#last night's shift was a pain in the ass

[voluptuarian]

Currently so out of sorts I'm going back to bed just to try and soothe the savage beast down to a liveable level

[kitwilsonsass]

not to be tmi but do you ever just LOSE YOUR FUCKING MIND ON YOUR PERIOD

[strang3lov3]

Wants and Needs

Look at the mess you’re in now, sweetheart, cryin’ on a cock that’s too fuckin’ big for you. What am I gonna do with ya?”

WARNINGS - Mean!joel, dom!joel, cock hungry!reader, impish!reader, one shot, size kink, Joel miller monster cock, ‘We shouldn’t be doing this’ vibes, cause Joel’s all guilt ridden and sexually frustrated, lots of dirty talk, guided masturbation (joel talks you through fucking yourself), mid-fuck pep talk from a man old enough to be your father, girthy legal but unspecified age gap, fingering, pain kink, brief mention of tummy bulge, dacryphilia, dubcon, unprotected PIV, cream pie, cum eating, aftercare in the form of oral sex (f!receiving) wedgie kink if you squint, horny brain took over when I wrote this, dingy motel sex.

FIC HELP - @tofics!!! Thank you for the thorough beta, sweetheart!!! you did so fucking much to help me with this fic and i'm really fucking grateful, more than words could say!! @beefrobeefcal @cum-a-calla and @/endlessthxxghts (rip i miss your presence on this shitshow of a website every day) thank you sweet babes for all of the encouragement and support!! I love you all!!

A/N - Long time no see! It’s been a while since I’ve posted a fic, even while since I’ve written for Joel. Gosh. I hope you’re all surviving the winter as best you can <3 it’s been a rough one, huh? Enjoy and have a safe rest of your week :)

The bed frame groans for the seventh time in a span of five minutes. Through his nose, Joel sighs in irritation at that sharp, grating creak, the sound of the bed hitting against the wood paneled walls to match. You’ve been at this for the last hour and a half - wriggling, flipping back and forth in the bed, tugging that old, scratchy, floral comforter off of Joel’s body to swaddle around yours, only to throw it off again seconds later. You’ve flipped your pillow more times than he can count, adjusting where you lay your head in search of that coveted cold spot. 

It’s hard to sleep when you keep touching him. Mindlessly, you press up against Joel, and inch away again. His patience for this routine of yours wore thin long ago, sanded down by too many nights of this same ordeal. 

Joel feels the mattress dip and shift a little, the subtle warning of you gearing up to toss your body again, but he’s had enough. He grabs you by the wrist before you can do so, holding you tight enough so that you feel the rough calluses of his palm on your skin. “Enough. Quit fuckin’ squirmin’,” he rasps, his voice tired but edged with warning. “I told you to go to sleep an hour ago.”

“I can’t,” you snap. 

“Bullshit. Y’ain’t even tryin’.”

Joel’s heard this from you before. You’ve always been more restless, whereas Joel’s a heavier sleeper by nature, aided by the alcohol and the pills that lull him off into dreamless unconsciousness. But you’ll keep him up anyway, usually complaining that you’re too hot. Or too cold. Or you’re thirsty, and you need some of his water. No, you don’t have any. Yes, you know you’re a pain in his ass. 

Joel will get you settled, only for you to start all over again. In the subsequent mornings, you’ll be crabby and snapping at him, and he’ll bite back just as hard, pissed off hours of his sleep were lost to you. 

“So what’s your excuse this time?” 

“It’s nothing,” you mumble, adjusting in bed again. You kick your feet, toeing at the tangled fabric of your pants bunched up around your legs. Joel squeezes your arm in warning, nails pressing into your skin a little. “Joel - stop. Just let me—”

Joel cuts you off, “Yeah, I know. Sit up.” 

Obeying him, you sigh and sit up straight, playing with a loose thread in the comforter as Joel leans over your side of the bed, his body radiating warmth and his own scent of something you couldn’t name, something distinctly Joel - perhaps some sort of heavy soap or maybe whiskey. It radiates thick in the space between you and him. He fluffs your pillows a little, then places them back down. “Lay down,” he tells you, and you fall back onto the soft, warm mattress. “S’that comfortable?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

Joel nods quietly, then reaches for the comforter next. He shakes it a little to smooth out the bunches in the material, then lays the flannel sheet over your torso, following with the comforter itself. 

“And you have to tuck the blanket in—” 

“By your shoulders, I know,” Joel says, tucking the blanket under your chin and your shoulders. “Everything, huh?”

Joel settles himself next, situating his own pillows before lying on his stomach. “Now get some sleep. Do that slow breathin’ I told you ‘bout, remember?”

“I remember.”

“Good girl. G’night, then.” 

“Night, Joel.”

Joel closes his eyes and nestles into the mattress, drifting off to something halfway between asleep and awake, but closer to the side of unconsciousness. You close your eyes too, counting your breaths. In for four seconds, just like Joel told you. Hold, out for four seconds. 

Maybe it’d work if you weren’t trying to force your body into it. If you weren’t thinking about how very awake you are, when you should’ve been asleep hours ago. If you weren’t thinking about Joel. 

He’s been on your mind lately, more than usual. You spent so much time alone with him, learning all the neat things about him. He was such a brute at first, and speaking honestly, he still is. But there’s a gentler side of Joel. Softer. Tender, in his own way.

You really, really fucking like Joel. You’ve never liked anyone the way you like him. He makes you feel all sorts of sensations. Anger, annoyance, joy. He makes your heart pound and makes you breathe funny sometimes, but not always in a bad way. You spend a lot of time just looking at him, tucking away the parts of him you love deep inside your brain, saving it for moments alone. His body is softer with his age, but his arms stay strong, shoulders so vastly broad. And his face, the wrinkles in his skin, those neat scars. That look he gets in his eyes when he’s pissed at you, and his lips and his frown. You watch the way he eats sometimes, fixated on the way his lips move, wondering how they’d move against another’s. Maybe your own. His hands, as he traces maps, books, whatever. Veins and tendons twitching. His palms are so fucking big, so masculine.

Joel keeps his distance, always decent. It’s not lost on you. You know he knows how you stare at him, contemplating whatever it is you think about in that head of yours. He doesn’t want to know. Can’t know.

His breathing is evening out now. His lips are parted, and you feel his warm breath on your cheek, tickling your earlobe. He looks so handsome bathed in that milky, bluish moonlight that pours in through the window over his face. 

There’s an ache throbbing between your thighs, the same thing that’s been keeping you up recently. Arousal. Joel seems to worsen the pain, just by existing, somehow. Even just thinking of him makes you throb a little harder. 

Squeezing your thighs together alleviates that ache momentarily, so that’s what you do. You cross one leg over the other and squeeze tight, but it’s not enough. Of course it’s not. You know what you need, something more sustainable than this. Something real, something raw. Something…Joel.

You give your underwear a gentle tug while rocking your hips, just needing that extra bit of pressure. Gripping tight the waistband of your panties while wiggling your hips, shaking the creaky bed a little in the process, the motion rouses Joel from his sleep. He opens one eye to watch you wriggle and jerk, noting that look of concentration painted across your features. 

“What’re you doin’?”

“Joel!” Your whole body jolts and you straighten your legs quickly, flattening your hands at your side. “Nothing.”

He sighs, “If you’re gonna lie to me, sweetheart, y’need to be better at it. Now what is the matter with you?”

You have to be sharp here. You could tell the truth and have Joel inevitably scold you, call you a fucking pervert and that you should be ashamed of yourself or…

…you could bend the truth some, not much. Just a little fib. You spin the story quickly in your head. Something something…you can’t come on your own - lie, and you just need Joel to do it for you - another lie. Far be it from him to leave a girl in distress, right? He’s got to be the hero, always. Has to save the day while bitching that you’d be dead without him. Because that’s Joel Miller, always carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and always by his own doing. How your heart bleeds for him as you proverbially rub your pointer finger and your thumb together, the world’s tiniest violin playing just for him.

“It’s - fuck,” you groan, shifting in bed as you play up the lie. “It’s nothing. Just - something kind of hurts, that’s all.” 

“What hurts? Let me see.” Joel sits up quickly, reaching for the light. “Show me,” he says.

“No, Joel. You can’t - it’s like, I don’t know. It’s…embarrassing, I think.”

“I don’t care,” he grumbles. “Y’gotta tell me. So spit it out, kid.” 

You exhale softly, closing your eyes. Joel’s lying on his side, sitting up a little as he carefully searches your face. You can’t look at him right now because fuck, you’re a bad liar. You turn away so you don’t break and smile or something. “I’m like, throbbing,” you murmur, “And wet, uh…down there, I guess. I don’t know–”

Joel holds up a hand, “Alright, enough. Jus’ - go deal with it. I’ll give ya some privacy,” he says, sitting fully upright and taking off the covers. 

“Deal with it how?” you ask, feigning ignorance. You’ll take this as far as it needs to go, or until you’re caught red-handed.

“You know, like…” Joel waits for you to get the picture, but you just stare at him blankly. 

“Won’t it just go away?” God, you are so full of shit, you almost make yourself sick.

Joel scoffs quietly, and you have to bite down on your smile. You’re playing him like a fucking fiddle. “It don’t work like that, sweetheart,” he says. “You have to handle it on your own.” 

“Can you do it?” 

“Fuck, no,” he answers quickly. But Joel looks down at you, contemplating. God, you’re fucking...this is the reason you keep him up so late? Part of him wants to leave you here, just like this, to figure it out and deal with it on your own. But Joel’s not confident that’ll happen, since you’ve gone this long without it, apparently. Feels like a lie. 

“Or can you help me?”

“Help you how?”

“Just…make sure I’m doing it right. Like, how you’d do it to your lover or something.” 

“You are fuckin’ ridiculous,” Joel sighs under his breath. “How I’d do it to my lover, huh?”

“Right.”

Joel thinks for a moment, then speaks, against his better judgement. “Alright.” He takes a deep breath in and out, taking in you on the bed, scanning the gorgeous outline of your body. “I’d spread her legs,” he says, watching the comforter move as you part your thighs. “Wider than that,” he adds.

“Like this?”

“Jus’ like that, s’good,” Joel nods. “And I’d take my hand,” he says, reaching for your wrist, “Put it right here, between her thighs,” laying your palm over your mound. “Under her pants.”

“Fuck, yeah,” you murmur, sliding your hand beneath your pants and panties. You press down a little, groaning softly at the pressure. Fuck, it feels good. Even better with Joel’s presence. “Feels good,” you sigh, pressing your fingers down harder against the sensitive bud. You can feel it throbbing beneath your fingertips.

“I’d rub her in circles.”

“Hard or soft?” you ask. “Fast or slow?”

“Whatever she wants,” Joel answers. 

You spread your legs a little wider, your knee nudging against Joel’s tummy, and it takes everything he has not to touch you. It wouldn’t be right, he believes. This act alone is pushing the bounds of his morals. 

“Like this, Joel?”

Joel watches the comforter move above your hand as you trace steady circles into your clit, and stifles a groan. As his cock thickens and twitches in his pants, he inches away from you so you don’t feel his arousal. “Yeah, darlin’. Like that.” 

“And then what?”

“I’d keep goin’ til…well, you’ll figure that out.”

He takes a moment to watch, admire the show. Brows pinched together, a little bit of sweat sparkling on your temples. Joel can feel the heat radiating from your body as you work yourself, chest rising and falling, hips and legs twitching. “M’gonna leave you to it, then,” he mumbles finally, getting up to leave. 

“No,” you gasp, reaching for his arm with the hand you used to fuck yourself. Joel feels your arousal on his skin, and notices how wide your pupils are. “Stay.” He does consider it for a moment. His fucking balls ache, desperate to find his own release too. 

“It’s - it’s not enough, Joel.”

Clarity hits him then, and he shoots you a knowing glare. You’re such a bad fucking liar, laying it on way thicker than you need to be. “It’s plenty,” Joel snaps, “I’m leavin’. Hurry up an’ sort yourself out.”

“Don’t go,” you beg. “Can you try it?”

“What? No.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Joel says. “It’s not a good idea. C’mon, honey, I know you’re smarter than this.”

“But I can’t do it on my own,” you argue back. ���I think - fuck - I think I need you to fuck me. I need to come on your cock.”

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart, you can’t say shit like that. M’old enough to be your fuckin’ daddy.” Joel rolls his eyes. This absolutely tracks for you, averse to doing any hard work at all. He pauses, then speaks, “You don’t need me to take care of this for you. Y’just want it. I know you, kid. You don’t like doin’ any hard work yourself. Am I right?”

“No,” you insist, “I really think I need it. Need you.”

You look at Joel, silently begging him to give you what you’re asking for. Joel’s eyes dart left and right as he searches your face, breath hitched in his throat. God, the way you look at him. Your eyes are all wide and innocent and pleading, he knows you’re giving him that look on purpose. “Don’t look at me like that, you fuckin’...Christ almighty,” Joel groans. “Fine,” he concedes.

“You’ll fuck me?”

“Absolutely not,” he snaps. “You can have my fingers. If I do this for you, will ya settle down an’ go to sleep?”

“Yes,” you agree, nodding quickly. “I’ll go right to sleep, Joel, I promise.”

Joel eyes you from the side. “You’re fuckin’ trouble,” he mumbles, scooting closer to you. His bulge presses against your hip, eliciting a gasp from you. “Jus’ ignore it,” he says. “Don’t get any ideas.”

He loops his fingers over the waistband of your pants and panties, then tugs them down your thighs until he can’t anymore. “Take ‘em off the rest of the way,” he tells you.

You wriggle off your pants, then pull off your shirt, now lying bare on the bed underneath the covers. Joel’s eyes widen, then he shakes his head. “Selective hearing,” he grumbles.

“What?”

“Just needed the bottoms gone, sweetheart.” 

“Oh,” you whisper, sliding down the mattress a little more, covering your shoulders with the sheets. Joel props himself up on his elbow, the side of his head resting against his knuckles. His free hand travels over to you, fingers drumming against your hips. 

“Y’ready?”

“Mhm,” you hum, anxiety and excitement permeating the air. Joel’s hand slides down to your inner thigh, and he can feel the heat from your pussy, the way you vibrate with desire. 

Joel should tease your pussy. He should make you ache for it, more than you already are. Trace your lips, press his finger against your wet slit to gather your arousal. Like he would with his lover, right? But he shouldn’t even be here with you right now, god. He’s too fucking old, and you’re too fucking young. The age gap alone makes his head spin, but fills a dark part of him with an animalistic type of hunger. A hunger to ruin you, you pretty, young thing. He reminds himself that this is simply a means to an end, nothing more. 

He slides his warm palm over your mound, nudging your thighs apart a little more. When his fingers touch your clit, you sigh in relief. That alone feels miles better than your own fingers, so much more concentrated. 

“Jesus,” he murmurs, then rubs your clit. Not in circles, like he instructed you to do. He just rubs you there, fingers sliding back and forth over your clit as you relax into his touch. “Y’should be doin’ this yourself.”

“But it feels…it feels…”

“I know,” Joel says, slipping his fingers down the seam of your cunt to collect your arousal. You’re so fucking wet. He drags them back up, then rubs practiced, steady circles over your clit. It’s efficient and very bare bones, no bells and whistles or pulling out his usual stops. Joel has one goal, and that’s to get you off as quickly as possible, and that’s it. “Feels good,” he answers for you, then adds under his breath, “You’re playin with fuckin’ fire.” 

You whimper, clutching Joel’s forearm as he guides you to orgasm. What he doesn’t realize is just how close you are, only from a little bit of his touching. You know you’re on the brink of orgasm, but you also know that when you reach that point, that’s it. You’re done. Joel’s made that much clear, that this is all you’re gonna get from him, and it has to be enough. But of course, it’s not. Not even close. 

Joel dips his fingers lower, pushing his middle and ring fingers into your pussy. He keeps a palm pressed against your tummy, then curls his fingers rhythmically, bringing you to a place you’ve never been before. You moan loudly, writhing as he curls his fingers inside you, stroking that special little spot he loves so much on a woman. Silently, Joel moves his thumb to circle your clit, guiding you closer and closer to the edge.

Joel can tell you’re about there, and he’s correct in that assumption. You feel like you’re about to break, staving off release. Everything feels heightened, thrumming with something electric and almost sharp. Your moans come out all breathy, Joel’s name broken as it spills from your lips. Lost in your head, Joel pulls you back down to earth, speaking softly to you. “You gonna come for me, sweetheart?”

“N-no,” you whimper, shaking your head. 

“Yes ya are. You’re right there, honey. Let go.” Joel rubs your clit a little harder to coax release along. He’s waiting for that golden moment, where you tense up and gasp before falling to pieces, a melting, shuddering mess in his hands. Only…it never comes. Joel studies you intently, watching the way your face moves. Finally, he realizes that you’re fighting it. 

“What’re you doin’? I’m givin’ you what you want, sweetheart, just fuckin’ come.” 

“No,” you repeat, squeezing Joel’s wrist. “I don’t want to yet.”

“Why not?” You squirm a little, and Joel stops fucking you on his fingers. “Hey - why the hell not?” 

“Because I want you to fuck me,” you whisper quietly. 

Joel scoffs. “Oh, you are workin’ my last goddamn nerve. I already told you, sweetheart. You come on my fingers or you don’t come at all. Choice is yours.” Joel continues circling your clit, but you still fight him. 

“But I want you to fuck me,” you repeat, begging, balling your hands into tight fists as you stave off release. “I just - I told you already, but you’re not - you’re not fucking listening to me, Joel. I need–” Your desperation makes the mask slip. You have got to pull yourself together before you fuck this entirely. 

“Hey - adjust the fuckin’ attitude. I already told you no, sweet pea. And I don’t have to listen to you. You listen to me,” he grits, his tone biting. “Get that through your skull, because m’sick of repeatin’ myself.”

“Why?” you complain. “Why won’t you do it?”

“Because,” he explains, “You can’t handle it, kid, I know you can’t. Too big f’ya. And it’s wrong,” he adds, “I shouldn’t even be doin’ this to you.”  

You love the challenge his words incite. Oh, you’ll show him what you can handle, alright. Filled with a renewed sense of perseverance, you ground yourself and focus hard. 

Joel focuses too, hellbent on not being a worse man. What he’d really like to do, really, is split you in two with his cock. He’s not unaware of his size, what he does to a woman. Especially one like you, who’s absolutely in over her head and has not the faintest notion of what he could do to her. He’d teach you a fucking lesson, maybe. Shove his cock down your throat to watch you choke on it, feel that delicious pulse as you gag. He could fuck your ass, too, watch your eyes roll back into your skull as he makes you take all of him. That’d teach you to listen to him for once, right? A little pain to put you into place, you fucking brat?

You’re right on the edge. You know it, and so does Joel. The way you soak his two thick fingers, your cunt pulsing around them erratically. Your brows are knit together as you twitch and shudder, trying your goddamn hardest to not come. Joel’s amazed at your will.

“C’mon, kid, just come for me. Be done with this,” Joel urges, frustration laced in his tone. “Don’t piss me off, sweetheart. You don’t want that.” 

You shake your head, “Mm-mm - n - I wanna, I need your -”

Joel holds his palm over your mouth, cutting you off. “No. You’re not ready for it,” he tells you. “Y’don’t know at all what you’re askin’ for. Not a fuckin’ clue.”

Joel lifts his palm. “I do, too,” you argue. “Please, Joel, I can handle it.”

“Sure you can, sweetheart.”

“I’ll be good.”

Those three little words make Joel’s breath hitch in his throat. You have to know exactly what you do to him, with the looks you give him and the way you beg. You’ll be good. God, he’s gonna end up fucking giving it to you. He shouldn’t, he really fucking shouldn’t.

“Please?”

Joel sighs heavily, worn down by your incessant, sweet fucking begging. And honestly, what he wouldn’t give to ruin you. To fuck you in half, shatter you into pieces. So be it, he decides. 

“Fine,” Joel says. “But this didn’t fucking happen. Do you understand me?” 

“I understand,” you answer sweetly. Christ, your fucking good girl act. You have to know what you do to him.

“A’int fuckin’ right,” Joel mumbles, rising and yanking the covers off the bed. He quickly takes off his shirt and shucks off his pants, gripping his cock tightly as he hovers over you. He never should have fucking indulged you, but here he is. Joel reaches between your thighs to collect your arousal on his fingertips, then coats his cock in your mess. He’s fucking huge. He’s generously thick as well as long, and you’re not sure if you’ll be able to handle it like you said you would. “No backin’ out now,” Joel says.

“I’m a little nervous,” you admit. 

“I’ll bet you are,” Joel says, and your heart races. He lowers himself, then presses the thick tip of his cock against your pussy, dragging it through your folds before notching it inside your tight entrance. “Your pussy’s too pretty f’ya to let me do this to you,” he says. “Now take a deep breath.” 

You take a deep breath in, and that’s when Joel begins working himself inside you. You whine in pain, scooting back towards the headboard to try to slow it down. 

“Where d’ya think you’re goin’, huh? You stay right there, sweetheart.”

“Slow down, please—”

“What’s the matter? Thought you could handle it, tough girl,” Joel taunts, squeezing your hip while sliding further inside you. He’s not even a quarter of the way in yet, and you’re already reeling from the pain of his thick cock stretching you out. He draws out a little, admiring the tip of his cock coated in your arousal, then inches back in. “S’really hurtin’ ya, huh?” 

You grab any part of him that you can, attempting to temper the way he enters you. Make it slower, gentler, less…less. He pulls out a little, then pushes in further than before, earning another high-pitched whine from you. 

“Who tried to talk ya out of it, sweetheart? Hm? Who warned ya? You remember how to say my name? It's Joel, darlin’. Sound it out.”

Joel’s being so mean, and it makes you feel like crying. He draws in and out of you, still yet to bury himself all the way inside, watching your reactions as he holds a hand on your ribcage, making you take it all. 

“Yeah, I know. S’a big stretch, huh? Hurtin’ pretty bad?”

“Yeah,” you whimper, looking down at where your bodies connect. You’re not even close to taking all of him in, and already it feels like he’s fucking you in two. 

“Mhm. In over your head, aren’tcha, kid? You gonna listen to me next time?”

“Yes - fuck!” Joel pushes in another inch or so, and it makes you yelp in pain. “Yes, I’ll listen,” you say, voice thick with tears. Joel watches them begin to fall, and he quickly wipes them away with the back of his hand. 

“Won’t hurt forever,” Joel grunts. “S’easier f’ya rip off the bandaid. Want my help with that, sweetheart? I’ll make it quick.”

“N-no,” you sniffle. “I need you to go slow.” 

Joel nods silently, continuing working himself inside. A small movement of his hips out, then in, then out again, and in a little further. He could make you take it all right now, be done with this whole song and dance. It really would be easier on you. The proverbial mercy-kill. That dark part of Joel sort of likes the pain he gives to you, though. He tries not to think about that too hard, stuff that feeling down deep. 

Oh, the tears you cry. The pretty face you make, features all contorted in pain. Joel gives your hip a soothing little rub before moving his hand to your clit, massaging the sensitive bud as he pushes into you, making you whimper even more. 

“I know it hurts.” Joel presses his palm against your cheek, rubbing your lips with his thumb as your cunt pulses around his length. “Let it be a lesson to ya, huh? Stay out of a grown man’s business. He knows better’n you. ‘Cause look at the mess you’re in now, sweetheart, cryin’ on a cock that’s too fuckin’ big for you. What am I gonna do with ya?” 

“I don’t know,” you sniffle. 

“I know you don’t. Tried to tell ya this wasn’t a good idea, sweet pea,” Joel whispers. “Now buck up. You’re halfway there.” 

Joel takes the liberty to speed the process up, to sheathe himself in you fully, and does so quickly. At least, quicker than you’d like him to, as evidenced by your high-pitched whines. “Shhhh,” Joel hushes, pushing his fingers into your mouth as if to pacify you, or distract you at the very least. “I know, I know, I know.” You bite into Joel’s palm, squeezing your eyes shut as you feel his cock splitting you in two. 

“Quit your cryin’, and breathe. I got you, kid,” he says, “We’re finishin’ this,” then pushes in you the rest of the way, the blunt head of his cock kissing against your cervix. “There,” he grunts, “Worst is over.”

You open your eyes, first looking at Joel and then between your bodies, where his connects to yours. You don’t see any of his length left, only the long, wiry, bits of graying hair that surround his member. What you don’t see - what Joel does see - is that pretty, thick bulge his dick makes against your tummy.

He lifts his hand from your mouth, “I did it?” you ask.

“You did it,” Joel affirms. “Good job. Proud a’ ya, kiddo.”

Joel gives you a second to get used to the feeling of him buried inside you, to wrap your head around it. There’s not much thinking going on in that head of yours, though, that much he can tell. All cockdumb and he’s barely even fucked you. 

It doesn’t feel good yet, like it should. It’s an intense pressure, an awful stretch, and it worsens with every throb and twitch of Joel’s massive cock. You squeeze his biceps as he lowers his head and bites your shoulder hard enough to leave a mark, and then you bury your face in his curls. He draws out of you and oh, there it is. “Attagirl, easy does it,” he groans, “You just lie there and take my cock, sweet girl. Take it good for me.” 

Joel sets his pace then, steadily pushing in and out of you. It’s not violent or cruel, not even particularly harsh, but the hurt is still there. Joel rocks his hips, pulling out of you all the way and filling you right back up again with each and every stroke. Soon enough, you’re moaning.

“Yeah, that’s it. Goddamn, sweetheart. Don’t hurt so bad anymore does it?”

“No.” You shake your head. “Still hurts,” you murmur, voice tight with pain. 

Joel chuckles. “Oh, it does, huh? Tsk. Well, you’re in it now, darlin’. Gotta see it through. Don’t try an’ quit on me.”

Joel increases the speed at which he fucks you, damp curls falling over his forehead as sweat glitters on his skin, a bead of it rolling down the length of his aquiline nose. He watches you intently, a stern sort of expression painted across his features. That dimple on his right cheek flashes as he purses his lips, a grunt escaping his throat. 

“Joel,” you choke out. 

“M’almost done, sweetheart. Gimme five more minutes. You can do five minutes, can’t ya?”

The pain is relentless, unwavering, until it starts to vanish, replaced by a dull pleasure. It builds in time as Joel pounds into you, increases with every brush of his pubic bone against your clit. He keeps a hand on your breast, squeezing the flesh there hard enough to bruise, pinching your nipple before soothing the ache with a practiced flick of his tongue. Jesus Christ, you feel good. Your soft body, all for him. The way your poor cunt hugs him so sweetly - he’s not lasting much longer now. 

“Why don’t you try an’ come for me, pretty girl? Can you do that f’me?” Joel licks his fingers and starts to rub your clit in those same circles from earlier, coaxing along your release. 

It’s no surprise you come as hard as you do, as quickly as you do. All pent up for god only knows how long, and the way you were hellbent on staving off your climax earlier. It’s enough to ruin anyone. 

With a couple more good, hard thrusts, you’re clenching around Joel’s cock, his name spilling from your lips as you come undone. Poor girl. You look so overwhelmed, so fucking wrecked as you come so hard, and it’s no wonder to Joel why exactly that is. “There it is,” Joel coos, wiping away the tears you cry.  “Ohh, yeah. That’s a good one.” 

Joel guides you through your orgasm as he chases his own, fucking you harder and deeper. He pounds you in non-rhythm, his thrusts frenzied and frantic before he’s coming too, spilling load after hot load of his come inside you, filling you with the most soothing warmth. He pulls out of you quickly to watch his spend spill from between your thighs, and it’s so intimate, the way he watches you experience that private pleasure. 

“Goddamn, baby. I fuckin’ ruined her,” Joel whispers, gathering a bit of his spend on his fingertips to push it back inside. “Why’d you want me do that to ya, huh?”

You only shrug. Words are hard for you right now. 

“She still hurtin’ a little?”

“A little,” you answer quietly. 

“Mhm, she’s all swollen. M’gonna kiss her all better, alright? I’ll be nice an’ gentle.” 

Joel taps your hip and mumbles something you don’t hear, what with the ringing in your ears, then lifts your bottom half and slides a pillow beneath you. He parts your legs, and is so profoundly tender as he drags a thumb through your sensitive, slick flesh. 

As promised, his lips replace his fingers. Joel begins with a quick kiss, then another, and another. His facial hair feels almost sharp against you, almost painful, but his tongue is so soft. So practiced as he licks up the seam of your cunt, tasting his own work - not that he minds, really. His lips quickly attach to your clit, and he suckles gently. You don’t need much, not right now. He keeps himself buried in that beautiful space between your thighs until you’re coming again, a little softer than before. Gentler. The quiet after the storm. 

You’re crying, all overwhelmed still. Joel scoops you up into his arms and covers you with the comforter, quietly shushing you. “I know, sweet girl. It’s over now. Was a lot, wasn’t it?”

“Mhm,” you hum, sniffling still. 

“S’why you gotta listen to me, hm?” Joel pushes some hair out of your face, then kisses your warm cheek as he lays you on your side. He fixes the blankets, lays them all out flat and even before taking his place next to you, curling his frame around you. “I gotcha, kiddo.” 

As you settle into bed, Joel scratches up and down your side, and kisses your shoulder. “Two orgasms,” he mutters. “You made out like a fuckin’ bandit, sweet pea. You know that?”

Another shrug, and Joel chuckles. “You gonna be a good girl and go to sleep now?” 

“Yes, Joel.”

“Alright. Sweet dreams, trouble.”

If you enjoyed, please please please reblog with some sweet thoughts or hop in my inbox 🩷🩷 your kind words go farther than you know in keeping me motivated to write. It’s been a while. I’ve missed my Joelie perverts 🫂💕

Kitty tax for my sweet readers 🩵

[littlelamy]

he's still dripping saltwater onto the hotel bed when his phone buzzes, throat tight from shouting at ward on the yacht, some bullshit about respect that doesn't matter now, not when his screen lights up with your name. again. fucking finally.

he told you to call.

told you to keep him updated, send pictures, let him hear your voice so he didn't lose his mind being stuck here with rose’s fake ass laugh and his dad pretending he gives a shit. but you haven’t. barely a word. a missed call he couldn’t answer at dinner, some half-assed text before bed last night. it’s not enough. not even fucking close.

he snatches the phone up before it stops vibrating, fingers still damp as he unlocks it, and—

jesus christ.

his breath gets knocked straight out of him like a gut punch. the video starts with you spread out on your bed, wearing the tiny lace panties he bought you last summer, the white ones with the little satin bow at the front. the ones he told you not to wear when he wasn’t around. your skin’s soft in the low light, thighs shifting, a teasing little wiggle of your hips before your fingers dip between your legs, pressing against the wet spot already showing through. he can hear you, a soft, breathy sigh, and his cock twitches to life in his swim trunks.

his jaw clenches as the video plays. his grip tightens on the phone.

“miss you, rafey,” your voice, saccharine sweet, a little breathless. “wish you were here.”

your fingers slip under the lace, pushing it aside, and fuck—he gets a perfect view of your glistening folds, of how wet you already are for him, all from just thinking about him. his free hand curls into the sheets, nails digging in. his cock’s aching now, straining against his shorts, but he doesn’t move, just stares, entranced, pupils blown wide as you tease yourself, spreading slick with slow, lazy strokes. you always did love putting on a show for him.

his teeth sink into his bottom lip when your fingers slide inside, a needy whimper slipping out, hips lifting to meet your own touch. he should be there. should be the one filling you up, wrecking you like only he can. his jaw flexes. his breath’s coming short now, heavy, uneven. your back arches, your pace picking up, and he hears it—his name, the way it tumbles from your lips, needy, desperate. his head tips back against the headboard, exhaling sharply through his nose. he’s so fucking hard it’s painful.

then you bring your other hand up, two fingers dipping into your mouth, coating them in spit before trailing down, pressing against your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles. his vision goes white-hot for a second. his hips jerk up involuntarily. your moans turn breathy, higher pitched, his name slipping out between them like a prayer, like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

then you’re gasping, thighs squeezing around your own hand, chest heaving, back arching high as you come with a soft, broken cry—

and the video ends.

his thumb hovers over the screen, like maybe if he presses just right, it’ll play again. like he didn’t just watch the whole thing burned into his memory in perfect, agonizing detail. his pulse is hammering in his ears. he drags his tongue over his bottom lip, glancing toward the bathroom where the shower’s still running.

his fingers fly over the keyboard.

you’re fucking dead when i get home.

he hesitates, staring at the screen, then adds—

call me. now.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafesbabygirlx

[inkdrinkerworld]

same bday anon- i have a yelling req !!!

remus yelling at reader pre or post full moon and the other marauders don't say anything bc they're shocked, but reader thinks it's bc they agree? and then after a while they all make up and just cuddle<3 ofc if u don't wanna it's all good !!! ilysm baby !

I did it more along the lines of Remus having chronic pain than a werewolf thing :/ I hope that’s okay

You’re kneeling before Remus’ slouched body on the sofa, hand in his hair as you try to coax him to move.

“Remus, c’mon. You can’t lay like that, your bones will ache.”

You’re trying to get your ailing boyfriend to find a much more comfortable spot, his body sore and tired and the chill moving through the air wasn’t helping so much.

Sirius and James are in the kitchen- a bad idea but you’d wanted to try to coax Remus into some stretches and maybe a massage before they finished the potato and leek soup for supper.

“I can lay like this all I want, dove. It feels good.” There’s a snark in his tone, but you don’t let it get under your skin. You know how much pain he’s in when he has a flare up like this, so you brush his tone aside.

You run your hand down his cheeks, “Please Rem. I don’t want your knees to lock or your back to twinge.”

You’re as gentle as you can be, patient and understanding but you can see in your mind’s eye that way Remus wobbled and fell to the floor the last time his knees had locked.

“I’m a grown man damnit!” You flinch back from him as his tone shifts, your hand dropping from his face as you sit back on your heels on the floor. “If I want to fucking lay like this for the rest of the night I can.”

Remus’ outburst has gathered the attention of your other boyfriends, and you want terribly to respond to his words, but you can’t.

He sounds so upset and he’s so loud and you feel your chest constrict as you stare at him.

“I don’t need you hovering for gods sake! Go be a nuisance somewhere else.”

Remus speaks with such venom and he looks at you with just heat and anger in his eyes that it’s impossible not to believe this is how he really feed about you.

James and Sirius stay silent, shocked by Remus’ words just as you are- but their silence makes the shame burn hotter in your chest.

This is how they all feel about you.

“You don’t get to be mean just cause you’re hurting, Remus.” Is all you say as you stand, walking towards the front door when Sirius springs into action first.

“Poppet, where’re you headed?” He’s almost beaten you to the front door but your hand touches the handle first.

“I’m going for a walk. I want to stack stones by the river.” Sirius knows what it’s code for. You don’t want to say something mean back to Remus, you want to be kind even if he’s being an ass.

Sirius makes to grab your jumpers. “I’ll come with, you shouldn’t be alone.” You shake your head.

“You don’t have to pretend you care, Siri. It’s okay if you and Jamie agree with him. I just want to be alone.”

“Agree with him? Poppet we,” but you’re already out the door.

James glares at Remus who simply sinks into the sofa.

“You can be a real piece of work, Moony.” James says, hoisting his boyfriend out of the position he’d been in and stretching his legs long on the sofa instead of over its back.

Sirius moves to the living room again, “She was trying to help. Now she’s gone off to stack her stones when she should be tearing you a new one.”

Remus scrubs at his face, heat colouring his cheeks red. Sirius doesn’t let him off the hook. He can’t believe how callous Remus has been.

“Thinks me and James share your fuck off stupid sentiments when you don’t even believe what you said.”

James stops him from saying any more. “I’ll go look for her while you stay with him.”

Remus shakes his head, hissing as he stands; his knees shaky and weak. “I’ll go.” Sirius wants to stop him, but James knows if Remus doesn’t go do it now he’ll spend the entire time he’s home worrying himself sick and then won’t be able to face for days.

Sirius slaps his hands to his thighs, “Fuck off, we’ll all go. I’ll turn off the hob.”

They find you after you’ve already made four stacks of rocks, some with tiny rocks, some with huge slabs of stone.

Remus’ chest tightens as he spots you, your knees to your chest, toes wet from where you’re sat.

“Dove,” Remus starts to say as he stops right beside you. “I was an ass. I didn’t mean what I said.”

You just hum, looking at your stacks and trying to find more rocks for another pile.

“I hate when I can’t do the things I want because it’ll make me hurt and it was wrong of me to shout at you for just trying to look after me.”

You look at him when he crouched down, his knees cracking so loudly you’re worried he’ll topple over.

James steadies a hand on Remus’ back while Sirius procures a couple stones for you. His palm flat as he shows them to you, a little smile on his face when you take them.

“You said I was a nuisance.” Remus cringes as he heads the words back. He really can’t believe he’d been so mean to you.

“I didn’t mean it, dovey. The pain is no excuse.”

“Do you all think that?” You ask nervously, “You didn’t say anything when he said it.” You gnaw on your bottom lip, worrying it to all hell as you look between James and Sirius.

“You’re not a nuisance baby,” James says first, hurt that you’d even thought it was how they felt about you. “I know us not saying anything made things worse, but it was just shock; not how we feel.”

Sirius turns your face up to his, pinching your chin to keep your eyes on him. “You walked out before I could finish. None of us think you’re a nuisance, you’re the best damn thing that happened to us. Come home.”

Sirius is hard to have a stare off with, he doesn’t back down. But it isn’t that that does you in.

“Please dove. You can boss me around till the end of time, just come home and out of the cold.”

Remus sounds so chock full of remorse and when you look at him you find his eyes glassy. “Okay,” Sirius helps you stand, and you receive kisses from all three of them before you the river bed.

[ivy-elle]

How they tend to you after getting injured

Feat. Albedo, Childe, Kinich, Scaramouche

A/N: Slightly suggestive in Childe's part, more so in Scaramouche's

“Move it a bit for me?”

You couldn’t help but grimace a little at that prospect. “I’d rather not.”

That promptly earns you a disapproving look from the alchemist. Which is quite an unusual sight for him, you think. He must be really concerned then.

“Slowly.” A soft musing laced in his voice as his fingers gently wrap around your wrist to move your hand at a slow pace.

You hiss quietly at the sharp pain. “It’s not broken,” you state, trying to convince yourself more than actually being sure of that.

“No,” Albedo attests, touching up your wrist, careful not to hurt you further, “it’s fortunately not. Yet, your wrist is in a less-than-ideal state.”

You raise your eyebrow and reply in a flat tone, “Really.”

Albedo’s eyes meet yours, unaltered. “Positive.”

Then his brows furrow as his gaze falls on something next to you on the table. He reaches for the bottle of painkillers you took earlier, inspecting them with concerned incredulity. “My love, I hope you didn’t expect to cure a sprained bone with these pills alone?”

 “Well…I mean, maybe?” you fumble with your words. “They’re good.”

Albedo can’t help the sigh leaving his lips as he shakes his head and grabs the pack of bandages, he prepared. “I will bring along some more profound remedy later if that’s alright with you.”

Carefully, he starts wrapping a string of bandages around your hand, making sure it sits steady and firm but not enough to be painful.

“Does that feel comfortable enough?” He shifts his eyes back to yours, observing closely for any indication of pain on your face.

Somehow his soft-spoken words seem to soothe the pain on their own Your heart tightens along with the last string of bandages as he seems to be so utterly tender and gentle with you.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Thank you. I’m sorry, for the fright earlier.”

“Nonsense.” Albedo gently lifts up your now bandaged hand and presses a feather-light kiss against the cloth. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You’re slacking more than usual. Where’s your fire today?”

The sounds of clashing swords against each other halt for a moment when Childe stems his sword into the earth beneath. He tilts his head as his arms sneak under to support his chin against the grip of his sword. A boyish grin on his lips as wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Long night?”

You huff, mirroring his position. “Shut up, you shithead.” He knows damn well who’s to blame for your lack of sleep recently.

But Childe only snickers, like that smug ass he is, giving you a once-over. “Oho, we have a sore loser here I see.”

“You just want me to pay for the dinner tonight.”

“Precisely.” His smirk widens. “There is an evening waiting for you full of relaxation, notorious meals and of course the best company Liyue has to offer.” Childe takes a few steps back, widening his arms out in a dramatic manner. “Me.”

“See, I’d actually beg to defy that statement,” you start as you put your sword away. But when you look back up, the single head movement causes a sudden spur, your vision adorned by black dots for a moment. “Damn,” you huff, holding onto a tree for some support.

“Woah, there.” Within a second Childe is at your side, his hand reaches out, holding you in place. “You okay?” His tone has shifted into a more serious one.

You blink and your vision clears one more. A sort of sheepish, perhaps slightly embarrassed grin settles on your lips as you meet his eyes. “Yeah. That treasure hoarder must’ve gotten me a bit harder than I’ve assumed.”

But Childe doesn’t join in on your amusement and frowns instead. “What treasure hoarder? On your way to Liyue earlier?”

Exasperated, you run a hand through your hair as you get reminded of the events earlier that day. “Unfortunately.” An annoyed scoff escapes you. “Please, it was embarrassing enough as it is. Don’t make me live through that again.”

Childe’s eyes slightly darken and he’s quiet for a moment. Contemplating. As if settling on some plan. Then from one moment to the other, his expression immediately clears up again and he ruffles your hair in an affectionate way. “I suggest, we let the food deliver to us instead and you’re gonna tell me exactly what happened, hm?”

Disgruntled, you push his hand from your head. “Childe, it’s-“

“Ah-ah, no. Concussions should be treated seriously. Off you go now.” He shoos you forward gently, but now his arm is draped around your waist, just to make sure you’ll stay on your feet. “Come now.”

“You’re walking funny.”

Confused, you turn your head back around to where Kinich is walking behind you, raising your eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

Kinich’s eyes are focused on your feet, analysing. “Did you sprain your ankle?”

“No,” you turn back ahead, “it’s not that bad.”

His fingers take hold of your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. “May I see?”

You frown. “My foot?”

“Your ankle,” he corrects, his face unchanged.

“Right now?”

“Yes.” It’s obvious he isn’t up for any kind of discussion.

You look around the jungle you’re passing through. Quite the inconvenient setting.

“Kinich, I swear it’s-“

“Please.”

You nearly crumble. Both at his touch as well as the tender look in his eyes. So you relent with a sigh. “Alright, just-, “You look around for something to sit down. “Let’s get somewhere closed off, yeah?”

One settled on a nearby rock, Kinich crouches down in front of you, one hand on your calf the other on your knee. He sure seems like he’s done this a couple of times before. Well, in his line of work…

“Can you bend it?” Kinich asks then. Some strands of his hair fall into his face and you’re tempted to reach out and gently brush them away.

You blink. Focus.

“Sure. Well, I think I’d rather not bend it though.”

He hums, contemplative. “I’d rather you not as well.” After carefully checking up upon your skin and bones he looks up again to meet your eyes, a bit of a stern look on his face. More so than usual. “You realise this is swollen, right? Surely you must feel that?”

“Mayhaps,” you admit more hesitantly than he’d like.

Kinich frowns, sighs and then stands up. “Come on. I carry you. It’s not far off anymore, anyway.”

At that suggestion, your heart skips a beat. “No way.”

He crosses his arms. Then one eyebrow rises. “You think I’d dare to drop you?”

“I have dignity.” You explain and prop up your elbows as you lean back against the rock before you add, “And pride.”

“There won’t be much left of your pride if you continue to walk that way in the open.” He takes a few steps back with a glint in his eyes. “I’d put that into careful consideration as well if I were you.”

You squeeze your eyes at him. “You’re playing dirty.”

Kinich lips curve into a smile. Then he adjusts with ease and lifts you up into his arms. “And yet I win.”

You are in heaven. You could swear it.

It has been weeks now, where missions, the fatui or simple life have kept you away from each other, getting barely any time to spend.

And while Scaramouche might not outwardly admit that he’s missed you (or your touch), it is now quite evident in the way his lips adorn your skin, his fingers trailing along your body like he has to physically assure himself, you’re right here. Right beneath his very hands.

His hand slides down your midriff and his fingers grace the skin beneath your shirt, causing goosebumps to spread there. “Your fingers are cold,” you murmur dazedly between kisses, yet a slight amusement has found its way into your voice.

Scaramouche simply captures your complaint with his lips, a slight tug on his mouth. “Don’t tell me we have a temperature problem on our hands?”

“Not for long I hope,” you reply with a teasing grin and return the kiss again with more fervour. He obliges immediately.

But just as he’s about to slip your shirt over your head he pauses. You bite your lip to stop a few less-than-dignifying words from leaving your mouth and open your eyes instead. “What’s wrong? Too cold after all?”

Scaramouche’s hand tethers your waits as his gaze is locked on someplace on your ribs, the reverence from moments ago completely vanished. Now there’s a grim expression as his eyes dart down to you. “What happened here?”

You follow his line of sight where sure enough, the gash from one of your fights greets you. One, that you have perhaps pushed back farther into the depths of your mind for the sake of the moment.

“It’s nothing bad,” you explain. You feel somehow caught, trying to overplay the situation by mumbling on. “Seriously, just a stupid cut from days ago.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” There’s an agitated tension in the room now as Scaramouche’s annoyance level rises and his expression darkens. “I know for a fact this hasn’t been here for a few days already. It’s fresh. And you’re aggravating it further.”

That prompts you to prop your elbows on the bed, frowning. “It’s not bleeding, it barely even hurts. It is fine. Absolutely. Can we just…?”

His eyes narrow at your words, jaw clenching. “Perhaps you’re the stupid one then.” He clicks his tongue in irritation and gets up from the bed, muttering some disgruntled curses.

Slowly, you sit up on the bed and pull your shirt back down to cover your midriff again. You watch him roaming around the room, gathering some utensils from the shelf at his side of the bed before he returns to sit beside you. Scaramouche doesn’t look at you. In unbent silence, he pushes you back down on the sheets to give him a better angle to the wound on your side. You swallow a grunt at the sharp pain and his grip on your waist tightens for a moment.

You observe him quietly as he works, eyebrows scrunched with his anger simmering just beneath the surface. Obviously, you’re aware that his irritation stems from the desire to keep you safe, from his protective nature, and his destined grief of you one day inevitably slipping through his fingers.

“Scara-“

“Shut up. I’m done already.”

His gaze meets yours once again and for a few silent moments, you just stare at each other, with unspoken emotions swirling around on both of your faces.

Then he suddenly scoffs and puts the utensils away. As if trying to shake off his sense of irritation. “Who risks their health in such a way just to get laid?”

You can’t help the grin spreading on your lips. “Hey, at least that’ll leave a sick scar.”

“I’m gonna murder you, y/n. I’m serious.”

He isn’t.

Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs are so appreciated <3

[itneverendshere]

we say we’re different but we got the same eyes - r.c

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x rafe

you needed to stop taking other people shift’s. 

it’s not like you wanted to, but at least they were paying you to do so, enough to let you actually chill this summer without stressing about rent or whatever else adulthood decided to throw at you.

all you had to do was show up and do the job. first at lila’s dinner, now at the bougie country club, as a cart girl.

you’d done this before, and sure, the old men were always a little too handsy with their beer guts hanging over their tacky polos, but at least they tipped well. you could tolerate them. smile, giggle at their half-assed jokes, and let them feel like they still had it. 

fine. pay me for my pain, grandpa. 

today however, instead of your usual sugar-daddy wannabes, you were babysitting frat boys. fresh out of their first year of college, probably still hungover from their last keg stand.

nineteen-year-old idiots in pastel shorts and backwards hats, making everything about themselves.

“bro, you remember that party at kappa? dude, swear i blacked out after like, five shots.”

wow, five whole shots? congrats, you absolute child. should i get you a sticker for that?

don’t even get started on their conversations about girls. one of them, chad or brad or whatever his stupid name was, just had to loudly detail how some poor innocent girl “totally wanted him last night but was playing hard to get.”

yeah, bro, she was probably just trying to get through the night without having to mace your entitled ass.

it was constant. the whole damn morning. all they talked about was frat parties, girls they didn’t deserve, and how they "couldn’t wait to get back to school."

you'd give anything to remind them how utterly irrelevant their frat status was in the real world, but you couldn’t. nope. you had to keep your game face on, pour their drinks, and pretend like they weren’t giving you a headache that rivaled your worst hangovers.

at least the elderly snobs tipped well. sure, they were pretentious and acted like you were beneath them, but they'd slip you a twenty or more with a smug little wink. that made it easier to tolerate their "i’ve been golfing here since before you were born" bullshit.

but these brats?

half the time they forgot to tip at all, and when they did remember, it was a crumpled five like they were doing you some grand favor. and of course, of course, they couldn’t just keep their obnoxious, beer-breath comments to themselves. no, they had to make it worse by hitting on you—hard. 

painfully hard. it was like watching a car crash in slow motion, except instead of pulling over to help, you were stuck right in the middle, praying someone would just tow your ass out.

“yo, what’s your name again?” one of them asks. bryce, probably. his face just screams bryce.

he's leaning against the cart like he thinks it's going to make him look cool, but really, he’s just sloshing his drink all over the place. classy.

“it’s on my name tag,” you deadpan, pointing to the little badge pinned to your polo. you're not about to give him any more than that.

but he's not letting it go. “oh yeah? cute name for a cute girl. you single or what?”

jesus christ. here we go.

you resist the urge to roll your eyes so hard they’d get stuck in the back of your head. 

“’m here to work,” you sigh, voice sweet enough to mask the absolute disdain you're feeling. you know what comes next.

they always think they can charm you if they just keep going, like you are some kind of challenge.

“c’mon, don’t be like that,” another one chimes in, this one wearing sunglasses even though it's barely 9 a.m.

who do you think you are, pitbull? 

he gives you this sleazy grin like he thinks he's smoother than he actually is. “we could take you out after your shift. grab a drink. bet you’re fun, huh?”

fun? FUN?! if by fun he means fantasizing about driving this cart straight into the water hazard just to escape this conversation, then sure, you're a real blast.

you look around the course, hoping maybe one of the older golfers needs a refill or something—anything to get you away from this nightmare. no luck. it's just you and these clowns.

“i don’t date customers,” you say, a line you’d perfected at this point.

you plaster on your fakest smile, the kind that said please tip me and then leave me the hell alone. but bryce wasn’t giving up.

“you’re really gonna turn us down? i mean, we’re the best thing on this course right now.”

best thing?

the only thing they're the best at seems to be embarrassing themselves. this is the type of guy who probably thinks buying a girl a drink meant she owns him something.

you can't even be mad; it's almost... sad. almost.

“maybe you should focus on your game,” you suggest, glancing at his scorecard. “you’re, what, ten over par already?”

that shuts him up real quick, his face going from cocky to confused like he didn't expect you to know how golf worked.

his friend with the sunglasses? he's still trying.

“we can show you a good time, y’know. we’ve got a house down on the beach. you like boats?”

ah, yes. the boat move. the go-to for guys who think a half-assed yacht and a cooler full of cheap beer is the height of luxury.

you’d seen it a million times in this godforsaken town.

you're not impressed.

you shoot them another smile, “i like tips.”

they all blink confusedly, clearly not used to a girl calling them out so directly. the frat boys mumble something between themselves, looking awkward for the first time all day.

finally, one of them fishes a crumpled twenty out of his pocket and tosses it your way. 

oh, wow, big spender. 

you scoop it up, shoving it into your pocket and giving them a little nod. “thanks, boys. good luck with your game.”

you thought the twenty bucks might’ve bought you a few minutes of peace, but no. they're back at it, swinging at golf balls like they aren't trying to flirt in between their awful shots.

you roll the cart over to the next part of the course, half-listening to their constant chatter.

something about “last semester” this, and “pledge party” that. god, they just never stop. it's like someone hit the repeat button on the world’s most annoying playlist.

one of them calls you over again, like he can't wait five minutes for his next drink. you start prepping them, half tuning them out, just trying to get through it, when suddenly, miraculously, they shut the hell up.

for a second, you think maybe the universe is finally doing you a favor. you don't even question it, just start pouring drinks faster.

a quiet frat boy is a gift. but then you hear it:

“dude!” one of them practically tackles the other, all wide-eyed and hyped up like a little kid who just saw his favorite cartoon character. “is that rafe fucking cameron?!”

oh, for fuck’s sake.

your stomach drops. of course it has to be him. because clearly, your morning isn't being shitty enough. you don't even look at first. 

one of the guys starts flipping out, hitting his buddy’s shoulder like it's the coolest thing to ever happen.

“bro, no way. no way. that’s rafe cameron? he used to be the president of our frat, man. two years ago! he’s a fucking legend!”

legend? you almost laugh.

the only legend rafe is to you it's a legendary asshole. a smug, infuriating, gorgeous asshole who you have been avoiding like the plague. the same one who has been blowing up your phone nonstop, trying to get back into your life.

the same one you swore down you’d never sleep with again after he pulled that stunt at the dinner—and then, of course, ended up in his bed two nights ago. you haven't spoken to him since. you’d been ignoring him again—well, trying to—but now here he is. in the flesh. and these idiots are drooling over him like he's some kind of frat god.

you turn your head, and he's striding across the green like he doesn't have a care in the world. of course he looks good. he always does.

wayfarer’s pushed up in his hair, that cocky-ass grin on his face, wearing a polo like he's the face of a country club catalog. you know he’d see you any second. hell, he probably already has. 

yeah, you’d been avoiding him, and yeah, maybe you’d blocked his number twice, but that didn’t stop him from calling with a different one. or from somehow finding you the other night at the party when you were weak enough to let him back in, only to get burned again.

“holy shit, he’s coming this way,” one of the frat boys mutters, shaking with excitement.

you don't move, don't acknowledge him. but you can feel his eyes on you. it's like a sixth sense at this point. you'd crave it so much before, when it was all a silly game in your head, see how much you could push until he cracked and gave into you. now it's a curse.

the boys are watching him approach like he's some kind of celebrity.

“should we say something to him?” one whispers. “i heard he’s like, killing it in the business world now. family’s loaded.”

yeah, you think bitterly. killing it. if you count being a trust fund brat as an accomplishment.

rafe's closer now, and you know this moment is inevitable. the frat boys are giddy, already nudging each other, probably ready to beg him for networking advice or whatever the hell frat bros did.

you keep your eyes down, focusing on pouring the drinks, acting like you don't even notice him. like he doesn't phase you in the slightest.

“hey,” a familiar voice drawls. you don't have to lift your head to know it's him. naturally, he stops right by you. because why wouldn’t he?

“rafe fucking cameron!” one of the guys yells, unable to keep it together anymore. “you’re like a legend, man. kappa forever!”

you never cringed so hard in your life.

rafe smirks, that signature look spreading across his face. “yeah, somethin' like that.”

you clench your jaw, forcing yourself to keep your face neutral. no way in hell are you about to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he still gets to you. 

everyone else around you are tripping over their words just to get his attention. it's embarrassing to watch. the kids acting like he's some kind of messiah, not just some white rich guy with a trust fund and a bad attitude half the time.

“man, the outer banks is fucking sick,” one of them says, bouncing on his feet like an overexcited puppy. “we’ve been hitting the beaches, bars, y’know, living it up. and bro, the girls here? smoking hot.”

here we go. 

you pretend to be very invested in the cooler, rearranging the ice just to keep your hands busy. they're about to start pointing at you any second now; you can sense it.

the way they keep looking over at you made it obvious they're gearing up for something.

and then, like clockwork, it happens.

“yeah, man,” one of them gestures way too enthusiastically in your direction. “that cart girl over there? we’ve been trying all morning.”

oh, fuck right off, you resist the urge to throw a bottle at him.

you’d rather die than hear what lame pickup line is coming next, but what you really don't want to hear is whatever rafe's about to say.

there was a pause, as if he's taking a second to let it sink in. and when he finally does speak, his voice is all smooth confidence, casual as anything.

“so,” he starts, still with smirk you hate and know so well, “you’ve met my girl?”

my girl? my fucking girl?

one of them, manages to stammer, “uh—wait, she’s… she’s your girl?”

you can feel the tension creeping up the back of your neck. this's exactly why you’ve been avoiding him.

no matter what happened between you, no matter how messy things got, he always acted like he owned you in private. never in front of his friends, like just because you ended up in his bed, you were his to claim whenever he felt like it.

still keeping your eyes glued to the drinks, you feel your blood boil. you aren't his fucking girl. you're barely on speaking terms, aside from that one weak moment.

he's only saying it to mess with you.

one of the frat boys lets out a low whistle, clearly impressed. “damn, man. didn’t know you were still pulling like that.” he shoots a glance at you again, not even bothering to hide the once-over.

rafe just chuckles, that low, infuriating laugh of his, like he knows exactly how to get under your skin. “what can i say?” he drawls, as if the whole thing is just a game to him. “guess i’ve still got it.”

you're this close—this close—to snapping. you can feel your fists clenching at your sides. you're not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction. not here. not in front of these frat boys who're still looking at you like some kind of trophy.

rafe’s voice is closer now. you don't have to look up to know he's standing right by the cart.

“you good over there?” he asks, that fake casual tone still lingering.

you don't answer. just kept doing your job, biting the inside of your cheek so hard it hurts. but he isn't going to let it go. he never did when he wanted to prove a point.

“hey, baby.” he greets you again, leaning in slightly. you can feel his eyes burning into the side of your face. “you gonna pretend you don’t know me now?”

you take a deep breath, finally turning to face him. he's standing way too close, sunglasses pushed up on his head, that stupid expression plastered across his face.

the frat boys are all watching, wide-eyed, like they just stumbled onto some kind of reality show drama.

“you’re funny, cameron.” the guys all exchange glances, clearly picking up on the tension but too dumb to understand it, “can you guys give us a minute?”

one of them pipes up with an awkward laugh, “wait, but we—”

you don't let him finish. “one. minute.” 

they finally catch on that it isn't a request and before they can awkwardly protest or ask why, rafe tilts his head towards them, craning his neck just enough to raise a single brow. the change in his posture is subtle but enough to have them clamming up instantly.

like magic, their frat-boy bravado melts right off. it's wild how fast a bunch of college boys can shrink under the gaze of someone like him.

the power trip they’ve been riding for the last hour stop.

“uh, yeah, you know what?” one of them coughs out, backing up so fast he almost trips over his golf bag. “we should, uh… we’ll hit the bathroom. real quick.”

“yeah, yeah, we’ll be right back,” another one adds, practically stumbling over himself to follow.

they scatter like scared puppies, tails tucked between their legs, and you can't help the small, satisfied smirk that twitches at the corner of your mouth.

finally, a moment of peace.

except, it's not peace. not with rafe standing there. 

as soon as the frat boys are out of earshot, you spin around, without thinking, you shove him in the chest with both hands, hard enough to catch him off guard. he stumbles back a step, his face twisting into a look of surprise.

"are you fucking crazy?" you snap, "do you not get the fucking hint, country club? i don’t want this. i don’t want you here, and i sure as hell don’t want your bullshit claims that ’m your girl in front of those idiots. leave. me. alone.”

he steadies himself, raising both hands as if trying to calm you down. “’m trying to be better, okay? ’m trying. i apologized the other night, didn’t i? ’m—”

“no, you didn’t!” you look at him like he's the dumbest man on earth, cutting him off, your hands balled into fists at your sides. “you didn’t apologize! you said i was overreacting, that i was being ‘dramatic.’ then, you fucked me and acted like that made it all better.”

his jaw tightens, and he takes a deep breath as he glances around the mostly empty golf course before his eyes move back to you, his voice low but firm. "that’s not how i meant it—"

“you always have an excuse,” you interrupt, stepping closer, not backing down. “every time, it’s the same thing. you think a half-assed apology or a night in bed makes up for the way you treat me in public? like ‘m just some thing you get to claim whenever you feel like it?"

he visibly recoils at the word you chose, like it hurts him, “i know,” he finally mutters “i know i was a dick at that dinner. but ’m trying, okay? i’ve been calling you, texting you—”

“i didn’t ask. am i that good in bed? go find someone else.”

rafe’s hand flies up to pinch the bridge of his nose, a frustrated sigh escaping him. he draggs his tongue against his cheek. his voice coming out clipped, “i don’t want someone else,” he grunts out, sounding more exasperated than ever. “jesus fucking christ.”

you let out a laugh, stepping back, eyes rolling.

“oh, right. that’s it? ’m really that good in bed, huh? that’s why you’re here?” you cross your arms, your tone biting, daring him to say otherwise. “that’s all this has ever been, right? physical. you don’t call unless you want something. so what now? why are you trying so hard? what the hell are you trying for?”

he doesn't respond right away, his fingers are digging into the bridge of his nose like he's trying to hold himself together. the silence continues, and you can see him wrestling with his words. he's never been the type to say what he was feeling.

everything is buried under layers of cocky bravado, that impenetrable wall he put up to keep everyone at arm’s length. including you.

finally, he dropps his hand and takes a step closer, his voice coming out rough like he's forcing the words out. “’m here because i don’t want someone else. i want you, alright? can you just get that through your fucking head?”

you scoff, “because i know you and won’t get attached?”

he snaps, raising his voice, “no! fuck, it’s not that simple.”

"not that simple?" your hands are shaking, and you accidentally knock over one of the bottles you’d been holding before, sending it tumbling to the ground. you don't bother picking it up.

“it’s pretty fucking simple. we’re just fucking. so, tell me, what exactly is complicated about that? you call, i come over, we have sex, and that’s it. so why the fuck do you start ignoring me in public like ’m some kind of fucking disease?”

rafe opens his mouth, but you don't spare him the chance to speak, you're on a roll, months of pent-up frustration. 

“i don’t give a fuck if you’re with someone else, rafe!” you can hear the bitterness dripping from every word. you're practically spitting them out, “what pisses me off is that you had the audacity—the fucking nerve—to ask me to stay that night. do you know how fucking stupid i felt? how the fuck do you think i felt when you acted like i didn’t exist the next day?”

you can feel your hands trembling again, the adrenaline making you shaky, cursing under your breath.

“for once, i was nice enough to care about you, to stay, and that’s the shit you pulled. treated me like a ghost. like i was nothing.”

he just stands there, staring at you, his jaw tight, but he doesn't say a word. his face is hard to read, but you don't care about his feelings. you're not done yet.

“i was fine with the sex. i was fine with leaving afterwards and then you had to go and fuck it all over.”

rafe’s blue eyes flash, and you can see the realization hit him, like he's connecting the dots too fast for your liking.

his brows furrow as he breathes out, “wait. you’re mad at me because i made you—” he hesitates, like the word is foreign in his mouth, “care for me?”

you let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “oh, for fuck's sake, country club. don't flatter yourself.”

“you always do that shit,” he points out, stepping closer “you never call me by my name when we’re having a serious conversation. it's almost like you’re running away.”

you arch an eyebrow, incredulous. “are you delusional? you’re the one acting like a child.”

“’m not being delusional. you only say my name in my room when it’s just the two of us.” he leans in slightly, lowering his voice as if he's trying to keep this moment between you, his blue eyes lock onto yours making your stomach twist. “’m clearly not the only one who’s pretending here; you’re just as bad.”

you feel the heat rush to your cheeks as you walk back, trying to create space, but he closes the distance with easy confidence.

“pretending? please. ‘m not the one playing house in my bedroom while acting like i don’t know you outside of it.”

rafe lets out a low, frustrated groan, running his hand through his hair like he's close to losing it. 

“god, you’re fucking infuriating,” he mutters, voice gruff, “you think i don’t fucking feel it too? you’re the only one pissed off, the only one confused?” his voice dipps lower in frustration. “i can’t stop thinking about you, no matter how hard i try. "

“oh, boo-fucking-hoo,” you mocked back, “must be so hard, huh? being obsessed with a girl you can’t even respect in public.”

his hand reaches out to grab your wrist. you gasp, not out of fear but because the heat of his touch awakes the resting butterflies in your stomach. you hate how much your skin reacts to him, how just the feel of his grip makes your brain go foggy and shut down.

“i do respect you,” he growls, as if you just insulted him, “i just—fuck.” his eyes dart between yours, as if searching for something. then, like clockwork, he points at your work uniform—the stupid polo and that absurdly short skirt that's practically a sin in itself.

“this,” he grits out, fingers gesturing to the tight polo that does absolutely nothing but make your boobs look way too inviting, “is not okay.”

you blink, pretending to be unaffected, but his words have a way of crawling under your skin.

“oh, right,” you nod sarcastically, even though your pulse has kicked up a notch. “blame my uniform, like that’s the reason you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

rafe groans like you're causing him actual physical pain, his hands gripping the edge of the golf cart now, knuckles turning white.

“shit, yeah, i’ll blame the uniform,” he says, eyes blazing as he corners you. “that tiny-ass skirt, walking around in front of me all day, making me lose my goddamn mind.”

just like that, his hand slide right under your mini skirt, his fingers gripping a handful of your ass with a confidence that makes your breath hitch.

the sudden contact sends a rush of heat through you, and a soft gasp escapes your glossy lips.

that’s when he takes his chance.

with another low groan, rafe seizes the moment, pressing his body against yours, leaning down as he kisses you, his tongue sliding into your mouth, the kiss deepening in an instant.

it's not sweet—you can tell that now because you know that hidden part of him, you can tell the difference when it comes out. today he's desperate like he’s been waiting to it for days and can't take it anymore.

he's a starved man on a mission. it's a feverish mess of spit and teeth, his grip on you impossibly tight.

his hand still kneads your ass, blunt fingernails digging into your skin trying to keep you from bolting away. at the same time, his other hand slides up to your neck, firm but not enough to hurt, just enough to keep you locked in place—he's daring you to pull away, knowing full well you won't.

logic doesn't stand a chance against the way his lips move against yours, he's sucking all the fight from you.

his tongue slides against yours, and your stomach jumps at the sensation, making you gasp. you try to pull back for a second, needing air, needing space, but his grip on your neck tightens, holding you in place as his lips move against yours like he'll die if you stop.

and maybe he would. maybe he's just as messed up about all of this as you are.

rafe’s teeth scrape against your bottom lip, and right then and there, you know your panties are already ruined. you can't stop the small whimper that escapes your throat, and he moans at the sound, his hips pressing harder against yours, making you feel just how much he wants you.

“fuck,” he almost whines against your lips, like he's barely keeping himself from fucking you out there in the open, not giving a shit if anyone's watching. his hand on your neck glides around to the back of your head, tangling in your hair as he tuggs slightly, tilting your head back so he can kiss you even harder, his lips moving against yours in a way that makes it impossible to think straight. “you have no idea what you do to me.”

the truth is, you do. you know exactly what you do to him because he's doing the same thing to you.

but there's no way in hell you’ll admit that. not when he already has you completely under his spell, melting into his touch, drowning in the way he kisses you like he owns you.

you attempt to hold onto that edge of disdain you always throw his way when things get too personal. his breath is hot and ragged as he hovers.

his hand, still tangled in your hair, loosens slightly but stays there. it's so fucking unfair—the way he just sneaks under your skin, the way your body betrays you every time he gets close. you hate it.

especially with the way his fingers are already sliding up your bare thigh under that ridiculously skirt, as if he owns every single inch of you, like he has a goddamn right to touch you like that.

and instead of pushing him away like you should, you find yourself leaning into him. and fuck, the look in his eyes—all black, wild, like he it's his last shred of self-control—is enough to make your pulse skyrocket.

“asshole,” it comes out weak, pathetic and almost breathless, and you hate yourself for it.

“yeah,” he whispers back, lips brushing yours, his hand still in your hair, still holding you close. “but you like it.”

god, maybe you did.

the frat boys finally return, their laughter breaking the bubble that had you on a leash.

within seconds, you're pushing rafe’s hands away, stepping back as of them claps him on the back.

“we miss anything?”

“nah, just catchin’ up,” rafe said, brushing off the whole thing as if it's no big deal.

you, on the other hand, pick up one of the empty glasses, avoiding eye contact with any of them.

one of the guys chuckles. “man, you two… y’all good?”

no. not when there's the slightest of the slightest possibility that you're starting to feel something for him. not the stupid crush you had before, or the simple curiosity of figuring out how he was in bed. 

real, scary, big girl feelings. 

no way. not after everything. not after he pulled that same crap, acting like you didn’t know you in front of his friends, then turning around and getting all possessive when it suited him.

 “better than ever.”

eyes locked on rafe, you bite out the final blow.

“yeah, better than ever. just like every other fucking rich frat boy—using daddy’s money, pretending you’re a god. but deep down, you’re all the same. losers. why don’t you keep them company, huh? you’re all family after all.”

his blue eyes drop to the green field at the mention of his dad, but he keeps quiet despite realizing you’re doing this on purpose.

he’ll let you have this one because he knows it’s deserving. fuck he’d probably let you punch him in the face if you asked him to. 

you turn on your heel and walk away, leaving him behind, knowing you hit him exactly where it hurt.

[reignpage]

Frat Boy!Gojo

Cosmopolitan: sober thoughts

Word Count: 6.1k Contents: their first date, cursing, a little angsty, but mostly fluffy, not proofread (barely skimmed this so again, dunno how much sense it makes)

“Before you get any bright ideas, just know I’m sharing my location with at least ten people.”

Whistling, the biggest pain in your ass saunters over to you

The moon is full, a big white orb that would otherwise bring you a lot of peace to look at but right now, only pisses you off for reasons you’d rather not spend too much time pondering. Rarely anyone comes around these parts; it’s at the very edge of the city, a half-hour drive from campus, and surrounded by miles of dull, old suburbia. You’re standing in front of a metal gate, slightly taller than you, with vines wrapping around the pickets. It swings slowly with every gust of wind, creaking before it meets the stone wall with a bang.

Gojo grimaces. 

“Seriously, did you have to choose the scariest place in all of Eden? I mean, I respect the commitment to the aesthetic, but this is just crazy,” he grumbles, eyeing the cathedral from its huge marble pillars to the sharp spires piercing the night sky. 

You roll your eyes. Trust him to leave the date planning to you just to complain every step of the way. You’re already regretting playing along with whatever games he’s conjured up this time, but at least you’ve got home turf advantage; you know this place like the back of your hand. There won’t be any surprises happening tonight. 

Without replying, you walk off, heading straight through the gate. 

“Hey, wait! Don’t leave me here. I don’t want to end up as a statistic.”

Shrugging, you say, “If you’re scared, you can go back home.”

When he doesn’t say a thing and follows you, you smile. You win. But that feeling of victory doesn’t last very long because then he starts muttering about the cobwebs and how they’re everywhere, then about the tombstones, how they’re so messy with moss covering the engravings and that ‘the spirits must definitely be like so mad about all that’, and when you don’t respond to any of his musings, he even complains about the eerie music foreshadowing his pending doom, like in Jaws.

There is no music. 

“Where are we even going?” He pokes your shoulder, snatching his hand back faster than you can swat at it. “I thought we were going to, I don’t know, have a picnic under the stars and cuddle on top of someone’s grave, like Mary Shelley did.”

“How the fuck do you even know about that?” 

Gojo lifts one shoulder. “Must have heard it online or something.”

You roll your eyes again — you have a feeling you’ll be doing a lot of that tonight, maybe even for the rest of your life if things go the way your parents plan. When you had first found out the village idiot is the president of the most sought-after fraternity of the most prestigious university in the country, you thought maybe no one else had stepped up. But then you found out he’s a Legacy --the Gojos have governed that fraternity since its conception -- and well, the pieces fell into place. 

Mischief no doubt sparkling in your eyes, you look at him over your shoulder. His eyes are full of suspicion and when they meet yours, he becomes even more doubtful of your intentions. With a grin, you whisper, “We’re going someplace no one will hear you scream.”

“Kinky.”           

That didn’t have the desired effect. How annoying. Though you don’t fail to notice how he moves in closer to you, his warmth radiating to your body through your black, fur cloak. You don’t shift away. 

Gesturing for him to follow you through a gap in a wooden fence, you squeeze through to avoid splinters, pulling at your dress when a piece of lace catches on a nail. Just as you’re about to offer advice on how to contort his body to get through, he climbs over the fence and lands on his feet without stumbling, all in one quick sweep, like he’s who wanders these hallowed grounds at night and not you. 

“What?” He asks when he spots your glare. 

Not even those stupid sunglasses are out of place. Very annoying, indeed. 

“Come quickly,” you bark, fixing your silk gloves to cover more of your skin as the chill settles in. It’s only six in the evening, and yet there’s no hint of light in the broad expanse above you, just the moon and the stars lighting your way, and occasionally your companion’s phone flashlight when he needs to look at what he’s stepped in. 

He laughs. “No one’s ever said that to me before.”

“Do you make it a habit to talk about your sex life with a girl on a first date?”

“You’re the first, so not a habit. Not yet anyways.” 

Screeching to a halt, your hand clutches his elbow to still him. Your jaw is slack and you’re staring, completely disbelieving. “There’s no way this is your first date. You took that girl to the casino.”

Gojo stares off into the distance as he ponders the notion, fingers tapping his chin. Then, he insists, “No, it really is my first date. And anyways, I don’t consider that night a date; she pretty much invited herself along. It was more like I was just taking her to the casino as her escort. Or maybe that does count as a date. If so, then I’ve been on a lot of dates. But none where I’ve actually used the word date. Does that even matter because —“ 

You wave a hand in front of his face to cut off his rambling; he talks way too much. “So, you’re telling me, I’m the first girl you’ve ever asked out on a date? That’s insane, Gojo. You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” he protests with a frown.

“You sure acted like you did for months,” you counter. 

He insists, “I don’t hate you. Never did. I just acted out but yeah, I’m sorry. I was a dick.”

Clearing your throat, you straighten up and continue walking. “It’s fine. Water under the bridge.” 

“You sure? ‘Cause I can get on my knees and beg.”

“Don’t tempt me, Gojo.”

He catches up to you and hums a playful tune, his light mood returning; Serious Gojo is gone like he never existed. “Guess that’s what you’re into, huh?”

“You’ll never know,” you snort, pushing a branch away from your face and letting it snap back into his chest, he yelps.

His hand reaches past you, lifting a thicker branch high above the both of you, before leaning close to your ear and whispering conspiratorially, “We’ll see.”

Disregarding the shiver than runs through you, you push on, moving almost on muscle memory alone. Your mind is attempting to distract itself by scanning the area, being careful not to be caught on church grounds after hours, pushing through the woodland to get to the clearing tucked away at the very back, where you go for peace and quiet. 

Truthfully, you have no idea why you decided to have this date here, of all places. This place is sacred. Literally but also figuratively — this is the place you always ran to when the world got a little too loud, a little too busy and bright for you. No one else knows about this haven as far as you’re aware and you always thought you’d do anything to keep it that way. And yet, you’re showing it to him. Actually, guiding him to the place. 

You should have at least blindfolded him so he couldn’t memorise the way. 

Maybe you wanted to spite him by living up to his expectations and being the gothic monster that he thinks you are -- you want to scare him off before he lets his curiosity take him too close to something that might scald him. He needs to be afraid of you. 

Or maybe you recognised that shadow in his eyes, the ones that suggests he’s lost as much sleep about this whole farce as you and thought he could do with a little silence. 

You both arrive at a thick bush, a massive wall of a shrub towering over even Gojo. Behind you, the cathedral is only a blob, lit up by lanterns, whereas you’re both submerged in darkness; there are no streetlamps here. 

“I’m totally going to be murdered here, aren’t I?” He whistles as if to say, ‘it’s been a good life, and I’ll have to just accept my fate’. 

“Yeah, I was lying when I said it was all water under the bridge. I’ve actually been colluding with the devil to sacrifice your white ass.”

Gojo laughs.

He laughs a lot, but rarely like this, you note. He chuckles when his friends do something stupid like push him into the fountain, and he snorts when he reads the most recent article on The Bulletin. But you’ve never really seen him throw his head back and clutch his stomach, at least not with anyone but you. He does it when you get caught texting him under the dinner table, when you give him the middle finger from across the Quad, and that one time you bumped into him in the hallway and almost apologised before you realised it was him.

It’s the kind of laugh that’s infectious, and you hoped every time he does it that you’re somehow immune. However, when he looks at you with a brightening sparkle in his eyes, you realise you’re very much not. 

You clear your throat again. 

“Through here, is a very special place. You must swear you will not desecrate this place, lest the Mother Crone curse you for your treachery,” you announce, wiggling your fingers at him for extra flair. 

Placing a hand on his heart, he stomps his foot like a soldier and swears, “I would never. I will take this secret to the grave.”

Satisfied, you grab the loose part of the hedge wall and pull it aside to reveal the little doorway to your secret hideout. He throws you a side glance before he ducks down and enters. You follow behind him, tucking the disguised door behind you. 

He doesn’t say a thing as you zoom to the side where you grope for something in the grass, right under part of the hedge. When you feel the smooth, cold plastic, you don’t hesitate to switch it on. 

Long wires of fairy lights light up, bulb by bulb, along the top of the hedge and down, like a really wide Christmas tree circling the hidden clearing. You hear him mutter a ‘woah’ under his breath as he scans the area — there’s only one thing here on the flat ground, it’s also lit up fairy lights along the top pole. It’s your most prized possession.

“You have a swing?” He shouts incredulously. Giggling like a child, he makes a run for it, jumping onto one of the two seats where he rocks back and forth on his feet. Then he’s whooping as he swings higher and higher, hair whooshing back and forth as he grins, taking in the cold autumnal air and the growing warmth of the lights. “This is freaking awesome!”

Sitting on the spare seat, you kick your feet gently so you can swing a little. Deep down there was a worry festering within, anxious that he would find this place boring, that he’d scoff at your idea of fun especially on a first date, but looking up at him, still hollering and grinning, you think, that was such a silly thought. 

Gojo slows to a mild back and forth momentum and wonders, “Are you sure I’m allowed to be here? This place seems pretty private, like your own mancave or something. Do girls have a version of a mancave? ‘Womancave?”

In the corner of your eye, you see him clamber down to sit as you answer his question. “I wouldn’t have taken you here if you weren’t allowed, dumbass.”

“Yeah, well, I’m still not convinced this isn’t an elaborate scheme to murder me and hide my body in a grave.”

“Neither.” You shrug. 

He laughs. 

Eventually, you both swing side by side, alternating up and then down. The wind is howling a little, rustling the trees surrounding you and the moon’s obscured by dark cloud. Neither you nor he say anything to break the silence. You were also worried that you’d come to hate his presence in your safe space, finding his tall, lanky presence an irritation, but surprisingly, you don’t mind it. 

It’s nice to have company. 

Especially when that company is keeping his mouth shut. 

“How often do you come here?”

Or not. 

With a sigh, you reply, “Like twice a week. I can’t come as often as I’d like because of all the classes and stuff, not to mention all the wedding planning we have to do.”

“Guess you have it worse than me since I don’t even need to be fitted for a suit; they already have my measurements,” he muses. 

“For whatever reason, it’s always the women who have to plan these things, even though it’s the men that propose.” You accidentally make eye contact with him. “Or at least, that’s how it usually goes.”

Gojo hums, a little sheepishly, before he changes the subject. “So, how did you find this place?”

“We buried my grandmother in the graveyard when I was fifteen. We were close and I took the loss pretty hard. I couldn’t stand all the people pretending they cared so I ran off, got lost and found this clearing. Well, I actually fell through the hedge, but I found it, nonetheless. And this swing was here already. I don’t know how long it’s been here or why it’s here, but it is.”

“That sounds like a fairytale.” He swivels, swinging a long leg over to straddle the seat, facing you as he leans back against the metal chain. “I’m sorry for your loss, by the way. I lost my grandmother too and it was rough.”

You saw that on the news years ago, it was one of those private family events that make the national headlines by complete virtue of the family name. Your parents grieved in public like it was their own loss and you didn’t understand why. Of course, as you got older, you became more and more acquainted with the idea of ‘reputation’ and ‘public image’, but you still feel that same distance to the concept as you did when you were but a child. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you repeat back to him.

He shrugs. “It’s alright. I’ve got my gramps. We’re best buddies.”

“You have a lot of best buds, don’t you?” 

Gojo strikes you as the kind of guy who makes friends easily, thought you question the depth of most of those friendships; sincerity is a rare phenomenon in your world. 

“No,” he huffs, “I have Suguru, the girl that gave you my number, and gramps. I have lots of close friends, though.”

Considering his words, you realise you don’t have any best friends. Sure, you have friends you hang out with often, people that share your interest, that you can party with, but none you feel as strongly about as he does with those three people. You can hear it in his voice, the conviction, the pride, the confidence. And when you glance at him, you know he doesn’t even realise how defensive he sounds about his people.

How nice it must be to have someone like him as a friend.

“We could be friends, if you’d like,” he offers, and when you look at him with confusion, he adds, “You said it out loud, silly. You think I’m a good person to be friends with. Which, of course I am. I’m like super awesome.”

You burst out laughing. What he said isn’t even funny and he certainly doesn’t mean for it to be, but for some reason it is. So, you laugh, throwing your head back and clutching your stomach. He makes noises of complaints, telling you it’s rude to laugh at people. That makes you laugh harder. 

“Gojo, be serious for a second. We can’t be friends, idiot,” you push out between puffs of laughter. 

He frowns, lips twitching to fight back a smile at your flushed face. “Why not? We’re getting along fine right now, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, for now. But we’re going to be married. Or at least, we’re supposed to be. And think of all the complications that brings, it just doesn’t provide the conditions for a healthy friendship, especially considering our beginning. Think of all the people in our circle who had arranged marriages. How many of them get along? Like, really get along. Hell! Think about our parents.”

“Well, we could be different. We don’t have to end up like them. We can break the cycle or something.”

You stop laughing.

Something shifts in the air, like the moon’s reappeared, the wind’s slowed down, and his eyes shine just a little brighter. It’s sudden and you almost don’t notice it, almost shrug it off. But there’s a sincerity lingering between you and it demands your attention.

Fixing him a solemn look, perhaps similar to the one he gave you before, you assert, “That sounds an awful like an admission of surrender, Gojo.”

“Maybe it is.”

The speed at which he concedes, the sheer resolution in his eyes and the way he doesn’t falter when he says it all scream at you something you won’t accept. Can’t.

He grips your elbow, his long fingers wrapping around the limb with ease, demanding your attention. The sombre expression on his ghostly face haunts you. It’s like he’s shifted into a different person, into someone years older, a man burdened with great responsibility. 

“I’m sorry. About how I started this year off. I regretted everything I said as soon as I said them. I can’t even remember why I said and did those things, but I definitely don’t have a good reason,” he rasped, a desperation lacing his words like he needs you to understand, like he tosses and turns over it. “I know you’re just as much a victim of this as I am, but I was facing a problem I didn’t know to solve, and I lashed out. At you. At someone who didn’t deserve it. And I’m sorry.”

You reel back, snatching your arm away. His touch burns the way ice does, and you have to rub warmth back into it, despite the layers between your skin and his. The sincerity in his eyes is alien, revealing far more about the ongoings of reality than you can absorb in one night. Confusingly, your heart is pounding to the beat of a song you’ve never heard before. 

This date thing, taking him to your secret haven, giving him the opportunity to see you not as the enemy but rather as a woman was a mistake. It’s all one big mistake. It would have been fine if he had stayed as the Gojo you knew, the boisterous, obnoxious party animal that cares only about immediate gratification. But the man in front of you is not someone you can marry. He isn’t the type of man you can be around and feel absolutely nothing for. 

“I’m hungry,” you mutter, standing abruptly.

He looks up at you, something passing in his eyes, almost akin to disappointment or sadness, and you can’t bear to think about what that could mean, so you simply gesture for him to follow you. 

In silence, you walk back the way you came, using your phone’s flashlight to navigate through the thick haze of darkness. This was a mistake; you let him in for a second, gave him a glimpse into your life, and you aren’t even sure why. Was it because you could hear your mother’s voice telling you to do whatever it takes to drag the man to the altar or because, despite yourself, you actually wanted to see what going on a date with Gojo means? 

Maybe it was both. 

Or neither. 

You’re losing more and more of yourself these days, doing things you’d never thought you’d do for one reason or another, and you no longer even know what you want. Your pride or your family? A marriage with Gojo or the friendship he’s offering? Is there’s a third option.

“What’d you wanna eat?” He asks, rocking back and forth on his feet as he stares up at a streetlight. 

You’ve both made it back onto the main road, the swings a mile away. He didn’t press the topic more, simply walked beside you and pushed branches away like before. 

It’s nearing eight in the evening and your stomach growls. 

“Who said I’m eating with you?”

Gojo rolls his eyes and pokes your shoulder. With a sulky tone, he groans, “Don’t be mean. You’re hungry, I’m hungry, let’s eat. Simple!”

“Can you cook?” 

He beams, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he looks at you over them, bright eyes sparkling with what you can only guess to be mischief. You realise you really should think before you speak. 

—

That’s how you find yourself in his frat house kitchen, cloak discarded, hair up and gloves off. His frat members are out, partying, he claims, so the whole house is free. When he suggested it, you looked at him like he was insane, but he only wiggled his brows.

“You scared?” He cocked his head, grinning at you in a way that made you want to punch his teeth in. 

Narrowing your eyes at him, you responded, “No, of course not.”

Gojo bent his arms and rocked his head, making clucking noises that echoed in the empty street. Every note pierced your body, mocking and goading. You knew exactly what he was doing, and it was fucking working, the stupid bastard. Without responding to his accusation, you stomped over to his car and gave him a glare. He fetched his car keys and spun them on his finger with a victorious whistle.

“Grate this,” he orders. 

His kitchen is huge, which is understandable for the size of the house and how many people live here. Apparently, there’s three more kitchens in the damn place, not that you believe even a quarter of the guys that live here know what a cutting board is. The kitchen is surprisingly clean, however. It’s sparkling clean. 

“We have cleaners that comes in every other day,” he chuckles, noticing your looks of complete judgement whilst he boils some pasta. “But we are pretty strict on cleanliness, regardless. And everyone knows, I’m not afraid to crack the whip to keep everyone in line.”

Scoffing, you clarify, “You? Cracking whips? I find that hard to believe.”

He leans against the island you’re stationed at, the sound of water simmering filling the small space between you. Watching you grate the cheese, he hums, fingers fiddling with the lace of your sleeve. He mutters, “I know how to be serious when I need to be.”

You hum too. 

Still fiddling with the fabric, you ignore his wandering hand, fingers slipping under to roll the soft lace between his fingertips. Goosebumps rise on your skin. His touch is tentative, hesitant and gentle — one would think he’s just afraid to snag the fabric, acknowledging the craftsmanship, but one glance up at him, seeing his gaze fixated on your exposed skin more than your sleeve, you know otherwise. 

“Hands to yourself, Geralt.”

“If I’m Geralt, that must make you Yennefer,” he retorts. With a laugh, he pulls away, returning to the stove to tend to the pasta sauce. You don’t realise how much warmth he generated until you feel a sudden draught. 

The smell of frying onions and garlic is delicious and you’re becoming more and more starved by the second. He’s agile, moving swiftly and on muscle memory as he opens drawers and cabinets to gather the things he needs. 

“How often do you cook?” You ask, arm getting tired from the motion of grating the block of cheese.

Gojo shrugs and admits, “Not as often as I’d like. Weekends are for parties and pizza and all the other days, everyone’s doing their thing, studying or whatever, and eating by myself is kinda sad, so I just eat out usually.”

“How is it possible that you eat out so often but still remain so skinny?”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say because the next thing you know you’re being spun around and pressed into the island with a hard body. His arms are caging you in, keeping you still as he grins at you. 

He had thrown his jacket by the door when you both walked in; his biceps bulge as he flexes. They’re so much bigger now, or maybe they were always like that. And he’s pressed so close his Adam’s apple is right in front of you, bobbing when you tilt your head back so you can meet his eyes. 

“I’m plenty jacked, actually,” he brags and to add salt to the wound, he leans down, cheek brushing against yours to whisper against your ear, “wifey.”

You shove him off, snorting at his lame line. He back away with little protest. Trying to hide the heat in your face, you wash your hands, turning away from him completely. 

The rest of the hour passes by in a blink of an eye, and you finally sit down at the dining table across from each other. He’s a decent cook and you pay him a compliment even though it physically hurt to do so. 

“Do you not cook very often?” 

“I make sandwiches and ramen, that’s as far as I know how to do,” you admit with no shame.

He pours you a cup of water and asks, “Do you not have a chef to pre-make meals for you? My father insisted I have one, but I complained to my gramps about the lack of privacy and independence, and he gave up pretty quickly.”

You pause. It’s a stupid question to ask someone, from anyone else it’d drip in condescension, but you know he’s genuinely asking and it’s a valid question, just not one you’re ready to answer. So, with a careful shrug, you say simply, “I’m fine with the way things are.”

Gojo doesn’t sense the tense quiver of your voice, or if he does, he has enough tact to ignore it, so he continues the conversation. He talks to you about what being a frat president entails, and you tell him your experiences as the Treasurer. 

He also shares stories of his friends: the time ‘the gang’ snuck into the gym to put shaving cream in Toji’s locker after he had his room bubbled wrapped down to every single pair of boxers, each and every one of his friends’ drunk habits, and how he’s actually a lightweight so he sticks to beers most of the time but he hates the taste and actually much prefer cocktails. 

“Wait, wait,” you say between laughs, “you drink cosmos in secret ‘cause you don’t want your frat mates knowing their president actually hates beer?”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. But it isn’t my fault those things taste like wheat piss!”

You laugh harder. “They do! They totally do!”

“Has anyone ever said you have a pretty la—“

“Woah!” A voice yells out. “What’s going on here?”

You both turn to look at the wide-open door. Two men walk in, they’re in gym clothes, wide toothy grins on their faces as they stare between you and their president. You recognise them as second years, often hanging around Gojo in pictures or loitering in the Quad. 

One guy, a fake blond, wolf whistles when he sees you. “Satoru, you didn’t tell us you were having a girl over. It’s been a while; we rarely even see your bestie nowadays.”

“Yeah, this is a sight for sore eyes. This place was getting too much hotdog and not enough buns, if you know what I mean.”

When they both guffaw, you grimace. Their voices are grating, like sharp notes, and despite yourself, you cower in your seat. You hate the way they’re looking at you, in half desire and half repulsion — they’re enjoying the sight of a woman in their space, but they don’t know what to make of your attire. Usually, you don’t let people like them get to you, not their comments and not their stares. But something’s different, you’re more sensitive, less guarded. 

“Isn’t she your fiancé? We’ve heard all about her. The girls from Delta Sigma said she dresses like a witch, and well, they aren’t entirely wrong.”

“Get out.”

Three heads turn. Gojo’s standing; you hadn’t seen him move. He’s leaning on his fingertips, head hanging as he stares at his empty plate. No one says a thing. There’s no air in here anymore. Only silence, a grim, gut-wrenching silence. 

They stammer. “H-hey, man. What’s wrong?”

“Get. Out.”

“Come on, we’re just messing around,” the fake blonde chuckles nervously. 

Gojo looks up, slowly, like a creaking door. When his eyes settle on them, they stagger back with the force of his disappointment, and again with his wrath. Though you feel the tendrils of that infinite space between you, you don’t bear its impossible weight. 

With his body tense, veins bulging along his arms, broad shoulders pushed back ready for something you can’t quite grasp in this moment, you realise he really is jacked. And those muscles aren’t just for show or pressing girls against marble countertops. 

As great as it would be to be his friend, it’s even greater to not be his enemy. You didn’t realise it then, but you do now, if Gojo had ever really wanted to make someone disappear, he probably could have done so. 

“You would do well to remember that I, as descendent of the founder of Alpha Phi Delta, have a right to terminate any fraternity brother’s membership without a need for sufficient cause. Just because I’ve never exploited that clause doesn’t mean I’m above it. So, get out. Now.”

Cheeks red and heads hung low, they walk back out without sparing you another glance. 

Gojo sits back down, shoulders still tense. 

The silence hasn’t disappeared, but it has lightened, much more tolerable now. With an uncertainty in your movements, you push your knife and fork together and pat your lips dry. 

“Well, this has certainly been an eventful night,” you say. “I really ought to go, though.”

Gojo nods and takes your plate, leaving to go to the kitchen whilst you freshen up in the bathroom. 

When you come out, he’s already waiting outside with his hands tucked in his pockets, staring up at puffs of clouds he breathes into the night sky. There’s a sombre air around him, like you’re better off not disturbing him, but when he spots you from the corner of his eye, that air evaporates and he beams, literally brightens, practically shadowing the moon. 

“Hey, come on, I’ll drive you to your dorm,” he asserts with a smile. 

And he does. You get into his car for the second time of the night and watch the campus blur past you. Through the ten-minute car ride, he sings along to the pop songs on the radio, bopping his head to every beat like they’re coursing through his veins. 

“You don’t know these songs? Really?” 

He’s completely incredulous, looking at you as if you’ve grown two heads. You roll your eyes and jokingly explain you’re committed to the aesthetic. He finds that funny. The rest of the ride continues wordlessly.

“Alright, this is me,” you announce when he parks. He climbs out the car with you, leaning against his door as you shuffle awkwardly on your feet. “Despite certain parts of the time being…stiff, should we say, I had a lot of fun. Surprisingly.”

A tinge of red colours the tips of his ears. “Yeah, me too. I expected to lose my life, or at least a few limbs, at that graveyard, so I’m pretty happy with the turnout.”

You roll your eyes. “And I’m very happy I’m not covered in pig’s blood coming out of your frat house.”

“No, closest we had to that was the pasta sauce,” he chuckles. 

“Which was surprisingly delicious, by the way. You should cook more often instead of the junk food you eat.”

“Says you?” He pushes your shoulder lightly. “Miss Cup Noodles.”

“Whatever.”

The conversation dies there, laughter fading as both of you eye the doors of your dorm building. You pull your cloak tighter around you, irritated that, even though he’s just in jeans and a plain graphic tee, he’s seemingly unbothered by the temperature drop. 

“You should go in,” Gojo suggests, voice softer, barely louder than a whisper. 

You nod and make a step to go, but then a warm hand wraps around your wrist, tugging you back. He’s carrying the weight of it in his palm, thumb grazing your wrist. There’s electricity thrumming where he touches and you’re about to snatch your hand away before he tightens his grip. 

“Just a second,” he mutters, before pulling out something from his pockets. Something black. 

Your gloves. 

You forgot to put them on, having left them in the kitchen. 

He’s taking his time, smoothing the material over your knuckles, ensuring your fingers are tucked in properly. His thumb lingers on the curve of each finger, exploring the slopes. Your breath hitches as his hands envelope yours completely, his touch deliberate and light and there’s no other way to describe it: it’s positively reverent. 

The glove slide snugly into place, a second skin but they feel new, as if fresh from the machine, still warm. 

You shouldn’t let him reach for your other hand, shouldn’t just watch as he unfolds the other glove, slipping it on with much more care than you yourself had ever done. His eyes are watching the fabric consume more and more of your skin, until they meet the ends of your sleeve, and no skin remains. 

“Gojo,” you breathe out. 

He shakes his head, brows furrowing. “Satoru. Call me Satoru.”

When he finally looks up, your eyes meet and your pulse quickens, quick and short breaths pulling your chest up and down. You didn’t even realise one hand is clutching his shoulder whilst the other remains in his grip. And you certainly don’t notice that you’re standing much closer than before, only a hair’s breadth from finding out whether his lips are as soft and plush as his touch. 

“You smell really nice,” he whispers, thumb running across your knuckles, like he’s willing warmth into your hand. 

You’re so close it only takes one gust of wind to push you together, to taste what a future with him could mean, to seal the first date with something that’ll keep you up at night. Just one kiss, one bad decision and everything could fade away for a second. You could pretend he’s just a boy and you’re just a girl and this is a normal date, that you have a normal relationship and tomorrow you could go back to being arranged lovers. 

His lashes flutter, so long and wispy and you’re jealous. Flickering between your eyes and your lips, you know he’s searching for any sign that you might want this just as bad as he does. You’re craning your head back, back arched to reach him, and when your chest rubs against his for a millisecond, he shuts his eyes with a groan.  

“Hey! If it isn’t Gojo,” a gruff voice bellows.

You step back, gasping for air and desperately smoothing your skirt down as you give a shaky smile to the newcomer. He’s a tall, buff man wearing shorts and carrying a basketball. He pats Gojo on the back, oblivious to the tension, to the way his friend is pouting, grumbling about how he ‘ruined the moment.’

The man looks at you with a friendly enough smile, eyeing your appearance with nothing more than curiosity before he gives you one of those manly nods. 

“Whatcha doing at my girl’s dorm?” He asks. 

Clearing his throat, Gojo answers, “Just dropping my wi—I mean, my friend off. Yeah, just stopping by.”

The guy doesn’t look ready to stop talking. So you take the initiative to excuse yourself with an awkward kiss on the white-haired boy’s cheek and you whisper, “Goodnight...Satoru.”

You don’t wait for him to reply.

Just as you’re about to enter your dorm building, you hear a distinct, “Dude, I totally cockblocked you, didn’t I? Fuck, put that thing away. You’re gonna poke my fucking eyes out!”

You smile just as your phone pings.

[chrisissobabygirl]

☆ summer nights - c.s

c/w: fluff, making out, smut without plot ig, oral (f recieving), p in v, fingering, creampie, softdom!chris?? i think, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it y'all), etc etc

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊✮‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

the moon was full and low that night, it's light slipping through the window and onto chris's bed. the air conditioning and the sound of his lips meeting yours in a frenzy filled the room like a sultry soundtrack.

you both were lost in ecstasy, in the taste of each other's lips, the warmth of each other's bodies, the friction and the sounds you created together. it had been a while since you had last seen your boyfriend and been alone with him, your busy schedules keeping you apart. but today, you were finally able to pick him, nick, and matt up from the airport after their trip to boston. as much as you loved his brothers, you couldn't wait to be alone with chris.

your nails grazed chris's chest, which was clad in his favorite pirate-girl sleeveless t-shirt—the one you liked best. you were straddling him, your legs on either side of his. his hands were sliding up and down your tank top, the one that drove him absolutely crazy, as he urgently explored your mouth with his tongue.

you let out a small whimper, as his clothed cock rubbed against your core for what felt like the millionth time. "chris," you tugged on his hair as you moaned out his name between kisses. "please."

"fuck, ma, what do you want?" chris let out a low groan, trying to control himself. if it were upto him, he would have flipped you over, buried your face into his pillow and taken you from behind hours ago, but no. you had been playing hard to get all day long, teasing him in that godforsaken top, rendering him helpless as they were around matt and nick the entire day. his cock was so hard it was painful.

"you want my cock, huh?" he mumbled from your lips. you nodded frantically as you continued to grind in his lap, the tugs on his hair getting stronger with every rock of your hips against his.

his lips travelled from your mouth to your neck. "words, baby. use your pretty little mouth." he smirked against your skin, waiting for your consent.

"chris," you whined out, stopping your movements altogether. "please fuck me, i need...need your cock... need your mouth so bad." you took his face in your hands, panting heavily.

"get up. now." he demanded, tapping your ass twice, motioning for you to do what he asked. your legs shook as you got up from his lap, now a wet patch in the centre of his plaid pyjamas, right on his cock—your arousal.

you settled down on the bed, your back lying against the headboard, as he shifted himself in front of you, the tent in his pyjamas very evident, and hooked his thumbs under the waistband of your skimpy shorts, pulling them down with ease, filling his sight with nothing except your dripping cunt.

"no underwear? so you're telling me, all day long, the only thing that's been seperating me from your sweet pussy is one fucking layer? you fucking tease." chris hissed as his cock got painfully harder, if that was even possible. in one swift motion, he spread your legs, ready to absolutely devour you.

he lowered himself, his lips tracing a slow and torturous path along your inner thighs, the heat of his breath sending a shiver through you, your clit throbbing.

that's it. you couldn't take it anymore. you grabbed the back of your boyfriend's head, and tried to guide him to where you needed him most, but he easily overpowered your attempt. he chuckled lowly, a teasing smile on his face. "so fucking needy, hm?"

"chris, please," you were practically begging now, but you didn't care. you wanted him—you needed him. you craved his touch, his lips, his cock, his everything.

chris looked up, his lustful eyes meeting your half-lidded once, and that was it. he lunged between your legs like a madman, his tongue swiping from the bottom of your slit to the very top.

a moan escaped your swollen, puffy lips as your head rolled back, your back arching off the headboard. his tongue circled your clit—once, twice, thrice—before he thrusted his tongue inside you, fucking you like it was his cock. his name fell from your lips like a chant, as you begged him not to stop.

"you're drenched." his tongue left your pussy, and without a warning, he replaced his tongue with his middle and ring finger. you let out a high-pitched whine at the sudden intrusion, his long fingers reaching all the right places inside you. his fingers curled upwards, hitting your g-spot with every thrust, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body.

chris was like a man on a mission, his tongue returning to your sensitive clit, alternating between long licks and sucking it in his mouth at a relentless pace. your thighs squeezed around his head, hands tangled in his hair, as you felt your orgasm approaching. you let out a frustrated sob, a tear running down your cheek, when he suddenly stopped, pulling his mouth and fingers away from you. his tongue came out and licked his lips clean, the taste of you making his cock twitch.

"wha-why'd you stop?" you cried. chris chuckled and brought you closer to him, his body now hovering right above yours. "as much as i love eating you out, i need you to come around my cock tonight, baby. s'that okay?" he bent down and kissed you softly.

"mhm," you nodded slowly, still recovering from the intensity of his mouth. you got up into a sitting position, and pulled your tank top off with shaky hands, along with your bra, now completely bare for him. chris groaned at the sight of his perfect girlfriend. he couldn't wait to be inside you again.

chris frantically undressed himself as well, pulling his sleeveless t-shirt up in one swift motion, and tugging his boxers down until his hard dick sprung out, slapping against his stomach. your clit throbbed at the sight, waiting to be claimed by him. he was big and thick, his head swollen and leaking precum already.

he climbed back on top of you, and his large frame enveloped yours completely, the warmth of his skin sending goosebumps down your body. he reached down, leaving a trail of kisses down your neck. he reached your breasts, enveloping your right nipple in his mouth, while he brought his hand up to play with the left one. he stopped his movements and looked down, lining the tip of his cock with your entrance.

"god, i missed this." he breathed in your ear. and with that, he pushed himself inside you with one deep thrust. he waited for a moment, letting you readjust to his size, feeling your walls stretch around his cock. his hips rocked, retreating and sliding back with more force now, elicting a cry of pleasure from you.

"fuck, you're so big, chris." you mumbled out. the thrusts kept on coming, each one harder and faster. he grabbed one of your legs, draping it over his shoulder as you locked the other one around his waist, the position giving him a better and deeper angle. one of his hands reached between your legs, rubbing your clit, as the other one held your leg up.

a loud moan escaped from your lips as chris pounded into you, hitting your g-spot, making your spongy walls clench around him. "you like when i fuck you hard? takin' me so fuckin' well, ma," he grunted, nearly out of breath. the bed frame slammed against the wall in rhythm with his pounding, filling the room with creaks.

you screamed his name out again and again, only fueling his energy further. your head spun and your back arched off the bed as his thrusts became rougher. your moans filled the room, the slapping of his skin on yours becoming louder, the both of you getting closer and closer to your orgasm.

chris clenched his jaw in effort, holding back his orgasm as his cock slammed into your cervix mercilessly. "c-chris, i think i-i'm about to.." you moaned, so overstimulated that you couldn't complete your sentence. "fuck, me too, kid," he gritted through his teeth, flicking your clit faster.

a loud cry escaped from your lips as the knot in your stomach finally snapped, thighs trembling as you spasmed around his cock. pornographic moans left your mouth as he shot his load inside you, coating your walls with his release. his movements slowed as he fucked you through your and his orgasm.

his movements stopped as he slowly pulled out, collapsing next to you, heavy pants filling the air. your chest rose and fell in a quick pace, heart beating fast.

after a few seconds, you rolled to your side, capturing chris's lips into a sweet kiss, running a hand through his sweaty hair. "i missed you so much."

"me too, kid. i love you." he whispered, brushing a few strands out of your face.

"i love you too, chris." you smiled, pecking your boyfriends lips once more.

and that's how you two fell asleep, tangled up in each other, his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, his head buried in the crook of your neck.

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊✮‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

a/n: this is my first smut so please be nice or i might cry! also ilysm HAPPY NEW YEAR BITCHES RAHHH (its like 2:30 am and i CANNOT sleep)

wc: 1546

[darnell-la]

Logan smut w/ a partner playing “hard to get”

Like pretending not to be in the mood as if she isn’t soaking wet for him

note: needy Logan Howlett y’all… Can’t get enough of him!

———

“C’mere, bub,” Logan spoke into y/n’s neck as he pulled her closer to him. Y/n groaned under her breath, softly elbowing his chest as she kept moving her ass up against his crotch.

“Baby, stop that,” Logan giggled in her neck as he grabbed her waist tightly, making her hips move how he wanted them to. “Got me so hard, I can’t even go to sleep,” Logan whispered.

“Logan, not right now. Tryna sleep,” y/n whined, keeping her eyes closed as his clothes cock rubbed on her ass cheek. Wearing a thing to bed was a routine when she wanted to tease him.

“C’mon, baby, don’t be like that tonight. I’m hurtin,” he admitted, feeling his cock harder with a leaky tip. She’s been moving around in bed for the last ten minutes, and though she does this a lot, he always thinks it’s not on purpose.

“I’m tired, Logan,” Y/n said as she stopped moving her hips. “Okay, okay, baby,” Logan felt let down, but stayed spooning her, hoping the list that built would go away over time.

After lying for maybe thirty minutes, he couldn’t help himself. It’s been too long, and he felt a bit of pain. He needed to at least stick it in.

Logan slowly and quietly pulled Y/n’s thong to the side, lifting his head up to make sure she was still asleep, and she was. So he thought.

The man grabbed his cock and shifted in bed until his tip lined up either heat. The man let out a slow groan, feeling better steady, but he needed more.

Logan pushed through the tight folds, struggled since her legs were closed, but made it through. “Fuck,” the man let out as he began moving his hips.

“Oh my his, Logan!” Y/n faked being upset as one hand gripped her waist and the other stroked the top of her head. “Ssh, baby — Just quick. Already gif me so close,” the man whispered as she pushed at his stomach.

“I said I was tired, Logan,” y/n said, barely using her strength. She always felt good when he slipped into her in the middle of the night. Her cunt would clench him in an instant.

“Baby, you know I can’t resist it. So fuckin’ tight and wet. I can smell you. Every night I fuckin’ smell your sweet juice,” the man spoke in her neck before giving her sloppy kisses.

Logan used the hand on her waist to pull her into his thrusts, causing small claps to come from under the covers.

“C’mon, just give me one, baby. One little orgasm and I’ll be done,” the man said, knowing his girl doesn’t like to wet the sheets. He’ll rub a dry one out of her.

“Spread 'em, baby,” Logan’s hand traveled down to her heat, trying to squeeze through her thighs. “I’m tired,” y/n tried saying without a whine, but failed. He felt amazing.

“Baby, open your legs,” Logan said in a more demanding tone. He loves his girl, but what he says goes, and right now, she isn’t listening.

“Mm mhm,” y/n shook her head, wanting him to take her organs from her. “Fuckin’ hell,” the man cussed as he parted her leg by himself and began rubbing at her bud harshly.

“Don’t know if it’s because you’re half in your sleep, but you fuckin’ listen when I tell you something, bub,” Logan said, now tugging on her hair he was just stroking.

“If I wanna fill this cunt before I sleep, ima fill it, do you understand?” The man asked her, making her nod quickly as her cunt throbbed. She could. It never lasted long once Logan handled her like this.

“Ah huh — Wanna listen now because you feel good? Flickin’ your bean so good, you can barely speak?” Logan asked as he looked over her head, seeing her eyes roll.

“Yeah, I know, baby. So fuckin’ good,” Logan snapped his hips, feeling her legs finally stiffen under his. “Let go, baby. Flutter around my cock. Need a feel you squeeze the cum outta me,”

Y/n’s let out a broken whine, finally cumming with a shake. “That’s it, that’s it,” Logan repeated, fucking her harder to chance after his own climax.

“Keep it up! Keep fuckin’ squeezing me!” The man demanded as his cock twitched. “Fuck, yes, baby,” the man cussed into her neck as he spilled in her.

Logan’s hands traveled to her stomach, gripping it tightly to pull her into him. He wanted to make sure he came deep. Every time they fucked, he wanted it deep.

After a good minute of Logan growling and telling Y/n how good she was for him, he pulled out and pulled her panties back in place.

Y/n slowly turned around, sore and filled. She placed her hand on the man’s chest and gave him a long passionate kiss.

“You’re so needy, Logan,” y/n giggled, making him let out an embarrassed chuckle. “Yeah, I just- I just need you a lot. You’re so good to me, y/n,” Logan said as his hand rested on her cheek, rubbing her skin.

“You’re better to me,” she smiled, making him shake his head slightly before going into how much better she is to him, and how he needs her to love his own life. All while rubbing her body, taking in every inch of her that is his. He was a lucky man.

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

Star student!Mydei in an enemies to lovers scenario with class clown!reader where, one day they're getting into another silly argument and the next thing you know, he's waking up in her bed.

ℱ）warnings : nsfw/smut, creampie, unprotected s*x, overstimulation, bullying, teasing, dumbification, degradation, size difference/kink and enemies to lovers. not proof read!!

ℱ）note : art header is by rororo_mg on x !! also not proof read.

Mydei groaned as consciousness crept back to him, his body heavy, his mind sluggish. He blinked against the dim morning light filtering through the window, trying to piece together where he was—

Then he froze.

This wasn’t his room. The sheets smelled different, softer, laced with something sweet and floral. There was a weight on his chest—warm, steady breaths tickling against his skin. And when he finally dared to glance down, his breath caught in his throat.

You.

His sworn pain in the ass, the class clown who made his life infinitely harder, was curled up against him, your arm draped over his stomach, your face tucked against his shoulder. Mydei’s stomach twisted, heat crawling up his neck as flashes of last night slammed into his mind all at once.

The argument. The usual back-and-forth, sharp words and teasing jabs. You were always getting under his skin, always testing his patience with that insufferable, mischievous grin. But this time, it had been different. The tension had snapped, the line between irritation and something far more dangerous blurring in an instant.

And now—

Mydei exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. What the fuck did I do?

Your body shifted slightly against him, a sleepy hum escaping your lips. Mydei stiffened, every muscle in his body locking up as you nuzzled closer, completely unaware of the absolute crisis he was having.

He needed to move. He needed to get out of here before you woke up and turned this into something ten times worse than it already was. But his body betrayed him, his hand hovering over your back, tempted—fuck—to pull you closer instead of pushing you away.

Mydei swallowed hard, his heart hammering as he stared down at you, still sleeping soundly against his chest. The memories of last night were coming back in flashes—your legs wrapped around his waist, your moans gasping his name between teasing laughter, the way you clenched around him so tight it nearly drove him insane.

And then, the final moment—his body tensing, his breath hitching as he spilled deep inside you, your nails digging into his back as you took every drop.

His stomach tightened at the thought, at the realization of what he’d done.

He had creampied you.

Raw.

No protection.

Mydei squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the heat rising in his body at the memory of how good you felt, how he hadn’t even thought about pulling out—how maybe, deep down, he hadn’t wanted to.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his mess of golden hair.

You stirred, your body shifting slightly against him, your breath warm against his skin. Mydei froze, holding his breath as your fingers twitched against his stomach, as your nose scrunched up in that sleepy way you always did when you were about to wake up.

And just like that, his moment of peace was gone.

Your eyes fluttered open, still hazy with sleep, your brows furrowing slightly as your gaze slowly focused on him.

For a second, there was only silence.

Then—

“What the fuck are you doing in my bed?”

Mydei let out a sharp, humorless laugh, pressing a hand over his face. “That’s my line, dumbass.”

You shot up—only to immediately whimper, your thighs clenching shut. Mydei’s gaze flickered down, and there it was—his cum, thick and sticky, already starting to drip out of you.

His cock twitched.

Your eyes widened in horror. “Oh my god.”

Mydei exhaled sharply, already bracing himself for the absolute nightmare that was about to unfold. Because if last night had been a mistake…

Then why the fuck did he already want to do it again?

“You’re staring.”

Your voice was still thick with sleep, laced with confusion and something else—something softer. But that wasn’t what Mydei was focused on. His eyes were locked onto the mess between your legs, the way his cum was leaking out of your sore, used hole, the way your thighs clenched like you were trying to hide it from him.

Cute.

“Can’t help it,” Mydei murmured, voice low, rough. His hand reached out before he could stop himself, two fingers pressing against your swollen folds, pushing his cum back inside. “Didn’t realize my dumb little rival could take me so well.”

Your breath hitched, your body twitching under his touch. “Don’t say it like that,” you mumbled, glaring at him—but the effect was ruined by the way your voice wavered, by the way your hips twitched toward his hand instead of away.

Mydei smirked. “What, don’t wanna admit how much you loved it?” He leaned in, his lips ghosting over your ear, his fingers still teasing your sensitive hole. “You were begging for it last night, girl. I should’ve recorded it—”

Your whimper cut him off, and fuck, that sound went straight to his cock.

“You’re such an asshole,” you grumbled, but there was no real bite to it. Just heat. Just need.

Mydei chuckled. “And yet,” he murmured, sliding his fingers up to your clit, rubbing slow, lazy circles, “you’re already soaking wet again.”

You let out a broken moan, your body betraying you completely. “S’not fair,” you slurred, your head lolling back, your thighs falling open despite yourself. “Feels too good…”

Dumb girl.

Mydei groaned, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your stomach in one smooth motion. His body caged over yours, his chest pressing against your back as his cock slid between your thighs, rubbing against your slick folds.

“You’re so stupid when you’re fucked out,” he murmured, dragging his cock along your entrance. “So cute and dumb, letting your enemy fuck you raw.”

You whined, pushing your hips back, desperate, needy. “M-Mydei, please…”

Fuck. He was going to ruin you.

With one sharp thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, groaning at how tight you were, how perfectly your walls squeezed around him. You sobbed into the pillow, your body shuddering, overwhelmed already.

“That’s it,” he muttered, gripping your hips, pulling back only to slam in deeper. “Take it, dumb little thing.”

You couldn’t speak—only moan, only whimper as he fucked you open, every thrust shoving you deeper into the mattress, into complete, brainless pleasure. Your mind was melting, your thoughts dissolving until the only thing left was him.

Mydei grinned against your shoulder, his pace rough and relentless. “Not so mouthy now, huh?” His fingers dug into your hips, his other hand pressing down on your belly, feeling how deep he was. “Maybe I should keep you like this—stuffed full and too dumb to argue with me.”

Your moan was high-pitched, broken.

Mydei groaned. “Fuck, you’re clenching—do you like being called stupid?” His hand slid between your legs, rubbing your swollen clit, making you jolt. “Bet you do. Bet you love getting fucked so hard you can’t even think.”

You could only sob in response, your body shuddering as pleasure slammed into you, your walls fluttering wildly around his cock.

“That’s it, cum for me,” he growled, snapping his hips faster. “Make a mess all over my cock, pretty.”

And you did—crying out as you came hard, your whole body going limp, twitching from the intensity. Mydei groaned, feeling you squeeze around him, milking him, dragging him over the edge—

With a sharp, shuddering breath, he slammed deep one last time, spilling inside you, filling you up until it dripped out around his cock.

For a moment, the only sound was your heavy breathing, the faint, sticky noises of his cum still leaking from your used hole.

Then, Mydei chuckled, breathless. “Guess that makes two nights in a row.”

You groaned into the pillow. “Shut up.”

[superswet]

🌪️ whirlwind.

scott miller x reader Synopsis: the bar has always been a safe haven after a long week of storm-chasing, but when tyler owens decides you’re his lucky charm for the night, you find that scott’s control has its limits. Word Count: 6.4k (pls don't look at me) Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI!!!, mentions of near-death experiences, tornadoes (obviously), brief insinuations to cheating, tyler is a pot-stirrer, public sex, dry humping, fingering (f!receiving), degradation, nipple play (f!receiving), orgasm delay, biting?, scott miller has a whore mouth, minor choking, use of pet names (baby, sweetheart), lots of dirty talk, no use of y/n A/N: my first time posting fic & writing for scott so pls go easy on me 🥺 sometimes you just have to let a smug little asshole take over ur entire life, am i right? if you enjoyed, pls feel free to reblog or give it a like and as always, my inbox is open if you want to chat!!! 🤍

It’s been a grueling week, one tornado after another hammering Oklahoma into a state of disarray.

You’re still shaken from the last one, the anxiety of being alone in a motel with your thoughts almost unbearable. You’ve tried to avoid being alone since then, afraid that something worse is always on the horizon, and the thought of being isolated in a room while the rest of the team is out doesn’t sit well.

The bar, though, is a familiar sanctuary. A small comfort amidst the chaos. Even though you’re drained and the idea of socializing feels monumental, tradition is tradition. Javi’s sad puppy eyes and the inevitable guilt trip on the drive back to HQ tomorrow is enough to push you out of bed and into the shower.

And, as much as you don’t want to go, it feels wrong when even Scott makes an effort to go.

By the time you step into the dimly lit bar, clinking glasses and the hum of chatter soothe your worries quickly away. Whirlwind may have seen more than its fair share of fights and other throes of debauchery, but it was a frequent, favorite stop.

And it’s already packed. Between the locals and the other storm-chasers crowding the space, you can’t find Storm Par anywhere. A roar of laughter strikes from the pool tables, and you quickly pocket your phone, realizing you’ll have no luck calling or texting when it won’t even be heard over the noise.

Oh, well. You’ll find them soon enough. Making your way to the bar to greet Jack, the burly bartender who’s been running the place for years and has grown more familiar to you the more you frequent, you hear — rather than see — one of the storm-chasers you were hoping to avoid tonight.

Tyler. God damn. Owens.

You weren’t struck by his Southern charm — your days of easy flattery were past you — but he was hard to ignore. Then again, you should’ve known better by now. Tyler always seemed to be at his best when he had a crowd buzzing around him.

“I thought tonight couldn’t get any better, and then you walked in,” he drawls, finding a space alongside you as he sets his empty beer bottle down, his voice smooth. “Can I buy you a drink, darlin’?”

You consider turning him down, not sure if you’re up for his ego tonight, but you also know Tyler. He wasn't swayed easily, especially if he saw a challenge. Besides, a free drink was well, free, and as grating as he could get, you supposed one couldn't hurt. So you nod. “Sure, why not.”

Jack, who’d wordlessly gotten your drink as Tyler approached, sets a bottle of your favorite down in front of you, his brow raising to get your attention. You hesitate before taking it and catch his gaze shift slightly past you.

Before you get a chance to follow, Tyler steals your focus with a grin, the ever-present pain in your ass. You can’t fight your instincts to be polite. “So tell me. What’s a girl like you doin’ in a place like this?”

You meet his gaze, all swirling hues and open attraction. Maybe if you were that kind of girl, his smooth, clichéd lines would work on you. But you weren’t that girl. You preferred sensible. Practical. Safe. It was why you’d joined Storm Par in the first place, rather than one of the many other crews. This tornado wrangler just wasn’t for you.

Unfortunately for Tyler, he always seemed to miss that memo.

“Same as everyone else, I guess.” You laugh half-heartedly. Maybe if the conversation is light enough, you can slip away without it turning into a spectacle. “Just looking to unwind.”

If Tyler notices your lack of enthusiasm, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he makes a show of settling into his spot next to you, grin stretching wide. The beer in his hands is fresh and cold, same as yours, though unlike yourself he’s already taken a few drinks while you start to pick at the label. Javi would've poked fun by now, but your friend is nowhere near. Typical.

Tyler takes another drink, resting his arm on the bar, your eyes drifting to his tanned bicep. His grin stretches when he catches you looking, and you try not to scowl at falling for his display.

He continues with a well-used, “Well, you sure do brighten up the place.”

Thank god. Playing along, you don’t waste a second as your gaze wanders eagerly around the bar. From your new position you spot a cluster of tables on the other side of the room, Storm Par filling out the seats.

Scott sits alone at one of them, as he always did, but his posture is rigid, and even from a distance you can tell his focus is far from the game of darts Javi tries to include him in. Unsurprising. But rather than being distracted by his phone, worrying about the next job the team would have to take, his eyes are locked in on you.

The intensity makes you shiver. A few bottles sit empty next to him, and you only know they’re his by the unmistakable Guinness label adorning the side. A half-empty glass rests in his hand like he’d meant to take a sip before catching sight of Tyler.

Since joining Storm Par, the number of things you knew about Scott could be counted on your fingers. And in that time, you’d never seen him unwind. Not truly, anyway. As frustrating as it could be, you'd come to respect Scott's unwavering demeanor.

Amidst the chaos, no matter how intense it got, Scott was the stoic anchor of the team. There was a reason for his lectures and regulations. He was as dependable as the code he lived by, but most of the team often dismissed it as rigid and unnecessary. You knew it took strength and reliability to remain true to your values.

Much like you were forgoing now, your polite smile tight on your lips.

Beyond Javi, the rest of the team is scattered around Whirlwind, some dancing with reckless abandon on the makeshift dance floor while others clink shots over a job well done with the other storm-chasing crews. Scott is still firmly planted on the barstool, setting his glass down with a white-knuckled grip.

Tyler, of course, pays no attention. He leans in, casually inching closer to you, wrapping up some story of an exaggerated Wrangler exploit. Close enough to brush against you. When you glance down at the contact, Tyler notices where you’ve grown distracted, that easygoing grin slipping as he takes in your view.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Tyler says with a sigh, head shaking in disbelief. “Just admit it — I’m a hell of a lot more fun than Storm Cloud over there.”

You disagree, but keep it to yourself. Tyler and his crew were reckless, and, sure, while there was some level of risk that came with what you all did, there was a clear difference between you and them. 

It was part of what had drawn you to Scott in the first place. He was meticulous and no-nonsense, quick to call out mistakes whether you were out in the field or back in the office. But even Scott wasn't immune to a lecture or two — something he'd gone to great lengths to keep under lock and key.

And you only knew by accident.

Another sleepless night had driven you out of your room in search of coffee, leading you to a diner where you’d stumbled across him and Riggs in a heated discussion. Your Mama had taught you manners about eavesdropping, but you were frozen in place, listening to Riggs furiously drill into Scott over another fuck up (not his fault) and whether he was serious or not about the work they were doing. Before you could slip away unnoticed, not wanting to be lectured too, Scott’s eyes met yours, giving you a small, subtle shake of his head.

You’d run straight back to your room after, hoping that maybe it'd been a weird nightmare and you’d wake up to business as usual. But after another hour of tossing and turning, Scott’s familiar knock sounded at your door, and when you’d gathered the courage to meet him face to face, he’d looked just as conflicted as you felt. After what you’d heard, the way Scott took responsibility for every mistake and didn't throw anyone under the bus, keeping it between you two was the least you could do.

Something changed after that night. When a particularly nasty tornado touched ground a few weeks later and nearly swept you up in it, nobody questioned Scott’s decision to reassign you to Scarecrow. Nobody questioned why your partner had quit shortly after, either.

Scott still hadn’t asked why you’d been awake that night, just the same as you didn’t ask about Riggs.

You glance over at Scott again now, the memory fresh in your mind. His knuckles are just as white as when you’d found him in the diner, expression still shadowed, like he’s torn between intervening and letting it play out. But even with a crowd between you and the two men, the tension is thick, crackling in the air.

Tyler leans in closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper as glances over at Scott. “He’s got that brooding thing down to an art, doesn’t he? Don’t you ever crave a little spontaneity?”

You shift away from Tyler, the weight of Scott’s gaze growing heavy. From the corner of your eye you can just barely make out the hard set to his jaw, no longer working the cinnamon gum he obsessively kept on him. You manage a tight smile, distracted, as Javi’s voice rises briefly above the noise — your attention divided between the brewing storm on the other end of the bar and the eye of the one you were currently stuck in.

“I… I think we all have our reasons for sticking around.” You say, just as Javi finally notices you, his smile dimming as his gaze slides to Tyler.

Shit.

“Oh, I’m sure you do.” Tyler’s drawl is playful, almost teasing, and if he sees that you’re not even looking at him anymore, he doesn’t seem to care. “I’m just saying. If you ever want to get away from Clipboard over there...”

This time you do look with a flash of agitation. “If I wanted that, I’d be part of your team, Tyler. Not his.”

“Now, hold on, just hear me out for a second.” Tyler takes another pull from his drink, but when he sets it back down, he’s too close yet again. Fingers brush unwarranted against you, his touch lingering in a way that immediately makes your skin crawl. “How about we make a deal? Let me show you a good time tonight, and I promise you won’t even remember his name by the end of it.”

The suggestion hangs heavy in the air. You're only just barely aware of the way your features shift as background noise fades and you’re left with a high-pitched ringing in your ears, each emotion rolling through you longer to process than the last. By the time disgust sets in, flinching away from his wandering hands, you see past the red just enough to catch his grin widening in amusement.

And you realize, with terrifying clarity, that he’s been toying with you the whole night, just to start something with your team. You try not to tremble, swallowing your rage, and remind yourself that you'll be kicked out if dump your drink on him.

A stool scrapes loudly from the other side of the room. Whatever semblance of peace snaps.

“Uh oh.” Tyler notices Scott’s approach, and has the audacity to flash you a smile. “Looks like we’ve got company. He sure knows how to kill a mood, doesn’t he?”

You don't have a chance to respond, Scott stopping beside you, barely restrained anger coming off him in waves. You instinctively step closer to him, your drink forgotten and unwanted on the bar. His eyes flash with anger as he regards Tyler, that muscle working overtime in his jaw — and you know he's seen everything, from Tyler whispering into your ear to the look of repulse that you'd tried to hide.

“We need to talk.” Scott’s gaze shifts to you. You recognize the silent message he sends, the urgency in his voice as he fights to control his composure for your sake. “Now.”

“Ouch, Scotty. Not even a hello? And here I thought manners came with that fancy degree.” Tyler whistles low, appraising Scott like he’s not seconds away from getting his nose broken. “I was just getting acquainted with your friend over here. Giving her the whole Wrangler pitch. You know how it goes.” His smirk growing, he takes your silence as a cue to continue. “Come to think of it, wasn’t that how Gabby left? Told me she was over all the huffin' and puffin', especially after—”

“Enough.” Scott's interjection is loud and clear, your heart stuttering at the icy tone. When he slides an arm around your waist, the weight unfamiliar, you can’t tell if it’s to keep you from lunging at Tyler, or himself. You glance between Tyler's satisfied grin and the glare Scott sends him, confused. Who was Gabby? “Shut the fuck up for once, Owens. Seriously. Do us all a fucking favor.”

You still swim with questions as Scott pulls you close, no longer waiting for Tyler’s approval or response — not that he needed it in the first place. Lights cast long shadows as he navigates you between tables, the ringing in your ears lessening the further away from Tyler you get. Scott ushers you out the nearest exit, his palm warm against the small of your back.

The back door slams shut with a final click as you spill out into the alley together. It’s as dimly lit as the inside is, a singular dying bulb flickering just a few steps away. The sounds of the bar are muffled here now that your hearing has returned to normal, leaving only the distant hum of traffic and your ragged breathing.

The chilled air immediately hits you as Scott pulls away, and you watch, lost, as he paces angrily while you try to sort your thoughts out.

“What the hell was that? I thought you said you weren’t coming tonight.” Scott’s voice is sharp, cutting through the night like a knife. He turns to face you with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken, his scowl reflecting the look he gets when he's about to unleash on someone. “You said you needed space, time to clear your head… So why are you here? With him?”

“I know. Plans change,” you reply, caught off-guard, hoping to sound casual even as you hook your finger nervously under the strap of your dress. You’ve never seen Scott this worked up before, and it’s unsettling.

“Plans change?” Scott scoffs, his voice rising with every word. “That’s your excuse? You say one thing, and then do the complete opposite? What was your plan, then? To drink with Tyler and maybe let him drive you home? Was that the idea?”

You’re taken aback by the sharpness of his words. “It was just a drink, Scott. I needed to get out and clear my head.”

“Just a drink?” Scott’s eyes narrow, and he takes a step closer, his frustration barely contained. “Do you really think I’m that naive? Tyler doesn’t just do ‘just a drink.’ He’s always looking for something more. And you—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. “He makes a mess of everything he touches. You know what he’s like. Hell, you’re smart enough to see through his bullshit. So why are you letting him get close to you?”

“Scott, it’s not like that,” you protest, your voice wavering slightly under his scrutiny. “I needed to get out. It had nothing to do with him.”

“And you couldn’t find another way to clear your head? Without him? Without the guy who’s known for causing chaos?” His voice is thick with emotion, the carefully controlled mask he usually wears slipping away to reveal the raw frustration and fear beneath. “You think I don’t see what’s happening here? I’ve been through this before, and I’m not going to stand by and watch you make the same mistakes.”

“What are you implying?” You ask, confused and angry.

“I’m saying I think you’re using Tyler as a distraction,” Scott says, his voice sharp, “A way to escape from everything you’ve been dealing with.”

Frustration prickles at his words, and even though you try not to, it’s hard to keep the edge from your voice. “Escape? That’s not— I’m not running away from anything.”

“We’ve had a rough week. I know it’s been hard on you,” Scott says, his tone softening slightly, though he still looks on edge. His jaw ticks again, and your gaze immediately darts to the pack of gum you know he keeps in his right back pocket. “But if you’re letting someone like Tyler pull you away from what really matters, it’ll only make things worse. I’ve seen too many people get hurt by him.”

Your anger flares at his scolding, hating that you found yourself in one storm, only to be led willingly into the next. “And what, Scott? You think you know me so well that you can just decide what’s best for me?”

“No, I’m just—” Scott shakes his head, taking a step toward you, then rethinking it. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“Safe?” You try to suppress a laugh, but it comes out bitter. “Safe doesn’t really exist in our line of work, and you know that.”

Scott’s eyes flash with a mix of frustration and something else you can’t quite place. He takes a deep breath, struggling to steady himself. “You think I don’t know that? When things go wrong, I need to know that I can count on the people around me to handle their shit.”

You raise an eyebrow, uncertain where this is going. “And what exactly does that have to do with Tyler or me?”

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asks, his tone almost pleading. “When you’re involved, everything gets complicated. I can’t think straight when you’re involved. I can’t focus. Hell, I can’t even sleep at night.”

Scott runs a hand through his hair, his fingers gripping tightly as if trying to ground himself. “That tornado— When the equipment malfunctioned because Dale failed to follow the calibration protocols I specifically fucking outlined— I was frozen, just paralyzed with fear. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I knew we couldn’t make it to you in time.”

You still, remembering how quickly Scott had cornered Dale when you got back. You’d thought it was because of the readings and the instructions he’d ignored that had nearly cost you both your lives.

Scott’s breath hitches as he continues. “It would’ve been my fault. My responsibility. My orders. I was convinced I’d lost you. And I thought if I could just keep you safe, try to control the chaos, that it might make things better. But seeing you with Tyler tonight... It’s like I’m back in that moment, feeling helpless, and I—” He cuts himself off with a shake of his head. “Look, I’m not going through that again. I can’t.”

His voice cracks, and you see the depth of his internal struggle. “I’m just… trying to protect you,” he admits quietly, “but I don’t know if you even see it that way.”

His words weigh heavy, the shock of it ripping right through you. Scott Miller didn't go out of his way to be kind.

You're pulled back through the last few months: the coffee, just the way you liked it, that Scott always had waiting for you after a chase; his lack of scorn when you fell asleep on him in the van the next morning, when exhaustion wins and his silence becomes safety; the lingering, unasked question on his lips every time you were tasked to go out onto the field again and you agreed, over and over, despite the very real fear of the very thing you chased.

For a moment, everything else fades away — Tyler, the bar, the noise.

“Scott.” Your voice breaks through the quiet in a whisper, drawing close to him. Your hands glide gently along the black fabric of his shirt, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms. “I’m here,” you say, your voice steady but soft. “I’m with you.”

For a moment, that vulnerability continues to swim in his eyes. And then he steps closer, his fingers wrapping around your wrists. You think, for a split second of panic, that he means to push you away and close himself off the way he usually does; instead, his thumbs rub tenderly at your palms, the action so gentle and unlike him that it makes your breath stall.

Instinctively your gaze meets his, forgetting (as you often did) just how big he actually was. Tall, broad, and deliciously toned; when you thought of Scott, you thought of him behind a desk, not running laps around his neighborhood and clocking in hours at the gym. Your uniforms did an amazing job of hiding his physique, but it’s impossible to ignore now. His black undershirt clings to him like a second skin and reveals the hard, taut muscles of his body, further evidence of the control he wielded so effortlessly.

His eyes search yours, the intoxicating scent of his cologne enveloping you. You’ve never seen him so open before, and as his hands smooth down your arms to the curve of your waist, there’s a sense of urgency in his touch that he doesn’t vocalize.

Fear. Longing. Desire. His jaw sets again as his gaze drops to your mouth, and you think, for one terrifying moment, that he won’t do it. Would he regain his composure, push you away, then act like nothing had happened the next morning? His brows furrow, as if reading your thoughts. Maybe you’d be reassigned just to avoid the awkwardness of it all. Scott could send you packing with just a phone call.

Your heart pounds, frozen in place, each second lasting an eternity. His fingers flex on your waist, the electrifying touch causing your lips to part and your lashes to flutter. The sight makes his throat bob.

“God damn it,” he groans, his voice guttural.

It’s the only warning you get before his mouth descends onto yours. Though his lips are smooth, there’s nothing gentle about the way Scott kisses you. His mouth moves hungrily against yours, devouring and demanding and all-consuming, like you’re the very air he needs to breathe. You sigh, aching for more, that dull fire inside you growing hotter at the groan that escapes him. As he fists a hand in your hair, he wraps a strong arm around your middle to pull you closer, deepening the kiss.

“Scott…” Bunching his shirt in your hands, you’re helpless when he nips at your bottom lip, pulling desperate, needy sounds from you. As he trails hot open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, finding every spot with ease, his fingers wrap gently around your throat, your pulse racing against his thumb.

“God, I’ve wanted you like this for months,” Scott murmurs against your skin, his voice a low growl that makes your thighs clench. A soft moan escapes as you tilt your head to give him better access, his noise of approval rumbling deep in his throat. “I’ve dreamt of this.”

He presses you into the wall behind you as he ravages your neck, all teeth and tongue and the kind of marks that you’ll have to find excuses for in the morning. A shiver sends you arching up into him, fingers slipping into his hair as he palms your breast, lowering his mouth to suck a greedy mark there. You whine at the friction you’re missing, hips circling the air, desperately hooking your fingers into his belt loops to drag him closer.

“Shhh,” Scott pauses to hitch your leg up, slotting his knee between your thighs. Dark blue eyes drink in the sight of you as he squeezes your ass, a cocky smile spreading on his pink and swollen lips. “I know, sweetheart. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” You mewl when his knee brushes against your heat, enough to have you rolling helplessly against him but not enough to satisfy your desires. “So pretty, so desperate.”

“Yes,” You grip him harder for some semblance of a tether, that condescending, degrading voice only adding fuel to the fire. Did he know what you fantasized about late at night? The shower running to muffle your moans while you touched yourself to his deep voice, lecturing you over a simple mistake? Open desire swirls in your eyes, pleading now, every want laid bare for him. “Please, I want it.”

Scott’s low noise of approval sounds in his throat, pressing closer to give you what you need. You’d be half-ashamed at the way you eagerly grind against him if his own arousal wasn’t hard against your hip, straining, large and throbbing with every roll of your hips. The material of your panties do nothing to stop the delicious ache of his worn jeans against your clit, too many pieces of fabric between you, trying to quiet pretty sounds as you bite your lip.

“Look at you,” Scott growls, your dress inching higher as he seizes your hips, helping you find a rhythm. Hooking the lace of your panties under his fingers, he tugs the material up tight enough together to elicit a hiss, a dimple playing at the corner of his mouth as he smirks, “Is this all for me, baby?”

Barely managing a nod, you meet his eyes through thick lashes and whimper at the expression on his face. That intense gaze drinks in every inch of you like you’re a piece of art and the last thing he wants to remember, his usually stormy eyes hazy with desire.

“God damn... You just can’t get enough, can you, baby? When you touch yourself at night, do you think about me? Rubbing that needy little pussy on your pillow ‘cause you just can’t help it?” You press harder into him in response, his answering laugh dark against your ear. “But it’s never enough, is it? You always crave more, something thicker, something stronger.”

You whine against the loss of contact as he drops his knee, the sting of your panties snapping against your skin quickly forgotten when he trails his digits along the swell of your mouth. You open up greedily, the salty taste of his skin on your tongue intoxicating as you wrap your lips around him. 

“I bet you look so pretty,” he continues, his voice ragged, “Spread out like a top dollar whore with your cunt in the air, gagging on your fingers and wishing it were me. Wondering how many you need to suck on to fill you up just right. How many do you think, baby? Two? More?”

Scott pulls his fingers out with a pop, nuzzling against you as you try to remember to breathe. “Would you even be able to use that brain of yours, baby? Or would you be so fucking desperate to fill your hole that you’d use however many fit?”

He hikes up your dress while he pushes his hand in your panties, fingers slipping through your soaked folds. Fuck. He slowly circles your clit, stealing the breath from your lungs as you arch up into him. “Oh, I know, sweetheart. It doesn’t feel like this, does it?”

Not even close. Worst of all, you weren’t even sure if Scott knew just how true it was. Other men may have excited you, but nothing compared to this — not you, not the others you took to your bed, not even the fantasy Scott you envisioned. You buck helplessly against him, eager for more, whimpering out some sort of half-reply as you grip his wrist in a pathetic effort to keep him there.

Scott just grins. “What’s wrong, baby? Am I going too slow for you?” When he softens his touch, your nails dig into his skin, leaving little crescent moon marks. Lips desperately search for his, your eyes half-lidded and hazy. “I knew you’d be greedy,” he hums, gripping you roughly by the chin, his thumb swiping over your parted lips. “Letting me play with your pussy like this, where anyone could walk out and see how much of a slut you’re being.”

You bite back a moan as you remember where you are, glancing frantically at the door like it might open any second. Your pulse skyrockets when he resumes teasing, circling your clit then dipping down to press at your entrance. Fingers close around the fabric of his shirt, meaning to push him away and only pulling him closer with another desperate whine. “Scott, please…”

“Fuck.” There’s a dark look that flashes across his face, voice rough and ragged, and you watch, with nothing to shield his gaze, as his control snaps.

Sliding his hand over your mouth, it’s the only warning you get before he sinks a thick digit into your weeping cunt. The growl that escapes him when you automatically clench around it only makes you wetter, paralyzed with lust as he works you into pliancy. You pant, chest heaving, as he finds a steady rhythm that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head, every moan muffled against the palm of his hand as you arch into his touch.

You cry out when he adds a second finger, rocking your hips desperately as he angles his hand just right to rub against your clit. “Harder— Please, more—” The words are strangled, spilling out of you mindlessly now, unable to think beyond the way Scott stretches you out. You grab a fistful of his hair as he groans against your neck, dragging teeth and tongue along your skin, freeing your breasts from your dress before covering your mouth again.

“So god damned sexy,” he growls, quick to lap at your hardened nipples, the flat of his tongue spilling another pretty sound from your throat. He curls his digits deeper inside you, the wet schlick of your heat loud in your ears as he sets a brutal pace, switching his attention to your other neglected nipple.

Breath hot against your skin, Scott relishes how you become putty in his hands, holding onto him for support as he strokes that burning fire in you.

“Perfect fucking tits. Perfect fucking pussy. Jesus, sweetheart,” he nips at your skin, soothing the bite with his tongue. “Is this what you like? Being used like my own personal fucktoy? What would the others think if they saw you right now, fucking yourself stupid on me like a bitch in heat?”

He slips his fingers out long enough for you to beg, his smile dark against your skin while you whimper in desperation — and then he’s pushing back into you, stretching your hole with every rough thrust of his fingers. “Hear that, sweetheart? Even your body knows it’s meant to be mine.”

Scott kisses you hungrily as he drops his free hand to your breast, pinching your nipple hard enough to make you scream. His fingers slick harder into you, his cock thick and grinding into your hip while you try to breathe against his storm, your own control slipping as you fist his dark curls in your hands, looking for leverage.

“That’s it,” he growls, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. “This is my fucking pussy, isn’t it, baby? You wanna cum for me? Let the whole bar know you’re my toy to play with?”

“Please, please, please—” You can’t think beyond the brutal pace he’s set, not even sure that your voice sounds human as you babble, eyes big and watering. “Wanna cum for you, please, I need it—”

“You need it?” You gasp as the pain on your nipple subsides only for him to pinch the other, something dark and destructive swirling heavy in his blue eyes. You shiver at the expression, the carnal desire written so clearly over his face, every word out of his mouth deep, commanding, leaving no room for debate. “I’ll tell you when you get to cum. This is mine.” Pressing the heel of his palm hard against your clit, he watches with glee as you clamp down on your bottom lip to keep from screaming, obeying his command even as your body fights.

Your knees nearly buckle at the growl in his voice. Every thrust of his fingers brings you closer to the edge, the heat overwhelming. How many nights had you spent with your fingers in your cunt, picturing scenario after scenario of him taking you in the van, in the bathroom, on his desk after hours? 

“Say it,” Scott insists. “Tell me you’re mine.”

You meet his gaze, the intensity of it nearly sending you over the edge. “I’m yours,” you say, caught between a moan and something stronger, your words choking off.

“Again.” His expression tightens, picking up speed. “Louder.”

“I’m yours!” Your body trembles with the effort to stay upright, writhing against him. The words feel like a vow, your grip on Scott tight as you sob them into him. “My pussy is yours, my body is yours— Just a pathetic, dirty, worthless hole for you to fuck— Fuck, Scott, please—”

Scott growls in response, fisting his hand in your hair as finds the spongey spot inside of you. His digits work you hard, the veins in his arms on display as you bite back a scream, waiting, begging, needing. “Cum,” he grunts, the sound of his fingers driving into you loud and damning, “That’s it, sweetheart. Cum for me.”

You fall over the edge hard and fast, crying out as all the tension from the night finally snaps. It feels like an eternity as he continues fucking you through it, every filthy promise spelled out clearly with his lips at your ear.

By the time you come crashing back down, you’re shaking and empty, blinking back stars as Scott steps back. “Oh my god,” you gasp, fighting to catch your breath, mind still a mess as you try to piece together everything that happened. “That was…”

You watch, mesmerized, as Scott sucks his fingers into his mouth, a groan of approval sounding deep in his throat. And when he squeezes at his bulge straining against his zipper, your core clenches tight at the thought of his weight on top of yours, fucking you into submission again and again until he gets his fill.

“Just the beginning,” Scott promises, stepping toward you to tilt your chin up, his free hand coming down to tighten around your soaked panties and pull. They rip easily in his strong grasp, his grin triumphant as he stuffs them into his back pocket. “You won’t be needing these anymore.”

“Why?” Your body tenses with anticipation, noting the defined dimple in his cheek, the kind of grin he only wore when he was about to be incredibly, infuriatingly smug.

“Because,” he hums, full of condescension, “I didn’t hear a thank you.”

Before you can fix your mistake, Scott silences you with a kiss, his mouth patronizingly gentle as a wicked laugh sounds in the back of his throat. “Don’t worry,” he says, dropping another chaste kiss to your mouth, your nose, the space between your creased brows. “It won’t happen again. I’ll teach you, sweetheart.”

Goosebumps rise on your flesh as Scott adjusts your dress to cover your exposed body, the act so gentle and unbecoming that you freeze enough to let him. The moment only lasts a minute, your eyes meeting as he squeezes the curve of your ass when he’s done, all that vulnerability you had seen locked away again, like he’s guarding himself as reality comes back to life.

A muscle feathers in his jaw as his gaze shifts from you to the back door you’d spilled from. You’ve known Scott long enough by now to know he won’t be the one to say what’s hanging in the air. It would be easier, safer, to walk back in like nothing had happened and return to the motel alone, hitching a ride with anyone other than Scott the next morning.

But if you turn away now, you’ll never see that side of him again: the side that stayed up with you when he could be sleeping, the kind that comforted you without words, the kind that lit your world on fire with every bruising mark he’d left on you. The chance of knowing the man behind the mask.

You don’t miss the way his muscles tense under your touch as you reach for him or the flash of relief that flickers through him. “You think I’m teachable?” You ask, turning big eyes up at him, begging him to see the way you lay yourself bare for him — hoping, praying, that he doesn’t turn you down even still.

“I’m not an easy teacher.” He says, low, still guarded. Still giving you one last out.

You shake your head, a laugh tumbling out. His throat bobs at the sound. “I don’t want easy.” The truth of that hangs heavy in the air, zipping between the two of you as recognition passes through his eyes. “Now are you driving, or am I?”

A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth before he presses his tongue into his cheek and takes a step back. “My van, my rules,” he says, his voice softer now but still firm, and you hear the familiar rumble of the Storm Par van coming to life. His keys jingle in his hand as he adds, “You should know that by now.”

You bite your lip, suppressing a smile, and follow him out of the alleyway.

You did know. And as you settle into the passenger seat, the scent of the van enveloping you — a mix of old leather and Scott’s cologne — anticipation crackles in the air. The night stretches ahead, full of unspoken possibilities.

You couldn’t wait to test how far those rules went... and just how much you both were willing to bend them.

[enhaflixer]

ENHA HARD HOURS - brat tamer!enhypen x brat f!reader cw(MDNI 18+) : atp idek what to say biting, spitting, explicit hard core stuff. jake's mouth is disgusting as usual and jungwons actions might acc kill me and the rest i just have no words

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠

You should’ve known better than to push Heeseung this far.

It had started as a game. A little teasing here and there, brushing him off when he tried to pull you into his lap, dodging his kisses at the last second, giggling when he let out a low, frustrated sigh. You knew exactly what you were doing. You liked the way his patience thinned little by little, how his fingers flexed like he was barely holding himself back. It was a dangerous game—you knew that. But you didn’t care. Not when the reward was watching him unravel.

The real mistake, though, was what you did next. Flirting with Sunghoon had been an impulse decision, one you knew would push Heeseung over the edge. You weren’t stupid. You could feel his gaze burning into the back of your head as you laughed just a little too sweetly at something Sunghoon said, reaching out to touch his arm for no reason at all. But when you turned to look at Heeseung, expecting to see jealousy, maybe a flash of irritation—his face was completely blank. No reaction at all.

That should have been your first warning.

Later, when he finally grabbed your wrist, his fingers wrapping around it just a little too tightly, his voice was steady, unreadable. “Come home. Now.”

You smiled, tilting your head up at him, smug as ever. “Make me.”

The shift was instant. His grip on your wrist tightened, his jaw tensing as his eyes darkened. Your stomach dropped.You had pushed him too far.

Heeseung barely gave you time to react before you were pinned to the bed. Your wrists were trapped above your head, held in place by one of his hands, his other hand gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at him. His gaze was sharp, cold.He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t playing. This wasn’t part of the game anymore.

“Oh, sweetheart.” His voice was calm—too calm, mocking. “You really thought you could get away with that shit, huh?” His grip tightened just enough to make your breath hitch.

You swallowed hard, but refused to break just yet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

SMACK.

A sharp slap landed across your ass, the sting stinging deep, making you jolt. Before you could even react, another followed. Harder. You bit your lip, determined not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, but Heeseung just laughed.

“You wanna try that again?” His tone was casual, almost bored.

“Fuck you,” you hissed.

Heeseung hummed, tilting his head like he was actually considering it. Then, with a slow, wicked smirk, he let his fingers trail down your body, teasing—but never touching you where you needed it. “Oh, baby,” he sighed, fingers ghosting over your inner thighs, making them twitch. “That mouth of yours is gonna get you in so much trouble.”

You lifted your hips, trying to get any kind of friction, but Heeseung pulled away completely, making you whine.

“Oh, no,” he tsked. “You wanna be a brat? Then you don’t get to have me. Not yet.”

You let out a frustrated whimper, squirming beneath him, but he just smirked.

SMACK.

Another sharp slap. Your thighs trembled, the mix of pain and pleasure making your body burn.

“You thought you were so fucking clever today, didn’t you?” His voice was low, dangerous. “Ignoring me. Touching Sunghoon. Flirting right in front of me.” He let out a dark laugh. “Cute.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but his hand wrapped around your throat, cutting you off instantly.

“You really think I’m stupid, baby?” His lips brushed against your ear, his tone dripping with condescension. “You really think I wouldn’t notice you acting like a little slut all night just to get a reaction out of me?”

A shiver ran through your body. You hated how much that word sent heat pooling between your legs. Hated how your body betrayed you every time he talked to you like this.

Heeseung noticed. Of course, he did.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he chuckled, his hand leaving your throat to trail lower. His fingers barely grazed your folds, spreading the wetness he found there. “You’re dripping. Fucking soaked.” He let out a mocking laugh. “God, you really are filthy, aren’t you? You like this, huh?”

You shook your head. “N-no,” you whispered, but your voice betrayed you.

Heeseung pulled his hand away.

Your stomach dropped.

He sat back, watching you. The loss of contact made you whimper, your thighs pressing together desperately, but he just grinned.

“You don’t get to lie to me, baby.” Heeseung’s voice was dark, velvety, merciless. “You don’t get to act like a little brat and then expect me to fuck you nice and sweet.” He leaned in, lips brushing against yours but not kissing you. “You’re gonna beg for it.”

You swallowed hard, pride hanging by a thread. “P-please…”

“Please what?” he smirked. “Use your fucking words.”

You clenched your fists, frustration building. You wanted him so bad. But he wasn’t going to give it to you unless you broke.

“Please, Heeseung,” you gasped, voice shaking. “Please touch me, I—I need it, I need you—”

Heeseung just sighed. “Mmm. I dunno, sweetheart. You were being such a fucking brat earlier.” He let his fingers tease you again, barely dipping inside you before pulling away, making you cry out.

“Please—”

Another sharp spank.

“You can do better than that.”

Tears pricked your eyes. You couldn’t take it anymore. “I-I’m sorry,” you choked out, desperate, broken. “I was wrong. I’ll be good. Please, I need you, please—”

Heeseung tilted his head, watching you fall apart. Then, finally, his lips curled into a slow, satisfied smirk.

“There’s my good girl.”

And then, at last, he ruined you.

Heeseung didn’t let up—didn’t slow down, didn’t let you breathe. He touched you everywhere, made you feel everything, his hands and mouth claiming you so thoroughly you didn’t know where he ended and you began. He didn’t stop until you were a shaking, whimpering mess, barely able to think, barely able to breathe through the pleasure.

As he kissed your temple, soft again, sweet again, he whispered against your damp skin, voice dripping with satisfaction.

“Next time you decide to test me, sweetheart…” He chuckled, low and dark.

“Remember how fucking bad you begged for me.”

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠

Jay had always been a giver.

The kind of man who put you first, no matter what. The kind who kissed your ankles before trailing up your thighs, who held your face so tenderly when he pressed his lips against yours. The kind who worshipped your body like it was his sole purpose in life to make you feel good.

Which is why, when you first brought up the idea of bratting, he had just laughed.

“Baby,” he had sighed, shaking his head with pure adoration. “You know I could never be mean to you.”

You had just smirked. “We’ll see.”

It had been too easy to get under his skin.

You knew exactly how to poke at his restraint. How to test the limits of his patience. It started small—pushing his hands off you when he tried to touch you, rolling your eyes when he kissed your neck. When he pulled you onto his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist?

You huffed dramatically and stood up, brushing yourself off.

“Nah. Not in the mood.”

Jay had blinked up at you, brows raising slightly, clearly taken aback. You watched the way his jaw tensed just a little,the way his fingers curled into his lap before he exhaled, forcing a smile.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice gentle as always. “Let me know when you are.”

That was your first mistake.

Because you had wanted him to snap. You had wanted him to take control. Jay, sweet, patient Jay, had tried so fucking hard not to.

But the moment you rolled your eyes again? The moment you let out a small, dismissive scoff?

That patience shattered.

One second, you were standing. The next, you were on your knees.

Jay had grabbed your wrist, yanked you down in front of him, and before you could even process it, his fingers were gripping your chin, forcing your gaze up to meet his.

“You wanna act like a brat, baby?” His voice was low, tight, dangerous. “Fine. But now, you’re gonna fucking take care of me first.”

Your stomach dropped.

Jay had never been selfish. Never taken before giving. Never used you for his own pleasure. But now?

Now, he was looking down at you like he was going to ruin you.

He leaned forward, his lips ghosting over yours, teasing. “I spend all my time making you feel good,” he murmured, his fingers trailing down, brushing over your collarbone, tracing the delicate lines of your body before moving lower. “And you wanna act up? Act like you don’t fucking need me?”

His fingers hooked under your chin, tilting your face up.

“That’s fine, sweetheart,” he sighed, mock sympathy dripping from his tone. “Then tonight, it’s about me.”

Your lips parted, breath catching.

Jay just chuckled.

“Open.”

Your thighs clenched. But you obeyed.

The moment your mouth parted, Jay’s fingers slipped inside, pressing against your tongue, his eyes darkening as he felt the wet heat of your mouth.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “Now let’s put that bratty little mouth to work.”

Your brain short-circuited.

Jay reached down, undoing his belt with deliberate slowness, watching your face the entire time. You could see it—the way his chest rose and fell just a little heavier, the way his fingers twitched with anticipation.

But then, when he finally pulled himself out, you whimpered.

“That’s right, baby.” His hand threaded into your hair, gripping just tight enough to make your scalp tingle. “I don’t want you teasing. I don’t want you playing.” He leaned down, his forehead nearly pressing against yours. “I want you to take it. All of it.”

Fuck. Fuck.

You barely had time to react before he was pushing past your lips, slow but deep, groaning as he felt you stretch around him. His head tilted back for a second, his throat bobbing, his breath hitching.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, his voice wrecked already. His hand tightened in your hair, keeping you still as he pushed deeper, deeper, until the head of his cock hit the back of your throat, making your eyes sting with tears.

Jay groaned. A deep, primal sound, his thighs tensing as he held you there for a second, letting you feel it.

Then, he pulled back. Not all the way—just enough to let you breathe before he thrust back in, slow but rough, making you choke slightly.

You whimpered, drool slipping past the corner of your lips. Jay cursed under his breath, wiping it away with his thumb, smearing it across your cheek.

“You like this, don’t you?” he murmured, his tone taunting. “Like being used. Like being fucked open.” His grip on your hair tightened, tugging your head back slightly before thrusting back into your mouth, making you gag. “Not so bratty now, huh?”

Your thighs pressed together, the heat between your legs unbearable. You wanted to touch yourself so fucking badly,but Jay noticed the way you squirmed.

He laughed.

“Don’t even fucking think about it,” he warned, breathless. “You don’t get to touch yourself. Not after the shit you pulled tonight.”

You let out a muffled whine, and Jay groaned again, his head dropping forward, pressing against the wall behind him.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “You’re so fucking good for me now, huh? Taking me so well. Not a single complaint.” His fingers brushed against your cheek, soft again, affectionate. “That’s what I thought, sweetheart.”

His hips jerked forward, losing rhythm, and you knew he was getting close. His thighs were tensing, his stomach flexing. His breathing was ragged, desperate.

Then, his fingers slid to your jaw, gripping just tight enough to make you look up at him.

“Eyes on me, baby,” he muttered, his voice low, ruined. “Wanna see that pretty little face when I cum.”

He broke right then and there.

Jay groaned your name, his hips snapping forward, his abs contracting hard as he spilled down your throat, his entire body shuddering. He held you there, panting, shaking, his fingers brushing over your lips as he watched you swallow everything he gave you.

Then, after a long moment, he let out a breathy chuckle.

“Fuck,” he sighed, running a hand through his damp hair, his cheeks flushed, his eyes hazy. “You’re gonna be the fucking death of me, sweetheart.”

You licked your lips, giving him a sly, innocent look.

“So…” You tilted your head. “Did I push you far enough?”

Jay just shook his head, grinning.“Baby,” he murmured, leaning down, lifting you up with ease and throwing you onto the couch. “We’re just getting started.”

𝐒𝐢𝐦 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧

Jake had never been this fucking angry before.

Not at you. Not at anyone.

It started small—just a disagreement, a little back and forth, nothing serious. But you had been pushing him. You had wanted this.

And now?

Now, he was burning with it.

“Why the fuck are you acting like this?” Jake snapped, standing across from you, his fingers digging into his scalp as he ran a shaky hand through his hair. “You wanna piss me off? Is that what you fucking want?”

You crossed your arms, leaning against the couch like you weren’t intentionally trying to get under his skin. “I’m not doing anything, Jake. You’re the one getting worked up.”

His jaw ticked, his nostrils flaring as he took a deep breath, like he was physically restraining himself from losing it completely. “Worked up? You’ve been a fucking brat all day. Ignoring me, rolling your eyes, mouthing off like you don’t know who the fuck you’re talking to.”

You scoffed. “Oh, please. Don’t act like you’re intimidating, Jake. You’re not.”

His jaw clenched. Hard.

“Try me.”

You could feel the heat radiating off of him, the way his entire body had tensed up, his hands curled into fists at his sides. But you weren’t done.

Not yet.

“You don’t scare me,” you said, tilting your chin up at him. “You act all cocky, but you let people walk all over you, Jake. You’re too nice. Too fucking soft.”

Jake let out a bitter, breathy laugh, shaking his head. “You’re so fucking full of shit.”

“You know I’m right.” You shrugged, the smirk playing at your lips. “You pretend you’re in control, but let’s be real—you don’t even know how to take what you want.”

That did it.

His head snapped up, his eyes burning, his patience completely fucking gone.

“You wanna see me take what I want?” His voice was low, dangerous, lethal. “Careful what you fucking ask for, sweetheart.”

You should have stopped. Should have backed down, should have apologized.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you said the worst fucking thing of your life.

“Y’know, he could probably make me cum faster than you can.”

Silence.

Jake’s entire body locked up. His head tilted slightly, his lips parting like he wasn’t sure he heard you correctly.

In an instant, he was in front of you, his hand wrapping around your jaw, gripping it hard enough to make your lips part.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

His eyes were burning, his fingers digging into your skin, his entire body shaking with barely-contained rage.

You swallowed, chest rising and falling, heart hammering in your ribs.

But you were too far gone.

You smirked.

That was it.

Before you could even breathe, Jake had yanked you onto the couch, shoved you down, and spread you the fuck open.

“I’m gonna fucking ruin you.”

No teasing. No warm-up. No fucking foreplay.

His hands gripped your thighs so hard you knew there would be bruises. He ripped your panties down with one sharp tug, the fabric burning against your skin as he yanked them past your thighs.

“Pathetic,” he muttered, dragging his fingers through your folds, spreading the mess you had already made all over yourself. His touch was slow, taunting, humiliating.

“You’re fucking dripping. You like this, don’t you?” His voice was low, mocking, pure condescension. He let out another chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “Such a dirty little bitch. Talking about another man when you’re this fucking wet for me.”

You bit your lip, hands digging into the cushions, your body betraying you, trembling in anticipation.

Jake noticed. Of course, he did.

His grin turned wicked, dark, completely unhinged. “Bet if I slapped this nasty little cunt, you’d fucking moan, wouldn’t you?”

Your entire body tensed.

“Jake—”

SMACK.

A sharp, stinging slap landed directly against your clit, the sudden shock ripping a strangled gasp from your throat,your back arching completely off the couch.

Jake’s breath shuddered, his cock straining against his jeans, his fingers flexing against your thighs like he was barely holding himself back.

“Oh, you fucking liked that.” His voice was pure filth. He tilted his head, watching the way your thighs twitched, the way your hips subtly shifted like you wanted more.

“God, baby, you’re disgusting.” His fingers spread you open again, admiring the way your slick dripped down onto the couch. “You got my fucking couch messy. Dirty fucking slut.”

This was a man on a fucking mission.

His tongue was rough, filthy, relentless, flicking against your swollen clit so fast you couldn’t even process it. His lips wrapped around it, sucking with obscene, wet sounds, his breath heavy, ragged, completely unhinged.

And then—he bit you.

Your scream tore through the room, your thighs clamping shut around his head, your back arching off the couch.

Jake groaned into you, loud and filthy, gripping your legs and forcing them apart again, holding you wide fucking open.

“Keep running your mouth now, baby,” he murmured against your cunt, his voice low, ruined, mean. “Tell me again how someone else could fuck you better than me. Say it, I fucking dare you.”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t fucking breathe.

Jake just laughed.

“That’s what I fucking thought.”

Without warning—his fingers slammed inside you.

Deep. Hard. Perfect.

The stretch burned, his pace ruthless, unforgiving, fucking into you like he wanted to break you. His tongue flicked over your clit again, biting down every time you made a sound.

You sobbed, your body convulsing, your hips trying to jerk away.

Jake’s grip tightened.

“Uh-uh, sweetheart. You’re not fucking going anywhere.”

His voice was pure sin.

“You’re gonna sit the fuck still and take it.”

You whimpered, shaking your head, begging for something—anything—but Jake just fucking laughed again, low and mean, before spitting on your cunt, spreading the mess with his tongue.

“Messy fucking whore.”

Your orgasm hit you like a fucking truck, tearing through you so violently you screamed, legs shaking as you came so hard you thought you might black out.

But Jake?

Jake didn’t stop.

“Oh, you thought we were done?” He snorted, mean and mocking. “Nah, sweetheart. You wanted to talk shit?”

He sucked your clit back into his mouth, moaning at the taste.

“Now you’re gonna fucking take it.”

Your second orgasm ripped through you instantly, your entire body spasming, your hips trying to jerk away, but Jake just gripped you tighter, forcing you to sit on his face, to fucking ride his tongue.

And then, before you could even breathe, your entire body tensed—

Liquid gushed out of you.

Hard.

All over his face, his chin, soaking the couch beneath you, your body completely convulsing.

Jake let out a wrecked, breathy groan, his hips grinding into the floor, his tongue still fucking working you open, still fucking sucking every last drop from you.

But even then—he didn’t stop.

“Oh, you’re fucking crying now?” He mocked, his fingers still slamming into you, deep and fast. “Poor fucking baby. Can’t take what she asked for?”

You sobbed, your body completely wrecked, completely useless.

You tried to say something—beg him, plead, say anything, but the words barely even formed, coming out in a broken, trembling whimper.

Jake just laughed, mean and taunting, his tongue dragging over your clit again, biting down hard enough to make you scream.

“Shut the fuck up, baby.” His voice was low, dangerous, dripping with dominance. “If you’re not gonna scream like the filthy little cumslut you are, then don’t fucking speak.”

He went back in.

Biting, sucking, bruising.

Forcing another, and another, and another orgasm out of you until you couldn’t even move, couldn’t even think, your entire body trembling.

By the time he was done, by the time he had wrung you out so many times you had nothing left to give, your skin covered in bite marks, bruises, your body shaking from overstimulation, you finally realized,

You had never stood a fucking chance.

Jake licked his lips, panting, his face completely soaked with you, his hair damp with sweat. He leaned up, hovering over your wrecked, ruined body, gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

His voice was raw, low, unrecognizable.

“Next time you even think about talking shit, sweetheart?”

He licked a stripe up your neck, biting your bottom lip so hard you whimpered.“Remember who the fuck owns this filthy little cunt.”

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧

Sunghoon had told you.

He had warned you before locking himself in his office, his voice low, steady, and unwavering. He hadn’t said it cruelly—he never needed to raise his voice to make you listen.

“I have to work all day today. Don’t bother me.”

That should have been enough.

Should have been the end of it.

But you were a brat. And Sunghoon’s biggest mistake was telling you not to do something.

So you made a plan.

A stupid, reckless, fucked-up plan.

Standing in the doorway of his office, completely naked, you knew you had just set yourself up for a punishment you wouldn’t survive.

Sunghoon was mid-Zoom meeting, voice smooth and professional, his fingers flying across the keyboard, posture straight and focused—completely oblivious to what you were about to do.

Until you grabbed a chair, dragged it right in front of his desk, and sat down—spreading your legs wide, running your fingers between your thighs, putting on a fucking show.

For him.

For your boyfriend who had told you not to bother him.

For the man who hated being disrespected.

For Park Sunghoon, who had never been soft on you when you misbehaved.

You caught the moment he noticed.

His fingers paused on the keyboard. His posture straightened. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

But he didn’t react.

Didn’t scold you. Didn’t glare.

He ignored you.

Kept his fucking cool, continued speaking in that deep, controlled voice like you weren’t sitting right in front of him, fingers slipping between your thighs, chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths.

That was the moment you knew.

You were so fucking done for.

At first, you teased yourself slowly, dragging your fingers through your folds, dipping them in just enough to make yourself gasp. You moaned, softly at first, letting your body relax into the chair, enjoying the power you thought you had.

Sunghoon’s eyes flicked toward you once, just for a second, before going back to his screen.

It wasn’t enough.

So you got louder.

Your fingers worked deeper, faster, two slipping inside, curling against that spot that made your hips jerk, made your breath stutter. Your free hand trailed up your stomach, pinching your nipples, tugging and rolling them, whimpering as you squeezed your thighs together.

Still, he ignored you.

Kept typing, kept nodding at whatever the hell his coworker was saying, his voice even and smooth, unfazed.

You moaned again, louder than necessary, making sure every single sound you made filled the quiet room.

Nothing.

Sunghoon didn’t react, didn’t break, didn’t give you a single ounce of satisfaction.

You knew he was angry. You could feel it. The tension in his jaw, the stiffness of his shoulders, the way he kept adjusting in his seat, shifting like he was trying to control himself.

But he wouldn’t give in.

So you made yourself cum.

Right in front of him.

Loud. Messy. Desperate.

Your fingers curled deep, your back arching as you rode out your first orgasm, moaning his name, gasping for air as your thighs trembled, squeezing together from the aftershocks.

Still, Sunghoon ignored you.

Kept working.

Didn’t give you so much as a glance.

So you did it again.

Your fingers found your clit this time, rubbing messy, fast circles, your hips rolling against your own touch, your body already so sensitive it was almost painful. The second orgasm hit you even harder, tearing through your body so violently that you almost cried.

Sunghoon reached out and muted himself mid-sentence.

Then, he looked at you.

Just once.

His look alone made your stomach drop.

It wasn’t lust. It wasn’t hunger.

It was pure fucking rage.

You barely had time to process it before his meeting ended, and the moment the screen went black—

He stood up.

You gasped, trying to scramble out of the chair, trying to run, but it was too fucking late.

Sunghoon was on you, gripping your throat, yanking you up so effortlessly it made your head spin.

His fingers squeezed, forcing you to look at him, forcing you to see the way his eyes burned with something dark, something dangerous.

“You really don’t listen, do you?” His voice was calm, controlled, but terrifying.

Your breath was shaky, your naked body trembling in his grasp.

“I—I just thought you needed a break,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sunghoon just laughed. A low, dark sound that made your stomach twist.

“You thought you could distract me?” His fingers tightened just slightly around your throat, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you whimper. “You really think you’re that fucking irresistible?”

Before you could answer, he flipped you around and bent you over the desk.

And then?

Nothing.

Sunghoon ignored you.

Just stood there, his hands running over every inch of your body, touching you everywhere except where you needed him most.

His fingers ghosted over your back, up your spine, over your shoulders. They squeezed your ass, traced the curve of your hips, gripped the inside of your thighs.

They dragged lower.

Lower.

Lower—

But not there.

Sunghoon’s hands brushed over your stomach, your ribs, your collarbone, your thighs, your calves, your fucking ankles. He gripped everything. Worshipped everything. Squeezed, kneaded, traced.

But he didn’t touch you there.

Didn’t give you what you needed.

That was when you realized—this was your punishment.

Your frustration boiled over, your body trembling with how badly you needed him.

“Please, Sunghoon,” you whimpered, pushing your hips back, desperate, aching.

Nothing.

His fingers grazed over your tightest hole, teasing, circling, but never pushing in.

You let out a shaky sob, frustration burning in your chest, tears stinging your eyes.

“Fucking touch me.”

Sunghoon grinned against your shoulder, completely entertained.

“Poor baby,” he cooed, cruel, mocking. “So fucking desperate.”

You shook in his grip, letting out a full, wrecked sob.

Sunghoon just chuckled, dark and dangerous, lips brushing against your ear.

“Go ahead, sweetheart. Cry.” His voice was low, deadly, dripping with amusement.

“You should’ve thought about that before acting like a needy little slut.”

He kept going.

Kept ignoring you.

Kept teasing you. Kept teaching you exactly why you should never fucking disobey Park Sunghoon.

𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐨𝐨

Sunoo loved to act like he was the one in control. He liked to roll his eyes when you tested him, sigh dramatically whenever you got a little too bratty, flash that smug little smirk when he thought he had you wrapped around his finger.He’d tilt his head, raise a brow, and say something teasing, something condescending, something that made it seem like he wasn’t affected by your games. But that was a lie.

Because Sunoo had no fucking restraint.

When you pushed him too far, he didn’t just put you in your place.

He dragged you down with him.

It started as a stupid little game. You wanted to see how much teasing he could handle before he finally broke. Sunoo was always trying to act like he was in charge, like he had all the power, like he could handle whatever you threw at him. So naturally, you wanted to prove him wrong. You started small—brushing off his touches, sighing when he kissed you, glancing at your phone when he tried to pull you onto his lap. Sunoo noticed immediately. He wasn’t the type to ignore things like this, and you could tell by the way he shifted in his seat, the way his fingers drummed against his knee, the way his tongue swiped over his bottom lip as he tried so hard to keep his composure.

But Sunoo wasn’t calm.

Sunoo wasn’t patient.

Sunoo wasn’t the brat tamer.

Sunoo was just as much of a brat as you were.

So when you looked at him with a smirk and whispered, “Is that all you’ve got?”

Sunoo snapped.

His entire body froze for half a second, like his brain needed to process what you had just said, and then suddenly, you weren’t sitting anymore. He had shoved you onto the bed so fast you barely had time to gasp, his hands gripping your thighs, pinning you down beneath him, straddling your hips like he couldn’t stand being apart from you for even a second. His face was inches from yours, his eyes dark, his lips parted, his breath heavy.

“You think you can just say shit like that?” His voice was high, breathy, trembling slightly— not from fear or hesitation, but from pure fucking need. His fingers trailed up your sides, gripping, squeezing, touching everything he could, as if he was afraid you’d slip away. His lips brushed against your jaw, then your neck, then your collarbone, kissing, sucking, licking, mouthing at your skin like he needed it to survive.

“You think I can’t—fuck—you think I can’t handle you?” His hips rutted against yours, desperate, sloppy, uncoordinated, completely unhinged. His hands were everywhere, on your waist, on your chest, sliding down to your thighs, gripping hard enough to bruise.

Sunoo wasn’t holding back anymore.

Sunoo was completely fucking gone.

“Oh my god, I hate you,” he whined, voice high and breathless, but his body contradicted him entirely as he pressed himself closer, rolling his hips against you like he couldn’t stand not being buried in you already. It was so Sunoo—messy, chaotic, too fast, too much, all at once, no control, no restraint. His hands were shaking as he touched every inch of your skin, as if he needed to feel you everywhere at once.

“You don’t hate me,” you teased, gasping when he squeezed your waist hard, his nails digging in.

“I do,” he muttered, lips dragging over your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. “I do. I hate you so much. You make me like this. You make me—ah—” His words broke off into a shaky moan, high and breathy, as his hips stuttered against you, completely lost in the moment.

Then, you broke.

Because Sunoo wasn’t controlling you anymore.

You weren’t controlling him.

There was no winner.

Just messy, unrestrained, mind-numbing desperation.

By the time it was over, by the time the room had gone still, your bodies tangled together, chests heaving, skin damp with sweat, Sunoo let out a weak, breathless laugh, burying his face against your shoulder. His hands were still gripping your thighs, like he wasn’t ready to let go yet.

“We’re both fucking idiots.” His voice was hoarse, exhausted.

You huffed out a laugh, fingers tracing lazy circles against his back. “Yeah. But it’s your fault.”

Sunoo groaned, rolling onto his side, covering his face with his hands, his whole body still twitching from overstimulation.

“We are never doing that again,” he muttered.

You just smirked, glancing over at him.

“Sunoo.”

“Don’t.”

“Is that all you’ve got?”

He groaned dramatically, dragging a pillow over his face.

“I hate you.”

Maybe next time, neither of you should try to win.

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐰𝐨𝐧

Jungwon wasn’t easily impressed.

He had infinite patience for other people—for business associates, for important guests, for those who needed to be handled with grace. He could smile, shake hands, make polite conversation without breaking a sweat.

You were the only one who could push him to his fucking limit.

And you knew it.

So when he had told you, very clearly, that tonight’s dinner was important—not to play games, not to act up, not to try him in public—

You did it anyway.

Because you were a brat.

Because you wanted to see just how far you could take it before Jungwon lost control.

You were going to suffer for it.

It had started subtly.

You had played nice for the first half of the evening—smiling sweetly, making polite conversation, sitting quietly beside him in the private dining room of a luxurious five-star restaurant.

Just when things were going smoothly, you pressed your hand onto his thigh.

Jungwon didn’t react.

Didn’t even glance at you.

He kept talking, voice smooth, composed, his posture completely relaxed.

So you took it further.

Your fingers traced slow, teasing circles on his inner thigh, inching higher, barely brushing over him.

Still, he didn’t react.

But then, just as you leaned in, just as your fingers moved a little too high—

His hand clamped down on your thigh, fingers digging in so hard you knew there would be bruises.

You barely managed to keep your gasp quiet.

Jungwon turned his head slightly, just enough for you to see the sharp, dark look in his eyes.

A warning.

But you only smirked.

And that was the last mistake you’d make tonight.

The ride back to the hotel was silent.

Jungwon didn’t speak, didn’t touch you, didn’t even look at you.

Somehow, that was worse.

Because you could feel it radiating off of him—the quiet rage, the suffocating control, the slow, creeping tension in the way his fingers flexed against his thigh.

By the time you reached the penthouse suite, you barely had time to breathe before he grabbed you.

One second, you were stepping inside—the next, your back was slammed against the door, his fingers gripping your chin, forcing your head up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“Try that again.” His voice was low, cold, sharp enough to cut. “See what happens if you ever pull that shit in front of people again.”

Your breath caught, your body buzzing with adrenaline, with anticipation, with the sheer intensity of his stare.

Jungwon scoffed, shaking his head. “You think this is funny?”

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath warm but his words pure ice.

“Maybe next time, I should just fuck you in front of everyone. Make you cum on my cock while they watch.”

Your entire body tensed.

Jungwon grinned against your skin, feeling the way your breath hitched.

“Oh?” He pulled back slightly, tilting his head. “You don’t like that idea?” His fingers tightened around your chin, his grip firm, unyielding. “Then why the fuck would you act like a filthy little whore under the table?”

Your stomach twisted, heat pooling between your legs.

Jungwon let out a dark, humorless laugh.

“You’re pathetic.”

In one smooth motion, he spun you around, pressing you against the massive floor-to-ceiling window, forcing you to look down at the glittering city lights.

“You wanna put on a fucking show?” His hands gripped your hips, forcing your legs apart. “Then fucking take it, slut.”

Swiftly, he ripped your dress open.

The sharp sound of fabric tearing sent a shock through your body, your bare chest now exposed to the cold glass.

“Fucking look at yourself,” he muttered, pressing a hand against your spine, arching your back until your tits were flush against the freezing window.

Violent, he spat on your back.

The shock of it made you whimper, made your skin burn, made your entire body lock up.

“That’s all you’re fucking good for,” Jungwon muttered, rubbing his hand over the mess, smearing it across your skin before grabbing the back of your neck, pushing your face against the glass.

And then—he fucked you.

Hard. Fast. Unrelenting.

Each thrust pressed you further against the window, your breath fogging up the glass, your body trembling as pleasure and pain blurred together into something unrecognizable.

But Jungwon wasn’t fucking done with you.

He dragged you onto the balcony.

The cool night air kissed your burning skin, but Jungwon didn’t give you time to adjust before he forced you onto your knees, his chest pressed against your back as he spread your legs wide, making sure you were completely exposed to the city below. 

“You wanted my attention?” His voice was venomous, sharp, pure dominance. “Then fucking take it.”

His fingers plunged into you, rough, punishing, fucking you open with no mercy, no hesitation. 

“Look at you,” he sneered, forcing your head up, making sure your eyes locked on the city skyline, the streets below where anyone could look up and see you. “A desperate little slut, dripping down my fucking hand.”

His fingers curled against that devastating spot inside you, making your thighs shake, making your breath hitch, making you arch helplessly against him.

“You wanna be seen?” His voice was pure sin in your ear, his free hand gripping your throat. “Then fucking scream.”

What were you if not obedient?

You screamed as your orgasm ripped through you, your body convulsing, pleasure bursting so violently that liquid gushed from you, soaking his hand, the balcony floor, leaving you shaking, spent, completely wrecked. 

Jungwon groaned against your ear, his grip tightening, his hand still working you through the aftershocks. 

“Fuck, look at that,” he murmured, rubbing the mess against your thighs, against your clit, overstimulating you until you were sobbing, your body twitching in his grasp. “So fucking pretty.”

Your entire body trembled, your mind completely wrecked.

Only then—only when he was satisfied—did he finally let you rest.

But later, when the night was over, when he had carried you into the warm, soapy bath, his hands gentle as they massaged your sore muscles, he was different.

Soft.

Loving.

His lips brushed over your temple, your cheek, your jaw. “I love you,” he murmured against your skin, his voice warm, teasing. “Even when you’re a fucking menace.”

You giggled, and he laughed too, his chest shaking against your back, his arms wrapping around you tighter.

“I’m so fucking happy I married you.” His lips trailed down your neck, leaving soft, reverent kisses. “Even if you make me insane.”

𝐍𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐤𝐢

You never learned your lesson.

No matter how many times Niki put you in your place, no matter how many times he warned you that your bratty antics would come back to bite you, you just couldn’t help yourself.

You really pushed him.

It started with small things—ignoring his texts on purpose, pretending not to hear him when he spoke, rolling your eyes at his teasing. But what really set him off was when you stole his hoodie and sprinted across the apartment, laughing over your shoulder as he called your name.

That was your biggest mistake.

Because the second you ran, Niki’s entire demeanor changed.

“Oh, you’re dead,” he muttered under his breath, amusement laced with something darker.

He chased you.

You barely made it to the bedroom before he tackled you onto the mattress, effortlessly pinning you down with his weight, your wrists trapped above your head. His face was close—too close—his grin sharp and smug as you squirmed underneath him.

“You think you’re funny?” His voice was all playful mockery, but the firm grip on your wrists told a different story.

You only pouted in response, refusing to give in so easily. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Niki scoffed. “Nah, you know exactly what you did.” He tilted his head, eyes narrowing mischievously. “And now, you have to pay for it.”

Your stomach flipped.

Niki had a habit of punishing you in the worst possible ways—not with pain, not with cruelty, but with something so much more unbearable.

Teasing.

And when he suddenly straddled your hips, pinning you down further, you knew you were screwed.

“You wanna act like a brat?” His fingers suddenly ghosted over your sides, making you jolt. “Then I’ll treat you like one.”

Before you could react, he started tickling you mercilessly.

“NI—NIKI, STOP!” you screeched, thrashing under him, laughter spilling from your lips against your will.

“Not so cocky now, huh?” he teased, his hands never relenting as they roamed over your ribs, your stomach, your hips—every spot he knew made you weak. “Where’d all that attitude go?”

You tried to kick him off, but he was so much stronger than you, effortlessly keeping you trapped beneath him.

“N-Niki, please!”

He smirked. “Please what? I thought you liked messing with me.” His hands finally slowed, giving you a moment to catch your breath—just before he leaned down, lips brushing against your ear.

“You wanna know what your real punishment is?” he whispered, voice lower, deeper.

You shivered.

Niki suddenly grabbed both of your wrists in one hand, pressing them against the mattress while his free hand trailed down your stomach, slow and deliberate.

“You don’t get to touch me.”

Your breath hitched.

He grinned at your reaction, fingers teasing over your thighs without really giving you what you wanted. “You can squirm, you can beg, you can cry—doesn’t matter. You’re not getting anything until I say so.”

Your body ached with frustration. “You’re so annoying,” you huffed.

He just laughed, tilting his head. “Oh? I thought I was so fun to mess with?”

You wanted to argue, but then his fingers brushed exactly where you needed them, and suddenly, words weren’t so easy to find.

But just as quickly as the touch came—he stopped.

You whimpered. “Niki—”

“Shhh,” he cooed mockingly. “You wanna be a brat? Then act like one—squirm all you want, but you’re not coming until I let you.”

And oh, did he take his sweet time.

For what felt like forever, Niki toyed with you, pushing you right to the edge only to pull away at the last second. Every time you got too close, he’d stop completely, watching as you whined in frustration, your body burning with need.

“You’re so easy to break,” he mused, chuckling at your trembling form. “Maybe next time, don’t start something you can’t finish.”

And then—finally, finally—he gave you what you wanted.

But even then?

Even then?

He made sure you paid for it.

Because he didn’t let you come just once.

He made you beg for it.

Over. And over. And over.

Until you were completely, utterly wrecked—panting, spent, boneless under him.

And only then did he loosen his grip on your wrists, kissing your cheek as if he hadn’t just tortured you for the past hour.

“See?” He grinned, nuzzling against your neck. “You should just behave next time.”

You glared at him weakly. “I hate you.”

Niki only laughed, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. “You love me.”

And annoyingly enough?

He was right.

-

Taglist: @naurwayyyyy @ziiao @beariegyu @seonhoon @zzhengyu @ijustwannareadstuff20 @annybah @ddolleri @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @inlovewithningning @mellowgalaxystrawberry @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @somuchdard

[anantaru]

⚝ DAY 7 — MONSTERFUCKING/DRAGONCOCK

kinktober 2024. — masterlist | ao3

— including. — dan heng, boothill, sunday

— warnings. — fem! reader, monsterfcking, size kink/size difference, needy boyz

⚝ — DAN HENG + dragon

dan heng was looking at you utterly enthralled—majestic in a way that almost feels untouchable or unable for you to grasp on. and ugh, he does have quite a bit of energy to burn, making himself get to work when he twists his fingers into your plump flesh, kneading your ass.

a much nicer detail was that his horns gleamed under the shadowed light in the bedroom, his tail flicking in a slow, deliberate rhythm as you rest your hands within his tousled hair, holding yourself close as dan heng pumps himself slowly at first, oh yes, quite sure of himself and trying to stretch your twitching, little cunt well enough in order for him to fit entirely.

the sheer beauty of the scales gathered on his chiseled body shimmer in a soft cascade of iridescence as they sought out to reflect in your tear-stricken eyes.

almost but not quite, only when he begins to pick up on pace, shifting his hips to find that spot which you've been aching for— making you feel like he embedded galaxies and trapped them beneath your skin, panting, moaning, growling at the things your milking cunt did to him.

and when his golden eyes meet yours full of lust, dan heng groans at the desperate squeezes and the tight contraction of your walls clamping for dear life— a quiet, steady kind of warmth seeping into your bones as his hands explore your body and pull you further into him.

he holds you, finding solace that despite his impossibly big size, you curl your back into him ever so slightly, like you trusted him wholly— your cunt melting within his shaft as his touch— when you allowed it, grew more desperate, his clawing hand brushing over your shoulder, fingertips ghosting over your wrist in passing as if he fears his strength might be too much.

⚝ — BOOTHILL + cyborg

despite the cold nature of his exterior, boothill's heart—if it could be called that— was as warm as any human's, if not more.

with a gentleness that contrasted his imposing presence, he leaned closer into your warm body, his hand, though metallic, tender as it cupped your cheek before he drove into you.

it's never boring with boothill, because you never know how he's about to handle you each night.

more gentle? or a little harder this time? do not be fooled, it always starts slowly, he doesn't want to actually induce any pain on your precious body, not when he was barely a human himself anymore, his frame long since altered to appear much different.

you bite your lip, urging yourself to fight back a desperate whimper as boothill strokes himself inside of you deeply, your slick long since smeared along the length of his hard, impossibly big cock— your skin shivering at the contrast of cold metal, warm touches, filthy kisses as you failed to keep quiet, your jaw dropping open from another blow rattling through your drained frame.

"feels so- so- good," you wince, squirming as much as you could, attempting to pull him in deeper by clasping your legs around his waist, "f-faster, please—."

your legs felt like jelly— and you knew damn well you won't last, but right now it's fucking insane. you give yourself to boothill as you're being spread open wide, while also being fucked stupid and satisfied, the blood ringing in your ears walking in unison with the fast blows of his hips connecting with your pulsing flesh.

⚝ — SUNDAY + monster

to your very pretty gaze, sunday looked like something out of an ancient legend, a being sculpted from the very essence of a myth which his beauty you'd tell children about before they'd head to sleep.

for outsiders the man might appear quite dangerous, although to you there was nothing terrifying about him.

not when you loved him so dearly.

beneath the guise of elegance and power, beneath the warm voice and charming smile, you were aware there was something else— something vast, unknowable, a presence that stretches beyond flesh, which sunday would show you a glimpse of whenever his scent and kisses lingered in ways your mind couldn't fully grasp on.

should you fear it? or him?

the emotions that he set free when he played with your chest to make you feel good, lapping at your erected nipples addictively, lapping and sucking until they pulse and ache— all for him to make your pussy throb and your thighs clench together in desperate hope for sunday to touch you there as well.

it's just so good when he did it, right?— despite him being so impossibly big and almost uncomfortable. yet the fullness, fuck, the heat, and sunday didn't really have the time to go all the way in yet, but you're definitely getting all of him soon.

the sneaky changes from teasing and slicking up into your pussy each next push was so fucking subtle that you couldn't pin point how he was able to be so good at this— you immediately succumbed to the pressure, how it kept getting better and better when there was a sudden moment when sunday slips in entirely, without warning, pressing his unbearably large shaft against your velvet walls as he gets past your ring of resistance, fucking you with ease.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[writteninkat]

MHA GUYS' FAVORITE PUBLIC PLACES TO FUCK YOU

w/ Bakugou, Kirishima, Todoroki, Kaminari

warning: smut, nsfw, exhibitionism, oral(f!reader & m!characters receiving), unprotected sex

a/n: sorry denki's seemed super rushed i have a terrible headache and i have a feeling leaving this unfinished won't help:")

navigation

KATSUKI BAKUGOU

this man loves taking you in high places.

balconies, rooftops, pressing you against the floor to ceiling windows of his office located at the very top floor.

there's something about your moans travelling long distances that has him thinking—that's right, extras. listen to how good i make my girl feel. she's just for me, though. feel free to listen as i fuck her so good.

mmhmm, he loves to show off. he loves to show you off.

that's why your breasts are constantly being pressed against his office windows whenever you visit him during lunch

"imagine the fuckers looking up at you right now." he growls in your ear as his fingers busy themselves on your clit, your eyes rolling back in ecstacy as the simple thought of a stranger witnessing this act have you gushing

"yeah that's right, you loving showing others what a slut you are for me, right?" he sucks on the side of your neck, flicking on your clit making your legs wobble in bliss.

at home? your back is digging against the railings of your balcony as your boyfriend sucks on your tits, your fingers swimming through his blond locks with your legs locked around his waist, heels pressing against his round ass

"oh god! oh my fucking god!" you moan loudly, hoping your neighbors hear. hoping they know just how amazing of a fuck pro hero dynamight gives.

"yeah, call for your god all you want baby, i'll still eat you up." katsuki growls, sinking his teeth on the crook of your neck, the pain pushing an orgasm out of you

EIJIROU KIRISHIMA

the obsession this man has with going grocery shopping with you is unparalleled

mainly because he gets to finger and tongue fuck you in every hidden corner you find at the store

"fuck- fuck, eiji!" you gasp loudly, looking around to make sure no one walks in on your boyfriend on his knees in front of you with your leg propper on his shoulder as you press onto the wall, hoping you wont topple over

in the scary case of the act being seen or worse- videotaped, the only person being recognized will be you, as eijirou's head is covered by the flowy skirt of your dress. and that has you grinding your hips on his mouth

"jesus christ, i'm gonna cum baby!" you whisper, feeling his tongue thrusting inside you as he sucks on your clit, electricity running up your spine as you near the top

"c'mon baby," you hear your boyfriend's muffled voice feom underneath you, "cum for me, lemme drink that sweet, sweet juice."

and you do. once a good girl, always a good girl. you can never say no to the sweet boy between your legs.

but the grocery isn't the only place eijirou loves visiting with you.

taking a stroll at the park in the dead of night will have you on your knees behind a tree with your hands tied behind your back by whatever your boyfriend brings or finds.

tonight, he found an unused handkerchief in his pocket, and decided to make use of it.

"god, fuck, baby..." his moans inspire you to take him deeper, watching him through your lashes as he tilts his head back, pressing it against the tree

"fuck, that mouth should be considered a sin." he grunts, tightening his grip on your hair as he moves you himself

his hips move on their own, his hip moving in your throat as your vision begins to dim with the lack of oxygen

"swallow me up baby, lemme feel your throat tightening around me."

and you do as you're told, using the last bit of your energy to swallow him as bast as you can, feeling him burst with thick, hot cum inside

SHOTO TODOROKI

oh how he loves it when you ride him in any of his cars, but he absolutely goes feral when you choose to take the tesla

it means he can shift it to auto and have nothing to worry about. he loves the way his surroundings move past him as your tits bounce above him, your hips shaking in circular motions

it's one of the reasons he lightened his tints. just light enough for the people outside to make out what's going on, but dark enough for your face to be concealed

he lied about others being able to see you though. he knows you want to be seen, but he'll kill before someone gets to see you in this state

"fuck, oh fuck, sho!" you whine, "god fuck your dick feels so good!"

shoto grits his teeth, taking a handful of your tit as the other squeezes your waist, guiding you up and down his shaft

"give them a great show, baby. let them see what they're missing." he urges, allowing your back to arch as your scream in your euphoric state.

the both of you shake the car as it drives, selfishly chasing your own highs until your walls clamp around shoto, milking him for what he's worth

you think that's all? he goes feral whenever he fucks you on his office desk with his door unlocked

as one of the most demanded heros, he always has people calling for him. on the phone, or in person

when he's in the middle of abusing your cunt and his phone rings off? he looks at you in expectation, urging you to answer the call for him

without his rough pace faltering, you sink your teeth on your bottom lip, pressing the 'answer' button and putting the call on speaker

"good morning, mr. todoroki! regarding the press conference..." the caller blabs on about boring details you could barely comprehend as you focus on staying silent.

"mmm," your eyes widen as your boyfriend moans. "i think that venue will be perfect. what does dynamight and deku think about it?"

"they already gave the go signal, sir! mr. dynamight even told me not to call him about such trivial matters..." the man laughs awkwardly throught the phone.

as you feel your orgasm near you, your squeeze on shoto's bicep, alerting him

the fucker simply smirks at you before saying a few more words to the call, your muscles seizing up at the difficulty of holding your orgasm in

as soon as you hear the familiar beep of ending a call, your back archs as pleasure takes over your mind and body

"fuck! you're squeezing me so tightly baby." shoto gasps but you pay him no mind as your eyes roll to the back of your head, core tightening as your hips move on their own, hoping for a better high

as you begin to calm down, your breasts rise and fall rapidly as your hair stick to your forehead. shoto presses a soft kiss on your forehead before slowly pulling out, hissing

you make out the lewd feeling of his cum dripping out of you, making you want for a second round

three knocks are heard on his office doors before a familiar voice announces, "i'm coming in."

you immediately roll over, dropping to your hands and knees as you thank you boyfriend for installing soft as shit carpets. the same boyfriend who had already fixed himself up and is now chatting with Iida like you aren't hidden behind his desk, boobs out and cunt dripping of cum

DENKI KAMINARI

apart from being a hero, your boyfriend likes to play games and interact with his fans through livestreams

and every now and then, when he's being too loud, you like to shut him up by crawling undreneath his table and pulling his sweatpants down

"heal! i need someone to heal me-" your movements cut him off, making him snap his head down at you. eyes wide and jaw slack, a moment of silence passes and you thank every higher being for the peace and quiet before it's being taken away once again

"sorry, lost connection. i'm still dying, you guys!"

you roll your eyes, fully pulling his pants down, surprised at the sight of him already hard. one thing about your boyfriend? everything you do gets him hard.

your mouth waters at the precum leaking from his tip, your tongue immediately darting over to lick it off

you hear denki hiss before telling whoever he's playing with "don't worry about it, stubbed my toe"

you wrap your lips around the tip, looking up to see your boyfriend smiling widely with a deep blush across his cheeks

swirling your tongue around his bulbous head, you suck softly, earning a hiss from him before wiping your tongue over the slit

"huh? yeah, no yeah i'm fine" the continuous sounds of buttons being pressed give you the go signal to finally take him properly inside your mouth

"fuck-" he hisses the moment his head presses against the back of your throat, clearing his throat when your fingers dance towards his balls, cupping them

"i mean, fuck i'm sorry i missed, guys. maybe i should stop the game-" you squeeze the bas of his cock in warning

denki's jaw hardens with his eyes still trained to his screen. he knew if he looked down again, he'll be raising suspicions from his viewers

"nevermind, let's just finish this as soon as we can. 'm gettin' tired." you're unsure whether he's talking to you or his friends anymore, but you continue bobbing your head, making sure you don't hit the table

"guys! guys!" he pants, his grip on his controller tight as his thighs flex

"sorry- i just need medic!" he tries covering up his actions

your boyfriend is the kind who moans the entire house down. he needs to tell you how good you feel, he needs to tell you when he's about to cum and when he is cumming. he's simply a vocal lover, and when he doesn't have the freedom to do that, it fucks with his head

"so fucking good," he pants, "this game is so fucking good you guys!" that was a weak ass save

your tongue runs up the underside of his cock before taking him whole inside your mouth once more, his hisses and occassional huffs like music to your ears

his jaw continues to grind as his fingertips whiten with how hard he's gripping his controller

you play with his balls, watching his brows furrow. he's pissed.

aggressively tapping on the buttons, a moment passes when his undivided attention is on his screen before he slams his controller on his desk. "we won, i hard carried you motherfuckers, thanks for watching, see you all never."

he says it all so quickly before turning the live off, you barely have any time to think when he stands up, pulling you up with him

he spins you around, pushing you against his desk as he fiddles with his mouse, opening the camera app on his desktop

without another word, your boyfriend pushes himself inside you needy cunt, squeezing your nape as he begins to fuck you roughly, hips snappy

"think that was a good idea teasing me like that?" denki asks as he looks at you through his screen, watching your expression slowly fall at the feeling of your orgasm building

"this'd be what they'll see, baby. this'll be how you look like." he says, cupping your jaw and angling it straigh to make sure you see how bad he's wrecking you right now

"a hundred and fifty thousand people would see my pretty girl being fucked like the dirty slut she is." he bites on the corner of your ear, making you gasp. "and she'd love it."

and that was true. the thought of hundreds upon thousands of people watching denki have his way with you would fix a hundred and one of your problems

denki's thrusts become rougher, his desk moving and his equipment shaking as he pulls back, wrapping your hair around his fist, pulling on it tightly

"yeah, fuck yeah. you were made for me, baby." your response comes in loud moans and breathy whines, feeling your orgasm slowly bloom in your belly

"denki! fuck, denki!"

"gonna come for me, pretty girl?" you reply with an eager nod, earning a vile chuckle from him.

"then come all over this cock baby, i'll be right there behind you."

denki was not, in fact, right there behind you. the feeling of his thick, hot load is what pushes you over the edge

you turn around, glaring at the blond as he rolls his eyes sassily. "oh, shut up. my dick was being tortured way longer."

without pulling out, he carries you by your thighs, your back pressing against his chest. he walks over to your shared bed, setting you down softly before the both of you lay on your sides

he pulls the blanket on your bodies, pressing a light kiss on the side of your forehead before telling you he loves you

uhuh. he isn' as much of an exhibitionist as the other guys, but he's addicted to cockwarming

[kireilien]

obsessed.

pair. bf!seungcheol x fem!reader; wc. 2,737

tw/cw. nsfw content, cursing, intentional lowercase, not proofread, alcohol use; plot heavy story, angst-ish?, dom!seungcheol, sub!reader, race neutral reader, reader is an overthinker, food play, alcohol consumption, wam (wet and messy), slight spit play, kissing, oral (f receiving), cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, nipple play, unprotected sex, doggy style over the counter, hair pulling, use of “cheol,” and “baby” 

synopsis. thinking of how shit your life was, you genuinely thought your boyfriend would break up with you. turns out he never would because he’s way too obsessed with you!

note. please don’t fucking eat people out do anything w alcohol like this, this is fiction THIS IS FAKE anyways rare food item eat this up

you felt like all of your feelings overwhelmed you. work has been terrible. your personal life is as shitty as it could be. you and your boyfriend have been distant more than ever. everything. literally everything in your life was actually horrible. 

day after day. 

afternoon after afternoon. 

night after night.

it just repeats. every single damn time. nothing is new to you anymore. you wake up. get ready for work. step into the office. get yelled off by your coworkers and boss. work over time because you’re the only one who doesn’t have any plans. get home. eat a shitty ass meal. get unready. sleep. then it repeats.

so what could you be doing out of all the days of rest? it's watching movies on your living room couch and just being a complete slob. you’ve never let it got this low. you turned your phone on silent, left your laptop away, and the only thing electronic with you was your tv. 

time passes. your low and hazy-like eyes shift to the clock onto the top left of your tv screen, barely even focusing.

10:30/22:30.

huh. didn’t know being a slob was that much of a waste of time. in a blink of an eye, the day has already passed. 

without much of a thought, you knew that there weren’t going to be any important notifications besides the typical notifications you would get from random apps on your phone that you didn’t bother to turn off. 

but to your surprise, there was something important.

missed calls from your boyfriend, seungcheol.

you regretted seeing those missed calls. you haven’t been the greatest partner these past few months to him. your life came crashing down, what could you do?

reluctantly so, you picked up one of his calls. 

the last call out of all five he sent was approximately two hours ago. surely he’d be active, right? there weren’t any voicemails left by his number anyways. you were slightly scared though when the echoing ring filled your right ear from your phone being flat against it.

you grit your teeth. what if he wanted to break up? it wasn’t gonna be a surprise if he wanted to. like before, being a shitty partner and being absent in all ways isn’t the best partner. yet, a small, painful ping in your heart says you could’ve done better.

it picks up.

“y/n?” seungcheol exhales.

you’ve missed his voice like crazy. you temporarily forgot why he was your boyfriend in the first place. he’s the first man who really made you feel love in your heart rather than your other exes.

“cheol,” you smile behind the phone.

“can i come over?” he sighs.

you immediately felt your smile and heart fall after you hear those four words. he was definitely going to break up with you. you couldn’t believe it. you swore to yourself you could’ve prevented it. you were just too late.

“cheol. i’m so sorry,” your teeth were clenched but, you carried on, “i wish i could’ve been better for you. you don’t need to come over. i’m so, so sorry.”

before you knew it, your water line fills with salty tears; daringly about to fall and roll down your cheeks.

“y/n, what the fuck do you mean?” seungcheol laughs lightly against the phone. you could hear a bag rustle in the background of his call with a few glass bottles getting put into that said bag. “baby, i’m coming over. we’re talking but we are definitely not breaking up.”

you took a moment to recollect what just happened in the last few seconds. seungcheol isn’t mad at you. he isn’t breaking up with you either?

after a quick pause and a quick wiping of your eyes, you continued the conversation, “uhm, sure. what’re you doing?”

“let’s have a drink. we haven’t drank any soju in a while, have we?” he mumbles a bit after hearing him shuffling out the door while exiting his apartment complex.

“oh. yeah, we haven’t. when you coming?” you were glad he wasn’t angry, but you were still confused why he wasn’t.

“like uhh, gonna be there in 10?” seungcheol hums as you hear the dragging of his slippers against the concrete of his complex garage.

“cool, ‘kay see you then, cheol,” you sigh in relief. unconsciously, you were picking at the sides of your couch pillows in nervousness though. 

“yeah, see ‘ya, baby.” he ends the call as he turns on his engine of his car.

your phone drops beside you; lightly bouncing on the fabric of your couch. you were definitely gonna get a small earful of what seungcheol has to say about you worrying. he hates hearing you worry. 

but never mind that. you at least wanted to tidy yourself up before seungcheol arrives. so, you changed out to newer pajamas and headed over to the kitchen to pull out your cute matching shot glasses, remembering how it was still early on into your relationship when you got them.

you still remember your weekly drinking sessions with cheol. they were so giggly. sometimes glum, most times intimate and borderline sexual. nonetheless, you also missed drinking with him. you miss the nights where it was just the two of you alone. no one ever joined in. it was because it was a secret between you and him. just a night. for the two of you.

as you were lost in your romantic thoughts, seungcheol rings the doorbell. lightly skipping over, you swing the door open to your ever-so handsome boyfriend. everything from his tousled deep black hair, white tee, gray loose zip up, some black sweats, and his black slippers that you heard over the phone, was just perfect.

the little thumps in your heart came again. just like a few months back when you still visited him often.

“soju?” he gleefully lifts up the crinkled plastic bag while tilting his head down to place a small kiss against your lips. 

you return this kiss while nodding, “i have our shot glasses out.” 

taking off his slippers, you guide him to your kitchen counter where your glasses are. cheol snickers at them, still remembering those fond memories of the two of you drinking every week.

“shall we?” you grin.

“we shall,” he reciprocates.

opening up a brand new bottle of soju, specifically the blue bottle by jinro, seungcheol pours out some for the both of you. “no tricks this time?” you poke at your boyfriend.

he rolls his eyes. he always used to do those fancy tricks when he drank. cheol sighs and closes the bottle up again. he flips the bottle, making his arms crossed to open it up again and rearranged his hands again to flick some of the alcohol towards you. you flinch away from the splatter, giggling at his attempts to have some fun.

finally, the two of you brought your respective shot glasses up to have a small clink for a cheers and shot it down your mouths in a quick second. the gasp of the cool alcohol leaves your lips, already needing more of the addicting drink.

one shot, down.

half a bottle, down.

one bottle, down.

another half bottle, down.

before you knew it, the both of your brains started to cog a different way than before. you could already tell by the silence in between all the shots the two of you took.

after the moments of silence, cheol speaks up, “y’know. i’ve missed you,” he murmurs with his tired eyes. 

you snicker, “how can you miss me when i’ve been the shittiest girlfriend ever? i never pick up your calls or texts. i never—.” before you could even continue, seungcheol immediately shuts you up by pressing his lips against yours for a quick second.

“you really needa stop doing that. i miss you. that’s it. i’m obsessed with you at this point. not even just now, i’ve been obsessed with you. there’s no other way around it,” he sighs while softly tap-slapping your cheek.

“oh, really?” you twiddle with your shot glass, rolling it between your fingers.

“yes, really.” seungcheol is confused why you’re dragging this out for so long. why couldn’t you just realize it?

“hey,” he breaths out.

“what?” you retort back.

“how about i show you how obsessed i am with you,” cheol simpers.

“sure.” you liked how this was going.

seungcheol immediately attaches your lips with his again, however in a romantic-like gesture. his hands slide onto your body so fluidly he reaches down, all the way to your hips. while yours found their way up and about in his hair. you could both taste the soju dancing along your mouths, loving the way it mixed into your saliva. 

quickly enough, breaths began to get rapid. the two of you were almost animalistic with each other; hands were everywhere. seungcheol’s grunts and your whines were more than enough to understand that the both of you couldn’t get enough of each other. you still didn’t believe the man you thought you lost was making your mouth messy with his.

“fuck it,” cheol let’s your plumped lips go and downs the rest of the soju remained in the bottle. but, he leaves half of it still in his mouth, waiting for someone to drink the rest. that someone, is you.

he returns back the kiss, allowing the alcohol slip down your mouth, ingesting it along with the enhancing wetness of his spit from the soju beforehand. you were well dizzy from this point on. not from the drinking though. it was purely from seungcheol. he’s driving you crazy, nothing like ever before.

you couldn’t help yourself. you needed him so, so, bad. you zip off his zip up jacket, throwing it across the kitchen somewhere; as well as his shirt to reveal his bulky figure he’s been building up these past few months. 

cheol was ravenous. you didn’t know if it was from the buzzing from the alcohol or the making out, but he was sure enough it was just from you. 

he slips off your pants and underwear, leaving you bottom naked for him to prop you up on your cold kitchen counter. you lay back on your propped up elbows to give him a wide view of your dripping cunt, out and ready for him to use. 

taking another bottle from his bag, seungcheol twists open another bottle of soju to pour a few drops over cunt for him. “fuck— i need you, cheol. i need you so bad.” you whimper under his touch.

���i got you, baby, lemme make you feel so good,” he mutters a bit before outlining your sopping pussy, kissing a few times over. seungcheol hooks his bulky arms underneath your thighs to have you lie completely down the counter to make sure he has all of you, melting in his hands.

at this point the soju, his saliva, and your juices covered your inner thighs. you couldn’t bare to open your eyes. cheol made you crazy. he knew how to mess with your head. his hands even pulled down to slide his thumbs on the edges of your inner lips to extend his view of your pretty cunt. 

you were melting on the counter. your hands were tangling his hair, legs were hooked were propped on his back, and you didn’t give a single fuck of how loud you were being. moan after whine after whimper was continuously falling with seungcheol’s name. you couldn’t help it.

soon after, the knot in your stomach felt tighter and tighter in seconds. “fuck—! cheol ‘m gonna—!” you groaned out.

“come on my face, baby— lemme taste your sweet cum,” he sighs against your drenched cunt.

in a matter of seconds the knot in you snapped, causing you to release your cum all over seungcheol’s face. he laps your juices to make sure he tasted all of you and comes back up to your face, “god, baby— you see— literally obsessed enough to eat you out with alcohol dripping down your pretty pussy,” he mumbles as he stares into your eyes while taking his hand to dip down and rub small rings around your clit.

“more— i need more, cheol.”

“take off this top, baby, i’ll give you more.”

you discard your shirt to some other place in the kitchen as cheol shoots down the rest of alcohol in the bottle in his mouth. seungcheol then latches his mouth around your right nipple. your mouth shot open with strings of curses leaving your lips, relishing in the coldness from the soju, as well as the warmth of his mouth. 

his lips danced between both of your nipples and down to your stomach, back up to your lips. “slide down, baby. i wanna fuck you— wanna fuck you so bad,” cheol groans in your ear. you nod quickly before pressing your torso down against the semi-cold and semi-hot counter. 

seungcheol strips himself as quickly as he possibly could and lines himself against your cunt; nearly breathless. the vibrations from your whines buzzes against your cheek. you were on overdrive at this point. your brain was mush, and it was about to become every bit more mushed.

with one quick push, cheol bottoms himself out completely in you; gaining two hearty moans from the both of your mouths. 

after a few pauses, cheol whispers against your ear, “you good, baby?”

“mhm, please, fuck me, cheol.”

cheol slides his hands under your hips to slide yourself on and off your cock. the slickness of your cunt and the soju claps between cheol’s cock. although the pace was slow at first, the speed and intensity soon picked up. 

you couldn’t contain your moans of movement. your hands started to become sporadic. your hands gripped onto the edge of the counter to the flat middle of the counter. seungcheol noticed your hands but his eyes eventually trailed to the a few bottles still unopened in his plastic bag.

he stopped his movements and slipped his hands out from your hips to open up another bottle. as one hand holds the bottle cheol’s other hand slides up to your hair and pulls it back, making your back flesh against his chest. “you haven’t drank that much tonight, baby. care for a drink?” seungcheol seductively hums in your ear.

your mouth slacks open for cheol to pour a good amount of the soju for you to gulp down. a sigh of relief exits your mouth from the soju but that was soon interrupted by a sudden snap of cheol’s hips. his tip just grazes your cervix from that snap, causing you to gasp.

“you seem to like the drink more than my dick, baby.” cheol tsked from your reaction. 

“no— i don’t! fuck me, cheol. i love your cock. i’m obsessed with it,” you frantically try to buck your hips back to fuck your self back on his cock.

he chuckles at your weak attempts of fucking yourself back on his cock. “here, drink the rest, will you? lemme make you feel good.” seungcheol passes the bottle off as his hands finds your hips again to sharply snap his hips against yours.

meanwhile, you could barely hold the cold rim against your lips. with each thrust up, you caught a tremble in the glass. you needed to get this over with. you didn’t care that the strong liquid pours over your chin and onto the countertops. with quick gulps, the majority of the soju was gone.

finally, you could focus on cheol’s cock. the glass rings from the sudden hit of your hands to the countertop, literally nothing could phase you past your boyfriends cock. it was too heavenly to focus on anything else.

the thick veins on his dick are pulsing from the friction between him and the slickness of your cunt; just dripping from arousal. your moans and whines intertwined with cheol’s grunts and groans; it was almost too erotic.

eventually, cheol’s thrusts started to become stronger yet, slower. with a few more pumps, the both of you came; coating each other in your sticky fluids. after a few hearty breaths, seungcheol comes close to your face.

“can’t you see i’m obsessed with you?” seungcheol kisses your cheek gently. 

“yeah— can now,” you smile from his kiss.

even then, you were already obsessed with seungcheol from the start.

© KIREILIEN 2025 | please like, repost, and/or comment! ♡︎