given him. Oh boy, he indeed is a dick. "What did he do to you?"

"Sorry for the nickname, I was just shocked you're friends with him," he scratches the back of his neck. "He is an asshole."

"He is," you nod.

He cocks an eyebrow. "I thought you were friends."

"We are, and we might stop being friends. Long story," you sigh.

He nods. "So, uhm, next week is the playoffs, would you like to come?"

"Uhm yeah, of course. I just need to tell you that I know nothing about hockey." You giggle a bit.

"I'll explain anything you need to know," He beams at you.

(...)

𝙼𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?

𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝.

𝚆𝚑𝚢?

𝙸’𝚖 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎.

𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚠𝚑𝚘?

𝙽𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜.

White hot jealousy surges through Donghyuck as he reads your last text. Why is he jealous? He has no right to feel jealous when he has been clear to himself you're just his friend and his fuck-buddy. He's into Yujin, right?

He throws his phone to the bed and sits in front of his computer. Why is he so upset? Is it because he's horny and you're not around? Or is it because he likes you?

Bullshit.

He shakes his head, removing that thought. He is not in love with you.

Donghyuck stands up and goes to his bed unlocking his phone. He texts Jeno asking if he's busy, who replies back saying no. He needs a beer.

Donghyuck meets Jeno at the regular bar they used to go to. They're sitting next to the bar. Jeno stares at him and Donghyuck rolls his eyes. "What?"

"You're grumpier than usual, what's wrong?" Jeno inquires.

"Nothing," Donghyuck has a sip of his beer.

"Is it... maybe y/n?" Jeno hums.

Jeno is tired of it. It seems everyone around you knows that you two are in love, but apparently the two of you can't open your eyes. Or at least Donghyuck.

"No idea what you're talking about," Donghyuck murmurs.

Jeno sighs. "Why do you keep denying it?"

Donghyuck growls. "I'm not denying shit."

Jeno rolls his eyes and crosses his arms on his chest. "You have to be an idiot to not see the way you two look at each other. And the way you two... you know... shagging, you could say it's love. Real love."

"What are you on, Jeno?" Donghyuck glances at him.

"I'm sober, but thanks for your concern," Jeno smirks. "But you my friend, you are high off your ass on feelings."

"Shut up," Donghyuck groans and finishes his beer. He makes the waiter a signal to bring another one.

"Tell me I'm wrong," Jeno dares him.

Donghyuck stares at the beer bottle, thinking. Is Jeno right? Is he high off his ass on feelings for you?

He thinks of you: Donghyuck loves your hair and adores the way you raise your eyebrows when you're talking about something that excites you. Your lips fascinates him and the ease you have when speaking in front of many people seems incredible to him. His heart starts skipping a beat just of the thought of you: you have too much effect on him.

Shit.

Donghyuck is really in love with you.

(...)

Donghyuck sighs as he pulls off his helmet and wipes at his sweaty brow. The air is cold against his skin and he can see his hot breath. He is tired as the second period ends, he skates across the ice towards the exit. He has 5 minutes before the third period starts.

Donghyuck drinks water before sitting on the bench. The ice hockey arena is full, with both schools attending the game. He sees some people he knows, some of his friends: Jungwoo, Renjun, Yangyang and Jisung. Jeno is in the team with him.

Then his sight freezes on someone that looks like you. Donghyuck stares at her for a couple of seconds to later realize it's you. You're there with Johnny and someone he doesn't know.

He frowns. You hate hockey, what are you doing there?

He follows your face, smiling to someone and he curses when he sees who you're waving your hand off.

Fucking Mark Lee.

Of course he had seen his face before and the day of the party, when you were dancing with him he thought he had seen him before.

That's who you are dating.

Donghyuck feels sad, knowing that you never accepted to go to one of his games and there you are, cheering for someone else.

"I swear that girl looks like y/n," Jeno tells him.

"It's y/n," Donghyuck states, grabbing his helmet.

"Huh?" Jeno gives him a confused look.

"She's dating Mark."

“The Mark Lee we hate?” Jeno shakes his head. “That’s… unexpected.”

“Whatever,” Donghyuck puts on his helmet.

You would lie if you say you haven't been seeing Donghyuck. He's so smooth the ice, he moves as if he had been born on the ice. Then you would cheer for Mark's team even tho, deep down, you want Donghyuck's team to win.

Jeno chases the puck behind the back of the net. Shovels it out to Donghyuck, past the waiting stick Sicheng's stick. Donghyuck takes it up the ice, looking for an open. Ten shakes free of Mark, makes himself available. Donghyuck takes the open, approaching the blue line, passes the puck to Ten, but Mark takes the puck up the right—oh! And Donghyuck goes down hard! He deals out a devastating hit. There's a whistle. Oh, this is not good. He’s not getting up.

The entire bench is on their feet in an instant. Jeno has ripped his helmet off and skates over with as much speed as his bulky pads could muster, shooing away the circle of their concerned team mates.

Donghyuck hasn't moved since he has fallen, his limbs locked in the same position they had been just before the hit.

"Why is he not moving, Johnny?" You ask.

"I don't know," he states.

You leave your seat, almost running towards the ice rink. They don't let you in and you argue you need to make sure he is okay.

Jeno kneels beside Donghyuck, he can see that his dark eyes are unblinking, wide and blank.

“Come on, Hyuck breathe for me,” Jeno says insistently.

"Hyuck!" He hears you scream. "Hyuck!"

Donghyuck draws a few stuttering breaths as he slowly swims towards something resembling consciousness. It becomes readily apparent that he can't move his left arm. "Let her in."

"What?" Jeno frowns.

"y/n," Donghyuck tries to lean forward.

Jeno turns and sees you arguing with the security guard. "She can't get on the ice without skates, she could get hurt."

Donghyuck groans and watches the paramedics bring the backboard out.

“I can walk off,” Donghyuck slurs.

“Hell no, you're no—“

Jeno is interrupted as the crowd erupts all around them. Lifting his head quickly, he spots Mark and Sicheng throwing their gloves off and locking together. Helmets are ripped off, jerseys pulled and punches thrown wildly. Before Donghyuck can shout at his team partner, the cry from the crowd goes up again. Ten and Taeyong (a guy from Mark's team) separate them.

Donghyuck leans over the backboard as they prepare to carry him off the ice. "We're so doomed."

(...)

“A five minute penalty for interference and game misconduct? That’s a fucking disgrace,” Ten grouses.

“The board’s reviewing it. With a hit like that, he should get a harsher punishment,” Jeno adds.

“If he’s not suspended for the rest of the games, someone’s getting my stick shoved up their arse,” Sicheng says.

A murmur of agreement goes around the room.

“I thought the nurse said only three visitors at a time,” Donghyuck rasps, not bothering to try to lift his head. He can't even keep his eyes open. It makes the room spin. Everything seems… too loud. And the pain on his right collarbone is too much.

“Oh, so you are awake. Here we were all worrying about you and you’re faking,” Jeno says teasingly.

Donghyuck can't bring himself to rise to the bait. Keeping himself awake is hard enough work as it is.

“…Hyuck?” You call as you open the door slightly.  

The room is silent for a few moments and the guys look at you. Donghyuck opens his eyes and spots your head between the door. "Leave. Now." He's talking to his team mates.

Jeno, Sicheng and Ten leave the room. You say goodbye to them as they leave the room. You walk standing next to him and realize he's wearing a  triangular sling. "Hey."

"Hey," he greets. "Disappointed to know I didn't die?"

"Shut up," you look at him. "I was so worried."

"You pushed a security guard," he cocks an eyebrow at you.

You giggle. "He wouldn't let me in. I wanted to make sure you were okay,"  you place a hand on his.

"And I appreciate that, you could've gotten hurt," he takes your hand to his lips and places a soft kiss.

You sigh at the scene. "I don't care."

"I do," his eyes dart to you.

"Why don't you get some rest?" You sit next to him.

"I’m having surgery in a bit," he rests his hands interlocked with yours on his chest.

"What? Why?" You ask worried.

"Broken collarbone," he sighs.

"Oh, Hyuck," you lower your head sadly.

"I'll be fine," he squeezes your hand. "And I'll be right back in the ice to beat your boyfriend up."

"Mark's not my boyfriend," you say quickly. "And after today, I don't want to see him ever again."

"It was an accident; these things happen y/n."

"He knows about us, he heard me talking to Johnny about it today before the game," you don't look at him in the eye. "I’m sorry, Hyuck."

"Hey," he frees your hand and cups your face. "This isn't your fault, okay? Don't torture yourself, it's not your fault he couldn't handle it."

You nod. A nurse enters the room telling you they need to prepare him for surgery. You say goodbye to him and kiss his cheek.

"Just lay there, Hyuck," Jeno helps him to lay on his bed. He has been discharged from the hospital that morning and his friends are taking turns to take care of him.

"I'm so fucking high, dude," Hyuck laughs, squeezing his eyes. "What are on these meds? I feel like flying."

"Those are your painkillers, my friend," Jeno shakes his head, "enough of them for you today."

There's a knock on the door and Jeno walks to it. He opens it and he sees you with a bag of food. You smile. "Hi, Jeno."

"Hey, come in," he says.

You thank him and follow him. As you reach Donghyuck's room, Jeno stops. "Now, I should warn you, he’s pretty out of it,” he says.

“That’s fine,” You reply . “I think I can handle it."

He nods. "I have practice, I'll be back later, okay?"

"Don't worry, we'll be fine," you say.

You enter the room and you are greeted with the sight of Donghyuck reclining on his bed, looking a million miles away. You walk over to peer down at him.

“Hey Hyuck. How are you feeling?”

Jon tilts his head to look up at you. “y/n? Issat you?”

You smile. “Yeah, it’s me. Those pain meds did a number on you, huh?”

“I’m so happy to see you too,“ he says, smiling at you.

You beam wider, his dark eyes are unfocused but still shining brightly. It is unfair, how gorgeous his eyes are.

"Get some rest, Hyuck," you grab a blanket to tuck him.

He stares at you, looking a bit like a kicked puppy. “No! I wanna cuddle with you!”

"Okay okay," you say and you manage to get him tucked under the blankets. As soon as you're finished, you sit down and he rests his head on your chest.

"This is my favorite place," he states, tracing his fingers on your skin.

"Because my boobs are close to your face?" You mock him.

"Because I can hear your heart beating for me," he smiles.

You choke a sound. What is he saying?

"Cheesy," you mock him again.

"I love you."

You chuckle, nervously. "You're so high."

"I am high but I love you." He stares at you. "I fucking love you, y/n."

You press your lips together. "Let's talk about this when you're not high up on meds."

(...)

It's been two weeks since you have seen Donghyuck. Two weeks since he told you he loves you. You don't know if he is regretful for what he told you or he didn't mean it.

Of course your pride won't let you text him and you learn from Jeno he has gotten his stitches removed and he will be back in practice in 8 weeks since he has some recovery to do.

You're exiting the library when you feel someone grabs your hand. You turn to see who is there and you see Donghyuck smiling. "Hello, baby cheeks."

You cross your arms on your chest. "And finally the devil shows up."

"Devil? I'm hurt," he places a hand on his chest.

You roll your eyes and turn on your heels. He sighs and grabs your arm. "Okay, I deserve that. But hey, I want to talk with you." He says as he stands in front of you.

"About what?" You cock an eyebrow. “Or you wanna fuck me and don't talk to me for days?

He lowers his head. “No. I wanna talk about us.”

"We're not fucking," you state.

"We are not," he nods.

That is a lie. Back in his dorm, you two are kissing, desperately. You walk over towards the bed, still kissing. It's a soft loving kiss that makes your heart melt. His kiss is sweet, probably from something he ate, and slow. He breaks away to look at you, "I love you" he whispers.

"So do I" you say.

He smiles and goes in for another kiss, this time a little more fiery, it's still slow but now he's using his tongue to lick at your bottom lip, eyes fluttered closed.

You tug on his hair ever so slightly, you know he likes that. He moans quietly and you bite his lip. He gets on top of you, and you can start to feel the start of an erection on your leg.

At this point both your tongues are swirling together. He slowly brings his hand up from your waist, to under your breast and cups your breast with his, squeezing it, all while looking him directly in the eye. His erection feels stronger now. You push your knee upward to create some type of friction between him and your thigh and he groans.

Donghyuck plays with your nipple through your bra, right hand still gripping your waist, tight. He pinches and pulls your nipple in a way that causes you to roll your hips forward and moan his name.

He flips you over and now he's beneath you and you're sitting on his lap, feeling his cock in your clothed ass. You start to grind on his hips, the outline of his cock can be felt even through the layers of your clothing. You can feel the heat emanating from it and you can't help but rock your hips against his gently. “Look at me,” he orders.

You look at him, his pupils are dilated and his cheeks up to his neck and shoulders have the prettiest blush on it.

You are gripping the edge of his shirt, looking so utterly innocent. He dives for your next and start nipping, placing light bites and kisses as he abuses that one sensitive spot

“Hyuck please” you feel tickling sensations that feel really good. That gasses Donghyuck up because he loves nothing more than hearing your groans and moans.You feel the slight moisture gathering on your underwear.

“Use your words, baby. ,” he says while he continues sucking and licking on that sensitive part of your neck. His hands start wandering and are now placed on top of your breast, kneading and lightly brushing your erect nipples through your bra.

“Please,” you ground your hips on his growing erection. He answers back by gripping your exposed thighs, putting a stop to the teasing he did on your breast.

“Please what baby?” he teases. Donghyuck is doing little circles with his thumbs as he grips your thighs. You feel him smiling against your neck before he bites hard on the junction of your neck and shoulder.

You moan. “Please fuck me,” you finally answer.

“Why should i?” Donghyuck asks, very visibly teasing, letting his teeth run through your shoulder.

“Please, I'm so wet for you and I missed you so much. Please Hyuck."

Donghyuck has the audacity to chuckle. Remove my shirt then,” he challenges.

Obedient as you are, you hurriedly take off his shirt and start pressing bites and kisses on his exposed chest. You give a soft kiss on his scar where he had surgery weeks ago. He can't help but let out his groans of pleasure. His large hands are back on your chest, massaging your breasts through the fabric, gently running his hands through then and giving them a squeeze, the cycle repeats again. Then, with a little help from you, he unclasped your bra. You take it off. You kiss him again.

“Wait baby,” he starts, eyes scanning the expanse of your chest. “I want to eat you out." He finishes.

You nod at his proposal. You get off from his lap (your arousal slightly darkening a patch on his light jeans) and you lay on your back. Donghyuck goes in front of you and plops on his stomach. You are buzzing with anticipation as he spreads your legs open, hands caressing your thighs and ghosting over that area where you want it the most. Donghyuck lifts his head a little to admire you: breathing heavily, erect nipples and the undeniable arousal drenching your pink lace panties.

Donghyuck's arousal is straining through his sweatpants so he decides to discard it. He is left in his white, skin tight boxers with a faint outline of his dick. Then, he situates himself between your thighs. Instead of removing your panties, he decides to tease you a little through them, gently sliding his middle finger up and down your clothed wetness.

“So fucking wet, baby” he muses.

You bite your finger as he torturously drags his long finger up and down your clothed cunt.

“Ah shit,” you moan. "Fuck me good, Hyuck."

He pulls your underwear aside and starts dragging his finger on your cunt for real. He does small shallow thrusts and proceeds to drag his finger out. Donghyuck is doing this repeatedly almost in a torturous manner.

"Fuck, go faster,"

He doesn't go faster. Instead he situates himself between your legs and puts his tongue on your soaked cunt. You can't help but moan as he licks a stripe up while spreading your lips, maximizing the sensitivity you feel. You are gripping his sheets hard and moaning his name along with strings of “oh fuck, yes please”. He moves his mouth upwards and starts licking your clit, putting harsh but enjoyable pressure. Donghyuck proceeds to put a finger inside you slowly, up to his second knuckle, then another one,  drawing out a moan.

“Look at my fingers baby, so fucking wet.” he lifted his fingers up for you to see.

“I want more, faster, Hyuck, I’m going to cum.”

He smiles at you. “No. you’re not allowed to cum until I fuck you with my dick.”

You groan. You look at him and he is now kneeling, a hand situated on his now somewhat translucent boxers, outline of his dick now visible. He then strokes himself through his boxers as he stares right at you. Donghyuck is biting his lip softly as he takes out his dick and starts playing with the tip.

“You like it when I stroke myself while you watch, baby?” His eyes are hooded and he is already sweaty.

“Yes,” you said. “fuck yes.”

“Put it in your mouth,” Donghyuck motions for you to come closer.

You put his dick in your mouth and start engulfing his dick. His abdomen becomes taut as he groans and starts threading his hand on your hair.

“So good, baby. Always so good,” he rasps.

You continue hollowing your cheek and putting him in your mouth as deep as you can. You bob your head up and down and when you look up, Donghyuck looks absolutely

“Baby,” Donghyuck's voice is husky. “Baby stop, i want to cum inside you."

“Lie on your back,” Donghyuck commands as he strips himself of his boxers.

You waste no time and you lay on your back, waiting for his instructions. He props a pillow under your head and by doing so, you feel his erection on your thigh. He takes one last glance at you: nipples fully erect, cheeks flushed, your body sweaty, and your pussy absolutely drenched. He then starts inserting his dick in your aching pussy.

“fuck fuck fuck fuck,” he chants. “you’re so fucking tight and wet.” Then he pushes himself up to the hilt.

“Full,” you whisper and meet his eyes, “so dman full.”

Donghyuck groans and starts thrusting at an erratic pace. It feels so full and hot that you can’t stop moaning his name over and over again. You can feel his cock slide in and out of your soaked cunt. He clasps his hands just above where your ribs end firmly as he starts fucking you faster, hips snapping up and you can’t help but arch your back.

Donghyuck is definitely enjoying the view and he reaches his hand out to pinch your nipples. You moan. You can definitely feel your impending orgasm.

“Hyuck, fuck, I'm gonna cum,” you look at him and his thrusts go harder. “oh god I’m gonna cum Donghyuck.”

“Cum, baby.” He puts his hand on your clit and starts rubbing with his thumb, hoping to bring you closer to orgasm.

You feel the coil getting tighter and hotter. Then you come, long and hard and your body feels like jelly.

"I'm almost there baby, fuck," he chants as he trusts so deliciously in you and your body can't take much longer. You know he has the full intention of overstimulating you and it feels good. His cock feels so raw in your pussy and you can't help but feel another orgasm.

The feeling of his cock sliding so smoothly inside of you then out then in again while your chests were in such close proximity and he is directly groaning in your ear. Donghyuck seems to be enjoying himself as his groans are becoming huskier and more prolonged as he told you, “Baby you’re so fucking tight, so tight around my cock.” He goes back to kissing you sloppily, your teeth biting his lower lip as he glares at you so menacingly and hot.

“Hyuck, baby I’m g-going to cum again.” you inform him as he lifts himself and wipes with drool on the edge of your mouth.

“Let’s cum together, eh?” he asks and you nod.

Donghyuck pulls out of you and you are about to protest until he speaks “Ass up for me baby,” he says.

Your body sings in anticipation as this is the first time, after a long while, he is going to take you from behind. You stuck your ass out and you feel him slap your cunt then insert his finger in your pussy and slaps your ass this time.

“Such a good girl for me,” he starts. then he suddenly thrust his dick inside your pussy and moans in your ear, “So fucking good.” Donghyuck then starts to grip your breasts from behind, pinching your nipples as his thrusts became more erratic.

“’Gonna cum, shit shit” He groans. The rhythmic slapping of your bodies is so sinful it turns him on.

You moan gripping his sheets, you can swear your knuckles are so white from the grip.

“I'm so close baby, so close.” Donghyuck is massaging your breast.

“Hyuck, please, Hyuck I'm so close.”

Donghyuck's thrusts are getting more erratic and you are positive that you’re going to cum soon. Then, you feel Donghyuck hugging you from behind. The act feels so intimate that you can't help but clench and then both of you are cumming. Donghyuck gives one last thrust then he pulls out. He look at your backside: his cum dripping out from your cunt, then to your thighs and that looks absolutely erotic.

“I'm gonna clean you up, okay baby?" He says, “Just lay there and I’ll take care of you.”

He goes to get towels and you lay on your back. He comes back and passes the small towel over your thighs and then your pussy carefully, knowing you're still sensitive. “Feeling okay?” he asks when he finishes it up, throwing the towel somewhere in the room and laying on the bed next to you.

You hum, smiling lazily at him. “just sleepy.” You reply and he moves to press a small kiss on your lips.

"Then sleep, baby," he surrounds you with his arms, you resting your head on his chest.

You raise your head a bit, looking at him. "Are you sleeping with me?"

He nods. His finger touches the tip of your nose and he smirks. “I never notice you had a mole here.” He says.

"Yeah, you're kind of a dick," you giggle, tracing his abdomen with your fingers.

"I am," he sighs. "I'm sorry. I was too selfish denying my feelings for you and thought behaving like a dick would push you away."

"And I almost did," he kisses the top of your head. "I'm sorry, y/n."

"It's okay," you say. "As long as you don't do it again because this time I'm gonna be the one breaking your other collarbone."

He laughs. "I'm not ever letting you go, baby. I love you."

"I love you."