#next to him boss trying to sleep

[ridingthatd]

IT'S GETTIN' STICKY

one cock? how about two cocks? what's better than a threesum.

Pairings.

➨ TOJI x READER x GOJO - satoru walking into his slut of a wife getting fucked by non other then toji fushiguro.

➨ SUKUNA x READER x NANAMI - working at the office at night and you got horny, you start fingering your pussy thinking nobody is at work this late , what happens when sukuna your boss and his secretary nanami catch you.

➨ CHOSO x READER x GETO - being a sugar mommy meaning you can have two boyfriends?

Warning threesum, desperate men, pervert men, whiney men, alooot of cum, creampie, breeding kink, degrading, two cocks one pussy, pet names, masturbating kink, spit kink, rough sex, over simulation, no mercy, riding nose, yk what doja cat said abt big nose, very smutty

TOJI x READER x GOJO - satoru walking into his slut of a wife getting fucked by non other then toji fushiguro.

you liked it- no you loved getting your pussy hammered by the fat girthy cock that belonged to the man, your husband hated the most ; toji fushiguro.

the filthiness of it, the dirty, taboo feeling of your pussy getting stretched, gapped wide open by a thick, heavy cock that doesn't belong to your husband. getting fucked on the same bed you and satoru sleep in while he's away for a mission.

your pussy gushing, spurting on tojis cock that doesn't stop ramming into you, your hot juice flying everywhere- dripping down his heavy balls into your dirty bed sheets.

"you fucking dirty bitch, squirting on another's man cock like that?". toji groans, his bulky figure was coated with sweat dripping down his pinkish perky nipples down to his toned clenched abs as he struggles to not blow a warm load of his cum inside of you.

but the way your filthy pussy was gripping his cock around your sticky gummy walls wasn't helping. toji growl as he gaze at your fucked face through his heavy eyelids, eyes crossed, cheeks flushed as drool spills down your swollen lips that he wanted to suck on.

toji leans in, pushing your legs further into your body, placing both of your legs near your head as he thrust his big cock deeper inside your swollen red pussy.

"ah! ah! ah-! i cant- fuccck just like this!". you sob out, choking on your spit as your eyes roll back, he was hitting the most sensitive part inside your pussy with his fat tip.

"right here? yea?! like that? you like that fucking bitch?". toji growls, leaning in and taking one of your fat sensitive nipples in his mouth, suckling hard on it as he doesn't stop hammering his leaking cock inside of you, his heavy balls were coated with your warm fluid as your dirty pussy sloppily suck his cock in.

toji was so close, so close that he knew he had to pull out or else he'll end up fucking a baby in you. he pulls his rough hands that were pushing your legs next to your head away. he was about to pull out with a grunt but your words make him freeze in place.

"no! no! please-! mmmmmm- inside of me please!". you whine out desperately, your body shakes as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling his throbbing cock further into your pussy.

toji eyes darken, he hiss his cock was swelling with cum at your filthy words, his balls felt heavier, needier at the idea of breeding gojo satorus wife, creampieing you.

"you want me to creampie your pussy? hm?". he whimpers out, breathing heavily so close to exploding inside of you.

"yes! yes! yes!". you whine out, hips bulking up, arching your back trying to suck his veiny cock inside your stick slimey hole.

he growls before shoving his fat cock inside of your puffy red pussy in one go, ripping a scream out of you before your mind go blank, passing out from the force of his bulky cock ripping your little hole.

his whole body covers you, as he huffs and grunts next to your ear, his perky nipples were brushing against yours as he fuck into you.

"what a-". thrust.

"fucking-". thrust.

"slut!". he thrust his girthy cock one more time in, hitting the cervix of your pussy before shooting robes of his boiling seeds inside of you. the veins on his cock throb as he creampie you.

he smirks, his ears perking up at the sound of who made it here ; gojo satoru. toji doesn't bother turning around, he casually pulls out his now sensitive cock, admiring the way your pussy was full of his cum, dripping down the bed sheets.

"what a fucking bitch". satoru hiss, pulling on his tie as he rolls up his sleeves, exposing his thick forearms. as he makes his way toward your filthy state. he tsks gazing at your bruised swollen pussy, gushing out tojis cum.

"i think we should teach her a lesson". toji smirks.

"we?". satoru mutters.

your eyes shoot open as you feel heavy pain shooting from your pussy, your eyes water, you're not able to breath.

"ah! look who finally woke up". your husband groans, his long cock was bruising the cervix of your tight pussy, while you were drooling on a mouth choker, not giving you any room to breath. your nipples were on fire, they were pinched hard with a nipple clipper.

"oh you're going to regret this love".

its been an hour, or maybe two? you can't remember how many times satoru creampied your sore pussy, how many times he fucked his hot load inside you. your body was shaking, your pussy was so swollen and sensitive, your hole was gaping, gushing gojos cum out as he fucks another load inside of you.

"no more-! please-! im sorry! ahhhhh-mmmm!". you hiccup, choking on your own tears and drool as you struggle to speak, you can't feel your nipples anymore.

you were fucked out of your mind, your body was trembling shaking as you sob and hiccup over simulated and full. a belly bludge was forming from how much cum was pounded in you.

"aw, what do you think fushiguro? is she sorry enough".

"no, fuck no she needs a better lesson". toji groans as he strokes his leaking cock while staring at you.

SUKUNA x READER x NANAMI - working at the office at night and you got horny, you start fingering your pussy thinking nobody is at work this late , what happens when sukuna your boss and his secretary nanami catch you.

you huff, your breath quickens as you squirm in your office chair uncomfortably, were you ovulating? why was your pussy this fucking horny and wet.

maybe you could just- no, no. but nobody is here anyways, you're pretty sure it's just you who's in the building right now plus the idea of rubbing your pussy like a pervert in the office only made you hornier as you rub your thighs together.

fuck it.

your hot breath quickens as you lift your skirt up, rubbing your pussy through your wet panties. while your your finger trail under your shirt squeezing your sensitive nipples through your bra.

it turned you on so much how filthy the feeling felt, rubbing your pussy like a slut in the middle of your work place. you slowly push your panties to the side before circling your swollen clit gently as you bite your lips trying to supress your moans.

pushing your bra down, you gasp as the cold air hit your sensitive nipples- fuck this is so dirty you thought to yourself as you plug your delicate fingers inside your tight wet pussy, feeling the way it tightly grip your fingers, coating it with warm sticky fluid as you pump them in and out.

while your other hand squeeze your perky nipples hard, your fingers pump faster, chasing your orgasm, throwing your head back and shutting your eyes tightly as your pussy start gushing warm juice down your pussy into your office chair.

your back arch, moaning to the ceiling before your pussy clench hard around your fingers and your juice spray everywhere, gushing down your folds making a mess on the chair. your thighs shaking, your wet pussy was throbbing while your boobs were out, heaving as you huff and puff.

your eyes snap as you hear someone sitting on a chair close to you. you gasp, making eye contact with non other then your boss sukuna. who was gazing at you hungrily like you were his prey.

your eyes shift to the man that stood next to him, starting at you through his glasses, nanami. your eyes switch between both of them your body freezing not knowing what to do or what to say.

"i-". you were cut off by sukunas husky voice as he man spread on his chair.

"don't let us interrupt you, continue". he mutter out, his thick legs spreading as he adjust the ragging hard on through his pants.

your eyes widen, your heart beating faster not believing what your boss just said, your eyes follow nanami as he place a chair next to his boss and have a seat, raising his eyebrows at you, giving you a hint to go on.

"im-". this time nanami doesn't let you finish.

"aren't you going to listen to your boss order already you fucking slut?". he growls.

you flinch, you can tell they aren't playing around with you as you gaze at their fat cocks that were pushing against their tight pants. your pussy clench at the size of them.

you can't believe this is happening, you whine rubbing your over sensitive clit staring at the way your boss sukuna was palming his cock as he hazely gaze at you.

"shove a finger in". nanami command you, his gaze never leaving your pussy.

you whimper at his words before slowly pushing your finger in, spreading your thighs wide, placing them on the handle of the chair giving the two man in front of you a full view of how your pussy grip tightly on your finger before sloppily sucking it in.

sukuna curse, his jaw clenched hard as he rub his fat cock harder, you can see the way the tip of his cock was leaking, soaking the fabric of his pants.

your body was on fire, your brain was foggy with pleasure, the office was filled with the sloppy sounds your dirty pussy made as you pounding it with your fingers- filled with the heavy breathing and grunts that came out the two man in front of you.

sukunas wet tongue peaked out to lick his dry lips, before unzipping his pants and freeing his hard huge leaking cock, your throat dried as you stare at the thickness of his cock- fuck it would destroy you.

he hiss as his thumb press on his mushroomy red tip, smearing his precum around his sensitive tip before tugging on the base of his cock. nanami was right next to him not making a move to touch his twitching cock but you can see the pool of cum that was coating his pants- he came in his pants.

your whines got louder, omg you were so close to losing it- you were so close to spraying your hot juice everywhere-

"stop". sukuna groans out, still stroking his thick cock. you whimper, listening to his command.

"crawl over here like a good girl".

here you were on your knees, your ass swaying as you crawl your way to the men in front of you like an obedient dog, their huge figure towering over you.

nanami already has his pink cock out, they were stroking it in front of your face, you rub your thighs together trying to relief the itch and sukuna notice because he place his foot under your skirt.

rubbing the leather fabric of his shoes against your wet pussy, you cry out, grinding it against it like a dog in heat. their cocks were so close to your face yet so far, you can feel the heat of their warm fat cocks throbbing in front of your face, their red tip were getting pumped so hard with their rough hands.

"tongue out". nanami growls out, huffing as he strokes his dick harder. you immediately obey, your wet tongue was out, your hot breath fanning against their sensitive tip throw them to the edge.

robes of hot cum shoot on your face and tongue, heavy grunts and whines were coming out of them as they squeeze the last bit of load into your face.

while some of their cum dripped down the floor, not pleasing your boss because he grabs your hair and push it toward the floor.

"lick it clean you fucking slut".

CHOSO x READER x GETO - being a sugar mommy meaning you can have two boyfriends?

it was 5am in the morning, the birds hasn't chirped yet, lewd wet sounds filled the room, choso was under your meaty pussy lips his flushed face was coated with your hot wetness, dripping from his red swollen lips to his flushed cheeks down to the pillow under him.

he was drowning with the hot fluid your puffy pussy was gushing out as the long bridge of his nose was fucking into your sticky hole, gripping so hard on it not giving him any room to breath.

while he's the cold metal of his tongue piercing was lapping on your swollen clit, suckling on it like a baby suckling on a nipple.

"mmmmm- it's so go-! ahhh". choso slurr on his words not being able to control the way his hips was bukling up, the precum leaking down his clit as he hump the air making his poor cock more sensitive.

cum was coating his cock from how many times he came untouched, the swollen head of his fat cock kept leaking cum, dripping down the veins on his base as they twitch and throb just from the taste of your wet pussy.

you would have told him how much of a good boy he is but your mouth was already full with getos thick cock. his warm seeds were overflowing your mouth from how much cum you sucked out of him.

it was spilling down your swollen bruised lips. "fuck- mmm pleasssse no more-! i can't-". geto whines, his dick was over simulated, so sensitive inside your wet mouth.

you squeeze his balls hard, geto shudders he felt like he's going to piss, his hand immediately flys to your hair gripping hard on it trying to push you away.

"fuck! mommy-ahhhhh! i gotta pee-". he sob out, choking on his drool, trying to supress the huge urge to piss directly down your throat.

his words doesn't stop you, but only make you massage the squishy tip of his cock with your throat, squeezing your throat harder on his cock while you ride chosos nose faster.

slaming your pussy down his nose, causing your juice to splash on his face. suguru couldn't hold it anymore.

your eyes roll back as you feel the hot liquid spraying down your throat, geto was shaking, eyes crossed as you suck the life out of him.

but you don't forget to also reward choso, squirting all over his face, gifting him a spurt of your juice as he doesn't waist a single drop drinking everything you gave him.

[cloudwisp]

✮ sylus x wife!reader

contents: fluff, suggestive. arranged marriage au. hints of slow burn. you like playing hard to get and he loves calling you his wife. 1.4k wc.

꒰ note ᰔ I had to deposit my messy thoughts somewhere and this headcanon post was the result.

part two here. ꒱

⭒ Arranged marriage with Sylus where he prefers to call it a “strategic partnership” as a means of appearances to flaunt that he has it all—an empire, riches, strength, influence and now a darling wife who waits for him at home. You’re not so much as a random choice, Sylus had been watching you from afar for a while and in exchange for his protection in the N109 zone he strikes a deal with you to play a simple role. You have every reason to be wary of him and know to keep your wits about yourself, but even you acknowledge that your chances are better with him. Though, if you asked him how he was so certain you’d agree to his proposal he’d admit that he wasn’t but he knew you’d consider it if he had an advantage over you.

⭒ He sets his terms and conditions—you reside in his humble abode, wedding ring always worn on your finger, and attend events with him as a pretty accessory on his arm to contribute to his image. But he’ll never admit that he actually enjoys your company at business functions that often feel dull to him. You are more than welcome to spend your days as you please so long you don’t cause him trouble, and that also means you have his black card privileges to spoil yourself rotten. Of course, he accommodates most requests you may have like sleeping in separate rooms if that’s what you wish (and redecorating because his furnishing decisions are quite bleak).

⭒ Luke and Kieran can sense that their boss feels something for you despite his nonchalance toward this little arrangement. It starts off small, it always does—Sylus takes note of your morning and night routine, your picky eating habits and has the chef make adjustments to your preference, how he sees you out in the gardens and come back with spring tulips to brighten the space and the next week he already replaced the slowly withering flowers with fresh ones. The twins whisper among themselves that he’s often less annoyed and irritated when you’re around, and their boss wouldn’t go through the trouble of being considerate unless he cares for you. It’s almost exciting for them both to witness a budding romance unfold before their very eyes and they do offer a helping hand here and there to keep things interesting.

⭒ Sylus thinks it’s adorable how you keep trying to resist him and that’s precisely the reason he loves seeking you out just to watch your resolve crumble under his touch. He finds you in the kitchen preparing a snack and cages you from behind with his hands planted on either side of you against the counter. “Hey kitten, I thought I’d find you in here.” You feel his hot breath down your neck as he pushes your hair aside just enough to lay a soft kiss on your shoulder. He chuckles when you comment that he’s being awfully touchy with you, and he purposely moves closer so that his chest is pressing against your back. “Perhaps I just can’t keep my hands to myself where you’re involved. Besides, you’re my wife now. I think I have the right to touch you whenever I like.”

⭒ You remind him that you’re his wife in title only, but that doesn’t discourage his flirtation and teasing as he allows you to nudge past him. He follows you into the common area and takes a seat on the couch, spreading his legs wide and taking up a lot of space. His gaze is settled on you as he pats his thigh and his lips curl into a smirk. “Come here, wife.” You naturally scoff meanwhile you place the plate of seasonal fruits on the side table and situate yourself closest to the armrest, taking a bite into a juicy red strawberry as you ignore his piercing stare.

⭒ For someone who always gets what he wants, Sylus isn’t used to being defied like this. And had it been anyone else his patience would wear dangerously thin, but he supposes that you’re a special exception because he seems to enjoy the chase and claiming its reward. With one small gesture, he drags you across the couch by a gravitational pull and you squeal when the swirling red easily turn and maneuver you so you’re forced to straddle him and your hands prop on his shoulders for support. “There, much better. Comfy? This is the best seat in the house.” His gaze locks with yours, and he thinks you huffing and frowning at him is simply cute. He firmly grabs your wrist with the bitten strawberry in your hand and lifts it to his mouth for a sweet taste.

⭒ “No fair… using your Evol against me like this.” You grumble under your breath as you gently trail your thumb from his chin to the corner of his mouth where the strawberry juices began to spill. Then an impulsive thought takes over and you pinch his cheek between your fingers, creating a sticky mess on his face. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself. That’s for treating me like a sack of potatoes.” He chuckles once more, his hand falling on your hip and he gives you a light squeeze. “Oh, I do have every intention of fully enjoying my wife tonight.” And by that, he means taking you out for a joyride on his motorbike and feeling your arms wrapped around him tightly as the engine roars through the streets under the night sky and sinking moon. Sylus would never engage in any intimate acts you weren’t ready for, but he loves seeing you fluster at his suggestive remarks.

⭒ As the weeks cross over into months, you never imagined that you’d be spending so much time with Sylus outside of your agreed terms. He’s everywhere in every waking moment of your life even when he’s not there physically. You’re learning new things about him each day and you (begrudgingly) like being around him—even when he can sometimes be a playful bully toward you. When he’s gone for long stretches of time to deal with negotiations and other important matters in the N109 zone, you can feel your heart yearning for him but you’d never say that you miss him out loud when you think he's still toying with you. But with the way he cares for you like you’re both in a real and genuine relationship, it’s hard to know his true intentions and keep your feelings buried deep inside your chest for long.

⭒ You accidentally confirm that Sylus does harbor romantic feelings for you when you carelessly bring up your replacement in a lighthearted joke. You’ve never seen his face falter so quickly at your words as he averts his gaze for a moment to collect himself—a hint of vulnerability in his crimson hues. “I wouldn’t have found a new wife.” He shakes his head and tells you, his voice a little rougher than before. You don’t know what to say, but you manage a soft “No?” that reaches his ears. “No. I wouldn’t have been able to replace you, kitten. You’re it for me. The only one. No one could fill the void you’d leave behind.”

⭒ You and Sylus have kissed before, but this is the first time you’re initiating it. As you brush your lips against his, there’s a softness you never noticed. His hand slips around the small of your back and he pulls you close against him, returning your kiss with the same tenderness as though savoring the taste of you. You lean back after a moment, your palm meeting his cheek in a sweet embrace. “You know, I'm still getting used to the idea that I’ve fallen for you.” You can see him returning back to normal when he offers you a cocky smirk. “And yet here you are. In my arms, with your lips on mine. I think you’re not being entirely honest, my beautiful wife.” Sylus has waited a long time to hear those words from you but you don’t need to know that right now.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

AITA for telling my boyfriend’s coworkers that he’s lying about his body count?

I (35f) have been dating my boyfriend (32m) for four years. It’s honestly been the best relationship until last Friday when it all went down. I feel like I’m in the right, but now I’m wondering if I overstepped.

For context, my boyfriend has been a professional Slasher for about eight months now. He’s always really admired Cryptids, Monsters, and Nightmares so when his application was finally accepted, he was over the moon even if he was starting in a lower position than he initially applied for.

At his company, being a Slasher requires a lot of travel which we knew when he accepted the position. The end goal is for him to get a promotion to at least regional Nightmare (he wants Cryptid, but that position doesn’t have a lot of turnover) but to get that he needs to be in role for at least 12 months OR meet his goals for three months in a row. Once he promotes, we plan to relocate to his new region and “start talking about our future.”

(Side note: no this isn’t about him not popping the question yet. We are both in agreement that marriage comes after financial stability. I run a small business doing scare consults and, while it’s been growing, I wouldn’t call it stable yet. So neither of us are ready.)

I told him it’s completely normal for it to take a whole year before he’s ready to promote and he really should focus on adjusting to the company before thinking about next steps. I used to work for a competitor (I’ve been retired for five years now) and I know it can be hard to go from only taking the occasional human life to having to take over half a dozen a week. It’s not a light workload, no matter how easy it looks in the movies. One of my best friends Slashes part-time and she still only averages about five lives a week despite having done it for years. Especially these days, it can be really hard to meet quota. Humans are getting smarter, no matter what the Council wants us to think.

Anyway, boyfriend didn’t do as well as he thought he would in his first couple months. Totally understandable, of course, which I told him. I suggested he ask his boss if he could be put on a couple team assignments or even a duo until he got the hang of it. That was our first real fight. He thought I was doubting his ability to kill. He brought up how I told him it would take over a year to promote and how I said that this job wasn’t for everyone (His first assignment ended with a 0% kill rate, but that’s a different story). He said it felt like I didn’t believe in him and he said that if that was the case then maybe we shouldn’t be thinking about marriage so soon.

It got pretty messy after that. I felt like he was forgetting that I’d worked in the same field and, arguably, had a lot more experience (not to brag, but I averaged a 98% kill rate). Also, four years is NOT too soon to talk about marriage. He said I didn’t understand how he needed to focus on his career right now. I told him I thought he was taking Slasher too lightly just because it wasn’t Cryptid. He accused me of not respecting him and then things spiraled from there.

We both said a lot of things we didn’t mean and I’m embarrassed that it turned into a bit of a fang measuring contest. I ended up sleeping under the bed for a few nights until he coaxed me out to apologize.

It was a rough patch, but we talked it out. We agreed that, going forward, I wouldn’t offer advice unless he asked and he would try not to take so much of his frustration home with him. He took a weekend off and we went on a recreational haunting trip in the Montana woods.

Things did get better after that. I tried not to give him consults every time he came back from a work trip. He started bringing me souvenirs like roses and cursed puzzle boxes his work said he could have. It became easier just to hang out with each other and it felt like we were back to normal.

But then, four months ago, he came home super pissed because his boss put him on a PIP. (A performance improvement plan.) Apparently, boyfriend had not been doing better at work, he had just stopped telling me when he had a bad assignment. I saw the paperwork he got (he left it in the dungeon under the house, I didn’t go through his stuff) and he’s been missing quota by a LOT. As a junior Slasher, he was supposed to be executing at least 6 people a week, but he’d been lucky to be maiming half that.

Obviously, I had to talk to him about that. We rent our house and, even though I could have afforded the rent on my own, I didn’t want to jeopardize the investments I was making in my business (I was in the process of hiring an assistant to handle my scheduling). Plus, we agreed from day one that we would be 50/50 on rent and I would take care of the rest of the bills because I earned more. I felt that if his financial situation was in jeopardy, he needed to talk to me about it.

I tried to approach him a bit differently than last time. I asked him if there was anything I could do to help. I told him about my slasher friend and how maybe she could give him advice if he didn’t want any from me. But he said he needed to figure stuff out on his own and that if he couldn’t get himself off the PIP then he would go back to work for his dad’s janitorial company.

I let it go. I was worried but I didn’t want to fight again just after patching the holes from the last blow out. It really bugged me that he thought I didn’t believe in him so I committed to giving him the benefit of the doubt. I said okay and asked him if he needed me to meal prep for both of us that week. He offered me grocery money, but I said it was fine since I’d had to deal with a lot of humans breaking in lately and I still had some leftover in the dungeon.

Fast forward a month. Boyfriend got off the PIP super fast. He worked his way off of it over Spring Break and started taking on a lot of extra assignments. In just four weeks he went to Miami Beach twice, New York City twice, and to three separate summer camps. I missed him and it was hard not having him around but I remembered how he said he needed to focus on his career and I tried not to nag.

It was hard not to nag though. With him gone, all the housework fell on me. We rent a 19th century manor, and its upkeep really does need two people. Doing all the chores plus running my business started to really drain me. Even when he was home, he forgot to banish the ghosts (my chore is to kill all invading humans, and his chore is to banish their ghosts) and he never took out the trash. I think he cleaned blood off the dungeon walls once, but then I had to basically redo it because he missed a lot of spots.

But still, I didn’t say anything because he was doing really well at work and I didn’t want to ruin that for him. Even when Humans started breaking in every week, I didn’t complain even though it interrupted my work day.

Last month though, I did ask him if we could move somewhere that needed less maintenance. There were just way too many Humans breaking in and I didn’t have the time to deal with them anymore. Even if I don’t do all the theatrics I used to as a Cryptid, killing humans through fear still takes a lot of time. He asked me if I didn’t appreciate the free meat, and I said I would appreciate it more if I wasn’t the only butchering it.

He said he didn’t want to move because he was really close to getting promoted to regional Nightmare and he didn’t want to take time off work to move. I was so surprised that I couldn’t hide how surprised I was. He saw and got offended. He asked if I still didn’t believe in him. I said that I did, but it was a huge jump to go from an 8% kill rate to getting promoted.

He got even more mad at me for bringing up his stats and he said that he had nearly 80% kill rate since being put on the PIP. I asked how many humans a week he was slashing and he told me I was being too nosy and that was proof that I didn’t believe in him.

I asked him if we could at least hire a ghoul then to keep the humans out of my office and he said he didn’t want to waste the money that we should be saving for our new house. I asked him what he wanted me to do then? I had to take phone calls for my consulting business and it was really hard to stalk humans all around the house while trying to sound like a professional to my clients.

He asked me to be patient for one more month. He said if he met quota for one more month, his boss said he’d get promoted. So I said fine and let it go.

Fast forward to now, almost a full month later.

Last Friday, I attended the Eldritch Conference. For those not in the scare field, the Eldritch Conference is the most prestigious event in our industry. It’s invitation only and is a chance to network with all the big players in the field. Mothman, the Jersey Devil, Bloody Mary and Bigfoot all spoke this year and both my former company, Grudge Industries, and my boyfriend’s current company, Forgotten Summer Solutions, were invited.

I was surprised to get an invite as a solo contributor to the field. However, my consulting firm has really been doing well and I did land a seasonal contract with the Yeti Co-op which I guess is how they heard about me. Plus, I’ve been a speaker before so I think the organizers knew I would behave myself.

I was planning on telling my boyfriend that I was going, but he was out of town on a co-ed sleepover assignment. He usually doesn’t have his phone on during his assignments, so I didn’t bother calling him. I just figured it’d be nice if we ran into each other at the conference if he made it back in time.

Which brings me to what actually happened (apologies for the long post).

So everything went great for my part of the day. I got to network with a lot of individual businesses and even got to reconnect with Blood Mary who I knew back in my Cryptid days. I told her I was dating a Slasher from Forgotten Summer Solutions and invited her to come with me to check out their booth. I thought it would be fun to grab dinner with her after since I assumed if my boyfriend was there, he’d be going out with coworkers which he often does. Plus, I admit, I was showing off a little. I don’t often get the chance to brag about my Cryptid days.

She agreed and we went over to see if my boyfriend was there.

I introduced myself to the people manning the booth. My boyfriend wasn’t there, but a few Slashers recognized my name and greeted me. They were definitely in awe of Bloody Mary (she came in full uniform) and invited us to look at their displays. They had portfolios for each Slasher on the desk as a sort of preview of what their services looked like.

While Bloody Mary looked through the portfolios, I chatted with my boyfriend’s coworkers. They said they were thrilled to work with him and that, even though he had a really rough start, it was impressive how quickly he started meeting his goals. Something about how they talked about his work kind of didn’t make sense. They were talking like he was killing a dozen humans a week, but he’d told me that he was at 80% on his assignments which typically only offer about ten humans each.

I asked them about it and they said that he’d been Slashing during After Hours which is a new goal supplement program his company launched a few months ago. Basically, anyone can sign up for After Hours and the company counts human kills done in uniform as part of their quota. I asked them if this was available to them while they were on assignment and they said no, it had to be done when they had down time. I asked them how my boyfriend was part of that when he was traveling all the time and they looked confused. One of them said that my boyfriend is still getting one assignment per week and is then supplementing his kill rate with After Hours.

At that point, I was even more confused. It sounded like my boyfriend had been lying to me then, because he told me that he was getting at least two assignments a week. If he was only getting one, then where was he going when he said he was traveling?

Bloody Mary interrupted before I could say anything and asked how their Slashers did their kills. They said that every Slasher at their company is required to use a standard issue weapon (like a machete or axe) for their kills to count. They said their company doesn’t count accidents as part of their quota (like falling or heart attacks).

Bloody Mary pulled me aside and showed me the portfolio she was holding. She said that she was going to give me a chance to explain without them overhearing and showed me the book. She said that a bunch of kills in it looked Cryptid kills. And she said, specifically, it looked like the kills I made when I was a Cryptid. I took the book from her and flipped through it and she was right, they really did look like Cryptid kills. Worse, I recognized a few of the Humans from the past few weeks. They were actually my kills!

Kill stealing is a major taboo in our industry.

I told her I didn’t know anything about this. She looked really relieved at that and said that even though I wasn’t a Cryptid anymore, it would look really bad for me if I was caught helping a Slasher cheat at their job. It could affect my business which she’d only heard good things about.

I’m embarrassed to say that I tried to defend him. He’s new to our industry so I thought it might be a mistake. He might not be trying to cheat, this could be a misunderstanding.

She said she didn’t think so because a mistake would be one or two of my kills mixed in with his, not the entire book.

I counted up how many photos were in the book and, all told, of the 146 kills, at least 100 were mine. I couldn’t really say it was a mistake at that point and I was just staring at his portfolio like an idiot. Bloody Mary asked me what I was going to do because, mistake or not, this looked really bad and could damage my reputation if it got out.

At that moment, another man walked up to booth and asked us if there was a problem. I knew that if I said anything, I would be jeopardizing my boyfriend’s job, but if I didn’t say something, I was jeopardizing my business.

I told my boyfriend’s coworkers that he was lying about his body count. I said I didn’t think that they knew he was doing it, but over half of the kills in his portfolio weren’t his and I suggested they remove it from their display before another Cryptid came by and realized it.

The other man thanked me for bringing this to his attention and asked how we knew. Bloody Mary said that she knew another Cryptid’s kills and I had to tell them that I was that Cryptid, though I was retired now. He asked me if I knew my boyfriend was doing this, and I told him no.

I told him I really didn’t want to get my boyfriend in trouble and suggested that maybe he didn’t know those kills didn’t belong to him because they happened in our house. I was grasping at straws and Blood Mary even looked sad for me. His coworkers looked skeptical but tentatively agreed. The man – who turned out to my boyfriend’s boss – said that they would investigate this thoroughly and apologized personally for his employee’s misconduct.

I was spiraling at that point so I thanked him and said I wasn’t mad, I was just looking out for both of our reputations. He promised to keep it between us and I agreed.

Then I apologized to Bloody Mary because I didn’t feel like eating dinner anymore. She said she understood and wished me well.

I went home and did a quick perimeter search of the property. Sure enough, there were human summoning stones ALL OVER the yard. Which means my boyfriend was intentionally luring humans to our house to get me to kill them so he could take credit. It wasn’t a mistake at all.

My boyfriend came home later that night in his work clothes. As soon he got inside he started yelling. He said he was suspended without pay and that all his hard work was for nothing.

I said I knew he’d been stealing my kills and he almost ruined my reputation. He said they still counted as his kills because he did all the work of luring the humans to our house.

I told him that wasn’t how it worked and he knew it. He said it was the same as setting a trap and I was taking this too seriously. I told him that, as a Slasher, he has to use a weapon to get his kills, not me. He said I was basically the same thing since I had such a high kill rate. I asked him if he was calling me an object.

(My parents exploited me by selling me as a haunted doll through a lot of my childhood and he knows I’m sensitive to being called an object.)

He backpedaled at that point and asked if I didn’t want to buy a house together. He said he was doing it for us and I should’ve understood and not said anything. I told him that when I was a Cryptid I had my pride and would’ve never done this.

He said I needed to tell his boss that he was the one who made all those kills. I said it wasn’t me who recognized them as Cryptid kills and now his boss knew too. He accused me of thinking I’m better than him because I have telekinetic powers and can move through shadows and can possess people, while he’s basically a human himself. I told him of course not and that I worked hard for those powers unlike him.

He got really mad at that and actually charged at me with his machete raised. I don’t think he was going to actually hit me, but I reacted like he was. It was all instinct. I disarmed him and I swear I heard a crack when I grabbed his wrist. I shoved him into the wall.

 He crumpled to the floor and started crying. He said sorry and sort of curled up around his wrist. He said he didn’t ever feel like he was enough for me and he didn’t even know why I was still with him. He called himself a bunch of names and said I would be better off without him.

I sort of awkwardly stood there for a minute. On one hand I wanted to assure him that he was enough and that I loved him, but, on the other, I wasn’t sure I could forgive him. He nearly ruined my reputation, and he embarrassed me in front of Bloody Mary. Plus, I still didn't know where he’d been going all those times he said he was on a business trip and apparently wasn’t.

So I ended up not saying anything. I went to our room and started packing a bag. He followed me. He was still crying as he begged me not to go. He said he would own up to his kill steals at work and he would make it right. He pleaded for me not to leave him and that he would give up slashing.

I told him I needed space to think. He tried to grab me, but I shadow walked out of the house. I heard him screaming from outside and I hurriedly drove away.

Now I’m at my friend’s house and I told her everything. She agreed I did the right thing walking away from him, but when I asked her what I should do she hesitated. She said that my boyfriend wasn’t right to kill steal but, as a fellow Slasher, she understood what he was going through. She said I wouldn’t understand the pressure to meet quota because I was always surpassing mine when I was in the field. She said that a Cryptid could never understand a Slasher.

She also said that nobody would have found out about his kills if I hadn’t brought them to his boss’ attention. She said the only time kills are on display like that is at the Eldritch Conference and by the next one, he’d have had kills of his own. She thinks that if I’d just confronted him at home, he wouldn’t be on suspension.

So now I’m worried that I overreacted when I told my boyfriend’s coworkers that he was lying about his body count.

AITA?

----

Thanks for reading! Several amazing supernatural citizens (aka my Patrons) gave great advice to our poor OP over on my Patreon! Please go check them out here (X)

(I will definitely be posting some of them here in the near future!)

My next supernatural AITA is already up to my patrons!

It's called "AITA for divorcing my vampire husband because he lied about his human job?"

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[the-thing-inside-your-closet]

The Feast!

Inspired by this post

Danny, now an adult, works as an engineer and tech developer for Wayne Enterprises. One day, he has to bring his daughter, Ellie, into work with him. Ellie’s school had been temporarily shut down after a rouge attack, and the campus isn’t yet safe for the students to return to.

Danny had been ready to call into work to request the time off he’d need to watch his daughter until the school could be re-opened. However, his bosses seemed to be aware of the situation, and the predicament faced by many of the parents who worked for them. And a company wide email was sent out advertising Bring Your Kid To Work Day! Wayne Enterprises was offering all employees with children too young to be left home alone unsupervised the opportunity to bring their children in to work with them for the week, as that was the timeframe thus far given for when the school would be safely up and running again.

Danny is relieved that he wouldn’t need to take any unpaid time off. Nor try to find a last minute babysitter who’d A: Danny could trust to watch his little star, and B: be willing and able to watch her.

When he tells her about coming to work with him, Ellie is ecstatic! She gets to see where her dad works! And she gets to meet his work-friends! She’s so excited! She wants to make a good impression, so when Danny has gone off to begin cooking dinner, Ellie begins to make plans.

The next day, Ellie has woken up early and already gotten herself ready. She decided to wear a large poofy jacket and a pink too too over the top of her jeans. She has her backpack, filled with things to entertain her.

Once they’ve arrived and Danny has introduced Ellie to a few of his co-workers and some of their own children on the way to his desk. Along the way, Danny and Ellie pass by several offices and a we meeting rooms. It’s in one of these meeting rooms that Ellie spots her first target.

She quickly slips into the room before Danny can notice she’s run off and approaches the young man, teenager?, hunched over some papers reading intently. He’s got bags under his eyes that rivalled Danny’s back when he was still actively protecting Amity. He looks like he’s living off of nothing but caffeine and spite alone, and hasn’t had a proper nights sleep in months.

None of the other various businessmen and women in the room have noticed her presence yet, as she silently wanders up to the sleepy boy-man. She reaches into her pocket and just as she’s about to pull out her little gift, Danny has burst into the room frantically having noticed his child has slipped away. Again.

All eyes are on Danny as he apologises profusely for the intrusion, swooping in to take Ellie’s hand. He’s still apologising, now to the sleepy boy-man who is looking at Ellie in awe, like he couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed her enter the room.

While her dad was still rambling Ellie quickly pulls an orange from her pocket and hands it to the boy-man. He takes it with a curious and perplexed look on his face.

“Ellie,” Danny sighs, “not again.”

Ellie grins and reaches into her jackets to pull out another orange. Danny swipes it before she can hand it to the businessman sitting next to the boy-man. She pulls out another one, and as Danny is grabbing it she slips from his grip and ducks under the table. Ellie runs to the centre of the room and unzips her backpack. She tips it upside down, and what looks to be 20 oranges spill out and roll across the floor.

With a feral grin, Ellie picks up an orange and throws her hands into the air in triumph, and shouts. “LET US FEAST!”

[rivrsong]

..

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

cw - yandere behavior, choso doing perverted stuff, bondage, problematic behaviors, smut, mdni, not proofread

imagining you and sick pervert!choso being roommates in an apartment together.

sick pervert!choso doesn’t like when you leave the apartment. he has some form of separation anxiety when it comes to you, but actually, he just loathes the idea that other people are getting to see you when he can’t.

sick pervert!choso who sets a curfew for you to help “ease his worries”. you agree because you like the fact that someone is watching out for you.

sick pervert!choso who ties you up to his bed when you break curfew one night. he doesn’t even touch you inappropriately. he just keeps you right where you belong: in his room.

sick pervert!choso who coos sweet condescending words to you while you’re tied up in his bed. “you know why i had to tie you up, don’t you?” you swallow thickly and nod your head. your eyes are glassed over from tears and the alcohol you had consumed earlier in the night.

sick pervert!choso who assures you that he forgives you for staying out past curfew. “it’s okay, baby. don’t cry. i just needed you to stay here with me for a little while, okay?”

sick pervert!choso who keeps you tied up until the next morning. he only unties you to lead you to the bathroom. he cares for you so tenderly as you shower and brush your teeth, but it’s right back to being tied down to the bed after your little break.

sick pervert!choso who admires you while you sleep. he loves how soft and vulnerable you look. it makes his dick twitch in his boxers, and he doesn’t understand why. he just knows he has to take his own bathroom break now.

sick pervert!choso who finally lets you go after a full day of being tied up, but he gives you big puppy dog eyes the moment you try to go to your own room, so of course, you sit with him and let him kiss the rope burns on your wrists.

sick pervert!choso who has a love/hate relationship with your job. he hates the fact that he has to share you with your job, and he hates that other men get to look at you while you work. what if they start getting the idea that they actually have a chance with you? then, choso will have to kick their teeth in :(

sick pervert!choso who also loves the time you’re gone sometimes because that’s when he gets to go shopping in your room! he breaks in, and he only steals a few things… like your used panties.

sick pervert!choso who will spray your perfume against his pillows while your gone. he will have a pillow with your perfume shoved against his nose while he chokes his throbbing cock with your panties.

sick pervert!choso who makes it a mission to fuck all of your used panties, leaving behind globs of cum in the crotch portion as he cries out your name however loud he wants to because you’re at your stupid job.

sick pervert!choso who noticed you’re taking far too long at work one evening. he’s blown up your phone with texts, and he finally checks the apple tag on your car that he accidentally left behind between the seats. you’re at a bar… without notifying him first.

sick pervert!choso who paces around the apartment all night, debating on just showing up at the bar, but he knows you’ll be upset with him for stalking you. his heart leaps into his throat as he hears the door open up.

sick pervert!choso has your back pressed against the door in record time. his nose is buried in your neck and shoulder as he’s trying to smell for anyone else’s scent on you. “where were you, baby? i was worried…”

“my boss brought us all out for drinks since we hit a big deadline, chocho. i’m sorry. my phone died.” you say as you rub his back, trying to soothe him from how tore up he was.

sick pervert!choso who leads you up to his room anyways to tie you up. you should’ve known better than to keep him worried and waiting like this! now he’s all pent up with too much possessive energy… he needs to see you bound to his bed to ease his anxiety.

sick pervert!choso forgot to hide the evidence of his activities all day. a few pairs of your panties are scattered around the floor, and he immediately tries to do damage control, but it’s too late. you already saw them.

“chocho, is this why my panties always go missing?” you ask as you pick up your favorite white cotton pair. you hold up the pair for him to stare at it with guilt in his eyes.

“i try to always return them!” he says with a small pout. “they smell like you. it helps me…”

sick pervert!choso who’s terrified that you’re going to give him a look of disgust. he knows that you’re going to hate him forever for being so sick and demented. he doesn’t want to have to, but he will drug you to keep you here with him. he loves that you stay willingly, but he’ll do whatever he has to do to keep you by his side.

“you do this while i’m at work?” you ask slowly. choso can’t see an ounce of disgust in your face.. only curiosity and something he can’t quite put his finger on.

after gathering his confidence, he finally nods his head, “and sometimes while you’re asleep…”

sick pervert!choso who’s awe struck when he watches you slide your panties out from underneath that sinful pencil skirt you wear to work. he’s nearly drooling out of his mouth as he looks at the pink lacy fabric.

“you want them?” you coax, and he’s quick to nod. the thought of being able to feel and smell them while they’re still fresh and warm… he’s about to cum in his pants from the thought.

“i’ll give them to you if you agree not to tie me up tonight,” you bargain with a knowing smile. “i also want to watch,”

holy shit. sick pervert!choso’s heart is hammering through his chest. this is like a fantasy come true. he reaches out and takes the panties from you, and he’s quick to hold them over his nose.

he groans and palms his throbbing dick through his pants as your scent fills his nose. he takes another deep breath, committing the scent of your pussy to his memory. he’s never experienced anything this divine in his life.

you sit on his computer chair as you watch your roommate fall apart over a simple pair of your panties.

you cross your legs together, watching as choso’s eyes are resting on you. he pulls out his massive cock, and be strangles the lacy pink fabric over it. he then slowly wraps his hand around the pace, and he fucks himself into your panties.

it’s truly a sight for sore eyes. choso’s leaned against his bed, whining and whimpering pathetically as he claims your panties again and again. he wishes he could shove the pillow over his nose, but then, that would block his perfect view of you.

sick pervert!choso would’ve never expected for his sweet roommate to react the way you do to the sight of him fisting his cock with your panties.

“fuck,” he growls, and he pumps his dick faster. the fabric is becoming slick with his own pre-cum. “you want me to mark your panties like this, baby?” he asks, managing to dirty talk you without stuttering or whimpering.

“yes,” you barely whisper. you’re so caught up in the sight of him — you almost forgot to reply to him.

his hips start to raise with each pump, and he feels himself getting close. he grips his cock tighter, imagining it was you gripping him like a vice while he fucks your tight pussy until you forget your own name.

a moment later, he groans as he quickly aims his cock, and he cums all over the crotch of your panties. rope after rope of his cum cover the pink fabric until it’s a sticky mess.

he pants as he looks over at you, and his heart is elated by the fact that you look just as desperate as he feels.

sick pervert!choso knows he could he making a mistake, but he takes a leap of faith based off your facial expression. “put them on,” he roughly demands, holding out your freshly ruined panties to you.

your eyes widen, and you look up at him with a little bit of uncertainty. however, you know you two are on a path of depravity now that you watched him claim your panties. you slowly take the panties from him, and you carefully slide them up your legs.

a moan escapes your lips as you feel his warm arousal press against you. it’s sticky and wet. it’s slightly uncomfortable, yet you’ve never been more turned on in your life. it was like a raw act of deprivation as you wore your panties that he had soiled.

“you like that, baby?” he asks, and he can’t help the small tremble in his voice. he desperately wants you to like it as much as he likes it. he’s enamored by the sight of your thighs clenching together. he might just make you wear the panties for the rest of the night.

you nod shyly with a small hum.

sick pervert!choso who never knew his roommate was a secret deviant freak until he watched you sit in panties filled with his cum all night long.

sick pervert!choso who falls even more in love with you after feeling so raw and close to you, and he has no idea that you have plans to ask him to use your panties while you’re wearing them next time <3

[mochacoda]

too nice | hjs

Pairing: Hong Joshua x GN!Reader

Synopsis: Joshua Hong is nice. Too nice. He’s the kind of nice that makes people think twice about their relationship to him, wondering if they might be special. The answer is, no. Problem is, he's your coworker and your neighbor.

Content: Fluff | Coworkers to Lovers, Neighbors to Lovers | Office AU

Tags: slightly insecure reader, totally inspired by the youngji chocolate milk grandchildren interview, lots of elevators, lots of tension, a bit of drinking, mutual pining, "sweetheart" as a petname, gentleman agenda indeed, except he goes a bit mad at the end, seungkwan is a comedic genius, woozi is the wingman of the year, konglish w/ context clues, reader is scared of loud noises, no "y/n," loosely connected to python (seungcheol)

Word Count: 10K

Masterlist

────୨ৎ──── Monday

Joshua Hong is nice. Really nice. He opens the door for you every morning walking into work. He insists that he carries heavy file boxes from your boss’ office to your desk. He buys you coffee from the cafe down the street, knowing that the instant machine is almost always broken. Whenever he passes you in the hallway, he always smiles and mouths “fighting!” He notices when your enthusiastic mask slips and your tiredness peaks through. He tells you not to work so hard, and asks if you’ve been sleeping well. 

He’s the kind of nice that makes people think twice about their relationship to him, wondering if they might be special. 

But the answer is, no. 

“He’s just like that. He’s nice to everyone. Get a grip.”

You sigh, staring at your reflection in the mirror hanging above your vanity. You’ve been absentmindedly rubbing moisturizer on your cheeks for the last three minutes, at least, thinking about your coworker. How have you gotten to the point of talking to yourself in attempts to rationalize the thoughts of him clouding your mind?

All of a sudden, your alarm rings. You jolt upright, reminded that you have to leave your tiny apartment and head over to your equally small office cubicle. 

You quickly stand up from your vanity chair, then walk over to your closet to grab a jacket. Relying on muscle memory, your hand moves toward the hook it always lies on, only to swipe at air. 

The one and only winter coat you own isn’t there. 

You groan, remembering that you’d put it in the laundry bin after staining it with beer over the weekend, at that disastrous company “bonding” event. You look down at the taupe sweater you’re wearing, pinching the material to guess if it’d be warm enough. It’s barely a centimeter of fabric. 

Glancing at the time on your phone, you decide that the thin sweater would just have to do. 

You turn back to the mirror to do one last check of your appearance, when something catches your eye. Sitting on your bedside table is the plushie Joshua had won for you at the arcade. The bunny stares back at you innocently. You’d placed it there last night before crashing out on your bed, fatigued from the chaos of the company outing—or, more specifically, the secondhand embarrassment recalling your attempts at trying to be normal around Joshua.  

You shake your head roughly. You could cringe at yourself on the way to work. Grabbing your work bag and shoving your shoes on, you rush over to the door. 

Squaring your shoulders, you open it and walk out. And for a moment, as you’re turning your key to lock the door, you think that you’ll be alone for the commute to work for once. 

But then you hear a familiar voice.

“Good morning!” 

You tense, heart beginning to race, then turn around with a weak smile.

“Hi, Joshua.” 

Somehow, you’re not only coworkers with your crush, but also next door neighbors. 

“Hey,” he says, then takes a sharp breath. “It’s pretty cold today. Is that sweater going to be warm enough?”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, avoiding eye contact as you drop your keys into your bag. “It can’t be that cold.” 

You adjust the bag strap on your shoulder and walk toward the elevator on your floor, pressing the down button. It immediately opens.

“You sure?” 

You nod as the two of you walk inside the elevator. 

Hoping he’ll stop pushing you on your lack of a coat, you ask, “Did you look into the McKinley and Lee file yet?”

“Come on, it’s not even 9am and you’re already attacking me with work!” Joshua dramatically clutches his chest, then lightly punches your arm. “What’d we say about 워라밸, huh?”

You feel your face getting hot, your right hand reflexively going up to where he’d touched your left arm. Was it always this toasty in the elevator?

Meeting his eyes for the first time today, you say, “Yeah, yeah, work-life balance. You’re right.”

His lips turn up and his eyes crinkle into bright crescent moons. You find yourself smiling back at him, despite having tried so hard to avoid his stupidly sweet gaze.  

“I’m just teasin’, you know?” he says, leaning casually against the steel walls of the small elevator.

“Yeah, yeah,” you mumble again, rubbing the handle of your bag and tapping your foot to give yourself something else to focus on, suddenly aware that the two of you were alone. 

God, could the elevator move any slower? Fidgeting with the loose threads of your sweater, you were on the verge of melting from being near his vicinity for so long. 

Ever since Joshua Hong had arrived two months ago as a transfer from the Seoul branch, you haven’t gone a day without running into him. It was HR’s fault, really. The Human Resources department had placed him in yours, and also gave him the company-funded apartment next door to you. 

He’d spent so much time around you that, if you didn’t see the people who regularly flocked to him, you’d think you were his only friend in the States. It was, and still is, ridiculous. His constant presence has meant that you are constantly aware of yourself. Of how you’re breathing too loud, and how your heart is beating too fast, and how you were in too much of a rush to do your full routine this morning. He makes you care more than usual about how well you perform at work, and, worse, he makes you think about how happy and funny you appear to be. 

The way he teases you for being nervous (although that’s only because he’s around practically all the time) and the way he always notices when you aren’t feeling well—it’s as if he sees right through you. Yes, he sees right through you, and it’s incredibly scary knowing he could confront you at any time—maybe even in this elevator—and say that he’s known all along that you’ve had feelings for him. And what’s worse is that you know he’d be polite with his rejection. He’d be a gentleman, carefully letting you down with—

“Hello? Hellooo?” Joshua says, waving his hand in front of your face.

You jump, blinking rapidly. “Huh? Sorry, what?”

“We’re here, sweetheart,” he says gently.

“Oh,” you reply lamely. 

He gestures with his hand for you to walk out of the elevator first. Inside the lobby, he walks by your side. As the two of you approach the door, he reaches it first, and opens it for you to head outside. 

You’re immediately hit with a blast of winter and harsh winds. Your arms instinctively tighten around your stomach, trying to prevent the cold air from rushing up your sweater. 

Joshua turns to you, brows furrowed. His eyes glance over your sweater again, and you can tell he’s about to say something. Certain it’s an I told you so, you quickly say, “Before you start, I’m fine. It’s really not that cold, and the bus is coming soon anyway.”

You march forward toward the crosswalk before the bus stop, knowing he’s following behind you. Once you reach the start of the white lines, you slow down to a stop, waiting for the signal to change. 

Still behind you, Joshua says, “거기 있어봐.” 

“왜?” Though confused, you listen to his request to stay where you are. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, feeling somewhat awkward just standing with your back turned to him. 

He doesn’t answer your question why, but you hear a shuffle and the sound of fabric rustling. Then you feel a warm coat draped over your shoulders. 

You turn back to face Joshua with a start, opening your mouth to protest.

But before you can get a word out, he takes his pointer finger and lightly presses it against your lips. 

“Shh,” he says with a smile. “Tomorrow, wear a jacket, okay?” He pats the top of your head. 

Speechless, you barely bring yourself to nod, then remember to shut your jaw. Let’s just survive this bus ride, you tell yourself. God, it was unfair how nice he was. It only made it harder for you to believe he was like this with everyone—or to stop hoping that, somehow, you might be the exception. 

────୨ৎ──── Tuesday

Ever since you showed up to work on Monday wearing Joshua’s coat, your coworkers have been speculating nonstop about your nonexistent relationship with the man. More specifically, your two closest friends in the department, Boo Seungkwan and Lee Jihoon, have had a lot to say. 

Today would be no different. Huddled around the coffee table in the break room with Seungkwan and Jihoon, you’ve been roped into listening to their comments. 

Eyes darting between the two of them, you silently sip on your coffee.

“I’m a hundred percent sure now. I swear it’s real, he’s so into you,” Seungkwan says while staring at you, waving his hands in the air like a madman.

Jihoon raises his eyebrows. “Are you sure? Remember when you said that the delivery guy had a crush on this one,” he replies while pointing at you, “only for it to be me? Your 촉 is trash.”

Seungkwan scrunches his nose, and huffs in your direction, as if you’re going to defend his skill of guessing office relationships. (You’re not.)

“Your hunch is horrible, I said,” Jihoon says, goading him. 

“No,” Seungkwan frantically shakes his head. “That was a one off. Remember when I said the nepo baby in Finance liked Director Chun’s secretary? He kept staring at her and nobody believed me but I was right!” 

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Lucky guess.” 

“No, no, no, my 촉 is excellent, thank you very much.” Seungkwan turns to you, all pouty. “You trust my 촉, right?”

Finding the entire conversation ridiculous, you can’t help but shake your head and laugh. Though Seungkwan prides himself on his supposedly superior hunches, he is really only accurate half the time. 

You raise your coffee cup to your lips and sip on the liquid inside, a perfect state in between steaming hot and lukewarm. 

“Kkah, this coffee is great,” you say to Seungkwan, ignoring his question. 

His eyes suddenly widen, and he frantically waves his pointer finger at you. “Oh, oh! Another thing! He always gets you coffee from that expensive place next door, Cafe whatever. He never gets us coffee, but he always gets you coffee.”

Taken aback, you put the cup down, saying, “No way, he does that for a lot of people. He bought coffee for the receptionist like, last week.”

“That’s because it was her birthday,” Seungkwan says. 

“And how’d you know that?” you ask.

“Because there were happy birthday balloons next to her desk?” Seungkwan says matter-of-factly. 

“Well—” you retort, before getting cut off. 

“You know,” Jihoon suddenly interjects. “I hate to agree, but it’s true. Joshua doesn’t do that for anyone else.” 

“Right?” Seungkwan exclaims, nudging your arm with his elbow. “Come on, I’m so right. Woozi said I’m right. Trust the 촉.”

You rub your temples, feeling ambushed by your loud friends. 

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” You wave them off as you stand up from the little coffee table chair you’d been sitting on for the last few minutes. “I’m going to head out.”

“Where are you going?” Seungkwan asks.

“Away from you,” you joke.

“I know you’re going to the vending machine,” Jihoon accuses. "You always get a snack after coffee."

You raise your hands in mock surrender. 

“Can you get me a granola bar, then? You know the one I like, the blueberry one.” Seungkwan asks.

“Oh, and a Coke Zero for me?” Jihoon adds. “Y’know, not everyone has a coffee fairy named Joshua, like you do.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You know it’s not like that. Besides, you guys just love using my money, don’t you?”

“Guilty,” Jihoon grins.

“Come on, I paid for karaoke last Friday,” Seungkwan complains. “That was way more expensive than a granola bar and a Coke.”

“Coke Zero,” Jihoon says, emphasizing the “Zero.” 

“Tomato, tomato.” Seungkwan wrinkles his nose, enunciating the “ay” and “ah” in the two pronunciations of the word.

“Apples, oranges,” Jihoon insists.

“Okay, okay, let’s not fight, children. A blueberry granola bar and a Coke Zero, on your way.” You give a pretentious salute.

Grasping your coffee, you down the rest of it and get up from the table. You crumple the cup and toss it into the trash can before leaving. 

Walking through the main hallway, you pass the vending machines on your department’s floor, which are known to swallow dollar bills without offering products in return. Between the youngest employees in the department—people like you, Seungkwan, and Jihoon—you’ve discovered a secret spot that has better machines. 

Once you reach the elevator, you tap on the down button. When the doors open, you walk inside and press on the “G” and “Door Close” buttons. 

The elevator doors close smoothly, and you tap your foot as you watch the numbers at the top right corner go down from 8. It reminds you of the awkward elevator ride from Monday morning, but you quickly shake those thoughts out of your head. 

It’s best not to think of Joshua when you don’t have to.

The garage is a relatively far trek from floor 8, but it’s a worthwhile time sacrifice. The other floors (and by extension, their vending machines) are locked by key cards for employees of their respective departments, so it’s either you take a chance with the floor 8 machines or head to the basement. You, Seungkwan, and Jihoon have all found that you’d rather not take that chance. 

The elevator announces your arrival to the ground floor with a ding, and as the doors open, you make a beeline toward the machines. 

Seeing that someone is already using the vending machine closest to the elevator, you walk past it toward the machine closest to the doors leading out of the hall and into the garage. 

“Blueberry granola bar, Coke Zero. Blueberry granola bar, Coke Zero,” you repeat to yourself under your breath.

Coming to a stop by the vending machine, you scan the snacks inside. Grabbing your wallet, you fish some dollars out and double check the numbers of the items before lifting your right hand up to the combination pad. 

Jihoon first, because he was slightly less annoying than Seungkwan this morning: Coke Zero, number 405. You punch the numbers into the machine. When it flashes $2.00, your eyes widen. 

“Two dollars for a soda is robbery,” you groan. 

Still, you count two dollars out from the wad of cash in your left hand, then feed it into the machine. The machine begins whirring, the spiral in 405 moving forward. But just as you think the drink is going to come out, the spiral stops. 

“Oh, come on,” you mutter. 

You press on the small button next to the number pad that you guess is made for delivering change, but it doesn’t return your money. 

Maybe putting in two more dollars would make the machine move and spit out two drinks? Immediately acting on the thought, you punch 405 in the number pad again and feed two more dollars into the machine, only for it to whir without delivering the Cokes again. Another two dollars later, and the same happens. 

Taking matters into your own hands, you begin banging on the front of the vending machine. After around five seconds of failing to make the machine respond to physical force, your arms fall from the screen back down to your sides. 

Clenching your fists, you sigh and count out two more dollars from your left hand. Then, your right hand stalls. 

On second thought, you really don’t want to lose more money to the machine. Maybe you should try to force it out one more time? You shove the remaining cash into your back pocket. 

You raise your clenched fists again, but before your hands meet the vending machine glass, a voice suddenly comes from right behind you. 

“Whoa, whoa.” 

Unfortunately, you’d recognize that honey-coated voice anywhere. 

You spin around wide-eyed, coming shockingly close to Joshua Hong. His face is dangerously near yours, and his arms have wrapped around your body to clasp your hands in his.

“Shua? Wha—” Your voice is breathless, trailing off like you’ve forgotten how to speak.

“Hey, don’t fight the machine. You’ll only end up hurting your hands.”

His words are soft, but the way his thumb grazes your knuckles leaves a faint hint of warmth, like he’s lit a match against your skin. You should pull back—really, you should. But the closeness, the weight of his presence, keeps you frozen in place.

Your heart stutters in protest. This is nothing. He’s always like this. Always caring, always thoughtful. Always too close.

And yet, remembering what Seungkwan and Jihoon said, some part of you also wonders: Why does it feel different when it’s me?

Scowling, you drop his hands and take a step back, like distance will save you. "It's fine. I'm handling it."

His brow arches at your defiance, and for a moment, his gaze searches yours, like he’s looking for something you’re not ready to admit.

"Are you?" he asks, the words laced with amusement.

Your hands ball into fists at your sides, both in frustration and to keep them from reaching out for him again and betraying you. 

“I am,” you insist, though the heat rising in your cheeks threatens to undermine your confidence.

But then, just as quickly, he tilts his head, and his lips curve into a smirk—soft, upturned at the corners, with those faint dimples that could bring a fortress down.

And for a moment, just a moment, you wonder if you’re the only one feeling this way.

But before you can think of a sharp retort, his voice cuts through the haze in your head.

“You should’ve just asked me for help—like always.”

The softness in his tone, the familiarity, pulls you up short. It’s almost unbearable how easy it is for him to say things like this. Like it’s normal. Like it’s not turning your brain into static.

It’s too much. He can’t keep getting away with this, with being so nice to you all the time. It’s not fair.

“Stop being so nice to me,” you blurt out, clenching your fists tighter. You’ve got to hold your ground.

Joshua cocks his head slightly. “I thought you like it when I help you?” 

Your face gets, if possible, even hotter. 

Honestly, what can you even say to that? 

Desperately avoiding his face, you stare at the much safer collar of his shirt. It’s an off white color, like the fur of the stuffed bunny he’d gotten you at the arcade. It remains on your nightstand because you still have no idea what to do with it. 

Realizing that you didn’t answer him, you finally deflect. “Where’d you even come from? I didn’t see you.”

“Over there,” he says softly, pointing at the vending machine by the elevator.

“Oh.” You press your lips together, belatedly realizing that the person you’d passed on your way to this vending machine had been Joshua all along. 

“So, what’d you need? I’ll fix it for you.” 

You feel your face getting hot again. “Coke Zero,” you mumble.

“I thought you didn’t like Coke?” Joshua asks. 

He remembers?

“It’s not for me,” you explain. “For Woozi.”

“Woozi?”

“Oh, I mean Jihoon.”

Strangely feeling like you have to explain yourself to him, to let him know that you’re only friends, you say, “We went to college together. Me, Jihoon, and Seungkwan. We just happened to get into the same department here.” 

Joshua hums in acknowledgment. “No wonder, I always saw the three of you together. Made me feel left out.”

Your heart drops. Eyes wide, you cross your arms repeatedly, saying, “I never—we never meant to exclude you at all!”

“That’s okay, I have you to talk to, right?” he says with what you can only describe as an upside down smile. 

You swallow and nod. 

“Y’know I was just teasing,” he says casually. “I wasn’t offended.” 

Before you can confront him about the mental whiplash he’s putting you through, he grasps your shoulders and maneuvers you to the right, so that he can stand in front of the machine. His touch was fleeting, but your heart skips a beat anyway. 

You watch as he grabs two dollars out of his wallet, then punches 405 into the keypad. As the spiral whirs, he sends two precise kicks to the bottom left of the machine.

Doubting his method, you raise your eyebrows in uncertainty. But just as you do, the whirring is accompanied by the sound of the soft drinks falling.

Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump! 

That actually works? 

Joshua bends down and sticks a hand into the bottom flap of the machine, pulling out the drinks that had just dropped from slot 405. 

“Four Coke Zeros, at your service. Anything else?”

“Oh, a blueberry granola bar for Seungkwan. And those chips for me,” you say with mild surprise, pointing at slots 201 and 302. 

“Sure thing.” He taps the corresponding numbers and slips some bills into the machine. 

Thankfully, 201 and 302 are very cooperative, unlike 405. 

“Thank you, you didn’t have to pay for those,” you say, your fingers brushing against his as you accept Seungkwan’s granola bar and your bag of chips. The faint contact sends an unexpected jolt through your chest, one you force yourself to ignore.

“Oh, it’s not for free,” Joshua replies, his lips curling into a smile that’s soft yet pointed. “You owe me a coffee from next door.”

You blink at him, caught off guard. “Tomorrow morning, then?”

He nods his head slightly, a gesture so casual it almost feels calculated. “How about today, after work?”

Your heart stutters. The way he’s looking at you—his eyes shining, eyebrows raised a little, with a faint crease between his brows—feels strange. It’s somewhat vulnerable, like he’s waiting for something.

No, surely not. Surely, he’s not—

The thought dies before it can fully form, drowned out by the thundering sound of your heartbeat.

“Sure,” you manage to squeak out, your voice embarrassingly small in the space between you.

His smile widens, but there’s a flicker of something else in his expression. Relief? Satisfaction?

You swallow hard and grip the snacks in your hands like they’re a lifeline. You need to get a hold of yourself. Joshua Hong is not asking you out. He’s just nice. That’s all.

────୨ৎ──── Wednesday

“You’re joking. You’re actually joking.” Seungkwan’s voice rings throughout his waterlogged apartment. 

“Most unfortunately, I’m not.” You blink, feeling a droplet of sweat getting dangerously close to your eyes. 

You carefully wipe the sweat that’s gathered at your forehead using your forearm, since your hands are gloved up. You definitely don’t want the nasty residue from the rubber gloves getting on your face. 

Seungkwan glares. “You didn’t tell me that you were on a date with You Know Who! Otherwise, I wouldn’t have called you.”

“Well, you did,” you say exasperatedly, grabbing an antique-looking lamp and lightly placing it in the box of items to throw away. 

“Tell me what happened, exactly. Don’t leave a single thing out!” Seungkwan barks, waving at you from across the room, where he’s dismantling a chair to put in the box. 

In the middle of clearing out Seungkwan's damp furniture, your mind drifts back to yesterday afternoon, to the cafe where…

────୨ৎ────

…The soft hum of coffee grinders and the steady chatter of customers make you feel warm inside, easing the tension from earlier that morning. You sit across from Joshua at a tiny table near the main window, taking in how the late afternoon sun casts a golden glow over his face. He looks like royalty, and you think you could watch him for forever. 

He’s nursing a cappuccino, his slender fingers tracing absent patterns on the side of the mug, while you sip on a mocha latte, its foam already starting to lose its shape. Staring at the latte, you think it’s about time you moved on from small talk.

“You really didn’t have to pay for my drink,” you say, though your voice lacks conviction. It’s hard to argue with him when he wields his secret weapon every time. 

He smiles, that same boyish, disarming grin he always gives you. “It’s just coffee. I get you one almost every day, y’know?”

“Yeah, but I was supposed to—”

“Exactly,” he interrupts, eyes sparkling. “Think of it as payback. For all the mornings you made brighter just by showing up.”

Your cheeks warm at his words, heat spreading down your neck as you lower your gaze to the coffee table, suddenly fascinated by the faint scratch marks on its surface. “You’re too nice,” you manage, the words feeling as flimsy as tissue paper.

“Only to you,” he says, and though his tone is light, the words feel impossibly heavy. Like they’re carrying something you’re both too afraid to name.

Your heart twists violently as your eyes snap up to meet his. The way he’s looking at you—steady, unyielding—makes your breath hitch. This is Joshua, you remind yourself, the nicest guy you’ve ever met. And yet, you can’t ignore the way it feels like he’s waiting for something. For you.

“You don’t mean that. I don’t believe that.” The words spill out before you can stop them, shaky and uneven. But even as you say them, a part of you aches with the knowledge that it’s not entirely true.

Because deep down, you want to believe him. You want to hold onto the idea that he’s different with you, that the warmth in his voice and the way he looks at you isn’t just another facet of his kindness but something more.

But that hope is dangerous.

If you believe him and you’re wrong—if this is just Joshua being Joshua, warm and selfless to everyone he meets—it’ll break you. So instead, you tell yourself that it’s impossible. That he can’t mean it.

You clutch onto every reason why: the way he always holds the door open for others, how he buys coffee for the entire team sometimes, the way he seems to know exactly what to say to make anyone smile. It’s who he is, you think, not just with you.

The idea of reading too much into his words—of exposing your heart only to realize you’ve misunderstood everything—is unbearable. So you push it away, burying the small flicker of hope before it has a chance to grow.

But even as you deny him, there’s a quiver in your voice, a hesitation that gives you away.

He leans forward slightly, his arms resting on the table, shrinking the distance between you. “You should. Don’t you ever wonder why?”

Your breath catches. His words hang in the air, heavy and charged, and for a second, you think he’s about to say something that will upend everything you’ve convinced yourself to believe about him.

“Joshua, I—”

Before you can finish, your phone buzzes loudly on the table, shattering the moment. 

You scramble to grab it, breaking eye contact as you glance at the screen.

It reads: “Kwannie Kwannie Kwannie.”

You sigh deeply but answer the call, putting the phone to your ear. “What?”

“Help!” Seungkwan’s voice comes through in a panicked shriek. You take the phone a few inches away from your ear, wincing at the sound, then stiffen. His tone did not sound like one of his regular, made-up crises. Bringing your phone closer to your ear, you hear him shout. “My apartment’s flooding! There’s water up to my knees, my coach is floating! I don’t know what to do! Jihoon’s useless with this kind of stuff, and you’re the only person who knows where my emergency shutoff is—”

“Okay, okay, breathe. 4-7-8 method. I’ll be right there,” you say, shooting up from your chair.

Joshua watches you, his brows knitting together in concern. “Everything okay?”

“Seungkwan’s apartment is flooding. I have to go help him,” you explain, grabbing your bag. 

“I’ll come with you,” he immediately offers, already standing.

“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it.” You force a smile, though you’re still buzzing with the tension of whatever had just happened. “Thanks for the coffee.”

Before he can respond, you rush out the door, heart racing—not just from Seungkwan’s crisis, but from the words Joshua almost said. You hear him calling your name, but you’re unable to bring yourself to look back, afraid you’d cave. 

If you had, you would’ve seen a crestfallen Joshua still standing by the table, frozen in place...

────୨ৎ────

...Seungkwan drops a chair leg. 

If the water hadn’t already been drained (by you, yesterday, when you figured out how to use Seungkwan’s emergency shutoff valve), the metal leg would have made a small splash and floated in knee-deep waters. Instead, it fell obnoxiously loudly onto Seungkwan’s hardwood floor, ringing throughout the half-empty apartment with full force.

“Ah! Seungkwan!” You jump, nearly dropping your drill, which you had been using to unscrew the legs of the coffee table while retelling what had happened Tuesday afternoon.  

“He was about to confess,” Seungkwan says slowly and robotically, as if caught in a trance. 

You can’t bring yourself to deny it.

“He was about to confess,” he repeats.

Letting out a major sigh, you hop up onto the dining table, tapping it. “You know, we have to dismantle this too.” 

“He was about to confess!” His sudden shout startles you again. “And where the hell is Woozi when we need him?”

“Probably on his way, as he was when you checked 20 minutes ago?” you say dryly. 

“He needs to get a load of this. I was right!” Seungkwan waves the chair leg in the air triumphantly, far too close to the ceiling for comfort. 

“Dude,” you laugh, “you’re going to scratch the ceiling, put it down!”

Seungkwan pouts. “But this is my victory leg.”

“Tell that to Woozi,” you grin. “I think you should show him the leg, first thing.”

He lights up. “Excellent idea.”

All of a sudden, you hear someone knocking on Seungkwan’s door. Jumping off of the table, you skip across the living room down to the narrow main hallway. Once you reach the door, you crack it open a few inches—as far as the chain link will let you. 

“Woozi, you’re so late!” Your face breaks out into a smile upon seeing your friend. 

“My bad,” Jihoon says with a chuckle. 

“`Y’know, Kwannie has a big surprise for you?”

“I can’t wait,” he says with a sigh. “How bad is the damage?”

“See for yourself.” You take down the chain lock and swing the door fully open with a smile, only to falter at the sight of the one person you thought you’d successfully avoided all day. 

Joshua. 

For there he was. 

“Here to help,” he says shyly, hands folded behind his back. 

You give Jihoon a panicked look. 

Jihoon explains, “I was heading out of the office when I caught him in the hallway. He said he was down to help Seungkwan, and I figured the more, the merrier.”

The sight of Joshua standing in Seungkwan’s doorway makes your stomach drop. It’s like all the tension from earlier has come rushing back in, this time amplified by the unexpectedness of his arrival.

You plaster on a polite smile, though you’re sure it looks more like a grimace. “Great,” you manage to choke out, turning on autopilot to lead him and Jihoon down the hallway.

But inside, your thoughts are spiraling. What is he doing here? Does he know you’ve been avoiding him all day? Did Jihoon tell him anything on the way over?

Your chest tightens as you think about Seungkwan waiting in the living room, blissfully unaware of Joshua’s presence. You can already imagine the chaos—Seungkwan, ever the open book, accidentally blurting out something incriminating.

What if he says something about the coffee shop? What if he mentions the way you couldn’t stop talking about Joshua just now?

You’re half a step ahead of them, your mind racing through ways to keep the situation from unraveling, but drawing nothing but blanks. 

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of Joshua. He’s walking casually beside Jihoon, his hands tucked into his pockets, a beanie snug on his head. He looks different, less polished than usual, but still effortlessly himself. And for a moment, you falter.

Because despite your panic, there’s a part of you that’s almost glad he’s here. A part of you that can’t help but wonder what it means that he came at all.

When you reach the living room, you come to a hard stop, frantically making a small X with your arms. 

But Seungkwan has his attention focused on that blasted chair leg, and of course, he immediately opens with: “Guess who has the biggest news of all time! The biggest action since the Great Orange Plaza Incident—”

Cue the obnoxiously loud laughter from you. “Joshua’s here! Say hi!” 

Seungkwan turns to the hallway, where, indeed, Joshua is standing. Shocked, he drops the metal leg, and it announces its contact with the ground through a loud clang. 

Wincing at the sound like earlier, you accidentally shift your body backward into someone behind you. 

“Sorry,” you say, hoping it was Jihoon. 

His arms come up to grasp your waist, holding you steady.

“No worries,” comes Joshua’s voice. 

You shut your eyes, somehow both drowning in embarrassment and burning up at the spot where he’s touched you. 

You quickly step out of his hold, trying not to let your flustered state show. “Right,” you say, clearing your throat. “Let’s go now.”

Joshua chuckles softly, his voice like velvet. “그래, 바로 가자.” Right, let’s go straight away.

Seungkwan, thankfully, is too caught up in his shock to notice the moment, though Jihoon raises a single eyebrow in quiet observation.

As you guide Joshua and Jihoon into the living room, you internally rehearse all the ways you can deflect or redirect the inevitable awkwardness. But before you can settle on anything, Joshua is already rolling up his sleeves. You avert your eyes from his biceps.

“What needs moving?” he asks.

You glance around the room, desperate for something to hand off to him. Your eyes land on the dining table—big, heavy, and far too ambitious for one person to handle. Perfect. “The dining table,” you say, trying to sound casual. “We need to get it downstairs to the lobby for pickup.”

Seungkwan perks up. “Oh, that thing’s a beast. Good luck.”

“I’ll help,” Joshua says immediately, a soft smile playing on his lips as he looks at you.

You blink, caught off guard. “Uh, okay. You and Woozi can move it.”

But Jihoon smirks, catching on. “Actually, I just remembered I promised to help Seungkwan with,” his voice trails. “Something else. You’ve got this, right?”

Before you can protest, Jihoon grabs the metal chair leg and joins Seungkwan in the corner, leaving you and Joshua alone with the daunting table.

“Looks like it’s just us,” Joshua says, his teasing smile widening.

You swallow thickly, resigned. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

Together, you begin maneuvering the table toward the hallway. It’s heavy and awkward, and you struggle to find a good grip on the edges.

“Here,” Joshua says, dropping his side of the table and moving closer. His hands brush over yours as he adjusts your grip, lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “That should help.”

The contact sends a jolt through you, but you force yourself to focus. “Thanks,” you mumble, your voice barely above a whisper.

By some miracle, the table fits in the elevator, though the tight space forces you and Joshua closer together. You’re much too aware of how little distance there is between you, the faint scent of his cologne making your heart race even faster.

“This reminds me of Monday morning,” Joshua says suddenly, his voice soft.

Your head snaps up to meet his gaze. What is he talking about? The elevator? The coat? Both?

He nods, his expression unreadable. “Yeah. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”

Your stomach twists. “What about it?” you ask cautiously.

His eyes searching yours. “I just,” he hesitates for a moment, before continuing. “I feel like we keep dancing around something. Don’t you?”

Your breath catches, and suddenly the space feels even smaller. “What do you mean?”

Joshua steps just a fraction closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I mean,” he pauses for a second or two before picking up again. “This. Us. I feel like there’s something you’re not saying. And I’m not sure if I should say it first.”

The elevator dings, announcing your arrival at the lobby, but neither of you moves.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “Shua, I—”

Before you can finish, the doors slide open, and an older woman waiting outside peers in, her curious gaze snapping you both out of the moment.

“Uh, sorry,” you stammer, quickly stepping out with your end of the table.

Joshua follows, but you can feel his eyes on you, his earlier words hanging heavy in the air.

As the two of you set the table down near the designated pickup area, he leans in slightly, his voice low. “This isn’t over.”

Your heart threatens to jump out of your chest, but you force yourself to nod, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah. Okay.”

Even as you head back to Seungkwan’s apartment, your mind is racing with the possibilities of what he might say—and whether you’re ready to hear it.

As you reenter Seungkwan’s apartment, the weight of Joshua’s words hangs like a thick fog in the air. It’s almost suffocating, the way your heart beats erratically at the thought of what he might say next. 

You glance over your shoulder, half-expecting Joshua to be right behind you, but he's still out by the lobby. The sound of Seungkwan and Jihoon’s voices floats down the hallway as they continue their discussion, oblivious to the tension that’s spiraling in your chest.

You step inside, but you can’t shake the feeling that everything is about to change. Joshua’s words—“This isn’t over”—echo in your mind, repeating with every beat of your heart. What did he mean? What does he expect?

“Everything okay?” Seungkwan calls from the living room, looking up with a raised brow as you walk in.

“Yeah,” you chirp, trying to act normal, but your voice comes out too high.

He narrows his eyes. “You sure? You look a little off. Everything go well?” It’s unsaid, but you know there’s a “with Joshua” attached to the end of his sentence.

You force a smile, but it’s shaky at best. “Yeah, the table's gone now.” You can’t tell him. Not yet. Not with the weight of Joshua’s unspoken words still pressing against your chest.

Seungkwan studies you for a moment, his gaze flickering toward the hallway. “I’ll take your word for it. So, you two, huh?”

Your eyes widen involuntarily, and you try to laugh it off. “아니, 아니! 그런거 아니야, it’s really not like that.”

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Uh-huh. Sure. Anyway, me and Jihoon are going to go to the bar. Want to come?”

The offer hangs in the air, and you realize, suddenly, that it’s the perfect distraction. You need space from your own thoughts. You need to calm your racing heart. Maybe getting out of here will help.

“I’ll go,” you blurt, before you can second-guess yourself. “Haven’t gone weekday drinking in a while. Let me just grab my bag.”

Seungkwan gives you a knowing look but says nothing more. As you step into the hallway to grab your bag off a high-hanging hook, your mind is still whirling with the unanswered questions about Joshua. 

Walking further down the hallway, you find Seungkwan and Joshua standing near Jihoon. 

Jihoon’s already at the door, his hand on the handle. “Come on, let’s go. I need some drinks in my system after today.”

You nod, attempting to shove your thoughts away for the night. The cool air outside greets you, and the cacophony of the city feels like a welcome distraction. As you make your way to the bar, Seungkwan and Jihoon immediately dive into their usual banter, but your mind is elsewhere. You keep glancing over at Joshua, who seems uncharacteristically quiet tonight, his usually playful energy subdued.

By the time you reach the bar and order drinks, you’re beginning to relax. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s the fact that you don’t have to think about what’s going on between you and Joshua, but you can’t help but feel like you’re walking a thin line between tension and relief.

But as the night goes on, Seungkwan and Jihoon quickly fall into drunken antics, leaving you and Joshua alone on the quieter side of the bar. The air between you both is thick, like an invisible thread is pulling you closer, yet neither of you dares to speak.

You fiddle with your glass, wondering if you should speak up first. You only have so much courage, though. 

Thankfully, Joshua clears his throat, his voice low. “넌 좀,” he hesitates for a bit, before deciding to call you out, “조용한데?” 

Well, it’s no secret that you’re being quiet. He was, too, at least until now.

You glance up, meeting his gaze for the first time since earlier. His eyes are intense, his lips pulled into that soft, half-smile you know and adore.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. The words hang between you like a dare.

Joshua leans in just slightly, his breath warm against your cheek. “What part?”

Your heart races, but you hold his gaze. “About how this isn’t over?”

He’s quiet for a beat, then smiles—just a little. “I meant what I said.”

And in that moment, you realize you’re in way deeper than you thought.

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his words settle in your chest, like a stone sinking deep into water. You want to ask him more, to press him, to demand answers, but the words feel trapped in your throat. Instead, you look away, fidgeting with the rim of your glass, your fingers tracing the condensation. The alcohol has started to mellow your nerves, but the tension still hovers in the air between you two, thick and almost palpable.

“You’ve been quiet too,” you manage to say, keeping your voice steady despite the jittery feeling in your stomach. “What’s on your mind?”

Joshua doesn’t answer right away, his gaze flickering toward the noisy group in the corner where Seungkwan and Jihoon are laughing too loudly, practically leaning on each other for support. The laughter echoes in the background, a sharp contrast to the quiet bubble that has formed around you and Joshua. 

It’s the kind of moment that feels too intimate, too close to the edge of something that could change everything.

“I don’t know,” he says finally, and his voice is soft, thoughtful. “I guess I’m trying to figure out if you’re really as clueless as you act, or if you’re just pretending.” His eyes meet yours, and there's something almost vulnerable in his gaze, a flicker of hesitation that’s rare for him.

You feel your heart skip a beat, caught off guard by the question. “Clueless?” You repeat, the word tasting strange on your tongue. “I’m not clueless.”

“그래? Are you sure about that?” he asks, his smile barely there, his tone teasing but with an edge of something else—something deeper.

You narrow your eyes, a little irritated by how easily he toys with you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, and then immediately regret it. It sounds too defensive, too much like you’re trying to cover something up.

Joshua leans in slightly, his expression serious now, no longer playful. “I think you do. I think you’re scared.” His voice drops, barely above a whisper, but it lands like a truth you can’t deny. “You’re scared of what might happen if you admit what you feel.”

Your breath catches in your throat. The world feels like it slows down, the noise of the bar fading into the background as his words settle in your mind. The truth in them stings, and you don’t know how to respond. 

He’s right, but you don’t want to admit it. 

Not yet. 

Not to him.

Before you can say anything, Seungkwan stumbles over, dragging Jihoon along with him. “You two are too quiet,” Seungkwan says with a grin, clearly tipsy. “What’s going on here? Trying to plot against us?”

Joshua straightens up quickly, his smile returning to its usual playful, disarming self. “Nothing like that, we were just talking,” he replies, his voice smooth and easy.

You take a deep breath, trying to push the moment away, but the tension still lingers in your chest. You force a smile, though it feels weak. “Yeah, just talking.”

Jihoon gives you both a sideways look, too drunk to notice the underlying current between you and Joshua. “You two really are something, huh?”

Seungkwan laughs, waving a hand as if dismissing Jihoon’s comment. “Yeah, yeah, don’t mind them. They’re just having a little ‘moment,’” he says, emphasizing the last word with air quotes.

You don’t know whether to laugh or to cry. Contrary to Seungkwan’s comment, the moment’s long gone now, robbed by the chaos of their antics. But you can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted, that you and Joshua are standing on the edge of something—something both terrifying and irresistible.

And for the first time, you decide that you’re ready to see where it leads.

────୨ৎ──── Thursday

You wake up on Thursday with a start, the events from last night already feeling faraway. Joshua had dropped you off, and you had spent most of the night restlessly thinking of him, going over how to confess.  

The bright morning light filters through the blinds, causing you to squint at the time on your alarm clock. It’s much earlier than you’d usually get up. You fight the urge to go back to sleep.

With resolve, you push yourself up off your bed and run through your morning routine with extra care. And by the time your last alarm rings, you’re ready to tell him. 

You walk over to the front door, waiting for the telltale signs of movement coming from the apartment next door. Only, you hear nothing. Not even footsteps shuffling around. 

Your elevator ride is silent. Your bus ride is silent. 

Joshua had left before you’d even woken up—and you’d woken up pretty damn early—and his absence only made you more aware of the pressing silence between the two of you. 

When you reach your cubicle, your eyes graze over the desk repeatedly, finding something is wrong.

“Hey, what’s gotten into you?” Jihoon asks from the cubicle next to you.

“Nothing.” Everything. 

You stare at the spot where Joshua puts a cup of coffee from the cafe next door every day. It’s empty. 

“설마,” you whisper. No way. Did he decide to drop you because you didn’t answer him? But what else could explain his radio silence? You haven’t gone to work alone in over a month. 

“설마 what?” Seungkwan asks, dropping into his office chair to the left of you at 9 on the dot.

When you don’t answer, he asks Jihoon, “What’s going on over here?”

Jihoon shrugs. “Probably drama with You Know Who.”

“Oh,” he says, and the two of them drop it. 

Before you know it, the clock has hit 5pm, and you’ve spent the entire workday soullessly typing on your keyboard, lifting your head up every time you’ve seen movement in the room. Only, the man you were looking for was nowhere to be seen. 

You miss the stolen glances and bright smiles you used to exchange. The silence had been stifling. You really did want to talk to him, to clear the air today, but he just never showed. Heart sinking, you pack up your bag and put on your coat. You stall for a moment remembering how he’d given you his coat just a few days prior. Did he really decide to give up because you weren’t responding well?

The bus ride back to your apartment is silent, but your head is full of speculative thoughts. When the driver announces your stop, your heart settles into a newfound determination. 

Maybe he could let go, but you can’t. You won’t let him go.

“I’ll just barge in! Say my piece, then let him talk,” you mumble under your breath, pushing the lobby doors open.

Is it a good plan? You aren’t sure, but hopefully he’d forgive you for being hesitant for so long. You honestly don’t know how he did it—how he was able to stand your wishy-washiness?

Eyes tracing the ground, you make a beeline for the elevator, continuing your whispers. “And what am I going to say? God, I need a good opening line. Something like, please please take me back? Actually, we were never dating, so I guess that doesn’t make sense. Please please like me back? Is that too desperate? Well, I am desperate, so—”

Out of the corner, you see the elevator beginning to close.

“Hold the doors, please!” you shout, running as fast as you can. Speed is of the essence, so you can confront him as soon as possible.

You make it across half the lobby in record time, panting as you enter the elevator. 

“Thank,” you say in between breaths, hands on your knees, “you—”

When you look up, your heart stops.

Joshua Hong. Dressed dapper in an all black suit and carrying, of all things, a briefcase?

“Shua?” you say breathlessly, immediately straightening.

Joshua looks down, his usual calm expression faltering for just a second when he sees you out of breath. For a moment, the two of you simply stand there in silence, the elevator’s gentle hum filling the space between you.

“Where were you?” you ask, your voice quieter than you'd intended, a hint of nervousness creeping in despite your earlier determination.

Joshua clears his throat, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks. “Director Chun had me accompany him to the Lee meeting. You?” he asks, his gaze softening as he watches you catch your breath.

Your mouth suddenly feels dry. The reality of the situation hits you hard. 

This was it. 

This was the moment. 

But now that you’re face to face with him, you’re unsure of what to say. You should’ve prepared a real speech, practiced your words properly. Instead, the dreaded silence lingers.

“I,” your voice trails off. “I just—” You let out a shaky breath, then shake your head as if to clear the mess of thoughts swirling inside. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About things. About us.”

Joshua tilts his head slightly, a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. “About us?”

You nod, trying to steady your breath. The elevator seems to be going slower than usual, as if the universe itself is giving you more time to process, to speak. You feel a strange mix of nerves and determination pushing you forward.

“I didn’t handle things right. I was,” you pause for a moment, carefully choosing your next words. “Unsure. Confused. And I thought maybe if I stayed quiet, I’d be able to ignore everything. But I can’t,” you say, the words finally coming out in a rush. “I can’t ignore you. I don’t want to.”

Joshua’s eyes soften, his posture shifting, his briefcase clutched tightly in his hands. “You’re not the only one who’s been confused,” he admits, his voice low, almost vulnerable. “I didn’t know what to do either, but I couldn’t let you slip away without at least trying. I care about you. A lot.”

The elevator jerks suddenly, and you both look up in surprise as the lights flicker. A loud noise rings through the space, and with a groan, the elevator comes to an abrupt halt. You both freeze, and your heart jumps into your throat.

“Shit,” you gasp, instinctively taking a step back from the elevator doors, but your foot catches in a brief moment of panic, and before you know it, you’re pulled toward Joshua.

He catches you effortlessly, his hand impossibly warm at your back, steadying you as you stumble. “괜찮아?” His voice is gentle but concerned. 

You can’t help but laugh nervously, shaking your head. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

For a moment, the two of you simply stand there, him holding you in his arms, your heart still racing from the shock. Then you both realize the situation. No Wi-Fi. No way to call for help. Just the two of you, stuck in this tiny box, the tension thick in the air. The sound of your heavy breathing fills the silence as the elevator remains motionless.

Joshua clears his throat, his voice teasing again. “Well, if you think about it, this isn’t that new.”

In response, you lightly laugh, thinking back to all the times throughout the week where he's kept you steady. The you of Monday morning never would have thought you’d be in this position now, not to mention the you of two months ago.

You glance up at him, mind still racing. The unexpected turn of events had thrust you into a corner. And yet, in some strange way, you felt it was just the kind of moment the two of you needed. 

Alone. 

No distractions. 

No running away.

“Well, at least we have some time to talk now, huh?” you say with a small, tentative smile.

Joshua meets your gaze, his eyes full of understanding. “Yeah. Looks like we do.”

And for the first time in days, the silence doesn’t feel suffocating. Instead, it feels like an opportunity, a moment to finally clear the air.

────୨ৎ──── Friday

You’ve been in the elevator for hours, but it doesn’t feel like it. Somehow, conversation just flows.

“I liked you first,” you find yourself saying, voice barely above a whisper as you rest your head on his shoulder.

“그래?” comes Joshua’s soft reply, so close that you can feel the vibrations in his chest. Really? 

You can’t believe he even has to ask. Yes, really. You were so obvious about it. So affected by him that you couldn’t even look at the stuffed bunny he’d gotten you on Sunday, reminded of his soft, kind eyes. 

So you nod, “Mm-hm.” 

Your eyes flutter shut for a moment, your body still adjusting to the peaceful rhythm of being near him. You’d been thinking about this for the longest time, but now it feels so natural, so certain, and you can’t help but regret all the time you’d spent secretly pining over him. God, you’d even asked him to stop being so nice to you out of pure desperation. Who does that?

“Since when?” His voice is smooth, warm, like a soft melody, and you can’t help but feel drowsy with the way it lulls you into comfort.

You pause, eyes drifting to the floor of the elevator as you try to gather your thoughts. “Since when?” you repeat, the memory taking you back.

It was a chaotic day, the kind of day where everything felt so loud and full of people. You were at that welcome party for the new transfer—Joshua—but it had been too overwhelming. So, you’d slipped away, finding solace in the quiet of the cafe next door. You’d gotten a coffee to-go, and you sat outside on a bench, letting the world pass you by as you listened to your audiobook. That was your kind of perfect Saturday.

You never saw him that day.

But you did see him a week later, in the hallway of your apartment building. You’d just locked your door, ready to head out when you noticed the man next door fumbling with his own keys. His moving process had seemed slow, but that day, you finally got to exchange quick introductions before stepping into the elevator together. And somehow, in that brief exchange, you found yourself already falling, the way his laugh filled the space between you, the way you both laughed at the coincidences stacking up—the apartment, the floor, the building, the department. It was electric, the start of something special. 

You glance up at him now, still leaning against his shoulder. “When we first met, in the hallway,” you finally say, voice soft.

Joshua smiles, a glint of fondness in his eyes. “That was when we first met?”

You furrow your brows, confused. “Wasn’t it?”

Joshua laughs quietly, the sound like a comforting hum in the otherwise still elevator. “I remember differently,” he says, poking your cheek gently.

You tilt your head. “If not the hallway, what was it?”

“The first day I came here, sweets,” he says, his fingers brushing a lock of your hair from your face.

Your mind races, wondering if you’ve forgotten an important memory. “But we didn’t meet, did we?”

Joshua hums, the kind of hum that carries a story behind it. “I guess you didn’t see me, but I saw you.”

You blink, unsure if you heard him right. “When?”

He leans back slightly, eyes distant as if replaying the scene in his head. “I remember being bombarded by all the office workers. God, it was so chaotic. I couldn’t breathe. I had to get out, so I said some BS excuse about needing a drink.” He chuckles softly, then his expression shifts, softer now. “I went to the drink station by the window, grabbed whatever they had, and just stared out. I was wondering how long I could hide before it was socially acceptable to go home, when I saw you.”

You shift, intrigued by his words.

“You sat outside on the bench. You weren’t even aware of the crowd inside, just focused on,” he pauses, thinking of the right word, before continuing, “Existing? Listening to something, I guess. I watched you for a while. You were so still, so peaceful in the middle of all that noise. It made me stop and think. I’ve never really done that before. I’ve always been in ‘go, go, go’ mode. But there you were, just being, and I don’t know. I think that’s when I started thinking about you.”

His words settle over you like a blanket, warm and unexpected.

“I decided then to keep giving you coffee after that,” Joshua adds with a shrug. “You’re my elevator to my small enlightenment, if you will. You made me slow down, sweets.”

At that, your heart flutters in your chest. “I never knew,” you murmur. “I thought you were just nice to everyone. All this time, you’ve been looking at me like I’ve been looking at you.”

Joshua smiles softly, his fingers brushing against yours. “I’ve been thinking about you for a lot longer than you’ve been thinking of me.”

“Only a week!” you protest. 

Joshua’s eyes shine as he looks at you, crinkling into crescents. His hands steadily clasp yours, thumb rubbing against the back of your left hand. “Still think I’m too nice?”

“No,” you say, burying your face in his chest. “Keep being nice to me.”

When the elevator finally dings, and you can hear firefighters shouting things past the doors, it’s a few minutes past 12am. But neither of you moves, content in making up for lost time late into the night. 

Masterlist

Author's Note: yes they were stuck in an elevator for like 7 hours from thurs after work to midnight, 내 마음이야

Disclaimer: nothing i write is representative of how svt acts off camera, take their names as stand-ins for oc's!!

Taglist: @syluslittlecrows - @junplusone

[oceantornadoo]

ch8 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: reader has some body insecurities and a small panic attack. also oral sex. not at the same time lmao

masterlist | next

In the hazy morning of the next day, John moves to get out of bed at his ungodly workout time. Instead of feigning sleep like usual, you grab his shoulder forcefully. He freezes, then turns to look at you as you prop yourself up on an elbow. “Stay.” You murmur, voice gravelly from sleep. “You sure?” He asks, but he’s already sinking back down into the mattress. You nod, then climb on top of him, your head in the crook of his neck like always. “Go back to bed, John.” And he does.

-

The thing is, John wasn’t supposed to marry her. She wasn’t Kyle’s first recommendation, nor second. He had recommended an oil heiress, which his Captain turned down. Next, an Irish mafia princess, also turned down. In fact, his Captain didn’t seem to want to be married at all. Which was fine, if this was a normal life where Kyle hadn’t been nicked off the streets after picking the pockets of a Price man and plopped into the office of John Price, a leader who needed sneaky men with audacity like Kyle. Now, Price was pushing 40 without heirs, and that needed to be solved quickly. The Riley sister was only offered as an offhand comment.

“Christ, sir, if y’re gonna be picky, might as well marry the Riley. Then we’ll have a real shitshow on our hands.” Instead of answering, John leaned back in his office chair and stroked his beard, like a villain from a movie. “She single?” If Kyle wasn’t better trained, his mouth would’ve dropped. But he was Head of Security for a reason, so all he did was hand his boss her file. 

Kyle didn’t like the Rileys - specifically, John MacTavish. The bastard was always trying to one up him, with new toys on the streets and the threat of bombs lurking around every corner. He knew MacTavish was close with Ghost’s sister, having seen the two giggle, thick as thieves, at galas and weddings. If he was a stupider man, he’dve sensed an affair, but he knew she wasn’t Tav’s type. It was a well-kept secret, but Kyle kept it as well as his own. There were some lines you didn’t cross, even in this business.

Price flipped through the file, frowning at the data before him. “Ghost has had these weapons all this time?” Kyle shakes his head, pointing to a graph in the report. “It only really started when he recruited MacTavish, ‘bout six years ago. An’ my sources tell me the sister’s got a mind f’r business.” Price hums thoughtfully. Kyle knows what, or who, he’s thinking about. Shepherd encroaching on their territory, supplied with weapons from American ex-pats. The streets smell of gunpowder, more and more skirmishes by the day. “Ghost’s tryin’ t’ get cleaner.” It wasn’t a question, but a fact. Kyle’s informants had made him aware of the Riley family trying to buy businesses, only to be turned away when they found out who they were owned by. Price’s businesses for Ghost’s money and weapons. “Might not be the worst trade, sir.” Kyle murmurs. He can’t believe he’s proposing a wedding where he’ll have to see MacTavish on the other side of the aisle. 

-

After said wedding, Kyle started regretting the whole thing. He knows what it is to love a man, to be in love with one, and that’s not what he has with his Captain. It’s more like seeing a big brother leave for college, knowing he’s nearby but out of reach. The plan was to have Mrs. X, as the security team had taken to calling Price’s future wife, live in a property an hour out of the city. Out of harm’s way but easy to visit when baby-making was required. The plan had been developed before they’d decided on a wife for him. It decidedly went out the window once he’d decided on Ms. Riley.

Suddenly she was in the Castle, changing decor and befriending staff. She was meeting with Laswell and had taken Terrance as her own, a change Kyle had not approved of. So, sure, he was a bit of a jerk to her. It was the childish notion that she’d taken his favorite person, and he’d lashed out, only to be reprimanded by said person. Kyle's in toddler timeout, and he's determined to make it right.

-

A few days after the Friday incident, he finds her eating lunch in the kitchen. It seems she’s finally befriended Chef, a feat he could never perform. Chef’s a French grandpa, huffing out syllables that don’t go together under his breath. 

“What’re ya eatin’?” An odd opening, seeing as this is their second conversation ever. He plops down into the chair next to her as she sets down her sandwich, brows furrowed in a question. He can’t blame his Captain; she is pretty. Not his usual type in women, but her wit would attract any man. “Um, a sandwich.” She eventually responds, after getting over the shock of Kyle in her kitchen chair. He probably could’ve been smoother on entry.

“Right, well…” He looks at her and she stares back, like they’re locked in a game. He breaks away first, feeling like he’s lost. Kyle reminds himself he’s not a bloody twelve-year-old. “I liked wha’ you did with the sittin’ room.” That opens her up, a hesitant smile growing on her face. “Really? Those chairs were so uncomfortable, I could barely sit on them for more than five minutes without getting sore.” He huffs in agreement. There’s a reason no one meets in the sitting room. “Ya sure tha’s no’ the only reason you’re sore?” It slips out too easy, a question he’d usually tease one of his men with, not his boss’s wife. Kyle opens his mouth to apologize but is cut off by the sound of her laughter. It’s not manufactured to sound pretty, almost like a snort. “Sorry, I just haven’t heard those kinds of jokes in a while. You remind me of Johnny. Thank you for making me laugh, Kyle.” She seems almost grateful for his presence, and it doesn’t take an idiot to see she’s missing her family. Even if that means getting compared to MacTavish.

“Call me Gaz, ‘s what everyone calls me.” She nods contentedly, reaching for her sandwich to take another bite. The silence is peaceful, interrupted when he remembers why he originally sought her out. Kyle pulls out a report he’s been carrying and sets it near her plate, noting how she sucks in a breath at the title. Protection Plan for Mrs. Price.

“Since y’r openin’ up y’r store, Price wanted me t’ give ya a team. Could’ve done it on my own but I had a feelin’ y’d want to give some input.” She nods thoughtfully, pushing her plate away to focus on the report. It’s a few minutes until she finishes it, diligently reading every page. “I want at least one woman on my team. And I still want freedom, I don’t want to be followed everywhere.” He sucks in a breath at her words, which won’t be possible if Price has anything to say about it.

“Righ’ well, can’t guarantee tha’ second part. Not sure if ya’ve noticed, but London’s an active war zone right now. They’ll be discreet, an’ the lowest amount I can do is four.” She harrumphs, crossing her arms like how his Captain does when he’s upset. It’s eerie how they’re already starting to mirror each other. “Fine, but I want Terrance on it.” Kyle nods, going to stand. 

“Gaz.” She grabs his forearm to get his attention. “I know we didn’t get off on the right foot, but I’d like to be friends. If you’re willing.” He gives her a half smile, ruffling her hair. Kyle doesn’t notice how she freezes at his action, like she’s trapped in a memory. “Only if ya give me the rest of y’r sandwich.” Unfreezing, she laughs and pushes the plate towards him. “Don’t worry, there’s enough to go around.” He winks at her, and heads towards the security room. He might’ve accepted Terrance’s earlier security report, but he’s determined to make it up to his Captain, starting with re-running Phil’s background. Kyle’s got some security tricks up his sleeve, and he’s ready to prove his title to John.

-

The dress fits you like a glove.

It’s a fresh Saturday night, London’s night sky only slightly smoggy. John’s been invited to some benefit for cancer, a philanthropic cause you didn’t even know he supported. So now, you’re in a formal red dress, floor length with a high thigh slit. You stand in front of your vanity and smooth down the satin fabric, ready to slip on your heels. You usually do that step first, but they’re a mile high and you didn’t want to risk slipping on the carpeted dressing room floor. John’s been in the shower, but now he’s buttoning his shirt in the other room. Your dress is unzipped too, requiring a force of nature for the zip to go all the way to the top.

“John, can you help me?” He’s there in an instant, arms circling the length of your waist. “You look so fuckin’ good. Smell fuckin’ delicious.” He noses the crook of your shoulder, breathing in the scent of your perfume. John rubs his hands up and down, smoothing out creases in your dress. “So pretty f’ me, aren’t ya?” All you can do is nod when he’s like this, allowing yourself the precious gift of easy affection. “Can you help me with my heels?” He kisses your exposed collarbone, then squeezes your hip as he goes to find your heels. They’re higher than what you’re used to wearing, putting you closer to eye level with John. He goes to his knees, finding your right leg through the layers of fabric in his way. You got a pedicure the day before, patting yourself on the back as he kisses the top of your foot. “What’s gotten into you? It’s like you're under a spell or something.” He’s quiet as he slips on your shoe, kissing your ankle before setting it back down. John reaches for your other foot in quiet reverence. “Ya look like a princess.” He finally murmurs, having finished with your heels. “You feelin’ ok?” He asks. You shrug. Clearly, you haven’t hidden your nerves well. This is your first official entrance into mafia society as a couple, even if the lines of your relationship are too blurry for you to understand. 

“Let me make ya feel better?” His hands are already tracing your plush skin, parting the slit of your dress. He works his way up efficiently, stopping at the apex of your thighs. “What’s this?” You shrug again, this time with a smirk on your face. “It’s black tie, right?” By black tie, you mean the black lace under your dress. It’s a little piece you found at a boutique lingerie store near the bookstore. There’s a heart cutout in the middle of the front part, right above your slit. John kisses the exposed skin, sucking hard before he pulls away. “Black tie my fuckin’ arse.” You giggle and push your hips forward in a wanting motion. “Weren’t you going to make me feel better?” He goes to work with a single-minded vigor. John pushes the scrap of lace to the side, nearing closer so he can lift your leg onto his shoulder. He doesn’t tease you like usual. Instead, he licks and sucks lewdly, moaning at your wetness. He flicks his tongue against your clit as it hardens at his motions. “Even sweeter down ‘ere.” The low tone of his voice vibrates against your cunt, sending a spark to your core. “She like when I talk to ‘er?” He’s talking to your cunt, you think. It’s hard to hear over the rushing of blood in your ears. All you do is nod, pushing his head closer with your free hand as your other one scrambles for purchase against the wood of your vanity.

“Thought so. So wet, baby, like I’ve been neglectin’ ya. Have I?” You shake your head as he keeps up the pace of his tongue, adding a finger into your hole to up the pressure. “No, no, not neglected.” You cry from near-overstimulation. You can practically feel him smile against your pussy, the scratch of his beard making the coil in your stomach grow tighter and tighter. “Thought so. Yer husband takes care of ya, tha’ righ’?” Your hips cant against his face, almost fucking it. “Yes, yes, John.” He sucks your clit hard, finger pumping in and out. “She’s so close I can fuckin’ taste it. Come for me, go’on.” And you do, pressure rushing out of your core in waves. “Good girl, baby. Knew you could do it.” He tugs your underwear back in place, cleaning up the cum on your thighs with his fingers. You hear him suck them clean, sending another shock to your core.

John stands, wiping his hands off on his slacks. He’s in a full tuxedo and wears a dashing red tie to compliment your dress. You quickly peck him on the lips and pull back before he can ruin your makeup. His beard pulls up in a half-smile, elated that you kissed him first. It’s not hard to tell he loves when you do that, returning his affection of your own volition. “Thank you, Mr. Price. You clean up well yourself.” You tug his tie playfully. “Now zip me up.”

He does it gracefully, fingers brushing your back as he inches the zipper up. You swear this dress is too small as you suck in more and more the higher he zips. Unfortunately, your husband has the power of turning any encouragement into sinful words whispered in your ear. “There we go, tight fit, love. Squeeze in, baby, tha’s a girl. Feel ok?” You can only nod, ribs heavily constrained. It reminds you of your wedding dress, except this time you chose to be trapped.

It’s a whirlwind of a drive as John helps you into the limo and helps you out only minutes later. The gala is at a nearby museum, but etiquette and uncomfortable footwear required you to drive. It’s a grand marble building, like a bigger version of John’s flat. Limos line the outside as people step out of cars dressed to the nines. You do have something to look forward to tonight - your family.

John guides you in with a hand to the back and you’re already escaping his grasp to search for Simon, who promised he was coming. Apparently, philanthropic foundations are great to donate to when you run a gang that needs some tax benefits. You’ve been to a few of these, but a glance at John’s upcoming calendar revealed he donates a lot more than your brother. A new routine to get used to. 

“On your left.” John murmurs, and sure enough, there’s the top of Simon’s blonde head. He’s Mr. Riley at these events, not Ghost. You hold yourself back from running. Instead, you gather your skirts and walk quickly towards him, ignoring how John’s hand slips from your back.

“Hi!” You don’t give Simon a chance to answer, smothering him in a hug. He picks you up at your waist and spins you, a remnant from your few shared childhood memories. “Hi, lovie. Look at you, all dressed up.” He sets you down gently. Simon’s hand brushes your left one, causing you both to glance at the ring on your hand. You catch a slight frown, but it disappears into the collage of scars on his face. “Doin’ ok?” He asks quietly, only at a volume you can hear. You glance back at John, who’s making small talk with Johnny as the two men stand nearby. You turn back to Simon with a small smile on your face, nodding shyly. “It’s goin’ ok.” He drags a hand down in his face in exasperation. “Christ, the way he looks at you, kid. Not somethin’ a brother should be seein’.” You groan, swatting his hand away. “Gross. You’re acting like I don’t have to constantly dodge you and Johnny making out.” You say it in present tense, like it’s a problem you’re still facing. Unperturbed, you grab his hand and make your way to the bar, leaving your dates behind. “C’mon, Si. Let’s catch up.”

-

You must’ve had black magic in that perfume of yours. It’s the only explanation for why John feels like this, like he can’t be untethered from you for more than a minute. He was worried this thing between you, new and delicate, was just lust, but it’s becoming clear it’s much more. It’s the way you immediately sought out your brother, not caring for social niceties. How you challenged him with your argument at the bookstore, fire in your eyes as you protected your livelihood. It’s all rolling into a grand, sticky mess in his heart, weighing heavier and heavier every day.

The gala is full of politicians milling against the backdrop of the London Art Museum. Paintings of old rich geezers surrounded by the bodies of new rich muppets. There’s some people dancing in a slow waltz in the middle of the room, with high tables bracketing the dance floor in a crude outline. He doesn’t think you’ve noticed any of this, content to abandon him high and dry in search of your brother. John exchanges niceties with Johnny MacTavish, then leaves him to find Kate. She’s around here somewhere, schmoozing with potential clients. She may work on retainer for John, but she’s an independent contractor in her own right, always on the lookout for the next big fish. 

He finds her eventually, talking to a MP far from the dance floor near a statue. “Lord Walsh.” John inclines his head at the man, who’s severely shorter than him with a significant bald spot. “Mr. Price. I’m surprised to see you here.” Jon frowns at the insinuation. Kate slowly inches towards John, looking polished in her navy pantsuit. “How so?” There’s danger laced in his words which Lord Walsh takes a few seconds too long to process. “I, well, excuse me.” He exits not-so-gracefully with sweat beads running down his receding hairline. John turns back to Kate, who’s wearing a rare smirk. “What?” She shakes her head, turning to face the crowd. “Sometimes I forget how much of a shark you are. Too used to seeing you surrounded by finery at home.” He snorts, turning with her. 

They both find his wife in the crowd, easy to spot with the shocking red of your dress. You’re throwing your head back in laughter at something Ghost said, giggling like a little kid. John feels a smile growing under his beard. Kate notices too, elbowing him in the side. “We get it, you’re disgustingly infatuated.�� He shakes his head, dropping the smile. “‘S not like that.” She snorts, a rare show of emotion, a credit to how long they’ve worked together. “Whatever you say, John. Now let me find new clients before you scare them away.” He nudges her shoulder, content to stay alone as she walks away.

Unfortunately, his newfound solitude is immediately interrupted by a foul-smelling scent. He turns and lo and behold, there’s a phantom at his shoulder. “Lady Walsh.” John takes a step away from her, preventing their shoulders from brushing. “I saw you talking with my brother.” There’s a bite to her voice. It’s reminiscent of the one regrettable night they shared years ago, a night clouded with too much whiskey and not enough forethought. “Exchanging pleasantries.” He can hear her frown from a mile away. 

“Is there something you need?” He bites out when she doesn’t respond. Lady Walsh does this occasionally, finding him at events and trying for a recreation of that lone night. He didn’t consider it then, but he especially doesn’t consider it now. In fact, all he can do is track the sound of your laughter and drown in it, even across the dance floor. Lady Walsh leaves, and John decides to find the bar that you’ve abandoned and bring you a drink.

-

“I miss you, Si.” You mumble after your second martini. He’s found you two a table in the corner, somewhere you can hear each other over the quartet. “I do too, kid. Manchester’s different without ya.” You take a sip of his water, then spit it out when you realize it’s vodka. “Gross! Since when do you drink vodka?” He takes the glass out of your hand and downs it in one sip. “Johnny’s been on a kick. Think he’s been bored since ya left.” There’s immediate regret on his face as you take in his words. “No, love, ‘s not yer fault. There’s been other things happenin’. Nothin’s yer fault.” You nod, swallowing hard. “I think I’m gonna find the bathroom.” He nods worriedly. You push on the table to get up, but he stops you with a soft hand on your shoulder. Simon kisses your forehead, then shoves you towards the bathroom. “Don’t overthink. Go piss.” You snort, swatting his hand away.

In the bathroom, you stop in the mirror to apply your lipstick. A woman exits one of the stalls behind you, going to wash your hands. She’s like the image of your better self, with clearer skin and a figure you’d kill for. It’s the gin speaking, your brain reasons, but that doesn’t stave off any insecurities you’re projecting. Your heart is raw after your conversation with Simon, and this just makes it worse.

“You’re John’s new wife, right?” The mystery woman says as she finishes washing her hands. It shakes you out of your reverie. “Yes. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.” She purses her lips, now reapplying her blush. “Lady Walsh. I’m not surprised; I don’t think John would’ve mentioned me.” You frown at her insinuation. She takes your silence as acceptance, turning towards you with a feline smile on her lips. “I’m surprised you’re even walking. Lord knows it took me a week to recover from the last night I spent with John.” Your mouth drops. “Anyways, love your dress!” She breezes past you in a whirlwind of soap and perfume, leaving the bathroom gracefully.

You, however, exit in a fit of starts and stops. Your chest aches with the pain of breathing, reminiscent of the panic attack you had in a London garden almost two months ago. That thought makes things worse, blurring your vision. Someone grabs your arm, a warm presence guiding you to a bench in a darkened hallway.

“Sweetheart, you okay?” It’s John.

“No, I- I just need a second.” In the background, you hear people laugh and glasses tinkle. John places a warm hand over your knee, grounding you to the moment. “In an’ out, yeah?” You nod as your breathing slowly calms. It’s just you and him for a second, listening to the sounds of your breath go in and out. “Want some water?” He moves to get up, but you grab his arm before he can. “Stay with me?” You whisper. John sits back down, wrapping that same arm around your waist to pull you closer. 

“Wanna tell me about it?” He kisses the temple of your head, and you stiffen under his touch. The change is noticeable as the air goes cold. “Why haven’t we fucked?” It bursts out of you, almost in anger. John’s shock is clear as day as his arm drops from your waist. “I- why’re you askin’?” His hesitation is not what you wanted to hear. “I talked to your friend in the bathroom. Lady Walsh.” John groans, dragging his hand down his face. “Christ.” You wrap your arms around your waist at the sudden chill between you. John shrugs off his blazer and places it on your shoulders. The scent of it is overwhelming: musk and pine and man.

“She an’ I happened once, years ago. Been followin’ me like a hound ever since.” That makes you feel slightly better, but the conversation brought out a monster you didn’t want to face head-on. Your insecurities over this limbo of a marriage have been haunting you, and now they’ve taken the form of that woman in the bathroom. “You didn’t answer my question.” You murmur. John nudges your shoulder, moving closer when you don’t scoot away. “I didn’t want t’ pressure ya. Could eat ya out every night an’ be the happiest man on earth.” You bark out a laugh. He takes it as a sign to close the distance between you, tucking you under his arm. “What about the kids? The heirs?” You emphasize it with an eye roll. He snorts, pulling you closer. “Ever heard of artificial insemination? Surrogacy? A lot they can do these days.” He talks like he’s a hundred years old and not barely 38. “Why wasn’t that in the contract to begin with?” He’s quiet. “Not sure, actually.” 

“I don’t think I want to do anything sexual for a while.” You eventually whisper. “‘S fine.” John replies. “I want to go to dinner.” You turn to him with a small smile on your face. “Ya want to go’on a date, baby?” You nod. He frowns in that way when he’s upset that he didn’t think of it first. A realization dawns on his face when he understands what you’re asking for. A new start, free from this societal gossip and pressure. John kisses your forehead gently. “Tha’ okay?” You nod like a lovesick teenager, giddy with the thought that he understands you so well. “Dance with me?” He stands and offers you his hand. You take it.

-

“Graves. Report?” The General is half-cloaked in the darkness of his office, eyes glinting through the shadows. “Comin’ along well, sir. Price has given himself a new weakness right when we needed one.” Shepherd hums in agreement. “Don’t fuck this up, Graves. You’re on your last strike.” Phil nods, backing out of the room. He will not mess this up. He can’t afford to.

-

yayyy gaz redeemed himself and we have a plot! i was lowkey getting worried. i hope nothing bad happens...

-

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[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anothology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist | cw: oral (reader receiving)

Part Ten: Permission

A/N: We're SO back!

You’ve never been so happy to work an extra day.

Johnny gets the shop to himself on Sundays for walk-ins. Usually, he mans the shop by himself but you need to record the cash income from the convention in the ledger. Sure, you could do that during your usual hours the upcoming Wednesday and catch up on sleep, but you have too much nervous energy coursing through you. If you were home you would just be stewing on your couch the hole day and probably spiral into a panic attack. At least here, with a task and Johnny yapping in your ear, you don’t have to think about the fact that you made out with your boss too much.

Fuck. You really did that. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

You woke up in a cold sweat, fingers brushing over your lips as you tried to decipher if it was real or dreamed. If you really kissed John, if he really held a hand on your lower back as he walked you home, if he really gave you a second, light peck before saying goodnight. The itch of his beard lingers, as well as the warmth where his hands cupped your face. It felt so good. So fucking good.

Then the context settles in. The fact that you kissed your boss makes you want to throw up - not for any dislike of it, just the fact that your job is now in limbo. Hanging in the balance until you can talk to him on Wednesday. At least you can take the next couple days to collect your thoughts - come up with a good apology that will hopefully let you keep your job and some semblance of dignity. Somehow make sense of the fact that you’ve kissed John and Kyle and surely when they find out they’ll think you’re a floosy. Loose and easy and pathetic and gross. You couldn’t quite meet your own eye in the mirror as you tried to get ready for the day.

The current, formerly “Future You” is not very happy with the now Past You. Frankly, you’d like to deck her for leaving you in this state of a permanent heart attack.

“Och, I’m about tae melt.” Johnny mutters, appearing from his room and stretching. His shirt rides up, exposing a thick happy trail that does not help you in your current spiral.

You just hum, gluing your eyes to the physical spreadsheet in front of you as you go through the sales from the convention. Numbers will clear your head. Yeah, nothing less sexy or more distracting than trying to do math with pen, paper and a TI-84 calculator.

“We should go get some ice cream.” Johnny leans over behind you, causing you to jump. Large hands settle on your shoulders as he rests his chin on the top of your head. At least Johnny is always touchy, you don’t have to read into it. You don’t think you could handle reading into it right now.

“Uh, yeah, okay.” You murmur, letting him lead you out of the office and flipping the out for lunch sign. You’ve been so lost in your head the entire day that you can’t fully pull yourself out of it - the same spiral of fears and self-degradation swirling around in your mind. A Cat 5 tornado of your own making. So stupid.

Johnny intertwines your fingers as you make your way down the street. Your hands swing lightly as you walk. Even with the heat, it doesn’t feel like too much. You’re not sure what it is - of you’re just comfortable or if Johnny just has something about him that makes touch feel perfectly natural - but it’s never overwhelming. Even when he’s hanging off you like a leech, it’s just Johnny. He doesn’t make you talk, doesn’t pry into why you’re so spaced out. He probably just thinks you’re tired. You are tired. So tired.

You don’t realize Johnny is saying something until he gently elbows your side. “Huh?”

“What d’ye want?” Johnny asks with a concerned furrow in his brow.

“Oh, uh, I can get my own-“

”My treat.” He shakes his head, batting away the hand pulling your wallet out of your back pocket. You have no choice but to give in to him - there isn’t any point in arguing with Johnny.

“Thanks for suggesting this.” You murmur, as you sit at one of the wooden, outdoor tables in front of the shop a couple blocks down from the tattoo parlor. The tables are covered in the shade of trees and an awning, luckily, keeping the sun from beating down on you. It doesn’t stop your ice cream from melting nearly faster than you can eat it, but you don’t have the heart to complain after Johnny took you out and bought it for you.

“Aye. Seemed like ye needed some cheerin’ up. Never seen ye so sullen.” Johnny comments, casually stuffing a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. His eyes are sympathetic, though.

“Oh.” You thought you’d been doing alright at hiding it - came into the shop with a jokes and everything this morning. Sometimes it’s easy to forget how much Johnny actually notices between all his volume and energy.

“Gonnae tell me about it?”

“No.”

“Might help.”

You shake your head. “I- I’m- I can’t.”

“Okay.” He smiles gently, giving you a once over. His eyes are so sharp. The others do it too - take your body language in piece by piece. It doesn’t burn like when Johnny does it, though. His gaze is consuming, even when soft.

He seems to let you off the hook, though. It’s impossible to know how much he does or doesn’t know - how much any of them know. It puts you on edge, the inability to ask. After all, to ask is to admit. If you admit to it, you might lose it all. Fuck why did you kiss John? Kyle you can explain away - just a fun little bet. You’re close in age, he’s pretty, you’re together a lot, you get along. Nothing to it - even if it feels like there was. Even if it feels like every time you’re near him you’re going to melt and the air gets too thick and all you want is to pull him to the back room one more time.

John… John you can’t justify like that. He’s your boss. He’s over a decade older than you. Easily. He’s been so good to you but that’s not an excuse - it’s not right. You’re jeopardizing his place in his community. You’re jeopardizing your job. The best job you’ve ever had. The best friends you’ve ever had.

You can feel Johnny glancing at you as you walk, your eyes square on the ground and fists clenched anxiously. The heat outside only makes your head spin faster. Your cheeks feel feverishly hot. The ice cream almost curdles in your gut. Everything is too loud, too hot, too heavy.

You glance up at the clock. The day’s almost over - there probably won’t be more than one or two people that file in at most. You’ve finished with your work, currently just cross hatching on a sticky note in an attempt to calm your frayed nerves. It hasn’t worked. You need a distraction. A real, proper distraction.

“Johnny.” You snap, standing in the door way to his workroom.

“Hm?” He looks up, thick brows raised.

“I want a piercing.”

He cocks his head, taking you in from head to toe. “Aye?”

“If you have time.”

“I’ve always got time fer ye.” He grins.

You almost roll your eyes, but you’re too raw at the edges to really care about his usual flirting. There’s too much weighing on your mind - too much real anxiety knotting itself around your synapses and crushing them in it’s hold. The pain will help. It’ll ground you - sharpen your senses. You can focus on taking care of it for the next couple days between sleeping the days away until Wednesday. Until you can get this shit over with.

The only answer is to quit, right?

That’s your only option.

“What d’ye want?” Johnny asks.

You shrug. “What’d you think?”

He taps his chin, eyes slowly making their way over your body. You wonder if he can see how tense you are - body so locked up your joints ache and your jaw throbs. It’s a wonder your teeth are still there with how much you’ve been grinding them.

“How about a navel?”

“Okay.” You agree too quickly, flopping back on the pairing table. You focus in on a water mark on the ceiling above while Johnny digs through his tool cabinet, laying everything neatly on a small rolling tray.

Johnny stops above you. You don’t even turn your head to look, fists clenching and unclenching.

You’ll have to quit.

That’s your only choice. No reference calls, no contact. Will Simon hate you? Will they all? Will they talk about why you up and left? Will they show up at your apartment to demand an answer? No. You don’t mean that much - only a blip on the timeline of their shop. The corners of your eyes burn.

Johnny’s fingers skate over your soft middle, barely touching as he passes over the button of your jeans. He pauses, glancing down at you. “Bonnie?”

“Yeah?” You reply a little too harshly.

Johnny leans over you, hands on either side of your head, blue eyes burning through your skull. He blocks out the light above. “Yer doin’ this because ye want to, yeah? Not to punish yerself?”

You shrink into the table, hackles raising. It really is so easy to forget that Johnny is an observant bastard. Loud, brash, but he still sees everything. Like how he learned your coffee order by heart without you ever even saying it to him or having it written on the cup. He absorbs things, files it away, keeps it close to his chest and hides it behind his blunt, brash daily manners. You’ll miss him.

“I- yeah, I’m fine.” You wince internally at the shake in your voice.

“Y’know, we all love ye.” Johnny murmurs.

You huff, eyes darting anywhere to get away from his. Laying on the table suddenly feels slightly trapping. You can’t get your gaze fully away from where he stands over you - so close as his thick arms cage you in. “Guess so.”

“An’ there’s nothin’ tae feel guilty or bad about.”

Your eyes snap to his face, wide and worried. Does he know? Was he told? Do you ask? If you ask, you’ll be admitting to it. If you ask, then he will know for sure. If you ask, you might ruin it all. “I don’t-“

“Ye do.” He cuts you off. “An’ ye have permission, even if ye dinnae need it. It’s okay. Ye havennae done anythin’ wrong.”

You stare, mouth opening and closing lamely. Johnny. Straight forward, loud mouth, unsubtle Johnny. Fuck, you love him for it. Doesn’t dance around what he means. Doesn’t avoid what needs to be said - from his end, at least.

“Did- did you talk to-?” You stutter, struggling between needing to know and fear to admit the truth so blatantly. Even if he obviously knows something.

“Not really. Not my business.” Johnny shrugs casually.

Not his business. So they persue separately, you think. That makes sense. Probably. It’s probably wrong to make assumptions about the dynamic, about the implication that they have some sort of free for all. Then again, you don’t really know anything about their interpersonal workings much. They live together, they’re touchy. The dynamic is a mystery to you - only adding to the piles of confusion.

“Yer thinkin’ tae hard about it.” He pokes the furrow between your brows.

Oh. Is that it? You’re overthinking? No, adults talk about these things. You don’t understand the interpersonal workings here at all. Are they together? Do they just do this? Pull girls in and push them around until they get tired? That feels too cruel for them. They’ve taken such good care of you…

“I still… want to talk.” You murmur, cheeks warm.

His face softens, a light smile tugging at his lips. “An’ ye will. Kyle’s been damn near loosin’ it with ye avoiding him.”

“I’m not avoiding him!” You snap far too defensively.

“Sure ye aren’t.” Johnny shrugs, as if to tell you he knows that’s bull. Not his business, though, he said. “Just… donnae be so scared of us, aye? We’ve got yer back.”

Your shoulders drop, sore from being tensed for the entire day. “Okay.”

“Still want tae get peirced?”

You nod, chest far less tight. As though you finally let go of a breath you had been holding the entire day. “Sure, why not.”

Your shoulders slump as Johnny makes his way through the usual song and dance - showing you the freshly cleaned tools and marking the spot for the needle. Somehow the world seems… quieter. As if all the chatter in your mind had been just as deafening to your physical ears. It’s tiring. That same sting behind your eyes that you get after a long night out. Your defenses are down, and your body is finally at rest.

“Ow!” You gasp, lifting your head to meet Johnny’s impish grin with a glare. “A little warning next time!”

“Tha’s what happens when ye donnae listen.” He teases, slipping the jewelry through. “She’s cute.”

You snort. “She better be. Y’know I should tell John on you for improper conduct.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Aye, ye an’ Price know plenty about improper conduct.”

There’s no malice in the comment, or in the grin he settles on you. For once, you don’t freeze up. Don’t send yourself into a panic spiral over what he knows or thinks or feels. Johnny made himself clear. Instead you land a light smack against his arm and huff in embarrassment.

“Stand f’me.” Johnny murmurs after cleaning the piercing, a heat in his eyes that you can’t quite gauge the source of.

You do as you’re told, slipping off the table. You have to hook a finger into the waistband of your jeans to keep them up, cheeks hot as you realize how much is actually exposed with the fully undone fly. You glance up at a far too pleased Johnny. Didn’t even say a word, the mischievous bastard.

He drops to his knees in front of you. Your brows shoot damn near into the sky. Johnny mumbles something about making sure the piercing is sitting right. You roll with it, knowing he’s probably just saying whatever to get you to keep your pants undone a little longer. Your breath quickens as a large, warm hand flattens itself over your soft belly, unabashedly groping. Not that you mind, really, even if it does make your face so hot it might melt.

Your heart almost breaks out of your rib cage when he places a small kiss next to the piercing. His hand lowers, resting beside yours on the waistband of your jeans.

“May I?” Johnny murmurs, big blue eyes blinking up at you.

You have permission.

You don’t need permission.

You have it, though.

“Yeah.” You gasp, shivering at the cold air on your skin as Johnny pulls your pants halfway down your thighs.

“Pretty, pretty lass.” He murmurs, nipping at the softness of your belly and down to your thigh. “Look at ye.”

“Flatterer.” You scoff, attempting to let the tension melt off your shoulders with the usual snide remarks you slide each others way.

“M’just honest…” Johnny mumbles absently, fingers catching in the hems of your underwear. “Ye always walkin’ around in somethin’ this skintie?”

For a moment, your brows knit in confusion. That is until he pulls back and snaps the string of your thong against your hip. Your face somehow gets even hotter and you grumble out a poor excuse of, “S’laundry day…”

Your hips twitch as he traces between your lips through the cloth. So uncharacteristically slow and methodical for Johnny as he feels you, like he’s trying to memorize it. A shamefully harsh jolt runs up your spine as he presses just slightly into your clit.

“Sensitive little thing.” Johnny grins up at you. You swear the devil has a less delinquent grin.

“It’s been a while.” You shrug, aiming once again for casual and missing by a mile.

His grin only grows, eyes bright and hungry. “Let’s get these off.”

You shimmy your hips a bit to help him get both your underwear and jeans completely down. A wave of shyness overtakes you as it settles in that you’re utterly exposed to Johnny, your friend and coworker, in the middle of your workplace just as the sun has begun to edge down close to the horizon. It’s almost too much, and you almost yank your pants back on with a stammered, fake excuse, but Johnny soothes his hands up your thighs, gaze locked onto your pussy like it’s the only thing that exists and yeah… you want that.

You have permission.

“There she is.” He cups you gently, grinding the heel of his hand against your clit just hard enough to make you gasp.

Before you can say or do anything his hand retracts and Johnny settles you with the most serious look you’ve ever seen from him. It looks wrong, almost, on that face that’s supposed to have a permanent ear to ear grin.

“If ye want tae stop, I need ye tae tell me now.”

“No.” The word leaves you before you can even register the thought - desperate and breathy.

It earns a low chuckle. The only warning you get before Johnny licks a long stripe up between your lips, letting his tongue rest on your clit for just a moment before repeating the motion as though he’s not just eating you out but truly trying to truly get a taste for you. To memorize you as he drinks you in.

“Should let me give you a Christina…” He murmurs, pulling back to look at you.

“Ah, wha-“

“Look so pretty on this fat little cunt.” Johnny gives you a light smack for good measure, grinning at the visible jolt that travels up your spine before diving back in. He hooks a leg over his shoulder, leaving you balancing on your tip toes with your hands flat on the table behind you. It’s precarious and with absolutely no room to escape the attention he’s lavishing on you. It’s almost desperate, the way he moves. The way he devours. A man utterly starved.

“Fuck-“ you gasp as his tongue piercing catches your clit. Rough hands knead at the softness of your thighs and hips, urging you to press into him, to take as much as he’s giving.

“Tha’s it, ride m’face…” Your fingers lock into his mohawk and Johnny’s slurred words become the most pornographic moan you think you’ve ever heard. He practically goes limp - body relaxed and pliant while you grind down onto his tongue.

You tilt your head forward, risking looking down only to meet those big blue eyes staring up at you with all the intensity of the sun. A shaky moan passes your lips and his eyes flutter.

“J-Johnny-” The whine of his name only spurs him on - has him pressing his tongue so deep inside you and drinking you in full.

If he has any complaints about the way your heel digs between his shoulder blades as you unconsciously pull him closer, he doesn’t make it known. His nails rake over your ass, biting and stinging in contrast to everything else. It’s so much. Heat continues to pool at the base of your spine - babbling words, please and moans spill messily from your lips.

Your climax catches you off guard as Johnny sucks harshly at your clit; lighting your body aflame with only his mouth. Every muscle inside you tenses and the sounds you let out can only be described as strangled whines.

You have to yank a little at Johnny’s hair to get him to stop when the overstimulation reaches just the wrong side of too much; he’s well and truly lost in the moment. It fuels your ego to dangerous heights - the idea that this gorgeous man became that intoxicated just from your pussy.

There isn’t even time to say anything before Johnny is standing and connecting his lips with yours. You taste yourself on his tongue, his lips - somehow this is the first time you’ve found that pleasant. With heavy breaths you watch him wipe around his mouth his his palm, only to exaggeratedly lick and clean what’s left off his hand. Fucking sinful.

“Nasty man.” You sigh, too blissed out to be truly critical. Johnny winks and you roll your eyes.

“S’about quittin’ time.” He says, tilting his head to look up at you through thick lashes. “Should get ye home.”

You frown, still trying to come back to earth as you glance down. “Don’t- do you want-?”

He looks you over, your mouth goes dry as his hand drops from your hip to adjust himself. The implications of the outline through his thick denim has your head reeling and your breath quickening. Johnny chuckles at you, surely seeing it written plain across your face. You might as well start drooling and panting like a dog.

He buries his nose into the crook of your neck to nip at your skin. “Another time. Want tae savor ye.”

You shiver, unable to stop the smile that quirks up the corners of your lips. You have permission. You don’t need it, but you have it.

A/N: Sorry if this is a little rough, I'm getting back into the swing of things. It's finally time for things to get fun, tho ;)

Also please give some love to this AMAZING fanart from @eurydicescurse

[gyubakeries]

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 | j.ww

a/n: so ! don't question where this came from LMAO. serena ( @gotta-winwin ) please accept this as an apology for the wonwoo angst u read before this and the one you will read afterwards. i love you i promise 💗 also this is just really badly written smut i apologise i just went with the vibes. shoutout to june ( @junkissed ) for helping me find pics for the banner!

word count: 1.6k contents: NSFW content , wonwoo x afab!reader , established relationship , morning cuddles , nsfw warnings below the cut!

nsfw warnings: mdni! 18+ , unprotected sex , thigh riding , breast play , creampie , cockwarming , nicknames (f. princess, baby)

one thing you can say about yourself is that you are a morning person. you’ve always enjoyed waking up to see the first rays of light streaking across the dark sky. the sounds of birds chirping, the cool breeze, and the soft glow of the sun in the early hours of the dawn always manages to put you in a good mood for the rest of the day.

you can’t say the same about your boyfriend.

wonwoo, a self-declared ‘anti-morning person,’ is the complete opposite. he sleeps at an ungodly hour of the night and doesn’t leave bed till noon. thankfully, his work schedule allows him the leeway to sleep in that late, or else he'd be having some serious issues with his boss.

so, here lies the issue.

it’s 6:15 in the morning. the sun is barely out, but you’re already awake. it wasn’t your alarm that woke you up, but the restless feeling in your stomach. at first, you woke up thinking that maybe last night’s ramen didn’t digest well, but when you turned to look at your boyfriend sleeping next to you, hair messy and torso bare, you recognized the feeling in your stomach all too well.

you’re horny. at 6:15 in the morning. the sun is barely out.

“what the fuck,” you mutter to yourself, trying to close your eyes and force your brain to shut down, but it seems like all the energy in your body has been diverted to your core. 

the visual of wonwoo in front of you doesn’t do too much to help your situation. neither does his morning wood, which is currently pressed against your hip.

“fuck me,” you whisper to yourself, lamenting this stupid situation you’ve gotten yourself into, when you get the scare of your life.

“this early in the morning?” a groggy voice chuckles, and it takes you a few moments to realize that it was wonwoo speaking.

wait, wonwoo?

“how are you awake this early?” you gasp, mortified that your boyfriend has woken up six hours too early and heard you spiraling into a horny mess.

“i was asleep, but i woke up because i could feel how needy you’re being now,” wonwoo explains, voice still raspy from just waking up.

you’re about to argue and tell wonwoo that it’s his arousal that you can feel very clearly, but wonwoo seems to predict your next move, because he decides to throw you off with his next words.

“you’re dripping with need, baby,” he mutters. “you’ve soaked through your panties. i could feel it on my leg.”

you belatedly realize that at some point during the night, wonwoo’s thigh got wedged between both your legs, which explains how your arousal seeped into his sweatpants, leaving a dark patch on the grey fabric.

“oh god,” you wince, embarrassment coloring your cheeks red. “wonwoo, i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean for that to happen. you can go back to sleep, yeah? i’ll take care of it-”

“why do it yourself when you have me?” wonwoo cuts you off. “you really think your own fingers are enough to make you cum?”

you know that wonwoo already knows the answer to that question. ever since you started dating wonwoo four years ago, you’ve been unable to give yourself an orgasm with just your own fingers or toys. only wonwoo’s touch helps you reach that climax, and he often calls you his ‘spoiled princess’ for it.

“no,” you mutter. “need your help, wons.”

“i’ve got you, baby,” wonwoo smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead before grabbing your hips and pulling your body closer, his thigh still wedged between your legs.

“i want you to ride my thigh first,” wonwoo whispers in your ear, his hands slowly guiding your hips in a back and forth motion. “i want you to show me just how desperate you are for me. can you do that, love?”

you nod immediately. the friction that his muscled thigh is creating against your clit has already rendered you speechless, and soon, you’re rocking your hips against wonwoo’s thigh without his hands needing to guide you. you bring your hands up to clutch at his shoulders as you quicken the pace, chasing your release.

wonwoo helps by slipping his cold hands under your shirt, gently squeezing your breasts. the action makes you moan, and you arch your chest into his touch. “more, wonwoo, please,” you request, your voice strangled with pleasure.

“i’ve got you, baby,” wonwoo complies. he’s quick in tugging your shirt off all together, groaning slightly as he gets a full view of your bare chest. one hand goes to the back of your neck to pull you into a dizzying kiss, while the other massages your breast, squeezing harshly than before. he tugs and pinches at your nipples too, making you whine into his mouth.

“wons, it’s not enough,” you cry against his lips. “need your cock in me, please.”

and who is he to refuse you?

“turn over to your other side for me, princess,” wonwoo says, his voice deep and raspy. with the way the bulge in his sweatpants has grown bigger, you can tell he’s just as affected as you are. while wonwoo is taking his sweatpants off, you quickly flip onto your other side, your back coming in contact with wonwoo’s chest.

it’s like your usual spooning position, except for wonwoo lifting your leg and hooking it around his hip. the feeling of his tip nudging against your aching core is enough to make you go crazy, and you rut your hips onto his length, craving for more.

“aren’t you impatient today?” wonwoo chuckles into your ear. one hand is splayed across your abdomen, while the other nudges the fabric of your ruined panties to the side to finally slide his cock into you. as he slowly fills you up completely, the both of you let out similar groans of pleasure.

“fuck, feel so full,” you gasp. “wonwoo, move now, please. i can take it.”

wonwoo doesn’t need much more of a signal to start finally thrusting into you. you know that he’s just as desperate for release as you are because of the relentless pace he’s picked. you feel the breath get knocked out of your lungs as wonwoo snaps his hips into in fast and hard movements.

“you’re so tight around me, princess,” wonwoo rasps, his hand moving from your stomach to your breast, cupping and kneading the soft flesh. “can you feel how tight you’re clenching around me right now?”

“‘m close, so close,” you pant. “faster, wons, please.” you don’t pay any mind to how desperate your pleading sounds, not when all rational thoughts have completely left your mind with how good wonwoo is fucking into you as he leaves bruises on your neck and shoulder with his teeth.

the pressure in your core is rising rapidly, and somewhere between wonwoo’s fingers rubbing at your clit and his cock hitting your most sensitive spot, your climax hits you out of nowhere. you feel your walls gripping onto him as you’re finally pushed off the edge. wonwoo’s release follows soon after, his cum painting your insides white.

when you’ve both caught your breath, wonwoo releases the hold he has on your leg, and you wince at the soreness in your lower back. his hands go back to being wrapped around your waist, and he nuzzles his cold nose into the back of your neck, the action lodging him deeper inside you.

“do you wanna go shower now?” wonwoo whispers, and you shake your head.

“can we stay like this for a while?” you ask, basking in wonwoo’s warmth. “it feels really nice like this.”

“don’t have to tell me twice,” wonwoo agrees with no hesitation, and you laugh. in retaliation, he playfully pinches your hip. “hey, you were the one who woke me up six hours before i actually wake up.”

“at least this way you’ll see the sunrise for once,” you bite back, and wonwoo looks outside the window, his face lighting up when he sees the streaks of orange in the sky.

“it’s really pretty,” he admits, and you rest your hands on top of his, loosely lacing your fingers together. “but i’m still really sleepy. can i go back to sleeping now? you kinda interrupted my really awesome dream.”

you can’t help but snort at how groggy his voice sounds from the lack of sleep. “what was the dream about? one of your video games?”

even though you’re not facing him now, you can tell he’s smiling from the way his lips press into your skin. “nope, i was having an epic dream in which you and i save the world from jelly monsters.”

“that’s too bizarre for me to even analyze,” you sigh. “just go back to sleep, baby. i’ll wake you up in a bit.”

just as you make a move to slowly slip out of bed, wonwoo’s arms around you tighten. “no,” he mutters, now sounding even sleepier. “sleep in today, i know you don’t have any work.”

“just say you need your personal heater next to you,” you roll your eyes affectionately but don’t protest any further. you snuggle back into wonwoo’s chest, and the comfortable heat the closeness of your bodies brings you is enough to lull you back to sleep.

wonwoo stays awake for a little longer, memorizing how the emerging sun slowly covers you with its golden glow.

as he falls asleep, he finds that he wasn’t too upset about being woken up early in the morning, because mornings are the best when they’re spent with you.

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[shomatoriashi]

09/01/24; 04:40pm

{ 18+ headcanons / drabbles }

[ when they’re too busy with work, but you’re needy for them ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

it was the middle of the night when you woke up with a start, eyes going blurry as you blindly reached out to the opposite side of the bed-

only to realize that the sheets were cold to touch.

your sleepiness dissolves in an instant, with a soft yawn coming from your parted lips as you carefully get out of bed. a shiver courses through you upon feeling the cold marble against your feet, but you ignore such icy sensations.

opening the door out of the master bedroom, you wrap your arms around your chest, trying to keep in as much warmth that you could manage while making your way towards sylus’s office. there was a bit of a drag in your steps, your slow movements serving as sole evidence of your exhaustion-

but you would not sleep without sylus by your side.

finally reaching his office, you give the rich, oak door a series of knock, alerting your lover of your presence before inviting yourself inside. yet the moment you saw sylus settled on the expensive leather couch, you could feel your mouth turn dry.

he was dressed in a suit colored in ebony and crimson, the colors matching his aesthetic as his rufescent eyes meet with your gaze. an achingly soft smile graces his features, and you felt a pang of heat running down your spine at the mere sight of him.

gripping at the sheer material of your nightgown, your breathing comes out in uneven breaths. your eyes darken, mirroring your desires for him before asking, “sylus, won’t you join me in bed? it’s getting late.”

sylus’s eyes flash, giving you a momentary glimpse of lust while letting out a string of curses. “sweetheart, as much as i’d like to join you and keep you warm while in bed, i can’t. i’ve got to get these orders ready for my client.”

you bite down on your bottom lip, already feeling the moisture collecting from between your legs. not daring to look away from him, you slowly lock the door to his office, earning a raised brow from the onychinus leader.

you remain silent, stepping out of your ruined panties as you allow the flimsy material to fall to the ground. hunger was seen in sylus’s gaze the moment you shed your body free of your nightgown, allowing it to flutter to the floor before sauntering towards your lover.

sylus wastes no time pulling you closer to him, allowing your soaked cunt to pulsate against his thighs as you gently rode him, allowing your sticky sweet arousal to coat his suit.

“thats it, babygirl. keep on riding me, just like that. let me work for a little while longer, then i’ll take care of you.”

your gasps end up filling at the room, with sylus steadily losing interest in cleaning the weapons the moment you began bouncing up and down his thigh. his eyes had long since lost its crimson shade, becoming so dilated and filled with desire for you that he could feel his sanity snap.

needless to say, when sylus tosses the gun back on the table before unbuckling his pants, freeing his erection as he harshly grips at your thighs before impaling your slick heat against his cock, you lost all of your senses. being so filled with him after riding his thighs created such a hedonistic friction that you quickly became addicted to, never once stopping as you rode him with a desperation.

meanwhile, as luke and kieran were ready to deliver the next round of weapons, they froze upon seeing the office door locked as sounds of your breathy moans and sylus’s grunts were heard coming from behind the door. both twins end up looking at each other, their flustered expression hidden beneath their masks as they slowly backed away from the door.

it was best not to disturb their boss and his queen while in the middle of their trysts, a lesson that they were all too familiar with.

it was early in the morning at akso hospital, and as the staff were prepared to switch out with their coworkers for the upcoming shift, they would remain blissfully unaware of how a certain cardiac surgeon was still tied up and locked in his office.

zayne tries to hide back his groans, having to force himself to bite down on his fist the moment you came into his office. he had simply been going over some patient profiles when you came into his office with an almost dazed expression on your face.

he was filled with concern for you, already taking off his glasses while shoving his patient files to the side. one moment, he was filled with guilt for neglecting you for a few days due to how he wasn’t coming home as much-

and the next, zayne found himself settling back against his chair, with you remaining hidden beneath his desk as his cock was in your mouth. he was already half-erect the moment you began kissing his inner thighs, so it came as no surprise when he became even harder when you unzipped his pants and freed his cock from the confines of his boxers.

“i’m not mad at you.” you continue speaking to him, already stroking his cock in a loving manner before licking away the beads of precum that leaked from his mushroom tip. “i know you’re working so hard to save so many lives, but i wish to spoil you, too.”

zayne’s eyes were screwed shut the moment you place your hot mouth against his cock, feeling your tongue tracing at his veins while letting out a gasp of your name. his large hands automatically go into your hair, gently moving your head back and forth over his cock.

you hummed in pleasure, feeling the familiar twitch within your mouth. you had every intention to take him in as far as you could, yet zayne doesn’t even give you a chance to taste his cum when he harshly pulls your mouth away from his cock.

with a strength you didn’t think zayne was even capable of, you feel your lover shove aside the items on his desk before placing you on it. not even looking down at you, he slides off your soaked panties before shoving it into the pockets of his pants. gripping at your thighs, he spreads your legs apart before sheathing himself inside of you in one swift thrust.

“i need to make up for lost time… for neglecting you…” with heavy pants of your name, zayne grips at your leg before tossing it over his shoulder, making your eyes roll to the back of your head the moment he reaches oh so deeper inside of you all while kissing at your ankles.

and when your moans were heard echoing across the department, no one dared to question it.

“you’re such a brat.”

xavier was heard hissing at you, trying to keep his voice even as he was on the phone with one of the higher ups at the hunters association. here he was, trying to gather information for his mission next week while you were trying to free his cock from the confines of his pants.

“i can’t help it. you’re telling me you’re going to be gone for two weeks, and you expect me to behave?” you scoff, finally shoving down his pants to reveal his half-hardened cock. a cheshire cat grin paints your pretty features as you made quick work of stroking him to full hardness.

xavier lets out a hiss of your name, but has to swallow his moans when a stern voice was heard coming from his phone. “xavier, are you ready to receive details for this mission?”

“yes sir…!” a low gasp escapes from xavier’s lips the moment you place your lips on his tip, giving it a light suck. it takes xavier a herculean effort not to moan into the phone, feeling your hands and hot mouth fully sending him into an almost painful erection.

he catches bits and pieces of information, but was solely focused on the way your mouth and tongue traces at every inch of his cock. his breathing becomes heavier, feeling his impending climax approaching when you suddenly removed your lips away from him. the young hunter was all too eager to shove your face back against his cock when you slowly began to undress in front of him-

and dammit to hell, you just had to wear that lacy set beneath your clothes!

your soft giggle echoes throughout the room, and as you straddle him, he saw the way you moved the material of your lace panties to the side, ready to mount yourself on his cock.

“you’ve got it sir, i’ll be there next week.” luckily, xavier had already ended the call the moment you sheath his cock inside of your wet pussy, the squelching sounds of you riding his cock echoing throughout the living room. with a growl of your name, xavier grabs a hold of your waist before proceeding to bounce you up and down his cock at an almost inhuman speed.

“is this what you want? for me to ruin you completely that you won’t be able to walk until i return?”

your mewls and eager nods were all that he needed to continue pounding mercilessly into you, eyes already going dilated as he had every intention of claiming you.

“i’m going to make sure that my cock is forever imprinted against your sweet little heat… so be prepared for it, little brat…” he finishes his statement with a particularly hard thrust, making you see stars as you had every intention to ride him for as long as you could manage.

rafayel had long forgotten about his commissioned painting the moment you began to eagerly bounce up and down his cock. the moment he felt your slickness wrapping so tightly around him was when he lost all train of thought.

you had come home from work late in the evening and wished to greet rafayel. however, when you saw the portrait he was working on, you began to feel envious of the gorgeous girl seen painted on the canvas. he tried to explain to you that a governor had commissioned him to paint a portrait of his daughter for her 23rd birthday, but you didn’t wish to hear it.

and now, he found that he could care less about finishing such a portrait with you bouncing up and down so eagerly against his cock. filled with his own desperation for you, rafayel tries to meet your downward thrusts with his own upward ones, panting as he begins to lose his breath.

being so captivated and drunk off of you, the young artist could feel a whimper being ripped from the confines of his throat when you began kissing him, swallowing his grunts and moans of your name. as you continued to bounce up and down his cock, he could feel the curve of your breasts and your hardened nipples against his own chest.

“am i prettier than her?” you ask in a breathless whisper, purposefully squeezing your cunt over his pulsating dick. it was no competition in rafayel’s eyes. “o-of course you are- fuck! you’re the prettiest girl in the entire universe. you’re my fucking princess.”

a pleased hum was heard coming from you when you lay back against his lap, moving your hips up and down his cock at this brand new angle that had the artist seeing stars. “f-fuck… princess… you’re squeezing me so tight! l-like you want to milk me dry.”

“hehe, that’s the plan…” feeling your legs and cunt tightening so sweetly around him makes rafayel gasp, stilling his hips before shooting ropes of his seed deep inside of you. with you remaining laid back, your back against his thighs, you allowed your release to wash over you, earning a grunt from rafayel.

as your honeyed arousal further wets his softening cock, your lover leans over to press a searing kiss against your lips all while returning your body closer to him. his tongue fights with yours for dominance, and he lets out a pleased hum the moment you yield for him.

when the need for air proved to be too much, rafayel was the first to pull away from you, giving you a gentle smile before asking, “did our copulation manage to ease you of your envy?”

you give him a thoughtful expression, placing your pointer finger against your lips before smirking at him. his eyes end up going wide when you began to bounce up and down his limp cock, stroking it back to full hardness with a determination seen deep within your eyes.

“not quite yet, rafe… i’m going to need this to go on the whole night to make me convinced that i am the only woman for you.”

and with one final groan of your name, rafayel knew better than to deny you of your needs.

end notes: i am still soooo thirsty for my lads men, so have this post 🫠

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[frmisnow]

1:37AM : BAROLO ! - (nsfw)

summary. you had been avoiding your ceo as best as you could after the intimate drunk meeting you had shared, so what do you do now when you both are forced on a business trip?

notes. second chapter! hope y'all enjoy🍷✶𝄞

warnings/includes. (3.3k words / smut!) non idol! ceo! jungkook x f! employee! reader, smoking (reader's first time), masturbation heavely implied, fingering, giving m. head, pussy eating, drunk!!!, tad bit of angst at end

"we didn't sleep together, you fell asleep on my coach, i wasn't going to take advantage of you"

his words from a few days ago remain firmly in your head. you had done so good at avoiding him: taking the long way to not walk by his office, instantly running off to god knows where when you saw him - only for the very man you've been dodging so well, to ask you to go on a business trip to milan.

the flight was quiet.

the only thing that was hearable was the sound of a lighter getting light up every hour or so. he smoked.

it was his private jet after all, you didn't blame him. your mind trails off to your ex once more, you had thought you had managed to get rid of him in your mind completely, but he always managed to sneak back in.

he resented smoking, called smokers 'self-indulged assholes' if they did it in public. he was the kind of man who thought the world revolved around sheerly him, to think that another person would calmly invade said-world with a bit of smoke, was beyond unforgivable for him.

you glance towards jungkook, taking in the calm assurance in his eyes as he takes another slow puff. he seemingly notices your stare, his tone soothing, "do you want one?"

you physically feel your ex trying to pull the hand you're reaching out to take what jungkook offered, back. but he doesn't succeed, you win. you had never smoked before, you go based of what you've seen in pop culture. lightning, drag, wasn't it?

you can visably see jungkook fighting a smile while he reaches out for the cig, hanging it between his very own lips as he leans forward in his seat, one of his hands gently guiding your fingers so the cigarette was now in between your own plush lips

you slowly breathe, the smoke stinging your lungs and making you cough. he lets out a tsk, clicking his tongue disapprovingly as he looks at you from under his eyelashes, "inhale deeper," the voice not mad, more like gentle scolding.

the hotel room was mostly quiet, besides the soft hum of the AC and the faint noises of the dazzling city through the open window. you both had shared a few more words earlier, incrediably vague, until you parted ways to your respective rooms.

you couldn't quite fall asleep, you blamed it on loud milan when you in reality couldn't stop thinking about his fingers which had been on your lips, your fingers trace over them, imagining his tattoed ones doing just that. you had to ask him what the history behind those was, next time. next time?

your hands wander to your tits, where his eyes had lingered more then once if your memory didn't fail you. and you imagine his hand wrapping around yours, guiding you.

"i want you," the words you had whispered against his mouth replay in your head multiple times.

just as your fingers trailed further, there was an abrupt knock on the door. you glance at your phone: it's 1:37 a.m.

as you open the door you see a image of your boss, you haven't quite seen yet. jungkooks hair is visabily messed up, his shirt loose around the neckline. "couldn't sleep," he mumbles, his tone sounding almost like an confession, he shouldn't say, "do you want to take a walk with me?"

you give in, you don't want to give much thought into how weird it was for a boss to ask his employee out on a walk at almost 2am.

the uber drops you off at a 24hr shop which seemed out of part for the milan you've seen so far (through car windows)

"if you want a snack or a smoke or something," he looks at you, "and then we walk"

you don't know what prompts you to say, "wine" with so much confidence but you do regardless. please make me feel like that night, i want you the words linger in your head shortly, words you'd never say out loud.

if he's surprised he didn't show it, moreover he looked satisfied, pleased with your answer. and that's exactly what you liked about jungkook: he knew how to read the room. did he hear you touch yourself? maybe. did he mention it? no.

he leads you deeper into the store, towards the back where there were rows of alcoholic beverages, the lights dim. he moves to stand behind you, his chest almost touching your back, as he reaches to grab a bottle of barolo from a high shelf.

the music in the background is some indie tune, you had heard before, you nod your head along to the sound absentmindedly.

you can see him smile at the corner of your eye, not a smile that was mocking or finding something funny, more filled with general admiration.

"you like this song?" he asks, his voice quiet, nearly a whisper almost as if it was a secret while he placed the bottle down to the cashiers table, pulling out his card, black.

you nod with a genuine smile.

you end up settling down on a bench in a nearby park, opening the bottle. you sit crosslegged, looking over the park at night, genuinely intrested, "so what music do you like?"

"i like...indie stuff, mostly," jungkook responds, turning his head to look at you, the light night breeze running over his hair, "but i have a soft spot for a few italian punk rock songs from when i was younger."

"ever seen any of them live?" you ask, taking a sip from the bottle, "y'know you are in milan after all"

he can firmly smell your perfume. the same one that had stuck to his coach for days which made it simply unbearable to sit on it, without thinking about you.

jungkook laughs, the sound soft, almost as if it wasn't entirely voluntary. he runs a hand through his hair, the ends just falling back into his face. "no," he says, tilting his head back a little, "i haven't."

"maybe you should," you respond casually. you don't know why you were giving such tips to a business man with a multi-million empire to his knees. did he even have time to go to silly little concerts? what kind of life did he live?

he laughs again, you loved the sweet sound of it, "maybe i should," raising the bottle to drink once more, "would you go with me?"

you reach out to take another large sip, you need some more alcohol in your system to answer him, "maybe"

he watches you intently as you reach for the bottle again, his eyes flickering to your throat as you tilt your head back to drink.

"maybe," he says again, smiling to himself, "that's so vague of you, maybe."

handing the bottle back to you, repeating, "maybe," his voice teasing.

you repeat the same word once more as you both laugh. you can feel the alcohol begin to warm you from the inside, the feeling of slight dizziness setting in.

meanwhile he's looking at you, his eyes wandering over your face, resting on your mouth, the way your lips are tinted red from drinking the wine.

"why are you looking at me like that?" you mutter though your tone grazed on something reminding a joke. stupid fucking question.

jungkook's smile remains if not widening while he moves closer, "how am i looking at you?"

"like you want to fuck me," you mumble, chuckling at your words like it was a ridiciulous thought on it's own.

"does that bother you," he whispers, his voice low, his words just a little bit slurred from the alcohol, "knowing i want you like that."

you raise your eyebrows, taking another sip, "so you're admitting it?"

jungkook raises his eyebrows, copying your movement, a lazy, almost cocky smile on his face. he grabs the bottle from your hand, raising it to his lips, drinking a mouthful of wine, holding eye contact with you as he does. and you're convinced he wants to see you dead.

he hands the bottle back to you, his smile still present on is face, "yes," he says, his voice low, the sounds almost like a soft moan, "I'm admitting it."

"you're actually so sexy when you're like this," you respond, clearly just as intoxicated as he was. 'like this' when you are not scolding me for not bringing the right documents, is the part you leave out.

he laughs, louder if that wasn't the alcohol talking. "sexy when I'm drunk," he teases, his words slurred, "is that it?"

"maybe," you babble which just makes the both of you giggle again.

he takes the bottle out of your hand, setting it down on the ground, the empty glass making a small clinking sound as it hits the concrete.

"you're drunk," he says, his words still a little slurred, the sound teasing, "i think you need to shut up."

you grin at this man's sheer audacity, replying, "i think you need to learn how to take a compliment properly"

jungkook just moves closer, not responding for a few seconds until you were so close that your noses touched, "you like compliments?"

he practically makes you lie down on that damn uncomfortable bench, "you want me to tell you how sexy you are? cause i will"

"i won't fuck you on a bench, kook"

"i never get to be just kook," he mumbles, something reminding a pout on his face, an adorable sight. "i'm always boss, or sir."

you don't know how to respond, you want him to be kook to you but that is something that is practically out of your control. so you moan.

you can hear jungkook say something — something about the city, something aboout the driver's taste of music? the words slip through your head as soon as they are said and all you manage to do is laugh.

the car feels to fast, milan is way to blurry and for a second you seriously ask yourself if you had taken any drugs. jungkooks hand slides over your thigh as you tilt your head, letting out a breathy chuckle.

the chuckle turns into a suppressed moan as his fingers brush over your underwear. you can barerly think straight, dare tell him to stop though you wouldn't even want to, even if you could.

you nod or at least try to; you didn't know why in the first place, it’s hard to tell if your head is moving or if you’re just imagining it. your eyes are half-closed, barely able to focus on his face, but you can feel his fingers slipping under the edge of your panties, brushing against your slick, aching core. "you're so wet f' me"

you make a mental note to rate the uber driver five stars later, because of the sheer noises that man had to hear. you were incrediably grateful for the music covered it up at least a bit.

just as you were about to cum, the car came to a sharp stop. the poor driver's voice pulls you back to reality, announcing you've arrived to the hotel.

jungkook brings his juiced fingers to his lips, licking them with a small 'pop' noise. for a second you actually consider pushing him onto the dirty ground in front of the hotel and fucking him right then but you regain compusure through a groan.

you both stumble through the lobby if you saw it properly one of the large clocks showed it was 2:51am but there was a big chance that your eyes were fooling you.

he practically pushes you towards the elevator as the door closes, jungkook looks adorably confused at all the various floor buttons, his finger unsurerly moving from one to the other.

"don't think," you pull him closer by his shirt while jungkook's hands instantly craddle your face, no thoughts in his head. you press as many random buttons as you could while he presses his lips onto yours.

his hands get tangled in your hair, he pulls you even closer as if he wants to breathe your soul in, moaning into your mouth.

the elevator opens with a little 'ding' and you have to look around to see if it's the right floor, you had surprisingly gotten lucky. the hallway lights automatically turn on at your movement, they feel way to bright.

you both reach the door of his room as he fumbles with they keycard, trying to slide it into the lock, cursing under his breath whilst you laugh. the door refuses to open which just makes him release a giggle, cute very untypical, "how do these even work"

logicaly he should be a man who has opened multiple hotel doors like this before but it was most certaintly the alcohol in his system that made everything a bit to fuzzy to handle. jungkook finally manages to slide the card into the door, the light turning green with a small click.

he pulls you with him, tugging you towards the bed, his movements messy as he almost falls once on his way. flopping down onto the covers, pulling you on top so you're straddling him.

it's a pretty view, him under you. he really did look hypnotized in a way whilst you ran your fingers over his facial features, they are not as rough as you thought, on closer inspection.

"you got to many clothes on," you mumble, removing your own shirt and shorts in a clumsy haste.

"then take them off"

you grin, your fingers moving to his shirt to pull it over his head, the action surprisingly slow and tender though it was probably the wine making your mind all foggy.

jungkook looks up to you like you are the moon and the sun, his eyes droopy, his words a stark contrast to his loving gaze, "you're taking to long, c'me here"

"you are in no position to give me orders," you reply, working on his pants.

his head falls back against the sheets, the smile on his face evident, "i think i am, i'm the big, mean boss man"

big, mean boss man - that's how you need to save him in your contacts, you chuckle at the thought, pulling away his boxers. his cock springs free, already hard and throbbing with need.

"shut up or no head," you don't wait for his response, leaning forward to press a tentative kiss onto the tip before taking him into your mouth, savoring the taste and texture.

jungkooks hands tighten in your hair, guiding you with a mix of need and tenderness while he bucks his hips. you move your head up and down with precision, taking him deeper with each passing minute.

he curses, curses in a manner you've never seen a man like him do. and you feel a sense of pride in knowing that you have this man practically wrapped around your finger or better said — mouth.

his release is sweet, warm. you swallow each drop especially when he asks you to clean him up, you lick it all off. here and there you look up to him with your lashes and he moans each time.

you can firmly feel something shift in the air when you release him with that little 'pop' noise, reminding of how he left you without an orgasm in that damn uber. at least you had made him cum.

following, he gently pushes you onto the bed. you look over to your right, evidently amused noticing a closed wine bottle on his night desk. perhaps it automatically came with the hotel, it seemed expensive.

a hazy thought lingers in your mind, a blend of the lack of sleep and the alcohol still coursing through your veins. you reach out for the bottle, fingers grasping the cool, smooth glass.

with a tipsy giggle you uncork the wine, bringing it to your lips to get a quick taste before ultimately pouring about a good one third of it over your tits.

you can barerly make out jungkook's face, why did you mind seem so hazy? but you can hear his words, "you're a mess" his tone isn't insulting rather he says it like it was a just a mere fact.

but he calmly licks the liquid of you with the same ease as you had done with his cum.

“such a fucking mess,” he repeats, his words softer now, almost affectionate, as he sucks his way down the curve of your tit, "my mess"

his hands wrap around your thighs, putting them on his shoulders. he raises his eyebrows at your state, "all for me?" it sounded like a question though it was clear he didn't expect an answer — he certaintly didn't wait for one either.

the feeling of his hot, wet tongue against your core is a stark contrast to the coldness of the wine-soaked skin in combination with the ac, creating a delicious tension that had you whining for more.

jungkook’s hands grip your thighs firmly, holding you in place as he works his mouth over you, each flick of his tongue and suck of his lips calculated to drive you to the edge of sanity. he alternates between gentle, teasing licks and more aggressive, demanding sucks, making sure you’re fully engulfed in pleasure, one way or another.

jungkook eats you out like it's a part of his job, with much care and ease. an grunt or a groan vibrating against you more often then not.

his name slips over your tongue multiple times, and you would've been embarrassed for your porn-like moans if it wasn't for the release washing over you.

it falls over you in one motion and it would've felt like to much if it weren't for jungkook: jungkook, who's fingers wander over your thighs and tummy gently as if trying to bring you back on earth. jungkook, who gives you all the time in the world and whispers reassuring little sweet nothings against the sensitive skin.

when he sees you're somewhat ready to function again, his arms softly lie you onto him, one of his hands working through your hair attentively while his other reached out and lit up a cigarette.

the room has a special scent — wine, sex cigs.

jungkook takes slow, deliberate drags as you trace patterns over his chest, circles, hearts. his fingers absentmindely moving to lightly drum over your back while he takes another hit.

“want a puff?” he asks, a smirk playing on his lips, and without thinking, you nod, your brain swimming in a delightful stupor. he brings the cigarette to your lips, and you take a tentative drag, the smoke filling your lungs.

“breathe it in, babe” he murmurs, the nickname slipping from his lips like a forbidden secret. “like you did before.”

you do as he says, managing it properly this time as he gives you an approving hum instantly going in for a kiss.

you wake up with sunlight on your face, your first instinct is to smile, the curtains were open, did you forget to close them yesterday?

but as your senses sharpen, you realize something. something: or rather, someone is pressed against you. panic bubbles inside you as you register that jungkook lies beneath you, deep asleep, a peaceful smile grazing his face.

what had you done?

thankfully you remembered everything, though it was much more a curse then a blessing. you hadn’t wanted to cross this line.

there was no future here — he only desired you when you were both drunk.

and what was even worse was that you actually felt your heart clench when you looked at his clueless, oblivious face.

you wanted, no- you needed to disappear before the reality of this situation hits the both of you. it was a dick-move but that was what he had done that night, wasn't it?

but just as you begin to shift, a low, sleepy murmur escapes his lips, and he stirs beneath you. his eyes flutter open, a lazy smile making it's way onto his lips as he registers you on top of him, blissfully unaware of your inner conflict.

"good morning, babe," he reaches forward to brush one strand of yours behind your ear, you were convinced there was nothing currently working behind those eyes, "did you sleep well?"

🍓 tag list — @chansloverr , @marimarvelfan , @bxcndd , @1-in-abillion , @ahgasegotarmy116 , @copycat-namjesus , @malkaimoon , @geminiml95 , @taiwan0618 , @jungkookfics , @rrosiitas , @stuti2904

[ljubimaya]

SLUT ME OUT𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

SYNOPSIS: Does fucking your bratty girlfriend into oblivion help her fall asleep even when her sleep shedule is shit? Draken says yes! C/W: fem! afab! Reader, established relationship, aged up characters (20+ years old), brat! reader and brat tamer! Draken, pussy spanking, orgasm denial, p in v, unprotected sex (keep it wrapped), tummy bulging, cervix fucking, reader doesn't have a great sleep schedule/implied insomnia, mentions of social media (tiktok, Instagram, etc.), no prep, Draken has a big dick, rip your pussy, MDNI!!!! W/C: about 3k A/N: this is super self indulgent and has been on my mind for the longest time :,)) I won't lie, this particular fic took me a while to write for some reasons, but I guess not every fic can just flow out of my brain directly into my google docs. Also, not proofread and kinda chaotic (?)

DRAKEN had enough. He’d toss and turn, unable to get a wink of sleep. Next to him laid, or rather sat, you, staring at the bright display of your phone watching the newest videos of your favorite creators. You’d scroll, switching between Instagram Reels to Tiktoks to Youtube shorts, trying to get your nightly dose of entertainment before you’d cuddle up to your boyfriend and fall asleep. Insomnia was a bitch and Draken knew that you did your best not to disturb his sleep, but it became glaringly clear that your sleeping habits impacted his. So really, it didn’t do much for him when you lowered the volume as much as you could, or the way you’d try and stifle your laughter at a particularly funny Reel. He was wide away at an ungodly hour with you, but unlike you, he had to go to work in six hours. 

“Babe, you should go to sleep now” Draken grumbled as he turned around to face you “Phone-time is over” Draken reached and grabbed your phone from your grip before turning it off and placing it on his night stand. Once Draken turned back to look at you, the street lanterns barely illuminated the dark bedroom from outside. The blonde’s eyes quickly adapted to the dark, and all he saw was your pouty face glaring daggers at him.

“You can’t just take away my phone like that” you scoffed at your boyfriend “You’re acting like my dad. I’m a grown woman, and I’m more than capable of making my own decisions” Huffing, you tried to reach over the broad man to get your phone back, eager to return to the story time you’ve just watched. But you’ll soon come to find out that your boyfriend is not the right man to disobey. 

Draken caught your hand before you could even touch your phone “Oh yeah, a grown woman? You?” He looked at you with his sharp onyx eyes. You saw an all too familiar dangerous spark in his eyes, a spark that challenged you to defy him. Fuck around and find out.

“Yes, me. Believe it or not, but I’m my own person” you exclaimed, trying to sound as firm as you can. This was dangerous territory, but you’ve walked that path numerous times and oh boy, did you want to fuck around and find out. Not that you didn’t know what would follow - you were certain about what would follow should you keep being difficult. 

You pressed your thighs together, clit throbbing at the vicious glare your boyfriend threw at you “Who are you to even think you can boss me around?” That sealed the deal, you concluded from the way Draken leaned in closer to you. His gigantic form blocked out the window, the only source of light. You weren’t able to see much, but you didn’t have to. Draken was so close to you that you heard his even breathing, smelled the faint smell of the shampoo he used when he went to shower prior to joining you in bed hours ago, but most importantly, you felt him. You felt his rough hands on your thigh underneath the blanket, warm fingers pressing into your soft flesh. But most importantly, you felt his breath fanning  against your lips. 

“Yeah, you are your own person” His deep voice rumbles through the darkness of your shared bedroom, sending a shiver of excitement over your body “But I think you’re giving yourself way too much credit. You may look like a somewhat reliable, mature person, but you’re a brat through and through”

His grip on your thigh grew tighter. A mewl almost escaped your lips, but you didn’t dare make a noise. You didn’t want him to know that you got off to this, at least not now.

“And you know damn well I don’t like being disrespected. I’m not your father, but I am your boyfriend and I won’t tolerate this level of disrespect” Draken’s voice rumbled lowly, his grip on your thigh as firm as before “I’m gonna give you one chance to look me in the eye and apologize, brat” He spat out. The way your boyfriend put so much emphasis on “brat” made you feel tingles inside your stomach. 

You leaned closer to him, looked him in the face - even when you couldn’t see well in the dark, you still knew where to look - and told him with the sweetest voice “No. I’m not gonna apologize for anything. I said what I said” You were about to ask for your phone back, hoping that would make him snap but you didn’t get the chance to. A yelp left your mouth at the stinging sensation you felt on your thigh. You were no longer able to contain your excitement; a lewd moan left your lips as his palm made impact with your thigh. Draken was on top of you, yanking your legs apart harshly, before your mind could even register it.

“Should have known you were being difficult on purpose” Your boyfriend grumbled into your ear, his fingers tracing lines over your clothed cunt “Could have just told me you want me to fuck you to sleep. Would have saved me my nerves”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not being difficult” 

“Liar” His fingers slipped past your panties. A sinful moan left your lips as Draken teased your clit, rubbing agonizingly light strokes over your throbbing bud. His fingers barely touched you where you needed him the most. A part of you wanted to drop the bratty act and ask - no, beg -  him to fuck you, but you already knew that it was far too late to act like a good girl for him. So you committed to the bratty act. 

“I’m not a liar-”

Gasps and moans left your lips as Draken slapped your clothed pussy, making you unable to finish your protests. The stinging pain aroused you even more. You wanted more of him. 

"What was that? Didn’t catch that” Draken grinned wolfishly at your attempts to seem unfazed, but your squirming beneath his calloused hand and the embarrassingly big, wet spot on your panties told him everything he needed to know.

“I said I’m not a liar-” His hand landed on your pussy again. The hard slap sent a jolt through your body, slick seeped out of your pussy and soiled your favorite pair of panties. 

“Hmmm, apologize for lying to me, and I’ll take off your panties for you” Draken’s deep, rich voice rumbled “If I like your apology, that is. Better start begging if you want them off” 

“N-No, I won’t apologize” the words stumbled out of your lips, unable to come up with a snarky comment. Your refusal to beg would have to do for now. 

Another hard slap landed on your pussy once Draken heard your whiney stutter. You mewled at the impact, loving the pleasure you feel from the pain. Your clit throbbed against the fabric of your heavily soiled like a second heartbeat, waiting to be touched again; but as if reading your mind, Draken his assault on your poor pussy. Instead, he roughly yanked your panties off your body, so much so you feared he ripped the fabric. You yelped as he manhandled you, pressed you into the mattress and took your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand. 

You could feel his bulge pressed against your thigh as he yanked your legs apart, making sure to position himself between your trembling legs.  Anticipation washes over you; you felt so excited to feel his fingers stretch you out nicely, preparing you to take his thick cock. You’re already imagining his long fingers pumping in and out, middle and ring finger setting an unforgiving pace as his thumb would be teasing your clit until you’d cream around his digits. 

Instead of thrusting in and out of your weeping hole, his fingers hooked under the waistband of his boxers before pulling them down. Draken’s rock hard dick slapped against his toned abs. Your eyes have adjusted to the little light coming from outside, the cheap lantern lights illuminating the best parts of your boyfriend as you moved your head, desperate to catch a glimpse. 

Veiny, girthy, with a big, angry red tip, leaking precum. Your mouth watered at the sight. Oh, what you’d do to have him down your throat…

You snapped out of your thoughts when you saw Draken give his cock a few, firm pumps before his hand moved back to the base, guiding his leaking tip between your folds. The thought of your boyfriend fucking you without preping you beforehand felt both daunting and arousing to you. Remembering the previous times he took you, you vividly remembered the way his dick would stretch you out uncomfortably despite him eating you out and fingering you beforehand. You could only imagine the damage he’d do if he didn’t prep you. So, your bratty act faltered as you opened your mouth, and hoarsely asked “Baby, what are you doing?”

Lust filled, onyx eyes met yours as Draken heard your small protests, a scowl adorned his handsome face “Teaching you a lesson” He groaned as he teased your folds with his tip “Since you wanted to be a brat about it, I’m gonna put you back in your place like one” Without warning, Draken pushed his bulbous tip inside. 

Tears shot up in your eyes as you bit back a scream, feeling as if you were being impaled by him. You struggled beneath him, struggled to take him fully while he mercilessly forced himself inside you, and struggled to contain your moans bubbling out of your sealed lips. Despite the stretching, burning pain you felt the deeper Draken pushed himself between your walls, you couldn’t deny that you liked it. Your clit throbbed as you got stuffed full of cock, begging to be touched, pinched, slapped.

Sweat collected on Draken’s forehead. He felt somewhat conflicted about not loosening you up properly, feeling that he might be doing too much this time, but the grip your gummy walls had on him made it impossible for him to pull out. He didn’t know if it was either the lack of prep or you loving it that made you so damn tight - almost too tight- for him. Draken was sure of one thing though: he physically couldn’t pull out. He lacked the will power for it.

Lost in his own pleasure, your boyfriend glanced at your face. The nagging voice in his head demanded to know if you were doing okay. Below him, you were a shaking mess. A thin sheen of sweat covered your skin, lips plump and bruised from you biting them, eyes rolled back in sheer bliss and tummy bulging. If heaven was real, it would face in comparison to your blissed out expression, a sweet combination of pained and aroused. 

“Oh, why so silent, brat?” Draken huffed “Where did your smart mouth go?” He groaned as he harshly thrusted the last remaining inches inside your weeping cunt, attentively watching your face. You weren’t able to hold the nasty, loud moan anymore. You tried to hold onto the pillows for leverage, but Draken’s tight grip on your wrists didn’t falter. Panting, you made eye contact with Draken. His scowl has warped into a cruel grin; he looked down on you like a wolf would look at a wounded sheep, ready to devour it. 

“You’re so filthy” Draken mused, chuckling darkly when you turned your face away in shame. His free hand took hold of the bed frame, an action that caught your attention. You squeezed your eyes shut, anticipating a hard thrust out before he’d plunge right back inside you. But he didn’t. Instead, the grip on your wrists grew tighter, making you squeal in pain and look at him, glaring daggers at your boyfriend. 

“Speak when you’re spoken to, brat” Draken growled “This is your last chance. Beg me for forgiveness, and I might be nice” 

And despite his threats, he still saw a flicker of defiance in your eyes. He knew that you’d always be bratty to him, and you knew he knew. 

“F-Fuck you” you meekly replied back, your voice faltering and shaky. You knew you were screwed when you saw the dark glint in Draken’s onyx eyes. 

Wordlessly, Draken pulled out and rammed back inside. The first thrust knocked the air out of your lungs, the ones that followed after knocked your soul out of your body. Draken didn’t hold himself back, the might of his thrusts shook the bed you two shared. The old mattress that you two have been meaning to replace for ages let out loud, squeaky noises with every movement. The thudding, the squeaking, your loud sobs and Draken’s low groans were a guarantee for getting noise complaints in the morning, but neither of you cared; your brain fuzzy from the painful yet delicious stretch and Draken too focused on the grip your pussy had on his dick. 

Draken’s balls smacked against your ass with each merciless thrust, heavy and full with his cum. His tip continuously kissed your cervix, which ended up heightening the pain and pleasure you felt. Feeling overstimulated, you knew you wouldn’t last any longer and come soon. While drunk on your pussy, Draken was still able to think somewhat clearly. He felt the way your walls grew tighter around him and heard the frantic moans that escaped your lips. 

So he stopped right before you could come. 

You whined desperately once Draken stopped moving, trying to grind your hips against him, to create a friction that could satisfy the overbearing heat you felt in your tummy. Much to your dismay, you weren’t able to move a lot with your boyfriend pressing down on you. 

“Stop moving or I will pull out” Draken warned you sternly. He didn’t like having to postpone his own orgasm for the sake of teaching you a lesson, so he hopes he has cracked you down enough to drop your stubborn, bratty attitude. 

A wince left your lips as you heard Draken, your hips stopping their movements. You looked up at him, teary eyed and frowning at his sudden stop.

“You didn’t actually think I’d let you cum after all the badmouthing you did” He scoffed, trying to suppress a grin. Oh, how he loved seeing you so needy. He absolutely loved seeing the real you, the desperate you. 

You’d be embarrassed by the way your resolve broke so quickly, but you couldn’t think straight anymore. All thoughts in your head revolved around cumming on his cock. 

“Please” you whimpered out “Please, I wanna cum”

“Nu-huh. You’ll have to do better” Draken rolled his eyes at you “And you better be quick. I don’t have the whole night”

And just like that, the dam broke. Beginnings and pleadings and empty promises bubbled out of your mouth, each word sounding more desperate than the previous. Music to his ears. 

“I will never disrespect you like that again” You promised, sobbing as you ran out of anything to make him reconsider “I will always listen to you, I will always be obedient” 

Of course, Draken knew that you were throwing everything and saw what stuck; he knew you would go back to your antics as soon as you wake up in the morning. To say he was unimpressed was an understatement. 

“I’ll be good. I-I will fix my sleep schedule” you stuttered out, growing antsy at the lack of a reaction. You’ve run out of what to say to him to appease him “You wanted me to fix it, right?” 

Draken could only scoff at you. What a pathetic thing to say “We both know that’s a lie. You know I hate lies” Draken could see the disappointment in your eyes “And to top it all off, all of those things you’ve said are lies as well”

“But that’s fine. I’m gonna make an honest person out of you” With that, Draken slammed his hips against yours, picking up right where he left off. Screams and cries left your lips as your boyfriend drilled inside you. 

“If fucking your brains out every night is what will make you be good, I will do it” Draken grunted between thrusts. Draken’s pace was unforgiving, his thrusts angled to hit all the right spots. The sudden switch up on his demeanor left you confused, but who were you to question your boyfriend while he’s balls deep inside you?

Draken’s hips repeatedly crash against yours, chasing after his orgasm. He was usually so patient and kind with you, making sure you’d cum before him. This time, Draken prioritized his own high. So he fucked you like a dog in heat until he emptied his balls inside you with a groan. He shut his eyes tightly as he fucked his cum into you, trying to extend his orgasm as much as he could. 

His cum shot inside your womb, filling you up nicely; so much so that the tight knot in your tummy broke. You mewled out his name as you came hard, your legs trembling and your back arched at the aftershocks from your intense orgasm. Your eyes felt heavy, and before you knew it, you passed out from sheer exhaustion. Sleeping soundly, you didn’t notice Draken pulling his dick out. He could only imagine the divine view of his cum leaking out of your pulsing pussy if it was brighter inside the bedroom. 

Despite feeling tired himself, Draken pushed himself off your shared bed and went to the bedroom quietly, making sure you wouldn't wake up. After all, he gave it his all to put you to sleep. He returned -womewhat clean himself- with a wet towel and carefully cleaned you up. Your boyfriend silently watched you sleep, letting the previous events replay in his mind before he laid down and covered the both of you with a blanket. As Draken fell asleep, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of triumph swell up in his chest. He finally knew what would get you to fall asleep, and he was very much intending at fucking you to sleep every night.

[poisonf0rest]

Overc*mming Writer's Block 2

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈

♱⋅── zayne x reader

♱⋅── tags: smut, teasing, oral, cunnilingus, road head, car sex woohoo, pwp

♱⋅── about: Between being in the midst of your medical residency and being an up-and-coming author, it’s safe to say your personal life has been placed on stand-still. That is, until your editor decided that your next novel needed explicit smut scenes. That is, until your mentor and boss ends up striking a deal for you to help with “inspiration” for said novel. That is, until you fuck Zayne four times and your life changes forever. Partially inspired by manga of the same name by Nae Awaji

♱⋅── word count: 6.6K

art credit to @/kaito_aii on X

This is the last time you have sex on a weekday.

When Zayne left your apartment last night, you tried to write while the aftereffects of everything he did to you- everything he watched you do- still lingered. But you were beyond distracted, unable to even sit still without being assaulted with vivid flashbacks, a mix of mortification and lust coursing anew. 

You shut your laptop and scream into your pillow. 

Only after feeling sufficiently lightheaded do you shut off the lights and try to sleep, but the damned thing avoids you like the plague, and you stare at the ceiling for an untimed eternity. Everything feels wrong. Your blanket feels too thick, your skin too tight, the entire room too warm, too empty.

You don’t get more than three hours of sleep that night.

But it should be common knowledge that hospitals rest for no one, and you jolt out of bed to the sound of your pager beeping, rushing in while the sky is still dark.

The ambulance pulls in at the same time you do and the paramedics are already yelling out the status to everyone at the bay: forty-three-year-old male, chest trauma, performing CPR. It’s a race, a rush and rhythm you know well. You’re scrubbed down and entering the operating room alongside two other surgeons. The patient is intubated and they give the countdown before cutting him open.

It took two and a half hours to perform the surgery and stop all the internal bleeding, and by the end of it, you were exhausted, both physically and mentally. 

But this was the most in control you’ve felt for a while. A sharp sort of stress that forced your hands into a trained precision and your mind into a rigorous sort of calm. It was almost as though you became a different person entirely, one you both admire and hate. 

She’s calm and collected, only speaking when needed in commands to the operating room. She demands respect. She is who your mother is proud of, who you were supposed to be.

You’ve only just washed your hands and finished debriefing when you feel that half of you begin to slip away once more. And as the stress leaves, your mind wanders back to last night. To Zayne.

Thoughts that haunt you for the rest of the morning.

Finally, the clock hits eight and the ER is busy with the morning crowd. You do what you can until the other residents clock in, leaving to finally eat breakfast and get some sort of caffeine before your headache gets any worse. 

Luckily, the vending machine has your favorite melonpan and green tea, and you get two of each. Sitting down, open your laptop and begin eating in the hallway outside the surgery bay, your manuscript staring right back at you, mocking.

Your eyes burn holes through the cursor blinking at the top of the page, and you try to will yourself to just type something, anything, but it doesn't work, and you end up slamming the computer shut with a sigh.

Unintentionally, your male lead has begun to resemble Zayne more and more- not physically, at least- but in his little mannerisms, his overly formal speech habit, and even his uncharacteristic love of sweets. Your lips quirk up at the memory.

But speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Zayne comes from the other end of the hallway, looking like he also might be coming out from a surgery. He’s only meters away when his eyes lock onto yours.

You straighten against the chair, a shiver of heat racing down your spine as his mere presence sends an onslaught of flashbacks that are nothing short of sinful.

Stop. What happened last night is part of a professional, mutually beneficial deal. Zayne is still your mentor— your boss too, in some contexts— and you refuse to have these thoughts about him in your place of work.

Smiling, your fingers still against the keyboard as you hope the whole thing doesn’t look as strained as it feels.

Zayne looks the opposite of amused. If anything, he appears pissed.

His gaze narrows on you, and for a second, you think you spot something else behind the cold indifference. But the look passes as quickly as it appeared, his face back to its usual stony expression, and you must have imagined it.

“Good morning, Dr. Zayne,” you say.

Zayne stalls, shoulders tensing for a moment before he nods and continues walking. He doesn’t spare you another glance as he passes, doesn’t say another word, the awkward tension so thick it almost makes you choke on your melonpan.

Your eyes trail after him until he rounds the corner.

Well, that went splendidly.

You try to type again, but it turns out your brain is a useless lump of flesh because no matter how many times you read over the paragraph, the words fail to register. You huff out an exasperated breath, slam the laptop shut, and drag yourself to your office to prepare for rounds.

Even so, you go through your morning routine with a strained smile, a newfound weight pulling against your chest, a sharp sort of pain between guilt and longing you’ve never felt before. 

Zayne is going to lose his fucking mind. 

He is an adult, he reminds himself. A well-mannered, respectful, professional adult. 

So why can’t he stop imagining your face underneath him as you come undone? Why can’t he get the memory of every sound you made, the overly sweet way you said his name, the very cadence of your voice out of his head? 

And the way you said please. 

Zayne grinds his teeth hard enough that something clicks in the back of his jawbone, his usual flat expression twisted with a scowl that sends other doctors and residents scrambling out from his path. His clipboard groans under the pressure from his grip, and Zayne can’t make it to his private office fast enough before he slams the door shut and drags his palm down his face. 

He sees you every time he closes his eyes.

“Fuck.”

Zayne swore to himself that helping you would change nothing in the workplace, and yet clearly, only one of you was mature enough to hold that part of your deal up.

This must be a new level of depravity Zayne never assumed he would stoop to.

But it had been torture to only watch you last night. A beautiful, painful torture he would subject himself to again and again and again just for the chance to have you writhing against him like that once more. 

The way your doe eyes had practically begged for him to fuck you all on their own when he forced you to look up nearly made him come in his trousers. And thank god you were too far gone to notice how desperate he was, grinding insistently against your bedsheets while you came around his fingers. And now… 

And now Zayne was fucking hard again in his office of all places. 

It was a wonder he got anything done anymore.

Zayne hasn't had a lover in years and it's beginning to wear him thin. And yet, the idea of finding someone else to satiate his needs doesn’t appeal to him in the slightest. Not when his mind is so consumed with the thought of you, and the sounds you made, the way you looked at him, the way your eyes would roll to the back of your head every time he curled his fingers into that spot inside of you.

God, he should have just asked you out on a date first. 

Restraint had come easy to him. Zayne was practically raised on it, his very life dependent on his ability to restrain his Evol, the lives of others dependent on his patience and restraint in the operating room. 

But no, when it came to you, everything failed him. 

Maybe he had been a little harsh this morning. Zayne doesn’t know. He doesn't want to think about it.

Running a hand through his hair, Zayne imagines bumping into you again. Would you still be happy to see him, smiling as you did this morning, or would you ignore him just as he did you? 

“About this morning,” Zayne stops, restarts. “I’m sorry for avoiding conversation earlier today.” A groan, “No, I can’t begin like that. This morning I wasn’t myself, there was a patient who required percutaneous coronary intervention and the stress must have gotten to me.” 

He tries again, and again, gesturing to his empty office before dragging a palm down his face. “I must be going insane.”

Zayne has never felt more foolish in his life.

He doesn't even have the excuse of a lack of experience in this field. In his previous relationships, he was always the one to initiate dates and intimacy, and it was the same with any relation that had lasted longer than one night.

But you are different.

The thought of taking his time with you makes him weak. To finally have your legs wrapped around his waist, to finally hear his name on your lips, to finally have your body pressed flush against his and hear you beg for him once more.

He wants to do so much more for you, wants you to use him as you need, to take and take everything he has to give. Wants to surrender to your every whim and every outrageous idea you’ve ever had floating around in that unpredictable head of yours. Wants to taste you, and see if you taste as sweet as you sound when you beg.

Wants to know how your cunt feels and what face you would make when he finally, finally fucks you.

God, Zayne wants to ruin you.

He wants so badly it drives him mad.

Zayne can't avoid you, and he shouldn’t. There are still matters to discuss for your novel and a deal to hold up. He is a man of his word.

A date.

That could work. Just a way to get closer, as colleagues, as partners. 

You would have to spend time together outside the hospital, where the air is clear of any distractions and expectations and Zayne can get his head on straight. Even moreso, it should be something nice, something that will hopefully take your mind off your impending deadline. 

Right, that would be perfect. An opportunity to simply be providing you with the proper inspiration and guidance, as a good mentor should, and keep his end of the deal should you ask for another inspiration session.

Turning back in his chair, Zayne begins filtering through his email and paper files, until something slips from the growing stack. 

The annual charity gala.

As a resident yourself, you were likely already invited, so proposing the two of you go together shouldn’t be too ostentatious, right?

Zayne stares down at the gilded gold lettering.

No. It was definitely out of line in so many ways. But the only other option was to continue down this path, to continue fooling himself that he only agreed to be your fuck buddy out of courtesy and care, and not these wretched thoughts that plauge his every waking moment. 

It would mean he’d be completely at your mercy for seeing you next, whenever you needed him. Or his body, at least.

Zayne doesn’t have the willpower to last that long. Besides, this is more efficient.

So, Zayne opens the letter, pulls the invitation card from its envelope, and begins drafting an email to you in hopes of preserving a little bit of his dignity. 

He didn’t even have to wait an hour to get your response: you said yes. 

______

Zayne opens the car door for you, ever the gentleman. 

Sliding into the passenger seat, you take extra care not to snag the hem of your cocktail dress on your heels or the door. By the time you buckle your seat belt, and the car roars to life, dashboard glowing a soft orange.

"Ready?" Zayne asks, adjusting his cuff as he begins to reverse out of the parking spot.

It’s the first time Zayne has formally invited you to be his plus one, and the thought of being seen beside him like this- at such a formal gala, no less- is all at once thrilling and nauseating.

Zayne steals another glance at you, and where your hands lay clenched in your lap. "It’s just a hospital event, you may very well see other residents there."

A laugh. "I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or worse."

Even without the extra stress from attending this gala, your stomach has been in knots all day long-- your manuscript is due in less than a week. You’ve written a lot, and Zayne’s hands-on “experience” helped you get ample inspiration for most of the main scenes. Yet you can feel the deadline creeping up, the sense of impending doom looming over you.

Of course Zayne notices. "We'll try and have fun, it's just a couple of hours. I heard they also have billiard tables, if you’re interested?” A tap on the steering wheel, then he adds, a little quieter, “Your dress is nice. The color suits you.”

You smile, but your eyes don’t leave the road. Instead, you seem to zone out on the row of streetlights, shadows cast over your face as they pass by, one by one. 

“You clean up pretty well yourself, doctor.”

Zayne continues. “Tell me more about your novel’s progress, then. If you need any more assistance…” he trails off, and you feel a prickling heat creep up the back of your neck. Finally, you look away from the window, and Zayne relaxes against his seat. 

So you begin to tell him about the newest trope your editor wants you to include, a classic in enemies-to-lovers books: forced proximity. “The concept is great. Who doesn’t love it when the two characters who swear they hate each other accidentally get stuck together and turned on at the worst possible time?” 

You ramble, propping your arm against the car armrest as you turn to face Zayne. "So,” you say, ”I'm trying to think of ways they could find themselves in such a situation. Maybe they're cornered by guards or captured by a mutual enemy, or we combine the classic injury trope so they can’t move.” 

"That is one option," he says, eyes still on the road. A turn, and Zayne shifts gears as the car speeds ahead. 

“A classic my mind says no, but my body says yes dilemma.” You debate telling Zayne about the premise around aphrodisiacs and sex pollen, but you think that really might be pushing him too far. You are in a car, after all, and an accident is the last thing you want. 

Instead, you ask, "Have you read any enemy-to-lover books?"

He shrugs. "I've had some experience."

"I'm sure you have."

Zayne shoots you a sharp look. Your smile grows, slow and wicked. 

"And I've done a bit of research," he clarifies, voice flat just to prove a point.

"Right, research."

"Well, to best help you, I thought…” Zayne’s brows furrow as he merges lanes, letting the blinking of the indicator fill the silence before clearing his throat. “I thought reading a book or two in the same field would help me understand your own book better. I must say yours is far better written than some of these popular novels.” 

The mental image of Zayne sneaking a read at some filthy romantasy book has you giggling.

"And you’re sure that's the reason?”

"Of course," he says, though his face is slightly pink.

You feign suspicion, poking at Zayne’s arm. "What if this whole time, you’ve been hunting me down as a means to read my unreleased books?  Then the only reason you agreed to this arrangement is because you're secretly a stalker fan."

"Interesting theory,” a smirk, one you see pull at the corner of Zayne’s lips. “But not the only reason."

"Oh? What’s the other then?"

Zayne smiles, the dim light from the dashboard sharpening his features. Another turn, you spare a glance at the GPS only to see you’re nearly at the gala venue. But still, no answer came, not as Zayne seemed to refocus on the road, shifting gears as the light turns green. 

You groan, “You’re not even listening anymore.” 

“I am.” Zayne shoots you a look from the corner of his eye, one hand leaving the wheel to rest against your thigh. “There is, however, a difference between listening and answering.” 

But now it’s your turn to stop listening. You can’t, not when his thumb does that thing again, tracing mindless circles against your inner thigh while he looks back at the road. 

It does something, to have his hand there, warm and heavy. Something that has your thighs pressing together, heat creeping down your neck.

Zayne catches the motion. Of course, he does. And he squeezes, just a little.

And then a brilliantly wretched idea hits you.

"Do you have any suggestions?" You ask, trying to keep your tone innocent, even as you part your thighs just a little further. "I mean, you did research and all. Surely, you remember something useful about the plots. Or the sex scenes."

"The sex scenes," Zayne echoes, his voice tight.

"Well, yes. They're kind of important. They're why people buy the books." You lick your lips. "For example, surely one of those books you read for research had interesting forbidden tropes?"

"It's likely." His jaw ticks. "You'll have to be more specific.”

"Well..." you draw the word out, shifting in your seat. “You know where else would be a really inappropriate place for a character to get a boner?” Reaching over, you glide your hand up Zayne’s thigh, mirroring his placement on your own. “In a car, doctor.”

Zayne thanked every god for their mercy the moment he got to a red light, car jolting to a halt as he eyed you with a frown.

“Behave," he scolds. "This is beyond reckless."

The genuine frustration edged into Zayne’s voice makes you hesitate, and you move to sit up, retreating your hand from his thigh when it brushes past something unmistakably hard. 

You feel Zayne tense beneath you, the car jerking forward before speeding along as though nothing had happened. Oh, but your lips cracked into a vicious grin as you stretched your way fully over the center console, wriggling your ass in the air on the far side of the seat. 

Really, you should have realized that the stern, self-deprived Zayne gets off on scolding you as much as you did. 

You watch him closely, but despite his harsh words, he never moves to actually stop you. So you continue, scraping your nails up his trousers as your mouth follows, hot breath leaving damp spots against the expensive cotton as Zayne’s thigh jumps under your touch. 

God, the click of his belt coming undone elicited a nearly Pavlovian response at this point, the sound of metal on metal making something in your core flutter. You waste no time going for his zipper, palming at the bulge straining into your touch as it pushes out from between the metal all on its own.

Zayne laments all the trust you placed in him as a driver. Despite being only minutes from the venue, he swore he was gripping the steering wheel hard enough for it to snap. A car behind him honks and Zayne swears under his breath, thoughts clouding over as your hands finish sliding his zipper down, gently palming at his cock as he inhales sharply at the feeling of your hot breath over clothed skin.

And the moan Zayne lets out when you lick the head of his cock is enough to have you gushing. But you never take him any deeper, blocked by your position over the passenger seat, settling with unsatisfactory kitten licks up and down his length, leaving sloppy marks without ever speeding up. 

Zayne shudders, huffing in frustration and restraint as he unconsciously tries to buck himself into your mouth, failing due to the awkward side angle you placed yourself in. Instead, you splay your hands over his lower belly, untucking his shirt as your fingers rub against his v-line, as you begin to suck just barely over this throbbing head. 

“You shouldn’t– fuck." His jaw flexes, and his fingers are white-knuckled, the veins in his forearms standing out with the strain.

The shock of hearing Zayne curse was almost a physical blow. The word was spoken more like a prayer than a profanity, something desperate and violent caught in his throat, a warning and plea all at once. It made something hot coil deep in your gut.

It made you want to push him further.

You must have made some type of sound muffled over his cock because Zayne hisses, his hand coming down from the steering wheel to grab at your hair, fingers threading into your scalp and pulling, just enough to hurt. 

"You are absolutely insufferable." Zayne's voice breaks into a moan. "Stop teasing me."

You pull off of him with a wet pop, sitting up and wiping the drool from your chin. "But I’m hardly doing anything. Don’t tell me you’re getting so hard just from a few kisses."

"Reckless. Lack of foresight. Do I need to teach you how to behave like an adult?" Zayne's grip on the steering wheel tightens, his jaw clenching. You can practically feel the heat radiating off him.

"No," you lean forward and kiss the head, lips wrapping around it as you swirl your tongue. Zayne's foot presses down on the gas and the car jerks forward. "But maybe I could use some help learning my lesson."

You swallow him down, and his hips jump. Humming around him, Zayne’s cock twitches, and before you can stabilize yourself he’s pushing your head down further. You don’t think he realizes he’s doing it, not with the way his hips stutter upwards, thickly corded muscles of his thighs tensing as you nearly choke. 

Another broken moan fills the car alongside the wet sounds of your mouth, drool leaking from the corners of your lips as his cock bumps the back of your throat. You gag, and Zayne’s grip on your head finally loosens, the wheels spinning over loose gravel as you pull off just to breathe.

You can't see him, not with the angle, but the feeling of his eyes on you, burning into the side of your face, and the heavy throb of his cock against your tongue was enough to know just how close he is. 

You're so distracted, tears blurring your vision, that you don't notice the car has stopped, not until Zayne's other hand is reaching over to cup your jaw, forcing your mouth off his cock and forcing your head up to look at him.

The moment your eyes meet, he frowns, thumb rubbing across your bottom lip, cleaning your smeared lipstick and spit from your ministrations. "Look at you," he hums. "What a mess."

The nearby spots in the lot are empty, but you’ve arrived early, and you can see cars parking close enough to send your heart racing. 

You glance at the clock- seven forty-six- and you know despite how Zayne’s windows are tinted, it would take someone looking over from a meter or so away to see the two of you, to see the way Zayne's hands are fisted in your hair, to see you arched over the middle console, to see how hard he was and hear the slick, wet noises you made around his cock.

You nearly yelp as Zayne pushes you off his lap, messily tucking himself back into his trousers before climbing out the door. It shuts with a bang and you’re about to scramble up when you hear the passenger door open and are roughly hauled out of the car and slung over Zayne’s shoulder.

You don’t even have time to scream. The next thing you know, you're being tossed on your back into the back seat, barely having time to right yourself before Zayne follows you, door slamming shut. He's pulling at your dress, bunching the fabric up and around your waist before dragging you under him.

“Did I not satisfy you thoroughly enough last time?” Zayne scolds between breaths, teeth scraping over your pulse point before he bites down. “Or perhaps what I should have realized is that you’re simply a filthy little girl who gets off on being punished?”

The sound you let out is obscene, a whiny moan that has Zayne groaning as he pulls away, his mouth slick and shiny with spit. He grinds his cock against your stomach, his hand coming around your throat and forcing you to face him.

It’s almost effortless, the way he holds you against him, folding your thighs to your chest as he bends to avoid hitting the roof of his car. His cock is still rock hard and pressed against the back of your thighs, only the thin slip of your dress shielding you from his greedy eyes.

"Zayne- fuck, we're gonna be late." You choke out, a gasp following as his hips grind into yours.

“Answer the question.”

Another bite to the plush above your breast and you cry, fearing more for the possibility that he leaves a permanent mark more than anything else. As if hearing that, Zayne bites again. Harder. 

“Yes!” You thrash, trying to kick him off you but there’s little room in the back seats and the leather sticks to your sweat-slick back as Zayne works to pin your hips. “Yes, I’m sorry. I only— I wanted to see how long you’d last.”

A laugh, short and cruel. “How long I’d last?” 

Zayne grabs your wrists and holds them over your head. He leans close, so his lips brush yours when he speaks, and the words are low and soft. Dangerous.

"Well, then. Allow me to return the favor.” Zayne lifts your leg, pressing a kiss to your calf as your foot hits the window, one heel falling off with a thud. “If memory serves me right, isn’t this a trope too?” 

It’s almost effortless, the way he lifts your hips all the way up, your legs kicking helplessly over his shoulders as they’re forced up against the roof of the car. Shifting his weight around in the tight space, Zayne coaxes your calves to cross behind his neck, giving a small grunt as his face is pressed into your inner thighs, one arm straining against the leather of the car seats. 

“Where they’re stuck in a small space, right?” Zayne’s eyes never leave yours.  “Maybe a cave,” his tongue trails up the bare skin of your quivering thigh, “Under a desk,” licking his way up, “in a car?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to answer, not when the heat of his mouth presses directly onto your clothed clit, licking over the lace of your panties as you arch off the leather seats.

You’re already a dripping mess, writhing against the leather of the seats and the hard muscle of Zayne's shoulders, the sensation of his hot tongue pushing against your clit through the lace a painful sort of pleasure. Not enough. Not nearly enough.

Zayne pulls off and stares at the string of his spit and your arousal, warm and sticky, against the soaked patch of cotton between your legs connecting to his lips. Involuntarily, he bucks into the cold emptiness underneath you.

Fuck, he’s so hard he might come from this alone.

You hardly notice, not with the way every muscle and nerve quivers and begs for release, jaw falling slack as Zayne’s lips are quick to tease you again, this time pressing his tongue flat against the crotch of your panties and laving across the entire seam. The gorgeous arch of his nose presses up into your clit, and you moan, one hand flailing backways as it slides against the fogged-up window. 

"Zayne, fucking hell, just eat me out properly!" The curses tumble out of your mouth before you can think of the repercussions, but there was no way he could keep eating you out through the material, no matter how good it felt.

"So desperate." Zayne mumbles between open-mouthed kisses to your cunt, "So needy."

"Fuck- please," You draw one hand through his hair, pulling his face closer. "Please, please, please-"

"Poor thing. I suppose it would be against my oath to leave my patient in such pain." And he roughly presses his thumb up against the hood of your clit.

You sob, hands scrambling for something- anything- to hold on to as they slip down the window and dig into the leather of the seats. But Zayne was nothing if not observant from your last night together, and it doesn't take long for you to cum as soon as his mouth latches onto your poor neglected cunt through your panties. 

Still riding out each trembling wave of your orgasm, Zayne doesn’t fight the way your thighs clench around his head, kissing you through it until he readjusts your legs against his shoulders, forcing you higher onto your upper back. His fingers toy with the edge of the fabric, pleased with the way it sticks to your skin. 

All you can focus on is his breathing, heavy and fast, as he stares down at your cunt so intensely it makes you blush, helplessly exposed with your thighs pinned across his broad shoulders. Spread for him like every inch of the offering he intended on devouring you as. His goddess, his sacrificial lamb. Gods, he wants to know how every part of you tastes.

Zayne’s cock twitches again, and he shudders violently, a fat glob of precum falling onto the leather seats below, mixing with your slick that has already slid down his chin and your thighs.

If left alone, no doubt it’ll stain. 

“Look at the mess you made.” Zayne scolds, forcing your jaw to the side so you can see the puddle staining the seats. You whimper, and Zayne shakes his head.  “Well, we can’t just leave it. I suppose I’ll have to teach you to take responsibility for your actions.” 

Your hips jump. It's so hard to focus when he's talking like that, and the only coherent thought you can muster is that Zayne would be a fantastic writer if he ever decided to switch professions.

But he begins to shift you around, and your brows furrow as Zayne’s hand dips between the two of you, down to the leather, sweeping across the splattered mix of cum with two fingers before forcing your jaw towards him again. 

“Clean up your mess.” 

You think something is permanently fucked in your brain with the way your cunt flutters at that. 

Zayne’s unyielding face stares down at you, his dripping fingers pressed against your lips as you wrap around them and suck. It’s heady, the scent of sex overwhelming as Zayne practically fucks the digits into your mouth, sliding them against your tongue until you gag, thumb tracing loving circles against your bottom lip as though coaxing you to take them deeper. 

Only after gagging twice more does Zayne take mercy on you, withdrawing his fingers from your mouth. Instead, the pads of his fingers press against your tongue, and you take the hint, beginning to suck at them until the taste of you disappears. 

His fingers slip from your mouth, a trail of spit connecting his fingers and your mouth before Zayne breaks it. Your tongue flicks out to swipe at the excess drool, and he wipes your bottom lip. 

“Good girl, tasting just how desperate you are.” Every word of praise Zayne whispers goes straight to your cunt, nearly making you dizzy until he finally sits back. 

“And now…” he finally moves to push the ruined fabric to the side, “I get to taste, too.”

The feeling of his hot tongue directly on your slit nearly has you in tears, and your hand lurches into Zayne’s hair to force him closer. 

“No pulling. Behave,” Zayne warns. “This is still meant to be discipline for your earlier stunt on the road.”

Whimpering, you nod, parted lips swollen and shiny from the abuse Zayne put them under with his fingers. Satisfied, Zayne finally gives you what you need, kissing the swollen flesh of your clit directly before curling two fingers into your aching cunt. 

“Zayne-”

He’s addicted to the way you say his name. He’s addicted, and he’s going to come in his pants if you don’t stop. 

You begin begging again before Zayne covers your mouth with the palm of his hand, muffled cries still enough to drive him insane as he focuses on getting you past that high. 

Despite his threats, you can’t help but tug at Zayne’s hair, needing him against you as your hips began moving or their own accord, bucking and grinding senselessly against his face until you were practically riding his tongue. Chest heaving, you looked up to see him staring directly at you, silhouetted from the car window, green eyes nearly aglow with wretched desire.

Just like that, you’re coming, hard, thighs clenching down around Zayne’s head until he’s certain you’re trying to kill him. But gods, he never wants you to stop.

Addicted, Zayne presses open mouthed kisses to your cunt, swallowing everything you give him as his eyes roll back.

Desperate, you try to crawl away from him, but there’s nowhere to go. Your head hits the car door before Zayne drags you right back, forcing your hips up higher as your back is arched into the air, nearly perpendicular as you sob, legs kicking over his shoulders. 

But still, Zayne continues, and he knows. He feels it the moment your thighs lock up, the way your stomach goes tight and the way your senseless pleading still muffled by his palm reaches a higher pitch. And he takes advantage, not letting up as he curls his fingers until your cunt clenches down on his digits and tongue, squirting into his mouth.  

Almost in apology, Zayne finally withdraws his fingers as he opts to instead clean you directly with his tongue, nose accidentally overstimulating your swollen clit as you weakly fight to push his head away.

Zayne takes the hint this time, lowering your sore legs onto the seats below, finally set on a solid surface after being held in the air for so long. The slit of your dress is askew across your stomach instead of thigh, and Zayne gently tugs it back into place.

Leaning down, he picks up your forgotten heel before slipping it back into your foot, buckling it as you shiver every time his fingers brush your ankle. 

When Zayne finally faces you again, the lower half of his face is a complete mess, and you should be mortified never having squirted before let alone on your mentor’s face. 

But Zayne merely wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, smiling like the slick dripping down his chin was won in victory and not debauchery. “Well then, shall we?”

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Steve couldn't believe he was doing this, but it was for Robin, and it was his day off. He literally had nothing better to do. He shouldered Robin's backpack and walked into the front office of Hawkins High. He grinned. Janice was still working at the front desk. He leaned against the counter and flashed her his best smile.

"Hey, Janice, those glasses look great on you. . .really slimming," Steve said, and she giggled, blushing. "I was hoping you could do me a favor. . ."

Steve didn't feel too guilty about using her weird little crush on him to get into Robin's classes and take notes for her. Janice looked down on anyone who wasn't a jock or a cheerleader. Steve thought about his life for a moment. . .God, it was pathetic that if he was so bored that he actually wanted to go back to school for a day. He nodded to a few people in the hallways and went to Robin's first class. It wasn't so bad. . .it was refreshing to catch up on what he had missed the first time. He didn't actually do any work. He just copied some notes. The second class wasn't so bad either, although people he didn't like kept trying to talk to him. The third class was far better. . .it was his favorite subject. He was surprised when he got to Robin's desk, and Eddie Munson sat next to him.

"Hey, Buckley, kiss any frogs - you're not Buckley," Eddie said.

"No, but I can understand the confusion, we do look alike," Steve said.

"You look nothing - yeah, you're fucking with me," Eddie said, narrowing his eyes at him. "What is King Steve doing gracing us with our presence?"

"Robin's sick. It's my day off, and she wanted me to take notes for her. I'd rather be here than be at home," Steve said. "What were you about to ask Robin?"

"Well, I was going to ask her if she kissed any frogs that turned into princes - princes. . .that turned into princes," Eddie said rather quickly. "Uh, it was an inside joke."

Steve narrowed his eyes at him. Steve was slow, but he wasn't that slow. Eddie had stumbled and put too much emphasis on princes. He was going to say princesses.

"You know," Steve hissed, lowering his voice.

"Of course, I know. She wrote it on her fucking shoes, man," Eddie whispered. "Everyone else is too caught up in their own shit to notice, but I sat right next to her. You know, too?"

"She's my best friend in the world, my platonic soulmate," Steve said. "Of course, I know."

"Platonic soulmate, huh?" Eddie grinned. "I think I have one of those."

"Really?" He asked.

"Her name's Ronnie," Eddie said.

"You're fucking with me," Steve grinned.

"I am not," Eddie laughed quietly. "She's up in New York studying to become a lawyer. Ronnie. Robin. Ronnie. Robin. Yeah, it's funny. . .we've been friends since we were eight. I once tried to kiss her because I thought it was the logical next step in our relationship. Silly me."

"No way, I tried to hit on Robin," Steve said with a grin.

"Well, we're both idiots," Eddie cackled.

"I'm not going to disagree," Steve said.

Steve wanted to say more, but the teacher hushed them, and they had no choice but to begin taking notes. Eddie leaned over casually, his big brown eyes pleading with him.

"If I go to sleep, can I borrow those notes?" Eddie asked innocently.

"Does Robin lend you her notes?" Steve asked.

"Yeeess," Eddie said, laying his chin on his hands, blinking at him, and Steve gave him a look. "Okay. So, no, she doesn't."

"Then why would I?" Steve asked.

"Because she's not the boss of you," Eddie said.

Steve looked at him and thought about it for a moment. No, it was clearly a trap.

"No," Steve said firmly.

"You're mean," Eddie pouted.

Steve smirked as Eddie began scribbling furiously in his notebook, muttering and looking over at him every so often. When the teacher was done, she handed out work for them to do in class. Steve took that up along with Robin's homework. While everyone else worked, he pulled out a book. He wasn't very far into the book when he noticed that Eddie was struggling. He leaned over to whisper in his ear.

"Do you want some help?" He asked.

"You wouldn't help me before," Eddie said.

"I wouldn't help you skate by," Steve said, rolling his eyes. "But I can show you some tricks that helped me."

"By all means, my liege," Eddie said.

Steve scooted closer to him, and looking over Eddie's paper, he showed him easier ways to solve the problems. He could feel Eddie's eyes watching him, and he couldn't help but feel warm inside at the feeling of Eddie's gaze on him.

"Did you get all that?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, I did," Eddie said, smiling softly. "You're pretty smart."

"Don't sound so surprised. The whole dumb jock thing is just a stereotype," Steve said.

"It's a shitty stereotype," Eddie said in realization.

"Definitely," Steve said. "Just like it's a shitty stereotype that people who play D&D worship the devil."

Eddie and Steve locked eyes. Hazel eyes peering into brown. . .there was a deep understanding there. . .that they weren't so different after all.

"So. . .why don't you want to be at home?" Eddie asked.

"My parents are there, and they're not exactly proud of me for not getting into college or working at a menial job instead of working for my asshole homophobic father," Steve whispered. "Plus, they'd rather not be around their queer son, so I get out of their hair when I can."

"You're. . .gay?" Eddie asked in surprise. "But all those girls. . .?"

"I didn't sleep with that many," Steve rolled his eyes. "It's such an exaggeration. And I'm bisexual. . .more than one gender for Steve Harrington."

"And you're telling me this why. . .?" Eddie asked, not unkindly.

"Because you get it, man," Steve replied.

"Oh, you mean because of Robin?" Eddie asked.

"Not just Robin, I mean, aren't you - ," Steve said and stopped when Eddie just looked at him. "Okay, I'm asshole. I just assumed - ,"

"Everyone does it," Eddie said. "I don't know why."

"Could be because of the way you represent the freaks and the outcasts. Most people assume the majority of them are queer but you'd surprised how many there are among the conservatives," Steve grinned. "But it also might be because of the hanky hanging out of your ass pocket."

"My hanky?" Eddie asked in confusion.

Steve leaned over and whispered in his ear to tell him about the code amongst people like him and Robin. Steve pulled back and watched his dumbfounded face.

"You okay, there?" He asked.

"Well, that makes total sense. . .I think I was actually fucking hit on a couple of times when I went out," Eddie said. "Honestly, I wear it because most metalheads do, plus it's useful. I mean, I've had sex a couple of times, but I've never done stuff like that. I mean, sure, I have handcuffs on my wall so I wouldn't be opposed to being chained up and spanked - ,"

"Mr. Munson!" The teacher yelled.

"Ooh, did I say that a little too loudly?" Eddie asked, and Steve snickered.

After class, Steve started walking to the next one while Eddie got chewed out by the teacher. It wasn't long before he heard someone call his name, and before he could turn around, he felt someone run into his back. He turned around, grabbing Eddie by the arms to steady him.

"Did you get in trouble?" Steve asked.

"Nah, I reminded him that he really shouldn't hit on his students," Eddie grinned. "Anyway. . .you want to sit with us at lunch?"

"Sure, Dustin will be thrilled," Steve said and Eddie laughed.

"I'm flattered by the way," Eddie said with a grin.

"By what?" Steve asked.

"By the fact that you thought I was queer. . .huge compliment," Eddie said. "And you're also, clearly in love with me. . .very flattered about that."

"I am not!" Steve scoffed.

"Sure, you're not," Eddie cackled.

They parted ways, and after fourth period, Steve met up with Dustin and Mike.

"This is so cool!" Dustin exclaimed. "Can you come to school with us everyday?"

"No, man," Steve laughed. "I got work."

"I bet you'd want to go to school with your mother," Mike teased.

"I would love to go to school with my mom. She's awesome!" Dustin yelled.

Steve laughed and placed his hand on Dustin's head, shaking it affectionately.

"I've been invited by your dungeon master to join you guys for lunch," Steve said.

"You spoke to Eddie?!" Dustin gasped.

"Yeah, and he's actually kind of. . .cool," Steve said.

"I told you!" Dustin exclaimed. "Mike, did you hear that?! He thinks Eddie's cool."

"I'm literally standing on his other side," Mike said. "And of course, Steve thinks Eddie's cool. Steve’s not stupid."

"Thanks, Mike," Steve grinned.

Steve followed them into the cafeteria, where they got their lunch, and then headed towards the Hellfire table. He glanced around the room, and his eyes landed on Lucas. Steve raised his eyebrows at him questioningly, and he shook his head. He turned back to the table, feeling disappointed, but he understood. Eddie was sitting at the head of the table with an empty chair next to him. His eyes caught Steve’s and he waved eagerly before slapping the chair next to him.

"I think he wants you to sit next to him," Mike said.

"I think so, too," Steve grinned in amusement.

Eddie really was cute. How he ever thought he was scary was beyond him. Steve adjusted Robin's backpack and walked over to the chair meant for him. He sat down in it, smiling, and Eddie quickly introduced everyone.

"Steve Harrington's really joining us for lunch?" Jeff asked.

"I told you. . .he's cool," Eddie said.

"Didn't you graduate?" Gareth asked.

"I'm taking notes and collecting homework for my friend, Robin," Steve replied.

"Couldn't you have just asked for the teachers to send everything to the front of office?" Jeff asked.

"Sure, but then I wouldn't be hanging out with you guys," Steve said.

"Oh my god," Jeff said, looking into his eyes. "You actually mean that."

"Look, I'm sorry for the other douchebags on the team who made you feel like all jocks are out to - ," Steve started to say.

"Your parents are home, aren't they?" Dustin asked, slamming down his tray for dramatic effect.

"Yeah," Steve shrugged.

"Shit, man, sorry," Mike asked. "I know your parents are total assholes."

"Do they know?" Eddie asked, leaning close to Steve to 'whisper'.

"We know," Dustin and Mike said together.

Eddie snapped his head to look at them. Steve snorted. He really needs to work on his whispering. Mike and Dustin's head snapped to look at each other.

"You know?" Mike and Dustin asked.

"Of course, I know!" Dustin and Mike exclaimed again.

Oops, did he forget to tell them that they knew?

"Steve dated my sister for a year. Whenever his parents were home, Steve had dinner with us and occasionally slept in the basement," Mike said. "He's always welcome around our house."

"I am?" Steve asked.

"Duh," Mike rolled his eyes. "Can't you tell that we care about you?"

"Have you looked at your face when you talk to people?" Jeff asked. "You and Gareth both are a couple of grumpy looking bears."

Before Mike could open his mouth to say something, a basketball came flying out of nowhere and landed on Dustin's tray. Food flew everywhere, including on Dustin. Steve scowled, and he quickly located the source. Jason Carver was laughing with a bunch of his friends. He turned away from the Hellfire table. Big fucking mistake. Eddie moved to get up, but Steve pushed him back down. He grabbed the basketball and judged the distance. Yeah, he could do it. Steve threw his arm back and tossed the basketball. He was pleased when it made a loud thunking sound as it hit Jason in the head. He stumbled into his friends' arms as the cafeteria gasped. Jason whirled around and glared at Steve.

"You might want to keep an eye on your balls, Carver, you don't want to lose them," Steve said.

"Pathetic, Harrington," Jason said. "At least I'm not a disappointment to my family name."

"Yeah, finds someone who gives a shit, Carver, because I don't. At the end of the day, it doesn't fucking matter," Steve said. "You don't scare me. I've seen bigger pieces of shit than you. However, if you go after my kids again. . .I'm going to make you piss your fucking pants. All it takes is a few phone calls."

Steve stared Carver down, his eyes narrowed. At first, it didn't seem like he was going to call him on his bluff, but then Carver huffed and yanked his friends back down with him. Steve sat down to find the entire table, looking at him in shock.

"Holy shit," Gareth breathed with wide eyes.

"Uh. . .sorry, did I make that worse for you guys?" Steve asked.

"I mean, probably, but it was so fucking metal," Jeff said.

"It totally was," Dustin beamed and even Mike couldn't stop from grinning.

Steve looked over at Eddie to find him looking at him wide eyes, his mouth open in awe of him.

"Eddie? Are you okay?" Steve asked and waved a hand in front of his face.

"He gets like this sometimes," Jeff said, looking at Eddie in confusion. "Although, I didn't think he'd get like this over you. Give him a minute."

"Okay. . .here, Dustin, you can have my lunch," Steve said and began cleaning up the mess.

"Thanks, Steve, but I'll go get a new one," Dustin said. "Eat yours."

By the time Dustin came back with a new tray, Eddie snapped out of it. . .whatever it was.

"Fucking metal," Eddie breathed. "Are you an angel?"

"Definitely not," Steve said with a smirk.

A COUPLE OF WEEKS LATER. . .

"I still can't believe it. I was joking when I told you to sub in for me," Robin said.

They were currently at Family Video, even though it was closed. It was inventory day, and they were both stuck with the job.

"I was bored, Robin, and my parents were home!" Steve exclaimed.

"You went in my place and fell in love with a straight man," Robin said. "I don't know whether to laugh or cry for you."

"Oh, you should also know that I flirted with Vickie for you," Steve said.

"WHAT?!" Robin shrieked and almost dropped the tapes. "Steven Robin Harrington, I swear - ,"

"Relax, Robin Steven Buckley, I was fucking with you," Steve said. "A little sympathy for my plight wouldn't kill you, you know?"

"Asshole," Robin said, but she was smiling slightly. "Have you tried talking to him?"

"Yeah, but he keeps running away from me. He once zig zagged through the entire school parking lot, screaming," Steve sighed. "I think I freaked him out with my sexuality."

"If he's okay with me, then he should be okay with you," Robin said.

"Robin. . .you know that's not exactly true. You know there's people within our own community who don't accept people like me. You remember what happened when we visited that gay bar. That guy accused me of pretending to be gay and said there's no such thing as bisexuality," Steve said. "And his friend agreed, but he said that I was a confused gay man. He told me that it was okay to be myself while rejecting who I am! How the fuck does that work?"

"Yeah, that was fucked up. I didn't know who to punch first. . .okay, so, you have a point, but maybe he's freaking out about something else," Robin said and sighed. "And if he is being like that, then I'll dismember him slowly while he's still alive and then let him bleed out."

"You'd do that for me?" Steve asked.

"Of course, you're my dingus," Robin said, stroking his hair. "And I expect you to do the same."

"Of course," Steve scoffed and then paused. "You know, Dustin said he left town last weekend. I mean, he came back, but he wouldn't say where he went."

"Yeah, this is definitely something else," Robin said. "I'm going to go to the bathroom, and when I get back, I fully expect all these negative thoughts to be gone."

"How long have you known me?" Steve scoffed.

"Surprisingly less than a year," Robin said.

"It feels like we've known each other our whole lives," Steve said.

"I know," Robin said fondly and then disappeared into the back.

Steve knelt on the floor and tried to focus on the inventory, but his thoughts went back to Eddie. It took one day for Steve to screw that up. . .although he couldn't figure out how he screwed it up. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a tapping on the door. Steve sighed and stood up.

"Can't you read the sign? We're closed - Eddie," Steve froze when he saw Eddie standing at the door, his hands in his pockets.

Eddie pulled one of his hands out of his pockets and waved awkwardly. Steve looked at him for a moment, studying him. Eddie's big brown eyes looked apologetic and guilty. Steve sighed and moved to the door before letting him in. Eddie slid past him, and he closed the door behind him, locking it back. Steve crossed his arms and looked at him expectantly.

"Hey," Eddie said awkwardly.

"Hey," Steve said. "Is that all you have to say or are you going to run away from me again?"

"No. . .no, definitely not. I've just been struggling with something, and I haven't been able to deal with it. I decided to go up and visit Ronnie. We talked about it for a long time," Eddie said pausing. "We've finally come to the conclusion that I've been struggling with the whole bisexuality thing."

"Well, I'm sorry that my sexuality bothers you," Steve said, angrily. "And if you can't tell, that was sarcasm. . .go fuck yourself."

"Fuck! No! That's - ," Eddie was interrupted by a loud scream.

Robin dove over the counter and tackled Eddie to the ground. Eddie shrieked.

"PREPARE TO DIE!" Robin yelled.

"No! No! I'm the same! I'm the same!" Eddie yelled as Robin slapped him, and then she took a box cutter out of her pocket. "I'M BISEXUAL, I'M BISEXUAL!"

Robin dropped the box cutter, but she remained on top of Eddie, frozen.

"Pardon?" She asked.

"That's what I was struggling with. . .my own sexuality. . .ever since Steve threw that ball at Jason Carver," Eddie said. "And I didn't know what I was feeling, so I didn't know how to talk to you so I did what I always fucking do when I get scared. . .I ran."

"Well, this was a rather awkward breakdown in communication," Robin said and got up, helping Eddie. "Thank God, I didn't want to have to kill you. I mean, we have the means to make a body disappear, but I did not want to go through it. Good luck, Steve."

Eddie watched as she disappeared into the back again and he looked back at Steve, his eyes comically wide.

"What the fuck did she mean by that? You can make a dead body disappear? Steve, what did she mean by that?" Eddie asked.

"Never mind about that," Steve laughed. "Tell me more about you realizing you're bisexual because of me."

"Okay, but we're going to come back to that other thing. . .right?" He asked.

"Eddie, focus," Steve said.

"Well, I mean, that's pretty much it," Eddie said. "I like you. . .a lot."

"I like you a lot, too," Steve replied.

"Now what?" Eddie asked.

"Well, this is usually the part where we - "

" - fuck?" He asked.

"I was going to say kiss," Steve laughed. "But I like that your mind leaped frogged to that, but I'm pretty sure that Robin would kill us."

"Damn straight!" They heard Robin yell, and then she laughed. "HA! Get it? Because none of us are. . .Goddamnit, I'm hanging out with Dustin too much."

"Right, so kiss?" Eddie asked.

Steve laughed, cupped the back of his neck, and pulled him in for a kiss. Eddie froze before melting into it, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist. He deepened the kiss as Steve wrapped his arms around his neck, enjoying the way his lips moved against his. . .so soft and plump. God, Steve wanted to kiss him forever. Eddie pulled away, leaning his forehead against his.

"I'm sorry, I should have worded that better," Eddie said. "And I shouldn't have run away from you. . .in one single day, you turned my life upside down. . .although, I guess I've been struggling with my feelings for a long time. According to Ronnie, you're not the first man I flirted with."

"I didn't always know about myself either, so it's okay, Eddie, I get it," Steve said. "You're here now."

Steve buried his head into his shoulder and hugged him tightly. Never would he have been so grateful that his platonic soulmate had gotten the flu or that his parents had been home. . .It's funny how life works out like that.

[serotonins-stuff]

Mafia boss bf!! who has a table for you right next to his in his office. Decorated with whatever you want.

Mafia boss bf! who has his men carry all your shopping bags

Mafia boss bf! who refers to you as "my lady".

Mafia boss bf! who will give you a kiss in front of all his men, he doesn't care who's watching. He'll pull you in real nice and snug before connecting your lips.

Mafia boss bf! whos makeout sessions have so much power they leave you breathless and weak in the knees.

Mafia boss bf! who loves it on when he sees you bring him coffee in the morning, and you make it exactly how he wants it.

Mafia boss bf! who can't help but keep his hands on you at all times. It doesn't matter where you are, he'll be attached to your hip at all times.

Mafia boss bf! who spoils you.

Mafia boss bf! who looks scary to everyone else but is actually a sweet bean that loves to be babied.

Mafia boss bf! who sits you on his lap while he works on his laptop, and will occasionally explain the work to you. Even though you don't understand a single thing.

Mafia boss bf! who will bring you to some of his important meetings. He'll snuggle you up on his lap while talking to his men.

Mafia boss bf! who doesn't allow any soul to dare disrespect you, or even look at you the wrong way, because there would be hell to pay.

Mafia boss bf! who will deal with anyone you ask him to in a heartbeat. Is someone looking at you weird? He's got you. Someone disrespect you? He'll sort them out.

Mafia boss bf! who teaches you how to fight by training you every week. He wants to make sure that his girl will be able to protect herself when he's not around.

Mafia boss bf! who takes you to the nicest places around the world.

Mafia boss bf! who slaps your ass whenever you bend over to pick something up.

Mafia boss bf! who's obsessed with your waist, he can't help but hold it and rub small circles on it wherever he gets the chance.

Mafia boss bf! who deathstares anyone that walks into his office while you're sleeping. How dare they attempt to disturb your beauty sleep?

Mafia boss bf! who sits patiently and watches you attentively as you try on clothes at the store. He'll look at you with such loving eyes and a smile that makes you weak in the knees.

Mafia boss bf! who whines and clings to you in the morning whenever you have to get up.

"You're mine"

"My girl"

"Be good yeah?"

"Shhhh, the wife is calling"

Karma, BAKUGO, Kirishima, HAWKS, KURROO, BOKUTO, DAICHI, EREN, Jean, Asta, MIKEY, Draken, BAJI, Kazutora, HANMA, Ran, GOJO, GETO, TOJI, Tengen