#like i’m so serious when i say that if you are grown enough to get wasted on the weekends you’re grown enough to clean up your shit

[sscieloz]

Cherry Sky

mean girl!Minnie Yontararak x university student!reader

Synopsis: Minnie needs something to play with after having a shitty day, shitty month, shitty year. Yuqi, as the great friend she is, gifts her something to take off her frustration on: you.

Warnings: nsfw. +18. smut. bites, scratches, bruises, mentions of blood. pain/pleasure mix. mommy!minnie

Word count: 6.1k

Notes: happy valentinesss ˆˆ, this is my morally questionable gift to you, my babiess. I wanted for it to be freakier but I’m also lazy so I’ll stay lacking.

“There you go. Who would’ve thought you could look this pretty, mhm?” Yuqi told herself, even though your eyes interlocked through her closet’s full-length mirror.  “You look like a doll, y/n. I knew you weren’t a lost cause!”

Your classmate’s round, almond eyes might seem innocent to some, but her dirty smirk was a clear statement of all the harsh, subtle comments she chose not to say. You were familiar with her passive-aggressiveness— in fact, you’ve grown somewhat used to it, from observing those same expressions during the many classes the two of you shared for nearly an entire semester.

Out of her evil little friend group, Yuqi was the last one you would’ve guessed to be a STEM major. You still remembered the surprised huff that left your lips when you first met. The blonde girl had thrown her stuff in the seat next to yours, chewing on her gum while ignoring your existence for weeks before even greeting you hello.

There had to be more to her than snappy remarks and a head full of blonde hair. Something intriguing, unsettling enough to keep you up at night, thinking about what else she kept hidden until she was bored enough to stir up some trouble.

It didn’t take long for her to prove she was more than the dumb, fake bitch you imagined. Contrary to popular belief, Yuqi was insanely smart.

It was easy to notice, even with her small, direct answers to your professors during classes. She’d make it clear that this class— and perhaps the major you shared, was something too easy for her. Which, looking at her endless As, indeed it was.

“Are you sure about this, Yuqi?” Your tone was as uncertain as your whole body language, frowning as you hugged yourself to cover up a bit more.

She dismissed you, kneeling to grab one of her pink Adidas samba shoes. To your surprise, she helped you put them on, unexpectedly sweet as she tied your shoelaces without rush.

“I’m serious, Y/n. Relax! God, you’re so tense all the time.” It was her turn to frown at the way you shivered. “You’ll get horrible wrinkles if you act like a granny.”

Your nervousness wasn't from the cold, and even though Yuqi knew so, she didn't comment on it. A small peace offering; one you gladly accepted.

“Relax, of course.” You murmured to yourself, sneaking one last look at the mirror before your classmate dragged you out of her mansion, dodging hallways until you reached her massive garage. Yuqi took her time choosing her car for the night, smiling as if she was having the time of her life. “I’m relaxed.”

“Great! Composure is the key to luck.” Yuqi nodded in approval, starting the car as you shrank under your seat. Her smirk grew dangerous, then, as the vehicle made a curve. “And you’re going to need it tonight, doll.”

For the sake of your mind, you hoped she was wrong.

—

“Damn, a 47%?” Yuqi’s whistle hurt your pride, as she lurked over your shoulder to get a glance at the paper handed to you by the teacher. “For someone who studies so damn much, Y/n, you’re pretty fucking dumb.”

“Do you ever mind your business?” You shot back, shoving the paper in your backpack in hopes your grade would disappear too. Besides sitting next to each other for months now— since none of your friends attended this class and the seats were paired, Yuqi had never talked to you in a tone that wasn’t drenched in poison or mockery.

You hated her guts.

Although you had to accept your defeat, this time. As much as her words were harsh, they weren’t untrue. The majority of your free time was spent hidden in the darkest spots of your university’s library, rereading textbooks and preparing flashcards in hopes you’d understand what the fuck was going on in your classes.

Such impressive, useless dedication. You would’ve probably scored higher without studying a thing.

Yuqi knew that and was eager to rub your failure over your face. There wasn’t a single thing happening at university that she wasn’t aware of, although being a topic of her attention was rather amusing to you.

After all, you were just a stupid, struggling student— much different than Yuqi, who came from the elite and was one of the most popular girls around.

The girl and her friends were the closest thing to royalty in campus. Nothing happened on university grounds without Soyeon, Miyeon, Minnie, Suhuha, and Yuqi’s endorsement. More than idolized, , they were icons: adored, feared, and respected. People clung to them as if they weren’t simply snobbish, greedy, judgmental women with a keen eye for fashion and a weird obsession with humiliating random people for the sake of boredom.

That was, of course, just your humble opinion. Other than that, you kept to yourself, living a quiet life without being involved in any dramas or gossip scandals.

Still, Yuqi’s scrutinizing stare didn’t waver. If only, she was sizing you up, deciding whether or not to make use of her evil mind.

“I can help you if you want.” She commented, adjusting her stuff in her backpack as the entire class prepared to leave. Even though she was pretty good at keeping up with her careless, relaxed reputation, it was obvious she was hiding something.

Her movements were too precise, fingers twitching and twisting like she was desperate for something you couldn’t quite grasp.

You raised a brow, unimpressed. Curiosity got the best of you. “Help me with what, exactly?”

“With your grades, obviously,” Yuqi stated, as if you were stupid. She snapped her fingers in front of your face, “I can round them to like, a 90 or a 95% real quick.”

“My oh my.” You whistled, smirking at her. Truthfully, you found her hilarious. “Am I getting private lessons from the Song Yuqi? I feel honored.”

The blonde scowled as if the thought of spending time with you was out of the question. “Don’t be ridiculous, Y/n. I have way better methods. Besides, with that miserable grade, I doubt you’d learn anything anyway.” Yuqi got up with grace, paying no mind to your incoherent curses as she winked at you. “Think about it, ok? You can message me later.”

As if you had any intentions of doing so. People like Yuqi never truly let go of a deal. Accepting such an offer would tie you to her for a long time— she would be able to manipulate and blackmail you as she pleased. To hell with that; your grades could suck, but you were smarter than this.

Although you screamed back, just to tease. “You didn’t even give me your number!”

Yuqi laughed, not turning around as she disappeared down the crowded hallway. You both knew why: there was no need to. She was already all over the place, anyway.

And she was pretty positive you’d find her soon.

—

“How much did you say you needed for this class again?” Yunjin asked, unpacking her bento box as you sulk beside her. It was too cold to eat outside, but the cafeteria’s seats were already all occupied by the popular crew and their eager minions.

All of those who dared to find a seat at one of the tables were immediately met with straight-up threats; the last thing you wanted for the day was to undergo any further stress.

Sometimes you had to pick which battles to lose.

“An 82%.” You whined, hiding your face in between your hands as you tried not to panic. “I need to score a freaking 82% to pass, Jen. In this hellhole of a class! Sooyoung scored 86% on our last test, and she’s the smartest student at this uni.” With a deep sigh, you shook your head. “I’m so fucked. ‘Gonna fail this for sure, oh my God. My parents are going to kill me. They’re going to cancel my scholarship and I’m literally—“

“You’ll pass, Y/n.” Chaewon chimed in, with her calm, reassuring voice after kissing Yunjin’s cheek. “We’ll study with you. I remember going through hell in this class when I took it, too.” She squeezed your arm, in hopes of bringing you comfort. “It all works out in the end. Try to not freak out too much, please. You can do it, seriously.”

But you were already lost to anxiety, replaying future scenarios in your head. Failing this class would be the end of you. There was no way you could afford it.

“You don’t get it, Chaewonie.” You muttered. She truly didn’t. Your parents would most certainly not accept it, nor would your brain ever allow you to rest if you didn’t make it. “I’m fucked.”

Yunjin patted your back, encouraging and supporting you as she’s always done. Both girls let you sulk this time, offering solutions and options of what you could do to get yourself out of this problem.

The topic changed quickly, soon replaced by an avid discussion about one of your classmates and the other classes you shared with Chaewon and Yunjin. Not that you were listening. If anything, your fingers scrolled down on your phone.

With a distracted mind, you pressed on Instagram. Yuqi’s profile wasn’t hard to find, and you were quick to send her a message. Truthfully, there wasn’t not much to dwell over— you’d back down from her deal if you thought about it too deeply. Submitting to her offer was a terrible idea, after all.

I’m in.

To your surprise, her answer came immediately. She texted an address and a time, nothing more. Although that part was expected. Yuqi wasn’t one to justify herself.

Everything so you won’t fail, you tell yourself.

This is just so I won’t fail.

—

Yuqi’s final destination was a mansion just as lavish as the one you were previously at. You had never seen such thing before: the front garden was neatly trimmed, with a fountain adorning the pavement and tall wooden doors. The lights were arranged so the white construction was glittering in pink and red. Just above the door, a big sign made no mistake of the party’s theme.

Minnie’s Valentine Wonderland.

Embroiled in neat, cursive handwriting, the words made you understand Yuqi’s fuss over the crimson dress she had insisted on you wearing.

Minnie loved being a host. Her parties were always the best; people looked forward to them all season, always eager for an invitation or a hint of the themes she so vehemently insisted on having. It was a fun way of making people put at least half an effort into looking a bit different than their shitty university-sleep-deprived selves, as she frequently mentioned. With Valentine’s Day being so close, it made sense that would be the chosen theme of her first event of the year.

Even though the place was crowded, there was still plenty of space for all the people who gathered on the main floor. You’ve been to one of her parties, once— as a freshman, you had been invited to one of the welcome-to-university parties she organized, as the head of the reception committee, and it was surely one of the best ones you’ve attended in your entire life. Everything had been impeccable, then: the food, the music, the drinks… you excepted no less than that, this time.

After all, Minne has always been one of flattery.

The music inside was loud enough to hurt your ears, but you didn’t mind. If anything, the nerves were taking too much of a toll on you; your sweaty hands refused to go away, no matter how many times you brushed them on the hem of your dress.

During the entire day, all Yuqi had done did was give you orders: sit here. Stay still. Put this on. Ugh, I didn’t like it. Here, try this other one.

You stood true to the older girl’s wishes. With a dress so red you were sure you looked like a car sign, you clung to Yuqi, flustered and exposed at her friend’s party, as she confidently parted her way through the crowd and dragged you around like a doll.

After what felt like an eternity of being under so many pairs of attentive, judgmental eyes, the blonde stopped by the darkened cushions.

Located in the middle of the dance floor— or rather, the living room, given the size of the room and the paintings that weren’t hung to prevent being stolen, you recognized the three intimidating girls that stare down at you. Miyeon, Shuhuha, and Soyeon seemed as disgusted by your approach as you thought they would be.

As if you ever wanted to take part in whatever it was that Yuqi’s evil mind had planned.

“Look who we have here.” Soyeon tossed her drink towards you and Yuqi. “Who’s the lady you’ve got for the night, Yuqi?”

Instead of answering her friend, as a normal person would, Yuqi turned her head around, “Where’s Minnie?” She asked, grumpy to not have met her friend immediately.

Suhuha snorted, falling into laughter while Soyeon rolled her eyes and shrugged, not at all bothered by Yuqi’s petty attitude. “Not here, thank God. She’s even more insufferable with Valentine’s Day being tomorrow, and all. You know how insufferable she’s been ever since Lisa dumped her, that fucking b—”

“Don’t worry, girls.” Your classmate smirked, holding you by the shoulders as she showed you off. “This won’t be an issue even longer. I’ve got one of her favorite presents! Now, just gotta find her. If you’ll excuse me.”

The girls all mumbled together in confusion, screaming for Yuqi to get back and explain her words to them any further. They all sighed, except for Soyeon, whose eyes you still felt burning on your back, as the engines of her brain worked perhaps too fast.

She knew what Yuqi was capable of, and, as of late, that wasn’t an argument she was willing to get on about. So she finished her drink in one go, dancing with her friends in hopes her curiosity would be washed away, too.

—

The grand staircase to the second floor was completely blocked by two fridge-sized men. All it took was a subtle nod from Yuqi and they opened some space for you to ascend the way. Like every other bit of the white-marbled mansion, the place was neat, polished, and strangely empty. Besides the few sculptures in between the hallways, the place lacked warmth.

You’d be at university 24/7 too, if you lived in such a strange place. Although you guessed it suited Minnie. An icy, impersonal place for an equally cold woman.

“Quite a place, don’t you think, Yuqi?” You scoffed, trailing your fingers over the cold walls as you rushed to keep up with her pace. "Very cozy. Gives off some haunted vib—”

Yuqi was done with you. In a swift move, she pulled you to the wall, placing one of her arms over your shoulders so you’d be partially unable to move.

“Listen, smartass.” She spilled, poking the center of your chest with her bony fingers. "Do you know something Minnie specifically hates?”

“Controlling friends that go manipulative behind her back when in reality, they can’t stand her?”

You’ve always failed to understand why Yuqi’s friend group was so feared by others. They were so pretty, so small and contained… you knew of the terrible things they’ve done to others simply out of boredom, but still couldn’t feel intimidated by them at all.

Although, staring at Yuqi’s darkened eyes in an empty corridor made you understand those people a bit. You gulped, suddenly hyperventilating.

The blonde girl followed your chest’s movements, lost in thoughts for a moment. Seconds linger for perhaps too long, and you were about to question what was so interesting when your classmate straightened her posture as if nothing had happened.

“Defiant fuckers.” She muttered between closed teeth, so close you could smell her minty breath, “So how about you close your damn mouth and act like a good, obedient little doll, huh?” You were released from her grip after one final, harsh pull, just as Yuqi added, with a low tone that managed to be even more intimidating than her usual lousiness. "Remember your part of the deal princess, and I’ll remember mine.”

The way Yuqi pronounced any of the pet names she so frequently liked to address people made you sick to your stomach. Still, you couldn’t help but murmur, as the blonde gestured for you to enter a big, spacious room.

“So polite, you are.”

Yuqi closed the double doors with careless strength, her tone strained. “Y/n.”

“Okay, okay!” You raised your arms in defeat. “I’ll be good, promise. Your friend’s good little doll, or whatever her sickening fantasy desires. Now where is she?”

“Well, isn’t that the million-dollar question.” The blonde murmured. Pointed to the middle of the bed, then, instead of answering you directly. “You can sit over there while we wait. Do you remember the rules?”

The room, like all the others, was pretty big, but too light. The wallpaper, the wooden furniture, the canopy bed… all white and impersonal. You felt the need to punch this house’s designer in the guts.

You rolled your eyes, reciting Yuqi’s words in a poor imitation of the older girl. “Just say red if I want out. It’s that simple. Now, where is your damn friend? I’m starting to think you’ve made her up, Yuqi. She’s never around when I bump into you, at campus, and now she’s nowhere to be seen…”

Your provocations irritated her. Crossing her arms in front of her chest, Yuqi turned towards the door in expectation. “You’re unbearable, Y/n. Just shut the fuck up, for lord’s sake.”

The door opened before you cursed at Yuqi. Instead, you both fell silent as Minnie walked in.

You’ve seen her before, obviously, but no everyday look would ever do justice to her party outfits. She looked pristine, impeccable in her pink dress, and long, pitch-black hair cascading down her back.

“What is it, Yuqi?” Minnie’s hard, demanding voice had both you and Yuqi straightening your posture. Her eyes met both of you with annoyance, something somewhat comforting.

Yuqi stood quickly, caressing her friend’s arm as she placed herself beside her. “Well, you’ve been bitching so much about being so stressed and pent up…” The blonde made a brief pause, stretching her arm out in your direction. “So as the perfect friend I am, I decided to get you something for you to play with and cool off a bit, for the night.”

For the first time, Minnie seemed to take you in. How your dress was so short half your thighs were exposed, your white, pearled stockings, the big bow carefully arranged behind your back. Yuqi had indeed wrapped you like a present, all for her precious friend.

Only because the blonde was staring at you like her eyes were going to fall off her orbs, you added to her phrase, with a low, sultry tone. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Minnie.”

Minnie’s provocative smirk vanished immediately. She walked to you, deadly serious.

“And what a pretty little doll you got me, Yuqi.” She stopped when you were close enough you could reach out to her without even stretching your arms. “You do know me well. Is she all mine to play with?”

You hadn’t excepted for her to be so… powerful, in every sense of the word. Minnie’s presence was suffocating, and she hadn’t even talked to you yet. How would you not be intimidated? Rumors regarding Minnie’s… skills and preferences traveled freely on campus, so it was only natural that you were both thrilled and curious to see if she’d live up to them.

This time, your trembling fingers and rapid breathing were not from something bad. Rather than that, you were still wary, of course. But also thrilled— and aroused. You could feel your insides starting to get sticky with the anticipation.

Yuqi might have provided the bigger picture, back in her house while dressing you up, but the result of your imagination went far beyond her simple phrases and grunts.

“Remember,” Yuqi told you, diverging your attention from Minnie for the last time. “If you happen to want out anytime, just say red, and she’ll stop. Deal’s still up, even then.” She meant to speak some more, but Minnie’s impatient grunt had her sighing and walking away. “Bye, Y/n. Have fun.” The last part was meant for Minnie, yet you couldn’t help but be curious by the way she kept looking back at you so much.

If you hadn’t known your classmate to be the insensitive, mocking bitch she was, you’d say her tone was a bit pitiful. Surely, you were imagining things by now.

Yuqi was not one to pity anyone, much less you, whom she made sure to mock and laugh over for nearly an entire semester.

Luckily, there was no reason for the two of you to ever meet again after that night. One night, and you’d have all of your issues solved.

You’d just have to survive the charming, devilish girl who stared at you like you were a piece of flesh for a woman starved.

—

Minnie’s had a terrible month. Everyone seemed to have chosen all of their actions strictly to piss her off. The most simple things were enough to throw her off, let it be someone accidentally bumping into her in between the hallways or her professor giving her a 98% instead of 100%. Either way, she has been acting even more insufferable than her normal self for weeks, now.

Naturally, everyone around her had to suffer as well. If she was irritated, they’d have to pay. It was simply how things worked. Her annoyance would only fade if she let it cool off; physically, preferably.

Usually, Minnie would just scream at whoever was nearby, and throw some stuff around until she was tired enough to recompose herself into her well-known steel princess title.

Now, her best friend had provided something even better. A gift, all for her to ruin as she pleased. To take off her frustration until she was satisfied. A girl so angelical, sitting eagerly on the edge of the bed with big, careful eyes that stared at Minnie, waiting.

Minnie would sure make good use of Yuqi’s little doll.

“You really are a beauty.” Minnie licked her lips, tapping your thighs so she was able to position herself between you. Her hands traveled to your chin, inspecting your face with her big, judgmental eyes who seemed to like what they saw. With a caress, she added, “Yuqi chose wisely. You’re just my type. So, tell me, my dear: what can I do to you? How much will my doll take?”

There was no need for Yuqi to tell you to speak nicely. Now, with Minnie hovering over you with her big hands, you realized there was no way you could ever misbehave. In fact, you were glad to be sitting over on the bed, or else you’d fall right away. Each word that came out of her mouth made you shift uncomfortably, unable to close your legs or hide the way she turned you on by being so… powerful. Her assertive, disregarding tone was so hot, and sultry in a way you’ve never experienced before.

Even if you were cheating your way from a class, you felt the need to earn that through the conditions Yuqi had placed under you. Despite her giving you an outing, you’d do no such thing. You’d be Minnie’s perfect doll, and take whatever she gave you.

For your class, naturally. This was all so you’d pass the class you and Yuqi shared.

Purely because of your goals, you looked at Minnie behind your lashes. Your answer came in a tone as low as hers, barely a murmur. “Whatever you think is fit for me to take.”

Minnie’s eyes grew dark with your response. She hummed, clearly pleased, smiling so brightly her pointy canines showed in both corners of her mouth. You were eager to have their marks on your skin. “Oh, she speaks.” Her hands are placed to your legs once again, as she adjusted your thighs so they’re impeccably in place. Always taking her time; going slowly, running her fingers down your skin as she got familiar with your body’s reactions.

“I have a name, you know.” Her thumb parted your mouth, and she watched you suck on eagerly. “Would you use it for me mhm? It’s simple: just call me Mommy.”

She didn't wait for you to gather yourself as she moved her hands all over your body. Squeezing your things, sizing you up. You were eager too, “Yes, Mommy. I can do that.”

“Wonderful.” Minnie’s hand stopped in your clavicle, tapping your wishbone before bending over to whisper in your ear, “Now say it again, baby.”

You gulped, wishing for her to not notice how fast your heart was beating. Still, you did as told. “I’ll take whatever Mommy thinks it’s fit for me to take.”

“Very well, then.”

That did it. Minnie sealed your lips with her own in a possessive, restless kiss. Her tongue invaded your mouth, dominating, dictating the pace as you tried to keep up with her wishes. Surprisingly enough, she tasted sweet, like strawberries from the peak of the season. She took her time, pressing wet kisses on your skin until she pressed her face against your shoulders and bit, harshly. Minnie laughed when you screamed, out of breath from the sudden pain. She dragged your arms to her own shoulders, delighting herself as she traced her nails over your marked skin. More come afterward, as she kissed and bit your arms, neck, and breasts… owning you all over.

You didn’t expect to like the pain. Certainly did not anticipate how much you’d crave the sinking of her teeth, along with the endorphin that came with her kisses soon after.

“My pretty little doll.” Minnie sang as she took a step back to appreciate her work. She frowned upon your disheveled state, clocking her head sideways. Before you even blinked, she was all over you again, pinning your arms up as she tied them against the bed frame with a rope. “Does it hurt?” She asked, running her long nails down your arms with a sickening tone.

Your breath hitched. It burned a bit, and was surely uncomfortable, acting like a constant reminder of your vulnerability. Somehow, you didn’t mind. You’d do anything to have Minnie look at you with such delight in her eyes, anyway. “It’s fine.”

Minnie’s stare was cold enough to cut ice through it. Shivers ran down your body as you remembered your deal, correcting yourself. “No, Mommy.”

“There you go.” She praised, massaging your thighs once again as she adjusted her hair so it stayed out of the way. “Just such a smart, pretty girl you are.”

Yuqi had spent an excruciating amount of time playing dress-up with you, earlier on. She’d dressed you in white stockings and ridiculously small, red panties that had your face burning when she handed it to you.

All the preparation had been worth it. Minnie licked her lips, certainly imagining all the ways she’d ruin you, make you beg, and cry her name out loud. The wet patch in your panties was even a bit embarrassing. But how could you not be desperately wet, from the way she could barely contain her excitement to touch you? You’ve never felt so desired before. So empowered, even if you were currently restrained and wearing clothes that left little to the imagination.

A warm tongue on your clit brought your focus focus on Minnie. She was quick to ruin your pantie's thin fabric, leaving your pussy bare for her delight. Your wetness was obvious, you were sure of it as she hummed and licked until you were a breathless mess under the woman.

It was agonizing, not being able to tangle your fingers on her scalp and push her deeper into your cunt so she’d stop with this slow, taunting pace of hers. Grunting, you pouted, moving your hands in hopes the knot hadn’t been properly sealed.

“Be patient, doll.” Minnie laughed, looking down on you. Smacked her lips, then, satisfied. “I was just getting a taste of what’s mine for the night.”

Instead of her fingers, you were met with a vibrator humming directly into your clit. You roll your eyes in pleasure, moving your hips aching for more. Minnie gritted her teeth, slapping your thighs repeatedly to get you to stop moving.

“You’re moving too much.” She complained, scratching your thighs with her long, carefully styled acrylic nails. They were painted red, too, with tiny sparkles that have her fingers shining even in the dark. “Do I have to tie your legs, too?”

You shook your head, trying to argue against it. There wasn’t a single, coherent thought going through your mind— all you could think about was Minnie’s touch, so harsh against your skin, not satisfied until every inch of your body was left raw, red, and sensitive, and the vibrator sending continuous waves of pleasure to all of your body.

Minnie’s fingers hovered over your abdomen repeatedly, and it took a while for you to realize she was writing small words against your skin. Doll, pretty, hole…

You moaned louder at the realization. Truth be told, you’d do anything to have more of the tingling sensation that was building up in your stomach. You needed more, or else you’d explode.

“More, please.” You asked, taking a deep breath to keep the tears from rolling down your watery eyes. Patience was something you lacked, especially when it came to getting yourself off. “Mommy. I n-need more. More i—inside.”

It was so easy for her to ignore you. Minnie paid you no mind, biting your waist as she reached up to one of your nipples and tugged harshly. Your small breasts allowed her to cup them entirely, as she did. Minnie gripped, smacked, and turned both your tits into stress balls as she made her way to suck on them. It was certain that they’d be sore and bruised in the morning, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

The only thing you could do was moan like a slut, desperate to get more of the pleasure Minnie was so good at offering. She laughed again, so mean and full of herself as she looked down on you. If you still had the smallest bit of pride, you’d be offended by the filthy names she whispered in your ear.

Instead, your moans were lustful and high-pitched.

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” Minnie shoved her long, thin fingers inside your mouth, careless as you gagged and tried not to throw up as she pushed them deep. They were gone as soon as they appeared, and you couldn’t help but whine at the lack of contact. “You want my fingers, doll? I did my nails today. It’s definitely going to hurt.”

Minnie’s canine teeth always appeared when her smile turned wicked. She showed you her fingers, making scissoring motions like you’d beg for her to do on your pussy. At your desperate nods, she brushed them past your slit as the vibrator’s level increased. “But you like that, don’t you? You like the pain.” There was nothing you could do but agree with her. You needed it, needed the pain mixed with pleasure to add to such a delicious feeling you were experiencing. “Like the slut you are. Don’t worry, love. I’m going to give you just what you need.”

Two of her fingers made their way inside your cunt, moving at a quick pace to match the vibrations. It was, too much, and it burned.

Such an amazing feeling, to have every inch of your body filled by Minnie, the sensation of an orgasm approaching; you can feel it everywhere.

You knew it was how Minnie liked it: messy, hard, and with a bit of pain in the mix. Yuqi had mentioned it as if daring you to back away and call off your deal, but you couldn’t help but think you deserved it.

For not doing well in your exam, you’d feel better with a bit of pain. And it was such a good mix, with the pleasure it came with. Minnie’s lovebites drew blood from your skin, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

All you wanted was more: more of her, more of the fingers that filled you up, more of the hand that tapped your neck, silently grabbing you with possessiveness.

“D-don’t stop, oh fuck. Please never stop please I need this need this so bad I’ll” You were too drunk in pleasure to warn her you were about to cum.

With a high cry, you squirted, arching your back as you gushed all over Minnie’s fingers.

Instead of being grossed out, or even mad you hadn’t warned her like you’d expected, Minnie kissed your neck, pulling you in for a reassuring kiss.

“You look even more beautiful when you cum.” Her praise sent another wave of pleasure into your sensitive body.

You were shaking, thighs moving uncontrollably in hopes of escaping the vibrator that is still pressed to your pulsating clit.

Instead of removing the stimulation entirely, Minnie turned her toy into a quiet hum. You clenched, closing your legs as you arched your hips.

“Take it off.” You cried, breathing heavily. It was too much, your body felt on fire and you were still shaking and breathing heavily.

Surprisingly, Minnie listened to your plead. She pulled it away, forcing your legs open as she resumed her fingers’ movements into a gentle caress on your inner thighs.

“Can’t my doll give me one more?” She asked, kissing and running her teeth through your jawline. Your mind was still fuzzy, hazy from the strong orgasm she’d just given you, and tone was the same one she used to get everything she wanted. Sweet, gentle, and patient. “I’d give everything to see you do that one more time. Fuck, I’m so wet. You were so good for me…”

There was no way out of her trap.

All it took was a nod from you and Minnie was all over your body again. The dress you were in was made for ruining— or perhaps it was Minnie who was too aggressive, too fond of ripping stuff. She quickly got rid of the rest of your clothes, gripping your naked body with a content smile on her face.

“My perfect doll.” She murmured. “Our night is just starting.”

Somehow, you couldn’t wait for her to ruin you even more. You were her doll, after all.

—

“I told you! We always knew you’d nail it!” Chaewon bumped into you, laughing playfully as you stared at your final exam sheet. It had a 100% marked in red, along with a Congratulations :) Good Job you were almost certain that wasn’t written by your professor. “Now, summer break!”

As always, Yunjin's support came in a calmer, soothing way. She smiled just as brightly, moving your shoulders excitingly. “You did, Y/n! Congratulations!”

“Thanks, girls.” You told them smiling shyly as you supressed a shiver. There was an uncomfortable feeling crippling your skin, and you couldn't help but feel like you were being watched. After making sure no one was paying you or your friends any attention, you sighed. “I worked really hard for it.”

The three of you prepared to leave, trying to make your way among the hectic, noisy crowd of students eager to leave university after a full day of classes. You were so engulfed in your friend’s frenzy celebrations you failed to notice an attentive pair of eyes, following your every move through the open area.

Minnie stood idly against the glass floors a few floors above, waiting for you to get past the entryway before returning to her friends, at the cafeteria.

[noelxbe]

bexstevie

god, stevie hopes he doesn't. if things don't work at studio delta, then he's probably done after that; a third stint? he doesn't have it in him mentally to do it again. "never again a contestant. please-- we did our time." he says in a rush, making a motion of prayer. he's not sure if he'd join a show similar to next gen or not-- depending on the prize pool, maybe. "returning back as a coach would be cool. i like that they brought them back on this past season." it was nice to see familiar faces again. "really?" stevie blinks. he kinda knew that, even if he wasn't sure what applied where. he knew studio delta was more of a self-produced powerhouse, but he truthfully didn't pay too much attention; he just listened to what most people were saying online. "they're all pretty good at what they do though, no? must means whatever they got going down is working." "everytime i think i have it down, i mess it up." there's been so many instances of mess-ups because of his language barrier when he started working; to be honest, it's kinda given him a bit more of a push to try and learn more, but it's hard when there's so many other things he'd rather be doing. "i'm the same way dude. we should try learning together! or wait...do you think that might be a bad idea?" he laughs at the idea. they might get caught up chatting too much to actually get any real work done. "mine too! unless we're talking like...serious business. once they switch to english, i usually know i'm in for something." he rubs the back of his neck. "i prefer it, anyway. easier to get my thoughts out. you can always switch it to english with me, promise!"

“man i did it once and it felt like more than enough, you managed to survive through the show twice though…” noel truly finds stevie cool for being able to handle the show twice. had noel not gotten the contract the first time though, he might just have given up on the idol dream, so he was quite lucky he got that contract the first time he joined next gen. “i would say i would never return to a survival show again” he runs a hand through his hair “but if the prize was debut, i’m not sure what i’d do” he pouts, thinks about the possibility, he’s grown a lot since next gen, but he fears the evil editing would return if he ever joined a survival show.

“as far as my understanding goes, it seems like sr media, lime and studio delta are some of the biggest companies at the moment” that knowledge he got simply by his sister, he’d never investigated her words, simply chose to believe them. “so i suppose you’re lucky if you become a trainee in one of the companies” he shrugs “but they must know what they’re doing since they’re all big companies? i’m sure they all have different things that work out for them”.

“i’ve always been a quick learner, but when it comes to korean… not sure what happened, but i’m still not completely fluent” he sighs. “perhaps we should practice together, might not be the worst idea” he leans a bit back, “man i just finished school, and i’m still not done studying” a short laugh escapes his lips. “i don’t think us speaking english together will help with our korean, but… i just miss speaking english so bad” he pouts.

[ljbrary]

sometimes college students blow my mind because it’s just like. aren’t we all adults? aren’t we like fully grown people?

why are you leaving the communal spaces an absolute disaster??? i’m sure you have learned basic decency and cleaning skills, no? do i need to teach you how to hold a broom?

[gay-dorito-dust]

Imagine going on adventures with Logan and Deadpool and you’re the voice of reason behind them 😆 Deapool the idiot with hot headed Wolverine that reader has to keep in check all the time

It’s not easy being the only person with common sense in this rag tag trio of yours.

^^ this is literally you babysitting two grown ass men that need to be kept on leashes and separated from one another in case they fight, again.

You are overworked and underpaid to be dealing with this shit, but there was no one else who had the patience for Wade nor the compassion and empathy for Logan as you did.

So unfortunately you were stuck with them for every mission given but despite how vastly different and incompatible some of you were -*cough* Logan and Wade *cough*- you three worked well enough together that you were a force to be reckoned with.

You were forced to face situations where wade would be pissing Logan off to the point his claws were out, and you had to pat the rugged man on his shoulder, wait for him to look at you as you pointed towards his claws;

‘Them. Away. Now.’ -you.

Wolverine: *grunts*

You: don’t give me attitude, put. them. away. Now.

Wade: ohhh Logan’s in trouble!

You would then look at Wade before pointing at him like a disappointed parent: and you, stop pissing him off if you like to keep your dick where it is! Or so help god me I’ll cut it off myself!

Wade: 😶

Wolverine: *smirks and puts the claws away*

You were their voice of reason, their angel on their shoulder, their peace keeper and confidant and they respect you for keeping up with their shit. However it wouldn’t be much like Logan and Wade to make your life easy as you often had to stand between the two as a barrier of sorts to keep them from killing each other.

When in actuality they are flipping each other off behind your back and it wasn’t until Logan slapped wades hand away, causing him to say ‘ow’ did you look between the two of them as they acted like they weren’t acting like children a few moments ago.

You: I’m so sorry you’ll have to excuse them.

*Meanwhile Wade and Logan fighting, stabbing each other in the balls in the background*

You: WOULD YOU TWO STOP FUCKING FIGHTING FOR FIVE MINUTES!!!

Wade and Logan; *immediately stop and point at each other* he started it!

They were the reason you had grey hairs at an early age you swore this to anyone who’d listen. They were a pain in your ass, thorn in your side and a headache waiting to happen but the moment you were threatened, Wade and Logan put aside their differences and acted accordingly by standing protectively in front of you.

Logan: I would shut the fuck up if I were you bub.

Wade: oh look what you did, you made daddy angry.

Logan and you looking at Wade: 🤨😐

You: can you not make everything into a sex joke?

Wade, booping you on the nose; it comes with the territory peanut.

Logan: be serious for fucking once, they’ve just got threatened!

Wade: you don’t think I want our pookie to get hurt? (why do I think he’d say pookie unironically)

You: kill me now and end my misery. Please someone, anyone. Preferably pyro. (He’s hot, literally and figuratively)

Being stuck with Logan and wolverine is a curse and a blessing at the same time, which one you want to focus on more is up to you. However you three were incredibly loyal to each other, even if you do piss each other off from time to time, but you’d never betray one another for it wasn’t an option.

You were stuck with these two whether you liked it or not.

[lemonlover1110]

𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭

Toji Fushiguro

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Summary: You're too sweet to Megumi and it drives Toji insane.

Warnings: MDNI, Fluff, Smut, Oral Sex (f. receiving), Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Breeding Kink, Creampie, Gagging

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“Can we eat the cookies now?” Megumi looks up at you with hopeful eyes, and you smile at him before humming in response. Though Toji prohibited you from giving Megumi a cookie before dinner, you can’t say no to the sweet boy.

You think you’re being sneaky, watching out for Toji before giving him the cookie. Megumi’s eyes light up, and he snatches the treat from your hand. You ruffle his hair, a laugh leaving your lips before offering, “Do you want some milk too, honey?”

“Please.” He responds, and you can’t help but smile at him. If Toji were to catch you doing this to Megumi, he’d get so mad at you. You do understand, after all, you are breaking Toji’s rules.

You can’t help it though. Who wouldn’t be weak if the cutest little boy asked for cookies? Toji’s passed out on the couch anyway, it’s not like he’ll find out. It’ll look odd when Megumi barely touches his dinner, but lying is the easy part.

“You can’t tell your daddy, okay?” You tell Megumi, giving him the glass of milk that you offered. He nods in response, though it’ll definitely slip later. Megumi just has to eat the cookie fast enough before the old man wakes up–

Even though you haven’t heard him yet, he’s watching you. Toji has soft eyes as he sees you treat Megumi so sweetly, and how Megumi isn’t scared to ask anything from you. It’s partially because you spoil him, so maybe he shouldn’t be too surprised that Megumi goes to you for anything.

“Don’t tell me what?” He clears his throat, and your ears get hot, knowing that you’ve been caught red-handed. You hide your hands behind you as if you were a child, even when you have nothing in your hands to hide.

“Nothin’.” You try to play it off as if Megumi isn’t holding the cookie and a glass of milk. Toji rolls his eyes, going over to Megumi and taking the cookie from his hands. He shoves the cookie into his mouth, and it makes Megumi’s bottom lip quiver.

“I said no cookies before dinner.” Toji’s words are barely comprehensible since his mouth is full. Megumi lets out a cry, running to you and hugging you. He looks for comfort in you since his evil daddy stole his cookie and ate it.

You kneel down and hug Megumi, kissing the top of his head. Toji crosses his arms and rolls his eyes at the sight. His heart flutters though, and while he knows that he loves you and wants a future with you, right now he’s thinking he wants more. He has the want of something more, and he doesn’t want to wait until however soon the future is.

“I’ll give you two cookies after dinner, Megumi. Your dad is such a meanie.” Your hand runs up and down Megumi’s back, attempting to comfort him. Your words of reassurance help, 

“He’s getting no cookies, and you’re on timeout too.” He tells you after he swallows the food in his mouth, and you roll your eyes.

“Toji, I’m a grown woman.” You remind him, and he sticks his tongue out at you.

“No more cookies tonight, and that’s final.” Toji makes it clear before walking away, leaving you to soothe his crying boy.

What you don’t know is that Toji isn’t mad, he’s just thinking about how you make such a great mother… His thoughts embarrass him because they’re filthier than he’d like to admit.

After putting Megumi to bed, Toji claims that he’s going to have a serious conversation with you. You’re reasonably scared at what he has to say, knowing that you’ve overstepped your boundaries. It takes you by surprise that when you get to the bedroom he locks the door before he engulfs you with kisses.

Is this the punishment Toji was talking about?

Before you know it, Toji is between your legs. His tongue runs through your folds while he pumps two fingers into your cunt. You’re biting down your lip as Toji makes you feel so good. You have to be especially quiet tonight, but you know he’s going to make the task unnecessarily difficult.

His tongue begins to flick your clit, and your chest gets heavier and heavier with every breath you take. The effect he has on you is pathetic, though you certainly don’t mind when he makes you feel like you’re on cloud nine.

“Toji…” You’re as quiet as you can be when he curves his fingers so they hit just the spot. Your lips are parted as the lowest moans leave your lips. He’s doing everything in his power to turn you into putty. “It’s so good, Toji. Fuck–”

Your thighs are squeezing his head, getting too lost in your own pleasure to care. Toji doesn’t care too much either; if this is the way that Toji dies, then he sure was a happy man during his lifetime. This is the way he wants to go, after eating his favorite meal one last time.

You’d think that after breaking his rules Toji would be mad, but this is the way he punishes you? You’re almost seeing white as pleasure consumes your body, if this is the way that Toji is going to treat you when you go against his wishes then you’ll misbehave more often.

You’re moaning his name, getting louder by the second. It’s such a sweet sound to his ears, but he can’t risk you being too loud. He takes his fingers out, flicking your clit a couple of times before rising from between your legs. There’s a taunting smirk on his lips when he stands up from the floor.

“My sweet baby, you can’t be too loud.” He warns you, his hand going under your chin and lifting your face so you have to look up at him. You bite down your lip as you nod in response. You watch him take off his shirt and pants before reaching into his drawer for the bottle of lube. 

He grabs your legs, putting them over his shoulders before coating his cock with lube. He kisses your ankle as he slowly strokes his cock, making sure to tell you, “You’re so perfect, baby.”

“I need you so bad, Toji.” You sound needy. Your pussy is clenching over nothing, needing him inside of you badly. You have no idea what came over him all of a sudden, dragging you into the bedroom and putting you on the bed– You just know that you love this.

“Beg for it, baby. Use your voice.” Toji tells you, and you roll your eyes. He’s so complicated sometimes, but you’ll give in.

“Please give me your cock, Toji. Fill me up, please please please.” You’re whiny, making sure he hears what he wants to hear. He can’t help but chuckle as he runs the tip of his cock through your folds.

“I’m gonna put it in then, is that okay, baby?” He says as he pushes the tip of his cock into you. He stretches you out, and gives you a moment to adjust when he bottoms out. His hands are holding onto your thighs, nails digging into the supple skin as he praises you, “You feel so good around me, baby.”

“Can you move, Toji?” You have to ask him, and he begins to thrust. His movements start off slow, but they’re enough to leave you breathless.

Toji is utterly in love with the sight in front of him, something which confirms his earlier thoughts. Everything you do drives him insane, even when you’re just mindlessly moaning in his bed– In your defense, you’re doing a little bit more than that. He’s groaning with the way that your pussy wraps around his cock. No matter how many times he fucks you, he’ll never get bored of the feeling. 

Two of his fingers go into your mouth, reaching far back and making you gag. He reprimands you, “I told you not to be too loud.”

His other hand goes to play with your clit, and he senses just how good that makes you feel. It’s a good thing his fingers stop you from being too loud, he doesn’t need a brat coming in and ruining his fun. Though he does say, “You want me to make you a mama?”

Your eyes go wide but you clench around him, which is all the answer he needs. “I’ll give you one of your own, baby. Don’t you wanna have my baby?”

You shut your eyes, and hum in response to his question. You should not be even more turned on by his proposal. Megumi is more than enough right at this moment, but just the thought of having his baby drives you wild. 

“I’ll give you your own, baby. I’ll get you pregnant.” Toji watches as pleasure consumes you and you reach your climax. He takes his fingers out of your mouth, grabbing your hand and putting it in place of his fingers. 

He picks up more speed, the idea of knocking you up driving him insane as well. He’s been thinking about it all night, you’d just make the sweetest mother to his kids. It’s not just sex talk, Toji is dead serious about this.

“Gonna come inside, okay? I’m gonna fill you up.” He tells you as his movements become sloppy. You’re frantically nodding, nearly coming again at the mere thought of him stuffing you with his cum. 

He groans, throwing his head back as he cums inside of you. When he pulls out, Toji lays down next to you. With heavy breathing, two fingers go down to your cunt, pushing his cum back into you.

“You’re actually serious?” You ask him, and he hums in response. You grab his hand and bring his fingers to your lips, rolling your tongue around them. A string of saliva connects your lips with his fingers when you pull them out of your mouth. You proceed to kiss his lips before telling him, “That won’t help.”

“Doesn’t hurt to try.” He responds, and you chuckle.

“What came over you, anyway?” You question, and a smirk comes to his lips. He shakes his head, refusing to tell you.

He won’t let you know that seeing how great you are with kids, specifically with Megumi, makes him want to get you pregnant.

[palmerzy]

NSFW! - incl. themes of nursing

spencer reid’s infatuation with breasts needs to be studied, and there’s no better candidate than the person with his favourite pair - you.

it starts off innocent, falling asleep with one another, bare, in a mess of tangled sheets after a particularly draining session. spencer’s head is atop your chest, nose nuzzled perfectly against the underside of your breast so he’s still able to inhale your scent. it grows to be not enough, and his sleep-riddled body loses any sense of dignity, his lips lazily wrapping around your nipple as he suckles and suckles, the sensation helping his slumber deepen. it’s his soft mewling which stirs you from your own sleep, groggily wiping at your eyes to make sure you’re seeing this right. and you are. he’s out like a light, mouth open against your nub and drool pooling onto the skin, his tongue occasionally flicking out for a taste.

when you gently alert him and rouse him from his sleep, he’s a blubbering mess of wide eyes and rosy cheeks, desperately trying to justify himself. evidently, by the way this behaviour persists in his sleep almost every single time he falls asleep above you, he’s not quite embarrassed enough to stop.

it gets to the point where you simply just ask spencer if he’d like to do it when he’s awake. get it over with as you’re heading to bed, rather than having the both of you awaken to a surprise. his brows shoot up and he thinks you’re joking, looking entirely exasperated. ‘what?’ ‘are- are you serious?’ ‘don’t you think it’s weird?’ he’d repeat over and over, calmed by your reassurance. ‘just when we’re sleeping,’ you say.

that doesn’t last very long. not long at all. you start to realise just how appealing it is having spencer’s lips tightly wound around your nipple, suckling as if they literally leak some kind of magical comforting essence into his mouth - which, obviously, they don’t. it’s a little entertaining to see a grown man so desperate to latch on, guiding your hands into his hair as he whimpers and whines, his noises dying down and his tongue stilling only once he’s drifted off to sleep.

and then it’s no longer limited to the bed, in the early hours of the morning. a case unsettles him, deeply, and he’s practically begging you as you sit on the couch to just let him have a taste whilst you watch tv. ‘just for five minutes’. he promises. you give in, because how couldn’t you give in to those big brown eyes, so desperate for the comfort and nurture of your body? with haste, it becomes routine for his lips to be attached to your breast any time he feels a rush of desperation to be cared for.

most of the time he lays on top of you, your shirt pulled just below one boob, his mouth perfectly wrapped around it, his tongue occasionally swirling the bud. other times, you’re straddling his lap, and he can’t get enough of having his face buried between the valley of your breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth like a puppy, needing it to survive. of course, there are a few times where he drags you into a storage cupboard at the BAU headquarters, begging you to help him out. ‘just a quick taste, please?’ ‘i’m just- i miss you,’ ‘it’s been a week,’ he’d whine, scratching at the back of his neck and pushing his glasses up his nose, ever so awkward, even as he literally pleads his partner to let him nurse on them at work.

once he gets a taste, spencer reid can’t get enough. having your nipple in his mouth is almost as good as having his head between your thighs, and he humbly decides he loves those two things the most in his life. you know he’s heavily anticipating for when you swell with his child, and your breasts engorge with nectar.

[cryptfile]

✶ nuclear seasons, [ soldier boy x reader ]

summary — he was friend’s with your mom. friend is a understatement cause when he appears in the middle of the night looking for revenge in your little apartment in the suburbs, you know he’s far from being nice.

warnings — +18 minors dni, smut, dead dove do not eat, we have a last name (also a mother!), kind of porn without plot? but not really cause it HAS one okay, we call it 50/50, fem!reader using she/her pronouns, p in v, masturbation ( m! receiving but blink and you miss it), dirty talk, age gap, choking, degradation, spitting (i'm sorry), fingering, mentions of injury, cancer (not you tho), tons of tension.

side notes — i’m never experiencing the post ovulation clarity lmao, that being said english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes, also i’m a whore for jensen ackles, and i stand for what i like proudly. // 5k+

Nightshade is a hero.

You're proud of your mother since you were pretty young. The hero that fought against Vought to death during the time Payback was active, America’s Troublemaker that you only knew as Stella Nightshade, a blonde woman that talked with the death during her golden years.

Maybe it’s your mother the one that pushed you to fight crime, to pursue the bad guys and look out for the victims that can’t stand for themselves, so even when you don’t inherit much from Stella’s gifts, you joined the CIA as soon as you can so you can do something that matters.

You’re the best in your class, work your ass off to be taken serious, to be more than the look of disappointment you receive when people ask, once again, if you have any powers like your mother and you have to admit — In pure shame, that you didn’t born as a superhero but a baby who cried loudly when is too hungry.

But as years pass you make a name for yourself, one that even if differs from Stella’s job has the same noble reasons behind. You also realize you were too naive growing up, believing in heroes that don’t deserve to be called that way.

The country has made a mistake on making superhumans so openly, and it’s clear that got out of control now, backfiring as they got so much power it’s almost impossible to take accountant of any of them.

You’ve worked along Grace Mallory from the shadows, and even when Stella would not be so proud of you for helping get his kind out of the streets, the justice is enough to feed you and keep you warm on a cold night.

You like it that way. You know Grace has a team for it, a legal army of supe-haters as you called them, yet, you prefer to stay in the dark, not let your personal life get involved cause one slip and you can lose it all— Even when you don’t have nothing at all. You like to have an outside life from work, it’s the sane thing to have, so when the CIA Deputy Director asks you about joining the infamous Boys, you politely decline assuring the woman you’ve been more helpful from the outside.

What would Stella Nightshade would say? Now that you’ve grown older and you don’t look at her the same way you used to when you encounter her files and read about your mother. You know she has done wrong, yet with the years, you don't imagine Soldier Boy himself was going to seek for revenge first thing he does when he wakes up, his plan including your mother even when she was long time dead before he even appeared in the picture.

That night especially you let your guard down. It's been a rough couple of weeks back in work, so when the night comes you're a victim of the stress, victim of your bosses and the people that surrounded you. You pour a glass of wine for yourself, light a cigarette even when you haven't smoked in years, and turn on the TV to see something else rather than the face of Homelander in every single channel you've been tuning lately.

It's a weapon. When you leave for a warm shower and start filling the bathtub, you're not aware of what that night was really going to be for you. Oblivious as you stand naked in the middle of the bathroom, holding the glass of wine between your fingers before entering the warm current that relaxed your muscles.

It seems tension is your worst enemy, makes your muscles feel like stone as you got in the water, the cigarette that hangs from your dry lips splashing with tiny droplets of perfumed water as the silence filled the air. It's what you needed, at least ten minutes with your brain shutting off completely, the pleasure you haven't experienced in forever by being so compromised with work.

It's a much-needed break. The smoke that leaves the room by the almost-closed window, the taste of wine still lingering in your lips as you sip another taste of the crimson liquor you love. You don't happen to notice when he's breaking in your apartment, silent and deadly as you were protected by a door closed and a white curtain.

You don't happen to hear him too. The music coming our from your phone is loud enough to silence the knocks on your door at first before breaking the wood, you're too deep in the still water that smelled like roses and vanilla, to even pay attention to what was going on outside the warmth of the four walls that surrounded you.

There's vapor coming out of the water and you find comfort in closing your eyes, in letting the blow of the smoke travel through your throat before suspending itself in the air, flowing as you drank.

In your defense, you haven't been like that in ages.

It's been a long time since you last fill the tub and have a relaxing session with yourself, so it makes sense you are enjoying it a little bit too much, too much cause when the invader is making a lot of noise when stepping into your property, you still enjoy the taste of the alcohol on your lips.

The ashes fall to the ceramic floor outside the tub and you should blame the CIA to make you so tense to the point it leads you to more problems than you ever had. In the dark room of your apartment, it's Soldier Boy the one who's going through any drawer he comes across, the ones closed, the ones hidden, any slit he can find, any clue that can trace your mother back to his personal vendetta.

He's oblivious to Stella's death and her daughter, so when the former superhero hears the noise in the bathroom he's fully convinced it's your mother the one who's behind that door, that she's the one who's going to tell him the truth, if she also sold him to the russians as well in the process.

He's decided also on killing her. She must need it after all that time getting older, closer to death more than ever.

Of course it's an unpleasant surprise when you can see the bathroom door opening when you're sure you left the front door closed and lock with at least two bolts to prevent anyone from getting inside, it makes you jump in the spot, quickly covering yourself from the new stranger that enters your bathroom.

"Stella?" he asks, it's the last room that the hero needs to check for himself.

You spot the green fabric of his suit immediately as you pressed your chest against the cold surface of the tub, and when the invader notices you're naked, he doesn't look away as any person with a hint of respect would do, but instead, continue on checking you out as you try to cover yourself in the water tinted in a nonexistent transparent color red.

You can feel his gaze as soon as you recognize him too, as you happen to notice that face from your mother's pictures, the propaganda in the TV when he did almost every commercial back when you were a kid. It's a shock, and dressed in his damn suit, you don't know why an old superhero is there standing beneath the yellowish bulbs of the light your bathroom happens to have.

Your cheeks adopt this pink color as you panic, grabbing the cup of wine to throw the liquid in the floor, breaking it against the marble walls just to shatter the glass in pieces, a weapon of defense as you lifted up against him.

"You're not Stella."

Soldier Boy looks amused: it's funny that you think you'd be able to kill him with shattered glass, yet he lets you keep thinking that way when he's enjoying the view.

Is he to blame? He just got out from this giant cooking oven back with the communists and he hasn't got his way with a lady since what seems are centuries, so when he spots you in the tub he simply cannot contain himself from peaking around. You should be in what? Not more than your 20's? Soft-looking skin that asked to be marked with his hands, by the force of his lips crashing in your flesh.

The thought is compelling, you're looking all feisty with the glass in your hand, threatening him and speaking something Soldier Boy cannot catch at first — Shit, he doesn't even notice the blood in your hand that's dripping all over your small rug in the floor, the power women like yourself seemed to have now and weirdly enough, a huge turn on.

"Get the fuck out!" you scream in an authority voice, the same you use back at work when you're mad, when you're usually holding a gun in defense more than a piece of broken glass "Stella is not fucking here!"

It takes a few more words to actually get him out of there, and as he closes the door behind him you finally stand to grab a towel covering from the currents of wind, trying, really hard, to think about anything else more that the fact that Soldier Boy has entered your house and your bathroom in the worst moment, far from what you were last updated with.

To be honest, it almost gave you a heart attack, leaving the bathroom to find your home torn apart, the drawers open and all the papers you've meticulously kept in place being all over the place as Ben stands awkwardly holding a shield in the middle of your living room.

"Fucking hell" you're cursing under your breath as you gathered some important things you cannot leave on the floor even when you're still wet from the shower, expelling this nice aroma that mixed the roses and the vanilla together with your personal scent — Weirdly enough, a fucking show to the hero that's already rock-hard from the peak he had of you from before.

You don't really notice it at first, too busy being mad as you let the papers you gathered on top of the table. You lose the shame you got left as the wet drops of the shower leave a trace in the floor — And as usual, you clearly don't notice it, but Ben does when the water is running down your back, and you're barking something about calling someone called Grace, holding onto a white tower with your dear life.

"Where is Stella Nightshade, sweetheart?" he speaks out loud cause he don't understand anything you say, really fighting to be nice with you like it would give him an opportunity to get under your skin.

"My mother's dead," you stand there without knowing what to say after. You know he and your mother were close, but you don't imagine he was going to actually go find her teammate when he recently woke up in a different country. "She died years ago dude, i'm sorry."

The information gathers in his head as you take a clean oversized shirt from the laundry basket covering with it as you throw the towel to the floor, Red Hot Chili Peppers it says, but he thinks it's a place in Italy more than a band like he isn't troubled already by the fact you were Stella's daughter, the person who thought was her only friend back in the time now dead.

"Does anyone know you're here?" your mind is drifting back to work again as you wondered if anyone knew he was going to break into your apartment and choose not to send any help — "Ben."

You've read his file. Hell, to be honest you've read every single file in Payback, so it's no surprise you know his name, but to the hero, it seems to be amusing when you call him by his real name, his mind fueled in a different direction as he notices you're not wearing any underwear beneath the shirt you're choosing to wear, one whose fabric's barely covering your tights.

"What do you mean dead?" he asks, furrowing his brows "It's not been so long."

"She got cancer three years ago" you explain with a sad tone, even when you disagree with Stella, it pains you to remember what sickness made out of her, consuming her from the inside at a cruel pace.

"Motherfucker," he states clearly angry, and you cannot help but look at him with a weird face, searching for the phone you left in the sofa to call any-fucking-body in the office that could send a damn army to get you: Didn't the Boys have everything under control? That's what you're told anyway, then why the fuck is the subject of matter cursing in your little messy apartment? — "Bitch just got away with it before I could do anything, isn't it? What a fucking shame."

"Pardon me?" it catches you by surprise at first, but it hits you soon after. Soldier Boy is not there to say hello to your mother or ask for her help, but instead, he's there to get revenge and actually kill Stella by his own matters.

Fuck. Of course is something new, something that makes you feel cold all sudden, your wet hair making you visible shake as you became aware of his plans.

"You know them. You know the people from the lab" it's more of a fact than a question, letting the words feel salty in his own mouth. "The ones that let me get away."

He's quickly to gather the pieces too, not as dumb as you think he is as the puzzle is finally coming up together in his head, and it's all it takes for him to take a step closer to you, cutting that space you've created since you kicked him out of the bathroom — He's angry now.

The red globe on his hand is now holding you by the throat, applying enough pressure to cut the air flow going to your lungs almost completely, his fingertips warm against your bare skin as he holds you in front of his figure, pushing you against the cold wall.

You usually would enjoy such activities, yet in the context you are trapped in right now, you began to choke, your own hands trying to push his grip back even when he’s too strong, not even flinching when you’re squirming, gasping for some air as your face became red, tears gathering in your eyes as he let you breathe for a couple of seconds when he senses you’re too close to black out.

“Talk little Nightshade” he says in a low voice. “Or else i’m breaking your pretty neck.”

“I work for the CIA!” You explain quickly as your breathing became more labored by the seconds. “Not for the people who let you out! I promise!”

He’s going to kill you. You can see the determination in his eyes, that predator look he happens to have.

What you don’t know, somehow, is that he’s going fucking insane. Your smell coming up to his nose to make him shiver, the sight of you in an oversized shirt that barely covers your shape is more than enough to push his buttons, to make him forgot about any killing he was allegedly so concentrated in fulfill, the sight of you almost crying messing with his brain.

Little Nightshade is a fucking tease.

His eyes follow your expression, the hand that gripped your neck and choke you harshly now pressing enough to only suppress the air flow in a more enjoyable way, the tension quickly shifting from dying to pleasure all over again as he kept you in place so easily.

It’s impossible to move, to do anything more than be pressed against a cold wall. Your mother has once again lied to you and you notice the relationship she painted with Soldier Boy was more of a movie in her head than reality itself. Makes you gulp in response when you stare at his expression, the face of a trained killer as you knew, fucking knew, a bit more of force in your neck and it would snap without any difficulty.

“I don’t work with them” you assure once again, maybe it’s your survivor skills hitting when you repeat it in a low voice, catching on your breath when he lets go allowing you to fill your lungs with air just enough before pressing that very spot again, the one that actually turns you on. “Fuck’s sake.”

Is that how you end? On your lame apartment?

The next is a weird thing, cause in the blink of an eye he’s close to your face planting his own body next to yours and you’re shivering at the feeling, his armor pressed against your chest as he left the shield he was holding on the floor.

The metal is pressed against your skin covered by the thin cotton of Red Hot Chili Peppers shirt, and he is so close, so close you froze there, no longer fighting his tight grip but mesmerized by his damn face, the same you watched on TV when you were a kid, the handsome man you happen to severely crush on in secret, just because you don’t want Stella to know or she will give you a long talk about how he is her age.

But he is, handsome as fuck, and now being so close to his face you can say it with all confidence. His beard is shaved perfectly and he smells incredibly good even for someone who has spent time locked away without any kind of hygiene, his green suit protecting him from the cold air that was getting through the opened window.

“Who are you?” he asks, scanning your face with a curious look as he wanted to know what expression you would have when you know why he's there in the first place — “What do you know about Stella Nightshade, your mother, selling me out?”

Fuck. So that's why he's there. You know she did it. And it's impossible for you to lie when he's making you so nervous, away from any weapon, any form of defense as you left the glass in the bathroom sink when you notice large gash on your hand, and your silence makes nothing more than leave him fuming. If he was angry before, he now reaches a higher level as his grip turns more violent now that he knows you know what he meant, why he's there claiming to talk with your death mother out of nothing.

"Call her then. Use your powers" he demands dryly, and you're shaking at this point cause it's more shame added to the long pile, the bathroom already being a humiliation by itself. "Fucking call her."

You squirm beneath his grabbing, when he's pushing you harder against the concrete wall and you can just feel him from under the suit, hard cock pressing against your belly, green in your vision as he towers over you. He knows what he's doing, and even when you try to be disgusted by it, you find yourself enjoying his closeness, how he's pinning you with no effort at all, hands on your throat while he demanded an answer.

"I can't call her" you admit in a low voice, cheeks now red as the embarrassment crept upon your face — "I don't have my mother's power."

Soldier Boy seems to not believe you for a mere second, after that you can feel the blade of the knife pressing against your skin, a threat that now becomes more real as you can feel the cold metal stomach. One swift movement and you'd be stabbed without a second thought.

It's sick how much you enjoy it when you are squirming against him, goosebumps in the zone he threats to destroy.

A force pull his lips upwards in a smile, unable to pay attention to nothing else but the sound you made without even realizing it. "You like that, huh little Nightshade?"

It seems to be a joke for him, bitting your inner cheek to prevent you from saying something stupid, from letting out a moan in response to all the sudden desire.

Despite all conditions you stay silent, holding his gaze like it's a game you're not going to lose. He didn't respond either, trapped in a second that seemed longer than the usual when time stopped around you, eyes looking like he can surpass the old fabric of the white shirt you choose to wear.

It's the tension what makes you mad. You're so into getting people like him, that your ego is bruised now that you notice you are actually attracted to all of that, to the way he's pressing you against the concrete, how all falls into place when he's pushing himself against you, invading any private space you could require.

He's kissing you soon after. Ben crumbles against the tension as the hand on your throat demands a kiss now, pulling you closer to his face without any warning nor concern as he crash his lips against yours in a rough kiss. You try to push him away in response even when you don't want to; see, it's hard to even admit you have interest in Soldier Boy in any other way more than the professional, but when he's bitting your lower lip you're letting your defense down: When is the last time you've been kissed like that?

You remind yourself you're tired from work, that the CIA has done nothing for you more than fuck your over and over even to this point, losing sight of one of the most important heroes of the word, and it's making you encourage to let go just for a mere hour.

"Lookin' so good takin' a bath" he says, and the sound of his deep voice is enough to send an electric wave through your spine, like he’s talking to himself as the hand on your hip is now tracing the curves of your body, taunting you from over the shirt he now learns to love. His beard is now scraping against your skin and you can feel his lips going down, tracing an invisible path to the crook of your neck as his hand is no longer choking you.

Jesus. Was that even happening or was that your imagination? Did you feel asleep on the bathtub? Maybe it’s a reflection as you are close to drowning, your brain doing that happy thoughts shit. You’re tilting your head to the side just to give him more space to work with and you’re just letting it be, enjoying how he’s sucking and nibling on your skin to leave a red mark behind, all teeth and no fucking control as he uses a good amount of force to make you moan in the process, the pain enough to remember who’s really on charge.

Ben forgets about asking any more questions, he’s too busy when his hand are taking decisions by themselves as they slide under your shirt, body still cold from the bath you just took, water still drying in your flesh when he’s like he usually is — An invader.

His hands are big and they’re capable of holding your whole tummy as he caress the soft skin that seems to expel a warm sensation, how it leaves goosebumps in any place he touches. You remember you’re basically at his mercy now that his hands roam with all liberty under your shirt, the look he gave you in the bathroom mistaken you for Stella, his eyes looking at any exposed skin he could look at.

“What the fuck,” you try to say under your breath, to keep on this facade you have of a composed person, one that won’t give in to be manhandled “What the fuck do you think you are you doing?”

“Well, i’m not seeing any complains” The blade cuts through the cotton leaving a large hole you know you won’t be able to sew after yet he’s right: There are no complains, nothing but eager that makes him go further as the seconds passed “In fact, can see that you’re pretty much enjoying it, Doll.”

You hate the nickname, that old man way of speaking when he’s squeezing one of your breasts with more force you can even handle, cursing at how easy it seems to be for him, how he wants to see you simply destroyed.

“You’re loving this isn’t?” he ask all sudden, studying you with his hazel eyes — “You love being a good whore f’me? My little Nightshade.”

He’s hard under the suit, covered in a green material you don’t know how to call as your hand searches for him, crave for him, convincing that it's what you must do as you trace the invisible lines his muscles made.

Soldier Boy’s messy, much like an animal when he’s groaning beneath your touch, his own body seeking for yours as your fingers grew bolder, demanding for a deeper contact — “Careful there sweetheart, i’m still fresh out of the oven. May be a little rusty."

You laugh at his words cause you know what he means, yet your hands work by themselves as you barely even touch him from over the suit, the hard feeling of his cock against your palm, hips buckling against your hand seconds after seeking for you, eyes shut for a couple of seconds.

“M’being careful” you say, catching yourself stealing a look at his reaction, taking your time on pleasuring him , gulping as he experiences the torture of your touch “Taking it slow for an old man.”

“Old man, huh? Now you're talking” He teases, and the sound of his laugh just fucks you up. Maybe it has to be with the fact he’s placing two fingers in front of your lips while looking at you, swollen pink lips he’s so fixated for a second, or it’s because he is, indeed, way older than you are — “Spit.”

It’s not a command, but it sounds like one as you’re unable to disobey, quickly spitting in his hand as you can visibly see the traces of saliva leaving a wet residue in your chin, one Ben looks at it for a good amount of time: How is something like saliva is so damn erotic? He doesn’t know it, but it’s enough to send him into a spiral.

He’s strong you think, cause he’s a superhero. He’s Soldier Boy by any meaning, so it’s not a big effort to hold you in his arms and lift you in the air as you let out a gasp of surprise, spanking your ass as one of his hands separates your legs for him, holding one up as you stand in the other.

“Relax, 'got you, doll” he says, your back against the wall as he kept a bruising grip in your hip, holding you in place so you don’t have to keep your balance — “Fuck you smell so damn good.”

The roses and vanilla aroma lingers on your skin as you finally understand what he's doing now, his hand close to your cunt as he taunts you, torturing you like you did so eagerly before, his personal pet as his digits get lost in your entrance now, your folds spilled with juice he can physically feel in his fingertips, your arousal's so nice against the palm of his hand he cannot help but kiss you, a feverish desire taking over his actions, the lewd sound his fingers made when he finally pushes his digits inside of you, velvety walls welcoming him as they seemed to squeeze him already — He has made such a good job on turning you on, it’s impossible to not react when he’s finally touching you, pumping into you in a constant pace.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he says, the look on your face is enough to make his cock twitch in his pants in response, imagination running wild as he thinks about that very same feeling in a much deeper way, how you’d look now stretched out, crying just like you did when he choked you asking for information — “Such a nice cunt, so wet f’me.”

He's looking at you, holding the image in his mind forever: Pink pussy displayed for him, white t-shirt rising over your chest, lifting your leg over his arm as his muscles flexed by the force he's using to fuck you deliberately, your lips parted as you ask for more in between erratic moans as his fingers curved inside you so he can hit that nice place he can reach with no effort at all, that one spot thats makes you moan louder.

"Ah-fuck" you let out. Ben's all about touching you for what it seems an eternity, thumb grazing against your clit when he's plainly torturing you, testing how much patience you have left now that he has full control of you.

"Don't cum," he demands, your heartbeats are louder by the seconds as he lifts you slightly, lips attacking your neck before the words escape from his mouth "Need you to come undone in my cock first."

He's leaving marks, marks you don't remember how to hide but don't bother you at all, touching you as he pleases you, taking all the time in the world cause it seems like the night belongs to him — Getting started as you shake your head in an improvised yes.

Yes. The thought is pure electricity, the sudden need to please him as you shake your head once again.

“Please Ben,” you don’t recognize what you’ve become now. “Please let me cum in your cock.”

"Go on doll, put on a show f'me" the supe says with a grin you cannot resist. "Bend and show me that lovely ass."

It’s all it takes. His fingers are now away from you, but you’re now facing the wall as you obey, bending until your cheek is pressed against the concrete and you can hear how he’s now unzipping his pants, the green fabric of his suit now to the side.

You look at him from over your shoulder, bitting the your lower lip as you check him out, his slightly curved dick pointing upwards, precum already leaking out.

“Like what you’re seeing or what?”

“Yeah, but there’s no fucking way.”

You’re feeding on his ego now, but you can’t help it when his size is far from what you consider it’s common — “Common’ doll. You can hadle it.”

You gulp in response cause you know you’re more than eager to try, just the sight of his own hand holding his lenght as he strokes himself making you drool in response. Fuck. It transforms in a need now. When he positions himself beneath you and he’s spitting down to that very place where he’s pushing against your hole, saliva coating his cock before just letting the tip inside.

Lubricated, he pushes a bit more and it feels just damn right. Even when it begans to hurt as he’s thick enough to force himself inside you.

Benjamin knows you’re in pain so he waits a second before shoving his cock inside one more time. You need some time as he stretches you out, clenching your teeth while he works.

"You're doing it s'good" he praises, hand massaging your back as he prevents himself from fucking you at his liking, “Takin' me like a champ."

"God" you let out a sharp moan moments after, crying when you felt the pain more than anything else — "Can't-"

"No doll" he hums as he pulls slightly more. “You can do this” he forces himself in until he's finally balls deep inside your cunt, letting you adjust to his size as he can feel fucking everything. Your blood flow, your velvety walls that squeeze him unused to someone as big as he was, your face distorted in what seems an intense mix of pain and pure, devastating pleasure — "Atta girl."

Strikes like lighting.

Soldier Boy's bitting your shoulder-blade as he waits, waits for it to switch into pleasure, to become intoxicating to the point you cannot longer remember your own name.

"Please move," you ask sooner than he thinks, and when he moves, you can feel it in your belly, melting your fucking brain as he repeated the process again, burying his cock as deep as he could go without any previous warning — "Ah, just like that, please-"

"Do you like how my cock is stretching you out now?" Ben's voice is way deeper than what usually is as he laughs, grunting behind you as one of his hands reach a fistful of your hair, grabbing it with force to pull your head backwards "Good girl, keep huggin' my cock."

You're drunk on the feeling, on the vibrations his voice sends every time he's saying something dirty for you, when he laughs victim of the pleasure.

"Gonna' keep you as my personal slut," he thinks out loud, pushing you against the wall every time he fucks you, using his other hand to spread one of your ass cheeks to the side so he can hit it harder. "Use you as my fucking pet so I can cum on your pretty face whenever I want."

He's moaning, your body’s sweaty as he pulls your hair without caring, not concentrated on the pain it produces as his hips continue on collide against you.

"Would you like that, little Nightshade?" he asks then in a low voice, his thumb pressing against your asshole as he fucks you harder now that you're used to his size. "Could get used to this pretty cunt. Promise to keep my cock whore nice and full."

It doesn't take long. Soldier Boy's moans are now filling the room as his pace becomes faster, slurred words between his erratic breathing when the hand on your hair comes up to finally grab you by the neck, like he can read your mind cause it's exactly what you need to get there, to experience by first hand a set of crashing waves that were getting more and more intense on your stomach.

You're close to the edge. He can smell it in the air when the sound of your skin slapping against his is loud enough to be all you can hear, mixing with the lovely moans you produce when he’s pounding into you with no mercy, fingers pressing the side of your neck with enough force you’re running out of breathe.

It’s messy, violent and you love it, love how he’s ruining you all sudden, fucking you up from the inside, making your vision turning dizzy in response. You’re immersed in the haze he’s driven you into before admiting:

“God i’m so fucking close.”

“Cum on my cock,” it sounds like he’s begging you to do it, fingers finding their way to your swollen clit to move against the sensitive flesh “Come on doll, leave me full of you.”

He’s making you move now, hands now controlling your hips as you take him as his liking, mere seconds until you’re finally crumbling, violently shaking as you finally reach your peak. He keeps on fucking you through your high, long enough so he’s pulling out all of sudden, stroking his lenght over you as his cum finally lands on your back leaving you convered with his load.

Fucking hell.

When you’re coming down from your orgasm shame seems to hit you hard, however for Ben is not enough when he’s kneeling on the floor, eyes on the mess his cock made out of you.

“Wanna go again, little Nightshade?” he asks curiously, and the question makes you laugh in response, forgetting about formalities and the trouble it meant you were intimate with Soldier Boy out of all the supes in the world.

“Hm,” you seem to think about it for a second, his breathing close to your wet pussy as he’s still wearing his clothes in contrast of you being so exposed — “But you’re keeping the suit on.”

He don’t have any complains when he’s the one pressing his face against your wet folds.

Funny thing is now when you’re forced to join the Boys days after that very encounter — A bad joke when you’re now babysitting Soldier Boy himself.

“Been missing you s’much little Nightshade” he admits after a couple of minutes alone in the filthy motel “Thinking about how cute you are, how you felt taking my cock so nicely in your living room.”

“Fuck off, Ben.”

“We’ll be quick” he promises “That stupid assholes back there wont even notice.”

You seem to think about it for a second before lifting your middle finger in response — “I said fuck off, Ben.”

For now, it’s enough for him that you’re thinking about it.

my masterlist

[jaysng]

sulking when he has to leave for work | park sunghoon

pairing: nonidol!husband!sunghoon x pregnant!reader

genre: fluff

summary: pregnant reader feeling overwhelmed, asks sunghoon to stay. he reassures her with love and comfort, promising he’s always with her.

you wake up to a familiar dull ache in your back, the kind you’ve grown used to during your pregnancy. you groan softly, shifting to try and find some relief, but nothing helps. no matter how you twist and turn, everything feels uncomfortable these days.

sunghoon is still asleep beside you, his arm resting protectively over your waist. you glance over at him, taking in the peaceful expression on his face. his lips are slightly parted, his soft breathing mixing with the early morning stillness. despite how frustrated you are with your own discomfort, seeing him like this makes you feel a little better.

you snuggle closer to him, craving the warmth of his body, wishing you could stay wrapped in this moment forever. lately, everything has felt so overwhelming—the aches, the exhaustion, the constant emotional rollercoaster. but in these quiet moments with him, you feel grounded.

as you trace his jawline with your fingers, his alarm suddenly goes off. you freeze, instantly dreading what’s coming next. you know he’s going to have to leave for work soon, and just the thought of it makes your chest tighten with sadness.

sunghoon groans softly, reaching over to turn off the alarm. he shifts to sit up, but you quickly tighten your grip on his arm, refusing to let him go. “no,” you mumble into your pillow, your voice muffled but full of stubbornness.

he glances down at you, his sleepy eyes softening when he sees your pout. “baby, i’ve got to get up,” he says quietly, though there’s a playful edge to his voice as he leans down to kiss your temple.

you turn your face away, sulking even harder. “i don’t care. stay. i need you here.”

he chuckles softly, amused by your sudden clinginess, but there’s a tender look in his eyes as he lies back down beside you. “you’re being extra cute today, huh?” he teases, but his arm slides back around your waist, pulling you close again.

“i’m serious,” you whine, nuzzling your face into his chest. “i don’t want to be alone today. it’s hard when you’re not here…”

his smile fades into something more serious as he looks at you, his fingers brushing your hair away from your face. “i know it’s been tough, love,” he murmurs, his voice full of understanding. “but i’ll be back before you know it. and when i am, i’m all yours, okay?”

“that’s not enough,” you grumble, though you can’t help but melt a little at the way he’s holding you. “i want you here now.”

sunghoon sighs softly, a mix of affection and exasperation in his voice. “you’re really not going to let me leave, are you?”

you shake your head, holding on to him tighter. “nope.”

he smirks, clearly amused by your persistence. “fine, fine… i’ll stay a little longer.” his tone is teasing, but you can tell by the way he wraps both arms around you that he means it.

you relax against him, a content smile spreading across your face as you rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. his hand moves gently to your belly, rubbing slow, soothing circles over your bump, and you sigh in relief as the tension starts to fade from your body.

“i love you,” you whisper, feeling the words spill out without hesitation.

sunghoon’s hand stills for a moment before he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “i love you too,” he murmurs, his voice low and serious. “so much.”

you close your eyes, soaking in the warmth of his embrace, the sound of his voice. you know he’ll have to leave eventually, but for now, this moment is all that matters. you hold on to him tightly, unwilling to let go, even as your eyelids grow heavier with sleep.

“you’re everything to me,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your hair. “and i promise i’ll always be here for you, no matter what. even when i’m not physically here… i’m always with you.”

his words send a wave of comfort through you, and you can’t help but smile as you feel his fingers intertwining with yours. “i know,” you whisper back, your heart swelling with love for him. “i just miss you so much when you’re not here…”

sunghoon tightens his grip on your hand, his voice soft but full of determination. “i’ll always come back to you. always.”

the room falls quiet again, the only sound being the soft hum of the morning outside, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. you feel safe here, cocooned in his arms, and for the first time in a while, the weight of the world doesn’t feel so heavy.

you drift off to sleep again, feeling sunghoon’s hand still resting

@/jaysng all rights reserved. do not copy or repost.

[rememberwren]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Third time’s the charm. Simon/fem!reader. Handjobs, edging, cumming untouched, thigh riding, femdom behavior, somewhat submissive!simon, literally tried to cure my depression with this (did not work)

-

“You said you usually go three times in a session. We should try one more time, shouldn’t we?” 

Ghost looks at you like you’ve grown an extra set of eyes. He shakes his head a little, his eyes hard and disbelieving when they meet your own. “Have I not embarrassed myself enough for you?”

“Not really—? I mean—fuck,” you fumble, running a hand down face. “That didn’t come out right. I just meant that I don’t feel like you have any reason to be embarrassed.” 

He stares at you, through you, like if he looks long and hard enough he’ll be able to see your truth straight down to your bones. Well let him look. He hadn’t exactly bared his soul during the few weeks you had spent discussing this before meeting in person, but he had told you plenty: his issue had cost him relationships. It had cost him jobs thanks to lack of focus. Friendships thanks to neglect. You couldn’t imagine anyone willingly choosing something which gave them so much suffering. His lack of complicity cleared him of any blame in your eyes. 

At length, he must see that there is some honesty in you. Looking like it pains him, he nods his head, hulking shoulders deflating a little. “Fine. One more time. I’ll need a few minutes though.”

“That’s fine,” you offer, and it is, or at least it would be if it meant you both didn’t have to sit in complete silence, Ghost uneager to offer up conversation topics and you too awkward to try. 

He keeps staring at you, too. Or more specifically, your breasts. You’re wearing a simple t-shirt, but the effect is aided by one of your prettier bras. You had worn it unsure if Ghost was serious in his insistence that there would be no sex taking place between you both 

It seemed a pity for it to go to waste. 

“Do you want to see?” you ask him, fingers finding the hem of your shirt and gripping it tightly, folding it a little anxiously back and forth like an accordion’s bellows. 

“See? What? No—!”

“I don’t mind, honestly.”

Ghost reaches up a hand to rub at one eye like a headache is forming behind it. His mouth never abandons its signature frown, even as he says, “If you want? Jesus, fuck. I don’t know. I’m not going to stop you.”

You find that you do want. You kneel up, take the hem of your t-shirt into your hands and work it up over your breasts. For all his lack of enthusiasm, his eyes crack open straightaway and glue themselves to you, widening a little at the sight of your strappy, lace-laden bra. 

“I know you didn’t fucking wear that for me,” he says, sounding winded. 

“I’ll be honest, I thought this was just a ploy to hook up. I wore the matching panties too, do you—“

“Stop—talking,” he mutters, closing his eyes. His hand reaches down towards his (valiantly hardening) cock, but thinks twice, turns into a fist, and comes to rest at his side. “And under no circumstance should you take your pants off.”

“Got it. Pants stay on.”

Ghost sighs. “I’m ready. Let’s get it over with.”

That’s the spirit, you think to yourself dryly. You lift your hand to your mouth, creating a little cup with your palm and to spit in, your eyes locked on his own. You hear the click as he swallows, but it’s progress that he doesn’t cum, right? That must mean that he had experienced some level of desensitization, either to you as a partner or to the specific stimulus or a mixture of both. 

But that’s not how this is supposed to work. The whole point is to help him learn to last when he’s as desperate as possible, hoping that edging when he’s truly suffering will lead to a more satisfying orgasm and therefore a need for fewer of them. 

You lower your hand instead of spitting and grip the hem of your shirt, tugging it off over your head altogether. Ghost can’t seem to find his tongue, staring at you with dark, huge eyes as you reach around back and fumble with the clasp of your bra, but at last that comes undone, and you peel it away from you, letting it join his jeans and your shirt on the floor. 

His eyes rake over your naked breasts, mouth forming a curse that he lacks the breath to whisper. His cock is so hard and heavy that it lays against his belly, thick and twitching. 

You shift and straddle his thighs just proximal to his knees. He fists the bedsheets, abs tensing sharply as he watches you with silent awe and trepidation. 

“What are you doing?” He whispers. 

“Getting comfortable?” you suggest. 

Now you cup your hand and spit into it. Then you offer it to him, holding out your hand expectantly. Looking wary, he leans up onto his elbows, ducks his head, and spits into your hand too, quite delicately for being a giant of a man. 

You take your hand and place it palm down against where his cock lays on his belly, slicking the underside from top to bottom. Ghost groans, a low sound torn deep from his chest. He collapses off of his elbows and onto his back, hands finding his eyes and palming at them again while you slick his cock all over with a delicate touch, barely more than a tickle. 

“Are you teasin’ me?” he grits out. 

“I would never.” The tips of your wet fingers trail down over his balls, tight and drawn up against his body already. He hisses through his teeth, cock flexing. You fight a grin. 

Taking him firmly in your hand, you give him a series of smooth, slow strokes, your hand loose and gentle where it is cupped around him. His body writhes against the sheets. 

“Stop, please stop,” he gasps, and you do, letting his cock fall to rest against his belly with a soft thud. He opens his eyes, takes one look at your tits, and squeezes them shut again. ”Fuck, can’t believe you took your shirt off.” 

“I can put it back on if you want.” 

“Really don’t want that. Really fucking don’t. Just—sit there. Please,” he tacks on to the end like an afterthought. You’re grateful to have received a please at all. He takes deep, slow breaths, his nostrils flaring as he strains for air. 

When he gives you a curt nod, eyes still firmly closed, you reach down and use one hand to grip the base of his cock. The other you place toward the head so that you can softly drag your thumb over the deep red tip, tracing the sensitive ridge and over the leaking slit. He whines, honest to god whines, a sound which you feel viscerally in your belly and lower. You shift on his thighs, wondering if it would be so bad to just straddle one, to get some pressure right where you need it most. It’s not like there’s any sort of propriety in a situation like this. He’s getting his, why can’t you get yours? 

You use your thumb to trace a vein up the length of his shaft and smooth the slick over his tip, polishing it softly. 

“Fucking—! Stop! Stop!” 

You stop, and you swallow an unhappy sound. Things had just been getting fun—for you, at least. Ghost looks like he’s being put through the wringer, redness creeping down his neck to disappear under his shirt, knuckles white where he grips the sheets, breaths rapid and shallow. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. He laughs a little, a self-deprecating, unhappy sound. “You’re too good at that.” 

“Good with my mouth too,” you say on a whim. 

His eyes flash open, wide and surprised (and narrowed in on your mouth), his lips parted in a look of near comical astonishment. His hand scrambles to grip around the base of his cock, squeezing painfully. “You—you’re enjoying this aren’t you?” 

“Way more than I thought I would,” you admit. “An obscene amount, honestly—I’m so wet—“

Ghost releases his death grip around his balls and strokes his cock, once, twice, thrice, quick little strokes as his face crumples, as he gives up on the whole fucking thing. You can see it in his face, the defeat, the submission. He’s going to jerk himself off to a quick, unsatisfying release—but it doesn’t seem fair. 

“Stop,” you hiss, reaching out to grip his wrist. He lets go of himself like he’s been burned, immediately obedient even as his face twists with fury. He pulls away from your touch but watches as you shift until just one of his thick thighs is between your own. 

You give a soft, gentle sway of your hips against him. His face is so fucking expressive, his eyes and brows and mouth telegraphing his every little thought and feeling. He watches you with something like tortured awe, eyes flickering towards where your clothed pussy rubs against his bare thigh. 

“Don’t touch yourself,” you breathe, pleasure zipping up your spine at the friction against your cunt. “I want to see if you can cum like this.”

“Came went you spat in your fucking hand,” he breathes, abs tensing, cock twitching as precum pools in his happy trail, watching as you get yourself off against his thigh. “Can cum like this no fucking problem.” 

“You’re not as sensitive now,” you pant, planting a hand against his tensed chest to gain the leverage you need to lengthen the rolling of your hips. 

“Am too.”

“We’ll see.”

His face twists. “Will you—keep going? Even if I do?”

You consider for a moment and then shake your head, breaths too shallow to make words properly. You feel saturated, swollen and sensitive. Every drag of your hips sends muted pleasure up your spine. Normally this would take you ages to cum, but you haven’t been this worked up in a long time. Watching Ghost’s cock turn shades of red and plum is like live pornography, obscene and arousing. Feeling a little cruel, you tell him: “Gotta hold it.”

He tenses his thighs, heels digging into the bed. It does something to the muscle pressed against your cunt and makes your nails dig into his chest. 

He’s shaking his head. “No. Negative. Can’t.”

“Hafta.” 

“Can’t—fuck, I—“

“Goddamnit Ghost,” you whine, hips working feverishly against him. “Hold it and let me cum.”

He really can’t—really and truly. His cock spurts against his belly, a pitiful amount of pearly cum as he groans low and long, moan forming half-hearted, breathy apologies: sorry, ‘m sorry, couldn’t hold it—

You groan, a sound more frustrated than aroused. Your hips slow and stop, and your mouth fights to make a pout. You will it away. It really isn’t his fault. 

“You…you don’t have to stop,” he says, a little shyly. 

You shift off of him and swallow your own sigh, feeling sticky and unsatisfied. “It’s okay,” you reassure him. “Maybe next time I’ll get my pants off.” 

His cock, spent, still twitches against his belly. 

[auggieblogs]

The brow incident | Spencer Reid

Spencer Reid x fem! reader

Author’s note: Hiii, loves!!! Hope you all are doing good. My first Spencer fic and definitely not my last because I cannot for the love of god, get that man out of mind. I AM OBSESSED so please expect criminal minds fics in the future. Anywaysss, happy reading💗

Warning: sexual innuendos

―୨୧⋆ ˚masterlist

“Spence,” you said sweetly, leaning against the back of the chair he had just sat in. “You know how much I love you, right?”

Spencer glanced up at you suspiciously, his eyes narrowing. “Yes… and I feel like you’re about to weaponize that love against me.”

You grinned. “Not against you. For you. Your eyebrows, to be specific.”

He groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “We’ve talked about this, Y/N. They’re fine. They don’t need fixing.”

(For weeks, you’d been trying to convince him to let you fix his eyebrows. Not that they were bad, per se, but there was just a little untamed chaos there that you knew you could tame.)

“They’re not fine. You’ve got stray hairs everywhere, and it’s driving me insane. I just want to clean them up a little!”

“I’d like to remind you that I’m a grown man and perfectly capable of managing my own eyebrows,” he protested, even though you both knew he never did.

You sighed dramatically. “You’ve left me no choice.”

Before he could protest further, you climbed onto his lap, straddling him and effectively trapping him in the chair.

“Y/N! What are you doing?” he exclaimed, his hands instinctively moving to steady you at your waist.

“Taking matters into my own hands,” you said with a smirk, pulling a pair of tweezers out of your pocket.

Spencer groaned again, his cheeks flushing pink. “This is unfair. You’re using my inability to physically overpower you against me.”

“Correct,” you chirped. “Now, hold still.”

He muttered something about how this was a violation of his personal space, but he didn’t move. You leaned in, examining his brows with laser focus.

“Okay, this won’t hurt too much,” you promised, carefully plucking the first stray hair.

“OW!” he yelped, flinching.

“Oh, stop being a baby,” you teased, gripping his chin to steady him. “One down, a hundred to go.”

Spencer huffed, his hands instinctively resting on your waist to keep you balanced. “I don’t even know why this is necessary. No one’s looking at my eyebrows that closely.”

“I am,” you replied, plucking another hair.

“Lucky me,” he grumbled, but you caught the ghost of a smile on his lips.

The next few minutes were filled with his exaggerated whining and your mock scolding, the both of you laughing more than anything else. But then, as you leaned in to focus on a particularly stubborn hair, you shifted slightly on his lap.

That’s when you felt it.

Your movements stilled, and you glanced down, realizing exactly what had happened. A slow grin spread across your face as you looked up at Spencer, whose cheeks were already turning a deep shade of red.

“Oh,” you said, trying—and failing—not to laugh.

“Don’t,” he warned, his tone a mix of mortification and desperation.

You burst out laughing, unable to help yourself. The sight of his flushed face and his clear discomfort was just too funny. “Oh my God, Spencer! This is hilarious.”

“It’s not hilarious,” he muttered, his voice muffled as he hid his face in his hands. “It’s biology. It’s involuntary.”

“Involuntary, huh?” you teased, leaning forward just enough to make him groan in protest. “So you’re saying this has nothing to do with me?”

“Y/N,” he pleaded, his voice a low warning. “This is serious.”

“It’s seriously funny,” you said, still laughing as you climbed off his lap, much to his relief—and apparent dismay.

But before you could move far, his hand shot out, gripping your wrist. “You can’t just leave me like this,” he said, his voice soft but laced with need.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Leave you like what, Spence?”

“You know what,” he said, his pout returning full force. “You started this. You should finish it.”

His words sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, but you couldn’t resist teasing him just a little longer. “Finish your eyebrows first?”

Spencer let out a groan, leaning back in the chair with a defeated look. “You’re impossible.”

You laughed, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek. “And yet, you love me.”

He sighed, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “I do. Even when you’re torturing me.”

You grinned, stepping closer and letting your fingers trail along his jaw. “Tell you what, Dr. Reid. If you’re a good boy and let me finish your eyebrows, I’ll see what I can do about… your problem.”

His eyes darkened slightly at your tone, and he swallowed hard. “Deal.”

“Good,” you said with a wink, grabbing the tweezers again. “Now hold still.”

[ponderingmoonlight]

Imagine Gojo and Sukuna fighting over you on the battlefield.

“You already gave me 99 reasons to kill you. But trying so steal my girl…”

Sukuna’s grip around your waist tightens. How did you end up in this situation? Gojo, who apparently came to your rescue and Sukuna…

He’s so close you’re literally able to taste him, the way his arm is wrapped around you completely making your knees go weak. The truth is, you never settled for Gojo. Isn’t he just a flirt, a guy who hooks up with random girls on a regular basis? You never payed that much attention to all the compliments he showered you with, how he always made sure to hold the door for you, to get you something to eat. After all, he’s acting like that towards every woman, right?

Apparently not. The unpromising gleam in his bright blue orbs tells you more than urgently that this is serious. Satoru came here to get you back.

Sukuna, on the other hand…

“Is she your girl, though? Why would someone like (y/n) waste her time with someone like you?”, Sukuna bites back in amusement.

“She chose me”, Satoru clarifies.

“And now give her back.”

Your heart almost beats out of your throat. That look on Satoru’s face, the way Sukuna presses you even tighter against his muscular frame…How are you supposed to collect a single thought when you’re surrounded by the two strongest individuals in this word, especially when you are the reason for their fight?

“Is she?”

“I bet she’d look good by my side as my queen. What do you have to offer?”

“I offer you my fucking fist.”

Satoru takes a step forward. Suddenly his usual so goofy and tender side has vanished into thin air, all that’s left being that cold glare in his eyes and his hands balled into tight fists.

Fuck, this means nothing but trouble. Your mind starts racing back and forth. If they fight right here, they’ll leave an unimaginable trail of chaos behind with no one who’s able to stop them. If you don’t do something right now…

“Stop. Both of you.”

With a swift motion, you free yourself from Sukuna’s grip and stand your ground between them, arms raised in a lousy attempt to stop the fuming men.

“Aren’t both of you old enough to act like grown men? Are you really about to start a fight over a woman?”

“You.”

Your gaze drifts towards Gojo.

“You are nothing but a flirt. We were never serious with each other, why are you calling me ‘your girl’? Maybe start acting a little more stern if that’s what you want.”

“But (y/n)-“

“And you.”

Suddenly your eyes are fixated on Sukuna.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? You almost killed all of my friends with your behaviour and don’t get me started on Yuji. I don’t wanna be the queen to someone who acts so reckless and selfish.”

“Did you…really just say that?”

“And to top it all of: How childish of both of you to fight over me like a piece of meat. I’m a person, I can decide on my own, y’know? Treating me like this definitely turns me off. And now excuse me, I promised to grab a coffee with Choso.”

Without saying another word, you turn on your heels and let both men stand in the rain.

“Did she just…”

“This can’t be happening right now”, Gojo mutters.

“She really left you standing in the rain”, Sukuna comments dryly.

“ME!? You’re talking about yourself”

“She’d never reject me-“

“ME EITHER!”

[iannmin]

What kinks do you think San would have? <3

KINKS SAN WOULD HAVE ⁺₊❆⋆ 최산

🏷️ ⋆ smut, drabble, intentional lowercase, size kink, praise kink, breeding kink (serious), lingerie play, somnophilia, cum play (LOTS of cum)

🗒️ ⋆ RAHHHHHH WTF I’ve been wanting to write this SO BAD!!! thank you thank you so much for the opportunity skjdkskdksk i hope both sides of your pillow are nice and fluffy every time you sleep <3333 also i just couldn’t help but put the edit of long haired san hehe

୨୧ ‘ masterlist ‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹ ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆

PRAISE KINK ⋆

no offence but sannie would be on the number one priority list for those who have praise kink. like can you see how he folds and gets absolutely all squishy and subby when wooyoung praises him? like his cheeks gets all flushed and hot,, he’ll probably desire the same with his s/o, whether it’s him giving or receiving. and to be honest san is more of a soft dom, so he’ll love reassurance. just imagine every time when he’s about to enter you he will most definitely whisper softly “you can take it baby, it’s gonna open up so well for me, your pussy’s gonna feel so good, hm?” (and I’ve noticed that san loves to say ‘hm?’ after his sentence a lot in his voice lives and it drives me absolutely crazy)

SIZE KINK ⋆

sannie is a total sucker for size differences and he absolutely builds his ego off of watching his s/o squirm under his huge frame. like just picture him headlocking his s/o from behind, broad chest sticking to his s/o’s back while just absolutely pounding the fuck out of them and whispering dirty things into their ear ughh. and do you remember that one fanmeeting clip of san’s back facing the audience and wooyoung is literally holding his neck attempting to kiss him??? he’ll probably look like that coming home to his s/o from a long day of work,, kissing them at the entrance as a ‘I’m home’ type of gesture. and also,, that’s probably why san hits the gym sososo much, it’s really just to assert dominance and feel big

BREEDING KINK ⋆

don’t even get me started with this once :,) like do you guys realise how traditional san is? like in terms of family and stuff he seemed to have grown up in a very traditional household where his father was strict on him and all that. like just look at how much respect he has for his parents and how well-mannered he is,, and especially do you remember when san mentioned that if he had a daughter he would raise her in a very princess way but if he had a son he would raise him like his father did in a strict way? so anyways,, the whole point I’m making is that san would probably want to start a family early with his s/o so that they can have cute little family outings together, and he can be a dad. so that’s where the feral breeding kink comes in. like he just goes absolutely bonkers the first time his s/o let’s him hit it raw after their marriage, or even better, when he learns that his s/o wants to try for a baby, so he makes sure to absolutely fill their cunt to the fullest, even going beyond his usual stamina of two rounds because for some reason he keeps getting hard after watching his white cum seep out of their hole and dripping onto their thighs :( P.S. he might even have a sex marathon with his s/o on the week their ovulating just to maximise his chances of becoming a dad

FINGERING ⋆

okay okay, I know sannie is a clean type of person and he doesn’t really like making a huge mess, especially when you see how clean and minimalistic his dorm room is but when it comes to his s/o, all morality just gets thrown off out the window. he goes pussy drunk and fingers them until they’re making an absolute mess. and I’ve seen some people commenting that he has chubby hands like cheese-stick fingers but won’t they feel so fucking good when their up in his s/o’s hole? i bet the stretch is a whole lot better with thick fingers like his and it’s definitely enough to get his s/o squirming and whimpering, even squirting.

SOMNOPHILIA ⋆

sannie treats women with so much respect and probably hates non-con stuff which is a great turn-off for him. but somnophilia? that’s his jam right there. the first time his s/o told him up front that they like being fucked awake no matter when, he was slightly hesitant, but he probably discovered a whole new world right there and then when he slid his dick into their unprepped cunt, the raw feeling being absolutely addictive. so even on days when his s/o looked absolutely unsexy, wearing a pair of kiddy-looking pajamas, he will still have a great urge to pull down those cartooned pants and fuck them. he just can’t get enough of the moment when their brows finally knit together and their eyes flutter open, raising their head from the pillow just to see him wrecking their pussy open, and that’s when all senses and feelings process in their brain and they start moaning and squealing.

LINGERIE ⋆

just a bonus kink here hehe,, and not to mention sannie is not the type to rip open the lingeries because he respects how expensive they are, but he’s more of the type to push their panties to the side and fuck them <3

[coryndoll]

content: rafe cameron x reader, fluff, angst, heavy inspo if not me shamefully imitating stefan & elenas scenes i fear LMFAO, secret relationship, past & future, time skip

authors note: guys omg my finals week is over n i get a month n a half break BLESS. but i still dont know if ill be totally active like i used to be. ill update u guys if that ever changes !!

main masterlist

your relationship with rafe had always been easy, natural in a way that almost felt inevitable. you’d known each other for years, if not all your life, your families orbiting each other like planets in the same solar system.

your parents met his dad in college, you think. all you knew was that every holiday, every long weekend, every summer, the camerons were there. sarah and wheezie were like sisters to you, and rafe . . . well, rafe had always been different.

you’d grown up side by side, bickering and teasing like it was second nature, but somewhere along the way, the dynamic shifted. you weren’t sure when it happened, only that it felt right. a few months ago, he kissed you for the first time, and it was like something clicked into place. since then, everything had been smooth sailing—well, as smooth as things could be when you were secretly dating your best friend.

you’d both decided to keep it quiet, at least for now. your families were too close, too intertwined, and the thought of all the questions, the teasing, the pressure . . . it was easier this way. for now, it was just yours, something special you didn’t have to share.

tonight was no different from the dozens of christmases before. your parents were hosting, the camerons were invited, and everything was perfectly predictable. your dad was in the dining room with ward and rose, sharing some expensive whiskey that probably had a story behind it. sarah was in the kitchen helping your mom, wheezie trailing behind her like a shadow. you and rafe were in the living room, curled up on the couch by the fire, a blanket draped over your lap.

your head rested on his shoulder, the soft glow of the fireplace making the whole scene feel oddly intimate. rafe’s hand was hidden under the blanket, his fingers lightly resting on your thigh. it wasn’t obvious—he wasn’t obvious—but it was enough to make your heart race. you pulled the blanket tighter around you, leaning into him as the sound of the tv filled the room.

“sarah asked me about you,” rafe said suddenly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

you lifted your head, intrigued, your fingers idly playing with his under the blanket. “oh yeah?” you murmured, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

“yeah.” he glanced down at your intertwined hands, then back at you. “she asked if we were together.”

you snorted softly, amused. “and what’d you say?”

“what do you think i said?” he asked, raising a brow.

you just shook your head, letting the silence hang for a moment. then, rafe gave you a look, one that made your stomach flip in a way you’d never admit. “we should start a fight,” he said, completely deadpan.

you blinked at him, pulling your head back to study his face. “what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

he shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “might throw sarah off our scent.”

“you’re so stupid,” you muttered, shaking your head, but there was no bite to it.

“i’m serious,” he said, leaning back against the couch. “we get into some dumb argument, everyone’s gonna think we’re just . . . you know, being us.”

“but it’s christmas,” you said. “we’re supposed to be in the christmas spirit, not the . . . i don’t know. hateful one.”

“fine, fine. not hateful,” he conceded, tilting his head slightly. “okay, what about this—” you watched him, waiting, your fingers still tangled with his. “—when i say, ‘you always have to get the last word, don’t you?’ what i’ll really mean is, i love you.”

you stared at him, a smile creeping onto your face despite yourself. he was so stupid. so him.

“okay,” you said slowly, your voice soft. “then when i say, ‘only because you never know when to stop talking,’ that’ll mean i love you back.”

rafe squinted at you, his lips twitching into a smirk. “oh, i don’t know when to stop talking?”

you nodded, a playful glint in your eyes. “yeah.”

“yeah?” he echoed, leaning in closer.

“yeah,” you murmured, your voice barely audible now.

before you could say anything else, his lips were on yours, soft but firm, shutting you up in the most effective way possible. it was quick, but it was enough to leave you breathless, your heart pounding as he pulled back, a smug smile on his face.

now the dining room buzzed with the usual holiday energy—silverware clinking against plates, the hum of casual conversation, and the faint scent of rosemary and cinnamon wafting in from the kitchen.

your dad was deep in conversation with ward, their low voices occasionally punctuated by laughter as they sipped their whiskey. rose stood nearby, her forced-polite smile unwavering as she chimed in here and there, while wheezie flitted around, setting plates at each spot on the long, polished table.

you lingered near the head of the table, your fingers brushing the back of one of the chairs as you debated where to sit. rafe stood just a step behind you, his presence unmistakable even without looking.

sarah appeared in the doorway, carefully balancing a steaming casserole dish in her hands, her gaze scanning the room before landing on the table. rafe must have noticed her at the same time because, without warning, his shoulder bumped into yours—not hard, but enough to make you stumble a step forward.

“move,” he muttered, his tone sharp enough to catch your attention.

you blinked, caught off guard, before turning to him with a raised brow. there was amusement in his eyes this time, but his expression remained serious. you knew exactly what he was doing.

“excuse me?” you shot back, your voice dripping with mock irritation as you planted your feet firmly where you stood.

“you’re in my way,” he said, gesturing toward the chair you were closest to as if you were blocking his path.

“i’m in your way?” you retorted, crossing your arms over your chest. “you’re the one taking up half the room with your oversized ego.”

his lips twitched, but he kept his composure. “and you’re taking up the other half with your big mouth.”

he did not.

you stared at him, fighting every urge to laugh. your lips twitched as you bit down on the inside of your cheek, trying to keep it together.

for a second, you thought he might crack. his lips pressed together, his shoulders stiffened, but he stayed in character, his determination to fool sarah unshakable.

meanwhile, the room carried on as if nothing was happening. your parents barely spared you a glance, too engrossed in their conversations. it was clear they were used to your bickering—it was just background noise to them at this point.

but sarah wasn’t as quick to dismiss it. she paused mid-step, her eyes flicking between the two of you as she set the dish down on the table. her brows furrowed slightly, and you could feel her studying you, trying to piece something together.

you didn’t miss a beat. “you always have to make everything about you, don’t you?” you said, stepping aside just enough to let him pass but not without bumping his arm in the process.

rafe moved into the space you’d left, pulling out a chair with an exaggerated huff. “you always have to get the last word, don’t you?”

i love you.

your gaze narrowed, and a small, knowing smile tugged at your lips. “only because you never know when to stop talking,” you replied, your tone quieter now but no less pointed.

i love you back.

the corners of his mouth twitched into a smirk, but he didn’t respond. instead, he sank into his seat, leaning back with an air of triumph.

you moved to the opposite side of the table, pulling out the chair directly across from him. sarah, still watching, shot rafe a glare. “you’re such a jerk,” she muttered under her breath before disappearing back into the kitchen.

the second she was gone, your eyes flicked back to rafe. he was already looking at you, his smirk softening into something more playful. he winked, the gesture quick and subtle, and you had to bite down on your bottom lip to keep from smiling.

you and rafe had navigated the evening like it was your own secret game, your relationship hidden in plain sight.

now, just a year later at the same christmas dinner, the only thing hidden is the sharp ache that settles in your chest whenever you catch sight of him.

the breakup isn’t totally fresh—weeks and weeks have passed, long enough for the initial sting to fade into something duller, quieter. still, the weight of it lingers, like the ghost of a bruise. you tell yourself you’re over it, over him, that whatever you’d felt has burned out long before the end. but being here, in the same room, breathing the same air, makes it harder to convince yourself of that.

you sit through dinner with practiced ease, smiling at the right moments, laughing when it feels appropriate. rafe, seated across the table, seems to be doing the same. his face is unreadable, his attention focused on his plate or the conversations around him, but you can feel his presence like a steady hum beneath your skin.

after the plates are cleared and the wine glasses refilled, you slip outside. you sit on the front step of the porch, knees pulled to your chest, arms wrapped loosely around them, and you stare out into the quiet, your thoughts drifting aimlessly.

the sound of the door creaking open breaks the silence. you don’t turn, but you know it’s him before he even steps outside.

rafe lingers in the doorway for a moment. he looks down at the drink in his hand, his thumb brushing idly against the rim of the glass. then, without a word, he walks over and sits down beside you. the step creaks faintly under his weight as he sets his drink down beside him.

for a while, he doesn’t say anything. neither of you do. the silence isn’t comfortable, but it isn’t unbearable either—it’s just . . . there.

you keep your gaze fixed on the horizon, the faint outline of trees against the dark sky. rafe sits with his hands loosely clasped between his knees, his shoulders hunched slightly forward. the space between you feels like miles, even though he’s close enough that you can feel the faint warmth of him against the cold night air.

rafe breaks the quiet. his voice is low, almost tentative. “sorry about the, uh . . .” he gestures vaguely to his shirt, where the faintest stain from earlier is barely visible in the dim light.

it takes you a second to catch on, but then you remember: during dinner, his drink had tipped—his fault entirely—and splashed across the front of your sweater and slightly his own. there’s a faint smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“don’t worry,” you say lightly, turning your gaze back to the houses across the lots. “you saved me from wearing that thing ever again. it was time to let it go.”

he huffs out a small laugh, looking down at his hands. “yeah, well. still.”

for a moment, it feels like the edges of the past have softened, like you’ve both stepped into some neutral ground where the weight of everything isn’t crushing you. but the moment doesn’t last. something itches at the back of your mind, a question you’ve thought about too many times to count but never dared to ask.

you turn your head slightly, just enough to face his direction, though your eyes stay fixed on the porch railing. your voice is quieter now, more careful. “why did you . . . ?”

you don’t finish the question. maybe you don’t know how to, or maybe you’re afraid of the answer. but rafe knows. he always does.

he exhales slowly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “why did i what?”

“you know,” you murmur.

he’s quiet for a moment, and when he finally speaks, there’s a weariness in his voice that mirrors your own. “i guess, i didn’t know what else to do. after everything, i just—” he stops himself, shaking his head. “i thought maybe if i kept moving, kept doing . . . something, it’d feel less like everything was falling apart.”

you nod slowly. because you’d noticed, of course, the way he threw himself into everything—work, parties, anything to fill the spaces you used to occupy. you’d wondered if it was his way of coping or if it was just his way of running.

“and did it?” you ask, finally glancing at him.

he looks over at you, his blue eyes shadowed in the dim light. “did it what?”

“feel less like everything was falling apart.”

his lips press into a thin line, and he looks away, his gaze falling to the ground. “no,” he admits, so quietly you almost don’t hear it.

you nod again, your fingers picking idly at the hem of your new sweater. “me neither,” you say softly, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

he looks at you then, really looks at you, like he’s trying to read the things you’re not saying. but you don’t meet his gaze, keeping your focus on the dark horizon instead.

“i didn’t think you’d leave,” he says after a moment, his voice rough around the edges.

the words hit harder than you expect, even though you’ve thought about this moment a thousand times. “i didn’t think i would either,” you confess.

and there it is, the unspoken story between you—the weight of everything you’ve been through, the cracks and fractures that finally gave way. you don’t say any more, and neither does he.

so your hand moves before you even think about it, reaching across the space between you. his hand is resting on his thigh, fingers loosely curled, and you gently wrap your own fingers around the back of it, curling into his palm. you don’t say anything—there’s nothing to say, not really—but you squeeze once, firm enough to tell him without words that you’re here, that you’re still here, even if it doesn’t feel like enough.

he doesn’t look at you. his eyes stay fixed on the grass in the front yard. for a second, you think maybe he won’t respond, maybe he won’t let you in. but then his hand twitches beneath yours, his fingers shifting to squeeze back, just once. it’s a quiet thank you, a wordless acceptance of something neither of you can name.

you feel a lump rising in your throat, the vulnerability in his silence cutting through you in a way nothing else could. you know he doesn’t want to talk about it, so you say the first thing that comes to mind, something stupid, something that might make him laugh.

“i just, you know, didn’t think you’d ever play basketball with topper again,” you say, your voice light, almost teasing. “i mean, didn’t he break your nose last time?”

you glance at him, hoping for a smile, for something to break the tension. and for a second, you think it works. his lips twitch, the corner of his mouth lifting into a bitter smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. he just stares at the grass, his fingers tightening slightly around yours before letting go.

the silence stretches again, thicker this time, and when he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost a whisper. “you always have to get the last word, don’t you?”

your chest tightens, the words hitting harder than they should. it’s not just what he says—it’s how he says it. your expression hardens, the realization sinking in like a stone. he’s not talking about the joke. he’s talking about you. about this. about the way it all ended, the way you ended it.

the code you made up a year ago flashes in your mind, unbidden. you always have to get the last word. it was supposed to be a joke after that, a way to tease each other when you argued over stupid things, but now it feels like something else entirely. something sharp and unforgiving.

i love you.

you don’t say anything at first, the guilt settling heavy in your chest. you know he’s right. you know what he’s trying to say, even if he won’t come out and say it. but what can you do? what can you possibly say that will make any of this better?

finally, after what feels like forever, you whisper, “i know.”

you can’t bring yourself to look at him, but out of the corner of your eye, you see the way his jaw clenches, the way his head dips lower. the dim porch light catches on his face, and you realize his eyes are glossed over, though he doesn’t let a single tear fall.

he doesn’t look at you, and you don’t blame him. you can’t bring yourself to look at him either. you just sit there, side by side, the space between you feeling wider than ever.

[luvyeni]

🍵… ( reaction ) no you eat ̨ ! ୨୧ 一 라이즈 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ riize’s reaction to you giving yourself a little bit of food ヾ

OT7!라이즈・ fem!reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ fluff ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・none ‎ wc ・0.6k+ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. hi, how would riize members react to the trend where their partner makes dinner but gives them the bigger portion and gives themselves only a small one with the excuse that "that's all we had left"?

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 this was such a cute request thank you 🖤!!

﹙ 𐙚 : shotaro ﹚ .ᐟ

will take it because he knows you worked hard on it, but quietly put more food on your plate when you are not looking. when you finally catch him doing what it and call him out on it , he’s shaking his head trying to gaslight you. “what do you mean you finished all of the veggies , baby it’s still some on your plate , are you trying to opt out of finishing your veggies.” he thinks his slick , trying to feed you the vegetables. “here make sure you eat all of them , it’s good for you.” laughing when you side eyes him. “eat them.” watching you take a bite. “now you eat some taro.”

“what do you mean? i have eaten, come on , you have more veggies , eat them so you can be stronger.”

﹙ 𐙚 : eunseok ﹚ .ᐟ

he’s offended that you would even give him more than you. “if it was not enough then you should’ve just ate it , i could have eaten something else.” you try and fight back but he’s not having it. “i wanted you to try it , i worked so hard.” he takes a bite before sliding it over to you. “there i tried it , now you eat finish it.” he said. “what will you eat?” he scoffs. “I’m a grown man, I can order food if I get hungry , you just eat this.” if there’s a little in his head it all goes to you.

“eat this, do you want anything else? i’ll order more food.”

﹙ 𐙚 : sungchan ﹚ .ᐟ

switches the plates no questions asked. “eat.” he says. “that’s not enough for you.” is about to fight you , especially when you start trying to put more food from your plate on his. “we are not poor, i can order food , just eat that before it gets cold and then you won’t be able to eat it.” will even give you his plate just to make sure you get enough food. “just eat dont worry about me.” will literally force feed you if you try and fight back. “eat it , eat it now.” will hold the fork. “I don’t care if this all that there is.”

“what kind of man would I be to let you eat so little.”

﹙ 𐙚 : wonbin ﹚ .ᐟ

will literally refuse to eat it. “wonbin you need to eat.” his stubborn add will literally fold his arms like a child throwing a tantrum. “im not eating it.” he says pushing the plate over to you. “i wont eat.” even if you tell him there’s more and that it was just a joke , he still doesn’t believe it. “then here , you eat this and that too , i’ll go make it my own plate.” he says. “you already have your food , it will get cold if you get up just to make mines.” he’ll make sure you start eating before he even thinks about moving.

“I would never give you little just to fill myself up, I’m not selfish.”

﹙ 𐙚 : seunghan ﹚ .ᐟ

doesn’t even question it, just hands you the bigger plate and takes the smaller one. “then you get the bigger one , I won’t let you eat the smaller one.” he says picking up the food with your fork to feed you. “here, open.” he feeds you the food. “good?” he will wait until you’re finished to make him a bowl of ramen , he may say he’s not hungry and then give you his just in case you’re still hungry. even if you tell him it’s a joke and there’s food left , he still doesn’t move , watching you finish yours first.

“that’s good , now finish your food, I want you to eat it all.”

﹙ 𐙚 : sohee ﹚ .ᐟ

he would rather starve than have you eat such little food. “absolutely not.” he switching the plates immediately. “sohee you need to eat a lot you have practice tomorrow.” he’s shaking his head. “are you calling me weak? are you saying I can’t keep up with the members?” he is serious. “no im saying you need to be stronger.” so you are calling him weak. “well if you dont eat this then you will be sleepy at work and then your boss will be mad and then what? I’ll have to deal with your attitude.”

now you’re both confused and hungry so you just tell him it’s a joke.

﹙ 𐙚 : anton ﹚ .ᐟ

confused, very very very confused… “did you only make a little?” he just nods when you tell him you thought it would be enough. waits for you to stop talking before he quietly gives you the food. “take it baby.” he says softly before getting up. “wait where are you going?” he’s fine with just eating ramen or something if it means you get a nice meal. “i already ate too much today anyway , a bowl of ramen will be just fine, you just eat that okay? make sure you finish it all okay?”

he’s so cute im crying ….

©️LUVYENI

[pucksandpower]

Fashionably Challenged

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: you and Max may not exactly be the paddock’s most stylish couple, but you wouldn’t want it any other way

You wake up to the sound of Max rummaging through the closet of your shared hotel suite. Rolling over, you see him laying out two matching outfits — the Red Bull Racing team polos, skinny jeans, and sneakers you’ve grown accustomed to over the years.

One set for him, one set for you.

“Morning, liefje,” he says, catching your gaze. “I have our outfits for the day ready to go.”

You smile sleepily. “Thanks, babe. You know me too well.”

Max grins as he walks over and climbs back into bed, throwing an arm around you. “Of course I do. Can’t have my girlfriend showing up to races looking anything less than perfect.”

You laugh and playfully shove him. “Oh shut up. You know I’d show up in a potato sack if I could.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” he says with mock seriousness. “I would never let you embarrass me like that.”

“Embarrass you?” You scoff. “Please, like you even notice what I’m wearing half the time. You’re just as bad as me when it comes to fashion.”

Max opens his mouth to protest but then shuts it, shrugging in admission. “Okay, fair point. But that’s why I always get you the same thing I’m wearing. So there’s no way we can mess it up.”

You consider this for a moment. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. We make a pretty fashionably challenged couple.”

“The most fashionably challenged,” he agrees with a laugh. He pauses, gaze growing serious. “But I like it that way. I like that we match.”

Warmth blooms in your chest. “Me too.”

The morning passes quickly as you get ready for the race. True to form, you both pull on the matching outfits without a second thought. As you’re walking out to the car, Max stops you.

“Wait,” he says, taking your hand and turning you to face him. He looks you up and down appraisingly. “You look perfect, just like always.”

You can’t help but beam at the compliment. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

He grins. “Not nearly enough.”

“Well I do,” you say, leaning in to kiss him. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, schatje,” Max murmurs against your lips. “Now let’s go kick some ass today.”

The race goes well, Max taking the checkered flag to the roar of the crowds. As you’re waiting to congratulate him, a podcaster approaches you with a microphone.

“Hi there,” she says brightly. “I’m Lottie from The Racing Line. I was wondering if I could ask you a couple quick questions?”

“Oh, um, sure,” you’re a bit caught off guard.

“Great! So first off, you and Max always seem to be wearing matching outfits to the races. Is that something you two purposely coordinate as a cute couple thing?”

You feel your cheeks flush slightly. “Oh no, not at all actually. The truth is neither of us have much fashion sense at all. So Max just gets me the female version of whatever he’s wearing to make it easy.”

The podcaster looks disappointed. “Oh, I see. So it’s not some adorable couple tradition then?”

“Well, I mean, I guess in a way it kind of is?” You say quickly, feeling guilty. “Neither of us are really into fashion, so we end up matching by default anyway. I think it’s sweet that we always end up coordinating without even trying because we’re just so in sync.”

She perks up at that. “Aww, okay, I can see that! So even though it’s not on purpose, you’ve made your own cute little tradition out of it just by being so aligned. That’s really romantic.”

You nod, smiling softly. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“Well thank you so much for your time,” she shakes your hand. “And congratulations to Max on another win!”

“Thank you,” you reply as she walks away.

A few minutes later Max emerges, helmet under his arm and face lit up in that way you love. You throw your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Congratulations baby, you were amazing out there as always.”

“Thank you, schatje,” he says, squeezing you close. He pauses, smile turning teasing. “Did you enjoy chatting with that podcaster earlier?”

You pull back, eyes narrowing. “You saw that, did you?”

He chuckles. “Of course I did. I always notice you.”

“Well then you also saw me have to completely backtrack and come up with some sappy story for why we match when she thought it was a cutesy couple thing,” you say dryly.

Max shrugs. “It kind of is though, isn’t it? Maybe not on purpose, but it’s become our thing.”

“I guess you’re right,” you admit. “I told her it was romantic how in sync we are, always coordinating outfits without even trying.”

“Hmm, I like that,” he says, grinning. “We really are pretty in sync, aren’t we? Two fashionably hopeless peas in a pod.”

You laugh. “That we are.” You look at him fondly. “But I love our way better than being one of those obnoxiously coordinated couples.”

“Me too,” he agrees. “Though I will admit ...” His gaze grows more serious. “Part of the reason I like matching is because it makes me happy to walk around wearing the same thing as you. Like we’re a unit, you know?”

Your heart skips a beat at the soft vulnerability in his voice. “Max Verstappen, you big old romantic,” you tease gently.

He shrugs but you can see the pleased look in his eyes. Sudden understanding washes over you.

“Wait a minute … is that why you got me the same outfit the first time? Not just because you thought it would be easier, but because you wanted us to match?”

Max stays silent for a moment before breaking into a sheepish grin. “You caught me.”

“Oh my god!” You shove his shoulder playfully. “You big sap!”

“What can I say? I like having my girl on my arm looking like the power couple we are,” Max says, pulling you close again. “Fashionably challenged or not.”

“If only everyone out there making you out to be the villain could see the cuddly teddy bear you really are. I absolutely love it,” you murmur, stretching up to kiss him. You can feel him smile against your lips.

As you break apart, Max squeezes your hand. “Come on, let’s go celebrate. In new matching outfits, of course.”

You pretend to roll your eyes exaggeratingly but allow him to lead you towards the exit, your hands intertwined. You truly wouldn’t have it any other way.

***

You and Max are curled up on the couch in your hotel room, his arm draped around you as you lean into his side. It’s a rare quiet moment between races and you’re savoring the feeling of Max’s fingers gently carding through your hair.

“Hey Max?” You say after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

“Hmm?” He hums in response, not looking away from the football match on the TV.

“I got an interesting offer today.”

That piques his interest and he turns his head to look at you. “Oh yeah? What kind of offer?”

You take a deep breath before answering. “A sponsorship deal, actually. From Oscar de la Renta.”

Max raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Wow, that’s … really great, liefje. I’m so happy for you.”

But something in his tone makes you frown slightly. “Are you though? You don’t sound that excited.”

He gives you a half smile. “No, no, I am! That’s a huge opportunity for your career and image. Having that kind of sponsorship deal is amazing.”

“But?” You prod knowingly.

Max lets out a breath, smile fading. “But I guess part of me is a little disappointed and maybe … worried?”

“About what?”

“Well,” he shifts uncomfortably. “I like being the one who picks out your outfits for the races. Our little unintentional matching tradition has kind of become my thing, you know? I’m worried if you get sponsored by some big designer brand you won’t wear the outfits I pick out anymore. That we won’t match.”

His tone is carefully casual but you can hear the undercurrent of vulnerability. Your heart clenches in your chest.

“Oh Max ...” you murmur, reaching up to cup his cheek. “You really like our matching outfits that much?”

He averts his eyes but nods. “Yeah. I know it sounds silly, but I just … I like how in sync we are. How happy it makes me feel when we show up to the races looking like a real team. Like we’re truly partners in everything. I don’t want to lose that.”

The softness in his voice breaks your heart a little. You take his hand and give it a squeeze.

“You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that,” you tell him gently. “Because I never would have accepted that offer anyway.”

Max blinks in surprise. “You wouldn’t?”

You shake your head. “Not a chance. First of all, they were pressuring me to only wear very high-end stuff, none of which really feels like my personal style. But more importantly ...” You lean in closer, maintaining eye contact. “They don’t have a men’s collection. So they couldn’t sponsor you too.”

Realization lights up his gaze. “Oh ...” he says softly.

You nod. “Exactly. I told them thanks but no thanks. Because no designer wardrobe is worth giving up what we have.”

Max looks stunned. “You … you turned them down? Just to keep matching with me?”

“Of course I did,” you say affectionately, poking his chest. “I would never give that up. How could I say yes to some fancy sponsorship that meant not having my fashionably challenged other half by my side, both looking like total goofballs in the one outfit the world thinks makes up the entirety of our closet?”

A slow smile spreads across his face and he pulls you into his arms, hugging you tightly. “God, I love you,” he murmurs into your hair. “So much.”

You relax into his embrace, overwhelmed by the rush of affection. “I love you too,” you whisper. You pull back slightly to look at him. “Did you really think I’d give up matching with you over that?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, looking a little sheepish. “I guess a small part of me was worried maybe you’d be tempted by the glamor and exposure of being a designer brand ambassador.”

“You know me better than that,” you affirm. “Our matching looks are too special to me. I adore everything about our little tradition — the fact that it started because neither of us cares about fashion, to you always picking out my outfits, and how happy it makes both of us to show up to races coordinating with each other.”

You take Max’s hand, intertwining your fingers. “Don’t you see, my love? It’s not really about the clothes at all, it’s about us. About how perfectly aligned we are in this little part of our lives. And I wouldn’t change that for the world.”

Max’s eyes have gone suspiciously bright, his free hand reaching up to cradle your face. “But liefje … you could have had any designer clothing you wanted.” His voice is thick with emotion. “You turned that down … for me?”

Unable to find the words, you just nod, blinking back your own tears.

“I can’t believe it,” Max breathes out shakily. “You never cease to amaze me.”

You offer him a watery smile. “Well believe it, my love. Because there’s nothing in the world more precious to me than you and our bond. I wouldn’t sacrifice that for anything.”

A single tear escapes to trail down Max’s cheek and you quickly brush it away with your thumb. Seeming at a loss for words, he pulls you into a fierce hug, tucking your head under his chin as you settle into his embrace.

“I love you,” he finally whispers into your hair. “So damn much.”

“I love you too.” You pepper kisses along his neck and jaw until you reach his lips, capturing them in a deep, slow kiss that tries to convey every unspoken word of devotion and adoration.

When you finally break apart, Max gazes at you with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

“God, you really are perfect,” he murmurs, running a hand reverently through your hair. “I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

“No,” you shake your head with a soft smile. “I’m the lucky one. To have someone who loves me so fiercely, someone I love just as much in return.”

Max lets out a watery chuckle. “I think we’re both the lucky ones then.”

You settle back against his chest as he wraps his arms securely around you. For a while neither of you speaks, lost in your own thoughts as you simply bask in each other’s presence. You let your eyes drift shut as Max’s fingers resume their gentle motions through your hair.

Eventually you break the silence.

“You know we’re going to have to get even cuter matching outfits now to make up for it,” you murmur teasingly.

Max’s chest rumbles with laughter against your cheek. “Deal. Anything you want, schatje. I’ll make sure we’re the most adorable fashionably challenged couple at every single race from now on.”

You smile at the warmth and conviction in his voice. “No one could ever call us uncoordinated.”

“Never,” Max affirms, dropping a soft kiss to the top of your head. “We’re perfectly matched in every way that matters.”

You sigh contentedly as you snuggle further into his embrace. In that moment, you know he’s absolutely right. You couldn’t imagine a better match than your Max.

[almostempty]

Something in your mouth

(joel miller x f!reader)

The third installment of  Never made it as a wise man aka creed!joel

WC: 8.4k | Part 1 | Part 2 |  Other fics | Rating: 18+ 

Summary: post hand job and phone sex; it’s the leadup and part 1 of these horny bishes goin’ on a date

Note: heyyyyy it’s me and i’m back on my bs . i know i promised the fuckening, but that was summer me and now it’s winter me.. so instead of hiding and never updating, i remembered i have free will so u get the full week lead-up and the first half of the date.. and then i’ll brb with the fuckfest okay? i promise. (also it’s actually almost done this time so it won’t take months). again, i am still merely a vessel for the spirit of buttrock joel. hopefully this part 3 is girthy enough to sate your appetite a lil bit  

Tags: au no outbreak modern joel, divorced dad rock dilf joel x f!reader, picks up right where pt 2 ended, alternating pov, dirty talk, horny yearning, blowjob in the truck, still crackish, but i am still dead serious about it being hot so idc, mistakes are all mine

Thanks to Nickelback for having non stop horny bangerz to quote such as Something in your mouth

major thanks to @hoelaris for this moodboard that made me weep tears of joy bc is it so perfect

thanks to @magneticecstasy for date joel thots to be ft in this pt and the next, @auteurdelabre for telling me to let them have their happy ending so i can get back to the paris boys faster, to @syd-djarin for support, horny thots, song suggestions etc, and @itwasntimethatdidit40 for the nickelback pedro tiktok edit inspo

it really takes a village or whatever they say <3 

*if u forgot what this is bc i took so long give Part 1 and  Part 2 a read for a refresh <3 

*if i missed ur tag or u want off this ride lemme know 

okay, it's starting now:

You wake up in Joel’s shirt. It smells more like you than him already, but it still makes you grin devilishly just the same. You go about your day, a few errands and some chores, the whole time with a little more energy than usual. 

When you’re back home and settled in to have a lazy afternoon, you get a little restless. Itchy fingers. It’s hard not to pick up your phone and check your messages again and again. You’re drawn to looking at the picture he sent, the pictures you took, and you can’t help wondering…

Did he wake up thinking of you? Hard, aching, and leaking at the memory of your voice. 

Did he dream of all the nasty things he said he wanted to do to you? Waking up throbbing and frustrated, grinding his cock into the mattress as if you were beneath him. 

Did he wake up and check his phone to confirm you were real? Making it all the way to the shower before surrendering, wishing it was your soft cunt he was fucking instead of his fist. 

You know you’re fucked when just thinking about him thinking about you has you so turned on. It’s so tempting to send him something else. Another picture? An audio message? A thinking of you 😘 text? 

No. No, no, no. 

You can wait him out. Make him work for it a little. He’s a full-grown man. You’ve already given him enough to work with. Plus, you wanna know what he’s gonna come up with next. Right? 

The lazy Sunday ends all too soon and before you know it you’re back to work. Dragging ass into the office with the biggest iced coffee you could buy. You deserve a treat to get through your Monday anyway. 

A little warning bell chimes in the back of your mind as you drop your things on your desk. Ellie grumbles a good morning that matches your enthusiasm for fluorescent lights at 8 am. A little seed of guilt sprouts within you. 

Is it fucked up of you to mess around with Joel? It’s not like it’s something serious. Or, does that make it even worse? There’s no way he would say anything to her about it. 

“Heard you saw Joel again,” she says before you’ve even sat down. Great. 

“Uh, yeah,” you reply, “Still didn’t feel right that he wouldn’t accept anything for helping with my car.” You sink into your chair, hesitating to say more. It’s too early to have a good poker face. 

“So you made him a lasagna?” She questions, staring you down. 

“Men love my meat sauce,” you say with a shrug. 

“Gross,” Ellie grimaces at that, “please, don’t ever say that again.” 

You buy her off with the rest of the cookies you had baked. She’s happy to take the entire container from you and happier to enjoy them all immediately. If she’s suspicious she’s either good at hiding it or you really don’t know how to read her. 

You carry on with your morning catching up on mindless tasks, swirling your coffee around as the ice starts to melt, and trying to stay focused. Ellie turns on her music and you can’t help thinking of Joel again. It’s like he’s infected your mind and every shitty 2000s post-grunge alt-rock song conjures him up. 

You can’t help wondering what exactly he would’ve told Ellie about your surprise visit. Would he have asked about you? Implied anything? You can’t stop yourself from asking. 

“What did he say?” 

Ellie’s head swivels towards you immediately. 

“Who?” 

Instantly you know you messed up. You didn’t realize how much time had passed. You shouldn’t still be thinking of him. She prods you about what you said and what you meant. Not accepting a nothing or a never mind. An uncomfortable wave of embarrassment twists in your stomach, heat blooms in your cheeks, and your hands are fidgety. 

You shouldn’t have brought it up, you shouldn't be so defensive. Shouldn’t, shouldn’t, shouldn’t.  

Ellie is sharp–cutthroat–reading your every move. You stare at the empty Tupperware on her desk, hoping it will reveal some sort of escape plan. A strategy to deflect. It’s too late. Her eyes narrow just the slightest bit and she follows your gaze. It clicks. 

“Oh, you meant Joel?” 

You’re so busted. “I..uh,” you don’t know how to finish that thought. 

“Why?” She gives you such a blank-faced look that it’s unsettling. You’re an adult. Why does this feel like you got caught sneaking out to see a boy on a school night?

You try to brush it off, but it sounds more defensive, making it worse. You focus on cracking your knuckles and trying to feign a more casual air. For some reason that means you keep talking. Broken sentences pouring out of you and trailing off into a stiff laugh. 

Mercifully, Ellie cuts you off. Tells you it was Tommy who mentioned it. 

So, he was the one who showed up while you had your legs spread open on Joel’s kitchen counter. The catalyst to your shirt heist and hasty getaway. That makes your face hot for a different reason. 

“Oh. Gross.” Ellie groans.

“What?” 

“You’ve got that look on your face.” 

You snort at that. Only slightly horrified that she’s so adept at picking up the tells on your face. “What look?” 

You suck down the last of your iced coffee, stalling, until you’re just sucking in air. You toss it in the tiny trash bin between the two of you and decide to be honest no matter what she says. You’d rather get ahead of it. 

“Was it a sex lasagna?” Her mouth is pulled into a look of disgust. 

You snort at that before shaking your head, preparing to get it all out. 

“Okay, look. It was a thank-you lasagna.” You pause, trying to figure out exactly how much to share. “I didn’t plan the rest of it. It just…happened. And, fuck, it was so hot.” 

Her face wrinkles with confusion, then disgust, then laughter. It makes your heart rate speed up. 

“I’m sorry,” your words come out like a waterfall. “I don’t want to make things weird. I want us to be friends. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sure it wasn’t serious. I’ll tell you whatever you want. It was my fault. I showed up without letting him know. I made the first move—” 

“You fold quick,” Ellie notes, interrupting you. She throws her hands up and you shut your mouth, “Look, you’re both adults, I don’t care what you do. Just, please, don’t tell me any of the sex details.” 

“Do you really not care? Or like, you say I don’t care and then treat me like Cheryl in the front office?” you ask. 

“No. I genuinely don’t give a shit. Well, I mean, if you break his heart I’ll have to kill you.”

“Naturally,” you agree with a solemn nod. 

“But,” she pauses to take a breath, tilting her head before continuing, “it would probably be good for him, don’t think he’s had a real date in a while. But don’t come back to me broken-hearted if he’s a dick—that’s just his face.”

“A date?” you echo. 

She groans and rolls her eyes at you, but it’s too late. 

Your mind starts to wander. With Ellie’s blessing, you don’t have a reason not to give it a shot.

The harps are already strumming as you float off into your cloud of dissociation. Your favorite daydream flickers into focus as your eyes glaze over and a dazed grin curls on your face. It’s always that same slo-mo Baywatch-style memory. That one where you caught Joel wiping the sweat off his forehead with the bottom of his t-shirt. The original temptation that led you back to him. 

Somehow, every time it replays, there’s a new easter egg just for you. The ghost of a knowing smirk or a sparkly-eyed wink when he catches your eye, like a wicked little tease to pull you deeper into the dream world. 

Sometimes it’s all too visceral. In the privacy of your mind, you’re free to direct the scene how you’d like. Slowly panning over the peek of soft skin and the trail of hair you can see. You can still feel the warmth on your fingertips from when you slipped your hand beneath the waistband of those navy blue boxers. 

Sometimes, you create something new. You’d like to take one of his sun-faded plastic green lawn chairs, drag it to the front porch, and sit yourself down for a show. You wanna watch him mow the grass in the evening heat. 

You can see the sweat beads dotted along his neck and the contour of his marble-sculpted arms as he serpentines along your fantasy world front lawn. 

You can smell the fresh-cut grass and the specific blend of sweaty man pheromones that Aphrodite concocted just for you. 

Your chest swells, lungs expanding, as you breathe slowly and deeply. The illusory scents fill your lungs until you release a deep, yearnful sigh. The imaginary lawn mower almost drowns out the imaginary Fred Durst bellering, It’s just one of those days, from that little stereo on the workbench. 

Before you can transition into another scenario—something bounces off your face, and you flinch with a loud yelp. 

“That was your warning,” Ellie glares at you. “Next time I’m throwing something sharp.” 

“Okay, okay, message received.” You offer a sheepish smile, and she turns around. It seems the Limp Bizkit song was very much not a figment of your imagination. Ellie mutters along to the lyrics behind you, barely audible, as you spin in your chair to get back to work. 

It’s not even five minutes later when you swivel in your chair again with another question for Ellie. 

There’s nothing like having a crush on a man you barely know to truly make you delusional. You know you’ve got it bad, but it’s unfortunately just so much fun to daydream and let your mind run wild with the very limited info you know about the man. 

You don’t want to worry about anything that could go wrong. 

Except for, well, everything. 

You still fret over texting him first or waiting. Should you send another picture with no context? Should you call? Should you wait another day? 

When you notice your chest feeling tight you give yourself a reality check. It’s Monday morning. You’re at work. He’s probably at work. You can figure it out later. A future you problem. 

Joel’s text comes through late in the evening. 

Joel: You wearing my shirt to bed again? 

You’re grinning immediately. At hearing from him first and because he fucking clocked you. You snap a quick photo. Despite being on the spot, it’s thoughtfully crafted. Just enough to show the logo and only your mouth, not your face, no extra skin, no sexy tease. Just a confirmation. You send it off, and his reply buzzes seconds later. 

Joel: More 

You try to bite back the grin still stuck on your face as your fingers dance across the screen. You want to tell him off for being so blunt, but for some reason, it feels like such a compliment. You’ve definitely got it bad if a thirsty one-word text feels like high praise. 

You aren’t going to give in this time. You’ve still got Ellie’s words echoing in your mind. A date. You type back one line. 

You: Gonna have to earn it if you want more 

Your phone rings shortly after your message is delivered. Joel’s name flashes on the screen and your stomach flips. You thought maybe he’d send another dick pic, but now he’s calling you? It does check out that he wouldn’t be the texting type, to be fair.

“Hey,” you answer, voice soft, a little tentative. 

“You’re gonna make me work for it, huh?” His drawl is low, rough around the edges and so stupidly sexy it makes your nipples hard. You can just tell he’s already on edge. Delight floods your veins at the idea of him thinking of you all day. 

“You could use a lesson in patience,” your voice is remarkably steady, despite the way your body is lit up. You chew at your lower lip. “Thought I told you that last time we were on the phone,” you chide. 

A deep chuckle rumbles through the phone. “Patience,” he repeats. There’s a pause that has you holding your breath. “I don’t think you’re playin’ fair, baby. Knowing you’re in bed with my shirt on, teasin’ me with another picture.” His voice takes on a husky, knowing tone. “Don’t think it’s patience you’re lookin’ for. Bet I know what you really want.” 

Your breath catches, loud enough he wouldn’t miss it even with his busted phone. You weren’t prepared to be so affected by just the timbre of his voice. It’s fucked up the way he’s got you breathless for no damn good reason. 

You can picture him in his bed. The trademark navy blue sheets. Is he fresh out of the shower? Damp hair and the overpowering scent of whatever 10 in 1 man soap was on sale at the grocery store— 

“Okay. Enlighten me then. What do I want?” you finally reply. 

“You want to hear it,” he continues, smooth and smug, radiating a cocky smirk right through the phone that makes your skin tingle. “You want to hear how you’ve got me hard, sittin’ here thinkin’ about you,” Joel growls, his voice thick with heat. “Thinkin’ about you wearing just my shirt.”

You bite down on your lip to stay quiet. Maybe he’s not in bed at all. Maybe he’s still out in his shop, locked in the office, a couple beers down before he dared to text you. His hair a mess from running his fingers through it, in those faded jeans that cling to him perfectly. 

Either way, it seems almost cruel to stop him with a mouth like that. 

“Thinking about what I’d do if you were here,” he carries on. “You look good in my shirt.” His voice drops even lower. “You’d let me push it up though, wouldn’t you? Just enough so I can see how wet you are for me.” 

You can’t help pressing your thighs together at that thought. If he hears how turned on you are already, you’re definitely going to end up acting out his fantasy over the phone. 

“Fuck.” he mutters, his voice breaking. “You’d let me take my time. Get my hands on those perfect tits again. Soak my fingers with that sweet pussy. Have you so worked up you’d be begging for my cock.” 

He says it like it’s a fact, as if he could come over right now and you’d drag him straight to your bed—or no, like you’d be on him before he could shut the front door. 

It’s so filthy, so confident. You’re so tempted to keep him going, but you pull yourself together. Biting back the whimper stuck in your throat.  

“Well, damn, Joel,” you swallow down the urge to ask for more details. “Guess you’ve got me all figured out then,” you tease with a heavy dash of sarcasm in your tone. 

“Not all of you,” he replies, with a suggestive edge. “Not yet.”

You let out a breath you were holding. “Look, you can’t just get your dick out on the phone, tell me how you wanna touch me, and get your way,” you manage, steady and a little sharp. “Not this time.”

“Not this time?” he echoes, half-laughing, clearly amused. “Alright. Sure. What do you want then?”

There’s a flicker of nervousness that tightens in your chest. You don’t want him to think you’re rejecting him, don’t want to risk losing the momentum of whatever this is. “I’m saying…I do want you. But, if you want more you’re going to have to do more. Show me you mean it. Like…a date.”

He doesn’t answer immediately, and your heart skips as you imagine his reaction. He’s quiet, but you can hear his breathing—measured, like he’s weighing something.

“Shit. You’re serious?” he asks, and there’s a softness now, laced with just enough curiosity to make you think he’s intrigued.

“Dead serious,” you say, adding, “But if you’re not interested in me like that—”

“Oh, I’m interested.” The words come quick, a little sharper than you expect, and they make you beam. “Fine. A date,” he says, like he’s letting the word settle on his tongue. “Friday?”

“Friday.” You confirm and stretch your neck. Your muscles are tense. Shoulders tight. All from his filthy words getting you worked up in half a second and the anxiety of your demand. “Come up with something good,” you tease, your voice slipping into something sultrier, “and maybe we’ll both get what we want.”

There’s a low growl on the other end of the line, tinged with frustration and desire. It makes your pulse throb in your clit. You almost wish you had let him talk you through it before suggesting the date. Hear how worked up he’s been over you. 

“Jesus,” he grumbles. 

Oh, you would’ve turned into a mess and completely forgotten to bring it up. Now you’ve essentially cock blocked yourself until the end of the week. Ugh. 

“You’re gonna drive me mad.” He says. But there’s no animosity in it. Instead, there’s something new in his voice that gives you butterflies. 

“Yep.” 

You’re the one who hangs up first before you can hear anything else that might tempt you to stray from your plan.

……..

It’s late morning when your phone buzzes on your desk the next day, interrupting your excellent cosplay of a ‘productive employee’. You glance at the screen and your heart trips when you see Joel’s name. 

You answer, trying to sound casual despite the fluttery feeling in your chest. “Calling me during business hours, Mr. Miller? You’re going to get me in trouble.” 

Joel snorts softly. “Think we both know you’re the one that likes causin’ trouble.” 

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.” 

His voice drops lower, quieter. “You need a reminder? Cause I’ve been replaying exactly how much trouble you caused in my kitchen…”

“Don’t.” You nearly hiss into the phone, trying to cut him off before he starts with any graphic retellings. You spin in your chair, grateful when you confirm Ellie has headphones on for once. 

“Right.” His voice is back to a slightly less devastatingly erotic tone. “Wouldn’t want to get carried away while you’re at work. 

“Well,” he drawls, the grin evident in his voice now. “You said you wanted a date, so I was thinking.”

You hum, leaning into the teasing tone. “If it’s a chain restaurant I’m canceling right now.”

“Do I seem like the kind of guy who’d take you to Applebee’s?”

“Do you want me to answer that honestly?” you quip, laughing at the soft groan he makes in response. “No Applebee’s, no Chili’s, and if you’re thinking about taking me to whatever the fanciest Italian place is in this town, don’t. I’m not going on a first date where you used to take your ex-wife for anniversary dinners.” 

There’s a beat of silence, then a grumbled, “It was Valentine’s, actually.”

You cackle, delighted at your guess. He huffs. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re predictable,” you shoot back, grinning as you cross your legs under your desk. “Or maybe it’s just ‘cause nobody has been challenging you.”

“S’that what you are?” he asks, “A challenge?” 

You shift in your chair, the grin on your face is going to make your cheeks burn if he keeps this up. You soften the teasing as you admit. “Maybe a little.” 

“Mm,” he grunts, clearly not convinced.

“If you’re up for it,” you add. Nerves flutter in your stomach now. Maybe he doesn’t want a challenge at all. It’s not like you’ve been hard to get. The silence stretches just long enough to make you wonder if you’ve pushed too far. 

His exasperated sigh crackles through the phone, but it’s laced with something warmer. “Yeah.” But then he exhales, soft and almost self-conscious. “Ain’t a bad thing.”

The words are simple, but they settle somewhere deep, curling warm in your chest. For a moment, the flirty defense falls, and you catch the subtle weight in his voice.

“You’re full of surprises, Joel,” you say finally, your tone gentle.

“Guess you’ll find out,” he murmurs, the words quiet like he’s not sure he’s meant to say them.

Your stomach flutters at the unexpected softness. You knew there was more to him than his bold mouth when his dick is hard or the stoic lone wolf look he wears in his garage. You weren’t expecting him to be…whatever this is now. 

The line goes quiet again, his breathing soft on the other end. “Friday at seven,” he says after a moment, his voice steady but quieter than before. “There’s a brewery that Tommy suggested. I’ll pick you up.”

“That sounds nice,” you reply, smiling into the phone.

“Alright,” he mutters. There’s a brief pause, like he’s hesitating, before he says, “See you then.”

He hangs up before you can say anything else, and for a moment, you’re left staring at your phone like an idiot. A grin stuck on your face. Possibly permanently. 

It’s not just the idea of the date. It’s the thought of Joel making a plan, asking for recommendations, and thinking of what you might like. You figured it’d be fun to give him a hard time and all, but you didn’t have real expectations. 

The week stretches on and you’re not sure if it’s moving too fast or too slow. Having a crush is wicked enough, but having a date planned makes you feel slightly insane. It’s like you’re in a cartoon where the world is suddenly brighter and the birds sing just for you. 

You find yourself constantly daydreaming at work. Every Creed song Ellie plays somehow sends you into a fugue state. Snippets of Joel’s voice replay in your head. 

There’s something about the way he said, “Ain’t a bad thing,” that keeps sneaking up on you when you least expect it. It wasn’t even what he said—it was how he said it. Quiet, like he wasn’t used to admitting something like that out loud. It makes you smile like a fool every time you think about it.

The worst is the evenings. At home in your room. Nothing to distract you. Alone with his t-shirt. Re-reading your brief texts. Lingering wistfully over the dick pic he sent like it’s a letter from your long-distance lover. You’ve got to get it together. 

And Joel? He’s just as distracted, though he’d never admit it. At least not to anyone but you. 

At work, his usual rhythm is thrown completely out of whack. He catches himself staring at the same invoice three times before finally filing it away. Tommy catches him with his Breaking Benjamin t-shirt inside out. 

You’re in his head and it’s driving him nuts. He tried to minimize it. Deciding it was just the impulsive way you crashed into his world. You spread like a wildfire in his mind. The kindness in you to deliver a homemade meal. The audaciousness you have to go after what you want. 

He goes weak for a confident woman and you’re so sharp and quick with him. It’s a rush, but not just because of the sexual chemistry. Not just because you’re a novelty or a break in his routine. 

It’s you. It’s the way you’ve got the passion and sharpness with your words, but you’re still soft on the edges. He thinks about the way your voice had dipped when you said, “If you’re up for it,” like you weren’t just teasing but testing something, seeing if he’d push you away.

He’s not used to this. Not the nerves, not the anticipation, and definitely not the way he’s spending too much time wondering what to wear on Friday. Not that he’d ever admit it, but he even dug through the back of his closet, holding up a button-down shirt Ellie had bought him last Christmas like it might bite him. He ends up tossing it back in favor of flannel—it’s still a step up from a faded band t-shirt. 

By Thursday you’re nearly useless. You drive Ellie crazy all morning, spacing out and jumping when she asks you a question. To be respectful, you haven’t mentioned the date and she hasn’t asked. Would Joel have told her? Does she know you’re losing your mind over a man who probably has holes in his sweatpants? Are you equally as pathetic? 

You’re still stuck on that thought when she kicks your chair, startling you back to reality. “Come on,” she demands. “We’re outta here and you’re coming to the Main Street with me. I’ll buy.” 

Turns out you’re a cheap date. The dive bar has strong cocktails and a very limited menu of fried foods to choose from. You sit outside at a picnic table enjoying the warmth of the early summer evening. 

Ellie is easy to get along with. Talking animatedly about her friends. Sharing the hot goss about Cheryl and her divorce. Trying to recruit you to join the company rec league kickball team. It’s all a welcome distraction even though you still have Joel on the brain. 

You do your best not to bring him up but when she mentions him you know you perk up like a heart-eyed fool. Begrudgingly, but with sincerity, Ellie asks if the date is what’s got you so distracted. 

“How did you know?” 

“You’re both worse than teenagers.” She rolls her eyes. “Thought bringing you here might take your mind off it.” 

You snap to attention at her choice of words. “Both?” 

“Don’t.” 

She’s a good friend. You did need the distraction. You’re still smiling about that thought as you check yourself out in the mirror in the bathroom at the bar. There’s a poster taped to the paper towel dispenser for the cover band that plays Saturday nights that catches your eye before you slip your phone out of your pocket. 

You’d blame it on the drinks but the truth is only had one. You hover over the messages. Wondering if he’s really as nervous as you. Fuck it, you decide before sending what you’ve been wondering. 

You: You been thinking about me? 

His message comes through so fast it’s more revealing than the words he typed. 

Joel: Maybe 

Fuck, why does one word have you feeling giddy already? 

Joel: Have you? 

He asks shortly after. You wonder if he’s second guessing himself. Is Joel nervous? 

You: A little  

You figure you’ll give him the same treatment. 

Joel: Haven’t been able to stop, if I’m honest baby 

Heat floods your face as you stare at the screen, and his next message comes before you can respond. 

Joel: Friday’s been feeling real far away 

That has you shaking your head. 

You: Patience is a virtue 

He’s quick to respond again. 

Joel: Never claimed to be a saintly man 

That makes you genuinely laugh. 

You: Good 

……

By the time Friday night rolls around, you’ve fully spiraled into a mess of anxiety and excitement. You’re not really the type to overthink a date, but there’s something about the whole scenario that feels different. It’s not just because Joel’s hot—hotter than he has any right to be—but he’s trying. For you. It’s disarming in a way you weren’t expecting. 

You know that the worst-case scenario for the night isn’t bad. You know how to have a good time wherever you are and you are confident that he’s a horny bastard that will put out even if you actively try to sabotage the date. It’s that flickering sensation in your chest that hopes for more. That’s what makes you nervous. 

You’re startled when Joel knocks at your front door. You check your reflection one last time before heading to the door. You figure it’s casual enough for a first date at a brewery. 

Despite everything inside of you that screamed to put your tits on display again—you couldn’t resist wearing the Creed shirt. You tied it up in the front so it accentuates your figure and paired it with a faux leather skirt with a matching black lace set underneath. 

It’s gotta be enough to play at the alt-rock vibe he’s still living in. You look good. Really good. 

But when you open the door he isn’t the only one who’s world gets rocked. Joel stands in front of you like he was plucked from your fantasy. Freshly showered, his damp curls just starting to dry in soft waves. A plaid button-down shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off those strong, tan forearms. His dark jeans are markedly not as worn down as the last pair you saw him in, yet the effect on you is just as dastardly. 

It’s unfair, really, how good he looks. You’re left blinking as your mouth goes a little dry while you drink him in. Who’s idea was it to have a date? In public? Fuck. He shifts, a sly smile growing on his face as he rests his hip against the door jam. 

“Hi,” you mumble, still ogling him. 

“You look… real nice,” he says, voice so low and velvety it should be registered as a weapon. 

You know you had a smart-ass remark about the shirt on the tip of your tongue, but it’s gone. Gone… along with your morals. All you’ve got left is the intense, primal desire to do something inappropriate with his arms? Yes! Yes! Yes! The horny gremlins like your idea despite having no logistics or master plan. 

They seem to have no coherent plan of attack at all, to be honest. Bite! Lick! Suck! All you know is that you need him in your mouth until your jaw is sore. 

Joel huffs softly. Amused that you seem speechless. “Didn’t think flannel was all that special baby, you alright?” 

“It’s not the flannel,” you mutter under your breath, but you don't let him hear the rest of that thought: Arms! Arms! Arms! 

You grab your bag and follow him out to the truck, stealing glances at him as he walks ahead of you. You can’t help it. He’s so…solid. Sturdy. Sure of himself. Even when he’s out of his comfort zone. It’s doing something sinful to you. 

The inside of the truck smells faintly like a Black Ice air freshener, a Home Depot on a Sunday morning, and Armor All. The distinctly Joel aesthetic lives up to your imagination. It’s lived in. Comfortable. 

There’s the catchall cupholder of change, receipts, and literal nuts and bolts. The caseless CDs in the storage divider strapped to the sun visor—you recognize a couple like Seether and Three Days Grace. 

Before you can take in every detail though, you’re distracted by just the sight of him driving. It’s absurd, but why does he look this good just driving? Most people can manage to operate a vehicle, but most people don’t look as fuckable as Joel does, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh. Hand! Thigh! Neck! Fingers! 

You’re reduced to only being able to name anatomical features when you’re this close to him, apparently. Like an alien learning about a man for the first time. An extraterrestrial explorer propelled by the most curious desire to taste and touch every part of Joel—for research. 

You’re so caught up that it takes a while to register the song that’s playing. Of course, it’s more Nickelback. 

You're so much cooler

When you never pull it out

Cause you look so much cuter

With something in your mouth

It breaks the spell he has on you and you laugh, really laugh. Joel looks slightly horrified, having no idea what led to your outburst. When you’ve recovered enough, you let him in on it. 

“Nice first date song. You really know how to set the mood.” 

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t change the song, and you let yourself glance at him again as he drives. His profile glows in the evening sun, and you can’t help thinking how easy it would be to reach over and drag your hand down his chest, and make him pull over so you could climb into his lap. The thought has you pressing your thighs together, your pulse thrumming in your ears. At this rate you’re not going to make it through the night. 

…..

The brewery is trendy. Joel hopes it’s something you like. He tries to focus on the menu, but feels like his brain is short-circuiting. It’s not the overpriced burgers or the craft beers with descriptors that don’t sound like flavors. It’s the way you're leaning forward on your elbows, chin resting in your hand, smile tugging at your lips. 

The shirt is unfair. The way you’ve got it tied, hugging your body in ways that make his palms itch. Knowing you were touching yourself in the same shirt to the sound of his voice. He’s trying not to stare, trying to be polite, but it’s damn near impossible with you sitting across from him like that. 

“How about this one?” you say, pointing to an option on the menu. “Probably the closest thing to what you’ve got stocked in the shop fridge.” He’d wonder how you knew what he had in the fridge, but his eyes are glued to your finger pointing at the menu and it’s consuming all of his thoughts. 

You ramble on about a few other choices but he doesn’t hear the words. He’s still stuck on your hand. He swears he can still feel the ghost of your touch from the kitchen last week. Shit. His jeans are already feeling tighter than they should. 

He clears his throat, trying to pull it together. “I’ll trust you.”  

You smile wide at that. He’s so fucked. “You know a lot about fancy beer.” Yikes. “You got a favorite on here?” Get it together, he begs himself. 

“Nah, I don’t really like beer,” you say casually. You give him a shrug and point out a cider you’re thinking about trying. His stomach twists. 

“You don’t like beer,” he repeats. “But, you let me take you to a brewery?” His chest feels tight, and he shifts uncomfortably. 

“They have food, too.” you counter. 

“Right.” Why does he feel like he’s so out of his element? He’s been second-guessing everything about this date. He feels his gaze drifting as his eyes shift out of focus, his fingers toy with his bottom lip as he gets lost in his head. 

He knows he can get you worked up just as bad as him over the phone, knows he can make you sing for him with just his fingers, but this? He doesn’t know what you want from him now. Is the date some kind of test? He knows he’s overthinking all of it. 

“Hey.” Your voice brings him back, pulling him out of his thoughts. “I like that you planned something.” 

It seems genuine. The way you look at him with bright eyes and a smirk like you’ve got something to tease him about on the tip of your tongue. “Now ask me a boring first date question,” you instruct with a nod like you’re giving him some kind of permission. 

“What’s your favorite color?” 

You snort laughing at him. If you’re half as nervous as him you don’t show it. 

….

It works. Mostly. Your drinks arrive. The conversation flows more easily. He still gets tripped up here and there but doesn’t disappear on you again. He asks about your job, your family, about where you moved from, and you give him enough to keep things light but still playfully dodge some of his questions. 

Every time he gets flustered, you catch yourself smiling, a little surprised at how much you’re enjoying this. It’s the way he watches you like he’s trying to figure you out. The way he tries. He seems to relax a little and for a moment, you think he might settle into the evening. 

Then he reaches for his water, and it all goes sideways. The dangerously full glass wobbles, tilting just enough to spill halfway across the table. Joel jerks back, cursing dejectedly under his breath as he grabs a napkin to clean it up. 

You can’t help it. The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. Just loud enough for him to hear. “Trying to get me wet already?” 

His eyes snap to yours. You grin, adding, “Don’t worry, been dripping for you since you showed up at my front door.” 

He makes a sound between a cough and a choke. Stunned. The faintest blush creeps up his neck, reaching all the way to his ears. For a second, he looks like he might say something, but all he manages to get out is a gruff, “Jesus.” 

You lean back in your chair, grinning triumphantly. You didn’t expect him to get so rattled by your comment. Not with how vulgar he’s been on the phone or when he had his hand between your legs. It’s an ego boost to know you’ve got the upper hand at first. 

“Relax,” you purr. 

Then you catch the way he discreetly tries to adjust himself under the table. Clearly unable to relieve the pressure. Knowing the effect you have on him is more intoxicating than the alcohol. An idea strikes you. You know exactly how to get him to relax. 

“Do you have cash?” you ask. 

“What? Yeah.” He looks at you confused. 

You nod like he proved a point by saying yes. That confuses him further, a deep line forming between his brows. 

“‘Course you do. That’s like, Dad 101 ‘carry cash in case of emergency’. 

You stand and grab your bag. “We’re not staying,” you say simply.

“What?” He frowns, sitting up straighter. 

You flash him a smile. “I’ve got a better idea. Come on. You said you trust me.”

“To choose a beer,” he grumbles, dropping enough cash for a generous tip on the table before letting you lead. He doesn’t argue as you walk back to the truck, just trying to catch up with your words. He opens the passenger door for you, his hand brushing yours briefly as you climb into the truck. It’s a small thing, but the innocence makes your pulse skip all the same. 

Once he’s in the driver’s seat, the tension between you shifts. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s charged. You glance at him, taking in the way his hands grip the steering wheel so tightly, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he shifts. 

The truck rumbles to life and another one of the horniest Nickelback songs plays—barely loud enough to recognize. 

I’m loving what you wanna wear

I wonder what’s up under there 

Wonder if I’ll ever have it under my tongue 

You bite back another laugh as the vocals float through the cab, perfectly at odds with the vibe of the place you just left. Joel shifts, mouth twitching like he knows how ridiculous it is. “You wanna tell me where we’re headed?” he asks, voice cutting through your thoughts. 

You tell him where to drive and settle back in your seat. Again your thoughts drift. Infatuated with his fingers curling and uncurling like he’s trying to distract himself. He hasn’t said much since you’ve left, but you can feel the tension radiating off him. Heavy and thick. 

You catch his gaze flicker to you for the third time in as many minutes. His eyes trail over the curve of your thighs where your skirt has ridden up. It’s subtle, but enough to make you feel bold. 

You smirk, pulling the visor down to check your reflection in the mirror. Fishing a lip gloss out from your bag, you swipe it over your lips, smoothing the edges with your fingertip. Joel doesn’t say anything, but you don’t miss the deep steadying breath that fills his lungs or the crack of his knuckles. 

Satisfied with your lips, you tug lightly at the t-shirt, adjusting the knot, shifting the fabric to lay how you like and slipping a hand beneath it to adjust your tits in your lacy bra. You hear Joel exhale sharply, a low, throaty sound that makes heat curl low in your stomach. 

“You okay?” you ask, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. Your voice is softer now, more knowing, and when he doesn’t answer right away, you grin. “You seem tense.”

Joel mutters something under his breath. His jaw tightens. Finally, he glances at you, his eyes dark. “You keep doin’ that, and we’re gonna have a problem, baby.”

“Doing what?” you ask, your voice all innocence, though his threat gives you a prickly rush. 

Joel huffs a laugh, low and rough. “You know damn well.” His voice dips, a rasp of heat that whips down your spine. “The lips and the shirt, just messin’ with me like you want me to lose my fuckin’ mind.” 

Your grin widens as you meet his gaze. “And what if I do?”

“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice strained, his hand flexing against the wheel. “Trying to get me to crash into a ditch or something?” 

The tension between you is unbearable now, the air thick and buzzing. Joel’s jaw is clenched tightly. You unabashedly linger on the way his hips press forward slightly like he’s trying to relieve the ache between his legs. It shouldn’t drive you fucking wild with need, but you’re gripped mind, pussy, and soul. 

“Pull over,” you say suddenly, your tone steady.

Joel’s head snaps toward you, incredulous. 

“Pull over,” you repeat, your voice softer now, more insistent. “Please.”

He hesitates for only a second before caving, steering the truck onto the shoulder. The tires crunch against the gravel as he shifts into park, the engine idling low as he turns to look at you. His eyes are dark, his breathing uneven, and the sight of him—wrecked and barely holding it together—makes you rabid. 

“You’re gonna kill me,” his voice is rough and quiet. Infused with lust and awe. 

“Maybe,” you murmur, leaning closer. “But you’ll enjoy it.”

Joel groans softly, his hand flying to your thigh, the heat of his palm searing against your skin. “Torturing me,” he mutters, his voice a low growl. “Sitting there lookin’ like that, knowing damn well what you’re doin’ to me.”

“Yeah?” you ask, your breath hitching as his fingers slide higher. “What am I doing to you, Joel?”

He exhales sharply, his grip on your thigh tightening. Why are his hands that big? Like, how are you supposed to know what they feel like and ever leave his grasp? 

Your heart is pounding now, the heat in your veins making it hard to think straight. Joel’s voice drops lower, his hand sliding further up your thigh as he leans closer.

“Can’t stop thinkin’ about it,” he mutters, his lips ghosting over your jaw. “The way you’d taste, the way you’d sound, begging me to fuck you harder, deeper—”

“Joel,” you whisper, cutting him off. Your voice is shaky, your hands gripping his arm as you try to ground yourself. “Please.”

He groans again, the sound rough and desperate, and his hand moves higher, his fingers brushing the edge of your underwear. “Yeah, baby,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. “That’s what I wanna hear.”

It makes you shudder. You feel him smile at your body's obvious responses, as his nose grazes your skin just below your ear. 

“You’re so fuckin’ perfect,” he murmurs into your neck. “Been thinkin’ about you all damn week. Every time I close my eyes, it’s you.”

His words hit like a match to dry kindling, and your breath stutters as his fingers trace the seam of your panties. 

“You know how hard it was to sit there at that table?” he mutters, his voice turning darker. “With you looking like this, wearing my clothes, teasin’ me.” 

“We didn’t even make it to the actual dinner part,” you giggle as you trail off. 

His fingers press more firmly, dragging slowly over the thin fabric, and you can’t stop the gasp that escapes your lips. Joel groans at the sound, his free hand gripping your thigh to hold you steady.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps, his voice thick with heat. “You’re already soaked. Bet I could make you come like this, right here, without even tryin’.”

Your hips shift instinctively, grinding against his hand as he works you with deliberate precision. The friction is maddening, just enough to keep you on edge, but not enough to send you over. Every filthy word he says in your ear has you burning up. 

“Jesus, you’re gonna sound so fuckin’ sweet for me,” he says, more to himself. “Can’t wait to bury my face between your legs, make you scream my name until your throat’s raw.”

“Joel,” you whisper, your voice shaky, your hand flying to his wrist as his fingers dip lower, brushing just beneath the edge of your panties. “Wait.”

He freezes instantly, his brow furrowing as he looks at you. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, your cheeks flushed, your body still trembling under his touch. “Not now,” you assert, your voice soft but steady. “Let me take care of you.”

Joel blinks, his pupils blown wide as your words sink in. His mouth parts to say something but the words disappear. You don’t let him argue. 

Sliding your hand down to his belt, you undo it hastily, fingers working open the button of his jeans before he can protest. It’s for him. You want to do this for him. Help him relax so you can enjoy the rest of your date. 

But, fuck, it’s also for you. You’ve been riding a high just from a shoddy dick pic and your muscle memory, but you’ve been patient long enough. You’ve got to see it in person and you need it in your mouth, asap. You deserve that much, right? 

You slide down the zipper and fuss with the waistband until you get what you wanted. His breath catches as you free his cock. It’s heavy and hard against your palm. Radiating heat and weeping for you. 

“Oh, fuck,” he starts, his voice breaking. 

You hum softly, pleased, leaning in to kiss him as your hand strokes him slowly, deliberately. Joel groans against your mouth, his hips jerking slightly into your hand. 

“You’ve been thinking about this,” you murmur against his lips. “All week.” 

“Yeah,” he rasps, voice raw with want. “Can’t stop thinking about you. How you’d feel, how you’d look, how you’d sound.” 

“Show me,” you whisper, lowering your head to taste for yourself. You like a hot stripe from the base of his cock to the tip, swirling your tongue around the head. 

Joel’s breath stutters, his hand flying to the back of your head as he watches you. “You’re so fucking good, baby. Like a fucking dream.” 

You hollow your cheeks, tongue gliding along his length as you take him into the heat of your mouth. You have to use your hands to work the rest of him, still slowly and deliberately. Every sound he makes, every twitch against your tongue, every flex of his core, and tightening of his fingers, it all drives you wild. 

It has you moaning with need around him. Your cunt soaked and pulsing, begging for attention between your legs as you focus all on him. It’s just as much for you as it is for him. 

His head tips back against the seat, a rumbling grown spilling from his lips as his hips shift beneath you. 

“Shit.” he pants, voice cracking. “You’re gonna make come so fuckin’ hard. Bet you’d look so pretty with my come on your tongue.” 

The sheer filth of his words spurs you on, your movements quickening as you savor every groan, curse, and sharp inhale from him. “Fuck—just like that.” He encourages you, adding firm pressure to the back of your head as his hips jerk and he loses control. 

“You want it?” he asks desperately as you moan in affirmation. You’re voice is still vibrating through him as he starts to come, hot and heavy on your tongue. You don’t stop until his body goes slack beneath you, his chest heaving as you finally pull back. 

He looks wrecked, mouth hanging open, sweat on his brow. You give him a devilish smile before opening your mouth to show him. He stares at you, eyes dark and hazy, before cupping your jaw in his palm as you swallow. 

“Told you,” he huffs, “so fucking pretty with my come on your tongue.” A bright, satisfied smile spreads on your face at his praise. He pulls you in closer for a kiss. When you pull back a frown pulls at your mouth. 

“What’s wrong?” Joel asks hurriedly. 

“I didn’t get to see,” you muse. “Will you take a picture next time?” 

“Fuck,” he looks at you with awe and pride. “Yeah, baby, of course.” 

“Good,” you nod, readjusting and settling back into your seat. “You think you can relax a little now?” you ask, tone teasing.

Joel lets out a breathless laugh. He drags his hand down his face. “You’re unreal,” he mutters, voice still hoarse. The phrase makes you beam with pride. It’s the same remark he made over the phone last week…right before he said ‘got me shooting loads like a fucking teenager’.” 

The gratification just from seeing him this wrecked is like a drug. He’s every bit as enticing and addicting as you hoped and feared. You squeeze your thighs together once more and take a deep breath. Committed to the rest of your idea for saving your first date with the divorced DILF of your dreams. 

“Back on the road. We’ve got places to be.”

Joel blinks at you, still trying to catch his breath. “You’re serious?”

“Yep,” you smile lazily, tugging gently at his arm. “Drive.”

He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath about you being the death of him, but he shifts the truck into gear, his hand lingering on your thigh as he pulls back onto the road.

THANK YOU FOR READING PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU ENJOYED OR HATED ANY OF IT <3

dividers by @/cyberangel-graphics

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