#it’s me I’m the public AND I’M SORRY BUT I’M SO CURIOUS….. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stillwatervoid · 1 month ago

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Insatiable | Mark Grayson x Incubus!Male!Reader

Summary: Mark Grayson dies of jealousy every time his flirty, easygoing, and perpetually exhausted best friend—who he may or may not have a huge crush on—makes out with random guys behind the school. Until the day you confess you’re a half-breed, like him. But not quite like him. Because while he’s half-Viltrumite, you are... half-incubus? Whatever that means… Mark’s more than willing to find out.

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Incubus!Male!Reader

Warnings: 18+, making out, frottage/dry humping, (semi-public?) oral (Mark receiving), anal sex.

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Fluff, Pining Mark, Mutual Pining, Top!Mark, Bottom!Reader.

w.c: 19.7k | a/n: Heeey, it’s been forever!!! DID YOU MISS ME? Because I definitely missed you! I’m really sorry for being so inactive lately. I've been so busy between a nasty case of writer’s block, college stress, and work chaos... yeah, life sucks. Anyway! Here’s a little big treat I managed to squeeze out between bursts of inspiration and writer’s block. As always, English isn’t my first language, so please forgive any mistakes here and there. Hope you enjoy it!

You have a reputation.

You know it. Mark knows it. Hell, probably half the school knows it.

It clings to you like a second skin—whispers in the hallways, smirks in locker rooms, giggles that trail behind you in class. You’re a flirt, and not the harmless kind either.

The kind who’s always leaning just a little too close in crowded hallways, disappearing behind buildings with someone breathless and flushed, only to reappear like they’ve won the lottery. But then a week or two passes, and you’re gone. Slipping out of their lives like it never mattered. Like they never mattered. One minute, you’re all sultry glances and lingering touches. The next, you’re onto the next curious set of eyes across the room.

People talk. Some resent you. And yet, no matter how many times you walk away, there’s always someone new, eager and willing, thinking maybe they’ll be the exception.

And today, Mark sees it happen all over again.

He watches from across the cafeteria as you chat up some guy in line. You’re leaning in close—closer than necessary. Your shoulder brushes his, and your head tilts slightly when you laugh. That slow, lazy grin slides across your lips like it’s effortless. The guy blushes. Of course he does. He leans in without realizing it, like he’s being pulled by a string.

Mark doesn’t even taste the food in his mouth anymore.

He stabs his fork into his tray, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the casual way your hand lingers near the guy’s arm, the light in your expression that no one else ever gets to keep. His stomach knots.

You’re just playing. Again. He knows it. But that doesn’t stop the heat from rising in his chest. Doesn’t stop the slow burn of something he doesn’t want to name.

Then you laugh at something.

The guy laughs back, awkward and eager.

Mark’s knuckles go white around his fork.

“Uh, Mark to Earth?” William says, waving a hand in front of him. “I’ve been talking to you for, like, five minutes.”

Mark blinks, forcing his jaw to unclench. “Huh? Sorry. What?”

William raises an eyebrow, following Mark’s gaze to where you’re now smirking at something the guy said.

“Oh. Y/N again,” William mutters, deadpan. “Shocking.”

Mark’s ears are already burning. He glances down at his tray. “What about him?”

William sighs like he’s had this conversation in his head a hundred times already. “Dude. At least pretend to be subtle. Jealousy isn’t a good look.”

“I’m not—” Mark starts, a little too fast. He swallows hard, tries again with forced calm. “Whatever. It’s just—I’m worried, okay?”

“Oooh, worried. Right. Sure,” William drawls, nodding slowly like he’s humoring a toddler. “Totally not jealous that Y/N’s out there reeling in his next victim while you sit here pouting and crying about it.”

Mark nearly chokes. “What are you even—oh crap, he’s coming back. Shut up.”

He watches, frozen, as you murmur something to the guy before breaking away, walking straight toward them.

Mark jerks his eyes down to his tray, only now noticing the fork in his hand bent clean in half from how tightly he’d been gripping it. He swears under his breath, quickly ducking his hands beneath the table to fix it. He’s midway through smoothing it back into shape when you slide into the seat beside him, smooth as ever.

You sigh, lazy and soft. “Hey, nerds. Sorry I’m late. What’re you gossiping about without me?”

Your head props in your hand, elbow on the table, eyes flicking between them with something like curiosity—but dulled, like even that costs energy.

It’s always a bit of whiplash when you’re around them. The version of you the school knows—the smooth-talking, flirtatious heartbreaker—melts away almost instantly. With them, you’re just you—that quieter, wearier version only your close friends ever get to see. Your posture slouches. The sharp smirk fades into something hazy. Your eyes, once bright and teasing, grow distant.

It’s like watching a performance end the second the curtains close.

Mark watches, fascinated and frustrated in equal measure. He hadn’t been lying earlier—he is worried. Because behind the easy voice and sleepy grin, he sees it—that edge of exhaustion you try so hard to hide. That distracted look in your eyes, like your mind’s always somewhere else.

“Oh, we were just talking about Mark being jeal—ow!” William yelps, his leg jerking under the table.

Mark glares daggers at him, foot still pressed against William’s shin. His look says shut up so loud it might as well be spoken.

You raise a brow at the exchange, unimpressed. Even that tiny expression looks like it takes effort. Still, your gaze stays on William, waiting. “…About Mark being what?”

Mark straightens too fast. “Oh! Uh. Just—just excited! Y’know. About the tour. The Upstate U thing. It’s gonna be… fun.”

William grumbles into his food, refusing to look up. “Super fun.”

Your eyes light up just slightly—just enough to make Mark breathe easier. “Oh yeah! Right. Thanks again, William, for letting us crash your date with that hot pre-med guy.”

“Oh, well, since Mark insisted, how could I possibly say no? I love having my two best friends third- and fourth-wheeling all the time. Makes it so romantic.”

You snort, your posture loosening as you lean back and wink. “Don’t worry, Will. I’ll make sure to drag Mark away the second we get there. I’m not about to cockblock my friends.”

William’s smile turns razor-sharp. “Good. Make sure you keep Mark busy all day. And by all day, I mean all night too. You two are sharing a room—trust me, you don’t wanna know what I’ll be doing in mine.”

“Done,” you reply breezily, nudging your knee against Mark’s under the table without thinking.

Mark jerks like he’s been shocked, spine going stiff as his leg instinctively shifts away. He pointedly ignores the smug look William throws his way.

But of course, William isn’t done.

“So,” he drawls, “what were you talking about with that guy in line? You seemed real into it.”

Mark stiffens, lips pressing into a thin line as he shoots William a warning glare, one William very obviously avoids.

You blink, like the question catches you off guard—like you’d already forgotten about that guy entirely. Then realization sets in, and you wince a little. “Oh—that. I was just… hungry,” you mumble, eyes darting away. “Wanted to cut the line. Said something dumb to distract him, but standing around that long kinda sucked. I got tired.”

“Hungry?” Mark echoes, the irritation draining from his face as concern rushes in to take its place. “You’ve already had, like, four trays. You still hungry?”

You glance at him, giving a half-hearted shrug. “I have a big appetite?” you offer, lips tugging into a weak sort-of-smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Mark catches it—the pout in your mouth, the barely-there glance toward his tray of food, the subtle tremble in your tone.

He doesn’t hesitate. Quietly, he slides his tray across the table toward you, nudging it close enough to make the offer clear.

Your eyes widen just a bit.

“You can have mine,” Mark says, trying to play it off with a shrug. “I’ve had enough.”

Your face lights up instantly, all exhaustion momentarily eclipsed by a bright smile “Seriously? Dude, thank you! God, I’m starving.”

Without another word, you pick up the fork—Mark’s fork—and dive into the food like you haven’t eaten in days.

Mark tries very hard not to think about how you’re eating off the same fork he used. That it’s kind of like—well, not a kiss. Not really. But also kind of not not one. He’s not five. He knows that. He tells his face that too, willing the heat in his cheeks to die down.

William snorts around a mouthful of his own food. “Jesus, you eat like you never did before. Got a black hole in there or what?”

You snort too, pausing just long enough to swallow. “Feels like it.”

Mark watches you. Watches the way your cheeks puff as you chew, the smooth motion of your throat as you eat, the quick swipe of your tongue across your lips between bites.

He swallows, too.

“Almost like you’re… insatiable,” he murmurs, without thinking.

You pause. Not for long—but enough. Your rhythm falters as you glance back at him, something unreadable in your expression. Like he just struck a chord you weren’t ready for.

It vanishes quickly. You laugh, not quite as bright as before. “Yeah,” you say, chuckling, “feels like it.”

But something’s changed. The words feel heavy now. Like a joke that isn’t really a joke. Like there’s something you want to say, but won’t.

Mark notices. Of course he does.

But, as always, he doesn’t say anything.

Mark never seems to know what to say around you.

So he sits there.

Watching you.

And in his own quiet way, maybe he’s insatiable too.

By the time you all arrive at Upstate U and meet Rick, you make good on your promise to keep Mark out of William’s hair. You wave William off with a cheeky salute and a wink, then drag Mark into your own version of a tour: one that includes skipping the official info sessions, sampling from half the food trucks on campus, and wandering through hidden places neither of you expected to find.

Mark doesn’t complain. In fact, he’s having a good time—a great time, actually.

He’s laughing too much. Smiling too easily. He tries not to notice the way his body jolts when his shoulder always ends up pressed against yours whenever you walk side by side. He tries not to focus on the way his chest swells a little too much every time you laugh at something he says. He really tries to ignore the way his heart picks up every time your eyes catch his and hold, just for a beat too long.

But what Mark can’t ignore—no matter how hard he tries—is the way your breath hitches after walking for too long. The way your pace slows, like your legs are dragging. The way your body leans into him like you don’t even notice you’re doing it—like gravity’s pulled you sideways and he’s the only thing holding you up. The way you keep rubbing your eyes, like you were trying to scrub the exhaustion out of them.

Eventually, Mark can’t pretend anymore.

“Hey,” he says gently, his hand brushing your shoulder to guide you toward the nearest bench. “Let’s sit for a bit.”

You blink, but let him. The second you sit down, your body sinks into the bench like it’s doing half the work your legs can’t anymore.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Peachy,” you mutter, voice low and strained. “Why?”

Mark watches you carefully, his brows pulling together. You’re sweating slightly, and your skin has that drained, almost translucent look to it.

“You’re pale,” he says quietly. “And kind of… out of it. Are you sure you’re okay? We can go back to the dorms. You don’t have to push yourself.”

You don’t answer right away, eyes darting to the ground, breathing shallowly like you’re barely holding it together.

And what Mark doesn’t get—what drives him a little crazy—is why you keep pretending you’re fine.

Especially with him.

“I’m just—” you start, then stop yourself, jaw tightening as you press your lips together in visible frustration “—hungry.”

Your eyes drift past him, unfocused, flicking over the stream of students walking by. You look like you’re scanning them. Assessing.

“I should eat,” you mutter, dazed. “I should… eat something…”

Mark straightens in his seat, alarm rising in his chest. “I can get you something,” he offers quickly, ignoring the fact you’ve already eaten enough for three people today. He just wants to help. “Something sweet. Maybe your blood sugar’s low?”

You look up at him then, and something in your expression knocks the wind out of him. Your brows pinch, eyes cloudy, lips parted like you’re about to cry.

“That’s not enough,” you whisper.

Mark blinks. “What do you mean?”

Then, without hesitation, without shame, you whisper, “I wanna kiss someone.”

Mark freezes.

“What?”

“I need someone,” you repeat, more firmly this time, bracing your hands against the bench like you’re about to stand. “I’ll find someone. Just—stay here, okay? It won’t take more than fifteen minutes.” You push yourself up, but stumble as you take a step forward.

Mark doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Just stares at you like he doesn’t recognize you for a second.

Kiss someone? Now? You were clearly unwell—too pale, too drained, barely standing—but even now, even like this, you were going to throw yourself at some stranger? After spending the entire day together, after laughing and joking and walking shoulder-to-shoulder like you actually wanted to be around him?

His throat tightens. A bitter coil wraps around his heart, hot and suffocating and impossible to shake. Something ugly rears its head in his chest. A sick twist of frustration and hurt and—

God.

William was right.

Jealousy.

Mark presses his lips together. He doesn’t want to be the kind of guy who gets angry about this.

He’s not entitled to you. He never was.

But that doesn’t stop his hands from curling into fists in his lap, knuckles white.

Because you’re clearly hurting. And you won’t tell him why.

Because you’re pushing yourself toward strangers, toward danger, when he’s right here.

Because, for once, he wants you to pick him.

And you don’t.

Before you can take another shaky step, Mark stands up and grabs your wrist.

“No.”

The word comes out sharper than he means it to—clipped, almost angry.

You stop, turning to him with startled, uneasy eyes. “I’ll be right back, Mark. I swear.”

“No,” he says again, firmer this time, his brow knitting. “You’re about to collapse, Y/N. I’m not letting you go to—what, kiss some random guy just because you’re feeling off?”

You blink, taken aback by his tone. “Look, I get you’re worried, but—”

“No, Y/N,” he cuts in, voice rising, frustration breaking through. “I’ve never judged you for the crap people say about you, alright? Never cared what they whispered in the halls. But this? This is insane. You’re sick, and your solution is to hook up with a stranger? We’ve been here less than a day!”

The next words slip out before he can stop them.

“Can you not act like some hormone-crazed idiot for five minutes and just take care of yourself?”

The second the words leave his mouth, he wants to take them back. But it’s too late.

You go completely still, eyes going wide.

Then, slowly, your expression hardens.

“Hormone-crazed idiot?” you echo, voice low and cutting, disbelief flickering in your eyes. “Is that what you think I am?”

“Wait—Y/N, I didn’t mean—”

You tear your hand from his grip, expression stony. It’s like a dam breaks beneath your exhaustion, a spark of rage reigniting the strength that had been fading from you all day.

“What am I then, huh? Just some horny screw-up who can’t go a day without climbing someone? You think this is fun for me? That I like being like this?”

Mark shakes his head, panicked, but not quite understanding the meaning of your words. “No—God, no, that’s not what I meant, it’s just—”

“Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Everyone else thinks I’m just some—some fucking slut who can’t keep it in his pants. But you—” Your voice breaks. “I thought you knew me better than that, Mark.”

Mark’s stomach drops. “I do! I swear I—”

Before he can finish, William’s voice cuts through the charged air, calling over the crowd, his arm linked with Rick’s.

“Hey, idiots! Having fun with—oh…” William’s voice trails off, sensing the thick tension between you two. He awkwardly lowers his raised arm. “Hey… is everything okay…?”

Mark barely holds back a groan, cursing himself for the words that slipped out so stupidly. He wants to apologize, to pull you aside, to fix it—

But then a sudden explosion shakes the ground beneath them, a cyborg-looking-monster crawling out of a hole.

What happens next is a blur of instinct and adrenaline. One second he’s Mark Grayson, desperate to take back his words—the next, he’s Invincible, saving his best friends from death.

And when it’s over, when he drags himself back, bruised and breathless, to where William and you are huddled in safety—

William stares at him, whispering under his breath, “Mark…?”

And you—you’re not surprised. Not even angry. You just frown, gaze deliberately avoiding his, eyes unreadable and distant.

It’s in that moment Mark knows he’s screwed up big time.

You don’t speak to him again until later, when the nightmare finally ends—Sinclair in GDA custody, William shaken but safe, and Rick badly wounded but alive.

“Can’t believe Sinclair nearly turned you into one of those things,” William mutters, arms wrapped tightly around Rick.

Mark stands off to the side, awkward and out of place in the fluorescent-lit room. You’ve long since excused yourself, mumbling something about sleeping this fucking day away. The words had been dressed up as a joke, but Mark saw through it—the way your hands trembled as you gripped the doorframe, the deep shadows under your eyes, the sheen of sweat clinging to your pale face.

He remembered the way you leaned on him earlier, how your steps had faltered, how you kept pretending you were okay.

You weren’t.

And now, after everything that’s happened, Mark’s worried sick.

“I’ll…” he starts, voice flat, drained. “I’ll go to bed too. You guys, um… get some rest.”

Rick nods. William does too, but his eyes linger—sharp, knowing, and meaningful. A silent get your shit together.

Mark tries.

The room is dim when he slips in, cold moonlight pooling faintly through the curtains. You’re already curled up on one of the beds, facing the wall. For a moment, he feels crushed because you’re still mad at him.

Moving quietly, he strips out of his clothes with mechanical, resigned motions, slipping into his pajamas—until your voice cuts through the silence.

“Mark?”

He freezes—mid-motion, halfway through tugging his jeans off—heart leaping to his throat.

He turns quickly to face you, finding you sitting up groggily in bed, hair tousled, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“Y/N,” he breathes, almost stumbling over your name. He’s so relieved to hear you talk to him again, but the guilt crashes in just as fast. “Are you—did I wake you? Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

You shake your head slowly, blinking away the haze. “No. I wasn’t really sleeping anyway.”

Mark hesitates by the edge of his bed, torn between giving you space and wanting to inch closer. “Do you… need something?” he asks softly. “Water? Food? Anything?”

You’re quiet for a beat, looking at him in a way that makes his heart clench—like you’re still tired, still hurt, but no longer angry. Just… worn down.

“Nah,” you murmur, voice low. “I’m fine.”

Silence stretches between you.

Mark sits there, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on him. He hates it—the tension, the awkwardness, the distance, especially when you were having such a good time today. The kind of fun that only happens when you’re with someone you really like.

And Mark likes you.

Probably a lot more than he wanted to admit.

Probably enough to get on his knees and beg if that’s what it would take to fix this. He’s already forming the words in his head, some clumsy apology laced with sincerity, when you speak first.

“So… Invincible, huh?” you mutter, the faintest edge of amusement cutting through your exhaustion.

Mark latches onto the sound of your voice—that tone—like a lifeline.

“Yeah,” he chuckles awkwardly, rubbing his neck. “That’s, uh. That’s me.”

You hum, noncommittal, gaze drifting toward the window. “Were you ever going to tell us?”

Mark’s breath catches. His smile falters. It would be easy to lie. To say yeah, eventually, of course.

But all that comes out is a quiet, “...I don’t know.”

You don’t say anything right away. You just rub at your eyes again, the way you always do when you’re trying to rub away sleep. It sets Mark on edge. His fingers twitch with the urge to reach out—check your temperature, get you water, make you take something, do something.

But he stays put.

Eventually, you exhale a long, slow breath. “It’s fine. I’m not mad about that.”

That.

Mark winces, the word cutting a little deeper than it should.

And then, finally, it spills out—earnest and clumsy and too fast.

“About—about what I said earlier…” he begins, voice low. “I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t care what you do—or don’t do—with other people. I swear. I was just… I was just really worried about you. You looked like you were about to pass out, and then hearing you say you wanted to kiss someone—God, I didn’t know what was happening. And I panicked. And I said something shitty. I’m sorry.”

Your expression doesn’t change at first. And Mark waits, his stomach a mess of nerves, the silence dragging sharp between you.

Then you sigh—long and heavy—and finally meet his eyes.

“I know,” you murmur. “God, I know. You don’t understand—can’t understand what—who I am. I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you for not knowing. That’s not fair.”

Mark frowns. He doesn’t feel any better—if anything, worse—because it sounds like you’re taking the blame for what he said. And that doesn’t sit right with him.

“What do you mean?” he asks, voice quiet. “I was the one who basically called you a hormonal mess to your face. That’s on me.”

You press your lips together and shake your head. “Yeah, well… I was the one who said I needed to kiss someone right there. Without context, that sounds…” You trail off, flinching, dragging a hand down your face. “I was out of it. I shouldn’t have said it like that, but I was desperate. Still am.”

Mark’s frown deepens, confusion flickering across his face. He opens his mouth, then closes it, unsure of what he even wants to ask. But the question lingers in his chest, heavy and jealous and aching.

Desperate? Still?

“You still…” he starts, then hesitates. “Still want to kiss someone?”

You blink at him, startled—but not like he’s wrong. More like you didn’t expect him to say it out loud.

Mark clears his throat, awkward, trying to shove the twist of jealousy in his chest down, his imagination running wild with images of you seeking out someone else’s lips in the dark.

“I… I think I’m gonna need a little more explanation than that,” he says carefully. “Because if this is still about kissing someone, I’m—uh—I’m not following.”

You go quiet for a moment, just looking at him—eyes uncertain, troubled, teeth pressing into your lower lip like you’re holding something in.

And that’s when Mark really sees it.

It’s serious. Whatever this is, it’s eating at you. And suddenly, he’s crossing the room without thinking, settling gently at the edge of your bed like he’s afraid to startle you.

“Hey,” he says softly. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

You look at him, eyes wide and tired, like you haven’t slept in days. And then, with a dry, humorless smile, you shake your head.

“Well,” you whisper, “now that I know you’re Invincible... guess I owe you some truth too.”

Mark’s pulse jumps. “Truth?”

“Call it… an exchange of secrets,” you say, voice quiet, almost shy in a way that makes Mark’s stomach flip.

He leans in without thinking, drawn like gravity. “A secret?” The word comes out breathless. He’d thought he knew everything about you.

You hesitate. Nervousness is written all over you—tense shoulders, twitching fingers, the way you can’t quite sit still. But even so, you meet his eyes, refusing to look away.

“Promise you won’t look at me differently,” you whisper, so quiet he has to lean even closer to hear. “Promise this won’t change anything between us.”

Mark doesn’t hesitate. “I promise.”

Because really—how bad could it be?

You lick your lips, glance down at your hands, still fidgeting in your lap.

“Mark,” you begin slowly, “my family has... a curse. It’s been in our blood for generations. And—” Your hands fist in the sheets. “There’s nothing I can do to stop it. I need you to understand that. This isn’t—it’s not a choice, okay?”

Mark’s brows knit together, already twitching with worry as his mind jumps to every worst-case scenario. He’s heard of curses. He’s seen what they can do. Amanda—Monster Girl—was proof enough that they were never just quirky inconveniences. People suffered under curses. People died because of them.

And the way you’re speaking now—so serious, so insistent, practically pleading—hits something raw inside him and twists.

He nods, quickly, urgently. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. I believe you.”

You swallow hard, hands tangled tightly in the bedsheets.

“I’m…” You close your eyes for a moment, like it physically hurts to say it. “I’m not—I’m not fully human, Mark.”

The silence that follows is thick.

Mark’s eyes widen, those words bouncing around his skull, impossible to ignore.

“Part of my bloodline—on my mother’s side—is something else,” you continue, carefully, assessing his reaction with anxious eyes. “We call it a curse, but it’s more like a... condition we inherit.”

Mark listens intently, piecing together the implications, nodding slowly along.

Finally, you exhale shakily, gaze steady but vulnerable.

“I’m part incubus.”

The words hang heavy in the air.

“That’s why I needed to kiss someone earlier,” you admit, fingers twisting in the sheets. Your cheeks burn even in the dim light. “Normal food... it’s not enough. I can eat it, but it doesn’t sustain me. I need—” A shaky exhale. “Arousal. Desire. Intimacy. The energy that comes with it.”

Mark watches as you shrink into yourself, the confession leaving you vulnerable in a way he’s never seen.

“And when I don’t...” You hesitate, then force yourself to go on. “When I go too long without it, my body starts to shut down. You saw it earlier today. That’s what it looks like when I’m starving. I was trying to hide it because I didn’t want—I didn’t want you to know this part of me.”

Mark just stares, stunned—not with disgust or fear, but with a dawning realization. His mind scrambles, trying to make sense of everything. Okay.You’re part incubus. He’s not totally sure what that entails, not really, but he can piece it together. You feed off arousal—off desire. And without it, you get sick. Really sick. Okay. That much he gets.

Then finally, softly, “You’re sick because you’re starving.”

You grimace at that, the words clearly stinging, and glance away. Still, you nod—just barely. A small, exhausted gesture.

“You kiss people to… eat?” he asks slowly. “So back at school—when you were with people—you were feeding?”

You don’t nod this time. You wince instead, tilting your head with an awkward expression.

“Not exactly,” you murmur. “I don’t feed from kisses. That’s not enough. I just…” Your voice dips, suddenly shy. “I just mess around long enough to make people feel... something. Get their arousal going. When things start to, y’know, heat up.”

The second that last phrase escapes your lips, you let out a groan and bury your face in your hands.

“God, I hate saying it out loud. I hate how it sounds. But it’s not like I can turn it off, okay? If I could, I would. Believe me.”

Your voice is muffled behind your palms, frustration and shame coloring every word.

“Hey, hey,” Mark says gently, reaching out to take your hands in his. He pulls them away from your face with soft insistence, making sure you see the sincerity written all over his expression. “I don’t care, okay? This isn’t something you chose. It’s not—it’s not your fault.”

Mark swallows hard, glancing at you again—really looking. You’re still pale. Still swaying a bit where you sit. There are dark, bruised shadows beneath your eyes, and you look one bad night away from collapsing.

“I mean… if you didn’t feed,” Mark says slowly, working through it aloud, “you’d be like this all the time, right? That sounds like it’d really suck. I mean, look at you now. You’re still…”

He trails off, his gaze drifting over you with a worried crease in his brow.

A short, dry huff escapes you. You blink at him, tired and a little amused. “Yeah. It sucks. I could even die.”

You say it so lightly, like it’s no big deal—like you’re joking—and it knocks the breath right out of him.

Mark stares, stunned for a beat, the weight of that sentence finally settling in.

Then he leans forward, closing the space between you, close enough that his breath brushes yours. His hands slide up to your shoulders, firm and grounding as he pulls you gently toward him.

“You could die?” Mark hisses, panic tightening his voice. His fingers dig into your shoulders, eyes wide with fear. “How—how much time do you have left? Why didn’t you tell me? Shit—we should find someone immediately. God, I was the one who stopped you earlier—I’m such an idiot. Oh my god, are you dying?”

“Mark, Mark, breathe,” you say, raising both hands in a placating gesture, a genuine—if tired—smile tugging at your lips. “That only happens in really extreme cases, alright? I’m nowhere near that point. I swear.”

Mark lets out a shaky breath, but his grip on you doesn’t ease.

“Then why not—” He swallows hard, hating the question even as it leaves his lips. “Why not stay with one person? Wouldn’t that be easier than constantly finding new people?”

What he really wants to ask is, Why aren’t you ever serious with anyone? Why not choose someone, stay safe, be safe?

But your eyes drop, the smile fades, and something heavy settles over your expression. You look sad.

Mark hates it instantly.

“Mark…” you murmur, hesitant. “You understand I feed off these people, right? What do you think that means?”

You don’t wait for his answer.

“There’s only so much I can take before they start breaking down,” you say, voice low. “At first it’s subtle—just a little fatigue. But after a week or two, it’s worse. They lose sleep. They get distracted. Their appetite drops. Their energy drains. And I’m not even feeding properly. Just kisses, Mark. Barely enough to keep myself upright, and it already wears them out.”

Mark’s brows knit together, the weight of your words hitting hard, sinking deep.

“And that’s me holding back,” you say, shoulders tense. “That’s me playing it safe. And it’s still not enough.”

You glance at him then, eyes glinting with something close to fear.

“What happens if I stop holding back? What if I lose control? What if I finally taste the real thing—and I can’t stop? I’m scared, Mark. I’m scared I’ll hurt someone. Kill someone.”

The raw honesty in your voice does something to Mark’s pulse. He should be shocked. Maybe even disturbed. But all he feels is an overwhelming pull—an urge to make you feel safe, to ease that pain etched into every word.

“The real thing?” he echoes, voice rough despite already knowing the answer.

You give a dry smile, raising a brow. “Sex, Mark.” Then your gaze drops, and color creeps into your cheeks as you mumble, embarrassed, “I think it’s the only thing that can truly sustain me. Maybe for months, if I’m lucky. But humans are—” You pause, frustration coloring your voice. “Humans are just so... fragile.”

Mark swallows hard, throat dry. He’s still holding onto your shoulders, the heat of your skin seeping through the soft fabric of your t-shirt. He can feel the tremor in your muscles, subtle but undeniable. The shallow rise and fall of your chest. Even now, even after spilling everything—you’re still trying to hold it together.

And he hates it.

Hates that you’re suffering.

Hates that he can’t fix it. Not unless you found someone to—

Found someone—

Someone.

Mark’s breath hitches. His eyes flicker from your face to his hands on you… then back up. The idea hits him like lightning—sudden, bright, impossibly simple and obvious.

His mouth moves before he can stop it.

“Can I help?”

Your head snaps up, eyes widening. “What?”

Mark doesn’t back down. His grip tightens slightly as he leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re starving. And I’m... here.” A beat. “Let me help.”

The offer hangs between you, trembling in the charged silence.

Mark can feel the heat rising to his face, nerves unraveling beneath his skin. He’s suddenly hyperaware of how close you are—close enough to see the way your pupils swallow the color of your eyes, close enough to feel your breath hitch.

“Mark,” you breathe, stunned. Then you shake your head quickly, like you’re trying to shake the thought loose. “No. That’s—did you not hear what I just said? I don’t wanna hurt you. You could end up dying—”

“I’m not human!” he blurts out, voice rising a little in panic, desperate for you to understand. “I mean—I’m not entirely human, like you. I’m half Viltrumite—that’s why I have these powers. An alien race on my dad’s side and—” He stops, shaking his head hard. That’s not the point. “Anyway! I’m strong. Durable. I heal fast and have insane stamina. I won’t—won’t get hurt if you…”

He trails off, drowning in his own embarrassment. God, he hopes he doesn’t sound desperate—just a friend trying to help. Nothing weird about it. Even if—shit—even if it means kissing you.

Mark nearly chokes on his own spit.

Yeah. Right. Kissing. That’s what he’s offering.

No—it’s more than that.

He feels it land in his stomach, heavy, hot, terrifying.

“If we have... sex,” he finishes, cheeks flaming. But the moment he says it, he feels stupid and awkward, his eyes darting everywhere but yours. “I—I mean, we can try. You feel awful all the time, right? And I’m strong. I can take it—I know I can. Because, you know…” He lets out a nervous, breathless laugh, too fast, too forced. “I’m, uh… I’m Invincible. That’s—ha—that’s me.”

The laugh dies a quiet death in his throat.

He bites his lip, eyes dropping to the floor. Silence settles between you again, thick and suffocating. Mark can hear the pounding of his heart, wild and humiliating, slamming against his ribs like it’s trying to escape. God—he sounds so stupid. You probably think he’s being weird. Or desperate. Or both.

Offering to—God. He can’t even say it in his own head without his face going up in flames. But he’s thinking it.

Worse—he’s been thinking it for a while now.

He starts remembering all those times you snuck off after school, slipping behind the gates with someone new, someone who wasn’t him. All those nights Mark lay in bed wondering what you were doing, what it would feel like if you picked him instead.

He remembers how you smiled at him in the middle of crowded hallways—just for a second—and how his heart would stutter in his chest like it forgot how to work. Only for that smile to shift to someone else a moment later, while Mark just stood there, swallowing disappointment like it was a habit.

He remembers how you flop onto his bed whenever you visited, casually thumbing through his comics and calling them lame with a crooked grin, even though you keep reading them anyway just because he likes them.

Your body stretched out in his sheets, your scent lingering in his pillows long after you’ve left. The way your lips tug into a smirk when Seance Dog does something stupid, or how you bite your lower lip when you’re focused, brow twitching every time a plot point annoys you. The way your smile sneaks in, helpless and honest, when you stifle a laugh just to mess with him.

Mark’s thought about kissing you before. Right there, in the quiet of his room, while you were sprawled across his bed, completely at ease. But he never dared.

And now, sitting here in the stillness of this dorm, you only inches away, the thought slips back in.

Mark thinks of kissing you again. Now. But he’s still too shy to try.

Then, soft and amused, you chuckle quietly, breaking the silence.

Mark’s head snaps up, lips already pulling into a nervous pout, bracing for your usual teasing.

But you’re not teasing.

You’re looking at him with something else in your eyes—soft wonder, a kind of startled tenderness, like you’re seeing him clearly for the first time. Your smile is crooked, small. “Invincible, huh.”

Mark swallows thickly and nods. “Invincible.”

A beat.

Then your fingers reach for his collar, curling into the fabric with a tremble he can feel, and Mark’s heart just stops.

“Mark Grayson,” you whisper, half awe, half fear, “do you have any idea what you’re signing up for?”

Mark’s never been more certain about anything.

“I do.”

You smile at him—soft, fond—and for the first time in what feels like forever, the exhaustion in your eyes eases, just a little. Just enough to make Mark’s chest tighten.

Then you tug him closer by the collar of his shirt, and Mark’s breath stutters. Your breath mingles with his—warm, steady, grounding—while his comes out shallow and trembling, lips parted, eyes half-lidded, skin flushed with want.

You’re so close. So unbelievably close. The heat of your lips brushes his, barely there, and Mark leans in without realizing, drawn to you like a magnet.

You inhale deeply, and then let out a soft, pleased hum, one that shudders down his spine.

“You really want it,” you whisper, almost to yourself, voice tinged with wonder. “I can smell it on you.”

Mark doesn’t get the chance to ask what that means—how you can know. Because then your mouth crashes into his, and you groan into the kiss like it’s a relief, like it’s something you’ve needed just as badly.

Mark’s eyes flutter shut, and melts.

It starts slow—tentative. Testing. But Mark sinks into the kiss like he was made for it, hands finding your waist and gripping tight. You sigh into his mouth, lips parting, and Mark doesn’t even think—he just deepens the kiss, tongue brushing yours, hungry and desperate and real.

And the noise you make—

God.

Mark’s never heard anything better.

He presses into you, completely lost in the moment—lost in the feel of your mouth against his. Slowly, your back meets the mattress with a soft thud, and Mark follows, bracing himself on his elbows and palms above you. But neither of you pulls away—not even for a second. The kiss deepens, tongues greedily tangling, hungry for more.

Heat coils low in Mark’s gut. His mind spins, thoughts breaking apart like static. It’s overwhelming—in the best possible way. Your mouth is warm, wet, desperate, kissing him like you want to devour him.

And maybe… maybe you do.

When he finally pulls back, gasping, the sight of you steals what little breath he has left. Color has returned to your cheeks, your eyes bright and focused now, dark with want. The transformation is startling—like watching a wilting flower spring back to life after rain.

Mark swallows thickly. “Better?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

You inhale, lips slick and a little swollen. “Better,” you murmur. Then you raise a hand, fingers brushing tenderly along his cheek. “You?”

Mark pauses. He thinks about the warmth simmering in his chest, the way his skin tingles under your touch, how every nerve feels alive. If you’re better, that means it’s working—that you’re feeding off his arousal. Off him. But he doesn’t feel drained. Not really. Just the heady buzz of desire, the thrill of finally having you beneath him. If this is what feeding you feels like, he’d gladly offer himself up again and again.

“Still good,” he murmurs, smiling crookedly. “Really good.”

Your smile lights up the dim space between you as you pull him back down. Mark groans into the kiss, body sinking against yours when your hand slips behind his back and pulls him in. Chest to chest. Hips to hips. The contact burns through his clothes, sending sparks dancing along his nerves.

This is for you, he thinks wildly as his hips jerk forward of their own accord. To make you strong again.

The moan you let out against his lips is downright sinful. Your legs part instinctively, guiding him to slot perfectly between them. “Mark—” you gasp, fingers tightening in his hair, “are you sure—”

His answer comes in another sharp roll of his hips, drawing a punched-out sound from your throat that goes straight to his cock.

Yes. God, yes.

No words could possibly capture the certainty thrumming through his veins. You seem to understand anyway, arching up to meet his next thrust with a filthy grind that has you both moaning into each other’s mouths.

The heat between you is unbearable now—the drag of fabric against oversensitive skin, the way your hardening lengths press together with each desperate movement. Mark’s never been this hard in his life, every nerve ending alight with the need to give you more, more, more.

“So good,” you slur against his lips, voice thick with pleasure. “Fuck, Mark, so good—”

The words go straight to his core, and Mark’s eyes flutter shut, hips moving faster, chasing that sound, chasing that praise. He wants to hear it again. He wants to earn it. Relishing the way your body trembles beneath him—not from exhaustion now, but from the pleasure he’s giving you.

He can feel it happening; the strength returning to your limbs even as his own energy wanes. It’s not unpleasant—just a deep, satisfying fatigue, like after an intense flight. More than worth it to see color flooding back into your face, to feel your grip on him growing steadier by the second.

So he keeps going, harder, faster, grinding against you like some hopelessly horny teenager.

Turns out the hormone-crazed idiot had been him all along.

“F-Fuck—” Mark chokes out, his voice raw with need, skin flushed and hypersensitive. “Y/N... god, Y/N...”

You moan in response, fingers twisting in his shirt as you drag him closer. The kiss turns messy—all biting lips and clashing teeth, the kind of desperate intensity that leaves you both breathless. Your hands slip beneath his shirt, palms scorching trails across the sweat-slick planes of his back. Mark shudders violently, muscles jumping under your touch.

“Mark—” you gasp, arching up against him, pleasure painting your features. “Mmh, Mark—”

And it hits him.

You’re in the dorms.

William and Rick are probably still very much awake. It’s the middle of the night. And both of you are getting way too loud.

Mark’s face flames with embarrassment.

And when you open your mouth to moan again, he panics—just a little—and presses a hand gently over your mouth to muffle the sound.

Your eyes fly open, dazed and confused, locking with his. And shit—the sight of you like that nearly makes him lose it right then and there.

“Shh,” Mark whispers, breath ragged, forehead pressing against yours. “They’ll hear us.”

You go still for a beat, eyes flicking to the door like you’ve only just remembered where you are. Then you nod slowly, locking eyes with him again.

Mark gives a shallow thrust, still holding his palm over your mouth, just in case. This time, with your lips no longer fused together, his eyes remain open—watching every microexpression of pleasure that crosses your face. The way your pupils blow wider with each thrust. The tension building in your jaw. Most striking of all—the life flooding back into your exhausted features as you meet him halfway.

The silent exchange is somehow more intense than the noises you’d been making before. Mark reads every hitched breath in the flutter of your lashes, every spike of pleasure in the way your fingers dig into his back.

The room is filled with nothing but the sound of heavy breathing, the faint creak of the old bed, and the rustle of tangled sheets. Your gazes lock, dark and searching and hungry. And god, god, Mark has never felt anything like this.

There’s a thrill buzzing down his spine, a flutter in his chest that’s got nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with you. His heart pounds wildly, not just from exhaustion, but from pure, surging adrenaline—pumping heat into every vein, every muscle.

His muscles twitch and flex instinctively from the sheer pleasure wracking his body. His breath catches and his cock aches, hard and leaking into his boxers, needier than it’s ever been.

Mark wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

The heat coils inside him, slow and molten, building pressure with every thrust and grind of your hips against his. Your eyes never leave him, and it wrecks him. That look—like he’s the only thing in the world that matters. The way you’re giving yourself to him, trusting him, wanting him.

Wanting him.

You want him.

The realization hits like lightning, and Mark’s whole body reacts—hips grinding harder, cock pulsing desperately, breath coming fast and uneven as the world narrows to nothing but you. His brain short-circuits, every rational thought evaporating under the weight of that need.

Then your hand slips down.

Past his waistband.

Fingers wrap around his cock, warm and sure and so willing.

Mark chokes on a breath, buries his face in the crook of your neck just as you stroke him—once, twice.

And that’s all it takes.

His whole body shudders violently as he comes, hard, gasping into your skin, cock pulsing in your hand, spilling over your fingers with a soundless cry. His hips jerk helplessly as you milk every last drop from him, until he collapses against you, sensitive and spent.

His breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps, thighs twitching, mind blissfully blank. The exhaustion hits him like a wave—a deep, satisfying lethargy that weighs down his limbs, his eyelids fluttering as he fights to stay awake.

“You okay?” you murmur, voice rough, fingers still lazily stroking his oversensitive flesh. Mark shudders, biting back a whimper, and instead sinks his teeth into your shoulder—not hard, just enough to ground himself. “Mark?”

“I’m fine…” he slurs, voice thick with sleep and satisfaction. “God, I’m so fucking fine.”

You chuckle, low and warm, but your grip tightens again, just for a second—just enough to have him whining, squirming, his spent cock twitching pathetically in your hold before you finally relent.

Mark forces himself up on shaking arms, giving you space to breathe. But in that exact moment, as your hand slips free of his boxers—fingers glistening with his release—he sees something that nearly undoes him all over again.

With zero hesitation, you bring those cum-slick fingers to your mouth—and lick them clean.

Mark’s brain short-circuits.

His mouth goes dry as he watches your tongue flick out, slow and deliberate, catching every drop like it’s something precious, your eyes locked on his the entire time—daring him to look away.

“Shit—” Mark chokes, his spent body throbbing weakly at the sight. “Y/N—”

You hum, eyes fluttering shut as if savoring the taste, lips curling into a sinful little smirk.

Mark swears under his breath, his energy draining further, vision blurring at the edges—but even now, even exhausted, he can’t tear his gaze away.

And all Mark can think is he did that.

He made you feel alright.

He gave you strength again.

Because you’re glowing—god, you’re glowing.

“Y/N…” he breathes, voice trembling. “Are you—are you feeling okay now?”

You hum contentedly, licking the last traces of cum from your fingers with a satisfied sigh. “Never been better.”

Mark’s answering smile is drowsy but genuine. “Good. That’s... good.” His eyelids flutter despite his best efforts to keep them open.

“Mark?” you ask gently, sensing the shift in his body—how it droops, how his muscles go slack.

He blinks at you, slow and owlish, trying to hum an answer. He’s fighting it—desperately trying to stay awake, to prove to you that he’s okay. That you don’t have to worry. That he’s strong enough to do it again, whenever you need it.

But he can’t.

It’s like trying to fight anesthesia—his consciousness slipping despite his will, soft and slow and inevitable.

To his surprise, you don’t panic. Instead, a tender smirk curves your lips as you guide his swaying body off of you, helping him roll onto his side so he lands beside you instead of collapsing on top. You tug the sheets over both of you with a quiet, satisfied sigh, then curl around him, limbs tangling comfortably with his.

Mark still has just enough strength to pull you closer, wrapping his arms around you in return.

The very last thing he feels is the soft brush of your lips at the corner of his mouth.

And then, everything fades.

Since that night, nothing’s happened between you again.

The very next morning, you thanked him with a soft kiss to his cheek, all warm affection and casual ease. You seemed energized, almost thriving, while Mark woke up feeling sluggish and tired—though nothing serious enough to make either of you worry.

You even laughed when you noticed how drained he was. “If I tried that with a regular human,” you said thoughtfully, “they’d probably drop into a small coma, I think.”

So… yeah. Mark had to admit, his Viltrumite heritage did come with some perks beyond just strength.

And for a while, you were fine. More than fine.

Mark watched you through the days, then weeks—half expecting you to suddenly corner a random classmate and start making out with them just to feed again. But you didn’t. Not once.

Which probably had something to do with the fact that you’d… well. Eaten his cum. You mentioned it offhandedly once, saying it gave you an “energetic bonus,” like it was a protein shake or something. And Mark—Mark thought about that for hours. Days, maybe.

He’d let you do it again in a heartbeat. Every day, if you asked. At any time. Anywhere.

And that’s the problem.

You haven’t asked.

Apparently, whatever you got out of him that night was enough to keep you going for weeks. Which is honestly impressive, considering the two of you didn’t even have full-on sex. You just… grinded against each other and you gave the world’s shortest handjob—and he still passed out immediately after like some overwhelmed virgin.

Because, well, he was overwhelmed.

Mark tells himself he needs to work on his stamina. He can’t let that happen again—not if he wants to actually get to the next phase with you. Not if he wants to please you, the way you made him feel that night.

But it’s also true—you were starving back then. Maybe you pulled more from him than you usually would. Maybe the lust, the arousal, the craving he felt for you gave you a bigger energy hit than either of you realized.

Whatever the reason, ever since he tasted your lips, Mark’s been a mess.

The memory of your mouth on his, your body moving against his—it’s been looping in his head, like some kind of self-inflicted torture. Every brush of your shoulder in the hallway sends sparks racing down his spine. Every laugh, every look, every accidental touch leaves him dizzy and desperate.

But no matter how much he’s burning for it, you haven’t brought it up again.

And it’s driving him insane.

Until today.

Today, everything crashes in on him at once—final exams before graduation, the pressure of saving the world, the delicate balancing act of being both Mark Grayson and Invincible. And on top of it all, the world is still feeling the aftermath of his dad’s betrayal—cities still recovering and people still mourning.

Nobody’s surprised that he’s been... off lately. Tense. Angry all the time.

And today, today, he needs to forget. He needs to focus, needs to scrape his mind back together and make it through these tests. Needs to at least try to get into that stupid university where, in some far-off dream, he’d get to kiss you for the first time all over again.

So it happens that morning.

You’re standing by your open locker, flipping through your notes with a nervous sort of energy—brows furrowed, lips pressed together, eyes flicking over the pages like you’re trying to memorize your way out of a breakdown.

Mark drags himself to the locker beside yours, slow and heavy, his limbs weighed down by too many thoughts—things he doesn’t want to forget and things he wishes he couldn’t remember.

Then, his gaze flickers—unconsciously, inevitably—toward you.

Mark sees the pinch in your brows, the way your eyes dart over your notes, how your foot taps restlessly against the tile floor. You’re clearly stressed, just like him. But that’s not what gets him.

What always gets him—every damn day, at every damn hour—is your mouth. The shape of your lips. The way your tongue sneaks out to wet them. The soft pink-red shade. The memory of how they felt, how warm they were, how much he wants to kiss them again.

And again.

“Mark?” you ask suddenly, voice cutting through his spiraling thoughts.

He flinches, eyes snapping up from your lips to your eyes.

“Y-yeah?” he stammers, cheeks flaring with heat.

You stare at him for a beat too long—head tilted slightly, brow raised, eyes scanning his face with something unreadable. Then, your nose flares subtly, like you just smelled something... good.

But instead of saying anything, you just shrug and turn back to your locker.

“Man, these exams got me super stressed out,” you say, casually, as if you hadn’t just caught him staring like a lovesick fool. “I just want school to be over already.”

Mark exhales, trying to ground himself, shoving thoughts of your lips out of his head. Focus. Focus on the tests. On anything else.

He forces a grin. “Tell me about it. I’ve been studying and dreaming about studying. Like—actual nightmares about textbooks chasing me. It’s the worst.”

You huff, amused, tossing the last of your things into your locker before checking the time on your phone.

“We still have time,” you say simply.

Mark grabs a single book and looks at you, hopeful. “Wanna keep studying?”

But you snatch the book from his hand and shove it back into his locker, slamming the door shut. Mark blinks, wide-eyed, and barely has time to react before you step in—closer than close—close enough for your breath to ghost against his ear.

Mark goes completely still.

“Don’t you wanna do something else?” you whisper, voice a low, teasing purr that sends a sharp shiver down his spine. “Like… come with me behind the school. Just us. I can help you unwind. And, y’know…”

Your fingers trail down his chest slowly, making Mark swallow hard, until your hand finds his wrist and wraps around it, firm and sure.

“…I’m feeling kind of hungry.”

You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, eyes gleaming with mischief, a small smirk tugging at your lips like you already know the answer.

And you do.

Mark, predictably, nods dumbly, heart hammering against his ribs.

Your smirk deepens, and without missing a beat, you spin around and tug him along by the wrist. Mark follows—half dazed, half panicked—as you lead him somewhere behind the buildings, wherever it is you always take people when you’re like this.

His face burns, pulse racing—not just from anticipation, but from the very public nature of this. People glance your way, eyes trailing from your linked hands to Mark’s flushed face, some raising their brows knowingly.

Because you have a reputation.

And when you disappear behind buildings with someone flushed and breathless, it only ever means one thing.

And Mark’s flushed and breathless, alright—practically being dragged to that one secluded spot you always claim for yourself.

Is this... is this what it is? What he is? Just your new hookup to mess around with?

No—no. Because unlike the others before him, Mark’s your best friend.

You wouldn’t just discard him. Right?

Besides, Mark’s stronger. Better. He can handle you feeding on him, handle the drain, handle you. He’s not like the rest. He offered. He wanted this.

You chose him.

That’s what he tells himself when you shove him gently against the cold concrete wall behind the school, shadows swallowing you both whole.

You smile at him—soft, sweet—before leaning in and kissing him.

And god, that’s exactly what he’s been craving since the first time.

Mark melts, instantly, like wax under your touch, his arms sliding around your waist to pull you closer. You fit against him like you’re made for it. Your mouth, your kiss, your tongue—everything syncs with his like it’s something you’ve done a thousand times before. Like it’s natural.

Yet, a treacherous part of Mark’s mind—still conscious, still worried—whispers that maybe all the others you’ve kissed against these very same walls thought the exact same thing. That they were special. That they could handle you.

Only for you to leave them two weeks later when they couldn’t keep up.

And now Mark’s heart pounds, not with lust—but fear.

He has to hold it together. Has to prove himself.

He doesn’t want to be another body you use and then forget. Doesn’t want to be weak—doesn’t want to collapse every time you touch him.

He wants to be the one you keep coming back to.

And then—

Then your hands move down, fingers fumbling with the buckle of his jeans.

And Mark completely loses it.

He tears away from your mouth with a breathy gasp, eyes wide, voice ragged. “Y/N?”

You pause, blinking at him, fingers still lightly tugging at his belt. Your expression softens—almost embarrassed.

“Is this okay?” you ask, voice quiet. “I wanted to… suck you off. But I don’t know if—”

You stop yourself, shaking your head like you’re mad for even thinking it. Your fingers begin to retreat, pulling away from his jeans.

“Forget it,” you mutter, avoiding his gaze. “We have exams. You’re already tired. I don’t want to make you worse if I—ugh. Stupid of me. Kisses are fine.”

You lean in again, lips parted, ready to claim his mouth like before—but this time, Mark stops you.

Because the moment the words suck you off left your lips, he stopped hearing anything else.

“You can,” Mark rasps, voice thick. “I want you to. I can take it.”

You pause—eyes searching his face, unsure for just a second. But then your nose flares again, catching his scent, and you close your eyes like it’s the best thing you’ve ever breathed in.

“Fine,” you murmur, voice thick and hazy. “Tell me to stop if it’s too much.”

Mark nods—more a reflex than a conscious answer—because he couldn’t form real words even if he tried.

And then, with aching slowness, you sink to your knees in front of him. Your hands move to the waistband of his jeans, careful and deliberate as you tug them down, freeing his straining cock from his underwear.

Mark’s hands instinctively fly back, palms splayed flat against the wall as his knees buckle slightly. He needs the support, because if he doesn’t hold himself up, he’s sure he’ll collapse the moment your mouth touches him.

Your eyes flick up at him, half-lidded and glassy with heat. Then you reach forward and wrap your hot fingers around his cock.

Mark yelps, his whole body jolting, cheeks burning red from the base of his throat to the tips of his ears.

“Y/N—” his voice cracks embarrassingly as his cock twitches in your grip. This can’t be real. This can’t actually be happening.

You hum approvingly, pumping him slowly once, twice, watching with rapt fascination as a bead of precum wells up at his tip.

“Already so hard for me,” you muse, thumb swiping through the moisture.

The casual observation makes Mark’s head thud back against the wall, a quiet, mortified groan leaving him.

But whatever embarrassment he feels is drowned out by the overwhelming flood of arousal, lust, and whatever else it is you feed on coursing through him.

You probably enjoy it—how easily he falls apart for you, how effortlessly his body responds, like you don’t even have to work for it.

You probably love it. Because then you lean in, face close to his cock, eyes fluttering shut as you inhale deeply—drawing in the raw scent of his arousal straight from the source, your warm breath ghosting over the flushed, sensitive tip.

“Fuck,” you whisper, pupils blown wide. “You smell perfect.”

Mark doesn’t have the brain to process what that even means, not when the question gets stuck in his throat and dissolves the second your tongue flicks over the tip of his cock.

A choked groan tears from his chest as you start to lick, slow and deliberate, savoring the precum with deep, focused sucks. His knees buckle slightly, and he squeezes his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to ground himself, to focus on anything other than the maddening heat of your mouth.

But it’s impossible.

You’re shameless—licking and sucking him like this is just natural for you, like it’s not embarrassing at all the way it’s mortifying for him. Your tongue moves up and down his shaft in wet, lazy strokes, then circles the head with practiced ease before you suck again, harder this time.

You groan, low and satisfied, and the vibration shoots straight through him.

Mark shudders, his hips jerking slightly, and helpless little sounds tumble out of his mouth before he can even think to swallow them down. And then—shit—then your mouth opens wider, lips stretching, tongue curling, and you take more of him in. Inch by inch, hot and wet, deeper and deeper.

Mark nearly loses it right there.

His back slams harder into the wall, his fists curling uselessly at his sides as he fights the urge to completely fall apart. But it’s not because you’re draining him—not yet, at least—it’s because it’s you.

Y/N. His best friend. The guy he’s been crushing on for way too long. On your knees behind the school, mouth full of him like it’s nothing, like it’s something you want.

It’s insane. He’s insane.

Shit—shit.

Mark dares to glance down, eyes wide and glassy with stunned pleasure, needing to see it to believe it.

And the sight nearly breaks him.

You, between his legs, hands steady on his hips, eyes half-lidded with hunger and focus. Your lips, stretched wide and glistening, moving up and down his cock with obscene wet sounds. His shaft gleams with spit and precum, slick and throbbing, disappearing and reappearing between your lips.

He moans again, soft and wrecked, unable to look away.

Meanwhile, you’re letting out soft, muffled sounds around the thick length stuffed in your mouth—like you really like it. Like you’re losing yourself in the sensation of having Mark buried so deep, your mouth full of him, nose flaring with every push of his hips. The wet, obscene noises echo in the tight space, and your brows furrow—not from discomfort, but something heady, something near-blissful.

It’s like pleasure for you. Something Mark can’t fully grasp, not when you feed off this—feed off him—like this is more than just sex, like it’s sustenance.

Then, on a particularly sharp thrust—Mark can’t help it, his hips moving on instinct—his tip hits the back of your throat.

You gag softly, breath hitching, teary eyes snapping open, glassy and dazed.

Mark curses under his breath, panicked, already pulling back, the apology forming fast on his lips—

But then you moan.

Loudly. Lewdly. Fingers digging into his hips, dragging him back in.

Mark nearly collapses.

“Oh—oh god—” he chokes out, his grip on the wall slipping as his thighs tense.

You don’t stop—don’t even slow down. You just suck harder, deeper, hungrier. Mark can feel the heat of your mouth wrapped around every inch of him, and it’s too much—it’s so much.

“Y/N,” he gasps, “God—I’m gonna—”

But you don’t let go. If anything, your pace quickens, mouth working him with precision and purpose. Mark’s knees shake, buckling slightly, and he nearly traps your head between his trembling thighs without meaning to.

“Y/N—fuck, I’m so—so close!”

You hum again, low and satisfied, like that’s exactly what you wanted to hear. Like his desperate moans and breathless whines are feeding you, pouring that raw energy straight into your core. And you take it, eyes fluttered shut in bliss, like this is your version of heaven.

“Y/N—” Mark gasps, a final, desperate warning.

But you don’t stop. Fierce and hungry, you take him in again—once.

Twice.

And that’s all it takes.

Mark comes with a deep, guttural groan, his head thrown back against the wall, hips jerking forward to bury himself to the hilt in the wet heat of your mouth. Hot, bitter release spills from him in thick pulses, straight down your throat—and you gulp it down without hesitation, moaning like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted.

The sounds you make—hungry, pleased, possessive—echo in the tight space, and Mark’s entire body trembles under the weight of it all.

His thighs shake violently, straining from the effort to stay standing. His vision flickers at the edges, a burst of white noise flashing across his mind. He’s faintly aware of the wall at his back, of the air that won’t quite fill his lungs, and the overwhelming, foggy pleasure that steals every coherent thought.

He’s fine. He tells himself that. He has to be.

Because he wants to prove he’s stronger than the others. That he can take it. That he can give and keep giving if that’s what you need.

Even as the lightness threatens to pull him under.

But just as his cock begins to soften, your mouth stays—closes tight around the tip, fingers curling around the base where your lips can’t reach. You start stroking again, firm and insistent, while your tongue circles his oversensitive head.

You’re milking him. Ruthlessly. Determined to get every last drop.

Mark jerks with a sharp cry, the overstimulation sending electricity through his nerves. His hands claw at the wall, legs quaking uncontrollably.

“Y/N—” he breathes, voice high and wrecked, “Jesus Christ, that’s—! I—I can’t—!”

And finally, finally, you stop.

You pull off him with a soft gasp, your breath hot and ragged. His cock slips free, flushed and twitching, coated in your spit and what’s left of his release.

You lick your lips lazily, and smile. That same satisfied, gleaming smile that tells Mark you got exactly what you wanted.

Slowly, you rise to your feet, flushed and glowing—energized in a way that almost radiates off your skin—while Mark’s left trembling, still caught in the aftershocks of his high.

“My god, Mark,” you huff a breathless laugh, eyes sparkling. “That was—I’ve never felt anything so—” You cut yourself off when you finally take in his state—the sweat beading at his temples, the way his chest heaves. Concern flickers across your face. “You good?”

Mark immediately shakes his head, trying to clear the static clouding his thoughts. “M’fine... I’m just—overwhelmed,” he admits, voice hoarse but honest.

You pause, frown flickering briefly across your lips as you glance him over more carefully. He’s pale. Wobbly. Still fighting to steady his breath. A pang of guilt twists in your chest—maybe you took too much. Maybe he wasn’t ready. Maybe he’s going to drop right here and hit the damn pavement.

But Mark, breathless and clearly drained but stubbornly determined to prove a point, straightens off the wall on shaky legs.

“I’m fine,” he says again, firmer this time. “Really. That was—” he exhales deeply, a dazed smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “that was so good.”

Your face lights up again, the concern replaced by a beaming grin. “Damn right it was! Mark, you taste amazing. I’ve never tasted so much—fuck, I didn’t think I’d ever get to have that much cum,” you ramble, fast and thrilled, practically buzzing with glee. “It energizes me so much, like—Jesus, I could live off you... Do you need help with that?”

You gesture toward his pants, still hanging open. Mark blinks, dazed and stunned by your casually filthy words, but still gives a small nod.

You hum, pleased, as you crouch slightly to tug his jeans back up, fingers moving with practiced care. You even take your sweet time buckling his belt again, still grinning to yourself like this is the best thing that’s happened all week.

Meanwhile, Mark struggles to steady his breathing, eyes half-lidded as he watches your every movement. He savors the careful way you straighten his clothes, tugging his shirt down gently before reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his damp forehead.

His breath catches when your palm lingers against his cheek.

“You okay?” you ask again, softly, trying to sound serious—but the buzz of energy beneath your skin, the high of feeding, makes your voice a little too bright.

Mark smiles, slow and fond. “Amazing.”

“You’re not, like… out of it, are you?” you press, brows furrowed. “Still with me?”

He lifts his hand to cover yours, holding it against his cheek as he leans into your touch like he never wants you to let go.

“I’m fine,” he murmurs. “Better than fine. I actually feel…” He trails off, searching for the right words. There’s some drowsiness, sure, but it’s the good kind. “Relaxed. Like—really relaxed. Not anxious anymore.”

Your smirk is immediate, the faintest blush touching your cheeks. You look so alive—flushed and glowing, like the fatigue Mark had always assumed was your default had never really belonged to you. For months, he thought you were just… exhausted all the time. Turns out, you were starving.

“Good,” you say, lacing your fingers through his. The contact sends a fresh spark along Mark’s nerves. “Come on—we’ve still got time to meet up with William, Eve, and Amber. We can cram together before the test.”

Mark stumbles after you, legs still shaky, cheeks still burning, head still in a haze—but for entirely new reasons. The memory of your mouth on him lingers like a brand, and the knowledge that he alone can sustain you without breaking sends a possessive thrill through his veins.

He’ll be ready whenever you need him again.

When you need him again, Mark’s in the middle of arranging his things at the Upstate U dorms.

He’s been trying not to sulk about the dorm assignments. Really. It’s fine that you’re rooming with some random guy instead of him. Totally fine. And hey, it’s not all bad. He’s rooming with William, and you’re only three doors down.

However, when he’s strolling back with his Seance Dog action figure on hand, he spots it—the damn sock on the doorknob. The one William had declared as their “do not disturb�� signal. Mark freezes, then groans loudly enough that a passing freshman gives him a weirded out stare.

Rolling his eyes, Mark turns on his heel and makes a beeline for your door instead. No knock. No warning. He just pushes it open like it’s a completely normal thing to do.

You’re in the middle of unpacking, back to the door, bent slightly as you shove clothes into your half of the closet.

“William’s having sex,” Mark grumbles as his greeting, shutting the door behind him.

You let out a startled laugh, glancing over your shoulder. “Already? It’s literally the first day of college.”

“Right?!” Mark perks up, pointing at you like he’s just been seen. “I was thinking the exact same thing! Who even has sex on the first day of college? I haven’t even finished unpacking.”

You snort again, amused, and turn back to your stuff. “Sucks for you,” you say with a teasing smirk. “But since you’re here, wanna help me put my stuff away?”

Mark’s shoulders sag dramatically as his eyes sweep over the room—half-open boxes everywhere, clothes spilling out, chaos even worse than his own side of the dorm. “Aw, man.”

“You chose to come here, Mark,” you say with a grin, reaching out and grabbing his wrist, pulling him toward the mountain of chaos you call your stuff. “Now suffer the consequences.”

Mark lets out a dramatic sigh as he lets you tug him along, but his protests are half-hearted at best. He grumbles the entire time—loudly and performatively—but never actually stops helping. He jokes through it, snickers when he finds weird stuff in your boxes, and keeps rearranging things the way he thinks they should go, just to mess with you.

He doesn’t really mind. In fact, Mark loves it—being near you, touching your things, asking dumb questions just to hear you talk. Every little trinket you pull out is a new excuse to stay a little longer.

By the time the bed is made, your desk is mostly arranged, and the floor is walkable again, Mark flops down face-first onto your mattress with a dramatic sigh. He rolls over onto his back, one arm slung lazily across his chest, and watches you fiddle with the last few decorations on your desk.

“What’s up with that thing?” he asks, nodding at a pretty trinket you’re setting in the corner. “Looks ancient.”

You glance over your shoulder, then shrug. “Oh, this? Just a stupid family relic. Supposed to bring me good luck or something.”

Mark pushes himself up on one elbow. “Family relic?”

“Yeah!” you nod brightly—then pause, eyes flicking to him with a slightly sheepish look. “Y’know. That side of the family, if you get me.”

That perks Mark right up. You rarely mention your incubus lineage, let alone the mysterious relatives who share it.

“Does it actually work?” he asks, genuinely intrigued. “The luck thing, I mean.”

You chuckle, fingers brushing over the trinket. “Sure it works.”

Mark straightens completely, eyes wide and full of wonder. “Really? How?”

You turn to him slowly, expression softening into something warm and deeply fond. Then you rise from the chair, walk over, and drop down beside him, the mattress dipping under your weight. You don’t say anything at first, just smile as your hand reaches up, tenderly cradling his cheek.

Mark’s breath catches.

“Well,” you murmur, thumb brushing lightly over his skin, “I met you, didn’t I.”

And Mark’s heart just—melts. There’s no other word for it. It swells in his chest and bursts behind his ribs like a supernova, a rush of feelings he doesn’t bother to hide.

Then he leans into your touch without thinking, eyes fluttering for half a second. “It must work both ways, then,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

You laugh gently—and god, he loves that sound. It lights up your whole face. There’s something about it, that laugh, that smile, like it always bubbles out of you before you can stop it. Like you can’t help but be happy in his presence.

Mark watches you, eyes soft, his heart thudding like it’s trying to tell him something—like this is the moment. His hand is a little clammy against the blanket. He’s thinking about kissing you. Really kissing you.

But he doesn’t.

Because the truth is, aside from those two times you fed off him, you never actually kissed. Not once. And not because you didn’t want to—but because if you weren’t hungry, if there was no need to satiate that part of you, neither of you ever crossed that line.

Still, you liked touching him. You liked brushing shoulders when you walked together. Liked laying your head on his shoulder during long movies. When you visited his house, you liked sneaking into his bed just to nap together—curled into him like you belonged there.

Mark misses your lips. But if you weren’t hungry—if you didn’t have to feed—then both of you stayed in your safe little bubble.

Would it be weird if Mark kissed you right now?

Would you think he’s being a weird friend?

Mark doesn’t know where the two of you stand. Yeah—you’ve grinded against each other, you’ve sucked him off behind the school. But what did it mean? Just a way for you to feed yourself? Or did it mean more?

Did he mean more?

Mark can’t tell. Isn’t sure.

But when you look at him like this—all soft eyes, quiet smiles, that unshakable tenderness lighting up your whole face—Mark lets himself wonder. Can he believe for even a second that you feel the same way he does?

Can he kiss you?

“You can,” you whisper, soft as a secret.

Mark freezes.

Eyes widen just a little in surprise. For a moment, he thinks maybe you read his mind—but then he realizes…

He said that out loud.

And you said yes.

“…Really?” he asks, heart in his throat.

You laugh, soft and fond, thumb brushing along his jaw. With the same hand still cradling his face, you guide him closer, slowly, until your lips almost touch. “Really.”

Mark closes the distance.

He kisses you.

Not like before. Not the frantic, life-sustaining kisses you’d taken from him. This is something softer. Something given.

His heart races, hand rising to cup the curve of your cheek, thumb brushing your skin as he closes his eyes, savoring the softness, the warmth, trying to burn the sensation into his memory, into his very flesh.

You sigh softly, lips parting slowly as you deepen the kiss. Mark holds back a groan, turning it into a breathy gasp instead, his tongue meeting yours with a shy hesitation. He tastes the faint hint of chocolate from the snack you’d eaten earlier while taking a break from unpacking. Unable to resist, he gently sucks on your tongue, and you shudder against him, a soft moan slipping free.

God, Mark loved it. Loves it. Couldn’t get enough. Wanted this—wanted you—forever.

He tilts his head, deepening the kiss further, teeth catching on your bottom lip in a playful bite. One hand sneaks around your lower back, pulling you closer—

Then someone knocks on the door.

You freeze against each other, lips still brushing as you pull apart just enough to share a wide-eyed look. Your cheeks are flushed, your breathing uneven—beautiful, Mark thinks, already mourning the loss.

“Probably my roommate,” you murmur, catching your breath as the knocking comes again. “I’ll check.”

Mark pouts, reluctant to let go, but quickly squares his jaw and puts on his best tough-guy face. If this is your roommate, then he’s definitely marking his territory. No one’s stealing his best friend.

You give him a faint, sheepish smile when he slides a protective arm around your waist, and then you reach for the door handle.

But the second it swings open, you both freeze again.

Right there, in the hallway, is fucking Seance Dog in the flesh.

Mark reacts immediately, stepping between you and the bizarre cloaked figure before him, grabbing its body. “Who the hell are you—?”

The creature—Seance Dog—launches into a rambling explanation, but Mark barely registers it. His attention is locked on the hallway beyond the open door, where students pass by, oblivious.

You spin on your heel, eyes wide, rushing to the window. “Go! I’ll find backup!”

Turns out “backup” is William, who stumbles after you through the wooded edge of campus, half out of breath and half-convinced this is some elaborate prank, while you yell, “Yes, the Seance Dog! No, I don’t mean cosplay!”

When you both catch up, Mark is standing in a clearing, arms crossed, face tight with frustration. Mark turns when he hears your voice and immediately starts explaining—Thraxa, billions of people in danger, yada, yada. It’s all so sudden, and he watches you both closely as the explanation sinks in.

William nods along, immediately agreeing. “Dude, you have to go. We’re talking, what, forty-two billion lives?”

Mark flinches, glancing toward you, searching your expression. You haven’t said anything yet. Arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

You finally speak. “For—for how long again?”

Mark hesitates, his heart thumping. “Just—just a few weeks. Give or take.” He turns to the bug alien. “Right? A few galaxies away?”

The bug alien nods solemnly.

Mark looks at you again, eyes quietly pleading. He wants you to say no. He hasn’t even had his first class yet. You kissed, for real, for the first time not even an hour ago, and now he’s supposed to just…leave?

If you said no, he wouldn’t go. Not for anything.

You fold your arms, brow furrowed in deep thought. “I mean… if we’re talking about that many people… and he came from so far just for you, then…”

You trail off.

Mark’s heart sinks. He wants to help, really—but he also wants to stay. Wants to start this new chapter with you, complain about professors together, compare how bad the cafeteria food is, sit next to you in class and whisper jokes under his breath just to make you snort.

And—and he hadn’t even fed you properly. Not really. Not the way you needed. Not the way he wanted to.

But then your eyes meet his again, steady and sure despite the tightness in your jaw, and you nod. “…Then I guess you should go.”

And that’s it.

He suits up. The blue and yellow slide over his body like second skin, and Nuolzot is already gesturing toward the sky, to the ship hovering in low orbit.

But Mark pauses. He turns back to you. In two steps, he’s standing in front of you again, gloved hands rising to cradle your face.

“A month,” he says, voice rough with emotion. “A month tops. I swear I’ll be back before you even notice.”

You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Alright, Invincible,” you say, trying for playful. “Go save that planet. Come back before you flunk out before classes even start.”

That makes him laugh, breathless—and then his eyes drop to your lips.

And he kisses you before he can second-guess himself again.

Your mouth meets his instantly, warm and sure, like you’re afraid this will be the last time you get to feel him like this.

When you part, breathless and close, Mark wants to say it. The words burn on his tongue.

I love you.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he chuckles awkwardly, as if laughter might hide the way the words nearly slipped out.

“Alright,” he murmurs. “See you soon.”

And then, without waiting another second, he shoots up into the sky, trailing after Nuolzot and leaving the ground—and you—behind.

William’s voice echoes upward. “Wait, wait, wait—since when are you two together!? I need details!”

Mark doesn’t look back.

If he had, he might have seen the way your smile faltered the moment he turned away.

Mark returns to Earth two months later—twice the time he promised you. And somehow, that’s the part he can’t stop thinking about.

He should be happy to be home. Should be focused on the fact that he’s safe, alive. And still, a small part of him is terrified. Terrified that you’ve moved on. That in the time he was off-planet, you got bored of waiting, maybe met someone new—someone who actually stuck around like they said they would.

So he doesn’t go to you. Not right away. Not even when every fiber in his body aches to.

First, he goes home. He sees his mom—because of course he does. She needs to know he’s alive. That he’s okay. That he’s now the older brother to a half-bug alien baby. He spends time there, takes his time, and tells her everything.

And then, finally, he makes his way to Upstate U.

Now he has to see you—has to face whatever version of you he left behind. The one who might hate him, or worse… be totally fine without him.

He stops by his dorm first, quickly changing out of his suit and into something more casual. The more he thinks about you, the tighter his stomach clenches with anxiety.

When William remarks, “You were gone a long time, like forever in college years,” it feels like salt in the wound.

Mark winces, tugging his shirt over his head. “Yeah. I know.”

Surely you’re upset.

If not upset, then… indifferent.

And Mark honestly can’t decide which would hurt more.

Still, there’s something bubbling in his chest—nerves, maybe. But also that warm, fluttery anticipation he always gets when he’s about to see you. God, he missed you so damn much. Thought about you more times than he can count while everything around him fell apart in space.

So he throws on clean clothes, rakes a hand through his hair, and takes a deep breath to ease his nerves.

“Wait, where are you going?” William asks as Mark heads for the door.

“Y/N’s room?” Mark says it like it’s obvious. Because it is. You’re three doors down. Three doors he’s been counting since he landed.

William’s expression shifts. “Oh. Uh. Y/N’s not here.”

Mark freezes. “What?”

“Went home two weeks ago. Medical leave.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. “Medical leave?” Mark’s voice cracks. “What happened?”

William shrugs helplessly. “No clue. He’s been sick for weeks though. Like, really sick.”

Mark’s mouth goes dry. His pulse spikes.

Sick?

His thoughts spiral—there are only a few things he can think of that would make you sick. And none of them make sense. None of them feel random. Not for you. Not with what you are.

“What—what kind of sick?” Mark demands, already striding back into his dorm room, his voice tight, too fast. “Like a cold? Stress?”

But he already knows.

God, he doesn’t want to, but the truth is already clawing up the back of his throat. Gnawing at his brain like it wants him to panic.

William frowns, thrown by the sudden shift. “I don’t know the full details, man. He just said he was feeling weak… too tired to even make it to class. He even passed out once—that’s why he asked for the medical leave.” William’s tone is a mix of concern and confusion. “Something about malnutrition or whatever, which is weird, right? I mean, he usually eats enough for twenty—hey. Hey, where the hell are you going?”

Mark is already halfway out the window.

“Where do you think?” he snaps, voice cracking with the edge of panic. “I’m going to see him!”

And then he’s gone.

The wind tears through the dorm behind him as he rockets into the sky, leaving William shouting something he doesn’t hear.

Mark doesn’t care. He can’t. Not now. Not when all he can think about is getting to you.

So he pushes himself faster—faster than he’s flown in weeks. His hands clench and unclench in the air, sweat slicking his palms, speeding toward your home.

He arrives within minutes, and in those minutes, his brain spins through every worst-case scenario imaginable. Why are you even sick? Why’d you stop feeding? You need it to survive. That’s what you told him. So why? Why would you stop? It makes no sense.

Why the hell would you let yourself waste away?

Mark doesn’t bother with the front door. Not when your bedroom window is right there—always open. Always left unlocked. For him.

Mark flies up to it without thinking, presses against the glass, peering inside. It’s dim and quiet. Then his eyes dart to your bed—rumpled sheets, blanket kicked off, and you curled up there, too still, too pale. His chest seizes.

“Y/N?” he calls, voice uncertain—like he’s afraid to startle you.

You don’t answer.

Mark climbs through the window on shaky feet, moving to your side with heart pounding. His hand hovers before gently settling on your shoulder.

“Y/N,” he says, lower now. “Hey. It’s me. I came back.”

No answer.

His eyes scan you closer—the dullness in your skin, the dark shadows beneath your eyes, the faint sheen of sweat on your forehead, your cracked lips, the sunken look in your face.

Mark’s heart drops. His grip tightens on your shoulder, and he gives you a soft shake, panic bleeding into every movement.

“Y/N, please.”

Then—finally—you stir.

A soft, low hum escapes your throat. Your face scrunches weakly, like even blinking takes effort, and you crack one eye open, confused and half-dazed.

Mark lets out a shuddering breath, part relief, part fear, and drops to his knees beside the bed.

“Oh thank god,” he breathes out, his voice cracking, reaching up to cup your cheek gently. “Hey. I’m here. I’m here, okay?

“…Mark…?” you slur, voice cracked and barely a whisper.

Mark leans in immediately, heart racing, face just inches from yours. “Yeah, yeah—it’s me! Are you okay? Y/N, what’s going on?”

You blink slowly, trying to will your eyes to stay open. Then, with some effort, you shift on the bed, uncurling from yourself like a bear out of hibernation—sluggish and disoriented. You squint at him, dazed. “Mark, hey.” A weak cough follows, your throat dry and raw. “How’re you doing? It’s been so long.”

The casual way you say it—like you’re not on the edge of passing out on your own bed—shatters Mark all over again.

“Y/N…” Mark says, voice thick with disbelief, worry pulling hard at his face. “Forget about me—what happened to you? You look…”

He trails off, unable to say it, but his expression says enough. His eyes, wide and glassy, trace every hollowed detail in your face.

“Oh,” you exhale, trying to play it down. “It’s fine. I’ve just been… a little weak, is all.”

“A little weak?” Mark repeats, voice rising in disbelief. “You’re not a little weak, Y/N. You’re—God, William said you’ve been like this for weeks.”

You grimace, trying to smile through it, to keep him from worrying. But Mark sees right through the act. He watches, helpless, as you try to sit up, bracing yourself on trembling elbows—only for your arms to give out, your head dropping back to the pillow with a soft thud.

Mark stands and shifts to sit on the edge of your mattress, hands settling gently on your shoulders like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go.

“Hey—hey, don’t push yourself,” he says, voice low but firm. “Just—just stay still, okay?”

You don’t resist. Couldn’t even if you wanted to. You simply lie there, head sunk into your pillow, eyes barely open. You’re too tired to argue, too tired to even pretend you’re okay. Your breathing stays shallow, lips cracked, face drained of color.

Mark’s chest tightens. He watches you for a second that feels like forever before finally breaking the silence. “What happened, Y/N?” he asks, even though deep down, he already knows. He just needs to hear you say it. “What is it?”

You make a face, like there’s a million things you could say—but none of them are enough. Still, you force your lips to part.

“It’s just—” your voice wavers, then you let out a breath, helpless. “I haven’t fed off… you know…”

Mark’s brows draw together, his lips pressing into a tight, thin line.

You don’t look at him when you admit it—voice barely above a whisper. “Not since you left.”

There’s silence. A thick, awful silence.

Mark flinches like the words hit him in the chest. His heart starts pounding again, harder this time. “Why didn’t you go to someone else, Y/N?” he blurts—too sharp, too panicked. It comes out like an accusation, and he instantly regrets it.

You flinch too, like the words cut deeper than he meant. You look away, your features tight, skin grayed with exhaustion, eyes watery and dull. “…Should I have?” you ask, small and fragile.

And the answer is obvious. So obvious it makes Mark feel like a damn idiot for even saying anything.

No.

Mark exhales shakily, one hand moving to cradle your cheek as he leans down, his forehead pressing gently to yours.

“No,” he whispers, voice thick. “Of course not.”

Only him. You’d only ever wanted him.

And god—god—isn’t that selfish of him, when your life was literally on the line?

But you smile. It’s small and tired—drained, really—but it’s a smile all the same. Like those words were exactly what you needed to hear. Like there was no one else you wanted to feed from anymore but Mark.

You tilt your head up, lips brushing his in a soft exhale. “Then… kiss me.”

Mark doesn’t hesitate. He bridges the last inch between you the second the words leave your mouth, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that’s soft, careful—desperate in all the ways he won’t admit out loud. Your sigh against him is so content, so relieved, it almost brings tears to his eyes.

He kisses you like he’s trying to make up for every lonely day he was gone.

His hand slides to your jaw, tilting it gently, thumb stroking your cheek as he deepens the kiss. His heart stutters at the way your body slowly starts to respond—weak, yes, but responding. When his lips part yours and your tongues meet, Mark groans softly into your mouth, heat coiling low in his gut.

He doesn’t rush, but the rhythm quickens just a beat. Enough to let himself feel your breath grow steadier against him, the slight tremble in your limbs easing, pulse pushing just a little stronger beneath your skin.

Then—God, your hands. They reach for him, still shaking, but purposeful. Fingers gliding up his chest, slow and searching, until they hook around his neck and pull him closer.

Mark obliges without hesitation, his other arm sliding beneath you to lift you gently against him. He feels your grip strengthen with each passing second, your kisses growing more urgent. And when you finally arch into him with a reawakened hunger, Mark knows he’ll give you everything.

Again and again and again.

The kiss breaks with a soft, wet sound, your shared breaths mingling in the thin space between you.

“Oh, Mark,” you whisper, voice rough and shaky, “I missed you.”

You look better already—cheeks touched with color, eyes less glassy. But it’s still not enough. Not even close.

There’s still tension in your brow, a strain in the way you lie beneath him, like it hurts to be hungry and still not full. Veins faintly shadow your temple. The dark bruises beneath your eyes haven’t faded. And the way your tongue drags across your lips—it’s need, raw and unfiltered.

“Missed you too,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m so sorry.”

He knows one kiss won’t fix this. He knows better than to think you’d recover after just a moment of closeness. It’s been two months. Two months without feeding. Without touching. Without even knowing if he was coming back.

You needed more. Needed more than friction, more than mouth and tongue. You probably needed more than just getting him off like the last times—where you fed and then let him go, always asking for nothing in return.

You probably needed the real thing.

Mark’s throat tightens.

“I’m gonna—” he starts, breathless, almost shy, “—gonna make you feel good, okay?”

His hand trails lower, until it cups the heat between your legs, the bulge already thick and straining through your sweatpants. He squeezes, just enough to make you gasp, and the soft whine you let out snaps something in him.

Because for the first time, Mark thinks about it.

You’ve made him come—twice now. And afterward, he’d always been so wrapped up in his own high, in the rush of it, the haze, the way you looked so content with just tasting him... he never stopped to reciprocate the favor.

God, he’s been so selfish.

Mark’s throat bobs as his hand strokes you again, this time with more purpose—his thumb grazing the sensitive head through the fabric of your sweatpants. You keep making those greedy little sounds, soft and needy, and right then Mark decides—he’s going to make you fall apart under him. He’s going to make you shiver and whimper his name as you come undone.

“Mark,” you sigh, arching against his hand. “Oh, Mark.”

He picks up the pace, leaning in to capture every gasp and whimper straight from your mouth. Your tongues meet again—hungry and messy—as Mark begins grinding against you, his own arousal building, knowing you can feel it, feed off it, and revel in it.

It doesn’t take long for the pressure in his jeans to become unbearable—his cock straining hard against the fabric, pulsing with every beat of his heart. He can’t take it anymore. Can’t wait. And besides, this—this—is the fastest way to get you back on your feet, glowing with strength.

He pulls away from your lips just enough to murmur, “Let me,” breathless, fingers already hooking into your waistband. “Let me take care of you.”

Your soft, desperate moan is all the permission he needs.

With trembling hands, Mark peels down your sweatpants and underwear in one fluid motion, careful as he slides them past your legs. You shudder at the exposure, but you don’t hide—you open your legs willingly, inviting him in. Your face is flushed, the color blooming down your neck and ears. It’s the first time you’ve ever been this vulnerable with someone. And from the look in your eyes, you’re glad it’s Mark.

He drinks in the sight of you, chest heaving. Then, in one smooth motion, he strips off his shirt and tosses it aside, eyes never leaving you.

“Shit…” You bite your lip, but there’s a glint in your eyes—a flash of mischief under all that exhaustion. “You’re so sexy, Mark.”

Mark flushes, his skin warming as your hands roam his chest, greedy and sure, fingers tracing over muscles that flex and shudder under your touch. It’s too much—almost overwhelming—and he has to brace himself, hands planted on either side of your head to keep from collapsing on top of you.

“Fuck—” His hips jerk involuntarily when your hand travels lower, undoing his belt, pulling the zipper down. “Y/N…”

You breathe out a needy sound when his cock springs free, hand wrapping around him without hesitation.

“Jesus,” you murmur hoarsely, licking your lips. “I’m so—so hungry, Mark. I can’t wait.”

Mark moans at the sight of you, the desperation in your voice making his head spin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You stroke him with trembling fingers, and Mark’s hips move in time with your touch, his breath growing ragged. “Yeah. Fuck. I’ve been—starving for you.”

Mark groans, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, undone by the way your fingers work him—confident, greedy, like you need him. And yeah, you do. He knows what his pleasure does to you. Knows how his arousal, his moans, even the steady pulse of precum leaking from his tip—slicking your fingers—is what makes you stronger. What feeds you.

But it’s not enough.

He wants to see you come for once. Wants to hear you gasp and writhe because he’s making you feel good.

“Can I…?” he breathes, eyes locked on yours, his voice tight with restraint. “Can I fuck you?”

Your hand slows, eyes going wide, startled by the question—but then you smile, soft and full of something like fondness.

“Yes,” you whisper after a moment. “Of course.”

Mark exhales like he’s been holding his breath for months, pressing his forehead against yours. When his lips find yours again, the kiss turns desperate—all teeth and tongue and months of pent-up longing. You meet him with equal fervor, legs parting instinctively as his hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him.

“Should I—” Mark gasps between kisses, his voice thick with both desire and hesitation. “Should I prep you or—”

“No.” The word comes out sharper than intended, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “I’m not some fragile human who needs coddling. Just fuck me, Mark.”

There’s something feral in your voice now—primal and wild in a way he’s never heard from you. The more energy floods your system, a spark of life returning to your features, the more your instincts take over.

“Okay,” he rasps, more to himself than you. “Okay, just—”

Mark swallows hard, his gaze trailing down your body with a mix of awe and nervous hunger. His breath catches at the sight of your cock straining between you, at the way your hole flutters impatiently.

His eyes drop—slowly, hungrily—trailing down your body, pausing at the sight of your flushed cock, your spread legs, your willing entrance. He swallows thickly, breath catching in his throat.

“It’s fine,” you whisper, voice softening just enough as your hand continues to stroke him, thumb grazing the sensitive head, coaxing more precum from his tip. “I’ll guide you.”

And guide him you do.

You pump him a few more times, slicking him up while he groans, every sigh vibrating against your lips. Then you part your legs even further, just enough for his hips to fit between them snugly. One hand steadies his cock, the other resting on his hip as you line him up, brushing the tip against your entrance.

“Just like that,” you sigh, arching beneath him. “Push, Mark. Please.”

Mark’s hips stutter, his cock sliding between your cheeks with desperate, jerky movements. He’s achingly hard, every nerve alight with need.

“Is this—” His voice cracks as the head of his cock catches at your entrance. “God, Y/N—is this okay?”

Your answer comes with a whimper, head tipping back against the pillows. “Yes. Fuck me. I want you.”

Mark’s hips stutter, and then your legs hook around his waist, pulling him in—forcing him deeper.

“Fuck—” he chokes out, voice tight.

The head of his cock sinks into you, your body welcoming him in a slick, hot pull that makes both of you moan, trembling against each other.

“Yes—” you gasp, fingers curling against his back. “Push, Mark. I don’t care. Just do it.”

Mark bites down on his lip, squeezes his eyes shut, and pushes.

The glide is smooth, easy—thanks to the slick layer of precum and your guiding hands. He shudders all the way in, your body stretching to take him, tight and perfect around him. You groan, hands digging into his back as if to hold him there forever.

“Yes, yes,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, Mark, yes.”

For a suspended moment, when he’s fully buried inside you, all Mark can do is feel—the way you pulse around him, the desperate clutch of your hands on his back, the dizzying realization that this is happening.

He barely remembers how to breathe, barely manages to stay upright with how shaky his arms feel braced on either side of your head. His whole body is trembling—and maybe it’s not just the exhaustion from space. Maybe it’s not just the days without sleep, or the long journey back.

Maybe it’s you. Draining him with every moan, every squeeze, every drop of arousal he gives you.

And still—still—he doesn’t want to stop.

“Move,” you order, voice low and hushed.

Then you move beneath him first—hips grinding upward, taking him in deeper—and all of Mark’s coherent thought shatters.

“Harder,” you gasp, nails scoring down his back. “Please—”

Mark obeys with a broken moan, thrusting out and back in, out and in again. The pace he sets is clumsy and frantic, but it doesn’t matter—because you love it. You moan louder with every stroke, squirming beneath him, nails digging into his back, dragging down hard.

“So good,” you sigh, head tipping back as pleasure ripples through you. “God, Mark—so good.”

The room fills with the slap of skin on skin, the choked-off noises Mark makes when you clench around him, the way your shared breaths grow ragged and uneven.

Mark buries his face in the curve of your neck, teeth scraping against your pulse point as his muscles tremble with exertion. There’s a familiar tug at his consciousness, a slow drain of energy that should terrify him but instead sends a thrill down his spine.

Because when you moan in his ear like that, when you shiver around him, when you praise him in that wrecked voice—

“Like that.” Unsteady but sure. “Just like that.”

Mark couldn’t stop if he tried.

The renewed vigor in your movements—the way your fingers clutch at him with renewed strength—tells him it’s working. You’re coming back to life beneath him, flush with stolen energy, even as his own vision starts to blur at the edges.

“Don’t stop,” you beg, voice wrecked.

Mark doesn’t. Not when you feel this good around him—hot and tight and his.

So he fucks you through it, chasing your pleasure even as his body screams for respite, determined to give you every last drop until you’re sated.

Until you’re whole again.

Then Mark’s thrusts begin to falter—his rhythm stuttering, teeth sinking into your shoulder— and he gasps, voice wrecked and shaking, “I’m gonna—I’m gonna come—!”

You groan, biting your lower lip hard enough to sting.

“Come inside me,” you moan—half-whimper, half-command. “I’m so fucking close. I want you inside.”

Mark whimpers at your words, hips jerking wildly now, erratic and desperate. The thought of finishing inside you scrambles whatever’s left of his composure.

“Y/N—” he chokes out, barely audible. “I’m—I’m coming—”

And then he does.

His entire body goes taut, trembling, his hips giving one final, deep thrust that buries him to the hilt. His orgasm hits like a wave, a raw, broken cry torn from his throat as he spills into you, thick and hot. You arch beneath him, eyes fluttering shut, a moan clawing out of you as you feel it—every pulse, every drop filling you.

It’s that—the heat of his cum flooding you, the sheer intensity of his release—that finally pushes you over the edge.

You come untouched, back arching off the bed, spilling hot across your stomach as you cry out his name.

“Fuck, fuck,” you babble, shuddering. “Fuck, Mark—”

He’s still moving, just barely—his hips twitching in helpless, involuntary thrusts as he rides out every last wave of his orgasm, cum leaking from the edges of your hole. It’s messy. It’s perfect. It’s so good it makes you smile through the aftershocks, warmth blooming in your chest with every stolen breath.

“Fuck,” Mark sobs, forehead dropping against your shoulder, gasping like he can’t breathe. “My god…”

His muscles spasm—thighs trembling, arms shaky and weak—and finally give out. With a groan, Mark collapses on top of you. You huff out a breath, wrapping your arms around him, a soft, breathless laugh escaping your lips.

“Mark,” you whisper, voice soaked in satisfaction. “You good?”

He doesn’t answer. His face is still buried in your neck, breath warm and erratic against your oversensitive skin. He wants to answer, to lift his head and kiss you—because God, you felt so good, because you made him feel incredible, and for once, he knows he made you feel good, too.

But he can’t.

His limbs feel like they’ve turned to stone. Not just his head, not just his arms—everything. The weight of exhaustion hits him all at once like gravity’s been waiting for its moment to strike. The fatigue he’s been running from all this time finally catches up, drained utterly by you. He blinks, trying to fight it off, but it’s useless.

“Mark?” There’s concern edging your voice now, even as your fingers continue their soothing motions along his spine. “Mark.”

You’re warm, energized—glowing with renewed strength—and that, at least, feels like a win. He tries to respond, but the only sound that escapes is a slurred, “Hnng?”

Sleep is pulling him under fast. Even your voice—the one thing he wants to hear—is fading, like it’s coming from another room, another world.

You shake him once. Then again. But he’s already slipping, the darkness too heavy, too deep.

The last thing he’s aware of is the way his cock still twitches inside you, the way your thighs tighten reflexively around his hips, and the way you keep whispering his name—like a lullaby echoing in his ears.

If this is how he goes out, Mark thinks dimly as darkness claims him, it’s one hell of a way to go.

When Mark wakes up, he’s curled around a pillow that smells like you, drooling on it like a damn baby.

He blinks, sluggish and unfocused, head heavy, limbs like lead. His whole body aches—not in a bad way, just in that spent, used-up kind of way. He feels wrung out and dazed. Did he not die?

Groaning, Mark pushes himself up onto his elbows, muscles trembling under his own weight. He glances around, eyes squinting as the pieces slowly fall into place: the decorations on the walls, clothes scattered on the floor, sheets half-draped over his bare body. He recognizes all of it.

And when he hears your faint humming from somewhere beyond the door, it all crashes back.

Oh. He had sex with you. Like—real sex. And somehow, he lived to tell the tale.

His eyes widen as reality slams into him. He jolts upright on your bed—your bed—heart pounding. Shit, did he pass out? How long has it been? What day is it? What year is it? He feels like he’s been out for decades, and yet somehow still not enough to shake the heavy fog pressing on his consciousness.

Then your humming gets louder. He snaps his head toward the door just in time to see it swing open—and there you are.

You spot him, freeze mid-step, and for a split second, the whole room holds its breath.

Mark’s dry lips part. “Y/N—”

“Mark!” you gasp, face lighting up with a wide grin. “You’re awake! Oh, thank god!”

You cross the room in three eager strides, arms open, all warmth and affection. You throw yourself into him without hesitation.

Mark lets out a soft oof as he catches you, the momentum knocking him flat on his back again. The room spins briefly, but the second he registers the weight of you on his chest, the warmth of your skin, the sound of your voice—he relaxes. He smiles, soft and dopey, and buries his face into your shoulder, breathing you in like he’s never been more grateful to be alive.

“Hey,” Mark greets, voice hoarse but tinged with amusement. “How long was I out?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you press your face into his chest and hold him tight—like if you let go, he might vanish. Then, after a long moment, you pull back. But instead of replying, you cup his cheeks with both hands and kiss him.

Mark melts into it without hesitation, hands sliding to your waist, holding you close. He sighs against your lips, groaning softly as he kisses you back like it’s the only thing keeping him awake.

When you break apart, your smile lingers, bright and full of affection. “I was worried you wouldn’t wake up for at least a week,” you murmur, thumb brushing gently over his cheekbone. “Most humans wouldn’t. But you—it’s only been, like, sixteen hours.”

Mark jerks upright so fast he nearly headbutts you. “Sixteen hours?!”

You wince, guilt flashing across your face. “Y-Yeah. But—I called your mom! I didn’t exactly explain, but she knows you’re here. She told me to make sure you call her as soon as you’re up.”

Mark exhales, half in disbelief, half in relief. “Jesus. I didn’t think I’d be out that long.”

“…I’m sorry,” you whisper, glancing away. “I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. I didn’t think—I shouldn’t have risked your life just to feed. Just to—be close to you like that.”

“No.” Mark cuts in, his hands sliding up to your shoulders, squeezing gently. “Don’t say that.”

His eyes are steady when you meet them.

“It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says, firm but soft. “No matter the consequences. Me. With you. Like... that.”

He blushes, and you blush, and suddenly neither of you can hold eye contact.

“The best thing?” you murmur, fingers fumbling with the sheets. “Really?”

Mark swallows hard, his embarrassment obvious, but the truth is already bubbling too close to the surface to hold back. Everything he’s felt for you, everything he’s been trying to keep buried, is rising—unstoppable now.

“Yes,” he says softly, voice a little shaky. “Having sex with the person who matters most to me... because you needed me. Because I—”

The pause stretches, fragile.

“Because I love you.”

Your eyes widen at that, the guarded concern melting into something raw and vulnerable.

“Really?” you ask again, a little breathless.

“Of course,” Mark says, a little more sure this time. “I love you, Y/N. And I’d do it all again in a heartbeat if it meant seeing you like this—your real, bright, happy self—again.”

Your lips part in surprise, then you smile—wide and brilliant and so full of love it practically blinds him. Before his tired brain can catch up, you throw yourself at him again, arms around his neck, kissing him open-mouthed and deep.

“I love you too, Mark,” you whisper against his lips, soft and sure.

Mark kisses you back, slow and full of affection, even though his body still feels like it’s made of lead. His chest aches, but in the best possible way—because it’s full of you.

“I’m sorry I was gone so long,” he murmurs between kisses. “If I hadn’t been in space, you wouldn’t have been starving. That’s on me.”

“Don’t say that,” you roll your eyes, but the affection in your voice makes it feel more like a caress. “It’s my nature, okay? Not something you can control. And I waited for you—because I knew you’d come back.”

You lean in and peck the pout off his lips, soft and loving, and then both of you just… look at each other. Breathing the same air. Sharing the same space. The silence stretches, but it’s not awkward—it’s warm.

God—he loves you. Loves everything about you. And loves even more that you feel the same.

“So… does this mean…” Mark hesitates, cheeks pink, “we’re a thing now? Because I want us to be. I really do. I don’t ever want you kissing assholes behind the school anymore—or, well, now at college—because… you have me.”

You giggle, flustered, cheeks glowing. “Yeah—I have you.” You kiss him again, square on the mouth like you couldn’t possibly get enough of him. “And you have me.”

Mark grins, red-faced and beaming, before he pulls you tight against his chest and kisses you again—deep and slow and full of all the words he’s still too overwhelmed to say.

Like I love you.

Like I don’t ever want to let go.

Like don’t ever let me go either.

Then you say, casual as anything, “By the way, my parents want you to have breakfast with us.”

“What?!” Mark pulls back instantly, blushing so hard it reaches his ears. “They—they were here the whole time?!”

“What? No!” you say quickly, just as flustered. “But when they got home from work and saw me fine—you know, they kinda figured out what must’ve happened for me to be this fine. And, ugh—” you roll your eyes, groaning into his shoulder, “they wanna thank the boy who saved their ‘stubborn son’s life,’ or whatever.”

Mark exhales, still pink but processing. “Oh. Then… sure. I mean—do you think they’ll be okay with us? You and me?”

You smile, full of quiet certainty. “Mark, they’ve always liked you. Remember the cake my mom made you for your sixteenth birthday?”

“She decorated it with Seance Dog comic panels,” Mark mumbles, still flushed.

“Exactly,” you laugh. “I’ve been telling them about my crush on you since forever, Mark.”

And Mark flushes all over again, helpless to do anything but smile and pull you back in for another kiss.

A/N: thank you for readingggg, kisses and hugs and more kisses for dealing with me (●'◡'●)

#mark grayson x male reader #invincible x male reader #male reader #x male reader #male!reader #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson #invincible #gay

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mosaickiwi · 3 months ago

Note

Hey hey !!! Just wanted to say I really appreciate your writing, reading a fic of yours always brings me comfort :D

I was wondering if you’d be okay doing a body swap! AU between Angel and Ren/Redacted. You’re welcome to take whatever approach you deem fit, I’m curious as to what you come up with

thank you !!!

Thank you very much <33 Taking this as a warm up so I can remember wtf i'm doing!! So it's a HC list with a little blurb :3c most of my writing the past four months has been for my own projects/personal use lmao

Also happy day 5 yayyy yippee 🎉

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

Body Swap!!

[REDACTED] in your body?? Thriving

Fascinated and loving it. Since they've been studying you for years he knows all the little physical quirks you have, but now he gets to experience them himself and it's weirdly exciting.

Additionally, NO ONE would realize anything was wrong. Acting like you would be even easier than getting into character for Haruko. Except he might not be able to help himself and do a little friendship sabotaging.

He's being extremely weird in private if you give him permission lmao

A little unsure of physical affection at first because of the self loathing. Of course he still wants it, but being on the other side of things has his thoughts all "that's how my scars feel to you? my hands are really this cold?" Notes for himself to keep plenty of hand warmers in his pockets.

Puts the collar of their shirt over his mouth like he's cold… but it's really just a quick excuse to sniff your clothes outright in public I'm so sorry.

You in his body?? Suffering

You bump your head on door frames, constantly hit your hip on counters, trip in your platform shoes if you're not used to them.

You're tired all the time??? You knew they hardly slept but it was THIS bad? The constant coffee and energy drinks are the only reason you don't fall asleep in the middle of conversations.

Piercings feel weird too if your angel doesn't have them. Constantly touching your tongue to the roof of your mouth, fiddling with your ears, etc.

Unaware of your new strength. Picking up furniture is surprisingly easy. You probably broke a door lock when turning the key with a little too much force.

Your friends are dismissive and standoffish with you. Can you blame them? At best he ignores them, and at worst you have to be physically between them (but closer to [REDACTED]) to keep both parties happy.

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

"Watch your head," you heard from in front of you.

You carefully ducked into the doorway to your apartment. It was hard to get used to your new height — and almost as hard to get used to hearing someone else use your voice.

The same couldn't be said of your partner. Not even thirty minutes had passed since the unfortunate incident, but [REDACTED] already seemed at home in your body. As if it was natural to him.

While you panicked about suddenly swapping bodies in the middle of a hangout with your friends, he calmly made a plan. All you could do was follow along.

You'd observed them, dumbfounded as they perfectly mimicked your personality and mannerisms. He'd excused you both from the carnival early, and gotten you home without a hint of suspicion from anyone. It was unexpected and illogical, but his obsession with you clearly paid off.

No one seemed to notice — or care, since they weren't friends with him — that the pissed off emo their friend dragged around looked crazier than usual as you both left.

The door shut as you stumbled into the living room like a newborn fawn, your now shorter partner hovering at your side. How did he manage to wear three-inch platform boots while this tall? You tripped your way over to the couch with a sigh.

"I'm calling in sick tomorrow," you groaned into the armrest. The couch felt even more uncomfortable in his body. Inviting him over just to let him sleep on the couch one too many times probably warranted an apology.

"We should be back t'normal in a few hours."

"Is that what WebDR said?" There was no response, but you threw out another question. "I guess we could kill time and watch a movie, what do you think?"

Again, he didn't answer. You heard the faintest sound of your phone vibrating and searched every inch of your outfit. When you found his phone instead, you sat up to look for him.

The temporary owner of your body was standing just beside the couch, your phone still ringing in their hand, but his thumb hovering dangerously close to the screen. There was an annoyed frown on his face… your face?

"Leon's calling," he finally said.

"Oh my god." You jumped up to snatch the phone away and hurriedly declined the call.

Your partner's frown quickly turned to amusement at the situation. "Y'don't trust me t'play nice with him?"

"When you're using my voice? Fuck no." You texted an apology to Leon for leaving early, lied about your throat hurting so he wouldn't call back, then hid the device in one of your many pockets. "Oh wow."

"What's wrong?"

"... Nothing, I guess."

Staring down at your own face this closely was… off. You reached forward and grabbed their chin, turning it every which way as if something about it would change.

"You really get to look at me from all the worst angles when you're this tall, huh?" you hummed to yourself.

"And y'look perfect at every single one, love."

God, he was awful. "Ignoring you."

#14 days with you #14dwy redacted #14dwy #momo reqs #it's short-ish?#if i made it longer it'd just completely morph into my angel lmao #if anyone's played day 5... hehehehehehehe #<- this is not a hehe that would imply there's day 5 spoilers in the fic /gen #BUT IF YOU PLAYED DAY 5...... i will happily take requests on any ideas it gave :3c #prommy it won't take me 6 months to post #also go do this quiz i made with a friend hang on how do i link in tags #it's in my pinnedddd

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mydearzero · 2 months ago

Text

It's Not Just About The Hair | Dark!Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x Reader

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Summary: You were only meant to dye one guy's hair and get out. How'd you get tangled into this mess? The shadows are creeping and taking over his body, while he is slowly taking over yours.

Contents: NON/DUB-CON, NO Y/N, afab!Reader, reader has hair that is long enough to grip, smut, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, filming, exhibitionism, sex against the window, choking, coming inside, no aftercare, if I missed any warnings please let me know!

3.3K words

uhm so this is not really for the faint hearted sorry not sorry I needed this off my chest. READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION PLEASE!!

You should’ve left as soon as your job was done. You should’ve stayed out of Val’s way after she was done with you. Why had you lingered??

Okay, maybe you were curious. Could anybody blame you? It’s not every day you get called out to the former Stark/Avengers Tower to dye one dude’s hair for a ridiculous amount of money. Hey, maybe she’d want a touch-up, herself?

So here you were, hiding under the counter of a bar, waiting for the fighting to be over. The big red guy had already been thrown against the wall you were opposite of. It would only be a matter of time before somebody discovered your hiding place. You were peeking through the crack between the counter and the base of the bar to find a good time to run.

You saw the young blonde run at Sentry, wrapping her legs around him and tasing his neck. Sentry flew himself to the roof, crushing her against it and dropping her to the floor. Sentry was attacked by the masked woman, along with the knockoff Captain America.

Red Guardian picked up a barstool, preparing to throw it at Sentry, who’s name was apparently Bob, short for Robert. The guy who’s hair you’d just dyed. So not worth the money. Alexei ran to throw the stool, but was cut off when Sentry ripped the entirety of the bar off the floor and threw it against him.

Fuck. The countertop had been ripped straight from your fingertips. Parts of the base had cut your fingers, neck and face where it had been roughly yanked out of the floor.

While the others were distracted, still fighting, you ran behind the next best thing, the column of the stairs. You tried to catch your breath and prayed to whichever god would listen that nobody had seen you. You didn’t dare look at the sound of more commotion. You heard several punches, before they were interrupted by the sound of a mechanical malfunction and bending of metal. Bucky’s metal arm had been ripped straight off him, hit him in his own face and thrown behind him like a piece of garbage.

The vigilante’s quickly went for the elevator, but not before Val came back from wherever she’d been hiding to give them a monologue. “I’m so glad you were able to catch a glimpse before your, uh, retirement.”

“Camera crews are assembling. Finish the job, Robert.” Val instructs. You hear the elevator doors close.

“Finish the job? No.” Robert replied.

“What?”

“They’re not a threat to me, so, why do I need to kill them?”

“You need to do what I say, Robert.” Val’s tone was threatening.

“Why?”

“WHY?” Val sounded appalled that he’d even dare ask.

They argued some more. You looked around for an exit, but besides the elevator, your only hope would be the very open stairs they’d no doubt see you on. You could only hope they’d leave sometime soon so you could get the hell out of there.

“It needs to be more of a collaboration. The hair for example. Maybe I should’ve had more say.”

“Don’t let those idiots get in your head. The blonde is great.” Thank you, Val, I did the best I could.

“You sure? I don’t know, I thought I liked it but now I’m not so sure.”

“That’s enough about the hair.”

“It’s not just about the hair.”

“Well you keep talking about the hair.”

“No it’s everything! My suit, my name, my missions, I mean.. Why would a god take orders from anyone at all?”

“I think you’re throwing around the word ‘god’ a bit loosely there.”

“No, no, because you said I was all powerful, invincible and stronger than a whole team of Avengers, which includes at least one god, so..” Robert trailed off, letting Val fill in the blanks.

“But I’m starting to think, maybe, you don’t know what I am,” he spoke when she didn’t reply. His words were laced with an underlying tone of malice.

“Oh, goddamnit” Val spoke under her breath.

“Or what I’m capable of. Maybe I need to show you.”

“This is SO… irritating.” Val clicks something behind her back, but it doesn’t seem to work. Sentry grabs her by the throat and flies her against the wall. You slap a hand over your mouth to stifle a gasp.

“You were gonna turn on me. Just like the rest of them.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Robert.”

You see Mel creeping towards them. She sees you, too. She looks confused at your presence, but doesn’t have time to worry about it right now.

“It’s not Robert you need to be afraid of.” Sentry says as he starts choking Val tighter. Mel picks up whatever Val was holding and points it to the man basked in gold, clicking it in desperation. Sentry immediately falls to the floor, in turn dropping Val.

“Good girl.” Val says as she sees Mel. “ You came to your senses. Come here help me up.” Mel helps Val off the floor and they scurry away. Mel sends you one last look before deciding it’s not worth her time to worry about you.

“I want a raise,” Mel says as they walk to the elevator. “Okay, fine. Get cleanup on the body and tell Holt it’s finally time to go lethal on these losers.” The elevator leaves and suddenly, the penthouse is awfully quiet.

You count to 10 before deciding it’s safe to leave. Cleanup would be here soon and you did not want to be stuck here any longer. You crept towards the elevator, hoping Val and Mel had gone down far enough you wouldn’t run into them again.

Just as you’re about to press the button for the elevator, your phone buzzes with a notification.

Bought you some time to get out. Cleanup won’t be there for at least 20 minutes. Get out NOW.

It was Mel. Fucking Mel who’d roped you into this in the first place. It’s easy money, she’d said. One bleach job + I’ll owe you, her texts had read. Yeah, right.

Before you’d had the chance to put your phone away there was a deathly grip on your shoulder. You tensed and slowly turned to look at its owner, who you’d up until now presumed to be dead.

You gave him a quick once over. His eyes were glowing. You couldn’t read the expression on his face. Shadows seemed to be gathering at his feet, ever so slowly creeping up his skin. He brought his other hand up to your other shoulder, turning you to face him. Your knees trembled as you tried to stand still, every nerve in your body yelling at you to RUN. There was something wrong with him. You weren’t a threat. Hadn’t he just used that excuse to not go after the others?

His right hand slowly went down to your waist, his left traced your shoulder up to your neck. As soon as his bare hand made contact with your skin, no longer on your shirt, you were doused in a memory. A horrible memory from your past that rattled you to your bones, leaving you breathless.

No time seemed to have passed as he held you tightly, grip likely bruising. “Where is she?” Sentry spoke for the first time.

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything, I’m not even supposed to be here,” you stammered.

“Don’t LIE to me,” Robert yelled, making you flinch. “You work for her. For Val. Now tell me where she went.”

“I promise, I don’t work for her. It was just a one off thing. I don’t know where she went!” His fingers slowly traced to the other side of your neck, encircling it with his hand. He brought his face closer to yours, inhaling deeply. He let go of your waist to brush your hair away from your face and leaned in to whisper in your ear.

“You’re gonna regret lying to me. Val might’ve gotten away, but I’ll show her, show you exactly what I can do.” His grip on your throat tightened, cutting off your air supply. Your hands shot up to his wrist, clawing at it to get it off.

A dark chuckle left his lips, the shadows still slowly creeping up his thighs. You tried kicking at him to get him to let go, but it was useless. “I’m not… with… Val…” you managed to choke out.

“Did she or did she not pay you to change up my look? I think that’s the basic definition of working for someone, don’t you?” He loosened his grip on your throat, moving to hold your chin and run his thumb over your bottom lip as you tried to catch your breath. There was a hunger in his gaze that hadn’t been there before.

“I wasn’t this strong before,” he mumbled. He fisted your hair and tugged it your head backwards harshly.

“I like how it feels. The strength, I mean. I can see why people get addicted to power.” You had no choice but to look him in the eyes, his grip on your hair unrelenting. His other hand went back to your waist as he tugged your body against his. The hard metal of his belt dug into your skin. He brought his lips to your neck, mouthing at your jugular. You squeezed your eyes shut, begging for someone to come in and save you.

He was losing himself, losing control. The shadow had made its way to his waist, creeping higher and higher the longer he held you. You could only help it stopped once it had consumed him, leaving you be. It couldn’t be anything good.

He let go of your hair, bringing both hands to your hips and sliding them up your shirt. You froze, holding your breath and waiting for his next move. Surely, he wouldn’t.

His hands moved higher. He started peppering kisses on your neck, feeling your heightened pulse under his lips. You tried putting your hands on his chest and pushing him away. “Stop, please.”

“I don’t think I will,” he groaned into your skin. With a flash your back met the wall harshly, head hitting the concrete. His hands cupped your breasts over your bra, his mouth kissing up to your chin. The shadow had reached his chest now. It wouldn’t be long before it would take over his entire body.

For a second you felt relieved as Robert pulled away, only for it to disappear when you realised he’d done it to rip your shirt from your body. “Robert.. It’s Robert right? Or do you prefer Bob? Please let’s just talk about this.”

He ignored your pleas and went back to ravaging your neck, leaving bruises down to your chest. His hands fumbled with your bottoms, but he quickly lost patience and ripped those, too. You were only left in your shoes and underwear, pleading with him to just talk.

“I’m not going to talk. I’ll show you. Prove to the world that I’m a god.” He held you close as he flew to the wall of windows overlooking the city. He pushed you against the window, breasts squishing against the glass with the force he was using.

“Stop, Bob, STOP! Somebody is gonna see!” You tried pulling your body away from the glass.

“Sweetheart… That’s the point,” he laughed darkly. “Let them see. Let them see what I can do to anybody who gets in my way, who dares to tell me what to do.” He unclasped your bra and pulled it from between your body and the glass. You tried putting your hands in front of your chest, but his hands grabbed your wrists and tugged them behind your back.

Your mind was reeling with confusion as both of his hands returned to your body, yet you were unable to move yours away from your back. He put his fingers down your underwear and you thrashed your legs to try and get them out. He kicked your legs apart, placing his feet besides yours so you couldn’t close them. He took your hands and placed them above your head against the glass. You wanted to close your eyes, but something was holding you back. You could only watch through the window and see the slight reflection of his golden suit behind you. If you could be glad for only one thing in that moment, it was the fact you were at the top of the tallest building in New York. The likelihood of someone actually seeing was small.

He tugged at your underwear and you could feel them strain against your hips. He was playing with you. He could’ve easily ripped them, but he wanted you to feel them rub against you before he did so. He tugged them up, the seam putting pressure against your clit. You let out a surprised whimper. “Robert, please. Stop this.”

The only response you got was the eventual ripping of your underwear, relieving you of the pressure, but leaving you completely naked between his body and the window. He moved behind you, the noise of fabric rustling meeting your ears.

His hands roamed over your trembling body freely, making himself familiar with every dip and curve. They settled on your hips, pulling them backwards and arching your back. You flushed impossibly redder as it made your boobs press against the window even more, obscenely on display for anybody high up enough to witness.

You felt it, then. His length settled between the cheeks of your ass. He took it in his hand and slowly slid it between your folds.

“So afraid… Yet so, so wet for me.”

You wanted to deny it. Tell him to get off and leave you be. But he wouldn’t, anyway. He was right. You were somehow soaked.

The invisible grip on your hands disappeared, allowing you to lower them and put them flat against the window. You tried pushing off the window once again, even when you knew he wouldn’t budge.

“Don’t move,” Robert threatened. You turned your face on instinct to look at him. You could only catch a glimpse of total darkness over your shoulder before his hand forced your head to face the window once more.

“You’ll understand soon enough,” he mumbled incoherently.

He took himself in his hand and slowly pushed his cock inside. Without any preparation, the intrusion was tight. You winced as he didn’t pause but took his time stretching you on every inch. He exhaled loudly and chuckled when you gasped as he bottomed out.

He put his hands on your hips and tugged you back against him as far as you could, skin against skin. He pushed you back against the window slowly, his length leaving you as he pulled his hips back. He went so slow it drove you insane. He pulled out fully, stepping back to look at you shaking against the window, not daring to step away or look back. It was only then you’d noticed all the lights in the penthouse had gone out.

As his hands returned to your body, so did his dick. He set a gruelling pace, pulling your hips against his own. Heat burned in your core.

“So good. See how good it can be when I’m the one in charge?”

You didn’t know how to answer, so you kept quiet. A slap to your ass informed you that was the wrong choice. “Answer me,” he groaned.

You yelped at the impact before nodding. He grabbed your hair again, bending your neck as far as it could go without snapping. He continued thrusting as he corrected your behaviour. “I said answer me. Now with your words.”

“Yes!” you managed to get past your lips. Now actual vocal sounds had left your throat, you couldn’t seem to stop. Moans slowly escaped, even when you tried to hold them in.

“There you go, attagirl.” He released his grip on your hair, choosing to squeeze his hands between the glass to grasp your tits as he fucked you. He used this hold on you as leverage to move faster. He pulled your back against him and pushed both of your bodies against the window. His fingers were cold, so cold as they toyed with your nipples. Must be a side effect of the shadow.

A low, breathy laugh hit your ears. Your eyes darted around to see why. You looked down at one of the other buildings and saw why he was laughing. Two guys, pointing, one of them recording the whole ordeal. You came back to your senses, once more struggling against his grip and fighting the pleasure.

“Stop! They’re recording, let me go!” you whined, but even to your own ears it somehow didn’t sound as convincing as it had in your head. The breathless and whiny tone of your voice was contradicting whatever you said.

“Good, soon the whole world will know about me. And nobody will tell me what to do,” Robert moaned. “Not anymore.”

You were mortified to find you were getting close. Your fingers clawed at the window, trying to find anything to grip tight as your body was slowly overtaken with pleasure. You bit your lip and felt your eyes well up with tears.

“Fuck… Maybe I should keep you around…” Bob moaned. “Show you off like a token of my power.”

You wanted to come up with an answer, to defy him. “Ah- Please,” was all that would come out. What you were pleading for? Even you weren’t sure.

One of his hands wrapped around your throat, cutting off the oxygen as he held it tight. Your ears rang as you struggled to breathe, blood rushing to your head.

“Tell me I’m your god,” he grunted. His cock hit the right place again, and again and again. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think as your orgasm approached.

“Say. It.” He emphasised the words with sharp thrusts.

“God,” you stumbled. “You… You’re my god… Fuck.”

“One more time, like you mean it,” he teased. “Hmm and I know you mean it by the way you’re clenching on my cock.”

You couldn’t utter the words, your mind jumbled as he toyed with your breath and pleasure.

“Too stupid on my cock to even speak,” The Void laughed. He moved his other hand down your front, moving down until he found the missing piece to make you break.

“Come for me, come for your god,” he demanded as he matched the rhythm of his fingers on your clit to that of his dick. Your hips moved of their own volition, chasing the high.

His pace stuttered, his thrust going impossibly deep as he came inside of you. It sent you over the edge, all your muscles tightening and knees sinking as pleasure overtook your body. You’d never come so hard in your life. The only thing keeping you standing was him as the aftershocks of your orgasm worked their way through your body.

He slowly pulled out and you were finally able to turn around and take him in. His features were mostly invisible, except for the eyes. They were still glowing.

“You should thank me, you know. For allowing you to feel what true power feels like.”

“Thank you,” you sobbed out, defeatedly sinking to the floor. The Void flew through the broken window he’d sent one of the ‘Thunderbolts’ through, flying above the city to slowly spread his shadows. All the while you could still feel the warm liquid spilling from inside you and dripping onto the floor.

You only had a few seconds to make yourself scarce before a team of men clad in black with guns stormed out of the elevator. You’d scrambled together the remnants of your clothes and locked yourself in a bathroom, before suddenly you were dipped back into the darkness of your worst memories, just like the rest of New York would soon be.

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incognit0slut · 9 months ago

Text

Pretty bunny

PART 1 OF KINKTOBER | MAIN MASTERLIST

Sub!Spencer x Playboy Bunny!Reader Spencer doesn’t know what to do when he recognizes you from his favorite adult magazine.

Content: (18+) 3k, boobjob, male oral, public space, and Spencer being insecure of his size but we love him just the way he is, right? a/n: "WE LOVE PRINCE CHARMING REID!" We say in unison while we hold hands and continue to chant over and over again

Issue number: 662. Date: June 2009. Centerfold, pages 36 through 42, draped in nothing but the iconic bunny ears.

Spencer shook his head. No. There was no way it could be you. There was no way the same Playboy bunny he had masturbated to was casually picking up a book in this quiet library. But there was something unmistakable about you. The familiar curve of your back, the subtle sway of your hips, the way your ass rounded perfectly as you reached further down the bottom shelf.

His pants tightened uncomfortably.

It really was you.

Dear god, what were the chances? Spencer had only come to this library on a whim. It was supposed to be a simple day—run a few errands on his free day, pick up groceries, maybe find a new book to keep himself occupied. But what he didn’t expect was to come face-to-face with the very woman he had spent far too many nights thinking about. The same woman whose body he knew too well, even if you didn’t know him at all.

He shifted nervously, trying to focus on anything else—the books, the shelves, the smell of old pages—but his eyes drifted back to you. His gaze lingered on the neckline of your blouse dipping low as you bent further, revealing the soft curve of your breasts.

His tongue swiped over his bottom lip.

“Can I help you?”

Spencer’s heart nearly stopped when he noticed you staring at him.

“No,” he rushed out, the word falling through his lips like autopilot. "I was, uh, looking for a book."

Your brow raised slightly. “I didn’t know I was part of the collection.”

He could feel the heat creeping up his neck, and he looked away, trying to think of a response that didn’t make him sound like an idiot.

“No, no, that’s not—of course you’re not… I—” He stopped, realizing he was only digging himself into a deeper hole. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

You straightened up, and he took in a sharp breath when your hips shifted slightly, brushing against the shelf as you moved.

“I wouldn’t say uncomfortable. Curious, maybe.” You crossed your arms. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who goes around staring at women in libraries.”

“I don’t,” he blurted out, his voice coming out a little higher than he intended. The way your crossed arms subtly pushed up your breasts only made it harder for him not to gawk at your chest. His gaze briefly flickered downward before snapping back to your face.

“I don’t,” he repeated in a voice he hoped sounded more confident than he felt. “You look… familiar.”

“Familiar? Have we met before?”

Of course not. Well, to you at least. He, on the other hand, had seen you more times than he could count. In photos, in dreams, in moments he’d rather not admit. “I… might have seen you in passing.” It was the truth. Sort of. “I didn’t expect to see you in a library.”

You let out a soft laugh. “I guess I don’t seem like the reading type to you, do I?”

He quickly shook his head. “No, it’s not that. I just didn’t expect to run into someone like you here.”

“Someone like me?”

"You know, someone who’s, uh, famous.”

He instantly winced when the words tumbled out, regretting how awkward and clumsy it sounded.

“Ah,” you said with a knowing smile. “So you do recognize me.”

He paused for a moment, his eyes darting to the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but directly at you. “I… yes, I do. And I’m sorry,” he added, his second apology in less than five minutes. “I didn’t mean to make this weird.”

Your smile deepened, clearly enjoying his discomfort, but not in a cruel way—more in the sense that you found his awkwardness oddly charming. “It’s fine, I’m actually used to it,” you told him, uncrossing your arms. “And I don’t mind being recognized by someone as cute as you.”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly. “…cute?”

“Adorable,” you emphasized. “What’s your name?”

You called him cute. Cute.

What was his name again?

Oh. Right.

“Spencer.” He cleared his throat nervously. "I’m... Spencer."

“Spencer,” you repeated, and he could hear the way your voice softened, almost breathless, like you were savoring the sound of his name as it slipped from your lips. “It suits you.”

His tongue swiped along his bottom lip. “It does?”

“Mm-hmm. It has a nice ring to it.” Your eyes flickered down to his mouth for a split second before meeting his gaze again. "Strong, but gentle. You seem like the type of guy with those traits."

Spencer felt a wave of heat run through him. “I—I wouldn’t say that...”

“Well you are,” you continued, leaning in just slightly. “You seem gentle, but there’s more to you, isn’t there?”

“I… I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

"Oh, come on," you said with a teasing grin, your eyes flickering over his features as if trying to read the depths of his thoughts. "You've got that sweet, quiet thing going on. Like you're trying to be all polite and proper... but there's something else, isn't there?"

His eyes darted at the edge of the bookshelf. “No. I’m just… me.”

"Just you? Somehow, I don't believe that. I think there's a side to you that doesn't come out very often. Maybe you're not so innocent as you let on. Or maybe..." Your voice dropped lower, almost a whisper, just loud enough for him to hear. "Maybe you're not as gentle as you seem."

There was a flicker of panic in his eyes as he tried to laugh off your words, the sound coming out strained and awkward.

“I’m really not that…”

But you didn’t let him finish. You leaned in closer, just enough that he could feel the heat of your body, your breasts brushing lightly against his chest.

“Not that what?” you pressed. “Not that innocent, or not that gentle?”

His pulse pounded visibly at his throat. “I... don’t know what you mean,” he said, but you could see the way his pupils dilated, the way his fingers twitched at his sides.

“I think you do,” you replied softly, your fingers brushing just barely against his. You watched as he stiffened, his shoulders momentarily tensing as if the slightest touch sent a shock through his whole body. You smiled, leaning in just a fraction closer. “I like you.”

You felt his breath hit your face as he let out a strangled sound, almost a gasp, and the warmth of it urged you on. Your hand gently found its way to his arm, fingers tracing a path down to his wrist.

“And I think,” you continued, looking up at him with wide eyes. “You might like me too.”

Spencer couldn’t find the words to respond, he couldn’t even breathe properly. How could he when your sweet scent filled his senses? How could he when he had imagined what it might be like to touch you, to have you this close, and now it was real?

He took a deep, calming breath to steady himself, but his heart was pounding violently against his ribcage, and his mouth had gone completely dry. Your fingers trailed down his arm, lingering for a moment before slipping under his hand to guide it firmly to your waist.

He was sure he could combust right on the spot.

“Tell me something, Spencer,” you murmured. “Did you like my pictures? The ones in the magazine?”

He tenses under your touch. His pupils dilated even further, his grip tightening on your waist involuntarily.

“I—uh,” he breathed out, his voice almost breaking, eyes darting away as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to meet your gaze. But you didn’t let him retreat. You shifted slightly, pressing your soft breasts more firmly against his chest. His gaze flickered back to your cleavage.

“Come on, I bet you did. I bet you… enjoyed them.” You let the implication linger. “Didn’t you?

His eyes fluttered close. Enjoyed felt too innocent for what he'd felt, what he'd done. He didn't just enjoy those photos—he devoured them. He touched himself, imagining you sprawled in front of him in that same pose. He fantasized about you, dreamt of your pretty face, the sultry look in your eyes, the way those cute bunny ears framed your hair but left everything else bare.

He grew even more painfully hard at the thought, and you could feel his his arousal pressed against your hip. A soft laugh escaped your lips.

"Spencer,” you cooed, his name rolling off your tongue effortlessly. "What ever are you thinking?"

He tried to shift away.

“I-I’m not—” he started, but every word he tried to speak died on his lips the moment your hand brushed against his stomach. He felt like all the air had been knocked out of his lungs.

“You’re not?” You let your fingers trail down his abdomen, feeling the way his muscles clenched under your touch, before drifting even lower. “Because it seems like you've got something on your mind. Or..."

Your fingers passed over his belt buckle, grazing the edge of his waistband.

“Somewhere..."

You hovered over his bulge.

“…else."

Without hesitation, you palmed his erection, feeling the full hardness straining against the fabric. He sucked in a sharp breath. “W-What are you—”

You brought your lips to the shell of his ear, letting your breath tickle his skin. “I think you know what I'm doing."

Spencer's eyes glanced to the side, as if anyone might appear around the corner at any second, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. Not when your hand was moving slowly along his length.

“We… we can’t,” he managed to choke out. “Someone could—could see us."

“Hmm? Should I stop then?” You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. “Do you want me to stop, Spencer?”

The hesitation in his eyes was unmistakable, but so was the desperation. Brown orbs stared helplessly back at you. He couldn’t bring himself to say yes when every part of him screamed no. So he opted for silence, hoping that his lack of protest would tell you everything he couldn’t put into words.

You understood him clearly, so you pressed your hand more firmly on his bulge, fingers teasing the sensitive outline through his pants. The shape of him grew even more defined as you moved slowly, teasingly, with just enough pressure to make him gasp.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

His grip on your waist tightened.

“Y-yes,” he managed to breathe out, eyes half-closed as he gave himself over to the sensation.

"I bet I can make you feel even better.”

Without breaking eye contact, you began to sink slowly to your knees, hands sliding down his body. You let your fingers trace down his hips as you came face to face with the unmistakable outline of his arousal, your gaze still locked on his as a smirk danced on your lips.

An IQ of 187 was hardly enough to process what was happening now. Every neuron in his brain fired wildly, trying to make sense of the rush of sensations, the heat of your touch, the intensity in your eyes.

How was this even real?

You let your lips hover for a moment, teasing him with the anticipation before you pressed a soft, lingering kiss against his cock. He let out a muffled cry.

“Shh,” you whispered soothingly, your fingers working at the straps of his belt. The metallic clink of the buckle was faint as you loosened it, pulling it free with a soft hiss of leather. “We don’t want anyone to hear us, do we?”

Your fingers brushed against his waistband, eyes looking up at him all doe-eyed, wide and innocent, though everything about your touch was far from it.

He was going crazy. You looked so sexy, so pretty, yet so impossibly cute in that moment, like the very picture of temptation wrapped in innocence. His mind couldn’t help but flicker back to those pictures—the pictures—where you wore nothing but those bunny ears, your gaze so similar to the one you were giving him now.

He watched as you slowly peeled down the fabric, and found himself holding his breath. The cool air met his hot skin as his cock sprang free, and for a second, he couldn’t breathe.

Because Spencer knew he was different. He wasn’t like the other men you’d surely encountered, who knew their way around a woman like you, who were confident, who didn’t hesitate. And then there was the matter of size. He couldn’t help the thoughts rushing through his mind, wondering if you’d find him lacking, if he measured up to whatever experiences had shaped you into the woman that knelt before him now.

But a smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you wrapped your hand around his cock.

“You’re so…” You let out a small, appreciative laugh, your thumb brushing over his tip. “God, everything about you is cute, isn’t it?”

Spencer struggled to steady his breath, his chest rising and falling in uneven bursts as your touch made it impossible to think clearly. You leaned closer, eyes still locked on his, and your tongue darted out to give a teasing kitten-lick along the base of his cock.

“Not too big,” you teased, dragging your tongue up the underside, tracing every ridge.

“Not too small…”

You let your tongue travel upward until you reached the tip, where you sucked gently, swirling your tongue around him in circles that had his legs shaking.

“You’ll fit perfectly.”

A pained groan fell through his lips. “Fit… where?”

You let go with a wet pop, his cock twitching as the cool air replaced the warmth of your mouth. Holding his gaze, you let your fingers move to your blouse, slowly undoing the buttons one by one. “Don’t think I didn’t catch you staring.”

Then in one sudden, fluid motion, you tugged your bra down, letting your breasts spill free. The movement made them bounce slightly, the soft curve of your flesh catching the light, and Spencer’s eyes went wide.

His lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out, just a strangled groan as his cock twitched visibly. The sight of you was too much for him to bear. He couldn’t decide where to look, his gaze flickering between your breasts and your face, like he was afraid to miss a single second of this moment. He followed your movement with wide, hungry eyes as you wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, guiding him to your chest.

“See?” you teased, pressing his length firmly between the soft, warm flesh of your breasts. “Perfect fit.”

His pupils dilated with full-blown lust as you started to move, slowly at first, letting him feel every inch of your warm, soft flesh sliding around his cock. You squeezed your breasts tighter together, the pressure creating a delicious friction that had him biting back a groan, his eyes glued to the way he disappeared and reappeared between your curves.

Up. Down. Up. Down. The head of his cock glistened as it emerged at the top again, only to slide back down into your cleavage, leaving a hot, wet trail along your skin.

“God… oh god,” Spencer choked out, his voice strained as his hips bucked slightly with each thrust. His eyes squeezed shut briefly, only to flutter back open as if afraid to miss a second of what was happening. His mind was a mess of disjointed thoughts, desperately trying to make sense of the scene unfolding before him. But all rationality was drowned out by the way you moved, the soft squeeze of your breasts around him, and the warm, slick glide of your sweat-kissed skin against his length.

He felt himself spiraling, the pleasure climbing higher, and all he could think was how good you looked, how perfect it felt, and how badly he wanted to paint his cum all over your face.

“Look at you all worked up.” You leaned forward slightly, letting the tip of his cock brush against your lips as it emerged, just the barest whisper of a touch. “You’re already so close, aren’t you?”

His fingers dug even deeper into the shelf, nails scraping against the wood. His voice was raw, almost desperate, as he let out a strained, “Please.”

With a satisfied smile, you lowered your head just enough to let your tongue flick out, circling around the head of his cock as it emerged from between your breasts, tasting the salty-sweet bead of arousal that had formed there. His hips slammed forward.

“Mm,” you hummed softly. “You wanna use me now, Spencer? Is that what you want?”

His grip on the shelf finally faltered, and you could hear the whimper in his throat, the way he bit down on his lip to keep from making a sound that would echo in the library. “Yes,” he gasped. “Please, I… I need to…”

“Go on,” you coaxed him, squeezing your breasts tighter around his length. “If you want it, take it. Use me.”

The moment those words left your lips, his hips jerked forward. The movement was sharp, desperate, and once he started, he couldn’t stop. He fucked himself into the tight, slick warmth of your breasts. He stammered incoherently, half-formed words falling from his lips, barely audible over the sounds of his ragged breaths and muffled whimpers.

“Please, I—I can’t… I can’t—oh god…”

He finally snapped, his body trembling violently as the sensation ripped through him, the pressure too intense, too overwhelming. His hips bucked wildly, thrusting desperately into the warmth of your body, lost in the heat, in the wetness, in the need to let go completely—

And then, everything vanished in an instant.

He jolted awake, eyes snapping open, his chest heaving as he took in his surroundings. No longer surrounded by warmth, no longer on the brink of release. Just the quiet stillness of his bedroom, sweat beading on his forehead, heart pounding in his chest, sheets tangled around his body… and the magazine lay open beside him, your image staring back at him mockingly.

Bunny ears perched on your head, delicate breasts spilling over, legs spread wide apart.

It took a few seconds for Spencer to catch his breath. He glanced down at himself, his eyes trailing to his painfully hard arousal, noticing the wetness seeping through his boxers and sticking to his skin. The rush of disappointment and adrenaline twisted sharply in his chest as reality hit him.

It was just a dream.

An embarrassing, all-consuming, impossible dream.

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honeyhaeya · 1 month ago

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(🔐)🖇 ༘ ⋆"How to Date Discreetly"

' ╰┈ "the day that i met you i started dreaming"

' ' 박성훈 x fem!reader

🎧ྀི 'ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Kingston (Faye Webster)

♫⋆₊˚ ﾟ. 'ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ genre / tags: idol!sunghoon x idol!reader, ice prince x reckless rookie, secret & established relationship, enemies to lovers (kinda), fluff, smut (2nd part) – MDNI, angst (minor), a pinch of comedy ੈ✩‧₊˚warnings: NSFW WARNINGS ON CHAPTER 2 (no smut on this part) ! smut, slight jealousy (m), language, detailed explicit scenes, angst (minor), reader on the pill (birth control), mutual hate that’s just actually horny confusion, mild hate (online), – ugh, theyre so in love, its intoxicating ✩‧₊˚ wc: 6472 –1/2 (mini series) ੈ♡ a/n: lol this is peak delusion. dont like, dont read. also, im open for constructive critisism but fact checks or logical expected outcome are out of the picture, come on yall, this is fanfiction. also, wtf. shit, i really made this? hoon is so fucking adorable, argue with me if you disagree :p . uploading part two tomorrow 5pm kst :) part two is up and posted *^★ playlist: kingston (faye webster), lowkey (niki), august (taylor swift), soft spot (keshi), always (daniel caesar), best part (daniel caesar & h.e.r.), almost is never enough (ariana grande & nathan sykes)

dating was never hard for you.

you breezed through high school with a boyfriend for every semester, each one a lesson in love. you weren’t heartless—you did like them. maybe not enough to cry after the breakups, but enough to smile while it lasted.

you were living the easy life. pretty, popular, and always in love with something… or someone.

but all of that changed on a thursday afternoon.

you’d just turned down a free meal from your friends (and it was their treat, ugh) because your sister texted you, “buy the skincare stuff i told you about. only from that store near the station. they run out fast.”

so there you were, dodging pedestrians, phone in hand, a bit annoyed, very hungry.

you sighed, glancing at your screen for the third time—no calls, no new texts.

and then you noticed her.

a woman, maybe mid-thirties, blazer and red lipstick, standing across the sidewalk and watching you.

your brows knit instinctively. weird. you kept walking.

but then she followed.

“excuse me,” she said, heels clicking as she caught up to you.

you turned. “uh… yes?”

she smiled, like she already knew you. “sorry if this is random. i’m a manager at (-) entertainment. and… have you ever thought of becoming an idol?”

you blinked.

“me?”

“you’ve got the face. the vibe. we’re recruiting trainees right now. it’s competitive, but i think you have a real shot.”

you stared. was this real? was she legit?

she pulled out a card, glossy and gold-trimmed. it looked expensive. official.

“call this number,” she said. “auditions are still required, but… i can pull a few strings.”

and just like that, she walked away.

later that night

you sat at the dinner table, card on your lap, phone in your hand, still processing.

“what’s that?” your sister asked, peering over.

“uh… a manager gave it to me,” you muttered. “she wants me to audition. to be a trainee.”

your mom nearly dropped her spoon.

your dad blinked like he misheard.

“a what now?” he asked.

your sister grabbed the card, eyes wide. “no way. (-) entertainment? they’re huge. that’s, like, the company.”

“it’s probably fake,” you said quickly. “i mean, i haven’t even danced in public before.”

your mom smiled gently. “if it’s something you’re curious about… we’ll support you.”

“what if i’m not good enough?”

“then you’ll try. and if it’s not for you, you’ll walk away knowing you tried.”

your sister nudged your arm. “do it, loser. if you debut, i can brag about you.”

you laughed, but your heart was pounding.

a few weeks later, you stood backstage after your audition, heart thumping, palms sweaty.

the evaluator handed your file to someone behind them.

“she’s raw,” the woman murmured. “but i like her. give her the green light.”

that night, you got the call.

you were officially a trainee.

you were late.

again.

you burst into the practice room, sneakers squeaking against the floor, hair sticking to your forehead. seven other trainees glanced up—some sympathetic, some smug. the trainer didn’t even look surprised.

but he did.

sunghoon.

he was leaning against the mirror, arms crossed, black sweatpants, white shirt clinging to him like he’d already been at it for hours. perfect posture. flawless control. and the most judgmental eyes you’ve ever seen.

“this is the third time this week,” he said flatly.

you rolled your eyes, dropping your bag. “thanks for counting, mom.”

a snicker echoed from someone in the back. the trainer sighed.

“five laps. now,” she barked.

you groaned and started running.

sunghoon turned to the trainer. “i don’t know why you waste time on people who can’t take this seriously.”

you stopped mid-lap, heart racing for a new reason.

“excuse me?”

he glanced at you, cool and unbothered. “you heard me.”

“you don’t even know me.”

“i don’t have to. it’s obvious.”

you wanted to throw your shoe at him. or maybe yourself—how dare he look like that while being such an ass?

“you know, not everyone got trained with a silver spoon in their mouth,” you snapped. “some of us have to catch up.”

his jaw clenched. oh. that got to him.

“then maybe catch up quietly.”

later that week

“again!” the vocal coach yelled. “you're off tempo!”

you bit your lip, trying to hide how winded you were. sunghoon stood beside you, breathing steady, voice perfect, hair annoyingly perfect.

when the session ended, you stayed behind, muttering the chorus under your breath, trying to fix it. your body ached, throat dry.

“you’re holding your breath wrong,” he said suddenly.

you jumped. “oh my god—can you not sneak up like that?”

he leaned against the doorframe, arms folded again. why was he always doing that?

“i’m not sneaking. you’re just slow.”

“and you’re just insufferable.”

he walked over, stopped behind you.

“breathe here,” he said, lightly tapping your stomach. “not up here.” he tapped your chest.

you tensed. “if you’re going to insult me again, don’t bother.”

he sighed. not annoyed. tired. softer than you expected.

“look. i don’t think you’re bad. i just think… you’re distracted.”

you turned, suspicious. “and what would you know about me?”

he shrugged. “nothing. yet.”

your heartbeat did the most annoying little skip.

“for next week’s evaluation,” the trainer said, scribbling on the board, “you’ll be performing in pairs.”

groans. whispers. panic.

sunghoon raised his hand, calm as ever. “do we get to choose partners?”

the trainer gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“no.”

and then she said your name.

and then she said his.

dead. silence.

sunghoon’s head snapped toward you. you were already staring, wide-eyed, mouth open like someone just told you santa wasn’t real and sunghoon would be your new stepdad.

“what?” you said.

“no.” he said at the same time.

the trainer arched a brow. “you two clearly have chemistry.”

“hate-mistry,” you muttered.

“professionalism, park,” she said. “and you, too, y/n. if either of you screws this up, you’re both out of the showcase.”

that shut you up real fast.

day one of practicing together

you stood at the center of the room, arms crossed, glaring at him.

he mirrored you, looking about three seconds from snapping.

“you need to follow my lead,” he said.

“and you need to drop your ego.”

“i’ve been training for years.”

“cool, i’ve been dancing since i was five.”

“not the same.”

“let’s find out.”

music blasted through the speaker—some upbeat, sexy number that had no business making this situation worse.

and yet—you kept up. every move. every beat. matching him step for step, hips snapping, body sharp. when you spun and ended up right in front of him, close enough to feel his breath—

he blinked. stunned. just a little.

you smirked.

“not bad,” you said.

his ears went pink.

day three

you both ran the routine again. and again. until sweat dripped from your jaw and your hair clung to your temples.

the trainer clapped slowly from behind.

“didn’t expect that,” she said. “y/n—your control improved. and sunghoon, i’m glad you finally look like you're dancing with someone instead of against them.”

your lips twitched.

he side-eyed you. “don’t let it go to your head.”

you grinned. “you’re just mad i’m good.”

he didn’t respond.

later, as you wiped your face with a towel, he walked over—less guarded. still annoyingly perfect.

“you really haven’t trained before?”

you shook your head. “just picked things up. why?”

he hesitated.

“…you’re a fast learner.”

you looked up, surprised.

“and you don’t hesitate. most new trainees wait for permission to mess up.”

you blinked. “…was that a compliment?”

he smirked, turning away. “no.”

(yes.)

the music cuts. your breath is caught somewhere between your chest and throat. sunghoon’s hand is still on your waist. your head is tilted back, lips just barely parted—and his eyes are on you. unreadable.

nobody moves.

"are they dating or something?" someone whispers too loudly.

"wow?" another trainee mutters.

the trainer exhales like she just witnessed art.

“that…” she starts, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. “was beyond what i asked for.”

you try to catch your breath. your body still buzzing from the adrenaline. from the dance. from him.

you don’t look at sunghoon when you mutter, “told you i wasn’t just a pretty face.”

but you feel it—how his grip on you lingers just a beat too long before he lets go.

you’re surrounded before you can even step off the floor. compliments, questions, stares—all of it buzzing in your ears.

“that was insane—”

“i didn’t even know she could dance like that.”

“how did they sync so well?”

“isn’t she new?”

you brush past it. you’re used to attention, sure. but this? this is different. this is real.

you find your way to a bench, just as someone flops down next to you.

“you’re kind of a show-off,” yeonjun says, nudging your arm.

you scoff. “jealous?”

“nah, just impressed. you looked like you were born on stage.”

you grin. “thanks.”

he pauses. “...but dancing that close to sunghoon? bold move.”

you roll your eyes. “wasn’t like i had a choice.”

across the room, sunghoon watches. sighing.

“you good?” jay asks, sipping his water bottle.

sunghoon’s averted. “he’s touching her.”

jay raises an eyebrow, finding you and a man together on a bench. “you mean yeonjun?”

“who else would i mean?”

jay blinks. “you do realize you sound like a jealous boyfriend right now?”

sunghoon scoffs. “i’m not jealous.”

“sure.”

“i’m not,” he repeats, harsher this time.

you pass by just in time to catch that last line.

you freeze. look back. sunghoon doesn’t see you.

but now you’ve seen him. and something about that look on his face—it doesn’t match the version of him you’ve built in your head.

your knee twinges wrong during a routine—small misstep, sharp sting. you hiss, stumble, fall back on the floor.

the door creaks open.

you tense—expecting a trainer or staff. instead, it’s sunghoon. of course it’s sunghoon.

“what the hell are you doing here alone?” he asks, stepping in.

you glare. “i could ask you the same thing.”

he walks over anyway. crouches beside you. “you could’ve gotten seriously hurt.”

“i didn’t,” you mutter, but the way you’re holding your leg says otherwise.

without another word, he grabs the first aid kit from the wall. wraps your knee like he’s done it a hundred times before.

you watch him. confused. curious. quiet.

“…you really care about this, huh?” he says eventually, not looking at you.

“about what?”

“training. performing. dancing.”

you shrug. “is that surprising?”

“a little.”

“why? because i don’t break my back trying to look perfect in front of the trainers?”

“because you make it look easy.”

you pause. “it’s not. i just don’t let anyone see when it’s hard.”

that makes him glance at you. just for a second. then—

“…you’re good, you know.”

you blink. “what?”

“you’re good. at this. i just didn’t want to admit it before.”

you laugh, breathless. “was that… a compliment?”

he stands up, tossing the bandage wrapper in the bin.

“don’t get used to it,” he mutters.

but he doesn’t leave.

and neither do you.

sunghoon was irritated. no—scratch that. he was pissed.

you were laughing at something yeonjun said, all wide-eyed and glossy-lipped, head tilted back like he just told the funniest joke in existence. maybe he did. maybe he didn’t. either way, hoon didn’t like the view from across the room.

he wasn’t sure what ticked him off more—the way your fingers brushed yeonjun’s arm, or the way yeonjun let them.

“you good?” jay asked beside him, noticing the stiff jaw, the tight grip on his water bottle.

“fine.”

a lie.

jay wasn’t stupid.

“you’ve got a weird definition of fine if it includes staring daggers at yeonjun’s face.”

sunghoon didn’t respond. just looked away. jay chuckled.

“she’s cute, huh.”

hoon scoffed. “please. she’s a walking red flag.”

“yeah?”

“yeah. too bold. too flirty. i don’t get how she always gets praise like that.”

jay grinned knowingly. “you mean, praise like she danced better than you yesterday?”

sunghoon gave him a flat look. jay laughed again. “man, just admit it. you like her.”

what he didn’t know was that you were behind the door, holding your breath. oh, you heard that. every word.

so the next day? you stepped on the gas.

“sunghoon,” you greeted, your voice all sugar and sin. “nice to see you glaring at me from across the room again. missed my face that much?”

his eyes narrowed. “you wish.”

“oh, i know you do,” you said with a smirk, stepping just a little too close. “you get jealous so easily. it’s kinda cute.”

“you’re delusional.”

“mm, maybe. but i’m also winning this little game we have.”

“what game?”

“oh, so you do admit we’re playing one.”

he didn’t answer. you leaned in, lips near his ear.

“catch up, sunghoon. or i’ll flirt with someone else again.”

the hallway was dark except for the faint glow bleeding under one door.

you already knew it was him.

you hesitated, then knocked—lightly, like a whisper.

inside, the music wasn’t playing. just silence. and when you opened the door and peeked in, you found him sitting with his back against the mirror, sweat-drenched shirt clinging to his skin, eyes heavy like they hadn’t rested in days.

he looked up. tired. annoyed, maybe.

“what do you want?”

you raised a brow. “aw, you missed me that much?”

he didn’t laugh. just huffed, dropping his head back against the mirror.

you walked in anyway.

“heard your team’s debut’s getting real close,” you said, plopping down next to him on the floor, knees brushing. “congrats.”

he didn’t respond.

you looked at him sideways, voice gentler now. “you okay?”

he nodded, but his fingers were twitchy—fiddling with his rings, bouncing his knee. anxious.

“you don’t look okay.”

he let out a breath. it shook a little.

you leaned forward, peeking at his face. “when was the last time you even slept?”

“don’t remember.”

you reached into your bag and tossed him a mini water bottle. “hydrate, superstar.”

he caught it, glanced at you. “why are you even here?”

you shrugged. “i could say i was worried. or that i heard music earlier and came to see what you were working on.”

you paused. “but honestly? you looked like a kicked puppy lately. i thought i’d put you out of your misery.”

he snorted. actually snorted.

progress.

you beamed. “there it is! that cute little laugh.”

“wasn’t a laugh.”

“was a laugh,” you said firmly. “i have excellent ears. dancer ears. and that? that was a giggle.”

he shook his head, hiding the smile pulling at his lips.

you fell quiet for a bit. then, in a softer voice:

“must be scary. having everything come at you at once. pressure. cameras. fans. and barely anyone who really knows what you’re going through.”

his jaw tensed.

you leaned your head back, mirroring him.

“i think about it sometimes. how that might be me in a year or two. training ‘til i drop. debuting and... still feeling alone.”

you glanced at him. “but hey. at least you’re not alone right now, right?”

sunghoon turned to you.

your face was relaxed. you weren’t being kind out of pity. this wasn’t charity. it was just... you.

for a second, he forgot about everything else.

“you’re really annoying, you know,” he mumbled.

“and yet you look like you’d die without me.”

he looked away, but not before you saw the smile he tried to hide again.

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

the hallway was loud again. busy. debut-season chaos in full swing. managers barking schedules, stylists dragging suitcases, trainees practicing lines and formations in every corner.

you stood off to the side, sipping banana milk like you were just background noise.

“look alive, rookie,” someone called, nearly bumping into you.

you gave a lazy salute. “yes sir.”

just another day of not being noticed.

sunghoon passed by with his group—a cluster of stylists, staff, and busy energy. he didn’t look your way.

not that you cared.

but you didn't see the way he glanced back at you.

“people come and go,” you muttered, raising your banana milk like a toast. “that’s showbiz, baby.”

and then you tripped on a suitcase a stylist must've left there, you didn't see or too distracted to notice.

the banana milk went flying. your knees nearly kissed the floor. and when you looked up—sunghoon was right there.

of course he was.

he blinked down at you, eyebrows raised, and said nothing.

you, sprawled like a tragic mop, just smiled. “hi.”

he blinked, eyebrows raised. “you good?”

you held up the now half-empty drink. “well, the banana milk isn't.”

he bit back a smile. “that’s your third time tripping in front of me this month.”

you raised a brow. “you count my embarrassments now?”

“it's starting to feel intentional.”

you got up, brushing yourself off. “please, if i were trying to get your attention, i’d go bigger. maybe a cartwheel. or a dramatic monologue.”

“the floor dive was convincing.”

you smiled. “i like to keep it original.” then, a little quieter, “you’ve been busy lately.”

his smile faltered just slightly.

you waved it off. “no, seriously. you’ve got fans and press and a glam team. i’ve got... banana milk.”

“sounds like a solid support system.”

you laughed, but your smile faded when he glanced down the hall. his team was already moving.

“you should go,” you said. “hair and makeup’s waiting.”

he hesitated. “you sure?”

you nodded. “go be famous.”

he looked at you like he wanted to say more. but then he just nodded, and walked away.

you watched him leave. then looked down at your shoe.

still sticky.

“tragic,” you whispered.

a few days later

the vending machine blinked angrily at the girl in front of it.

the girl—probably thirteen, maybe fourteen—had her tiny fists clenched and was glaring up at the machine like it had insulted her ancestors.

you crouched beside her, trying not to laugh. “did the evil robot eat your money again?”

“yes!” she huffed. “i pressed the peach drink but it gave me black coffee! that’s not even close!”

you gasped, clutching your chest. “that’s betrayal. you’ve just been betrayed.”

“i don’t even like coffee! It tastes like burnt sadness!”

you dramatically nodded. “we must avenge you.”

she grinned. “you think I can sue?”

“only if you’ve got a lawyer. or at least a really angry eonni (older sister) .”

she tilted her head. “you’ll do.”

at that moment, you kicked the machine gently (totally just a little tap, you’re not trying to go viral for violence). and... silence. the drink didn't fall. awkward.

the little girl snorted, holding her laugh with all her might.

you smiled, laughing under your breath and kicking the vending machine again, a little love tap and—miraculously—the peach drink clunked down into the bin.

both of you screamed.

“victory!!” “you’re a vending machine master!”

you laughed. “told you i can save you.”

a low chuckle behind you made you freeze.

you turned, slow-motion style, to see sunghoon standing there with a water bottle. heeseung stood beside him, sweaty from practice and grinning.

heeseung gave a thumbs-up. “iconic vending machine diplomacy.”

sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “burnt sadness, huh?”

you stood up straight. “i—she didn’t mean—”

“she meant it,” the girl said proudly, sipping her drink. “she says it tastes like regret in a cup.”

you stared at her, betrayed. “you were supposed to have my back.”

sunghoon laughed. like, really laughed. the kind that made your stomach twist a little.

“didn’t know you were mentoring now.”

you shrugged. “somebody’s gotta fight for the little ones. didn't know you were keeping tabs on me now.”

heeseung grabbed his drink, still chuckling. “i’m hanging out here more often.”

sunghoon lingered, eyes still on you. “you’re good with kids.”

you blinked. “oh.”

he smiled, soft and small, before heading off. “try not to start a vending machine riot next time.”

you stood there, stuck.

the girl tugged your sleeve. “...you like him, huh?”

you looked down at her. “no idea what you’re talking about.”

she narrowed her eyes. “peach tea never lies.”

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

“i feel like i keep seeing her everywhere lately,” sunghoon said later, on their way back to the practice room.

heeseung gave him a look. “more like you keep noticing her.”

sunghoon didn’t answer right away. just stared ahead, thoughtful.

heeseung nudged him. “you’re smiling, dude.”

sunghoon wiped the smile off his face immediately. “no, i’m not.”

“you’re so obvious.”

he didn’t say anything for a while.

but later, he’d find himself glancing down hallways a little more. wondering if banana milk girl would be there.

just... wondering.

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

you hadn’t cried in weeks. not since training got serious.

but tonight? the moment the studio door clicked shut behind you, the tears came.

your hands were sore. your voice was gone. and no matter how hard you trained, you still felt behind—like everyone else had a head start and you were just catching up, slipping on a treadmill that wouldn't stop.

the mirror felt cruel. it always did when you weren’t at your best.

and then—

a knock. soft, careful.

you wiped your face fast, spinning around like nothing happened. “practice room’s full. try the one on the second floor.”

“already did.”

your breath hitched.

sunghoon stood in the doorway, hoodie pulled over his head, cap low. casual. unbothered. he should be prepping for stage performances, meetings, shoots—life after debut.

but he was here.

you blinked. “aren’t you like, super busy?”

he shrugged, stepping in. “don’t tell my manager.”

you let out a small laugh. it cracked.

he sat beside you like he belonged there. like no time had passed.

“you’ve been avoiding me,” he said softly.

“i’ve been busy.”

“so have i.”

you didn’t say anything.

he nudged you. “talk to me.”

you bit your cheek. “what’s there to talk about?”

he looked at you, really looked at you.

“you’re scared.”

you looked away. “i’m not.”

“you are.” he reached out, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. his fingers lingered just a second longer. “i was too.”

you met his eyes. they weren’t teasing or smug. just... warm.

“hoon, i’m the last trainee to enter and they expect me to keep up with girls who’ve been doing this for years. i feel like i’m constantly proving that i deserve to be here.”

“you don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

“except everyone.”

he took your hand—held it. his thumb brushed yours like he wasn’t even thinking about it.

“you think i didn’t feel the same before i debuted?” he asked, voice hushed. “you think i don’t still feel like that sometimes? like i’m faking it, or like i’m not enough?”

you stared at him.

“you’re more than enough,” he said. “you were the only one who saw me before all this. let me be that for you now.”

and just like that, the tears were back. but you didn’t hide this time.

you leaned into him. he let you. his arms came around you like a shield, like home, like this was always meant to happen.

“this doesn’t mean i’m falling for you or anything,” you mumbled into his chest.

he smiled against your hair. “sure. and i’m not hopelessly in love with you either.” it was a lie.

ONE MONTH LATER

your body ached. your shirt clung to your back. the playlist on the studio speakers had looped for the third time now, but you weren’t done yet. not even close.

you wiped sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand, hair tied up haphazardly like your last brain cell had done it for you. two turns, down, pop—reset. again.

then the studio door opened.

you blinked, already preparing to snap at whoever thought now was a great time to interrupt—only to freeze.

sunghoon.

cap on. mask half-down. that dumb post-debut glow still clinging to him like glitter. he looked like a k-drama lead showing up in your lowest moment with no right to be that good-looking.

you squinted. “are you... lost?”

he didn’t smile.

he stepped in, quiet. closed the door behind him. took a breath.

“go on,” you said, gesturing vaguely at your unfinished choreo. “you came to judge my pirouettes or what?”

he scratched the back of his neck. “actually…”

pause.

“i wanted to ask you something.”

you raised a brow, waiting. arms crossed. heart racing.

“do you...” he hesitated, then stepped closer. “wanna go out with me?”

you blinked.

was he out of his damn mind?

you looked down at yourself. hair in chaos. sweat-drenched shirt. left sock halfway sliding off. “like... right now?”

he laughed softly, but there was a nervous tremble to it. “no. i mean... soon. when you’re free. like, a real date. just us.”

you stared at him. the air felt too quiet.

he looked serious. almost nervous. not like the usual sarcastic, biting sunghoon who annoyed you daily—this was the one who held your hand when no one else was looking. the one who showed up when you were breaking.

you let out a long sigh, walking past him to grab your water bottle. you took a sip. gave him a look.

“sunghoon,” you said flatly, “you realize i’m one month away from possibly debuting through a televised hunger game for trainees, right?”

he gave you a sheepish smile. “yeah.”

“and you’re busy being an idol or whatever.”

“also yeah.”

you raised an eyebrow. “then why now?”

he didn’t flinch. “because I like you.”

…

you stared at him. like, really stared. and god—he was really standing there. asking you out while you looked like a dehydrated noodle. and it should’ve been dumb. it should’ve been ill-timed.

but he meant it. that was the stupid part.

you sighed again, dramatic. wiped your face.

then, you looked up at him with a small smirk.

“fine,” you said, shrugging. “one date.”

his eyes lit up.

“but if it sucks, I’m ghosting you.”

“deal.”

you narrowed your eyes. “and you’re paying.”

“always.”

“and no kissing—unless I say so.”

he grinned. “so you will say so.”

“shut up,” you muttered, tossing your towel at him—and missing.

ONE WEEK LATER

first secret date

you almost laughed when you saw him.

cap pulled down low. hoodie up. mask on. sunglasses too. like he was about to rob the convenience store instead of take you on a date.

he looked left, then right. then spotted you.

and you—well.

you were in simple jeans, a tucked white tee, lowkey makeup, and your hair done just enough to look effortlessly good. no flash. no glam. just enough to look soft and gorgeously dangerous.

sunghoon blinked under his cap. “wow.”

you tilted your head. “wow?”

“i thought we said casual.”

you smirked. “i am casual.”

he blinked again. “casual doesn’t usually knock the air outta someone’s lungs.”

you bit your lip to hide the smile. “then breathe better.”

he laughed under his mask, tugging it down slightly as you both started walking. he had chosen a small side street near the han river, early evening, sun soft in the sky. not too crowded. not too exposed.

it wasn’t fancy. no candlelit tables. no bouquets. just two kids sneaking time together between a debut and a dream.

and somehow, it was perfect.

“are you really allowed out?” you asked, nudging him. “i don’t wanna be the reason you get exiled from your group.”

he scoffed. “i’ve snuck out for worse.”

you squinted. “like what?”

“like ramen.”

you cackled. “you’re risking your career for cup noodles?”

“if they’re spicy enough, yeah.”

you rolled your eyes, but your hand brushed against his as you walked. he noticed. he didn’t say anything—but he didn’t move it away either.

you felt the heat rise to your cheeks.

later, on a park bench near the river

you sat next to him, knees barely touching. the sun had dipped lower now, painting the water gold.

he was quiet.

so were you.

until—

“you know,” he said, “i wasn’t sure this would work.”

you looked at him.

“i’m busy. you’re about to be busier. and all the pressure—fans, survival shows, cameras…” he exhaled. “we’re barely even normal people anymore.”

you nodded slowly, biting your lip. “so… why’d you ask me out then?”

he looked at you.

“because even when I’m not sure about anything else… I’m sure about you.”

you blinked.

okay. rude.

he was not allowed to drop lines like that while you were emotionally vulnerable, sweaty from practice last night, and wearing your second best sneakers.

you tried to play it off, heart punching your ribs. “you’ve been practicing that in the mirror, huh?”

he grinned. “nah. you’re just that inspiring.”

you stared at him, lips twitching.

then, casually, you reached over and hooked your pinky with his.

that was it.

that was all.

he squeezed gently.

after the date — back at the dorms

you got a text. just as you slipped into the trainee dorm’s hallway.

sunghoon: home safe? you: just got in. you? sunghoon: still outside. walking around like a loser who just got his crush to say yes you: you are a loser. but like. a cute one i guess sunghoon: say that again i’ll screenshot it you: goodnight, hoonie sunghoon: night, pretty girl.

you stared at the screen, face flushed.

then threw your pillow at the bed and let out a scream into your blanket.

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

you barely made it through the last eight-count. your legs were jelly, your ponytail was falling apart, and your throat was screaming for water—but more than anything, your brain was fried. you didn’t even notice someone step into the practice room until you heard a low, familiar voice.

“psst. trainee of the year.”

you turned, and there he was.

sunghoon.

with a hoodie pulled up and a mischievous glint in his eye… holding a snack-sized bag of chips and a chocolate bar like they were illegal contraband.

you blinked. “hoon—what are you doing here?!”

he smirked. “looking out for someone who forgot how to rest.”

“i’m on a diet,” you whispered, eyeing the chocolate like it was your long-lost lover.

he stepped closer. “then pretend i didn’t bring snacks. just come with me for five minutes.”

you followed him to the vending machine hallway—dead center between the boys’ and girls’ dorm floors. no cctv. no trainers.

just buzzing machines, flickering fluorescent light, and the sound of your heart thudding louder than it should.

he leaned against the wall, opening the chocolate and breaking off a square.

you stared at it.

“i said i’m on a diet.”

“i said i don’t care.” he offered it again.

you took it. obviously.

a beat of silence passed. then another. you sighed.

“i’ve never dated someone in secret before,” you mumbled, fingers fiddling with the wrapper. “do you think it’ll work out?”

sunghoon didn’t hesitate.

“I’m actually an expert in secrets…” he said, tone suddenly lower, softer.

he leaned in, closing the already-small space between you.

“...especially dating.”

your breath hitched.

he was close—too close—his scent all cozy detergent and warm skin, his lips ghosting a little too close to your cheek.

“i’ll teach you how.”

you were in the middle of laughing—like, full-on cracking up with the other trainees in the dance room. someone made a joke about one of the trainers being secretly in love with their reflection, and you had tears in your eyes.

you didn’t even realize your phone buzzed until you were finally alone, tying your hair up again, everyone else already off to shower or sleep.

sunghoon: u free? sunghoon: dance room. come before i fall asleep on the floor.

you stared. then blinked. then immediately bolted.

the second you opened the door to his group’s practice room, you saw him sitting there on the floor, back against the mirror, head tilted up like he’d been waiting hours.

he looked up.

“hey.”

just that one word and you were melting. it’s been weeks. actual weeks. and yet, there he was—same hoodie, same tired smile, same boy who made you forget how to breathe.

you walked in slowly. “so you miss me, huh?”

he scoffed, but the smile said it all.

“i’m not gonna lie. i might’ve forgotten what you looked like.”

“rude.”

“well, i remember now.” his eyes swept over you.

you rolled your eyes, trying not to combust.

you sat next to him, shoulders barely touching, and it was quiet for a second. not awkward. just… warm.

“you’ve been working hard,” you said quietly.

“you too,” he murmured. “i see it in the practice logs.”

you raised a brow. “you stalk me?”

he smirked. “maybe.”

he stood up a little while later, stretched, then turned to you again.

“come here.”

“why?”

“just—” he waved you over.

you got up, brushing imaginary dust off your sweatpants. “if you prank me, i swear—”

“i’m not. just come.”

he walked backward, tugging you gently by the wrist until you both slipped behind the tall mirror divider that split the practice room—probably put there for storage or stage simulation. barely any light. no one would check there.

you opened your mouth to ask what is this, but he was already leaning in.

and then—

footsteps.

two voices. familiar.

heeseung. jake.

you froze. sunghoon cursed under his breath, then pulled you closer—closer—until your back hit the mirror and his body shielded you completely.

your heart did a full somersault.

“shhh,” he whispered, breath fanning across your ear. “they’re just grabbing their stuff.”

heeseung’s voice echoed faintly. “you think sunghoon left already?”

“probably. dude’s always staying too long.”

you held your breath, heartbeat racing. he was so close. his hands rested on either side of your head, and he kept glancing down at you like he might actually—

once the door shut and the voices faded, silence fell.

you stared at him.

he stared right back.

then he grinned.

“i wasn’t gonna kiss you, you know.”

“…right.”

“…but now i kind of want to.”

you raised a brow. “you sure about that? we haven’t even had a second date.”

“so?” he whispered, leaning in again. “we’re behind a mirror. does it count?”

you were this close to shoving him playfully, but your breath hitched when he tilted his head just enough.

his lips brushed yours.

soft. tentative.

dangerous.

but then you kissed him back.

just once. quick. stupid. electric.

you pulled away with a shaky breath. “you’re so annoying.”

“you like it.”

“i hate it.”

he grinned. “i’ll teach you how.”

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

the call started with you lying flat on your bed, hair down, face fresh from a shower, hoodie oversized and barely clinging to one shoulder.

“you look tired,” you mumbled, frowning into the screen.

sunghoon was on his dorm bed too, hair pushed back with a headband, cheeks still flushed from rehearsal. “you look pretty.”

you blinked. “that’s not the point—”

“but it’s true,” he said, smiling. “also. i am tired. i miss you.”

you flopped your head dramatically against your pillow. “ugh, i miss you too. stupid idol schedules.”

he laughed. then sighed. then just stared at you for a second longer than necessary.

the silence was comfortable. until your phone buzzed.

you glanced at the notification. trainee gc.

someone: you looked cool in practice today someone else: your form’s improved a lot lately and then: wanna hangout sometime? just chill, talk about training n stuff?

sunghoon raised a brow. “who’s that?”

you snorted, a little too amused. “hm? just the group chat.”

“your phone’s lighting up a lot,” he said, too casually.

you tilted your screen to the side, showing the flood of not-so-subtle messages.

sunghoon squinted. “that guy. the one who complimented your jumps last time. he’s the one who sent the hangout thing, right?”

you blinked slowly. “hoon. are you jealous?”

“no,” he lied, immediately, like a liar.

“you so are.”

“i’m not,” he repeated, suddenly invested in adjusting the blanket on his lap.

you smirked. “you’re sulking.”

he didn’t respond.

“hoon~”

“i’m just saying,” he said, voice all pouty now, “he doesn’t even stretch properly before practice. what does he know.”

you wheezed.

“oh my god.”

“i’m just—i’m just watching out for you, okay?” he said, flustered, biting his lip. “i don’t like how they act around you.”

you rolled onto your back, giggling into your sleeve.

“you’re adorable.”

“no, i’m serious,” he grumbled. “i can’t even talk to you in public, but they’re out here throwing compliments like confetti.”

you peeked at the screen again. his lips were pursed. eyes narrowed. sulk level: maximum.

you reached out like you could actually pinch his cheek through the screen.

“you know you’re the only one i want to hear compliments from, right?”

his gaze softened.

“...really?”

“really,” you said, smiling. “but also, you’re kinda hot when you’re jealous. not gonna lie.”

he hid his face in his hoodie.

“stop.”

“never.”

you grinned.

“hoooon,” you whined through the screen, “can’t you just teleport here? like now? please? i’ll pay.”

he snorted. “what with? ramen and protein bars?”

“yes.”

he smiled, soft and lazy, eyes crinkling. “i wish i could.”

“me too.”

your voice had dropped, just a little. tired. yearning. and his fingers twitched like he wished he could reach through the screen and pull you into his chest.

but then—

“hyung! dinner’s ready!”

jungwon’s voice, right outside his door.

sunghoon groaned, rolling onto his side with a quiet, “just five more minutes!”

“are you still on call with y/n?” jungwon asked, then cracked the door open like he already knew the answer.

sunghoon quickly angled the phone to his chest, like a whole dad caught texting his crush in middle school.

but jungwon just leaned in and waved toward the screen. “hi, y/n!”

“oh my god,” you said, hiding your face with a hand, laughing. “hi wonnie.”

then sunoo appeared in the hallway too, leaning over jungwon’s shoulder. “tell her i say hi too!”

“i did already!” jungwon argued.

niki popped in last, chewing on something. “you’re not slick, hyung. we all know you’ve been heart-eyes emoji for like, three months now.”

sunghoon nearly died on the spot.

“get out,” he hissed.

“we’re going,” sunoo grinned. “but don’t kiss through the screen or anything. the wi-fi’s lagging.”

and they vanished.

you wheezed. “your roommates are literally chaos.”

“they’re menaces.”

“but cute menaces.”

“fine,” he mumbled, trying not to smile again. “but i’m the cutest, right?”

“you’re the cutest and the hottest.”

“and you’re the reason my heart’s doing cardio without moving.”

you blinked. “that was so cheesy.”

“i know,” he grinned.

a few nights later – secret car hangout edition

he picked you up in a manager’s car, hoodie low, cap on, mask covering most of his face. when you slid into the front seat, your eyes met and for a second neither of you said anything.

then you both burst into giggles like schoolkids sneaking out past curfew.

“you’re insane,” you whispered, shutting the door.

“you’re prettier in person,” he whispered back.

“you’re biased.”

“i’m in love.”

you froze. blinked. stared at him.

he blinked back, wide-eyed. “i mean—i—i said that out loud, didn’t i.”

you bit your lip, suddenly warm.

“yeah,” you said. “but… same.”

his hand reached for yours between the seats. fingers laced. thumbs brushing.

you two just sat there for a while. soft music playing. headlights passing. the world rushing around you, but in here, time stilled.

“you’re leaving again tomorrow?” you asked.

he nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. “fanmeet. then music show. then filming.”

“you’re everywhere.”

“except here,” he murmured. “with you.”

your heart tugged.

“then make the most of tonight.”

he turned to look at you.

eyes locked.

“yeah?” he whispered.

you nodded.

then you climbed over the center console like it was nothing, and next thing you knew, you were on his lap, hoodie and all, faces close, lips brushing. giggling quietly, almost getting caught when a van drove past and made the headlights flash inside.

you kissed like the world didn’t know.

you laughed like no one could hear.

and when he pulled back, forehead pressed to yours, breath warm, he whispered—

“i’ll teach you how.”

then just like that, you two were back to kissing. he kept a hand on your chin to angle your head in the perfect position. his tongue slipping in your lips, tasting you like he'll never get a chance to again.

and that's when you two made out recklessly in the car, breath heavy, and in love.

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

the survival show started before either of you could even process it.

you were waking up at 5 a.m., rehearsing until midnight, crash-napping in dance studios, living off energy drinks and willpower.

sunghoon was across the world—london, tokyo, la, award shows, en-oclock, fanmeets, and endless nights of soundchecks.

the phone calls slowed.

the messages became one-word replies.

then one-sided.

then nothing.

but not because you stopped caring.

it was just life.

it was debut season.

dreams were happening in real time.

you both were flying so fast that you didn’t even realize you were flying past each other.

months later

you were back. not just in seoul, not just in the same time zone—but here.

and you were debuting.

you made it into the final group.

four girls. you were the visual, the ace, the one people couldn’t stop looking at.

and the moment you saw his name pop up on your schedule—same venue, different floors—you knew.

you had to see him.

so you did.

your steps were slow but steady. nerves in your chest like fireworks waiting to go off.

he looked up when you entered the hallway. paused.

you smiled.

his mouth parted. just a little.

then you ran—fast, too fast—and wrapped your arms around his middle like you were afraid he’d disappear again.

his arms came around you instantly. like muscle memory. like home.

“i made it,” you whispered into his chest, voice trembling.

he didn’t say anything at first. just held you tighter.

then—

“i know,” he said quietly.

you blinked up at him.

and he smiled, eyes a little glassy, cheeks a little pink. “i saw every performance.”

you laughed through your tears. “you did?”

“mhm.” he nodded. “even the boot camp episode. and your level test. and the one where you cried after your vocals cracked—”

“shut up.”

“i cried too.”

“shut up.”

“i saved the fancam.”

you slapped his shoulder, but your grin couldn’t be wiped off.

“and i saw yours,” you whispered, pressing your palm to his chest like you could feel all the places he grew while you were away. “every award. every encore. every fancam. you were so… amazing.”

“you too,” he murmured. “we both made it.”

and for a second, it didn’t matter that the world was watching.

that you had bodyguards and managers and contracts now.

that there were rules and rumors and cameras always watching.

because right here, in this small hallway of a massive building—

it was just the two of you again.

“missed you,” you said.

“teach me how to get over you,” he whispered.

and you shook your head.

“no,” you whispered back. “i’ll teach you how to keep me.”

a/n: posting part 2 tomorrow 5pm kst ! if you want to be tagged, please reblog so you can be added (that would help me much too hh). i already have a reserved taglist, so if you want to register, just click my forms :>> loveyallsosomuchh

chapter 2 is posted !

taglist: @kpoplover-19 @kpoppiesofinternet

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g1rld1ary · 4 months ago

Text

well kept secret 2 - spencer reid x hotch's daughter!reader

wc: 1479

cw: none!

me: i love writing dialogue!!!!!!!!! also i did get a request for a diff hotchs daughter fic but id already written half of this so anon i have seen it!! also also i just finished my first week back at uni and i already have so many more readings than last yr so my writing may become a bit slower for the foreseeable sorry!!

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You hadn’t seen your father for weeks. Both of you had been slammed with work and Hotch had been on a few particularly long cases that had kept him out of Quantico.

However, you weren’t one to waste time. You’d only learnt Hotch was your father as you went into college, your mother’s well-kept college fling exposed as you grew into adulthood. It was you who took the risk in reaching out, genetically curious. Thankfully Hotch was open to the relationship, and the two of you had been making a concerted effort to make up for all your lost time.

That brought you to the FBI offices after Hotch had messaged you that his case had wrapped up at an appropriate time of day, for once.

“Hi, Sweetheart. I just have to fill out this paperwork but I’ll be quick. You can sit in my office if you like or go get yourself a coffee from the break room.” Hotch gave you a quick side-hug, a big show of affection for him, and you nodded easily.

“It’s all good, I’m gonna go annoy your inferiors,” You laughed, skipping out of Hotch’s office and down to the bullpen.

“Hey, little Hotch, you’re back!” Morgan grinned as he saw you, shaking your hand with probably unearned familiarity.

“Are you hanging around for long? Gotta wait for my Dad to finish work before we can have dinner,” You exaggerated your rolling eyes to emphasise the humour in your tone and Derek responded accordingly.

“Good dads, am I right? Sorry, little Hotch, but I’ve got a woman to make dinner up to, I can’t stick around tonight.” You pretended to be annoyed as you made your rounds to the rest of the agents that you’d met, but everyone was lost in their own little world, rushing to get home to their loved ones.

Not that you could blame them, you were sure if you had to be away risking your life so often you’d behave exactly the same. Fortunately or unfortunately, you weren’t in that position and were getting bored. That was, until your eyes locked on the only agent still sitting behind a desk.

“Doctor Reid, right?” You confirmed as you approached him, not not enjoying the way he seemed to become flustered under your gaze.

“Yeah,” He stuttered, “But you can call me Spencer. If you want. Or not, of course.”

“Alright, Spencer.” You grinned, “So why are you so eager to sit behind the desk? Everyone else basically hit the ground running.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Spencer trained his eyes on the file ahead of him, spinning a pen rapidly between his nimble fingers, “Nowhere to rush to, I guess.”

“So you’re single?” You raised an eyebrow with a sly smile, “No girl waiting for you at home?” Spencer almost jumped out of his skin at the word, but managed to shake his head in a way that was almost calm.

“So, um, what do you do?” He changed the subject hastily but you were ready for him.

“You tell me, you’re the profiler, aren’t you?” You were teasing him, challenging him even, but Spencer was good with challenges.

“Clearly you’re in office work of some sort. I assume not necessarily very high up since you said Hotch bought your high-end heels but nothing else you’re wearing is nearly as expensive. Your nails are brightly coloured and have those… charms on them, which tells me you work in something creative, where professionalism has different standards. You’re well spoken and were confident even when faced with the group of us last time, so you probably have to public speak or do client relations. My guess is marketing?”

You stood for a second, amazed by the acute observations Spencer had made within your first conversation.

“I guess they don’t call you Boy Genius for nothing, then. I’m in graphic design, usually marketing campaigns.” Spencer brightened at the praise and confirmation of his brilliance.

“It’s just my job. Any of us would have told you all the same things.”

“Genius and humble? No wonder the FBI is so fond of you,” You teased, leaning against the edge of Spencer’s desk. He laughed shyly, clearly unsure of what to do with himself.

“That and the fact I have an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory.” Your eyebrows raised as he hit you with what you interpreted as a joke. Cute, smart and funny, what more could a guy offer?

“Wow, you really are the secret weapon around here, huh? Don’t worry, I won’t tell the bad guys.” You winked with a smile, enjoying the way a rosy blush developed over Spencer’s cheeks. “And all of that by what? Thirty?”

“Twenty seven,” He shot back quickly, “I don’t look that old, do I?”

“Not at all,” You grinned, “I think older men are hot.”

“I don’t think twenty-four and twenty-seven is much of an age gap,” Spencer mused as you blinked owlishly at him, completely missing the implications of his statement.

“How’d you know that? You’re not a genius and a mind-reader, are you?”

“I did some digging,” Penelope admitted sheepishly as she crossed the bullpen with her handbag, clearly on the way out. You glanced at Spencer with an expression you hoped was saying ‘who is this woman and how can she do that?’ to find he was already looking at you, amused smile on his own face.

“If you keep hanging around here you’ll get used to her eventually, we all did.”

“I love her. She’s like if my twelve year old self had adult money.” Spencer laughed at that, loud and bright in the otherwise silent bullpen. You smiled at the sound, silence falling between you both. It was somewhere in the middle of nice and slightly weird. You’d only just met but you knew Spencer was someone you wanted to get to know, he fascinated you in every way. And he was fun to talk to, especially as he got comfortable around you. You assumed it was the genius intellect that helped with his quick wit.

“So, is my Dad a good boss?” You broke the silence with a cheeky grin, testing the boundaries.

“Stop tormenting my agent, honey.” Hotch’s rich timbre popped up behind you and your shoulders tensed in surprise. You’d been caught. You turned to face your father with a coy smile, giggle barely contained.

“It was just a question! Don’t quash a young girl’s curiosity,” You played innocent, knowing good and well that Hotch was too smart for the ploy.

“Maybe save your questions for when Reid isn’t wanting to get home for his weekend?” He raised one thick eyebrow, but you could see the amusement behind his typically serious expression.

“I’m very sorry, Doctor Reid, thank you for taking the time to babysit your boss’ daughter.”

Spencer looked like a deer in headlights. What was the procedure? Hotch was standing right there, yet he was pretty sure (and it took a lot for him to even suggest the notion) that you were flirting with him. How was he supposed to handle that?

“I, it was no trouble at all, really. Happy with babysitting duties, sir,” Reid stammered out, the twisting of his features making clear he knew he was making a fool of himself. Hotch, always having had a soft spot for the doctor, let it slide.

“Make sure you don’t stay here all night, Reid.” Hotch started for the elevators and you hopped along at his heels happily.

“Hope I’ll see you soon, Doctor Reid.” You turned back to face him with a grin, delighting in the way he jumped slightly, only able to offer the single most awkward thumbs up and wave combination you’d ever seen.

As the glass doors closed behind you, you could have sworn you heard a squeaky, “It’s Spencer!”

You stood next to Hotch in the descending elevator, giddy smile playing on your lips. If Hotch noticed he didn’t say anything, not that you thought he would. He was definitely not the type of dad to start gossiping about boys.

You were in his passenger seat on the drive to your dinner plans when he finally turned the subject back to his coworkers.

“Just don’t start coming into my work because you like my coworkers more than me, okay? I’d never hear the end of it, especially from Morgan.”

“Who, me? I would never,” You teased, changing the radio station to something more pop-y, “Besides, it wouldn’t be Morgan I’d be visiting.”

#giasfics˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀#fluff #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #dr spencer reid #bau team #doctor spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #matthew gray gubler #love #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds imagine #dr reid #criminal minds fanfiction

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zerosbubble · 2 months ago

Text

Career Day Chaos.

Tim Bradford x Rookie!reader [PLATONIC] — Ongoing series: Like Father, Like Rookie.

POV: When you and Tim get roped into an elementary school’s career day, things quickly go sideways… thanks to a swarm of curious kids who seem to prefer you over him.

A/N: Long time no see! Sorry for the out of the blue hiatus. It was my first break from school in what felt like forever, so I definitely took advantage of that! Hope y’all can forgive me and I also hope all is well on your side of life. :)

You didn’t expect to start your shift surrounded by glitter, graham crackers, and the scent of dry erase markers—but here you were, standing in front of a room full of wide-eyed second graders, badge clipped neatly to your vest, pretending not to feel wildly out of your element.

Next to you, Tim stood like a granite statue—arms crossed, expression unreadable. To the untrained eye, he looked annoyed. You, however, had known him long enough to recognise the signs: he was just deeply, deeply uncomfortable.

“Okay, everyone,” the teacher chirped, practically buzzing with enthusiasm. “Let’s give a big thank you to our guests from the LAPD!”

A chorus of high-pitched thank yous echoed across the room, some enthusiastic, some distracted by the giant cardboard police car cutout in the corner.

One hand shot up before the teacher even finished introducing you.

“Do you get to drive fast all the time?” a boy in a red hoodie blurted, practically bouncing in his seat.

Before you could answer, another voice chimed in. “Have you ever seen a ghost?”

“My mom said you guys should eat the curb!” One of them exclaimed with a grin, who was soon escorted out to have a talk with one of the teachers outside.

“My dad says cops eat donuts,” another kid offered with a grin, clearly proud of that contribution.

“Can you arrest my brother?” someone else asked, very seriously.

You opened your mouth—probably to give a well rounded, age appropriate answer about public safety and teamwork—but then felt a gentle tug on your duty belt.

A small girl with messy pigtails and wide, curious eyes stared up at you like you held all the secrets of the universe.

“Are you his kid?” she asked, pointing directly at Tim.

You blinked. “What? No, I’m not—”

“They’re my rookie,” Tim interjected smoothly, tone flat as a parking ticket. His arms were crossed, expression unchanging as he scanned the room like he was preparing for a tactical op. “Not my kid.”

Another hand shot up near the back. “What’s a rookie?”

You crouched beside the girl who had tugged on your duty belt, careful not to knock over the crayon box balanced on the corner of her desk. It rattled slightly as you settled into a squat, bringing yourself eye-level with her.

“It just means I’m still new,” you said, voice warm and easy, like you were sharing a secret. “I’m learning from him.”

She blinked up at you, her lashes fluttering as she took in your uniform, your badge, your vest—then flicked a look over at Tim, who stood at the front of the classroom, arms crossed like a bouncer at recess. Her head tilted slightly, lips pursing like she was solving a very serious equation.

“Like a dad?” she asked.

You smiled, soft and unguarded, caught somewhere between amused and oddly touched. “Yeah, sorta,” you said, glancing up at Tim. “It is like learning from your dad.”

There was a pause—long enough to notice the faint scratch of crayons against paper, the rustle of Velcro from a kid trying to adjust their shoe, the way the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead.

Tim didn’t say anything. But when you looked up, his gaze was already on you.

He didn’t roll his eyes. Didn’t scowl or scoff like you half expected.

He just held your stare, steady and unreadable—until the corner of his mouth twitched, barely there. Like he was acknowledging it. Like he didn’t hate how you’d said it. Like maybe… he even agreed.

Then he cleared his throat and turned back to the board, muttering something under his breath about kids these days, and in all honesty, you couldn’t tell if he was referring to the small children you were answering to, or you.

But he didn’t correct you.

And that was answer enough.

“You know ‘bad cop, nice cop.’ Are you the nice one?” the girl asked, tilting her head.

You stifled a laugh and glanced sideways at Tim. “I try to be.”

From the back of the room, a boy in a paper police hat stage-whispered to his friend, “They’re cooler.” He nodded his head towards you.

Tim’s jaw twitched. His brows ticked upward just slightly, like the betrayal physically pained him.

“Little traitors,” he muttered under his breath, adjusting the sleeve of his uniform. “I’m the one who brought the sticker badges.”

You leaned toward him, voice playful. “Don’t take it personally. I’ve got better hair.”

He didn’t move, but his eyes narrowed, dry as dust. “I heard that.”

The chaos rolled on. You helped the kids try on your vest (which nearly swallowed one of them whole), and they begged you to let them talk into the radio (you didn’t, but you pretended). Tim stayed close, looming like a grumpy storm cloud while you answered question after question.

At one point, a small boy with a blue marker mustache wrapped his arms around your leg and declared you were his “new favorite grown-up.” Tim just stared at him.

“Kid,” he said, crouching down to meet his eyes “you’ve known them for twenty minutes.”

“They let me try on the cool vest,” the boy shot back.

Tim’s eyes shifted up to you. “Congratulations. You’ve been out ranked by a second grader.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” You beamed, looking down at him.

By the end of it, your uniform had tiny handprints smeared across it, and your back ached from crouching so much—but you were smiling. And despite all his grumbling, Tim hadn’t left your side once.

You were halfway back to the shop when you reached into your pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper—construction paper, thick and soft, with a crude crayon drawing of what was unmistakably you and Tim, both with blue stick-figure badges and beaming smiles. In the corner, written in shaky, bubble letters: “THE COOL COPS.”

You chuckled and held it up.

Tim glanced over, expression unreadable. “They gave you that?”

You offered it to him. “Split custody?”

He rolled his eyes but took it without a word, folded it neatly, and slipped it into the glove compartment. Like it was nothing.

You didn’t mention it. Didn’t have to.

You just smiled to yourself as he pulled back onto the road.

“Don’t let it go to your head, kid.” He said.

“Too late.”

The sun had already dipped below the horizon by the time you and Tim pulled back into the station lot, golden haze giving way to a cool, blue-gray dusk. Your feet ached. Your back wasn’t far behind. But your heart felt… warm. Lighter.

The kids at the elementary school had worn you out in the best way. You still had a sticker badge on your sleeve, slightly crumpled. And a crayon drawing—bright scribbles of you and Tim standing in front of a very boxy police car—was folded in your vest pocket.

You changed out of your gear slowly, letting the silence of the locker room settle around you like a favorite hoodie. The chaos of the day had passed. Just the hum of overhead lights, the distant buzz of dispatch through the hallway speakers.

Jackson stepped out from behind a row of lockers, phone in hand, looking way too smug for someone off shift.

“You’re not gonna believe what I just caught,” he said, screen already up like he couldn’t wait another second to show you.

You raised a brow. “If it’s Lucy making fun of my sticker again, I already know.”

He snorted. “Better.”

He turned the phone around, and there it was—a photo, slightly out of focus, clearly taken through the cracked locker room door. Tim stood at his locker, shoulders relaxed for once. His face was unreadable, but not cold. Focused, almost careful. And in his hands—your drawing. The one with the neon green police cruiser and giant badge-shaped sun in the corner.

You watched as Tim, in the photo, gently smoothed out the edges of the paper before tacking it up inside his locker door. Right next to his medals. Right next to the photo of Metro and Isabel from back in the day.

Your breath hitched a little, unprepared for how much that image settled into your chest.

“Didn’t even hesitate,” Jackson added quietly. “Like it belonged there.”

You smiled, small and stunned.

“Don’t tell him I showed you,” Jackson said with a wink, slipping his phone away. “Guy acts like he’s all tough, but we both know—he’s a total softie.”

You shook your head, a laugh breaking loose. “Yeah. I won’t say a word.”

But later, as you walked out into the night, the breeze cool on your face, you glanced toward Tim’s car. He was already there, sipping from a to-go cup, eyes on the dashboard like nothing had changed.

But you knew better now.

And when you climbed in, settling into the passenger seat like it was always yours, you didn’t say anything either.

You just smiled—and held on to the quiet.

Because that drawing wasn’t just kid stuff.

It was proof you were part of something.

And you weren’t going anywhere.

taglist: @its-ares @nevereclipse @chezze-its @mcckunty @graciereads @gublerstylesobrien1238

#platonic #the rookie #fluff #found family #oneshot #tim bradford #tim bradford x reader

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bettys-redwinesupernova · 6 months ago

Text

ANIMALS

inspired by the song ‘Animals’ by Maroon 5.

rafe cameron x kook!fem!reader

SUMMARY: in a world where obsession blurs the lines between love and hate, Y/N and rafe cameron are locked in a toxic game of desire and dominance. as the tension between them reaches a boiling point, rafe’s possessiveness and Y/N’s defiance threaten to expose the truth—some animals can’t resist the hunt.

based on this ask !! i hope this is everything you asked for anon, and i’m so so sorry it’s taken so long, i took a cheeky writing break !!🫣 you didn’t specify if you wanted smut or not, but you can stop just before the smut when they get to the bedroom if you wish <3

WARNINGS: lighthearted angst, enemies w/ benefits, smut (18+ mdni!), alcohol consumption, slut-shaming (?), bitchy!reader, unprotected p in v (wrap it before ya tap it!), doggy style (bent over vanity), rough sex, manhandling (😝), hair pulling, jealous!rafe, reader throws a drink on rafe. (i think that’s it? lmk if i missed anything !!)

A/N: you can imagine any era rafe during this, but i do mention him having hair as reader pulls it, but i do see buzz cut!rafe in this too😫

WORD COUNT: 4.6k

THIRD PERSON +

The summer air was thick with humidity, the nights heavy with tension on the Outer Banks. Parties spilled onto beachfronts and estates, bonfires lighting up the endless skies. Y/N had the world at her feet—a true Kook princess with her sharp tongue, dazzling smile, and a touch of venom.

She played her cards perfectly, commanding the room wherever she went.

Rafe Cameron, however, was her shadow—a predator who stalked the edges of her light. He was trouble wrapped in an expensive polo, a cocktail of entitlement, rage, and obsession. The two of them didn’t get along in public. They’d perfected the art of bickering, their sharp remarks drawing laughter from Kooks and Pogues alike.

But beneath the surface, there was something darker, something intoxicating they could never resist.

—

The party was in full swing at Tannyhill, the gilded walls reflecting the warm glow of the chandelier overhead. Kooks milled about, drinks in hand, laughter echoing off the high ceilings. Y/N leaned casually against the marble counter in the kitchen, a glass of champagne dangling from her manicured fingers. She looked every bit the spoiled, self-assured girl everyone knew her to be—her designer dress clinging to her figure like a second skin, her lips painted in a deep shade that matched the smug smirk on her face.

Across the room, Rafe Cameron leaned against the doorway, his sharp jawline tightening as he watched her. He hated how she always seemed so effortlessly in control, like she knew exactly how to drive him crazy. He hated it even more when she turned her head and caught his eye, her smirk widening into something far more dangerous.

"Staring much, Cameron?" Y/N called out, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Rafe pushed off the doorframe, weaving through the crowd with the precision of a predator closing in on his prey. He came to a stop inches away from her, his blue eyes locking onto hers. "Can you blame me? You make it impossible not to look."

Y/N arched an eyebrow, unfazed by his proximity. "Careful, Rafe. Your obsession is showing."

His lips curved into a smirk, but there was nothing playful about it. "Obsession? Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart. I'm just curious how someone so perfect at pretending to be untouchable keeps ending up in my bed."

Her smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, but she recovered quickly. "Must be all that champagne. Makes it hard to remember mistakes."

Rafe leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear. "Mistake? We both know I'm the only thing you can't resist. You're just too proud to admit it."

Y/N's stomach twisted, but she refused to let him see how much his words affected her. She tilted her head, her voice as cold as ice. "Funny, I don't recall needing to admit anything to you."

Before Rafe could respond, JJ appeared at her side, slinging an arm over her shoulder. "Hey, pretty girl. Thought you'd ditched us for your old Kook crowd."

Rafe's jaw tightened, his glare shifting to JJ. "Don't you have a surfboard to wax or something, Pogue?"

JJ ignored him, flashing Y/N a grin. "Let's get out of here. This party's dead."

Y/N hesitated for a moment, her eyes darting to Rafe, whose expression darkened. She knew exactly what she was doing when she looped her arm through JJ's and started toward the door.

"Don't go too far, Y/N," Rafe called after her, his voice low and threatening. "You can run, but you'll always end up right back here."

—

The night air was cool as Y/N sat on the dock, the soft lapping of the water providing a brief reprieve from the chaos of the party. She'd barely been there for five minutes when she heard footsteps behind her.

"Couldn't stay away, could you?" she said without turning around.

Rafe dropped down beside her, his knees brushing hers. "You're really testing my patience tonight."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "What, did JJ's existence bruise your fragile ego?"

"You think this is a joke?" Rafe growled, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at him. "I see the way you act around Maybann. Like you're trying to piss me off on purpose."

She yanked her face away, her voice sharp. "Maybe I am. Ever think about that?"

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, she thought he might snap. Instead, he leaned back, his smirk returning. "Go ahead, keep playing your little games. But we both know how this ends."

"Enlighten me," she said dryly.

Rafe's voice dropped to a whisper, his hand brushing against her cheek. "You can't run from me, Y/N. You belong to me, whether you like it or not. And no Pogue or party can change that."

The tension crackled between them like a live wire. She hated how much his words got to her, how his touch sent shivers down her spine. But she'd be damned if she let him win.

"Is that so?" she said sweetly, picking up her glass and tossing the bubbly contents into his face.

The champagne dripped from his hair, and for a moment, the shock on his face was enough to make her burst out laughing. But then his lips curled into a dangerous smile, and she knew she'd made a mistake.

"You're gonna regret that," Rafe said, his voice low and dangerous.

Y/N stood, her confidence unshaken. "Try me, Cameron."

As she walked away, swaying her hips a little more than usual, she could feel his eyes burning into her back. She knew she was playing with fire, but part of her loved the thrill of it. She and Rafe were two sides of the same coin, locked in a game neither of them could quit.

Because deep down, she knew he was right. No matter how far she ran, he'd always find her. And part of her didn't want him to stop.

—

The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the beach outside The Wreck, where Y/N sat at a picnic table surrounded by her friends. Sarah was leaning back on the bench, sunglasses perched on her nose, while Kie propped her chin on her hand, animatedly recounting a story. Cleo chuckled beside her, and Y/N's two Kook friends, Taylor and Malia, leaned in with interest, their perfectly styled hair catching the light.

The scene was serene, a picture-perfect group of girls enjoying themselves on the edge of paradise. But Y/N couldn't focus. Across the sandy expanse, near a beat-up truck surrounded by Kooks, Rafe Cameron stood with Topper, Kelce, and a couple of others, the unmistakable swagger in his stance making him impossible to ignore.

Y/N sipped her iced tea, letting her gaze flicker toward him briefly. He was watching her—had been since the moment she arrived. His intense blue eyes tracked her every move, smoldering with a mix of anger, desire, and something darker. She could feel his stare like a physical touch, and though it sent a shiver down her spine, she wasn't about to let him win.

"Y/N, hello?" Kie waved a hand in front of her face. "Earth to Kook Barbie. You're zoning out."

Y/N snapped her attention back to the group, giving Kie a lazy smile. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

"Forget it," Kie said, rolling her eyes. "You've got that look again."

"What look?" Y/N asked innocently, toying with the straw in her glass.

Sarah smirked. "The one you get when my brother is around. Don't think we didn't notice."

"Oh, please," Y/N said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Like I care about whatever Rafe is doing."

Cleo raised an eyebrow, a sly grin spreading across her face. "You might not care, but he sure does. Dude's been staring at you like he wants to devour you."

Y/N scoffed but didn't deny it. Before she could come up with a cutting remark, their waiter approached—a new guy, tall and tanned with a charming smile, and black curls sitting atop his head. He carried a tray of drinks with ease, his eyes lighting up when they landed on Y/N.

"Afternoon, ladies," he said, setting the tray down. "Your drinks, courtesy of...well, me."

Kie raised a brow. "My parents own this place. You don't have to do that."

The waiter grinned, but his attention stayed on Y/N. "Consider it a perk of working here."

The girls giggled, and Y/N leaned back in her seat, tilting her head. "Wow, how generous," she said, her tone teasing.

"It's not every day I get to serve someone like you," the waiter replied smoothly.

Y/N feigned shock, her hand fluttering to her chest. "Someone like me? You mean, devastatingly gorgeous and completely out of your league?"

The girls burst into laughter, and even the waiter chuckled, though his cheeks flushed a little. "I wouldn't say out of my league," he shot back with a wink.

Y/N could practically feel Rafe's glare burning into her from across the beach, and that knowledge made her smirk grow. She leaned forward slightly, giving the waiter her full attention. "Careful," she said, her voice low and sweet. "Flattery might just get you somewhere."

The poor guy was about to respond when the door to The Wreck slammed open, and in walked Rafe, flanked by Topper, Kelce, and the other Kooks. Their arrival was loud, drawing the attention of nearly everyone in the restaurant.

"Oh, for the love of God," Sarah muttered, pulling her sunglasses down. "What are they doing here?"

"They're like cockroaches," Taylor grumbled. "You can't get rid of them."

The boys took a table near the girls, Rafe purposefully sitting with a clear view of Y/N. She didn't miss the way his gaze flicked to the waiter, who had quickly retreated to the kitchen, and then back to her. His jaw was tight, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the table.

"Y/N," Rafe called, his voice cutting through the chatter. "Having fun?"

Y/N turned her head slowly, fixing him with a bored expression. "Immensely. Thanks for asking."

Topper snickered, leaning back in his chair. "You sure about that? Looked like your new boyfriend was trying a little too hard."

"Jealous, Top?" Y/N shot back, her tone saccharine sweet. "I didn't think I was your type."

Rafe's smirk widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. "What's the matter, Y/N? You settling for waiters now?"

The girls groaned audibly, Malia muttering, "Here we go."

Y/N leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table as she met Rafe's gaze head-on. "What's the matter, Rafe? Can't handle a little competition?"

"There's no competition," he shot back, his voice dripping with confidence. "We both know how this ends."

The tension between them was palpable, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. Kie looked ready to intervene, but Sarah grabbed her arm, shaking her head.

"You're delusional," Y/N said, her voice sharp. "Just because you can't handle rejection doesn't mean I'm going to cater to your bruised ego."

Rafe leaned back in his chair, his smirk unwavering. "Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. But we both know the truth."

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. Y/N's cheeks felt warm, but whether it was from anger or something else, she couldn't tell.

"Let's go," Kie said firmly, grabbing Y/N's arm.

Y/N stood abruptly, glaring at Rafe. "You're pathetic, Cameron. Enjoy your boys' club."

As the girls filed out, Y/N could feel Rafe's eyes on her, his stare as possessive and unyielding as ever.

Back at their table, Topper and Kelce were laughing, but Rafe wasn't paying attention. His mind was elsewhere, his fists clenching as he replayed the interaction with the waiter. Without a word, he got up and made his way to the kitchen.

The waiter was leaning against the counter when Rafe approached, his towering presence immediately unsettling.

"Hey," Rafe said, his voice low and menacing.

The waiter looked up, his brow furrowing. "Uh, can I help you?"

Rafe stepped closer, his gaze cold. "Yeah. Stay the hell away from Y/N."

The waiter blinked, confused. "What? Dude, I was just—"

"You were just what?" Rafe interrupted, his voice rising. "Flirting with her? Trying to impress her? Let me make this clear: she's mine. So back off. You so much as even breathe near her, I will be the reason you never will again. Got it?”

The waiter raised his hands in surrender, clearly shaken. "Alright, man. Chill. I didn't know she was...yours."

Rafe smirked, satisfied. "Now you do. Keep it that way."

As he walked back to his table, Rafe felt a grim sense of satisfaction. Y/N could play her little games, but he'd always win. She was his—whether she admitted it or not.

—

The bass thumped through the walls of Y/N's sprawling Figure 8 estate, the music so loud it felt like it shook the floor beneath Rafe's feet. The party was in full swing, her infamous gatherings never failing to attract the entire island—Kooks and Pogues alike. For one night, the divide that separated them blurred under the haze of expensive liquor, pulsating lights, and deafening music.

Rafe leaned against the bar in the corner of the room, nursing a drink he hadn't touched in the last hour. His usual cocky smirk was absent, replaced by a scowl that deepened every time someone brushed past him. He told himself he didn't care about Y/N's party, didn't care that she was in the same house, probably doing everything she could to piss him off.

But he was lying to himself, and he knew it.

For days, he'd been ignoring her, hoping distance would dull the fire she sparked in him. He knew his obsession with her was spiraling out of control, consuming him like a predator stalking its prey. But Y/N wasn't just prey—she was a fighter, stubborn and untouchable, and it made the hunt all the more maddening.

Kelce leaned against the bar beside him, talking about something Rafe wasn't listening to. His mind was too preoccupied with the faint sound of Y/N's laugh echoing through the house, the mental image of her smile, the way she always seemed to dance just out of his reach.

"Bro, you need to see this," Topper suddenly said, his voice cutting through Rafe's thoughts.

Rafe turned his head, narrowing his eyes. "What?"

Topper grinned, motioning toward the living room. "Y/N's losing her mind right now. Dancing on a table. You have to see it."

Rafe's jaw tightened, his fingers curling around the red solo cup in his hand. Topper didn't notice, too busy grabbing Kelce and a couple of others to follow him.

"C'mon, man," Topper called over his shoulder.

Rafe hesitated for a split second before downing the rest of his drink and shoving off the bar. His feet carried him toward the living room almost involuntarily, like he was drawn to her by some magnetic force.

When he stepped into the room, the scene in front of him made his blood boil.

Y/N was on top of a table in the center of the room, the crowd around her cheering and chanting her name. The bass-heavy beat of a Weeknd song pulsed through the air as she moved, her body swaying in a way that was both hypnotic and infuriating. Her dress—a tiny black number that clung to her curves and barely grazed her thighs—left little to the imagination. She ran her hands down her body as she dropped low to the beat, the crowd around her cheering and whistling.

Rafe's grip on his drink tightened, the nearly empty plastic cup crumpling slightly under the pressure. He hated this. He hated the way everyone was looking at her, like she was a piece of meat. He hated the way his sister, Sarah, and her Pogue friends were egging her on, cheering her as she danced.

But most of all, he hated the way Y/N's eyes found his in the crowd, her lips curling into a smirk as if she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

"She's so hot," Topper said beside him, nudging Kelce. "Like, insanely hot."

"Shut up," Rafe snapped, his tone sharp enough to make them both flinch.

"What's your problem?" Kelce asked, raising an eyebrow.

Rafe didn't answer. His attention was locked on Y/N, who had leaned down to respond to something JJ said. The way she bent over, laughing and tossing her hair, gave JJ a perfect view of her exposed chest. Rafe saw red.

Without thinking, he shoved his way through the crowd, ignoring the curious stares and whispers that followed him. By the time he reached the table, Y/N was already watching him with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

"Y/N," he barked, his voice cutting through the music. "Get your ass down here. Now."

She tilted her head, pretending not to hear him. "What was that?" she called, cupping her ear mockingly as she continued to dance.

"I said get down," he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Y/N crossed her arms, leaning against the makeshift pole on the table. "No, I don't think I will."

The crowd around them had started to notice the interaction, whispers spreading quickly. Why was Rafe Cameron, of all people, telling Y/N what to do? Everyone knew they hated each other—or at least, they were supposed to.

"Y/N," he growled, his patience wearing thin. "I'm not playing games. Get down."

"And I'm not taking orders," she shot back, her voice dripping with defiance.

The Pogues exchanged glances, their confusion evident. Even Sarah looked unsure, her eyes darting between her brother and her friend.

Rafe had enough. In one swift motion, he grabbed Y/N by the waist and slung her over his shoulder, ignoring her gasp of surprise.

"Rafe, what the hell?!" she shouted, kicking her legs as he pushed through the crowd. "Put me down!"

"Not a chance," he muttered, his grip like steel, holding the minimal fabric of her dress to keep her ass covered from the hungry eyes of partygoers.

The crowd parted as he stormed upstairs, the whispers following them like a shadow. Y/N's protests continued, but deep down, she reveled in the attention. She knew what this was—a game of dominance, one she had no intention of losing.

When they reached her room, Rafe punched in the code to the keypad with practiced ease. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, locking it behind them before setting her down.

Y/N crossed her arms, glaring at him. "What the hell is your problem?"

"My problem?" he shot back, his voice loud and angry. "What the hell was that downstairs?"

"That was me having fun," she retorted, stepping closer to him. "What's it to you?"

"You call that fun? Parading yourself around like a damn stripper?"

"Oh, spare me the lecture, Rafe," she snapped. "You don't own me."

"Don't I?" he countered, his voice low and dangerous.

Her breath hitched, but she didn't back down. "No, you don't. And the fact that you think you do is pathetic."

The tension between them was suffocating, their faces inches apart as they glared at each other.

"You drive me insane," Rafe muttered, his voice thick with frustration.

"Good," she shot back.

Before she could say anything else, his lips crashed against hers, the kiss rough and desperate. She melted into him for a moment before pushing him back.

"This doesn't mean you win," she whispered, her voice breathless.

Rafe smirked, his hands gripping her waist. "Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart."

Rafe used Y/N’s brief moment of weakness to his advantage, and manoeuvred her body towards the large king-sized bed in her room. He gripped her wrists in one of his hands, Y/N instantly struggling in his grip.

"You’re such a fucking brat," Rafe growled, his hands tightening around her wrists as he pinned her to the bed. Y/N's back hit the soft mattress with a soft thud, her chest rising and falling as she glared up at him, her lips swollen from his bruising kiss.

"And you're a possessive asshole," she shot back, her voice sharp despite the way her body betrayed her, arching into his touch. "But you're my possessive asshole."

Rafe's smirk was dark, predatory, as he released her hands. "Damn right I am."

He leaned down, his lips grazing her ear, his voice a low, dangerous purr that sent shivers down her spine. "You think you can keep playing games with me? You think you're in control?" His teeth nipped at her earlobe, and she gasped, her perfectly manicured nails digging into his back.

"I'm always in control," she breathed, but the tremor in her voice gave her away.

Before Rafe could respond, she bucked her hips, using the momentum to flip them over. She straddled him, her hands pressed against his chest, her hair falling in a wild curtain around her face.

"See?" she said, tilting her head with a smirk. "I'm calling the shots here."

Rafe's eyes narrowed, his hands sliding up her thighs, pushing the black fabric of her dress up, gripping her hips with a bruising force. "You keep telling yourself that, princess."

Their lips crashed together again, the kiss fierce and unrelenting. Y/N's hands tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan, while Rafe's fingers dug into her skin, leaving marks that she knew she'd wear like a badge of honour in her designer bikini’s.

They were a mess of tangled limbs and heated breaths, their bodies moving in a desperate rhythm that was as much about dominance as it was about pleasure. Y/N's nails raked down his now bare chest, and Rafe retaliated by flipping her onto her back once more, his lips trailing down her neck, leaving a trail of bites and kisses that made her head spin.

"You're mine," he muttered against her skin, his voice rough with need. "You've always been mine."

"Keep dreaming," she scoffed, but the way her body responded to him—arching into his touch, her legs tightening around his waist—told a whole different story.

Rafe pulled back, his eyes locking with hers. The intensity in his gaze was overwhelming, and for a moment, Y/N felt like she couldn't breathe. "Look at you," he said, his voice low and filled with a raw hunger that made her shiver. "You're a fucking mess for me, and you hate it."

She opened her mouth to retort, but he cut her off with a kiss that left her dizzy. His hands moved to her waist, lifting her effortlessly as he stood, carrying her to the vanity in the corner of the room.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, though her voice lacked its usual bite.

Rafe didn't answer. Instead, he set her down on the edge of the vanity, his hands gripping her hips as he manhandled her body around to face herself in the mirror. "Look at yourself," he ordered, his voice firm.

Y/N hesitated, her eyes flicking to the reflection in front of her. Her hair was disheveled, her lips swollen, her skin flushed, the thin straps of her dress hanging off her shoulders exposing the lace of her bra, the fabric of her dress crumpled up by her hips. She looked... wrecked.

And it was all because of him.

"See?" Rafe's voice was a low growl in her ear, his hands trailing down her sides. "This is what you do to me. This is what I do to you."

She opened her mouth to protest, but the words died on her lips as his hands moved to the back of her thighs, spreading them apart. His lips pressed against the curve of her neck, his teeth grazing her skin in a way that made her gasp. Rafe moved the thin lace fabric of her thong to the side, middle and ring finger running through the wetness in between her thighs, Y/N shuddering as he brushed over her clit.

"You're so fucking beautiful like this. So fucking wet all for me," he muttered, his voice thick with need. "All mine."

Y/N's breath hitched as he positioned himself behind her, his hands deftly undoing his belt then undoing the button and zip on his pants, pulling them down enough to expose his rigid cock. The sheer girth and length of it never failing to surprise Y/N.

Rafe gripped her hips with a possessiveness that made her heart race. "You're such an egomaniac," she managed to say, though her voice was breathless.

Rafe chuckled darkly, his lips brushing against her ear. "And you love it."

Before she could respond, he thrust into her, the sudden fullness making her cry out. Her hands gripped the edge of the vanity, her eyes locking with his in the mirror.

"Keep your eyes open," Rafe ordered, his voice rough. "I want you to see what I do to you."

Y/N's breath came in short gasps as he moved inside her, each thrust sending waves of pleasure crashing through her. She tried to hold his gaze, but the intensity was too much, and she had to look away, her head falling forward as a borderline pornographic moan escaped her lips.

Rafe's hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back up. "I said, keep your fucking eyes open," he growled, his voice filled with a command that she couldn't ignore.

She met his gaze in the mirror, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted as she panted. The sight of him behind her, his eyes dark with desire, his hands gripping her hips with a possessiveness that made her heart race, was almost too much to bear.

"See that?" Rafe muttered, his voice low and filled with a raw hunger that mirrored her own. "That's you. That's what I do to you."

Y/N's nails dug into the edge of the vanity as he thrust into her again, the force of it making her cry out. She could feel herself unraveling, the pleasure building inside her with each harsh thrust Rafe delivered, but she refused to give in, refused to let him have the satisfaction of seeing her fall apart.

"You're such a bastard," she managed to say, though her voice was shaky.

Rafe chuckled darkly, his lips brushing against her ear. "And you're such a brat. But you're my brat."

His hand moved between her legs, his fingers finding her clit, moving in swift circles that made her gasp, and she couldn't hold back any longer. Her body arched into his touch, her eyes locking with his in the mirror as she came undone, her moans filling the room as her pussy clenched around Rafe.

Rafe didn't stop, his movements growing more frantic as he chased his own release. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her back into him with a force that made her gasp. The sounds of slick skin colliding and gasps and moans were the only sound in the room, and Y/N was thankfully for the bass-heavy music that was playing downstairs, meaning nobody could hear them.

"You're mine," he muttered, his voice rough with need. "You've always been mine."

And as he spilled inside her, his lips pressing against her neck in a bruising kiss, Y/N couldn't help but think that maybe—just maybe—he was right.

She is his, and he is hers.

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

i had SO much fun writing this one !! there’s something about writing such a bad bitch character and she reminds me so much of a character from a wattpad fic i wrote a while ago😫

anyways, i hope you enjoy this anon !! and i hope this was what you asked for :) as always, please like and reblog and comment your thoughts !! <3

#rafe cameron #bettys asks !! ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚#drew starkey #outer banks #fluff #obx #rafe cameron x reader #bettys work !! ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚#rafe cameron outer banks #rafe cameron smut #smut #enemies to lovers #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you

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neeeooon · 3 months ago

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Sauuuuuur......hehe. I might have a request? Alright, here we go. Ya know those k-dramas where the male interest is all cold, dom, stoic, is a multi billionaire ceo, most handsome man on earth while the female lead is just a sub, curious, pretty girl. You know, the stereotypes. Well, let's switch that up! Reader is a multi-billionaire cold stoic ceo who's more nonchalant than them but loves them and only them. Meanwhile, everyone are kind of curious about how they pulled her.

Hehe that's all!! I'd you want to do this smartie cab you include isagi, bachira, ness, sae, kaiser and whoever ya want, but if you don't wanna it's alright and I love your work!!

[If the request is poorly written sorry this is my first time and English is like my 5th language]

YES OFCC THANK YOU sorry for the wait!! it’s been a longgg time since i’ve seen a kdrama so hopefully you still enjoy!

reverse kdrama romance with them

broke bf bllk x “tsundere” ceo fem!reader

isagi yoichi

-> you make enough money to throw around, but you’re very conscious with your savings. the only time you spend money in excess is during work events or when you’re trying to prove a point to an ignorant man

-> or when your cute little boyfriend has a soccer game

-> you aren’t one of those girlfriends who goes all out. you don’t need to jump up like a lunatic every time he touches the ball, but when he scores, the corner of your mouth will raise just enough to break through your stoic expression

-> “which one’s your… wait, you’re dating isagi yoichi?” you keep your face blank as another well-off fan approaches your private booth. “but he’s so… and you’re so… how?”

-> the man’s voice annoys you, and your brows convey that. “he asked. now if you’ll excuse me, i’m being a supportive girlfriend.”

bachira meguru

-> he is sunshine incarnate, and everyone you introduce him to gives you the same look. you? the always cold always business woman and bachira? you really take black cat gf and golden retriever bf to a whole new level

-> you love spoiling bachira, especially by taking him out to restaurants and watching his face light up when you tell him to order whatever he wants

-> “does it bother you when i smile a lot, y/n?” he asked you before climbing into the car, you holding the door for him. “why would it bother me, love?” “i don’t know.. you’re so blank. you aren’t scared of smile lines, are you?”

-> you can’t tell if his question is serious or meant to tease you, but you laugh, and he beams. “see! you’re so pretty when you laugh. i like making you happy.” “you make me happy regardless of what i convey on my face. trust me when i say that, alright?”

alexis ness

-> you don’t know why, but from the moment you laid eyes on alexis ness, you knew you wanted to spoil him

-> ness wants to watch a movie? you rent out the theater. he wants a snack? you buy everything in the entire convenience store. and you do it all without breaking your cold exterior, despite how melty you are on the inside

-> people will approach you all the time on dates and ask ness how he managed to pull you. the questions disgust you, and you never try to hide it. “this is a private matter. take your stink elsewhere.”

-> ness always grins when you defend him, despite himself. “you shouldn’t be so mean to people. they might cancel you..” “let them try. i’d find their efforts amusing.”

itoshi sae

-> sae thought he had the whole nonchalant thing down until he met you. never in his life has he blushed so much around someone, someone who barely lets themself smile at all

-> despite your blank, stoic demeanor, you want nothing more than to wrap yourself around itoshi sae and keep him with you forever

-> the internet dubs you the ice couple due to your cold expressions whenever you’re in public together

-> people love to try and steal your attention away from your boyfriend, and you’re always sure to shoot icy glares in their directions. meanwhile, anytime sae is asked how he managed to convince you to give him a chance, he just grins and says, “they stalked and bribed me.”

michael kaiser

-> he’s the only person who challenges you. with a status like yours, it’s not every day that someone openly questions your authority or the way you live your life, so when michael kaiser doesn’t seem intimidated in the slightest by you, you’re intrigued

-> you hum one day when kaiser steps into the elevator with you, the doors closing and locking the two of you together for only a few seconds

-> “you’re quite pretty,” you tell him, and though kaiser doesn’t look at you, you can see his blush in the wall of mirrors. “what is it about me that you feel the need to constantly challenge? or do all people in power piss you off.”

-> to your surprise, kaiser spins around and smirks at you. “i have an issue with authority figures.” “good think i’m just rich, then.”

-> after that, you make sure kaiser knows that you aren’t there to abuse your position of power. you enjoy taking him shopping and purchasing anything he looks at for more than 5 seconds, not that kaiser has any objections

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zeltqz · 1 year ago

Text

call me or not, it's up to you.

☰ — synopsis : you come back home after a night out and see you accidentally posted your private stories public, and received a drunk lengthy voicemail from your ex, ran.

☰ — pairing : haitani ran x fem!reader ☰ — length : 2.4k words ☰ — contents : nsfw and 18+ contents, mentions of violence (sanzu being sanzu), slight phone sex; they don't directly communicate, ran being mildly toxic and messing with your emotions, teeny itsy bitsy drops of gaslighting ☰ — notes : i literally suck at writing toxic characters so im SORRY if this is literal ass, (im trying my hardestttt) i just had a dream about this and had to execute it as best as i could lol

It was a regular Thursday night when you stumbled into your date’s house, struggling to walk with half a heel working.

“Let’s get you out of these.” He knelt before you and helped you unbuckle your heels and you sighed in relief when he slipped them both off.

“Remind me to never wear heels again,” you giggled, clutching onto him. He leaned down and kissed you. You hummed, still feeling the buzz from the alcohol earlier and wrap your arms around his waist, kissing him back. “I had fun tonight.”

He cupped both your cheeks in his hands and peppering them with kisses, each of them making you giggle at the ticklish feeling. “Me too.” There was a final lingering kiss before he pulled away. “Let’s get you ready for bed, alright?” He traced your cheekbones with his finger, and you smiled up at him, nuzzling your cheek against his hand.

“Okay.” He helped you up the stairs and you collapsed onto his bed, your dress riding up your thighs as you laid there, clutching at his soft sheets.

“I’m gonna shower first, alright babe?” He said in the process of removing his shirt. “Wanna join me?”

You shook your head, eyes threatening to close shut as you nuzzled his pillow. “I’m alright. You go first.”

He bit his lip, admiring you splayed out on the sheets for a moment, his mind racing with all the things he could do you tonight if you’d join him in the shower. But of course his fantasies only stay in his head since you’ve been rejecting every single one of his advances for the last three months. It’s always the same excuses : you’re not in the mood, or you’re too tired.

He sighed. “You sure babe?”

You’re half asleep at this point, just barely conscious as you murmur, “‘m sure.” His tongue poked his cheek and he nodded, saying nothing else and heading inside the bathroom.

You vaguely hear the shower turn on and about to enter a deep sleep when your phone buzzes.

@/shibayuzuha : oh my god who is this man u’re with on ur story? He is CUTE!!

@/hina_tachibana : was this supposed to be posted on your main? 😢

“What story?” you muttered, rubbing your eyes and sitting up. You click through your instagram story and rewatch the story you posted a few hours earlier when you were at the club. They were all videos of you and Masato dancing together, kissing, taking shots. Honestly you were buzzed the entire night and you thought you posted them on your private account, much less your close friends. “Oh fuck.”

You went to delete all the stories but the damage was already done, over 300 people already saw it. Oh well. That’s tomorrow’s problem.

You lay back down, eyelids blinking slowly as you fight back sleep and check your missed phone calls you accidentally ignored. That’s when you see it. A voicemail from Haitani Ran. Any ounce of sleep in your body vanished the moment you sat up quickly, rubbing your eyes checking if you saw correctly.

It was over five minutes long and part of you wanted to delete it, but at this moment, you couldn’t help but be curious. You pressed play and put the phone up to your ear.

“Hey. It’s me. Hope I’m not blocked or whatever, I know how petty you can get.” He chuckled to himself and the deep rumble of it took you back to all those months ago when you’d be laying beside him, head on his chest and just listen to the sound of his heartbeat as he spoke on the phone.

There was a deep inhale and the familiar crackle of him smoking that always used to relax you. “Saw your story by the way. Is that your new boy toy? Two of you look good together.” He exhaled and his voice was kinda slurred. “Kinda glad you moved on though. Thought you’d never get over me to be honest.”

“Oh fuck off,” you mumbled. He was still as full of himself as he was when you both ended things almost a year ago. If this was a regular phone call you would’ve hung up or told him he’s not that special, but you looked down and still saw another six minutes left. What the fuck else could he possibly have to say to you?

He chuckled again, and it was so obvious he was drunk now, which surprised you as he was a heavy weight and in your three years of dating you saw him get drunk only twice.

“You looked so fucking sexy in that dress, baby.” His groan had you squeezing your thighs together. “I can tell by the way he was holding you in those fucking videos he can’t handle you the way I can. He hasn’t fucked you yet, has he? Bet he’s real gentle and sweet with you not knowing you like it deep, and rough. Fuck, man.” He exhaled, rubbing his palm on his face. “Wanna know what I’d do if I was there with you baby?”

“...yes,” you whispered weakly to yourself. It was pointless; he couldn’t hear you and yet you were responding like he could. Blame it on the alcohol but there was nothing you wanted more than Ran right now.

“Bet you do. I’ll humour you though. I’ll take you to the dance floor and run my hands all over that body of yours, force that pretty head of yours back so I can mark all over your neck. Get you so hot and bothered till you’re begging me to fuck you. That happened one time didn’t it? Remember that one night in the club? I had my hands all over you and you dared me to flip your skirt up and fuck you right there. Man, you were such a tease, and a fucking sadist too. Remember when you said you wanted to watch some schmuck clean up my cum from the floor?”

You giggled and bit your lip, teasing your hands down your stomach. You remembered that night perfectly. Ran changed you when you were dating. You don’t even recognise yourself right now because everything just felt right when you were with him. Those years with him were the best of your life, you were young and figuring shit out. You’re still young and figuring shit out, but without him you’re taking a little longer to come to the conclusion of certain things.

Ran had his ups and downs. He was far from the perfect boyfriend, and he knew that. That’s why he was so surprised when you stayed for all those years despite his flaws. He was emotionally unavailable and never spoke about anything concerning him. He was sometimes rude and blunt when pissed off, and the arguments you both would get into would end up in the two of you ignoring each other for weeks. At first you’d be the one to break the silence and show up to his house and just hug him. He’d always smell like cigarettes and it should’ve disgusted you yet you couldn’t help but feel comfort. The smell was strong and yet it never bothered you when you smelt it on him. You’d apologise, crying in his arms as he embraced you back, rubbing up and down your back as you vented it all out in his chest, wetting his shirt with your tears. If he had people over he’d tell them to get the fuck out, hiding your face in his chest until the door closed.

That was the usual routine until the arguments got worst and your pride grew stronger and you’d refuse to talk to him until he broke it first. He didn’t believe you at first but after a month of no contact he finally broke it first. Since then, he was always the one apologising first, showing up to your house in the middle of the night at random hours to tell you he’s sorry and didn’t mean what he’d said.

The ups were better than the downs in the relationship. He’d teach you things, he always made you feel good, and simply being next to him was enough to make your entire week, even if it's for a few hours. He made you feel like the only girl in the world, like the most special girl to exist, and he helped boost your confidence by buying you nice things like clothes, accessories, lingerie, and tell you to look at yourself in the mirror and watch as he worships your body, taking his time to kiss his way down your stomach and thighs, and once he got to your pussy he swore he could eat you out for hours, just until your thighs were shaking around him.

The memory of his tongue between your legs had your back arching off the bed clutching the phone tighter to your ear as you squeezed a hand between your legs, playing with yourself as he talked you through it over the phone.

“Bet you’re touching yourself right now,” he exhaled shakily. “If you’re not, you better start. Want you to remember how well I fucked you every time. Can you do that for me baby?”

“Mmhmm.” Thankfully Masato takes decades in the shower so you didn’t have to worry about him walking in or hearing. Not like you would’ve cared honestly. He’s not Ran, and he won’t ever be.

“Miss you being my good girl. Fuck. He doesn’t deserve to have his hands all over you. Should send Sanzu over and fuck, get him to cut all his fucking fingers off for touching you like that. Man, I bet that idiot doesn’t know that I fucked you in that same dress you know? That’s what got me so damn bothered right now. Wearing the shit I bought you to go fuck around?”

“‘M sorry,” you whimper, parting your folds and slipping as many fingers as you could fit inside without hurting yourself. No matter whatever you shove inside there, it never feels as good as Ran’s fingers, or tongue, or cock. “Need you so bad Ran.”

“Man, wanna hear how you sound right now. Bet you sound so sweet, like usual. Could you do something for me?” You nodded and stopped your fingers movements, listening to his next words.

“Call me again. I miss you so much it’s crazy. Got so much to talk to you about. It’s been how long? Couple months since I last heard from you. And I know you don’t hate me. You never could. That’s something I love about you. Always there for me when I need you. We both took each other for granted, you know? Deny it all you want but you did. And that’s okay. But I wanted to let you know if you ever come back into my life, I’m not letting you go. For real, not making that mistake again. I dunno why I called you tonight honestly, just drank a lot and now I fucking miss you. Call me or not, it’s up to you.”

Then he said the words that made your heart nearly stop and freeze over in your chest. “I love you.”

Before you could even say it back the voicemail ended, leaving you conflicted.

#—tr </3 #ran x reader #haitani ran x reader #ran haitani x reader #tokyorev x reader #tokrev x reader #tokrev #haitani ran smut #ran smut #ran haitani smut

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st7rnioioss · 18 days ago

Text

𓂅 ♥︎ BORN TO DIE

⋆ ˚ .ೃ ࿔ * pairing... chris sturniolo x reader

𓂃 ֹ ᮫ in which... you and chris are in love.. like, to an embarrassing extent. you’ve spend the past days stuck with each other, whether that was in bed, on the beach, or in public. the only problem is, you know you’ll never see him again.

warnings... smut, p in v, unprotected sex, swearing, fluff? kinda, lowkey angsty

♡ ˖ ࣪ ◟ you’ve only just recently met chris. it happened very strangely—going for a quick swim and coming back to a note under your towel. you were curious, so you dialed in the number, and eventually decided to have lunch with this mystery man when you started talking.

“hi. i thought you were really cute. sorry, i had to go fix something, i would’ve spoken to you. my name is chris, please give me a call if you’d like. i’ll put my number on the other side. thank you :)” the note read. you sit down on the sun bed, reaching for your phone to give this ‘chris’ a call, and he picks up surprisingly quickly.

“hey there. you left a note under my towel,” you said, a smile starting to grow on your lips—this whole thing was quite amusing. “oh— hi, it’s you. yeah, actually, i’m to your left. i’ll wave,” he said casually, like you two had known each other before.

having dinner with a guy you’d just met felt strange, yet it felt.. right. you clicked instantly, which was a surprise due to the fact chris hadn’t even said hi before leaving a note.

what was even stranger was the amount of time you guys spent together—in bed. you were so sure that you’d fallen in love with him, and the other way around. you only saw each other, after only having known one another for two days.

“fuck, chris-“ you whine the second he bottoms out, your fingers digging into the sheets of your hotel bed. he groaned behind you, his grip on your waist awfully gentle. “you’re so perfect.. jesus christ,” he said like it was nothing, but you knew you’d say it back in a heartbeat.

he’s sheathed deep within you, the tip of his cock prodding carefully at the mushy spot inside of you. “please, move-“ you whined, and within a second he’s thrusting his cock in and out of you, easily pulling moan after moan from you. “you got it.”

your thighs are trembling, sore from the previous orgasm he had pulled from between your legs, and by now, your thighs are glistening and icky. you’re whimpering, hiding your face in a pile of pillows, “shh, none of that. y’can take it, yeah baby?” his tone is oh so condescending, making a shiver go down your spine, while he’s still thrusting his thick cock in and out of you.

you whimper, but still manage to nod, feeling his hand caress your back, “atta girl..” chris smirks, picking up the pace of his hips fucking his hard cock into you’re glistening, dripping hole, his tip making friends with your cervix.

only a second later, he’s managed to flip you over, a hand wrapped around your wrists above your head as his hips smack against yours. “chris! please, please, don’t stop,” you cry out, his cock rubbing against your sensitive spots just right, blood rushing straight to his crotch with a weak groan.

he chuckles dryly, the thumb of his free hand just barely grazing over your swollen, sore nub. your hips buck forward with a sharp gasp, and you look up at him with big, pleading eyes, your face flushed. “yeah? s’that what you want?” you nod furiously, and you nearly lose control on the spot when he attaches his finger to your clit, rubbing hard but deliberate circles.

“oh- oh my god! jus’ like that, please don’t stop,” you moaned, back arching off the bed as he kisses you down your neck and chest. “i got you.. relax, baby,” he whispered, enjoying the way you respond to his touch, and your walls flutter around his wide stretch, allowing the waves to take over you. “f-fuck!”

you cry out his name weakly, your body going limp. “shit, shit, shit— you’re so tight,” he groaned, his hips stuttering as he spills himself inside of you, the icky feeling making you grimace, which makes him chuckle.

you’re both a wreck, his face buried in the crook of your neck, your arms loose around his middle. you follow his breathing, “chris..?” you whispered, and he hums in response. “please come along with me,” you said softly, a pleading tinge to your voice.

he goes quiet for a second, lifting his head from your neck. he’s got an awkward smile on his lips. “come on.. you know i can’t do that,” he tucks some hair behind your ear, before resting his palm against your cheek.

you both look into each others eyes, like you’re savoring something bittersweet—which it is. “please.. why not?” you push, your fingers carefully playing with his hair, “because.. i have my whole life here, and.. i’m not ready to just throw it all away.”

you stare at him, that same knot you felt the day prior in your chest coming back, “i understand.. but why the hell did we do all this then? i know you love me, and you know i love you.” your voice has gone quieter than before, a sad expression on your face. you truly loved him, and the other way around.

“i dunno.. i just— i see it as we were born to die anyway. why not take a couple risks, or do something like this?” his thumb caressed your cheek, his eyes roaming your face. you frown, letting go of his hair. “what, but— you can’t come along with me, or what? then suddenly you weren’t born to die?”

he sighs, lifting his body off yours, leaving you on the bed. “i'm not doing this right now. come on, let me clean you up,” he says, holding a hand out for you, clearly not wanting to talk more about it.

a/n: i hate this btw. yay!! first part of this series :3 it lowkey sucks and i hate it butttt.. whatever! haha..

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀❀

۶ৎ taglist: @jetaimevous @missmimii @mattscoquette @pearlzier @witchofthehour @elizasturn @loveparqdise @delilahsturniolo @phone4pills @sturnsmia @hearts4werka @cayleeuhithinknott @strnilolover @angelyearner @lovergirl4gracieabrams @ifwdominicfike @toftomgmf @emely9274 @sturnioloangell @blushsturns @sierrraaaaxz @slut4chris888 @marrykisskilled @sophand4n4 @sturnihoelooo @unknvhx @chrisslut04 @sturniolossss @slvtf0rchr1s @blahbel668 @starkeysturniolo @miolos @user1smvtysturniolo @lizzyzzn @sturnslutz @decimatedxdreams @chrissturnioloswife88 @sturn777 @sturniolonationsblog @frankoceanfanpage @priscillaog @courta13 @sweetrelieef @loverboysturn @sturns-mermaid @cutseylady @sofieeeeex @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @mattsturnii @conspiracy-ash

۶ৎ series taglist: @aaliyah-sturns @mattybsgroupie @h8aaz

𓂃 ֹ ᮫

#🐇་༘࿐ works #୨୧ : ꒰ born to die ꒱#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo angst

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headdinthewall · 4 days ago

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SEXUAL SECRETS ── g.clarke ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

summary : where you make a risqué revelation on a podcast episode, pushing george to enquire in private times a/n : second george smut … this one is so filthy i don't actually have anything else to say lmfao content : established relationship ,, sexual content ,, dom/sub dynamic ,, squirting

─────── YOU’D RECENTLY BEEN on the Useless Hotline Podcast for the third time round. Unfortunately, your glorious boyfriend — George — wasn’t in attendance, therefore, Max took it upon himself to ask you the most juicy questions. And what better way to do it than with a game of Say It Or Shot It?

One round in specific had caught the attention of the public, multiple accounts clipping it and posting it individually, tagging yourself and George in it. The clip went a little something like this:

𐙚 Max picked up a flash card, giggling to himself before reading it out, “Reveal a sexy secret about yourself.”

You blanked, blinking, “Like … something I like doing?”

“Sure. Or you can shot it and get absolutely shit faced with me because I am … three? Shots in, and a little bit on the tipsy side.” Max clicked his teeth.

“I don’t wanna be drunk though, I was drunk yesterday!” You whined, biting your finger as you thought, “Okay, one sexual secret about me … mmm … I like a bit of,” You held your forearms up in front of your face, “I dunno how to describe it, caging? I guess.”

“Ohh, right, like biceps in either side of your head.”

“Yeah, chest-to-chest, maybe a little leg over the arm.” You nodded, giggling awkwardly as you revealed this about yourself.

“So, have you done this with George then?” Max asked bluntly, “Oop! Sorry! If you say we can bleep it.”

“Uh … No, we’ve not done it.” You shook your head.

“How do you know that you— Oh, wait, you did it with your ex.”

You snorted, “Yeah.”

“I know this wasn’t part of your question, but I have to ask because I’m curious — again we can bleep if you want.” Max started very eagerly, “But what do you think of role playing.”

You burst out laughing.

“I’m only asking because I don’t know how to talk to Andrew about it!” Max spoke louder, trying to project over your laughter.

“Just … gotta be like ‘Hey, wanna … pretend to be a doctor and shag the cold out of me?’.”

Max’s cackles filled the studio at your joke, “Reader, there is no way that you have ever asked someone that!”

“Of course not!” You guffawed, “But … it’s just … you gotta communicate. Tell them, like, I want you to be more dominant — for example. Or, I want you to, like, put your fingers down my throat. Just communicate.”

“This feels like an advice episode more than Say It Or Shot It, wow.” Max sighed, “Aren’t you insightful.” 𐙚

─────── YOU GOT HOME late tonight, keys jingling as you locked the door behind you, kicking your heels off and dropping your little red handbag in the entry way. You flattened the grey pleated skirt you were wearing and frowned at the minuscule pasta sauce splatter on your white blouse.

When you pushed open the double doors to the kitchen and dining room, you blinked in utter shock and confusion at what was going on.

George’s streaming set up was on the dining table, and some form of science equipment was strewn across it. He was stood, in a lab coat and suit, talking the viewers through a practical of sorts, blatantly having no idea what he was doing himself.

“What are you doing?” You giggled softly, walking into frame.

“Hello, my lovely, I’m helping my viewers with GCSE revision. I’m Professor Clarkey today.”

“George, this is silly—“

“Professor Clarkey.”

“George.”

“Professor Clarkey to you, missy.” He pushed, a teasing smirk on his face.

“Professor Clarkey,” You finally caved with a heavy sigh, “Just know you’re cleaning this mess up, I’m not. Also, look!” You pouted, gesturing to the red spot on your shirt, “Pasta.”

“Pop it in the wash now then.” George said, nodding towards the washing room, “And I’ll wrap up here.”

“Hi guys!” You quickly waved and greeted the chat, smiling at the camera as the comments went wild.

userone READER I LOVE YOU

usertwo OUTFIT IS SERVING GIRL

userthree SHES SO COOL HOW DID GEORGE BAG HER

userfour when they stand next to each other you can really tell that he’s punching

userfive save us, reader

You laughed at their messages before walking off. Once you were sure you were behind the camera, you unbuttoned your shirt, taking it off and leaving you in the mini skirt and pink lace bra. You winked at George over the camera before sliding into the washing room to put your shirt in the machine.

When you got back into the bedroom, George was already there, no longer in his lab coat but still in the suit and tie.

"Consider this detention." He smirked, grabbing your forearm and pulling you forwards so you were straddling his lap.

"Uh oh, what have I done?" You played along, biting your lower lip.

"I saw the podcast clip." He revealed, voice low and husky as his breath fanned your face, "Thought you could get away with not telling me your little secrets but airing them on a podcast. Tut. Tut."

Your pulse raced, and you had no doubts that George could feel it, but you decided to feign obliviousness anyway, "I have no idea what you're talking about—“

You were cut off as a yelp flew from your lips, a direct response to the stinging slap George had laid on your bum.

"What were you thinking, hm , darling?" He muttered, lips skimming yours, "That you would just tell everyone who watches that your favourite position in sex was one we hadn't done?"

You frowned, "I didn't mean it like that—“

Another slap.

You bit your lip to contain any noises you might've made involuntarily.

"Is that what you were thinking?" He pressed on.

You shook your head, "No."

"Well, I think you owe Professor Clarkey an apology, don't you?" George tilted his head, hands travelling up your skirt teasingly.

You pressed your lips together, nodding.

"Go on then."

You kissed his lips softly before sliding off of his lap and onto your knees in front of him. Your hands trembled with adrenaline as you unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers.

He shuffled out of them just enough for you to slip your hand beneath the waistline of his boxers, revealing his thick length to you.

It was already semi-hard, a reaction to the tension and filthy talk that he'd put on you. You hovered your mouth over his cock, spitting onto it and using it as lube as you pumped your fist up and down.

George groaned, resting back on his hands and watching you through hooded eyes.

Once he was satisfactorily erect for you, you descended your mouth onto him, starting slowly with the tip, swirling your tongue around it, causing him to grunt.

Little by little, you pushed yourself further, his heavy weight pressing on your tongue. You pulled of completely, his cock glistening with your saliva. You continued pumping your hand at his base while your tongue ran underneath, flicking at the tip.

You tucked your hair behind your ear as it slipped down in front of your face, wrapping your lips around him again.

George's hands came up, pulling your hair back into a makeshift ponytail, simultaneously using at as leverage to guide your moments. Loud gulping noises reverberated from the back of your throat, the muscles contracting and bobbing.

He pulled your head back, looking down at you with lustful eyes as you panted, lips shining, "Fuck, you're gorgeous." And then he was sliding himself back down your throat.

He held your head in place as he gave shallow thrusts into your mouth, getting closer and closer.

"You gonna swallow?" He murmured, taking his bottom lip between his teeth."

You nodded, unable to answer with words as his dick was lodged down your throat. He pushed your head down, making you squeeze your eyes shut as tears sprouted. You gulped and swallowed as he shot thick ropes into your throat. You gagged, pulling up and off but still hovering over him, your drool dripping from your lips, making a mess of your chin and his cock.

"Good girl." George praised, voice husky as he situated you back on his lap, "That was an A+ apology, baby." His thumb swiped over your chin, gathering and pushing your saliva back into your mouth. "Now ... about that little secret."

He flipped you onto your back, staring down at you as he undressed himself and then you. He smirked slightly at the pink lacey thong you wore before tugging it down and off into a corner of the room somewhere.

He positioned himself directly over you, forehead pressed to yours as his fingers found their place between your legs, "Fuck, you're so wet."

You gasped at the raw contact, his first and middle finger rubbing precise, tight circles on your clit. Your eyebrows pinched together at the stimulation, arms wrapping around his shoulders and toes curling.

You'd always been quite sensitive to any form of touch between your legs, so the fact that George was just going to town made your stomach tighten and your empty walls clamp down on nothing.

His lips travelled down your neck, sucking on the spot just below your jawline. His free hand gripped the inside of your thigh, holding it out and open, pressing into the mattress so he had a full, uncovered view of your pussy. His mouth dragged down from your neck to your breasts, encasing your nipple and sucking it into his mouth, gently tugging on it and making you let out a breathy moan. When he pulled away, he flattened his tongue over the peak, soothing the rosy tinge it now had to it.

He removed his hand from your clit, making you whimper at the loss of stimulation.

"Shh, shh," George hushed you, "Remember what you said, yeah? 'Just communicate'. Tell me what you want."

"You." You panted, wasting no time, unable to bear the tension any longer, "You, please, George."

"Me?" He smirked cockily, "How? Like this?"

He held his cock at the base, running it through your folds and parting them as he went until he got to your clit, tapping his tip on it.

"Fuck—" You whined, "No— Need you inside."

"There we go, that's all I needed." George muttered, bracing his forearms on either side of your head, giving you a perfect, five-star view of his bulging biceps under the pressure of holding himself up.

You moaned out as he slowly pushed in, going until he was nestled deep and you were full.

"How's this for biceps by your head?" George grunted, "Jesus— Shit— I’m so deep."

He shuffled his hips slightly so his pubic bone was pressed directly against yours, forcing your legs to spread apart to accommodate to his size. The shifting (practically wiggling), made you moan as his dick moved inside you.

George had you caged beneath him, hip-to-hip, forehead-to-forehead. He angled his head, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, perfectly sliding his tongue against yours.

You both moaned repetitively into each others mouths as he started moving, pulling out and pushing back in. You didn't pull away, continuing to make out. Your hands clawed down his back and he bit down on your lower lip teasingly before kissing you again.

"How's that?" George questioned, voice low and gravelly as he pistoned his hips in and out. "You feel so fucking good, reader."

"God, don't stop." You panted, staring up at him with glassy eyes and dilated pupils, "So good, Georgie."

"Yeah?" He cursed under his breath, moving so his weight rested all on his right arm.

His left hand came down, grabbing your right leg and hooking it over the crook of his elbow, pushing it up so you were spread even wider.

"Better?"

"So much better!" You cried out as his tip smacked your g-spot.

You tried to wiggle your hips to clash more against his, but he had you successfully pinned down — not that you were complaining. His fingers came up, pressing through your lips. You sucked them as told, tongue swirling and lips suctioning. George moved his now-soaked fingers out of your mouth and to your clit, rubbing in firm circles again.

You moaned out, thighs trembling at the onsets of your orgasm.

The clitoral stimulation combined with the persistent nudging against your g-spot caused those familiar tremors to start shaking through you.

Your stomach coiled up even tighter than usual and you cried out, nails digging deep into his back as you came hard.

Splashes of liquid jolted out of you as your whole body practically vibrated with the force of your orgasm.

You felt George’s cum seeping inside of you as he stared down in awe at the mess beneath and on the pair of you.

“Shit, I know you said you liked it like this, but … Fuck, darling, I wasn’t expecting that.” He whispered, arousal still dripping from his tone.

“Sorry.” You slurred, muscles weak and lax from the exhaustion of everything.

“No, don’t apologise, it was fucking sexy.” George chuckled, kissing your temple repeatedly in a soft manner.

You hadn’t even noticed he’d left the room and returned until you felt him shifting your legs to clean you up. He dragged a damp washcloth over your skin gently, wiping away any evidence of what had just occurred.

“Maybe I should expose my fantasies online more often.” You jestered, staring at the wall as he cuddled up behind you.

George playfully slapped your outer thigh before placing his hand back on your chest, encasing your entire boob in one palm, “Don’t be stupid.”

#ukyt #george clarke #ukyt fanfic #george clarkey #george clarke fanfic #george clarke fics #george clarkey x reader #george clarke imagine #george clarke smut #george clarke x fem!reader

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satorusugurugurl · 9 months ago

Note

hiiiii!!! I love your work💗💗💗

Could you do giving the JJK men a honey pack lol

I keep seeing it on my fyp😂

JJK Men: It’s Just Honey—Right?

Summary: JJK Men are given a honey pack, an aphrodisiac, and a male enhancer! What could possibly go wrong?

Characters: Geto Suguru, Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, Ryomen Sukuna(Modern AU), AFAB!Reader

Warnings: aphrodisiac use, smut, public play, language, degradation, unprotected sex, choking, oral sex (F receiving), prone bone, multiple positions, multiple orgasms. Somno

Word Count: 8.7K

A/N: Nonnie, sorry this request took so long! It just sort of took on a mind of its own! I hope you enjoy it. I know I did! 🥴💚

Geto Suguru:

“Does stuff like this even work?” You asked as you lay on the bed in the love hotel you were stuck in.

You and Geto had gotten stuck in a typhoon, and instead of risking one of the assistant supervisor's safety, to come pick you up. You both decided staying in a hotel for the night would be best. The only problem was that the only hotel with rooms was a love hotel. Which, of course, wasn’t an issue for you both, seeing that you were dating happily but were stuck in a love hotel to see all sorts of exciting things.

A majority of the things you saw were related to sex, from sex toys, videos, and male enhancers. You have heard about more common ones like Viagra. But you had never seen one as a pack of honey before. You tossed it up in the air, catching it in your palm before tossing it back into the air, watching the foil package flip before landing back into the palm of your hand. Your boyfriend looked at you from his chair across the room with an amused smile.

“Is this your way of asking if I’ve taken enhancers in the past before?”

“What, no, never! I was just wondering if they work. I’ve never taken one before. I know they make some for women. I’m just lucky enough that I’ve never needed it.”

“Well, I can assure you that I’ve never needed to take one before myself.”

“Oh, trust me, I am well aware of that.”

Suguru placed his book down before taking a long look at you. You were nothing but booty shorts and his T-shirt. You looked good enough to eat right now, and your curiosity had piqued a curious interest of his own. No one was coming for you both until the morning, which meant you had time to kill—or better yet, time to screw each other‘s brains out.

“Hey, can I see that for a second?”

Not thinking much of your boyfriend’s request, you threw the package at him, your eyes glued to the ceiling before you heard a ripping sound. For a second, you thought maybe it had been your imagination. There was no way your boyfriend, who was very logical, ripped open the aphrodisiac honey, but there was the only way to be sure that he hadn’t done something like that; slowly, you turned your head as your boyfriend squeezed the entire package into his mouth, violet eyes watching you as he did so there was a dark, mischievous glee behind them as he stuck his tongue out, letting the honey drip all over his tongue.

You sputtered and blinked before opening and closing your mouth in disbelief. ”S-Suguru? What did you do?” Suguru’s pink tone darted out slowly, trailing over his bottom lip. Not once did his eyes leave yours.

“I’m conducting an experiment.”

“An experiment?”

“A majority of the time, stuff like this doesn’t work. It’s mostly for show, like a placebo for the brain. So we want to know if it works, so let’s put it to the test.”

It was safe to say that Suguru’s initial theory was wrong. The honey packet that he ingested was, in effect, a very real aphrodisiac. He was fine; one second, and the next, his cock was as hard as a diamond. Regret settled in his bones as he glanced back at you, who had taken notice of the tent in his pants. You didn’t say anything; instead, your actions spoke volumes. You took your shirt off by throwing it in his face, followed by your shorts and your underwear.

He swallowed, cheeks flushing, a dusty rose before he was up in on you like green on grass. The normal foreplay and preparation he always carefully took was the furthest thing on his mind. All he could focus on was how hard his cock hurt. It throbbed painfully as he tugged his pants down, freeing his erection—the tip red with rage as he spit into his hand, lubing it up.

“Need you.” he snarled, “I fucking need you.”

Suguru didn’t even give you a chance to respond to him. Because the second you opened your mouth, he had flipped you over onto your stomach while he laid flat on top of pressing the head of covk against your tight entrance. You shuddered, gripping the sheets as he slammed into you, gritting his teeth as he buried his face in the space between your shoulder blades. The sensation of his hot breath against your cool skin sent shivers throughout your body, causing goosebumps to rise in their wake.

Your boyfriend had lost it. He had entirely completely and irrefutably lost his composure. And you weren’t at all upset about it.

“Fuuuck!” You cried out as he set a brutal pace. “S-Sugu—-!”

“Need you.” He repeated in an almost primal growl. “I need all of you!”

You squeaked out a whimper as he sank his teeth into your shoulder before leaving a trail of kisses and hickeys all along your skin. He was marking you up, claiming you as his and his alone. The need that seeped out of his being through his actions and words left you feeling dizzy.

“S-Sugu!”

“Ahhn! Fuck! Princess.”

Watching him lose control like this, feeling him pressing against you in the rawest way, had your eyes rolling back as he forced himself inside. Your muffled moans left Suguru's cock throbbing so hard inside of you that he was afraid he would cum right then in there. He wasn't sure if it was the honey, or his own desire, but he was losing himself at the feeling of being inside of you. You were so wet and tight, and god, you smelt heavenly.

This new-found lust, the desire, had him digging his hands into the sheets underneath you. The earthy musk had your head spinning, fueling your desire as if you had partaken of the honey yourself. You cried out as Suguru continued littering your skin with bites. It was so raw, so hot, and you were already on the edge.

“S-Sugu!” You cried out, feeling your walls clamping around him, squeezing him for all that he was worth. “Suguru I-I—!”

You didn't need to say those last few words as a curtain of dark hair fell around you. “I know,” Suguru grunted, pulling all the way out before slamming into you, making the bed creak under your combined weight. “I can feel it~ feel your tight walls convulsing; I feel you trying to hold back.” His lips pressed against your cheek, breath hot against your sweat-sheened skin. “Don't do that, baby~ I wanna feel you~ wanna make you feel good with my cock.” Your hips rolled shamelessly back against Suguru’s cock, his words egging you.

“C-Close—”

“Yeah, it feels good, doesn't it, Princess~? My thick cock stretching you out, making you feel so good?”

“M-Mhmm!” Your toes curled, breathing quickening as Suguru used all of his strength to fuck you into the mattress. “F-Fuck! I-I’m gonna! Gonna!”

“Yeah— cum for me, baby! Cum all over my cock.”

His words alone, dark and needy, sent you tumbling over the edge. You screamed into the pillow, crying tears of ecstasy as your orgasm was ripped out of you. It was violent and oh-so-tucking good, leaving you a convulsing mess underneath your boyfriend, who shuddered, cock throbbing inside of you. Warmth flooded your pussy as he came, the hot spurt filling you, but not once did Suguru stop. He kept going fucking into you like a crazed animal, stopping you as you weakly tried pulling away.

Once he stopped, you shakily lifted your head out of the sheets, crying out softly as his still-hard cock twitched inside of you. It seemed as though the package wasn't lying about enhancing male performance. Your boyfriend had just filled you up and was raring to go for another round, which was both alluring and terrifying at the same time.

“You okay?” Suguru questioned, voice gravely in your ear as he gently peppered your skin with kisses. You swallowed hard, trying to alleviate the burning in your throat. “Good.”

Without a warning, Suguru slowly began thrusting in and out of you. He kept his pace soft and sweet to not overstimulate you. But before you knew it, those soft, slow thrusts were replaced with the mean, bullying backshots he had just given you. He kept that pace up for over an hour. Face down, ass up on the mattress. His cock had been so hard that it hurt, and no matter how many times he had cum inside of you, it didn't feel like it was enough.

Until he was the one suffering from the overstimulation. He was panting and crying against your lips as his cock throbbed inside of you, draining the last of his cum inside of your wet and willing hole. Both of you were completely gone at that point. Nothing more than a heap of twitching muscles as Suguru lay down, staring up at the ceiling in a daze.

“Y-You good?” You asked in between gasps.

Suguru swallowed hard, reaching for a water bottle on the side of the bed and handing it to you. “S-So fucking good—“ Suguru sighed, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you tight against his side. “I-I think that e-experiment was a success.” You swallowed the last gulp before handing the half bottle to your boyfriend.

“A success indeed.” He slowly reached for his phone, texting on the screen with a lazy smirk. “And it’s an experiment gonna get me out of some paperwork.”

“Huh?”

“I’m gonna tell Satoru about it. Get out of some work for a while.”

“Oooh, texting your ‘boyfriend’ after you just put me in ninety-nine positions?” There was a joking tone to your teasing, but your boyfriend scoffed, sitting up to hover over you.

He pressed a gentle kiss against your lips. “I’m texting my best friend this so I can get out of extra work and spend that free time with you—” he reached for the nightstand waving the other honey pack in your face. “and the honey pack.”

“Well, what the hell are you waiting for? Text him!”

Gojo Satoru:

You had been minding your business, watching some trashy reality TV show, when a box was tossed on the coffee table. You pull your eyes away from the screen long enough to watch a flash of white blur before Satoru plopped down on the ground. Something was going on, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to participate. He snickered, rubbing his hands together as he looked the box over. Something was going on, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to participate.

But your curiosity got the better, urging you to find out why your boyfriend was in such a good mood. “What are you up to, Toru?” Your body almost moved as you kicked your blanket off, sitting on the floor beside him.

“Suguru and I made a bet.”

Yeah, if it were a bet between the two idiots, you definitely would not want to participate in this with them.

“What is with the two of you making bets against each other?” Satoru lost his hearing when it came to that comment. “Baby, what even is this?”

To answer your question, he ripped the tape off the box opening it up. Reaching his hand inside, he pulled out a pouch. The words ‘Honey Package’ were written in red, with hearts surrounding it. Before you could even begin telling Gojo, you had no intentions of taking whatever was in it. He flipped it over, resting it against the palm of his hand, revealing the clear backside of the package. Inside was a thick amber-colored liquid, which looked just like honey.

“This is like Viagra, but in honey form.”

“Satoru, keeping up with your stamina already is nearly too much. There’s no way you need to take one of those!”

“Ooh, please, you love my stamina. It keeps up with your sex drive.” He wasn't wrong about that at all. “Besides, there’s no way this shit works.”

Oh, well, this conversation took off in a completely different direction. “Huh?” You blinked, eyeing the package as Satoru squished it in his hand, using it like a stress ball. “Wait, you don’t think it’s gonna work?” Cerulean eyes almost glimmered with annoyance as they darted in your direction.

“Baby, these aphrodisiacs never work. What happens is you eat a bunch of strawberry chocolate, and you think that it’s an aphrodisiac urging you to fuck. This right here.” The foil packaging crumpled slightly. He ripped up one of the corners. “Is some rich assholes gimmick to try to make a bunch of money. These Influencers get a free sample and act like they fuck all night. They make a commission off of it. So yes, I don’t think it works.”

“But Suguru does? I thought for sure it would be the other way around.”

“Yeah, this is gonna be the easiest bet I’m gonna win.” You hummed, watching as Satoru squeezed the honey into his mouth. “I’m going to make him every single dessert from the many of the newest cafés downtown.”

“And what does he get if you lose?”

“Bragging rights, and I would have to do all his paperwork for an entire week.”

Satoru sighed constantly at the thought of syncing his teeth into some delicious sweets as he tossed the empty package onto the table before kicking his feet out in front of him, placing his hands behind his head. He had this in the bag, no doubt about that.

It only took thirty minutes to pass.

You were the first to notice something wasn't quite right with your loving boyfriend. He looked flushed; his hands gripped the sofa cushions for dear life, and sweat began to bead on his forehead. You decided it would be best for you to keep an eye on him in case he had some kind of reaction to the honey. It could be dangerous to take enhancers like that, not knowing what sort of effect they would have on the person. The last thing you wanted was for him to get sick.

Another ten minutes passed, and Satoru threw his jacket off along with his pants, leaving him in nothing but his T-shirt and boxers. Although he had put himself in this state, you hated seeing him in such discomfort. With a heavy sigh, you got on your knee and pressed your hand against his forehead. He was hot to the touch, and you needed to lower his temperature.

“Toru, sweetie, let's get you in the shower, okay?” He panted heavily, cloudy crystalline blue eyes meeting yours. “We'll take a cool shower to get your temperature down.”

“I—-need—”

You frowned, leaning closer toward his mouth. “What was that? You need what?” Satoru's pretty lips quivered before his hand flew up, grabbing you by the arms and pushing you against the sofa. “T-Toru.” Your boyfriend towered above you, panting heavily as he looked you up and down with a growl, his erection throbbing in his boxers.

“I need you.” He growled, his hand reaching down, squeezing his cock. “I need you so bad; it hurts, baby. Please, please, I need you.”

Two things were clear to you at that moment. One, your boyfriend would be doing a ton of paperwork for the next month, and second, you were in for a fight for your life. The logical part of your brain told you to run; he had put himself in this situation so he could deal with it on his own. The other more empathetic part of you once against hated seeing him suffering.

Against all logical reasoning, you sighed, reaching down and tugging your shorts and panties off.

“You're not ever taking this shit again.” You Pulled him up, heading to the bedroom, where you shoved him down on the bed. “This shit has you all hot, chemicals and stuff.”

“It’s all organic.” He barked out, pulling you down onto the mattress with him. “It’s not so much bad as it’s well—” he trailed his fingers up the curves of your breasts. “It’s different,” Gojo finally whispered, his hand mimicking slowly moving up along your collarbone, sliding down the swell of your breasts. Your breath caught in your throat as he began massaging them, “And different isn't always a bad thing.” he nipped at your ear.

Gojo’s fingers slid further down, tracing circles around your nipples. They hardened automatically, causing you to arch your back at the sensations. Perhaps he was right—maybe this wasn't as bad as you thought it was going to be. You moaned, running your hand over Gojo’s crotch, palming at his already throbbing erection. Your moans and Gojo’s growls of pleasure began mixing, making it sound as though there was a promo playing in the background. But there wasn't; it was just you and your very hornh boyfriend.

“Fuck I need to touch you, Sweetie.” He said in a barely audible tone against the crook of your neck, “God, I need to. Need to be inside of you.” His hand slid further down, teasing your mound with careful fingers. As he did, he nipped and sucked on your neck, leaving you whimpering as you straddled him. You bucked your hips into his hand, craving more of his touch, wanting to feel his skin on your intimate parts.

“Toru, don’t tease me.” you begged through moans as you slid your hand into his boxers, “touch me baby.” Satoru hisses as you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock and stroke him up and down. The contact had Gojo growling like a wild beast, thrusting into your hand, his fingers slipping further down until his entire hand was cupping your dripping sex.

You felt as though you were high off the honey as you inhaled sharply when his fingers slid up and down the lips of your pussy. “Holy shit, Sweetheart,” he growled lustfully in your ear, “you’re so fuckin’ wet.” Those long sinful fingers of his rubbed circles around your clit, causing you to gasp, “Mhmm, and it’s all for me.”

“And you’re so hard, Gojo,” you managed to whisper, “n-not that you aren't hard all the time. But you're fuck, you're so hard!” You began rubbing the pad of your thumb over the slit of his cock, “So fucking hard.” Pre-cum smeared over the sensitive head, leaving him moaning loudly as he dipped his fingers inside of you, pumping them. He watched as you peered up at him, moaning, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer.

Your boyfriend pressed his forehead against yours as he kept pumping his fingers. The fucking honey was enhancing everything he felt. The adoration for you, the lust, fuck he had never been this horny in his entire life. He let those feelings fuel him, helping him move as the two of you worked each other towards extraordinary mind-blowing orgasm.

Gojo curled his fingers, brushing them across your g-spot. You gasped loudly, squeezing his cock, causing him to growl loudly, pumping faster and harder against that sweet spot. You did your best to hold out as long as you could; you didn't want to cum too soon.

“Sweetheart,” Gojo licked your earlobe, nibbling it between his teeth. “Cum for me.” When he told you to do so, that was a different story.

You came hard, rocking against his fingers. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you as Gojo kept moving his fingers, extending your orgasm. Your toes curled into the sheets as you arched your back, pressing your bare breasts against his chest. Gojo kept moving, not stopping until you were panting, basking in the afterglow of your release. When you finally opened your eyes, you met the lust-filled cerulean eyes of your boyfriend. He was staring at you, stroking your mound lazily.

“Toru,” you tugged at his shirt, “I need you to fuck me right now.” He was happy to oblige, stripping his shirt off and throwing it on the side of the bed before Gojo rolled, pushing you back against the mattress and hovering over you. He looked like he was seconds away from cumming, so you decided it would be best for you to take control, so you quickly rolled, flipping him back over so you were straddling him.

“Fuck, Sweetheart,” His voice was as grave as he groaned, gripping your hips as you lowered yourself onto his impressive cock. You shivered, resisting the urge to start riding him right then and there and opting to enjoy the feeling of him stretching you out. “Sweetie,” Satoru groaned, squeezing your hips. “Nngh!!” the honey had him desperate, wanting to fuck, so for you just to sit there, not moving, was literal torture. “Holy nngh! Fuck please, ride me already. You’re killing me here!” He thrusts up, causing you to gasp, making you bounce up and down. “That’s more like it.”

You nodded, grabbing your boyfriend's hands and sliding up the curves of your body before placing them on your breasts. Understanding your silent request, Satoru massaged and kneaded them, brushing his thumb and index fingers over your sensitive nipples. You whimpered, rocking your hips, his cock hitting your g-spot with every rock of your hips. Gojo sat up, thrusting eagerly to meet your rhythm.

You dig your fingers into Gojo’s fluffy tufts of pristine white hair, pulling him close to your breasts. He took the hint, taking one of your nipples in his mouth, tugging, sucking, and nipping at it. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to his body. His fingers dug into the small of your back; you were pretty sure you were going to have bruises there tomorrow.

With each thrust from Gojo, you grew closer and closer, chasing your orgasm. Gojo's mouth continued to assault your nipples, teasing them ever so slightly. By this time, you and Gojo's moans groans, and growls of pleasure flooded the room. The two of you were so loud you were positive the neighbors would file a noise complaint against you.

But you didn't give a fuck about that.

All that mattered was how good Satoru felt. How your nails dug into his back, scratching at his flawless skin as he thrusts deeper and harder inside of you. You let out screams, digging your nails deeper into his skin as he flips the two of you over. Gojo stares at you before slamming his lips on yours. His tongue is fighting against yours for dominance. He growls, thrusting faster and deeper inside you.

“Toru, I’m gonna cum!” You gasped, gripping his hair and staring into his stunning eyes. He stares back into yours; he smirks, pressing his forehead against yours, kissing your lips softly.

“Cum for me, sweetie,” he mutters against your lips, “Haaah~ fuck yes, cum for me, cum with me.” He pounded ruthlessly into you, gripping the headboard and slamming into your g-spot.

You wrapped your legs around his digging your heels in his ass and pulling him deeper. And it sends you over the edge, you gasp, your orgasm rippling through you. You tighten around Gojo, and he groans, burying his face in your neck as he thrusts a few more times before following you over the edge, cumming inside you.

You lay there, Gojo’s weight crushing you, but you don't mind. After taking a second to catch his breath, he chuckled softly, pulling out of you before laying on his back, placing you flat on his chest. He took a deep breath, running his finger through your hair. You turned your head, resting it over his heart with a dorky smile.

“That was—”

“Amazing,” Gojo finished for you. That was amazing.” You giggled, nodding in agreement.

“Beyond amazing.”

“Mhmm.”

“Hey Gojo?” He lifted his head, staring into your eyes.

“Yeah, Sweetheart?” You bite your bottom lip, kissing up his chest.

“Do you have any more of that, honey? I wanna try some with you.” You felt him tense. He grinned quickly, placing you on the side before he stood up, running out of the room and grabbing a package off the counter.

“Have as much as you like!” as you ripped the package open with your teeth, Satoru lifted your legs placing them over his shoulders as he kissed your inner thighs “Sit back and relax while you wait for it to kick in.” You swallowed the sweet liquid in your mouth before reaching down and running your hands through Gojo’s soft tufts of hair as he dragged his tongue up your slit. “I can keep myself entertained for now.”

Nanami Kento:

With Nanami working so many hours and you staying home caring for your daughter. You and Nanami hardly have any time alone anymore. Sure, you were able to sneak a date here and there—a quickie in the morning before he had to go to work. The romance, sex, and relationship were planned now. But Nanami missed the spontaneous sex; he missed laying in bed with you, hearing your gasps and moans. Feeling the way you would clamp down on him when you came.

God, he missed the sex.

Nanami sighed, running a hand over his face as he unlocked the door to your house. All the lights were off, meaning you had most likely put your daughter to bed, seeing that it was close to three in the morning. Kento dropped his keys and messenger bag on the entry table before heading into the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

Sitting on the counter was a loaf of homemade bread and a package of honey. Kento cocked an eyebrow as he approached the treat that had been left out for him. A sticky note with your handwriting on it was next to the bread.

‘It must have been a long day~ enjoy this aphrodisiac honey, and wake me up in the sweetest way you can. You have his full consent even if I’m asleep. Much Love— your wife!’

Kento reread the note several times before eyeing the honey. Aphrodisiac honey? He had heard you mention it before. You suggested trying one of these weekends when you both had time together, which might be a fun treat. And he was tired and stressed from a long day. He couldn't deny how his pants tightened at the thought of waking you up horny and completely needy.

Kento sliced himself a piece of bread without much thought before smearing it with the honey. It was surprisingly good. Most aphrodisiacs he had heard of had an odd taste to them. This tasted like honey bread. And that in itself was dangerous.

Kento managed to eat two slices of honey bread before he began feeling the effects working its way down to his cock. He wanted you, and seeing that you had given him your consent, he planned on having you. Not wanting to waste any more time, Kento headed up the stairs, gripping the railing. He quickly stopped into the nursery next to your bedroom to check on your daughter, who was sleeping peacefully. Nanami smiled, brushing back a cur of her hair before leaning down and kissing her forehead before heading into the master bedroom.

The lamp on your side of the bed was still on. It looked like you had fallen asleep while reading a book, and now you are resting on your chest. Kento leaned against the front of the bed, watching his wife sleep peacefully. Your chest moved up and down as you dreamed away. Your beautiful hair was sprawled against the pillow as the low light of the lamp illuminated your beautiful body. Your soft skin was complimented by your navy nightgown that hugged your curves perfectly. God, he was so lucky to have you in his life.

You muttered something, moaning softly as you dreamed. That sound had Nanami’s cock twitching as you rolled on your back, completely exposing your body to him. The honey seemed to take over his body. He had to have you right now. With a glance back at the nursery, Nanami decided to go through with his horny desires. He made quick work of shedding out of his clothes. If he was quiet enough, maybe he could get away with a midnight snack before he went to bed without waking your daughter.

Kento crawled under the sheets and comforter, slowly making his way up the bed. He listened to his wife for any sign that you had woken up, but you were still fast asleep. When he finally reached your feet, he began placing kisses on both of them, gently spreading your legs open as he made his way closer and closer to her pussy. Nanami nipped and sucked at your inner thighs, dragging his slight stubble on his chin over your soft skin.

He could never get over how soft your skin was. Or how you shivered under his lips, How you were wet with the slightest touch of his hands and lips. The honey was making his head whirl as he finally met your cunt. Ever so slowly, Nanami dragged his tongue along the folds of your pussy, moaning at your sweet taste. You were sweeter than the honey he had eaten. You were wet and delicious, so of course, he found himself reaching up and grabbing your hips as he pulled himself closer to your pussy, desperately wanting to taste more of you against his tongue.

“Mmm,” you whimpered in your sleep, moving slightly under his touch. That slight movement left Kento licking faster, taking your clit into his mouth and sucking in it hard. Your hips buckled slightly as he swirled his tongue around the bundle of nerves, flicking his tongue against you. “K-Ken.” you exhaled softly, rocking your hips roughly as you dreamed.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered against your folds, sliding two fingers inside of you. When he breached the tight ring of muscles, he began pumping them, and suddenly, the sheets flew back. Nanami looked up at you, seeing flushed cheeks as you propped yourself up on your elbows, staring down at your husband.

“K-Kento, what are you doing?” you whispered between moans as he pumped his fingers faster, “Oh his God.” you groaned, throwing your head back against the pillows. Your hand reached down, gripping his hair, tugging it as he continued to kiss you. “Y-You found the h-honey!”

“Mhmm,” he moaned against you, moving his head back and forth, curling his fingers inside of you, moving them in the ‘come hither’ motion. “And it was delicious~ but my Love, you’re far sweeter.” Your hips bucked forward as you began convulsing around his fingers. Nanami could hear your breathing in fast, quiet pants as you tried to control your volume. Knowing he had that kind of effect on you had him smirking against your pussu, feeling you come undone over his slightest touches; God, the honey had already affected him, but you turned him on even more.

“K-Kento— I-I’m gon-” you could barely get out the rest of the sentence as his lips took your clit into his mouth again, and he sucked at you relentlessly. Pulling out gasps and earth-shattering moans that had him grinding against your mattress. Your hand clamped over your mouth, silencing the screams that threatened to escape. The last thing either of you wanted was to wake your daughter

Your left hand tangled in his blonde locks, tugging on it as you came against his mouth. Wave after wave of pleasure shook your body as he continued sucking; his honey-brown eyes were dull from the amount of pleasure of watching you cum. God, he fucking loved you.

You panted roughly, slowly releasing your grasp on his hair. This allowed him to pull away, licking his lips before pulling his fingers out of you with a hiss. You shivered, watching as he slowly stuck his fingers into his mouth, sensually licking them clean. The seductive act left you staring at him as if he were one of the world's wonders. Seeing the hunger in your eyes, Nanami chuckled.

“If I didn't know any better, I would think you had eaten the honey.” He popped his fingers back into his mouth, watching as you slowly licked your lips before reaching up and cupping his face. Nanami followed your needy movements, letting you bring his face down to yours, kissing you deeply while pulling him down on top of you and trapping him there, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Kento,” you whispered against his lips as he pulled away, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “Need you.” You nipped your teeth at his bottom lip. He moaned, slamming his lips against you, shoving his tongue into your mouth. His tongue moved against yours, massaging it as you rocked your hips against his crotch. He was so hard; he needed more of you. Nanami trailed his hands over the curves of your body, reaching for the front of your nightgown, kneading at your breasts.

You arched into his touch as he pulled your nightgown down, exposing your breasts to him. He took one of your perky nipples into his mouth and began sucking on your breast, tugging at it with his teeth, drawing out a long, loud moan from you. Your nails dug into his shoulders as he continued to suck and nip at you. Nanami groaned as your hands slowly trailed down his back, tugging his boxers off, allowing his erection to spring free from her confinements. Your hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it with your hand softly. Kentowas already hard, but your touch made him even harder. He was eager for more, wanting to plunge into your slickened folds.

“Enough teasing,” you whispered against his neck as you trailed kisses down it, “I’m more than ready for you now.” you nipped at his skin, spreading your legs for him, “I want you, Kento.” How could he deny you? He made quick work pulling your nightgown off completely before kicking his boxers off. He hovered over you, cupping your face as he kissed you again.

“I love you, darling.” he whispered, grabbing his cock with his free hand and stroking it slightly, “Fuck, I love you so much; I missed you.”

“Show me how much you missed me,” you whispered breathlessly, staring into his honey-brown eyes. “Show me, Ken.”

As you commanded, he slowly began sliding inside of her. He groaned, feeling your juices coat the head of his cock. Kento bit down on his lip, trying to control himself. The honey had made his body overly sensitive. He can control himself. He watched her instead, enjoying the face you made. Her mouth opened slightly, and your cheeks flushed. You were such a beautiful woman. And this lovely woman had her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer towards your center.

“More,” You whispered through a moan, “I need more of you.” he nodded, kissing you lovingly as he slid deeper inside of you, his cock nestled deep inside of your pussy, hitting your cervix. “F-Fuck—” Kento paused for a moment, but only a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size before he began slamming in and out of you. “Y-Yes, oh fuck yes, Ken!.” you cried out, which was quickly silenced as Nanami placed his fingers over your lips.

“Shh, you’ll wake her up.” you mewled, nodding as you pursed your lips together as Nanami began thrusting slowly. He groaned as you lifted your hips in time with him, making his pace quicken. Your gasps and moans meddled in with the creaking bed. A symphony of pleasure that only made Nanami more eager. The honey made you look even more delicious as you arched your back, begging for more. To which he happily complied. Nanami’s hands slowly slid between your bodies. You bit down on your lip as his thumb instantly found your clit.

“Kento!” you gasped as his thumb lazily began tracing circles around the bundle of nerves. Which resulted in your bucking as he began slamming into you. Kento’d cock was painfully hard, but it didn't stop him from ramming against your g-spot with every thrust. In no time, your walls began clamping down on him.

“Fuck Love, you feel so good, baby.” He gasped loudly, thrusting deeper inside of you. His hands kneaded her breasts, his thumb and forefinger gripped and twisted your nipples, all while he trailed kisses down your neck, letting the aphrodisiac lead him. Your hands gripped his ass, gasping loudly as you whispered his name.

Kento felt the pleasure building inside his lower abdomen, like a coil tightening in his stomach. He was close. And from the way you were rocking against him, how you threw your head back, moaning softly, he knew you were close too. His fingers began rubbing your clit in faster and harder as he thrust quickly as fast as he could. Listening to the sound of you whimpering on a strangled gasp as he moved his hand to cover your mouth.

“That’s my girl, cum for me, cum all over me, baby.” you nodded, moaning loudly against his hand as you clamped down on your husband's cock. Your orgasm hits you hard, coating Nanami’s cock with your juices. Feeling you cumminf so hard left Nanami growling, burying his face into the crook of your neck, his thrusts less rhythmed as he fell over the edge following your orgasm. You could feel it as he came deep inside of you. But not once did his hips stop. They kept thrusting as your pussy milked me dry, making him spill his seed deep inside of you.

He collapsed on top of you, removing his hand from your mouth. The two of you lay there panting in the haze of our orgasms. After a few moments to breathe, Nanami looked at you, smirking as he kissed your lips gently, winning a kiss back from you.

“Welcome home,” you smiled, gently stroking his cheek. It looks like the honey worked.”

“Mhmm, you should order us some more.” He nuzzled your neck, winning a giggle from his wife.

“I couldn’t agree more.” You kissed his head as he rolled over, holding you in his arms. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Darling. God, I love you so much.” he whispered against your hair, inhaling the scent of your favorite shampoo. “I’m so happy to be home.” he muttered as you snuggled close to him. The two of you lay there in bliss before you finally fell asleep in his arms. Kento grinned, kissing your head before closing his eyes and following you into dreamland.

Ryomen Sukuna (Modern AU):

“Ehem!” your boyfriend groaned, clearing his throat for the thousandth time that morning. “Fuck, my throat is so scratchy.”

You gave him a smile as he drank some water. “ I told you screaming would hurt your throat.” Sukuna narrowed crimson eyes at you, but he didn’t argue because you had, in fact, warned him about that last night at the concert. “And just so you know, water isn’t going to help with that.” this time, your boyfriend scoffed, raising a pierced at you as he placed his glass down on the counter.

“Oh, and what makes you say that?”

“Because I am medically trained, " you said, placing the kettle on the stove and grabbing a mug from the cabinet. “Hot tea will be better to ease that scratchy feeling.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

While the kettle was slowly heating up, you searched the pantry, grabbing a teabag and the honey. Only you found no honey left, well, not enough for honey tea. You would have to remember to add that to the list the next time you go to the grocery store. But luckily for you, you had luck at the bachelorette party you had gone to the weekend before. The entryway dug through your purse, pulling out the goodie bag you were given when you left. Of the goodie bag was a mixture of penis-shaped candy condoms that were too small for your boyfriend and a package of honey. Which you had assumed was reserved for food. But the food place would have to wait. Easing Sukuna’s discomfort was more important than pleasure.

When the kettle finally went off, whistling to let you know it was ready, you hurried back into the kitchen. Sukuna watched as he poured the hot water over the teabag in his mug. “Let the tea steep for five minutes and then pour this into it,” you instructed, tossing the package at him.

“Honey pack?” Sukuna asked as he caught it with ease, reading the label. He turned it over, examining the contents before shrugging his shoulder. “Alright, whatever you say. You are the medically trained one.” you fought back a laugh as you leaned over the counter, pressing your lips against his. “Have a good day at work, oh-so-well-trained-one.”

“I will dork; I love you.”

“Ditto.”

When you made it to work, you gushed to your coworkers about the concert Sukuna had taken you to the night before. He somehow managed to get tickets to your favorite band and got you VIP seating. The night had been one of the best nights of your life. You both had gotten drunk and screamed to the songs at the top of your lungs before passing out back at his apartment. It has been so much fun and you would never forget it.

“You are so in love with him.” Your work Bestie laughed as you dreamily sighed, wishing the clock would move faster.

“I am; he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You were a second away from getting up to room a patient when you heard thundering footsteps approaching your desk. Quickly, looking over your shoulder, your manager and one of the receptionists approached you. You could tell there was something wrong from the panicked look on their faces.

You pushed away from your desk, pressing back the rising fear within you. “What happened?”

“Your boyfriend is here in the lobby. He’s asking for you, saying there’s an emergency. Grab your stuff and go. I’m going to clock you out,” your manager said as you began collecting your things.

You began running through the office, slamming the doors to the lobby open. Did something happen to his brothers? Was Yuuji okay at school? Or did something happen to Choso? There were so many different scenarios that could’ve happened. You need to get out of here fast. You picked up your pace bursting through the open door finding Sukuna waiting for you. His chest was rising and falling; his cheeks were slightly flushed as if he had run the entire way to your building. When those crimson eyes met yours, he moved, grabbed your hand, and tugged you out of the office.

You held onto him, running to keep up with his long strides. He didn’t say a word. Maybe he wanted to get to a more intimate place to tell you what was happening. When you made it into the parking garage, you saw his car waiting a few rows back. You quickly opened the front door to the passenger seat, but the door didn’t open entirely as Sukuna touched it, slamming it shut.

“Kuna?”

“Get in the back.”

His voice was hoarse and full of need. A raw need that had heat pooling between your thighs. “H-Huh?” your question went unanswered as his eyebrow twitched and evident frustration.

“I said get in the fucking backseat.” to emphasize his point, he opened the door to the back, pushing you towards it.

You quickly crawled into the backseat without any other swelling as you turned your head to look at him. He was even heavier than when he was in your office. His cheeks were a darker shade of red as he growled at the side of you, sprawled against his backseat. Your eyes down his body and find his gray sweats too tight around the crotch, and that source of the tightness twitched. Did he seriously pull you out of work because he was horny?!

“K-Kun—what the fuck is happening? My boss said it was an emergency.”

You scooted back, watching as Sukuna ducked his head, joining you in the backseat and slamming the door behind him. “What was I supposed to say? hey I need you to send my girlfriend home because my cock feels like it’s going to explode.” He reached for you, tugging your scrub pants down tossing them into car's front seat. “I don’t think she would’ve been so keen on you leaving for that reason.” your underwear was suddenly his next target as they were ripped off using all of his strength.

“W-What happened to you? You couldn’t help but giggle at the desperation in his movements. “I just left like an hour ago.”

“Yeah, well, I started feeling fucking weird after you left.” He pulled his sweats down enough to free himself. His cock bounced, the tip leaking pre-cum as he pulled you into his lap, spitting into his hand, lubing up his cock. “It didn’t make a lot of sense as to why I felt so fucking horny until I put it together.”

Straddle his hips, gripping onto his shoulders. “And what did you manage to put together, Kuna?” he grabbed your hips, forcing you down onto him without so much as a warning, drawing out a gasp from you as he hissed.

“That Honey Pack you gave me is an aphrodisiac.”

Suddenly, it became very clear as to why they would include that in a goodie bag at a bachelorette party. Those thoughts,s however, were suddenly clouded with pleasure as Sukuna dug his fingers into your hips, beginning to jackhammer up into your dripping cunt. “Fuck!” You cried out, throwing your head back and leaving your neck exposed. Your boyfriend took the opportunity to bite into your neck with an almost feral snarl as his hips kept bucking up into you at a nearly inhuman speed. “O-Oh my god fuck!!”

“Mmphm~.” he pulled away, running his tongue over the Mark. He had left on your skin. The chill of his tongue piercing left you shivering above him on his lap. “You have no clue how hard it was for me to control myself, and I saw you running towards me back there. I nearly lost a little control. I had on myself and fucked you right there in the lobby.”

“O-Oooh, oooh nngh.”

Sukuna, even in his horny thoughts, felt you clench around him at his words. “Oh, what was that? Would you like that, you dirty fucking slut? Do you want me to fuck you in public in front of all your coworkers? Then they would know you aren't this innocent little medical assistant. They would know you’re my dirty fucking slut.” you clenched harder around him. “Oh my God, you would like that!”

“K-Kuna!”

“That’s not an answer,” he growled, fisting your hair, yanking your head to the side, exposing the other side of your neck. “Use your words Kitten.” his teeth sank into the other side of your neck as he bullied his cock deeper inside of you, rubbing the tip greedily against your cervix in an almost painful way, but the pleasure overwhelmed the pain.

“Yes!! Yes, I want that! I want you!”

Hearing you say that caused the last cord of strength in Sukuna to snap. He moved with a certain despite being cramped in the back of his car. Your back hit the seat, knocking the air out of your lungs as the head of his cock slammed against your cervix harder. When you looked up at him, you whimpered. Something instinctual told you to submit to the much larger predator above you. Your body wanted it to give into him, allowing him to have his way with you.

Sukuna growled, his pierced tongue slowly over his bottom lip as those dark, lust-filled eyes watched you tremble underneath him. He had to have you. And every way he possibly could. Sukuna pulled out, groaning at the feeling of your inner walls, attempting to prevent him from leaving, but they didn’t need to try to stop him because he had no intention of pulling out.

“My dirty slut.” Sukuna growled as he slammed back into using all of his strength. “Wantk g fuck him in front of your coworkers in front of a bunch of strangers.” he leaned over you, pressing his lips against yours. “Even if that were something you would want, I would never do that. Because I would kill anyone who looked at you like that.”

“N-Nnngh—oh—fuck!”

Your wall squeezed around him hugging his cock tight. “Are you squeezing down on me because it turns you on to know how I’m so possessive over you?” you weakly nodded, crying out softly as you tried and failed to kiss him. Your moans are spilling out, preventing you from moving your lips against his and the way you wanted. “Awe, Kitten~ you can’t even talk because you’re feeling so good.” another nod. “Haah~ such a good girl for me just lay back and feel good while I use your pussy okay?”

Nothing could’ve prepared you for the powerful thrusts that came next. Sukuna grabbed your hips, holding them down as he fucked into you like you were a flashlight. The car rocked with each slam of his hips. The sound of skin slapping against skin was almost as loud as the growls and moans that sounded from you both. Sweat coated your low, lower body as you felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. Your boyfriend could feel it, too. Feel the way your nails dug into his forearms, how you’re pretty legs trembled with your building orgasm. He watched you slowly coming undone, and that sight only pressed him to go further.

All of his control vanished as he fucked into you like he hated you. “K-Kuna!” You screamed, eyes watering as he reached up, choking your eyes, shutting tight. “G-Gonna—oh fuck I-I’m gonna!” Sukuna's thumb found your clit rubbing it, giving you that final push you were needing.

“Then fucking cum Kitten~”

You came hard and fast. The pleasure hitting you in the most wonderful way. Sukuna watched from above, grunting at the feeling of you squirting all over his cock. That sensation had him lurching forward as his own orgasm hit him. His cock throbbed and twitched inside of you as he came. Your mouth fell at the feeling of his cum filling you. It was so warm, and you hummed happily, giggling as Sukuna fell on top of you, peppering your face with kisses.

“Uuugh.”

“Uugh?” You laughed breathlessly, your fingers tracing over the tattoos that were etched into his face. “That’s a first.”

“Y-Yeah fuck whatever, we need to hurry.” He whispered affectionately against your kiss-swollen lips. “G-Gonna be hard again. We need to get home.”

“Oh? Really what-aahnn—” Your question was lost with a moan as Sukuna grabbed your earlobe, tugging it roughly, teasing your weak spot. “Fuck!”

“I plan on taking you home and fucking until both of us pass out or whenever my dick stops working.” you know damn well he meant every single word. “You wanted to take such good care of me this morning. You still can. But I don’t need you to make me tea. I need to fuck you in every way I can.” You moaned, squirming in anticipation of what was to come when you got home. “But before we get home and start our fuck-fest, I need you to do something for me when we get home.”

“What do you need, Ku-nnngh!” his lips sealed around your ear, gently sucking and kissing on it.“Holy fuckin’ fuck!”

“I need you to order us some more of this honey~” he didn’t need to tell you twice. You proudly subscribe to the monthly subscription box. Because having him lose all of his composure was something you definitely wanted to experience again and again.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree @msniks

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