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yoonmetogether · 2 days ago

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Not In the Cards Prelude pt. 2

pairing: gambler/drug dealer!yoongi x grad student!fem!reader, surprise pairings rating: mature MDNI! 18+ only. Blank/ageless blogs will be blocked!!! genre: strangers-to-lovers, age gap, intro to e2l mafia/bodyguard au summary: he shows up a second time. but does he stay? warnings/tags: oral (f. receiving), usage of sl*t, motorcycle riding, angst, bantering, dialogue heavy, smoking, implied drug dealing/usage, tiny bit of fluff, flashback of secondary school relationships, referenced underage drinking wc: 12k 😭 im sorryyyy huuuuuge ginormous humongous thank you to my beta reader @yoonglesyeobo for her extraordinary commentary and feedback that never fails to make me smile, as well as @syllviere for her emotional support lol and bouncing ideas with me for this fic. could not have done this without y'all and I’m so grateful for your friendship <333

prologue l ch 1. play nice l prelude. strangers 1/3 l prelude. 2/3 l prelude. 3/3 l

Boys. They’re so messy.

All four of you had been in the hotel room for only 15 minutes but already the floors and counters were littered with beer cans and food containers. Jin would’ve had an aneurysm if he’d seen how quickly things had turned into chaos.

You were sitting on the edge of one of the beds, sulking as you watched your brother get ready. He was choosing which snapback better matched his outfit while Tae leaned over the sink in the bathroom, smearing a charcoal pencil under his waterlines. Jimin, on the other hand, was on the bed opposite you, laying on his back with his phone in the air, playing some game. He’d been the first to get ready.

“Can’t I go? Please?” you whined.

“No,” Jungkook huffed, saying your name in a harsh tone.

“Why not?”

“Because Jin would skin me alive if he found out I took you to an underground poker game.”

“Oh, c’mon!” Tae intervened, stepping out of the bathroom, flashing you a wink. “You’re gonna cave just like you always do, so save yourself the trouble. You know Jin hyung would never do anything to his two precious babies.”

“You’re too nice to her,” Jungkook grumbled, fixing his small gauges.

“She’s so cute, I can’t help it!” Tae exclaimed, your brother rolling his eyes.

“She’s just my lame, annoying sister.” Your jaw dropped, entirely hurt, and Jimin sat up to look between you and your brother with a frown on his face. If only you could hug him without Jungkook throwing a fit. His hugs always made you feel better.

“You’re so mean!” Tae came to your defense. “She loves you and that’s why she wants to go everywhere with you. Maybe you should be nicer.”

Jungkook shook his head defiantly, narrowly missing the pillow you chucked at him. But then he looked at you with a grimace, and you shot up on your feet with a smile. The familiar look of reluctance.

“Don’t wander off or be a pain in my ass,” Jungkook pointed a stern finger at you to which you stuck your tongue out before giddily bouncing over to the bathroom where Tae was finishing up with his hair.

“Thanks, Tae,” you murmured softly as you stepped up next to him.

“Of course, little angel. I always got your back.” You smiled at his soft elbow nudge in your side. “He’s really the lame and annoying one. Not you.”

“I heard that!” Jungkook called out in an offended tone.

“Good!” Tae shot back, grinning widely as you giggled. “Go get ready. We have to leave soon to catch the bus.”

****

The bar was musty, smelling of cigarettes, gross men, and booze, and the dim lights had a green smokey film floating underneath, creating a spooky atmosphere.

“Guys, do you really think we should be here?” Jimin asked nervously, wringing his hands. You stared, wanting to hold one of them.

Tae turned around from where he was standing beside your brother and hopped over with a smile, hooking an arm around Jimin’s neck.

“Aw, it’s okay, Baby J. We have my big pitbull to protect us, remember?” Tae jutted a thumb over his shoulder at Jungkook. Jimin shoved him away.

“How about this?” Tae booped his nose, and you found it cute the way Jimin wrinkled it in response. “When I win, I’ll use the money to replace your shit car.”

You stifled a laugh as Jimin kicked at his shin and Tae skipped away with a laugh, stopping beside your brother who was rolling his eyes at your antics. But he smiled shyly when Tae slung an arm around his waist.

Jimin looked grateful when you hooked your elbows together, both of you sparing a look at your brother to make sure he didn’t notice. Jimin quickly pinched your cheek that flushed under his touch, heart racing when he soothed it with his thumb.

You’d get around to telling them eventually.

Jungkook got in a small argument with a server who thought his ID was a fake, and her eyes widened in shock when your brother turned around to reveal the family emblem permanently drawn on the back of his neck, hidden by the lid of his hat. Your stomach churned at the sight. In a few years, you’d have to get the same tattoo. The very reason why you hated crows.

The server ran off to retrieve the owner, who walked briskly towards your group, eyes hardened.

“Do you know what the boss would do to me if he found out I let you kids in here?” The bar owner exclaimed in a hushed tone, looking around as if Jin was lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Jungkook shrugged, adjusting the snapback. “Besides, I just turned 19, so I’m legally allowed to be here.”

“What about your friends?” Your brother glanced back at the three of you. Jimin looked like he was about to throw up and Tae consolingly rubbed his back.

“He’ll be 19 in December, and they have IDs saying they’re old enough.” Jungkook pointed at Tae, and then at you and Jimin.

The man nodded at you and you did your best to maintain a calm demeanor. “Even her?”

“She’s my kid sister, she goes everywhere with me. I’m basically her permanent babysitter.” You flipped him off.

“You’re making me walk a tight line, kid,” the owner sighed. “But alright, come on.”

“You’re the man,” Jungkook grinned, looking back and beckoning you three to follow him.

“Hopefully not a dead one anytime soon.” Your brother laughed as he walked past him, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Nah, you’ll be good.”

As Jungkook led the way through the bar towards some stairs in the back, ignoring the side-glances you all received from the grown men playing cards, you noticed Tae looking around, scanning every table, every face.

“Who are you looking for?” You asked when your brother got caught up ordering a drink.

“Oh, an old friend of mine from back home.”

“Is that why you wanted to come here?”

“Yeah," he nodded with a wistful frown. "It was a long shot but I still wanted to see if I could run into him. He brought me a couple of years ago and taught me how to play.”

A sad look appeared on his face, so you didn’t think he wanted to talk anymore about it.

At the poker table downstairs, Jungkook sat down among the men like he owned the place, Tae right beside him. You pulled up a chair to sit behind them as cards were dealt and chips stacked. Jimin disappeared into the bathroom and didn’t come out for a while.

When the first river was dealt, Tae leaned back to whisper into your ear,

“Remember, it’s all in the eyes, little angel. You can always tell someone’s true feelings in their eyes.”

You nodded, intently watching Tae and your brother play, paying attention to the other men as well, trying to catch their tells.

Jimin returned with a tight smile on his face, and you both squeezed onto the chair, taking his hand into your lap since Jungkook was too engrossed in the play.

Your brother won a few rounds, smug as ever, but Tae won more and just gave Jungkook subtle nudges of his shoulder and whispers in his ear. You reminded yourself to tease him about the blush on his face later.

When the game ended, Tae emerged victorious, and all four of you celebrated with some shots at the bar, Jungkook making you vow that you’d never tell Jin.

Back home, Tae kept his promise to Jimin and bought him a nicer car. Still old and used, but less prone to breaking down.

For your birthday, he gifted you a keyboard, and it became one of your most prized possessions. With it, you composed a piece for Jimin who recorded and saved it on his phone, often playing it in his car whenever you two got some alone time, holding hands over the gearshift while you avoided looking at each other.

Some of your favorite memories. Ones that shaped you, seared a forever nostalgic hole in your heart. Ones that feel like they existed in another lifetime. Ones you’d give anything to relive.

The hotel room is smaller than you thought.

The queen-sized bed is located in the middle of the room, facing the terrace that has a clear view of the ocean. Around the corner of the foyer and hallway closet, is the bathroom; on the other side of that is a small nook with a mini fridge underneath an L-shaped counter, two armchairs on either side. It’s cozy. But cold. Quiet. You’re getting tired of being alone.

Your bags are wet, so you unpack everything to check that nothing’s ruined, rushing to get out your sketchbook. Flipping through the pages, you’re relieved that there’s no water damage. That would be very fucking unfortunate and you don’t need a panic attack right now.

After being caught in the rain, stuck in a basement with greasy men and cigarette smoke, and fucked in a cleaning closet, a hot shower is just what you need. But you don’t scrub your skin too hard. His touch still lingers.

You can still feel the tingle left by his fingers digging into your hips, hand wrapped around your wrist, mouth molded against yours. You don’t want to lose that feeling. Even though you lost him.

You want to scream at the top of your lungs. Why the fuck did you let that man go? You know, in your heart of hearts, that you’ll never meet someone like him again. You won his money - he didn’t owe you a goddamn thing and yet he came after you when he thought you were in danger. That had to mean something, right?

The thought of what would’ve happened if he hadn’t shown up makes your hands feel clammy, despite the steamy shower stall. Who knows what intentions those men had, aside from forcing you to give them the money back. You can fight, but your odds were against you with a group of vengeful thugs. And you don’t have your knife - it would’ve gotten confiscated at the airport and it means too much to you to risk that.

But you do have another weapon, pretty much guaranteeing that you could’ve walked out of there alive. With one flash of the back of your neck, those guys would’ve backed off and run for the hills.

You don’t mull over if Yoongi would join them; instead, spend the rest of your shower fuming, hot water incomparable to the burning in your veins. Because of him, mostly. For being such a jerk even though you didn’t do anything wrong, even though you tried being nice to him. For acting like you’d been the bane of his existence but still fucking you. And for sending you into a confusing whirlwind but not leaving you any time to catch up. And still making you want him.

Maybe you’ll just go to bed and forget him. Do some sketches, get a headstart on upcoming assignments, and go home tomorrow pretending that there isn’t some strange crack in your soul left by a man you just met.

You’re just about to start your skin care routine when three knocks rap on the door. You freeze. It’s almost the middle of the night, who the fuck- Oh, shit. Wait. It can’t be those guys. Wrapped up in a robe, you tiptoe out of the bathroom, mind racing as you formulate a plan if it is them. Pressing against the door, thinking about the possibility of shimmying your way off the balcony since you’re only on the second floor, you peer into the peep hole, heart flatlining when there isn’t a group of thugs outside, but a familiar mop of orange hair.

What the hell is he doing here? Whatever the reason is, you’re way too relieved that it’s him. Teetering on elated, everything you’d come to peace with in the shower wiped away at the sight of him standing outside your door, hands in his pockets, staring down at his shoes.

You swing open the door just as he turns for the stairs, like he’s giving up. His eyes are wide when he faces you, narrowing as they fall on your robe-covered body.

“You just keep turning up, don’t you? Were you a stray cat in a past life?” You tease, snickering at his glare as you lean on the door. He sighs, stuffs his hands further in his jacket, glares harder at the threshold.

“I lied to you about the buses.” You smile softly at his confession.

“I know. They run till midnight.”

“And I don’t have a friend’s place to crash.”

“I figured that.”

He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t tell you what he’s here for, if he wants something. You already told him you’d give him money, you have more than enough, but you’ll be disappointed if that’s the only reason why he’s at your door.

“So, what? You showed up just to tell me that you lied?”

“No,” he mutters, shaking his head before snapping up to meet your gaze. The fire in his eyes is blazing. “For this.”

And suddenly he’s crowding your space, large, warm hands holding the side of your face. Again. And you barely have time to blink much less breathe before his lips crash onto yours. You thank your lucky stars.

He backs you into the wall behind the open door, and your heart runs in your chest when he starts kissing you just as hungrily as before. But this time, he makes the effort to angle your face with his in a way that he can kiss you passionately, with purpose, with heat, with his tongue meeting yours, exploring between your lips, into your mouth, like he’s trying to steal your breath away and you let him, kiss him back with equal fervor. He kisses you deeply enough that you can feel the effects all the way down to your toes, almost to the point of having an out of body experience, nothing you’ve ever felt before. He kisses you like he has no intention of stopping.

And you don’t want him to, but when you lift your arms to loop around his waist, bring him closer, his jacket is cool and wet, and his body vibrates beneath the layers. You break the kiss to catch your breath and tell him he feels cold, but apologies tumble through his swollen, pink lips.

“Shit, I don’t know what I was thinking, I should-” He takes a step back and you think he’s going to run again, so you grab the side of his damp jacket to keep him in place. Keep him near you.

“You’re shivering.”

He stiffens, but the back of his shoulders visibly tremble. You move past him to close the door, gesturing for him to take off his shoes.

“Do you want to shower?” He regards you for a moment, shoulders tense, and then nods, once. Directing him to the bathroom, you offer a small, warm smile but just as he reaches for the handle and opens the door a crack, you stretch your arm to land a hand on the frame, effectively blocking him.

“Admit that you think I’m pretty first.”

His eyebrows furrow, he blinks, and then swivels on his heels to head for the front door. Your loud laugh echoes after him.

“Have fun sleeping in the rain!”

He exhales a frustrated breath and another snicker fills the space in response as he turns back around.

“Come on, it’s not like you’ll be lying. For once.”

“Wow, pretentious, much?” he quips.

“Stubborn, much?”

His lip curls. “Annoying brat.”

“Grumpy jerk.” It’s enchanting, how quickly you match each other’s energy, hostile but with no real bite.

He scowls and tilts his head up to the ceiling, like he’s wondering what he’s gotten himself into. And your delighted grin glows at him.

“So, what’ll it be?” His glare flickers to you with a piercing glint.

“You’re pretty,” he grumbles, and even though you heard him, you lean forward, cupping your ear, wanting to hear it loud and clear.

“Hm? What was that?”

He speaks through clenched teeth. “You’re really fucking pretty. So there.”

“Dude, why do you look like you’re about to pop a vein?” You cackle and he runs a hand down his face.

“If it makes things any better, you’re not too bad looking yourself. I’d even go so far as to say you’re handsome. Like really fucking handsome,” You mock him and grin when he glowers at you. You nod to the bathroom.

“Get in there.” Twirling around, you just miss the way his cheeks tinge a subtle shade of pink.

As the door closes, your cheeks buzz with a dopey smile you can’t drop, color painting a part of your soul that’s been dormant for a long time, awoken when he showed up on your doorstep because he wanted to kiss you again.

“Hey, can you do me a favor?” you call out. “Would you mind handing me my clothes? They’re on the sink.”

“Haven’t I done you enough favors?” From his one small moment of vulnerability, you forgot that he’s a fucking asshole.

With a huff, you knock on the door rapidly, holding your breath as the handle clicks and the door swiftly swings open to reveal Yoongi’s dark, narrowed eyes. Are you disappointed that he’s only dressed down to a black-tee, still in his jeans? You’ll never admit it. One more glance would show you that they’re unbuttoned, belt removed. The same jeans that were smacking on your ass back in the-

“Were you hoping I’d walk in on you naked?”

He cocks his head with a slight smirk. “I was hoping you’d walk in here naked.”

Oh, he’s smooth. Pulse dancing, you school your expression to conceal how flustered you are.

“Maybe I would’ve if you were nice. Can I have my clothes?” You hold out your hand and he glances down at it, a sigh leaving him as he brings his arm into view, passing over your sleep clothes. You snatch them with a cheeky smile and walk away to change. The door doesn’t shut until you’re around the corner.

Fully dressed and pretty much ready for bed, jet lag starting to get the best of you, you’re sitting at the white counter next to the window, re-checking all the designs in your sketchbooks when the door opens and Yoongi’s bare feet pad on the floor. You tense with the urge to turn around and see whether or not he’s appearing as what you’re imagining in your mind. Towel wrapped low on his hips, chest bare, body lithe and sleek and beautiful. When he passes behind you, the air around you thickens with his musk, the clinging scent of hotel soap and shampoo. Your legs cross under the table.

He stands adjacent to your seat, and you sneak a glance up at him peering down at your sketchbook, shaking a small towel over his wet hair. But he’s wearing a damn robe, sash tugged tightly around his waist, his clavicles and center of his chest just barely peeking out, two chains accentuating it. One is medium-length and studded with tiny diamonds, the other a long collection of stainless steel beads that hold two dog tags from his military service.

You retract your gaze and pretend to draw, cheek warming against your fist. He’s so attractive, it’s not fair.

“Are you an architect or something?” he asks as he drops in the seat across from you, towel falling around his neck. His tone sounds accusatory, like he can’t fathom you being in that kind of profession, but you don’t take it personally. You figure it’s just another one of his asshole-isms.

“No, I’m just minoring,” you reply without looking at him. “These are some sketches I’m playing with for my thesis project in the spring.”

“How proactive. They’re, um,” he clears his throat. “They’re pretty decent.”

He’s still leaning over, so with a bashful smile, you slowly push the book to his side of the table, permission for him to examine more closely.

“Thanks. My friends and I are talking about opening up an architecture firm after we graduate, and they’re looking at me to take care of the business portion of it.”

“Hm.” He sounds indifferent, but he glimpses at you while you talk, so you think he’s at least listening. As soon as you stop, though, his eyes return to your sketchbook. And he’s not just flipping through them. He takes his time with each page, each design, even the messier ones with all the frustrated scribbles and eraser marks. Sometimes he leans in and squints to get a closer look at the smaller details and… No one has looked at your pages like that. Not even your friends. Or brothers. The only exception is your professors, but that’s for a grade. Something glimmers in your chest. Something warms.

You change the subject so you don’t dwell on it.

“What did you major in?”

Your question sparks a slight frown on his face as he flips a page. “I didn’t go to college. Not for me.”

You nod in understanding. “Then, what do you do? Or you just gamble for a living?”

“You and all these questions.”

“Fine. Be boring,” You huff, crossing your arms.

“I work on cars,” he reluctantly mutters. Perking up at that, you sit a little straighter.

“You’re a mechanic?”

He hums in acknowledgment and you launch into a mainly one-sided conversation about your favorite makes and models, wishing you could tell him about your brother’s extensive car and bike collection. You smile when he at least indulges you in his current vehicle choice - an Elantra. Ooh. Sporty.

You’re a tad too giddy when you ask, “Do you race?”

“I can. But I don’t.”

“Maybe one day I’ll beat you at that too.” He just sighs and shakes his head, and you wear your shit-eating grin as the conversation comes to a stand-still. Now that you’re not sure what else to say and he doesn’t seem too keen on entertaining more questions, you wait for that awkward tension to settle between you but it never comes.

It’s just… quiet. Except for the sound of your breathing as you ponder explanations for why your heart is pounding that doesn’t have to do with the man sitting across from you, still engrossed in your sketches.

It’d be nice if he gave you an indication that he was interested in doing anything besides this and kissing you, but you suppose the fact that he accepted your invitation to shower instead of just fucking you in the foyer and hitting the road again is indicative of he can now at least stand being in your presence.

“So, fixing cars makes you enough to gamble a few million won away at an illegal poker ring? All in one night?”

He glances at you with a glare, flipping another page. “Okay, smart ass. What do you think I do?”

“Hm, I don’t know,” you pretend to think. “Sell stuff.” He doesn’t look at you, a slight down tick at the corner of his mouth.

“Stuff.”

“Substances?” Narcotics is the word you want to say, but don’t. Scrutinizing another drawing, impassiveness covers his face.

“And would you have a problem with that?”

“Do I seem like I would have a problem with that?” His attention flits to you for a small moment and then stays down.

His silence is enough to say that he doesn’t want to talk any more about it and you won’t press him even though you’re a nosy little shit because you don’t want to make him uncomfortable. But you do want to let him know that you’re not one to judge.

If he is a dealer, you know just how easy it is to get into but so much harder to get out of.

“Well, whatever it is, shit’s tough out here, and sometimes we gotta do what we gotta do, y’know?”

He doesn’t say anything after that and so you let it go. But there’s still something else on your mind.

“Can I ask another question?”

“No,” he deadpans, and you ignore him.

“What was your plan after you dropped me off?”

He brings your book to the edge of the table and sits back in the chair.

“I was gonna go to a sauna, but I forgot I gave the rest of my cash to the cab driver.”

Your brow quirks inquisitively. “Cab? Weren’t you just on a motorcycle?”

Whole body stilling, he focuses on nothing for a moment before quietly grumbling,

“I paid him so he’d tell me where he took you.”

You gawk at him as everything sinks in. A ring of promise glows around the surface of your heart when you realize he went out of his way to find you.

To look out for you. To protect you. And expected nothing in return. Despite the fact that you kissed him, showed him you wanted more, he didn’t try to invite himself up. Just took off into the night without looking back. Like he didn’t just save your life. Like you don’t owe him for fucking stabbing someone for you.

“You really came looking for me,” you marvel. “Why?”

His jaw clenches, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

“I don’t have to answer that.” Ugh, he’s so fucking difficult, with this wall around him that you desperately want to infiltrate.

“You and your attitude,” you scoff. “What’s your problem?”

When he doesn’t respond, you reach over to pull your sketchbook out of his grasp, slamming it closed on the table. You repeat your question with a harsh glare and he returns it with equal intensity.

“You,” he admits darkly, eyes hardened. “You are my problem.”

“Then what are you doing here?” His lips pull into a line and he stares at his flat hand on the table. You sit back again, dejected fingers rubbing over your sketchbook, watching him refuse to look at you.

You stand up before your brain gives the command, feet gliding around the table, heart pounding with each step, and end up next to his chair. He stares up at you with a pinch between his brows as you nudge your knee against his, and even though he looks confused, he turns away from the table to give you more room to stand in between his legs. Jet lag be damned, you dip a knuckle under his chin, holding his head up. His pupils on you are so dark, more than they’ve been all night as he doesn’t blink.

You can’t tell if he’s nervous, or scared, or upset, or a combination, similar to the complexity running in your veins.

“You’re the annoying one.” You stick a knee next to his hip, a hand on his shoulder, a pretense to lowering yourself into his lap. He cocks a brow.

“You can’t even tell me you want me.”

“You think I came back for what? A hot shower?” He says it so sarcastically, you almost laugh.

“Yeah, and a place to stay,” you murmur, resisting the temptation to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear.

“I would’ve figured something else out. Not my first time with nowhere to go.”

You frown at the thought of him being stuck in places where he wasn’t comfortable. Or safe. Even if he only came back so he wouldn’t end up spending a night in the rain, you would let him stay. You might put him up on the floor but at least he’d be inside.

When he doesn’t say a word, your other hand falls on his shoulders to finally settle yourself in his lap. his chest heaving in a deep breath. As you sit over his crotch, his hands flex, but remain dangling off the arms of the chair. Your eyes fall to the chains glinting on his pale chest and you hook a finger around the diamonds, lifting the small circular pendant, noticing a tiny inscription. You glance at him, silently asking for permission to study it. He just stares so you take that as a yes and lift it to get a closer look.

For my sonja, MYG

A soft smile on your lips, you drop the pendant and trail down to the tags that sit on his sternum and examine the carved information.

Huh. You have the same blood type.

“Are you dangerous, Min Yoongi?” The question pours out of your mouth, testing out his full name on your tongue. He squints at you with mirth.

“It’s a little late to ask that.”

Shrugging, your thumb runs over the metal tags, waiting for his answer.

“I’m not a stalker or a serial killer. Good enough?” It should be. But you have to be sure.

“If you wanted to hurt me, you would’ve done it by now, right?”

A few beats of silence pass, and vines of trepidation for his truth start to creep up your spine. But then warm, calloused yet soft hands coast up the sides of your thighs to rest on your hips. The vines spark with flames, traveling over every cell of your skin, ignited by his simple touch. Trepidation becomes suspense.

“I don’t hurt people who don’t deserve it.”

The implication should scare you. That he hurts people. Maybe even does it for a living. But you know, peering deeply into his dark, brown eyes, that he isn’t a threat to you.

He stabbed someone right in front of you, and instead of being afraid like you should’ve been, you ran away with him. In the middle of the street, soaked to the bone with piercing rain, you grabbed him by his shirt and kissed him like your life depended on it.

And you’re about to do it again.

Lifting your hand to cup his cheek, your heart dips when he flinches away, ever so slightly. What the fuck has this man been through? You drop it back on his shoulder, smooth it slowly, daringly, down to his left pec, fingers under his robe. Your breath hitches when you feel how strong his chest is, throat tightening when your palm radiates with the fast rate of his heartbeat.

Too fast to be normal. Too fast to hide that he’s affected by you.

“Do you want me?” you whisper, voice scared of rejection. His jaw ticks, his hands moving to your waist, pressing you forward and down on the solid erection forming beneath you. You gasp.

He grits his next words through clenched teeth, like it’s hard for him to say them.

“I wanted you the second you sat down at that goddamn poker table.”

Just like that moment in the rain, before you got on his bike and held onto him while he drove you into safety, you don’t think before crashing your lips onto his. He opens his mouth to welcome your tongue, and you lick over it with meaning.

The two of you set in motion a greedy and lascivious rhythm of sloppy tongues and experimental grinding hips. His fingers curl into the plush of your ass, encouraging the roll of your center over his erection, ruining your shorts with arousal. He sucks on your bottom lip, moaning when your hand sneaks into his lap and boldly squeezes his twitching length.

“If I suck your dick, are you gonna leave me on the floor again?” you challenge over his mouth.

He pulls away with a frown and a cross in his brows as he looks at you silently expecting some kind of an apology. But he doesn’t even open his swollen mouth, just pushes at your waist until you stand up from his lap, and before you can question what he’s doing, he kisses you again, gripping your waist as he walks you back to the bed. Hands slipping up to your ribcage, he lowers you down, heart hammering to the surface of your chest as he holds himself above you, one hand on your side, the other pressing into the comforter next to your head.

Warmth pools in your belly as his chains fall in between your breasts, then slide to rest on the base of your throat. You smile in between his lips, lifting a hand to tangle in the links.

“You better not break my jewelry,” he utters, tongue nudging your bottom lip to encourage your mouth open, and without opening your eyes or breaking from his enticing mouth, you grab his hand and encourage it towards your breast, shirt covering your pert nipple.

He softly squeezes a handful of your tit and you arch into him with a moan, his lips between yours curving up in a smug smile. Kissing you once, twice, he drags his mouth down your jaw, to your neck that you strain so he can bruise and bite at your skin. You curse when he moves to mouth over your clothed tit, gently pulling your nipple between his teeth to test out your reaction. You bite your lip with a moan and reach up to curl your fingers in his hair, squirming when he flattens his tongue over the tiny sting.

“So sensitive,” he smizes, cocksure. He laps at your tit once more before nosing down, fingers bunching up your shirt to reveal your stomach, moan escaping you when his lips graze your bare skin.

“Is this supposed to be an apology?”

He shrugs and you roll your eyes as he stands to drag down your sweats, your lungs constricting with every inch of skin he unveils. You know he already fucked you, knows what your pussy feels like, but he hasn’t seen you yet and your cheeks heat at the thought of baring your everything to him.

“Don’t tell me you’re shy,” he muses when your legs close in their bent form after he fully removes your sweats, tossing them back onto one of the chairs.

You shake your head in denial, but your eyes that refuse to open, refuse to see him staring at you, say otherwise.

“Where’s that dirty girl who wanted to get fucked in a closet by a stranger?”

“Don’t you mean slut?”

“Fine,” he smirks. “Bring back the dirty slut who practically begged me to fuck her in that closet.”

“Sure, as long as you don’t act like a prick anymore.”

Smirk falling, he averts his eyes, tilting his head to the side as his hand smoothes over your lower stomach, fingers dipping into the hem of your-

“Cute panties.”

“They’re shorts.”

“You call these shorts?” He snaps the fabric strained around your thighs. “Leaves little to the imagination.”

“Well, that’s good for you, right? Aren’t you too old to have an imagination?” He quirks a brow, lifts his head to level you with an entertained gaze.

“Says who?”

“Society,” you shrug, and he exhales an unamused huff.

“Wow, good argument. You should sign up for a debate team.”

“I was actually on one in school.”

“So why aren’t you any good?”

“Oh, shut up!” You admonish, and he snickers. If you really think about it, it’s crazy how easy it is to fall into conversation with him like this. And incredibly insane how it does really funny things to your heart.

A stuttered gasp pours from your lips when he cups your heat, rubbing his flattened fingers back and forth. You hiss when he pokes over your covered hole, panties/shorts soaked with your arousal.

“Damn, you get so wet for me,” he muses, tongue poking past his teeth as he pulls your panties to the side. Fuck, just that movement alone is enough to put a flutter in your stomach.

“A little grinding on my lap is all it takes, huh? Or do you just really like being called a slut?”

“Screw you.” His dark chuckle shamefully turning you on, he pulls back his fingers to circle feather-light around your clit. You pull your lips in and shut your eyes to lock away a moan. “We’re getting to that.” His hands slide under your ass, eyes trained on you as he pulls off your garment, and you take a deep breath when he pushes your legs apart.

“Scoot up.” With his hands holding your thighs, you wiggle your way back until your head nears the edge of the mattress, lust coursing through your blood as he lays down in between your legs, licking his lips at the sight of your bare cunt. You relax into the soft comforter as he starts off with dragging his lips on the inside of your thigh, humming as he goes along, and arousal builds at the vibrations on your skin. Glancing down at the appealing sight of his head between your legs, you’re tempted again to run your fingers through his soft locks.

“You could really use a root touch-up,” you think out loud. He huffs, breath hitting a spot on your thigh where he was sucking a small mark.

“Ah, hell. Can you be quiet?”

“Just saying.” He clicks his tongue.

As you break out into a laugh, your expression drops when his dark eyes fixate on you and he spits, loudly, right on your hole before dragging his tongue in a thorough, languid lick through your folds. Back arching with a moan, your hand flies into his hair, pulling a low growl from his throat. He pauses at your clit, nose nudging it before he sucks in a breath, tightens his hold around your thighs, and buries his face in your pussy.

He consumes you, flicking his tongue in some places and slurping in others, going back to the ones that you respond to more - it’s like you just served your pussy to him on a gold fucking platter and he’s savoring you like it’s his last meal.

Fingers tangled in his soft, damp locks, you use your other hand to stifle your whines that he’s drawing out with his expert tongue.

“Don’t hold back for me, dollface,” he insists over your clit. “You can’t get us caught this time.”

Resolve crumbling, you barely register the fact that he called you ‘dollface’ as your hand smacks onto the comforter and unrestrained, needy moans fill the room. He grunts in response and your trembling thighs squeeze around his head as he latches onto your clit, suckling and licking to add fire to the flame in your gut.

“Fuck, Yoongi!” you whimper, muscles tensing as the impending snap looms closer.

“Mm, say my name just like that,” he purrs, tongue flicking on your clit.

“You mean you want me to?” You antagonize, not entirely brain dead yet. “After all that grief you gave me about-”

He suddenly draws back, forcing you to groan at the orgasm he just snatched away, hips involuntarily chasing after his mouth.

“Say my fucking name,” he demands.

“Do something that will-”

His mouth wraps around your clit and he starts sucking in rapid motions, not stopping even as you writhe and squirm with pathetic cries, strong arms immobilizing your thighs.

“Yoongi- Yoongi, please!” you shriek, coming with another wanton wail of his name, gripping his roots, and a low, rough growl licks into your pulsing cunt.

Vision blurring with tears as he continues his assault on your clit, you sob at the threat of overstimulation, pushing at his head until he detaches. He kisses your dripping slit one more time just to have you jolt and curse, and then finally lets you catch your breath.

“You got a condom?” he asks after your blood pressure has simmered down to a somewhat normal level and you can comprehend your own thoughts again.

“Um, no?” you rasp, glancing down to his slick mouth and chin. “I thought you had those on deck.”

“I used my last one.”

“When?” You manage to joke. He glares at you through his bangs, shaking his head, and you don’t do well to hold back a laugh. “Oh. Bummer.”

He sighs, and then dots kisses through your folds before latching onto your clit again. Pumping his long fingers into your cunt this time, he gets a little lazy, but it doesn’t make it any less sensational. You lose count of how many times you come but you’re sweating and dripping and just a mess by the time you pass out.

You wake up on your stomach feeling heavy, but so, so good. Lifting your head, you look around, wondering what year it is. You’re still in the same spot you fell asleep in, but there’s a robe laid over you, covering your lower half. Over your shoulder, Yoongi is back at the table, scrolling through his plugged-in phone, and you silently thank the universe that you weren’t just dreaming him up. Because that would be devastating.

Rolling over, you slowly sit up and shift towards the edge of the bed, legs feeling like jelly before you even put any weight on them. You stand up with the robe and nearly lose your balance.

“You alright?” his gravelly voice carries across the room.

“I think I almost died,” you admit as you walk around the bed, rubbing your eyes. He smirks at his phone, looking a little too proud of himself. “How long was I out?”

“Like an hour?”

“Shit, I’m sorry. That jet lag really got to me.”

“Jet lag, huh?” He frowns and you playfully roll your eyes.

“You can take the credit for knocking me out.”

You walk away from his cocky grin to head for the bathroom.

After doing your business and admiring the subtle marks he left on the inside of your thighs, you realize how exhausted you are. From the plane, from all the events of the day, from your however-many orgasms, and you should be spent, ready to sleep like a rock through the night.

And yet, there’s a hunger gnawing in your chest. A greed in your gut. He gratified you beyond your imagination, and you still haven’t gotten your fill. But he ran out of fucking condoms.

You wrap the robe around your waist as you head back to the table, avoiding his gaze as you squat over your duffle.

Rummaging through it, you know a condom isn’t going to be anywhere in there no matter how badly you want there to be. Damn it. Are you that desperate? For that man, with that devilish tongue and monster in his pants? Hell fuckin’ yeah.

“You looking for something?”

“Oh, uh, I forgot to pack a toothbrush,” you stutter, tucking back a piece of your hair as you rise. “Do you think we can go to the convenience store? It’s only a couple miles away.”

“It’s kinda late.”

“It’s open all night.”

“Fine,” he sighs, standing and taking his used towels to the bathroom, shoulder just barely brushing yours as he passes you.

When both of you are changed, he lingers in the doorway of the bathroom where you’re standing in front of the sink, fixing yourself up in the mirror, and you don’t anticipate him to step in and appear mere inches behind you. You watch him fix his mussed hair, not sparing your reflection a single glance. Without the mirror, you’re not sure if you would’ve even noticed his stealth presence unless he touched you. You can’t even hear him breathing. And it makes you shiver. Just as nervousness sprouts at his proximity, you twist around to make an escape, immediately regretting it when you come face-to-face with his devastatingly handsome face and dark eyes that dart down to your lips. On pure impulse, you reach up to tussle his hair and scurry away as he turns around with a sharp, “Hey!”

Next to the front door, his glare sears into you as you lean down to put on your shoes, laughing when he nudges you so that you lose your balance. You guess you deserve that.

***

He parked his bike near some bushes in front of a stone wall farthest away from the main lot of the hotel, close to the ocean. You can’t help but skip towards it, excited to go on a ride again. When you reach it and glance back to see that he’s still catching up, you impulsively swing your leg over and settle into the leather seat.

“What are you doing?” he asks as he approaches you with a glare. You shoot him a sheepish grin over your shoulder.

“Can I drive?”

“That’s something you ask before you get on the bike.”

“Oh. Well, can I?” With a shake of his head, he sighs and you half-expect him to scold you off, but instead he grabs the helmet resting on the rear seat and holds it out to you.

“Put this on first.” Pressing your warming cheek into your shoulder to hide your shy smile, you reach back and accept it, slipping it on. He looks reluctant as he slides onto the seat behind you and you twist forward, a throb rushing down your spine when his hands slide onto your hips and he adjusts himself to sit pressed lightly against you. He leans forward and you’re encased by him as he sticks the key into the ignition, shows you the switch that will bring the bike to life by tapping it twice, hand returning to your hip once you turn it and the engine rumbles alive loudly, vibrating beneath you.

Revving the handlebars, exhilaration flows into your veins as you look down at all the specs on the dashboard.

“You know how to ride, right?” He mumbles into your ear, sounding skeptical. You smirk.

“Remember what happened the last time you misjudged me?” Before he gets a chance to respond, you grasp his hand and pull it around to your stomach.

“Hold on tight,” you say in the lowest pitched voice you can muster in a poor attempt at imitating him from earlier in the night. He sighs and moves his other arm around your waist, and just as your heart starts to beat out of your chest, you kick back the stand, find your balance on the pedals, and rev the engine before taking off down the road, secretly wishing this road stretched on forever.

His fingers curl into your covered skin, presses his chest into your back and it encourages you to lean forward and go faster. You go a little too fast, but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t give you any indication that you should slow down. And when you arch your back, the hard length poking your ass tells you that he doesn’t mind the speed at all.

You pull up to the convenience store in under five minutes, the parking lot empty and Yoongi tells you to park it off to the side.

“I think you liked that more than I did,” you say after hopping off the bike. He stays in the seat as you remove the helmet and hold it out, grinning up at him.

“You like it when a girl rides your bike, Min Yoongi?” You lilt teasingly, the biggest shit-eating grin on your face clashing with his fierce glare.

“Go get your shit, you brat,” he grumbles, teeth gritted.

“You’re not coming?” You glance down at the glaring problem in the front of his jeans. “Oh, I guess you need a minute.”

His lip curls and he digs his foot into the pebbled asphalt, making you leap away with a giggle when he kicks a small pile at you.

Walking backwards, you blow him a kiss, laughing your way into the store when he returns it with a middle finger. A smile remains on your face as you start looking around for the toothbrush you lied about not having. At one point you realize that your cheeks hurt from still smiling. Is that the effect he has on you? It’s been a minute since a man, (or anyone, really) has made you smile like this.

Perusing the aisles for some midnight snacks, the doorbell chimes and when the cashier offers a monotone welcome, you perch up on your tiptoes to spot a black beanie making its way to the opposite corner of the store.

As you lean into a fridge for some drinks, he steps up into your periphery, and you take a quick glance, smiling at the bandana that’s wrapped around his face again.

“You want anything?” He shakes his head and you sigh, closing the door and turning around with a hand on your hip.

“Can you not be difficult for once and just pick something? Because I don’t share.”

He steps up to you. “I know you’re not calling me difficult.”

“I am.” You challenge, unintimidated despite being nearly nose to nose. “Get something.”

Keeping his glare on you, he reaches into the fridge and pulls an item out to drop it into the basket. You roll your eyes at the fact that he didn’t even look at it and grab a few more of what he picked, letting the door slam shut.

You pinch the bandana and give it a few gentle tugs, getting right in his face. “Is this what you stuffed in my mouth earlier?”

“Yes. And I’m tempted to do it again.”

“Ooh, kinky.”

“Maybe I just want to shut you up.”

“There’s more than one way to do that.” His dark eyes flash.

“Keep it moving.”

He lingers behind you as you finish shopping, but disappears once you head to the checkout. When he comes up behind you and casually tosses something on the counter next to your snacks waiting to be scanned, your whole face floods with heat as you stare at the box of condoms. A 12-pack. Large. You gulp, and the flush seeps down to your toes. This is what you came for, but a flood of embarrassment streams into you at the thought that he planned the same thing, or he caught onto you. To offset some of the flood, you swipe the box and hold it up to him.

“Don’t you need these in a smaller size?”

His eyes flicker up but he doesn’t look at you. Just turns and walks away, leaving you to fight down a laugh. Glancing back at the cashier, you’re grateful that her face hasn’t changed, even as she rings up the condoms. She could probably care less if you robbed the whole store.

Rushing out to the empty parking lot, you’re met with the loud revving of the Ducati and the sight of Yoongi wearing his helmet, looking over his shoulder at you through the open visor.

“Min Yoongi, don’t you dare leave me here!” you yell, stopping in your tracks when he flips down the visor, throws up a peace sign and zooms onto the street.

Your jaw drops. That. JERK! He can’t be serious. You run out to the end of the lot, looking up and down the empty stretch of road but he’s nowhere in sight, just the descendo of the engine hanging in the air.

The engine grows louder and he zips by you, sitting straight, one hand on the throttle, the other in the air, pointing a finger at you. Is he… laughing? It’s your turn to flip him off and you almost scream his name again when he suddenly pulls a sharp u-turn and heads back your way. You don’t expect it, but you’re incredibly impressed as he starts drifting in wide circles around you, his leg coming down to balance himself as the bike sharply turns, showcasing just how experienced he is and fuck if that isn’t attractive. And he knows exactly what he’s doing. Turning you on. But you pretend to be unbothered, crossing your arms as if this dangerous man on this dangerous bike isn’t looping around you like a vulture honing in on its prey.

“Are you done?” you tilt your head once he skids to a stop a few feet away in front of you, ignoring the ringing in your ears caused by his incessant drifting.

He switches off the engine and leans up, flipping the visor to reveal the top part of his face, arms dropping and crossing.

“Are you?” His dark muffled voice sends a shiver down your spine.

“What?”

“Done making a fool out of me.” Blowing a raspberry, you walk up to him, set the bag behind him with a wide grin.

“I don’t think you need me to do that.” He stares at you over his shoulder for a second before twisting around to grab the handlebars and just as he turns the ignition, your hand halts him by his elbow.

“You’re not gonna leave again.”

“Then get on.”

You watch, mesmerized, as he takes off the helmet and runs fingers through his hair, casually holding it over his shoulder for you to take.

This feels better, sitting behind him, arms around his waist, head between his shoulder blades so you can watch the trees lining the road and spot lights of the street lamps go by in a blur.

Alive. You feel so fucking alive. The danger of riding on this bike, trusting this man with your life once again. Stretching out your arm, you let the wind fly freely through your fingers, helmet blocking your periphery from catching the turn of his head for a few seconds before focusing back on the road.

He parks the bike in the same spot as before and you get off and return the helmet.

“Usually when guys go out of their way to show off like you did, they’re trying to compensate for something. Just letting you know.”

He looks at you with night in his eyes as he steps up in front of you, peering directly into your soul, and the pit of your stomach rolls with heat.

“You know damn well that I don’t have anything to compensate for,” he says slyly, eyes flickering to yours in a way that enthralls you. Oh, this cocky bastard. If only he wasn’t so fucking right.

“Or maybe you need to be reminded.”

“Isn’t that why you got these?” you ask, shaking the bag in his face.

“I also need to restock my wallet.”

You scoff, pointing at yourself. “And I’m the slut?”

He grins and your cheeks heat when he just stares for a moment, then takes off in the direction of the hotel without another word.

As you reach the stairs of the building to your room, he stops and you turn to him looking down to the stretch of neatly tailored lawn sitting across from the buildings, a few tables and chairs with closed umbrellas spread out in front of the stone wall, the dark ocean a pretty view from afar.

“It’s about to rain, so I’m gonna go smoke. I’ll be right back.”

“Can I come?”

“No.” He turns away and your heart cries to go after him, like some clingy, ankle-biting dog.

Stopping after a few steps, he looks back at you pouting and tilts his head.

“Don’t you do what you want anyway?” The dark night can’t hide your bright smile as you bound up to him.

He settles on the table closest to the short-stacked stone wall, wiping off the seat with the end of his sleeve before sitting down and taking out a box of cigarettes and a lighter from his jacket pocket. You want nothing more than to sit in his lap again, and, thankfully, there’s an old spot of something white and dirty on the opposite chair that the rain didn’t wash away.

So without warning, you approach him and ignore his repeated look of confusion as you invite yourself into his lap again with an arm around his neck.

“Um, there’s a chair over there.”

“It has bird shit on it,” you reply simply, adjusting yourself to sit sideways, legs hung over his knees. His arms hover in the air.

“So?”

“Would you sit there?”

“No.”

“Then shut up.”

Disregarding the click of his tongue, you lean over to try and snatch away his cigarette, but he holds it up out of your reach.

“This is my last cigarette and you already owe me one.” You sigh indignantly and lean back against the armrest, gawking as he pats the box against his palm to discharge the final cigarette, crushing the cardboard as he lifts the stick to hang loosely between his lips. He fires it up with an attractive flick of the lighter and cup of his hand around the end, sucking in a drag and letting the stick sit between his teeth as he pockets the empty box and lighter. Smoke filters out of the corner of his mouth as he removes the cigarette with two fingers, blowing the stench to the side, away from you. A string tugs from your heart at the considerate gesture. You redirect your attention to the design on the front of his jacket, grabbing the side to inspect it more closely.

“Is this a tiger?”

“Mhmm.” Is his response, tone disinterested as he flicks ash. Some falls on your thigh and he lightly brushes it away. His touch burns.

“Your favorite animal?” He shakes his head, still doesn’t look at you, blows more smoke away.

“It’s just a design.”

As you watch him smoke, the cigarette slowly withering, he lifts his hips to reach into the back pocket of his jeans, crotch rubbing the back of your knees, making your thighs squeeze together. He multitasks checking his phone and taking a drag, a frown appearing at something he does or doesn’t see on his screen. A thought occurs to you that creates a sinkhole in your chest.

“Are you expecting a call from your girlfriend or something?”

“Why, would that piss you off?” He remarks in a mocking tone, and you start to get up but his arm around your waist and a throaty chuckle traps you in place.

“I wouldn’t have fucked you if I had one. I would’ve still wanted to, but I do have a bit of self control over here.”

“You? A man? Self-control?”

“We’re not all disgusting pigs,” he mutters.

“Well, you’re a rare breed.” Lifting his head mid-drag, his eyebrows raise, a subtle smirk on the corner of his lips.

“So I bet you feel real lucky you met me.”

“Is your- oh wow, look at that,” you pretend to muse, putting your hands up to the side of his head as if measuring it. “Your head’s getting bigger. Not a good look for you.”

With a roll of his eyes, he waves your hands away, unlocks his phone to scroll through his messages that hold no new notifications. Staring at his screen, the desire to have your number and thread on there increases, a lump forming in your throat, unsure if you should cross into that boundary.

“No girlfriend,” he assures you, locking his phone to let it fall face down in his lap. “I’m checking to see if my deposit came through. I’m shit broke until then.”

Your eyes rove over his side profile, going back to that scene in the poker room, how blankly yet confidently he slid all of his chips into the center of the bet, thinking he had the winning hand.

“I could tell you’re a pro at poker, why did you put so much at risk?”

He sighs and looks away, staring across the compound as he takes another drag.

“Because you really sucked at first, and I thought you were just some dumb, overzealous kid who didn’t know what she was doing playing with the big boys like that. But you’re good, Angel. Too good, and I fell for it.”

“You’re the dummy,” your tone is soft, touched by his genuine admission and acknowledgement of your skills. You press a finger into his temple and push a little. He leans away with a small smile.

“I know.”

The ocean is dark and covered in white-caps, brewing in preparation for the storm. Listening to the waves crashing down below, you think back to your musings in the shower.

“Maybe I owe you for stabbing a dude for me.” Wind blows in your direction as he peers at you unsurely.

“I’m no hero.”

You shrug. “I just want to pay you back for going through all of that trouble.”

“Wouldn’t it make me a prick to take your money for something like that?”

“Not if I’m offering it.”

As you wait for him to argue, your phone buzzes in your hoodie and you quickly pull it out, anxiety flashing when ‘biggest bro’ flashes on the call screen.

“Oh, hang on, sorry, my brother’s calling.” You clamber out of his lap and stand, answering when you’re a few feet away.

“Hey,” you say quietly, somewhat relieved to finally hear from Jin. Even though if he knew where you were, he wouldn’t be. “What are you doing calling me on my regular cell?”

“Well, honey, I haven’t heard from you otherwise and oh, I don’t know. Wanted to make sure you’re still alive. Is that okay? How were your summer classes?”

You smile, start pacing in front of the stone wall. “I barely survived, but I made it out. And I’ve made a lot of progress on my project ideas.”

“That’s good to hear, kiddo. Send me some pictures of your designs one of these days. Any other good news you want to tell your big brother?”

“Like what?”

“Hmm. Like are you seeing any booooooys you might want to bring home some day?”

You cringe, a bit spooked by your brother’s 6th sense for knowing everything that goes on in your life. You spare a quick glance to the boy sitting behind you on his phone, turning your back to him just as he looks up at you, and walk a little further away.

“Like you’d approve of them,” you grumble. You’re sure as shit he wouldn’t approve of that man, especially if he found out about your little tryst in a fucking cleaning closet, at an illegal gambling ring no less. What Jin doesn’t know won’t kill him.

“Well, not if they’re jerks!”

“I could bring home a literal prince, and you and bro would interrogate him like he was threatening national security.”

He laughs. “Oh, come on. You know I want you to find someone nice who makes you happy.”

“How can I do that if I move around every eight months?” you ask defensively, that bitterness for your situation enforced onto you by him and your father bubbling to the surface. “I don’t think I’m gonna meet anyone who’d want to be with me like that.”

Silence hangs over the line. “You never know.”

You roll your eyes. He underestimates the kind of men that are around everywhere you go. They barely want to stay the night, much less follow you to the ends of the earth. You feel a prick of wonder if the man whose eyes you can feel on your back would.

“Well, either way, I’m too busy to date. Maybe I’ll have to wait to move back home to settle down,” you rush out, eager to put an end to this topic. “Speaking of which, do you think I can come back to see bro for his birthday?”

You can sense through another bout of Jin’s prolonged silence a big ‘No.’

“It’s not a good idea, honey. Not right now, he’s not doing well.” Jin takes a deep breath. “He almost relapsed.”

Your heart drops and you have to squat to combat the nausea filling your gut.

“That just makes me want to come home even more.”

“He doesn’t want you seeing him like this.”

Your palm lands against your forehead. “So what, am I just never going to get to see either of you again? Like I’m just gonna go the rest of my life living abroad? Do you know how much I hate the idea of that?”

Dead air meets the line again and you stand, suddenly overwhelmed by the notion that he might never let you.

“We’ll talk more about that when you finish with school, I want you to focus on your studies. Don’t worry about your brother, he’ll be alright.”

You do worry. You worry so much about him, sometimes you can’t sleep at night. You almost tell Jin that you’re in Jeju, that you could take a flight home tomorrow and just see them real quick but you have a feeling he would be less than enthusiastic and might turn it into a whole lecture about how irresponsible it is for you to fly back home unannounced. Among other things.

“Whatever.” You peek back to where Yoongi’s staring at his dark screen.

“Hey, don’t be like that, okay? This is just something we-” But you’re over this. There’s no point in arguing with him. He never lets you win.

“Sorry, I’m gonna go now.”

“Honey, I don’t want you to be upset.”

“I’m not,” you lie in a grumble. “I’m kind of with someone, so I should probably get back.”

“Oh?” his tone changes to curiosity. Oops. “Who is this ‘someone’?”

“A friend. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Hmm, alright,” he sounds unconvinced. “Well, be safe, you hear? And don’t let me go this long without hearing from you unless you want me to go gray with worry.”

“Don’t you already dye your hair?”

“Yah, you little punk! I’ll get you back for that one.”

“Sure you will. I’m hanging up now. Love you. Tell bro I love him too and that it wouldn’t hurt to call me once in a while.”

“I will. Love you too, honey. Call me in a couple days.”

“Yes, sir.” He chuckles, says bye, and waits for you to hang up.

Dropping the phone from your ear, you stare at it while contemplating whether or not you should call Jungkook, but turn and head for Yoongi when you doubt he would even pick up.

You sit back down on his lap like it has your name on it. He huffs in annoyance but still wraps his arm around your waist and rests his hand holding the nearly finished cigarette on your knee.

“Does your brother usually call this late?” he queries, voice soft and a touch hesitant.

“Now who’s being nosy?”

“You eavesdropped on me earlier!” You smile, stretching your arm on the back of the chair.

“He thinks I’m still abroad.”

“Are you supposed to be?”

“Mhmm. I was gonna go home and surprise my other brother for his birthday, but turns out that would be a bad idea.”

“Damn, two brothers? That’s gotta be tough.”

“Yeah, they’re both older. And annoying as fuck.”

“So you get it from them.” You can’t argue with that.

“Why’s it a bad idea to go home?” he asks softly after a stretch of quietude, waves crashing in the distant background. Your cheek turns to look at him, mildly bewildered, his eyes flitting between you and the ground.

“Are you trying to get to know me or something?” you deflect. Because that’s not a can of worms you really want to open right now.

“No, just making conversation.” He shrugs, a pout on his lips that mirrors the one that appeared when he told you his name.

“You didn’t want to do that earlier.”

“Fucks’ sake,” he mutters under his breath, ducking his head to lift the cigarette. “It’s easier for you to just call me a fucking jerk.”

“You’re a fucking jerk.” He chuckles while taking a drag, exhaling smoke through his nostrils.

“And I’m trying not to be one right now, okay?”

“Well, don’t wear yourself out.”

“You’re gonna do that for me when we go back in, right?” He cheekily winks, demeanor doing a 180, and you mimic being annoyed but really you’re imagining all the ways you could do just that.

“Y’know, you have a really good libido for such an old man.”

His smirk flips to a scowl and when you laugh at his disdain, he pushes at your waist, a little harder than you think he meant to because you end up slipping off of his lap and onto the ground with a surprised squeal.

“Oh, shit!” he exclaims, reaching down for you as you groan in mild pain from your ass falling on the hard, wet lawn. You glare up at him when he visibly can’t hold back his amusement while he tries to grab your elbows to help you up but you only slap his hands away.

“I didn’t mean to push you.” He’s still laughing when you manage to get up and walk away but he grabs your wrist and you look back to see him throwing down his cigarette, a grin on his face as he doesn’t let you out of his grip.

“Hey, c’mere.”

“No,” you mumble stubbornly.

“Is your ass okay?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would.”

“Get lost.”

“No.”

He tugs you close and smirks now that you’re speechless, hands daring to go lower, waiting for you to have a problem, but you don’t, just allow him to glide his large palms to your ass.

“Feels okay to me.” He gives a squeeze and even though heat creeps down into your gut at the lust pooling in his eyes, you put your hands on his chest and push. He steps back with a grin and lunges after you with a hand on your elbow, laughing lowly when you playfully fight him off but he doesn’t let go.

Then a bolt of lightning strikes the atmosphere, freezing you in place, and he steps up next to you, unphased as you wait for the impending clap of thunder. Rain cascades from above and you both look up to the sky, droplets falling on your faces as you stare at the night darkened by the fast moving storm clouds. Your eyes lock and you share a look that reflects something you can’t describe - A boom shakes the world around you, nerves jumping and driving you to take off back towards the hotel, not realizing until you look over your shoulder that Yoongi’s hand is in yours as he runs behind you, a wild smile on his face.

Just as you reach the stairs, you glance down with wide eyes at both of your empty hands.

“I left the bag!” you exclaim, flinching as lightning flashes again. He looks over the distance you just crossed and jogs back over without hesitation or urgency despite the heavy winds.

Hugging yourself as you shiver under the onslaught of stinging rain, you silently beg him to hurry up as he strides back over to overshadow you, staring down with a furrow between his brows and a blink at your lips. Even though you want to interpret the way he’s looking at you through his wet bangs sticking on his face, you want to get the fuck out of the storm but as soon as your foot turns to dart up the stairs, his hand curls around the back of your neck and pulls you forward until you’re up on your toes. Pulse stuttering and eyebrows rising in shock and awe as his mouth collides with yours, you’re rendered still and breathless as he steps up to press your drenched bodies together, kissing you fervently, tipping your head up for a better angle. Storm water pours between you, and you both taste it after his tongue swipes over your bottom lip, droplets rolling down his face and into your mouth and you drink it up along with the taste of him. You don’t know what’s gotten into this man, but whatever it is, you’re living for it. You just wish, in this moment, you weren’t in the middle of a storm having the life kissed out of you.

“We’re gonna catch a cold if we keep making out in the rain,” you murmur, lips still brushing his.

“You can’t get sick just from some rain,” he retorts. You roll your eyes and tip up to kiss him chastely before twisting around to run up the stairs, not looking back as you shakily unlock the door. When his presence emerges behind you, a nervous smile breaks out on your face as you finally turn the key. The sky roars again, forcing out a laugh of adrenaline as you barrel into the door to hastily get inside.

Thank you so much for reading!! This is a terrible place to cut off but I had to split this into another part I'm sorry this chapter is taking a lot out of me and I started a new job so I'm dealing with the adjustment.

prelude part 3 will be out soon so we can move on lol. And it will be mostly smut 😅 and some yoongi pov

Comment or send an ask if you enjoyed reading and/or if you want to be added to the taglist!! (Pls have some indication on your blog that you are an adult or I will not add you!)

Feedback is appreciated - I’d love to know your thoughts!! And i love to yap in general lol

xxx - claret

masterlist

taglist:

@polarnightmyg @mar-lo-pap @wonh0oe @lixies-favorite-cookie @viankiss @futuristicenemychaos @busanbby-jjk @jajabro

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yerimacoustic · 20 hours ago

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𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙚 🤍 𝙟𝙤𝙨𝙝𝙪𝙖 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

summary: after attempting to steal from the wrong man, you and joshua are forced to mend your own mistake and find out more about each other on the way.

content warnings: royalty au, fantasy au, joshua x female reader, inspired by tangled, obviously, lost prince!joshua and thief!reader, lots and lots of angst, swearing, kissing eventually, more tags to come!

a/n: this is a TEASER for an upcoming joshua fic that i pinky promise i will actually finish and upload. this is also dedicated to my favorite moot @02shuuu who gave me the idea and is so encouraging thank youuuu🫶🏻

“look.. you’ve got great aim, i’ll give you that. but was throwing that apple really necessary?” you grimaced while your fingers graced over the large bruise forming on your temple.

“you’re lucky i didn’t throw anything else. or call the royal guards, for that matter,” joshua countered, ignoring the guilt that crept through him upon seeing the darkened spot adorning your skin.

you scoffed, unamused, “i’m sure they’ve got bigger issues to worry about than some petty theft. like that missing prince.”

“..what?” joshua raised an eyebrow.

you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. apparently the age old tale of the prince’s disappearance wasn’t common knowledge.. “you mean you don’t-“ you paused, snickering. “have you been living under a rock?”

joshua bowed his head at your words, staring at the dark blue vial in his hand. the stopper was nowhere to be found, the bottle completely empty. a trail of darkened, almost burnt grass beneath his feet signaled where the liquid had spilled in your scuffle.

“well..” you sighed loudly and slapped your knees while rising to your feet. “this has been lovely. one of my most.. notable first meetings. but i really must be going.”

“not so fast,” joshua protested in a gentle tone, keeping an iron grip on your dark cloak. you were rendered motionless. “you’re going to help me fix this.”

“um..” you let your voice trail off, eyes briefly flicking to the dark sky above you as if to feign contemplation. “no can do. i’ve gotta find another way to settle some debts i have, i’ll spare you the details.”

you took another step, only to be halted once again by joshua’s firm grip on your cape. “lemme ask you something: do you have any idea who you just tried to steal from??”

“no, and i don’t really care,” you stated pointedly.

joshua furrowed his eyebrows, taken aback. “regardless.. the potion’s ruined now because of you. someone worked really really hard, traveling night and day across kingdoms, spending night after night with their shoulders hunched over the cauldron to perfectly craft this particular potion. and now it’s wasted. and because of you! do you really want that on your conscience?”

you furrowed your eyebrows, once again unamused by his words. “since you asked.. i’m actually more worried about what’s going to happen to me now that my uh.. client won’t get what they want. so.. no, can’t say i am.”

joshua sighed, clearly exasperated. he rose to his feet, the worn fabric of your cloak still bunched around his fingers and effectively keeping you from moving. “look, we’ve got.. three days to get all of the ingredients back and remake the potion. if you help me, i’ll make sure there’s enough for both of us.”

“and why would i do that? how am i supposed to trust you?” you countered, folding your arms.

“because i know you’re desperate,” joshua told you with a smirk. “and frankly i am too. and i’m not really taking no for an answer.”

you were taken aback by his words and more accurately, the way he still managed to speak with such a charming tone. “and how are you supposed to trust me?”

“well.. i guess all i can do is just hope you won’t let me down.” he paused, letting go of your cloak in favor of grabbing onto your horse’s reins. a shit eating grin tugged at his lips as he looked over his shoulder to see you.. absolutely flabbergasted. he pats the saddle, nodding his head. “ladies first.”

#seventeen #joshua hong #seventeen fanfic #seventeen au #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #hong jisoo #joshua hong x reader #seventeen masterlist #seventeen x you #joshua hong x you #joshua hong imagines #joshua hong fluff #hong jisoo x reader #hong jisoo fluff #hong jisoo imagines #seventeen imagines #seventeen joshua #svt joshua

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theoneandonlysemla · 18 hours ago

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Sujamma Sundas

[This week Sujamma has been brushing up on his literacy. It's hard being a humble Nix-Hound. Reading doesn't come naturally to him, but he's doing his best! This week Sujamma is hoping you will help him learn to read!

Post a favorite scene, favorite sentence, favorite dialogue, favorite anything from any fic you've written! If you haven't written any fic, feel free to share your ideas. If you don't have any, recommend a friend's fic!]

Tagged by @skyrim-forever and @dirty-bosmer! Thank you <3

Tagging: @vanilleeistee @bougainvillea-and-saltwater @elavoria @firefly-factory @hircines-hunter @illumiera @lillxart @ladytanithia @pocket-vvardvark @rakaiawriter @sheirukitriesfandom @thequeenofthewinter

Honestly, I was like "uuuuhhhh, what did I even write in my life" at first but then I remembered that one specific scene in Dealings with Daedra: Boethiah's Wrath that always makes me so happy when people reach it while reading! That's the one.

Nevri and Morotar have been on the road and poor Nevri had to fight her way through a draugr infested nordic ruin. They now have reached an inn, where they stay the night and Nevri helped herself to a bottle of wine. Let's say, the two of them had a not so pleasant conversation and Nevri left, to wash the rest of the draugr blood from her body. [I'd love to put the entire scene here, but that would be like 2,5k words, so take a snippet:]

A knock on the door startled her, interrupting her train of thoughts. She sat up in the tub, one arm covering her breasts and the other grabbing for the hilt of her sword. Her heartrate rose. She was ready to fight, in this case, completely bare.

“Who’s there?” She uttered, feeling that she was no longer master over the movements of her tongue.

Instead of an answer, the door opened. Back through the archway she was able to see it, but the light over on the other side of the room was dim. Too dim to recognize anyone who had entered. Only a tall silhouette. Her heart skipped a beat. What did he want in here?

“What’s the matter?” She prattled, cursing the amount of wine she had drunk.

Still no word, but she heard heavy steps on the stone floor. The figure traversed the archway and light fell on his body. Nevri’s guess was right, the Altmer stood in front of the bath. The sword still in hand, she let herself sink in a little deeper, her black hair floated around her body. Automatically she crossed her legs and shifted a bit to the side, turning in the tub. Expectantly she stared at the High Elf.

“What is the matter?” She repeated her question, this time slow, to not make it too obvious that she was drunk.

He did not wear his armour anymore, only the boots were a reminder of it. He looked over her and Nevri would have liked to vanish. She did not know, how much of her naked body he was able to see, but every little part of her bare, gray skin was too much.

“As you have been gone for quite a while, I found myself in the responsibility to check on you.”

“Check on me?” She repeated. “Why would you?”

“You are the one who pays me. It would be quite inauspicious if you were to drown drunken in a tub.” He sounded reproachful.

“Canmal pays you, not me. So, you can let me drown in peace,” Nevri answered and let the blade fall out of her hand.

Coin was the only reason, he cared about her wellbeing. She knew that, but it still stung. Without giving him any further looks, she let herself sink under the water. She held her breath, eyes open. And she counted. One, two, three… Hopefully he would be gone soon. Thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight… She could not hear any steps, but the water around her ears may deadened the sound. Sixty-four, Sixty- She had to resurface. With her hair sticking to her face, she emerged from the water. She rubbed it out of her face and to her surprise, Morotar still stood next to her.

“You have checked on me. I am fine. You can leave,” she nagged.

Instead of leaving he held a towel in her direction. Reluctantly she took it, giving him a confused look.

“Out,” he said in his most strict voice. “Now.”

“No?” She answered, but being very unsure of her response.

He made a big step closer to the tub, now standing directly in front of it. Looking down on her, his blue eyes fixated her. His expression was unreadable, frozen in place. Nevri pulled her legs closer to her body, clutching the towel in front of her. She felt her heartbeat fasten even more; shivers of excitement rushed through her. Her mouth was dry and to withstand the eye contact was more than exhausting. Morotar bowed forward, his head was in line with hers. She breathed in his smell and felt the warmth emanating from his body.

“If you do not leave this tub right now, I will pull you out and throw you into your bed. Without granting you to cover your bareness. And maybe, I will change my mind on the way and toss you into the little lake outside, as you are so unwilling to leave the water. You would be sober in no time.”

Nevri swallowed hard and her gaze flitted to the pile of clothes and armour pieces on the floor. No, she really did not want to leave the bathroom without her garments or her armour. She had no choice but to obey his order.

“At least turn around if you insist on staying in here,” she mumbled.

#dealings with daedra #tag game #sujamma sundas #tesblr

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graysparrowao3 · 3 days ago

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WIP Whenever

Thank you @ladyofcrowsandcoffee for the tag! Go check the adorable snippet of Isadora and Clairice, Tavs of @ladyofcrowsandcoffee and @barbwillbrb!

Passing along some no pressure tags @crowwolf @underdark-dreams @threerattsinatrenchcoat @keepyourstyle @redroomroaving

Here's a Rolan snippet and a Rugan/Aradin snippet from their respective next chapters for which ever tickles your fancy.

The Elturian Prodigy WIP snippet:

Leather cuffs hung loose around his forearms, mantle crushing the knots across his shoulders. Robes gathered in the hollow of his gut. The Savior of Elturel, that’s what they’d call him if he could pull this off. Not a wretched and forgotten mage of little note, they’d hear tales of his name in cities across the continent, epic ballads of exaggerated deeds sung and biographies of dubious factual merit written. The wizard that pulled a city out of Hell. A tiefling, no less. All he needed to do was make it to High Hall, scour the records for whatever despicable dealings had occurred between those who sit on thrones and clouds, and find the loophole or footnote that would lead him to the key to undoing it. Compared to fighting to survive across the wasteland of a besieged city a little research should hardly be taxing. Any worthy apprentice of Lorroakan would be able to do it. Rolan’s attention flashed over to a strained grunt. Cal’s eyelids twitched as he slept, a stammering whine leaked trembling from his sleep. Lia laid a hand on his shoulder. With her gentle shake Cal gasped, staring up with eyes like roaring braziers. Lia’s fingers ached for a blanket she could pull up and tuck under his chin. She ran them gently over his hair. “Go back to sleep.” Cal forced acrid air through his coarse throat. He pulled his knees ever tighter to his chest. As his head returned to the floor, Lia’s blazing, sunken eyes met Rolan’s. She leaned forward, corset slung loosely around her waist it dug uncomfortably into her hips, hair matted to her face. “We are getting out of here, Rolan.” The elder tiefling fixed his jaw, the swell of his rage twisting his lip. With nothing but his own wit and skill of thought he had uncovered the secret to their banishment, and his natural talent had fought devils themselves. They needed only to go a little further. He held her gaze, returning a fierceness of conviction. “I’ll make sure of it.”

How to Keep a Man and Lose a Devil WIP snippet from the next chapter, Step 7: Dance. (This is a proper 'WIP' example of what this fic looks like before I start pulling dialogue together with action, description etc.)

“You’re so full of shit, Rugan.” “One minute you want to be swanning across a dancefloor like some twit who knows what a damn pirouette is, the next you’re going off like I’m some poor lad you pity fucked." ... "I didn’t get the devil involved to have you hang about because you feel guilty. If you’re just gonna leave when all this is over, do me a favour and feck off now. I’d rather be on my tod than strung along by false promises. Had enough of those to last me a lifetime.” ... “Dance with me.” “Was being serious mate, don’t know how.” “Make it up.” “Improvise.” ... “Better be careful," Aradin let his head rest back against Rugan's shoulder. "I might get the wrong idea.” The older man's fingers played in the silky lining of the waistcoat. “What idea is that?” “You want this to be a thing.” Shifting their weight from one side to the other, a swaying embrace. “Have me be your man.” “That what I’ll tell people, is it? That fellow over there, one with the curly brown hair, surly look on his face, that’s my man. Do contracts together, we do. Me be the brains and you be brawn? Sorting this city out one measly gold at a time. Give you a big ol’ peck on the cheek when we get home, toast another job well done. Tuck you all snug in at night. After another round of the best sex of your life, of course.” He nestled beside the younger man's cheek. “That sort of thing?” Aradin's eyes were closed. “Mm.”

#bg3 rolan #bg3 cal #bg3 lia #bg3 rugan #bg3 aradin #bg3 fanfic

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moeblob · 20 days ago

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follow up to this

#detroit become human #gavin reed #rk900 #reverse au #human!connor gets to like metal music as a treat ok its what he deserves #nines like hey wait no not actually the metal i had in mind wait no stop shouting please everyone is going to look over #please i cannot get in trouble i have a very good record and you continue to get me in trouble #and gavin shuts up to stare at him because thats a huge lie and they both know it #nines isnt violent but he does talk back a lot so its just a lot of written warnings and documentations on stuff hes said #as leverage more than anything but yeah not a clean record dont act innocent #(this is all headcanons dont mind me i have read some reverse fics and agree with some takes and disagree with others)#(its fine im way too lazy to learn to write better so the only times you gotta read my dumb ideas are in tags)

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neonhellscape · 6 months ago

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I'm beating that tech priest with a crowbar again

#pasqal rogue trader #warhammer rogue trader #listen okay i like beating him up and i was thinking about and i then decided to give him [more] mental illness by removing all his tech #listen he is the kinda guy [to me] whod hysterical laugh while a screwdriver gets wiggled around in his eye socket okay #also hello eucharys helloooo [theyre partner's rt]#my pasqal likes them in the way youd look at an odd little creature going about its business and intermittently give it a pat on the head #also this is 50% his deal with heinrix [who is dating eucharys]. heinrix is a bastard and pasqal Will smack him over the back of the head #he may not have the Literal authority over someone from the inquisition but he's studied heinrix enough to know how to make him cry #and heinrix knows it. also heinrix is prey to the same thing marazhai is [pasqal just switching off his emotions and not giving a shit]#pasqal is also faster at decapitating people but has the tact to do so with discretion/away from them. the other two fail at this #he keeps them both in line and thus eucharys' sanity intact. theyve had a hard time but are trying to be kind despite it and. well.#stares at the imperium. that might not be going great for them.#this is basically unrelated to the fic im just chatting in tags as i do

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unluckedtj · 1 year ago

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i be been rocking back and forth while reading part 6-8 this is the COOLEST WAY TO BRING BACK NAI. ??!?!?! THE BRANCHES ? THIS WORKS WITH VASH’S ROOTS oh my god it’s so over. it’s gonna plague my head again what oh my go I FEEL LIKE A WINNER

Beware of major Trigun spoilers!

Trigger warning for violence, blood, gore and body horror! Hooray!

If you want a little background music, try listening to "Everybody knows that you're insane" by QOTSA. I was listening to this when I worked out the chapter in my head and it fits Nai SO well, especially the lyrics! Yeah so, both boys are back from being human to part human/part plant now...I hope you like how this played out, even though it got a lot bloodier than the first parts. Please imagine me continuously knocking Nai on the head with a squeaky toy hammer. This is what I'm doing here in blorbo speach. Also, let me know what you think! I'd love to hear your thoughts and any feedback is welcome, as always! <3

#BACK IN THE TAGS FREAKING OUT LETS GO #I MADE MY FRIEND READ THIS THE OTHER DAY SHE WAS IN SHOCK THE WHOLE TIME #i sent the new parts to her and she just went WHAT #glad someone was as hyper about this as me #it’s 11pm i’m gonna think about this for the next 2 hours aren’t i #when the. the nai characterizationohmy god #YOU GET IT YOUUUU YOU GET IT #this comic series could make me eat drywall #op i’m sorry that im yelling in the tags again i hope i can be your little circus clown once more #i need to reread this #i’m gonna reread this #my sister had to hear me squeal about this for a whole 2 minutes i feel bad #she told me to shut up at some point because i literally started jumping i deadass went YIPPIE #it is 11 pm #maybe i should draw this au more #sure as hell gonna draw nai after this like LOOK AT HIM?#AND REM?#REM MAIN CAST? HOLY SHIT?#this au bro it’s gonna make me fill up my notebooks i’m supposed to be taking notes not drawing #in my notes you see vash vash vash vash nai nai vash wolfwood vash nai nai nai nai REM nai nai legato??? nai vash nai n #no like seriously i feel like this au and like 2 fic series have kick started me drawing trigun aus of my own #i can’t stop drawing roleswap nai and now that i’m seeing MORE GREAT NAI CHARACTERIZATION #I WILL NOT ESCAPE #i think your nai’s should explode (respectfully)#if i spelled anything wrong its bc i keep going back to my photos app to stare at one of the nai panels drawn in this comic series #specifically the one where rem comes in and nai is all fucked up and he just has this look on his face #and then the one where he says you were scared #OUGHHHHH im dead im dying im dead this fancomic needs to make a guest appearance at my funeral

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fairyysoup · 7 months ago

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easy living

pairing: eric (a quiet place: day one) x fem!reader

summary: You ran into Eric on accident. Now you're facing the end of the world together. How do you get to know someone when you can't make a sound?

tags: smut, oral (f receiving), dry humping, piv sex, silent fucking, angst, hurt/comfort, survival, discussions of trauma, slight suicidal ideation by reader, words of affirmation as a love language, stay silent or die (obviously), strangers to lovers, apocalyptic, the cheesiest ending bc it's me writing, billie holiday lyrics bc it's also me writing

a/n: here it is, the silent fucking fic i promised y'all a year ago when this movie was announced. it was supposed to be like 1-2k words of plain smut but then I got too into the theory of what one does when you can't show affection through words and I genuinely discovered a tidbit of trauma I didn't know I had while writing it so I will be talking to a therapist about it, and also I'm literally out here baring my soul lol.

i also want to thank @bigtiddythanos @raraeavesmoriendi and @maximoffwxnda for supporting me throughout this writing process <3 this fic literally would not have been finished or published without y'all

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

The rain has ended. Morose, you stare up at the ceiling, wondering when you’ll get something close to free reign with your voice again.

Of course the world had to end while you were at fucking Whole Foods.

You’ll miss certain things. Things you always took for granted, that you never even considered made a lot of noise until now. Typing on the computer. Making stir fry. Microwaving a burrito at 3am. Lighting a match, washing your face. Taking a shower.

And other things, too, that are more obvious, like singing while making cookies. Slurping the bottom of a milkshake. You’ll never be able to have a pet bird. You’ll never be able to see another concert again, and damn it if you didn’t really want those Glastonbury tickets a month ago. But it all just seems trivial, now. You don’t see why you shouldn’t just lay here on the couch forever.

On the other side of the coffee table there’s a gentle shuffling. Eric rouses as quietly as he can; at the very least, your apartment creates a hospitable enough environment that he isn’t startled awake. It’s so silent in the apartment that you can hear the slight shift in his intake of breath, the rustle of the pillow as he turns his head to look at you.

You want to look at him, but you fear that you’ll end up wanting to talk. So, you say nothing. You do nothing. You stare at the white paint on the ceiling and you wonder whether it would be better to get on one of the boats headed out into the water, or to move inland, away from people, away from sound. There has to be somewhere far enough away from the city that the… creatures won’t go, right?

Eric waves his hand in your periphery, so that you have no choice but to acknowledge that you know he’s awake. You have no choice but to turn your head and look into the depths of his eyes, and feel all the pain of the last 48 hours return to you. You’d been able to talk last night, just enough, in time with the rain and the thunder– enough to learn that he has family across the world.

You can’t imagine knowing that somewhere, across an ocean and half a world away, your parents may or may not be dead. No way to contact them, no way to know what’s become of them. You can’t even begin to fathom the fear that he’s feeling, as much as you’re despairing.

Eric’s big eyes tell you everything. Sadness and fear, and trying to grasp at the smallest hint of normalcy he can get. He blinks at you, and mouths, You okay?

No, you’re definitely not okay. Things are not okay. Things are broken and can’t be fixed. Things will never be the same again. He knows that, as much as you know that. But you nod anyway, even though you feel your heart beat a little bit slower than usual, like it wants to just go ahead and give up already. Tears prick at your eyes, and you have to close them before you let on that you’re lying.

Eric knows you’re lying, of course. How could anyone be okay, in this kind of situation? But he waits until you open your eyes, and then he mouths, Coffee?

You let out a small sigh of relief, and a smile that’s indescribably warm crosses your face. Even though he can’t make a sound, he knows exactly what to say.

You don’t have a coffee maker that doesn’t also make a ton of noise. But through some kind of witchcraft, Eric quietly empties two k-cups into a glass measuring cup and boils a soup pot full of water on the stove, and suddenly you have hot coffee in front of you.

On a notepad left on the counter, you write, Wish I had some tea for you.

Eric’s lips turn up at the edges, and he takes the pen from you. You’re able to doctor your coffee for about one second before he slides the notepad back to you.

Bloody American.

Your ensuing huff of a laugh is enough to make him turn pink around the ears, and he turns to place the dirty measuring cup into the sink. He reaches for the faucet, but then thinks better of it. You’ll have to figure out how to wash the dishes later.

You both drink your coffee in silence on the couch. You never considered yourself uncomfortable with silence; you’ve lived alone, you’ve gone for weeks without uttering a word before. But it’s so difficult to be sitting next to someone– someone you feel you could really get to like– and not be able to say a word. To make a sound, laugh or cry or snort or grunt.

You’ll never be able to know what Eric’s laugh sounds like, or listen to his favorite song with him, or watch some stupid rerun of Friends with him while ignoring your responsibilities. He’s right there next to you, he’s risked his life to save you once already, and yet he’s so far away. You’ll never get to know him in all the ways you want to. Will you ever really know him at all?

He’d created a diversion when one of the fucking things had you trapped in a corner, between a dumpster and a brick wall. He chucked a rock at a car and set off an alarm, and then ran with you down an alleyway, his arm wrapped tight around your waist. Eric looked so sad, following you like a lost puppy. He was fucking drenched, too, so you know he’d probably been through one hell of a morning. And then the rain started, and the creatures were confused and… well, you weren’t just gonna leave him, scared and alone.

You, too, were scared and alone.

Eric’s hand appears to brush away a tear that had begun to fall down your cheek, betraying your internal monologue. You look to him with puffy eyes, and he pulls his hand away, suddenly unsure of whether you’re okay with such an intimate gesture.

Your coffee cup meets the table with a quiet tap. You’re slow to move, but you scoot towards him, his arm still outstretched towards you, his eyes wide. Eric has the prettiest eyes in the world, you think. You want to tell him so.

But you’re a little too choked up to form words, anyways. Your forehead meets Eric’s shoulder, and his arm comes around you before you can huff the first silent sob that brims up. He coos softly into your hair, so softly that you can barely hear it, but it conveys enough. It does enough.

The world is fucked. Your life is fucked. You have tunnel vision and you can only see things getting worse from here on; the only good thing you know anymore is holding you and caressing your head so gently that it pushes your tears out for you.

You’ll never get to see a movie in a theater, and smell the stale popcorn again. You’ll never drive down the highway with the wind in your hair. You’ll never ride a roller coaster or sing karaoke. You’ll never go to a club and have a drunken heart to heart with a stranger in a bathroom.

“Do you think it’s worth it?” You whisper, so faintly that it’s barely above a breath, your lips pressed to the shell of his ear. “To try to exist in a world where you have to pretend like you don’t exist?”

Eric pauses, holding you to him. You can see the wheels turning in his head, while he tries to figure out what to say. Then he turns his face to put his lips against your ear, the same way you’d done to him.

“I think it’s worth it to try to survive.” His breath tickles your skin when he whispers, “So survive with me, yeah?”

You nod solemnly, your tears threatening to rise up again. “I can’t stand not talking to you.” It’s so hard to keep your voice from cracking, from rising above the merest hint of a whisper, directly to him and no one or nothing else.

Eric takes it in stride. “You are talking to me.” He pulls back and bats his eyelashes, and you think, he oughta fucking know what that does to me.

“Not like this,” you breathe to him, because that’s really what it is– it’s a breath. A sigh. A gust of air and nothing else, barely anything that registers on your vocal chords. Your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him close to you. His hand, tightening on the middle of your back, holding you there. “I want to talk– I want to get to know you.”

“Well, this isn’t so bad, is it?” Eric turns his head. His forehead nudges yours at the temple, and you swear you see a flash of a smile on his face. “What do you want to know?”

His forefinger traces up and down, up and down, a gentle pattern that keeps you grounded. You bite your lip, trying to keep from letting the sounds come out too loud. You say the first thing that comes to mind. “What’s your favorite song?”

“Easy Living. Billie Holiday.”

“You’re kidding.” You’re blushing, hot in the cheeks. You’re imagining it; slow dancing in the kitchen with him while oldies plays on the radio. You didn’t think such an innocent question would send you spiraling like this, but it hurts worse to know that it will probably never happen.

“Absolutely not.”

“Somehow… I can’t picture you listening to jazz.”

“Picture it all you want,” he whispers. Eric swallows, and continues, “My granddad used to have these records, and we used to play them on Christmas. But when– when he died, the records went missing. I couldn’t find the song until a couple years ago,” he explains, and his voice cracks just slightly into a murmur.

You both freeze. You wait for the sound of creatures coming down the hallway, busting down the walls… nothing happens. You let out a breath, and you pull his face closer to yours. His eyes flick over your face, and you put your lips against his ear.

“You have to be so quiet. Can you do that for me?” Eric nods in your hands. “I wish we could do anything but this. I wish that we could have met in better circumstances. I wish… I wish I had known you before all of this. I think we would have had a lot of fun. But if this is the only way I can get to know you, and hear your voice now, I’ll take it.” You’re nodding as well now, like you’re trying to convince yourself of it. “I’m telling you this because I don’t know how long we have. Together, I mean. And I don’t want to waste it passing notes. Okay?”

“Okay.” He sounds clipped. His hand fidgets on your back, and you pull away to find him misty-eyed, his brows turned up. He fishes for words that don’t come, and then he nods. “Okay.”

Neither of you move. The atmosphere around you feels heavy, like it’s pressing in on all sides. Eric’s hand slides up your back and to your face, and you remember that you’re still holding his. You’re near sitting in his lap with how close you’ve become, and the realization of that feels like a punch to the gut.

You think you should pull away. You don’t.

Eric’s thumb traces a gentle arc across your bottom lip. It’s so featherlight it’s barely there– his eyes are honed in on your mouth, clearly lost in thought. You’d let him stay there as long as he wants, but you want every minute you can get. “Eric–”

He closes the gap and kisses you. The way you’d said his name– or not said it, rather, you sort of mouthed it against his thumb– had done the job you wanted it to. It feels like this was the obvious conclusion to the system you’d worked out, the close proximity and your shared fears. He’s scared, he said as much last night. You’re scared, you said so just now.

Nowhere to go, nothing else to do except be right here, living. Alive, together. Kissing Eric, and him pulling you close by the waist, so that you do swing your leg and seat yourself in his lap. And as much as you love talking, and it breaks your heart that you can’t jabber at him, there are some things you just can’t put into words. Like the way that his hand on the back of your neck lights you up inside, or that you can’t think of anything other than all the areas where his skin is touching yours, and how you suddenly wish there was way more of them.

It’s stupid how much you like him already, really. You can feel your nonexistent friends clucking their tongues and shaking their heads, saying, “One day? That’s all it takes? You find some guy at the end of the world and you fall in love in 24 hours?” And they’d be right– maybe it’s not love. Not yet, anyways. But you could see it easily becoming that. And that fact scares you even more.

Your hands find Eric’s chest and the frantic beating of his heart tells you nearly the same thing. You break the kiss, trying to quietly catch your breath without gasping like you’re half-drowning. It’s harder than you expected.

“Been wanting to do that all morning,” Eric whispers. And just like that you’re falling again, faster this time, like he’s just melted your wings right off and sent you plummeting.

You struggle to keep from gasping aloud when he kisses your jaw, just beneath your ear. It’s the lightest touch but you swear it burns, sears your skin.

Your hands find the back of the couch, twitchy fingers digging in to keep you steady. Your mouth finds his again, his tongue tasting of coffee, and Eric kisses you a bit harder now, a bit sloppier.

Breaking away, you open your eyes to find his wide, starstruck, his mouth hanging open like he’s been shocked beyond belief. You didn’t honestly intend for this to happen– you wanted to talk. But somehow this seems better, more appropriate.

How do you get your feelings across when talking isn’t really an option? When innocent attraction becomes… whatever this is?

You press a single finger to his plush lips, signaling exactly what you mean without a word. Quiet.

Eric purses his lips, kisses your finger without breaking eye contact. His pupils are blown out so far that the barest hint of golden brown surrounds them, glinting in the sunlight from the window.

You lean forward, until your mouth touches his ear. “Your eyes are so fucking pretty, Eric,” you whisper to him, and your teeth latch onto his earlobe to tug gently. You can’t help it– you grind your hips down into his lap, without even thinking of doing it. “You’re so pretty.”

Eric whimpers. It’s a soft sound, hollow in the back of his throat, but it’s still too loud for the world that you’re in. You clamp your hand down over his mouth, and his breath comes out sharp and hot over your knuckles as he tries to regain composure.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask him, whispering gently in his ear. Against you, he shakes his head no. “Want me to keep going?” Eric nods his head yes.

He’s shaking under you, his fingertips digging into your lower back like he can’t hold onto you hard enough. At the thought, your pulse pounds, blood positively humming through your veins.

You nuzzle his cheek, and give him the sweetest kiss you can while your hand is still clamped over his mouth insistently. “You have to be. Fucking. Silent. Do you understand?” He nods. “We can’t make a sound. Okay?”

Eric nods again, and keeps nodding until you let him go. If the rain was still pouring like earlier, you could tell him how much you want him, too. How you don’t want to be mean, you just don’t want to get hurt. This is a bad idea, all things considered. But Eric slides his hand down and cups your ass to lift you up a bit, and the words bad and idea suddenly fucking vanish from your vocabulary.

You stand long enough to kick off your sweats, your day old panties going down with them. You hadn’t dressed to be sexy yesterday, you dressed to get groceries. You don’t necessarily want Eric to see your faded cotton underwear with the stretched out elastic and multiple frayed holes. You don’t think it would add to your sex appeal right now.

He doesn’t notice the lack of a strip tease– he’s already taking you by the hips, not even waiting for you to shuck your t-shirt. He pulls until you’re stood in front of him, and then hooks your leg over his shoulder.

So. Eric doesn’t need to be asked to go down on you, he just does. The gentleman. His hands are firm on your ass as he nuzzles into the patch of hair between your legs, and the precarious balancing act makes you snatch onto the back of the couch again.

His tongue glides through the folds of your pussy slowly, methodically. You aren’t sure if he wants to take his time, or if he’s going slow so that he doesn’t make too much noise when doing it, but he latches onto your clit and sucks agonizingly softly, like he knows he should do it harder but won’t risk making you moan.

It’s so gentle, and it builds. Pretty soon, you’re having a tough time keeping your whimpers in, even when he’s basically just teasing you, flicking his tongue over your clit with even the barest pressure. Your head has fallen back on your shoulders, your hand now clasped over your own mouth to stifle your sighs.

Then, Eric’s hand glides up to splay across your lower back, and he sucks long and hard at your clit, and your hand squeezes murderously at the back of the couch while you ride out your orgasm on his tongue.

Knees buckling, you collapse into Eric’s lap. He has a doe-eyed look on his face that’s way too innocent after what he just did to you. With panting breath and shaking hands, you cup his rosy cheeks in your palms, shaking your head in disbelief.

Eric’s brows tilt in worry, like he did something wrong. He opens his mouth, but you put your fingers against his lips to silence him, and lean forward to breathe, “You’re too sweet for me, Eric.”

He traces his fingers lightly up your spine, and turns his head. “Maybe one day I won’t have to be sweet. Maybe then I can really fuck you.”

The sound of his whispering voice in your ear makes you shiver, your lust reaching a boiling point. The idea of him really fucking you– that this isn’t even him as normal, that he’s having to hold so much back– makes you burn hot all at once. That this isn’t something he’s planning on doing once. That there’s a ‘one day’ that he sees in the future with you in it.

With a nod, your breath catches in your throat. You find your way to his mouth again, kissing him desperately. You can taste yourself lingering on his lips, and your hips rock forward against his again.

Eric inhales sharply, stifling his own moan. You guess you have to take it just as slowly as he did, ease him into it. You work your hand beneath his unbuttoned fly and palm him, keeping your touch gentle against his hot skin. He shakes, his hands laid out against your spine, his eyes sparkling when he looks up at you.

You push your forehead against his as you sink onto his cock, letting yourself adjust to his size. His breath stutters as he tries to keep quiet, small puffs of air spilling out and meeting your electrified skin. You curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, rocking your hips just barely, settling into his lap.

This is more intimate than you can ever remember being with anyone, but right now it just feels right. Maybe it could be cathartic to fuck like a couple of animals in the face of doom, but Eric pulls your body flush against his, one strong forearm around your waist, and his nose nudges yours, and you think this is better. This is what you both need. Closeness. Sweetness.

There isn’t a lot of movement– you can’t risk it. You and Eric seem to be in agreement on that, because as soon as you start trying to move in earnest, he just pulls you back to him, his arm around your waist and his hand petting the back of your head.

Eric rocks his hips up into yours slowly, deeply, and it’s the depth of it and the slow sensuality that keeps you floating. Your clit catches on the patch of hair at the base of his cock each time you roll your hips with him, and you have to kiss him to keep from keening aloud. He doesn’t seem to mind it.

You know he’s close when he tucks his face against your neck, his arm tightening around you. “Feels so fucking good,” comes his whine in your ear, and you gently shush him, your hand resting on the back of his head to keep him muffled against your shoulder. You want so badly to look at his face when he cums, but there’s that pesky issue of staying alive, and that hinges on whether or not he can keep quiet when he does.

To his credit, he bites your shoulder and only whimpers a little bit. It’s just a squeak, but really, he could have been much louder about it, and then you would have both been in trouble. Imagine having to run for your life with your pants down.

Ever the gentleman, he keeps you there even after he’s spent and sensitive, his hand clamped down on your thigh to prevent you from moving. His thumb finds your clit, and he lifts his head to watch you, his hooded eyes trained on your face as he brings you to the edge and over it again. He watches the way your brows tilt up, the way you struggle to keep your own eyes open, and the silent moan that threatens to break past your parted lips.

Eric claps his hand down over your mouth before it can. Your eyes fly open, your cunt clenches down around him, and he bares his teeth as you cum hard. It’s cyclical, comes in waves as he continues to stroke you through it, as he keeps his hand clamped down on your mouth to keep you quiet.

To keep you quiet.

Feverish and exhausted, you come down with your chest against his, Eric’s head flopped back onto the backrest of the couch. Your knees fucking hurt and you have yet to get off of him, and you sort of dread the moment when you have to. But this means your mouth is positioned right next to Eric’s ear, and you’re nothing if not a talker.

“Eric?” you whisper, and he turns his head just enough to let you know he heard you. “I’m glad that I met you when I did. Even if it’s terrible timing, I’m glad we met.”

A sweet, tired smile flits across Eric’s beautiful face. He nudges his nose against your temple. “I’m glad, too.”

You shift off of him, and he squeezes your thigh just at the same time as he scrunches his face. He’s such a trooper about it, you kiss his cheek as you go, leaning over to grab a pair of earphones from the coffee table.

You hand one ear bud to him, watching as confusion crosses his face. He watches you type on your phone as he tucks the bud into his ear, and you the other.

On low volume, you listen to the soft piano and saxophone intro to an old jazz standard. Eric grins, his hand finding your cheek before he pulls you in for a kiss.

And then, Billie Holiday’s voice plays for only you two to hear.

Living for you is easy living, It’s easy to live when you’re in love And I’m so in love, There’s nothing in life but you.

#eric a quiet place day one #eric a quiet place x reader #a quiet place day one #roses*#eric x reader #eric a quiet place day one x you #eric a quiet place x you #eric a quiet place day one x reader #eric fan fiction #eric x you #joseph quinn

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sunshineyuyu · 19 days ago

Text

princess treatment (j. yh)

★ summary: you have a crush on jongho, but he’s chatting up someone else. so, you end up getting high and hooking up with yunho instead. ★ pairing: yunho x f!reader ★ genre: college, smut (mdni!) ★ word count: 4.3k ★ tags/warnings: weed & alcohol consumption, yunho calls reader princess, high sex, piv sex (with a condom!), vaginal fingering, spanking, choking, slight dom/sub undertones, ig under-negotiated kink?, big dick!yunho, yunho manhandles reader, yunho is taller than reader, yunho has tattoos lol, dirty talk, intentionally lowercase ★ notes: this is the prequel to the jongho fic chained and the final “part” of this series! yunho from chained was just a lil too hot for me to not write something for him too! let me know if i missed any warnings!! ofc beta’d by the bestie @starhwas-bunny ★ masterlist | read on ao3 | chained (jongho sequel)

you look so hot tonight. you’re wearing your new favorite top—with a deep deep cut that makes your chest the center of attention—and a pair of jeans that you know makes your ass look good.

all of this to hopefully attract the attention of one choi jongho, who you’ve been crushing on for the better half of the semester, since san introduced you to him. he’s built and tan and nice and smart and sexy.

and he’s currently leaning against a wall—cradling a red solo cup and swirling its contents like he’s james fucking bond or something—and chatting up some pretty blonde girl.

you practically feel smoke coming out of your ears as you stare at the two of them—the way jongho leans forward so that he can hear the girl amidst the blaring sounds of somebody come get her, she’s dancing like a stripper. ryujin puts a hand on your shoulder and the warmth of her palm makes you realize how tense you are. she shoves a beer into your hand.

“forget about him, honey,” she says. “he’s not worth it.”

“it’s not like he’s a fuckboy,” you whine, struggling to crack open the can with your recently cut nails. ryujin takes pity on you and opens it for you. you take a deep drink from it before wiping the edge of your mouth with your wrist. “he’s nice. he brought homemade coffee to class for me the other day.”

“mmm,” ryujin says. “i know, honey, but no boy is worth it. c’mon, let’s go play rage cage.”

you let ryujin pull you away to a different room, where the birthday girl yeji is parading around on wooyoung’s shoulders while spraying everyone with bubbly champagne. you don’t even really know yeji—she’s an acquaintance of an acquaintance, but you came because you wanted an excuse to get drunk and look hot and get jongho’s attention, only two of which you’ve managed to succeed in.

you finish the beer at an alarming rate and crush it in your fist.

“i’m gonna go get some air,” you say. “i’m not really feeling rage cage right now.”

“i’ll come with you,” ryujin says.

you venture to a different part of the house, trying to locate the stairs back down to ground level, but instead spotting a balcony. ryujin follows you here, where up close you realize it’s not empty.

the balcony is big—big enough to have several foldable lawn chairs strewn around, all occupied by various zooted-adjacent individuals. you and ryujin find a small opening against the railing, and you push up against it to feel the wind blow against your hair.

“men are shit,” you proclaim, apropos to nothing.

“men are shit,” ryujin agrees.

“you wanna smoke?” this voice is new, and it doesn’t belong to ryujin. it comes from your other side, and you turn slowly to appraise the person it originates from.

he’s holding a blunt out to you, a small thin thing between his thumb and pointer finger.

it’s jeong yunho.

you don’t really know yunho, but you know him enough. he’s a friend of seonghwa’s, which means you’ve seen him at enough parties—been shoved next to him during rage cage, had him hold your hair back while you took a bong hit. he’s tall, with soft black hair, and has a tattoo of a dragon curled around his right forearm. there’s a perpetual lazy look to him—a smirk always playing at his lips.

he’s attractive, and he’s offering you a smoke from his blunt. you don’t think twice before you’re stepping closer, pressing your lips against the end of the blunt and inhaling. a low tsk comes from ryujin, but you focus on letting the sour smoke fill your lungs, all while you maintain eye contact with yunho.

“ryujin,” you say, coughing a little since it’s been a while since you’ve taken a direct hit. “can you get me some water?”

ryujin gives another tsk, but then you shoot her a look that she understands in an instance, and she slips away to “get you some water.”

you turn back to yunho.

“you looked like you needed it,” yunho says, taking a pull from the blunt and then blowing the smoke back out.

you hum lightly, crossing your arms from both the night chill and because you know it makes your tits look better.

“you’re right.”

yunho holds the blunt back out to you, right in front of your mouth. you take another hit. this time you close your eyes and you breathe it back out, letting your head fall back and your hair hang loose.

“it’s nice,” you say. “thank you.”

“anytime,” yunho says.

you continue the back and forth of the blunt a few times, until you’re starting to really feel it, which is good because the blunt is practically finished, yunho barely pinching onto it after your puff.

“last one,” yunho says, a little breathy, and eyes more hooded than usual.

on this last one, you meet yunho’s half-gaze and blow the smoke directly into his face. he’s closer than you really remember him being, but you don’t mind. he’s big and he blocks the wind. he flicks the stub of the blunt onto the ground, grinding it with the toe of his shoe. he raises his head back up to you.

“that was hot,” he says.

“i’ve always wanted to have high sex,” you say.

“i can make that happen,” he says.

he leads you to the stairs, down them, and out the front door with a surprising amount of clarity. meanwhile, you’re letting the sound of whatever chainsmokers song is playing drag you back to your high school days. an uber appears out of seemingly mid-air, and you’re suddenly in the backseat of a sedan. yunho’s shoving the armrest into the backseat and pulling you into him.

the ride is smooth, and you take it in turns to focus on different things. first, the dulcet sounds of a jazzy trumpet, fragmented and dusty because of the car’s worn speakers. second, the rushing of lights in the windows, leaving behind trails of white, yellow, a smear of blue.

finally, yunho’s hand on your waist, his thumb rubbing soft circles in that sliver of skin between your top and your jeans. it’s nice, makes you feel warm. you press deeper into his chest, your hand pressed into the cotton of his shirt.

he leads you up to his apartment and throws his keys into a ceramic bowl near the front door.

“do you want water?” he asks, heading towards the kitchen like you hadn’t propositioned him fifteen minutes ago after sharing a blunt together.

“yeah,” you admit, when the full feeling of cotton mouth hits you.

after several gulps of the most delicious filtered water you’ve ever had, yunho’s crowding you into the countertop. he towers over you, but that works because you like feeling small, overpowered.

“you sure about this?” he asks, and if you weren’t high you would’ve said something about appreciating the ask for consent. instead, you lock your arms around his neck, pulling him down to your height and pressing your lips against his.

the kiss is immediately intense, his tongue roving against yours, while his hands—jesus, they’re massive—press into your sides, palms hot and fingers digging.

“yes,” you say.

he picks you up effortlessly, and you manage to wrap your legs around his torso as he carries you into his room. he sets—no, throws—you down onto the mattress. you bounce a little and fall backwards onto the pillows. you’re getting ready to bite out a retort at being tossed aside so roughly when you see his face: calm, emotionless, but a distinct darkness in his eyes.

“fuck.” you mean it as a breath, but it comes out like a moan.

yunho pounces.

he kisses you briefly, before descending to your neck, your collarbone. he’s pushing your top off your shoulder, mouthing at the flesh at the top of your breast.

“take it— take it off,” you say.

yunho obliges, sitting back to push your top up past your chest and over your head. he lingers there for a little longer, eyes running over your tits and your nipples hardening under his heavy gaze.

“hot,” he says. “you’re so fucking hot.”

“touch me,” you say.

he obliges, palming your tits and pinching your nipples. rolling them between his fingers and revelling at the way you keen under his touch.

“sensitive?” he says, all breathy while watching you.

“y- yes,” you say. “the- the weed—”

“mmm, yeah, i know what you mean.”

you reach down to the button of your jeans, but yunho catches your hands and lifts them above your head. he presses into it, hovering over you.

“i’ll take care of you, princess,” he says. “be patient.”

this pulls a squeak out of you. the assertive tone, the pet name, combined with the way that it only takes one of his hands to lock your wrists in place—it’s new to you, but you’re suddenly so fucking desperate to get out of your pants.

the unoccupied hand goes to your jeans, and you close your eyes, as yunho deftly unbuttons it, but drags down the zipper slowly to reveal your mildly scandalous underwear: red and lacy with a little bow.

yunho whistles. “y/n. that’s kinda sexy.”

he releases your wrists to use both hands to slide your legs out of your jeans. he goes slow, trailing behind his hands with his lips, which leave a scorching trail of lazy kisses. he’s looking at you as he goes, his eyes never wavering. you almost blush from the heat of his glare.

“you shy?” yunho teases, reaching up to palm one of your tits.

“no,” you say. “just- just ready.”

“mmm,” yunho says. “i told you, princess. be patient.”

in an instant, you’re suddenly on your stomach, bouncing again. your waist feels a little tender from where he gripped you hard to turn you over, and your head feels a little woozy from the sudden movement, but then you feel yunho tapping on the outside of your thigh.

“up.” one word, one syllable, but coated in dominance, and you’re on your knees in an instant, ass up.

“fuck, that’s a nice view,” you hear yunho say, and you feel his hands splay out on your cheeks. he squeezes a little and chuckles.

slap!

you fall onto the mattress, arms slow to catch yourself. did he—? did he just smack your ass? the kinkiest thing you’ve ever done in bed was some light hair pulling, but you’re finding that you don’t mind the buzzing you feel in your ass right now.

in fact—

“oh.” it comes out like a whine, and yunho hisses in satisfaction.

“you like that, huh, princess?” yunho says, his voice low.

“mm.” you can’t manage words.

“good,” he says, but even then you can’t anticipate the next slap. it’s harsher this time, and you jerk from the touch. “gonna make ur ass red to match those panties.”

it’s filthy. the way he’s talking. you’ve only heard talk like this in porn, and you’d always thought it was overly scripted. but yunho’s just talking, eliciting tiny squeaks and squeals of surprise from you that you also have only heard in porn and thought was fake.

“p- please,” you say, lower lip trembling a little. you finally chance a look back at yunho, and you find him still completely clothed, kneeling on the bed behind you with his hands on your hips.

“please what?” yunho says, smirking.

“touch me,” you gulp.

“where?”

“here.” before you can overthink it you’re taking his much bigger hand and moving it to your core, to where your underwear is already soaked.

“okay, princess,” yunho says. “since you asked nicely.”

he starts rubbing your clit over the fabric of your underwear, a feathery touch that still makes you shudder. his other hand slides up your back and settles between your shoulder blades, pressing you down into the mattress.

“stay still, okay?”

you whimper in response, because soon he’s pushing aside the crotch of your panties, teasing the pad of his finger at your dripping entrance.

and then he’s pushing not one, but two long fingers into you. the first thrust is slow, and you can feel your walls pulsing around the digits. the second, third, fourth thrusts are hard and fast, and his hand on your back is bruising.

“fuck,” yunho hisses. “so wet and tight, princess.”

“hnng,” is your reply, because yunho is hitting that spot in the back, and your thighs are quivering.

“turn around,” yunho commands. “i want to see you when you cum.”

you scramble to follow his direction, flipping onto your back and pulling your knees closer into you. yunho shoves fingers into your mouth before you have a chance to say anything, and you suck on instinct, lapping at his fingers and tasting yourself on them.

“fuck,” yunho says, and then he withdraws the fingers and pushes them back into your cunt. you stare down at his hand, at his arm—the one with the dragon tattoo wrapped around. at how the scales of the dragon dance with the veins of his forearm as he pistons his fingers into you.

you’re a babbling mess of whines and coos and squeals, and suddenly yunho’s other hand flies up to your throat.

“this okay?” yunho asks quietly. his voice is low, like he’s trying to be sultry, but you can tell he’s watching carefully to see your response.

this is new. you’ve never done this before. you’ve seen it, heard about it.

you like it.

you nod, and yunho smirks.

his grip is loose, but this new pressure on your throat makes you a little dizzy, a little lightheaded, and makes the fluttering in your stomach speed up. both your hands come up to grip his arm, to feel the muscle beneath your fingers.

“i’m- i’m close,” you croak.

“good.” and yunho picks up the pace, fucking his fingers into you until you feel that crest of nerve endings exploding. your back arches, your head falls back, your eyes close—the feeling ten times more intense than usual because of the weed in your system.

you collapse against the bed, breathing heavily and clenching around his fingers.

“fuck,” yunho whispers. “that was hot.”

he’s perched over you now, a hand on your cheek brushing your sweaty locks out of your face. he kisses your neck, softly.

“i- i want—” you have to pause to catch your breath.

“yeah, princess?” he grins at you.

“this,” you say, your hand cupping the very apparent tent in his pants. this takes yunho by surprise. he jerks, but your hand remains. you experiment with palming him a little, feeling how firm his cock is. how big it feels even under the thick strain of his pants.

“yeah?” he says.

“yes,” you say. “please.”

“ok, princess.”

he reaches behind his head to pull his shirt off by the collar. you blanch at the sight of his torso. lean, lithe muscle. another tattoo along the top of his ribcage that you’ve never seen before. black calligraphy strokes that spell out something in what you think is japanese.

“what does it say?” you say, before you can stop yourself. you run your fingers along the words, touch soft.

“nana korobi, ya oki,” he says, equally softly. “it means ‘fall down seven times, get up eight.’”

“it’s beautiful,” you say.

“not as beautiful as you,” yunho says, and he tugs your underwear down from your hips and off your legs. you suddenly remember exactly what you’d asked for.

“so. fucking. beautiful,” he continues, undoing his belt and throwing it aside. he unbuttons his jeans and pulls them halfway down his thighs. there’s a small wet patch on his briefs, but those are soon pulled down too to reveal—

he’s big. long but not too thick. the head of his cock flushed red and leaking pre-cum.

you feel your mouth inexplicably fill with saliva.

“you’re- you’re—”

“you can do it, princess,” he says, kicking off his briefs and jeans the rest of the way. “you can take it.”

you nod obediently.

he reaches over you for his bedside drawer, returning with a silver foil condom packet and a little plastic bottle of lube. he tears the condom open with his teeth, spitting out the corner and then rolling the thing down his length. you lay back, eyes up to the ceiling. you hear the distinct pop of the lube cap, hear a liquid sort of noise, and then you feel his fingers again. cold and a little slimy, probing at your entrance and briefly nudging at your sensitive clit.

“you ready?” he says, lining himself up.

“mm.”

he pushes in slowly, and it takes all of your willpower not to clench instinctively. he groans while he slides into you, and the pace allows you to feel every inch of him. the stretch is difficult at first, but the further in he gets, the less control he has and soon, he bottoms out.

“you can- you can move,” you say.

“don’t have to tell me twice, princess.”

yunho’s hands find your waist, grip it hard, and then he pulls back and thrusts in again, but still slow. you can feel his eyes on you, making sure his size doesn’t overwhelm you. as he builds up his pace, his hips snap against yours, filling the room with positively lewd sounds that combine with his deep breathing and grunts and your whimpers and whines.

he fucks you into the mattress, stretching you so deliciously.

you find one of his hands and lead it up to your throat. yunho’s eyes widen, but he wraps those long, perfect fingers around your neck, grip tighter this time.

“fuck, you’re so pretty, princess,” yunho says. “taking my cock like that. such a good fucking girl—fuck!”

you’re overstimulated, but in the best way. lightheaded from the choking, sensitive everywhere from the weed, and so turned on from yunho’s praise. you close your eyes, letting yourself get lost in the sensation of being so thoroughly fucked.

as yunho pounds into you, he starts cooing and moaning about how good you look, how good you sound, how good you feel.

“yeah? you like that, princess? yeah—let me hear you. tell me how good i’m fucking you. fuck—your pussy is perfect. like you were fucking made for me. such a perfect princess.”

you can’t tell if you’re close to another orgasm, or if this is just all one long extended orgasm. all you know is that your body is buzzing with pleasure, and you feel really fucking good.

eventually, yunho’s thrusts grow faster and more erratic. he gives one final push and stays buried in you, chest rising and falling.

he pulls out slowly, checking to make sure the condom worked.

“fuck, that was good,” he says, breathless.

“yeah,” you agree, boneless.

yunho swings his legs over the side of the bed, taking off the condom and tying it up before throwing it into a trash can. you’re a bit miffed that he is already fully operational, while you feel like you had all of your inner organs rearranged.

“give me a sec, princess,” he says, as he tugs on a pair of sweatpants. “i’ll get you some water and get you cleaned up. just relax.”

your head still feels a little woozy, but you slowly come back to your senses as you hear yunho bustle around outside. finally, he comes back into the room guzzling a chilled bottle of water. he recaps it and hands it to you. you drink deeply as you feel yunho wipe at your thighs with something warm and wet. the cool water reinvigorates your throat after having yunho’s hand pressed against it.

“you good?” he says. “i wasn’t too hard or anything?”

“no,” you say. “no, it was good. i liked it.”

“good girl,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed and patting your head. it’s mildly patronizing, and but you’re to tired to retort back.

he shifts deeper onto the bed to lean back against the headboard, running his fingers along your spine. it’s relaxing and—together with the water—helps you ground yourself as you feel the last remnants of weed and arousal fog clear from your mind.

“you like jongho, right?” he asks, apropos to nothing.

you choke. you spend the next few seconds spluttering and coughing while yunho rubs your back soothingly.

“i don’t- why are you—?”

“that’s why you were all sad at first, right?” yunho says. “on the balcony?”

you stare at him, finally able to breathe properly.

“yeah,” you say quietly. “but it doesn’t matter because he doesn’t like me.”

yunho hums. “i don’t know about that—” and he pinches your back when you open your mouth to protest “—but i don’t mind being your fuck buddy while you get over him.”

you purse your lips. truth be told it was good sex, but your… thing for jongho isn’t something that you can just get over with a couple good fucks and some weed. you don’t know how to tell yunho—someone you’ve only really ever been around either drunk or high or both—about pulling all-nighters with jongho to finish your homework together, sleepy and giggly and delirious; or how he knows your coffee order without ever having asked; or the way his eyes crinkle when you show him a funny meme.

so, you settle with a small smile and a peck to yunho’s jaw.

“i’ll consider it,” you say, and you get up to start redressing. you’re sobering up properly now, and the flimsy top you’d been wearing before feels a little scandalous for your current mental state. after hesitating briefly, you grab yunho’s discarded top and put it on.

“well shit, when you do stuff like that,” yunho says, running his eyes over how his shirt dwarfs you.

“i’m- i’m cold,” you mutter.

yunho just laughs, ruffling his hair.

“hey—you hungry?”

he takes you to the 24/7 burger joint just outside his apartment, harsh fluorescent lights and greasy air doing their best to sober you up even more. he orders and pays for you, while you slide into a corner booth to avoid anyone seeing how utterly fucked out you look: hair in a messy bun to hide the knots, body swimming in yunho’s shirt, mascara smeared under your eyes, and hand constantly on your neck to cover up the massive hickey you discovered while peeing—when had yunho even given it to you?

yunho scoots into the seat opposite you with a handful of napkins and a little paper cup of spicy ketchup. after you receive your tray of food, you and yunho spend the next fifteen minutes talking about the basics when you both realize that you don’t know much about each other.

it’s easy to talk to yunho, whose light chuckles and lazy smiles are comforting. while you might not take him up on the fuck buddy proposal, you just might keep him around as a friend.

you feel your phone vibrate in your back pocket, and you reach for it to see a text from san, asking if you’re okay.

to: san

[1:40 AM] yeah i’m good

[1:40 AM] actually can u come pick me up. i’m at the burger place on 8th.

from: san

[1:42 AM] yeah omw

you slip the phone back into your jeans while you sip on your soda.

“san’s coming to get me,” you tell yunho.

“oh, cool,” yunho says. “yeah i was gonna offer to take you home or something—it’s so late.”

you hum, warming in appreciation for yunho’s intent. he really isn’t a bad guy—not that you’d thought that before. he’s always been a neutral acquaintance, but you’re really starting to enjoy his company now.

“thanks,” you say. “for the food, and—the other stuff.”

yunho laughs.

“you’re cute,” he says, tapping the tip of your nose with a greasy finger. you dab at it with a crinkly brown napkin.

ten minutes later, your phone vibrates again to indicate that san is outside in a silver uber. you thank yunho again, and even give him a quick peck on the corner of his lips, your face flaming as you turn away from him to leave the diner.

when you throw open the door of the car, you find not san, but—

choi jongho, stuffed into the backseat with a slight flush on his cheeks and a loose grin. you stare at him, and he stares back. the only empty seat is in the middle.

“scoot,” you say.

“i’m too big for the middle seat,” he says, but he doesn’t make any moves to exit the vehicle to give you the space to slide into the car. you nudge him. “just climb over me.”

a low string of curses leave your mouth as you reluctantly clamber around his big frame and into the middle seat, where you finally see san sitting on the other side. you’re so preoccupied with greeting him and thanking him for coming to get you that you don’t notice jongho’s eyes narrowing at the shirt you’re wearing—yunho’s.

“you coming to our place or going home?” san asks.

the words your place are on the tip of your tongue when you look back at jongho, noticing now a small red bruise blossoming just under his jaw. this causes you to snap a hand to your own hickey, which you hope is hidden by the shadows.

“home,” you say quietly. “ryujin’s probably waiting for me.”

the uber starts up again, and you lean your head back onto the headrest, determinedly avoiding jongho’s gaze. you know that you just went off to hook-up with someone random, but it doesn’t sting any less that apparently jongho was doing exactly the same thing.

at that moment, your phone lights up with a new text.

from: unknown number

[1:59 am] hmu whenever, princess ;)

continued in chained (c. jh)!

#yunho #yunho x reader #jeong yunho #yunho smut #ateez x reader #ateez yunho #ateez smut #ateez imagines #[sunsh writes]#sunshineyuyu fic

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witchywcmans · 9 months ago

Text

PLEASE, EAT. | LAIOS TOUDEN

synopsis ━━ after you've been bitten by a sea serpent, you know the consequences are either death or the possibility of turning into one yourself. thankfully for you, laios touden is the devourer of all things monster and he is dedicated to getting that venom out of you. (laios x f!reader.)

content warnings ━━ sex pollen-adjacent, cunnilingus + fingering, praise, breath play (kinda, if you squint), semi-public sex, multiple orgasms. nsfw (minors + ageless blogs dni).

word count ━━ 3k

song inspiration ━━ too sweet, hozier / more than friends, isabel larosa

author's note ━━ this is the first time I've ever written and posted an x reader one-shot on here, so please be gentle with me lol. I usually only write x oc fics bc I'm a yapper and I love creating characters. but alas...I was perusing the laios x reader tag and wanted to read something with this plot, couldn't find it, so I figured I'd just do it myself 🫡

🪽 part i: PLEASE, EAT. / part ii: FORBIDDEN FRUIT. / part iii: TOO SWEET.

This was definitely one of the worst situations you’d been in.

You had joined Laios’ adventuring party just a few months prior. They had found you on floor 3 of the dungeon, shivering and mourning the loss of your father. His body, dead in your arms, and beside him lay the lifeless body of a ghoul you had killed. At first, the party’s leader, Laios Touden, had only been interested in taking the ghoul's body so they could use its bones for utensils after the flesh rotted off. But it was Marcille who noticed the tears in your eyes, how you trembled from the cold, and suggested they take you in. You almost declined, not wanting to leave your father’s body, but knowing he’d soon turned into a monster left you with only one option. Your father had been with you for the past twenty-five years of your life, and now, you were leaving his dead body in a dungeon to travel with a group of strangers.

You soon came to appreciate your new party, though, and you felt your father’s spirit within each of them. Marcille had his kindness, Chilchuck had a comparable wit, Senshi was gifted with excellent cooking skills, and Laios … well, you were still figuring that out. And surprisingly, it was Laios who you began to connect with the most. His knowledge of monsters was unmatched, and he had a passion for learning how to prepare them while they traveled deeper into the dungeon. He was overtly blunt, much like you, and possessed similar advanced fighting skills due to both your fathers' teachings.

Sometimes … sometimes though, you found yourself staring at him more than you should have. His face was abnormally perfect, as if he’d been carved by an artist. His tousled ash-blonde hair reminded you of a lion, and his eyes … sometimes you could’ve sworn they were made out of gold, shimmering like molten lava. Each time you thought this way, you smacked yourself when no one else was looking. I mean, Laios was your friend, your party leader. Having a crush, especially in circumstances like these, was unethical. You had always been focused on one thing: helping your party and making it out of this dungeon alive, for your father. You wouldn’t let a little crush deter you.

Everything had been all well and good until today, when you and your party reached the end of floor 4. When Laios had struggled to fight off a sea serpent, you joined him in the lukewarm water, using your crossbow to shoot the creature in the head. Finally, Laios was able to step in to slice the serpent’s head off … but not before the creature could snap its jaw, tearing one fang down your hip. You jumped back, screaming as you felt the venom seep into you instantly. Some said sea serpent venom would kill you immediately, others said it turned you into one of them, cursing you to haunt the waters with them as penance. As soon as the head was cut, Laios carried you away from the water, and the last thing you heard was Marcille cursing him out before you were rendered unconscious.

You were woken up – hours, maybe days later – by a drop of water hitting your face every few seconds. Lifting your head from the makeshift tunic pillow, you took in your surroundings. You were at the entrance of floor 5, in a damp corner of cobblestone, while water dripped down onto the floor every so often. There was a moist bandage covering your side where the serpent’s fang had cut into you, part of your tunic ripped to shreds. Hunger boiled in your stomach, making you groan and rub your head. Laios was sitting just a few feet away, a small fire in front of him to keep warm. Marcille had to have helped him with that; there was no way to craft a fire in an area this damp.

“Am I dead?” You asked softly.

Laios immediately turned in your direction, his mouth lifting in a smile. “Of course not.”

Your stomach did flip flops as you took in his smile, hunger consuming you. You needed something to eat – bad. Your body felt hot and sweaty, and you wondered if it was just from the humidity, even though Laios didn’t look affected. Sitting up, you informed him, “Well, that was one of two options my father said would happen from a sea serpent bite. Which means …” You lifted the bandage up, noticing the gills that started to form on the healing wound. A turquoise hue surrounded the gills, almost like a bruise. “Oh, fuck,” you muttered.

Laios stood, looming over you while asking, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s the other option,” you replied, too hungry to cry. “The bite is –”

“– Turning you into a sea serpent,” Laios finished. “Honestly, I thought that was just a myth. But when the bite didn’t kill you …” His mouth twitched, tongue darting out to wet the corners of his lips. “We have to suck the venom out. That has to stop the mutation.”

Your head snapped up. “Huh?”

But as soon as your eyes met his, you started to wondered if what you were experiencing was hunger after all. Perhaps … a different kind of hunger. Laios stared down at you, the sparkling gold replaced by a dark hazel. It was just you two in this little corner of the dungeon, but you suddenly felt exposed, so naked, under his gaze. Your body was hot all over, sweat sticking to uncomfortable places. And your thighs … a burning need emerged between them, soaking the thin linen of your undergarments. This had to be a symptom of the bite, but it suddenly didn’t matter anymore. Your worry had been replaced by an ache that only he could fix.

No – absolutely not. You couldn’t. You shouldn’t. You were turning into a sea serpent.

But the need between your legs still throbbed.

“It’s like when a snake bites you on the surface,” Laios said, crouching down to your eye level. His closeness made your heart rate pick up. You realized then that he had shed his armor, kneeling in front of you in just his gambeson, which clung to his muscles and wide frame. “A sea serpent is part snake. Sucking out the venom should stop the mutation. You’ll probably experience symptoms from the bite for a few more hours, but they’ll stop eventually.”

He started to peel back the bandage, taking a look at the gills forming on your hip when you gripped his wrist. Immediately, his skin burned, making you even more hot. You ripped your hand away from him, and with sweat trickling down the side of your face, you said, “Don’t you think this is … weird? Maybe Marcille should do it.”

“Marcille and the others just went back to another part of the level to find dinner. They won’t return for an hour, at least. This can’t wait.” He inspected the turquoise gills with concern, before his eyes snapped back to yours, noticing the way your black pupils filled almost the entire iris. “Do you not trust me?”

“Of course, I trust you. It’s just …” What exactly was the reason again? Oh, yes, it was pulsating hunger dripping between your legs from the bite, and you were terrified how you’d react the second his lips wrapped around your wound. The symptoms would just get worse. But he was right – this was the only way. Fuck, this had to be the most embarrassing thing you’d ever experienced.

“Fine,” you finally relented, lying back down on the cobblestone. You did your best to get comfortable, but the makeshift pillow hardly provided much cushion between you and the floor. “What should I do?”

“Nothing, just lay back and let me take care of it.” Laios lifted your tunic a smidge, and just the tenor of his voice made your ache even worse. “We’re just gonna … get this out of the way. And then …” His fingers hooked on the waistband of your pants, and you immediately clutched his collar. If you touched his skin again, you were sure to moan.

Laios looked from where your hand was gripping him and back to your eyes. “Your pants need to be off so I can have better access to the mutation. It’s on your hip.” You swallowed hard, knowing he was right, and your hand started to slip off his collar. “We’re friends, right?” He asked.

You nodded weakly.

“Good,” he smiled again, and you struggled to hold back a plea for him to touch you. He pulled down your pants, tossing them to the side. For a moment, he paused, taking in your soaked underwear and running his fingers over the mutation on your hip. He licked his lips again, and then said in a rather blunt tone, “You’re so –”

“Don’t say it,” you cut in, snapping your eyes shut to prevent further embarrassment. Though you had never minded Laois’ occasional lack of social cues, this was one of those moments you needed anything but. “Just get the venom out.”

Laios tugged your underwear down a little to see if the mutation had spread. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he informed you, lowering his head to your hip. “I’ve read that these bites can have a multitude of internal symptoms. Nightmares ... sweating … fever …” He ran his tongue over the gills, making your breath hitch instantly. “… And especially, arousal. Neat, huh?” He chuckled, and just his warm breath on the gills made you even more wet. “Don’t worry, I got you,” he assured before finally wrapping his mouth on the wound.

Your body burned even hotter than before as soon as his lips touched your skin. He sucked the venom out of you, spitting out blue globs every other second. His hands gripped your side, digging into your flesh and leaving crescent shapes from his nails. As you felt the gills start to close up, you couldn’t help but moan and arch into nothing. This felt better than any time you masturbated … any time you imagined your party leader above you … Fuck, who would’ve thought sucking sea serpent venom out of you would feel this good? Thank the gods the rest of their party was off catching dinner. You couldn’t deal with them possibly hearing this.

It surprised you when your orgasm flooded through you like a crashing wave. As Laios finished sucking out the last of the venom and the mutation closed, your arousal came to a definite peak and you let out a whine. You grabbed his arm, cumming from absolutely no stimulation.

Laios didn’t seem to mind though. In fact, he was mostly preoccupied with inspecting the area. You opened your eyes, your cheeks tinged pink, and saw the globs of venom to the left dissipate to nothing but water. You pinched the bridge of your nose, “I’m sorry, I –”

“The mutation closed. I was right!” Laios looked down at you, a big grin covering his face. “How do you feel?”

“Well, I definitely don’t feel a second set of lungs on my hip anymore.” You lifted your hand when you noticed a trickle of blue staining his lip, wiping it away with your thumb. “But I … my body is still …” The ache inside you had simmered slightly, but it was still there, lingering underneath the surface.

This was genuinely humiliating. Maybe you should’ve just decided to turn into a sea serpent after all.

Laios grabbed your wrist before you could pull away from his face. He leaned into your palm, running his long nose down to your inner wrist. “Your skin is so warm. I can still smell how aroused you are from the serpent bite.” His eyes burned into yours, keeping your hand close to his face. “I can help. Do you need another release?”

Your cheeks got even more red when he acknowledged your orgasm. Shaking your head, you said, “I couldn’t ask you to do that. I can just –”

“I’d be honored to,” he replied, quite gruffly and persistent. His fingers tugged your underwear down with precision and ease, despite the damp fabric clinging to you. He spread your legs wide and placed them on his shoulders. Lowering himself down, he inhaled the scent of your climax and hooked his arms around your inner thighs. He smiled up at you – your pretty face red with embarrassment – all dopey-eyed and grateful. “You lot like to call me the devourer of monsters. Perhaps I should devour the last bit of monster out of you.”

He inhaled again, groaning like he typically did when he was hungry. His hot breath against your achingly wet pussy made you whimper with desperation. “You smell so good down here,” he whispered. “I’d wager you taste even better.”

You gasped as soon as he dove between your legs, licking a stripe through your folds, tasting your recent orgasm. He flicked his tongue over your clit before sucking on it with feverish excitement. Slick gathered on his tongue and he whined, needing more. So much more. You were the most delicious meal he’d ever tasted. Better than any monster, better than anything on the surface.

“So good,” he muttered into your pussy, lapping against your clit, doing anything that would get him more of your arousal. “You taste so, so good.”

You whimpered out his name and attempted to close your legs, but he held them opened with all his strength. His arms wrapped around your thighs went tight, bruising the sensitive flesh. Your jaw went slack while your own hands scrambled for purchase, eventually landing in his cropped hair. You tugged, hips bucking against his face, making him groan even more. This allowed him to hold your hips a little higher, and his tongue finally dipped into your leaking entrance. You heard him grunt the second he plunged his tongue deeper, his nose nuzzling your clit.

He devoured you like a starved man. He devoured you like you were a boiled scorpion, or roast basilisk, or – even better – like sweet, delicious homemade cheesecake.

“Laios,” you whined, feeling your fever dissolve with each lap of his tongue. “Laios, it’s … fuck – it’s okay, I feel –”

“Need more,” he muttered, his voice low and laced with need. He was practically humping the stone floor as he buried his tongue as far as it could go inside you. Your hips couldn’t stop bucking forward, riding his face as you felt your orgasm building at the base of your stomach. Laios was completely transfixed. He wanted to be here, nestled between your thighs, for every meal. He’d take you away from the rest of the group before dinner, lapping away to the sounds of your pleas and whimpers, so help him gods. He’d do this every day, every night, whenever you wanted, for as long as he was alive. Fuck monsters. He could survive off the taste of you for the rest of his life.

Slipping his tongue out of your hole, he went back to sucking on your throbbing clit and feeling your legs start to tremble. You had to be close to another release, and he was desperate to taste it. He paid all his attention on your clit, snaking one hand up and sinking two fingers knuckle-deep into your entrance in tandem. “Fuck,” you moaned, tugging on his hair once again, “fuck – gods, Laios. I – I’m s-so close –”

“Please,” he begged, smearing your slick all over his mouth. “Please, you’re so good. Need to see how you taste when you release on my tongue.” His own hips continued to buck against the floor.

You choked on a cry when you finally came all over his tongue. He groaned, loud and drawn out, when he finally got a taste of your sweet climax, knowing that it was him that brought you to this point. The orgasm felt long, like the ocean bringing you in and out, and your whole body trembled. He continued lapping at your clit as it pulsed under his tongue, his fingers curling inside you through your orgasm. When you finally breathed out and started to come down from the high of it all, Laios stayed between your thighs, allowing his tongue to gently swirl your clit. Maybe if he continued, he could taste a little more of you …

You found your voice, hoarse from overstimulation. “Laios, please, you have to stop,” you begged, yanking his head up from between your legs. His mouth was covered in your slick, and then he was giving you that dopey expression again, making your heart clench. Your body was no longer hot and sweaty. Laios had completely cured you of the sea serpent bite with that expert mouth of his. He unwound his arms from your thighs, bringing his fingers that were still covered with your wetness to his mouth, tasting the last of your orgasm. You watched him, eyes wide and cheeks blushing, until he was looking at you again with those golden doe eyes.

“That was amazing,” he said, like he was in a haze. When your eyes flickered down, you realized he was hard in his pants, but it wasn’t like he even noticed himself with the way he was staring at you. “We should do that again sometime.”

He stood up, and you scrambled to pull your clothes back on before the group came back. You stammered, “It’s okay, uh – we don’t have to. Especially if you don’t want to. We could just –”

“I want to,” he cut in, a determined look in his eyes. “What are friends for, right?”

#my fics #fic: please eat #laios touden x reader #laios touden smut #laios x reader #laios touden x reader smut #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi x reader #dunmeshi #laios touden #laios dungeon meshi #one shot: please eat

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kaciidubs · 5 months ago

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Talk Dirty [Like You Need Love]

This song has me thinking heavily about expanding this into a fuller fic, so if people end up liking it, maybe I'll go ahead and finish it further! ✧ Summary: Chris was a great friend, picking you up from work whenever you had a late shift - so, it was only fair that you wanted to repay him. ✧ ✧ Word Count: 3.5k ✧ Warnings: Biker!AU, friends to ???, smut, slight dom! Chris, open ended ✧ ✧ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ✧ ✧ Additional Tags: Reader is referred to as Baby, Good Girl, Pretty, Chris is referred to as Baby, Channie ✧ Stray Kids Masterlist ✧ General Masterlist

The streetlights came and went in intermittent strobes, passing over the two of you as his motorcycle hummed along the sparsely occupied street.

Your arms were wrapped securely around his waist just as he’d taught you, the warmth of your body against his back combating the chill of the crisp night air - he really wished he hadn’t forgotten his hoodie in his rush to pick you up.

“Are you cold?”

As if reading his mind, your voice floated through the comms of his helmet and he shook his head, “I’m alright, baby - don’t worry about me.”

Of course, you weren’t easily swayed - it was a quality he loved about you, no matter how much he preferred to be the one to look out for everyone else, you were always there to double back on him with undeterrable determination; proved by the way you leaned a little more against his back.

He wouldn’t have thought twice about your sweet gesture if it weren’t for the shifting of your arms, your hands slowly splayed against his torso.

“I always worry about you, Chris…” Your voice was soft, dripping with sweet honey as your right hand wandered its way higher, following the soft defined path of his chest underneath his shirt. “It’s hard not to, if I’m honest.”

He took a short breath, unsure if this was truly happening or if his mind was playing tricks on him and twisting your intentions to fit his deep seated desires.

That is, until your left hand carefully danced its way to his thigh, sitting nicely against the cotton of his sweatpants.

“You always do so much for everyone else- do so much for me,” your hand flexed, nails pressing lightly against his thigh, “I just wanna do something for you in return, you know?”

The bike slowed to a roll as you reached a stoplight, Chris keeping the balance with his otherwise unoccupied leg while taking the opportunity to hold onto the outside of your own thigh.

“Be careful with your words, baby - you might give me the wrong idea.”

“Are my actions not enough?” You murmured, inching your hand higher, fingertips brushing along the inseam of his sweats, “Should I do more, Channie?”

His hand left the brake clutch to wrap around your wrist, electricity flowing through your veins like a completed circuit. “You shouldn’t do this. We shouldn’t do this.”

“But I want this, I need this.”

Your hand squeezed, your voice filling his head like the intoxicating lull of a siren’s call.

“I need you.”

Green.

Chris tapped your thigh, ignoring the chill that ran down his spine when you seamlessly went back to holding onto him just like he taught you; arms around his waist, your body against his back.

The ride to his apartment felt like second nature with you - much like other things he did with you, if he were honest with himself - and the moment he pulled into his parking spot, his movements only felt more natural.

Switch engine off. Kickstand down.

Your hands slid up his back, gripping his shoulders as you eased yourself off of his motorcycle, and by the time your touch left him, Chris hopped from his seat with learned grace - his hands unbuckling and taking off his helmet in record time.

By the time your own helmet was off, cradled in your arms, his intense gaze caught your eyes, locking you in a stare off that said more than words could convey, yet their true meaning would be lost to memory with what left his lips.

“Are you sure about this?” He breathed, “Tell me right now and I’ll take you home, and we can pretend none of this happened - just, tell me.”

“Chris,” his name fluttered from your lips like butterfly wings, “I meant every word, I’m sure, I’m so sure-”

Before you knew it, his lips were on yours - the warmth of his palm settling on your cheek in a hold that dared your knees to give out from underneath you - but as fast as they’d appeared, they vanished, leaving you dazedly blinking up at deep brown eyes.

“C’mon.”

The journey up to his apartment was a blur; the melodic chime of the front door’s lock welcoming you to the final stage of your decision as he ushered you through the doorway.

Shoes haphazardly kicked off next to another pile of pairs and helmets stored on a shelf, the empty living room was graced with your presence for what felt like half a second before you were finally where you needed to be.

Chris’s room was a place you’d only been inside of a handful of times, if not to stick your head in to announce your arrival when hanging out with his roommates, then to visit whenever he had a new snippet of a song he wanted to share; there wasn’t a chance for a tour then, and there certainly wouldn’t be a tour now.

With a subtle flick of a switch, the once dark room was suddenly bathed in a dim glow from the led lights lining the ceiling - warm and welcoming, much like the arms that wrapped around you from behind, followed by a soft pair of lips you were quickly getting used to pressing against the junction of your neck and shoulder.

His hold grew tighter as his lips ventured higher - a dotted line of kisses, a brush of his breath against the back of your ear, followed by the ghost of his lips along the shell.

“Are you still sure?”

Your eyelids fluttered, your lips parting to sigh out words evoked from the fantasies of your deepest desires, “I’m yours.”

He turned you around, and for the first time you were able to truly appreciate the feeling of his lips against your own - soft, likely from the myriad of lip care products your friends tease him for, a sensation you could find yourself craving every day and never growing tired of in the end.

You kissed him back with fervor, taking the liberty of cupping the line of his jaw with one hand while the other cradled the back of his neck, the faint curls of his hair tickling your fingertips.

Chris was the first to pull away, gifting you a fleeting peck when you tried in vain to follow him, just to reach overhead and tug his shirt up and off before unceremoniously dropping it to the floor. However, he barely gave you the chance to admire the view as his hands went to help you out of your hoodie while your own hands hastily went to tug up your shirt in the messy, frantic process.

Two articles down, the warmth of his hands were now free to meet your waist and his lips were on yours once more; his hold tightening as he took a step forward, nudging and guiding you backward until the backs of your legs met the edge of his bed. Obliging to his silent request, you sat down, using the strength in your arms to wiggle yourself up enough to lay comfortably on the full sized mattress and welcome the weight of him on top of you until it wasn’t.

Looking up, you were met with his heated stare, all but devouring you with his eyes as he took in the view - though, you figured you fared the same way when your eyes ventured down, following the strong slope of his shoulders before taking in the sight of his chest.

It wasn’t a view you hadn’t seen before thanks to his aversion of shirts in his own home - granted, it was his apartment, so you couldn’t fault him for the times he’d come out of his room to see you happily chatting away with his roommates unbeknownst to him - but you could now appreciate the details you wouldn’t have taken in otherwise such as defined pectorals and the smallest beginnings of abs against his otherwise soft stomach.

Ending the unintentional standoff, Chris lent forward, his fingertips just barely grazing your lower stomach as they went to the button of your jeans, “Can I?”

“Please.”

The corner of his lips ticked up but he ducked his head before you could see the smirk blossom, though you couldn’t find yourself to care once your jeans were undone, lifting your hips to help him shuffle the garment down the length of your legs and watching him give them the same fate as your shirts.

“These too?” He mused with a teasing lilt, eyes flicking from your own to the plain black panties you wore.

A short huff brushed past your lips, an unamused pout pursuing them. “Chris.”

The sound of his delighted giggles bounced off the walls, reducing the heat of arousal to a nice simmer that your nerves greatly appreciated - that is, until his fingers hooked underneath the waistband and slowly pulled them off; the sensation of his knuckles dragging along your thighs drawing a soft gasp from you.

It wasn’t long until they were down your legs, past your feet, and dropped off the edge of the bed, leaving you entirely bare from the waist down.

“Fuck…” He breathed, propping his knee on the bed as his hands slid up from your calves to the backs of your knees, caressing your skin before gently bringing them up and out - exposing your pussy to his pure delight. “Look at you, pretty girl.”

A wave of heat washed over you followed by an embarrassed whimper, “Chris, don’t say that.”

“Why not?” Looking up, he cocked his head slightly, “You said you were mine, which means I’m allowed to compliment what’s mine, yeah?” He bent down, maintaining eye contact as he kissed your knee softly, “You belong to me, right, baby?”

Your heart jumped to your throat, his words working like a spell against your lust addled mind.

“I belong to you.” You breathed softly, melting into his hypnotizing gaze.

A pleased hum vibrated through him as he dipped his head to kiss the inside of your thigh, his lips brushing against your skin, “Good girl.”

His kisses trailed higher and higher, growing messier and messier as he went - a nip here, a suck there, open mouthed and worshiping until he reached your pussy.

Just as he was about to dive in face first, your hand tugged at his hair, effectively breaking him out of his tunnel vision to give you his undivided attention.

“What’s wrong? Do you wanna stop? I can-”

“No! God, no - it’s just…” You took a deep breath, your bravado escaping you the instant you stopped him, “I want you to eat me out, but I wanna suck your dick too. I wanna make you feel good too, Channie”

“You wanna suck my dick, pretty?” A shiver ran down Chris’s spine at the mere thought, his dick painfully straining underneath his boxer briefs and sweats. “Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me, you know that? Words like that coming from a mouth like yours - you’re a fucking dream.”

His presence left from between your legs and part of you felt silly for missing it until you saw him reaching for his sweatpants - even through the black fabric you were able to make out the noticeable bulge tenting the front - the waistband of Calvin Klein nudging you in the right direction of what he wore underneath.

Pushing both articles past his hips, your eyes were immediately glued to the dips in his pelvis - the Adonis belt, a fitting alternate description of his v-line until your attention jumped to a scattering of hair beneath his navel leading to seemingly maintained pubic hair.

However, your peep show was obscured by his head as he bent forward to take his clothes off the rest of the way, giving you the chance to mentally prepare for the grand reveal. By the time he stood straight again, you couldn’t help the audible gasp that left you, your eyes widening as you took him in all his glory - all of the jokes his friends would make now having validity behind their digs.

“I hope that’s a good reaction…” Chris spoke sheepishly, his ears as red as a tomato as he averted his eyes to the side, one hand twitching to cover himself while the other anxiously rubbed the back of his neck.

“Chris,” your soft call was enough to bring his eyes back to you, just in time to see you undoing your bra and tossing it to the floor, “I really want you in my mouth, baby.”

The air of shyness quickly left him as he smirked, making his way back onto the bed, “Say please.”

Reaching forward, your fingers danced along the underside of his jaw before you whispered, “Please?”

It was almost instantaneous in the way you found yourself straddled over his face, his hands massaging the plush of your thighs as if he couldn’t get enough of the way they squished and jiggled under his hold.

You leaned forward, eyes eagerly taking in his dick from the new angle; he was thick, probably an inch over average if you had to guess, with the prettiest veins that begged for your tongue to trace them.

“Don’t force yourself to take me, okay?” He called from the other end, the feeling of his breath against your cunt sending chills down your spine. “I know I’m… y’know, big, so I don’t want you to hurt yourself to make me feel good - you letting me do this is more than enough, baby.”

“I can do it Channie,” spitting into your palm, you graciously took him into your hand with a slow stroke, “I’ll be okay.”

A low groan escaped him, your sudden touch sending him into the stratosphere, “Just- Be careful for me, alright?”

Humming in agreement, you wasted no time in littering his tip in butterfly kisses and kitten licks, slowly getting yourself used to the bittersweet taste of his precum.

“Shit…” Not holding himself back any longer, Chris slid his hands up to your hips before pulling you back onto his mouth, his tongue eagerly diving between your folds as if it were an ice cream cone on a hot summer’s day.

The action made you jolt forward, though you barely moved an inch thanks to his hold on you, your lips parting to let a moan float through.

“Mm, not too loud, baby,” he spoke against your pussy, kissing the hood of your clit, “don’t wanna wake up my roommates, yeah?”

As much as the idea called to something daring within you, you shook your head, using this as an opportunity to take the first few inches of his cock into your mouth; just enough to have the weight settle on your tongue while your hand stroked what you hadn’t gotten to yet.

“There you go.”

With that, he went back to exploring your pussy with his tongue, dipping past your walls every now and then before going back to dancing around your clit - his hands enjoying their new home on the curve of your ass.

To say the feeling of his mouth on you was mind numbing would’ve been the understatement of a lifetime - it was as if he was eating you out in the most respectfully disrespectful way, the sounds of his lips sucking your clit paired with low, breathless moans before he went back to lapping up your arousal was pure debauchery.

You tried your best to be diligent, bobbing your head in time with the curls of his tongue against your slit while your fist used whatever drool that dripped from your lips as lubricant to keep each stroke smooth and slick - your efforts not going in vain by the way his thigh would flex, or the twitch of his hips - but you were quickly falling victim to the pleasure.

“Taste so fucking good, baby,” he mouthed against your pussy, as if moving even an inch away would be detrimental to his psyche, “could stay here forever.”

The thought had you moaning around his cock, pulling away to give your lungs the reprieve of a full breath, only for a whined exhale to follow suit. “C-Chris, please.”

“Please, what?” Flattening his tongue, he licked a fat stripe up before giving your clit the lightest kiss imaginable, “Gonna come for me, pretty? Is that what you want?”

“N-No,” dropping your face to his thigh, you focused all of your energy into keeping your hand moving, “w-wanna make you come first, just- shit, just slow down a little!”

Chris hummed, feigning deep consideration, “But what if I want you to come for me?” His right hand slid further between your legs, his index finger stroking your fluttering walls with the promise of something more, “You said you wanted to repay me - so, let me make you come.”

Your hips bucked, muscles yearning to press back against the pressure to send you over the edge you were dangerously teetering over. “But-”

“Baby,” the velvet drawl of the pet name earned a pitiful hum in response, “you wanna make me feel good, don’t you?” He felt your head nod against his thigh, huffing out a short chuckle before continuing, “You wanna ‘repay’ me for everything I do for you, right?”

“Yes.” You sighed out, eyes fluttering at the feeling of his thumb replacing his finger in favor of toying with your clit.

“Well, guess what?” Dragging his thumb up, he pressed it against your slit, “Watching you come for me- Feeling you come for me is all I could ever want from you,” slowly pushing his thumb past your walls, he ghosted his lips against your inner thigh, “show me how good I’m making you feel, baby - do it for me, please.”

He punctuated his plea by swirling his tongue around your clit once more, thrusting his thumb in time with each flick while his left hand held your hip tightly.

Your mouth fell open, a moan fighting its way through your vocal chords only to come out as choked gasps, “Ch-ah- Channie- Fuck- Channie p-please-”

Pressing his thumb in to the knuckle, Chris wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, humming out a low moan that proved to be the final straw to push you over the edge.

“Chris- C-Chris-!” Lifting your head, you put your mouth over your arm in hopes of muffling the airy moans escaping you, your vision blurring behind pleasure-fueled tears as he worked you through your orgasm.

His thumb slipped from your entrance to make room for his tongue to lap up your cum, drinking you up like a tall glass of water after a day in the sun.

It didn’t take long for you to catch your bearings, going to move away from his face until his hands tightened on your hips in silent challenge, a disgruntled grunt rising from your pure audacity of interrupting him.

“Channie, ‘s too much,” you whined breathlessly, wrenching your hand away from his - still hard - dick in favor of pushing yourself up onto your arms, “c-can’t take it, baby, please.”

Pulling away with a lewd slurp, Chris heaved a heavy breath, combating the lightheadedness of his tunnel vision while you carefully maneuvered yourself away from him - shuffling around to hover your head over a pillow before collapsing in the empty space, your body gratefully welcoming the cool sheets against your skin.

Bated breaths danced in the otherwise quiet atmosphere, Chris’s gaze locked on the ceiling as his lust-fogged brain tried to make sense of what just happened between the two of you.

“Channie?”

His heart fluttered at your soft call of his name, turning his head just to come across a sight that made his breath catch; you, his friend, laying beside him looking beautifully ruined with the golden afterglow of your orgasm that he gave you emanating from your body.

He tentatively licked his lips, goosebumps rising as your taste still lingered in his mouth, “Yeah, baby?”

“I still wanna make you come.” You murmured softly, eyes blinking at him so innocently it almost felt wrong that it made his dick twitch at the sight. “I still owe you, after all.”

Chris huffed out a chuckle, lifting himself onto his forearm before hoisting himself above you, settling his hips between your legs as he caged you in with his arms - this was a sight he could get used to.

“Instead of making this out to be you repaying a debt, how about we turn it into a ‘thank you’ gift, hm?” Leaning his head down, he brushed his nose against yours, “You thank me for the ride and the orgasm,” his lips ghosted against your own, “then I thank you for thanking me.”

“Chris, that won’t make any sense,” your voice was barely a whisper, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, “if you thank me, I’ll just thank you back - we’ll be in a loop.”

“We’ll work out the details later, then.” He murmured before leaning forward, catching your lips with his and sharing your taste off of his tongue.

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @s00buwu, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n, @bbgnyx, @bahng-chrizz, @milknhoneyracha, @hann1bee, @palindrome969, @newhope8, @kpopsstuffs, @starquokka, @wolfs-howling, @laylasbunbunny, @4-chan-inpadella, @butterflydemons, @kimahreummm, @ta3baee, @snowy-violet @bethanysnow

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#skz smut #stray kids smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #Biker!AU

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that-sarcastic-writer · 2 months ago

Text

You’ve got my body, flesh and bone

Obsessed!Rafe x nerdy!girl!reader

Summary: something was different about you, and rafe can’t stop thinking about you ever since you came home from college. He knows you want him, too, even if you don’t show it

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, penetrative sex, p in v, unprotected sex, cream pie, oral (fem receiving), fingering, obsessed behaviors, pervy behaviors (I think?), Rafe is down bad, reader is secretly naughty, dom!rafe, spitting, choking, bit of degradation, Rafe is rough and she likes it.

Wrote this with s2 Rafe in mind but he’s not as psychotic🥰 reader also wears glasses, hope you like being blind

WC: 5.5k I’m so sorry

A/N: NOBODY LOOK AT MEEEEE. Anyway I couldn’t help myself. Rafe and Drew are in my mind all day and I need them so bad so I wrote it! I dedicate this to the reason of my insanity @bloodibambiidoll love you doll for feeding me into crash out Rafe😩. This was heavily inspired by her own Rafe fics so def check her out!

Also tagging my other rafe baby @babygorewhore🩷

There weren't a lot of things in this world that Rafe didn’t have. His whole life, anything he wanted, he had, at the palm of his hand. Whatever he wanted, he could do. And he fucking loved it. He didn’t know what it was like to crave something to the point of madness. Until you came around.

He didn’t know what it was, that feeling deep inside his gut. He didn’t know if it was lust, or desire, or if he truly felt something for you. Perhaps he felt all three. But one thing he knew for certain. If he didn’t have you soon, he was going to cave someone’s face in. It didn’t help that you shot him down every time. The more you ignored him, the more he craved you. Albeit he knew he had a chance in high school and he didn’t take it then. But even he knew he was a prick then. More than he was now, anyway. Deep down he couldn’t blame you for not giving him a chance now, he didn’t want you when you were all quiet and had those ugly glasses, so why should he get you now that you were more confident and stopped giving a fuck what people thought about you? He had to admit, college made you hot as fuck.

Rafe didn’t know it at first, but the first time he saw you at a party, your hair all pretty, your laugh so contagious he heard it across the room, your clothes hugging every curve of your body perfectly. His jaw fucking dropped. He almost didn’t believe it was you at first. Until he heard whispers about just how fucking hot you had gotten after college. He didn’t know it then, but his sanity was going to go downhill from there.

That was a month ago, and he still couldn’t get you to give him the light of day. It was almost like you were running away from him, every time. And it pissed him off, really, it did. He craved your attention like he never before. Maybe he was getting soft. Or he was going insane. Either one.

The worst part?

You were doing it on purpose.

You caught on pretty quickly. After the first couple of times of catching Rafe blatantly staring at you whenever he saw you, you were curious. It wasn’t entirely outlandish, you were like an exotic animal, having come back to the island after graduating early from university. You didn’t change much, you just learned to manage your social anxiety and started putting more effort into your appearance. You didn’t understand why everyone made such a big deal out of you. But you ignored it for the most part.

But you couldn’t ignore Rafe. His presence was intoxicating. Even if he didn’t approach you directly. You knew he was there. But you never made an effort to talk to him. You only ever talked to Sarah when you saw her. She was the one that pointed out Rafe in a corner, Topper talking his ear off but Rafe wasn’t paying listening to a word being said, he was looking at you. You, of course, brushed her off with the excuse you gave everyone.

“He'll get over it, just give it a week.”

He did not, in fact, get over it.

He thought you didn’t notice, but he followed you on instagram. Of course you noticed. How could you not? Your account was public, but you occasionally looked at who followed you. And the second you saw Rafe fucking Cameron followed you, you almost fainted. Suddenly, the stupid crush you had on Rafe at sixteen came flooding right back. You refused to get your hopes up, but the thought of Rafe quietly stalking your social media never left your mind.

You had no proof, but over the course of a month, you posted on your stories way more than you ever did in college, because you knew Rafe would see them. If you went to a party on Figure 8? Insta story. If you went to the beach? Swimsuit selfies. Felt pretty and did your makeup? Insta story. And what did you notice? Rafe always coincidentally seemed to end up at the exact place you were at. He never came alone, obviously. But he always hung out nearby, always within your line of sight.

You were driving him mad, certainly. There's no way it was legal for you to wear a swimsuit like that. It actually made his blood boil knowing there were other guys blatantly eye fucking you. Only he should be allowed to do that. He angrily sipped into his cup, silently fuming as he had to stand and simply watch you laugh and run around with your friends, walking past him every time you got drinks for the bar.

He swore he saw you grin at him one time, a devious and flirty look in your eyes when you made eye contact with him. And he was ready to grab you by the arm and drag you to his car and fuck you right then and there. But he decided against it. Somehow he had enough self control. But it was wearing thin the longer his torture dragged on.

“Girl, what did you do to Rafe?” Your high school best friend asked you when you came back with your drinks. You frowned, tilting your head innocently.

“To Rafe? Nothing. I haven’t even talked to him since I came back.” You answered with the truth. Though you purposely ignored what she probably meant.

“He’s been like glaring at you the whole night. He hasn’t moved from there all night and he’s just looking at you.” She pointed out, more quietly now. And you couldn’t help but subtly shift your eyes in his direction. And indeed, your eyes met with his piercing blue ones. You’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t race the slightest bit when you caught him looking at you like that. He was looking at you exactly how you desperately wanted him to look at you in high school.

“No idea what you mean. He’s probably just annoyed I’m hanging out with Sarah and her boyfriend. He probably thinks I’m encouraging her hanging out with the pogues.” You mumbled into your cup, shrugging as you quickly averted your gaze from Rafe. You weren’t sure if you wanted to convince her, or yourself.

“You’re better than me, because if Rafe Cameron looked at me like that I’d be dragging him to my car so fast.” She snorted and you almost choked on your drink. “I think you’re the only girl on this island he hasn’t fucked.”

“Thank God for that.” You responded a bit too quickly, hoping to hide the slight bit of hurt her words brought to you. You always knew you weren’t good enough for Rafe. You always pretended not to care, but you’d be lying.

You left alone that night. And Rafe couldn’t hold back the urge to follow close behind you. He didn’t know when he got in his car after you. Or when he started driving to your house. Or when he got out of his car. He wasn’t sure why, it wasn’t like he was going to knock on your door. Or maybe he would. He ran a hand over his face, squeezing his eyes shut as he swept his hair away from his face, exasperated. The very small, but still present, rational side of his mind told him to get the fuck out. And he was going to, until he saw you emerge from your room on the second floor, and you stood right in front of the large window cell. He panicked, running to hide from sight, behind a large tree, but he didn’t leave, he didn’t want to.

His jaw dropped, his eyes blowing wide open at the sight of you, untying your bikini top and just letting it fall, right then and there. The sight shot straight to his cock. What the fuck were you thinking? What if someone saw you? The thought of you exposing yourself like that made his jaw lock, but his now hard cock in his shorts was much more evident. He couldn’t look away. He was pissed he couldn’t see below your stomach, especially when he saw you crouch as you presumably took off your bottoms, too.

Rafe almost moaned at the thought.

And just like that you were gone. And you didn’t come back to the window. It almost felt like the universe was playing a cruel fucking prank on him. Now he had to drive home with an uncomfortable hard on in his shorts. That pissed him off even more.

~~~~~~

This became a habit for Rafe. He would aggressively scroll through your instagram page multiple times a day, hoping that he’d find out where you were for the night. But not in a weird way. He just wanted to see you. But he still hadn’t found the way to get you to talk to him first. He was starting to see the flaw in that plan. But alas, he couldn’t talk to you himself if he didn’t know where to find you. And sometimes, he’d find himself just standing outside your window, hiding behind that same tree. Sometimes you’d sit by the window cell, play around with your hair, sometimes you would read. And sometimes, you’d walk around completely naked, in full view of Rafe. How many times he all but sped home to rub one out was actually embarrassing.

Rafe was tired of this little game. Though he didn’t quite realize it was a game at all. You had no proof, but you knew. That one time you caught him nearly running back to his car was proof enough for you. So you kept going, until he snapped. You didn’t anticipate just how fast he would break.

“Guess who showed up.” Your friend whispered in your ear. You casually glanced over your shoulder to find none other than Rafe, with Topper and Kelce right behind him like lost puppies. It had to be criminal how hot this man looked. The polo shirt he wore was hanging on by a thread under his biceps and you had to force yourself to tear your eyes away.

“Yeah, so? He shows up to every party.” You shrugged, pretending not to catch on to the blatant connection. She rolled her eyes at you.

“Oh, so he casually shows up to the one party you’ve come to all week? Don’t you think it’s a little odd?”

You shrugged again. You were sure it was a coincidence. Sure it wasn’t because you posted a selfie of your pretty makeup and your pretty dress with the location of the party you got invited to. And surely the way Rafe was staring at you right now had nothing to do with the way your dress accentuated your chest perfectly, showing enough but still leaving some to the imagination. But it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen them before.

“Nope. Anyway, want a drink?” You smiled at her innocently, completely ignoring her Rafe interrogation. She shot you a pointed look, surely she would grill you about it later, but she relented nonetheless.

With a smile you skipped over to the bar, your dress riding up ever so slightly as you leaned over the wooden bar to speak over the loud music. Rafe nearly dropped his beer, his eyes going from your hair down to your ass. He couldn’t take this anymore.

“Yeah, whatever bro. I’ll be right back.” He cut off Topper as he went on about one thing or another, he didn’t wait for a response and he approached you in long strides. He sniffed softly, running a hand through his hair before opening his mouth.

You heard your name spoken in a deep voice, with a drink in each hand, you whipped around, not expecting to run straight into a solid, muscled chest.

“Hey—oh fuck,” Rafe cursed when the drinks you were holding spilled all over his shirt, and over the front of your dress. You gasped loudly, nearly squealing when the ice cubes slipped down your chest.

“Rafe! What the actual fuck.” You almost screamed at him, desperately attempting to wipe off the alcohol soaking your dress, the front now sticking to your tits. Rafe wanted to say something, maybe apologize, but he was mouth agape at the sight of your soaked chest, it took him a minute to process.

“Shit, my bad. I didn’t mean to,” he swallowed, his own shirt starting to stick to his chest. Which didn’t slip past you, even in your anger. But you couldn’t think about that right now. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Yeah, alright. I’m sure you totally didn’t want to embarrass me by spilling drinks all over me. Grow the fuck up, Rafe.” You huffed, feeling everyone’s eyes on you. You could feel your face fluster with embarrassment and you had to force yourself not to cry. You had tried so hard to remove yourself from the old you, the one everyone made fun of, the one that got asked out to prom as a prank, the one everyone stared at in disgust. And you felt like that girl all over again.

Rafe didn’t even have time to argue, you were running off before he could get a word in. He groaned, discomfort settling in from his shirt sticking to his skin.

“Way to go bro. You didn’t have to embarrass the freakshow like that though.” Rafe sneered in disgust at your high school nickname and he rolled his eyes, shrugging off the casual hand on his shoulder.

“Shut the fuck up before I shove broken glass down your throat.”

If there was something in this world that Rafe could never have, it would be patience. And this little game had his sanity wearing very thin.

He didn’t know exactly when he ended up at your front door, fist pounding loudly as he called your name. His bike was somewhere on the lawn, he didn’t bother to hide it this time. He swore if you didn’t open this door right now he would kick it open. He stepped back, his jaw tight as he waited a few seconds before doing something more drastic. Then, the door swung open. And there you were.

“I swear to God Rafe.” You sighed loudly, crossing your arms over your now slightly damp chest, having somewhat dried off the front of your dress. Rafe was taken aback by the appearance of your glasses, however. He hadn’t seen you wear them since you came back. Were you always this cute in them?

No, focus.

“You didn’t even let me talk back there! I didn’t mean to run into you like that, I swear.” He took a step closer, slightly leaning down to talk close to your face. You couldn’t help but stare at him, eyebrows furrowed with mistrust.

“Oh right, so was it just a coincidence that you were standing right behind me like a wall?” You shot back, shooting him a suspicious look. He rolled his eyes at you, sighing heavily. “If you wanted to look at them better you could’ve just asked! You didn’t have to knock drinks all over my dress.”

The words left your mouth in a haze. Fast and angrily as you motioned your hands around. You didn’t realize what you said until the look in Rafe’s eyes shifted. Going from confused to downright sinful. He tilted his head at you, crowding your personal space with his big fucking body. You realized then that you really fucked up.

“What’d you say?” He asked, his voice low as he made you step back into your house. He followed you, his face close to yours and you swallowed.

“Huh?” Play dumb, sure.

“Uh-uh, don’t try to be all innocent now. What the fuck did you say?” He repeated, one of his large hands coming up to grip your jaw. You swallowed, your lips pulled into a pout.

“You really weren’t that sneaky.” You finally admitted, throwing all logic out of the window knowing you both got caught red-handed by the other. Though Rafe didn’t look embarrassed or even remorseful, if anything he looked pleasantly amused. Impressed even.

“Well, shit.” A grin pulled at his lips as he laughed, a rush of adrenaline flowing through his already amped up body. “You little whore. You were striping in front of your fuckin’ window on purpose, weren’t you?”

“I didn’t know for sure but, I heard your bike a couple of times.” You shrugged, trying to hide the devious smile on your lips. Rafe scoffed humorously, in utter disbelief. “You following me on insta was kind of a given, too.”

“You are..” He leaned down, his soft lips mere inches away from yours as he blew out a chuckle, “A dirty little slut. You have any fuckin’ idea what you’ve been doin’ to me? Hm?” He squeezed your jaw between his fingers, forcing your head back to make sure your eyes were on him.

The words that left his mouth made you rub your thighs together, heat forming between them at the thought of being this close to Rafe, knowing he was on the brink of madness, all because of you. You could see it in his eyes, that utter need to fuck you, take you over and over, or else he would go insane.

“Thought I wasn’t your type.” You shot back, pettiness lacing your tongue. A groan of annoyance rumbled in his chest.

“I didn’t know I was your type.”

“You’re everyone’s type, since when are you humble?” You mocked him with a small laugh, but it quickly died in your chest when his fingers fell to your throat, and he dug his fingers with the faintest pressure. You nearly moaned.

“Well you’re my type right now. Your tits sure fuckin’ are.” He bit his lip softly, making sure his eyes were on yours when he spoke again, “bet your pussy is my type too. Lemme find out, hm?”

If you weren’t wet before, you sure were now. You nearly moaned out loud, his words alone bending you to his will. Not that it would take much work.

Rafe didn’t get to say another word, you were pulling him down by the back of his neck and you kissed him, and you kissed him really fucking hard. He liked your intensity. He craved to find out just what else you were hiding behind your innocent and sweet girl facade. He slipped his tongue into your mouth, his fingers lacing into your hair to force your head back for him. And you happily let him. His other hand shamelessly grabbed at your ass, squeezing it as he kissed you. You couldn’t help but moan into his mouth.

“My bedroom is—“ you were breathless as you muttered against his lips. Rafe chuckled, cutting you off as he effortlessly hoisted you around his waist.

“I know where your fuckin’ room is.” Of course he did.

You giggled as Rafe tossed you on your bed, biting your bottom lip as you watched him pull his polo over his head and your jaw fell wide open at the sight.

“Dude why are you like, so hot? Fuck.” Your eyes were big as you nearly drooled at the sight of his muscled torso. He was so ripped it was unbelievable. Rafe smirked at you, happy to hear that you were stroking his ego. He quickly joined you in your bed, straddling you as he hovered over you.

“Yeah?” He leaned down, lips curved up into a grin as he pressed an open mouth kiss to your lips. You nodded as his tongue laced with yours, a string of spit connecting your lips when he pulled back. “You should've just talked to me then. Could’ve had me much sooner. You got any fuckin’ idea how long I’ve been wanting to fuck you stupid?”

“How was I supposed to know? You didn’t want me before. I didn’t know.” You pouted, a bit of hurt laced in your voice. He rolled his eyes at you, long fingers coming to squeeze your face. You held your breath as his blue eyes pinned you.

“No, you just wanted to punish me. You wanted to parade yourself around Figure 8 with your pretty little dresses and your innocent little smile. But then at night you’d strip yourself naked in front of your window.” He huffed out the words, frustration coating his tongue. You shrugged. “You wanted to act like a slut, so I’ll fuck you like one. But first, I wanna taste your pussy.”

The way your body shuddered when Rafe moved down the bed to settle between your legs was embarrassing. You were already shaking and he hadn’t even touched you. You held your breath in anticipation as he reached underneath your dress, tugging your panties down your legs. Rafe grinned at the blue lacy panties that matched your white and navy blue flowy dress. You pretended not to notice him casually shove the lace into his back pocket.

“Take off your dress. I wanna look at your tits.” You totally would punch any other man for speaking to you like this, but Rafe? He could speak to you in any way he wanted, especially when he was in between your legs, nearly drooling at the sight of your already soaked cunt.

You complied, unzipping the side of your dress before pulling it over your head, to reveal that you were indeed not wearing a bra today. Rafe nearly groaned at the sight.

“Fuck baby. You’re such a slut, did you plan this?” He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words were replaced by a gasp when he dipped his head and licked a stripe between your folds without a single warning.

It was actually embarrassing how quickly you were falling apart. You were a sobbing shaking mess as soon as he started to circle his tongue around your clit, sloppy sounds leaving his mouth as he moved his head up and down. Rafe was enjoying this as much as you were, how many times he fantasized about shoving his tongue into your cunt, what you would taste like, how you would sound like for him. It was driving him insane. He was groaning and moaning as he lapped at your soaking cunt.

“You taste so fuckin’ good baby. You got any idea how many times I went home to rub one out thinkin’ about your pussy?” He groaned, spitting on your clit as he looked up at you, catching the way your back arched off the bed as your eyes rolled back into your head. “Should’ve just taken you. You would’ve let me, right doll? If I slipped in through your window and fucked this sweet little pussy in the middle of the night, wouldn’t even care as long as you got some dick, right?”

His words slipped past you, only the feeling of his tongue back on your clit. You couldn’t think straight, your pussy was pulsing, it just felt so good, you didn’t remember the last time a man ate you like this, with such intensity and fervor. Rafe looked up at you again, amused by the way you squirmed and writhed on the bed. With a grin, he wrapped both arms under your knees and folded them damn near against your chest, spreading you open for him. And you couldn’t run away either.

“I asked you a question.” He spat into your clit again, this time watching as the string of saliva ran down your clit before licking it.

“Ah! Rafe! Fuck—y-yes! You can do whatever you want to me!” You sputtered, your voice breaking into a cry when he slipped his tongue into your hole. His nose bumped your clit as he fucked you with his tongue and you were nearly digging your nails into his scalp as you clutched his hair. You wanted to come so bad. “Please Rafe. I’m gonna come.”

Rafe groaned into your pussy at your words. His tongue was replaced by two thick fingers and he curled them perfectly, enough to have you thanking the Gods for having your own house separate from your parents' main house.

“Oh, fuck yeah. You look so pretty begging me to let you come. Say it again, say it again just like that f’me.” His eyes never left you as his tongue was back on your clit, his fingers slipping and curling inside your throbbing cunt in the most delicious way possible. You couldn’t even form a thought, let alone a sentence. You sobbed, your pussy pulsing around his thick fingers.

“Please Rafe! Wanna come!” You didn’t have to say it twice, the second Rafe hummed at you, his tongue lapping at your swollen clit as his fingers fucked you raw, you were over. You were a shaking mess as you came, all you could do was gasp and cry as his fingers fucked you through your orgasm, and he happily continued to basically make out with your cunt.

“That was so fuckin’ good baby. You were so good f’me.” He grunted into your thigh as he lazily wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Your eyes were screwed shut, heaving as you were still jolting from the aftershock. When you opened your eyes again you found Rafe already hovering above you, his blue eyes staring down at you with devious intentions.

“You totally look so fuckin’ hot with those glasses. You should like suck my dick with them on.” You blinked at him, mouth slightly open which made him grin at you. “Not right now, I wanna be inside you now.”

Rafe didn’t waste any fucking time in pressing your knees to your chest, your glistening pussy on full display and ready for his cock.

“I’m gonna fuck this pussy like I fuckin’ own it.” He spat, his jaw slightly falling open as he slipped into you. Your eyes rolled back almost instantly, the feeling of his cock stretching you was better than you could have ever imagined. He was so fucking big, too. “All these fuckin’ assholes lookin’ at you and I’m the only one that gets to fill this pussy, you got that?”

You nodded harshly as he bottomed out, and without a warning he pulled out only to slam back into you, his cock damn near splitting you open. You threw your arms around his neck, your fingers lacing around his hair as he slammed into you, filling you deeper than anyone ever has before.

“Just you Rafe! It’s always been you!” You grabbed his face, pulling him into a messy kiss. Your words made his cock twitch and all he wanted right then and there was to keep you here, beneath him, stuffed with his cock and never let you leave.

“Why didn’t you come back sooner, huh? This pussy is so perfect, so tight. Just f’me. Want you all the fuckin’ time baby.” He grunted into your mouth, both arms caging you in as he drilled into you, his cock so deep you could almost feel him in your fucking guts.

A string of pathetic sounds, a string of uh-uh-uh’s left your lips as he damn near folded you in half, your cute nails dragging down his back, surely to leave red angry marks. Rafe grunted in delight, his large hand coming to grab your throat. He definitely didn’t miss the way you pussy clenched around him then.

“Shit, you’re so fucking hot, yknow that? Such a pretty little slut f’me. You’re gonna let me use you, hm? Do whatever I want with you?” He squeezed your throat, forcing your head up and down in a ‘yes’ gesture and you moaned, eyes screwed shut. “Mhmm, exactly. Open your fuckin’ mouth.”

The sound that left your throat was so pathetic Rafe laughed. You did as you were told, opening your eyes as you opened your mouth, you watched him with glazed eyes as he leaned down and spat straight into your mouth. He watched you jaw slacked as you happily swallowed, feeling the bump under his fingers.

“You’re so fuckin’ nasty, I love it.” He leaned down again, his fingers tightening around your throat as he spat into your mouth again, but this time he kissed you, it was so messy and sloppy and you fucking loved it. “Act like a slut, I’ll treat you like a slut.”

“Mhmm yes! I’m such a slut, just for you.” You choked out, your throat raw and sore from the grip he had on it. He shuddered at your words, his cock twitching as he dropped his free hand to rub harsh circles around your clit. Your eyes rolled so far back you actually looked like you were spasming. “O-oh god. I’m gonna come—! Please Rafe—!”

“Ohh, feels so good, doesn’t it baby? You wanna gush all over my dick huh?” He spoke right into your cheek, his sweaty cheek pressed right against yours as he held you by your throat, your glasses getting squished by him and you were praying to the Gods that he didn’t end up breaking them.

“Please, please, please Rafe!” You sobbed, your soaked cunt pulsing around his cock, your thighs sore and shaking as you hanged on by a thread, so close to reaching your limit.

“That’s it doll, squeeze the fuck out of me, come all over my cock, just like that.” He rubbed your clit and drilled into your already abused hole until you were gushing, you whole body shaking as you fell into a fit of sobs. Rafe wasn’t one to come just like that, but the sight of you so utterly fucked out and sobbing almost made him spill right then and there.

“Ah! Rafe!” You whined as he kept fucking you, his rough hips and harsh pace not once slowing down, driving you to the point of overstimulation. You squirmed, almost as if you wanted to run away from him. He tisked at you, releasing your throat to grab your arm, holding you down as he gripped the headboard with the other, damn near crushing you with his big fucking body.

“Oh, where the fuck are you going, huh? Who said you could run away? Nah, you wanted it, so now you take it like a good girl.” He reveled in the way you took his cock, jaw agape, eyes screwed shut and forehead screwed into a frown of pleasure.

You were practically done for when he carelessly shoved your face to the side, damn near knocking your glasses off your face. His lips sucked marks on your neck as your pussy convulsed around his cock for the second time. Your head was spinning so hard and your vision was so blurry, you didn’t even know what planet you were on.

“Hmph! Rafe!” You yelped but he cut you off, a particularly sharp thrust making you slide up the mattress.

“Shut up. I’m gonna fill you. Gonna ruin every other man for you.” He spat, his voice raspy and his hair falling in front of his eyes as he chased his high.

“Please Rafe, give it to me. Want it so bad!” Well that fucking did it. A moan rumbled in Rafe’s throat as he spilled himself inside you. His eyes were screwed shut and his mouth hung wide open. He snapped his hips, one, two more times before he sat still with a long breath.

You laid speechless, blinking softly as you tried to slow your racing heart, and process that this actually happened. Sixteen year-old you would totally freak out. Rafe Cameron just fucked the life out of you. Rafe was looking down at you with a pussy-drunk look, his eyes slightly closed and his lips were parted. Not that you could see him that well. Your glasses were so smudged and foggy all you could see was blurry shapes.

“I just fucked you dumb and you’re making that face?” Rafe narrowed his eyes at you as leaned on his forearms, holding up his weight as your legs fell to either side of him. You frowned at him, confused.

“What face?”

“You’re pouting and shit.” He smirked, squeezing your face between his fingers and you shot him a pointed look, groaning.

“I forgot to take off my glasses. They’re all dirty now. Can’t see shit.” You rolled your eyes, pulling your face away from his grip as you took your glasses off and tossed them on your nightstand.

“Well you looked cute and shit so. You’re fine.” He pressed a kiss to your pouty lips before laying down beside you, the feeling of your mixed release making you hiss softly.

Rafe lied with an arm behind his head and he couldn’t help but grin when he caught you looking at him with your lip pulled between your teeth. He nudged you over with his head and you happily settled underneath his arm with your head resting on his chest. You didn’t take him for a cuddling type but you’d happily take this.

You sighed heavily, just wanting to rest your sore muscles for a bit when you heard him speak again.

“So are you gonna follow me back on insta now or what?”

#rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x you #drew starkey

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andypantsx3 · 5 months ago

Text

LOADS OF FUN : TODOROKI x READER

SUMMARY: After moving into your first apartment together, Shouto seems more amorous than ever. You're not sure why—but when he comes home to you doing a load of laundry, more than your clothes are about to get tumbled. TAGS/WARNINGS: nsft (18+ only, minors please dni!), pro hero au, gn + afab reader, established relationship, fluff, emotional sex, table sex, cunnilingus, the shouto domesticity kink agenda goes absolutely crazy in this one lol (2.8k) NOTES: This piece is part of my pretty boy summer Shouto x Reader collab! Please go check out the other incredible fics people have written over the course of the summer; you will absolutely die over how good they are. This fic was also made possible through donations to the Fics for Gaza project. I cannot thank everyone who donated to one of the charities enough, as well as those who organized, reblogged, discussed, and got the word out. Lastly, I am so grateful for your immeasurable patience with me as I take time between fics to manage my workload, I hope I'm not too out of practice here lol. In summary: thank you, thank you, a million times thank you.

The sound of the door opening was hidden in the thump and glug of the washing machine starting its spin cycle.

Halfway across the house, you were oblivious—you had the clean laundry spread out on the kitchen table, hunting through the pile trying to match one of Shouto’s socks to another that seemed to have vanished into that mysterious void which opens somewhere between the laundry basket and the dryer. One of his shirts was half-folded over your shoulder, abandoned in favor of the sock search.

The rest of your things were still mostly tangled together on the table, warm and fresh and cottony, the few shirts you’d already folded sagging off the kitchen chairs.

It still gave you a little thrill—even several weeks after you’d moved in together—to see Shouto’s things twined up with yours—his enormous socks dwarfing yours, your sweaters clinging to the occasional piece of his hero suit that hadn’t seen enough action to need his agency’s industrial cleaners.

It all added to your sense of satisfaction with your afternoon—a frosty weekend day you’d spent cozy indoors, moving slowly and leisurely through some chores. A pot of soup simmered on the stove, and your favorite playlist worked itself through in lazy loops. Shouto was due off his rotation soon, and you hummed contentedly to yourself, entertaining pleased little fantasies of curling up with him for the rest of the weekend.

Which of course is when something moved in the corner of your eye. Your hum sawed up into a strangled screech, and you whipped around, flailing. Shouto’s sock launched itself full force at the intruder before you even registered you’d thrown it. In your shock, your leg caught against the table and you went stumbling—

—right into a pair of warm hands that caught you about the waist.

Your hands were on the man’s shoulders to push him off before you realized you recognized the touch—and that you’d caught sight of a distinct mop of scarlet and white hair as you’d whipped around.

“Shouto! Again?” you scolded reflexively, even as your heartbeat stuttered out of its wild kick into high gear. You tipped your head back to stare your boyfriend in the face, shoulders slumping in relief, letting him take some of your weight.

Shouto peered down at you, that tiny scrunch between his brows that indicated concern. “Are you alright, love?”

Your heartbeat pounded thunderously in your chest. “I’m—fine. But my god we need to get you a bell. I almost peed.”

Shouto’s mouth shifted minutely into something that might not have registered in anyone else’s face but was most definitely a regretful downturn on his. He looked even more unfairly beautiful than when he’d left you this morning—a little flushed and windswept from the unseasonable cold, that full mouth pink and pretty.

Your mind flicked momentarily off and back on like a circuit breaker, the way it always did when you had to process Shouto.

You’d understood he was once-in-a-generation levels of beautiful before you’d even met him, his face staring up at you from the glossy pages of various tabloids over the years. But in person, even after years of knowing him and several more dating him, Shouto’s appearance still managed to cross all the wires in a person’s brain. His features were an incomprehensible blend of aloof and elegant, sensual and warm—like a cold masterpiece of a marble sculpture had suddenly found himself with a consciousness and human desires and miles of warm skin.

“I did not mean to startle you,” he said, his voice low and warm. He sounded sincerely regretful.

You knew he hadn’t meant to—you’d long suspected his silent tread was habitually ingrained in him from years of hero work. And, in your most private and ungenerous thoughts, you suspected from years of making himself unobtrusive in his father’s home. The thought sat sour in your mouth, like a slice of pickled lemon.

You resisted making an equally sour face, shoving the thought away to make space for the reflexive flush of pleasure seeing Shouto always brought you.

“Welcome home, Sho,” you said instead, smiling up at him. Shouto’s hands moved on your waist, sliding gently beneath the hem of your tee-shirt to rest on the skin there.

He was still in his hero uniform, and as usual you felt a little goofy in comparison, in nothing but a tee and a well-loved pair of fraying sweatpants, which were this afternoon decorated with little flecks of soup from a brush with the pot.

But Shouto’s eyes were warm where they rested on you, and that perfect mouth crept back into a contented set. His long fingers smoothed over your skin as he watched you, thumb brushing your hip. He did not look like he found you at all goofy.

In fact, as his eyes dropped down to your ankles, slowly dragging back up to your face, you rather thought he looked a little appreciative. He even took a rather ungentlemanly step back, still holding you, to better take in the whole picture. His eyes wandered over the swell of your hip, the lines of the shirt against your chest, before darting to his own shirt, still folded over your shoulder.

His fingers flexed tellingly on your waist, and those heterochromatic eyes were both a little bit darker as they flicked back to yours.

His obvious regard made you feel warm. You shifted on your feet, shuffling.

“I was just—doing laundry,” you said for something to say, your mouth feeling kind of dry. Something about him always made you feel sort of shy and light-headed, even after all this time together. “And I made soup. I was thinking we could eat on the couch and watch one of those horrendous old All Might films?”

Shouto’s eyes darted to the stove, then beside you to the pile of your laundry, lingering for a long minute. His long lashes dipped, almost fluttering as his gaze traced over the tangle of your things together. His eyes flicked back to you. He was still for just a moment, watching you assessingly.

And then all of a sudden the world spun in front of your eyes. The hands at your waist lifted you clean off your feet, and you let out a startled “oof!” as you found yourself laid out in the pile of laundry on the table, sheets and sweaters bunching beneath you.

Shouto moved over you, stepping between your spread thighs, right at the edge of the table.

“You have no idea,” he intoned in a deep, delicious tone that went right down your spine, “what it is to come home to you like this.”

You wondered at that, feeling a strange combination of confusion and flattery, when Shouto’s mouth descended onto yours. His mouth was soft and sweet and insistent and absolutely perfect. The table groaned as he laid some of his weight out over you, pinning you into the laundry as he kissed you.

Your fingers clutched at him immediately, curling in his silky-soft hair, cupping his face to yours. One of Shouto’s own hands shifted to your thigh, holding you against him as he pressed himself harder into you.

You heard yourself making little gasps of appreciation as Shouto’s mouth moved down to your neck, laving hot kisses down your throat. You reveled in the feeling of him over you, broad and strong, his shoulders blocking the glow of the overhead light, casting shadows over you.

He’d been a lot like this lately, ever since you’d moved in together. He’d been adequately amorous before, of course, and blessed with a pro hero’s strength and unflagging stamina. But a few weeks after you’d moved in together you’d actually decided you needed to reactivate your gym membership given the amount of incredibly athletic sex you were suddenly having over almost every surface in the house.

One of the only spots yet to be touched was the table though, which Shouto seemed determined to rectify at this very moment.

He pulled back from you, his mouth flush from your kisses, looking a little entranced as he stepped out from between your thighs. You made a little noise at the loss of weight and heat over you, but Shouto caught the fabric of your sweatpants, gently but determinedly tugging them off of you. Your underwear was tossed right over one broad shoulder as Shouto went to his knees, and then his mouth was right back on you.

A wave of wild heat licked up your stomach at the noise of appreciation he made before sealing his mouth over you, strong fingers clutching your thighs to keep them apart.

“Oh my god!” you said, pleasure zinging right up your spine with the first lave of his tongue over you. “Shouto!”

Shouto let out a deep, pleased hum, two long fingers sinking into you embarrassingly easily as he worked your clit with his mouth. Your back arched and you could feel your clothing shift with you, Shouto’s shirt balling up under your shoulder blade, still half-draped over your shoulder.

“Oh, oh!” you heard yourself saying as your fingers twisted in the clothing, shuddering with every lick and suck of Shouto’s perfect, amazing, talented mouth.

He worked you with the expertise of long, dedicated practice—everything about him calculated to drive you insane. One moment he was excruciatingly soft, mouth slack and the touch of his tongue as fleeting and light as the brush of a butterfly’s wing. Then the next he was sucking relentlessly, teasing firmly with the tip of his tongue as his fingers played with you.

Your first climax hit you mortifyingly quickly, and Shouto seemed to know it before you did. His grip tightened on you, holding you down as you bucked against his mouth. Shouto looked more than a little smug as he got to his feet again, unbelting himself and laying back out over you.

He kissed you some more, the taste of yourself always a sort of shock to your system. But Shouto never seemed to mind, and if anything only seemed hungrier for you, mouth pulling at yours like he meant to devour you.

You felt the touch of his hand between your thighs as he lined himself up, then sank into you easily, groaning appreciatively like he’d just sunk into a hot bath. He bit carefully at your neck, one large hand pressing your stomach down to keep you pinned against the edge of the table where he wanted you.

“I always want to come home to you like this,” he intoned into the skin of your neck, his mouth sucking dizzying patterns into your skin. “Always.”

You could barely think past the slide of him inside you, thick and full and blissfully exquisite. He really was the most perfect man on earth, and he always felt like it too.

You barely managed to blink your eyes open to watch him, trying to catch his meaning in his face. Shouto watched you back, those blue and grey pinned on you like he couldn’t bear to look away from you as he moved inside you.

“You—” you panted out, trying to cling to the thoughts threatening to wiggle out of your grip. “What do you—? Of course you’ll always come home to me.”

Shouto bucked into you harder, the slap of his hip against the bottom of your thigh echoing loudly over the burble of soup on the stove. His eyelashes fluttered, mouth softening, and a realization struck you almost dizzy.

Oh, he really liked that.

You suppressed a wave of giddiness, charmed and helplessly pleased that he seemed to like the idea so much. Was that why he’d been so especially ardent this past month? Was it really because you’d moved in together?

Shouto’s arm hooked under one of your legs, drawing it up firmly over his shoulder so he could press even further inside of you. He looked so good like that that you nearly lost the thread of your thoughts, especially when his next thrust felt like that. Your eyes nearly rolled back in your head.

“Ah!” escaped you. “Fuck, Shouto. Like that, please!”

Shouto’s thumb pressed down on your still-sensitive clit and he had to dig the fingers of his other hand into the flesh of your leg to keep you from bucking him right out of you with the way you squirmed. Sweet fucking gods he was unreal.

Shouto fucked you harder, the sound of your skin slapping together obscene in the quiet of the kitchen.

You tried again, struggling to watch his reaction with the way you wanted to throw your head back and babble nonsense instead.

“You’ll always come home to me,” you repeated, gratified when Shouto’s grip on you tightened, a soft sound escaping him. “You want me right here for you?”

“Ah—yes, love,” Shouto panted, staring down at you again. He looked like he knew what you were doing but didn’t care. “Yes,” he hissed.

“Just like this?” you prompted, trying not to slur the edges of your speech when he gave another particularly mind-bending thrust of his hips. His chest rose and fell heavily and he looked a little wild-eyed, gazing down at you.

“Like this, for me,” he said. “In my home, in our home—”

You could hear the table squeal and groan with the force of his next thrust, and then you had to grip the sides of it to steady yourself as he fucked you, looking blissful. Your nails scrabbled at the edges of the table, caught in between a million sensations—the glorious fullness of Shouto inside you, the gentle grind of his thumb against your clit, the way he looked all flushed and beautiful and panting and wanting—

You squeezed your eyes shut, too overcome with the sight of him to look at him anymore, but it was no use. Your entire body trembled as you came, and Shouto let out a low swear at the way you clenched up around him, hunching over you and pressing himself so impossibly hard against you as he came too.

He slumped down against you, weighing you into the soft-smelling cotton of the laundry you were now definitely going to have to rewash. You could feel his chest rise and fall as he panted, his breath tickling the skin under your ear. He left an unbearably soft, sweet kiss just under the lobe, at odds with the near-wild way he’d just been fucking you.

You warmed, petting through his hair with a helpless affection.

“Well now I know what time I should always do our laundry,” you said.

Shouto huffed into your neck, but you could feel a tiny smile curve his mouth.

“It is not just that,” he said, but did not elaborate for some minutes until you elbowed him gently. He peeled himself off of you just enough to look down into your face. “It is the thought of our life together. Our clothes piled together. You in the home we chose and we made…” he said, trailing off.

But you thought you got the sentiment. It was about how easy it was, how uncomplicated. A safe place to come home to, no expectations, just soup and a pile of sweet-smelling laundry and someone happy to see you. It was something far away from what he'd grown up thinking a home was, possibly something he’d thought he’d never have—something you were determined to make him realize now that he always would.

You let your fingers pull through his hair again, smiling up at him. “I am going to have to do our laundry again, though,” you teased. “In case that interests you.”

And despite what he’d just said, Shouto did in fact look a little too interested. You watched his mismatched gaze trail over to the closet that opened onto the washer and dryer. A contemplative look snuck across his handsome face, carefully curling the corner of that plush mouth.

“There is another place we have not yet broken in,” he said slowly, voice dipping low. He looked down at you with an earnest expression completely in contrast to what he was suggesting.

You couldn’t help but laugh, and that was all the permission he needed to pull you up, gathering you up in his arms and layering a fat handful of laundry on top of you. His belt buckle rattled loosely beneath you where he'd barely done it up in his haste, and you laughed harder when he turned off the stove as you passed it.

Though it turned out to be a needed precaution—as neither of you found yourselves free to sit down to dinner for several hours yet.

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