#if he's not going to give us skin then I WILL !!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jupiterpilgrim · 3 days ago

Text

Personal Touch

word count: 11K

Park Jihyo x male reader

commissioned fic

You’re watching Jihyo from across the gym, her ponytail swinging as she fumbles her way through another set on the leg press. She’s got those tight black leggings on, the kind that hug every curve, and a cropped tank top that’s already clinging to her skin with a thin sheen of sweat. She’s been at it for, what, twenty minutes now? Maybe thirty? And it’s painfully clear she doesn’t have a damn clue what she’s doing. The weights clank awkwardly as she pushes them up, her form all over the place—knees wobbling, back arched in a way that’s gonna leave her sore as hell tomorrow. She lets out a frustrated little huff, loud enough for you to hear over the thumping bass of the gym’s playlist, and it’s almost cute how pissed she looks.

She’s only been coming here for a couple weeks, ever since her dance trainer—some tough professional with years of career in the industry—told her she needed to build stamina if she was gonna nail the choreography for her group’s next comeback. Jihyo’s not a quitter, you can tell that much. She’s got this stubborn streak, this fire in her eyes that flares up every time she stumbles and gets back at it anyway. But stubborn doesn’t mean she knows jack about working out. The first time you saw her, she was trying to figure out the rowing machine like it was some alien spaceship, yanking the handle all wrong and nearly toppling off the seat. She laughed it off then, but now? Now she just looks defeated, slumped against the leg press, staring at the ceiling like it’s personally betrayed her.

You’ve been keeping an eye on her—not in a creepy way, just the usual scan you do as a trainer, clocking who’s new, who’s struggling, who’s about to fuck up their spine. She’s definitely in the last category. You’ve seen her type before: idols, dancers, people who think their bodies can just magically adapt to anything because they’re used to grinding out rehearsals. But gym shit? That’s a whole different beast, and Jihyo’s floundering.

She catches you looking—those big, dark eyes locking onto yours for a split second—and her lips twist into this sheepish little grimace, like she knows she’s a mess and hates that you’ve noticed. Then she’s back at it, pushing the weights again, grunting through clenched teeth. Nope, still wrong. Her knees are caving in now, and you’re half a second from walking over there just to save her from herself when she finally throws her hands up and flops back, muttering something, probably a curse, under her breath. She’s got a mouth on her when she’s mad—you’ve heard her drop a few “fuck this” bombs already during her solo sessions.

That’s when she drags herself off the machine, grabs her water bottle, and stomps over to the front desk. You’re wiping down a bench nearby, close enough to catch the tail end of her conversation with the gym manager, a chill dude who’s always got a protein shake in hand. “I need help,” she says, voice low, like she’s admitting defeat but still pissed about it. “I don’t know what I’m doing, and I’m gonna break something if I keep going like this. You got anyone good?”

He glances over at you, smirking like he’s been waiting for this. “Best we’ve got is right there,” he says, jerking his chin your way. “He’ll sort you out.”

Jihyo turns, and you’re already standing there, towel slung over your shoulder, giving her a casual nod. Up close, she’s even prettier than you thought—flushed cheeks, a little mole on her forehead, lips glossy from whatever balm she’s got on. She smells like vanilla and sweat, and it’s doing something to your pulse that you shove down quick.

Professional, man. Keep it professional.

“You’re the trainer?” she asks, sizing you up. There’s this flicker in her eyes—surprise, maybe something else—but she covers it fast, crossing her arms like she’s daring you to prove you’re worth her time.

“Yeah,” you say before telling her your name. “I’ve seen you around. You’re working hard, but, uh… you’re gonna snap something if you keep going like that.”

She snorts, but there’s a tiny smirk tugging at her mouth. “Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence. I'm having trouble with my dance trainer—she’s been riding my ass about stamina. Said I need to stop gassing out halfway through practice. So here I am.”

“Here you are,” you echo, grinning a little. “Look, I can help. We’ll figure out what you need—strength, endurance, whatever—and I’ll make sure you don’t kill yourself doing it. Sound good?”

She hesitates, chewing her lip, then nods. “Fine. But don’t go easy on me just ‘cause I suck at this. I can handle it.”

You laugh—can’t help it. She’s got guts, you’ll give her that. “Oh, I won’t. You’ll hate me by the end of the week.”

“Good,” she fires back, and there’s this spark between you, sharp and electric, gone as quick as it came. She tosses her water bottle into her bag and slings it over her shoulder. “When do we start?”

“Tomorrow,” you say, already mapping out a plan in your head. “Come ready to sweat.”

She gives you one last look—half challenge, half something you can’t quite read—then heads for the door, her hips swaying just enough to make you wonder if she knows you’re still watching. You shake it off, grab the disinfectant spray, and get back to work. Tomorrow’s gonna be interesting.

—

The gym’s buzzing when Jihyo rolls in the next day, a little after noon. The second she steps through the door, your eyes snag on her. She’s got this energy today—bouncy, almost eager—like she’s actually hyped to be here. Her outfit’s a knockout: sleek gray leggings that cling to her thighs like a second skin, a neon pink sports bra peeking out from under a loose black tank that’s cropped just high enough to flash a sliver of toned stomach when she moves. It’s not like she’s trying to show off, but damn, she doesn’t have to try. The way the fabric stretches over her hips, the subtle flex of her calves as she shifts her weight—it’s distracting as hell. You catch yourself staring a beat too long and snap your focus back to the clipboard in your hand, scribbling some bullshit note about reps to look busy.

“Hey,” she says, striding up to you with this easy grin. “Ready to kick my ass?”

“Born ready,” you shoot back, matching her vibe. “You look like you’re in a good mood. Sleep well or something?”

She shrugs, tossing her gym bag down by the mats. “Guess I’m just tired of sucking at this. Figured I’d at least try to keep up with you today.”

You smirk, setting the clipboard aside. “Big talk. Let’s see if you can back it up. We’re focusing on stamina—low weight, high reps, keep you moving. Think you can handle it?”

“Psh, bring it on,” she says, cracking her knuckles like she’s about to step into a fight. It’s cute, honestly, how she’s hyping herself up.

You start her off easy—bodyweight squats, just to get her warmed up. She’s got decent form here, knees tracking over her toes, but her pace is all over the place, rushing through the first set like she’s racing the clock. “Slow it down,” you call out, circling around her. “Controlled, not sloppy. Feel it in your legs, not your ego.”

She rolls her eyes but adjusts, sinking into the next squat with a little more focus. You nod, satisfied, and move her to lunges. That’s where shit starts going sideways. Her back leg wobbles like a newborn foal, and she’s tilting forward so far she’s damn near kissing the floor. You stifle a laugh—she’s trying, you’ll give her that—but this is a mess.

“Hold up,” you say, stepping in. “You’re gonna faceplant if you keep that up. Here—” You move closer, close enough to catch the faint whiff of her shampoo, something sweet like coconut. “Back straight, chest up. Step forward, not down.”

She freezes mid-lunge, frowning. “What’s the difference?”

“Everything,” you say, and before you can overthink it, you’re right behind her, hands hovering near her hips. “Can I?” She nods, quick and sharp, and you settle your palms lightly on her waist, guiding her into the next step. Her body’s warm under your touch, solid but soft in all the right places, and you’re hyper-aware of how close you are—close enough to feel her shift her weight, to see the tiny goosebumps prickling up her arms. You nudge her forward, keeping her posture steady, and she follows your lead, sinking into a shaky but passable lunge.

“Better,” you murmur, stepping back before it gets weird. “Keep that up.”

She glances over her shoulder at you, smirking. “Bossy.”

“Part of the job,” you fire back, keeping your tone light. Professional. Always professional.

Next up’s the plank, and holy shit, it’s worse. She drops into it like she’s seen it on Instagram but never actually tried it—elbows wobbling, hips jacked up to the ceiling, looking more like a tent than a straight line.

You can’t help it; you snort.

“What?!” she snaps, glaring up at you, her face already pink from effort.

“You’re, uh… architecturally challenged,” you say, crouching down beside her. “Hips down, core tight. You’re not trying to moon me here.”

She mutters something—probably “asshole”—but lowers her hips, trembling as she holds it. Still not great. You sigh and slide a hand under her stomach, just enough to press up gently, showing her where her core should kick in. Her tank rides up a little, and you catch a glimpse of smooth skin, the dip of her waist. And then there’s her chest—fuck, it’s impossible not to notice now, the way her sports bra strains against her, the swell of her breasts right there as she shifts to adjust. You yank your eyes away fast, focusing on her shaky arms instead. Keep it together, man.

“Feel that?” you say, voice steady despite the heat creeping up your neck. “That’s where you brace. Hold it there.”

She grunts, nodding, and you pull back, letting her struggle through it. She lasts maybe ten seconds before collapsing onto the mat, laughing through a groan. “I’m so bad at this.”

“You’re not bad,” you lie, grinning. “Just… unpolished. We’ll get you there.”

The session rolls on like that—you calling out reps, her fumbling but pushing through, and you stepping in closer each time her form goes to shit. By the time you’ve got her on the rower, she’s panting, sweat dripping down her neck, soaking into the collar of her tank. You kneel beside her, one hand on her back, the other adjusting her grip on the handle. “Smooth pulls,” you say, your fingers brushing her spine as you straighten her out. “Don’t hunch—use your legs.”

She’s so close now, her breath hitching slightly as she follows your rhythm. You can feel the heat radiating off her, the flex of muscle under your palm. Her eyes flick to yours for a second—just a flash—and there’s something in them, a spark that’s not about the workout. But you let it go, keep your face neutral, and step back once she’s got it.

“See?” you say, wiping your hands on your shorts. “Not hopeless.”

She laughs, slumping over the rower, chest heaving. “Yeah, well, you’re doing all the work here. I’m just trying not to die.”

You grin, tossing her a towel. “You’re tougher than you look. We’ll keep at it tomorrow.”

She wipes her face, peeking at you over the edge of the towel, and there’s that look again—quick, sharp, gone before you can catch it. “Tomorrow, then,” she says, and heads for the locker room, leaving you wondering if you’re imagining the extra sway in her step.

—

Weeks slip by, and the gym becomes your little world with Jihyo. Same time, same routine—her showing up in those killer outfits, you barking orders, her swearing under her breath but pushing through. You’re hands-on, always right there fixing her stance, guiding her hips, pressing her shoulders back. Each session’s a dance of its own, her body brushing against yours just enough to make your pulse jump, but you keep it locked down.

Professional. You’re good at that.

Thing is, you’re not just spotting her anymore. Between sets, you’re talking—real shit, not just gym banter. She’s sprawled on the mat one day, catching her breath, and you ask, “So, what’s it like being up there? All those lights, screaming fans?” She laughs, this low, throaty sound, and spills about the chaos of it all—late nights, jet lag, the adrenaline high that crashes hard. You fire back with your own stories, nothing glamorous, just dumb stuff like the time you nearly dropped a dumbbell on your foot first day on the job. She snorts, calls you a klutz, and it’s easy like that.

Then it shifts. She starts digging too—casual at first. “You got a girlfriend stashed somewhere?” she asks one day, mid-squat, smirking up at you. You dodge it with a grin, “Nah, too busy fixing your form.” She lets it slide, but the questions keep coming. What’s your type? Ever dated someone famous? You toss it back—ask her about the wildest afterparty she’s been to, if she’s ever hooked up with a backup dancer. She winks, says, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” and you’re both laughing, but there’s this undercurrent now, something simmering.

The flirting creeps in slow. She’ll flex a little longer than necessary when you’re watching, catch your eye and hold it a beat too long. One day she shows up in this deep blue sports bra, all plunging lines and tight seams, and asks, “This look okay? Not too much?” You choke on your water, manage a “Looks fine,” but your throat’s dry as hell because it’s not fine—it’s fucking incredible. She clocks it, smirks, and goes about her workout like she didn’t just set your brain on fire.

It’s a Thursday when she drops the bomb. You’re wrapping up, wiping down the bench, when she leans against it, all casual. “Hey, wanna grab a drink tonight? Nothing big, just… unwind.” Her voice is light, but her eyes are steady, locked on yours. You freeze for a second—Jihyo, the Jihyo, K-pop royalty, asking you out? No way you’re saying no. “Yeah, sure,” you say, playing it cool. “Where?”

“My place,” she says, like it’s no big deal. “Less chance of someone snapping a pic. Eight work for you?” You nod, and she’s gone with a little wave, leaving you standing there, half-dazed.

Eight rolls around, and you’re at her door—some swanky high-rise with a view of the city skyline that’d make anyone jealous. She opens it in this oversized tee and shorts, barefoot, hair loose, looking like a goddess who doesn’t even have to try. “Hey, come in,” she says, and you follow her to this plush couch, a bottle of soju and two glasses already on the table. You’re sipping, talking, and it’s easy again—laughing about her tripping over a cable at practice, you admitting you once flexed too hard in the mirror and pulled something. Then she’s leaning in, her hand brushing your arm, and the air shifts.

Next thing you know, she’s kissing you—soft at first, testing, then deeper, hungrier. You’re kissing her back, hands sliding up her back, pulling her closer. She tastes like soju and something sweeter, and when she straddles your lap, her tee rides up, showing off that perfect waist. “Been wanting this,” she murmurs against your mouth, and you’re gone—brain short-circuiting as you tug the shirt over her head, revealing smooth skin and a black bra that’s barely containing her.

You’re at it for hours—her place, yours, doesn’t matter. She’s a fucking dream in bed, all confidence and heat. The way she moves, fluid and sure, like she’s still got that dancer’s rhythm even when she’s riding you, head thrown back, moaning your name. Her body’s unreal—curves that fit your hands like they were made for you, skin so soft it’s criminal. She’s loud too, doesn’t hold back, gasping and cursing in this raw, desperate way that drives you wild. You’re matching her, gripping her hips, thrusting up hard, both of you chasing that high. It’s messy, sweaty, perfect—her nails digging into your shoulders, your teeth grazing her neck, the couch creaking under you.

After, she’s sprawled across your chest, panting, grinning like she’s won something. “We’re keeping this quiet, yeah?” she says, tracing lazy circles on your skin. You nod, still catching your breath. “Yeah, secret’s safe.”

And it is—for weeks, you’re sneaking around, hooking up whenever you can. Her place after a late-night workout, your apartment when her schedule’s clear. She’s insatiable, pulling you into her orbit again and again. Every time, she’s flawless—arching against you, whispering filthy shit in your ear, unraveling in ways that make you want to worship her. You’re addicted, and she knows it, playing you with those sly smiles and teasing touches. It’s your little world, hidden from everyone, and fuck if it isn’t the best thing you’ve ever had.

—

It’s been weeks since you’ve had Jihyo to yourself—her schedule’s been a nightmare, all rehearsals and promo bullshit, leaving you both stuck with quick texts and the occasional late-night call where her voice is all raspy and tired but still manages to get you hard. You’ve been pent up, restless, scrolling through old pics she’s sent—her in that tiny red dress, or that one mirror selfie with nothing but a towel—and it’s been hell. Today, though, she’s finally here, strutting into the gym like she owns it.

The first thing Jihyo does is head straight to the hallway to store her bag in one of the lockers where the showers are. She’s in this black two-piece set—sports bra tight enough to make you dizzy, leggings that hug her ass so perfectly it’s obscene. Her hair’s up in a messy bun, a few strands sticking to her neck, and she’s got this glint in her eye, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. You’re behind the counter when she walks up, leaning over it just enough to give you a peek down her top. “Miss me?” she says, voice low, lips curling into this wicked little smile.

“More than you know,” you mutter, gripping the edge of the counter to keep your hands off her right there. She laughs, soft and teasing, and you’re already counting the seconds until you can get her alone.

The workout starts normal enough—stretches, some light cardio, you playing it cool while she bounces on the treadmill, every step making her chest jiggle in ways that should be illegal. But she’s not letting it stay normal. She’s brushing past you too close when she grabs her water, her hip grazing your crotch just long enough to make you twitch. Then it’s the squats—she’s facing you, sinking low, holding your gaze like she’s daring you to break. “How’s my form?” she asks, all innocent, but her tongue flicks over her bottom lip, and you know she’s fucking with you.

“Good,” you manage, voice tight. “Real good.” She smirks, turns around, and bends just a little deeper, ass popping out like a neon sign screaming touch me. You’re horny as hell, and she’s matching it—every move she makes is deliberate, dripping with intent.

By the time you’ve got her on the leg press, you’re done playing. She’s pushing the weight up, thighs flexing, grunting these tiny, breathy sounds that shoot straight to your dick. You step in close—closer than you need to—hands on her knees, adjusting her angle. “Keep ‘em steady,” you say, but your fingers linger, sliding up her thighs a fraction, and she doesn’t push you away. Instead, she tilts her head, locks eyes with you, and lets out this slow, “You gonna keep teasing, or do something about it?”

That’s it. The gym’s quiet—late at night, hardly anyone around—and you’re buzzing with this reckless, aching need. “Fuck it,” you say, voice low. “There’s a spot out back—employee storage room. No one’s in there. Wanna sneak off?” Her eyes light up, pupils blown wide, and she’s off the machine in a heartbeat, wiping sweat off her forehead with this sly, “Lead the way.”

You’re quick about it—grabbing her wrist, weaving through the gym like you’re just showing her something routine. Past the lockers, down the hall, your heart’s hammering because this is dumb as hell, but the thrill’s got you stupid. The storage room’s tucked behind a staff-only sign, all dim lights and stacked equipment—mats, spare weights, a busted rowing machine in the corner. You shove the door open, pull her in, and lock it behind you, the click loud in the quiet.

She’s on you before you can even turn around—hands fisting your shirt, yanking you into a kiss that’s all teeth and heat. “Been thinking about this all day,” she breathes against your mouth, already tugging at your waistband. You groan, shoving her back against a stack of mats, her gasp sharp and dirty as you grind against her. Her leggings are peeled down fast—your fingers hook in, dragging them past her knees, and she’s kicking them off, desperate, the sneakers getting in the way, while you shove your shorts down just enough.

She’s soaked—you can feel it when your hand slips between her thighs, rubbing her through her panties before you push them aside. “Fuck, you’re wet,” you mutter, and she just moans, loud and shameless, arching into your touch. Then you turn her around and push her against the mats, leaving Jihyo with her back to you. You line up, push in slow at first, watching her face—eyes fluttering shut, lips parting with this soft, “Oh shit,” that makes your blood roar.

Then it’s on.

You’re fucking Jihyo from behind, her ass bouncing against your hips with every thrust, and she’s loud as hell—moaning like she’s trying to wake up the whole damn building. “Fuck, I missed this cock so much,” she gasps out, voice all shaky and wrecked, her hands braced against the stack of mats like they’re the only thing keeping her upright. You grin, gripping her hips tighter, feeling her clench around you. “Yeah? Well, I missed this pussy—been driving me fucking crazy thinking about it,” you growl back, picking up the pace just to hear her whimper.

Her top’s still clinging to her, soaked with sweat, and you can’t resist anymore. You reach around, yank it up over her chest, and those heavy, perfect tits spill out, jiggling with every slap of your hips. “Shit, missed these too,” you say, half-laughing, reaching down to grab a handful, squeezing just hard enough to make her groan. They’re soft, warm, and you’re losing your damn mind over how good she feels, inside and out.

You’re both going at it hard, the storage room echoing with the wet smack of skin and her breathy little curses, but it’s cramped as fuck against the mats. “Hold up,” you pant, slowing down, “we gotta get more comfortable or I’m gonna bust something.” You pull out—her little whine at the loss almost kills you—and spin around, snagging one of the thick gym mats from the pile. You toss it down with a slap on the concrete floor, kicking some random crap out of the way. Jihyo doesn’t waste a second—she’s on her back in a flash, taking off her panties and the top, legs now spread, looking up at you with those dark, needy eyes, chest still heaving.

You drop down over her, crashing your mouth against hers, kissing her sloppy and deep, tongues tangling like you’re starving for it. Her hands are all over you—nails digging into your shoulders, tugging at your hair—while you grind against her, letting her feel how hard you still are. You break the kiss, smirking, sliding down just enough to get between her thighs again. She’s soaked, glistening, and you’re lining up, ready to sink back in, when something shifts behind you—like a shadow or a vibe you can’t ignore.

Jihyo gasps, loud and sharp, and scrambles to cover her tits with her arms, eyes wide as saucers. You whip your head around, heart jumping into your throat, and there they are—your two buddies, Jihoon and Minho, standing in the doorway like they just walked into a goddamn porno. “What the fuck?!” you yelp, adrenaline spiking, dick still out and everything. You’re half-expecting a fistfight or some shit, but Jihoon’s holding up his hands, all chill, while Minho’s grinning like an idiot.

“Relax, man,” Jihoon says, voice low like he’s trying not to spook you. “We’re not here to fuck you up.”

“How the hell’d you get in here?” you snap, pulling your shorts up just enough to not feel totally exposed. Jihyo’s still curled up, clutching her chest, looking mortified.

Minho jingles a key between his fingers, smirking. “Spare, dude. Perks of being on shift rotation.”

“And, uh,” Jihoon cuts in, scratching the back of his neck, “we saw you two on the security cam. Figured you’d want a heads-up before the boss checks the tapes and you’re toast.”

You blink, brain catching up. “Wait, there’s a fucking camera in here? Since when?”

“Last week,” Minho says, shrugging. “You were off that day. They put it in ‘cause some asshole kept swiping protein bars from the stash. Didn’t think you’d be the first one caught with your pants down.”

Jihyo’s face goes pale, and she sits up, tugging her top back down over her tits. “Oh my God, the footage—if that gets out, my career’s fucking done. Dispatch’ll have my head, the fans’ll riot—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Jihoon interrupts, stepping closer. “Chill, princess. We’ve got access to the system. We’ll wipe it clean, no trace. You’re safe.”

She exhales hard, shoulders slumping, and mutters a shaky, “Thanks, you guys. Seriously.”

You’re still processing, adrenaline fading into this weird mix of relief and horniness that hasn’t fully died down. You glance at them, then at Jihyo sprawled on the mat, and back to them. “Alright, well, since you’re here… might as well let us finish what we started, yeah?”

Minho’s eyebrows shoot up, and Jihoon lets out a low whistle. “Dude, you’re still good to go after that? Balls of steel.”

You shrug, smirking despite the chaos. “Caught red-handed already—what’s the difference now? She’s hot, I’m hard, let’s roll.”

That’s when Jihyo’s eyes flick over to Minho, lingering on the obvious bulge straining against his gym shorts. She tilts her head, lips curling into something mischievous. “Wait a sec—were you two getting off on the show back there?”

Minho freezes, face going red, but Jihoon just laughs, scratching his jaw. “I mean… you’re fuckin’ hot, Jihyo. Hard not to notice.”

She looks at you, that spark back in her eyes, and you’re not sure what’s coming next until she says, “Well, where are your manners, babe? Why don’t you invite your friends to join us?”

You choke on your own spit, head snapping to her. “You’re serious?”

She leans back on her elbows, smirking like she’s got all the power in the room—and fuck, maybe she does. “Yeah, why not? They’re hot. You’re hot. I’m down if they are.”

Your brain’s short-circuiting, but you turn to Jihoon and Minho, who are staring at each other like they just won the lottery and don’t know how to cash the ticket. “Uh… you guys in?”

Jihoon’s grin spreads slow and wide. “Hell yeah, man.”

Minho nods fast, already tugging at his shirt. “Fuck it, let’s do this.”

Jihyo laughs. “Alright, boys, strip down and get over here. We’ve got some catching up to do.”

Jihoon and Minho step up, peeling off their shirts and shorts like they’re racing each other, tossing the sweaty gym gear into a pile by the busted rowing machine. You’re still on the mat, Jihyo sprawled beside you, and you’re all just staring for a second.

“Alright, so… how’s this gonna go down?” you ask, voice rough, trying to wrap your head around the fact this is actually happening. Your dick’s still throbbing, aching to get back inside her, but now there’s two extra players in the game.

Jihyo sits up, grinning like she’s already got it all figured out. “We’re switching it up. You’re on the bottom, babe, lie back. I’m riding you, but I’m gonna stick my ass out for these guys.” She pauses, catching Jihoon’s eye. “Never taken it in the ass before, though, so let’s start slow. Fingers first, yeah?”

Jihoon nods, licking his lips like he’s been handed a winning ticket. “Fuck yeah, I’ve got you. We’ll ease into it.”

You finally get rid of your shorts and Minho’s already shuffling forward, positioning himself in front of Jihyo, his cock bobbing heavy and thick right at her eye level. She doesn’t hesitate—wraps her fingers around it, light but firm, giving it a slow stroke that makes him groan low in his throat. “Damn, Minho,” she purrs, voice all husky and teasing, “this is a nice fucking cock. Thick, too—gonna feel so good in my mouth.”

You’re flat on your back now, the mat cool against your skin, and Jihyo swings a leg over you, straddling your hips. Her pussy’s still slick, dripping from earlier, and she lines herself up, sinking down onto your cock with this slow, deliberate roll of her hips that makes you curse under your breath. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” you mutter, hands clamping onto her thighs as she settles, her weight pressing you deeper inside her.

She leans forward just enough to stick her ass out, cheeks round and perfect, wiggling it a little like she’s daring Jihoon to make his move. He doesn’t fuck around—steps up behind her, hands spreading her ass wide, thumbs digging into the soft flesh. “Goddamn, look at this,” he says, voice low and gravelly, before he spits right on her hole, a thick glob that glistens in the dim light. Jihyo shivers, a little “mmh” slipping out as he rubs it in with his thumb, circling her tight entrance, teasing it open slow.

“Feel good?” Jihoon asks, smirking, and she nods, biting her lip hard.

“Yeah, keep going,” she breathes, already rocking on you a little, her pussy clenching around your dick like a vise.

Up front, Minho’s got his hands in her hair, guiding her down as she parts her lips and takes him in. She starts slow, tongue flicking over the tip, tasting him, before sliding deeper, hollowing her cheeks as she sucks. Minho groans loud, head tipping back. “Holy shit, Jihyo—fuck, that mouth.”

You’re thrusting up into her now, matching her rhythm, the wet slap of your hips against hers filling the room. She’s moaning around Minho’s cock, muffled and sloppy, spit dripping down her chin as she bobs her head. Jihoon’s working her ass with one finger now, pushing past the tight ring slow and careful, and you can feel her tense up, her pussy gripping you even harder. “Relax,” Jihoon murmurs, free hand rubbing her lower back, “I’ve got you, just breathe.”

She does, exhaling shakily through her nose, and you can tell she’s getting into it—her hips start moving faster, grinding down on you while Jihoon adds a second finger, stretching her out. “Fuck, that’s tight,” he grunts, scissoring his fingers a little, and Jihyo pulls off Minho for a second, gasping.

“Shit, Jihoon—feels weird but good,” she pants, before diving back onto Minho, sucking harder like she’s channeling it all into him.

You’re losing your mind under her, the heat of her pussy, the way she’s bouncing on you, tits swaying with every thrust. You slide your hands up, cupping them, thumbs flicking over her nipples—hard and pebbled—and she moans louder around Minho, the sound vibrating through him till he’s gripping her hair tighter, fucking her mouth shallow and quick.

Jihoon’s got a rhythm going now, fingers pumping steady, and Jihyo’s ass is loosening up, taking it like she’s been waiting for this. “Ready for more?” he asks, voice rough, and she pulls off Minho again, nodding fast, spit stringing from her lips to his cock.

“Yeah, keep going—want it,” she says, all breathy and wrecked, before swallowing Minho down again, deeper this time, gagging a little but not stopping.

Finally, he pulls his fingers out, and Jihyo lets out this shaky, needy sound around Minho’s dick that makes your pulse jump. Jihoon spits into his palm, a thick wad, and slicks it over his cock—already hard as steel, veins bulging, tip flushed dark. He spits again, right onto her gaping hole, watching it clench and unclench like it’s begging for him. “Alright, baby,” he says, low and gritty, “time to open you up for real.”

He lines up, pressing the head against her ass, and even with all the prep, it’s a fucking fight—her rim’s so tight it barely budges. Jihyo tenses, pulling off Minho with a wet pop, gasping, “Slow, slow—fuck, go slow.” Jihoon nods, one hand gripping her hip, the other guiding his dick, and he pushes—just the tip at first, breaching her with this agonizing, deliberate pressure. She yelps, sharp and raw, her whole body locking up, and you feel it—her pussy clamps down on you like a vise, making you hiss through your teeth.

“Relax, Ji,” you murmur, sliding your hands up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her tits, trying to ground her. “You’ve got this.”

She nods, quick and jerky, sucking in a breath as Jihoon inches deeper, his cock disappearing bit by bit into her ass. “Holy shit,” he groans, head tipping back, sweat beading on his forehead. “Like a fuckin’ vice grip—Jesus.” He’s going slow like she asked, but you can see the strain in his jaw, the way his fingers dig into her flesh—he’s dying to just ram it home.

Jihyo’s got her eyes squeezed shut, lips parted, panting hard as her body adjusts. You start moving again, shallow thrusts up into her pussy, keeping her full from below while Jihoon works her from behind. Minho’s not waiting around—he taps his cock against her cheek, smearing pre-cum and spit across her skin. “Open up, gorgeous,” he says, and she does, tongue flicking out to taste him before he slides back in, filling her mouth again.

Now she’s stuffed—all three holes, proper fucked like some kind of porn fantasy come to life. You’re pounding up into her pussy, feeling the heat of her walls ripple every time Jihoon shifts in her ass. It’s a tight fit—too tight, almost—like her body’s not sure it can handle this much, but she’s taking it anyway, rocking between you, her moans turning into these desperate, throaty cries that Minho’s dick only half-smothers.

Jihoon’s picking up the pace now, still careful but deeper, his balls brushing your thighs as he sinks halfway into her ass. “Fuck, she’s loosening up,” he grunts, spitting again where they’re joined, making it slicker. You can see it—his cock stretching her rim, the skin pulled taut, pink and shiny with spit and friction. Jihyo’s trembling, her tits bouncing with every thrust, nipples hard and dark, begging to be touched. You grab one, pinching it between your fingers, and she arches, a high whine breaking free around Minho’s shaft.

And he is losing his damn mind up there—his hips twitch, fucking her face in short, sloppy thrusts, his cockhead hitting the back of her throat till she’s gagging, tears prickling her eyes. “Goddamn, this mouth—fuck, Jihyo, you’re killing me,” he rasps, pulling out just long enough to let her cough, spit stringing from her lips to his tip, before he’s back in, chasing that wet heat.

You’re synced up now, you and Jihoon—when he pushes in, you pull back, then switch, keeping her full, keeping her guessing. Her pussy’s dripping, soaking your hips, the mat, everything—slick and hot, squelching loud with every thrust. You can feel Jihoon through the thin wall between you, his cock rubbing against yours inside her, and it’s fucking wild—intense, dirty, like you’re sharing her in ways you never imagined.

Jihyo pulls off Minho again, gasping for air, her face a mess—cheeks flushed, mascara smudged, spit glistening on her chin. “Oh my God—fuck, you guys—it’s so much,” she chokes out, voice hoarse but dripping with lust. She’s shaking, thighs quivering, but she doesn’t tell you to stop—just leans forward, kissing you hard, all teeth and tongue, while Jihoon keeps grinding into her ass.

“Too much?” you ask against her mouth, smirking, thrusting harder to test her.

“No,” she fires back, fierce, nipping your lip. “More—fucking give me more.”

Jihoon laughs, low and dark, smacking her ass lightly—red blooms under his palm, and she yelps, clenching around you both. “Greedy little thing,” he says, then slides deeper, almost all the way in now, his hips flush against her. She screams, muffled quick as Minho shoves his cock back in her mouth, holding her head steady while he fucks her throat.

The room’s a furnace—sweat’s dripping off you, off her, off them, the mat slick under your back. Your hands roam her body—tits, hips, the soft curve of her belly—feeling every shudder, every tense. Her ass is bouncing now, Jihoon’s fully in, his thrusts long and slow, stretching her out while you hammer up into her pussy, fast and rough.

You’re all going at Jihyo like she’s some kind of dirty dream come to life, this K-pop diva turned full-on slut in your hands. She’s moaning like a goddamn porn star, muffled around Minho’s shaft, her tits bouncing wild with every thrust, nipples brushing your chest as she rocks between you. Jihoon’s got her ass in a death grip, slamming in deep, his hips smacking her cheeks so hard the sound bounces off the cinderblock walls. “Fuck, this tight little hole—Park Jihyo, man, who’d have thought?” he pants, voice all gravel and awe, like he’s still processing that he’s balls-deep in a K-pop goddess. His thrusts are steady, relentless, splitting her open while you pound up into her pussy, feeling her walls flutter and squeeze like she’s trying to crush you. Minho’s up front, one hand tangled in her messy bun, the other braced against the stack of mats as he fucks her face, spit bubbling at the corners of her mouth, her eyes watering.

“Bro, this is insane,” Minho grunts, pulling out just enough to let her gasp, her lips swollen and glossy, before sliding back in. “Fucking Jihyo—Twice’s Jihyo—like she’s some cheap whore. I’ve been stanning her since ‘Cheer Up,’ and now she’s gagging on my dick.”

You smirk, hands digging into her hips as you thrust harder, making her whole body jolt. “Yeah, well, I’ve been hitting this for weeks, dude. Secret’s been worth it—her pussy’s fucking unreal.”

Jihoon laughs, a dark, filthy sound, smacking her ass again—red handprints layering over her skin. “You lucky bastard! Keeping this goddess under wraps? I’d have been bragging day one.”

Jihyo pulls off Minho with a wet pop, coughing, voice hoarse but dripping with sass. “Keep talking like I’m not here, assholes—I’m the one taking all your cocks.” She grins, then dives back onto Minho, sucking him down like she’s proving a point. You feel her clench around you, loving the dirty praise, the way you’re all losing your minds over her.

“Let’s switch it up,” you say, voice rough, pulling out of her pussy with a slick, obscene sound that makes her whimper. “New holes, new vibes—let’s keep this shit fresh.”

She nods, eager, wiping spit off her chin as you all shuffle around on the mat. You lie back, pulling her on top of you again, but this time you’re aiming for her ass—Jihoon’s already stretched it good, and you want in. She straddles you reverse, facing Minho, her ass hovering over your cock as you spit on your hand, slicking yourself up. Jihoon steps up front, claiming her pussy, while Minho stands close to her face, ready to stuff her mouth again.

You grip her cheeks, spreading them wide, and guide her down slow—her ass is still tight as fuck, even after Jihoon’s work, and the way it grips you as you sink in has your head spinning. “Holy shit, Ji,” you groan, watching her rim stretch around you, pink and shiny, “this ass is something else.” She hisses at the burn, but keeps going, sinking lower till you’re buried to the hilt, her body shaking against you.

Jihoon’s already sliding into her pussy, his cock pushing through her soaked folds, and she moans loud, head tipping back. “Fuck—two at once again, you guys don’t play,” she gasps, voice cracking as Jihoon starts thrusting, shallow and fast, stretching her cunt while you rock up into her ass, slow and deep to counter him. Minho grabs her jaw, tilting her head forward, and she opens wide, letting him fill her mouth again, his tip hitting her throat with a wet gurgle.

Now it’s a whole new beast—her ass is tighter than her pussy, hotter, the pressure unreal as you fuck up into it, feeling Jihoon’s cock rubbing through the thin wall separating you. He’s grunting with every thrust, her pussy dripping down his balls, smearing onto your thighs. “Man, this angle—her cunt’s hugging me so damn good,” he mutters, eyes locked on where he’s disappearing inside her, her lips puffy and slick around him.

Minho’s got her face in a vice, hips snapping forward, his cock sliding past her tonsils till she’s drooling all over him, spit dripping down her chest, coating her tits in this glossy mess. “Look at her, dude,” he says, voice shaky with lust, “fucking Park Jihyo—queen of K-pop—taking it like a street girl. I’ve jerked off to her fancams a hundred times, and now I’m wrecking her throat.”

You thrust harder, making her bounce, her ass cheeks jiggling against your hips. “Yeah, and I’ve been railing her on the DL this whole time,” you fire back, smirking. “You don’t even know—her stamina’s insane. She’s a freak behind closed doors.”

Jihyo pulls off Minho, laughing through a moan. “You’re all obsessed—fuck, keep going, don’t stop.” She dives back onto him, sucking harder, her tongue swirling around his shaft like she’s starving for it. Her ass clenches around you, tighter every time Jihoon slams into her pussy, and you can feel every twitch, every pulse.

The new position’s got her body on full display—tits swaying, sweat streaking down her spine, her thighs flexing as she balances on you. You grab her hips, guiding her up and down your cock, loving the way her ass swallows you whole, the slide slick and hot. Jihoon’s hands are all over her front, pinching her nipples, making her yelp into Minho’s crotch, her cries vibrating through him till he’s gripping her hair tighter, fucking her face with zero restraint.

“Shit, this is a fucking masterclass,” Jihoon says, voice low, almost reverent, as he pounds her pussy, the wet smack of his hips against hers loud and lewd. “Never thought I’d be learning how to fuck from Jihyo herself—K-pop royalty turned cockslut.”

Minho nods, dazed, his hands trembling as he holds her head. “Yeah, man, she’s the dream—those vocals, that face, and now this? Bro, you’ve been living the goddamn fantasy.”

You grin, thrusting deeper, making her scream around Minho’s dick. “What can I say? She picked me first—guess I’ve got the magic touch.” You smack her ass, hard, leaving a fresh red mark, and she bucks against you, driving you even deeper.

“Yo, let’s flip it,” Minho says, pulling out of her mouth with a sloppy, wet sound, his cock glistening with her spit, veins popping like he’s barely holding it together. “I want a piece of that pussy—Jihoon, you take her mouth.”

Jihoon grins, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “Fuck yeah, been dying to feel that tongue on me.” He slides out of her cunt, leaving it dripping and pulsing, a slick trail of her juices stringing from his tip to her lips as he steps back. Jihyo gasps, catching her breath, her chest heaving—those heavy tits rising and falling fast, nipples dark and stiff. She licks her lips, smirking, like she’s ready for whatever’s next.

You keep her steady, hands clamped on her ass cheeks, spreading them wide as you thrust up into her, slow and deep, savoring the way her hole stretches around you. Minho’s already moving, stepping up between her legs, his cock bobbing heavy and thick, shiny with her spit and his own pre-cum.

Minho grabs her thighs, yanking them apart like he’s claiming territory, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. “Fuck, look at this—pussy’s begging for it,” he says, voice low and hungry, rubbing his tip against her folds, teasing her clit till she squirms. She’s soaked, dripping down onto your hips, and he doesn’t wait—just plunges in, hard and fast, filling her cunt with one brutal thrust. Jihyo cries out, sharp and loud, her body jolting against you, making your cock twitch inside her ass.

“Shit, Minho—easy,” she gasps, but her hips roll forward to meet him, contradicting her words. He’s already moving, slamming into her pussy with these wet, nasty smacks, his balls slapping her skin, her juices splattering every time he bottoms out. Jihoon’s up by her head now, his dick hovering over her face—hard, flushed, dripping a little from the tip. “Open wide, babe,” he says, smirking, tapping her cheek with it like he’s marking her. She doesn’t hesitate—parts her lips, sticking her tongue out flat, letting him drag his cock across it before he shoves in. She moans around him, muffled and desperate, her hands reaching up to grip his thighs as he starts fucking her mouth, slow at first, letting her adjust.

“Goddamn, that’s it,” Jihoon groans, head tipping back, his toned arm flexing as he holds her head steady. “Suck it good, Jihyo—fuck, your lips look unreal wrapped around me.” Her tongue’s working him hard, swirling around the head every time he pulls back, spit bubbling at the corners of her mouth, dripping down her chin onto her tits. She’s sloppy with it, gagging a little when he hits her throat, but she doesn’t stop—just takes him deeper, eyes watering, loving the mess.

You pick up your pace, thrusting up into her ass harder now, matching Minho’s rhythm. Her body’s bouncing between you, caught in this brutal push-pull—your cock splitting her ass, Minho’s stretching her pussy, Jihoon’s filling her throat. She’s shaking, thighs quivering, tits jiggling with every slam, her skin slick with sweat and spit and her own slick. The mat’s a disaster under you—wet patches spreading, the air heavy with that raw, musky scent of bodies colliding.

“Man, this pussy’s insane,” Minho grunts, his hands sliding up to her waist, pulling her down onto him harder. “Tight as fuck, wet as hell—Jihyo, you’re killing me here.” He’s going deep, his hips snapping fast, her cunt squelching loud every time he drives in, her walls pulsing around him like she’s trying to squeeze him dry.

You laugh, rough and breathless, smacking her ass so it jiggles against your hips. “You’re just figuring that out? Been tapping this for weeks, bro—she’s a fucking goldmine.”

Jihoon’s got her hair fisted now, guiding her head as he fucks her face, his voice all gravel and awe. “Weeks, huh? You’re a legend. Fucking Park Jihyo in secret? I’d have lost my mind day one—her sucking me off like this, now I get why you kept it quiet. She’s a goddamn dream.”

Jihyo pulls off him for a second, gasping, spit stringing from her lips to his cock, her voice wrecked but dripping with fire. “You guys—fuck—talking about me like I’m some trophy. Keep fucking me, I love it.” She dives back onto Jihoon, sucking him down hard, her cheeks hollowing, tongue flicking wild against his shaft.

Minho smirks, thrusting deeper, making her moan around Jihoon’s dick. “Oh, she’s a trophy alright—K-pop’s finest, taking all our cocks like a pro.”

You feel her ass tighten at that, like the dirty talk’s lighting her up, and you ram up harder, making her whole body shudder. “She’s been my slut for a while,” you say, grinning, “loves it nasty—can’t get enough. Right, Ji?” You smack her again, and she whimpers, the sound vibrating through Jihoon’s cock till he’s groaning loud.

“Fuck yeah, she does,” Jihoon says, his hand slipping down to cup her jaw, guiding her deeper. “Look at her—those big eyes, that voice, and now she’s choking on me like it’s nothing. Been replaying her ‘Fancy’ fancams in my head forever, and this is a million times better.”

Minho’s hands roam up her sides, brushing her tits, thumbs flicking her nipples as he fucks her pussy raw. “Better? Dude, this is the ultimate—her body’s unreal, pussy’s so tight I can feel him through her. We’re living the fantasy right now.”

The three of you are synced up, a filthy machine—your cock plunging into her ass, thick and slow, stretching her wide; Minho’s hammering her pussy, fast and greedy, her slick coating his shaft; Jihoon’s fucking her mouth, his tip hitting her throat with every thrust, her gags and moans blending into this raw, desperate soundtrack. Her body’s on fire—sweat streaks down her spine, pooling at the small of her back, her thighs trembling against you, her hands clawing at Jihoon’s legs for balance.

She’s close—you can tell by the way her body’s starting to shake, her rhythm getting messy, her moans turning into these high, broken cries that Jihoon’s dick can’t fully muffle. You pick up your pace, slamming up into her ass, your hands gripping her cheeks, spreading them wide so you can watch your cock vanish inside her. “C’mon, Ji,” you mutter, voice rough, “let go—fucking cum for us.”

Minho feels it too, her pussy fluttering around him, and he leans forward, one hand sliding up to her tit, pinching her nipple hard. “Yeah, baby—cum on my cock, let me feel it,” he growls, hammering her faster, his balls slapping her skin, wet and loud.

Jihoon pulls out just enough to let her breathe, her face a wreck—cheeks flushed, mascara streaking, mouth open and panting. “Do it, Jihyo—fucking cum,” he says, voice low and urgent, stroking himself fast as he watches her unravel.

She’s teetering, her whole body tensing—then it hits. “Oh fuck—fuck, I’m—” Her words cut off into a scream, sharp and wild, her pussy clamping down on Minho so hard he hisses, his thrusts faltering for a second. Her ass locks around you, tighter than ever, pulsing like it’s trying to crush your cock, and you groan loud, hands digging into her flesh as you keep pounding through it. Her eyes roll back, mouth hanging open, spit dripping free as her whole body bucks and shakes, caught between you all.

“Shit, there it is,” Minho grunts, his hands sliding to her waist, holding her steady as he fucks her through it, her pussy gushing, soaking him, dripping down onto you. “Fuck—feels like she’s breaking me.”

You feel it too, the way her ass spasms, milking you with every clench, her body a live wire. “Told you—fucking unreal,” you say, voice strained, thrusting harder to chase her high, her cheeks rippling against your hips, the sound wet and obscene.

Jihoon’s watching, stroking himself, his cock twitching as she gasps and moans, her throat exposed, raw from his pounding. “Goddamn, look at her—cumming like a fucking slut on all of us,” he says, then he slides back into her mouth mid-moan, cutting her off, her lips closing around him as she sucks through the aftershocks, her tongue sloppy but eager.

Her orgasm’s ripping through her, relentless—her pussy’s flooding Minho, her ass gripping you so tight you can barely move, her cries vibrating through Jihoon’s cock. She’s thrashing now, caught in this wild, shuddering rhythm, her tits bouncing hard, sweat streaking down her spine, pooling at her lower back. You reach up, grab her shoulders, pull her down onto you harder, making her scream louder around Jak.

You keep your cock buried in Jihyo’s ass, her tight heat pulsing around you after her orgasm, her body slick with sweat and trembling like she’s barely holding it together. She’s sprawled over you, her ass cheeks jiggling with every slow, deep thrust you give her, while Minho’s pounding her pussy like a goddamn jackhammer, his cock slick with her juices, leaving a wet trail down his thighs. Jihoon is fucking her throat with these lazy, sloppy thrusts, her lips stretched wide.

Her climax has left her shaky, but you’re all too far gone to slow down—her pussy’s still spasming around Minho, her ass gripping you like it’s begging you to stay, and her moans are vibrating through Jihoon’s cock, raw and wrecked. You’re thrusting harder, excitement buzzing through you, your hands digging into her hips, feeling the heat build in your gut.

Minho’s grunting, his rhythm getting jagged, his hands leaving red welts on her waist. “Fuck, she’s still so tight—gonna lose it soon,” he pants, his cock plunging deep, her slick gushing out with every hit, soaking the mat. Jihoon’s not far behind, his jaw tight, sweat streaking down his neck as he pumps into her mouth, her throat bulging with every thrust. “Shit, man—her tongue’s working me over, I’m close,” he groans, his grip on her hair tightening, pulling her deeper.

you are close too, that electric rush creeping up, your cock throbbing in her ass, her walls clenching like they’re trying to milk you dry. “Ji,” you rasp, voice rough and ragged, “where you want it? Where you want our cum?” You slam up into her hard, making her yelp around Jihoon, her body jolting, ass rippling against you.

She pulls off Jihoon with a wet, gasping pop. “My face,” she chokes out, voice hoarse but dripping with need, “all of you—fucking blast it on my face.” Her eyes are wild, dark and desperate, locked on you like she’s starving for it.

You nod, pulling out of her ass with a slick, nasty sound, her hole gaping for a second before she scrambles off you, dropping to her knees on the mat between you, Minho, and Jihoon. She’s on the ground now, thighs spread, her pussy dripping onto the floor, tits heaving as she catches her breath. You’re all towering over her, cocks in hand, stroking fast, the air thick with tension and that musky, primal stench of sex. She looks up, smirking through the mess, her sweat-streaked hair sticking to her neck, and it’s like she’s daring you to ruin her.

You step up first, gripping your cock tight, the tip still slick from her ass. “Open up, Ji,” you say, and she does—parts her lips, sticks her tongue out flat, ready for you. She grabs your shaft with both hands, guiding you in, and fuck, she sucks you like it’s her last mission on earth. Her mouth’s hot, wet, sliding over you deep and slow, tongue swirling around the head, flicking at the slit till you’re hissing. Then she goes lower, popping off your cock to lick at your balls, sucking one into her mouth, rolling it with her tongue till it’s drooling with her spit. “Fuck—Jihyo, that’s it,” you groan, stroking the base as she works you, her dedication pushing you right to the edge.

Minho and Jihoon are stroking themselves hard, watching her with you, their breaths short and sharp. “Goddamn, she’s a fucking pro,” Minho mutters, his hand a blur on his thick cock, pre-cum beading at the tip. Jihoon’s grinning, his shaft twitching in his grip. “Look at her go—fucking Twice’s Jihyo, sucking him like she’s thirsty for it.”

She pulls off you, leaving your cock and balls dripping, spit stringing from her lips as she looks up at all three of you, her voice raw and filthy. “C’mon, boys—gimme your cum, fucking cover me, I want it all,” she begs, her tone pure cumslut, hands cupping her tits, pushing them up like a canvas. It’s obscene, the way she’s pleading, this K-pop queen on her knees, and it’s got you all buzzing, cocks throbbing, ready to explode.

Minho’s the first to break—he steps in, grunting like an animal, his hand flying over his shaft. “Fuck—here it comes, Ji,” he growls, aiming right at her face. His load hits hard, a thick, white rope blasting across her cheek, streaking up to her nose, dripping down to her parted lips. She moans, low and dirty, tongue darting out to catch what she can as another shot lands, splattering her forehead, sliding down to her eyebrow. It’s massive, heavy, coating her skin, some splashing onto her tits, streaking across her chest in messy, glistening trails.

Jihoon’s right on his heels, moving in close, his breath ragged. “Shit, Jihyo—open up,” he gasps, and she tilts her head, tongue out, catching his first shot as it arcs over her lips, pooling in her mouth. Another hits her other cheek, thick and hot, smearing across her chin, dripping down her neck in fat globs. She swallows what she caught, moaning soft, her eyes fluttering as it drips off her jaw onto her tits, mixing with Minho’s load, turning her chest into a sticky, white mess.

You’re last, your hand a blur, the sight of her—begging, drenched—pushing you over. “Here it is, Ji—fucking take it,” you say, voice tight, aiming at her face. It hits like a fucking firehose—a fat, pulsing shot right across her nose, bridging over her tongue, then another, coating her lips and chin, dripping thick and slow. It’s endless, heavy, splattering off her jaw onto her tits, blending with the others till she’s a goddamn cum-soaked masterpiece, skin shining, chest heaving.

She sighs, this deep, satisfied sound, her face a canvas of chaos—cheeks plastered, forehead dripping, lips smeared, all of it pooling and sliding down her neck, her tits a slick, cum-streaked mess. She smiles, slow and smug, like she’s just conquered the world, her tongue flicking out to lick her lips, savoring the taste. “Fuck, you guys—look at this,” she murmurs, hands sliding up to her chest, smearing the cum across her tits, rubbing it into her nipples, making them glisten. It’s insane, the way she’s basking in it, this idol turned cum-drenched fantasy, and you’re all just staring, panting, cocks still twitching.

She’s not done—she leans in, grabbing your cock first, licking the sensitive tip slow and deliberate, sucking off the last drops, making you shudder hard. “Mmm,” she hums, moving to Minho, her tongue flicking over his head, tasting what’s left, leaving it slick with her spit. Jihoon’s next, and she gives him the same, lapping at him like a cat, her eyes half-lidded, drunk on the filth. “So fucking good,” she whispers, sitting back on her heels, her hands scooping the cum off her face—thick, gooey strands—spreading it over her cheeks, her chin, her tits, till she’s coated, glistening, a total fucking wreck.

You’re all wrecked too, chests heaving, the mat a disaster—sweat, cum, her juices everywhere, the air heavy with it. She looks up, grinning, her face a work of art, painted white and dripping, and you can’t believe this is Jihyo—Twice’s leader, now your cum-soaked secret, kneeling there, satisfied as hell. “Fucking perfect,” she says, wiping a finger through the mess on her chest and sucking it clean, her smile wicked, like she’s just won the dirtiest game imaginable. You’re all just standing there, exhausted, awestruck, watching her revel in it, this moment burned into your brains forever.

The storage room’s now a fucking crime scene—sweat, cum, and the echoes of pure filth still hanging in the air as you all come down from the high. You glance at each other—Minho wiping his forehead, Jihoon running a hand through his damp hair—and there’s this unspoken agreement that you can’t just walk out like this.

“Shower time,” you say, voice rough but casual, pushing yourself up off the mat. Your shorts are halfway across the room, crumpled in a heap, and you grab them, not bothering to put them on yet. Jihyo sits up, stretching, her tits jiggling as she moves, cum still dripping down her chest in slow, sticky trails. “Yeah, I need to wash this off,” she laughs, wiping her face with the back of her hand, smearing it more than cleaning it, then she starts to pick up her clothes scattered on the floor. Minho and Jihoon nod, grabbing their own gear, and you all head for the gym’s locker room, a quiet buzz of exhaustion and satisfaction trailing you.

The showers are down the hall, past the empty weight racks and cardio machines, the gym eerily quiet now that it’s late. You each peel off what’s left of your clothes—your shorts, their gym tanks—and pile them on a bench. The water kicks on with a hiss, steam rising fast as you step under separate showerheads, the cold tile a shock against your feet. The hot spray hits you first, pounding your shoulders, washing away the sweat and grime, the faint ache in your muscles melting under the heat.

Jihyo’s in the next stall over, her silhouette visible through the frosted glass divider, water cascading down her curves, sluicing the cum off her skin. You hear her hum, soft and low, some Twice melody she’s probably sung a thousand times, and it’s almost surreal—minutes ago she was begging for your loads, now she’s showering like it’s just another day. Minho’s scrubbing his arms, soap suds bubbling up, muttering, “Fuck, I needed this.” Jihoon’s across from him, water pounding his back, grinning like an idiot. “Best shower of my life.”

You soap up, lathering your chest, your junk, feeling the grime slip away, the hot water working miracles. Your legs are still buzzing from holding Jihyo up, your arms sore from gripping her tight, but you’re refreshed, lighter, like the shower’s washing away more than just the sweat. You rinse off, the water turning cloudy for a sec as the last of it swirls down the drain, and step out, grabbing a towel from the stack by the wall. It’s rough, gym-issued, but it does the job—drying your hair, your back, your balls—till you’re dripping less and feeling human again.

Jihyo steps out next, towel wrapped loose around her, water still beading on her shoulders, her hair slicked back dark and wet, the sneakers already on. She looks fucking radiant, cheeks flushed from the heat, skin glowing like she didn’t just get railed by three guys in a storage closet. Minho and Jihoon follow, towels slung over their shoulders, shorts back on, hair damp and messy. You all linger for a minute, the steam curling around you, the vibe easy but charged, like you’ve all shared something monumental—and you have.

Minho and Jihoon glance at each other, then at Jihyo. “Be right back,” Minho says, jerking his chin toward the staff room down the hall. “Gotta handle something.” They duck out, leaving you and Jihyo alone for a sec. She’s drying her arms, smirking at you, and you lean against the locker, watching her. “You good?” you ask, casual but real.

She nods, grinning. “Better than good. That was fucking wild.” Her towel slips a little, showing the curve of her tit, and you catch it but don’t stare—professional, sort of. “You guys are something else.”

Before you can reply, Minho and Jihoon are back, stepping in with this chill energy. Minho’s got his hands in his pockets, Jihoon’s rubbing the back of his neck. “All clear,” Minho says, looking at Jihyo. “Security footage—wiped it clean. No trace of anything. You’re safe.”

Her shoulders relax, a little breath slipping out. “Fuck, thank you—seriously. If that got out…” She trails off, shaking her head, but then smiles, big and bright. “You guys are lifesavers.”

Jihoon laughs, leaning against the wall. “Nah, you’re the legend here. That was unreal—like, thank you. Never thought I’d be saying that to Park Jihyo after… well, that.”

Minho nods, smirking. “Yeah, hands down the craziest shit I’ve ever been part of. You’re fucking incredible.”

“Well, good news—we can do it again sometime. I’m down if you guys are.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, a grin tugging at your lips. “Oh, hell yeah, I’m in. No question.” Minho and Jihoon are quick to agree—Minho with a “Fuck yes,” Jihoon with a “Count me in, any day.”

“It was unforgettable,” Jihyo says, her voice softer now, reflective. “Like, I’m still buzzing from it. By far one of my best experiences.” Then she removes the towel, not caring about the presence of either of you and begins to get dressed, she opens one of the lockers to take out the bag she stored there earlier and takes out a hoodie, putting it on over her gym clothes. After finishing, she adjusts her bag on her shoulder, ready to head out, but there’s this glow about her—exhausted but alive.

You sling your own bag over your shoulder, stepping closer. “You know, Ji, this is a hell of a way to boost your stamina. You were a fucking beast today—killed it. I’m telling you, a few more rounds like this, and you’ll be unstoppable on stage. Choreo won’t stand a chance.”

She laughs, loud and bright, the sound bouncing off the lockers. “Oh, you think this is my new training regimen? Fuck cardio—give me three cocks and a storage room, right?” She’s joking, but there’s a spark in her eye like she’s half-serious. “Honestly, though—if this is what it takes to get tireless, sign me up. I felt like I could go all night.”

Minho smirks, grabbing his keys off the bench. “Shit, you basically did. Your dance trainer gonna wonder why you’re suddenly out-dancing everyone.”

Jihoon’s already at the door, turning back with a grin. “Yeah, tell her you’ve got a secret weapon—three trainers putting you through the ultimate workout.”

You all crack up, the vibe loose and easy now. Jihyo adjusts her hoodie, pulling the hood up, ready to slip out unnoticed. “For real, though,” she says, looking at you, then Minho, then Jihoon, “you guys are the best. Let’s make it a thing—whenever the schedule’s clear, we’re back here.”

“Deal,” you say, fist-bumping her, the others following suit. “Next time, we’ll push you even harder—stamina training, level two.”

She winks, stepping out into the hall, her voice echoing back. “Can’t wait, boys. See you in the next session.” You watch her go, that sway in her hips still lethal, then head out yourselves, the night air cool against your skin, a fresh contrast to the heat you’ve just left behind. You’re all grinning, buzzing, already counting the days till round two with the goddess Jihyo—your dirty little secret, and the best damn workout of your lives.

#jihyo #park jihyo #jihyo smut #twice jihyo #jihyo x reader #twice jihyo smut #park jihyo x reader #kpop m!reader #kpop male reader #kpop smut #m!reader #kpop gg smut #gg smut #twice smut

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romantisized · 1 day ago

Text

bounce back ── gojo satoru (m).

pairing ⋆ basketball player!gojo satoru & journalist!reader.

professional athletes have the tendency of being cocky over their talents, gojo satoru is the most notorious for it. you decide to knock him down a peg.

genre & word count ⋆ angst & smut | 11.5k words.

fic tags & warnings ⋆ fem-bodied!reader (they/she), basketball!au, rivals to ???, gojo is a conceited asshole, petty bantering, social media elements, near-death experience/accidental attempted murder, one (1) face slap, unprotected sex, pull out method, hate(-ish) sex, sub!gojo & dom!reader, fingering, one (1) pussy slap, squirting, slight degredation, crying, etc.

sticky notes ⋆ this ended up so much longer than i anticipated, but i will slobber all over your cocks if you read. it's good for the brain, give it some stimulation.

Sweat beading off his head, he drowns out the noise of everyone around him. Sapphire eyes fixate on the hoop that towers across the court as he dribbles the ball, sprinting towards another win. On the score post, fifteen seconds are flashing on the clock as the points are nearly neck and neck. Tokyo versus Kyoto, 34 and 32. With just enough time on the clock, Gojo can give his team a few more points to lengthen the gap.

And when he’s determined, he gets a look in his eyes, where his dazzling blue seems to only shine more, the light beaming inside of his pupils as his white eyebrows course into a frown. He blocks out the entire world— the audience, the buzzers, the screeching of shoes against the wooden ground, the opposing team and his own team— just for his own ambitions. He moves untouched, something like a sixth sense telling him when and where to go as the sounds of his dribbles only get louder. His force caused the ball to hit the ground harder and harder.

Gojo Satoru held such a high power in the world of basketball, a force to be reckoned with, and seemingly going untouchable. When in this state of mind, it told everyone to back off as he made himself into a brick wall, hogging the ball for himself and forcing his opponents to create a path towards the basketball hoop. Those who dared to approach him in such a state risked injuries that the referee couldn’t save them from, they’ve learned their lesson nth many times. So, instead of approaching the beast head on, they waited for possible failure.

Ten seconds on the clock. Like tradition, the crowd began to count down. Their voices were so loud that passersby could hear their chanting as they stomped on the bleachers. They got louder with every descending number. Ten . . . Nine . . . Eight . . .

The ball was now in the air, flying right inside of the hoop before the crowd could cry out “Seven!” His pink lips contorted to a smirk as the opposing team reached for the ball and ran in the opposite direction in hopes to make a comeback with the little time remaining. However, it was no use. It seemed as though time had quickened in favor of Gojo. FourThreeTwo… The obnoxious blaring of the alarm sounding and the game is over.

Gojo’s chest comes to a steady rise and fall, but he’s not exhausted as much as the other men are. No, he still feels enough energy to keep on going. Turning his back to the court, he goes to the bench as his coach gives him a curt nod. “Excellent job, as always.”

The only man viable for his respect, Gojo bows his head in acknowledgement as the older man throws him his water bottle. Catching it with ease, he throws his head back as he squeezes the content in his mouth. His skin glistening from the sweat as flashes hurdle his way, a crowd starting to form around him. The camera shutters seem to get more silent when they surround him, capturing Gojo’s figure, his black jersey hanging outside of his baggy shorts, an inch past the elastic hem. No undershirt underneath it as his muscle and bicep seem more prominent tonight. Leaning his weight on one leg, the cameras perfectly capture the vein on his right calf. On his knees, mismatched knee sleeves. One black and another a deep and dark red to match the accent colors in his team uniform. And his shoes, blue— his signature color.

The professional athlete is expecting the typical post-game questions— How do you feel after another win? What’s your secret for staying on top for this long? Do you ever believe that you’re going to fall back down to the bottom? He has all the typical answers, short cut and dry as he keeps that habitual smirk that he’s gained so much compliments for. Beauty and brawns— a multifaceted man, he calls himself, as well as the press.

However, the questions he anticipates are replaced with different ones, catching him off guard.

“Gojo,” a female reporter calls out, auburn hair stopping mid back. “What do you think about the things said about you by the Career-Ender?”

“Yeah!” An older man shouts out, a buzz-cut with patchy spots. “They say that in a matter of a year or so, your basketball career is bound to fall apart. What do you have to say about that?”

“Is it true that you pushed them out the way after they were just asking for help?” Accusations being thrown at him left and right, questions that he didn’t have the immediate answers to. He was being thrown into a whirlwind that he didn’t have sly remarks to make. Furrowing his eyebrows, he shook his head as he had to think of something quick and make his way towards the locker room. A light bulb flashes in his mind, remembering the name the first reporter stated.

“Career-Ender?” he scoffs. “If anything, I’ll be the one making sure they don’t have a job after this—” he chuckles as the mics are shoved in his direction. Propping his hands on his hips, he takes a breath to collect his thoughts. “— Listen, all those presumptions in that article were false. We’ve seen it time and time again, people with no time in their lives fabricating stories in hopes to tarnish successful people’s careers. This is one of those times. I suggest that the Career-Ender find another line of business to work in and possibly some therapy to help seal whatever hole is inside their heart. My team and I just garnered another win under our belt, let’s talk about that instead.”

Gojo never had any intentions of looking into what the paparazzi was referring to. He chalked it all up to this new day and age of performative activism through the use of cancel culture. How social media liked to heighten situations that at the end of the day, will all end up being nothing. He did what he did best, at first, ignoring the comments and snide remarks he started getting early on.

However, people started coming out with stories and recalling negative encounters that they had with the basketball player. Each story detailing his nasty personality and actions that started alarming his manager, Higuruma Hiromi, and PR Team, requesting him to meet them to talk about the potential results that could happen. Gojo made sure to hire a team that could tackle anything, that could keep him out of situations like this. So, part of him was shocked that Higuruma actually wanted to call a meeting over this… this— this petty deal.

Calls and buzzing of his phone become exhausting that curiosity eats him and he’s clicking on the link that started this all.

─────

GOJO SATORU, MOST TALENTED BASKETBALL PLAYER OF THIS GENERATION, SOON TO SUCCUMB TO HIS ATTITUDE AND BAD BEHAVIOR

By Your Name | March __, 2025 | 12:00 PM

Gojo Satoru, a twenty-nine year old basketball player, has certainly made a name for himself in the past ten years. From his outstanding athletic performance as a college freshman attending Tokyo University to being drafted to the basketball team, Tokyo Jujutsu, he’s certainly proved time and time again that he’s the next biggest thing. No one can lie about his achievements and the potential that he holds and has yet to unlock. He has so much potential within himself, yet… I can only see it coming into a downward spiral. Why? All because of that nasty attitude of his.

On countless of times and occasions, the popular and professional athlete has shown his true colors on camera. Earlier in his career, plenty of reporters and spectators had believed his conceited personality would call for an early retirement, but by some greater God, here Gojo Satoru still stands on his mighty horse, thinking he can continue going on his selfish rampage and continue to reap the benefits that society has offered him with open arms. And I have come to ask when will we stop turning a blind eye to the ruthless and abhorrent behavior that men continue to display? When will we stop excusing their disgusting acts because of the power that they hold and do what needs to be done— nip their career right in the bud.

Read More . . .

─────

Gojo scoffs by the end of it all. Pages upon pages of what seems to be a butthurt journalist who didn't get the attention they were hoping for. Why were a few negative encounters causing such an uproar? However, in the tabs linking to “Articles Like This” list a row of newsletters all revolving around Gojo and his apparent “Worst Moments.” Ultimately falling into a rabbit hole of reading people's opinions about him and watching videos relaying just how much of a nasty and unlikeable person he is.

For the first time in years, he feels his stomach tighten at what’s being said about him. How people have found him so appalling and their alleged experiences about him, he can’t recall any of those said events. However, he usually has the habit of forgetting things that don’t matter to him. It’s the reason why his days seem to be blurred and conjuncted together. However, that quick second of his heart being ripped to shreds dissipates as he tells himself not to care about. In a few months time, he’ll win for his team and once again, be the apple of the people’s eyes.

But, for the time being, your name rings aloud in his mind. Something, no— someone— worth remembering.

─────

Gojo can’t remember the last time he has ever been nervous for a game. Honing in his skills and talent, he feels like he’s near perfected becoming the best basketball player this generation has ever seen. However, in the locker room as his teammates pile out in a jumbled line, his feet tap against the tiled floor as he tries his best not to reveal his nerves. Across his social media accounts, the numbers and views are dwindling down as people keep to their promise of cutting ties to their now ex-favorite basketball player. Articles upon articles revealing things that he’s done.

On top of that, Higuruma and his PR Team truthfully believed that he needed to take a break and step outside of the limelight for a while. They said that they needed him to reflect on his character and consider partaking in selfless acts to start painting a better picture for himself. It further struck a nerve because they didn’t need to outright say it. They believed the articles and the stories being reported about him. They, too, believe that he isn’t a good person. And in a matter of seconds, those nerves turn into rage and the hand towel that he’s been holding onto is being thrown across the room. White eyebrows knitting together in anger and cerulean eyes darkening, his footsteps sound through the small area before heading towards the stands and the courts, where people were still cheering for him and calling out his name. Not some bitch that people dubbed the Career-Ender.

Gojo didn’t partake in his team’s pre-game ritual, didn’t join in for their prayers and chants. No, he stood on the sidelines and waited for the referee to announce the start of the game. People saw it in his eyes— that look. He was all in for this game. He had something to prove in this game.

So, when the ball was in the air, he didn’t give the referee much time to take a step back, jumping up to heights that his opponent couldn’t even fathom touching as Gojo sent the ball hurdling straight to the ground with a loud bounce that called for silence inside the arena. Gasps echoed as everything fell silent, eyes glued onto the tall figure, the beast that is, Gojo Satoru.

Starting off strong from the jump, everyone can feel the hunger and presence of him. The first half of the game, he's a dominant force, scoring majority, if not all, the points and leading such a seering start that people believe the opposing team could never catch up to. When halftime is called, he casts an invisible force field around himself that people wouldn't dare to intrude on. However, his coach had never been just people. The man had wedged his way deep inside the young boy, being the father figure that he never had and always needed.

“Son…” the superior sighs, meeting Gojo in his eyes. “I understand that things have been rough for you lately. The things that people are saying about you are enough to rile anyone up, but you have nothing to prove. You've already done that by making it this far. Now, Satoru, you need to take a breather. I'm going to bench you until you get yourself under control.”

“No!” Gojo shouts, pushing the man he had always admired, using more force than intended. It all happens in slow motion, Gojo sending his coach to the ground and everyone watching. Eyes widening as people come to crowd him, but the coach shakes his head, bringing himself to stand up, with a limp, however. He catches his breath before sending Gojo a stern and hardened limp.

“You can get back on the court,” he sighs. “But you better get your shit together before you fall right into their hands.”

And the coach doesn't need to elaborate for Gojo to know exactly who he's talking about─ you. For once, Gojo feels a sense of normalcy running back into him. His body relaxes, but that heat still runs in his body. Instead of using your name as a crutch, haunting him, it now fuels his fire.

When the timer runs out and players are being switched in and out, Gojo goes to his position. Ball thrown in the air, again, he sends it searing back to the ground and his team’s possession. That same hunger and fire running through him as he dashes across the court and leading his team to victory. A one-man show, overworking his body over the years, he does it without question. Unknowingly, his body is deteriorating at this moment.

He's moving slower and that barrier he's built is slowly falling apart. His opponents are catching up to him, and for a first, he notices them. They're meeting his steps with ease, gaining up on him and threatening to overpower him. It only hardens Gojo as he’s determined to hold himself together. Intaking a harsh breath, he dribbles faster and forces himself forward.

In no time, the fifteen second mark is trusted upon everyone. Tokyo led with 75 points and the opposition with 15. The gap is large, but not large enough. One, no! Two more shots! he thinks to himself. I can do it!

Within the first five seconds, he's able to make another three pointer. However, his head becomes too big when he aims to get his team to 80. He's never felt the same exhaustion that his team has, building so much endurance, that despite sweat beading his forehead, he always felt that he had the energy for more.

But, his vision is getting dark and grainy. His calves are stiff and he feels like if he took one more step, he's going to fall. With every trial he's faced in his life, he was always able to power through, but when will he realize that this isn't a trial nor is it an obstacle that the universe has thrown at him. It's a warning that he's choosing to ignore.

The crowd is counting down and Gojo was never one to disappoint. Already halfway across the court, he aims for another three-pointer when an opponent obstructs his path, colliding into him and making the taller individual lose his footing. A twist, so subtle but not much longer when Gojo lets out a strangled cry and a loud thud sends the crowd silent after their sudden intake of breath. Medics coming out to remove him from the court, the entire arena watches in horror while the athlete watches them in pain and trepidation. With so much running inside his mind, one thing stands prominent. You, your name tied down to that damn article.

This entire time he had been trying not to let your words eat him alive, but he's afraid that he's fallen right into your trap. He's afraid that this entire time, you had been right.

He was the reason for his own undoing.

─────

You don’t think you intended for the nickname, Career-Ender, to ever be bestowed upon you. You don’t think you ever intended to be the type of journalist that people feared or felt intimidated by. You wanted an image that truly reflected who you were. You wanted people to see— to read— how passionate you were about sports and to read the love you invoke in your words. However, one drunken night led to another, where you poured your heart out into venting out your feelings about a baseball player and how distraught over your first encounter with him on social media that one thing turned into another and people took it upon themselves to put the man on the sidelines.

You truly didn’t mean for your reputation to be someone who took pleasure into ending talented people’s careers, but after that first instance, where people shared their negative experiences with the professional baseball player to the point he was put on trial for domestic violence accusations, you found power in your drunken rage.

Earning a significant following and continuing to write the articles that you intentionally sought to publish, you garnered the title of a well-endowed journalist as people started to see your potential. Your boss, while first enraged with your actions, had opened up the doors to more opportunities and endeavors for you, seeing how people saw you as the pinnacle of sports. People trusted your word when you said a young athlete had the potential to make it big; people trusted you when you called into question the attire for female volleyball players; but, most of all, they trusted your word when you didn’t like an athlete.

You didn’t put your notorious nickname into action often. Truthfully, the title was thrusted upon you the moment your drunken rant had disproportionately blown up, and you’ve never written another article showing distaste for another athlete again. There were a bunch of rude and cocky athletes. If you nitpicked at every little thing, it would question your credibility.

However, you had purpose in your critiques. A fluster of emotions sitting on your chest about it, you had every intention of posting it when you did. Though you didn’t take pride in the nickname that people coined you for, it has its perks as it calls for people’s attention.

With your admiration and love for basketball, you oftentime spent time and energy in keeping up in the scene. Attending basketball games and when you couldn’t be at every one of them, you had them saved up on any device that you had on you. Your eyes beamed watching the athletes play at their best (or their worst), it sent blood pumping down your spine as everything was happening before your eyes. However, you hate the fact that you have to say that all of your most prominent negative run-ins were from the Tokyo team. Moreso specifically, from Gojo Satoru.

You chalked up the first one to exhaustion and running on short time; you considered the rather harsh shove to be an accident— the bad press ruining it for the few good eggs out there; and you tried to excuse each and every moment for something that it wasn’t. However, you couldn’t excuse what he said. “How does it feel to know that you’re writing for a sports column because your life could never amount up to mine?”

It took that comment to make you realize that he was just a horrible human being, a self-proclaimed prodigy despite never showing any true potential until his late teens. It took you a while to realize that the man just had too much of an ego on him. You figured that at some point in time that people would come to that revelation that while he had the talent, his nastiness would unravel in his own career. He just needed a push.

(And you needed something groundbreaking.)

However, you didn’t expect your nudge would lead him to an embarrassing fall as news articles come out revealing how much he’s been overworking himself. You just needed something to call for attention, and for something that would make your boss believe that you still had that edge in you. With significant time passing from your initial post about aforementioned baseball players, your boss believed your potential was running thin, egging you to steer back into the path of career-ending blog posts. Falling into the bait, all your intentions of posting that article had been for selfish ones, but never had you been a liar.

Just as quick as people were able to call Gojo a dying flame, they were just as quick to put the blame on you for his downfall. Noting that this wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t fabricated such lies to tarnish his name. People pulling up old clips to note your supposed harsh encounters with Gojo Satoru, and calling out each and every one of your “lies.” Just as you had tried tarnishing his name, people were now trying to ruin yours, and calling for Gojo Satoru back on the court, praying for a speedy recovery.

And with shoulders slumped as you hold a cardboard box with your most prized possessions inside.

“Your name has led this company under a lot of backfire for what you’ve been releasing,” your boss’s eyes holding no remorse as he sends you on your way. “I’m sorry, but we’ve got to let you go.”

With a heavy sigh, you can only call this your karma.

─────

After contemplating for a week, Gojo finally pulls out his phone and dials Higuruma’s number. It only takes his phone two rings before he hears the deep and gravelly voice of his manager answering his call, “Hello?”

“I’ll take the position,” Gojo’s straightforward, his voice trembling as he’s accepted the conditions that his team has given him. After being bedridden in the hospital, doctors telling him that his body was shutting down due to years of being overworked and his body succumbing to his self-inflicted suffering, it gave him time to reflect. Racking through his mind, he remembers some of the occasions that people spoke ill about him. It made him realize that you were right and instead of the rage that he underwent, he should’ve been doing self reflection.

“Huh?” his disoriented manager hums in confusion. Gojo sighs, rolling his eyes as he throws open his front door. The doctors had told him to take it easy, to not work out and just… rest. However, would a quick jog kill him? With his smart watch on his wrist as he steadies to speed walking before finding a gate to lean against.

“That coach position at that basketball camp,” he further clarifies. “You’re… right. It’ll do a lot of good for me.”

Maybe I’ll actually become the role model that I thought I was. There’s a pause, where Gojo believes that the call has disconnected. However, when he taps on the watch screen, his manager’s name still blares brightly. “Uh, hello?”

“Sorry, no, I heard you,” Higuruma collects himself. “Truthfully, I didn’t expect you to accept so quickly—” his coach chuckles in between “— I thought you’d need more convincing.”

Am I really such a stubborn ass? Gojo didn’t realize that he had voiced his thoughts out loud, shocked when his manager responded bluntly, “Yes.”

A vein starts protruding his temple, eyebrows knitting together in momentary annoyance. However, he catches himself before he could flip. Inhaling and exhaling as those self help articles and apps have been instructing him to do, closing his eyes as he calms himself gradually. Instead of anger, a dry laugh falls from his lips. “Just send me the details— please.”

─────

You were a coach when you weren’t a journalist. Something that you did per diem when things were slow at the office, but now that you had been fired and no other company seemed to want you after your tremendous fall, you had to take up more hours to pay the bills while you considered the possibilities of how you could fill the void in your journalist heart.

Tik Tok was oversaturated with opinionated people, but would they accept one more person? Did you have anything to offer on the ex-dancing app?

You heard your name being called, another one of the coaches, but the head of the camp within itself, Masamichi. “Yo, I need to speak to you for a second.”

Nodding, you call for your aspiring basketball players to take a ten minute break as you step to the side. Masamichi sighs as his hands prop on his hips, his head hanging low as he glances towards you. “You’re not going to like what I’m about to tell you, but I don’t want you to feel like I’m toying with you. Please understand that.”

“What’re you on about now?” You furrow your eyebrows, a little snort of air leaving your nose as you try to stay lighthearted. However, with the seriousness of his voice, you know that whatever he’s going to tell you won’t be anything to laugh about.

“We’re getting a new coach this Friday,” Masamichi says, bouncing on his heels. Your eyes beam, trying to understand why exactly this would hold any detriment towards you. A new coach was always a good thing in your eyes.

Seeing that flicker of light in your eyes, Masamichi inwardly grimaces when he adds, “it’s going to be Gojo Satoru.”

Oh. “Apparently it’s to help clear his name. At first, when Higuruma called me and proposed the idea, we both thought it would be an ordeal where he would completely decline. However, Higuruma called back and said that he actually accepted the offer. After a week, mind you, but—”

“It’s fine,” you interject Masamichi’s ramble. “It’s fine. It’s fine.”

You think you’re trying to convince yourself that more than you are him. He knows it, too. Grabbing a hold of your upper arm, the older man looks you in your eyes. “Listen—” When his voice deepens, you know he’s taking on that role of a father figure. “—If he gives you a hard time, let me know. You’re an asset here. You work well with the kids and I’ve seen so much improvement ever since you joined us full time.”

Masamichi knows you well. Really well that he knows that you use humor to deflect how you’re truly feeling. “He won’t be a bother. I’m the career-ender after all.”

The hefty sigh that falls from your lips accompanied by the awkward and shifty laughter lets the older individual beg to differ. However, he knows that if he pushes any further, you’d only get snappy with him, so he puts you to the challenge. “If he makes you break, I’m giving him your trainees.”

You gasp, “For him to tarnish? That’s under your jurisdiction.”

“Then, do what you do best. I’m counting on you.”

─────

Gojo really did have all intentions of bettering himself. To leave his selfishness and conceit in the past. He always thought he worked well with adolescents, believing that despite still having so much to learn, he could also help them unlock what makes them so different from the rest. However, the moment Masamichi told him that he would be working alongside you, playing the role as your assistant coach, the sound of your name made his blood boil and the sight of you making his eye twitch.

Rummaging through his mind, he remembers your face. He understands why exactly you would react the way you did. He had no reason to treat you so woefully, but you were the one that seemed to nudge his domino pieces before fate had called it. When you greeted yourself, you tried to exude someone who was kind hearted and sweet, but Gojo wanted to unravel you the same way you did him. Also, what did you know about basketball and how to teach kids?

Inhale and exhale, Satoru, he reminds himself as he watches you instruct the students to take laps up and down the steps. You seemed so comfortable and in your element— more comfortable than him— and Gojo wanted to rile you up. It began with snide comments, statements that blatantly showed his resentment towards you. “I don’t know, guys. Your coach has been someone to end careers, why’d you want to listen to them?”

It made you tick the way he was evidently trying to get a rise out of you, but fortunately, your students spoke up for you before you could defend yourself. “We listen to Coach ___ because they help shape us into good people as well as good players. You’ll only teach us how to eat the court the same way you did.”

That snide remark made his ears turn red, quickly nipping that tactic in the bud. Instead, he became smarter, but in your eyes, pettier. Small pranks that were initially a nuisance— replacing your sugar with salt, water buckets over the door, and glitter bombs that went off at the right times. Small things that would momentarily get you annoyed, but ultimately have you moving on with your day. You played a big game online, but in reality, you were a measly ant along with the rest of the herd.

Masamichi tried saving you when he could, but you always batted off his attempts. You could handle a man-child. However, everyone had their line and Gojo found out where to cut it. He had heard that you didn’t like bananas, and completely detested them. Every time that Masamichi went out for a run, you’d always ask for a smoothie, but always put the emphasis on no bananas. He saw the perfect opportunity to fuck with you.

Your typical order that he had managed to memorize with the amount of times you recited it, but just with the addition of bananas. He learned that the drink was actually a simple Strawberry Banana smoothie, just with a few other unnecessary ingredients. He held the liquid delicacy as he walked into the building. Your vehicle parked out front notifying him that you were on work grounds today, early like you habitually are. He had the drink in a paper cup warmer to have a barrier from the condensation on it, and he had the worker write your name on the cup instead of his. He had added his own personal touch to it, writing ‘Just because’ on the side without actually letting you know it was from him. And when you weren’t looking, he set it down alongside your things and went about his day.

─────

“Ooh,” you hummed, spotting the drink on the counter next to your backpack. Picking it up, you read the sides. In a low voice, you repeated, “‘Just because…’”

Deducing it down to Masamichi, you pull open the fridge to slide the fruity beverage towards the back before stuffing your lunchbag right in front of it. While this wasn’t your journaling career, where your food and drinks have been stolen a bunch of times, you still had to be about your belongings just in case of the off chance. That off chance being Gojo.

You can only hope that he doesn’t make your day too difficult as you head around back. With the schedule changing biweekly and the forecast calling for an all-sunny week, your team will be instructed to use the outside court all week unless the weather decides otherwise. Adorned in a simple white t-shirt over your sports bra, you had it tied in the back as you had on sports pants. The sun was beating down on you. It didn’t even take five minutes for you to pull out your baseball cap and shove it on your head. A tall shadow started to overcast you and with one quick glance back, it’s the white-headed devil himself. Trying to keep it cordial as much as you could, you gave him your typical greeting for everyone, even a stranger. “G’morning.”

“Morning,” he yawns, crossing his arms. “Everything going swell so far?”

Quirking up an eyebrow, you give him a knowing look. “Swell? That’s been your weakest alarm so far. What is it so far? Distracting me before I realize that you’ve miraculously got the children to take your side and they’re going to start throwing water balloons at me? No—” you purse your lips, a finger on your chin. “—You’re not actually that smart.”

“No,” he scoffs. The kids still don’t like him enough to side with him. “I was genuinely checking up on you. I see my attempt has failed.”

“Like your career,” you remark.

“Because of you.”

“Because of your abhorrent attitude and personality.”

“I wouldn’t have gotten hurt if it wasn’t for you.”

“Do you ever accept accountability for your own actions?”

“Do you?”

The gravel under your shoes sounds as you turn to face him. You want to shout at him, to continue to throw insults at him. However, as you look up at the bastard. You let out a deep sigh, and your tough act falls. “I didn’t mean for you to really take my words to heart. I just—”

Gojo scoffs. “Like I’d believe that. You seemed to really love your little nickname a few seconds ago.”

“Only because you pushed me to—” You take another second. “Can’t you just make this easy for me?”

“No.”

“God, you’re so immature,” you breathe, before inevitably continuing, “I’m being honest, I really am. My boss— My old boss, he was hounding me that I lost my spark, and while I meant every word I said in that article, I didn’t actually think you would take it to heart.”

“What?” Gojo snorts, despite taking in your apology for what it's worth. He can hear the sincerity in your voice. “Think that all professional athletes are conceited and heartless?”

“No,” you scoff. “Just thought you were someone more thick-skinned. Didn’t really see the fragile little boy that you still are.”

You didn’t mean for it to sound the way it did. In fact, you didn’t mean to say it at all. Your eyes widen as realization strikes you, “Wait, I didn’t mean it—”

“No, you’re right,” he says uncharacteristically calmly. “You’re right. I’m still that fragile little boy, but you still amount to nothing, coaching a bunch of kids who might not ever truly make it. And if they do, they’ll still be leaving you in the dust, where you still amount to nothing.”

And it cuts this time as well, but at least you can convince yourself that you deserved it.

─────

“I don’t know why I said it,” you sigh, slouching across the booth seat from Masamichi, still reflecting on what you told Gojo and ultimately what he told you. With the smoothie in hand, you swirl the straw around as you mix the large ice chunks with the rest of it. “I didn’t really mean how I said it. I was just trying to say that I understand him— where he’s coming from. It just didn’t come across how I wanted it to.”

“Yeah,” Masamichi hums. “You always struggled with finding the right words to say. Somehow, your journalism career lasted longer than I anticipated.”

You playfully kick at his shin, gaining no reaction from the man as the two of you chuckle. “I deserve it, though. What he said.”

“Mmm,” the older man shakes his. “That’s a reach. I understand where you're coming from and his reasoning too, but at the end of the day, he accepted his position to help learn how to manage situations like this and to build a more kind soul. He needs to build tougher skin and learn how to react under weighty circumstances like this.”

“Yeah, but still—” You reach for the smoothie at last, taking a sip from the straw.

“‘Yeah, but still’ nothing,” Masamichi points at you. “You didn’t deserve it. End of the story.”

“Fine,” you sigh. “By the way, thanks for the smoothie. You didn’t have to, because now I feel like I have to pay you—”

“I didn’t buy you the smoothie.” You didn’t have the time to process what he was saying, feeling like your throat was clogging up and like you couldn’t breathe. Hives started covering your arms as you started to drown out every sound, including the panicked shouted of Masamichi as soon as he saw your skin.

“Shit,” he cursed, calling out your name and reaching for your bag. “Your epipen, where is it?”

He was trying to act fast, dumping out all of your stuff, but to no avail, he couldn’t find the device. Hearing the commotion, people that were passing by peaked in to see what was happening. “Masamichi, what’s—”

“Call the ambulance!” he shouts. “Fuck!”

─────

“Gojo!” he hears his name being called from across the court. A coworker he doesn’t know the name of, but from the hurriedness in his steps, Gojo doesn’t have the time or chance to try and remember. “Bring every student inside! It’s an emergency!”

He doesn’t have to rush in the kids himself, they do it without any further instruction as everyone rushes towards the double doors. Leading the kids inside of the auditorium, they’re all instructed as everyone’s updated about what has happened. (Your Name) had an allergic reaction to her smoothie. Masamichi had to call the ambulance.

Eyes widening as Gojo puts the puzzle pieces together. It was because of him. The sound of ambulance sirens bring him back to reality as Gojo curses under his breath. “Shit!”

He doesn’t think before acting, running in the direction of where people were saying she was, pushing open the doors to the lounge to see you on the ground and Masamichi hovering over her.

“I’m so sorry!” he immediately comes to apologize, not giving his boss a moment to hurry him out of the room. “I didn’t realize that she was allergic to bananas. I did it as an innocent prank! I didn’t know!”

“You what?” Forgetting about you on the ground, Masamichi comes to stand over your body and heads straight towards Gojo. “You fucking idiot! Are you aware that they could die because of your idiocy?”

Gojo’s done a lot of stupid things in his life, but he’s never felt the guilt the way that this act has him feeling right now. He nods, unable to choke out a yes as his eyes divert from Masamichi’s eyes. “I’m so sorry…”

“You better hope and pray that she lives through this, boy, because if she doesn’t—”

The EMTs burst through the doors just in time, asking where the victim lies as Masamichi diverts his attention back to you. Helping the men get you on the gurney as they treat you for your anaphylactic shock and getting your vitals back on track before leading you towards the big vehicle. Masamichi doesn’t bat an eye back in Gojo’s direction, and Gojo had not managed to make himself useful as he watched the entire act go down. In too much of a shock, realizing how once again, his selfishness and rage took over that he nearly killed someone because of it. The tears streaming down his eyes have now dried up and the ongoing looks from his coworkers don’t make him feel any better.

Again, his feet do the thinking as he heads straight outside and to his vehicle. He’s abandoning the kids, yes, but there are more capable adults inside the camp to know how to look over them. He knows that after this life-threatening ordeal, he’ll no longer be accepted back.

He also knows that Masamichi will probably beat him down for even trying to attempt visiting you, but he’ll take his chances.

─────

Masamichi had forced you to take two weeks of PTO the moment you had been discharged from the hospital. Establishing himself as your second father figure, he didn’t give you much choice in the matter the moment you immediately tried returning back to the camp. You don’t remember much about the incident, except the fact that one moment you were thanking him for the drink and the next, you weren’t able to breathe.

When you tried to ask for more details from Masamichi and the doctors, they could only tell you what you already knew— your allergic reaction to bananas nearly caused your death. It was evident that the doctors didn’t know the entire story as well and that Masamichi wasn’t telling you something. He chalked it all up to an accident, saying that he forgot to tell the worker to exclude the bananas. However, you could tell something was missing.

Was it really just a foolish mistake or was he keeping something out? You know that it was pointless to go back to the camp. Halfway into the first week of your break, you know Masamichi will do what he did to you the first time you pulled this stunt— drag you right back outside and to your car. But would a little visit hurt anybody?

Dressed in comfortable clothing, you wear a spaghetti-strapped top and a pair of sweats. With the sun beating down on you, a bead of sweat already threatens to drip down the temple of your forehead. You speed walk to the double doors, swinging them open to be met with the silence of the hallways. Checking the time, all the students should be on the court training right now. In the distance, you can hear the faint sound of balls bouncing and dribbling down the court.

There’s something restricting about the air when you walk down the hallway. Tension lingering from all corners of the building. Usually, there are more people sauntering around on the outside, filling out papers and documents and running quick errands. But, it’s empty. Turning a corner, you’re finally greeted by someone, Yuuji, one of the high school volunteers looking for hours.

“Oh,” he gasps, saying your name. “You’re not supposed to be back until another week or so.”

“Yeah, I’m just visiting,” you chuckle. “Don’t worry. Where’s everyone? Usually, there are more people out and about?”

“Well, we’re a little bit understaffed,” Yuuji squirms, rubbing the back of his neck. “With you on break and Gojo getting fired, Mr. Masamichi thought it was best that every adult got more involved until you’re back.”

“Gojo’s fired?” you furrow your eyebrows. “Why? What happened—” Before Yuuji could say anything more, you snorted. “— Don’t tell me that he pulled a prank on Masamichi instead of me?”

“N-no,” Yuuji stammers. “He, uh— Um… Actually, I think I gotta go. Megumi’s probably wondering where I am right now. I gotta head back.”

It’s evident that the boy’s hiding something, trying to fabricate a lie to get himself out of the situation. Before he could dash off, you grab him by the wrist, stopping him in his tracks. You can see him wince, knowing that he has no way to get out of the conundrum he put himself into now. You give him a look, it’s not stern, but a soft and concerned look. A look that has Yuuji melting before you can even ask him to tell you the truth. “Masamichi’s going to kill me, but—”

When the bell rings, you make a bee line straight for Masamichi. It’s lunch time, meaning that he’s heading straight for the cafeteria with his students in line. Yuuji’s long run off to find Megumi, heading in the opposite direction of you. When you spot him, his back is turned to you as he guides the students inside, barking at two trouble makers who refuse to follow orders the first time. “Get in line! Don’t make me say it again!”

You don’t notify him of your presence until his entire class is inside the cafeteria before you’re blurting out. “Why didn’t you tell me that it was Gojo?”

Shoulders stiffening, Masamichi’s head swivels to see you shocked. Trying to deflect from your question, his gaze immediately turns stern as he points a finger at you. “I told you not to come back until your break’s over.”

“Answer my question,” you frown. “Why did you lie to me?”

He sighs, knowing that he can’t run from this discussion with you. After all, you had a right to know. “Let’s speak about this somewhere more private.”

He leads you inside of a vacant classroom, gesturing you to sit down at any of the available desks as he leans against one himself. He sighs, holding his head down. “Apparently it was supposed to be a prank. Heard you talking one day and thought it would be funny to give you a drink with bananas.”

You tut out a breath of air, keeping your head down as you digest the information. “He had the audacity to try and visit you in the hospital. They had to rip me off before I could do any proper damage to the boy. Tried sending flowers after that, but I threw them all away.”

“But, didn’t you think I had a right to know that he tried to kill me?”

“Yes, but—” Masamichi knew that he didn’t have a good enough reason. That his choices were all fueled by anger. “His people offered payment. Enough to cover your medical bills and enough to say that he’s sorry.”

“So, they’re giving me hush money basically,” you scoffed.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I wasn’t going to tell you this, but if you want his manager’s number, I’ll forward it to you and hopefully, you can find some equal grounds to agree on.”

“I wish you told me this from the jump,” you say.

“And I’m sorry for not,” Masamichi confesses. “I thought I was doing it to protect you at first, but I was just angry that he took it this far.”

“I’m just a fool for thinking that you’d buy me a smoothie so early in the morning,” you try to laugh it off, but Masamichi keeps those same frown lines on his face.

“I’m a fool for even allowing him to work here,” he sighs. Before you can say anything about the comment, Masamichi stands to his feet and grips you by the shoulder. “Time to send you back on your way. I’ll forward you the number to his manager and hopefully after that, you’ll get some peace back into your life.”

“I really just came to visit, you know,” you sigh. “Let me stay a little longer. I miss the kids.”

“They’re not going anywhere,” he says. Nudging him, you let Masamichi lead you right back out to your car. When you’re driving home and waiting at a red light, your phone buzzes and you receive a message from him— Gojo’s Manager (Higuruma Hiromi): xxx-xxx-xxxx.

─────

You and Higuruma come to an agreement that you’ll take the hush money— which he claims isn’t— if you can meet with Gojo himself. However, the only way you can meet Gojo is through you signing a nondisclosure agreement about the entire ordeal. You reluctantly agree because you really want some closure, and you had no intentions of going to the police about it. After the entire situation, you’re just tired and want this all to just go away. The authorities would only add to your stress and that might kill you quicker than your allergic reaction.

Higuruma sets up for the two of you to meet at a hotel, booking a room for the two of you to speak in private— accompanied by the manager himself, as well. It’s an extravagant and luxurious place with architecture that made you believe that you had actually stepped inside of a museum. You beam in awe, but it’s all cut short when a man approaches you, and calls your name. “That’s you, correct?”

You nod. “Yes, you’re Higuruma, right?”

“Yes,” he answers. You didn’t know what to expect of the man, thinking he’d be some older man— bald— and not a man with sunken brown eyes and stringy dark hair. His eyes clearly reflect how he always sounded on the phone, exhausted, as he instructs you to follow him. The two of you walk side by side in silence before he’s clicking the ‘up’ button to the elevator and leading the way.

The room he’s booked is gorgeous, closely resembling a home within itself as you’re immediately greeted to a family and dining area. Vintage-style couches and rugs with intricate patterns on it. It’s gorgeous. “I will let Gojo know that you’re here,” Higuruma gestures towards the dining area. “Take a seat and I’ll be back in a second.”

It takes five minutes of you admiring the centerpiece before you hear the shuffling of feet and the creak of a door opening. Craning your neck around, you watch as a disheveled Gojo leaves the confines of the hotel bedroom to pull out a chair across from you, never once meeting you in the eye. He looks like a mess, white hair worse than it usually is, sapphire eyes that look lost as purple eyebags hang, and he looks like Higuruma just had to drag him out of bed, wearing a charcoal gray t-shirt that’s all crushed up and stained black sweats. When he slouches in his seat, his voice is more gravelly than you’re used to. “You can leave, Higuruma.”

“You know I can’t do that—”

“You can leave!”

He doesn’t have to say it again for a third time. Higuruma’s eyes flash from Gojo to you before heading towards the door, leaving the hotel room altogether. However, both you and Gojo know that the man still awaits right outside the door. When an uncomfortable amount of silence has passed, Gojo’s surprisingly the first to speak. “Go ahead. Yell and me, and tell me how much of a horrible person I am.”

“I—”

“I deserve it,” he whispers. “I— I’m a shitty excuse of a person.”

“I just—” You catch yourself. When you called Higuruma and asked to meet with Gojo, you never really had a plan or prepared anything for what you were going to say. You never did know why you wanted to speak to him. You just needed to see him, see how he was holding up. When Masamichi told you the truth, it was hard to digest and at first, you were in denial. However, when you got home, you were furious. You cried out your anger, you screamed out your anger, and you ripped out your anger. However, you could never really voice it out in actual words. But a vice inside of you just calmly told you to vent. Vent like you did the first time and the second time. So, again, you tried.

“I just—” you clenched your fists. “—Did you realize how stupid you were?”

You said it in such a calm and low voice that it made him shudder. He kept his head low, still not wanting to meet his eyes. “Do you realize how dumb and fucking stupid you are? For days at a time, pulling off ridiculous fucking pranks all because you had a personal vendetta against me to the point you nearly killed me!

“At first, I excused it, but you had every right to be angry,” you continued. “ But, I literally could not breathe. All because you thought I didn’t like bananas. You’re so fucking stupid!”

“I know…” he whispers and miraculously you hear him.

“I don’t think you really do,” you sneer. “You ran up and down that court like you owned it, disregarding anything and everyone because you thought you were the best. Treated your own teammates as collateral damage with the excuse of bringing home another win, then wanted to cry like a little bitch because you felt threatened about what I had to say to you.”

You continue to rant out your frustrations, feeling the tension leave your body as tears pool from the corner of your eyes. Never did you realize that Gojo’s finally mustered up the courage to finally look into them. “And you might be right,” your bottom lip quivers. “I might be left in the dust, my life amounting to nothing in the end, but I’m the person who turned you into nothing, so who really has the power, huh?”

You invade his personal space, reaching across the table to point a finger in his chest. He can feel your quick breaths against his face. “It was a shame that I couldn’t watch your soul die on that court first hand. I’d have loved to spit on your grave.”

You’re so close that he can see every speckle on your face, his eyes softening at the flicker of rage that runs rampant through you. He concludes it as a spur of emotions when his lips touch yours, tasting the faint touch of lip gloss against your lips and mint of your toothpaste. He feels the fleeting moment in which you reciprocate the taste of his supple pink tongue against yours before a sting to the face detaches his lips from yours. And he’s met back with that fiery gaze of yours before your eyes falter. “What— fuck—”

This one is more seering, sucking the breath from his lungs as he feels your fingers knot inside of his white locks. The two of you stretching across the piece of furniture, lips locked onto each other’s. His arms reach for your waist with need, pulling you to him and dragging you across the table, nearly sending the two of you flying off the seat. Catching each other’s balance, his grip around your waist tightens as a deep sigh falls from his lips.

He presses you against him hard, making you feel the growing ache of his cock, swelling up from lust as he latches onto you. The palpitating air thickens as he attempts to swallow you whole. He pulls away, chest rising and falling, as his pupils dilate. He breathes, “Tell me how much you hate me.”

Hands wrapping around his neck, your nails dig into his skin. “I fucking hate you. I wish we never crossed paths.”

Fuck, he curses inwardly, pulling back to his lips as his arms begin to wander the course of your body. You’re wearing a simple top and shorts that stop mid-thigh. Fingers playing with the hem of your shirt, his long and slender digits send the cotton material upwards, exposing your bare waist and up to your sports bra. The sage green elastic material hugs onto your chest as he throws your shirt off. You ground your hips to his pelvis, the denim rubbing against his covered cock and eliciting foreign sounds from his lips. And your lips tremble in hurt, eyes getting glossy as you pull away from him. You hold his face, caressing it and forcing him to see how hurt you are. “I could’ve died, Satoru. Do you really realize how fucking stupid you were?”

“I do…” His eyes flicker away from yours before he feels your fingers digging into his skin. “I do… I was so fucking stupid.”

Grinding your hips down, Gojo’s hands fall back to your waist, keeping you grounded there. “You deserve to rot in jail.”

He nods, this time mouthing the two words, I do. He goes to toy with the button of your jeans shorts, undoing it and pulling down the zipper. You grab onto his wrist, stopping him from continuing. “You’re forever indebted to me, y’know that? No amount of money can silence me.”

“I’ll do whatever you want,” he easily succumbs. “I’ll get on my knees for you.”

“Want to get that in writing?”

“Yes.” Guiding Gojo’s hand into the depths of your shorts and past the band of your underwear, he feels the curls of your pubic hair, playing with the tufts of locks before dipping down further. Your hips rise as you latch back onto his lips and tug down your pants, kicking them off when they pool at your ankles. All the while, Gojo’s hand is still stuck inside your underwear, playing with your clit and sliding his digits down your folds. Arousal pooling from your cunt that he can only imagine tastes sweet. He can only hope that you’ll give him the opportunity to try.

He rolls his thumb against the dark bud as his index and middle finger delve deeper, heart pounding against his chest as his back sinks into the back of the chair. Your slick is sticky, gliding against his digits as he feels your folds, dancing around your entrance. Legs spread as your hips are in the air, your spine shudders as you inhale deeply. Your nails dig into his biceps, certainly marking and bruising his delicate skin as it reddens under your harsh touch. Your hips gyrate and grind against his fingers, hoping for more friction than what he’s allowing you.

Everytime you leave the sweet taste of his mouth, Gojo feels his soul softly crying out as his sapphire eyes twinkle in need for you.

“Gojo,” there’s a dark look in your gaze, eyes hazy with lust that looks so good on you. Hands traveling to knot themselves back into his hair, you tug harshly. “Don’t you want me to feel good?”

Your eyes soften, feigning innocence despite the position you’re both compromised in. Still, Gojo can’t help but fall for the spell you have him under. “Yes, I do.”

You’re close, capturing his bottom lip in between your teeth as you bite down on it, nearly drawing blood before letting go. “Then, stop teasing me. Be good for me, yeah? Or, are you still that pathetic little boy I always knew you were— er, are?”

“I’ll be anything you need me to be,” he breathes.

“Then, fuck me with your fingers,” you say. “Make me feel good.”

Gojo Satoru really is a skilled and talented man whose potential died down with his continuously poor choices. You truly meant it when you said he had so much more to unlock and hone in on with his skill, but his selfishness and greed overpowered him. But, right now, you can only see a selfless man who wants to please. A man who’s finally using those skills and practice and putting them to good use. His lengthy fingers twist and turn inside of you, your arousal dripping out of you like the sweet sap from trees. They drip down between each knuckle, messing up his calloused hands, but he couldn’t care less. However, while you saw selflessness in this moment, he still thinks he’s a selfish boy as he finds himself greedy, needing you like never before.

With every thrust of his fingers, he feels the tips of them touch that spongy spot inside of you. And you make the sweetest of sounds, a noise that’d have sailors out at sea captivated. Your head’s thrown back, hair falling past your shoulders as your back’s arched and accentuating your breasts. He’s got your sports bra pushed up, revealing your round breasts as they gently bounce as you bounce on his digits. His lips have found home in the juncture of your neck, kissing down your jaw and to that sweet spot on your neck, making your juices continue to pour out of you.

He’s still a selfish man, wanting for you to stay like this if he can get the opportunity to forever make amends and have you look this beautiful as he makes you feel good. Your walls would clench around his fingers every once in a while, a quick spasm notifying that he’s succeeding. There’s a soft squelch sounding in the air, the stench of you intermingling as well as Gojo’s pre stains his underwear and probably have long seeped to his sweats. However, there’s more worrying things to stress about.

Your mouth falls open into an ‘O’ as your eyes flutter shut, your heat pulsating in alert as you feel Gojo’s fingers quicken its pace. You hear him curse, fuck, alongside you as your cries are soft. Legs tensing up as his free arm wraps around the expanse of your hips, he holds you still as you feel that coil inside of you snap. “Gojo, fuuuck—”

You paint his fingers in white, walls spasming around him as he finger fucks you through your orgasm. White dripping down to the seat of the chair before you feel an absence and a sting to your clit, a clap sounding through the dining area of the hotel room. You squeal, a high-pitched sound that makes Gojo’s chest rumble. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you nudge him, hearing him chuckle. You silence his moment of amusement with need, your eyes meeting his beautiful ones as they speak all he needs to know, but still you vocalize it.

“I need more, Gojo,” you whine, eyebrows knitting together as you tilt your head to the side. “Y’think I’ll forgive you just for your fingers, hm?”

“No,” he shakes his head.

“Y’think I’ll forgive you if you continue to fuck me against this table?” It didn’t take him long to scoop you up in his arms, displaying his strength with such ease that it takes away your breath. You go to caress his face, softly telling him, “Good boy.”

Bringing you to the private room, he places you on the bed with a gentleness before climbing over you. Like a dog trained to be loyal and obedient, he waits as he admires your beautiful state. Reaching for the straps of your bra, he pulls you out of it and rids you of your soiled panties. He admires your naked state, eyes taking in every curve and blemish that you have. Absent-mindedly, he sighs, “So beautiful…”

“C’mon,” you coax him closer. “Come and fuck me already.”

Gojo realizes that he’s still completely dressed, doing both of you the favor of shedding himself of his shirt, revealing his well refined body. His body seemed to have been carved by the gods themselves, taking extra time to care for him and make sure that he dazzled every man and woman that walks in his path. And when he pulls down his pants, he reveals his defined thighs and calves as his boxer briefs hugs onto his skin, his erection prominent underneath. You can see the wet patch of his pre, making the white fabric translucent as you see the dusty rose color of his tip.

Gojo dips, calling the moment to a close as he presses his weight into you. His pelvis bends to meet your soaked core, still stained with your orgasm. Clothed erection rubbing against your sensitive nub and making your body shudder as Gojo kisses along your neck. His hand dips to tug down the hem of his underwear, making his cock jump out in excitement as he cups his balls and guides his length to your sopping pussy. His reddening tip gets needy as he slides his shaft down your folds, lubricating his length in you before aligning himself to your ready entrance.

Your heart starts racing, feeling just how long he is. You lock eyes with Gojo as you dig your elbows into the bed to meet him for a kiss. Gently, you feel his head nudge open your walls, pressing deep as he enters you. This kiss tastes of longing on Gojo’s behalf, how he inhales you as he pushes inch by inch inside. The warmth of you makes him want to stay like this forever, feeling his balls tighten up as he bottoms out. This kiss is slow as you hear the wetness of your lips against each other as it goes from deep to quick pecks. It’s distracting and confusing you for what this is— a desperate and wrongly executed display of your raw emotions.

No, this is starting to feel like something more. However, you need this. You need to feel this power you have over the man. You need to feel this. So, you take it. Greedy and wanting, the both of you switch places. Though, you fear, you’ve always been a selfish person and Gojo’s starting to unravel that side of you.

Pulling out of you, only leaving the tip in, the next plunge of his cock is purposeful. Gojo wedges himself deep inside of you, bottoming out inside of you as his hips shimmy. You gasp out, back arching as your breasts press into his chest.

“I don’t deserve you,” he breathes, a pathetic sob leaving him as he continues these slow and well-calculated thrusts that force you to feel all of him. Each one spelling out how pathetically sorry he is. “Don’t deserve to be buried deep inside of your cunt.”

Gradually, his thrusts quicken, calling for sweet sobs and mewls to leave your lips. With each drill of his hips, you feel his head kissing that soft spongy spot deep within. Making your toes curl as your legs go to wrap around his waist. Your mind is a fog, but still, you find the will to speak, to say something coherent. “You don’t deserve any part of me. You’re nothing but a greedy piece of shit.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Tell me how much you hate me.”

“I hate you,” you whisper, and again, he says, “Yeah? How much?”

“So much,” you cry. “I hate you so much. So, so much.”

And soon enough, those three words continue to pour from your lips as Gojo fucks into your wheeping pussy. The wetness sounds and echoes through the room alongside your mixed grunts and moans. You grip onto his biceps, marking up his arms even more as he takes in every call of hatred you make to him. And when you feel that familiar quiver to your cunt, you feel the waterworks coming, your eyes pricking with tears as you sob. And with his thumb, Gojo goes to wipe them away with his thumb. He apologizes incessantly, “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.”

This release is different, making your entire body spasm in his hold as you feel your inner thighs become soaked. Your stomach is coiling as your legs tighten even more. He feels your release against your stomach, the translucent liquid splashing against him as he curses low. He feels the twitch of his cock, pulling his length as he goes to rub at your clit, watching how explosive your second orgasm is. He leaks onto your stomach, white dripping from his tip and making a mess of you. His chest rises and falls as body comes to slowly relax when the last of your juices splatter onto him.

Your body’s exhausted, wasting your tears and energy on a man who doesn’t care. “You tried to kill me, Gojo. I don’t— I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive you.”

Satoru believes he’ll be able to live with that.

─────

GOJO SATORU JUST POSTED ON TIK TOK!

Each and every one of Gojo’s videos were fabricated by this management team, never truly putting in effort into using the app himself. However, he finds himself so warped inside of his mind that he feels like he needs to issue a statement out himself. Without his manager or PR Team knowing themselves. Pressing the button to begin recording, he lets out a sigh.

“Hello everyone,” he begins. “Truth be told, I haven’t prepared a speech for what I wanted to say because of the recent course of events. I didn’t think I would ever address this, but I think it’s about time that I do.”

He clears his throat. “I want to start off with that article and all the claims that it states against me,” he begins. “I want to confirm that they’re all true.”

Within the course of ten minutes, Gojo believes that he’s spoken his mind and has given out a genuine apology. Giving him some sense of satisfaction as he ends it with, “And because of all the mistakes and misdeeds that I’ve done, I’m going to end my basketball career with this apology as I hope that the people that I’ve hurt can find some solace in it.

“I’m not expecting nor am I asking for your forgiveness,” he sighs. “Just— I just want to do right by someone that I’ve hurt and work on the path of growth. Thanks and goodbye.”

credits ⋆ thanks to my babe, @satoao, for beta-reading over this work. my favorite gojo lover.

subscriptions. @madwomansapologist @sleepynoons @gojosoups @luvvcho @cailliz @celestialceremonials @emyyy007 @gojosnutgobbler @nariminsstuff @emmaleens333 @scurfi @hoelynecujoh @bbyrugou @serafina-nyx @sorilyae @lovelyjkook @alonahh

#jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #jjk angst #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x you #gojo satoru angst #gojo satoru smut #gojo angst #gojo smut #x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo #gojo satoru #tw: (n)sfw

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motomamita · 2 days ago

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Could we get some König with a SERIOUS breeding kink? Like- it’s all that’s on his mind with the reader- I love your work sm

bf!könig × female!reader

warnings: +18, smut, breeding kink!

from a very young age, könig knew he wanted to be a father. he loved the idea of having a family, a wife and son to take care of.

his relationships throughout his life didn't last long because as soon as könig found out his partner didn't want children, he ended the relationship. he didn't want to waste his time with someone who didn't share his desire.

until you came along. the perfect girl to bear his heirs and with whom to build his precious family. the children loved you, and you had a natural gift for caring for them.

every time you and könig went to the park, the children would crowd around you, asking you to play with them or asking a thousand questions about how you and könig met. könig simply watched you, imagining you playing with his children.

so, könig began planning and doing everything possible to get you pregnant as soon as possible. he would take you shopping at the mall, and the two of you would discreetly end up in the baby clothing section, where he would show you the tiny clothes and tell you how nice it would be to be able to dress his children like that.

or when one afternoon he started telling you about all the negative effects that contraceptives had on your body.

"don't you think it's better to stop taking it? i think having a baby isn't as harmful as the effects of those pills, right?"

könig became so insistent that you decided to stop taking the pill, under the promise that he would always use a condom.

in his spare time, könig would read online about the best positions for getting pregnant and which month of the year was best to avoid experiencing pregnancy symptoms. he would spend hours watching videos of new parents, their advice and experiences, imagining himself in that situation with you.

the key moment was when he took you to meet his family for christmas. all the women in his family accepted you as one of their own, making könig feel even more confident that you were the woman of his life. especially when his grandmother approached him and whispered:

"she's perfect, when will you give me a great-grandchild?"

a week later, könig had already bought a house for the two of them to live together. strategically chosen in a private area with a kindergarten just a few blocks away. that night I'll fuck you on the new mattress.

"your pussy is squeezing me so good. you really want my cum, huh?"

you bounced on his fat cock while your breasts bounced on his face. könig gripped your hips, helping you keep the rhythm and groping his skin possessively.

your clit thumped against his belly button, drawing eager moans from your mouth and encouraging you to keep bouncing. both of your juices trickled down könig's cock to his balls, making the most pornographic sound.

"let's start our little family, i'm going to give you my cum and you're going to give me the most beautiful children."

you tried to form words, but they wouldn't come out. könig wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you toward him and thrusting into you hard. you lay back against his chest and let könig fuck you until he finished inside you.

"take it, baby. good girl, good job, mama."

the weeks passed, and könig took advantage of every moment to fuck you and fill you with his semen. it wasn't long before your period missed and you were forced to take a test.

positive.

by then, könig already had a long list of baby names.

#könig smut #könig x reader #könig call of duty #könig cod #konig fanfiction #konig cod #konig x reader #konig call of duty #konig smut #cod fic #cod fanfic #cod modern warfare #cod x reader #breeding k1nk #bf!könig #bf!konig

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wcnderlnds · 3 days ago

Text

sleeping in | choi seung-hyun (t.o.p)

・❥・ summary: lazy mornings with seunghyun are always the best. ・❥・word count: 1.8k ・❥・warnings: 18+, mdni. unprotected sex, slight choking kind of, female reader, swearing ・❥・ authors note: this is not the best but listen i tried 😭

Seunghyun couldn’t remember exactly when he’d gave you the key to his penthouse — probably sooner than he should’ve but you had him in a chokehold from the second he met you. At first, it had started out as a friendship, bonding over your shared love of art and music then somewhere along the way things had changed. Stolen glances had turned into lingering touches until that one fateful night, after a BigBang concert when the adrenaline had been coursing through his veins and he’d taken the plunge, finally kissing you. From that moment on, it was hard to tear the two of you apart. Seunghyun wasn’t one for physical touch most of the time but he couldn’t help himself with you. Whether it was an arm thrown over your shoulder when you were hanging out with friends, his hand gently resting atop yours at dinner or your thighs touching as you sat beside each — he had to be connected to you in some way. It grounded him. Made him realise that you were real and you were there. To say he’d fallen fast was an understatement. It had even come as a shock to him that day he’d blurted out his feelings to you after a glass of his favourite wine as you lounged on his couch watching one of your favourite movies. His heart had never felt more full than the moment he’d heard the breathy ‘I love you too’ fall from your lips.

His job often kept him away from you for longer than he’d like. There were days where he couldn’t even see you; those were his least favourite so he had given you a key to his place, telling you to use it whenever you wanted to. It was mostly an excuse for him to come home after a stressful day and hope to see you there. It made his long days worth it. Sure, he could ask you to move in with him but he wasn’t quite ready for such a big step yet. This would have to do.

It had been a long, exhausting day at the studio putting the finishing touches to the album. All he wanted to do was go home, hopefully find you there and spend the night with the only person who could bring him peace. As he stepped into his place, the lights were off which he took to meaning you weren’t there. A heavy sigh passed his lips as he kicked off his shoes, a hand running through his hair as he made his way into the bedroom. His heart soared at the sight before him when he pushed open the door. There you were, cuddled up in bed in one of his shirts, fast asleep. His heart pounded heavily against his chest, a feeling of ease flooding through him as he looked at you. You looked so beautiful, so peaceful.

Seunghyun was usually one to wear a full set of pyjamas to bed but tonight he was too exhausted. He undressed, leaving himself in only his boxers as he climbed in bed next to you. Leaning over, he ever so gently moved a stray piece of your hair off your cheek, pressing his lips to your soft skin. “Sleep well, my heart.”

The first rays of morning light shone through the curtains casting a dim orange glow over the room. Seunghyun was the first to wake, his arms wrapped around your body from behind, nuzzling into your neck. He felt you stir, his lips leaving a lazy trail of wet kisses along your shoulder.

“Hi, baby,” you mumbled, eyes still closed as you tilted your head to give him more access.

“Morning.” His deep voice sounded even sexier than normal thanks to the grogginess of waking up. “Sleep well?”

His lips were now attached to your neck, his hand slowly but surely sliding up your thigh, pushing the hem of his shirt you were wearing up to reveal more of your skin. He nipped at your skin, his tongue running across to soothe it, leaving his mark there for the world to know that you were his.

“Mhm,” you hummed. You reached your hand behind you to tangle in his hair, enjoying the intimacy of the moment. “This is a good wake up call.”

“It’s about to get better,” he said, his voice a deep rumble in your ear. You could feel his hips slightly rocking into you from behind, pulling a breathless sigh from your lips.

His fingers danced along the inside of your thigh until they found their place inside your panties. He teased at first, not quite moving his fingers down where you wanted them knowing how much his fingers alone drove you crazy. There had been one night where you’d gone into great detail about everything you wanted him to do to you with his fingers and he held it against you ever since using it to tease you. Slowly, his fingers rubbed between your slick folds, your hand that was tangled in his hair tugging a groan from his lips as you pulled at the strands gently. It only spurred him on, his hips still rocking against you as he slipped a skilled finger inside your wet heat. He pumped it in slowly at first, opening you up a little before he slid a second finger in. The long drag of his fingers against your walls were like heaven, your breathy moans a sign that he was stoking those flames within you like always.

“You look so fuckin’ hot sprawled out in my bed with just my shirt on, baby. That was a damn sight last night,” he groaned, teeth tugging at your earlobe while he sped up the movement of his fingers. “Wanna come home to that every night.”

As he spoke, your hand had slid from his hair, down his chest and to the prominent tent in his boxers. You palmed him through the fabric, Seunghyun huffing out a sharp breath as he bucked into your hand. “Yeah?” You teased, squeezing his length teasingly. It sent a thrill through you each time you realised you were the only one that could get him this hard, this worked up. “How about next time I don’t wear anything underneath?”

That was all Seunghyun could handle. His patience flew out of the window. He pulled your panties to the side, your own hands fumbled as you tried to push his boxers down from behind you. He helped, pushing them down his legs just enough to free his aching cock. Seunghyun lifted your leg up slightly so he could slide into you. The tip of his cock prodded at your entrance, pushing in only slightly then back out. He was teasing you, driving you crazy. “Beg for it,” he whispered into your ear, repeating his actions.

“Baby, please,” you whined, backing up as if that was going to help. “I need you.”

It was like music to his ears. Happy to oblige, he finally sank into your soaking entrance, pushing himself all the way in, his chest pressed right up against your back. He dragged his hips back, almost pulling all the way out before he slammed back in setting a slow, deep pace. The palm of his free hand tilted your head to the side so he could capture your lips in a heated kiss. His hand then made its journey up your shirt, taking one of your breasts in his hand. He squeezed the supple flesh, enjoying the way they moved with each thrust. His hips still relentless in the hard way he was thrusting into you, your body moving with each thrust. The room was filled with a cacophony of moans and breathless whispers.

“You feel so fucking good. So tight, so perfect,” he panted, his voice strained from pleasure. You loved it when he got like this, when he was vulnerable and losing control. You felt his hand wrap around your throat, not squeezing but just holding it and that only turned you on more. You pushed your hips back, meeting his thrusts each time but you needed more.

“Seunghyun, please. I need more. Fuck, baby, please go faster.” Your words were a garbled, whiny mess and who was he to ignore them?

In one fluid movement, he had pulled out of you, laying you on your back. He parted your legs and pulled your panties off fully, his eyes resting on your slick, swollen folds as he settled himself between them once again. He hooked your legs over his shoulders as he pushed into you but this time he wasted no time. His thrusts were shallow, hard and fast. The bed hitting the wall with the force of them. He grabbed your hands holding them above your head in one of his while the other held your waist, fingers digging into your skin as he pounded into you. “This what you wanted, huh, baby?”

No coherent sounds came from you, only loud, high pitched moans of his name as they filled the room joined with the sound of skin slapping against each other. He could tell you were close, could feel it in the way your walls were tightening down around him. His own release was close, too. He could feel himself lingering on the edge but he needed you to come first. “Come on, my love,” he urged, picking up the pace of his hips, his eyes glancing down to where your bodies met. He groaned heavily, throwing his head back at the erotic sight. “”Let go. I’ve got you.”

His lips crashed against yours again in a frenzy of passion. That was what sent you over the edge, your body arching into his, breasts pressing into his chest as your orgasm washed over you. His name fell from your lips like a prayer. The way you cried his name, the way your pussy squeezed the life out of him, it was too much. One more brutal thrust and he hilted himself inside you, spilling his seed into you. “Fuck, yes. I love you.”

He shuddered, his body spent as he emptied himself deep inside you. He collapsed on top of you, releasing your hands that instantly rested on his back, your legs falling to your sides. Seunghyun peppered your face, neck, and collarbone with kisses. “So good for me.”

He rolled off you, pulling you into his arms but this time so you were facing him. His eyes met yours filled with nothing but love and adoration for you. It was enough to make anyone’s heart soar. He brushed the hair from your sweat slicked face, kissing the tip of your nose. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you spoke quietly, tracing his jawline with your index finger. “That was amazing. You’re amazing.”

It wasn’t often Seunghyun got shy or embarrassed but when you complimented him? Well, all bets were off. His face flushed red as he dipped his head to hide in the crook of your neck like he hadn’t just given you the fucking of a lifetime. “Shutup.” His voice was muffled but you could still hear the amusement behind it.

You giggled. “You gonna make me?”

That made him raise his head, a beautiful smirk appearing on his face which could only mean you were in for one hell of a morning.

taglist: @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten @loveesiren @eru-vande

#choi seunghyun x reader #top x reader #choi seunghyun smut #bigbang x reader #t.o.p x reader #my fics

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puck-luck · 2 days ago

Note

Trevor gives off the vibes where he’d love just being in his girl even if it’s not sexual like they’ll just be sitting there watching tv and before you know it he’s inside of her and they’re just vibing together. I also feel like he’d be so into free use with his girl like he’ll be playing video games and she’ll get off while she uses him or she’ll be laying there reading and he’s just inside of her getting off on his own

4 + 1: Free Use with BF!Trevor

After talking about it, you’ve taken to wearing thongs and an oversized t-shirt around the house. Trevor needs easy access, after all, and you had made a promise.

You’re reading a book on the couch when he gets home from some Ducks event. You’re laying along the length of the cushions on your stomach, knees bent and ankles crossed, kicking your feet in the air aimlessly. The book is propped up against a throw pillow and you’re lazily turning the pages.

When Trevor arrives home, you look up at him. “Hi, baby,” you greet. “Good day?”

He’s the perfect picture cuddly boyfriend, which is why he’d been late getting out of bed for this event in the first place. He hadn’t even had time to change. He’s still wearing those BU sweatpants you love so much and the white hoodie he’d found at the foot of your bed.

Trevor offers you a complacent smile. “It was fine.” He walks over to the couch and pushes your legs down until they’re flat on the cushions. He collapses on top of your back, laying with his head just between your shoulder blades.

You let out a small chuckle, barely more than a puff of breath, and return to your book. You’re being pressed into the cushions by a lot more than gravity now, but you don’t mind. It’s nice to have your boyfriend so close, especially as he’s snaking his hands up the sides of your shirt and tracing your skin.

He kisses your spine. “Can I?” Trevor asks, his voice muffled and pouty against your back. He shifts up on his knees so he can press his hips to your ass.

It’s the first time that Trevor has wanted to do this since you talked about it. Free use. Goosebumps rise on your neck.

“You don’t have to ask,” you remind Trevor, although it’s nice that he did since it’s the first time he’s actually going to use you like this. “‘m all yours, babe.”

Trevor hums proudly at that, pecking your shoulder before pulling away from you entirely. He leans back on his heels and pushes his sweats down.

You look again to your book. You can feel Trevor stroking himself to his full hardness and you bite your bottom lip. You’re wet thinking about how Trevor just wants to be inside of you, to treat you like no more than a hole to be filled when he wants to fill it, but you’re not particularly inclined to participate. That’s the whole point, after all, isn’t it?

He pushes your legs apart, then settles between them. The blunt tip of his cock probes your entrance and sinks into you.

The drag is harsh and it gets harder and harder to read as Trevor becomes more drunk on this feeling. You feign nonchalance.

Trevor grips your hips and drives his cock into your heat over and over and over again. There’s no regard for you, for your pleasure. It’s only about his pleasure and, honestly, that makes you feel good. Trevor’s climax, in this state, means much more to you than your own. As long as he’s feeling good, then you’re happy to be used.

He doesn’t waste time on anything other than chasing his orgasm. You get to hear Trevor in his purest state– this is like fucking his own fist in complete privacy, but instead, he’s fucking into you. You get to hear all of his grunts and groans and puffs of breath and stifled whimpers, all of which he makes when you’re together too, but he likes to make them more manly and sexy when he’s putting on a show for you. Truth be told, you like these better. You like that Trevor can’t stop the stutter of his hips and the keen that escapes his mouth as he starts to shoot off inside of you.

You love how he moves to bracket your ribs with his arms, palms flat on the couch. His hips continue to move as he works through his orgasm, cum dribbling from his tip into your cunt. Trevor’s lips find your neck, your shoulder, your spine… he plants grateful kiss after grateful kiss to your back until his movements slow to pure stillness and Trevor lays against you.

His cock remains inside, acting like a plug to keep the cum from leaking out of you onto the couch. Trevor hooks his nose over your shoulder. “I hope I didn’t disturb your reading,” Trevor mumbles. He takes some of the fabric of your shirt in his mouth, tugging on it. “Couldn’t resist.”

II.

“Hey, babe, c’mere,” Trevor calls from down the hall.

“What, Trev?” you reply. You scrunch your hair in a towel, having just gotten out of the shadow a few minutes prior. When he doesn’t reply, you roll your eyes and leave the bathroom, making your way into Trevor’s game room. “What, Trev,” you repeat in a more exasperated voice.

He looks over his shoulder and moves one of his headphones to the side. His face splits into a grin. “Oh, good. Take your towel off and come here.” He spreads his legs, scooting back in his wheely chair so you can fit partially beneath the desk. “I want to use your mouth.”

You stare at him blankly for a moment, then shake your head and chuckle. “Really?”

Trevor nods and lifts his hips enticingly.

“Are you going to game while I suck you off?” you ask.

Trevor nods again and smiles wide.

You start to laugh again, walking over to where he sits and putting your hands on his knees. You bend at the waist and peck his lips before sliding to your knees.

Trevor grabs a hairtie from the desk and ties your hair into the world’s most hurried bun. Then, he leans back in his chair and picks up his controller. He puts his headphones back over both ears and resumes his game. He lifts his hips as you start to drag his waistband down.

You lick Trevor’s tip slowly with the flat of your tongue, peeking up through your eyelashes as you do and catching the way the corners of his mouth turn up. His eyes stay on the screen.

The hair on Trevor’s thighs is soft and you pet through it as you slide his cock into your throat. You scratch your nails gently over his skin, closing your eyes and starting to bob your head. Trevor’s cock is thick and tastes slightly salty as precum oozes from his tip and seeps into your warm mouth.

Trevor’s breath is deep and his expression remains mostly unaffected. You aim to change that.

You swallow him down as much as you can. Trevor’s cock flexes with your swallow, filling all the space that you give him. You gag, but force your way down until your lips are wrapped around Trevor’s base. You lift your eyes to his face and find Trevor’s gaze on you, wide smirk on his face.

“Showing off?” Trevor asks knowingly.

Stilted by the cock in your mouth, you shake your head.

“Then fuck your mouth for me, will ya?” Trevor instructs goodnaturedly, nudging you with his foot and grinning at you.

You choke a little bit on Trevor’s cock when you laugh at his words, but you pull off and put your mouth to work.

You lay your hand flat on Trevor’s hip and caress his abdomen with your thumb, bobbing your head up and down. His tip knocks into the back of your throat as you push yourself down, alternating between lathering your tongue over his tip and deepthroating him until you have to pull off and gasp for breath.

Trevor plays on. You can hear the clicking of his controller and the way he’ll let out an annoyed groan whenever something goes wrong on the screen.

You lap at his tip and fit your lips around his crown, sucking softly and flicking the tip of your tongue over his slit, collecting the precum there and begging for more to come out and coat your tongue. You hum and take him down about halfway, drawing your fingers gently up and down the rest of his shaft. You’re barely touching him in this moment, just ghosting over his veins and ridges. When you take him all the way down, you cup his balls and roll them in your palm. When you give them a squeeze, Trevor’s cock jumps in your mouth.

It’s the first physical reaction, beside how hard his length is, that you’ve gotten from Trevor.

You repeat the actions over and over. Trevor’s cock is steadily leaking precum now, the taste filling your mouth, and you can feel his pulse growing more and more rapid on your tongue. You breathe through your nose, choking yourself on Trevor’s length and allowing spit to drip down his cock until he’s positively coated.

Massaging the vein on the underside of Trevor’s cock with the flat your tongue, you swallow around his tip. His cock jerks again, bumping into the roof of your mouth a telltale three, four, five times before pearly white cum shoots down your throat in long, thick threads.

You swallow around him until Trevor is done coming and there’s nothing left in your throat but the aftertaste.

You kneel back on your heels and use the momentum to make your way to your feet, pecking Trevor’s mouth again and heading back to the bathroom to finish your post-shower routine.

III.

You’re wearing Trevor’s pink sweatshirt, the one with Roman numerals on the breastbone, and chopping up vegetables for a pasta sauce. You’ve already got four tomatoes halved and thrown in the blender, plus an onion that you cut into quarters. There are a few cloves of garlic thrown into the blender with those veggies and you’re about to start blending them, once you finish chopping this carrot into fine little pieces. Really, you’re just trying to blend all of your veggies that are about to go bad together so that they don’t go to waste. Even if it tastes like shit, your boyfriend is like a vaccuum when it comes to any kind of food, and he’ll eat as much as you give him.

It’s been a couple of months since you and Trevor started this free use journey and you’ve stopped wearing underwear altogether when you’re around the house. Trevor has ruined a few pairs already, by stretching them out or physically ripping them off of your body due to his lack of patience, and you’d rather not have to buy new underwear every other month.

It’s lucky that you’re wearing nothing, given how Trevor walks in the front door after practice and drops everything where he stands before beelining to you. He presses his face into your hair and breathes in deeply, shoving his hands up the sweatshirt and kneading your boobs.

“Long day?” you ask, chuckling and chopping up the final pieces of carrot before putting the knife to the side. You pick up handful after handful of carrots and toss them in the blender, eventually wiping your hands on the teatowel you’d thrown on the counter after washing the tomatoes.

“The longest,” Trevor replies. One of his hands leaves your chest, retreating to pull his cock out of his pants. He fists the base and rubs his tip against your folds until he’s hard and straining and you’re slick enough for him to press inside.

You’re doing your best to pour a dash of vegetable oil and a bit of heavy cream into the blender so that the vegetables blend more easily, but Trevor has started to thrust against you. The carton of heavy cream slips and you pour way more than you wanted to, but you catch your mistake before the sauce will be too creamy. You close the carton with one hand, using the other to find purchase on the counter and brace yourself for Trevor’s bucking hips.

He notices your stiffness and slips his hand back up to your boob, holding both in his hands and keeping you in place so that you don’t have to. “Sorry, baby, I’ll be quick,” Trevor murmurs with a kiss to the back of your neck. “I needed this.”

“Don’t apologize, Trev,” you say. “You feel good. Take what you need, sweet boy.” You press the button on the blender and the loud whirring fills the room, but you can feel the puffs of Trevor’s breath on your neck and his low moans next to your ear.

He pinches your nipples beneath the sweatshirt and the feeling travels through your body to your pussy, squeezing Trevor tight. He swivels his hips against you, grinding deep before he draws back and starts to pound into you again. His forehead meets your spine. You can practically feel how close he is already, even though it’s only been a few minutes. He just needs a release after a long day and you’re more than willing to offer that to him.

You press your hips back and watch Trevor’s reaction in the glass of the blender. As he throws his head back and furrows his eyebrows, jaw dropping open, his hips drive into you in a slower, harder, more precise way. His body claps against yours and you turn off the blender just as Trevor comes, moaning out loud and flooding your cunt with his seed.

You transfer the blended sauce into the pan on the stove and hit a few buttons, setting it on low heat as Trevor pulls his cock from your pussy and watches the cum drip from your hole. He pushes it back in with his fingers, then guides his softening cock to your entrance and fills you again. He stays behind you like that as the sauce simmers, playing with your boobs and kissing your neck as you dump the strained pasta into the sauce and mix them together.

“That looks good,” Trevor mumbles. He kisses the space right behind your ear. “You’re so good to me.”

You giggle when his breath tickles the shell of your ear, shivering at the sensation. You turn the noodles over in the sauce. “It’s ‘cause I love you,” you tell him.

Trevor brings a hand to your clit, circling his fingers. “Gonna get you back after we eat,” Trevor says. “Make you come a couple of times.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you reply. You reach for the teatowel and hang it over your shoulder. “Now, clean me up and put this in the laundry after, will you?”

IV.

The next time Trevor needs you like that, you’re asleep in bed. He didn’t expect you to be up waiting for him. That’s a honeymoon phase thing– you guys have been dating for a while. You’ve gotten into fights. You’ve been living together for a while now. You both have seen the best and worst parts of each other over time, and you’ve gotten comfortable enough in this relationship that you and Trevor are both perfectly okay with your not waiting up for him after every game.

But after a long east coast roadie, Trevor has been missing you. You look so pretty in his big t-shirt. When he peels back the covers, Trevor sees that it has ridden up to show off your stomach. Like you’ve been expecting him, your legs are spread apart and, as always, you’re not wearing panties.

Trevor smiles. You’re ready for him.

He bends down and kisses your cheek, then moves slowly to the other. He slides into bed with you, having stripped down to his boxers already, and shifts between your legs. He rolls his hips down into your core, his clothed bulge gliding against your folds.

You stir, the hand resting next to your face on the pillow coming up to blearily wipe at your eyes. “Trevor?” you rasp, confused and sleepy.

“Hi, sweetheart, sorry for waking you,” Trevor whispers. He purses his lips and brushes them against yours.

“S’okay,” you reply. “How was the game tonight?”

“It was fine.” Trevor kisses down your neck and brings his fingers to your slit. “I missed you.”

He can feel your cheeks shifting as your lips widen into a smile. “You are such a horny guy,” you tease.

Trevor pushes a finger into your heat, feeling the slide grow easier with each thrust. “Can’t help it when my girl is so pretty,” he says.

“Hmm,” you hum. “Be quick. Wanna cuddle.” You close your eyes and take a deep breath, lifting one of your legs and wrapping it around his waist.

Trevor leaves his lips in contact with your cheek as he pulls his finger from your body and fishes his cock out of his boxers, fucking into your pussy at an unhurried pace. You’re so warm and tight; Trevor hasn’t fucked you in days and he knows he won’t last an impressive amount of time. You told him to be quick anyway. Once his pelvis is flush with yours, Trevor breathes in deeply through his nose and kisses down the curve of your neck. He wraps his arms around your middle and splays his fingers across your lower back, lifting you slightly to provide a better angle for your pleasure… although he’s admittedly not aiming to get you off right now.

Trevor rocks forward in aborted movements. Your gummy inner walls hug his cock tightly, rubbing against the nerve endings along his shaft and tip in a way that has him panting in just minutes.

Your hand comes up to the nape of his neck, pushing into his hair. He feels like he can feel your nails scratching his scalp better now that he cut his hair shorter, even though that’s nonsensical. You sigh contentedly in his ear, chest rising and brushing his. “Fill me up, T,” you croon, pulling him even closer with the leg wrapped around his waist. “Know you want to. I’ll keep your cum inside all night and you can fuck me again in the morning. I’ll ride you, hm? How’s that?”

Trevor feels his cock throb, feels his balls grow tighter just before you clench down on him and he shoots off inside of you. Trevor feels like his brain turns to mush as he comes, his limbs loosening and lips smushing against your skin. He lays atop you when his cock is done twitching and leaking, breathing in the smell of your shampoo and soap and the natural smell that is so you. He could fall asleep right here.

You push at his shoulder and insist that he sleeps on his side of the bed rather than on top of you.

Still, Trevor pulls you into his side and falls asleep with his nose against the crown of your head.

You’ve been feeling especially feral today. You’re not sure why, but every time you look at Trevor, a lightning strike travels through your body and the energy settles riiight between your legs.

He’s not even doing anything hot. You’re actually pretty sure you saw him biting his nails earlier and that itch on his nose might have been him digging for gold. You are not sure and you’d looked away so that you could give yourself the benefit of the doubt and convince yourself that, yes, he’d just been itching his nose. Nothing more than that. He’s not that gross. He might be a boy, but he’s not that gross. Surely.

Even if he is a gross, disgusting boy who bites his nails and might pick his nose when he thinks no one is looking… you’re absolutely feral for him today.

Trevor is sitting on the couch watching TV. His legs are spread wide, creating a nice space just for you.

You’re sitting on the other end, torn between scrolling on your phone and staring at your boyfriend. You think you’re caught staring when Trevor’s hand shifts to his lap and covers his cock, the slight bulge of which you could see in his boxer-briefs. Your eyes widen, then your gaze flies to his face.

And Trevor is just staring at the TV. He gives his cock an absentminded squeeze and moves his fingers over his length briefly, then stretches his arm out over the back of the couch.

You suddenly blink to yourself and draw your eyebrows together. Why the fuck are you still turned on by a man who just scratched his balls right in front of you?

You need to get this out of your system or else you’re going to be distracted for the rest of the day. So, for the first time, you approach your boyfriend and straddle his lap, planting yourself on his cock and grinding down.

Trevor is delighted by this turn of events, you can tell by the silly smile on his face. His hands come to your sides and pinch your hips. “Hey, pretty girl,” he greets, his attention now on you rather than the screen.

“Take your cock out,” you command before tugging your shirt over your head and dropping it on the coffee table. “I want you to suck my tits while I fuck myself on it.”

Trevor’s eyes light up and he lifts his hips, shuffling his briefs down until his cock springs free. You can see it reacting to your presence and you wonder, very quickly, if he’s still itchy at all. You stamp the thought down and forget it as soon as it comes, rising up on your knees and lining his cock up with your entrance.

Since you’ve been turned on all day, your pussy has been ready to accept Trevor since the moment you clambered onto his lap. Once aligned, you sink down and take him. You move your hips in figure-eights, gyrating and finding the pleasure you enjoy. When you’re riding Trevor in an effort to make him come, you’ll bounce– but that’s never brought a climax to your body on its own. No, for you, it feels better when you rock your hips and roll your pelvis forward in a scooping motion, punctuated by a series of bounces here and there just to shake things up.

You close your eyes and lean your head back, facing the ceiling in a relaxed pose. You can feel yourself being consumed by the movement of Trevor’s cock inside of you and how it presses against sensitive spot after sensitive spot.

You’re sure if you look down right now, Trevor will be staring at you like he’s looking into the face of God. When you’d first talked about free use, he’d made it very clear that he didn’t want it to just be about him. He spoke at length about how if you wanted to use him, he’d be more than willing. In fact, over the time that you guys have been practicing this newfound kink, Trevor has had to remind you that he wants to be used. You’re finally doing it.

He fulfills your request shortly after you find your groove. His teeth encircle your nipple and tug, his hands wrapping around your back and pulling you closer like he just can’t get enough. He alternates between your breasts, licking and sucking until your nipples are wet, straining, and aching with pleasure.

Your stomach thrums with excitement, clit swollen and making contact with Trevor’s abdomen when you swivel your hips just right. You repeat the motion over and over again until it’s just not enough, snaking a hand between your bodies so that you can rub your fingers over the bundle of nerves in rapid passes. You make a soft noise halfway between a whine and a squeal when the balloon of tension in your gut explodes and forces your eyes, closed as they are, to the back of your head. You swear that if your vision wasn’t black, you’d be able to see the back of your skull with how strong his orgasm is.

Trevor moans against your tits, bucking up twice and spilling into your heat, adding to the mixture of warmth that is coursing through your body and making you feel like jelly. You sag against him and Trevor holds you tight, burying his face between your breasts and kissing your sternum. He stays there for only a moment before kissing a line up your neck to your lips. “Fuck, that was so sexy,” Trevor breathes out. “Let’s do it again.”

i need to write a dom trevor fic soon bc hot so we might see some free use in that too, these were all pretty soft so

#puck-luck's fics #andy writes anything🍄#trevor zegras #trevor zegras smut #trevor zegras blurb #trevor zegras fanfiction #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras x you #tz blurb #tz11 #nhl #nhl smut #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl blurb #hockey blurb #hockey smut #anaheim ducks

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just-a-cool-wizard · 3 days ago

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Wow, this brings me back. Believe it or not, I was there that night. It was the second or third year of wizard school--third I think because I was there with my friend Reynauld the Wize-with-a-Z, and he transferred over from Wizard Yale (I know, right?) during my third year. Anyway, Reynauld and I had the bright idea that we'd go to this bar that night to meet some witches, not that we'd know what to do with a witch if she even glanced at us, much less, you know, what we were hoping for, but I literally chalk up "reason to meet witches" as one of the main reasons I explored a wizard career to begin with. You can't grow up watching Elvira Mistress of the Dark on the seeing stone and not have it affect you, you know?

But, see, I was nervous. Witches and warlocks and folks pretending to be vampires, and I was just a kid, so I'd gotten pretty in my head about it and I thought it would be a good idea to put up some wards, you know? What if I get cursed? What if somebody tries to poison me? What if there's a real vampire there with the fake vampires (fampires we called them) and they try to glamour me, or who knows what? So, wards up, anti-curse stuff up, all my spell slots on defensive abilities.

So there we were at this bar full of leather- and black denim-clad so-and-sos, and if you've ever seen a wizard student you'll know how much we stood out. I was, to put it kindly, cherubic in my school days, pale and pock-faced, quite the stereotype. I used some scum from the bottom of a cauldron as eye shadow, thinking that would make me look goth, and Reynauld tied his robe sleeves up with a copper wire. We looked ridiculous. I'll give those goths one thing, though--were they ever welcoming to a pair of dorks invading their space like this. One guy with a fucking safety pin through his face, like his WHOLE face, he's all, how you guys doing, so glad you're here, let me show you around, and then this gal who, so far as I could tell, literally didn't have eyes, just offered us molly like it was no big deal. Everyone was super nice.

Anyway, this guy. Saint Verthaine, apparently. I remember seeing him and thinking he looked so fucking cool, like as nervous as I was, he was the polar opposite. I was scared to be there, and he, I don't know, it looked like he didn't even want to be there. He was standing at the bar with a creamy-looking drink and a cigarette and he looked like through his presence he was doing the place a favor. In hindsight I realize that was just his shtick, this aloof above it all thing, like obviously you don't go to a bar to be alone, but I was pretty in awe of it at the time.

And then, something happened. Reynauld was shouting over the music, shouting right into my ear, complaining about one of his classes, when suddenly he stops mid-word. A wave crossed over the room. I felt a pressure, felt one of my wards buckle and one of my counter-curses trigger. The music sounded heavy and distorted--more heavy and distorted than it was, I mean, like I was hearing it from under water, and then I realized that everyone was frozen. Everyone but me. My anxiety about coming to this club suddenly erupted into a full on panic and I was hyper aware of everything and everyone around me, positive I was getting glamoured or otherwise mind-controlled and a wraith or who knows what the fuck was about to get me, and then I saw her: rainbow hair that obviously had taken her hours to get right, skin gray as a cloudy sky, and leather that she must have been stitched into. She's slinking seductively through the crowd and I'm positive she's who did The Thing, and thank heaven i'm petrified with fear or she'd have known I wasn't magically petrified like the rest of the room was, and I realize then that she's approaching the cool guy I'd seen, and he's not petrified either, just smoking and standing there like he doesn't give a fuck. It was crazy. She says something to him, something weird and garbled that I couldn't hear, holds her hand out to him, he stubs his cigarette out against the bar, takes her hand, and then, seriously, the two evaporate into smoke.

And just like that, the music is normal again and everyone's moving again and Reynauld picks up exactly where he left off, the second half of the word he was saying, which made me jump right out of my fucking cauldron-soot eyeliner, I'll tell you, and then he stops and is like, "What the fuck, man? Did you take that molly that chick gave us? You can't just take random pills, dude!"

I stared over at him like he was crazy, and then I thought, wait, did I take the molly? Was that what that was? Molly is supposed to be fun but that was fucking terrifying.

I guess the moral of this story is don't do drugs, kids, except cool ones, of course, and, like, I don't know, I lost the thread of this, I suppose, because I checked later and I still had the molly, so maybe do do drugs, just make sure you test them first? And watch out for goddesses of chaos.

Now THIS is how you start an occult text.

(Book of Eris)

#wizard shit #wizard posting #wizardposting #wizard #wizards #wizard blogging #wizardblogging #storytime

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p1astr81 · 1 day ago

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sub!oscar bc he's down bad? 😩 obsessed, give me ten

ask and I shall deliver! my second smut ever written so pls understand this isn’t my expertise.

warnings: sub!needy!oscar (obv), overstim, pnv, excessive use of the word baby, probably cringe idk, hint of dry humping

۶ৎ ۶ৎ ۶ৎ

Oscar hated triple headers, and he especially hated when you couldn’t get work off to join him for at least one of those weeks.

And god did he miss you. Your smile. Your laugh. The way you tried to drag him out of bed every morning just to be unable to move him an inch, and finally settle for kissing him until he couldn’t get back to sleep. And he missed the sweet smell of your perfume. And how the scent of your shampoo would flood his nose whenever you cuddled up with him at night. And he even missed your thievery, how you would snatch his hoodies when he wasn’t looking. The list could’ve gone on and on.

But he had to admit, even with all that sappy stuff, he did miss the sex.

He’d been so deprived of you that even the mere thought of you got him all riled up, and had his dick already hardening in his jeans.

It was definitely wrong, but the entire flight home, he was envisioning different ways to wake you up so you’d finally get him off after three very long weeks.

He never got to execute a single one though, because when he got home and crept into your shared bedroom, you weren’t there.

“Looking for something, pretty boy?” Your sweet, sultry voice brought a smile to his lips.

He turned to find your silhouette in the doorway, the only light flooding in from behind you. He quickly realized you were in nothing but a lingerie set. Not even a thin nighty covered your curves. It took everything in him to hold back a groan.

So sensual, you sauntered over to him, grabbing his face with your hands. You kissed his nose. “I’ve missed you.” You muttered.

Oscar allowed himself to grip your hips. Your breath hitched when he pulled you impossibly close. You could feel how hard he was. “Seems like you missed me, too.” You teased, a muted giggle. “And that seems really painful.”

“You have no idea.” He mumbled against your lips, already drunk on the smell of your shampoo and perfume, and the way your skin felt beneath his fingers, and the weight of your body against his.

He leaned forward, trying to kiss you properly. You pulled away, and he fucking whined.

“Someone’s needy.” You quipped.

Oscar bowed his head, shamelessly eyeing the curve of your tits. “Baby, I haven’t seen you in three weeks.”

You clicked your tongue, faking a pout that he could just make out in the dark. “Oh and that’s so long.” You purposely ground your hips into him.

His breath came out shaky. “Fuck, baby please.”

You hushed him, trailing kisses from his mouth to the curve of his neck and collar bones.

Each open-mouthed kiss sent a bolt of pleasure through him. If he didn’t do something, he was going to cum untouched. So he reached behind you and unclipped your bra.

You drew back. “Needy and impatient. What’s gotten into you?” You teased, backing him up until he’s fallen on the bed. Your lips restart their attack on his neck. “You’re wearing far too many clothes.” You breathlessly, complain. While you fumble to remove his shirt, Oscar is undoing his pants. He didn’t need to be told twice.

“So fuckin sexy.” You rasped, your hands traveling down his bare chest, tracing the grooves of his muscles. The soft biting of your lip drove him insane.

His jeans had been thrown somewhere in the room. It left the both of you in your just underwear. He took hold of your hips and rolled them against his own. The both of you moaned at the contact.

Silently, you pulled his hands away from your hips, planting them to the mattress. Your lips made his way down his chest, pausing when you reached the waistband of his boxers.

“Your torturing me.” He panted in anticipation. He didn’t like how you smiled in response, like you had a plan for more torturous activity.

Of course, you did.

You mouthed his dick over his boxers.

Oscar stuttered a whispered curse. He gripped your hands, his head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, and his mouth open in a silent moan. “Fuck, oh fuck, fuck.” He moaned, high pitched. “Please, need you.”

He groaned when your fingers dipped under his waistband and peeled his boxers down his legs. His dick was impossibly hard and throbbing with need.

“Shit,” you cursed, finally letting go of his hands. “You’re so hot like this.” Shedding your panties, you made your way back up the mattress, shattering his hopes that you’d take him down your throat. You cupped his cheek. He was so blissed out and hadn’t even cum yet. “Tell me what you need.”

His hands ran up and down your legs while you hovered over him, he fought the urge to buck up into you. “You— I need, hm, I need you to—“ Before he could even finish, you sunk down on his cock, taking him fully in one go. A symphony of moans filled the room.

You only got three strokes in before his hands shot to your hips and stopped you from moving. “Wait— wait.” He panted. Brows furrowed, you questioned the action. “I’m, if you keep going I’m gonna cum.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m so close.”

You held back a laugh. “Already?” You feigned remorse, choosing to tighten around him.

He gasped. “Shit, shit. Don’t do that.” He pleaded.

You did it again and earned another gasp. “Seriously, I’m gonna cum.” Pleading, glazed over eyes looked up at yours.

Gently, you took his hands in yours and relocated them to your tits. “Good.”

He tried to protest when you started to move again, but was cut off by his own moans. He mumbled out incoherent praises, struggling to catch his breath.

You leaned forward, placing a quick kiss on his lips. “Feels so good.” You muttered, and he greedily swallowed your moans.

The new angle felt even better. Oscar didn’t last long. He didn’t even get a chance to warn you before he was cumming inside you. Good thing you were on birth control. He pulled you down to muffle his moans against your lips.

But you didn’t stop. You continued to rock your hips at a steady pace, which was all fine until the pleasure started to become too much for Oscar.

“Ah, fuck, babe please-“

“Do you want me to stop?”

Oscar remained silent, but continued to fill the space with his shaky, breathy moans and incoherent muttering. “Perfect, so perfect.”

You sped up your movements, so close to the brink. Hiding your face in the curve of his neck, you gripped onto his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. He hissed, but didn’t complain.

He could tell you were close based on your quickening breaths and how your moans gradually increased in pitch. His fingers met your clit, and only circled it three times before you collapsed over the edge, body shaking. Oscar came for the second time and pulled you off of him after riding out both of your highs.

His fingers tangled in your hair as he confessed his love to you. You smiled and kissed him lazily, eyes closed as sleep tried to drag you away.

“Hey, not yet. Shower first and then sleep.” Oscar advised, picking you up before you could protest.

#f1 x reader #f1 #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #f1 blurb #f1 fluff #op81 #f1 x you #f1 smut #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri one shot #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri x reader

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lnfours · 2 days ago

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okay here me out. lando’s shanghai media day fit is giving me soft bf who is jet lagged and missing you. and all he can’t wait to do is get back to his hotel and curl up in bed with you.

ALSO. THE CURLS?!? omg, i literally just wanna run my fingers through them. they look so soft and silky 😫

the way his hood is pulled up, a little bit of facial hair, squinty eyes and just the oversized fit in general

god i need help 😭

madi you get me SO well i can’t even express it. you and me are like 🤞🏻 this all the time and i LOVE this for us! i missed u 🥹🫶🏻

lando thoughts

the door to the hotel room closed softly, followed by the sound of shuffling footsteps. you lifted your head from your book, smiling softly at the very tired looking man in front of you as he kicked his shoes off.

“hey,” you smiled, quick to place a bookmark between the pages because you knew what was coming next. the same thing that would happen any other time he’d leave early in the morning to go to the track.

“hey, baby.”

the pet name that ended up quickly replacing your actual name.

you watched as he emptied his pockets, his phone, his wallet, his paddock pass and a lip balm finding a new place on the nightstand next to his side of the bed. the side that still had the sheets rustled from when he got up in the morning, the side that was missing a pillow which may or may not have been moved to help you sit up against the headboard.

he didn’t notice, or if he did he didn’t care. he didn’t need it. not when he was climbing the length of your body. he placed a gentle kiss on your lips, you smiling softly and cupping his cheek lightly. it didn’t last long, just long enough to emphasize how much he missed you while he was gone all day.

you chuckled softly when he placed his head on your chest, listening to the sound of your heartbeat.

“long day?” you asked, fingers running through his curls. he hummed back in agreement, giving you your answer.

“want me to wake you up in a bit for dinner?”

he hummed again, his eyelashes kissing his cheeks. you smiled softly, still playing with his curls. your fingers trailed across his face, drawing lines to connect the moles and freckles littered across his skin.

as he drifted off to sleep, your heart tightened in your chest. no matter how hectic life was, or where in the world either of you would be, it was moments like this that made it all worth it.

#mail time #lando norris #lando norris x reader #fluff #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #ln4 fluff #lando norris x reader fluff #lando norris fluff #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #ln4 x reader fluff

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kortac-sweetheart · 2 days ago

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i miss my wife i miss him very much

anyway nikto who’s so heartbroken every morning when you have to pry yourself away from his bear hugs to get ready for work. complains and mutters like a petulant child at the loss of your warmth, “so cold without you. why don’t you just quit? we have… enough money already…. i’ll build us a farm… just…stay.. at home…..with us…” before he slowly falls back asleep under the covers warmed with your residual body heat.

nikto who wakes up again, your side of the bed is agonizingly cold and he can only sigh. his eyes then flit over to your pajamas from last night, soft and comfy, they smell like you. your natural scent, a slight twinge of your laundry detergent and a whisper of your perfume, your scent in it’s purest form. he buries his face into it, inhaling deeply in an effort to cling onto the after images of you.

he smiles happily after, nuzzling his face into it. the warmth may have dissipated long ago but it still feels like a fluffy blanket draped over their very soul anyways.

he gets out of bed with a small pep in his step, brewing a pot of tea before tidying up your home, dusting here and there, rearranging that little book nook, and starting dinner. all the while they periodically smell your pajama sweater, sighing happily before ruing and cursing your stupid job for taking you from them, and returning to give your sweater another sniff.

(he becomes the living embodiment of those “i miss my wife” reddit posts when you’re gone for the day)

he’s overjoyed when you’re finally back home, and you are too, tired from a long day at work. he greets you at the door, ever the loyal hound, pressing sweet kisses to your face as he helps you dress down and relax.

your interest is piqued when you take a closer look at him.

“honey, is that my sweater?”

he doesn’t even have the mind to be ashamed about it, why should he? they miss you so it’s only logical that he’d wear your sweater around your home.

“yes. we missed you. and it smells like you.” pulling you into a warm hug and frowning when he smells you. that clingy metallic scent of the outdoors lingers on you like a second skin, dulling your own scent. that can’t do.

after a relaxing shower with him you’re smelling like yourself again, and he just can’t help but to keep sniffing around the collar of your hoodie. warm and sweet, but light and airy, they wish they could drown in that scent.

you can only giggle as he nuzzles his head into your neck like a needy cat, running your fingers through his hair and it’s almost like he’s purring too.

from then on he always goes out of his way to give you his sweaters and hoodies to wear. they look amazing on you, little you all swaddled and comfy in his clothes, and the scent of you lingers on them for days after. (plus you love wearing them too— so win-win!)

(oh and, don’t think that he’s not going to try and convince you to quit, too. he definitely is, he’ll show you that you don’t need that pesky job anymore. want a cozy home near the seaside? done. want to be more self sufficient with a farm? never thought you’d ask. please, he’ll do anything to keep you at home and right next to his side, where you belong.)

#nikto x reader #cod nikto #leon writes ˖◛⁺⑅♡#cod x reader #nikto

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raynewolferune · 1 day ago

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Later Constantine will say he should have known better the moment he opened the door to see a "harmless" child standing there with an arm still raised mid-knock.

"What." Constantine grumped, glaring bleary-eyed at the scamp that had just woke him up far to early from his hangover nap. (Nevermind that he'd been less napping than fallen unconscious or that it was rapidly approaching evening instead of anything close to morning.)

"Are you John Constantine?" The kid asked, eyes widened like a startled deer at the sight of him.

"Who's bloody asking?"

The kid blinked, face twisting into and muoe of bafflement.

"Me?" He answered pointing to himself with one hand. The wooden boards beneath the teen creaking as he shifted his weight uneasily.

Constantine just gave kid a deadpan glare. That told him bloody nothing. Thanks so much.

The kid shifted again, hefting the strap of his backpack up a bit to resettle the bag slightly more comfortably on his boney shoulder. The bag was visibly heavy and the seams of the fabric creaked and groaned a bit at the movement. Bloody hangovers giving unfortunate assholes like himself bloody superhearing sensitivity.

Constantine clenched his teeth against the agony lancing through his skull in vicious spikes to keep from snapping at the kid. The scrawny berk hadn't done a thing to deserve being chewed out but a hungover brit.

"Fine." He ground out. "Come in."

He stalked back into the darkened living room leaving the front door open wide behind him. If he had to entertain company hungover as shit at least he wouldn't have to do it with the bloody sun trying to gouge out his bloody eyeballs.

The kid followed him hesitantly into the house shutting the door softly behind himself.

"What are you here for?" Constantine asked as he strode into the kitchen and started assembling himself a hangover home remedy. Not a true magical cure unfortunately, he'd let himself run out of those. His past self was a bloody bastard. Fuck that guy.

The kid set his backpack carefully down on the other end of the countertop from him.

"I accidentally removed some kind of magic mind control device from my new adopted dad." The kid started seeming less uneasy now that they were finally on what was the teen's anticipated script for this interaction. "CW said it was too dangerous for us to contain and told me to bring it to you."

Well.

Alright then.

At least he wasn't going to have to clean up some over zealous morons fuck ups later on.

Constantine sighed and held out a hand.

"Sure kid. Give it here and I'll take care of it." He said. Kudos that the kid immediately unzipped his bag and picked up the magical item as told to hand over (bloody hell, he hadn't even noticed the sprog was wearing gloves). "Holy Hell what the bloody fuck is that." Constantine breathed out horrified body locking up in an instinctive freeze response as his face drained and his very bones grew cold.

"Magical mind control" his bloody arse that was a damned shackle.

It looked a bit like a jewelry-fine chain that was blackened and crusted in something like old blood but thorns (long, slender, and sinesterly curved with wicked sharp barbs along their edges) were dotted along it's surface. Even as Constantine stared, the cursed binding rapidly curled around the child's left hand blessed blocked from digging into his flesh by the thick protective gloves the boy wore. The binding writhed across the kid's hand and wrist for several moments before seeming to realize it would never manage to reach his skin and settling on a tight grip instead. As it stilled it began to pulse and throb almost like a beating heart.

"Oh I am never going to touch that." Constantine choked out in a strangled wheeze. The boy startled.

"Wha-but you said-!"

"Yeah, no," Constantine said waving an arm Ina way meant to be reassuring as he took a healthy step back from the kid and the cursed object said kid was holding. "I'm still going to take that thing off your hands and contain for you." Bloody literally. What fresh hell is this. "I just ain't got any kind of gloves or gear that'll make me safe holding that damned thing like you." He explained taking another stumbling step back and bumping into the fridge.

"Oh." The kid said shoulders lowering a bit as he started to relax a bit with the knowledge Constantine wasn't about to just abandon him with that thing. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense." He said nodding slightly, paused, and then frowned slightly. "What are we going to do about this then?" He asked shaking his imprisoned (bloody hell was that thing growing?) hand slightly as emphasis.

Like Constantine could possibly forget they were discussing the nightmare fuel in the room with them right now.

Constantine forced himself to take a slow, deep breath. Calm down. Just calm the hell down. What the bloody hell could he do about this?

He forced himself to take another deep breath.

He felt uncomfortably sober at the moment.

"Okay," Constantine breathed out again. First thing first, there was no way in hell he'd be containing this thing here in his house. He'd never sleep again.

Justice League vault it is.

"Okay," Constantine repeated more firmly, meeting the kid's gaze and gesturing for the boy to follow him. "Let's head to the Watchtower to start. Can't do nothing else until we're there regardless."

The Bat was going to have his arse for bringing a civilian up there but frankly Constantine couldn't bring himself to give a shit.

Not evil?

Danny had never felt so bewildered. The probable concussion didn’t help but he doesn’t think that would change anything really. Pariah Dark had invaded, he had to finish his parents ecto-skeleton suit ASAP just to get enough power to beat him, then in the process of fighting him he had hit Pariah in a way that the impact rippled through him and something had popped out and clattered to the ground.

Pariah had frozen in place, his form wavering, before he completely changed appearance. Then he was practically bawling about finally being free and giving unending thank yous while clinging onto Danny. Exhausted and his brain not computing Danny just let him while trying to understand what just happened.

Danny had later passed out and upon waking learned that Amity was returned back to their dimension and rebuilding. He had been collected by Clockwork and returned to his friends with a note to go see him later.

After recovering for a week he had gone to see Clockwork. He had assigned him a mission to take the item that had controlled Pariah to John Constantine for destruction. He was even given a royal scroll to present to him as proof. When asked why he was doing it Clockwork had been his usual cryptic self. With a sigh Danny asked how to find Constantine and was told to go to the Justice League’s Watchtower.

#dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #dcxdp #danny phantom #Pariah Dark had an artifact attach to his core that took control and made him evil #Any ideas on what item it could be? I only know DC fanon and not very well #If he was controlled by the artifact was Pariah Dark even his actual name?#Will the ghosts let him stay as the Ghost King now that he is free?#When Danny gets to the WT he gets distracted by pranking the Flash after the ‘Ghosts aren’t real’ comment #Flash does not have a good time after that #After Danny finally gets to the point of why he is there the entire JLD panic at the news #<-prev #sorry if John is out of character #i only know him from fanfics but he strikes me as the type to be generally protective of and nice to kids #and he knows he's hungover and a snippy asshole right now so he's accidebtally over-correcting in an attempt to not be unfairly mean #if he were both sober and not hungover then i don't think he would have just let a random kid (seemingly?) into his house like this #danny just be like 'is CW sure we wabt to give this to him???'#what will happen next? no clue. i ran out of steam 😭#have at it ya'll #RayneWolfeRune writes #i'm thinking this thing is made partially from a magically infused blood blossom vine?#this would be assuming that the vine itself isn't toxic like the flowers but that it is unphasable and otherwise resistant to ghost powers #it would be extremely painful if it touched Danny's skin because it would essentially burrow through him to dig itself into his core #Pariah Dark is recovering in the Zone. Danny is ghost adopted by him because his core and Pariah's resonate so its for healing purposes #still a prince though #that probably hasn't hit danny yet lol

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andvys · 2 days ago

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The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ chapter seven

⭐︎ Fall back into place. Fall back...

Warnings: hurt/comfort, mentions of sex, mentions of sex toys, post apocalypse au, mentions of death, mentions of cheating (past relationships), grumpy x sunshine

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Your first solo trip with Steve goes a little wrong and yet it pushes you closer... much closer than ever before.

Word count: 10.6k+

Author's note: Things are heating up y'all, we're getting closer and closer to the good stuff hehe. give @hellfire--cult some loving she deserves it, she helped and wrote a lot here !!!!

series masterlist ⭐︎ previous chapter

☀︎

“There’s a gun store about two miles from here. If we go now, we can make it back before it gets dark.” Eddie explains as he points his finger at the map, tracing the road on it to the required destination. “If not then we gotta find shelter for the night but we’re definitely not getting through that with the RV.” The look on his face is skeptical as he looks up at the blocked highway. Time froze here just like it did in most places. Cars and trucks litter the highway, making it impossible to find a passageway in between.

Nancy’s eyebrows are furrowed as she looks down anxiously.

“Can’t we just try our luck somewhere else?” She asks knowing that you can’t all go together, someone will have to stay back with the RV.

Steve shakes his head at her.

“We need the ammo, we have barely any left and who knows what we’ll run into out here.”

“Yeah and we got a long wasteland ahead of us,” you mumble as you fidget with your fingers.

“Who says we’ll get lucky?” Nancy questions, looking between you and Steve before her eyes fixate on Eddie. “The store might be empty and the town might be crawling with infected.”

“We have to try, Nancy. We’re also low on food, it’s been weeks since we found anything.”

You are surviving off your savings now. You’re not sure how many cans of food you got left in the cabinets of the RV. The last time you got lucky was the day you taught them how to successfully kill the infected. You’re just glad that you were able to find water and gas and stock up on that since then.

But you need more, more gas, more food, more ammo, more guns or else you won’t survive this winter – or barely. The moment you find your way back on the highway with miles and miles of no towns ahead of you, you will be doomed, all of you. You have no option but to try your luck in the nearest small town.

Nancy sighs, looking up again, she looks between you all before nodding.

“Fuck. Yeah, yeah okay.”

A small smile appears on your face and you nod at her, bringing your hand up to her shoulder.

“Who knows, maybe we’ll find some gas,” you shrug, glancing at the abandoned cars on the road. “I’m sure there’s plenty in the tanks. We’ll just siphon it.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows at you, his brown eyes flashing with curiosity as Steve eyes you up and down.

“And what do you know about siphoning, sweetheart?” He smirks a little. “You ever done it before?”

You shake your head, chuckling softly as your eyes meet the curious ones of Steve. He opens his water bottle and brings it up to his lips.

“Nope. Can’t be too hard though right?” You shrug as you begin to make your way back inside the RV to get your backpack ready. “Just need a hose and do some sucking, easy peasy.”

Steve nearly chokes on his water when Eddie looks at him suggestively after those words leave your lips. His cheeks flush red as the metalhead wiggles his eyebrows at him.

In the past few weeks, Steve has suffered relentless teasing from him and it’s starting to get on his nerves. Not only do his comments make him feel flustered, they also make him blush… constantly. Ever since he saw you stuffing those panties into your backpack, his body had been acting weird. His stomach constantly flutters, his cheeks heat up when he sees more of your skin than he should, when his eyes unwillingly fall onto your butt whenever you bend over to tie your shoelaces or to pick something up.

Steve knows that he is deprived. That his body craves to feel the touch of another, to feel the warmth of someone else, to feel the touch of gentle hands on his skin. You happen to be the only option around he can fixate himself on in this way. At least that’s what he tells himself.

By the way Eddie’s lips curl into an evil smirk, Steve just knows that something dirty is about to fall from his mouth.

“Bet she knows a lot about that,” he cackles as he folds the map and presses it against Steve’s chest, forcing him to take it. “Who knows, maybe you’ll find out.” Eddie shrugs.

Steve huffs at the metalhead, shaking his head in annoyance. Though his cheeks still flush a deep red.

Nancy rolls her eyes at them both, uncrossing her arms, she walks away from them both and follows you inside.

“Guess it’s me and her then?” Steve murmurs, avoiding the teasing eyes of his friend.

Eddie hums, still smirking.

“Yep, you and sunshine,” he chuckles as he taps his shoulder. He looks up into the sky, noting the dark clouds. “And you better not waste any time, looks like luck isn’t on our side today.”

Steve furrows his eyebrows, and he tilts his head up. A frown appears on his face, the grey sky indicates incoming rain. The gust of wind that hits him is cold, icy.

“Alright,” Steve nods, having hope that you will make it to the town and back before it starts to rain. “We better get going then.”

Eddie nods.

“We’ll park the RV behind the trees over there and wait there until you get back,” Eddie points out to the nearby forest.

Steve looks to where he’s pointing at and he nods.

“We might have to set up camp somewhere else if it starts raining… or worse storming.” Steve mumbles, not feeling very fond of the idea to spend a night with you alone.

When he turns back to Eddie, he finds him smirking yet again, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh, I’m sure that’s gonna be such a problem, man. Forced proximity with a hot girl? That’s awful. Hopefully your clothes stay on.”

Steve wants to hit him. He wants to hit him so badly. For teasing him the way that he is. For calling you hot.

Eddie chuckles at the glare that is directed at him. He is enjoying this more than he probably should.

He slaps Steve’s shoulder, pushing him back towards the RV.

“Come on, grab your protection, you’ll need it.” Eddie mumbles, trying not to smirk at his own words. He feels Steve’s eyes on him and when he tilts his head at him, he finds him glaring harder than before.

Eddie lifts his shoulders innocently, “what? I was talking about your gear. Get your mind out of the gutter, King Steve. Jeez.”

Steve huffs, rolling his eyes.

“Mhmm sure you were, Munson.”

Nancy arms are crossed, her back pressed against the wall beside the window as she watches you. You seem unfazed, fastening your thigh holster and securing the gun inside before you reach for your jacket. A leather jacket Eddie had found in an abandoned car a few days ago, claiming that it was made for you.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?”

You turn around to face Nancy, instantly noticing the worried look in her eyes – she tries not to show it but it’s there. You know the worry is mostly reserved for Steve.

“We have to.”

You throw your backpack on and step closer to her, placing your hand on her shoulder.

“I’m used to scavenging. I’ve survived big cities before. This is nothing,” you shrug, smiling at her. “And don’t worry about Steve, I’ll bring him back in one piece.”

Nancy tilts her head to the side, furrowing her eyebrows.

It’s not just him she worries about.

“I want both of you back in one piece.” She frowns, shaking her head a little as she uncrosses her arms. “I don’t like it when you go out there.”

Your eyes soften. A comfortable feeling spreads inside of you, something warm.

Nancy is confused by the look of surprise in your features. You’re eying her like you don’t understand why she is so worried about you.

She doesn’t know that no one ever did, no one except your family.

You shrug and slowly back away, smiling reassuringly.

“I always come back.” You grab onto the straps of your backpack. “Nothing can get me.”

“That…” Nancy hesitates, frowning even deeper than before. “That doesn’t comfort me in any way.”

A chuckle falls from your lips as you start to make your way out of the RV. Walking down the steps, you look over your shoulder.

“The glass is always half empty for you isn’t it? Have a little faith in me, Nancy.”

She rolls her eyes at you, though she can’t hold back the smile.

“I do.”

Eddie’s chuckle grabs your attention. You turn towards him to find him whispering something into Steve’s ear. The latter pushes him away, rolling his eyes and scoffing loudly before he walks away from him and past you, mumbling something about grabbing his stuff.

Normally, you would have thought nothing of it but the flushed cheeks and the embarrassed look in his eyes reminds you of the day when he walked into the half naked mannequins.

Both your eyes and Nancy’s follow his figure until he disappears into the RV.

Nancy looks amused as she turns to Eddie, whose grin is wide and his eyes are filled with mischief.

You raise your eyebrows at the metalhead, questioning him with your eyes but he only shrugs at you.

“What…”

“Ready?” Steve comes back out with a backpack slung over his shoulder, his nailed bat tucked into it. He fixes the strap on his rifle as he stops beside you.

You nod, trying to look into his eyes though he avoids your gaze. You notice how flushed his cheeks still are. You know that whatever Eddie had said to him, flustered him and you wondered what it could probably be.

You breathe in slowly and take another look at the smug metalhead. He winks at you, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively which only makes you more confused, especially when Steve scoffs again.

“Uh… yeah, I’m ready.”

“Alright,” Steve murmurs under his breath. He nods at Nancy and then at Eddie but not without rolling his eyes at him once more. He taps your back two times, nodding at the road ahead of you.

“Let’s do this.”

Another house, another disappointment. Even the stores are almost empty, except for a few cans and bottles here and there. You haven’t made it to the gun store yet but you already know that Steve lost hope already, he didn’t say it but you can see it in his eyes and how the hope slowly fades after walking out of yet another building with empty hands and an unfilled backpack.

You’re strolling through empty streets, of something that once used to be a busy town – you can tell by the many stores on the main street. Broken windows and messes litter the little shops that once were neat and pretty to look at. Cars are parked in front of the stores, windows broken and doors left open.

There is nothing here.

It’s a ghost town, just like any other you have come across.

The sound of your footsteps and Steve’s heavy sighs are the only sign of life here. Not even monsters or infected seem to be around.

You tighten the grip on your machete, still looking around, trying to spot something that could be of importance.

“I hate to admit it,” you pause and take a deep breath. You avoid his eyes when you feel them on you. “But maybe Nancy was right.”

To your surprise, Steve chuckles and shrugs.

“Don’t tell her that, she’ll say ‘I told you so’ with that annoying smug look on her face.”

A soft laugh falls from your lips, and you nod.

He looks under the cars to make sure that nothing won’t crawl out from under there. The two lines between his eyebrows are prominent. His shoulders are tense, his whole body is.

There is a shop on the far end of the street, right next to something that once used to be a liquor store. It peaks your interest. You furrow your brows and squint your eyes, trying to see better.

“Let’s check this out,” you murmur and lift up your machete, pointing at the shop with the sharp end of your blade.

Steve’s eyes follow where you’re pointing, and he can’t tell what it is from this distance. His sight is getting blurry every time he tries to look far ahead. Consequences of the many concussions he probably had through the years.

“Lead the way,” he states and quickly comes to regret it when only a few steps later, you both halt before the shop. It takes him a minute or two to realize what you have led him to. His cheeks warm at the sight of things displayed on the showcase. The red colors, the fuzzy material, the… toys. He blinks a few times, trying to swallow the embarrassment creeping up inside of him as he looks up at the sign that once used to glow in the night; Girls, Girls, Girls. Adult Store.

A giggle falls from your lips, pulling him out of his thoughts. He tilts his head down and looks at you. He doesn’t know why but the sight before him feels a little unexpected. He didn’t think that your eyes would shine at the sight of… well… that. He also didn’t think that you would react so calmly to something like this, especially compared to him.

He doesn’t have to look at his own reflection to know that his cheeks are a furious red.

And it’s not that he’s a stranger to… sexual things but he has also become very timid as he got older. The past few years have also changed for him, he can’t even remember the last time he touched someone or even thought about touching someone.

As he stares at you, at the mischievous look on your face, the sparkling eyes and the teasing grin that begins to form on your lips, he wonders about you. He wonders about the experiences you had before this world or even after. He wonders what you have been like and what kind of things you have been up to. If you had been dating around, if you had something serious going on or if you preferred casual.

He never asked himself these things before and with good reason but now he can’t help but wonder and let his mind race.

He always deemed you as shy, maybe even innocent.

But it doesn’t seem like it now, quite the opposite.

“We should go inside–”

He opens his mouth to speak, wanting to protest and stop you from making his case even more awkward but he doesn’t even get the chance to. You grab your crowbar from your backpack, putting your machete away, you easily pick the lock.

Steve brings his hand up to the back of his neck, scratching it awkwardly as he looks around. He clears his throat as he tries to sound casual, nonchalant, when he is anything but.

“W-What’d you want in there, sunshine?” He asks and almost cringes at himself for the shakiness in his voice.

You open the door with ease and step inside after taking a peek first, making sure that it’s not infested with something. You look over your shoulder, grinning widely as you wiggle your eyebrows.

“I don’t know but the dildo section is funny.” You say before you walk inside, leaving him in the doorway stunned.

His eyes are wide as he stares at your back, bouncing back and forth on his feet as something flushes deeply through him.

So this isn’t your first time visiting one of these shops.

Steve closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, shaking his head.

“We’re wasting time here… or are you trying to take out infected with dildos in the future?”

Your giggle sounds through the store, making his own lips curl slightly, easing the tension within him.

“It’s worth a try! Now come inside, Steve!” You call out to him. “Please…!”

This is insane. This is crazy. Not even before all this, before the world went to shit, did Steve step foot inside a sex shop. He can’t lie though, it always made him a little curious.

He sighs and takes another look around before he decides to step inside.

“Fine..” He murmurs under his breath and closes the door behind him. He clears his throat as he follows the sound of your footsteps. “Where are you…?”

His cheeks are still flushed, heating up more and more after each step that he takes. Toys, whips and chains are all across the store. A variety of handcuffs hang on the walls. A section of roleplay outfits are on his left. This seems to be the only store untouched.

“Guess sex shops aren’t a hit in the apocalypse,” Steve mumbles quietly, though loud enough for you to hear.

“Not many freaks around… or at least those kinds of freaks.”

He follows the sound of your voice and your laugh.

The fact that you even suggested trying your luck here tells him that you are one of those freaks left in this world. Not in a bad way.

Steve halts in his tracks when he finds you in the little adult movies section – it’s similar to the one back in Hawkins in Family Video, minus the red curtain. You already grabbed one of the cowboy hats from the roleplay section and put it on your head. Steve would have laughed if he didn’t feel so flustered about this whole situation.

“Everyone I did last summer.”

Steve furrows his eyebrows as he stares at the back of your head.

With a giggle you turn around to look at the man behind you, holding up the tape in your head, showing him the title.

“Is that your movie?”

Steve’s face falls into a glare, his head falls to the side as a humorless laugh escapes his mouth, “ha ha.”

Your eyes crinkle and you laugh again, turning back around.

He places his hands on his hips and sighs. He can’t remember the last time he did someone, certainly not this year or last.

“The Sperminator,” you snort.

Steve looks up at the ceiling, huffing. “Jesus Christ.”

“The Bone Ranger–”

“Sunshine, we’re wasting our time here!”

You turn around with a frown on your face, pouting softly at him, “take it easy, cowboy. You need a little laugh.”

His eyes fall to your lips for a second before he looks into your eyes. Mistake number one.

“Do you hear me laughing?”

You shrug and step closer to him, raising your hand up to the pink cowboy hat. You take it off and take another step closer to him. You don’t notice how his breathing hitches or how his eyes widen slightly at the sudden closeness. You rise to your tippy toes and place the hat on his head.

For a second and only for a second, he lets himself look at you from up close. He takes in the color of your eyes, the dimple on your right cheek, the frown between your eyebrows, the softness of your skin. He digs his nails into his palms and takes a deep breath without meaning to breathe your soft scent in. He doesn’t know how but you always smell good, even without the luxury of every day showers, you always smell good. Sweet and floral – intoxicating. Mistake number two.

“There,” you smile sweetly before you take a step back, pulling him out of his little trance. “Cowboy.”

He raises his eyebrows at the adoring look on your face and the tension slowly eases in him when he notices how you cower back slowly the longer you look at him. The smile slowly fades and your eyes shine with something different, no longer displaying the mischief from before. You are starting to look… flustered.

Oh.

Oh…

“You know what, sunshine?” He murmurs as his lips now curl into a smirk. “I’m starting to think you have a thing for cowboys.”

Your wide eyes and your parted lips are the giveaway. Your throat bobs when you swallow and you stutter, unable to form a sentence.

“I…” You mumble and turn around, trying not to show your blushing face. “I don’t.” You walk away faster than you did after you walked in on him after his shower and it’s amusing to say the least. He can’t even help but chuckle… loudly.

A part of him wants to follow you and tease you about it but he pushes his mean side away… for now. The smile still stays on his face and he continues to chuckle even as he turns in the other direction to look for the storage room in hopes of finding something valuable. Though he doubts that he will find anything of importance for this world in here.

But to his surprise he ends up finding some snacks, some that probably belonged to the staff in here. Pringles and expired chocolate bars along with some cans of soda – it can’t get better than this. Wrong. He also finds batteries, probably for all the sex toys. He stuffs them all into his backpack. He checks out a few more shelves and cabinets before he walks back into the store to look for you.

He finds you crouching down before your backpack, stuffing something inside that he can’t see.

“You’re not packing whips and chains are you?” Steve asks, startling you.

You look over your shoulder, surprised to see him still wearing the hat. You shake your head at him, holding back your chuckle.

“No. Believe it or not but I found normal clothes – well, as normal as they can get for here.”

Steve raises his eyebrows, “you don’t say?”

You shrug and pull a pair of shorts out, showing them to him. The color reminds him of something he owned once.

“Are these for me?”

You draw back and tilt your head to the side, chuckling. “No, silly! These are too small!”

“Oh…” He scratches the back of his head. “Uh… they just reminded me of my school shorts.”

“Primary?” You ask as you put them back into your backpack.

Steve blinks at you, not answering the question.

“...Middle?”

Silence.

Your jaw drops and your eyes widen. “Holy shit, Steve! Don’t tell me they made you wear these shorts in high school!”

Steve shrugs, chuckling awkwardly.

“Now that I think about it, it’s kind of creepy.”

You nod with wide eyes. You push yourself off the floor and throw the backpack on. Not saying anything for a moment as you look at him. Your mind unwillingly conjures up images of him in those green shorts, short and tight. You can’t help but giggle, which makes him frown in confusion.

“I kinda wanna see how they look on you.”

His wide eyes make you giggle even louder.

“Uh yeah, that’s not happening!”

“Why not?” You pout again, making him shake his head harder.

“Don’t do this.” He points at you.

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t pout at me like that.”

You pout even deeper and bat your eyelashes at him, “why, is it working?”

Steve huffs, trying to glare into your eyes. He opens his mouth to protest but you tilt your head even further and you look over his shoulder with furrowed eyebrows.

You push past him and he turns around curiously.

“Holy shit, this thing is huge!”

Steve almost chokes on his spit when you grab one of the toys, a dildo. Your hand wrapped around it tightly.

He blinks a few times. Heat spreads within his chest and a smugness he tries to push away rises up inside of him the more he looks at the silicone dildo, in the shape of a penis. Veins and all.

“I… uh… you’d say that’s big?”

“Yeah?! Look at it!” You say as you hold it before his face, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

How you are so nonchalant about this, he doesn’t understand but he is amused and even more than that, he is intrigued.

His lips curl into a slight smirk. He places one hand on his hip as he looks down, clearing his throat.

“Alrighty then.”

The gun store was empty, just like Nancy had suspected. You left nearly empty handed. The only things you have found were a few stray bullets that had probably fallen out from the boxes when people grabbed them in the rush. You found two knives, a hunting knife and a butterfly. You grabbed a new thigh holster and a belt but that’s all. You couldn’t find the ammo that you needed nor any guns or rifles.

The only food you found was the single cans and the snacks Steve found.

You can’t help but feel a little defeated. You hoped, you really hoped that you would find valuable things, that you could stock up on enough food and ammo for the next few days at least but you got nothing. And it worries you. The last winter was rough and you barely made it out alive. Now you not only have to worry about yourself but also about your friends.

“Hey…”

Steve’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. You have been walking in silence for the past twenty minutes or so. As you lift your head to look at him, the loud rumble of thunder makes you flinch as a raindrop falls on your cheek and rolls down.

“This doesn’t look good.” His voice is unsure and filled with anxiety as he looks up into the darkened sky. The clouds start moving faster and faster. The wind blows through the streets, whirling up all the dust and the dirt covering the ground.

You lift your arm up quickly to protect your eyes.

The lightning is red and the thunder becomes louder and louder, moving closer as the seconds pass.

Your heart leaps to your throat when a loud crash sounds through the trees in the woods next to the highway. The cracking sound indicates the falling trees.

Shivers run down your spine and you swallow harshly.

“That doesn’t sound good either,” you murmur worriedly as you look up at him.

He swallows the growing lump in his throat. There is a long road ahead of you both and you don’t have the time to get back to the RV in time before the storm hits. You just made it back on the highway but you still got miles and miles to your destination.

The rain starts falling slowly at first. Rolling down your cold cheeks softly. Goosebumps rise up on your skin.

Despite the incoming storm, Steve’s hazel eyes flash with relief, “the good thing is, we don’t have to worry about any creatures… They don’t come out when it rains.”

“Yeah…”

Steve taps your shoulder as he picks up the pace, clinging onto the hope that you might still get the chance to make it to the RV before it starts storming.

Your footsteps echo through the empty roads. Your breathing gets heavy and your heart starts pounding.

When the storm hits and it will hit, you will have no shelter. There is nothing around except for the woods, which isn’t a safe option at all. The red bolts of lightning crash into the trees, causing them to fall.

“We can–” Before he can even finish his sentence, the rain starts pouring, crashing down onto you both, soaking through your clothes almost instantly. “Fuck!” Steve curses as the cold water hits his face.

The adrenaline that surges through you makes you immune to the coldness in this moment. You don’t feel it. Not at all. You don’t feel the chilled, icy rain. You don’t even feel the fear anymore as you both start running.

Your boots hit the ground harshly, water splattering into every direction.

There is nothing in sight. No gas station. No house. Just the road and the trees and the cars blocking the highway in the distance.

“We can find shelter in one of the cars!” Steve yells through the rain, squinting his eyes.

You nod desperately, not wanting to feel the rain anymore on your head. The water drops are heavy and strong and you cannot keep running forever. The moment you stop, you know you will become cold, and you prefer to stop inside a place than out in the rain.

Another loud crash sounds through the streets, making your heart and your whole body jolt. Only when Steve looks over your shoulder and you take in his wide eyes, do you realize that the lightning crashed into the ground where you had been not even a few seconds ago.

“C’mon!” He reaches his hand out to you, wrapping it around your own, he holds it tightly and pulls you closer to him as he picks up the pace.

You don’t feel anything, not even after the crash. No fear. But you feel him. You feel the warmth of his hand. You feel safe. You feel secure, and when he gives your hand a squeeze, you feel something you have never felt before, yet you didn’t know what to call it just yet.

You let him lead you once you make it to the blocked part of the highway. He holds your hand tightly as he looks for a car that has no broken windows.

You both barely see through the pouring rain and the darkness as the sky takes on the color of the night.

“There!” He pushes you towards a black BMW and opens the door to the backseat. You waste no time and get inside, pulling it at his forearm, dragging him in. He shuts the door quickly, muffling the sound of the rain and the crashing of thunder, just a little bit.

It’s not much more silent in here as it is outside, the rain paddles so loudly against the roof of the car and the windows. You’re both panting, trying to catch your breaths.

“Fuck…” Steve murmurs as he closes his eyes for a moment. Bringing his arms up to the front seat, he leans his forehead against it.

“Are you okay?” You whisper, reaching out to touch his back.

Your own heart is nearly beating out of your chest, your throat is hurting from breathing in the cold air while running. Your hands are shaking from the cold, just like the rest of your body was starting to do but you worry more about him.

Steve nods.

He takes a few deep breaths and keeps his eyes closed for a minute or so.

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m okay.” He mumbles and leans back. He opens his eyes and takes a look at you. Your lips are blue and trembling, your face is soaked just like your hair and all your clothes are. You’re shaking like a leaf and he isn’t even sure if you have realized it yet because your whole face is etched with worry for him.

His eyes soften and that unwanted feeling surges through him. Mistake number three.

The raging storm and the strong rain tells him that you won’t get out of here any time soon. You’re stuck here for the next hours, even until the next morning.

“Take your clothes off, sunshine.”

“W-What?” Your eyes widen, completely stunned at the sudden request.

Steve removes his backpack and throws it on the passenger’s seat. He looks around the car, trying to find a cover or a blanket. He finds one tucked under his seat, a small one but it will have to suffice.

He takes his jacket off and throws it into the front seat.

“We’ll catch hypothermia if we don’t,” he mumbles as he kicks off his shoes before his hands make their way to his belt. “We can’t afford to get sick… And we’re stuck here till the morning. The storm isn’t passing any time soon and even if, we won’t go out there in the middle of the night.”

Embarrassment filled you from head to toe, but you knew he was right. You knew the two of you needed some heat, and you cannot do it with drenched clothes. You nod slowly, feeling shy and the memory of him half naked already filled your mind.

“I won’t look.” He promises, blushing himself when he takes his soaked pants off. “Now take them off or you’ll feel even colder.”

You push yourself out of your stupor and swallow the nervousness down. You tear your eyes away from him and look down at your wet clothes. You throw your backpack down and tear your jacket off. Only as your fingers reach your shoelaces do you realize just how cold you are. Your hands are shaking. Your whole body is shaking.

A pained whimper falls from your lips when you take your shirt off, despite it being covered by the jacket, it’s soaked through as though you took a swim in the lake.

Steve’s belt clinks when he throws his pants into the front of the car.

You shiver even more when your soaked hair touches your bare back after you take the last bit of your clothes off, leaving you in just your bra and your panties. If it wasn’t for these circumstances, you would be blushing like crazy, flustered to your core. But you can’t bring yourself to care about the lack of clothes on your skin because once the adrenaline wears off, your weakness kicks in.

Your fingers start to feel numb and the shakiness in your body refuses to subside. You bring your knees up to your chest and wrap your arms around them.

You flinch when you feel something soft around you.

“Here,” Steve whispers after wrapping the blanket around your shoulders without looking at you.

You look down at the white blanket and instantly bring your hands up to it, tugging it closer.

“I-I can share.”

Your teeth clatter and Steve knows that this tiny blanket won’t help much. He didn’t want to look but when he turns to you and he sees just how strongly your shoulders are shaking and your hands are trembling, making his chest hurt at the sight.

He tries not to look at your skin or at the color of your underwear that peeks out from under the blanket. He tries not to look at you in that way. He tries not to look at you. Not now.

“It’s so cold…” You whisper as you rub your hands, trying to find warmth somehow.

Steve clenches his jaw. He feels angry at himself for getting into this situation, for not deciding to look for shelter back in the town. This could have been prevented.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He ignores the rumble of thunder outside and the rain. He is too focused on you and on your trembling body and he knows what he has to do.

He knows it.

And it won’t mean anything. It cannot mean anything.

He just doesn’t want you to suffer like this.

He huffs and takes another deep breath before he turns to you, reaching out to you softly.

“C’mere, sunshine.”

You look down at his hand before you tilt your head up to look at him as he tugs you closer.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” You whisper without a second of hesitation, without an ounce of dishonesty in your voice.

Another thing that makes his eyes soften and his chest warm.

His lips twitch as he reaches both arms out, tugging you closer with ease. He grabs your sides over the blanket and lifts you up and onto his body, making you straddle him.

To his surprise, you instantly latch onto him, curling into his body and wrapping your arms around him like it’s a familiar place. You bury your face in his neck and press your chest against his, clinging to him after wrapping the blanket around him too.

A sigh falls from your lips, “thank you, Stevie,” you whisper into his neck.

He blinks.

His body is a little stiff, his heart frozen in his chest as it stops beating for a second as he feels the beating of your own. Your skin on his. Your hands on him. Your breath on his neck. Your lips on his neck.

Only now did he realize how cold he was as well. Feeling your warmth against him, the natural heat of your body soothed him. He sighed in relief, not having noticed his own discomfort, his own shivering because he worried about you. But he tells himself that he would worry for Eddie this way too. As well as Nancy.

“Shit, didn’t think it would be so fucking cold…” He mumbles and you notice the slight tremble in his tone, making you breathe hot puffs of breath on his neck. A sigh escapes his lips as he relaxes a little more, hoping that you two can get out of this without getting sick. You can’t afford getting ill in the middle of the road, not now.

“This– This is what we get for not wanting to waste another day–” You stutter, and you feel his hands rub up and down your back, warming his palms in the process and trying to give the same to you. His eyes are fixed on the roof of the car, begging that you would not press yourself any closer to him in the lower region because the hotter his body gets, the better his blood flows all over his veins.

But his prayers are not heard when you seek more heat, moving your hips against him. He chokes a bit on his saliva as he tries to hold in the obscene sound that are about to come out of his lips. He knew it would be a matter of minutes before you said something, so he one upped you.

“Don’t be alarmed… and don’t move a lot on me, Sunshine.” He warns, making you frown as you lift your head from his shoulder to look at him.

“What–?”

“The cold, and I’m… I’m just human. If you feel it, ignore it.” He is looking away from you, a blush all over his cheeks. You aren’t sure what was happening, your body still shivering a bit from the cold.

“What are you talk–” and you move just a bit to try to inspect what is going on, maybe on his chest, or somewhere that hurts but, no. It isn’t that. He isn’t hurting. Right under you, there is a bulge. Now that heats your entire body up in ways you haven’t felt in a while. Your shivering stops immediately, nervousness, embarrassment, shyness, all of that invades your senses, “O-Oh…”

He grunts as he shakes his head, “don’t overthink it… It doesn’t mean anything Sunshine, it isn’t like that…”

Your ego feels squashed a bit. You understand that thinking about these things in moments like this, or with the world as it is, is not the brightest move, or even rational, but as Steve states, you are still human. Yet, the fact he made it a point that it was not being caused because of you, and just because of the cold, felt like a punch to your gut.

Needing to be distracted, to make the tension go away, you spoke as you leaned to rest your head on his shoulder again.

“How were you before the world turned to shit, Steve?”

“Huh?” He snaps out of his embarrassment as he looks your way, turning his head. Your faces are close, but the hot breaths soothes the shivering of lips, warming yourselves up.

“Like… dating and stuff. Did you date?” He gulps as he looks forward, the rain falling on the windshield. Should he tell you? It seems like Nancy didn’t, so maybe she wanted to keep it a secret or… he doesn’t know.

“I dated once.” You tilt your head at him, curious now that he is opening up to you. One of those rare instances that he did.

“What happened?” He debates whether to tell you the truth or sugar coat it, not wanting to tarnish Nancy’s image. He clears his throat a bit, deciding to put it nice for you.

“Um… She chose someone else.” He simply says and it makes you frown a bit, still a little confused.

“While dating you?” He freezes a bit at how sharp you are, taking a deep breath in.

“We were going through a rough patch anyways… so kinda, but not quite.” He finishes and you feel anger inside of you a bit. Who would cheat like that? Why him?

“Did you love her?” He chuckles at that and moves his head a bit from side to side.

“Yeah… But it was puppy love. High school and all that…” And you nod a bit, trying to calm the nerves that appeared in your belly a bit, not knowing why. So Steve has been in love before. That was a new perspective of him that you didn’t know about and you wondered… you wondered if she knew that she might have made a mistake. You hoped that whoever she was, that she would regret it every day. You knew that Steve was hurt from this, it’s impossible he hadn’t, be it puppy love or not.

And you know that pain as well.

“Yeah… I know about that…” Your answer was not expected, making him frown a bit.

“What do you mean by that?” You hum a bit, trying not to move a lot on top of him just as he requested. The shivering and trembles are gone by now, noticing how the conversation made the two of you relax and just take in the warmth of each other.

“I had a boyfriend… not high school, but a little after that… He was nice at first…” You started and he was staring back forward as you talked with your head on his shoulder. “But then– then he called me immature… a child… too positive. Blind to reality or some shit like that. He cheated on me after that and I didn’t find out until much later.”

And Steve’s eyes widened a bit, guilt creeping up in his throat as he remembered what he called you that night, under the rain, in front of Robin’s grave. You looked distraught and now he knew the reason. He found out why it had hurt you the way it did, why you didn’t want to talk to him for so long after it. He made you remember something painful, an insecurity that someone engraved in your brain.

“Shit– I–” He started, but you lifted your head from his shoulder, shaking your head with a small smile.

“No, no… you didn’t know. You didn’t know it would strike a nerve in me because of this.” And his palm on your back tightened slightly, sending a shiver down your spine.

“I’m still sorry and– for the record, I don’t think being positive is immature…” You’re surprised at his words, frowning slightly.

“You don’t?” He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head.

“Hell no… the way you are, in this timeline, with the world ending around us… I think you are the bravest out of the four of us.” And you felt your heart skip a beat, looking at him in a way that you weren’t aware of. A way where your eyes were sparkling with stars, with amusement.

“Brave?”

“It takes balls to be hopeful nowadays… Look around you, Sunshine. It’s a wasteland, and you still get happy finding kit kats in abandoned stores.”

You were stunned into silence as his eyes were still looking forward, not glancing at how you were looking at him. You were afraid he would be able to feel the beating of your heart, how it was slowly quickening as you stared at him.

“I–”

“Even going into a fucking sex shop, I mean– Who the fuck does that in the apocalypse?” You burst into laughter at the comment, prompting Steve to also start laughing, feeling the rumbling of his chest beneath your fingertips. The laughter died after a few seconds and you laid your head back down on his shoulder.

“I lost all hope when Robin died,” he says softly, a shaky breath leaves his lips right after. “I was scared of it… I still am. Having it means that you might end up disappointed or hurt and I don’t wanna feel that way again… I felt it too many times…”

You furrow your eyebrows as you wonder what other times he is talking about – not knowing about Nancy. About how he hoped his parents would return and come back for him, how he hoped that he could still find happiness after getting to California with his family, with his friends, with his soulmate only for it all to be ripped apart and away from him. Literally.

Steve shudders but this time not from the cold but from your comforting hand on his bicep and from the soft look in your eyes as you looked back at him.

“You can’t live in fear of that… You have to have some hope. If not, life will be just miserable.”

His lips slowly curl into a smile before he starts chuckling. The gaze in his eyes softens the longer he looks at you. He can’t even stop himself from reaching his hand out to your face, pushing away the hair that fell before your eyes.

“Yeah,” he whispers as his fingertips graze your skin. “Thanks to you I started realizing that.”

Your ears burn from the touch of his hand, your stomach flutters from the look in his eyes but curiosity beats every emotion in you.

“Thanks to me…?”

He retracts a bit, pulling his hand away again when he realizes how he craves to touch more. He clears his throat and nods.

“I mean… I have to have hope we reach California… If I go all pessimistic about it, I will probably get myself killed.”

You feel a tinge of disappointment, you can’t help it. You hoped his answer would be another but you understand it, so you nod your head.

“Yeah…”

California. The community.

That’s their destination, not yours.

Your destination is Nevada and your childhood home. You want to see your family and be with them. That was always the plan.

Eddie and Nancy keep telling you that you will get them and continue your way to California but you don’t know if your family will want that.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks when he notices how much your face fell.

You blink and look into his eyes again.

“The community… I-I will miss you guys,” you whisper, not struggling to show your feelings. “Once I reach my house, you will continue while we… will probably stay there. I don’t think they’d ever leave their little ranch.”

And suddenly it dawns on him like it hasn’t before… at all. He has gotten so used to you in these past two months or so that he forgot that you don’t share the same destination. Dread spreads through him so quickly that it startles him.

“I don’t want you to stay there,” he blurts out before he can even consider different words. “I-I want you to come with us, you and your family.”

Your brows pull together as your eyes widen. All the disappointment and the doubt from before disappearing easily.

“You want me there…?”

Steve hesitates when he sees the way you look at him. Even in this darkness, he can see the softness in your pretty eyes. He can feel what it does inside of him and he can’t have that. He just can’t.

“I– yes, because… Eddie. He will look like a kicked puppy and cry in a corner.”

Oh.

Eddie. Not him. Of course not him.

You can’t hide the disappointment on your face now, even when you try to smile. You lay your head back on his shoulder and breathe out slowly.

Guilt boils up inside of him. He knows how hard you are trying to get through to him, how you’re knocking on his heart, wanting to be let in but he can’t, he just can’t let you. And yet, it pains him a little because he knows that if things had been different, if you met under different circumstances and in a world that hasn’t ruined him yet, he wouldn’t have wasted a second to go after you, even if your type is very different from who he is given the cowboy hat and all the comments.

“Sunshine?” He whispers, squeezing your waist softly.

“Yeah?” You murmur into his neck.

“Why cowboys?”

“Hmm?” You look up at him, a little surprised by his question. He looks down intensely, curious about the answer he awaits from you. “Uh… I don’t know, I just… I guess because they are so… manly and strong… I suppose I like the way they look too… I like this whole western thing.”

He can only chuckle, giving a slight nod your way.

“Understandable. Why do you like it though?” His eyes began to feel heavy, your voice sort of soothing him, calming him down.

“I don’t know, but I loved Clint Eastwood as a child. Like, literally loved him, posters and everything on my walls… Then Han Solo, even without a cowboy hat, the attire was exquisite… Then Silverado… I honestly have no clue when it really started, or why, but I found myself just liking the whole aesthetic… plus the whips… ropes… handcuffs–” You felt your cheeks flush at your words, looking at Steve with shame, only to find him breathing slowly, his eyes closed.

You tilted your head as you started inspecting him. His eyelashes were quite long, his stubble was beginning to look like it needed a shave, and a few wrinkles from his expressions showed on his forehead. Then, the freckles—so many, little moles as well. You moved your head to look around, noticing that they also went to the neck and down his chest, losing themselves in the hairs that resided there.

Your body became hot, licking your lips tentatively as you made sure he was really sleeping. His breaths were still slow, his chest rising up and down calmly, and well… there was no longer a bulge underneath you, so, it was your green light to explore a bit.

You raised your hand, your fingertips slowly brushing over his cheek. You started to trace his features slowly: under his eyes, the shape of his nose, his jaw, and then his lips. Your heart beat fast inside your chest, and you feared he might wake up from it. Your fingers brushed over them, finding them surprisingly soft despite the lack of chapsticks and Vaseline. There was very little dry skin on the corner, but that was about it.

He shifted underneath you, and you felt how his grip tightened all around you as if holding a teddy bear. It prompted you to lay on his shoulder again, and you could feel yourself sweat nervously as you pressed yourself against him. You heard a sigh coming from his lips, relaxed, calm, sleepy and you couldn’t help but bask in this little feeling. This closeness you had with him in this moment.

Tomorrow, you will miss this heat… but for now, you can close your eyes and be content in these arms.

—--------------------

When you two woke up the next morning, it felt as if you had the best rest of your lives. A groggy good morning from the both of you, and the warmth from outside helped the car heat up.

It was humid, but you two could not hear any more rain. You both knew you had to keep going, so you got off Steve as he closed his eyes and looked away while you, feeling a little guilty for doing so but you couldn’t help yourself, you glanced all over his body. It wasn’t the time, you had to get out to get dressed so Steve could do so as well.

You winced as you grabbed your clothes and got out of the car, the windows all foggy so Steve couldn’t see you. They were still drenched, but there was no other choice for now, so you put on your shirt, a disgusted groan escaping your lips, only for you to gasp as the coldness of the wet pants hit all over your legs. You heard Steve getting out from the other side, and then his winces as he put his clothes on again.

“Fuck, this feels horrible.” You heard him say, and you turned around to see him throwing his wet shirt on, “ugh, why didn’t we bring a change of clothes again, knowing that there was a chance of rain?”

“Cause we didn’t want to waste space in our bags but now– since we didn’t find shit, it feels fucking stupid we didn’t.” You giggled and he turned around, shaking his head, looking at you.

“We can probably get dry with the sun, at least.” He shrugged and you sighed, opening the door so you could take your belt out with your weapons, putting them on before you threw on your wet jacket, making you pout in discomfort. Steve was doing the same, wanting to ditch the jacket, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know where he would find another one like this.

“I hate this. I hate wet clothes. I hate it, I hate it.” You complained and Steve chuckled, grabbing the backpack from under his seat, and you did the exact same. He gave a nod your way, signaling that it was time to finally keep moving.

The clothes felt heavy on you, making it a little harder to walk. You both were breathing heavily, the disappointment of not finding anything at all, and going back in this state only made the mood plummet to the floor.

“You think we can survive with the little food we have until the next town?” He winced at your question, and the answer was no. The next big town was a week or less away, give or take, and they only had a few cans. They would probably starve for one day, maybe two.

“We will survive, but painfully… and if we don’t find anything in that other town then… we might not.” He finally confessed which did nothing to calm your nerves.

“That’s cheerful.” You responded and he sighed as you two kept walking, knowing that the rain had cleared the path for you, still glancing side to side in case something or someone jumping on you both. You looked to your right, noticing big tire marks on the asphalt, and then towards the dirt. Truck tire marks. You looked into the trees, seeing a few completely ripped apart, as if the truck had crashed into them. You stopped walking.

He took some time to notice it, walking a few steps away from you and when he didn’t feel your presence next to him, he finally turned around, frowning as you looked into the woods.

“Sunshine?”

“I– Come on.” You diverted from your path, following the tire marks and Steve’s eyes widened, following right behind you.

“No, no, no, no. We have to go back to the RV, Eddie and Nancy are probably worried–” You stopped on your tracks and he almost hit your back, looking down at the back of your head. “What are you–”

And when he looked up, a few steps away, there was a massive truck, the size of a shipping container. Those that traveled over the seas in big ships, exporting and importing stuff. And he felt hope. He really felt it.

“Let’s check it out, we have nothing to lose, just a few more minutes.” You slowly walk forward and Steve quickly steps up and comes in front of you, taking the bat off his belt to get ready in case this was an ambush. But you both looked side to side, not really hearing anything the more you approached the front of the truck, wanting to see if there was anything at all in the driver’s seat.

But you only found the door completely open, dried blood all over the windshield from the inside, then on the windows, and a decomposed corpse on the passenger’s seat. You winced in disgust at the smell, but your heart turned with pain at the sight. They must have been shippers, and from the looks of it, with the bloody map and the military vest on the corpse, you both could assume this was after the world went to shit.

Steve took a long look at the corpse, and the bones were not even showing yet. Some places only, but overall, this body had not been dead for that long. But this also meant that monsters had lurked around here, and you had to check everything quickly.

“Come on, let’s check the back.” You nodded at his command and you both walked behind the truck. The chain was still secured on the handles, so this meant no one had opened it before. You handed Steve the crowbar and he immediately got to work, trying to pry open the chains to no avail. You bit your lip nervously as you saw that he couldn’t break the lock away with the crowbar. It was massive.

“Shit…” You looked around as Steve kept trying, only for you to disappear from his side as you rushed to the front.

“It’s no use– Sunshine?” He turned around and looked to the side of the truck, seeing you fiddle with your fingers nervously, only for you to get inside the driver’s seat. He walked towards you and he saw you search on the corpse, inside the pockets of his vest. Your nose was scrunched in disgust at the smell of it, but you sighed of relief when you felt a big metal key inside the front pocket.

You took it out and you finally saw the surname of the person laying before you. ‘Sullivan’. You gave a slow nod of respect, a thanks for keeping the key safe. You crawled out, showing the key to Steve as you took a deep breath of fresh air in your lungs.

“Well that was mortifying.” You said and he patted you on the shoulder with a smile on his face.

“See? Bravest out of the four of us.” He responded and you felt a sense of pride swell inside of you as he walked towards the back again, you following right behind him. You bit your bottom lip as you saw him open the lock. He looked at you once and nodded, to then finally rip the doors open.

Your eyes widened as you looked inside and you both stood in silence, in complete awe. It had… everything.

Gas, tanks of clean water, food, blankets, pillows, some generators, drinks, snacks– This wasn’t just a normal shipping container… This was meant for a community…

“Holy fucking shit…” The curse came out of your lips instinctively and Steve nodded, his mouth open in shock.

“Holy fucking shit…” He repeated after you. You two looked at each other, and suddenly smiles broke on your faces, and you giggled as you both clashed into a hug, jumping with excitement, with happiness, with so much hope. His arms were around your waist as yours were around his shoulders.

He twirled the both of you around, and when he did is when it dawned on you that it was your first ever true hug. He was hugging you. When he put you back down, he pulled away, but he didn’t let go of you just yet. His eyes locked with yours for a brief moment, your breathing heavy with excitement and there was something creeping up on him. Something that he shouldn’t even think about. Something that would just complicate things.

His eyes drifted to your lips for a small second, before pulling away completely.

He directed his eyes back inside the truck and you were just standing there, watching him with your heart in your throat, blinking absentmindedly. What had just happened?

“How the fuck are we going to take most of this back…?” He asked and you snapped out of your thoughts, turning towards the truck again. You shrugged and turned your head to the side to look up at him.

“We know there are no monsters now… We slowly get the RV in… and… We have the lock, so we can just close it up until we reach Eddie and Nance and then come back.” You explained and he was surprised, looking at you, a grin on his lips that he couldn’t disguise.

“Now that’s a fucking plan.”

You both hopped into the truck first, looking for clothes and gladly you found some. You changed into dry and comfortable pants and shirts, putting the wet clothes inside the bags, knowing you won’t need them if Eddie brings the RV close.

You could now move faster, the excitement and the thrill letting you reach the RV in 20 minutes. Nancy and Eddie were confused, because you had new clothes, but you couldn’t find anything for the road. That made Eddie elbow Steve a few times on the side, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively which only earned him a smack over the head.

Nancy was skeptical about going into the city with the RV, but you two had promised and swore there were no threats for now.

Imagine her surprise when she saw that you and Steve were right. There was nothing to be afraid of, and when Eddie and she saw what was inside the truck– They also couldn’t help but do a little dance themselves.

Suddenly you were all just hugging each other, jumping up and down as if you had won the lottery and in this world, in this time, you did. This was the jackpot. Of course you couldn’t bring everything, there was no space in the RV, but you managed to put gas in the tank, get some gallon cans of it and save up, fill the water tank with the water barrels that were inside with a hose, lots of food, so much food.

You found clothes, blankets, the pillows, and– Walkie talkies. You couldn’t believe your luck. Walkie-talkies, batteries, which Steve had already gotten some back in the sex shop, but you had walkie-talkies now. This would serve you all so much for the ones patrolling and the ones who stayed back in the RV.

You stocked up pretty heavily, even charging the battery of the car with the battery of the truck. You spotted something that was secured in blankets, something fragile inside. You opened them to find– alcohol. Bottles of vodka, rum, whiskey… You grabbed some bottles, put them inside your bag, and looked at the three others who were still giggly with everything they were taking back to the RV.

And your eyes fell on Steve. Your heart skipped a beat as you stared at his profile. His wrinkles on the sides of his mouth as he laughed, the way his hair bobbed when he talked, the way he grunted whenever he lifted something heavy… And you realized something then. Something that hasn’t happened in a while for you.

You slept peacefully. No nightmares. No bad postures. No waking up in the middle of the night just because… All because you slept cuddled to Steve… Or maybe this would happen with anybody… But you looked at Eddie, wondering if you would have felt as calm, then at Nancy, and then back at Steve.

And your heart skipped a beat again.

Oh no...

☀︎

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