#long time no smut

[duskandcobalt]

Everywhere, Everything: Chapter Eight

Chapter Summary: Back in the same city once again, Azriel and Elain are no longer able to ignore what's simmering between them

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: smut. just smut. (18+ pls and ty)

Missed the first seven chapters? You can find the Masterlist for this fic here 🥰

A/N: hello again friends, i'm baaaaack :)

Once again, I must begin by saying thank you for all your lovely comments and messages on my fics and on my wip wednesday posts because they truly keep me going 💕 I hope you enjoy this next installment.

ENJOY XX

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Azriel couldn’t keep his foot from tapping against the linoleum floor of the Velaris airport as he kept an eager eye on the escalator that descended into the tiny arrivals hall. 

He’d picked Elain up from this airport a number of times when she’d gone on work trips or holidays with her sisters. But he’d never picked her up like this - waiting for her inside instead of on the curb. Waiting for her with this new situation between them ever present in the back of his mind just as it had been ever since the morning after Christmas when they’d unexpectedly gotten a little too carried away in his workshop.

He had the thought that maybe he should’ve brought some flowers with him today - if only to have something to do with his hands because right now he couldn’t decide whether to keep them in or out of his pockets and so he’d been fidgeting like a madman for the last fifteen or so minutes. It was a wonder airport security hadn’t confronted him for suspicious behaviour. 

The issue with bringing flowers was that they were headed straight to Nesta and Cassian’s house for the long weekend and the thought of explaining why he’d bought Elain flowers to her brother-in-law was enough to give him a headache. 

He’d already received a look from Rhys when he’d volunteered to pick her up under the pretence that it would make life easier for him and Feyre but maybe he’d been too eager given the speed with which he’d offered when they’d been discussing the logistics for this weekend. 

But Azriel couldn’t have possibly kept his cool. Not when the last time he’d seen her in person he’d had to drop her off at her sister’s house without so much as a kiss on the cheek because Nesta had been standing outside, waiting for her on the porch with a look on her face that hovered somewhere between worry and disappointment, as if Elain were a wayward teenager who’d snuck out for the night. 

It’d been months of separation and now she was once again back for her nephew’s birthday and though they’d been in near constant contact - texts, phone calls, hours spent on Facetime each evening - he couldn’t wait to see her again and he was desperate for a bit of time alone with her - even if it was just the forty five minute drive from the airport to Nesta’s house on the outskirts of town. 

Azriel raised up on his toes and then back down again - made note that perhaps he’d been spending too much time with Feyre because he’d clearly picked up that nervous habit from her - and then focused his attention back to the escalator again just in time to see a girl with brown hair cascading over her shoulders, a bright smile on her cherry red lips, and pretty eyes that were already set on him. 

There were no words for the way that first glimpse of her made him feel. No possible way to describe the rush he felt in his chest or the anxious itch of his palms. For all the slack he caught for keeping his feelings to himself and hardly ever letting his emotions show on his face, now his cheeks actually hurt from the way he was grinning as Elain not so casually rushed across the floor to him before abandoning her bags and launching herself into his arms. 

He caught her easily, lifting her up with his arms wrapped tight around her middle - savouring the feel of her hands as they wove through the strands of his dark hair. 

“Hi,” Elain giggled, resting her forehead against his. 

“Hi, Lain,” Azriel smiled back, carefully setting her back down on her feet so he could move his hands from her waist up to her face, tilting her chin up to him before he lowered his lips to hers. 

He felt the momentary hesitation, the bit of slight shock. He thought for a split second that maybe he’d pushed his luck with her, taken it too far, but the feeling was short lived because he soon felt her relax in his arms, melting into the kiss - melting into him. He knew what would’ve been going through her head. Knew that she’d paused for a moment because they’d never had this before - the chance to be so open, to put on such a display of affection where anybody in their small town could see them.

“Missed you,” she whispered against his lips, suddenly shy. Her face was flushed, eyes shimmering as she pulled back and looked at him. 

“Missed you, too.” Azriel whispered back, pecking her cheek once more for good measure. “Ready to go?” He asked, waiting for her nod of confirmation before reaching for her suitcase with one hand and taking her hand in the other because he simply couldn’t keep from touching her in some small way. 

The walk to the car was quick, quiet words exchanged about the flight as they walked - turbulent to start but otherwise fine. He knew how much she hated landings and so he’d given her hand a squeeze when she relayed with a small laugh the way she’d gripped the armrest, wishing he’d been there to hold her hand instead. 

There’d also, much to his chagrin, been a slight moment of embarrassment when Azriel started his car only for music to start blaring from the speakers - a bass heavy club track with female vocals that featured on his rotation of music he listened to whilst at the gym. He’d been listening to it on the way to the airport at top volume to keep his mind distracted.

Elain had looked over at him, a teasing grin on her lips and one sharp eyebrow raised as he sheepishly lowered the volume and quickly picked up his phone, switching to an indie folk song that was more indicative of the style of music he typically listened to throughout the day. “I see your club rat days aren’t completely behind you, after all.” 

Azriel chuckled as he threw an arm around her headrest and put the car in reverse, looking over his shoulder as he backed out of the parking spot. 

“Only within the constraints of this car and the gym, I’m afraid.” 

“Shame… I was hoping to see you with some glow sticks in hand again. It’s been awhile.”

Azriel shook his head at how much amusement she was getting out of this moment. He’d had a reputation in his college days for enjoying a good night out and while Elain had only witnessed him in his prime party days a couple of times, she’d never let him forget it. “Don’t worry, I keep the glow sticks in the glove compartment and pull them out at red lights to entertain myself sometimes.” 

“Very funny,” Elain rolled her eyes, settling into her seat and looking out the window as she quietly hummed along to the song that was now playing. 

Azriel watched her out of the corner of his eye, enjoying having her as a passenger in his car once again, happily chattering away about what they’d been up to and what this weekend had in store for them. It wasn’t until they were on the last five or so miles to their destination that he noticed how quiet she’d gotten a little over halfway into the drive, the conversation dying down into what he believed to be a comfortable silence. 

But the more the silence continued, the more suspicious he got.  He’d caught her twice now not-so-subtly sneaking long glances at him while she fidgeted with her necklace and shifted repeatedly in her seat, legs crossing and uncrossing as if she couldn’t get comfortable. It was dark out but he could just about spot a little crease between her brows - a dead giveaway she had something on her mind. 

He’d just opened his mouth to ask about it when she looked over at him. 

“Could you pull over?”

“What?” Azriel frowned, looking over at her as he slowed down, approaching the end of the long, dark road they were on. “Are you okay?” 

His own forehead creased in concern as he scanned her from head to toe. He didn’t know what he was looking for, could barely even see her properly now that the sun had fully set behind the mountains. 

“Yeah, I’m fine… I just… I… can you turn down here?” Elain gestured to the left where the paved road turned to dust and gravel - no street lights to be seen. They were supposed to go right and over the train tracks before turning into Nesta and Cassian’s neighbourhood. 

Azriel turned left as directed, driving a little further down the road before pulling to the side and putting the car in park. He twisted in his seat to face her, the dim lights from the dashboard doing little to help him see her.

“Lain, what’s wr-,” Azriel didn’t get a chance to finish his question because Elain was unbuckling her seatbelt and was halfway over the centre console of his car a second later - her lips fused to his neck, her hand skimming the waistband of his jeans. 

“Can we,” her hand slid along his jaw, turning his face toward hers. Her lips were inches from his. “Please, Az. Let me…”

The other hand that settled low on his waist slid down further, fingers gently palming him where his body had begun to catch on far quicker than his mind. 

“Fuck,” Azriel let out an involuntary groan, his hips keening upwards into her touch. “Jesus, Lain…here? Now?”

“Mhm,” she nodded, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. She breathed in the scent of him, tracing a path with her mouth to his ear where he felt her teeth just barely graze his ear lobe. “Been thinking about it all day long… this whole drive, on the plane, when I was at home. Want you in my mouth.”

Azriel cursed again under his breath, so caught off guard by her uncharacteristically brazen words to even notice that she’d undone the button and zipper of his jeans until he felt her fingers wrap around him, lightly dragging up his quickly hardening length. Just a tease of a touch that had him breathless.

He shouldn’t be surprised that she was acting like this - so out of her mind with the need to have him that she’d gone as far as to make him pull over when they were mere minutes away from seeing her family.

She’d been so eager a time or two on those late night calls, after all. Had only vaguely pretended to be shy when after hours of exchanging increasingly salacious texts, he asked if she’d undress for him. She’d nodded, a pretty blush creeping up her neck as she slowly took off her clothes and propped her laptop between her legs, dutifully following his instructions - lower, slower, yes, just like that… good girl -  until she was coming for him, rapid breaths, his name muttered into her pillow, the light from her computer screen casting her perfect skin in hues of blue.

“Come here,” he groaned, suddenly impatient, overcome with the need to have her - wanting to give her what she was begging for. He unbuckled his own seatbelt and pushed his seat back as far as it would go, helping her over the console and onto his lap, chuckling when her ass hit the horn. She maintained her focus, kissing him once, twice, then shifting down - squeezing herself into the space between his legs, her knees on the floor of the driver’s side, her hands on his thighs, her lips tracing a path around the head of his cock. 

It was like something out of a wet dream. It was every filthy fantasy he’d ever had. Elain on her knees, signature deep red lipstick staining his skin like a map of all the places her lips had explored. Heavy lidded eyes watering as she took him into her mouth - deeper, then deeper still, until he felt the back of her throat, heard the soft choking sound of her taking just a bit too much.

“Careful,” Azriel whispered, gathering her long hair in his fist and holding it back so that it stayed out of her way and gave him the view he was after.

Elain drew back, taking a deep breath as she smiled up at him - eyes glazed over with lust. “I’ve wanted you like this for so long,” she dragged her tongue over his head, her fist tightening and twisting around him. “For years.”

“Yeah?” It’s all he could manage because she was back to it, that torturous mouth making him see stars. The way she hummed around him in confirmation brought him right to the edge. Only a few minutes and she already had him there, thighs tensing as he tried to hold back just a second longer. “Elain… I’m gonna,” he tried to warn her. Tried to give her the option. But she kept going, nails digging into his thighs, almost smiling around him as he tugged at her hair so her eyes were focused on his as he spilled into her mouth with a loud groan.

He watched in a daze the motion of her throat as she swallowed, taking everything he gave her in stride until he was completely spent. He released her hair,carefully tucking it behind her ear as she dragged her tongue over him one last time.

Azriel reached down after she pulled off him, thumbing at her full bottom lip - now slick with spit. “This mouth… all I’ve been thinking about is your mouth. These lips, that lipstick - thought about it on my cock.”

“Hope I lived up to your expectations,” she smiled, shy once again.

“Exceeded them,” he slipped his thumb further between her lips, shaking his head when she playfully dragged her teeth over the pad of it as if she just couldn’t help herself. He had to pull back, keep his hands to himself before he abandoned all plans and hauled her into the back seat of his truck to return the favour.

Elain pressed small kisses to his thighs and his chest as she did her best to make him presentable again before settling back on his lap with her arms around his neck, her face once again tucked into his neck. “Thank you.”

Azriel couldn’t help but laugh as he leaned back to look at her, hands cupping her face. “Think I should be thanking you.”

She shook her head, smiling at him. “Needed that.”

All he could do was grin at her stupidly, tracing her cheeks and then her lips, before he kissed her. Slow. Deep. In no rush. 

To hear that she wanted him like that, needed him… he could almost come again just from the thought of her feeling that way. He was so in over his head, so deeply gone for her.

“Az,” she swallowed, biting down on her lip. “We should go… before the girls send a search party.” 

“You’re right,” he nodded, hands squeezing her ass once more before helping her back over the console and into her seat. He righted himself, readjusted his seat, and turned the engine back on. He started driving back towards the train tracks - his hand on her thigh, a satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The memory of a moment on a dirt road now a secret just between them - nothing but the stars in the night sky as their witness.

…

Filthy. 

It was downright filthy the way Elain felt about him. Filthy the way she walked into her sister’s house knowing her lipstick was on Azriel’s body, crudely smeared under his jeans. Filthy, the way she could still feel his fingers threaded through her hair - the gentle tug of his fist until her eyes were on him so he could watch as she swallowed. Filthy the way she wanted to avoid eating or drinking if only to keep the taste of him in her mouth just a little bit longer. 

She’d wanted it from the second she’d gotten ready for the airport, slipping on her favourite underwear while imagining him taking it off her. She’d wanted to make him feel the way he’d made her feel a time or two now - knew that he wouldn’t be keeping count but still, she’d been itching for it and she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold out as soon as she first spotted Azriel upon arrival at the Velaris airport. It was a miracle she’d even lasted that far into the drive. It was even more of a miracle that she’d been able to stop after all was said and done considering that now, hours later, there was a persistent ache between her legs the begged to be attended to. 

Arriving at Nesta’s house had been a much needed distraction. She’d checked her appearance in the visor mirror just to make sure there wasn’t any incriminating evidence of what they’d done lingering on her skin and then climbed out of the car just in time for the front door to swing open and her nephew to appear at the top of the stairs, shouting her name in excitement. 

From there, she’d been dragged into the house - taken on a tour of the toys and books he’d forced his parents to drag along for the weekend - before he finally handed her over to the adults when the excitement faded and the sleepiness took over. 

She was happy to be back in this house with her favourite people. It was so different from the last time she’d been here, when Graysen had been glued to her hip, his eyes carefully keeping track of her every move. The last time she’d been here, she’d told Azriel that they couldn’t be friends - at least not like they had once been. 

She couldn’t believe just how much had changed in such a short span of time. She couldn’t wrap her head around just how differently everything had panned out. Now she was back in one of her favourite places, no overbearing boyfriend in sight. And yes, she and Azriel weren’t friends, certainly not like they had once been. But it was true in a much different way than she’d anticipated and she couldn’t possibly be happier about it. 

It had been so easy to fall back into old patterns with him - the comfortable ease of their long friendship rekindled as if the year or two of limited communication had never happened. But while those first few weeks after Christmas were just like old times - friendly conversations talking about everything and nothing - at some point their daily phone calls escalated, certain things slipping out with the darkening of the sky and a couple glasses of wine. 

They’d sp0ken about their situation a few times over the phone. She’d confided in him about Graysen - about the mistakes made and the lessons she’d learned. About her hesitancy to jump straight into another relationship. So they’d agreed to keep things casual, to not label anything just yet. Still, it was evident by the constant tension between them, that they were undeniable more than just friends.

Perhaps that should’ve been obvious, given that the last time she’d seen him in person he’d had his head between her legs and it would’ve gone further had Nesta not rudely interrupted. 

She’d hated leaving him like that and had been so eager to see him afterwards but the New Year's rush had been hard to avoid at work for both of them and so they’d ended up agreeing to see each other when she visited for Nyx’s birthday - and to keep this new development just between them- until they could plan their next steps. 

That’s how they ended up in this house - Elain unable to look Azriel in the eye for more than a few seconds while surrounded by their family and friends without thinking of everything she wanted to do with him. She’d been more than happy to entertain Nyx and to help prep dinner. To do absolutely anything that would keep her busy so that she didn’t have time to think about the way she could feel him sneaking looks at her every time they were in the same room. With the distraction of other people, she could push aside the desire coursing through her for just a moment. 

Somehow, Elain had made it through the night successfully. She hadn’t raised any suspicions. Had managed to interact with him in a way that was just the right amount of friendly. But now, laying in the bedroom she always stayed in at Nesta’s house, all she could think of was him. Of what they’d done in the car on the way here just three or four hours ago. 

She wanted him again. Wanted his hands on her body. Wanted his tongue in her mouth. Felt like she needed him in a way that was borderline embarrassing. 

She picked up her phone, opening their text thread. She typed and deleted multiple messages before locking her phone and putting it face down on the nightstand. It felt too desperate to text him like that. Juvenile almost. But it was torture - each shift of her legs, the soft touch of the sheets, the feel of her t-shirt twisting around her sensitive skin - it all added to her incessant need. Her nipples were hard peaks and there was a thrumming low in her core that was becoming impossible to ignore. She’d never in her life felt frustration like this, pinpricks of sweat gathering at her hairline. 

She knew this wasn’t something that she’d be able to work away herself like she did when she was alone at home and desperate for him- in bed, her fingers stroking between her thighs.

Elain sat up, swinging her legs over the side of her bed. She needed air. A glass of cold water. And if she walked by his room… if she happened to see the glow of a light underneath the gap in his door, then that would be the sign she needed. Maybe then she’d knock. And if he happened to be awake, if he happened to open the door, then she’d feign ignorance - was just going to the kitchen and saw your light was on… 

With her mind made up, she slipped on her robe and padded to the door with the intention of venturing to the kitchen but she didn't make it far at all, pulling the door open only to almost walk face first into the solid wall of Azriel’s chest.

“Oh,” she swallowed, dragging her eyes up to his face. 

He looked just as dishevelled as she felt, his hair tousled as if he’d been running his hands through it. 

“I was just going to the kitchen because I needed some -”

“Save it,” he shook his head, voice low as he stepped towards her, forcing her to retreat back into her room. She couldn’t bring herself to say anything, too distracted by the look of determination in his eyes as twisted her around and quickly closed the door behind them.

Her entire body sparked to life, burning as he reached for her again, both hands firm on her hips until she was completely pressed up against the door with nowhere to go, his hips flush against hers, not even a single inch left between them. It was that movement that made her snap out of the daze, it was the feel of him hard and heavy against her stomach that left no room for questioning what he was here for or that his intentions matched exactly what she’d had in mind while she’d been tossing and turning in her bed. 

Azriel wasted no time, hands deftly undoing the tie of her robe, reaching up to slip it off her shoulders until it fell to their feet. His fingers were under her t-shirt a moment later, fingertips skimming the soft curve of her breasts. 

“Az, wait…” Elain breathed, trying to put a bit of space between them if only to clear her head a little. “Feyre and Rhys…”

“Don’t wanna hear names that aren’t mine right now,” he said gruffly, rolling his hips against hers.

“It’s just that they’re right next door. I share a wall and they could hear…” 

Azriel only smirked down at her, thumbs circling her sensitive nipples. “Guess you’ll just have to be quiet then won’t you. Do you think you can manage that?”

She knew he was being smart with her, knew that he remembered just how not quiet she’d been the last time he’d had his hands on  her like this. But her rational brain had seemed to vacate the premises and so instead of offering some sort of rebuttal back, Elain was muttering something like I can be so quiet, I promise I’ll be so quiet as she turned them around, tugging him down towards her and pulling him to the floor. 

“Right here?” Azriel raised an eyebrow, hands travelling up her legs and under the hem of her oversized t-shirt, leaving goosebumps in their path, until his fingers curled into the straps of the lacy underwear she wore.

“Yes,” Elain nodded, not bothering to explain that the headboard would likely be an issue for them. She lifted her hips up to make it easier for him to tug her underwear down her legs. “Here. Now. Need you.” 

“I know,” Azriel soothed, hands pushing her shirt up her torso before lifting it off her head, leaving her sprawled out underneath him - naked on the carpet. “I know, angel.” 

Elain bit down on her lip, watching as he quickly stripped out of his own clothes before lowering himself over her. One big palm was placed on her thighs, calloused hand spreading her wide in a way that would’ve made her blush if she wasn’t so focused on the blissful feeling of his weight settling on top of her and pinning her to the floor.

That same hand maneuvered in between their bodies, fingers easily parting her and slipping through her center - teasing and testing. He cursed under his breath, clearly pleased with what he found there. “You’re so fucking wet already, I think you could take me just like this but I’d like to taste -”

“No,” she shook her head quickly, blindly reaching between them to grip his cock, guiding it to where she was wet and ready for him. “Please.”

The feeling of him settling against her entrance was divine, and her back arched in search for more.

“Wait, fuck.” Azriel stopped all of a sudden. “Condom… they’re in my room. I can just go and…”

Elain locked her legs around him, nails pressed into his shoulder blades to keep him from moving any further away. She couldn’t bear for him to leave. Couldn’t possibly waste one more second with him when they were already so short on time. “It’s okay, I’m on the pill and I haven’t… there’s no one else so if you’re good then I’m good.”

“I’m good, Lain.” Azriel nodded quickly, relaxing a little as he once again situated himself, dragging his cock through her once before he pushed in just the tiniest bit so she could feel that beautiful pinch of initial pressure. “You sure?”

“Yes, fuck, pl-” her words were choked off with a gasp as Azriel pushed into her so slowly, each incredible inch of him sinking into her until there was nowhere else for him to go. 

His lips skated over her jaw until they found her own, kissing her sweetly as he withdrew out almost all the way before sliding in again. “There’s no one else, Lain. Just you.”

“Yeah?” Her eyes fluttered open to look at him as he sank into her. 

“Yeah, that’s how it’s gonna be now. Isn’t that right, angel?” He whispered as he plunged into her over and over again - slow, decadent drags of his cock that had her whimpering beneath him. “Just you for me and me for you.”

“Yes,” Elain nodded frantically, hips bucking up against his, desperate for more.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” Azriel read her signs and lifted her knee, pushing it up and out to the side, allowing for a deeper fit that had her biting down on her lip hard enough to draw blood. 

“I’m yours. Fuck, fuck, I’m yours.” Elain moaned, lips seeking his mouth for another kiss. 

She didn’t know what had gotten into him but she relished in it. Body growing taut at the suggestion of belonging to him. Maybe it was the distance for him as well, the time spent apart, that had him just as crazed as she had been. Just as feral. 

It was so good. So fucking incredible to have him like this, so deep inside her, making her feel so unbelievably good that she couldn’t even think straight. It was undeniable that this was more than sex. Despite the carnal urge they’d both felt, this had to be more than just physical desire between them. She couldn’t get enough. Wanted even more. 

“Az?” Elain raked her nails up his back, tugging lightly at the hair at the nape of his neck until his eyes were on her. “Will you fuck me?”

She could see the look of confusion in his eyes, the little crinkle on his forehead as if he was trying to figure out if that wasn’t exactly what they were currently doing. It took a second but she could pinpoint the exact moment he caught on to what she meant because his eyes darkened and his lips twitched.

“You want it a little harder, hm? A little rough? I’ll give you whatever you want.” He pulled out of her, kneeling back and nodding as he looked down at her. “Turn over. Get on your knees.”

Elain bit down on the inside of her cheek, nervous anticipation coursing through her as she flipped over as directed. Her hands and knees were on the floor as she turned back to look at him, watching as he knelt behind her, hands kneading her ass . He gave her no warning before lining himself up and pushing into her in one rough, hard thrust - knocking the air clear out of her. 

She hadn’t even noticed that she’d made a noise until his chest pressed into her back, his hand covering her mouth as he nipped at a spot just below her ear. “Thought I told you to be quiet.” 

She loved him like this. Loved the authority. The dominance. The control. She needed it sometimes and she loved that he did as she wanted, fucking her properly without making her feel like any of the other men she’d been with had made her feel in moments like this. Because for each rough movement, there was praise. 

You’re doing so well, angel.  Azriel told her as he gripped her hips hard enough to leave bruises.

You feel so fucking good. As he placed a hand between her shoulder blades, pushing her down into the rug to create the perfect arch of her back.

Look how pretty you look when I’m fucking you. So beautiful when you’re taking me. As he fisted her hair, roughly turning her head until she caught their reflection in the mirror hanging on the closet door beside them.

“Az!” Her voice was muffled slightly by the carpet, her eyes hazy as she watched him fuck her - the measured snap of his hips, the flex of his arms as he gripped her hair, her hips, her ass. He was so strong, so assured in his motions as he easily positioned her just how he liked. 

She hoped and prayed that these walls were solid enough to block out noise because while she was doing her absolute best to stay quiet, there was nothing to be done about the sound of his skin hitting hers each time he fucked into her. Nothing to be done about the sinful, slick sound of his cock sliding in and out of her given how wet she was.

“What is it, Elain?” He asked. “Tell me what you need.”

“More,” she begged. She didn’t even really know what she wanted but she knew she wanted more of him. More of his touch. More of his words. Just more of him. “I’m so… I’m so close, please, I just need more.” 

Azriel slowed his thrusts, pulling gently on her hair until she was up on her knees, her back tight to his chest. Her head fell back onto his shoulder, her lips were on his neck tasting the salty skin there. 

“Feel like you were made for me.” His arms wound around her. One arm snaking up between her breasts to put slight pressure on her throat as he held her up. The other arm drifted down her torso until his fingers found her throbbing clit, his thumb smoothing quick circles there as he continued to push into her with deep, powerful thrusts. She pulsed around him, her stomach pulling tight as her desire reached a precipice with each stroke of his cock and each tap of his thumb. “There you go, Elain. That’s it.”

“So good. You feel so good.” She murmured, so pleased with the intensity this new position brought. “I’m so close.”

“Come for me, baby.” Azriel urged, his thumb still working her beautifully. “Be a good girl for me and come on my cock, Lain. Can you do that?”

Elain made a small noise of agreement, pushing back onto him to match his thrust, amplifying the feeling of him so deep inside her that she felt him in her belly, stretching her in the best way. It was like he was made to fill her. Made to fuck her. 

In the end it was his words that did it - the gentle praise coupled with the rough motion of his hips and his hands. It was Azriel whispering about how well she was taking him that tipped her over the edge. She collapsed back into him with the force of her orgasm, her teeth buried into his neck in a halfhearted attempt to muffle the way she cried out his name.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Ride it out. Take what you need.” His fingers continued to stroke over her, wringing out every last drop of pleasure until she was utterly boneless - absolute putty in his arms as he maneuvered them so that she was on her back again with him between her legs. “Just a little more, okay? I’m right there with you.”

When he dipped down to press his mouth to hers, Elain accepted it greedily as she spread her legs apart and welcomed him in. She was so sensitive, aftershocks of her orgasm still pulsing through her as he entered her again. She savoured the way their tongues slid together, moaning quietly as he lifted her hips and fucked into her quickly until his own hips started to falter. 

“Where do you want it, Lain?” Azriel asked, voice gravelly as he attempted to hold himself together.

“Anywhere. Wherever you want.” Elain told him, meaning every word. He could do whatever he wanted and she’d let him. He could come on her stomach, her breasts. Even her face if that would please him. But there was really only one place that felt right at this moment. One place that caused her to tense around him as if to wordlessly suggest the idea. “Inside me. Come inside me.”

She heard him groan at the suggestion, a string of low curses flying out of his mouth at her words. “Want it inside you? Want me to fill you up?”

“Yes,” Elain wrapped her legs around him, pulling him further into her. Showing him exactly how much she wanted it. “I’m yours, Azriel.”

He said her name as he came, hips stilling as his forehead pressed to her chest. She could feel it, the warm sensation, the jerk of his cock as he gave her everything he had until there was no room left for it all. Elain felt it on her thighs, felt it seep out of where they were still joined. 

“God,” Azriel moaned in disbelief, head still buried against her chest as he attempted to regulate his breathing. “That was…”

“Yeah,” Elain agreed, threading her fingers through his hair as she gently untangled her legs from his waist. He grabbed his t-shirt from where it was laying next to them, dabbing it against her thighs as he pulled out of her - ensuring nothing spilled from her onto the rug beneath them.

There were no words for what just happened. No possible way to summarise everything she felt in that moment. She’d never felt like that before. It was almost too good to be true how unbelievable it was. How incredible he’d made her feel. She couldn’t believe how much time they’d wasted not doing that.

They laid there for ages, neither of them able to find the energy to make it to bed. Instead, Azriel reached up and pulled a couple pillows to the floor along with a blanket, draping it over their naked bodies before pulling her into him. Her breasts against his chest. Her legs entwined with his.

They exchanged kisses in between whispered conversation- slow and heated - hands tracing and grasping until it was inevitable that somehow neither of them were ready to stop. It wasn’t long until Elain was on top of him, breathy moans slipping from both their lips as lowered himself onto his cock, riding him slowly. Grinding against him, taking her time drawing out their pleasure until they couldn’t possibly take it anymore and they both finished with stifled moans. 

“Az?” Elain broke the comfortable silence that had settled between them afterwards, her finger stroking along his jaw as his own fingertips traced soothing patterns down her arm. 

Azriel hummed, sleepy eyes fluttering open. 

It made her heart skip a beat - how beautiful he was like this - sex tousled hair and tired hazel eyes. Lips swollen, the dim moonlight illuminating his sweat slicked, tan skin. He was like a piece of art and she couldn’t believe how lucky she was to be the one to see him like this. To be the one that had messed up his hair and bitten his lips. 

“My necklace,” she forced herself to focus, swallowing nervously before she continued. “I never asked when you gave it to me but I’ve always wondered… the letter on the back…”

Elain trailed off, watching carefully as Azriel tilted his head back further into the pillow sandwiched between his head and the floor. She bit back a smile as a warm flush of colour crept up his neck and seeped into his cheeks. He’d caught on quick to where she was headed with this inquiry and his reaction was enough to hint at what his answer would be. 

“The ‘A’ on the back isn’t for my last name is it?”

“No,” Azriel answered quietly, his hand drifting from her arm. “No, it’s not.”

Her breath hitched in her throat as his fingers smoothed over her sternum, sliding in between her breasts until he reached the pendant. He flipped it over, thumb pressing into the small letter hidden there like a secret.

“Do you engrave your initial onto all the jewellery you make?” She asked.

“You know I don’t,” he answered. The initial signs of embarrassment were gone from his face and in its place was an unabashed, earnest honesty. “That was just for you.”

“Why?”

“You really don’t know, Lain?” He shook his head, tugging on the pendant gently. “I knew I couldn’t have you the way I wanted. Didn’t think I’d ever get the chance… so I thought I’d give you just a little piece of me. I suppose I liked the idea of my initial being right here. Against your skin. Close to your heart.”

As if to punctuate his words, he did just that - pressing the oval into her skin just as she’d done time and time again over the years in an attempt to steady herself in moments where she needed comfort. 

She knew. Of course, she knew that the letter on the back hadn’t really been for her last name. She’d seen the way his eyes fixated on it each and every time he saw her since he’d first put the necklace on her. Noticed the way he’d relax when he saw that she was still wearing it year after year.

It was a relief to know that all this time, what she’d secretly hoped to be true was actually true. 

“You’ve got a possessive streak, huh?” She didn’t know what else to say so she settled for the safe option of making a joke. Everything else that fought to leave her mouth would be too honest. Far too much, far too soon. “All that talk earlier about being yours…”

“I meant it,” he slipped his hand further up her neck, up to her jaw. His hold on her was loose but still, her blood heated with the suggestion behind the action. “We don’t need to put a label on anything. We can keep this quiet, keep it between us. But if we’re doing this then there’ll be no one else. Not for me. Not for you.”

“So we’re doing this, then?” she asked, finally breaching the question that had been hovering between them like a grenade over the past few months. “We’re… exclusive?”

“Yes, Elain.” Azriel laughed, lips hovering over hers as his thumb smoothed over the expanse of her throat. “We’re exclusive.”

She closed the distance between them, her lips pressed to his as Azriel rolled her onto her back and used his knee to guide her legs apart for the third time that night.

[shouyuus]

18+, vi-shaped brainrot, mdni

consider college roommate!vi who is the star of the rugby team and just such a fucking jock about it, spends hours at the gym, has pre and post workout drinks and never closes her door when she's blasting rock music, leaves pink hair dye on the bathroom counter, stains the tub when she gets drunk and tries to redo her roots, calls you everything but your name -- sweetcheeks, dollface, cupcake, princess -- isn't shy about her hookups, doesn't even bother to apologize the mornings after another pretty cheerleader scampers out of her room, shrugs and winks when you come out of the bathroom with a tiny thong dangling off your finger that's clearly not either of yours.

college roommate!vi who does kickboxing on the weekends and teaches a kid's course at the local gym. the first time you go there to drop something of her's off as a favor, you can't help but stare at the way she laughs and chases the kids around, so gentle with her movements, so careful, guiding their punches, correcting their forms. and the kids love her -- it's so easy to see, the stars in their eyes, the color high in their cheeks, the way the girls cluster around her legs and the boys are constantly vying for her approval, how she tries her best to divide up her attention equally between all of them.

college roommate!vi who goes real quiet the first time you laugh in her presence, a real laugh, not one of those ha-ha ones you snipe at her when she's trying to get a rise out of you, or teasing you about spending all your time in the library, but one that shakes your shoulders and makes your whole face light up. who has to blink when you cock your head and ask if she's okay bc she was so busy staring at you, wondering about the weird thumping in her chest, the tightness in her throat.

college roommate!vi who's there for you when you're stressed about your dissertation, and she knew you were smart, but listening to you rant about it at 3am in the morning, she's starting to realize that... you're kind of a genius. to be so young and already doing a doctorate in mechanical engineering, and the things you're trying to do -- they could conceivably change the world one day. who freezes when you let your head drop onto her shoulder with a heavy sigh, telling her that you don't know what to do.

"you'll figure it out, cupcake. with a brain like yours? you always do."

college roommate!vi who realizes way too late that she's kinda got it bad for you, bc since when did she start getting used to the sight of you wearing one of her gym shirts in the mornings, making scrambled eggs, rolling your eyes when she yawns her way into the tiny kitchen, leaning an arm against the fridge as she looks you over before asking what's for breakfast. who's gotten so used to falling asleep to the soft clatter of your computer keys that when you leave to visit your family for a weekend, she tosses and turns and can't figure out why it's impossible for her to get to sleep, wanders into sliver of space you guys have crammed a couch and tv into to call a living room, slumping down there to stare at the ceiling, only to feel her fingers graze against something on the ground, who tugs out the thing from under the couch only to find herself staring at one of your bunched up socks with the goofy cartoon cats pattern, and she remembers (suddenly) finding you tearing your room apart the week before trying to look for it because it's your favorite pair of socks.

she finds herself chuckling, letting the sock fall again, but the tightness in her throat doesn't recede, and invisible fingers clench in her gut as she lets her eyes fall shut.

"well... fuck."

college roommate!vi who doesn't know how to act when you get back from your weekend away, when you throw yourself into her arms, your skin still smelling of the crisp fall air and something warm, and spicy -- it reminds her of the holiday market you dragged her to last year, the cinnamon and spiced apples, the hot, mulled wine, the way it burned all the way down when she took the first sip, the way it worked the most darling flush into your cheeks above your pink knit scarf.

"i've got a present for you!" you say, when you finally extricate yourself from her gasp, your arms still around her shoulders, her hands still settled around your waist.

"y-yeah? you didn't have to do that, sweetcheeks --"

"yeah, but i saw this in a store window and -- well i just... it reminded me of you," you say, pulling back to dig something out of your travel bag, and it takes everything in vi not to tug you back into her chest. so instead, she settles for knitting her arms across her front and coughing to hide the fact that her throat's just tightened over itself at your words. you? seeing something and thinking of her? gods, she was so far gone.

"here," you say, pulling a small black box out and offering it to her on the palm of your hand.

vi stares, before reaching out to take it, her eyes flickering up towards your face, only to catch you chewing on your bottom lip in a way that makes her mind frizzle out at the edges. she refocuses her attention on the box -- opening it, she finds a tiny little gemstone, set on a thin golden chain --

"oh..." she breathes, tugging out up to let the gem dangle from between her fingers.

"it -- it's an alexandrite stone," you say, your voice a bit reedy, but you push on as vi continues to stare, "it's uhm -- one of the rarest gemstones in nature, but the cool thing is it changes colors depending on what kind of light it's under --" you reach up to grasp her wrist, her lungs seizing at the contact as you tug her into the incandescent light of the kitchen. "see? it was light blue a second ago, right? and now it's --"

"violet," vi says, her voice soft and disbelieving.

you quickly let go of her wrist, pursing your lips and wrapping your arms around yourself, looking anywhere but at her face.

"yeah -- i just --" your shoulders shrug up as she stares at you, her sky-light eyes wide, "it... it reminded me of... you."

college roommate!vi who, ever since the "necklace incident" (as the rest of the rugby team likes to call it), hasn't really been the same. she's put on the necklace and not taken it off for even a second since the day you gave it to her, but now she doesn't really know how to act around you -- bc did you actually like her? i mean, the necklace is... a pretty big thing to just give someone, but what if you were just giving it to her as a friend? as a roommate? she agonizes over it to the point that the rest of the team are so, so sick of hearing about it, they lovingly tell her to just fuck her and get it over with already. but vi insists that she can't -- it's different with you.

college roommate!vi who's stunned speechless when she gets home to find you staring at your computer, your expression blank. and at first, she thinks something's horribly wrong, but then you're slamming into her, squealing about how you've done it -- your thesis defense went well, that you're a doctor now -- and she's picking you up, spinning you around, buoyed up by the effervescence of your happiness, pressing a kiss to your cheek --

"oh my god, congrats princess! i knew it! i always knew you could do it!"

"thanks -- god, i just -- i've wanted it for so long i... i don't know what to do with myself now that i've got it, y'know?" you say, still suspended in vi's arms, your feet lifted off the ground. it takes a moment before you both seem to realize the position you're in, and vi clears her throat as she lets you down, you looking away, pressing your palms to your cheeks to cool the heat gathering there.

after a brief pause though, vi chuckles, reaching out to slip a finger beneath your chin, tilting your face up towards her's.

"c'mon, put on one of those pretty dresses of yours. we're going out."

"out?"

"yeah. to celebrate."

you blink as vi pulls her hand away.

"but it's like... 4:30 on a tuesday."

vi cocks an eyebrow, a smirk twitching at her lips, "yes, and? c'mon cupcake --" her eyes catch yours and instead of looking away, she holds it this time, something flickering behind their powder-blue depths that makes your skin prickle with heat, "i'll show you a good time."

college roommate!vi who takes you to one of her favorite clubs, tugging you through the crowd, the jostling bodies, holding your hand in her's, trying really hard not to think too much about it (or the fucking insane little black and pink miniskirt you put on), telling herself that it's just to make sure she doesn't lose you in the crowd, grinning when someone knocks you into her chest, and she finds her arm wrapped around your waist, fingers scrunching the material of your skirt, your palms splayed on her chest.

she buys the both of you a round of shots, watching with a hitched breath as your tongue flickers out to lick the salt daubed on your wrist, the way your eyes squeeze shut when you take the shot and your lips wrap around the lime slice, tries to ignore the twist in her gut like a turning blade, the way her whole body flushes with heat, the dull ache caught between her legs when you wipe your lips, your eyes bright and a little blown out, your cheeks flushed with color as you giggle and lace your hands with hers again --

"come on! i wanna dance!"

college roommate!vi who is just drunk enough to let herself dance with you, to let herself lean in to the way you're twisting your body, fingers in your hair, your eyes closed, an indulgent smile on your lips, who let's herself imagine (just for a second), pulling you in to kiss you, how soft your lips might feel on hers, how silken your skin might be beneath her hands, who tries not to groan when you lean in closer, link your arms behind her neck, press your whole body against her's, who grips your hips just a little too tight, grinds you against her, sees the way you gasp, your eyelids fluttering as you eyes glaze out --

college roommate!vi who can't help how she groans at the sight, tugs you in by the back of your neck to mash her lips to yours, crushing you to her as she kisses you (finally, finally) and you let yourself he kissed -- your fingers tangle in her choppy pink hair, and she swears you make this sweet, mind-bending whimpering noise in the back of your throat that drives her up the wall and right over it --

but when she pulls back, she sees the look on your face -- shocked and little confused, but you're drunk, and she doesn't wanna do this with you -- at least, not like this.

college roommate!vi who pulls away, only to have you follow her all the way out the club, into this small dark alley, her shaking her head, feeling a strange, saltwater prickle at the back of her throat as she says --

"shit -- sorry. i didn't mean to -- i just -- you were just so -- and i -- fuck, i didn't --"

"vi -- vi -- no, violet, listen to me --"

it's her full name on your lips that makes her pause, makes her turn to find you walking towards her. your lipstick is smeared, your hair a waterfall mess around your shoulders as you corner her against the rough brick of the club's exterior. faintly, she can still feel the pulse of music reverberating from inside the club, but out here, the air is damp and cold and quiet.

"i -- i'm sorry i kissed you," she says, her voice cracking over the syllables. she bites her lips as you frown up at her, your eyes searching her's before you let out a soft sigh and a scoff.

"well. i'm sorry you feel that way. cause..." you take half a step back, your arms curling around yourself before you glance back at her with a hard, determined light to your eyes as you press back into her space, your cheeks bright with color.

"i was really kinda hoping you'd do it again."

vi's breath punches out of her chest; it takes a few seconds of sputtering before she gathers herself enough to speak.

"wait -- what? you..."

you crinkle your nose, rolling your eyes, "i -- i thought i was making it obvious -- i mean, with the whole necklace thing -- it doesn't take a genius to figure how i feel about --"

you squeak as she pins you against the opposite wall, her lips seeking yours out, her fingers rucking up the material of your top, making you hiccup as they tease under the wire-rim of your bra.

college roommate!vi who can barely control herself when you sink your fingers into her hair, tugging lightly as you gasp out a breath, her lips tracking fire along the side of your neck, intent on making you whimper again, just the way she likes, grazing her teeth along your collarbone even as you jerk at her hair --

"vi -- fuck -- vi, not here --" you swallow around the burgeoning desire, and when you glance down to find her looking up at you, her eyes so dark they're almost black, you fight back a groan, cup your palms around her cheeks and pull her up for a long kiss.

"let's --" you suck in a breath even as vi whines at the loss your lips, "let's go home --"

"holy fuck," vi swears, somehow managing to pull herself back just far enough to taste the misty night air. she stares at you, your chest heaving, a daisy-chain of hickeys blossoming along the long expanse of your neck, your makeup good and smeared, your hair a mess, your eyes bright and so full of love as they flicker over her face.

vi smiles, helpless to the loud, uncertain drumming of her heart as she says, "y-yeah -- let's get you home, princess."

college roommate!vi who barely waits for the elevator door to close in your building before she's got you shoved up against the wall, hoisting you up, her fingers seeking out the softness of your skin, tugging up your shirt, her other hand dipping into the waistband of your skirt, her mouth open and hungry as she kisses your neck, bites down at the junction of your shoulder just to hear you moan.

college roommate!vi who's way too good at undoing your bra with one hand the second you get back to your apartment (if you were more coherent, you might've thought it hot), the door slamming closed, the pair of you toppling onto the room, breathy laughs and panting whines as she hoists you into her arms and carries you to your bedroom, laying you down so gently, kissing up your stomach till you're whimpering, your own hands pulling your top off your body, leaving you in an undone-bra and a miniskirt, your cheeks flushed. you push yourself up onto your elbows, watching as vi peaks up at you from between your legs, shooting you a wink before she's tugging down your skirt and panties all in one, an eyebrow ticking up at the lil lacey thing you had on beneath the skirt all along.

"all this for me, pretty?"

you press your lips, eyes cutting away as she looks between the bra dangling off your shoulders and the panties caught round your ankles. her lashes flutter.

"oh, a matching set," she cocks her head, running her palms up your thighs, pinning them open again as you try to press them closed, feeling suddenly much too seen (bc you'd be straight up lying if you hadn't put it on in the vague hope that the night might evolve into something like this).

she clicks her tongue, shaking her head with a cocky, shit-eating grin that makes your heart skitter in your chest. her drops a light kiss to your inner thigh, savoring in the way you whine again.

"nope, keep 'em open princess."

college roommate!vi who takes her time with you, bc rly she's been waiting way too long for this, has imagined it one too many times, but nothing can compare to the way your hips jerk up against her mouth, the way your fingers tighten in her hair every time she licks up the seam of your cunt, the way your breath catches on her name over and over again, like you can't quite get the word out even though it's just a single syllable. she groans against you, too lost in the taste of you to care about what a mess she must look like, with her tongue fucking into your desperate hole, her nose nudging your clit, her fingers digging crescent moon marks into your hipbones.

she's sure that if this were an old-fashioned cartoon, there'd be big, balloon hearts popping out of her eyes. she can't get enough of you like this -- moaning her name, your legs on either side of her face, your skin littered with the remnants of her. she has the eye-rolling thought of you the next morning, of how all these marks will still be there to remind you of her every single time you see one of them.

college roommate!vi who doesn't expect you to flip over after she's literally eaten you out seven ways to sunday, to tug her in for a soft kiss (though she really does like pressing your own taste back into your mouth with her tongue), before your fingers are inching down the length of her body to tease at her hips, trailing circles down the lines of her abs, toying with the thin line of hair that leads into her black boxer briefs.

"what are you --"

you shoot her a look that has her mouth going dry.

"what? didn't think i can give as good as i get?"

college roommate!vi who's literally going to lose her mind with the way you're fingers (at first sight so thin and delicate, but gods are they stronger than they look) are pressing into her, curling up with the kind of precision usually only associated with doctors, and then a voice in the back of her head reminds her -- oh, right, you are a doctor now. but logical thought dies after that, bc you've somehow worked your way between her legs and are looking up at her with those big dark eyes of yours, smiling sunshine bright before you drop a kitten-lick against her clit and she's twitching, keening as she cums all over your fingers.

"jesus fuckin' christ, doll -- is that what you're learning in those engineering classes?"

she's breathless, cheeks flushed, and honestly just a little embarrassed at how quickly she came, but she has to bite back another groan as she watches you lick your fingers clean, grinning sweetly up at her as if you didn't just get her off in record time.

"no, but i did do my dissertation on human-based robotics, which included a lot of late nights memorizing anatomical models so..."

vi pulls you in for a kiss, laughing against your lips.

"you're amazing, y'know that?"

college roommate!vi who can't really believe how much she's lucked out, sharing an apartment with her girlfriend, who literally cannot shut up about you, but the rugby team all agree that they'd rather have this than the months of endless pining. who brags about her genius gf to anyone who'll listen, and looks for you in the stands of all her practice matches when you can make it, who kisses you in front of everyone even when you make a show of trying to wiggle away bc she's sweaty (you don't really care).

who loves telling the story of how you guys met bc she still can't quite believe it herself, and the story always starts with --

"well, actually -- we started off as roommates."

[fairy-angel222]

𝐄𝐝𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨 𝐊𝐚𝐦𝐨 𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐬 𐙚⋆.˚

Him getting all teary as you continue to edge him, his cock painfully hard and throbbing as you stroked it slow.

“P-please mommy— ahh, need to cum so bad.” His voice cracks with a whimper, trying to thrust his hips into your warm fist for just a little more contact to his overly sensitive tip.

His moans are so loud and cute, his hands tied snuggly behind his back as he ruts desperately up into your fist. His abs tensed, mouth hung open in shaky cries as his orgasm builded up.

“Nngh— ‘m cumming, ‘m— no, no, no, w-why?” He let out a choked sob. Pleading eyes going dark when you only smirked down it him, running your nail up his shaky stomach.

“It’s okay baby.” You coo, “you can take it, you’re such a good boy f’me.”

Choso frowned, his eyes glossy as he glared at your form on top of him. Effortlessly breaking his restraints into two before grabbing you roughly by your neck with the shake of his head, “ ‘m done, ‘s your turn now.”

You let out a loud whimper when Choso shoved you into the bed, spreading your legs impatiently before lining himself up with your dripping hole. “You get this wet from torturing me.” He scoffed.

“Choso baby, w-wait.” Choso only ignored you, thrusting into you roughly before he was hammering into you in the chase of his lost orgasm. Loud squelching sounds filling the room as he used your pussy to stroke his cock however he liked.

“F-fuck,” he cried, his body already shaking as he felt his orgasm coming back to him. His hard chest pressed against your own as he fucked himself stupid with no rhythm. “O-ooh- nghh— feels so good m-mommy,” he breathed in relief, his cock slamming mercilessly into your tight warmth.

“Yeah? Feels so good doesn’t it, fucking yourself with my pussy?” You cooed, small moans falling past your lips as you stroked his hair.

Choso nodded with a broken mewl, his hips rutting into you with nothing but need as his thrusts got sloppy, slobbering kisses down your smooth neck. His eyes met yours through wet eyelashes. “Uh huh- ‘m gonna cum— nngh, please mommy can i cum?”

You only smirked. Good boy.

“Mhm, go ahead baby- cum for me.” Choso let out a string of loud whimpers, a cry of your name echoing through the room as his body trembled.

“O-oh fu-uuck— i love you s’ much mommy.” His voice went up a pitch, his hold on you tightening as his body stilled, twitching cock buried deep inside you to pump you fuck. “So warm— nghh, so tight. Can stay in you for h-hours. Fill you with my babies over ‘n over again.” He moaned when you clenched down on him, ropes after ropes of his sticky cum painting your walls white.

“Fuck, mommy’s gonna cum too baby. Keep fucking me just like that okay?” You moaned desperately.

Choso only pecked your lips before rubbing at your clit while fucking meanly into you. Your head falling back into your pillow with a whiny cry as your body trembled, feeling your stomach tighten as you neared your high.

Choso grinned, “Are you close mommy?”

You nodded with a mewl, your vision blurry and your lips parted in soft whimpers when you felt Choso’s cock repeatedly hitting your sweet spot. The stretch of your pussy for his thick girth clouding your mind as you moaned out for him.

“C’mon, use your words.” His voice deepened, hand reaching up to wrap around your throat with the tilt of his head. “Well?”

You nodded with a hiccup, “Mhm, ‘m so close. Gonna cum f’ you baby.” You cried out shakily, your toes curling with the arch of your back as your orgasm began to wash over you.

“Aww, well that’s too bad.” Choso faux pouted, halting his movements and smiling sweetly when you whined desperately. Lifting your hips towards him for any form of contact. “Baby p-please.”

He leaned down to kiss your cheeks as your own eyes grew watery, “told you it was your turn.”

[messymoonmad]

ohhhh im blinking SO SO SO innocently at u for odyseidon food,,,,

(10* not 7)

Ody : just say that you missed me

Poseidon : DAMN IT JUST DIE ALREADY-

(You get tsundere poseidon. Happy ? )

[uhhhtoji]

and if i said he totally and desperately ruts into you like a dog and cums quick while whimpering sweet nothings….?

[slvtforfiction]

Ghost who took his mask off in front of you for the first time,making you quickly turn around.

“Can look lovie.” He mumbles as he climbs into bed.

“I didn’t see anything,I promise I won’t tell anyone.” You whisper,scared of the consequences.

“Love,calm down,you can see my face.” He says as he sits on the edge of the bed,holding your waist from the back as he waits for you to turn around once more.

“Are you sure?” You ask after years of not seeing his face,waiting patiently for the handsome man to reveal himself.

By the time Simon had actually taken off his mask it felt wrong to look. You knew he wouldn’t take off his mask infront of anyone…so, why you?

By the time you cautiously turn around to look at him,your paralysed staring at his face,your eyes roaming past the scars,to his eyes,towards his hair and then to his lips.

You kissed him softly with a smile.

“Handsome.” You whispered as you clambered into bed beside him.

“Tell anyone and I kill ya’” he mumbles quietly as he lets you curl into his chest,slowly falling asleep.

“I know.” You mumble quietly before falling asleep,your head on his chest as he wraps his arms around you firmly.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Masterlist | Pinned Post

[livelaughlovesubs]

oh my gosh need sub!choso bent over and taking it like the princess he is! want to pull his hair and make him cry IM BEGGIMG 😵‍💫 making him go non-verbal and babble absolute nonsense LIKE PLEASE GIVE IT TO ME 😩😵‍💫

a little dumbification and feminization doesn't hurt anybody 🥺

So fucking self-indulgent that I am ashamed

Dom!reader x sub!choso x reader is gn

Warning: pegging (I use dick for strap), teasing, dacryphilia, hair pulling, feminisation, subspace, dumbification lul

You panted, slightly exhausted as you reached your hand out. Using only your index and middle fingers, you gently brushed them over the line following his back. From the top all the way to the bottom, feeling his hot and sweat covered skin underneath your touch, going until your hand was resting right above his ass. There, you moved it to the side, finding a nice place to rest it and squeezing his waist with just the right amount of strengh.

And Choso shuddered and withered oh so sweetly, head pressing against the already wet pillow as he arched his back even more. Shoulder jumping upwards while his muscles tensed, trembling like a hurt animal. “Didn’t like it?” You asked, reaching your hand out again, this time to stroke his black hair. His buns had come off, and it was hanging loose over his shoulders. The man beneath you didn’t manage to answer your question, in contrary, he whined out, “ah- aHh..! Y/n-~~ too mu- muUuchh, too faaast..!!♡♥︎”

How could you expect him to even register the fact you asked him something when you are currently pounding him like there’s no tomorrow? Like a hungry beast trying to devour him whole? Taking advantage of all his weak spots while he’s in such a vulnerable position, you’re too mean to him! “Oh dear, can’t say anything other than that?” You asked in a condescending tone, scraping his scalp as you held him tighter with your other hand.

“I’ll help you then.” A cheeky giggle before you pulled back enough for the tip to slid out of his puffy hole, watching him clench onto nothing as a dissatisfied whimpers ripped from his throat. “Nghh~ please… s-stick it back in—” you pulled on his fairly long hair, causing him to moan out loudly and throw his head back, “ah- annNghhh.?!” Tears rolled down his cheeks, and his lips were swollen from him biting on them too much. His cheeks flushed so cutely as he hiccuped.

“Such a needy thing, you really want to be fucked dumb?” Your grip on his hair loosened a little, and his head fell forward. He gritted his teeth, hands bawled into fists and kept right below his mouth as he sound back into the pillows, nodding furiously. “What a pillow princess.” You chuckled, kissing his hole with the tip of your dick. Just testing him, watching his body squirm in anticipation before pushing it all inside him with a swift movement of your hips.

That wasn’t difficult at all, considering he’s been so stretched already, so good and prepared, just for you. He was so eager he basically sucked you right in, that cute little boy cunt of his fluttering around you, taking you so good. You subconsciously licked your lips at the gorgeous view in front of you. He had such a nice body too, pair that with the most adorable expression and lewd noises he’d make, lord he was exactly your type.

“Aaarghh— ♡ nnNnggg…!! Please, y-y/n ♡♥︎♡~?!!” The moment you re-entered him, he felt like he was in heaven. Tongue rolling out, eyes teary as he groaned, not knowing just how loud and erotic his voice was. If he knew, he’d be so embarrassed. “Oh? Such a pretty sound you made there, so cute, just like a girls moans~” you hugged him from behind, head pressed against his shoulder, whispering sickeningly sweet, “should I change to calling you my good girl?”

It took a bit until he understood your words, you helped him by slowing down your thrusts. Then his ears turned red, and he cried out, “n-no, m’not a g-girl..??” Then his brows furrowed and eyes rolled into the back of skull, al because you hit that sweet little spot inside him with such precision he was trembling all over. “Are you sure~? Don’t you love it when I fuck your pussy like this?” You rolled your hips in a slow, steady motion, and it made him see stars.

God, his mind if so foggy, so mushy he couldn’t handle all this ecstasy. The pleasure was too overwhelming…! And if you were to start calling him your��� ah — your good girl too, he definitely will melt. “Please, j-just fuck me and shut u-up..” ah, there it is, now he’s being self aware again, feeling humiliated just by having sex. Well, you’ve toyed with him enough for now, haven’t you? Any more teasing and he’ll really come~ but the night is still so young, he still has to last for a bit.

“Haha,” you couldn’t help but chuckle loudly, which only added to his frustration and excitement, then you mumbled, “whatever for my princess.”

[everythingspokenfor]

Part 2

─ ・┈ ・ ── ・┈ ・ ── ・┈ ・ ─

You were in the middle of packing, taking photos off the walls and putting them away in boxes, piles of clothes littered on the floor based on whether you were taking them or donating.

"Didn't realise we weren't close enough, eh?" Bakugou said, arms crossed leaning against the wall of your room.

Startled you looked at him clutching the photos close to your chest."Knock at least Katsuki, you scared the shit out of me." You grumbled as you regained composure and turned back to the task at hand. Partially to get it done, mostly to avoid Bakugou's gaze while you had this unavoidable confrontation.

You should have told him you were moving out, it was a rational thing, you were friends infact best friends, had seen each other at worst, dealt with it too. Should have had an adult conversation about it. But what would have you said "Hey! Katsuki I am moving out because I am in love with you but you have a girlfriend and the sole thought of her makes me sick" yeah not a good argument or maybe evening worst you would just end up crying sobbing pathetically while pointing out you were there for him more but that's not how it works, you suppose. He deserves happiness, and you are glad he found it. You just wanted to find yours too.

"Haruki, your assistant, let it slip that you are moving", Bakugou snarled, nostrils flaring, fists tightening, tell-tale signs that he is not mad but disheartened.

"I was going to tell you", you defended, turning to face him.

"When? huh, when were you going to tell me?", He hissed "When everything was packed, and you had to bid farewell like some sort of formality?", He continued ,moving towards you, for the first time locking eyes and seeing the red-rimmed, swollen eyes your cheeks were sunken too. "What happened, peanut?", He questioned, pulling the photos from your hand and setting the to the side. "Did I do something? I'll fix it, fucks sake talk to me, tell what was it that made you run I'll fix it", He cupped your face and made you look at him.

"I don't think you can fix this one, Suki", you murmured, voice almost catching in your throat because you'll lose him, you'll lose his friendship. For a moment you wished you weren't in love with him, that you could be normal around him, could be a part of his life, let him be a part of yours. But, you had to fall in love with him, ruin whatever ever you had.

"This new apartment is closer to my agency, plus how long do we go about living here, Suki?", you said before woefully pulling yourself away from him, choosing to pack up remaining of things.

"You should have said something, I deserve to at least know, you know? I go to work and your assistant, fucking Haruki, is looking for couches for you.", He said bitterly,"He knew, he was informed, he was fucking involved, and I wasn't, aren't we close? is that fucker closer to you, huh tell me?" He gritted out.

"If you were any less busy with your fucking girlfriend, then maybe you would have helped me," you yelled, words almost getting clogged in your throat, anger finally taking over.

Both of you stare wide eyed at each other, truth finally out, you behaviour making sense to Bakugou, you can see the wheels turning in his head.

He moved closer to you, reaching out, but you pull away like it burns because if you were being honest it does, Bakugou winces at you withdrawal. Your anger, your distance, you silence making sense you heart finally bared open in front of him.

"If you can't tell me what I want to hear then you shouldn't say anything",you croaked, knowing that you are being selfish,"I want a confession Suki and not consolation", you finalized.

Bakugou looked at you before he left the room, perhaps you already knew his decision but that didn't make your heart hurt any less.

─ ・┈ ・ ── ・┈ ・ ── ・┈ ・ ─

[jensthwa]

woo's prelude: a clown's remedy to heal a broken heart (JWY x reader).

part of the love's an uncharted path universe ★.

SUMMARY:

A drunk and kind of akward conversation inside of a closet is the start of Wooyoung's journey into healing his broken heart. Only he doesn't really know the name of the Scarlet Witch that helped mend a heart that wasn't supposed to break anymore, even if she starts plaguing his thoughts and dreams after that.

PAIRING: wooyoung x fem!reader.

GENRE: halloween hookup to [redacted] (we'll get to that when we need to).

WORD COUNT: 11.9k

WARNINGS: SMUT ☽ (MINORS DNI) attempt !!! at comedy, drinking and drunk behavior, mature language, insults, woo getting his heart broken by his ex girfriend even though they're friends and they haven't been romantically involved in YEARS my god he's a dummy, reader getting her heart broken too, some self worth issues, frat bros being stupid and getting drinks throw at them for stepping over the line, howl!wooyoung (not for people with weak hearts and strong imaginations), making out, biting, description of female anatomy, sweet dirty talk and praising , fingering, semi-public (they're at a party, does that count?) and protected sex (wrap it up please), switching them positions for him, masturbation, hook up talk and the start of something new that we won't see for now but soon!

NOTES: hi everyone! decided to do a halloween drop on halloween day because spooky season is not over until i get this story out of my system it seems! this story is PART OF THE LOVE'S AN UNCHARTED PATH / SHOW & TELL UNIVERSE but can be read as a stand alone finally yay! THIS A PRELUDE TO WOO'S STORY, a little taste of what's to come for him and his boo (see what i did there?). this took place BEFORE we can't be friends (san's story) and will be placed accordingly on the masterlist to clear any future confusion. there's mentions of the characters that show up in wcbf so if u want to better understand the dynamics, you can read that but it's def not needed!

this is 100% self indulgent, as all fics should be, and i think i've re-read it so many times that if you find a typo or something that just doesn't make sense, you can blame it on english not being my first language i guess lmao. i hope you enjoy it and if you do feel free to send to my askbox/reblog/type in any feedback or thoughts! <3

POSTED: october 31st 2024 at midnight!

masterlist

There's a particular way one too many tequilas can make a room spin that Wooyoung absolutely adores. 

When it happens, he lets himself catch the world swirling around him before closing his eyes and praying for a little bit of lucidity to come to him so he can get his drunk ass home safely. 

As he opens his eyes, his face scrunches at what he sees: San, dressed as Gomez Addams, waving a hand in front of him. It takes him a little to remember where he is. 

It's a bit extra confusing with all the costumes and strangers and the music blasting through the speakers but when it finally clicks, he's grateful that he's not completely gone yet. 

“Are you good?” He can faintly hear San ask over the music, San’s girlfriend by his side dressed as Morticia, eyeing him with a quirked brow. 

Why is San with her? He will never, ever get it. 

Kyungmi is not really right for him. It's been a few months already since they made it official and Wooyoung can just tell. He always tells. He's not as oblivious as everyone paints him to be. 

There's one girl who's right for San but, in all honesty, Wooyoung is too tired to fight him on it. 

San always shoots back with a comment about him and Gyuri, his ex girlfriend (now best friend) and it always brings his mood down for some stupid reason. 

He's oblivious to why that happens. By choice, of course, but oblivious nonetheless. 

He prefers it that way. 

Wooyoung would nod, but he knows it's dangerous to do so “Just peachy.” 

“Why don't you—” San starts but he interrupts. 

“Some air and water,” he smiles, taking the water bottle from his friend’s hand “Waaaay ahead of you, babe.” 

Kyungmi rolls her eyes “Quit calling my boyfriend babe, dude.” 

San laughs, Kyungmi does not. 

“Don’t be jealous because he loves me more than you,” sticking his tongue out, he stumbles his way around them both “I'll be back.” 

He focuses on putting one foot in front of the other until he reaches a very big window. It's larger than usual. 

Oh. 

It has a door. A door that slides! 

It's a balcony. Amazing, just what he needs: To be a safety hazard and a possible traumatic experience for everyone at the party. 

He should probably turn back around before he's accidentally leaping over the edge but then he sees it. 

He sees her.

Corpse bride. Her blue makeup being wiped off by somebody's tongue in a secluded corner of the backyard of this stupid frat house the friend group ended up for the night. 

Gyuri is kissing someone. 

His chest tightens, his mouth drops slightly and his heart thumps hard enough for him to feel it on his throat. 

Why is she doing that? 

She's wearing matching costumes with him. She carefully picked them out, she ordered everything a month and a half ago and now she's kissing some… Some… Attempt at a Superman costume. 

Which is pretty fucking hilarious because how do you fuck up a Superman costume? 

But Wooyoung is not laughing. He's hurting, he's fucking pissed and, at the same time, he can't pull his eyes away from her. From them. 

Is feeling this pathetic something that would fit Víctor?

Vector? 

Whatever his name is? 

He's never seen the Corpse Bride, so he doesn't remember the name of the dude he's dressed up as. He just knows he wants to wipe the pale complexion Gyuri painted on him off. 

Off. Off. Off. Out. He needs to leave. 

But he ends up going back inside and downing another shot before he can really think about it, giggling to San and pretending nothing happened because who the fuck is he to Gyuri to get upset over it? 

Her ex, sure. But that happened a long time ago, so it doesn't count anymore. 

So it doesn't really matter. Nothing really matters when he finds Yeosang (dressed as the Phantom of the Opera) and drags him to the dance floor for what it feels like forever.

And then, one thing leads to the other and he's sitting on the floor, in a circle of people he doesn't even know, playing spin the bottle. 

Or is it seven minutes in heaven? A vampire and a fairy kissed in front of him half a second ago, but Zuko and the creepy doll from that one netflix show got up and into a closet like… six minutes ago. 

He didn't really pay attention to the rules. 

Oh, well, he's about to find out anyway! 

Fingers grasping the soju bottle in the middle of the circle, he carefully inspects the faces of everyone sitting there, expectantly looking at him. 

His vision is a little blurry but he wants to pick whoever strokes his fancy the most to try and get rid of the funny feeling he gets when he sees Gyuri walk right in front of him and head for the drink table. 

He decides quickly that, as long as it makes him forget the image of that dude's tongue down the mouth of the love of his life, he's good. 

So he spins the bottle. It spins and it spins and it spins and everyone leans forward in anticipation until it stops in front of someone. 

There's someone on his left that audibly gasps and Wooyoung looks at them before his eyes focus on the person he has to… Kiss? Get in a closet with? 

What does he need to do? 

“You can skip her if you like,” some dude with red paint dripping down his forehead and cargo shorts tells him. He's not even sitting down in the circle but lying on the couch closest to it “She's in a bad mood.” 

That’s when the Scarlet Witch that the bottle landed on rolls her eyes and gets up. 

Wooyoung thinks he's about to lose his turn and wait for the next round or until the bottle lands on him when she offers him her gloved up hand. 

He gets up. He's a little bit more sober now, alert as he plants his feet on the carpet again just to not make a fool of himself, throwing a glance at Gyuri just to find out she's not actually looking at him at all.

The pang on his chest comes back. 

“Don't throw a drink on him just for trying to kiss you too, sweetheart, that's what the game is all about,” the same dude from before tells her as they both pass by the couch and head for the space Zuko and the doll who, he assumes, just got done with their seven minutes was occupying “Don’t say I didn't warn ya, Wooyoung!” 

Who is this obnoxious motherfucker and why does he know his name? 

It takes two and a half hazy steps until the darkness of the small space engulfs him and Scarlet Witch. 

It's one of those long closets with narrow walls that leave absolutely no space to move around when you actually need to put something away, but it's a perfect nook to make out. 

He would know, he's been in this situation many times. 

He lets go of the stranger's hand, only because she turns away from him and then she huffs once the door closes. Wooyoung hears a thump against the wood of it, so he assumes she hit it with her fist or her boot. 

“Fucking asshole.” She mutters under her breath but he hears it. 

It dawns on him that the reason he sat down to potentially kiss strangers that night was to be seen. 

Wooyoung wanted people to see him so they knew he was completely fine and, as soon as Gyuri walked into the room, his motivation was for her to see him doing completely fine. 

Cool. He's cool. He's one of the actual cool guys at the university, he's been told so before. 

He also wanted her to feel a little bit jealous but now, eyes closed for a few seconds to try and regain composure after whatever just happened, he realizes that she probably wouldn't even care.

So this whole thing is useless anyway. Only now he gets to meet (kiss?) someone dressed as one of his favorite characters of the decade. 

There, as his eyes adjust to the minimum light that's filtering under the door, he realizes his mistake: he said nothing to defend her. 

In his defense, his drunk brain processes the information a little too late. And, in her defense, Scarlet Witch seemed like she didn't really care what the asshole said in the first place. 

Now he notices that's not true. 

It's hard to make out her figure but he hears another soft thump and when he turns his head to the right angle, he's able to make out that she just leaned against the door. 

He opens his mouth to apologize, he thinks, but she beats him to it. 

“We don't have to kiss or… fuck or whatever people do with their seven minutes.”

“Wow,” he laughs, his back finding a wall and almost knocking something placed on a tiny shelf next to his arm “I promise I wasn't expecting you to—” 

“Yeah, yeah, save it,” she lets out a breath. “If you want to tell them that we kissed, that's fine by me. I know how your frat bros behave when you don't do what you're supposed to.”

“They're not my frat bros. In fact, they are not even my bros,” he frowns, and slides against the wall because his legs are threatening to give in. He's suddenly very, very exhausted “I don't know them.” 

“Isn’t your name Wooyoung?” 

“Y-yes?” 

“Then you know them,” she shoots back, matter-of-factly “And I'm not interested in kissing any of your kind tonight.” 

“My kind?” 

“Men,” she clarifies and Wooyoung can feel her smile in her next words “Although frat bros are a different kind of species altogether.” 

“I'm not a frat bro!” 

It takes a second and his honest frustration but she laughs “Sure.” 

In the dark, with his ego bruised and his heart crushed, Wooyoung thinks it's a pretty laugh. 

He thinks it's even prettier when he hears a little ruffling and then her body heat invades his space, kind of. She just sat beside him, thigh against his and perfume reaching his nostrils. It's a mix of something sweet and something citrusy. 

It's really nice.

He gulps before asking “W-what was that about?” and then points to the door like she can see him. 

“He's in one of my classes. He thought he could kiss me and when I said no, because fucking look at the state of him, he tried to kiss me anyway,” she says all chirpy but Wooyoung picks up on the sarcastic tone and let's out a soft ew at the story “I preventively threw my drink on him because I got a little freaked out and now I'm sober and pissed off. I think he's a little upset about me thinking he was about to take advantage of me.” 

He grimaces “You can't never be too sure, though.” 

She hums and then sighs a: “I know.” 

“I don't even know his name but he does sound like a fucking asshole.” 

“Why does he know you?” 

Wooyoung shrugs and he's a little glad it's dark. He's not exactly smiling, his playful nature not coming out at the moment. “I'm a pretty popular guy.” 

“I don't know you.” 

“Well, I don't know you either, so we're even,” he shrugs again and it's kind of hypocritical because, to be fair, he didn't get a good look at her face at all “I just know you s-smell nice.” He murmurs, tripping on his words like a babbling drunk idiot. 

Maybe because that's what he is right now.

“Thanks… I guess.” She sounds weirded out by that but he's not sober enough to care. 

“You're so welcome.” 

There's silence in which Wooyoung does nothing but try to find her in the dark. He eventually does, given the fact that the light from under the door casts a little on her face now that she's sitting down.

He doesn't recognize her, which is odd. Wooyoung knows almost everyone. At least her voice would ring a bell but there's absolutely no frivolous memories with this girl and he kind of likes it that way. 

If she doesn't know him, she doesn't know about Gyuri. That's a plus because there's no reason for her to be walking on eggshells around him like every other student at the university who finds him attractive. 

There's another beat of silence between them both, music blasting outside and making the floor slightly thrum underneath him. 

He's not usually this quiet. When he doesn't feel like crying, he's usually very annoyingly outspoken. Mind glowing in red alert, he practically stumbles his words out to fix that. 

“I like your costume.” 

“You do? People didn't get it.” 

“That's because they care more about Captain America than Wanda Maximoff,” he scoffs. “It’s the Multiverse of Madness one, hm?” 

“Wandavision post-credit scene,” she whispers back and Wooyoung nods, encouraging her to go on even if she can't see him. He thinks she's about to maybe rant about the show or the character or the party or anything that can help him forget, but she does the opposite “I, uhm… Also like your costume.” 

There's a tint of shyness in her voice, like she's not used to being nice. 

“Victor, right?”

“I've never seen the movie.” He makes sure to clarify before she asks him about it. 

“You don't really have to see the movie to know the character, Wooyoung,” he feels when her head hits the wall slightly, on purpose maybe “I don't like him anyway.” 

“Then why did you say you liked my costume?” 

“I lied. It's called trying to keep the conversation going,” her explanation makes no sense to him in that state of inebriation, but he lets it go “I don't exactly know what to talk about when I drag someone into a closet.” 

Wooyoung pauses and then laughs to himself “We were not exactly supposed to talk in the first place. Have you never done this before?” 

“No. I don't usually go to frat parties,” she says after a second where Wooyoung was met with silence, a moment where he wondered if his question was out of line “Coming here tonight was a mistake.” 

He finds himself asking without thinking, again “Then why did you?”  

“I'm so bored.” 

That takes him by surprise. 

“Bored?” 

“Yes, I'm bored. My dorm room mattress has a hole in it because I never go out and… Well, there's a boy I liked that came here tonight, so, I came as well.” 

Liked? 

Wooyoung doesn't really ask her about it. 

Eyebrows practically touching his scalp, Wooyoung thinks for a split second she's talking about him but that's not really possible because they've never met until now, she said it herself. 

“Well did you find him?” 

She takes in a shaky breath and then lets it out. Sadness suddenly fills the constricted space and Wooyoung isn't sure if it's just him or if Scarlet Witch is going through a heartbreak as well. 

“Yeah, I did” she whispers back and doesn't elaborate, so he doesn't ask “There's a bride going around the party. I saw her, she looks really cool, maybe you could—” 

“She's my best friend,” he interrupts because the mention of Gyuri, so directly at that, has his heart racing with anxiety. So long for her not knowing about his ex girlfriend “We, uh… We dated in highschool and we stayed friends, so it's not really happening again.” 

“Oh… Do you want it to happen again?” 

“W-what?” 

“I mean,” she laughs a little awkwardly, like she's nervous “You sounded very sad when you said it, a little angry too.” 

“Did I?” 

He definitely didn't mean to sound like that at all. 

Scarlet Witch hums in agreement and he really thinks about what to answer. The short answer is a simple yes but, if he's being honest, he already knows that they're not good for each other. Not like that, anyway. 

“I don't really know what to tell you.” 

“You don't have to tell me anything,” she says right away and it calms his nerves a bit. “Just know that there's no real helping when you like someone, it doesn't matter if you thought you didn't like them anymore. It just happens. It sucks but it just happens.” 

The unsolicited advice doesn't really help him, if he's being honest. It stirs something inside him that he wants to keep hidden, concealed, so he turns the topic of conversation away from him. 

Away from Gyuri. 

“Speaking from experience?” He asks, half jokingly.

“Yeah, so I can confidently say that it fucking sucks.” 

She turns to him with a smile (he's hyper focused on her, there's no way he could've missed that) before laughing and a tiny force lifts up the corners of his lips. That's one pretty laugh.

Maybe, in an universe where was a little bit more sober, he could've actually spent these seven minutes kissing her. 

Kissing her. 

He wants to kiss her. That's going to take his mind off Gyuri, sure. 

His heart beats quicker this time, for a completely different reason. 

He leans in. 

He's going to kiss her. 

She clears her throat “Are you going to the party next saturday?” 

Huh? 

Oh. 

“Yes, I think so,” he's a little breathless and probably blushing because of what he was about to do “Why?” 

After the night he had, he thought he was going to struggle to even bring out this sort of excitement out of himself. When Scarlet Witch raises her gloved hand and brings it to the nape of his neck, he wonders if she actually has magical powers. 

It effectively distracts him, it sobers him up and makes him feel drunker at the same time. Short nails caress the skin where her fingers lay and then she grasps the strands of hair sticking out, not gelled down for the sake of his costume. 

“Is this real?” 

What does she mean? This feeling taking over his body? The heat that spreads all around? He's not sure if it is, if that's what she's asking. 

Hia mouth feels like cotton when he asks “Is what real?” 

She laughs softly again “The hair, the length.” 

Oh. 

“Yes, it is.” 

Maybe he should've taken his time in answering because, as soon as he does, her touch leaves him. 

“You should go as Howl,” she murmurs and he melts a little “It'll suit you better than a Tim Burton character, I think.” 

He laughs, it's short lived and through the cloud he feels he's on right now “You think?” 

“Yeah,” he can't see her, but he knows she's nodding “Even if you claim that you're not a frat bro. You know, the whole seducing ladies and stuff.” 

Wooyoung laughs “Howl did not seduce any ladies, it was all a rumor!” 

“He did, in the book.” 

“Oh, I don't read.” 

“See?” she clicks her tongue and then her shoulder touches his, teasingly “Total frat bro.” 

Wooyoung thinks about it again. 

Kissing her. Now out of pure want instead of selfish motivations. 

She said she didn't want to, earlier, if he recalls correctly and that's okay. 

He still wants to though, so… 

The question is on the tip of his tongue, he even thinks he makes out the start of it before it's cut off by the sound of the door opening. 

Closing his eyes at the sudden intrusion of light, it takes a few seconds for them to adjust to it and, when they do, he finally sees her face. 

He should've kissed her. 

The costume she's wearing it's cool, sure, and she's even wearing a wig that looks very expensive so he confirms the fact that she likes to dress up sometimes but that's not really what amazes him. 

Maybe it's because he sort of already formed a judgment of her character but she's beautiful and he really, really, really, should've kissed her. 

“Time's up, you're hogging the closet. Oh, and someone is looking for you,” the girl dressed up as Zuko points in his direction and then, because neither of them makes an effort to stand up, she nods and steps aside “I'll give y'all a minute.” 

Scarlet Witch laughs and Wooyoung wishes he could share the sentiment. At this point, he thought he would be done with a makeout session and in desperate need for another drink to keep the night going. 

Now, he wants nothing but take her hand in his and find a quiet spot where he can keep getting to know her. Maybe get her number. 

And he swears he's going to ask, but the universe is not in his favor. When she turns to him, he loses all ability to speak and when she leans in to peck his cheek his breath hitches and he feels like a teenager getting a crush for the first time. 

“In case you need to tell anyone I kissed you,” she whispers in secrecy, leaning back a bit “So you don't have to lie. I hate liars.” 

He gulps “Noted.” 

She doesn't even give him the opportunity to escort her out of tiny space: she gets up, bolts for the door and when Wooyoung's brain catches on to the gigantic problem of his own creation, as he gets out of the closet and looks around for her, she's already out of his sight. 

“Are you good?” 

It's the second time tonight San has asked that. It's not annoying by any means but when it comes with the concerned faces of Yeosang, Kyungmi and Gyuri he has to think his response through.

But the Scarlet Witch's words echo in his mind. 

I don't like liars. 

“No, I'm not,” he says, a little out of breath “I didn't get her name.” 

This time, the entire crew joins him, Gyuri, Kyungmi and Yeosang to go to the party. 

He wishes his other best friend came along as well, but she's really not that fond of parties in general. 

Which sucks because she would look good in a costume and maybe that would prompt San to act on his feelings and break up with Kyungmi in the process. 

She was a pain in his ass tonight. Didn't really help his nerves at all. 

Yes, he's nervous about possibly seeing Scarlet Witch again. 

Yes, he thought about her all week and tried his best to find her on social media but couldn't. 

Yes, he's aware tonight's theme for the party is a mix of a masquerade and a normal costume party or whatever the sorority organizing it said in their invite. 

And yes, he's dressed up as Howl Pendragon, wearing a black and white mask that he borrowed from one of the girls in the group. They decorated it with little gold and pink stars and it looks cute on him but that's not the point! 

Masks complicate his quest for the night. 

He hopes that she's here tonight. He also hopes that the costume alone is enough for her to recognize him: There's a lot of people here tonight. 

Even waiting in line to pay the cover fee for the party felt stuffy. 

He turns to Gyuri and she's laughing at something her date for the night is telling her. That's right, for the first time in many, many years, Wooyoung is not her date. 

Superman is. He's dressed in the same costume he saw him in last weekend, he thinks he even sees as smudge of Gyuri’s corpse bride body paint on it. 

She's Wonder Woman for the night. So original. 

Wooyoung feels bad as soon as the bitter thoughts go through his head. He didn't even know they exchanged numbers, let alone kept chatting to coordinate their costumes for tonight's party. 

He found out when she told her that the Raven and Beast Boy costumes would have to wait until next year. 

And he, actually, was relieved that he didn't have to paint his face green for God knows how many hours just to keep losing his date in the crowd and finding her kissing someone else. 

Ugh. 

Bitter. He's as bitter and jealous as someone who has to see the love of his life not give a damn about them or their feelings can be.

But that's okay, he has other plans for the night anyway. 

As soon as they all get through security (there's security at a house party, what the hell), they all scatter to do what they do best at parties. 

Hongjoong and Seonghwa head for the drink table, Yeosang and Jongho head for a corner of the main room, San, Kyungmi, Gyuri and Superman go straight to the backyard and Mingi, his girlfriend and Yunho walk with him to the dancefloor. 

He dances with his friends, he pretends he's paying attention to their banter as his eyes scan the crowd looking for someone familiar behind a mask. 

He thinks he remembers her face very well, it stayed on his mind for a whole week but, even after dreaming about their conversation, Wooyoung is having a hard time in finding her. 

She didn't even tell him what she was going to dress up as or if she was even going to show up. 

Or did she? 

His memories are all blended together. He's going to make sure to be sober tonight, just for the sake of remembering every little detail if he does end up finding her. 

But the hours go by and he still can't find her. 

He's losing hope, he's beginning to believe she didn't even show up to the event which, hey, sucks but that means that he can finally get her out of her head. 

Sort of. 

There's a Scarlet Witch staring at him. But there's this alluring nature to his Scarlet Witch that can't be replicated, or so he thinks. 

He's about to convince himself he drunk dreamed the entire thing but then he sees him. 

The obnoxious motherfucker. Her classmate, mister can't-take-no-for-an-answer. 

In all honesty, the first thought that crosses his mind is to punch him in the face. He's still dressed up all frat bro-ish and his mask is a paper mask, completely diy-ed and with a dick drawn on the right side. 

And then he abandons the thought because, although an asshole, he can lead go finding his Scarlet Witch. 

Only issue is: Mister asshole is walking away with a girl on his arm and heading straight to a… room? bathroom? 

Stopping his movements, mid a Troye Sivan song and cutting Yunho off in whatever he's telling him, he let's out a loud “Fuck!” 

Yunho stops, Mingi and his girlfriend turn slowly to them with wide eyes and concerned expressions 

“What did you do to him?” Mingi asks Yunho and his best friend laughs nervously. 

“I didn't do anything! Did I do something?” he turns to Wooyoung “I didn't, did I?” 

“No, no. Sorry, I… I gotta go.” 

“Go where, Serena Van der Woodsen?” 

Wooyoung doesn't get the reference Mingi’s girlfriend makes but he laughs like he does “I'll be right back!” 

He's never been so determined before, moving through the crowd like his life depends on it and crashing into Batman and his Joker on the way to stop the guy who's potentially changing the course of his night. 

“Hey!” He yells behind him but the music is somehow louder on this side of the house and five people turn their heads, but not the guy pushing a Silent Hill nurse into the bathroom door to kiss her before opening it. 

Damn it. 

He runs faster and faster and he thinks he's going to miss his chance when the tip of his boot catches the door before it fully closes on his face. 

Breathing hard, his lips turn up in smirk when he catches the way the guy's face scrunches in confusion before opening the door again and looking at him.

Wooyoung takes it a step further and gets into the bathroom with them, closing the door behind him and lifting up his mask.

“What the fuck, Wooyoung?” 

“Hey, so sorry for interrupting your fifth makeout sesh for the night but I need to ask you something. Hi.” He says to the nurse and she smiles a little before turning to the Frat Bro and raising her eyebrow inquisitively. 

“And it couldn't wait?!” 

“No,” he says right away, smiling sardonically and getting straight to the point afterwards. “So, remember the Scarlet Witch that I ended up going to the closet with last week?” 

“Who?” 

Wooyoung is going to kill him.

“The girl who threw a drink on you last week for trying to kiss her even if she said no the first time you tried,” he reminds him, “Is she here?” 

“Y/N?” the name comes out in a whisper and Wooyoung sucks in a sharp breath. 

Y/N. 

It fits her. 

“Your classmate, yes.”

“Uhm, yeah, I think she's here,” he looks a little embarrassed at the recalling of the events of last week and Wooyoung wants to smile because of it, but he just looks at him with an insistent look so he can catch that he needs more than that to find her. To find you “Look, bro, I don't know where she is right now. I think she's dressed as a… Clown? A jester? Some weird, indie costume, uhm… She has a pointy black birthday hat? I don't know.” 

He's slurring his words but that's not enough for Wooyoung to feel bad for him. He, however, does not want to speak with him anymore. 

“Alright, thank you for that, I'll… Leave you to it,” he opens the door again and frat idiot scoffs, so he turns and looks directly at the Silent Hill Nurse “Please make him wear a condom.” And he can tell she's a little turned off with the whole conversation. 

So, as he closes the bathroom door and scans the crowd one more hopeful time, he counts that as a second victory. A little revenge on your name, even. 

He wanders the house, the hallways and rooms and little hideaway spots but he finds no sign of you in them so he heads for the backyard and looks up to the second floor. 

The first room is presumably empty, lights turned off and no activity in it the few seconds he observes it. 

The second room has an ambiance light turned on and he sees what looks like a Mad Hatter run across the window and then he hears something crashing, so he hopes that's not where you are. 

The third room has a balcony. It's dark, there's not one light lit in the entire room but there's neon lights in the backyard and streetlights and the moon casting perfectly on it, so he's able to see it perfectly from where he stands. 

And there, draped in some sort of vintage looking clown costume, wearing striped tights and a black and white pointy hat, mask in your hand and your forearms supporting your weight, you stare past him. 

You look sad, but it could also be the illusion the makeup you put on gives. 

He doesn't know you enough to know what your sad expression looks like and it bothers him a little. 

You also don't notice him at all, which is odd, because you're staring directly over his shoulder. You only blink fast and focus on his face once someone calls out: 

“Woo!” That's Gyuri's voice. Raising your head, you wave to him and smile a little. He smiles back. 

He has to literally force himself to peel his eyes from you and look behind him, at his best friend “Are you okay? Come hang out with us!” 

She looks so happy. A little drunk, but happy. San is also right beside her and he shoots him a knowing smirk that he ignores because he has to leave and speak to you. 

“I'm a little busy, Yuri. I'll be down in just a sec,” that's a lie but she nods happily and so he turns to you, your smile a little bigger now “Don't move.” He warns cheekily in a whisper and you seem to get it, because you smile wide, raise your arms defensively and open your, once again, gloved hands in defeat. 

He practically sprints to the second floor after that. 

You hope Wooyoung didn't notice. 

Staring daggers at the girl he told you last time is his best friend? Yeah, that could turn into a fight really fast if he reproaches it. 

You don't remember her name but you do remember her kissing the guy you've liked since forever. She's been doing that all night tonight, too. 

It pisses you off for all the wrong reasons. Sure, she's not exactly at fault, but the human mind is horrid when it comes to mental self flagellation and you, unfortunately, are an expert at that. 

All kinds of things went through your head. The main one, a question: Why do you feel so possessive over something that clearly isn't yours? 

His heart. 

His heart it's not yours, it never was, it never will be.

It's time you come to the realization that that's okay even if it hurts you. The obsession you have over it, over what happened with the two of you it's starting to get pathetic and it makes you feel lonelier than usual.

You really hope Wooyoung didn't notice. 

As you walk to the door and unlock the room you claimed for the night (because you want to leave, but the cover was expensive and there's no way you're letting it go to waste) you let yourself detach from the emotions you've been feeling all night. 

Wooyoung doesn't need to know what's going on in your head. You have a good memory of him, you even filtered a little last weekend and you want to keep that going. 

He doesn't need to know, he doesn't need to stay in your life for too long either.

It makes you giggle when he opens the door and scans the moonlit room of this sorority house like he doesn't really believe you were there in the first place. He smiles wide when his eyes land on you, back against the wall closest to the door. 

“Hey.” You say, biting down a smile.

His chest is heaving, like he ran all the way up here and it does nothing but send nervous tingles down your spine.

He smiles beautifully, entering the room and closing the door behind him “Hi.” 

Peeling your back from the wall, you start walking around the room because that keeps your body busy and unable to embarrass you. 

“Thought I missed you completely tonight, Y/N.” 

Frowning, you give him a glance over your shoulder “You know my name.” You say, rather than ask. 

“You didn't want me to?” 

Shaking your head, there's a tiny smile that curves your lips when you turn to him. He's walking around as well, slowly, carefully, like you're about to disappear if he moves too fast. 

“I don't really enjoy mysteries that much.” 

He smiles as well “You didn't tell me your name last time.” 

“You didn't ask me,” shrugging, you take a few steps his way and scan his costume without any discretion “You see?” 

“Hm?” 

“How good you look as Howl?” tilting your head slightly, you don't miss the way his cheeks darken slightly and that makes the remains of your shyness disappear from your body. You tell yourself that you, in this room, there must be no space for it. You point at his cape “Was it hard to get this?” 

“Overnight shipping,” he whispers, taking a step in your direction “You look very cute.” 

“You think?” 

“Yeah, I really like the, uhm…” he gestures to your costume “Vintage vibe.” 

You don't have to be a genius to notice he doesn't really know what you are. “I'm a pierrot clown.” 

He scoffs “I knew that.” 

“Sure you did, buddy.” 

There's a pause and then you both laugh but it dies down quickly and there's this tension between you both you don't really know why it's there.

You two didn't exactly connect that much last time. At least, you don't think you did. He was kind of drunk and you weren't really thinking straight either. 

“Y/N…” Your name sounds good out of his lips. 

“Yes?” 

“Why did you disappear last time?” 

That makes you laugh again. You didn't exactly plan on it, you were going to wait for him outside the closet but then you saw them kissing goodbye and your heart couldn't really stand it, so you bolted. 

You walk towards one of the two beds, sitting down on it carefully, to not disturb it too much. He follows you with his eyes, his head turning slightly in order to do so.

“You mean when I left the party? I didn't disappear on you,” that's not really a lie, you convince yourself. You kind of bid your goodbye to him that night “Didn’t think you wanted me to stay, either. Did they give you too much shit?” 

“For what?” 

“I clearly didn't kiss you that night. I think it was obvious, so… Your frat bros didn't give you shit for it?” 

Closing his eyes, the smile he gives you in return for the inside joke you two have going on makes your heart flutter “Stop insisting on that, will you?” 

“You can't really fight the truth, Wooyoung.” 

“Hm,” he walks over to you again, sitting on the bed next with his thigh touching yours. Innecesarlly so, because there's plenty of space, but you enjoy the warmth it spreads around your body so you don't say anything “You did tell me you didn't like liars.” 

“Oh, you remember that?” 

“I remember everything,” he nods, “I wasn't that drunk.” 

You give him a look “Weren't you?” 

He laughs again and you follow, pushing him slightly with your shoulder like you did back in the closet as well.

You don't really know what to say anymore, so you clear your throat slightly. 

“Are you enjoying the party?” 

“Are you?”  

“What do you mean?” 

“You seemed kind of sad when I saw you, there,” he points at the balcony and that makes you sigh. He noticed, kind of. That's disappointing and impressive at the same time. “I thought it was the makeup but it doesn't really seem like it.” 

“I’m not sad,” you admit, “I'm hurt.” 

“Isn't that the same thing?” 

“Not really, no,” shaking your head, you stare out of the big panel windows into the night sky. He doesn't need to know entirely, but you can tell him something about it “Remember the guy I told you about last time?” 

“The guy you went to the party for?” 

You nod “Well, he's here tonight too. With a date this time.” 

“Oh,” when you turn, catch him licking his lips before continuing and your eyes are fixed on the motion for a second too long “And that hurts you, duh, obviously.” 

You think it's adorable he's also a little nervous but you only smile and don't give him shit for it like you would do to anyone else “When you're obsessed with the idea of someone specifically seeing you a certain way, yes, it hurts,” you shrug “I'll get over it though.” 

“I feel that,” he says and you can imagine. You sensed it in his feelings last time, you can't actually believe the coincidence and irony of it all “Did you and this guy…?” 

“We went to highschool together. He was the only person who I thought saw me for who I was, whoever that is,” there's a bitterness in the laugh you let out you don't enjoy “We kissed a few times, he told me pretty things and I feel. Totally forgot about me when he had a summer glow up before we started our first semester, though.”

“Well, he's an asshole.” 

“He's not, not really,” and you desperately need to change the topic to him, so you bump your shoulder against him one more time “Did you come with your Sophie?” you ask, pretending to not know about Wonder Woman and the fact that she's here with somebody else. 

He catches who you're talking about, though and shakes his head, giving you. tight smile. 

“No, no, uhm… She has a date.” 

You hum “Are you hurt too?” 

“I'm bitter,” he whispers back, right away “Don't know if that's the same as being hurt, but I'm bitter.”

Silence falls comfortably around the understanding in between you both. You stare at each other, lips slowly curving upwards until you end up laughing yet again at the absurdity of the situations you're both in. 

“Guess we're just… A pair of losers tonight, huh?” 

“And what a pair we make.” 

You agree. There's this electricity running through you, you even dare to say it's running through him too and it makes you slightly regret not kissing him last week. 

If you did, the desire to do so right now would be easier to come to terms with. 

Thankfully, the same thing seems to be going through his mind “I know I was drunk, but I wanted to kiss you so bad.” 

“Are you drunk now?” You ask back in a whisper. He shakes his head. 

“Don't want to ruin your pretty makeup. Besides, you said last time—” 

You lean into his space a bit. 

“That was then,” you interrupt with a tiny smile “And now is now.” 

“That's how time usually works, yes,” he laughs and you join, rolling your eyes at the bad joke. You can see the second he makes the decision, his hand hesitantly finding your cheek and, when you don't recoil at the possible contact, he leaves it there “But are you sure it's okay?” 

You know why he's asking. He doesn't want to take advantage of a vulnerable moment, neither do you.

But you want to kiss him. 

“It’s matte,” you say instead and you hope he understands the real meaning behind your answer “The lipstick, it's matte. And the base It's set with really good powder, too, because I thought…” 

You thought that somebody else was going to kiss you tonight. 

He gets it. He understands why you did it and he scoffs with mild annoyance at it, which makes you smile. 

“Y/N,” he closes the distance between you even more and your breath hitches with anticipation before he whispers: “I'm going to kiss you so good, you'll forget about his lips forever.” 

That's the best thing someone has ever said to you, ever. You shudder at the thought and just stare, eyes dropping when he leans in further and his nose bumps into yours. 

“Do you want that?” 

Sleeping with Wooyoung won’t fix your problems. It sure won’t, not yours, not his but it doesn’t need to. You don’t know what the remedy for a wounded heart is but a distraction from the hurt can’t be all that bad. 

It's still a little bit pathetic how you whimper in response to his question. 

But it gains you the prize of tasting him for the first time, his minty flavor mixing with the remnants of whatever soda you had earlier and you sigh into the encounter. He’s not as delicate as you thought he would be. 

Wooyoung kisses you hard, with want, with need, with something you recognize in yourself and give back: the need for a distraction, for a feeling other than that hurt and bitterness you two mentioned not even three minutes ago. 

You don't know what to do with your hands, where to put them, but he fixes that. He grabs them, puts them on his shoulder, scoots a bit more into you and so your chest touches his and he sighs in contentment at that. 

You feel a little bit nervous, but that’s okay. 

It’s not like you’ve never been touched, like you’ve never done this sort of thing but it is the first time you want it. You want him. 

You’re not numb this time around, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up when his other hand joins and keeps you in place, pulling back a second to take in some air before going back in for another toe curling kiss. 

Mind disconnecting from the outside world, you curse the layers of clothing (and there’s a lot) in between you when his hands travel down to your waist, against your body, caressing it and then grasping it in a way you’ve never felt before. 

It’s not rushed and it doesn’t really feel like something that you both want to get out of your system even though it is. You don’t really expect Wooyoung to ask you on a date after hooking up at a sorority party, after all. 

Oh. 

The party, that’s right. Did you lock the door? No, no. He walked in and didn't, you think. 

You can’t really think straight when he’s biting your bottom lip and then licking it as an apology for his misbehaving. It draws a breathy moan out of you and he drinks it, tongue meeting yours for the first time ever as you stand up from the bed, kiss never breaking, his body following yours. 

You’re wearing a lace ruffle white collar that goes with your costume. It’s cute, surprisingly not itchy at all and right now it seems to be getting in his way. His fingers look for the velcro clasp and then, when he loosens it enough, he janks it off. 

Somehow, you enjoy the theatrics and you giggle as his mouth abandons yours.

“Woo…” You manage to say when his lips start to make acquaintance with your neck, over your pulse. Craning your head to the side, he moves to the skin that unveils because of it and it’s hard to think of anything but the way you start to tremble under his touch. 

Grounding yourself by sinking your fingers in his hair, you attempt to speak again but he keeps distracting you. 

“Fuck, say that again.” 

Humming, you return “Woo,” you say again, “the door…”  

He moves to the other side of your neck “What about it?” 

“It’s— Oh,” teeth sink into your skin and you moan out loud, you can practically feel his smirk on your skin after that and your face burns as a consequence. “W-we need to lock it.” 

“Afraid someone will walk in on us?” he finally pulls away enough for you to see his face. His lips are swollen and there’s a flush across his cheeks that sits beautifully there when he smiles, forehead resting against yours a second later “You don’t like that thought?” 

There’s a part of you that doesn’t think it’s proper. It’s bad enough you’re hooking up with a somewhat stranger in a room that isn’t yours, but people finding out? That should terrify you. 

But it doesn’t. He seems to read it on your delayed response and the way your eyes widen with need when he pulls away again to watch your reaction to what he said. 

“You do, don’t you?” and then you’re moving, backwards, backwards, backwards until your back hits the door and there’s this passion glistening in his eye that excites you and sends spikes down your spine and into your core “You want people to know I’m kissing you dumb, hm? You want them to see what I’m doing to you?” 

He pauses and you feel like it’s on purpose, you feel like he takes in you heaving chest and the way your eyes follow the veins down his arms when he presses his hand behind you, pushing into your space a bit more and you should feel overwhelmed like you normally do with everyone else, but you don’t. 

You want him to get even closer.

“You want them to see what you do to me?” 

His whisper shakes you, awakens something in you that you desperately want to explore. It makes you feel shy and brave at the same time and the contradiction makes you bite down a smile. 

There’s no need for you to see what you’re doing to him, you can feel it when the hand that wanders to his waist pulls him closer, forward, until his hips meet yours and his leg finds a home between yours. Grunting, he raises a brow and gives you a knowing grin, but you enjoy surprising people. 

Your black gloves contrast against his skin and the white of his shirt when you caress the arm planted next to you and he follows the motion, letting out a breath “What if I don’t?” you ask, low, like it’s a secret you don’t want anyone else to find out even if you’re alone in this room “What if I want to keep you all to myself?” Watching his expression carefully, you try to measure if you’re crossing the invisible hookup line with your words but he closes his eyes and there’s no way for you to tell, so you correct your possible mistake in a whisper “For the night. You don’t want me to be only yours tonight?” 

Something twitches against your leg and the brief tension melts from your shoulder. Damn, you’re not that mouthy during these sort of scenarios so you almost, almost fucked up, huh? 

It doesn’t really matter when his free hand brushes his knuckles against your stomach, over your clothes and the ridiculously big buttons of your costume and then leaves you to twist the lock on the door “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, by the way.” 

“I want you.” The words get out before you think it through and you don’t mind it. You value honesty, you love when your body acts before your mind has the time to make you feel ashamed of your own feelings and wants. 

It pays off because his expression morphs in pure want and his tone is a whimper when he begs you, forehead meeting yours again “Again.” 

“I want you, Woo…” You whisper against his lips and then his mouth is on yours hungrier than ever before. The wood hurts against your back but Wooyoung’s hands pull you against him to move you away from it. 

This time, your hands know exactly what to do, because you know exactly what you want. They tug at his cape, trying to find the clasp of it with desperate trembles because your heart is beating faster and faster and you’re impatient, body too impertinent and rebelling against your wishes of taking this slow and savoring every little touch.

Cape on the floor, you feel his hand trying to figure out your costume. It makes you laugh and you’re glad he returns it, looking down at it and frowning at all the fabric he finds. With your hands against his chest, you push him into the mattress and he lands gracefully on it, supporting himself with his arms “I’ll do it.”

“Baby, this is a great costume and you look so fucking cute on it but why is there so much layering?” 

The nickname is new and he doesn’t seem to catch that it slipped out of his mouth so you don’t comment on it but it sure deepens the color on your cheeks and you laugh shyly, tilting your head to side in a playful manner. 

“I told you I like dressing up.” 

“And it shows! Mine’s a little simple,” without the cape, he just looks like a dude with a loose white shirt and black trousers. A handsome dude, but just a dude nevertheless “But I wanted you to find me, so…” 

“What was the first option?” 

“Beast Boy.” 

There’s something that crosses his expression that goes away the second he sees you slowly working the buttons and the skin underneath reveal after each one. His eyes fix on it and you’re sure you look ridiculous in the makeup and the get up and all but he’s looking at you with so much need you feel sexy wearing it. 

The shirt comes off. You’re wearing a cropped top and a bra underneath and you hook your thumbs under it to make him believe you’re taking it off, but you don’t. 

“You’re killing me.” He groans out and you laugh at him, making a show of bringing your hands down your torso and into your hips. You move to take off the striped bloomers that are matching with the tights you plan on taking off next. 

Your underwear doesn’t exactly match but you weren’t really planning on any of this with anyone. You weren’t planning on going this far but you don’t really care when it’s all, eventually, it’s just going to be off, so it doesn’t really matter. 

“Want to take these off yourself or you’re going to make me do all the work?” 

Smiling, he sits straight on the bed, taking your hand in his and bringing it to his mouth he nips the satin fabric of your glove, it loosening around your index when he pulls. He must see the way it affects you immediately, the way you breath catches, because the corner of his lips lifts up before he does the same to the thumb, the middle finger, the ring and the pinky and then he pulls the glove completely off. 

You feel like you short circuit for a second, even more so when he keeps the hand close to him and starts kissing the pad of your fingers so softly it doesn’t match the hunger in his eyes at all. 

And you’re killing him? 

It happens in a flash but the other glove is off and then your tights, your top and his shirt are off and on the floor and you’re sitting on his lap, tongue parting his lips and mouth bruising against his and you feel like you’re in a small pocket in time no one can really disturb. No one can burst this bubble, this cloud you land on when he turns you around and the expensive material of the sheets touches your bare back. 

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” 

When did he take off your bra? It doesn’t matter, his lips are making their way down your throat and exploring your chest, gaining puffs of air and moans from you when he flicks your nipples with his tongue, expert and careful, measuring your reaction and doing it again when your back arches off the bed instead of verbally asking for more. 

He kisses down, down until his teeth are catching your underwear. Looking up to you, he searches for an answer in your eyes and you both come to an unspoken agreement. Even if you’re both taking your time in exploring each other, there’s no actual time for him to eat you out, for you to get on your knees and taste him as well. 

You immediately wonder if there’s going to be another opportunity to do all of that. Either way, there’s not enough time to wonder. You help him get out of his trousers, his boxer briefs and you stare at him with an eyebrow up and an open and watering mouth. 

He laughs at your reaction, like he was expecting it. 

He stops laughing when you reach for him. Breathing hard when your thumb teases his tip, gathering precum, he shakes his head and you immediately stop “Baby, we… Not tonight.” 

Then when? You want to ask. 

You just nod before bringing the thumb to your mouth, tasting him and humming in content. Wooyoung leans in and puts his tongue on yours a second later.

He smiles, teeth sinking on your bottom lip before diving in for another kiss “Dirty girl.” He teases you and you shrug. 

“You look so good,” You say against him, pecking his lips, “Couldn’t help myself,” fingers grasping the hairs at the nape of his neck, like you did the night you met, you stop him from kissing you again just to whisper “You taste so good too.”   

His eyes almost roll at that, hips stuttering against you and almost brushing where they need to. “Fuck, don’t say shit like that to me, Y/N.” 

“Sorry.” You say but it’s clear in your smile that you’re not sorry at all and maybe you shouldn’t have because when it comes to taking your last piece of clothing off, he takes his time. 

Fingernails raise goosebumps as they softly go through your skin and he lets out a ragged breath “So fucking beautiful.” 

You feel beautiful. That’s good, because earlier tonight, before you catched him staring up at you on the balcony, you felt undesirable. You felt little, small, incomparable in the worst way possible because… Why not you? 

His words reassure you. Even if you know that’s something you need to do yourself (built enough confidence to not let the choices of a man who doesn’t give a damn about you define your self worth), it helps you tend that wound that reopened. 

He touches you and you feel worth it again. You believe it when your panties fall to the ground and your legs part for him and he looks at you in delight, thumb finding your clit and circling it right away “So fucking wet, fuck.” 

Your hips go up when he finds the right pacing, the right pressure to it and you really shouldn't moan this loud but you don’t care when he lets out a moan of his own at the way your face scrunches in pleasure “I want you.” You let out, breathy and pliant under his touch. 

“You got me,” he’s sweating but you don’t really care, you love the way his pretty nose touches yours when he leans in, index searching and then entering you. “Fuck, I could slip right in, hm? Is that what you want?” 

A moan slips out when he finds your sweet spot and strokes it carefully, he takes it as a reply and, honestly, it is all you can let out at the moment. You squeeze the second finger as it enters you, so it gives away how much you like the thought of that. 

“You do,” he says, teasingly and smiles against your lips as he pecks it “Dirty girl,” He repeats and you shake your head again, hips bucking up when the heel of his hand press against your clit and it sends a new wave of heat across your entire body “Impatient girl. I wish you were in my room now, fuck.” 

You wish that too.

“Woo…” 

“I had to—” 

“I know but there’s people—” Passing the door, you can sense it. In this midst of anything, you can sense it. 

“Who cares about them—”

There’s a phone vibrating somewhere in the room and it’s definitely not yours. He ignores it, fingers picking up their pace. 

“I need you,” you whisper, propping yourself up to kiss his mouth “Please, please fuck me.”

“I want you to come first.” He communicates his crude intention so cutely you might actually miss him when this is all over. 

“And I want to come with you.” 

That stops him and you can literally feel him get harder where he rests against your inner thigh.

“Condom?” You ask in a whisper. 

“Condom, right, fuck—” Both moving to reach his pants on the floor, you giggle and his lips find your cheek for a second as your torsos hang from the bed and you can safely say you never had more fun during sex before this. 

It’s lighthearted even if you’re both practically strangers and then it grows hot, sexy, passionate again when he finds the condom, breaks the package open and then rolls it on with practiced moves. He kisses you, laying back down against the pillows and aligning himself with your entrance. 

“Wait, let me just…” 

“What?” 

You turn around, laying flat on your chest and arching your back just a little so that you can open up your legs for him to enter. You look at him over your shoulder and his surprised expression makes you giggle “You never tried this one?” you ask and at his silence, you nod “Look how easy it is for me to—” Reaching down your stomach and reaching your clit with your fingers for him to see, you circle it a few times and close your eyes at the sensation. 

He kisses the small of your back “Holy fuck, Y//N.” 

“I told you that I’m coming with you, I’m helping.” 

He leans into you, his tip pressing against your clit deliciously “You’re so fucking hot, I almost came.” 

“That’s the point, Woo.” You say through pants, his hands kneading your ass and spreading you open for him to see. It’s a little nasty and you wonder what you both could do with a little more time and less people waiting for you outside. For him, at least. 

When he enters you, the moan that leaves you echoes his and you probably needed just a little bit more prep for the size of him but since you’re so turned on it barely matters when he’s completely seated inside of you and this position just makes it feel ten times better “You feel so good, baby, fuck.” 

“Yeah?” His chest is touching your back now and his lips are leaving open mouth kisses on your shoulder. He moves his hips experimentally and you moan into the sheets, sweat running down your neck and your chest into them but you don’t have time to feel bad for the owner of the bed at all “Was that okay?”

“You can go harder.” 

“Yeah? Fuck.” 

He complies right away and it feels so good you let yourself close your eyes and fully enjoy it, consequences be damned. 

People outside the room hearing you moan? Who cares when your fingers the weight of Wooyoung against you feels so right? 

When his thrusts help you grind your clit on your fingers just right, especially when he increases the speed of them and the wave of pleasure that hits you squeezes him around you so good his moan bounces off the walls and outside of the balcony where someone downstairs giggles and whistles. 

“Oh, God,” he says, a little ashamed but never slowing down and you turn your head, searching for his lips “We should’ve closed that door too.” 

You decide to tease him to wipe that emotion from him and just focus on you “Thought you wanted to give people a show.” 

Opening your eyes, you are able to watch when his eyes harden slightly at the thought, pace faltering as he lets out a tiny whimper. 

“And I thought you wanted me for yourself tonight,” he resumes his relentless pace, thrusting in and out of you with ease now and your cheek meets the sheets again so the bed can muffle your sounds “Maybe next time.” 

Next time. 

You don't really have time to dwell on what that means because you’re so worked up it won’t take much for you to come. You let Wooyoung know and he nods, his forehead against your shoulder again “Kiss me.” He whispers and you crane your neck to do so, to swallow his moans down and keep them with you forever. 

You swallow all of them down when his hips stutter and he comes and you know he keeps yours when you let yourself come right alone with him. He fucks you through both of your orgasms and slows down gradually until he grows sensitive and hisses at any tiny movement and your arms go kind of numb underneath you. 

There’s a sense of urgency your mind picks up immediately after but you ignore it. You have nowhere to go and they charged you twenty dollars to get into this stupid party so they can wait for you two to return to it. 

But there’s a phone vibrating somewhere. And even if you both hear it, Wooyoung turns you around and leans in to give you a kiss so sweet you almost want to keep it with you as well. 

When he pulls away, you wipe the sweat on his forehead with your hands and brush the hair out his face so delicately he closes his eyes and seems to enjoy your touch. 

Now what the hell should you say at a moment like this? Where he doesn’t seem in any rush to leave you and you don’t really want him to leave either. 

Do you tell him he did good? Do you tell him you enjoyed it, that he made you feel safe? That’s the first time in ages you enjoy a quick fuck this much? 

That—

“Please give me your number.” 

Oh, he’s actually adorable. He takes your stunned expression and silence the wrong way, though, and he sits on his knees, pulling out of you and working on getting his condom off while he speaks. 

“I can give you at least ten reasons you should give me your number. Number one, I enjoyed this a lot and I can do better if you give me time, number two—”

“Woo, you literally just fucked me with clown makeup on. I think we’re past you giving me reasons to sleep with you,” you sit up as well, taking his face in your hands again and leaning in to kiss his cheek soundly “Give me your phone.” 

He gets off the bed and looks around the room for the trash can. It’s a tiny one, sitting on top of a desk and you really, really start to feel bad for the girls who are going to have to sleep off their drunken night in this room. You’re surprised that no one knocked on the door but, on party eastern time, it’s still kind of early. 

Two thirty am reads the clock on Wooyoung’s phone when he hands it to you, unblocked. There’s messages flowing in and you try your best to not read them as you enter your number and name into his contacts but you do notice they’re from a group chat. 

You wonder if his friend group is big, if he’s close to all of them, what kind of friend he is. You’re impatient, you want to get to know him all of the sudden and you know it’s dangerous for expectations to grow after a hookup but, as you hand him his phone back, you can’t help but let out a “Woo, do you just want to fuck me or do you want to be my friend too? Something more?” 

He’s reading the messages on the group chat with a frown when your questions register in his brain and he looks up, a curious expression and a tiny smile “You’re very direct, aren’t you?” 

“I hate wondering and mysteries,” you shrug, “I don’t want to expect the wrong thing.”

“Fair,” he nods. “I’m more of a… Just wait and see what happens kind of guy, but if you want an honest answer I just don’t really know. I want to see you again, though.” 

“I want to see you again, too,” You murmur back and he smiles, leaning in a fraction to try and kiss you again but then there’s a thud against the door and a soft ouch coming from behind it that interrupts you “We should really get out of here.” 

It takes a millisecond for him to misinterpret what you meant, smirk growing on his lips when you shake your head disapprovingly and blushing while you pick your panties from the ground and get up to slip them on. 

“Not what I meant!” 

“I mean,” he starts to dress himself as well, “I wouldn’t mind.” 

“No,” you say but you don’t sound so sure of it yourself and it makes him smile even wider, so you roll your eyes. “Where are my…”

“Here.” He hands you the tights and you thank him, almost falling while trying to put them on fast the next second. He laughs at you “Just sit down, babe.” 

“Don’t laugh!” 

“I’m literally not!” 

You tease each other as you get in costume again. This time the fabric bothers you a little but only because you’re sticky and sweaty even if it’s the last day of october. 

Fully clothed, you walk to the door and you suddenly feel very shy and nervous at what can await you behind it. Wooyoung seems to see it on your face, so he steps in your space and kisses your lips sweetly, holding your waist respectfully like he didn’t just make you come less than ten minutes ago. 

“I’m so glad I met you,” he whispers against you and you melt even if you don’t want to. He doesn’t specify why and you don’t ask, but he does smile when you peck his lips one last time before stepping away “Do you want to step out together or do you want to go first, should I go first? We can meet downstairs,” he clarifies before you can think the worst and you giggle “We can leave together too, if you want.” 

You know he means the party. 

But his phone vibrates again, insistently shaking in his pocket and you rest your head against the door softly “I feel like you have people that need you right now.” 

He takes the phone out of his pocket. The screen reads “yuri”, with a series of heart emojis and a middle finger emoji at the end and his expressions turn worrisome immediately. 

“Shit, no, you’re right, um…” 

Stepping away from the door, you grab the knob and open it for him “Do your thing, Woo.” 

You think you know exactly who's calling him. 

Like you already knew, sleeping with Wooyoung didn't fix yours problems at all: 

It hurts that she's been chosen over you again, but you keep the soft smile on your lips either way. 

“I'll text you. I'll call you, I—” he leans into you again, stealing a hard, parting kiss that you probably are going to think about until he keeps his promise “Hey, everything alright?” You faintly hear when he picks up the call. 

When he leaves the room and closes the door behind him, you sag against the wood of it and let yourself meet the cold floor to try and plan out how you're getting out of there and how long it would take you to walk to your dorm room at this time. 

But then your phone digs in your hand, screen lighting up the dark room and your face. 

+82-8-918-2910: my friend got sick bc she drank too much. wish i could take you to your dorm. text me when you get there, yeah? x 

It makes you smile. Despite it all, it makes you smile really hard. 

+82-8-918-2910: it's wooyoung btw ;)  +82-8-918-2910: send me pic of how you save meeeee  +82-8-918-2910: okay my friend is puking in the pool and her date it's fucking useless i have to go text me back pls!! xx 

When you catch yourself re-reading the texts on your home screen and grinning, this time like a complete fucking idiot, you know you'll have to start thinking of another recipe to mend yet another broken heart. 

That's fine. At least you're not thinking about Superman anymore. 

If you read all the way down here: THANK YOU SO MUCH. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated, don't be afraid to go to my inbox and leave your thoughts there, i love reading them!

© jensthwa, 2024.

[casualhedonists]

✩ it don’t need your loving, it just needs attention ✩

pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Reader

warnings: NSFW (18+), snow being snow, themes of sex work (not the reader), cuckolding, eventual smut, fake relationship, unprotected sex, themes of voyeurism & mild exhibitionism (lmk if i forgot anything!) murder mention (but no actual murder) (not yet at least?), MAJOR manipulation/gross power dynamics + generally darkish themes, some power play, oral sex, thigh riding, eventual piv, i’m new to full on smut bear with me here

chapter: 1/? (chapter 2 here)

MASTERLIST

i do not give permission for my work to be reposted/translated anywhere, under any circumstances.

A/N: this is what happens when i let my brain loose to do whatever tf it wants (title is from attention by doja cat as is the general theme)

Show you how to touch it Hold it like it's precious It don't need your lovin' It just needs attention

You were getting tired of this charade.

Snow was courting you, or so it would seem. In truth, it was all for show. He was seen with you on his arm at public events, just enough to make it look like you were together. Marriage was probably further down the line, but Snow was in no rush for that to happen. For now, he was pleased with the positive attention he received for appearing like a reliable, loving, doting partner.

“There’s a science behind it,” Cordelia, Snow’s preferred public relations manager - and one of the Capitol’s best - had told you in a meeting between the three of you, discussing strategy, coordinating events, and how best to make the relationship seem authentic. “The more the public see you as grounded, committed, and warm, the more respect they hold for you. The more open they are to your ideas, and any changes you make as president.”

You’d concealed your smirk well enough for it to go unnoticed upon hearing that.

Snow was a lot of things, but he was never warm. The name itself decreed it. He was cold, calculating, sharp witted, manipulative. Power hungry.

You were fine with the arrangement at first. It suited your thirst for power; despite coming from one of the richest families in the capital, Snow’s power was of a different breed. You wanted in, and so when your social circles crossed over and the proposition was made, you’d risen to the occasion.

The reality was this: it was a good arrangement. Coriolanus was adored and admired by any outsider with a pair of eyes, and you got anything you wanted. You got to live in the manor house Coriolanus occupied, eating good food while being waited on hand and foot. You got to network with powerful people in the highest of society. Even if you wanted someone executed, it would be carried out in turn, without question. Name it, and it was yours. Snow was a generous host and ally to you.

It was everything you wanted.

Almost.

Somehow, despite it all, all the custom gowns shipped in from the expensive designers, the buffet spreads and the silk sheets, the way that people had begun to stare in respect as soon as you walked into a room, there was just one thing that itched at you, one thing you knew wasn’t part of the plan.

It was Snow.

Somewhere, between the light kisses in front of expectant eyes, the gentle hand on yours at dinner, that was hurriedly removed once you were behind closed doors again, you’d grown a gnawing, incessant want towards the man that had given you almost everything you could ever hope for.

Eight months, this had been going on. Eight months since Snow suggested this business proposal. Sex was never a part of the deal. And of course, you couldn’t sleep with anyone you pleased; that would be catastrophic for both of your reputations. And so it had been eight months since anybody had touched you other than yourself, biting your pillow so nobody could hear Snow’s name on your lips as you gripped the sheets. Even if you wanted to sleep with other people, you couldn’t. Truth is though, you’d developed rather expensive taste. A taste for only him. Even if you had the choice, nobody else would do.

You wondered if he ever thought of you while he touched himself. That thought slipped into your head every so often, when your hand was between your thighs. Then it became a more frequent occurrence. Then it became a nightly one, and by then, you were pretty sure you’d started going crazy.

You weren’t a romantic - this arrangement would never have worked if you were. You were like him; power hungry, relentless, impatient. And most of all, when you wanted something, you got it. And you wanted to seduce Coriolanus Snow.

So you’d started leaving breadcrumbs. Put an extra glint in your eyes when you glanced over at him, in public, first, and then in private more and more. You’d thrown out dozens of your more conservative dresses, keeping only the shortest ones that hugged your hips and dropped tantalisingly low on the neckline. Started wearing them more around the house, pretending to drop things just so you could bend down in front of him.

You estimated this act would last for a good week or two before Snow folded.

You were wrong.

If anything, it seemed to render Snow even more indifferent to you than he’d been before you started playing your little games. And each time he ignored you, glanced unimpressed at your outfit then looked away, or full-on walked right past you out the room, you started to simmer even more.

A normal girl in a normal situation would take a hint, cut her losses. But you were no normal girl, and this was no ordinary situation.

You had to be in the same boat, surely. Snow was still just a man, after all. A man with similarly limited options, and you knew he must’ve at least found you a little attractive, else he wouldn’t have chosen you to parade around on his arm in public, in pretty dresses and expensive jewellery.

Snow’s indifference only fuelled your fire. Sure, an ordinary girl would just give up. But eight months of this torture and you were at your breaking point. Besides, it was either him, or nobody. You weren’t giving up. Not in this lifetime.

So you got more obvious. Started taking breakfast in your nightgown each morning instead of getting dressed, sitting opposite Coriolanus with several feet of the mahogany table between you, biting into grapes from the fruit bowl and letting the juice trail down your chin, wiping it off then sucking your fingers clean, humming with your digits in your mouth, glancing at him with full-blown bedroom eyes when he’d look over at you from behind his paper.

It was no use. Nearly a month had passed and he’d barely even looked at you for more than a second at a time. Your conversations were short, lacklustre and strictly business related. You’d even tried playing on his heartstrings, asking about his day and work and his family. You were lucky if you got more than blunt, one-worded answers every time.

You’d exhausted yourself with all these failed attempts, until one Thursday night you heard footsteps walking past your bedroom door. This wasn’t abnormal - Snow kept extensive household staff - except for the sound of these were different. You recognised the faint clicking of heels against the hardwood, a sound you heard all the time at galas and balls, but never in these halls, when an event was nowhere on the radar. And this was one such night.

Your curiosity led you off your bed and to the door, gently opening it to glance outside. Whoever it was had turned the corner, the clicking fading down the hallway. You carefully closed the door behind you and began to follow the sound. A chill ran up the backs of your legs as you walked; it was getting slightly colder as winter closed in, and your bedroom attire wasn’t exactly fit for the weather, given that you picked out the laciest, most impractical slips to sleep in, ready for your performance the next morning at breakfast.

You paced down the corridor, winding past the door to each room, a study, a small library (the larger one was downstairs), Snow’s office, and then finally, at the end, the door to Snow’s bedroom.

Oh.

This room was always enigmatic to you, as you’d never been inside. Your obsession with Snow had led you to wonder, day in and day out, what lay behind that door. The color of his bedsheets, what sat on his dresser, the contents of his closet, what aftershave he wore that had caused you to develop a practically pavlovian reaction anytime he got close to you.

You paused, a few feet away from the door, fearing Snow’s response if you crossed that line, if he were to walk out and find you hovering between his office and his room, clearly attempting to eavesdrop.

You heard shifting, then voices inside as you focused all your attention onto listening, trying hard to pick up on the conversation. You took another tentative step forward, practicing in your head what you would say if he stepped outside. I just wanted to ask what you wanted me to wear on Monday’s gala, I was thinking the white dress with the gold detailing. It wasn’t too late in the evening for that to be a viable excuse, if you could make it sound convincing enough.

But as you got closer you noticed something. There was a soft light spilling out from behind the door, which was in fact, just slightly ajar.

Snow usually kept the door locked at all times, you knew that from testing the handle - admittedly more than a few times - when he had been out of the house, and you were certain he wouldn’t be home for hours. This was something different. This felt dangerous, like walking a tightrope that was about to get cut, but the thrill of adrenaline pushed you forward.

You’d stopped hearing voices by then. You snuck ever closer, ears starting to ring as you found yourself drawn to the open door, taking silent steps towards it until there was no going back, and your body was practically flush to it. Holding your breath, you peeked through, pushing it ever so gently, praying that it wouldn’t creak. You had to crane your neck slightly to see any movement in the room, but it didn’t take long to see it, and when you did, you certainly didn’t feel cold anymore. Any curious whims on the color of his furniture and walls were long pushed to the side, because you couldn’t have focused on anything else in the room if you tried.

Snow was sat on a deep red velvet ottoman at the foot of his bed, shirt buttons undone and pushed behind him, leaving you with a full view of his chest. Your eyes panned down to see his usually pristine dress pants rolled carelessly down, pooling around his ankles. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows in a similarly rushed manner. One hand was behind him, propping himself up, and the other was tightly gripping a handful of blonde hair, belonging to a girl that knelt at his feet in nothing but black underwear and stiletto heels - the culprit of the footsteps - moving her head up and down as Snow roughly guided her, lips parted, head tipped back, eyes firmly shut, breathing roughly. A few strands of damp blonde hair had fallen to his temples, just enough to make him look disheveled, yet somehow still regal, like a greek god.

You stood there, frozen. A million emotions battling for dominance in your head, anger, panic, fear, raging jealousy. Desire.

That was the one that stuck with you in the moment. It was a good thing Snow’s eyes were closed and the girl’s back was facing you, because your feet were firmly planted on the ground, watching this scene unfold, and you wouldn’t be able to go anywhere even if you tried. Watching as Snow’s breathing got heavier, as his grip on the girl’s hair got tighter and more forceful. Watching as her one arm gripped his thigh, and the other moved to where her mouth was, out of your eyeshot, and the obscenity of this was made somehow worse by the fact that you couldn’t see exactly what was happening.

Firstly, because it allowed your brain to fill in the blanks as Snow hissed through his teeth and dropped his head back. Secondly, because from this angle, you couldn’t see the girl’s face, and you were able to picture yourself in her place, wet mouth wrapped around him, being the cause of his undoing.

Come to think of it, there was another reason you were glad you couldn’t see her face, and it was purely for her sake. Because if you could’ve seen her, you would’ve had no excuse not to kill the bitch then and there.

You could hear, though. You could hear her soft moans and the lewd wetness of her mouth as her head moved even faster, before Snow took full control as his hips started to jerk, holding her head in place. There was a fire in the pit of your stomach and your lips were parted, staring. Knowing that if even for a second, Snow opened his eyes just for a glance, he’d see you immediately. You’d be hanged, probably. Or worse. And yet you didn’t run; you couldn’t. Nothing on God’s earth could’ve caused your feet to turn you around and leave the room. It was like you were suspended in some dream-like state, hearing going fuzzy, head spinning.

Then Snow started groaning, breath hitching in his throat as he got closer to the edge, you could hear it. Your brain began melting, and you didn’t have time to think through what would happen after he was finished and he saw you. If you were going to be hanged for this, it would be worth it, you thought, as his hips started to jerk even faster and his groans turned into strained whispers. Fuck and that’s it and good girl, and finally, as his eyes squeezed shut even tighter, and he came into her mouth with a strangled cry, you heard a name.

Yours.

[dcangel]

one thing about stiles is that he absolutely cannot stay quiet when he cums, even if it’s in the worst situation possible. he could be home alone, or it could be late at night— either way, he’s jerking off to the explicit picture you sent him last week that he still has yet to get over. he can’t muffle any soft grunts or hums even when his mouth is closed. especially not when you’re letting him fuck you. his intentions when resting on top of you were innocent, perfectly content with being your weighted blanket. but something quite literally rubbed him the wrong way, and you felt it moments later. how could you say no to some not-so-innocent cockwarming? after all, Noah was in the dining room mulling over another case of a slashed-up body in the woods. clothes weren’t removed, just adjusted to allow his cock to slip out of his plaid sweatpants and into the small gap you left him between your drawn-down waistband and your cunt. it truly didn’t take long for vibrations of lost hums and whimpers to be felt against your neck as he allowed his hips to work lazily; his cock sliding in and out easily thanks to your building wetness. you really didn’t expect or want more from him, you just wanted him to please himself as you relished in his struggles to stay silent.

it was hard to keep stiles quiet, especially with the way the house fell silent after his dad drank himself to sleep, and there was no absent-minded muttering and mumbling to drown of the echoes of stiles’s growing whines. it was even harder when you felt warmth spill inside you and his hips still twitched as if one orgasm wasn’t enough. he was doing it to himself. grateful praises and broken whimpers tumbled from his lips that languidly tried attaching to your neck, and you didn’t even attempt to quiet him down. it would’ve been a futile effort anyway, especially with the way he absently began spewing mumbled begs against your neck to just let him be loud— to let him have his moment to openly relish in the feeling of you. and who were you to say no to your boy who took it upon himself to overwork his recently neglected body?

[elusivedew]

💌 | Cubitum eamus ?

✧ synopsis ⤐ it takes you 2 years from the minute you meet spencer to confess how much you like him, and it all happens on a random wednesday night.

✧ contains ⤐ friends to lovers but they both know what's up, s3 spencer who's been through a handful of shit, brief mention of alcohol consumption on two occasions!!suggestive themes but no straight up smut, spencer reid experiences happiness for once, reader is his only hope in life, reader wants him real bad and he knows. My spencer reid debut yay! Title translates to "will you go to bed with me?" w.c ~ 9.2k

Working at the BAU is not an easy job. In fact, Spencer thinks, working at any unit in the FBI is the closest thing you'll ever get to hell on earth. This feeling of agitation and exhaustion seems to aggravate every time he's working on a particularly draining case. Not only does the content of the cases get into his head often, and sometimes into his dreams, but he's also been directly harmed by the criminals they’re chasing. How can you remain completely objective about something when you become a victim too?

Over the few years he's worked in the BAU, he's received more harm than he ever expected. Drug addiction was not something he had in his five-year plan when he first joined the FBI. It's not something anyone who works in law enforcement expects, really. 

Needless to say, he's tired. The kind of fatigue that makes you bedridden for days. 

He also happens to be alone on a Tuesday night in the middle of June. 

The latest case he worked on took a little over two weeks to wrap up, an unsub that likes to take his time and has such a disorganized MO that it was almost impossible to see the patterns. All the physical and mental work completely knocked everyone off their feet, except for him. His colleagues all went home and passed out of exhaustion, and he’s still up. 

Spencer can't sleep. He's too busy thinking. 

It's something he does a lot, for his job, for himself, for the duration of his whole life. The gears have been turning in his head since his very first word, the minute ‘mama’ was out of his baby mouth, he’d been tasked with the weight of the whole fucking universe. The price of knowing so much from a young age has cost him a lot. And tonight, it specifically costs him his peace, his right to pass out after a long day of work. 

And he'd love, more than anything, to have an off button somewhere inside. But because that hasn't been invented yet, and his nervous system feels like it's on fire, he's still up by the time it's 10 pm. It’s not late, objectively, but he’s been home for more than three hours now. He tried a lot of sleep remedies— herbal tea, audiobooks, aroma therapy, hell, even exercising to tire himself out, but all of them failed. And now he's just left with sore muscles and an even more tired brain. 

By the time it's 11 pm, he's lying on his couch, feeling like death. His head is pounding with the feeling of an oncoming migraine, and he knows that he’s in for a particularly long night.

That's when his phone rings, and because he’s so alert and so sensitive to stimuli at the moment, he almost kicks it off the coffee table. But he doesn’t do that, because he’s still a little sane despite everything.

Instead, he reaches over and checks the contact name, and his whole face lights up. He feels absolutely ridiculous for not making this call first, because his nervous system is now very much alive— and not in a way that makes him feel like an overheating microwave, no, this is a good thing. And good things don’t happen to him often. He runs his hand through his hair, a nervous habit, and picks up the call. 

Suddenly being awake doesn't feel so bad. 

“Agent Reid.”

Your voice comes through the phone like a cool breeze of air during the grueling heat of June. He finds himself relaxing a little, releasing tension he didn't know he had in his muscles when he was so distracted just a few minutes before.

“I'm begging you to stop calling me that.” 

“Aww, why not? I like feeling like your boss,” you're smiling on the other end, he can hear it, “what's his name again? Aaron?” 

He rubs his temple with a smile he can't fight off, “That's agent Hotchner to you.” 

You laugh and he feels proud of himself for eliciting such a pleasant sound out of you. He's immediately thinking of other ways to get that sound out again. If Morgan could see him now, he'd never let him hear the end of it. 

The good thing about you and Spencer is that no one knows. Not his colleagues, not your friends, not your families. That's the good thing, you get to keep this precious thing between the two of you. The bad thing is that you're not really together. You're not even romantically involved, you've never uttered the four-letter L-word around each other (like or love, both), and you don't even really flirt with each other. 

To put it into simple words, you and Spencer are just friends. 

But friends who relieve each other's stress nonetheless, and god knows Spencer needs that right now. 

“You're back from your recent trip, right?” You ask, audibly crunching on something. It sounds like you're also lying on your couch, he wonders if you were going through something similar when you decided to pick up the phone and call.

“Yeah, thank god.” 

“I take it that it wasn't a very good one then? I mean, none of them are good but, I'm guessing some are worse than others.” 

Spencer sighs, “You guess correctly.” 

“How are you feeling?” Your voice is softer when you ask, concerned, and even though he doesn't like to make you worry, your well-intended question is a very welcome sentiment. He’s almost relieved knowing that there's someone who'll always ask, someone who'll always notice. 

“Not very good. Tired.” It's a short answer, but he knows you understand. You've understood him for a very long time now, nearly two years of knowing each other. 

“It sounds like you had a very long day.” A very long month. “Why didn't you try to catch some Zs?” 

The way you phrase it makes him snort, and he knows you're proud of yourself for that one. “I can't, me and the Zs never had a very good relationship. Trust me, if I could turn my brain off, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.” 

You hum, “Do you wanna talk about it? I could give you some very valuable, life-changing insight, maybe you'll be able to go to sleep after.” 

He smiles, “I've actually had enough of this case, I'd like to talk about something else.” 

“Oh, I can definitely do that. Tell me, what did you have for breakfast?” 

Breakfast is a terrible topic, meals in general, because you know that he misses a lot of his meals when he's on the job. You always lecture him for it, berating him for being so skinny at his big age, but it's always underlined by concern. He knows you worry about him, he wouldn't blame you. 

“Not much…” He trails off, knowing you'll catch on. 

“Oh honey, I know your eating and sleeping habits are fucked, but can't you at least lie to me?” 

The way you call him honey should not be making his stomach turn like that. 

“I could never lie to you.” 

“You literally just did.” 

You both laugh and he's so, so glad you called. If he didn't think you were asleep he'd have called you first. 

“Okay well, I didn't ask that question to find out something I already know. I asked because remember that café we were constantly visiting before you went on this trip? They finally brought the chocolate chip cookies back.” 

The chocolate chip cookies case (the quadruple c) is a very vital issue in your relationship with Spencer. Because for weeks, the both of you have been visiting that place close to your apartment, hoping to get some chocolate chip cookies, only to be met by raisins. It was a very devastating experience for both of you, having to settle for something else on the menu every time. But now it’s okay! The chocolate chip cookies are back. 

Spencer is so glad he's done with his silly criminal case so he can focus on the real problems at hand.

“And I was thinking, if you're not too tired tomorrow, should we have breakfast together?” 

It's sweet, it's earnest, it's you.

It's such a characteristic gesture, asking him to have breakfast with you after particularly draining cases, checking on him as soon as you can tell he's home, and sounding so sweet and concerned over the phone when you know he's feeling down. It’s the small, thoughtful actions coming from you that have helped him keep it together so far. 

And the feelings that thought brings out in him lead him to realize, in those few seconds, that he liked you much more than he planned on. Not that he ever planned to like you in the first place, but he thought it was a small crush that would eventually go away, it’s happened before with the pretty women he befriends, and he didn’t think this time would be different. 

But it was, and now he’s totally screwed because he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to say no to you. 

“Absolutely, I can't wait to have those chocolate cookies again.” 

You're ecstatic over his response, your tone picking up about 3 octaves when you jump to discussing the other plans you have this week. Your favorite artist is releasing an album soon, your favorite game is finally available at the video game store, the finale of that show you've been talking to him about is airing in two days, and it seems like your life is full of positive sequences.

The juxtaposition between what he sees at work and the enthusiasm you bring into his life almost gives him a headache, but it could very well be sleep deprivation. He wonders if all the misfortunes that have happened to him are the evil equivalents of the things you brought into his life. 

But if all the bad things that have happened to him and around him got compensated by you, he doesn't find it such a bad tradeoff. Because meeting you on a random Monday night and somehow catching your attention enough for you to leave him your number— even when he was so frazzled by the need for coffee so he could grind out some paperwork before his deadline— it feels like he used up all his luck on that fateful encounter.

And having someone he could always meet up with, outside of work, has been very grounding. 

You talk his ears off for the rest of the night, rambling about one thing or the other until his eyelids get heavy again, and he feels tired enough to sleep. You tell him that's been your plan all along and wish him a good night. 

Later, when he’s under the covers of his bed, drifting off to sleep, for a few minutes his brain isn't aggravating him with the thoughts that have been haunting him all day. For a few minutes, all he can think about is you.

He is so fucked.

Emily Prentiss is a very smart agent. 

She’s been told that ever since she was a little girl, and though it was often complimentary, people sucking up to her mom and whatnot, it was never a complete lie. She grew up thirsty for knowledge, mastering everything she could get her hands on, and even as an adult with a grown up job, she continues to excel at what she does

But then, if she's so smart, why the hell can she not figure out why Spencer Reid is so giddy while doing his paperwork? 

It may have to do with the fact that it's Spencer, and that kid has always been a little perplexing to her. He's bright and brilliant, but she could never truly understand how his mind works. But, at the same time, there's such a thing as habits, and Spencer is not typically so smiley while doing paperwork. No one is smiley while doing paperwork in this line of work, because it makes you relive the nightmares. For goodness’s sake, this is the behavioral analysis unit, and Spencer is behaving weirdly. 

It seems like she isn’t the only agent at the office who noticed the peculiarity. Agent Morgan stands behind her, his third cup of coffee in his hand, squinting at the young doctor. They observe him like a wild animal in his natural habitat; had they not been so tired from all the work, they would’ve been picking on him by now.

When Emily feels her presence behind him, she turns around, and they exchange a mutual look of understanding. They've never seen Reid act like that in the time that they’ve worked together, and they know one thing that they've never seen him experience during that time either. 

They realize it at the same time, and Morgan nearly drops his coffee. 

Spencer Reid is in love.

There have been many misfortunes in the 25 years that you've been on this earth, and you're convinced that a lot of them have been aimed at you. You're the only person who has ever suffered that much during your whole life, it's a known fact. It's a fact that you like to remind Spencer of, to make him feel better about his work, and when he laughs at it, you remind him that people called Jesus a liar too.

You've been through a lot of suffering, but the task of getting dressed before Spencer knocks on your door in approximately ten minutes may just be the worst thing that's ever happened to you.

He thinks that just because he has a day off, he could pressure you into a sudden— very much unplanned— date? He thinks that shooting you a text to get dressed so you can go to the record store and then have dinner only twenty minutes before you're supposed to do the aforementioned activities is allowed? He's absolutely right, and you hate him for it. 

Not that it's really a date, you know you and Spencer have never crossed that line, but it feels like it. Especially if he's making you feel like a teenage girl high on hormones having her very first crush. Her very first date. The particular action you're thinking about has to be kept to yourself, just so you don't jinx it. 

You really shouldn't be thinking about that when you still haven't figured out which outfit to wear. More thinking about clothes, less thinking about boys. Specifically one boy. 

It takes all your willpower and energy to finish getting ready in those ten minutes. You settle for your most comfortable pair of jeans and a white button-down with a vest over it, and for good measure, you throw your coat on— the long beige-brown trench coat that makes you feel like you're Sherlock Holmes about to solve a crime. You realize that it's very fitting for an outing with a profiler, he's kind of like Sherlock Holmes if you think about it. 

It's fall now, and it's much more chilly. You hope your precious profiler brought his own coat because, as much as you care for him, you won't be lending him yours.

When he rings your doorbell, you're finishing up and tossing the rest of the necessities into your bag. You make him wait for a minute, to avoid seeming eager, and then make your way to the door.

The minute you lay your eyes on him, you feel sick to your stomach.

Spencer Reid is beautiful, this is a fact that you've known ever since you met. He pulls off the dorky yet hot look so well, with that stupid smile of his when he talks like a smartass. And you're reminded of this every time you see him, the fact that he's so adorable that it physically hurts to keep your hands off him all the time. Tonight is no different, he's dressed in a dark button-down with a brown vest over it, covered by a beige coat that contrasts the dark colors beautifully. It takes you a couple seconds to realize you're wearing similar outfits, almost like a matching couple.

“Copycat.” You accuse, fighting off a smile with warm cheeks. He grins in retaliation, “Hello to you too.”

God, he’s beautiful. In the dim light of your apartment's entrance, you catch the gleam of his eyes. They're warm, earthy, and familiar, you don't think you'd ever stop staring at his eyes if you had the chance to do it without looking crazy. His eyelashes are unfairly long, and his light brown hair forms waves around his face like a frame around an artwork. He always tucks a few stray strands behind his ear, and you always mess it up for him– which is something you do for two reasons, you like annoying him, and you desperately want to touch his hair. It’s just simply unfair for him to be born that beautiful. 

He seems to notice you staring because his cheeks are a little pink, and he has a little bashful smile on his face. “Ready to go?” He scans your form like the little detective he is, “Looks like you could get ready in 20 minutes after all.” 

Now you remember why you were so annoyed at him, good looks be damned. 

“Oh shut up, never do that again.” 

“Or what? You'll cuss me over text messages again? How will I ever live with that.” 

His shy smile is replaced with a smug grin, and you hate to admit it, but it's one of your favorite looks on him. Because Spencer isn't always able to genuinely smile like that, he's usually stressed about one thing or the other; and knowing him, he's always reliving some terrible event that happened in the past two years, and sometimes even further back in time. So while his amusement comes at your expense, you'd rather see him smiling like this all the time. 

“God, you're so mean to me.” 

Even though you mean to sound stern, you can't hide your smile. 

You pick up your keys from the hanger by the door and toss them into your handbag, he follows your movements with his eyes, “that's not true. I'm always so nice to you, sometimes a little too nice.” 

You lock your door behind you and give him a fake offended look, “You could never be too nice to me. Let's go, agent Reid. We've got a long night ahead of us.” 

Then you're strutting ahead of him, motioning for him to follow you like a helpless little intern. Even though he rolls his eyes and laughs in disbelief, he ends up following you anyway.

‘Albert’s records’ has been your favorite record store since you moved into your apartment in Quantico— and not only because you’ve met Albert, the sweetest little old man to ever exist, but also because Spencer always looks mystified inside the store. It’s like something about vintage things just makes him tick. 

You're checking out vinyls that are selling for discounted prices, old pieces of famous artists and commonly known albums, while he's looking at the posters on the walls, admiring the artistic work of the rustic-looking store. He’s always trailing behind you, and you don't mind because it makes you feel safe and cared for. You didn't know being trailed by an FBI agent could feel so comforting. 

Your eyes catch on a certain record, and you turn around, “Hey, Spencer.” 

He stops eyeing the posters on the wall and turns to you, hair falling over his shoulders adorably. 

“What do you think of this?” 

You're holding a classic black Billy Joel vinyl in your hand, careful not to hold it too tightly. It's his 1977 release of The Stranger, an album you're not too familiar with. You've only listened to Vienna and a few other songs. Spencer eyes the cover carefully like it triggers a memory deep inside his brain. You're expecting him to go on a tangent about Billy Joel and 70s music, but you're instead met by a very sentimental response. 

“My mom loved that one.” 

He's quiet, using that careful but lost tone of voice, and you worry that you accidentally triggered something unpleasant. You knew Spencer had a complicated relationship with his parents, namely his mother. On the rare occasion where he had a few too many drinks, he spilled a lot more than he intended to. Drunk Spencer was always so painfully honest and you admired how easily his filter would come off a few drinks in, but you never wanted him to feel embarrassed by it. On those particularly emotional nights— after he calls you to pick him up because he's too drunk to drive— you would listen to him ramble the whole drive to your apartment, force him to stay over so you can take care of his pounding headache in the morning, and hold him until he passes out on your couch like a partying college student. 

Something he’s never been before.

Those incidents have led you to know more about Spencer than he ever thought he could share, and one of those sensitive topics just happens to be his mom. It's not an uncomfortable topic, you've talked about it before when he's not too drunk to realize what's going on. Even though it was hard for him at first, talking about it became easier the more he shared, you understood more and more things without him telling you. 

And because you’ve talked about it, you're not scared of his response when you ask with a lighthearted smile, “is that a bad thing?” 

That seems to bring him back to earth, and he gives you a reassuring smile, “No, not at all, just brought me back to some memories I'd honestly forgotten about.” 

You hold the record to your chest, almost certain that you're going to buy it now, “Well would you like to make some new memories in relation to this record?” 

Would you like to come to my apartment and listen to it with me?

“Yeah, I'd love to.” He smiles in a way that makes you feel a little lightheaded, knowing he's comfortable sharing this much of himself with you. It's so intimate, knowing that in this public store, you're still sharing private moments that no one else knows about.

You’re about to go back to checking out vinyls, trying to conceal the giddy feeling bubbling in your chest, when a high-pitched voice intrudes on the moment you were having with Spencer. 

“Oh my god.” 

You both turn to look at the source of the voice and when you look to Spencer to see what this is about, he looks like he recognizes the source. He looks terrified. Your gaze falls on two blonde girls, one gaping at the sight of you, and the other being the source of the dramatic reaction that broke through the silence a few minutes ago.

Her blonde hair is styled in waves and she's wearing such a colorful, creative ensemble that you're mesmerized by the intricate details of her outfit. The hair clips, the makeup, the platforms that she's wearing, you wanted to talk to this girl so bad. 

And it seems like you're in luck today, because she's immediately rushing to your side with wide mesmerized eyes.

“Wonderboy, you've been hiding her from us for how long exactly?” 

You're guessing “wonderboy” is Spencer since she seems to be his friend and your chest feels warm knowing his friends nickname him such cute things. Spencer deserves to be known for all his good traits after all, and he sure as hell is your boy of wonder. 

“Garcia, please, I'm begging you to act normal about this right now.” He mutters, trying his best to keep this conversation quiet.

She shakes her head, “This is the most normal I can act about you hiding a girl from us.” Then she turns to you again, extending her arm for you to shake. You eagerly extend yours back. “Penelope Garcia, tech analyst at the FBI, and genius boy's co-worker. Oh and, your source for any dirt you want on genius Reid over here.” 

That explains how someone like her is in Spencer's social circle, but it doesn't explain how someone so bubbly could work at such a gloomy unit. Working for the government when she should be at the club? It's a crime to you. 

“They're keeping a gem like you in a dark, creepy room to dig up information for them?” 

You honestly didn't know you could commit such flattery and Spencer is looking at you in disbelief, but she giggles at your poorly concealed flirting and you feel proud of yourself. 

“Oh, wonder boy, how did you ever snag a wonderful girl like her.” 

Spencer is blushing so hard at this point you could probably fry an egg on his face. You're introducing yourself to Penelope, filling her in on your occupation, when the other blonde introduces herself as Jennifer Jareau, JJ for short, and she's even more excited to meet you. 

She's also heavily pregnant, and you hope that she's currently on maternity leave. 

“We were looking for more records that this little guy here could listen to, it's incredibly engaging to include him in our vinyl pick-out process.” JJ rubs her stomach as she explains and you're so fascinated by the idea of childbearing and birth for a few seconds that you almost forget that it's terrifying. 

“What about you guys?” Penelope jumps in, eager to put Spencer on the spot again. 

“Oh we, uh,” Spencer's eyes shift between you and the two girls, like he's surrounded and begging you for help, “we're just checking out the vinyls on sale.” 

“Yeah, I was honestly waiting for these discounts because I'm not selling a kidney for some records, you know?” You step in, hoping to take some heat off Spencer, because the poor boy looks like he’s about to combust.

You're also well aware that the two girls in front of you think you and Spencer are dating, but they haven't said it out loud and Spencer hasn't attempted to correct their assumptions, so why would you be the one to ruin their fun? You'll let them think you're on a date. 

“Oh that's so true,” Penelope nods in understanding, “it's like I just want to listen to music, you know?” 

You nod in understanding, you do know. 

And you also know that you're absolutely going to adore Penelope Garcia and JJ and everyone that you meet who’s involved in Spencer's life. Even though this meetup is so completely unplanned and coincidental, it makes you excited knowing you can prod Spencer about more details now, talking about work in a way that doesn't concern the cases. You’d kill for some office gossip that doesn’t involve yourself.

“Oh, Morgan is going to lose it when he hears about this,” JJ says, almost talking to herself. 

Penelope jumps to add more wood to the forest fire, “Oh my God, remember what he said to Emily? He was right.” That catches Spencer's attention, “what did he say to Emily?” 

“He said that you're all giggly at work because you're in love.” Penelope answers without missing a beat, and she says it so casually, as if she didn't basically strip Spencer naked right in front of you. 

You’re subtly stealing glances at him from the corner of your eye, suppressing a smile at the way he blushes deeply and looks at the ground as if he wants it to swallow him whole right now. Something tells you you're absolutely going to love Penelope and he's going to pay the price for that relationship. 

“Spencer is giggling at work?” You ask, like she just told you he joined a cult.

Penelope nods eagerly, “Oh yeah, I've never seen someone look so cheerful while doing paperwork, every time I'm out of my office for a coffee refill he's just there giggling to himself like he's hearing voices. Except the voices turned out to just be a pretty girl, which I have to say,” she puts her hand over her heart dramatically, “I’m so glad it did.” 

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, the shame overwhelming him, “I'm begging you to stop talking.” 

Penelope and JJ are giggling, enjoying torturing him like this for your pleasure, and you’re close to joining them, but you choose to stay loyal to Spencer— if only to make sure he doesn’t get a migraine from all this embarrassment. But you're also just giddy, knowing Spencer cannot conceal his infatuation with you to save his life. Despite all the hints here and there that he definitely likes you, and all the discreet touching and staring at your lips when you talk —something you know he can't tell you noticed— the way he doesn't deny any of what's being said tells you that you're, at the very least, a person of interest. 

A person of Spencer's interest. Your smile is getting harder and harder to hide.

“Okay, okay, lovebirds, we'll leave you alone now. But trust me, you haven't heard the end of this, once Derek finds out, oh Spencer Reid, you might never want to step foot in that building ever again.” You nod eagerly, excited to hear more about how they’ll taunt him later on. They give you their rushed goodbyes as Penelope guides JJ outside the store, you can hear her quietly complain about leaving empty-handed when she came all the way, but your mind is someplace else, neurons buzzing with ideas of how to torment Spencer now that you’re alone again.

You turn to look at him, no longer holding back your smile, “so…” 

He immediately puts a finger to your lips, “Don't start.” 

You reach for his hand to move it away, giggling like a schoolgirl, “you're fawning over me at work? Oh my God, Spence, I didn't know you were that far gone, baby.” You hold onto his hand, as a way to restrain him, but also because you just want to hold his hand. 

“I was not fawning, they made it all sound so much worse than it actually was.” You raise your eyebrows at him and he continues, looking more flustered. “I was smiling, can I not smile to myself anymore?” 

You absentmindedly lace your fingers with his, bringing your joint hands to your chest like something precious, “You're smiling like a lovesick fool about me at work, Spencer, you're so fucked.” 

Your amusement is so palpable, and your cheeks hurt from smiling, but there’s also something else there.

Something you haven’t fully experienced before, not its rawness and neediness. Something that you can tell will grow in your chest until it fully conquers your whole body and claims your mind. You don't know what you'll call it yet, but it's something a lot like love. 

“Alright alright, I get it. It's National Embarrassing Spencer day, let's buy this record and get out of here. We have a dinner to get to.” 

The weight of his hand in yours almost made you forget you were still holding the record, handling it so carelessly just to bring him closer. You realize you're drunk on affection, and eager to have more of his attention for the rest of the night. When he doesn't make a move to remove his hand from your hold, only dragging you behind him to check out, you feel like there will be a lot of new developments tonight.

The rest of the night goes as well as you would imagine.

Despite your incessant teasing, you have plenty of conversations that aren't centered around embarrassing Spencer and enjoying it. You sip wine together while he tells you about the letters he's been sending his mom; apparently, he's started telling her about you. While you're surprised he's only just doing it now, he confesses that he wanted to wait until he was sure you'd stay before he made such a decision. Unfortunately, with his line of work, he's right to be worried about things like that, but you stayed anyway, and now his mom knows about you. 

And you have her favorite record in a plastic bag that you carry on the way home. 

When his car pulls up to your building, you're hesitant to get out. You don't feel like the night is over yet. It was lovely and unforgettable, meeting his friends, learning about his mom, and having a very nice dinner together, but you feel like there's still one more topic that needs to be discussed. 

When you don't make a move to get out of the car yet, he calls out your name in concern. You turn to look at him and your gaze is so intense he's almost intimidated.

“Is everything okay?” 

You nod absentmindedly, too lost in trying to figure out what's missing from such a wonderful night. 

“Well, we're here. This is your apartment, you know?” You can tell that's not the sentence he aimed for, but you're aware that Spencer stumbles over his words when he's nervous. You don't fault him for it. 

You give him a genuine smile, “Yeah, I know.” 

Then you're moving to unlock the car door, the newly bought record in your hand, and you get one leg out of the car before you realize exactly what this night is missing. 

“Spencer?” You turn to him, he's already looking at you. 

“Yes?” 

Slowly, carefully, you ask, “would you like to come upstairs?” 

Your apartment is somewhere that he's only seen while extremely drunk, hammered out of his mind. You realize that this is the first time you invite him up when he's actually well enough to walk on his own, and you also realize that it means something to you. You hope it also means something to him. 

“Uh, yeah, sure? If you want me to walk you to your door, I'll definitely do that.” He's picking at the leather covering the wheel, cheeks slightly flushed like they’d been earlier. Multiple times during the night, you note how he’s always glowing red around you like a pulsating organ. Is it the slight chill of the weather or the heat behind your eyes? You hope it’s the latter. 

“I think you know what you want.” 

You weren't sure if he knew, but knowing Spencer, a line like that will trigger him into thinking about it so hard that he'll actually figure it out. You watch the gears turn in his head but he still looks confused, you hope that by the time you get to your door, he'll realize what you're talking about. 

“I'm not sure, but I'll figure it out.” You give him one last smile before you exit the car. 

True to his word, Spencer walks you up to your door after parking his car somewhere close. When you reach the apartment, as you dig for your keys in your purse, he stands next to you, looking a little lost because he clearly didn’t expect this. He fiddles with the ends of his vest while observing you. 

You unlock your door and get inside, leaving it open so he can follow you. You drop your purse on your dining table and lay the record down next to it, watching from the corner of your eye as he steps into your apartment cautiously, like he's stepping over booby traps. 

The door locks and you can't escape the conversation any longer. You also can't bear seeing him so lost, because god blessed him with eyes that make him look like a sad baby deer all the time. And every time he uses them on you, you immediately cave, because letting him suffer feels like letting a baby animal die.

“Spence.” You call, sultry and slow.

If you catch the way he slightly jumps at your voice, you don’t react.

“Yes?” He’s quiet, worried.

You lean back against your table, a relaxed smile on your face, “you know why I brought you here, right?”  

He swallows, tucking his hair behind his ear. “A woman inviting her date up to her apartment could lead to a variety of things, but most commonly it leads to either sexual intercourse or murder.” His cheeks heat up at the words ‘sexual intercourse’ and you want to eat him alive. “And I'm kind of hoping you didn't invite me up here to kill me.” 

You raise an eyebrow, the desire to tease him so strong and unforgiving, “So you hope I'll have sex with you then?” 

That really gets him. His whole face goes red— blood rushing down his neck and up to his ears. He opens his mouth to say something, but he can't. Instead, he just opens and closes it a couple of times, unable to articulate anything. If you were in a different situation, you'd have called him a fish, but you also realize something very critical: he doesn’t deny your previous statement.

“Spencer,” you call his whole name this time, voice low and heavy with something that alarms him further. “Can you come here, please?” 

He hesitantly leaves his spot, taking slow, careful steps to your side. He stands at a considerable distance, making sure he gives you your personal space. If he’d done this at any other time, you’d have been fawning over how considerate he is, but right now you want him as close as possible, personal space be damned. 

Feeling particularly brash, you reach out and pull him closer by a fistful of his shirt. He’s startled, but he lets you move him closer as if he were a rag doll, now you're barely a few inches away from him. Your hand moves to his neck, feeling the warmth that spread there a few minutes ago, the warmth that you caused. If it feels like it's getting warmer under your touch, you don't comment on it. 

It's the first time you've touched him this much, this intimately, and it feels like you've been missing out for the past two years. 

He watches you carefully, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to figure out what you're aiming for. This is probably how he acts at work, you think, staring at something until he’s able to break it open and decipher its message, will he decipher your message too?

You look up at him through long lashes, peering into his eyes, hoping to communicate something with your eyes before you can put it into words. You feel a certain need in your stomach, tying knots and constricting your airways— it's what you guess people would call butterflies. Right now, you'd call it absolutely torture. 

“Spencer.”

It's the third time you've called his name so far, and this time your noses are touching and you practically breathe his name onto his lips. This encourages him to put an arm around your waist and raise the other to cup your face affectionately. You lean into his touch, welcoming the reciprocation.

“I'm here,” his voice is low, more certain now, almost like he figured you out, “you can tell me.” 

You nearly melt in his hands now that he's using that self-assured voice. You love it when he's shy, but god do you adore it when he talks like he knows exactly what to do with you. The things you'd let him do to you would probably get you placed on a watch list, but you don't mind as long as he's the one watching. 

“You know what I want to say, don't you?” 

He blinks, the gold flakes in his eyes so striking when you're this close, “maybe I do, but I'd like to hear you say it.” 

He's in no place to be making such demands. He should be melting in your hands, not the other way around. You shouldn't be getting this weak at the knees just because he's using that stupid husky tone, sounding like he knows all your secrets. But, fuck, he absolutely knows all your secrets. He could probably read you like an open book— which you actually wouldn't mind at all because you've seen the way his hands stroke the pages when he's reading, and you'd love for those fingers to be all over you like they're all over those stupid books.

Your eyes glaze over with desire and you're getting impatient, while he watches you like he's studying your next move. Goddamn profilers and their dirty work. He should be getting dirty with you.

You mutter a quiet fuck and step back to separate your bodies; even though there's no place to go because the table is right there, you're at least not directly face to face anymore. His warm breath on your lips was driving you insane, and you brought him up here to talk, you needed to have this conversation. For your sanity. 

He gives you space, because he's always been so caring and so perceptive about what you need, and the gesture makes you want to bounce on him. You have to remind yourself that if you keep thinking with your lower regions, this will be a counterproductive night.

You realize you can't do this while standing up, so you hoist yourself up on the table, and wiggle around till you get comfortable. Your trench coat isn't bending to your will and it takes you some more shuffling to beat it down. You really should've taken it off when you stepped in through the door. 

The sound of Spencer's chuckle makes you realize that he's still here and he's very much observing your embarrassing fight with a trench coat. Your cheeks feel warm, but this is not the most shameful thing you've done tonight, and you're probably aiming to beat that record anyway. 

“Don't laugh at me,” you mutter, embarrassed but smiling. 

“Okay,” he laughs, “I won't.” 

“God, you're such a liar. Is everybody at the FBI full of lies?” 

He shrugs, “Depends on who you ask.” 

You laugh and you're so in awe at how all the stress leaves your body so easily when he's talking to you, it makes you wonder why the hell you can't just say it. One sentence, something he already knows, something anyone would probably know by observing you for five minutes, it should be easy. But as obvious as it is, you're also well aware that once you say it, it becomes real. And you can't escape It. You can't pretend like it's something casual between you if you get your heart broken, or if he feels like you're moving too fast. The minute those words are out of your mouth, you'll have to confront the reality of your situation. 

And you're scared. 

You're scared that once you say those words and it becomes a real living thing, you could actually lose Spencer. You could get into an argument later and it ruins everything between you, or he could fall out of love, or you could fall out of love. There are so many bad endings to a relationship and the possibilities make you hesitate. 

Spencer must've noticed that you're taking a while to speak, that you're too busy stressing out about it, because he comes close again (leaving enough space for the holy spirit this time) to gently hold your hand. It works like he intends it to. The skin-to-skin contact is grounding and you relax a little, wishing you could just melt into him and never have to go through any uncomfortable conversations.

But when you look up at him, and you're met with the familiar trustworthy eyes of the guy who has been your god-given solace for months now, you wonder how the hell you could ever rethink taking a chance on him. 

Even if the risk is terrifying and you're scared of ruining things, you know Spencer would be worth the try. Plus, fantasizing about a reality where it works out and you get married in a few years is actually much more fun than thinking about impending doom. 

You don't want the world to end before you tell Spencer the raw truth of your feelings, and not through subtle gestures or sneaky glances, you want him to hear the whole thing. 

You squeeze his hand for one final reassurance. He smiles and squeezes your hand back. 

“Spencer, I've got something very important to tell you.” 

Slow and stead. 

“I'm listening.” 

You lick your lips. 

“Okay well, remember how I told you a few months ago that there were currently no guys who were interested in me?” 

He nods.

“Well, I lied.” 

He raises his eyebrows, amused at the route you're taking, “oh yeah?” 

You nod, swallowing heavily, “Yeah, yes. There was this… guy at my job, he doesn't work there anymore because he got transferred because of ‘new chances’ or whatever, but he was working with me this time last year, you know? Anyways, he'd get really close to me whenever we were handling the same task, not in a sexual harassment way but in an ‘I have a crush on you’ way. And I realized that he was interested in me because he kept dropping hints and I'm, surprisingly, not that oblivious. I can tell when a guy likes me. He actually asked me out once to this new donut place near the office, but I declined because he has really bad table manners to be honest and, god I'm glad he's not working with us anymore because he'd hog all the coffee and we could barely find anything to drink by the end of the day— but that's not the only reason I rejected him, I actually rejected him because… because I couldn't imagine going out with anyone else who wasn't you, and I guess what I'm trying to say is- that's when I realized that I like you, Spencer. And I've liked you for almost a year now.” 

You're out of breath by the time it's all out, but incredibly relieved. You look up at Spencer and he has this amused twinkle in his eyes and a very dumb smug smirk on his face. Once you're fully and completely done with your little speech, the first thing he does is laugh.

You're so offended you immediately take your hand away from his and slap his chest, “Don't fucking laugh, I just confessed my feelings for you.” You hit him some more, but he won't stop laughing, “Spencer, this is so fucking rude, oh my god, just reject me like a lady if you're going to mock me like this.” 

He catches your hand before you land another weak punch on his arm, and you have very little time to react before he reaches forward, cupping your face with his other hand and joining your lips for a long-awaited kiss. 

You've fantasized about the way he kisses for a very long time. After you’d heard about his little make-out session with that actress in the pool, it took everything in your body to resist asking him to take you next. You've thought about kissing him nearly every night when you were falling asleep, he was even haunting some of your dreams like a fiend, kissing you like his life depended on it, only for you to wake up to the cruel, harsh reality of never having kissed Spencer Reid.

But that reality is different now. 

He uses both his hands to cup your face and angles your head just right to get as much contact as possible. He tastes like the wine you've been drinking all night and smells like cedar wood and sage. God, even when kissing you he has to smell like a perfect little herbal garden? You'd get mad at him if his lips moving against yours weren't melting away every ounce of sophistication you have in your body. 

You use the chance to be greedy and reach your hand into his hair, making sure to mess it up so that there’s proof that you were here, in his arms, kissing him. 

He's sweet with his kiss, despite knowing you both waited for it for so long, he doesn't push you to go further even though you'd love for him to. You'd let him take you on this table right now.

But the absolute worst thing about Spencer is that he's so respectful that he pulls away after a few seconds to watch for your reaction. He's flushed with desire and his eyes have gone dark in a way that you've only seen when he was really angry. You can tell that he's restraining himself to not make you uncomfortable. His eyes scan your face eagerly, his hands resting on either side of your face.

“God, you're so… ridiculous.” 

The comment is so unexpected that you laugh, and the sexual tension seems to ease into just… sexual existence. “Hey, what's that for? You're going to kiss a girl and then immediately insult her?” 

His smile mirrors yours, “my apologies, your highness. I have just never heard such a ridiculous confession in my life before.” 

You frown, lips curling into a pout, “not true, that actress in the pool had a ridiculous confession too.” She didn't, but you never fully got over her kissing Spencer before you could. 

“Oh yes, I'm sorry, I forget about any other woman when I'm with you.” Then he plants a quick kiss on your lips with a poorly concealed smile, and you can just tell that he's going to be doing that a lot to get away with whatever bullshit he's spewing. 

“You’re unbelievable, Spencer Reid.” 

Then you’re kissing him again, craving more of what he gave you during the first kiss. The desperation for contact has you pulling him closer by his collar, leaning into the kiss like you were starving before him. When he finally slips his tongue into your mouth, you moan so pathetically it makes his grip around you tighten, body drawing impossibly closer to yours.

You're kissing for such an extended period of time that you're dizzy from the lack of air when he pulls away, and you're greeted by that lovely shade of crimson on his face. You desperately want to find out just how red he can get and in what other places.

You're admiring his face, lost in the haze of the kiss, and chewing absentmindedly on your lips when you suddenly remember something very important. You draw back a little to shoot him a very serious look. 

“Hey, you never said you liked me back.” 

He laughs in disbelief, “do I have to?” 

You nod like a petulant child, seriously alarmed.

He playfully rolls his eyes, “alright, I like you too,” he kisses you, “I like you a lot actually.” 

You're satisfied with that answer, melting into his touch again, like a helpless pet. You admire the post-makeout look that adorns his face and makes him more beautiful than you could ever imagine, and he gazes at you with stars in his eyes. For a while, it feels like the universe belongs to the two of you and no one else. 

Until you remember how late it is and the fact that Spencer actually works tomorrow, then you're not that happy anymore. 

“What's wrong?” He asks, nose rubbing against yours as if you could ever focus on anything when he's that close. 

“You have work tomorrow, and it's very late…” 

He draws back from you, as if broken out of the trance by your words, “Oh no, you're right.” He's starting to move away when something inside you kicks in and suddenly your legs are flying to lock around his waist to secure him in place. He raises his eyebrows at you, amused and surprised.

“You can't do this.” 

You nod your head menacingly, “oh yes I can.” You know he could easily break out of your hold if he really wanted to, but the fact that he's entertaining your antics tells you that he's not very eager to leave either. 

“Angel, I have to go to work in the morning. Like an adult with responsibilities, you know?” 

If you were in your right mind, you'd be offended at that comment, but he's just kissed you senselessly and then called you ‘angel’ for the very first time. No one could blame you for not being very wise. 

“You can still go to work in the morning, you just... don't have to leave right now.” 

“You want me to stay? Here?” You nod. “My love, you don't even have a change of clothing that can fit me.” 

“Then sleep naked. I won't complain.” 

He laughs, “What about a toothbrush? You don't have an extra one for me.” 

“I change my toothbrush once every three months and I always buy extra, so I do actually have a completely sealed, never used before brush that you can use. It will be yours from now on.” 

He shakes his head in disbelief but you can tell he's starting to budge, your technique is working. 

Plus there's the unsaid promise that, if he stays, there will be a lot more kissing going on. 

“And you want me to go to work tomorrow in this same outfit?” 

“Mhm, we'll hang it and it will be just fine.” 

“I don't have my badge with me, I can't go to work without my badge.” 

You scoff. “Then wake up early and drive by your place, stop creating irrelevant problems, Spencer.” 

He’s in disbelief at your brazenness but seems to cave in anyway. “Fine, yeah, I'll stay.” 

You smile, very proud of yourself, “yes you will.” 

At this point, you're aware that your leg is still around his waist, and you're holding him in place like you took him hostage, but you honestly don't feel like letting him go just yet. Months of pining for him like a lovesick fool, you think you deserve to relish in the power you exert over him. He seems to notice the hunger for power in your eyes because he's coming closer again, placing his hands on either side of your thighs. 

“You have other plans for me tonight, don't you?” He's using that husky tone again and looking at you with glazed-over hazel eyes. Like a predator hunting its prey. 

You place your arms around his neck, back where they belong, “and if I do? Will you punish me, officer?” 

His warm breath fans over your lips and you're shaking to your core with anticipation, “I don't know, maybe I will.” 

Then he puts an end to all your antagonizing conversations that are distracting you from more important matters by bringing you in for another eager kiss. You take all of him in, the stubborn grip he has on your face, the teeth clashing when he shifts your positions, the low moan he releases when you pull on his hair — you take everything he gives you with eagerness and hunger. You could swallow him up whole right now if you could. 

When he pulls away to take a breath and you're confronted by his disheveled face once more, you realize that there are a lot of things you're going to do to him tonight. You realize that it’s going to be a good while before either of you goes to sleep.

[selarina]

True Blue

→ Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader (Series Masterlist)

Chapter 1: Man of The Match

Summary: Back home after your first year of university, you try to spend the bone-dry heat of summer with your boyfriend, Gojo Satoru, but restrictions prevail.

Content Warnings: college bf!gojo, fluff, smut, cunnilingus, mention of masturbation, established relationship, implied parental issues, nicknames (baby) Minors DNI

Author's Note: hope you enjoyed some college!bf gojo smut

Taglist: Open

Tap

You were awoken by the insistent sounds of a sharp tap against your window.

It had been raining the past few days, so you didn't bother with the taps, dismissing it as part of the downpour. But now, half-awake, you're realised there was no rain. Not tonight.

Tap

Groggy, your eyes flickered open. Turning, you saw the digital clock on your bedside table blinking a mocking 1:01 am in glaring red numerals. Barely an hour had passed since you had found sleep.

Tap

You groan, a guttural sound that felt alien in the still silence of your room. Knowing how late into the night it was, you were filled with a slight sense of unease, a chill crept up your spine. You would be a bit insane not to feel this way, but you suspected the cause of this disturbance. So, you got up, and slowly made your way to the window.

The curtains were drawn, but you slowly pulled them aside, peering through. It was too dark. You pulled your window up, which you realised required a bit of strength. Maybe you were still feeling a bit dazed from the sleep.

You peered out of the open window, the chill air hitting your sleepy face.

And there he stood under the warm streetlight, Gojo in all his glory— clad in a snug white shirt and black jeans, a small black bag slung over one shoulder.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" you hissed, careful to keep your voice low. You were hyper aware about the rumours that would spread all the way to your family if the neighbours caught the sight of this particular scene.

He grinned up at you, lifting a finger to point towards your front door— a silent request.

You sighed, backing away from the window, and reaching for the light switch. You searched for the nearest pair of shorts you could find in the blinding new light in your room, and made your way downstairs.

Click

His eyes met yours, blue and infinite, his grin unwavering. You noticed now that it had been raining outside, the remnants of a faint drizzle found themselves clinging to Satoru's drenched hair.

"You could've just called me," you frowned, crossing your arms, frustration evident in your tone.

“I did,” he retorted, stepping inside. “Four times. You weren’t kidding about being a heavy sleeper.”

"You scared the shit out of me, Satoru. You can’t just show up like this," you said, locking the door behind him, "Especially when I'm alone—"

A pout formed on his lips. Annoying. Salacious. "But I missed you," he confessed. Serious. Sincere.

And you melted away, as you often did with this nuisance of a boy. “And you couldn't wait one night?" you feigned irritation, the corners of your lips betraying you.

"Nope."

—

The two of you made it upstairs. Gojo had taken space on the swivel chair near your study desk. You felt a bit conscious about the mess on the desk, you had meant to clean up days earlier.

He was using your spare white towel to rub his hair dry, as you stepped into your room, balancing the full glass of water.

It had only been just a while seen you'd seen him, but you did miss him, admittedly.

You placed the glass beside him on the desk, then plopped onto your bed, sitting as you stared at him mussing his hair dry. His biceps flexing with each brisk movement.

He tilted up, noticing you staring in silence, and grinned, which made your cheeks heat up.

"How— How was the tournament then?" you inquired, genuine curiosity tingeing your words.

He set aside the damp towel, unzipping his bag to reveal a gleaming trophy. "Well, how do you think?" he quipped, his pride evident in his expression

You reached out, fingers grazing the cool metal that read “Man of the Match.”

"Did you really carry this just to show it off to me in the middle of the night?" you teased, though warmth joined your tone.

"Of course," he responded, unabashed. "Sorry, I want my girlfriend to feel pride in the man she chose."

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips.

"Well... congratulations stud. The pride is all mine," you said, kissing the trophy, the chill of the metal finding your lips. You set it beside you, hand brushing your now cold lips. "What else is in this bag then?"

"Mostly souvenirs. I got a book for you," he reached into the bag again, pulling out two books. “And a book for me,” he added, pressing one of the two to his chest.

And at that, your brows rise. You eyes immediately trailing down to scan the title of the book.

"You're reading The Second Sex?" You asked, amused, and surprised.

See, you give Gojo a lot of shit but he is smart, but you never took him for a reader, assuming he was more of a kinaesthetic learner.

“Well,” he said, moving to sit beside you. The bed dipped under his weight, his hand finding your waist as he leaned in, “I much prefer doing it,” he murmured, lips brushing your neck.

You chuckled, your body tingling beneath the sensation of his warm lips. "You know that's not quite the essence of de Beauvoir's work."

His lips curve into a struggling pout. "Oh, really?" he mused, brows engaged.

Times like this left you a bit baffled — the fact that he knows what the book is actually about, but also, the fact that he feigns being stupid about it. You wonder how many times you haven't clocked it, instead falling for the act.

You smiled. “You're such an idiot, Gojo Satoru.”

"Well, I'm your idiot," he smiled back. "Your mum isn't home? You haven’t nagged me enough about being quiet tonight."

"Yeah, she's gone."

“Gone?” He raised his brows.

"For a few days," you said, half-breathless, acutely aware of his hand trailing up and down your thigh, caressing your skin. “For work.”

Your entire body tensed beneath his touch because this is new — Gojo touching you. You had only recently started dating, and it wasn't like he hadn't touched you before. He had— in this way and so much more, but even so, he always managed to get your heart rapping at a pace your breathing could not support.

He reached closer with his mouth. You help by doing the same. He presses it against your cheek — a soft kiss, before he backs up to linger only a few centimetres away from your lips. His warm breath fanning against your lips.

But this time, you found yourself impatient, reaching for his lips with your own, as his hand moved upward, now sitting snug against your cunt as you kissed. He could feel the heat of your skin singing to him through the thin material of your underwear.

Your limp hands find their purpose — trailing to find the warmth of his skin, one of them finding his hair, as the other hand reaches for Satoru's free hand trailing against the skin of your waist. He turns his hand to help you reach for it and spreads his fingers, so you could hold him — your fingers interlace in union.

“I missed you so much, baby,” he whispered as you parted, noses touching.

“I missed you too,” you whispered back, your lips meeting his again, your tongues intertwining. His tongue felt so so warm, and soft against your own. You wonder if yours feel like sandpaper in comparison.

You can hear the faint clacking of your lips, which is when you pull away to huff out a “sorry” before he silences your apology with another kiss.

His fingers unlace with yours as they move to hold your head, pulling you fully into him, trying to get more and more of you with every kiss.

His other hand, trails upwards, finding the waistband of your shorts. He plays with it a little, flicking it as he continues kissing you. His lips moving from your lips to your jaw now, peppering kisses, as he nibbles his way toward your ear.

At that your breath catches, you've always been sensitive there.

"Did you think of me, baby?" he asked, his breath hot against your ear. "Because I thought of you. Got off to you right after we hung up that night."

Your breath catches again, and he takes this as an opportunity to lay you down on the bed, as his hand slipped inside your shorts, finding you where you seemed to need him most.

He starts at your entrance, the boundary of your shorts restricting his movements. He gathers your wetness with the tip of his middle finger as he slathering them around your clit, moving it up and down as you attempt to move your hips forward, towards him, hoping that his finger will accidentally knock faster against your clit.

But if there's one thing Satoru liked— it was frustrating you. He loved to drag things out when you wanted a quick release. You were always grateful for it at the end but it didn't make the process any less frustrating.

You could hear the squelching between your thighs, and felt your cheeks heat up as he pulled away to look at you. His eyes peering into your own, and you swear you'd never felt more vulnerable than in his arms like this.

You felt his palm press flat against your abdomen, pinning you down against the cushion, as he moved with more vigour.

“Tell me,” he urged again, kissing your jaw. “Did you think of me?”

“Yeah,” you said, breathless and sweaty. “Every night.”

“Every night?” His eyes widened in surprise. “Tell me more.”

"Hah— Please..."

“Go on,” he urged again. “I’ll let you come only if you tell me, baby.”

“Every night, I thought of you as I got off—” You bit your lip. “It’s embarrassing, Satoru please.”

“You're adorable,” he chuckled softly. “You stroke my ego.”

"Satoru, please. I-I need..."

“Need to come, baby?” he coos—ever so irritating. You could hear the delight in his voice, and it fucking irked you, but you also wanted to kiss him stupid for it.

You nodded rapidly, giving in to him.

“I’ll make you come,” he said, his fingers curling inside you, his thumb stroking your clit.

Upon the added stimulation, your hands, almost as though they're working on their own reach out his spare hand. The gesture leaves a pang in his chest, and there is a strangely dark thought that brews within him, that wants to keep you like this all the time. Cute, dumb and at his mercy.

He gives you his hand as he lets your hand wrap itself around his pointer and middle finger.

Your clit is throbbing. Your body is burning. You think you could eternity in this moment, teetering on the edge for the rest of the endless night.

Once more, he curls his fingers inside of you as he keeps his eyes on your face. You're close. He can tell.

“Come," he says, his voice hoarse. His fingers move fast, pumping into you.

The gasp that follows proves him right, as you move your hips erratically, closing in on his hand.

You lay there, panting, as he watched you with a smile playing on his lips. He bent down and left a kiss on your sweaty lips

—

You had changed, now donning new shorts and new underwear, as you looked over at the book he got you. A blue cover, with a woman seated amidst an auditorium of red seats.

"You like?" he asked, setting the glass of water he got you on your bedside table.

"Shakespeare and Palestinian Literature," you murmured. You placed the book aside, your arms reaching for him, as you leaned in to leave a soft kiss on his cheek. "You really do know me."

"You're welcome," he grinned, as he settled against the headboard beside you.

"Are you staying the night?" You asked, your hands fiddling with his lanky fingers.

"I can't," he says, and it makes you a bit sad. You were hoping he could. Truthfully, you didn't like living alone when you were back home — without your sister, without your mum. "I need to see my parents,” he added.

"You didn't see your parents first?" you asked, turning, as your eyebrows arched in surprise.

He shrugged. "I wanted to see you first."

"Your parents probably don’t like me any better now," you say, a bit glum.

He stares at you, feeling just as glum because there's truth to it, there is. They aren't your biggest fan. It only informs him that he's doing something right but it doesn't sit right with him, at the end of the day. It would hurt your heart.

“You keep running off to see me. You should spend as much time as you can when you're home, Satoru.”

"I will," he says, though he knew he was lying. Frankly, he hates home. He couldn't wait to get back to university, where he could find a home in your messy dorm room. Your roommate can crib all she wants. “Can I stay the night?" he asks, as he feels your hand stop fiddling with his own.

"I thought you had to be home," you say, your hands retracting back onto your lap.

"Well, it's the middle of the night," he replies, bending down to nuzzle into your neck, before his lips left a soft kiss. "I'll leave early, and lock up behind him."

You merely hum, too tired to argue, too grateful to send him back home. "Go home for breakfast, okay?"

He hummed. "I will."

"Promise?"

His murmured "promise" was the last thing you heard before sleep found you, coddling you into her gentle hands.

[lunerabo]

Ask: Thinking about grabbing the back of geto's hair and face fucking him with a strap he's such a pretty boy and imo prefers being treated with more rough and degratory words but the aftercare he receives HAS to be the most loving heart-wrenching shit

quiet

cw: dom!AFAB!Reader, sub!Suguru, mean Reader, cockdrunk Suguru, fauxjob, rough face fucking, degradation, hair pulling, dacryphilia, praise, aftercare

You aren’t sure what it is that does it for him. It brings you no pleasure, nor him, yet it’s something he insists on whenever you have the opportunity for it. He’s filthy about it, slobbering and slurping and moaning around something you aren’t sure he still knows is fake. There’s a dazed look to him, one that pairs almost too well with the tongue that hangs from his open jaw every time he releases it to breathe, before going right back in and shoving it down his throat once again. He gags, you almost don’t even notice it for how well he maintains his enthusiasm.

You watch on in perverted fascination, gaze involuntarily fixed on his furrowed brow, his blush, his tears—and you’re overcome with the desire to force him to take even more. He could take it. And he would be eager about it, too, if his display of hunger for cock is anything to go by.

You buck—ripping from him a surprised gagging sound—a loud groan following closely behind, one that makes you quiver.

“You like this?”

He never quite takes his mouth away, only pulling away just enough to breathe comfortably through his nose, to form a single, breathy response:

“Mhm! M-mhm!”

You grab a fistful of his hair, yanking him back and forth on the fake cock jutting out from your pelvis. Eager and trembling hands find your thighs, square fingertips digging into the supple flesh for some semblance of support.

He cranes his neck and the strap bends, tugging at his top lip as he slides backward and gives you those eyes, those eyes that make you wish the cock were real so you could feel him convulse around its length and fuck your seed down his throat.

It’s so damn filthy, and so so embarrassing for a man like him to be put in a position like this, but that’s precisely what he gets out of it. It’s a different kind of high he chases, one that makes him feel like something to be used and discarded, made to do these things purely for the viewing pleasure of the one above him. A performer, putting on a private show for someone he favors.

“Mm, don’t you want my tongue on you for real?” He purrs, sliding large and firm hands over your thighs.

“Quiet,” you snarl, “it’s terribly poor manners to talk with your mouth full.”

And he goes so willingly, so easily pushed, despite how you pick up the pace and fuck into his mouth with a force that’s sure to leave him with unable to speak for a good long while. He sobs around it unable to resist taking hold of his cock and pumping furiously, hoping you’ll understand. You’re not that cruel, right?

But you inch your foot forward and press your toes down on his wrist, pinning it to the floor, bringing his whole body down a little ways. You’re not that cruel, right? Right?

“Greedy little thing. You better watch that hand, pretty one. Do your job, and keep taking it.”

He’s at a different angle now, looking upward, as you hunch over and fuck his throat.

Ah, that may have been a bit much, you think, as he taps your thigh firmly. But he doesn’t withdraw, instead encouraging you to keep at your previous pace, without skipping a beat. You appreciate the gesture, but you do worry that he may be overdoing it. You release his wrist from under your foot, nudging it between his legs as if to give him the okay to touch himself. He’s grateful, moaning loudly with his mouth full, squeezing his weeping tip.

He cums fast, nearly inhaling his own drool as he hiccups and slides off of your cock, thick and heavy strings of saliva slipping down his chin. He whines, hand covered in cum, trembling and dumb.

“Hey, you okay? Do you need a minute?” You ask, and his lack of response has you a little concerned. “Can I go grab a washcloth or do you need me here for a bit?”

“Go- yeah, go ahead.”

You rush, all hastened breaths and drumming fingers as the water heats. Hands steady again the closer you get to him, dabbing away at outstretched hands and quivering thighs.

“I think you might’ve forced yourself a little,” you comment, thumbs swiping away the spit on his chin and jaw. You punctuate the statement with a kiss on his forehead. He settles quickly, standing without you asking him to. A hand raises to gesture to his neck for all of a half second, and you’re already leading him to the kitchen, filling the kettle and choosing some leaves.

“You really don’t need to,” he tells you, only as loudly as his voice will now allow, and you hush him.

“It’s a good thing I want to, then. Take it, it’ll help your throat. As will the honey, so don’t complain about it being sweet.” Belatedly, you seize the opportunity. “… Honey.”

His eyes narrow as he processes, an amused frown pulling his lips taut.

“That was terrible.”

“I know. But you’re smiling aren’t you?”

“I’m smiling because we’re standing nude in a kitchen, making tea, and you crack a joke about honey.”

The absurdity does make you grin, you suppose. He’s not the only one turning a little pink now, and you can’t seem to stop yourself taking his hand in yours. His affection is returned easily and unrestrained, bringing you in and backing you into the edge of the counter to kiss you like there’s nothing else that might ever occupy his mind.

It’s a pleasant silence, one that slips into the small room and between you and warms the both of you despite frigid countertops and arctic air conditioning.

The kettle begins to whistle.

[slvtforfiction]

I can’t get this off my mind

CNC

Thinking about Ghost who’s holding you up to his chest as you lean back against him,your reflection piercing through the mirror infront of you as he slowly fingers you. Slowly. He’s not getting fast enough to push you to the edge he’s just slowly pushing his fingers in and out of you as you writhe underneath him,begging for more than just his fingers.

He’s slowly dragging his fingers up and down inside of you,enough to give you pleasure and not enough to tip you off the edge.

“Si! Please..wanna cum.”

“Sweetheart you can wait can’t you? My baby can wait.”

He doesn’t want to hear you complain,just wants to slowly feel you inside as you squeeze him attempting to gain more friction.

You can start crying and begging for him all you want but he’s having none of it.

“Please si.” You muttered through sobs and whines,hiccups following your cries

“Come on baby you can wait,yeah? Be patient my love.”

He’ll keep his arm loosely wrapped around your waist as you cry out for him. Begging whilst you cry,admitting you can’t hold wait anymore.

“Baby come on you can wait,stop crying honey.”

He won’t feel bad about your crying,he’ll wipe away your tears and listen to you talk through your hiccups,sobs and pleas.

“Awh come on baby,stop crying f’ me yeah?”

He’ll talk to you almost too casually,he’ll talk about life and what he did the other day whilst you were out as he acts like this is normal.

“The boys want to meet you.”

“No! Please wanna cum!”

“Bit rude,Johnny was talking ‘bout wanting to meet ya’. You know,yesterday when you went out,how much did ya’ spend? Ya’ use my debit card,yeah? Gonna run me dry you know.”

He’ll talk as though your not desperate for a release,whilst your crying out loud and begging for release he’ll laugh at you.

“Come on my baby can take more that,pretty littl’ thing”

He’ll edge you for hours,in that same position before deciding you’ve been through enough.

“My baby wanna come f’ me?”

“Please! Yes! Please!”

“Okay lovie ya’ earnt it.”

He’ll let you come before quickly pulling away but if you think that’s the end your sorely mistaken.

He wants more than just 1 round,he wants to overstimulate you until you’re begging him to stop,telling him it’s too much until you can no longer form a coherent thought.

He’ll eat you out with motive and swiftness,as he goes down on you he’ll watch as you attempt to push him away,laughing at you.

“Wanna taste you ‘till ya’ can’t feel not’ing, wanna be ya’ only thou’ht.”

Mans is not finished till your moaning incoherently,babbling his name and drooling down your face.

Trying to push him away was now a distant thought,you lay there motionless as you cum over and over again,losing track of time as you babble and drool over him.

You didn’t even bother trying to clench your fists,it was a useless game to play knowing that Simon would continue until you pass out.

(This theory is quickly dismissed after you’re sitting in the hospital trying to come up with an excuse as to why your husband has lockjaw.)

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Masterlist | Pinned Post

[theinternetisfulloftrash]

Welcome Home

Pairing: Dylan O'Brien x Reader (Female) Synopsis: Traveling. Any annoying but necessary part of any actors job for the non-traveling party. But the welcome homes? They are oh so fucking sweet. Tags: it's filth with some cute plot, shower sex, kisses, more banter than is reasonable in polite society Rating: Explicit (obviously) Author’s Note: Y'all listen. I know. Okay. It's been a while, and to be honest? I started this in fucking January, but hey. It's here now, right? We're all chill? No one's upset? Good. LOVE YOU!

He’d been away for days, but it felt like weeks. Your feed has been covered in photos of him. The algorithms have you pretty much figured out. You’d been keeping up with his interviews, watching clips of his adorably awkward award acceptance speech. It wasn’t a surprise award, but it didn’t matter that he was prepared for it. He was incapable of being acknowledged for his achievements without turning into the equivalent of a turtle hiding in its shell. You’d have reached out to hold his hand and ground him if you could, but you’d been here. Alone. Missing him. But all that was soon to change.

He was on his way home. Annoyingly, his flight had been delayed, but as you stared up at the JFK arrivals board and it read: ‘Arrived’, you couldn’t help the bubbling up of excitement and giddy nervousness. It seemed like Tony was picking up on it as well because he stood against your leg, pawing at your thigh until you picked him up. He’d been missing his dad and had taken more comfort in your presence since he’d left. 

Your ears perked when the announcement that the baggage from his flight was about to begin its rounds through the baggage claim area. Your phone vibrated in the thigh pocket of your leggings. You gave Tony a quick squeeze before setting him back on the floor and taking your phone out. You smiled at the preview of the text you’d just received before you swiped to see the rest. 

‘Your fine ass better be waiting for me down there.’ 

You smirked before typing out a teasing reply. 

‘Got stuck in traffic a few times but I’m here. I hate Newark btw.’ 

You watched the dots appear and couldn’t help the audible laugh that escaped when you read his next message. 

‘Newark!?’ 

You interrupted him with a quick ‘I’m joking!!!’ before you could see what he was typing next. Then after a brief pause, the dots reappeared before his reprimand. 

‘You know you’re this close to the find-out stage of fuckin around?’ 

‘Oh? What if that’s exactly what I want?’ 

‘👀’

‘Not that I want to rush through the fuckin around part 😏’  

“I’ll be taking my sweet fucking time…don’t worry.”

You startled at his audible reply and your eyes shot up from your phone and met his as Tony pulled at the leash in your hand to reach him. He looked a bit tired but happy. His smile was wide across his stubbled face, quirking up at the corner when you smiled back. 

“Hey buddy!” he said, handing you his pillow before bending down to scoop Tony up into his arms. “I missed you!” he swooned in the adorable baby voice he reserved for his furry son. “Did you miss me too?” He rubbed Tony’s head and then his tummy. “Such a good boy!” 

You smiled at the two of them, pulling Tony’s leash from your wrist and handing it to Dylan. Tony would be stuck to him like glue now. 

“Hey, baby,” he said softly before he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your lips. One just long enough to make you the tiniest bit dizzy and eager for more. 

You blinked away distracting thoughts. “Do you have much luggage?” 

Dylan shook his head. “Just this,” he said pointing at his backpack, “and one bag on the turnstiles.” 

“Should be over there, they just announced it,” you said, taking a few steps toward the baggage claim area.

“Nice!” he said, hiking Tony up onto his shoulder a bit before he followed after you. 

His bag passed in front of him and he hefted it off the belt and popped out the handle and you took it from him so he could focus on the excited ball of fur in his arms. You set his pillow on it and wheeled it behind you toward the cab that was waiting out front. As much as you hated early morning airport runs, you were glad his 4 AM delayed arrival made the whole airport experience a lot smoother. Fewer people. Less traffic. You’d been able to get in and out without so much as a sideways glance from anyone else. 

“Hey you,” he said as he slumped in the seat next to you, Tony taking up the little bit of space between you. 

“Hey,” you said, smiling back at him. 

It was just after 5 AM and you’d only gotten a couple hours of sleep. Originally, he was supposed to have gotten in at midnight and had been scheduled to arrive at Newark, but his flight had been canceled. When he called you to let you know, you were already getting ready to catch the Uber you’d called to take you to the airport. You had a habit of being too punctual. But that also meant that you had a hard time settling and only managed a short nap before you got up to head to JFK. You were a bit tired, but feeling his warmth next to you for the first time in a while was enough of a comfort to fight off the droop of your sleepy eyes. You wanted to see his smile, the upturned tip of his nose, the lopsided smile he sported as he pet Tony. Sleep could wait. 

The drive back to the loft was rather uneventful. Traffic was light, you weren’t sure you’d ever made it the Carey Tunnel faster than you just had. When you hopped out of the car, Dylan gathered his bags from the back of the car and you headed up to the apartment. Home. It was always a comfortable place, but it was warmer when he was in it.

“Smells nice in here…” he said with a sigh, closing his eyes for a moment as his shoulders sagged in relaxation. “I missed it.” 

“And I missed you.” You stepped into his space and wrapped your arms around his waist and he quickly pulled you to his chest, looping his arms over your shoulders and pressing a kiss into your hair. 

“You did, huh?” he chuckled, the heat of his exhaled breath warming your skin. 

“Mhm…” you hummed, laying your cheek against his chest. The loft was dimly lit by a single lamp near the sofa in the living room and the streetlights that filtered in through the large windows. It added to the comfort you felt in his arms. 

“I missed you more,” he whispered.

“Impossible.” 

He sighed out a long breath, holding you tight to his chest before he pulled back, his hands clasped around your waist, eyes locked to yours. The warm, honey-brown hue of them sent a shiver down your spine, of course, it didn’t help that he’d begun to work his hands under the hem of your shirt, his fingertips pressing just a little more firmly into the bare skin covering your ribs when he leaned down to kiss you. 

His lips were insistent, the kiss at the airport clearly not satiating the need that had built during your time apart. It was a comforting reminder that his infatuation with you must be at least somewhat comparable to your own. 

You moaned when his lips wandered along your jaw and latched to your throat just below your ear. Not to be outdone and wanting a little audible thrill of your own, you were satisfied at the deep groan that emanated from the back of his throat when one of your roaming hands slipped down between your bodies to graze across the front of his thigh until it was cupping him through his sweatpants. 

“Definitely missed that,” he breathed out across your collarbone before pushing your hair back and sliding the collar of your shirt aside to access more of your skin. 

You laughed softly before it morphed into a half-whispered moan of his name when his teeth grazed along the sensitive skin above your breast. “Fuck…” you breathed, squeezing your hand around him eliciting an appreciative grumble from him that you felt vibrate the aching bit wet skin he’d been sucking on your chest. 

When you released your grip to slip your hand behind the waistband of his sweats, he grabbed your wrist. “Not yet…” he chuckled when he pulled back to see you scowling at him. “Don’t worry,” he said, smiling at you, brushing an errant hair back from the place where it hung in your eyes, “I’m gonna make you scream…” 

You swallowed thickly. 

“I’d just rather not reek like a man who’s known only seat 23A for 10 hours when I do it.” 

You chuckled softly. “Well…” you smiled back before reaching both hands around behind him, “then you better get this,” you squeezed his ass, “fine thing in the shower then.” You gave him a gentle spank. 

He laughed and pressed a kiss into your hair. “Thirsty little monster,” he said, running his hand down your arm. “Join me?” he said, pleading gaze meeting yours. 

You nodded and he took your hand, lacing your fingers together and leading you through the apartment toward the bathroom. The gentle squeeze of his hand in yours sent a satisfying ripple of warmth through your body. Just as you’d made it through the door to the bathroom, you tugged on his hand and swung his body to pin him against the counter of the vanity. 

He let out a soft huff at the gentle impact and smiled down at you as you grabbed at the hem of his shirt and yanked it roughly up over his body. His bare chest heaved as your eyes roved over him, your hands following your gaze across his pecs, through the soft hair, down his abs, settling on the waistband of his sweats before you began to crouch in front of him as you slid them down his thighs to pool at his feet. 

You looked at him from between his thighs and watched as his brown eyes turned near-black, crouching there longer than was necessary to achieve the task, fluttering your lashes at him.

“Fucking tease…” he muttered under his breath before he hauled you up in front of him and stripped your top off, tossing it across the room before he latched onto your throat and bit down. 

While you writhed in his arms, his hands warmed up your back until his fingers worked open the clasp of your bra. He slipped his fingers under the straps and slid them free of your shoulders and let the garment fall to the floor. 

“Mmm…” he mused, looking down at your chest before he leaned forward and captured your lower lip between his teeth and pulled it back slightly before releasing it to kiss down the column of your throat. He cupped you breast and brought his lips to the peak and flattened his tongue in a wide sweep before sealing his lips to suck your nipple until it was taut and pebbled.

“Dylan…” you groaned, your hands tangling into his hair.

He held you against his body and swapped your positions until your lower back was pressed against the vanity. He nipped at your chest before he finally pulled back and lifted you to sit on the counter in front of him. He quickly unbuttoned your jeans and pulled them from you, throwing them into a heap with the rest of your discarded clothing. Then he slotted himself between your thighs. “Shower’s right there…” he titled his head in its direction, “and yet here we are…” he smiled, his fingertips trailing down from your arms, along your ribs and waist until they teased at the elastic of the last piece of clothing you were left wearing.  

“Here we are…” you repeated, looking down your body at his hand as it slipped into your underwear. You fell forward into his chest when you felt his teasing, barely there touch where you were now aching to feel it. Your sharp intake of breath didn’t go unnoticed.

He leaned in and grinned against the skin of your throat before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the tendon running the length of it. “Something wrong?” he teased, still not touching you the way you wished he would. 

“Please…” you whispered. 

The little amused noise he made only frustrated you more, because Instead of giving in to your need, he hooked his fingers around the band of your underwear and stepped back from you to slide them free from your legs. He twirled them around his long index finger before letting them slip out of his hands to the floor. His eyes roamed over you, exposed to him now, perched on the counter. “Fucking perfect…” he breathed, giving his head a slight shake.

You flushed under his attentive gaze, your own eyes catching on the obvious sign of his own interest tenting the front of his boxer briefs. “Talkin’ about yourself?” you finally managed. 

He smiled and shook his head. 

“You should be…” you sighed, “but you could stand to be just a bit more naked…” you pointed to his underwear. 

He laughed. “Fair,” he said before turning around to turn on the shower. He looked back at you, smirking as he hooked his thumbs in the band of his boxers. When he slid them down his thighs the need you felt for him was almost unbearable. He held out a hand to help you down. “Time to get you wet,” he said with a smirk. 

“Too late.” 

His brows shot up his forehead. “Fuck… me…” he muttered

You stepped past him, your hands gliding over his naked torso, and into the shower. “That’s the plan.” 

He followed after and closed the door, the glass quickly began to fog with the steam as you stood under the spray of the faucet. Even though you knew the water was hot, it almost felt cool on your heated skin. Dylan watched you as you ran your hands over your body before he reached out, gripping your hips. He shoved you back against the wall and his lips crashed into yours. 

You reached up clasped around his neck, your hands tangling into the wet strands of his hair, deepening the kiss and tasting the faint hint of mint on his tongue. His teeth grazed over your bottom lip, pulling it taut before he kissed along your jawline. 

He muttered something unintelligible under his breath against your throat.

“Soap’s over there,” you sighed, jutting your chin to the shelf in the corner. 

“Right… showering…” his teasing mouth paused and he pulled back from you. “You’re so fucking distracting…” he groaned, his grip on your hips shifting to your ass before he squeezed it in both of his palms. 

You grinned and wet your lower lip with your tongue. 

“Not helping.”

You laughed before you pushed him away enough to grab the body wash from the shelf and squeeze it onto his loofa. “Lemme help then,” you said, gesturing for him to turn around in front of you, the water now striking him in the chest. 

He didn’t protest, and quickly spun around as you took a small step closer, so your wet body was pressed briefly against him before you began to scrub his shoulders and upper back. 

“Mmm…” he hummed, rolling his neck. 

You tickled him enough to raise his arms so you could wash them both thoroughly. You smiled watching him noticeably relax his shoulders. You washed down his back, sliding the loofa down to the dips in his low back and over his perfect ass. 

“Taking your time back there…” he chuckled. 

“Stop having such a nice ass and maybe I’d make quicker work of it.” 

He shook a bit with a contained laugh. “Noted.” 

You finally relented, taking one last look at his soapy cheeks before you reached around to scrub his chest and stomach, not spending too much time before reaching down and squeezing the loofa at his belly button and letting the soap begin to run down his body. Your free hand followed after it until it was teasing at the coarse hair, brushing just where you knew he was dying for you to touch him. 

“Relentless fucking tease–” 

You cut off his complaint by wrapping your hand around his sudsy length and pumping him just once. “You were saying?” you breathed against his back before you kissed his shoulder blade before you pumped him again. 

He groaned, his head falling forward. “I’ll shut up… just don’t fucking stop.” 

You beamed with pride. It wasn’t like he never begged, but it was far less common than your own pleadings that more frequently bounced off the walls of this room. You rewarded its rarity by picking up the pace with your hand, pinning him against you with the other hand pressing against the front of his thigh, the loofa long forgotten at his feet. 

He stuttered forward, one hand coming up to hold his weight against the tiled wall the other grasping gently at your wrist, not stopping you, but guiding your hand. “Fuck,” he cursed, the last consonant of it coming out shuddered and low.

You were growing more and more impatient with each second. The ache between your thighs was forcing you to squeeze them together for some kind of relief. You moaned in frustration, your pace faltering. 

Dylan squeezed your wrist and stilled your hand. “Someone sounds needy…” he whispered, pulling your hand free of him and swapping your positions. He pressed you back against the wall and grabbed your body wash from the shelf, squeezing some into his palm. 

You watched him warm his hands together, lathering the gel into foamy suds in those gorgeous fucking hands that you knew he was about to touch you with. 

He smirked at the audible sound of you swallowing before he cupped one of your breasts, his other hand snaking around you, his fingers teasing the dimples of your lower back. He pinched your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, his nose nudging your chin up enough for him to run his tongue up the length of your throat before he kissed you. 

Your heart hammered in your chest, your skin pebbled with goosebumps, your body sang under his touch. You’d missed him. God, how you’d missed him. It should be against the Geneva Convention for him to be away from you this long. Torture, pure and simple. But this? This was as close as you could imagine to what it might feel like to be moments from dying of thirst in a vast desert only to stumble into the cool waters of an oasis.

He slid his hand down your body and, without a hint of teasing or pretense, rubbed your clit with the pads of two fingers. 

“Holy. Sh–!” you cussed, only getting half of it out before it devolved into a strangled moan. 

Dylan nudged at your chin as your head lolled in pleasure, his lips skimming across your skin, breathing out praise as he continued to swirl his fingers over the sensitive bundle of nerves that had you writhing against him. “Missed the way you sound…” he nipped your neck, “the way you feel…” he groped at your chest again with his free hand, “the way you taste…” he kissed you again, his tongue demanding entry into your mouth. 

His talented fingers had you approaching the edge, that warm feeling building up inside you, that pressure that made you feel like you were electrified. “Dyl… please…” you softly begged when he gave you a moment to finally breathe. 

His lips slipped from yours, your noses touching, both of you panting in the same air. Then you whined when you felt his fingers disappear from you. He stepped back into the stream of water and pulled you with him, kissing you everywhere his lips could reach as the hot spray of the shower rinsed you both clean of suds. 

You looped your arms around his neck and he gripped the backs of your thighs, hauling you up so you could wrap your legs around his waist. 

His eyes were wide with the same wonder he somehow still held for you even though he’d had you so many times there was no way to keep count. It made you feel warm and wanted. Desired and beautiful.  

“Could stay in this shower for the rest of my fucking life…” he said as he pinned your back to the wall and bucked up against you, slickening himself in the folds of your body, driving the head of his cock into your already sensitive clit. 

Your eyes rolled back at the contact, your hips rocking forward to meet the roll of his. “We’ll… we’ll get all pruney….” you finally breathed out. 

He laughed against your throat before he kissed, nipped, and sucked what you knew would be an impressive little bruise into your skin. “So be it,” he said, and then he shifted his hips, met your gaze, and slid into you to the hilt. 

The stretch, the fullness, it was almost as shocking now as the first time you’d felt him buried inside you. It was perfection, blissfully indecent perfection. You moaned his name, your fingernails clawing at his shoulders as he began to set a punishing pace, driving up into you hard, rutting his body against yours enough to stimulate you in just the right places, inside and out. 

“Shit!” you swore, letting your head fall back against the tiled wall. 

He fucked into you over and over as you felt yourself edging closer to the brink. You felt your thighs begin to shudder as his pace grew more erratic an unpredictable. 

“So fucking tight…” he groaned before he kissed the valley between your collarbones. 

The strangled need in his voice, the feel of his breath against your skin–all of it coupled with the delicious way the end of his length was pressing into that perfect spot inside you that made you feel like you were losing touch with reality–you were ready. “Fuck, Dyl–” 

He raised one hand to press on your chin enough to force your gaze back to his, the pad of his thumb dragging across your lower lip. 

You moaned and flicked at it with the tip of your tongue. “I’m so close… please!” you begged.

He drove his thumb between your lips and when you sucked it into your mouth, he slipped the hand on your thigh between your legs to rub his finger over your clit just when he drove a final thrust against your g-spot. 

You’d had your fair share of fantastic orgasms at this man’s hands, literally, but this one was up there standing proudly on the podium collecting its medal. It was a rush of pent-up need and desire that washed over you like a crashing tidal wave. Every single cell in your body felt like it was vibrating with pleasure. Your muscles clamped down on him as you felt him join you in his own release. The feel of him spilling into you, the sound of your name falling from his slack lips, making it all so much more intense. It was perfection. Pure and simple. Absolute. Unadulterated. Bliss.

Your chest heaved against his, both of you softly laughing between kisses before you felt him slip free of your body. His hands warmed up your arms before they cupped either side of your neck. 

“I love you so fucking much.” 

You smiled at him, leaning in to run your nose along his throat until your lips were at his ear. “I love you too.” 

He sighed and his lips found yours, but he held back from the kiss long enough to speak. “Hell of a welcome home.”